I was holding my phone when I woke. Its lock screen was a wall of missed message notifications from my mom and remembered where I was. I felt Chelsea’s warmth beside me, and turned to her. The morning sun shone through tree branches outside making leafy shadows on the white bed. We had been too hot to sleep under the comforter, and it was crumpled up around our feet.
Chelsea had invited me to her bedroom, pouted even until I followed her. In the shower, she obediently put her hands against the wall so I could remove her tail. After, she had shown me with her hands on mine how she liked to be touched and then had given me an orgasm with her mouth for the second time that night. We tumbled into bed exhausted. Now, on her back, nude under the sheets, she was asleep. In photos, she looked like a perfect, beautiful, sculpted statue. Next to me with her face squished against a pillow, she was whistle-snoring through her nose.
I reached under the sheets and cupped her small chest so that my hand rose and fell with her breath. I slipped further down over her sinewy tummy and rested my palm at the top of her v. She was toasty warm between her legs and her lips parted for the tips of my fingers. She mumbled sleepily and took a waking breath. With the freedom to do anything, I didn’t feel the urgency to do anything. Teasing her was fun, so I turned up her desire and arousal.
Chelsea opened her eyes and arched her back in a yawn and stretch that pushed her breast out from under the sheets. Unembarrassed by the exposure, she wrapped her small hand around the tent of my erection, “What now, Pinocchio?” she asked.
“I have to stop by my house,” I said, “Or my mom will send the cops after me.”
“Alex,” she said releasing my dick to stretch again—now toplessly, “I know exactly what you’re doing to me.” But she was smiling.
Searching for my jeans on the floor by the bed gave me time to try and think of a snappy reply, “Making you work for it? Don’t forget today’s sexy outfit.”
She playfully swatted my behind as I got out of bed. The thrill of flirting with a beautiful older woman was almost as exciting as sleeping with her. Almost.
At home, my mom, initially livid, gave up on my curfew in a few seconds. She was going out of town for a few days anyway, so I quenched the part of her brain that was always inflamed with concern about me. I showered, brushed my teeth, and changed into a fresh t shirt and swim trunks, which I thought with my teen brain was reasonable because it was summer. From my window, I saw Emma let herself out of the front door for her morning jog in a ponytail and sports bra. I wondered where the bags of sex toys we bought got to.
By the time I made it back across the lawn to the Smith’s, the cicadas were whining, and it was uncomfortably warm. I smelled bacon and pancakes from the entryway and followed them to the kitchen. Sam was already eating in a seat at the table where he could watch Chelsea cook. She was wearing tiny jean shorts and a bralette. The twins sat with their back to her and were busy managing their social media empire at an impressive WPM. They were wearing jeans and “causal-yet-stylish” pastel button ups. I decided it was bizarre how they always coordinated.
When Chelsea noticed me, I got her cursory “I’m occupied” smile. “How many pancakes?” she asked.
“Two,” I said, “Are the twins free today for some photos?”, which earned me a real, amused smile that reached her eyes.
“Not if they’re going to help me with my Saturday deep clean.”
I grinned back, “Anything to free up your calendar, Chelsea.”
The looks on the twins’ faces could have soured milk. Tracy indignantly said, “No, Alex, we have plans at the lake.” The tempo of their texting increased, and the specter of my high-school ostracism loomed. I took a deep breath and reminded myself I was in control.
“Girls,” I said, “Simon says hand and me your phones and passwords.”
They stopped typing and glared at me without blinking. The effort of resisting created beads of sweat on their foreheads, but they couldn’t help sliding me their phones across the table. I felt like a lion tamer picking them up.
“And the passwords, Simon says,” I said.
“13795” said Tracy.
“59731” said Stacy.
“And keys to the bimmer.”
“No, Alex!” said Tracy, outraged.
“Simon says,” I rebutted.
“Ugh! Said Tracy. You’re so weird, why do you keep saying ‘Simon says’ all the time?” And she tossed the keys from her purse hard overhand, so they stung my palm when I caught them.
“When you’re ready to earn them back, come see me,” I said mildly. Chelsea and Sam were waiting for the famous twins temper tantrum, but I could read their minds and knew I had them. I said, “Chelsea, want to come see what these guys have on their phones?”
“Wait,” said Stacy sounding a little more desperate than angry, “What do we have to do?”
I was gratified to see Chelsea’s chin drop behind them in astonishment.
