Tennis Team TroubleChapter 1
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After Justine had finally gone home, Katie and I took a long shower together. My lust sated for the moment—I had cum three times in about four hours—I was content to simply wash her nubile body without feeling the need to stuff my cock inside her. I asked how she felt about everything we'd done that day.
"I loved it," she said. "All of it." I asked her a few specifics. Yes, even the nipple clamps, the slapping and choking. "I can't explain it," she said. "When you're rough with me and tell me what to do, it makes me sort of ... mushy inside ... and, um ... excited."
"You mean it turns you on when you're treated like a dirty slut?"
Katie looked down and blushed, as you might expect from a shy twelve-year-old. "That's bad, isn't it?" she said. "Do you think there's something wrong with me?"
"No," I said, though I didn't entirely believe it. "I think you're naturally submissive. You understand, don't you, that I would never do anything to seriously hurt you?"
She nodded.
"Good. So, as long as you're okay with it, I love treating you like a dirty slut."
She giggled. "Sabrina is going to be so pissed."
"Maybe," I agreed. "But we still have a few days before she gets back, so let's not think about her right now."
Before sending her home I couldn't resist fucking her one more time. I'm sure her little pussy was sore from the pounding I'd given it earlier, and I was gentle with her for once. When she kissed me goodnight, the look on her face tugged at something inside me ... but I was able to suppress it.
'She's not your girlfriend, ' I reminded myself. 'She's just a messed-up kid.'
All my girl troubles began because I had agreed to coach the high school tennis team, so the attentive reader might wonder if I play the game myself. The answer is yes, but not very well. In fact, I played the next morning. While my opponent was clearly in top form, I had been too busy to do any practicing. He destroyed me, 6-2, 6-1. The humiliating loss combined with the oppressively hot, sticky weather put me in a foul humor.
I drove home, badly in need of a cool shower and a couple of hours of down time. But as I pulled up to my building I saw Katie lurking on my doorstep. She was dressed provocatively to say the least. Was the foolish little trollop trying to get me arrested? She followed my car into the garage attached to my condo. By the time the overhead door closed behind us I was livid.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I growled. "How long have you been standing out there?"
Katie was wearing a sort of modified school uniform, consisting of a green and blue pleated tartan skirt, white shirt, and white knee socks. I say modified because the skirt was much too short to be acceptable in any school, and the shirt was tied up in front to reveal several inches of midriff. I didn't see any sign of a bra.
"I—I wanted to surprise you," she said. "I hemmed this skirt all by myself..."
We went inside. "It looks great," I said. "But if my neighbors saw you dressed like that, they might have already phoned social services. And I thought we agreed that you would call before you come over."
"I wanted it to be a surprise," she repeated. "Please don't be mad. I'll be a good girl." I noticed that she was wearing makeup: mascara and dark eye shadow, and her lashes looked even thicker than usual. Her lips were painted glossy pink. It was totally inappropriate for her age.
"Damn right you will," I said. "Go get me a beer." I pulled off my tennis shoes and socks while Katie ran to the fridge. When she came back I took a swig of beer and sat on the leather ottoman. "Take my shirt off," I ordered.
"Ew," she said. "It's all sweaty." That was certainly true. After all, I had spent almost two hours being run ragged in humid 95 degree weather. She managed to pull the shirt over my head without touching it any more than necessary.
"Now the rest," I said, standing up. She pulled my shorts down and off, wrinkling her nose at my sweat-soaked underwear. "That's it," I said when I was completely undressed. "Now suck it."
The gorgeous tweener took my cock between her painted lips with something less than her usual enthusiasm. In its flaccid state it fit easily in her mouth, but began to grow almost immediately. Her tongue slithered along the underside of my shaft as it expanded, until her mouth was filled to capacity. Katie seemed to forget about the reek of my unwashed body as my ballooning cockhead slipped past her tonsils. "Mmmmm," she hummed as she warmed to her task.
I took a long pull of beer, chugging nearly half the bottle. The short drive home from the tennis courts hadn't been nearly enough time to cool my overheated system. As I looked down at Katie, drops of sweat fell into her reddish brown hair and onto her face. I grabbed the back of her head with my free hand. My cock was fully erect now, causing her to gag as I forced it down her gullet. Tears formed in the child's big green eyes.
"Are you going to be a good girl from now on?" I asked as I stuffed her throat.
