The Big Bad Rick Wolfe

The following story is a fantasy focusing strongly on themes of inadequacy, humiliation, and cuckoldry. All the characters that appear in this story are 18 or older.

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Johnny Clay: the unlucky hero of this story. Average American boy in every way.

Erica Flowers: Johnny's girlfriend. Short red hair, nice tits, and a BIG ass. Popular girl, cheerleader, and star tennis player.

Rick Wolfe: new boy in school, a delinquent thug and tattoo artist. Very dangerous and sexy.

Vanessa Lopez: lovely Latin teacher. Large breasts, saucy attitude. Considers herself to be Erica's 'Auntie.'

Leyla Baba: shy Muslim girl with a rocking body. Erica is her best and only real friend.

Lily Monday: Erica's oldest friend and rival. Curly blonde hair, blue eyes, and all-American centerfold material.

Chad Jefferson: tall, handsome, blonde hair, but kinda slow. All-American 'should-be' stud of the school.

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"I think I need a new uniform," my girlfriend Erica whispered to me, tugging at the tail-end of her little white skirt, trying to cover as much of her perky, bubble butt as possible. "This one just keep . . . I don't know . . . riding up?"

"I think it looks great," I said, smiling from ear to ear.

Erica rolled her eyes and smiled. "You would, perv. I saw that hard-on you were sporting in the bleachers. Way to distract me by the way. I almost lost the match to the snotty bitch from River High because of that big dick of yours."

"You wiped the floor with her, babe. That bitch didn't stand a chance against the Tennis Queen of Woodland High."

"Aww," she smiled coyly. "I guess that makes you my king, doesn't it Johnny." She stood up on her tippy-toes and wrapped her arms around my neck, kissing me with those pink, puffy lips of hers, the ones that were always slightly puckered; lips that had never worn or ever needed lipstick. We tongue-wrestled for almost a minute there in the hallway of our high school, her perky breasts pushing into my hard chest, and my hands gliding down the athletic arch of her back, cupping her goddess-level buttocks in my hands, the skirt of her tennis uniform quickly slipping up into a belt. She wiggled in my grasp, surprised by being groped in the main hall, but it was already two hours after school ended, and the place was deserted. She was sweaty and sticky after her intense match, especially her panties, but the raw smell of her turned me on so fast my six inch cock felt ready to snap.

"Babe," I huffed, breaking out hot kiss. "Gimme a handjob."

Erica's big green eyes widened and she tried to suppress and an awkward smile. "What . . . right now? Here?"

"Please!" I almost whined. Luckily I knew Erica thought I was kind of cute when I whined. "Damn thing won't go down. Watching you bounce around the tennis court in your tiny little skirt, grunting like your being fucked hard every time you hit the ball . . . shit . . . it hurts babe. I need it."

I wasn't joking. My cock was pushing seven inches it was so hard, and my jeans did not have enough room to accommodate it. There was only one way to put this snake back in its hole, and that was coaxing the venom out.

Erica danced on the tips of her toes and gasped in frustration, looking back and forth just to make sure no one was watching. "But we're already late for your committee meeting," she whispered.

"Ms. Lopez knows you had a match, and Leyla can handle one committee meeting without you, Little-Miss-Over-Achiever," I teased, squeezing her juicy ass-cheeks with every syllable.

Erica grunted and punched me in the shoulder, feigning protest, but the sly little smile from her puckered lips told me one thing: I was about to get a handjob.

"Alright," she giggled. "Let's find a closet or something."

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There had never been any doubt in my mind of course, I knew what sway my dastardly charms had over Erica, and although we hadn't gone 'all the way' yet I never went without a helpful handjob or occasionally blow. No blue balls for this stud.

Few people had any idea how down Erica was for shit like that. Erica had always been an over-achiever, a classic girl-next-door with a 4.0 GPA, several extracurricular activities under her belt as well, like tack-and-field, swimming, varsity cheerleading, and especially tennis, a sport at which she dominated so hard there was talk of her going pro, not to mention the black belts she had in judo and karate. And to top it all off she was beautiful. Short red hair that seemed to move with her every joyous, expressive gesture, her brilliant smile, her perfect green eyes, her toned athletic body, her firm breasts that didn't need a bra to stay afloat, and finally (the pièce de résistance) a big heart-shaped ass that would have made any pornstar a top-tier attraction. The problem she was having with her tennis uniform was not unique. Her big butt seemed to push away clothing like there was a force-field around it. Panties got bunched up into thongs, shorts gut bunched up into panties, and skirts seemed to peel up like the foreskin of a penis retreating from a hardening cockhead. That ass simply could not and would not be contained.

