The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Throat Trouble”

mc, md, fd, mf, ff, gr, la

Tagline: Martina learns the sexiest way to kick nicotine.

* * *

Indebted to BevG.

* * *

Martina tried to hide her heavy head from the streaming sunlight as Carmen gabbed on obnoxiously, pacing underneath the bedside window. She couldn’t understand how this unbelievably proportioned and bedazzled ghetto hoochie would have the gumption to settle in such a hick town.

“Joey, I’m tired of waitin’ for her to come down for breakfast. I put over four pounds of bacon on that cast iron,” she bleated, sounding like some soup of Brooklyn and Bayou holler. “She didn’t come down yesterday and she ain’t gonna eat today.” Keys were jingling outside. Maybe she was about to leave! Just the knowledge of her presence made Martina’s headache that much meaner.

Still, she carried on. “Baby, you gone and lost your damn mind if you think I’m-a give her that sweet tea. You know what that sweet tea does to us girls.” Martina felt flush and sweaty and a little creeped out at what she was eavesdropping in on. Had she really been incapacitated at this bed and breakfast for over a whole day? That just couldn’t be right..

“Okay, J.J. I trust you.” There was more jingling and Carmen’s voice was getting softer, receding into the fresh morning. “Because I’m in love with you, studly. And because you’ve got such a hot, strong..” Quieter and quieter she got until she was totally out of earshot, which for Martina was a good thing. Hearing Carmen’s car door open was all she needed to pass out again, light as a feather.

* * *

Carmen’s sickly sweet perfume woke Martina up before that gum-governed voice of hers. “Rise and shine, sleepyhead!” she chirped gaudily, then burped a tiny bit, masking it all too late with a well-manicured, glossy hand. Even the air she expelled seemed caked in sex. “I got my girl some ho-cakes!”

It took her a second to acknowledge the sizzling mountain of grub in front of her, mesmerized by this greasy, sweaty goddess of sensuality. As much as she hated to admit it, Carmen annoyed Martina, but whenever this slut was around, face to face and so.. booby, her head felt better. She finally turned her eyes downward and noticed the silver tray in front of her.

Golden, buttery toast with fried cheese. A cereal bowl full of steaming grits. More than a half dozen pancakes. Breakfast sausage so big and thick like she’d never seen before. And that didn’t even make up half the portion of eggs and hash she was given.

A thought entered her suffering skull. She began to remember why she had stopped in this podunk backwoods in the first place. She had run out of smokes en route to New York from Richmond and decided to stop into a Cherub Cove gas station that seemed dubiously open as late as she was travelling. She needed cigarettes. They were just about her only secret vice these days, and was ashamed she was up to a pack and a half a day.

In no time, she was chatted up by a local kid pulling a graveyard shift behind the counter. Her pillowy memories of him took on a subtly strange significance now that she realized he kept steering her away from the idea of buying cigarettes. And how she knew there had to be something in his face besides rugged manliness that drew her to follow his predictably futile march to the cellar of the ornate country hotel just behind the store. After settling for drinks with this pleasantly-vibed young man, the last thing she remembered of the night was being carried like a bride into the fluffy bed.

Martina had heard about this town and the kind of sticky skanks that gravitated toward and the few that grew.. out of it. Her mother and her friends had warned her. So much so that she had specifically and drunkenly asked the attendant if any of the help was pregnant, because she had been so frustrated by people’s accounts of the place that she was afraid she might go off on such girls.

Now here she was, feverish and freezing alternately with a migraine, hoarse as hell, trying to get one word in edgewise through the musk and food. She tried to ask if the bulbous brown betty could make herself really useful and fetch her some cigarettes. But all that came out was a frustrated and scratchy gasp.

“Now, now, sister Martina,” Carmen doted, petting the woman’s dark, closely cropped hair. “You need to rest that voice. You’re awfully sick. You just write down what you want to say.” For Martina, her own voice was a powerful and deep dagger, able to pierce a hole in the steely resolve of board meetings and seminars. The junior executive now had to foggily make do with a Nascar ballpoint.

Carmen looked at the piece of paper and sighed. “Honey, you know we don’t allow smoking in God’s farmland, and so we don’t sell cigs.” In spite of herself, Martina grabbed a slice of toast and dug in. She was starving, and wondered if she had been entertaining more than a day of being bedridden. “It was hard for me too, girl, let me tell you somethin’. But you get used to it.”

