The Family Feud III

Chapter Seventeen
Jamie's E-Journal Entry Two

STAR COUNT:
WENDY: 36
Get out of jail cards: 1
JAMIE: 39
Get out of jail cards: 1

The following is excerpted from Jamie Taylor’s E-Journal account of a typical day in her life. It is presented to you with only slight edits for readability. This account is Jamie’s perspective of events that took place on the Friday of her first week of training. This excerpt begins as she is walked to her 2^nd period math class.

Mistress Cathy likes to make me carry her books, and hold her hand at the same time. She thinks it bothers me that people might gossip we are lesbian lovers. There are a lot worse things that bother me than that. After home room is over, she walks me to my next class. The premise being if she didn't, I'd just doddle around and not get there on time. There is nothing further from the truth. I want to get out of the hallways. The leering stares, and pinches to the butt from people who know they can now get away with it, are more than enough incentive.

The posters with my face on them for instance. I shouldn’t be surprised in the age of the 24 hour Kinko’s, personal scanners and digital printers that they were able to print so many of these and get them put up already. If I had to guess, the jocks who took the pictures with me, bullied some dweeby kids in the AV department to put them up.

Friday is game day. There are decorations all over, many of them featuring the Football players, but a few with Cheerleader’s faces on them. People know we are good looking, but if we make posters of ourselves, we are considered vain. This poster of me looking like I have had the piss scared out of me literally, doesn’t make me seem vain. Thank God for small favors, right?

“You like looking at yourself, don’t you Miss Apple Pie?” Mistress thinks saying things like this to me, about how I am so vain and that I think I look like the wholesome, girl next door bothers me. This time she is right.

I try not to look like it bothers me, but I don’t know if I am that good of an actress.

“If you hadn’t wanted it on the wall at school, you would have flashed some titty in the picture. Then even the incompetent boobs who run this school wouldn’t leave these posters up. So you must have wanted the poster to get out, didn’t you?”

I hadn’t even thought about what would happen with the pictures. She doesn’t want to hear that. I just agree with her. “Yes Ma’am, I am a vain attention whore”.

“I know you are, now kiss me, before the bell rings and I don’t get to see you until English.” I have to lean in and give her a passionate French kiss. She is a great kisser, her tongue can do amazing things, and this morning she sucks my breath away as I give her what she wants. It makes my nipples feel they are going to burst when she darts her tongue across my gums and teeth, inside and out the way a cock must feel when it slides in and out of your cunt.

Yes, I am still a virgin. I don’t think that is going to be something I can keep saying for much longer. So, yes, I am still a virgin. Yes, I am still a virgin. Yes, I am still a virgin. Yes, I am still a virgin. Hahah, that felt good.

I don’t know how I am going to lose it. I’ve had fingers in my pussy, I’ve had things up my ass. I think technically that doesn’t make me exactly the most pure virgin anyway. I hold out hope that however it happens, it seems memorable. Naughty girl, why am I thinking about Bradley Jenkins as I write this? Okay, back to my story about school.

2^nd Period Math is not as bad as most of my classes. Technically, no one is boss of me in math. There is Veronica, but she is my best friend. So she isn’t very strict. She is just keeping an eye on me because Chris told Cathy that she could supervise me in Chris’s absence, and Cathy told Veronica that she should report on my behavior in math.

I don’t hold it against her. I’ve known Veronica since 3^rd Grade. We have been like two peas in a pod. We even look almost like twins, except where I have long, straight blonde hair, she is brunette. It is hard to tell which one of us copied the look of the other, it is more like we have been such good friends, we just dress and act a lot alike.

It was only a few short weeks ago, she was watching my brother run around the gym out of breath calling him tubby and making fun of him with the rest of my friends. I didn’t defend him then. I feel SO bad about that.

Now, I report to her “Hello Ma’am, may I be seated?”

She doesn’t hold on formalities the way Mistress does. She usually just giggles at my question, and lets me have a seat. She makes sure I sit the way I am supposed too, legs apart wide. She is nice enough though not to rub it in (too much).

I have wanted to ask her how she got caught up in Cathy’s web of control and humiliation. I have seen the photographs my dad took of her months ago. She was spreading her ass, in front of a dog cage and lapping up milk and eating strawberries in some of the pictures. She has my smile, the kind that looks so genuine and wholesome, it really looks like she was enjoying herself when my Dad took pictures of her.

I don’t want to tell her I’ve seen the pictures. I know she knows I must have by now. It must be a sore spot how she came to be wrapped around Cathy’s finger to the point she would answer the craigslist ad of a stranger and agree to pose for him that way. It is probably a relief to her it’s my turn and not hers.

We used to talk about everything. I thought we did anyway, no secrets, like best friends are supposed too. I am getting a real education though, because if she were my best friend she would have told me about how she got involved in Cathy’s blackmail games a long time ago. That is why I don’t feel so bad about not telling her everything that is going on with me.

