Sorry, no can do

...you arch your back and feel a hand roughly grab your wrist, pulling your fingers away from your aching, throbbing pussy. You throw your eyes open and come face to face with Patrick's frown. The other boys have backed off, so for a brief moment, your body is free of prying paws.

"You were about to orgasm, weren't you, slut?" Patrick says quietly.

"Yes, Sir," you reply, noticing that his hand still holds your wrist tightly.

"But you didn't ask permission, did you?"

"Ugh, I'm sorry, Sir. May I cum please, Sir?" you say quickly, trying to get it over with.

"No, I'm afraid not," he replies. "Your demonstration has been sufficiently ... educational. Wouldn't you say, boys?" The teens hoot and whistle and clap. "You have proven yourself to be a woman. Congratulations."

"Thank you, Sir," you say, feeling relief as Patrick finally lets go of your wrist.

"Boys, I think it's time for our next lesson. Woman here is going to perform some of her duties. First, Woman will clean up from our lunch. We're going on a hike, boys, and Woman will be remaining here at the camp. She'll be responsible for making sure that our tents are all perfectly neat and tidy and that dinner is waiting for us when we return." Patrick looks you in the eye. "Do you understand, Woman."

You nod, thrilled at the possibility of receiving some respite from these horny, hungry teenagers.

"I didn't hear you, Woman!" Patrick says loudly.

"Yes, Sir, I understand. I'm to clean up after all of you and have dinner ready when you return. When will you be back, Sir?"

"I expect we'll return around sunset." Patrick checks his watch. "That's about six hours from now. Enjoy the peace and quiet." He pauses, considering something, and then reaches into his backpack. He pulls out your white sundress, tossing it to you. "You may wear this now, Woman. But know that I can take this privilege away if you lose my confidence or trust."

"Thank you, Sir!" you say gustily, unfolding the dress and slipping it over your naked body. The thin layer of fabric doesn't do much to hide your generous curves from the teenage boys' eyes, but compared to the past several hours of nudity, it feels like you're practically wearing a nun's habit.

The boys each rustle around in their tents a bit while you sit quietly on a log, trying not to attract any attention while they get ready to leave. At last, they've packed their bags and are ready to go.

"Remember, Woman, you're to clean our campsite as well as the tents and to have dinner ready when the sun goes down."

"Yes, Sir," you say, hardly believing you're about to get this reprieve.

"Go on then!" he calls to the boys, and they blissfully leave you in peace.

You take a deep breath, drinking in the freedom, the warm sunny air, the privilege of wearing clothes. After a few minutes of calm, you quietly start to gather the dishes and trash that the boys left behind from their lunch. You put everything into neat piles and survey the campsite. It looks pretty orderly to you!

You know you should take a look at the boys' tents, but there's something else on your mind. You can remember how to get to that stream where the boys had gone skinny dipping, and the prospect of rinsing the day's grime--from mud to spunk--from your normally pampered skin is too tempting to resist. Figuring you still have several hours, you strike out for the mountain stream, hoping you can get yourself clean.