The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Sandy In Church Country”

mc, mf, md, fd, gr, ma

Tagline: After itching to leave, another naive girl learns the joy of settin’ down fer a spell.

Cassandra Weems wasn’t used to hitchhiking. It was the ultimate on a list of almost antagonistic things to try out, starting with a series of tattoos and continuing on with a basically unnecessary knowledge of fixed gear bikes. She knew how to repair and build them within a half a year of being interested. It was too bad, then, that she sold both of hers to afford food and lodging. Besides an orange messenger bag and a plastic grocery sack tied up with two changes of clothing, her will was her only companion on this lonely but hopefully insightful trek. She was an only child so she was ready.

The first night, she had stayed about 30 miles outside of the city in a Best Western, foolishly abusing the free Wi-Fi until the battery on her laptop ran out. Frustratingly, the outlet in her room sent a surge through her power cord, rendering her recharger useless. She was only six hours into her trip and already had lost her main impetus for traveling. She initially set out to write a travelogue that she could be proud of, something she’d want to read on the internet if she found it. She finished about six paragraphs before the power went out.

She still had her cell phone though, and tried to call Grant, the head of the bike co-op where she got her chops. She felt he could always keep her grounded. In another time and place, maybe they’d have a romance, and they could teach each other all sorts of applicable worldly things and never stay in one place and never, ever have children. But it was pretty unlikely: she being only twenty (with any luck, a wise twenty) and him almost twice her age. At this point, he seemed more than the type ready to settle down, and she wanted anything but, but.. there was something about his way, even though she knew it was crazy and unrealistic to think about. Not to mention what her friends and co-volunteers would think about the pairing.

The thought of this was deeply troubling to Cassandra and played a bit part in her decision to leave. Not even necessarily that she had feelings for an older man, but that she would let her peers’ approval hinder anything in her life. She fancied herself much more independent than that. Two rings. Her heart fluttered and she hoped he didn’t miss her call, though he might have been busy with a late night at the shop. She was homesick. This wasn’t good. Not even a day into the trip and she was getting homesick for the volunteer job that nudged her into wanting to go hitchhiking? Three rings. I might as well just hang up, he’s obviously not—

“Hi, Cassandra,” the accomplished voice on the other end of the line intoned gleefully. She got through! It was a tiny joy after a shortlist of nagging disappointments. “Where in the world is wayward Cassandra tonight?” The young woman laughed in spite of herself. Grant’s reliable comic encouragement just grounded her. In fact, if he hadn’t picked up his phone, she probably would’ve let out of a teardrop or three. And that simply wasn’t what tough girls did.

“I’m a bit past the suburbs. I clocked 36 miles today!” She twirled a lock of her short, layered auburn hair, subconsciously but adorably, and got embarassed, as if it was even possible that he could see what she was doing. “One guy on his way to Virginia took me the better part of it, then this chick that looked like Selma was nice enough to bring me into town.” Actually, it had been the woman’s voice and mannerisms that reminded her of their co-worker, but Cassandra was so excited that she was chatting with Grant that it was excusable to conflate those characteristics.

“Actually, about Selma...” She was a bit miffed that he wasn’t further curious about her trip, but still listened intently. “She and Olivia cornered me in the office and asked about you. They seem to think you ran off because you and I had a bad affair!” He chuckled, but the thought sure was cute and made her a bit sad that she couldn’t let him know she was interested in him. Even if she was miles away and getting farther from the situation. “Can you imagine that? Me and you, going at it in the basement with greasy hands? What a scandal!” Cassandra sighed.

“Yeah,” she said, crestfallen and suddenly lonelier than before. She slumped onto her tightly made bed and glanced at the ceiling.

“So... what’s up?”

She thought for a second. “Nothing much. I’m starting to feel like this wasn’t such a—”

“Oh, sorry! Speaking of Selma, she’s dealing with a bunch of noobs downstairs that wouldn’t even know where the brakes on their bikes were if they were in pink neon. I have to go, but give me a call again, when you’re really somewhere, alright?” She could hear that bitch Selma laugh in the background. She buried her face in a pillow then came back for air, fighting back a bout of bawling.

