tagFetishTrailer Trash Teen Hates Rules Ch. 05

Trailer Trash Teen Hates Rules Ch. 05


INTRODUCTION & DISCLAIMER - Bob Wilson wants his trashy, trailer park niece Breanna to learn the value of hard work and arranges for her to do some intern work. Breanna does indeed have a busy day, but hardly what her Uncle Bob had in mind!

This kinky sexual comedy, set in 1994, contains frequent strong language and course, ribald humor, both sexual and non-sexual. All characters and events are fictional with similarity to real persons living or dead coincidental and unintentional. Only characters aged 18 and over engage in sexual activity. Please enjoy, look out for more chapters as they appear and also check out this story's predecessor, 'Spoiled Princess Hates Camping'.


BREANNA took one look at the plant and machinery company where her Uncle Bob worked as a sales manager, and decided immediately that it was a place dedicated to removing every ounce of fun from life. The gray and humid summer day, dark clouds overhead, did not help.

A plump, middle-aged woman aged approximately in her mid-fifties with glasses and permed hair made her way into the office block, while two men one Caucasian and the other African-American, both wearing brown trousers and brown dust coats could be observed walking towards one of the warehouses, neither smiling. Glancing at her Uncle Bob as he parked the van, Breanna decided that years of working in this fucking shithole must be one of the reasons he was so grouchy.

Bob Wilson frowned at his niece's sulky expression. "Breanna, you will be doing intern work here and that is that. So you may as well make the most of it, and learn something."

For once, Breanna did not answer back. However the teenager's silence was not caused by her taking her uncle's advice on board, but insolence. Breanna exited the van, slamming the door closed, while her uncle climbed out of the driver's seat. Bob looked at his niece's slim figure, the girl wearing the same blouse, short skirt and sandals she had worn to church on Sunday. It wasn't in Bob's book suitable office attire, but there was no way she could borrow Kate's clothes due to the differences in height and build and Hell would freeze over before Bob took his niece shopping for new clothes.

"So, what am I doing today?" asked Breanna.

"For the first hour, you will be working in the office with Grace. She's our receptionist. Then you will be working with Woody in the plant hire section."

Bob led Breanna inside the office and introduced her to Grace, who was the plump middle-aged woman Breanna had seen arrive for work earlier. He made the introductions, then said, "Grace, I'll be in a sales meeting for most of the morning, so could you please call Woody in an hour or so and see if he is ready for Breanna?"

"Yes of course Bob," said Grace politely, as Bob walked down the corridor to his office.

Grace looked at her most reluctant assistant with some dismay, Breanna regarding the older woman with a look of passive aggression.

"The first thing we do each morning is to open, sort and record the mail," said Grace, taking a pile of envelopes, two letter openers and a correspondence register, splitting the envelopes between herself and Breanna and guiding the teenager on the procedures of opening, sorting and recording the mail. Breanna could not believe that she had to sit and listen to this fucking shit.

"Now, we have to hand out the mail to everyone," said Grace.

"Why don't they get it themselves?" asked Breanna.

"Because it is company policy that the receptionist hands out the post in the morning," replied Grace.

With a deep sigh Breanna accompanied Grace on the rounds. This was bullshit to Breanna. If the fucking idiots who worked here wanted their fucking mail, they should get off their fucking fat asses and collect it themselves. Breanna was not here to be a fucking servant.

Returning to reception, Breanna spied a roll of fax machine paper. She picked it up and held it out towards Grace. "I'm not looking forward to going to the bathroom here, that's for sure. Your toilet paper is way too hard and non-absorbent, and way too wide. Well it's too wide for me, for somebody with a big fat ass, it would be perfect." The final comment was a deliberate barb at the older woman's weight problem, but to Breanna's disappointment, Grace did not rise to the bait.

"That is fax paper, Breanna," said Grace.

Breanna knew very well what it was, so as usual was just being a smart-ass. "So what do I do for the rest of the time I'm stuck here?"

Grace indicated the electronic typewriter, some labels, large yellow envelopes and a mailing list. "You can type out labels for those envelopes, so we can send out the latest catalogues to our clients."

"Typewriters are crap," said Breanna, as she puzzled over the keys trying to find the letters, her typing speed about five words per minute. "Why is the goddamn Q in the top left hand corner, and the M at the bottom right?"

"Breanna, there is no swearing in the office," warned Grace.

