August Moone
Book 4
Still Tripping
Chapter 24
More Of is not Always the Same As

Sex Ed 101 (revisited)
	He was giving it to her good and hard; the girl pounding back into her lover when suddenly the bushes parted and there stood the campus “cop”, Ms. Jenkins the 6th grade English teacher.  She glared at the two students, John Jakes & Mary Kane, 7th graders.  Mary Kane was standing, stooped over, her tight fitting nylon tye-dye shirt of blues and whites was hiked up to her shoulders, no bra.  Her skin tight blue jeans down to expose just her ass, she wore panties of light red and they were down to mid cheek exposer.
	The boy-lover behind her had his pants unzipped and his willy out.  It was hard and pressing dramatically against the girl’s ass, between her legs and everywhere.
	The two were startled and stood up, the girl easily managing to pull her pants up and top down without much fuss.  Not so for the boy who couldn’t get his pecker back inside his pants without some difficulty involved.
	“Come with me!” demanded Ms. Jenkins.
	“Shit!” bitched the boy.
	Ms. Jenkins grabbed the boy by the ear--she almost (ALMOST) grabbed him by his willy.  The girl was held by the hand and the two were pulled out into the open and across the small middle school campus--to the principal’s office.

	The principal’s office was located just inside a large two-story brick building.  It was out of contrast to the white trash trailers the general populace of students attended.  Lightly Mandy got the impression that she may in fact be “elsewhere.”  she so noted the lack of those plain white trash trailers--replaced by brick buildings going out from the central building like octopus tentacles.  She sighed, closed her eyes and held her ground.
	When she “opened” her blue eyes, she was in a corridor.  She read a couple of signs:  Office  Nurse’s Station  Detention Room  Teacher’s Lounge  Faculty Restrooms  and most importantly  Principal’s Office.
	Go figure.
	She sighed and avoided being knocked over by scurrying students hustling to classes.  It wasn’t too well lit in the central access corridor.  Two main doors fore and aft, corridor arms stretching outward and stairs going up to the second floor.
	The door to the Principal’s Office opened and Ms. Jenkins from earlier stood there chatting with the principal seated at his desk.  Mandy strolled up, “Move.” she said.  Ms. Jenkins DID whirl around and look wildly, she peered out into the hall.  Two student boys of the 6th grade sat in green vinyl sofas at the wall twiddling their thumbs.
	“Did you say something?” Ms. Jenkins said.
	“No, bitch, I did, move your ass!”
	Ms. Jenkins looked flushed and gulped for air.  Her hazel eyes looked wildly about.
	“Ms. Jenkins?” spoke up the principal who had come to the door, “Something wrong?”
	“I-I hear voices!” she said on quivering lips.
	Principal Lathers looked passed her and to the two scoundrel boys seated waiting to see him.
	“We aint sayin’ nuttin’!” defiantly yapped the tallow headed boy.
	“They are pulling yer--ahem, you’re leg.” Mr. Lathers cooed to the distraught woman.  She still seemed perplexed and disturbed.
	“I will not tolerate such foolishness!” she scolded the boys.
	“You can have a go at them when I’m done with them.” smiled the principal.  The boys rolled their.  “Great, just fucking great!”
	“That’ll get you double duty, smart ass!” jeered Mr. Lathers.
	The boys shut up before they got themselves any deeper, crossed their arms and sulked.  One of them farted.  Ms. Jenkins tossed her head in a regal manner and whisked herself off to the Teacher’s Lounge.
	Mr. Lathers reached over and smacked the first boy’s head up against the wall.  He glared at them.  ‘You’re going to be in deep DEEP shit.’