“Well,” I said, “What were those costumes you wore to that Halloween frat party last year?”
Chelsea raised an eyebrow, “A college frat party?”
Stacy, ignoring Chelsea, said quietly, “French maids.”
Chelsea again louder, “You went to frat party your junior year in French maid costumes??”
“Oh,” I said with mock dismay, “Is that what we are going to find on your phones?
The question broke their resistance, and the fire went out of their eyes. I almost felt sorry for them. “I think French made uniforms are going to be the perfect outfit for today,” I said. “Chop chop!” They looked a little sick, met each other’s eyes, and slunk out of the kitchen. “Don’t forget the feather dusters!” I called after them.
Chelsea was glowering, “They said they were going to a school dance, we have been way too nice.”
“Relax,” I said, “I’ll discipline them.”
“They’re yours,” she said, “I can’t handle them anymore.” She was caught up in the heat of being lied to.
Sam quietly watched the show waiting for it to become even more interesting. Emma, who had showered while I took the phones, had been serving herself bacon from the stovetop pan before she tuned into the drama and took out her earbuds.
“Guys?” She said behind Chelsea.
Hair still in a utilitarian ponytail, she was wearing short jean shorts, the black bikini top, and sneakers. She looked like a taller, darker, Amazonian version of her mom. Sam and I were too busy ogling them to respond. Chelsea, riding the high of outrage, fussed at Emma, “You can’t just wander around the house almost naked.”
“Alex is making me,” Emma said. She resumed piling her plate with bacon and regarded her mom from the corner of her eye with equal sartorial disapproval. “He’s aking us both, apparently. What’s going on?”
“Uh,” Sam said, “The twins are in trouble and Alex is making the twins wear their maid costumes.”
Emma’s expression of confusion resolved into understanding and then mischievous glee. Sitting down with her plate at the table, a big grin on her face, “This I’ve got to see.”
One scandalous “leaked” picture had circulated around the school last winter of Stacy and Tracy in maid outfits. They had been pressed against each other in a seedy house party, red plastic cups clutched in the same hands as pink feather dusters. The curve of their cleavage above the white ruffly tops was epic.
Chelsea was last to sit down to eat and we were all dipping bacon crumbs in syrup by the time the twins came back. They couldn’t hide behind party mystique in the day lit kitchen. Their lacy skirts bounced up in the back when they walked exposing panties that matched their feather dusters. They were unsteady on their pumps, and the wobble traveled up their legs and narrow waists so that their boobs were almost jiggling out of their blouses. They must have had a strategic conversation when changing because ingratiating smiles concealed their usual malevolence.
“Cute, right?” Stacy said sticking her hip out and head tilted in a flirty pose.
“Stacy,” Chelsea said in a warning tone, but I gave her a warning look back.
“Very,” I said. “And the perfect outfit to do the dishes in.”
Before Stacy could stop her, Tracy said, “This is ridiculous, why are we doing other people’s dishes?”
“Because I have a maid kink,” I said. “In your cute uniforms, you’ll do any chore anyone asks you to do, or I’ll let them bend you over for a spanking.”
Just as Tracy opened her mouth to say something indignant, I made them conscious of their inability to say “no” to a spanking. Tracy closed her mouth, speechless with dismay.
“Girls,” I said, “I think you were going to clean up for Chelsea.”
They began clearing the kitchen table not daring to look at anything but the dishes and each other. When Stacy leaned over next to me to pick up my plate, I pinched her exposed bottom and she nearly dropped it. Across from me, Emma was glowing. I hadn’t realized how much she disliked her sisters.
“Alex,” Emma said putting her hand on my arm, “My car needs a wash.”
“The twins can help you, but do you want to make them wear bikinis so their uniforms don’t get messy?”
She grinned at me.
Sam was blunter, “So we can spank them if they don’t do what we tell them?”
“It’s up to you,” I said.
Chelsea crossed her arms, “I don’t know I feel about this, but I guess while they’re cleaning, I won’t have to worry about what goes on at frat parties. Please be gentle with my girls, Alex.” She stood up, “I have yoga this afternoon, be back in a while.”
Emmy followed Chelsea out stopping menacing close to Tracy who was rinsing dishes at the sink, “When you’re done here, come find me.” Tracy cringed and I wondered what Emma had against her. Sam and I were left sitting at the cleared table watching the twins work.
