Where's the Free Use?

"Sounds like a party," he murmured, before diving into my neck. As he closed the space against us, I felt his dick on my shirt. I knew guys got excited and their dicks started leaking, so thinking quick, I raised my shirt right as he started sucking on my neck. Greg saw it as an invitation and started grinding against my stomach.

My eyes fluttered closed when Greg began sucking on my neck. I felt like I could float up into the air. If this was how it felt when a boy was kissing my neck, I was going to meet God when he fucked me. "Nnn..." I moaned without control, feeling one last thought crawl into my head. "Isn't that going to leave marks?"

"I guess it will," Greg simply answered. "You're going to have to come up with some kind of story. Or..." He paused. "I guess you'll tell whoever asks that some boy used your body and that it's no more than you deserve." As he said that, his hand flew up to my ass and squeezed it.

I shuddered. I felt myself leaking. My pussy was pulsing. Greg definitely had some kind of experience with this. "Fuck yes," I moaned, losing control. "Use me, Greg, mark me up. I'll tell everyone proudly that I'm just a free-use slut and a guy had his way with me."

Greg chuckled, even with his tongue on me. "We're definitely not taking this as slowly as I had planned," he murmured. I didn't care. I used my free hand to pop open my fly and move my pants down just enough, before taking his hand off of my ass and guiding it towards my pussy. Even despite what he had just said, Greg learned to go with the flow quite quickly, gently yet firmly tracing his middle finger over my slit. He wasn't being rough and clueless. This was a guy that knew what he was doing, and he was going to use me.

I moaned, feeling his hand over my wet, nearly-aching pussy. After a few teasing movements, he looked me in the eye, moving his hand overtop of my panties... then inside. Greg was fingering me. He had full access to my pussy. Every movement of his made me nearly jerk my body in place, and my poor legs were giving out. After a feeble attempt to talk, I moved over and sat clumsily down, and before long afterwards, I was laying down on his bed, giving my legs a break. Greg was taking off my panties, looking intently at my pussy, fingering me while talking slowly.

"You're quite the horny slut," he began, his voice taking on this power I didn't know his voice had. "Most free-use sluts try to remain quiet and lifeless, letting the guy use them casually."

"I guess... I'm not like... other free-use sluts," I breathed, trying to be defiant and not letting him win, even as my hormones overwhelmed me.

"I know," he replied calmly. "I like it." He turned to look me in the eyes, still fingering me, his own dick still bobbing. "But I've been pleasing you a lot considering you're the one who wants to be used for my pleasure. Give me a blowjob."

I bit my lip, nodding. I gladly would have. I craved having a dick in my mouth badly -- so many girls, and boys, did. At least I was being honest about wanting my classmates. I quickly got on my knees, studying the hard thick cock in front of me, all while Greg chuckled and sat back.

"Remember, you're going to be giving a lot more blowjobs in the future, so you can savor it now, but be sure to figure out how to get into the groove quickly," he instructed me.

I nodded and experimentally licked the underside of his dick. It tasted like sweat and... something else. It wasn't bad, just new. I licked again, then again, then licked it all the way from the base to the tip. Greg groaned, and I couldn't help but smile. The dude talked a big game, but he was as easy as any other boy, and soon, I'd have a lot more experience pleasing them, as the group's plaything.

I shuddered. Fuck. The group. What if I was just the free-use slut of the Media Gang? If any of the guys ever needed release, they'd just grab me, not even asking, and announce to the group that they were going to go cum down my throat and they'd 'be back in a minute.' That visual was so fucking hot.

That thought kept running through my head as I opened my mouth, taking Greg's cock in my mouth for the first time. I definitely did want to savor the moment. The taste of dick was, happily, instantly addictive. I was at my happiest just taking this dick in my mouth. Quickly, I intuitively realized that I should be curling my lips over my teeth -- no guy wants the feeling of teeth on his dick -- and after beginning to bob my head back and forth, I realized all of the things I should be doing. Where my mouth should go, how to breathe properly, everything.

Greg was moaning instantly. "Fuck... god damn!" he swore. "Okay, who did you blow before me?"

I took my mouth off of him. "I told you, no one," I replied, grabbing his dick and jacking it off.

He winced. "I can definitely tell that's the case with your handjobs -- no seriously, ease up -- but no virgin gives blowjobs like that."

