Red, White, and Busted

Serving body, beers, and just a little backdoor.

The sound of distant fireworks cracked in the sky as we pulled up to the curb, patriotic bunting fluttering on every porch post and mailbox. Someone had even rigged a Bluetooth speaker to blast Springsteen from the gutter. Across the street, American flags hung like judgments in the breeze.

"God, are we the last ones here?!" Melissa said, snapping her gum as she flipped down the mirror to check her lipstick. Cherry red. Of course.

I sat quietly beside her in the passenger seat, running a clammy palm down the front of my pale blue polo. It was the one she picked out. Tighter than I liked, soft and clingy, and tucked neatly into a pair of off-white shorts that barely hit mid-thigh. She’d insisted I shave for the party—“smooth thighs or stay home”—and now every inch of me felt exposed under the sun.

“You’re not chickening out, are you?” she asked, shutting the visor and tossing me a sideways smirk. “Because if you embarrass me in front of everyone, I swear to God—”

“I’m not,” I mumbled. “Just… hot.”

She laughed, loud and bright, and leaned over to kiss my cheek. “You’ll survive, cupcake.”

There was a burst of shouting from the backyard. The hiss of a grill. Someone whooped. Country music blasted. I could already see the hulking shape of Tyler behind the barbecue, shirtless, beer in hand, talking too loudly at someone half-listening.

Melissa was already halfway out of the car, tugging at her tiny denim shorts and straightening her stars-and-stripes bikini top. Her heels clicked on the pavement.

“Let’s go. I’m not walking in without my arm candy.”

I stepped out into the heat and followed her up the drive, feeling eyes already drifting my way. My sandals slapped lightly against the concrete—open-toe ones she’d slipped into our bag “just in case,” which she now insisted looked cuter.

“Hi, hi!!” Melissa called, voice high and sugary as she threw open the side gate. “We brought booze!”

The party was already in full swing—four couples, loosely grouped. Two guys shirtless in the pool. Women lounging with cocktails, sunglasses, and glossy limbs on towels. Laughter. Smoke from the grill curling up into the July sky like incense.

Tyler raised a beer. “Well, well—if it isn’t Miss America and her cabana boy.”

That got a laugh. Melissa blew him a kiss. I just smiled weakly and followed her in.

I caught Rachel’s eye—slim, tanned, perpetually smirking—and watched her eyes drift down to my legs. She whispered something to the younger girl beside her, who giggled. The men barely looked at me. They were too busy talking about golf scores and weightlifting routines. I didn’t belong in that pack, and we all knew it.

Melissa grabbed a beer from the cooler, cracked it open with one hand, and handed it to me. “Why don’t you go mingle, babe? Show off those pretty legs I worked so hard on.”

Before I could answer, she turned and melted into the circle of women like she owned the whole damn holiday.

I was alone.

Just a soft man in tight shorts, smooth legs, and a shirt a little too clingy in the sun—watching the Fourth of July unfold around him, and already feeling the slow burn of shame begin to rise.

His Place in the Pack

“Babe,” Melissa called, already reclined in one of the loungers with a drink in hand, “can you be a doll and grab me another White Claw? Grapefruit. And get one for Rachel too—she’s parched.”

I had barely taken two sips of my beer, but I nodded and turned toward the cooler.

“And don’t take forever,” she added, smiling sweetly. “We’re talking about you.”

The girls all laughed at that—Rachel, Chloe, and the younger one with pink nails and oversized sunglasses who hadn’t told me her name yet. I bent down by the cooler, careful not to flash too much as I reached past the ice. My shorts rode up anyway.

“You don’t mind playing waiter, do you, sport?” Tyler’s voice boomed behind me. “Looks like you got the legs for it.”

More laughter. Male this time. I turned and offered a weak chuckle, beers in hand.

When I came back, Melissa took hers without looking, already mid-story about some party I wasn’t invited to. Rachel looked me up and down as I handed her the drink, her lips curving into something like a smirk.

“You really are a good little helper,” she said, brushing her fingers against mine just long enough to feel calculated.

“See?” Melissa cooed. “He pretends to be shy, but deep down he likes being told what to do. Don’t you, babe?”

Everyone was looking at me.

I nodded.

Melissa reached over and patted my thigh. “Why don’t you be useful and go check if the guys need anything from the grill?”

I hesitated. “I—um, I don’t really—”

“Now, sweetheart.”

It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. Her voice had that dangerous lilt it got when she expected obedience.

I turned and walked toward the patio, stomach tightening with every step.

The three men—Tyler, Blake, and the brooding one who always wore sunglasses even when it was cloudy—stood around the grill with beers and greasy confidence. They barely glanced at me.