“Yep,” she blurted meekly.

“Oh, and Cassandra?”

“Uh-huh?” she asked, feigning boredom when really she just didn’t want Grant to hear her cry.

“Go South. You’ll learn a lot more that way.” Cassandra flipped her phone shut and wished her computer, and world, worked.

* * *

She was about to get a coffee in the little nook beside the lobby when she first noticed him. Though she was far from the city, still she hardly expected to see a man in overalls and a cowboy hat. He had a lot of hair and muscles and he smelled like a farm. Cassandra was bored, vaguely intrigued, and disgusted all at once. He would have made a perfect subject for her travelogue, if only she hadn’t—

“What’s a pretty girl like you got to look so down and lonesome at a hotel fer?” His folksy charm made her smile automatically, and the way he lingered on the emphasis of the first syllable of “hotel” was just too funny. He extended a giant hand. “The name’s Clyde. Clyde King.”

She shook his hand and let him “buy” her a coffee, which was of course complimentary, and which was of course spilled onto the floor, a bunch of it making it on her jeans in the process. “Shucks, I—I’m sorry, miss.. miss?”

“Cassandra, Cassandra Weems.” She let him wipe her down without even thinking about it. He was such a big guy, quite obviously a dad. Had to be. She never had one. “I’m going cross country!” She beamed, not really sure why she had to blurt that out. Did she really want this guy’s approval?

“Cross country, huh? What does Frisco got that Pennsylvania can’t do one better, huh?” He looked her up and down. It felt like he was inspecting her. She was used to her mild-mannered artsy community in the city and didn’t exactly feel offended that this man was checking her out. After all, she had a great deal of respect for older men. “Anyway, I’m just joshin’ ya, sincerely! Cassandra...” He spent what seemed like double the amount of syllables on that one. “You an in-dee-pendent girl, then? You runnin’ away from Apollo or what?” He laughed like he was the most clever poke on the planet.

“Mr. King, no disrespect, but you didn’t quite strike me as the kind of guy who would be interested in Greek mythology!” She sipped her coffee nervously and in the process burned her tongue.

“What, rednecks can’t read? Nuts to that, ma’am!” He looked her up and down again. “Say, if readin’ books is your bag, I got plenty of ‘em, old ones, new ones, whatever! My collection might surprise you, for a hick.” He looked half hurt. “You’re welcome to come by and pick out anything you like. Why, I can take you, I just live down the way and—”

“Aren’t you being a bit presumptuous?” Cassandra was a virgin and she intended to keep it that way, and this guy seemed to have sex on the brain. Even if he had seemed a bit disappointed at what she had to offer.

“What? Oh, no, Miss Weems, you have the wrong idea! I’m happily married with two young boys. I’m just offering a place to see if’n you’d want to, y’hear? You say you want to see the country, well.. Cherub Cove is real American country!” He was getting loud and antsy, and a few ears seem to prick up at the mention of the town. She’d never heard of it.

She didn’t want to let her curiosity get the best of her and finished putting some creamer in her coffee. “Thanks, but I should really get some work done. I really appreciate the offer, though. I mean it. It was nice meeting you!” She hurriedly backed away from the counter before he could extend his hand to her again.

“Nice meeting you too, Cuh-sawn-druh!” He cracked a gulch of a smile. “And, sweetie—”

“Yeah?” she chirped, backing out into the swinging doors.

“The offer still stands if you change your mind. I’m going to sit down with my paper here for a spell, if’n you change your mind, okay?”

She was back downstairs within ten minutes.

“Whoever it was left me my computer and excercise clothes at least!” The exasperated girl had gone back to her room after the brief exchange with the big buck, only to find her bag, cell phone, and wallet gone. Stolen. In a state of panic, stock still for about a minute, she decided the spirit of the trip was one of battling against the odds. Plus, it would do her good to see a real American family, as she only saw those on TV. She took a deep breath and decided to go back to Clyde’s.

