It was about 100 degrees and humid. We were both sweating profusely. As soon as we were done with preparing the campsite, we rode our bikes over to the lovely, inviting pool. We couldn’t get into the water fast enough. Once we were in, we swam together for a while. I was trying to do stupid little things to get Lo’s attention and make her laugh: chasing her in the pool; grabbing at her; swimming between her legs underwater — very foolish adolescent tricks that I suppose I never outgrew.
It was around dinner time, so there were very few families out by the pool. But after about 15 or 20 minutes, a family of three little girls and their dad came poolside. They all got in the water and the girls, who ranged in age between probably 7 and 10, swam around playing childish games with their father. The patriarch of this family struck me as monochromatic. His hair was a reddish brown, his bushy mustache too was reddish brown, and both matched perfectly his ruddy tan. He was quite muscular and his well-defined arms featured prominently as he picked up his various daughters and gently, lovingly tossed them about the pool.
I wouldn’t have paid him and his progeny much attention except for the fact that, as I was enticed by the vision of Lo swimming in the water in her little bikini, and as I chased after her like a puppy dog desperately trying to gain the attention of his master, I saw that she kept on shunning me away while looking at him. Then she said she wanted to get out of the water. I repeatedly blocked her exit and playfully tried to entice her to stay in the cool water. She grew increasingly more agitated and almost angry and so, again like a misbehaving puppy dog, I relented with a look of disappointment and guilt on my face.
Lo climbed out of the pool and sat in one of the lounge chairs poolside. I remained in the pool and as I watched the object of all my affection with the devotion and dedication of a shunned lapdog, I saw her watching with her hungry eyes and rapt attention the coppertoned man in the pool with his kids. She sat there staring, and every once-in-a-while, her right hand grazed her pussy. She watched and watched. Did she make eye contact with him? I don’t know. But there I was, playing the fool and feeling foolish for it. Eventually coppertop left the pool with his blonde litter and Lo said she wanted to go back to the tent to make dinner. She was “famished.”
We cycled back to our tent and she asked me, with her big, beautiful brown eyes, if I would make the fire and get dinner started while she changed. “I might take a short nap since I’m so tired from that drive today,” she said. I encouraged her to rest and get refreshed and told her that I would prepare our meal. She went into the tent and I collected the wood and got the fire lit. As the kindling began to crackle and the smoke of the newspaper wafted in the air, I suddenly heard that telltale sound emanating from the tent: Lo’s deep, guttural moaning. I looked over at the tent and could see that the walls of it were gently undulating. I knew exactly what she was doing and I simply tried to ignore it.
About twenty minutes later, as the fire was raging and I was sitting, looking blankly into it, Lo emerged from the tent and put her right hand on my shoulder. We ate dinner in near silence as the sun went down and then we retired into the small tent with the inflatable mattress for the evening. There, amid the clicking and chirping of the crickets and cicadas, the distant hoots of the owls, and the occasional croak of a frog, Lo and I lay on the inflatable mattress. For the first time in days, she had her head on my shoulder and was cuddled up with me. Her right hand slowly moved down from my chest to my stomach and then down, under my pajama bottoms to grab my hard cock. She held it firmly and with command. “Do you want me?” she asked.
“I’ve wanted you for days now,” I responded.
“Have me,” she said simply.
She rolled over on her back, slipped off her pajama pants, and spread her legs. She moved her right hand to her tongue and licked it and then rubbed her pussy with her moistened palm. I positioned myself above her and spread her legs and slowly inserted my rock-hard cock into her wet and waiting pussy. I held her tightly. As I did so, I whispered in her ear, “Tell me the truth.”
“Did you jill it while I made dinner?”
“Maybe,” she said coyly.
“Yes or no?” I demanded.
“Yes, I did.”
“Did you jill it to the guy in the pool?”
“What guy?” she asked slyly.
“You know what guy,” I replied.
“Maybe,” she said again.
As I fucked her, it was not only her pussy lips that parted and grew more pliable, she was more willing to talk. And this is what she said: “Yes. I admit it. I was looking at that man. I admit it, Daddy. You know how gullible I am for dads. You know how every dad is sexy in my eyes. And his arms. He had beautiful arms. Yes. I admit it. I was getting wet and I wanted to watch him moving about in the pool, flexing, swimming, tossing his kids about. I wanted to watch.”
“And then you came here to the tent to jill it thinking about him, didn’t you?” I asked accusingly
“Yes, Daddy. I’m a bad girl. Punish me Daddy. Please, punish me with your cock. Fuck me till it hurts.”
[Excerpt from the story, “Lo’s Hot, Wet Summer,” from the Book, Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume I: Nymphomania and the Single Girl]