Kayla And The Pool Boy Ch 02

All characters are 18 or older.

I awoke to the buzz of my phone at my bedside. My mind was hazy and my head ached. I knew I must have drank too much. But I couldn't quite recall what or with who. I vaguely remembered my wife, Tammy, rousing me earlier to say she was headed to the city unexpectedly for work.

I rolled over to grab my phone and saw a text from an unknown number:

Tammy had to cancel our first session so it's your lucky day. I'll be there in 10 minutes, meet me in the driveway dressed and ready.

It took a moment for the fog to clear, then it all came rushing back: verbally sparring with the pool guy's cocky wife, feeling her rock-hard muscles, being lifted by her with ease, bouncing on her hips...floating in her arms, helpless in her lap, suckling at her wine-soaked breast...

I'm Kayla's little bitch.

The mantra came back to me along with the flood of memories, hitting me like a lead pipe. My morning wood strained against my boxer shorts and my heart leapt.

But instead of elation, I felt anger. How could I have let a woman dominate me like that? Yes, I was a bit drunk, but the wine was clearly not to blame. Kayla had pushed all my buttons, intriguing and challenging me, then overwhelming me mentally and physically -

sexually

- until I was reduced to a helpless mess. Something had seemed to break inside me, more than my will to resist, something even deeper...

Men like you are so tightly wound. All I have to do is make a snip in the right place, and everything just comes spectacularly unraveled.

My body shook at the memory of being curled up in her lap, catatonic, unable to fathom what she had done to me, my body barely connected to my brain.

The ivory tower you built for yourself must have been extraordinarily high, Dave. You're just fortunate it was me who knocked it down, someone who understands what you need, who knows how fragile you truly are...

I recalled her nursing me at her breast, gently pulling me back from the cliff's edge of psychosis. How wonderful she felt, how extraordinary she smelled, how exquisite she tasted...

My body spasmed as I scented her wondrous aroma still on my upper lip, residue from feasting on her sweaty armpit. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, my brain wracked with conflict.

It was all so incredibly erotic. But it was against everything I had ever believed about myself. I was always the one in charge, the alpha male, the greatest negotiator - no one ever beat me!

Yet Kayla laid me out like a hundred pound weakling with a glass jaw! I didn't ask her to spar, but she came out swinging nonetheless, and I was powerless to stop her.

Resentment welled within me. It was all her doing, her devious, predatory aggression. I wouldn't be questioning anything about myself right now if she hadn't muscled in and decided to make me her so-called lover.

Her prey.

I looked at my phone again. Five minutes had passed. She was almost here. I recalled her presumptuously announcing to Tammy and her husband, Logan, that I agreed to be trained by her in our home gym. Despite never having consented, I wilted before her and said I couldn't wait to start.

My fury boiled as I realized she was at it again, bullying me into playing her game by setting the terms and giving me no time to react. I had to fight back and put an end to this nonsense!

I jumped up, took a leak, washed my face and brushed my teeth, intent to clear my skin and mouth of her permeating odor. Then I threw on a golf shirt and khaki trousers, the exact opposite of the gym clothes she insinuated I be wearing. Sliding on my loafers from last night, I strode purposefully down the stairs and out the front door to the driveway. I noticed a worker from our gardening company weeding a flower bed at the side of the house. I vaguely recalled he was from Guatemala, or maybe Ecuador, and wondered why the crew was working on Sunday morning.

My thoughts were interrupted as a bright yellow classic Porsche 911 zipped into the circular driveway and came to an abrupt stop in front of me. The convertible's restoration was impeccable and obviously very expensive. I thought of the irony of Kayla mocking the insecure rich guys in yellow Lamborghinis.

Then I looked down at the ultra-confident woman inside and my breath caught. Her upright posture, wind-blown blonde hair and mirrored aviator sunglasses presented a picture of confident beauty and sophistication. And I realized there was no irony at all, rather she was the archetype they strove to emulate. The true alpha human.

She sat looking forward for a moment, then cut the engine. Her head slowly turned and cocked to look down at the door. Without thinking, I reached for the handle and pulled it open, belatedly realizing my submissive compliance. In a sudden fluid motion, Kayla's long, tan legs swung through the opening and she stood directly in front of me, crowding my space.

