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Mrs Tracey stood by the board, the last of the class filtering out as Natalia rushed in to her books still open at her desk.
‘Natalia! Has Neill kept you this long?’
‘Yee—’ Natalia hesitated. ‘Er, no. I’ve been…’
‘Been where, all this time? Why is your jaw all red? Is that orange peel stuck to your collar?’
‘I… went off to eat my lunch, curled up in the corner. I was annoyed about what happened and didn’t want to come back to lesson. I’m sorry.’
‘Well, well!’ Mrs Tracey shook her head. ‘I just can’t believe what I am seeing from you today. Top pupil indeed! Well if you’ve already eaten you can sit here and do your work for the rest of lunchtime. You’re on detention!’
Natalia’s stomach gurgled as she sat down. She looked down at the page in her textbook she had to copy.
‘As they flow downstream, rivers transport material as well as water. The material they transport is called the load…’
She twiddled her pen whilst Mrs Tracey, munching at her desk and raising an eyebrow every few minutes, turned her back to fiddle with some books.
Natalia discreetly pulled up her phone and typed an eighth variation on her last seven Google searches.
‘Actual pregnancy risk from pulling out’
The official withdrawal method stats came up on the usual slew of Web MD, Planned Parenthood, NHS and Medical News Today.
She retyped:
‘Actual pregnancy risk from pulling out REDDIT’
Up came a discussion entitled:
‘Pregnant from Precum???!!!!’ posted by quim_elizabeth_the-fist
Now we’re talking. Actual slags with the actual truth.
‘My boy withdraws for years I never got preg. Now my period is late!! Can you get preg from precum??’
Reply from squatting-neville58:
‘Did he wash between fucks? If he had cum on there earlier it mite still be alive on the end of his nob’
She thought back to Saturday about Neill’s ‘nob.’ Neill had a shower in between golfball shag and badboy shag. But then over the bonnet later?
She huffed and twisted in her chair as a heat of anxiety cranked over her.
Tracey frowned up. ‘I hope you are working?’
‘Yes, Miss. I’ve just got… period pain.’
‘Oh. Do you need paracetamol? We have some in Reception, and as long as you’re authorised—’
‘I’m ok thanks.’
Tracey continued working, crunching her sandwich, as Natalia bristled, looking up every few seconds to wince at the mayonnaise on Tracey’s lower lip.
‘Actually, Miss, can I have that paracetamol please? And yes I’m authorised.’
Tracey wiped her mouth, set down her sandwich and got up.
As soon as the door closed, Natalia slipped over to Tracey’s desk. Tesco Chicken Salad Sandwich, perfect.
She darted to her bag, whipped out the condom with shaking hands, rummaged for scissors in Tracey’s desk to cut it open, and squeezing it like a cake piping bag, garnished the lettuce with two hoops and a quick flick of spit.
‘Suck my dick, Gluetooth.’
Soggy latex remnants seized in a tissue, she stuffed it all away and hurried to sit back down upon the rap of heels down the corridor.
‘Here we are. Do you have something to swallow it with?’
‘Oh, yes.’
Natalia squeezed the tablets inside her hot palm then tossed them into her bag as soon as she could. Who wants painkillers for womb cramps of delight watching Tracey’s lip glistening again, now with an ever so slight wince of her own?
She resumed writing.
‘The material they transport is called the load…’
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*
Ras was stretched out by the fire, licking his paw flexed like a bodybuilder’s bicep whilst Neill refilled his wine glass.
‘Sure you don’t care to try some Rioja, darling?’
‘I’m ok thanks.’
He sipped and pointed at the board.
‘Nang?’
‘Means cry. Once heard Darren say to mum to stop nanging and get on with it.’
He tapped a finger to his phone.
‘Hmm, I think your mother was up to something else. Oxford Dictionary says nanging is ‘to inhale nitrous oxide from bulbs used to whip up cream, with risk of adverse neurological effects and death.’’
‘If only.’
He peered down. ‘You could have made a seven-letter. Inangas. Australasian fish, even smaller than those haddock fillets we just had. Although you could have at least just put sang and saved me having to google it.’
‘Well, what the heck’s nim?’
She leaned forward to lift his glass, whilst he was leaning back to put down his phone.
‘Nim. Synonym for steal,’ he frowned, watching her sip the wine in one hand, her phone aloft in the other.
‘Says ‘nim is a game in which two players take turns removing objects from heaps.’’
‘Well, we can remove both nim and nang but they’re each worth five points so we can leave them in place and be equal bullshitters.’
‘Right, my turn,’ as she passed back his drink. ‘Hat. Oh wait! I have an E. …Hate.’
‘E for Einstein.’
‘So you didn’t hate wearing a hat to the Grand Canyon?’
‘Hm?’
‘Shagging me with a condom and actually coming inside it this time.’
‘Oh, the look on your face made up for what felt like an inch of swaddling nanny-state rubber. You looked almost as terrified as when you came in to see Miss Morgan. Besides, it was like bidding hello and farewell at once to the marigold.’
‘I take it you mean washing up gloves and not my flower. Oh - that reminds me, one of my mum’s mates I saw yesterday, she’s a cleaner. You don’t think she works for your company?’
‘When mine has a name like Dahlia I doubt it.’
‘Orf?’ she stared as he placed his tiles. ‘That’s not a word! Unless I put an F, E, K to go before it!’
‘Fits right there on a triple letter square. The F makes me 12 points alone,’ he raised his glass smugly. ‘Orf is a viral infection in sheep. And did lambkins get to see a doctor today?’
‘I booked one for tomorrow morning.’
‘Will mutton mum know you’re going?’
‘No, no. But I have to be up early to make it down to Windmill Surgery by 8.30. Which means I should have an early night.’
She yawned as she placed down five letters.
‘You need an M for scram.’
‘Scran is Yorkshire slang for food. Look it up.’
‘Hm, yes,’ he scroll-tapped as his eyes widened, ‘right here next to ‘Scarborough Warning… a warning that breaking rules will result in punishment!’’
‘Thought it meant a warning given too late to be useful? Anyway, put that phone down after you’ve checked - no cheating, remember!’
‘Apt definition either way,’ as he pulled out more tiles.
‘No cheating needed, I can see three five-letter words you can easily make with those. Spoil. Limps. Kilos.’
‘Restrain your brain for your own game, lass. For I have a clean sweep. Fifty point bonus!’
‘Milksop?’ she stared. ‘What kind of scran is that?’
‘Bread in milk; or the kind of yellow-bellied fellow who uses marigolds.’
‘You’re up by sixty five points!’ she groaned. ‘I’ll never catch up… Ooh, wait! I’ve got an X!’
‘Hex,’ he peered as she arranged the word. ‘You could’ve had hexad.’
‘Not to fit it into this gap with a triple word score—’
‘Thirty nine points! You’re better at this than crosswords. Speaking of which, did Gluetooth give you any trouble today?’
‘No, no. When I got back she had come for lunch.’
‘Don’t you mean gone?’
‘But in Art, Sam noticed the red lines where you tied up my wrists.’
‘Bollocks. You always have red lines there from your hairbands.’
‘Not halfway up both arms, and so deep…’
‘Tell her if she wants the same, she can come up tomorrow,’ he crocked a leg up smugly on the sofa arm. ‘I’ll use three marigolds for her though, grind her piggy nose against the wall till she leaks milksop down both legs and have her droning ‘amazin’’ like a flapping parrot.’
She bit her lip. ‘Joking about other schoolgirls is really crass, you know Neill.’
‘Oh, joshin’ about shafting a daft lass makes this crass lass laugh!’ he drolled in Northern, watching a smirk seize her as he squarely pointed, ‘that look on your face is the exact one you make when you’re desperate to wank over what I’ve just said, and precisely why I said it.’
‘Hmph! But I’m not even allowed to wank.’
‘Go on then. Wank, right there over the board and I’ll let you win. I’ve had enough of Scranble anyway, and with it being older than you, you’ll tear the thing in two and give the poor thing the petite-mort it deserves.’
She giggled, blinking at the board tempted. ‘But we haven’t found the Q or Z yet. They’re worth ten points each and I could still beat—’
‘Go find the vibrator laying in the loft, we’ll put in the batteries from the remote, beat the Z into orgasm and put my cock ten points back in the Queue. Did you like it?’
‘I still don’t even know what that cheatsheet looks like. But I bet the cleaner does.’
‘She doesn’t go in the loft.’
‘Don’t you mean come?’
‘With us, the world becomes a sex toy,’ he sighed. ‘Bananas and golf balls don’t run out of juice and neither do you. Oh, that reminds me—’
He stood up, reached over for his bag and pulled out a yellow ball, slightly larger than a golf ball, attached to a keyring, adorned with a comical unicorn’s horn and eyelashes.
‘What the frick is that?’
‘Found it in the lost property. Looks like something lost by a Year 7. Open wide—’
‘No way!’ She swung to the side.
‘Actually, you’re right. We need to take a rain check first.’
He sat down next to her and grabbed the back of her neck.
