Kelir
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Something New I'm Trying - A Story
🕑 Added 2022-10-12 14:15:49 +0000 UTCHello again, I plan on posting some preview shots of my next video soon, but in the meantime, here's something new that I'm trying out.
(Just to say it again, while I haven't changed to Monthly from Per Creation billing yet, I'll never charge for more than one post per month. So this extra stuff isn't coming at any extra cost ๐)
...So, as some of you may be aware, years and years ago I used to write stories under the name 'Wyrdey'.
I eventually spectacularly burned out and haven't written much since, but in the last little while I've felt inspired again, and - in addition to the other stuff that I do here - plan to be posting at least one new story here a month for the foreseeable future.
So, tell me if you think this is any good.
SLUTSHAMING
By Wyrdey
Even long afterwards, no-one could agree on the actual incident itself. Gossip had gotten a hold of it too fast.
Exactly who had walked in on the Weird Girl, where, with who... There were so many contradictory stories.
...One boy... two boys... five boys... The entire football team in one version.
What she was squealing and precisely what parts of - and how much of - her body was covered in jizz...
Presumably there was at least one boy involved, but out of the whole school, no-one ever came forward or was definitively identified.
But, of course, HE didn't matter.
The Girl had never been anything like popular, and without any kind of favour to shield her, it had been a final and predictable nail in her social coffin. A real 'Pariah until college... And choose one FAR away' situation.
Life had instantly become Hell for her, as you would expect.
The whole, normal, banal-and-petty-but-soulcrushing range of High School taunts.
The smirks, and whispers followed by giggles. The graffiti, the lewd offers, the pointed remarks (and not just from the students)
The Weird Girl had always alienated the popular groups, and she had always dressed a particular way: the boots, the occasional piercing, the denim skirts that were maybe a bit higher than some mothers might prefer their daughters to wear...
They were perfectly, really quite BORINGLY, average teen girl fare, but combined with her aura of 'difficultness' and 'outsider' status, tongues were wagging LONG before they actually had anything to wag about.
No-one can agree on what the final incident was either. Just yet another petty taunt in a public place, no doubt, everyone watching on smugly, their lips curling in delight and a kind of shared pack-revulsion that you can see in teenagers very easily. Which isn't to say that the teachers weren't smirking too - they were. They were all ready to heap some kind of official censure on her if she 'went too far' in her response.
Her response was also amusing though.
Like all friendless and powerless individuals, she resorted to empty threats. Silly, pompous, ridiculous things that even those who had felt a pang or two of sympathy couldn't help but snicker at.
No-one can remember specifics on the threats, either - the whole incident wasn't important enough to make note of, or - under any normal circumstance - ever think of again after its momentary amusement had faded.
...Anyway, predictably, the Girl ran off crying. Scattered laughter and half-disguised calls of 'SLUT' followed her out.
A few people who weren't present at the Final Incident do recall seeing her as she left the schoolgrounds. They universally report being taken aback by the look on her face, which wasn't what one might expect under the circumstances. Her eyes weren't all unattractively red and swollen after all. Her habitual heavy eyeliner (ANOTHER strike against her, by the way) was intact.
There was instead the most detached look of cold, cruelly amused mockery imaginable. Or more so.
Some say she actually laughed in their faces after looking them up and down, as if enjoying some supremely personal joke.
And so she left, hounded out of school.
Though it took a while for anyone to notice that she was gone at all, let alone permanently.
Her newfound total pariah status and social isolation was a major factor, but it was helped by the odd fact that her name vanished from every student roll and class schedule. In fact, no-one who has ever trawled through the preceding few years of admin paperwork has ever managed to unearth any evidence for her existence at all.
It was the same at her house.
One or two students had GLIMPSED her house, though none had been inside. Later, a group DID go inside - which was quite easy, considering that it was now apparently a long-abandoned wreck.
The neighbours swore that it had been that way for the better part of a decade, and laughed at the idea that anyone other than the occasional easy-to-please drug addict had spent even a night in it.
But deep down, in an unexpected sub-basement, the students found something odd. Nothing excessively dramatic - just a few faintly scratched symbols of curious design, surrounded or encircling, in some cases, some burn marks and deep, foul-smelling stains.
Since, a lot have quietly speculated on what might have been happening in that inexplicable house during those now-lost years.
The first sign was a tiny thing.
So tiny that it mightn't even be related.
It happened that evening as Garry Simpkin and Michelle Beade - both of whom had needed to stay on late for one reason or another - met in the empty gym to make out in the passionate fashion of teenagers in love and lust.
For a while, everything was normal - They kissed in a hungry, fumbling way, Garry got to second base, Michelle giggled.
Then Garry leant in for a deeper kiss, and there was suddenly something different. A technique. His tongue swirled deep into her mouth, teasing and massaging her tongue, rubbing itself up and down its length. Invitingly.
Despite the normal symbolism of penetration, there was something totally and overwhelmingly FEMININE about it.
