Whitney's Present
After school, Whitney confronts you in the hallway on your way to Turkish club.
"Fuck your lame cartoons. I have a surprise for you," she says. "Close your eyes."
"That's childish," you say. "If you have something to show me, just show it to me already. I'm not going to play some ridiculous--"
Whitney swings behind you and lays her palms flat against your face, blocking your line of sight. You sigh.
"This way please," she says.
She leads you down the hall, out the swinging double doors, and through the quad. You're not sure where you're headed until you smell the familiar scent of cedar chips and varnish. You're in the wood shop.
"Ta-daa~" Whitney peels back her hands.
On the rough concrete shop floor is a cherry-stained mahogany chair that sits about a foot taller than a normal chair. The center has a hole cut out of it roughly the circumference of a toilet -- and in fact this contraption looks rather like Whitney pilfered the seat from a high-class port-a-potty.
"Do you like it?" Whitney asks. "I made it, specially for you."
You shake your head. "I completely don't understand," you say.
Half an hour later, you completely understand.
You sit in Whitney's hand-crafted chair. Rose is on her knees in front of you, hands tied behind her back, choking on your cock. Vivian is on her haunches underneath the chair, palms flattened against the underside and face turned upwards. She licks your ass with her tiny pink tongue. You lounge in place, leaning back, arms on the armrests, and enjoy the decadent sensation of the girls working you from both ends. You don't have to lift a finger to enjoy yourself, and that's the point.
"How are they?" Whitney asks. She circles around the chair and holds her hand against the back of Rose's head to help her along.
Rose's mouth makes obscene slurping noises as her head bobs up and down, coating your shaft in her hot, viscous drool. Her throat is a snug fit for your cock. You ooze a continuous stream of precum directly into her esophagus. Meanwhile, Vivian's inexperienced but eager tongue laps at your anus, slobbering and exploring shamelessly. Both of the girls are moaning, like animals, the wanton sound of their voices muffled by your genitals as they service you.
"They're great," you say. "I'm gonna fucking cum if they keep this up."
Rose and Vivian must hear you say this, because they redouble their efforts. Vivian swabs her tongue rapidly back and forth across your anus, mewling contentedly. She even licks you inside, deep inside, and her wet mouth coats you with its warmth. Rose works your dick so fast that her face becomes a beige blur, spittle flying everywhere.
"I trained them," Whitney says. She leans in and kisses you. She whispers softly in your ear. "Every night while we were in Palau. I sat on Vivian's face and taught her how to eat ass. Almost suffocated her a couple times. And I choked Rose with a dildo until she didn't have a gag reflex anymore."
"They let you do that?"
"They didn't really have a choice," Whitney says. "Sure, they asked me to stop at first... whined and cried like babies... but now look at them. A couple of cock-hungry sluts." She pauses, running her fingers lightly up and down your chest. "So, are they perfect cum-dumps for you? Did I do good?"
"You did perfect," you say. Whitney can't help clapping her hands together and beaming.
You lean your head back and let loose a sensual groan, one long sigh of pure satisfaction. To have a little girl's tongue in your ass while another girl chokes herself almost to the point of passing out on your fucking cock -- this, you think, is the life. Who but Whitney could take these proud girls and transform them into willing slaves, holes for you to relieve your lust inside of? This heat and wetness -- your cock, your balls, your ass, dripping with their efforts, marinating in their lewd juices -- it makes your heart hum with contentment.
Rose's sucking mouth brings you to the point of release. You let it pass without saying anything to warn her, because why should you have to warn her? She's yours to cum in as you please. So instead you just let yourself go, bucking your hips to masturbate yourself against her tongue as you pump her mouth full of sperm. She holds herself in place for you -- no one has to lay a hand on her, so well has she been trained. Her nose rests against your pubic bone as your cock spews jets of ropey seed into the back of her throat, pulsing, throbbing, cumming, until you're light-headed. Rose doesn't make a sound, doesn't even gag, and the only noise in the room is tiny Vivian, her tongue still lapping at your ass.
"Me next!" Whitney says as she helps you stand again. She quickly takes your place in the chair. So that's it, then -- it wasn't *just* for you, after all.
Whitney wiggles around a bit to get comfortable. The hole in the seat is large for her frame, but that's no matter. She leans against her tailbone, angling her pussy slightly up and her ass slightly down, locking her ankles around Rose's neck for support.
"Comfy~" she says.
Whitney's pussy is beautiful, the lips just partly turned-out and coral pink. She glistens with arousal and her clit is so engorged it's nearly the size of a pearl. By contrast, Rose's face is a hot mess -- coated in slime and spit, ruddy, her blonde hair mussed and plastered down, her makeup caked and running. Her eyes are vacant, like an idiot's. She resembles a used-up whore. Underneath the chair, Vivian's face is equally a mess, and she kneels in a puddle of her own saliva. The black bustier she wears is sopping wet and likely ruined. She leaves her mouth hanging open and drooling like she doesn't even know how to close it.
Once Whitney is situated, Rose and Vivian get to work again. Rose buries her face in Whitney's pussy and Vivian parts Whitney's well-toned bubble-butt to suckle on her anus. Whitney coos in delight. "I love these fucking cunts," she says.
You watch as the girls service Whitney. They give her the same enthusiastic pleasure they gave you. Man or woman, cock or pussy -- it doesn't matter to them. They're open to any and all debasement.
"Oooh--" Whitney purrs. "Do you know what Rose is doing right now?"
"I can kind of guess," you say. "I don't think she's looking for her keys down there."
Whitney rolls her shoulders and nestles her genitals against Rose's sloppy face. "She saved all your cum in her mouth," she says. "Now she's-- pu-uushing it~ with her to-ongue~ ... all the way inside of me..."
She grabs a handful of Rose's hair and roughly pulls her back. Strands of your jizz hang from Rose's lips, connected to Whitney's milky pussy.
You grin and admire the sight of your spunk coating Whitney's entrance. It's smeared all over her labia and her inner thighs and pooled inside of her cunt, as if you had creampied her yourself. And with Rose's mouth now hanging open, you see she has a lot more of it left over to push into Whitney's deepest parts. Her pink tongue and white teeth swim in a pool of your semen. Whitney pushes Rose back into place so she can get to work again.