I shrugged and my eyes sparkled. "I guess that really just proves I was made to suck dick," I replied in a teasingly innocent joke. Within seconds, my mouth was back on his dick, and less than a minute later, after showing off my skills, Greg was groaning, blowing his load into my mouth.

It was way harder to swallow as I went than I'd thought. The taste wasn't too terrible, and I was happy to swallow it, but I just couldn't. My cheeks ballooned and eventually, some of his spunk started leaking out of my mouth. I swallowed what I could, but the rest leaked down my face. My eyes watered. My chin was a mess. I was a cock-hungry slut that just made my friend cum.

"Holy shit..." he moaned, then looked at my face. He started to chuckle. "Fuck, hold on." He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his phone, locking eyes with me. His semi-hard dick started to get hard again as he snapped a few pictures of my face.

"Not even going to ask, huh?" I asked smugly.

"Welcome to being a free-use slut," he replied with the same smugness.

I smiled. I had no doubt that if I told Greg not to, or to delete those pictures, he would. Plus, he was right. If I needed to grant permission first, I wasn't being a free-use slut. But still... "Send those to me," I told him. "I'm sure I can find a few people to send them to with enough time. In fact..." I grabbed his dick, now hard again, and started pumping it slowly, moving my face in close. "Do you want to take a few more pictures with me holding it like this?"

He shifted in place. "Well, I dunno if I want pictures of my actual dick. Y'know."

I lowered an eyebrow. What a pussy. "Okay, what about if it was in my mouth?" I asked. "All they'd see is the shaft. You have to admit it would be hot, right...?"

Greg shook his head slowly, a smile forming on his face. "Wow, you're way sluttier than I thought," he admitted. "How the fuck did you hide this from everyone for so long?"

"I dunno," I honestly admitted. "I need to cum like three times a day at least. I was gonna fucking explode sooner or later. So, blowjob pics, yay or nay?"

Greg laughed, readying the camera. "Yay," he admitted. "Get to work, slut."

***

Annoyingly, Greg wouldn't fuck me that night. Something about having no condoms and not being on birth control made the guy stop, as if he couldn't just pull out or something. So fucking annoying. Still, we took a lot of pictures, and he sent them to me shortly after I left, so that was a plus.

I had a lot of fun with those pictures later on that night. It felt kind of weird rubbing my pussy to myself, but I wasn't really thinking about myself while I did it. It was how low I'd sank, the fact a cock was in my mouth, the cum on my face. It was hot as fuck. I now had picture evidence of me being a free-use slut. This was amazing.

While I was eating dinner by the TV, I tried asking my mother as casually as I could if I could start birth control. I made up a bunch of lies about regulating my hormones and making my period easier and all that, and I guess after going into too much detail, she put down her fork and insisted we'll go to the doctor if I just stop talking. I just rolled my eyes, looking back at the TV. I did steal a quick glance at my brother and see him give me a playfully disapproving face. I smiled and shrugged, like we were sharing a joke. Dad wasn't home, so luckily, I didn't have to get The Talk from him -- thank fuck. His last three Talks sucked. I learned way more about sex from blowing Greg than I ever did from my parents. Mostly, I learned that it was fucking awesome, and that I needed to start taking birth control as soon as possible.

***

I was a new Ariel after that. Beforehand, I didn't really care about what I wore, slapping on a t-shirt and some pants, but now... I wanted to try being a little sluttier. I purposefully chose an older shirt, one a little small for me, before going to class. It wasn't like I was completely changing -- at least, on the outside -- but it was a good way to test the waters.

Boys are horny as fuck. I barely changed anything and all day, whenever I turned around, a new pair of eyes were on me. Even some boys I used to crush on were now looking at me, but when I caught them, none of them had the balls to wink at me or even keep looking. They all turned away or acted like I was the weird one. All for wearing a slightly smaller shirt? Jesus. I realized in second period, to my discomfort, that this wasn't going to make me an object of desire to these idiots, it was just going to get me labeled as a whore or a hussie in the bad way and get rumors to start. Then I'd get bullied, teachers would have to get involved... What a pain.

Sure enough, when I walked into the ComTech classroom, Mr. Whittleton looked at me and slightly scowled. "I don't think that shirt is appropriate for class," he let me know.

"It's all I had," I lied with a shrug. "I'm doing laundry today."

