Bungalow 106 Chapter 1
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Six Times A DayPart 106: Dreams free porn video
Alan somehow made it from Heather and Simone to his first class, but with barely seconds to spare. To do that, he had to run most of the way, which left him very winded.
Christine was disappointed. She'd loved her date with him the night before, so had been looking forward to talking to him again at school ever since she'd woken that morning. But since he just barely made it to class in time, she was barely able to trade hellos with him before class started, even though their desks were side-by-side.
Normally, Christine had strict, self-imposed rules about focusing on the teacher during class, and nothing else. Alan had observed that, so he almost never tried to whisper to her or otherwise get her attention once class had started.
However, not only was Christine eager to communicate with Alan, but she was also dying of curiosity. First, she wondered, Why did Alan just barely make it to his seat on time? And that's hardly the first time that's happened lately. But even more curious is how he continues to look tired and flushed, even now that he's recovered his breath. That doesn't jibe with a short run to class, unless he's very out of shape, which I can tell he isn't.
But most suspicious of all is that he has this aggravating look of sexual satiation and great happiness on his damn face! I'll bet he had sex right before class. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he was with Heather! Damn her! She's like an evil succubus, constantly leading him astray!
Christine had started taking notes of Mr. Tompkins' physics lecture. But she didn't need to, since she'd long since mastered the material he was explaining. So she started a note on a new piece of paper, simply writing the words in big letters, "Hey. What's up?" Then she tilted her notepad to the side of her desk where Alan would notice and read it.
Alan was very surprised when he saw her message, since Christine simply never wrote notes to people during class. But he was pleasantly surprised, and eager to play along, so he wrote on his notepad, "Hey, you. Not much. How about you?"
She glanced at his note and smiled. Because their desks were side by side, they didn't need to pass notes on paper to each other. They could simply write in large letters with their notepads positioned at the edge of their desk closest to where the other was sitting. The students behind them might be able to see that the two of them were exchanging messages, but they would be too far away to read what was being said.
While still pretending to look at Mr. Tompkins, she wrote, "Why so late?"
He quickly wrote back, "I was having a blonde moment."
She simply wrote, "GRRR!" in especially large letters.
He responded, "No, really. I was thinking about my favorite blonde - you - and what a great time we had last night. I got all spaced out and giddy, and then lost all track of time." His writing was smaller this time since he had a lot to convey, so when he finished he simply handed his notepad to her.
Christine was slightly scandalized by that, since she didn't consider herself the type of bad student who passed notes in class. But she couldn't resist reading what he'd written. She was pleasantly delighted at the flattery, even though she knew he was bullshitting. She couldn't help but grin a bit. She wrote back on his notepad, "Yeah, right. What's the real story?" Then, she furtively looked around and handed his notepad back to him.
He wrote, "Okay, the truth. I'm in the middle of a top-secret, undercover, journalistic investigation. I'm tracking down a hot lead." Again, he handed his notepad back to her when he was done.
Christine was finding herself enjoying this. She was making only the barest pretense of paying attention to Mr. Tompkins. Luckily, he was explaining something at the chalkboard and had his back turned, so it didn't matter that they were rather flagrantly passing notes back and forth. She wrote, "B.S. detector turned on. Let's hear the fairy tale."
He responded with some inspired spontaneous playfulness. "It's no fairy tale; it's gonna be front page news! I'm about to solve the mystery of how this totally smokin' hot babe named Christine Anderssen is smart enough to get into Stanford despite having blonde hair. I've figured it out: she has THREE brains!"
When Christine read that, she couldn't help but smile and giggle a little bit. She quickly covered her mouth with a hand. Her cheeks reddened slightly at being called a "totally smokin' hot babe." She elected to ignore that, and just wrote back, "Three brains?! What the heck?!"
He wrote, "No, it's true. I figure that each of your breasts are about the size of a human head. So each one must have a brain inside. The combined power of three brains equals super genius!"
