Gender: Male Age: 24 Location: N/A
|Introduction: Follows Nine, followed by Eleven|
“Are you ready for the game?” Kylie asked me.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“I heard you got hurt.”
“Brett mistook me for the Superbowl.”
The place: my house. More precisely: my pool. But it wasn’t just me and Kylie. Edie and Sandy were behind us as we leaned on the side, knocking an inflatable ball back and forth. It had already hit me in the head once; it was an exercise in bravery to keep my back to them.
Sandy had invited himself over to swim, and brought Edie along. Edie had brought Kylie without an explanation. They were friends now, and that was just weird. Even though they were both on the student council, Edie’s the mousiest, most unnoticeable girl in our school, while Kylie is the most striking. She’s got the looks, the grades, and the sports record to make anybody feel inferior. The boys want her, the girls want to be her. So why would she be hanging around Edie? And why follow her to the home of her hated rival?
Maybe someday I would find out. Probably not today.
“That guy is intense,” Kylie said. It was rare for us to be civil with each other. Or rather for her to be civil to me, and for me to not be sarcastic. But we were having a normal conversation, and I found it refreshing. Sandy and Edie continued to splash around behind us.
“Brett’s not so bad,” I said. Though he was missing his opportunity to see Edie in a swimsuit. I should have invited him. She was wearing the least revealing red bikini I’d ever seen, but there wasn’t anything to reveal anyway. Edie had the kind of body that would drive a pedophile wild, but the rest of us wouldn’t look twice. Now that I thought about it, I wondered if she and Brett were even physically compatible. “What about the big race?” I asked.
She chewed her lip. “I don’t know.”
“Where’s the confidence?”
Kylie sort of wiggled her shoulders. “I’m going through some stuff.”
I happened to know exactly what she was going through. Frustration at her inability to reach orgasm was building up, and she’d apparently experimented with another girl, which had left her feeling guilty and strange. Then by chance I’d witnessed an innocent massage from her swim coach turn into a very intimate one that ultimately led to what might’ve been Kylie’s first orgasm.
I was guessing she hadn’t had one since then, and couldn’t without the hands of Miranda, our PE teacher and swim coach, or someone equally skilled, to help her along. And that was weighing on her mind, which was slowing her down in the pool, and threatening her chances in the next race.
“You’ll work it out,” I predicted. If she could just learn to get herself off, she’d be good to go. There was some splashing behind us, and I turned to see Edie’s rear protruding from an inflatable donut, and her front half underwater. I swam over and rescued her, and Sandy suggested we all play, since we had the net up. Of course it was me and him against Edie and Kylie. Kylie and I were evenly matched, but Sandy was less incompetent than Edie, so we had the edge. We won by one point.
Then we ate lunch and said our goodbyes. Not the worst way to spend the afternoon, though I’d have preferred to nap. And I would, but not until I dealt with the situation in my room. I went up there.
Face down, arms and legs spread, Red was tied to my bedposts with four of my neckties. I’d put her there with the promise of a long and satisfying spanking, but I had gone downstairs to meet my friends without delivering it. She had been there for almost five hours.
Her maid uniform lay on the floor in a heap; I’d told her to take it off, and she’d reluctantly done so, revealing matching blue and white underwear.
That underwear was now creased, having ridden up as she squirmed around. She’d been struggling with the neckties, perhaps hoping for some friction against my mattress, but she couldn’t get off that way. Being tied up excited her. Being tied up in her underwear excited her more. I’d seen her panties the last time I’d spanked her, but she wasn’t used to being exposed this way in front of a guy, and it was giving her a very mixed thrill.
She was not happy about being left there. She couldn’t call out for rescue from another maid, not without revealing that she’d been up to something very unprofessional, so she’d been forced to wait for me. This had been my plan from the start. Despite promising not to bother me, she’d gotten increasingly pushy. I had a feeling she was an avid masturbator, but she wasn’t able to duplicate the feelings she got from a good spanking, and she wanted them badly enough to risk her job.
She was mad, but she didn’t say anything when I came into the room. There was a damp spot on my sheets, but it wasn’t very big. It told me that I’d correctly diagnosed her excitement. I’d spoken with her for about half an hour before tying her down, and made sure that she was drinking tea the whole time. She needed a restroom badly; the way her lower body was so tight and tense was a dead giveaway.
She cycled to get around, and it had given her a very firm and shapely rump. Convenient for someone who loved to be spanked.
Her face showed concentration, as she was working to keep her bladder under control. I sat down on the bed beside her, and laid my hand on her back. She twitched, but didn’t make a sound. Her eyes were squeezed shut. I trailed my fingers around for a few moments, feeling her tense beneath them. I stopped short of tickling her. That would hardly be fair.
