Quantity Vs Inequality Ch. 01

*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself, utilizing Microsoft Spell-Check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.

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Kincaid Roberts stared in disbelief as Ashley St. Martin casually strolled to the ticket window and requested one ticket for the romantic comedy. They had seen the movie twice already and Kincaid had hated it both times. The plot was so contrived and the acting itself was so wooden it was laughable. But it starred not one but two of the latest up and coming actors that probably would not have careers in three years.

Ashley had said they'd see the latest Super Heroes movie; it had been out for three weeks and Kincaid knew that the Joy Four would soon shelve the movie for the latest release. The Joy Panorama Theater always removed the Super Heroes films in favor of new releases; Super Heroes movies tended to have short drawing appeal to a small demographic audience in the southwestern Louisiana area.

Ashley had promised they would see the movie; she knew Kincaid had no cash this close to month's end. Yet, the moment they stepped out of his step-father's truck, the truck Ashley was embarrassed to be seen in, Ashley said she'd heard the Super Heroes movie was stupid; they were going to see the romantic comedy again.

"Fuck! No, Ash, I, I just do not feel like sitting through that stupid movie again," Kincaid had thundered.

"Fine. See you," she said breezily and walked away.

Through the plate glass doors, Kincaid watched Ashley get in line at the concession stand. With a huff, Kincaid decided that Ashley could just walk on home after she watched the movie. Her deception stung, but what really galled him was her haughty expectation that he would dutifully wait an hour and half for her.

"Hey Bridges," Cheryl Fourcade said quietly as she walked past him, toward the ticket counter.

"Hey..." Kincaid started, almost saying 'Four-ton,' which was the nickname Ashley St. Martin had bestowed upon the very chubby classmate.

"...Cheryl. How's it going?" Kincaid said.

"Going all right. You?" Cheryl said, pausing.

She had fully expected Kincaid, Bridges to call her 'Four-ton.' After all, the handsome high school athlete was dating Ashley St. Martin, the undisputed Queen Bee of Kimble Academy. The perfect blonde with her perfect complexion and perfect height and perfectly proportioned body had seen the four foot three inch Cheryl waddle into their eighth grade class and had called Cheryl an 'Oompa Loompa' until attendance was called. Upon learning that the morbidly obese thirteen year old's name was 'Fourcade,' Ashley dubbed the girl 'four ton.' And the drones and those that hoped to be deemed worthy of being Ashley's drones giggled and followed suit.

Now, two weeks before the end of the most horrendous of her five years was about to come to an end, Cheryl stood in the parking lot of the local movie theater, talking with Bridges Roberts, a young man that had fueled many of Cheryl's masturbation fantasies. She listened, truly shocked as Kincaid described Ashley's behavior. Cheryl could not fathom Ashley's outright deception; didn't Ashley know there were at least twenty or thirty girls at Kimble Academy that would kill to have Bridges as their boyfriend?

"Well, I'm going to see that movie; want to see it with me?" Cheryl invited.

Cheryl had actually planned on seeing the same romantic comedy; she'd already seen it four times. The plot was full of holes and the acting was stiff, but the two male leads were simply yummy. And, the soundtrack, Cheryl was sure, would spawn at least three top ten songs, especially the theme song. But, if it meant she could sit in a darkened theater next to the blond haired, blue eyed muscled god Bridges Roberts, if she could pretend for an hour and forty three minutes that she was on a date with Kincaid Roberts, Cheryl would gladly sit through the Super Heroes film.

"I, I don't got any money," Kincaid said.

"I know. I heard you the first time," Cheryl said. Come on, times a-wasting. Yes or no?"

"Wait right here," Kincaid begged and jogged for his truck.

Cheryl watched as Kincaid started the truck and drove away. As she watched, he circled the theater's building and Cheryl laughed when she realized, Kincaid was hiding his truck from Ashley.

"All right; time's a-wasting," Kincaid said, jogging up.

Halfway through the movie, Cheryl found herself being fully immersed in the film. Heroes, she realized, were ordinary people that did superhuman actions, like her father who had died trying to rescue a family from a burning home. Super Heroes had super abilities, abilities that did not exist. But, suppose one did possess the ability to fly? Supposed someone did have the ability to run at the speed of light? Or stretch their limbs like rubber bands? Then no one would ever burn alive. No one would ever die. No one would ever stand next to her father's casket, feeling truly isolated and alone.

Aaron Fourcade had learned his thrifty ways from Alvin Fourcade, his father and Jenny Fourcade, his mother. He had passed that mindset on to his daughter. Even with the large insurance payout, Cheryl could not justify paying the exorbitant prices at the concession stand and had smuggled in a large zip lock bag of homemade caramel popcorn and peanuts. Cheryl added her own spin on her Grandma Jenny's 'Cracker Jacks' recipe; there were a few handfuls of semi-sweet chocolate chips strewn about.

