CHAPTER ONE

Let’s see. They want me to prance naked around the school for a week.

Do you get penalized for asking for relief once every single class?

Hi, I’m Maggie Benson, and I’m Westport High’s very own semen depository. Any time, any place, any orifice. And they’re letting me walk around school naked for a week? There ought to be a law against a girl having that much fun! Really. While I was walking through the school to the principal’s office this morning after they called my name, I saw half the guys in school’s eyes light up. Oh, I was gonna have a good time! Not that I don’t anyway, mind you. One thing I’ve found is, that if you like sex, and you’re a girl, it’s real easy to indulge yourself. Not having to take any clothes off beforehand just makes it easier.

Now, there were drawbacks to the whole thing, mind you. Being naked means all my little illusion tricks were gone. Y'see, I don’t have much of a body. I know what to do with what I’ve got, mind you, but the visuals aren’t all that impressive. And the water-filled bras and padded-in-the-butt panties were going right out the window with the rest of my clothes. Usually, once I get to the stripping stage, I’ve got the guy so worked up he wouldn’t give a shit if I didn’t have any boobs at all. Now I’d have to reveal the lack of boobs long before we got to that point. So, that was a worry.

My solution? Well, it’s my solution to everything. Exude sexuality. And one thing I’ve found out—for most guys, there’s nothing sexier than a girl that doesn’t say no.

I’m addicted, I admit it. Started when I was all of twelve. I had an older cousin I was close to, she was 15 at the time, and sexually active—and loved telling her poor, impressionable little cousin all about it. I liked hearing it. One day, I was at her house, nobody else there—she was "babysitting" me—and over comes her boyfriend. "Well, all that stuff I’ve been telling you about—I’ll let you give it a try with him," my cousin says. So the boyfriend comes over, feels me up a bit—then goes down on me.

Now, it’s my experience—and I do have enough experience—that a 15-year-old guy who will go down on a girl is a rare creature indeed. And, of the few that will do it, it’s even rarer to find one that’s good at it. This guy was really good at it. After all the sex I’ve had in the five years since this happened, he’s still at the top of my personal cunny-lapping list. I don’t know if my cousin trained him or what, but he was well-trained, let me tell you. And, at 12 years old, I made a discovery. I was really orgasmic. After three screaming cums at the end of this guy’s tongue, I was hollering "Fuck me! Stick it in me! Fuck me!" So he did. He wasn’t all that big—good thing, since I was only 12—but he knew what he was doing. It hurt a bit at first, but I was cumming hard in not much time at all.

My cousin moved away shortly after all this, and I never saw her boyfriend again. Too bad. I’d like to thank him! Because I’ve been addicted to sex since that day.

Now, it hasn’t been trouble-free. I have a reputation. Well, that I have a reputation for that goes without saying. No, the reputation that bothers me is that I’m aggressive. I’d rather I wasn’t, actually.

Y’see, that first experience happened in the summer before seventh grade. So, I’m all pent up, right? Here’s a trick about seventh-grade boys: they’re clueless. You wait for them to make a move on you, and you’ll be waiting until you’re old and gray. So, pent up as I was, I made the moves. I’ll never forget the first guy I walked up to and said, "Hi, I’m Maggie. You want to have sex?" He almost fainted! But it worked—I got laid. Most of middle school was like that, out of sheer necessity. If I wanted to get laid, I had to make a move. The problem is, now I’ve got this reputation for being aggressive. And I’m near the end of my junior year in high school, and I still have to make the moves, because everyone assumes I like it that way. Not really. It was just a necessity at first.

Actually, it’s kind of nice when someone makes the moves on me for a change. Tells me that they want me, and not just whoever’ll put out. It doesn’t happen often, though.

Anyhow, being naked should change a little of that. Here I am boys, come and get me!

I walked into Mr. Tilling’s office all ready. I wondered who my partner was going to be. Then, in the office, I saw him. And looked at Mr. Tilling and screamed, "NO FUCKING WAY!!!"

I guess I kind of ignored The Program. I saw other people in it, but, you know, didn’t pay much attention. I also didn’t pay much attention to the literature—I could’ve gotten out of it. But I never did, I kind of blew the whole thing off—and, here I am, in the stupid thing.

I don’t know. The whole thing’s just too ‘rah rah school spirit’ to me. Oh, let’s all bond by going through school naked one week. I didn’t want to bond.

