WAYWARD BRATS
By
Jaymee Pizzey
Copyright © 2016 Jaymee Pizzey
All Rights Reserved.
Author’s Note
All acts are completely consensual. All characters in this story are fictional, 18 years and older, and not related by blood in any way.
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Table of Contents
Author’s Note
Fantasy One: F/F/M
Fantasy Two: Master and Slave to the Cat O’ Nine
Fantasy Three: Sold to the Highest Bidder
Fantasy Four: Banged and Shared by Six
About the Author
Credits
Copyright
Fantasy One: F/F/M
I got my first good sleep in weeks curled up in an old Victorian four-poster bed, locked in the topmost room of Charity Stone’s Home for Wayward Girls.
I didn’t care, Matron Smith’s punishment suited me to a tee. It was the first alone time I had had since being dumped here by my stepparents.
Imprisoned and alone was way better than being blown away by the massive tropical storm that had come in from the coast.
Matron Smith was too busy looking like a blown away umbrella in her black dress, chasing peacocks and yelling at the gardener, to think of me.
She had made me mark her words and waved her fist in my face for a good half an hour last night, so it was rather delightful to watch her suffer now. All I had done was mess around with Lisa and Abby instead of weeding the garden and she had reacted like I had murdered someone.
Of course, she had made an example of me and let the other two get off with a warning.
Story of my life.
It rarely happened, but today, for some reason, God had my back.
All work and no play made Ariana Trout a dull girl, and dull was something I refused to be. I was destined for stardom – lightening cracked outside followed by a boom of thunder as if God agreed – I would become a star and overcome them all.
I fingered my clit, my go-to fantasy of the principle bending me over his desk, already playing in my mind –
“Coucou, it’s Sarah.” She knocked on the door and entered with a tea tray. “I thought y’all might be hungry,” she said placing the tray on my bed and sitting next to me. “I’m sorry ‘bout Judith. She don’t mean to be mean. It’s this place.” Sarah spread jam on a slice of toast and waggled it under my nose. “It gets to you after a bit.”
I sighed and pulled my hands out from under the sheet. Principle Maloney would have to wait until after breakfast.
“Judith’s a bitch. She’s always going to make trouble to get herself out of it,” I said taking a bite. The jam was scolding hot, the toast stone cold.
Sarah lost her accent between one sentence and the next. She liked to pretend almost as much as me. “Sorry. By the time I got the hens cooped up,” she pointed at my toast. “I should have warned you. The toast was cold so I thought if I heated the jam it would even things out.”
I had to smile.
She was too cute to resist with her curly straw blonde hair hanging loose and her merry blues eyes.
Like me, she was a sex-starved, 18-year-old orgasm waiting to happen.
“Why do you pretend, though? Surely life would be easier for you, with Matron, if you spoke well.”
“Because–” Sarah pushed me back into my pillows and straddled me. “I like to pretend. You know that.”
She kissed me.
“What are you doing?” I managed to get my hands up under her shoulders and push her away.
“Matron Smith told us you were here because you liked girls and needed fixin’.” She sat up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Don’t you want fixin’, Ari?”
“Ariana,” I corrected her for the millionth time.
She shrugged sending the thin cotton straps of her sundress sliding down her shoulders, her ample breasts strained the press-studs inches from my face.
The rain against the windows, the softness of the bed, the whispered atmosphere created by the velvet curtains that hung down from the canopy, set the perfect scene for a secret tryst.
Sarah’s innocent, willing smile, pure seduction.
Her breasts were warm and full under my palms. My touch strained the press-studs until one by one they popped open and her breasts popped out. Caged in a lace and cream bra, her nipples were two hard, dusty pink candies waiting to be sucked.
“I’m here to reform,’ I whispered, brushing my lips against her collarbone, I breathed in the scent of lavender soap.
“If you’re so far gone that you ended up here. What’s one last time gonna hurt?” Sarah pulled her dress over her head, “We can be damned together.” The light fabric glided up over her curves to reveal her smooth pussy nestled between her thighs and silk knee-high stockings.
“I doubt you got them from Smith’s storeroom,” I said snapping the lace band of one of her garters.
She straddled me, on all fours this time, then slid down my body, pulling down the covers as she went to my ankles.
“I see they gave you Prudish Penny’s leftovers to wear.” She freed the hem of my floor-length nighty and, bunching it up as she went, kissed her way back to my thigh and across my hip.
She brushed her lips across my pussy and smiled at me.
It was a wanton, wicked smile that suited me perfectly.
She was wrong in thinking I was at Charlotte’s because of a penchant for girls, though. I loved cock, as much as I could get. In fact, cock was what had got me tossed into this awful moral prison in the first place.
But Sarah had a way about her that made my pussy tingle every bit as much as a dick ever had.
Holding my gaze, she ran her tongue up and down the tight, smooth fold of my sex.
A movement caught my eye.
I glanced at the door to see a man silhouetted there. Jason, I presumed from his size, leaned nonchalantly against the jam.
