I know that probably some of you are imagining I’ll be taught my place, I’ll be brought down a peg or two or three (because honestly, with the way I think about myself, I probably could get brought down about fifteen or twenty pegs and still be thoroughly haughty).
Maybe you’re right. You’ll just have to keep reading to find out.
Regardless, I knew that I was just divine. So when I turned Joey Rogers down, you can be rest assured that it’s with a very specific reason. It’s the same reason that I go on and on about how perfect I am. It’s because I love to rile people up—I love to make them think I ought to be taught a lesson.
When I did it to Joey, specifically, it’s because I wanted him to ignore what I say. I wanted to drive him so wild that he forgot all about me saying no. I didn’t want him to care if I was being reluctant or fighting...I wanted him to hold me down and force his body onto mine no matter what I said or did.
In my naughtiest daydreams, I would be an awful little bitch to him.
“Leave me alone, you prick,” I might say. “You’re not good enough for this body. You’re not even good enough to look at me.”
“Is that right?” He would ask. “We’ll see about that.”
And then he would push me down on the ground. Maybe he’d even slap me—which I would love. He’d see how much it turned me on, and he’d do it a few more times for good measure, making my cheeks bright red.
“You want this big cock, don’t you, slut?”
“No!” I’d shake my head. Making a big show. Guys love it when girls pretend not to want their cocks. In my daydreams, he would know what I really meant, though. He would see the lust in my eyes.
“Stop being such a tease, whore.” He’d grab me by the throat, then, pulling my mouth up to his cock. “Beg for it. Beg for what you want. And then I’ll give you what you deserve.”
And slowly...as his hard grip cut off more and more of my air supply, I’d start to give in, just like I was made to do...
“Are we paying attention, Candice?”
I snapped back to reality. On the board, my teacher Mr. Young was writing the journal activity for the day. He started each day with us having to write about what we were supposed to study the night before.
Mr. Young was young for a teacher—maybe around thirty—and was good looking in a classical way. Thick blond hair and a rugged five-o-clock shadow that never seemed to go away. He had bright blue eyes, and often wore button-up long-sleeved shirts with the sleeves rumpled up past his elbows. He wore tight, form-fitting slacks and always smelled like cedar.
“Yes, Mr. Young. Definitely. Paying that good old attention, yup.”
He turned back to the board and continued writing the journal, giving a little “humph” to show that he didn’t believe me.
Well, he could not believe me all he wanted. Whether he did or not didn’t change the reality of who was really running that class.
Of course I hadn’t studied, and so had nothing to write in the journal. All I’d been studying was my own reflection and how to make it sexier than ever.
None of what was important to me had anything to do with stupid history class or Mr. Young. In fact, if you think about it, none of anything ever really would have anything to do with history class, ever, for the rest of my life.
I mean, like, why would I care why Napoleon did whatever thing in Germany or Africa or wherever it was? Who gave a crap if Anthony the Great conquered Greenland and then took over Rome? This sort of information was just useless. I could tell it all to you forwards and backwards, and it wouldn’t mean a thing anyway, because nobody in the real world ever uses that sort of information.
So, instead of doing anything dumb like classwork, I had decided to put on a little lesson of my own. I wanted to show Joey Rogers just how well I could turn him on. It was quite the little show. Winking at him as he watched, I pushed my tits tight together in my tiny halter top, rubbing them together. Licking my lips. Sliding my mouth slowly down closer and closer to the immenseness of my titflesh. Joey could see, easily, how I could take my own nipple in my mouth and give it a nice, slow little suck. He had his folder over his lap, one hand deep in his pants, his face squirming with lust for me.
Just for me.
“Candice!”
Mr. Young had finished writing his journal and had caught me in my display. He wasn’t happy about it.
I sighed, sitting back. God, I had been getting wet as hell, too. Joey certainly was too far gone—I could see him staring at my gorgeous body, still furiously handing at himself—he was going to cum. That was so fun!