I’m Chuck, Chuck Braden, by the way, and I hated Westport High with a singular passion. I just wanted to do my time there and get out. The place is a cesspool of jealousy, pettiness, gossip, and rumor. Oh, and Westport High’s collective opinion of me wasn’t all that high, either.

I’ve got this reputation—the guy who fucks and tells. Not true. Now, I made this mistake once. I told the wrong people something. Just a select few, people I thought I could trust—and I was wrong about that. The story got all over school, and mangled at that. Since then, the reputation has dogged me. I’ve heard stories about me that would almost be enviable if they were true. Half the cheerleading squad in one afternoon? Yeah, I wish. But people believe I start this shit—and half the cheerleading squad won’t talk to me.

Y’see, that’s the upshot of the rumors. I learned that the vast majority of the guys in this school are not to be trusted. However, because of the rumors, the vast majority of girls in this school think that I am not to be trusted. So, I don’t have many friends—and I don’t date. That’s why the rumors are so infuriating. Two months ago, I supposedly had three hours of wild sex with a girl that won’t even speak to me.

So, I mainly just try to keep my head down and get through the day. I don’t like to draw even more attention to myself. Guess what The Program’s gonna do? Draw more attention to myself.

And I had to do it. I wasn’t going to revolt. Look, I get good grades, good enough to go to a good college. I figure, only a little over a year, and I can get the hell out of here and go somewhere where nobody knows me, and maybe get a fucking life. But, to do that, I had to get through that last year-and-a-bit, and that meant following the rules.

And that meant going through with The Program.

I walked into Mr. Tilling’s office, and he greeted me, smiling. He told me I was going in the program, and I told him I had figured that out. Resigned, I sat in the seat, waiting for my partner to show up. Maybe it’d be one of the few girls in school that didn’t hate my guts.

Nope, I thought, my stomach sinking as the door opened. Nope, these assholes put me in with Maggie fucking Benson.

There’s nobody in the whole school that hates my guts more than Maggie Benson. And the feeling, believe me, is mutual.

Oh, what a fun week this was going to be.

"Chuck Braden? You put me in with CHUCK BRADEN? What were you thinking?" I was screaming at Mr. Tilling.

"Maggie, if you’ll just calm down…."

"Who puts these pairings together, anyway, the Marquis de Sade?"

"No, Maggie," Mr. Tilling chuckled, "Ms. T and I do. We think you and Chuck have a lot to learn from one another."

"What?"

"You’ll have to figure that one out by yourselves."

"The only thing I can think of that I can learn from Chuck is how to be an asshole!"

"Well, I guess I can take slut lessons from you," Chuck said from behind me.

"You already are one. And a slut that broadcasts," I said disgustedly. "Anyhow, Mr. Tilling, I demand another partner."

"Ditto," Chuck said.

"No can do. You’re stuck with one another." Damn Mr. Tilling, he said that with a little grin. He was enjoying this! "Now, I need you to strip."

"This sucks," I said.

"I agree," Chuck echoed. Mr. Tilling was impervious. Damn him. I sighed, bitterly, and started stripping off my clothes. When I got done, still glaring at Mr. Tilling, I heard laughter from behind me. I turned and glared at Chuck.

"Oh my God. Maggie Benson pads her bra," he said, laughing his stupid ass off.

"It’s a water bra," I said petulantly.

"Who would’ve thought?" He was still laughing. "The school slut is the president of the Itty Bitty Tittie Committee." See? What did I tell you. Asshole.

"Chuck….," Mr. Tilling said in a tone of warning. Chuck shut up, but was still grinning. "Your turn," Mr. Tilling said. Chuck started stripping.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. After his comments about my tits, I was looking for something to throw back in his face. I mean, searching for it, desperately. Any flaw at all. I couldn’t fucking find one. Jesus Christ, Chuck Braden was fine. I already knew he had a good looking face. And now I saw his body. Muscular but not too much so—you know, just nicely defined. All over. He was also smooth, not too much hair, which I like. Between his legs? No complaints there. He’s no Jared Wicklow, but who is? This was one hell of a specimen of manliness. Why on earth did he have to be such an asshole?

And, Goddamn it all, he caught me looking. "Why, thank you very much, Maggie, but you can stop drooling now," he said with a shit-eating grin on his face. Then he strut towards the door. "In point of repayment, let me mention that you don’t really need the water bra. They’re big enough." And then he was gone.

