Chapter 0 - Sizequeen: Blue Ballin' Bro

      Jon Herron strolled out his high school a free man. Football season was over. No more back-breaking drills in the sun. No more twelve-hour days stretching from dawn to dusk. And no more having to listen to teammates jeer him on about their latest encounter with a Herron relative of his. No more. Though, his record as Quarterback that season left something to be desired. It could have been better if it weren’t for his sleep schedule getting thrown out of sync every other day. Like clockwork, he could count on a certain roommate of his to wake him up, anywhere between 1-5 AM, to the sounds of her furiously engaged in a fuck session with whatever douchebag (or bags) she brought home. It was inevitable that he’d be woken to the sound of her hitting some ungodly, shrill frequency with her whorish moaning that’d suite any bordello in the Vegas backwater just fine. And while his mother, Jane, kept to a more “9-5” type of schedule (doing what, Jon could only speculate…), she’d occasionally join in on the heated exchanges with her own smooth crooning. Her cries of ecstasy were at least a little easier on the ears-

      FUCK! Why am I even thinking about that? Jon wondered to himself as he made his way to the parking lot on the school’s front property. At 2 PM the school day had ended, and a throng of students streamed passed him by as they headed towards whatever bus, car, or minivan was waiting to take them home. 

      They’re FAMILY. Blood relatives! Why is my brain even GOING there?

        It was a fair question. But one look at his mother and sister served as a firm reminder as to just how magnetic they were for hetero men of all stripes.

      For Jon’s part, he’d checked all the boxes of a budding Adonis. At the age of eighteen, his six-foot, three-inch frame was a marvel of musculature. His was a body chiseled and honed after years of football practice and laser like precision when it came to counting reps and weights. The use of his own, personal home gym he’d set up in the basement didn’t hurt either (there was a ‘family’ gym installed in the upstairs, but he’d no intention of using a space that lit up like a Pollock under the blacklight). A prominent jawline implied he’d left puberty in the dust for some time, and his steely eyes gave more than few girls butterflies over the years. Evidently, when it came to the genetic lottery, Herrons came up aces.

      Jon shook his head in disgust at the thought of his mother and sister’s coital cries and put it out of his mind. What was important was that he’d finally earned a weekend to relish the thrill of not doing anything. Except maybe sleeping in or socializing with guys that weren’t toxic assholes for a change. No school. No sports. And, if he timed things just right, no family members crashing the vibes with their unabashed sluttery known the town over (he suspected they had a reputation far beyond his own California suburb but he sure wasn’t about to look into it.)
      
He made his way to a patio sitting under the shade of a few oak trees that looked over the student parking lot, connected via a wide stone stairway. From there he could see a crowd of sedans, now thinning after school had just let out. Those remaining were all parked in an organized fashion on the asphalt. With one obnoxious exception. A Neon Pink Porsche 930 Carrera sat crookedly in the handicap spot and spilled into the lined walkway for those wheelchair bound. Not the first time. Jon knew that any parking ticket found under the wiper typically just got tossed a second later by the driver.

      And there she was. Leaning against her car with a cigarette in hand and ass cheeks pressed against the door.

      Jen Herron. Temptation incarnate. A holy trinity of genetics, squats, and Cali’s finest plastic surgeons all overlapping in her: a cartoonish caricature ripped from some pornstar pantheon of mythic bimbos. From deltoids to calves, her body was a tightly wound package of muscles all stacked and intertwined with another into one streamlined figure. While she burned plenty of calories after the witching hour (and before), sluts like her knew the importance to keeping a regular gym routine. Her bleached blonde hair descended in a wave down past her shoulders and complimented the tone of her caramel tan. Chin, nose, and cheeks were modified to accentuate a barbie-like appearance. Her lip injections inflated her mouth to oversell a pair of DSLs that covered gleaming white veneers underneath. At the small of her back was a tramp stamp that had branded her with a title she might as well of filed a copyright over. The word SIZEQUEEN was written in a swooping arc of cursive with a symmetrical tribal design undergirding it. Wherever she went, her tattoo went with her, constantly exposed to the eyes of god, man, and frigid Karens.

