Secondary Education Chapter 14 Betrayal
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Secondary Education, Chapter 3, Self Improvement free porn video
Secondary Education
By Tyla Flowers
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Chapter 3
Self Improvement
Please email me a comment if you are enjoying (or not) my story.
Our apartment is dark, hot and empty when I get home. I am a latchkey
kid, and have been since my dad went to jail for the penultimate time,
when he got his second strike for dealing meth back in '02. Now, he's in
for 25, and I am sure Mom is heading back into custody for parole
violation. In her waste basket I find used syringes. Soon, she'll be
incarcerated for the rest of her five year term for meth possession. But
crystal meth would be preferably to her current dalliance with heroin.
Meth makes you crazy, heroin makes you die. I am worried. I am still
fifteen, too young to emancipate. They would put me in foster care for a
year, which would totally screw my transition. I need to become more
independent. But transition has made me alone. My only ally is Cesar, who
is unreliable, unemployed and uneducated. He is not tough enough to
survive on his own, much less to protect me. I need to find someone to
help me through this most difficult of transitions.
I am on the toilet, pushing out the residues of my encounter with
Antoine. Antoine forced me, but had I provoked him? He's probably
regaling his gang banger buddies with his account of it now. They're
playing ball, and talking trash about me. God, they'll all expect to fuck
me. That would a rush, if I lived to tell the tale. It would be better to
just leave Fairfax High forever, get a GED someday. I should just forget
it happened, and avoid ever seeing Antoine or anyone else from that
school again.
My ass twinges and reminds me of Antoine's big black cock ramming inside.
The memory of that huge thing both frightens and turns me on. I can't
believe it even fit. It probed so deep, it felt like it was going to come
out through my throat. I'll never look at a fire plug the same way. I
laugh, and quickly examine my ass. It is swollen and reddened. The way
Antoine used me makes me feel like a slut, a fuck hole available to
whoever wants to take me. This image both excites and frightens me. But
the grim reality of Antoine's hateful scorn as he fucked me reminds me of
my vulnerability.
Cesar knocks. "Hey chica, is that you in there? Hurry up, I need to
piss."
"Sorry, something I ate is making me sick. Let me clean up." I wipe the
gross and incriminating splatters from the rim of the toilet and flush
again.
"It's late. I want to take you out with me tonight, show off my little
chica."
"I'm almost done. Sorry I am late."
"Yeah, you should be ready by now." A note of suspicion has entered his
voice. "Why are you so late?"
"I was just talking to a teacher about some things. He told me I was
doing well in his class."
"Big deal. It won't make any difference. You should just quit school and
hang with me. I'll get us initiated into the Mara." That's the gang he is
affiliated with; the gang that rules this part of LA.
"I don't think I would fit in." Mara Salvatrucha is ruthless, macho and
violent. Even Cesar is a mere wannabee, too soft for them.
I emerge, and he slaps my ass. "I am working on getting us initiated
right now. If you can learn to look and act like a full time chica, I am
going to get them to take you as a girl."
The prospect is both thrilling and frightening. Mara owns this block.
They control the neighborhood from Sunset to Olympic, from Alameda to
Vermont. Even Crips don't confront Mara on its turf. "They wouldn't take
long to figure out what I am. Unless you are going to buy me a sex change
operation."
"It's OK for a cholo to screw a maricone. We don't think it's gay as long
as the maricone is the bottom."
"I am OK with being submissive. But how do you know the Mara will not
hurt me? The Crips at Fairfax love to stomp the gay students."
"I told them about you, and my Mara bosses like a good looking maricone.
We'll be a package deal. A street soldier and a bed warmer." He laughs
and waves toward a pile of packages on the floor behind the door. "That
reminds me. I got you your transie drugs out of the drugstore we jacked
last night."
I look through the pharmacy boxes. Diane 35, Estraderm patches, Estrogel
and Depo-Provera.
"Didn't they have the other ones the list, Proscar, Propecia or
Spironolactone?" He'd missed the anti-androgens completely.
"I had to hurry. Jose didn't tie up the security guard, and he got free,
we had to beat the shit out of him and split."
