Raouls 18Th Birthday Ch 02

The story continues, of course. Please feel free to leave comments and suggestions!

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Scarlett X (we can't use the family's real name), a Ridgway girl from a very wealthy family, has invited Raoul and his twins —

especially

Raoul of course — to have their birthday / New Year's party at her family's Beverly Hills mansion, with its huge pool and acre of lawn.

She didn't have to beg them to accept that invitation!

They invited Raoul and his entire family, but the older M-girls (as Raoul's sisters and cousins are known) decided they'd rather not spend the day with "a bunch of high schoolers." That left enough room, the X family felt, for thirty invitations.

Working out the guest list had been a quasi-political nightmare with which Raoul initially had as little to do as possible. Eventually, however, his twins Sam and Reza persuaded him to work with them as a team in their negotiations with Scarlett. In return for Raoul pressuring her to invite the boys that his sisters wanted to see at the party, they pressured her to invite the girls that he wanted to see. In the end, despite Scarlett's attempt to exclude girls she viewed as competition for Raoul's attention, it was a "who's who" of the most popular boys and hottest girls of Essex, Ridgway, and County high schools, and arguably "the social event of the season" for them. (At this time Essex and Ridgway are still separate schools, though of course the boys of Essex and the girls of Ridgway mingle socially.)

By prior arrangement, Raoul arrives about half an hour early, supposedly to help set up, but he understands that in reality he's meant to give the young hostess a little time with him to herself. That is essentially the price of renting the mansion for their party.

They buzz him in at the gate, and he rides right up to the front door, where her father's waiting to welcome him.

"Nice bike!" he says, shaking Raoul's hand.

"Thank you, Mister X."

"Scarlett told me you drive a convertible Vette."

The Corvette was practically given to him by a rather famous older man (another we shouldn't name) who might've had improper designs on Raoul.

It was a fair trade. The poor old guy never got anywhere with Raoul, and the car was in the shop so often (when his sisters weren't borrowing it) that Raoul rarely got anywhere with it!

"The twins have it today."

"So what is it?"

"A '74 Stingray."

"I mean the bike."

"'86 Low Rider. Harley."

"Fixed up a bit to fit you?"

"Yeah. Risers."

"Sweet, sweet. How much did it set you back?"

"Nothing. JP gave it to me after

Fist Punch Two

."

"Really? That's cool. Does he roll with you?"

"Roll?" Raoul thinks, squinting against the sunlight on the bright white exterior of the mansion.

This is what it means to be so tall, so strong, and so handsome. He's a teenager, and Mr. X is richer than all fucking fuck, but it's Mr. X who's pathetically trying to act cool to impress Raoul.

Raoul calibrates his response. He resents people who by rights ought to have enough self-confidence not to need his approval, grovelling like this. On the other hand, he certainly can't afford to offend Mr. X.

So he's stuck. Mr. X could probably destroy Raoul's career, and his family still needs that money, so Raoul will have to act like he regards Mr. X as a real swell guy. But he's not going to overdo it.

"Sometimes. We went to Tijuana last summer."

"Cool, cool. What'd he get you after

Fist Punch Three

?"

"A watch. Said I was late too much."

"Must be a nice watch."

"I think so."

The truth is that JP had heard too many pretty women on the set drooling over Raoul, so their relationship cooled. If a

Fist Punch Four

gets made, Raoul doesn't expect to be in it.

"Well, come on in. The old lady's busy nagging the caterers so we have a little time to chat."

"Sounds good."

"You play pool?"

"I try."

Mister X leads Raoul through the foyer. Curving stairs on both sides lead up to a balcony. It's all beige marble, sharply angular furniture, glossy plastic postmodern art, excessively bright lighting.

Thoroughly uncomfortable.

Of course Raoul hopes to be this wealthy someday, but he also hopes to have a comfortable home.

The library is much, much better. Two stories of dark wood and frosted window panes, huge leather chairs, shelves filled with matching sets of antique-style books that would probably never be opened.

Mister X beats him a few times — the goddamned eight-ball keeps leaping into the pockets for some reason — and then they sit down for some scotch. Raoul tells him about his plans to open a business, and Mister X says he'd like to pitch in fifty grand. That's enough for one share, just a token investment for someone like Mister X, but anything is better than nothing.