      And then of course there was the web renown TNA factor she had going for her. Her breasts defied the laws of physics with their 2000CCs of silicone. It was a surgical miracle how they’d bob and buoy at just the slightest motion while always returning to their globular shape. Any fabric holding them in place was suspended in air like a tight wire between her nips and upper torso. Lastly was an ass that bulged out her rear as aggressively as her tits did on her front. It had graced the foreground of several rap videos, twerked on the tables of more than a dozen clubs, and been clapped in hours of found footage filmed in the likes of hotels, VIP rooms, gas station bathrooms, frat houses, yacht decks, police station holding cells, locker rooms, corner offices, basements, country clubs, drug dens, back alleys military barracks, warehouses, and even the utility closet of a McDonalds. Genetics and squats (mostly in the bedroom) helped keep it looking toned and firm. Recently, she went the route of a Brazilian Butt lift and was more than satisfied. As were her legion of online simps and real-world alphas. If there were ever a silver lining to dining on a diet of McDonald's and munchies, it was an excess of fat to get lipoed out and grafted onto the rear. If things didn’t change soon food-wise (yeah right) she'd end up with a few more BBLs and a little cottage cheese texturing by the age of thirty. Until then, a wicked metabolism and a goldilocks zone level of genetics did the trick.

      Surrounding her, was a troop of nine legal aged boys from Jon’s class (though he didn’t know for certain). They were an ugly mix of scumbags, budding fuckbois, and up and coming frat-bros with charming names like Bradyn, Tucker, Trey, Hunter, Chet, Tanner, Kyle, Bryce, and of course, Chad. There was little disagreement in their appearance. All were tall, jacked, square-jawed, and cut their hair to either a buzz cut, or kept it just long enough to throw product in. While there were a couple token colored guys in the mix, most reflected the demographics of a typical US private school: WASP. 

      Skin color never really had anything to do with her taste… Jon thought.

      None of the boys had much regard for the school uniform as evident by their sleeves rolled up and ties eschew. Of course, their styling choices paled in notoriety to the group’s center of attention.

      Jen’s idea of an outfit rarely covered her cleavage, legs and midriff. That afternoon served as a firm reminder. She was wearing a pair of denim micro-shorts that barely towed the line between clothing and swimwear. Their fabric rode high and exposed two thirds of her ass as her cheeks spilled out the “legs” with wild abandon. Seen peaking over the beltline was a T-Back thong riding high and framed her flaring hips with a spaghetti thin, M-shaped arc. Corralling her massive breasts into a canyon of cleavage was leopard print tube-top whose structural integrity was in serious question. Tit-flesh oozed over the fabric and curved back upward in quarter-crescents, terminating below the clavicles. And of course, there was the trademark combo of her flat brim cap and Chuck Taylor high heel sneakers. The front panel of her hat, ever a billboard for Jen’s branding, read “SLOOT” in bold, pink lettering. For cosmetics, she’d kept faithful to her constant porn star aesthetic. Eyelash extensions accentuated her natural ones by a half inch and there was enough make-up to make even a streetwalker blush. Her face was a gaudy display of violet eyeshadow, black eyeliner, and bright, glossy, neon pink lipstick that glazed over her pillowy lips. A rosy contour was layered over thick foundation that was just a shade brighter than her tan. Jon knew it’d be a cold day in hell before that bitch ever left the house without some kind of crap on her face (Sephora might be glad for her business is she weren't such a cunt to girls at the register) Cherries on top of the trashy getup were a pair of diamond studded earrings, a similar nose piercing, barbells in the nipples, and a set of long, manicured nails that reflected a sheen of Barbie-brand pink.

