My first hentai story: incest included.

Liyla had been oblivious for the past few weeks. The initial snap, or spiral, had happened on a cold Sunday afternoon as she chilled her toes, newly painted, by her bedroom window. It might have been the sweltering grey of the sky, the freedomless children kicking imaginary stones across the street (not allowed to cause mischief) with their mothers on-looking, the small bursts of laughter from the sparsely-attended carnival two parallel streets away—all visible from her bedroom window. In youth she might have considered herself a very fortunate deity to have seen these things happening, but without her imagination to bolster these ordinary occurrences, her mind seemed to have snapped and ceased to see much of anything at all.
The smile she wore day in, day out these days was reminiscent of the Mona Lisa: ambiguous, but strangely placating. She wore it regardless of her best friend's mood, who always seemed to have one thing or another going on. On days where her best friend was especially histrionic, Liyla's unwavering smile was disarming and had the quality of being able to camouflage Liyla, making her invisible, impervious. This very Tuesday was such a day, like all other days, where Liyla— personality, opinion, and all—sunk into the background as her best friend took center stage.

"It was a-mazing. I thought I'd never enjoy my first time, especially, since. Well. You know…"

Unfortunately, Liyla knew her best friend's situation all too well. Of course, having sex was going to be a big deal when Shawna's mom—devout and hyper critical—found out. And Shawna's mom was going to find out. It was their last year, and then it was off to college together—if Shawna were to get caught up now, then…

Despite the feeling of defeat that overcame Liyla thinking about how much trouble Shawna was going to get into, she smiled weakly: "I'm happy for you, Shawna. I think, though, you should be more careful. Maybe your own bedroom isn't the—best place?"

Shawna laughed. "Hush, you."

Liyla's weak smile melted. Shawna's boyfriend was a dream. The artist type. Quiet, mysterious—though Shawna had complained once or twice that his honesty was borderline cruel. A frowner, an expert with his hands, his lips, his hips, everything that two plain girls like her and Shawna could dream up. Liyla was going to ask Shawna for more sordid details, but she worriedly looked at her cell phone clock instead: "Have to get home. Mom'll kill me."

"God, can't you just stay out a little more? It's only six."

Liyla averted Shawna's puppy dog eyes. "You remember what happened yesterday. I don't want her chewing me out again." She paused. "I really don't understand how she equates being late with how much I weigh. She thinks I'm anorexic, Shawna."

Shawna laughed her daring laugh as her best friend picked up her backpack: "Well. You could tell me about how much of a slut you were tomorrow. I'm going."

"Hey," Shawna called after Liyla laughing.



Liyla walked home to the sounds of a happy group of friends frolicking and talking loudly behind her. She turned and could have sworn she saw Shawna's boyfriend among them. Even the first time Shawna introduced him to her he had looked familiar. And another time, he recognized Liyla and approached her at the mall while she was shopping for a new pair of shoes. His smile was slow and pretty, but somewhat lacking. He was completely drenched in sex from head to toe. Even had those 'bedroom eyes' that songs talked about so much, but his appeal was muted by his seeming lack of personality and conversation. He wasn't exactly shy, or maybe he was? He had chinned her and went his own way, with a nice backside view of him to keep Liyla dreamily looking on, which, at the time, wasn't so peculiar until she had the sense that she had seen his backside before, not in the literal sense, but in the sense that someone departing from a train station for the first time knows how it feels to say goodbye to a loved one. It was silly.

She sighed, It's not like anything good would come from wishful thinking. She had to focus on school.

After unlocking the door, Liyla stepped in lightly as a stray cat. Her mother could leap out of nowhere at any given moment and remind her she's fifteen minutes late. Liyla looked at her cell phone and realized she was fifteen minutes early. Paranoia can magically switch numbers around, she thought as she closed the door behind her. The whole place screamed eeriness. Everything was blue and dark in the onset of the evening, and without half her family living there—her brother and her father—the house's size seemed even more absurd to her. She poked her head in all the rooms except the one at the end of the hall. No one seemed to be home. She didn't call out her mother's name, because she knew her mom was still ticked from yesterday.

"Shawna's a bad influence, etc."; "You should gain more weight, etc."; "You think you're already grown up? Wait 'til you're out on the street. Etc, etc."

Liyla cringed. Her mom was fantastically dull. Corporate and conservative, churchy and preachy. She needed more… dimension. Like fine art. Like great writing. Like riveting music. She seemed to be a workaholic robot through and through. Except whenever Anthony was home. For some reason, whenever he would arrive, she'd come alive again. But the periods in between were excruciating and very constricting—maybe mom is anal retentive, Liyla concluded.

After Liyla was satisfied with her mental bash fest, she decided to make the most of her time.

As she was about to head into her room, she paused. What was she hearing? It sounded like the distant raking of leaves outside.

She thought better of herself and decided to head toward the end of the hall. Many an urban legend commenced with some poor girl failing to check the mysterious sound, only to find her dog or boyfriend dismembered somewhere inside her house, and Liyla wasn't about ready to let that happen to her. She clutched her cell phone, in case she needed to dial 9-1-1. She pressed her ear up against the door. What? Wait… this can't be, Liyla thought to herself. Maybe she'd been watching too many movies lately, and listening to Shawna's sexual story much too intently. This couldn't be… Dad no longer lived at home. And even then, she'd never seen her mother and father actually do it, not even a single public display of affection after her seventh birthday…

Liyla pressed her ear against the door—it moaned open. Her skin jumped. What initially sounded like muffled raking of leaves was actually sharp panting, small "Oh's", the creaking of a bed.

Liyla saw through the crack in the door her mom, with fantastic legs still in their thigh-highs and an undone brassier. Her auburn hair was out of its tight bun and splayed everywhere. Her mom wore brassieres? And who was that? Was that their neighbor? Oh, God, no, he was the clean-cut newspaper subscriptions guy who kept coming around! No mistaking the same goofy hat she saw on the floor next to the bed.

Liyla instinctively covered her hand over her own mouth and watched with a wide eye. She had caught the pre-show.

"Oh, God," Mrs. Taylor moaned. The paper boy laughed and slid his tongue over her cheek, lowering his head to lick his way down her neck and suckle on one of her beautiful nipples—dark, erect and prominent. His left hand was busily sliding down her torso.

"Ansel, you know we shouldn't keep doing this…"

"Keep doing what," he said, nearly out of breath.

"This—o-oh, God—" Ansel had interrupted her plea with an exercising of his two fingers. "Ansel, God, put them in—" He did as she told him to, pushing her lacy thong out of the way to insert his fingers deeper. In a throbbing fit, Mrs. Taylor threw her arms around his neck. He laughed into her breast, simultaneously plunging his fingers in and out of her. She grinded herself against his hand.