I was frankly amazed that such a 'ten' was willing to date a guy like me, a semi-loser who barely came in third at swim-meets and didn't set any records at track. But I knew why she liked me. I was a cocky jerk to her, I picked on her, and I teased her. No one else ever treated the 'Tennis Queen' that way, and I guessed it excited her. I remember the first time I worked up the nerve to talk to her. She was talking to Chad Jefferson, the varsity football team's star quarterback, a really handsome guy with a perfect 'Captain America' sort of reputation, all chivalry and manners and shit like that. He had been trying to flirt with her I guess, comparing notes about their workout routines (she was asking about doing more cardio), and I went right up to her and interrupted the conversation with . . . "Well don't work-out too much, some guys like a girl with a fat-ass like yours," and I slapped her right across her big butt so hard it echoed in the stadium, this popular girl I had never spoken to before in my life, this girl who EVERYONE said should be dating Chad because they'd be SUCH a fucking cute couple.

The look she had given me was priceless, her mouth and eyes popped open in big circles, and Chad went so red in the face I thought his head might pop. For a second I had really worried that I had just committed the greatest faux-pas in my life, but not ten minutes later Erica was giving me the most epic blowjob ever behind the gym. We weren't very well hidden, and when Chad came looking for Erica he found her, kneeling on her sweater, my balls slapping against her chin, my hand tangled in her hair. I came so hard that her cheeks swelled up like a chipmunk and she swallowed my nut (which was the absolute only time she has ever done that) and all if it right in front of Chad, the guy who EVERYONE said she should be dating, because they'd look SO fucking cute together.

The cherry on the cake had been when I she popped off my cock and I shot two more gushes of spunk onto her chest, and just she turned to Chad and said in the most nonchalant way "Can you go get me a paper towel or something?"

I had fallen in love with her right then, and I was falling in love with her right now as she jerked me off in the janitor's closet.

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Back to the present.

I'm standing on a dirty, musty closet with a mop sticking into my back, but I am in heaven, and there is an angel kneeling before me. What had started as a mercy-handjob for my aching cock had turned into a sloppy, noisy blowjob. For some reason the hornier I get the harder it is for me to cum, like my balls just clench up or something and the spunk can't get out, which means Erica has to work harder and harder to pop it off.

After five minutes of jacking me off with her spit-covered hands like she was trying to polish a rusty pipe she grunted and peeled off her tennis top, her perky tits bouncing out like peachy globes. I mauled them for a minute, even lowering my mouth over one of her nipples and sucking hard, but she pushed me away and dropped her top on the dirty ground, kneeling on it so she wouldn't scrape her knees.

Erica had a determined look on her face, like a soldier on a mission, but with a cocky sneer. She was going to bust my nut no matter what, whatever it took. The over-achiever in her was coming out, aroused by the challenge of a fat dick that just won't spit it up for whatever reason. She jacked my cock like she had something to prove, like she was being tested and this was her chance to get into Harvard, and all she needed was a letter of recommendation written in my cum all over her face.

Erica wrapped her lips around my helmet and started popping on and off of it with a powerful suction, filling the closet with loud smacks. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! She let go of my shaft with one hand and started playing with my balls (something she barely ever did).

"C'mon Princess," I teased her. "You got all those trophies and black belts in your room, and you can't even suck one cock right?"

She bit me, not hard, but enough to make me gasp. She looked up at me with fire in her eyes. Even with my dick in her mouth it was almost as if she were saying "I'll show you what I can do, you bastard." I had done it now. I had woken up the beast in her. She reached up and clenched my ass, and slowly, ever so slowly, began to slide her mouth down the thick shaft of my cock, her throat bulging a little as my helmet passed her tongue. She choked a little, her gag reflex fighting against the last two inches, but then it happened: I felt her chin touch my balls.

BOOM!

That was the ticket. I started to gasp, almost whimper really, as my body stiffened and melted at the same time. I grabbed the sides of her head and stated to shake her head back and forth, causing Erica to loudly slurp and choke over my shaft, drooling big strands of spit all over her chest as she nearly vomited. I was sure that I was hurting her, but I didn't care. This was the most intense orgasm of my life, and I was going to live it to the fullest.

