Brand New Billy

A word beforehand: Categorization seems to be primarily important to many Literotica readers. "Brand New Billy," categorized as a non-consent/reluctance story might piss off some purists. It contains an older/younger theme, a bondage theme and some implied lesbianism. To my mind, my stories don't fit neatly into categories. Their pedigree is as muttly as their author.

Also, Literotica formatting collapses the spacing between sections in my stories, leaving the reader without a marker that signals a narrative jump. Alternating trios of slashes (///) and back-slashes (\\\) now serve as the marker.

Thank you for stopping by and giving the story a little of your time. Salud.

*****

A strange light flickered from beyond the hedge. It brightened the undersides of the trees and threw moving shadows that had a rhythm of flames. I accelerated up the long drive, afraid that I'd come home to a fire.

But the light went out suddenly, and the yard was unusually dark as I pulled into the garage. I had to wonder if my anxiety was playing tricks. All of the outdoor lights were out. Maybe someone, a friend of my teenaged son, had been flicking the yard lights on and off out of boredom.

I went out the side door of the garage and onto the raised patio, expecting to hear voices. The yard was empty and silent, except for an electrical buzz from below, by the pool. I leaned from the rail to look down, the buzzing stopped, and —! The water shot ablaze, scintillating and glowing like a chandelier star.

The underwater lights had been out for so long, since before my divorce, that I had forgotten the pool could look so dazzling at night. It lit the trees, filled the yard with moving shadows. Jesse must have fixed them, my marvelous son. I called his name.

Two figures stepped out of the shed on the far side of the pool. Jesse I knew by his frame and walk. The second figure was someone taller and thinner, no one that I could immediately recognize. The light from the pool hadn't yet caught their faces.

"You fixed them," I said to Jess.

"Billy did."

"Who?"

"Billy Lyle."

The figure behind Jesse said, "Hello, Mrs. B."

The voice had matured. I hadn't seen him for years. He moved into the light as I was walking down the steps and, yes indeed, there he was — a little more than a year older than Jesse, but now my height, mature looking, mature in bearing, and handsome.

"Oh, my lord, let me see you," I said.

As a boy he had been a tornado of mischief with an adorable face. He had resembled his mother then. Now that he was beyond adolescence he resembled his dad. He extended his hand.

"A hand shake? You've got to be kidding." I pulled him close for a good hug, and then held him at arms length. "Look at you, tall and good lookin'."

"And he fixed the lights, Mom."

"Handsome and handy," I said.

"Yep," he said, "I'm a brand new Billy. And I'm legal!"

I laughed. "Nobody ever mistook you for an eagle scout, sweetheart, but you were always a charmer."

"You got the charm, Mrs. B."

"You know that I haven't been Mrs. B for years," I told him.

"That's what I always called you."

"Then drop the Mrs.. Call me by my name."

"Can I call you Ms. V?"

"Ha, sure. Ms. V it is."

\ \ \

We went inside. The boys sat at the kitchen counter and drank coolers. I asked Billy to catch me up on his life. He had returned to the area only two weeks ago, he said. His father was moving back for business reasons, renting for now but looking to buy. He didn't mention his mother.

As we were talking, Billy absentmindedly dug a loop of rawhide from his pocket and unwound it.

"I know it's not easy for you," I said, "but I have to ask, do you see her?"

He was slow to answer. "She's okay."

"Do the two of you talk?"

He shrugged and shook his head.

Jesse said, "Let it go, Mom."

"I'm sorry, Billy. I hope she's well. I was close to her once."

"Not your bad," he said.

"You look so good, so adjusted, I just assumed ... You know I hoped ..."

"I'm good, Mrs. B. It's all good."

I let it slide, the Mrs. B., he was upset. Competitive swimming is what saved him, gave him goals and taught him commitment. Gave him a sense of success, the first he'd ever had. He'd advanced through the regionals in his league this year, and might have a shot at state the next. Wanted to stay in training while between bases, by which he meant homes. A scholarship would take him to college in the fall.

"The community pools are too small or they're closed," Jesse said. "He's kept in shape, swimming in private pools."

The rawhide in Billy's hands had become a cat's cradle.

"I told him he should use ours. It's regulation length."

"Well, sure," I said.

Billy undid the cradle.

"You wouldn't mind, Ms. V?"

"No, of course not. It's a great idea."

