Baton
by Pan
“Baton-twirling?”
My brother looked at me like I’d just suggested driving a rocketship to Mars.
“Why on earth did you put yourself down for baton-twirling?”
“I dunno,” I shrugged, wriggling slightly under the intensity of his gaze. “I just…I thought it would be a cool talent.”
“It would be a cool talent,” he explained to me, using the patient tone of a parent talking to a very small child. “It would be a very cool talent…if you could do it.”
“Right,” I said, staring back coolly, trying to ignore the tingle of embarrassment passing through my body. “So I thought you could teach me.”
Marko raised one eyebrow.
“Me?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I said, all but stamping my foot.
“Okay,” he shrugged. “But you have to do whatever I say.”
“Fine.”
“Great,” Marko said with a grin. “When shall we begin?”
“No time like the present,” I replied, hoping that he hadn’t noticed my red face. Why had I signed up for baton-twirling? And why was I asking my brother to…—
Before I could finish my thought, he’d grabbed my hand and dragged us into his room.
“Okay,” he said, after making sure the door was locked. Good one. Wouldn’t want Mom and Dad witnessing my embarrassment. “Get changed.”
“Changed?”
“No one twirls batons in jeans and a button-up. Do you have a leotard?”
“Ummm…I have a one-piece bathing suit?”
Rolling his eyes, Marko went over to my wardrobe, and pulled it out.
“Fine,” he said, throwing me the blue outfit. “Put this on.”
“But you’ll…—”
“I’m about to show you how to twirl a baton,” he said, a patronizing look on his face. “It’s important that I see what I have to work with.”
“Um. Okay.”
I didn’t want to argue with my brother. He was being so helpful, after all. He didn’t even have to help me with this. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if he even could help…—
“Now,” he barked, distracting me from whatever I was thinking about. I gulped, and began unbuttoning my jeans.
A few minutes later, I was standing in front of my older brother, wearing nothing but a bra and a pair of panties. I began stepping into the bathing suit, when Marko held up one hand.
“Wait,” he said. “You don’t wear underwear under your bathing suits, do you?”
“Of course not,” I spluttered. “Not normally. But…”
“You don’t want to stretch it out,” he said, making intense eye-contact with me. I nodded. The tingle was back.
“Of course not,” I repeated, and slowly undid my bra. Marko watched my breasts swing freely as I bent over to remove my panties as well.
A few moments later, I was standing in the middle of my bedroom, wearing the blue one-piece, feeling like a bit of a dork. Not nearly as much of a dork as I suspected I’d feel when I began learning the routine, of course.
“Great,” Marko said, leaning back on my bed. “Let’s start with the basics. Reach out and grab the baton.”
I did. It didn’t feel as cold or metallic as I’d expected…I really was a complete novice at this.
“If you’re going to do this, you’re really going to have to familiarize yourself with the baton. Run your hand up and down it a few times, appreciate how it feels in your hand.”
“Really?”
“Do it,” Marko said smugly.
I nodded, and did as my brother commanded. Again, it wasn’t anything like I’d expected—instead of a smooth, consistent shape, it seemed to vary in thickness as I got closer to the base.
He was right—if I’d just started the routine, I would have been completely disoriented by the tool’s unusual shape. This way, I could at least wrap my head around it before we started training proper.
“More,” Marko grunted. I glanced up in surprise—his face was slightly red. “A little bit harder. Faster.”
Confused, I obeyed, rubbing and stroking the baton with my soft hand, harder and harder. My brother let out a strained groan, before ordering me to stop.
“Okay,” I said, using the towel he threw me to wipe the sweat off my face. I’d known baton-training would be difficult, but I hadn’t expected it to be so grueling. At least, not so early in the process.
“That’s enough training with the baton,” he said. “There are two parts to a good routine—using the baton, and using your body. Let’s focus on the other half for now.”
“Using my body?” I said, a half-smile on my face. “Phrasing.”
“I know, right?” he grinned. “Ew. But I mean, that’s the best way to think about it.”
I nodded. He was right, I guess. The routine would be half about the baton, and half about me.
My body.
“You’re no dancer,” Marko said, “so it might be easiest if I just move your body through the routine you’ll be doing, start building up that muscle memory.”
“Okay,” I shrugged, raising my hands. “Whatever you think is best.”
For the next fifteen minutes or so, Marko talked me through my routine. As he did, his hands slid all over my swimsuit, and over every inch of my exposed skin as well. He bent me into all kinds of positions, some of them requiring him to press his body against mine as I learned the routine. He moved my hips, my arms, my legs, even my butt and my chest. At one point, he had one hand on the front of my mound, one on my right tit, and his entire body pressed up against mine.
“Is that a baton in your pocket?” I joked, “or are you just happy to see me?”
Marko didn’t respond. He had a look of focus in his eye, so I just shut up and let him manipulate my form however he saw fit, listening to his commentary as he did.
Finally, he seemed happy.
“Okay sis,” he smiled. His voice was slightly ragged; I guess this was a bit of a workout for him, too. “Do you think you can do that?”
“I mean, I can try,” I shrugged.
“Don’t think,” my brother reminded me. “Just follow your body’s prompts.
Marko lay down and pulled out my baton, and I tried to recreate the routine he’d just talked—and moved—me through. At first I thought I was doing well, as I ran my hands up and down my body, pinching my nipples through my top and giving my ass a sharp slap, but as I crawled on top of his body, his expression changed—the broad grin was gone, replaced by a faintly worried look.
I redoubled my efforts, pushing my tongue into his mouth, crawling on top of him, moving my swimsuit to the side, raising and lowering my body exactly as he’d instructed me to. Finally, a loud groan from my brother was accompanied by a feeling of warmth between my legs, and I realized the routine was finished.
“What’d you think?” I panted. Both of us were breathing pretty heavily.
“Good,” he said, flopping backwards on the bed. “Good, but not great. I think you can get there, but it’s gonna take a lot of practice—do you think you’re up for it?”
“Of course,” I beamed. “I can run through this every night before the talent show, if you can help me.”
“Mmhmm,” he smiled back. “Thatta girl.”
For a moment, a strange thought struck me. What talent show? My school didn’t even have a…—
“For good luck,” my brother said, interrupting whatever inane thought was running through my head, “why don’t you kiss the baton before you leave?”
“Great idea,” I said, sinking to my knees in front of him. “That brings good luck, right?”
“Uh huh,” Marko responded, moving his hands to my head. “Sure does.”