Chapter 3: The First Lesson
The hum of the jets seemed to grow louder, filling the silence she left hanging between them. Will’s mind short-circuited, a blizzard of static. Curriculum. Practical application. The words bounced around his skull, meaningless and yet overwhelmingly clear.
“Cat got your tongue?” Bunny murmured. Then she moved.
It wasn’t a swift motion, but a slow, inevitable glide through the churning water. The distance he’d carefully placed evaporated. The hot, neon blue liquid sloshed over the rim as she closed the final inches. Her body pressed against his side, then turned, and suddenly the unbelievable, firm, silicone fullness of her chest was against his bare, narrow ribs and pectoral. It was a warm, unyielding pressure that felt completely alien. He stopped breathing.
Her face was close. Her perfume and that other, darker scent filled his nostrils. “See?” she whispered, her husky voice vibrating in his ear. “Not so scary.” One of her hands came up out of the water, dripping, and she traced a wet finger from his collarbone down his sternum. He flinched. “Skinny boy. All nerves and no know-how.”
Her hand slid around to the small of his back, pulling him incrementally closer. The hard tips of her breasts dug into him. Under the concealment of the bubbling water, he felt a thick, muscular thigh slide between his own. Panic, hot and sour, rose in his throat. And beneath the panic, to his utter horror, a traitorous, physical response began, stiffening against the unforgiving tightness of the European trunks, pressed now against her leg.
She felt it. Of course she felt it. A low, gravelly chuckle escaped her. “Well, hello there. Someone’s waking up for class.” She pulled her head back just enough to look into his wide, glassy eyes. Her own were heavy-lidded, triumphant. “It’s a little wrong, isn’t it? Getting a big, fat hard-on for your dear old Granny Bunny.” She said it like a dare, her tongue flicking out to wet her painted lips. “Makes you a very naughty boy.”
Will tried to form a word—stop, no, please—but only a choked gasp came out. His glasses were completely fogged now, making her a blur of platinum hair and crimson smile.
“Shhh,” she cooed. “Let’s just call it… extra credit.”
Her other hand came up to cradle the back of his head, fingers tangling in his damp, unkempt hair. There was no gentle inquiry. She closed the distance and covered his mouth with hers.
It was not a kiss he recognized from any movie. Her lips were firm, insistent, smearing his mouth with waxy lipstick. Before he could even process the shock of it, her tongue pushed past his lips, thick and invasive, exploring the cave of his mouth with a proprietary ownership that left him rigid. She tasted of margarita salt and expensive tobacco. His hands, trapped at his sides under the water, clenched into useless fists. He was drowning on dry land.
After what felt like an eternity, she pulled back with a soft, wet sound. She studied his stunned, pale face. “See? Sugar ain’t so bad.” Her thigh shifted deliberately against his erection, and he groaned, a sound of pure anguish. “Oh, honey. You’re gonna pop a seam in those cute little trunks.”
With a sudden, shocking shift, she released him and turned around. She planted her hands on the padded edge of the tub, hoisting herself up slightly. The water level fell from her waist to her thighs, revealing the absurd, dramatic swell of her buttocks, barely contained by the white fabric. The fairy lights glimmered on her wet, synthetic skin.
“Since you’re so attentive,” she said, glancing at him over her shoulder, her voice dripping with mock instruction, “observe the form. It’s all in the isolation.”
Then she began to move. It was a grotesque, mesmerizing display. The muscles in her lower back flexed as she initiated a slow, rolling undulation. Each cheek, artificially amplified and lifted, pulsed in a separate, exaggerated circle. The motion was less like dance and more like a strange, hydraulic machinery of flesh, a purposeful, vulgar exaggeration that left nothing to the imagination. The tiny bikini bottom strained, digging into the deep crevice with each deliberate clench and release. Water droplets flew from her skin.
Will stared, utterly frozen, his arousal now a tight, painful knot of shame and involuntary biology.
“Bet those teenyboppers,” she panted slightly between thrusts, “can’t do this. Hmm? All bone and no bounce.” She increased the tempo, the slaps of wet flesh against the vinyl interior of the tub creating a rhythmic, obscene percussion under the jet’s hum. “You’re realizing something, ain’t you, Willie? You’re realizing you don’t like silly little girls. You like a woman. You like old bitches who know exactly what they’re doing.”
She stopped as abruptly as she started, sinking back into the water and turning to face him again. She was breathing a little heavier, a flush on her chest. Her eyes were dark and hungry. “Now. Come give Granny some more sugar. Properly this time. Don’t just sit there like a stunned fish.”
Paralyzed, he didn’t move. A flicker of impatience crossed her face. “Fine. We’ll do a field trip.”
In one fluid motion, she stood up. Water cascaded down the monumental landscape of her body. She stepped out of the tub, onto the concrete, and beckoned him with a curl of her finger. “Out. Now.”
Meekly, trembling, Will stood. The cool night air hit his wet skin, raising goosebumps. His erection was painfully obvious, tenting the thin blue fabric. He couldn’t meet her eyes.
She handed him the large, fluffy towel from the chair. “Dry me off. Do a good job.”
His hands shook as he unfolded the towel. He started with her shoulders, dabbing clumsily at her skin. “Oh, for God’s sake, rub,” she laughed. “I won’t melt.” He increased the pressure, moving over the impossible slope of her left breast, the silicone feeling strangely cool and firm under the terrycloth. He worked his way down her torso, around the curve of her waist, and then, holding his breath, over the wide, full hemispheres of her behind. The texture was smooth, taut, unreal.
When he was finished, she took the damp towel from him and let it fall to the ground. She stood before him, utterly naked but for the minuscule white strings of the bikini, glistening faintly where he’d missed spots. Her eyes deliberately traveled down his body and locked onto the obvious bulge in his trunks. A slow, wide smile spread across her face.
“Look at that,” she sighed, a note of fake sympathy in her voice. She reached out one manicured finger and gave the head of his penis, outlined clearly by the wet fabric, a soft, taunting flick. He jerked as if branded. “All that, and no place to put it. Poor baby.” She leaned in, her breath hot on his ear. “Don’t worry. The semester’s just begun.”
With a final, throaty laugh, she turned and sauntered towards the sliding glass door, her hips swinging with a theatrical victory roll, leaving him standing alone in the dark, shivering, painfully hard, and utterly, hopelessly owned.