	“Caught red handed, huh?” Mr. Lathers said.  He was a middle aged man, broad shouldered, graying temples, tight firm face, a little robust (rotund) but not to excess.  A dress shirt with red tie, dark slacks, dress shoes.  A gold nugget watch/band with matching ring.
	On his desk were some manila folders.  He opened one and pursed his lips, nodding his head.  He was regal, in a downhome country boy way, clean shaven, way too serious.  He shook his head and continued perusing the file.
	“You were caught last month smoking a peace pipe with Johnny Redcorn.”  
	The boy nodded and stared at the tips of his dirty grimy tennis shoes.
	“The pipe was loaded with hash.  Tsk tsk tsk.”
	“You put a smoke bomb in the girl’s restroom--several young ladies ran out into the hall with barely their clothes on.”
	‘Yeah, so?’ shrugged the boy.  He was a rebel.  Thick unkempt dark hair, dark eyes, dark eyebrows.  He was rugged, from the “wrong side of the tracks” and a potential “boy momma warned you about.”
	“Was in possession of bicycle that was not yours, a text book, some cheat notes, and…” Mr. Lathers stopped reading, it was a thick file.
	He closed it and opened the other file.
	It wasn’t so thick, but:  “Caught giving oral sex to two 5th grade boys.”
	John Jakes looked to Mary Kane, raised an eyebrow (the one that could be seen) in some awe and shock.  Mary Jane sat with hands folded between her knees.  ‘Oh well.’ on her face.  She was a little embarrassed that John now knew.  She fluttered her eyes and tried to maintain an air of innocence.
	Mr. Lathers, though, went on.
	“You were caught in the broom closet of Ms. Kabble’s class with a fellow student last year--“exploring” one another you stated.”  again Mary Kane tried to plead innocence, being sheepish an’ all.  John Jakes continued to look upon her in some awe, if not disdain.
	There were other “incidences”, Mr. Lathers didn’t bother revealing them.  He closed the files and folders and put them away.  “Public indecency is forbidden on this campus--”
	“We were out of sight until that bitch opened us up!”  yapped Mary.
	“She obviously knew where you were and what you were doing.” replied Mr. Lather.  “What you do “off-campus” is your business, what you do anywhere ON campus is MY business.”
	“I cant get detention,” almost wailed Mary.
	“Me, neither, my old man--” the boy shook his head, “’side, I got a job I have to go to after school; I mean, right AFTER school.”
	“Me too!” perked up the girl, “I-I babysit and I HAVE to be there.” she smiled and continued looking as innocent as possible.
	Mr. Kevin Lathers looked to the two and leaned forward, ‘Do I look like I just fell off the shit wagon?’ he tried to convey to them via a stern hard look.
	“Well, no detention then for you two, eh?” he leaned back in his principal’s chair, nodding and thinking.  “And you’ve already got more homework than you can actually handle.” he intertwined his fingers and cracked them.
	“Sooooo, what’s left?”
	Mary Kane and John Jakes looked to one another and shrugged.
	“Well, I can’t let you two walk out of here without SOME sort of compensation for your actions.”  he tugged on his nose, nodded to himself and looked to the boy.
	The look made the boy uncomfortable.  He wore a black tee-shirt with an upside down cross dripping blood and a skull at one end.  A chain of silver skulls adorned his neck.  His unkempt black hair hung to his shoulders and concealed one side of his face.  A “spike” ran thru the lobe of each ear.
	Mary Kane wore no jewelry whatsoever.  She was nicely dressed, and clean.  Long almost stringy blond hair.  She fidgeted in her seat and waited.
	She didn’t have to wait long, nor John.  Lathers opened a bottom desk drawer and withdrew--a paddle.
	It was similar--very similar--to Ms. Jenkins’ Mr. Discipline.  On the brass nametag on Mr. Lathers’ paddle was inscripted “Satan’s Folly”.  It was smacked against his hand HARD.  The report made the two students jump.
	“Two weeks detention, 3-4 PM every day, both Saturdays for six hours.”
	John and Mary gulped and looked to one another.
	“No fucking way!” blurted John.  “I fucking told you old man, I can’t, I’ve got a job!”
	Mr. Lathers cast his eyes to Mary Kane.
	“Me, too; honest, I’ve got to babysit the Turner’s kids.”
	“Well, then,” said Mr. Lathers, he looked to the boy, “get your sorry ass over here.”
	“Oh man!” whined the boy.  He looked very distressed and not enthused in the least about getting a walloping.
	“Of course, I COULD notify your parents and THEY could come down and--”
	“NO!” almost shouted John, “just you and me will be good.” he was in a panic.  If his DAD got involved, it wouldn’t be good--not good at all.
	Mary Kane nodded it was so with her, she would rather be dealt with by the principal than either of her parents.
	Reluctantly and swinging his elbows all about fussing fourteen year old John Jakes sloshed his way to business side of the principal’s desk.
	“Take ‘em down!” said the principal.
	The boy looked at his principal in alarm.  “Aw man!” he whined.  Very reluctantly he pulled his hands from his pockets and in a mad mannr undone his dingy jeans and tugged them down to his knees.  Not-so-clean underwear he wore.  He still had a bit of a “bulge”, it was “banana” shaped and was snug inside his cotton briefs.	
	He was nodded “in place” by Mr. Lathers.  The boy scuffed the floor and came to the man’s lap.  He knelt down and lay across the dress slacks.  He firstly held his hands to so-so protect his butt, but pulled them up to his chest and waited.
	He didn’t have to wait long and the first smack came resoundingly swift and sure.  The boy jumped, so did Mary Kane.
	“God-fucking-damn!” the boy yelled.
	Another swat came almost twice as hard as the first.
	“Sweet-fucking-mother-of-a-bitch!”
	Another swat.
	“SHIT!” the boy screamed.
	Then his thin cotton undies were pushed down.

	Mary Kane couldn’t see much, but guessed most.  She sat still clenching herself, jumping at every swat that came to John’s ass--slightly unaware of the fact that it was a BARE ass.
	Finally John began to cry.  Defiantly he held off for as long as possible.  But the threshold of PAIN was significant and the sorrowful emotions came and he wept greatly.
	The swatting ceased.
	Mr. Lathers peered at the ass flesh of John Jakes, it was almost puce!  He rubbed it, consoled it, squeezed the inflamed cheeks and parted a cheek to peer at his crack and hole.
	The boy clenched his cheek and continued to weep.  Mr. Lathers looked to the girl and gave a very subtle nod.  Timidly and unsurely the girl arose from her chair and came around the desk.
	She was mildly taken aback at the sight she saw.
	“Holy shit!” she blurted.  Mr. Lathers smiled at her.
	Mary gulped and on her own undone her jeans and tugged them down to her knees.  Her top she whisked off and she was topless.  A nice pair of very round perfect orbs there was to delight upon.  Mr. Lathers eyed them, smiled, then nodded in a not so subtle manner.  The girl grew a little embarrassed--having jumped the gun a tad bit.  She went to her knees and was eye-to hole to John’s ass.
	Another head nod.  Mary Kane gulped some, hesitated, took in some breath for courage fueling and leaned in.  She kissed and then licked the boy’s cheeks.  The cheeks were pulled open wide and Mary K began rim jobbing.

	Temporarily John no longer felt the sting of his ass aflame; Mary’s tongue was talented and did a fine-fine job of soothing him.  He apparently had never had a rim job before.  
	Mary licked more and more of John’s ass, tugging his hairy nuggets up thru his legs and sucking on them, too.  Mr. Lathers ran his hand thru the girl’s hair, as well as up and down her body.
	Presently the girl’s tongue grew weary of the task; she sat back smacking her lips and waiting for the next event.
	She didn’t have to wait long, Mr. Lathers caressed the boy’s still burning cheeks and then a wicked-wicked demeanor befell him.  He smiled, closed his eyes a moment and then--from where Satan’s Folly had come the man produced a long ribbed curved object.  It was wooden, curved slightly with a bulbous tip.  Several “rings” from the “head” to the middle section and then from there there were “bumps” to the base.  
	The object was gazed upon (and admired.)  It was handed over to Mary.  She looked upon it with awe, then delight.  But it was not entirely for HER, per se.  “You can suck it.” said lowly Mr. Lathers.
	Mary did.  She admired it, stroked it, admired it, then began slowly-slowly sliding it into her mouth.  She took her time and Mr. Lathers began a tedious bout of finger fucking John Jakes.
	John squirmed some, his ass was smacked and he settled right out.
	“What the fuck’s going on, dude?” he asked trying to turn his head and looking back behind him.  Mary had totally engulfed the wooden schlong, slicking it up nicely--for the insertion/plunging into John’s virgin crap chute.
	John tensed up and grab a holt of the chair and desk leg as he was violated.  Mary Kane eased so-so gently the prong into the boy’s hole.  When she met severe resistance she pulled back the wooden dong, twisted it, and then eased it back in.
	It was a slow-slow process working the cherry wood schlong into John’s rectum.  When it WAS fully seeded,  there was the so-so gentle “fucking” that followed.
	John groaned, moaned, grunted, and strained.  Mary expertly sodomized the boy for several minutes.  Several--working it faster and faster until the boy muttered, “I’m gonna fucking cum!”
	Quickly he was stood up, the dildo still crammed DEEP into his asshole (it was an eight incher).  He was whirled around and allowed to jerk his pud--shooting his load into Mary’s awaiting mouth.  The boy’s cum blasted goo all over her sweet face; gobs blowing onto her young tender breasts.
	Mary engulfed the boy’s dong and sucked him dry.
	Mr. Lathers worked the dildo.