"Your cum is so hot inside me," Whitney moans, rubbing her tummy with both hands. "Oh God, it almost burns. I want your cum inside me all the time... see, Rose wanted to keep all your cum to herself, she's a greedy little pig. She wanted to drink it all down and waste it in her piggy tummy... but I trained her real good, I trained her to save it all for me, for my cunt... my cunt needs your fucking cum, Ally..."
Whitney meets your gaze with half-lidded eyes. "Kiss me," she says. "Make it perfect."
You kiss her. You lock lips, enjoying the full lusciousness of Whitney's mouth. Her softness, her sweetness, always surprises you given how athletic she is. Her body is hard and tanned, yes, but also feminine, supple. Your tongues entwine and explore one another's intimate parts. Whitney's breathing slows and deepens. You can sense the rhythm of Rose's tongue in Whitney's pussy by the rhythm of Whitney's tongue in your mouth: they sync. Whitney now has tongues servicing her in all three of her holes -- she must be in heaven.
You pull back to run kisses up and down Whitney's face and neck. Whitney sways her hips in lazy circles, grinding her ass and cunt against the girls underneath her at a pace of her choosing.
"We should do your Mom and your sister next," Whitney murmurs. "Get your Mom underneath, and Cerise in the front-- that would be so hot-- using your own family's mouths to get yourself off..."
"Maybe it should be you and Ms. Carte next," you say. "Ms. Carte in front -- and you underneath."
Whitney is so lost in fuck-lust that she doesn't blanch in the slightest at this suggestion. In fact, she thrills with new pleasure. "I'd love to get underneath this thing," she says. "I bet I could lick your prostate if I tried. I could help you pour cum down Ms. Carte's throat... so much that she chokes on it..."
You pet Whitney's face. She nuzzles against your touch like a kitten. Your member is hard again and you hold it against her cheek. Whitney clutches it in one hand and inhales deeply.
"I love the way your cock smells," she says. "It makes me dizzy... I think I'm addicted."
She licks it up and down, like a popsicle, her saliva joining Rose's. She swirls her tongue around the glans and inside the foreskin, down the underside, and across the balls, trying to suck up as much of your scent and taste as she can, guzzling it down. The sighs and groans she makes sound barely human.
Whitney's skin is turning to gooseflesh. She begins to shiver uncontrollably despite being drenched in sweat. "Are you cumming?" you ask.
"No--" she insists, her lips still wrapped around your dick. "Noo-- I want to dra-aa-aag it out-- I can't cum yet!"
But she can't help herself. "Fuck!" she cries. "Fuck!! I'm gonna cum all over their fucking worthless faces... sloppy little cunts!" She cums howling, spraying her cream all over Rose, and even some on Vivian. They suck it down as best they can, but there's too much, too fast. As Whitney squirms and orgasms, the acrid scent of her overheated pussy fills your nostrils. You blast a load of cum on her face. She smears it in with her hands and scoops it in huge gobs to her hungry mouth. What a wonderful sight it is.
---
The Date
You are Alabaster Soliloquy, hot-shit destroyer of anime pussy and six-time champion of the Fuck Bowl.
The bell atop the restaurant door dings as you step inside. The heady aroma of frying food fills your nostrils. Sweeping your gaze side to side in the dim red-and-blue mood lighting, you spot Whitney sitting at one of the booths.
"Sup, you fuckin' dork?" she says. She checks the time on her flip-phone. "You're five minutes late. What the hell is wrong with you?"
"Haven't you ever heard that it's fashionable to be a few minutes late?" you say, sliding into the booth. "I suppose lumpenproles like you wouldn't understand concepts like that."
"Please! You weren't late because it's classy, you were late because you were jerking off to your gay cartoons again. Isn't that it?"
"No comment."
Whitney kicks you underneath the table, but her smile never breaks.
You steeple your fingers and perch your chin on them. "Where's Ms. Carte?" you ask.
"She's late, too," Whitney says. "The both of you are a bunch of no-account jerks, is what I think. Why is it I'm the only one who can get somewhere on time?"
Whitney occupies her hands by idly tearing a napkin into strips. You glance at the dozens of such strips littering the table around her and conclude that she must have been here for quite some time -- an hour or two at least. Now you feel slightly guilty.
"This is bullshit," Whitney says. "Renee was the one who raved about how--" she makes finger-quotes in the air and lowers her voice an octave in some faux impression of Ms. Carte -- "'this place has the best food ever, hurr hurr hurr' -- you'd think she'd be more excited about eating here..."
"I think you're TOO excited," you say. "That's the issue. It's just some silly date."
"Just a silly date!" Whitney howls. "Oh my GOD, Ally. Why do I put up with you? I've only been waiting for this for -- like -- well, a really long time."
"She'll be here soon. Cool your tits. Jesus."
"What do you think?" Whitney says. "Should we call and tell her to hurry her butt up?"
[ ] All right, call her.
[ ] Let's wait a little longer.
[X] TIE
"What part of 'cool your tits' did you not comprehend?" you say.
"You're heartless," Whitney says. "Renee could be dying to death in a ditch somewhere and you wouldn't even know it."
"...Dying to death?"
"If we don't get ahold of her, who knows what could happen? What if Quebecois insurgents kidnapped her?"
"...Quebecois-- where did you learn--"
"I'm calling her."
Whitney pulls out her phone again. You lay your hand over hers to stop her from dialing. "She's less than ten minutes late, for fuck's sake," you say. "Give her a little longer. We won't assume anything about ditch-dying or Quebecois separatism until she's at least half an hour past due. Okay?"
Whitney pouts, her lower lip jutting out like a petulant child, but she sets her phone off to the side. She leans back in her seat and folds her arms.
"You both owe me cunnilingus," she says. "Ten minutes' worth for every minute that you're late."
You narrow your eyes. "I thought the purpose here was to gauge whether Ms. Carte is worthy of dating us. Now you're talking about having sex with her?"
"You don't need to be dating someone to have her lick your pussy! What is this, the 1820s?" She pauses, holding a finger to her lips. The anger -- if it was ever genuine to begin with -- drains from her face as she contemplates.
