For The Kids

"Are you gonna take me home tonight?"

A movement catches my eye. Sally comes into the garage. She's wearing the blue denim mini-dress, the one she's worn every weekend for the last five months. It's a couple of sizes too small or maybe she's a couple of sizes too big. Looks like she's been poured into it. I like it. That's why she wears it.

"...Are you gonna let it all hang out? Fat bottom girls, you make this rockin' world go round."

She sidles up against me. I turn the radio down a notch.

"Whatcha doin'?"

"Rebuilding the carb."

"Didn't you just do that?"

"Yeah, but I think I got a bad kit."

She's damp, fresh from the shower. She smells of sandalwood. She edges closer and presses herself against me.

"Can I help you with something?"

Of course, I know what she wants. It's Sunday, game day, and the anticipation is making her antsy ... and horny.

"Well, now that you mention it."

She reaches for my crotch.

I bat her hand away, move the trays of car parts off to the side, slip my hands under her arms, and heft her up onto the bench.

She gives me a look. I return it.

"Open your dress."

Sally tugs the zip down and pulls the dress open. She's not wearing underwear, never does when she's here, except for a thong on game day, not that it covers anything. Her dark bush belies her blonde hair. She's curvy, borderline chubby. Her tits are large, what they call pendulous. They don't jiggle when she moves, they sway. She has a bit of a belly that blends with her hips that blend with that fine fat bottom. Her thighs are heavy, her calves shapely. Ten years from now she'll probably be fat, all wrinkles and pockmarks, but at nineteen it's all firm and smooth.

I open her legs, lean in, slip my hand under her hair, draw her to me for a kiss.

"What are you?"

"I'm your slut," she whispers.

"Yes you are. And what do sluts do?"

"They fuck."

"And do you want to fuck."

Sally nods. Her cheeks are flushed. I take another kiss and she whimpers, squirms a bit.

"No."

She looks at me, eyes pleading, then lowers them. Sally is not only my slut, she's my slave of sorts and no means no.

"I want you in the proper frame of mind for the game. You know that."

I release her hair and step back.

"Play with yourself."

Sally hesitates. Masturbating while I watch embarrasses her. She does it because I order her to, but she doesn't like it. And while I let her come, the orgasms seem to have a reverse effect, make her all the more frustrated. She slides her hand between her legs, closes her eyes, leans back, and supports herself on one elbow. She spreads her pussy lips. They sparkle pink and wet. She holds that pose for a moment, hoping to entice me to do the dirty deed. But when I don't she takes a breath and proceeds to stroke herself.

I acquired Sally about four months ago, at the start of the semester, the beginning of her freshman year. Actually, I saw her in July at orientation. I volunteer as a coordinator, gives me a chance to check out the herd. She was easy to spot. They always are. The needy ones. The ones that don't quite fit in. They ones that are away from home for the first time. The ones I can bend to my will. There were three of them this year. I spent some one-on-one time with each, steered them to my class. That first day, before the hour was up, I knew it was going to be Sally.

Yes. I know it's unethical. Do I give a crap? No. I get a compliant little bedmate and she gets a passing grade. Not that she gets a free ride, mind you. She has to earn it. It's not all about sex. I provide personal tutoring. Sex is the tuition, if you will, she pays for those private lessons.

I teach math. I'm an associate professor at the state university. I'll never see tenure. Not my thing anyway. I just do my job, collect my pay, and thank you very much. I've been at the school four years. Sally is my fourth girl. Come March I'll start distancing myself from her a bit at a time. When May comes she'll go home and I'll be but a memory. Being liberal arts types, they won't set foot in the math building again. At least that's the way it worked the last three times.

Sally comes a second time, I reach my arms around her, pull her to me.

"Better?"

She nods.

"Yeah."

That, of course, is a lie.

I ease her off the bench, turn her, and give her a pat on the ass. Sally zips the dress as she walks away.

When I acquired her she was shy, but now not only is she my slut, she's something of an exhibitionist. I guess exhibitionism is a key component of being a slut. While the blue dress is the mainstay of her wardrobe, she has other cloths. Most notably a pair of Daisy Dukes so short her ass cheeks hang out, thong underwear that literally disappears when she wears it, a white bathing suit that goes sheer when it gets wet. We take walks along the shore, through the waves. Thigh-deep water splashes up to her crotch, up to her waist. Anyone we encounter gets a pretty good look at her bush and ass. Sometimes I splash her or dunk her and it takes several minutes for the thing to dry. Sometimes she gets flirty and dunks herself, shakes her wet tits at me. But only when there aren't too many people close by. I mean, there are laws.

On game day she's in full flirt mode. She's the center of attention, the only girl in a room full of men and the testosterone is palpable. It both embarrasses her and makes her very, very horny.

A bit over an hour later Steve shows up. He's always early. He always brings the ice, a case of beer, and two bags of nachos. Today is no exception. He rips open the case, drops half of the cans into a spare cooler, tops it off with some ice. He pulls a cold one from the other cooler, pops it, and drinks half of it off in a couple of gulps.

