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Aaron's Game
Chapter 9: Preparations

by Redspkscott

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Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 12 Jan 2017

Aaron’s Game – Chapter 9: Preparations

Watching the commandos torment the punks made us horny, so when we made our way back to the apartment, Craig and I tag-team fucked Max yet again, this time out in the pool, bent over the side on the shallow end.

Between just the two of you, I got fucked five times today, Max said afterward, obediently cleaning up our mess. He didn’t sound terribly unhappy about it, but he did have his own stuff to do, too, so we couldn’t treat him like a fuck toy every day.

Well, when we get some more boys, we’ll be able to spread the love around, I said. So that party better be a big hit.

I’m working with Lenny and Trip, he said. Those are two of the pretty boys who are going to help keep the penthouse in order. They’ll help host the party. We’re gonna have it at night the day after tomorrow, so be prepared. They’re inviting all the golden boys in the building.

Awesome, Craig said. There’s lots of hot jocks in here.

Reuben, Rico and Jeffrey were hanging out in the penthouse conference room, fiddling with their new laptops.

Hey guys, Rico said. Check it out–the golden boys are starting to get organized.

The three of us claimed our laptops and fired them up. They were a breeze to use. I already had a couple of e-mails. One was from a gladiator named Brent, who was speaking on behalf of the grays, the gladiators who all shared the gray secondary color, the leadership designation. Tomorrow morning we were all invited to an orientation to start preparing a preseason. After that was another email from Brent just to me and Craig telling us to prepare to start gathering some ideas on how the matches and punishments would be organized. After that there was an e-mail from Reuben, describing in detail how he was going to viciously beat my ass at every opportunity in the arena and then fuck me so hard my asshole would start squeaking.

Damn, Reuben, I said.

He sent you a letter, too? Craig said.

Victor’s idea, actually, Reuben admitted. I guess, um, they’re going to read them on the gladiator network. I mean every goddamn word though! I’m gonna tear your asses up, boys.

I’ll work on a response when we have time, I said, grinning at him. He growled at me.

What about you guys? Craig asked our football-playing tenants.

We’ve organized a team entirely out of guys in our building, Rico said. We’re actually going to audition coaches.

How does that work? I asked. I figured the coaches would choose the teams or something.

It was Max’s idea, Rico said.

The Painfather pushed us all together first, Max said as he typed away. We didn’t even meet any possible coaches for a couple of days. So I figured it was natural for us to organize ourselves, then find a coach that matches our team’s personality.

And that is? Reuben asked.

Fucking hardcore, Jeffrey said, and the three football players laughed.

We decided we want to have a heavily disciplined team, Max said. We may not get our asses beat as much as the gladiators, but we definitely decided we wanted to put them on the line.

Oh, yeah? I asked. So what does that mean?

We took a vote and we’re going to select a coaching staff who all have black as the third color, Max said.

I thought about what that meant for a moment. Their coaches’ colors would all be gray, gold then black. Strong leadership skills, competitive, and also mercilessly sadistic.

That’s gonna be a rough ride for you boys, I said. He’s gonna beat your ass when you mess up in practice, beat your ass when you lose, and beat your ass just because.

I’m looking forward to seeing how it works out myself, Reuben said.

We’ve already decided on our team name, Rico said.

The Pain Pigs, Max said.

You boys are gonna be squealing if you’re anything less than perfect, Craig said.

That’s the idea, Max said.

Okay, count me in on your fan club, I said.

Me, too, Craig said.

Me, three, Reuben said. Rivalry truce, but only when it comes to supporting the Pain Pigs.

Agreed, I said. Reuben and I bumped fists.

We’re still gonna bust your asses though, Craig said. We all laughed.

The rest of the evening was relaxing and casual. Reuben had been molesting Rico and Jeffrey throughout the day and had been training on his own. Max and Craig’s asses were sore from abuse. Mine was still recovering from my recent beating from the hunters. Craig and I worked together to prepare a little presentation for tomorrow with the other gladiators. Max brought up Lenny and Trip to the penthouse to introduce them to us. To my surprise, they were both built a lot like gladiators, very muscular and tall, and they wore shorts similar to ours, with the asses cut out. Their shorts were green, but their trim colors were pink, gold and black. It seemed like an unusual combination.

