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Message-ID: <55594asstr$1176297005@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Wendy Cries" <sh.cries@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Ariel: After the Dance - by shecries (Mf, voy, hum, exhib, nc) 2/7
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Date: Wed, 11 Apr 2007 09:10:05 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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feedback, criticism, comments, and special requests are always welcome at
sh.cries@gmail.com (just not always fullfilled)
 http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/she_cries/www/

Ariel:  After the Dance - part ii
(Mf, voy, hum, exhib, nc)

by she cries

     Carl had a look of great relief on his face, "Well, then." He slapped
his knees with his hands and stood up.  "You probably want to scrub up
before your friend gets here."
     Scrub up?  I'd spent half the day in the shower?
     Then I realized what he meant.  He believed my promise, he just didn't
trust me.  Coating my face, hands and sex was evidence that could land him
in jail for years.
     I smiled innocently at the vulgar man, "Oh, no Carl.  It's just my
friend.  She won't care if I smell a bit funny."
     Carl blanched, and I had to conceal a giggle.  How could I be so normal
after what had just happened.  I mean he had just molested me, hadn't he?
     "No, dear, really, I think you ought to take a bath.  I could draw it
for you."
     Oh, that thought made me want to scowl, Carl putting me in the tub like
a little girl.  Scrubbing my back, and other parts...
     "No, that's okay." I said hopping up.  I couldn't believe how perky I
felt.  Maybe that was an afterglow thing.  I'd certainly been energetic
after my orgasm with Rusty.  I mean, I'd kicked the shit out of him, but
making Carl fret like this was a joy after the way he'd manipulated me.
"It's the weekend," I said, letting the quilt trail off my shoulders like a
cape while I flaunted my cum smeared body, "I don't have to take a bath till
Monday."  And I flashed him a girlish grin, like I was a spoiled kid who
hated taking baths.
     "I-I really think-"
     I cut him off, "Thanks for putting your number in the phone, Carl.  I
feel a lot safer knowing I can call you if I see anyone weird."
     He nodded.  His hands were shaking.  It was a hollow victory, I
suppose, leaving a man so uncertain and nervous about leaving a trail of
evidence of his felony all over my naked body, but it was satisfying
nonetheless.  The worst I'd have to suffer would really be a little extra
soreness on top of that I already had to deal with.  Carl faced losing
everything for a little fapping on my ass and a bunch of feels.
     Oh, there was my dignity and my sanity, but considering how I'd gotten
into this mess in the first place I figured that those were already gone.
     As I got the stammering Carl to the door, "Daria will be here any
minute." "If you see any strange prowlers..." he finally admitted to having
seen something, "Yes, if I see that boy again..." which meant that it hadn't
all been for nothing.  He certainly wasn't going to come crying to my
parents about Wade's indiscreet visit.
     Just to hammer the point home with him I walked him out onto the porch,
though he entreated me to stay inside.  I followed him after he'd gone
through the door, the quilt bundled around me.  It was dark, but the porch
light was on, and I was brightly lit as Carl anxiously crossed the street to
his house, looking around for any sign of a witness.
     As he stepped onto his property I cried out, "Thanks, Carl." And ran up
to the edge of the porch while the old man practically jumped out of his
pants, whirling around to hush me.
     Of course, I hadn't intended for the quilt to get stuck in the screen
door, and almost choked myself clinging to the straining fabric as it
threatened to abandon me entirely having stripped me naked on a lit porch on
a dark night.
     I decided to let Carl get away just this once.
     And as I wrapped myself up again (it had gotten really cold) I the
thought struck me hard.  How was I going to deal with living across the
street from a man who had fucked me in my own living room under the pretense
that I thought he was doing me a favor?  A man who had stripped me, cum on
me, taken pictures of me...
     The camera!
     I had to go now!  If I waited Carl could easily take that as an
invitation for more fun-play.  The asshole, like I wouldn't notice that he'd
conveniently forgotten to take my camera out of his pocket.
     I dashed upstairs, pulling on a pair of plaid shorts (boy's boxers
actually, Daria got them for me because she knew it turned me on to wear
them around) and a sport's bra.  I didn't have time to be modest.  Daria was
on her way, and I couldn't wait.
     I stuffed my feet into a pair of ratty yellow sandals and stumbled down
the stairs (hint:  Don't run down the stair in backless shoes).  I tumbled
through the living room and pulled open the front door.
     Shit!  She was here.
     Daria was a really beautiful, eighteen year old senior at my high
school, and my best friend in the whole world.  She was a few inches taller
than me, a little fat around the mid-section ("more cushion for the
pushin'," she liked to say to her blushing, virginal best friend), but she
had a really pretty face, the wildest ass blue Mohawk you've ever seen,
piercings all around her ears, and a rack you could balance tableware on.
     I knew then that I was going to tell her all about Carl.  She'd
understand, but I also knew that I couldn't ever really admit to what had
happened after he'd fucked me.  That was just a little too far, even to tell
my best friend.  I still wasn't sure how I'd felt about it.  Watching her
wave at me from her little beat up Volkswagen rabbit I realized that the
pictures would have to wait.
     I had really been hoping she was alone, but unfortunately she had
brought Max Whisper along (Whisper was one of those stupid names that punks
who tended toward the goth side of things like to name themselves).  Max was
a short, kind of fat kid, but no one really cared about things like weight
and looks at the club (well, of course we did, we just didn't reject anyone
outright for being ugly since we were all pretty much rejects already).  Max
only came up to my nose, so I liked hanging out with him.  He was also
pretty funny, though I spent a lot of time forcing him to take the hint that
I wasn't interested in him.
     Daria's hands were spread wide, "Honey, you're not even dressed."