      All the boys had cigarettes in hand as they looked to be gossiping with and teasing Jen, looking her up and down as if it were the prelude to a Ted-talk themed porn parody. Ever a slut for men’s attention and then some, Jen reveled in it as evident by her devilish grin, languid posturing, and her legs spread shoulder to shoulder as if to tell them FUCK ME RIGHT UP AGAINST THIS CAR. Coalescing with the cloud of 2nd degree smoke was her own her own tendril, trailing from a menthol resting betwixt her fingers. It gave her the aura of a film noir femme fatale looking to hire an office full of private dicks for a bit of wet work.

      “What the fuck is she doing here?” A voice seemed to pipe up near Jon, as if to read his mind. He looked over to his right to see a trio of girls from his class sitting on a picnic table and looking down in disgust at the shameless display unfolding. The question had come from Stacy Reed. A trim, lithe girl with a pale complexion and black hair. She sat with one slender leg crossed over the other. “God. What a fucking slut. I feel like a need a penicillin shot just standing here.”

      “Didn’t she drop out years ago? Why the fuck is she prowling for high schoolers? She’s twenty one.” Jada Prince this time. A black girl who didn’t have much a lot of patience for girls like Jen. In her mind you at least played a little Cat and Mouse beforehand putting out. “That’s some How-To-Catch-a-Predator shit.”

      “They ought to make a plaque for her in the boys locker room. For all that team spirit she had back in the day.” Stacy replied.

      Dressed in their school uniforms, the girls looked as if they were fit for a nunnery in comparison to his sister. Of course, back when she was a student, Jen didn’t find it hard to break dress code time and again. She constantly modified her ensemble into a porn-inspired parody more appropriate for bachelor parties than school.

      “I swear to god, she and her mom are the reason the town’s got such a high divorce rate.” Madison Adams. The belle of the trio. Cascading down to her shoulders was a wave of auburn hair with side-swept bangs that framed an angelic face. One Jon could easily get lost in. Her voice was that of a songbird’s in spring and her eyes were like starlight. Most importantly; she was mature for her age and radiated a sensible, calming energy that he sorely needed in his life. That is, if the two of them ever…

      “Jon! Sorry about all that. We didn’t know you were standing there.”

      “Yeah, Madison’s got you clocked a mile away most of the time.” Stacy snickered to herself.

      Jon blushed. It was the first time he’d heard of any kind of attraction for him on her part. He looked up to see her looking just as pink in the cheeks as him, batting her eyelashes while struggling to avoid eye contact.

      “No, it’s fine.” Jon assured them. “Take it from someone who lives with Jen, it’s all pretty fair.”

      Jada looked back and forth between Jon and Madison, picking up on the electricity between them with a sly smirk. “Right. Well. We better get going ladies.”

      As the girls were about to get leave, Madison spoke up.

      “Uh, you two go on without me. I’ll see you two tomorrow.”

      “Ok…” Jada pointed at Madison. “Try not to get pregnant while we’re gone.”

      Madison rolled her eyes while the other two laughed. As they descended from the patio and walked to their cars, Jon caught Jada giving Jen the stink eye. Not that his sister noticed, what with her practically about to get a bukkake going right then and there.

      “So you must be pretty stoked you don’t have to listen to Coach Graves scream at you guys from the sidelines anymore.”

      “Yeah. He made a better drill sergeant than a coach honestly.” Jon chuckled.

      “I noticed” Madison nodded and looked down at her shoes. A smile curled at the corner of her lips before she looked back up at him, battering her eyelashes. “So, maybe now that your schedule’s freed up, you and I could spend a little time together? You doing anything right now?”

      “Wha- No! I’m not!”

      “Great! I was heading to the mall to pick up some things and do a little shopping. I figured maybe you’d want to join?”

      His heart and mind seized up in a wellspring of excitement. In that moment all the world melted away and only Madison was left. A carousel of precious moments between the two flashed before his eyes. Prom. Dates. Marriage. Buying a house together. Kids. It could all be possible with a girl like her. An island of peace and serenity in a sea of chaos. Here was a women who’d knew what she wanted and had all the ambition to get there. And god, was she built. Even as conservatively dressed as she was in uniform, Jon could tell she was a girl who knew how to take care of herself. Who had the same dedication to fitness that he did. While she might not of had the cartoonish profile of his mom and sister, her toned thighs and prominent bust didn’t go unnoticed. If she could like him despite his succubae family members, then the only thing that really COULD scare her off was his giant, bulging- 

      SHIT. Not now. Please not now. 

