A Little Iss Story

A Little Kiss Story

By PygmyCoho ©

Disclaimer: ALL sexual scenes are between one or more consenting adults 18 years of age or older. Oh, and they just happen to be women. If any of this bothers you, please sample some of the other excellent stories on Lit. Thanks.

This is a sequel to, "A Little Hug Story." While ALKS could be read as a stand-alone, it will make more sense if you have read ALHS. This story is more about character development than sex, so please manage your expectations.

I want to thank Jackie Hikaru for the invaluable editing assistance. The suggestions and input made this story so much better. One of the characters had an unintentional association with JH. That character's role was expanded a bit in editing to provide a nod, a wink, and a thanks. Treat yourself to some wonderful writing here:

Jackie Hikaru Literotica stories

Now, on with our tale . . .

_______________

"Ms. DeWitt? Did you hear me?"

I didn't trust myself to answer. I could barely maintain enough of my composure to remain upright in the worn leatherette chair. My eyes crept from the principal's name plate to his tie, his chin, and struggled to his glasses. I nodded.

"So, this is only a reprimand, It will appear in your file, and you will have to attend remedial training at the county level, but if you satisfy these stipulations you can maintain employment here." It sounded as magnanimous—and false—as a vacuum cleaner salesman's pitch.

"I understand. Yes, thank you," I whispered. My teacher voice failed me.

"Thank you, Ms. DeWitt. You may go now." He returned to the pressing stack of paperwork while I resisted an uncharacteristic urge to repurpose his name plate.

I closed the office door. Though I desperately wanted to storm through the halls to my classroom, I leant back into the smooth oak surface with a shudder. My legs weakened and my breath caught. Fiery needles prickled my eyes as I fought for calm. I refused to feel small, and the seething anger helped.

Linda, the secretary, asked, "Are you okay?"

I must have unconsciously channeled my profane wife, Rachael as I muttered, "What the

fuck

?"

* * * * *

After a couple of quick phone calls, Rachael's folks agreed to pick Cindy up for an impromptu pizza overnight. I wanted to think for a while and talk with Rachael. Alone. Half of the generous second glass of wine had disappeared before she arrived.

"Hey, Rosie. How was—"

I turned towards her, knowing full well she could read my expression. Rachael, my champion, would help me slay the dragon and we would save the queendom together. So I did what anyone would do. I crumbled. Tears spilled, and nothing would stop them.

She took my glass and set it on the coffee table. Being wrapped in her arms felt safe, felt like a blanket of loving warmth penetrating deep into my soul. I sobbed against her chest while she stroked my hair and back, and gentled me with "Shhh, Eileen Rose, shhh. You're okay, Honey. I've got you."

Her murmured endearments and loving caresses wove their magic and steadied me. I fell in love with her all over again, just as I did every day.

"I'm just gonna get some Kleenex, okay?"

I nodded, knowing I must have looked a mess.

She sat next to me and daubed my face, her irises full of concern and acceptance.

"Can you tell me?"

I sniffled and bobbed my head. "Got called into the principal's office this afternoon."

"Wait, sorry. Where's Cindy?"

"With your folks. For pizza. She's staying the night."

"Oh, 'kay. Sorry."

"No, valid question." Another sniff. "So, I was reprimanded . . . "

Rachael became an expert listener in our time together; however, her boundless patience could sometimes still surprise me. She nodded, eyes full of adoration.

"Because of—" My hesitation grew like an evil vine.

"Because?" she asked.

"Because of . . .

us.

"

Her eyes went from a luscious chocolate hue to brittle flint in an instant. "What?"

"All I can think of is the picture I have on my desk."

"The one of the three of us at the Grand?"

I nodded. She always called the Grand Canyon, "the Grand," as if she was on a first-name basis with a famous friend.

"I love that picture," she admitted.

"Me, too."

"So, what? Someone saw it and got pissed? 'Cause I was kissing you on the cheek. With Cindy holding two fingers behind my head? And that pissed someone

off

?"

From the building volume, I could tell Rachael with getting, well . . .

p-o'd

herself.

"I don't know. But I can't think of anything else that would involve the school."

"Have you posted anything lately?"

"No, and I reviewed to make sure. But we just haven't. Our social media footprint is smaller than anyone I know."

"Yeah, me, too. But, shit, really? Just from the picture?"

"I don't know, but I can't think of anything else."