Raoul sips the whisky complacently. Throwing three games of pool is worth fifty grand.

Then Scarlett walks in wearing a short, bright red dress. The material is so thin that her blue and white bikini shows through. This is as racy as it gets in 1987.

"Raoul!" she gushes, and hugs him tightly. Her father's presence does not deter her from pressing her boobs into his crotch as she hugs him.

When she steps back, Raoul's gaze floats down her body.

"You look very nice," he nods approvingly.

"Thank you!" She twists a little. "You do too."

Raoul tells her father, "I really want to thank you guys for having us over."

Mr. X beams proudly, as though he already sees himself grandfather to Raoul's children. Raoul looks back at Scarlett, checking her out again with a smile. In the moment his eyes linger on her breasts, she stands up just a little straighter. He looks in her eyes and nods. His boyish smirk thrills her, and she blushes forehead to tits.

In fact, Scarlett is not even nearly as hot as her father is rich. She's certainly fine — a fairly thin blonde, with a reasonably pretty face, decent boobs, and a sexier-than-average ass. But her waist is thick, at least by Raoul's standards, she's no taller than average, and Raoul has never heard her say anything particularly interesting or impressive.

He'll fuck her, sure, if he can be sure it's a one-and-done situation. Maybe he'll even make her cum, just to get back at Mr. X for being such an ass. He'd prefer to just let her suck his dick though. She's not worth much trouble.

However, he knows that this party is her idea, and that her parents are throwing it for their darling daughter, not really for him or his sisters. And if not for her, the party would be a tiny little thing at his own house, with room for about five guests. So she deserves a little special attention for her generosity.

"Scarlett," he says, "I've never been to your house before. How about a tour?"

"Of course!" she claps her hands. "Let's go!"

"Well, you should tell me about this room first."

"Oh," she waves dismissively, "this is just Daddy's library."

"It's my favorite room so far."

"It's ok, but there's lots more to show you." She says it with promise in her voice.

With a shrug, Raoul nods to her father, whose enthusiasm seems unaffected by the knowledge they all share: Scarlett wants to get him to her bedroom ASAP, before any guests arrive to interrupt them.

—————————————

She dutifully but hurriedly shows him a living room, a dining room, a disturbingly busy drawing room with a leopard-print sofa and floral upholstery, a golden sculpture of Buddha from Thailand, porcelain dalmatians next to the hearth, and so on. He teases her by asking about the art, slowing her down. Then — or, from her point of view, finally — she leads him up a marble staircase to the second floor, swaying her hips in front of him as seductively as she can.

Near the top, Raoul looks around to be sure no one is watching, and then rewards her with a gentle little smack on her bottom.

"Hey!" she jumps, and he grins at her mischievously while she nervously looks for witnesses. Assured that they're alone, she gives him a look of warning, calculatedly exaggerated to let him know she's a good girl who knows better... but if he wants to do something like that again, well, she could

probably

forgive him.

"What's this?" he points his chin toward a doorway.

"That's just a bathroom," she laughs.

"Do you shower there?"

"Yes, but —" she blushes then, having realized that there's something taboo about that topic. A little confused, she turns around and goes on, "But my room —"

He taps her other butt cheek.

"Oh!" she jumps again.

"That's as good as the other one," he teases.

"Raoul!" she scolds, her eyes sparkling above her blushing cheeks. Then, resuming the unperturbed dignity of a tour guide, she announces, "My bedroom is here."

Raoul intentionally leaves the door open as he follows her in. He'll make out with her a little, just to be nice, but that's all. Having the door open could be an excuse for him if she tries to go too far.

(In a normal relationship, the lady has to consider whether to apply brakes on the gentleman's endeavors, but when the boy is handsome enough, he becomes the one who thinks about brakes.)

"Well, this is lovely," he says, laying a hand on her shoulder. "I like it," he assures her, extending his fingertips over her collar bone, down to the top of her breast.

"Really?" she presses herself against his side and looks up with innocent, hopeful eyes. She tries to put her arm around his waist but he's so tall that she just gets a good handful of his butt. After trying to reach his waist for a moment, she decides, quite happily, to leave it on his butt. He squeezes her shoulder with a smile to reassure her.

