tagMatureYou Know That Nightmare?

You Know That Nightmare?


Here's an entry for this year's Nude Day Contest. In the weird continuum of my stories, it fits between "The Flirt" an "Schadenfreude," though like all my stories this one can be enjoyed without reading any of my other little tales. Make sure you read all the Nude Day contest entries and vote on all your favorites!

* * *

I suppose anytime you find yourself butt-ass naked in a school boiler room, a clock ticking loudly on the wall, watching as a pair of startled school janitors stares at your naughty bits and gets more and more erect, right there in front of you... well, I suppose you can say you're having a pretty shitty day.

Or week. And this had been one of those weeks.

* * *

I arrived at school on time on Monday morning, having guilted Dave into driving me. He was very nervous; he didn't like to be seen with me, which was understandable since he was worried about getting fired. "You don't get it," he whined sometimes. "If your dad knew we were doing this, he'd shitcan me."

"Oh, I get it," I'd chuckle, and I did, from his fat dick. "I get it all night, Dave!" And then he'd bone me into oblivion. But I'd made him drive me in that day because he'd insisted on a morning quickie, and there was no way I was going to walk to school, late, with his cum squishing out of me. Bad enough that I'd be spending half the day with a maxi pad crammed between my legs; it had been awhile since we'd had sex, and I'd done him three times last night. I sloshed as I walked, enduring that vaguely uncomfortable feeling of bloat that I got sometimes after a night like that. Thank god for the Pill; I had no time for Dave's bastard.

Or Chip's. Or Pedro's. Or that other dude, Chip's friend from school. Although I'd only sucked his dick; still, it never hurts to plan ahead. Or Mr Norlin's, though I doubted I'd fuck him again. Five times had been enough.

As luck would have it, Melissa was nearby as I slid out of Dave's pickup truck and landed nimbly on the sidewalk. "Bye now," I waved, and his tires had chirped away as soon as I'd shut the door. And fucking Melissa had been standing right there. "Oh. Hi, Liss."

"Heidi." Melissa looked pointedly at Dave's retreating Ford. "Is that your boyfriend?"

"He works for my dad," I told her, truthfully if evasively. She nodded and took a pointed glance at my outfit, a short dress that showed the maximum possible amount of leg and shoulder. I had my cleavage under control, thank God, but she still looked with vague hostility at my breasts; she was nearly flat herself. Ah, the envy of the titless. It was my cross to bear.

"Hmm. So, we read your application to bring your boyfriend to Prom." Melissa was head of the Prom Committee, and the power had gone straight to her head. She was about to give me shit for wanting to bring Chip, I knew. "We're not thinking we'll make any exceptions, Heid; sorry."

"Come on." We started walking across the grass, which Mr Bourne didn't like, but then he was the vice principal. It was his job not to like anything. "He's not some kind of fucking hoodrat. He's a guy at the University. Clean-cut, all-American; a nice guy."

"Sure, of course," Melissa soothed. She took another unconscious glance down the road, and I understood.

"That wasn't my boyfriend, Melissa," I grated icily. I could read her mind: Dave was black, and Melissa didn't want to answer awkward questions. He was also older, though that shouldn't have shocked her; everyone knew I dated older guys. Dave was... what, 32? 35? I wasn't sure, honestly, but conversation was not a major part of our relationship. It wasn't his mind I was interested in, to put it delicately. "I can bring him by, if you want to meet him."

"Oh no," she protested at once, giggling nervously. I'd known Melissa Berry since kindergarten, and a more prudish girl did not exist. Which was odd; her sister Gretchen was reputed to be one of the biggest sluts in town, though nobody really seemed to have any evidence. "That won't be necessary. I'm sorry, Heid, but I'd start making other plans. I don't think the Committee will approve."

Fuck. I looked down as we reached to door, filing toward the metal detectors with all the other kids. "The Committee" was Melissa and her boyfriend, Carl, who everyone but Melissa assumed was gay. I gave her a goodbye nod, my face making it clear I wasn't happy, and for a split second I had a wild thought about heading over to her house and sleeping with her dad. The scandal would be delicious; her mom was head of the PTA.

But no. My sex life was already complicated enough, thanks, and her father was not very attractive. So I headed off to first period with dark thoughts floating through my brain. Fucking Mondays.

* * *

On top of the Prom thing, and too much sperm, and my mom's refusal to let me get a drivers' license, and sorting out the dizzying schedules of my various men, and keeping Dave on the hook, and wondering whether I really wanted Chip in my ass... Jesus, on top of all that, I was having... call it "business problems."