‘Neill!—’
Scooping her face down into his thighs, one arm pinned behind her, he wriggled down her leggings as her ankles squeal-pumped the air.
‘I can’t believe—!’
Two probing fingers staked her wobbling bottom to his lap.
‘Yep, pretty dry,’ he pulled her leggings back up. ‘Stand up.’
Launched back upright, hair rucked up and indignant, she took a wobble as he stuffed the yellow ball straight into her mouth, taking a finger to stretch her lip around it as her clitoris beat a drum of blood to her face.
‘Bite down into it—’
She did, to find the memory foam would flatten all the way down, then on release plump back up and jack her jaw open to a perfectly maximum proportion.
‘Well I’m as good at knowing your mouth size as your dress size. Feel nice, hm?’
‘Mmmpphh—’ Her hand came up, just as his hand came quicker.
‘Don’t chance it. Unless you want my Scrabble score scored in belt welts on your bottom in time for PE tomorrow, go scrape and stack the plates in the dishwasher, after you clear away the board game and do not even think about spitting that out. How about that for a Scranborough warning?’
He got up and breezed out to the kitchen as she crouched down blinking to the Scrabble board, chewing the ball down to its lowest scrunch, before it rose up again like a bread loaf from tongue to palette. Was she really going to do errands like this? She’d rather be ordered to lay down and spread. This was worse than a golf ball… oh and better. Her vagina was tick-ticking to the click-click of his lighter in the kitchen doorway as he flashed around to her; she looked away quickly, the metal keyring flipping around like an added drip-drip insult to something now stinging down there.
Oh god, this giant yellow pustule building another yellow pustule, all from some Year 7 kid’s keyring - she bet it was that pink backpack Lucy Jenkins with the unicorn everything. As soon as the kitchen door rattled shut, she popped it out into her hand and went to stack the dishwasher.
Her heart flipped when she saw a movement at the window. It flipped again when the door wood made a random snapping sound. Oh god, just put the ball back in - shit, this thing takes a pushing - right behind her teeth - and oh god, the door is rattling open again, as a hand clamped her shoulder and the breeze doubled her shudder.
‘Turn around.’
A cold finger went to an untucked corner of her lip.
‘You didn’t remove it?’
‘Mmh, mmh.’ The sincerity needed for the headshake made her wish she’d just kept it in.
‘Good. The fire’s out. Go re-build it.’
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*
Fire freshly roaring with unwanted mansplaining along the way - to use the gloves so she doesn’t get splinters, delivered crouched next to her, her face run out of blood by this point - he now pulled two cushions down beside the sofa.
‘I think my little lamb marinade is ready. Pull down your leggings and pinch-spread your bottom.’
He knew what was down there could put the fire out. Slowly face-planting the cushions, she peeled down her knickers as he promptly went off upstairs. Twat could have taken a leak up there before having her spread, but oh, talk about a spread twat leaking down here.
He returned to see her eyes wide and mouth wedge-gaping at what looked like a purple microphone in his one hand; the TV remote being fiddled open in the other.
‘Remind me to add batteries to the next shopping list,’ he frowned.
‘Mmmgh.’
‘What?’ his eyes raised.
She hurriedly pinch-spread her buttocks. ‘Mmmyeh-sneeel,’ her eyes faltered as he grunted back to his fiddling. The logs crackle-tumbling behind her, she felt a sudden rub of a furry wet nose against her thigh and trembled. Ah jeez, the cat almost made her come.
Neill shooed him away, crouching down at her hip as a waft of air shuddered her sodden seat like a paranormal entity. The touch of a fingertip brushed her perineum - cue bigger shake - then all she felt was that one single, solitary finger, lightly jet-skiiing the flash flood lurking beneath the soft dry forest top, flinching her from left to right like a cat with a tick on its back it can’t get to.
‘Ohh, there we go, little yonicorn. Better than anything on Amazon, wetter than anything in the Amazon and all for free, and you can shoot it free on the come of three, agreed?’
‘Mmmyeh, mmphyehhh…’
It felt right, easier, natural to expose one’s cunt as one should when gobstopped, for already the humiliation of the last twenty pottering minutes was disappearing with the chimney smoke as she pushes back her bottom, clamouring to be seized in at least two places and within ten seconds, dashed on the rock of a generous man-thumb at her clit and two wiry downturned fingers like a fat fuse nestled at the internal bulb behind it, her moans are like a siren sighing a helpless song with the volume turned rapidly up, down and up again, then ebbing in a rush of nasal breaths as he swivels her around onto her back.
Now facing him like an open clam shell, the ball duly held in a face now brushed with intoxication, he thrust his tongue down between her knees like a dog’s into a bowl of water; two upturned fingers sending her throe of climax hum-sung up to the ceiling, just before she pulled up and threw off her top like a drunk concert goer and squirmed the proud double erection of her breasts at the purring rockstar.
‘Two on the trot makes you look fucking hot. What was your poem again? One up your bum, two and we’re done?’
She flashed back a grin as best she could.
‘Three spread your knees—’
She heard the click-whirr of the vibrator.
‘…Cheat sheet, indeed?’
Buzzing at her entrance like a dildo-sized bee, he edged it to and fro with slippery ease all the way inside her as she threw back her chin in one long sound of half shimmer, half groan. He gripped one of her knees to halt her wriggling and stationed his own knee at her other, then saw in a moment it was horniness she was wriggling with - an almost unbearable climax slipping out now like sand from the hard plastic vibrating inside her - a washing machine on full cycle flooding itself, scattering her first four orgasms all around her pelvis; up to her throat where her delicate siren moans devolve into a shiphorn, transmitting back through the ball till she is one big vibration everywhere, her mouth bulging the baby unicorn till it was bullet-birthed three foot into the air near missing the startled midwife.
‘Four what a score! Does little wanker want more?’
‘Yes, yes… my god, Neill, more… make me come a million, gazillion times more—’
Her mouth having been outrageously stuffed, now feels delightfully free; liberated lips vocalising a new tune of confidence as the vibrator goes back inside, and she comes so hard she pushes it out, goosepimpling head to foot, laughing like a diver who’d just emerged at the surface after snorkel-sucking to discover the ocean in the pearl.
‘Five she’s just greedy, sick’s the man, seedy…’
Her heel pushes away the vibrator re-approaching, which drops now to the floor as he resumes lick fingering under her now gelatinous pubes stuck up like cat fur, her eyes closed as she came in sweeter, peaceful tones, piggybacked almost immediately by another.
‘Shall we get you to seventh heaven?’
Slow gasping breaths, as floppy as a ragdoll, Neill sighed in admiration of her juices multiplying in volume:
‘Couldn’t possibly make it creamier in Devon…’
He drew out and held up in the air on four fingers, a sample of her multiplying milksop in what looks like a perfect, silver drop pendant necklace.
She stares at this Tiffany’s trophy as though spun from the very shame ridden from her soul, wondering which of the four orifices between her and him it was going to end up in; the darkest and least attended to, of course, receives it, along the buzzing tip of their fickle friend, pressing till its end was gaping half a centimetre’s admittance, as his mouth and fingers work on bringing her to an explosion of F words that spring-trap her legs closed with his hand glued between them like a lolly stick firmly stuck inside its last dripping ice lump. But, wriggling her up and down on this wedge, he hand-fucks her whole pelvis till even more surges were agitated out of her, blurred in form and number.
‘Nine, ten; to hell with all men! Cos I’m sixteen, times coming! …Neill’s all I need then.’
His epilogue has her eyes delirious and smouldering, as he leans to whisper at her forehead:
‘Right, my little heap of slush. We’re going to bed for that early night you wanted. You know how it is going to be, don’t you?’
She is all geeing hips and twirling toes.
‘I’m going to take you upstairs and you will take my naked cock inside you, no complaints, no arguments… you’re going to surrender yourself completely and cream right over it, over and over again, baptise this bad boy in an ocean of come, every ounce of liquid inside you, and you’re going to fuck back on every single thrust without resisting, worrying or saying a damn word otherwise, unless you want that ball superglued into your mouth, do you hear?’
‘Gohhd, yehhs…’
‘And what contraception are we going to use?’
‘Whisky, of course.’
‘Go pour me a large one, with ice.’
Weak-legged to the kitchen, she’s leaking down her thigh, dizzy like she was coming for the seventeenth time, or perhaps he’d stuck her in one long state of orgasm, as she brought through the rattling glass to where he was covering up the fire.
He turned, and in an instant swooped his hands to her hips, calling: ‘Hold onto that glass!—’ as she was shriek-launched straight up over his shoulder, her giggling head knocking the lampshade.
‘Steady, steady! …Don’t want to spill this! Wha—!’ He rotated her in the air like a naked acrobat, as she laughed: ‘What are we… a circus duo?!’
‘Nim and Nang! The incredible, precarious police and pregnancy dodgers!—’
‘Neill! That is so—’ Her indignation drowned out by a swift jostling upstairs, whilst holding the glass carefully aloft - ‘Steady, I said! Some dripped! There’ll be none left!—’
‘You or the glass!’