Liyla was slowly and instinctively sliding her own hand down her blouse. It slithered under her skirt, feeling the fabric of her panties as she watched. Her whole body had a mind of its own. The hallway was dark, luckily. Mrs. Taylor was too impassioned to notice that her daughter was rubbing herself watching the paper boy smooth her down.

"Mrs. Taylor—do you want me to?"

"Want you to what…?"

"Go down on you."

Liyla's eye popped open. She accidentally bumped her forehead against the doorframe.

Even without actual permission, he slipped his fingers out of her, and practically shoved them into Mrs. Taylor's mouth. She sucked on his fingers submissively, quaking while she was at it. Her eyes had just barely begun to close when he grabbed her whole body and pushed her red, glistening slit into his mouth. He seemed to swallow it, bravely thrusting his tongue into her.

From Liyla's view, his shaking head between her mother's legs caused her to buck painfully.

Mrs. Taylor whimpered a painful cry. He ate her up. He ate her so hard the sucking noises were audible. Mrs. Taylor wriggled out of control, half of her body spilling over the edge of her bed. The whites of her eyes were visible, the pupils rolled back in ecstasy as she moaned, like a dying cat.

Ansel used his teeth. Her pelvis jerked in his mouth, and rolled up and down like waves. He grabbed her hips and pulled her back onto the bed, sliding his hands over her thighs, squeezing them as his teeth sunk into her like a succulent fruit. He grabbed her ankles and pulled them up over her head, spreading her ankles far apart as he dug in. Her head threw itself from side to side as she laughed and cried in her throes. She was sweating as much as she would have been if she had been going into labor for the third time.

Liyla turned away from the scene, heaving as she slid to the floor, still craning her neck to watch what she could as she rubbed herself harder. She inserted her fingers inside of her like Ansel did to her mother and her mouth instinctively fell open. Her own lumpy insides, like clustered caviar, surprised her at first. But the tingling feeling overtook her and begged her to plunge her fingers in deeper. Her shapely pink nails raked at her insides. She shuddered in ecstasy, experiencing the exquisite pain of first time masturbation. Her knees spread and closed like a butterfly with the in and out strokes of her fingers.

Soon, Ansel undid his belt. Even with Mrs. Taylor's weak, delirious protests, he spread her ankles even farther apart. "A-ansel, we shouldn't—oh, God—"

A preoccupied Liyla turned away and leaned her head back against the wall. The sounds of her mother's cries and curses, and the prominent, rhythmic thump of her mother's head against the headboard of her marital bed only half-reached Liyla's ears as her legs butterflied open and closed, open and closed.

When Liyla remembered to breathe, she snapped back to reality for a brief moment and sensed the danger of being caught. She shakily got herself to her feet; her head was filled with a dull, amoral thrum—she was devastated, fascinated, enamored, trying to see in semi-darkness the sticky spider web that stretched when her forefinger and middle finger spread like scissors. She couldn't handle it anymore. She went into her own bedroom and locked the door to finish off business, leaving her cell phone on the floor by the entrance of the master bedroom.

Liyla ate dinner with a strange, thoughtless numbness. After the initial shock of touching herself for the first time, it became so pleasurable that it took her another half hour to get over the fascination and newly built addiction. She had blasted her music, not only to muffle her own moans but, as a warning sign for her mother that she had come home. It was hard trying to do her homework, seeing how she had done The Deed with her dominant hand. She couldn't help but stare at it and blank out.

And Liyla suddenly had a newfound respect and curiosity for her mother's secret life. She knew she could never ask, but it was enough just to know. A faraway smile swept over her face.

Mrs. Taylor sat with her usual tight-lipped expression. She watched her daughter's smile with a sudden uneasiness and suddenly hosted a new expression of suspicion. It was that time for girls to kiss and sneak out of the house, but she thought of something and it seemed that the thought itself lightened her admonishment. The phrase she heard in her head, "It was about time.", was a guilty admission of her own youthful escapades.

The two ate somewhat happily before the front door swung open, and Liyla's older brother swept through. Anthony sauntered over to the dining table and flopped down at the head of the table where Mr. Taylor used to sit, "Hey, Ma. Heya, Lillie."

Liyla jolted out of her little fantasy and looked up. "Wow. You look like—" She sunk in her seat and upturned her eyes. "You look terrible."

Anthony answered this by turning to his mother with his usual voice, a morning scratchiness but bright, "Ma, you won't believe this girl I'm dating. She was—"

"Anthony. Not at the dinner table. Not in front of Liyla," Mrs. Taylor laughed a smile.

Liyla never really resented the fact that Anthony and their mother talked freely of his newest conquests. He dissected women's quirks and dating mechanisms (referred to as "a woman's subtlety" by most, but Anthony laughed at the idea), and other silly tidbits about females that her mother enjoyed listening to. It was the only time when her mother laughed and teased. Anthony was a free spirit, and was cultivated in easiness, and his personality was contagious.

Liyla, possibly because she was a girl, had it "worse off." Anthony had said that once, that it came with the package, running under stricter rules because of gender—that, and double standards. Even Atheist families had strict moms.

"Aw, ma, who cares. It's not like Lillie doesn't know…" He and Mrs. Taylor looked at Liyla.

Liyla smiled meekly.

Then, as if to give her son permission, she turned to resume conversation, "Well?"

"She was a hormonal monster, Ma. Just, friggin'. You won't believe it." He leaned in as if he were conspiring with his mother and sister: "These intellectual types are high strung, I swear."

Mrs. Taylor laughed.

"Lillie, no really, she was fantastic," He turned to his sister. "I mean, look what she did to me." He looked like he had been chewed up and spit out and his hair was messier than usual. He proudly hosted his array of battle scars. His shirt was disheveled, as if he had been in a scuffle with an alley cat; there was lipstick on his collar and a circular bruise near his Adam's apple. "It's like high school all over again. I've never seen a smart girl so desperate. She's cute, too." Anthony then scooped himself some mashed potatoes. "Anyway," he mewed a yawn, "I'm hungry."

Mrs. Taylor shook her head with warm, motherly disapproval.

Liyla couldn't help but admire him. The mischievous green that glinted in his eye, his extending neck. The stubbles on his face that made him look rough, the unblemished, cream-colored skin, everything about him demanded others around him to drop their troubles.

Her mouth was dry, so she drank a little water to wash it down. The water was cool and caressed her throat.



Later on that evening, she stepped into her brother's room without knocking. It was absurd for her to wear shorts and a tank top during the coldest part of the Fall, but she had Anthony in mind when she chose her nighttime wardrobe this evening. Hearing him announce that he would stay at home for a few nights made her heart skip beats as it never had before in his presence. She made sure not to acknowledge such an embarrassing and daring thing, even to herself. "Anthony," she called out to him.