Michelle, pulled back, a slightly odd look on her face.
Garry fell out of the moment and blushed, and their session resumed, slightly chastened.
See? Maybe not really relevant at all.
It seems to taken three days before signs really started to make themselves known.
There was an odd incident in this time where several boys in the habit of leaving their shirts untucked noticed that the top and lower few buttons had disappeared, causing it to drape open and reveal their midriff. What was odd was that the buttons clearly hadn't just dropped off - there were no longer any buttonholes or loose threads that might indicate where the buttons had once gone.
But this too, was just another inconsequential echo of what was coming.
The first real sign came on the morning when every single student awoke abruptly out of incredibly vivid dreams that afterwards they couldn't recall, and found themselves hornier than they'd ever been. It lasted all day. A day of everyone looking distracted and red in the face and blinking their slightly bloodshot eyes slowly, blushing when they were suddenly brought out their reverie.
The boys should have struggled with embarrassing erections all day, but if anything, despite the raging of their libidos, they were more flaccid than they had ever been. In private moments, as they squeezed and rubbed at them, moaning and gasping in pleasure and need, they noticed the almost putty-like feel of the flesh, the odd sense than they were emptier than they should be. Like a balloon filled with vaseline.
And quite a few times that day, they felt an odd WARMTH: a tingling, creeping kind of warmth - like from an inflammation or infection - rippling up and down through their softened flesh. A few idly wondered if something might be wrong, but only for a moment. It felt GOOD after all.
How could a sickness feel so good, so delightfully naughty?
Some of the timetable of what follows is confused.
What is sure is that the following day, after waking again from those vivid, forgotten dreams, every student felt that something didn't feel quite right... and found a surprise.
The boys noticed it first, for obvious reasons.
The girls noticed it to, but they had more ability to question it.
After all, isn't it kind of silly to feel that the thing nesting between your thighs is a DIFFERENT ONE to the one you went to sleep with?
There were clear differences, to be sure - the girls knew their own bodies that well, but the whole idea was so clearly ridiculous that they had no choice but to try to dismiss it.
The boys had no such luxury.
They made such fascinating noises as they gave themselves that first cursory examination. Horror... Revulsion... Disbelief...
All of the new pussies had some things in common: they were all very young and tight, but none of them were virgins.
And they BURNED.
Yesterday's horniness was nothing to this new compulsion, this overriding NEED.
The little muscles and folds of them twitched and spasmed constantly, electrically.
It didn't take 20 seconds for the boys to experimentally thrust two fingers up into themselves, gaping hilariously and almost losing their balance as they hear and feel the SQEEEALCH (Their pussies were all so tight and new and WET), and then discover the joys of their new dainty little clittys with their thumb as they tossed their heads back and moaned just like girls.
...Just like the girls from their class who were currently doing the exact same thing...
They all frigged deep and so very hard. They peeped and shrieked an squealed until something banged on the door and demanded to know what was happening in there.
They all got gooey with pleasure, but none of them were quite able to get over the top - to push themselves into orgasm, where they might get some relief from their all-powerful burning NEED.
That set the pattern for the day.
It was like the worst itch you ever had. You could never forget it, even for an instant, and second-to-second, it was a constant battle of will not to just sink your nails as deep into it as you could and rip at it, ignoring the pain, the ooze, the fact that the itch didn't really diminish even then. A battle you constantly lost.
Everyone sat uncomfortably all day, backs straight, thighs rubbing and crossing uncomfortably. Everyone oddly silent.
...And every second any one of them was alone, their fingers would vanish into their pants, and they would grunt and buck their hips animalistically, biting down hard on their lip to try to dull their peeps and gasps.
Every toilet cubicle and supply closet was occupied all day, muffled sounds of damp, frustrated rubbing constantly audible to anyone walking past.
It was that night when the demand became clear. Every affected person was lying on their bed, stunned and bone-weary but unable to sleep. Their legs were spread wide and raised high up towards the ceiling, giving them as much room as possible for the frantic work that brought them such pleasure but no relief. By this time, most had graduated to something other than mere fingers. Hairbrush handles, deodorant cylinders, cucumbers...
It came to them all at once. They were suddenly all very aware of the fuzz around their strange new parts.
They had a hairy pussy - and that just felt so wrong.
It took different amounts of time to fully affect them. Some went all out and made a late-night dash to the chemists for waxing equipment, some glanced speculatively at a safety razor.
A lot made themselves baby-smooth, a lot felt the need to leave a little landing strip, some of the boys knew they needed to trim the remaining hair into a little heart shape resting delicately on their new mound.
Afterwards, they all stood there and examined themselves in the mirror for a few minutes, then - slowly, almost trembling - they went back to their bed, lay down, spread their legs hard and within seconds came harder and longer than they ever would have imagined possible.