He set her down at the bedroom door and disappeared into the bathroom.
‘Won’t be a moment.’
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*
Sprawling on the bed, she thought he could have just slipped his cock in whilst she lay downstairs in a cum trance, but now her brain had chance to worry about the Reddit chat. What if live spunk’s sitting on the end of his knob after clementine shag?As the sound of the flush came and Neill reappeared from the bathroom, she sat up in earnest.
‘Neill, first can you do me a favour, sorry. After earlier, you know… you should wash. Wash your cock, to be safe…’
‘Certainly. Here…’
He fed the whisky glass into her mouth, then followed it with water. ‘Don’t swallow it. Go on then, give it a good wash…’
He nudged her head down as she promptly took in his swelling head; swilling, sloshing and licking into every wrinkle of his helmet, chafing her tongue at his cock hole till the whisky-water was half down her throat and half dripped to her hand, as she withdrew, wiping her mouth smiling.
‘Very good,’ he remarked, ‘but I already washed in the PE showers, did you really think I was going back into the staff room sweating like a rapist?’
She stared. ‘Very good… because I already knew that from the taste of the awful soap our Headmaster still hasn’t upgraded, and fancied doing a better job than him.’
Faintly grinning, he knelt down and traced his hand up her thigh.
‘Such a messy girl aren’t you? Shall we follow this to see where exactly where all that water’s coming from, Chicken Licken?’
‘Well, smart ah-lick, my aching womb after those sixteen orgasms tell me Little Red Hen’s already on her way, so…’
They fell back, laughing and kissing, as he rolled her onto her stomach and barricaded her ribcage with his, jimmying in his way like a sniffer dog, ankles hooked in hers whilst her hands were lost somewhere at her chest, and she could just about breathe - a dreamy gasp as he slid into her drenched rainfall where spirits swirled within; lively spirits declaring dominance over this persistent, thrusting cock… we’ll drown him till he’s spluttering, choking, then make him cough up the residue, his feeble attempt at being like us, till he comes back for more, helplessly and interminably thirsty he is, unable to grow without bursting and shooting, bursting and shooting.
And yet in this position, manly meat and muscle seemingly perform upon hers; defeats and overcomes it, as if his whole body was the shaft repeatedly shafting and overriding hers; rubbing an eraser over her condom concerns, or a delete key over her completely, as though he might as well be shagging the mattress for all her ability to participate here, other than to keep her rump extended to invite him in again and again, steeling her vertebrae so she doesn’t pop her back.
‘You are pouring, pouring down on me…’
Drips of his sweat fall and she thinks she could say the same.
‘Oh, I love you…’ he continues, almost absent-mindedly, quietly, as an onerous sigh back from her throat surprises her.
Sweaty lips snaking down her temple halt to the taste of a salty snivel.
‘Natalia, oh god, you’re…?’
‘I’m fine, I’m fine, don’t be silly. Keep going, please…’
She turns to him with a huge fake smile. It works. After a swig of whisky he resumes tossing her on a sea of Neill cock as her thoughts begin to disintegrate, and her body - which she considered to be relaxed - starts to genuinely relax within; a shy love for Neill steps out from behind the curtain and takes another of those sighs - deeper than those usual girlish moans that belied a thrill to be fucked by a man - but from somewhere deeper, primal, nonetheless feminine, or even more so. She starts to move, to fuck back - and oh! they are fucking together, and by his elfin grunts she knows he can feel it, that it was battery-powering something in him that made him go a few minutes longer before that familiar groan:
‘I need to come—’
‘Have more whisky then keep fucking me.’
‘Oh, my girl is learning…’
He spoon-scoops her into him, cocks up her leg and lasciviously ruts her, whilst the sight of his hairy faun leg round hers, and his hand that’d guided her across bridges and troubled waters, now gripping her thigh; and his famous smut-story cock now dipping in and out of the engorged, open channel of my girl… makes her heave an unmistakeable sob.
He pulled her chin round.
‘Oh my goodness, you really are nanging…’
She batted his hand. ‘Hit me with your Jim Beams.’
He grabs the glass, jumps to his knees and stuffs his bursting end against the inner glass like a crying face against a window, splatting a white cloud from the tiny mouth like albumen slow diving into an amber lagoon of thawed fairy ice pebbles, that with a brisk whisk of his hand, gets passed to her.
‘Jim Beams, laser beams. That’s pretty good,’ he collapsed down next to her, mopping his head with a towel.
He glanced to see her necking the glass clean.
‘You needed a stiff drink then?’
‘Better than Licken it from Chicken,’ she grinned into the glass.
He frowned as she then took it between her thighs, urinated, then passed it to him before slumping into a complacent heap.
‘Go brush your teeth before you fall comatose.’
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*
It was on that day trip to Sheffield when she was twelve. After shopping in town, her mum was hurrying them back to the coach past a fluorescent bustle of policemen in Orchard Square. A drunkard was pushed up over a wheelie bin by three officers with thick black guns and shiny truncheons on their belts. With a glint and clink of handcuffs the criminal’s arms were jerked behind him, his legs simultaneously spread by the officer’s knee, and as she watched, a trickle down below made her jostle mum’s hand for the toilet like she was five.
Her mum grumbled their way into Costa’s loos, and as Natalia sat and rested her head upon her hands, she giggled wondering why her mum detested and dodged the sight of policemen so much, and whether she weed herself upon the sight of them too? But the trickle continued all the way home, where she wanted bed, not toilet, because something was tickling there. That place she would thoughtfully stroke whilst laying in the bath with a vaguely pleasant feeling, begged a more pressing attention. A strange feeling mounted, like a sneeze, and her eyes closed and her mouth hung open as if she would, except that it was her hand that brought it to expulsion, with a sweet wind of goosebumps shooting like a chemical through her limbs with surprise.
‘A woman who should have kept her legs closed,’ her mum remarks on some nameless American show that evening as Natalia forked her spaghetti hoops. The next day her womb ached, and she worried she’d done something to it.
Two days after that, bright red spotted her gusset.
‘Ohmigosh!’
Quickly realising this was the explanation for the aches, and it was only puberty, her period; after all, she’d even seen Laura stuffing away a packet of Kotex. But she couldn’t help wondering, had she precipitated it with what she did; had ‘bad’ thoughts made her grow up faster?
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*
Rain on the window woke her before her phone alarm. Neill was gently snoring next to her, the duvet down at his knees.
She slid up higher on her pillow, gazing down at his crown jewels that after the stallion marathon last night, she couldn’t imagine would be up to much this morning.
The cocktail sausage suddenly pulsed. As if responding to her gaze, it pulsed again. Fuck off, Mr Twitch, you got a billion baptisms last night. But it slowly kept moving, like a sleeping, armless man crawling in shifts toward her. She drew a cautionary breath, just as it pushed itself from its foreskin like lifting a sack off its head, and she stared, the periscope of Neill staring right back.
Maybe his cock really was a separate part of him after all. Like a terrier tied to a lamp-post it was lunging at her, from this side angle, although the harder it grew, it reached a 12 o’clock position as if pointing to master’s face now to wake him, and say come quick, come quick…
Ah! Of course, she would drown him in her mouth and have the perfect safety raft to the shores of the pill. Her mouth was dry for she hadn’t even swallowed properly yet, so she turned to swig from her glass of water.
As she placed it down, she felt a sudden dip of the mattress - a shift right to the spot under her, and pulled from 45 degrees like a knife into butter - he slipped straight into her.
Without even having to hoist her thigh, there was all but a long groan from its owner, hugging into his slipperily staked teddy bear, who, rather incredulous at his cock’s volition alone whilst the conscious Neill slept - as if it had said, I will get her - and fuck! now he had! - and as the mouth at her shoulder resumed soft warm bedbreath snores, his cock sliding up to her cervix at full extension seemed to be saying, teasingly, mischievously: ‘Ff…uck… you.’
As if she could wreak loving revenge on that laughing cock, which would now be gunged over the head like a contestant on a gameshow with her own tides; at least she knew he’d showered before swimming - ‘I always do between deeds,’ he’d grunted last night before passing out, star-fished. And now, his waking phalanges clamp and mould her stomach to him as a sharp breath declares him conscious, but she speaks first:
‘I… was gonna lick your balls…’
‘Ohh, plenty time. I have to get inside you… oh, it’s too easy to get inside you… sodden as a puddle.’
Rolling her up onto his stomach, he launched her upright, as she finds herself sitting atop him cowgirl style.
‘Fuck me.’
‘What? What’s the time?’ She turned to the clock.
‘Forget the time. Fuck me.’
‘Oh I thought… you know… you always say that—’
He pinched hold of her arse cheeks like two teatowels up and down as she gasped.
‘Just like that.’
‘It’s 7.30, and I have to get to the doctor, you know, for the pill, in an hour—’
‘Better get your skates on then.’
‘Huh?’
‘Fuck me now.’
‘Oh…’ She started slowly rising up and down on his cock.
