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From: Saynesberry@aol.com
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Subject: {ASSM} Brian's Revenge (humor, teen, mf, pedo)
Date: Tue, 8 Feb 2000 21:10:04 -0500
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Brian's Revenge
(Humor, teen, mf, pedo)
Hello, gentlemen and, um, ladies. My name is Brian Creech, and I'm a senior
at Ted Turner High School in Marietta, Georgia. You might have heard of it:
it used to be called Oglethorpe Vocational School, but the county changed the
name back during my first senior year. Anyway, I'm not real good at writing,
which is why I was in a tech school to begin with, but I figured I had to
clear the air of some of the outrageous got-damned lies that my
ex-girlfriend Hollie has been spreading all over the Innernet.
I didn't know she'd been writing about me until this little queer named
Lamar, who's always trying to be "pals," showed me a story he'd printed out
on his daddy's computer. I couldn't fucken believe my eyes when I read all
that shit about me being a mama's boy and Hollie getting "raped," yeah, sure,
by that fag English teacher at that snotty "magnet school" she goes to! I
was so pissed off that I punched Lamar out, right there in the cafeteria, and
left school for the rest of the day. I bought a six-pack of Bud, even though
that's a kinda faggy name for a beer, and drove around all afternoon in my
truck, drinking and cussing Hollie and tossing the "dead soldiers," as my Dad
used to call 'em, out the window.
Speaking of my Dad, all I can say is, I'm glad he didn't live to see that
pile of shit that Hollie wrote! (He went to work at the County Parks and
Recreation about a year ago, and he was drunk as usual, and got sucked into a
wood-chipper. There were pieces of my dear ole Daddy all over a six-acre
field. For awhile at school, some of those bastids was calling me a "chip off
the old block," but never where I could hear 'em. I'd of opened a can of
whup-ass on 'em pretty fucken quick....) Anyway, he's my inspiration. He
once said, "Boy, a man's got nothing in this got-damned world but his own
good name!" (Of course, he had a number instead of a name at the time, but
once he made parole I knew what he meant.) So, Daddy, wherever the fuck you
are, this little assay is for you.
You want to know the real story of what happened on the night of that shitty
Backstreet Boys concert? Well, I'm glad you asked, 'cause like Coach Muzzle
says, Hollie's story was "not quite as complete as one might hope." (That's
how Coach Muzzle talks. He's not a fag or anything, in fact the football
team only lost eight games this season, but since old lady Squeen died last
year, he's been filling in for her in Freshman English, and he says he has to
watch his "sintacks," whatever the fuck they are.) Of course, little
Princess Hollie didn't know the whole story herself. Too bad she didn't ask
her little sister....
The first part of Hollie's story was true enough, I guess, if you could stand
that cutesy-poo gay-assed way she talks. I picked her up for the concert
(no, I didn't want to go, but it was the only way she'd agree to go to the
Monster Truck Rally with me), we got a hamburger, we got to the Omni, sat
through a bunch of shit, and then she went to the crapper. I don't know what
really happened there. I know Mr. Saynesberry was in the place, cause I saw
him at the Coke stand. But when fifteen minutes had gone by, and Hollie
wasn't back, I got just a little pissed. What was she doing, putting more
glitter on her fucken fingernails or something?
Just about that time, as the intramission was almost over, somebody slipped
into Hollie's seat. I turned to bitch her out, but it wasn't Hollie! It was
her little sister, Jamie! What the fuck?
"Oh, Brian, I'm so glad to see you," she said, grapping holt of my arm. "I'm
scared! I came here with my friend Nancy, and all of a sudden Nancy got real
sick and started spitting up, and her Dad had to take her home, but I said it
was okay, 'cause you and Hollie were here and could give me a ride home, but
now I can't find Hollie, and - - - "
Holy shit! This kid could talk faster than her sister! Girls like that
usually drive me crazy, but I got to tell you, something was different that
night. Now, look, I'm no pussy, I'm a tough guy, just ask that little fag
Lamar, but I must admit this frytened little bitch touched me. I mean, she
was only nine years old, and hadn't even begun to sprout any tits or ass like
her sister (well, her sister hadn't sprouted all that much, to tell the
truth), and she had tears in those big brown eyes, and she was grapping hold
of my arm like it was the sissy bar on a fucken roller coaster. So I took
pity on her.
"Hey, Jamie, chill," I said, setten my hand on top of hers. "It's gonna be
okay. Hollie's gonna be gone for a few minutes, but if you're upset, then,
shit, I'll drive you home right now!"
"Oh, Brian!" she said in this little-girl voice (what the fuck? she *was* a
little girl!), "would you really do that? I don't care about the concert, I
just came 'cause Nancy asked me....but how would Hollie get home?"