"Wait a second," she drawls. "You said 'us'."
"...What?" You tilt your head, sincerely confused. "I said a lot of words. I said 'the' and 'is' and 'worthy' and--"
Whitney kicks you again. "You said 'us'! You said Renee would be dating us, not you!" She sounds so ecstatic she might faint.
"I'm calling her," Whitney says, pawing for her phone, scattering the torn-up bits of napkin everywhere. "I'm telling her what you said!"
"What?" You reach across the table, trying to snatch the phone from her, but she's too deft. She twists in her seat, putting her back to you as she dials.
"This is ridiculous," you say. "Stop it. To get so worked up over one silly quote taken out of context--"
"Renee? Hello-- hi! Yes! Me and Ally are here right now!" She plugs one of her ears shut to block out your invective as she holds the phone to her other. She grins at you devilishly as she speaks to your teacher.
"Yes, you're very late! Almost-- almost 15 minutes! ... Yeah, that's right, you'd better be sorry. I'm-- err-- I WAS really mad. But-- you do sound sorry enough. So, I'll forgive you. This time. Consider yourself lucky."
"You're an idiot," you say.
"Oh! Oh! Wait, before you go, I almost forgot. Do you want to know what Ally said just now? ..."
"Whitney..."
"He was all worried thinking that you stood us up. He was almost *crying*. I said-- I said Ally, don't worry, she's probably just stuck in traffic. But he kept begging and begging me to call you. ... ... I know! Pathetic, right? Well anyway, he said he couldn't stand the idea that you might be in danger or something. And then he said -- he said that he's happy you're dating us. Us! Not just him."
Whitney cradles the phone to her ear and furrows her brow. "Well, obviously..." she begins, but seems to get cut off. "What do you mean, you're not a lesbian? What kind of faggot isn't a lesbian? ... ..." Her hurt expression slowly dissolves as she listens to Ms. Carte speak. "Thank you! I think so, too." She casts you a look that's so lustful it almost makes you ill. "All right, toots. See you in a few."
She hangs up.
A few minutes later, Ms. Carte arrives, huffy and out of breath. Her face is flushed red and her hair drips with perspiration.
"I came as quick as I could," she says. She leans across the booth and gives you a peck on the lips by way of greeting.
Then, after a quick beat, she leans in second time for a kiss that's much more sensual, much more needful. You return her need and make out, your tongues wetly exploring and entangling, and damn all social norms against PDA. Ms. Carte's breathy exhaustion makes her whimper as you ravish her mouth. Your nostrils flare, filling with the slightest tang of sweat.
When she pulls away, she swipes a strand of hair behind her ears and smiles warmly. "I'm sorry you were worried," she says.
"That was a lie," you say, your voice still dreamy from the kiss. "Whitney... you should lie more often..."
Ms. Carte sits down next to Whitney. The greeting she offers her is somewhat colder than the steamy kiss she shared with you: "Hello, Whitney" she says, laying a friendly hand on the girl's shoulder.
Whitney isn't having any of it. She pivots and grabs Ms. Carte's wrist, pinning it in place against her shoulder to hold her in position. Ms. Carte, acting out of instinctual panic, tries to jerk away. But Whitney's tard strength wins out easily.
Whitney juts her chin out and up, to meet Ms. Carte's lips with hers. The smooch she plants on the older woman's lips is loud and wet -- it actually makes a "mwah" sound -- and causes Ms. Carte to tense with homosexual panic.
After a moment, Whitney pulls back, a wolfish smile plastered on her face. Ms. Carte can only stammer: "wh-wh-wh--" over and again.
"What's the matter?" Whitney says. "This is a three-way date. You can't give Ally some sugar and not me." To drive the point home, she kisses Ms. Carte a second time -- and as with the first, Ms. Carte's spine goes rigid, she blinks rapidly and blushes -- but she opens her mouth to Whitney's all the same, and allows Whitney's probing tongue to do what it will. It does what it will for quite some time.
When Whitney finally relents, Ms. Carte repeats: "hello, Whitney." Her voice is breathy and low -- this time there's much more intimacy in the greeting.
"Hello again," Whitney purrs.
Ms. Carte smooths her blouse and composes herself, the flush in her cheeks slowly dissipating. She fishes through her purse and pulls out three laminated sheets like menus.
"What are these?" you say, turning them over.
"That--" Ms. Carte exhales, still somewhat breathless, "-- is an itinerary. I typed it up last night. I got held up at the Kinko's laminating it, which is why I'm so late."
You frown. "An itinerary? For what, exactly?"
"Karaoke," she says.
You read. It's a long -- incredibly long -- list of classic rock and pop standards. Ms. Carte has annotations underneath each title denoting who will sing. She has you for lead vocals in "Take on Me," for example, with Whitney on backup -- then her and Whitney singing a duet on "We Built this City" -- and on and on.
"I don't know any of these songs..." Whitney says, sounding almost like she has stage fright.
"Oh, that's no problem," Ms. Carte insists. "You can follow along with the lyrics on the screen. It's easy. Easy peasy. You'll love it."
[ ] We're on a date, not forming a band. We should do something else.
[X] All right, then -- sounds fun.
Ms. Carte caterwauls, butchering the lyrics to yet another track:
"Wellllcome back my friendsssss, to the show that never ends -- we're so glaaaaad you could attend -- come inside, come inside!"
She stands in the middle of the little karaoke booth, eyes firmly affixed to the CRT display, lips pressed up to the microphone. she sings with the intensity of a recording artists working on the final cut of a new LP.
You're not much for karaoke but you feel like it should be a bit more social than this. You sit with your fingers plugged in your ears, grimacing. Whitney is eating a bowl of noodles that she didn't finish during the meal and decided to smuggle into the booth against restaurant rules.
At the climax of the song, Ms Carte does an air guitar solo, pacing side to side with faux hi-kicks. When the solo is over, she air-smashes her air guitar into a million little air-pieces.
"Yeaaahhh!" she grunts, her voice guttural. "Rock over London! Rock on Chicago! Lay's potato chips, can't eat just one!"
