Veronica Luisa Juarez – "Ronni" to just about everybody besides her parents -- felt a giddy tingle in her tummy as she made her way to her friend's house. She could still hardly believe the rapid and significant changes in her life. Three months ago, the quiet, somber seventh-grader, third of five children and daughter of hard-working, socially-conservative Mexican immigrants, had felt like a nobody.

Both of her parents had entered the country as children, illegally with their own parents in the mid-eighties. President Reagan's amnesty program had normalized their status and they had since followed all the rules and were now proud to be citizens -- Republican voters, in fact, of the Chamber of Commerce sort. Her father owned a handful of dry-cleaning businesses throughout the city, and worked long hours, primarily keeping an eye on the business rather than working the plant anymore, but sometimes he couldn't help himself -- and sometimes it couldn't be helped. Her mother often pitched in at the locations, too, although of course they had plenty of non-family staff at this point. Mr. Juarez believed that he could really only trust family with keeping the chain's reputation top-notch. As a result, and as a savings measure, Ronni and her siblings spent many a school night evening and weekend morning doing homework in one of the shops between handling the intermittent front counter traffic.

On this particular Friday afternoon and evening, however, Ronni was free of those responsibilities, although she was scheduled to help out in the west side location the following afternoon. Tonight, she had permission to sleep over at her new best friend's house. A new best friend who had changed everything for Ronni.

This friend was amazing!

She was an eighth grader, just about the most popular girl in their middle school, and in Ronni's eyes the prettiest, too. Ronni was of course probably correct in this latter assessment, for in cliquey adolescence those two characteristics – female social position and pulchritude -- are often highly correlated.

But frankly, there were lots of hot and popular girls in the school, especially among the eighth graders, who naturally "ruled the roost." This particular hot and popular girl was "amazing" because of what she had done for Ronni, what she had done with Ronni, and what she had done to Ronni.

-o0o-

For Ronni, she had, out of the blue, befriended her, publicly, which had immediately skyrocketed the younger girl's profile, popularity, and status. Ronni still had no idea why this had suddenly happened. Sure, the two girls had both been cheerleaders for the combined seventh- and eighth-grade boys’ basketball team, but that wasn't particularly relationship-building; after all they had only practiced maybe six times after school, and then cheered for a grand total of five home games. So Ronni had been acquainted with her benefactor casually, but this didn’t really explain the older girl’s outreach. And besides, she herself hadn’t been popular at all, had no boyfriend, and most importantly of all, was merely a seventh grader.

Despite the tendency of girls Ronni’s age to harbor insecurities about their physical attributes, a tendency she shared in standard measure, she couldn't ignore the reality that she herself seemed to be considered attractive by most of the boys. The small circle of girlfriends she had maintained prior to her "elevation" had always wistfully expressed envy of her pretty face, her sleek dark hair, her cinnamon skin tone, her eyes -- especially her eyes: large, dark, unbelievably long-lashed -- and even the way her butt looked in her favorite jeans. But despite the secret hope these compliments had occasionally evoked in her heart-of-hearts, her shyness, the limited opportunity her duties in the family business afforded for out-of-school social activities and, above all, the constraints imposed by her strict and loving parents, most importantly that of "absolutely no boyfriends," had conspired to settle the thirteen-year old cutie into a vague schoolyard anonymity. Until she stepped in.

That is what the popular, bright, and very pretty Bethany Michaels had done for Ronni.

-o0o-

With Ronni...well. It still made her blush to think of how that started. Bethany had for whatever reason decided to befriend Ronni, but of course that didn't go from zero to "besties" overnight. But it did involve a growing frequency of text exchanges and threads, sharing tables at lunch, or sitting together on the bus, and then the basic hanging out after school. They didn't live too far from each other, and so they had initially traded visits, under the general pretext of studying together, although since both girls were good students on their own and not even in the same grade or taking the same classes, these were really just occasions to play with electronics or watch some TV, and more often than not text other girls in the "clique" not present. Bethany's looping her into those text circles, Ronni knew, was almost as important as sitting with her at lunch in solidifying her acceptance into the exclusive top social tier at Northside Middle School.

One day Bethany had asked Ronni if she would be willing to help one of her friends out. Ronni, of course, had sad "sure"; she would do anything for this older, now-idolized girl. The request was simple enough.

"This friend of mine...well, he's really a friend of my stepdad's, he's an adult...well he has this app he is trying to test out. It's super-secret 'cause he doesn't want the idea getting out before he can publish it. You know, so no one steals it.

