Chapter 1

Cathy stood on the deserted beach. It had taken her half an hour to gather the pile of rocks and stones at her feet. She looked up and down the strand to see if anyone was nearby and, seeing no one, she bent over and picked up a stone. She drew back her arm and flung the rock with all her might onto the incoming waves. "FUCK!" she screamed.

Again and again she repeated the process, the heap of rocks disappearing much faster than it had been accumulated, and each time Cathy let fly she wailed the obscenity once again, wailed it despairingly, as though it were the last pitiful utterance of a broken heart.

Perhaps it was. Perhaps at this very moment Cathy was experiencing the most downcast and disconsolate emotions of her life. Eighteen-year-old girls tend to be extreme in their feelings and reactions at the best of times and, if anyone had been there to ask her, Cathy would undoubtedly have replied that she felt just like dying.

She stooped to seize the last rock, a big gray chunk of stone, which she had saved for last precisely because it was bigger than any of the others she'd found. Her fingers wrapped around it and she brought her arm back for the toss. Cathy closed her eyes and she saw her mother's face, and

it made her smile to imagine Gwen standing in the stone's imminent pathway, for wasn't it all Gwen's fault?

"FUCK!" she shrieked and the rock flew out of her hand to slap and splash upon the frothing wave rolling towards the shore. Her arm dropped and she stood a moment, panting heavily with the force of her emotions, her young tits heaving as frantically.

"Are you throwing rocks at the devil?" someone asked, and Cathy whirled around, her sandaled feet whipping on the warm sand. A young man, sun-browned and wearing only a pair of skimpy black swim trunks, stood at the crest of the bluff overlooking the beach, his longish hair blowing in the sea breeze.

"Huh?" Cathy called in reply. He was coming to join her, a smile growing bigger on his face as he got nearer. Jesus, she thought, he's cute! And he must think I'm crazy or something.

"I said, are you throwing rocks at the devil?" He cocked his head to one side and stared at her engagingly. "It's kind of a joke, but I guess it isn't funny if you don't know the language. I have this friend, see, who went to a church-run boarding school when he was younger, and the supervisor used to tell the boys that getting horny was a symptom of the devil trying to take over their bodies. So, until they found out it was caused by something else altogether, whenever one of them started feeling any urges, he'd run outside and start pitching rocks until the devil gave up and went back to Hell where he belonged."

"Oh," Cathy said, lips curling into a little smile.

"I guess you had to be there to appreciate it," the boy added, and Cathy couldn't keep a straight face any longer. She began to laugh softly and his face brightened.

"My name's Cathy," she said. "What's yours?"

"I'm Chris," he said. "Chris Robinson. I don't remember seeing you anywhere. Have you been on the island all summer?"

"It seems like it," Cathy sighed. "But we've only been here a couple of days. My mom and I," she explained quickly. He really was cute, and she didn't want him to think he had no chance with her.

"My dad and I have been here a week," Chris said. "Don't you care for it?"

She shook her head. "It was all my mom's idea. Take a good old-fashioned mother-daughter vacation, get to know each other-all that shit. So, every time I try to get to know her, she says, "Cathy, honey, I have to get some work done on this article-why don't you go out and soak up some sun, and we'll talk later." The only person on this island I've said more than three words to is a really dipshit girl named Jennifer whose family is renting the place down the road from us. Until you came along, though. God, my throat is sore already from all this talking."

"Hey, don't tire yourself out. I'm not worth it."

Bet you are, Cathy told herself. Bet you are.

"Where do you go to school? You are still in school, aren't you?"

Cathy nodded. "I'll be a junior this fall. I was going to Miss Proctor's, in Darien. Do you know it?"

"No," he mused, "I don't think so. Darien, Connecticut? We don't get out here much, though. We live in Illinois. But Dad had some business on the East Coast this summer and he decided to bring me along."

"What's your sign?"

"Cancer. Born June twenty-ninth."

"Jesus," Cathy whistled. "So was I! We ought to be friends."

"Yeah," he smiled. "We'd only have to buy one horoscope." Chris stretched out his hand. "How would you like a guided tour of the south coast? I think I rank as an expert."

"You're on," Cathy giggled, and, hand in hand, away they went down the strip of deserted beachfront.

They talked as they walked, and in the space of only a few minutes it was as though they had been friends for years. There seemed to be a special bond between them. As Cathy noted, how often indeed do you find someone who was born exactly the same day you were? And the same year, it turned out, too.

Chris liked what he saw walking beside him, and he wondered if their matching astrology did indeed have any significance. Like, did it mean he was going to be able to get into her pants? Cathy's pants were well worth getting into, he was certain. She was a beautiful, willowy girl, nearly as tall as he was, with long, lissome legs whose rippling muscles moved so gracefully as to justify the whole, long process of human evolution. Her hair was a windswept mane of golden brown, a few shades blonder than his own light-colored locks, her face was clean and oval-shaped and finely chiseled, and the demure skimpiness of her bikini showed off a body put of a wet dream. Cathy's tits were high and round, not too big and certainly not too small, with freckles showing daintily on her breastbone and in her cleavage. She had a smooth, flat tummy with a navel that would just accommodate the tip of his middle finger, and her ass was young, high-set, and springy-just made to be bounced on a bed. Sometimes when she moved her legs just so, a tiny tendril of pussy hair would slip through the leg opening of her bikini bottom. The curl was dark, much darker than the hair on her head, and Chris was willing to bet a month's allowance that her cunt fur was silky to the touch. The beach narrowed, the bluffs behind creeping down almost to the surf's edge, and Chris guided the girl to a path that led up the sandy rise. They stood on the top, looking down into a wooded vale on the inland side, a little forest whose green leaves spread like a natural umbrella.