"Twice a week? Only till late August. Mondays and Wednesdays I swim at Ms. Clay's pool, then, if I could do just two days here, any two . . ."

"You swim at Danni's?"

"Twice a week. Well, one week so far."

"My goodness, I'll have to call her," I said.

Billy made a new cat's cradle and said, "I'll have to practice after work, if that's all right."

He offered a game to Jess, who waved it off. It came to me.

"I've forgotten how to do it," I said.

"It comes back like bike riding, Ms. V."

I pinched the crossed strings on both sides and let my hands remember the movements. Out, down, curl up inside.

"There you go," Billy said.

I lifted the new configuration from his fingers, then offered it back.

"Tuesdays and Thursdays, Jesse and I are usually home late," I said. "He has choir, I teach a realty workshop. Is that why you fixed the lights?"

"I would've anyway."

We played the string through the sequence of cradles that I could remember, and then he introduced a configuration I hadn't seen before, a flat web with a hole in the center.

"That's clever," I said. "I have absolutely no idea what to do with it."

"Put your finger through the middle," Billy said.

As I pointed through, he released the web and pulled the string taut. For a moment I was trapped, my finger snared in a circle of thin rawhide. It sparked a jet of panic, and left an odd tingle in the belly.

Billy loosed the coils with a shake and released me.

"What was that one called?" I said.

"That's a dreamcatcher, Ms. V."

He folded and wound the cord on itself to create a little hangman's noose. Another finger trap.

"You couldn't hang much with that," I said.

"Ms. V, you can control a whole person with just one of these."

"One of those, that size?"

"Yeah."

"Like a magic trick."

"No magic," he said, "very straightforward. Know how?"

"I'm sure I don't want to," I said. "We can stop being silly. Do you know where we keep the house key?"

"I won't need to get in, Ms. V. I'll just swim, towel off, shut it all down and skedaddle."

"You're welcome to use the house if you need to," I said.

Billy drank the rest of the cooler as I wiped the counter. He said he had to meet his father and thanked us and said goodbye and left by the sliding door, shutting off the pool lights before closing the outer gate behind him.

"He's kinda mad at his mom," Jesse said, "for still giving his dad a hard time."

"About what?"

"What do you think, Mom?"

"She wasn't the guilty party, Jess."

"Billy left his string."

I dropped the coil in the miscellaneous drawer. Later that night, I was drifting to sleep and into a dream, feeling myself getting tangled underwater in seaweed. I was released and carried upward on a bubble. Breaking the surface and gasping for air woke me. My first thoughts were of the cats cradle and the noose. My finger in the snare. The bundle left behind.

Billy had intimated tying me up.

Later I remembered that he was training in Danni Clay's pool. That made it doubly concerning. I rubbed one. The Danni I once knew was very interested in rope.

/ / /

I should have called Danni right off, but talked myself out of it that evening, then talked myself out of it altogether. We were good friends once. She and me and Billy's mom were a trio of best friends. We all had bad marriages. Danni got divorced. I faithfully stuck with mine as long as I could. Billy's mom found a lesbian lover. Danni and I knew all about it and we abetted. The relationship gave us a vicarious thrill. The lover was into restraints. Billy's mom would describe some of their sessions, and her stories sounded all the more dirty to me, described as sessions, as formal bondage.

"Some kind of shibari," Billy's mom said.

"Sounds like a yogurt."

She described the way her lover would compress and isolate her breasts with crossed bands of rope, how a simple loop around the waist, with the double tail passed between her legs, kept her stimulated for hours. And Danni and I began to talk between ourselves. She'd like to try it a little, wouldn't I? Experiment with each other? Not as lovers, no for gods sake, just to see what it's like. Who better to trust? It sounds like it could be a hell of a lot of fun. No tickling.

Billy's father hired an agency to track his wife. They were able to photograph her stripped and bound and spanked by her lover. Then the shithead leveraged hard in court and took full custody. It destroyed her to lose him, her son — she was a good mom, and her trauma brought our trio of friendship to an end. Billy's mom fled. Danni and I drifted apart. It had been years since we spoke.

\ \ \

My Thursday evening workshop was put on hold the following week and I drove home early from the office, a guilty pleasure. Daylight was still strong, and it was refreshing to see Jess at an unexpected time, without feeling tired or rushed. We ate a light meal, his ride came on time to take him to choir, and he was out the door before telling me rehearsal would run late. The ride pulled away with a couple of arms waving out the window, leaving me the quiet house and the twilight to myself.