Then, as they smile at each other, he slides his fingers into the top of her dress. Her eyes widen a little, and she looks away shyly, squeezing his ass a little harder. He extends his fingers, pushing her dress open to reveal her breasts. They have cute brown freckles and irregularly-shaped brown nipples. He already senses that she must be insecure about those nipples, so she'll need some assurance....

"Your room looks even better from up here than it does from down there."

Her embarrassment peaks and she pulls away, smacking his ass as she goes.

"You're a very naughty boy," she giggles.

"You can call me Big Cock," he tells her, his deep voice even lower than usual. "All the girls do."

"I certainly cannot!" she whisper-gasps, though he supposes she's chanted it along with the rest of the crowd during football and basketball games.

He walks over to her desk and sits down.

"Is this where you do your homework?"

"Yes."

"Come over here and show me."

"Show you what?"

"How you do your homework. Just sit down here," he taps his thigh, "and show me."

Delighted, she floats over and takes a seat on his left leg. He puts his left arm around her, his hand on the side of her hip with his fingers pressed lightly into her pelvis, almost reaching her crotch.

She looks into his eyes, her face aflame with excitement and fear.

"Is this how you do your homework?" he asks.

"Not exactly."

"Show me how you do it," he whispers, nudging her a little.

She's sitting sideways, relative to her desk. To face it, she has to turn a little, placing her hips directly on his crotch. Her eyes widen even more when she understands what he's telling her to do, and he can see her working up the courage to do it.

Charming her with his boyish smirk, he lifts her, one hip in each hand, and slowly placies her where he wants her. Seduced by how easily he moves her, she reflexively arches her back to press her ass into his groin. He cups his left hand over her right boob, and she puts her hand over his.

"We need to find a pencil," he whispers.

With his left arm around her hip, he slides his right hand up her thigh, then under her dress. He rubs his thumb up and down along the very outside edge of her bikini, teasing her but just not quite touching her pussy.

Frightened and excited, she spreads her legs a little.

"Where do you think we can find a pencil?" he asks. "And where would we put it?"

"I don't know," she says without thinking. Her attention is clearly focused on his thumb.

"You must know," he teases. "It's your room. You must have a pencil to play with." He lowers his already deep voice and slowly whispers, "A big, long, hard pencil."

He sees her desire struggling with her nervousness.

"Go on," he whispers into her hair.

" big..."

He draws the words out slowly.

"... long... hard..."

He leans down to her ear and, so quietly that she can barely be sure she's heard, whispers, "cock." At the same moment, his thumb very lightly brushes over the part of her swimsuit over her clit.

She jumps up with a gasp.

"Raoul!"

She — perhaps accidentally — puts her hand right on his cock as she stands up, but she pulls it back as if she's been burned.

Standing up, she's as tall as he is sitting down. She just stands there in front of him, not able to speak, not sure what she wants....

He takes her chin in his hand, holding it like a poker chip.

Her heart is pounding so hard, her face is burning. She can't think. She can't admit what she wants....

But he's so handsome, his voice so deep and sweet and gentle, she feels obedient, helpless. He guides her back to his lap, and she submits.

"Scarlett," he teases, "are you too shy to say 'cock?'"

"No...." She can't look at him.

"Then say it. Put your hand on it, and say it."

With one finger he redirects her face so they're looking at each other.

"It's okay if you don't want to. But if you want to..." he finishes the sentence with his smirk.

She nods.

Very gingerly, she places her hand flat over it, still too shy to hold it. With tears of embarrassment gleaming in her eye, she whispers, "Cock."

"Good."

Her face is bright red, and she's smiling like a kid who stole the last Christmas cookie.

Without breaking eye contact, he puts his hand over hers and gently forms it into a fist around his cock. She squeezes it tentatively, her curiosity getting the best of her.

"Wow," he looks warmly into her eyes, and she tingles all over. "You're good at that. Feels so fucking good."

She glows with pride and embarrassment.

But just then her mom knocks lightly on the open door.

—————————————

"Scarlett?" she calls with an artificially high, sweet voice, full of fake innocence.

The owner of that name jumps about a mile. If jumping away from a boner were an Olympic sport, she'd be one of the best. Almost instantly, she's standing about three yards away from Raoul.

"Yes, mother?" she answers with an even higher, sweeter voice....

She couldn't sound guiltier, and Raoul instantly knows that there's almost no way they're going to get away with anything if she acts like that.