It might seem strange that those affected, for the most part, continued to follow their normal routines. Maybe some of this can be attributed to embarrassment. Or perhaps a kind of denial or magical thinking - what was happening was clearly impossible, so somehow it would all just go away one morning as quickly as it had come.
Or maybe there were other forces and compulsions at work.
There certainly seem to have been compulsions.
The following day, everyone discovered that their underwear was gone, or rather was replaced.
Craig Jansen examined the pile of lacy, wispy nothings that now filled his drawer. It seemed he now only owned thongs - frilly, gauzy thongs in candy pink, lacy white, or harlot red. He examined them in stunned and slightly guilty silence, as if he was rifling through some cheerleader's laundry. There was a sudden warm tingle from down below. It had felt so odd and somehow wrong against his boxers...
He found himself wiggling a scanty pink thing up his legs. It clung higher on his hips than he was used to. It dug hard into his ass. He felt a soft moan escape from his lips as he surveyed himself in the mirror. The thin, gauzy fabric clung so tightly - each little lip was so perfectly outlined. He could feel the softness shifting and rubbing slightly with every little movement.
He moaned again and his cameltoe started to get a bit damp.
Maybe he didn't end up wearing them that day - most didn't. So it would have been a surprise later when he suddenly became aware of them - separating his ass cheeks, cupping his little mound.
As much as he would have sworn he hadn't put them in, there they now were...
You could see somehow in the way that everyone moved that day, the way they swished their legs - even before they leaned over and the lacy top became visible over the back of their jeans.
It continued in that fashion for a few more days. John Korgan awoke one morning to find piercings in his oddly large and puffy nipples. Markus Ramm found one in his tongue. Tyler Simmons suddenly had more than one in a rather more sensitive place, and it drove him wild.
These are just a few examples, soon it was a rare boy or girl who didn't sport at least a shiny belly piercing and/or a tattoo of a butterfly or Chinese symbol in the crevasse above their ass (the symbols all translated to some variation of 'Cheap Fuck')
Bill Johnson's pussy gushed when he found that he no longer owned a single pair of pants.
The skirts that now filled his drawers were the shortest, skankiest things he'd ever seen. He doubted a single one of them would even cover his ass. His pussy seemed to love that detail especially.
So, naturally, he nipped over and borrowed a pair of jeans from his brother - they were a bit tight, but were infinitely preferable to looking like a cheap whore.
He was walking out when his mother cleared her throat. 'Sweetie,' she said delicately, but with a definite edge to her voice - 'Don't you think your skirt is a bit... short?'
And Bill naturally looked down to realise that he was wearing what amounted to a tiny heavily-pleated vinyl fringe hanging from a studded black belt. His fishnet stockings ended in stripper-worthy platform heels.
'Oh, he's a young boy, I bet they're all wearing those' his father said with a wink.
And as Bill dashed unsteadily for the door on his towering heels, his pussy gushed and he orgasmed silently but spectacularly at the realisation that he was half-naked and dressed like a harlot in front of his parents, but they seemed to somehow barely notice.
He didn't stand out at all as he minced his way into class that morning. The tops of his neon-pink thong visible high above his swaying skirt, every step exposing the creamy new swell of his ass, the soft flesh of his cheeks poking adorably through the tight fishnet material. And his ass rolled with such a lewd natural wiggle, every little step an invitation. He was the tiniest bit unsteady on his big new heels, but no more so than most girls at that age.
No more so than the crowds around him in their too-tight pink leather or porno-schoolgirl plaid. Their unsteadiness and youth marked them out from true strippers, gave them an enticing sense of corrupted innocence.
The only pants among the students that day were the rare pair of booty-shorts that perfectly failed to contain their owner's jiggling assets.
It was when the boys discovered themselves so much shorter and weedier and more boyish overnight - as though they'd lost 8 years everywhere that mattered, that a few seemed to almost break through the spell in their panic and tried to call attention to their predicament. They were ignored, of course. Softly, but in some cases with some alarm.
Appointments with psychologists were made.
...But soon they had other things on their minds - and not just the makeup on their dressers that appeared overnight and always ended slathered thickly across their faces whether they gave in to the temptation or not...
Terry could barely sleep for nights, and when he did, it was uneasy and full of dreams. Dreams that woke him with the violence of his orgasm. He couldn't concentrate and only barely managed to keep from rubbing himself openly in class. Every spare moment was spent staring lovingly, obsessively at the porn clips he hunted day and night. He imagined vividly and came again and again, always just as hard as the first time, but never feeling an instant of satisfaction.
He knew what he needed.
He knew when he finally, desperately got dressed - maybe his skirt, heels, and make-up even sluttier than usual - and wiggled off into the night.
He went first to a gay bar, but blushing after stammering out some kind of an offer, he was merely looked up and down with a quizzically raised eyebrow and told that a young girl looking for THAT was most definitely looking in the wrong place.
He had more luck in a sleazy singles bar.
He pulled some lightly-balding paunchy type into the disabled toilet and dropped to his knees amidst the filth.
