Hawaiian Punched

It was a beautiful Hawaiian morning, but my disposition was anything but sunny as I climbed the three concrete stairs and stepped onto the red brick lanai of the home next door to mine, two blocks from the beach on the windward side of Oahu. I was there to set my friend Valerie straight; to make her understand what I expected from my friends and where she stood with me.

I was primed for confrontation. I'd spent the wee hours of the morning in a video teleconference with several managers from a chain of pottery and home decor stores I owned on the East Coast. We were in the process of implementing an automated inventory control system, and these particular managers had apparently decided that they could half-ass the current system until the new one was up and running. By the end of the teleconference, one of the managers was wiping tears from his eyes, and I was convinced that all of them understood that I wouldn't let their incompetence and laziness destroy the business I'd built.

After that, fixing little Valerie's behavior was going to be easy money. I rang the doorbell and her sing-song Disney princess voice met me at the door like an excited puppy. "Who is it?"

"It's Lisa." And her successful businesswoman voice, thank you very much.

"Oh! Come in. It's not locked. I'll get us some coffee."

I dropped my flip-flops on the porch, stepped through the door, and started through the foyer. Dust bunnies hopped and rolled over the parquet flooring along the baseboards as the door swept a puff of air in behind me. Valerie had often declared herself allergic to housework, and it showed in the details. Still, the place wasn't a dump, and I loved stepping from the solid foyer floor to the padded Berber carpet in the living room. My feet were just saying "ahhh" when Valerie arrived from the kitchen with two steaming cups of coffee and a big smile. I decided that I might have to take my confrontational style down a notch. She was a nice girl; just needed a little instruction. I thanked her for the coffee.

"Gosh," she said. "We haven't done this in weeks. I'm so glad you came over. Please, take a seat."

She set her coffee on an end table and used the remote control to mute the morning news on her flat screen as she settled onto her brown leather couch. I sat at a right angle to her on a matching recliner and enjoyed a few sips of coffee, then set my mug on the end table between us.

"So," she said, "are you here just to visit or did you want to do something today?"

"Actually, I came to talk to you about last night and what I asked you to stop doing a few weeks ago. Do you remember that?" I was leaning in, looking her in the eye and waiting for her to break eye contact.

She pushed a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, but kept her eyes locked on mine. "If you're talking about dressing more conservatively when I go to your house, then yes, I remember. I've been doing that."

"Yes, you have," I said. "You've been honoring the letter of my request, but not the spirit. Almost every day when Erik gets home, you are out front in your bikini watering plants or sweeping the driveway or rolling out the trash bins. Then, last night, you hop in the hot tub, and your little white swimsuit becomes practically transparent. I feel like you're trying to steal my husband's attention, and I want you to stop."

My voice was sharper now, and I was wearing the you're-close-to-being-fired expression that had withered my errant managers earlier that morning.

Valerie seemed unimpressed. "Whoa," she said. "I wear bathing suits all the time. This is Hawaii. It's summer. What do you expect? Also, I get home from seeing personal training clients about half an hour before Erik gets home, so it's not unusual for me to be doing outside chores when he pulls in the driveway. If I put it off for ten minutes, I'd never get around to it."

That wasn't quite the tearful apology I was expecting. I raised my voice a bit. "What about last night? Thanks again for having us over for drinks, but my husband didn't need a T&A show."

Valerie's face showed something between determination and anger, but her voice was all exasperation. "Holy shit, Lisa. It's not like I invited him into the bedroom, and it's not like you never flirted with Bill when Erik was deployed. I honestly forgot what that suit looked like when it got wet. I'll admit that I enjoyed the male attention, just like you did on our girls' nights out when Erik was the one flying helicopters around the desert. I practically had to peel a couple of those guys off of your drunk ass. Do you remember that?"

I broke eye contact first. I was trying to forget those nights. "Yes. I remember and appreciate everything you and Bill did for me while Erik was deployed, and I want us to be there for you in the same way now. I just don't want my husband seeing the details of what your swimsuit is meant to hide. And what was that little wink you gave him as we left?"

Valerie rolled her eyes, and my temper heated a few degrees. "I winked at

you

, not him," she said. "I thought you two were going to wear out some furniture when you got home. That was a 'you go, girl' wink."

