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Submissive Miss

Valor was so totally gonna do her homework right after school, but, like, first she needed to check her Facebook page. Last night she made the mistake of getting stupid wasted at her friend's b-day party, and that dumb skank Marsha had been snapping pics left and right--the kind social media whores like her couldn't help but post.

Her bestie Patricia had warned Valor to watch it with the booze, but, seriously, what self-respecting party-girl could say no to all that free Jagermeister? Uhh, not this vixen--thank you very much.

Unfortunately her phone was totally dead, so she had to scurry into the library (like, eww) and use one of the school computers. She sat way at the back of the building, where nobody would spot her and mistake her for the kind of loser who actually needed to study to pass their classes.

School had never posed much of a challenge for Valor, who, by age nine, was already reading above college level. Like, learning stuff wasn't really hard or whatever, the miserably inept school system in this country just made it seem that way.

Seated at one of the library computers--her chin raised, back straight, petite legs crossed beneath the desk--Valor punched in her student ID and took the mouse in her paw. She had the posture of a prima ballerina, the poise of a Charm School graduate, and the mascara and lip gloss of a bitchy high school cheerleader.

She clicked the Internet Explorer icon (ugh, so 1992) and typed 'Facebook' into the address bar. Her manicured fingers skittered at seventy words-per-second. After pressing enter, one of those "Web Protector" child-block screens opened up.

"Oh my freaking..." She bent over and rummaged through her backpack. "I so don't have time for this."

She drew an unmarked flash drive from her pack and all but slammed it into the appropriate port. A new window opened up, which contained several unnamed folders. She clicked on one of the folders, scrolled through its contents, clicked again, typed a few commands, clicked, typed...

And then, voila, the computer was all hers. Hacking, like most other skills, was so not even that hard to learn.

Finally at the desired Facebook page, Valor scrolled through all the photos recently uploaded by Marsha, that stupid pig. She found one that made her furious. Marsha had posted a picture of the skinny vixen bent over a toilet, just after she'd puked. Her hair was a mess and one of her shoes was missing.

"Damn skank," she grumbled, her fingers going back to work. She hacked Marsha's account and removed the offensive photos. (And by 'hacked' Valor meant she guessed the pig's crazy stupid password: 123-321. Seriously, how dumb was this skank?). Valor made a mental note to hack the pig's email later, and, like, totally search it for embarrassing private messages or nude photos meant for some slack jawed boyfriend. Being a pig, Marsha had the worst taste in men.

Finally, Valor opened her own email and sent a message to Patricia.

Crisis averted. You were right, that skank is the worst.

Then she unplugged her flash drive and headed home.

**********

Seated at the desk in her bedroom, her ASUS laptop open in front of her, Valor decided to stop procrastinating and do her homework. She should've started researching for her English paper back in the library, but that place made her feel so... common. Only average students needed to work in libraries. And, like, Valor was soooo above average--thank you very much.

She stretched her arms, cracked her knuckles, and shook out her dainty paws. She had the fingers of a massage therapist--the kind that looked more adorable than menacing when balled into fists.

Valor crossed her legs. Valor drummed on the keyboard. Valor pawed at the mouse. Valor uncrossed her legs. Valor looked at the clock. Valor tongued the inside of her cheek. Valor hummed a catchy pop song. Valor recrossed her legs. Valor--

"Ahhh!" she shouted, slapping her cheeks with both paws. "Come on, girl, pull it together!"

Okay, okay. Homework. English Lit. Focus. Think. Think...

English was one of the few subjects Valor could stomach, so this shouldn't be too boring. She wrote about Joseph Conrad for her last essay, and decided to pick an American author this time.

She started to Google the beloved yet underrated American author Toni Morrison, but checked her email instead and saw that Patricia had yet to message her back; her friend Sammy, however, had messaged her, asking if Valor had downloaded the new Run the Jewels album from Apple Music, but, like, eww, Valor totally hated Apple products and anyway she got all her music from Pirate Bay, which she visited now in hopes of torrenting the newest issue of Batman, you know, since it was Wednesday and all, not that she was the kind of geek who religiously read comic books or anything like that, she'd totally only gotten into them because of the movies, and, oh yeah, speaking of movies, she'd almost forgotten her promise to torrent_Fight Club_ for Patricia, who was like a total freak for having gone so long without seeing such a classic piece of cinema...

"Like, gross," she said aloud, squinting at her screen. "The hell is this garbage?"

