Gina Scratches the Itch

Gina's fun to write about. Here she is again. This story falls after "Dylan Gets Luckier," but as always you can enjoy it without reading about any of Gina's previous adventures.

Enjoy!

* * *

The trouble was, I was no longer amused by Andy Temple.

He'd started as a simple diversion, a fun little pulse of carnal sunshine in what had become, if I'm being honest, a pretty mundane life. He'd played hard to get at first, which is always amusing, but of course he'd finally given in and then, wonder of wonders, it turned out he could actually fuck!

I'd meant it as a one- or two-time thing, just a little fling to keep me busy. I'd chosen him because his wife, who is also one of my best friends, pissed me off with lurid tales of his dishwashing and diaper-changing prowess, so I'd decided to go ahead and corrupt him using the superpowers I'd always believed I kept in my cunt.

And, truly, I'd seldom failed. My nondescript looks and disagreeable personality should have rendered me permanently unfuckable at a very early age, but I'd refused to accept that fate. I'd worked hard, I'd gotten in shape, I'd gobbled a bunch of dicks (for research, of course), and in the end I'd become the sexual powerhouse I wanted to be. So, sure I was confident. Why not? What's wrong with confidence when you always seem to win?

The problem, though, was never the conquest. It was what came after, and that was what I was dealing with while sleeping with the perfect Mr Temple. Naturally, the sex had gotten a little stale; that's par for the course, and usually I can see past that for awhile. The problem here was that Andy was starting to get clingy. Like, emotional. As in, he was starting to fall in love with me. Jesus Christ; I couldn't believe it. Not even six months, and he was ready to divorce Audrey for me.

Naturally, I wasn't having any of that. Which was why, as I rubbed thoughtfully at his thick, slimy cock one night after sex, I was gearing up to tell him it was over. His arms were wrapped around me, our bodies molded together in the hotel bed, and I could tell he was feeling like a king.

I was going to destroy that poor bastard's world. Shit. I'd need to do this carefully, or he might do something rash. Like tell Audrey.

Every one of our friends, I was sure, knew that we were fucking. I'd told Shannon, of course, and usually she's a goddamn vault; but then, of course, I'd messed up and said a little bit too much around my friend Amy Pesci, and I was sure that fat bitch was smart enough to put two and two together. Anyway, however it had happened, the word was out. And when I'd told Andy about that, frighteningly, he hadn't cared.

That's when I decided.

I propped myself up on one elbow, the two afterthoughts I sometimes charitably called "titties" hanging down toward him as far as they could, which wasn't very far. He gazed back at me like a puppy looks at its master, or a nun at a crucifix.

Like a husband gazes at a wife.

I'd have to do this brutally, swiftly, like a BandAid or a guillotine. In his current state, innuendo would never work. It was a shitty thing to do, what with his cum still sloshing around in my cunt, but there was no way around it.

I was actually a little regretful, though. Yes, the sex had become robotic, but Andy had always been a reliable cummer. Big, firm loads every time. He should be fucking his wife; that was the bottom line. Just then, I felt offended on behalf of Audrey. She shouldn't have to put up with a cheating husband, even if it was me he was cheating with. I released his dick, giving his depleted balls one last farewell squeeze before I met his eyes and broke his heart.

"Andy, honey," I said, hoping I sounded at least a little bit gentle, "you know this isn't going to work anymore."

He was startled. I felt his entire body tense up beside me. "Sorry?"

"It's not going to work anymore, sweetie." I kissed his forehead, something I'd never done before; it was the kind of kiss a person gives their niece, cold and perfunctory. "This isn't fair to Audrey, and I'm tired of lying to her. You must be, too, hmm?"

He was glaring at me, and I saw fear there. "N-no," he said pitifully. "I... that is, I thought we, like you and I, like... had something..."

What a ridiculous little twit. Yes. Past time for this. "You've got two beautiful kids, and you're married to my best friend. I've got two beautiful kids, and I'm married to a pretty good guy. You're a bored man with low self-esteem, I'm a fucking certifiable crazy bitch on like four different medications." I made myself stroke his hair, hoping he wasn't about to lose his shit. Just wait till I leave, please. "It was never going to work, Andy."