We’re built to be ridden hard, Trip said, winking. Golden boys don’t like lightweights, right?

They didn’t flinch at all when I pulled out my cock to fuck them, Max said.

Let’s see how tough those beefy bottoms are, Craig said. I grabbed Lenny, and Craig grabbed Trip. We bent them over the conference room table and beat their asses good and hard, no breaks, for a good 15 minutes. Pretty light punishment for us, but it was getting late. The two of them kept their bubble butts raised perfectly. They alternately moaned and whimpered as the punishment went on.

Pretty boys seem to have a more enhanced feeling of pleasure between swats than the rest of us, Max said. So they enjoy the actual punishment more than we do, not just how it feels afterward.

I’m not used to punishing somebody without having them struggle first, Craig said.

I’ve been chatting with them, and our Pretty Boys here have some athletic skills, Max said. They do know how to wrestle and stuff. I guess it’s because of having gold in that second slot.

If it’s a turn-on for you, we can resist, Trip told Craig.

Yeah, it’s more fun when we have to fight for it, Craig said. At least for gladiators. Keep that in mind for the future.

I doubted we’d have much time to play with Pretty Boys in the coming days, though. Our own punishing schedules (in both senses of the word) would probably keep us busy, as well as molesting the additional tenants we’d allow in the penthouse. Craig and I decided to retire for the night. Rather than letting the boys leave, Max directed the two of them to his own room for some fun of his own. I fell asleep to the sounds of Max alternately punishing their round bottoms with his thick strop and their moans from him fucking them.

The next morning Reuben, Craig and I all headed back to the stadium to meet up with our fellow gladiators. Despite the new wheels, we decided to walk. It was only a few blocks and it helped us keep in shape, not mention take in what was going on in our neighbors. Besides, Reuben wouldn’t be able to torment us when we lost by finger-fucking us all the way home if we drove. It occurred to me that I needed to come up with something similarly humiliating to do to Reuben when he lost.

Craig had added a new addition to his skimpy outfit that separated him from me and Reuben. He had gotten a pouch he could hang on the side of his torso with a tight harness across his chest.

What’s that for? I asked.

It has all my fun stuff from the prank shop for when I get my hands on somebody’s ass, he said. Time to start showing guys there’s more fun to be had than just paddles and straps.

Along the way we came across another couple of situations where commandos had punks forced across their knees and were paddling them hard core.

Maybe somebody needs to teach those punks how to fight, Craig said. Assuming anybody is interested in making their little conflict more fair.

Those punks are right where they belong, Reuben said. Asses in the air, getting blistered. Given that Reuben shared a color with the commandos and not the punks, he was inclined to take their side. Craig and I didn’t, and we just were more concerned about the fight eventually growing stale. That would be a while, though. For now, it was fun to watch the punks get bullied.

We made it into the stadium as other the other gladiators arrived as well. It turned out the facility was pretty busy now. There were producers, executives and blue-collar guys everywhere putting stuff together, hanging lights, figuring out camera angles, making alterations to the machinery in the arena, et cetera. Executives were disciplining both the blue-collar boys and the producers as necessary. As I suspected, they were making use of the punishment tubes if they were too busy to paddle asses themselves. I saw two bare bottoms sticking out of tubes set to be machine-paddled for two hours, it looked like.

Gladiators, gather on the field if you would, came a voice from the loudspeakers. It turned out to be Brent, we would soon discover. The grays had selected him to represent him for now with the gladiators. I wondered if it wasn’t because he actually had gray hair. I had yet to see anybody else with that shade. I understood mentally that this was typically something that happened to men as they grew older, but that wouldn’t happen to us, and Brent didn’t look any older than the rest of us. He also had a mustache and goatee and an odd scar down his chest. Like Levi’s piercings, I guess the Painfather wanted to make sure we all had interesting unique characteristics that made us each sexy in our own ways. I had discovered that my facial hair stayed at its permanent look of not having shaved in two days. It never grew any longer. I wondered if it would grow back to that point and stay there if I shaved it off.

We all gathered on the field, and now that I was not caught up in the excitement of the matches, beating Reuben, and being in the presence of Patron Derek I was able to get a much better look at my fellow gladiators. Green was definitely the dominant secondary color. Gray and orange both seemed equally represented after that, with Craig and I as the lone two bearers of purple. I verified for certain this time that not a single gladiator wore pink or blue. It made sense. We were neither very accommodating like the pinks, nor were we interested in team work or manual labor (other than fighting each other) like the blues.