He had been typing away avidly on his keyboard before he turned around, slowly and deliberately. "Yeah?" He was never the type of person to get startled. Maybe because he was guiltless and always out in the open.

Liyla leaned against the doorframe. "Can I talk to you?" Liyla didn't really know what she wanted to talk about. Admittedly, she had only come there to see her brother and admire his features some more, which she (also) told herself was normal for any curious girl. It crossed her mind to tell him what she saw earlier that day, but then she thought better of it. It was a secret she liked keeping.

Anthony raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. "A talk, huh?" A wide, mischievous smile spread over his face. "Turn the lights on, will ya? Jesus, what time is it—" he looked at his computer. "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

Liyla ignored his command to turn on the lights. She liked it in the dark like this. The ambiance was just right. She slinked over to his bedside and sat on it as she responded: "I usually don't sleep until one. I used to talk with Shawna until then, but she's been real busy lately."

"Ha, Shawna. That kid. She got a boyfriend now?"

"Yeah. He's older." His bed was soft. She stretched her legs out in front of her and was tempted to lay herself down on it.

Anthony smiled.

Liyla watched his movements. How he slumped in his computer chair with his guiltless smile, swiveling from side to side. She saw his boxers, then averted her eyes.

"So. What do you want to talk about?"

"Sex," Liyla blurted. She didn't even have time to stop herself. His eyes commanded her. They were hypnotizing.

He let out a chuckle. "Jesus, sex, Liyla? Don't you want to talk about it with Shawna or some other girls or something? I mean, like, read your girly magazines and paint your nails?"

"Anthony, I'm serious—"

"So am I, Lillie." Then, with eyes that weren't connecting with her as a brother's eyes would to a sister's but from one lover to another, he said gingerly, "I'm a dick. I won't give you anything but bad news about sex and relationships."

Liyla paused. The two of them looked at each other. Her breath was uneven. She shut her mouth; she didn't realize it had been open. She was aroused, completely aroused. No denying it, though the feeling confused her greatly. Maybe she was simply imagining that he was talking to her in such a coquettish matter. Maybe it was the darkness of the night that made all conversations amorous. Maybe it was also her imagination that told her that he was a night time god; there was nothing in his features that were discernably poignant or even out of the ordinary. In fact, he was much like her, plain-faced, accomodating, and could just as easily melt back into the crowd, save for his emphatic personality, the glint in his eye, and his bright smile. This glint and bright smile stood out at her right now, luring her out of her thoughts and transforming them into curiosity.

She was suspended between an innocent curiosity and sluttish kind, and couldn't possibly figure out which of the two overpowered her senses. Her brother, like the newspaper subscriptions salesman (who initially looked pretty goofy), was a god tonight. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she could hear it pulsing in her ears. She could even hear the subtle hum of the computer drive. The soft music coming from his stereo. She stood up suddenly. "I,"

He raised his eyebrows again.

"You're right," she smiled nervously.

"Hey, come on now, you know I'm here though, right? If you need help? I won't tell Ma, I promise."

Liyla felt reassured. Even his voice. God, his voice. "Thank you." She was walking backward when she tripped over her own foot. Lightning quick, her brother snatched her arm. The first thing she saw was his bicep. Her sexual anxiety became the blood that rushed to her head and it showed in her face, which had a bluer tint in the darkness of his room.

"Jesus, be careful. You'll fall and crack your head open," he chuckled. His grasp lightened.

The redness of his finger imprints flourished on her skin then died away, and left goose bumps. Her dark areoles showed through her tank top and she suddenly sought to cover herself by crossing her arms over her chest. "Thank you," she foolishly repeated, and darted out of the room.

Anthony smiled, watching her disappear out the doorway. He had one squirrelly little sister.



Liyla gave into fantastical dreams that night. They were utterly embarrassing, but sensual and real. Almost as if they were really happening. She skittishly moaned as she teased herself with her fingers, sliding them underneath her bra, exploring the suppleness of her own breasts, fondling herself, pinching her nipples hard. Caressing all her areas of sensitivity. More often than not, she liked to jackhammer her forefinger and middle finger in and out of her like a makeshift sex apparatus. Her eyes were shut tight. She writhed like her mother and humped her pelvis into her fingers. Her face smothered itself into her pillow, her chin dug into the bed sheets: "Anthony…"

She continued thrusting herself with her own fingers, her bottom rising and falling in a snake-like fashion. Her hair was matted with sweat. "Mmmmn." The air was cool and continually caressed her skin with more goose bumps. Her sweat was cold. "Anthony, Anth—mmmmn, uh-uh-uh-uh," She shuddered heavily. Then, she felt limp onto her stomach, smashing her fingers beneath her. She breathed in gasps. She swiped her fingers across her own shorts and flipped onto her back to breathe better. She looked at the doorway and could have sworn she saw a shadow move.

She tried to relay things back in her mind, to see if she had been making too much noise.

She fell asleep paranoid, but exhausted, and willing to have more night dreams.

Liyla came to school dazed and glossed over. It wasn't a priority of hers to be particularly outgoing—but today was especially for her thoughts alone, and anyone that intruded gave her slight irritations. She was harmless though. Her version of showing her irritation was through mild reproaching smiles.

In the afternoon, she sat down to lunch with her friends. She was exhausted, as if she had been through a tumultuous fight with a lover. Everyone at her table knew this wasn't the case.

Shawna was the first one to address Liyla's off-beat behavior. "Hey, Liyla, are you okay? You look like hell."

Liyla smiled a regretful, faraway smile.

Shawna looked from Christie to Rick, then shrugged.

Christie took a crack at it. "Hey, Liyla, you know that creepy hot guy in Track B that targets underclassmen? He doesn't do that, anymore. Maybe we'll get a shot at him!" She laughed a fat, hearty laugh.

"Whoa? He's actually going for girls his own age, now?" Shawna's raccoon eyes widened.

"Yeah." Christie laughed some more. "Who would've thought. I mean, he's creepy. I tried to say Hi to him once at the bus stop, but he didn't talk to me. He's really hot though," she giggled with delight. Christie rarely ever said things that made sense or reflected her current state of mind, but she was always a hearty conversationalist.

Liyla usually had something mildly stern to say about engaging in dangerous affairs, especially with the strange, unpredictable people at their school, but she continued to eat her salad quietly.

Rick smiled. He thoughtfully watched Shawna and Christie across the table slap each other playfully and whisper. He then turned to look at Liyla. She didn't make eye contact with anyone. He leaned in with a small voice: "Don't worry, Liyla. I'm sure whatever you're thinking about'll be okay. Things always get better in perspective, right? And don't worry about the test—it got cancelled." His reassuring tone brought her to look at him. His smile lit up. "Hey, do you want my brownie?"

She shook her head. Admittedly, Liyla had forgotten there was supposed to be a test today.