She also had two bottles of water in her voluminous purse. The Joy Four charged five dollars for a sixteen ounce bottle. Cheryl wasn't about to pay five dollars for a bottle of water.

"Come on, I can't eat all of this," Cheryl ordered, nudging Kincaid's hand with the bag.

Kincaid smirked; Cheryl had come alone. She had fully intended to eat the entire bag on her own. But he gratefully took a handful of the sweet treat.

"Thank you," he said sincerely.

"Welcome," Cheryl whispered.

Toward the climaxic conclusion of the movie, Kincaid felt his pocket give a soft 'brzz.' He smirked; apparently Ashley's movie had ended and Ashley found out that Kincaid had not waited for her, like the mindless drone she'd believed him to be. Three more times as he and Cheryl watched the superheroes and villains in their battle, Kincaid's phone buzzed.

Of course, as the smoke cleared and a new day dawned on the large screen, the conclusion left little doubt that there would be a sequel to this film. Kincaid had heard through the rumor mills that casting had already begun for the next in this franchise.

"I, I'm worn out!" Cheryl announced as the credits began to roll.

Kincaid gave a hearty laugh at her reaction. He leaned over and kissed her on her cheek.

"Thank you. So, what movie were you really going to see?" he asked, watching as the other patrons noisily filed out of the theater.

"I, now how you know this wasn't..." Cheryl bluffed.

"Because you didn't know who half the people were, Cheryl," Kincaid said.

Blushing furiously, Cheryl admitted she'd planned to see the romantic comedy. Again. Kincaid thanked her again.

"No. Thank you. Now I got to go back and see this one from the beginning," Cheryl enthused. "I mean, seeing the commercials? I thought it looked stupid, but now?"

Kincaid's phone buzzed again. The lights came on and Kincaid stood up.

"I, so, uh, you, you like Call Of Duty?" Cheryl said quickly. "The video game?"

"I, I've never played it," Kincaid admitted. "Jack, since he got laid off, we just don't got money for any of that kind of stuff."

Kincaid saw in Cheryl's face none of the scorn or disdain that Ashley usually wore when Kincaid admitted his lack of funds, or Jack's lack of employment. They were living in a rented trailer, living off of Becky Newton's Social Security Disability check.

"Well, my dad was way into video games; I got it at the house," Cheryl said. "Want come over and play?"

Kincaid's pocket gave yet another buzz. Kincaid nodded his head and Cheryl smiled widely and gave him the address to the duplex.

"Eleven twenty one A Dorchester Road," Kyle repeated and Cheryl nodded her head.

With another look around, Kincaid jogged to the fire exit and pushed open the door. He stepped out behind the movie theater into the twilight and stepped behind the very smelly dumpster to relieve his aching bladder. Zipping up his jeans, Kincaid jogged to his truck. In his truck, he saw the numerous angry text messages and two voice mails from Ashley St. Martin.

"If I don't come get you right now we're broken up? Uh. No. Bitch. We broke up the minute you decided you was going see that fucked up movie again and left my ass outside," Kincaid responded, then blocked Ashley's phone number.

Kincaid parked Jack's truck behind Cheryl's 2018 Ford Edge and walked up to the front door. Cheryl smiled as she opened the door and ushered Kincaid into the small living room.

"I, so, uh, you, you want anything to drink?" Cheryl asked nervously.

"I uh, what, what you got?" Kincaid asked, noticing Cheryl's short pleated skirt and sweater blouse. Uh, Cheryl, it's the weekend? We're not in school. So, why you dressed like that?"

"Uh, because? Wedging my fat ass into a pair of jeans just shows off my ginormous butt?" Cheryl said. "I dress to be comfortable. I'm comfortable in skirts and blouses, not jeans and tee shirts. Yeah, if I looked like Miss Perfect Ashley St. Martin, then yeah, I probably would dress like her but..."

"God, I'm stupid. Forget I said anything," Kincaid said, slumping onto the couch.

"You're not stupid. You asked a question," Cheryl said kindly.

Kincaid now noticed the boxes stacked in a corner. He looked around and noticed how sparse the furnishing were.

"I uh, you moving?" Kincaid asked.

"We got Gratchley's beer," Cheryl called out from the kitchen. "Oh! Got this Barley Terling's; my dad drank one and said it tasted like piss. Got iced tea; its sugar free, got water...you want maybe some whiskey or oh, got this Vanilla vodka, um, Nulough's."

"That Barley Terling's; I like the Rye but I've never had the barley," Kincaid said.

