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The rowboat nosed through the off-shore reeds as Royce Engel surveyed the undercut banks for a suitable landing. The island in Ferril lake had no formal docking area. Spying a tiny cove with a bit of muddy beach, he brought the craft in until its prow scraped bottom, perhaps three feet from solid ground. “Steady on, girls!” He said to his 22-year old assistant, Stella Stone, and his 18-year old temporary ward, Clementine McFee. “This may be tricky!” Royce removed his two-toned shoes and peeled off his stockings. Standing carefully, he passed the oars behind him to Stella, saying, “Ship these, will you please?” Balancing himself perilously he added, “Clementine, lean forward and bend over, won’t you?”
Clementine was perplexed. She had only just finished sucking Royce off, with Stella’s active assistance, yet here he stood in front of her, directing her into a familiar pose. His cock, although snugly tucked behind his white flannel slacks, was well outlined against his left leg and appeared still to be nice and fat. She obediently ducked down while processing the possibilities and was surprised when Royce eased forward, past her hunched body and over the thwart, into the bow. She straightened up and looked quizzically at Stella, who, reading Clementine’s mind, grinned broadly, maintaining a mischievous sparkle in her sea-green eyes.
Engel coiled his body and then sprung through the air, with a grand jeté, which even the great Vaslav Nijinsky would have admired. Landing perfectly on the dry island turf, Royce turned, flushed with the effort, and huffed, “Toss me the painter, kiddo.”
Clementine, holding onto the sides of the rocking boat, turned on her seat. “What?” She asked, with a frown. Stella laughed as she stored the oars.
“The painter,” Royce repeated, then clarified, “There’s a rope in the front of the boat… toss it over to me.”
Clementine turned about face and saw the line, ahead of the wicker picnic basket. “Oh, I see… OK,” she replied, testing the new slang she picked up that morning in the bath with Stella. “Here!” She heaved the coil. Momentarily losing her balance, she nearly fell into the drink, recovering just in time to plop, safe and dry, on the bow seat.
Stella was in stitches watching the younger girl’s antics. She applauded in her mirth and declared, “You two are funnier than Charlie Chaplin!”
Engel laughed with Stella and, after she caught her breath, Clementine joined in. As Royce hauled the line hand-over-hand, he declared, “Hang on! I’ll have you ashore in a jiffy.” With the boat well up on the grassy verge, he tied off the painter to a broken alder, which lay half in the lake, and extended his hand to Clementine. “Alright, kiddo, down you come.” He said, with a smile. Clementine handed the picnic hamper to Royce, then kicked off her shoes and stepped from the boat. Stella, bringing up the rear with the blanket, quickly followed suit. “Now, let’s see if we can find a place that’s comfy… It looks like we have the whole island to ourselves.” Royce led the way along a natural path between taller trees to the green patch of meadow he had noted earlier.
While Clementine spread the blanket on the lush lawn, with a shaded view of the pavilion and boathouse in the distance, Stella stepped up to Engel and pushed her hands under the lapels of his navy blazer. “Are you going to keep this old jacket and tie on?” She complained with a teasing tone. “We’re on a PICNIC, you know!”
Royce chuckled and hugged her to his shirt. “I AM already barefoot,” he protested, rubbing her smooth back. The sensation of the sliding silk chemise sandwiched between her smooth skin and her textured cotton blouse sent blood rushing to his dick with predictable results.
Stella pressed herself closer and kissed Engel sweetly while her left hand pushed insistently inside the blazer’s right shoulder to its sleeve. She tugged the knot of his red-and-white striped tie with her other hand. “So are we ALL, Royce,” she burbled, sliding the undone cravat from his collar. “In FACT, Clementine and I are only wearing three things each, TOTAL… so, Mr. Attorney, YOU are in contempt of our COURT until you reduce likewise!”
Royce laughed, withdrew from Stella’s embrace and removed his jacket. “Alright, Friday,” he said, watching her swing his tie like a limp whip, “Are you satisfied?”
“Ha!” Stella snorted. “How about your hat?” She rushed him and flipped it from his head as she pounced and kissed him, more ardently than before, while she re-wrapped him in a close hug.
Royce hugged back, defensively at first, to maintain his balance, and then with power, crushing their chests. He heard Stella’ breath escape with a whoosh. Holding her with his right hand flat in the middle of her back and his left hand clutching her bottom, pulling her against his painfully trapped erection, he hissed through her teeth, “I thought you were ‘famished,’ Stel’.”