"Don't worry about Hollie," I said, starting to stand up. "All of her snob
friends here. She'll get home all right." And with the kid's little hands
still grapping my arm, we walked out of the Omni and got in my truck.
Y'know, at that moment, I felt like a hero, like Luke Skyscraper or that
nigger in "Night of the Living Dead" or something. Poor fucken little girl!
Only problem was, on the ride to her house, I noticed that, as Coach Muzzle
would say, "I was surprised by a seemingly squantaneous erection." In
plainer words, my pecker had done swole up! I sure as shit wasn't hot for
Hollie anymore; I was hot *at* her, but not *for* her. And I knew I didn't
need to piss. Then I realized. Hold the fucken phone! Was Little Elvis
reacting to this weepy-eyed nine-year-old? Damn! But as my foot pushed a
little harder on the accelerator, it started making sense. Why, Daddy
married Momma when she was only 12....what's three chickenshit little years?
Well, buddy, this was a first for me. (Okay, I won't call you "buddy." But
I'm not gonna pull that *Gentle Reader* shit like in Hollie's story, either.
I'm writing this for everybody: Jews, Gentles, white folk, niggers....) I
never thought that I'd be sexually attrackted to a mere slip of a child, but
here I was, mashin' on the gas and runnin' my Hurst shifter through th' gears
like Richard fucken Petty, my pecker tryin' to bust a hole in my jeans,
prayin' that the cops wouldn't notice that my plate had been expired ever
since Jimmy Carter was Governor. As I drove, I kept giving Jamie furtive
glances, which only made things worse. (*Furtive* is Coach Muzzle's word for
secret, like, "Lamar looked furtively at my pecker in the showers today.")
She was....well, I wish there was a guy word that means "cute," because she
was about as cute as bugs' ears. Long brown hair, I guess it came down to
the bottom of her shoulderplates, big brown eyes, and FRECKLES! (Like my
dear old Daddy before me, I've always been a damn fool for freckles. Wonder
did she have 'em on her little chest?) Well, you can see that I was greatly
relieved when the kid piped up with "It's a good thing Mommy and Daddy are at
that meeting. They might not like me coming home alone with you. Oh, it's
not you, they think you're okay, but you know, they don't like any *tension,*
they call it, between me and Hollie, and I just know that when Hollie hears
about this she's gonna just - - -" I ground my teeth. This little girl
might be shy, but once she started talking, she was worse than my brother
Elmo when he's been speedballing!
"What meeting did they go to, Jamie?" I asked, my interest pricked, or
peaked, or whatever happens to a guy's interest......"Oh," she answered,
"It's just that silly Amway thing. They have meetings once a month, and
sometimes they don't get home 'til after midnight." I quickly checked my
Daddy's old John Deere wristwatch. It was just a little after ten. Plenty
of time, I thought, and then we were at Jamie's house.
"Thanks a lot for bringing me home, Brian," she said, her hand on the
door-handle. "I don't care if Hollie *is* pissed! I think you're real
sweet, and If I was as big as Hollie, I'd give you a big kiss!" She giggled,
and blushed. Now, I don't much care for giggling, 'cause Hollie giggles more
than a got-damned hyena, but just like freckles, I'm a fool for a girl's
blush. Between Jamie's freckles and her blush, Little Elvis was just about
ready to rip the seam outta my Levis!
"I think you're big enough, Jamie," I said, like I was some kinda damned
authority, "but, just the same, I'd best see you to th' fucken door." (Momma
used to say that all us Creech men were silver-tongued devils!) So I hopped
out and walked around the truck, opening Jamie's door and reaching to help
her out, She put her hands on my shoulders and I grapped her by the waist,
and gently lifted her out and down. Fuck if she didn't have a soft, sweet
little waist! Of course, being only nine yrs old, her "waist" kinda
stretched from her ass to her shoulders: she was about as straight as one of
those NHRA tracks where they do the drag racing. But she was soft, and warm,
and lifting her down, I could feel her little hipbones and ribs lyin' under
the layers of baby fat. (That's what Hollie calls *her* soft places, but on
her it's more like lazy-slut-fat.) To say the least, I had gotten pretty
straight my own self!
We walked up to the front door, which she opened with a key on a long spiral
rubber cord that was hangin' around her neck. She turned and looked up at
me. "You want to come in for a Coke or a glass of milk something? You want
to wait for Hollie? Or maybe you'd like to watch some TV? If you come in,
we could - - - "
I shut her up by grapping her little shoulders, but not rough, and bending
down to lay a big kiss on her pale little lips. (Man, those lips tasted
good! Kissing Hollie had always been like rubbing against those big wax lips
they sell at Halloween, she wore so much fucken lipstick.) She kind of froze
up at first, and I was afraid I'd have to do some fancy apologizin', but
after a few seconds she just sort of relaxed and pushed her lips against mine
- - - hard, but I wasn't gonna complain!
