Camp Sutton Pt. 02

This picks up immediately after the previous installment!

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CHAPTER FOUR: Obstacle Courses

The next morning, I was half-expecting Olive to come into my cabin early in the morning and jump into my bed to get me off. But, realistically, I knew she had all sorts of things to get together even earlier than I did. So I got dressed in my usual first-day-of-camp outfit: The mandatory red CAMP SUTTON shirt, my paint-stained rolled-up jeans, and my sneakers. I affixed my name tag -- 'Miss Maisie -- to the shirt near my collar. This rotation of camp was 8-10-year-olds, which meant they still liked to see counselors as proper authority figures. Everyone was 'miss' except the few married women who hung around.

I showed up to the main hall for breakfast, joining Jackie and the other counselors for scrambled eggs and sausage and hash. Breakfast was rushed, of course, because we had to pitch in to get all the dishes done and the check-in stations set up in the gym before the girls started to arrive within the hour. We unfolded the card tables that stood in for check-in desks and attached the paper-and-paint banners with our cabin numbers. Mary brought out clipboards with finalized lists of campers along with pens, release forms, and information sheets for each girl. I already had files on anyone who had medical needs or other crucial details, but most of the girls' names were new to me.

The first cars pulled up. It was slow for about ten minutes. Then, it was a flurry of activity for the rest of the day, an absolute marathon of collecting signatures, crafting name tags, assigning bunks, helping make beds, putting bandaids on knees, and not having a second to catch my breath until the early evening. I ended up with eight girls, which was the same I'd had most years. It felt manageable; last year I had ten and it felt like twenty. While I checked over the suitcases to make sure they had everything on their packing lists, I practiced their names over and over in my head, trying to match each one to some specific detail about them.

Ava, gap teeth. Lucy, braces. Ellie, tiny. Maya, tall. Brooklyn, ringlets. Gracie, bangs. Claire, freckles. Mia, gay moms. I wouldn't forget that one easily.

Around five, all the girls had come back into the cabin to put their first craft -- wooden signs on twine with their names painted on -- on their bunks. The first couple days, we slapped their names on any damn craft we could to try to memorize everyone's before they could feel neglected or unseen. Obviously memorizing my own kids' names was most important, but if a girl wandered off from her group or made friends with someone in mine, I wanted to know their names and for them to know mine.

The dinner bell rang soon after they'd all hung up their signs and finished making their beds with pillows and blankets brought from home. I made tall Maya our line leader and marched them up to the main hall once more, which Olive and the maintenance crew had flipped back to normal after we had finished check-in. I got them through dinner, careful to show everyone where to pick up utensils, drinks, and napkins, and where to put their dishes when they were finished.

On the first night of camp, we had a great big bonfire to celebrate the start of the festivities, so to speak. It was the only time during the first day where the girls got to interact with people from other cabins, making allies and nemeses for the next few weeks. It was also the only time during the first day that the counselors didn't have to keep as close of an eye on them while they got their fingers s'mores-sticky and the corners of their lips all chocolatey.

It was then, by the orange light, that Olive caught me for the first time since our meeting in the showers last night. Jackie was busy on the other side of the fire consoling a girl who'd dropped a marshmallow in the flames, so Olive poked me in the side and knocked her shoulder into mine like we were old pals instead of secret lovers.

She asked, "How are the little ones?"

"You know, little." I laughed and said, "It's a good group. More introverted than the ones I had last year, but they always warm up pretty quickly after a few hundred calories of straight sugar."

We both watched the girls running around, screeching out giggles, and dancing to music they sang themselves for a minute. Then, glancing quickly at me, Olive asked, "I was wondering if you wanted to go on a date tomorrow?"

I rolled my eyes and nudged her with my shoulder, too. I wanted to touch her so badly, but I knew we had to keep everything professional and cordial. I was working now, after all. Still, I couldn't resist asking, "A date? With eight fifth graders tagging along?"

Olive fake-pouted. "I may have checked your cabin schedule and know for a fact that your campers will be at the obstacle courses from ten to noon tomorrow."

My voice honestly disappointed, I told her, "I have chores to do when the girls are at activities; that's the whole reason we have them. Cleaning up the cabin, getting things together for the activities I have to run, that sort of stuff."

