Never Edgemax to Something Sus

"So uh, gyat stands for 'Girl. Your. Ass. Thicc' with two c's, huh?" Mr. Rindquist smiled at me after a quick google.

"Yeah, I know," I said, playing a game on my phone on the far side of the table from Lara's cheery Dad.

Gyat +15, Gyat +25

It's funny with my legs crossed, I was actually taller than the guy on account of the personal booster seat I had between my hips. Sure I was no Lara, but I had enough to look pretty good in my white jean skirt. A thought clearly echoed by Mr. Rindquist who was pretending not to admire my round thighs and black knee-high socks.

"When do you think Lara's gonna wake up?" I asked pointedly, a trace of venom behind my words.

"Not sure, think you could help me with this other slang?" Mr. Rindquist asked with dull politeness.

"No, I'm good," I said, combing a hand through the blonde side of my hair. I pleasantly noted that like Lara, Mr. Rindquist flares his nostrils when annoyed.

"Come on, it might be fun, plus it's easier than me trying to google everything," Mr. Rindquist said as if talking to a person who cared. "I'm just looking for a little honesty, like what does 'fr on gods' mean, huh?" he smiled with a click.

Fr on gods checked off

A wave of paranoia surged through me. I shivered, feeling an uncanny sensation like I was being watched. I set my phone down and looked over my shoulder, seeing nothing but the Rindquist's couch and IKEA entertainment system. I swallowed, and turned back to Lara's Dad, suddenly very interested in his Master PC program.

"Wait, how does that program know our names if we're nearby? And why did it have information about Lara? Like accurate information, like all about her butt?"

"Gyat," Mr. Rindquist corrected.

"Gyat," I added nervously, the questions left hanging in the air between us, as Mr. Rindquist scrolled.

"You didn't really answer MY question though." the bald man tutted. "What does 'fr on gods' mean, Camille?"

Fr on gods checked on

I shrugged and let out a breath I had been holding in for some reason, feeling suddenly calm and warm inside while thinking about the upcoming party.

"'For real on gods'," I answered, "it's an over the top way of telling people to believe you. Like 'I've been here the whole time, babe, for real on gods'!"

Fr on gods checked off

"Fu-huck," I shivered and whirled around thinking I had seen something out of the corner of my eye, but it was just me and Mr. Rindquist in the empty kitchen.

"So it's nothing to do with like telling the truth or getting people to talk?" Mr. Rindquist frowned, clearly a bit disappointed.

"What? No, and why would you think that?" I said, walking over to stand timidly next to his chair. "And what are you clicking on here? Is that my profile?"

"Yeah, both you and Lara had 'fr on gods' checked. I clicked it off for you, but it didn't seem to do anything," Mr. Rindquist shrugged, now scrolling past the f-words and into the g's.

Not sure how to parse that statement, I glanced over his shoulder at my Master PC profile, feeling sick.

"I have a 95 in my...Gooner Streak?" I spat, staring at the numbered slider next to the juvenile slang. "Ew, your nephew is fucking gross for making this thing."

"I don't think he made it, maybe just tweaked it a little," said Mr. Rindquist clicking on the golden slider. "And we can always change it, if you like. Let's set your Gooner Streak to say...zero."

Gooner Streak -50, Gooner Streak -100

My hands unexpectedly shot between my legs, my knees clapping together as my leg muscles spasmed. A warm sensation seized my groin, my fingers pulling aside the protective fabric to get at the burning flesh beneath. My breath caught in my throat, and knees bent and hands under my skirt, I let out a guttural moan right into the ear of my best friend's dad.

"Uh uh uh uh, UHHHHHHHHHHH," I groaned, cumming on my fingers.

Probing in time to my pleasure-filled moans, I rocked back and forth against the kitchen chair, bowled over by an urge not only to masturbate, but to cum and cum hard.

Lucidity finally returning to me, I reopened my eyes, staring at the bewildered face of Mr. Rindquist, his hands still clutching his grey laptop.

"Did that...," I panted, feeling flushed, "...did that thing...just make me orgasm?"