'Please' he gasped breathlessly, 'I... I need it. I NEED it.'
The man stared.
'I need to suck your cock, I need a cock in my mou...' he was blushing so furiously, unable to believe what he'd heard himself say, but still the sentence ended in a shriek and his hips bucked uncontrollably at the mere mention.
The man's blink and vaguest movement towards his fly were all the go-ahead Terry needed. He dived in madly, pulling everything aside, possibly feeling something tear...
And there it was.
He was dizzy with his arousal, a little bit of drool working its way into his panting. He had pictured and dreamed of this moment so many times over the past few days, but still it was nothing like he'd pictured.
The smell of him, the sight of it, the ground so uncomfortable and hard against his knees...
Which isn't to say he didn't love it, worship every detail.
Panting like a dying man, he pumped it into hardness and thrust his face in.
He tried to cram too much too far down too fast, and ended up retching - rookie mistake.
Anyone could see that he was an amateur, he tried to do too much, too much with his tongue, too much with his throat.
His gooey pink lipgloss ended up smeared heavily up and down the cock's length. It tasted of strawberries. Ever after he associated cock with the taste of strawberries, and he loved strawberries.
The man was slightly bemused - not to mention amused - by the sight of the little slut's excitement and enthusiasm and desperation (was that a tear running down her cheek?), but ultimately, it didn't take expertise for him and he came suddenly and thickly.
Terry's inexperience showed again and he choked. Much of the cum ended up in his lungs or spurted across his face and chest. His left eye got a direct hit and his thick eyeliner ran dreadfully.
The man cleared his throat and looked down at the strange girl. She was mewling between heavy coughs, three fingers thrusting into her cunt, lips smacking hungrily around the cum that had ended up in her mouth rather than sliding down her face, her eyes were largely rolled up into her head as her hips quivered under the lightning-fast flashes of her ongoing orgasm.
He looked down at her for a while before getting his phone out and snapping a picture or two, before finally turning, adjusting his pants and strolling out.
'Slut!' he was heard to say just under his breath as he shook his head.
Terry finally came to about half an hour later, the sounds of the snickering, mocking groups who had peeked in on him during that time having not revived him at all.
He ran a finger along his face and sucked on it slowly, then painfully, unsteadily on his big heels, he raised himself to the mirror and tried to fix up his makeup.
There were an awful lot of catcalls as he finally wobbled out of the toilet and out into the night.
He went to another bar.
He didn't keep his gag reflex for long.
The boy's figures soon started to fill in. Bras had begun to appear tossed in with their teensy thongs a day or two earlier, as if to mock them. Their hair exploded out too - at first silky and fluffy, but later many of them abruptly acquired a bad bleach job. Their dry ass-length bottle-blonde locks matching the increasing number of girls suddenly sporting that style.
In fact, soon enough, you couldn't even tell the difference between the boys and the girls anymore - or, rather, there was no difference anymore.
All the boys' toilets were suddenly gone from the student areas. Instead, the girls' rooms abruptly doubled in size. Lots of extra stalls for all the extra people who now needed to sit down to pee (or, more commonly, to desperately frig themselves...) And the mirrors were suddenly much larger, as if to ensure that everyone got a really good look at themselves, at their trashy clothes and their cascading hair, several times a day.
Mitch Hancock abruptly got his period halfway through class one morning. He'd been wondering at that funny bloated feeling and the odd soreness of his pussylips, but naturally enough hadn't known what it meant. His lacey white thong was really insufficient for the task.
As he quickly waddled off to the school nurse (for some instruction in matters that he had unaccountably missed out on hearing), his long sexy legs held tightly together and a trickle of blood oozing down his exposed thighs, the girls laughed long and hard and the ex-boys stared on in silent horror.
Afterwards some whispered information was quickly passed between groups of blushing, mortified-looking ex-boys.
They probably should have wondered more about those new items that had recently appeared in their drawers.
Michelle Beade snickered as she watched her recent ex-boyfriend (in two senses of the term), undress beside her in the change room and head off to the showers. His tits were surprising pointy - big, but pointy, and his tramp-stamp wiggled above his sexy round ass.
The next day he woke abruptly, his hand already rubbing between his spread legs, and tried to process that odd heavy feeling.
It took him a few attempts to sit up. They were very heavy. And big.
His delicate little hands with their big pink nails looked ridiculous trying to cup them.
He wobbled heavily to his feet and over to the mirror.
Some part of his mind acknowledged just how well his massive new titties suited him. He hefted them, admiring their bounce, looking down after a moment and getting his first look at the jiggling cleavage that he would be seeing from now on instead of his feet.
Two of his nails closed around one of his remarkably fat pink nipples, and his head flew back, hair streaming across his face (and chest). Just touching his tittyflesh was getting him WET, but just a brush against his nips was making him CUM...
When he really tossed them upwards, threatening his balance, he could see the scar underneath them. The scar where all that silicone had been pumped into his big fake boobies.
