Chapter 3

“I freely admit that I have some doubts about this, sis ... I mean ... you and me ... we’ve never done anything together, but Mom, Dad, and your mother ... and Rania, apparently, want to match us up. What do you think? Isn’t that a little fast, sis?” I asked Julie after pulling her aside for a bit.

“Yeah, I know what you mean, but let’s just ... keep an open mind. Don’t commit to it, of course, not at this early stage, but don’t rule it out completely,” my stepsister urged me at this point, even as she began to get some unwanted male attention.

“Looks like you’ve got plenty of suitors at any rate,” I noted.

“Yeah, well, I’m on the rebound. I’m in no rush, trust me. That whole ... thing ... do you think that it’s because he’s Amish. He might not have returned from Rumspringa, but some part of the whole religion thing might have stuck to him?” Julie wondered aloud.

“Probably. Religion gives you all kinds of baggage. Getting divorced still bothers Dad on some level, and he’s a big-time womanizer, so it isn’t out of monogamous sentiments or whatever. It’s because he’s a Roman Catholic, at least on paper. He was brought up in the Church. Hell, he was an altar boy! Violating the sacrament isn’t small potatoes in that sense. Getting remarried, especially without the Church annulment ... yeah, it still rattles him a little. He likely still thinks that he’s going to Hell or something, at least on one level. That’s almost certainly Bert’s baggage in one sense or another,” I explained to Julie, who nodded as she understood my point.

“They weren’t married in the Church ... or were they?” Julie asked me now.

“Interfaith marriage like that, probably not. And I pointed that out to him, too. People are funny when it comes to things like marriage, family, and religion. Reason often goes flying out the fucking window. It’s like that whole other part of the brain completely takes over most of the time, at least in my experience. With apologies to Trace Adkins, ‘that ain’t no thinkin’ thing, either.’ Now, you be careful, sis. Let’s walk out of the cafeteria together, so if they want to grope you, they KNOW that they need your permission!” I urged my stepsister, who giggled and put her arms around my waist.

“Folks, you get one request each and make ‘em quick, because I still have to get to my next class. If you piss me off, Jack here might fuck you in the ass ... and I don’t think that you want THAT up your butts, do you?” Julie half-seriously threatened the guys.

Despite being much more and tougher than me, the threat of sodomy operated on a whole different level, because the dudes backed off. I think that some part of them feared that they might not resist me, might even enjoy it, so they didn’t dare take the chance. Homophobia can be such a two-edged sword, you know. It cuts both the bully and his victim.

Not having much time for much else, and not wanting to risk having me bugger them, each guy settled for some kind of kiss ... in some place or another. That was better than nothing, after all. Julie then planted a steamy lip lock on me, much to my amazement before we entered our next class, which, yes, we also took together: World History. My jaw dropped, but she brushed my dick and whispered something in French to me as we sat down to wait for Ms. Nadia Kostova.

“Is it just me, or does she really seem like a former mail-order bride? I’m Russian, too, but a couple of generations back at least,” Tanya Pugachev leaned over to ask me as she brushed back her hair, a shade of red closer to strawberry blonde than Julie’s auburn.

“Ellis Island?” I asked her.

“Stalin. Long story, but we rubbed him the wrong way. We were descended from Emelyan, after all. Anyway, I hate to cheat on my boyfriend, but I also really want to cut loose and enjoy the NIS stuff while I can. Maybe he can use Julie while I use you,” Tanya intimated, making Julie blush.

“Or maybe you can pay attention in class, Ms. Pugachev. Don’t think that me being Russian will make me go any easier on you. If anything, quite the opposite, you little prima donna! I expect more from you. You know better than most the significance of history, or at least you should!” Nadia Kostova slammed the ruler down on Tanya’s desk, “now, if anyone in this class fucks the Program partners, it should be me.”

“Oh, lick my ass, mail-order bride!” Tanya snorted, not taking Nadia too seriously.

Ms. Kostova grabbed Tanya by her hair, pulled her up, bent her over the desk, slid down her panties, and parted her cheeks for a moment. To everyone’s complete amazement, she began rimming Tanya for several seconds, making my classmate wet as a dishrag right then. Tanya turned as crimson as Red Square for a moment, but then Nadia quit and kissed her directly on the mouth.

