When I was a senior in high school, this bully picked on me because I was so small. I’m a guy, but I’m only 5 feet tall and weigh about 90 pounds or a bit more. I’m thin, a little soft, as in not mainly, and everyone says I’m cute. Not handsome, but cute or pretty. Bully’s picked on me from day one in school, and it was okay.

Boys pushing me around, I understood.

But the guys stopped being as mean by the time I was a senior. But this girl, a tough, rude, mean chick, took up where they left off. Occasionally, we had run-ins in one of the side halls of the school. At the lockers, I mean, which had to be intentional. Her locker wasn’t in the same hall or even close.

She’s beautiful, but not in a way that makes you like her. She’s strong and wiry, and she moves like a cat. With a dark russet complexation, a soft face, her lips were full and firm, and what an adorable smile.

More often than not, she scowled at me.

She had malice in her stare. Like a leather-bound book, too large to carry, too long to read, and filled with more substance to process in a single reading, she was too much for me to understand. Sometimes, she punched lockers, denting them. Or kicked locked doors, breaking them. But no one ratted her out. They perceived her as far too dangerous to have as an enemy.

Her body was shapely but hard as iron. She had angry eyes when she glared at me. Her lovely, soft face melted into a hateful, glowering gaze in a single heartbeat that made my blood turn cold. She isn’t some bodybuilder, isn’t fat or muscle-bound. She’s attractive, fit, toned, and black. She is about 5 feet 8 or 9 inches tall, a dancer, cheerleader, and I believe she hates white people.

Or at least this white boy.

You’d think she’d be loud, but she’s not. She’s soft-spoken, her voice calm until she says something horrible in a perfectly calm voice.

“Gonna rip your tiny nut sack off someday, boy.” Her voice made the hairs on my neck tingle. A whispery voice, like a girl with a secret and a nasty one.

“Look at miss prissy, Danny boy, ain’t she a pretty bitch?” She never raised her tone much, but always what she said about me carried to where I was. Like butterfly wings passed her hate from her mouth to my ears.

At school, I avoided her mostly. But sometimes, it was like she tracked me down. One day, a week before graduation, she trapped me in the hall outside the chemistry lab. She twisted my arm up into my back and forced me into a storage room.

Forcing me back to a corner, pressing me tight, making my body and face touch both walls. And she held me there, her big breasts pressed to the back of my neck. And her perfume flooded my nostrils. Red was what my mother wore, and the scent, strong and pungent, scared me.

No, I don’t know why.

With her hateful whisper, she asked a rude question.

“Do you piss sitting down, Danny girl?”

“No.”

“Ya sure, sissy?”

“I’m not a sissy.”

She reached around, unbuckled my belt, unzipped my pants, and unbuttoned my pants. Her soft hand slid under the waistband of my shorts down to my crotch. She ticked my balls and toyed with the tip of my cock. The dick stiffened.

“Please stop,” I said as a tear rolled down my face.

Pushing up on my arm, she put her mouth on my ear and whispered, “No, little girly.”

My prick hardened and grew. Closing her hand on my cock and balls, tight, she said, “Bet you’re a squirter. Better push them cute hip-huggers and panties off your ass and work them down a bit, girly.”

I grabbed my tight jeans and pushed them to my ankles. Shoved my tidy whites down. My cock swelled even more in her hand while my asshole clinched. She wasn’t done with me. The girl stroked me, soft, quick jerks up my shaft.

“For such a little girl, you’re dicks not bad.”

Her curly hair danced on my neck as she jerked me. The tip of my hard cock brushed her thumb as she worked over my prick. Tingles ran up my spine, and sparks of electricity moved around my balls and penis. My flesh was alive, hot, and her hands were so much better at this than I’d ever been.

“Ya’d like to stick yer plump dick in my dark, tight place, wouldn’t ya, little girly?” she asked.

“No,” I said.

“Liar, liar, panties on fire.”

“I don’t wanna do that.”

“Yeah, ya do, or you’d be soft like your hair. Why you got such long, girly hair?”

“My mom like’s it like this.”

“You look like a pretty white girl,” she said as she picked up her pace.

“Spit on your cock, girly.”

She stopped pumping, opened her hand, and I did what she ordered. Closing her supple hand over my penis, she pumped again, rapid strokes from tip to balls. Her fingers tapped a tune on my balls, moving me closer and closer. I hovered at the edge of climax within a moment of her touch, hoping to hold on and not lose my load. She pumped my tool faster and faster again while insulting my feminine appearance.

