Divine Celebrity 34 (Patreon)

The facility of the swimming team was a fair distance away from the museum, and combined with the important nature of my work back in the museum, consuming a significant portion of my time, I was almost an hour late for the facilities. 

Much to Megan’s fury, as she had informed me with several passive-aggressive text messages. 

It wasn’t entirely shocking that I got lost trying to find the facilities of the swimming team, as despite what the school had claimed in the recruiting posters, sports didn’t exactly play a big part in the life of the students. 

That didn’t apply to football and basketball, naturally, but every other sport might as well be invisible as far as the students were concerned. 

As I pulled into the parking lot, I glanced at the building, realizing that it wasn’t the student popularity that they had been struggling with. It would be an exaggeration to say that the facility was in ruins, as it was still leagued better than the inner-city public high school I had the displeasure of attending, but it lacked the shiny and polished feeling the football stadium radiated. 

Maybe it was an unfair comparison, as the football stadium was certainly good enough to compete with the professional ones — and that devoured a not-so-significant portion of the budget. With that, the state of the facilities wasn’t exactly shocking.  

As I stepped out of the car, however, I had ignored the implications of the sports budget allocation and focused on the present. 

Megan was waiting for me, the curl of her lips suggesting that her anger was burning hotter than the engine of her beautiful red convertible. “You’re late,” she growled. “Where have you been! I’m here for almost an hour, waiting for you.”  

I had to admit, her anger made an impressive display, though I deliberately didn’t give any indication that it was working on me. Despite the fiction around the idea, I was not her boyfriend, which meant she couldn’t push me around as she wished. 

And, with her fists resting on her shins to display her anger, it was not without its perks. For once, she leaned forward, enhancing her cleavage. More importantly, with her fists carelessly pressing to her sides, the skirt she was wearing — already short enough to create a nice view — was pulling up, giving me a glimpse of her thighs, reminding me of the time that they had been around me as she rocked mercilessly on my lap. 

Too bad that had lasted too short. 

“If you actually bothered to wait for my answer, you would have heard my full explanation. I had an urgent thing to handle first before, things more important than whatever little popularity crisis you’re facing.” 

“You—“ she gasped, ready to deliver an explosive response, but she was interrupted. 

Not by me, but by a friend of hers. “I like him,” said a beautiful figure as she opened the passenger-side door, revealing a sexy redhead. A beautiful face, a lithe body, interrupted by surprisingly enticing curves despite their relatively modest size. 

“You like him, after he made us wait for an hour,” Megan growled as she turned to her friend, her distaste clear. 

“I do. He’s not as spineless as the other one, at least,” the redhead answered as she swayed her head, her hair spilling on her shoulders. As she did so, I glanced at her clothing, surprised that she was Megan’s friend. With faded black jeans, a leather jacket, and dark makeup, she didn’t like the kind of girl I expected Megan to have as a friend. 

Yet, Megan’s aggressive yet unguarded reaction to her words suggested not only they were friends, but also they were good friends. 

“Well, I give you that, he’s not as horrible as that egoistical waste of space,” Megan answered, unable to admit that I came up when compared with Kevin. 

Unfortunately, it was hardly the most appealing comparison in the first place in terms of personality. 

Still, as much as the discussion was pointless, it distracted Megan from her display of anger, while I used the opportunity to examine her friend more. I could see that under her leather jacket, she wore a simple white t-shirt, but I had a feeling that it was one of the simple t-shirts that still cost hundreds of dollars. 

Rebellion, trust fund edition. 

“So, were you serious—“ the redhead started, her smile wide, with a suggestive glance toward me. 

“Not now, Kim!” Megan interrupted with a growl, though I caught a subtle blush on her face. Then, she looked at me. “I don’t have time to deal with you,” she added as she threw a small bag at me. “Just put this on, and join us in the pool. We have a lot of work to do.” 

With that, she turned and left. Her friend followed, though not without turning back and winking at me playfully, amused at her friend’s reaction. 

I followed them, giving myself a moment to enjoy the sway of their hips with each step, still putting a show in this situation — more as a habit than a genuine attempt, I noted, as I remembered the amazing show Megan had managed to put during the party. 

Still, her weaponization approach to seduction was certainly deserving of respect. 

Only when they disappeared from the view by taking a different turn, did I remember to check the bag? At first, I was about to turn back, as the bag looked empty. But, before I could turn back, I noticed a little piece of fabric on the bottom of the bag. 

“Damn,” I murmured as I pulled it up, my eyes widened in shock. 

A speedo. 

“You better have a good way to pay me back,” I murmured as I continued to walk, frustrated. I was confident in my body, but speedos were hardly the height of the fashion. 

Pity that I needed the popularity the gossip would bring. 

After a quick stop at the dressing room, I was at the poolside, wearing nothing but the restrictive speedo. 

The pool was thankfully empty, though this time, my satisfaction didn’t just come from self-consciousness about wearing a speedo. No, I had a feeling that the emptiness of the pool was arranged by Megan because it was needed for her plans. 

And the fact that it was a necessary part suggested some really interesting things. 

Kim walked first. And, unfortunately, she was still mostly dressed. Her leather jacket was gone, but she was still wearing her shirt and her jeans. In her hands, there was a large camera, the kind that shouted professional — or an enthusiastic amateur with lots of money.  

“Hello, tiger,” she said, her smile wide as she dragged her gaze from top to bottom, not bothering to hide her carnal perspective. “You clean up nice. I can see why Megan decided you as a fake boyfriend.” 

I just smiled with a shrug, letting my body speak for itself for a moment. “It’s a bit rude, isn’t it?” I asked. 

“What’s rude?” 

“The way you dressed, of course. Here am I, undressed for your hungry gaze. The least you can do is to return the favor.” 

That earned a chuckle. “There’s no way I’ll walk around in a swimsuit,” she said. 

“It doesn’t have to be a swimsuit,” I answered, my voice suggestive enough to imply nudity.

“Megan said that you were bad, but she didn’t say just how bad,” she said, cute laughter that contrasted the rough attitude she was trying to sell. 

Before I could answer, however, Megan entered, destroying my remaining concerns about our little operation not being as fun as I expected.

The way she dressed was more than enough to correct that. 

She was wearing a white swimsuit, certain parts of it thin enough to double as dental floss. The top consisted only of some thin string, and two tiny triangles that were barely big enough to cover her nipples, even a hint of areola peeking through their deficient coverage. 

Its white color, bright enough to give an impression of transparency, hardly helped to sell an impression of modesty.  

Her bottoms, in contrast, had a much bigger triangle, covering everything that mattered, even though it still sold the impression that all it would take was a small accident to create a scandal. 

At least, that was what I thought until she took a step forward, and I caught the reflection of her back from a mirror, where any kind of triangle was deliciously absent, the task of hiding her perky bottom trusted to a piece of string. 

A task that the string failed spectacularly, revealing her sculpted ass to my hungry gaze. 

I didn’t bother hiding my lecherous smile. “Next time, start with a picture of you in this swimsuit. You’ll be surprised how quickly I’ll arrive.” 

“You’re lucky that we’re facing an emergency. Or…” she said, letting her voice drop down in a threatening manner. I had to admit, that the fact that she was able to actually look intimidating while wearing that tiny piece was nothing less than a miracle. 

Her plan was getting clearer, much to my satisfaction…