Summer in Maine


This is Louetta. Here is a story I wrote some years ago and published as part of three separate stories under a different name. You may see the other stories somewhere else, but don’t worry that I stole them. They bear all my trademark stuff, like girls getting tied up naked, a little whipping, some casual sex, and my familiar synonyms for pussy, like bunny hole and girlhood. Also my detailed descriptions of various sex acts. Hope you enjoy it.

It’s the summer of COVID-19 and I just turned eighteen. I moved to Maine for a summer to experience somewhat how it is to live on your own and make your own living. It is semi-bogus because of course my father would bail me out anytime I asked but I was determined not to ask. In theory I was supposed to get by living in the tourist towns by the ocean, waiting tables or working as a motel maid. But during Covid the whole tourist economy disappeared and there was precious little work.

Some summer help girls were practically starving but for me things weren’t all that bad. I had a nice little apartment down the end of one of the main streets, two doors up from the bicycle shop. I had my own bathroom and kitchenette. A cute guy at the bicycle shop let me use a bicycle when I needed it to get around in return for certain personal services, because, of course, I couldn’t afford to rent a bike and wouldn’t let Daddy buy me one.

Anyway, each morning I worked at the restaurant another two doors up. People couldn’t eat inside because of the virus but customers could call in orders or order from the window and wait on the porch. When the orders were ready I would take them out on the porch and find the right customer either standing there or sitting in a car. Most people who ordered food paid electronically, but for cash customers the owners would trust me for the money which impressed me greatly. Of course I never went further than the curbside with the loot, but still. They knew I was broke. More about that in a minute.

I was happy at the breakfast place and appreciated their keeping me even though there was little business. After two weeks they came up with this scheme to increase business by making up breakfast sandwiches and a huge thing of coffee and selling them down at the dock to fishermen heading out to fish or pull traps. In order to increase sales I cheerfully agreed to wear my thong bikini and we made good money. In fact, after a few days lots of guys who did not work on boats started showing up to buy stuff. It was a little tough because it was still early season and it’s cold in Maine but I wore an Eisenhower jacket which I kept open in front and managed to display as much skin as possible and not freeze my ass. Which was, of course, quite visible beneath the short Eisenhower jacket.

So each day I would work at the breakfast place starting early. I’d get up at five, eat and shower and wash my hair and be at the restaurant by six. About ten I’d go out and run, then another shower and off to the sandwich shop up at the corner and make subs until one. People ordered take-out with the Covid scare so the logistics worked OK. Problem was there were not that many tourists in town because everyone was scared to go anywhere. With less business there were fewer jobs and bosses began to pressure girls to surrender their virtue in order to get work. I knew people, and they would help me, but when the yearly crew of girls arrived from Ireland to do their summer work things got bad for them.

I didn’t have much of a social life. I saw the cute guy from the bicycle shop regularly on Saturday nights but it wasn’t serious. We were both just horny. We’d wrestle. Of course he won but that wasn’t the point. We’d go to either his place or mine and we’d both strip to our underpants and fool around wrestling. It was strange and freeing. I loved feeling his almost naked body against mine, and he appreciated my bare boobs and almost bare ass. So we’d wrestle for a while. To give me a fighting chance he would have to get my panties off all the way. All I had to do was get a firm grip on his already firm penis. Who won pretty much determined what happened next. If I won he had to do me in the manner I directed, which meant I had a chance to get tied to the bed after a decent interval of necking and him feeling me up and, at my insistence, him eating me out.

I loved getting laid after all that wrestling foreplay, it really turned me on. I’d feel that slow burning feeling somewhere deep inside me rising up and spreading out all through me. It would grow greater until I was barely able to take it and then he’d put his dick in me and start moving gently back and forth and then faster and faster and then I’d start to cum and I just got lost in my body while he fucked my brains out right there on my bedroom floor. He’d cum in me and slowly start to relax and at the end he’d just be lying on top of me and I’d have this weird sensation wondering what had just happened to me but it was fantastic.