"Well, in the future, don't come to school with that on," he replied a little sourly. "It's inappropriate to wear that around your peers and your male teachers."

I couldn't stop myself from noticing that last part. And, shit-disturber that I was, I couldn't stop myself from continuing the conversation. "Wait, what was that last part?"

Mr. Whittleton didn't back down. "We have a dress code at the school, and it's not okay to wear that. It's too revealing."

"No, you said, 'male teachers.' Wearing this around male teachers is the problem?"

"Yes," Whittleton said with annoyance in his tone. "It's too revealing. I already said that."

"So if girls, high-school age girls, come to class wearing tight clothes, that's a problem for male teachers?"

No one was working on their assignments anymore. Everyone had turned to the tense situation Whittleton had caused.

"It's a problem for anyone to disrespect the dress code," Whittleton replied. "We don't let boys walk around shirtless."

"Would that make things difficult for the female teachers?"

"Come on, Ariel, you're being inappropriate," Whittleton said disapprovingly, shaking his head.

"No, I'm just giving the same example you gave, with the genders swapped," I replied, holding out two fingers and twisting my wrist to make my point. "If me wearing tight clothes is even noticed by the male teachers, isn't it kind of screwed up? Shouldn't people hired to be teachers not care about how sexy young girls look in smaller shirts?"

"Ariel, this is my last warning, sit down," Whittleton nearly roared, though he still took my bait. "It can be distracting to the boys your age in your classes, and teachers are under obligation to make sure their classes run effectively, and make sure girls behave according to the rules and dress modestly. Those are just the rules."

"None of the boys here even noticed me yet," I argued back. "You saw my shirt and immediately, like, scowled. All of the boys were working until we started talking. Are you distracted by me wearing a tight shirt, Mr. Whittleton?" He started to talk, so I talked over him. "Why are you so distracted by a young student wearing a slightly tighter shirt, what's up with that?"

"Go to the principal's office, now," he ordered, his face getting redder. "None of what you said is true, and you're just saying things to avoid responsibility. That's all this is. I told you the rules, and you couldn't handle that."

I looked around at my classmates, shrugged to them, and turned away, walking back towards the principal's office. I couldn't help but smirk. Whatever you needed to tell yourself, Mr. Whittleton. Whatever you needed to say, buddy.

I didn't even hate authority. Hell, when it was a good teacher, I actually had a lot of respect for authority figures, but if they lost my respect, they had to earn it back, and Whittleton was a piece of work, if 'work' was even the four-letter word I wanted to use. The dude didn't even teach us -- he directed us to YouTube tutorials when it came time to edit our video projects -- and his class motto was "you're not as funny as you think you are." He was the posterboy for why some students were fully justified in hating their teachers.

Luckily for me, the principal, Mr. Scott, was the antithesis of that attitude, and the model of what a good authority figure should be. When I got to his office, he welcomed me, and did what every principal should do in that situation.

"Now, I heard from Mr. Whittleton that you had come to class with a garment that disrespected the dress code, and when he told you not to, you suggested he was... you gave a very serious accusation," Mr. Scott began. "But I would like to hear both sides of the story, so, go ahead and tell me what happened."

Upfront communication, clear expectations, even stuff for me to refute. Ugh, what a gem. I didn't lie, and told him the whole thing from my perspective, even the detail about me swapping the genders.

"...And at the end, I pointed out that none of the students even saw me yet before he pointed it out, so clearly it wasn't just about how my male friends reacted," I reasoned at the end. "He just saw me and came to his own conclusions. And, like, yeah, that is weird, especially since... I mean, look at me. I'm wearing a slightly smaller shirt. My whole body is covered though, and this is just a regular t-shirt, just a little small. So I totally did straight up ask him if he was distracted by an young female student wearing a slightly smaller shirt, and if he was, why he would point it out. I think that's a fair fucking- oh, whoops, sorry."

I only noticed then I was breathing heavily, and I felt flushed. I was actually upset. I kinda didn't notice right up until then. Even in my head, I was just telling myself it was a game or whatever, but now, tears weren't an impossibility if I didn't calm down.

"It's okay," Scott soothed. "I assume that last word was going to be 'point?'"

I nodded. "My other friends were there. They can back me up. He was being weird. I didn't like it. If you're looking at me and you think I seriously was dressing up like a sex object, then whatever, call my parents I guess." I was looking down at the floor at this point.