She probably doesn’t want to hear it anyway. She just smiles at me and giggles awkwardly. We have a female teacher for Math, and I doubt she is a lesbian, so my spreading my legs seems kind of silly too me. I guess unless you count the fact that some of the guys in the class make it a habit to stare, and that if I do it consistently and act like a silly cow who doesn’t realize she has her legs flapped open in every class, it will make it seem less suspicious.

I am probably overly cautious. Cherry Lawn is such a big school, with so many issues. The Principal resigned (I think because of me, but I don’t know much of what actually happened). The acting Principal, Mr. Dragovich, doesn’t have time to even leave his office. It is obvious to even me, that he is better suited to monitoring the lunch room instead of dealing with budgets and standardized test scores.

The chaos of being short-staffed in administration has meant that the Teachers lack direction. When they lack direction, the students lack direction.

The boys are more aggressively wearing gang signs. It is funny when even white kids from the suburbs think they are ‘gangsta’. I am just happy to be on the side lines of all the serious stuff like drugs and violence. My problems aren’t really that big in comparison to some of the things I’ve heard go on. They barely notice when girls act like sluts, and if they did, most wouldn’t assume it is because someone is making them.

I would imagine my teacher just thinks I am one of the hundreds of girls who are going through a “Lady Gaga” phase. Trying to push boundaries, show off my body and sexuality. I guess when my Mom was my age, they would have called it “Madonna Phase” or “Betty Grable Phase”. Is it Betty Grable or Betty Page? The one with the really cool bangs, is what I mean. Whatever.

Second period is over. We had to work on slope. Who uses slope? This kind of work is beneath me. I had this stuff in Freshmen algebra. It seems like they are dumbing down the curriculum. This is supposed to be advanced math?

When the bell rings, I am supposed to ask Veronica for permission to go to English. She always grants it to me without hesitation, it is just a formality. This is my chance to ask about the party.

“Ma’am, my brother wants me to escort someone to a party tonight after the game, are you aware of one?” I know she is.

“Yeah, but it isn’t a party for nerds and geeks.”

I pout at her comment. She knows my pout and returns it the exact same way. It makes me smile to see her make the face. I have to admit, it is almost like looking in a mirror. I must really be a manipulative bitch, because even though I know her expression is just to parrot back what I am doing, she looks so adorable and sweet when she does it. You would have to have a heart of stone to look at that pout and want to break her heart or upset her.

I pull that expression out all the time to get my way. I admit it has not been working lately, but my Brother and Dad already know the game I play. They have my number, so they don’t let me get away with it.

“C’mon, Please Veronica! If I don’t let him pick a date for me, he is going to make it harder for me at school today.”

“So?”

“That is really cruel.” My pout is real this time.

“I am just messing with you, Sis. You have to lighten up. The party is at Dave Stravosky’s house”.

“Damn, it would be him!” He is one of the jocks who snapped his picture with me.

“He is a senior, drives a Porsche, and he is probably going to play college ball. Why wouldn’t it be someone like that?” She asks.

I don’t want to tell her about the fair. I am sure she can draw some conclusions from the poster on the wall, but it would be embarrassing beyond life to tell her all the juicy details about last night. She is my BFF, but she kept a lot of secrets from me. That was probably for my own good. I guess it’s vindictive on my part to hold a grudge about that, but I can’t help it. I smile innocently and say “No, it is just as well. Thank you Ma’am.”

This is my first check point with my Brother. I have to meet him on the far side of school, so I’ve been walking fast. I have to give him his books. My tummy is already growling for my lunch. I have to carry it with me (along with all of our books) as part of my training. I don’t have much time before third period begins. I have to make sure he has all the books he needs for his classes (even though he probably doesn’t read them).

“How is your day going, Slut?” he twerked my nipple ring in the middle of the busy hallway, making no effort to conceal what he just did. The side of the school I am on is for Industrial arts. Shop class, auto mechanics, stuff like that. I don’t know anyone on this side, but it still embarrasses me. It doesn’t seem to surprise anyone. They call it “PDA”, or “Personal Displays of Affection”.

It is technically against the rules, but this time of year, when we have a lot of dances scheduled, there is no shortage of it. Girls hugging and making out with their boyfriends, even guys hugging, and making out with other guys at times. Creepy, I know. I kind of blame “Glee” for making it more mainstream. I don’t know what it is about that show, but you’d think that they have so much time between classes to hang out and talk.

I don’t have much time at all or I will be late. I absolutely hate to be late for class. I am so afraid I’ll get a detention or something. I probably have far worse things to worry about, but keeping my mind on getting back to the math wing, helps me to forget that my brother just did “PDA” with me in the hallway.

Third period English, I am back under the supervision of Mistress Griffin. I narrowly slide in as the bell rings. I used to be already set up and ready to take notes. Mr. Young says nothing about my almost tardiness. It is almost as if he never noticed I used to be the first one in the class and ready to start learning.

Mistress chides me, “You are so naughty, the bell just rang and you are just now sliding your ass into class?”

