Geek's Revenge Ch. 02byCreamer©
Carla Anne Dawes.
Her pretty, teenaged face stared up at me, the black-and-white photo in her yearbook showing eyes filled with promise and flirtation, the black cashmere sweater she wore filled with hope – the hope of every male junior in high school to bury his face there someday. It was the picture of someone who had the world – especially the masculine portion of it – by the balls. Carla Dawes was a teenaged vixen, a cheerleader whose ability to shake her ass and wave her tits at anything with a penis and make things happen had inspired lust and jealousy for three golden years.
Seven years later she was a drugged out whore. So much for the promises of youth.
She had been a real cunt in school, the epitome of the stuck-up socialite in the Byzantine politics of High School. She had used and discarded everyone in her path, for gain, for advantage, for amusement. She had been particularly cruel, I remembered, to a small group of “plain Janes”, female science geeks and drama nerds, that had staked a claim to the largest table in the school Library. Using her popularity as a weapon she had picked on them unmercifully her entire scholastic career. Rumor, insult, innuendo, all were weapons in her arsenal. On more than one occasion I recall her reducing some of the geek squad to tears.
I had felt compelled to renew my high school acquaintance with her after encountering her on one of the city’s less-than-wholesome streetcorners. A quick fee negotiation later she had sucked me off behind an abandoned grocery store. She only charged me $20, but I tipped her $10 – we had gone to school together, after all. For $30 I got a blowjob from a cheerleader, only a few years past her prime.
But whatever nostalgic thought had driven me to open the yearbook hadn’t prepared me for the flood of memory that came with it. High school was three long years of struggling sexuality, testosterone poisoning and desperation. Most of it vanished in college, where my geekiness was an asset – even cool, at times. Most of it. But there was a residual stain of anger and resentment that lingered. The feeling of power and fulfillment that I had gotten from getting sucked by a cheerleader-cum-junkie was potent. It was revenge, pure and simple.
But it wasn’t quite enough.
Carla, or “Peaches”, her street name, had pressed her number into my hand before I returned her to her street corner. Apparently my ostentatious display of wealth had been as much of a draw for her as her tits had been for me in High School. I can’t help being wealthy – I was just lucky enough and smart enough to major in the right subjects at the dawn of the Internet Age, and wise enough when to know when to cash in my vestments. I was Twenty Five years old and had seven million dollars in the bank. I was still a geek, of course, but no where near the geek I was in High School. Or was I?
Here I was with an opportunity for vindictiveness like I had dreamed about for years. My adult conscience told me how petty it was to harbor such grudges – that was ages ago, after all. Carla deserved my pity, not my revenge. The adult thing to do would be to walk away, or, if I was feeling particularly altruistic, try to get her some help.
The mean-spirited, adolescent thing to do would be to take advantage of the situation, to vent my spleen and get my revenge on a selfish, self-important cunt like Carla.
Hmmmm. Decisions, decisions.
I considered dialing her number, then decided against it. I would return to the scene of the crime instead, getting her in her natural urban environment. I took the Mercedes this time, just to show here exactly how fucking wealthy I was. That was the hook for her, of course. The money.
I found her not far from our encounter the other day. She had apparently just gotten her fix for the day, her eyes half-lidded and dopey making me think of heroin more than cocaine. She stumbled along the street in faded bell-bottoms and a deep green T-shirt, the same tired leopard skin bag on her shoulder. She wore a leather cowboy hat and clogs. Much more of a hippy chick than cheerleader. I pulled up behind her and honked, causing her to look up suddenly and trip over an imaginary crack in the sidewalk.
It took her a few moments to recognize me in her state. When she did, she smiled.
“Hey, it’s the kid from the other day, David’s little brother. Howya doin’, man?”
I was a little disgusted that she didn’t remember my name. I ignored it.
“I’m horny as shit. Wanna suck some dick for cash?”
“I got a few minutes before my next appointment. You wanna go the same place?”
“Sure. Get in.”
She got in, and I almost regretted it. Carla Cuntmouth had apparently had a busy night, and one without sufficient bathing facilities. Still, the cheap perfume soon numbed my nostrils to the point where I didn’t care.
“Wow, did you get a new car?”
“Nah, just felt like driving the Caddy, today.”
“You have a Jag and a Caddy?”
“And a Lexus, but I’m thinking about selling it. I feel like I’m driving my grandmother’s car when I drive it.”
“Well this one is sexy as hell, Stud.” From Sugar to Stud. She was starting to get bold.