"Well, chores go twice as fast with two people," she told me, dragging out her words. "So I figured I could get half of your time if I donated some of mine."

I cut her a sideways look, my lip curling up at one corner. "That sounds like a fair trade. What's the date?"

"I have a few offers for you to consider," she replied like it was a business pitch. I laughed at her, my eyes still watching the girls to make sure nothing went wrong. Olive continued, "First, we could hike up to one of the lookouts up in the forest."

"Sounds sweaty; plus, I have to go on about a million hikes over the next three months."

"I thought that might be the case," she said. I tried not to let on to how cute she was being now that the fire was winding down and Jackie would be looking for me. "Your other options are time on the lake -- I promise I'm a very solid and reliable oarsman -- or head up to the pool. I'm supposed to make sure it's all ready before anyone starts swimming next week."

"That sounds like either you want to see me in a swimsuit or get me to help with your chores."

"I promise my motives are completely and utterly gay."

I laughed and replied, "We'll waste all our time walking up to the pool. I'll meet you by the lake after I drop off the kids."

--

The next morning, I took the girls to the showers during our fifteen-minute block, made sure everyone's clothes and shoes were up to the obstacle course tasks, and brought them up for breakfast. We let them choose their own tables and mingle with each other during breakfast while the counselors sat at each of the front three tables, making sure nobody ran out or caused too much chaos. Of course, Jackie plopped down next to me with her tray mostly full of fruits while mine had all the fixings. She always tried to keep up her at-home diet the first few days of camp before remembering how much extra exercise we got out here.

As we ate, she brought up the topic I hoped she hadn't even noticed. She started, "So...I saw you pretty buddy-buddy with Olive last night by the fire."

"Yeah," I replied casually, trying to make sure nothing suspicious came through in my voice; Jackie loved to gossip and I didn't need that this early. "She's not that bad, you know. Just a person doing her best like the rest of us."

Jackie leaned in close to me, eyes wide and voice hushed. "Maisie, seriously? Maybe down in the city, she'd be a good friend or whatever, but here? She's such a bad influence for the girls!"

"She barely interacts with them," I retorted. It took a lot of effort to keep my tone neutral and not too defensive. "The worst case scenario is that they think it's cool to use a hammer or not shave their legs, which I already don't do. it's the twenty-first century, Jacks."

"No," she said, voice all correction, "they'll think chopping their hair off with kitchen scissors in the bathroom and doing coke off other girls is cool."

I stood up and snapped, whispering, "When did you become such a judgmental bitch?"

Her mouth fell open as I took my tray over to the dish station, scraped it off in a trash can, and handed it to someone in the kitchen. I put on my camp counselor smile and called out, "Cabin twelve! It's time to head down to the obstacle courses!"

The girls lined up in front of me. I did a head count, then a name count, then another headcount, and gave them the rundown of the day ahead. As I went through the schedule, I saw Olive out of the corner of my eye, getting up and heading out of the main hall, toward the lake where we would meet again. I sent the girls off with Stevie, who would take them through the wooded paths to the place where they'd do trust falls, climb ropes, and do team-building exercises. Life-long bonds and all that.

I practically sprinted to the lake. If I was going to be rude to Jackie, I might as well commit to being dramatic. As long as my campers were safely with another adult and I had my walkie and phone at hand, I just had to balance my chores with my desire for Olive and everything else could fall by the wayside. Jackie was the easiest person in the world to make up with; frankly, she'd probably be happy to have more gossip fodder.

The camp was alive with activity for the first full day of camp. Girls of all ages were scattered across the grounds, some already engaged in games of tag, while others chatted animatedly with newfound friends. Anyone who didn't have scheduled activities like Arts & Crafts, obstacle courses, or sailing had free play with their counselors watching from a distance, balancing the task of letting the girls find freedom and making sure they were safe.

The lake, the heart of Camp Sutton, shimmered invitingly in the distance. As I made my way towards the lake, I couldn't help but smile at the sight of sailboats gliding gracefully across the water. Campers and instructors, their brightly colored sails billowing in the breeze, navigated the vessels with a mix of expertise and clumsiness. Laughter and shouts of excitement carried over the gentle lapping of the waves against both the sandy shore and the rockier cliffs further away, creating a symphony of summer joy.

