"I cannot believe you agreed to that!" Jessica Brookes said to her.

"You know I can kick his ass all over the board. It'll be no contest."

"He's got something up his sleeve though. You know he does. He wouldn't risk having to leave you alone for the rest of the year over a game he has no chance of winning."

That was Marty. She talked too fast. It made your head spin.

"That's why I need you girls to come along with me. Just in case he tries something."

"You're actually going to his house?" Christie Bishop said. She reached up and adjusted a hair that was out of place on Jessica's pretty blonde mane, not so much trying to be helpful as pointing out the flaw. Christie was a very light brunette herself. She was shorter than all three of them. Her hair was short too, spiky and sexy-looking, like she'd just come out of a bedroom after getting fucked for six straight hours. Her lips were shaded dark red with whorish-looking lipstick, and they glistened in the sunshine that filtered through the tree they sat under.

Jessica shook out her hair and ran her fingers though it. It was her pride and joy, her hair. It made her hot, barely competitive in a school where other girls had pert, full, firm, round little asses like Chelsea, or full red dick-sucker lips like Christie. Jessica had her long flowing corn silk hair, and her make-up, and her sexy, expressive eyes. That was all. She looked like a Barbie. Pretty enough, with a blonde and bouncy personality, but thin and featureless from the neck down.

And then there was Marty. Marty had tits. Marty had tits that jiggled with every move she made, making the boys stare, making Jessica secretly hate her. She showed them off too. She acted like the leering boys pissed her off, but she dressed like she knew damn well where her prime assets lay. Martina McKnight, beneath her thick black shoulder-length hair, had big fat, juicy, jiggling tits. And Jessica could barely fill a training bra. Life. So unfair.

Marty sat on the lawn, with her legs outstretched, slightly parted in front of her, her hands on the grass behind her, and her big fat tits thrust out provocatively each time she stretched. As though her back were so sore and she had to thrust them out at the passing boys every twenty-five seconds for some relief.

Chelsea was the only one of them Jessica could really stand. She was the only one who wasn't phoney. When guys leered at her, groped her, smacked her on the ass, she was genuinely pissed off by it. She wasn't pretending. You could tell. That's probably why guys like Clark got such a kick out of bugging her. Girls like Christie and Marty, when they got their asses pinched, gave a haughty/angry look at the boy who'd done it, but you could see a flash of excitement in their eyes. Jessica couldn't entirely blame them either. It was better to be accosted constantly by obnoxious idiots than to be completely ignored, especially when the idiots in question were hot as hell and so damn sexy it made her panties wet just thinking about whether or not they might grab her ass as she passed them in the hall, Clark and his buddies.

She'd never tell Chelsea that though. Chelsea was real. Chelsea was strong. Chelsea didn't wet her panties over guys she couldn't stand, just because they looked like they'd stumbled right off of a movie screen and right into her personal space. For Jessica Brookes though, getting her ass smacked, groped, even just leered at, made her feel sexy, desired. Hell, just being noticed was damn near a brain-gasm in a world where you were nobody unless somebody somewhere wanted to fuck you.

"I've made a deal with him," Chelsea said. "If I beat him, he's gotta stop treating us like pieces of meat. He's gotta stop the leering, the catcalls, the grabbing and groping, and especially the fuckin' smacking!"

"Yeah. I hate that shit," Jessica said. "It's so totally obnoxious." And Christie gave her a sideways look that Jess couldn't quite read. Sure you do, it seemed to say.

"Gormund won't do a damn thing about it," Chel went on, "so we gotta deal with this shit our own way."

"Ah, my back is so killing me," Marty groaned, stretching again, arching, thrusting, posing. Jessica looked. Yeah. Sure enough, Donovan Richards was strolling by, staring at her fat juicy tits like they were ripened fruit on display in a marketplace. Marty pretended not to notice of course, Jess thought. Who knows, maybe she really didn't notice. Maybe it was just such an automatic reaction she didn't even think about it anymore. Jessica didn't know whether that would be better or worse. Donovan walked on, shaking his head with a wowed look on his face, and Jessica screamed inside.

"Fuckin' Gormund," Christie said. "If she had her way, we'd all be dressed like nuns, wearing veils over our faces like a bunch of Muslim bitches."

