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From: max_wojtylak@yahoo.com (theGreatxIam)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 15 Jun 2002 01:05:56 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} Scout's Honor Ch. 6 (MFf)
Date: Sat, 15 Jun 2002 02:10:06 -0400
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NOTE: I hereby grant permission for all archiving and other uses of
this work, public or private, free or paid, in any format whether
existing now or to be invented in the future, so long as a copy of
this note and credit to "theGreatxIam" is given and no alteration is
made to the body of the work. Copyright 2002, theGreatxIam

Scout's Honor
Chapter 6 (of 10)
By theGreatxIam

THE STORY SO FAR: A childless couple devotes themselves to a Girl
Scout troop. The wife dies in childbirth; the surviving child dies
soon after. The husband goes into a funk, relieved only when the
couple's old troop asks him to drive the bus for its last camping
trip. But the trip takes a surprising turn when the troop seduces him
and reveals its plan to fuck him out of his funk. After a day and a
half of hot sex, he takes a break by accompanying some girls on a
forest hike. Soon he's enlisted as the judge for a friendly
competition.

--- --- ---

The look on Sami's face was unmistakable. Feebly, I protested my
incapacity. This time, I said, even slipping me a Viagra wouldn't
help. After sex with nine young women, I was too pooped to pop.

"Sex? With you?" Sami laughed. "Who said anything about that? Now you
think you're a prize?"

Sereka, one of the rivals, cut her off. "Oh, don't be so swift to
reject the idea. I think he'd make an excellent prize."

"Hey!" Sri, the other combatant, was indignant. "Don't you try to
curry favor with the judge! I'd be just as happy to fuck him as you
would!"

"Tsk, tsk. The mouth on you!" Sereka tilted her head up and turned
away.

I broke into the debate. "Don't I get a vote?"

Sue grabbed my arm and tugged me back toward camp. "Sure you do. You
get to vote which one wins. But, come on. Let's get back and let them
get to work."

We left Sri and Sereka to gather whatever edibles they could while the
rest of us returned to camp. When we got there, Traci seemed none too
pleased to hear about the cooking contest. It would ruin dinner, she
said. The others assured her I'd only have to nibble to decide which
one was the better chef du bois -- a phrase Sereka came up with, for
forest cook. I'm not a French scholar like she is, so forgive me if I
got the spelling wrong.

It was at least an hour before Sri and Sereka returned, hair askew,
clothes snagged with thistles, scratches on their arms and legs. And
determined looks in their eyes. Sereka was a classic older sister,
certain of her superiority. And Sri, who felt confined at home by her
parents' insistence on traditional Pakistani culture, had always been
insistent on proving among the scouts that she was "normal" as any of
them -- which, of course, meant a drive to be above the norm in
everything the troop tried.

But, competitive as they were, they also had the vanity of youth, so
they refused to begin the contest until they'd cleaned up and changed.

While they did that, I renewed the argument over whether I was to be
the "prize" for the winner. Grudgingly I won the girls over. "You
win," Sami said. "You won't be the prize. We promise." But she said it
with a smirk. I'd have to be on guard.

With that out of the way, and with some of the girls acting as seconds
for the rival chefs, we also agreed on rules. Both cooks would have to
work in the open; they had to finish in under an hour; my judging
would be based on taste alone. We'd just gotten to a discussion of
tiebreakers when Sri and Sereka reappeared.

As the expression goes, they cleaned up real good.

Sereka wore a bathing suit, a one-piece, that apparently was created
by removing a stained glass window from some French chapel on a sunny
day and putting in a few strategic stitches. Its jewel-bright panels
came in every color, and they shone even more in contrast to her
polished ebony skin, to which the suit clung tightly. The high cut on
the hips emphasized her height. A wide choker of gleaming enameled
squares drew attention to her long, regal neck, with a matching
headband drawing her short, kinky hair back from the sweeping curves
of her oval face. A small, silver ball shone on one side of her wide
nose. As always, she walked stiffly erect, like a queen reviewing the
troops.