     I let my shoulders slump.  I hadn't really had a lot of time to think
about it, but after all was said and done, I didn't want to go to the club
tonight.  My nethers, distended and sore as they were would make dancing
excruciating, and unless I sat down and stayed in that chair never moving,
I'd be stuck standing most of the night.  I was ready to fall over as it
was.
     I really wished Max wasn't there, but he was a friend, and unlike the
guys at school, he definitely didn't go in for traditional sexual roles.  He
had numerous times bragged about masturbating, and we'd discussed the
subject openly at Denny's after the club.  I didn't think it would do any
harm to let him in on the revelation since once word got out that precious
Ariel had lost her cherry word would spread like wildfire.
     I almost relished the idea of telling the story of Jerry's demise in
between my thighs.
     I waved them in.

     The most uncomfortable thing about relating my, somewhat abridged,
story was how Max couldn't seem to forget for five minutes how the slit in
the front of my boxers would spread open every time I so much as leaned
forward.
     That was odd, considering how I related how I'd let Wade come on to me,
the interruption, my humiliation in being strip searched, and the bet I'd
been forced to take.  I told them what happened with Alan, my state of mind,
and how it had dogged me, my flaming arousal the whole night.
     I left out what happened in the bathroom with Rusty.  I had promised
not to tell, after all, but really, I didn't want to give the details of my
first blow job, though I did articulate how the girls had cleaned me up and
given me their bra.
     I also told them every detail about the bizarre breast fondling
incident, hoping Daria would shed some light on it.  She had heard that some
girls did that as well, but was no more in the know than I, so I moved on to
Mike, and surprised myself by gushing on and on and on about the boy, and
how much I loved dancing with him, and how handsome he was.
     Both Max and Daria were exchanging wry glances by the time I moved on,
and seeing this I decided to have a tantrum about Max looking at my crotch.
     To both my friend's utter astonishment I jumped onto the bed (where Max
had laid back), dropped to my knees, and pushed down my shorts, shoving my
pussy in his face while he, predictably, dissembled into an embarrassed
heap.
     Neither of them having ever so much as caught me without a bra one
around a boy, they were both completely flabbergasted, and I hunkered down
after kicking the boy off my bed to enjoy my new found liberation.
     Their mouths seldom seemed to close after I gave them the gruesome
details of losing my virginity, saving the punch line about my period coming
for last.  They gawked, jaws on the floor for a long time after I told them
how Jerry had been carted off to the hospital and I'd walked home in a
football jersey before finally Daria and Max broke up into hysterical
laughter and exaggerated groans of pain and sympathy respectively.
     It was a great time.
     I found myself reluctant to detail anything that had happened that
evening, however, even inviting Wade over, as I already felt like I was
playing the slut a little too wantonly, but they didn't seem to think I had
anything more to add, not that I could top the Jerry incident.  I gave Daria
explicit instructions that since she and max were still planning on going to
the club, how she would announce my deflowering, with great ceremony at the
obligatory diner party after the club closed, and gave her every gory detail
Jerry had suffered, as a warning to anyone who might come to think that my
new status as a player meant I'd be easy pickings.
     They left with much hugging, more than sympathetic to the damage
Jerry's gigantic cock had done my ability to stay on my feet all night, and
Max promised me that I could shove my crotch in his face any time.  I
teasing joke that got him a flash of my cum smeared ass while Daria wasn't
looking (not that he'd be able to see the cum).
     And then they were gone, two hours later.  It was almost ten.  I was
exhausted, and I knew it was too late to go over and see Carl about my
camera.  There was no way I was going to try and persuade him to return it
this late at night.  Not after what we'd done together.  I'd have to figure
something out tomorrow.

     I clattered the phone down on its charger in a huff.  It had taken a
lot of persuading on my part, but I'd finally convinced mom and dad to let
me remain un-babysat for another two days while they rescheduled their
flight with the airlines.  There had been a terrorist threat, and all plains
at their airport were grounded, causing pandemonium.  Because of the
three-hour time difference my mom had called me at four am in the morning to
tell me she was going to arrange to have me sleep over at one of her work
friends until they got back.
     I had to use a lot of persuasion, and shamelessly evoked Carl as my
guardian since he'd been checking up on my since they left town on Thursday
at any rate.  Not that I wanted to encourage closer scrutiny by him, nor to
inform him that I was on my own till late Tuesday night, but it was better
than being shipped off to a strangers house where Eric was staying (him
being too young to be left on his own, my parents said which was just as
well with me).  In the condition that I was I wanted lots of privacy and no
stupid questions.
     But as I huffed back up the stairs to go to bed I realized that I was
wide-awake.  I had slept since about the time Daria left and had slept in on
Saturday, so I wasn't really eager to go back to bed.
     My body felt wonderful compared to last night, though my sex was still
a little sore to touch and my morning crap had been like passing a baseball
for a moment there (that quickly passed).  I must have been becoming a sex
addict, because I was immediately beset with trying to figure out what kind
of trouble I could get into today.
     I mean, I knew it was really simply the liberation aspect of it.  I had
been really chained down by my virginity, not being able to even talk to
many guys I was remotely attracted to for so many years.  Now that I was
free I wanted to let it all out.  To explore what I could get away with.
     But I also knew the other aspect to it.  I had been woken out of
feverish nightmares of having Mrs. Dee order me to comply with the sexual
demands of each and every one of the football players who had driven me to
surrendering my virginity.  Echoes of the visions that had run over me in
the foyer, the images were nonetheless, vivid, stark, and potent.  I was
awash in a deluge of semen.  Laughing, mocking jocks forced me to turn
tricks for them, and in return I was laughed at and teased into a burning
state of arousal that they couldn't be bothered to satiate.