We all sat down on the field as Brent stood up to talk. He waved off to the side to an executive.

Boys, delay all tasks for now and take seats in the stadium, the executive said into a headset that fed directly into the loudspeakers. All team leaders to the field. Repeat, team leaders to the field.

I watched as all the workers headed up to sit and watch us on the field from the stands for now. A handful of guys walked out to the field to join Brent. There were a couple of executives, producers, a commando, and even a grinning punk. I noticed Victor among the guys. They stood around by Brent.

Gladiators, are we ready to get this arena going? Brent yelled. We all cheered in response.

Great! He said after the cheers died down. So now doubt the question of everybody’s tongue right now is What the hell is going on? The gladiators laughed at the truth.

Just to let you all know, I’m not actually in charge, Brent said. At least not yet. More chuckling. We drew straws to see who would be the voice of preparations, and that was me. But part of our intent today is to determine who actually will sort of be in charge of the organizational structure for the gladiators.

What does that mean? one gladiator immediately asked.

I will get to that, I promise, Brent said. That’s next on the agenda, but first on the agenda I want to introduce you all to these non-gladiator gentlemen who will be working their butts off to make sure we are able to focus on fighting each other. Brent went on to introduce the executives who were organizing the blue collar and producer teams who would operate the stadium, televise the fights, and operate our special gladiator network. The commando was introduced as the head of the stadium’s security team to keep fans and the crowd in check.

I won’t be afraid to toss troublemakers in one of those spanking tubes overnight, the commando, named Oliver, said. If they go overboard with their support for you guys, they can share your fate.

I wondered why he thought that would happen and noticed him glaring at the punk. Brent introduced him as Spike.

Spike here will be working with the producers to oversee the fan program. I noticed that Spike’s colors were orange, gold and pink.

What does that mean, exactly? asked one gladiator who shared Spike’s orange.

I’m here to help stir up shit, Spike said bluntly. We laughed. Oliver did not. As your patron, Derek, has declared, you guys are the big cheeses of the golden boys, yeah? Every one of you is going to end up building your own fan bases, and your rivalries are bound to spill out of the arena, right? Y’all saw what happened to Aaron and Craig?

Punks with secondary gold like Spike here are going to help foster those fan rivalries to help keep interest in our events high, Brent said.

Some of my boys will also be helping out with music and entertainment for events between matches and stuff, Spike added. If you want your own theme song, we’ll hook you up.

Some guys perked up at the idea, but the mention of hard-core fan bases got the gears of my mind spinning. While Brant continued explaining the operations of the stadium, my mind wandered off, until ... .

I know how to bring Joss and the hunters in, I said to Craig.

What? How?

I’ll explain later, I said. But I think he we can incorporate our fans in somehow.

Intriguing, Craig said.

But by that point Brent had worked his way through his explanations of the facility.

Before I explain how we’re going to organize our league, I’d like to bring up Aaron and Craig for some quick comments. As you may recall, the two of them were specifically selected by Patron Derek to organize how the matches would actually work.

We got some polite applause as we stood up to talk. We made our way up front, patting Victor on the shoulder as we passed by.

Okay, I started, Just to make it clear from the beginning. We aren’t here to force our own idea of how the matches should be on all the rest of you.

Though we’d be happy to do so, if you like, Craig said. We have a million different ideas.

Too many ideas, actually, I said. We want to make sure we focus on the ideas that appeal to the most gladiatorsm though. You are going to be e-mailed a couple of surveys by me and Craig. Please fill them out as quickly as possible and send them back.

And be honest, Craig said. Those responses are going to determine our recommendations for how everything in the arena plays out. Everything from how the matches are organized to how losers get their asses punished. The reference to us punishing each other got everybody cheering again of course.

Craig and I are splitting duties a bit, I said. Craig here has lots of wonderful ideas about how to organize the fights between you guys to make them interesting, challenging, and painful. You may catch us experimenting with some of his ideas when we spar.

Aaron here is going to be focusing on what happens to our asses when we lose, Craig said. If you think the fighting is going to be painful... .

