Raoul's 18th Birthday Ch. 02

It isn't a girl he wants, so he pretends to guess wrong. To flatter her, he guesses she's Emily, and of course it isn't, so he throws her into the water.

And so the game goes on for a while, joined by new players arriving for the party, a just-barely socially acceptable excuse for highschoolers to put their hands all over each other's nearly naked bodies.

Whenever a girl is "it," the girls all cooperate in leading her to Raoul so that he will be it again, and then each of them hopes he'll chase her.

Finally, when he's actually getting a bit horny again, he catches a girl named Hannah, with a pretty good idea what will happen.

He has a little history with Hannah. Quite a little.

And sure enough, she "accidentally" grabs his speedos and jerks them down. He immediately jerks them back up, but of course most of the girls have seen the thing itself (not the first time for most of them), and they all flee screaming, leaving Hannah and him alone for a moment.

He grabs her, pretending to be angry.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he growls.

"What are you doing?" she hits him but he doesn't let go.

"What if I jerk your suit off?" he threatens.

"I dare you," she warns coldly.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

She tries to push away, but he holds her and pulls his blindfold off. She gives up pushing and they glare as angrily as they can at each other until his smirk breaks out and she responds with a naughty smile, flashing her eyebrows. He winks and they both laugh.

"You're good at this game, Miss Vaughan," he admits.

"Well, you put the pole in Marco Polo," she whispers, pressing her thigh over his cock.

"Not here," he tells her. He lifts her into the air by her waist and throws her about fifteen feet away. Flying through the air, she screams with delight until she splashes into the water.

"That's enough for me, ladies," he announces, climbing out. "Company's here, you're behaving badly, and I'm hungry."

They beg and whine, but he wants a burger.

—————————————

Raoul's sisters have arrived, as well as their beaux (including Jeremy) and two dozen more girls. Dried and dressed, he greets the guys first. Most of them are his sisters' friends from County High, or they're football or basketball teammates of his. When it's the girls' turn, tits and more tits are pushed firmly into his groin and stomach, faces pressed warmly against his chest. Gifts, he's told, are piling up on a table in the foyer.

Scarlett smiles at him from behind the crowd and beckons, wanting to tell him something privately.

Drama appears to be the price of her hospitality.

He'd rather just fuck her. Drama annoys him.

He excuses himself and Scarlett leads him back into her house, the long way around and up a different stairway, apparently avoiding someone.

And then, of course, back to her room.

But even there, even after she locks the door behind them, she whispers.

"What did my mom really tell you?"

"Really, nothing," he shrugs.

"It was a long time to say nothing."

He just shrugs again. "Just normal stuff."

"Well," Scarlett informs, "She told me that she knows we were doing something before she came in. She said she doesn't know exactly what we were doing, but she knows the main idea."

Raoul nods.

"And then she's like, 'You're eighteen now, Scarlett, and you don't have to pretend to be so innocent.'"

"Okay."

"She told me stuff like, 'You can always tell me anything,' but she told me not to tell Dad anything that would upset him. She's like, 'He's a man, he wouldn't understand.'"

Raoul considers all this without speaking. That is not what he would've expected her mom to tell her.

"She even asked if I knew how to use protection!"

He can only blink at all that. What kind of game is her mom playing?

Unsure how to respond, he resorts to flirting. "Well, do you?" he winks.

"Raoul!" she whisper-shouts.

"It's okay," he assures her. "Your mom's right. She's a woman, same as you. She knows everything. Everything. She didn't get you out of a cabbage patch, sweetheart. Just calm down."

"It's so embarrassing," she laments, sitting on her bed.

She's loving this drama.

"Overreacting is only going to make everything worse," he says, "And meanwhile, we are starting lots of rumors right now. Unless that's what you want" — she starts to deny it vehemently because that's exactly what she wants — "we should go back to the party. We can talk this all out later."

He turns to go and she nods, helpless and a little disappointed.

—————————————

And sure enough, as soon as he steps out of Scarlett's bedroom door, there's Mrs. X, watching like a hawk.

"How's my darling girl?"

"I guess she's fine," he shrugs. "Ask her yourself."

"And are you behaving yourself?"

"Trying."

Scarlett steps out then. She and her mother smile very bright, very fake smiles at each other.

"Has Raoul been bothering you, honey?"

"No. I just wanted to talk to him about something."