"Maybe you shouldn't have had it—"

"

Don't

go there. Some days I need to see 'us' to feel grounded. To feel normal. To feel like I can do my job." I took her hand. "And it's getting harder every day," I said wistfully.

She studied our hands, and said, "I know. Still can't believe they took your books."

"Never thought they would."

"Assholes," she hissed.

"They took, 'The Collected Works of Shakespeare,' but left the Bible." I chuffed.

"The 'Good' Book? The one with selling slaves, ritual killings, misogyny, wars, hypocrisy? The

end

of the

world

? That book you can keep? But not Shakespeare?" Rachel shook her head. "Damn, that's cold," she sighed.

I reached for my wine as the quiet spread.

"I need one of those, too," Rachael said, rising. "Refill?"

I drained mine. "Please?"

She took my goblet with a smile.

My wife returned, sat next to me, and we clinked glasses. The tone usually cheered me up, but fell flat this time.

She knocked back a third of hers and asked, "So what happens now?"

"Reprimand. Letter in my file." I stopped as her face hardened.

"Is that all?" Her intonation told me she knew there was more.

"District . . . 'training.'" I set my glass on the table, noting it was already half finished.

"

What?

" Rachael sprang from the cushions. "For fuck's sake, Rosie, what the fuck does that even mean? They gonna, what—'deprogram' you?"

"I don—"

"Conversion therapy! Electro-shock! Genital mutilation?" She paced and waved her arms, fanning her flaming emotions. Some wine slopped over the rim. "What the fucking

fuck

, those

fucking fuckers

!"

I couldn't help it. I laughed.

She spun to face me. "

What

?"

"

What the effing eff, those effing effers?"

Rachael's perplexed look only made it worse. Giggles morphed into guffaws. "And your . . ." I flapped my arms, and dissolved further.

"What?" More wine escaped her glass as she flailed. "Shit. I spilled."

She grabbed paper towels from the kitchen, mopped her mess, came to me on the couch, and held me close. Her comforting warmth seeped into me like a magic balm.

As we finished the bottle, I slowly sagged until I was lying against Rachael, drained and exhausted, eyes heavy.

"C'mon, Rosie. Time for bed."

"Don' wanna," I slurred softly.

"Yes, gotta," she whispered, slipping out from under me. Slowly I tilted into the couch's arm, like a felled tree. She took my hands.

"C'mon. You'll thank me."

"Promise?"

"Promise. I know something that'll help you sleep."

"Promise?"

"Yep.'

"'Kay." I couldn't move, but I remembered I was supposed to thank her. "Thank you."

She tugged. "Come on," she said again.

"Ugh, 'kay."

Rachael maneuvered me to the bedroom, turned down the covers, and took off my clothes before slipping me face down into bed. I face planted into the pillow and I remember she turned my head so I could breathe. She covered me and said, "I'll be right back."

"'Kay. Thank you."

I must have dozed, because I startled when I felt her weight settle. "Umph!"

"Sorry, were you sleeping?"

"Dunno. May . . . beee."

"You just relax, okay?" I heard her rubbing her hands together. At least I think that's what she was doing.

"Thank you."

The covers slid down to my waist and her smooth hands spread across me. They were warm, strong, and slick. I smelled her favorite jasmine lotion, and my muscles immediately began to relax.

"Mmmm . . ."

"Feel good?"

"Mm hmm. Thank you . . ."

I heard her snicker. "You're welcome. Let me take care of you and you just go to sleep."

"Thank you." I sighed. It was the best I felt all day.

As Rachael massaged me, I must have dozed off again because I was having a wonderful dream. I was lying on the beach. The sun warmed my back and went all the way through me. I didn't feel the water, even though I had to have been half way in because those naughty waves were, well,

lapping

at me.

Wait, what . . .?

"Rach?"

"Yes." Damn, she sounded sexy slipping that husky whisper in my ear.

"Are you? Am I?"

"Right here, Rosie. You just relax. I've got you."

Rachael's massage had grown much more intimate. Her delving fingers rhythmically stroked at my core while her free hand smoothed and tickled my back. I lay there as limp and helpless as an overcooked lasagna noddle. Except no lasagna noddle ever felt half as good as my wife was making me feel.

The tide kept rising with agonizing beauty. I sighed again. "Mmm, so nice . . ."

"Good. You deserve some 'nice.'" She kissed my back with warm lips. Her hair swept across me, raising goosebumps and sending a tiny shiver through me. I felt her fingers, drenched in my pending release, curving into me.

"Ohhh . . ."

"Good?"

"More . . ."

