DRIPPING WET

Voyeur, Kinky foreplay, College anal tarts,

I was doing the leisurely male visualising of my Molly's pussy as I made the 1.00 am rounds of the senior college girl's cabins.

I had had enough of this particular school camp and wanted my wife's missing body.

Why the fuck had I agreed to chaperon this educational trip?

I hated school camps.

There was some soft feminine twittering, but the lights were all out, and no one was wandering the general camping grounds in skimpy summer pj's.

Too bad that, actually.

I was in loco parentis.

Frickin fully responsible on the second last night of a ten day educational and recreational trip with hormone filled nubile eighteen year old college girls: Melbourne, Canberra and finishing in Sydney.

Oh, the responsibility and the temptation: mental smut.

Thank god there was no Big Brother with thought control.

I would have been convicted of multiple indecent thought crimes the whole trip.

I needed my Molly's coochie now.

God, I missed Molly.

Shit, I had two nights to wait.

I did the wider camping ground perimeter just in case for the known smokers who had been kept well in check on this trip.

This accommodation was of a good standard on the northern beaches of Sydney. Still, it was sprawling, and a sandy area was nearby through the thin scrub tracks behind man-tussock dunes. It was a warm, humid, sticky, nuts-in-your-pants night.

I heard girly twittering and splashy sounds through the scrub.

A teacher's intuition guided me naturally and quietly toward it.

Yeah, there were two slightly different giggles and way too much splashing for one.

The temptation of a moonlight swim outweighs any teacher's sanctions if they are caught.

Well, they were about to be caught, and I didn't have to wonder for long who it might be.

I was through the tea tree scrub line to the thin sandy shore. The tide was out. The moon was full. It was instantly apparent both girls were skinny dipping: Bree Marshall and Sara Rhodes.

A pair of good-looking college peroxide blondes. The sort of college girls whose arses look great in school uniforms and whose tits look better in free dress on school trips, and well, you'd love a peephole in any shower block at any camping ground to check out their authentic flesh details.

Only their shoulders and heads were above the calm bay water. They were now either idly treading or maybe just standing up to their shoulders in sort of deep water.

They were a wet, glossy, youthful, sultry pair.

No, actually a slutty combo.

The moonlight showed the water trickling and beading from their long, wet hair, dripping over their smooth, youthful faces, running down their necks, and flowing off their shapely shoulders.

Then, they were just beautiful as they started to splash each other. So frickin carefree.

They hadn't seen me.

They had moved forward, I realised, as they both sprang up a bit with arms flaying water at each other and the pair mouthing softy in tandem: "You bitch."

But all I glimpsed what titty in sea wet profile; perfect perky, pouty, bouncy, jouncy boobs: ripe, ready young buoyant melons in need of hands to squeeze them.

Their nipples had that upward cool water hardness or were aroused firm out of natural exuberant nakedness.

I watched.

I enjoyed.

My mind was clicking faster than any camera and recording images for filthy mental playback.

I was happy to call myself a pervert, and so would you — witnessing double youthful titty exposure.

Sara saw me and went, "Oh."

Bree looked directly at the sand strip too, and her potty mouth released: "Shit, it's Mr. Dalrymple."

There they both were: nubile minxes with the water lapping under their titties.

Oh, how I wished for a moment that I'd been the touching water.

Both nubiles at a lovely equal five foot five.

The ebb and eddy of the water playing with the base of their chest muffins.

Their hard pink cherry nipples needed sucking or fingers or goddamn something.

They didn't deserve to just stand to attention un-man handled.

Wet boobs always need company. They invite touch. They signal raunchy.

I stupidly went into auto-teacher control mode. 

Fuck years of training!

Though I'd probably seen more than I ever would of this stunning pair.

"I want you out immediately, and don't get me started on a duty of care rant," I said.

"I will turn around. Now get out and covered, pronto."

God, I didn't want to turn around; I wanted to watch them both wade slowly naked out of the water and gradually reveal their nubile perfection, full front on, and, of course, my eyes peeling south as the water receded, revealing their wonderful hidden girly bits.

I was imagining it because I knew the opportunity was passing forever.

Of course, I had done the male fantasy contemplation: often around school, imaging them naked: not both together like now but casual daydreams as I saw their individual arses exiting a classroom, their titties in profile at a locker, their thighs in a school skirt coming down the corridor stairwells, their boobs bouncing slightly when exerting themselves, gorgeously sweaty, passing my checkpoint in the school cross country.

I could have turned and checked they were getting out. I told myself it wouldn't wholly tag me as a dirty old man. Who cared if it did? God, I wanted to, and what was stopping me? 

Molly, the School Board, Vocational Responsibility?

"Are you covered?" I said, not turning around.

"Oh yes, we are," they twittered in tandem.

I turned around. 

Technically, something was covered. 

They both had their hands over their eyes. 

Otherwise, the pair were beautifully naked. 

