The Peanut Butter Girl

[All characters in this story who are involved in sexual situations are at least 18 years old - PS]

[Author's Note: It has come to my attention that there is a whispering campaign going on behind my back; and that some readers are positing that I do not know how to write cheesy pornography! And in addition, some other people are claiming that my stories contain far too much useless and banal prose and dialogue; and that it is frustrating to have to wade through this junk in order to get to the sexy stuff!

Well, ladies and gentlemen, enough is enough!!! No more Mr. Nice Guy! I am about to put my literary foot down; and to show my readers that I can churn out sleazy improbable garbage, if not better than, then at least as well as, any other writer on this site! At the beginning of this story I will demonstrate conclusively that I can sink as low as is necessary in order to stop these malicious rumours that I find so deeply offensive. And as an added bonus, readers will no longer have to waste their valuable time by carrying on with the full story in order to be treated to a graphic sex scene! - PS]

* * *

"Listen to this!" Susan said with a giggle to her friend Cheryl, opening the cheap paperback in her hand to a page she had bookmarked, "If this guy can get published, anyone can!"

"Is it dirty?" Cheryl asked, noting the salacious picture on the cover of the book.

"Very," Susan answered, "but it's so bad, it's good!"

"Tell me what you think?" Susan continued, trying not to laugh as she began to read out loud ...

Mr. McDonald heard a timid knock on his classroom door. He looked at the clock and thought: "5:30; right on time!"

"Come in"

The door opened and Miss Meadows, a senior, entered the classroom and traversed it to stand beside his desk. Mr. McDonald almost drooled as he observed that the dainty blonde wasn't wearing a bra, which he took as a very good sign; and that her fabulous 38 DDD tits were almost bursting out of her blouse. He could easily make out the areola and nipples through the semitransparent fabric.

"Am I late?" she asked.

"No, right on time, Miss Meadows, I like that. You asked for an appointment?"

"Yes ... I ... I need to raise my grade."

"How high do you need to raise it, Miss Meadows?"

"About this high," she replied with a sly smile, lifting her short school uniform kilt up so he could see her freshly shaved pussy. As a general rule, she never wore panties at school, because it made it so much easier to masturbate at her desk if a class became boring!

Even sitting a few feet away from the luscious nubile blonde, Mr. McDonald could still catch the distinct musky odour of her arousal, which made him rock hard almost immediately!

"Do you know the rules Miss Meadows, because I have to obey them strictly in order to be fair to all of the other girls?"

Every year, Mr. McDonald picked half a dozen or so of the best looking and most endowed girls in the senior class, usually two blondes, two brunettes and two redheads, and kept them solidly at a D- until they provided him with a reason to improve their grades.

"Yes sir, Jill and Lily explained them to me: I give you a blow job for a C; I let you eat me out for a C+, a screw will give me a B; doggy style a B+; up my rear end for an A; and then I can add a spanking or bondage for bonus marks!"

"Very good Miss Meadows, you have been doing your homework! And what grade are you hoping to receive today?"

"An A+!"

"Excellent!" said Mr. McDonald, standing up and undoing his belt so he could take his trousers off, "Tell me Miss Meadows, when you have sex how often do you orgasm?"

"Five or six times; but if I get spanked I'll usually have one during that as well. That's why I chose a spanking for my bonus marks."

"A very wise decision Miss Meadows," Mr. McDonald said dropping his boxer shorts to expose his 10" erection. Not only was Mr. McDonald big, but his cock was quite thick as well. But he didn't consider himself to be a sexual athlete, because he could usually only come about three times per session with one of the teenaged girls. And he found that he always had to leave a couple of hours between appointments!

As he placed his clothing on the desk, and sat back down in his chair, he reflected on how satisfying it was to get sexual favours from his students, especially the shy or slightly reticent ones. But what was even better was how many came back for encore after encore with his tremendous tool, often complaining bitterly that their boyfriends or fathers didn't know how to give them a decent climax. But Mr. McDonald had an ironclad rule; none of the young ladies were allowed to have him ravage their eager pussies more than 50 times, no matter how much they begged him, because he didn't want any emotional attachments forming! The exception to this had been a fiery young redhead from Ireland, Rose, whose pelvic gymnastics could do justice to a yoga instructor! She came to his classroom early each morning for many months, straddling him so she could drive his massive cock deep inside her wet willing womanhood; after which she would use the muscles of her educated snatch to milk him like a diary herd!

