Franklin Frederick Fuquit the Fifth, better known to his fifth grade classmates as Freddie, knelt beside the family room's walnut coffee table, across from his mother. She removed a wet diaper from squirmy pink Patti Neighbors and stuck it in a large plastic baggie. A frown of studied concentration creased his face as he watched Mom clean and powder Patti's wrinkled little labia and slit. Phyllis Fuquit, immaculately dressed in a ruffled white blouse and wide floral skirt under a matching, neatly-pressed, many-pocketed apron, put the baggie inside the baby's diaper bag and removed a fresh diaper. She unfolded it and tucked it under the baby's fat pink butt while Freddie's dickie sprang up as he continued staring at the freshly powdered little twat.
"Mom? Before you fasten her diaper, can I fuck her?"
Phyllis' eyes widened in shock. "Freddie!" she said in her most reproachful tone. "You know better than that! She's only eight months old! Your dickie's so big you'd split her in half!" Instead of immediately fastening the clean diaper, she moved a large plastic box from the floor to the tabletop and began rummaging through its contents, three dozen small, colored paper bags. For a moment she seemed to forget he was there, but finally added without looking up, "If you're horny, go upstairs and do your sister."
"Aw, Mom," he said, sounding like she'd just suggested he eat a bug. "She's in one of her moods again."
"Well," Phyllis said as she opened the small bags and peeked inside, "it's your own fault. As soon as you came last night, you pulled out and rolled over and went to sleep. Your father and I had to listen to her complain about it all through breakfast while you were hiding from her in your room. Where on earth did I put...." He voice faded, but her lips continued moving.
Freddie frowned, turned around, and stomped toward the door, his hard little pecker, if you consider a wide four inches on a fifth grader to be "little," leading the way. "Shit!" he muttered.
"Language, dear," Phyllis said looking up from her search to watch his bare ass, peeking out from the hem of his lucky Cubs tee shirt, disappear up the staircase. She shook her head and resumed her search. "Now where -- ah. Here it is." It was in a bag printed with green leaves. That wasn't it's proper bag. Fylicia must have been using it again and returned it to the wrong bag. She would have to speak to her daughter again about returning things to their proper places.
She removed the vibrating egg from the bag and flipped the control unit's switch on. "Good," she said and switched it off. "GOOD!" she repeated in an exaggerated happy sing-song to Patti. "The BATTeries still WORK, DO'Tt they, HON? FyLIcia DIDn't USE them UP! No she DIDN'T!"
Phyllis warmed the egg in her palm before spreading Patti's fat outer lips and placing it against her tiny clitoris. She snugged the diaper in place and fastened it, letting the long wire emerge from the baby's left leg opening. When Patti began to cry again, Phyllis flipped the switch. The baby stopped crying and made a funny face. She began cooing and gurgling and kicking her tiny legs while waving her arms about. Phyllis wanted to give her another bottle with a pinch of Valium in it, like the one that had kept her asleep most of the day, but Allison would be there to take Patti home in an hour.
"THERE we GO!" Phyllis said in the sing-song, making goo-goo faces while moving Patti to the crib next to the love seat. "THAT should SHUT you UP, SHOULDn't it, you LITtle BITCH! Yes it SHOULD! Yes it SHOULD!"
She folded the changing pad and placed it inside the diaper bag, along the left side, precisely halfway from either end. She then used a dust cloth to remove traces of the powder from the shiny walnut coffee table. She folded the cloth neatly into crisp right-angled quarters and aligned it on the far corner of the table before sitting back on the love seat and punching the tv remote to her favorite soap opera, "The Days and Nights of Our Wives." The wide plasma screen lit up to show the handsome features of the leading man.
Phyllis sighed. She folded up the bottom edge of her apron and her wide skirt, being careful not to wrinkle either, until she had exposed her neatly trimmed brown triangle. Her left hand slid under the adjacent seat cushion to retrieve a small vibrator, not much larger than her finger, while her right took the egg control -- Phyllis was so proud of being ambidextrous -- and switched it off. She flipped the switch on the flat end of the vibrator and lightly pressed its tip to the crease of her cunt, right above her throbbing clit, and hummed along with it until Patti began fussing. Without glancing into the crib she switched the egg on again.
The leading man's beautiful wife entered the scene. Phyllis applied a little more pressure to the vibrator. Her twat was wet enough for the hard, smooth plastic to slide gently between her outer lips, now swelling with desire, and come to rest against the stiff pink nub hidden between them. She fantasized a threesome with the couple on the screen and immediately came. Phyllis liked having her first orgasm as quickly as possible and then enjoying a long build-up to her next one. With her eyes locked on the screen, she began sliding the vibrator down to the bottom of her tunnel entrance and back up almost to her clit: slowly, slowly, not rushing herself. On her fourth round trip she switched off the egg without consciously thinking about it.
