The Littlest Lifeguard -- Part 2 By Ocean Lover Guy
Tim Spencer was triple thinking his decision to work the pool party. It was cash money, but he didn't feel quite right about Trance. The guy's eyes had been inside every crevice of his body -- or so it seemed.
It was too late now to back out. They had just turned off the highway and were on an unpaved road now.
"It's just ahead," Trance said. Tim couldn't see anything in the darkness.
The car passed through a gate lit up by the headlights, then lights throughout the compound flooded the darkness.
"Jesus," Tim said.
"Everyone should see this place, for the first time, at night," Trance said.
There was a large house partly inside and partly on top of a small hill. The whole thing looked like glass and stone, not cold, but warm and inviting. Trance drove the car toward a different building, one tucked behind the house. They passed a long building with a series of garage doors and then stopped in front of another glass and stone house. Tim could see the flood lights playing on the not-quite-smooth surface of a large pool inside the building. Tim's best friend started to chub up inside his pants.
"You can leave your shit in the car, Tim," Trance said. "It'll just get stolen if you set it somewhere inside." Tim left his cell phone in the car.
"Where's everyone?"
"It's not even seven, Tim. They'll all be fashionably late, I'm sure. Help me set up?"
Tim nodded. They walked to the building and Trance unlocked the door with a thick ring of keys.
"I can get into a lot of trouble with these," he said. He flashed Tim a sphinx-like smile. "Help me get set up. We've got mats to throw down and then we need to raid the main house to get the eats and booze down here."
Tim nodded. He sniffed in the chlorine air and loved it. Trance walked them both to a door at the far end of the pool.
"Mechanicals over there, my boy. Mats and the pool toys in here."
Trance opened the door and started pulling the mats out. "Spread them out on the deck, all over."
"Why?"
"For, um, interpersonal conversations." Tim paused for a second to consider what Trance said. "We wouldn't want people getting rubbed raw on the concrete, would we?"
Tim spent the next ten minutes hauling the mats around the pool house and laying them out. He had a pretty good idea now what kind of party this was. Jesus.
Trance walked back in hauling in a box filled with bottles. "Help me set these up, kid."
Tim set out the last mat and then walked over to the bar area where Trance had dropped the box.
"Shit's expensive," Tim said. He felt like swearing more around Trance so he wouldn't look like such a kid.
"Hebert Tate writes likes hell but people just keep buying his books."
Tim kept his head down. Since he'd listened to Mr. Tate, he'd read most of the man's books. Most of them were pretty good. Tim was pretty damn good at guessing who the bad guy was in TV and movies, but a lot of Mr. Tate's books were a complete surprise. Good characters, great endings, fast reads. Could anyone ask for more?
"Let's walk up to the house and get some food."
Tim smiled. The pool house was awesome and he wondered where a writer like Mr. Tate would live.
"Take off your flip flops. It's all grass up to the house, feels good."
The snow had had all melted off last week. It had been cold today, frigid really, but Tim wasn't thinking for himself any more. No one would be dressed in his lifeguard clothes on a night like this one.
Tim kicked his footwear off and followed behind Trance up to the house. The flood lights had died out, so it was like walking at midnight on a cloudless night. Trance knew where he was going. Tim's whole body was covered in goose pimples.
The inside of the house was incredible. Trance flicked on the lights and the place seemed like it was a tiny palace. The floors were warm to his bare feet. He let his eyes fall on them and try to take in the scenes painted in mosaic on the floors. The rest of the house, smaller inside than Tim would have expected, was built out of glass. The living area to the right was filled with light and the light furniture looked like it was floating in the air. The kitchen, straight ahead, could have produced dinner for a hundred. In there, everything was metal, polished steel.
"Wow," Tim said.
"Keeps the rain off your head, right?" Trance walked into the kitchen area and Tim kept looking around. The whole house looked like it was just a single room. The dining table, the kitchen, all of it was open.
"Grab a box and help me in the pantry. We're raiding the good stuff tonight."
Tim wandered behind Trance and they started emptying the shelves. After they had a couple of boxes filled, Trance pointed down a still dark hall.
"Want to see the rest of the place?"
Tim nodded. He'd come along on this adventure for the cash, but he'd only trusted this guy who came looking for the other lifeguard Roger because he worked for Herbert Tate. Tim wanted to see everything there was to see. At the same time, Tim was all too aware of Trance's eyes on his body. Trance had insisted that Tim stay in his lifeguard uniform even though the temperature was what it was. Tim would make it a point to stay inside and warm all night long.
Tim walked first down the dark hallway. "Light switch?"
Tim felt the hand on his ass and then jumped forward. "That's not my thing, Trance."
"Don't sweat it." The lights in the hallway turned on. "Don't say I never offered, though, kid."
Tim stopped in the hall and let Trance walk first down the hallway. Trance found the light switch and everything turned into lightness. Tim was impressed; he'd never seen a bedroom as large or a bathroom as nice.
"There's only one bedroom in this house?"
"Visitors either sleep with Herbert or they take over one of the cabins. Herbert's a pretty friendly guy."
"You could fit ten people in that bed," Tim said.
"The record," Trance said, "was fourteen."