Martina wished she could talk to let her frustration be known at those last few words, but she didn’t even try. Her throat was killing her. Plus, it was occupied with breakfast. Still, it didn’t seem to be sating or energizing her whatsoever. Every bite she took, she somehow got hungrier and more heavy-lidded.

She glanced over at her pantsuit hanging in the dusty corner of the old bedroom, looking lonely. She hadn’t remembered ever taking it off, or anyone coming into the room and hanging it neatly up on a closet door if she hadn’t, but there it was. Then she noticed the frilly white nightgown she had on underneath the heavy yellow blanket that was dutifully tucked in tight. There was already a grease stain on it. When did I start pounding all this bacon? She asked herself. There was barely any left.

She paused and looked at the tray. There was no orange juice or water and she needed something to wash all that salt and fat down. When she met eyes with the genuine-seeming Carmen, the pregnant girl spoke for her. “You want something to drink.” Martina nodded and almost coughed. “You just keep on chowin’ down, lovely, I’ll be right back with somethin’ that’ll really hit the spot.”

Martina took two bites out of two sausage links at once and watched Carmen’s swaying behind and loud purse sashay out the door. She carried on imagining that booty make its way to her sedan one more time as she dreamily considered the possibility of sleep-eating.

* * *

She awoke with a start to the sound of the B&B’s porch swing snapping shut. She tried flicking all the crumbs off her gown before Carmen came back and saw her so savagely enjoying her breakfast. There was a quarter of a soggy pancake left on the giant tray. She was so sleepy still and so thirsty. Martina knew Carmen was only gone for a minute or two but it felt like three days. She barely had the strength to prop herself up on the bunch of down pillows behind her, but she managed meekly.

Before she knew it, she had licked her fingers clean of the last syrupy bit of ho-cake and had grabbed a cold plastic bottle from Carmen without even addressing what her hands were doing. She took a healthy swig of it before realizing it was sweet iced tea. Even though it was, like, really really good, she had a fishy feeling about it. Then she remembered she couldn’t speak. Still, as terrorized as her throat had been, she refused to drink any more of the tea. Carmen looked believably hurt, and motioned to the nightstand.

There lay a cozy pitcher of what looked like lemonade. She hadn’t heard any weird stuff about lemonade coming from Carmen on the phone earlier, but she still preferred water. Her struggle and dilemma of being without a voice was making her brain throb, reminding her of her awful sickness. Her nasal passages felt stuffed burning.

The lemonade had lots of ice cubes in it and was sweating, just like her. There was an odd comfort in the way the sunlight bounced around in the jug. “At least have some of this. It’s farmer’s lemonade.” The cold stuff smashed into the glass, tinkling its way full. “It’s light lemonade.” The liquid appeared to be glowing.

Martina took the glass and drank it greedily. There was a hint of another taste in the sweet, sour, refreshing stuff. It reminded her of college for some reason. She shook an idea out of her mind. Nobody’s ever gotten pregnant from lemonade.

She let her shoulders go limp and accepted a dessert bowl of half-crushed raspberries with granulated sugar. It was the only thing she could do to soothe her angry throat besides drink the awesomely soothing lemonade and stare into space or at the soft pregnant mami already pouring her another glass. It was the only thing she could do besides wait to pass out again.

She prayed to stay awake and before she could wonder why she was praying when she hadn’t been to church in almost a decade, she was out cold with a bendy straw in her mouth.

* * *

Martina heard so much mooing and opened her eyes to darkness. Slowly, moonlight bathed the room in blue and she lazily addressed the notion that the babbling brook tickling her ears was streaming along the big lunar body. After processing a ribbit amidst the splash and flow of the stream, she realized she was alone and that it was night time, both firsts. And that she really, really needed to pee.

She tugged the confining covers off and hopped to the bathroom in the nightie that wasn’t hers, thinking it dumb that she would have more pliancy in her step, but thinking it nonetheless. It seemed a bit.. snugger than usual, but then again, she had barely registered having it on before. As she relieved herself in the pitch black silence, she marvelled at how even the raspberry scented candle was making her all dippy and famished.

Martina felt self-conscious about feeling self-conscious as she saw the hallway light barge in through the slightly cracked door. She jumped up and threw on the bathroom light. Without having the leisure of comprehending the brief vision of a beefier bustline in the mirror, she was startled to see the gas station worker from the first night, whenever that was. She felt his probing gaze on her fat, confused nipples.

“Relax, Tina, don’t freak out.” Immediately, Martina was at ease (despite being called Tina), and casually straightened the hem of her gown. It seemed so silly that she was embarassed by turning on the lights in the rustic hotel. After all, it was her decision to come here. “I bet you’re really confused by the way us simple folk get by ‘round here.” He knew her thoughts. He felt really calm and welcoming, there was just something about him. “I’m Joe by the way.”