      While is heart and mind might had been swept up in a moment fantasy, another “organ” wasn’t about to get left out. And so Jon’s body did what teenage boys do best. Go full-mast at the worst possible moment. 

      She can’t see me like that. She’ll think I’m a freak. A monster!

      Down below, in the loins of his body, a serpent stirred from its slumber. Jon Herron’s hardware, ten inches flaccid and a womb-pulverizing, eighteen inches erect, slowly came to life. Madison’s pass at him and her sultry posturing did more than enough to stoke a fire within. Whether he wanted it to or not. And of course, Jon being the lax, casual athlete that he was, saw nothing wrong than ending the week in a loose fitting, elastic pair of sweatpants. The likes of which were growing tighter by the second.

      He had to get out of there. Fast.

      Jon turned on his heels and began fast-walking back towards the school.

      “SoundsgreatMadisonbutIjustrememberedIleftsomethinginmylockerI’llcallyoualright?” Jon called out as he turned his back on the girl of his dreams.

      In his wake Madison was left standing there, frozen. Her glossed lips gently slackened to a look of disappointment and the light in her eyes was snuffed out by Jon’s apparent disregard for her.

      “Oh. Alright. But…” Was all she could muster as the words slipped out in a mumble. “I never gave you my number.”

      Jon made it back to the school and flung open the doors. He awkwardly braced his throbbing shaft against his thigh with a spare hand, looking as if he’d pulled a muscle. Had he not, it would have sprung up like a diving board. All it would take was one person who happened to be in the building to see. And it would be all over. The news would spread like wildfire and everyone in school would know Jon’s secret. Sure, it’d be a nice trophy to hold over all the guys in school. But if his size-queen, cum guzzling, plastic enhanced mother and sister ever found out…

      No. That can’t happen. It just can’t. I have to get rid of this thing. Now.

      There was only one solution. He had to jerk off. Thankfully, Jon knew just the right place to do so.

      A small extension branched off from the school that hadn’t been put to academic use for years. While it used to house the music department back before Jon attended, those classes had since been relocated to a building constructed with more agreeable acoustics in mind. But thanks to a bit of red tape and bureaucracy, the original branch was left collecting dust. Only the bathroom served any kind of practical purpose. Most of the time it was just to give stoners a place to sneak in a few hits before class. Jon had yet to give it a look himself. But he wasn’t about to get picky. If it was good enough for potheads, it was good enough for erectile mal-functions.

      Jon’s head pivoted left to right as he made his way through the halls, keeping his eyes peeled for any staff or students, as unlikely as it was at that hour. Unbeknownst to him, a portly mustachioed janitor happened to be tending to the cafeteria floors with a mop. Looking up, he saw poor Jon rushing by with what looked like a constipated gate. The janitor shrugged.

      “When ya gotta go, ya gott ago.”

      At last, Jon saw it. The gateway to relief. An unassuming door sat at the end of the hall with a men’s logo stenciled on. He whipped open the door and wasted little time choosing a stall. Inside his chosen cubicle he hooked his backpack onto the door’s hook, dropped trou, and unsheathed his longsword, ready for battle. Jon leaned back and took a deep breathe, relieved of having avoided certain embarrassment in front of Madison. He gripped his dick with both hands and slowly began to stoke the fires of his libido. With one hand stabilizing the mast, the other pumped. The head of his dick served as the vanguard for all sensation to collect and his hand began moving up and down. Jon paid little attention to the bathroom; what with its austere layout, gritty tiling, and tasteless graffiti scrawled all over the stall.