“I thought breakfast was taking a little long,” he said sauntering over to the bed. A strike of lightning followed by a drumroll of thunder revealed his semi-undressed state. His chiseled, bronze chest gleamed in the dull daylight, wet with rain. His unworn flannel shirt tucked into his belt.
He bulged in all the right places.
I had had my eye on Jason since arrival and had given up hope of coming within a dinner table of him. The caregivers of Charlotte Stone didn’t miss a trick where the chastity of their Wayward Girls was concerned.
“I call dibs!” Sarah wiped her mouth and glared at Jason. “You can take the tray down and cover for us,” she said.
He was half way across the room and almost at the bed.
“I want him to stay,” I said. Swallowing the tightness from my throat.
God, I needed cock.
Sarah covered my mouth with both her hands. “But, I have plans for us, Ari! You don’t need a man when you have a friend like me.” She slid back down my body and buried her face in my pussy. Her tongue, nimble and furtive, proved her dexterity while her face, warm and silky soft against my bare skin, made her point.
“Sarah’s wiles and tongue are no match for this –” Jason’s eyes glittered as he unbelted his jeans and slid them down to reveal his huge, hard cock.
The thunder rolled outside as if it too were shocked by Jason’s virile masculinity. He climbed onto the bed, his cock a masterpiece.
If Apollo had knelt naked beside him, Jason would have had no cause for shame.
Jason resembled the mythical sun god in more ways than one. His chest was smelted bro
nze with a dusting of blonde hair. His arms were heavily banded with muscle and his thighs bulged. His damp, dark gold hair curled slightly against his broad forehead, his eyes were a steel gray that perfectly suited his firm jaw and straight nose.
Desire pumped through my veins at the thought of Jason plundering my orifices. A shiver covered me in goosebumps. I had never desired anyone this much before.
Physically, I didn’t know if so much man could find a place in any one of my holes without causing some serious damage.
“Calm down, Ariana. Calm down. Calm down. Calm down.” Sarah sat on my chest and cupped her hands over my mouth. “Give me a chance, I am very good I assure you.”
I was torn between her tongue and Jason’s cock. I didn’t want to offend either. Things were dry enough as it was, and I wasn’t willing to toss anyone out of bed.
“What about this?” I said. The storm continued to rage outside, but the room had brightened. “I like to watch. You two do each other. Whoever makes the other cum the most, gets to do me.”
Sarah crossed her arms and pouted. “You’re going to choose him.”
I cupped her face between my hands.
“Make sure he doesn’t have anything left to spend on me and I’m all yours.”
“I’ve already had him and I don’t really like boys,” Sarah said with a sniff, but at least, she stopped scowling.
“What’s the real reason?” I asked finding some of my voice.
“He’s too good looking, okay. I’m a girl’s girl and I don’t want any man changing that.”
“Don’t be a coward,” I said. Sure, I fully expected Jason to win and I fully wanted him too. But fair is fair, and Sarah had brought me breakfast in bed.
With a contrived sigh, Sarah went down on all fours and positioned herself so that I had a perfect view of her pussy and of Jason’s cock. Her full creamy breasts hung down and her nipples brushed the sheet.
A wicked thrill tingled my pussy. I loved to watch and I could tell from the goosebumps covering Sarah’s skin that she wanted Jason, she anticipated the moment of his penetration every bit as much as I did.
My eyes roved over Jason. I wanted him with every atom of my body and when I wanted something, I took it.
I wanted his magnificent cock wherever he wanted to put it.
“Let me show you what to expect,” he said kneeling behind Sarah. “When I win.”
He took my breath away with his skill and finesse. I had expected him to thrust his cock into Sarah’s tight pussy like a dog in heat. Instead, he massaged her ass, squeezing and rubbing her cheeks in a way that pulled on her taint and her pussy simultaneously. Every so often he slid his hands up to her shoulders and massaged them, or underneath her to massage her pendulous breasts.
Her pussy glistened, then dripped. The soft slap as her pussy parted signaled she was more than ready for impalement on Jason’s hot, thick, smooth cock.
Sarah might not have wanted a man, but her pussy did.
He inserted three fingers into her pussy and placed the index and forefinger of his other hand on her clit. One hand pumped while the other swirled.
His raging cock stood at the ready.
Sarah collapsed to her elbows, thrusting her ass higher and improving Jason’s access.
Gone was the girl’s girl. This was a woman who loved to be penetrated.
Surely Jason would take her now?
The slap of pussy juices made me ache. I needed to see him take her. To watch him pound her until she screamed.
“Please, Jason!” Sarah rocked her hips against his fingers, sliding them in and out of herself, they glistened coated in her juice.
My toes curled as Jason guided his cock to her pussy and thrust inside her.
Shining with her juice from tip to balls, he pulled himself all the way out and plunged inside her again, stretching her and risking himself damage with the violent way he sheathed himself inside her tight cunt.
Sarah clutched the covers, cheek pressed to the quilt, brow moist with sweat, she whimpered his name with each thrust.
Grabbing a fistful of Sarah’s hair he wrenched her head back and with a series of short rapid pumps, orgasmed so hard and much inside her, that cum gushed out of her pussy and ran down her thighs.
Sarah moaned in delight.