Yeah, I added. We will be preserving our patron’s demand that losers be punished for a full 24 hours. The gladiators all cheered. But I’d like to see something a little more creative than those spanking tubes, and so will our fans. Your survey responses will help make that happen. I thought about mentioning the hunters at this point, but I wanted to working things through with Joss first and see what the other gladiators felt as well before teasing them.

We got another round of cheers as we sat back down. Even Reuben gave a reluctant nod of approval.

So, Brent said. That leaves us with a need for an organizational structure to prepare schedules, make sure the ideas those two put together become formal policies and deal with any potential game-related conflicts that might come up.

The grays got together and hammered out what we hope will work for all of us. Fortunately we’re a small enough group to include direct democracy. What we’re about to propose will be put up for a vote by all of you. We’re not just gonna impose it on you.

Our idea is a council of seven gladiators. Just that simple. They will organize the policies through which we all operate. They’ll make sure Craig and Aaron’s ideas are approved by all of you and then implemented. They’ll make up fight schedules to make sure they’re fair and they’ll hear and rule on any complaints.

Who gets to be on the council? One gladiator asked.

That’s what we’re going to figure out today! Brant said. How do you think a gladiator should earn a seat on the council?

Fight! several guys yelled out. This included some of the guys hanging out in the stadium watching.

A fight, Brent said, nodding. And we’re going to have it right now, assuming you guys approve the idea of the council with a vote. Anybody who wants to declare himself a candidate for the council can do so. Then depending on how many candidates we have, we’ll have a series of matches to whittle it down to seven.

The gladiators all nodded and muttered to each other. It seems like most guys thought it was a good idea.

Oh, Brent added. As with our last matches, those who lose get the spanking tubes. Yes, for 24 hours. The gladiators and our audience of workers all cheered at the news.

I knew that would get your attention, Brent said. So I call for a vote. Those in favor of having council rule, say aye! There was a chorus of AYE! s. Anybody want to vote no? Brent asked. It was silent. Passed! The group erupted in cheers.

Looks like we’re going to see some more guys fight today, Craig said.

Good to finally get to scope out the competition, I said. We had gotten so much into our own stuff with the penthouse and our rivalry we hadn’t really thought about the other 117 guys as opponents.

It’s time, gentlemen, Brent said. If you want to declare yourself as a candidate for the council, please stand now and remain standing.

Every single gray gladiator stood up, of course. A small smattering of green gladiators joined them and one even one orange gladiator joined, to the jeers of his fellows, whose punk influence discouraged them from wanting to do such boring things as manage schedules.

Somebody’s got to represent us, he said to them. Those greens get on the council and you’ll regret not having a voice. Another orange-influenced gladiator nodded in agreement and stood up, too.

I have no intention of fighting for this, Craig said. I didn’t either. We already had a ton of responsibility on our heads. Reuben didn’t appear interested either.

I just want to focus on busting you two’s asses, he said. I don’t care about the other stuff.

After a few minutes, Brent declared time. In the end, 32 guys – including Brent — stood up to fight for 7 seats. That was going to be a lot of guys getting their asses beaten overnight.

Hope we have enough spanking tubes, Craig noted.

All right, Brent said. Craig, you said you’re coming up with the match rules. So organize this for us.

Until we work some things out for our official pre-season, let’ s stick with the basic rules from our first match, Craig said. He split the guys into four groups of eight. Just as with the match I fought with Reuben, half would make it out of the match. The four who were forced into the holes in the field would be enclosed in spanking tubes and paddled for 24 hours, just as Reuben and the others had been. After the first rounds, that left a group of 16. They would fight in one massive free-for-all. Seven would survive. Nine would join the others in the spanking tubes.

If my estimates are right, the whole thing should be over in about an hour to 90 minutes, he said.

Those of us who weren’t competing were sent off to the stands to watch the fights. A team of blue-collar boys headed down to the inner workings of the stadium to operate the field. Victor organized his producers to film the battles.

Craig, Reuben, and I settled in to enjoy the fights. It was nice to relax, but we also watched these guys closely. We’d be facing them at some point. We needed to analyze their strategies and look for weaknesses to exploit, or we were going to end up with very sore asses.