     I was desperate for something to take my mind off of them.  To liberate
my libido from my hangers on.
     Unfortunately I couldn't expect any more UPS men, and I certainly
wasn't going to endure another creepy encounter with Carl if I could avoid
it.  Maybe I'd find a randy Jehovah's Witness on my doorstep.  That would be
lots of fun, I sniggered to myself.
     The problem was that I was really worked up.  It was as if I hadn't
been with four guys in the past twenty-four hours (granted, only two of them
got to home plate), but rather had been abandoned on a desert island for
twenty years with nothing but gay porn to keep me entertained.
     I found myself restless in my bedroom.  Masturbation just wasn't going
to do it today.  It just didn't even touch what I'd gotten with even the
slimy Rusty stroking me in the bathroom.  I needed to find a guy like Wade,
preferably one with a very small dick.
     Absently I found myself scratching my crotch, and peered at the white
flakes on my fingernails:  Carl's cum.
     Just having it dried and crackling in my pubic bush gave me a thrill.
I had gotten really trashy.
     Outside my window I heard a loud thump in the distance.
     The paperboy?
     I burst out in laughter.  That kid was, like twelve years old.  He went
to school with my brother.  No way was I going to touch that.
     But then I remembered the tingle of excitement I'd gotten from the UPS
guy, and even having Carl walk in on me in my underwear.  Maybe I could just
play this one along.  Get him to catch a glimpse.
     The flush of excitement at that told me it was worth a try.  That kid
had to see a lot of shit through the windows in the mornings.  So what if he
told someone someday that he had gotten a glimpse of Eric's sister through a
window.  That, at least, might make masturbation a little more interesting
for me than resurrecting Johnny Rotten from the grave for the
eight-hundredth time.
     I pushed open my window and peered down the street.  Nothing.  Had I
imagined it?  Then I heard another "Whump!"  Closer this time.  That was
when I realized it was Sunday.  The papers were huge and he had to walk up
to each porch because he couldn't throw them.
     A plan flashed into my mind.  I'd have to stand up on my bed for him to
see more of me than a nipple in my bedroom, so I definitely had to make my
move downstairs.  We had a great picture window out onto the porch from the
living room.  I could pull the curtains open, hit all the lights, and sort
of casually saunter across the room in...  What?
     Using my heat flush in the groin-o-meter I quickly went through a
selection of my underwear and various outfits.  Nothing seemed to play up.
     Then I remembered Eric's discarded tank top.  I sure as Hell wasn't
going to wear those gross briefs, but was pleased to find a pair of satin
white panties under my bed.  They were a little old, the butt sagged a bit,
and they were certainly not clean (but then, neither was I).  Pulling them
on I scrutinized how the backside sagged below the cleft, like my briefs,
but the front joined by two thin straps was fairly tight, and at least
covered my pubic bush.
     I thought to decide against them, but as I went to push them off I felt
a flush at showing so much of my backside to the boy.  I momentarily
considered my G-string, but tossed that idea aside.  Those nasty things were
not only drenched with blood, but probably the singular cause of all the
trouble I'd gotten into at the dance.  No.  I even found myself liking the
fact that you could just see my bush through the thin fabric.  I let my mind
wander for a better shirt, since the tank top would cover most of the
virtues of the underwear, until I remembered my scissors.
     Two minutes later I pulled on the shirt.
     Shit.  Eric was going to kill me.  I had cut way too high and my boobs
were completely sticking out the bottom.  No, you couldn't see the nipple,
but this was serious stripper wear.  Way too obvious.
     Then I reconsidered.  This was a seventh grader, after all.  How was he
supposed to know what was obvious.  I glanced out the window.  I could see
him across the street, two doors down.  It was still so early that only the
streetlight provided illumination.  Most people's porch-lights were off.
     I decided that as soon as he got up to the porch I'd make a big
flourish of opening up the windows.  I'd have the porch light off and the
window on, so he'd feel fairly concealed, and I'd flip through TV guide,
maybe discreetly touch myself for as long as I could bear it.  Then I'd
probably freak, run upstairs, and masturbate myself into a froth.
     Maybe he'd even jerk off himself.  I'd have to give him enough time for
that.  Hell, wouldn't it be great if I could catch him at it?  Maybe make
him do it in front of me for a change.  He wouldn't be too eager to tell his
friends about anything he saw through my windows after that, I thought
maliciously.
     I looked out again.  He was one door down, across the street.  And then
to my dismay I watched him walk by, throw the paper onto the porch and not
even look.  Old Mrs. Jensen could have been standing naked right there and
the kid would never have noticed it.
     I quickly scanned for another option, and spotted Daria's cigarettes on
my porch.  Poor girl, I thought.  Destined to a night of bumming smokes.
But that would be my way to get his attention.  If I were on the porch,
smoking, I could just call out to him, then walk inside and carry on with
the plan from there.
     The problem was that there was no way I could go out there in this
outfit.  It was cold, it was way too scanty.  I'd have to put something on
and then...
     He was crossing the street.  He'd hit the house to our right and we'd
be next.  I was out of time.  How badly do I want this, I asked myself?  How
would it feel if he found you on the porch in just this outfit?
     The pounding of my heart gave me a quick response.  I wouldn't have to
keep him entertained to masturbate, or flip through the channels.  I might
cum right on the spot.  Oh my god, I was horny!
     Flipping on the porch light and slipping out through the front door I
felt the icy blast of night air pummel my body.  My skin went tight with
goose bumps, and I felt my nipples go hard in seconds.  I heard him
crunching across my neighbor's lawn, dew frozen on the grass.
     I fumbled for a cigarette and surprisingly got it lit the first try.
My porch had a low wall, so I had a bit of shelter from the neighbors, but
it also meant I needed to get the kid up on the patio with me.
