Sleepy Slobber wrote: Tue Mar 05, 2024 12:57 am
I might create a few spin-offs focusing on some of the unnamed characters at the camp in the coming days. Feel free to rewrite, expand on, or create your own spin-offs based on the story. You don't need to ask my permission, and I'd love to read them!
I hope these add-on stories do take place.
I do plan to write a sequel type story, having been given the permission to do so. Been real busy with other tales to tell, but what you got
started here I would love to work with at some point.
Days blurred into a nightmare of humiliation and forced servitude for Samael as he labored under the unforgiving sun, his muscles aching from the never-ending digging and the constant groping from the campers. Each day, the whispers grew bolder, the giggles more brazen, as the girls grew accustomed to his nakedness and the power it granted them. The memory of the how they groped his body, exposed and vulnerable in the shower, was etched into their minds like a twisted badge of triumph. The more he tried to ignore them, the more they sought to claim him as their own twisted plaything.
Every day, the girls would gather around him, their eyes wide with a mix of excitement and fear as they whispered about his manhood. They'd ask him questions, some innocently curious, others with a sly smirk, testing the boundaries of what they could get away with under the guise of innocence. He'd reply with gritted teeth, his voice strained, trying to maintain a semblance of dignity amidst the taunts. He'd watch Amelia from afar, her eyes downcast, her shoulders hunched as if bearing the weight of the world. She avoided him at every turn, and the guilt gnawed at his heart, a constant reminder of his failure to protect her innocence.
Most of the camp gathered around him as he worked, their eyes greedily devouring his naked form as he bent and twisted to access the hidden pipes beneath the earth. Heather, while internally thrilled by the unfolding dynamics, knew they had to maintain order, even amidst the chaos of their twisted games. "Alright, girls," she announced, her voice cutting through the giggles and whispers like a knife, "Let's give Samael some space to work. I don't want him too distracted, we still have to keep the camp running, remember?"Her words were met with a mix of protests and pouts, but she was firm. She had to maintain the illusion of control, even if she had her own plans for him every night. The campers reluctantly retreated, leaving him to his task. The counselors dispersed them to various activities, their smiles tight, as if holding back their own amusement at his plight.
Throughout the day, various groups of girls found reasons to "accidentally" stumble upon his work site, their laughter and giggles trailing behind them like the scent of freshly picked flowers in the heat of summer. Each encounter sent a shiver down Samael's spine. They watched him with unabashed curiosity, whispering among themselves as they pointed at his crotch. Some pretended to offer him a drink or a towel for his brow, their eyes lingering on his body as they leaned in close and playfully groped him, the sweet intoxicating aroma of their shampoo and lascivious youthfulness turned him on despite his desperate efforts to resist, to maintain his dignity.
The sun beat down on Samael's sweat-slicked skin as he dug furiously at the stubborn earth surrounding the camp's water pipes. His muscles rippled with each thrust of the shovel, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he worked. The heat didn't just emanate from the sun; it also came from the burning stares of the young girls that surrounded him. Martha, the chubby but pretty camp counselor who doubled as the cook, ogled him from the kitchen window, her eyes lingering on the sculpted form of his naked body. She was supposed to be preparing dinner, but the sight of him, a man at their mercy, was too tantalizing to ignore. Her cheeks reddened as she bit her bottom lip, her thoughts drifting back to the day she'd gotten to grope him in the shower. The way his body had quivered under her touch, the power she felt as she watched him try to hold back his pleasure, it was a moment she'd replay in her mind over and over again, especially when her hand slipped between her thighs at night.
Martha's thoughts grew more vivid as she recalled the moment of his climax, the way his body had jerked and the ropes of semen that had arced through the air to land on Amelia's terrified face. Her own face had flushed with excitement then, and now, the memory made her panties damp. The sight of a man, especially one as attractive as Samael, stripped naked against his will, the young girls losing control in such a primal way and forcing him to orgasm, it stirred something deep within her. It was power, she knew that much, the kind of power that made her feel alive, like she was part of a secret club of dominance that only she and the other counselors shared. The way Amelia whimpered and crumpled to the ground, sobbing, had stirred something dark and exhilarating within Martha. She felt a twinge of arousal now, just thinking about it, her hand slipping into her shorts to stroke her clit. She'd never admit it to anyone, but watching that scene unfold had been the hottest thing she'd ever seen. It was wrong, she knew, but the power dynamics of it all, the way it had shattered Amelia's innocence, had left her feeling oddly alive.
Martha's eyes followed Samael as he moved about the camp, the muscles in his body flexing with each swing of the shovel. She couldn't help the warmth that spread through her as she watched him. There was something undeniably captivating about his nakedness. The way his skin glistened with sweat under the unforgiving sun, the way his cock swayed slightly as he walked, it all played out like an erotic dance before her eyes. It wasn't just the sight of him that stirred her desires; it was the female empowerment at play, the way the young girls ogled and teased him, reducing a man to nothing more than a plaything. The humiliation he endured. It was a heady mix, a cocktail of taboo and thrill that she hadn't anticipated when she'd signed up for this job.
Her own hand stole to her crotch, her fingers moving in a silent rhythm that matched the pulse in her ears. The kitchen was a sauna of her own making, and she felt sticky and overheated. Her panties were already soaked, and she knew she couldn't hold out much longer. With a deep breath, she set aside the spatula and wiped her hands on her apron. The kitchen was in order, and she had a sudden, pressing need to join the fun outside.
