Feeding Sarah

Feeding Sarah

I kept staring at myself, in the side view mirror, the view obscured by the steamed up windows. My face is half hidden by the doorframe of the blue sedan Thomas drove tonight. My round face was flushed, not the lovely rosy blush on pale skin of some teen model, but a slightly blotchy pink, contrasting with my dark black hair. That lovely Irish heritage showing through. The normal gentle curls of my hair were ruined, partially matted from sweat as Thomas hand roamed over my chest, pawing at me awkwardly.

About to end the attempt, one that was starting to grow tiresome even, I felt a tingle flash through me, radiating out from where his hand was against my neck, cupping my jaw and in the moment it felt wonderful as his lips brushed against my other cheek. His warmth as leaned over me was inviting. I closed my hand against his shirt, gripping it, pulling him to me closer, wanting more of it, to feel wanted, close...

And then his hand moved, and forcefully squeezed my left breast ruining the moment. "Oh fuck I'm buzzing" he mutters, shifting back to his own seat a bit. Grabbing my hand and moving it from his chest, down over his denim covered crotch, pressing it in while he worked his hips up..pushing the modest bulge into my hand. "You like that don't you, you want what I'm packing?" Thomas slurred, the beers he had just a bit ago making the normally awkward boy bolder.

"Thomas... I said we'd only make out..." I protested softly, but insistent, my effort to snatch my hand back stopped with a firm grip that continued to rub my fingers over the harsh fabric, grinding the zipper into my palms. The angle makes it awkward for me to try and sit up, as does his hand on my thigh, pushing between my legs.

"Thomas stop, please..." whimpering almost, his hand pushing my legs apart, touching the damp warm intimate space between them.

"Don't be such a bitch Sarah," his moan shifting to a growl as he gets riled up. His voice cracked just a bit. Thomas was one of the IT geeks at school, awkward but funny.. and I thought he was so nice asking me out. "I paid for the movie, and snacks, so show your gratitude!" his fingers clawing at my panties now, snatching at it, snagging some of my pubes as he tries to push a finger or two under it.

Tearing up, feeling ashamed and scared I pull away finally, clawing at the door latch and almost fall out when it opens. Thomas voice dripping with disdain, "Fucking tease, I thought you'd jump at a chance for a guy to touch you!"

I get my footing, awkward in my wedge heels on the gravel road, and walk past another steamed up car, gently rocking in the starlight. A glimpse of bare skin inside, auburn hair bouncing up and down... and I'm past it stomping away, angry and ashamed at what a nasty little boy Thomas turned out to be.

Tugging down on my skirt, adjusting it before hugging myself against the mild chill, tearing up in frustration at the 20 minute walk to the main road where I'll be able to wait for an Uber to take me home. I jump aside as a car...thomas' car growls past, spitting some gravel...

----

Getting home I let myself in the back door, quietly to get past my foster father who's probably asleep in front of the TV and head down to my basement room. I'd turned 18 just a few months ago, but couldn't afford to move out yet, had to finish school to qualify for my scholarships, so I stayed for now, until I could get away.

Reaching my room, I quietly close the door and sink down, hugging my knees against the door, shaking.

Thomas wasn't entirely wrong, I was grateful someone asked me out. Most boys barely look twice at me unless it's a view down my sweater, or my underwear is showing above my waistline. I'm not ugly, I know that, but I don't look like the popular girls, or those in magazines, or movies..or porn videos. I'm...plain. A girl destined to be a plump frumpy cat woman if I don't watch what I eat and stay active.

And that's why it stung so much, hoping someone wanted me for a change.

I get off the old blue shag carpet and step into the small bathroom, seeing myself in the mirror. My makeup is a mess, something the uber driver noticed but said nothing about. He simply handed me some tissues when I got into the car. The makeup was running from my big, round dark brown eyes, down over my cheeks, past my pink lips to my round jaw and pooling there a bit.

My blouse was missing a button now so I simply take it off, gripping the bottom and just hauling it up over my head. My black lace bra was a stark contrast to my pale skin. It's the next item to go as I turn on the shower to get the warm water running. I look at myself in the mirror, seeing the flaws. The left breast is a bit bigger than the right, modest b-cups with big dark puffy areolas. I've never met another girl with ones like mine, the nipple bulging out in its own little mound. I grab at my tummy a bit too round and soft, a large birthmark over my right knee dark and glaring in the sterile light of the bathroom.