      His mind was more preoccupied with the task at hand. Or, hands. A realm of fantasy opened before his mind’s eye. He saw Madison and her friends. The way she looked at him. The way she brushed the bangs out of her eyes while batting her lashes. The way her uniform strained against her breasts. Her legs, thick and corded with muscle. She was a picture of perfection. Well, in a sort of “take home to your mother” kind of perfection. There were also girls you didn’t want to take home. Like the type of girls he spilled plenty of cum to during his fap sessions. Vapid, high-heeled, cum-swallowing, silicone-injected pornstar types. Trashy, plastic enhanced, party girl types. Sword swallowers and contortionists that turned lovemaking into a warzone. Skanks whose fuck-sessions threatened to shake the very foundations of the house. Blown-up barbies that weren’t afraid to take on two, four, or ten guys at once. Size queen sluts that wanted every swinging dick in a ten-mile radius to use, abuse, and throw them around like a worn out barbie doll.

      Sluts like his Mom and Sister.

      GOD DAMNIT.

      Jon stopped pumping and shook his head, disqusted. 

      Why can’t I keep them out of my head? I’m sick of this! For every perverted thought I have, the image of those two always manages to creep in. Like with their fucking moaning that I always hear through the airduct. Even now l can hear Jen, cackling like the skank that she is!

      Jon immediately sat up straight, realizing the danger he was in. The cackling wasn’t imagined.

      “Oh my god! You guys talk SO much shit! You pussies better not disappoint!” Came the muffled laugh from his sister down the hall. Getting closer.

      As his attention snapped back to the present, his vision shifted to the graffiti. Before it was a scrambled mess of chicken scratch filling the periphery. Only then did he see the truth. The wall had been made into a physical comment and review section of his sister’s past antics.

      Herron Bitch fucked fine today 10/10

      God damn she dun knocked the wind out of me wit that mouth LOL

      LAX Team Checking In. Slut knows how to multi-task

      Basketball team REPRESENT!

      She even GO to class? Feel like she’s here all day getting ran through

      And the tally marks. Good god, the tally marks. There shouldn’t have been that many. Not for a bitch sister that barely attended school. Not for a girl that was so picky about dick size. And yet there they were. Dozens of tallies stacked five at a time on the walls. Notches in the belt of Jen Herron’s tomb-sized ledger of fucks and blowies.

      It explained how his mother, Jane, didn’t end up having CPS knocking on the door for truancy. He’d barely seen his sister during the brief window they both attended school. Jen technically met the bare minimum of absences by having her name checked off for attendance every morning. But CLEARLY, she spent more than half the day getting dicked down in the bathroom! Unseen by Jon were the four other stalls who’d been scrawled over with that same kind of Jen-related filth that his had. 

      This wasn’t just a bathroom for kids to smoke in. It was the former fuck-pad for his size-queen sister to get her holes plugged up!

      He immediately hopped up onto the toilet’s tank and put his feet onto the seat to avoid being seen by any wandering eyes. And not a moment too soon. The door whipped open and Jon heard the sounds of several feet walking into the bathroom. Above it all was the distinctive *clack clack clack* of his sister’s Chuck Taylor heels. An odor of high-caliber kush wafted in with them.

      “Christ. You sound like those bitches on Housewives talkin’ all at once.” A voice responded with a deep timbre. He recognized it as Bradyn Tucker. Running back for his team and grade A douchebag that wasn’t above dropping a few offensive expletives from time to time. R-Word this and F-Word that. Not unlike most of the guys Jen hooked up with.

      “Which one?”

      “Atlanta. Obviously.”

      Jen cackled at the thought. “Probably. I’m blacker than a lot of those bitches.”

      “Pssh. Bitch, shut the fuck up. You’re always saying the dumbest shit.”

      Jen took a drag of her joint, bursting with kush, before opening a window to air out the smoke. She then handed it off to a nearby lover before she rested her phat ass against a sink, with the top half oozing over the rim. Her manicured nails began tracing down the torsos of a couple boys, slowly making their way down to their belt lines. She soon cut the chase a began feeling them up.