She was leaning over into the aisle slightly and trying to read what he wrote even before he finished, but his writing had become too small for her to do that. Once the notepad was handed back to her, it took all her willpower not to giggle or laugh out loud. She had to cover her mouth again. She quickly wrote back, "That's so untrue. You're a total perv! But here's another 'hot lead' for you. I know of a brown-haired guy who has NO brain, at least in his head. His name is Alan Plummer!"
Now Alan was the one forced to cover his mouth to stifle his laughing. Luckily, he didn't make any noise, and Mr. Tompkins was still preoccupied in any case. He wrote, "Wow, you know TWO Alan Plummers?! Amazing coincidence. I'll get on that story once I finish this one and win my Pulitzer Prize. I just need proof."
Her smile grew. She was having fun with this. "Sorry, but you're not going to get it. Believe me, I have just ONE brain. And I only know ONE Alan Plummer!"
He gleefully wrote back, "I don't believe you. But let's settle this once and for all. Just let me fondle your chest heads until I'm satisfied." He stopped writing. Then he went back to the word "fondle" and crossed it out. He replaced it with "investigate".
Christine was having an even harder time not laughing. She was particularly amused by his phrase "chest heads" to refer to her breasts. She had to turn away and look at Mr. Tompkins for about a minute to regain an outwardly-serious demeanor. But she was having great fun, so as soon as she was composed again she wrote, "And just how long will it take for you to be satisfied?"
He responded, "Probably forever. But hey, you never know. We should start now and find out. Quick, pull up your shirt and take off your bra so we can get started!"
She snorted with amusement. She quickly looked around, worried that she'd made too much noise and that other students would notice their note-passing. But luckily, Mr. Tompkins had pretty much already lulled the rest of the class into a semi-comatose state. Furthermore, Christine was such the "goody-goody" that nobody was suspicious in the least.
Again, she decided she needed to recompose herself before going on. She could feel her nipples hardening and she hoped Alan wouldn't notice. However, she knew he would notice, and that only further aroused her. But it was the idea of Alan fondling her bare breasts in the middle of class, while everyone else somehow magically failed to notice, that really got her going.
She wrote back, "That is so not going to happen! Besides, I'm not the anatomical weirdo; you are. You have boobs on your brain!"
He was very happy that she was letting him get away with this level of innuendo. They'd come a long way in the last two months. He replied, "Fair enough. I can tell your butt-brain is feeling left out. If you stand up and take all your clothes off, I promise I'll spend just as much time fondling that part of you, looking for your butt-brain."
She had to cover her mouth again as she silently laughed. "I am NOT going to do that, EVER! And I do not have a butt-brain!"
He wrote back, "Sure you do. I figure you're as mighty as the stegosaurus, and stegosauruses had butt-brains, as everyone knows. Ergo, you must have a butt-brain too."
She realized she was getting far too amused, not to mention far too aroused. She pictured herself standing naked next to her desk, with her hands on the top of her head for some reason. She stood stiffly like a soldier on parade while a fully clothed Alan ran his hands all over her body. In her vision, he even knelt down and started inhaling her pussy aroma. Without thinking, she reached down to her actual pussy mound, trying to push him away before he started licking there.
Then she realized with a start that she was having a vivid daydream. She jerked her hand away just before she actually touched herself down below. Then she looked around, realizing with great relief that no one else had noticed. She decided this in-class communication was way too dangerous; it needed to stop before she got caught doing something stupid.
But first, she couldn't let his ridiculous stegosaurus claim go unchallenged. She wrote, "First off, this notion that stegosauri had a second brain (and not a butt-brain!) is an urban legend. It's completely untrue! It was just a cavity that was misidentified by some ignorant buffoon with an overly-active imagination. Someone like the bird-brained, boob-brained, breast maniac sitting next to me!" She looked to her other side, and noticed a guy named Stan sitting there. So she added to her note, "The one to the left of me named Alan Plummer!"
