The Wilkins and Friends - a Home Nudity Experiment
Copyright© 2023 by Pete Fox
Chapter 29
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 29 - 3rd place Best Incest Story 2023. It is 2005. A conservative American family with three daughters and a son decided to follow the advice of a new self-help book Casual Family Nudity. What can go wrong? Soon a pastor friend and his family visit and things take a turn, climaxes at a nudist resort. Book 2 expands to Iraq war. Minor Stargate storyline, home nudity taboos deepen. Germany end of WW II. Doubts, taboo scenes and more. Plot matters, drives the sex. With Chp 30/Epilogue story is complete.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/ft Ma/ft mt/Fa Fa/Fa ft/ft Fa/ft Mult Teenagers Heterosexual Fiction Fan Fiction Historical Military War Sharing Incest Group Sex Orgy Swinging First Lactation Masturbation Oral Sex Sex Toys Voyeurism Big Breasts Clergy Nudism
Whispering Pines Family Camp – July 2006
All Good Things...
After breakfast with Monica, Bob was in a good mood. By the time he and Kevin had returned to the RV with Rachel, Dawn had already left for her morning shift at the pool. Rachel and Monica—two big, high-IQ brains—talked about psychology and men while he and Kevin ate their egg and bacon breakfast burritos. It was a nice time, the air conditioning a welcome bonus. Once they finished, he and Kevin left, tossing their paper plates into the trash can outside.
“Dad, thanks. That was fun,” Kevin said.
Bob was surprised by his son’s comment. “Anytime. Keep doing what you are doing. Have fun these last couple of days,” he said as they stood by the picnic table. Neither of them was looking to hug.
The day was rapidly heating up, the sun’s rays beating down and clearing off the morning mist. Kevin still had his floppy hat on and put on his Oakleys. His boy looked good—nice cock and patch of pubes, growing up his muscles filling out.
“If you see your mom, tell her I’ll be at the Winnebago,” Bob said.
“Sure, Dad. I’m going to find Sarah and Ben. Last night they said they wanted to do a longer trail run this morning, up to the lookout point and back,” Kevin said.
Bob grinned. He’d heard about Lookout Point from Liv and Monica; they’d both told stories of the secluded watering hole overlooking the camp.
“Take plenty of water and let your mom know,” Bob said. “Oh, do me a favor—keep an eye on Jenny and Lynn today.”
Kevin nodded. “Sure, Dad.”
With that, they headed in opposite directions. Bob felt bad that he hadn’t spent more time with his sister-in-law Oksana, so he decided to find her. She was sleeping in his parents’ Winnebago, which was much more comfortable for her and her daughter, Sasha.
Oksana
The walk took all of five minutes from Monica’s space to his parents’ Winnebago, farther along the lake among the tall pine trees. He waved at a couple of families sitting in the sun outside their RVs. Along the way, he nodded at a man standing outside a big, expensive-looking motorhome—the same guy he’d had words with last night about Jenny and Lynn. This guy’s young family had been “playing” without restraint all week, with both he and his wife heavily into full swaps.
As Bob had stood with Scott and the other men last night, the guy, Steve, had asked Bob when he was going to let the twins loose, no red bands. “It wasn’t fair,” Steve had said, a lecherous grin on his face. Bob tried to take the comment in stride and not punch him right then and there. Steve, an insurance salesman from Indiana, did have three reasonably attractive young daughters and a son. His wife, Elizabeth, was a corn-fed, full-breasted blonde who always seemed to have a welcoming smile on her face, her curvy, large-chested body and high-pitched, childish voice driving him crazy.
Scott, highly tuned in to Bob’s moods, had quickly put a reassuring hand on Bob’s arm. He knew Bob could be intimidating, and most of the men in their circle of friends at camp knew he had recently served in Iraq.
“Leave it, Steve,” Pastor Scott said, playing the peacemaker.
Bob knew what was best for his twin daughters. He was happy to let them just be kids for a little longer, telling himself there was absolutely no hurry for them to lose their virginity. He’d come to that conclusion soon after he returned home from Iraq in May. Yet, his conscience had burdened him these last few weeks as the reality sank in—his girls were rapidly becoming young women, and his duty to protect them felt heavier than ever. He and Scott had simply walked away from Steve and the others after that.