A heavily disappointed Freddie paused short of the door to his sister's bedroom, turning to look toward the staircase that led down to Pati. Freddie really loved a tight fit more than anything else. He turned again and his frown flipped over into a grin. Maybe Fylicia would let him fuck her in the ass, and he could pretend it was Patti. He wrapped his hand around his upright dickie and gave it a couple of strokes. Just to be sure that it was as big as possible so the he could impress his sister with how he was growing. His cheery mood lasted the entire two seconds it took him to remember that Fylicia was pissed off at him and it was HIS fault. He leaned his red head forward and peeked into the bedroom.
Fylicia was wearing her school uniform blouse and vest. She was reading a book while lying face down on her bed, her spread legs toward the door. Freddie had a great view of her tight bald cuntie and of the tighter puckered objective of his current quest as she slowly humped her smooth slit on the rose-patterned bedspread. Unfortunately, that meant more bad news for Freddie.
Fylicia normally sat at her desk to do her homework, her smooth young goodies out of his reach in the forest green school uniform that stayed on until she was finished. That meant Freddie had two choices: jacking off or doing his own homework. Well, there was the choice of doing Mom, but she always insisted he finish his homework first. But if Fylicia had her nose stuck in a book while atop the bed, her skirt and panties lying abandoned on her desk, it meant she was having really bad trouble with the lesson and using orgasms to burn off her frustrations.
How was that BAD news for Freddie? Because nobody got Fylicia off but Fylicia at these times. Even Dad had to do without or do Mom.
"Shit!" he whispered softly. His dickie wilted and his smile flipped down into a frown.
Apparently he wasn't as quiet as he had wished because Fylicia's head jerked around to look at him, sending her shoulder-length blond hair spinning out in an arc. He braced himself for the explosion, forgetting to pull his head back from the door. Not that it would help. Fylicia would just chase him and keep yelling. The last time that had happened, he'd been fully dressed and had tried to escape to the front yard. What had saved him had been his father, who was coming to the door when Fylicia burst through, screaming after him. Dad had snatched up her bare snatch and carried her back inside before the neighbors saw it.
She smiled! "Oh, good! You're here. I need you."
Freddie's frown flipped back up again. He swaggered into her room and cupped a hand over her wet cuntie, his middle finger sliding between the juicy, slippery folds that made a wet smacking sound when he spread them. Before he could slide it into her hot little tunnel, she shifted her weight to her opposite side and fired her arm in a sweeping backhand to his erection, which had been throbbing back to its original upright and locked position.
He yelped in pain and covered his groin, in case she went for a jab to his nutsies next. "What'd you do THAT for?" At first he thought she'd lured him in close for an attack, but she rocked back down to rest her weight on both elbows. "I thought you needed help?"
"I do," she said, "and we don't have time for that yet. The problem's Stinky."
Freddie's head drew back as his pale red eyebrows drew together. "You got a problem with your ass?"
She stared at him without blinking. After several seconds of silence he decided to practice his math skills by adding two plus two. His sister was studying her sixth grade history book.... "Oh! You mean Stinky!"
Marcus Stengler, Anton Cermak Middle School history teacher. "Mark" to the other teachers; "Stinky" to the students, "That (insert the obscene expletive of your choice here) Kraut!" to the remainder of the town. Although Stengler had a reasonable relationship with Mr. Soap, he had no idea Mr. Deodorant even existed, and the results were noticeable by the end of the day because the air conditioning rarely worked in his part of the building. And the end of the day was when Stengler let certain young female students "improve their grades."
"Yes," she said, rolling onto her side, causing Freddie to take a step back and put his other hand over his aching dickie, too. Fylicia, however, merely sat up and gave him a look of despair. Freddie knew it was a look of despair because that's what Dad had called it once, though Freddie had NO idea what the heck that meant.
"He said he'd give me a higher grade on my last test if I blew him, but when I was done, he marked a 'C+' on it. He said that grade was as good as the blow job was, even though I swallowed that time. Jenny Goodall told me later that that little bitch Candy Carroll fucked him when he promised to give me a low grade. I owe her BIG time for that one."
"Oh," said Freddie, the fear on his face fading to concern.
"I gotta get an 'A' on this one, or I won't make my grades for this period, 'n' Dad 'n' Mom will ground me for the next six weeks."