Fetching close shapely titties. Appealing curvy bellies that only nubiles have. Lovely bewitching male eye drawing trimmed dark pussies.

Then they hit me together with their sultry, conniving blue eyes. They dropped their hands from their faces, but no modest tit or pube was covered like Botticelli's Venus. They were graphically naked, legs slightly apart and awesomely trampy with hands on their frickin breathtaking girly hips.

Their boobs: they knew they were guy traps.

Their pussy: well, they were natural cock magnets.

Everything I saw sent the we are available message that was given through their cheeky eyes.

Sara and Bree hit my eyes together. You take in so much so quickly when the sight is exciting. A cute mole on Sara's right breast was fascinating, making her nipples rigid as they met the air and the slight night breeze after being under their watery cover. Now, they were exposed to me as pink and playful as newborn kitten noses.

Bree had a belly button piercing. The moonlight glinted off it, but it couldn't draw my eyes from her dark trimmed fuzz patch with its crinkled, crumpled clit hood and labial folds just peeking out: waiting for sex.

Dripping wet water nymphettes. But sexual alert sirens. So coy.

Was it my call, or was it? 

They had made and were still making their sexual statement. I had the wanting.

Did I have the balls?

Career on the line, Hostile Parents, Molly, all positioned in my mind as the consequences versus moonlight licking over taut teasing femflesh.

I was jealous of the bloody moon.

"Oh, screw school," I said, pausing no longer. 

I was intent on debauching both of them in a mental foreplay instance.

Bree and Sara were watching for my reaction. They saw it even before I moved forward into their dual personal space because of the boner in my pants: the usual male giveaway.

Fingers and touch. The sex life of fingers. My cock tugged out of my open zip-down pants. My nuts flipped out. Bree fondling my scrotum. Sara grabbed my shaft and tugged. My left index finger in Sara's quickly moist pussy slit. My right index finger rimmed Bree's wonderfully sensitive arsehole.

The rising value of the occasion is in the intensity: the forced waiting was strange — as all our genitals were primed, but three minds made them wait.

Evolution hadn't caught up with the Twenty-first century and the crazed delay we now insist upon; copious foreplay.

The primal ram and thrust become modern sexual brinkmanship or workmanship: the delirious pleasure of ramping touch to unbearable levels.

My pants and underdaks were flopping around my ankles. Bree has my cock in her mouth. Sara was under and between my legs, behind me, and licking my arse.

I mean, where does an eighteen-year-old learn that?

She knew what she was doing: rimming and sticking her tongue in my butt hole. The minx blowing wafts of teasing air into me: so frickin good.

And the head job I was getting. Bree was a trained cock slut.

All I could do was groan and groan.

"Ughh, ughh, ughh!"

Her lips were encircling my pecker; she was gobbling and gulping in a continuous wet mouthful action; my rigid stiffy; there was her head bobbing as she was wolfing dick and gorging her tonsils on my prick head.

My pleasure dip occurred. My penis plunged as I dunked my cock in Sara's pussy warmth. My pecker bathed in her instant heated creaminess.

The tart was, of course, better than I had daydreamed imagined; the reality, if achieved, always is.

Fuck I was dogging her; the bitch bent over: supported by Bree, who was fondling her titties.

Mushy enfolding cock comforting flesh; her pussy absolute cock delight. I was primal spearing, man jabbing, shove thrusting and basically heaving my body into hers.

Her voice was a ramming magnet as she cooed, "Ooh, yes, ooh, yes!"

Sara was a pure reduced receptacle of sexual need as I dogged her. Youth condensed to pussy.

Oh, I could have pumped away in her wonderful warm slit all night: except I was a bastard and wanted to test out both their arseholes.

So as I leisurely rammed the slutette, my finger went to spreading her pink puckered arse slot.

Sara started really moaning.

"Orrgh, my, yes. Oh, orrgh, yes."

She moaned even more as Bree realised what I was doing and got a finger in her friend's arse, too: along with mine.

"Raah, ahh! Holy crap! Damn, that's nice. Ahh, ahh, ahh!"

Talk about a sexy sight. My cock pummelled the lass from behind. My finger delved into her bum tightness, and her girlfriend jagged a spare finger in her butt as well to up the pleasure ante.

It was Bree, the whorette, who guided my cock into her friend's arsehole willingly.

A youthful arsehole gave like it was a natural action, just another sweet orifice seeking delight, uninhibited, wanting, and no longer waiting. Gripping cock like it was its duty or its universal responsibility to add that extra delight to a cock's function.

"Oof, oof, oof," she yelped to start.

Then added, " Orrgh, yes, deeper! Orrgh, orrgh!"

Of course, I banged her arse with the full authority of my duty of care.

My duty to pleasure and butt fuck mindless, a willing young nubile college lass. I was banging her arse, the whole cock stiff jolts, the barging jabs of tight pleasure, the lurch and jerk of a happy dick breaching skin, out of control in a sweet, lovable butthole.