I drop my skirt and shove down my black panties, kicking them aside when I notice the still wet spot on fabric. I spread my legs a bit, and reach down, running my fingers through the neat dark patch of hair to try and see the exposed inner lips peeking out from my mound, wondering if the bit of discomfort I feel is a scratch, fingers gently rubbing probing. My mind goes back to that hard warm pressure in my hands when Thomas forced me to touch him. Warming up I look at myself in the mirror, hand buried between my legs, nipples swollen, and that red blotchy flush in my face again.

I shiver, shudder and snatch my hands away from myself, disgusted at my reaction. That cheap nasty treatment in the car is not at all how I wanted to explore. And not with Thomas. He was nice enough, but he was to lean, like a scarecrow almost, and his face had those acne scars. He had nice eyes though, till he started talking to me like a whore.

I got into the shower, the steaming hot water racing over my shoulders, scorching my back with that wicked tingling feeling that makes you dance awkwardly till you get used to the heat. I grabbed my luffa and shower gel, working it into a lather then trying to scrub away the sensations burned into my memory.

The harsh squeeze over my tit, the fingers digging into my crotch, the sting of the zipper against my hand..scrubbing, scraping, body tingling and shuddering as I tried to replace the memory.

The bathroom door popped open, my foster father strode in like he owned the place, like I had no privacy. I froze in the shower, the frosted glass enclosure the only thing between us. I see the shadowy bulk of his form through the glass as his voice cuts through the rush of the water, "Toilets broken again" he says offering no apology, no hint of shame in his voice and turns to face the toilet, his shadow now cutting a profile view.

I shift to stand against the wall, trying to make sure even my silhouette isn't visible like his. The toilet always seems broken, and he just barges down into this little bathroom. I hear him groan softly as he stands a bit straighter, the shadow showing his arm down along his sides now, under the mild paunch of his stomach, disappearing near his groin... another stream of water just audible over the shower.

My skin crawls a bit as I see the hazy half shadow of his hands move near his groin, shaking..pumping a bit, then reaching down to grasp his pants and bring them back up. And just as quickly strides out leaving the door open....

I can't wait to get out on my own.

------

In the morning I go through my normal routine, shambling into the bathroom to brush my teeth, drag a comb through my hair and assess how bad of a hair day it'll be. Today, not to bad. The curls dried before I fell asleep last night, and they brush out to be more wavy today, falling down just past my shoulders.

I pickout out clean clothes from the hamper full of clothes that never make it into my tiny dresser. Some jeans with a few fashionable holes, just a bit loose. A simple t-shirt with nice flower design over the front, and a fairly loose sweater to go over the top. I just want to get through the day, not be seen, get back...one more day gone.

I head upstairs, and am greeted with a familiar sight. Dan, standing in the kitchen by the little island in his boxers finishing up his breakfast and reading a paper. The man still gets an actual paper delivered. Lowering the paper, and I see his heavy frame, the muscle of his youth gone soft, but still there. Wiry salt and pepper hair covering his chest like some 70's action hero, except around his dark small nipples.

He slides over a yogurt, open, with a small plastic spoon already in it. This is something sweet he's done for a while now, it's an expensive brand he introduced me to. I think it's his way of making up for, well, everything. It's always stirred up and ready for me when I get up. He said his mom always opened the yogurt for him as a kid. To make sure he ate it instead of just forgetting it, and he liked doing something like that for me.

I sat down and took the yogurt. I had enough time today to eat it and enjoy it at the table instead of during my walk to school. Scooping out a mouthful I savor the lovely creamy tang of the yogurt I see Dan smiling at me. "You ever need more of the good stuff, even after you move out you can swing by anytime" and he returns to reading the paper when I simply nod, thinking to myself that I really won't come back here after I head off to college.

Finishing the treat and grabbing a small pastry from the cabinet I head out the door, stating my brisk walk to school trying to get the image of Dan bare chested, hairy, rumpled, his boxers tented obscenely from the morning hardon all guys get.

-----

The cafeteria is loud, crowded, shoulder to shoulder at every table. Some tables are loud, guys barking out repetitive jokes, girls tittering and bragging about how good their diet is 'cleansing' them, and some tables just full of strangers staring at their phones shoving food into their faces.

