“I’m going to fuck Marco tonight.”
“While I appreciate your flawless Sicilian dialect,” Ian says, rolling his eyes, “I think you’re setting your sights a little high, Kimmie.”
“Don’t call me Kimmie,” I shoot back, punching him on the arm as we line up for the last pizza day of the summer. “I need this Final Fling.”
“You know that’s not a real thing, right?” Ian says, grabbing a tray and loading up on pepperoni. “Ardenne myth, pure and simple.”
“Says the guy who has a,” I lower my voice because the eighth-grade boys are in earshot, “dildo made of his cock.” Ian’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Oh come on. I heard it from you.”
“Touché.” Ian grins while sneaking a glance across the cafeteria at Rainbow, who’s sitting in Tara’s lap playing with her hair. I know they’ll have another hot threesome tonight.
Ardenne myth, my ass.
“Good luck with your fool’s errand,” Ian says, tweaking my ponytail before making a beeline for this two paramours. Before Ian can get there, Marco hightails it over to Rainbow and Tara, breaking up their twosome before it becomes serious PDA. Swoon. He’s hottest when he’s all authoritarian.
“Thinking about the Final Fling?” cracks Jordan, the eighth-grader behind me whose older sister is a former Ardenne counselor. Oh god. I see many, many used tissues in his future.
“Not real,” I snap, flouncing away, but not before grabbing a third slice of veggie pizza. At least I can eat my feelings.
Sometimes, being the funny girl sucks.
Don’t get me wrong: I’ve had plenty o’ fun these past eight weeks, my first summer as an Ardenne counselor. Both during the day, refining my Zip Zap Zop and long-form skills with my charges in the improv comedy concentration, and at night, joining in a very memorable three-way makeout with Aubrey and Zazie (whose collective hotness is positively explosive) and using my fave vibrator after hours in the blanket fort CJ generously shared with counselors who needed a place to get off. (CJ swears it’s lucky.)
But Marco, the camp director, has been just out of my reach all summer.
He not only doesn’t fuck funny girls, he doesn’t fuck counselors.
Not that Marco is immune to the magic sex-spell that I thought was an Ardenne myth until I arrived here in June, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed (and freshly waxed), ready for my first counselor summer. I’ve seen the string of long-legged beauties who come in and out of his cabin. Not that I’m stalking him or anything… some nights I just happen to be jogging by. Said long-legged beauties are always gone by morning, and I, the tomboy comedian, am joking with him over scrambled eggs, making the stoic guy smile. Which he does so rarely, but when it happens, it’s like the sun making the lake sparkle. Rare and beautiful.
Tonight, I will make Marco mine.
The Final Fling might be an Ardenne myth on the surface, but everyone knows the most explosive hookups happen in the hours between the last camper lights-out and morning parent pick-up. I remember it as a camper: my counselor Molly sneaking out, the flap of her flip-flops on the cabin floor as she applied another coat of her signature strawberry lip gloss. Sitting up in my bottom bunk, I watched her leave and peeked out the window as she and Natasha, the lithe ballet instructor, fucked against the big oak tree, Molly kneeling down and removing Natasha’s thong with her teeth before going to town.
I was seventeen and that night, I discovered how transcendent touching oneself can be.
Now I’m twenty-three and it’s my turn.
Daddy, here I come.
“You’re not going to make this happen.”
Foster watches me get ready. The kids are at the last summer campfire and half of them are probably sneaking off to hook up too. (I should know. I cashed in my V chip that way.)
“Don’t be so negative,” I say, bending over my vanity and touching up my strawberry lip gloss.
Tonight at dinner, I toyed with different looks in my mind. Sundress with no panties for “good girl gone bad”? Too obvious. Full-on Rocky Horror corset and fishnets? Too pinchy, and too humid besides. In the end, I chose what I call “comfortable porno” – light blue belted trench coat, fetching but functional platforms that won’t twist my ankle or sink in the uneven ground, and underneath, the pièce de resistance. (Thank god for optimistic online shopping two weeks ago, my last free day off campus.) A cream-colored whisper of a lace bra that gives me actual cleavage, strappy cream-colored panties that emphasize my bubble butt.
Marco doesn’t stand a chance.
