On The List

"That's what I want, bitch." I'd seldom seen such a cruel face. "I want to see them titties bounce."

"These titties?" I towered high above him, kneeling with his fat cock lying on his belly, hugged by my pussy lips. I squeezed my breasts in my hands, pointing them at him like six-shooters, watching his lust grow. "You want to see them move while I fuck you?" I rose up, reaching behind my swaying ass to lift his trembling dick high, and he just stared with that same expression of concentrated fierceness. "You going to cum in me, stud?"

He growled then, low in his throat, excited as any man by the prospect of unloading into a hot, fertile woman. "Just try to stop me," he managed, and this was what I loved about sex: ten minutes ago we'd barely even known each other's names. Now there was nothing more important to either of us than the intoxicating need for release, for pleasure, for the mashing of a cock into a cunt, so I lined up and drove myself down hard, every muscle tensed and eager as his cock split my pussy.

I curled slightly so that I could watch; I often did that, amazed by the perfection of the biology, the sight of a guy's smooth, hypnotic penis entering my body. Magic. Absolute fucking magic, and it was the same whether it happened gentle or rough, fast or slow. Even a condom couldn't quite kill my amazement, though I vastly preferred a bare dick. Something about the silky rasp of flesh against flesh, all the blood and nerves and fluids racing to that one part of the body, the place where everyone's cum sloshed around...

Magic, I swear to fucking god.

I sat on his lap, feeling his cock way, way inside me, the delicious soreness of a really thick one. His pubes tickled me. "How's that, Mike?" I taunted, hearing the thickness in my own voice. "You like that? You like being up in that cunt?"

"Fuck," he marveled; he was apparently just as amped as I was, staring hard at where my stretched lips hugged the root of his dick. He swallowed, then regained his cool. "I don't see no bouncing titties though, girl."

"Maybe you're not looking hard enough," I sneered, and then I was up off him, holding myself, dropping low, and again, and again, and now my body was a sleek goddamn sexual machine, snaky and perfect as it bobbed hard and fast on his prick. He relaxed, a look of snarky bliss on his face, his hands resting on my thighs as I gathered myself and started to bounce like I was mounted on a spring.

I know what guys like to see when they watch me ride them, and I gave Mike the full effort. I closed my eyes and tipped my head back so that he could admire my neck, raising my arms so that my hair waterfalled over them. I felt my breasts heaving in firm, liquid motion and I knew my nipples would be dancing for him. My abs would be hard and nicely-defined, the inside of my thighs firm and pale with the tendons straining, and always, always his cock sliding in and out of sight as I swiveled my hips; I knew I was doing well by listening to the awe in his voice. "Holy motherfucker," he was whispering.

I was on fire, desperate to give this guy the best ten minutes of his life. Or hell, fifteen? Who cared? I thrashed on him, my mouth open and grunting, the bed squeaking with the rhythm of our bodies.

"Aw, shit," he whimpered. "You're just too fucking sexy, girl." His eyes were slack as he watched me move, but then it was too much for him. "Fuck. I need to take you from behind, like a whore."

"Hell yeah." I was more than happy to oblige; my abs and thighs needed the rest, so I swung fluidly off him and went to my hands and knees on the narrow bed. Mike was shaking his head.

"Naw, naw. You need to go on the floor, uh, Kelly." His whole midsection was smeared with my juices, a faint whitish scum along his cock. I stared at him in disbelief. "Naw, like, for real. As hard as I want to fuck you? We'll break the bed," he protested. His eyes narrowed. "Get your ass down there, bitch."

"Sure." I mean, since he put it that way? "No problem." I winked at him and then scuttled down there, seeking a spot where the carpet seemed cleanest, and I was on all fours while he was still getting out of the bed. "Come and get it, baby," I sang, and he got down on one knee behind me.

"Oh, I'll get it all right," he muttered. He reached out one of his paws and pushed down on my shoulderblades; I got the message and lowered my shoulders, slow and sexy, my back stretching as I gave myself to him. He sighed. "You are one fine bitch, you know that?"

Of course.

He was gripping my left cheek, squeezing it like he was checking for ripeness at the supermarket. "Holy shit," he murmured. "You take it in the ass, girl?"

"Hell fuck no," I shot back. "What, my cunt's not enough?"

"Okay, okay." I felt an insistent prod at my slit. "Just asking." He didn't sound like he was pissed about it, especially once he had himself balls-deep in my body once more. "Man, this pussy feels fucking great."