"Let's start with the spanking, Miss Meadows shall we?" Mr. McDonald suggested, pointing towards his lap.

"Shall I take my clothes off?"

"That won't be necessary, just undo your blouse so I can feel up your breasts."

"Yes sir," she replied undoing the buttons of her blouse. He immediately cupped her bountiful breasts, one in each hand, and then began to tease the light brown nipples by rolling them between his fingers until they were erect, sending a shiver of anticipation through her. When he was finished playing with them, he gestured towards his lap, and she bent over his seated body with her face down, pulling herself forward until her upper body hung suspended over his legs, and so that her bum was pointed upwards for his convenience. In this position her magnificent melons hung pendulously down into space, swaying slightly as she wiggled into position.

Mr. McDonald flipped up her short kilt and then spread her legs apart so he could get full access to her pussy. Wasting no time, after all he had another one of the girls coming at 7:30; he spread the delicate pink curving lips of her juicy cunt apart, and then jammed one, then two, and finally three fingers into her warm, soaking wet, love tunnel. Having satisfied himself that her vagina was nicely stretched, he retrieved some lubricant he kept in the pencil drawer of his desk for just these situations. He squirted some onto his index finger, which he then began to work into the steamy interior of her anus. He noted with satisfaction that her clitoris was unusually large, and already poking out from its hiding place beneath her inner pussy lips. He rubbed it roughly with his thumb, making her squirm and moan. No wonder she came so much!

"I thought you were going to spank me," she gasped.

"I will; I was just making sure you could take my cock inside you; I'm quite a bit bigger than average."

Once he had managed to insert his index finger right up to the hilt, Mr. McDonald then brought his other hand down with a brisk slap onto one of the exposed orbs of her sweet posterior, raising a red mark.

"Mr. McDonald," Miss Meadows panted.

"Yes dear?"

"I forgot to tell you that I make quite a lot of noise when I climax."

"That's fine Miss Meadows. Everyone at this end of the school has gone home; you can be as loud as you wish."

"Thank you sir."

By this point, Susan was giggling so much she had to stop reading.

"Wet willing womanhood!" Cheryl exclaimed, "Are you kidding me?"

"You have to admit that the dairy herd image is pretty unique," Susan countered, with a laugh, "you don't read something like that every day!"

"Yes, but everything else is so old it's almost geologic! The blonde schoolgirl with the huge boobs being blackmailed into sex, and then loving it! Give me a break!"

"Well guys must like it, because it's been used at least ten thousand times, not only in stories, but in porno flicks as well."

"Well, speaking as a girl, it doesn't do anything for me, although, much as I hate to admit it, the idea of milking a guy like that is sorta sexy in a weird way. I wonder how you learn to do that?" Cheryl said, with a twinkle in her eye!

"Cheryl!" Susan scolded as they laughed together.

Just then, Cheryl's father came down the basement stairs to fetch them for a ride to the high school. Susan quickly slipped the book behind her back.

"What's so funny?" he asked, and then, getting no answer, he continued, "I need you upstairs in 5 minutes if you want to be on time."

"OK Dad," Cheryl answered.

When he was gone Cheryl said, "I guess we better get going; but that book, where did you get it?"

"I like to go to used book sales," Susan answered, "it was in with a bunch of old Harlequin Spice novels, 6 for $2."

"Why would you want those?"

"Because its one of the few places where you can read authors who write about sex from a woman's point of view. I like to see how they describe things to help with my own writing. And by the way, it's not just dirty old men that turn out the really trashy stuff, I've read that quite a few of the filthiest stories are put together by little old ladies!"

"Just like phone sex, huh?"

"Cheryl!" her father shouted down the stairwell, "Let's go; I have to get to work at some point today."

The two of them rushed up the steps to collect their luggage and leave the house. As Cheryl closed the front door, Susan observed Cheryl's father waiting impatiently for them in his car, which he had already started. When they got into the vehicle he quickly sped away.