Liyla agreed to float off with Rick down some corridors. He was heading to the auditorium to practice for his recital, which was to happen three weeks from today. After his recital, he was going to enter a talent show the campus held yearly, using the same material. She felt at ease with him. Even when her parents divorced, he was considerate and made no moves to try and patch things up. She wondered often how people like him could stay so upbeat. She wondered if he had problems of his own, especially with the way he played the piano today.

The song he played was a mournful, heavy song, like death in the Springtime, or the feeling of someone waiting in their room for something to pop out of the closet and hurt them. It was an odd sensation. It made Liyla's skin crawl, but in an empathetic way that sensually bound her to the music. Her eyes fluttered closed. The notes tripped over each other, and sounded off-key, but their discord was deliberate; it was even a supposition—a nice one, though—to say it's how she felt. The music stopped suddenly. Liyla opened her eyes to see Rick staring at the ivories. "The music—don't stop…"

He turned and smiled at her brightly, "Then I won't."

"I—I mean, it's really good. It's way different from anything I've ever heard you play," she fiddled around with her skirt. She hated the way her voice sounded, retreating into a mental shadow. She never liked the sound of her own voice talking; it was as if she didn't know how to express herself. "I mean, I like it. It's cool."

Rick chuckled, and then resumed playing, except he played a totally different song.

It was something from the East, hot as a desert, but passionate. Liyla's skin rippled with goose bumps.

"I've been trying to learn a new style; I composed this myself," he said, practically glowing. The delight he derived from playing instruments was evident in how playful he was with the keys, how well he treated the notes. Delicately, with nuance.

Liyla watched his fingers plunk hard on some notes and fly past others. It made her heart thump loud in her chest. It made her grab Rick's arm.

He noticed it, and fumbled over a few keys. He eventually regained composure, and closed his eyes to play the riveting finale. It burst forth in eccentric and sultry scales that ran up and down the length of the piano, spewing life, heat and intensity. Then, he stopped. The final notes reverberated. He was out of breath, and unable to look at her.

She continued to hold his arm, watching the keys as if they were still moving. The real truth was, she was embarrassed that she had held onto him so suddenly. She had never remotely touched him before, except to hug him at birthday parties, or to dance at a few dances. He had taught her how to waltz, even to contemporary songs. He was good at anything that had remotely to do with music.

His smile was that of sunshine and blissful ignorance, but something in the way he played today startled her. It drew her in. "Liyla, I thought of something really cool today, and it happened when I was driving home from work last night." Rick was about to start on another one of his 'Something-Good-About-the-World' speeches. He rarely ever talked about detrimental things, unless it was news of a tragic death that happened at school or close to home that people circulated, or about the state of the environment. He pursed his lips and moistened them. He was going to talk both him and Liyla out of their uncomfortable situation. He was going try and bring them both out of the moment without any harm or anxiety. It was his first instinct.

But Liyla, for once, didn't want it to be that way. She and Rick had gotten close to talking about intimate things; they had even glanced at each other with knowing looks, but Rick always had the decency to keep a respectable distance away from her.

She flung her arms around him, embracing joy and comfort itself. She tried to plant desperate kisses on his face, short of his lips. "Rick."

He kept turning his head this way and that, until he managed to gently pry her loose, placing her hands at their sides. He tried a smile, but it quivered. The words he was to say never left his half-open mouth, and instead, he stood up and stiffly walked out of the auditorium. For once, he left things unresolved and tense.

Liyla was breathless with excitement, and immediately left for the restroom. She had to splash water on her face. She felt like throwing up. She pushed the door open and stumbled in on that strange girl no one ever really talked to. People say that she's twenty, and that she just flunked Senior year a few times. The girl was smoking while one of the male teachers Liyla recognized walking so proudly down the halls massaged underneath her skirt. They were standing by the sink and talking in low whispers.

Liyla tried to ignore them and went into one of the stalls. She watched as the male teacher—old, not extremely old, but old enough—began to rub the girl down harder. The girl continued to watch his hungry expression with disinterest, and even blew smoke in his face. This aroused him enough to grab her shoulders and slop her mouth full of his own clumsy kisses.

"Come on," she muttered. "Get it over with, old timer."

Liyla felt like laughing, and she didn't know why.

"G-get it over with?" he asked timidly.

The girl just looked at him, so he began kissing her chest, even with her blouse still on. Then, he hefted her onto the sink, pulled down her panties, and began lurching. Well, from Liyla's view, his butt looked like it was lurching. He was actually thrusting the girl like a wild dog. The girl eventually dropped her cig into the sink and wrapped her arms around his neck. She rested her chin on his shoulder with a concentrated, peaceful look on her face. Maybe she couldn't feel anything.

"Yeah, oh yeah, oh, baby, yeah," the faculty member said in a deep, trembling groan.

For an instant, the girl opened her eyes, and Liyla was afraid the girl could see her through the crack in the stall. But the girl was really staring at something far off. Then, she closed her eyes and started humping against him so hard, that he had to back up off the sink. He held the undersides of her knees and thrust upward, impaling her with each gasp and each moan. She panted lightly, bouncing up and down.

The faculty member was surprisingly strong for his height and stature.

The two swerved into one of the walls and the girl's back slammed against the hand dryer. It whirred and drowned out the sounds.

It was awkward, to say in the least.

Seeing a side-profile of the teacher was unattractive. His mouth was wide open, and his groans frightened her. It seemed as if he hadn't had sex in years.

"Do you like this?" he asked. The girl didn't respond, so he repeated himself again when the dryer had finished whirring. She still said nothing.

Eventually, he had to drop one of her legs; she propped a foot onto the sink. She started to grind her hips against his, which drove him nuts. At one point, he even stopped thrusting and froze. He let the sensation of a girl only a third his age fuck his brains out. The feeling washed over him, and it was apparent in his gaping smile, much like a satisfied "Ahhhhh."

The girl snatched at his shoulder blades with her pretty nails. Her eyes were wide open, her gyrating had become coarse. She wanted to make him come.

He picked up the pace again and resumed thrusting the hell out of her. This finally elicited louder responses from her. He grew longer, stronger, his dick jerked and throbbed inside of her upon feeling how hot and wet she was becoming. Even her fleshy, lumpy contractions couldn't hold his dick from plowing into her. They were both crying out.

"God, oh my God," the girl whimpered.

The faculty member grunted, and grunted, and grunted until he froze and then began to tremble. His jism filled her.

It was not long before he re-knotted his tie that he smiled weakly, but professionally, and left. And now the girl was alone again, smoking a cigarette.

Liyla wondered if it was okay to come out of the stall. She didn't seem frightened—the feeling was more like that of a guest wishing to leave a party early. She was more embarrassed on behalf of how rude it might have been to leave before the girl did, but she cautiously stepped out of the stall anyway. And she gazed solidly, without expression, at the girl. Honestly, she didn't know what to think.