I approached the edge of the lake, where a small boat house nestled among the trees, manned by different members of the maintenance staff throughout the day in shifts. They helped the instructors launch the boats every few hours when a new batch of campers was ready to go. The boat house was weathered but charming, its wooden boards worn by years of use. I could see the familiar outline of canoes and kayaks hanging from hooks, ready for adventurous campers to explore the lake's hidden corners.

And I could see Olive's silhouette -- illuminated by the bright sun reflecting off the lake -- leaning up against one of the columns that held up the shaded porch. As I got closer, she came into focus. Once again, she wore a tank top without a bra, this one black with a picture of some band I hadn't heard of on it. She had it tied at her waist, accentuating her hips, which held up a pair of gray joggers that hugged her thighs.

I slowed down as I reached the slope that led to the boat house. My lips split into a smile and I told her, "You have an hour and a half before I need to get all my shit together."

"I definitely don't need that long."

CHAPTER FIVE: A Version of Romantic

Olive gave me a wink and unlocked the door to the boat house. Inside, it was cluttered with tools, small boats, and other maintenance supplies. On the floor, though, a blanket had been spread out on top of a puffy sleeping bag. I cut Olive a glance and teased, "Is this your version of romantic?"

In lieu of responding, Olive locked the door behind us and grabbed me. She flipped me around to face her and kissed me. There was no sweetness or hesitation to this kiss. Instead, she was urgent and wanting -- more than wanting, actually. Needing. Our lips didn't dance so much as battle. In that kiss, we were feeding off each other's energy and need. Our tongues discovered new territory, lost in their own conversation that we couldn't understand but yearned to continue.

It didn't take long for Olive to drop to her knees and pull me down after her. I leaned back at her urging; she straddled me, propped up with one hand on each side of her head. Looking up at her from below, I felt my pussy already starting to get wet. There was a hunger in her hazel eyes that was unmatched by any partner I'd had in the past. Olive tugged at the hem of my shirt and I helped her get it over my head. I'd worn a front-clasp bra specifically for this occasion.

Olive didn't go straight for my breasts or my pussy, though. Instead, she kissed me on the lips one more time before dragging her mouth to my neck. I turned my head to the side to give her more access. My eyes fluttered shut as I let myself enjoy the sensation of her kissing my neck, sucking ever so slightly, biting a tiny bit, just enough not to leave a mark. Her tongue trailed down to my collarbones and the tops of my breasts, where she kissed over and over again. The tiny blonde hairs on my body bristled, sending goosebumps on my limbs as the cool breeze joined Olive's tongue.

As she kissed along the base of my neck and chest, Olive's fingers found the clasp of my bra, undoing it with ease. She let out a small guttural moan when my breasts were freed. She pressed them together at the center of my chest and took a moment to admire their roundness and my pale pink hard nipples.

Then she took one of my nipples between her lips and sucked on it, testing the waters of my sensitivity. Knowing time was of the essence, I gasped out, "Trust me -- you can't do that too hard."

Olive chuckled and began to bite as she sucked. The sudden, delicious change of that new sensation made my back arch as I sucked in a sharp breath. While working that nipple, her hand came up to roll the other one between her thumb and forefinger. My pussy flexed itself at the two different types of stimulation, one a slow burn and the other a constantly sparking flame.

Keeping her hand on my nipple, Olive kissed her way down my stomach, toward the waistband of my pants. She stopped at my hip bone for a moment, though, biting it harder than she'd been able to on my neck. I felt her suck enough to leave a purpling circle; my body responded by writhing. I whimpered at the perfect pain of it. Once she was

Happy with her work, Olive smiled up at me, her lips devious. Then she began to unbutton my jeans, telling me, "Keep playing with your tits for me."

As if working on their own, my hands went to my breasts. I took one nipple in each hand, using the same rolling motion she had. By the time Olive had my jeans unbuttoned and on the floor next to us, my pussy was wet enough that it had soaked through my thin cotton underwear, eliciting another lusty smile from Olive.

She pulled my underwear down like it was an act of worship, placing them carefully on top of my jeans. She put one hand on each of my knees and opened my legs, looking down at my pussy like it was the perfect gift on Christmas morning, the one she'd been begging for for months on end, eyes bright and lips open in a soft 'o.'