      “Shit. She’s finer than any TV skank.” Kevin Boyd. Resident weed dealer. He was a little easier to talk to in Jon’s experience but spent most of his time walking from class to class in a THC-Induced haze.

      “You think so?” Jen cocked a neatly tweezed eyebrow in his direction. “Prove it, bitch.”

      Jon managed to sneak a peek through the slit of the stall door to see the guys from the parking lot closing in on Jen like a pack of hyenas. Her eyes were fixed at crotch level, darting between each boy’s package, all bulging at the seams. 

      The sound of a zip! was heard and Kevin’s dick felt out of his trousers like a murphy bed at ten inches long.

      “Mmmm… That’s what I like to see.” Jen said aloud, licking her collagen injected lips as if starved for a meal.

      A succession of more zippers opened and a roundtable of dicks ranging from ten to twelve inches long all poked at her from every angle. 

      “Fuck yeah, let’s get this started.” The bubble-butt-bitch crooned before taking off her flat brim.

      From his hiding place, Jon saw his sister sit on her haunches, feet three inches off the ground on her heels, and rolled out her studded tongue with a loll, teasing the head of Kevin’s dick. Her hands meanwhile went to work, coaxing the nearest cocks into rising from half-mast to a ramrod pillar of manhood. The boys all had shit-eating grins on them, staring down at the fuck-doll going to town with gusto. Her head soon moved past the head and was seen bobbing in and out like a well-oiled machine.

      After only four thrusts her nose was pressed up into his pelvis and her throat expanded with the full force of Kevin’s throbbing erection. And in no time flat a symphony of sloppy sounds came from her mouth, slurping on the cock and running with saliva.

      “SCCHLURRRP SCHLURP SCHLURP SCHLURP SCHLURP”

      Jen pulled back with the pressurized sound of her wet mouth popping off the head and her lips smacking with satisfaction. Being well-versed in bukkake etiquette (the only kinds she was versed in were sexual), the slut shifted tasks, downing another dick hovering right in front of her while both hands switched boys as well. 
      “GLUCK GLUCK GLUCK GLUCK.”

      “Yeah. Get that nut, you fuckin’ slut.” Bradyn said to her. In his hand was a smartphone recording every second. On the screen, Jen’s DSLs were seen wrapped around his dick while battering her faux lashes and staring up with aquamarine eyes, giving the camera a sultry expression. Her hands went in and out of the frame as she pumped her lovers away. Past those appendages, her bubble butt and undulating breasts could be seen flaring out to a ludicrous degree, practically filling out the rest of the frame. Jen pulllled back slow on Bradyn, with a loud SLURRRP and then a POP as her lips released him.

      “Mmmm, fuck yeah. You boys like seeing this bimbo slut suck you all off?” She exclaimed.

      “That’s right. Suck it you plastic bitch.”

      Throughout the wanton display of sluttery, Jon’s original problem didn’t go away. While he sat on the toilet tank, fearful of making a sound, his own stiffy had only grown stiffer. At a full eighteen inches, his ‘id’ was bursting with a desire for release in the face of his own sister getting the buffet, family style treatment from a gaggle of douchebags he went to school with. His hand began shifting up his shaft, then down. A tingling sensation coursed through him and shot into his amygdala, the brain’s pleasure center for all things kinky. Against his better judgement, against the ‘ego’ part of his conscious screaming at him STOP. DON’T. THAT’S YOUR FUCKING SISTER… Jon Herron started jerking it.

      He knew it was wrong. He knew the risks. But good god, he had to admit, his sister was just such a brazen whore. Related or not. 

      This is the first and last time. I swear to god.

      What followed was a tug of war between the two parts of his brain. The more sinister half brought him to the edge of climax. Then the angel on his should pulled him back to reality. His member throbbed and beat with blood coursing through as if it were an extension of his heart. Throughout the orgiastic display unfolding beyond that stall door, Jon couldn’t help but torture himself with the constant near-collision of achieving satisfaction. Each time he’d approach the mountain top, he’d manage roll back down after inwardly talking sense to himself.