Her voice was nasally, and more than a bit whiny. Jessica smiled, nodded, gave a phoney little laugh, but inside she felt like she could cheerfully smack the little bitch into a spinning back flip every time she put on that phoney-angry tone. Why did Chelsea even hang out with these two? They were total fluff! Jessica only really liked Chelsea. They'd been friends for years. But she was forced to tolerate Marty and Christie as part of the package. She smiled and laughed right along with them, pretending they were all best of friends, but she honestly couldn't stand them. Worst of all, it made her into a phoney little bitch too, just like them. But what could she do? Mostly she was afraid of sitting alone at lunch hour. So she played nice.

"Anyway, you guys gotta come with me. I'm not going into the lion's den by myself. Who knows who's gonna be there or what they're gonna try."

"We'll so be there for you, Chels. You know we will," Marty said. Phoney goddamn bitch, pretending it wasn't really about getting near as much dick as she possibly could, so she could thrust her fat juicy tits around like so much eye candy.

"I swear to god, if they try anything — if I even get so much as a pinch, I'm gonna crack the chessboard over someone's head."

Chelsea spoke of Clark and his friends putting moves on them like it was a bad thing. Jessica breathed deeply, repressing the shiver that wanted to shake through her at the very thought of it. Clark and his friends putting moves on them was the most exciting thought she'd had all damn day. School sucked. Teachers were assholes. Ninety-nine percent of the students were phoney little pricks and slutty bitches. It was all she could do not to run screaming from the place as the classroom clocks staggered around in drunken circles each day. The only thing that made it even remotely tolerable was that every once in a while, guys would give her a squeeze as they passed, assuring her that she was one of the hot ones, that she could compete with big fat juicy tits and full red dick-sucker lips and plump round asses that only jiggled twice when you smacked 'em. It made her day when some of that attention fell on her. Yet she loathed it at the same time. Chelsea was right — they were being treated like pieces of meat — but god help her, she loved it, and that made her nauseous in her guts. What a stupid, fucked up world.

There in the distance was Brad Kendall, shouldering a black book bag and shouting across the parking lot to someone she couldn't see. Speak of the devil. Her eyes fell to his fingers as they clutched the strap of his bag. She wondered what they smelled like, breathing deeply, remembering...

Brad Kendall had almost fucked her once, right in the goddamn stairwell at school. He’d caught her alone during classes, on her way to the washroom, and he backed her right up against the wall. He had her blocked in, the waist-high window of the stairwell doors on one side, the underside of the stairs on the other, the wall at her back and him in her face. There was nowhere to go. Now what?

“Hey, sexy. How ya been?”

She gulped, shrugged, trying to seem calm and confident, but he was making her feel small, overwhelmed, trapped, and it was a weird kind of anxious/sexy panic that made her knees weaken and her pussy get more than a little wet. She shivered in front of him, backing right up against the wall, looking up into his face, with a strained, hesitant smile.

“S’up, Brad?” she said, with what little voice she could muster.

“Maybe we should figure that out.”

She shrugged, looking around for anyone who might be passing by. She felt scared, but at the same time she was glad she saw no one. He might actually try something. She might actually let him. He came forward again, and now he was close enough for her to feel his heat in the cool of the basement stairwell. She felt like an empty hollow shell, numb and tingling, standing there without power, except to keep breathing, and keep smiling that phoney smile. Her eyes fell to the locket on a chain around his neck. It was shiny, distracting. She forced a grin, catching herself from slipping into a daze.

“I like your eyes, Jess.”

“My... eyes?”

She looked up at him again, still smiling that goofy, nervous smile, still afraid to speak above a whisper. If she spoke her voice would crack like a nervous puppy. As it was, she felt like she couldn’t even breathe. He liked her eyes? Guys never said shit like that to her. She’d always thought she had pretty enough eyes, but no one had ever named them as her best feature. She blinked self-consciously, too many times. She shrugged.

“I like your locket. It’s n-”

He stopped her with a sudden kiss. She barely got out half a gasp as he rushed forward. His mouth landed on hers, her lips parted, and his tongue touched hers. She sucked in quick, shallow, drowning breaths through her nose and held her hands weakly against him, pressing on his chest with her wrists as his arms went around behind her to squeeze her ass. He gave it a hot, gratuitous pawing, like he owned the thing and was simply claiming it for the first time. She shivered and got even wetter.