On her knees, Olive reached out to my cunt, her first two fingers rubbing up and down my wet slit for a moment. She didn't touch my clit, just teased my lips and entrance lazily, like time suddenly didn't matter to her. She let out a low, quiet moan at the slickness. Then she touched the fingers, now glistening with my juices, to her lips and sucked them, closing her eyes in bliss.

After that first taste, she couldn't resist settling between my legs, looping her arms around my thighs to keep us both steady. I felt her hot breath on my clit in the moments before she finally made contact with me and that alone was enough to make me moan again. I wanted her so badly it was hard for me to catch my breath.

Olive's tongue found my clit with practiced expertise, raising up the hood a bit to get at the bundle of nerves beneath. She flicked up and down from my clit to the entrance of my vagina, slowly turning me on more and more. Without the stimulation of my clit, I wouldn't be able to cum, and she could tell. She wanted to tease it out of me. When I felt her two middle fingers at the entrance of my cunt, I bucked my hips to encourage her forward.

Olive replaced her tongue with her other hand's thumb and teased, "Needy, huh? Is that your version of romantic?"

"Jesus Christ." I sucked in and released quick breaths. "Please, Olive."

Our eyes met "Please what?"

I stared at her, knowing that my eyebrows were knit together with desire and the sluttiness was alive in my eyes. "Make me cum. Please."

At that, Olive began to eat me out in earnest. Her fingers slipped easily inside of me, so easily that she added a third, which filled me up and stretched me to exactly how much I needed. Her tongue started with fast, insistent circles around my clit. At the same time, her fingers curled and thrust in and out of me. She knew how to match the pace that my body set. We worked together toward my orgasm.

The moment my cunt began to tighten, her fingers kept going while she slowed on my clit. I let out a high-pitched moan that might've been loud enough to disturb nearby instructors, but the thought didn't even matter to me as she edged my body slowly through the orgasm. Then, my whole body came. It didn't feel like just my cunt; instead, my calves tensed, my lungs filled, my heart raced, and my head swam in waves of pleasure. I couldn't help grinding my hips against her mouth while the orgasm pulsed through me, slowly lessening as I caught my breath.

Olive pulled back from me, her fingers still inside as she waited for my cunt's vice grip to loosen up again. She had a broad smile on her lips. Easing her fingers out slowly, Olive asked, "Ready for the date part?"

I let my head stay back on the floor, taking in a few deep breaths. "Do we have time for that?"

"A short trip? Sure." After a bit of cleanup, Olive unlocked the boat house door again and led me to the nearby dock, where a boat was already waiting, tied up for us. "Today, we embark on a romantic voyage on this ancient vessel," she declared in a playful captain's voice, patting the old wooden boat affectionately. It was a weathered rowboat, its red paint faded and chipped.

I couldn't help but admire Olive's strong arms as she expertly secured the oar into the rowlock. Her biceps flexed with every movement, an unexpected display of strength that sent a thrilling warmth through me. I marveled at the way she handled the boat, her confidence and ease making it seem like second nature. With a graceful, still slightly teasing motion, Olive extended a hand toward me. "Shall we, Miss Maisie?"

I took her hand, and with her help, settled into the boat. The wood creaked softly as I found a comfortable spot, and Olive positioned herself at the opposite end. She picked up the oar and dipped it into the water, propelling us away from the dock with a gentle push.

The lake stretched out before us, its deep blue waters reflecting the cloudless sky. The sun bathed everything in a clean white glow; it sparkled off the gently moving waters. It was one of those flawless early summer days that the rest of the season would try desperately to replicate. A gentle breeze ruffled our hair and carried the scent of pine and wildflowers to our noses.

As we glided across the lake, joining the smaller and larger boats that spent the day out here, I couldn't help letting the serene landscape lull me into calm. Usually, I was restless beneath my casual exterior, always ready for the next thing, but now I felt relaxed, probably from the orgasm more than the lake. The outside world faded away, leaving only Olive and me, the boat, and the beauty of nature surrounding us. I watched as she paddled, her movements rhythmic and graceful, each stroke propelling us further out.