Stella pulled her face free and grinned. “I AM famished. I am fucking Aksaray Escort STARVED… which is to say, I am STARVED for FUCKING! You DO know you’ve been away for more than a month, don’t you?”
Royce nodded, while he clawed the hem of Stella’s dress until he managed to slide his hand under and re-capture her bare fanny in his steel grip. “Of course I know, Stel’,” he replied huskily, “But I imagined you were having your fun with Betsy, or June… or BOTH!” He slapped her ass sharply and observed, “YOU aren’t wearing any knickers!”
Stella wiggled and kissed Royce again, more softly, then whispered, “Betsy and June are sweet…” She glanced over her shoulder at Clementine, setting out the wrapped sandwiches, fresh fruit and petits fours on a red-and-white checked gingham table cloth on top of the blanket. “So, by the way, is SHE…” Stella said, parenthetically, “But, when I need a MAN, you know I come for YOU!” Stella pushed her flexing butt against Royce’s stiff fingers and nipped his lip. “Knickers just get in the way, silly!” Royce coughed involuntarily.
Clementine, kneeling on the blanket with her back to Royce and Stella, twisted her torso at the sudden noise and looked at them. “Whatchya doin’ over there?” She called. “I thought we were eatin’?” She turned just in time to see Royce smack Stella’s ass a second time and hear her new friend yelp. She could not see Stella’s huge smile or make out their quiet conversation. “Did Stella do somethin’ wrong?” She asked herself.
Clementine still remembered, from years ago, how Mitch McFee had strapped her long and hard with his belt because she had left the goat shed door unlocked. Two black bears got in the goats’ pen and killed Jasper and Agnes. Mitch heard the commotion and shot the bears then whipped Clementine. She could not sit comfortably for days after that. The pain was underscored by the humiliation she had felt when she peed herself. It was a hard lesson, well learned, and she was dutiful and obedient ever after. Now, the misunderstood events a dozen yards away, and her vivid memory, stirred her anxiety.
Clementine decided that whatever she was seeing was best left alone. “Never mind,” She called, but not too loudly, as she stood up. “I’m goin’ to the boat. Holler for me when you want…” Her soft voice died in the late morning air as she walked off. “They can’t say I didn’t say,” she assured herself, re-imagining the stinging welts her father’s belt left on her ass and thighs. At the rowboat, Clementine climbed over the prow and clambered carefully astern where she balanced, somewhat precariously, on the gunwale and dangled her legs into the lake. She hiked the hem of her dress to mid-thigh and spread her knees. The cool water lapped her calves and the periodic wafting breeze felt good as it billowed under the silk. Bracing herself on the boat’s sidewall, she tipped her face to the warm sun and luxuriated.
Meanwhile, back in the glade, Royce and Stella were scarcely aware of Clementine’s announcement or departure. “You are a naughty teasing bitch,” Royce growled, popping Stella’s bottom a third time with his cupped palm. “You attacked me in the boat… You jacked me off into Clementine’s tender mouth… and NOW you say you’re starved for a fuck!” He ran his hand under Stella’s ass, between her legs, and grabbed her cunt. “You’re WET enough, alright, but what if I can’t give you what you WANT? Clementine took a lot out of me…” As he hypothesized possible inadequacy, Royce stretched his fingers and tickled their tips into her winking folds.
“Nyaannnhh!” Stella moaned, widening her stance and tugging at Royce’s probing fingers with her aggravated twat. “I…uhn… KNOW you, Royce…” she panted. “You’re always… good for quick seconds… UHHNnnnn… now GIVE it to me!” She fumbled with his flannels while she squirmed and whispered her command. Royce’s trousers slid to the ground. She pushed her hands into the waist of his boxers and forced them past his dancing hips sending them likewise to the earth.
Royce dropped his right hand from Stella’s back to her buttocks and lifted her as she hopped high against him. Her unbound breasts, bobbing within her blouse, burned his cheeks. She scissored her legs about his waist. In a split-second she dropped, supported by Royce’s strength. Her slicked slit split around his liberated rejoicing cock and took its full length. Stella’s tits slid across his chest as she sank on his shaft. “UUUNNnnh!” She grunted happily, then sealed her mouth on his and hungrily stabbed him with her tongue.
Royce huffed while he hefted Stella’s 137 pounds in his hands and thrust his thick bone upward with deep, short, fast strokes, like he knew she liked when she was desperate for a quick orgasm. “Hyunh! Hyunh! Hyunh!” His own tension had been rebuilding since Stella first accosted him on the island and he was not far from release himself.