The girl looked at Liyla, expecting Liyla to avert eye contact. But Liyla stared, so the girl grinned: "I know, who the fuck smokes in the bathroom, huh?"

Liyla laughed nervously.

The girl pushed off from the far wall and walked toward her. She rudely blew smoke into Liyla's face. Upon seeing Liyla's fascinated reaction, the girl grinned even wider.

"Hi," Liyla said. She still felt tired, but the girl's presence seemed to comfort her.

"Heya. I've seen you before. I really like your other pair of shoes. The aquamarine ones." the girl blew smoke out the side of her mouth to avoid hitting Liyla in the face again.

"Thanks." Liyla was surprised. She didn't expect anyone to remember her shoes of all things. "They're really cheap, actually… I like bargain shopping. It's one of my hobbies—I mean, I don't like shopping in general, but a good pair of shoes makes a bad pair of jeans look really nice…" Liyla felt a little uncomfortable having a conversation about shoes with a girl smoking in the bathroom, especially right after what just happened. But these things couldn't be helped. She figured she would try a crack at speaking her mind, since the past few days have been a little strange: "I saw my mom having an affair with the newspaper subscription salesman who always comes to our house. And I noticed that my brother is very attractive. I mean, really attractive." The smoking girl was grinning from ear to ear at this point. "And today, I tried to let someone know that I liked him, and he got nervous and ran away. Can I try to smoke that?"

The girl laughed. "Okay." She had a really charming, heart-felt laugh. Smoking Girl got out another cancer stick and lit it: "You don't want to catch any diseases from me." She was referring to rumors about her being a town bike.

"Oh, it'll be fine, I think." Liyla plucked the one out of the girl's mouth and took a puff on it, holding it how someone would a joint. "Goodness—" she coughed and hacked, handing it back to the girl. Her eyes were watery.

The girl now had two cigarettes in her mouth. She chuckled. "I like you. Hey, I have a class to ditch, and I want to do it punctually. Gotta meet up with someone. It was nice hangin' with you in the fucking bathroom," she laughed some more, tossing the shorter cigarette to the ground and smothering it with her fashionable loafer. "You're real cool, Shoe Bargain. I like you a lot." She gun-and-winked, slinking out of the door as it swung open and closed.

Liyla smiled brightly in the mirror, which had obscenities, numbers, and rumors scratched into it, some written with permanent marker. Maybe she would ditch class one day and go shoe shopping.

Liyla was grateful that the latter part of the day was peaceful; she had no classes with her friends today. She wanted to reflect on Smoking Girl. Smoking Girl looked happy and solid. She didn't seem lonely at all. Liyla's mind somehow drifted from thinking about the smoking girl's smooth, solid demeanor to that of Shawna's boyfriend. Shawna said he's got a history. That worried Liyla, but she knew it wasn't in her place to judge. She had a few slight problems of her own.

Liyla made a turn on the corner. She was always the last one out of class, which she hated. The building she had her economics class in always seemed to empty itself before all the other buildings. It made the halls eerie. She walked along, looking to the left and to the right of her when she passed an intersection. Some of the hall's lights were already out. She heard something drop. She stopped. She looked down to see if it was her. No, everything was still there. She followed the ground when she heard more things drop. They sounded like books or folders.

It seemed to be coming from one of the classrooms.

She was slowly and stealthily making her way toward the door, which was open a crack. She went to investigate, and saw her history teacher sliding himself in and out of another staff member she's never seen before—oh, no, wait. It was a student? Liyla couldn't get a good view of who he was… boning, but they both seemed delighted. Her history teacher was young, revolutionary, but had a dry sense of humor, so none of what he was doing right now seemed to match up. His oxford shirt fell over his waist and hid his member from view.

Liyla noticed how objective she felt watching them. It gave her a bad feeling that curled in her stomach like a snake. She watched the student wriggle on the desk as more folders and papers fell off. Mr. History covered her mouth with his hand, doubling over her spread legs as if he were humping his own desk. The look on his face was tired, but concentrated. Liyla was afraid she would get caught, so she slowly started backing away from the door, not having the decency to even close it. She then bumped directly into someone. "I'm sorry!" she automatically hissed a whisper before spinning around.

It was the creepy guy in the Track B senior class. The unsung celebrity.

Christie had taken a picture of him with her cell phone once. He had been lurking around in the parking lot with a few female underclassmen following after him. The underclassmen were asking him questions that didn't seem to reflect what was really on their minds. Christie stopped Shawna and Liyla, giggling with delight. "Wait. There he is!" she had said, whipping her cell phone out faster than the paparazzi. She and Christie had run off like kids after they heard the click of the cell phone camera, laughing and dancing, looking at Christie's fuzzy pictures with a sense of accomplishment. "This really stupid freshman in Track C invited him over to her house. Turns out the parents decided not to leave town for their anniversary," Christie said proudly.

Here was that same guy, taller than Liyla last remembered him to be. Much more pale, too. What was he doing in school? His eyes were a sharp, transparent grey, and he had a gentle, offbeat smile. "Don't wander around in this building too much. They say it's haunted."

Liyla didn't know what to say. Her eyes quivered, side-glancing at the door behind her.

Track B looked over Liyla's shoulder.

"Is he letting a student work for extra credit?" He seemed to say this without a distinguishing tone to convey his sentiments.

Liyla shook her head as if she didn't know what he was talking about.

His voice was very soft. His smile didn't widen even as he let out a chuckle. It had a creepy effect.

Liyla nodded. She swallowed.

As if to salvage her, he added a little warmth to his smile.

Liyla tried not to stare at it.

He looked as if he was ready to say something, but he ended up turning around and walking away, down one of the darkened halls without lights on.

Liyla didn't wait to see if anything would happen to her. She power-walked home with all the thoughts in her mind sweating down her back.

Liyla arrived home an hour early. The sky was already heavy with clouds, and the house was dark again. As strange as it was, she actually wished her mom was home. She swung open every door in the house, expectant and needing company. The house was empty, though. She had forgotten to charge her cell phone, which had been dead all day, so she went into the kitchen. She picked up the cordless to dial up Shawna, but then put it back down. Shawna, now, was as inaccessible as a famous club. Shawna only invited Liyla to eat when her boyfriend was working, and today wasn't one of those days. Liyla could call Christie, but Christie might worry her with more details and more gossip. And Rick definitely wasn't an option, even when he lived nearby. She dejectedly slumped against the fridge.