“Need anything?” I asked.

Tyler wiped his hands on a dish towel and looked me up and down. “What I need is someone to clean the grill later. You any good with your hands, cupcake?”

That earned a low chuckle from Blake. “Depends who’s asking.”

The sunglasses guy said nothing, just exhaled smoke from a vape and smirked.

I shifted my weight, unsure what to say.

“Nah, we’re good,” Tyler finally said, flipping a burger with exaggerated masculinity. “But hey—if Melissa’s looking for a real man to keep her company later, you send her my way.”

They laughed like it was nothing. Like I wasn’t standing right there.

As I turned to leave, I heard Blake mutter, “He walks like he’s wearing panties.”

The others laughed harder.

Back near the loungers, the girls had repositioned. Melissa was now sitting up, legs crossed, deep in conversation with Rachel while Chloe applied lotion to Melissa’s shoulders. She looked relaxed. Powerful.

“You alright, babe?” Melissa asked as I returned, her tone light but loaded.

I nodded again and took a seat—on the edge of her lounger, where she tapped twice without looking.

She set her drink down and ran her fingers lightly through my hair, like I was some obedient little thing she’d brought along to accessorize her summer outfit.

“You’re being such a good boy today,” she said under her breath, just for me. “Keep it up.”

The Game

“Cornhole,” Tyler announced, clapping his hands together. “Let’s make it interesting.”

“Boys versus girls?” Chloe asked, sunglasses slipping down her nose.

“Nah, too uneven,” Melissa chimed in, already pulling herself upright. “Let’s do pairs. Random draw. Keeps it spicy.”

The teams were quickly set. Me and Chloe. Tyler and Rachel. Melissa and Blake. A round robin. First to eleven.

The beanbags were pulled from the garage. The makeshift scorecards were scribbled on a napkin. A fresh round of drinks appeared, and with each sip, the laughter got louder.

When Melissa strutted up next to me to explain the rules, she leaned in just enough for only me to hear: “This is your chance to show them you’re not completely useless.”

I nodded, jaw tight. Cornhole was one of the few things I was decent at. Not strength-based, not about yelling the loudest—just simple hand-eye coordination.

I could do this.

“What are we playing for?” Tyler asked as he tossed the first bag. “There’s gotta be a prize.”

Chloe snorted. “Prize? Let’s make it a punishment. Loser team does a dare, dealer’s choice.”

Everyone laughed. I hesitated.

Melissa didn’t.

“Oh, we’re in,” she said, grinning wickedly. “A little humiliation never hurt anybody.”

My stomach tightened. But the energy was high, and I didn’t want to be the one to kill the fun. I gave a stiff nod. “Sure.”

And for a while… I held my own. Chloe was surprisingly decent, and we took the first round with a comfortable lead. I even caught Rachel glancing my way after I sank a perfect three-pointer.

But then came the finals. Me and Chloe versus Melissa and Blake.

Blake started talking shit. Loudly. Cocky, theatrical. Tyler egged him on. Melissa blew kisses at me between turns, winking as if she already knew how this would end.

And I—I started to choke.

My throws went wide. My hand trembled. The heat, the attention, the laughter—it all pressed in on me until I dropped the final bag short of the board completely.

Melissa clapped her hands once, sharp and decisive. “Aww, babe. So close.”

“I had it,” I said quietly, more to myself than anyone.

“But you didn’t.” She stepped closer, her voice saccharine. “And we all agreed. Losers take a dare.”

The group started chanting, playful and merciless: “Dare! Dare! Dare!”

Rachel raised her hand. “I’ve got one.”

The group fell quiet.

“I think our little helper should make it official. He’s already been playing beer fetcher all day. Let’s just promote him—poolside waitress for the rest of the party.”

Tyler howled. “Yes! That’s perfect.”

“Waitress?” I asked, eyes darting between them.

Chloe grinned. “Like the ones from that resort we stayed at—remember, Rach? The ones in those adorable little swimsuits and heels?”

“I think I still have one that would fit him,” Rachel said, tapping her chin. “High-waisted. Cheeky. Very Palm Springs chic.”

“I’m not wearing a—”

“Oh, come on,” Melissa cut in smoothly, one hand on her hip. “You lost, babe. Fair and square.”

I looked at her, pleading silently. Her gaze didn’t soften. If anything, it sharpened.

“You agreed to the rules,” she said, lowering her voice. “Don’t be a sore loser. I’ll put the outfit in the bathroom. Go get changed.”

My face was burning. Everyone was watching. Even Blake had gone quiet, beer halfway to his mouth.

I turned without another word and walked toward the house, the concrete hot beneath my sandals, my shame rising with each step.