"Oh," said Freddie again, uncupping his protective hands and sitting beside her. He put one arm around her shoulders and hugged her. Fylicia and he might fight like cats and dogs between themselves, but nobody else fucked with his sister. Or, as his dad would say, "You don't fuck with a Fuquit!"
Fylicia looked him in the eye. "You gotta help me, Freddie, 'cause you still owe me for those shoes."
"No," he said. "I gotta help you because you're a Fuquit and my sister." Freddie wondered when she'd decide he'd paid her for his Air Jordans. Dad had her wear a short dress when they went to a small, understaffed shoe store in the Chicago loop. He had told her to leave her panties in the Pathfinder's glove box and have the clerk fit her for shoes while Freddie quickly switched shoes in the adjacent aisle and left the store.
As if that had inconvenienced Fylicia! She was having so much fun watching the clerk trying to sneak subtle peeks at her shiny, sweet slit that Dad practically had to order her out of the store. The way Freddie saw it, if he owed anybody, he owed Dad.
Fylicia had gotten herself so turned on by the experience that she left her underwear in the glove box and had Dad fingerfuck her most of the way home, even though Freddie had offered her a proper fucking in the back seat. That caused the first time Freddie had to do a chore because he "owed" her: he had to retrieve her panties from the glove box that night when she finally remembered them.
And that gave Freddie an idea. "I guess this time you'll just have to fuck him, too."
She turned her head to glare evilly at him, causing his free hand to creep back to its Dickie Protection Position. "I'm being serious," she said seriously.
"So am I. You'll just have to hold your breath while you do him. Listen...." He explained his idea to her.
Fylicia grinned in excited delight, threw her arms about him, and kissed him, shoving her tongue down his throat just the way he liked. She stroked her flattened hand down the bottom of his hard dickie until her fingertips tickled him just behind his nutsies for a moment. Then she shrugged off his arm, jerked off her vest and blouse, and threw them atop her desk to join her skirt and panties in a wrinkled wad that would leave Mom displeased. She launched her naked body back onto the mattress, lifting and spreading her legs to show her hot, pink little treasure box that glistened with her diddle-dew. "Fuck me."
Freddie grinned in return. "Roll over."
With impeccably precise timing, Phyllis came just as the show ended with the handsome leading man climbing into bed with his beautiful wife and turning out the lights. She switched the egg off again and pulled a tissue from the box on the end table. She carefully wiped the little vibrator and returned it to its place under the seat cushion. As Phyllis smoothed the tissue and folded it into a small, precise rectangle, Patti began to fuss. As she tucked the used tissue into the proper apron pocket, Patti began screaming. Again.
"O-KAY!" she said in a happy voice as she lifted the baby from the crib. "It's TIME to get READY for your MOMMY! Yes it IS! Yes it IS!"
She changed Patti's diaper again, putting the wet one in the plastic baggie inside the diaper bag. She put the baby into her carrier and fastened the securing straps. The carefully wiped vibrating egg went back into its proper paper bag, which in turn went into the plastic box, which in turn received its lid and was precisely placed on the floor next to the coffee table. Phyllis then unfolded the dust cloth and wiped the table before refolding the cloth and returning it to its exact specified location.
After storing all of the screaming baby's items in the diaper bag, she carried it and Patti to the living room to await the baby's mother.
The doorbell rang before she could deposit any of her load. Phyllis glanced at the clock. Exactly eleven seconds late. Still basking in the afterglow of an exceptionally fantastic masturbation session, she felt particularly generous and decided not to charge the girl for an extra hour.
Phyllis put the carrier and the diaper bag on the hallway floor, opened the door, and put on her brightest smile. Patti's mother, Allison Neighbors, was a haggard, reasonably attractive girl of about eighteen. DNA tests hadn't yet revealed the name of Patti's father, so the girl was forced to support both herself and her infant daughter on a waitress' income as well as any other money she could "pick up" along the way.
Phyllis didn't care for the way Allison wore her shiny black hair, which, as usual, needed a comb if not a perm -- and her makeup could use a touch-up as well. She had food stains on her waitress' uniform and on one of her canvas shoes. High heels and polished leather could make SUCH an improvement in the girl's appearance, even in that silly uniform! Phyllis felt so very sorry for the girl and what she had missed growing up. A proper mother would have taught Allison never to leave the house without proper grooming, proper clothing, and proper birth control.