An hour later I was out of the shower, wrapped in a towel, walking toward the kitchen. I had left the lights out, as I often do when alone. It lets me see the outside light. Few things are as beautiful to me as the fading of daylight, the evening sky darkening in shapes like puzzle pieces between the trees. I was surprised to find the kitchen lit by agitated reflections of water, webs of light playing over the room. The pool lights were on.

I had forgotten. Billy was training.

From the window I could see that he was sprinting laps and practicing speed turns. He touched the side as if finishing a race, then hauled himself out in a cascade of water.

Before I could pinpoint what was out of place, he turned his back to the house, pacing to catch his breath. Steam, backlit by the pool, formed a dramatic aura around his swimmer's body, a V from shoulders to waist, incredibly lean. He was nude. Buns with the tan line of a speedo. He turned and one of the floodlights caught it, his erection. The glare made it livid, unreal. Its shadow was magnified in the mist rising from the pool. A phallus, a satyr's horn. Two cords dangled between his legs. The starkness of it made me queasy.

I turned from the window on shaking legs, ran from the kitchen to my bedroom on the other side of the house, and locked myself in. Heart beating out of my chest, face as hot as coals. A new skein of perspiration from scalp to toes. I put on pjs and waited in my room without making a sound, suppressing even my breath, and relief came only after the outer gate closed, and his car started, and the crunch of the tires receded down the driveway and the hum of the engine faded as he drove away.

/ / /

It took the rest of the night to sort my feelings. Jesse came home and found me distracted, asking twice if I felt all right. We said goodnight early and I stayed awake in bed in the dark for hours afterward, stripped under the sheets, reliving what I had seen through the window of my aquatic kitchen. With each rethinking I saw the scene in greater detail, at closer angles. Billy climbing naked out of my pool. Billy stretching tall, his body long and shaved and toned. A hyper-engorged erection projecting. He wagged and bounced it, strutted around and stroked. Billy dripping with pool water, displaying that turgid organ, like an explosive fruit.

In this fevered reverie I realized that Billy's dangling cord was a sexual tourniquet. He was deviant. Every other part of his body was smoothed to reduce drag in the water, the cap, the shaved hair, the oiled skin, even the lack of a speedo. The only part of him that deliberately dragged was his erection. The swimming stimulated him. To train was to masturbate.

A string of stupid thoughts broke loose. What if he had caught me watching him? We'd have to talk about it. I would have to confront him, stern, outraged. I would have to threaten him with a report to his father or even the police. Continued use of the pool would be out of the question. And his reaction? Tears? Humiliation? Pleading? Or what if things happened differently and the situation was turned on me? That could happen. And I fantasized about it.

\ \ \

I approach him as he climbs out of the pool. He doesn't cover himself.

"Doesn't that ... isn't that painful?"

"Hurts good, Ms. V."

Billy takes a step closer to me. The dual ends of the cord jangle

almost to his knees. I put my hand up to stop him in place.

"Touch it," he says.

"Oh my god, no," I say, recoiling.

"Use the strings."

At eye level his cock head looks like an angry plum. Without

touching any part of Billy, I take hold of the dangling cords and

tentatively tug. His cock bounces. I tug more firmly and then pull the

chords taut.

"How much of this can you take?"

"Try me," he says.

I let go of the chords and for just a moment run the flat of my fingers over

his cock to feel the heat of it. I think about licking it. I'm such a dog.

To prove my disdain I step back and tell him, "You're a little perv, Billy,aren't you?

So go ahead, do what little pervs do. I want to see it. Jerk yourself off."

His hand blurs and his breath grows ragged.

"Make yourself come, Billy. Make it shoot."

He spasms, gritting his teeth. A jet spray flies from his cock, followed by arcs of

semen, an image I repeat and repeat. The orgasm wracks him.

"Oh fuck," I whisper, utterly amazed.

Before I could orgasm, a bubble popped. It took me instantly away from the pool and Billy's bound cock, back to my bed, awake, with my fingers in my puss. Billy's mom. Danni Clay. Rope bondage. Me. Something was coming full circle.

/ / /

A year after Jesse was born, my husband told me that my sexual appetite disgusted him. I wanted to have sex often and in a lot of different ways. Sutra positions, sex on the patio or in the pool. Childbirth hadn't diminished my passion — my body was in better shape than before. Date nights, please, I asked him. More oral, for gods sake. Toys. We live but once.