Oksana sat outside at the picnic table reading. He stopped and waited. She was a good-looking woman. A former gymnast who had outgrown her childhood sport, she sat in the sun, her heavy breasts sweating in the humid heat. The mom of one had kept breastfeeding until June—months longer than needed for Sasha. She’d fed the family’s kink for fresh milk far longer than expected.
The nude Ukrainian looked up, smiling from behind her dark sunglasses, a light sheen of sweat on her chest. She set her book on the bench. “Hi, Bob, how long you stand there?”
“Not long. I just came over from Monica’s pad,” he said, walking toward a woman he considered a second wife. “What are you reading?” he asked.
“I studying while I wait for my next client,” she said, showing him the civics book, Barron’s How to Prepare for the U.S. Citizenship Test.
He nodded and glanced at the massage table under the blue-topped pop-up canopy next to the Winnebago. Oksana had started to specialize in women-only massage work over the last few months—yoni work focused on women’s health needs. This week she’d organized some paid clients for yoni massage, relaxation, and orgasm work, so he’d been told.
“I see. I was hoping to spend some time with you. I feel like I haven’t seen much of you this week, sorry,” he said, leaning in for a kiss. Their lips met, the kiss sweet.
“We have some time. It’s just Grace and one of her daughters, not sure who,” she said as she stood. “How about a prostate massage?” She touched his cock.
“Sure,” he said. He’d had his first-ever prostate massage in June, when she surprised him one morning as they lay in bed. She had slipped an oiled finger inside his sphincter while holding his cock with the other. She’d cupped his balls as she used a gentle “come-hither” curl on his prostate for nearly a half-hour, until she finally put her mouth on his cockhead. He felt so relaxed and loved in the end, the climax cleansing. Now he’d get another.
He said, “You know last night I did that yoni massage trick you taught me,” thinking of Jenny as they walked toward the canopy. After JoAnn whispered in his ear, giving him permission or her blessing to take their daughter’s virginity. He thought hard for a moment, his hands seeking in the darkness. No, not yet. He kissed one of them, tongue deep—Marina? Then his hands running over asses and tits, found Jenny. He said her name and a whispered yes; he’d wanted to make her feel good, that’s all, a special orgasm. He lay on top of her at first; they rolled over, and he pulled her with him, so her back rested against his chest. He began to finger her, exploring her slit.
Bob slid two fingers inside Jenny, palm up, curling firmly against the spongy spot on her front wall—her G-spot. Even in his state of arousal, he remembered to be gentle and careful of her hymen. She was tight and narrow; his thumb settled on her clit and began short, quick upward strokes in time with the come-hither motion of his fingers, his hand wet. He kept the rhythm steady and slightly urgent, even as other senses assaulted.
“I see,” Oksana said as they stopped at the portable massage table under the canopy. “On your back,” she said.
Bob ran a hand across her sweaty breasts and did as he was told.
“Your mom and dad took Sasha to the pool. We are alone,” she said, laying one hand on his sweaty chest, the other teasing his cock.
JoAnn
She stood in the bathroom doorway watching Jenny shower. JoAnn and Marina had just returned from a walk and talk along the boardwalk—a fancy name for an old, planked three-quarter-mile trail that ran along the western side of Little Beaver Lake, then looped back to the cabins.
Fourteen-year-old Jenny, with long, straight brown wet hair, plastered to her back, her body had filled out and sprouted in the last few months; her butt was tighter, her breasts rounder, and her sunburn had turned golden brown, tan lines less noticeable; men loved to look at her lithe little body.
“How do you feel?” JoAnn asked as Jenny rinsed and turned to face her mom.
“What do you mean, Mom?” she asked, rubbing a green washcloth through her thick patch of pubes.
JoAnn wasn’t in the mood to play word games this morning. She was tired, the heat was bothering her, and she had gotten sunburned. They had a rule: say what you want and speak clearly.
“Did you and your dad have sex last night?” she said plainly, arms folded across her chest, ready to go to her daughter and comfort her.
“Mom, no!” Jenny said, shutting off the water.
“Really? Are you sure?” JoAnn said.
Jenny took a small towel from a hook. “Daddy did something with his fingers,” she said, touching her pubes and smiling. “He made me orgasm, Mom.”
“Okay,” JoAnn said. She looked back toward the bed; she had seen the stain on the sheet and was pretty sure it wasn’t blood. Bob had made a choice. Jenny’s maidenhead was still intact, apparently. “Lynn, shower, now.”
She didn’t know how she felt.