"Mmmm hmmm," she mumbled, gazing up at me. I drained my beer and tossed the empty bottle onto the couch. With both hands free to hold her steady, I fucked the twelve-year-old's pretty face as if it were the cunt of a ten dollar whore. Minutes later, I came with my cock deep in her throat, her nose mashed against my sweat-slick belly.
When I finally released her, Katie collapsed to the floor gasping for air. As I walked away I said, "Fix your face while I get a shower. You looked sexy made up like that."
While I was in the shower, I considered what I had just done. I treated Katie a lot differently than I did her sister or Missy. Why was I so cruel to the little thing? The only explanation that I could come up with was the 'cringing dog' principle. Katie, like a mistreated animal, expected to be kicked, which in turn pissed off its owner (or in this case, me), and brought about a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Whatever. I had fantasized for years about fucking a girl's mouth like I had just done to Katie's—and she seemed to like it.
In less than half an hour we were heading west on Route 40. I didn't say where we were going and she didn't ask. She looked over at me from time to time with that downtrodden, puppy dog need for approval that I found so aggravating. She knew I was still angry with her and she was wondering how to make amends.
We had crossed the county line and after another fifteen minutes we were well beyond any place where I might be recognized. Katie turned to me in surprise when I parked the car at our destination. A seedy establishment along a seedy stretch of road, the place was called 'XXX-treme Videos and Adult Novelties.' Its three narrow windows all displayed mannequins dressed in gaudy lingerie or fetish gear.
"Are we really going in there?" she said.
"Yup. We're going toy shopping," I said, giving her an appraising glance. "Your lipstick is a little smudged."
She looked at me warily, but opened the mirror on the car's sun visor and checked her lips. I handed her a Kleenex and she dabbed at the smear, then coated her lips again. With the makeup and the clothes, Katie looked like a Junior Miss masquerading as a street hooker. She could have given a hard-on to a dead Kennedy.
"Let's go," I said. We got out of the car and went inside.
The store was divided roughly in two. On one side were racks of porn DVDs and on the other side were bondage devices, clothing, and sex toys. Lots and lots of sex toys. In the center behind a high counter sat the lone sales clerk. He grunted a welcome before looking up from his computer terminal. When he spotted Katie he almost choked on his Slurpee.
"Buddy," he said. "You can't bring your kid in here, not without I.D. And she don't look eighteen to me."
He was blatantly ogling the slender redhead, and one could hardly blame him. It was chilly in the air conditioning, and her nipples had popped out. The lack of a bra was abundantly clear.
"Katie, why don't you have a look around," I said. "I'm going to have a chat with this gentleman." There were only two or three customers in the place, but Katie was afraid to leave my side. I had to give her a little push. "Go on," I said gently. "It'll be okay."
I approached the counter, sizing up the clerk. He was in his forties, disheveled and overweight. An air of failure hung around him like a cloud. "I told you," he said, "you can't—"
Speaking in a low voice, I cut him off. "What's your name?"
"Uh, Stan. But—"
"Look, Stan," I said. "First of all, she's not my kid. But you're right, she is underage. How old do you think she is?"
"I don't know ... fourteen? Fifteen?"
"Good guess." In a voice barely above a whisper I said, "Have you ever thought about getting it on with a girl her age?"
"Well, uh..."
"That's okay," I said. "Everyone has. So here's the deal: I'm training her to be my fuck slave. She has to do whatever I tell her."
Stan's eyes just about popped out of his head. "You're shittin' me." I was close enough to smell his rank breath.
"I shit you not, Stan. I don't want you to get in trouble. But I need a big favor. Just let her stick around long enough to choose a few things, then she will give you the best blow job of your life."
His mouth hung open for a moment before his face lit up and he grinned. He emerged from behind the counter and hung an 'OUT TO LUNCH' sign in the door before locking it.
I gave him a thumbs up and went to see what Katie was getting into. When I caught up to her, she was browsing the large selection of dildos and vibrators. Nearby were two older men, one of whom was pretending to shop while the other was openly staring at her.
"Find anything you like?" I said.
"Yeah," she said, seeming a bit surprised. "There are so many cool things here ... this one is really cute." Katie held up a bright pink jelly vibe. It was about six or seven inches long with a knobby surface.
"'A Girl's Best Friend'," I read off the package. "Guess you won't need me anymore."
