Special instructions, Peter: This should transcribe all right, but:
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Pool Boy
	©2004 “C”

Juan CastaZeda was growing up. He was growing tired of yard work, always plucking grass and weeds from the broad lawns that bordered the great public swimming pool. Juan knew he was growing up for he had noticed for the past year that when he awoke in the mornings his little peepee was hard and sometimes, more often lately, there was a sticky spot on his sheets, upper, lower or both. His dreams — well, they too were vague, but he thought he had watched la seZorita whose last name, he believed, was Yaguë y Vargas, although he also remembered, when awake, that the older boys called her “Graciela.” There was something about her that Juan’s young mind could not quite place — was it her face? 

No, for although that was beautiful to Juan, there were other pretty girls, some his own age and younger — just fourteen, but beneath his dignity, or he below theirs — for they would have nothing to do with him. Was it her . . . slim waist? Her . . . roundnesses, those two swellings on her chest, which many of the girls his age, even slightly older, had some signs of — but not in such . . . voluptuous completeness. Maybe it was the little bumps that occasionally showed, poking through her tops . . . or was it really the roundness of her . . . oh! Could he even contemplate it? Yes! Her . . . sit-downer. Juan had that strange feeling again when he thought of la seZorita’s “sit-down.”

That was silly, the gringo boys fifteen, even older men, called it what it was to them, an “ass.” Juan had seen many asses, muchos burros, but not like la seZorita’s., oh, no! Those asses did not make him swell and want to take himself in hand. He hoped that Graciela did not smell like those asses, either . . . but she could not, of course, not if all those older boys were always around her like flies on a discarded tamale. Finally he understood — not burro, but culo! That kind of ass! 

Then a great stroke of luck came Juan’s way. As he was continuing to clip at the grass on the far side of the fence which surrounded the pool where Graciela and her swains cavorted, diving and posing on the boards, swimming races or the length of the pool underwater, the jefe came by and said, not unkindly,

“Eh! Johnny! You’ll not get much grass clipped if you moon at the pool all the time. You’re too old for this job, anyway. How about you work at the pool, be pool boy for a try-out, eh?”

“Wha’ . . . what’s a pool boy do, jefe?” Surely Juan could not believe his luck. To be actually present with Graciela — forget the swains — in the actual precinct of the pool . . . !
	
“You must keep the pool clear of leaves — not too many this year, not much wind so far — clean out the filters, there are two. I will show you the other things that you do, then Juan, you can keep your mind off las seZoritas and on your work better, for you will be busy all the time. Setting up loungers for the girls to display their bodies, eh? Better pay, too, Johnny.”

Juan certainly did not mind the better pay, but he was puzzled by the jefe’s reference to the “girls.” Surely there was none but Graciela who used the pool? He had never been conscious of another girl there, barely conscious of the “boys” as adjuncts to Graciela.

Juan started as pool boy the next week. He thought he was in heaven, but for some reason he did not see Graciela as frequently as he had seen her while he worked in the yard. To his utter astonishment, his complete amazement, he discovered that there were other girls who used the pool. Where in the world had they come from? He took a chance that he would not be snubbed and timidly asked one of the men — a “man” of nineteen!

“What, joven! Of course the pool is used by all who can afford it. How else are we to keep cool, be cool with the women . . . and show how macho we men are to all?”
“But, but . . .” Juan tried a little flattery, “seZor, you have been here when la seZorita Yaguë y Vargas has been, and la seZorita is no longer present.” Juan unconsciously slipped into irony.”I suppose la seZorita was impressed, perhaps frightened, by you machos seZores, eh?”

“You need not make fun of your betters, joven. Get along with you.”     

But that didn;t answer the question of where could  la seZorita be hiding.

Life went on in a fashion, Juan worked and worked as pool boy. Daily, in the early mornings during the season, he checked the filters, collected and disposed of any leaves that might have fallen into the pool, examined the edges of the steps for mold, set out the loungers and made certain that there were clean towels in the changing rooms. As he grew in stature, age and good looks, he noticed that more and more of the beautiful women and girls who used the pool as members, daughters of members or guests looked at him slyly or openly more than once while they swam or lazed in their lounge chairs, displaying their long sun-tanned limbs and gently curving breasts, hips and bellies. 