‘Now that’s a morning whorey. Fuck me faster… the faster you go, the quicker I’ll come…’
‘My god, Neill…’
She turned to see him sitting back, hands of the taskmaster folded behind his head, commanding the slave to grind the pulley of lazy king cock, from which came an almighty nudge that made her squeal into action.
‘Faster, that’s it - faster, girl! Just like you’re running for the bus! You won’t want to be late for market to get your magic pills, little Jacqueline!’
She couldn’t even gape back in disbelief at buckaroo’s sardonic commentary that continued:
‘My god, now that’s sitting pretty. That dainty derrière, dancing up and down like my dick was that speckled banana or a fat Pilot pen doing a different kind of write-up… fuck all those when you can fuck this, hmm?’
‘Yeaahh, yeah—’
Her thighs sparkling with novel titillation to ride and please him like an inpromptu rodeo goddess with one eye craned to the clock.
‘God you work better than the photocopier.’
‘Sir… sir… tell me when you’re about to come, and I’ll—’
‘Calling me sir… in that position, oh fuck I’ll come quick…’
‘Oh my god, sir…’ she smirked, ‘your cock, is so big, too big…’
‘Oh, really?’ he murmured. ‘Are you going to make it explode?’
‘Yes, catch and swallow it…’
‘Well, faster rabbit, run run! Run fast for the doctor because farmer’s gun gonna come!’
Pumping until ankles and thighs were at last exhausted, she finally had the bright idea to reach to cup and stroke his balls.
‘Sir, I’m doing everything you say, sir…’ she implored with a tension in his balls right on these words, as he moaned:
‘Oh, yes… I’m gonna shoot… slow, slow…’
A hand halted her rump.
‘Natalia. Now—’
Swinging her ankle up, almost collapsing on a knackered knee, she threw her mouth at what looked like a bulging face about to be sick - Bruce Bogtrotter himself after eating the entire chocolate cake - her mouth momentarily misses it, as it leans sideways like a seasick sailor about to heave. Like two stumbling drunkards watched by an amused Captain, she finally grabbed and encased her mouth like a snapperfish around the warm and soft, juice-marinated shaft; his foreskin rucked up like a red scarf, which she now imprisoned under her tongue, just in time for his hot whale-jet to stream up into her mouth as though she’d toothlessly bitten into an oven-baked salted caramel eclair.
She cupped her lips to avoid dripping in this upward angle, gulping as though she needed every last drop to live; every last drop that was safe in her stomach and nowhere else, as he, mesmerised as though it was extending his orgasm even longer to watch her, stroked her head still attached to him like a hoover nozzle.
‘Goddd… that was totally on target and as horny as hell.’
He squirmed, pushing away her forehead as she laughed at his sudden sensitivity.
‘…Ah! Ah, ah, off!— Stop! That’s quite enough, whippersnapperfish. You’ve got a bus to catch.’
‘It’s almost 8! I’ll never make it for half past!’
‘Better get showered and dressed quick and I’ll give you a lift.’
‘Oh thank you! Thank you thank you sir—’
‘Alright alright, spunk teeth,’ he pushed away her repeated kisses on his cheek, till she darted off, didn’t wash her hair in the shower and was out in four minutes.
By 8.13 they were pounding downstairs as Ras bolted out of the catflap.
‘Blimey. We’re all on it today! No time for breakfast but this banana will do you!’
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*
‘Traffic’s bad. Everyone runs for their cars in this rain.’
He glanced in the rear view to see Natalia thoughtfully gazing out on rivulets of red taillights, suctioning the top of her banana in time with the windscreen wipers.
‘Or perhaps there’s a collision from everyone watching you,’ he glanced again. ‘Sitting behind me eating that - what a waste! Come lay in my lap,’ he rubbed his maroon suede thigh.
‘Keep your eyes on the road,’ she jerked forward as he braked. ‘Wasn’t this morning’s show enough?’
‘Merely acting out what I really saw that time you ate a banana in my office.’
‘Reword. Forced me to eat a banana in your office. Which is, not far off the same as this morning.’
‘There was no force on either,’ his eyes back on her in the mirror as they edged through the lights. ‘Just recognition from an animal, of an equally amorous animal who sorely needs a little nudge to get going.’
‘More like… the not so little, nor amorous nudges from this bananas animal leave me sore indeed.’
‘Nothing wrong with being sore. It’s just like going to the gym.’
‘I thought I was church?’
‘Both. It’s like running a treadmill being repeatedly fed the Holy Eucharist.’
‘I’m more like the knackered Thornwood goalposts the number of times I’ve been jumped.’
‘I’m just excited,’ he sighed. ‘I’ve wanted you for so long. And thought I had to wait a few years till you’ve fucked off a with nice, sensible, young fuck of a chap your own age. But thank god I am more of a dirty old man than I even thought.’
‘Oh, I concur, sir.’
Braking in the traffic again he glanced to see her mouthing into the mushed top of her banana like a microphone:
‘See, saw. Sore…
‘Sir, I’m sore, and sore is sour
‘As lemons that get pulverised on the hour.’
His face crinkled. ‘Ha! Shakespeare eat your knob off.’
‘Or… bananas,’ she mused.
‘What?’
She continued:
‘Sir, I’m sore, see? ‘Cause you saw me devour;
‘Your curved yellow cock that crowed on the hour.’
‘Sore see? Sau-cy?’ He laughed. ‘That’s good!’
‘Sau-cy. Yes! Let’s make it ruder then:
‘Sir, I’m sore, see, cos saucy you made me;
‘When a smack on my bottom spilt your sauce right inside me.’
‘Oh my fucking god,’ he chortled. ‘Is that what you’re going to say to the doctor in a minute? My boyfriend almost spilt his sauce inside me!’
‘Better than your poem yesterday. Creamier than Devon, like I’m a tin of fucking custard?’
‘Oh, it was like having my knob stuck in a bubbling champagne flute of warm ambrosia. You were insatiable, and I want just desserts today. A full poem, with at least three stanzas, and as much perversity per verse as you can stomach.’
‘Flamin’ Nora! You want me to write a ditty, to a ditty old— ode, man? In addition to my doctor mission?’
‘Yes. Or I’ll jump you again at school and make you sorer, Nora. Hand it in by lunchtime so I can have a decent office wank over it. Besides, you’ll probably end up waiting half an hour for the doc and with your brains and filth you’ll write it by then.’
‘Only if you let me miss PE.’
‘Sicknote for sicknote, how’s that?’
‘I’ll leave my kit in your boot then…’
‘Wrap it in the picnic blanket at least. Right, Worstworth, we’re in your wanky neighbourhood. Which way for your doctor?’
‘Drop me off where that blue car’s coming from. Here you go then—’
She placed the banana skin into his lap as she climbed out.
‘Hey! Why’s this peel so warm?!’
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*
Tip-toeing around puddles up the lane to the surgery, there were already six people queuing outside in the sheltered entrance as the receptionist unlocked the doors.
‘Oh, fuck!—’
Realising she’d spoken a bit too loud, all six of them turned to Natalia.
A dull-eyed man looked her up and down, whilst a little old lady with a face like Neill’s ball sac peered like she was sucking two lemons.
‘Sorry! I’ve just got to get to school, and—’
Two men promptly stepped back, and the little old lady motioned a hand.
‘Go ahead, love,’ croaked the dull-eyed bloke.
‘They’ll only want to put me on statins again,’ croaked the lady.
‘Oh, wow, erm thanks.’
Smoothly booking in for 8.50, Natalia sat and flipped out her notebook, chewing her pen as the wizened old lady sat down opposite.
‘Doing your school work love. Good lass.’
‘Sir, I’m sore, and sore is sour
‘As lemons pushed down by a man-hand’s power…’
‘Natalia Molova?’
A slim grey-haired lady in a polo neck appeared above her. Natalia hurriedly flipped her notepad closed and arose with her.
‘I’m Dr Pearson,’ as she led her into her room. ‘Sit down, I’ll be right with you.’
Natalia watched her case up a thermometer gun, making tiny whispers to herself.
‘A banana, gun… banana held up like a gun… devour, power… cower?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Sorry. I’d like to go on the pill please.’
‘Ok let’s first have a look at your records, Natalia. How are we today?’
‘Yeah, fine. I just wanna go on the pill.’
‘Hmm, right.’ The doctor smiled as she checked the screen. ‘So, you’re 16 now, Natalia?’
‘Yes.’
‘At 16 you are able to have the contraceptive pill, but we need to send a notification to your parent or guardian, is that ok with you?’
‘What?’ Natalia’s eyes met hers for the first time since coming in. ‘I don’t want to tell my mum!’
‘I’m afraid that’s our protocol till you’re 18, due to the statistics of this region. We’re taking on a trial protocol adopted in the Midlands, which has the highest rate of teenage pregnancy in the country, in a bid to reduce Yorkshire and Humber’s position from the fourth highest number of under-18 conceptions in the UK. So if you accept us sending a simple notification to your mum, not the same as permission, you must understand—’
‘It’s an invitation for altercation and encouragement for me to run the hell off from her! How does that help the family planning of the town?’