Allison had inherited the house across the street from her grandparents, who had also left her the furnishings -- not color or style coordinated, unfortunately -- and little else when they died within a month of each other. That had been almost a year ago, when Allison was pregnant and her parents -- those heartless FIENDS! -- had disowned her, their own daughter! If it hadn't been for her grandparents' generosity, Allison might never have been able to afford a house in this lovely suburban neighborhood.
"Come in, dear!" Phyllis said, holding the door open while beaming her brightest smile.
Allison smiled nervously and stepped inside, holding her right forearm. Scraped skin showed where her fingers didn't completely cover an oozing red injury. "Mrs. Fuquit, I -- I'm sorry, but I was hurrying because I didn't want to be late and I -- I didn't see one of Freddie's plastic cars in front of the bottom step and I stepped on it and fell on your steps and I think I broke his car and I'm really sorry about that." Tears of sorrow puddled along her lower eyelids. Or they might have been tears of pain.
Phyllis' face shifted smoothly into a stern yet concerned visage. "Now, now, dear, don't you worry about that. I've told him repeatedly to stop leaving his toys there because somebody could be hurt. If you did break it, that's all right. I won't ask you to pay for it."
The girl looked relieved as she pulled folded bills from her apron pocket and handed them to Phyllis. She returned to looking nervous as she peeked around Phyllis to Patti screaming in her carrier. "Has that been going on long?" she asked.
Phyllis straightened the carelessly folded money, refolded it properly, and slipped it into the appropriate apron pocket. Her face shifted again into a weary, put-upon look. "Almost since the moment you left her this morning. She has barely slept, and only stopped long enough to drink one bottle of formula. I really think that it doesn't agree with her. I carried her around all day and didn't get a thing done. I had just put her in the carrier before you arrived."
"Damn," she said softly.
Phyllis shifted into her stern but compassionate look. "Language, dear."
"I -- I'm really sorry about that. And about the formula, too. It's the best that I can afford."
Phyllis patted the girl's arm, being careful to avoid getting any blood on herself. "Well, dear, that's why God gave women breasts -- so that we wouldn't have to buy formula for our children."
"I -- I appreciate that, but I can't breast feed her at the restaurant." She laughed nervously and fumbled her purse open to remove another bill. "The owner doesn't want anybody eating anything there that he hasn't sold to them. Would -- would an extra ten make up for your inconvenience?"
In one fluid motion, Phyllis took the bill, aligned its corners properly, creased it, stuck it in the same apron pocket, and shifted into her motherly look of concern. "Well, I don't know," she said, again patting the girl's arm. "Are you sure you can afford it, dear?"
Allison glanced over her shoulder. Through the glass of the storm door she saw a ten-year-old black and gold Trans-Am pull into her driveway. "Arnie's here," she said. "I'm sure I can get him to loan me some money if I need it."
Phyllis knew what that meant and put on her knowing look. "God gave us our nether regions to attract a husband and keep him happy, not to use as a cash register, dear."
The girl had the decency to blush at the reference as Franklin Frederick Fuquit the Fourth, known to the world in general as Frank but to Phyllis as Superstud, to Fylicia as Monsterdickie, and to Freddie as the keys to the bank account, wheeled his new Porsche into the driveway, waited for the garage door to rise high enough, and then zipped the convertible into the garage before the door was fully open.
"Oh, by the way, dear: you forgot to put a plastic bag in for the used diapers. I had to use one of mine again."
The girl blushed again and fumbled a quarter out of her purse, expressing apologies as she handed over the coin. It went into a different apron pocket. "A place for everything, and everything in its proper place" was Phyllis' motto. Actually, she had many mottoes, but that was one of her primary Number One mottoes.
Allison hurriedly gathered the diaper bag and the baby carrier, but she wasn't fast enough. The handsome Frank, looking like he'd just stepped from the pages of a women's fantasy magazine, greeted her in his loud, cheerful manner. He did his usual "cootchie-coo" routine with Patti, managing somehow to brush the backs of his fingers across one of her nipples as always, no matter how she held the baby carrier. Then he stood alongside and wrapped a protective arm around her while he made small talk with the two women -- an arm that ended in a hand cupped around the side and bottom of a breast which, unfortunately, had lost some of its firmness after her pregnancy.
Luckily, she had Arnie as an excuse to make a faster-than-usual exit. As they said their goodbyes, Frank, an ass man, slipped his hand down to cup one of her taut cheeks and gently squeeze it. He remained in place as she left, and so did his hand until she moved out of range.
"Frank!" Phyllis said reproachfully, staring at the bulge in his trousers after he closed the door. "Honestly! You're going to cause her to find someone else to sit Patti and then you won't get to fondle her at all. You need to be more subtle."