Anyway the weather got warmer. I’d get a bike to use and head out to Schooner Head or, if I urfa seks hikayeleri was feeling ambitious, down towards the other harbor. I’d take food and drinks and have a grand old time just by myself. By June there were days good enough to go to the park beach and the park roads were beginning to open so there were more places to go. For some though it wasn’t all fun and games. A lot of the girls were in real trouble, especially those who had come a long way to work and there wasn’t anything. Especially hard hit were the Irish girls who were five thousand miles from home and whose families were poor by United States standards so they couldn’t help their girls financially. In fact they depended on the girls working in America to help them.

With jobs and money scarce, bosses and landlords started making demands on the prettier girls. Girls I knew from town went along, but most of the Irish girls were virgins. It’s kind of a cultural thing in a country where birth control and abortions are only recently available, but not exactly mainstream. Many of the girls I knew just didn’t think about using the pill and certainly not if they didn’t have a regular boyfriend. So when the price of getting a job or staying in an apartment you couldn’t pay for involved surrendering your virtue they were in trouble. Blowjobs were common currency and taking it in the bum was a close second because it left you still a virgin as far as anybody cared.

In fact it was involuntary bum fucking which led me to getting my first boarder, Ciara, a pretty Irish girl with black hair and a nice body who approached me one day on the dock and asked if I could help her get a job at the breakfast place. They couldn’t afford to hire her because business was so bad, but she stayed with me a few days and they fed her. She was essentially on the streets after refusing to come across and still being taken in the ass. She was really upset, but after a few days she moved out and I didn’t see her for a while.

Finally there were more beach days. I almost always went to the park beach after the sandwich shop and the sun was high. They had some hunky lifeguards and you could sunbathe topless, which I liked and walk the beach that way too except you might draw some rude looks or be photographed. As it was Federal land there were no rules prohibiting bare boobs on girls. You didn’t see it a lot though and usually it was us locals and later in the summer the German girls who were used to doing it. The Germans were amusing. Even middle-aged women took their tops off and would lie there with their families, including their equally topless daughters, ignored by their sons and oblivious to the odd stares they got from some Americans. I would stand talking with the lifeguards and we would laugh.

Anyway, I worked seven days a week until the Fourth Of July, the American Independence holiday. My bosses were good to me and they provided me with the means to keep a roof over my head and food on the table without surrendering my virtue, whatever is left of it. But they knew they would need another girl to spell me on a regular basis. They found one, a German chick named Lena. She was pretty, had a good body and didn’t mind showing it off. And she had a steady job at the lab outside of town so she only wanted part-time work and wasn’t likely to chuck her full time job and leave town. She came on board a couple of days while I worked and I showed her the ropes. She was smart, friendly and, as I say, nice looking and didn’t mind showing her stuff. In short, she was perfect. She started right after the Fourth and worked every Saturday and any odd day I asked her.

I had seen Lena before, she was a regular at the main beach in the park. She was rather noticeable because, like many German girls, she usually did not wear a top. I didn’t either, but pretty much only when I lay on the sand. I would put it on to walk to the water or the bathroom or when talking to boys who stopped to make polite conversation. Lena, on the other hand, routinely walked down to the water, waded, swam and walked back to her towel, confidently displaying what God gave her and also sat, talked, and sunbathed with boys and some older men she knew while wearing only her bottoms. I finally met her one day when I clambered out on the far rocks to sunbathe in the nude. She came out too, after a while and, after politely asking my permission, stripped naked and joined me. She was fun to talk to and just viciously attractive, tallish, thin, pretty, lightly muscled, self-assured.

I talked to her at the beach a couple times more before she came to do coffee duty. She was nineteen, one year older than I. She had come from Germany after high school and spoke unaccented English when she wanted to be friendly and very little English when she didn’t. She was unattached but, along with two other German girls, lived with a group of German men she worked with at the lab. She knew who I was before I met her, me, the girl who sold coffee and sandwiches on the dock each morning, rain or shine. I was taken with her before she ever showed up to work and ecstatic when she took the job and showed every prospect of working out at it. And not just because I needed the rest one or two days a week. We were soon good friends and I met the men she lived with who were polite, friendly and free of the lecherous attitude a lot of local men took with me, given my willingness to stand out there each morning just about naked.

