Bernice Hudson was a respectable, normal lesbian.
The girls at Thomas Dewey respected her as both a coach and as a lesbian.
Bernice's psychiatrist, Ms. Cantrell, had reassured Bernice that her hunger for pussy was a normal hunger. Dr. Cantrell had told her in psychological mumbo-jumbo that her condition was commonly known as "Vaginal Deficiency". Like vitamins – or lack of such.
It was a common, normal malady found in sexual psychopaths, socially maladjusted individuals, a few rapists, the Mandan Indian tribe, and the majority of lesbians.
The disease was first founded by a poet who lived in the times of Archimedes and Ajax, when people believed that Atlantis existed. The poet's name was Sappho. Sappho had no first name or last name, just Sappho. Because in those days people only had one name – like Socrates, or Homer, or Diogenes. Which is why people of today, when confronted by something confusing always mutter: "It's Greek to me."
Like most poets, Sappho was unhappy.
Dr. Cantrell was very familiar with the works of Sappho. She had once cruised the Mediterranean in the hopes of finding Sappho's island – the legendary Lasbot.
Dr. Cantrell and her thirty-four associates were an impressive sight.
They enjoyed the Mediterranean sunshine, and her associates found that working braless was practical and economical and suitable for the occasion. And on the first night, they also discovered that working panty-less was just as comfortable as letting their titties go free.
On the second night, however, the thirty-four comely associates with their free-swinging titties and bushy pussies found out that Dr. Cantrell, once she had ditched her pith helmet and safari jacket and her Marine leggings, was a woman!
Of course, Bernice had known from the beginning that Dr. Cantrell was a woman.
It was on her first visit to Dr. Cantrell.
It was the first time Bernice had ever been on a shrink's couch.
It was the first time that Bernice had ever been asked to strip naked and lie down on a shrink's couch with the shrink taking notes on the condition of her cunt and doing Rorschach ink-blot tests by dabbing indigo on Bernice's tits and pressing them against a blank piece of paper.
After a hundred talks with Dr. Cantrell, Bernice was convinced that she was a normal lesbian.
Not a butchy-type lesbian – the kind that sat in the baritone section of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir gazing upon the cute sopranos.
Not the swishy-type lezzie – the kind that bumped titties with other girls in a crowded elevator, then dropped her purse and came up with her head snagged under some secretary's mini-skirt.
Not a regretful-type lezzie – the kind that went out with guys, ate pizza with them, then went home and finger-fucked themselves while looking at dog-eared pages of Playboy, or Jaguar, or Coronet.
Not the Ms.-type lesbian – the kind that loved to rip bras off innocent co-eds in the name of liberty and the pursuit of happiness, then throw them on roaring bonfires and jump up and down, titty-to-titty with other cohorts, chanting: "Sisters unite!"
No, Bernice was a normal lesbian. She dated other lesbians. Bought candy and flowers for the ones she dated frequently. Like Yvonne Mandell, Dr. Mandell's adopted daughter.
What happened to be head song leader and who could do some amazing splits and jumps and twirls with or without the hindrance of bikini panties.
Now, Yvonne was sitting in Bernice's coaching office. Sitting beneath two huge portraits – one of Susan B. Anthony and the other of Lucretia Mon.
Ms. Anthony looked very stem in her suffragette doily cap.
Ms. Mon looked very capricious in her red and white bloomers.
Ms. Mandell looked like the most edible piece of pussy on the Thomas Dewey campus.
Bernice put down her whistle, took off her warm-up jacket. Propped her Congress tennies on the set of field-hockey plays that littered her desk.
"Yvonne, I don't know what to do about you. I've seen you making eyes at all the kids, especially that curly-haired prick – what's his name again?"
"Y-You mean – Marshall Even?"
"Yeah, that prick! Look, do you want me to tell your mother about who you been fooling around with?"
"Oh, no! Please, Coach Hudson! Please don't do that! If she finds out I've been going out with boys, she'll kill me! She might even send me back to the orphanage!"
"What?! You've been going out with that prick, too!?"
Yvonne gulped. Oh, God! She had made another boo-boo. The tint boo-boo, of course, was when she had been in back of the tool shed with Marshall Even. They had been in back of the tool shed because they were going to fuck each other and they had the decency to do it while out of sight of the other students in their respective seventh period gym classes.
And that was when Coach Hudson had gone back to the tool shed. Because that's where they also stored the field-hockey sticks. Bernice had heard them through the paper-thin walls. And she had been outraged.
"What the hell is going on back there?" Bernice scampered out and around to the back of the tool shed.
She had turned crimson. The sight was too shocking to be true!
Yvonne Mandell was holding… holding that nasty-looking thing! That disgusting prick was in her hands! And something was drooling from the tip of that snake… spit! It was spit! Not pre-cum!
That fucking Yvonne had put her lips on the prick!
"You little fucker! Get away from her! Get that thing back in your fucking pants! And keep it there before I cut it off!"
Naturally fear, was on Marshall's face – it was quite evident. His mouth opened to make mock protest, sweat dribbled off his forehead; then he cowered, withdrew, shrank – just like his prick.
He stuffed his cock back into the pouch of his jock, pulled up his gym shorts and said: "See ya, Yvonne."
Yvonne wanted to wave good-bye, but her arm now arrested by something that felt more like a shackle than a human grip.
"You little turd! Yvonne, I oughta beat the living stilt out of you! Christ! Look at your mouth – it's disgusting!"
Yvonne tried to look at her mouth, couldn't, so she ran her tongue over her lips.
"Stop that, you cocksucker! Put that tongue back where it belongs! Oh, Jesus! Yvonne! What am I gonna do with you? You never seem to learn, do you?"
