Cherry Lane

Cherry Lane figured out early on that she was bisexual. It started when she was sitting in class and thinking about boys, wishing someone would show interest in her. She began having sexual fantasies, at first innocent as a kiss, and soon passionate and invigorating. Then one day, in the middle of a daydream, her math teacher bent over to pick up a pencil and gave a clear view down her shirt. She was added to the daydream in an instant.

In high school, Cherry came into her body overnight. She grew a cup size while losing baby fat, which gave her a slender figure with voluptuous curves. She joined the theater program, and took up dancing on her weekends, letting her ass tighten up and fill out perfectly. It was firm, and a cheek fit in one hand just right. She was a tiny girl in the end, and proportionate to the last detail.

Her real name was Charlotte Lann, but when her nectarine hair began to darken, her father commented on just how cherry red it became. Since then he called her Cherry Lane, and the name caught on quick with teachers and friends. When the boys at school saw the tits she started carrying, they adopted the name as well.

The years came and went, and Cherry lost and found herself time and time again. When at last she turned eighteen, she was in another cycle of loss. She didn't know what she wanted with her life, what her worth in the world was. She wasn't a good enough singer to get to Broadway and she was too small to dance professionally. At a perfect 5' 1", her legs were too short to make the jumps needed for ballet, the control needed for tap, and the deftness required of jazz.

What she did know were three key things. First, that she found the human mind exceedingly fascinating. Second, that she loved her boyfriend, Andy. Third, she needed to masturbate at least twice a day, and she felt no guilt over it.

It was 1983 when she turned eighteen, and in that same year she found herself again. But this time, it would last quite some time.

Cherry loved to sneak out and visit Andy in the middle of the night. He needed no warning at this point, he always left his window unlocked for her. The first time she did it, they were still in their junior year, and she caught him by surprise.

"Shouldn't I be the one doing that sort of thing?"

"Doesn't matter who does it," she said. "We fuck either way."

Now that she was eighteen, she didn't need to worry about being caught out past curfew. She had her license, and the curfew no longer applied to her. It was her parents who needed to be kept at ease, but they were too tired at night to check on her.

Andy had short, wavy hair that would turn into curls if he let it grow too long. She liked getting her fingers tangled up in it, but he found it too much to maintain. Instead, he would lock his fingers into her luscious locks, curving and twisting like a red river.

Cherry's sexual exploration began with masturbation, in which she came to love her body so much that she would watch herself masturbate in the mirror. She liked seeing how her cheeks would flush, how her fingers shone when they were in the light, and most of all how much more pale her tits looked with her hair draped over them. When Andy came into her life, she didn't stop this self obsession. He came to enjoy it himself, as it made her more energetic in bed.

Andy was sort of sheepish all things considered, or so Cherry thought. She had often stolen her father's Playboy magazines that he thought were secret. After three months, he would throw them out to keep things fresh and to make the collection look only experimental if he were ever caught. Here, Cherry learned everything she ever wanted to know about sex.

Andy was satisfactory, but never quite what Cherry wanted. He was so much thicker without condoms, but for obvious reasons they were completely necessary. He'd heard a bogus rumor that birth control pills made girls' tits smaller, and they were ineffective. So he asked her not to use them in favor of the rubber prison.

But he could get the job done. She rode his cock with enthusiasm, feeling how it would move ever so slightly when she gyrated her hips. It was wonderful feeling the control over their mutual pleasure, having the power to deny both of them at a moment's notice. But she never did, and soon he was pulsing inside her.

"I really wish we could try it without that," Cherry said, dismounting him and laying next to him on the bed.

"Maybe someday," he said, probably lying. "I've got to get some sleep. I've got a test tomorrow."

"Can't we snuggle a little bit?"

"You'll fall asleep if we do."

She left feeling disgruntled and unappreciated and masturbated twice once she was back in her own bed.

-----

The cheerleaders at Lyndon Johnson High School decided to collectively hate Cherry Lane for no apparent reason besides her perfect figure. Andy always told her it was because she was a theater geek, but those were never the taunts she received when pressed up against a locker.

"You think your tits will do everything for you?" Said Steph Kerry, the flat chested bitch.

"You couldn't do what we do with little legs like yours," said an acne-ridden girl named Alicia Marquess.

Cherry made the mistake of answering, "At least they look good."

Steph pressed her head against the cold metal locker harder. "What did you say?"

"I said at least I don't spread my legs in front of a hundred people who are more interested in basketball than you."