 From the other end of the camp, Sri arrived, seeming to glide more
than walk. She wore what I guess I'd have to call a sari, but I'm no
fashion expert. And no sari I'd ever seen showed what this one did.

It was a single piece of cloth, a pale blue that shimmered yellow or
green as well, depending how the sun caught it. It draped over Sri
from head to toe, the folds of soft cloth framing her dark face.
Ethereally blue eyeshadow highlighted her deep-set brown eyes, the
lids outlined in black. Everything below her face, to her wrists and
ankles, was covered -- technically.

But Sri had done something with the way she arranged the cloth that
made it the sexiest garment ever seen. When she walked, her thigh
flashed through the folds. Any movement might reveal a patch of bare
flesh -- a flat stomach, smooth arm, the gentle arc of the small of
her back. When she bent forward I could see skin stretched tight over
her sharp clavicle. And any time she turned her side to me, there was
the merest hint of the swell of her young breast. The allure was far
greater than if she'd bared all. My mind took in all the glances and
peeks, assembling them into a picture of perfection all the more
intriguing because imagination had to fill in the gaps.

When Sri and Sereka stood in front of the assembled troop, with me
front and center, I guess no one could help noticing my eyes taking in
their beauty.

"Remember," Carrie called out, "you're only judging on the food." Her
twin seconded the motion. "No marks for presentation. This isn't one
of those figure-skating circuses." Lana, predictably, took umbrage at
that. Then Tishana, taking her sister's side, suggested Sereka's suit
showed much more "taste" than Sri's get-up. Sue and Sue Two defended
the sari. The whole thing threatened to degenerate into chaos when
Traci pierced the shouting with a brass whistle. "Enough! If you don't
really want to go through with the contest ..." (Shouts of "No! Let's
get to it!") "... Well, all right, then settle down. Are we all agreed
on the rules? Ready? Set? Cook!"

Sri and Sereka flew to the tables that had been prepared for them,
laden with the bounty they'd gathered and various other foodstuffs
they'd requisitioned from the larder Traci had assembled in a fleet of
coolers and baskets. I thought I saw some mushrooms on Sri's table and
my stomach got a little queasy; I hoped those had come from the
supplies, not the forest. I didn't want to bet my health on Sri's
mycological knowledge. Before I could ask, though, a debate arose over
how much of the supplies could be mixed with the forest produce. Sri
was doing a veggie dish, and her supporters said Sereka's use of a
chicken breast downgraded her harvest to a mere supporting role. I was
forced to arbitrate and decided that taste would decide; the forest
would have to be the predominant flavors in whatever they did. With
that settled, the girls got back to cheering for their favorite and
commenting unfavorably on her rival's technique.

Both of the dueling chefs had opted for hot dishes, so when the
chopping and mixing was done, each set her dish above the campfire and
sat back.

We killed some time with a volleyball game. Claire opted out, saying
she wasn't feeling well, so I was forced to play to even out the sides
even though I insisted anyone saddled with me was being handicapped.
The girls were more concerned about the twin towers tipping the
scales, so they insisted Carrie and Terry take opposite sides. That
meant they spent most of the game spiking in each other's face off
sets on one side by the enthusiastic Sues and the other by the game
Sami and Lana. Sereka and Sri balanced each other out by avoiding the
ball as much as possible to preserve their couture, and my klutziness
equalled the misses of Traci, who had been pouting ever since she got
picked for the other team just after I went to the Sues. Stacked up so
evenly, the difference came down to Tishana and Baby. Tishana was
quicker, Baby more willing to dig it out of the dirt, so the game
seesawed back and forth until Baby went up for the ball and left her
baggy shorts behind. She made the tip, but as she came down right in
front of me she stumbled, looked down at her shorts on the ground, up
at me -- I couldn't help staring; she wore no panties -- turned bright
red and doubled over, covering up. Well, covering her front from me,
that is. In the process she exposed her naked butt and it was a target
Terry couldn't miss. Her spike sent Baby tumbling into me and giving
the other side the victory.

I tried to help Baby to her feet but when she realized whose hands
were on her she fell back down and crawled away, head down. I was
ushered back to my seat as Sri and Sereka declared their dishes ready
for judging.