"Thanks," I replied, talking to the carpet a couple of inches from my nose. He felt good, really good, and I relaxed as he took control of me. This would be short and vicious, I knew; I'd seen his face when I was riding him, and he wasn't going to last much longer. I prayed for limited rugburn, but the way this felt? It was worth it. He slid out of me, adjusting his legs to get more comfortable, and then I felt myself gasp as he flew back into me. "Fuck," I groaned. He felt firm and solid and wonderful, and with the ease of long experience I paid attention, matched his rhythm, and bucked back into him.

Sure, we were saving the bed. But if Mike thought it would be any quieter on the floor, the smashing clap of our colliding flesh soon shat all over that idea. We worked hard and steady, meeting, slapping, grunting, sweating, the unglamorous but exhilarating dirty work of sex.

At length he started spanking me, which is usually the sign that guys are getting ready to blast. I glanced beneath me, taking in his swinging balls, trying to figure out whether they'd tightened, but it was hopeless. Lazily I raised a hand, prodding at my clit, figuring I'd gain a little more enjoyment that way, because sad to say he'd been at this just a bit too long; I was starting to dry out.

He heard me gasp and moan as I touched myself, though, which was the whole point: when guys know you're into it, they generally cum. Mike did not disappoint. "Gahh," I heard him snarl. "Here it comes, Kelly." It was a tight, strained announcement, husky with lust, and I dropped my head back down and shut my eyes.

"Do it," I hissed, and with another three or four long, punishing strokes he held himself straight against me and tensed up.

"Jesus!" he grunted, and then his cock was wiggling in that delightful way inside my hole. I knew he was cumming, even though I couldn't feel his semen bursting out. I did my best to help, pulsing my vag, hoping he'd feel as dynamite as I had when he'd been sucking on my clit.

"Yeah, babe," I whispered distantly. "Fill me up." He did, his fingers harsh where they gripped my ass, and his dick kept lurching for another few moments as he slumped over onto my back.

"Shit, bitch," he sighed. He gave my right cheek one more lusty smack. "I should've met up with you months ago, Kelly. You're an A-1 piece of ass, girl."

"Thanks," I purred, stretching my cramped and achy muscles as I came up off the floor and leaned back against him. His penis fell out of me with a reluctant plop. I craned back and offered my lips, which he took with less aggression than he'd shown before. "You were fucking great, Mike," I added, snuggling a bit. Christ, the power of his cock!

I felt a little bit guilty when I nodded tensely at Mike's dad on my way out the door. "Thanks for letting Mike out on parole, Mr Young," I said distantly, his son's semen still oozing out of me into the inadequate thong I'd taken back from Mike. Only a little, though; before I'd gotten dressed, I'd gone into Erin's bedroom and straddled her pillow, letting myself drain onto it. I pissed there, too. I'd used some of her underwear to wipe myself down the rest of the way, then thrown the expensive panties straight back into her drawer.

Cheat off one of my tests? Yeah, bitch. Fuck you too.

* * *

I started my observation of Chad Pfeiffer the next day during lunch. He was down at a table, and earlier that morning I was unclear on why he was even on the campus; the word was he'd drawn a four-day suspension, with Zach scoring two. So why he was in school today was beyond me. I watched him carefully through a little window in the dusty walls of the old bookroom, where I'd snuck in so that I could look down on him and his friends in the Commons below. To see out the window, I had to lean way across an old bookshelf, which was convenient because it allowed me to multitask.

It turned out, once I asked around, that Evakian had agreed not to make him start his suspension until he could take his big econ exam today; I was glad to hear that, because I'd forgotten we had an exam in that class. So I had my econ notes spread out on the bookshelf under my elbows, glancing down occasionally to remind myself what vertical integration was. Meanwhile I was watching Chad eat, studying his demeanor, and simultaneously getting things done with a mean kid named Carlos.

He hunched and muttered behind me, talking to himself in Spanish while he fucked me. I wasn't happy with how tightly he was grabbing my waist, and I was even less pleased that he was occasionally letting his thick thumb migrate toward my asshole; I'm exit-only, as I'd explained to him carefully, but I'm not all that sure how good his English was.

Carlos was the only kid in our class older than me, having spent a couple years in juvie awhile back; I was letting him fuck me because I'd seen him kick the shit out of some drug dealer's car. I'd pushed my boobs up, sauntered over to him, and struck up a conversation. "What the fuck, dude?" I'd asked, grinning.