So July passed and I saw Lena often. She was a perfect companion for me, friendly, warm and open and seemingly oblivious to the fact she had a car and money and nice clothes and I had none of these. There was one thing that remained mysterious about her. I had noticed, the first time I talked to her while lying on the rocks, she was completely naked, that I could plainly see these marks on her back and behind. I did not see her naked again for a while, but she also routinely showed marks on her wrists and ankles and her neck which made it look as if she had been bound. Then one day she came after work to my apartment and while there she stripped to take a shower. Again she bore marks which looked for all the world like she had been whipped.

Anyway, while I took my shower she had an opportunity to look around my place. She knew about my friend from the bicycle shop and that he was doing me and that he was helping me pursue my various odd sexual interests. She saw that there were handcuffs on the four posts of my bed and various other artifacts of my kinkiness scattered about. After my shower I put my bikini back on, both parts. Out in the main room Lena had on only her bottoms, which was the German custom. Just like at the beach she displayed her bosom in front of me with all the innocence of a child. She smiled.

“Why do you have handcuffs on your bed?”

“Because of my bicycle friend. He’s not really my boyfriend but he has pussy rights and I like to be tied down for sex. And other stuff.”

“Pussy rights?”

“Yes, he can do me when he wants to.”

“Oh, I envy you. I mean that you get to do it when you want it.”

“May I ask you something then?”

“Of course.”

“Why do you have those marks on your body?” I asked.

“Ich wurde ausgepeitscht.” She was whipped. I was concerned. I didn’t think about a sex thing but that she might be being abused.

“Who does that to you?”

“The men I live with. Das Erwachen. It means the awakening or to be aroused. It’s our club. They do things to me.”

“They whip you.”

“Ja. Often it’s me, or the other girls. And each other.”

“And you let them?”

“Ich sage nein, ich meine ja.” She said no but meant yes.

“Do they do other things to you like that?”

“Die Kitzelfolter. Tickling me. That’s fun. Und ich wurde gekreuzigt. That was hard.” She meant she was crucified. She showed me the marks on her wrists, which I had of course already seen.

“Crucified. Where?”

“Nackt im Wald, oder in der Folterkammer.” Nackt im Wald I got. Naked in the woods.

“Was ist das Folterkammer?”

“The torture room. The dungeon, you would say.”

“Ja, ich bin immer nackt. Always naked. In the park somewhere sometimes, mostly near the lab or by the ocean. It’s beautiful by the ocean near the house across the road. In summer we do things at dawn sometimes. You should come and watch. You can come and see me whipped and still get to work on time.” I knew just where she meant, off Schooner Head.

“I will come watch.” She just gathered me into her and we hugged. I lightly touched her bare breasts. She was incredibly beautiful, her hair still wet from the shower. If she had said boo I would have let her fuck me any way she wanted.

“Do they make you have sex?”

“Sometimes they make me. With some of them I want to. You know the guys I’m talking about?”

“Yes. I’ve seen them watching me on the dock.” When I was selling coffee in the mornings in my bikini.

“They think you are very pretty. They say you have a nice body. They will do you, if you want. I mean the whip or the cross or tickle, not doing you like you say here, like fucking.” She hesitated.

“But they will, if you want.” I laughed, she was so straight-forward about things. I hesitated about undergoing the same kind of whipping she did by some strange Germans. Das Erwachen. The awakening. I was already awake enough for an eighteen-year-old.

“Nein. Not right away. If you want to tie me up I’d like that.” That might get me a piece of her gorgeous ass.

“OK, I will do that.”


“Then let’s go now. I will do it nice. We will go to the barn at the safe house. There will be no one there in the day.”

“OK, let me change.” I went into the bedroom and took off the bikini I had on, a thong with a bra designed to stay on at work among the men. I changed into another string suit with ties. We both knew what it meant, she could get it off when I was helpless. I convinced her at least to put a cover-up over her bare boobs and we drove across town in her car and out and down past the lab. We turned down the second fire road and into the driveway of what she called the safe house where she and the other girls lived along with at least some of the German men. She had to open the gate at the head of the driveway with a key and lock it behind us. Whatever we were going to do we would not be interrupted.