No way could this man let himself cry. No fucking way. No... oh God. Yes. He was tearing up. I had absolutely no patience for this kind of crap. "I'm sorry to have to hurt you, honey," I lied, "but this just can't go on. Goodbye, Andy," I said, freeing myself from those comfortable arms as fast as I could. I stood naked, with his semen still dripping unheeded down my leg, and leaned over to touch his shoulder one last time. "I'll miss you, but you need to start fucking Audrey again. You know she deserves it." I smiled thinly, got dressed as minimally as I could without getting arrested in the hotel corridor, and scooted out without looking back.

Poor bastard.

Of course, I never did tell him that I'd been changing things up the last couple of weeks by having wild monkey-sex a few times with one of my students, a cute senior named Dylan who I'd only hooked up with because my friend Shannon had done him first. I hoped nobody knew about that; well, of course Shannon knew, since he'd fucked us both in the same bed once. But Andy didn't need to ever find out about that.

Especially since that was over, too. I'd known Dylan was only ever going to be a short-term romp for any number of reasons: he was too young, he was my very own student, he always smelled like pot, and his penis was too long. He made up for a lot of that, and of course the sheer dirtiness of what he and I did was enough to keep things well-spiced for awhile. But, in the end, our brief physical relationship had boiled down to the simple, brutal truth I'd had to learn, painfully, during puberty: I just wasn't made for massive dicks. The naughty thrill of fucking a student proved less important, in other words, than my sore cervix.

Besides, it's a very bad idea to fuck your own student. Very unhealthy.

So I guess I'd need to downsize. Mike was a nice, comfortable size for me, but let's face it: he was my husband. Sex with him felt good, in that sappy lovesick way but, like I said, it made for a pretty mundane life. I was a woman who needed more. A lot more.

Just not a lot more dick. Sizewise.

* * *

That was a rough August. Summers are always hard for me; as a teacher, I naturally look forward to the summers because I'm ready to murder my students by June. But then, two days into summer, my children have driven me nuts enough to yearn for the routine of school. And by August, even my harshest meds have difficulty keeping me stable. Worse, I was just coming off my period that week, so I was frazzled and exhausted as well as horny.

We were out for a hot night on the town one Saturday, which at my age meant a 5:30 meal, a mindless struggle to keep the boys at the table, then a hasty departure and a monster tip for the wait staff who'd have to clean up all the kids' crumbs. Home by 6:45, 7:00 latest.

That evening, we'd met Shannon and her boyfriend Leon, some sort of nautical troubleshooter for InterPetrol. Leon was normally away for weeks or months, either "exploring" or "raping the Earth" depending on your environmental bent, but he'd broken his leg in a deck accident and had been laid up for a couple of weeks. Shan was happy to have him home, but I'd noticed she'd been tense lately; his fault. I mean, I could understand how it would be difficult for a man with a painful fibula fracture to adequately service his woman, but sometimes you just need to nut up and do your duty.

So the poor woman was in her usual bind: how to get sexual relief without Leon. Normally, she dealt with this problem head-on by discreetly finding substitute penises, but that was a lot easier when Leon was at sea. She was toying with her wine, a bitter frown on her face as she dully watched my little five-year-old Mikey busily fling mac and cheese onto the floor at Zimbardo's.

Mike and Leon were in a hot-sounding discussion about international rugby, which made me laugh inwardly; I was certain Mike knew nothing about rugby, and could only guess about Leon. But it left Shannon and I free to have a low-voiced discussion about our mutual playmate.

"Talked to Dylan lately?" she asked me. There was always an extra little frisson of excitement I got, discussing my lovers in front of my husband. Naturally, Shan and I had developed a code for dealing with this kind of convo.

"Nah; he and I don't really run into each other much."

"Who's this?" Mike asked, glancing at me.

"Dylan Masters, honey, a chem teacher," I lied smoothly. "Mr Oliver wants he and I to develop a tech curriculum for next year, but he's been avoiding me lately."

"Must be scared of you," Leon laughed.

I smiled back. Dylan Rotolo was many things, but he wasn't scared of me. It's hard to be scared of a woman who'll willingly let you stick a finger in her ass. "I think not. The two of us had a very good working relationship for a few weeks, but then I got busy and now we only see each other in class." I shrugged, reviewing my words and finding that almost every one of them was literally truthful. Shannon watched me closely.

"I chatted with him on Wednesday," she mused. My eyes went wide; it could only have happened in school. Shannon was usually more careful than that, but she confirmed it a few seconds later. "After school, though. He was just leaving." Ah. A quickie, then, to take the edge off. I sighed.