She went deeper and her thumb found my throbbing pearl, stroking it in time with her penetration.

"Ohh, ohh, ohhh . . . good. Close . . . ohhhh."

"I love you, Rosie." Her weight shifted and her lips ran unchecked over my back and shoulders. Her breath, hot and sweet, murmured into my ear, "I love you. Just let go." She suckled the edge of my ear. "Let go, Rosie. I love you."

"Ohhh!" I remember trembling on the brink for an endless moment before slipping over, shuddering throughout my entire being. Her slow build gave me a languid, gentle orgasm that seemed to last for days.

"That's my girl, Rosie. Keep cumming for me."

"Ohhh, yesssss," I sighed dreamily, still riding that magical ocean swell, until it ebbed away.

As her fingers and hand left me, she kissed my neck. Rachael pulled the covers over me, trapping a luxurious warmth.

"I love you, my darling Rosie."

"Than . . . kyoooo."

* * * * *

I got the usual notice of a school district meeting, but had no interests in attending. It was only days after my reprimand, and I didn't want to think about the district training that had been scheduled for two weeks from now.

But I was getting more notifications than normal, including one from the school's union rep. I opened hers.

"Hey, Eileen. Heard you're on the agenda for the district meeting Thursday night. Are you going? Do you need me to be there?"

That did not sound good at all. I searched the meeting site and pulled up the agenda, but did not see my name.

"Oh, no . . ." There, on my second reading, I noted the first item titled, "State Law and teacher classroom management."

It chilled me. I went home early and prepared a talk I would have with Cindy and Rachael. I couldn't do this on my own, and was willing to bribe, cajole, beg, or guilt them into going with me. I even thought of crying a little, but realized that would probably happen without my having to act. I thought of texting, to get them home sooner. But as I sat in the kitchen the time to think felt necessary. I felt nauseous, too, as I waited.

When I spoke with them and let them know my suspicion of what the agenda item was, they didn't hesitate.

"We'll be there," Rachael told me.

"Absolutely, Mom," Cindy seconded, "We got your back."

* * * * *

The School Board meeting was called to order and, after the preliminary blessing, Pledge of Allegiance, and acceptance of the last meeting's minutes, things started.

"We need to address an incident that happened since our last meeting," the Chair intoned. "It seems as though we had an issue that got a complaint against one of our teachers. Let me reiterate that state law prohibits any form of inappropriate discussions, displays, and any sort of 'indoctrination' of our students. Ms. Jude, I believe you wanted to speak to this, unfortunate, incident."

Ms. Jude was recognized to speak.

"The complaint stemmed from a photograph on the teacher's desk that a family found offensive. The teacher in question," she continued, looking directly at me, "has had a letter of reprimand placed in her file."

"Is that all?" someone shouted from near the front of the room.

The Chair said, "That will be on her record for the time she works here—"

"And if it happens again," Jude's voice rose over the mumbled din, "she

will

be terminated."

Now I am not one for believing that violence solves problems, but the smug look on her face was a powerful provocation.

"And," she continued, "Her license to teach in the state could be revoked. Our governor is very interested in protecting our children from any such harm. We need to keep them from being dragged to the dark side."

The murmuring began to settle, with some of the audience actively nodding in agreement.

"What's

wrong

with you?"

Dammit, that was Cindy. I remember thinking,

she should

not

be talking to the Board.

"What has either of my Moms ever,

ever,

done to you?"

"Cindy," I said, using my mom, "caution" tone.

"No, Mom, you always told me to speak up—"

"Sit down, child!" The Chair banged his gavel.

Rachael shot to her feet. "Don't you talk to her like that!" she shouted.

"—when people are being unfair. Right?"

The expression on her face—in her eyes—pierced my heart.

"Right, Mom?" Her face shone like a beacon.

"Yes, baby." I took her hand, and said, "Yes, Cindy. I'm so proud of you honey."

"Love you, Mom."

I'm still not sure what yanked me back into the present, but the volume in the room had risen another notch or two. Who am I kidding—it swelled to eleven, with shouts, rude gestures, and gavel banging.

Then one voice above the chaos, "Clear the room! Officer, clear the room right now, dammit!"

The look on Ms. Jude's face, one of "I-told-you-so" satisfaction, was chiseled in my mind. Her insufferable expression seemed to say, "I have the power here; I'll use it as I see fit. And there's nothing you can do about it."

Much later, when I calmed down, I was uncertain whether that's what her face actually said. But I still wanted to slap it nonetheless.