The Outfit

The bathroom was still and quiet, the noise from the party muted behind the closed door. On the counter, laid out like a threat, was the one-piece swimsuit—a bold red, high-cut at the thighs, with a scooped back and narrow shoulders. Next to it, a pair of tan wedge heels, strappy and soft, the kind of thing you'd expect to see on a vacation Instagram post, not your own trembling feet.

I sat on the edge of the tub, frozen.

I wasn’t going to do this. I couldn’t.

But when the door clicked open behind me, I didn’t even look up.

Melissa slipped in without ceremony, shutting the door behind her. She walked straight to the swimsuit and lifted it off the counter like it was a fragile prize.

“You haven’t even touched it,” she said. “That’s rude.”

“I can’t wear that,” I muttered.

She turned slowly to face me, her expression unreadable.

“You will wear it,” she said, stepping closer, “because you lost. And because I said so.”

I looked up, swallowing hard.

“And you’re going to look so precious in it,” she continued, voice soft but sharp, “strutting around in your little heels like a cocktail girl at a pool bar. You’re going to bring the boys their drinks and smile for them. And if one of them wants to touch you?” She leaned in. “Well. I might let them.”

My mouth went dry.

“I might let Tyler squeeze your ass. Or maybe Blake pulls you onto his lap. Think about that, sweetheart—sitting on his lap in that swimsuit, while he whispers all the dirty things he wants to do to my obedient little husband.”

I shook my head, quietly pleading, but she was already at my waist.

“Stand up,” she ordered.

I obeyed.

Her fingers made quick work of my buttons. One by one. My shirt peeled away. Then my shorts, sliding down my legs in a single practiced tug. I was trembling in my underwear, but not for long—she hooked her thumbs into the waistband and yanked them down without hesitation.

And there I was. Naked. Hard.

Melissa’s eyes flicked down and a slow, wicked grin bloomed across her face.

“Oh. You like this.”

I shook my head again, cheeks burning.

“No?” She dragged her nails lightly across my stomach. “Then what’s this?”

She cupped me with one hand, casually stroking along the underside with her thumb. My cock twitched. She smirked.

“I think we need to take care of this before you get dressed. You can’t go out there leaking all over your cute little suit, can you?”

“Please, help me” I whispered, ashamed.

She grabbed a bottle of lotion from the counter, pumped it once into her palm, and wrapped her hand around me.

But just as she began the first stroke, she stopped.

“Actually…”

She reached behind me, her free hand sliding between my cheeks.

I gasped as I felt her finger press inward, slow and firm, breaching me in one long glide.

“Melissa—”

“Hush.”

She let go of my cock completely, focusing only on her hand buried between my legs. Her finger moved slowly in and out, curling deliberately, tapping the spot she knew would make my knees buckle.

I tried to resist. Tried to stand still.

But my hips began to move. Subtly at first. Then more.

Rocking back onto her fingers like I needed them.

“Oh,” she whispered, grinning into my neck. “Would you prefer one of the boys to do this? Hm? Think Tyler has big fingers? Or maybe Blake would just bend you over and slide right in…”

“Don’t,” I whimpered.

She added a second finger. I gasped.

“You’re so easy, baby,” she murmured. “Look at you—fucking yourself on my hand like a little poolside toy.”

That was it. The shame, the heat, the humiliation—it all broke at once.

I came. Hard.

Thick spurts across the tile, my thighs, her hand.

“Oh my god,” she said mockingly, catching a few drops with her fingers. “What a mess.”

She held her slick hand out in front of me.

“Well? Clean it.”

I didn’t even argue. I leaned in and licked the sticky warmth off her palm, tongue slow, heavy with humiliation.

She smiled, wiping the rest on my chest.

“Five minutes,” she said, stepping back and grabbing the swimsuit. She tossed it to me. “If you’re not out there by then, I’m sending one of the boys in to help zip you up.”

She left without another word.

And I just stood there, naked, dripping, humiliated… and desperately reaching for the blush pink swimsuit.

Firecracker Girl

“You have sixty seconds, princess!”

Her voice rang out like a firework through the bathroom door. Laughter followed. Loud. Drunk. Cruel.

I hesitated only a moment longer, then stepped out into the hallway, heels clicking softly on the tile. The swimsuit clung to me—tight at the waist, riding high on my hips, the fabric doing nothing to hide how open I felt.

The second the back door opened, the heat hit me.

So did the eyes. All of them.

The party hadn’t stopped. Music was still playing. Drinks still flowing. But now, the main attraction had arrived.

“Yesss,” Rachel purred from a lounge chair. “Look who finally came out of her shell.”

Chloe squealed. “Oh my god, she’s adorable.”