I pointed at her for emphasis and said "Well, you thought wrong. The only thing that got worn out last night was Erik's ego. I wasn't going to reward him for ogling another woman. He didn't get to touch me for a month after I caught him drooling over pictures of women in his

Esquire

magazine. His dry spell would've been longer if I hadn't felt sort of obligated to relent on the eve of his deployment."

Valerie shook her head like a disappointed parent. "Jesus, Lisa. I'll bet Erik has a huge hidden porn stash and masturbation callouses on his cock. You should be getting under that Marine's hard body every chance you get, not denying him and driving him toward other women. If you keep it up, someone will give him more than a peek of tits and ass."

I was on my feet. I glowered down at Valerie and shouted. "You don't know him. Erik and I saved ourselves for marriage. He's not going to be tempted by an easy piece of ass like you. He's..."

Her slap torqued my head to the right. The left side of my face burned from temple to chin. I backed away, eyes watering, as Valerie said something that ended with "fucking bitch." I was shocked. Then I was angry. How dare she?

As my vision cleared, she was right in front of me, shaking a finger and lecturing me on some point that was lost in my desire to make her pay for that slap. Emotion had obviously clouded her judgment. Valerie couldn't be more than five-foot-four and 110 pounds. I had a good four inches and twenty pounds on her. It wasn't even going to be a fair fight. The brunette was about to kick the blonde's ass.

I grabbed her in a headlock, except her head was no longer there, and I was suddenly off my feet and upside-down. I landed on my back, hard. The air gushed from my lungs, and my calves bounced on the couch cushions.

Shit! The lucky little whore had ducked, and my momentum had somehow caused me to flip over her. She wouldn't be so lucky again.

I rolled to my feet and stood facing her. She was actually smiling. Energized by anger, I grabbed a handful of the loose t-shirt she wore over her usual skimpy two-piece.

Valerie's hand slapped over mine. She stepped back and pivoted, and my arm was straightened, turned, and under her control. My hand was trapped against her chest in a thumb-down position and she was flexing my fingers toward the ceiling. The pain was like an electric shock from my wrist to my shoulder. Her other hand kept my elbow locked, and the pressure forced me to my knees. I balanced on my free hand and watched a tear drop from the corner of my eye and splash on the carpet.

I had never been so completely under someone else's control. Valerie tsk-tsked. "I didn't realize you had such anger issues, Lisa. Perhaps you'd settle down if I kicked your tits back through your shoulder blades." She flexed my wrist further, and I was forced onto my elbow to ease the pain.

"Please," I begged. "Let me go. I'm sorry. I was totally wrong." I was blubbering; crying like a child.

"I think I'm going to need more than an apology, Lisa." She added pressure to my arm. "Now get on your belly. We're going to work off some of that angry energy."

Somewhere in the midst of my pain she had changed to controlling me solely from my wrist, using both hands to bend it in ways nature never intended. Ever smaller movements were required to create pain. I felt totally defeated.

"Please, Valerie," I said. "I'll do anything. Just let me have my arm back." I sunk to my belly.

"Hush, hush, my easy little piece of ass. I already know that you'll do anything." Valerie paused for a second, leveraging my arm against her knee. "The first thing you're going to do is fifty repetitions of up-downs. You are in the starting position now. Standing straight up and then back down to your face is one rep. Now, go!"

I pushed up onto my knees, then stood up, and Valerie kept the tension locked in my arm the whole way. Once I was standing straight, she added pressure, and the pain forced me down again. "C'mon, Lisa. You can move faster than that," Valerie said, "just forty-nine to go." She was in her element, coaching me like one of her clients at the gym.

I was determined to show her that I could accomplish her silly task. I would not be broken. But by the tenth rep, my free arm was shaking as I struggled to my knees, and by fifteen my legs burned and sweat dripped from my face. Valerie kept pushing the pace. Twice, she literally kicked me in the ass as she encouraged me to move faster. I began to feel nauseous.

I pleaded for mercy. "Please." I sunk to my knees. "No more." I fell forward, just saving my face from planting in the carpet. "I can't."

"Thirty-six," Valerie said. "Fourteen to go. Get your ass in gear, Lisa."