The doctor flashed a look of surprise, her eyes falling down Natalia’s fur coat and skirt that almost showed her tights gusset.
‘Do you… have a boyfriend?’
‘Yes.’ Natalia crossed her legs.
‘And you would like the pill to use as contraception, not for other reasons, correct?’
‘Well I don’t mind having bigger tits. Sorry, joke.’
She drew a breath. ‘Can you use condoms for now?’
‘He doesn’t like using them.’
‘Well,’ Pearson pursed her lips, ‘I’m afraid that’s not very responsible of him. You must tell him that without protection he should not be having sex with you.’
‘Yee-ah.’ Natalia thought about trying to say that whilst gagged with dress girdles and golfballs.
‘Have you… had unprotected sex already? If you don’t mind me asking?’
‘Well, withdrawal, you know. That’s not safe, right?’
‘It’s not a safe method no. Often the man, or rather sorry the boy, doesn’t withdraw in time…’
‘Or has semen already present on the tip of his knob before ejaculation?’
Pearson blinked. ‘Yes. Well, it is rare that way. We just know that statistically some women get pregnant using the withdrawal method, around—’
‘Twenty two percent.’
‘Ye-es, roughly that,’ she smiled. ‘And condoms are vital protection against STDs.’
‘How do you know if you’ve caught one?’
‘Any unusual discharge, painful urination, sores or bumps?’
‘I had some brown down my leg the other day and another small blob in my knickers this morning. It’s a few days early for my period, do you want to have a look?’
‘Ah - I don’t think that will be necessary. It sounds like your period, and it’s quite common for them to be irregular at your age. You would start your pill the first day of your period. Otherwise, we can give you some free condoms if you’d like. There’s different colours, types, you could possibly try and interest your boyfriend—’
‘If wearing a rubber sheath on his dick annoys him so much I don’t think he’s going to care what colour it is.’
‘Hm. Well, I highly suggest you talk to your mother, or have that boy hold up his hands and be responsible. If he ever should ejaculate inside you, come right in for emergency contraception, what they call the morning after pill, immediately the… morning after.’
‘No shit Sherlock.’
Pearson’s mouth fell open and closed again.
Natalia arose and left, mouthing to herself:
‘I promised to hold up my hands whilst I took one…’
As soon as she got outside she phoned Neill.
‘Hello darling.’
‘Hi Neill, can you talk?’
‘Yes darling.’
‘They won’t give me the pill.’
‘What!’
‘Because I’m under 18, not without telling my mum.’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’
‘Literally,’ she sighed. ‘So I guess I’ll just come back to school now.’
‘Dull day in the office, I’ll swing by and get you. It’s raining and I don’t want your IQ dropping any lower in Gipton—’
‘Oh, are you sure!’
‘See you in roughly ten, close to the pikey auto centre where I dropped you.’
‘Oh, wait—’
‘What?’
‘Do you mind if they’re a bit… lo in the morning?’
‘What?’
‘The poem. The verses I’m writing.’
‘Low in the… oh!’
‘Well?’
‘From you my darling, nothing is too low. With me it’s more a question of can you go low enough.’
‘Right, good!’
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*
She took a slow walk back up the road with a detour via the playpark, where she remembered photos of herself when she was five. Smiling with her first front tooth missing, in a climbing frame shaped like a bus, now another little kid ran toward it with her anxious mother behind.
‘Be careful Olivia! It’s all wet!’
Natalia whipped out her notepad.
‘Sir when you said that we’ll go to the playground—’
She saw Neill’s car ahead and hastened over.
‘Dull day in the office for Mr Man of the Moment?’ as she climbed in.
‘In truth I’m en route to Swarcliffe for more of Ryan’s magic oil. You can lay in the back under a blanket like the vanishing woman.’
‘Oh,’ as she clicked her seatbelt. ‘So, yeah… they say I have to use condoms. And that the whisky withdrawal method is not safe—’
‘They would say that. You didn’t tell them about the whisky?’
‘Of course not. And it’s super annoying because you’re supposed to start it the first day of your period, and my period’s literally on its way—’
‘You’re bleeding?’
‘No no… well just a bit of brown. Like the colour of your suit’ - he frowned down his jacket arm - ‘I can feel the cramps and the pill is even supposed to help cramps.’
‘Hmm.’
He slowed the car and rummaged into the middle compartment, fumbling open a small black pouch and passed it back to her.
‘Read out the number on that top card.’
‘Rr-ight, Mr Magician.’
She read it out as he dialled.
‘Thank you. Now keep shush for the patter. …Hello Andrew? It’s Richard Neill, I met you at the conference buffet earlier this month in Oxford. We were discussing the waning girth of the breadsticks, if you recall. Yes, all good thanks. How’s things at Heathcliff’s? …I mean, Highcliffe’s? Oh, good. Well I thought of you because you mentioned your good friend - whose name I forget - a private doctor not far from here, is that right? I need a quick something - ah, perfect. Dr Wakefield, the controversial one?! Oh, he’s in Wakefield, I see. Dr Tom Brown. Fabulous. Yes, all good at Thornwood. If you’re ever up in Leeds get in touch, you’ll have to try that 1872 Porter with me at Elland Brewery! …Take care.’
‘Dr Brown,’ she scoffed as the call ended. ‘Wasn’t that you yesterday?’
‘Hush, you arse. …Come on you cunt - send his details…’
‘Red light, Neill.’
‘Ah, here we go… Hello Dr Brown! Or Tom isn’t it? I’m Richard Neill. We have a mutual friend, Andrew Melchett. He recommended I tap you up for something that requires, ah, discretion. Well I have a daughter, 16, wants to go the pill but she doesn’t want her mother knowing. We’re separated and she bears rather different prurient views on the matter. Of course, my daughter insists she wants the pill for her menstrual cramps but we all know what the truth really is! Either way, I want her safe, you know what teenagers are like. Her normal doctor won’t do it. She needs it now. Can you fit her in today? Oh. I fear by the end of the weekend I’ll be a grandparent. What’s your normal rate? I’ll give you double. Yep, yep… Triple if I can send her over right now, she’s out of school. Yep… Quadruple, nay - quim— quintuple if you cease giving me the genteel rubric and just say yes? Ha! We have a deal. What’s the surgery name? She’ll need the pill in her hands today. Her name’s Natasha. She’s on her way for 10.30, perfect. She’s shy about it, so don’t worry her with too many questions. I’ll settle up right after.’
He ended the call. ‘Abort Swarcliffe, it’s M1, baby!—’ He abruptly spun the car in an about-turn and headed to the motorway as Natalia fell about in laughter in the back.
‘Woohoo, I’ve always wanted to see… Wakefield!’
‘Shut up, shy slag daughter.’
‘Never heard you so worried about an unplanned pregnancy till now…’
‘That reminds me, I need to find an M&S for milk and eggs.’
‘Already put them on the 6pm delivery.’
‘Ohh!’ He flashed a wide grin in the mirror. ‘Well done wifey! I’ll have a mosey in M&S for lunch anyway.’
‘Can I get in the front now and put a rude song on for us?’
‘For a bit. You’ll have to make up for missing school. It’s English now for you, isn’t it?’
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*
‘I’d better whizz off before they diagnose this lump here as a grade 4 tumour.’
Natalia yanked back the cold, rainspeckled metal bar of the glass door into a plush clinic with purple sofas. Still glowing from being pronounced both shy daughter and wifey like two DNA strands swirling in tandem under her belly button, she wasn’t even phased by the dazzling horse teeth and portly bust of the receptionist who waved her straight on through.
‘Hello there! Natasha isn’t it?’
‘Hi, Dr Brown.’
Dr Tom Brown, in a brown chequered suit and tie; brown eyes, brown hair, and short shaved brown beard, grinned her into his office where she sat down at his brown desk.
‘I’ll be with you in a moment, just closing down the last patient’s file. I’ve shortened my lunch break as we were keen to squeeze you in today!’
‘Daddy’s keen,’ she whispered, ‘for breakfast, lunch, dinner?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Nothing.’
‘So how was your journey?’ he smiled. ‘Stopped raining yet? I just heard from your father about your situation…’
She thought about having spent the last twenty minutes of the journey mouthing and sucking ‘father’s’ left hand to the Bloodhound Gang’s The Bad Touch, boasting that her poem for him will be naughtier than the song’s lyrics, cleverer than anything in her English GCSE Anthology, and more disgusting than any porn he’s seen to ‘make his cock swell and explode like a drop-kicked can of Sprite.’
‘Yes, I want the pill, right now.’
He cleared his throat, flashing yet another chipmunky grin. ‘Yes, as you know, I am a private doctor, and I can do that for you. I just need to ask. You’re sixteen, correct?’
‘Yes, I’m sixteen.’
‘Do you happen to have a form of ID with your birthdate on?’
‘No. So what, you don’t believe me?’