"Anyway, this is like a video app, but he thinks it will be bigger than YouTube. Since teens rule with this kind of stuff, I'm helping him out; he wants me to help him make it better. It's called beta-testing. I have his app on my phone, and whenever I watch a video or anything, I watch it on his app, to test it out. Would you help, too?"

Of course Ronni had immediately agreed, and so under the older girl's direction she had downloaded the app -- something called TrackQ -- onto her phone and henceforth did all her video surfing through it. She dutifully reported certain buggy experiences to Bethany: sometimes the video would flash with seemingly random (and sometimes embarrassing) images, as though a different video from somewhere on the Internet, maybe like sitting next to the one she was trying to watch, accidentally bled over or something.

The eight-grader laughed and said she got those sometimes, too. She confided that her friend -- or rather her stepfather's friend -- wasn't so much of a coder, because in his real job he was a doctor. "He's actually older than Don -- my stepdad -- so I'm not surprised his app isn't perfect yet. He's a good doctor, though, really nice, so I keep using the app, to help him out. I'll let him know what's happening with yours. Keep watching with it though, okay?"

Over time, Ronni really did start to prefer watching her video clips with TrackQ, despite the occasional weird "flash". Somehow, watching videos with this app made her feel more excited, or maybe energized was the right word. Tingly.

Anyway, this shared project became an excuse to spend more time with her mentor, as the girls would often meet up after school at Bethany's house, lay on the older girl's bed, and surf videos, sharing good ones with each other.

Things changed in a big way one day when somehow they ended up looking at porn. Ronni wasn't as naive as to never have seen it, nor to have failed to explore it a bit on her own, surreptitiously and a little guiltily, from time to time. And that crazy TrackQ app sometimes flashed with inappropriate imagery, so the girls had already seen bits of it in each other’s presence. But to look at it intentionally, like an actual porn video, together with another girl -- that was something different, and scary. To laugh and brush it off at first, but then to realize they were both more than just amused by it, but also fascinated, intrigued, aroused even -- flushed faces and more rapid breathing – that was a very different experience from furtive iPhone-surfing on a slow evening behind the front counter of one of her dad's shops.

It wasn't long before pornographic material made up the vast majority of the video surfing the girls did in each other's company -- and in Ronni's case, at least, one-hundred percent of the video surfing she did on her own.

That crazy TrackQ! Weird thing was, when she watched regular, "nice" videos on it, the interrupting flash images that sometimes occurred were almost always sexual. But when she watched porn, it seemed like just the opposite kind of material would occasionally flash -- cute babies, the American flag, the Virgin Mary. When she pointed this out to Bethany, the older girl had said something about conditioner, but when Ronni had corrected her, saying she hadn't been seeing any hair-care images in the flashes, Bethany had sort of laughed and said "never mind".

These mutual, shared afternoon explorations took a peculiar turn when somehow they ended up looking more and more at porn featuring women together, completely without men. Ronni was embarrassed that she found this just as arousing as the other kind, and was afraid that this would somehow "show" to her older friend. How humiliating if it did!

But almost as if she were a mind reader, Bethany not only broke that tension but addressed Ronni's very confusion and concern!

"I used to think there was something wrong with me, liking the girl-girl stuff. But then I looked up some science on it. You know what? All women like it. Turns out scientifically that just about every woman likes other women that way...it's not lesbianism unless you only like women, and don't want anything to do with guys. And that's not me!"

"Me neither, I can’t give up guys!" Ronni had quickly replied, giggling nervously. Not that she could have pointed to any experience with boys, but she sure liked them a lot. But it had made her feel much better to hear the older girl both confess an interest in the girl-to-girl material, and to learn about the science. Bethany was pretty smart, so if she said that's what the science said, it probably was.

"Let's try it!"

What? Had Bethany really just...

Next thing she knew, Ronni felt the older girl's mouth on her own. She was being kissed, and she kissed back. It was fun. It felt good. It felt good everywhere.

At first, Bethany gave her the impression that this was all pretty new to her, too, but as their make-out and petting session continued, it became clear that she had done this sort of thing with girls before. That might have put Ronni off had she known it up front, but now that she was "guilty" herself, it actually reassured her; Bethany’s experience seemed to normalize the behavior. Creating her first sexual experience is what this amazing new friend had done with Ronni.

-o0o-

That first day it had been limited to what a previous generation might have called "necking." But Ronni didn't hesitate to return the next afternoon, and that went a little further. By the end of that week, the two middle-schoolers were making love in the fullest sense, and the first time the older girl used her mouth on Ronni's previously untouched vulva, she thought she would die from the pleasure of it. Earnestly, she had immediately tried to return the favor.