Lana set a table before me and turned to the chefs. "Who goes first?" 

Sri spoke first. "Age before beauty," she said, sweeping a hand to
indicate Sereka had the honors.

"Pearls before swine," Sereka said as she lifted her pot from the
fire.

She had made what she described as a French farmer's soup, with bits
of chicken floating enticingly in a pale broth filled with wilted
leaves. It came off the fire steaming and Sereka ladled my portion
into a thick white bowl. Her supporters lined up eagerly to get their
samples as Lana brought mine. Everyone stared as I dipped a big silver
spoon into the bowl and brought it to my lips. I blew on it to cool
it, tentatively touched it with my tongue. Satisfied about the
temperature, I tipped the contents into my mouth. Around me, Sereka's
supporters swallowed their first spoonfuls.

My lips pursed automatically. I could see the other tasters struggling
to avoid doing the same.

Sereka's soup tasted ... green. Grass green. Which is not a bad taste
-- if you're a cow.

"Well?" Sereka's arms were crossed. "How is it?"

I hemmed and hawed and finally said it would be only fair to hold my
comments until I'd tasted both entries.

"Very well," Sereka said, "but you have barely tasted this one. Go on,
eat!" I took another spoon, staring it into my mouth. Out of the
corners of my eyes I saw Sereka's fans discreetly setting down their
bowls. Only Tishana bravely joined me in a second taste. Her sister
demanded of her, "So? What do you say? You are not a judge. You can
speak. How is it?"

Tishana looked up, startled, spoon sticking out of her mouth. She
turned her head from one girl to another but they looked away or down
at the ground. Sereka demanded an answer.

Tishana pulled the spoon out. Clicked it against her teeth. Stared
into space. "Ah," she said at last, "the plants in France are
different, you know. And we don't have all the herbs, of course. And
--"

Sereka snatched the spoon from her sister's hand. "Stop
dilly-dallying. What is so difficult about this? It is soup. Just
soup! Why can you not ..."

I suppose, if you took a time-lapse film of a lily wilting at the end
of its season, then speeded it up, you could come close to capturing
what happened to Sereka's expression. But, really, you had to be
there.

Sri and her supporters cheered and laughed as Sereka, lips pressed
tight, swung the pot up, heaving its contents toward the trees. She
sat on a log, chin in her hands, glumly awaiting Sri's triumph.

The Pakistani girl had prepared a veggie burger to be topped with a
yogurt sauce. She flipped one onto a bun, ladled the sauce and handed
it off to Lana for presentation to me. Just as I was to take a bite,
Sue Two called for a glass of water, insisting I "cleanse my palate"
before I tasted the burger.

Lucky thing I did. Without the water, I probably would have choked to
death on that first bite. Was it dry? Hmm. Do they get any snow in
Saskatchewan, do you think? Does it ever shower in Seattle?

As it was, I could barely swallow. When Sri asked for my opinion, I
tried to talk but nothing came out except bits of food and a mumble:
"Id's a liggul dwah." I poured the rest of the water down my throat.
"It's a lit--"

Big mistake. The dryness, it turned out, had been a blessing in
disguise. When water hit the burger bits in my mouth, it activated the
spices. Hot spices. Spices I believe it is now illegal to take aboard
planes in your carry-on. Spices that are not under the jurisdiction of
the FDA, but the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms.

I was forced -- when I recovered the power of speech -- to declare the
contest a draw. Predictably, this pleased no one. Some of the girls
hung around debating while others drifted away. Somewhere in camp, a
boombox started up.

"That's it," Sami exclaimed. 

Sri looked up. "What's it? What's what?"

The music, Sami explained. "That's how we'll break the tie. We'll have
a dance contest."

Sereka was not amused. "How does dancing relate to our outdoors
skill?"

"It doesn't," Sami said. "It's just fun!"

Sri actually joined Sereka in disapproving of the idea, but Sami was
persistent and soon there was a cleared space ringed with observers --
everyone in camp except Claire. Again, I was to judge.

Now, this, I thought, was more like it. No potential poisoning.
Entertainment. This, I could handle.