“You coooooould just special guest star with me and Krysten,” Foster says, not even hiding the fact that she’s checking me out hard, and for a second I’m tempted. Pansexuality is both ultimately satisfying and very frustrating, particularly at Ardenne with gorgeous options of every flavor.
On the other hand, a little warm-up is never a bad thing…
Looking over my shoulder coyly, I drop my trench coat, hearing her intake of breath as it hits the wood floor. Crossing the room in just my new lingerie and adorable-but-dangerous peep-toe shoes, I saunter to my bed where Foster is sitting and straddle her lap. I did special guest star – our euphemism for threesome – for her and Krysten earlier this summer, and I remember how lovely our shower session was. I’ve never felt so clean and so dirty at the same time.
“Why you gotta be so sexy,” I murmur, taking her long hair in my fist and tugging at the roots the way I know she likes. Her lips and tongue are buttery soft as we kiss, sweetly at first, then more demanding, both of us getting off on this innocent yet naughty scenario. I’m about to get down on my knees, remembering what I saw Molly do to Natasha, when Foster’s mouth moves to my neck and her fingers slide under my panties.
“Ohhhh,” I sigh, turning my head so I can bite her earlobe, her distinct flowery scent all up in my nostrils mingling with the smell of sex.
“Make sure he fucks you right,” she murmurs as I move my hips in a gentle figure eight, capturing her mouth with mine. Foster expertly thumbs my clit, the warm sensation spreading over me. Just as I can’t take it anymore, she slides two fingers inside and I lose it, riding her hand furiously, my walls squeezing her until orgasm takes over, imagining her and Marco while floating above it all, on a plane of my own making.
“Fuck,” I say as she withdraws, chastely kissing my lips. “That’s a hell of a way to start the Final Fling.”
I can’t possibly not return that favor.
“Lean back,” I say, kicking off my platforms and sinking to my knees.
And then I make a meal out of her delicious candy-flavored cunt (I have no idea how she tastes so good and I don’t question), my face between her legs, doing anything and everything to make her come. Foster coos then screams above me and whatever else happens tonight, I made somebody explode.
“Knock knock,” I say, rapping on the doorframe of Marco’s cabin with one hand and straightening the hem of my trench with the other before letting myself in.
Because he’s the camp director, Marco’s cabin is both larger and a bit set off from the other cabins. He has his phone on at all times in case of emergency and is well within hearing distance, but he also gets a little well-earned privacy from a camp full of very loud, very artsy geeks.
“My best improv director,” he says, looking up from his laptop with a smile, all rugged and hot. His salt-and-pepper curls are standing on end and I long to smooth them down then scruff them up, make them even wilder. Hopefully I will succeed.
Oh yes, Daddy, I want that.
Hot sex with Foster hasn’t calmed me down in any way. Instead, it’s fired me up even more, bolstered my confidence, made me want Marco’s cock inside me, hard and fast. My nipples are hard, the crotch of my panties still wet, my body thrumming with need.
Once you pop, you can’t stop, I guess.
“New coat?” he asks, leaning back in his desk chair. I can see the hair on his forearms and my nipples practically pop through my bra. And I can hear it – the intake of breath, quieter than Foster’s but just as present, as I step into the dim light of the cabin and Marco sees just what I’m wearing.
“Kimberly,” he says, and his voice has dropped at least two octaves. “We can’t do this.”
How am I more turned on?
“Who says we’re doing anything?” I say, the breeze in my voice matching the one outside, hot summer replaced with crisp autumn. My hand travels to the belt of my trench, but I don’t do anything else, watching Marco’s eyes follow mine. “Just dropped by to say hello.”
“You’re a counselor…” His voice trails off, his eyes stay fixed on my body.
I can work with this.
“And you’re the camp director.” I bite my lip, playing with the belt of my coat a little, like maybe I’m going to take it off, maybe not. “You make the rules.”
Look, if he were clearly uncomfortable, even implying no, I’d get the hell out. I respect consent and boundaries. But Marco’s eyes, his mouth pursing like he wants to kiss me if he could just get out of his chair, are telling me a different story.
He wants me.
I just have to be patient.
“You’re making me hard,” he mutters, just loud enough for me to hear.
“Come again?” I make my voice breathy, emphasize that first word. We’re locked in a battle of wills. I reach up and take the elastic out of my loose ponytail, shake my hair until it streams over my shoulders and down my back. I’m the goofy girl turned seductress and I’m totally into it.