"I didn't swear," snapped Breanna. "I said crap not shit and goddamn not fucking."

"Would you like me to get your Uncle Bob out of his meeting to explain it to you?" asked Grace. "I'm sure he would be very impressed."

"If you don't want people to swear, put out a sign or something," said Breanna, who continued her insolence throughout the next hour. Grace got on with her work and tried to ignore the girl who was supposed to assist her, but was more a hindrance than a help.

Grace was relieved when an internal call registered on the board. "Hello Woody," she said. "Yes, Bob's niece is here, and ready to assist you. See you in a few minutes." She turned to Breanna. "Woody will be here soon to take you over to the workshop." Relief was clear in the woman's chubby face.

"Fabulous, I can't wait," said Breanna sarcastically.

Woody proved to be a very tall, pencil-thin man aged about forty with reddish-blonde hair, who wore one of those awful brown dustcoats Breanna had seen the other two men wearing earlier. With the greatest reluctance, Breanna followed him outside towards the workshop.

Casting an eye towards the overcast sky, Woody said, "It looks like we might get some rain tonight."

"Yeah," agreed the disinterested Breanna.

"Yes, Our Lord has provided us with the most perfect weather and now He sees that we need the rain for the plants and crops He placed upon His Earth."

Breanna rolled her eyes in amazement. Was this guy serious? "So, do you like working here?" she asked.

Woody nodded. "Yes, I do. Obviously I have some good days and some not so good but bad days are the way The Lord tests our resolve and faith."

Breanna suppressed giggling as she followed Woody into the building where he worked, his job receiving, checking and cleaning smaller hired plant and machinery such as cement mixers, lawnmowers and other garden machinery. "You'll need to wear these, you don't want to get your pretty clothes dirty and you need to have covered shoes," said Woody, holding out one of those awful dustcoats and a pair of worn sneakers.

With monumental reluctance, Breanna put on the coat, slipped off her sandals and put the sneakers onto her feet. While she had disliked working with Grace in the office, it was Heaven compared to working out here with Jesus-boy. Woody was pretty chatty, he seemed to find a way to bring either Jesus or God into the conversation.

When Breanna glanced at Woody's desk and a framed photograph of Woody, a red-haired woman like Woody aged about 40 and eight kids, ranging in age from about 16 to a baby, Woody was only too happy to show her through them.

"This is my wife Mary. The Lord brought us together and he blessed us with eight wonderful children," said Woody proudly. "These are our boys, Obadiah, Moses and Noah, and just last year He added Abraham to our family." Woody indicated the baby, then turned his attention to the girls. "This is Ruth, Rebecca and Hannah, and our youngest daughter Summer."

Breanna's eyes widened at the youngest daughter's hippie-sounding name, this totally out of place with the biblical names given to the other children. "Yes, Our Lord certainly blessed Mary and me with eight wonderful kids," Woody continued.

Breanna was certain that the reason Woody and Mary had eight kids was that Woody had inserted his penis into Mary's vagina and moved back and forth and on eight occasions, his semen that sprayed into Mary's uterus fertilized one of her eggs, but made no comment. However, the girl did ask sarcastically, "So, you don't have a television?"

Woody completely missed the sarcasm. "No, who needs television when He provided us with His book?" Woody picked up his bible from his desk drawer and held it up for the disinterested Breanna to see. Glancing at the clock, Woody said, "It's morning break time, would you like something?"

"Can I have a cigarette?" asked Breanna.

"Yes, but you will need to smoke outside, there's no smoking inside here," said Woody.

Breanna hastily went to get her purse, keen to get as much smoke, tar and nicotine into her lungs as she could, but stopped as she observed Woody make himself a cup of tea and take two plain, digestive cookies from a packet. To her utter disbelief, Woody then clasped his hands together in prayer before commencing his morning tea.

Shaking her head, Breanna went to smoke her cigarette. Taking deep drags, Breanna plotted her escape from this shit heap that her fucking uncle made her do intern work at like a fucking slave. She would need a convincing excuse to leave work, one that would not attract further questions. Diarrhea? No, Breanna had genuinely had diarrhea on Monday. Her period? No, thanks to her mother's great big mouth when she was sent to live with her relatives on Sunday, her aunt and uncle knew that she had been menstruating the week before. Thinking about her reproductive system, inspiration came to Breanna and she finished off her cigarette and walked back to the workshop.