Unbelievably, his bras didn't look any bigger. And they were all gauzy push-ups that barely-if-at-all covered his new nipples (He panted and moaned and came from the squeeze)
And his tops somehow looked smaller - and lower-cut.
He mashed himself into one and it settled just below his bra-line, forcing his ridiculous assets up and out, into continuously jiggling hemispheres of porno-tit that he seemed to always be at risk of bumping his chin on.
He couldn't keep his eyes off them as he leant forwards to gloss his lips. Bending even slightly put them so close to freedom, and in the reflection in his mirror, he would have sworn that he could lose an entire arm down his dancing cleavage.
He came so hard then, his pussy gushing so shamelessly, that he needed to wait quite a while until his knees felt steady enough for him to do his mascara.
Instead he just stood there and stared at himself, tossing his long hair, hands idly sliding over his vast new titties.
People froze and stared at the sight of the kids sashaying into school that day.
Wiggling, wobbling their way in. Such a ridiculous array of ridiculous endowments. Some of them obviously, flagrantly fake. Some of them with that soft, overstuffed look of real overdeveloped teenage tit. Most of them bouncing somewhere in the ambiguous region between, but all breathtaking, all far too big, and all almost bare.
Tanktops... Tubetops... Babytees...
Cleavage... Sideboob... Underboob...
The little tramps all looked a bit pouty, a bit unsteady with the jiggling weight. And the little moans and the spots of warmth high on their cheeks hinted at a further effect too.
All that prime A now finally had some worthy T.
If you'd seen the like of them on a streetcorner, you'd assume they were sucking cock for pocket change. But the hunger in the overly-madeup eyes that met every gaze that allowed itself to linger on their bared flesh let everyone know that no pocket change would ever be required.
They wiggled in and sat down, row after row of them. Legs not quite crossed enough for the miniscule lengths of their skirts. Idly playing with their hair, or their tits. All intelligence or concentration in their eyes submerged beneath a roiling ocean of hormones.
Every one of them a little sexual handgrenade begging to go off.
They all gave in eventually, of course - and sooner than they would have believed.
They had HAD to know what it would feel like. It was all they could think about.
...And so, in bar toilets, on backseats, in empty classrooms...
Mike Dreyfuss almost changed his mind for a moment. 'Wait...' he said, and just sat there for a moment, hips writhing, before the inevitability swept him away. 'Do it, Baby! Put it in me!' The boy, frozen for a moment, his dick just brushing at the entrance, grinned and thrust. 'Oooooooooooooh!' Mike humiliated himself, wondering how he ever could have hesitated.
Barry was a real screamer. 'FUUUUUUUCK! YOU'RE SO BIIIIIIIIIG! YOU'RE SO BIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIG! OH, HAAAAARDER, STUD! FUCK MY PUSSY! FILL ME UP! DEEEEEEEEEPER, BABY! FILL ME UP!'
Henry's reaction struck his beau (what was his name again...?) as a bit odd. 'I'm a girl!' he shrieked as he cowgirled enthusiastically on his lap, his huge bare tits dancing gorgeously. 'I'm a fucking girly girl! I have big slutty titties and a pussy full of cock!'
They all understood after that first time, as they lay there, sticky and panting, cooling spunk drizzling out of them and down their legs - they understood why their everything was devoted to getting cocks hard.
It just made sense.
...And the day after, they got another little gift. Everyone, and all their ID, had a new name for them.
Something fitting.
Barbie... Muffy... Kitty... Mandi... Suzi... Misty...
Misty and Tiffi were giggling as they squeezed each other's tits and pressed their face between one another's legs.
They had been brothers. They had watched each other's change in silence, each constantly catching the other staring silently at their new developments. Eventually, one day Tiffi had accidentally walked in on Misty as she stepped out of the shower.
It had been an electric frozen moment, a moment of complete mutual feeling.
In seconds they were pressed together, hard against the wall, lips and tongues locked, hands slipping beneath and around...
It had been a long night.
Tiffi moaned - it was impossible, under Misty's expert attention, not to - but didn't let it interfere with her equally perfect explorations. She looked up at the boy sitting thunderstruck and cock in hand. He looked like he had just won every lottery on Earth.
They'd quickly found out that boys liked sisters, and REALLY liked sisters who like sisters.
Tiffi's hips spasmed and she made a noise deep in her throat as she came yet again. Her eyes didn't slip from the boy. Or his cock.
Oh, it was a NICE one.
Misty probably thought that she was going to get to go first with this one too. Tiffi's mind flew back to their last little party, with her smugly triumphant little sister squealing and bucking on his hips as SHE was relegated to dancing around, shaking her knockers like a harem girl to keep him hard. And yes - he'd had enough left to fuck them both quite a few times (they'd made sure of that), but it wasn't THE SAME.
Misty's hips bucked. Tiffi's tongue squelched.
