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Janice learned lust unwillingly one night under the sour breath of her mother’s drunken lover. For the rest of the summer Janice became the willing “victim” to the perverse desires of any man who happened to wander through the mountain resort. But she never forgot the man who had forcibly taught her to enjoy such painful depravity—and when winter came, Janice found herself filled with violence.
Summer was her favorite. It was terribly hot and the air-cooler ran all day and half the night, but it was better than the winter when a fine shroud of ice skirted the edges of Clear Lake. Also, there were tourists who did more for Grace than the morose citizens who made it through the four seasons and complained about everything, including the weather.
Grace liked summertime. The sun rose early—which wasn’t one of her favorite facets of the season—but once she was out of bed and in gear, certain marvels were in order. For one, she didn’t have to bother with nylon panties or a brassiere which in wintertime kept her full breasts from being irritated against a wool blouse. Also, the lack of binding constriction gave her a feeling of freedom. It also gave her a chance to be proud of her figure, which by any standard, was nearly spectacular.
In summertime, Grace was the talk of Lower Lake, at least among the fishermen and loiterers who had come in for a loaf of bread, stared and gulped and managed to come back for something they had “forgotten”. Her naked body under a thin summer cotton was enough to give an otherwise stable tourist the stutters. According to the local-yokels who were also star-struck, she was a daisy. Her waist was slim, her hips were suitable for a brood-mare, and she had breasts that were seemingly unreal until the men got close enough (and pop-eyed enough) to see that their conical pertness was entirely real.
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.