JoAnn walked out, not seeing Hannah in the other bedroom. “What are you reading, honey?” she asked Kristy who was paging through a paperback book on the futon. Her kids were bookworms this week, apparently. No computers, no phones—just games, books, family and friends, and sex.
Lynn shuffled past her into the shower.
“Hannah’s friend, the actress Jenny, gave it to me. It’s an illustrated history of Hathor—she came before Aphrodite,” she said, showing the cover, the stone face of a woman: Hathor Rising. “We’re out of bananas,” Kristy added.
JoAnn took a deep breath. She didn’t understand much of what she’d just heard. She’d heard all about Hannah’s famous new friend from Greece—the one from An American Werewolf in London, a movie she and Bob had watched more than once on late-night cable.
Her daughter Jenny sat on the futon munching on a granola bar and sipping orange juice when Marina came in, naked except for sandals and a floppy hat, fully embracing the camp’s nudist culture.
“Anyone want to throw this Frisbee with me?” Marina asked, holding up a green plastic disc the size of a dinner plate.
“I do!” the twin girls said at the same time, Lynn yelling from the shower.
Kristy put down her book and stretched her back. “I’ll come.”
“Sunscreen first,” JoAnn said. She’d watch them from the porch. Bob—what was he up to? He’d said no to Jenny last night, and if she was being completely honest with herself, she wasn’t surprised. Her husband had come back from his most recent deployment to Iraq changed, thoughtful, and quiet. She’d watched the news and spoken with the wives of other unit members who’d been to Iraq recently; it was more dangerous and more intense than previous deployments, with more of the men coming back injured. Or in the worst case, not at all.
She’d told herself she’d spend more time living in the moment, being thankful. JoAnn poured herself a fresh cup of coffee, adding creamer, then followed Marina and the girls outside into the warm morning air.
(Kristy’s book was; Hathor Rising: The Power of the Goddess in Ancient Egypt by Alison Roberts Ph.D.- published in 1997)
Robert, Oksana
Oksana said regular massages like these would keep his prostate healthy and strong. As she worked, one finger up his butt, he closed his eyes and let his mind wander. His brother Chris, her husband, was deep into DEA training at Quantico and not coming back to North Carolina. Oksana had recently moved into a small apartment in Boone, near the big Christian NGO’s headquarters and not far from Bob’s house.
As her strong fingers massaged his prostate, he smiled, keeping his eyes closed. His attractive, exotic sister-in-law, after some initial hesitation, had allowed herself to have some fun in the evenings at the clubhouse and at private parties. Of course he’d felt a tinge of jealousy, watching her have sex. Bob understood that since he was in an open relationship and sleeping with other women, he had no say over the adult women in his life when it came to who they had sex with. He just never said anything; he had no leg to stand on.
Sunday evening, at the end of their first full day, he held Oksana’s hand during an evening dance in the clubhouse. A new week, new people, drinks, and music played while Jim and Donna introduced their family and the Millers—everyone quietly eyeballing one another. Oksana, despite growing up in naturism in Ukraine, was reserved among the group of naked strangers. Liv’s mom, Bebe, volunteered to watch Sasha so she could stay, leaving her with no more excuses. That’s when Bob first noticed Steve’s wife, the corn-fed, happy blonde, Elizabeth.
A couple of Jack and Cokes later, he was on the mattress at the back of the clubhouse as the lights dimmed. Oksana lay with Pastor Scott since he was their friend, sucking his cock while sticking close to Bob. Elizabeth, or Liz, crawled over and kissed him, her fruity cocktail fresh on her breath. He ran his hands over her generous chest before she kissed her way down his chest to his cock. Scott had settled between Oksana’s thighs, stroking in her slowly. Bob gave a slight nod to his sister-in-law as more people joined the scrum, including his wife, kids, and parents—Caroline and the rest of the Miller family all mixing in and finding partners, the alcohol loosening inhibitions, if there were any.
The massage table shifted, and he felt a weight on his legs, breaking him from the memory. Oksana put a hand over his eyes. Soon, his cock was enveloped by a warm mouth, the sucking tentative but nice. When Oksana took her hand off his eyes, he chanced a look, golden blonde hair, deep blue eyes, and small boobies. He almost came right then in Kaitlin’s mouth. Her mom, Grace, stood off to the side with her arms crossed under her breasts, watching her youngest give Bob head.