The music trails off, leaving the booth awash in awkward silence. Your ears are still ringing. Whitney scarfs her food, oblivious.
"Well?" Ms. Carte demands. "Was that amazing or what?"
[ ] (lie) That was... really great... maybe Whitney should sing now?
[ ] (polite truth) Maybe you should work on your range a little bit more. Maybe Whitney can go now?
[X] (whole truth) I love you but you sound like the illegitimate child of William Hung and a dying cat. Whitney, why don't you sing.
"Come on, be honest!" Ms. Carte demands again. "Lay it on me. Whitney, what did you think?"
Whitney stares at Ms. Carte like a deer in headlights, her fork halfway between the bowl and her mouth, noodles dangling from her lips.
You can almost hear her mind going into overdrive, trying to compose a response. Finally she collects her bearings and slurps up her food. Swallowing, she manages: "that was really... really unique, Renee. But, uh, I wasn't paying much attention. Or something?"
"What Whitney's trying to say is that you suck."
"Ally!" Whitney chides. "That's not-- I would NEVER--"
"I... suck?" Ms. Carte says. "That can't be right. I've been doing karaoke for years and everyone loves how I sing. Your ears must be broken."
"They are now," you say.
"We love you just for being you!" Whitney insists. "Don't change! You're beautiful!"
"Oh, cut the everyone-gets-a-medal bullshit," Ms. Carte grouses. "Be honest. Do I suck?"
Whitney frowns. She glances to you for support, and you give her a silent nod. Turning back to Ms. Carte, she holds her thumb and forfinger apart as if to say, "a little."
"I need to talk to Mr. Garrison, then," Ms. Carte says. "He coaches glee club, maybe he could help me improve."
"I'd stay away from that guy," you say. "He's a bit..."
"Who's next?" Ms. Carte says. She looks over her itinerary. "Ah-- Whitney, do you know this one?"
Whitney looks at her own itinerary. Hers is stained with sweet and sour sauce -- lamination turned out to serve a purpose after all.
"Oh wait," Whitney says, reading. "Yeah! I actually do know this one! Oh, I love this song. I'm gonna fuckin' kill it!"
You close your eyes and sigh, preparing yourself for the night's second ear-rape.
Whitney sings lead with Ms. Carte on backup. It's a good thing you don't have a part in this song, because your jaw is resting firmly on the shag-carpeted floor.
"Hold your head up!" Whitney sings.
"Movin' on!" Ms. Carte croons.
"Hold your head up!"
"Movin' on!"
"Hold your head up!"
Her voice is heavenly. Like a hundred angels gangbanging Jesus. She has perfect pitch -- and her tone is high, airy, without being childish or obnoxious. It's carefree but soulful. It quavers at the right moments, stays firm when it needs to.
"Sweet dreams are made of this -- who am I to disagree? I travel the world and the seven seas... everybody's looking for something."
Ms. Carte is, you can tell, equally shocked by the performance. Who could have expected this boyish trailer-park girl would have the lushest, most feminine and alluring singing voice you've ever heard? Ms. Carte gawks at Whitney like some starstruck at meeting their idol.
"Some of them want to use you... some of them want to get used by you. Some of them want to abuse you... some of them want to be abused... ohhhh~~"
You think you spy a tear rolling down Ms. Carte's cheek. She looks about ready to prostrate herself at Whitney's feet and hail her as a goddess.
Whitney is totally, 100% oblivious to the reaction her singing has garnered.
At the song's close, she puts the mic back on the stand, turns, and smiles. "I know I was off-key a little there. Sorry."
"Sorry?" Ms. Carte says. "Sorry?! Whitney... Whitney, you need to sign a recording deal right away. Are you listening to me? Whitney!" Ms. Carte hugs her like a mother embracing her daughter upon reuniting from a long period of separation.
"Geez--" Whitney sputters. "What the heck? I'm not that great."
"Whitney, have you had training?" you ask, still flabbergasted.
"Erm..." Whitney says, her cheek smushed up against Ms. Carte's ample bust. "Well, no? I mean, I sing in the shower every morning. That's about it..."
"Whitney!" Ms. Carte says. "Whitney! Sing more for me, okay? Sing to me every night! I'm totally addicted here... you voice is like ambrosia... I'm dizzy..."
For the first time tonight, it's Whitney who looks uncomfortable at Ms. Carte's advances, not vice-versa. Nonetheless -- she brought this on herself. And besides, this is too cute to intervene.
After hours of karaoke, you take off from the restaurant, arm-in-arm-in-arm with Ms. Carte and Whitney. All three of you are a little tipsy, to be honest -- you have to wonder at the ethics of a teacher who fucks her underage students and buys beer for them at shady karaoke dives -- but the night is young, and thoughts like that aren't worth your time.
"I agree!" Ms. Carte says. "I totally agree, Whitney. American sports are so boring. Who wants to watch a bunch of guys in kneepads and helmets toss an egg down a field?"
"I KNOW!" Whitney says. "Soccer-- real football-- it's so much more-- more fluid."
"Exactly! I always felt the same way. You know, I've been meaning to come watch the girls' soccer team play, but I never had the chance."
"I can get you season tickets," Whitney says. "I have pull. I totally have, like, executive sway. You can count on me."
"Really? Oh, you're a darling," Ms. Carte says. "I can't believe this... I figured you'd be just as much of an asshole as Alabaster is..."
"Me too," Whitney says. "I thought the same thing about you! I said to myself-- anyone DUMB enough to date an ass like Ally must be a real fucking jerk herself. But you're so cool, Renee! ... I can call you Renee, right?"
"Of course. I wish Alabaster would, too..." she elbows you playfully in the ribs.
"So, hey," Whitney says. She leans in slyly, and whispers in Ms. Carte's ear. "Does this interest in soccer mean that you like watching girls get all worked up and sweaty?~..."
Ms. Carte turns a neon shade of red.
You're nearing her apartment. And the night is still young.
---
Smatters
Another dull afternoon at North High. Whitney's out with a stomach flu or something, and Vivian is out for the day to do research on her doctorate, so there's no one to have fun with in between periods. You would resort to Rose, but even she's too busy for you -- something about student council duties.