She didn’t even budge a muscle of restraint before letting her open hand fall gently into his as he walked her elegantly back to her bedroom. “We’ll get you good and ready to head on out sometime tomorrow or something.” Though he was being rather vague and cool, she was comforted by his grasp and reassuring words. He hoisted her into the bed and, tucking her in, brushed her hair from her forehead and leaned in.

Not quite sure why, she began praying again, this time for him to kiss her, which he didn’t. He just patted her forehead and she began to marvel for a second about her hair. How long was she holed up in this hotel that it had grown so considerably? But his touch was so pleasant. Does it really matter? she asked herself, nearly dozing off in his twilight eyes, trying to concentrate on his deep voice.

“You’re a good kid, Tina.” He still didn’t move to kiss her but her eyes and her soft headache moved with him. “And I know you said you wanted to quit smoking, so I got you a little something. I left it on your nightstand.” Martina ignored his obviously wrong information and looked over in joy at.. a giant long lollipop with.. veins? That had to be a trick of the light or something.

“I know this looks a bit childish, but it’s the only kind the infirmary had left.” The thing looked pretty damn big. It had to be at least eight inches. It would take a while to.. finish. “Just try it.” She could smell its raspberry flavor from two feet away, encased in cellophane.

She unwrapped it handily and slid it in her mouth to appease this kind man, even though she felt a little stupid in the process. She surprised herself by really taking to the fruity, sticky taste even after he clicked the door softly shut. Maybe it would help her throat.

It took her several seconds of empty relishing to realize what the feelings of this place reminded her of, really. The cool country air. The need for satisfaction and attention. The downhome desire permeating the movements of everyone around her. The sleepiness and sweetness of it all.

It was almost like, all this time, she was getting horny.

* * *

When Martina awoke in the morning, she was shocked to realize her lips were working mid-suckle. Her unconscious enjoyment resulted in the gobs of used candy that must have made those stains on her nightie. She thought it really odd, but that hardly made her stop sucking. The sweet flavor hadn’t receded one bit, and she could almost swear the sucker was bigger. More veiny or whatnot, especially here in the light of another new day.

She stretched out wide and yawned a lazy morning yawn, inhibited only by a sticky film of raspberry glut slowing down her mouth. When her arms descended down, she noticed her breasts took a half-step longer than usual to jog back to rest. The thought positively mortified her.

It scared her so much that she felt her best defense was to immediately inspect the rest of herself. She used her seemingly thicker, plush arms to explore her torturedly tight tummy, now pushing out with a brush stroke of passable puppy fat, like a brat’s stuck-out tongue.

Martina realized her own tongue was drooling, in extreme and rapid withdrawal from the lollipop. Worse yet than these changes was the queer arrival of a new nightgown, if you could even call it that. It was an arsenal of a most ridiculous scoop neck, spaghetti straps, and midriff fully exposed at the front. Barely enough frilly bottom hem to cover her thighs or anything else. Still white, though, despite errant stains of raspberry dribble. (Did they really think I wouldn’t notice?) It didn’t make her new attributes any more subtle.

Even so, she thought, there was something to be said about taking a relaxing country weekend, or however long it was, for no reason. She had to think of the upside of missing the conference. She looked down at the smooth patches of flesh on her body yearning to break free and play. As much as she was dressed like some warped crossbreed of Madonna and J-Lo, she attributed the barely-there chubbiness as a result of all that food easing her out of her cigarette addiction. Or for no reason.

Funny. She never really thought of it as an addiction before coming here, but that’s exactly what it was. A paralyzing and gripping disease. She kicked two antsy feet around beneath the covers and thought about how the lolly was indeed helping her. Making just enough room in her nostrils to inspect that familiar breakfast smell creeping in through the floorboards, she hesitated before yanking the big candy from her hard-working lips.

She looked down at her heaving, sweaty golden body. If Peter and the boys could only see me now, she thought, running her fingers up and down her tan thighs, fully wowed by how soft they felt. She held the pop in her other hand and was prepared to just blindly insert it into her pussy, when she finally got the nerve to inspect that. Sure enough, Martina’s worst fears were confirmed. Shaved. Not only shaved, but with a tattoo of the cross right below her waist.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me,” she said incredulously. “Hey! I got my voice back!” This wonder was instantly compounded by a gigantic raspberry belch, a pool of candy spit falling from her mouth in the process, and the cold truth that it in fact was not her voice. It almost reminded her of her voice when she was much, much younger. But even then, it hadn’t been so precocious or sultry. She practiced her best moaning as she ashamedly skimmed wet folds with meddlesome fingers.