At the age of seventeen he was allowed by the new jefe to serve drinks. His good manners and quick attention to the ladies’ more mundane wants — he remained unconscious of what some of them, looking at his fine figure, really wanted — got him large tips and increasingly friendly moments of actual conversation. Juan was careful to remain as impersonal as a good servant should, but although he did not know it, and although he saw as much female flesh as las seZoritas cared to expose, consciously or not, he continued pining for another sight of la seZorita autentica, the true young lady of his dreams. 

Juan dreamed more and more of the idealised person he thought of as Graciela. As he approached his eighteenth birth anniversary, Juan was the secret idol of several of the ladies at the pool. One or two of the “older” ones, those in their late twenties or early thirties, all stunning but ancient to Juan, even began hinting to Juan that he could be of considerable service to them if he cared to. Because of the shortage of time in which any badinage could be exchanged and the very public venue, nothing overt was said, but it did not take Juan more than a few weeks to realise that he could “be of service” to any one of the “old bags” at almost any time he pleased. 

Still, knowing full well where his tamale was rolled out, he preserved as much of his impersonal attitude as possible while trying to express his gratitude that he was so desired, without in any way making it clear that he knew what these “older” ladies wanted. His heart belonged to Graciela Yaguë y Vargas and really he wished that his body belonged to her as well.  In fact, sin as he had been told it was, he quite often assisted that sticky fluid to erupt from his much more mature young manhood.

One day without warning Graciela reappeared at the pool, accompanied by two other young ladies of similar but not comparable beauty. All were blondes — Juan did not remember Graciela as a blonde, but she was certainly Graciela by her walk, her voice, her flashing green eyes, her magnificent body, so mature — and all three wore such skimpy bikinis!  Some of the “old bags” pretended shock, but even Juan could tell it was envy and jealousy, for his lady-love and her companions were so quickly attended by all the young men and some of the older boys that it was all too obvious that the regular objects of their attention had no look-in. 
	
Soon enough Juan learned that Graciela had been abroad, at a “college,” whatever that was, for it obviously meant something different than did the local word for high school, collegio, or in proper speech, una escuela de segunda enseZanza, from which Juan knew Graciela had graduated some years before. She was changed and her accent no longer bore the local nasal twang . In fact, Juan heard a few remarks from not only las belezzas locales, but even from some of los machos hombres jovenes that Graciela and her two chums were too proud to forego their “foreign” speech. This was to Juan’s ears quite terrible, that his lady-love, though she knew not that she was the object of his worship, was being subjected to such slander. 

Toward the end of the season, Juan mustered his manhood and his temerity and approached Graciela on one of the days when the three young women were the only ones at the pool. There was a fiesta elsewhere, and apparently Graciela and her chums had either not been invited or had declined to attend. Either seemed odd to Juan, but he nevertheless made his first speech to his love.

“SeZorita Graciela,” he began with a slight stammer, but continued in full voice, “I must tell you that you and your friends are talked about behind your backs by the others who attend here.”

“Ah, and you are . . .?”

“I? I am Juan Carlos CastaZeda y Harris,” for Juan’s mother was indeed of another nation — his self-introduction was a matter of pride, the “y” in his name, assumed on the spur of the moment, indicating that his father and mother were of the same class as Graciela and her friends.
“Hah-ha. So, Viv, Betty, this is John CastaZeda, with a mother from el Norte. Juan, you probably know my name, Grace Yaguë, and these are Viv and Betty, my good buddies.” 

Juan had never heard of such names before, but he understood that, if Graciela wanted to shorten her name in the style of los Nortes, his name could as well be “John,” just as his former jefe had called him.

“So, Johnny, my so-called friends talk behind my back. Girls, it’s lucky that our pool is just about completed.

“Johnny, what do you do here? Besides wait on us, that is? You are more than a camarero, surely?”

“Yes, SeZorita. I am now the custodian of the pool, its dressing rooms, and I am jefe over the grounds keepers, as well.”

“You do a very nice job — don’t you think, girls? I think Johnny could be our pool boy, what do you think? Viv? Okay? Betty? Okay?