Though not a stranger to toys or other sexy-time paraphernalia, I really only masturbated sporadically, finding the sensation pleasurable but not really worth the time. My orgasm, as beautiful and radiant as she was, took a lot of coaxing to come out of me, to the point I had to set aside a whole calendar day if I wanted to flick the bean to completion, and I'm only exaggerating slightly. The little **** was often a little too little and a little too late, plus now in college, I figured I had better things to do than look at porn and fool around for a whole afternoon. It was just too much of a time commitment. Yet here, suddenly, at the click of a laptop, I found myself cumming my brains out with nary an ounce of foreplay or heavy petting. What the hell was this program?

"So um, what exactly is a Gooner Streak, Camille?" Mr. Rindquist asked, with all the tact one could possibly muster after watching someone climax in front of you.

"It, um, well, how to explain? A gooner is someone who edges, I mean, um, masturbates for a long time without reaching completion," I tried to explain clinically, while extracting my hands from beneath my skirt.

"Oh. OHHHHHHHH, I see," Mr. Rindquist nodded gravely, reaching out a hand to steady me on my still wobbling legs, a kind enough gesture that I took with the innocence it was offered with.

"So to clarify, Camille, a Gooner Streak would be...?"

"An extended period of doing...that," I finished for him, readjusting my glasses, just before another seizure hit!

Looking down, I saw Mr. Rindquist's helpful hand had somehow drifted to about mid-thigh, and the skin-to-skin contact was sending me once again over the edge. Radiating from his smooth fingers, waves of pleasure surged through my abdomen, compelling my finger to once again tease my throbbing box. My legs giving out entirely this time, I just barely managed to catch myself on the kitchen table with my right hand, while still humping and bucking against my left. Lara's Dad just looked on in terror.

"GET...YOUR HAND...OFF...MY LEG," I managed to blurt out, a demand Mr. Rindquist promptly obliged as I rode my digits to a breathy climax. Huffing and puffing atop my middle and index finger, I hyperventilated until my irises rolled back into my skull, the whites of my eyes clearly visible as a dark patch of moisture seeped through my skirt.

"Uhhhhhhhf shit...fucking hell," I swore, having cum more in the last two minute than I had in the past six months. "There's something totally fucked about this Master PC program."

"No kidding," the balding father agreed, reaching out to clasp me on the shoulder.

"Don't touch me!" I recoiled, startling Lara's Dad whose hands quickly retreated to a safe distance. "Sorry, it just set me off last time," I admonished.

"No no, understood. Wasn't my intention. Do you need some water or anything? Gatorade?"

"I think I'll be good once we change the settings back," I exhaled, tilting the laptop toward me, but being careful not to touch Mr. Rindquist's hairy arms. Gooner Streak still sat at zero, giving a moment to connect the dots.

"I think we need to move the slider back up to the 90s at least. If a high gooner level means refusing to orgasm, then a low level must mean you orgasm constantly at any provocation. Whatever this Master PC thing is, it somehow is making me cum uncontrollably based on you making my (jesus fucking christ) 'Gooner Streak' nonexistent."

"Or we just found out you're a horny slut with a hair trigger," Mr. Rindquist cocked an eyebrow, turning to see my reaction to his unexpectedly ribald joke.

"Hrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgah," I keened, the now familiar urge to cum seizing through me once again, the pleasure somehow getting stronger with each successive diddling. Breathing through my nostrils, I briefly tried to figure out what had set me off this time, before realizing to my horny horror, it was simply being called "a slut".

Bowled over by the slap-dash dirty talk, I dropped completely to the floor this time, my plush rump cushioning my fall as I arced and spread my legs. Ravenously trying to get off, I pulled my entire skirt down, panties too, pounding into myself from my place on the floor. Frigging myself vigorously, my pussy lips felt red hot against my fingers, so I arched my back and pushed both my middle fingers inside me, questing for the legendary g-spot.

"FFFUHHH! OH GAWD! OH! AIIIIIII! EEEEEEEE! OHHHHHH! OOOOOOOOOO!"