‘Oh, no, not at—’
‘Look, here’s my bag of GCSE books. I know Jane Eyre to the level of a university graduate. I can quote paragraphs from it at length and give twenty synonyms, antonyms and even the French translation on any word you pick—’
‘Er, no no, that’s quite alright. Are you on any other medication?’
‘Nope.’
‘Do you ever get migraines?’
‘Nope.’
‘Are you using this for contraception?’
‘Nope, for bigger breasts and less period pains obviously.’
He chuckled.
‘Why are you chuckling? Is it written on my face that I’ve got a boyfriend who keeps pulling his condoms off?’
‘Er, not at all! Right, well I have to give you some information…’
‘I know it all from Rehhh… search.’
‘You take the first on the first day of your period—’
‘I know.’
‘You can start immediately if you want to, but ideally—’
‘I know.’
‘If you miss one, you should err on side of caution with sexual activity, and take it as soon as you remember—’
‘I know.’
‘And I have to tell you, that no form of contraception is 100% safe, and as you’re so young, ideally you’d use condoms too.’
‘I kn… oh.’
‘Yes, we recommend what we call a double whammy method—’
‘That’s not going to fucking happen. Oops, sorry, I swore. Freudian slip. Listen, the only double whammy is what I get most nights. I mean, Friday nights.’
‘Ahh. Well, there’s always a small chance of pregnancy even on the pill—’
‘There’s a small chance I might get run over coming out of here.’
‘Right, er, quite. Well, here we have Microgynon 30…’
He produced a packet from a cabinet behind him.
She stared. ‘I don’t need to go to the chemist?’
‘We stock certain medications in-house, yes—’
‘Wowsers, now that’s a magician! …I mean, that’s rather impressive, Doctor.’
‘Take one by mouth daily, they’re small, so with or without a drink.’
‘Stuffing my… like a… mouth glugging wine…’ she whispered, eyes roaming.
‘And er,’ he frowned, trying to catch her gaze, ‘if you experience any side effects you can always call me for advice anytime, or of course, there’s always WedMD online for a quick check - here, let me print off a list of reputable sites.’
‘Can you give me two lots so I don’t have to shlep back to Wakefield?’
‘You’re very forthright, young lady! Shame your er, boyfriend can’t be kept in line just as well.’
‘He’s as jammy as my dad. I guess the attraction’s in my genes.’
‘Right, here’s two lots. And here’s the bill for dad. As it was an emergency appointment there’ll probably be no pocket money for you for a few months,’ he drolled, folding the bill.
‘It’s fine, my mouth can have a break from lollipops and a break from something else now.’
His eyes widened.
‘Thank you Dr Brown,’ as she reached over.
‘I… just need your full name and address to put on your record—’
‘No.’
He laughed. ‘If you live with your mum I don’t need to put her address.’
‘Well get it off dad later. Just hand me the bags please, and thank you for getting this in quicker than my boyfriend does.’
He almost snorted. ‘All thanks to your dad being as, er, jammy as you are,’ as he slid it all over.
‘Or as loaded as my boyfriend, looking at this!’ as she peered into a corner of the bill.
‘You’re hilarious! Goodbye Natasha.’
‘Huh? Oh, yeah. Bye.’
‘Sir, I’m so sore but I know daddy’s keen
‘For breakfast, for dinner and snacks in between…’
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‘How did it go?’
‘Good good; goods in the bag!’ She bounced belly-down onto Neill’s back seat. ‘And I’ve got four stanzas written!’
‘Oh, good!’
‘But I’m doing two more,’ her hair swayed into the notepad as they moved off.
‘Well I expected that.’
‘Drive sensibly whilst I write. Where do I deliver this to?’
‘Right into my hand unless you want the danger of giving any staff a heart attack or worse, danger of orgasm.’ His phone rang. ‘Hush, Blobby Brown is calling!— Hello, Tom?’
‘Hello Richard, do you have a private moment to talk?’
‘Yes, yes…’
‘I’ve just seen Natasha. Well there’s no kidding anyone she’s not your daughter is there?’
Natalia’s face swung round to Neill.
‘I… I beg your pardon?’ Neill frowned.
‘She’s so like you I don’t know where to begin. So much for being shy!’
‘I hope you’re not making an inappropriate character reference to myself or my daughter, Dr Brown?’
‘No, no, no! Sorry, what I meant you’re both as bold as brass. Jammy, outspoken. She made me laugh a good few times. You’re two peas in a pod.’
He silently blew out his cheeks. A grin spread on Natalia’s face as she continued writing.
‘Ah. Did she er, give you any trouble?’ Neill braked hard for a pedestrian, wobbling Natalia’s pen as she threw him a scowl.
‘No more than you both have,’ Tom’s chuckle rasped the line. ‘But as you say, it’s better than her getting into trouble so to speak. She’s coming back with two packets, and of course the bill if you don’t mind settling that at your earliest convenience, sir!’
‘Certainly, Dr Tom. Thank you, goodbye.’
‘Does he really believe all this codswallop or is he a dirty old man too?’
‘Money talks, bullshit walks. I’ll shaft the 450 from Shaf - all well worth it to shaft you - and Ryan’s next stash will have to wait. It’ll keep him on his toes.’
‘Jammy as a jamrag,’ as she put her pen back in her pencil case. ‘Here’s your poem—’
‘And your pencil case please.’
‘Huh? I need it for RE. I don’t want to get into trouble.’
‘Keep that pen and pass me the rest.’
‘Where’s my PE note in return?’
‘A message will be sent to Barnes that you have PMS.’
‘Persistently Menacing Suitor!’
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*
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SEESORE
‘Sir, I’m sore, and sore is sour
‘As lemons pushed down by a man-hand’s power
‘Split open and running in beads down the reamer
‘Is like sir’s salty tears left to dry on my femur.
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‘Sir, I’m sore, see, when you saw me devour
‘A banana you snatched from me made me cower
‘I held up my hands whilst the curved yellow stun gun
‘Aimed right up my cunt whilst I bent down to suck one.
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‘Sir, I’m sore, see, cos saucy you made me,
‘My dress was as short as a Bridlington sightsee
‘Ten smacks on my bottom made me cry like a pansy
‘It made him go spill his sauce right up inside me.
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‘Sir when you said that we’ll go to the playground
‘I didn’t see, sir, till butt-naked, I crouched down
‘How well my sore cunt could play nicely with you
‘It’s kiss chase, on a seesaw; Ride-A-Cock-Horse too!
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‘Sir, I’m so sore but I know daddy’s keen
‘For breakfast, for dinner and snacks in between
‘Stuffing my cunt like his mouth glugging wine
‘With one cry of no, sir! …he will simply stuff mine.
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‘Sir, see, the soreness will all soon get better
‘If you write to my cunt in your own little letter
‘Sir, see, she’s the sea, thrashing you as you row it
‘She’ll take every last seaman if you now be poet.’
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*
‘Ah, that’s a familiar sight!’
Sitting on the bench in the gym, Natalia turned at an awfully familiar voice.
There was Mrs Luxton in that same old blue zip-fleece, looking thinner with her lank hair cut even shorter at her ears, as her beady eyes behind her wire-rimmed spectacles lowered to Natalia’s coat.
‘Still sick, are we?’
‘I have PMS,’ Natalia blinked in surprise, looking to Barnes who was jogging up behind.
‘Patricia! You aren’t starting today? What with Neill’s ways I don’t know what’s what sometimes!’
Luxton turned. ‘Oh hello! Emma, isn’t it? My paperwork wasn’t sent back so I was unsure on my return date, and Ruth was getting no answer either, so I thought I’d come get it from the horse’s mouth—’
‘Ruth?’ Barnes frowned.
‘Miss Bailey. My partner, you know…’
‘Oh! I didn’t know it was allowed, you know… inter-staff relationships.’
‘You didn’t know that when you dated the headteacher?’ Luxton said back squarely.
Barnes narrowed her eyes. ‘Have you been up to see him?’
‘Miss Becky says he’s busy.’
‘Well, today’s my last day so I assume you start tomorrow. Everything’s relay-race these days, so to speak! Shall I show you the ropes on Archery? As it’s wet we’re doing it indoors today.’
‘Oh, yes, let’s.’
The girls were filtering through in their PE kits, some looking equally surprised at the sight of Luxton, as Barnes directed her to drag out the targets.
Alana spotted Natalia and came over.
‘Oh hey. I’ve been trying to catch hold of you since yesterday - but you were whizzing about like a horsefly! What’s up?’
‘Oh, nothing, just got period pains. Sicknote today.’
‘Aw, hun.’ She lowered her voice. ‘You missed a banging night at The Backroom. We all got in, no IDs needed. Aisha got hit on like, three times, Ashton was livid! We all got hammered—’
‘Oh, I got hammered too,’ Natalia pouted, stepping closer to Alana when she noticed Sam turn and stare.
‘You didn’t?’ Alana green eyes glinted. ‘With your boyfriend?’
‘Yes. In Manchester,’ Natalia whispered, ‘I got pissed and got shagged over his bonnet.’
Alana’s hand flew to her mouth, as they stared into each other’s eyes in a moment of nefarious schoolgirlish delight that swirled inside Natalia like a third DNA strand.