If I couldn’t inspire Joey to take me brutally, fucking me without any regard to my consent or not, the next best thing was to make him cum his pants because he was thinking of me. Anything that made a man lose control over himself, I was all for.
But Mr. Young blocked my view, just as I was about to see Joey’s o-face. He walked in front of my desk, shaking his head sternly.
“You’re making an erotic display of yourself on my time,” he said, tsking. “I would have thought better of you, Candice. Why don’t you see me after class?”
* * * * *
After class, as you might expect, I was stuck with Mr. Young.
I wasn’t completely against the idea. I mean, he was a total hunk. That was undeniable, in the same way that it was undeniable that I was a complete and total hottie, the queen of the school.
Mr. Young probably would try to deny that I was a total hottie—citing decency, no doubt. He would also probably deny that I was the queen of the school. But the truth is the truth, no matter who believes it.
He had the door locked and had sat me down in the front row of the classroom. He sat across from me, on the edge of his desk, his arms crossed.
“Why don’t you explain to me what you and Joey were getting up to?”
For a moment, I considered playing dumb. Probably, if I thought I could actually get in trouble, that would have been the safer route. But of course, I didn’t think I could get in trouble. I was the queen of the entire school.
“I was showing him how I could suck my own nipple.” I smiled, cupping my tits with dainty hands. “Would you like me to show you, Mr. Young? I do a really good job.”
His jaw dropped. Whatever response he was expecting from me, it certainly wasn’t the dead-honest truth. He was really cute like that, looking so surprised. He started to sputter.
“Y-you can’t act like this. I won’t have it in my classroom.”
I smiled, biting my bottom lip. “Oh,well...”
“Well, what?”
“It’s just, you remember how last year there wasn’t enough tax money to pay for all the departments?”
His sputtering stopped entirely. Now, he looked very serious. He took his glasses off and then put them on again.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I remember that.”
“And don’t you remember how it was my Daddy who paid for you to have a job?”
“...yes.”
“I guess that means that if I said you were mean to me, he’d be pretty upset, huh?” Mr. Young said nothing. “I guess that means you’re just gonna have to live with it?”
He said nothing, his frown only deepening.
I giggled, delighted. “In fact, what that really means is that I can be as big of a bitch as I want, all day, to anyone I want, and you won’t do a single thing about it, will you?
Again, he said nothing.
His eyes were all over me, though. Inspired, I decided to try something a little...dangerous.
“Gosh, really, when you think about it, there’s nothing I couldn’t do in this smelly old class of yours. I bet I could just sit right in some stud’s lap and make out with him the whole class, and you wouldn’t be able to do anything, huh? I wouldn’t have to be a bitch. I could just, you know, be the biggest slut ever and really just put out however I wanted, and you couldn’t do anything, huh?”
I was tugging at my nipples now, turning m
yself on. Mr. Young’s eyes followed my fingers, waiting to see if there was more of myself that I would touch. More of my hot, barely legal body that I would reveal.
“Oh, yeah. I could probably just sink to my knees and start sucking that stud off...you know I’m a virgin, though, right? So I’ve never sucked anyone off before. It’d be all sloppy and hot, and I’d be moaning and asking him to teach me how to do it better and better.”
I could see the raging hard-on in his pants, growing thicker and thicker the more that I said. It was so hot, knowing that I was doing that to him.
“In fact, I could like,” I giggled again. “I could put my hands on your pants.”
I got up out of my chair and knelt down in front of him. He tried backing away, but I pressed my tits up against his knees, and he groaned with need. My hands slid up his calves and then his thighs. I pouted sexily, licking my lips just for him.
“I could put them on your thighs...I could put them right up to your crotch and kind of...start to stroke...on top of the fabric where I can see your cock is so, sooo hard for me...”
“Candice...you can’t...”
“Yes, I can. Didn’t we talk about this?”
I squeezed his cock harder, pushing my tits up against his knees even more. He could see straight down into my cleavage. He could see how my nipples were erect, at full attention.