I have no response. English class we aren’t permitted to talk the way we can in homeroom. I just nod at her and mouth the words “Yes Mistress.”

Mr. Young is one of the most handsome teachers at Cherry Lawn. Mr. Young is such a handsome teacher. (or maybe gorgeous). There is something about "one of the most handsome" that always sounds very clunky to me. So let me amend what I just said, to gorgeous hunk of a teacher. How is that?

He is in his mid twenties. He reminds of Jon Hamm from Mad Men mixed with Mr. Schuster from Glee. If they had a baby, and raised him to teach English, that would be Mr. Young. That is absurd of course, how would two men have a baby and it be the same age as them?

I started watching Mad Men after I saw Jon Hamm on Saturday Night Live and was blown away by his hunky square jaw. Okay, I am not going to lie to my own journal. I started putting on the show and not listening to the dialogue. How is that for honesty?

I guess I am being silly. I can’t help but wonder who is cuter? Mr. Young or Bradley Jenkins. I should put Jon Hamm and Mr Schuster in there, but that would just be ridiculous. I've been making a list of things, and ranking them since I was old enough to write. I guess I still am. It used to be what was better Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, or Rainbow Brite. Now, it is what guy is hotter? I guess Jamie Taylor IS growing up (some).

Mr. Young asked me a question about the assignment. I haven’t read it. I was up until 2am showing my ass at the fair with my Mom.

“I am sorry Mr. Young, would you repeat the question?” I stall.

It is obvious he is disappointed in me that I have my legs wide open. I have no choice in sitting this way. He is such a kind guy he seems to hate to look in my direction now. He just shakes his head and goes on to ask another girl about it.

My grades have been almost straight A’s. Despite how fragmented my journal is, would you believe English is my best subject? That could be because of the teacher. I sound like such a silly girl, all giddy over my crush on a teacher. It is a good thing no one but me will ever see this.

I am sure I can recover from not doing a little bit of my assignments while my mom and I finish our training. I absolutely hate that I am not getting it done. If I were to bring it up to my Dad, he would probably use it as an excuse to beat my ass until it was blue, that I am not doing my homework.

He hates it if I blame anything or anyone but myself, for my own short comings. So there is no way I can ask for home work time. I was able to get the studying all done, and have a very active social life, and do extracurricular activities before everything turned upside down. He would just think I am using it as an excuse not to have to do my service.

I am feeling like risking a paddling, I am going to ask if I can take a book outside when he makes me sunbathe for the pooper snooper boy’s after school.

Art is imitating life, or life imitating art, or ironic fate or something. Mr. Young just informed us our new reading assignment is the “Scarlet Letter”. That is somewhat apropos since I have been branded with WHORE on my ass.

Cathy Griffin gives me a nudge.

“Did you two have something to say?” Mr. Young doesn’t tolerate note passing or horseplay. He is a good teacher like that.

“No sir, it’s just that Jamie has some personal experience with the reading.” Mistress Griffin has purposely passed me notes to get me in trouble and put me on the spot.

Mr. Young asks me about my experience with the book.

I want to say that I’ve seen the movie and “Demi Moore was Hawt!”, that is what my brother said last night and that would probably get me out of trouble. It would also make me seem like a blonde bubble-head who doesn’t take literature seriously. I have to quickly make my mind up, something that would satisfy Mistress, but also work for Mr. Young’s question.

He does not give me a chance to respond. He just looks at me as if he is looking into my soul and he doesn’t like what he sees there.

I could have said that the Scarlet Letter, EVERYTHING is so significant. Every character, everything they say has multiple (often heavy handed meanings). How tragic to write that way. That is what I would have said. I think that is the story of my life. “What Jamie would have said.” I sometimes say stupid things, because I haven't learned to wait and decide what I would have said.

Dad and Chris keeping me gagged and making me follow a protocol about talking, keeps me from doing that. I hate feeling like an infomercial for the positive side to all of the strange things happening in my life. It really isn't pleasant at all to give up the right to talk when I want, or to do any of this stuff. I guess it is just my nature to look for the silver lining.

“Oh yes, I am quite familiar with Mrs. Taylor’s new found love of the puritan pillory. You cannot walk through the hall without seeing your smiling face on a poster.” Mr. Young sounded disappointed as he added, “I thought you were one of the good girls.”

The other students can barely contain their tittering guffaws at how that went.

I say nothing. I am too mortified. I picture how sickened he would be to read my e-journal. I am sure he would hate my choice of wording and lack of proper punctuation. My over use of contractions and frequent re-use of the same words. I am not talking about that.

I am thinking about the disgusted look on his face to read about how I had jacked off my father this morning into a mason jar, how I had shaved my mother’s pussy. How turned on I was thinking about him watching me do that.

Okay, I should delete that last line. I am going to leave it in there though. To shame myself for thinking such wicked, dirty, perverted thoughts. This journal is after all, only for my eyes. This is the place for things I would not admit to a soul, not even my mother.

