My Dirty Little Tale

Anyway...He made her put her arms behind her back. She got this queer look on her face, but in the end, dumb Miss Prissi did it anyway.

Dick tied her up. Bet you could see that coming--I sure could. Of course, through the years, zip-ties and me have become good buddies. Yep, give me a pocket of zip-ties and a good sharp knife and I'm happy as a pig in shit.

Mr. Hardon used plain old clothesline, but the effect was the same. Miss Prissi was helpless.

Fine, upstanding vice-principal Hardon shoved Miss Prissi to her knees, and unzipped his slacks. Her big eyes grew huge. When Miss Prissi balked, mewling she couldn't possibly, Dick grabbed her by her narrow shoulders, yanked her face into his groin, and proved she most definitely could.

This was great! I just kept on filming, and praying my hard-on wouldn't explode. Hey, the film came out super. How'd I know back then the police would eventually find it and use it against me in a courtroom. Damn smart-ass cops!

Anyway, I needn't have worried--with all the sucking, slurping, and other little weird sounds two people doing fellatio make. Good thing too, cause pretty soon, I lost control, and came like the fucking Red Sea rushing back after old Moses had passed through. Hey, Miss Prissi was gorgeous, and I was fantasizing that stallion's whang she was sucking was mine.

Anyway--it got kind of noisy when Miss Prissi got a face full, and began begging Dickie boy to let her use the scummy bathroom and clean up. Damn--most of her face, and tits were drenched in cum.

Well, Dick freed her, and let her go into the bathroom. Once she closed the door, he sat down on the bed laughing, and started rooting through her things.

Pretty soon, Miss Prissi came out looking fresh as a daisy. The cum and tears were all gone; she'd even fixed her hair and makeup. Of course, her dress still had some pretty exciting tears in it.

When she walked over to the bed and sat down right next to Mr. Hardon, I started to get a glimpse of how things really were. Miss Prissi was sweet on the vice principal. I wasn't sure of Hardon himself. Seemed like a pretty mean, cool dude to me.

They started going at it again, only this time it's more like a typical couple fucking. I got it all on film somewhere. Dick must've forgot about the "no kissing" cause pretty soon they were both sucking face, and he got her dress open, and her panties dangling from one ankle. He began alternating between sucking her mouth, and her plump jiggling tits. Oh, did I mention he'd tied her to the bed first?

Anyway, they're going at it something fierce, and it isn't her lips he's sucking anymore, at least, not the ones on her face. I try to hold on to my own load, but I come again as those two are rocking and rolling the bed across the room. Damn! Some people like to screw!

Well, dammit, my stupid video tape ran out--course, I didn't notice because I was pumping away at my cock trying to keep time with the couple thumping on the bed.

They say all good things must end. Mine ended with a freaking phone call. They were still going at it hot and heavy when Mr. Hardon's cell rang. The theme from Star Wars, no less.

Not sure exactly who was on the other end of the line, but I heard things like, "No, Dear, Yes, Dear," and "A quart of milk, and bread."

Debra Prissi was pissed. Dick untied her hands, and she sat on the crappy bed, rubbing her sore wrists, and asking him silly shit like would they do it the same time next week? Maybe, he'd want her to dress up as a nurse, or French maid. It had to be a different place though--on that, she was emphatic.

Dick just grunted, and nodded, dressing faster than any guy I've ever seen. I guess he'd had lots of practice.

Dick Hardon was up, and out the door before Miss Prissi got her torn dress buttoned. I didn't hear him say another word to her--I guess he thought they could talk once he got her alone in school. He was driving away in his Lexus before she said anything--the last thing I'd hear come out of her mouth.

"Richard, damn you--you heartless prick!"

Now, remember I started out by talking about regrets, and what ifs. Well, Mr. Hardon was long gone, and the room grew deadly quiet by the time I took another long look at Debra Prissi.

Debbie was still on the ratty bed, one ankle still tied to the rusty metal frame. She was struggling with the knot--apparently she couldn't get it untied. So, there she was half undressed and gorgeous, still bound to the bed, and completely helpless.

I shoulda--I coulda--I hesitated.

She got the knot undone. There was a moment, maybe half a moment, before she bustled out the door almost quicker than Dick Hardon. My moment had passed.

A week later, ten miles away, in an abandoned mill, I had a great time, listening to a hitchhiker scream as I worked her fine body over with my knife. Betsy Rose, I think that was her name. It made all the papers, so it's a matter of public record.

She was my first. It shoulda been Miss Prissi.