And I just feel alone, head in my hands, heart pounding, thoughts racing. I just got my math midterm test back. Correction, "re-test" back. And I failed, again... And I need to pass my math class for some god forsaken reason. I'm going to college for writing, not rocket science. I need the class to graduate, and even worse, I need a decent grade in order to keep my GPA up for my scholarship.

Without the scholarship I can't afford the dorms, and that means I'd be stuck here.

----

Trembling with emotions I stood in front of Mr. Belsin's desk while the class was milling about right before dismissal.

"Sir...Mr. Belsin..." The older man was hunched over some papers and what looked to be a half eaten sandwich from lunch. I could see the balding spot on the back of his head, amidst the gray hair. He looked up, kindly eyes taking me in, and I saw him sigh,

"Yes Ms. Prichard?"

"I, I need to retake the test please..." is all I get out before he cuts me off.

"Everyone gets the one retest, department policy" he repeats, almost robotically.

"I know, i know but I really want to pass"

"Considering how much you space out, and write in that journal instead of working problems I'm not sure you do Ms. Prichard"

My face feels hot, flushed again I'm sure, eyes watering and my voice quavers, "I know, I'm sorry I just, math doesn't make much sense to me, like it's in a different language. And the tests, I just freeze, I can't breathe during them, it's...all gone then. But, my graduation depends on this, and scholarships, there's still a quarter left, I really will focus please..." and I collapsed into a chair next to his desk where students sit for help. Mr. Belsin doesn't walk around the room much, arthritis and a bad knee apparently.

The bell rings and students file out, some looking over their shoulders at me and the quiet scene of me starting to tear up before they simply leave, starting to laugh at some comment from their friends.

His hand lands gently on my knee, right over one of those holes fashion demands, and softly squeezes it, "Its..look..." and this time I interrupt him, words spilling out rapidly about the scholarship, the tuition, the gpa, my hopes, dreams...

"Ms. Prichard, if you'll let me finish" he says calmly, gently. "I don't do this often, but I'll talk to the counselors and see if you can get time as a TA spot to help me out. A bit of work, and practice and I'll replace your past assignments with better grades, a sort of alternative assessment at your leisure"

I stand up, smiling now, almost beaming, "thank you, thank you..ohh thank you, anything, you won't regret it..." I lean over and hug him, angle awkward with him sitting, leaning over him. His head lays against my chest for a moment and I feel his arm wrap automatically around me, returning the hug...

Repeating my thanks, I grab my bag and race out, not wanting to give him a chance to retract his offer... and wondering if I felt his hand on my buttocks but shaking my head, he's too sweet of an old man.

----

I threw my yogurt cup into the trash by the counselor's desk. I had to race to school today, having had a hard time putting together a clean outfit since I'd forgotten to do laundry. All I'd been able to throw together was the same loose sweater as yesterday, over a tank top, and a skirt I rarely wear, not liking how the fabric causes it to ride up a bit as I shift while sitting. On top of that, my bra clasp twisted, ruined when I tried to put it on. So I'm braless today. Thankfully the girls are small enough that it shouldn't be obvious under the sweater, but hopefully they don't show through.

Because of the wardrobe drama, I finally got to enjoy the yogurt Dan had made me while I waited for her to finish going over my schedule.

"Ok, so talking with Mr. Belsin, we can squeeze the TA position into your schedule 4th period, but it'll have to replace creative writing. That's the class you can drop this late without missing any requirements''

Looking at her, clean professional hair pulled back tightly, "no, no, please..thats, I... I like that class and I need that to help my GPA, I'm getting an A in that class!"

Looking at me with her piercing blue eyes ``Sometimes you have to sacrifice something you want, for something you need" she stands, coming around the desk, beige heels clicking on the plastic carpet protector under her chair. "But I'll see what I can do, maybe we can arrange an independent study where you still turn in some writing. For now, go to Mr. Belsins 4th period"

Defeated, worried, I nod, admiring the purple rose tattoo on her calf. Standing I leave the room, shoulders rounded, worried but hoping she can work something out...