Still, I am very happy. I have enough estrogen to last me through the
summer and beyond. But I pout. "I need everything on my list if I am
going to make these boobs grow, and keep from getting one of these." I
point to my larynx, where I can feel an Adam's Apple forming.
"You bitch just like a chica. Don't worry, after we cool off we'll jack
another Pharmacia. At the rate the cristy is selling we'll need more
pseudophedrine to keep our lab supplied. We are going to cook this up
tonight here." He opens a duffel bag stuffed with Sudafed and Advil Cold
and Sinus.
"You can't use the apartment. What if mom comes home?"
"Don't worry about her. She and my dad are out copping smack. They won't
come back until they have shot it all up."
His cell phone sounds a raucous hip-hop ring tone, and he answers "Hola.
Hector." Then he listens as a voice barks orders in muffled Spanish. "OK,
I got it. I hand off to the silver Acura MDX that's going to pull up in
front of the Duncan Donuts, five minutes." He got up lazily, put on his
black hoody and grabbed my butt as he passed. "Got to go make a delivery
to a chele. And I'll have some of this when I come back."
I sweep up my hormone trove and pop my afternoon dose of Diane as I head
for the shower. The bathroom door handle wobbles uselessly in my hand and
I jerk the door open. I step into the peeling, dank bathroom. I try to
keep it clean, but there is no money for cleaning products. The micro-
organisms are in full rebellion.
I strip off my boy clothes. I look at my gauzy reflection in fogged
mirror. My butt is too skinny, my arms are too long. I am already too
tall to be an Asian girl. In profile, my boobs are barely perceptible
bumps. I must hasten my transition, before my boy hormones change me
irrevocably. But Cesar failed to get the anti-androgens I need.
The mold splotched curtain billows in the steam and I step into the
asthmatic shower, which alternately hisses a spray of hot and freezing
water, never enough. The soap is a multi color m?lange of remnants
squeezed together. I rub my ass gingerly, and insert a tentative finger.
It is puckered and abraded. I hope Cesar doesn't notice. I towel off with
a stiff, grey towel, and moisturize.
I wince as I rub my buttocks, and look down. A purplish welt is forming
on my left butt cheek. If Cesar sees it, he will ask questions.
Now I am worried. Cesar could deduce my encounter with Antoine,
misconstrue my helplessness as consent, and punish me.
Over the metallic whir of the bathroom fan I hear Spanish chatter. I peek
out into the living room. Cesar has returned from his drug deal, and
stares intently at a game show playing on Univision. He doesn't notice,
so I close the door and squirt tap water into my ass from an old douche
bottle. I hold it in as long as I can as I put on my make up.
Cesar wants me to dress as a girl when we are together. He brings me new
clothes and make up, so I am okay with that. In public, I attract fewer
gawks and tittering stares as a girl, than as a boy. I finish my
eyeliner, putting on more than I like, to look a little slutty, the way
he wants me.
As I finish with my eyes, my bowel starts spasming. The crude internal
cleansing and Antoine's rough treatment of me forces me to the toilet.
The seat is loose, broken from its brackets. I have to hold it steady
with my hands when I sit. I let the brackish flow of water, semen, mucous
and shit hiss into the toilet bowl. It burns and hurts me. I double over,
fighting back tears of pain and anxiety. When my stomach stops heaving, I
nervously examine the mixture of semen, diarrhea and blood. I panic,
wondering whether Antoine has HIV and I am now infected. He's not gay or
a druggie, but he's probably been sexually active since he was about
eleven. I start feeling sick and scared.
I spritz on some dime store perfume, Charlie, and pretend that it's
Chanel. I dress in low cut jeans and a tee shirt, pony tail my hair back
with a big, fluffy Scrunchi and I decide I can pass for a chick.
I emerge, and strike a pose for Cesar.
"You look hot. Are you going somewhere?"
"Yeah, you are taking me to get the back tattoo and a belly ring you
promised me."
"I am broke, and I thought you wanted to wait until after school's out."
"It's over for me. That's what I was talking to the teacher about. He is
going to get me a hall pass for my final exams. So I am ready for my
tatt. I have one picked out."
"Awesome. But what about taking care of this?" He points at his dick.