“She?” I tried to protest, but the word got swallowed by the sound of Tyler’s whistle.

“Damn,” he said, grinning wide. “C’mere, sweetheart. Give us a little spin.”

I walked forward, awkwardly, the heels forcing my hips to sway, my ass pushing outward with every step. I could feel the breeze on my thighs—all the way up—and worse, I could feel the eyes on my backside.

“Don’t keep them waiting,” Melissa called sweetly. “You’re the entertainment now.”

I gave a slow, trembling turn, the wedge heels wobbling slightly.

That’s when it happened. A firm hand grabbed my ass. Full palm.

I yelped, spinning to see Tyler grinning behind me.

“Just checkin’ the quality. Damn good stock, babe.”

The group roared with laughter.

Melissa just raised her drink and said, “Cheers to that.”

The rest of the afternoon was a blur of humiliation.

I fetched beers on command. Bent over to pick up dropped towels. At one point, Chloe looped a beaded necklace around my neck and told me I was “really pulling off the bachelorette vibe.”

The sky was glowing orange as dusk gave way to full night, the lawn now littered with half-finished drinks, flip-flops, and laughter that had gone from polite to feral. Chloe was doing tequila shots off someone’s abs. Rachel had music blaring from a Bluetooth speaker. Tyler had his shirt back off, again.

Everything felt sticky and loose and dangerous.

And I was still in the heels. Still in the suit. Still on display.

Melissa hadn’t let me change.

“You’re the star tonight,” she whispered earlier, tongue brushing my earlobe. “You’ll stay dressed for the part.”

The fireworks started with a crack. Then a bright white burst lit up the whole yard.

“Ooooh!” someone shouted.

That’s when it happened.

Blake—quiet, always watching Blake—patted his thigh and nodded toward me.

“Come sit,” he said casually. “Lap’s empty.”

I hesitated. Eyes darted.

Melissa raised an eyebrow from across the pool deck. “You heard him, sweetheart. Be a good girl.”

My body moved before my mind caught up. I walked on trembling heels toward him and gently lowered myself into his lap.

The moment I settled, I knew I’d made a mistake.

His hands didn’t rest. They wandered.

One slid across my lower back, fingers brushing the open curve of my spine. The other traced the seam of the swimsuit at my hip. I tensed.

“Relax,” he whispered near my ear. “You’re doing great.”

Another firework exploded above us—loud and white and blinding.

That’s when he did it. I felt the swimsuit pulled to the side. The elastic snapped lightly against my skin. No one noticed. Everyone was watching the sky.

Except me. And him.

His fingers slid between my cheeks with terrifying precision, until they were there. At my hole.

“No—” I whispered, turning quickly to look at him.

“You’ll be sorry if you make a scene,” he said. Calm. Almost kind.

I didn’t move. His finger slipped in. Just the tip. Then deeper.

Slow. In and out. In and out. Each stroke curled upward slightly.

I tried to stay still. Tried not to breathe. But my hips began to move.

A slow, betraying rock against his hand.

At that time in my mind, I was a woman. A woman that was wrapped up in pleasure.

“Oh, you like that,” he muttered, grinning now.

Then he reached down, grabbed my hand, and forced it into his swim trunks.

My fingers touched him—thick, hot, already leaking. I froze.

“Your turn,” he said. “You’ve got ‘til the end of the fireworks to get me off.”

“What?”

“Tick tock. Unless you want everyone to see us instead of being distracted by the fireworks.”

A gold firework burst above us, spraying glitter into the sky.

I started stroking.

Slow at first. Awkward. I’d never done this before—never even thought about it. But the feeling of him throbbing in my palm, while his finger moved inside me, was overwhelming.

I was dripping. He added a second finger. I moaned. Soft. Helpless.

He bit my shoulder lightly and hissed, “Faster.”

I obeyed.

My hand worked over his shaft as his fingers worked inside me. We were both rocking now, like some sick dance under the night sky.

The fireworks built louder. Bigger. The crowd cheered.

My toes curled inside the heels. My legs trembled. His breath hitched.

“Now,” he growled.

And in one perfect, shameful moment—

We came. Together.

His cock pulsed in my fist. My body clenched around his fingers. My suit was soaked. My thighs were trembling. The fireworks screamed overhead, and for a second, I thought maybe no one had seen.

But then—I turned my head.

And there she was.

Melissa. Standing by the patio table. A drink in her hand.

Eyes locked on mine.

Smirking.

She saw everything.

The grand finale exploded in the sky behind her. Red, white, and brutal.

And I couldn’t look away.

Had fun with that little tease?
Good, because that was just the tip. The real fun, the deeper blushes, the filthier finales? Those are waiting behind the velvet rope.

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