Determined to stand my ground, I looked defiantly up at her face with my jaw set. I saw myself in the reflective sunglasses, two tiny images of me, staring into eyes I couldn't see. Her imposing physique towered above me, a shade over 6'2" - more than 5 inches taller than me - her shoulders broader, her arms thicker. An uncommon tautness to her sinews hinted at the unfathomable strength she summoned to overwhelm me last night.

...the coordinated leverage of many muscle groups multiplying the force of the body...

I continued to gaze into the twin mirrors, trying to remain calm, my mind flashing to the lurid acts she imposed upon me...riding high on those same sturdy shoulders as she sucked my cock dry...hanging from those same powerful arms as she drained me a second time with her saliva-filled hand...

My member stirred below, against my will. Words flashed in my brain and it took all my willpower not to speak them aloud:

I'm Kayla's little bitch.

She stood with her arms at her sides, breathing slowly, silent and expressionless, tantalizingly close to me but short of touching. I could feel her body heat radiating around me, as if her large form encapsulated me from three sides. My face began to flush.

Subconsciously, I began attuning completely to her and blocking out everything else - the pace of her exhalations, the smell of fresh mint on her morning breath, the faint stirring of the silky strands of golden hair dangling over her temples.

I took in her strong jawline, set confidently on her ideally proportioned face; her high cheekbones and cute button nose dotted with light freckles; the expanse of her lovely skin free of makeup, yet better for it. Only her full lips seemed to have been touched, lightly swabbed with pink gloss, looking wet and succulent in the morning light.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed she had nothing on top but a tannish pink sports bra, only a couple shades lighter than her skin, teasing an illusion of nudity. The cut had the effect of pushing her wide-set breasts close together, jutting them toward me with an alluring line of cleavage in front of my chin. It was the only part of her besides her lips that looked soft.

I continued gazing at my reflection, trying to maintain my composure while observing how truly beautiful she was - yet knowing that it was only the outer layer of my deep attraction to her. That hidden beneath her stoic bearing was an uncanny depth of expression, an uncommonly sharp wit and an indescribably powerful persona - before even considering her illustrious physique and uncanny strength.

The longer we stood, the more my arousal and anxiety increased; my breathing became more labored, my heartbeat more erratic. It felt like a juvenile staring contest - yet entirely unfair with her eyes cloaked in obscurity.

She had left me no time to plan our confrontation. Now thrust into the moment, I debated whether and how to break the stalemate: Declare confidently that what happened last night would never happen again? Laugh in her face at her attempt at intimidation? Or maybe just turn and step away with a dismissive head shake and walk back inside?

Yet every possible action felt like it would come off as capitulation. Like I couldn't bear the pressure of her commanding presence and had to resort to bravado, more likely than not to come across as forced. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't land on a better way to engage, than to simply face off. So I waited and tried to control my wayward emotions, hoping she couldn't see my growing discomfort and inner conflict.

I steeled myself for a protracted siege. But I knew my opponent was toughest I had ever encountered. The most aggressive, domineering persona I had ever met. I recalled her powerful words:

I can smell the stench of your weakness right now. I could smell it on you from the moment I first took you in my embrace. I could feel it in your posture as you cowered before my towering body, exalting in my dominant pheromones.

I suddenly felt smaller and uncertain. A drumbeat began to sound in my head, growing louder:

I'm Kayla's little bitch.

And against my will, my body began to tremble. And I knew she could see right through me. Her lip curled slightly in recognition. And I visibly flinched. Her lip curled up further.

"What's the meaning of these clothes, Dave?" Kayla asked disdainfully, finally breaking the silence.

"They're my usual Sunday best," I responded insolently, satisfied by the tenor of my voice as I managed to stem my shaking.

"I thought I was quite clear about the purpose of my visit," she said sternly.

"And what would that be?" I answered, bogusly claiming ignorance with a curled lip of my own.

Just then, she lifted her arms to gather her hair in a ponytail. Her bare armpits came into view and I glanced down to see tiny beads of sweat glistening on her bumpy, hairless skin. Then like a blast furnace, her sublime aroma rushed into my nostrils.

All my lovers are infatuated with the way I smell. Logan calls it my quan.

My breath went ragged and my knees became weak. My mouth began to salivate.

I'm Kayla's little bitch.