"This is virgin timber," Chris informed her, "about the last on the island of any size. Most of the woods were cleared away to make this place a vacation paradise." He tugged on her hand. "Want to go exploring?"

The only thing I'd like to explore, Cathy thought smirkily, is the bulge in the crotch of your trunks. His shorts fit him tightly, fashionably, molding the fabric around his cock and balls with a frankness the girl found totally praiseworthy. But on the other hand, she found everything about him praiseworthy. He was good-looking, had a nice, free and easy manner, and she wondered if he was thinking the same thoughts which dominated her mind at that moment.

Throwing rocks at the devil, Cathy thought. Weird, but he'd hit it almost on the nose. She had been frustrated, she had been angry, but above all else, she had been horny-the kind of horniness peculiar to young girls who have just discovered their cunts are useful for other things besides urination and masturbation. Indeed, that was why Cathy had been so pissed off when her mother had sprung the big news upon her.

Seeing Gwen at all was a big surprise. They had been closer when Cathy was much younger, but for the past nine years most of Gwen's work had kept her out of the country altogether. Gwen was a reporter for a national magazine, and she spent a lot of time abroad running down stories and interviewing celebrities. During those nine years Cathy had lived almost exclusively at one boarding school or another, and she had almost gotten used to not having a mother at all.

And then, just over a week ago, Gwen had turned up at Miss Proctor's School to inform her daughter that the long separation was finally over, that the magazine had given her a transfer, to the Washington, D.C., offices. In July, the two of them would move into a house Gwen had already found in Georgetown, and come fall Cathy could start in at one of the many good private schools about the nation's capitol.

It couldn't have come at a worse time. After eighteen years Cathy had finally fallen irrevocably, permanently in love, with a young college student who helped out as a languages tutor at Miss Proctor's. While conjugating French verbs, Cathy had made her declaration of undying love, italicizing it by removing her blouse and placing his hands upon her conveniently braless tits. He had turned red at the first contact, and then his hands had seized upon her boobs with an eagerness Cathy wasn't quite ready for, and before she could get around to telling him how much she wanted to be the mother of his children and the love of his life, he had her lying on the carpeted floor of the study room with her skirt raised, her panties lowered, and his cock poised on the threshold of her quivering pussy.

Involuntarily she winced at the sudden remembrance of the first stabbing thrust he had made with his cock inside her virgin cunt, and, wincing, she likewise involuntarily squeezed tight upon Chris' hand holding hers. He returned the tender pressure and she was glad she'd remembered.

That had been about six months ago. About? It was at 7:35 p.m. on the evening of January twenty-ninth. A girl doesn't forget when she sacrifices her cherry upon the altar of love. And it had been a nice experience, all in all. Cathy hadn't climaxed that first time, but she soon got over that. And the third time she and her lover got together, he had made her a gift of a medical prescription which, when filled, allowed Cathy to look forward to many weeks of worry-free screwing.

Of course, being able to fuck without fear of getting knocked up had its effect on Cathy, too. She realized within a matter of days that she didn't really love her tutor, that she was merely trying to rationalize her sex impulse, but what the fuck? When he put his cock inside her and she began to tighten her snug pussy upon it, she felt good, and he felt good, and so what if they weren't intending to make it a permanent, lifetime arrangement? What hurt most was to realize that she had been missing out on this for so long. Her tits had begun to sprout in brown-capped buds when she was eleven, and by the time she'd started eighth grade, the other girls, were calling her "Beaver" every time she undressed for an after-gym shower. She'd been ready for fucking long before she had managed to screw her courage to seduce her tutor.

What was strangest, Cathy thought, was how she'd lived eighteen years, almost, without ever being fucked and now, only six months after her first screw, it seemed to be a completely wasted week that didn't allow her to have something long, hard, and hot stuffed inside her pussy. Jesus, she said to herself as they walked into the woods, it's been nine days! And she knew as surely as she knew her own name that if this absolutely gorgeous guy didn't ball her, she'd have no choice but to rape him on the spot.

"See," he was telling her. "The island may be a tourist haven, but here in the woods you can feel just like Robinson Crusoe before he met Friday-all alone, with nature your only companion." Chris stopped in the shade of a big and ancient oak whose branches overhung them like a canopy. The leaves above their heads filtered the sunlight shining down, and the soft lighting gently accented the golden highlights of Cathy's hair and the rosy, lightly tanned pink of her young flesh. She reminded him of an impressionist painting or a David Hamilton photograph, and he wanted very much to touch her.

