Looks More Like Scrubbing The Floor Rather Than...
Cabins are coed?" Not normally, but we were overbooked, so this one is"I akwardly walked towards the open bed behind the girl and set my things down. By now she had her pants off and was bending over for the bottom to her swim suit."Fuc-...Man.." She said, looking at the counselor" These don't match"She got on all fours and began searching for the bottom half. Okay, now by now I was ready to burst. I could see her pussy spread, it was trimmed, but not bald, which I found hot. The counselor caught me staring and said, " I knew this was a bad idea, into your bathing suit, now!"Now, the counselor caught my eye as she herself took off her shirt and shorts, to reveal she did not wear panties, but she was very quick in her changing. "Will this cabin be full?" I asked looking around at fifteen of the twenty beds being empty."Yes, a total of 8 boys and 12 girls, into your bathing suit!"I did not want to take off these shorts..hell..I was having a boner! I had to, though, so I turned away from. Every word that passed between them was overheard by others as casual conversation, un-notable, unnoticeable.The intensely exciting subtexts were theirs alone to treasure, to replay over and again.Only they two were aware of the powerful grip that held them, tightening their throats, magnetizing their bodies and their minds.Every secret instance of fleeting eye contact fed their unspecific hopes. They weren't sure yet what they wanted, but they wanted desperately not to stop.No plans were made or even imagined.Because of their significant others they were prisoners of circumstance, yet the attraction was fierce, animal, urgent.The urge wasn't to have an affair, the urge was to fuck.And it needed only opportunity.When opportunity came, they both hesitated, they were good people.But when their faces were inches apart, when he was close enough to sense the rising and falling of her clothed breasts, when she reached out one fair hand and lightly hooked her thumb in his belt loop---when.
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