That it girl behaviour can be addicting!
“Join us to celebrate our ten-year high school reunion! Woooo!”
On my phone screen, the Stepford High School class of 2013 cheerleading squad bounce and cheere. They all wear their old uniforms; ten years later, most still fit well. I feel a ping of resentment and a massive twitch in my cock as I watch the school’s mean girls hop and twirl, purposefully shaking their shoulders to make their boobs bounce and bending in suggestive ways, twerking their asses covered only by those tight undergarments with their legs spread.
My hand moves of its own accord to crawl under my sweatpants to wrap around my stiff rod. When I woke up this morning, I did not imagine I would spend my Sunday morning doing the exact same thing I did all through high school: jerking off to images of the slutty cheer squad that ruled the place. I use my other hand to zoom in on the image in the video until I get a close-up of Jenna Altman’s bent ass, and my imagination peeks underneath the tight underpants, imagining the pussy hiding behind them. I imagine burying my face in there, getting her juices all over my face while my tongue darts inside that hot, delicious channel. I cum hard, grunting as my cock pulses and jizz splashes everywhere.
I spend the whole week thinking there is no fucking way I will go to the stupid reunion, to the scene of my constant sexual frustration. Then I open my phone and go straight to Instagram, where the slutty women of my graduation class seem to be trying to outdo each other, posting reels that are more and more suggestive and basking in the admiration of the male classmates and of the lesbian peers, who move the conversation to Twitter so they can give the exhibitionists detailed accounts of how exactly they would like to eat their pussy. That may have been my breaking point. The following Saturday, I wear my tailored suit and return to the hellhole of my adolescent sexual frustrations.
I never thought I would come back to this place. Yet here I am, standing at the entrance of my high school, feeling a mix of anxiety and resentment. It’s been ten years since I graduated, and I’ve spent most of that time trying to forget about the people who made my life a living hell. But my dark desires drew me back. It could be curiosity, or maybe it is a desire for revenge. I have been scrolling through several of my old classmates’ Instagram accounts. It was easy since most of them had made their profiles public. When I found those who had enjoyed torturing me back in the day, I scrolled through their posts, looking for any sign of weakness or any hint of vulnerability.
As I looked at their pictures, I felt a sense of satisfaction. Some of the jocks had gained weight or lost their hair, and their beautiful wives looked bored next to their overgrown frat boy spouses. It was clear they would be ready for a quickie in a bathroom stall with anyone who wanted to offer some reprieve from their boring lives. The cheerleaders all looked good, but most of them had gotten married and had kids and tried desperately to portray that as if that was some accomplishment while their shared posts seemed to scream, “Please, somebody fuck me; I’m dying here.” With quiet satisfaction, I looked at the pathetic “blessed” picture that Cara Turner just posted, where she plastered a fake smile on her face as she stood next to the 100-year-old man her gold-digging ass married. One hot bathroom fuck for the gold digger coming right up.
I arrive at the reunion fashionably late, hoping to make an entrance. I’m not the scrawny virgin I was back then, and my now tall and broad figure captures many a female gaze. I scan the crowd, trying to identify people from their Instagram photos. They all look older, but some have aged better than others. I feel a pang of anger as I see one of my old bullies, Cole Hog, now a self-proclaimed successful businessman with a beautiful wife on his arm. As I approach, the self-important asshole doesn’t stop talking to acknowledge my presence, but his wife does. The gorgeous woman stares, obviously desperate to escape the boring blabbing. I wink at her and signal with my head toward the bathroom. I turn and walk that way without looking back. If it works, good. If not, I prefer to be inconspicuous before approaching the next target.
It works like a charm. The hot blonde walks right behind me, pushing me into the ladies’ room and right into a stall.
“Some men don’t appreciate what they have,” I taunt.
She snorts and falls to her knees, quickly undoing my fly. And holy fuck, this woman can suck some dick. Her tongue is like a snake, strong and sure, and how she relaxes her throat and lets my turgid meat slide in is maddening.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, that’s it gorgeous, eat that cock, all of it,” I mumble between my teeth. The beautiful wife doubles her efforts, gurgling and almost choking but never stopping. She holds my hand to her head, and I understand what this nymph wants. I grab her hair and fuck that beautiful face hard, enjoying the savage sounds that come from that velvet throat as she gobbles back all that stiff rod. Her nose touches my pubic bone, and I hold her momentarily as I empty my balls right down her smooth throat, pulsing long and hard. When I pull out, Cole Hog’s wife looks wretched and hungry.
At that moment, somebody enters the bathroom. Through the stall slit, I see Jane Crown, the woman who went on Twitter to describe her pussy eating talents. I smirk and ask Hog’s wife, “Do you like girls?”
She grins and nods. I help her up, unlock the stall and walk out with a smile.
“Hey, Jane. Long time no see.”
Jane laughs, looking at me and the blonde behind me.
“Colton. Long time no see. Enjoying the reunion?” she says knowingly.
“He is,” Hog’s wife answers for me. “How about you?” she asks Jane.
Without hesitating, the other woman says, “I would if you sat on that sink and spread your legs, darling.”
Hog’s wife doesn’t miss a beat. Her panties are on the floor in a few seconds, her tight little dress rolled around her waist, tits out, and legs spread. I watch for a moment as Jane goes to town on the wayward wife’s cunt, eating her up like a starving she-wolf. The scene is impressive, but when my dick starts to recover, I decide there are other places where I would love to shoot my next load.
“Enjoy, ladies,” I say as I walk out.
Back at the gymnasium, Cole Hog is still blabbing and boring the people around him. When he finally looks my way, he points, “Who’s that loser? I don’t recognize him.”
I smirk. “No one,” my mouth says, while my mind taunts, “Just the one that used your wife as a cum dumpster, you prick. And by the way, she’s getting her pussy eaten in the bathroom.”
I keep walking and see Cara Turner standing by the bar, looking restless. Let the next game begin.
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That it girl behaviour can be addicting!
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