“Glad you like it, Carla.”
“Hey, where are we going?”
“The whole ‘behind the supermarket’ thing makes me nervous. I know a place.” She looked skeptical, but I think the prospect of riding in the Caddy was enough to keep her quiet.
“You know best,” she said with a sloppy grin. I smiled back and nodded.
“So, you keep up with Beth Anderson, or Kelly, or any of the other girls on the squad?”
She swallowed and answered slowly. “I did for a couple of years, and then we kind of drifted apart. You know how it is.” Meaning that ‘whore’ hadn’t been an acceptable social profession among her old crew.
“Yeah, I lost touch with a lot of people, too.”
“So what do you do now?” she asked, trying to turn the conversation away from her social plummet.
“Oh, mostly I sit around and watch my investments. I took a bit of a hit in the crash, but not too bad. I had a pretty well stacked hedge fund, and put plenty in munies, so I think I only lost about a quarter mil or so. Still, if you don’t watch it, things can sneak up on you.”
“Yeah,” she agreed, not understanding a thing I said. “Where do you live?”
“I’ve got an apartment downtown. Not the best neighborhood, but it’s coming back.”
“Still, rent must be expensive,” she probed.
“Rent?” I snorted. “People pay me rent. I own the damn thing.”
“You own a building?”
That startled her into silence, which she maintained until I pulled into the parking deck of an office building I used to work at. On Saturdays it was pretty deserted, and the top floor was entirely empty. I parked near the edge and got out. While she was reluctant to leave the fine Corinthian leather seats, she followed. I stood at the rail and looked out over the city. She did too, but not too close to the edge, I noticed.
“I love this spot. You can see forever up here.”
“Yeah, it’s nice,” she commented.
“How about you take your shirt off?”
“Yeah, do it. No one can see us. This place is deserted, and we’d hear a car long before it got up here. Go ahead, I want to see those fabulous jugs I used to jerk off to so often.”
She obediently started to slide her T-shirt off, revealing a nice Victoria’s Secret bra in black that had seen better days. “You used to whack off and think about me?”
“All the time,” I agreed. “I had a huge crush on you. I wanted to fuck you in the worst way. All of us geeks did.”
“Huh,” she grunted, slipping her bra over her shoulders. “Do they live up to your expectations?”
I considered. They were pretty nice, and I told her so. But they had seen better days, too. They were more pendulous than perky these days, but still very well formed. I didn’t mention the faint bite mark on the left one – that would have been tacky. Without asking her permission I reached out and felt the titties of my dreams. Her nipples hardened and she hummed in tactile pleasure as I hefted one, then the other, in my quivering palm.
Finally I decided I had to get down to business. “Well, let’s do this,” I said, unzipping my fly. She nodded and took off her cowboy hat, then knelt on the curb in front of me. In moments my steel-hard dick was out and in her hand. She stroked it absently, then shakily leaned forward and engulfed me.
While I appreciate a good, firm, active blowjob, I also was digging what Carla was doing now. I’m sure her drugged up state had something to do with it. Her motions were slow, wet, and sloppy, but still practiced. She wasn’t focused. She was barely conscious. But she methodically and slowly took me into her throat, and her lips and tongue provided enough native pressure to make the trip worthwhile. As the wind whipped her long dark brown hair across her face, her bare chest, and my bare thighs I luxuriated in the feeling of a warm wet hummer.
As we progressed, Carla began relying more and more on me for direction and guidance. She was content to be a passive receptacle for my pleasure, and I was more than happy to lead. After five minutes or so of this constant suction I finally took her by the back of her head and encouraged her to take me deeper. She endured this without protest, making a professional effort to deep throat me to my satisfaction. While I went deep, I kept things slow, making the most of my rental. I doubt she noticed – I think her concept of space and time was slightly off kilter.
As saliva poured down her face I pulled her head further and further along my prick. I couldn’t resist reaching down and pawing her boobs while she blew me. She moaned a few times, which added greatly to the experience and make me stroke into her welcoming mouth a little more intensely.
Suddenly I was back in high school, in the school cafeteria, and Carla was transformed into the vixen I remembered. When I closed my eyes she was wearing her maroon and gold cheerleading skirt, and her polyester vest with our school letters was cast aside on an abandoned lunch table. I was once again the geek of yore, and I was getting my rocks off in the mouth of one of the most beautiful girls in the school.