     Fortunately we had a couple of folding patio chairs set up out there.
I had put them up last night so Daria could smoke as I told her and Max my
sordid tale.  Little did I think I would be adding to it so soon
afterwards.  I scooted a chair over to the wall and slumped down in it,
puffing on the cigarette to get it lower.  From the lawn the kid would be
able to see my shoulder, so I'd have to make a point of standing up.  Maybe
even leaning over to get the paper.
     Oh god, my fire was broiling hot just thinking about it.
     And suddenly he was there.
     Light brown hair, scrawny, freckled, big buckteeth, braces.  A total
geek.  It was the same kid I remembered from Eric's grade school open house,
but whereas some people blossomed, he seemed to have gotten worse.
     For some reason this didn't put me off in the least.  I made a dramatic
flourish of smoking the cigarette.  Too much, Ariel, chill out.  Let him
come to you.
     "Morning." He said absently.  He must encounter people occasionally.
He was pulling a paper out of a nearly empty bag which nevertheless covered
him shoulder to knee.  The kid must have muscles of iron to haul that kind
of a load every Sunday.  He still hadn't looked up.
     "Hey, aren't you one of Eric's friends?"  Oh, shit.  Why did I say
that.  I mean, maybe he'd recognize me, but why actually remind him.  Oh, by
the way, I'm your friend's big sister.  Oh, and I 'm a total slut, see my
panties.
     That was, in fact, exactly what I was proposing to do, and it made me
feel really hot and really naughty.  It also made me feel really scared.
Really, really scared.  I was an inch from getting cold feet.  I felt my
mouth seal shut.
     He stopped, "Ariel, right?"
     Oh shit, the kid knew me?  Remembered my name?  I found out about him,
like, a year ago, a quick nod and a few glimpses in the mornings.  He
remembered my name?
     The boy was blushing, acting really shy.  Oh, please, tell me he didn't
have some kind of adolescent crush on me, "I'm Doug.  I'm the paperboy."
     Crush or not, he was certainly uncomfortable around girls.
     In spite of my fear and anxiety clouding my arousal I decided then and
there that I was going to make his problem much worse.
     "That's a big bag you've got there, Doug.  Was that full of papers?"
     I watched the boy puff up at that, proud of his work rather than
showing false modesty, which I had expected, "Yeah, I can lift a hundred
pounds of papers."
     That was more than I weighed.  I said so.
     "Oh, well, I could lift you right over my head.  Wanna see?"
     The thought of the boy hoisting my semi nude body over his head made a
comical image, but then I was in a particularly self-destructive mood it
seemed, "Yeah." And I stood up, and crossed over to the steps.
     They boy was taking off his bags.  His mouth fell open when he dropped
them.  "A-arent' you cold?" he stuttered out.  I had him completely
shocked.  I came down the steps.  Doug was pretty short for a guy who
claimed he could lift a hundred pounds over his head.  He only came up to my
chest.  I was in fact freezing, but I figured that in the backlighting from
the porch he couldn't see all the details that indicated so.  A factor I
didn't really feel like adjusting.  I was, however, starting to feel really
nervous about this.
     Standing boob to face with the boy he didn't even glance up at my face,
"Eric never told me you were so big."
     What the fuck was I doing?  I glanced down the street, but it was four
am.  Not a soul in site.  I was in my panties and barely a halter-top in my
front yard.  This had definitely gone too far, "Look, Doug, let's just
forget it."
     "No, no.  I can do it." And even as I stepped back the boy lunged out,
planting his hands firmly on my waist and even as I struggled with him I
found myself hoisted upward.  Doug let out a mighty falsetto grunt and for a
second I hovered over him, his arms trembling.  He had actually done it, and
his face was buried in my crotch.
     The intense sensation of another man (boy) grinding into my sense was
incredible.  I gasped with shivers of pleasure even as I clutched the little
man's hands for my perch.  I would have thrown my legs around him to keep
him there is I could.
     But the lift was all he could handle.  I felt myself slipping down,
terrified suddenly of taking a painful fall I grabbed his arms and he
couldn't bend them.
     Now had I cut the shirt properly it might have been pulled up in the
fall, but his hands sliding up the sides, my chest descended straight on his
face, which he turned up at the last minute to get a facefull of boob.  In
fact, he had a facefull, and two handfuls as both hands had slid under the
shirt, which now covered his head and his arms.  Worse, I was still
falling.  I couldn't get my feet under me and he had staggered off the
cement onto the wet, slippery, freezing grass.  His little hands mauled my
tender, freezing boobs.  I thought I'd choke, unable to stand up high enough
for him to duck out.  Then I slipped again, and made the decision to let my
arms up, sliding out of the top and falling butt first onto the wet grass.
     I felt the wedgie the second the slivering shards of grass grazed
across my exposed sex.  I saw Doug throw the shirt aside having finally
extracted himself, but his features were hidden in shadow.  We had gotten
turned around and the light of the porch now lit me up, laying back on my
hands and butt on the grass, my knees up but spread wide.  Topless with my
panties pulled to the side.  I had wanted to give the boy a peep show.  I
was giving him the full nine yards, and I could tell even behind the
darkened silhouette of his face that he wasn't wasting any time waiting for
me to cover myself.
     The funny thing was, that I was wasting a lot of time laying there in
the grass, the icy lawn freezing my toes, my hands and my ass, but I just
let him watch while the cold melted away and the heat of the moment came
over me.  I wanted to do it right there.  To touch myself and scratch that
itch.  This was what I'd come out here for.  It would all be for nothing if
I froze up.