Scott laughed a reassuring laugh to lighten the mood. "Now come on Ariel, we both know I'm not calling your parents over this. I'm sorry you were so upset by what happened. I think I will talk to your friends if that's alright, not because I don't believe you, but because right now it's one person's word against another's."

"Okay," I said with a sigh, standing up. "I'm going to go to the washroom before going back to class if that's okay. And, uh..." I gestured my hands down my body. "Can I really not wear this to school?"

Scott paused, looking at me -- in the eyes, because he was such a class act. He eventually shrugged. "I personally wouldn't..." he trailed off, then gestured at nothing with his hands. "...but I'll leave it there. You haven't broken any rules, and if a teacher condemned you with everyone in the class listening, you're right, he shouldn't have done that. You can tell teachers to talk to you in private if this happens again. You're free to go."

What a legend.

***

I returned to ComTech around halfway through the period after calming down. Annoyingly, Whittleton was still there, although I wasn't exactly expecting him to be fired on the spot or something. I noticed that Drew was out of the classroom now -- maybe being cross-examined -- so I sat next to Greg, avoiding eye contact with Whittleton the whole time.

Greg was nonchalantly typing, not even looking at me. "You... are... trouble," he said casually in a quiet voice, savoring each word, as he worked.

"Oh, eat me," I bitterly replied. "Go ahead and tell me I was in the wrong."

"If I thought you were in the wrong, I would have begun with that," he said matter-of-factly, then turned and gave me a muted smile. His smiles were always muted. "How ya holding up, kid?"

I rolled my eyes. "That fuckin' sucked," I admitted, slumping on the desk.

I felt Greg's hand supportively rubbing my back. "Now do you see why it's important to know your limits?"

"Oh my God, fuck you," I bitterly spat. "Are you seriously turning this into an 'I told you so' moment?"

"You didn't wear that shirt because you were doing laundry today," Gred replied matter-of-factly. Fuck. He could see right through me, and not even in the way I wanted. I didn't respond, and he gave me another belittling smile. "I know these things."

"Doesn't make what he said right," I said, looking at him but still with my head on my arms, resting on the table.

"You're right, it doesn't," Greg replied, scratching his nose. He turned to the entrance of the classroom, and my eyes wearily followed. Drew was walking into the classroom, and said a few words to Mr. Whittleton. With a sigh, Whittleton got up.

"I'll be back in a few minutes. Keep working on your projects," he told us, then walked out.

I turned back to Greg to see an uncharacteristic twinkle in his eye. "So, you like wearing sluttier clothes now?" he asked with a slight purr to his voice.

I shrugged. "It was an experiment. I guess I won't be doing it at school if this fucking t-shirt caused a world war." I looked it over. "It's just a little tighter. Showing my midriff or my boobs is out of the question."

"What boobs?" he asked playfully, getting rewarded with a slap from me. "Well hey, if you want to feel better, wanna sneak off and suck my dick?"

"Greg-!" I whisper-exclaimed, nervously looking around the room. Part of me was nervous, but another part of me... it was like I was instantly swimming in a sea of excitement. Even though my face turned whiter than season 2 of The Wire... like, yes, I wanted to suck his dick. I always wanted to suck dick. Plus, who cared if I didn't? That's what being a free-use slut was all about.

He didn't wait to elaborate further. He didn't even care how it looked that we were leaving the classroom together. He just got out of his seat and said, "Come with me." Luckily the class was so under-populated that no one sat near us and non one could hear our conversation, so I just meekly followed.

We walked down the hallways, with Greg leading the way and walking with purpose until he reached a bathroom. "Unisex bathroom," he told me. "Handicap, so it's nice and roomy too. It got installed this year. It's only meant for one person, so no intrusion. After we finish, I exit first then you exit a little bit later. Perfect."

I hesitated. "...And what if you exit first and someone is outside waiting to go inside?" I asked.

He paused, looking off at the wall in thought for about two seconds. "Then I tell them the toilet is backed up and to use another one. You just hide behind the wall so they can't see you."

I blinked a few times. "Huh. Greg, that's... smart."

"Always so surprised," he quipped, opening the bathroom door and pushing me inside. He locked the door behind him and with zero shame, pulled out his cock. "Nothing you haven't seen before," he teased.