Clique Ch. 03

After a couple of false starts, I finally, blessedly, brought the head of his cock beyond the border of my lips. It was thrilling. My tongue played all around the head, along its creases and ever so gingerly into his little slit. Saliva was accumulating in my mouth but I didn't want to make an audible slurp like my instincts were telling me to do. Instead, I just let the little trickles of spit run down his cock and onto my hands, a droplet or two eventually making it to the floor.

I was scrunched up so tightly in the small space. But once I was pumping Mr. Dory's wet shaft with my fists and bobbing my head just that little bit, I was, for lack of a better word, comfortable. This cock was mine and I was doing with it as I pleased, just as the girl with the giant fake boobies on the Internet instructional video had suggested. Bless her. I always study before a test.

Mr. Dory was saying something to the class, and I pumped, and I sucked. I heard the others laughing. Yes, he must have been talking a little strangely right then.

I squeezed a little tighter as my hands slid quickly forward and back, and I felt a jolt strike him. This was it.

I opened my mouth wide, but moved my face a couple of inches from him. I wanted to see this just as much as I wanted to taste it. I kept pumping, yes, yes, do it.

I was startled, despite myself, as his cock pulsed and the first long white stream shot fast along the bridge of my nose. So warm. I aimed him a little lower and the next sprays smeared a cheek and ran through my hair. I had to suck him again, to envelop him completely as he rippled, to assure myself a taste -- a fresh taste -- before it was over. In one second, the roof of my mouth was coated with his juice, and I let it all run down over my tongue as he waned.

I was so scared and turned on -- so horny -- as I closed my eyes and concentrated on the flavor. Not really pleasant, I had to objectively admit, but I found myself smiling nonetheless. Now I knew and it was his. But I couldn't bring myself to swallow; I don't know why. Just. . . not yet. My mouthful spilled down to the floor and puddled by my leg.

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I wanted him again and again, but for the rest of the class period he persistently would not let me stroke him. Even still, I watched his cock swell again in excitement as I kept reminding him with little touches and nibbles that I was there.

The final bell rang.

"All right, kids, have a good weekend, keep up the good work, and remember to, uh. . . be brave." Mr. Dory's voice cracked as he said it, and I could not have been blushing brighter.

My Honors English class murmured their goodbyes and weekend plans to each other, and at long last exited the room. I had gotten away with it... We had. I could soon clean up and make my escape.

Mr. Dory squeezed himself back into his pants, zipped up, and I heard him walk over to the door and lock it. I peeked out from under the desk, all smiles. He turned to face me, leaned against the door, and exhaled completely.

I whispered happily, "So... 'be brave'?"

He nodded and in a few quick strides, walked over to me, saying, "It's something I was taught recently by a little slut."

I brought my hand to my mouth and giggled -- it was the most vulgar thing I'd ever heard him say.

His face grew more serious. He reached down and ran his hand through my hair, matted with his juices. He stared. "Sometimes you need to have the courage to do what needs to be done, and even if it ruins me, I'm going to sit confident in the knowledge that this is what you've been begging for." His hand was now a fist in my hair, pulling me to stand.

"Yes, yes," I whimpered, reaching out to his face to touch him, to finally kiss him.

But I was denied. My cheek was brought down onto his desk quickly and firmly, my breasts upon that afternoon's paperwork, my toes barely touching the ground. Oh god.

"You're mine now. I'm through being your toy, and it's time to pay the fucking price for what you've been putting me through."

I wasn't sure this would be happening today, but I had hoped, oh god, I had hoped it would. I wanted to help him, to comfort him, to assuage his virile rage with my body, burning red. I reached down as best I could to remove my precious tiny panties, worn just for this moment, just for this man, my tears of joy on his desk.

I was too late. I felt a hard tug at my waist, then a terrible rip as the delicate lace tore and gave way.

He kept my head pressed down tightly, my eyes could focus only on an unopened package of batteries. I could not turn up, wanting so much to watch the man I loved.

He spread my legs wider then pushed his steel cock toward pookie, now undeniably my cunt.

One attempt to push into me, then a second, making my soaking, steaming insides stretch like they never had before, straining me down to the tips of gritted teeth. I let out a haggard breath and muffled cry. I could not take him all the way inside, not this soon, not this quickly. But I was wrong. A third hard push and he was filling me to utter capacity, and he did not hesitate. He was pumping at me steadily now, hard, thumping, and entirely relentless. He drove me forward and back, rubbing me against the shaking desk, and his hips smacked against my bottom, wet and firm. I would hurt now, and ache for ages, and I would do it for him.

Alkaline. Made in San Diego, CA. Size AA.

Please slow down. I want to remember this moment forever. Please make it last, make this act as beautiful as you are to me. Please, hold me close, kiss me, and caress me wherever you want. Please tell me you want me and won't let go. Please tell me you think I'm pretty; tell me I'm your favorite. Please tell me you love me and want to make love to me.

But those words came out of my mouth differently, in a faint, empty whimper:

"Please, please, please. Fuck me harder."

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Chapter 3 Postscript

Carlos' Letter

I parked the car in the driveway. Sofia got out and slogged her way to our front door, dragging a bookbag that looked bigger than her. I exhaled in my seat, tired and reluctant to even get out. Friday was my one-half-of-a-day weekend with no ball game. I didn't exactly have enough control over my life to actually get to decide what I was going to be doing, however. Vinton would be hoping I'd be the first one at his party and the last to leave, as he would do for me. And I'd do exactly that, of course, just as soon as I could stand up.

Treading over to the mailbox, I immediately dumped the advertisements into the adjacent trash can. One manila envelope was addressed to me. No, wait, not addressed -- it was just my name, block letters, black pen. No stamps, no return address. I looked up and down the street. Nobody was around. I opened the envelope.

I counted $2700, cash.

Once I convinced myself of what I was holding, I nervously dropped the money back into the envelope and tucked it into my bag, looking up and down the street one last time. I walked into the house to get ready for the party, without the vaguest clue of what had just happened, even less in control of my life than one minute earlier.

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Next, Chapter 4: The Pusher