	There was more.  From the same drawer Lathers produced a strap-on.  No wooden dildo for the attachment, it was a 7-incher very curved, but malleable.  It was off-black in color, thick, and with hairless testicles on the black leather “patch” where the base of the schlong was affixed.  Lathers gooped the dong up with some petroleum jelly and applied it, as well, to the boy’s clenching asshole.
	Mary gawked at the strap-on, Mr. Lathers placed the item on the girl, he himself tugging her rose pink undies down to her knees.  A nice crop of pubes there was, lightly trimmed.  Mr. Lathers only gawked briefly and went on attaching the strap-on.
	Thereafter Lathers guided the tip end to John’s glory hole.
	“Oh fucking God!” the boy uttered in his distress.
	“Take it all, motherfucker!” decreed Lathers and he pressed earnestly on Mary’s ass--forcing her to slide the strap-on she wore into John’s ass.
	It seemed incredulous--and indeed it was.  Mary fully make anal penetration, John reeled and clutched tightly the chair and desk enduring the sheer agony of the violation.  Mary pulled back part way and the slipped the item back in.  and repeat.  And repeat some more.  She pulled back most of the way and then--back in.  repeatedly.  
	Mary’s actions increased.  Repeatedly.  
	There was a nub-bump patch on the inner side of the leather patch, the part that snuggly nestled against the pussy.  It intensified sexually Mary’s quim and filled her with orgasmic sensations.  Lathers continued pressing on her ass, helping her to fuck.  He squeezed the cheeks and began stuffing HER backdoor, too!

	“It’s cumming!” shouted John.  
	Quickly he was stood up.  But instead of shooting his load onto Mary’s face, or in it, Mr. Lathers wrapped something like a rubber band about the boy’s balls and the base of his cock.  John’s eyes fluttered and he tried to speak--unsuccessfully.
	(Outside, the two boys sitting in wait to be seen by Mr. Lathers had their puds out and were jerking them, they could well enough HERE what was transpiring inside.  Other students would wander by, gawk at the masturbating boys but nothing more.  Even some teachers wandered by, nothing from them, either!)
	Mary Kane kicked off her clothes, the strap-on was removed and she was hefted up onto the Principal’s desk.  Lathers took a moment to gander and gaze lovingly upon the naked poon before him.  He almost smiled.  He DID lick his lips, nodded and positioned John before her.
	Lathers caressed the boy’s ass--it was just at the point of finally cooling down.  The boy gleefully inserted his severely aching prong into Mary’s cunt and began to fuck.
	The wooden dildo was taken and gently probed the boy’s puckered anus.  His secured testicles were manhandled and the strap-on dildo was guided into Mary’s asshole.
	Mary lay fully back on the desk, knees up, feet perched on the edge.  John plowed her and she fully received the entire length of the strap-on cock.  Lathers sat back and undone his slacks and fished out his prick.  With fingers wrapped gently about the manhood, he stroked.  He gazed upon John’s ass, with the wooden dildo still up his rectum.
	In minutes the boy once more began to cry, in agony from a pent up orgasm.  A flurry of cursing spilled from his mouth, he drove DEEP into Mary’s pussy, screaming and crying and plowing, pounding furiously.
	Mr. Lathers reached in and gave the two rubber bands a quick twist and they were broken--releasing a torrent of cum.  A torrent of cum and orgasmic bliss untold.
	Mary felt something from the ordeal, too.
                                                    ****

	There was a brief respite.  Neither John or Mary could move.  Nor did they want to.  The finale orgasm had taken a serious toll on their systems, a flood of John’s cum filled Mary’s cunt; mixed with her own juices there was quite a mess on the desk and floor.
	Kevin Lathers stood and caressed the boy’s ass, taking the two dildo items and replacing them into the drawer.  Satan’s Folly was returned there, too.  Standing his slacks fell to his ankles, his basic green satin boxers remained in place, his massive all male manhood stood out proudly.
	Slowly, very slowly John Jakes slid off of Mary.  Mr. Lathers eyed her like a buzzard looking at his first meal in a month.  Mary barely moved, she barely breathed!  Her pussy clenched and cum continued to ooze out.  Lathers went down on her.  He sucked her cum laden cunny dry!
	Ewewewewewewew!
	After sucking it dry and clean, tantalizing the young girl even more, Kevin Lathers stuffed the girl’s quim with his manly prick and began pumping.  Slowly at first, then stepping up to increase the tempo and pump with much vigor and vim.
	John lay sprawled on the green shag carpeting, passed out.