“Careful what you wish for, bitch! Taste your own butt sweat!” Ms. Kostova then went back to work with history as if nothing had happened.

Tanya, on the other hand, spent the entire session bent over her desk, refusing to sit back down for whatever reason. Her ass was on full display to the entire class, who tried to pretend not to see it as she mooned us all. As the bell rang and I got up to leave, Tanya shouted my name. I walked over to her again and she wiggled her butt for me.

“Please ... please spank it? Pretty please?” Tanya pleaded with me, at which point, Nadia handed me a paddle.

“Just do it. Quickly. Get it over with, so I can take my next class and so can you,” my teacher urged me, so I ignored the hard-on in my pants and paddled Tanya’s bottom ruthlessly for several seconds.

“Count them and beg for another!” I demanded as I bruised Tanya’s booty to my own satisfaction.

Then I handed the paddle back to Nadia, who shook her head and insisted that I keep it.

“You’re going to need it more than I, trust me, pretty boy!” Ms. Kostova told me.

Thus I acquired a paddle that I carried for the rest of the day. It got only me into trouble in my next class, though, which was gym. Coach Aletheia Venizelos saw that Julie and I were late (yes, we had more classes together than was normal, for which Mom was probably to blame) and made us bend over so she could spank us in front of the entire class. Yes, she did it with my own paddle, my new, no less.

“Now, both of you run laps while the rest of us do sit-ups and push-ups! Ten laps and don’t slow down or otherwise cheat! No one goes to gym tardy, bitches!” Aletheia insisted.

She also paddled two more students who laughed at us, making them run laps with us as well. We ended up running more than ten laps, as she wouldn’t let us stop just yet. When I went to the girls’ changing room, as required by the rules of the Program, and Julie to the guys’, the coach then pulled me into the shower. As she was the girls’ volleyball, softball, and tennis coach, she was no shrinking violet by any means. She had some serious muscle tone for a woman.

“Wow, I did a number on your ass, didn’t I? Does it still sting?” Coach Venizelos asked me, to which I nodded as I felt the sting on my flesh.

“A bit, yes. Why do you care?” I snapped a bit, making her grab me by the hair and pull me closer.

“Now, listen, you little whiner with a chip on your shoulder! I know that you hate me right now and so does your sister, but that’s too fucking bad! Here’s your fucking paddle, okay? But don’t you even think about spanking me with it. Not unless I say so! Now, fuck me ... and do it fast. We don’t have a lot of time! Hate-fuck me like we both want!” Aletheia instructed me with gritted teeth, even as I slid into only my second pussy ever.

“Oh ... damn ... are you ... on the Pill?” I asked the coach on about the fourth or fifth stroke.

“Don’t worry, bitch. I won’t stick you with the tab, okay? I just need an anchor baby or it’s back to Crete for me, okay? I haven’t been there since I was twelve, so I’m in no rush to return! And I need that big dick of yours ... because hubby wants a divorce! Which is why my stay here is in danger in the first place!” my tanned, toned Greek goddess of a gym teacher demanded as she tightened up on me.

In spite of the pain in my butt from the paddling, I still rammed it balls deep and enjoyed having that hot, wet pussy engulf my throbbing prick. I thrust harder and harder still, getting very rough with my gym teacher, even as she swallowed up as many of my inches inside her as possible. I was still angry with her and in no small amount of agony, so every last thrust vented my spleen on the bitch, too. Finally, she exploded and so did I, erupting inside her gooey gash with every last spare swimmer I had.

“Attaboy! We’ll do this every day until it takes, okay? I’ll even come over and meet and fuck you somewhere on your Christmas break if you like. Relax, jailbait. The only one taking any risks is me and that’s because my idiot husband has a bunch of petty gripes against me, such as me keeping my maiden name. This is statutory rape. I’m not naming you, kid, on the fucking birth certificate. Even nowadays, the schools might wink at this ... but some hotshot DA will probably still try to crucify me if I did that,” my gym teacher just made me hate ... and crave her even more now.

All that supposed power over me ... and I had the fucking leverage ... and she knew it. Because I was still jailbait and she knew it. She could get prosecuted, imprisoned, and deported for letting me bone her and she knew it. It was her idea, after all. I still hated her for the paddling and her demanding ways ... but I also enjoyed bottoming out inside her slick and sweaty body. She clearly knew that, too.