It was quite wet too. She thought about how long it had gone completely untouched. At this point, it was undeniable that Cherub Cove was infecting her. The mythical breeding town that was, before her holiday, the butt of many cocktail party jokes.

Now, she couldn’t kid herself any longer. They were prepping her to be a baby machine. Or a slut at least. And she wasn’t a slut. Looking in the corner of the room where she was sure her suit and briefcase had been just a night before, she saw they were nowhere to be found.

That familiar feeling of blurry resolve pounded in her head and brought its aching back for the first time since waking up. She found that the closer she held the lollipop to her snatch, the less of a headache she had. It actually made her feel more comfy all around, certainly more juiced-up. “No!” she squealed, embarassing herself. I can’t just stick a piece of candy inside there.

Before she could think of a handful of appealing positives to doing just that, she tricked her deceitful brain into doing something to stop all this madness. She snuck two fingers deeper into her prettily expectant sex, and popped the sucker back into her mouth. Martina creamed at her genius. She was going to show these hot hotties that she was nobody to mess with.

* * *

She slowly unpried her eyelids to the sound of knocking. Glacially, she unlocked the beautiful raspberry rod from her mouth and moved her fist out of her pussy, even though she didn’t want to. Idly, she wondered if Carmen would even mind to see a chick enjoying herself so unashamedly. Regardless, she unclasped herself from the burdensome blanket and hopped to the door with a more pearshaped plod than she thought possible.

“Mornin’, Tina!” Carmen gaily spurted, unmistakable pools of wetness highlighting her nipples underneath their hardly restraining sea green babydoll. “I couldn’t help but.. overhear you!” Martina blushed and couldn’t figure out if Carmen was talking about her talking to herself, or burping, or worse.. her moans of high, indiscreet appetite. She tried to apologize, but was soon shushed by the pregnant chola. “Rest that sexy li’l voice, Tina-baby. You’re not well yet.”

“I’m not Tina, and I don’t need to be bossed around like some.. like some schoolgirl!” she defiantly struggled, though it came out like a randy come-on. Her head spun and she reached out for her fruity sceptre of good feelings. Waving it at her own face, she continued pleading her case, if sweetly. “My name is Martina Reyes, and I can afford a team of lawyers that will crush this.. fun town!”

“Is that why your dad is on the phone, wondering why you haven’t been home in a week?” Has it really been that long? Martina whimpered to herself. She took Carmen’s glittery pink phone from her and hesitated.

“Hello?” she asked, cute and girlishly.

“Tina?” She furrowed her brow and accepted the voice as belonging to Peter, her colleague. Wherever she worked. Her job or something. Big important guy. She hadn’t realized what sexy phone he gave and it floored her. “Tina, I’m awfully mad at you. Don’t you remember where you were supposed to go on the 22nd?”

Her mind sweltered and felt claustrophobic. The 22nd.. The 22nd.. She hadn’t even thought about a calendar in forever. 22. Two-two. The thought of herself slipping into a short tutu made her do a mock ballerina spin. She started sucking the lollipop again, smacking loudly into the phone. “Um.. I know this.. I think,” she lamely blathered.

“Tina, it was my birthday. We had tickets to a revue and then we were going to get a room. Since you’re my favorite stepdaughter,” Martina beamed and listened more intently, dipping the candy further up and down her throat now, faster, “but now I don’t even know if I can call you a Richards.”

“But I’m not a Richards, Peter!” she glugged, with a mouthful of raspberry sugar stuff. She could hear a click and then he was gone. “That was a weird phone call,” she told Carmen. She was so sure she had missed a conference, not some naughty incestuous night on the town.

Carmen simply edged the the candy-addled girl aside and threw a neon purple zebra print pocketbook onto the bed. “Don’t worry, little Tina,” she placated like she was addressing a mental patient, “we let your daddy know you had heard of our nicotine detox program and believe me, he’s more relieved now that he knows where you are.”

Martina opened the simultaneously foreign and familiar purse and extracted her wallet. Sure enough, it was her ID. It had to be, it looked just like her. Except she didn’t remember slathering all that makeup on or primping her hair. It did look super hot, though. Still more details seemed off.