It was good fun to watch the guys team up, wrestle each other down, break up and turn against each other. No wonder the crowd cheered watching us. In the first match, which included Brent, the grays all teamed up to turn against the greens and then battled each other afterward.

We need to preserve this free-for-all style somehow, Craig said. It’s good fun for the audience, but I don’t think we can really use it to determine who is best. At least not alone.

We watched and cheered with the others as the four losers were imprisoned in spanking tubes, their large muscular bottoms sticking out through the holes in the metal cylinders. The large metal paddles came out on the end of two mechanical arms and soon the men’s bare asses were being beaten raw. Brent was one of the winners, so we’d see him again in the final round.

And so went the other three rounds. One of the orange-influenced gladiators and one of the green-influenced gladiators made it to the final round. All the rest were gray. Amusingly, this then required the two of them to team up, despite the fact that they didn’t seem to like each other, against the grays.

So is there a rivalry between the greens and the oranges within the gladiators? Craig asked Reuben.

It’s shaking out that way, Reuben said. I’d join in but I’ve got the two of you to keep me busy.

Hilariously, the two gladiators turned out to be a good team and managed to take down several grays. Sensing that trying to take the two of them down together wasn’t working, the gray coalition fell apart and they turned on each other. In the end, both the green and the orange gladiators made it to the final seven. The remaining five were all gray (and Brent was among them).

More amusing was big wall of pain in front of us. There were indeed enough spanking tubes. On the edge of the field was a row of 25 gladiators trapped in spanking tubes, side by side. The sound of the paddle smacks echoed across the stadium so loudly that you needed to yell to make yourself heard. Massive muscular bottoms bounced in place with each swat.

Okay, individual spanking tubes are boring, Craig said. But 25 lined up are absolutely fucking hot!

I need to figure out how to make it even hotter! I yelled back.

Damn straight! Craig yelled.

Brent managed to commandeer the loudspeakers again to be heard. He told us to check our e-mails for schedules for opening day for preseason and for surveys from Craig and me. We left the stadium, leaving our losing brothers to be tormented for the rest of the day and overnight.

As we headed back along the beach toward our condo, we noticed that the city was really beginning to buzz with activity.

Looks like some of the storefronts have been claimed, Craig said, pointing out actual signs going up for businesses. I need to get a new sign for the pranks shop.

We should head back over there, I said. I need to talk to Joss, too, since he took over the Hall of Fear.

Sure thing, Craig said, But we have some business to take care of first.

What’s that? I asked. That’s when he tackled me from behind and we went rolling across the beach.

Sparring matches, every day, was the agreement, Craig said. Today it’s time for revenge!

That’s what you think! I growled as we tumbled in the sand. I’m gonna keep your ass as red as your hair.

We bounced around in the sand, but Craig’s ambush was just too strong. I wasn’t ready. He was able to wrestle me face down into the sand, lock an arm behind my back and entwine my legs in his. I felt his thick round paddle resting against my right cheek.

I believe it’s 100 swats in 90 seconds to win a round, Craig said. And winning three rounds gets me your ass for two hours, right? I nodded and then he started whacking away on the seat of my spandex shorts. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! I squirmed and struggled but he had me on full lockdown.

Then he did something unusual: When he got to 90 swats he just stopped. I struggled and tried to escape. I couldn’t, but he wasn’t finishing the round.

Dude, you missed your chance to win the round, I said.

Oh, no, he said, somewhat sarcastically. Let me try it again. He started beating my ass again. I bounced around in pain from the punishment. Again, when he got to 90 he deliberately stopped.

What the hell are you doing? I asked. Finish the round?

Oh, where is my head at? He asked. Again he started blistering my bottom. Once again he stopped at 90. I laid there exhausted in the sand under his control.

What are you doing? I asked.

I am trying to work out a potential flaw in our possible match system, He said. Again he started beating my ass. I was good and red by now – he was not holding back. But again he stopped at 90 swats.

Why are you doing this? I demanded. Finish it and let me go and we can fight the next round.

Why would I want to do that? He asked. Then he thrashed me with another 90-swat session. Since he refused to actually take the round, I kept trying like hell to escape, but he had too much leverage. My ass was burning raw.

See if I keep doing this, Craig explained as he started another session, I can blister your ass and wear you out in the first round to make it harder to fight in subsequent rounds.