Cherry regretted keeping so little in her locker. If it had been more occupied, there might not have been the opportunity to shove her inside like she'd seen the football players do to the freshmen boys. She never thought she'd be such a victim, but she was certainly small enough. The first bitch pushed her inside so hard that Cherry's head slammed against the back. In one moment, she was locked inside, and in two she was unconscious.

-----

Her dreams were hazy, but at first she could hear Andy calling her name through the halls. Once she even thought she heard, "I think I owe her an apology." But it didn't sound like something he would really say. He had a knack for being oblivious to his own mistakes.

Her next dream was about a wolf walking down a pearly staircase, surrounded by the Aurora Borealis. It kept diving further and further down, losing its fur with each step. Sometimes it would stop and howl, but each one was weaker, and each time its fangs seemed more dull.

The dream dissolved into another, and this time Cherry could see herself at the top of the staircase. She heard the distant howling below. Then a voice whispered, "Be careful."

"Who's there?"

"Everything in moderation."

"What's going on? Jesus it's cold..."

"You are not the first, you will not be the last... all are capable, some are gifted, and none are deserving."

Her eyes shot open, and everything around her was dark and cold. She was still in the locker, and the place was quiet. Nighttime, and the school was empty. Her head was throbbing in pain, and when she touched it where it hurt, she felt blood caked into her hair.

"Perfect," she muttered after a wince.

She banged on the locker, hoping there might be some janitor still around. She couldn't tell what time it was; it was too dark and too cramped to read her watch.

Then her head stopped hurting, so abruptly that she laughed. The blood was still there, the lump still sitting right where it was. But the pain was gone. "I'm dying," she said, still laughing.

But something was different. She felt a presence, like an arrow in her brain pointing somewhere she could not see. It was a sixth sense directing her to some knowledge waiting for her nearby. Then she heard a voice, familiar. ("Jesus," it echoed in her mind. "All this work and these kids still don't know a god damn thing.")

It was Mrs. Kennedy, Cherry's math teacher. She wasn't sure what had just happened, whether she was hallucinating from her injury or just plain crazy. Either way, the voice continued. ("When will this year end?")

The another, deeper voice said, ("All right, that's enough for tonight. Home for a night of beer and television, once again, alone.") That one was Mr. Hollace, the vice principal.

Cherry didn't understand how, but she felt the presence of them both. Her sense told her which direction the two lay, the first where she knew the administration office to be and the other where she knew the math classroom was. They clashed, weaving between each other in her brain and disorienting her. The voices overlapped each other, echoing so loudly that Cherry thought her head was spinning. And in her own mind she screamed, ("Someone get me out of here!")

Both voices stopped. Cherry was breathing frantically, like she had just run a mile in a minute. If she were an asthmatic, she surely would have asphyxiated. Especially with the air inside the locker feeling so clammy.

Before long she heard the clicking of heels coming down the dark hallway, shortly followed by the clacking of suede shoes. "Mrs. Kennedy," Hollace said. "Late night I see."

"I could say the same for you," she said. "I've got papers to grade but you?"

"Job applications," he said. "Cal is retiring this year."

Cherry banged on the locker again, and both pairs of shoes came running immediately. "Who's in there?" Mrs. Kennedy said.

"It's Cherry," she said, almost ready to cry. "Please let me out."

"What's the combination?" Hollace asked. It took two tries, but Cherry fell out with such relief that she could have passed out from joy. Her legs were bloodless and sore, so much so that she could not stand. She didn't realize it until then. But Mr. Hollace caught her in strong arms and let her ankles dangle over the floor.

He was a handsome man, though no one really realized it. Behind thick horn-rimmed glasses he had sensitive brown eyes and a masculine chin. He kept his face clean-shaven, and almost looked like Warren Beatty in a way.

Beside him was buxom blonde Mrs. Kennedy, the desire of every guy at LBJ High as well as Cherry's. She always wore heels, even on the cold rainy days when mud made the walk from the parking lot to the school building a miserable trek. She made no effort to hide her figure, and often told stories of her work protesting in the 60's and early 70's. Like Mrs. Hollace, she was sitting pretty in her mid 30's.

"Let's get you somewhere you can lie down," Mr. Hollace.

"My legs," Cherry said, starting to probe his warm brown eyes.

"I bet they're numb," Mrs. Kennedy said. "We can help get the blood pumping again. Who did this to you?"

"Does it really matter?" she asked, hoping to just drop the subject. ("I hope they don't notice my head.")

"Yes it-" Mrs. Kennedy began, but Hollace interrupted her.

"We can talk about that another time. Here, let's set her down in my office and I'll call her parents. They must be worried sick."