You worry that you'll have to resort to jerking off in the bathroom like old time. But after 4th period biology, Ms. Carte pulls you aside. "Alabaster," she says, "please meet me in the Transhumanism Clubroom after school today."
"Why?" you ask. "The club doesn't even meet on Tuesdays, does it?"
"No, it doesn't. And that's point..." she says, leaning forward, her voice low.
"Oh. Ohhhh."
A grin spreads itself across your face. "I know what you're talking about," you say, winking. You give her the OK sign. "Gotcha. Loud and clear. I'll be there."
***
"I have fucking no idea what's going on," you say.
You stare at the timid girl lying on the examination table, all dressed up in a bunny costume. She looks weirdly familiar, somehow, but you don't recognize her as a fellow student.
"Since when are you one to initiate threesomes, anyway?" you ask.
Ms. Carte clicks the clubroom door shut behind her, after checking the halls to verify no one is spying. "Get your head out of the gutter," she says. "This isn't a threesome."
"Th-threesome?" the girl on the table says.
"Who IS this?" you demand.
"This is Smatters," Ms. Carte says.
"No, really. Who is it?"
"Yes, really. It's Smatters."
The girl swings her shapely legs over the side of the table and sits upright. She clutches the edge of the table as if uncertain.
"H-hello," the girl says, tremble still in her voice. "My name is Smatters, a-and... and... ahem. And I am of pleased to have be meeting you? I am apology if my English is not top notch. I l-like to think I am top notch in most other respects."
"Oh Jesus," you say.
"This is unethical," you say. "I'm pretty sure."
"How the fuck is it unethical?" Ms. Carte demands. "I gave sapience to a creature that lacked it! That's the opposite of unethical, you little shit. It's... super-ethical."
"You can't just go around, doing..." you gesticulate wildly with both hands. "...Whatever the hell it is you're doing here. This girl is a medical abomination!"
Smatters winces at your words. To keep herself from breaking down, she takes to chewing nervously on her knuckles. The way her tiny jaw moves is so reminiscent of how a rabbit eats veggies that it's uncanny. Ms. Carte goes over and rubs the bunnygirl's shoulders, soothing her.
"What do you expect me to do?" Ms. Carte says. "What's done is done. It would be equally unethical to make her a bunny again, wouldn't it?"
"M-make me a-- !!" Smatters doubles over, almost crying. "Don't make me a bunny again, Ms. Renee! Please, Ms. Renee, I like being human!"
"There, there," Ms. Carte says, patting her on the back. "No one's going to do anything like that to you. You fluffy little wuffy little cutesy-wutesy--" Ms. Carte glances back at you, remembering herself. "Ahem. Yes. You'll remain human. That much is certain."
"This is sick," you say. "And physically impossible, I'm almost certain. How on Earth did you-- how could you POSSIBLY have--"
"What I need from you, Alabater," Ms. Carte says icily, "is to be Smatters' helper. I want her to enroll here at North High, and I think you would make an excellent tutor. Help her adjust to the human world."
[ ] Me? No way. Why don't you ask Whitney or something?
[X] Well -- all right.
You accompany the two of them back to Ms. Carte's apartment. Inside, the sickness continues in earnest: Ms. Carte locks Smatters in a giant wire-mesh kennel lined with straw and ripped-up newspaper. A cage this big, secured firmly to floor and ceiling, must have been constructed by hand.
Smatters has no problems with the arrangement, though -- in fact she seems to rather enjoy it. She drinks from a large bottle affixed to the side of the cage, holding her arms limply in front of her as if impersonating a T-rex. Her upturned neck, pulsing as she guzzles down the cool water, is horrifyingly intriguing to you.
You don't want to fuck a rabbit, do you?
After she finishes drinking, she curls up in the bedding at the bottom of her cage, assuming a fetal position. Soon she falls soundly asleep.
"Please tell me you're at least toilet training her," you say.
"Oh, of course. And when she gets more comfortable living like a person, she won't need the cage anymore. But right now, it's a comfort. We're in a transition period here."
You shake your head in disbelief.
---
The next day at school, Smatters enrolls at North High as a senior: Samantha Smatters, transfer student from Omaha. You lead her from the registrar's office to the first class of the day, homeroom with Mr. Langley.
You can understand the ears and fluffy tail-- but the rest of the bunnygirl getup seems utterly gratuitous. Ms. Carte insisted on it, though. And now it's drawing stares from every student you pass, male and female alike.
You feel like Ms. Carte was revealing something deep-seated and psychological when she came up with this creation of hers. Smatters' jugs put even Rose's to shame.
And -- speak of the devil. Who should show up on your way to class but Rose Mallory herself, queen of the bitches. She blocks your way, hands on hips. She gives Smatters a menacing once-over that causes Smatters to shirk back, as if trying to hide herself behind you.
"This is gonna be a problem," Rose says.
"Go away, Rose," you say.
"Who is this girl? Don't tell me you're bringing mail-order brides to school with you now."
"I-- I am Smatters! Hello, I'm new! Pleased to meet you, okay!" Her voice has a frantic catch to it.
Rose frowns. "This is obscene, Alabaster. Absolutely disgusting. The student council is not going to abide by your sick BDSM petplay. North High is a safe space. Do you have any idea how many people you're triggering right now?"
Then, in a half-whisper: "and honestly, Alabaster, those tits of hers are just ridiculous. Since when are you such a size queen? Mine are way better."
You sigh, rubbing your eyelids. "This isn't BDSM play," you say. "Unfortunately. Smatters is an actual bunny."
"Oh, PLEASE," Rose says. "Drop the act. Honey, what's your real name?"
"S-Smatters... It really is Smatters... Ms. Renee made me!"
Rose begins to say something, but stops herself short. You can see realization slowly dawning on her face.
"Oh Jesus," she says.
[ ] Rose, you gotta help me here. I have no idea how to train Smatters to be human.
[X] I'm glad you understand. Now please, step aside. Smatters and I have class.
You push Rose aside and take Smatters to class.
"It was nice meeting you!" Smatters calls over her shoulder as you lead her by the hand.
