Lola's Summer at the Club

I pursed my lips, unsure how to respond. He leered at me triumphantly, adjusting the camera upwards so that it pointed directly at my chest. Then, he grabbed a folding chair from the side of the court, set it up next to the camera, and plopped himself down.

"Go get the ball machine ready," he said, taking a sip from his water bottle.

I stood there, staring at the camera, feeling its unblinking eye recording the rise and fall of my chest with every breath.

"You know, if you don't want to hit, we can take this camera somewhere more private and make a different kind of movie."

"Did you..." I stammered uncertainly.

"Did I what, Lola?" His eyes narrowed.

"Did you put something in my locker?" I looked down, unable to meet his gaze.

"Hmm, I don't know. What did you find?"

"A... picture."

"What kind of picture?"

"A picture of... of..."

"Of what, Lola?"

"You know what!" I blurted out.

"Actually, I really don't," he said, shaking his head. "Why don't you describe it for me? In detail."

Defeated, I shook my head, no.

"Okay, then," he shrugged. "Now get that ball machine and start sweating, sweetheart."

The next hour felt like one of the longest of my life. Tennis was ordinarily an escape that made me feel powerful, but playing against the ball machine felt demeaning, and to do while Connor sat there filming made it so much worse. He rarely spoke, mostly sitting there in silence, adjusting the camera every so often.

Finally, after 55 minutes of embarrassment, Connor stood up and turned off the ball machine. Then, he walked over to me.

"You look thirsty," he said. Beads of sweat dotted the plunging neckline of my uniform top. "Want some water?"

I nodded, reaching for the bottle. He knocked my hand away.

"Say, 'I'm thirsty, please give it to me.'"

I rolled my eyes.

"C'mon, Lola," he said. "Or should I turn the ball machine back on?"

"Fine," I said, reaching for the bottle again. "I'm thirsty, please give it to me."

He moved the bottle just beyond my reach.

"You really want it, don't you?"

"Yes," I whined, "I fucking want it."

"Okay," he grinned. "You asked for it."

With that, he lifted the bottle over his head, aimed it down at me, and squeezed. A thin, cold stream squirted out, missing my mouth entirely but drenching my chest.

"Fucking seriously? What are you, 13-years-old?"

He just smiled back at me, gawking unabashedly at my breasts, which were all but exposed by my thin, soaked top.

"You've got great tits, Lola."

Something inside me snapped.

"Oh, these tits? These?" I dropped my racquet and cupped my breasts. "You like these, don't you?"

"Why don't you take that wet top off?"

"You know what? Fine."

I reached down, grabbed the hem of my shirt, and peeled it over my head.

"There you go. Hope you like my sports bra," I spat, mashing my boobs together to form a deep ravine of cleavage. My erect nipples were clearly visible as they poked through the cold, wet Spandex. "Did you get your money's worth now?"

"Almost," he said, leaning forward. "Take your bra off," he whispered. "Let Daddy see those big, soft tits."

"You asshole!"

Before I could stifle the urge, I slapped Connor hard across the face.

"What the fuck, Lola?"

"Don't book another lesson with me, ever," I yelled, gathering my racquet and storming off the court.

...

My heart was beating so fast I didn't realize until I was in the car driving home what a serious mistake I had made. Slapping a member could get me fired under the best of circumstances, but this wasn't just any member—it was the president's son. And I hadn't just slapped him in the face, either—I had done it on video.

I started to cry as the gravity of the situation dawned on me. As the president's son, Connor had already demonstrated a willingness to take liberties with me that other members wouldn't dare. Now, I had given him leverage. I could only imagine how aggressive he would be now that he had something to use against me.

I thought about quitting that very night before Connor had a chance to blackmail me, but I quickly dismissed the notion. If I quit, I'd have to explain why to my Mom, and she would discover what I'd been doing and wearing at work all summer long. Losing her respect was an even scarier thought than taking my chances with Connor.

Instead, I decided to go to the one person at Meadowlark who I thought might be able to help me: Mr. Ericsson.

On Monday, I arrived at the club early and stopped by his office before my shift.

"Well, Lola," he said, opening the door. "What a pleasant surprise. Come in."

I hadn't been in Mr. Ericsson's office since my first week, when I had come to complain about the skimpiness of my uniform and ended up giving him a private runway show. Still, given what had happened since then, this office felt like the safest place at Meadowlark.