* * *

Half an hour later, Susan stood in the high school parking lot, and observed with amusement the organized mayhem surrounding her. The noise of bus motors, along with the excited chatter of the entire Grade 10 class preparing to embark for "Spirit Camp", were making it difficult for Mr. Evans, the lead teacher for this year's excursion, to make himself heard.

"OK, students, listen up!" he yelled above the din, "Drop your luggage beside the cargo bay of your assigned bus, and line up behind the counsellors."

Mr. Evans began to list off the counsellor teams for each bus, "... and I'll be using Susan and Peter on bus number 6 ..."

Susan was in a very good mood, even a little excited, as she approached the bus with the large "6" poster propped next to it. She had already felt the eyes of the dozens and dozens of immature males trying to undress her in their randy little minds, which made her smile inwardly. Not that there was much to remove as, true to her somewhat exhibitionist nature, she had used the excuse of the very warm early September day to wear a pair of white "short shorts", ones that hugged her womanly hips; as well as a sleeveless blouse that was tailored in a way that emphasized her full breasts. She had deliberately left quite a few of the top buttons on the blouse undone, so that some cleavage showed. New white sandals and a new hair style, which allowed her deep auburn tresses to flow over her shoulders in a cascade of gentle tendrils curling this way and that, gave her a more natural look; so much better, she thought, than the fake blonde tint she used to favour. The hairdresser had dyed it with something very close to her own natural shade, and she had been letting it grow.

Also gone in the summer makeover was the flashy jewellery and hot red lipstick. It was replaced with a clear pink lip gloss, some simple white earrings, and a pair of designer sunglasses that she pushed up onto the top of her head, revealing what she thought was her best feature, a pair of brown eyes. It had been very difficult to abandon her previous choices of mascara and eye shadow, because she enjoyed wearing quite a bit of makeup. But Cheryl, who had become her best friend after they roomed together at the Spirit Camp counsellor orientation at the end of June, had insisted that she "lighten up" on it unless she was getting really dressed up.

Susan had always admired Cheryl, with her slim graceful figure, fine oriental features and lovely dark eyes. She normally wore her lustrous raven hair loose, letting it flow in a shiny river down to the middle of her back; but when she did put it up, exposing her elegant neckline, she looked almost beautiful enough to be a runway model. Interestingly, as Susan had discovered, beneath that breathtaking exterior was an outgoing personality, and an impish sense of humour.

Some of the counsellors, who hadn't seen Susan since the training session, were clearly a little shocked to see this transformation of someone who had a reputation as the school slut, and who, Susan had to admit to herself ruefully, had dressed and acted accordingly. Cheryl had grinned and winked at her as they both observed the stunned reactions.

Susan waited as a group of Grade 10 students began to assemble next to she and Peter. It was fascinating in a certain way to watch how they self-organized themselves in the rigid hierarchy of young adolescents; geeky awkward guys forming into little knots, while quite a few of the less popular or shy girls clustered together. You could easily pick out the more socially adept crowd, as they formed co-ed units, talking and laughing amongst themselves in a superior way, completely aware of their infinitely higher standing in the teenage pecking order. In the middle of these strata were the majority of the students, some of whom, Susan knew, would manage to elevate themselves to membership in the top tier, a form of adolescent heaven, through a variety of means. This state of nirvana could usually be achieved through a wardrobe upgrade, accompanied by a mixture of appropriate dating, good grades and/or involvement in a suitably high status school activity such as athletics or the musical stage play.

Lounging at the end of the long line was another distinct group, made up mostly of boys, trying to look both tough and bored. They were wearing the "de rigeur" wardrobe of their sect, which mainly featured the colour black. As Susan knew from experience, any interest in academics, participation in school activities, or contact with the teenage elites could get you expelled from this club in a hurry. However, since Spirit Camp was virtually mandatory, they had to participate. When Susan had been at the camp at the beginning of her sophomore year, a couple of similar boys and one girl had somehow got so caught up in the fun that they forgot to maintain the required sullen demeanour. They were ostracized from their companions with lightning speed, which resulted in them having to revamp their entire teenage persona that semester in order to find new friends to associate with.

