After Rita got turned out by Tyrone in the back of a van in the high school parking lot, she couldn't get enough. They got busted last Friday during lunch. Tyrone was cock deep in her throat, I heard, when the janitor walked in. Tyrone pulled out and Rita, a slobbering mess, asked for five more minutes. Her parents put her in a new school district on Monday.
Me? Presently, I am giving Principal Sankey a quiet blow job during a conference call. He took me on as an intern of sorts. I get credits and he gets my... services. The pallid color of my hand flushes red as I squeeze and pull on his black rod. It takes two hands but I like feeling its entire length with one. I can almost feel the blood rushing upwards, pushing small dabs of precum out of the tip. I lick it up, teasing him. We look into each other's eyes, as if we recognize our shared need for dangerous exhibitionism. He hits mute as some parent, I presume the P.T.O leader, drones on about some kind of fund raiser. He takes hold of big, fat cock. I sink further below him, where his cock towers above my face. I stick out my tongue.
"I want your cum, daddy," I coo from beneath him, his long shadow draped along my face. "Give it to me, daddy."
He obliges, squeezing several ropes of thick, viscous cum across my faces. It splats across my puffy, teenage cheeks. Rogue strands of cum streak my hair.
"Thank you, daddy," I say. He unmutes his conversation.
"I think you're right, Samantha, you should do what you girls do best: bake. It'll help put a lot of money towards the senior trip," he tells her. He hits mute again. He pushes his cock down, dragging it along my face, pushing cum over my skin. I open my mouth, trying to catch swabs of cum as he slaps his penis on my cheek. I suck the cum off the skin of his cock. He sheathes his dark knight, and tosses me a cold towel.
"Clean up. It's lunch time." And I do.
----
I eat my lunch in the bathroom now. Most aspects of my life have been overrun by the sweaty, sensual actualization of my darkest fantasies. Eating alone in this stall is my breather. I wondered if there was something wrong with me. I read online about a Frenchmen from the 18th century named Tarrare. He was a showman notable for his unbelievable appetite. He would eat and eat but he could not curb his own appetite. He lived his life ruled by a great hunger. This burden became a trade, leading Tarrare to stages throughout Europe where he would swallow corks, live animals, and baskets of fruit.
I'm pondering all of this when a few girls walk into the bathroom, giggling and carrying on in their boppy, teeny way.
"Oh my god, I heard that girl Greta has fucked, like, every guy in school," one of the said. I think her name is Rachelle.
"She's at least blown them all," the other girl says. Not sure about her.
"I mean, that's one way to get attention," laughs Rachelle. I hear her fiddling around with a makeup bag. "I've heard she's fucking teachers now, too."
"I'd be shocked if she wasn't." She's not wrong.
Rachelle lowers her voice to a whisper, "She got gangbanged at that party awhile back. I even heard the police got a piece."
"I guess Slut Lives Matter." They both laughed in a dumb, shrill pitch. I heard it echo against the tiled walls of the bathroom.
I finished my lunch and head to class.
-----
I'm sitting at the top of the bleachers during physical fitness when Tyrone approaches me with a white boy following behind him.. I recognize him as Anthony, who sits behind me in Algebra. He's a shy kid, a nerd. I've noticed him staring at my ass, darting his eyes away when I notice. He's a bit taller than me, though shorter than Tyrone, and overweight. He wears the kind of polo Dads wear, tucked into his khakis, which are straining to stay buttoned around his bulging waist. He's not obese, and would look better if he would just buy pants that fit him.
"Great, this is Anthony," Tyrone says, gesturing towards him. He smirks, embarrassed.
"Hey, Anthony. What's up?" I ask, flashing a smile.
"Anthony is gonna help me with my Algebra, which is real nice of him. So nice, in fact, I was thinking I could do him a favor." Tyrone gave a sly smile, and I could tell he had already promised me to Anthony. I looked down the bleachers towards the court, where the rest of my class was playing volleyball. It was Friday, so the coach hung out in his office and prepped for the game while we did whatever.
"What kind of favor, Tyrone?" I flutter my eyes and bite my lip, trying to keep eye contact with Anthony. He keeps looking away.
"Me and Anthony here have something in common. A special affinity for that fat ass of yours." He grinned and Anthony broke into a sweat, way out of his comfort zone. "I was hoping you could be his tutor for physical education."
I nodded. I pulled down on my too-small polo to show off my cleavage. I squeezed my tit with my left hand as I stood, turning and squeezing my right ass cheek as I walked down the bleachers.
"Sure, just follow me," I said, raising my short skirt over the top of my firm, round ass as I descended. I could hear Anthony plunk along behind me.
I led him into an empty office in the back of the girls locker room. It's for an assistant coach, but he'd quit early in the semester and the office had been empty ever since. Class wouldn't be over for another 45 minutes, which I figured would be six times over the time needed for Anthony to bust his nut. He walked in and I shut the door behind him.
"You know, I've noticed you staring at me in class, Anthony," I cooed.
"Uh, yeah, s-sorry about that. That's rude," he fumbled.
"No, it's fine. I like it. It makes me feel pretty," I told him honestly, hoping it would break him out of his discomfort.
"Yeah?" He responded, finally looking at me.
"What is it that you like about me?" He sat on the edge of the desk in the room, I walked up to him, placing my hands on either knee. I squeezed, gently. "You can touch me, Anthony. Show me what you like about me."
I arched my back to poke my boobs out, and then pulled my shirt over my head. I wasn't wearing a bra, and Anthony went bright red when he saw my tits for the first time. He didn't try to not stare, which I supposed was a step forward.