Stacy looked unhappily but thoughtful, and Tracy was cleaning with anxious, jerky movements. They had the dishwasher loaded and rumbling when Tracy cracked the handle of a mug accidentally whacking it against the side of the sink. “Fuck,” she said, “everything today,” and dropped it in the trash with a clunk.
“Uh, Alex,” Sam said hesitantly, “Maybe I should spank them for that?”
“They can’t say no,” I said. “Just tell them where to bend over when you’re ready.”
The twins’ eyes widened with horrified disbelief. Sam said, “Hey, would you two come bend over the table.”
“No,” I said, “talk to them like servants. Like this, ‘Stacy, bend over the table at the on your tiptoes, back arched, legs straight and spread.”
Head down submissively, Stacy put down her sponge between Sam and I and bent at the waist, hands on the table for balance. Sam’s eyes followed the skirt riding up over her ass. She took a breath, pushed herself up on her toes, and spread her legs.
“Wow,” said Sam leaning back to look at her from behind, and Stacy blushed.
I turned around to where Tracy was watching her sister and waiting, feather duster held nervously with both hands. “You want to try?” I asked Sam.
Almost shyly he said to his older sister. “Trace, bend over the table like Stacy next to her, pull up your skirt.”
Tracy pinched herself like she was trying to wake up from a dream, came and stood beside Stacy, bent over, and flipped up her skirt. She had to squeeze in, and her thigh rested against my arm and their legs crossed.
With more confidence, Sam said, “You too, Stace, pull up that skirt,” and she did. I snapped a photo of their profiles with my phone, and they winced when they heard the camera shutter.
I said, “Sam, only ten swats at a time.” Stacy closed her eyes in anticipation. Sam stood next to her and put on hand on the small of her back on the strip of bare skin above her panties. He gave her a firm pat on the butt with his other hand.
“No, no, no. I said. Let me help you,” and I stood up and put my hand on Tracy’s back. There was a little youthful chub on her thighs. I raised and brought down my hand hard on her rear making it ripple. She kicked forward in surprise and yelped “Owch!” But I brought my hand down again and again until she was hopping on her toes in place. Stacy grabbed and held her hand in solidarity for the last couple swats.
When I got to ten, Sam brought his hand down on Stacy’s rear with the strength of endless lacrosse drills. Stacy made a “huhng” noise in her throat and squeezed her sister’s hand hard. Sam was too strong, and I winced.
“Woah,” I said. “That’s the idea, but no harder than I did.”
“Sorry,” said Sam. His next swat was less forceful, but he had a knack for smacking bare skin below the panties so that his fingers left their outline in red. Stacy whimpered, but she held herself still except that she squeezed her twin’s hand with each swat.
“Dishes girls,” I said after I gave Stacy few seconds to mewl. They went back to work with their eyes fixed on the ground or their work. “They’re already doing a lot better, aren’t they, Sam?” I asked.
He nodded sitting back down at the table to make sure he didn’t miss an opportunity for more discipline. Out of the kitchen window, I saw Emma in her bikini and sunglasses open the back porch door to sunbathe. So many babes, I thought, so little time. I left Sam to watch the twins and followed Emma to the back door. Opening it was awkward because I had to balance a pile of phones and keys against myself to turn the knob.
The outside air, sweet and sharp with the smell of grass, was toasty on my face. I had squint and wait in the porch shade until my eyes adjusted. Chelsea was on her back on a towel around the side of the house from where she could see her beat up jeep parked in the driveway. It blocked passers by view of her through the backyard gate. The jeep was caked with mud and the seats had litter stuffed in the cushion cracks—I was surprised how gross Emma let it get.
“Hey” she said when I sat down next to her.
“Hey,” I said looking down at her.
“Are you going to relax?” she asked, her voice smooth from the calm of sunbathing trance. I accepted her nonchalant invitation, took off my shirt feeling self conscious, and stretched out in the heat with my bare back in the grass. Emma tossed me a squeezable tube of sunscreen, which I applied hoping I wasn’t leaving streaks of white on my face.
Beside me, in close-up, high def, drops of sweat left tracks across Emma’s stomach and down her sides. The light felt scorching hot on my chest. Through the living room window, Sam was bending Tracy over the kitchen counter. She was kicking the air as he spanked, and I wondered what she had done wrong. Beside me, looking in the same direction, Emma was smirking. I was surprised to discover she had a vindictive streak, she had always been a friendly big sister figure to me and my friends.
