Camp Sutton Pt. 04

I sighed -- more like gasped -- out, "There's plenty of time to make up for past mistakes."

As she admired my exposed body, still fingering me just enough to keep me turned on but not enough to provide any real steps toward an orgasm, Olive said, absentminded, not quite choosing her words carefully, "I'm not sure there will ever be enough time with you."

I whimpered as her fingers started to rub circles around my clit, preventing me from responding in any meaningful way. My mind filed the comment away for later. For now, I tilted my hips forward to give her even better access to me. Olive's fingers managed to feel even better than my own. It's like she could see inside my head to exactly what I needed. She used her first three fingers in constant slow swirls around my throbbing clit. Each finger stimulated a different part of my pussy. While she focused on my clit, she didn't neglect any of the million nerves that surrounded it, either.

My arms began to burn, distracting me slightly from my cunt, and I thought about saying something, briefly. But Olive cut me a look that said she knew and that's what she wanted. If I was a bit distracted and a bit in pain, it would take me longer to cum, and that meant she could get me wetter and hotter and closer and closer and closer before I finally did. My pleasure was at her mercy and, honestly, that's how I wanted it.

When my arms began to shake from pain and weakness, Olive put her left hand over my two, pressing them into the rock. Even though the rocky wall scratched my arms and hands, I was able to relax my muscles as Olive held them up. Her other hand remained unrelenting between my legs. Her pace on my clit increased ever so slightly, but even that small change sent shocks of need up my spine. My legs trembled with anticipation, twitching as I tried to stay still, unable to contain her effect on my body.

I couldn't stop gasping, so Olive kissed me to quiet me down. She took my lower lip between her teeth and then sucked it and then kissed me again. Our tongues danced. Her fingers went faster. She pulled back one inch and said, voice dominant and certain, "I want you to look at me while you cum."

I pried my eyes open, all the pleasure and pain in my body begging for release. Our eyes met, and I came. There was no denying those strumming fingers any longer. The smirk that played on her lips was so divine as my orgasm crashed through me as strong and loud and wet as the waves against the cliffs. My pussy didn't stop clenching for what felt like hours on end. Olive continued rubbing my clit ever so lightly to gently and expertly bring me back down to the ground beneath our feet.

Instinctually, Olive kissed me again and said, "That's a good girl."

Our eyes met once more. Breathy and hot, I said, "I'm not sure I'll ever get enough of that, either."

In her secret, small cave, Olive and I kissed for a while longer, lazily, romantically, with no urgency or neediness. I sat on her lap and embraced her and we watched the sea and she told me stories from when she grew up. Like a couple. After a while of just being with each other, quiet but real, Olive glanced at her watch. "We should probably start heading out of the park."

My brows furrowed. "We still have, like, two hours."

"Well." She sighed, unsure of her next words, her eyes searching my face. "I thought I might show you where I grew up. While we're here, you know?"

I nodded, trying not to seem too eager. "I'd love that."

My legs were more wobbly on the hike back up to the van for obvious reasons, but I trusted Olive's strong hands to help hoist me up over the bigger steps and steady me when I wobbled. The drive to her neighborhood from the entrance to the park wasn't far. As a family more or less sustained by tourism -- if you'd call camps that -- she'd grown up in Bar Harbor, not far from the chain hotels at the top of the town.

We arrived at Olive's childhood home -- where Mary still lived -- a charming coastal cottage nestled among the pine trees. The quaint white house had a weathered but welcoming appearance, and the front yard was adorned with colorful flowers that added a burst of life to the serene surroundings. It was a picturesque spot, yes, but I knew there had been a dark undercurrent that pushed Olive to leave it when she did.

She didn't want to go inside, so we didn't.

We spent the next couple of hours exploring her hometown, walking along the quiet streets, and visiting her favorite spots. She showed me the local ice cream shop where she used to come with her friends, the rocky beach where she had her first kiss, and the park where she spent lazy summer afternoons. With each story she shared, I felt like I was getting to know a different side of Olive, one that was deeply rooted in this place.

In the afternoon, since Olive didn't have campers to watch, she split off to do some shopping for herself, insisting that she needed this particular rhubarb jam from a local pancake place. I took my girls to a local museum where we had a basic kid-friendly woodworking class. I made a very, very rudimentary dragon to bring back to Drexel in the fall while I helped the girls figure out what to make to take home as a souvenir. A handful of them picked seals after our sighting today, which made my job easy compared to horses or, worse, unicorns.

After that, we went down to the nearby beach to wait until dinner, where the girls waded into the still-cool water. In Maine, the sea only warmed up enough to justify swimming in August. At least the lake back at camp got warmer. I stayed on the sand, enjoying the warmth that reflected off of the sun.

For dinner, Mary and the maintenance crew picked up a full seafood boil catered by a local spot. Of course, there were also plates of chicken fingers for the girls too scared to try their hand at cracking lobsters or eating something with claws. It was always a mix: Some girls lived for the chance to bash food with a tiny hammer and excavate the delicious insides while others cringed and shrieked at the thought.

It had been a long, beautiful day. As the sun dipped below the horizon and the sky transformed into a tapestry of dusky purples and fiery oranges, we sat around the picnic tables, our faces lit by the warm glow of lanterns and the campfire crackling nearby. It had been a long, beautiful day. A few of the girls fell asleep on the drive back and, once again, I let myself look at Olive. Thinking. Wondering. Sometimes, in the moment I didn't dare acknowledge, hoping.