At first he had been going to pin the blame on Stan, but he realized that wouldn't work after her clarification. That led him to write, "'Breast maniac' sounds harsh. I prefer 'mammary maven' or 'dirigible devotee.' 'Airbag aficionado' also works. Even 'cantaloupe connoisseur, ' if you will. And I will, if you will!"
Luckily, Christine was well practiced at stifling laughter at his silly jokes, so she managed not to guffaw out loud. It was a very close call though. She decided that she absolutely had to stop this note writing, and right away. So she wrote, "You're a total nut case! Enough, already! Let's get back to Mr. Tompkins!" She gave Alan a harsh look while passing his notepad back to him for what she figured would be the final time. Then she turned back to their still-oblivious teacher.
However, Alan didn't mind. He could see that her attempt to act stern lasted all of about five seconds, and then she went back to grinning about all of his silly, teasing notes. He felt good, knowing that he'd put that smile on her face.
After about a minute, she sobered up enough to realize that he'd been successful in completely distracting her from asking where he'd really been and what he'd been doing just before he rushed into class. She still strongly suspected that Heather had been involved. But she also realized that he was unlikely to give her a straight answer on that, especially if Heather had been involved. Instead he would just continue to deflect her questions with yet more silliness.
Alan decided to let Christine be for a while. He tried to pay attention to the class, but Mr. Tompkins seemed especially boring that day. Alan couldn't concentrate on anything their teacher was saying. He concluded he'd be pushing his luck with Christine if he teased her any more during class, so he decided to see if they could at least communicate about other things via their note writing. Anything was better than listening to Mr. Tompkins drone on.
A couple of minutes later, Alan wrote on his notepad in big letters, "I'm bored!" Again, he pushed his notepad to the edge of his desk where Christine could read it.
To his pleasant surprise, Christine wrote back, "Me too."
He wrote in smaller letters, "I like communicating with you like this. It's fun." Then he furtively handed the notepad to her as he had done earlier.
She looked around with worry. But she couldn't resist. She wrote, "Too much fun! I'm so bad. You're corrupting me" and then she passed his notepad back to him.
He replied, "How do you spell 'Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha?' Is that enough ha's?" Again, they were passing his notepad freely back and forth.
"I think you need more ha's." She grinned. But she didn't want to keep finding it hard not to laugh in class, so she attempted to keep their communication serious. She added, "How are your college applications coming along?"
"Okay, I guess." In truth, he hadn't done anything about them since his six-times-a-day treatment had started.
"Have you turned in your UC Berkeley application yet?"
"No. Why should I?"
Christine wrote in especially big letters, "The application is due in THREE DAYS, you dummy! All the UC-system applications are!"
Alan blanched. He quickly wrote back, "Are you serious?!"
"Of course I'm serious! Their applications are due on November 30th. How can you not know that?! Isn't UCB your first choice, of the places you're most likely to get in?"
He felt like the floor had just opened up beneath him. "It is! Thank God you told me in time! How is it that I don't know that?!"
"Didn't the college counselor tell you that?"
"Um, no! Now that I think about it, I never did get called to meet with the counselor. Maybe that's still gonna happen?"
"Maybe, but what good will that do you, if you find out after the end of November?!"
He responded, "I know! Pardon my French, but ... CRAP!"
She wrote, "You should still be okay. It just needs to be postmarked by the 30th. You've got until Saturday night. Didn't you say you already wrote your college essays last summer, so they wouldn't interfere with your school work?"
He thought back and remembered that he had, including the essay Berkeley required. "Thank God for that! That'll help, to say the least. And thank God for you! I owe you, big time!"
So far, the two of them had made practically no eye contact during their secret communication, as they just stared at each other's notepads. But now Alan briefly looked to Christine's face and saw her giving him an almost evil grin. Then she wrote, "What's the word? Oh yes, I believe it's 'Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!' Note the proper number of 'ha's.' ☺ Since I own your ass now, that means the shoe is on the other foot. Maybe I'll have YOU stand naked in the middle of class so that I can fondle YOU all over. That way I should be able to find your brain, wherever it is, if you even have one."