* * *

“A... USB port?” Clyde scratched his stomach and furrowed his weary brow. “Never heard of it. Is this it?” He asked, pointing to the headphone jack on his old 486. “You’ll have to forgive me, I don’t know what you city folk reckon a computer is these days, but I can assure you, the man at Radio Shack told us this here thing was top of the line.” They were still staring at a DOS prompt after ten minutes of it turning on and choogling to a start.

Cassandra put her bag down and joked, “Yeah, how many years ago was that?” She was dismayed at how quickly he responded, without sensing her humor, that it was “oh, about a dozen or so.” A TV played in the corner of the den, a black and white TV playing “Petticoat Junction”. Even the commercials were classic reruns, unless Tide and.. Chesterfield cigarettes were reverting back to their 1960s ads. Clyde kept trying to fiddle with his computer and help in his own small way. Cassandra decided to have patience and started jotting down notes for a future journal entry on some old bank statement.

After a few minutes of staring at a blank page and barely moving the pen, certainly not getting to the point of actual writing, her attention again turned to Clyde, now loudly banging and wrenching at her laptop. He had cracked it open and shards of the expensive computer her mom bought her went everywhere.

The look on the poor sap’s face negated any harsh feelings that were bubbling up inside of her. She just chalked it up to a night of bad luck. Would it be all that different if she went up to her hotel room and found her computer missing? It was all dust in the wind. What good would travel documentation be without the actual travelling, anyway?

It had been cute meeting Clyde’s children, but neither of them were warm to her at all. They ran around screaming until their dad got some sense into them and fed them ice cream. Dale, almost three years old, even hissed at her. It wasn’t until their mother Myra came home that they toned down their rambunctiousness.. and went straight for her boobs.

She couldn’t even put her purse down or properly introduce herself to Cassandra before her sons started pawing at her breasts, tugging down the front of a sleek black scoop-neck dress. The girl didn’t bother asking the woman where she worked, but she had her own ideas. Myra whipped out both tits and her sons feasted, each of them with their very own personalized milk jug.

“Hi, I’m Myra!” she gushed, milk staining her children’s faces. Cassandra felt oddly inadequate and, without knowing, touched her nonexistent chest. “My husband and I have always talked about taking in a traveller, I’m so delighted you came! Have you seen your room?”

It seemed a bit off that the woman would call it her room, as they couldn’t possibly have prepared for her arrival. Nevertheless, she followed the young mom up the stairs. She swayed back and forth on the steps, her big mama butt waggling back and forth hypnotically, a textbook definition of fertility. Cassandra followed her into a bedroom at the end of the hall, filled with pink things: stuffed animals, dolls, unicorns, Lisa Frank shit. There was a mug of cocoa on an endtable. In a way, this hospitality weirded her out. She certainly didn’t deserve it, and what kind of gritty independent trip had doilies in it? In the end, she thanked Myra and got ready for bed. The cocoa had a big marshmallow in it.

Besides, it didn’t matter if she was being treated like a pampered princess in a vanilla-and-strawberry scented wonderland of a bedroom. It was only for one night. One night of well-earned rest, then she’d be on the road by noon, money or no money. She would do it somehow.

* * *

Four days later, Cassandra was beginning to come to terms that even if she had the gumption and determination to get on with her life and discover herself on her trip throughout the country, it was still business as usual for the rest of the world. The first morning, Myra had come in and woken her up at seven in the morning and practically begged her to stay just for the afternoon and watch her kids, as she had “some washing to do at the local Men’s Club.” Whatever that meant. Of course, Clyde had his important burly-man job of bricklaying so he couldn’t do it either. Then they promised to pay her so it was next to impossible to say no.