From where she stood, she noticed the answering machine light blinking. She walked over to it and pressed it. There were three new messages today. Two of them were of a phone hanging up. The third was her mother… and some other guy: "Liyla, I won't come home until late tonight. Order pizza for you and your brother. Goodness, stop that! I couldn't contact your cell phone—did you leave it off? Hello? Are you home already? Well, there's money tacked up against the fridge, so… Take care, sweetheart." Click. Sweetheart? When was the last time her mother ever called her sweetheart? And who was that male voice laughing in the background? Liyla was irritated. It was probably that newspaper subscription salesman, "Ansel." She snatched the fifty dollar bill out from under a fridge magnet. The house flashed.

Thunder clapped Liyla out of her thoughtless daze. There was nothing to think about. Nothing she wanted to think about, at least. Not even homework. She didn't want to do homework. She was just going to change into something comfortable, and go back downstairs…. and watch T.V. Watch T.V. and not worry about anything else. She told herself this over and over again as she unbuttoned her blouse. Her eyes were watery with frustration. Get a grip, everything'll be alright. Liyla still couldn't shake the unexplainable, restive feeling she had.

A while later, she walked downstairs and plopped onto the couch. She stared at the blank T.V. screen. She didn't even feel like watching T.V. anymore. She sat there dejectedly for a few moments when the door flew open and a biting wind blew into the house. Liyla stood up, hiding her hands in her sweater sleeves and folding her arms across her chest, "Anthony, mom's not here."

He was soaking wet. His shoulders shook and he sniffed. "Jesus Christ, what's with this Fall? It's hot, then it rains, then it's hot again…" He closed the door. "I didn't bring a goddamn umbrella. And I even wore a new tie today." He loosened it, taking off his shoes near the door. He saw the deer-in-headlights look coming from his sister. He smiled, "Hey. How was school?"

She smiled weakly, the same way she smiled at Shawna after hearing a detailed explanation of things she couldn't understand. "To be honest, I don't really know."

Anthony's smile fell into a small, concerned 'o.' "Really? What happened?"

Liyla shook her head.

Anthony walked up to her. He sniffled again. The rain was dripping out of his hair, which seemed to stubbornly remain wild and full of volume. "Hey, are you alright?"

Liyla looked up at him. She couldn't even smile anymore. She felt like crying. He wouldn't know exactly what was troubling her. Then again, she wasn't too sure, either. All she knew she was that she was overwhelmed and needed perspective.

He chuckled, seeing the puckered look on his sister's face. She was taller and more developed, but her air of intelligence and distance was still as prominent as when they were younger. "Jesus, look at me. I'm all wet—c'mere anyways." He pulled her into a hug. He rested his cheek against her hair. He knew she would be affected more than him. She was always a quiet, thinking type. "Poor kid. Don't worry about the divorce. We'll find a way to make everything better," he spoke softly. "Come on, now."

Something sparked. Liyla felt everything die away. His simplicity and lack of understanding endeared her. She brought her hands up to his chest. They seemed to sink right through his shirt, until it felt like her warm palms touched his skin.

Anthony pulled away slightly. "Lillie," he was going to start another one of his heart-felt sermons again. About how the family will be okay. How dad'll start taking visits once he's got over the devastation. How Anthony would tell her the whole situation in due time. The words didn't come out this time, though. He stared into her eyes, trying to decipher her feelings.

Rain drummed the rooftop. "Lillie," Anthony repeated again, trying to start up The Talk. There seemed to be something else on his mind.

Liyla's eyes flickered. Her brother's face was glorious in all its warmth. Even with the jaded life he'd been leading, his face read innocence. She began to touch it with her hands. He watched her without expression. She touched his cheekbones and lips longingly. His embrace around her shoulders dropped around her waist. She and Anthony were joined at the pelvis now, even as Liyla ran her fingers through her brother's hair.

His expression became drunk and lulled. "Lillie… what's…"

She pulled him into a kiss full of soft, pleading desperation. Her moans were muffled in his mouth. She breathed in deeply and audibly through her nostrils and pulled more of his mouth into hers. Her tongue swathed, searching avidly for reciprocation.

Anthony grabbed her hips and pulled her away. "Lillie," he said with bewilderment. It seemed to be the only word he knew how to say. His eyes were wide, his mouth half open, gasping for breath. "Lillie, I think I saw you last night—heard you, I mean…" He had never looked so uncomfortable in his life: "Don't worry, it's not a big deal if you feel that way about me, but—"

Liyla couldn't stand it anymore. Everything about him drew her in. She pushed herself up against him, running a hand down his tie before grabbing it, pulling him into another kiss. He didn't fight back this time. Their bodies naturally melted into each other.

He had seen her touching herself last night. He had heard her moan his name over and over again. They now shared the same displaced feelings. Liyla began to kiss him harder.

Thunder rolled over the whole house. They didn't catch the lightning. Their eyes were closed as their hands searched each other. They stumbled into the couch and fell tangled on it, wrestling for control. Liyla mounted her brother. She flung off her sweater. Anthony looked up at her as her hair fell on her bare shoulders. He closed his eyes and breathed in her breasts. Liyla threw her head back, wrapping her arms around his neck. She arched backward as he kissed her torso. She recoiled and shakily undid his buttons one by one.

He swallowed her neck and it coaxed a moan out of her. Her hands peeled away his shirt and ran over his smooth, delicate skin. He grabbed her by the waist and laid her gently down on the couch. She watched him anxiously with her hair splayed all over the armrest. He reached out from under her, and snapped her bra off. Before she had time to feel embarrassed, he swallowed one of her nipples. She moaned again. This one was deeper and trembled with sex. Her legs instinctively opened for Anthony to fill in the groove with his own body. His bulge pressed against her. She raised her hips and grinded against him.

His hands were godly and much bigger than her own. They grabbed her breasts. They wrapped around the small of her back, as his lips caught her raised pelvis, breathing into her cotton sweat pants. An audible squeak from Liyla made him pull her sweats down and around her knees. He kissed the inside of her thighs, her adorable patterned panties.

"Anthony…" she moaned. She knew this wasn't a silly dream she had just last night. His tongue was really searching for her hole. Her brother was really going to pleasure her. He pulled fabric bridge of her panties away, and revealed for himself her glistening cunt. He poked at it with his tongue.

His teasing sent shivers up and down her spine. "A-Anthony, please…"

He looked up, drunk with ecstasy. Even his smile was peacefully mischievous: "Please, what?"

Liyla swallowed.

He waited.

She looked away: "Anthony, I'm embarrassed…"

He reached upward and brought her chin dead center. His eyes commanded her attention.