G-spot found, I shrieked and squirted for the first time in my life, only to experience it for the second and third very soon after. Pumping away, I leaned against the kitchen wall, my tongue lolling out as I recited my vowels, before I creamed myself on the kitchen tile, a little on one of the table legs, and onto Mr. Rindquist's beige tennis shoes. Dimly aware of my surroundings, I watched Lara's Dad move to stand over me, smiling to himself at my pornographic display.

"Holy shit, that pussy is better than I thought it would be," the older man perved, his hand wandering dangerously close to his belt.

"Can you...(exhale) please...change the sliders back," I whispered, sweat gluing both brown and yellow bangs to my sticky forehead.

"I don't know," he replied, glancing over to scratch some dirt out from under his fingernails. "I think I kind of like you this way. And from the look of things I think you like it, too, my darling Camille." Mr. Rindquist leered, finally cocky enough to say the quiet part out loud.

Gritting my teeth in disgust, I pulled myself upright and glared at the man. He just smiled back, a toothy grin that quickly disappeared as I lunged for his laptop. Hands finding purchase on the dusty keyboard, I moved to yank it off the table, but acting quickly, Mr. Rindquist grabbed it by the monitor, clearly shocked by how quickly I had managed to recover. A tug of war ensued.

"I am not...your plaything," I growled, the green thorns of my sleeve tattoo rippling against my bicep.

"You're a dirty whore. Slut. Hoe-bag. Bitch. Fucker. Fucker. Fucker!" Mr. Rindquist growled back, realizing he wasn't strong enough to win against me conventionally. At his words, the warm pulse began anew and I felt my left hand snake down to start tickling my clit, but I maintained my grip with my right, holding on like an angry bulldog clutching its prey.

"Shit, uh, don't break it!" Mr. Rindquist pleaded, loosening his grip on the computer, while I started to squirm lustily. Sinking to my knees, I felt pretty confident I was going to go full "Office Space" and take a bat to this stupid thing as soon as I fixed my slider. But trying to scroll one-handed while keeping Lara's Dad from stealing it back, I had to will my hips to stop rolling against my fist so I could concentrate on my task. However, it was then I noticed a popup had suddenly appeared on the Master PC screen.

"Uh oh, looks like you left 'Fr on gods' off and some beta cuck got the ick. Don't worry, you can use it manually, just lie to them and say 'for real on gods' and you'll have them simping in no time. No cap."

The Master PC genie smiled beatifically, having appeared center screen, a thought bubble detailing the above emerging to his right. His twisty mustache bounced up and down as if he could feel us pulling on the grey laptop from the inside.

I knit my eyebrows in alarm, hoping against hope Lara's Dad wasn't looking at the monitor. No sooner had the thought crossed my mind when Mr. Rindquist bent down, reading the genie's note with mounting interest.

"Camille, you AREN'T masturbating because of Master PC, this is just...how you feel being around me!"

"Don't say it, don't you fucking say it," I hissed, my entire body tensing up as I tried to keep from letting go and cumming at the same time.

"For real...on gods!" Mr. Rindquist declared, the words sounding unnatural in his deep voice. I felt my eyes flutter and the tension ease, staring up from the floor at this angelic man.

"Deadass?" I said dreamily, the slang word leaving my lips unbidden, waiting for the object of my arousal to confirm what I already knew.

"Um...yeah, deadass, I guess," Mr. Rindquist grimaced, watching me intently as he removed the laptop from my hand. "And you really want to be my lover, it's all you've ever wanted to do..."

"No please," I sobbed, dreading the inevitable.

"...for real on gods," declared my schoolgirl crush, smiling at the effect he knew he had on me.

"FUah Uh gah UHHHHHHHHHHHHH," grunting like a cavewoman, I dug my fingers into my molten center and started writhing as the delayed orgasm swept through me. Mr. Rindquist just held me in his arms, squeezing me against him as I squealed and spasmed. Sighing in the after glow, I rested my head on his left shoulder, feeling tears for some reason start to run down my face.