Tried, but maybe not fully succeeded. At first, Bethany was appreciative enough, patient enough. But after a few sessions, it became clear to the younger girl that she had a lot to learn, that she wasn't doing things quite well enough. Which is what led to what Bethany did to Ronni.

-o0o-

ToRonni. Truth be told, Ronni very much liked this third development, as frightening and embarrassing as it was at first. One day, up in Bethany’s room, as Ronni was dutifully trying to properly please the eighth grader’s freshly waxed pussy, something had clicked, and from that moment Bethany more or less switched from making love with Ronni to a sterner, take-charge mode, directing her, ordering her, molding her, it seemed, into what she, Bethany, wanted Ronni to be.

Outside of the bedroom -- at school, in front of parents, even in the privacy of non-sex-related text chats, Bethany continued to treat the younger girl like a peer, a friend, just as much of an "equal" as she did any of the other popular girls. But in the bedroom, in private, and during their more sexualized text exchanges, things were now completely different. Bethany was domineering, imperious, bitchy, while Ronni found herself being submissive, obedient, and fawning. And, to what she was sure would be her eternal humiliation, Ronni Juarez absolutely loved it!

Thinking of what Bethany had done to her as she walked the final block to the older girl's house on this Friday afternoon had the petite Latina’s underaged vagina positively molten.

This physical state was occasioned not only by thoughts of their now asymmetric sexual relationship, but also by the practical reality of one of Bethany’s demands -- orgasm control.

Prior to her eye-opening affair with Bethany Michaels, the youngster had, like anyone else, explored masturbation and self-love. She had even managed to teach herself about orgasms, or at least what she had thought was an orgasm before Bethany had taught her how great they could really feel. But in those days, masturbation had been an occasional matter, and climaxing an even less frequent one.

After becoming lovers with the older girl, Ronni was soon masturbating and climaxing – and climaxing much more "successfully" -- all the time. She played with herself continually, almost continuously, if the thirteen-year-old were honest with herself. And Bethany had, at first, encouraged this excess.

Ronni was touching herself at every opportunity, masturbating and cumming, sometimes several times a day. Upon waking, and upon going to bed. Behind a slow dry cleaning store front counter. During a bathroom excuse in the middle of fifth period!

In fact, in looking back, it seemed to Ronni that her obsessive masturbation was the trigger that led to the change in the dynamic between the two girls. Bethany had encouraged her masturbation from the first, but at some point she actually started directing it. She’d instruct -- and later order -- Ronni to masturbate and report back, by text or in person. It got so Bethany would make her play with herself right in front of her, whenever they had even the most nominal or momentary privacy.

The eighth grader would insist on smelling Ronni’s fingers when she returned from the restroom, to verify that her orders had been carried out. And though all of this, Ronni had obeyed – and had loved the obeying.

Eventually, the most common instruction was simply the word "candy", in text or by voice, and Ronni would take that as a command to immediately find an opportunity to privately bring herself off. Whenever she got this instruction, she was not done until she had cum.

Following this came the introduction of the code word "touch", which meant she was to play with her pussy wherever she was, damn any privacy concerns beyond what she could pull off on the spot through stealth or cover. This, of course, seldom resulted in orgasm, but it was enticing and sexy and oh so yummy. After four or five intermittent "touch" commands, Ronni would be yearning for a "candy" to find some privacy and finish the job fully.

And most recently had come the code word "almost." This is the one that drove her mad, that she hated, that she lived for. Upon this command, Ronni was to play with herself, publically or privately as conditions allowed, right up to the edge of a self-induced orgasm -- and stop. Bethany called this "edging", and Ronni found it deliciously excruciating, particularly because it wasn’t long after this command’s introduction that Bethany declared Ronni was no longer allowed to bring herself to orgasm, regardless of whether she were alone or in Bethany’s treasured presence, without the older girl's specific permission, which could be given in plain English or by the "candy" command.

Once Ronni had yielded control of her own orgasms, or lack thereof, there was no turning back. They weren’t co-equal lovers, they weren't mutually experimenting. Bethany had become Ronni's mistress, in the dominant sense, and Ronni was had become Bethany's plaything and sex toy, a doll to divert herself with. And, in either girl’s bedroom, behind closed doors, her complete and devoted slave.