He went with it and pulled Oksana close to the table, wrapping an arm around her waist. Grace rubbed a hand up and down her daughter’s skinny back as Bob’s hips rose to meet Kaitlin’s mouth. The middle-school teen used her tongue, her blue eyes meeting his again. As his nuts clenched, Oksana rolled his balls in her hand, the prostate massage smoothing the passage of hot white cum onto Kaitlin’s smiling face and chest. He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. The Sinclair girls were more advanced, beyond their years, he’d found—starting with smart, sexy Jennifer at the end of last year.
A short while later, Bob stood under the Winnebago’s awning, sipping from a bottle of cold water. He watched as Oksana, hands on the young woman’s pelvis, introduce Kaitlin to yoni massage. Grace stood opposite Oksana like an acolyte, learning and helping.
He knew when he wasn’t needed and headed back toward his cabin, satisfied. He loved Oksana; she’s good people.
Afternoon
Kristy
The older man grunted as he thrust inside Kristy. She had a finger on her clit and a hand on his hairy chest, her legs spread as Mr. Carter squatted between her thighs, thrusting and grunting with his thick cock. His short beard, flecked with gray, tickled some when he nuzzled her neck. The man was much older by far, in his late fifties or older, she guessed; his grandkids were young, and his kids were around her parents’ age.
They lay on the big bed in the Seneca cabin, two noisy fans cooling them as the professor and Kristy had sex. He wasn’t bad at sex; he’d licked and kissed her pussy, using his fingers and complimenting her on her neatly trimmed bush as he ate her out. She felt an orgasm building. They had come to his cabin after meeting up in the dining hall during lunch. She’d put him off the day before and found no reason to say no again.
Thomas—that was his first name—dropped his mouth to her breasts, suckling. She looked around; the room’s curtains were pulled, not much to see besides an old landscape painting on the wall. Ohh ... ohh, her nipples were hard and sensitive. She teased her clit as his weight pressed down on her. Mr. Carter was a professor at UPenn in the Department of Anthropology. When they’d talked, he said he had spent decades studying the Maya and Tikal in Guatemala. He even wrote a book about a lost Mayan city he’d discovered, which he promised to send her.
Older men, she’d found out, took their time and were often grateful. Aunt Hannah had said that opening her legs to a man like Dr. Thomas Carter, no relation to Samantha Carter, from the University of Pennsylvania, would be a good thing if she wanted to get into a top program. In Greece on the island, the grad students had been seriously focused on their individual research projects. Kristy learned a lot about archaeology—it was hard work—and had a fling with one of the British grad students, but it was over before they left the island.
Mr. Carter sat back, his stiff prick inside her still, sweat dripping from his forehead. It was hot outside and warm in the room. He had a mischievous look on his face. He’d told her bad jokes, at the same time sharing stories of the big Tikal Project he’d spent three decades working on in the Guatemalan jungle. Talking with Tom, he treated her as an adult, not talking down or dumbing down his words. He thrust and smiled, enjoying himself.
“Come visit the museum. I’ll give you a behind-the-scenes tour of the American Section and show you around the campus,” he said, flexing his hips and cock.
Kristy nodded, interested, his old cock felt good. Hannah had said the museum at Penn was world-class. “I’ll talk to Hannah,” she said.
If she were honest, she was interested in the Mayan stuff. She was taking Spanish classes and reading magazine articles about the Maya, the excavations around Tikal, and the mystery of their civilization’s collapse. Hannah’s field of study—Greece, Italy, and Mesopotamia—was crowded and cutthroat. Hannah suggested she look around at other areas of study before she decided; she had time.
Tom pulled out. “Suck it, please,” he said, pointing his hard, slick cock at her face. She kissed the slick head of his cock, then smiled at the nude woman standing in the bedroom doorway.
“Dad, we’re going to the pool,” the woman said, her belly round with another kid. She was one of Thomas’s daughters, who was here with her family.
“We’ll be along soon,” Tom replied as Kristy took his cock deeper into her mouth. The pool sounded nice—a chance to cool off and get clean. She’d take a beer if offered. Yeah, like most of the women here this week, she acted like a whore, a slut, and men liked her, and she liked sex.
Caroline
After lunch, she’d returned to the cabin for a nap. She’d been up late every night this week and was having a hard time concentrating. Despite her tiredness, sleep eluded her. God, what had she become? The prayer was at the core of what she was feeling.