I turned to Mr. Tilling, and glared at him. "You’re gonna pay. Oh, mark my words, you are going to pay for this!"

The sonovabitch never stopped grinning at me.

All right. I couldn’t resist. I just couldn’t, when I realized that her bustline was getting artificial help. I mean, Maggie? What did she have to enhance it for? It’s not like she didn’t have other tools at her disposal to lure a guy into her bed. And, I wasn’t kidding at the end, she really didn’t need it. She wasn’t big, sure, but she was a small girl all over. They were proportional, you know. Probably about an A-cup, yeah, but we’re talking about a girl that probably wore a size extra-small shirt. They were big enough. More than a mouthful’s a waste, and all that.

But I couldn’t resist that Itty Bitty Tittie Committee crack. Nor could I resist the crack when I realized she was staring at me. If this week were to be a battle of wills—which, knowing what Maggie and I were both like, it was--score one for me.

I walked out of the office, still grinning, past the crowd that had gathered there. Mostly her friends. They more or less ignored me.

I had gym first period. I knew the drill, so into the girls’ locker room I went. I wasn’t looking forward to it. Tara Boucher was in that class. It was easy to avoid her in class, but, in the locker room, I was going to stick out like a sore thumb.

You see, Tara and I have a history—and not a good one. This was the one that was my fault. I hurt her badly, and I’ve never been able to get her to understand that I was sorry about it. And she walked in as I was standing there in my altogether, putting my bookbag in my locker. She glared for a second, and then turned away from me.

It was worse in the shower, afterwards. I was in there with a gaggle of girls, all of which ignored me—except for Tara. She glared, the whole time. I didn’t say anything. A year and a half of trying to apologize hadn’t worked, so I just let her glare at me. I got myself washed and got out of there.

I was getting groped a bit in the halls, more than I would’ve expected. I didn’t mind. Especially the younger girls, freshmen and sophomores. They must’ve not heard I was supposed to be a pariah.

The good part was third period—Spanish. Maggie’s in that class. She was already there when I got there, I took one look at her—and she started blushing! Maggie Benson! I couldn’t believe it! I grinned at her, and, when I walked past her, I leaned over and whispered, "Yeah, they’d fit real nice in my hand," and kept walking.

Yeah, I was playing to type, I know it. But I "got" Maggie so infrequently that I had to take any chance I had!

I got out of Mr. Tilling’s office and found all my friends there waiting for me. That was cool.

"Welcome to the club," Amanda grinned at me.

"Who’s your partner?" Jared asked.

I waved my hand in frustration down the hall at him. " Him. Chuck fucking Braden."

"Oh, shit," Cassie said.

"Damn, but he’s good looking, though, isn’t he?" Amanda said.

"Yeah, he is. Doesn’t that suck? And he caught me staring! And this after he made fun of my boobs."

"How could he find your boobs to make fun of them?" Ed said.

"Oh, fuck you, Ed," I spat out.

"Come on, Maggie, I was just joking."

"Sometimes your jokes wear thin," I said, and stormed off down the hall.

Afterwards, I felt bad, though. That was just Ed being Ed. Hell, I had made fun of his dick when he was in the program. Lily Woodard had really made fun of his dick. He took it in the spirit in which it was intended. And here I am, going off on him. I wasn’t mad at him. I knew he was just teasing. Luckily, we had the same class second period. I walked up to him outside of class and said, "Hey, Ed. I’m sorry."

"No, I’m sorry, Maggie," he said. "I didn’t realize you were sensitive about that. You’ve joked about it in the past yourself. They’re really not that small, you know. Especially naked."

"Thanks," I grinned at him. "And, you’re right, I’m usually not that sensitive about them. Chuck just rubbed my last nerve raw. He called me the president of the Itty Bitty Tittie Committee!"

"Ah," Ed said.

"Still friends?" I grinned.

"Of course," he grinned back. "So, have you asked for relief twelve times in the past hour?"

"Actually, I’ve been so pissed off I haven’t had the energy to get horny."

"Oh my God, somebody catch me, I’m gonna faint," Ed said. That I laughed at.

I’m glad I fixed things with Ed, but next period I saw Chuck again. And he had the audacity to say that my tits would feel real nice in his hand! Yeah, like he was ever going to find out!

Damn. He was getting to me. That’s just not allowed.

