Chapter 6

What had I gotten myself into? I was a14-year-old high school freshman -- granted, I hadn't been a virgin for quite some time, but what has that to do with anything? -- and I was flat on my back in the near darkness of my bedroom, looking up at handcuffs, waiting for Police Detective Maria Sanchez to "adjust" my attitude.

I hadn't been surprised when she'd picked the shackles up from my bedside table. I wasn't surprised when she latched the first cuff around my right wrist. I fully expected she was going to link my hands to the head of my bed before beginning her "adjustment." I'd deliberately chosen this shiny brass headboard for my new bed with just this sort of play in mind. I'd enjoyed it before, and after all, if it was good enough for Mom and Elaine...

But what now? Instead of cuffing me to the frame, or even just fastening my wrists together, Maria snapped the other cuff shut around her own left wrist. Then she rolled further over on top of me, trapping my left arm under her. Extending her left arm stretched my right one out straight, immobilizing that appendage -- metaphorically, I was disarmed, you might say.

My bashful ninth-grade tits were smothered in her warm mature breasts, her face was bare inches above mine. I was at her mercy, drowning in her fascinating dark eyes. Oh, it felt so good, her warm body against mine, her weight squishing me down into the soft mattress! There was no way to avoid her sensuously gentle full-lipped kiss, her warm lips pressing against mine -- no tongue, though I'd willingly have given her access.

She held that kiss until I was gasping, my chest heaving, my whole body aroused. I could breathe just fine, but oh God, I was so turned on I ached. I wanted to wrap my arms around her, only I couldn't! I could barely wiggle. When she backed off the kiss I raised my head, hungering for more, but she kept just out of reach of my seeking lips.

She jiggled her left arm, reminding me of our connection. As if I needed it.

"Now, Chiquita, where you go, I go, where I go, you go -- together wherever we go," she said teasingly, her breath warm on my face.

All I could think was Ohmygosh! My heart was rat-a-tat-tat-tatting against my ribs. Finally I managed to squeeze out a question. "For how long? Why??!!"

Okay. So that's two questions. So sue me! I was hardly in my right mind or I wouldn't have gotten myself in this pickle in the first place. Her smile was kind and serious at the same time, and I realized this was no game.

"For however long it takes. You are gonna learn teamwork. As of now, I am your right arm, and you are my left one."

I tried to grumble a protest, telling her I knew all about teamwork. I was on a swim team, after all, Captain of it, in fact, and a committee was a team -- but another wonderfully soft kiss cut me off.

"Yeah, you're on the swim team," she agreed, "but that's not the same thing as basketball or soccer. When you're in the water, you're in there by yourself. And you chair that committee, you're the leader. They're looking up to you, depending on you to tell them what to do. It's not like you're an equal among equals, depending on each other from moment to moment to do the right thing without being told. That is teamwork!"

I hadn't thought of it that way, and realized she might be right.

"That ain't gonna work like that between you and me, Chiquita. This is a whole new ballgame. We gotta listen to each other, communicate, sometimes even without words, cooperate, work together if we're gonna get along, get anything done. It'd be even better if I could cuff our ankles together, make it a three-legged race, but I can't, and I don't think I need to.

"In my job survival depends on my partner, and as of now, you're my partner. If you're gonna be working my side of the street, Chiquita, we gotta learn to trust each other completely. We gotta be confident that you got my back and I got yours. No goin' off lone rangering it. I gotta know what you're doin' 'fore you do it. You gotta know what I'm goin' t'do 'fore I do it. We gotta get so close together we're wearing the same skin -- so close we think alike. Comprende?"

She could speak perfectly unaccented English as grammatically as I did, but she was now talking Hispanic accented street-talk and I knew she was deadly serious. I nodded dumbly, hypnotized, terrified at my helplessness and lack of control. I was also incredibly aroused by the idea of being that close with her for however long it would be. It was closer, even, than I felt with Greg when he was in me.

The thought that I might let her down terrified me.

Shit! My body suddenly and perversely decided to assert itself and I felt myself blushing. "Uh -- right now I'm about to wet the bed!"

She gave me a soft, quick and reassuring kiss. "Well then, unless WE want to sleep in a puddle the rest of tonight, I guess WE had better do something about that, wouldn't you say?"

I nodded meekly, and she rolled off me, dragging my right arm with her, forcing me to roll over. I was awkwardly working out how to get pulled together and out of bed when she got up and I almost landed on my face, only she caught me. Then she tripped over me, and I caught her. The lesson had already started, and even who went through the bathroom door first had to be negotiated!