‘Alana! Join the class please!’
‘You’ve gotta tell me more! Laters.’
Natalia discreetly typed a text.
‘U didn’t tell me Lezton’s back…:(’
- ‘What! Not today!’
‘Becky told u she’s here?’
- ‘Thought she meant on the phone. Sending Becky now. Shoo all of you! Busy reading poetry’
Luxton was in the middle of being directed to hold a bow and arrow, with the odd giggle from the girls standing watching. A minute later, a flustered looking Becky pushed through the doors.
Taking Luxton aside, the words ‘uninsured’ and ‘protocol’ were heard, and Luxton was promptly led out again with Becky; tail between her legs and a rustle of sniggers behind her. Natalia looked down to her phone vibrating. Oh, everything was on target today!
‘A*’
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*
Neill was at his desk, uncovering the phone receiver in his hand as Natalia stood panting from her run to his office; her back against the door, turning the key at her hip.
‘Hi, Clarkey—’ his eyes glued to Natalia as she walked over, ‘…Yep, I’ve already had Phil lining up Mike Dobson’s dad from the Yorkshire Post to run a story on the grant. I don’t want to be in any pictures as you know. Have Dinkey pose! I don’t care if he’s ill. Tell him to pop those pills and smile!’
He slapped the phone back.
‘Head going on the lowdown?’ she grinned as she put down the keys and sat down.
‘Already had Clarkey remove my portrait from the website to keep safe after your Uncle Andy seeing me. Can’t say this isn’t looking a little dodgy…’
He slid over her pencil case.
‘But not as dodgy as what’s inside that. You had me by the fourth verse. Your pen had wobbled on Ride A Cock Horse—’
‘That was your driving.’
‘Oh, I overshot alright. Merci, et bon appetit.’
Her hand hovered over it, as her eyes went to his chicken tzatziki wrap, packet of Belgian chocolate biscuits and Sicilian blood orange juice.
‘Can’t I have those first?’
‘I guess it depends whether you want a warm starter or cold dessert. And she’s still staring shocked by me, after writing that! Unless you want me to feed you them?’
She drew back the zip. Her pencil case interior wasn’t the cleanest place at best of times, grey-smeared with lead and ink. Still, the translucent white stream now sitting inside it was contained just to the writing implements, so she took one out imagining it was cream on a Food Tech whisk spindle.
She slid her tongue around it, licking along its length, looking right at him as he sat back and slowly shook his head.
‘Oh god. Look at you now.’
She took another, and another, quicker the more he stared. Flicking her tongue, slurping now, before she set it down - it was the look on his face, the look that was as delicious as a Belgian biscuit, that made her ruler taste like one.
‘You are eating my wank for lunch. Oh god, I need to wank all over again…’
This set off a big grin.
‘Why not?’ Then suddenly she raised her finger. ‘Wait—’
She reached down to her bag and took out the doctor’s package.
Opening up the Microgynon box, she popped out a pill and presented it between her fingers like a tiny magic bean before her mesmerised audience.
‘Pop the pill and smile, you say?’ she blinked, putting it to her lips and swallowing it.
He slowly shook his head, as she took up the pencil case, went round to his side of the desk and set it down in front of him. She pulled down her knickers - quick scan to see no period yet - and before he could speak, she’d whipped them off along with her tights, top and bra.
There was a low soft moan from him, as she climbed naked up onto his desk, bottom in his face, knees spread wider than his keyboard as she reached into her pencil case to arrange five pens nib-down in her hand.
‘Oh my word. You filthy little—’
Hunched with a moment of hesitation of just how unclean she wanted to be - as well as trust that the pill she just swallowed was going to work like magic against what she was about to do - she located her entrance just as Neill groaned:
‘Ohhhh, god.’
What a delight to make his voice quiver, to give the man of shocks his own shock! Spreading her legs to strategically self-lever her hand, lolling her head round like a sex star, she edged them in and out faster, her vagina relenting to a faster and faster poke, knowing her jiggling bottom would accelerate his moans, and looked back to prove herself right… doing a double take to see his own fountain pen in hand, poised and erect - oh good, she has fucked-up company, she’s making him so horny he’s got it out for another wank already - and it can have as much dried ‘alive cum on the end of his nob’ as it wanted, for they were the artful dodging duo, she pill-powered Nang and he ditty ode Nim!
‘Oh, so insatiable,’she purrs, ‘didn’t you once say men shoot their load and it’s done till next time?’
‘Didn’t you say, the same night…’ he mutters back, rising to standing, ‘you don’t feel much in your cunt?’
He took hold of her pen-grasping wrist, pulled and tossed them across the table with a clatter, and replaced them with his hips, gripping her like a larger, fleshier pencil case, as he thrusts inside like a man putting a fire out on his crotch, and jiggles till he was thoroughly extinguished inside of her, falling back into his chair with a plunging creak.
She was a desk-laying triangle of limbs, idly writhing into papers and stationery, as he stood up over her, pants still open.
‘Well I hope now I’m on the pill you’re going to fuck me for longer than that.’
‘That was the christening, baby. As short as a splash of the head.’
‘Do you want to write your poem back to me with one of my spunk pens?’
‘Only with you as a pen topper. Look at you over my desk,’ he began massaging her juices in with his. ‘Fuck poetry if I could carry round a picture of that. Oh god, you’re leaking my spunk…’
He poked his fingers viciously in and out as she gasped, and was almost relieved by a knock at the door.
‘Oh, shit—’ He jostled his screen awake. ‘God, I’m scrolling my mouse wheel with your cunt juice. All my dreams are coming true at once… Oh, it’s only Harry from Year 10. We can ignore that cunt.’
He did up his fly as Natalia slid off the table and snatched half of his chicken wrap.
‘Well, you earned it,’ as he stuffed two biscuits inside her pencil case. ‘You already got a PE note but for that performance, heinous genius, you’re getting an odious ode your way.’
‘When, when?!’ she stared, mid-swig of his Sicilian juice.
‘You’ll see.’
She finished dressing to leave, not before he motioned to kiss her.
‘Coast’s clear, cream-pie.’
‘Another C?’
‘Grade-wise, certainly not!’
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*
Five minutes into Food Tech, in the corner of her eye Sam was chewing the end of the ‘amazin!’ pen she just lent her. That’s one word for it. She wondered what the percentage chance was that Sam went to the toilet, had a wank with her unwashed fingers and got pregnant with Neill’s first child, who would bear a forehead like Neill’s, uttering its first word: ‘Amazin’!’ till she looked up startled out of her glazed stare of mirth by Mrs Clayton slamming her phone down at her desk.
‘Bet he has it off the hook again,’ she muttered. ‘Class - quiet whilst I go see the Head!’
As soon as the door closed the class blossomed into chatter.
‘I heard Alex say you’re with an older man,’ Sam nudged her. ‘An older man with an Audi, he said to Adam.’
‘Really?’
‘Mm,’ Natalia blinked. ‘Pot, kettle, black.’
‘Is that where you get all that stubble rash from?’
‘What stubble rash.’
Natalia turned away as Sam’s breath came at her cheek.
‘On your jawline. You put foundation on but it doesn’t cover it. And your skirt these days is shorter than my mum’s fuse.’
‘Mine and the next Year 11 girl’s.’
‘Only if you’re next to Alana—’
‘Oh, I wish I was right now.’
The class quietened as Mrs Clayton came back into the room with an even blacker face.
‘Was Neill in, Miss?’ Ryan called. ‘I need to see him too.’
‘No. Or maybe,’ she replied with a sardonic titter. ‘No-one can tell these days!’
An ominous silence fell across the class as everyone continued working.
Natalia pressed her dry flaky lips together and flapped open her bag for her lipbalm.
‘Is that medication you’ve got in there?’ Sam whispered now.
‘Sam, really. Are you being twice as nosey to make up for Laura being off today? Fuck off.’
‘I will do - to get some A3 paper, but none for you, potty mouth.’
Brewing now was a poem for her upstairs, her womb lining downstairs; Sam’s curiosity beside her, Ryan’s impatience somewhere behind her; the clock ticking to hometime in front of her, till Clayton’s phone rang out shrilly and made another dollop of the headmaster’s seed dribble into her knickers.
‘Hello, Neill. Are you free now? Ok… Class! Quiet, I will be five minutes.’
She clip-clopped out again like a weary donkey.
‘How old is he then?’
‘None of your business Sam.’
‘That means old. In his twenties, I’ll bet! Speaking of pervy old men, have you heard the latest about Neill?’
‘No?’ Another spunk trickle.
‘Someone said they saw him naked in the PE block—’
‘Oh what, taking a shower? I mean, that would be the only reason wouldn’t it.’
‘Dunno. But Anthony who saw it, says he’s got a tiny knob…’
‘I should be so lucky,’ she muttered under her breath.
‘A tiny red knob, and tiny balls—’
‘Well the showers down there are fucking freezing. Look, Sam, I’m trying to write a recipe here and you’re putting me off the idea of eating anything.’
