“Okay, that’s everybody moved in,” Kevin exhaled wearily as he kicked off his Stan Smiths and flopped on the pale green velvet couch.
“Ew, Kevin, get off the couch! You’re all sweaty.”
“Cass, the way I hear it, this couch has been dodging bodily fluids since the 1920s.”
“That’s true,” Cassie snorted. “But it’s survived sixty years without getting cum-stained, so don’t get it sweat-stained now.”
“Fine,” Kevin pretended to pout as he dragged himself back to his feet and padded to the bedroom. “I’ll get changed and go hop in the lake.”
Cassie ran a hand through the waves of her faded red hair and checked the list of tenants who would be staying in the cabins while completing their student teaching requirements:
Abby Devereaux (HS French)
Brandi Martínez (HS Spanish)
Bruce Cummings (MS Science)
David Knudsen (HS English)
Gordon Yates (HS Math)
Kyle Ullston (MS Phys Ed)
Tawny Kuntzler (MS Special Ed)
Wanda Clough (???)
Cassie had written the last two in pencil, secretly pleased that the list remained alphabetical despite these recent additions to the roster. She had convinced Superintendent Hutchinson, with great reluctance, to hire Tawny as an aide in the special ed resource room, but hadn’t yet worked out how to get Wanda hired by the school district. Jiminy, she thought, I'd have an easier time getting Samantha Fox certified as a therapist for masturbation addiction.
“Ugh, what am I going to do with Wanda?” she groaned, casting her eyes to the heavens, as Kevin emerged wearing his swim trunks. “Maybe we can patch some jobs together, like in-school suspension monitor and, uh…”
“...field hockey assistant coach,” Kevin suggested, stroking his beard in thought as he selected a striped beach towel from the closet.
“What?” Cassie yelped, startled. “I’m the assistant coach, you dick!”
“Yeah, and you’re always stretched too thin, Cass. Think about it. You could ease yourself out gracefully and slide your replacement in without missing a beat.” He watched Cassie’s face as it betrayed her developing thoughts. Huh? gave way to Hmm… gave way to Huh!
“Kev, you might be onto something!” Cassie gushed. “That could actually be a really good fit. Maybe both of them could coach, Tawny and Wanda,” she muttered as an afterthought.
“The Terrible Twins?” Kevin chuckled. “I suppose it’s best to keep all the bad eggs in the same basket, eh?”
“Those two do everything together. Why not?” Cassie tittered. “Specifically, they won the state championship in ‘85. I see great things for the Ossipee Valley Ocelots this season.”
“As long as they limit sharing their expertise to the field, not the locker room or the back of the team bus.”
“Kevin!”
—
As the truck rumbled down the drive and turned right onto Route 25, Kevin gave a small wave, then turned and mounted the porch steps just as Cassie came outside, drying her hands with a dish towel.
“Behold!” Kevin announced with a wave of his hand. “Our brand new dumpster!”
“You don’t have a funny Canadian name for it?” Cassie ribbed him. “Like a dumpulator or a trasharoony?”
“No, don’t be weird. It’s a dumpster. A two-yard dumpster, in fact.”
“What is that, the length?” Cassie asked, squinting and making a visual estimate.
“Volume.”
“What?” she exploded. “A yard is a unit of length; you can’t measure volume in yards!”
“It’s two cubic yards.”
“Then why didn’t you say so in the first place?” Cassie demanded.
“Soary, that’s just what they call it. I guess when you’re dealing with volume all day long, you get tired of saying ‘cubic’ every time.” Kevin pointed to the “2 YD” stenciled on the side. “See? Two yards.”
“And you’re okay with the imperial units? Need me to convert that to cubic meters?” Cassie sneered good-naturedly.
“Cass, I’ve been in the U.S. for over a decade now—”
But Cassie was mumbling to herself, twisting the dish towel around her hands as she lost herself in thought. “Ninety percent cubed, seventy-two point nine, round it up to seventy-five…” She beamed triumphantly, “That’s roughly 1.5 cubic meters, sir.”
“1,5 cubic metres, got it. Thank you, ma’am.”
“It looks brand new, Kev. Look at that paint job!”
“Yup, never been used. We were just lucky, that's all; this happened to be the only one available when I called.”
“Well, with ten of us living here, we’ll get it filthy soon enough.”