My free arm was useless, so I crawled my knees up to my chest and brought my torso upright. My lower back was barely up to the task, and my hip flexors were too exhausted to draw either of my feet forward to a lunge position. I was too weak to stand. Hot tears rolled down my cheeks. I'd failed to reach a goal, arbitrary or not, and I was under another person's thumb. I had no control, and I had passed from anger to despair.

Valerie released my wrist and I brought my arm against my abdomen as if it was in a sling. My shoulder burned at the change in position and my wrist throbbed. I cradled my aching arm in my good arm and was about to thank my conqueror for releasing me when she planted her foot in my back and shoved me forward. I landed flat on my face and lay there, unable to pull my arms out from under me. Strange, I thought, that the carpet still smelled so new.

I hoped Valerie was done. I'd felt defeated earlier, but now I was completely vanquished. I couldn't even crawl two feet forward to use the couch as a crutch. Then I felt her fingers pinch through the back of my floral silk blouse, and the clasp of my bra popped open. Valerie wasn't done.

She pulled at my shoulder and hip until I was on my side. She unsnapped my khaki shorts and drew the zipper down. That done, she began unbuttoning my blouse.

"Val, what are you doing? You've won. You can dictate whatever terms you want between us." I could hear the alarm in my broken voice and feel a fresh batch of tears gathering in my eyes. I had thought that I could just be quiet and endure the rest of the physical torture with dignity, but the possibility of sexual torture or humiliation was too much to bear.

Valerie finished unbuttoning my blouse and pulled my arm free of both it and my bra strap. "I'm making sure you've learned your lesson, you arrogant prude," she said. She pushed me back onto my stomach and tugged the garments off my other shoulder. I rolled slightly away to give her room and prevent damage to my clothing or my body. My bra slipped from under my breasts, and both bra and blouse slipped over my fingers and out of reach.

I was topless, and persistent fingers gathered the waistband of my shorts and panties together at my sides. One solid pull exposed half of my buttocks, and one more left my shorts and panties bunched just above my knees.

Valerie turned and sat on my back facing my feet; her hands kneaded my ass. "Okay, Lisa," she said. "Here are the terms I'm dictating: Whenever your husband is not actively tagging this ass, it belongs to me. Got it?"

I had no idea what that entailed, but I was in no position to argue. "Okay," I said.

There was a loud "crack" like a supersonic bullet passing overhead, and the left side of my ass bloomed in pain. I was howling a long "Noooo..." when another "crack" accompanied the ignition and burning of the right side of my ass.

"Okay?" Valerie sounded exasperated again, like she was dealing with a petulant child. "I believe the right answer is 'Yes, ma'am.' Isn't that what you'd expect from your employees?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"So, who owns this ass, Lisa?" She was tapping a finger an inch from my anus. The situation was getting worse by the second.

I figured a full-sentence capitulation was my safest bet. "You own that ass, ma'am. My ass belongs to you."

Valerie patted my buttocks and stood up. I kept my forehead to the floor and tried to imagine an escape. I was worn out, humiliated, and nude except for the shorts and panties gathered around my knees. I wasn't sure where my blouse and bra were located, and I didn't even know if I could get to my feet, much less out the door. It seemed that my best option was 100 percent cooperation, at least until an opportunity to escape presented itself.

My thoughts were interrupted by an order. "Roll over, whore." I rolled onto my back and found Valerie standing at my feet, snapping photos with her Nikon point-and-shoot. I fought back a strong urge to cover myself. She already had two or three pictures, and I didn't want to risk any more pain. Besides, I had just responded immediately to the epithet "whore," so it would have made no sense to suddenly act like the demure woman I'd been just minutes ago.

She kicked my foot. "Smile, Lisa. This is your glamour shot."

I mustered my most convincing smile, though I'd never felt so low. Even my husband had never seen me so exposed in this much light.

"That's better," Valerie said, "Now keep the smile and push your tits together for me." I didn't like that she called them "tits" instead of "breasts," but I complied and pushed them together as she took more photos. I felt like such a slut that I didn't hesitate when Valerie ordered me to play with my nipples. I was surprised to find them already stiff and aching for attention. When had that happened? As soon as I touched them, I felt a wet heat between my legs. I gasped, and a slow exhalation shuddered through my lips.

"That's awesome, Lisa! Your inner porn star really shined through on that one."

"Thank you, ma'am." In the absence of further orders, I continued to stimulate my nipples. Valerie knelt and stripped my shorts and panties the rest of the way down and off my legs.