Having heard Steve's car, Sally comes into the garage. She's wearing the same dress, but has the zip pulled half way down. It doesn't really expose her tits, so much as the fabric cups them, kind of like an offering. Twin white pillows on a sea of blue. She steps to the cooler, bends over. The dress that barely covers her crotch slips up exposing her upper thighs, a bit of ass, and a hint of her bush which the thong doesn't quite cover. She cracks a beer and hands it to me, opens one for herself.

Steve finishes his beer, crushes the can, drops it in the trash, Sally hands him another. He raises it to her.

"Looking good girl."

"You say that to all the girls."

"Yeah, I do. Doesn't mean it's a lie."

D1 and D2 show up. It's Dave and Dave, so there you go.

Karl is the last to arrive. And I know why. He's the shy one. Probably parked somewhere and took a couple of pulls from his hip flask to get his Dutch courage up. Steve is married, D2 is engaged, D1 and Karl are single. Karl is D1's wing man. Sally bothers him. All the girls I've had did. But he wouldn't miss game day for anything. Not so much for the game, but to hang with D1 wherever he wants to hang.

Despite his nerves around girls, Karl is the helpful type and immediately he and Sally commence to stow the goodies. Sally hands out beers.

Karl doesn't know it, but he's about to get lucky. And Sally? We'll see just how slutty she can be.

"Okay, guys, it's the charity game and you know what that means. Same bets, but all the money goes to the kids. As a lovely thank you gift whoever is ahead at each quarter will get some personal attention from Miss Sally here."

Sally gives me a quizzical look. Up to now, she's been the hostess with the mostest, showing a bit of t&a as she hands out beer and food.

"The overall winner at game's end gets to spend some quality, private, one-on-one time with Miss Sally. So be brave! Bet large! Remember it's for the kids."

I can sense Sally wants an explanation, but I go into guy mode and pretty much ignore her except when my beer is empty.

It's a good game. Both teams are evenly matched, but there's a fumble and an interception to keep things exciting. At the end of the first quarter D2 is ahead.

"Okay, Sally, get on your knees and show Dave how grateful you are for his generous, er, contribution."

Sally's cheeks flush. The room goes quiet. She shoots me a look. I nod. She steps over to Dave, sinks to her knees, reaches for his zipper, pulls out his cock. She strokes it for a couple of seconds, then, closing her eyes, takes it into her mouth. The guys make some nervous sports talk while she sucks him. The second quarter starts before he gets off and he misses out on a couple of bets. Finally he comes, Sally swallows, he tucks himself back in. Sally grabs a fresh beer and settles onto the couch next to me.

I whisper in her ear.

"What are you?"

"A slut."

"Yes you are."

"But I want to be your slut."

"You are. And as my slut, I'll enjoy you as I choose. You're a beautiful and desirable woman and you've been teasing the guys all these weeks. It's time you put out. Karl needs a beer. Then go fetch the Jack."

Karl takes the can, focuses on the screen, avoids Sally's eyes. Sally goes into the kitchen and reappears a minute later with the bottle. I open it, raise it.

"To D2. My man!"

I take a swig and hand the bottle off. When it comes back I hand it to Sally. She's not a brown liquor drinker, not much of a drinker at all, but she takes two long gulps, coughs, and follows it with a swig of beer.

At half time Steve is the winner. He takes Sally's hand and leads her to a large chest in the corner of the garage. She kneels between his legs. We help ourselves to food.

The third quarter ends with D1 with the win. Sally gets her third taste of jizz.

"Okay. Fourth quarter, tie game, let's up the ante. Y'all might need a bit of inspiration. Sally, lose the dress. Remember it's for the kids."

As I said, Sally is not much of a drinker, but on those rare occasions when she does drink she gets giggly and flirty. The booze is having its affect and her playful side is emerging. She steps to the middle of the space with exaggerated hip thrusts. She turns her back, looks over her shoulder at us, slowly unzips the dress, turns holding it closed, then lets the thing slide off her shoulders exposing first her tits, then her bush. It lands in a pile at her feet. She runs her hands up her thighs, over her belly, squeezes her tits before stretching her arms in a mock yawn. She fetches beer refills and takes an extra second or two handing them out.

I win the fourth quarter and get my blow job, but Karl is the overall winner. We had arranged this, the other guys and me. I didn't tell them about a naked Sally, I just said I had a surprise for Karl and we had to pull our bets so that each of us would win a quarter, but Karl would win overall. The past three years each of the others had been the big winner, never Karl. It was his "lucky" day.

Sally walks over to Karl. He's had enough to drink to actually look at her. She stands before him for a long moment, his face at bush level, then extends her hand. He takes it. She stops in front of me.

"You did say private, one-on-one time?"

"I think the den will suit."

Sally leads Karl out of the garage.

Later, a while later, actually, well into the first quarter of the following game, Sally and Karl emerge. He heads for the cooler. Sally glances at the dress, then at me. I nod and she slips it on. She pours a glass of wine for herself and settles on the couch with me. She has that happy after-sex look. Her cheeks are a pink as is her chest. Her hair is a bit matted. Apparently whatever Karl lacks in confidence doesn't carry into the bedroom.

She leans close.

"So, Eric, when's the next charity game?"

I look down at her.

"I mean, it's for the kids."

 

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14.12.12