It was the last Wednesday of the camp session, the last session of the summer, and in all likelihood, the last Wednesday I would ever be on the grounds of Camp Dickinger. In the distance, the huge splashes and happy shouts of afternoon swim time could just be heard. The heat of the day had not yet broken and it was still quite hot, even in the shade.
Wendy knelt before me in the deserted pottery hut while I braced my ass against one of the work tables, my knees bent a little. She had her wondrous tits wrapped around my desperately hard shaft, the movement of those sweat-slick mounds driving spikes of pleasure through my lower body. I looked down at her with a wide grin, my mouth and face still slick and sticky with her pussy juices from when, just minutes ago, I had eaten her so relentlessly that she had had to forcefully shove my head from between her legs to keep from passing out. She looked up at me and answered my grin with her own pretty smile.
“I fucking love it, unh, when you do this,” I moaned to Wendy. “It is so goddamned hot!”
“And I love putting that fucking goofy expression on your face,” laughed Wendy quietly. Smoothly, she shifted from bobbing her torso up and down along my cock to holding her body still while she squeezed one boob upward while tugging the other down, then vice versa. She began seesawing her rack around me and I threw back my head, closed my eyes, and uttered something articulate like, “Urrgh!”
But I couldn’t keep my eyes off her and swiftly tilted my head back to look down at her as she worked those genuinely amazing mounds around my dick. The head of that extremely happy member surfaced occasionally as she drowned it in her bosom. My hips writhed gently but unrestrainably as Wendy worked.
“I just want to give you something to remember me by,” chuckled the blonde as she stopped bobbling her tits and pressed them harder against me, now rising and falling again. She was starting to get serious about fucking me hard with those mounds.
“Oh, believe… me,” I gasped down at her through a toothy grin, “I have burned this and so many more memories of you in my brain, uhnnnh, permanently.” I paused to moan a little. “They will come in handy someday when I’m old, fat, and married… and my wife… just isn’t into it that night.”
Wendy laughed derisively but slid up and down my shaft even harder. “Pig,” she grinned.
“What?” I objected, tilting my hips so my cock slid even easier between her sweaty boobs. “Wherever and whoever she is, I hope my future wife is getting absolutely railed right now by some hot stud that she will be able to hearken back to on nights when I can’t get it up and we are out of Viagra.”
“You are bad,” Wendy scoffed at me. “But I do love the few of this big, hard, no Viagra needed cock,” she panted as she absolutely tortured it with her breasts.
Wendy and I had gotten pretty relaxed about using the L word a lot, but it was always in the context of what the other was doing to or for us, or what we were doing to or for the other. We did not love each other, and we both comfortably knew it. Aside from when we were having sex, we were really just friendly co-workers. When we were apart, we certainly didn’t occupy each other’s minds. During Friday night dances, when we chaperoned, we hardly danced with each other at all, though we both danced a lot. When we were apart, we did what everyone else who was unattached did: We independently hung out and bullshitted with our respective friends and, mostly, worked with and took care of the campers who were our jobs in the first place.
But.
We were two attractive, chronically horny, young people who found themselves together a lot, with an unusual amount of privacy. Some buddies play chess, or go running, or shoot memes to each others’ phones whenever they hang out. Wendy and I gave each other orgasms.
And speaking of orgasms, I began to feel a pretty earth-shattering one coming on me. I reached down to grab Wendy’s boobs and she let me hold them against my cock, releasing her own grip to circle her hands around to tickle my ass. But she didn’t stop humping up and down on me and the stimulation of her slick, warm flesh stroking my dick finally hurled me over the cliff. I shuddered and groaned in ecstasy as I felt my toes curl, my fingers dig harder into her soft tits, and my cock start pumping out white, sticky cum.
Wendy kept humping up and down me as I came. This orgasm was no thunderous explosion of monstrous proportions, but a long, rapid fire series of small spurts that just kept coming. Some burst out when my cock head was free atop her sliding boobs, and fountaining on her chest and lower throat. Most flowed out when I was trapped between her considerable confines, and her continued movements coated both my entire dick and the inner surfaces of her tits with my jizz.
My body slumped as I stopped producing, but I felt little electric sparks of aftershocks as Wendy kept running her chest softly against my dick. At last, she leaned back and we surveyed the mess. My shrinking cock was shiny and slick, and her chest was an absolute mess. Wendy leaned forward swiftly sucked me clean, my softening cock fitting easily now in her mouth as she made quick work of squeegeeing me clean. When my cock popped free of her mouth for what we both knew would be the last time, Wendy wiped up a few of the larger drops of my offering with a finger and sucked on it while I grabbed us both cleaning towels from the shed’s supplies. She cleaned up her chest while I ran some water and wiped my face free of her deliciously fragrant juices.
We still technically had Friday, the last day of activities, to be together, but swim time was being replaced with a huge, camp-wide game of dodgeball, and neither of us wanted to miss that.
There was a late night Campfire after the dodgeball was over on Friday. Suddenly, it was Saturday and the long stream of parent’s cars arrived to pick up the worms. Departure day is always a sort of sweet bummer. Everyone gets their electronics back and there is a mass exchange of phone numbers, and Instagram and TikTok handles. The girls, counselors and campers alike, all hug and kiss and cry with each other. We guys all trade handshakes and long slaps on each other’s back that are totally not hugs. Counselors and worms alike who are going to return the following year make loud plans to see each other again, while the Seniors and counselors like me who won’t be coming back kind of stand around and listen to them with a bit of melancholy.
Dickinger is a great camp. If you have the means, I highly recommend sending your spawn.
At last, the straggling last parental vehicles drove off down the road, and the final vans full of kids who lived too far away for parental pickup came back empty from the airport. All of us counselors found ourselves just sort of standing around in the parking lot at the center of camp, by the chow hall and overlooking the pond, not sure what to do with ourselves without worms to oversee. We just talked together, watching the final, lone car sitting in the lot. Trey Beckwith’s mom was insisting on saying goodbye and thank you to all his counselors.
Trey Beckwith’s mom had it going on, if you catch my drift. And she insisted on asking the name of, and giving a hug to, Every. Single. One. Of. Us. Most of guys were totally fine with that hug, and happy to watch her go around hugging everybody else, although it did take a lot of time.