"What can I do for you, Lola?"

"Well, sir... I need to tell you about something that happened on Friday."

He sat down behind the large desk and wordlessly bid me to continue.

"I... lost my temper. With one of the members."

"Which one?"

"Connor Davenport," I whispered.

Mr. Ericsson took a deep breath.

"What happened, Lola?" His voice had grown colder than before.

"He was being inappropriate, Mr. Ericsson, and I... I slapped him, sir."

"Slapped him how?"

"In the face."

"Jesus, Lola," he said with frustration. "So I assume you are here to resign your position before I fire you?"

"Mr. Ericsson, it wasn't my fault!"

"You assaulted the president's son, Lola."

"He... he assaulted me first."

Mr. Ericsson raised an eyebrow.

"He hit you?"

"No—it wasn't like that." I looked down, unable to meet his gaze. "It was... sexual."

"That is a very serious accusation, Lola. You need to tell me exactly what happened. Spare no detail."

And so I told him: about my first encounter with Connor, when he had verbally harassed me and tried to rub my hand against his crotch; about how I had discovered a pornographic photo in my locker the morning of my first lesson with him; about how he had arrived at the lesson with a video camera and insisted on filming me; about how he had sprayed my boobs with water and insisted that I take my top off. Everything leading up to and including the slap.

The entire time, Mr. Ericsson sat motionless, staring off into the distance, listening intently. Finally, when I was finished, he opened his mouth.

"You said that Connor put a pornographic photo in your locker on Friday morning?"

"Yes."

"Can you prove that he was the one who put it there?"

"I know it was him."

"Did he admit it?"

"Well... not exactly."

"So can you prove it?"

"I guess not."

Mr. Ericsson shook his head.

"And when he sprayed your chest with water, can you prove that he didn't do that by accident?"

"Mr. Ericsson, he had been gawking at my boobs for an entire hour!"

"Can you prove that it wasn't an accident, Lola?" His voice was cold and firm.

"No," I said, my voice quavering.

"And after he sprayed you, did he take off your uniform top?"

"He made me do it."

"Did he physically force you to take off your top?"

"I didn't have a choice, Mr. Ericsson." My voice was cracking badly.

"And all of this, including when you slapped him, was recorded on video?"

"I think so."

Mr. Ericsson sighed.

"Let me make one thing clear, Lola. Connor Davenport did not sexually assault you. I do not want to hear another word about that. Do you understand me?"

I nodded silently. I was afraid that if I spoke, I might cry.

"It is possible," he continued, "that Connor was guilty of harassment. However, your evidence is extremely thin."

"But the video shows—"

"From what I understand, the video shows Connor asking you to take your top off, and you giving him what he wanted. That isn't harassment, Lola—that's flirting."

"So are you going to fire me, then?" I blinked back tears.

"I probably should," Mr. Ericsson said with an air of resignation. "Which is very disappointing, because you were doing such a good job up until Friday."

"Please, Mr. Ericsson, it was one mistake!"

He paused for a second. It gave me hope.

"You've only been with us for a few weeks, Lola, but you've become very popular among our members." He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Between the two of us, you're certainly more popular than Connor Davenport. That boy is a prize asshole if ever there was one."

I laughed.

"Do you like working here, Lola?"

"Yes, sir, I do!" I sat straight up, pushing out my chest.

"You like serving our members?"

"Yes, Mr. Ericsson. I just lost my cool. It won't happen again."

"It had better not," he said sternly. "If I let you stay on, I need you to promise me that you'll be on your best behavior."

"I promise, Mr. Ericsson."

"This is a delicate situation, but I think I can manage it so that you keep your job."

"Thank you, Mr. Ericsson! Thank you!"

"I will handle Connor Davenport and his father. You focus on being your charming self and serving our members well."

"I will, I promise."

"Good," he said, standing up. "Go get changed."

"Thank you, Mr. Ericsson!"

Relief washed over me. Drunk with gratitude, I stood up and wrapped my arms around him in a hug, pushing my soft, pillowy chest against his taut, athletic frame. As I squeezed him, I felt his large hand stroking my hair.

"I won't let you down."

...

True to his word, Mr. Ericsson took care of things with Connor. When I checked my schedule the next day, I saw that all of Connor's lessons had been removed from my calendar.