She folded her hands on her stomach and stared at the old, framed oil painting print on the far wall. A stag deep in a forest, a pair of hunters lurking in the foreground—an Indian with a distinctive Mohawk haircut and a white settler both armed with muskets. She was nearing forty, and until this week, she could count the men she’d been with on one hand. She’d been happy with one, her husband Scott, until the book Casual Home Nudity intruded into their lives and community.
Concentrating on the beautiful stag with its big rack deep in the forest, Caroline found her clit with her middle finger. Back home, one by one, she had sex with Bob and her son Ben and had been content, if slightly ashamed; followed by Kevin and Nancy’s husband Frank, a church elder. Her husband Scott had been breaking his marriage vows with other women for months.
Since arriving at Whispering Pines, she’d doubled her body count in the first five nights—she was sure of it. The nudity, the acceptance, the freedom to just be herself were like a drug she suddenly couldn’t get enough of. She teased her clit, chasing an orgasm. Did she remember each man she’d fucked this week? No. She didn’t, and she wanted it that way. Two fingers on her clit, she pinched a nipple with her free hand.
JoAnn had been by her side that first night at a private party in the Sinclairs’ cabin. Everyone was naked and ready to party. She had sex with the first man who pulled her down onto his lap, sucked cocks, drank wine, and made out with other women until Bob dragged them all back to their cabins. They had all week, JoAnn teased, reminding her to slow down. They’d swapped that first night—Bob going with Caroline and Scott staying with JoAnn.
She knew she’d been selfish, watching Sarah do her thing and not offering much in the way of motherly advice. So beautiful, her daughter didn’t say no often. Kristy or Jennifer often by her side. The former youth group leader was playing it loose this week, a break from college. Bisexual Ben had asked first and sucked willing cocks even while entertaining the older ladies who found him cute. He was accepted. They all were. Becky, the youngest, was often taken care of by the camp’s grandma network, keeping her safe and entertained while the adults played.
Rubbing her clit, she thought of Ben. He’d grown up fast these last eight months since going nude at home. Caroline admitted to herself she liked watching him suck off other guys—she never thought she’d admit to that sin. At camp, Sarah was acting the slut, a word like Jezebel used to brand sexually active young women. Well, so was she, their mom, finally living her life as a Christian slut. Here at camp, it was all out in the open; at home, she was someone else. She was wet.
Caroline heard the heavy screen door slam and turned her head toward the entry. Her husband Scott? No, he’d been with an adorable little redhead earlier. He’d found a couple of like-minded dads who liked the younger girls.
“Hey, I was told we would find you here,” Bob said. He stood in the bedroom doorway, his Boonie hat pushed back on his head, holding a can of Mountain Dew. Rachel Kaplan stood behind him. She waved.
“Hi. Yes, the week’s catching up with me,” Caroline said with a smile. “Oh, shoot, I forgot,” she added. Rachel had asked Caroline if she could ask some questions about her family’s home nudity experiences.
Caroline started to sit up, taking her finger off her clit—she’d made herself wet. She glanced at the stag in the painting. He had such an easy life.
“Don’t get up,” Rachel said, stepping past Bob. “I’m a bit tired myself. We can just talk here. Bob, you’re going to stay?”
Caroline saw the indecision in his face. “Stay. I was thinking about this week, not sleeping,” she said, aware they’d caught her fingering herself.
Rachel sat in a chair, an old wooden thing by the wall, and crossed her legs. “Go ahead, Bob, get on the bed.” She swatted Bob’s ass with her notebook.
Bob turned and pulled Rachel onto the bed with him, so they were all together, naked and sweaty. Caroline made room as Bob put his arms around her. The therapist asked her questions and took a few notes. Before they hit the pool, Caroline and Rachel gave Bob a new kinky memory of Camp Whispering Pines.
Hannah – pool time
Robert et al.
“Thank you, honey,” Bob said, taking the plastic cup from Kristy. He took a sip of the beer—a cold and refreshing Adirondack Lager. It was hot, in the high eighties according to the thermometer on the side of the clubhouse, though it was still cooler than earlier in the week. The shade of the big umbrella provided some relief from the sun’s midday rays.
Kristy handed a cup to Grandpa Jim, keeping the third for herself; she had a future as a beer garden wench. Bob and his dad sat at one of the many round metal tables that had seen better days. The pool was crowded this afternoon for “family time,” so all the sunbeds, chaise lounges, and most of the chairs had bodies in them. Jim patted his lap as Kristy looked for a seat, and Bob smiled.