But, of course, first they had to squabble over the rules. Both
dancing at once, or separately? To what music? Sue wondered if Sri had
a CD of Pakistani music so she could do a traditional dance. Sri shook
her head vigorously. "No, and I won't charm a snake for you, either."

After that comment, no one was going to suggest African music for
Sereka, either. By acclamation the troop agreed on a single dance, one
on one. I will spare you the details of the discussion over a choice
of tunes. They ended up picking a CD from a box everyone contributed
to. However, no one would confess to having brought along the chosen
song. Still, "Dancing Queen" it was.

Sri and Sereka stood several steps apart in the middle of the
clearing, glancing from each other to the audience. The music started.

They didn't.

At first everyone was silent. Then there was murmuring. Finally
shouts. Still the two were immobile.

Sue shut off the CD. Sereka and Sri each said they were waiting for
the other to go first. They were told to start with the music. Sue hit
the play button.

They didn't move.

"No one said 'start,'" Sereka said. "Yeah," Sri agreed. "Who was
supposed to do that?"

"No one!" Sami shouted. "Just dance!"

Sue did her thing.

Sereka and Sri did theirs.

I may have seen more awkward dancing once. There were these two storks
at the petting zoo. But, on second thought, the storks had rhythm.

Sereka and Sri have threatened the lives of all of us who were there
that day, if we ever divulge the specifics of their performance. I saw
the look in their eye when they said it. I'm not talking.

So let's just skip ahead, shall we, to the end of the song. The last
notes faded away in stunned silence.

Sri and Sereka stared at us. We stared back.

Sereka was the first to speak. "This wasn't my idea," she said.

"I never said I could dance," Sri added quietly.

"My god, Sis," Tishana piped up. "Do we come from the same family?"

"Sri, Sri," Sami giggled, "Do we even come from the same continent?"

That's when they threatened our lives. By mutual agreement, we
declared the contest a draw.

Sereka and Sri were ready to call the whole thing a draw and forget
it, in fact. But Sami was sure they could find something to settle the
matter. Sue Two suggested singing. Sereka said no, and after the dance
debacle no one was willing to argue. Carrie proposed a troop trivia
test, but Sri pointed out that, with four years gap, she would be at a
significant disadvantage in "ancient history."

Then Sami said only one word: "Kissing."

If you're thinking that's where this was heading all along, I won't
argue. Not that I can prove it, but there was something suspicious
about how quickly everyone agreed. And, naturally, I was to be the
judge. And kissee.

My chair was turned around so I was facing the rest of the troop. This
time Sri went first. Hers was a tentative kiss, a brush of the lips,
standing in front of me and bending stiffly at the hip.

Sereka stood closer, put an arm on either side of the chair back,
leaned down and planted a solid kiss that had me almost rising to
follow her lips when she moved back.

They had agreed to five rounds, so it was Sri's turn next. She sat in
my lap, her soft ass rubbing into my crotch. Her hands cradled my face
gently as she approached slowly. She nuzzled my neck before making her
way to my lips. There was a feeling like an electric shock when our
mouths finally made contact. When she got off me after a minute or
more, I felt dizzy. Maybe it was her patchouli scent. Or maybe those
mushrooms were bad; I never did ask where they came from.

I was still a little woozy when Sereka came up for her second attempt.
She straddled me, pressing her body in its tight, flashy bathing suit
against me. Her crotch ground into mine, making my cock struggle
against my shorts into full erection. Her hands ran up and down my
sides. My shirt got pulled out and a couple of buttons popped open as
the tall black woman snuggled closer.

Her face hovered over mine here or there, just out of touch, close
enough for me to feel her hot breath steaming my pores. At last her
arms slithered over my shoulders and down my back, underneath my
shirt, flesh on flesh, as she pulled me to her in a crushing kiss. Our
tongues met, tangled, pressed deep. Our nostrils flared as we
struggled for air, mouths welded together. Sereka's legs swung up and
closed on the back of the wooden chair, forcing our bodies even closer
together.