"Holy shit . . . Erica . . . FUCK!!" I cried, a tear actually rolling down my cheek, and my cock swelled in her throat. Thrusting deep, I must have shot the first blast right into her gut, but the kickback was enough to start sliding out, and every inch of her throat was coated in blast after blast of hot, sticky boy-honey. She choked again and two big bubble of semen popped out of her nose. Her green eyes went cross, her cheeks swelled, and when my cock finally exploded from her mouth it did so with a volcanic eruption of cum, coating her face and oozing onto her breasts.

Erica was gasping, crying, and shuddering as she struggled to breathe through the semen clogging her throat, but I'll be damned if she didn't grasp my dick and flog every last drop out, squeezing the last of my load onto her lips.

Erica smiled up at me, licking her lips even as more cream oozed out of her mouth. "Feel better, baby?"

"Erica . . . oh baby," I gasped. "Thank you. That was the most fucking intense thing of my life."

"So intense you didn't even see me open the door," a new voice said.

Erica and I gasped and looked to see that indeed the door to the janitor's closet was open, and standing there was the busty silhouette of Ms. Lopez, our homeroom teacher, advisor of the Prom Planning Committee, and a longtime friend of Erica's mother. 'Longtime' as in rumor was they were lesbian lovers in college. Erica even called her 'Auntie.'

Ms. Lopez was a gorgeous woman with long, curly black hair, flawless brown skin, and a stack of tits that had a funny habit of breaking whatever she was wearing if she so much as inhaled too much. Once she had sneezed while lecturing in class, and her blazer, blouse, and even bra all popped open right in front of everyone, flashing for the briefest of moments the most perfect brown nipple I had ever seen. Even now her blouse of the day had already lost the top three buttons, and her cleavage was so exposed I could see that she was wearing a purple bra with a little pearl clasp.

Despite being beautiful, she was also very intimidating, and she was standing with a big frown on her face while her hands perched up high on her curvy hips. Her high-heeled shoe was tapping loudly against the floor.

"Hey Auntie," Erica said, sounding very awkward, but also a little smug. "You . . . you're not going to tell mom about this . . . are you?"

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Ms. Lopez was chuckling to herself as she led me back to the committee room like some wayward puppy. Erica she had allowed to go to the locker-room and shower off. No amount of paper towels was going to get rid of the smell of that amount of spunk.

I had been worried that 'Auntie' Lopez was going to kill me . . . LITERALLY . . . like she was going to wrap my head in those big tits of her and pop it like grape. I briefly hallucinated that she and I were in a video game like Mortal Kombat or something, and she was beating the shit out of me while wearing nothing but a thong. A big voice boomed "FINISH HIM" and she wraps her tits around my head and SPLAT!

Oddly enough the thought kind of got me hard again.

"So . . . so am I getting expelled or what?" I asked.

Ms. Lopez signed and turned around, looking me over with an evocative smile on her face. "No. I should report you, of course. Both of you, but I'm going to admit something to you," she said, sauntering up so close her perfect breasts nearly pressed against my chest. I could smell her perfume. Lilac. "I'm a little biased when it comes to Erica, and not just because I use to eat her mother's pussy."

I was stunned that Ms. Lopez so frank with me. I mean . . . she had always been the 'cool' teacher, the one the girls went to talk to and the boys openly worshipped, but she had never treated me like anything other than a regular student. Had throat-fucking her pseudo-niece won me some sort of respect?

Lopez tapped my chest. "That girl has bright things in her future, and I just want her to be happy. Have you guys fucked yet? Not just oral, I obviously saw how much she takes after her mother when it comes to cocksucking. I mean pee-pee in her gee-gee?" She laughed a little.

"No," I said, blushing.

Ms. Lopez looked a little relived. "Well . . . if you do, just promise me you'll wear one of these," she said, producing a pink condom from out of thin air and waving it in front of my face. I reached up for it, but she swiped it away and then (REALLY) tucked it down the front of my pants, her hand making contact with my semi-erect cock.

"Let me know if you need more," she whispered, winking. "But for now, get your ass back to class."

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I stumbled back into class in a daze, Ms. Lopez strutting back to her desk with a wry smile on her face that only I understood, or would ever believe. The condom was nestled between my cock and my balls, right where she had tucked it, and it felt weird, but also extremely arousing.