So perhaps it was the combination of these musings over her erotic submission and the fact that Bethany had forced her to edge seventeen times over the last three days without once allowing her to climax that had the seventh grader a-boil as she turned onto the walk and up the steps to the front door of 479 North Pleasant Street. She had her backpack slung over her shoulder, and within it were her toothbrush and her PJs – PJs that Bethany of course would not allow her to wear once they were alone and sequestered in the bedroom for the night. This was, after all, a "sleepover." Not that Ronni expected she'd get much sleep with such an insatiable pussy -- and critical mistress -- to serve.

She reached for the bell and for the umpteenth time noticed that the nameplate said "Weathers" and again reminded herself that Bethany lived with her mother and stepfather. She had never heard her mention her real father, so Ronni wasn’t even sure if he was in the older girl’s life, or if he were even still alive for that matter. But occasionally she did have to re-remember that the tall, fit, and handsome man of this house wasn’t actually Bethany’s dad. After all, he did seem to act like a devoted parent; for instance, even though at the time she hadn't known Bethany very well at all, she had even then noticed that Mr. Weathers hadn’t missed a single one of the boys basketball games that Bethany – and of course, Ronni – had cheered at this year. And unlike some spectators, he had seemed truly fascinated by their routines. Most people were more interested in the game, and her own parents hadn't even attended once, but Bethany’s stepfather had watched their every move, attentively, which was nice of him.

Lost in this thought stream, she was startled when the door opened before she could push the bell. And who should it be coming out, but the man in question himself?

"Oh, Veronica, sorry to startle you, I was just heading out. Bethany’s upstairs, in her room. Staying over tonight, huh?" The man boldly scanned her up and down as he said this, as though he were appraising her body as a potential purchase. He did that every time they ran into each other, lately, whenever Mrs. Weather and Bethany were out of sight. He wasn’t the slightest bit shy about this act, he never was, and Ronni secretly enjoyed it. Of course, she never mentioned a peep of it to Bethany – she was sure that that would creep her out, knowing her own stepdad was checking out her younger friend -- but in her current highly-edged, orgasm-denied condition, Ronni had to consciously resist responding to this bold eyeballing with an instinctual reach for her own overwrought pussy!

But she did resist the crazy urge – as if! -- and Mr. Weathers smiled and held the door wide for her. "Yes, Mr. Weathers. Don’t have to work at a store tonight, not until tomorrow afternoon." Mr. Weathers knew her dad, had been a customer for years, and he was also about the only person other than her parents to consistently called her "Veronica," although he did so with a short "o", in the English, rather than Spanish, fashion. And she always called him "Mr. Weathers". Some of her friends’ parents insisted that the girls call them by their first names. But not Mr. Weathers, and this seemed totally right to Ronni. He was no equal; he was no peer to teenaged girls. He was a mature, adult man. She felt that mature adult man’s mature adult eyes on her thirteen-year old ass as she climbed the stairs and she told herself that she’d better get her face into Bethany’s immature pussy in a hurry before she found herself disobediently jilling-off in the upstairs hallway!

As she turned to make her way to her friend’s bedroom, she heard the front door close behind the departing – and distracting – male. Ronni was forming the distinct opinion that the more she was forced to edge without the release of orgasm, the less she could trust her own self-control!

She knocked on Bethany’s bedroom door, heard a "C’min", and swiftly entered and shut the door behind her. She watched Bethany rise from the bed and cross to the cushioned white ladder back chair by the window. The pretty brunette casually tossed a flattish square pillow on the floor before it, and opened her white terry cloth robe revealing her sleek, nude form, as she took the seat. In a practiced fashion, Ronni pulled her own top off and removed her bra as she knelt between the older girl’s spread thighs and, without a word, opened her mouth to engulf Bethany’s glistening vulva. Her taste was tangy, and she was already quite wet, a fact that pleased Ronni. This suggested that Bethany had been playing with herself, anticipating their time together, looking forward to her plaything’s arrival. Ronni felt a twinge of pride in her shame.

"Let’s see if your "time out" for the last three days and all your edging have done you any good, bitch. I was very disappointed in your efforts on Tuesday afternoon. Your purpose is to please my pussy completely, so show me you can do better."

Ronni was hard at work trying to do just that, avidly licking and probing her mistress’s hole, broad-tonguing her full labia majora, sucking and nipping at her firm, prominent clit like a champ. Ronni was not hurt or put off by Bethany’s scolding – it was all part of the relationship, now. They never made love together anymore; they were never equals when it came to sex stuff. Ronni’s part was to worship Bethany’s body, and especially her spoiled-brat sex organ, and Bethany’s part was to find fault with those efforts. Never mind that the younger girl coaxed orgasms out of her mistress, without fail, often three or four at one "sitting", and that in the throes of climax Bethany would often betray her satisfaction by pulling her Ronni’s head hard into her loins and hissing things like "oh my sweet, sweet little bitch": throughout most of a session, Ronni was a "sorry excuse for a cunt eater" and that sort of thing. These chastisements were like direct-current shocks to her own tingling clit, and Ronni felt her over-teased and under-pleased sex region wrack with frustration and delight in response.