Sam giggled. ‘You always look so super nervous around Mr Neill. You were running from him yesterday like he was a wolf or something. I can’t even imagine you with an older bloke.’
‘I can’t imagine you with any bloke.’
‘You’re such a—’
Mrs Clayton came back in, now looking depleted.
‘A day of bootless errands! Natalia, this is for you.’
She plopped down a brown envelope marked Private and Confidential which Natalia quickly leaned to shove to the bottom of her bag.
‘Ooh. Is that permission to take your anti-depressants at school?’ Sam whispered.
Chest growing hot in anticipation, Natalia hardly heard her. ‘Grab me some A3 paper,’ she turned now to her, ‘and I’ll give you a fiver.’
‘No you won’t.’
‘I will. I promise.’
She arose, as Natalia snuck the letter back out, ripped and slipped it between her worksheets to peep out the nine computer typed stanzas. Nine!
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CUNTITLED
‘I once taught a schoolgirl to swear like a sailor
‘I don’t think she thought that I wanted to nail her
‘But one day she knew, when…’
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She stuffed the letter away again quickly as Sam sat down and held out her palm.
Natalia dug into her pocket to find only the two twenties of PTA money, since unspent in two futile lunch breaks. ‘I’ve only got this,’ as she shoved one into Sam’s bewildered hand. ‘Keep it.’
Oh, a quid per minute of the remaining lesson was well worth it to feed off what she had seen, as well as make Sam shut her trap till hometime.
She already had him inside her; her pencil case, oozing from her sharpener… why was a piece of paper from him so thrilling? Was it because imagining him sitting writing about her, was like she was oozing inside of him?
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*
Ninja-dodging slow hordes of pupils exiting the gates, Natalia swiftly ducked to avoid the line of sight of Alana and Aisha.
‘Hey, Nat! Come tell us about your—’
‘Sorry, I’ve got to run, run, run!’
She’d normally seize the chance with all fingers and toes to be seen walking through the schoolgates between Alana and Aisha. Perhaps playing hard to get works with getting the friends you want too? For her bag contained the ilk of clitbait that could well be from a long war-estranged husband than the man who penetrated her all but an hour ago, and warranted sprinting to clambering onto the bus like a runaway robbery.
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CUNTITLED
‘I once taught a schoolgirl to swear like a sailor
‘I don’t think she thought that I wanted to nail her
‘But one day she knew, when I peeled her banana
‘That a good bit of Headmaster’s cock wouldn’t harm her.
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‘Once had an Art student I drove down to London
‘But how I’d corrupt her was quite a conundrum
‘Until through the wall she made sounds of disgrace
‘She may as well’ve drawn her cunt on my face.
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‘Adopted a kitty I trained not to bite
‘And taught to suck everything phallic in sight
‘Remarkable plan till we get in the car
‘Her mouth round my gearstick we don’t move too far.
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‘And then there was doggie who loved to lick master
‘Right on his balls and go faster and faster
‘She begs for a bone, but slips up in chase
‘Cos he’s already shot it all over her face.
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‘A patient once came to see Doctor with bruises
‘How little she knew that I stared in her snoozes
‘And drooled for the day that my own dirty mitts
‘Would squeeze harder marks on those pert little tits.
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‘Got hold of a trespasser down on the golf pitch
‘Fingering holes like a sly little bad bitch
‘Glued the ball in her mouth and her hands to her head
‘Hit a shot through her rough with my golf club instead.
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‘Made friends with a boozer of sixteen years old
‘Who didn’t like whisky but found she was sold
‘When my cock got quite drunk on the sight of her ass,
‘Danced in her cunt and shot straight in her glass.
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‘Locked up a slave who would boil me up tea
‘And blush with her bottom spanked over my knee
‘Don’t cry slave, it’s over, you’re free now, I said
‘To suffer far worse as my girlfriend instead.
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‘I now have a girlfriend who does what’s she told
‘Not sure it’s a good thing this bird’s not that old
‘She knows though damn well despite moral endeavour
‘I’m keeping my cock up that tight cunt forever.’
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Gazing, laughing and grinding her bottom, she almost missed her stop. Oh, fuck. Macho humour about conquering her cunt and not lasting long. Crude but somehow comically lighthearted, a titillating timeline of their flagrantly forbidden lust. She wondered on the last line. Does he want to be with her forever or was he just joking about her as a bit of young skirt?
The days’ puddles were shrinking as she walked the steps to his cottage, clenching from the puddle building down between her legs. She was certain her period had started; her tights must be blood drenched! - until she got up to the toilet and there was no red in sight. Just a mix of it all, garnished with a snail trail of her last twenty minutes of horniness: brown discharge, Neill’s semen, a banana skin tassel from earlier, and a curl of pencil sharpening. Oh dear.
She called him.
‘Hey, are you home? Did you like the poem?’
‘Yes and yes, dirty old man.’
‘Ahh. And what part did you like the most?’
‘Hmm… dirty mitts… tits… hard marks. You know, my bottom’s had all the fun…’
‘Well, the first time I saw your naked breasts they were bruised, darling.’
‘Bring some back then.’
He sighed. ‘I’m going to be home within the hour. Get nice and washed, and er… well, don’t bother putting any clothes on. Draw up the curtains and spread open your own. But no touching till I’m there. Are you on the blob yet?’
‘Not quite.’
‘Good. Pour me whisky on ice in fifty minutes.’
‘But you don’t need that anymore.’
‘You will, along with some pain pills. Or are we out?’
‘I’ve got two in my bag somewhere…’
‘Better take them now.’
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*
In the dim curtained lounge, a voice comes from the laying figure on the sofa, spread eagled with one leg hanging to the floor:
‘One hour till the Ocado delivery comes.’
He stares.
Her hair is in pigtails.
Slowly lowering onto on the single sofa opposite, he takes up the glass of whisky set for him, as her hand crept down between her legs and she murmurs:
‘Do I have permission to wank? So I can show you what my cunt feels about your poem?’
‘Oh, absolutely…’
She took her middle finger to her clit and rubbed it in circles, taking the wet from below, and through a cycle of circulating, tensing and straightening her legs, as her breaths pick up and his own seem to stop, holding whisky at his palette, eyes unblinking.
Then she took her other hand to insert two fingers into her pussy, so both hands were strumming their chords - one drawing an I, the other an O - as her breaths sharpened, and her pelvis thrusted as she sighed out in climax, her gasps relenting, her eyes moving to see him taking it all in, as wistfully as if she was poetry itself.
Her fingers keep going, more pronounced in her cunt, till the top fingers fall away, and the probing ones deliver now a deeper, fuller grunt, with an almost agonising desire on her face.
He put down his glass and stood over her.
‘God, you absolute piece of sex.’
She turns over on the cushions, as he disappears into a kneel behind her, his hands coming to both breasts now to slowly rub and squeeze, as his cock rocks to and fro to find its entry.
Holding her tits in each hand like the handlebars of a bike, he squeezes more and more till he is crushing them in his fists; her gripes irregulate into a shriek as she feels the pulsing bullying of the treatment she asked for, till the pain overcomes her, till he drops them, and she gasps in relief.
Then he takes and twists a pigtail into each hand, squeezes them tight till her scalp is stretched taut, and then like the reigns of a pony, fucks her with the same mounting savageness until she is crying out, stretched now like chewing gum on a perpetual-motion-man-machine, and finally with the grunt of a bear, he comes what felt like ten inches deeper than earlier’s ‘christening’ inside her.
‘Oh Christ, blood—’ He stumbled back. ‘Blood everywhere…’
She puts down her hand to see shining, bright red on her fingertips; at once menses a week early; maidenhood a week late.
‘Ohmigosh!’
‘I narrowly missed it but all three of those will need a cold wash…’
She looked across to the cushions, where once he’d merrily dismissed a red circle of blood, now her mortification seemed to be bore by him.
‘Ah well,’ he sighed, ‘I guess we go from fucking fast to a fucking-fast. Once your period is done we can get straight back on it.’
‘What, now that I’m safe? With free red lube?’
He grimaced. ‘Besides, I’ve got burns on my cock from overexertion,’ as he heaved up his trousers.
‘Not like going to the gym?’
He didn’t seem to hear, walking with an exaggerated double-limp to the fridge mumbling:
‘Scran, I need scran…’
She looked after him in disbelief, and for the first time, disappointment, that the man of guts and gall who served his own milksop inside her grubby pencil case was now the yellow-bellied milksop himself, that he who guzzles blood orange juice and red wine and extols to ‘never be embarrassed’ would be at all squeamish about what to her was a victorious closing of the day’s rather miraculously-timed mission?
The shopping arrives and as they duly sort the bags, two shrink-wrapped sirloins linger in her hands as he glances over.
‘Steaks for dinner? I can cook yours well done as you like darling.’
‘No, I want mine rare. Moist, succulent, dripping… remember? With a glass of Rioja.’
‘Well, like I say! My girl is learning.’
‘No,’ she smiled. ‘You are.’
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