Page 30 of Stroked Hard
I wouldn’t put it past my sister to have me training until I pass out so I make a friendly reminder.
“Don’t forget, I need to be able to perform the dives. If you run me ragged I’ll be too sore. Now you don’t want that, do you?”
“If you’ve been conditioning like you said you have, then you won’t have a problem with any of my practices.” She rubs her hands together like an evil genius. “Damn, this is going to be so much fun.”
Well, fuck, despite her threat, for the first time since Coach Wilson passed, I feel invigorated to dive again. I’m not doing this for me; I’m doing it for them.
Chapter Eight
MELONY
“I don’t know why Pocket puts up with Bellini’s crap. Do you think she gets pleasure out of it?” I ask, opening up yet another can of tomato juice only to pour it into one of those plastic kiddie pool, sans slide, which is a shame.
I shouldn’t have expected anything else fromm this trip to Omaha for the Olympic swimming trials, and I don’t know why I feel stunned right now. We attended the trials today and after one of Reese’s races, we left, without even being able to put up a fight. Bellini was done, therefore we were as well.
Before we left, Bellini demanded Paisley buy enough cans of tomato juice to fill a kiddie tub for Pocket, Bellini’s “henchman.” Why you ask? Oh because, Pocket was slightly sweaty today, which apparently is an abhorrent trait to possess. Bellini was so disgusted that she is now forcing Pocket to take a bath in tomato juice to get the smell out, as if she’s a dog who just got sprayed by a skunk. And the worst part, Pocket is willing and ready to jump right in.
Note to self: don’t perspire near Bellini.
The evil wench also told us to book a stand-by flight to get home. The only thing we could find was a red-eye. Lucky us. Meanwhile she’s already home thanks to her private jet.
The paycheck I receive every two weeks is the only thing that keeps me going. The paycheck that helps me maintain the lifestyle I’ve been dreaming of, which isn’t much—just a nice apartment by the beach and enough money set to the side for my lip-stain line.
Paisley glances up at me and then looks toward the bathroom where Pocket has been hiding out while we fill the pool. “I have no clue. I think she likes the negative attention. She’s just . . . weird.”
“Nailed that one on the head. Do you ever get the suspicion that she’s staring at you from behind bushes, and what not?”
Paisley leans forward and whispers, “All the damn time. She has such beady eyes; it’s hard to miss her. She has no stealth.”
“No. Maybe we should both pitch in and get her stalking lessons, you know, just so she can feel better about herself.”
Paisley shakes her head in defeat, a smile on her lips. “What’s the point? If we boost her self-confidence, Bellini is only going to drop her a peg or two. There is no hope.”
“You never know,” I joke just as we finish pouring in the last of the tomato juice. “There is always hope for Pocket.”
Paisley tosses the can with the others and calls out, “Okay, Pocket, your bath is ready.”
The bathroom door flings open and a very naked and scary-looking Pocket charges toward the pool, bush out and about, hair sticking in every direction, and crazy-as-fuck eyes staring seductively at the tomato-juice pool.I can’t unsee that. I can’t unsee that.
I’ve never been more terrified and sickened at the same time. And what’s with her nipples?
The sight scars me in the matter of seconds.
“Pocket, where are your clothes?” Paisley asks, covering her eyes.
“In the bathroom. Can you hand me a loofa?” Pocket is now rolling around in the pool, spread eagle, tomato juice oozing into her cracks and crevices.
Oh hell, that’s her clit, right there, her clit is out and about and . . . oh God! Why is it dangling out of the bun? Her deli meat is dangling. It’s fucking dangling!
“I need to leave . . . now.” Standing up straight, as if someone just picked me up by the head, I grab my luggage and head for the door. Time to go to the airport early. Anything is better than watching Pocket roll around in tomato juice while her nasty-ass pussy flaps around for the world to see.
Why does it look like that? And what’s with her nipples?
“I’m coming with you.” Paisley moves just as quickly, Pocket completely oblivious to the awkward tension she spread throughout the room.
“Before you leave, pass me the loofa. I really want to make sure to scrub my pits.”
“Yup,” Paisley responds awkwardly. I’m halfway out the door so I don’t hear what else she says. I just need to get the hell out of there.