The class had about twenty or so people in at, all members of the Prom Planning Committee, an elite task force of cheerleaders, athletes, popular kids, cool nerds . . . and me I guess . . . who banded together to throw the most bitching Prom ever. Our main goal right now was just to raise money. Like . . . thousands of fucking dollars worth, mostly as seed money for next year's class since our Prom had been funded by last year's senior class. Everybody was broken up into little circles and brainstorming ideas. Bake-sales, car-washes, charity events, and whatever. We were going to do it all.

"Hey Johnny, how did Erica's match go?" a girl with a foreign accent shyly asked.

I looked up to see the pretty face (and big nose) of Leyla Baba, one of Erica's best friends. Leyla was a pretty girl, as just about every girl Erica surrounded her with seemed to be, but she was not at all like the rest of my girlfriend's clique of uber-athletic nymphs. Leyla was a foreign exchange student from Khuzestan, or Kazakhstan, or Pakistan, or Who-the-fuck-knows-stan, so naturally despite being smart and very pretty she did not fit in here at Woodland, a small town shoved so far up America's asshole that the trees smelled like apple-pie. The month she moved here she actually wore a big scarf thing around the face, leaving only her eyes visible. No one talked to her other than Erica, who is probably the only person in town smart enough to know the difference between a Muslim and a muskrat, and so the two became friends. It took a while, but Leyla stopped weighing the scarf-mask-thing and started dressing like a normal American girl, although she didn't go for the crop-tops, tank-tops, and tiny shorts that Erica went for, not to mention the way most girls were letting their thong underwear peek up the sides of their hips these days. Too bad. Even underneath all the clothes she wore, Leyla obviously had a rocking body, but she was WAY too shy to ever show it.

"She was radical. That bitch from River City High was tripping over herself trying to return the Tennis Queen's serves."

"Oh . . . good . . . I am very glad for her," Leyla blushed. She didn't like strong language, which was another reason she didn't fit in around here. At Woodland High everyone talked some heavy shit. Erica would even whisper things like "I'm going to rape you, bitch," into the ear of her opponent before a match. I once heard her very graphically describe how she was going to fuck her opponent up the ass with the handle of her tennis-racket once, and Erica was going to make the girl's family watch. After Erica won I remember her opponent looking terrified, some part of her convinced that she actually was about to get ass-fucked right there, in front of everyone, but Erica let her off with a kiss on the cheek.

We just talked that way.

"Um . . . Johnny," Leyla asked, very shyly. "Do you think . . . do think I'd look good with a tattoo . . . I mean . . . you know . . . sexy?"

It took me a few moments to register what she had asked. A tattoo? I had never seen Leyla's skin past her wrists or neck, why would she ask about a tattoo?

"Leyla," I almost laughed, "where the fuck is this coming from? I mean . . . a TATTOO? Have you ever even had a rub-on before?"

Leyla's dark eyes went round. "A rub-on? Is that like . . . a sex thing?"

I almost collapsed. "Look . . . why are you asking me about tattoos out of nowhere all of the sudden."

Leyla blushed, biting her lip. She was breathing heavily and looking a little hot and bothered. "Well, it's just that the new boy told me that girl's with my skin tone look really sexy with tattoos, and that they're becoming more acceptable in society, and that they make you feel more confident, and well . . . sexy."

I had no idea what she was talking about. "New boy? What new boy?"

Leyla blushed deeper, and slowly turned around.

I had no idea why I hadn't seen him sooner. Amongst the familiar faces and nymph-like bodies of the committee members stood a titan of a young man, his rippled back turned to me. He was wearing a tank-top that seemed to coat his body like a layer or warm milk, every detail of his super-human physique in total definition. This guy was more than 'fit,' Chad Jefferson was 'fit' and he was the most handsome boy in school, but this guy was JACKED! He didn't look like an athlete though, not with his ripped up jeans and scuffed boots, or that leather bands he wore around his wrists, or the swirling, hypnotic tattoos that trailed up his python-like arms. His hair was reddish brown and spiky, but not with hair-jell. It was just spiky and jagged, naturally somehow.

Even from across the room I could almost see the waves of heat his body was giving off, slight fluctuations in the air around him like asphalt on a hot day, and the flock of teenage (18 and over) girls around him were melting like ballerinas made of ice. He was speaking to one in particular, a busty cheerleader with curly blonde hair and blue eyes like radioactive sapphires.