Kincaid looked at the five foot tall girl as she returned to the living room, sixteen ounce glass bottle in one hand and glass of iced tea in the other. She handed him the beer and sat down a few inches away from him on the couch.

Her complexion was pale and her round face was dotted with a few pimples. Her nose was a few millimeters too big for her face, setting off her large green eyes and cupids' bow mouth. She normally wore her thigh length strawberry blonde hair in a ponytail, but right now, Cheryl's pink tinged hair was hanging loosely.

The short sleeved sweater gave emphasis to Cheryl's large, round breasts and slightly soft belly. The cream colored skirt swelled out over Cheryl's ample hips and buttocks, falling to just below Cheryl's chubby knees and her white knee socks showed off her thick calves.

"Moving?" Kincaid asked again, nodding toward the boxes.

"Yeah," Cheryl admitted, sipping her iced tea. "I, well, I mean, after my dad, you know, I, there's nothing here in Kimble for me. So when Tab Properties offered me one sixty for it, I said show me the money."

"So, uh, where, you going to college or..." Kincaid asked.

"Hmm? No. I might go later, but right now? No, I, when my Grandpa heard about my dad, you know, he had a big old heart attack; that's why I was out of school for all them days," Cheryl said. "I had my dad's funeral, then had to go up to Arkansas and bury my Grandpa; he's buried right next to my Grandma Jenny but my dad wanted to be buried here next to my momma and..."

Kincaid put the bottle of beer down and hugged Cheryl as she sobbed over her recent losses. Cheryl clung to him as she wailed. She did not notice his hard chiseled body or his clean, masculine scent. She did notice he held her, though, did notice his hands gently rubbing her back and shoulders as she cried.

"I, oh my God, I, I didn't even cry at my dad's funeral," Cheryl admitted.

"Probably in a state of shock," Kincaid offered. "I mean, he was there one minute, and then all of a sudden you hear..."

"I, yeah," Cheryl agreed.

Cheryl told Kincaid about losing her mother when she was nine. That was when she discovered the friend she had in chocolate and cookies and ice cream and Little Debbie's snack cakes. But when her Grandma Jenny lost the battle to cancer, Cheryl's depression deepened.

"In tenth grade? I was up to two forty. At five feet tall? Not good," Cheryl said, then indicated her pudgy body. "But now? I'm right at one sixty; I don't think I've been one sixty since eight grade."

"Well, good for you," Kincaid said.

Somehow, between the first and second beer, Kincaid and Cheryl kissed. Not the kiss of gratitude he'd given her in the theater. This was an open mouthed, tongue jammed into her mouth kiss. Kincaid found it exciting, how Cheryl sucked on his tongue. Kincaid noticed how much passion Cheryl put into her kiss. He noticed how her arms held him, how her hands touched him. Kincaid noticed how open Cheryl was in her posture.

"I, damn! You, you must kiss a lot, huh?" Kincaid finally said as they leaned heavily against each other on the comfortable couch.

"No," Cheryl giggled softly.

"Come on," Kincaid insisted.

"No; you're the first," Cheryl confessed.

"I, seriously?" Kincaid asked.

"Bridges, come on; I, how many guys you know want to kiss Four Ton?" Cheryl asked. "Why they call you Bridges anyway?"

"That stupid Meryl Streep Clint Eastwood thing," Kincaid said. "My mom just loved that 'Bridges Of Madison County' movie; Clint Eastwood's name was Robert Kincaid in it. My last name's Roberts? So..."

"Okay," Cheryl said.

"And some teacher obviously knew the movie and asked me about it and some dumb ass pussy started calling me bridges of Madison County and it got shortened to just Bridges," Kincaid concluded.

They kissed again. Somehow, Cheryl was urged out of blouse and bra. Kincaid had seen Ashley's breasts; but only as a reward for good behavior. He wasn't allowed to touch them very often, or for very long.

"Mm oh!" Cheryl moaned into Kincaid's mouth as his hands caressed and fondled her heavy 38E breasts with silver dollar sized areolae and fat nipples.

"I, can I, I need to kiss them," Kincaid begged.

In answer, Cheryl pulled out of their embrace and thrust her chest forward. Kincaid leaned forward and traced his tongue around her left areole while his fingers continued to tease Cheryl's right areole. When his tongue flicked across her engorged nipple, Cheryl let out a shuddering breath.

"Mm oh! Oh damn yes!" Cheryl hissed as Kincaid sucked her nipple into his mouth.

Cheryl gasped and grunted in orgasm when Kincaid lightly bit down on her nipple. A light bite to her right nipple produced the same results.

Cheryl's bedroom was clean and orderly. There were several more boxes in two of the corners of the room. Cheryl turned off the harsh overhead light and turned on her bedside lamp. The room was dark save for that one twenty five watt bulb. But even in the low lighting, Kincaid could see that the crop of curls on Cheryl's prominent pubic mound matched the pink hair of her head and eyebrows.

