Pool Boy
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Pool Boy free porn video
Copyright 2001. All rights reserved.
Normally a boy of eighteen would enjoy gazing out a large picture window with an unimpeded view of teenaged feminine pulchritude. But lately such lustful viewing has been stressful for me. Though Mrs. Minever's daughter seems to each week wear less and less bathing attire, the Mother of the precocious model puts more demands on me with every visit. Thus I am forced to contemplate the value of my compensation for services rendered.
Today I stand upright with my neck encased in a wide and stiff collar. A large fur lined belt encircles my waist along with matching fur lined ankle cuffs. Each professionally fabricated item of restraint is secured to a frame surrounding my body. After finishing my cleaning duties, I laid naked and supine on a table-like surface while Mrs. Minever buckled the straps. After which, it was a simple maneuver to lower the flat surface then swing the frame so that my feet went down and my head and shoulders up. Thus I stand upright, but with my feet six inches off the floor and my wrists secured to the waist belt. Much of my weight is held by the waist belt and ankles cuffs. But the immobilizing neck collar also bears weight, producing the most unusual sensation on my spine and causing delightful havoc in my groin area. I feel myself stiffen.
"Brandy should be out in a minute. She had another late-night photo shoot so she slept late."
I feel feminine hands slide between my thighs and palm my scrotum from behind. Her touch is tender but she is examining. I am helpless to resist.
"You've got quite the load trapped in here, Bret. Put on a nice stand for me and I'll take care of it."
Yes, she will, and she laughs with an annoying degree of confidence knowing that before I am permitted to release, there will be extracted a ponderous psychological toll.
Mrs. Minever is a physical therapist nonpareil and she indeed knows how to take care of the male anatomy. In her mid to late thirties she has attained a most fortunate age in life. One where the physical beauty of youth has not yet ceded to time and yet the knowledge and experience of the years become her most noteworthy attribute. I can write without reservation that she is most comfortable in strapping down a naked boy! She exudes confidence and with it a quiet power that spellbinds an impressionable teen.
But it is her stunning daughter which best exemplifies her work. At sixteen, Brandy is developing rapidly. Always a cute girl, she has since puberty had the body of a Goddess. The prevalent question throughout the neighborhood is... , 'Will her breasts ever stop growing?'
The unabashed answer seems to be 'No'. And with Mother making her endeavor daily in hour after hour of special exercises and posture training, Brandy does not display the normal awkwardness of a teenager whose body outgrows the requisite muscling required for coordination.
No, Brandy moves and walks with the grace of a ballet dancer, and many an afternoon I am permitted to observe as compensation for services rendered.
"This will take your mind off things. Remember Bret, you can look but you can't touch."
Gloved fingers find my rectum. I hear the squish of lotion. I feel the slipperiness of lubricant as knowing digits dexterously penetrate and manipulate my sphincter. The fingers withdraw and I feel something else slide within just as Brandy strolls out the sliding glass door opposite the window.
As usual, Mrs. Minever's timing is admirable. With my first view of the gorgeous young model, firm hands work to insert a sizable inflatable plug. I hear a puff of air as the squeeze bulb is pressured. The business end is directly pressing my prostate. Mrs. Minever takes professional pride in all her efforts. She steps to my front to inspect.
"Looks like I got it,' she notes with a laugh of confidence, her fingers diddling the frenulum of my rapidly growing penis. She has found my male gland with surprising ease.
"I'll come back and check on you in a few minutes. Remember, with complete silence... , there'll be no embarrassing interruptions."
I look down into the beautiful brown eyes of my tormentress and my penis grows more. She wears a two piece bathing suit, no where near as brief as Brandy's, but still most revealing. The tops of her tanned breasts invite attention. I am already pining for her touch, that which will grant me relief after a long afternoon of voyeuristic frustration.
Meanwhile, Brandy finds a lounge chair in which to lie. It has been positioned to afford me the best of views. Though I am no more than fifteen feet from the nearly nude body of my dreams, the special reflective window glass will not reveal my proximity. As Mrs. Minever correctly suggested, if I just stand quietly in naked suspension, no one will ever know that I am watching the future super model as she frolics about the pool.
Mrs. Minever's single level house is sprawling. The outdoor pool is completely surrounded by the structure, affording young Brandy the degree of privacy which her budding body requires. The office, in which I find myself helplessly restrained, is in the rear of the house, with Mrs. Minever's patients entering through a rear door. There, a modest reception area with a changing room connects to the large therapy room, where I hang. There is a second door from the therapy room to the main body of the house. Only Mrs. Minever has the key. Thus on these quiet Saturday afternoons, I hang in naked humiliation, but with a degree of relative comfort knowing that only Mrs. Minever has access to the office.
Months ago word spread throughout the neighborhood that Mrs. Minever was seeking to hire a boy for a part time cleaning position. The job required only two to three hours per week to clean the changing room, reception area, therapy room and pool. And she offered to pay one hundred dollars, a vast sum for two hours of unskilled labor
Mrs. Minever did not realize how many boys sought proximity to her daughter. Her modeling career and attendance at a private school kept her aloof from us regular kids. And we all found ourselves ogling when walking home from school and seeing Brandy step from a stretched limousine. Out of hearing range we mocked her, her lavish garb seeming to comically contrast with the grungy look of normal teenagers.
But deep down, we were both envious and adoring. None of us would have passed up an opportunity to meet and talk. And she did seem to smile our way before being whisked into the house by a burly driver.
So in living closest to Mrs. Minever, needing money for college, and having this latent desire to possibly meet the untouchable young Goddess, I raced to apply for the job.
"You'll arrive before ten o'clock. The vacuum cleaner is right here. All other cleaning apparatus and supplies are under the sink."
Mrs. Minever was showing me around the office area. A small bathroom off the changing room proved to have everything needed for my tasks. I was given a key to the rear door and sadly, I realized that with the separate entrance and comparative seclusion of the professional office, I would not gain any more proximity to the teenaged beauty than those far off glimpses such as when she walked from limo to front door.
She showed me into the therapy office. I was amazed at the equipment and Mrs. Minever noticed my reaction.
"It only appears that I torture people here, Bret. Patients with severe back and neck injuries need different types of suspension, massage and manipulation. You'd be surprised how hanging inverted can be so therapeutic for the spine."
It was my introduction to the curious device upon which I now find myself naked, restrained and plugged. Mrs. Minever looked at me closely as my eyes examined everything. I think she observed something at the time. Whatever it was I cannot know.
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