Sereka extricated herself from me to tumultuous applause from her
backers, and maybe even from some of Sri's partisans. She walked back
to her seat in the audience, flinging the younger girl a "top THAT"
smirk.

Sri remained seated for a bit, just looking at me with a serious
expression. I saw her nostrils pinch as she seemed to come to some
kind of decision and she stood up to begin the third round. By then,
the other girls were quiet. A titter broke from someone behind her as
Sri approached me; she froze.

Only when all was silent again did she take another step. Her bare
feet scuffed on the dirt as she shuffled forward, a light breeze
ruffling the folds of her sari. Time seemed to slow down. After what
seemed an hour but must have been seconds, she stood before me. A flap
of her wrap brushed my leg.

Staring into my eyes, staying ever so close, Sri circled the chair. I
almost twisted my head off when she moved behind me; it felt as if she
had a tractor beam on my eyes. As I snapped my head to the other side
to catch up with her, she was licking her lips. They were a deep pink
with a painted rim of some darker color, as subtle a transition as on
an exotic flower. While they transfixed me, she moved in front of me
again.

Her fingers, sparkling with golden rings and many-faceted stones, flew
around her, doing something to the sari that looked like a magic
trick. Next thing I knew, the cloth parted in the middle and she
stepped forward, a smooth brown leg on either side of me. She lowered
herself as lightly as a feather drifting to earth from dove flying far
overhead. Her hands floated toward me, unbuttoned my shirt the rest of
the way, pushed it off my shoulders and down my arms. I could hear the
blood coursing through my temples, white water in a narrow canyon.

With her eyes still bewitching me, Sri took hold of my hands. I was
aware of it vaguely, as if it were happening to someone else. I felt
them slipping past folds of cloth. And then she pressed my trembling
fingers to flesh. Smooth, soft, yielding. My hands molded to sensual
curves, closed on rounded delights. Thick nipples pressed into my
palms. Sri's sari had fallen back from her head and long, black hair,
with a sheen like mica, cascaded onto my bare shoulders as she brushed
my cheeks with the gentle caress of her own.

When she began to kiss me it was the merest touch, like a memory
tickling your brain, there but not there. And then she pressed
further, her tongue probing insistently. My hands squeezed her
breasts, traveled to her back, enveloped her. Sri's kiss was a flame
inside me, unquenchable, spreading throughout my body. It left me
limp, barely able to stay in the chair. She gathered her sari around
her and padded back to her spot, head held high. The rest of the troop
sat looking almost as stunned as I felt.

Sereka sprang to her feet. She stalked me, long legs taking giant
steps, prowling from side to side rather than approaching directly.
She didn't even look straight at me, only in sidelong glances. I
wondered if that was what a gazelle saw when a lioness moved in for
the kill. It seemed very hot in the chair, and I lifted a hand to tug
at my collar before I remembered it was no longer there. I picked up a
sleeve dangling down the side of the chair and wiped beads of sweat
from my brow.

Sereka stepped closer. I could see individual muscles rippling along
her dark-skinned legs. Her turns were sharp, kicking up small clouds
of dust. She reached me. Turned away, faced Sri. I had a view of her
sleek back and of her trim but well-formed ass cupped by her suit.

I saw a hand appear over one of her shoulders. She pushed the strap of
her suit down to her arm. Then a hand on the other side, and that
strap fell. Her arms went out like wings, spread wide. From behind, I
could see the top of her suit fall away. Sereka's arms folded back,
hands coming in like knife blades, slipping between her skin and the
sides of her suit. Still facing away from me, she pushed her hands
down, peeling the suit away. It came down, down past her narrow waist,
down to her swelling hips. Down. At last she spread her legs slightly
and the suit dropped to the ground.

She turned. Faced me. Completely naked. Breasts like full wineskins,
small nipples set in ovals slightly darker than the skin around them.
Or perhaps that was an illusion, for how can anything be darker than
Sereka's skin, a shade darker than midnight, as dark as the shadows of
midnight. And yet there has to be a blacker black, for that is the
color of the short, curled hair that guarded the approach to her
passion spot. A spot that opened as she straddled me, hot cunt
pressing against my erection. She leaned forward, breasts flattening
against my chest. Began to sway from side to side, her body touching
mine. Still, though, she had not looked me in the eye. Her head bobbed
first to my left, then right, never touching mine. She was so close I
could count her eyelashes, so close I could see every pore on her
nose. So close, but no closer.