—
“Thanks, Mrs. M. You’re a real lifesaver, lettin’ me stay here.” Wanda looked around the snug little cabin, then dropped her duffel bag on the unoccupied bed. Tawny was stretched out on the other bed with her eyes closed.
“It’s no trouble, Wanda,” Cassie replied with a twinkle in her eye. “This way, you and Tawny can keep each other out of trouble, like usual.”
“Out of trouble?” Wanda roared with laughter.
“That’s a good one!” Tawny added, eyes still closed.
“Sure,” Cassie laughed, “I know you two are always competing for the title of Wild Child of the Lakes Region, but let’s be serious for a minute.” She drew a chair from the kitchen table and sat on it backwards, leaning forward on the backrest with her arms crossed. Wanda, slightly puzzled, sat on the end of her bed.
Tawny opened her eyes and leaned on one elbow. “What’s up, Mrs. M?”
“You’re both nineteen. You’re kind of adults but kind of not.” Cassie cleared her throat. “There is a level of professionalism required when you’re working in a school—”
“Well, sure, we aren’t gonna flash anybody on the job!” Wanda interrupted with a leering grin.
“Wanda, let her finish,” Tawny spoke up.
“No, but here’s the thing,” Cassie went on. “The kids are going to test you. They may not even realize they’re doing it. But you’ll overhear some conversation about some girl blowing some boy on a camping trip and you’ll tell them to knock it off. Then some rotten kid’ll say ‘Whatsamattah, ain’t ya nevah blew nobody?’”
“Ha! As if. I’ll tell ‘em—”
“No, Wanda, you won’t say a damned thing!” Cassie said sharply.
“But—”
“No buts. No tits, hands, or butts. You cannot engage in that conversation.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because no matter what you say, you’ll become the story.” Cassie slipped into her tween slang voice again. ‘Ya know Wanda, the hall monitah? She sucks dick!’”
“So then I’ll lie and say—”
“Then it’s ‘Ya know Wanda, the hall monitah? She don’t suck dick!’ Either way, the story is about you, and you will forever be associated with sucking dick. Every Jen, Julie, and Jessica is going to tell every Josh, Justin, and Jeremy; it’ll be all over the school by the end of the second lunch period, and that story will stick to you like glue.”
“Or Kevin’s jizz,” Wanda joked softly, but for once her heart wasn’t in it.
Cassie gave a thin smile before continuing. “Wanda, I’m sorry. That’s just the way it is. You’re damned if you do, damned if you don’t. So your only move is to refuse to engage. You can say something like ‘That topic is not appropriate for school.’ We can work on your script so it sounds natural, but you have got to be prepared; you cannot get caught flat-footed when it happens. And it will happen.”
“Speaking from personal experience, Mrs. M?” Tawny inquired gently.
“Jiminy Crickets, am I ever!” Cassie burst out laughing. “When I did my student teaching in Peterborough, I was so worried about hiding my piss fetish that I somehow got the reputation for being piss-phobic.” Shaking her head at the memory, she continued, “Students would write stuff like ‘otassium’ and ‘rotein’ on their quizzes... because Ms. M was afraid of p, har har.”
“Nice. Did they ever let up?” Wanda asked.
“Only when I began refusing to give them credit for correct answers that were misspelled,” Cassie replied with a self-satisfied tilt of her eyebrow.
“So... piss fetish?” Tawny echoed casually.
“It was a long time ago,” Cassie replied, the corner of her lip curling up. “But I’ve never dared go back to Our Town. Folks have long memories.”
—
Wanda changed into a royal blue string bikini, adjusting her lethal weapons so the triangles of fabric covered them just so. Retrieving a towel from the closet, she left Tawny napping on her bed, closing the screen door gently so it wouldn’t bang. Walking up the drive towards the beach, she heard splashing, along with men’s voices laughing and shouting.
The beach was a narrow strip of sand extending about 100 yards (91.44 m). When Cassie had inherited the run-down property from her grandmother’s estate, her top three priorities were indoor plumbing, a sandy beach, and matching towels. Kevin’s idea to build the rental cabins helped justify this substantial outlay of inheritance money, and they had just about broken even on the deal by this time, ten years later, although the towels were beginning to look a bit ratty around the edges.
Emerging from the trees, Wanda saw four young men in the water tossing a football around. The ball didn’t actually freeze in midair and drop like a dead duck when they spotted her, but that’s certainly what it felt like. Eight eyes were fixed on her as she stepped off the pine-needled path onto the sand.