“Won’t you let me?” I asked, putting a hot coo in my voice. “Please, Mr. Young? Won’t you let me do whatever you want?”
I wanted him to grab my hair. I wanted him to take me and put me on top of his desk, spank my ass into oblivion, and then fuck me while I begged him to stop. I wanted him to pin me down with my arms behind my back and call me a bad, bad girl. I wanted him to show me how stupid it was to test men like him.
Instead...instead, he gave in to me.
“Okay,” he said, defeated, watching with big eyes my hands on the thick outline of his cock.. “Do whatever you want.”
“I thought so!” I stood up and swirled back to the door. “Okay! Fun talk. I’ll see you later!”
I left him with a raging hard-on in his pants, half-formed words bubbling out of his mouth.
It was just too bad he wasn’t man enough to take me right then and there.
* * * * *
I’m not entirely sure why I’m like this. I blame society. All my life, I’ve been trained to be a prim and proper pretty girl with no thoughts on her mind but the most pure and sterile of platitudes. But that whole time, I’ve been building a body made for sin. I’ve told you how insufferably hot I am—how could I not be insufferably vain at the same time, when entire civilizations seem to rise and fall for the want of a hot pussy like mine?
So, I would feel inescapably wrong if I just offered myself up to someone—my whole life, I’ve been told that’s the wrong thing to do. But if someone were to just take me...if he were to just make me his...why, then I would be free. I wouldn’t have to worry about whether it was right or wrong anymore. It would be totally out of my hands. I could just give in, like I was made to give in, and fuck, in the way that my body was made to fuck.
* * * * *
A few periods after history, I was in gym class.
I loved gym class. It was such a great way to show off how hot my body was. All the other years in high school, I had been a cheerleader, but for my senior year I decided not to continue that particular trek. It ate up so much of my social life, and it wasn’t like I needed it to be popular. My body, and my face—my beauty—did all that kind of work for me. Why waste all that time practicing and jumping and flipping when I could just have everyone love me because of the way I was born anyway?
Sometimes, I still would come to school wearing my own cheerleading outfit—with a few adjustments. I’d make the skirt shorter, and gave the top a little plunging neckline so that my cleavage was visible, and altered it so that the bottom of the top rested high on my torso, revealing several inches of my long sexy abs.
The other cheerleaders hated this. I didn’t really care what they hated or didn’t hate, though (as you might expect). It’s not the place of a queen to consider her subjects’ feelings, after all.
Gym class, for the most part, was set up as a sort of free-for-all with Coach Harris overseeing the whole operation. In one corner of the gym, kids played dodge ball. In another, there was wall ball. In another, there was basketball.
I, and several of the other girls, were warming up and stretching. They followed what I did, of course—bending over at the waist to touch their toes when I touched mine, and stretching their arms high to the ceiling when I stretched high. Good little parrots.
The gym was set up so that the coach’s office was at the head of it, where he usually sat the whole time, watching us behind his window. Our position for our stretching exercises was not so very far away from his office—and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t planned it that way.
My gym outfit was sexy as hell—just like anything would be sexy as hell on my incredible body. My shorts were tiny and red, and the cloth was always clinging to my ass. I had on a tiny black thong—one that I put on just for gym class—that I pulled up over the edge of my shorts just to to draw eyes down to my sexy hips. My t-shirt was three or four sizes too small, especially with my tits, and I never bothered to wear a bra. I didn’t need the support, and I loved the way my boobs bounced and drew the eyes of all the boys. Why bother with a bra?
As I stretched, I noticed Coach Harris looking at me very intently through his office window. In fact, he was very, very close to the window—so close that he could have been rubbing his hard cock on the wall in an attempt to disguise how he was rubbing himself while he looked at me.
Curious, I approached him, leaving all my parrot girls without anyone to parrot. They stayed in their last stretch. When I came close to Coach Harris, though, he shuffled suddenly and scattered behind his desk.