While scrolling through Pirate Bay's homepage, Valor got distracted by a triad of pornographic banner ads. Yuck, she totally needed to download an ad-blocker app or something.

The first ad featured a busty cartoon vixen, her massive tits bouncing as she ran toward the viewer in an endless animation loop. The second advertised some superhero-themed game, and the third--oh!, wait a minute, what's this now?

A horizontal banner near the top of the page caught her attention. It boasted the title "Submissive Miss", as well as a photo of a buck hottie wearing snug gym shorts and a mask, standing with his arms akimbo.

The absence of any jiggly females intrigued her. She glanced at the digital clock on her nightstand. Pfft, it was only nine. She still, like, had plenty of time to research for her paper.

She clicked the link and... awww, major bummer. It was one of those stupid, obscure fetish sites; the kind where the actors and actresses don't even take off their clothes. Lame softcore garbage, apparently centered around something called "mixed wrestling."

Total Yawnsville. But, hmmm, this lion guy looked kinda hot, and the pro wrestling getups weren't bad either--plenty of bulge showing under all that glossy spandex. Lion Guy was one of the many "fighters" listed on the site. Valor clicked his face and, haha, how cute, he had a little profile and everything. His name was Lannis.

Beneath his bio blurb was another list of links, each of them images showing Lannis squaring off against different female fighters. There were no guy-on-guy matches listed (another bummer), but, hello, the one with him this bird chick looked cool. Clicking the link generated a blurb describing the match, twelve sample thumbnails, and a two minute preview clip.

"Hello! Get a look at you, hot stuff."

The first thumbnail showed Lannis going to town on the poor bird chick. He had her pinned against the corner post, his fist sunk deep into her belly.

The second pic showed Lannis landing a forearm strike (ooh, right in the tits!). Both he and the bird were airborne by the third picture, Lannis having leapt from the top rope with his victim in tow.

The moment of impact made for a nice pic, but the one after it really snagged Valor's interest. She clicked the thumbnail, blowing up an image that displayed some kinda kinky BDSM pose.

Lannis was sitting on the bird's lower back, paws clasped under her chin as he leaned back, far, and bent her spine. The image was a profile shot, so you could really see the crease in the poor girl's backbone.

Then Valor clicked the preview link, and, like, the world of Submissive Miss so totally came alive.

In the clip, Lannis destroyed his feathered victim. He kicked her, punched her, slapped her with an open palm. He hoisted her up and slammed her onto the mat. He splayed her legs like a wishbone; he bent her spine and twisted her joints; he squeezed her head and her neck and her torso.

The images flashed by too quickly to properly enjoy, very much like a movie trailer. By the end, Valor was frazzled and itching for more.

She clicked a link near the top of the page labeled DOWNLOADS. Up popped more thumbnails, more pairings between hunky males and their sexy opponents. The horny vixen clicked and clicked and clicked, ogling more images and clips. Sometimes the ladies fought back, and on rare occasions they even won, but the bulk of the fights ended with them pinned for a ten count or slapping the mat in submission.

Valor was hooked. All that groping and grinding and grunting was hotter than she'd expected, and the matches where real and brutal. While ogling those first few images, Valor had just thought the bird actress was way too good to be doing fetish porn. But a few clips in, she, like, realized there was nothing fake about any of it.

Finally she came to a set of preview images featuring the buck hotty from the banner ad. The first of the clickable thumbnails featured the buck pressing a middle-aged doe above his head, his arms straight, elbows locked out to bare his opponent's weight. She looked plump and heavy, all curves and tits and ass. Intrigued, Valor clicked the link, blew up the image to full size.

Mmmm-mmm-mmmm. Damn, this buck guy was crazy sexy! Valor didn't usually find deer attractive (ewww, antlers, tacky much?), but this one had abs that could grate a cheese wheel. Like, seriously, where does a girl find herself a slice of beefcake that juicy?

She saved the image to her hard drive, then clicked her way through the rest of the gallery. Buck Hottie really worked over the poor doe. She was red-faced and crying by the last image, with the big male sitting on her throat, biceps curled in a victory pose.

Like, so sweet.

Valor enlarged the throat-sit image. It was a big one, and its resolution was higher than all the others. She took a long moment to enjoy it. Her mound was damp by now, inner thighs warm with the first sparks of arousal.

She was about to slip a paw between her legs, when something odd about the picture caught her eye.

"Like, no way," she thought aloud. "No freaking way. It can't be..."