But he wasn't able to take care of everything. A couple of weeks later, another picture turned up in my locker. This time, however, it wasn't a random woman in a hotel room. It was me.

Like the previous photo, this image was taken from the male point of view. It showed me, naked, riding on top of an anonymous man, his cock buried deep inside me. My expression was one of deep concentration, as if I were determined to fuck him better than any other woman ever had.

Of course, it wasn't a real photo. At the time, I had still only been with Cam, and he had taken from behind, not from below. Yet although I knew it to be fake, it had been produced with incredible skill and attention to detail. The body was a remarkable match for my own, both in terms of skin color and proportions, and my face showed little evidence of having been transplanted. I could only identify it as a fraud because of my limited sexual history at the time. If someone were to show me that photo today, I would likely accept it as the genuine article. It was surreal, terrifying, and weirdly exciting to see myself performing a sex act I knew hadn't happened.

This photo also had a watermark that led to a website. When I saw it, my heart nearly stopped: ConqueringLola.com.

The site featured half-a-dozen similar images: me on all fours with my hands between my legs, looking back at the camera as I played with myself; me kneeling in front of a masturbating man, preparing to receive a facial; me lying on a bed with my hand wrapped around a large cock, guiding towards my wet, ready pussy. Not all of the images were as convincing as the first one, but discovering that there was an entire gallery of them on the internet was even more shocking.

Unlike ConqueringAsia, ConqueringLola had no about page, no identifying information. But based on when the images had been posted, I could see that it had gone online sometime in the last couple of weeks.

As soon as I found it, I burst into Mr. Ericsson's office, tears streaming down my face.

"Look! Like what he did!"

I showed Mr. Ericsson the website on my phone.

"Calm down, Lola," he said, wrapping an arm around me. "Here, sit down and let's talk for a minute."

"Now, there still isn't any proof that Connor is the one who posted this."

"It was him. It had to be."

"I've reviewed the security tapes for the hallway outside the girl's locker room. I haven't seen Connor enter or exit on tape."

"Then he must be having someone else do it! One of the other girls, maybe."

"It's possible, yes," he mused. "But hard to prove. Do we even know that the same person is responsible for both photos?"

"It has to be!" I cried.

"Shh... calm down." He handed me a tissue. "Lola, I need to ask you a question, and I need you to answer me honestly."

I nodded, wiping my eyes.

"Are any of the photos on that site real?"

"What?" I gaped.

"Are any of those photos actually you?"

"Mr. Ericsson, no!"

He eyed me skeptically.

"Are you sure didn't pose for one your boyfriends? Maybe one of them photographed you without your knowledge?"

"Mr. Ericsson, those aren't me."

"How can you be certain? They look... quite realistic."

I squirmed in my seat.

"I've only had sex with one guy," I whispered.

"And are you sure he isn't the man in any of these photos?"

"He can't be. He took me... from behind."

Mr. Ericsson nodded.

"And how about this photo?" He held my phone aloft and pointed to the image of me preparing to receive a facial.

"No!"

Again, he looked at me skeptically, unsatisfied with my answer.

"I've given blowjobs before... but I never let a guy do... that."

"Okay," he said. "Then how about these images of your face. Do you know where they came from?"

"The tape!" I said as it dawned on me. "None of these look familiar, so Connor must have gotten them off the tape."

"Hmm. I spoke with Connor about the tape and he denies having possession of it."

"He's lying, Mr. Ericsson, I know it."

"I will speak with him again. In the meantime, I will see if I can get this website taken down. Would you like that?"

"Yes! Thank you. It makes me feel so exposed."

"You're welcome."

I stood up to leave, but Mr. Ericsson gestured for me to stay seated.

"I'm actually glad you're here, Lola, even if I wish the circumstances were different." He cracked a small smile. "I have some good news for you."

"Really?"

"Each summer, Meadowlark holds a members-only summer gala. It's a very lavish event. In general, staff are not invited to attend, but each year, the members present one staffer with the Outstanding Service award at the gala."

My eyes opened wide.

"Congratulations, Lola. Our members voted and you won."

"I did?!"

"It is unusual but not unprecedented for seasonal staff to win the award. It just goes to show how much our members appreciate your commitment to serving them."

"Mr. Ericsson, I don't know what to say."