Even if my ass could handle another fuck at this moment, I don't want my
bruise and the puckered ass to become an issue. So I lead him to the
couch, push him gently to sit, and kneel between his legs, and muster my
most radiant smile. "I can help you with that."
I take out my pony tail and shake my hair free. Cesar knots his fingers
through my hair and presses my lips against his cock. I take it into my
mouth. It is soft and salty. I flick my tongue at it and it twitches. I
run my tongue from its tip to where it joins his ball sack, and traverse
him a dozen times, tracing the tip of my tongue up and down, wiggling and
twitching it as I go. I cup his balls in my hand and tug gently
"Oh, I like it like that. I'll take more of that." I nod back, now I take
hold his scrotum, squeeze his nuts and feed his cock down my throat,
craning my neck to fully ingest him, like swallowing a banana in one
gulp. His cock seems to expand in my throat, and I stifle my gag reflex
and though I can barely breathe around him I let him push and pull all of
the way in. His pubes tickle my nostrils when he rams, but I will myself
not to sneeze or twist away. I relax my throat, and glide back and forth,
taking short breaths when I can. He pulls out, and I exhale and quickly
inhale.
"Don't stop doing that thing."
"I almost suffocated."
"Just finish me. Get on the couch, I want you to just stay still while I
skull fuck you.
I pull off my top and feed him one of my tiny tits. He flicks it with his
tongue, I take his place on the couch, prop myself on the arm and slip a
cushion behind my neck. He kneels astride me, thighs crushing my boobies,
and grasps my head. He begins jamming it in my mouth, and I let myself
yield. He is going really fast, and I can barely keep up with him. After
a few minutes, he pulls himself out and brings himself to a finish with
his hands. I watch as the first droplet of semen spits forth, covering my
nose, cheeks and mouth. I squint as one droplet drips down the bridge of
my nose toward my eye. Now more globs hit my, my chin, my neck, and my
boobs, and I lunge forward to capture the spouting baby whale and swallow
the last of his load. I squeeze his balls and the final droplet plunks on
the tip of my tongue. I roll it into my mouth, hold it there, and gulp it
with a flourish.
I am pleased with myself. He will be satisfied for the day, and I can
keep my battered behind my secret. I look up at Cesar with a grateful
smile. "You are delicious. I love to eat your cum." The flavor of his
semen is non-descript, like salty, unflavored gelatin. But I like its
warmth and smooth texture as glides over my tongue and down my throat.
"I am going to become a blow job specialist."
"No, because I really like this tight little ass." He slaps the spot that
Antoine bruised. I stifle a cry.
"It's too small and narrow. I want a J'Lo butt."
"Most guys like tight little butts." He swirls an errant droplet of sperm
around my nipple. "My cum makes your skin nice and soft. I should charge
you for it."
"I can't afford it, but it is my favorite after school snack." I should
really be charging him. Or someone.
Cesar laughs. "That's good. He looks at his watch. "And fast, too. No
need to shower. I need to get over to Hollywood and Vine while it's still
rush hour, plenty of customers for this." He holds up a plastic grocery
bag of dime bags of crystal meth. "While I deal to these to the
commuters, you get you that tatt and belly ring. If I sell all of these
my profit should cover the cost."
He gets up and starts dressing.
I pat the sperm from my face, neck and chest with a paper towel and
repair my make up. "I want a Betty Boop tatt, right here." I pat my lower
back.
"Your whore tag got to say MS-13 somewhere, for Mara Salvatrucha.
Otherwise, I'll never get a trannie into the Mara."
I am to be branded with a gang logo. The prospect appalls and entices me.
It would be a strong statement, and protection against insult and
intimidation. Affiliation with MS might scare off Crips like Antoine. No
one wants to fuck with MS's property. Even the cops steer clear. "OK, but
not so it's like a cattle brand."
"Yeah, do something that's just works into the design. You're the artist.
I grab a piece of paper and pen and put it into my fake Vuitton bag.
"I'll draw something on the way."
We run together for the bus, holding hands as we sprint the last few
yards toward the departing bus. I wave frantically, and the bus driver
sees me and hits the breaks.
"Good move, chica."
The bus doors gasp open and we jump aboard together.