He quickly wrote back, "Okay! Sounds good!" He made as if he was about to stand up.
That got Christine's full attention. She stared in disbelief as he started to rise from his chair. She quickly leaned across the aisle and lightly touched his upper arm while hissing quietly, "Stay in your seat! What do you think you're doing?!"
Alan was very pleased at how that had turned out. Mr. Tompkins was still talking while writing on the chalkboard, so he was extremely unlikely to notice, even if Alan had stood all the way up. Of course everyone else in class would have noticed, so Alan's bluff would have failed at that point, but he knew that Christine would freak out first.
He went back to his notepad and wrote, "I thought you wanted me to stand up and strip?"
She wrote back on his pad, "Not here! Not now!"
"Okay. Later then."
"Not that either! You're a total nut case!"
He grinned to himself as he wrote, "P.S. Here's a secret tip for when you search me: my brain is in my shorts, so search there extensively!"
"Your brain IS in your shorts, you goofball! It has been for months. What am I going to do with you?"
"Hmmm ... I have ideas..."
She wrote, "Hey, get your mind out of the gutter and think about getting your Berkeley application in on time. You're damn lucky that I'm applying there too, as one of my back-up schools, so I knew the deadline. Get your act together!"
He realized, She does have a good point. A damn good point! I think I'm kind of losing my mind, with all this non-stop sexiness happening all the time. I DO need to get my act together. I planned to review my college applications over the four-day weekend, but what if I didn't get to it until Sunday? Or later? Crap! I don't even want to think about that. This Berkeley deadline is a real wake-up call.
He wrote, "You're right. I've been spacing out. I do need to get serious. As much fun as it is trading notes with you, we probably should stop, at least for now."
She frowned, because it had been a lot more enjoyable than listening to their physics professor. She wrote back, "Okay. Good call. But when class is over, I'm gonna slap you silly for spacing out on such an important thing. Get into UCB, dammit! Then we'll only be an hour apart if I get into Stanford."
He responded, "I deserve to be slapped. And it will be pretty cool if I get into Berkeley and you get into Stanford. Then I can continue my research on your chest-heads. And my butt-brain research too, also with you, funnily enough."
She wrote, "You're the butt-brain! What a frigging idiot! ☺" The added smiley face showed that she was more amused than annoyed. With another furtive look all around, she handed his notepad back to him.
Chapter 2Alan tried hard to focus on Mr. Tompkins for the rest of the class, but he was no more successful than before. It was almost as if the teacher were speaking an unknown language.
Alan quickly gave up on trying to pay attention, thinking instead about his deadline for the UC Berkeley application. Okay, I have until Saturday night. That's no problem, especially with Thanksgiving vacation coming up. Fortunately, I wrote my essay two months ago. I just have to get all my papers together and send everything off. That shouldn't be too hard. I can't leave it to the last hour of the last day, though; that would be insanely stupid. Maybe I can do it today, after school.
It's just that there're so damn many sexy things happening. Especially at home. Like Mom. When I get home, she's gonna be there, probably dressed in an erotic apron and high heels, and nothing else. She's too arousing and loving to be believed! Whenever I think of her, I get so horny that it's crazy. It's like she could be the model spokesperson for incest, if anyone ever tried to "sell" that idea.
He found himself caught up in a daydream. In his head, he saw an image of Susan. Surprisingly, she was fully and conservatively dressed, looking much as she did before his and her sexual awakening had begun. She looked like she was in a television commercial and she held up a bottle and stared straight into the viewer's eyes.
She said, "Is your house plagued by troublesome sperm buildup? Is your son's penis tragically at the near-bursting point with life-creating wriggly sperm that should be deposited deep in his mommy's womb? Then try 'Incest-O-Matic'!"
The bottle in Susan's hand was thrust forward, filling Alan's mental view. It looked like a bottle of Jack Daniel's, except for the words "Incest-O-Matic" written in big letters across the front.