Woody was contemplating a third cookie. "No, I'd better not, we have our friends over for bible study tonight and Mary will be making her lemon squares." He returned the packet to the drawer.

Breanna approached him clutching her stomach and wincing. "Woody, I'm really sorry but I have to go. I have some, um, ladies' problems."

Seeing the look of discomfort on Woody's face, Breanna used this to her advantage. "Don't worry, it's not my period but I'm ovulating, and I get a really bad stomach ache when that happens." This was partially true. Breanna did get a pain in her abdomen when ovulating, but nothing severe - her menstrual cramps were far worse - and neither was not occurring at the moment.

The uncomfortable Woody was only too convinced. "Sorry to hear that," he stammered. "Maybe you should go home and rest?"

"I'll do that," said Breanna, removing the dustcoat and sneakers, and sliding her ordinary shoes back onto her bare feet. "I'll leave a message with Grace to let my Uncle Bob know. See you later."

"See you later," said Woody, the man glad to see Breanna go. Women's problems were not something Woody was comfortable with. Woody could only blame Eve for listening to the word of the serpent than the word of the Lord for the problems women endured every month that mad men so uncomfortable.

Breanna hoped that her Uncle Bob was fully occupied with his meeting and would not see her departure from this place of utter misery and working like a slave with Fat Woman and Jesus Boy this morning. Lighting up a cigarette, Breanna smoked feverishly as she waited for the bus that would take her first to the center of town to catch another bus back to her side of town where she could finally do some things she wanted to do. Like buying fake toilet paper to prank Kate, hanging out with Mr. Cockburn and maybe Isabella, and purchasing something to smoke that was not tobacco.

When Breanna disembarked from the bus, she saw that she had over half an hour to wait before the one to her side of town. Seeing the supermarket where Dylan worked, Breanna headed towards it, intending to do some shopping with heavy discount ...


At the supermarket, Dylan had had a mixed morning. Sonia was at the checkout, Dylan's eyes all over the African-American beauty, her large breasts filling her supermarket uniform. Dylan imagined how great it would be so see Sonia's beautiful black breasts naked. It would be even better to get into her panties and check out the cheeks of her bare bottom, the triangle of black pubic hair over her mound and her pink pussy and anus, but he knew that these aspirations would stay just those; aspirations. It might become reality for Mike, Dylan thought with great resentment as the good-looking jock from the class of 1993, and now a star college football player and Dylan's shift supervisor flirted with Sonia, the beautiful black teenager definitely responsive.

A passing customer distracted Dylan's attention from Sonia, and this was the hottest teacher in school, gym teacher Jessica Adams. Dylan's eyes bulged at Jess's mini-skirt that accentuated her long legs and shapely bottom, and a blouse that showed a good amount of the blonde's ample cleavage. Her pretty feet were visible clad in white sandals, and Dylan drooled.

As Jessica put a cabbage into her shopping basket, Dylan observed a tall handsome muscular young man approach the stunning 28-year-old blonde and put his arm around her slim waist. "Have we got everything, Jess?" the young man asked.

Jessica smiled. "Yes, just about Clint," she said, she and the young man walking hand-in-hand towards aisle six, Dylan unable to miss the slim gold band with a single diamond that adorned Jess's left ring finger. The envious Dylan watched as Jessica removed her hand from that of her fiancé, and walk to the feminine hygiene section, where she took one packet of sanitary napkins, one packet of tampons and a packet of tablets for period pain and placed them in the shopping basket, and returning to her fiancé, Jess and Clint walking towards Sonia's cashier register.

Dylan began to replace some cans of soup on a shelf, feeling some satisfaction. With Dylan's obsession of voyeurism coupled with his jealousy, resentment and mean-spirited nature, his thought process was quite enigmatic at times. On one hand, he would get off fantasizing about the super-hot teacher Jess Adams having sex with her fiancé, Clint pulling down Jess's panties and fucking her pussy hard and going down on her snatch. However, it also brought the jealous young man great pleasure to think that Jess and Clint would not be having sex for about a week thanks to her menstruating.

It was a similar story with Andrea, the hot blonde Polish cheerleader who lived next door. One Friday in biology a few months ago, a class Dylan and his friends Kenny and Wayne enjoyed not for the subject matter but the hot 18-year-old girls who populated it, Andrea, wearing a short skirt, had gone to stand up when the bell rang, only for Kate and Holly to quickly to push her back down in her seat.