“Very good. John, what do you earn here?”

He mumbled something about the perks he had, but he knew well that his salary was laughable. The only reason he had stayed for so long — five long years! — was for the occasional chance to see Graciela.

“Well, I’ll pay you a decent amount, Johnny, as long as yo work for us, eh, girls? And I think you’ll like your duties better. Can you start next week?”

“Seguro, seZorita! Of course, I will be delighted. But . . . seZorita, where is this private pool?”

“Ah! Well, I will leave you a note at your locker, you are still working; your jefe will allow that, I think. That will contain directions . . . and your first week’s salary.”

Juan was naturally overwhelmed to find the directions . . . never taking thought as to why Graciela had taken this odd method of telling him where the pool was . . . and a fifty dollar bill in the same envelope. Now that fifty dollars did not double his pay, but there had bee a certain twinkle in Graciela’s eyes that more than compensated him for any monetary shortage. There had seemed to Juan to have been a promise of more than just new dollar bills as remuneration for this new job. He kept reading the note until he had almost worn out the piece of notepaper it had been written on. He still wanted to read what his unknowing lover had written.

“Hello, John, you’re early aren’t you?” asked the young woman called Viv as she opened the gate in the tall wooden fence for him. He had been early, true, a considerable departure from his habitual slight tardiness at the old job, nor had he  expected to find this very tall, stout looking fence surrounding his workplace. He had never been held accountable for being a bit late at the old job, but being early at his one was more due to excitement than to his wanting to show willing . . . at first.

He blushed as he asked Viv, “SeZorita Graciela is not up as yet?” He felt certain stirrings as he looked at this almost naked girl Hi mind found nothing strange in that she had seemed to be waiting for him to knock at the gate, even so early in the day. His mind took in only the apparition before him, barely covered in a slight bra and a thong . . . tannish red, at that.

She grinned at him and said, slyly, “Oh, she’s up . . . perhaps not as ‘up’ as you, but she’s ready for the day, yes.”  

“Uh . . . and my instructions?” Juan did his best to rearrange his member so that it did not protrude as far as it obviously had.

“Oh, come on in, John, and I can tell you most of what we want you to do. She and I are friends, after all . . . and Betty and I had some part in the decision to hire you. By the way, do you have any family in the area?”

Juan never paused to consider this an odd question, but, still trying to manage his rampant penis while trying not to look directly at Viv and encourage that treacherous indicator of his current thoughts, answered, “No, seZorita, I have no one.”

“Oh . . . that is . . . too . . . bad. Isn’t it a shame to be alone?” She hastily corrected her demeaning phrase. “I mean . . . it is too bad for one to be alone in the world, is it not?” 

Juan did not reply, for he had caught sight of Graciela walking along the flagged pathway on the far side of the pool. He had not even acknowledged the existence of that great expanse of sparkling, slightly wind-ruffled water until just now, having been too involved with his lust and the odd conversation with Viv. As his eyes sought his first glimpse of his idol, his gaze passed over the pool . . . and swung back as the size of the thing really attracted his conscious attention. 

The pool was as wide as a normal Olympic pool is long, and twice as long as it was wide. There were numerous cabanas, lounge chairs, huge balls for water play, a net across one corner of the pool . . . .
	
“Good morning, John. You are early . . . but Viv’s already said that, hasn’t she? Good, you may start on your duties at once.

“Viv, you, Betty or me, first?”

Juan was startled out of his almost gaping regard of Graciela, for although he did not understand the import of her words, what she had said implied that one or the other of the three women would be his overseer. He was unused to close supervision, and almost raised some objection then, but Viv replied, softly,
	
“Oh, I think I can handle him, Grace. I’ll leave enough fir you two. Maybe you’d better be last, you’re better at that sort of thing than we.” 

Juan was completely puzzled by this exchange and deep in his mind he began to be a little frightened. Like a good servant, he had stood patiently as the two women exchanged their remarks, but now he stepped forward, bowing ever so slightly to them as he addresses Graciela.

“SeZorita Graciela, please . . . I am here as your pool boy . . . as you hired me to be, no?”