Jamie had already opened the front door, so I just threw caution to the whens
and picked her up in my arms, and carried her across the thrashhold just like
an old married guy in one of those chick movies. Without stopping, I kicked
the door shut behind us.
We were all alone! Right there in the same living room where Hollie and I
had.....well, where Hollie had explained so many times why she wouldn't let
me fuck her. Well, fuck her! Jamie was looking up at me like all those
bimbos look at Superman on "Lois and Clark." Okay, Little Elvis, I believe
Zarathustra is fixin' to speak!
I coulda carried her straight up the stairs to any of the bedrooms, but at
this critical junkture I gotta make a confession. See, I'd never done it in
a bed. Been with a girl, I mean. Sure, I'd slammed the ham in bed just
about every night of my life, but this was different. I was afraid that if I
took this little girl to bed, I'd fall asleep. And if I fell asleep, and her
parents caught me, well, I guess Turner High's loss would be the State
Reformatory's gain.
So in a matter of moments the two of us were lyin' on the floor, on that
deep-pile Prussian carpet that Hollie's mom was always jabbering about, and
my lips were on Jamie's once again. She reached up and put her skinny arms
around my neck, and hugged me close, and I figured this would be a good time
for some tongue action, so I parted her lips and slipped it to her. At
first, she didn't know what to do, but presently she commenced to squeaking
and suckin' my tongue like it was a Marlboro Ultra-Light or something. And
damn me if her little hips didn't commence to wiggling!
While all this was going on, my hands were as busy as a Peterbilt gear-box on
a downhill grade. I fumbled around with the buttons on her little white
blouse, finally getting the damn thing open and tugged it outta her jeans.
She wasn't wearing a bra, not even one of those cross-training bras, and, oh
my soul, her flat little chest was delicately spankled with freckles! And
there in the midst of her pale-pink flesh and sandy-brown freckles were the
two cutest little button nipples I'd ever beholded. Actually, they didn't
look like buttons, as much as those copper snaps and rivets on a pair of
jeans. And they were sticking up, or trying to stick up, and when I ran my
thumb over 'em, Jamie mewed like a baby kitten. Damn near broke my heart. I
had not beholded such beauty since the '99 Viper was unveiled.
I unsnapped her jeans and quickly slipped 'em off; of course, she didn't have
much of an ass to slow 'em down. She was wearing these pale green cotton
panties with little flowers on 'em, and she didn't make any resistance at all
when I eased 'em off. Now she lay there, nine years old, naked as the day
she was borned, stretched out on that Prussian carpet, her legs spread just a
little, and, oh shit, that beautiful, hairless little cunt winking up at me
like a Christmas-tree bulb. Then, not surprisingly, she spoke. "Oh, Brian,
c'mon! I been waiting for this for so long, my love! But I never knew it
would be you! Oh, you big knight in shining armor, please release dat white
steed and - - -"
I groaned, partly because the little twat was yammering again, and without
removing my clothes, I dropped my jeans down around my ankles and fell on
her. I grapped ahold of her throat and sucked for all I was worth, and used
one hand to guide Little Elvis to the Quivvring Portal of Her Womanhood. She
was wet, but not real wet, so I rubbed Little Elvis' head around on her tiny
little clit for a minute, and that loosened her up some. But by then, I had
no more patience for foreplay and romance. I grapped her shoulders and
RAMMED my cock into her, all at once, busting through her cherry like a
wildcat goin' through a paper bag, and after two mighty strokes, I felt my
stuff blowing through me as though Little Elvis had a supercharger. Man, if
I'd been doin' myself in bed, this one woulda hit the ceiling! And in just a
second, as Jamie's hot, tight, bloody little puss squeezed and convulsed
around me, I felt the stuff start leakin' back out onto my balls. Jamie just
hugged me and shook her little hips and squealed like a pig under a gate, and
I was already fumbling for my Marlboros with one hand, when, oh shit, the
front door opened!
And there, staring down at Jamie and me locked in our embrace, stood Hollie,
and of all people, Mr. Saynesberry! Saynesberry had a shit-eating grin on
his face, but Hollie was pale with horror.
"Oh, fuck, Jamie!" she howled. "You let him get that stuff all over Mom's
carpet!"
*****************
If you enjoyed this story, please write!
Saynesberry@hushmail.com
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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