"Say thank you. At the gala, that is. You'll come up on stage, collect your bonus, and pose for pictures with some of the members."

"There's a bonus?"

"It wouldn't be much of an award without one," he smiled. "It's $1,500."

"Oh my god," I gasped. "I can't believe it!"

"Save your enthusiasm for the gala," he chuckled. "And make sure you continue to earn that bonus with excellent service over the rest of this summer."

...

As summer wore on, I managed to avoid running into Connor, and things returned to something approaching normalcy. I was still fending off the furtive advances of older men on a daily basis, but I was careful to do some with a smile on my face. Learning that the members had voted to give me an award helped to restore my confidence and I was determined not to let Mr. Ericsson down after he gave me a second chance.

ConqueringLola remained online, which kept me on edge, but no new photos appeared, and no one else seemed to know that it existed. I counted that as a small victory and tried my best to ignore it. If anyone could find a way to get it taken down, I was sure it was Mr. Ericsson, given how successfully he'd managed to keep Connor away from me.

Well, that's a little bit of a lie. I may have tried my best to ignore the site, but I didn't have much success. I found myself checking it multiple times a day, especially at night before I went to bed.

I told myself I was checking to make sure no new images had been posted, but that failed to explain why my fingers crept in between my legs every time I visited the site.

As violated as the site's existence made me feel, it was incredibly erotic to see myself performing sex acts that I hadn't even imagined with strange men I didn't even know. The images were obviously someone else's fantasy—presumably Connor's—but it didn't become long before they became mine as well. As I touched myself, I thought about what it would be like to kneel for a man and let him spray his cum all over my pretty, half-Asian face. I imagined how it would feel let a man climb on top of me and slide his long, veiny cock between my big tits, pushing them together to create a soft, pillowy canal for him to enjoy. And, despite intense feelings of shame and self-loathing, I imagined Connor Davenport as the anonymous man making me do these things.

I know, I know. I'm fucked up.

But there was something thrilling about knowing that we were sharing two sides of the exact same fantasy. He had taken painstaking hours to carefully construct these hyper-realistic fantasies about me. He had shown me exactly what he wanted. And try as I might, I couldn't deny that some fucked up part of me wanted it, too.

Finally, the night of the gala arrived. It started off as a normal day at work, with the club scheduled to close early for the occasion. I wasn't planning to go home in between going to work and attending the gala, so I brought a makeup kit and the outfit I planned to wear with me so that I could change in between.

When I arrived, I found—for the first time since ConqueringLola went online—a picture waiting for me in my locker. Like the others, this one showed a big-breasted woman with my face. In this photo, however, the woman wasn't nude: she was wearing lacy, black-and-white lingerie. And in this photo, she wasn't kneeling in front of just one man. There were two. I had a cock in each hand.

My heart started racing. I was so drawn in by the image that it took me a full minute to realize that it wasn't the only object waiting in my locker. Below it was a white box topped with a bow. Checking to make sure none of the other girls were around, I opened the box.

Inside was a lacy, black-and-white lingerie set just the like one in the photo. I quickly stuffed the photo inside the box, replaced the lid, and changed into my uniform.

The rest of the day was a blur. I couldn't concentrate on work at all. I kept glancing over at the vendors that kept arriving and unpacking equipment for the gala.

I knew Connor would be there. He was the president's son and this was the marquee event of the summer--there was no way he was going to miss it. Whatever Mr. Ericsson had done to keep him away from me for the last two months, he wouldn't be able to keep Connor from attending the gala. For the first time since ConqueringLola went online, I would have to face him.

I cursed the butterflies in my stomach and tried to calm myself. For all Connor knew, I thought he was an asshole that didn't deserve a tennis lesson, much less a blowjob. If I could keep it together and play it cool, there was no reason to think that I couldn't make it through the gala with my self-respect intact.

And yet the fact that I needed to consciously check myself betrayed the fact that something was brewing inside me. What if he somehow discovered the hold that his website had on me? Connor had already displayed the ability to get under my skin and provoke my baser impulses--what if he managed to get under my clothes and do the same thing?

After my final lesson, I walked back to the locker room and hopped in the shower. I lingered there, letting the warm, soapy water spill over the curves of my body, waiting for the other girls to leave. I knew that none of them would be attending the gala and didn't feel like inviting envy.