“Well, John, you are here as _tool_ boy for now. You are responsible for all the tools around the pool. SeZorita Vivienne will instruct you in how those must be disposed and how they are used. Your hours are indefinite, and you are to ‘live in.’”

“Live in, seZorita?” Juan had never heard that term before.

“Yes. You will live in that cabin over there, we will provide you with food and clothing as long as you need them. That and fifty dollars a week as long as you are here.”

“That is very generous, seZorita. Then I am your tool boy?”

“Yes, close enough. You will find out more and more abut your status as time goes by.” She turned, walked quickly back along the flagstone path and disappeared from his sight as she turned a walled corner on the far side of the pool.

As Graciela had explained, Viv showed Juan how to use the many odd and mundane tools with which the pool area was equipped. Juan did not understand a few of these, and asked Viv, “And how, seZorita, is this machine used?”

“Ah, time for your first lesson, then, John. Here, lie down on this bench, it’s soft. Now I’ll just strap you in so that you can get the full effect.” 

« Hm-m, I guess it works on a man . . . or was that the other one? »
Juan lay quietly under the straps, thinking of nothing whatever, until Viv turned a control; his limbs and muscles spasmed, became stiff . . . not least his suddenly rigid penis . . . and his face flushed brilliant red. While he felt as though he had been goosed with an electric rod. His eyes were sightless, yet he thought to see Viv’s breasts above him, her hands at his shoulders. His only thought: Surely she should not be touching him with all that electricity coursing through him?

The effect eased and stopped. Juan found he could breathe normally, see perfectly well, feel with his hands, his toes, his . . . his manhood! He could feel a slippery, clinging feeling there. He raised his head to see Viv’s nipples within an inch of his now drooling mouth and her body lying close above him, with the nicest part of her enclosing him in a delicious, pulsating grip. He gasped for the breath suddenly driven from his chest as her nipple made contact with his parched lips. Without conscious thought he licked his lips and her nipple and, as she moaned above him, he licked and suckled her. 

His lower body, somehow released from the restraint which she had applied to it, now moved sensuously in counter-rhythm to her gyrating hips, all too soon bringing them to a galvanic climax. Juan felt as though his entire scrotum and both testicles must have been sucked into and through his penis, the explosion of sperm was so intense.

“Whew, Johnny, you are some kind of man,” exclaimed Viv, lying exhausted and unmoving on his now flaccid body.

“Boy,” contradicting herself, “I know you helped me start one this time. Wait ’til Bets and Grace get to you!”

She seemed to look at Juan for the first time. She made a  moue of worry or possibly sorrow.

“John, it’s a shame, after all. But you are good . . . I hope you last. Too bad we each only get one turn.”  With that enigmatic statement which passed right by Juan’s mind, she rolled away from him onto her back . . . the bench was sufficiently wide . . . and then sat up, stretched and rose to walk slowly away from the still enraptured Juan. 

He watched her go, mesmerized by the voluptuous movement of her cheeks and the swaying of her culo. There was a sheen on her inner thighs. Just barely he could discern the swell of her breasts under her arms as she once or twice raised them as though to cool her armpits. She disappeared around the same walled corner as had Graciela.

Juan lay relaxed for a considerable time, partially asleep for most of it. Finally he rose, looked for his clothing . . . nowhere in sight . . . and made his way to the cabin earlier designated as his, where he found a stocked refrigerator, a well-made bed (double by the looks of it . . . if not indeed king size), the toilet for which he felt an urgent need and the bath and shower which he used for a luxurious time without measure.

When normal thought returned to him, Juan examined the small stove next to the sink, inventoried the refrigerator more thoroughly and decided that he could make himself a good supper with the utensils, viands and vegetables presented to his view. He had become a decent journeyman of the stove, no gourmet chef for certain, but a good cook of plain and nourishing food. He chuckled to himself «I certainly need nourishment after that experience» and never considered how cynical his thoughts had so quickly become, nor whence that particular thought had sprung.

For three weeks, Juan was not to have any further experiences of that sort. The three women treated him in an open,  friendly but slightly aloof manner, although Vivienne was not as much in evidence as the other two, and he had neither the temerity nor the boorishness to make any reference to his experience with Viv. He found that he could look Graciela and Betty in the eyes without flinching, yet deep within he knew that there was now some strangeness in his job and in his relationship with Graciela, Elisabeta and Vivienne.