Oh, shit, I growled. I tried to kick out of his grasp, but nothing doing. He stopped long enough to avoid winning the round, then started up another set of swats.

I’m trying to decide whether we need to put a rule in place to prevent this from happening or if we should allow it to play out, Craig said.

It’s a risky move, I said as he rested following another set of swats. If I can get off a reversal, you could lose the round.

Yup, Craig said. But as long as you can’t... . WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! Another 90 swats. Then I felt that feeling. Realizing that I wasn’t able to escape from Craig, my body relaxed, surrendering. My legs stopped kicking and my ass raised up.

Seems like your ass knows when to give up, Craig said. Is that an admission of surrender?

Yes, I spat at him. You win. Do what you want.

Maybe it’s not a problem them, Craig said. We’ll just have to make sure the matches have a surrender option.

With that, he pulled my shorts down.

Nice and red, Craig said. I felt him pull my cheeks apart and take a look. Hole’s a nice, friendly pink though. Let’s take care of that. Dammit. I heard him unzip his pouch and pull various things out.

Let’s throw the works at you and see how it goes, He said. He yanked my head up by my hair and forced a couple of pills down my throat. The farting pills. Then I felt him rubbing that cream across my ass cheek s that would cause them to burn with chemical heat every time I farted.

I noticed you hadn’t had the chance to try out the itching powder you grabbed yet, Craig said. Let’s try it out. I felt him shake the powder carefully down my ass crack, all the way to my hole and the part underneath it.

And finally, the fire oil, he said. I tried to clench my butt cheeks together, but my crack was already starting to itch and wouldn’t cooperate. I barely felt the drips of oil. He quickly set the pouch aside as the searing heat started burning my asshole and I began to kick uncontrollably. As I squealed in pain from the fire oil, he pulled my spandex shorts back up to cover my bottom. That’s when the farting started and the searing heat spread across my entire ass. I began to yell in pain and my lower body squirmed helplessly. My surrender had been undone by the intensity of the heat and the itching. My body wouldn’t simply allow itself to accept these painful feelings. The tears started to flow. And the more I squirmed, the more I farted, and therefore the more burning I felt, which caused me to squirm even more.

You know what? Craig said, watching my ass bounce around. I don’t think I’m going to paddle your ass any more. I’m just going to watch you suffer for the next two hours.

That’s exactly what Craig did. He set his paddle aside and just held me down in the sand, watching my ass bounce around in pain and itching. A few guys came over to watch what was going on. He explained to them what he had done to me and even showed them the stuff from his pranks shop. He was using me to advertise his shop! It became abundantly clear when Paul came by with his camera to film my punishment for our show. He even let Craig give a little speech about what’s available at this shop.

I was exhausted after two hours. The itching and burning was relentless. Worse, I couldn’t stop squirming at all. I actually tried to convince my body to surrender to the pain like it did when I got paddled or strapped, but it wouldn’t. I couldn’t stop trying to reach back and scratch my ass or relax and not quiver and bounce in place whenever a fart caused my ass to burn.

Finally, Craig pulled my shorts down, relieving the pain from the fart-activating cream. My ass crack was still itching and burning like mad, though. He parted my cheeks and took a good look.

Yeah, nice and red, just the way I like it, Aaron said, talking about my tortured rectum. I’m almost sad to fuck you knowing it’s going to relieve a lot of the pain. Nevertheless, he lubed up and mounted me. I was able to calm down a bit knowing that him cumming inside me would cancel out the burning of the fire oil.

This was his first time fucking me and he went hard. He loved punishing my hole. It didn’t hurt as much as Max, but he compensating with speed, forcing his cock in and out quickly to keep the pain building before it would turn into pleasure. After reducing me to helpless tears, he finally pushed in to bring a slight amount of pleasure. After another five minutes, he came in spurts in my ass and I immediately felt the searing heat inside my ass transform into this amazing soothing coolness that felt almost arousing. I began to moan and writhe around on the sand in pleasure instead of pain.

That’s so good, I said. I can barely feel the itching powder any more either.

Craig laughed. He lay on top of me and we both just relaxed. I felt him nibble on the back of my neck a little bit as a form of affection. We were both covered with sand from the beach.

I hope we’ll still have time to do stuff like this once the season starts, he said.

Me too, I said.

Next: Sweet Revenge

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