He set her down on the couch in his office, usually used for students waiting to be disciplined. Already she felt the pinpricks indicating the return of proper circulation, but she could hardly rotate her ankle let alone stand on it.

"Here," Mrs. Kennedy said, kneeling down. She began to rub Cherry's calves delicately, covering their entire length as she went. Then Cherry heard, ("Poor girl...")

It was Mrs. Kennedy's thoughts. She caught the end of the phone call Hollace made, which sounded like her parents were on their way to pick her up. Then he sat in his chair and placed an elbow on the desk, covering his mouth with his hand. "Now Cherry, if you don't want to talk about this it's okay. But I also want you to know we can help you solve any problem you have. It's important that you feel safe at school."

("God what a sweet man,") Mrs. Kennedy thought, echoing in Cherry's head.

("God these two need to bang already,") Cherry thought, too loudly to be polite.

Then Mr. Hollace took his eyes off her and darted them over to Mrs. Kennedy, who slowly stopped massaging Cherry's calves as she looked back at him.

It seemed almost instantaneous how Mrs. Kennedy got her back on the desk and Mr. Hollace pulled out a sizable member. She struggled to pull down her stockings as Hollace practically ripped her skirt pulling it up. They completely forgot she was present as they became absorbed in each other's lust.

At last Cherry could see what had happened. She had fallen asleep, and she was dreaming about having a supernatural power over the minds of others. In reality, she was still trapped in that locker waiting for rescue. But it all felt real, the smell of sex, the sound of Mrs. Kennedy's pleasure, and the growing wetness between Cherry's legs.

"Dale..." Mrs. Kennedy moaned. "Harder, please! Harder!"

It couldn't be a dream, she thought. And it wasn't. Cherry Lane had acquired this power, and as a first display, made two grown adults fuck for no particular reason.

She didn't remember putting her hand into her pants, but there it was, letting her fingers spread her wetness up the length of her slit and coax her clitoris out of its hood.

It seemed too surreal, so Cherry felt the need to test her theory. ("Eat that slut's pussy,") she thought, looking right at Mr. Hollace.

Lo and behold, he pulled his cock out of her and bent to his task, lapping at her like a dog dying of thirst. But there was a hunger in his eyes that suggested he liked her physical reaction more than the fun of the action. And Cherry could not blame him. She was convulsing, using both hands to press his head in closer. He kept his hands wrapped around her thighs to hold them apart, but she was clenching tight enough for that to be a challenge.

("Both of you come closer to me. You, get on your knees and suck his cock.")

As if it were their own idea, they walked over to the couch and began. Mrs. Kennedy didn't seem to know exactly what she was doing, but something about that made Cherry smile. This bombshell of a woman, confident in every conceivable way, was here on her knees performing fellatio like it was her first time. Cherry Lane could do at least one thing better than Mrs. Kennedy.

Mr. Hollace gripped her hair, but let her be in control of how deep she went. As much as the sight joyed Cherry, it did not excite her. It was too slow, too gentle. Regardless, she was about to finish. Her clit was throbbing with the heat of the moment, and her fingers were slick like oil. She felt a few muscles begin to tense, and she knew it was inevitable.

Looking at Mr. Hollace, she commanded, ("Cum all over her face.")

He pulled out of her mouth and instantly began spurting his load over her lips and cheeks, as if his body responded to command as well as his mind.

("Harder,") Cherry commanded after two spurts. The next came out thicker, a pure pearly white that maintained perfection when it landed on the blonde woman's face. ("Harder!") The scream echoed in Cherry's mind, and Mr. Hollace's cock throbbed as if hit with a shockwave. His cum shot out of his cock like a firehose, and drenched Mrs. Kennedy's face. It splashed off a bit, mostly dripping onto her chest but also reaching Cherry's arm, a few drops sitting on her arm. They tasted heavenly.

Mr. Hollace fell from the intensity, and Mrs. Kennedy was basking in the glory of her drenched state. Cherry didn't remember orgasming, but knew it had happened. Her pussy was still convulsing a little bit, little aftershocks from a decent orgasm. But the surprise of Mr. Hollace's shower took her mind out of her own body.

("You both will listen to everything I command of you from now on,") Cherry thought. Then to make sure, she said, "Mrs. Kennedy, let me lick some off."

The teacher smiled and leaned close so Cherry could lick the glaze off her tits. She helped get rid of all of it, swallowing what she wanted and gifting plenty of it to her teacher. Mr. Hollace recovered just in time to see their last kiss.

"Next time," Cherry said, "you'll both give me a turn. Understand?"

"As you wish," they said.

Cherry smiled devilishly, certain there would be a next time.