Rose watches your retreat, her expression alternately angered and -- jealous? Well, maybe you can't fault her for that. She was your only pet for so long, and now it must seem like she has competition. Rose plays nervously with her hair as you disappear around the corner.
---
Class is a debacle. Smatters is oddly intelligent, yes -- she can read and write, she has at least a basic understanding of American history, she can even do simple integrals -- but the problem is more than her academic performance. All through the day, the male students leer at her like she's a piece of meat. They act totally unashamed in their visual gangrape of the poor bunnygirl.
It makes you want to puke.
Still, you can't help sneaking a peek every now and then yourself. It's not just Smatters' revealing attire, although she definitely is pleasing on the eyes. It's something deeper than that, almost chemical. Like she emits some special bunny pheromone that broadcasts the message: "please breed with me!"
And once again, you notice even certain of the girls in class seem receptive to that biological broadcast. Even ones you would never have suspected in a million years could harbor lesbianic urges.
You're somewhat thankful Whitney is out sick today.
At the end of school, it's time to decide what to do with poor, barely human Smatters.
[ ] Take her to anime club.
[ ] Take her home with you.
[ ] Take her back to Ms. Carte.
[X] Tutor her one on one.
You sit at your dining room table. Smatters is across from you and Dad is busy reading the Sunday times.
"What do you like to eat?" you ask. "You must be hungry."
"Hmm--" Smatters says, finger on her chin. "Carrots -- celery -- spinach -- apples... skinned, of course --"
"No, no, no and no."
Smatters cocks her head. "Huh?"
"We don't have any of that stuff here. Listen. Do you like cake?"
"Oh, no. Sugar is bad for bunnies!"
"You're not a bunny. You're a human being. And humans like sugar. That's lesson one."
You stand, go to the kitchen, and grab a plate of Mom's leftover double-layer superfudge cake from the kitchen. One slice of this is enough to put most avowed sugar-eaters into diabetic shock. You can only imagine how Smatters will react.
When you set it in front of her, she pokes at it with a dainty dessert fork. "Erm-- I'm not so sure about this..." she murmurs. She leans as far forward as her massive breasts will allow and sniffs the cake, her nostrils shuddering up and down just like a bunny's.
"It's weird," she complains, looking up, her jugs still pushed against the tabletop.
"Just try it already. Don't you want to be like a normal person?"
She nods, almost desperately. "Yes! I want to be a human! So-- if that means eating sugar-- o-okay, then. H-here I go..."
She lifts the fork to her mouth, hesitant, and bites off the tiniest morsel.
"Oh," she says.
"Oh. Ohhh. I-- I-- unffff-- mmm~~~~!!!"
She falls sideways out of her chair, collapsing to the ground, writhing in orgasmic ecstasy.
For the first time in a long while, you see your dad's face -- he pulls his newspaper to the side to glance for a split second at Smatters having a foodgasm on the floor, before returning to his reading.
All right. Maybe that was a bit overwhelming for her.
You help her to her feet. She stands on shaky legs. This is a good time for lesson two -- sleeping in a human bed.
"I'm s-scared..." Smatters says as you lie her down on your sheets. "I want my cage... please, put me in my cageee--"
"Humans don't sleep in cages. They sleep in beds. Come on, I'll be here with you. Isn't this more comfortable than a bunch of straw and paper?"
Smatters squirms a bit in your embrace, making herself a little rut in your sheets and comforter. She holds the bedspread to her nose bringing her panicked breathing back under control. "Your bedding smells just like you," she says. "But... stronger..."
"Lesson three. Watch what you say if you're lying in a guy's bed. Things could happen."
Smatters pulls the covers away from her face and smiles up at you, her chin resting against your chest.
"Those guys at school were re-ally staring at me, huh? Men are even worse than rabbits, I think."
You blink. You didn't realize that Smatters had noticed all the attention. She hadn't shown any signs of it.
Her voice goes suddenly silken, loses its catch, becomes huskier. "Do you like looking at me too, Mr. Alabaster?"
You gulp.
"Because..." she says, trailing off, running her little fingers up and down your legs, "I like looking at you. I like looking at you a whole lot..."
[X] Touch fluffy tail
[ ] Genuflect
You can't help yourself. You let your hands roam across Smatter's trembling body. She clutches you tight around your arms and lets you have your way with her. When your hand passes over her cottonball tail, she shudders, drawing a sharp breath through her teeth.
"I'm sensitive there," she whines.
"Where? Here?" You pet her fluffy tail again. She throws her head back and lets out a long, high-pitched sigh. "Ahn~ Mr. Alabaster, please... please no teasing, Mr. Alabaster..."
"You teased me all day," you say. "This is only fair."
Smatters locks eyes with you. "I know. I know I teased you. I'm sorry. Ms. Renee says that-- s-she says I am a slutty bunny. What do you think? Am I?"
You snake your hands in between her latex costume and her naked breast. The flesh is supple and smooth, so soft you could use it for a pillow. There's so much you feel like you could suffocate yourself in them. Smatters bucks her hips against your legs, grinding herself against you while you grope her.
"Ms. Carte was right," you say. "You're a slutty little thing, aren't you?"
"P-please put it in, Mr. Alabaster. I had Ms. Renee's tongue last night but that's not enough for me... I want a real, human dick. Please put your dick in my horny bunny pussy!"
Who can say no to that? You tear Smatters' whorish fishnet leggings to shreds and part the bottom of her costume to the side.
Smatters has the puffiest, prettiest pussy mound you've ever laid eyes on, perfectly wet and glistening, and searing hot against your fingertips. She gnaws on her knuckles as you pull your cock free of your boxer shorts.
"Mr. Alabaster," she gasps, staring down at your length. "It's re-ally big... please put it all the way inside me, okay?"
You position yourself at her entrance and slowly push yourself forward, enjoying every nanosecond of this new, forbidden pleasure. Her juices coat your shaft and run down it in rivulets, over your balls, and to the sheets below. Smatters quakes with lust and makes unintelligible heaving gasps as you seat yourself deep inside.
The texture of her cunt is different -- smoother than you're used to, but also tighter. Her soft mound wraps around the base of your cock like it will never let you go, clamping it in place. Pulling out takes effort, and produces a lewd slurping sound.