“Emma,” I said, “I know the twins are bullies, but you really don’t like them.”
I heard real anger in her voice, “When they were in middle school, I wouldn’t chauffeur them and their little friends around. So, they replaced my birth control with Tic Tacs. And it got worse from there.”
“Ouch” I said. Inside Tracy was rubbing her rear while Sam gave Stacy a turn.
“I don’t care what you do to me, anything, Just please help me with them, Alex.” She looked at me to make sure I was listening.
I said. “I’ll think of something.”
A few minutes later the twins came looking for Emma. They had changed into their bathing suits, electric pink, and yellow floss bikinis. “Ugh,” said Chelsea, “speak of the devils.”
They looked for us by the pool and I had to shout, “Over here!”
Chelsea slid her sunglasses down her nose and looked over the rims up at them. “The equipment is out by my car,” she said. “Watch it, I’ve been working on my backhand” she moved her hand back and forth in the air and made a swishing noise.
“Ok,” the twins said together, Tracy looking sour and Stacy trying and failing to sound enthusiastic.
“Hey!” Emma barked, “While you’re working for me, I’m Ma’am to you.”
They jumped a little and replied, “Yes, Ma’am.”
Emma said, “You are going to burn like toast in this sun. If you ask nicely, Alex might give you some sunscreen,” and slid her sunglasses back up her nose and laid back.
“Would you please give us the sunscreen, Sir?” Stacy asked with a flirty smile.
“I don’t know, girls, I said, “I don’t think we trust you not to waste it all.”
Tracy rolled her eyes, but Stacy wrinkled her forehead. She said, “Sir, would you please help us put on some sunscreen, so we don’t screw it up?”
“Right answer,” I grinned and motioned for them to lay down beside me.
Stacy lay down first, pausing on her hands and knees to make eyes at me. I accepted her brown nosing shamelessly. Tracy followed Stacy laying between her and Emma. Emma turned over onto her stomach and absent-mindedly delivered a slap across both butts as she turned—all three bottoms were in a row now, yellow, pink, and black. The twins didn’t have the athleticism of Emma, but their curves were soft and squeezable.
I started at the twins’ necks and shoulders with the sunscreen alternating between them before shifting my body to move further down. Stacy relaxed and closed her eyes as I touched her, but Tracy was tense the entire time. When I slipped a hand exploratorily under their bikini bottoms, Tracy started to get up on her elbows until Stacy pinched her.
“Flip,” I said when I was done with their backs and legs, “You’re all done on one side.”
Starting from their faces, I made myself apply the cream slowly and thoroughly down their necks and shoulders. When I got to their chests, I pulled Stacy’s top down first so Tracy had time to see what was coming and prepare herself. Stacy’s boobs were large, pert, and jiggly. I made a mental list of all the things I was going to make the twins do topless—jump rope, trampoline, mechanical bull, vibrating massage chair, horseback riding, and so on. When I got to Tracy, Stacy reached out to hold her hand firmly and reassuringly. Before moving to their stomachs, I put my hands between their boobs, one hand between each pair, and jiggled their titties like plates of Jell-O. Beside them, Emma giggled. I left their tops pulled down until I had applied sunscreen all the way down to their feet.
“Get to the car, bimbos,” Emma said when I was done. And as they were brushing grass off and standing up, “Chop, chop!”
Stacy paused after Tracy had left, “Thank you Ma’am and Sir,” she said.
“Stacy’s the smart one,” Emma said after they were out of earshot.
“Anything?” I asked Emma watching the twins get to work. They didn’t look like they were used to doing manual labor and Tracy accidentally tipped over a bucket of water. Stacy pinched her and looked back at Emma and I nervously. It took a moment for Emma to remember our conversation.
“Anything safe,” she said thinking about it.
“Sandra invited me to take you and Chelsea to a party next week.”
She was silent for a long time thinking about the implications of a blank check to me. “Whatever kinky shit you’re going to make me do,” she said defiantly looking up at the sky, “I don’t care as long as I don’t have to deal with them.”
“If you let me own you,” I said, “I’ll let you own them.”
She turned and raised up on her elbow to look at me. “What?” she said.
“Go along with what I want willingly, and I’ll give you the same power over them I have over you,” I said.