      Jen Herron, blissfully unaware, made Jon’s life a living hell all the while. After leaving each dick with a sloppy film of spit and a mile marker of pink lipstick from the opening salvo of bukkake play, the slut’s mascara began to bleed, leaving phantom rivulets trailing down her surgically enhanced cheeks. 

      Her lipstick was a greasy layer of smudges. And yet, she’d barely broken a sweat. 

      What followed was a sequence of lewd positions wherein she’d acted as if the whore of Babylon had been born again and spoke through her. She’d been lifted off the ground with two twelve-inch monoliths boring right into her bottom holes. She was bent over and spit-roasted like a pig, hands pumping away at the nearest couple of chads. The slut was put into a headlock while getting lifted off the ground and anally pummeled. And, when one fella was feeling brave enough to situate himself on the grungy bathroom floor, they’d fit her into an airtight position as she laid her back on the first man, his own dick plumbing her shit hole. Another took her cunt to town on top. Her mouth was stuffed with a third member and her whorish moaning stifled. Jen, being the good sport that she was when it came to group play, did what she could to keep her hands full of cock whenever possible. 

      For the next hour she was twisted into every conceivable combination like some cheap, greasy pretzel at the country fair. 

      Her pussy, waxed and pierced, stretched wide to accommodate all eight dicks. One after another. They pumped in and out of her, dripping and oozing with cum. Her asshole was just as much put through the ringer. Its muscle was distended and dilated up to three inches in diameter as it stretched to fit the girth of each boy. Trails of cum oozed out for every man that opted to go bareback (all of them, which Jon was more than a little unsettled by). Despite their sizes, Jen wasn’t one to complain. She was, as her tramp-stamp indicated, a size queen slut. Instead of shying away from the kind of leviathans that gave run-of-the-mill whores pause, she ALWAYS leaned in and took every inch, every time. The boys couldn’t believe her lack of hesitation for taking them to the base after only a couple thrusts and pumps. They sensed she was more than game for a little rough play. Throughout the gangbang she was choked, spanked, and had her hair pulled into a makeshift handle for leverage. To be treated like an object in the hungry eyes of her lovers only made the skank wetter. The only line she drew was slapping of the face (she had to suck a LOT of dick at the country club to pay for those surgeries). And all the while the SCHLOP SCHLOP SCHLOP of bodily fluids lubricating and oozing out of her holes filled the bathroom with a sloppy tempo.

      Jen, never one for being the quiet type, didn’t hold back her primal instinct to cry out at the top of her lungs in a base expression of lust.

      “FUCK YEAH. GIVE ME THAT BABY BATTER YOU FUCKING STUDS.”

      “OH MY GOD. YOU’RE FUCKING TEARING MY ASS UP. YESYESYES.”

      “FUCK FUCK FUCK. YES. CUM IN ME. BAREBACK MY PUSSY.”

      Can’t imagine ever taking her into a library or movie theater. Jon thought to himself. As if she'd ever set foot in a library.

      At last, after an hour-long marathon of Olympian-level gangbanging, Jen drained the last nut of her entourage. After which the boys were left thoroughly satisfied and had begun redressing themselves.

      Jen was sitting back on her haunches, flat brim re-affixed, with her ass flaring wide and out over her heels. Her tits, silicone-injected orbs of a massive magnitude, shone with a sheen of fluids still air drying. Her face was a mess of mascara, lipstick, and foundation, all melting down from a messy coagulation of tears and snot. Trails of cum dripped down her face after getting numerous facials blasted on her. All courtesy of the constant supply of dick pumped in and out of her mouth just a minute earlier. On one cheek was an eyelash extension, long since having detached and adhered to her face in the chaos. The other was nowhere to be found. With one hand she took a dollop of cum oozing out of her cunt, lifting into the air, and letting it trail onto her studded tongue, lolling out of her DSLs.

