Chapter 7
The bright lights of Scoops & Swirls buzzed overhead, casting harsh reflections on chrome tables sticky with spilled soda. Kylie and her teammates piled into the booths, the vinyl seats squeaking as they slid in, celebrating after regionals. Maya shoved a triple-scoop sundae toward Kylie, cherries sliding off melted ice cream dripping with caramel and chocolate. "Gold medalist gets first dibs!" she crowed, nudging Kylie gently in the ribs. Around them, her team laughed, chairs scraping as they crowded in—sequins mingling with Pinecrest High warm-up jackets. Kylie dug her spoon into the mint chocolate chip, the cold sweetness sharp against her bruised palate. She swirled the ice cream around her tongue, trying to hide the lingering taste of semen she could sense in her mouth. For a fractured moment, the chatter faded: Maya’s elbow against hers, the bright tang of rainbow sprinkles, the weight of the gold medal bouncing against her sternum beneath her hoodie. Normalcy tasted nice, like mint, offering Kylie a respite, but she struggled to keep the intrusive memories at bay.
Across the booth, Sarah—another teammate—retold Kylie’s beam recovery with exaggerated hand gestures. "—and then she sticks the landing like whoosh!" Ice cream dripped onto the table as Sarah mimed the flip with a sundae spoon. Laughter erupted as the girls giggled. Kylie forced her lips into a smile, licking sticky residue from her spoon. Her throat tightened as she swallowed—not from emotion, but the ghostly memory of whiskey and cigars and grease. She focused on the chill of the ice cream, the squeaking of the booth as the girl shifted, the too-loud pop song blasting from the jukebox. Maya leaned in, breath warm with fudge sauce, “Nailed it! I’m so proud of you!” Despite herself, Kylie blushed, leaning into Myra with gratitude.
Suddenly, the bell above the door jingled. Kylie looked up as Liam Walsh ducked inside, his letterman jacket brushing the frame, eyes scanning the crowded room before landing on Kylie. She blushed furiously as the team erupted in whistles. Liam grinned, sliding into the booth beside her, his knee pressing against hers. "Champion deserves a victory kiss, " Maya teased, waggling her eyebrows. Liam’s hand found Kylie’s under the table, his fingers warm and calloused—so different from the greased grip in the boiler room, gentle. He leaned in gently, respectfully. Kylie’s pulse spiked in her chest and throat, but she turned her head at the last moment, presenting her flushed cheek to him. His lips were soft, his breath carrying the vague hint of spearmint gum. She gently pushed her cheek into his lips mechanically, the medal digging into her chest, not completely sure what to do. Pulling away, she caught Maya’s delighted sigh. Normal. Happy. Safe. Teenager things. Yet beneath the table, Kylie’s other hand clenched, nails biting into her palm until her pulse settled and the redness in her cheek diminished.
Outside, beneath a flickering streetlamp, Kylie trailed behind the group. Liam draped an arm around her shoulders, his thumb rubbing idle circles near her collarbone—too close to the hidden bruises. Maya linked arms with Sarah, their laughter echoing down the empty sidewalk. Kylie stared at her medal gleaming under the sodium light. Gold. Perfect. You did perfect, Princess, Harrington’s voice whispered in her mind. She shuddered, pulling Liam’s jacket tighter around her throat. The cold night air reeked of exhaust and the sweet aroma of spilled ice cream. Miles away, the rustle of leather seats in the office at Pinecrest High as the judges critiqued her performances with sips of cocktails would never reach Kylie’s ears.
"I gotta get home and celebrate with my family, " Kylie murmurs to Liam. Her fingers trembling slightly against his jacket sleeve. She forced her brightest smile, the one she practiced all last summer for beam dismounts. Liam's grin faltered only for a second—just long enough for her to see the flicker of confusion in his eyes—before he leaned in for another quick kiss. "First place, so proud of you" he murmured against her cheek, like it's a secret. When she pulled away, Maya caught her elbow, all purple sequins and breathless giggles. "Text me later, " Maya ordered, squeezing hard enough to leave fingerprints. Kylie gave a brief nod, before scurrying to her car, sliding inside and starting the engine. In her rearview mirror, Maya and the rest of the gymnastics team happily bounce around their vehicles, but Liam watches her car turn out of the parking lot, a discouraged running across his face.
Her house stares back at her as she pulled into the driveway, warm yellow light spilled from the kitchen window, warm and inviting. From inside, muffled laughter floats out to her ears as she ascends the steps—her younger sister arguing over dishes, her dad’s booming chuckle. Kylie paused on the porch step, her hand hovering over the doorknob. She smoothed her ponytail mechanically, fixed her smile. Fix yourself up, Harrington’s voice echoed from the locker room mirror. She took a breath so deep it hurts her ribs. Then she pushed inside, letting the door’s cheerful chime announce her. "First place!" her mom shouted, enveloping her in an embrace that smells of lavender soap and garlic bread. Kylie stiffened for a heartbeat before melting into the hug. Her sister clamored to see the medal, fingers brushing the cold metal. Her dad beamed, ruffling her hair. It felt like drowning in honey, a safe place.