"That's a habit I just never got into," I said carefully. "You spend too much time talking to people after school, people start taking advantage of you after awhile." I sipped at my Riesling. "They think you're always available, start taking you for granted."

"Yeah," she muttered mulishly, pushing some peas around her plate. Her nose wrinkled suddenly. "Did someone fart?"

Mike sighed and put his fork down. "Goddammit. Bruce, did you do poo-poo again?" I rolled my eyes; that was three times today. Bruce was almost three, so his shits were big and stinky. For some reason, he was scared of the toilet. Little Brucey looked guiltily up at Mike, and I was already pulling my napkin off my lap as Mike turned to me. "Honey, can you..."

"Yeah, yeah." Mike was a decent enough father in a lot of ways; it's not that he wouldn't change a poopy diaper, but I was OCD and I couldn't tolerate how he did the little fastening tabs. I reached into my mom-purse, grabbed a diaper and the six wipes I knew I would need, and dragged Brucey out of his booster seat. "C'mon, stinky," I said, my teeth clenched. "You'll excuse me, I'm sure," I smiled at Shan and Leon. "I mean, I could change him here, but it would ruin dinner."

Towing Bruce behind me, I fled from their chuckles and moved as gracefully as I could to the bathrooms at the back of the restaurant. The tables were crammed in there asshole to elbow, but I was lithe enough to maneuver cleanly through. I noticed admiring glances from almost every man in the place, which made me glow; it's always nice to be lusted over. I worked hard to keep my body fit, and I always dressed as tightly as I could to show it. Sure, I was barely five feet with no tits and even less ass; still, I liked to think I was still sexy at 31, and times like this showed I was right. Tonight I had a favorite wrap dress, actually the one I'd used when I'd first seduced Dylan, the rusty red one that did such a bang-up job with my chest. I got a pleasant thrill as I put it on, hoping I'd gotten all the dust brushed off after its trip to the classroom floor.

Zimbardo's was small enough to have solo toilets, not the usual stalls-with-a-changing-table arrangement; when I got there, both doors were locked and I could hear both fans going. Great. Two shitters; they'd be in there for awhile, obviously, since nobody takes a dump in a public toilet unless they absolutely have to, which means gastric distress, which then makes them leave a nice, long, runny mess. Speaking of which, a fresh wave was rising from Bruce. "Shit," I muttered unnecessarily, but appropriately.

Oh well. Another bathroom door was in between the two locked ones, the brass plaque reading EMPLOYEES ONLY. Huh. No way they'd mind me heading in there with my disgusting offspring; I knew I would take no more than ninety seconds to change this fucking diaper. So I tried the door, telling myself I'd just have to wait politely if it was locked.

Well! What do you know. It opened right away.

I moved with mom-ninja speed, flying through the door, locking it behind me, and depositing the kid on the floor with me kneeling alongside before I realized I wasn't alone.

"Uhhh..." A very, very cute boy in a waiter's outfit was staring right at me, his dick in his hand, just getting set to start pissing. It hadn't occurred to me the employee bathroom layout would be different from the other ones, where the toilet faced the other way. "Excuse me, ma'am." He froze uncertainly, and of course I did too; this was not a normal occurrence for me. Bruce was quiet on the tile, no doubt wondering why Mommy was staring at the waiter's wee-wee.

The moment of awkward silence was broken at once in the most earthy way possible: the deep, melodious splash of urine striking water. And, with that, I snapped back into what I liked to call Gina Mode: calm, cynical, witty, self-assured, and firmly on my game. Gina Mode often took over in the presence of strange new penises. I smiled and let the boy see me take note of his cock. "You should hydrate more, sweetie," I told him smugly. "Your piss shouldn't be so dark."

"Um." His cute forehead, scarred slightly and endearingly with old acne, wrinkled as he tried to figure out whether he should squeeze off the flow. "I'm, uh, sorry..."

"Why? It's your bathroom, hon; I'm not supposed to be here." I smiled wickedly and let my tongue flick over my bottom lip. Out of sheer personal habit, I found myself sizing this lad up in a single practiced blink: taller than me by a fair bit, though truthfully that's not saying much. He seemed thin, like a dancer, with long limbs and a thin, v-shaped face. Nice sandy hair, square-cut; bloodless lips now scowling in distress, and a fairly big nose that would probably get in the way if he ever tried to go down on a girl with any body fat at all. His eyes were a warm brown behind trendy, square glasses.