I went to lunch, sat with the gang. I got involved in the banter and didn’t get pissed off at the jokes. Afterwards, I headed to Bio. Ms. T’s famous fifth period Bio class. A lot of my gang is in that class-but so is Chuck. We got in, and Ms. T welcomed us to The Program, and asked Chuck if he needed relief. He said no. Then she asked me.

"Why not? I could use a good cum," I grinned.

"Yeah, what else is new?" Ed teased.

Ms. T asked if anyone wanted to help. Just about every guy in the room put his hand up. I almost picked Jared, remembering that I gave him his first relief on his first day in The Program—in this very room, in fact. I thought it would be a nice turnaround. But then I saw Chuck with his hand up, grinning at me, a definite challenge in his eyes.

Ah-HAH! Get me all flustered, eh? "All right, Braden. You think you can get me off? Give it your best shot," I said.

"Don’t mind if I do," he grinned, and headed towards the front of the class.

"Ah, Braden?" I said. "Keep in mind, I can control my orgasms even with people I like. And I’m not really all that pent up at the moment. And you only have five minutes."

"Five whole minutes? I may be able to go for two," he grinned. Cocky SOB. We’d see about that.

He didn’t crouch down in front of me. No, he grabbed a spare chair, sat in it, and spun my chair so I was facing him. Then, instead of going for my pussy, he went for the tit.

"Hmm, I was right," he said. "Fits real good in my hand. Oh, and I do like a girl with sensitive nipples."

Which I had. And he had them nice and big and erect in seconds. He was rubbing his whole hand all over my tit. Then he went for the pussy. He took his hand and languidly ran it up and down my lips, no real effort in it. I was getting a little moist, but that was about it. And, OK, I’ll admit, he was doing wonderful things to my tit with his hands. But that’s not enough to get me to cum, especially when I’m resisting cumming in the first place. "Four minutes thirty seconds," I said to him with an evil grin.

"Oh, I’m just getting started," he said.

Another thirty seconds of this. His finger just kind of lazily snaking up and down my labia. I wondered, does this doofus even know where my clit is? Oh, I was going to win this little battle. Wait until the school found out that Mister Chuck Braden couldn’t even make the school sexpot cum. That’d put the lie to all his Grand Conquest stories, now, wouldn’t it?

"Four minutes and counting," I grinned at him.

He grinned back—and slipped a finger into my pussy. Very slowly. Then it was two fingers—again, very, very slowly. He started dragging them in and out of me—and on every out motion, he very slowly dragged his fingertips across my g-spot.

Oh, shit.

He’s doing this, and the next thing I know, he’s out of the chair. He’s kneeling in front of me. He gave my tittie a little suck on the way down, then went right for the pussy with his tongue.

OK, so he knew where my clit was. Oh SHIT did he know where my clit was! He was sucking on it, and tickling it with his tongue, and nibbling on it—all the while his fingers are doing that dragging thing over my g-spot.

Four minutes? He didn’t even need two. I tried to resist, believe me—I tried with all my might. Tried saying the alphabet backwards, remembering the third verse to "The Star-Spangled Banner," did multiplication tables, all that stuff. It was no use. My pussy was not cooperating. No, it was headed towards cumming. And when he felt me getting close, he put his fingers right on my g-spot and drummed on it—while he sucked my whole clit into his mouth. Shit, he was better than my cousin’s boyfriend. By a lot. I came, screaming, my ass rising up off the seat and my pussy grinding into his mouth. And, mother of God, I shot. Ejaculated. I’ve done that I think once in my life, with all the sex I’ve had. I was gushing.

And that asshole—while I was sitting there, trying to breathe, that fucker grins at me and says, "You’re welcome," and goes back to his seat. He could’ve at least offered to help me stand up, for Chrissakes! Because I was having a hard time doing it on my own.

Damn. I hated this motherfucker. Hated his fucking guts. And he had just given me one of the top three cums of my life. In front of the entire biology class. Damn him.

When bio class ended, my legs were still shaking.

OK, so I really went overboard. Hey, it was a nice little score on my side, though. And, hell, maybe I’d get a few dates out of it. Even if I had the reputation of being a talker—now maybe I’d get a reputation as the guy who actually made Maggie Benson incoherent.

Look, my love life had tapered off in the past year since I got the rep as being a talker, but last year was pretty good. And I learned a lot. I had one date, an older girl—a senior when I was a sophomore—who taught me how to eat pussy properly. It’s a lesson I never forgot. I hadn’t had the chance to do it in a while, though. Glad to know I hadn’t forgotten anything.