Frank threw his arms around her, grabbing a taut cheek in each hand. Phyllis, unlike Allison, was in remarkably good shape for a woman with two children, and in fact could set a standard for a woman with no children. He pulled her tightly against his body. "She's going to find someone else anyway when school is out and teenagers are available at a cheaper rate." He humped his newly-grown hard-on against her mound. "She sure is one fine little piece of ass."
"Stop that!" Phyllis ordered. "You're going to wrinkle my apron. Help me undress."
He slid one hand to her zipper but left the other on her ass. "I wonder what she charges."
Phyllis stepped back and began undressing, starting with the apron. "Fifty dollars a pop."
"Those tits would be worth fifty," he said, "but I'm not sure that the risk would be. Who knows what she's infected with after all those men."
"Oh, she's clean. She makes everybody wear rubbers." Phyllis shook her head and its ironic face. "Now that it's too late."
Frank paused with his tie half-unknotted. "How would you know that?"
"Women who stay home and keep house they way they were intended to do learn things that those who go out and get jobs don't," she said in a lecturing tone.
They were naked and reaching for each other when a clamor descended the staircase.
"Daddy! You're home!"
Frank dropped to a crouch to receive bear hugs and welcome greetings from his naked daughter and half-naked son. His sudden stop when his ass hit his heels made his seven-inch hard-on bounce above his heavy, swaying nuts. Phyllis beamed in delight at the sight. THIS was what American family life was all about. She wished Norman Rockwell were still alive to capture this scene in paint forever. She would hang it in the.... Her eyes went wide.
"FREDDIE!" she shrieked, reaching out and grabbing his arm. She marched him down the hall at a fast clip. "How many times do I have to tell you to wash up after buttfucking? So help me, young man, if you got fecal stains anywhere...."
Fylicia watched them turn the corner toward the bathroom and then looked at Daddy with a huge grin. "They're going to be a while," she said, wrapping her little hand around his turgid tool and stroking lightly just below the head. "Want me to take care of this for you?"
Frank cupped her firm little ass in his left hand and stroked his right down her flat chest and belly to the out-thrust little mound that was the only elevation on the front of her body. He gently squeezed her fat young labia between his thumb and forefinger. "Well, I WAS going to fuck your mother," he reminded her, nevertheless enjoying her warm strokes on his yearning yoni-sticker.
"Yeah, but Freddie's dickie will get hard, and you know what will happen then. There's no reason for us to wait."
She was so wet that her father's forefinger slid as easily into her tight, soaking cuntie as his tongue did into her hot little mouth. She grinned to herself as she began tongue-wrestling. By agreeing to let Freddie buttfuck her, she had guaranteed her father all to her own little self. Just as she had planned.
Marcus Stengler's narrow brown eyes looked up from grading papers at his desk when the classroom door opened. He grinned with delight when that hot little strumpet Fylicia Fuquit slipped inside, turned, and reached for the lock knob. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his stiffening schwanz through his rumpled trousers as he heard the click. He couldn't believe his luck. First thing after arriving the United States he'd gone to school and earned his teaching certificate. America didn't issue teaching credentials at the federal level, and neither the state nor this school ever bothered to check to see if he'd been a teacher in Germany. And then he'd landed a job in THIS school, and they gave him THIS classroom!
Oh, sure, sometimes things like the air conditioning didn't work properly, but the same bribes to the school board that had bought slip-shod construction had also bought weirdly-arranged hallways. Those guaranteed additional overcharges through the excessive materials requirements that simple, straight hallways would have avoided. Zig-zags off the second floor hallways led to alcoves with doors to the left and right as well as straight ahead. In his alcove, his classroom was to the left, and there was no classroom to the right. The straight-ahead classroom was unused because of budget cuts.
It was so easy for students to slip in to see him unnoticed. Better yet, the doors were solid hardwood with no windows. Even more better yet, the exterior windows were almost ceiling height, but were only four inches wide and few in number. Best of all, because they were on the south side, they were bronzed glass. He could hold a student orgy in front of them and nobody would know because they faced the schoolyard instead of another classroom's windows. Stengler wanted to buy the architect a case of cheap schnapps; after all, the bastard obviously drank to excess.
"What is it, MEINE SCHATZI?" he asked, tugging down his zipper as she approached his desk with her head down.
"Mister Stengler, I really need a good grade on this test," she said in a nervous tremble that excited him. "I really, REALLY need an 'A,' and I'll -- I'll do anything to get one."