Upstairs in her bedroom, she locked the door behind her. She moved toward her closet and stripped off her hoodie. The rest of her clothing followed, and she stood naked before the full-length mirror. She traced the outline of the medal between her breasts, concentrating on the intricate etching. Her throat worked silently around an invisible intrusion. She looked up into her reflection’s green eyes and searched for the girl who used to love doing cartwheels across the living room run. All she found now is the obedient swallowing Harrington praised. Kylie shook her head to dislodge the memory of the boiler room from her mind. The gold medal swung gently between her breasts. Outside, wind rattles the oak branches against her window. Tap-tap-tap. Like footsteps retreating down a boiler room corridor.
A hand slid down to cup her breast, fingers digging into flesh—a phantom touch. The hand caressed her nipple, dipping beneath the medal’s cold weight, tweaking the erect bud. Her fingers trailed lower, tracing the curve of her stomach. Lower still and wetness bloomed instantly, damp and shameful. She closed her eyes to avoid looking at herself, but the darkness conjured leather shoes circling concrete, the rasp of denim against her cheek, the raw burn of forced blowjobs. Her fingers plunge, mimicking the brutal rhythm of the boiler room thrusts. It’s not Liam’s face she saw behind her lids, but the faceless shadows, their grunts syncing with her frantic strokes. The medal swung wildly, slapping against her ribs.
Onto her bed, her hips bucked off the mattress. Two fingers surrounded her clit, searching for the spot Harrington exploited—the one that triggered betrayal. She found it. A gasp tore from her throat, sharp as shattered glass. Her other hand gripped her nipple. Pleasure detonated, white-hot and vicious, ripping through her like convulsions around a cock. Her back arched off the bed, legs trembling wide. It felt like surrender. Tears streaked the pillow beneath her as silent sobs shuddered through her climax. The scent of iron—her palate’s abrasion—mingled with the musk of her release. She lies spent, heartbeat pounding against the medal on her skin.
— --
Kylie laid on her back, flat on the desk, naked except for the gleaming gold nestled between her tits. Harrington stood before her, also naked, his member erect. The fluorescent light caught every detail as Harrington leaned closer, his shadow falling over her pelvis. His gaze fixed low—not on her face, not on the medal—but on the fuzz between her thighs. He traced a thumb along her inner thigh, pressing the taught flesh aside to expose the flushed skin beneath her curls. His fingertip brushes coarse hair. "This won't do anymore, " he murmured, voice thick with distaste. "Like weeds choking a beautiful garden." He pinched a dark strand, tugging sharply enough to make her gasp. "Smooth. Clean. By tomorrow."
Harrington moved up and applied a generous amount of lube to her firm tits before mounting the desk, his knees on either side of Kylies hips. The slick gel pooled cold against her skin, dripping down her ribs as he palmed her breasts. His thumbs ground into her nipples, making her arch her back. He rubbed the lube around, gripping her breasts in strong hands. "Stay, still" he growled, his hips moving until his cock head rests on her tummy.
Kylie's boobs glistened like the polished medal between them as Harrington inched his cock between her generous mounds. "How big are these again, " he asked Kylie, looking at her tits enveloping his cock. "Double C, Sir" Kylie answered softly. Harrington leaned forward, his tongue flicking her nipple. "I love your tits." He squeezed her breasts together violently, trapping his erection in their slippery confinement. The ridges of his shaft scraped against her sternum as he thrust forward—each pump forcing her medal to flutter against her chest.
"Come on slut, use your tongue, lick the tip." Kylie's tongue slithered out, searching for the tip of his cock. Harrington's hips buck forward, shoving the head past her lips. "That’s it, " he grunted, fingers tightening on her tits as she sucked the tip of his member. Pre-cum flooded her palate—salty, viscous—mixing with the lube. Below, her breasts remain slick and gleaming beneath nipples pebbled tight from the cold lube and his rough handling. He pulls back just enough to let her gasp before thrusting again, the ridge of his glans catching against her soft palate with every brutal shove.
"Squeeze my cock with your tits, Kylie, " Harrington commanded. Kylie pressed her breasts together with her hands around the base of his shaft. Her palms slid against the slippery skin. "Tighter, " Harrington ordered. Her fingers dug into her own flesh as she obediently squeezes harder. Harrington groaned deep in his chest as he thrust harder between her tits, the friction exquisite. He slid his cock back and forth, reveling in Kylie's luscious pillows. His strokes become more purposeful as he continued to fuck her cleavage. Kylie maintained the pressure as best as she could around Harrington's cock as he thrusts harder and harder. Harrington groaned lustfully as he watches his shaft disappear and reappear between Kylie's boobs, her tongue searching for it whenever he pushes in.