“5′2″?!” A flash of her playing center in college, a serious prospect for the WNBA. “I.. look, I’m not sixteen!” Although she had always been told she looked young for 32. She had to admit she looked pretty.. developed for 16 now. “Tina Richards?? Look, this is a funny joke and all, but I’m really starting to get—” She flipped through the contents of her purse. Some lube, some lipstick, a lighter and cigarettes. She impulsively flicked one alight. It took her a second to realize she would have to take the lollipop out for her to smoke it.

Taking her first drag just killed her. It aggravated her throat for the first time in a while, and made her head feel like it was getting power-drilled. She carelessly threw the freshly lit butt onto the planks of the wood floor, cursing her stupidity.

“Tsk, tsk,” Carmen scolded, and, picking up the burning cigarette, proceeded to put it out on the big long stick. “You know the rules. You know why you’re here. We can beat this thing.” Martina whimpered as Carmen tossed the candy into the waste basket, and was relieved anew when she unwrapped a new toy. This lollipop was flesh colored and opaque. “Peach!” Carmen regaled, and gleefully handed the thing over to Martina, who wasted no time in slobbering all over it. Even if she was still riddled with insurmountable questions.

“Listen, girl, I’m-a get you some of that lemonade you love, you just keep right on suckin’,” she giggled, and was surprised to feel Martina’s hand clutch her wrist.

“Pfwuh—N—no lemonade!” she begged, still holding out some stalwart hope that she could beat this town, even though every moment got more and more confusing. Her last refuge was a bit of reverse psychology. “Gimme some of that swee’ tay!” She made a kissy face, as if this would somehow satisfy Carmen.

“Okay, Tina,” Carmen said. “You asked for it.”

Martina went on skimming and wolfing down the peach sucker. After a minute or two, it finally dawned on her what the thing reminded her of. Bless my heart, but this candy looks just like a damn dick! This made her love it even more somehow, and she continued on unsated, quite proud of this knowledge.

* * *

Eventually, Carmen came back with a cold bottle of iced tea. It was probably four minutes, but Martina felt like she was sucking at the pop for at least forty. She was pissed when Carmen took it away again.

“Honey, you’re just not sucking these things right,” she nagged. “Here,” she said, and put a more relaxed seal around the huge candy with her puffy lips. She worked the length of it and teased it with her tongue. It looked really hot. “And then,” she said, muffled, “then when it gets like—mmrmph—this,” Carmen tried to be professional even though the thing was bucking in her mouth like it was alive, “you go real slow and you get to experience the creamy center.”

“I want to get to the creamy center!” Martina yelped, embarassing herself. She greedily yanked the popsicle from Carmen and began fellating the thing like the penis she thought it looked like. It was only when she took it out for a second to down the iced tea in one gulp , and Carmen had started to eat her already stubbly crotch that she realized what drinks here tasted like.

It wasn’t something to do with college, since she definitely never went to one. Too young! No, it was her stepfather, Peter. She wondered when she would feel comfortable enough calling him daddy when she had gotten to know his taste so fondly.

Scarcely realizing she had started pleasuring the thick piece of candy again, it had erupted into her mouth with salty peachy goo. She didn’t want to look like a stupid little gross girl, and fought to hold her lips around the lolly. She farted softly, praying beyond all hope that Carmen couldn’t hear.

There goes that praying again, Martina sighed. I should know never to take the name in vain. The whole room smelled like raspberries as she fell on her back onto the bed, and let the pregnant hoochie snack on her pussy some more. She glanced over at the windowsill. There were a bunch of what looked like Ken dolls in business suits.

“Carmen, what are those dollies?” she asked, ignorant of the even higher pitch her voice adopted, docile in her desire. Carmen just kept on licking and petting the girl’s tummy, close to kneading her chub. Martina playfully hit Carmen on the side of the head. “Carmen! What are those dolls?”

Carmen wiped off her sopping, glistening mouth. “Those are your board members. I actually think it’s kinda cute. You said the one thing you really had to bring with you into detox were your dolls, in case you wanted to play pretend.” She slushily made her way up Martina and straddled her, easing the girl’s face down onto her massive tit.

“Oh yeah,” Martina remembered, amused. “I’m so dumb,” she said, and relished the milky treat. It was all she could see and all she could taste.

* * *

Tina could feel daylight smother her and the pungent aroma of ho-cakes and sausage invade her. She could almost taste the sausage, and musing on how long it was since her last meal, opened her eyes to be a risky inch away from a big, thick—

“Candy?” she asked sratchily. She looked up and there was that gas station attendant again, completely nude and hard as hell. She had practiced long enough and knew what to do with candy. First she teased the shaft with her sticky tongue, and then set a loose seal around the tip, sucking and bobbing teasingly.