"Put the soles of your feet together," she said, "and let your knees fall apart."

I obeyed, and the kiss of cool air on my damp labia signaled that I was completely exposed. I gasped again as Valerie slid two fingers into my overheated sex and dragged them up over my clitoris. "My, my," she said, "that is one wet and needy pussy. You need to feed it more often."

She drew a damp line up the center of my body and over my chin. Her fingers pulled at my bottom lip, and the scent of my own aroused sex filled my nostrils. "Open up, little girl," Valerie said. You need to clean this mess off of my fingers."

I parted my lips and allowed her fingers inside my mouth. She straddled my torso and took more photos as I sucked and licked her feminine fingers from fingertip to palm. "That's it," she said. "Suck those fingers like they're your hubby's cock." I hesitated for only a fraction of a second, but it was enough for Valerie to guess what had crossed my mind. "Oh my god! Poor Erik never gets a blow job, does he?"

I shook my head and said "No, ma'am" as well as I could with two fingers on my tongue. Valerie ordered me to suck hard and pulled her fingers out of my mouth with a wet slurp and pop. She grabbed my wrists, removed my hands from my breasts, and pinned them above my shoulders in a surrender pose. Her blonde hair fell around my face like a shimmering curtain.

"Lisa, how many times have you had a cock in your mouth?"

"Just once, ma'am; for a few seconds. I was really drunk."

"What, Erik didn't like it?"

"He loved it, but I felt so low and dirty like that." It had felt daring at first, I remembered, but when his eyes met mine, I thought of who I was. I was not the girl who blew the football team. I was not the kind of person who could ever be found on her knees with a penis in her mouth. I was a respectable wife and a tough businesswoman. The blowjob incident only lasted about ten seconds, but Erik had to remind me how hot it was over and over again for weeks. I finally told him that I never wanted to hear about it again.

Valerie released my wrists and sat upright. The damp crotch of her swimsuit pressed against my upper abdomen. She had me irretrievably at her mercy, and it was turning her on. I wanted to be horrified, but all I could do was moan as her fingers traced light spirals on my breasts and the sauna between my legs steamed hotter.

"You are a low and dirty slut, aren't you?"

My sexual arousal confirmed that it was true. "Yes, ma'am."

"Let me hear you say it."

"I'm a low and dirty slut, ma'am."

"Who's dirty slut are you, Lisa?"

"I'm your dirty slut, ma'am."

Valerie tugged at my nipples. "You really have no concept of low and dirty, but you'll learn. A blowjob is not dirty. A few seconds of cock sucking isn't even an intimate kiss." She stood and removed her t-shirt, revealing a dark blue string bikini. The lighting and my perspective brought out the separation in her abs. She looked like a heavy-breasted pole vaulter. She looked like someone who could own your ass in a fight.

She smiled down at me as she pulled the ties on each side of her swimsuit bottom. "You'll eat my pussy for much longer than a few seconds, slave." The bikini bottom dropped onto my stomach. Valerie scooped her camera off the floor and knelt over my face. "I expect enthusiasm, Lisa. I had better feel like you just can't get enough of my sweet pussy. Do you understand?"

I said "Yes, ma'am," and her pussy, hairless except for a close-cropped blonde landing strip, descended toward my face. Her swollen labia separated slightly as they approached my lips, and her clitoris stretched against its hood. The aroma was intoxicating. I reached for her with my tongue and heard her camera whir.

As soon as we made contact, Valerie adjusted position and I licked and sucked with unfeigned enthusiasm at whatever she offered. My tongue explored the entrance to her vagina, and she pressed harder against me. Her hips began to rock, and soon she was providing all the motion, running the entire length of her pussy over my lips, tongue, and nose. After a few minutes, she leaned on the couch in front of her and began to grind in smaller strokes. Exhalations broke out of her throat in breathy "Oh's" and her hips gyrated out of rhythm as her orgasm approached. I grabbed her ass and licked in steady, rapid strokes over her clit until she collapsed in a moaning, spasming mass and pushed a hand between my face and her over-sensitive pussy. It felt as though some vital energy flowed from her body to mine. I'd never felt so connected to another person's pleasure, and I finally understood my husband's old argument that oral sex was more, not less, intimate than intercourse. I wondered