Moving on. Lunch time.

Mistress escorts me to Chris. We share the same lunch period. I wouldn’t have known that. I used to hang out in the quad with the cool kids, or study quietly. I seldom ate lunch, definitely not the cardboard they sell in the lunch line as food. Today, as famished as I was, I would welcome that hot cardboard. I guess that is another thing I should see as a positive from the tribulations facing me.

A week ago, I would not have set foot in the lunch line. Today, if given permission and money, I would have gobbled down the hamburgers with the curious blue square in the middle of the meat patty, or the square pizza that is basically garlic toast with tomato paste and melted Velveeta on it.

A week ago, I wouldn’t have acknowledged my brother, or even wondered if he shared a lunch with me. Today, I am asking his permission to be seated with him.

“May I be seated with you and your friends, Sir?”

“Why?” He asks. He is toying with me. He knows what my answer must be.

“I would like to sit with you, so you can supervise me, Sir. If not, I have to go with Mistress Griffin.” I choke out the last words, because I know his friends are giggling at how hard it is for me to say it. I’ve said it almost all week as I was instructed.

Chris looks at my Mistress and then back at me. Cathy is smiling evilly.

“What did you have in mind for my Sister today?”

“Well, she is getting a little fat on her thighs. I would probably have her run in place out on the quad while she eats a sensible lunch.” The quad is really for Seniors and Juniors. It is an open-air arboretum just outside the lunch room, with park benches and picnic tables. Freshmen, Sophomores and students like Chris would be considered pariahs out there. It is all about looking cool and seeming awesome.

Me jogging in place there would seem as out of place as James Dean jogging in place in one of those movies he plays a cool guy in a leather jacket. That is except he’d need to be wearing a skirt that will flip when he does.

“Will you be a good girl, if I let you sit with me?” Chris asks me.

“Yes Sir, I promise to be good!” I say excited.

He seems skeptical. “Thank you Cathy, I can take her from here.” He excuses my Mistress, who sulks off to the quad. No doubt, she has some other plaything out there whose reputation she wants to run through the mud.

The school has been short staffed since the Principal stepped down last week. There are only a few volunteer teachers who are monitoring the lunch room now that Mr. Dragovich is acting as Principal. This means that I could literally take my skirt completely off around my ankles and sit down and the grumbling teachers who are giving up their planning period, wouldn’t stop complaining to one another long enough to say boo about it.

Thankfully, Chris doesn’t order me to do drop my skirt and sit that way. It was an extreme example, I know.

It felt almost that bad though when he said, “Show the boys your new jewelry, I bought you?”

“All of them, Sir?”

My brother nodded, he knew I was stalling.

Standing in front of his table of nerdy boys, I could see I had dated several of them. They now had this amazing reverence for Chris, like he was their King. I took a little pride in the fact, that it is my social destruction, that led to his rise in popularity. At least, it was counting for something positive.

I flipped up my sleeveless uniform shirt from the bottom. “This is the belly piercing my brother bought for me last night at the fair.”

Even though it was only my stomach, they seem to salivate. I admit I have nice abs, and a tight stomach, but I don’t think it’s anything to write home about. The bejeweled belly ring has two tassels hanging down a few inches, so I give my hips a swirl to try to make them move.

I wait, no camera phones come out. I am a little surprised. I guess that is my vanity talking. Why do I assume just because I am pretty they want pictures of my belly ring?

I look over my shoulder. There are easily 1,000 students in this lunch room. My school has about 5,000 kids and staggers the lunches so that the room is always full. That means there is constant chaos as kids try to make it through the lunch line, get back to their table and eat as quickly as they can. It also means a low roar of noise as they all talk, gossip and laugh.

It always feels like all 2,000 eyes are on my back. I know that is ridiculous. In that much activity, with so much going on, other than Chris’s immediate friends, and maybe the closest tables, there is really no reason anyone is watching what I do.

I still hate what I am about to do. I pull my shirt to the side, to reveal my sore, puffy nipple very quickly. “That is one of my booby piercings.”

Chris insists I show the left one, even though I have already shown the right one and they are the same. I smile like I don’t mind, even though I am sick to my stomach standing in front of them giving them an anatomy 101 education. I suspect most of those boys haven’t been exposed to actual breasts in person.

The internet is full of porn, they could see them anytime they like there. In person, other than the other times other cheerleaders have done “Senior Pranks” that involved showing their bodies, I think mine are the only ones they’ve seen in person.

They act like they just got a real treat. If they only knew I was like this almost the entire time I am home. (Some do).

“What else, Sis?”

“I have a hoop in my Cunt.” I dread saying Cunt. I would rather say pussy if I have too, but Cunt sounds so dirty. The guys let out a surprised giggle, probably more at how vulgar I sound, than what I just said. It is hard to tell with boys.

“Is this ‘tell’, or ‘show and tell’?” Chris asks very seriously. I didn’t know the name of the game we were playing just now. I was not about to say ‘tell’ though. I would be sent to join Cathy and beg her to make me run in place for sure.