Liyla sucked in her breath. "Take them off, and—"

He spared her the embarrassment of finishing that command. Her panties were off, and he was soon lavishing her clit with expert strokes that thrilled her into tossing and turning. Her hands gripped the sofa as her legs spread wider without her consent. One ankle hooked itself on the back of the couch. Anthony viciously buried his head between his legs and his long tongue dove deep inside of her. She bucked wildly and yelped: "A-ah—mmmmn, God." She thrust her hips greedily into his face, rolling with the strokes of his tongue. He shook his face in her to part her lips and get deeper. She grabbed at his hair, still wet from the rain. He licked up and down her slit, then suckled on her clit, which was hardening and poking out like a flesh-colored nipple. "So good…" she heaved. He teased it hard and drove her over the edge.

"Oh, God!" she shuddered violently for close to a minute. "Anthony, God, please, stop—" Her mound was tingling. Every touch and flick of his tongue was painfully ticklish and arousing. She couldn't escape from his powerful hands or spellbinding technique, no matter which way her upper body twisted and flung itself. He kept at it, licking, sucking, even gently biting and tugging on her lips. Her knees quaked and clamped his head. Her pelvis thrust upward and into his mouth. She shuddered more violently then last time, yelling his name. Her cum dripped out of her, hot as lava. He swallowed it into his mouth like honey, savoring her with kisses. The excess dripped down and into her crack.

She fell limp against the couch, breathing softly. She moaned with delirium. "Anthony… Oh, God…"

Anthony smiled and sat up. Wind shook the windows. He caressed his little sister lovingly, running his fingers through her tangles of hair. His face was still drunk with lust. He slowly dressed her back up, even when she was exhausted, sleepy and delirious. He was afraid she'd catch a cold. He held her in his arms. She curled gratefully in his embrace.

It was, to his delight, the first time he hadn't expected a girl to go down on him afterward. He nestled his cheek against hers, sticky with sweat. She was quietly breathing. Moments passed, and he thought she had fallen fast asleep. But, to his surprise, her eyes fluttered half open.

And with a barely audible whisper and a sexy smirk, she said, "You're next."

Liyla was dreamy-eyed. All her thoughts orbited around last night and Anthony. Her own brother had licked deep inside of her. It was phenomenal. And, what made him even more irresistible—God, she couldn't stop thinking about it!

Once Liyla had recuperated from Anthony's mind-blowing technique and blatant devouring of her cunt, she sat up sleep-eyed and completely sexed. She laid her hand on his crotch. She ran her pink nails over it, squeezed it gently, and rubbed Anthony through the fabric of his pants.

He squeezed his eyes shut, and his mouth gaped in longing. He exhaled a shudder.

"You're next," Liyla said with a sensual rasp.

He sat with his eyes closed. He didn't move.

Liyla watched her brother. He looked like a meditating god. His face was absolutely amazing. She rubbed him more firmly.

He opened his eyes with a relaxed smile. He gently plucked her fingers from his Achilles' Heel, and kissed her finger pads.

Liyla's heart tried to leap and bound from her chest.

"Don't go down on me, Lillie. I couldn't possibly," he was about to start one of his impassioned speeches, when he interrupted himself: "I could get head anywhere." This was accompanied with his usual elfish grin.

Liyla made no protests. Her mouth hung open in a smile that failed to laugh. She was awestruck, even as Anthony wrapped his arms around her. She smiled into his shoulder.

Anthony… He could bring any girl to her knees. He'd done so countless times before. And to think that… She…

Liyla felt warm inside. It showed in the way her shoulders lifted, as if she was meaning to stretch and yawn. Her palms rolled over her lap and her knees, and smoothened out her skirt. Everything going on around her seemed as if it was filtered through bullet proof glass. She was thinking only about Anthony, and about how grateful she was to have a brother like him—no, a man like him—in her life. She was filled with this gratefulness, but also pervaded by an empty void. Truthfully, she wanted to go down on him.

Now what was she to do? How was she to make him happy? Why did he treat her differently? Was it because she's his little sister? Because she doesn't have enough experience?

Experience.

Even dinner with him and mom was surprisingly comfortable and devoid of tension. She and Anthony talked all night in his room. The looks he gave her were brotherly and affectionate. Which, was, to say in the least, no different from any other day. He'd gotten home in the first place to avoid this psycho (but "hella hotass beautiful") chick who kept stealing his coffee mug. She made him fetch it off her desk time and time again. Like a child. And Anthony, in all his charm and politeness, put up with it until he decided just to leave work early.

The more he talked and rubbed the back of his neck and smiled, the more Liyla wanted him. She wanted him. Her feelings roiled inside of her. She gripped the hem of her skirt and twisted it.

"Miss Taylor."

Her dreamy-eyed stare melted into a quizzical expression. "Hm?"

Mr. History knelt beside her: "I know you're on your spare time, here. But I'm letting you know, if you want to keep your A, you'll need extra credit. Right now you're slipping."

Liyla was thrown back into her thoughts. Extra credit. Extra credit. She suddenly remembered Track B's docile, cultish smile. Then she remembered what she saw just yesterday. Mr. Bridenbach and his student. Her muscles tensed.

Mr. Bridenbach looked up into her eyes. His hand gently cupped her knee. The warmth of his hand melted her right leg.

Experience. Extra credit. Liyla put her hand over his.

He faked surprise.

She swallowed. "Extra credit, Mister Bridenbach?" She didn't mean to look at him the way she was looking at him, but her heart was racing. His young, idealistic, charismatic teaching style was present in his expression, the liberal nature on which his face was structured.

"What are you suggesting?" he said slowly.

Her hand gripped his.

"Miss Taylor." He got up, looking infuriated. He rose from his genuflected position by Liyla's chair and went to close the door. He turned and looked at her. "Now."

Liyla stared at him.

His expression melted into a relieved sneer. He walked up to her and slid a hand down her shoulder. It left a trail of goose bumps on her skin.

She stifled a sigh.

"Miss Taylor—" he paused. "Liyla… You have amazing class presentations. Your shyness melts when you present, a whole other side of you comes out. A provocative, assertive side of you. You know how much I've praised your… oral skills." The emphasis in his voice made her recoil.

She couldn't believe what he was saying. "Oral skills," she breathed.

His expression was charmed, hypnotizing. He walked up to her.

For some reason, she automatically knew what to do. Or rather, she was going to do what she had been denied of actually doing last night. She stared at the bulge. She could hear him breathing. She side-glanced at the door. She thought of Track B. Her hand reached out for his zipper, but slid up to undo his belt buckle. She slipped it off and away, then refocused her attention on the zipper. She tugged on it. She struggled to set Mr. Bridenbach free. His zipper was faulty and she was losing her composure. She managed to get his pants around his knees. It spasmed and jerked. He grunted.

Liyla had never seen one before. Despite that, there were no real thoughts running through her head. She instinctively licked her lips, and pulled his boxers down. His member popped out. It was red and purple, and veins ran down its length. It jerked, beckoning her. The tip was glaring and a small droplet of pre-cum adorned it like a clear stud piercing. She stared at it, skipping a few breaths to behold Mr. Bridenbach's cock in all its glory. She didn't know what 'big' was, but she had a feeling that this might be it.