The odd thing was an antler on the left side of the buck's head. It bore a tiny chip at its crest, which wasn't all that weird, except that Valor was pretty sure she knew a buck with a similar defect in his gaudy skull ornaments.

Opening a new tab, she raced the mouse cursor up to the address bar and punched in the link to her high school's website. She clicked open the directory, scrolled, clicked again, searched, clicked...

Bingo, there he was. Professor Kit Mathis: full-time math and science instructor, part time PE teacher and varsity wrestling coach (figures). Valor had never taken a class with Kit, but she had seen him around campus enough times to recognize his chipped antler. She had an eye for the defects of others, and rarely forgot about problems she deemed in need of fixing.

Okay... That was unexpected.

Valor looked to her clock again. 11:46pm. Yeesh. Like, so much starting her paper.

It was no biggie, though, Morrison could wait until tomorrow. In the meantime, Valor shut down her laptop and went to sleep, dreaming of her new crush.

**********

As the days went by, Valor spent more and more of her free time at Submissive Miss.com. With Patricia's help, she hacked into the bank accounts of Marsha's parents and bought a monthly subscription with the stolen money. The subscription gave her access to full-length movies, some of which were absurdly long. A few even had little stories and stuff.

It was all pretty stupid, but in, like, a not stupid way.

She downloaded all sorts of clips with all sorts of wrestlers, but her favorite was kit. Despite being older than the other male fighters (his bio said he was 39), he had the tightest, firmest most cut body--a body she often saw walking around campus.

At school, layers of humdrum clothing covered Kit's hot body, making Valor long for that mask and those snug gym shorts.

Sometimes, while strolling down a hallway between classes, she purposely bumped into the teacher and dropped whatever books or paperwork she happened to be carrying, just to watch him bend over and gather her things.

"It's okay, Ms. Valorina," he said every time she feigned an apology, ever the ideal gentlemen. "Just be more careful next time."

This went on for weeks--the staring, the hallway run-ins, the constant fantasizing--until one day (and it was, like, about damn time) Valor decided to... uhh... to do something?

Okay, like, she had no idea how to go about this. She knew what she wanted, but, for once in her life, she didn't know how to get it.

Luckily, Patricia did.

Force, girl, said her text message, in response to Valor's dilemma. You gotta use force. It's the only language meatheads like him understand.

Good ol' Patricia. She was always on the level.

Later, after school, Valor hustled home, sat at her desk and turned on her laptop. She opened two tabs: one for the school's website, the other for Miss Submissive. She clicked open Kit's profile on each site, amused by the stark contrast.

Then she picked her phone and dialed the teacher's number. It rang twice.

"Hello?"

"Like, oh wow! You actually picked up!"

"Umm... who is this?"

Valor cleared her throat, settled down. "Oh, nobody. Just the girl who's gonna ruin your life, assuming you don't, like, do exactly what I tell you to do."

"Is this some kinda joke?"

"Nope. I'm, like, being so serious right now."

"And I'm seriously about to hang up. Dial this number again, and I'm calling the police."

"Wait!" said Valor. Then, calmer: "Do that, and I'll have to make another call of my own. To the principal of a certain high school. As in, like, your boss or whatever."

Kit breathed hard into the receiver. "This is... this is about the site, isn't it? My other job?"

"Bingo! Though, like, there's totally no way you could have known why I was calling."

"Don't be so sure. You're not the first person who's tried to use the job against me. I take it your angle is blackmail, right?"

"Two for two. You're good at this, Mr. Mathis."

"Very. Now get on with the demands."

"I only have one," said Valor, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "I want you to rough me up, hottie. Like, treat me the way you treat the girls on that site."

A chuckle flitted across the receiver. "That's a new one. The others wanted money."

"I don't," said Valor.

"You sure? You sound like the kind of brat who wants everything from everybody--and who usually gets it."

"Oh, I don't just get whatever I want, Mr. Mathis. I take it."

With that, the sly vixen told Kit where and when to meet her for their match. Then she hung up and sent Patricia a text.

Rolling with Kit at the gym; ten o'clock tomorrow night. Come along, bring a camera, stay hidden.

Later, Patricia, who was also a pig, but, like, not all fat and gross like Marsha, helped Valor break into the school gym with a paperclip. She was a total whiz at picking locks. Seriously, with her petty-criminal smarts and Valor's hacking skills (and general genius), they were, like, Charlie's Angels or something.

Valor flicked on the lights. With Patricia's help, they got a wrestling mat from one of the storage closets and laid it across the floor.