"Ungg~~" Smatters groans. "Fuck me... put your seed inside me... cum all the way inside me!"
You grab onto her ears to give you leverage as you slam into her deepest parts. The ears are soft and pliable, and they make excellent handles. Smatters' pussy spasms, orgasming over and over, spilling a milky mixture of her cream and your precum.
This tender, wet hole that you're pounding is unbearable -- you can't stave off cumming, as much as you want to enjoy using this little bunny whore forever. You jab into her, as hard as you can, as deeply as your soon-to-burst dick will go -- once -- twice -- three times more. Smatters is like a ragdoll as you rut inside her and breed her out. Her mouth gapes open and her thighs smack together as you fuck her.
And then -- it happens. With a heave, you bury your cock and fuck her full of hot cum. Her pussy closes around you, taking the exact shape of your member, like a fitted glove. She wraps her arms and legs around you and accepts every drop. You unload to your heart's content.
40 DAYS LATER
You wake up to the sound of shrieking. Wearily, you glance at your clock -- it's 3 o'clock in the goddamn morning. Fuck.
"Hey, asshole," Cerise says. You can barely make her out in the darkness. "Your kid is crying."
"Which one?" you ask, sitting up. "Alabaster Jr., Fazil, Scarlet, Spancer, or Whit?"
"Fucked if I know," she says. "I can't tell your mongrels apart. Here."
She hands you a crying bunny-baby, holding it up by the ears. You snatch it away from her. "How many times do I have to tell you not to hold them like that!" you yell. "Goddamn it, Cerise."
You glance down. It's Alabaster Jr. Of course.
"Oh, don't be such a whiner," Cerise says. "Your retard babies love it when aunt Cerise picks them up by the ears."
"Can't you feed him?" you ask. "Alabaster loves it when you feed him."
"Alabaster isn't my problem," Cerise says. "Senior or junior! If you didn't want to deal with childcare, you should have used a little contraception."
"How was I supposed to know Smatters could get pregnant? I cum inside you guys all the time and no one gets knocked up!"
"We're all on the pill, you fucking moron. Maybe before you taught your prostitute from the animal kingdom how to milk your cock, you should have taught her some sex ed."
You grimace and stand up, headed for the kitchen. As you patter down the stairs, you hear Whit start to cry in her crib. Tonight is going to be a long night.
---
Whitney and Cerise
You come home from school to find an oddly empty house. Usually when you come back, Cerise is curled up on the couch watching TV with Mom, or they're eating together at the table -- or at the very least, dad is around somewhere, reading his paper. But today there's no one. Just a note from Mom that her and Dad have gone out on a date.
Good for them. While you don't like to think about your Dad... doing things... with Mom, she deserves a little happiness in her marriage.
Still -- where's Cerise? You know anime club isn't in session, because fucking Stackleford texted you half an hour ago wanting to go play DDR at the arcade. (As much fun as watching him spastically flail and barely pass stages on easy mode is, you turned him down.)
Hmm. Upstairs, then. Probably masturbating to her fujoshit, the degenerate.
Well, it can't be helped. You'll just have to remind her of the pleasures of being cummed inside.
As you mount the stairs, you hear some muffled thuds and squeaks coming from Cerise's bedroom. Yep, definitely jilling off in there. Can't she wait for you? Greedy girl.
You don't bother knocking, but maybe you should have -- you aren't prepared for what you see.
Cerise is sitting on the edge of her bed. Sitting behind her, legs wrapped around Cerise's hips, is Whitney. Both of them are naked -- except for the long block socks stretched over Cerise's calves.
Whitney trails forceful kisses up and down Cerise's neck. Cerise's eyes are closed, her face is dreamy with pleasure, and her mouth is hanging partway open as Whitney ravishes her. Whitney paws at Cerise's udders and humps herself against Cerise's ass, grinding her bare cunt into Cerise's skin.
Whitney is first to notice you. She stops suckling on Cerise's neck, smiling evilly up at you. "Ally~" she says.
Cerise's eyes pop open. "A-Alabaster--!! This isn't what is looks like, I swear!"
You drop your bookbag and tug at the collar of your tee. It suddenly feels sweltering in here, and the fog of female arousal lying heavy over the tiny bedroom only makes it more oppressive.
"This is *exactly* what it looks like," Whitney corrects. She parts Cerise's hair, grabs her by the crown of her head, and tilts her neck so you can see it. The porcelain flesh is marred by deep, dark purple hickeys.
"Did you know," Whitney says, "that your sister can cum just by having her neck sucked on?"
Cerise whimpers helplessly, still baring her hickeys for you to admire. Whitney tilts Cerise's head the opposite direction now, to show that the other side of her neck is equally bruised.
"Cerise is just too delicious," Whitney coos. "I've been playing with her like this for over an hour..."
"Are you... are you okay with this?" you ask your sister.
Cerise says nothing, and Whitney returns to sucking her neck. Whitney runs her hands over Cerise's face, squeezing and prodding her like a toy, as she abuses her. The bedsprings squeak again as Whitney resumes rubbing herself against your big sister's back.
[X] Take charge.
[ ] Let Whitney control the flow.
You step forward. "Mm," Whitney purrs, "there we go. Join in, Ally. We've been waiting for you. Haven't we, Cerise? ...Cerise? Cerise nee-sama?"
Whitney winks at you, proud of her weeaboo vocab.
Cerise still can't respond, though, too wracked by pleasure and embarrassment. You sit on your knees in front of her. She has her thighs pressed firmly together, and you do your best to wedge them apart so you can see her womanhood. Whitney aids you by keeping her legs locked around Cerise's hips, immobilizing her.
"Al-- Alabaster," Cerise finally manages, gulping. "Please don't look."
"What?" you say. "Why not? I see your pussy practically every day."
"But... but not like this," she insists.
You pull her legs apart anyway. Her pussy is just the same as it always is, sopping wet and bright pink, engorged with perverted lust -- beautiful, beautiful.
"I don't understand," you say. "What's the matter? You look just fine down here."