Martha stepped out into the sunlight, her eyes immediately seeking him out amidst the throng of giggling girls. She approached him from behind, her heart racing with the excitement of a predator closing in on its prey. The giggles grew louder, the whispers more pointed, as the girls noticed her approach. She took a moment to appreciate the view: his firm, muscular back, the sweat beads trailing down his spine, the way his ass flexed with each shovelful of dirt he tossed aside. She felt a strange sense of pride knowing that she had a part in reducing this strong, confident young man to a mere object of their collective desire.
As she reached him, she couldn't resist the urge to touch him. Her hand snaked around his waist, her fingers wrapping around his cock. It was soft and warm, nestled against his thigh. The teens' eyes grew wide with anticipation, their whispers morphing into a collective gasp as she began to stroke him gently. His body stiffened, his breathing grew ragged, and his shoveling faltered as the blood rushed to his groin. The giggles grew into a crescendo, a symphony of lustful amusement at the sight of him being touched so intimately, so publicly.
Martha leaned in, her hot breath fanning his ear as she whispered, "Looks like someone's enjoying the attention." His cheeks burned, and he tried to pull away, but she held him firm. The girls' eyes were glued to the show, their expressions a mix of shock, excitement, and envy. Amidst their rapt stares, Samael's cock grew harder, straining against Martha's grip. The counselor's touch grew bolder, her strokes more deliberate. Heather watched from a distance, her smile widening as she noted the effect her counselor's touch had on him.
Martha's voice, thick with desire, called out to the gathered campers, "Why don't you all come and help me?" Her question was met with a symphony of gasps and giggles. The girls, emboldened by the situation, began to inch closer. One by one, they reached out tentative hands, touching him as if he were an exotic creature. The softness of their fingertips, the unspoken curiosity in their eyes, it was all too much. He bit his lower lip to keep from moaning aloud, his body tensing under the onslaught of sensations.
Heather's eyes gleamed as she got closer and watched the scene unfold. The atmosphere of feminist dominance was intoxicating. A man, so obviously out of his element, being used by a group of young girls who had been taught to be ashamed of their desires. But here, in this camp, they were free to explore. And she had given them the perfect toy.
Martha, feeling his pulse quicken in her grip, leaned in closer, her voice a seductive purr. "Stop holding it," she whispered, her breath hot against his skin. "Just let go for us." His hips bucked involuntarily, and the girls' giggles grew to a crescendo. They had seen it all before, but there was something about watching a man lose control that never got old.
The tension grew palpable as Martha's hand slid faster and faster along his length. The heat of their touch, the youthful giggling, and the hungry stares of his audience created a vortex of sensation that Samael could not escape. His eyes squeezed shut, and he bit back a groan. The counselor's smirk grew wider as she felt the telltale twitch of his thighs. "Almost there," she crooned, her voice a siren's call in the chaos.
And then it happened. The dam broke, and Samael's orgasm washed over him like a wave. His body arched, muscles tightening in a silent scream, as ropes of semen shot forth, staining the shirt and short pants of one of his young tormentors. The sound of the squeals and laughter of the teen girls was music to Martha's ears, a symphony of triumph. She had created a spectacle that these young ladies would talk about in whispers and giggles long after the summer's end.
The teenage girls stared at the sticky mess, a mix of lust, fascination, and excitement on their faces. Their giggles grew louder as they realized the power they held over this young man. They had pushed him to a place of no return, and it was exhilarating. Each drop of cum was a trophy, a declaration of their newfound dominance.
Among the crowd, the younger ones giggled with delight, their eyes wide with curiosity and mischief. They pointed at the cum-stained camper, whispering to each other with a mix of horror and excitement. "Eww," one of them exclaimed, "You got boy juice on your clothes!" Their laughter was high-pitched, a blend of innocence and nascent sexuality, a stark contrast to the gravity of what had just occurred. Meanwhile, the older girls looked at him with a mix of lust and smugness, their eyes gleaming with the thrill of having witnessed something taboo.
Martha's wicked smile grew wider as she leaned into Samael's ear, her breath hot against his skin. "But we all know bulls aren't meant to be milked, do we?" Her voice was a siren's song of innuendo, the words slithering down his spine like a serpent. Her grip grew stronger, squeezing the final droplets of cum from him, before she pulled away with a flourish. Her fingers, sticky and glistening with his essence, hovered in front of her face. A playful glint danced in her eyes as she brought those same digits to her mouth and licked them clean, the sweet taste of victory on her lips. She smacked them together and then playfully slapped his butt with a resounding crack. The sound echoed through the clearing, sending a ripple of laughter through the group of girls.
Samael took a deep breath, his body trembling from the forced climax, and stumbled back to his feet. He looked around, his eyes glazed over with a mix of embarrassment and resentment. The girls stared at him, a mix of awe, excitement, and a hint of pity. He knew that this wasn't the end of his ordeal, that his torment would continue until the repairs were finished. His gaze fell, heavy with shame. When he dared to look up to search for his shovel, he saw Heather staring at him, the smile never leaving her face. "Back to work, Samael," she said, her voice dripping with sweet condescension. "We're all tired of waiting on you to get our showers running again."
Last edited by Sleepy Slobber on Sat Nov 16, 2024 12:36 pm, edited 4 times in total.
I hope Martha remembered to wash her hands before she went back to cooking.
I can also imagine the cook burning the soup as she gets caught up massaging her pussy, as she replays the scene in her head.
The other possible spinoff story, about a jealous young camper, sounds intriguing. Since that girl imagines the worker to be like her boyfriend,
it means that girl gets some alone time with Samael, and she gluttonously gazes upon his body for hours while thinking naughty thoughts.