And finally, here and there, Susan observed, were the "loners", who didn't belong in any category, or didn't seem to have any particular circle of friends. Susan had pretty much been like that for her entire time in high school, which was now unfortunately extending an extra year.

The problem was her grades, which had hovered in the middle regions of a "C" average. It hadn't occurred to her until almost the end of her senior year that she needed to do a lot better. After all she always had passed, and you could attend the community college as long as you didn't have any mark lower than 60. However, when she applied for the copywriting program, she got a brisk rejection letter a few months later with a sharp reminder that a "B" average along with an "A" in English was the minimum requirement for acceptance. Shocked, she opened up the college syllabus, and after some searching found an appendix which listed the exceptions to the normal academic requirements; an appendix she had completely overlooked. The bad news was there in cold hard type!

Susan enjoyed writing, almost more than anything else, except perhaps boys, but that was another matter, so she was very upset and disappointed. She had selected the copywriting program because there was no chance that she could afford university in order to major in journalism. This state of affairs existed because her parents had the worst possible economic circumstances when it came to her qualifying for a government sponsored student loan. They had a bit too much income to be classed as poor, but no where near enough to pay her tuition and board, or underwrite the cost of borrowing the necessary money from a bank, especially with three other younger children in her family contributing to household costs.

Going to university, they advised her as she entered her senior year, was almost out of the question, as it meant going away from home for school, with all of the attendant costs. Susan was smart, but hardly a genius, which also meant that winning a scholarship didn't seem likely, so she just drifted along, with academic achievement far from the top of her priority list, until the nasty note from the college dropped her career plan to the ground with a resounding "thud".

After receipt of the letter, for the first time ever she had a serious discussion with a teacher, which resulted in her deciding on the so called "victory lap", a repeat of her senior year in an attempt to raise her marks sufficiently to meet the course entrance requirements. While most of the other students were spending the last few months of their senior year attending parties, cutting classes, and otherwise enjoying the euphoria accompanying a college or university admission letter; she was either locked in her bedroom, or closeted in the school library during spare, studying frantically as she tried to get as many of her courses as she could up to the necessary "B", thereby avoiding having to re-take them starting the following autumn.

Her parents, she noticed, weren't too upset at this turn of events, no doubt because it allowed the using of Susan for a lot of free mid-week babysitting for at least one more year ... yuck!

The rapid improvement in her marks over the remainder of the term did not go unnoticed. Mrs. Duncan, her English teacher, who she had made aware of her plans, asked to speak to her after school one day.

"Susan," she asked in a forthright way, "would you like to earn some extra credit towards that English mark you need?"

"How would I do that?" she replied politely. You didn't fool with Mrs. Duncan, anytime; and especially now, as she was going to be the gatekeeper of the all important English mark next fall.

"We've disqualified a few Spirit Camp counsellors for failing to keep their marks up ... happens every year. Even though you didn't apply, and certainly wouldn't be selected under normal circumstances, I could nominate you to be a replacement counsellor so that you could write an article for the school paper. What do you think?"

"Yes ... of course Mrs. Duncan ... that would be great," Susan answered, shaking a little with excitement.

"And Susan, if you do a really good job, not only will I give you extra credit, but I'll help you edit it for your writing portfolio for the copywriting course."

Susan left the classroom ecstatic, but also slightly apprehensive. Being a Spirit Camp counsellor had a ton of social status, at least in the eyes of most of the student body. Although this particular year's group would be mostly a year younger than Susan, they would have heard about her no doubt; that girl who had a "reputation". But the chance for bonus marks was simply too good to pass up, she'd have to do it, even if the other counsellors made things miserable for her.

* * *

As Peter stood beside Susan, clipboard in hand to take attendance before their bus left, he found himself more nervous than anytime else in his life! Peter didn't have any experience with girls, he'd never even been out on what would be considered a real date, and now as a Spirit Camp counsellor he was teamed up with Susan, who, while not exactly a supermodel, was certainly very, very nice to look at, and had, as some of his new buddies liked to say: "A body that just wouldn't quit!" He tried desperately not to stare at her, as if he was totally accustomed to being paired off in close proximity with a voluptuous young woman!