For years I'd had a very lucrative couple of businesses I'd run at school. I guess they weren't really legal, but I looked at them as an expression of the vibrancy of the invisible hand of capitalism, like a social-studies project. The easier but riskier of the two was peddling all the spare oxycodone my mom didn't use. I was not the biggest seller on campus, not even close, but I got enough to fund my lingerie needs. I went through a lot of underwear. My mom had been prescribed it for back pain; four pregnancies and too much sex had apparently taken their toll, but she didn't need nearly the dosage they gave her. So I recycled the excess.

Flushing them down the toilet would not have been environmentally friendly. I'd learned that in chemistry class.

The more time-consuming business would not get me arrested, though it might get me expelled; certainly suspended, unless I managed to seduce Mr Bourne in a desperate attempt to get a diploma. So I obviously didn't want anyone to find out, since I really didn't want to have to fuck Bourne. I wrote papers for people. Mostly English and history, though I could occasionally pull off bio papers too. I'm good at three things: cheerleading (when I'm academically eligible), sex (when I'm not on my period), and writing. All three came easily to me, and I actually enjoyed all three; I found writing relaxing.

So I'd monetized it in my sophomore year.

Back then, it had been just me and Audrey DiStepolo, a reedy-looking little thing with a quiet manner and even better writing skills than I had; worse, for me, was the fact that she could handle the hard sciences. But I held my own, built up a decent customer base, and did okay. By now, as a senior, I was charging fifty bucks an hour for an A-grade AP paper, which usually took about three or four hours. Audrey charged a little more, but we both did okay; we met periodically to try to deconflict our businesses, and even though we didn't like each other, we got along.

But now, things had changed. A newcomer had entered the fray, a transfer student from a private school in East Adams? West Adams? Central Adams? Who knew? And now, by the middle of spring in my senior year, when I was supposed to be ditching class, fucking men, and buying prom dresses, I was suddenly embroiled in "business problems."

Her name was Angela Rye. I hadn't even heard about her until Tuesday, when one of my customers had cut me. "Dude. That's so uncool." He'd already gotten me started on an essay about Their Eyes Were Watching God when he backed out. "You know you're paying me for the shit I've done already, right? The research?" I already had the paper half-written, but that was okay. Someone else would buy it.

But Wayne Emory didn't know that. He put his head down and began chiseling out a tuft of grass with his shoe. "I'm sorry, Heidi. She's giving, like, an introductory discount."

"Introductory?" Wait. We had like six more weeks of school. Audrey and I were both planning on continuing our sales once we got to college, but nobody knew this new girl. Who did she think would buy her shit over ours? She lived like forty minutes away! "What, is she planning on staying back and repeating the senior year?" I joked.

"No. She's a junior."

Oh. Well, that sucked a massive cock. Neither Audrey nor I had thought we'd be leaving any decent competition behind next year. "No shit?"

He shrugged. "Yeah. Apparently, she had some problems back in the day, like in sixth grade. She was in my class in elementary, and then her parents held her back a year when she went to church school."

Fuck. "What's she charging?"

He brightened. "A hundred per paper. She doesn't charge by the hour." He shrugged. "It's a deal, and I only need one more after this one. The introductory discount lasts, like, a month." He frowned. "Come to think of it, I'm not sure why she's discounting senior papers in May."

What a dumbass. I'd figured it out three minutes ago, and I'm not that smart. "She's angling for your little brothers and sisters, Wayne."

"Oh." He shrugged, then changed the subject. "Anyway, you're still on for Wednesday, right?"

I scowled. "Of course." I wasn't happy about it, though. I was a lacrosse cheerleader, and Wayne was a co-captain, and he had a team captains' dinner to arrange. Traditionally, the cheerleaders provided the post-meal entertainment once the coaches left. There was usually a lot of dick and not a lot of restraint. I was only showing up because Brittany, the cheer captain, had mono. "Only oral, though," I clarified. "I don't open my legs for high school dick, as you know by now."

"Whatever," he replied sullenly. Wayne had been trying to get into my vagina for ages. "I think people would like you a lot more if you did, Heidi."

"I don't need to be liked," I pointed out evenly. "I just need to be paid. You owe me $45 for the work I've done already, Wayne." He'd only needed a B, which was a five-dollar discount. I held out my hand. "Cough it up."

He sighed. "Can you make change?" I rolled my eyes. Business problems.

* * *

"Naw, I'm telling you," Brad insisted, "it's all fake."

