He was deeply engrossed in debits and credits when he heard a slight knock on the door. Without looking up, he said: 'Come in!'
He went on calculating, and completely forgot to look up, until he heard a sultry voice say: 'Boy, you sure look busy!'
He glanced up and saw the young girl, Carla.
'Hello Carla!' he said cheerfully, smiling at her. 'Yep, I'm busy all right, trying to make ends meet!'
'Am I interrupting? I can come back another time…'
'No, not at all!' he answered, closing the accounts book.
Carla was wearing only a bikini coral-colored crocheted one, which barely covered her nipples and pubis before turning into open-work lattice.
He couldn't help noticing how the bright color contrasted with her long dark hair, which hung over her shoulders, and her tawny young skin.
She gazed at him with clear blue eyes, and her lower lip was stuck out in a small pout.
His eye wandered over her lithe fourteen-year-old body — she was tall, but very slender, her breasts barely there, but with the promise of full voluptuous womanhood. Her hips were softly rounded and her legs were long and coltish. She looked like a young Aphrodite and John felt a faint, uncontrolled stirring in his loins as he looked at the lovely girl.
'Can I help you, Carla?' he asked softly, averting his eyes.
'I think perhaps you can!' she answered.
He waited for her to continue, thinking she had some problem she wanted to talk about.
'Well,' he said finally, 'what is it?'
'Can I sit down?' she asked, still staring boldly at him.
'Sure,' he said, clearing the remaining chair.
To his surprise, she pulled the chair up beside him, instead of leaving it where it was, across the desk.
Another silence, and then Carla crossed her legs. This action stretched the brief bikini bottom even more and John could see the flesh of her buttocks and hips bulging slightly through the holes of the lattice-work on the sides.
'May I have a cigarette?' Carla asked.
John gasped. He couldn't refuse her one, not when the policy of the camp was 'natural growth' but he couldn't really condone a fourteen-year-old smoking. Still, not knowing what else to do, he offered one of his menthol cigarettes.
She waited for him to light it, and as he reached over with the flaming match, she touched his hand lightly and guided it to her cigarette. A shiver coursed through him at her touch. The hand holding the match began to tremble and he was afraid she would see it. But she didn't seem to notice and thankfully, he extinguished the match.
She was still staring at him, and casually blew the smoke from her first inhalation into his face. John was on edge now; he didn't know what to do. What's the matter with me, anyhow? he thought, getting nervous around a mere child!
Finally, John said again: 'What's bothering you, Carla?'
'I don't know the facts of life!' she answered slowly, her voice barely above a whisper.
John blushed beet red. Oh God, he thought, why am I behaving like a teen-ager?
Trying to regain his cool, he said: 'Don't you think you'd better talk to Iris about that?'
He tried to sound authoritative and fatherly, but he knew he was acting more like a kid brother.
'I thought you'd be able to explain them better!' she said coolly, leaning forward to flick ash into the ashtray.
Immediately, John's eyes dropped to her breasts, and he could see their faint swell as she brushed past him.
Her arm grazed his naked chest, and sent ripples of delight surfacing on his skin. His eyes were fixed on her breasts, and he tried to see more of them through the crochet.
'What are you staring at, Mr. Harrault?' Carla asked, a mocking note in her voice.
'Nothing!' he answered quickly. 'I was just thinking. About how to start, I mean.'
He raised his eyes with an effort, to look at her face.
'Would you like to see them?' Carla asked, raising her hands behind her back, as if to open her bikini top.
'Good God no!' John said, laying a hand on her shoulder.
Just then, Iris walked in. She was still wearing her swimsuit, and she was running her hand through her tousled hair. She stopped short when she saw John, his hand on Carla's shoulder.
'Excuse me!' Carla said, suddenly rising. 'I'll talk to you later about my problem!'
Without another word, she left.
'Wowee!' John said, when she'd left. 'What a cookie!'
'What kind of problem can she possibly have?' Iris asked icily.
'Can you imagine? That brat wants me to tell her the facts of life!' John said, laughing.
'Tell her? Show her is more like it!' Iris spat, her eyes flashing.
'What's wrong with you anyway?' John said, noticing her anger.
'When will you learn to keep your hands off the girls?' she hissed.
'For Christ's sake, Iris, will you come off it? I'm sick and tired of you imagining things. You should be glad the girls come to me with their problems! After all, I'm supposed to be the counselor!'
John was really angry now. This wasn't the first time his wife had become angry and jealous over the boarders, and he was sick of it. As if he'd touch one of them — they were his bread and butter — he'd be a fool to mess around with them. Minors, too.
'What facts of life did you tell her? Did you give her a demonstration?' Iris taunted, her fare twisted with bitterness. 'No wonder you didn't want to come for a ride!'
'Damn it!' John snarled, 'I've had enough of your childishness!'
He got up and slammed the door, and locked it.
Then he turned around to face Iris.
She stood there, hands on hips, an angry, mocking look on her face.
John reached out and grabbed her by the waist. Angrily, she tried to yank her hand back but he held her tightly. Pulling her over to the chair behind the desk, he dragged it to the center of the room, and then sat down.
'W-what are you going to do?' Iris asked, frightened.
'I'm going to give you what you deserve!' he said, pulling her down over his lap.
'No, no, stop it! Stop it!' Iris cried, struggling desperately.
John turned her over, until she was lying across his knees, face down. Her legs were kicking and her hands were doubled into fists and she was pounding in mid-air, trying to strike him.
Holding her firmly by the waist, he slowly inched her swimming suit bottom down until it was halfway down her thighs.
The golden moons of her soft, well-rounded buttocks stared up at him. He noticed that they were almost as brown as the rest of her, and he could see them quivering, as if in terror of what was to come.
'Oh, please, John, I'm sorry,' she sobbed. 'Don't do anything to me!'
But John didn't answer.
Whoooosssshhhh! His hand made a whirring sound as it sliced through the air and landed with a resounding smack on her bare buttocks.
'Owowowowowowowwooww!' she sobbed, wincing from the sharp tingling pain. She began to struggle again, and almost succeeded in toppling them both over on the floor, but John caught her just in time.
Her buttocks retained the whitish imprint of his hand, and then it turned to red, before it faded away.
He slammed his palm down on her again, harder this time, and again Iris cried out. Tears were streaming down her face, and she was babbling incoherently, all the while struggling like a fish out of water.
John began to rain slaps faster on her now, until her buttock-cheeks turned a red color without change. Each slap sent her loins pressing down into his lap, desperately trying to escape the harsh stinging pain.