Ronni seldom got her own pussy eaten anymore, and from the tone of this session's start, today would be no exception to that usual rule. In any case, her cunt was certainly no longer ever the recipient of the kind of service or worship she was herself administering. As her loins ached with need, she could not help but wonder how -- and if -- her pussy would find any kind of relief anytime soon. That, she knew, depended entirely on the pleasure or amusement of her mistress.

Occasionally, once Bethany had enough chair service and she had dragged the girl over to her bed, they might cavort in a brief session of sixty-nine oral before moving on to other things. Bethany never tired of reminding Ronni that she, Bethany, actually loved eating pussy, and that she happily serviced most of the other popular girls on an "equals basis" – not that she ever disclosed to Ronni which of their mutual friends she was referring to – but of course with Ronni, it was different. Ronni was her fucktoy, and one simply doesn’t eat one’s fucktoy all the way to orgasm, ever.

Although she never got eaten to completion any more, Ronni did get to orgasm – and oh, what orgasms! – when Bethany deigned to give her permission to do so. She earnestly hoped that today she would finally be given that permission and, she dared to hope, assistance. Often, after they retired to the bed, she would eventually be allowed to cum as Bethany hand-fucked her with one of her many dildos. Sometimes, after a sound and vigorous plumbing with one or more of those rubbery or glassy cocks, she would be given the "candy" order, and Bethany would show open amusement as, after all that play and assistance, the younger girl’s release only came by way of her own fingers anyway. Right now, Ronni would give almost anything even to be allowed that. But Ronni’s favorite way to cum, after eating her mistress to multiple climaxes and being subjected to intrusive sex-toy experimentation, was in Bethany’s embrace, face to face, each girl holding within her adolescently-tight vaginal sheath a good five or six inches of Bethany’s eighteen-inch-long flexible double-ended dong. On such occasions, Bethany would of course be on top, fucking Ronni like a boy would, looking into her eyes; when Ronni came like that, she knew that she was absolutely, eternally, and apparently unrequitedly, in love with fourteen-year-old Bethany Michaels.

Ronni was hoping Bethany would reveal the double-ended toy today, once she had completed her duties here, on her knees, but she was interrupted in this reverie by an imperious "Something wrong with my asshole, slut?" As she said this, the older girl rolled back, took hold of her own legs, behind each knee, and displayed her cute, pink, and winking anus. To Ronni, there was absolutely nothing wrong with Bethany’s asshole, and she made haste to prove her devotion to this additionally treasured orifice. With alacrity, she stabbed her pointed tongue into the hole, tasting its funky, slightly acrid savor. She knew from dozens of previous experiences that, if she were allowed sufficient time for the task, the tight sphincter she was working over would soon taste like nothing so much as her own saliva, slick and clean as a whistle.

Ronni loved to eat Bethany’s ass. Ronni loved to service Bethany’s pussy. Ronni loved to be scolded, to be impaled by all manner of sex toys for Bethany’s amusement, to be denied orgasms, and to be ordered to orgasm.

This is what the amazing, wonderful, and magnanimous Bethany Michaels had done to her.

-o0o-

"Enough of that for now, you dirty ass-loving little whore. Back to my pussy. I want my first cum, before we get interrupted."

Interrupted? How would they get interrupted? Ronni had literally spent hours at a time on her knees worshipping Bethany in this room, and they’d never been interrupted, not once. She’d never so much as heard either of the older girl’s parents call up there stairs when they'd been alone together.

But whatever the heck the domineering eighth-grader had meant, that didn’t matter right now. Ronni been ordered to get back to eating pussy, and so that is what she couldn’t wait to do. She loved eating ass, she loved eating pussy, but most of all, she loved being ordered to do either.

Her tummy somersaulted with joy when she felt Bethany's hands at the back of her head after a couple more minutes of pussy-work, pulling her face in and grinding it against that beloved cunt, and a sensation of fulfillment swept through her as her Mistress, unable to maintain the pretense of displeasure, shuddered and cried out "good girl, good girl oh you are such a good girl baby…."