He grinned across his desk at her as he pulled out his short, thin carnal knockwurst. "So Fylicia wants another lollipop? Well, I don't know. The last time you had one, you weren't good enough to earn an 'A,' were you?"
"No, sir," she said, "but if you'll give me one on this test I'll let you, uh...." Head down, she lifted the hem of her green plaid school uniform skirt above the edge of his desk to give him a brief flash of her panty-clad cuntie. "You know."
Stengler felt like a Teutonic lord gazing down from his throne to one of his serfs. He often fantasized that he was a blonde Prussian duke instead of a black-haired Schwab peasant. "Say it," he ordered in a cruel, lordly manner.
"You can, uh, f... -- fuck me."
Stengler smiled and sat back, slowly pumping his erection as he watched the nervous girl quake in fear and uncertainty. If he gave her a "B," or even a "B+," she would still be dependent on his good graces. He could promise to upgrade it to an "A" after a week of his humping her hot, hairless honeyhole. "Well, if you're good enough. We'll see what grade you earn."
"N... -- no sir. I -- You put an "A" in the grade book first. In ink. And -- and then we can -- can do it. However you want."
Stengler had to wipe his mouth with his free hand to hide his grin. They learned now to be manipulative around this age. This one was going to be worthy of being his own offspring. But it would now cost her two weeks. "Okay," he agreed. His "A" was written in a manner that could easily be transformed into a "B." Even in ink.
Fylicia took shallow breaths of the foul air while standing beside his chair and watching him write the grade in his book, hardly believing that he had fallen for her act. Daddy had been right when he'd told her that people would always see what they wanted to see if you just gave them the chance. The hard dickie sticking up through his pants showed just how eager he was to believe her.
"Let me clear the desk off and you can just hop right up here," he said as he closed the grade book and locked it in the center drawer.
Perhaps he wasn't quite so eager, and he didn't trust her. She would have to be careful. "If -- if you don't mind, sir," she said in what she hoped was the right quivering voice, "I -- I'd like to ask something?"
He stared at her, wondering if a third week was in the offering. When he said nothing, she continued.
"I -- sometimes when I get really, uh, really excited? I can't help it and I, uh, I go number one? You -- you might, uh, want to remove your pants first. And the chair cushion, too." She almost said "and underwear," but she knew from experience that Stinky didn't wear any. Behind her back she crossed her fingers, hoping that little bitch Candy Carroll was right when she said that Stinky enjoyed water sports. "You can sit in your chair and -- and I'll, uh, sit on you. That way we won't get your desk wet."
She almost sighed when Stinky said, "Then you'd better remove your skirt and your backpack."
Her skirt and panties hit the floor almost before he finished speaking. She shucked off her backpack, turned, and bent over to place it on the floor beside his desk, offering him an exciting view her taut, round buttocks that were the nicest he'd seen on the sixth grade girls, and, below that, of her cuntie winking its darker pink interior at him.
Stengler licked his narrow lips as his pants hit the floor around his ankles. He stepped out and placed them atop his desk, along with the quilted seat cushion from his wooden chair. "Okay," he said, turning and lowering himself to the chair seat. "Let's get started."
Fylicia took a deep breath and stepped between his legs, grasping his skinny dickie and expertly pumping it a few times, with her fingers applying just enough pressure in just the right place. It caused Stinky to gasp and arch his hips, pushing the smelly thing upward. She watched until she saw he was about to speak and then stopped.
"Mister Stengler, can we -- uh -- my dad has these, uh, magazines, the ones he hides in the basement? Can we -- uh, I saw something that looked like fun. I brought one and some things for us to -- uh -- if you want to...."
Between her helpless pleading and additional dickie stroking, she had him eagerly agreeing. She fastened his arms and legs to the chair with long, self-locking plastic straps after first putting the small diagonal cutting pliers on the desk where he could see them. She held the panties she'd borrowed from the girls' gymnasium locker room under his nose, carefully folded -- Mommy would be so pleased with the folding! -- so that he couldn't see the name embroidered on them. She paused to let him sniff the aroma of her hot young cuntie that so aroused her father and brother to mindless lust, and then gently stuck them in his mouth. Another plastic strap held them in place. He seemed a bit worried about that since it wasn't something they had discussed.
He glanced toward the door, but the angle and distance had fortunately kept him from seeing the actual position of the locking knob. She pretended not to notice and reached down to pump him again. "Good," she said, and climbed into his lap, straddling his narrow hips. His worried look vanished as her hot wet slit made a slimy streak up and down the short length of his shaft.