“Show and tell, Sir.” I flip up my skirt in the front, revealing my hairless pussy, and there is that puffy, sore, brown clit hood darting out of my pink lips, with a white gold hoop. The cell phone cameras are out, and I feel like it was a full minute before I dropped the skirt, even if it was only a second or two.

My brother’s friend Tsoong asks how it felt to get pierced there.

“It felt good, Sir.”

“Just good?” Chris asks, his eyebrow arched in surprise at my modest answer.

“I fell on the ground, and couldn’t stop orgasming, Sir.” I admit, I had hoped for stunned silence. What I got was a roar of approving laughter from his nerdy friends.

I suppose the first few days of revealing embarrassing facts, I could hope for shocking them into silence. They seemed eager for each new morsel or detail my Brother would feed them about my new life under him. They certainly didn't know everything, but they knew a great deal.

The air on my cunt when I lifted up the skirt, and the excitement of talking about it, has made my nipples even harder and my pussy wet. I say nothing to let on that inside I am going crazy with weird feelings of ecstasy coupled with intense shame.

“From now on, when something feels REALLY good, or TASTES really good. So good you feel like putting on the “O” face, then you say, you just pulled a Jamie.” Chris instructed his laughing friends.

Tsoong made a face like he was caught in the middle of ejaculation, holding his mouth open like he was saying “Oh”. “How do you like my Jamie face?” he joked. I couldn’t help but picture the twins from the night before, Kiko and Yuki, or Robert and Neil or whatever their names were. The ones at Madam Changs. Am I totally racist for seeing one Asian person and then thinking about another Asian person? That is horrible of me.

“Anything else you got at the fair, you’d like to show and tell?” Chris smiled, blinking his eyes trying to look cute.

I turned around without hesitation, to flip up my skirt and show them my ass cheeks. “It is my new Tattoo, Sir.” I let it drop when I looked up and saw one of the teachers who have to monitor the lunch room walking my way. They spent the entire lunch drinking coffee and bitterly complaining about cuts in funding and lack of leadership, why was he picking now to do his job?

I don’t know if the guys laughed or took pictures of the WH and RE. I didn’t have time to show them where the O was. I let the skirt fall back down behind me, and prepared for the teacher to question me, to haul me back to the office.

He said nothing. Just gave me a look as he walked past. I turned my head to follow him. He was walking over to two black girls who were pulling on each other’s shirts, about to start a fight. It made me laugh, thinking about the fight I tried to have with my Mom last night. I am far too nice to try to kick anyone’s ass. Fights were a pretty common occurrence in the lunch room, and this one was over almost before it started. The people closest to the fight had formed a small semi-circle, but as jaded as some of them where, a few kept their seats and kept eating.

It had managed to take the focus off me. My brother gave me permission to pick one boy’s knee and have a seat on it.

I chose Tsoong. He was handsy when we dated earlier this week, but at least I knew him. His knobby knee didn’t really feel strong enough to hold the weight of my ass, but if it bothered him he said nothing. He even nervously shook his leg up and down to make me jiggle (or get some blood flow going in his leg from my fat ass, hahah).

He used the opportunity to try to feel me up, while I waited for permission to eat. He put his hands under my boobs and tried to rub my thigh. I smiled at him, so that he didn’t think I felt like I was being violated. Even though I did! I had to go through this humiliation. It wasn’t right to make him feel like a bad guy for doing what he was told he was allowed to do.

“You may take your food out of the bag, and show it to us.” Chris told me and I thanked him. I pulled out an over-ripe Banana and a tomato that looked like it was from last night at the fair. It probably was.

“You can sit on one of those, while you eat the other.”

“Thank you sir, for helping me with my diet.” I lied to my brother. I hated this. I turned to the boy whose knee I was sitting on. “Do you mind if I sit on my banana, Sir?”

“No, go right ahead.”

I felt kind of bad about putting the banana on his pants and then sitting on it with my bare ass cheeks. That is unless you realize they are courdoury khakis that have probably never been in style in the first place. I straddled his legs, lifted my skirt a little so that I didn’t get any banana on my ass, and then placed my weight down on it, feeling it go goopy under my weight and invade my ass crack.

I am sure I scrunched my nose. I am told I look adorable when I do that, but it is an uncontrollable reaction to squishy, gross things like this. The guys seemed satisfied with the expression I made. I was left to wonder how I would eat this raw tomato.

It had burst in several places, where the skin had been rubbed off. I took it out of the plastic baggie and set it on top of the cellophane to give some thought to the least messy way to eat this. I didn’t want juice all over my uniform and if I don’t eat the tomato, I can’t have the banana.

“Would you like some milk?” Tsoong asked me, offering me his milk. I looked at my brother for approval, he nodded and I accepted. Tsoong fed me the milk in the carton, holding it up to my mouth while I drank it. The worst part was I had to thank him for that humiliation.