As I huffed in her fragrance, I shifted my gaze down to her amazing lat spread, her muscles appearing like taut wings under her arms, her torso like a martini glass open to the sky. I had visualized her geometry the night before, yet it was obscured by her loose sweater. Now exposed, she was every bit as chiseled as I had imagined.

I'm ripped in places Logan doesn't even know he has muscles.

Her hands moved, deftly looping in her hair tie, then her fingers shifted forward and raised her sunglasses, perching them atop her head. I looked up to see her bright blue eyes boring into me, seemingly unmoved since the moment she stood and looked down. She smirked, declaring victory in the unspoken contest. My body twitched.

I'm Kayla's little bitch.

Still ignoring my question, she slowly lowered one arm until her elbow rested on my shoulder. I flinched again at her touch. Then her other arm followed on the opposite side, and I felt her forearms cross behind my head, surrounding me.

I sensed the tang of her fumes grow stronger, permeating and intoxicating my brain like a drug. Her possessive posture made me feel wretchedly weak and tiny, entirely emasculated. I felt like I was shrinking before her. My head was swimming. My heartbeat sounded in my ears. My nerves buzzed. I was perched on a knife's edge.

"To train you," she finally answered.

Her leg brushed against the tent in my pants and pulled away. And beyond my comprehension, I began to cum.

"Oh my...oh my..." I whimpered pathetically as the acute tension of the past few minutes started ejecting into my pants.

I was so entranced by her aura that I had practically forgotten my cock. I couldn't believe I was cumming so quickly, so prematurely - from just one touch. It was so juvenile, so humiliating...and so deviously incomplete without sustained friction. I shoved my hips forward in search of Kayla's leg, desperate to rescue my climax. Yet she easily evaded my frantic pokes.

Instead I felt her solid arms turn my shoulders, and with them my whole body, until my right hip was wedged between her thighs, immobilized, and my face was deep in her underarm. The air became thick with the ripeness of her

quan.

I reflexively sniffed in short, frenzied bursts, as if I were snorting cocaine. My tongue shot out and I licked the air, hungry for her taste. Yet she held me just short, devoid of her savory stew, instead marinating in her pungent vapors.

It's the scent of alpha human, Dave. A scent that deep down you know your body is lacking, that you can only wish you had...

And strangely with each breath of her

quan

my pleasure returned, its narcotic properties somehow supplanting the physical touch I craved, completing the circle of my orgasm with my final pulsations.

I'm Kayla's little bitch.

My body relaxed and I leaned to the side, feeling as if I were melting into her. My breaths came out in uneven bursts, reminiscent of sobs. I couldn't believe how easily she finished me, as quickly and effortlessly as popping a balloon with a pin. I was in utter awe of her.

"What do you have to say for yourself, Dave?" she said softly in my ear.

"I'm Kayla's little bitch," I answered automatically, finally out loud.

My body suddenly felt light, as if I were dissolving into thin air, free of inner conflict, experiencing total clarity.

"Yes, that's right, Dave," she purred confidently, as if it were an obvious fact. "I know what's going on inside your head. I know how hard it is for you to accept. I saw you lamely gathering the courage to push back, trying to defy me...to deny the truth...desperately struggling to pull the veil back over the delicate little boy I unmasked last night."

She squeezed me possessively, as if trying to comfort the little boy she spoke of. And I knew she was right.

"But you didn't stand a chance, Dave," she continued, "Because deep inside you know who you are."

My body spasmed.

"I'm Kayla's little bitch."

"And you know who I am."

"Kayla's my Daddy," I recited without compunction.

"That's a good little boy," she soothed, her praise strangely causing my heart to flutter. Then her arm raised in front of my face and her muscle flexed. "Now kiss my powerful arm and tell me who you are."

With a sharp exhale, I leaned forward and kissed her bicep, the same bulbous knot of sinews I had grasped last night that triggered my descent into depravity. As I pulled back, I marveled at its inconceivable hardness and seemingly limitless strength.

"I'm Kayla's little bitch."

Her hands abruptly grabbed my shoulders and spun me to face her again.

"Kiss each of my luscious tits, and tell me again who you are."