Still Schlepping
	There was an unaccounted passage of time for Mandy.  How much time was unknown.  It seemed like a lot, but then again…
	John and Mary were gone, replaced by two boys--the two boys who had been sitting outside--waiting.  Their schlongs were back inside their pants, pants were unzipped, though.  Nice looking lads, blond and sandy brown haired.  Blue eyes each.  About the same size with the blond headed boy half an inch taller and more rustic looking.  Both stared at the floor.  One of them farted.
	Mr. Lathers was just sitting down.  Did John and Mary walk out naked?  Their clothes were gone, Mandy figured a moment or two she missed, spaced out.  She didn’t let it bother her, if she did that she’d go crazy!
	Anyways, Fred and Harold.
	What their initial offense was was unknown to Mandy.  And she didn’t care.  Lathers tugged thoughtfully on his chin, the stench of sex still lingered in the air.  
	“Alright,” said Mr. Lathers leaning back in his chair, “how are we going to deal with this?” he placed his hands behind his head and gave the two lads a long hard stare.
	One of the boys broke out into a sweat and gulped.  One of the boys farted (again.)  There was silence thereafter.  One of the lads shifted his weight from one foot to the other.  The other lad was just listless in place.
	“Shall I notify your dads?”
	That got the boys’ attention, they looked up in mild distress.
	“No!” they both said together.
	“Your daddy works down at the lumber mill still, right?” 
	The boy whose daddy worked at the lumber nodded.  His blue eyes shinned and he was full of sweat--if not fear.
	“And your daddy is still on the sheriff’s department, huh?”
	The other lad nodded, his composure was more intact, but he was fearful all the same.
	“Well, you can deal with your daddy’s or deal with me.  Your call.”
	The boys looked to one another.  One chewed his lip, the other rolled his eyes around, scanning the desk.  One of them farted (again!)
	With a sigh one of the lads, Fred, nodded, “Okay.”
	“Okay, WHAT?” asked the principal, empathizing the what.
	“We’ll-we’ll deal with you.”
	Mr. Lathers smiled and nodded his eyes.  His hazel eyes glazed over and he opened his legs a bit.  The other lad, Harold, looked sternly to his friend.
	“What, you want your dad and mine to have us?”
	Harold re-thought and sighed.  He scratched at his balls and farted.

	Fred came around the desk with his head down.  Lathers turned to him, still leaning back in the chair.  Harold remained on the other side of the desk, scratching his balls as digging into his ass crack.
	For a moment there was nothing.	
	Then there was a subtle head nod from Lathers.  Fred twisted his mouth, sighed, and unhitched his pants.  Down slowly they fell to mid thigh.  No undies.  His pud was uncut and dangled off to one side.  Not much in the way of pubes on his nuggets, either.
	Lathers smiled and nodded, then leaned forward and took hold of the boy’s nearly bare balls and tugged on them.  The same hand went around to caress the boy’s bare ass.  Fred closed his eyes and slowly his cock began to grow.
	After some ass rubbing Lathers exploratory hand came to the boy’s growing pud.  It still hung off to the right, curved upward slightly, and was growing to nearly 5 inches!  Not bad for an eleven year old!  
	Lathers handled the boy’s pud, then tugged him in a little closer.
	The boy clenched up and watched as his cock was devoured.
	After a moment or two, the boy looked to his friend, ‘Maybe this wont be so bad after all?’ he transmitted with a look and a shrug.
	‘Yeah, no spanking!’ returned Harold.
	Kevin Lathers only sucked the eleven year old’s prick a minute or two, pulled it out and sat up; eyes still glazed over staring at the lovely dong.  He looked over to the still standing Harold, “Take off your clothes.” he told him.
	Harold nodded and quickly stripped off his clothes.
	Lathers caressed Fred’s body, squeezing his cheeks and drinking him in.  He then stood and Fred reared back.  Out of his slacks came the manly schlong.  The man stood menacingly, stroking his meat and waggling it.  Fred sighed and didn’t look like he was too enthused about the deed to be done.  He thought only half a moment and then simply leaned in and indeed began the task.
	He made odd sounds as he choked on the man cock.  Lathers held his head in place with his hand, working the boy’s head back and forth, back and forth, back and forth--until…
	A great gob of cum blasted into the throat of young eleven year old Fred.  The boy sputtered and flailed his arms trying to push away from the massive prong.
	“Drain me, bitch!” Kevin Lathers bellowed.
	Fred choked some more, gagged, sputtered and was almost in tears.
	Lathers quickly pulled out and emptied himself onto the boy’s kinda sweet face.  Fred’s head was still kept still until all of Mr. Lathers’ juices were spilled.
	Lathers then rubbed his schlong all over the boy’s face; he was exhausted and finally had to re-sit himself.  Young Fred somehow managed to hold his emotions in.  he didn’t bother wiping the spunk matter off of his face.
	“Burning dog shit in the cafeteria--not new but it hasn’t been done in awhile.” Mr. Lathers said regaining himself.  “Had it not sickened several students it may have been pulled off without much fuss.”
	‘It’s the cafeteria food that makes people sick!’
	Lathers looked to Harold.  Harold had spoken aloud, but the thought was loud enough.  Harold shut up and stared back to the floor.
	“Slinging dead rats into the girl’s restrooms…” went on the principal, “pissing into the drinking fountain, more burning dog shit in fellow students’ desks!”
	The boys were busted.  Big time.  Mandy didn’t know what to think, what the hell ever happened to simple cherry bombs in the toilets, making raspberry (fart) sounds in the class and passing the blame to someone else?
	Slowly Mr. Lathers brought Fred down across his lap.  The boy’s ass was fondled, greatly and heavily.  A cheek was pulled firmly and his anus was examined via eye and then finger.  Fred squirmed some, wriggled more.  A gentle slap came to the boy’s ass.  It was only the beginning.
	Satan’s Folly returned into play.  Fred muttered, “Oh shit!” then sighed and his young body went a little limp.  “Gull-dang-it!” he brought his hands under him and waited.  Lathers rested the wooden disciplinarian against the cool soft supple skin of the boy--made small circles and then big ones.
	Harold clenched tight and stared wide eyed--waiting.
	A moment passed.  Then another.  Then another.  Still Satan’s Folly made circles on Fred’s butt.
	Then, suddenly and with some ferocity the paddle came swift and hard.  Damn hard.
	Fred was too stunned at the onset to scream out or call or do anything that was vocal.  His body went taunt and another swat came just as swift and hard as the first.
	Then another fell.
	Another swat landed on the boy’s thighs.
	“OW!  Gull-fucking-dang-it that fucking hurt!” he bitched.
	Lathers smacked the boy’s ass and then snapped his fingers to young Harold.  Lathers seemed a bit miffed at Fred’s outburst.  Harold gulped and wanted to flee.  But he didn’t.  he moved cautiously around the desk to where Fred’s head was.
	Harold had some unsightly moles, scars, and a long hideous birthmark on his right hip.  His cock was limp and hung to the left.  Lathers reached out to the boy and pulled him in a little closer, via pushing him by his ass.  Harold scooted timidly closer--and closer--and closer to friend Fred’s face.
	“Take him.” said Lathers.
	“Aw fuck, man!” griped-bitched Fred.
	A heavy swat came to his already tenderized bottom.
	He opened his mouth and partook of Harold’s limp dick.
	It wasn’t limp for long.
	Harold (on his own) squeezed his nuggets and at the base of his cock.  Every inch of cock meat went into Fred’s mouth, Harold rolled his eyes, clenched up on his toes and became quite hard in less than a minute.
	Fred sucked.
	He sucked harder and Harold received orgasmic bliss as Fred’s ass was paddled during the blow job.  Fred tried to scream out again, moreso, but his mouth was filled with dick and his cries were muffled.
	As many as five more hard ass blistering swats were landed.  Fred WAS screaming, twisting and crying.  Lathers dropped the paddle and applied bare handed spanking--for five hard as hell swats.
	Harold was “emptying” into his friend’s mouth, shooting gobs and gobs of hot sticky goo.  Fred was a swallower.  He ingested all the goo, smacked his lips and then hung his head.  His hands were allowed to console his burning bum.
	His head was wrenched up, “I should make you EAT a plate of your prank (burning dog shit).  How would you like that, eh?” the boy shook his head that he would NOT like that at all.
	“Burning dog shit soufflé, with ice cream!  Well done dog shit, with a little dog cum?  Over easy flaming dog shit with green beans and rat turds!?”
	Fred violently shook his head.
	Lathers nodded to Harold and the boy went around the desk to come to Fred’s searing ass.  On his knees he went and into Fred’s inflamed cheeks he pressed his face.  He licked Fred’s crack and cheeks and spent quite a time diddling Fred’s hole.
	“I think I’m gonna fucking cum!” blurted Fred.
	Lathers quickly reached under him and held the boy’s cock and balls.
	“Oh no you don’t, not until I’m ready for you!”
	Fred made a face, spread his legs and ass cheeks a bit more and endured.  Harold licked and licked, diddled and diddled.  His young pud had re-stiffened and HE was ready to cum, too. 
	Harold was not denied.  
	The boy stood and for a moment or so humped his friend’s ass cheeks which were still quite warm.  Fred on his own apparently spread his own cheeks and waited.
	He didn’t have to wait long.  Harold pressed the head of his prick to Fred’s rim and began a steady insertion.  Fred groaned, moaned, and made half-hearted outbursts.
	Harold made long steady pumps.  Lathers wasn’t guiding the boy, just rested his hand on the boy’s ass, squeezed a cheek (or whole bum) and watched the fucking in progress.
	Occasionally, Harold withdrew completely and humped his friend’s crack, angled his cock downward between the legs.  Then it was back “in” for completion of the sodomy.