And then Marco laughs.
“You’re adorable,” he says.
I’m not sure what to make of this, but I won’t let him break me. Nothing to lose but my panties and my dignity.
Leaning against the doorframe – the better to camouflage my shaking legs, my whirling mind that still can’t believe I’m doing this – I cross my arms under my chest, hoping like hell that makes my boobs look bigger. “Adorable is not what I was going for.”
He leans back in his chair, now grinning roguishly. “You think I haven’t noticed you all summer?”
That’s a cue if I’ve ever heard one.
Another perk the director’s cabin comes with is a real door, not just a screen door. I shut both behind me and turn back.
Anything can happen.
“You tell me, daddy,” I purr, sauntering over to the opposite side of the desk and leaning in. My hair falls over my shoulder and my trench coat rides up just so, exposing the tops of my bare thighs. His eyes travel down and my clit stiffens.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” he says.
“But you like it,” I counter.
“I like it very much.” His voice goes deep again and despite the heat between us, I shiver all over. I could come right now, watching him watch me.
“There aren’t any rules against camp directors and counselors…” He trails off, and he smirks in a way that his dimples pop on either side of his face, oh god... “Fraternizing,” he finishes, blushing adorably.
“Well,” I say, loosening the belt of my coat slowly, slowly, making him earn every look, “can we pretend there are?”
“Stay right there,” he says, getting up and I’m nearly eye level with his erection, straining against his jeans. Just the right size, not too big, not too small. Oh, I am going to do so many things to that cock.
I make a move toward him, enjoying the game, and he holds up a hand, expression mock-stern. “I mean it.” He smirks again, and there are those dimples. “I’m still your supervisor for one more night.”
“I guess I better be a good girl, daddy,” I whisper, and I swear he gets even harder. Tilting my chin toward his cock, I ask, “You want some help with that?”
“In a minute,” he says, not yet coming around to my side of the desk. I’m so fucking wet for him but there’s something about this anticipation that’s making me even wetter. “You want to show me what’s under that coat?”
Say no more, daddy. I slip it off my shoulders and the intake of breath is considerably louder as he drinks in the sight of me in barely-there lace. And then I find out what the best six words in the world are:
“I have to fuck you now,” Marco says as he pulls a condom out of his pocket and comes around the big oak desk in one smooth move.
All I can do is bend over, sticking my ass out, and he groans. “You trying to get me off right here?”
I look over my shoulder and raise an eyebrow. “Control yourself, daddy. We’re just getting started.”
He shoves inside me, bending over so he can lick the back of my neck. His cock, bigger than I originally thought and so very hard, fills me up and he’s going slowly, being a polite gentleman, but I need more and I need it now.
“Harder,” I breathe, and Marco obliges, beginning to thrust in earnest as my pussy widens and I take it, over and over and over, his tongue on the soft skin of my neck a lovely contrast to the pounding I’m taking.
“Ohhhhh fuck,” I sigh, my voice high and honey-sweet, hoping this – and he – will last a good long time. Curling my fingers against the edges of the desk, I step my feet further apart so I can really take him, as deep as he can go. I’m immediately rewarded – in, out, in, out – hearing him grunt with exertion behind me.
“That’s right, daddy,” I say as his balls hit my clit in just the right spot, and Marco slaps my ass, the smack clear and echoing off the walls, and I squeal with surprise and pleasure.
“You good?” he murmurs in my ear, hands traveling from my hips and up my stomach to pinch my nipples, and I start to see white-hot. I respond with a long, dramatic wail like I’ve never heard myself make before and he laughs, says “I’ll take that as a yes” before going faster, harder, deeper, fucking me like I’ve never been fucked before, and I’m coming, over and over and over again, as he licks my neck and says, “come on Kimberly, you can give me one more,” and it’s the sound of my name in his mouth that sends me over the edge as I throw my head back and see stars, my Final Fling achievement thoroughly unlocked.
More erotic adventure from Lauren Emily:
eBooks:
We Just Work Together
I Dare You
Serials:
Attagirl
Short Stories:
Attagirl: Table for Three
Body Paint
The Cusack Effect
Good Boy
Peaches for Three
Warm Me Up
The Wedding
Lauren Emily lives (and loves) in Chicago, and is the author of the novel SATELLITE.