“Hi!” a tall guy with brown hair called out. “I’m Bruce. Are you staying here in the cabins?” he asked hopefully.
Wanda tossed her copper hair back over her shoulder. “Yeah, I just moved in. I’m Wanda.”
“Hi, Wanda, I’m Kyle,” said a short, muscular dude as he lifted the knock-off Oakleys from his eyes and placed them atop his blond spiky hair. Wanda admired the wet curls down the back of his neck as he waded out to retrieve the football before it floated away.
“I’m David,” called out a slightly built fellow with short, dark hair.
“I’m Gordon,” said the last one, whose long hair was brown and curly. “I’m rooming with David, and Bruce and Kyle are bunking together. What do you teach?”
Wanda laughed self-consciously. “That’s to be determined. Mrs. M is helping me and Tawny get jobs at the school. Kind of a last-minute thing.”
“Well, it’s great to meet you, Wanda,” Bruce replied. “Come on in; we won’t splash you.”
“Maybe I want to get splashed,” Wanda said as demurely as possible, a grizzly bear whispering a lullaby, and immediately got her wish as Kyle purposely slung the football low and hit the water a few feet in front of her.
“You sunk my battleship!” Bruce hooted as Wanda, drenched, shot daggers at Kyle.
“Hey, you asked for it, baby,” Kyle grinned, placing his wraparound shades over his eyes and crossing his arms triumphantly.
“You’d better hand your glasses off to somebody else,” Wanda hissed through gritted teeth as she galumphed out to him. “You’re going down.”
“Gordo, catch,” Kyle laughed as he tossed his glasses aside and sloshed in, accepting her challenge. As a former high-school wrestler, he was confident that he could turn Wanda’s height advantage into a disadvantage.
“Let’s get ready to rumbullll…” David bellowed as the two combatants met and began grappling. Kyle was playing around at first, unsure how serious his opponent was, until she grabbed the back of his swimsuit and yanked upwards, giving him the power wedgie of a lifetime.
“Grulk!” he choked out as he felt his balls getting jammed up his ass. “That’s below the belt!”
“Ha, your belt’s in your armpits now!” Bruce catcalled.
Kyle was flailing around with his feet unable to touch bottom, afraid he might have to start singing soprano in his synth-metal cover band, Croak-Us. With his balls turning purple and Wanda snickering in his face, he had only one recourse.
Reaching out and grasping the horizontal strip of royal blue fabric, he yanked the front of her bikini top up, causing her hefty hooters to tumble out into the afternoon sun, their smooth, pale expanse contrasting vividly with the tanned, freckled skin of her sternum. The other three guys, after getting an eyeful—two eyefuls, if we’re being honest—and etching the image permanently into their long-term memories, turned their heads in deference to Wanda’s unfortunate situation.
Wanda, cackling fiendishly, finally released Kyle’s shorts and allowed him to get his footing. “No, my first name ain’t baby, it’s Wanda. Miss Clough if you’re nasty,” she jibed while ruffling his wet mullet, then slung her mammoth melons back inside her top.
Noticing that everyone else had averted their eyes, Wanda sighed loudly. “It’s okay, guys. They’re just boobs. Here, look.” And with that, she pulled the two triangles down below her dynamic duo, exposing her tits to the world again. “C’mon, get a good look,” she goaded them as one by one, they turned towards her and did as she told them.
Lifting her boobs with her hands, she continued her patter. “How’d you like to jerk off onto these, huh? Bruce? Gordo? Kyle? Darryl?” Shake, shake.
“David.”
“David. How would you like that?” Shake, shake.
“I would like that a lot,” David confirmed in a strangled voice.
“Well, let’s get out of the water and head back up to the cabins. I’m sure you all have shrinky dinks right now.”
Wanda once again tucked her tits into her top, then everyone waded to the beach, toweling off a bit before walking up the path single file with Wanda in the lead and the guys catching each other’s eyes with equal parts bewilderment and amusement. When she reached her cabin, she stopped and peered through the window.
“I’d invite you inside, but Tawny’s still asleep.”
“Our place is free!” Gordon blurted out.
“Ours too!” Bruce chimed in.
“Well, I don't want to play favorites. Hmm, what to do, what to do,” Wanda mused, before her eyes fell on the shiny new addition to the scenery.
“Hang on a minute, guys,” she said as she walked closer, then noticed Kevin sitting on the front porch of the main house. “Hey, Kev! Is that a new dumpster?”