     Thank god the grass was tickling my cunt, because I snapped out of that
real fast, leapt to my feet and sprinted up the steps into my house, slammed
the door, shut off all the lights and ran up to my bedroom, burying myself
under the covers before bursting out into maniacal laughter over the thing
I'd just pulled off.
     A little later I took a peek out the window, the lights in my bedroom
carefully turned off, but there was no sign of Doug.
     Maybe tomorrow, I thought, and then got up and went to take a shower
because my ass was itchy as hell from lying in the wet grass.

     I crashed most of the morning after my shower.  Wow!  I had really gone
over the edge.  I mean, Friday night I was terrified to be caught in my
underwear, and by Sunday I was actively trying to get guys to do just that.
'Whatever,' I thought.  I didn't wake up to dreams of being forced to do the
team.
     But whatever had driven me into the arms of Doug the paperboy seemed to
have worn off.  It sure as hell had tapped me, or at least drained whatever
adrenaline had kept me up after the early morning phone call.  I was just
glad that encountering little Dougie was a completely optional part of my
daily routine.  After waking up nauseous to the realization of what I'd done
I didn't think I'd be taking any more stupid risks.
     I was going over to Carl's house, and that in itself was a colossal
risk.  But I couldn't leave those pictures in his hands.
     This time, however, I went prepared.  I had my boots back on, actual
pants, red plaid punk pants with plenty of zippers (though I had had to tear
out those stupid suspenders that hung between the legs), and a Misfits
T-shirt that was actually whole, though way too large for me.  If Carl got
any ideas into his head he'd find me a lot harder a nut to crack than last
night.
     I was still bra-less, however, all my decent bras evidently having been
looted by kinky sock-fairies or the hamper, (not that I really minded the
omission, I had rather liked letting it all hang out yesterday), and I
hadn't been able to bring myself to pull on another pair of briefs in spite
of the trouble my naughty underwear had gotten me into, (where the Hell was
all my fucking underwear?) and instead took a pair of Eric's.  It was kind
of pathetic that my twelve year-old brother's boxers fit me so well, but
that's boys and girls for you.  They looked really good on me, bright red
checkers, fitted to my ass but loose in the legs.
     At any rate, it was nothing that was going to get me molested again by
Carl.
     He answered the door clean and showered, shaved and dressed.
     "Hey Ariel," he glanced over his shoulder.  His wife was home, which
wasn't surprising since she never left the house.  "Is there something I can
help you with?"
     "My camera, Carl."
     "I see you got cleaned up."
     I shook my head, "No, I just washed my hair." I lied.  "There was some
weird gunk in it." I grinned at the man who had fucked me yesterday.  "My
camera, Carl.  I need it."
     "Wait just one second."
     I waited for like five minutes, and had been pounding on the door for
two before Carl re-appeared, my camera in his hand.
     "Sorry about that, Ariel.  I couldn't find it."
     I glared at the man, "Carl, what did you do with the pictures?"
     "Oh, they're all still in there.  Hey, you feel like a swim?"
     "No."  I wasn't smiling.  Five minutes had been more than enough time
for him to download the shots to a computer, but there was really nothing I
could do or say about it.  I'd had my chance last night, and I'd blown it.
If Carl had had any plans for them, there wasn't much I could do about it.
"Bye Carl."
     "I'll come by later."
     Simmering with resentment and worry I didn't reply, tucking the camera
into my pocket.  The fat prick hadn't been content to use me; he had to have
mementos too.  Fine, I'd thought, but if I ever found out he'd posted them
on the internet I'd torch his house and his fat ass inside it.
     With that thought in mind I hadn't paid much attention to the car
honking as it drove down the street in my direction.  It wasn't until I
stepped on the porch and heard someone calling my name that I turned around
and saw to my disgust, Mitch and Bones sitting in a fairly new late Ford
Alero.  Mom's car, I guessed.  The two football players hopped out of the
car, acting all happy and delighted to see me.
     I felt otherwise.  "How did you find my house?"
     Mitch shrugged, "My sis is in your science class.  You're on her list."
     Great.  They had my address and phone number.  "What do you want?"
     "Hey, Ariel, it's cool." Bones pleaded.
     Beyond the pair walking up my lawn at me I saw Carl peeking out his
front door.
     "Why should I be cool, Bones?" I said, making fun of his name the way
they had taunted mine on Friday.
     "Actually my name's Chris, they just call me Bones on the field."
     "Whatever, Chris."  I said using the same inflection.
     Both boys seemed genuinely put out by my behavior.  Mitch risked a step
closer to me, "Ariel, we didn't know what Jerry and Ron were playing at.  We
just thought you were drunk and, you know..."
     "All I know, Mitch, is that I hate stupid excuses."
     I was really starting to glow with pent up anger.  How dare they come
to my house?  "Why are you here!?"
     Bones, aka Chris held up his hands, "My Jersey?"
     "I threw it in the trash," I lied.  I had no idea what I had done with
it.
     Both boys looked shocked.  Chris said, "You what?"
     I took a measured step right up to his face.  We were actually eye
level as the incline of my lawn put him lower than me, "You shoved a pack of
Camels in my crack."
     The boy was really at a loss for words now.  Stupid jock.
     But that pained look on his face.  I had gotten him.  Stupid jock, I
thought.  Can't be a jock and have a conscience.
     Mitch started to say something, but Chris stopped him, "Let's go."
     "Dude, she tossed your shirt."  Mitch was clearly incensed at my gall,
the nerve of him.
     But Chris just tugged at his friend.  With a glare at me Mitch started
towards his car.
     Shit, I thought.  The boy really did give a fuck.  Willing to walk away
without his precious jersey.
     "Chris."
     Both boys turned to look at me.
     I pointed at Mitch, "You wait out here," and turned to walk up the
steps.