"A for-real wrestling ring would be so killer," said Valor, a paw under her chin as she glanced at one of the overhanging basketball hoops. "Eww. This place is way sucky."

"Please, girl, it's fine," said Patricia, all sass and swagger. "What sucks is that fetishy ass whore uniform you got on."

Valor gave herself a once over. She was wearing a midriff sailor girl blouse, a pleated skirt, two thigh-high socks, and, like, her cutest pair of Chuck Taylor's--the pink high tops with hearts on the laces.

"Hate if you want," said Valor, "but I look so pornstar right now. Like, that big meathead is gonna be all over this."

"If you say so," said Patricia. Then, excited: "Ooooh, I almost forgot, girl! Mama got her baby a little something special!" She rummaged through her purse, laughing and snorting and oinking through her snub nose.

"How you like that!" she said, drawing the 'something special' from her purse. It was a pink luchador mask, with cloth wings stitched across its sides from cheek to temple.

"Oh my gosh! Patricia, it's way perfect!"

"I know! I know!"

They hugged and bounced in place, giggling like the school girls they were. Then the door creaked open, and Valor broke the embrace. Holding her friend's shoulders, she said, "Quick, find someplace to hide. I'm supposed to be alone right now."

Patricia nodded, squealed with girlish delight, then bolted away and all but dove behind the wooden bleachers. For a pig, she was pretty damn quick.

Valor fumbled with the mask. She put it on backwards at first, then twisted it around and wore it properly.

A smile lit her face at the sight of Kit in his wrestling togs. He was masked and swaggering her way, his big, juicy bulge showing through those itty-bitty gym shorts. Ooooh, it looked good enough to eat! Just seeing it again made slaver pool at the corners of her mouth.

The buxom doe from the videos was with him--the one he seemed to enjoy dominating the most. She wore a little black cocktail dress that could scarce handle her full chest, along with a pearl necklace and matching earrings. Her bare hooves clicked against the hardwood floor, as did Kit's, but louder, like she was wearing stiletto heels.

Watching her hips swing drained much of Valor's self-confidence. She was used to being the hottest girl in class, the hottest cheerleader, the hottest Homecoming date... But now, with this big curvy bimbo all up in her face, she felt like a girl playing at being a woman, and falling short of the real thing.

Uh-uh; no way was this old skank about to upstage her. Kit was her squeeze now--thank you very much--and it was about time she claimed her property.

She marched right up to the buck. "Um, Kit, sweetie, I don't remember giving you permission to bring along your chubby plus-one."

"Careful, you little toddler," said the doe. "This 'chubby plus-one' is his wife."

Valor held an open paw up to the doe's face. "Hush, skank. Like, ain't nobody talking to you."

"You did not just--"

"Relax, sweetness," said Kit. "Don't let her rile you up. She isn't worth the trouble."

Valor moved closer to her prize. "So, you're married, huh? That's, like, a major turn off."

"Good. That mean I can go home?"

"Not yet. I haven't had my fun yet."

The doe laughed a Valor, like, totally all in her face and everything. "You're kidding yourself, toddler. This match is going to be many things for you, but fun isn't one of them."

"There you go again," said Valor, "just all up in me and Kit's business. What're you even doing here?"

"I like to watch."

"She does." A smirk canted Kit's mouth. "And I take it you do as well."

"Mmm. Of course I do, hottie."

"You know, you could've just booked a private session with me, like a normal customer. You are eighteen, right?"

"Please," said the wife, "she's twelve at most."

"I'm eighteen and a half, granny, thank you very much," Valor snapped. "OMG, Kit. Can you please make her watch from the bleachers or something?"

Kit grinned at the vixen's frustration. "Go on and find a seat, sweetness. I shouldn't be too long." He pecked his wife on the cheek, then nudged her off toward the bleachers. She glared at Valor a moment, then, begrudgingly, walked off to grab a seat.

When she sat down, Valor, like, so totally took this opportunity to show Kit who was boss. She pushed her chest against his, then grabbed his bulge and squeezed. He started some, but otherwise held his composure.

"I don't like your skank of a wife," she said. "You should'a left her at home. This was supposed to be my night."

"Awww. And here I thought it was gonna be our night."

"As if, meathead. You're mine now--as in, property of Valorina Quin. Sure, I'll let you toss me around for a bit, and maybe cinch in a hold or two. But when I say stop, you're gonna get down on your knees and let me have my way with you. Got it?"

"And if I don't?"