...This time, he was hers, whether that little slut liked it or not...
The bouncers soon recognised them all on sight.
The thick makeup, the long hair, the big dangly earrings, the stripperheels, the stripperclothes...
The look of hunger and the suspicious IDs...
They always let them in, of course.
Most boys went there in hopes of meeting such a little tramp.
'Oh, hurry up, Baby!' Connie (formerly Conrad) whined as she crouched on all fours in the disabled toilets. The guy's pants hit the floor. He lined himself up, hands on the impressive ass being thrust so athletically at him (she must do yoga), and...
'No!' Connie suddenly said as a new urge burst into her consciousness. 'Stick it in my ass, baby! I NEED it up my ass!'
He was only too happy to oblige.
Her full-throated screams were so loud that he sped up, hoping to get out of her and there before the police arrived.
She was drooling, actually drooling, her eyes just whites. 'B... Babe?' she finally managed to choke out as his thrusts increased to the climax. 'T... Tell me I'm a dirty little whore. S... Say "You're a dirty little whore with a big cock up your ass!" Pleeeeeeese!'
He did, loudly and enthusiastically. He probably would have even if she hadn't asked.
The effect was like magic, she came so hard and so fast.
Her screams from before where nothing compared to this.
He finished up and left fast, before the police arrived.
Connie stayed where she collapsed. Bare ass thrust out into the air, fallen forwards onto her massive naked titties.
Her eyes were still rolled up into her head, she made little gargling noises. Her hand worked furiously between her slightly spread legs, thick cum gushing out of her anus and sliding down her bare legs.
The guy left the door open. There were a lot of photos taken.
'Cum on my face! I NEED it on my face!' Kandi (formerly Brandon) squealed as she slurped on her knees in the alleyway.
'FUCK MY TITTIES! FUCK MY TITTIES!' Madison (formerly Matthew) begged unnecessarily as she knelt in the back of the bachelor party's limo.
'Don't wait up!' Summer purred as she sashayed down the stairs in her 9-inch platforms.
She was dressed for fun. Already she felt dizzy, her head filled with ideas and images of all the things she wanted to try, or rather, that she wanted boys to try on her...
Who knew porn could be so... Inspiring?
'Just a moment, young lady!' Her parents were suddenly blocking the door, their arms crossed and a very unfun look in their eyes.
She sighed, she didn't have time for this.
'What?' she demanded, snapping her gum in annoyance.
'Don't take that tone with us, little missy!' her mother HISSED, actually hissed. '...And you are NOT going anywhere dressed like that!'
Summer was truly taken aback.
She glanced down at her outfit - pink platforms with matching knee-high fishnets, camo microskirt, thong straps reaching high up her hips, sparkly belly-piercing, roughly cut-off slinky tank top... It was nothing different from what she'd been wearing for weeks.
'Why not?' she asked, her tone and nonchalant gum-chewing unintentionally making it seem like a challenge.
'Because you look like a SLUT!' Her father suddenly bellowed.
'We didn't raise you to be a CHEAP LITTLE WHORE!' Her mother screamed at the same time.
Summer blinked.
'But EVERYONE dresses like this', she finally said. 'And you've never complained before'
'Don't start that with me!' her mother spat. 'Just because your friends are all cheap little tarts, doesn't mean that you have to be one too!'
'Don't talk about my friends that way!' Summer said, almost as a reflex. 'At least they understand what I'm going through'
'HOW DARE YOU TALK TO YOUR MOTHER THAT WAY!' Her father was red with rage.
Her mother's face was twisted in revulsion. 'Just LOOK at you!' She finally said, her eyes roving across her daughter's exposed body. 'Are you even wearing a bra?'
'Uh - Duh - No!' Summer slid the ragged bottom of her child-sized tanktop up a bit higher, exposing even more of the undersides of her perky F-cups.
Her parents looked ready to explode.
'Summer's a slut!' came a cheeky little voice from behind them. Summer spun around, still lifting her top, and saw the smirk on her 9-year-old brother's face.
'Shut the fuck up, Billy!' she snapped.
She heard the gasp even before she finished the sentence. She felt the slap shortly afterwards.
She gaped in surprise, rubbing her cheek.
'How can you talk that...' Her mother rage-sputtered into silence before valiantly fighting her way back into coherence. 'You used to be such a nice little boy, what happened?'
Summer was really angry now.
'I sprouted tits and started sucking cocks, not that you fucking noticed!'
She leaned fowards and pulled hard at her top as if to illustrate her point.
'THAT'S *IT*! YOUNG LADY, GO TO YOUR ROOM, YOU'RE GROUNDED FOR A MONTH!' her father bellowed.
Summer started to reply, but choked on her anger, she just stamped her foot instead.
'GO!'
Her mother smirked at her as she turned to begin her walk of shame.
