Lifeguard Rivals' Midnight Poolhouse Strap-On Showdown

I still don’t know how we ended up here.

My name is Riley. Twenty-two, competitive as hell, and for the entire summer I’ve been locked in a war with Taylor, the other senior lifeguard at the resort pool. Every day it was the same: who could blow the whistle louder, who could get the better tan line, who could make the guests laugh harder while we were supposed to be watching the water. Insults flew like chlorine mist. She called me “princess.” I called her “show-off.” Neither of us would back down in front of an audience.

Tonight the pool closed at midnight. Management stuck both of us with inventory duty in the poolhouse because, of course they did. The building was dim, lit only by a couple of security bulbs and the underwater glow leaking in from the pool outside. The air smelled of sunscreen, chlorine, and warm concrete. We were alone.

I was counting kickboards when Taylor dropped the duffel bag on the counter with a heavy thud.

“You’ve been running your mouth about this thing all summer,” she said, voice low and smug. “Time to put up or shut up, Riley.”

She unzipped the bag and pulled it out: a thick, flesh-toned strap-on, realistically veined, with a heavy curved shaft and a sturdy black harness. The thing had to be eight inches and girthy. My stomach flipped, but I kept my face neutral.

“You actually brought that monstrosity to work?” I asked, trying to sound bored even as heat pooled between my legs.

Taylor’s smile was sharp. “I’ve been waiting for a night like this. Question is, are you going to bend over like the loudmouth little bitch you are, or are you scared?”

The taunt landed exactly where she wanted it. My pride has always been my worst enemy.

I stepped closer, crowding her space. “The only person getting fucked tonight is you, Taylor. And when you’re screaming my name, I want you to remember who started this.”