A grin spread across Emma’s face, she didn’t have to think about it. “Deal. I’m all yours,” she said. We both knew I could make her do what I want, but she was giving me her free will on top of that.
“How are you going to punish them?” Emma asked laying back down.
I was thinking about all the things I wanted to do to her, and said “What?” distractedly. The twins were on their hands and knees diligently scrubbing the plastic floor mats they had pulled out onto the pavement.
“For stealing their phones back, dummy,” Emma said teasing me. Where the pile of phones and keys had been, only mine was left.
I laughed out loud and said, “They’re your minions.”
She grinned a toothy smile and put two fingers in her mouth and made a piercing whistle. The twins stopped and looked, and she beckoned them over.
We were all sweaty from being outside, but the twins were breathing from physical exertion and flustered. The electric yellow and pink of their bikinis was already smudged with grime and the strings were becoming tangled. Stacy was holding their phones as they walked to us, and I suspected Tracy had lifted them without asking her.
“We’ve been talking about an appropriate punishment for stealing phones,” I said when they were within earshot.
Stacy, “We are so sorry. We haven’t even unlocked them; we’ll do whatever you want to make it up you.”
“Yes, you will,” I said and turned to Emma. Stacy listened carefully but Tracy absentmindedly felt the welts on her rear from my and Sam’s hands.
“Emma,” I said, “if you say ‘Simon says,’ I’ve made it so they are compelled to do whatever you say. And if you ask them to tell you something ‘frankly’ they can’t help telling the truth.” Alarm was dawning on Stacy’s face. I watched her as I continued, “I have some other fun tricks I may tell you in private, but that should allow you to take ownership for now.”
“Thanks,” Emma said matching my cool, disinterested tone, “Bimbos, tell me frankly, the night before prom, did you steal my phone and text my nudes to my boyfriend’s best friend.”
“Yes,” they said together looking sick as they confessed. Tracy crossed her eyes to look down at her own mouth as she spoke, and I wondered exactly how dumb she was.
“I knew it,” said Emma, “but it’s cathartic to hear you say it. Simon says snap to it, if there’s so much as a smudge left on that jeep by the time Chelsea’s back, each of you get one hundred hard swats. Smile, guys; it’s the first day of a busy summer for you.” Emma’s vitriol made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
The twins walked and then jogged back to the jeep.
Emma looking up at the clear blue sky said blissfully, “Whatever kinky shit we’re going to do, it’s already worth it.”
We stayed in the sun for a little longer watching Stacy and Tracy scrub before going back inside the house. I sent Sam out to keep an eye on the twins warning him to take them into the back yard if he needed to spank them. Emma poured a coke into a glass for me, I said no to one of Ted’s beers, and the ice clinked together frostily when she handed it to me.
“Do you remember when we used to play hide and seek?” Emma asked.
Years ago, we had played our own version of the game every Friday when my parents called Emma to sit for their weekly date night. We each hid one of my mom’s ugly clay pots around the house. If Emma found mine first, we would work on our homework together. If I won, I got to stay up past my bedtime and choose what we did together—usually a forbidden R-rated movie.
When I was a little older, we played the card game “war” instead and I usually chose to tickle Emma until she was out of breath and giggling helplessly. She would have me help her do her toenails, which I pretended to find disgusting, or give her a back rub. The last time she had sat, we lounged by the pool first and I had tickled her in her bathing suit on the couch. My parents came early from date night and let me know I was too old to be babysat the next week. I suspected they had found out about our increasingly naughty games, but how?
“Uh, yes,” I said, “You were an awesome babysitter.”
“Thanks,” Emma said, “You were a fun kid. I miss how much fun I had playing those stupid games.”
I coughed, “My mom is out of town this weekend.”
Emma teasing, “Oh, no! She didn’t leave you all alone, did she?”
With a thrill, I realized Emma was creating friendly, playful atmosphere for us and was scheming to get us to my house away from her family. Her memories conjured my childhood crush on her, and I felt butterflies in my stomach. To try and stay cool and nonchalant, I distracted myself with physical sights and sounds in the present—Emma’s goosebumps from the air conditioning and the sunglasses tucked in her top. My swim trunks clammy and damp with sweat. The dimness of the kitchen after being outside in the bright sunlight.—It didn’t work, I still felt nervously excited. But I liked her game and wanted to play along. I said more seriously than I intended to, “If you go change, I’ll make sure the twins help Chelsea while we’re gone.”