     Whatever Mitch had done, he wasn't one of the provocateurs.  He had
actually tried to make amends, and quite frankly, I was begging him to fuck
me Friday night I was so far gone.  I wasn't really in a position to blame
him for wanting to take advantage of that, even if he could be a dick.
     Chris followed me inside my house, and seemed pretty smart, not saying
anything as I led him up the stairs to my room.  The place was trashed, but
I figured that it was probably in a pile somewhere.
     Chris was standing in the doorway.
     "Sorry about Friday." He mumbled.
     I shrugged, throwing clothes around the room, "No big deal."
     "Yeah it was."
     I shook my head, not looking at him. "It had to happen sooner or
later."
     "Not like that."
     I stood up, holding bunches of clothes in each hand, "Well, that's how
it did happen."  I dropped the clothes and pushed past Chris in the doorway,
"How's Jerry."
     I caught the boy grinning out of the corner of my eye.  I guess he
didn't like Jerry either.  "He's still in the hospital.  He's okay, they
just had to get the swelling down."
     "What about the bleeding." I asked, surprised that I was so calm in
talking about it.
     "Normal stuff, they said.  Fags get that all the time."
     I thought for a moment as I opened the door to the bathroom.  Anal
sex.  I imagined Carl with his penile frenum torn.  That put a smile on my
face.
     Finally I found the jersey.  It was in a crumpled pile on the floor.
Blood stains tarred it in several places from when I'd mopped up with it at
the creek bed.
     "Sorry about the stains." And held it out to him.
     He looked at his soiled jersey.
     "I can put it in a bag if you want."
     He shook his head and took it, "I forgot, you were on your thing."
     "My period."
     "Yeah."
     "Then just say it."
     "Your period!" I was finally rankling him, and I suddenly regretted it.
     I sat down on the toilet, "I don't try to be a bitch, Chris."
     He shrugged, leaning against the doorframe, "I don't mean to be a jock
asshole."
     "Why do you act that way then?" I looked up at him.
     He shook his head, "I don't know.  We get together and...  I mean, it's
just a fucking act."
     "An act you can back up with force."
     "I guess I should go." He said, but didn't move.
     "Bye." I said blandly.
     "You're really okay, you know."
     I glared at him, "Chris, I'm still a little worked up about the whole
cigarettes thing."
     He was silent for a long moment.  "You know, if anyone tries anything
with you..." he seemed to not know how best to finish that statement for me.
     "Tell you what," I said, "You promise me that you'll never humiliate
another girl again."
     "Done."
     I looked up at him, "Really?" I didn't know if to believe him.
     He looked frustrated, "I don't know if I can, but if it'll help make it
up to you, yeah.  Done."
     I nodded, and we both shut up for a while, thinking about that.
     "Hey, can I use the john?"
     I looked up at the boy.  "Yeah, sure."  I got up off the toilet, "I'll
be in my room."  I don't know why the hell I told him that.  I don't know
why the hell I gave him his stupid shirt back.  This had to be some kind of
game for him.
     Still, I went to my room and flopped down on my bed.  I felt the camera
bulge in my pocket and stared at the ceiling while I listened to Chris pee.
     Imagine that, I thought hearing the clank after he flushed.  He put the
seat down.  He deserved a blow job just for that.
     And I laughed, realizing that I was trying to rationalize keeping him
here.  One of the dicks who'd tried to do me en masse at the dance.  Well,
he wasn't bad looking, and he was certainly an improvement over Carl or the
paperboy.
     He appeared in the doorway, hesitating for a minute, then came and sat
down at the foot of my bed.  "How are you doing?"
     I wasn't sure, "I'm okay, I guess."
     "No...  I mean, you're not injured?"
     I shook my head.
     "Good.  I was really worried."
     "Whatever."
     He was shaking his head, "The way you screamed."
     I didn't want to think about that, "It hurt, okay.  I took a hot bath,
I'm fine.  It was my first."
     "Hell of a first."
     "Yeah."
     Another long pause while I contemplated the ceiling.  Then I said, "So
you planning on being number two, or did you want something else?"
     His face made this weird little twitching motion, like he was switching
gears, switching back, and then back again, "I wouldn't mind, but I think
you need some time to let the scars heal."
     The poor boy didn't understand sarcasm, and I glared at him.
     He was grinning.
     I threw a pillow at him, "You asshole."
     He caught the pillow and let it drop.  We were both grinning.
     I decided to drop the whopper, "I don't need any time."  God they were
right.  I was a total slut.
     I leaned across the bed and kissed him.  He didn't resist, letting me
take him.  He wasn't a good kisser.  Not by far, but he seemed pretty
reticent.
     "You're serious."
     I threw my feet off the bed, undoing my buckles, "You want to or not?"
     Chris was looking at me with not a little amazement, "Well, I mean,
yeah.  Of course, but you..."
     He let his words trail off as I kicked off my boots and stood up,
pulling off my T-shirt, revealing the boobs he'd been so eager to see Friday
night.  Maybe I was just doing this because he'd been so vocal about what a
scarecrow I was, but I was definitely getting a rise out of having him there
on my bed, and no longer a virgin, I couldn't see any good reason not to see
how it played out.  Just for curiosity's sake.
     "You sure you were a virgin on Friday."  He was still just looking at
me.
     "So jerry made a slut out of me.  Sue me." And with a few deft motions
my pants were undone and I was pushing them down.
     "I thought you were on your period."
     "I thought you were a guy." I needled him, and that seemed to have
gotten a reaction as I pushed off my brother's boxers.
     "Back up." I ordered him, and Chris scooted back up onto the bed.
     I unzipped his jeans and spent a few awkward moments trying to undo the
top button.  Finally he reached down and did it himself.  Cooperation at
last.
