The cauldron bubbled as my evil math teacher Ms. Bashir threw in another dose of eye of newt. "How dare Summer Adams be smarter than me? How dare she know more than her teacher?" She curses, mixing the pot with her old broomstick.
"And how dare she be prettier than me," the captain of the cheerleading squad added, dropping in some lizards tails.
"And how dare she be so much more understanding than me, and much more helpful with peoples problems!" My school guidance counselor wailed, and tossed in a vile of virgin lioness blood.
Ms. Bashir cackled madly and raised her broomstick into the air. "From this day forth whenever Summer kisses a man, she will succumb to all his desires, and be forced to service him sexually in the most degrading manner, no matter where she is or who she is with!"
And she, and the cheerleading squad, and the guidance counselor, and all the other girls from school who are jealous of me because they know I'm so much better than them laugh and chant, "Summer Kisses! Summer Kisses! Summer Kisses!"
That's why I wish it had happened...
But no, of course that's not why it happened. It happened because I am a closet submissive. It happened because I wanted a man; a hard fast-moving rough man using me for the only purpose that a man uses a girl, to empty his balls.
Of course I was still a virgin at the tender age of 16, and would never have the guts to actually go out and find a decent one to fulfill my cravings. I had thought even if one came to me, I would probably be too nervous and scared to live out my fantasies. Maybe my fantasies were just for me, one of those things guys said they always had stored up in their brains; things they fantasize about but don't think would really turn them on in real life.
And right off track I go. We're here to talk about the kiss... and the whole nine inches that followed...
My brother was drunk.
He was always drunk when he came home on the weekends. My parents pretended not to notice because they were so proud of him, big football star and all, but he was still small for a player, and lord knows I'd tackled him a lot of times without difficulty when we were younger...
Now I don't mind a little alcohol every now and again, and it wouldn't really bother me that my brother always came home plowed, or even that my parents pretended not to notice, if it wasn't for the way he acted when he was drunk. He was very... amorous, especially towards me. Sure I was a knockout -5'3", brown hair falling down my back, green eyes, budding 34b breasts- but I was his sister. Every time I entered the room I saw the little tent in his pants, sometimes he would rub it as he talked to me, telling me in subtle drunk speak how he was thinking about me, naked and in his lap. He'd done it right in front of my mother once, and she told me he was just kidding, and that she thought we'd grown out of this childish game of trying to annoy each other a long time ago.
When he was sober he still looked, but he kept his hands in appropriate places and never said a word. He was still a pig but at least I could be flattered by quiet admiration. I often thought about what would happen if and when he decided to make a real move on me. I knew my brother wouldn't rape me but I had no doubt he would eventually just come right out and ask me to sit on his dick. He would come home drunk one night, sit in the living room chair in front of the TV like he always did. I would come into the room for some reason or other and he'd whip it out and tell me his little friend needed something tight and warm to snuggle up in.
Alright, so maybe I was touching myself when I thought about this...
But there was no way I would do it. He was an insensitive jerk who wouldn't even take his time on my virgin pussy. He would just ream me raw, calling me a slut and a whore and every other one-syllable name he could grunt until he washed my virginity away with his foul seed. Then he would just push me off his lap like a piece of trash, fully deflowered and degraded beyond words. He'd probably have me change the channel on the TV for him after I struggled to my feet, then maybe get him a soda and some chips while I was up.
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Mr Double's Palisade A MrDouble Production:
Changes last made on: Monday, September 24, 2001