'Oh, and just so you know' Summer snarled as she clomped back up the stairs, 'that nice Geoffrey boy that you keep pestering me about? He's gay. He fucked me once to be sure, but now he just makes me suck his cock and closes his eyes so that he can imagine that I've still got a dick!'
She snuck out later that night anyway.
'B... Beth!' Sam gasped as his wide-eyed girlfriend walked into the room.
The naked topheavy bimbo athletically reverse-cowgirling him just made a little porno-moan and seemed to redouble her efforts, smirking at the horrified brunette.
'B... Beth! I... I can explain!' Sam tried gamely.
'Oh wait, is THAT your girlfriend...?' The smirking naked girl said in an innocent sugar-sweet helium voice. 'I thought she was just that stuck-up bitch from earlier! WHAT are the chances...?'
She bucked her hips expertly, and Sam briefly went mute with pleasure.
'...But you're right, though - her tits ARE tiny!'
'I... I didn't... I didn't... Beth...' Sam vainly tried to move the bouncing girl from his lap. The squelching sound increased as she made a few more mocking porno-noises and pretended to pull at her hair in ecstasy.
'OoooooooOOooooooooooOoooo! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! ...Don't blame him, Beth!' she continued in her teasing little-girl voice. 'I think he just wanted to try it with a REAL girl for once! One whose cunt isn't stuffed with cobwebs and who doesn't have the titties of a little boy!' She somehow adjusted her technique, thrusting out her chest, and really put the wobble into her cartoonishly overstuffed assets. Beth's mouth had been hanging open since she stepped in, and now her bulging eyes were tracing every little jiggle like she was hypnotised. 'His cock is ssssooooooooooo hard! You can tell that he's dreamed of fucking like this for years and years!'
Sam made a little sound, but she was keeping him breathless and speechless with ecstasy. Her technique was incredible. If there was such a thing as a black belt in reverse cowgirl, this girl would have had it.
'Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! He's already cum in me like five times, Beth! You can tell he reeeeeeeeeally likes...' She scrunched her face up and lifted a finger to her lip as if trying to remember. '"...Dumb silicone-boobied little tramps"? Is that what you thought I didn't hear you say...?'
She looked at the horrified Beth, her expression quizzical and her head cutely tilted, as if she was really expecting an answer.
'...And now, if you'll excuse me...'
She tossed her head back, hips drilling even faster and harder, massive hooters flying. This limp-dicked loser had been spurting into her for what felt like hours, but now that that sourfaced prude was gawping stupidly, she could finally...
She came like a volcano. It really didn't seem too different from the most ridiculous porno-parody of orgasm.
...And it was helped along by the first barely-comprehensible screamed recriminations of the ex-happy couple...
She smiled around her scream, her pussy gushing like a tidalwave all down his cock.
Tiffi always found it a difficult balance when they came in her mouth.
On the one hand, some part of her felt that she shouldn't break eye contact. She should continue her lust-drunk gaze even as her hot little mouth filled, her cute cheeks puffing with the force and volume of the load. That thick ambrosia taste coating her quick tongue and seeping into her talented tonsils... Shouldn't a perfect little slut not even blink? Shouldn't she maintain that mischievous gaze?
The gaze she gave all men everyday as she delicately but firmly slurped her big pink lollipops, her eye contact solid, every moist dart and wiggle of her talented tongue an advertisement, a dare, a promise...
The way she styled her pigtails: so high, so thick, so firmly bound in their trailing pink ribbons.
Impossible to glance at without the image of a pair of wide-set handlebars popping to mind. Just so perfect a pair to grab and pull - solid, reliable - riding like a bronco as those big eyes refused to leave yours, gazing up at you even as that mouth worked so hard, those lips and tongue danced with an almost unnatural expertise... Almost mocking, daring you to go beyond any previous endurance, ride harder and rougher and further and see the unimaginable lands unglimpsed. To feel heaven wrapped up in her tongue, to charge ecstatically down the tightness of her throat...
Of course, on the other hand, there was the simple fact that cocks in her mouth made her cum.
It could be hard to keep her eyes from rolling orgasmically back into her head when a man, hands yanking triumphantly at her pigtails, jizzed explosively into her mouth.
It wouldn't be her first orgasm, of course: having a cock in her mouth even without her hair being pulled would guarantee an explosive series of those, but something about her mouth filling with all that goopy warm cum completely wrecked her composure.
She'd talked about it with the other cheerleaders during their endless discussions of the biggest cocks and the heaviest loads, and no one else seemed to have a solution either.
If she could just delay her own cumming until after they were fully done, had let go of her pigtails, maybe even popped her lips from their cock - when she slowly, reverentially swallowed - that would be the perfect time for that final mind-shattering orgasm.
It truly served to remind her how far she still had to go as a perfect little cocksucker.
... But on occasions like these, when she was on her knees beside the teacher's desk, trying to make up for her abysmal test results, she definitely tried to aim for perfection.
Mr. Sawyer's face was enraptured, of course, but she could feel that there was something she wasn't yet fully reaching.