As Bethany came down from her first cum, Ronni hid her smile of pride by keeping it buried in Bethany's flushed crotch, knowing to gently lick at the vulva and avoid the clitoris for the time being. After Bethany had more or less regained her composure, she rolled back in her chair again and said, in an oddly loud timbre, ‘OK, cunthound, back to my ass. It’s not going to eat itself! Oh...and 'almost'."

Ronni happily obeyed, and went to work once more licking, sucking, and probing at the eighth-grader’s poophole while her right hand scrambled under her own skirt and yanked her panty-gusset aside, eager to obey the command to play with herself to the edge of orgasm. It would be extra difficult to get right to that edge, to the 'almost' spot, and not overdo it and climax, because after three frustrating days of doing just that, she had to accomplish the feat while in the act of delivering highly arousing and subservient analingus. The electric jolt her fingertip produced from her own clitoris inspired Ronni to stab her pointed tongue deep into the older girl's rectum.

Ronni realized that Bethany must clean herself very well before these sessions, because in all her many, many hours of ass-eating, she’d never encountered anything "nasty." Bethany’s asshole was always clean and ready to eat upon arrival, and Ronni enjoyed her part in finishing the job very much indeed. She enjoyed it even more when she was allowed to tease her own sex in accompaniment.

In fact, she was losing herself at this moment, trying to extract from her mistress vocalizations of pleasure by means of repeated anal tongue-probes and keeping this in rhythm with her own careful clit-swirls, losing herself so much in the moment that she didn’t at first notice when Bethany tensed up, but then she felt her friend’s sphincter clamp down on her buried tongue just as a surprised, squeaking "Daddy!" filled the air.

Ronni bolted straight up and turned, wide-eyed, to see, standing in the open doorway, Mr. Weathers!

Her mind was spinning – how, what?—Mr. Weathers had seen her eating Bethany’s asshole? For how long? Did that matter? Daddy? Since when did Bethany call her stepfather "Daddy"? Why was Ronni even thinking about that right now, what was going to happen? Maybe he hadn’t really seen it – maybe he didn’t know what that was, ass eating – but still, she had had her face pressed into Bethany’s sex area, what was he supposed to think ---

"Veronica, wipe your chin. Bethany’s cunt is practically dripping from it."

God! He knew! (She wiped).

"I can’t believe this. What have you done to my stepdaughter? Have you turned her queer, you little dyke?"

"Wha—no, I mean, Mr. Weathers, we just, we were…."

"Daddy, it’s not what you think, we were just, you know, playing…"

"Hmm. This puts me in a tough spot. I’m afraid I’m going to have to tell your parents, Veronica. Well, I won’t tell your mother, this would probably kill her, but I’ll have to tell your dad, he has to decide what to do with you…"

"No Daddy, you can’t you can’t tell her dad. You know how strict he is…she’ll never be let out of the house again…we’re sorry, pleased don’t tell her dad…"

Ronni’s mind was racing, thankfully Bethany was pleading her case for her, because she didn’t know whether she could even choke out a word of her own, she was so freaking out at this moment. If Mr. Weathers told her dad what he had seen her doing, her life was OVER. Absolutely over, a complete reversal, not just back to being a nobody – for of course she would be forbidden to have anything to do with Bethany or any of the other girls, ever again – but it would be far, far worse. Her father wouldn’t ever let her out of his sight again – she’d be working every minute at one of the stores, if not under house arrest, Oh god, oh god, what was she going to do….

Her mind raced through these awfulizations so quickly that they had all been fully cataloged before she even realized her hand was still playing with her own pussy. Upon this realization, she yanked it away and turned to her friend, looking for any kind of footing in this desperate, crazy, disastrous situation.

"You can’t tell her parents, Daddy, they’ll kill her. You can’t do that!"

"How can I not do that? You don’t think a parent needs to know when his daughter may be a lesbian? I’m just now learning that my own daughter might be one, so I can tell you, Mr. Juarez is really going to need to know this, too…"

"Daddy, we’re not lesbians! I mean, we were just fooling around. Girls do stuff together, that doesn’t mean they don’t like boys, you know about that, don’t you?"

"Well, yes, I know women will do that. Are you two saying you’re having sex with boys, too?"

"No!" in unison, even Ronni finding she was able to give voice to that denial.

"Well, it’s true, girls – I mean grown women, not schoolgirls – women can enjoy each other, as a supplement to a more natural relationship, without going all queer for good. But they’re already having regular sex by then, you two aren’t, or so you say…"

"We aren’t Daddy…" Ronni was beginning to see some hope. Bethany seemed to be calming her stepfather down; maybe she’d save Ronni somehow.