	Fred clenched his fists tight, he could feel Harold’s cock exploding inside him.  Harold pumped hard, his balls slapping, skin smacking against his flesh.  Nothing was said, no sudden outbursts vulgar or otherwise.  Harold pumped madly during the final throws and drained his lizard to the max.
	Fred languished and waited for his friend to get out of him.  Harold languished, waiting for the sexual “bliss” to die down some.  Mr. Lathers caressed Harold’s ass, smacking it some and caressing his legs until he was all done and cummed out.
	It was then Harold’s turn.  After all, he had provided the match and bag; Fred had merely provided the dog shit.  
	Fred stood on numb trembling legs.  He rubbed his balls and ass.  Cum dripped from his glory hole down his legs.  He didn’t glare at his friend, but made a face just the same.
	Timidly and very timidly Harold laid himself out across Mr. Lathers’ lap.  His ass was caressed stronger, cheeks spread and hole lightly diddled.  A nod to Fred and Fred almost smiled, “Here, taste this, motherfucker!” he conveyed and stuffed his aching bone into Harold’s mouth.
	Harold seemed to fare better at slurping schlong than Fred, he took the task in mouth and reveled in it (seemingly.)  He only became emotionally charged when his ass began receiving Satan’s Folly--  Repeatedly!
	Harold breathed hard thru his nose and completely engulfed his friend’s dong.  Fred could only look down and marvel in the deed.  “Holy fucking shit, dude!” he exclaimed.  With each resounding smack to his ass, Harold sucked harder.  Fred received the BJ of his life!
	Fred, though, didn’t cum.  He was close but lingered right at the apex of the orgasmic plateau, right on the verge.  But nothing “came” of it.  Harold finally pulled back and let the hot member rest/hump against hi head.  Lathers paddled his young ass tomato red, then applied his hand and tugged the balls up thru the legs.
	Fred humped Harold’s face and tried to cum.
	Nope!
	He got the go ahead head nod to come around the desk--and to Harold’s ass.  Fred gulped air and did so.  Before applying cock, though, he applied tongue.  Tongue and fingers.  Fred eyed Harold’s bum, kissed the rim and licked the crack and cheeks.  He smoothed his hands over the very warm flesh and soon stood to sink his prick into the tight sphincter.
	Quick little pumps Fred gave unto his friend.  Like Fred, Harold pulled his own cheeks open and received schlong.  Fred pushed himself all the way in and pumped very much like a rabbit.  He clenched his friend’s ass hips and “went to town.”
	Fred’s facial expressions told the tale--he was finally ready to cum.
	It was like he had never cum before!  His eyes opened wide, his mouth wider.  His hips pumped madly back and forth, slamming Harold’s asshole so much so Mandy thought for sure she smelled burning rubber!  Fred made some noises unknown, Harold did, too.
	Final at the brink of the orgasm threshold Harold unleashed a torrent of love cream.  He made MORE noises and his cock was nearly blasted out of Harold’s tract by the back blast of sperm.

	Both boys were sheer exhausted.  Fred pulled out of his friend’s rectum and fell away to the floor, wriggling in some agony, clutching his cock and jerking it, cum still shooting from it.  Harold clenched his ass, trying to finger his chute.  Mr. Lathers stood the boy up, toyed with his erection--then placed him on the desk…
	The boy laid back and held his legs back.  Kevin Lathers guided his prick to the boy’s anus and made easy entry to the cum soaked hole.  Harold groaned and moaned, eyes bulged, mouth opened big enough that the entire student body could hide within.
	Lathers sodomized the boy a good five minutes before unloading into him.  All during the fuck the man stared at the boy’s jiggling tool; he watched, too, his prick sliding in and out of the boy’s asshole.
My Inner Self
	(or something relatively close)
	For a fleeting moment there was the cabin, THE cabin.  She saw the inside of the cabin and all those within.  For a fleeting moment.  It was brief, very brief.  Other images filled in; none of which were understandable.  The images were jumbled together in meaningless strands of information.
	Blocking them or dismissing them proved unfruitful.  There were many images and they came randomly, quickly and with no pattern.
	At length she began to fill ill.  More than ill.  Sick.  Very sick.  She felt uncontrollable stomach rollings, her asshole clenched up tight in an attempt to prevent sudden “leakage.”  Her mouth became awash with extra-extra saliva.
	Then there came the “flushness.”
	The sickness filled her, overwhelmed her and she began to heave.
	Heave-ho and blow.
	Repeatedly.  A lot.  Over and over again.