For one thing, he discovered that he no longer wanted to leave the vicinity of the pool. He was content with his job, the two seZoritas and was not puzzled that his refrigerator was always stocked with things he liked to eat, nor that his work clothes, short sleeved shirt, very short shorts, tight jockey shorts, were always freshly laundered. Actually, a week after his and Viv’s session, Betty instructed him to erect a sort of holding pen inside the outer gate to the pool area. This would prevent anyone attempting to enter from having immediate access to the pool area unless one of the three women identified the person and unlocked the inner gate. Juan was given no key nor was he told how to unlock the gate. He had noticed in passing that the women used no key, but that left no impression on his mind. Juan also found that in the afternoons, when he had done his work and had free time, he wanted nothing so much as to lie on his belly on the warm flagstones and doze in the sun. 

Betty found him thus sprawled one day of the fourth week after the “experience,” and grinned to herself.

« Right attitude for a tool boy . . .  « and she grinned more evilly « . . .whatever. »

“John, are you comfortable?” Her voice woke Juan from his snooze and he managed to rise to his feet without spraining anything. That was a wonder, for he was sporting a monstrous erection.

“Ooh, you must have been very comfortable, indeed. Dreaming?” Betty certainly had no shame . . . she was gazing interestedly at the lump in his tight shorts.

Juan was still slightly mazed by his dream — of course, he had been dreaming about Graciela — and he answered without thinking,

“Sin falta, seZorita! I mean . . .”

“That’s all right, John, I speak a little of the language. I think it’s time for your second special lesson. Come over here.” She walked slowly toward another of the massive padded benches on the shorter side of the pool nearest them.

Oddly enough, after only three and a half weeks, Juan had forgotten completely about his first “lesson.” His mind took no exception to the “second” one, either, his slow thoughts only telling him to obey la seZorita’s instructions.

Betty secured him to the bench, made certain he was comfortable and turned the control. The effect was not nearly as startling as had been that of lesson one. Juan felt very odd for several minutes and then, as Betty released him, he fell onto his hands and knees and began jerking his butt back and forth, looking very much like a peculiar shaped dog mounting a bitch. His erect penis slapped against his belly with a rhythmic “whuck, whuck.”.

Betty, having removed the little she had been wearing, now smacked Juan lightly on th back of the head and comanded, “Sit, boy!”

Juan reared back on his haunches, presenting Betty, now struggling with her own heat and wetness, with a dilemma — how to get his shorts off. Ah!

“Doggie, put your front paws on the bench, hup, hup!” She quickly slid his shorts off and pulled down the jockeys with the same flourish. “Now, doggie, sit up, beg!”

Juan obeyed and she had his shirt off in a trice. His engorged penis flopped against his belly as she ordered him back onto his hands and knees, “paws” to Juan’s confused mind.

Betty crept in front of Juan, presenting her butt to his nose. Like a dog, he sniffed and then raised his chest and arms onto her rear, while his arms and hands grasped her around the waist betty reached back and steered his penis into her slippery vulva and vagina, sighing in ecstasy as the length slid slowly into her . . .

Some frenetic minutes later, Betty lay limply on the bench, her butt in the air jerking as Juan attempted futilely to extricate the swellings at the base of his transfigured penis,  a concomitant of his extremely forceful ejaculation.

“Oh, my, oh my,” moaned Betty, feebly struggling to detach herself from this unexpected monster. “Help,” she moaned, barely loudly enough for Graciela to hear as she approached along the pathway.

“Oh, Betty, we told you not to do that.  Here, cold water may help.”

Graciela dipped her cupped hands into the cool waters of the pool and  threw the liquid onto Juan’s straining penis. It took almost five minutes, Betty groaning and yelping at intervals, for the monstrous digit to be freed, and Juan slumped to the bench, rolled over and was instantly asleep, his penis deflating in moments. 

“Hurt, Bets?”

“I thought I was torn in two there for awhile, but I’ll never forget that fuck, Grace. That was tremendous.”