Unbidden, my arms wrapped around her, felt her pulse beating fast and
strong. And then all at once she kissed me, mouth open, eating me
alive, a kiss that took my breath away. Her body still moved against
mine and my cock struggled against its bindings, yearning to break
free. I felt her kiss all the way to my groin, a kiss so powerful that
I wondered why I hadn't been knocked over backwards. A kiss so
passionate it almost drove me to orgasm right there and then. A kiss
that left my chest heaving when Sereka stepped back, picking up her
suit and tossing it over a shoulder as she sauntered away.

Sami, who had moved to a spot front and center, was open-mouthed.
"Wow," she said. "I thought I knew about sex, but ... Wow." She looked
around. "Where's Claire? She shouldn't miss this!" Sami ran off to
look for her sister.

Meanwhile Sri had stood up. She walked toward me casually but stopped
halfway. Her hands rose to her face, fingers splayed, rings
glittering. Facing me, she covered her face and then pulled her hands
apart. There was a smoldering look in her eyes. Her hands floated over
her body, just above the folds of her sari. Their motion drew my
attention to her breasts, her waist, her hips, her legs. She was
almost completely covered, yet following her hands, it was as if I
could see through the cloth around her. Maybe it was the way her
fingers outlined every curve; maybe it was the memory of what her body
had felt like. Whatever the cause, it was a mind-bending experience.

It had me so entranced that I didn't notice when she approached me. It
was only when she was right in front of me that I realized what a
close-up view I had. I was still adjusting to that when something flew
in front of my face and I couldn't see anything but a pale blue blur.
I had a glimpse of brown skin and then the blur again, a flash of
flesh and then blank. Eventually I understood that Sri was unwinding
her sari, swirling it around -- sometimes it would block my vision,
sometimes flutter over both of us like a canopy.

As more cloth unwound and spun faster, more and more of Sri's body was
revealed until she was stark naked and flung the sari high into the
air, letting it float down, falling onto her shoulder and then sliding
to the ground. Her body, nut-brown, had a curious mix of lush curves
and sharply defined edges. Her breasts didn't flow into her chest;
they rose straight out. Her waist was as abruptly narrow as a wasp.
The tan line from the thong she must have worn only when her parents
weren't looking followed ridges at the top of her hips that seemed as
if they'd been carved. Overall, it created an overwhelming desire in
me to touch her, to see if it was real.

I reached out, touched. She was real. Hot and real. And as she bent
forward and pressed her soft lips to mine, the mere nearness of her
was intoxicating. I tried to pull her closer, bring her to my lap, but
she resisted. Even as she freely let me sweep my hands over her firm
young tits, she held her ground. She pressed her breasts against me as
she got up on tiptoe to kiss my forehead, but she wouldn't move
forward. She fluttered kisses on my eyelids, my cheeks, my lips, but
would not sit down. Not when her lips pressed hard to mine, tongue
pushing into me, forcing my head back, making my fingers reflexively
dig into her sides.

As Sri's lips continued to journey down my body, to nuzzle my neck and
lick my chest, she bent at the knees until, as she poked her tongue
playfully into my navel, she was kneeling before me. I was so enjoying
the attention that it took me a few seconds to understand why her
fingers were fumbling in my lap. By then it was done; the zipper open,
my stiff penis extracted and bobbing in the open.

Sri kissed it from root to tip. She kept her lips pursed tightly as
she grasped my cock and pushed it into her mouth; it was like entering
the tightest pussy you've ever known. The next eight minutes can only
be described as bliss on a stick -- or, rather, on a prick. Sri's
cheeks sucked in as she inhaled half my shaft, her teeth teasing at
the sensitive tip. I tried to grab her head, desperate to force her to
go faster, but she fended me off and stuck to a pace that was so
excruciatingly sensual it made my eyes water.