"Show me those oral skills, Liyla." Mr. Bridenbach ran hands through her hair until he gripped a firm patch of it. She gasped. "It's all I'm asking."

Liyla only half-registered his request. She was still staring at it. She didn't shut her eyes when she grasped it in her tiny hand. And she didn't shut her eyes when she slid her little mouth around it.

A baritone groan escaped Mr. Bridenbach's lips. "It's a tight space—fit all of me in there." He took her head and impaled it on his stiff, throbbing member.

Liyla's eyes widened as the tip of his cock rubbed across the bridge of her mouth and bumped into her tonsils. Her eyes squeezed shut and a tear came out of each eye. She sniffed. He slowly started sliding himself in and out of her mouth. In and out, in and out, in and out. Each time, he slammed into the back of her throat. It wasn't as overwhelming as she thought it would be. She started to take control. She grabbed the base of his seemingly monstrous cock, which elicited another groan from her history teacher.

Her head bobbed up and down on his member.

"Yeah—yes, that's right—a little ha-arder—"

She did as he told her to. He released his grip on her hair and slid both hands to cup her shoulders.

"Faster, use your teeth."

She shut her eyes tighter and sucked hard on him. She dragged her teeth over his pulsing veins. Her breathing was heavily shooting out of her nostrils. Her hands rounded his backside and firmly grabbed his butt. She attempted to deep throat all seven inches of him. She choked.

Mr. Bridenbach shuddered in her mouth, surprised and delighted by her initiative. He accidentally cummed a little in her mouth.

She bobbed faster, closer toward the tip, nibbling on his head, but never letting his dick pop out of her mouth. The sucking noises were hard and loud. She even swallowed his pre-cum.

Mr. Bridenbach was completely aroused. His hands dropped from her shoulders and retreated back into her hair. He started to groan louder, and in regular intervals. Liyla was amazing. "Uh. God, shit, yeah—don't bite down too hard—ugh, shit!" His eyes popped open. His whole dick was in her mouth. Her throat was closing in around the tip of his dick, swallowing some of the rest. His hips thrust and shook. "Augh. Aw, yeah—fuck,"

She did it again. And again. And again until she drove him over the edge. He grabbed her head and started thrusting himself into her mouth.

She was choking, but she held out.

"I'm gonna—I'm gonna cum—" The way his student closed her lips around the base of his cock directly told him that she was going to swallow all of him. He was in ecstasy. "I'm gonna cum in your mouth, Liyla."

The air shooting out of her nostrils sounded a lot like a laugh.

Even Mr. Bridenbach smiled. He raised his eyes toward the ceiling. His eyes fluttered shut. He was nearing the home stretch, thrusting hard, fast and deep down his student's throat. "OH. OH, GOD." He thrust so hard that his thighs started shaking under the strain. Harder, and harder, and harder until both his face and hers were red with intensity: "AWWW, FUCK!"

A hot, bitter-salty jet stream shot directly down Liyla's throat. It had a surprising taste, but she had already resolved not to spit it out. She was going to drink it all. Her voice box bobbed up and down as she swallowed him drop for drop.

Mr. Bridenbach was convulsing with pleasure: "This—this never happened before—oh—aw—" He couldn't stop cumming. He couldn't stop. But neither did Ms. Taylor. She continued to faithfully swallow away. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her eyebrows arched in a painful expression. The last of his dick jerked in Liyla's mouth and let out another hot stream before going limp. There was an audible pop when he pulled his cock out of Liyla's mouth. A string of cum stretched from her bottom lip then broke away. Mr. Bridenbach heaved. He fell back against his desk and clutched his chest. "L-Liyla… That was…"

There was a little bit of cum dribbling down the corner of her mouth. She caught it with her finger tip and licked it off.

Mr. Bridenbach shuddered.

There was a moment of silence.

Liyla tossed her head back to get the hair out of her eyes. She then lifted her chin: "So. Can I keep my A?" She had never… What was…?

Amazed and delighted, Mr. Bridenbach smiled brightly. "You won't even have to come to class anymore, Liyla. That was," he heaved again. Sweat ran down his ass. "That was excellent."

"Excellent". He had used the word "Excellent" to describe her oral skills. He had graded her first blow job. And she passed with flying colors. The look Liyla gave her history teacher told him that she was going to continue coming to class. She was going to torture him with her presence. She was going to make him sweat.

And it pleased him immensely.

Liyla stepped out of Mr. Bridenbach's office in a sleazy daze. She still had no thoughts in her head. Either it hadn't registered, or she was slowly descending into numbness. Or maybe she didn't feel guilty because she knew she hadn't acted with innocence. Either way, she remained unscathed and a little hungry.

"Lita, you slut, come here!"

Liyla looked up.

She saw "Lita" walking up to a group of laughing girls. "Lita" was the girl she had met in the restroom on the second floor just yesterday. She had been smoking there. In the bathroom.

Lita turned around while she was talking, and caught sight of Liyla: "Oh, hey, Shoe Bargain! Get your skinny ass over here and walk with us!"

Liyla suddenly felt cozier. She had recalled Lita's presence, even in a grungy place like that bathroom. Lita had a warm laugh and a deep, assertive, jaded voice. And Lita didn't seem to mind that Liyla had made a fool out of herself, confessing deep, dark secrets that not even Shawna had the pleasure of knowing. "Shoe Bargain" was a nickname Liyla happened to like. She gravitated toward Lita's circle with a big, bright smile, unscathed from what had happened only moments before in her teacher's office. "Hi, Smoking Girl." The words had flown out of her mouth before she had a chance to register what she had just said.

Lita laughed and beckoned her over more anxiously. The other girls watched and smiled.

Liyla had almost caught up with the group when someone snatched her arm and whirled her around. She gasped.

Christie narrowed her eyes. "What are you doing?"

Liyla's mouth opened and she babbled silently.

"She'll ruin your rep, Liyla—God, use your brain!" Christie was referring to Lita's "Town Bike" status.

Liyla looked over at Lita, who seemed to understand. Lita smiled a small smile and crinkled her nose with sympathy. Liyla was whisked away. She shrunk, and the feeling of warmth that had inflated her self-worth blew right out of her. She sadly went to lunch time with Christie in the cafeteria.

Rick was missing, which made Liyla start to feel even more hopeless. The recent happenings that had pervaded her thoughts were finally starting to register. She realized that her numbness really wasn't from too much happening, it was from the loneliness she felt in not having anyone to confide in.

Christie and Shawna laughed as they talked about sex, which always the main topic of discourse at their table. They made no comment of Rick's sudden disappearance except to say that he must be "waaay too busy practicing for the talent show."

She ate with an unusual sense of solemnity.