She looked aghast. "Oh, of course I need you! We don't have to get this silly toy—"
"I'm just kidding," I said, reassuring her. "It's fun to play with toys once in a while. As long as they don't take my place..."
She hugged me in such a childish affectionate way, I almost felt bad about what she would soon be doing. The old men gazed at her with hopeless longing.
"There now," I said, disengaging myself from her arms. "That's okay. Do you want anything else?"
"Well," Katie said, leading me across the room. "I love these shoes, but they're really expensive." She tried on a pair of white spike-heeled pumps. The kid could hardly walk in them without stumbling, but they were pretty damn sexy.
"Seventy-five bucks?" I said. "That is a little steep. Maybe we can get a discount." We walked towards the cash register. "There's one little thing..." I turned to look Katie in the eye. "You have to blow the guy behind the counter."
She stopped in her tracks. Hurt and betrayal was written all over her face. "Look," I said. "Nothing comes free in this world. Besides, I'm still pissed off at you for showing up at my place this morning."
"But—"
"If you'd rather not, I can just leave you here and let you find your own ride home."
Five minutes later when the fat clerk came in Katie's mouth, the expression on her face was priceless. Her shame was multiplied when she realized that the two old geezers were leaning over the counter to watch.
Back in the car, Katie was rather sullen. She had cleaned up her face in the sex shop's bathroom, and I could see that her lipstick and makeup had been retouched. She was just as young and beautiful as she had been before we went into the store. And best of all, Stan had given me fifty percent off the price of the shoes.
"Maybe now you'll listen when I ask you to do something," I said. No reaction. I was wondering how to pull Katie out of her sulk when I remembered the tattoo parlor just a mile or so back up the road. It was that kind of road. An idea began to take form.
"I know you're upset," I said. "How about we stop and get that tattoo you've been asking for?"
"Really?" she said, her mood changing instantly. "That would be so awesome!"
I nodded and smiled. In fact, I had no intention of letting Katie get a tattoo. A woman's body, especially a lovely young girl's body, is nature's most perfect creation. It's beyond me why girls seem to think they can improve on perfection. Defacing a young girl's body with tattoos should be a crime. It's like spraying graffiti on a Michelangelo. People who encourage girls to get tattoos should be horse whipped.
I pulled into the parking lot of a low, concrete building. It had a large sign on the roof which read: 'Buddha's Body Art'. There was an old pick-up truck parked at the side.
I said, "Katie, maybe you should wait in the car while I go in and talk to these people. I don't know the laws about age limits or parental consent. We don't want them to call the cops or something."
I went in and spoke to the proprietor and his wife for a few minutes. When I told them what I had in mind and described Katie, they were more than willing to go along with my little plan, and even added a few twists of their own. By the time we were finished with her, Katie would think twice about disobeying me again.
Out in the parking lot, I could see the adorable tweener looking eagerly through the car window. She reminded me of a puppy waiting impatiently for its owner. "Let's go in," I said. "Everything's cool."
The place was far from palatial, but it was clean, and I had been assured that all their instruments were properly sterilized. Mike, the owner, was a burly U.S. Army veteran with huge, heavily tattooed arms and long stringy hair tied in pony tail. He was packing the bowl of a large colorful glass bong as we walked in. He only paused for an instant when he saw Katie. It was hard to look at the sexy young thing and not be affected, especially dressed as she was.
"So, little lady," he said slowly. "You want to get a tattoo." Katie nodded vigorously. "It kinda hurts, you know. Wanna get high first?" Of course she did. Our Katie was ready for anything that signified age and experience. She'd never smoked from a bong before and Mike said his stuff was the best. In a few minutes she was stoned out of her head.
While Katie was getting high, Mike's wife, Marta came into the room. She was a very buxom blonde of German origin that Mike had met when he was stationed there many years earlier. She quickly made friends with Katie and led her to a sofa to look at tattoo design books. While they chatted, Mike and I talked quietly. Having seen Katie, he was even more ready to put my little plan into effect.
We had been talking a minute or two when I looked over at Marta and Katie. They were whispering and giggling like high school girls, which amused me since one was too young for high school, and the other too old by at least twenty years. Marta had her arm around the little redhead. It might have been a motherly, affectionate gesture, but I suspected that the blonde woman was not feeling especially maternal.
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