“Is this where der Folterkammer is?”

“Ja, but I can’t show you. But I can tie you to der Marterpfahl.”

“Was ist der Marterpfahl?”

“Very good, a whole sentence!” She meant my attempts to speak at least a little German to her. “Der Marterpfahl. It’s the torture stake. You’ll enjoy it. I’ll enjoy seeing you on it even more.”

She’d been on it. I felt like I was in a B-grade movie. At the end of the long driveway there was a house and a barn. You could smell the ocean but not see it. She stopped the car, we got out and she motioned me toward a path that led toward the water away from the house.

“Come, I’ll show you where I was gekreuzigt.” Crucified. We went maybe fifty yards and there was a clearing and there was the cross. Just like I pictured. I had dreamed about this. Kind of aged wood, high off the ground. A footrest so it wouldn’t be impossible for a girl. I got wet just thinking about it. Also a little scared. This was real.

“It was very difficult and I cried. They left me on it a long time. At first they let me use the footrest, but then they tied my ankles behind the cross and I had to stay up by squeezing my legs against the post. After a while you can’t squeeze anymore and you just hang by your arms. At least they tied my whole arms. Then you just hang there and it gets difficult to breathe and after a while longer you pass out. But I survived. I felt proud later that I had done it.” We walked back in silence and left the cover-ups and our shoes and socks in the car. In a moment we were in the barn. It was hot inside. It was eighty-five outside and the middle of a sunny August day. Coming in out of the bright sun it was pitch black inside.

“Are you frightened?”

“A little.”

“I’m always frightened when they bring me here.”

“Are you afraid of them?”

“Not really. I like what they do to me mostly. Only sometimes they like to do this Scheinhinrichtung thing where they do things that could kill you and those frighten me.”

“Like what?”

“Like tying my hands behind me and putting a rope around my neck and letting me hang.”

“I’ll get some rope,” she said. It gave me time to look around the barn as much as I could. Much of it was dark, there were no windows, but bright light shown in the barn door and filtered back a few yards. It was immaculate, nothing out of place. Certainly no rope lying around. If they tortured Lena here they had left no direct evidence except the marks on her bare skin. There were a number of posts supporting the ceiling and cameras mounted at regular intervals high up on the walls. Anyone tied to any of the posts would be in direct view of at least one of the cameras. Along the side there was a wooden staircase leading up to the second floor. Lena came back carrying enough soft, white cotton rope to tie up six girls.

“Am I going to be on camera?” I angled my head toward the nearest camera.

“No, certainly not. We’ll go upstairs.” We ascended the stairs and it was just the same except at the front there was a room with walls about eight feet high but open at the top. The only light came through the door of that room, from the opening that at one time gave access to the hayloft right above the main door. We went into the room.

“There are no cameras in here,” she said. But what there was der Marterpfahl, the torture post, about seven feet tall, eight inches square in cross-section, solid wood. There was a small cabinet near the wall and a small table next to der Marterpfahl. She put the rope on top of the table. It was deadly silent and very warm. Lena closed the door but didn’t lock it.

“They tie me here and leave me for a long time. Nackt, naked, and they do things to me, things that hurt.”

“Now I AM frightened.”

“If you want to be frightened then come, I’ll show you die Streckleitern, it’s good for all sorts of things.”

We walked to the back of the barn. It was pitch dark. There was another room, this one with floor-to-ceiling walls. She unlocked the door and flipped a light switch. Two spotlights mounted high on the front wall about ten feet from the back wall went on. Beneath the spotlights were more cameras. What the lights were pointed at made me REALLY frightened. It was the first real torture device I had ever seen. A large vertical board bolted to the back wall, about nine feet tall and five feet wide. At each of the four corners of the board hung heavy black cuffs attached to the wood by shiny silver chains. The top two chains went through screw eyes which were attached on either side of the board and then each to a winch just like one would mount on a boat trailer which could be used to tighten the chains bit by bit. It wasn’t hard to imagine what could be done when the winches were tightened little by little with a naked girl spreadeagled against the board, her wrists and ankles held fast by the heavy black cuffs.

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