     Underneath he had the requisite jock tighty-whiteys, and I crawled up
on the bed, raising my ass high in the air so I could plant my face low to
his cock, which was bulging and erect, tucked to one side of the zipper.
     "You gonna make me work for this?" I asked.
     Chris put his arms behind his head and smiled, "Oh yes."
     I gave him a mock 'humph!'  "Think after Friday night you'd cut me some
slack."
     You'd think that after Friday night I wouldn't be naked in my bedroom
with one of the boys who had conspired to take me down to the creek and
gangbang me.  I wasn't just going along for the ride, I was driving the car
full throttle, throwing myself at him.
     Getting his damn pants off his hips took a lot of work, but I just
couldn't get at his cock with them on.  My hands refused to squeeze under
his tight jeans.  The football player just lay there, laughing at me like he
had on Friday, letting me make a fool of myself.
     Finally I had gotten his pants past his butt, and exposed his bleached
white underwear completely.  His penis was clearly outlined, a firm shaft
that ran off to his left.  I ran my finger along its length, perhaps six or
seven inches long, and half as thick as Jerry's had been.
     That got a reaction from my nonchalant lover, and he stiffened up.
     "You know, Chris," I said, gently stroking the length with my
fingertip, "Next time you guys decide to gangbang a virgin..."  I looked up at
the boy, he was starting to breathe heavy.  Good.  "...you should go first."
     "Fuck you." He said unable to contain a grin as I dug my fingernails
under the elastic waistband.
     "You're going to, Bones." I said again, mocking the name.
     I felt him shudder as I reached in and claimed his manhood for my
plaything.  He was a lot more sensitive than Wade had been, or maybe just
less experienced.
     It was time to give him some, I thought to myself as I engulfed his
member with my lips.
     "Careful with that thing." He gasped.  He didn't bother to indicate
what that 'thing' was, but it was easy to guess he meant my labret spike.
     I pulled my mouth off of him, slurping up the slobber.  I couldn't
believe I was sucking this guy's cock in my own bed.
     But I went down again anyway, and was rewarded with groans of pleasure
and a writhing, lean muscular body underneath me.  Then I pulled off again,
"This thing?" and gently tapped his pee-hole with my spike.
     He let out this high "ooooh!" curling up at the waist but not grabbing
me, though his hands flew up at me, as if he were grabbing at phantoms.
"Like that?" I asked, and plunged it in while Chris went ballistic, his feet
kicking, his arms clutching at air, his head rolling around, but all the
time his stomach muscles knotted tight, holding his hips as still as
possible, while I clutched his dick to my chin, mercilessly torturing him
until my own needs overcame the desire to play this kink out and I swallowed
him up again.  Who would have thought that sucking dick could be this fun?
For the first time I really fathomed the joy of oral sex.  It wasn't about
submitting, or doing someone.  It was about getting both hands on the
steering wheel and driving a man insane.
     I worked him like that, bobbing my head while using my lips against the
ridges of his head, and stroking him with my hand when my mouth started to
hurt, until my neck just got too sore, and I sat up, "Strip."
     Chris was still complacent, "You do it." He groaned, still lost in his
world of pleasure, "And don't do that spike thing any more."
     I struggled for another ten minutes to get his shoes, his socks and his
pants off, and finally pulled the T-shirt off his back while he lay there
enjoying making me do all the work.  This was, I suppose, my idea.
     Waiting for me to finish the job he had started to get a little soft,
so I had to go back to work on him before he was rigid enough to go further.
     Chris was a pretty good looking guy, and he had a Hell of a body and a
nice sized dick, but I was definitely not ready to try mounting him.  For
starters I'd had two dicks total in my life, and neither of those could be
called normal.  I wasn't even sure If I'd be able to do it, since I was
still sore, but I was eager to try, though my arousal didn't resemble
anything like I'd felt in the gym, or even with Rusty or Carl.  All I was
sure of was that I wanted Chris to be on top, and I wanted him inside me
bad.
     "Come on," I said, trying to turn him over after I'd gotten him hard.
     "Nope." He said.
     I wasn't interested in playing any longer.  I needed my turn, "Chris,
please.  I need you to do this for me."
     "What's it worth to you?"
     I gave him a little punch, "You're gonna play games with me after all
I've done?"
     Chris shrugged, "This was your idea."
     "Fine, what do you want?"
     He hadn't even opened his eyes, and I started stroking him lest he get
soft again, "What are you willing to do?"
     I thought about that.  "Name it."
     "Name it?  What's that supposed to mean?" he asked with a mischievous
grin
     I growled in frustration, punching him playfully, and swallowed up his
cock once, briefly before saying, "Just tell me what to do."
     "And you'll do it?"
     "Yeah." I had to do something, so I took his cock in my mouth, in spite
of my aching jaw and kinked neck.
     "Go get Mitch."
     "What?" I said choking on a mouthful of cock.
     "Do us both."
     "I don't want to do Mitch!" I barked.
     "Why not?"  He was loving this.
     "He's a dick."
     He shut his eyes again, "Then get back to work."  He pointed at his
cock.
     "You're serious?"
     He nodded.
     "You want me to fuck Mitch?  Why?"
     "He's my friend."
     "And friends share everything." I said as if finishing his sentence.
     Chris just grinned.
     I felt a hot flush come over me.  How the hell...?
     He was obviously hot, obviously enjoying this, but no matter what I did
he was playing me like a violin.  I thought of the ways I had been drawn
into fooling around with men and wondered if in spite of my apparent
aggression Chris too had somehow manipulated me into being here.  I thought
of the number of accusations they had made on Friday, about what a slut I
was, how I was trying to compensate for being a geek by being a whore, and
weighed that against the fact that I hadn't even been hot when I started on
Chris, and now I was flaring with arousal.  In spite of the soreness in my
sex, I was plainly dying to have this guy.  In spite of him being among the
worst of my tormentors, I had thrown myself at him.  And in spite of having
gotten him completely aroused, and making him moan with pleasure, I was
still the one jumping to serve his every wish.