	How long it lasted she wasn’t sure.
	WHERE it lasted she didn’t know that, either.  She wasn’t’ at the school any longer.  Someplace else.  Someplace gray, gloomy, and kinda cool.  The coolness was a blessing.  It helped.  But she was still feverish and very-very ill.
	Mist.  Or fog.  Fog she guessed, all around.  All was gray, like a gray early-early morning.  It “felt” like morning.  The ground was laden with needles.  Pine needles.  Thick rich green moss clung to the trees.  There were no boulders.  Some ferns, mostly deep dense wooded shrubs.
	She heaved-ho a little more, her asshole opened and released what was quaking to get out damn quick.  She couldn’t remember when the last time she had been so sick.
	She moved a little from where she was retching her guts out and fell into a group of sticky ferns.  The ground was cool and that helped.  She still felt ill, violently ill.  There was nothing to do but lay as still as possible--and wait.

	How long it lasted--she didn’t know.
	When she awoke it was still kinda gray, but not as cold and there was just a light wisp of fog lingering about.  She felt better.  She had felt better, but it was an improvement from when earlier.  She was in a forest.  Somewhere, she would rather be in a house--somewhere where she could get some rest, food, a bath, and curl up in an empty bed.
	She yawned and sat up.
	Nothing seemed to be familiar.  Someplace new?
	She yawned and stood up, stretched and looked around some more.
	The woods were new.  To her anyways.  She felt hungry.  Hungry and lost.  Very lost.  She didn’t have a clue as to where she was--or what the fuck was happening to her--or why.  At least the images that had plagued her earlier had quit.  That was a plus.
	She moved in no particular direction thru the ferns.
	It was damp in the forest, the air, the ground, the ferns.  
	She didn’t travel long or far before coming upon something, something striking.  Railroad tracks.
	At first it startled her.
	Then frightened her.
	Then when realizing it frightened and wondering WHY did it frighten her--she was no longer frightened and couldn’t remember why briefly she had been.
	Joy!
	The tracks were nothing spectacular.  Plain ordinary choo-choo tracks, the smooth polished rails were damp.  The odor of the oil soaked (creosote) timbers filled her.  Many times that particular odor had filled her.   Why she didn’t know.  Was there a significance?  She didn’t know that, either.
	To the left of her the racks made a long sweeping turn into some serious deep dense woods.  To the right the tracks came out of just such.  All was quiet and serene.  Mandy pursed her lips.  One direction was just as good as the other.
	She turned to her left and walked down the middle of the tracks.

                                                   *****

	Thick lush greenery.  Deep and dense foliage.  And way-way too quiet.  Mandy didn’t care for it.  No birds chirping, no woodpeckers pecking, no insects or anything buzzing.  Too quiet.  Too-too quiet.
	Save for the whistle.
	A train whistle suddenly erupted into the silence.  She shrieked aloud as she was startled.  She looked behind her--nothing.  Nothing before her, either.  But that didn’t mean it wasn’t there.  The whistle sounded close.  There then was a strange odor in the air, overwhelming the creosote timbers of the tracks.
	The long sweeping tracks merged into even MORE spookier deep dense woods--if that was possible.  The once really-really bright green moss and other foliage gave way to darker greens.  A natural tunnel there came to be, the trees stretching up so tall and then their uppermost branches inter-mingling with one another forming a “tunnel.”
	It was not totally-totally dark within the “tunnel.”  It was still daylight, just a little dimmer within the natural tunnel.  Light, natural light, could be seen filtering in through the sides and top of the tunnel, as well as bright natural light at the end of said tunnel which seemed to be no more than 2-300 yards.
	On each side of the rails there were some six feet of gentle slope, laden with river rock.  There then was dark patch of gray dirt for three feet or so which segued to the green really-really green clover and moss.
	Mandy paused.  A long time she paused.  She looked left and right of her, forward and a quick look or two behind her.  If she needed to make a quick and hasty exit OFF the tracks, bailing left or right would be good--but not without problems--the foliage was kinda thick and difficult.  But there still should be enough room to cower as the massive steam locomotive rumbled by.
	Timidly she stooped down and placed her hand on one of the rails.
	It was cold, damp, and still.  No vibrations.
	She waited five-ten-fifteen minutes.  No more train screams.
	Wrinkling her nose and wishing for companionship, something to eat, more suitable clothing, some directions--she took a step forward.

	A sincere creepy feeling enveloped her.  She knew she should have better since.  She knew she should turn and bolt.  But there was the curiosity issue; along with the tiredness.  She WAS tired.  Tired and fed up.  She had had about enough.  Enough of aimless wandering, if not wondering.  She wanted direction.  A pursuit.  A reason.
	Another fifteen minutes elapsed before she took another step.
	The fear of creepiness she had had momentarily had lapsed.  She drew up some anger from within, from deep down inside her.  Defiantly she stepped forward down the middle of the tracks.  
	She did note the significant temperature change once inside the natural “tunnel.”  She paused and waited--listening.  There was nothing, though.  Picking up one of the many settling rocks between the timbers she gave it a hurl.  She heard it “hit” somewhere before her.  Nothing else.
	A long steady breath she let out, licked her lips and defiantly once more tredged onward.