“Yii! Yii! Yii!” Stella mewled into Royce’s mouth with each tight punch from his fat cock. She clenched Aksaray Escort Bayan her cunny’s muscles and clung to his frame for all her worth, dying sweet small deaths as the pounding piston slid back before pushing in again. And again.
Royce could not maintain control. His eggs were bulging and his temples throbbed. With a last lunge, he dug his short hard nails into Stella’s soft bottom and groaned through the back of her throat. His pulsing dick fired repeated bursts of reserved seed into her pinned pussy.
“YEESSSSS!” Stella threw her head back, breaking the kiss, and screamed to the sky. “Oh GOD, YESSS… Royce!” The high sun heated her flushed face. Her full cunt flooded as her juices squirted around Engel’s shooting staff. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, savoring the exquisite twinging thrills slicing her insides to ribbons.
Moments later the lovers recovered themselves. Royce slid his hands from Stella’s bottom to her armpits, as she unwrapped her legs and stood, then he cupped his right hand to her snatch. She moaned as he gathered the turtling cream-pie from her quim. Royce raised his palm and wiped the thick mixed harvest on Stella’s mouth. With a grin he kissed her hard, smearing the mess and then licking it away. “Mmmmm,” he said, “Shall we go see what’s in the picnic basket, now?”
Stella smiled through her glistening full lips. “I’m ready, now, Boss, thank you!” When she turned to the blanket and saw Clementine was absent, she said, “Gosh, I hope Clementine wasn’t angry about being ignored. Do you suppose she has gone off and stranded us?”
“I hardly think so,” Royce answered. “She probably found something else to do and didn’t want to bother us.” Raising his voice, he called “Clementine?… Where ARE you?” Hearing a response from the cove, Royce and Stella wandered toward the boat, where they found Clementine, safe and sound, still dabbling her toes and talking to a duck which swam small circles a few feet away.
“Hello, Royce. Hello, Stella,” Clementine said with a measured neutral tone. She still was unsure about what she thought she saw, but she was certainly sure it was not going to ruin her day. Not if she could help it, anyway. “So are you ready to eat lunch?” She asked hopefully. Her stomach growled an audible echo to her silent wish.
“Hey there, kiddo,” Royce answered, with no trace of any anger or other negative feeling.
“Hi, honey,” Stella said, almost at the same time as Royce, and with very much the same lightheartedness Clementine heard in his voice. “I hear your tummy gurgling from here… Sorry you had to wait so long for us.” She snaked her left arm around Engel’s waist and made a failing effort to tuck his rumpled shirttail back into his slacks. “The boss here had to… oh… you know,… fill me in… after being out hunting for you for over a month.”
Royce chuckled quietly. “Seems like the harder it is the more you want to take it in, Friday…” He pointed to Clementine. “YOU are a lot like that, too! You take to new things like a duck to water…” Royce was interrupted by the drake suddenly flapping against the lake during take-off. He laughed aloud and shouted at the disappearing fowl, “SORRY SIR! It was NOT an INSULT, you know!”
Clementine laughed with relief. She did not concern herself with the sub-text of her companions’ repartee, rather she focused happily on their obvious good spirits. “OK,” she said, swinging her legs back into the rowboat with no thought to the good amount of silk and bare thigh she displayed. “I unpacked everythin’ and I guess it’s all food but the little brown fancy things look almost too good to eat. Back on land she pushed herself between Royce and Stella, hooked her arms about them and moved up the path toward the blanket.
Except for the fresh apples, Clementine had never eaten such strange and wonderful food as the Brown Palace kitchen had thrown together for the impromptu GLQ picnic. The crustless, triple-decker Club Sandwiches were served on finer bread than she could imagine. She guessed the meats were bacon and turkey but they were neither as salty nor as gamey as she was used to at the Cavern Mine. The crisp leaves Royce called ‘lettuce’ actually snapped when she bit them. But the most amazing things were the small dark cubes Stella told her were ‘petty fors’. Royce tried to explain about how the devil’s food cake was not actually food for the devil, but Clementine was too overwhelmed by the ganache frosting and tiny red-white-and-blue buttercream rosebud decorations to pay attention. After all was said and done, and the basket was empty, save for their used napkins and the waste paper wrappers, the trio flopped on the blanket for a siesta in the shade.