"Is everything okay?"

"Everything's wonderful! Is Daddy grilling the steaks yet?"

"I think so. Aren't you hungry?"

"Starving!"

"Me too," Raoul announces and heads downstairs.

But her dad is not grilling. He stops Raoul outside his library and invites him to join him in there again.

Why not?

"Have a seat," he says, pouring whisky for both of them. He seems uncomfortable confronting Raoul standing up. Raoul sits in one of the big leather chairs and Mr. sits in one across from him.

They look at each other silently for a moment. Then Mr. X downs his drink and pours another.

"Damned good stuff. Thousand dollars a bottle."

Raoul nods as if impressed.

"More?" he offers the bottle.

"No thank you. I'm not much of a drinker."

"I see." He takes a deep breath. "Well, Scarlett's mother and I have just had an interesting conversation."

Raoul raises his eyebrows but doesn't say anything. So Mrs. X has sicced her husband on him.

Mr. X looks into his shot glass and speaks to his drink.

"I don't know if all of her surmises are correct, but she wants me to tell you that we don't care what you do with any of the girls at the party, even in our house, but you have to leave Scarlett alone." He looks up. "Do you have any idea what I'm talking about?"

If it weren't so important, Raoul would laugh. What a fucking relief! At least he can play this game. He has lots of experience with angry fathers, none with angry husbands.

Not yet, anyway....

"Sure. Your wife seems to think that Scarlett and I were... doing something... when we were alone in her room earlier. She sent Scarlett out and kind of went off on me. I mean she really let me have it. I guess she's trying to protect Scarlett from me."

"You seem like a really good kid, Raoul."

"In some ways," he admits, "but not when it comes to girls."

Mr. X leans forward.

"What do you mean?"

"You saw the girls out there. All over me. Pulling my shorts off in the pool."

He nods.

"I've hooked up with half of them. More than half, if you only count the pretty ones."

"Sure, sure." Mr. X looks away. "Sex?"

"With some." After a pause, he amends his answer, as if reluctantly admitting something. "Several."

Mr. X nods slowly, downs another drink.

Raoul's tactic, of course, is to have Mr. X laser-focused on his interactions with Scarlett and the other girls. No suspicion of Mrs. X.

"Well, kids will play," Mr. X concludes, perhaps more jealous than angry now. "But please don't hurt Scarlett. She really likes you, as you probably know. But she's.... You'll break her heart, Raoul. She's never even had a boyfriend. Do it to someone else's daughter, not mine."

Poor guy. Raoul feels so sorry for him. Does he have any idea?

"But I mean, if you really like her..." Mr. X looks up hopefully.

Raoul shrugs. "She's pretty, of course," trying to be nice. "You know that. But I'm not the boyfriend type."

Mr. X nods and looks back into his whisky. Then, with a sigh, he tries to get tough.

"Well, should I kick you out of my house or are you going to behave yourself with my daughter?"

When he looks up, his chin is quivering. Raoul almost chuckles.

"Don't worry, Mister X," he smiles. "I respect you and your daughter. I can't control her emotions but I promise not to mislead her."

"Thank you," Mr. X nods. "You sure you don't want another drink?"

"Better not. Might do something I regret. Anyway, Scarlett was hoping you'd make some steaks. Said she was starving."

Actually, of course, Raoul is the one starving. Seems like years since he had Sandra's huevos rancheros.

"I guess I have work to do then," he stands up. "Nice talking to you."

"Mind if I hang out in here a bit?" Raoul asks. "I need a break from the drama."

"Suit yourself," he says. Then he points to his booze. "And help yourself."

"Thank you, sir."

Raoul sits back in his chair, surmising that Mrs. X is waiting outside the library doors and that, after a brief confirmation that her husband has followed directions, she'll come in to see Raoul herself.

All of which shortly comes true.

She locks the doors and sits on the arm of Raoul's chair, crossing her legs towards him and leaning on his shoulder.

"Have you earned a reward?"

"You know Scarlett told me what you told her."

"Yes. I'm not going to be the bad guy. She can do whatever she wants. But you can't."

Raoul nods.

"You've been doing a swell job, too. She's been making it hard for you, but you've been a good boy. Seems like it's about time for another reward. What would you like this time?" she asks.

Clearly she's horny. Blowing Raoul only got her wound up.

"Hannah," he says.

"What?"