At least we were already naked, but when I sat on the toilet, my right arm rose in front of me because it was cuffed to her as she stood over me. I felt an unexpected rush as my pee splashed in the bowl, the scent rising from between my legs as she watched.

But when I tried to get some toilet paper I couldn't reach it, so she did. When she tried one-handed to tear some off, the roll just spun, unwinding a bunch, so working together we managed to gather a few sheets, but she insisted on wiping my bald pussy, and she was very careful and thorough.

Oh gosh.

Then she pointed out that she might as well go while we were there, rather than get us both up in the night. This required an awkward sort of musical chairs with the toilet. She used her one-handed control to dictate my position. I wound up kneeling on the cold tiles between her spread feet, watching her pee from close up, the flow bursting through her bush, leaving it streaming and dripping with me awash in the warm scent. Then we did the toilet paper routine again, me working clumsily with my left hand as I wiped the fragrant golden drops clinging to her hair, drying and fluffing it carefully. It was a more intimate than humiliating moment and my innards squirmed.

As we got ready for bed, if not sleep, I began to catch on to just how right-handed I was. Together we brushed our teeth, bumping heads over the sink to spit, me working slowly and awkwardly with my left hand, while she did hers more easily with her right. Rinsing meant sharing the cup, and she insisted on holding it for me, and making me hold it for her.

We agreed we were too tired to figure out a shower, so a washrag was applied to those areas most in need, first her on me, then I on her. She led me unresisting back to my -- our -- bed, and we learned new ways to make love, our free hands exploring, our chained ones working cooperatively. When she touched my cheek with her left hand, I had no choice, and she had to be close enough for me to touch hers with my right. When her left fingers pinched my right tit, my right fingers pinched her left one. At least we could toy with each other's pussy with our free hands. It was fingers in cunts, thighs to crotches, legs tangling, mouths engaged, body to body. Somehow we both came together and I felt closer to her than I ever had before.

Eventually we slept, but when either of us shifted we both woke up. We'd grumble, negotiate a new configuration, cuddle and sleep again until the next time.

Saturday morning, a bit bleary-eyed, we showered -- together, of course. I used my left hand to wash her, she washed me with her right. While cleanliness was the primary goal we didn't ignore the erotic opportunities either. As we rinsed off at the end she made me -- let me? -- kneel at her feet. Wrapping my left arm around her hips, I happily buried my face between her thighs, eager to taste her yet again through the fragrant wet curls of her bush while she stroked my head and sighed her pleasure.

After getting out and drying off -- another gymnastic exercise -- she combed my hair for me, nibbling at my ear from time to time as she did, and I did my best to help her brush her thick tresses out. Bundling her ponytail was a choreographic challenge, but we managed it by me standing behind her, her left arm awkwardly twisted back over her shoulder to work with her right hand to manage her hair while I dealt with the scrunchy we'd had to dig out from under my bed and dust off.

Even though Mom and Elaine did the cooking, breakfast was another learning experience. With the fork in my left hand I pinned down my sausage links while she cut them with her right. She buttered my French toast while I held it steady. At her insistence, I returned the favors, as best I could, reaching left-handed across in front of myself to cut and butter. At one point I forgot and reached for the juice with my right hand and her left wound up in my plate. Instead of napkins we licked butter and syrup off each other.

Having been told what was going on, Mom and Elaine enjoyed our naked antics, and all I could do was blush.

It being Saturday breakfast clean-up was my chore -- now Maria's and my chore -- and Mom, just to make the lesson more interesting, decreed that the dishwasher was off limits, not even to be used as a drying rack. Then they just walked away, leaving Maria and me to clear the table. Eventually the two of us were at the sink -- thank God it was a double sink -- the stack of dirty dishes on the counter to my left, the basin in front of me filled with hot sudsy water. I'd grab a dirty plate with my left hand, submerge it in the soapy water and hold it while she washed it with her right. Passing it off to her, she'd transfer it to the second sink for rinsing and stack it on the counter to the right. I had to admit it was just as hard on Maria as it was on me.

It was wash and rinse, wash and rinse, our hands and arms learning to dance together with every plate, cup, glass, knife, fork, spoon, utensil, pot and pan. Drying wasn't any simpler, and returning everything to its place in drawer and cabinet was a new lesson in cooperation. Hurrying was a recipe for disaster. One plate paid with its life, and sent both us down on our knees -- careful not to cut ourselves -- to pick up the pieces. Fortunately it wasn't the good china. Getting the last tiny fragments meant broom and dustpan. That turned into something straight out of the three stooges.