His family was all here relaxing in the pool, occupying their corner near the clubhouse along with the Millers and Sinclairs. JoAnn and Oksana were lying on sunbeds, the other kids in the pool. It was extra crowded around the pool as three large air mattress beds took the place of chaise lounges and chairs. On the bed nearest to them, under the watchful gaze of those around them, a comely mom, Amy, with a baby bump, was having sex with her son and a young daughter who lay next to them under the shade of a pop-up canopy.
“Grandpa, would you help me?” Kristy said, holding up a tube of sunscreen she’d taken from her beach bag.
Bob smiled. That was one of the rules for the afternoon, the women were not allowed to apply their own sunblock. The special “Family Time” rules were written on a piece of paper taped right to the tabletop. Lifeguard Dawn walked the deck, a riding crop in hand in addition to her whistle, enforcing the rules. A teenage lifeguard with the stocky build of a water polo player sat in the elevated lifeguard chair, his eyes on the swimmers.
Jim took the tube of Coppertone sunscreen from Kristy, who stood in front of her grandpa facing Bob. “Daddy, would you do my front, please?” Kristy said in a naughty little girl voice. Her aviator sunglasses hid her eyes behind gold-tinted lenses. Kristy took a scrunchie from her wrist and tied her brown curly hair in a high ponytail, shaking her hips as she did.
Jim squirted sunscreen on her shoulders, then handed the tube to Bob, who scooted his chair until he was in front of his daughter. At sixteen, she had firm, round breasts, a trim dark bush, and was taller than her mom, but not by much. Bob had made it a home nudity rule that Wilkins girls were all to have pubic hair—wild bush or trimmed, it was up to them.
Kristy gazed over Bob’s head, not looking at her dad. Was she watching Tom Carter’s daughter Amy have sex on the mattress or Jenny and Kevin playing a game of chicken in the pool with Sarah and Ben? Jim wrapped a strong arm around his granddaughter’s waist to anchor her as Bob squeezed a generous dollop of white cream onto his palm. As his dad worked down Kristy’s back, he started with her collarbones, planning to work downward over her breasts.
“You okay, kiddo?” Bob said. His cock stirred as he palmed her firm left boob, a handful, massaging in the lotion. He’d alternate hands, applying evenly as he’d done with Sister Marina. Without looking, he knew they were being watched; this was a performative act if ever there was one.
Kristy let out her breath, laying her hands on Bob’s shoulders. “Yes, people are watching us,” she said, her hips shifting as her grandpa rubbed lotion into her ass cheeks.
She leaned back against Jim’s chair and let out a soft sigh, her chest heaving as Bob’s palms cupped and rubbed lotion on her B-cup breasts. Her gold-tinted aviators stayed fixed on the pool behind him while her nipples hardened under his slippery fingers. Left hand, right boob, more lotion for her flat tummy. Jim used more lotion on her butt, his hand cupping her pussy from behind.
Dawn’s whistle blew behind him, followed by the slap of her riding crop on flesh. He knew she was topless, wearing only her red thong, her muscular body radiating power. Bob chanced a glance over his shoulder; Dawn stood by a mattress and flicked her wrist thrice more, striking a young girl’s backside as she knelt over a man’s cock. He had no idea of the infraction. Bob turned back to Kristy, rubbing lotion down her left leg.
His hand joined his dad’s at Kristy’s hairy pussy. His daughter stiffened, opening her hips. It was only a moment before he felt the sting of Dawn’s riding crop on his shoulder. Around them, he heard light applause. “Way to go, Amy!” a woman’s voice shouted.
“Take her to the mattress if you’re going to have sex, that’s the rule,” Dawn said, pointing at Tom Carter’s pregnant daughter Amy on the air mattress nearby. Amy was rubbing her son’s cum over her big belly; apparently the boy had spent on her as his sister watched, both coltish and awkward.
Bob looked at his dad. “You take her,” he said. He’d spotted Lynn and Steve floating in the deep end with other amorous couples.
Oksana & JoAnn
JoAnn had been at the pool for an hour, lying on a sunbed covered in SPF 50, while keeping an eye on her three youngest in the pool. Oksana joined her after half an hour; Kevin quickly volunteered to help apply sunblock to his aunt, which made JoAnn smile for some reason.
Both women wore wide-brimmed straw sunhats from the camp store as an unseasonable heatwave choked the region with tropical humidity. Near them, sitting in the shade with Hannah and Marina, Caroline sipped a slushy alcoholic drink while they talked about Eastern religions.