That evening, the just-perfect turkey dinner, coupled with the exhaustion of looking after young Eustace and Dale, waylaid her and before she knew it, she was tucked in safe and sound in the girly room. She reasoned that there probably wouldn’t be many cars drifting onto the backroad in the middle of the night anyway. The next morning, she woke up sleepy and curiously horny, starving for carbs, and not long after grits and marmalade and eggs and ham and johnnycakes, slept for nine more hours. By the time she woke up, it was seven at night and she was so out of sorts by it being dark outside that she just ate some more and sat down with Myra and watched her knit, looking to pick it up. If she was growing comfortable around these people, she thought, she might as well learn a skill. It made her feel like an adult.

The third day was so eventful that she barely even remembered that she had wanted to travel and not just shack up in some country town. When flashes of her old messenger bag and her laptop’s desktop background of a moving train flitted around in her brain, she just reasoned that she wasn’t simply lolling about, that she was being productive. She did four loads of the Kings’ clothes, registered at their address, got a new town ID to replace her old driver’s liscence, helped out (and gorged herself) at the local church’s Young Mothers Baby Brunch, and even found time to watch three episodes of “Gossip Girl” and enjoyed some playful pussy pounding with the complimentary Banger vibrating dildo she got at the church. She had packed a lot in alright.

And she was packing a lot into Myra’s old dresses. Last night she found she outgrew the only jeans and t-shirt she had left with her, so the kind lady let her borrow some of her dresses from before she got “the blessing”, whatever that was. She suspected she was talking about her breasts, which were quite large. Her little boys loved them. Cassandra noticed that since her own started growing, which they, most surprisingly and unfathomably had, that Eustace and Dale had softened up to her as she softened.

Her butt and hips were widening, too, but Myra had quashed the weirdness of it by assuring the girl that it was her body adapting quickly to country life. This made Cassandra happy. She always wanted to fit in with whatever culture she happened upon. Her skin seemed to agree. Some of her arsenal of tattoos were disappearing altogether, while some just were beginning to fade. She didn’t mind. A girl should want to look clean, she told herself. Still, there were some small things that bothered her.

“Why does my new ID say I’m seventeen years old?” She whined without her realizing it herself. She looked at the card in disbelief. Not only did it get her date of birth wrong by more than three years, but her name was a joke. Sandy Bardetti. Nobody had ever called her Sandy. Sometimes Cassie, but even that was something she had barely been called since grade school.

Still, there was something rather strange in the name’s appeal. Not to mention the spunky photo. Had her hair really grown that long and curly.. and blonde? “And why Sandy? I’m not Sandy Bardetti! What kind of—How the.. heck!” She looked down and noticed the young critter Eustace tugging at the bottom of her small sundress.

“How the heck do you get Bardetti out of Weems? It’s like.. so..” She wanted to say “fucked up”. But her penchant for cussing at the drop of a hat was diminishing just like her sleeve of tattoos. Plus, there was a one and a half year old around. What else could she say that would get the point across but assert her control of wit at the same time? Think, Cassandra, think! “It’s so stupid! And mean!”

Her limited vocab took precedence in her glossy, foggy brain over the fact that what Clyde and Myra really should have done was just drive her to the nearest DMV. There was something about holding this ID and vaguely complaining that felt fraudulent to her, like it was only a matter of time before giving in was the only option. She sighed and looked at the girl in the picture. Sandy. Just like her hair.

“Look, girly, your last name ain’t stupid.”

“You’re right!” complained Cassandra, defiant for what felt like the first time in years. “It’s not Stupid! It’s Wee—”

“It’s Bardetti,” Myra said matter-of-factly, snatching the identification card from the new addition to her family. She wiggled the card in front of the girl’s face. “See? Besides, it behooves you to be fitted with such a name. It’s my daddy’s.”

Something about the way she said that last sentence struck a chord in Cassandra. It was so simple, one might even say poignant, that this woman who she only knew for a few days would want to impart her maiden name on a veritable stranger. “We’re... sisters?” She asked, almost in tears, so touched and exhausted. “But I barely deserve it!”

“Oh, shush,” cooed Myra, petting her new sister’s hair, “What ever do you mean?”