My actions became more violent, as I pulled her head into my groin faster and faster. I’d like to say that Carla choked on my massive penis, but the truth is she took it like a trooper, letting her neck and shoulders relax. I fucked her face thoroughly, feeling my aggression arise. I remembered all the times she had cunted out on my friends, on my fellow geeks. I remembered how she tortured the girls and manipulated the boys. And I remembered how she used to tease Mr. Farland, our homeroom teacher, to distraction during lectures by wearing micro skirts and magnificent sweaters.
As I drifted in my reverie I became aware of the sound of her lips on my dick a kind of rhythmic “glug, glug, glug”. I couldn’t stand it anymore. Bitch or not, this cheerleading whore had the mouth of a goddess. I erupted unexpectedly, and she swallowed it down without complaint. I think I surprised her that I was done, but she didn’t seem to mind. She wiped her mouth while she rubbed my dick, then sealed it away again behind my fly.
“Damn,” I breathed. “That was pretty fuckin’ good.”
“Glad you liked it,” she said dreamily.
“Worth every penny,” I said, taking a huge bankroll out of my pocket and peeling off two twenties. “The extra twenty is for the boobs. I told you, I always liked them.”
“Cool. Mind if I put my shirt back on?”
“Be my guest.” She slipped both bra and shirt on in moments, then took a cigarette out of her bag and lit up. Leaning against the rail of the parking deck she stared out at the city in a daze. “So, Carla, how did you end up doing this?”
“Stupid boyfriend in college,” she said, sighing. “Guy named Rick. Jock, of course. Never had any luck with jocks. Wrestling team. As soon as the season ended, he started doing coke. He shared with me, of course. But he started doing it every night for a while, and he ended up owing some people some money. They came to our apartment one night and beat the shit out of them. Then they got a piece of ass off of me to pay for the interest.”
I swallowed as I listened to her dispassionately recount her transformation from slut to whore. I couldn’t help getting another boner.
“The next day I was pissed, but Rick blew it off. He got me drunk that night, and after he fucked me he invited the dealer and his boys back in to take care of the principal. Things kinda went down hill after that.”
“Damn,” I repeated. “What was your major?”
She laughed, heavily flavored with irony. “Human sexuality.”
I laughed too. I couldn’t help it.
“For another sixty, you can fuck me,” she said, finally, catching my eye for the first time.
“I have a rule about fucking,” I said, slowly. “I need to see proof of a recent AIDS test or proof that you’re a virgin.”
“Well, I ain’t no virgin. I’ll get one, though. I’m about due. My . . . boyfriend has me get one every three months.”
She meant pimp. “You use rubbers, don’t you?”
“Yeah, with most of the scumbags I fuck. I’ve got a few clients that I don’t bother with. Pathetic nerds who still live with their mamas, family men, that sort of thing. If I think they’re clean, and they don’t mind paying extra, I’ll ride bareback.”
“Wow. Tell you what. I’ve got no plans for this Tuesday night. Bring me a fresh AIDS test and get cleaned up a little and we’ll have some real fun.”
“Whatever you say, stud.”
“Great. I—” I was interrupted by her cell phone, one of the brand new ones that plays four part harmony when it rings. Hers played “Lola” by the Kinks. Figures. She dug it out of her bag and barked into it:
“Yeah? What the fuck? . . . I’m with a client, you asshole. No, I didn’t get lost. Yes, I’ve got it. Will you chill the fuck out, please? Yes, I remember, nine o’clock. I’ll fucking be there, so get off of my fucking back! Asshole,” she finished, snapping the phone shut. “My . . . boyfriend, Bill. He wants me back home. Can you give me a ride back?”
“Sure,” I said, then waited for her to stub out her cigarette. She poured herself back into the car and we drove back to her corner in silence.
“It was nice, Carla,” I said with as much sincerity in my voice as I could muster. “Remember, Tuesday. I’ll call you that afternoon to make sure we’re still on. I’ll make it worth your while, I promise.”
“Deal,” she said simply as she got out. She didn’t even smile at me as I drove away.
Has simply everyone in America lost the customer service ethic? I thought as I drove back to my apartment. Tuesday. Assuming the cunt wasn’t rabid, I could enjoy her the way I wanted to, the way I dreamt of since I started noticing tits more than Star Trek. I was going to indulge myself, treat myself to some fantasy fulfillment the likes of which few geeks have known.
I had plans for Carla, plans that would make today’s face-fuck look like a friendly handshake. I was going to strike a blow for every geek who had ever gotten turned down by pussies such as her. I smiled, and started whistling the overture to “Battlestar Galactica” while I plotted.
This was going to be good.