“Such a nice booty, too...”

She let him enjoy a double handful of her sweet teenage bottom as she stood there trying to figure out why he thought she had anything close to a nice ass. She was too skinny. She hardly had any curves at all. She looked almost boyish in the mirror at home and she hated it. But here he was, kneading and pawing at what little assflesh she had, and seeming to love it. She was thrilled. So thrilled she didn’t even stop him when she should have, when he reached around and ground his hand into the crotch of her pants as well. She squeaked a little and pulled back, trying to wriggle sideways out of his grip, but she didn’t pull his hand away. She didn’t really want him to not be touching her. And if it weren’t for the possibility of getting caught right there and then, with his hand on her privates, she thought she just may have let him to whatever the fuck he wanted to.

“Brad... stop...” A hot breathy whisper, followed by a sharp, sucking breath.

“Wow. You’re hot. I can feel it right through your pants.”

She was too. Her pussy was pulsing with blood and tingles and wetness. Her tummy tumbled over and over, churned like a rag in a wringer and poured down even more wetness into her most excited place. She was hollow inside. Then he glanced around and reached up to slide his hands right inside her pants. He was really going for it! Right then and there!

Oh my fucking god! she screamed inside her mind. Do something, Jess!

All she did was get even wetter. All she did was stand there and shake in his arms. Moments later his trembling hand was squirming its way inside the elastic of her panties and his fingers found a tangled tuft of pubes. She was still just standing there like an idiot, looking down the hallway with her cheek pressed against his bicep. His hand fumbled further into her panties and he found her slippery pink slit. She jerked forward when he hit her clit and whimpered.

“Don’t, Brad. Someone might come.”

“Yeah. You.”

“Stop. Please. Don’t.”

“Please don’t stop, you mean.” He thrust his hand deeper, kicking her feet apart with his. “You don’t want me to stop. Admit it.”

She did. And yet she didn’t. Stupid accursed girlish brain! She was terrified someone would come around the corner and catch them. She was terrified he might try to go even further, right then and there, if she let him do this much to her. She was terrified of being caught with her pants down in a basement stairwell, getting fucked from behind, up against the wall by Brad Kendall, the wet slapping fleshy thrusts echoing up the stairwell all the way to the third floor.

Do something, you crazy bitch!

But he was kissing her, hungry and eager, like she was made of honey if he’d only dig for it, and he was fingering her slit, accidentally hitting her clit every few seconds, trying to find her pussy hole, and it felt sweet, ticklish, and exciting. But most of all, she felt wanted, and that was like a crack fix for her attention-addicted teenage girl brain. She pressed against him, but didn’t push his hand away, and when his fingers finally found her tight little hole, she let him slide one in. She didn’t close her thighs against him. She opened them. Everything went gooey, wet, rubbery-weak, and wonderful inside her and she trembled all over. He was trembling too, possibly just as terrified as she was, but she wasn’t looking into his eyes. She was watching the hallway, praying nobody would come around the corner down the hall. He wiggled his wrist around, struggling deeper, penetrating her tight little cock sheath as deep as he could get. She let him, feeling her pussy squeezing on his finger at its own will.

“Ooh god, you’re a tight one. Holy fuck that’s nice.”

She didn’t know what to say in response to that. Of course she was tight. Why wouldn’t she be? She’d only ever been with one other guy, and they’d only done it once. His gently stroking finger felt too wonderful for words though, and all her brain could muster was a battle between letting go the long slow moan that wanted to escape her, and remaining quiet as a mouse.

“I should fuck you right here and now,” he whispered with terrifying confidence.

“Nuh-uh,” she replied, but she ground against him, wishing above all things that they were alone in her bedroom right then, or even in a closet somewhere.

“You wanna?”

“No,” she said, but he thrust deeper, palming her clit as he did and she began to wonder if maybe fucking him right then and there wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Goddammit, his hand felt good. How much more would his-

“I don’t think you could even fit me in this tight little thing,” he said. “You’d scream like a little girl.”

Try me, Brad, she thought. You just go right ahead and fuckin’ try me...

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