The Knocked Up Lust Bundle (11 page)

He’s calling me now. I’ve got this big baby bump, and it’s so hard to get around with it. He gave me twins, his fucking cum is so potent and hot. Still though, I try to wear sexy dresses and high heels, showing off my hot, womanly figure. Whenever he lets me out around town to be his trophy, I make sure to laugh in the face of any guy that thinks to ask me out or talk to me.

So I'm a hot bitch still, sure, but I'm
his
hot bitch. I've learned my lesson.

# # #

––––––––

I
sat in my chair in history class at the beginning of the school day, idly daydreaming about the town stud, Joey Rogers. He was such a hunk.

He had asked me out tons of times already. Each time, though, I said no. I wanted to drive his desire up and up and up. Most girls, they wouldn’t dream of telling someone like Joey “no” at all—but as the prettiest eighteen year-old at Bluebonnet High School, I knew I could do whatever I wanted.

I say that unequivocally, with no hesitation at all, by the way. About being the prettiest girl in school. I absolutely am. There are lots of pretty girls here, sure. There are lots of
beautiful
girls. There are lots of hot girls, and cute girls, and all the rest.

But there’s only one queen—and that’s me. And they all know it. All the girls...mmm. And all the boys, too.

They just can’t compete with me. My tits are too big and round and perfect—gorgeous 36DD boobies that make men drool with every little bounce. I have the type of tits that women buy push-up bras to get: buoyant, perky, firm, and always perfectly displayed in whatever tiny little tops I decide to wear.

My legs are too long for me to have competition. In my sexy, blue pleated skirt hat I wore that day for instance, the edge of the fabric came down only to the middle of my delectably toned thighs. Every time I adjusted myself in my seat, I ran the gambit of flashing anyone who happened to be looking below my desk. It wasn’t that big of a gamble, to be honest—most of the time, everyone gets so caught-up in looking at my face and my tits that they forget all about how perfectly sexy my legs are.

My waist is too narrow for me to have competition. It’s supermodel-thin, even though the rest of me is delightfully voluptuous. It’s super fun to be able to wear whatever clothes I want and look spectacular in them.

My hips are too wide for me to have competition. Hips are everything, especially on a hot young body like mine. Hips are what make men want to watch you as you walk—and they all watch me. My hips sway from side to side, showing off easily, though of course the high heels I wear help.

My body is too trim and toned and perfect from years of cheerleading and dieting right for me to have competition. It’s just in perfect balance thanks to winning a genetic jackpot and me having lots of dedication to my strict dieting regime.

No, I can’t have any competition; my hair is too long and blonde—golden, really. Men want lots of things, but if you put a drop-dead gorgeous brunette in front of them and have her compete with a drop-dead gorgeous blonde, the blonde will win every time. That’s just a fact. It’s science, and I’m the experiment that proves it.

And on top of ALL that (which I am, by the way, or haven’t you been able to tell?), my face is just too gorgeous for me to have any real competition. Pouty, perfectly full lips. Bright blue eyes. Sexy angled cheekbones, and a perfectly regal chin.

I’m the best, that’s all. Get used to it. Everyone else has.

I know that probably some of you are imagining I’ll be taught my place, I’ll be brought down a peg or two or three (because honestly, with the way I think about myself, I probably could get brought down about fifteen or twenty pegs and still be thoroughly haughty).

Maybe you’re right. You’ll just have to keep reading to find out.

Regardless, I knew that I was just divine. So when I turned Joey Rogers down, you can be rest assured that it’s with a very specific reason. It’s the same reason that I go on and on about how perfect I am. It’s because I love to rile people up—I love to make them think I ought to be taught a lesson.

When I did it to Joey, specifically, it’s because I wanted him to ignore what I say. I wanted to drive him so wild that he forgot all about me saying no. I didn’t want him to care if I was being reluctant or fighting...I wanted him to hold me down and force his body onto mine no matter what I said or did.

In my naughtiest daydreams, I would be an awful little bitch to him.

“Leave me alone, you prick,” I might say. “You’re not good enough for this body. You’re not even good enough to look at me.”