"Motherfucker owes me money." He looked straight at my tits. "Why? You know him?"

I had no clue whose car it was. "Sure," I lied. "He's my best friend's brother. Why?" I hooked my finger in my shirt, pulling it down to show a little more tit. "Is there something I can do to help out?"

So we'd gone up to the bookroom, which I'd stolen a key for awhile ago, and he'd wasted no time at all getting my dress up across my back. I'd already made him glove up, which I disliked, but Carlos was known to have two kids by some thirty-five-year-old skank out in Reseda, and I didn't need that kind of sperm anywhere near me. I was already on the pill and an IUD, so the condom made three.

Should be safe enough.

"Hey!" I reached back swiftly and smacked his hand away for what seemed like the fiftieth time. "No finger-o in the culo, you shithead." Conversational Spanish is important to girls like me. "Mano, I mean. No mano in my culo." Then I felt him pause with his cock thick in my pussy, so I rolled my eyes and clarified with an over-the-shoulder glare. "No verga, either."

"I speak English, mujerzuela." He started drilling me again as I returned to my notes for a second (what the hell? What was so great about a potential monopoly in the steel industry, anyway?), and then it was back to checking out Chad Pfeiffer, my vision jarred every now and then by Carlos' thrusts. He was a powerful one, that was for sure, his cock a thick bronze-colored battering ram. "Fucking bitch."

There was definitely some distance down there, between Chad and his friends; they were all sitting at one table, five of them, and the other four were closer to each other than they were to Chad. Zach was nowhere, obviously. I started to think about how they must feel about him: they'd been six friends, all sitting around for years eating lunch. And now one of them had beaten up another one. I had no way of knowing what that would be like; my friends and I always stabbed each other in the back, not the front, so everything always seemed cool with us.

Lexi had to have been right: the fight had to have been about a girl. But as I peered out the window, past my notes (ah. So, backward vertical integration was about production, and forward was about sales! It made sense now, but why the fuck was I learning any of this shit?), I saw no other people at all: no guys, no teachers, and definitely no girls. The nerds were eating under a leafy tree, in a secluded corner of the Commons where the grass grew through cracks in the asphalt, and for the life of me I just couldn't see any of these five little fuckwits ever getting the balls to get close enough to a girl to have anything worth fighting over.

I snapped back into the bookroom when Carlos started gasping, gripping my body in that certain male way that told me he was getting ready to unload; a lot of men get all possessive when they shoot it in you, and this makes them very grabby. Now he had one hand groping deep underneath me, mauling my tit, his thrusts speeding up, and I dutifully let my head drop onto my Andrew Carnegie notes. "Oh yeah, baby!" I whined, hoping it sounded convincing. "Fuck me, daddy! Oh yeah! I'm cumming!" I was kegeling madly, hoping he'd think I was finished, when all of a sudden the big dumbfuck pulled out.

Pulled out! What was wrong with him?

The crumpled rubber flew past my head as he tore it off, and then I was turning indignantly to watch him stand rigid with his head tipped way back and his hand a blur along his shaft, and before I could even ask him what the fuck was going on, he was cumming all over my back and ass.

"The fuck are you doing?" I hissed. He'd never stripped me, just lifted my dress and moved my thong aside, which meant my clothes and underwear would now be spattered with his annoying Latino spooge. "Aw, Carlos! Shit, dude! You're ruining my thong!"

"Ahhghh," he replied, or something similar, interspersed with Spanish fragments. "Oh, fuck." His face was a mask of solid, profound bliss, his entire brawny body shaking. He smacked my thigh with a cummy hand. "Shit, Veronica. You're a fucking gorgeous little puta."

I craned up, my abs protesting, and glanced down my back. I saw exactly what I was afraid I'd see, thick gobbets of cum rolling across my dress, my underwear, my skin. "It's Kelly," I corrected him absently. I assumed Veronica was the name of that chick in Reseda. "You're a worthless fucking moron, Carlos. Look what you did to my shit!"

"Sorry, uh, Kelly." He did seem apologetic. "I got carried away."

"Well, what'd you think I made you glove up for?" I shook my head; this was the problem with screwing bad boys, especially ones who had little bastards out there somewhere: they clearly were not good critical thinkers. "You were supposed to just shoot it in the condom, dumbass."

He shrugged helplessly. "I had one break one time," he explained. "I don't, you know, trust them?"