I felt I was seeking a rejuvenation of love with my husband. He remained unimaginative and unwilling. From denial, I went to confusion, then anger, then grief. In a further attempt to preserve our marriage, I resigned myself to indifferent lovemaking, but he disconnected even further, undid every mooring. I watched him drift away until he stopped touching me altogether. No more love. No peck on the cheek or pat on the bottom. No happy gaze. For what reason? In despair, I proposed divorce. He was satisfactorily married, he said. Satisfactorily married.

I told him off then, and wasn't kind about it. His reply turned savage, a denunciation of me, my body and all of its longings — my perverted thoughts and my repulsive sexual appetite and my vaginal stink. His genuine revulsion stabbed me to the heart and nearly killed me. I hate him to this day.

Two friends helped me survive intact: Danni Clay and Billy's mom.

\ \ \

In the morning, my thinking was cold and clear. I had to banish Billy from my house. I worked out the steps while driving home, tired, in the evening. An associate would cover my workshop next Tuesday, Billy's practice day, so that I could be home when he arrived. I would advise him of what I saw and revoke my permission to use the pool. Forceful and direct. I was resolved.

/ / /

Tuesday next, Jesse left for choir before I could get home. The house stayed dark, as before. Twilight was fading when the phone rang, a call from a client, which took me to the computer in my home office. When I returned, the kitchen was swimming with webs of light. Billy was in the pool and into his session.

It would be disastrous to delay action. I reminded myself that catching him in the act would give me every advantage over him. I turned on the kitchen lights and moved about the room to give him some warning that I was home.

After several deep breaths, I stepped outside. Ten feet from the door, my legs went soft. The churning water threw light that made me think of living crystal. The water settled as I drew close, and I couldn't see him until he surfaced at the wall just in front of me.

"Ms. V?"

"I'm — uh, I'm . . . interrupting you?" I said.

"No," he said, "no, I make myself start over whenever I screw up."

He was hugging close to the poolside. If he was nude, his erection would be pressed to the wall. He was winded. But what if he's wearing a suit this time?

"How did you screw up?"

"Missed the last turn."

"Do you dive start?"

"No, I'm focusing on turns."

"I'd like to watch."

He studied me in the vacillating light, and surprised me when he said, "Do you want to come in?"

I kept my cool and said, "Let me see you swim. I'll watch your turns."

He didn't move. Neither did I. Finally he said, "I was only kidding about you coming in, Ms. V. You said you weren't going to be home, and, uh, this is — it's embarrassing, but I, uh — I forgot my suit, and, so . . . I'm not wearing one."

My breath went shallow. This was the start-gun moment. Once fired — it's win or lose. I managed to say in an unruffled tone, "You're telling me that you're naked in my pool?"

"It's no big deal. My stuff got washed."

"Billy, that's unacceptable," I said.

"I wouldn't have done it if you were here. I mean if I knew it."

I took my mark. "Do you always forget your speedo, Billy?"

"I would've gone home."

Ready. "Do you swim naked in Danni's pool?"

He screwed up his face, as if perplexed.

Bang! "Does she know?" I said

"What does who know?"

"Be a man about it, Billy," I said. "Does Danni know what you do?"

He suddenly planted his hands on the rim and pushed up powerfully. In an instant he was out of the water. The momentum jarred me and I stumbled backward and fell. Water poured off of him. He had an erection.

"You're getting wet," he said, extending a hand to help me up.

"Get away from me," I said. I was crawling backward.

He stepped back and I struggled to my feet. My bottom was soaked with pool water, wet from his runoff. I must have looked like a soaked cat.

"Ms. V?"

"You have to go, Billy. You have to go now."

"You're staring, Ms. V."

His testicles and the base of his prick were cinched by the cord. His shaft was shiny, taut, blood vessels distended, the head purple with pressure. It could burst, I thought.

"You can touch it," Billy said.

"Get out of here, Billy. Just leave."

"You don't want to touch it, you just want to stare?"

"I'm asking you . . . I'm saying . . ."

"It's a monster, isn't it?"

"It's sick. That's a sick thing to do."

"It's human. I know you're interested." He grabbed a lawn chair from off to the side, and set it down for me to sit. I backed away. He ran his fingertips lightly over the monster.

"I know why you do it," I said.