The smell emanating from Cheryl's very wet slit was of sweat and musk. It was a strong but not unpleasant smell.

"I ack! What?" Cheryl gasped out when Kincaid pushed her onto her bed and spread her chubby thighs apart.

"Ack! I, oh God, oh God yes!" Cheryl cried out then groaned as Kyle began feasting on her wet lips.

Cheryl squeezed Kincaid's head in her massive thighs when he began sucking on her pronounced clitoris. With a scream, Cheryl orgasmed, drenching Kincaid's face. After he licked and sucked her to another gut-wrenching orgasm, Cheryl weakly pushed him away.

When Kincaid eased his boxer briefs down, Cheryl goggled at the first penis she'd ever seen, outside of quick glances in her best friend Roberta's hard-core pornographic magazines. That friendship had come to a quick, decisive end when Roberta fell in love with Terrence Jefferson and moved to New Orleans with him.

Kincaid was six feet, two inches and weighed two hundred and one pounds, much of which was muscles. His penis was proportional to the rest of him, jutting out from his short crop of light brown pubic hair at a fat seven and three quarters of an inch in length. His hairless ball sac sagged down, holding two large egg shaped testicles.

"I, that going fit?" Cheryl wondered out loud.

"I, we, we don't have to; I mean, you, you could just suck it," Kincaid offered.

The first time Kincaid and Ashley had gotten naked, Kincaid could tell it was not Ashley's first time. She was just too proficient at sucking cock. And it did take him a few thrusts to bury his cock in her wet pussy, but after that, Ashley had no trouble accommodating his girth or length.

Cheryl had obviously never sucked a cock before. Kincaid encouraged her efforts and was soon hunching his hips in short jabs as her wet mouth sucked, her fat tongue lapped and her small hand stroked him.

"I, I'm about to..." Kincaid warned then groaned loudly as his cock began to spurt his load.

Cheryl gasped and gurgled then coughed as Kincaid blasted her mouth with his spunk. When she pulled her mouth off of his spurting meat, Kincaid generously coated her lips and chin with his seed.

"I, ew!" Cheryl screeched, horrified as Kincaid's cock pulsed, squirted another dollop at her face.

Kincaid couldn't help but laugh at the look on Cheryl's face. It was both erotic and comical, especially since her hand continued to pump his cock even as she looked bewildered.

In the hall bathroom, Cheryl wet a facecloth and cleaned her face. She avoided looking at her massive jiggly breasts or soft belly or wide hips. She focused only on her face.

Returning to her bedroom, Cheryl resisted the urge to shield her chubby body from view. She approached the reclining Kincaid and stood, unsure of what to do now.

"Ever do sixty nine?" Kincaid asked, pulling Cheryl closer.

"I, Kincaid, I I've never done nothing," Cheryl gently reminded him.

"Oh. I, yeah," Kincaid stammered.

'You, you want to fuck?" Cheryl blurted out, allowing herself to be pulled onto the bed next to Kincaid.

Looking at her large breasts, wobbling and jiggling as she flopped onto the bed, looking at the neat triangle of pink curls and Cheryl's inner lips, fat and slick peeking out through the pin fur, Kincaid did want to fuck. His cock jerked and throbbed at the thought of plunging into her heated crotch. Kincaid's cock made the decision for Kincaid as he rolled on top of the short, squat girl.

There was no hymen; Cheryl had accidentally torn the membrane away during a bout of very vigorous masturbation. Even so, it took quite a few thrusts for Kincaid to work his cock fully into Cheryl's very snug sex.

"Oh! Oh, I, oh yes!" Cheryl hissed out, feeling him fully imbedded inside of her.

On instinct, Cheryl's fat legs wound around Kincaid's narrow waist, holding him firmly inside of her.

"Ack, oh Jesus Christ fuck yes fuck!" Cheryl screamed out as an orgasm rippled through her insides.

With each short jab and each long thrust, with each wiggle of his hips, Kincaid's cock rasped against Cheryl's hypersensitive clitoris. Each movement of his magnificent manhood rasped along her sensitive walls, striking against tingling nerve endings.

Cheryl screamed more profanities, her fat legs and pudgy arms clutching Kincaid in a painful embrace. Shifting his weight forward, Kincaid increased the pressure against Cheryl's clitoris and she howled, then lost consciousness. Kincaid felt her limbs go slack and took that opportunity to jackhammer himself in and out of her squelching, clutching pussy. He watched her massive breasts wobble, jiggle and shake with each powerful thrust. Bending, he captured one of her tightly crinkled nipples in his mouth and lifted his head, pulling her fat breast away from her rib cage.