My orgasm, when it arrived, sent a blast of cum thundering out of me.
Sri swallowed the load. When she pulled away, a blob of jism clung to
her lip. Her pink tongue snuck out, scooped it out, slipped back
inside.

I had recovered just about enough to recognize Sami front and center
again, looking vaguely angry, when Sereka flung her bathing suit to
the ground and came to me naked. There was no subtlety to her
approach. She marched up boldly, eyes flashing.

My mind was certainly willing to entertain notions about the tall
black woman, but my flesh was woefully weak. Even more, my cock was
painfully sensitive. When Sereka merely put a hand on it I was jolted
and had to push her away. She was undaunted. Touching me everywhere
but there, she pressed her body, front and back, to my bare skin. Her
butt cheeks rubbed my side; her arms rolled over my chest; her ample
breasts were two soft pillows cradling my head from behind. As she
circled me, her face would suddenly swoop in for a deep kiss, then
pull away.

Every once in a while she would let her fingertips brush my cock. At
first I would flinch, but that wore off, though my shaft remained
soft. Sereka had been waiting for her opportunity. She got to her
knees and took me into her mouth. Soft as I was, she could take it all
easily. In her hot orifice, though, I soon was restored. Her lips'
gentle massage made my cock ease back to life, lengthening and
thickening.

I had assumed that she, like Sri, would suck me to climax. Sereka had
other ideas. When I was once again stiff, she pulled her mouth off me.
Without formality she straddled me, put my cock at her cunt and sat
down, impaling herself. For starters, she left me inside her, content
to offer her breasts to me on the platter of her crossed arms. I
suckled eagerly.

In time, though, she decided to move, and she fucked me like a
jackhammer. Her tits bounced against my chest as she rose and fell,
pounding me into the chair over and over. It held up to the beating,
but don't ask me how -- I consider it a miracle that I did. Sereka was
pogoing so fast that I didn't even try to match her strokes. It was
all I could do to keep still, because I feared that if I moved at the
wrong time she might come down on me at the wrong angle and squash my
pecker flat. As it was, she was almost faster than my nervous system
could handle. I had the distinct impression of a lag between her
actions and the time my reaction to them reached my consciousness, so
there was some of the disjointed feeling of watching a movie where the
soundtrack is out of sync.

The only thing that may have saved me from being literally fucked to
death is that it was taking a lot out of Sereka, too. I huffed on
every stroke; she puffed; soon we were both gasping and she was forced
to slow down. Almost as soon as she did, though, a wobbly orgasm
wracked her body. She squirmed against me, trying to push me as far
into her cunt as possible while she rode the wave. At last she sagged
onto me.

Unnoticed by me, Sri had come up to us. She tugged on Sereka's
shoulder, urging her to move. I was still erect as Sereka lifted
herself off and Sri took her place, sitting down with her back to me
and my cock firmly embedded in her tight twat.

She took a more leisurely approach to sex, giving me time with every
stroke to enjoy the ride. I took advantage of the relaxed pace to hug
her from behind, grabbing handfuls of her tits, and to push my cock up
to meet her every downstroke. I can't say that one fuck was better
than the other, because they were so different. I can say that I
remember much more of Sri's technique because she gave it -- and my
dick -- more time to sink in.

At some point -- it blends erotically together in my memory -- Sereka
recovered from her orgasm and joined us, kissing and nuzzling Sri in
front while I continued to fuck her from behind. That added a special
passion to Sri's movements -- and to mine, for that matter. I even got
some more tongue action from Sereka myself, as I licked my way around
Sri's neck while Sereka kissed her way down the younger girl's cheek
and our mouths met in the middle.

The added fascination of all that was too much to bear and my cum
burst out again, jetting into Sri's cunt. I softened only a little
afterward, so Sri could keep me inside. With help from Sereka's finger
on her clit, Sri soon reached her own shattering climax.

And so it was done. No one asked, but I would have declared the
kissing contest a draw.

Several of the scouts helped me back to my tent. "Take a nap," someone
said. "You'll need your strength tonight." I went to sleep with my
mind swimming with possibilities.

To be continued ...

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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