"Fuck you." I was already stepping out of my thong; it was a lost cause, soiled by sperm and stretched by dick; I kicked it into an unused corner, where some future janitor would no doubt get a very exciting shock in a few decades, when they finally cleaned this sty. The dress was a problem. "Listen. Go to the bathroom. Get some paper towels. Get them damp. Bring them back. Go now!" I was speaking staccato, like a drill sergeant, with that same raspy intensity; it was a somewhat expensive dress. He stared at me uncertainly.

"Damp?"

"Wet, you fuck!" I spat. "Wet!" Jesus, what was wrong with him? I balled my fist and shook it at him; the other one was busy trying to hold my dress away from the cumfall that was now tricking into my asscrack. "Go! Andale!"

I made Carlos give me his jacket, too, and that's why I spent the rest of the school day walking around campus, no underwear, with a pot-smelling leather motorcycle jacket covering up the water and cum down the back of my dress, which stuck to my skin like a clammy hand.

But hell, I aced the fucking econ exam. So see? Studying works!

* * *

Little Brittani and Abigail weren't sure what was going on the following week, when I used my role as a cheerleading captain to launch my Chad project. "Look," I explained to them as they sat there in all their underclassman glory, staring doubtfully up at me, "Mrs Evakian sat me and the other captains down last week and told us we needed to start cheering at underattended sports."

"Huh?" That was Abigail. Brittani was actually pretty smart, but I could already see I was going to need to use small words with Abi.

"Try again."

She blinked. "I mean, what do you mean, Captain Kelly?"

"Underattended. You know, sports that don't normally get a lot of spectators?" Abi frowned.

"The sports that nobody shows up to watch," Brittani provided helpfully. Both of them were kneeling on the bare concrete of the locker room while I lounged on the swivel chair with my feet up on another underclassman's back; that's the way we did things in the cheer world. Fuck, the things the seniors had made me do when I was a freshman!

But then that stupid fucking cow of a mom had complained when her daughter came home from cheer practice with cocaine in her snot, and there'd been a crackdown. Nowadays, all we could make the underclassmen do was bow down before us, lick the bottoms of our shoes, and use their bare hands to clean the old gum from under the benches; things like that.

"Right," I went on briskly. "Like, the sports that get no cheer support. Because, you know, there's nobody there to cheer?" She was starting to understand. "Track? Tennis?"

"Fucking volleyball?" That was Brittani again, and now I decided she was getting too big for her own shit. I leaned down and gave her a hard, precise backhand across the face. She blinked up at me in shock.

"Shut your fucking mouth, you little freshman whore." She was an awfully good cheerleader, though; really limber, with an excellent gymnastics background. She had a lot going for her. But she needed to learn her place. "Volleyball draws plenty of fans," I told her, like I'd know; I'd never be caught dead at such a shitty sport. "No. Today, the three of us are going to cheer at the swim meet."

They both stared, confused. I could read their minds. How the fuck were you supposed to cheer for swimmers? I had no clue, of course. I thought it was a dumb idea, too. The two of them were only coming along as cover for me. "We circulate among the swimmers and the crowds. We smile. We show off our legs. We give hugs and stuff. And then we leave after forty, forty-five minutes?" I had no idea. "So have your shit together this afternoon at three. Full cheering getup, with bows and pom-poms."

Brittani was looking a little sullen, her lip tucked between her teeth; apparently, I'd drawn blood. Oh well. "Yes, Captain Kelly," she muttered.

I kicked lightly at my living footstool. "Hey! Jenn! Want to come, too?"

"I have a test, Captain Kelly." Her voice was carefully subservient as she spoke to the floor.

"Ah." I was in the mood to be generous with her; she was properly obsequious. "Of course, Jennifer. Academics always come first." We all grinned at that; it was plainly a lie. "So, yeah. Three o'clock."

And that's why I was stepping carefully across the pool deck that afternoon, trying hard to avoid puddles. An impossible task, of course; it occurred to me there was a reason everyone else was in sandals.

I'd stationed my two little bitches behind the little half-fence in front of the tiny grandstand, where they grinned uncertainly at a confused collection of parents and grandparents, most of whom wanted nothing to do with cheer. I didn't understand it. I mean, I know parents like to see their offspring perform, but what was the point at a swim meet? As near as I could tell, all anyone could ever see was a lot of splashing, identical windmilling arms, and an occasional swim cap.