Whitney continues loudly suckling on Cerise's neck. Cerise writhes and moans: "But-- but it's Whitney who made me this wet. And for you to see that--"
She doesn't know how to finish the thought, or otherwise simply can't. She falls silent again.
"It's great that Whitney can make you this wet," you say. "Come on now, a little yuri never hurt anyone."
Whitney laughs. She opens her maw wide, planting gaping kisses on Cerise's cheek and the side of her head. You can see her brilliant white teeth scraping just a little against Cerise's skin. Whitney stares at you out of the corner of her simmering hazel eyes.
"Let's make her feel real good, okay Ally?"
"Move," you say. You bark the command so sternly that it startles both girls. You motion for Whitney to move away so you can position Cerise how you like.
Whitney sits on her knees on the mattress, leaning on balled-up fists as she watches you lay your sister on her back. She can't help bouncing in place a little as she says: "yeah! Do it! I want to see you fuck your sister so bad!"
Cerise finally does something on her own initiative: she kisses you. And not sheepishly, either, but passionately, wantonly. She laces her fingers through your hair and you do the same for her. You lie atop her and snake your tongues together, savoring her warmth and sweetness, the tart tang of her saliva, the staccato rhythm of her breaths. Her body is sheened with sweat. When she wraps her legs around your ass, the soft fabric of her socks tickles your skin deliciously.
Whitney lies on her side to get a view of the incestuous makeout session. She nearly swoons to see it. "That is so fucking hot," she says. "I love it. You're making me wet..."
You hear a familiar schlicking noise. Whitney is masturbating as she watches you and your sister enjoy one another.
"Cerise," you say, pulling back. "Have you ever wondered what it would be like to eat a girl out?"
Cerise blinks rapidly, pushing the back of her head against the pillow. A strand of saliva still connects you.
"Well?"
"A-- a little," she stammers.
"Eat Whitney out while I fuck you."
Cerise exhales like she's been punched in the chest, and you can almost feel the jolt of adrenaline in her the pit of her stomach that your words caused.
"It's all right," you insist, kissing her again. "Whitney's pussy is amazing. You'll fall in love with sucking her off."
Whitney, purring, draws up to her knees again. She positions her cunt over Cerise's flushed-red face. "Don't be shy," is her only piece of advice for the novice lesbian. And then she sits on her face with all her weight.
Cerise spasms beneath you. You take the opportunity to fuck yourself into the warmth of her entrance.
"Ahhhh," Whitney sighs, hugging herself, content. "I love sitting on a girl's face."
"Don't hurt her," you tell Whitney, even as you lean in to kiss her.
"I wou-uldn't," Whitney insists, her voice trembling with desire. "Ally... the truth is I love your sister almost as much as I love you..."
Beneath you, Cerise bucks her hips, fully enveloping your aching fuck-shaft.
You stroke Whitney's face. "Is that true?" you say.
"Mm-hmm..." Whitney says. "Cerise was always so cool and detached... and, well, to be honest-- I always had this fantasy about the three of us running away and living together like a family. Is that weird?"
She lifts herself off Cerise's face. She looks down at her. "Is that weird?" she asks again.
"It's not weird," Cerise says. "You're the only girl I ever felt like I'd be okay sharing Alabaster with... I knew you'd take care of each other."
You draw one of Cerise's legs into your arms and bring it perpendicular to her body, holding it for leverage as you fuck her with deep, slow thrusts. "Then it's settled," you say. "Share and share alike..."
Whitney sits on Cerise's face again, obviously relieved. "Lick me, lick me!" she says. "Make me cum!"
Whitney kisses you. She can't hold herself up under her own power anymore, and falls forward, so you catch her. Your arm still looped over Cerise's leg, you interlace your fingers with Whitney's and keep her from collapsing as she grinds on your sister's mouth.
"She's really good at this..." Whitney breathes. "Mmmf..." Her movements become quicker, her muscles flex and strain under the tanned expanses of her skin. "Ally... she's got her tongue so deep inside of me. Your sister's tongue is fucking me..."
You're more focused on your sister's womb. Cerise may lack the finesse of a more experienced girl, but her pussy is such a bizarrely perfect fit for your pulsing cock that you can't complain. Her insides grip and cling to you, squelching obscenely as you make her yours.
Whitney orgasms first, shrieking and wailing. She pounds her ass and cunt so hard against Cerise's battered face, you're worried she might break her nose or even suffocate her.
"I'm cumming!!" Whitney cries, incoherent. "I'm fucking cumming! I'm fucking cumming all over your sister's face! Watch me cum, Ally, watch me!"
After Whitney finishes riding out her climax, she slithers off of Cerise's face. Cerise is blue and wide-eyed, as if she had been close to passing out. She gasps for breath like someone resuscitated from a drowning. And it almost was a drowning -- her head atop her pillow rests in a fragrant puddle of Whitney's girlcum.
As you fuck Cerise deeper and deeper, she wallows in Whitney's cum like a sow, rubbing it into her skin, sucking the excess up with her lips. She groans and babbles to herself, rubbing her tits and cumming.
"Do it, do it," Whitney says in a sing-song voice. She puts her hand on your back. "I know you're so close... oh so close... unload inside her, Ally. Empty your nuts inside her. Cum inside your sister."
She guides you to a missionary position, so that you're lying over Cerise. Your thrusts are brutal, quick, and long. On the outswing, you draw yourself nearly all the way back, so only the very tip of your glans is nestled in Cerise's cute plump pussy. And then you jam it all the way back in, to the very root, filling her with your hard cock. All Cerise can do is hold on for dear life as you rape her.
Whitney straddles your back so that she faces your legs. She lays her palms on your butt, pressing down, as if to help you fuck your sister even deeper. "Put it in her womb!" she cries. "Make sure she gets pregnant!"
Cerise stares up at you through half-lidded eyes. "Yes..." she moans. "Yes, make me pregnant. Knock me up, Alabaster... let me have your baby..."
That does it. Whitney puts all her weight against you and you roar in ecstasy as you fill your sister's tiny womb with seed. Your spurting dick unleashes so much of it that you feel light-headed and you tingle all over. Cerise cums wetly around you and Whitney howls in an orgasm of her own as you impregnate your older sister.