* * * * *

News of the meeting spread through the local outlets, dominating the cycle for a few days. I wanted to curl into a deep hole and stay down until things returned to normal. I also hoped it would not affect my job any more than it already had.

Sometimes, optimism is a set-up for crushing disappointment.

I was cooking dinner when my phone rang.

"Rachael?" Can you get that, please?"

"Gotcha. Hello?" A pause. "Just a minute."

"Rosie, it's the school." She looked at my dinner-prep hands, and mouthed, "Speaker?"

I nodded.

"This is Ms. DeWitt."

"In light of the school board meeting," the principal's voice began without any pleasantries, "And with a recommendation from the school district itself, you are being placed on suspension—"

My knees got weak and I barely made in to a chair, leaving a doughy handprint on its back.

"—for one week. Following your return, you will also be placed on probation for two months. Do you have any questions?"

I sat stunned. Rachael, tight jawed and trembling, barely contained what was sure to be a nuclear reaction.

"No."

"Good." The line went dead.

"Fuck!

Worthless monkey spunk fucking motherfuckers!"

She saw my face and sat close, wrapping me in her comforting embrace while I cried.

* * * * *

I felt broken and brittle. It had been more than a month into my probation when things took a turn . . .

"Breaking news: A scandal is brewing around a school board member, Alicia Jude. We go live to Mike Allen outside the school district office."

"Thank you, Sam. Alicia Jude, an adamant voice against LGBTQIA+ students and teachers, has allegedly been in an intimate relationship with a woman."

The screen cut to a grainy picture of two women sharing a little kiss. One of them was plainly Alicia Jude.

"This has apparently been going on at least since last fall," the reporter continued. "Ms. Jude could not be reached for comment, but we were able to speak briefly with Jackie Williams, Ms. Jude's alleged romantic interest, in this exclusive Seven News interview."

The screen switched abruptly to another shot. The camera jostled as it zoomed in on a woman. She appeared to have just left a building—a bank, maybe—and looked more than a little surprised. The newsman shouted, "What can you tell us about Alicia Jude?"

The woman's face went ashen in an instant. "Oh, my God, is she all right?"

"Is she your lover?"

The camera zoomed tighter to catch every emotion. Her face changed from worry to relief, from realization to fear to anger, all in less than two seconds.

"

[Bleep]

you!" she shouted at the reporter. Without another look at the camera, she ran. The camera operator gave chase before the screen jerked and sagged toward the ground, and the base of a large light pole. The scene cut to black, then back to the live feed.

"We could get no further comment from Ms. Williams."

"Was Jerry attacked?"

"Um, no. He— He's fine."

"Well, thank goodness for that. Thank you, Mike. In other news . . ."

Rachael shut off the tablet. "Well, shit. How about that?"

All I could do was stare and give the tiniest nod. "Wow."

* * * * *

A couple of weeks later, I felt déjà vu as Rachael called, "Rose, you need to see this. Rosie!"

"Wha . . . Oh, no."

Rachael had her tablet turned towards me and there, within its tiny frame, was our daughter. On the local news simulcast. There was Cindy. Talking. To a reporter.

"Turn it up."

Rachael had the volume coming up without being told.

"—who you love. Shaming someone for that is wrong," Cindy told the reporter.

"But isn't Ms. Jude the ex-schoolboard member you've had trouble with in the past. Didn't she try to fire your, um, Eileen De Witt, your mom?"

In the background the protestors could be heard chanting, "Love is love, let her love! Love is love, let her love!" I recognized many of Cindy's friends—girls and boys.

Cindy was nodding even as she answered, "Yes, but . . . Excuse me." Cindy called to someone off camera, "Allie, change the chant to 'Let

them

love.' Can you, please?"

Allie appeared just in frame. "Got it. That's better anyway."

The chant died, then arose with the altered wording, as Cindy resumed. "What we tried to tell her is the same thing I just told you. Love is precious. Love is special. And love should never be weaponized to hurt people. It's true for my Moms, and it's true for Ms. Jude, and for her partner, Ms. Williams."

"Oh, shit," Rachael breathed.

"Yeah, shit," I echoed. I could feel the tears starting, tears of pride. Rachael looked at me with tears of her own. She wrapped her arms around me in a tight hug. I cherished each and every one of her hugs even since our first one, so many years ago. But in this one I felt my heart swell for our daughter. I'm sure Rachael felt it, too.

"We did good, Rosie."

"So good, Baby."