“Did you want to tell the guys where that tomato is from?” Chris probed. I knew it wasn’t an optional question that I could decline to answer.

“Last night, when we went to the fair, My mom and I got in the pillory at the medieval faire. That is where the picture of me in the posters comes from. The people there got to toss tomatoes at us. I think this is one of them.” I blurted out as plainly as I could, while trying to bite gingerly into the tomato so it would not squirt me. I was having flashbacks to the deluge of tomatoes from last night.

I know Chris would have preferred me to go into more detail. When they reveal those new “letters” they want us to earn in their new rules, maybe that will give me some incentive to do it. As it stands, I know he won’t give me a star for telling the story, and I am already so embarrassed.

Seeming like I might have an interest in medieval things, only gives nerds a chubby. They got excited and started asking more questions. I tried to answer them as I choked down the tomato. It tasted horrible, hot and wet. If the fair had a ‘flavor’ this would be it.

Okay that isn’t fair. It wasn’t all bad at the fair. I still have a lot to process about what was said and done last night. It felt like several chapters of my life had just happened all in one night.

When I finished the tomato, I was allowed to ask for the banana. I scooped it up from under my skirt. It was now smushed banana-butt pudding.

“Taste like chocolate?” My brother asked sarcastically.

I knew I could give him a lemony response, so I just gave him a look like “You wish!” as I tried to eat the banana mush with my fingers that I had just sat on. The other boys laughed at our exchanges like that. I could get away with it, if I didn’t do it too often and push my luck. Chris seemed to like it when I would be a little sassy, as long as he wasn’t the butt of my joke, and I didn’t mind it. It actually felt kind of ‘right’ for the situation in question.

Holding my mouth open, so my brother could see I had finished and had nothing in my mouth, I asked as I always do about this time, if I may please be permitted to pee. Even if I don’t this is usually when I choose to masturbate and take pictures to send home to Dad. Yes, he still requires it every day, and if you forget it is an immediate correction. He’ll know if they are extra left over from the day before, because he wants time stamps on the pictures.

They want me to pick new places to do it, but the problem is, even as loosely disciplined as our school is, there are few other places besides the bathroom to play with yourself.

“Are you going to go masturbate?” He asks me as if it is a common question. The table gets quiet. Sometimes he asks me almost clinical questions, very specific. I can't decide if it would have been worse if he had asked me if I planned to play with myself, or to masturbate. I guess either option is going to turn my face red.

“Yes Sir, I had planned on it.” He knows I have to get it done, and I can’t go to the bathroom without his or Cathy’s permission. I hate that the other guys probably think it’s my idea to masturbate myself, by how I said it. I just think I would hate worse saying it was my dad’s idea to masturbate and take pictures to send him.

“You can pick one boy to supervise you.” Chris says. That is lucky, he could have dragged out how nasty a whore I am for wanting to masturbate and rake me over the coals with his friends. It wouldn’t be the first time he has done that.

I am about to ask Tsoong when he says, “Except for Tsoong, you can’t show so much favoritism.”

I hadn’t looked at it like I was playing favorites. I turned to another of the boys at the table. He was another one I didn't know, wouldn't have bothered to know. “Would you mind taking me to the bathroom, so I can pee and masturbate, Sir?” I ask him. He resists my pouty face, and shakes his head no as if he is so shy and nervous the thought is preposterous. I suppose it is.

I hate the idea of being rejected. I especially hate it that despite all the training about humility and pridefulness, I still feel like they should see it as me doing them a favor to invite them to watch me do this. I smile at his rejection, wondering if boy's have felt the same way the many times I have had to shoot them down before this training ever began.

I ask the boy to Tsoong’s immediate right, “How about you, Sir?” the boy reluctantly agrees and I offer him my hand. He helps me up, and I wipe off Tsoong’s corduroy pants for the stray banana bits and those long slender lacey strings left over from the peel.

Speaking of lace, as I am walking away my Brother says “I should call her Lacey. She is white, thin, and full of holes.” I don’t acknowledge his insult, just walk with the boy into the boy’s bathroom.

If you walk in like you are supposed to be in there, it turns out no one panics or freaks out (usually). I head to the back stall with him. I am leading him, more than he is leading me. I’ve peed in this bathroom every day this week. I am grateful that I usually don’t have to shit at school. That would be so twisted.

“Thank you sir for taking me back here. May I ask, what is your name?”

“Sheldon” he answers nervously. He is being a good guy, by blocking the open stall so that I can undress without me begging him. He probably has heard I do this every day and knows the drill.

I completely undress while his back is turned to me. He is obviously very nervous. “What grade are you in Sheldon?” I don’t feel bad about calling him by his name, even though he didn’t tell me I could. I think I am probably making him feel less nervous.

“9^th grade”.

“Would you please hold my clothes for me?” I offer him the clothes, and he turns quickly, scans me up and down in an instant and turns back around to face the bathroom and be my dutiful look out. What a good guy. I would have thought he was a simpering little jellyfish, if I had even noticed him before the training began. I feel bad, because I have taken pity on him. Who am I, Jamie Taylor, now slut in training, to take pity on anyone else?