"Ok, so I guess that’s one way to look at it. In fact, men like to watch women do things together, and I’m no exception."

To Ronni’s amazement Mr. Weathers moved his hand to the front of his jeans and grabbed himself. There was a very large lump in evidence, a lump that in her self-preserving panic she hadn’t noticed before. And this display, despite her anxiety, caused a momentary reverberation within her own highly-strung pelvis.

"Tell you girls what -- I can satisfy myself that you two aren’t dykes…and can go without reporting you to your father, Veronica…if I fuck one of you normal-wise, man-on-woman. That way I'll know you're not lesbians, just regular girls having fun together, which, like you say, is totally normal -- in grown up women that is.

"Thing is, Veronica, I can’t very well have sex with my own daughter…not even my own stepdaughter. I'd have to fuck you, and I'm not so sure that's a good idea for you. You're pretty young. It’s a pretty serious matter, Veronica, one you really shouldn’t just agree to. We’d probably better just forget this idea of proving you’re not a lesbian, that's probably more prudent at your age -- what are you, thirteen? I'll have to tell your dad, of course, he'd need to be forewarned of the direction you might be going, but he might understand…"

What the heck? What did he just say, that he wanted to fuck her, that he insisted she let him fuck her to not tell her dad? Wow! That sounded crazy, or illogical, or she didn't know the word, maybe they covered the exact right word for this kind of thing in eighth grade vocabulary. She turned to look at Bethany, knowing she would absolutely freak out at her stepfather for even making such a suggestion, why it was--

"Deal! Oh thank you Daddy, thank you, you saved Ronni, you won’t regret it. Don’t worry Ronni, if my stepfather says he won’t tell, he won’t tell, and our secret will be safe, your parents won’t know, neither of us will get grounded, you can keeping hanging out with me, you can still be popular, everything…."

-o0o-

Ronni was still a bit lost in the whirlwind of that negotiation, and how was it that Bethany decided for her that she, Ronni, was going to let her stepfather, Mr. Weathers, be her first male lover, how was she even okay with that, how did this even make any sense? She had to stop everything and think this over!

But on the other hand, Ronni was relieved beyond hope at this escape offer, and she realized she was used to having her pussy worked on by long, stiff, penis-like shapes already, and besides she was very accustomed, by now, to doing anything sexual that Bethany commanded, and let's face it, her long over-teased pussy was roaring back in horniness at the very idea, now that she realized her life wasn’t over after all and, admittedly, her pussy did tend to heat up whenever Mr. Weathers admired her, and not only earlier today, either. Maybe there was nothing to think over?

So she allowed Bethany to strip off her skirt and skin down her panties, leaving her in nothing but white bootie socks and pink Converse sneakers, a ponytail scrunchie, and a small gold crucifix necklace dangling between her budding breasts, and then she allowed herself to be led, meekly, to the bed.

The older girl calmly took a position leaning back against the headboard, opened her robe, and gently pulled Ronni back between her bare spread legs, to recline against her fourteen-year-old Mistress’s bare torso. Ronni stared agog at Mr. Weathers, who casually unbuckled his belt and dropped his jeans and jockey shorts, whereupon a large and angry-looking stiff penis sprang into view.

This was the first adult male cock Ronni had seen, outside of porn. Maybe it was the three days of edging, but her pussy definitely let her know it liked what she saw.

Bethany was kissing the nape of Ronni’s neck and playing with her tiny boobs, twirling her nipples from behind. Mr. Weathers approached the bed, cock bobbing.

Ronni felt Bethany’s hands slide down her abdomen and then press apart her thighs, a maneuver with which the thirteen year old readily complied.

Mr. Weathers climbed onto the mattress and leaned over them both, one arm extended to the headboard while with his opposite hand he took a firm grasp on his cock shaft, aiming it between the seventh grader’s spread legs. It was like slow motion to the still-bewildered but highly aroused little girl.

Ronni’s eyes darted back and forth between Mr. Weather’s face, with its salt-and-pepper good looks and confident gaze, and the fierce-looking cockhead approaching her crotch, well, back-and-forth until he dragged the fat head of the thing through her scorching hot, swampy slot. Then she had eyes only for their imminent joining, the shaft this mature man was lining up looked massive, dangerous, and threatening adjacent to, and in contrast with, her juvenile pudenda.

She was ready, this was no different from the dildos that Bethany had used on her, right?