“You were a damn fool to try doggie style, that bench is set for someone bigger than you . . . bigger there, I mean, girl.”

“Yeah, no shit? I’m gonna sleep, like him . . . but in a bed, Gracie. See ya in a week!” Betty waddled off along the path, obviously sore, probably with a pulled muscle or two as well.

Juan awoke eventually with no memory whatever of those events. His mind told him that he should be satisfied with his life and he was.  He went about his duties with the tools by the pool during the ensuing five weeks, seeing almost nothing of Viv, no sign whatever of Betty, and only an occasional but friendly exchange of pleasantries with Graciela.

One day toward the end of the hot weather, Graciela came to him at pool side. Juan was so used to the scanty dress of the three that he had no reaction to her nakedness, except to think dully that she wanted him to do something for her. Juan’s brain was not working very well by this time, so he had no distaste for whatever his three mistresses wanted him to do.

“John,” murmured Graciela, “you have always wanted me, haven’t you, since you were a little boy?” Juan had not been so little when he first wanted Graciela, after all.

“Verdad, seZorita!” Juan’s mind awoke with joy, perhaps at a nudge from the domineering Graciela. What could he say but “True?”

“So, you would like to be with me always?”  Juan’s mind sparked and his thought wre of marriage, or at least a similar arrangement. He smiled broadly.

“Ciertamente, I would like that, seZorita Graciela. A sus ordenes,” which was putting him completely in her power. He had just said that he was at her orders, or whatever she wanted . . . .

“Bueno,” which was the first word of language he had ever heard her speak. She continued to amaze him.

“Venga aqui!” he rose and came to her.

“You will be with me and my friends for a long while, John. Now . . .  Kiss me, make love to me, and I will make you very happy.”

Obeying what he could not disobey, Juan encircled Graciela, his longtime, no, his forever, love and kissed her soundly. His mouth moved as she moved her body and he was soon kissing, suckling and licking at her nipples, his manhood erect and trembling with anticipation. Graciela placed her hot hand on his penis and stroked it lovingly.

“Oh, Johnny, this will have to change . . . can do, can do.” These strange words had no effect on John’s continuing and increasing passion, although for some reason his penis no longer seemed to be in front of him, but sticking upward, large and very erect, from his tail-bone. The location of his manly feelings made no difference to him, as Graciela continued to stroke him there, her hand barely encompassing the now massive member. Juan’s hips pumped at her pubis as though he were indeed penetrating her vagina, and his lower belly was feeling an ecstatic surge every few seconds as Graciela slowly and with infinite care not to break contact with parts of Juan’s thrusting body lowered the two of them to the bench.

Graciela kissed Juan on hi lips, somehow pulling forth his tongue which now hung flaccid from his lower lip

“That can be taken care of, Johnny, oh pool toy! You are feeling wonderful.”

Indeed, he was feeling better than he had ever felt; the sudden memory of his “lessons’ returned and this was so much better, great as those had been. A thought surfaced.

“Sen . . . Gracie . . . la, que pasa?” he wanted to know what was happening to him.

Graciela kissed his stiffening cheek and quickly, easily positioned him between her bare thighs. 

“Suck and lick me, pool toy.”

Juan could do no else. His enlarged head bent and that formerly flaccid tongue lapped at the tasty dampness of Graciela’s  heated vulva. Juan’s splayed limbs held him steady on the flagstones of the pool surround as he licked, sucked, tried to shove that wonderful tasting tongue up into Graciela. His mind was almost blank, all he could conceive of was the need to pleasure his mistress, for he was nothing save a plaything for her . . . a happy plaything, indeed, a happy, polka-dotted, clever-tongued inflatable pool toy . . . which did seem a little more solid than most such toys, perhaps a mite heavier?
The toy was placed carefully on the bench after a while. The lovely lady sat pensively on the same bench, stroking the rubbery skin of the pool toy absentmindedly, the other hand fondling her belly and labia. 

« That tongue — I did a job there!. And that tail, que pene! Well, Johnny should  last some years, anyway. There’s a boy Vivienne has her eye on, maybe ten. He’ll be ripe when Johnny’s done. »