I burst out with a sharp, marijuana-scented laugh. "No way, dude. Some of it, maybe, but not all." The dick in my hand was hot and moist. "I mean, how would you know, anyway?"

"I read it on the internet," he replied solemnly, and this time it wasn't only me laughing. My boyfriend Chip joined right in, his cock jumping and writhing between my fingers.

"Sure," Chip said vapidly. "Because, you know, nobody lies on the internet." He took the blunt out of his mouth and held it out for Brad, who was sitting all the way on the other end of the couch. Brad rolled his eyes. "Dude," Chip protested, "I'm busy here. You'll need to come get it."

I giggled; I was what Chip was busy with. Brad thought about it, then got to his feet and shuffled over. The porno on the laptop on their dorm room coffee table was loud and lurid, and I craned around to make sure I wouldn't miss anything as Brad crossed in front. He grabbed the blunt, glancing idly at where Chip and I were stroking each other. "Do you guys have to do that in front of me?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," I chuckled. Everything was fucking hilarious. "Did you want to join in? I'm sure Chip can put his hand down your pants, too." I laughed some more, but then moaned; Chip punished me for being fresh by adding another finger.

Brad smiled easily. He was a cutie, that was for sure. He shrugged, then took his cock out of his boxers and waved it toward us. "Go ahead, Heidi," he grinned. "Whenever you're ready to ditch limpdick Chad and take a real man, just let me know." His penis was fat and dark, hanging half-hard from the end of his fist.

"I'll think about it," I giggled, and Chip lurched in my hand. I frowned. "So, like, you said you'd done research? What's up with that?"

"Simple." Brad put away his penis and sat back down. "Seems they use fake semen in all the pornos, just to make sure the money shot looks good. I guess most of the time, the stuntcock actually cums. But a lot of the time, he just can't. So they glue a little tube thingie to his dick, on the side away from the camera, with a pump, and..." he shrugged and sipped at his green tea.

I shook my head and smiled, but deep inside my nasty little sex-brain I was intrigued. I figured I'd look it up later. I sighed and began to melt, then, as Chip changed his motion. "Feels good, huh?" He was smirking, like he usually did when he got me off.

"No way." I pointed at the laptop with my hand, the one with no cock. "Look at that. No way."

The boys stared silently at the screen for several seconds, digesting. "Well." Chip sounded intrigued. "How is he even getting his dick in there, with her legs out like that?"

"Fake, man, I'm telling you." Brad had ended up with the blunt, so he just went ahead and inhaled again. "It's all camera tricks and blocking angels."

"You mean angles," I said automatically, my mind impishly coughing up images of heavenly beings in football pads. I giggled again.

"That's what I said. Angels."

Chip was deep in thought. He cocked his head, considering the pornstars on his laptop. Then, much to my chagrin, his hand came slurping from my vagina and out of my underwear. "What the fuck?" I demanded.

He had leaned over to the side table, seeking a condom. "Let's try it. I think I figured it out." He was already ripping open the package.

I stared at the screen again. My eyes widened. "You're kidding."

"Come on." He was on his feet, stripping down, his dick straight out in front of him. Brad watched curiously. "If I'm right, you'll be pretty comfortable if you can just keep your left leg straight."

Brad and I looked at each other, our mouths wide open. Brad was appalled. "Dude." The woman on the laptop screen was a pretzel. "You don't want to damage your girl, do you?"

"It'll be fine." Chip was tall, lean, and very naked. He'd made an unfortunate condom choice; the thing was bright orange. I looked more closely.

"Chip, the ribbed kind? I'm not fucking that." But, of course, Chip knew better; I was well juiced up, and about a week ago I'd made the mistake of telling a joke about how dirty it would be if we did it while Brad was watching. Chip had cum like a firehose, the raincoat slipping straight off his shaft and dangling out of my pussy; I should have taken note. Now I was horny as shit, and he knew it. I sat up and began plucking at the hem of my tanktop. I squinted again at the laptop. "I'm telling you, you're not even going to be able to get it in."

"Only one way to find out." He arched his back a little, that skinny cock of his all long and straight, primed for my pussy. "What are you, chicken? I thought I knew you better than that, Heid."

"Whatever," I sighed, and with a brief sideward glance at glitter-eyed Brad, I shucked off my tanktop and dropped my boyshorts. Brad had seen me naked before, basically; that is, he'd seen me in nothing but a lace thong, which is close enough. He'd never seen me fuck, though.