Actually, it was different. It was much, much better. As Mr. Weathers sank his heavy organ into her taut mating channel, she gasped, and was instantly convinced that the sensation of real cock was as much of an improvement over Bethany’s dildos as those dildos had once seemed over the experience of her own fingers!

"Oooh! Mr. Weathers, that’s….so….ohhhh…."

Now there was no conflict as to where to focus her eyes, as the powerful man sank, with obvious satisfaction, into her saddle. She looked up into his commanding eyes, sighed, and came.

Very, very hard.

Technically, without Bethany’s permission.

-o0o-

It was something like two a.m. when Ronni crept back into Bethany’s bedroom, hoping not to wake her. Her pussy was sore, bruised, sullen, leaking a great deal of a grown man’s sperm…and it was also very satisfied.

That first mating, in Bethany’s arms, had been heaven. She had climaxed three times before her mistress’s confident stepfather had unloaded his own orgasm, ejaculating directly into her unprotected loins.

She hadn’t minded in the moment, of course, she loved it -- but as she showered in the aftermath, she began to worry a bit. She had tried to voice this concern as she donned the older girl’s cheerleading uniform – sans panties – in preparation for her follow-on one-on-one command performance in Mr. Weather’s bedroom. Apparently Bethany’s mom would be away for the entire weekend. She would be serving Mr. Weather’s in his marital bed. She thought Mrs. Weathers was a very nice lady, but she swelled with pride in knowing she was enticing away a grown woman’s husband’s cock. But there was the one concern.

"I don’t think your stepfather meant to cum inside me. He forgot to pull out!"

The older girl laughed. "No, he didn’t forget, he is going to cum inside you whenever he wants to from now on. Sometimes in your mouth, sometimes in your bottom, but most of the time, right up your pussy. Don doesn’t believe in pulling out – or in condoms."

"How do you know?"

"Oh, I’ve heard him say it. " Did Ronni detect a smirk crossing Bethany’s face at that? "And about using all your holes, well that just stands to reason. I make use of all three of them, don’t I, so why wouldn’t he?"

And Bethany had proven to be right. Although in their long night together, Mr. Weathers had taught her to suck cock and promised ‘deep throat training’ to come, every one of his loads – five, Ronni recalled – had found their new home within the depths her barely-teenaged pussy.

As she tried to slide silently under the covers next to Bethany, the bedside lamp snapped on and the older girl turned to her, awake and grinning.

"So, how do you like cock, Ronni?"

"I like it, and it likes me, from how energetic your stepdad got."

"Jesus, no kidding, look at those hickies all over your tits, bitch! He rode you hard some, huh?"

"Yeah. I hope you don’t mind, he thinks just like you. Took my cell number and said anytime I get a text from him that says ‘balls’, I’m s’posed to come over here and drain them for him. Even if you’re not home at the time. You’re not mad, are you?"

"Mad? No. But would it matter if I was? You’re a slave to his cock now, and I don’t think even my pussy can overrule that for you, can it?"

"I’m worried, though. My parents will kill me if I get pregnant. And we’re like SO Catholic, that means they’d make me have it."

"It makes your cunt flutter to think of my stepdad putting a baby in you, doesn’t it?"

"Yeah, yeah I guess it does, but…. I’m in seventh grade. I mean…."

"Don’t worry. Remember that doctor friend I told you about? I can get some pills from him, for you. You take them and you won’t get pregnant – assuming you aren’t already."

"Oh, God…"

"And then, you can stop taking them when you’re ready to get knocked up with Don’s baby. When you’re older --- a lot older….like maybe in eighth grade."

"Oh, Jesus that’s so hot. But yeah, get me the pills, please. For now."

"I’m sorta surprised he didn’t keep you with him all night. He’s very virile…or that’s what my mom says to her friends, when she doesn’t know I can overhear."

"Kicked me out, told me he needed to rest up. He’s gonna fuck my ass in the morning."

"Oh, well, let’s get you ready then. Drawer on your side. Umm, lube up that skinnier butt plug, really well, You can wear it all night. All morning, actually, it’s tomorrow already. Anyway, that will make taking Daddy’s fat cock up your ass for the first time an easier experience,"

"How would you know – has a guy ever fucked your ass? And how come you sometimes call your stepdad ‘Daddy’, but not most of the time?"

"You got that in your bottom? Good. Now, one thing hasn’t changed: whose cunt you serve." The older girl started pushing Ronni headfirst under the coverlet. "Quit with all the questions and get to work. This pussy of mine ain’t gonna eat itself!"

Ronni obeyed and sighed, not in resignation, but in utter contentment.