I do though, so I tell him very sweetly, “It’s okay if you don’t want to watch, but I have to ask you to tell my brother, that you saw I only pissed, and masturbated. I didn’t stay in here and do anything else, okay Sheldon?”

“You don’t mind if I watch?”

I squat over the toilet, leaving about six inches between the bowl and me. This surprises him and he turns around. I am not permitted to sit on toilets. He doesn’t need to know that. I hope he just thinks I won’t sit because the seat is gross.

“Not at all. If you watch, I won’t be as tempted to wait out the rest of the lunch period in here, instead of going back to the lunch table.” I giggle in response. I wouldn’t do that, I am too much of a rule follower to do that. I just say it because that is Chris’s pretense for having me supervised in the first place and I am trying to make him not feel as guilty about watching me do what I am about to do.

I let out a small stream of piss, which sounds a lot louder now that neither of us are talking. Then I wrap some toilet paper around my fingers and wipe myself in the front. He is surprised that I do this. I guess all guys assume girls only wipe their asses like they do. I don’t get toilet paper at home. I usually just shower, so it is actually a treat even if it is scratchy, cheap one-ply.

Another privilege I never realized how much I’d miss, was toilet paper.

I hold out the cell phone for him, ready to take pictures. “Sheldon, I am about to play with myself.” I explain and he listens like I am about to hand him a hot plate at TGI Fridays and instruct him on how not to burn himself. “You can take pictures if you want, and you are allowed to play with me too, just no penetration. Is that okay, Sir?”

I know I wasn’t going to call him Sir, but saying it all the time, it just slips out. He didn’t seem to be bothered by it.

He took the camera phone and began to take pictures. I hadn’t masturbated since I got the rings in my clit. OMG, this changes everything. I am getting hot all over. You know that song, “It’s getting hot in here, I want to take my clothes off?” Well I get it, now.

I am having this hot flash all over my body, breathing heavy, sweating, as I flick my noodle, and play with myself. I am not allowed to sit on the toilet, but I so want too. I so want to lose myself in this. I have completely blocked everything out. I am in my hot place. I mean my safe, love place. There is a white stallion, a lake with a delicate breeze, there is a weeping willow tree dipping it’s long branches into the shallow lake of crystal blue water.

I can see Mr. Young’s face smiling at me. I can see Brad Jenkins, he is checking me out while I dance this sexy cheer leading routine. I can see Work Steve and even Uncle Creepy is there in my imagination for some reason. Uncle Creepy is smiling though, something I never saw him do in real life.

In my Fantasy world, they take out their dicks and pee all over me. They make it rain down on me. They are like the Ghostbusters, never crossing their streams, as they spray me with magical electricity.

WHAT? Oh my god. My fantasies have gotten a little warped lately, but that one was disturbing. I open my eyes, and realize suddenly that Sheldon is still taking pictures. There are now four additional guys including Dave Stravosky the jock who is throwing the party, ACTUALLY pissing on me. The reason I was imagining being soaked in piss, is that I was literally being soaked in piss while I lost myself in my own perverted fantasies.

These just weren’t dick shaped Ghost busting beams on backpacks. These were actual guy’s dicks. I couldn't believe these four guys had watched me masturbate naked for however long I had my eyes shut fantasizing and they decided the appropriate response was to whiz on me?

I started to open my mouth to say something, and it was Dave’s cue to hit me directly in the mouth. I was still touching my dripping pussy, but now I had my eyes clenched shut, a bitter face of complete and abject horror as they finished drizzling me with their dragons. They had coated my hair, chest, even pissed directly on my clit hood.

I fell back, sitting down on the toilet for a brief instant in shock, then standing back up for fear of further punishment. I waited out the final spray before opening my eyes.

Dave laughed. “Oh I didn’t expect to find a girl in the guy’s bathroom. Sorry I didn’t see you there.” He was obviously trying to be a complete asshole to me. That is something I’d expect him to do to people like Sheldon or anyone else, but not me. Then again, he had asked me to Prom my fresh men year and I don’t think I even answered him. Could he be so petty as to still hold a grudge about something I did back then? He never acted like it bothered him since then.

It could be he felt he could get away with this since he saw me last night at the fair, and he was obviously responsible for the posters.

It could also be that he felt I was one of “Cathy’s Girls”. That we are to be the object of scorn and ridicule. He has dated some of the Cheer Leaders on my squad, he probably knows all about how it works with her, more than even I do.

I don’t say anything. I felt like a drowned rat, covered in smelly piss, caught red handed without clothes. What could I say in response to what happened? I was totally terrified. Had they wanted to rape me, I don’t know what would happen.

“You happy you ruined my reputation with your sick poster? Thad lost his girlfriend over that.” Dave says angrily. The other boys are standing over his shoulder, grinning at me while I remain naked and dripping with their piss.