"It's really beautiful and quiet here," she said with a delicate huskiness in her voice. She looked at him. He was staring at her with the hunger so plain in his eyes, and she wondered if he might not be frightened. Why should he be? Chris was a good-looking guy-he had to know he was good-looking-and he should be able to read the message her own eyes were doing their damnedest to broadcast to him.

She sucked in her breath, making her tits rise smoothly for his inspection. A little flush spread across her face and she laughed reassuringly. Cathy's eyes dropped imperceptibly, peeking once more at the bulge in the front of his trunks. It seemed a little bigger than before, as if horny blood were beginning to engorge his cock in anticipation.

Her foot hesitated a moment. She was going to approach him, to take his hands in hers, to let her body brush against his, to touch him with her lips. Surely that would give him the message. Her eyes glanced past his figure and she said, "Oh. What's that?"

He turned. "That?" he said, and there was a little choke in his voice she hadn't expected. He was getting hot for damn sure, she knew in that moment. "It's just a pond."

I can see that, she thought. "Is it deep? I mean, I'd love to swim in some fresh water. The salt in the ocean makes my hair brittle, and I think it's ruining my complexion." She waited for his answer, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

"Oh, sure," he said. "It's plenty deep enough for swimming."

"Well, come on, then!" she squeaked, and she bounced away from him, making for the wooded pond. He came up beside her while she stood on the bank looking at the surface of the water, where the overhead sun cast silver blades of light across the clear green. "It even looks clean," she said. "At least compared to the Hudson or the Connecticut."

"It's clean," he said, his voice still a bit shaky. He stepped forward and put his toes into the water, shivering at the cool tingle that raced through him. Goddamn it, he cursed inwardly. He'd been just about to give her a try, too! Maybe he'd read her wrong. Maybe all she wanted to do was talk and walk.

Cathy reached up behind herself, then presented her back to Chris. "Untie me," she said. "I can't quite reach it." Of course that wasn't true-after all, she'd put her bikini on with no help at all-but she knew instinctively that helping a girl undress was a real turn-on for guys.

He'd undone the bow holding up her bra before he realized it, and all he could do was stare at her suddenly bare back as she let the bra fall and flutter to the ground. Her hands skidded down her smooth sides to pull open the bows securing her panties and these, too, dropped. In the twinkling of an eye she'd become completely naked, and he was staring at her back, almost entranced, unable to take his eyes off the sinuous line of her spinal column, from where it showed beneath the fall of her hair to where it joined the perky, plump swell of her bitable-looking butt.

She smoothed hands across her golden hair and turned around to face him. He pursed his lips as he drank in the sight of her nudity. The bikini had been flattering and a turn-on when it was covering her body so provocatively, but naked? God! His eyes bulged until he was sure they must be fully as large and round as the pink, plump tits that perched high and proud on her chest, topped off by slightly oval-shaped nipples, brown and beautiful, the paps already beginning to stiffen under the frankness of his gaze.

Chris eyed the fine lines of her young body, and he wondered why his face was growing so red-indeed, why his face could be growing red, for it seemed that every drop of blood in his body was at that very moment pumping like crazy into the barrel of his prick. He looked down at his front, saw the crotch of his trunks tenting out as his pole went up. Her eyes dropped with his, and she smiled to see what effect her nakedness was having upon him.

"Does that always happen when you see a naked girl?" she asked innocently, her fingertips brushing across his budding hard-on. He jumped as if she were wired for electrocution, and his cock bulged all the more, beginning to ache with the need he suddenly felt.

"A girl like you," he said softly, staring at the stunningly dark hair of her crotch. Her pussy fur was almost black, in vivid contrast to the golden glow of her head hair, and it was impressively thick, so much so that he couldn't even see the lips of her cunt through the under bush. He couldn't help himself-and obviously she wanted it, too, or she'd never have stripped off in front of him-and his hand closed upon her furry muff.

"Ooohhhh," she whispered as she felt him grip her twat in his firm paw. Her hand dropped to stroke his.

He filled his hand with her snatch, reveling in the plump thrust of her cunt mound, in the satiny smoothness of her fuzz, in the moistness he could already feel beneath his palm. He clutched her tight, fondling her cunt, and while her fingers teased and trailed across his wrist, her thighs began to clamp together, pressuring him softly in return as he pressured her.

Cathy moved against him, so that her tits brushed against his bare chest. He felt her nipples stiffen on impact, and then her boobs crushed against him and she began to rise on tiptoes, her hands clutching his shoulders to support her body, and he dropped his face slightly to meet her lips with his own.

She parted her lips immediately, and he did likewise, his tongue stabbing out, scraping across her white teeth to penetrate the cavern of her mouth. She caught his tongue hard then, sucking it voraciously as it slid wetly across her own, and Chris could feel his Lower lip brushing again and again upon her teeth. Her mouth opened slightly then, and she began to probe and explore with her tongue inside his mouth. She was aggressive, as aggressive as any girl he'd ever known, and he loved it. He could tell she'd be a tiger when they got around to the actual fuck.