The bottle receded, and Susan's face came close. She said, "Just one bottle of 'Incest-O-Matic' will turn any frumpy, normal mommy into a raving, gorgeous, nymphomaniacal sperm receptacle!"
She opened the bottle and dumped the entire contents of it over the top of her head. A torrent of liquid poured out, much, much more than such a bottle could ever possibly contain. The gush of thick fluid flowed down her head and upper torso and, as it cascaded down, her frumpy clothes and accessories disappeared and in their place little remained except exposed and wet skin. Even the ribbons in her hair and her glasses melted away. Yet, apparently mindful that nudity is not allowed on television, one of her arms strategically covered her nipples (and little else).
Then her voice came back on as she continued to hold up the now empty bottle. "That's right. Forget grout. Forget grime. Forget dust. The worst problem plaguing the average homemaker in this day and age is teenage sperm buildup. Don't let your son suffer blue balls! Buy 'Incest-O-Matic' today!"
She waved the bottle around excitedly, like some kind of overexcited carnival barker. Her exceptionally large breasts bounced all over the place, which made it seem as if the arm covering them would lose the battle to contain them at any moment. "If you act now, you will also get-"
Suddenly, Alan came out of his daydream. He heard his teacher Mr. Tompkins asking, "Anyone? Anyone?"
Alan belatedly realized that some sort of question had been put to the class. He hoped he wouldn't be called on, because he didn't even know the subject at hand. He figured he was already in deep trouble as it was for being ten minutes late. Luckily, someone else was called on and Mr. Tompkins went back to his lecture.
Alan thought, Not that many months ago, I would have had my hand up in the air. I always used to have my hand up in the air. But now, I'm dreaming of 'Incest-O-Matic'?! Some kind of twisted sex commercial? What the hey? Someone should just lock me up and throw away the key and get it over with already. How absurd. Rrggh.
But I mean, seriously, how am I supposed to be able to concentrate on anything after a morning like this one? Between Mom and Sis at home and Heather and Simone at school, it's lucky I'm not raving and drooling in a straightjacket already. There's such a thing as too much pleasure. I want to run screaming up and down the halls and tell everyone how great life is, but I have to sit here and pretend that things are normal. And then, as if that isn't enough, I have to sit next to Christine in this stupid class. I can stare at her from three feet away all class long if I want, and she doesn't even know what I'm doing. At least, I hope she doesn't know...
Alan slipped into another daydream. The teacher asked another question, and this time Christine was called on. That in itself was hardly unusual; she always had her hand up for every question, and she was invariably correct in her answers. But this time, she got one wrong.
He heard a strange yet familiar voice say, "Christine, Christine. That is so unfortunate. Come up here." He looked up to the front of the room and did not see the balding and pot-bellied yet unusually "cool" Mr. Tompkins. Instead, a sexy female teacher who looked and sounded almost exactly like Heather was behind the teacher's desk. The main difference between her and the real Heather was that she seemed about twenty years older. Her hair fell to the top of her shoulders instead of going all the way down her back. But she still had Heather's all-knowing and supremely confident smile on her face.
Christine stood up. She was dressed in a sedate and unrevealing blouse, and a long grey dress that came down to her ankles. She looked around uncertainly and walked forward. "Yes, Ms. Morgan?" she asked in a worried voice as she got to the front of the class.
He remembered that Morgan was Heather's last name. Somehow, it seemed right to call the teacher "Ms. Morgan" and not "Heather," since she was so much older and more mature, even if she was fundamentally the same person. He noticed that she smiled and seemed to have mellowed with age. Her smile almost appeared to be kind.
Ms. Morgan, dressed in the kind of clothes Glory would typically teach in except with much more cleavage showing and wearing a skirt far too short for any real teacher to ever wear, looked at Christine with both disapproval and a mocking amusement. "You know what the punishment is when a pretty girl fails to answer a question correctly?"
Christine nodded sadly, then looked up expectantly at Alan.
Now all eyes went to Alan.
He sat up in his chair in surprise, because he had no idea why he was suddenly the center of attention.