I transfixed my eyes on her hand and my dick, her hand gliding over my penis, working me, her pinky finger slapping a cadence on my balls. You could almost hear, “Cum, shoot your load, boy, make me a nasty mess,” in the tune she whacked out on cock and balls. In sheer awe, I watched her hand pumping me, pumping, pumping, pumping my dick. My penis disappeared and reappeared with each stroke.

The band began playing the school’s fight song. The girl matched her stroke to the beat of the music. Hard, fast pumping, brings me near, nearer, stroke, stroke, and there it was.

A slender thread of cum shot from cock head to the wall. A thick spurt covered a spot in the joint of two walls. The tail fell, landing in the crack, and the whole thing slivered down the surface as a second blast, large and vicious, hit on the right side, spattering my boys in a wide spray.

The girl keeps pumping, squeezing me, tugging me. And blast after blast continues. Again, thick, long beads of goo shot from my penis head like a stream from a hose, landing on the wall. The little puddle grew as more and more cum landed at the intersection of the two walls.

A wash of cum rains against the wall. The final spatter hits my shoe and looks like a white rabbit. A line of thick spooch clings in the corner, waist high, sliding down a fly buzzed away, missing being encased in semen by a quick flutter of his wings.

Her hand was soft, her fingers slender. She squeezed me tightly and constricted my cock, but she did not tug or pull. With the perfect pressure, she holds my cock, increasing the force as I deflate and shrink.

“Baby girl needed that, did she?”

Rather than argue, protest, or try to fight her, I said, “Yes.”

“Don’t leave here for ten minutes. Meet me tonight at 10pm in the tunnels of the spillway.”

“What if I can’t or don’t want to?” a pain erupted in my lower back. A dull thud synchronized with the sharp ache. She smacked me a second time with her balled-up fist. My knees buckled, and I fell forward into the tight corner. Trying to avoid my cum, I held my position.

“Then I’ll fuck you up, but good, girl.”

“I’ll be there,” I said.

“I know you will, Miss Prissy.”

She kissed my ear, soft, sexy, and wet. Grasping my earlobe with her teeth, she clinched tight. And in a moment, she was gone. The door to the room swung shut with a thud and clunk.

I rushed home, walking at a fast clip, and to my room. My mom was busy in the backyard tending to her roses. Gazing out the window, I tried to judge how much time I might have before she checked to see if I was home.

My mind drifted back to the girl, La’Kisha. La’Kisha, a strong, demanding woman who gets what she wants. It seemed what my father told me about a girl bully when I was seven years old was true. She liked me, wanted me.

But La’Kisha wouldn’t play kissy-kissy.

Needless to say, I got hard as I thought of her, that tall, thin, toned black chick with her tight ass and full breasts. Her bullying didn’t bother me at the moment, but I was still terrified of what she might do to me. While I was turned on again, the thought of what the night might hold sent shivers through my soul.

Laying on my bed, I pulled down my pants and underwear, retrieved a hand towel, and stroked my cock. I closed my eyes, picturing La’Kisha’s long black hair and dark, silky smooth skin. She is as black as night, with pale brown eyes so light you wouldn’t think they weren’t real.

La’Kisha’s eyes are pools of dark desires. Her lips are full, dark, and alluring. Her dark skin was a deep, lush expresso color, so smooth, her hands soft yet powerful. The scent of her, a bold woodsy aroma, warm and spicy. Hints of cherries, roses, and amber are so rich and sensual.

Soon, far too soon, I lost my load. After a few moments, once I caught my breath and descended from my high, I pondered would La’Kisha would take my virginity or hurt me. Either way, tonight was the night.

Years before the dam burst, and the lake’s waters rushed away. The flood from the break destroyed homes, leaving 29 people dead in the aftermath. No one ever considered rebuilding. The spillway tunnels turned into a meeting place for teenagers. Eight tunnels, four wide in two row, stood near the top of the 75-foot tall structure, which remained.

During the week, it was quiet, but on weekends, not so much. The tunnels dropped sharply for fifty feet, turned to the right, ran at a slight downward slant inside the mountain, straightened, and, after 200 yards, twisted back to the left. Eventually, dumping out into the river.

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