“Is that right?” He would ask. “We’ll see about that.”

And then he would push me down on the ground. Maybe he’d even slap me—which I would love. He’d see how much it turned me on, and he’d do it a few more times for good measure, making my cheeks bright red.

“You want this big cock, don’t you, slut?”

“No!” I’d shake my head. Making a big show. Guys love it when girls pretend not to want their cocks. In my daydreams, he would know what I really meant, though. He would see the lust in my eyes.

“Stop being such a tease, whore.” He’d grab me by the throat, then, pulling my mouth up to his cock. “Beg for it. Beg for what you want. And then I’ll give you what you deserve.”

And slowly...as his hard grip cut off more and more of my air supply, I’d start to give in, just like I was made to do...

“Are we paying attention, Candice?”

I snapped back to reality. On the board, my teacher Mr. Young was writing the journal activity for the day. He started each day with us having to write about what we were supposed to study the night before.

Mr. Young was young for a teacher—maybe around thirty—and was good looking in a classical way. Thick blond hair and a rugged five-o-clock shadow that never seemed to go away. He had bright blue eyes, and often wore button-up long-sleeved shirts with the sleeves rumpled up past his elbows. He wore tight, form-fitting slacks and always smelled like cedar.

“Yes, Mr. Young. Definitely. Paying that good old attention, yup.”

He turned back to the board and continued writing the journal, giving a little “humph” to show that he didn’t believe me.

Well, he could not believe me all he wanted. Whether he did or not didn’t change the reality of who was
really
running that class.

Of course I hadn’t studied, and so had nothing to write in the journal. All I’d been studying was my own reflection and how to make it sexier than ever.

None of what was important to me had anything to do with stupid history class or Mr. Young. In fact, if you think about it, none of anything ever really would have anything to do with history class, ever, for the rest of my life.

I mean, like, why would I care why Napoleon did whatever thing in Germany or Africa or wherever it was? Who gave a crap if Anthony the Great conquered Greenland and then took over Rome? This sort of information was just useless. I could tell it all to you forwards and backwards, and it wouldn’t mean a thing anyway, because nobody in the real world ever uses that sort of information.

So, instead of doing anything dumb like classwork, I had decided to put on a little lesson of my own. I wanted to show Joey Rogers just how well I could turn him on. It was quite the little show. Winking at him as he watched, I pushed my tits tight together in my tiny halter top, rubbing them together. Licking my lips. Sliding my mouth slowly down closer and closer to the immenseness of my titflesh. Joey could see, easily, how I could take my own nipple in my mouth and give it a nice, slow little suck. He had his folder over his lap, one hand deep in his pants, his face squirming with lust for me.

Just for me.

“Candice!”

Mr. Young had finished writing his journal and had caught me in my display. He wasn’t happy about it.

I sighed, sitting back. God, I had been getting wet as hell, too. Joey certainly was too far gone—I could see him staring at my gorgeous body, still furiously handing at himself—he was going to cum. That was so fun!

If I couldn’t inspire Joey to take me brutally, fucking me without any regard to my consent or not, the next best thing was to make him cum his pants because he was thinking of me. Anything that made a man lose control over himself, I was all for.

But Mr. Young blocked my view, just as I was about to see Joey’s o-face. He walked in front of my desk, shaking his head sternly.

“You’re making an erotic display of yourself on my time,” he said, tsking. “I would have thought better of you, Candice. Why don’t you see me after class?”

* * * * *

A
fter class, as you might expect, I was stuck with Mr. Young.

I wasn’t completely against the idea. I mean, he was a total hunk. That was undeniable, in the same way that it was undeniable that I was a complete and total hottie, the queen of the school.

Mr. Young probably would try to deny that I was a total hottie—citing decency, no doubt. He would also probably deny that I was the queen of the school. But the truth is the truth, no matter who believes it.

He had the door locked and had sat me down in the front row of the classroom. He sat across from me, on the edge of his desk, his arms crossed.

“Why don’t you explain to me what you and Joey were getting up to?”