Jesus, Tim thought. He was learning more than he wanted to know.
"Enough tour. The fuckers will start showing up soon. Grab a box and make like a pack mule."
When they'd brought all the food down to the pool house, Tim turned to look at Trance.
"So, why am I here again? Aside from being your grope fetish."
Trance smiled. "I'm an admirer of beauty, my boy." He shrugged as if in apology. "But you are here to keep everyone else sorted out. If drunk people fall in the pool, you'll pull them out. You're also in charge of the door. You have to take people's shit and keep it safe."
Tim looked confused for a second. "Huh?"
Trance stepped over near the door. "These bags, you see. You put people's shit in them when they come in and then you give them a number. Start with me."
Tim walked over to where Trance was standing. Trance handed Tim a bag and then started peeling his clothes off. He got down to his boxers and skinner them in a single movement. He stood in front of Tim and handed him the boxers.
"Put them in the bag, kid. I don't want you sniffing them."
"Fat chance," Tim said.
Tim put everything in the white garbage bag. He saw that Trance was pretty ripped, but he was also a horrible kind of asshole. "What next?" Tim wasn't going to show his shock and disgust. He was going to be as strong as he possibly could. He hadn't listened when everything, except his greed, told him to keep as far away from Roger's friend as he could.
"Tie it up. Take one of these markers and put a big old number one on it. Then you'll need to mark me."
Tim did it. "Where do you want your number? Give me your hand."
Trance bent over and said, "Right cheek. We pick a new location every party. Boys and girl all get the same treatment."
Tim marked Trance and gave him a whack. "You better be good for the hundred."
"I'm good for a hundred anything, kid."
Tim was trying to figure out how to respond when the first car showed up. "Strip them all naked, kid. You'll get a good physiology lesson tonight."
Preston King was horned up again. The X was still going strong. He'd fucked a couple of cunts and his dick was starting to dry. Preston wanted some ass now, some man ass. Guys and gals or gals and gals, they just fucked around on the mats. Most of the guy-guy pairings took it someplace else, a bathroom or up to the main house.
Preston kept the cabin that he'd lived in for the last two years locked against all these fuckers. He didn't mind bending them over and stuffing them full, but he didn't want them in his private shit.
The kid, Tim, had worked out pretty good. He'd pulled one of the cute fuckers out of the pool a couple hours earlier. Man, that twelve year old looked fine when wet. He'd been busting his hump all night long. He'd become a kind of waiter, dispensing drinks, food, and condoms. After Preston tapped the kid's resistant ass, maybe he'd leave the kid with more than just a hundred bucks. Hot, the kid was just hot.
But, Preston saw another hot kid, one who wouldn't struggle. "Hey, Luke, I've got just the thing for your itch."
Luke smiled. The pair traipsed off for twenty minutes until both got their satisfaction. Luke fell asleep on the mat they'd pulled into the mechanicals room. Preston was still all-horned up. He could fuck five or six times before the damned thing went flaccid. Plus, Bert wasn't due to get back into town until eight or later. Preston had time to fuck some more then get his shit in his car and head out of town. All this dreck would still be here when Bert got back to see the disaster. Preston wished he had the stamina to fuck every person here as a giant fuck-you for Bert.
Preston walked back through the pool house. There were still a few people in the pool, some fucking, and a couple of people not passed out on the mats. The one person who was still wide awake was the kid. It looked like his eyes had popped out of his head. The kid was probably from a sheltered life. He'd never seen anything like this. Maybe he'd be hot enough not to struggle too much under Preston's sweaty body.
Preston opened the door to the dressing room and snagged one of the bathrobes off a hook. Three guys were busy plunging into each other, but Preston's mind was latched onto the little piece of chicken Parmesan hovering near the bar.
He pulled the shortie bathrobe onto his frame and didn't bother to tie it. He was still sweating up a storm and feeling pretty nasty. He'd take care of the chicken's anal virginity and then take a dive in the pool when he came back.
"Hey, kid, you still awake? Enough for you to see?"
"Got quite a lesson tonight, Trance." The night hasn't started yet, kid.
"I need a strong back and a weak mind. You're it."
The kid snorted.
"We've got to get more eats for when people start waking up. Fucking and swimming all night long make people hungry, right?"
Preston just walked out the door and the kid followed behind him. An eager little puppy.
Deflowering virgins, especially anal virgins, was a specialty. Preston had written a story about it. He'd also written a story about talking up as a street whore. The research he'd done for that one still made him chub up from time to time. Preston had actually gone out and sold himself every night for a week straight just so he could give a compelling look at the whore's life. Herbert Tate had pulled some strings and gotten it published in a gay anthology under Preston's pseudonym, Trance.
The shortie rob Preston was wearing parted as his best friend came back to life again. He was crusty, but he was ready. He'd take the kid and make him bleed all over Herbert Tate's California king bed. Maybe Preston would take a dump on it, too, before he left.
`I eat to swive, and swive to eat again.' That's what life was, the Earl of Rochester said. Preston liked to write too, for the fame and the willing assholes and cunts it brought to the famous, but he'd rather fuck some more without needing a reputation or lots of money. The unwilling were the best targets. The sweetest.