"Here we go!" She expertly hunched her hips to catch the tip of his dickie below her pubic bone. Despite the cloud of body odor and the fact that she was doing Stinky, she shivered in delight as the head grazed her tiny clitoris, causing it to swell to full hardness. Another hunching move positioned it at the entrance to her steaming love tunnel. Since she hadn't been sure that she could get wet enough with Stinky, she'd had Freddie lube her up with strawberry-flavored Gyno-Jelly before she entered the classroom. She squatted suddenly, thrusting the thin Teutonic tuber up through the slurry of Gyno-Jelly and cunt cream and into her tummy. She silently prayed that Freddie would carry out his part without fucking up.
It was at that time that Freddie was called upon to carry out part of his part. He groaned when Jeremy Stewart and Kishone Decatur turned into the short hallway angle leading to the alcove. "What are you doing here, Fuckhead?" Jeremy asked with a sneer as Freddie rushed to them. The sixth grader was a bully to the fifth graders, and to any other sixth graders smaller than he was. That last did not include Kishone, a new student who had made immediate friends with Jeremy.
"It's Fuquit," Freddie said softly through gritted teeth.
"Fuck wit is right," Kishone said with a laugh.
Stewart pushed Freddie's shoulder. "I asked you what you were doing here."
"Keep your voice down! Stinky told me to see him after class. He's REALLY pissed off. You didn't hear about the accident?"
Jeremy and Kishone shrugged at each other and then at Freddie.
"Aw, I was goofing off with a seventh grader by the lunch room. I splashed milk on Stinky's pants. The other guy's in there now. Stinky just gave him ten licks. He's REALLY pissed off." Freddie though it best to repeat the last for Jeremy. He wasn't all that sure about Kishone, but that boy's light bulb did appear to be almost as low-wattage as Jeremy's. "Why are you here?"
The two bullies were exchanging nervous looks. Despite the rules against corporal punishment, Stinky used a paddle, and he always got away with it. Five licks was BAD news. But TEN?
"We come to talk to th' man about our grades on today's test," Kishone said.
"Not that it ain't none o' your business," Jeremy added, thumping the other boy's arm.
Freddie shook his head. "You better come back tomorrow. You know Stinky -- the more licks, the madder he gets. You'll be lucky if he doesn't LOWER your grade and give you a couple of licks."
"Yeah," Jeremy agreed with nod. "Hey! Where's that hot sister of yours? One of these days we're gonna do her at the foot of the flagpole in broad daylight. We'll give you ten minutes to round up all the students and teachers to watch."
"You better do her first," Kishone said with an evil grin. "Once she's had black, she ain't gonna go back."
Freddie had to get rid of the two immediately. Fylicia should be finished any minute now. "Listen, Stinky could come out at any time now. Do you want him to find you here?"
"No." Jeremy placed his hand in the center of Freddie's chest and pushed him backward. "So long, fuck wit."
"Adios and hasta do yo' mama!" Kishone said. The two vanished, faster than they had arrived.
Freddie let out his breath and remembered Mother's words: "A place for everything, and everything in its proper place." Jeremy and Kishone would get theirs at the right time and place. He began thinking about how as he returned to his station beside the door.
Fylicia's eyes were wide circles and she was panting in time with her humping. Her hips began pounding her cuntie down around Stinky's dickie. In the back of her mind she couldn't believe it was actually about to happen with Stinky! "I'm cumming," she said with a groan, and then her back arched and she did just that.
Stengler was amazed what a fireball this little bitch turned into once she had a SCHWANZ in her VOTZE. He didn't know which felt better -- her hot, tight little twat slamming down around him, or the even tighter, throbbing squeezes when she came. Whichever it was, it was enough to push him over the top. He groaned and began spurting his hot slimy seed deep into Fylicia's pulsing pudding pot, where it was immediately squeezed out to drip from her cunt lips and run down his balls to puddle in the chair. She was his first in two days, and he'd built up quite a load.
She giggled and gasped for breath as she came down from her orgasmic high, her descent speeded along by the stench of Stinky. She squeezed her tiny tight twat, forcing his limp tool out of her body. She clamped down her inside muscles again to squeeze as much of his jism out of her as possible, wiped her cuntie on his leg, and then jumped down from his lap.
"Gee, Mister Stengler, that was GREAT!" she said in a too-loud voice.
Stengler's look of concern faded when she picked up the cutters and turned to him, then turned to one of fear when the door opened, and then to confusion when Fylicia's brother -- whatever the little SCHEISSKOPF's name was -- came in and locked the door. He looked back at Fylicia, who was holding the cutters up in front of her. Stengler nodded at the straps securing one of his arms and sighed in relief as she moved the cutters toward one. At the last second she stopped, turned, and picked up the bag, giving him another view of her now-slimy little cunt lips, his white goo still seeping from her slit. She stuck the cutters in a side pocket and closed the flap.