	At the end of the natural tunnel it a pile of graying lumber board was piled up to one side.  There were less trees but more shrubs and bushes extremely dense.  A deer came out from the density, crossing the tracks.  It paused in the middle to look straight at Mandy.  Mandy stared at the deer; it was black, not brown, black.  All black save for some brown and white spots on its rump.  Mandy had never seen nor heard of a “black” deer.
	The deer snorted, peed, and then scurried on across the tracks.
	A train whistle screamed nearly sending Mandy aloft.
	She jumped and bolted and ran behind the pile of lumber.
	The train whistle was close.  Damn close.
	From her new position she saw what looked like a building of some sort across the tracks from her at a 45-degree angle.  It was difficult to get much information from; Mandy would have to leave the lumber pile and cross the tracks to get more.
	Thinking it over, drawing in her breath and then letting it out she scurried across the tracks and snugged herself up against the side of the shrubs and “sneaked” her way along to the building.
	It was gray lumber, very-very well weathered.  A building presumably not unlike a house.  It set back from the tracks 20-25 feet.  Old style architecture not unlike the style of buildings of the late 1800s.  There were no windows--well, there WERE, just no glass.  The glass had long since been broken by various varmints.  Presumably. 
	The front door was off its hinges, the screen door was thrashed and lay on the rotting porch.  Grass and wild weeds grew up all around the foundation.  Metal pieces of ancient unknown tools and implements lay scattered about the front porch.  Mandy tried to peer into the building without actually stepping onto the questionable porch.
	A whicker chair was askew on the right of the porch, a simple wooden chair on the right.  A large “spool” table was on the porch, too.  Planters of wood and clay were broken in pieces all about, along with a metal spring mattress.
	Mandy gulped and tried to get a grip of herself, did she really want to go INSIDE the building?  A mild case of the heebie-jeebies seethed throughout her.  She COULD see thru one of the front open windows to the back end.  There was an open backdoor that opened right into the backdrop of the lush shrub-forest.
	She shook her head at the last and stepped away from the creepy building.  She backed all the way to the tracks.  Another building she could see on the opposite side of the tracks, at another angle and set back aways from the tracks.  This building was smaller and nearly concealed by overgrowth of the sapling trees.
	There was no need in even GOING to inspect that building.  Mandy moved on.  
	There was a water tower, green water dripped thru thickly amassed moss and algae all along the piping pipework.  There was a small building nearby, no windows or doors, well weathered, and had definitely seen better times.  Definitely.
	There was a “spur” that led off from the mainline.  A hand-operated push cart was on the tracks of the spur, its wheels rusted to the tracks.  A small loading dock platform was there, too; boxes, crates, and sacks virtually petrified in place.  The strong scent of mustiness filled the air about.  Mandy continued her trek on the mainline.

	A change of scenery, it was sudden and it was “just there.”  The woods seemed to have changed, too; more openness, less shrubs and bushes and more trees--mostly and mainly tall skinny slender pines.  They still formed something of a canopy blotting out the possible sky above.  It was cool(er) inside the new area, and there were buildings--it was like a village or something.
	The buildings were scattered all about in various sizes, including 2-3 story ones.  And they were brown.  Really-really brown.  A strange kind of brown, and it wasn’t so much as a mustiness that hung lifeless in the air, something else.  There was a mix of creosote and then something else.
	Mandy didn’t know--didn’t care.
	Most of the “village” lay off on a slight angle from the mainline with a few other buildings scattered on the left and up a small hill.  No one was about.  
	Down the slope to the small village where the buildings were generously set apart from one another, and the ground virtually swept clean of grass or pine needles, Mandy saw a well.
	She figured there probably wouldn’t be any water, but there was one of those old fashioned hand operated water pumps with a decaying bucket on the spout. 
	Slowly-slowly she made her way down.  The slope to the village seemed even more so as she went.  Deceptive.  She paused when finally coming level.  It was a little spooky.  Just a little.
	“Anyone here?” she asked aloud.  Even the sound of her own voice nearly spooked her.  She wrinkled her nose, sucked in her courage and proceeded.
	It took all of her strength to move the pump handle.  That was just in the UP position.  Even more strength was required to get to go back down.  If she weren’t so thirsty she would have said “Fuck it!” and moved on.
	She broke out into a serious sweat, it seemed as if though the handle was seriously-seriously rusted up.  It gave her one of those “power” headaches and she needed a rest break.  
	She took her break by resting and then sliding down a small boulder nearly concealed by ferns.  Something by her hand jarred loose something that rolled to her foot.
	A jar.
	A small quart jar.
	It had water in it!
	Mandy sighed and began to open it then noted the note attached to the rustic lid.  It was scrawled writing and damn difficult to read--but basically she gathered the words:  for priming pump.
	For priming pump.
	She had to sit and think and try to finger out what that meant.
	The jar was filled halfway with water.  The thirst within her was demanding.  A strawberry shake, though, would be better.  With a double cheeseburger, crispy curly fries and onion rings!
	She couldn’t believe she was pouring the water in the jar into an old rusty iron pump.  She pumped madly and couldn’t rightly remember where or how she knew to do such a thing, priming the pump.  Something useless in school she surmised.  Well, maybe it wasn’t so useless after all.
	Surprisingly the pump began to work better.
	It was STILL a hell of a lot of work and she had to switch hands often.  But then, suddenly--she heard a strange sound from the pump and then there was a sputter from the spout.  Mandy closed her eyes and poured the rest of the jar’s contents in and pumped vigorously.
	Dirty brown water with bits of rust color splashed out onto the spout, followed by a gusher of pure clean water.  It filled the bucket hanging at the end of the spout, but the bucket was rotted and the water splashed out the bottom.  Mandy stared and stared.  She stopped pumping--and the water stopped flowing.
	After rinsing out the jar she filled it and quenched her thirst.
	The water.  The water was the most fantastic thing she had ever tasted!  It was so pure, clean, fresh!  She drank her fill and then some and sat down, removing her clothes.  It wasn’t going to be easy but she was going to give herself a little bath.