Now I was more than curious—now, I was downright intrigued. Intrigued now, I walked around and entered his office.
Coach Harris was a large, hairy man. Burly is the word you would use, I think. He had a thick black beard, an enormous barrel chest, and the kind of thick, meaty, muscular arms that were unmistakably strong. He was the sort that you could very easily imagine riding around on a horse a thousand years ago, waving a giant sword around and lopping off people’s heads. He was gruff, and chewed tobacco ceaselessly, and had never had more than two words to say to me.
I closed the door behind me. “Hey, Coach, I was wondering...”
Papers were scattered all across his desk. He grabbed one and then another, looking very intently.
“What were you doing?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly. “Get out of here. I’m busy.”
Now I really knew I was on to something. I felt daring—maybe inspired by my little jaunt with Mr. Young earlier in the day. Mr. Young hadn’t been man enough for me. But certainly, if any of the teaching staff were to be the ones to take me, it would be Coach Harris. He looked like a viking already—and vikings made their name by forcing their wills on others whenever they wanted.
“I know what you were doing,” I said. I tugged at the thin cloth of my shirt. “At least, I’m pretty sure...”
“Well, you’re not. Get out of here. Get out of here, or you’ll have detention.”
Smiling, my blue eyes dancing with lust, I closed the blinds in his office and then locked the door.
“You’d like me to have detention, wouldn’t you? You’d like to be able to have me all to yourself for an hour, huh? Then...then you could jerk off right in front of me, and not have to hide it like you were. Isn’t that right?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you better cut it out.”
I giggled, pushing my shirt up my tight, teen body, revealing more and more of my sexy toned skin.
“You were jerking off, though. Weren’t you? You were jerking off to my hot body.”
“No. Of course not. Don’t be sill
y.” He stood up now. He was enormous. “You cut all that kind of talk right now, young lady.”
“Sure you were. You were stroking that big, huge dick of yours...weren’t you? You were stroking it and looking at my tight, hot butt, thinking of how you could fill it up with your spunk.” I turned and pulled up my shorts, exposing the perfect globe of my ass. “Weren’t you?”
“That’s...that would be wrong, Candice. I thought no such thing.”
“Aw, really?” I pouted. “That makes me sad, Coach.”
“S-sad?”
“That’s right. I like it.” Leaning over the front of his desk, now. He could easily see down my tiny shirt. “I like the thought of you stroking your cock to me. Won’t you do it, for me? Won’t you do it right now?”
Subconsciously, his hand dropped to his crotch.
“I...I couldn’t.”
I looked out to the closed blinds, the locked door, and smiled.
“No one’s coming.” I giggled. “Except...maybe you. Would you like to cum for me, Coach?”
I tugged my shirt down, letting him see how I wasn’t wearing a bra at all. There was just toned, tanned flesh...just for him.
“Oh god. Yes.”
“Oh good. I want that. I’m the kind of girl who wants men to look at her...so I’m going to show you my ass, now. My hot, thong-clad, teenage ass...and you’re going to cum to it for me. Aren’t you?”
Obediently, he had pulled his shorts all the way down. His cock, I must say, was enormous. It was big and bulky and covered in hair. Burly, just like him. It looked like it would tear a tiny teen body like mine apart without any real effort. It was the sort of cock you think about when you imagine yourself being taken in an alley late at night, by men with knives or a gun. It was a dangerous cock...a delicious cock.
“Yes,” he choked, eyes wide.
I bent over in front of him, and slowly started to pull my shorts down.
“Look at my ass. Look at my perfect, young, teenage ass. You love it, don’t you?”
“Yes. Fuck yes.” He stroked his long cock. I could see precum glistening out, making it wet.
“It turns you on that I’m just eighteen, doesn’t it? It turns you on that I’m sooo young, just barely legal, and I want to have you inside of me. I want to make you cum all the time, Coach Harris. Doesn’t that turn you on?”
The Knocked Up Lust Bundle Page 9