My breath caught in my throat, then I bent slightly and mashed my face into her right breast, appreciating how much larger it felt pushed in from its natural splayed position. Almost reverently, I closed my eyes and kissed the soft ribbed material, sucking a puff off air through the fabric. My nose caught a hint of spring flowers. I pulled back and recited:

"I'm Kayla's little bitch."

I opened my eyes to see her index finger gently depressing the swell of her left breast, just above the bra. Her fingertip pointed to a small mole in her cleavage. Taking her cue, I took a halting breath, then leaned in and pressed my lips into her soft, bare skin, savoring its tender pliancy and soothing scent. I could just detect the slight variation in texture of her beauty mark, a minor aberration that somehow added to her allure. Then I felt a lump form in my throat as I visualized her puffy, cone-shaped areola and upturned nipple beneath, and recalled the ruby drips of wine trickling down...

"I'm Kayla's little bitch."

"Good boy. Now get down on your knees, kiss each of my feet, and tell me again."

I flashed a surprised look at her face and was met by a stern glare. I had never in a million years imagined myself bowing to a person and kissing their feet. Despite all the previously unimaginable things Kayla had done to me, this felt different. More abasing. More cruel.

Then I watched with trepidation as her lips pursed and her nostrils flared. She drew in a long breath and her chest heaved, her back straightened. Tendons bulged in her neck and her shoulders broadened. It was like she suddenly grew six inches and added twenty pounds of brawn. I recalled her sudden transition last night from ballerina to baller. Today it was yoga babe to she-hulk.

I instinctively cowered, then dropped quickly to the ground and kissed the top of her white Nike sneaker. I noticed the swoosh was light pink like her sports bra.

"I'm Kayla's little bitch."

My heart skipped a beat and I wallowed in my shame - the same blissful sense of submission I experienced last night.

I moved to the second shoe and was startled as her foot lifted. Her ankle pivoted and she presented the sole to my face. She had shown me the bottoms of her feet last night as a mark of disrespect. Now she intended to take it further. I looked up at her face in shock and was met by a cocky smirk.

I lowered my eyes and couldn't help scanning her body, finally able to see its entirety. From my low vantage point, she looked even more powerful and intimidating. Her sculpted frame was a paean to the modern female form. Her matching pink high-waist yoga shorts clung so tightly that I swore I could see her slit through the crotch. Her full hips and long, tan legs were the stuff dreams were made of.

You'll never meet another woman like me. There are so many things I can do to you, so many forbidden erotic places I can take you. I'm boundlessly kinky. You can't even begin to imagine...

My mind whirred with the memories of her carrying me, squatting me, curling me, lifting me high into the air. Taking me places I had never been. Taking me with a brush of her leg moments before.

Taking me.

I looked again at her sole, a mix of pink and white squares, meant for traction. Now meant for my mouth. Meant to put me in my place.

I sighed. Then I craned my neck and planted a kiss on the widest part near the ball of her foot. I scented dirt and asphalt.

"I'm Kayla's little bitch."

I heard a satisfied grunt from above.

"Up!" she barked.

I stood and without warning, her large hands firmly clasped the sides of my head and tipped it up. Her steely blue eyes gathered me in, holding me in thrall. Tingles ran down my spine.

I thought of last night, how she carefully and methodically broke me down, then seduced me before ravaging me and plundering my manhood. Today, in sharp contrast, she was cutting straight to the chase...cowing me with a mere look, then draining me with a scant touch. The sheer effortlessness of it made it all the more powerful. I sensed I hadn't even begun to grasp the limits of her supremacy.

I knew then I could make you mine. And I decided I had to have you.

It sunk in that my surrender to her was preordained from the moment she settled on it. Her process of deconstructing me last night was truly masterful, the most skillful negotiation I had ever witnessed. Yet her ability to exercise control over me today was something else entirely: a savant-like empathy that could read my emotions, manipulate my libido with the subtlest of cues, and - with barely a touch - turn my dick into a pulsating hair trigger she could fire at will. My body quivered with the recognition.

Kayla smiled and licked her lips.

"I'm going to give you one chance right now to get out of this, Dave," she said sternly as her eyes pierced into mine. "From here on out, if you try to end it before I'm ready, I will

overwhelm you so completely

that last night will seem like child's play. I can take you whenever and however I want, Dave. And no matter how wrong it feels or how bad it hurts, I'll keep you

begging

me for it. I'm

that

powerful, Dave."