"Send Hannah in. Tell her I'm still mad at her and I want to talk to her alone."

They look at each other without blinking. He's taking charge.

Besides, he knows what he knows about jealous women. They make a big stink when they can — and at that moment Mrs. X can't — but they fuck much harder.

"Fine," she concedes, shrugging to save face.

"Save that reward for later," Raoul instructs. "I want you to owe me more. A lot more."

She smiles. She can accept that.

—————————————

About two minutes later, Hannah appears.

"Raoul?" she says, tenderly. She sounds really scared. Mrs X. must've delivered her message with vengeance.

"Lock the doors, Miss Vaughan." His voice is cold and flat.

She obeys.

"Come here."

She walks over to him and stands, hands defiantly on her hips. She has a towel tied around her waist, and above it she wears only her yellow bikini.

"What do you want, Mister Cock?" she demands, emphasizing his last name as if it were an insult.

"To punish you."

"Punish?" She sounds intrigued.

He points his finger at her.

"You know what you did, you fucking slut."

Hannah is now a student at one of LA's community colleges, but until she graduated she was one of the cheerleaders at County, where she met several of the M-girls. She once confided to Raoul that her boyfriend was too gentlemanly to do the naughty things she wanted to do. "Dump him," he'd said, "and I'll do them for you."

"Dump him?" she'd said. "So you can be my boyfriend?"

"No. I'm nobody's boyfriend. But I don't fuck girls with boyfriends."

So she'd dumped her boyfriend. He was shorter than her anyway, and not as smart. No one really knew why they'd ever been together. Since then she's been one of Raoul's "regulars," though the most attractive thing about her to him is probably how naughty she is. True, there's nothing wrong with her — she has better-than-average tits, a better-than-average ass — but for Raoul's tastes she's too pale for her dark hair. On the other hand, for whatever reason, she really gets off on being dominated.

This being 1987, and each of them being only 18 and somewhat naive, they don't know the term "safe word," but they have invented their own code: when he's dominating her, he's Mr. Cock and she's Miss Vaughan. They revert to Raoul and Hannah if there's a problem.

Gesturing with two fingers, he commands her to approach.

"Remove the towel."

"Yes, sir."

It drops to the floor. He looks her up and down with a frown. After a slight nod, he gestures again, and she hesitantly steps closer to him.

He points at her crotch and gestures for her to remove her bikini bottom.

She looks at him questioningly.

"No, sir. Please."

He scowls at her, gestures her for her to approach even more closely. When she's close enough, he smacks her face. Not nearly as hard as he could, of course — that would probably knock her out — but hard enough to excite her.

"Fuck you," she almost spits at him.

He takes her face in his hand, pinching it with his thumb on one cheek and two fingers on the other.

"Not yet, bitch. Not yet. Any more suggestions?"

She shakes her head.

"Good. Who's the fucking boss here?"

"You are, Mister Cock," she struggles to say as he still holds her face.

"Good. And who's my fucking slut?"

"I am."

"You are what?"

"A fucking slut."

"Whose fucking slut?"

"Your fucking slut."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Say it again." He can see it hurts her, and yet she likes him making her say it.

"I'm your fucking slut."

"My fucking what?"

"Slut. Your fucking slut."

"Good. You sure are."

Releasing her face, he puts one finger in the center of her bikini top and pulls it roughly over her head.

She initially covers her breasts with her hands, but he pushes her hands away, one at a time, with one finger.

"Nice tits, slut. I'm gonna cum on them later. You like that?"

"No sir."

"Too fucking bad, bitch. I cum where I want to cum. And I want to cum," he runs his finger from one nipple to the other, pushing just a little too hard, back to the first nipple, then up to her neck and into her mouth. Then he pulls it back and taps her chest between her tits. "Right here."

He puts his finger back in her mouth. "And then you're going to swallow it, bitch, because you're my fucking whore. Do you understand?"

His finger, steering her head, makes her nod.

"Good."

He removes his finger, runs it down her body to her hip, and then steers with it, turning her around.

He considers her ass. Her bikini bottom has ridden a little into her crack. She reaches back to pull it out but he bats her hand away.

He trails his finger from her waist, down the curve of her hip, around her butt cheek, and into her groin, just between her vulva and the top of her leg. Then he puts it into her swimsuit, slides it around to one of her but cheeks, and pulls her swimsuit halfway down her thighs.