     When did I get my turn?
     I got up, stood in the window and pulled the curtains apart.  I was
daylight; it wasn't as if you could see me clearly.  The car was empty.
"Where did he go?"
     "He's downstairs.  I waved at him from the bathroom.  He knew we'd be a
while."
     I sat down next to him, "How did you know we'd be a while?"
     "You said you'd be in your bedroom."
     My mouth fell open.  He knew he was going to get laid then?  Hell, I
wasn't even happy with him when I said that, but he must have thought I was
in the bag.  Was I so obvious that boys could read me before I could tell
what I wanted?
     "So why do you want me to do Mitch so badly?"
     The boy shrugged.
     "It was his idea to come over and fuck me?" I asked.
     "Yep."
     I stared at Chris for a long time before I was forced to look away.  My
face was flush with anger and embarrassment, yet my loins were aflame with
renewed vigor.  Pulse pounding arousal, excitement that I could scarcely
comprehend given his revelation, this boy who'd been plaguing me in my
dreams only this morning, and the more I thought about going down and
inviting Mitch up, the fiercer the sensations became.
     To be fair, Ronnie and Jerry had orchestrated the whole event.  Mitch
and Chris, dicks to be sure, were just going along with their friends.
Chris was really hot, and Mitch wasn't so bad...
     Was I actually trying to justify letting a guy who had not only mocked
me on Friday, but couldn't even bother to be nice to the girl he'd decided
to come over and fuck?  Did he think I was that hard up for it?  Was I?  I
was certainly hot enough for them both, but I couldn't imagine how I'd
handle it.  I couldn't be that slutty.  I sudden;y wanted to cover up, but
just stood in the window, naked.  Two guys together?  I'd never live it
down.  I thought of poor Muffy, a slave to Jerry's pleasures because he
tapped on the same hormonal roller coaster that was buffeting me.  Chris I
thought I could handle, but if I gave into him here, who next?  Bill, who
had pretended to be so nice but ultimately went along with the plan, and
even helped it?  Ronnie, just because he's Bill's friend?  Jerry again, to
make up for hurting him?  Never!  No chance.
     Chris had everything a sixteen year-old boy could want in a body.
Moderate height, a lean, muscular body, a nice enough face, and a really
nice, average dick (on a scale from Jerry to Rusty, Chris was about halfway
between them, though I found myself grinning at the thought that I'd have
even preferred Rusty's cock today if it could be attached to the body
beneath me).
     "Stupid, fucking football players."  I smacked my boy hard on the
thigh.  "Get up."
     Chris shot up, grabbing his super tender leg, "Ow!  Bitch, that hurt!"
     Oh god, I thought.  I'd forgotten how sensitive he must be after
everything I'd done to get him in the mood.  "I'm sorry, Chris, shit!" and I
ran a tender hand over the reddened area, running my other over his sinuous
back.  I was even giving him little kisses, begging for forgiveness by being
a sweet little whore.
     "Shit, Ariel, what did you do that for?"
     I turned his face to mine and kissed him, then said, our lips still
touching, "For being a very stupid little boy."  He kissed me hard, and I
felt his shaft grinding against the button of my sex.  My whole being
trembled.  I shoved him away.
     "Get dressed," I said, "You're leaving." I grabbed my Misfits shirt and
turned it right side out.
     "What?  What are you talking about?"  The boy was flummoxed.
     Apparently I'd gotten his attention.  "I think I said, 'goodbye.'" I
pulled on the oversized T-shirt shirt, feeling its soft cotton cascade over
my naked body in gentle soothing billows.
     "You can't stop now!"
     Oh, I'd really gotten him mad.  I ripped out one of my mom's maxi-pads
and grabbed a pair of scissors.  I may not be bleeding much this month, but
I figured there wasn't an excuse for going out without protection.  "I
didn't stop, Chris.  You never started."
     "What are you...?  Fine.  Fine, I'll be on top."  He finally got off the
bed and stood up.
     "Too late." I said in my sweetest voice as I mercilessly snipped off
those nasty little wings.
     "No way." Chris came around the bed at me, his penis bobbing every
which way, "You can't act like you don't want it."
     I made a deliberate turn just as he was about to put his hands on me,
pointing the scissors right at him as he came up.  Snip!  I looked him in
the eye.  "Chris, I want you so badly it's going to take a lot more than a
cup of ice on my crack to cool me down."  I walked right passed the
astonished boy, slapping him on his lovely behind as I went.  Nice, I
thought, rock hard, "Get dressed."
     The boy turned to face me as I picked up Eric's boxers.  "Then why stop
now?  Why just fucking tease me and act like you're some kind of innocent
angel?"
     He was really mad now.  I stepped into the boxers, "Chris, you made the
classic super-villain mistake."
     "What the fuck are you taking about?"  I was funny seeing him stand
there naked, his penis sticking straight out at me as if demanding some
action.
     I hiked the underwear up around my waist, cringing at how it felt to
have the crotch seam grinding against my sex.  Perhaps they were a little
bit small for me, I thought as warm tingles ran up my spine.  Why did this
only happen when boys were around?
     "Chris," I said as I held the underwear open so I could stick the pad
in.  I was getting pretty shameless indeed.  "You never reveal your master
plan to the hero before executing it."
     The boy's mouth fell open, uncomprehending.  He really needed to get
out to the movies more.
     "Get dressed," I ordered him, "You're giving me a ride."
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