Dylan had deliberately taken his time to leave the classroom to see if anything interesting was happening, as Andrea remained sitting down with Kate, Holly, Sonia, Penny, Bridget and Katrina around her. When he made his exit, he could hear female voices and when the girls emerged, Andrea had a jacket tied around her waist and made haste for the school nurse's office. A short while later, Andrea's mother Mrs. K arrived carrying a plastic bag, went into the block where the nurse's office was located, and emerged soon after carrying the same bag.

That afternoon Dylan could not help but notice that Andrea was now wearing jeans and at one stage stopped and winced, clutching her tummy while at her locker, something Kate often did when it was her time of the month. And when he arrived home from school that afternoon, Dylan took note that the skirt Andrea had been wearing during the morning now hung on the line along with a pair of the teenager's panties, all but confirming that Andrea had suffered a menstrual mishap during the day.

So when Andrea's jock boyfriend Steve arrived to pick her up for a date that evening Dylan, who often masturbated over his thoughts of Andrea and Steve having sex together gained great pleasure from the knowledge that as Andrea was having her period, Steve would not be getting into her panties that evening. That Steve had driven all the way down from his college in Philadelphia only to find that Andrea's vagina was off-limits doubled the mean-spirted Dylan's delight.

By coincidence, Andrea was the next customer Dylan saw. The Eastern-European beauty was buying supplies for the ice-cream parlor where she was working the summer, and looked great in the brightly colored store shirt, with her bottom half clad in black stirrup pants. Dylan observed Andrea as the girl reached down and removed one of her shoes, the teenager scratching an itch on the sole of her right foot, her fingers sliding up under the stirrup. Having sated the itch, the girl returned the shoe to her pretty bare foot, and resumed her shopping.

Next up for Dylan was a trip to the bank to collect extra small change. Dylan was served by Samantha, and as the young woman counted out the denominations of coins, Dylan idly flicked an elastic band in his fingers. To his horror it snapped, flying through the air and hitting Samantha on her left breast. The pretty strawberry blonde jumped in shock, and horror filled Dylan's face.

"Samantha, I'm so sorry ..." Dylan stammered.

"It's okay," said Samantha, her tone neutral, the girl clearly displeased but not about to make an issue of it. She counted out the last of the change, and Dylan placed it in the case, scurrying out of the bank without further word. The young man was most dismayed that tonight he had to attend a family dinner with Samantha and her parents and brother, just to make this even more awkward.

Returning to the supermarket, Dylan got to work stocking shelves, until he heard a young female voice calling his name. "Dylan!"

Dylan turned around to see the slim figure of Erin Green rushing towards him wearing a tee-shirt, knee-length skirt and sandals, an expression of desperation on her face, the girl as always managing to be both pretty and plain at the same time. "Are you okay, Erin?" asked Dylan.

Erin, who was at the supermarket completing her grandmother's shopping, wore a facial expression that showed that she was anything but okay. "Dylan, could you please open the customer bathroom for me? It seems to be locked."

"Sure," said Dylan, taking his keys and setting off towards the bathroom keen to rescue the damsel in distress. Erin followed, her look of urgency increasing with each second. Inside her bowels, Erin could feel that an episode of her Crohn's disease was imminent.

Dylan inserted the key into the lock and went to turn it, but paused as it turned about a quarter of the way and then jammed. Dylan jiggled the key, but it would not budge.

"It seems to be stuck," he said, pushing the key in harder and only jamming it more.

"Please hurry," Erin pleaded. She could feel her feces pushing against the walls of her rectum and her anal sphincter, and knew she could not hold much longer. Not being able to get to a toilet when her Crohn's disease was playing up was Erin's worst nightmare and finding the bathroom without any toilet paper a close second.

"What is happening here?" came the cool, calm and collected voice of Mike, as the football star jock strode over to where the bumbling Dylan still had the key jammed in the bathroom lock.

"This lock is jammed," said Dylan. "Come on, damn it."

"I really, really need to go to the bathroom," Erin pleaded.

"Don't worry Erin, I'll get you in there," said Mike with a charming smile. "Out of the way, Dylan," he ordered, pushing the smaller young man out of the way, and without the slightest problem, opened the door to the bathroom.

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