Christine bowed her head down mournfully. "Yes, I do. But, but ... I've never gotten a question wrong before. I've ... I've never even been with a man before! Couldn't he and I, do first, uh, ... something romantic ... you know, I..."
"Silence!" Ms. Morgan slapped a ruler down hard on the table. She shot Christine a dirty look, causing Christine to cower in abject embarrassment.
Then Ms. Morgan was all smiles again as she looked at Alan from across the room. "Hey stud, it looks like another special treat for you. You get to pop another cherry! And the last virgin holdout in the class, too. Would you like to come up and do the honors?" She seemed so eager to see Christine humiliated that it was obvious the older Heather wasn't that much kinder after all.
Forgetting he was daydreaming, he thought in wonder, Can this really be happening?
He stood up and looked around the imagined classroom. Very, very few students in his real class were also in his dream class. Most of the boys and all of the average looking or ugly girls were gone, and in their place was a stunning array of incredibly gorgeous girls. Some of them were real girls from school who happened to be in other classes, including Amy, Katherine, and Janice. But most of them seemed to be complete figments of his imagination.
He went to the front of the class and stood there, right next to a trembling Christine.
Ms. Morgan leaned forward on the other side of her desk, eagerly awaiting for the two of them to begin.
He could tell what he was supposed to do: fuck Christine on the teacher's desk. But he was confused. Everyone appeared to have seen this many times before, as if there was an established ritual. But his mind was a complete blank of any previous experience.
"Christine, don't dilly dally!" The older Heather growled. "You know what to do."
"Yes, Ms. Morgan," she whispered.
The real Christine did not suffer fools gladly. Had this been her, she would have stomped out of the room and gone straight to the principal if not the police, and generally raised holy Hell. But the dream Christine was meek.
Looking like she wanted to cry, she dropped to her knees and began to fumble at the zipper on Alan's shorts. She complained, "This isn't right! It's not fair!" But her words came out in such a quiet whisper that even Alan could just barely hear her. A large part of her seemed to very much want to see his penis, even as some other part of her resisted.
The zipper went down and an extremely long, turgid dick fell out.
He was shocked to see that it was a good four inches longer than his real life penis and a great deal wider too. It was a monster. A murmur of wonder could be heard from his classmates. He noted that apparently his stiff cock was a sight that continued to amaze even if one had seen it many times before. It stood straight out from his body, as stiff as an ironing board.
Christine made the sign of the cross over her chest as she whispered and prayed, "Mother Mary, please protect me from this thing! If there's a God, don't make my first time be humiliating like this!" The rigid erection swayed menacingly around her nose.
After a quick glance at an increasingly impatient and irate Ms. Morgan, Christine turned back to his hard-on inches from her face and grabbed and steadied it with one hand. Her other hand went to one of his balls, which she hefted up experimentally and uncertainly. She began to tentatively stroke his boner with one hand, but she was doing it all wrong, running her hand over the top as if petting the back of a cat. Christine was broad-shouldered and big for her five foot nine frame, but just the same her hand seemed comically small juxtaposed next to Alan's freakishly large dream penis.
She kept her eyes closed as she timidly petted it. Tears began to pour out of her eyes.
He thought, This is wrong. She's not happy. I should stop this. Christine is a good girl. She doesn't deserve this. But there was no conviction behind his words. He had some kind of vague notion that he was dreaming and noted that the dream-Alan didn't seem to have many moral qualms about the situation.
Then what little fondling Christine was doing came to an end. Instead, she asked with her eyes closed, "Ms. Morgan? Can I ask a question? Why are we doing this? Why are you allowing this? Surely, as a female teacher, you would see the need to maintain an equitable balance between the sexes and prohibit this new school regulation that specifically permits Alan and only Alan to have sex with every single girl in the-"
"Quiet!" Ms. Morgan came around the desk. "How dare you question my teaching methods and the school rules?! And look, Christine, what kind of star pupil are you? You call that a handjob? Do I have to show you everything? ... Fine."
Dani
- 27.07.2022
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