Blackmailed by Roller Babes!
by Lance Tremulous
Copyright 2012 Lance Tremulous
Smashwords Edition
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This book is a work of fiction. All persons and events herein depicted are fictional, and any resemblance to real persons living or dead is also fictional.
Too bad, huh?
There were six girls altogether, but for a long while I was only aware of the first three – the ones who accosted me while I was reading the paper and sipping the last of my coffee. The other three weren’t called into action until Melanie, their leader, decided it was time to drag me off to their ramshackle pad down by the waterfront.
I say “girls” because that’s how they seemed to me. It turned out they were college age (though only a couple were actually in school), but at first I really thought they were teenagers. They had the look of high-schoolers playing at being bad girls.
The rain had been over with for a couple of hours, the sun was out, and I had found a dry spot on one of the park benches near a decrepit old fountain that was swarming with pigeons. I’d been there about half an hour when the first three girls arrived, all done up in torn jeans (two pair black jeans, one pair blue jeans), each with bright red and purple plaid patches on one or both knees. Each of them had hair so jet-black it had to be dyed.
One wore a tight black t-shirt advertising some band I’d never heard of. I soon learned her name was Melanie. She would prove to be both the most vocal and most assertive of the group. The weather was a little chilly for just a t-shirt, but the girls were on rollerblades, moving relentlessly, and were generating plenty of warmth through their exertions.
Another had on a dark purple turtleneck festooned with chintzy jewelry, all sparkly in the late morning sun. There was more sparkly stuff attached to the sides of her rollerblades. She was Annette.
The tallest girl sported a black leather jacket a couple of sizes too small for her. She also had a fairly ample body – not fat, by any means, but not skinny either, and with a big frame. Under her too-small jacket she wore an even more undersized navy blue t-shirt, which revealed her tummy. Her height and the absurd smallness of her clothing made it seem as though her body were struggling to free itself from the T and the jacket, which appeared ready to pop right off over the top of her head. She was Suzanne.
The three of them came down the cracked and bumpy concrete walkway from a far corner of the park and began doing circles around the fountain, their skates rumbling and clattering across the flagstone surface.
They started going faster and faster around the fountain, racing one another, and I could hear them chatting and giggling. A moment later, I heard the sound of skates coming very near me, and lowered my newspaper to see the tallest girl veer to within six or seven feet of my bench. When she resumed her circuit, I went back to my newspaper and thought nothing of it.
The sound of fast-approaching skates came again, and this time the one in the t-shirt swept in even closer than her friend had done.
This girl did not head around the fountain again, but began twirling in place about fifteen feet away from me, and kept it up until her friends joined her.
The three of them stayed there, facing one another, talking and laughing. Sometimes one would skate a little circle around the other two, as though unable to tolerate keeping still. That was part of the reason I thought they were teenagers: the restless energy that would make one of them suddenly burst into movement, practically dancing.
When the tall one did just such a little circle, she looked my way for several seconds, but didn’t wave or say anything. I returned my gaze to the newspaper, but had a hard time concentrating on it. The girls weren’t provocatively dressed, except for the one’s bare tummy and the way another’s snug t-shirt showed off her nicely sized chest and all the athletic curves of her upper body. Still, there was something about their collective spirit that summed up the city’s atmosphere that spring morning. It was the warmest day yet this season, and for the first time I noticed that there were kids across the park tossing a softball around. Cars away off on the boulevard had their windows open, and I could hear old rock music drifting my way.
All those sights and sounds boosted my spirits up out of a funk I’d been in lately. True, I was divorced, with my ex-wife stealing half my income from afar, but at least I had a job I didn’t hate, one that kept me comfortable, with enough to pay my bills, save a little, and still not have to skimp on the little pleasures in life – like a decent cup of coffee to drink in the park on a warm morning. I was only thirty-one, in good health, even worked out a lot and kept trim. Most days I ran ten miles, but today was Saturday, the one day I took a break from running. That left me with extra energy to enjoy the day off.
I tried not to look at the girls for more than a quick glance now and then, so I couldn’t tell whether or how often they were looking my way.
Tilting my head skyward to swig the last sugary mouthful of coffee in the paper cup, I heard the clatter of skates coming close again. I lowered my head and saw that the tallest of the girls was making a long arc around this area of pavement. She was moving sideways, the way some skaters can do with their feet splayed out. I used to skate, but I’d never figured out how to do that sideways thing.
The arc took her to within a couple feet of my bench. She glided along slowly, with her back to me, and when she was close, she casually reached back and pulled the waistband of her pants down below her ass. She didn’t bend over, just stayed standing perfectly straight on her skates as she floated by with her lovely cheeks bare for several seconds. When her trajectory had brought her ass out of my view, she pulled her pants up and skated back toward her friends.
I looked behind me to see if anyone else had seen her performance, but the few people in that section of the park seemed to be involved in tossing Frisbees or playing with their kids; no one was staring at me or at the girls.
There were three more young women sitting on the grass about forty feet behind me, but they didn’t seem to have noticed anything unusual. I would soon learn that they were in cahoots with the three I’d been watching.
Then all three skating girls were coming toward me, the one in the t-shirt in the lead, the others trailing slightly to either side of her.
“Consider yourself privileged,” the t-shirt girl said. “Suze showed you her ass without even being asked. That’s rare.”
The third girl, the one in the dark purple turtleneck, went to the far end of the bench, swung her leg high and hooked the heel of her skate over the back of the bench. She was pretty flexible. And tall, too, I realized. Her height had been overshadowed by her friend’s when they were all standing together at a distance from me, but now that I saw her up close, I realized she was probably about my height, roughly 5’9”. Her even taller friend, the one who had just showed off her shapely bottom, had to be close to six feet.
“I surely am honored,” I said, smiling, trying to be a good sport, but also making sure not to act too interested. If these were teenage girls, then some trouble might be in the cards if I got any more involved with whatever little games they had in mind.
Suzanne, the very tall one who had mooned me, skated around in back of the bench.
The purple-turtleneck girl, who was stretching at the other end of the bench, nodded to me. “My name’s Annette. Just thought you’d want to know right at the start.”
“Good to meet ya,” I said, waving and returning the nod. Then it struck me that she’d just said something odd. “At the start of what?” I asked.
Annette didn’t answer, just removed her leg from the bench and did a little twirl, with hands on hips.
T-Shirt Girl suddenly became very interested in the sweater I was wearing, which really wasn’t very interesting at all, in my opinion. “Nice material,” She said, then moved closer, put her knee on the bench next to my leg, and touched the sweater near my shoulder. She didn’t touch me through the sweater; she just pinched the fabric between her fingers. “Feels too soft for wool.”
“I think it’s just cotton, but I’m not really—”
I didn’t finish that sentence. She grabbed my forearm with both hands and pulled hard, at the same time moving her head in close to mine so that I couldn’t see what was happening on the other side of her.
I felt a soft, slightly cool surface pushing into my palm for several seconds, and then suddenly T-Shirt Girl was pushing my hand down onto the bench, holding my forearm so as to ensure that my hand was palm up.
Alarmed, I tried to pull away and managed to half stand up, but she had put her full weight on my arm. Was I being mugged by a bunch of girls? I wondered.
“Well, if you feel honored by Suzanne showing you her ass, then you’ll really feel like a million bucks after this.”
I felt a great weight crush down on my hand, but it was a padded mass. A nice mass.
Annette of the purple turtleneck had dropped the back of her own pants and was now sitting on my hand.