I moaned in jealousy.
I wanted Jason to fuck me.
“I think I won,” he said pulling out of Sarah, as hard and erect as when he had started.
“Actually, y’all, I think I did.” Sarah used the accent to tease me, then stretched out on my bed: the minx who stole my cream.
Fantasy Two: Master and Slave to the Cat O’ Nine
“What in heaven’s name is going on here?” Matron Smith stormed into the room and hauled Jason off the bed by his ear. “You wicked, deceitful, wanton whore!”
The spit and words were directed at me.
“Ariana Trout!” She hauled me off the bed next and pulled my nighty down with several quick, sharp tugs. “I will deal with the two of you later.” She glared at Sarah and Jason until they left the room.
“Your mother is a very special friend of mine –”
“Stepmother,” I corrected her.
She straightened her skirt.
“Ariana, how many girls are under this roof?”
I shrugged.
The lecture was always the worst part of being punished.
“72.” Matron Smith sat on the bed and took out her phone. “Yes, Father Marcus,” she said after a few moments.
“72 wayward brats,” she said to me while she waited. “Don’t think for a moment I’m not – Hello, Father. I am fine, thank you, Marcus. Yes, I do need your assistance with one of the new girls. This afternoon is perfect. Goodbye.”
“You will remain here the rest of the day. Father Marcus will collect you at 3 pm. The road will be cleared by then.” She went to the door.
I didn’t give her the satisfaction of asking where I was being taken or who Father Marcus was.
She sniffed and flounced out the room.
* * *
Father Marcus was cool, he gave me a sip of his whiskey flask and let me choose the radio station.
“Am I being taken home?” I asked as we turned onto the freeway.
“Do you want to go home?” he asked me.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
I didn’t know.
“I’m taking you to the city. You’ll be able to discover who you really are.”
For all the air of experience I wore, I’d never been to the city before. I couldn’t feign disinterest as neon signs flashed and lightbulbs whizzed around billboards, selling me everything from cars to motel rooms and places to eat.
Stopped at a red light a woman in a scandalously short skirt and dangerously high boots rapped on Father Marcus' window and whined for him to open it.
“Do you know her?” I asked.
“Him.” Father Marcus coughed a laughed and shifted into gear when the light went green, “Not that I remember.”
Not long after, we pulled up beside Sal's Saloon; a shabby three-story building with a half-burnt out welcome sign.
“We're getting out here?”
Father Marcus came around to my side and helped me out.
I hid behind him as we climbed the stairs and he knocked on the black metal and graffiti rectangle that served as a door.
After a minute, an enormous black man appeared.
“Bonjour, Arnold. I have a new girl for Sal.”
His face remained a blank slate, he didn’t speak when Father Marcus handed him a square of folded paper. Simply stepped aside.
Looking up, I watched Father Marcus pull me down the hall via the mirrored ceiling.
“What is this place?” I huddled as close to Father Marcus as possible as he pulled me into a crowded room plastered with huge No Smoking signs.
The air was the only clean thing in the place.
On a couch in the corner lay two women pleas
uring themselves with champagne bottles. Two men in leather leashes and spiked collars sucked the cocks of two men in white robes and turbans.
Directly in front of us, in the middle of a crowded dancefloor, three women tied to wooden crosses writhed in ecstasy as they were pleasured by an assortment of objects.
That it didn’t offend Marcus’ priestly sensibilities was clear when he slapped one of the girls on the thigh and asked her if her ropes were tight enough.
“Don’t stare, Ariana,” he cautioned me as he maneuvered us between the women and dancers. “You don’t want to draw attention to yourself too soon and ruin the surprise.”
“What surprise?” I whispered. My normal cocky bravado had turned into a lump in my throat.
I didn’t know if I clung to him or if he held me, so tightly was I tucked against him. We waited for a fat belly dancer to swallow her sword and move out the way. “Father, why would you bring me here? Why would you come here?”
“Ariana, I want you to meet Sal. He will be seeing to your treatment from now on. You are to obey him, do you understand?”
Father Marcus peeled me from him and shoved me into the arms of a gold-toothed pirate.
“Enchanté,” Sal said kissing my hand like a gentleman.
“I don't speak French,” I shouted. The floor vibrated with the constant onslaught of music. I wanted my hand back, but Sal tightened his grip.
I glanced over at Father Marcus for reassurance but he wasn't behind me anymore. I searched the crowd for his blonde head above the rest and his long black robe. Maybe he was getting us a drink? Or talking to another friend.
“He's gone.” Sal waved to the DJ and ran his finger across his throat. The music screeched into silence. Conversations petered out. “Don’t worry. You are mine now.”
I couldn’t believe Father Marcus had left me!
“Ladies and fellas!” Sal dragged me up onto the stage with him. “Our beloved Charlotte Stone has sent us a new toy.”
The crowd cheered. Some raised their glasses at me, others exposed their breasts or grabbed their crotches. A far cry from the drab and tame once-were wayward girls I had grown accustomed to.
It was a little hardcore, but better than being stuck at Charlotte Stone’s Prison for Wayward Girls.
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