For a moment, I considered playing dumb. Probably, if I thought I could actually get in trouble, that would have been the safer route. But of course, I didn’t think I could get in trouble. I was the queen of the entire school.

“I was showing him how I could suck my own nipple.” I smiled, cupping my tits with dainty hands. “Would you like me to show you, Mr. Young? I do a really good job.”

His jaw dropped. Whatever response he was expecting from me, it certainly wasn’t the dead-honest truth. He was really cute like that, looking so surprised. He started to sputter.

“Y-you can’t act like this. I won’t have it in my classroom.”

I smiled, biting my bottom lip. “Oh,well...”

“Well, what?”

“It’s just, you remember how last year there wasn’t enough tax money to pay for all the departments?”

His sputtering stopped entirely. Now, he looked very serious. He took his glasses off and then put them on again.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I remember that.”

“And don’t you remember how it was my Daddy who paid for you to have a job?”

“...yes.”

“I guess that means that if I said you were mean to me, he’d be pretty upset, huh?” Mr. Young said nothing. “I guess that means you’re just gonna have to live with it?”

He said nothing, his frown only deepening.

I giggled, delighted. “In fact, what that
really
means is that I can be as big of a bitch as I want, all day, to anyone I want, and you won’t do a single thing about it, will you?

Again, he said nothing.

His eyes were all over me, though. Inspired, I decided to try something a little...dangerous.

“Gosh, really, when you think about it, there’s nothing I couldn’t do in this smelly old class of yours. I bet I could just sit right in some stud’s lap and make out with him the whole class, and you wouldn’t be able to do anything, huh? I wouldn’t have to be a bitch. I could just, you know, be the biggest slut ever and really just put out however I wanted, and you couldn’t do anything, huh?”

I was tugging at my nipples now, turning myself on. Mr. Young’s eyes followed my fingers, waiting to see if there was more of myself that I would touch. More of my hot, barely legal body that I would reveal.

“Oh, yeah. I could probably just sink to my knees and start sucking that stud off...you know I’m a virgin, though, right? So I’ve never sucked
anyone
off before. It’d be all sloppy and hot, and I’d be moaning and asking him to teach me how to do it better and better.”

I could see the raging hard-on in his pants, growing thicker and thicker the more that I said. It was so hot, knowing that I was doing that to him.

“In fact, I could like,” I giggled again. “I could put my hands on your pants.”

I got up out of my chair and knelt down in front of him. He tried backing away, but I pressed my tits up against his knees, and he groaned with need. My hands slid up his calves and then his thighs. I pouted sexily, licking my lips just for him.

“I could put them on your thighs...I could put them right up to your crotch and kind of...start to stroke...on top of the fabric where I can see your cock is so, sooo hard for me...”

“Candice...you can’t...”

“Yes, I can. Didn’t we talk about this?”

I squeezed his cock harder, pushing my tits up against his knees even more. He could see straight down into my cleavage. He could see how my nipples were erect, at full attention.

“Won’t you let me?” I asked, putting a hot coo in my voice. “Please, Mr. Young? Won’t you let me do whatever you want?”

I wanted him to grab my hair. I wanted him to take me and put me on top of his desk, spank my ass into oblivion, and then fuck me while I begged him to stop. I wanted him to pin me down with my arms behind my back and call me a bad, bad girl. I wanted him to show me how stupid it was to test men like him.

Instead...instead, he gave in to me.

“Okay,” he said, defeated, watching with big eyes my hands on the thick outline of his cock.. “Do whatever you want.”

“I thought so!” I stood up and swirled back to the door. “Okay! Fun talk. I’ll see you later!”

I left him with a raging hard-on in his pants, half-formed words bubbling out of his mouth.

It was just too bad he wasn’t man enough to take me right then and there.

* * * * *

I
’m not entirely sure why I’m like this. I blame society. All my life, I’ve been trained to be a prim and proper pretty girl with no thoughts on her mind but the most pure and sterile of platitudes. But that whole time, I’ve been building a body made for sin. I’ve told you how insufferably hot I am—how could I not be insufferably vain at the same time, when entire civilizations seem to rise and fall for the want of a hot pussy like mine?