Without much warning, steaming strings of Harrington's cum splattered Kylie's face. Harrington grunted as he continued to thrust deep into her cleavage. His sticky seed coated her cheeks, chin, and eyelids—salt-heavy warmth mingling with the sterile sting of lubricant trapped beneath her breasts. Kylie kept squeezing her tits tight as a shiver tears through Harrington’s body. Her lips instinctively parted for air, but Harrington plunged his slick shaft past her teeth instead, deep into Kylie's throat. She gagged unexpectedly, the medal digging into her collarbone. Above her, Harrington’s breath hitched—a wet, greedy sound—as her throat convulsed around him.
Harrington pulled free and dismounted. "Ah, that was great, I knew you'd be great with your slutty tits, Princess." He walks over to the window and pulls the blinds shut, sealing them in the sterile glow of the overhead lights. His footsteps are deliberate as he returned to the desk, his gaze fixed on Kylie's sticky, trembling form. He retrieved a damp cloth from his drawer and began wiping the cum from her eyelids with methodical strokes while grabbing the medal with his other hand. "Gold medal performance, " he chuckled as he dropped the medal onto her lubed tits.
"Be here Friday night, 5PM sharp, " Harrington murmured beside her ear. His thumb smeared semen across her collarbone, pushing the medal aside to expose flushed skin beneath. The damp cloth fell forgotten onto the desk. Below, his hand drifted lower, fingertips skating past her ribs toward her mound. "And Princess?" His breath ghosted over her. "I want this garden weeded, " he said as he left.
Alone, Kylie sat up. Her fingers snatched the cloth Harrington abandoned. She scrubbed at her eyelids—still sticky-hot with the proof of her proficiency. Salty traces lingered on her cheeks. Worse than the mess on her skin is the memory: her tongue darting out instinctively to catch his tip; her palms squeezing her breasts tighter when he groaned; her throat swallowing reflexively before he pulled free. She wiped between her cleavage, where lube mingled with sweat. Each swipe feels like erasing evidence of how perfectly her body obeyed. The medal swung as if mocking the rhythm she mastered.
She dressed in silence. Her ponytail is crooked—Harrington’s grip had yanked it askew at some point—but she didn’t fix it. Instead, she stared down at the dark triangle of curls around her pussy beneath her uniform skirt. Harrington’s words echoed: weeds choking a garden. Tomorrow, it must be gone. Smooth. Clean. Her cheeks flush hotter now than when he’d knelt above her body. She’d once been afraid of expulsion, of shattering her parents’ pride, of colleges shutting their doors. She hadn’t screamed. Hadn’t bitten. She’d squeezed her own flesh tighter when he commanded it. She’d opened her mouth wider. She would do whatever necessary to avoid another punishment, she’d keep playing the game.
— --
Her mother greeted her at the bottom of the stairs. “Dinner’s ready!” she chirped, oblivious. Kylie murmured something about leftover trig homework and slipped past the warm kitchen smells—roast beef, rosemary—into the hall bathroom. She locked the door. Under the harsh fluorescent light, she dropped her backpack and lifted her skirt. Her fingers probe the wiry curls. She hesitated for only a moment before digging through the cabinet beneath the sink—past her dad’s aftershave, her mom’s moisturizers—and finds the pink disposable razor Maya tossed in here after sleepovers. Her hand trembles. She peels off her skirt in one swift motion.
Steam clouded the mirror as Kylie ran hot water, fogging her reflection. She dripped cream onto the razor blade and pressed her back against the cold tiles; her left foot braced on the toilet lid. Tongue pressed tight between her lips in the same concentration she used to memorize beam routines, she pulled the razor downward in slow, steady strokes. The blade scraped coarse hair from her outer lips. Her breathing pauses as the razor catches tender skin near her inner thigh as a bead of blood blossomed. She pauses, dabs it away with toilet paper. She shifted position, angling the razor’s edge against the tricky curve beneath her mound. Wet hair stuck to the blade, and she rinsed it under the tap. Pink-tinged water swirled down the drain. One section at a time—top, sides, the sensitive cleft above her clit—her skin emerged bare and smooth.
She patted herself dry with a towel, the terrycloth rough against the unfamiliar smoothness. Hesitantly, she lifted her foot onto the sink ledge. In the steamed mirror’s haze, her reflection is distorted. She wiped a clear circle with her palm. Her gaze travels downward. The gold medal hangs between her breasts, she’d forgotten to take it off, catching the light. Below it, her stomach sloped gently. And lower still—where wiry dark curls had clustered thickly—now lay only soft, smooth skin. Completely bare. Like a gymnast’s landing mat. Her fingertips brush the expanse. Her skin felt cool. Vulnerable. Exposed. Yet... strangely alluring, sleek line between puffy lips unbroken by shadow. Her thumb traced the curve of her mons, finding only plush smoothness where friction used to catch. She tilted her hips, surveying the clean slope. A flush rose on her cheeks as embarrassment at her situation rose. Calming herself, she threw her clothes back on before joining her family for dinner.