“For starters, I forgot to do the dishes last night!”

“Oh, sweetie, that’s quite alright, you can just thoroughly scrub the bathroom tonight to make up for it.” Myra looked at the girl. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“Why am I seventeen?” She pouted. She actually was having a bit of trouble remembering how old she really was. Or was that just how old she wanted to be? What was so bad about being—

“I don’t know, maybe you should ask our mama!” The two young ladies shared a country laugh.

“Well, it’s just that I wanted to look forward, you know? Not back—” Then she realized that she should probably just shut up and be a good little fake sister.

“Sandy,” (the girl blushed at being called this), “you start training next week at Forward Mothers, speakin’—uh forward!”

“What is.. Forward Mothers?” A big part of her had a rush of fear. She gulped.

“Why, it’s a school, where they teach you the benefits of all womanhood.”

“To be a mother? I don’t want to quarrel with ya. I’m really takin’ to you and your boys, but I don’t think I’m cut out to be a—”

“What do you think those pretty titties are for? They’re not just for show. A girl’s not just for show. There’s a meaning for all of us gals. Why, when my titties came in—”

Sandy blushed.

“What, you don’t like the word ‘titties’?” Myra giggled. Her own titties giggled with her.

“It’s not that I don’t like it.” Her nipples loved it. “Don’t you think it’s a bit crass to cuss in front of a young’n?” She was drawling now. She blushed, embarassed that she was already letting the accent take hold of her.

“Ain’t no harm in it, I reckon. What else are you supposed to call ‘em?”

* * *

Some nights later...

Sandy rubbed and rubbed her buttcrack. She scratched and itched and kept on rubbing, determined to stave off a growing, glowing pulsation radiating throughout her ever-meatier ass. There it glistened in the kitchen light, sweaty and dripping from a midnight session with a foot-long Banger. The sound of a bed faintly creaking let her know that Clyde and Myra were happily.. occupying each other, and the coast was clear.

It was getting a touch outrageous, these intense body changes and body feelings, getting louder and more aggressive the longer she stayed in this holler. It seemed that as soon as she dealt with one overwhelming need, another one quickly took its place before the previous could even register. The dog must have eaten her small stash of money (twenty dollars was hardly worth it for those days babysitting and dusting and doing everyone’s laundry—but hey, better than nothing), the internet went down, and as soon as she put on her jogging shorts (much tighter than when she lived in the city, obviously, but they would have to do), this itching and irritation started.

It was a series of immediate and new distractions, but Sandy didn’t have time to wonder why about any of it. Why her wallet was neatly stowed in her desk, intact, out of reach. Why the creaky slow dial-up line cut out right as Grant, her worried old boss, told her that he had some terrible and incriminating info about the farm town. Why her ass crack throbbed and burned like it had that time she tried to work off some country pounds a few days before by running around the perimiter of the King homestead. She got about thirty feet from the cow-print mailbox before the weird chafing back there got to be too much.

She was glad there weren’t any psychiatrists at Cherub Cove. They would have had a field day attempting to figure out why such confusion and fogginess only served to bolster her horniness. Or, she thought, defeatedly, if there really were shrinks around the grounds, they might intend more of the same confusion, to satisfy the status quo. She shivered with fear and found herself quickly moistening, her mouth watering too with a flash of an image of her on her knees, mouth stuffed with doctor cock, in prostration. The weird thing was, she had never.. done that with a man before. Why could she almost taste it, then?

She looked over at the clock. It was half past five in the morning. This was the big day supposedly, her first day at a new high school. Had she really been jilling off and scratching her ass for four hours? So much for actively thinking about the easiest way to leave this awful, carnal... irresistible hellhole of a Christian training camp. She poured herself a frosty glass of that farmer’s lemonade stuff and let the cool, thick liquid go smoothly down her throat. It sated her to the core, and made everything feel better.

