One in particular was Poppy, an eighteen year old Senior. She had chosen this of all days to dress for the gym, not the woods. She had on skin-tight bike shorts and one of those athletic tops we are all supposed to pretend isn’t just a bra. Her outfit distinctly highlighted a figure, which while it had not fleshed out yet like Wendy’s had, was well on its way.
Most of our campers make their creations by hand-molding them, or constructing them out of slabs of hand cut clay. We do have a few potter’s wheels that the more ambitious can use. Poppy took that morning to get on one of the wheels. She wasn’t that good, and asked for my help. I had to go over and stand above her, looking straight down into the open top of that sports bra. After five minutes of struggle with her, the clay flopping all over the wheel unevenly, I reflected frustratedly that it was a good thing the girl was rich as Croesus and had a body built for sex, because she definitely did not have a brain built for rocket science.
As my frustration mounted, Wendy appeared to help, or so I thought. It seemed that she was there to make my frustration different… and more intense.
“Here, let me help,” she said amiably to Poppy and bent down behind her. She reached around the Senior and put her hands around the spinning clay, on top of Poppy’s. “You have to be softer than that,” she first admonished, keeping both their hands totally loose around the putative ‘vase’. “And you need more moisture,” she added, releasing Poppy with one hand and grabbing a soaking wet cloth form the bucket. She held it over the rotating lump and squeezed out a torrent of water over the clay and both their hands. She dropped the rag and took hold again. “See? Get it good and soaked. It is a lot better and easier to control when it is good and slippery wet.”
Poppy was just so damned pleased that clay was not yet again flying off the wheel that she seemed oblivious to the fact that Wendy’s amazing rack was wrapped around the back of her neck, and the clay was rapidly elongating into a phallic column.
I was not so blissfully oblivious. And of course, Wendy knew exactly what she was doing, as she looked up at me briefly and winked with a broad grin before beginning to run her and Poppy’s sodden hands up and down the column of clay.
I watched at long as I could handle without visually shaking, my mind filled with an extremely vivid image of my dick being in their hands instead of that clay. At last, I croaked out, my voice nearly cracking, “Thanks Wendy. You got this, I’ll go help some of the others.”
I grabbed my water bottle, took several enormous, desperately needed gulps and went to work with a group of the plainer-looking girls who were making simple boxes. I sat down at the table with them, which had the multiple virtues of keeping me facing away from Poppy and Wendy, and of hiding my raging erection far better than my untucked t-shirt had managed.
The rod of clay was eventually turned into the intended flower vase, and the worms all filed out at the end of the period. Wendy went to the sink to wash her hands, shoving her ass in my direction as she did so, of course. When she stood up and turned back toward me, drying her hands, I was glaring at her, with my hands indignantly on my hips.
“What?” Wendy asked innocently.
“You know damned well…” I began.
“Oh!” Wendy chuckled. “You’re welcome,” she added a little throatily.
I opened my mouth to retort, but I said nothing, realizing that I really should be thanking her for that show. Still… “Please leave me alone for the rest of today,” I pleaded. “I don’t want to have to try to hide an enormous erection while we lifeguard at Swim Time.”
“Enormous?” Wendy asked archly. She looked swiftly over her shoulder as she stepped suddenly toward me. She reached out in a flash and grasped the front of my shorts. Her hand briefly but comprehensively explored the outline of my rock hard cock before releasing me. “Indeed! Very nice,” she added, turning to start cleaning up in a very business-like manner. “All right. I’ll leave you alone today.”
Then she looked up at me. “But tomorrow, I’m going to have you revved up like a drag racer by the time the last worm gets out of here.”
Wednesday. Wendy and I would have ninety minutes of alone time that afternoon. That morning, I dressed in my extra-baggy pair shorts. I usually wear my shirts pretty tight myself, but I chose that loosest, longest t-shirt I had that day. Honestly, it looked a little weird it was so big, with the Camp Dickinger logo resting lower on my chest that I was used to. Oh, and I felt underwear was a needless accessory that day. You don’t have a lot of privacy in these camp cabins, so it took some doing to go commando without drawing any snide remarks from Van or our worms, but I managed.
I needn’t have bothered with all the boner camouflage. Wendy was back to her usual form-fitting clothes, not the sausage casings she had worn the day before. Further, she was not really flirting with me at all, bending over no more than usual and mostly just happily helping the campers with their projects.
In the morning, I was confused. She had promised, no, warned me that she was going to have me blue-balled by the end of the day, and here was nothing going on. What was her plan?
It kept up in the after lunch periods, and I started to get paranoid. Was Wendy going to blue ball me entirely? I found myself staring at her almost fixedly as the afternoon went on. And she caught my eyes on her several times. Her reaction was never positive, nor was it ever quelling. She just subtly but clearly noted my gaze and went on with her pleasant demeanor unchanged.
Then, as we shooed the penultimate box of worms out for the day, and before the last batch could arrive, I stepped over to her and blurted out, “Look, Wendy…”
She cut me off with a whopper of a kiss, accompanied by her grabbing both my buns and squeezing quite firmly. My shock only kept me from probing her mouth with my tongue for a second or two before I pressed both our lips wide and I let myself taste her. She pressed herself against me and tongued me back almost urgently. My hands took longer to get over the shock of the sudden turn of things, but I finally swept them around her and slid them down toward her rounded, generous ass.
But then Wendy slipped free and stood back, a grin on her face. I was left there, empty-handed, with a beached whale expression on my face and my day-long incipient erection dialed suddenly to cordite steel. “You… are…” I sputtered.
She laughed and spun around in delight. “Were you starting to worry?” Wendy cooed from well out of my reach. “Good! A little uncertainty adds spice. But time for questions is over. We just have to get through this last set of guys, and then I’m going to have my way with you!”