"Oh yeah" moaned Bree as she steered one of my fingers into her own butthole at the same time.

She was wild. I wanted her butt at the same time I was butt fucking probably the tightest youngest arse of my life. Yet I wanted another butt too.

And I wanted it even more as Bree got her finger digging around, spreading her constriction with my finger.

Yes, our fingers were playing together in her pink expanding starfish.

So kinky. Yet so arousing.

Sara had her fingers massing over her clitty. God, she was bent over.

Only one hand of mine on her hip: sort of holding her.

Luckily, her legs were well spread, and her toes buried in the sand for support. The three of us were getting manic.

Thankfully Sara got herself off with a combination of fast clit work and continuous ram-jamming cock thrusts in her butthole.

"Ugghh, ugghh," she bayed at the moon.

God, my cock remained stiff and needy. It poised unused for a few brief seconds.

Then: "Oh fuck," I groaned, taking in the pleasure sensation of Bree's tight arse.

So much penis happiness in her immediate bewitching constriction.

But only after I had enjoyed her pussy doggy style for a couple of bliss-filled minutes: because pussy fucking is life, you can't help it, the necessary function of a penis requires the tubular drenched viscosity regularly.

I was trapped in the subtle enveloping and pliable giving of stretchy coochie flesh: penis home base, in short.

Yet my brain drew my dick to her arse.

Bree's so tight pucker was awesomely liberating of my maleness. My shaft greedily accepted the compressed hold, so tight, and her private starfish shaped my cock.

"Raah, ahh, ooh," was her backdoor greeting.

That was the difference I realised: cock shaped anal sex while a girl's pussy always shapes vaginal sex.

It hit me. I was shaping her sexual need ultimately and mine too, and it was made even raunchier by Sara dry humping behind me.

The trampette grinding her pubic zone into my butt and held me as I held the bent Bree: who had her own fingers ploughing deep into her own pussy.

The fucky squelchy sound was so compelling that it made me jab into her arse even deeper.

Ploup, ploup, ploup!

As cock, her rilled ring, air and gummy slick secretions mixed.

I was working her willing back canal with my hard, ready rod, and her body was rocking with delight. Her petite moans of satisfaction added to her pleasure and mine. Then her voice muffled as Sara gave her her muff to eat out.

Sara's voice escalated like a high tide mark, " Ahh, Ahh, Ahh!"

Every body part of Bree now promising pleasure, every body cavity engaged in gratification, every sweet tarty hole of her being delivering and distributing the sweet bliss of sex: my cock conveying the breaking crack constriction nubiles actually crave, her own fingers frigging her anxious clitty: as only a girl's fingers can deliver an orgasm and her tongue and face buried in her friends muff.

Sara rubbing and grinding: filling Bree's delicate face and mouth with musk and quim wetness.

A gloppy sluice of mucus and pussy slush combined in a mush — like fast-melting snow.

God knows where I got the will to withdraw from her arse and not cream her.

But I urged Sara to hold her face and stretch Bree's mouth open.

I thought I was debauching the tartlette, but she was a cum whore.

Her blue eyes were so expressive, her mouth and tongue greedy as I spurted waves of warm jizz in her mouth.

No shame, just glee. Grateful glee. Gobbling glee.

My cock was dripping wet, glistening in the moonlight, till they sucked it off together.

A tandem clearing of the evidence.

A couple of minutes later: I was pulling up my jocks and pants. They were twittering like college girls near the scrub line, getting on their bikini tops and sarongs.

Time to reassert control, or fuck knew where this would lead. A trail of regrets, my job, their parents, Molly.

I sternly said: "Don't break the curfew or accommodation boundary again. Now get to your cabin."

"Or what?" Bree said, her hands cupped under her bikini top. "You'll punish us again?"

Sara turned around and flipped up her sarong and revealing her loveable tight butt cheeks, and said: "I need a spanking now, or I'm not going to bed."

"Geez, give my cock a few minutes, "I said.

I sensed youthful disappointment in their combined sighs.

Then teacher inspiration hit me: quality dirty-minded thinking on the run: "Care to skinny dip ladies?"

I tugged off my T-shirt, dropped my dacks and underwear, and hit the refreshing water.

And behind me: twittering and giggling in a compelling, sexily nubile, girly way.

As I turned, I saw both Bree and Sara drop their sarongs and shed their bikini tops and cavort, wonderfully stunningly naked, towards the water to join me.

I paused as they joined me left and right.

Smack, smack.

A swift cuffed open palm cracking on taut paired butt skin.

"Oi, you randy sod!" said Sara.

"Oof! — I'll get you back later," from Bree.

Quickly, the scene was playfully dripping wet.

God, I loved round two.

Skinny dipping foreplay — because more saturated, shameless sexual wetness was to follow under the moonlight.

School camps: I loved senior girl college school camps.