I just couldn’t resist getting her going. Hey, I had to have some fun this week, right?

And, I admit it. Watching her cum like that was a fantastic experience. She really does get all into it. Even when she was trying to resist. Imagine what she’d be like if she just went with it. Jesus.

And it was definitely satisfying to watch her staggering out of class! She was still weak-kneed 40 minutes later! We both had the same class next period, English. Of course, I had to rub salt in the wound, right? I walked up to her, and said, "Hi, Maggie. Need some help getting to English?" Oh, the look she shot me! "Suit yourself," I grinned, and kept walking.

Oh, she sat in English class and shot daggers at me. Except, when she thought I wasn’t looking, she kept idly rubbing at her pussy.

Yeah, I owed her. She did something to me that wasn’t very nice that contributed to my current problems. I don’t know if she knew that I knew it was her—if that makes any sense—but I did. But, hell, I thought that was pretty generous of me. Yeah, I was trying to score points—but I gave her a hell of a cum in the process, right? I could think of more painful ways to try to score points.

The rest of the day was fine. And she was waiting for me as I got out of school to get dressed.

"You asshole! How could you do that to me?" she howled.

"Do what? Make you cum? I thought you liked that," I grinned.

"Not from you."

"Then you shouldn’t have picked me." She couldn’t say anything like that. "Look, you were trying to score points. As was I. I won that round. But I think you got a few fringe benefits in the bargain," I grinned. "Has anyone ever made you squirt before?"

"Only once," she admitted. I smiled wider, then she shook her head. "That’s not the fucking point! The point is that I hate you!"

"Yeah, well I hate you, too."

"Huh?" she said, puzzled. "Why do you hate me?"

"Think about it. You’ll figure it out."

"And if you hate me," she said, swallowing, " how could you make me cum like that?"

"Two reasons. First, like I said, I was trying to score points. Second reason is that I’m not the asshole you think I am." I was dressed by then, so I just walked away. I turned back and said, "See you tomorrow, Maggie. Ought to be fun." Then I was gone.

You know what? It hadn’t been a bad day at all.

Motherfucker.

God damned motherfucker.

Oh, I wanted him dead. Dead, dead, dead. Him and his shit-eating grin and his magical tongue and his stupendous fingers and FUCK!

I trudged home, thoroughly disgusted.

I live with my Daddy, my younger brother Joe—who’s 12—and my older brother Vinny, who is 20 and just finished his sophomore year in college. He was home for the summer. Yeah, me and a house full of guys. Is it any wonder I like guys? The three I lived with were three of the best—even Joe when he’s not being a complete pest. I love my Daddy, and Vinny’s been my main confidant since I was 7. He’s the one person that really knows what I’m like, sex life and all. I was really glad he was home for the summer.

My mother? Ran off when I was ten. Nobody knows what happened to her. Ran off with some other guy. Apparently she was cheating on Dad throughout the whole marriage anyway. But she abandoned three kids, too. Vinny and I were fine, we supported each other. But Joe was only five when she left—it really affected him. I’ll never forgive the bitch for that.

Anyhow, I got home, and Vinny was there.

"Hey, Dicktease. How’s it going?"

"Oh, I got to tell you, Dickless, I had a day today." Yes, Dicktease and Dickless are our pet names for one another. Hey, whaddaya want?

"Come tell Vinny all about it, Mags."

"Got put in The Program. And my partner is Chuck Braden! Who I hate!"

"Well, you can avoid him, can’t you?"

"I can. But I didn’t. Stupid me." I told Vinny the whole story.

"So, let me get this straight," he said when I got to the end. "He gave you an earthshattering cum, and this is a bad thing? This is not like you, Mags."

"But I hate him!"

"You must like his tongue," he grinned at me.

"That’s the fucking problem! How can such an asshole be so good at that? Fucking, I can believe. But usually assholes can’t suck pussy worth a damn—because they don’t get anything out of it."

"Maybe you’ve misjudged him."

"Fat chance of that. I know too many of his victims."

"I think you should think about this some more, Mags," Vinny said. "Look, you know how it works in high school. Shit gets blown out of proportion. Rumors spread."

"There’s just too many about him, though. It’s not like it was just one."

"So, what are you going to do?"

"Plan my revenge, what else?" I grinned.

"I think you just let him eat you out again, you’ll be singing a different tune."

"Not a chance," I grinned again. "This is war."

--End of Part One—