Scarlett's desk is around a corner from the door, so her mother didn't see anything unless she'd crept in and back out before she knocked. So that's the question...

When she does come into the room (this time) she seems to be trying to pretend not to know what they've been doing. And even if she's seen nothing, Scarlett's face, shining true to her name, clearly shows that they've been doing

something

.

So Raoul assumes that the truth will out.

"Are you ok, darling?" her mom asks, putting a hand on Scarlett's forehead. "You look like you have a fever."

"No," she says, covering her heart, "You just startled me, Mother."

"What were you guys doing in here?" Mrs. X asks, feigning naïveté. "I didn't hear you talking."

Scarlett's mother, a true Hollywood wife, is at least a decade younger than her husband, just barely old enough to have a daughter Scarlett's age. She has a movie-star face, the kind you almost never see except in Hollywood, pure blue eyes with bright red lipstick on her wide smile. Her golden blonde hair — certainly dyed — shimmers as if releasing stored sunlight.

But most notably, beneath a tight blue blouse, her breasts defy gravity, floating above the elegant waist of her willowy figure.

"Scarlett was giving me a tour of your home," Raoul answers, assuming Scarlett is too flustered to think, let alone answer. "She was showing me her desk here, where she does her homework, showing me where she keeps her pencils."

Scarlett snaps her head around to glare at him as if he's given the game away, but Raoul has calculated that if her mother doesn't already have a very good idea of what they've been doing, she will never figure it out, and he's watching Mrs. X intently to try to figure out exactly how much she knows.

"Oh," she laughs, "yes, Scarlett definitely loves her pencils."

Scarlett's jaw drops, her eyes pop almost out of her face.

But her mom goes on innocently, shaking her head at Raoul. "She's an amazing artist."

"Really?" Raoul turns to Scarlett. "I didn't know that. You should have shown me."

"You'd be very impressed," her mother says. Then she addresses Scarlett: "Anyway, darling, I'm sorry to interrupt, but some of your friends have arrived and they're waiting downstairs."

"Oh!" Scarlett speed-walks out of the room, looking resolutely at the floor.

"What was that all about?" her mom asks when the sound of Scarlett's steps has faded.

"I guess she really was startled." He meets her smile with a shrug, apparently feeling no shame.

"That's not like her." Mrs. X takes a step closer to him, tilting her face thoughtfully to one side, resting her cheek on one hand. Her bright red fingernails match her lipstick.

"Isn't it?"

He's stuck. For some reason, his dick is still hard and if he stands up it will be at the level of Mrs X's chest, pointing right at her face. (One thing about being that tall: you can never hide a boner.) He also can't look down to check if it's visible because Mrs. X will look where he looks, and whatever he sees, she'll see. He just does his best to hide it under an arm draped very awkwardly across his lap.

"Not usually. She seemed to be really... excited. I guess she was really happy to see you."

"You think so?"

"Yeah."

She suddenly turns around as if to leave, but instead she closes the door. Raoul hears it shut and he hears her lock it. He uses the moment to check, and sure enough there's a teepee on his crotch. If she hasn't seen it already, it's only because she hasn't looked. He crosses his legs to reduce its prominence at least a little. He anticipates Scarlett's mom scolding him or hitting on him or both.

"She really likes you, Raoul," she says as she returns. She leans back on Scarlett's desk, almost sitting on it, pretending to be unaware that her leg is touching his. Like Scarlett, she's about as tall standing up as he is sitting down.

"She's very nice," he nods. "I like her too." His light tone implies, "as a friend."

"Really?" she asks. "I mean, Scarlett

really

likes you." She looks seriously into his eyes.

"Oh," he says.

At any given moment, three or four dozen girls have crushes on Raoul; most of their mothers work tirelessly on their daughters' behalves, and some on their own behalves. Scarlett's mother appears to be placing herself in the overlapping circle of that Venn diagram.

Yet, no matter how often this happens, he always feels an obligation to act surprised. Everyone's mother wants to believe she's the first to be so naughty with him.

"And I know how boys are," Mrs. X promises, pressing her thigh unambiguously against his knee, as if to emphasize her point. "I know what you want and what you do."

She reaches for his hand, and presses it with both of hers. Gaudy jewels sparkle on almost all her fingers.

"Please don't hurt my daughter." Her tone sounds more like a warning than a request.