Royce woke and smiled as he saw himself, Stella and Clementine, who were still asleep, sprawled across the blanket like three dominoes. He was the central piece, laying on his back. “Am I a double?” He wondered. “Maybe boxcars?” His left hand draped Escort Aksaray over Stella’s left shoulder as she curled on her right side, perpendicular to him with her cheek on his chest, right at his sternum, facing his toes. His right arm was extended and that hand rested on Clementine’s left hip as she, too, formed a crescent on her right side, but opposite Stella, with her cheek on Royce’s stomach above his belt buckle. Their faces nearly touched and their heads rose and fell with his breaths like the ducks riding the small waves in Lake Ferril. They were so placid and carefree, using him as their pillow, that he felt brutish to disturb them. “But needs must!” He said solemnly to himself, fearing the day was slipping away.
Engel moved his hands simultaneously to the young women’s heads and gently rubbed their napes with increasing force until they opened their eyes and stirred. “Good afternoon, Ladies,” he said cheerily as he removed his hand from Clementine and fished in his flannels for his watch. Popping the cover, he announced, “It is going on 2 p.m. and will be past 2:30 by the time we get the boat back to the dock.” He put his watch away and returned to the teen’s tender scalp. She rolled right and smiled, with sleepy contentment, as his fingers idly scratched among her flaxen tresses.
Stella was quicker to waken. Rising to her knees she sat back on her heels and said, “That’s right, we wanted to go to both the Natural History Museum and Monkey Island.”
“Right…” agreed Royce. “I want to show Clementine the Folsom Chips so she knows that not EVERYTHING outside the Cavern Mine is modern.” He slid his hand over his ward’s cheek and she kissed his fingertips as they passed her lips. “Did Mitch’s books have any stories about REAL cavemen, kiddo?” He asked, “Or about monkeys?”
“Poppa is a real caveman,” Clementine answered as she sat up and stretched. “I think there was a monkey in a book, but Momma said, since it was a made up story, it was probably a made up animal, too.” Royce thrilled to watch her breasts flatten and reform under the shaped bodice of her thin dress. Its key-hole decollete, dipping into the lace-edged false bib was at once demure and alluring. He stood quickly and turned away, discreetly adjusting his dick, which was already thickening in his shorts. “Down boy!” He chastised himself. “There’s places to go and things to do.”
The party was soon collected and back in the boat. At the dock, Engel settled up with the concessionaire and arranged to leave their wicker basket in his keeping until they were ready to leave after the evening fireworks. They made a steady strolling circuit along the park paths to the museum, dawdling there, among the archaeological artifacts. Clementine’s world opened on the opposite end of the comparative timeline with the same sense of astonishment and incredulity as she had when she saw Engel’s International truck magically arise from the bushes only yesterday.
From the museum they walked to the newest exhibit in the city zoo, Monkey Island. Engel explained it was only recently completed and that it had been funded by the Works Progress Administration in a massive federal government infrastructure and public project building program designed to get the economy moving and unemployed men back on the job during a time of financial woe. Clementine did not understand the economics or the politics, but she was certainly impressed with the structure crawling with ‘monkeys,’ which she had read about but never dreamt were real. Royce trimmed his explanation and said, as he patted her shoulder and smiled, “Well, there are lucky people and unlucky people, kiddo. Right now in America there are a whole lot more unlucky ones, but the President is doing everything he can to change their luck and get the country back on its feet.”
Clementine looked across Royce to Stella and then back to Royce. “Are we some of the lucky ones?” She asked with open innocence.
Stella said nothing but winked and nodded. Royce squeezed Clementine. “We are among the luckiest ones, Shortcake. Don’t you fret about THAT. Your Poppa and his hard work have secured everything you are ever going to need and Stella and I are here to make sure it all goes to plan.” He leaned over and planted a wet kiss on the girl’s mouth. She opened her lips and touched his tongue with hers. She loved his warm breath on her nose.
Breaking the kiss, she said, “Thank you Royce,” and crossed in front of Engel to hug Stella. She buried her head on the older girl’s bosom and shook as small tears popped and rolled. “Thank you, TOO, Stella, for being my… my… girlfriend!”
Stella held Clementine as Royce stepped behind the wrought teenager and embraced both women, stacking them in his long arms and squeezing them tightly together “There, now, kiddo.” He said softly. Passersby did not know what to make of the scene but a solicitous zoo staffer approached and asked if he could assist in any way. Clementine realized how silly she was acting in public and tossed her head bravely, randomly flinging a final tear. “NO, I’m fine… Really… I was just sad when I saw the animals were all caged and not free.” While this explanation was not, in fact, a lie, it widely missed the mark and did not address the joy she felt at being loved.
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