This is what he was retaliating at me about? He thought I had some reason to put the poster of myself, with them, in a wooden stock up in the school? I don’t think boys are as good at reading emotion as I would hope, because he can’t tell from the obvious look on my face that I am in shock that he would think that. He is waiting for an explanation.

“I promise you, I swear, I would never have put up a poster like that. What would I have to gain from that?” I am the one pleading for his forgiveness and HE just peed on me. How completely backwards is that?

“How can I trust a girl like you? You probably wanted his GF out of the picture, so you could move in.”

Nothing could be further from the truth. My social calendar was over booked with guys as it was. Some of whom I might actually date after the training is over, if they don’t expect me to act totally submissive to them. I was finding a few of them to be good flirts and conversationalists, they just needed a pretty girl to practice on, and the feeling they wouldn’t strike out if they messed up.

“I thought you put up the posters to make me look bad.” He believed me. I have one of those faces I think that people want to believe. This works out to my advantage except when I lie, because I am a terrible liar.


“Okay then, I am sorry about all of this. You won’t report me or anything?” He was actually apologizing for pissing all over me, as if it were an honest mistake. Had I not been in training and completely naked, with only Sheldon as my hopeless defender, I might have refused his apology. It is weird how hot and cold he became. He had started this encounter like a grinning jackal who was spraying me down with his hose. Now he was acting like we could be buddies?

As it was, I was willing to call a truce. “I was actually hoping to come to your party, tonight, after we win the game against the Rams.” I said, taking my clothes back from Sheldon. I had finished my pictures for lunch and needed to get dressed before lunch is over. “Sheldon, would you mind bringing me some paper towels?” I asked him to fetch me some paper towels to wipe myself down with and he obliged.

“We are going to stomp their asses!!” Dave liked to talk about football and his prowess. He seemed to forget all about pissing on me only moments earlier and talked to me like a friend. “Fuck yeah, you can come. You are a hot little bitch. I like the new Jamie Taylor. Sitting in the fucking boy’s bathroom playing with yourself. You don’t even care if we fucking piss all over your face. You even opened your mouth to let me get a squirt in!”

The guys had all put their dicks away by this point. It was obvious that despite their 'prank' on me, they were all fairly gun-shy about holding their cocks out, even if I was standing there completely naked. Double-standards!

He obviously read the situation completely different than I did. It didn’t make sense to tell him otherwise. He could think I am a dirty slut. He gave my titty ring a twist and said, “Turn around, let me see what is on your ass.”

Did it help that he thought I got off on being pissed on, and the fact I hadn't screamed was some kind of signal that it must have been alright to do? That my opening my mouth to complain and ask him and his friends to beg him to stop, had been mistaken for me trying to gulp it down?

If it did, I wasn't going to fight it. I'd rather he not hate me, than hate me, given the option. Compliance with his wishes wouldn't make things any worse. How could it?

Dutifully I did as he ordered. Despite the fact that I DID have every reason to scream bloody murder at this point. (Well other than I shouldn’t have been naked in a boy’s bathroom in the first place, and even though I got lucky when I was caught the first time, I probably wouldn’t be lucky the second).

He could not tell what it said. He was impressed by the size of the tattoo. (Which is more than I can say for the size of his schlong. Steroids gave him a shrink dink probably, lol).

I patiently held my ass cheeks apart; in inspection position one. He and his friends could see the pink O, that spelled Whore. They were high fiving and laughing at my new body art. I guess I shouldn’t have expected a different reaction.

“Is that fucking permanent marker? Whoever drew that is a fucking artist supreme.” He asked.

“It is a tattoo, Sir”

“You are so full of shit.” He didn’t believe me. He took the liberty of pulling my ass cheeks that much further apart, putting his eye almost up to my ass hole and saying, “Yep, I can see it. A mountain of bullshit up there. A fucking tattoo.”

As he took his hands away, I released mine too, letting my butt cheeks clap back together. “You got my piss all over my hands”. He seemed to be angry that when he grabbed me by my waist/ass his hands got wet (from PISS HE AND HIS FRIENDS HAD JUST DONE). He went to go wash his hands. He was done with me.

What a complete, arrogant jackass. If he wasn’t such a handsome, muscular studly looking guy, I probably wouldn’t have been attracted to him.

As it was, when they left, I quietly wiped myself down and got dressed in front of Sheldon who had waited patiently for me to finish.

“I hope you aren’t mad at me, they were much bigger than me? I wanted to warn you, but it all happened so fast.”

I suspected they had also threatened to beat his ass, but I just smiled at him as if I wasn’t mad. I really wasn’t mad at him. I wasn’t mad in general. That is the weird part. I should have been mad at someone. A week ago, if I would have been pissed on by anyone, I would have called the cops or raised an alarm or something.

Of course, a week ago I wouldn’t be naked, masturbating in the boy’s bathroom, while a strange freshmen I don’t even know, takes pictures of me in the throes of ecstasy.

“