	An owl hooted.  A strange hooted, kind of a holler and then a warble.
	Mandy couldn’t tell exactly WHERE the bird was, but close and not way high up as she would think.  Suddenly the air was filled with a pungent odor.  It was sickening and repulsed her.  Mandy’s eyes were stung with the odor, it was almost like rancid.
	The water helped.  She rinsed her eyes in the refreshing-quenching water and then…
	The train whistle.
	It was close.
	Not close-er, but close.
	The ground shook with a rumbling.  It seemed as if though Mandy was in the Old West at one of those old train stations--with one of those Old West steam locomotives chugging into station.  All the sounds were there, the chuffing--steam release, the huffing and puffing, and the lud voracious whistling.
	And it was close.
	Looking up the slight slope to where the tracks lay there was something just barely there.  It was back to the area down the tracks Mandy was heading (before her thirsty detour.)  Her first thought was to run--away, really-really far.  Thru the woods and wherever--anywhere but the tracks.
	Slowly-slowly-slowly--step by step Mandy ascended the slight slope.
	She had to avert her eyes from locked on on the hulking dark mass of choo-choo to her steps lest she slip and fall.  When reaching the upper crest of the hill, and looking down the tracks to which she had initially been heading--there was nothing.
	The sounds had ceased, too.
	The odor lingered a moment or so--and then was gone.
	“This is fucked up.” Mandy stated.
	For awhile she stood in the middle of the tracks.  The light scent of creosote returned.  Nothing else.  “This is really-really fucked up.”  pissed off a bit, she kicked some stones and began (defiantly again) making her way along.

My Scared Shitless InnerSelf
	Emptying her mind of all thought, of all useless shit from her past, her friends and family, those at the Cabin, all those she had encountered since LEAVING said cabin, recent events, and all thoughts of whimsy.
	It wasn’t easy.
	She filled her mind with songs, poems, (poems she couldn’t recite in Ms. Henderson’s 5th Period English class), and the scenery that she passed thru.  She guessed (surmised) that it was the being alone that was the pisser of it all.  She assumed therefore that it WAS some sort of punishment--if indeed she had died somehow and though did not quite warrant a stay in Hell, was not quite good enough to get entry into Heaven.  So she was in some other place in between.  Alone.
	Really-really alone.
	The trek thru whatever/wherever wouldn’t be so bad--if she were with someone else, even Kristy! (whom she didn’t like.)  Even a dog, maybe a bird, anything, anyone!  The loneliness was getting to become a bitch.

To Be Alone
Leave me alone on a sandy beach
So I can listen to the waves lap lightly on the shore
Then  without a word move back into the sea to come again
Leave me to it on a rock surrounded by the sea
And hear the wave crash on the stone wall around me
The bright moon dance on the shimmering glass-like surface
Like a thousand mirrors shinning in the sun
A gull calls out overhead and breaks the silence in my mind
We are as one in nature
As the gull turns back seaward the lazy methodic clap of its wings
Pierces the night air then suddenly heads downward
It breeches the surface and hurries off quickly with its prize
The ripples formed move towards me
As each succeeding circle reaches out
The placid moonlight is bounced into my eyes
I am not lonely--I am alone
	There were other poems she hated just as much, poems of literature and other claptrap.  For some reason unknown to her she had constructed a poem of loneliness.  She had friends, family, a social life--she was not lonely.  Not really.  Although--she guessed she had to admit there were times when all was not well.  
	She didn’t like dwelling on it.  Her friends were fake, she didn’t really like-like them, and the feeling was mutual in reverse.  They clung together in some odd relationship as a social order.  The same went for her family.  She felt at times that she was adopted--she didn’t really blend in with her parents, always bickering or some bullshit.  Very seldom did they get along.
	Before her a trestle came to be.
	A large opening on each side, the trestle crossed over a river.
	It looked deep.  Deep and cold and swift.
	Mandy had reservations.  Big time.  No way was she crossing over.
	It wasn’t too particularly WIDE per se, 200 feet at most.  Thick-thick foliage on each side, no bank could be see, the river was right there.  From the right the river bent in the channel, to the left it seemed to go into some sort of canyon and disappear.
	Mandy paused at the trestle.  There were the rails, the timbers, and that neat empty space between the timbers.  Mandy got a major case of fright, peering down thru the timbers to the rushing water below.  Not good, no--not good at all.

	There wasn’t much space on the sides, there did seem to be a walkway and then a cut out that extended outward from the tracks/trestle over the water.  One on each side, staggered.
	She paused awhile, yawned and wondered her fate back at the little village.  She had found water, was there, too; the hope of any food?  
	Sudden rumble frightened her--startled her.  Her heart began to pound and the air was heavily filled with stench--sulfur-like stench!
	That wasn’t good, either.
	Mandy bolted.  She was no longer really in control of herself and bolting madly back the way she came as subconscious instinct.  She fell once, twice, three times.  On her climb back up there came a steady rumble from the ground.  A train whistle blasted and a chuffing there came to be.  It was close.  Too close.  Damn close.
	Wildly Mandy looked up and down the tracks.
	And there it was--coming across the trestle she had fled.
	It was enormous.  Huge.  Black.  Billowing smoke puffed from its stack.  It was like rolling thunder and was chugging quickly.  Mandy screamed and dashed madly onward…
	…tumbling down the slope into the rustic village.

	Many hurtie-owies racked her body.  Her bare ankles, shins, wrists and elbows wore the brunt of the hurts.  Her knees and chest, back and shoulder, chin, and side of her head took secondary hurts.
	She sat up to get her bearings.
	The rumbling was gone.
	The unpleasant sulfur odor was gone.
	No whistling or chugging-chuffing sounds, either.
	She sighed deeply and stood her ground for a long while.
	Again, slowly-slowly-slowly she climbed up the slight hill.
	Just passed the trestle sat the train.
	It wasn’t moving.
	Its huge light stared menacingly at her.
	A little puff and huff it made, but nothing more.  Steam jetted out of its various orifices.  It was a huge one, five hundred tons or so, a huge boiler with sand and steam domes alternating down the top of the boiler from the stack to the cab.
	Mandy eased slowly to the settling rocks of the tracks--and waited.
	The train huffed and puffed, but remained still--non-moving.
	She took a step forward.
	A sudden overwhelming of fear griped her.
	Her first instinct was to run (again).
	She stood still and moved to the center of the tracks.
	There was movement.  Not the train itself but a form, a person!
	It wasn’t clear but it was as if the “form” had moved from the dense foliage along the sides of the tracks to (onto) the train.  The engineer off to take a piss?  
	Suddenly there was a chuffing increase.
	Then a blast of the whistle.
	Mandy was frozen in fear. 
	She stared ahead at the light.
	“Oh my God!” she said.  The light was moving to her.  She couldn’t move.  “Oh shit!” she said.  “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!!!”
	Her mouth was suddenly dry and there was a burning in her stomach.
	Not good--not good at all.  The train began to move.