And certainly not in that position. My ears buzzing, I kicked the coffee table aside to give us room.

"Start with a handstand," Chip urged, positioning his dick between his thumb and forefinger, and it was game on. Brad helpfully pressed pause on the laptop, freezing the two jaded, sculpted actors in their impossible pose, and as I bent and twisted I kept glancing over for reference. "Jesus. Stop moving," Chip grunted, trying without success to jab his cock into my drooling snatch.

"Quit it, dumbass! I'm not ready yet." I batted his ridiculous orange dick away. Inverted, I felt my own juices as they syrup-dripped down toward my belly button; it was hard to breathe with my leg like this. I checked the screen again and made some corrections. Brad was staring like he'd never seen anything so exciting, huffing on the blunt as though it was the last one on earth. "Okay, Chip. Give it a try."

"Try?" He was arching his long, stringy body, pushing his cock sharply downward. "Quit moving!"

"I'm telling you," I panted, "I don't think you'll be able to reach."

"Fuck! Hon, you need to keep your left leg straight!"

"Jesus," I wailed. "What is this, yoga?" I couldn't see him, but I could feel him, stabbing ineffectively around my slash. My left leg was trembling. "Ow! Not in my butt, you dumb fuck!"

"Sorry! It's not easy to aim." Brad, unseen, was literally on the floor, weeping with laughter. "One more try, Heid. I think I can get it." I felt his hand grappling hard on my ankle, my knee bending sharply to the side, and now my own pussy juice was running between my breasts, tickling me, and that was it; I collapsed in a heap, with a very undignified squawk and my naked boyfriend staggering to a landing on top of me, and I smacked at his chest to roll him over. "My bad," he chuckled. "You okay?"

"Goddamn." My tits were achy now, the smell of my own vagina getting me aroused like it always did. "Can you just give up on this gonzo porno bullshit and fuck me now?" I glanced down at his dick. "But get a different one first. None of that ribbed crap."

He blinked at me helplessly, our legs still entangled, and his balls were jiggling with sheer dirty excitement, and then he was shoving me hard onto the floor, trapping me there with his legs, and pushing his cock into me prone, and goddamn if the ribbed cumbag didn't actually feel pretty good that way, and when I glanced over at Brad all I could do was lie there, orgasming helplessly, while he watched in fascination.

It was weird and naughty and fucking amazing.

* * *

"I'm telling you, Aud, we're screwed."

Wednesday, and Audrey and I were meeting over coffee at Harborside Book & Tea, sharing a blueberry scone and some coffee. She made a face, her twisted teeth snaggling over her lower lip. Her parents hadn't been able to afford braces, leading to angst and bitterness. She'd written about it in her college essay. "Yeah, I've met her." She knew exactly who I was talking about. "She gives out introductory discounts. Oh, and know what else?" She scowled. "She also blows guys to guilt them into paying more. I heard it from some friends I have at St Bede's."

I blinked carefully, and tried to look suitably outraged, even though I'd done exactly the same thing. "Disgusting whore," I muttered, shaking my head. "So you know her from church?"

"No, I go to St Agnes'." I nodded, but had nothing to say. I'm not Catholic, and I have no clue who these people are they name churches after. "We're in trouble next year, Heidi. We'll both be away, and she'll grab all our business."

I sighed. "Should we meet with her, maybe get her to focus on some other market, like her old school?"

She shrugged. "I think she got kicked out of West Adams Catholic for that," she explained. "She's not going to risk it."

"Risk what? They already kicked her out."

Audrey looked at me darkly over her coffee. "Her parents never found out. If they do, she's fucked."

"Ah." I forgot, sometimes, that other kids' parents cared about what they did. The concept of my mom or my stepdads punishing me was not something I was familiar with. And my dad? I saw him once a month, if that. If he tried to yell at me, I'd just laugh. "Well. So, what?"

Audrey brooded. "My brother thinks we should find somebody to beat her up, or maybe threaten her."

"Oh, and who's going to do that?" I scoffed. "Your brother's a fucking moron."

"He knows people," she replied quietly. She might be right, I reflected; her brother was a small-time thief and pornographer. He probably did know people. She shrugged. "He was also saying we could film her doing something, maybe blackmail her."

"Jesus. We're graduating in a month and a half, Audrey. She'll have all next year! What the fuck?" Neither of us suggested lowering our prices, of course. "What would we film her doing? Nobody's shocked by anything anymore." I shook my head. "We could get her on video sucking donkey cum out of a homeless guy's ass, and nobody would bat an eye."

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