“Tina, I have good news. I think I know of a way to get you out of this place. Uh-ummmmm, that feels.. wonderful..” He petted her lush, curly hair.

She popped him out of her mouth. “Can you tell me while I suck my lollycock?” she inquired, then went back down to blowing without hesitation. She had finally kicked cigarettes like her daddy wanted her to. Now she had something even better to do with her hands and her mouth.

“Well,” Joe said, gasping for dear life, “there’s a field trip leaving in about an hour. A bunch of the Forward Mothers girls are going to visit Philly to try and do some missionary work.” Tina hardly heard him, but whatever he was saying sounded boring and had a lot of big words. “Your dad is coming to pick you up tonight otherwise, and you’d have to go back home.”

“Do I haaave to?” Tina whined. She shuddered at the thought of struggling to abide by her stepfather and brought Joe’s dick out once more, easing it between her boobs. For a hair of a second, she found it amazing how big and commanding they had gotten as she slipped his cock in between them.

“Tina, are you listening to me?” She nodded yes but her dumb face howled no. “You get on that bus and you can be one of us.” It sounded good to her.

“Just.. ride that bus?” she asked playfully, working her beautiful bursting titties smoothly around his dick. He came buckets afrom her chin down to her pelvis just as Carmen busted through.

“J.J.!” She shrieked, cursing her own arousal in assessment of the situation. “H—how could you?”

Tina licked her lips. “J.J.?” She looked at the guy. “You said your name was Joe!”

“It is Joe,” Carmen curtly replied, agitated. “I just call him J.J. Look, it doesn’t matter. It’s not the first time this marriage has been untrue.” Tina looked at the couple. Joe lookd hurt, and Carmen looked pissed. She had been a bad girl.

Still, she had to ask. “What’s your middle name, Joe?” She absentmindedly rubbed his cum into her neck and shoulders like it was sunblock. She was awfully sleepy.

Carmen answered for him again. “I don’t even think he has a middle name—w-whatever—look, I call him J.J. lately because that load he wasted and blew on your chest was going to give me a JJ cup!”

It took a second for the girl to compute. “You mean.. his cum coulda given me bigger boobies?”

Carmen just bit her lip and stared defiantly. “Joey, you better drink a fuckin’ tanker of Prep Juice. Fetch me my ass-slappin’ glove while you’re at it,” she added, gently nudging Tina to bend her over the bed, the girl still greasy and polluted with her husband’s sperm.

* * *

Tina yawned at the bus stop, trying not to let her free roaming other hand go anywhere near her crotch or Joe’s. She wanted to be a proper little schoolgirl. To keep from fidgeting, she got up to pace around the bench, still quite sore from her spanking. She couldn’t quite decide if it was that or her ever-widening thighs that made simple walking a bit more of a swaying and slow challenge. Could have been the heels too.

Either way, something was bothering her. After straightening out her tight tartan, she thumbed the culprit and immediately rectified the problem, flinging her yellow polka-dotted thong onto Joe’s face. He just sat there sullen for a bit as the sticky garment clung to his nose. After a couple of seconds of Tina’s tittering, he pulled it off and squeezed an absurd amount of pussy juice from it into a Big Gulp of Prep Nectar.

The combined smell of what was in the cup made his already prominent erection bristle and explode with power. No amount of prayer could possibly hide it, and Tina’s sexual antennae were already locked in on it with precision. She sashayed around the bench a little bit faster, pausing to moon Joe, even dipping down to his crotch with her own dripping one. He didn’t stop her.

“Tina, Tina, Tina,” he chanted, “We don’t want to miss the second bus. We already missed the one you were supposed to get that... sweet, sweet ass on,” he allowed, as she ground further onto him, dry humping him like he was a manly magnet. Just his luck, a bus pulled up. It had a sign that read “Forward Fathers GO!” on it and was filled with a bunch of jockish looking teenagers that nevertheless looked much older and stronger than him. It looked like the body of the bus was literally dripping with testosterone sauce.

They all looked at the scene at the bus stop eagerly, practically pawing at the windows, some actually beating them or tearing them down open. Tina remained hopping up and down merrily on her nurse’s man. She could feel all their gazes without even turning around. The only thing they could see was a big brown butt with a shock of plaid, and a pair of mary jane pumps skimming the mud. The boys loved giving the holy gift of freedom to girls like her.

* * *

To be continued in “Field Trip!”