It was so nice to just sit back and get some kind of relief from the irritation all up in her ass. Before she knew it, she had downed almost all of the giant goblet and absentmindedly was petting her silky, juiced-up pussy. Her heart jumped and for once she knew she had to stop. That the lemonade, that this fake family atmosphere, that all this Jesus shit was making her lazy and horny! Plus, she didn’t want to go back to high school for no reason! What happened to asser.. asserm.. What happened to fun stuff? She felt a steely resolve wash over her, and marched to the bathroom to punish her overactive libido with a cold shower.

Once in, she let the cascading water fall over her burgeoning curves in wet crescendos, stretching her arms over her head, noticing some rather quick hair growth in her armpits (strangely, she didn’t think about shaving them, or her slightly fuzzy legs) and a nice pair of tits. Not quite huge like Myra’s, but certainly much more on top in comparison to less than a week ago in the city, bounding through narrow streets on a fixed gear bike, slight athletic chest held tight.

That’s what I need! I’ll take Clyde’s bike! The thing collected dust in the Kings’ garage, nobody would miss it or even realize it was missing. Although, it was quite a riot to imagine her maneuvering with these fleshy new girl parts. Titties, Cassandra laughed to herself, watching her newly enlarged nipples pork up underneath the cold water. I’ve got new titties titties titties!

Then, of course, as is what these days an inevitable around Cherub Cove, she succumbed to her screaming titties and carelessly turned the faucet to hot, rubbing her clit in a steamy puddle, distracted, but in a pretty heavenly way. After her sixth orgasm of the day, her second just now in the shower, she got out and dried her hot body and healthy, luxurious hair, making kissy faces in the mirror. While she was liberally applying it, she couldn’t help but wonder why she felt the need to put lipstick and rouge and heavy eyeliner on. She was biking out of here!

She put her outgrown jogging shorts back on, and squeezed her fresh, boisterous C-cups into her tiny sports bra. The outfit just barely contained her, but they were the only clothes she had that still fit her. And she didn’t want to leave with any of the Kings’ clothes. She didn’t want to be haunted by her sedentary, sapphic time with them. It was sad, but she had to make a clean break. She looked in the mirror, a gorgeous, ridiculous vision of lust. A cute pair of pink Converse completed the look.

Sandy tiptoed down to the garage and put the kickstand on the bicycle up. That sent her fluffy body wiggling. And the second her bubble butt hit the seat, the mad hot itchiness started up again, relentless. She plucked her shorts from her steaming ass and started off, bouncing and rolling down the street. Her thick legs felt as foreign as riding a bike suddenly did. For a second she even forgot where the brake was on the handle, but she started to get the hang of it. That is, until she hit a hill.

It was torture. What a way to escape! A nubile, fuckable country lass swaying this way and that, slower and slower up this hill, quite obviously plotting something. Nobody in Cherub Cove rode a bike. She pedalled faster and harder but seemed to be going slower. The more she gave, the more her ass got irritated, itchy, angry. Finally, a car full of high school boys pulled up beside her, and she felt hopeless. She huffed and puffed and tried to ignore them.

“Hoo-wee!” shouted one. “Look at this, boys, she’s tryin’ ta escape!”

“You’re not the first young thing come ‘round these parts that can’t take it!” another one yowled. Not a second later, a pinging noise sounded. Sandy looked down, then, startled, heard another one. Her tires swiftly deflated and she fell off, her painted-on sport shorts ripping in half during the fall. The boys all had a good time laughing at her naked rear.

It was as if her body knew when she was fighting the simple life. She didn’t want her butt getting any bigger, so she stopped walking and stood still, in shock. As it was, even though she had a healthy pair of breasts now, she was more pear-shaped and broad-hipped overall. An image of a hungry family flashed before her eyes. The first boy called it before she had a chance to think it. He drove the car up closer alongside her, and slowed the car’s pace to a crawl.

“Face it, sweetheart, you’re fixin’ to be one hot mawma,” he said, and, guffawing with abandon, reached his hand out the window, smacked her corpulent ass, and sped off before it stopped bouncing.