Fylicia nodded to the magazine on the desk. "You can keep that," she said with a pleasantly evil smile, scraping some jism out of her slit and spreading it on the magazine cover and some inside pages.
Stengler lost the battle to keep from panicking.
As Fylicia pulled on her skirt, Freddie took Stinky's trousers and folded them neatly -- Mother would be so proud! -- and stuck them in his book pack.
"Bye, Mister Stinky," Fylicia said with a cheerful smile as she slipped her arms through the straps of her book pack. "It sure was nice having you as a history teacher for a while." She turned and walked down the aisle to the door. "I'm gonna miss you."
Freddie nodded at Stinky, said, "Bye!" as well, and followed his sister to the door. She paused and he removed something from her pack. While Freddie put it on the floor, she turned to Stinky and said, "Something to remember me by. Oh -- and don't forget this, too!" She lifted the hem of her uniform skirt and humped her glistening bare cuntie at him, then turned and walked out the door as Freddie ignited the smoke bomb.
"Let's ditch the pants," she said, stopping beside the trash chute.
"Check his billfold for money first," he reminded her as she reached for the zipper on his pack.
Even though it was after school, there were still plenty of students and teachers in the hall. Freddie had to slip into another zig-zag to trip the fire alarm.
The next morning's paper was delivered inside a plastic bag to protect it from the light showers that should have ended before six a.m. Frank removed the newspaper from the bag and dropped it in the trash. Phyllis followed behind with the mop for the three raindrops which had landed on the kitchen vinyl. He seated himself at the breakfast table and greeted the children, who were halfway through their ham and pancakes and orange juice and milk.
Frank unfolded the paper and reached for his morning coffee. His hand stopped before it touched the cup. "Well, I'll be damned!"
"Language, dear," said Phyllis, replacing the mop before returning to the stove.
"Listen to this," he said after scanning the headlines. "Marcus Stengler -- that's your history teacher, isn't it?" he asked, looking at Fylicia. She nodded.
"Stengler was arrested at school yesterday afternoon. They found him without his pants and tied to his chair. He had a B&D magazine on his desk." Frank mumbled to himself as he scanned the rest of the lead article and then said, "He had a girl's panties in his mouth and had participated in some kind of 'sexual activity.' They had set off a smoke bomb in the classroom -- God only knows why. Apparently she panicked and fled when the smoke filled the classroom, leaving him there alone. They traced the girl through the name on her panties..."
Freddie turned a questioning look at Fylicia, who, after glancing to see that their parents weren't looking, gave him a quiet, "SHHHH!"
"... but she claimed to know nothing about the incident. Hmmm. They opened her locker and found the same type of ties used to secure Stengler to his chair, and in her gym bag they found another smoke bomb. She's been expelled and may face arson charges if she doesn't agree to testify against Stengler."
Freddie's questioning look was replaced by one of awe and admiration. He mouthed, "Candy?" Fylicia nodded and silently mouthed, "Turn around." He did so just as their father lowered the paper to look at them. "What do you think of that?"
"I think it's a shame," Fylicia said. Her sad face echoed the feelings in her voice. "Mister Stengler was one of my favorite teachers. He was a really nice man."
Freddie nodded agreement.
"It just goes to show you that you can't truly know other people," Phyllis said as she waved the newspaper aside and put Frank's pancakes and ham on the precise center of his placemat. While she waited for him to pour the syrup so that she could wipe the lip of the dispenser she aligned the edge of the paper with the edge of the table.
"Well, I'm glad that they caught the girl, too," Frank said. "Who knows what kind of effect she might have on the rest of the school if she were to run around freely, pulling such stunts." He handed the syrup dispenser to his wife.
Phyllis carefully wiped the lip of the dispenser. "I can't imagine what horrid kind of mother would let her daughter do things like that," she said as she placed the dispenser on the table and then moved it an eighth of an inch with her fingertip before returning to the stove.
Frank took a bite of pancakes and wave the empty fork at the two children as a pointer. "Why, one day she might have tried to pull something on one of you kids!" he said
"That'd be a mistake," Freddie said. "Like you always say, 'You don't fuck with a Fuquit!'"
Fylicia glanced to her brother and then back to her father and nodded agreement.
"Language, dear," Phyllis said.
© Russell Hoisington 2003