Hopefully she would at least be able to suck her way to the B+ average that she needed to remain a cheerleader. God, it turns out guys retain a lot of residual lust towards cheerleaders even way into later life. She and her pom-poms had gotten so much frustrated middle-aged cock that she...
But now was the time to stay focused on the task at hand.
Mr. Sawyer was a real hardass with his grading.
It had all been so much easier before, when she'd been Tobias the tiny-dicked pizza-face teacher's pet. Everything had seemed simple then in all of these stupid classes.
Now she was even lagging behind most of the other girls. She wasn't sure if it was the constant distractions of her perfect jiggly new body, her sudden consuming obsessions with cheerleading and sucking dick, or simply that her once-vaunted IQ had dropped to sub-bimbo levels.
The other cheerleaders sure did like to tease her when she forgot what words meant, or what numbers were...
But big deal - if she was such a dumb blondie big titty ditz, when why was she such a great cocksucker?
Were dumb blondie big titty ditzes great cocksuckers?
Well, she suddenly considered, maybe they were - but...
Mr. Sawyer came hard on her tonsils, ending Tiffi's train of thought, such as it was, for a bit.
When she woke up, tongue questing her lips for more cum, and hand questing for a lollipop, Mr. Sawyer was looking down at her critically.
"I'm going to have to go with a B+, Tiffi. We both know that you're probably the best pure cocksucker in this class, but I can feel that you are capable of more than you're giving"
Tiffi, still half in a daze, found herself nodding in unconscious agreement, her tongue just beginning its tease of a big pink lollipop.
"Now," Mr. Sawyer said, straightening his tie, "if you could send in the next girl on your way out".
Tiffi wobbled still slightly unsteady as she opened the classroom door, the line of girls waiting to take their "make-up" test stretching down the corridor.
Evie's lips curled slightly as she smacked them together, slipping her tube of lipgloss back into her cleavage, and pushed past the bedraggled looking blonde. "Go bounce your pom-poms, bimbo." She whispered cattily as she tossed her hair and strode into the room. "I *GOT* this..."
People came to recognise them when they started to drop out of school.
First local businesses seeking waitresses or clothing retail staff. Then, after their fashion choices and barely hidden personal needs mostly turned those employers off hiring them, the Titty Bars and Strip Joints.
Later on, the state, and later still, nation came to recognise that look. Whorehouses, stripclubs, porn studios... They would actively seek them out.
People who saw a few of them together would shake their heads and mutter to themselves in disbelief:
"What a bunch of fucking sluts!"
The rumours started soon afterwards.
They'd be whispered about whenever former schoolmates got together, in the moments when they weren't fucking or sucking or diddling themselves or discussing fucking and sucking while diddling themselves.
They were always similar.
Sandi and Candi saw it at a party.
Once they'd been boyfriend and girlfriend, now they were girlfriend and girlfriend on the eternal prowl for a moderate-to-large group of boyfriends. They were at the party as strippers and party favours - a role they'd previously performed for free, but were now trying to commercialise. They were, appropriately enough, in the remnants of their "slutty schoolgirl" costumes, and in a typical post-dance position.
Mewling and squealing, flat on their backs across a table, legs lifted above them and spread into a high V, chunky stripper platforms and lacey kneesocks bouncing along with each hard thrust. Almost bared titties lifted up and being squeezed and fondled in their owner's enthusiastic grasp.
They weren't even sure they saw it at first - looking up at the room while cross-eyed, heads lolling off the edge of the table they were spread across, rendering everything upside down, and of course the mind-blowing distraction of a really meaty fuck - these can all make things difficult to really definitely determine.
...But suddenly they both recognised that gothy Weird Girl standing against the wall, looking down at their faces and laughing hysterically. Her eyes slipped over the ridiculous, nearly nude boobs that they were fondling, the tiny vestigial pink plaid school skirts flipped to their waists, their stripper heels, and the whorish expressions on their bimbo faces. They seemed to see her wink and mouth "SLUT" in the instant before two fratbros decided to put their wide-open O-shaped lips to better usage, ripping the remnants of their tops off as they did so.
The stripper sluts thought of nothing further until the cocks finally withdrew from their mouths and their boobs stopped flapping with each rough thrust, but by then the Girl - if she had ever been there - was gone.
So it was with Pinky, slurping her boss's cock under his desk.
She swore that the Girl walked in just before he came all over her face. When she had blinked the cum out of her eyes, she'd gone again.
Sugar had the most dramatic story - she said that the Girl had come in to the club one night, and paid her boss handsomely for an hour long private dance, during which she had alternated between fucking her with a massive cucumber, spanking her ass red, and taunting her as she danced.
But then, everyone knew what a lying drama-queen Sugar was.
What cannot be denied is that the Girl somehow signed everyone's Yearbook. She was long gone by then, of course, and yet there the signatures all were. They all simply read:
"Good luck, you Dumb Fucking Slut!"