"Then I tell the principal about your dirty little secret, and, like, all of academia totally disowns you," she said. "And don't try to bluff me by pretending you don't care, 'cause I know all about your plan to get a masters and, like, start teaching older college brats."

Kit's eyes widened some. "How do you know...?"

"It's written all over your private emails to friends and family and junk. I read them in my spare time, while I dream up ways to ruin your life. I'm up to forty-seven ways now." She laughed in his face, twisted his bulge. "So please Mr. Mathis, for your own good. Don't. Fuck. With. Me."

Kit scowled down at the school girl. "You think you're pretty damn smart, don't you? Think you're always in control of every little thing?"

To Valor's surprise, Kit shoved a hand between her legs and squeeze her back. She panicked, tried to pull away, but his other hand darted up and latched onto her throat.

"You know something? You're my favorite kind of upstart cunt to beat on: the kind who gets off on shoving other people around. You've been abusing your power for so long, you don't know what it means to be powerless."

Kit bent his knees, lowered his hips.

"Here," he said. "Let me show you."

And then, in one fluid motion, he snatched Valor off the canvas and pressed her above his head, easily, like a weightlifter benching a naked barbell. She kicked her legs, flailed her arms. Kit swaggered across the mat with the vixen in tow, showboating for his wife, who watched with a giddy grin.

Like, oh man, Valor had really done it now. A surge of terror made a combustion engine of her heart, even as the first trickles of feminine bliss began pooling between her legs, wetting her lacy panties.

The conflicting emotions made her head light. Before she could sort them out, Kit tossed her up and let her fall gut-first onto his knee.

Valor's mouth opened as if to scream, but no sound escaped, only some spittle and a hot gust of air. Her body folded around Kit's knee. She was half unconscious when his elbow speared her lower back, making her body fold the other way--the wrong way.

"Slow down, baby," the wife called from the bleachers. "You're going too fast. I wanna savor this one."

"Anything for you, sweetness." Kit dragged Valor back to her feet, then looped both arms around her waist. "You hear that, runt? My wife doesn't want you passing out just yet."

To wake her up, Kit hoisted Valor off the mat again, spread her legs and slammed her tailbone on his knee. Then, faster than her brain could register this new pain, the buck threw his head and shoulders backwards, and bridged into a textbook suplex.

Valor groaned, breathless and aching in a million places. She laid awkwardly on her shoulders and sore neck, her back rounded, ass in the air, legs limp and splayed on either side of her head. Gravity tugged her skirt downward, putting her panties on display for the one-doe audience.

Okay, like, that hurt super lots. The slams had looked plenty brutal on camera, especially those performed by Kit. But wow--the difference between watching and experience was huge.

"Tired already?" said Kit. "Better find that second wind, runt. 'Cause this here... it hasn't even started yet."

It really hadn't. Kit spent the next twenty or so minutes putting Valor through an array of slams and submissions, each one more ruthless than the last. He strained her joints with arm and kneebars, wrist and ankle locks. He rattled her spine with powerbombs and chokeslams. He nearly decapitated her with a clothesline, a running dropkick. And then he choked her, first with his big, burly biceps and then his big, burly quads.

He grinned with just his mean eyes the entire time, loving every second of his domination. And, like, Valor totally loved it too! Sure it hurt like a bitch, but wrestling was way sexier in practice than theory. Between the slams, and during submission holds, Valor seized every opportunity to bump and grind against her dom anyway she could. And he groped her back, apparently unconcerned by his wife's presence.

A chokeslam punctuated the first act of their raunchy two-man show, leaving Valor sprawled face-up on the blue vinyl. Her fur felt sticky and gross, the way it did after cheerleading practice, or an especially rough pounding in the football team's locker room.

"Well, well--you're still with me. I'm impressed. You're tougher than you look."

"Or maybe you're just a big pussy," said Valor, panting. "I mean, like, what kinda grown man can't knock out a little girl?"

Kit towered over the prone Valor, arms crossed about his broad chest. "That's some mouth you got there. It ever get you into trouble like this before?"

No, it hadn't. Though she didn't admit it out loud, she had never felt this helpless before. She was completely at the mercy of a will other than her own--a stronger will--as mighty and imposing as any muscle in Kit's body. Her mind and her pride resisted this truth, this helplessness, but her body succumbed with an rapture of firing endorphins she'd never felt before.

It felt right, just lying there, just giving in. She hardly moved as Kit squatted above her and plopped his crotch onto her face. His bulged mashed against her, only semi-erect, but growing warmer and stiffer with the passing seconds.