I am lying in bed, trying to find a comfortable position on my side. My
back is raw and itchy from the tattooist's needles. My tummy is swollen
and sore, and developing a lurid bruise. I peek beneath the threadbare
sheet. In the moonlight, I can see the glint of surgical steel of the bar
that links the skin above my navel to the cavity. It throbs with every
heartbeat. I lift myself up and gingerly to turn to my right side, trying
to avoid contact of my belly or back against the lump mattress.
From the next room, I hear a chatter of Spanish voices, Cesar and two
real MS crazies, Hector and Jose. They are in the kitchen, cooking meth
in a plastic tub from a toxic brew of pseudoephedrine pills, ammonium
nitrate fertilizer, lighter fluid, the guts of a few AA lithium
batteries, lye, salt, and drain opener. The nauseating smell of a
chemical reaction permeates the apartment. My eyes are tearing, my nose
and throat are parched and sore, and my senses are revolted. And I am
afraid. They argue about the recipe, and as they cook, a football match
plays in the background. Suddenly, silence, except for the excited tones
of the television announcer.
I know how dangerous it is to cook meth, and worry about who minding the
pot while they are preoccupied with the match. I lurch up from the bed
and put on cotton panties and a long Lakers T-shirt. I peek out of our
room toward the kitchen. They are huddled around a television as the meth
merrily boils, unwatched and out of control. The ladle vibrates in the
pot, and I hasten to stir it, and avert the imminent explosion. The
kitchen is hot and putrid with toxic fumes. But the cholos are rapt, now
screaming at the television, then screaming, hurling their half empty
Corona's against the wall in a fit of rage.
"That faggot Ronaldo, he deserved a red card, and instead he gets a
goal."
"Salvador is finished. Guatemala a wins again. We're fucked."
"Yeah, I wish I was there. I'd heat the place up now, with this." Hector
takes out a Glock and twirls it around his finger. He notices me and
waves the gun in my direction. I flinch. He smiles with a snaky grin, and
cocks his head toward Cesar.
"Hey, who's this? You didn't tell me that you had a chica stashed here."
"She's not a chica. That's the maricone I told you about. She wants to
affiliate with MS."
"No shit. We don't have no maricones. C'mere, ladyboy."
"I will, if someone comes and watches this methadrine menudo."
Hector laughs, and waves Cesar over to the still fulminating pot of
vaporous chemicals.
I approach Hector warily. He looks like he has been sampling his own
inventory. His handsome Mestizo face is taut and drawn. He is sweaty and
his hair is greasy and unkempt. His clothes look like they have been
stored unwashed on the floor for weeks. He has the look of a predator
that has himself become the hunted. Hector appears to be a dangerous man.
But that attracts me. I want someone who can become a danger to my
enemies. I decide to give him my best.
I am wobbly with pain and the Vicodin Cesar gave me. When I draw near, he
pulls me toward him.
"Let's see your package, vestido." He pulls up the T-shirt and grabs
between my legs.
"Bingo." He grinds my soft and tiny cock between his fingers.
"Like a big clit." He rubs it, rolls the satiny skin of my short, narrow
shaft over the tiny, pointed glans. He folds my scrotum over the
compacted cock. "Look, all gone." I blush with self-consciousness. I have
played with myself this way many times, dreaming that my enfolded scrotum
was a mons.
"Show him your tatt, Baby."
I am relieved to distract him from playing with my detested cock and
balls. I turn around and lift the shirt above the tatt.
He studies it, and after a few moments slaps my cheek gleefully. "Check
this out, Jose. This maricone already belongs to us." Jose walks over,
and examines my back. Betty Boop is lounging on a bed of roses, her
vacant eyes enticing and inviting. At the left end, the rose bush
entwines a looping M, and on the right, a sinuous S.
"That's good work. Who's the artist?"
"I drew it, and the needlework was done at Inkspot on Hollywood and
Argyle. It took hours and hurt like the devil"
"It looks fresh."
"I got it done earlier tonight. This too." I turn and show off the bar
bell piercing my tummy. It is plain surgical steel, and the pierced flesh
throbs with pain despite the Vicodin.
"Why aren't you wearing MS belly ring?"
"I have to wear this for the first two weeks. After the piercing heals I
can wear jewels, if anyone wants to buy some for me." I smile at Hector
flirtatiously.