      “God damn, bitch.” Bradyn shook his head in amazement. “If I didn’t have places to be I’d say we do another hour.”

      “Mmmm.” Jen took her time swallowing the dollop now slowly making its way down her esophagus to pool and collect with what could have been a whole liter of jism. “If you did, I’d say you grab me a fuckin’ happy meal cause’ I am one hungry bitch. For actual fucking food.”

      Kevin chuckled to himself. “After that we could smoke up again.”

      How about you all just fucking LEAVE already?

      Jon couldn’t take it anymore. His piss pipe was topped up with jism, threatening to shoot out at the slightest provocation. A bead of white had already leaked out the head and gently rolled down the shaft as if his dick was weeping for sweet release. Despite his discipline, being so close to climax his body had to respond somehow. And with that, Jon’s lungs betrayed him by pushing out a soft, gentle moan. 

      “Uhhn.”

      “What the fuck? Somebody in here?!” Jen exclaimed out loud. 

      “No fuckin’ way.” Bradyn said.

      Bradyn looked towards the stalls and began walking, one foot in front of the other. To his horror, Jon realized that in his rush to climax and bring his dick to heel, he didn’t bolt the door…

      Just as the tips of Bradyn’s fingers made contact with the handle, the bathroom entry flew open with a BANG.

      Standing there was Principle Philmore, the afterschool Janitor, and a school resource officer. Mr. Philmore, a towering figure at six feet, five inches looked horrified at the last hour’s aftermath. He then looked to Jen, dripping like a melting candle with her face glazed in layers of cum. A look of revulsion took control.

      “Miss Herron! What in the hell are YOU doing here?”

      “Suckin’ dick! What’s it look like you fuckin’ dinosaur?”

      Philmore’s face turned a shade of crimson as he shot daggers into the former school-slut. 

      “You haven’t been a student for years now. You know you’re technically trespassing right now?” 

      Principle Philmore ignored her exaggerated eyeroll before he turned to the eight men standing around. 

      “And you boys! You have any idea the shit you’re in? What a giant shitstorm this could be if the public found out?”

      They looked at each other a shrugged. Bradyn offered a little insight.

      “If my dad’s gotta buy off a couple asshole journalists, fine. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

      The principle replied with a sharp stab of his thumb towards the door.

      “OUT. ALL OF YOU. We’ll discuss this tomorrow. And YOU Miss Herron. If you’re seen on the premises again, you WILL be prosecuted next time. I MEAN it!”

      Jen could hardly stifle a cackle at the threat of being put in “time out”. In her experience, the handcuffs never stayed on long after a little one-on-one time with whatever officer (or officers) did the arresting.

      As the crew of eight filtered out the bathroom one by one, Jen Herron sauntered by the staff, her tits swaying and hips swiveling in a gyroscopic fashion. She gave the school resource officer a wiggle of her fingers while pulling the corner of her mouth into a wide grin.

      “Hey, Derrick. Been a while.” She teased with a wink.

      “Ms. Herron.” The officer mumbled, unable to restrain himself from blushing.

      Philmore glared at the officer. “God damnit, David.”

      They both walked out after her. The janitor meanwhile had to shake himself out of a surprise case of hypnotism after getting a look at Jen’s… everything. Before shutting the bathroom door, he couldn’t help but look back into the room. Something felt off. Forgotten. 

      “Ah.” The portly man walked over and sealed the window shut, previously opened for a cloud of THC to air out. He looked around the bathroom, shrugged with indifference, and walked out. With a THUMP, the door closed. 

      A beat passed

      Then a long cry of ecstasy sprung up from the middle stall and a torrent of white fluid shot above its walls before falling back down to Earth in One. Two. Three sprouts.

      “Gaahhhhhhuuuuunnnnnnnnggggghhhhhhfuuuuuuuuck.”

      Slowly, the door opened. And Jon Herron saw, staring back in the bathroom mirror, a young, well-endowed, muscular teen covered in layers of his own DNA. He breathed in and let out a sigh.

      “Not my proudest fap.”