The sun was peeking over the hillside. At the top, the car stalled and something in plastic wrap flew out of a door. Sandy didn’t rush to see what it was. When she had finally ambled to the top of the hill, she saw it was a school uniform.

* * *

Defeated, Sandy waited at the bus stop in front of the general store in her brief tartan skirt and tight white button-down shirt tied underneath her young schoolgirl breasts. She didn’t really see the point of redoing two years of high school, but this was just the way it was in Cherub Cove. Maybe when she grew old enough, she could think about getting out to the city on weekends. She always loved the idea of travel. She knew that it was all talk, though, and she was destined to be a knitting, baking mommy within the cozy confines of this place.

The schoolbus finally pulled up and the good thing was that she no longer felt alone. In two rows of seats filled to the brim with busty, bursting mommies-to-be, there was one girl sitting by herself that was even less endowed than her. A skinny little girl who honestly looked to be college age. Sandy felt sorry for her.

“I’m new here, too, baby,” she said, taking the girl’s hand in hers. “What’s your name?”

“I’m.. Abernathy Mortimer,” she said, adjusting a pair of wire frame glasses. She took out her earbuds and looked shiftily around at the other girls.

Sandy looked dubious. “No, you’re not, sweetheart,” she said, giggling. “You’re really new, aint’cha? Why don’t you tell me your spirit family name?”

“Oh, I’m sorry! I always forget. I’m Abbey Jensen. I..” Sandy leaned in, looking every bit the helpful older sister. She was glad to have a younger girl to look after. “I’ve never.. had a real dick in me.” The girl blushed. “But I still find myself having.. cravin’s!” It sounded like that last word was put through a country fryer.

Sandy beamed. “Me too! To think, I was so worried about my first day of a new school! Oh, I’m so happy to—” A girl tapped her on the shoulder.

“I’m Haley, and this is Madison!” The busty, swollen girl pointed to the one sitting next to her. Both were blonde and nearly identical: curvy, well-fed and with a look of experience that made Sandy so jealous. “We couldn’t help but overhear. Now, I hope y’all don’t think that just because a lot of us are already with child that we think we’re better than you just because you haven’t proven yourselves to the Lord. Here’s a present!”

Haley handed Sandy a gorgeous, brand new sixteen inch Banger. “Is this a new model?!” Sandy asked, incredulously, mouth watering so much that she had to kiss it. And of course suck it for a few seconds. “It tastes like white chocolate—I can almost fit it down my throat!”

The two girls behind her simply snickered and leaned back into their seats. The bus rolled along, encroaching slowly on a sign that read “Forward Mothers Prepatory”.

“As I was saying,” Sandy said, “I’ve never had a real one in me either. But this is probably the next best thing.” She clicked it on and could hear church bells in the distance. She gently propped it underneath Abbey’s skirt and into her anxious, expectant pussy. Abbey jumped, not ready for the big vibrator’s wild gesticulations. “I’ve set it on Horny Quarterback mode just for you.”

The newer new girl mewed and moaned in her seat, stretched to the limit. “Is it—uhh—is it normal to, uh—ooooh, that feels so fuckin’..” She writhed in her seat and slurped. “Is it okay that I’m droolin’?”

Sandy smiled sweetly as the bus came to a stop in front of the picturesque academy. “Honey,” she said, wiping off her new friend’s wet lips, “that’s only natural.” She pulled out a compact mirror from the compartment on the back of the seat in front of her, freshening up. “You’re just ready to receive a man in that pretty little mouth-a yourn. It’s a good thing, too—y’know all the staff members are men!”

“Really?!” Abbey asked, incredulously as the big white chocolate dick thrusted a mad enticing rhythm within her.

“Really,” Sandy said, and moved in for a kiss. She put her playmate’s hand onto her blossoming titties and lightly tongued her new friend. Her new best friend, that she would personally make sure ended up the sexiest mommy she could possibly be. They sat in bliss, staining the seat, for five minutes until the bus driver forced them off.

That was good, as they didn’t want to be a second late for first period.