My seriousness was contagious, and Emma’s feelings and worries caught up to her. She said somberly, “What should I wear, sir?”
I took a peek to see what was bothering her and saw myself in her mind leading her naked into pornographic gang bangs and painful S&M torture parties. Her imagination was more colorful than mine.
“Do you still have your old cheerleader uniform?” I asked
Emma’s face transformed from anxiety, to relief, to amusement. “Oh my god!” she said, “You want me to wear my old cheer uniform? That is adorbs.” I felt the tables turn on me, my crush embarrassingly exposed. To Emma, my motivations and desires felt familiar and manageable. I know that because I peeked. She said, “I would love to wear my old uniform for you, meet back up at your house?”
“Deal,” I replied, and she stood up to change. On her way, she stopped behind me, leaned close so that her breath tickled my neck and ears and said, “Underneath, I’m going to wear something that makes me feel sexy.” I watched as she walked to the bedroom hallway and paused with her back to me just before turning out of sight. She untied the strings of her top and pulled it off exposing the unbroken line of her perfect back. I had to wait to stand, her willing participation made my legs wobbly.
Onion, our husky, jumped up against the fence when I reached the gate. He was just a couple months short of a year old, his “birthday” marking the day my parents told me they were getting a divorce. We had him scheduled to be neutered next month, but for now he was hyperactive and humped everything and everything. I felt guilty for leaving him to my mom all yesterday and this morning, and I told him what a good boy he was. He bounded in excited zig zags as we walked to the house. He helped make the empty, quiet rooms behind the two story brick walls seem like home.
I let us in the back door, showered and changed into jeans, and ordered a pizza with the credit card mom left; she was old fashioned. Onion joined me on the couch to wait, which he knew he could only do when my mom was gone, and I flicked through movie previews resisting the urge to text Emma. When the doorbell rang, my heart jumped, and Onion began barking. I had to hold his collar when I opened the doors and stared.
On school spirit days she had worn her orange “Tiger Power” cheer skirt to my house. The deja vu from seeing her in it on my doorstep again was disorienting. She had the same orange ribbons in her hair and the same freckled bare shoulders. But I was taller now and she looked up at me nervously. In her hands were the two heavy black shopping bags.
“Hi,” she said. And after a moment of silence, she said half teasing and half shyly, “You don’t like?”
“You look amazing,” I said reaching out to take one of the bags, “want to come in?”
I lost control of Onion when I took the weight of the bag, and he pushed at her hands with his cold wet nose and whined at her to notice him. She scratched behind his ears distractedly on her way in, and I closed the door behind her. “Have you met Onion?” I asked and she said no, and we both bent over to pet him and tell him what a good boy he was as he tried to jump and lick our faces.
When Onion calmed down a little, we set the bags down by the front door. Emma hadn’t seen my house since she last babysat and poked around saying things like, “Oooh, that’s to vase I chipped,” and “Oh, remember when you fell and hit your head on that table?” And came to a stop next to the tan couch in front of the TV. She looked around the room carefully. Onion, ignoring me, rested his head against her leg and looked up at her with his tail wagging.
“Emma?” I said and she ignored me still looking.
“I thought so,” she said to herself, walked over to a bookshelf by the TV, and reached behind a brass lion bookend to pull out a small ring camera. She winked at me, “The tickle police.”
“Oh,” I said cringing thinking of everything my mom might have seen me do on the couch. And because I couldn’t think of anything else, “Jeezus.” She turned it off and set it back down.
I waited for Emma to take the lead like she always had before, but she stood swooshing her skirt and looking to me. Somewhere outside a lawnmower roared to life. I cleared my throat naming my stakes like she used to years ago, “So, uh, first round. If I win you strip for me.” I felt awkward. Now that we had talked and made friends again, I was self conscious and guilty about perving her, but not enough to stop.
Unfazed Chelsea met my eyes and rejoined, “Ok, if I win, you strip and wear my panties.”
I took a moment to realized my mouth was open and I closed it. Beautiful, fearless, intelligent, and competitive, I realized some Emma might be too much for me even with mind control. Her bait was too tempting, I couldn’t turn it down.
“Call,” I said, “But if you lose, the only thing I’ll be letting you wear is Onion’s leash and collar.”
We were both grinning now. “But I’m going to win,” Emma said, “Wait until you see my panties. I know where your mom keeps the cards.”