Cafeteria Drama

“Kevin sweetie...?”

Kevin felt a soft tickling sensation brush across his lips, followed by the familiar feeling of what could only be his personal concubines buttery lips pressed gently to his own.

Kevin blinked, slowly drawing sleepy eyes open.

His mind quickly whirled into motion, processing the unimaginable series of events that led him to his current situation; lying reclined on a cafeteria bench, head cradled in the lap of the ‘second’ hottest girl in school (the hottest of course now able to turn his most perverted fantasies to reality), and happy to grant his every request.

“Well g’morning there sleepy-head.”

the heavenly visage of his very own redheaded cheerleader beaming down on him seemed even more angelic with the soft white-blue halo framing her molten curls from the cafeterias artificial lighting above.

“Hey yourself,” Kevin languidly stretched, arching his back to nestle the weight of his head against Sam’s pussy warmth below.

“Mmmmmmm, tha'sooo... nissssssse,” Sam hissed through gritted teeth. She began to gently roll her hips, attempting to stimulate her rapidly steeping sex beneath Kevin’s head.

“And... Mmmmmmm, I could do this all day, Buuuuuut...” her erotic ministrations began to slow and then begrudgingly halt, “The bell just rang, and we’re gonna be late if we don’t get a move on.”

Sam again pressed her silken lips to his own for a bit of extra motivation.

Kevin opened his eyes and smiled broadly, taking a moment to appreciate the genuine look of concern on his redheaded pet.

This shit was REAL.

Although he’d never actually seen anything like it before, he knew there was no faking that kind of devotion. He could barely fathom such a thought in his most vivid fantasy; a goddess at the top of the social food chain who would normally go through her entire high school career occasionally scraping filth like him off her designer heels, was now HIS possession.

There’s no way this shit was real, how could it be? But the adoring gaze of those warm eyes told him this was no lie.

“Kevin....?” Sam tilted her head and pursed her lips in concern in that now familiar, adorable way which had quickly become one of Kevin’s favorite quirks.

“Earth to Kevin...” Sam sing-songed, her lilting voice almost lost in the bustle and murmurs from the student body quickly exiting the cafeteria.

“I’ve got Cooper this period, so I’ll still be able to make it,” Sam took to parting the hair from before Kevin’s eyes, gently running her fingers through his unkempt hair, “But YOUR’E gonna be late for McCunty’s class if we don’t get moving.”

Sam again thought to persuade Kevin with a quick peck to the lips, followed by a slow tongue drag along his jaw to end with a playful nibble on his right ear lobe.

“McCunty?” Kevin suddenly bolted upright, eliciting a pleasant squeak from his cheerleader turned possession. He quickly swiveled on the plastic bench to face Sam’s questioning gaze, “Don’t you mean 'McCrusty'?”

Kevin blurted that out much louder than intended, earning a couple sharp looks from some nearby class mates still emptying the cafeteria.

Professor McCarthy, or more importantly Mr. McCarthy, was the resident European History teacher whose posh British accent, ever present spectacles, and endless wardrobe of tweed and herringbone earned him the moniker Mr. McCrusty. The fact that he was never seen without his cane added to the teachers moniker. Kevin often wondered what stories that sleek piece of carved mahogany could tell, especially with the creepy way McCrusty would often polish the accessory during reading lessons or testing.

Kevin didn’t care too much for McCrusty, tending to prefer the soft curves of a Miss Littlewood. Or at least something a bit more challenging like Henderson’s photography class; at least he could wander the halls for some entertainment. But for once he was actually looking forward to European History.

Kevin was woken from his thoughts from a soft poking at his chest.

“Hey, you sure you’re okay?” Sam asked again, leaning forward with the slight head tilt of concern, “You’ve been acting a little spacey all day.”

Sam reached forward, placing a surprisingly warm hand to Kevin’s forehead. Kevin felt he would never grow tired of that tender touch.

“Nope, all’s good,” Leaping suddenly to his feet, Kevin playfully guided Sam off the cafeteria bench with a slight tug of the wrist.

“Feeling. Fucking. AWESOME!” Kevin found himself yelling, earning glares from the few remaining students still ambling about the almost empty cafeteria. Giving Sam’s slender cheerleader frame a quick twirl capped with a tongue dive to taste her tonsils, Kevin’s hands traveled the length of her toned body to cradle her ass.

“Mmmmmmmmm...” Sam moaned around Kevin’s invading tongue, pressing her heated pussy against his stiffening cock. Precisely as she had been trained.

“Mr. Scott,” Kevin heard from behind, the voice slightly muted by Sam’s appreciative mewlings. Kevin could hear the steady clicking of heels quickly approaching.

Mostly out of habit, Kevin immediately dropped his hands and turned to face the source of the almost unbearably sexy voice traveling from his ears directly to his cock.

“Holyfuckingshit,” Kevin sputtered, earning him a disapproving glare from his upgraded Drama teacher.

“Um, sorry, ah, Miss Fletcher.....?” Kevin tentatively asked, not really believing the sex on legs version 2.0 of the ‘Walking Stick’, as she was often called, were once one-and-the-same.

The woman’s once multicolored hair that always looked like she had been courting a power outlet now flowed from her head in cascading waves of auburn to rest slightly above the rounded mounds of now glorious ass. Her crooked nose, now gently sloped to highlight two bee stung lips were framed by high sculpted cheek bones worthy of a runway model. Her makeup highlighted her exotic features, artistically applied as befitting someone who practically lived on stage. The ‘child of the 60’s’ teacher who was never seen without some sort of tie-dyed apparel hanging from her bony frame was now much more appropriately attired to your liking.

Goddamn but that was a brilliant fucking wish, Kevin thought to himself, accompanied by a mental pat-on-the-back.

Miss Fletcher looked like the porn version of a Magician’s Assistant. A miniature black top hat with white lace trim sat at a skewed angle above her left ear, appearing like a wayward ship lost in a sea of brown-gold locks. Large white pearls studded each supple lobe, with a matching string draped multiple times about her slender neck and hanging to rest before each prominent pink nipple on perfect C-cup tits. A white silk belt of a skirt wrapped her waist to stop slightly short of concealing her pussy in what Kevin imagined was an improvised cummerbund. Black fishnet stockings patterned with the Comedy and Tragedy theatre masks caressed her exposed thighs. Kevin’s eyes massaged her magically chiseled leg, tracing each to end in glossy black stiletto heels that set both her feet and luscious ass at an impossible angle.

She adjusted the detached black silk and lace cuffs matching her loli headpiece adorning her wrists and shifted forward to rest against a curved black cane with spiral white stripe traveling the length of the shaft.

“....And of course, Miss Mason,” Miss Fletcher’s voice took on a brief tinge of disgust once Kevin’s partner was recognized. She leaned further forward, earning Kevin an unobstructed view of her magnificently exposed tits, and a shoulder jab to the ribs from Sam at his side.

Kevin guessed even concubines got jealous.

“You can do what you like with your... possessions... on your own time, Mr. Scott,” Miss Fletcher reprimanded, accenting her point with a lingering glare for Sam.

“But right now you’re on OUR time Mr. Scott, and we don’t like OUR time wasted, yes?” Her heels gently rapping with annoyance. Kevin wondered how she could possibly tap her foot in those impossible heels. He guessed that’s what the cane was for.

Regardless, Kevin didn’t care much for Miss Fletcher’s condescending tone toward his cheerleader acquisition. Even with Sam’s gentle tugging on his arm, encouraging him to avoid any trouble, and with the anticipation of visiting the wish-altered McCrusty, Kevin felt Miss Fletcher could benefit from a little retributive modesty.