I’d messed up when I agreed to spank her the second time. I gave her the best orgasm she’d ever had, and contrary to getting her to leave me alone, it had just made her hungrier. I’d learned my lesson, and it was time for Red to learn hers. We were going to do something she wasn’t going to like.
I snapped her bra. That got a hiss out of her. I hadn’t snapped it very hard, just enough to get her attention. Of course I wasn’t going to physically hurt her, but it was very important that she not enjoy this afternoon. A little negative reinforcement, very textbook Jung.
I stroked down her back, up and over the curves of her firm bottom, and rested my fingers on her thigh. I rubbed lazily. She was already wet, and this was just making it worse.
“Untie me,” she said with clenched teeth.
“I will,” I promised. “In about two minutes.” I gently slipped my fingers into her panties where they had ridden up, and tugged the underwear back into place so that it covered her cheeks properly, then ran my hands over it to smooth it. Her hips couldn’t decide if they wanted to get closer to my hands, or run away. But there was nowhere to run. She ground her pelvis into the sheets, but it didn’t do any good. I hooked my fingers into the waistband and pulled up, lightly. The fabric was tugged tightly between her legs, soaking through immediately, becoming almost translucent. She grunted at the sudden sensation, and I relaxed the pressure. She relaxed with it, but quivered a little.
“I need a bathroom,” she hissed.
“We’ll go in a second.”
I ran my finger along her inner tight, just short of her mound, keeping my touch light. She wanted to squeeze her legs together, but couldn’t. I watched her struggle. Her body temperature seemed to go up several degrees. My finger came away wet.
I put my hand back on her rear, squeezed it gently to get a little blood flowing, then gave it a light tap. It was almost like I’d gone down on her; she let out a strangled moan, and her hips rose from the bed. That was enough.
“All right,” I said. “Bathroom.” I untied her and picked her up. She didn’t struggle, she just clung to me for dear life, squeezing her thighs together in desperation. Her anger that the spanking had stopped before it had begun was tempered with her desire for relief for her other problem.
I took her into my bathroom and closed the door behind us, then set her down. She tottered, but didn’t collapse. A single drop was tracing a shining line down her inner thigh. Between her legs, her underwear was soaked.
It took her a moment to realize I wasn’t leaving. I leaned against the door, blocking the way out. She glared at me as she caught on. Her arms were folded over her chest like she thought me seeing her in a bra was a problem. Her underwear was cute, but not very risky. I’d seen more revealing bathing suits.
She looked at me, then around the bathroom. With a final fierce look, she stepped into my tub and snapped the curtain shut. That was a clever way to achieve some modesty. But not clever enough. She didn’t think to actually turn on the shower. She could even have steamed up the bathroom, then nobody would’ve been able to see or hear anything. But she wasn’t thinking clearly; she was critically aroused, and all set to burst.
I had no interest in actually watching her use my bathroom, I was just making a point, and it looked like I was doing a good job.
My shower curtain is translucent. All you can see through it is a flesh-colored outline. She was standing with her back to me. She bent over to slip down her panties and step out, and she hung them on my towel bar. I looked curiously at her body, which was just a blur to me. The relative silence went on. I realized her shy bladder had locked up on her.
But she couldn’t leave my room without dealing with this. It didn’t take her long to realize what was necessary. I had noticed it when I gave her that single, light spank – she had almost lost control. Shy or not, there was nothing that could hold it back if she came.
She looked over her shoulder at me, though I couldn’t really see her face. I waved. She turned back around quickly. I waited as she deliberated, then finally made up her mind. She didn’t have a choice. It was just like it had been with Brett; she was determined to keep her back to me. I guess that made it easier for her.
She leaned forward and put one palm on the tile of my shower wall. The other went between her legs. In a moment I could hear the wet sounds. She was rubbing quick circles around her clit, taking the fast track. But in the state she was in, it wouldn’t take long. Or would she be like Brett, unable to finish on her own with someone watching? No, not at all. It only took a moment for her breathing to fill the bathroom, getting faster and more ragged, just like her arm.
Her knees buckled, she leaned down farther, and she gasped loudly. I heard a few droplets strike the tub, then she couldn’t hold it anymore. He knees shook. The sound of the stream on the floor of the tub was very loud in the relatively small room, almost drowning out her low moan.
When it was over she sagged into the corner, panting. It was too easy to picture her there in her bra, red-faced, shaking in the afterglow, thighs soaked. My mission was accomplished. I left the bathroom so she could take her time cleaning up. This would teach her not to put herself in compromising situations. Right?
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