He was the sort of boy who pulled his shirt up and opened his pants to pee, rather than settling for shoving his dick through the hole in the front of the tighty-whities he wore; I glimpsed heavy balls behind his fingers, a cut dickhead notably browner than the rest of his skin. He seemed short, though of course it's always difficult to tell while a male is pissing. Sparse curls of pubic hair nestled out of his shirttail; not much, even though he didn't seem the type to groom. I smiled, automatically selecting a seductive and quirky smirk; I could feel myself arch my back without even thinking. "Been holding it for awhile, I see." I was so close to him I was catching the faintest of spray from his piss hitting the bowl; it excited me in a highly perverted way, giving the two of us a sudden, wicked intimacy.

"Uh, I don't get a lot of breaks." He was, as expected, staring straight down my dress.

"That's too bad. What's your name, sweetie?" I dropped my arms to my sides, oblivious to my needy child behind me; the kneeling, the arched spine, the smirk... he'd be picturing me sucking his dick. No fucking doubt.

"I'm Kyle." The urine stream was starting to peter out; he plainly wanted out of there as soon as he could manage it.

"You should have locked the door, Kyle," I said, licking my lips again. None of this was intentional, you understand. Just habit. "How old are you, honey?"

"I'm nineteen." It was an odd question, and he frowned as soon as he answered.

"You're not from Seaborne." It wasn't a question; in any case, he hadn't gone to my high school.

"No ma'am. I live in Hightower."

"I'm Gina Torrey. It's nice to meet you, Kyle." I extended my hand, locking the poor kid into a dilemma. Refusing to shake my hand would be rude, but so would shaking my hand with his dick hanging out. He hesitated, then shyly took his right hand and reached out for me. As expected, it was moist with dick-sweat; he was nineteen, so I let myself get slightly horny. I could see more of his penis now; dark, but not as brown as the head.

Like the last of the water running out after the shower stops, his piss slowly eased. I released his hand, my fingers keeping in contact longer than was necessary. "Go ahead and shake it, Kyle; you wouldn't want to stain your trousers."

"N-no ma'am."

"It's Gina, Kyle."

"Yes ma'am." I felt like I was in the Army with this kid. His prominent adam's apple bobbed indecisively as he gave that dick a nice long jiggle, shaking out the last few drops.

"My husband doesn't always shake, and I mock him for it," I pointed out calmly. Only then did the lad realize he'd been staring at my boobs; I saw him quickly look away. I hoped Bruce was watching this carefully as an example of what not to do. No son of mine, I thought, would ever let an opportunity like this go to waste. If I didn't raise Mikey and Bruce any better than that, I'd be a failure as a mother. Any self-respecting male would already have that cock down my throat; hell, even poor shattered Andy would probably have flirted, at least a little.

But cute little Kyle just turned away and started to tuck himself back in. I stayed on my knees. "What are your hours, Kyle honey? In case I want you as my waiter, I mean." I smiled more reasonably as he looked back around in disbelief. "I feel really, really embarrassed for you, and I'd like to give you the opportunity to show me what you can do." I winked. "I'm an excellent tipper, Kyle."

"I mostly work lunch hour," he stuttered, zipping up. Now he had to figure out how to leave; I was blocking the door. "It, uh, would be a pleasure to serve you, ma'am."

"Gina. The pleasure will be all mine, I think." I let him notice my eyes, a pale green. "You need to wash your hands, Kyle. It wouldn't do to get dick all over the food, now would it?" I laughed throatily, and Bruce echoed me.

"Sure." To his credit, Kyle tried to laugh too; I took in the way the tight black work pants outlined his ass. Nice, muscled ass. While he was washing up, I noticed him staring at me in the mirror, and gave him the wicked smile again. He quickly looked away, and I snickered as I scooted sideways to start changing Little Brucey. "I, um, I'm really sorry about this, ma'am. Gina."

"I'm not. You have a nice evening, hon," I said sweetly, already wrist-deep in toddler shit. He was gone before I even realized it, no doubt as humiliated as he'd been in his life.

And, just like that, I had downsized.

* * *

Shan and I made a late lunch appointment at Zimbardo's for the following day; I was not very interested in waiting. We walked in to the lazy stickiness of the post-brunch siesta, the two of us drifting up to the hostess station in full makeup and dressed to murder, our gymmed-up bodies on full display in tight workout clothing. I wanted little Kyle to see that I had hot friends, and we really had just come from yoga. Of course, Shannon had no idea why she was here.