“Yup, brand new, never been dumped!” Kevin called back. “Clean as a whistle.”
“We’ll see about that,” Wanda smiled wickedly, then beckoned her beaus to come closer. “Kev, can you bring that footstool over here?”
“I don’t want to seem like I’m choosing sides, so let’s do this on neutral ground.” She hoisted a thumb over her shoulder. “In here.” Kevin placed the footstool on the ground and gave Wanda a hand climbing up and over the side of the dumpster. “Everybody gimme your towels so I can lay them on the floor.” A moment of feathering the nest, then, “Okay, everybody strip and get in.”
It was a tight squeeze, but eventually all five guys were standing naked in the dumpster in a circle, with Wanda kneeling in the center, her tits once again pulled out of her bikini top. Kevin, who was directly behind her, observed, “I can fuck your hair, and I think you can handle the rest.”
“Done,” Wanda said with a wry grin. “Getcher dicks out, boys.” She drooled down onto her chest and nodded at Kyle, who was standing directly in front of her. His eyes lit up and he slammed his stubby dick between her tits, sawing away like a lumberjack. She spat into her palms and began stroking the two dicks on either side, causing David and Bruce to groan with pleasure. Craning her neck to the side, she found Gordon’s dick waggling in her face and caught it in her mouth. Once she had established a decent rhythm, Kevin wrapped her flaming red hair around his dick and started thrusting his hips. Animal’s head on Miss Piggy’s body, he thought, shaking his head. Now she’s Oscar the fucking Grouch!
Bruce, true to form, dribbled a thin spurt of cum from his curved cock onto Wanda’s left wrist. “Don’t worry, I’m not done,” he assured her. She grunted in acknowledgement around Gordon’s stiff shaft, bobbing her head on his slick dick.
Gordon, who, truth be told, was receiving the best service, was the first to erupt. He grabbed the crown of Wanda’s head and began pumping his hot cum into her mouth, which she then drooled onto her chin and chest with a small cough.
Bruce emitted another trickle from his dick, explaining with a wink, “Okay, that’s two. The next one will be the big one.” Wanda worked out a kink in her jaw and smiled up at him encouragingly as she continued beating his meat with her left hand and David’s with her right.
The cum oozing down Wanda’s chest had reached her cleavage, and Kyle’s breathing intensified as the extra lubrication sent him to dizzying heights. He pounded his thick dick between Wanda’s love pillows before gurgling a cry and shooting three fat spurts of cum up onto her neck. “Ah, fuck, baby!”
“My name ain’t baby,” Wanda teased him as he fell back against the wall of the dumpster. “Bruce? Derek? How’re we doin’?”
“David.”
“David. Are you gonna cum on my fuckin’ tits, or what?”
David’s response was to slam his hips against her hand, fucking it madly until with a tremendous groan he began basting her big boobs with his boiling ball batter.
“Holy shit, Daniel! Look at all that cum!”
David, at a loss for words, stepped back. Now that her right hand was free, Wanda snaked it into her bikini bottom and began frigging herself furiously while Bruce banged her left hand and Kevin humped her henna-hued hair.
“C’mon, Brucey,” she moaned in her sluttiest voice. “Give it to me!”
Bruce complied almost immediately, releasing the remainder of his load onto her tits, slapping his supple salami onto her sloppy, slippery slopes.
“Kev?” Wanda inquired, glancing over her shoulder. “Not in my hair, please.”
“Y-You got it,” Kevin huffed, then whipped his dick away and beat it without mercy until it barfed all up and down her bare back.
Wanda chose that moment to unleash herself, clamping her clit and cultivating a climax that left her shuddering and shaken. “Yesss!” she roared, and would have collapsed to the floor if there had been any room to do so, but instead merely drooped against a stand of hairy legs.
For a moment, no one spoke. The birds twittered in the pine boughs above, a gentle breeze sighed. Then, one by one, the four young men clambered out of the dumpster and put on their wet bathing suits. Kevin helped Wanda sit up straight, then began gathering the rumpled towels into a pile, offering one to her so she could wipe down her sperm-slathered chest.
“I'll get your back,” he said softly.
“Thanks, Kev.”
The mournful call of a loon drifted through the air as they finished mopping up.
“Ah, shit,” someone said.
“What’s the matter?” Wanda asked, with a deep metallic echo from the bowels of the dumpster.
“We left the football in the water. It’s probably floated halfway to Camp Hawkins by now.”
—