Note to self -- organize the kitchen so plates and glasses are in neighboring cabinets! Sometimes I'd unthinkingly reach with my right hand, yanking Maria around or stretching her if I went for a high shelf. It was painful! The cuffs weren't nice, soft, padded leather bondage toys, but cold, hard steel that bruised our wrists.

I learned -- WE learned, and learned fast! We had the radio on, and by the end, as we wiped down the counters and stove top, we were bumping hips in time with the music as a way to choreograph our moves.

She didn't even relent and unlock us when certain biological processes ran their inevitable course. We again had to take turns on the toilet, doing "number two" as we used to say in grade school. Wiping was -- well, the less said the better, and there was nothing erotic about it, thank you very much. Remember girls, always wipe away from your pussy! That meant she tipped forward so I could lean over her to work from the back, and likewise for me. I may be kinky, and given the right circumstances I've been known to play 'back there, ' but this was, well, just too close to the true function to be any kind of a turn-on, if you get my drift!

"What now?" Maria asked after we'd managed to wash our hands -- even that was a challenge -- then got my room tidied and the bed made.

"I suppose a workout at the town pool is out?"

She laughed. "You want to show up there like this?" She lifted her left hand, my right going up with it, of course.

"How about a run around the neighborhood?" I challenged.

"How we gonna dress?"

I grinned. "Dress?"

"Oh oh!"

"Relax, I run naked all the time. The neighbors are used to it. We're teammates, remember?"

"You would bring that up!" She sighed. "I want you to know, this is beyond my comfort level."

"This whole lesson was your idea. Want to call it off?" She knew I was not serious, that I was in this all the way.

"No way!" She rattled my right arm.

"Ain't payback a bitch? Come on, let's get some shoes on. We can manage that."

Well yeah, but it was yet again another adventure in teamwork! I suppose we could have at least pulled on pants, maybe even figured a way to fashion tops that we didn't have to slip our arms into, but somehow that didn't seem to be in the spirit of things. We set off, side by side, the air touching us all over -- and I mean ALL over. Her nipples were hard as bullets in the still cool morning air, as were mine.

I enjoy running nude almost as much as I enjoy skinny-dipping, and the neighbors were already used to my displays. Our new house being near Greg's, he'd often join me -- clothed to keep from bruising his family jewels -- but he was out of town again this weekend. One retiree, Mr. Kelly, was always out doing something in his front yard by the time I got to his place. I suspect he had someone early on my route who called him so he wouldn't miss the show.

It took Maria and me awhile to adjust to each other's different stride lengths and the way we pumped our arms. Out of sympathy for her more ample bust we also had to run smoothly to avoid jostling "the girls" as she called them. Because of this and our difference in height we struck a pretty easy pace.

We were moving smoothly in step by the time we turned the corner onto Mr. Kelly's block, and sure enough, there he was, out watering the flowers. Remembering how I'd usually pirouette so he got the full effect, I thought of a way we could give him a show, at the risk of at least one of us landing on her butt if it didn't work. Nothing ventured nothing gained has always been my motto. I did clue Maria in as best I could, remembering that this was an exercise in learning to communicate.

Angling out into the street, where we'd have enough room, I counted down the strides aloud to just the right moment, we clasped hands to save our wrists and I slowed and turned, rotating to my left. Athletic as she was, Maria swung around as smoothly as if we'd rehearsed it.

Mr. Kelly almost lost his dentures at the sight of us holding hands, orbiting each other in the middle of the street -- thank God there was no traffic! -- a coppery-skinned buxom Hispanic woman and a familiar, tall skinny blonde teenager. He wound up watering his feet instead of his petunias.

I waved cheerily, left-handed of course, as did Maria, right-handed, turning it into a flamenco dance move. Totally into the spirit of the thing we went right on into a second orbit, then a third, me backpedaling madly to avoid going on my ass. With a look and a nod we came out of it, both laughing hysterically as we regained the sidewalk, waved goodbye and trotted on.

"Now that was teamwork!" I exulted.

"Indeed it was, Chiquita, I think you are catching on! Oh shit!"

"What?"

"A Black and White, just turned the corner two blocks down, heading this way. If they see me like this I'll never hear the end of it!"

"Talk about out of uniform!" I giggled.

"It is not funny, Chiquita!"

"This way! We'll take a shortcut home." I led her down a driveway to a backyard where we had to scramble over a fence -- a new challenge in teamwork, linked as we were. I mean, picture this, tall skinny me chained at the wrist to shorter, rounder, duskier Maria trying to negotiate a six-foot wooden fence, and we're both naked, of course! We coulda sold tickets!