Cum One, Cum All!
Farm Workweek One
Are you into “kink”? Are you into camping? Are you willing to brave the wilds of Maine in the middle of July and help to create a one-of-a-kind kinky outdoor experience for you and your play partner? Consider joining us for our very first work week. This camp week will give you hands on experience at the Farm, preparing for the second half of the season, yet will still give you lots of time to experience the kink you crave. Mornings will be spent working on carefully chosen tasks, while afternoons and evenings are yours to indulge. Sign up quickly! Spaces at these reduced rates will fill fast!
Bill scratched his neck, reading over Tim’s shoulder. He nodded along with the words, until he got to “reduced”.
“What? How reduced?”
“I’m thinking 30% off the regular rate.”
“We could do it ourselves for free.” Bill teetered on the edge of outrage. Thirty percent off for one or two would be fine, but for a shitload of campers?
“Here’s a few things to think about. One-we would have zero campers this week, which actually gives us a profit that we would not have had before, at 70% of our regular rate. They are, essentially, paying us for the privilege of working for us. Two, we get to, most likely, see a bunch of nekkid people do this work for us, for free, except that they will be paying us. We only have to run the electric on some sites, no heaters in frikking July in the barn, unlike the end of May when we had that rainy spell. It’s a fucking win!”
Bill ran his hand through his white hair, tousling it. He looked like the winds had blown him down from Katahdin, his face frowning as he mentally calculated.
“We’d still have to lay in the supplies.”
“We only have to get them here–we can keep them in the trucks, or just dump them on the porch.”
“Next year we need to have a camp store. The living room just ain’t working well for that.”
“Agreed. But you never know. We could put that out to bid on Fetchannel and give someone a break on their camping next year.”
That was a valid thought as well, Bill mused. And if they had a going enterprise here, they could order their damned supplies online and get them shipped here. No more trekking south for 3 fucking hours into Portland, or taking their chances that they could find what they needed in Orono. It might be a college town, but the kink factor was kind of low.
“Okay,” he said at last. Plans for next year blossomed daily, it seemed. A tweek here, a twist there. All in all, they were creating a damned fine enterprise. “Okay,” he repeated. “Thirty percent off, and they STILL pay us for working here. Gotta say, the thought of some nekkid slut swinging a hammer, titties bobbling makes me hard.”
“Everything about this makes me hard. It’s a hard, hard life, my friend.”
Tim slapped the table, guffawing. It was apparent that boat-building was far from his mind these days.
Work week and their campground wasn’t empty. Work week, and every single fucking site was booked. Work week, and there were sluts running hither and yon, grabbing nails, running drills, washing, scrubbing-you name a task, and it was being handled by someone.
They’d decided, after great debate, to hire a Dom supervisor. The two men had made a list of all the work tasks, and handed it off to “Sir” William.
It was up to William to go over the skills of the enrolled campers, divvy up the workload, and oversee the progress of the tasks. Giving him the tiny apartment in the barn where the hired hand used to sleep gave him his own private space for the next 8 weeks, since he would stay on through the end of camp.
The two-way radio crackled. Tim could never figure out what the fuck they were saying but it appeared that their final guests had arrived, one day late. Minutes later, he saw the kick of dust heading off to the Woods sites. He and Bill had made it a habit to go out and greet every camper-Lord knew they’d gotten a shit-load of blow jobs that way. No job he’d ever had in his life had given him more pleasure. He grinned at his own joke.
He arrived at Site 18, to find Bill approaching from the other side. Two women were busily unloading a rust-bucket station wagon.
“Hey there,” waved Bill.
The taller of the two paused. She was young, her dark hair a swinging shoulder-length bob that was as sleek-looking as an otter’s coat. Her eyes were dark and dancing. Full-figured wasn’t a word Bill was overfond of–he much preferred the term “stacked”. He liked his women with curves.
“Hi. Are you camping here too?” As she greeted him, her companion paused, eyeing Tim cautiously, before sliding her eyes towards her friend.
“Actually, I’m Bill, and this is my partner in crime, Tim. Tim, say hi to our new guests!”
“Hi there ladies.”
“Oh, we’re not ladies!” The other woman shook her head quickly. “We’re sluts!”
They all laughed.
“Now that’s a hell of an ice-breaker, and one you don’t hear every day.”
“We hope to hear it everyday that we’re here, though! I’m Iris,” the dark-haired woman extended her hand to Bill, then Tim. “This is my friend Emma. Sorry we’re a day late. Somehow missed the turnpike exit and headed Down east. Wound up at Acadia, and discovered we were 100 miles away or more. Spent the night at a little motel off route 2, figured we’d be best arriving fresh today. And if you’re Tim and Bill, they you aren’t a gay couple, but the owners of Kinky Camp, and gawds I’m babbling.”
She blushed a pretty pink, something Tim felt was sweet and charming at the same time.
“Well, we’re glad to see you both made it in one piece.”
“I was excited about work week. I’m so glad you did this–we’d never have been able to afford to come this year! I hope you don’t mind teaching me about hammers and such. I’m not really that mechanically inclined, but I follow directions well.”
“I’ve heard that a time or two this summer.” There was something about this girl that went right to Tim’s gut.
Okay, maybe lower.