Then he puts his finger on her hip again, and turns her around to face him.

"Mmmm," he growls, taking her vulva in his hand.

"I'm so sorry, Mister Cock," she whimpers. "Please stop. Please."

Looking in her eyes, he sees her excitement and submission.

Then he picks her up by her crotch, catching her upper body in his other hand as she gasps, and lifts her onto his lap. When she's landed, he rolls her over and raises her hips.

"The punishment will begin, Miss Vaughan."

"Yes, sir," she says, resting her face on the cushioned arm of the chair. "Thank you, sir."

He rubs her butt, one cheek and then the other, almost but not quite touching her pussy. Then he gives one cheek two rhythmic pats followed by a smack. "Oh!" she cries, a little surprised.

"Did you like that, Miss Vaughan?"

"No, Mister Cock."

"Hush," he says, sticking a finger in her mouth.

Now he gives the other cheek two rhythmic pats and a smack. She bites his finger, and he smacks her ass again.

"You fucking slut!" he whispers when he smacks it again.

With his finger hooked in her mouth, he pulls her face towards him, twisting her body awkwardly.

"Was that hard enough? Have you learned your lesson?"

"No sir," she mumbles over his finger.

"Fine."

He pushes her face away and gives an ass cheek two pats again, but this time he pauses before the smack. Confused, she releases her breath, and then he smacks it hard, catching her by surprise.

"Oh!" she cries, and immediately he smacks her again. She whines, pressing her face into the arm of the chair. He smacks her ass yet again, but now he's smacking its lower portion, toward her pussy and thighs. The arc of her back reveals the pleasure she feels in the pain.

Meanwhile his boner is straining against his speedos, so he's had enough.

"Slave," he tells her. This is a signal that sex will happen soon. He wonders whether there's a racial element to the pleasure she seems to get out of being called a slave, but whatever. Who cares what is in this white girl's naughty heart, as long as she fucks him well and doesn't try to control him?

"Yes, master?" She turns to look at him.

"Suck this cock."

"Yes, master."

A moment later her blonde head is pumping hard on his cock, artlessly but with commitment. He pushes her forehead back.

"Look at me while I cum on your tits, slave."

"Yes, master."

"Fuck my cock with them."

She doesn't immediately understand, so he shows her how to do it, then he leans back to enjoy the show. She looks up at him, thrilled and delighted, and sees his beautiful face, scowling now with a brutal need for her; she looks at his powerful shoulders and chest, at the rigidly defined muscles of his torso; his massive hands enfold her head, and she feels his power over her, the intensity of his desire for her, and she longs to be actually his slave, to have the privilege of serving his pleasure with her body and soul. She eagerly anticipates the salty bitterness of his cum, the tension and shaking of his body, and his grateful embrace afterwards —

And it happens almost just like that, as it has happened before.

He grunts, his jaw hardens, the muscles of his body ripple, he lifts his chin imperiously, and she smiles, blinking up at him as sweetly as she can, begging for his approval.

Seeing her smile like that with his cock buried in her tits, he gives it to her, spraying all over her neck and tits.

When she feels the warmth of his jizz on her neck, running down on breasts, her heart leaps, elated to know she's truly pleased him...

When he's finished, he pulls her around so she's laying on his lap. He cradles her head in the crook of one arm, and with a finger from the other hand he traces his cum around her tits.

He holds a finger-full of it in front of her face.

"Would you like that?"

"Yes," she coos, "I love your cock. I love your cum. Please let me swallow it. Please."

He rubs it on her lips, and she licks them eagerly. "Oh, thank you," she whispers. He gets more and wipes it on her lips. "Yes, master," she repeats. "Thank you, thank you." Gratitude fills her as she swallows, as his dark eyes stare into hers.

Finally his face softens, his sweet smirk breaks through, and he gently pulls her face, lifting her up to him. She climbs up his body, spreading her legs to straddle his lap. His hands flow down her body, electrifying her as they go. He takes one ass cheek in each hand and pulls her tight against him, her clit into the rock of his stomach. Waves of pleasure radiate through her body.

And then he kisses her gently but passionately.

She doesn't know how long it goes on. Her soul floats above them somewhere.

When he finally pulls his face back, he smirks at her and winks.

"Thank you, Miss Vaughan. You've been a very good girl."

"Thank you, Mister Cock," she says. "It's been my pleasure."