"Not too mouthy now, are you?"

Little by little, Kit settled onto his seat. Valor groaned under his immense weight; his package alone seemed to weigh several pounds. He gave her face three... slow... humps... Then twined his fingers behind her skull, hiked it off the mat and figure-foured her head and neck.

"Nnngghhh!" he grunted, yanking her head off the mat as he flexed his naked quads. They tensed and bored into either side of her throat, choking her, while his bulge smothered her nose and mouth. He stiffened against her lips, his full erection tenting his shorts.

A panicked Valor tried to bridge out, but only managed to disrupt Kit's balance and send him tumbling onto his side. Still submerged in his crotch, she gagged on the combined odors of ball-sweat and musk, and grimaced at the heat radiating from his shaft. It throbbed against her snout, hot as the tip of a cattle prod.

"That's it!" said the wife. "Crush her, baby! Make her quit!"

"Did you not hear the lady?" Kit adjusted his figure-four, grabbed hold of his ankle. "I believe she just told you to quit."

That wasn't how Valor heard it, but she was hardly in a position to argue. A muscled calf shoved at the back her head, smushing her face harder against Kit's bulge, while two ridged inner thighs sank into her jugulars. A sharp ache settled in the hollows of her temples, the hinges of her jaw.

She swatted Kit's hip with a feeble paw. He set her free, only to roll her face up on the mat and reclaim his seat on her throat. Nylon rubbed against nylon as the big buck dry humped her masked face. He rolled his hips in great, round undulations, grunting and murmuring to himself as his shaft kneaded Valor's scrunched nose, her pursed lips.

Like, okay, this was totally getting to be a bit much. Squinting up through narrowed eyelids, Valor watched her tormentor's pecks and abs flex, sweat rolling down his naked torso. Which would've been crazy hot, if not for the hulking swell plopped down on her muzzle, all muggy and stifling. She tried to twist her face away and steal a scant breath. But the harder she fought Kit, the rougher and faster he rode her face.

"Hope you learned your lesson, brat." And then he stopped a moment and raised his hips, letting his stiff cock hover above Valor's face. "If you ever so much as look in my general direction again, you're gonna get a lot worse than this. Understand?"

Valor nodded weakly.

"Good girl. Guess you're not as stupid as that valley girl inflection makes you sound." He pulled her arms straight and pinned them to the mat with one hand, then tugged away her mask with the other. "Now pucker up and give daddy a nice big wet one."

Laughing, he dropped his package back on Valor's face and resumed his ride. His knees pinched together around her temples, which stopped her from twisting her face. Pulling on his prisoner's hair, he hiked her face up and firmly wedged her snout in the musty pocket of his groin. His bulge pulsed and shuddered against her cheek, hot as a smoldering coal.

Valor lacked the energy or willpower to fight back. Through the knolls of muscle clamped around her ears, she heard the buck say, "I know you like what you see, sweetness. Quit staring from the sidelines and get over here." Titters and footsteps followed the buck's demand, and then suddenly his bodyweight seemed to double.

The added weight, however, was only the doe. She had plopped her fat ass down on her husband's lap, and joined him in grinding on Valor's face. Before blacking out, the last thing Valor heard was the lewd, wet squelches of the couple locking lips, slurping and sucking at each other's faces.

Then blackness overtook her, and her limbs went boneless and numb.

She woke up sometime later to find Patricia standing over her. "Damn girl," said the pig. "You didn't tell it was gonna be that hot. Shit, had I known, I would'a traded places with you in a heartbeat." She took a knee, leaned her face closer to Valor's. "What was it like? Locking lips with all that man-meat?"

"Warm," said Valor. "And, like, salty." She sat up. "You record the whole thing?"

"From start to finish, girl, just like we planned."

"Sweet. Let me see it."

Patricia sat beside the vixen and pulled out her phone. They watched the video together, flushed and horny.

Poor, stupid Kit. Like, he had no idea what he just did. With some careful editing, Valor planned to paint the teacher as a violent sex-offender--the kind who, like, totally had no problem with assulting and sexualing abusing one of his students.

She fantasized about her revenge on the way home, and pictured all the ways she planned to manhandle Kit. If he thought he could abuse her and dodge any repercussions, he had another thing coming. Maybe he could pull that crap with his skank wife, or some other bitch, but not this one. This bitch was Valorina Quinn, and she always got her way. Always.

Thank you very much.