"You design an MS belly ring, and the Mara will pay. If you make it
pretty, like the tatt, we'll make a bunch of them so all of the chicas
will wear them. Hey Cesar, this is a very talented maricone you found for
us. Does she know how to suck cock?"
"She's a cock sucking specialist. At least until that tatt sets, aren't
you, baby."
"Nothing back here for two weeks." I point to my ass. "I'm not sure I can
wait that long." I smile at Hector flirtatiously.
"I'd love to have some of that." Hector placed a protective hand on my
butt. " But don't you mess up that MS tag, Little Dog." He shoots a
menacing look at Cesar.
I am already thinking about the MS belly ring design, and taking my place
as the Maricone Madonna of this devilish band. I have always dreaded the
Mara, but Hector surprises me with his good taste and open mindedness
toward me. I am roused from my reverie by the sound of his belt buckle
clanking on the floor.
He presses down on my shoulders, forcing me to my knees. His cock strains
against the fabric of his boxer shorts. He pulls my t-shirt over my head,
and flings it across the room.
"How did you get those little bitch tits?"
Hector has reached down and squeezed my left breast, as he thrusts his
cock between my lips. I look up and glance at him apologetically to
excuse my failure to respond. But Cesar fills in for me.
"Those pills I grabbed up at the Pharmacia job were for our little chica
here. She uses them to grow her boobs and stay nice and girly. Isn't she
sweet?"
"Oh, yeah, that's a sweet little mouth on that chica. Suck me good, babe.
I haven't cum for days."
Hector is a big man on the streets, but not in the pants. I can easily
take his full length into my mouth by tilting me head back slightly. His
uncut tip barely tickles my palate, and my gag reflex never really
engages. Hector is a breeze to blow. I feel confident and at ease, even
as Hector grows more histrionic and vigorous. In less than a minute, my
mouth is suffused with an hors d'ouvre of precum.
"Faster, bitch, faster." He slams my head against his belly, and grips my
neck and head in his hands. I look up at him. His muscles are bulging,
and sweat droplets are forming on his brow. One drops onto my cheek and
runs down like a tear. He is working as hard as he is working me. The
veins on his muscular, tattooed arms pop out. The smell of his sweaty
body overcomes the acrid, meth lab atmosphere. I hear Jose and Cesar
chanting encouragement and laughing, but it is mere background noise. I
feel like Hector and I are alone in this prayerful embrace. I worship
him, and he, me. He responds to every change in the rhythm and angle with
fresh bursts of energy and enthusiasm. His grunts and Spanish expletives
are the soundtrack to my performance. I sense he is about to cum, and
slow down, prolonging his pleasure. He coos "Muy Buena, chica." Then I
accelerate, and he responds with more grunts and spasmodic, uncontrolled
thrusts that so unbalance him that my skinny arms strain to hold him
upright. When Hector cums, a thick coating of salty, ropey jism fills my
mouth. It is slimy and sour, like it has been stored too long and
absorbed to many drugs and other toxins from the poisonous world Hector
inhabits. I swallow quickly to make room for the next spurt, even larger,
and then another, a little smaller and thinner, and finally, I squeeze
his balls and let the last droplets fall onto my outstretched tongue.
Hector pats my cheek gently. "That's a good maricone. You give the best
blow job I have ever had."
I smile sweetly. "Thank you. I mean, gracias."
Hector pulls up his pants and bows. "De nada."
From his place by the meth cauldron Cesar smiles and gives me a hand sign
that I recognize as encouragement.
Hector pats my head and motions to Jose. "Your turn, brother. Be nice,
though. I may want to come back for more later."
I stay on my knees and wait for Jose to undress. He has a more Mayan,
stubby look, than Hector, but his skin is smooth and almost hairless,
like mine. His cock is bigger than Hectors, but nothing I can't easily
handle.
As Jose approaches me, I feel confident, wanted and attractive. Hector,
Jose and Cesar are using me, but not abusing me as Antoine had. And I
need them, and thus, in kind, I am using them. I feel, for the first time
since I began transitioning, that I belong. As I take the first gulp of
Jose's penis, I am happy again.
TBC
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