---

4th period, I head to Mr. Belsin's room. It sits empty, lights off and I don't see him anywhere. Out of the corner of my eye I see his dumpy figure in a sweater vest come out of the restroom, air drying his hands. "Oh good! I take it she managed to move things around?" He smiled walking up to me. I nod, smiling, glad for the chance even if it's not as perfect a solution as I'd hoped yesterday.

"I'm looking forward to watching you work," he says, and places his hand on my upper arm, turning me away from the classroom. "This way to the lounge" he says, taking me up a flight of stairs.

Breathing a bit heavily from the ascent, "There are times I wish the math store room wasn't up here, nothing else is..." he grumbles and gets out a set of keys, working on the lock. Opening the old wooden door he reveals a simple 'book room' with rows of shelves and math books on it. Two small desks with beat up office chairs and piles of student papers are just inside the door. And across the way a beat up but cozy looking little couch.

Mr. Belsin takes a seat at one of the desks, and holds out a thick, ragged stack of papers. On top is one in bold blue ink labeled "Key".

"Have a seat over there, and correct the work. Circle where it doesn't match the key. Don't worry about points or scoring it, just find where it doesn't match"

I went over and perched on the edge of the couch, the soft fabric seemed like it would swallow me whole if I actually sat back in it. I put down my backpack, and awkwardly started sorting through the papers. Marking them wasn't hard really. Deciphering what the other students had written, and in what order was. And some of this handwriting!.

A drop of sweat landed right in the middle of one of the papers. The upper room wasn't ventilated well, and all the heat from the school below seemed to rise into this room. Placing the work aside and I take a moment to slide my sweater off over my head and set it over the back of the couch. I settled into the soft plush couch, and got back to working.

Pen between my lips I flip to the next paper, fanning myself a bit to feel the cool air over my bare skin and through the thin tank top fabric. A shadow slides over the rest of them...looking up I see Mr. Belsin, flushed, sweaty too and breathing hard.

"Ms. Prichard, I see you have other ideas on how to work out a better grade..." The look on his face, licking his lips, eyes focused down...down..to my tank top didn't look right for him, replacing his normally sweet expression.

I was breathing hard, aware now of how my nipples had swollen, pushing out with their large bulging cupped shape against my tank, and my skirt had slid up baring my legs, my thighs, way way too much of my thighs. Looking past him to the desk... the angle, oh god he could see all the way up my skirt.

I feel his hand cup the side of my face, my cheek, warm, inviting, soft...then glide down my neck as a tender caress till it goes under my collar to cup my left tit, bare against my skin.

"I think a good girl like you knows what to do next..." he says, fingers playing over my nipple, teasing them, sending fire out to the tips of my fingers and toes. And my hand, on it's own..rises to rest on the crotch in front of me, rubbing, just like in the car with thomas.

I need the grade, i need the class, i need to get out of here...my mind races, shocked at whats happening, sweet Mr. Belsin groping my tit, pressing his crotch against my hand..."we can always just return to class.." he says, that false sweetness in his voice making it clear what he's holding over me...

Trembling my thin fingers work at his belt, dark polish glinting in the light as the buckle releases with a soft metallic sound and I pop the button free. I rub my hand over it, feeling how hard he is, the zipper grinding against my palm before I pinch the little handle and slide it down.

Mr. Belsins boxers slide down with the pants, his pale legs exposed, hard turgid purple knob exposed, twitching... "lick it" he groans, his hard wrinkled fingers pulling at my nipple as if to milk it.

Breathing hard, fixated, staring at it, holding it gently. My ivory skin contrasts with the dark swelling flesh as it lengthens, almost unfurling from the wrinkled body. Skin pulling tight, the tip exposed as the foreskin slides back held by my hand.

Frozen mouth slightly open Mr. Belsin pushes on the back of my head, my lips meeting it.

It's so hard, and soft at the same time, squeezing it in my hand before the head parts my lips. Salty precum dragging over my red lips, staining my tongue, filling my mouth. My eyes are wide as Mr. Belsin groans and shudders.

"Fuck i'm so glad I stroked a load out right before you came to class" he growls. I try to pull away, turn my head to the side, the cock slipping out. A small spill of drool and precum slid off it to my chin, I can feel it burning on my chest as it slides down between my breasts.

"Sarah, you know what you need to do, you agreed to work on an alternate assessment to raise your grade"