Yvonne gulped; her mind zoomed back to where she was now. Sitting in Coach Hudson's office. "Oh, I'm sorry, Coach Hudson, what'd you say?"
Bernice rubbed her eyes in exasperation. Jesus! When was she gonna do with Yvonne? How the hell could she save this edible piece of pussy from acquiring a taste for cock? God, if she lost this one to the taste of prick, it would make the fourth girl this semester.
Bernice tried the old scare-'em-with-pregnancy routine.
"You know, Yvonne, you're pretty fucking stupid. Shit, that kid could've gotten you pregnant or some thing."
Yvonne pouted. "From sucking his cock? Gosh, Coach Hudson a girl can't get pregnant when she sucks pricks. Besides, I'm safe. I'm on the pill."
"What?!"
Yvonne gulped. Oh, God! Boo-boo number three today. But she couldn't help it! Coach Hudson just scared the living shit out of her! God, just look at her.
Congress tennis shoes-size ten. Baseball capsize eight. No bra, size forty tits. With bra size forty-one tits.
Bernice was a lot of woman in all the right places. Hell, just sizing her up would take a lot of time.
Yet, in many ways, Bernice was beautiful. Take her hair – worn short so it had a lot of bounce when she showed girls the nifty trick of a three-on-one shot-on-goal in field hockey. Take her eyes – dark and brooding, eyes capable of giving the come-on sign or the caution light. Take her lips – very full, and rich, and creamy. Take her tongue, that muscle in her mouth that could strike fear in any girl when it was deep in her cunt, reaming out her pussy like a rubber coat hanger.
In many ways, Bernice Hudson was not beautiful. Take her hands – creepy hands that would make a girl's flesh crawl as they mauled her tits, or her cunt, or her asshole. Take her tits – huge and stupendous, too big for a mature woman to suck an, so they were usually forced upon naive and innocent chicks like Yvonne. Take her pussy – raw, red and muscular, able to bite and nip. A young girl's tongue, or tit, or clit.
Take her or leave her, Bernice Hudson was beautiful in an ugly way.
That's what Yvonne faced now as she looked past the propped-up tennies and sucked up enough come to stare Coach Hudson eyeball to eyeball.
"What did you say, Yvonne?" Bernice asked in a steady voice, controlling the rage that ran through her clutching fingertips – fingers that gripped a thick volume of Sappho's Ode to Lesbos. "Did you say you were on the pill?"
Yvonne looked at her petite feet, at her pretty white cotton socks, over to the left where her eyes settled on a little figurine of Gloria Steinem holding a burning bra in an upraised fist.
"Yvonne! Listen to me! Goddamn it! Are you on the fucking pill?"
Yvonne snapped out of her wandering. Oh, gash, she didn't want to be here. She walked the floor to come alive, turn into a monster, devour her, swallow her and send her to the boiler room where she could be boiled in hot water far the irreparable sin she had committed.
"Yes, yes," she whispered, crossing her legs and swinging them to and fro, wondering when the floor would become a monster.
"All right, you little fucker!" Bernice exclaimed, setting down Sappho and planting her Congress tennis show into the floor and rising to her flail six feet. "Who was the mother-fucker who gave them to you?"
God! She couldn't tell Coach Hudson who gave the pills to her. She'd get killed. Coach Higgins would kill her if she told anybody that he'd given her a year's supply of his wife's birth-control pills. Jesus! Hurry, floor! Eat me! Eat me all up!
"yvonne! Goddamn, I'll cut your clit off if you don't tell me!"
Yvonne's eyes opened wide. Cut off her clit! No! Coach Hudson wouldn't do that… would she?
"You're damned right I'll cut off your clit!"
Oh, Jesus Christ! How she wanted to be a little piss-ant and run around the floor until she found some nook or cranny to get down to that fucking boiler room before Coach Hudson found her and cut off her clit.
Yvonne's eyes searched left and right. Ah-ha! There's a cranny!
Then a size-ten Congress tennis shoe covered the cranny.
Then a creepy hand was on Yvonne's gym blouse, undoing the buttons.
Then Yvonne got very scared. Her titties started aching three seconds before that pair of monstrous hands clutched her taut tits in a death grip.
"Aaaaaaiiieeee! Stop! You'rehurting my titties! Oh, please!Don't! They're too sensitive!"
Bernice twisted Yvonne's nipples ogre-fashion. "You mother-fucking cunt! I'll teach you to suck a man's ugly prick! I'll teach you to answer me! Here, how's this feel?"
Yvonne gasped. She no longer could look down at the monstrous floor in search of nooks and crannies because the monstrous normal-lesbian coach was eating her titties ogre-fashion, her lips chewing and biting on her sensitive nipples.
Tears came to Yvonne's eyes. Oh, God!
"aaaaiiiieeee! Please! Oh, God! Miss Hudson! Stop! Oooohhhh! You're hurting my titties! Please! You're chewing them off! Aaaaiiieeee!"
Bernice drooled. Her mouth also drooled. So much fine tittie. So much delicious young tittie. Oh, sweet little! She had to have Yvonne's titties! Her hunger had just started. Her appetite for tit-meat soared.
"Aaaaiiiieeee! Please! Oh, God! I'll promise I'll never suck a man's cock again! Aaaaiiiieeee!"
The tittie-chewing stopped.
The ogre lifted her head, gazed angrily at Yvonne with fiendish eyes. Clammy hands maintained an agony-filled grip on the young girl's tits.
"Oooohhhh! Please! Miss Hudson! Let go of my titties! Please!"
Bernice shook her butch haircut. "Tell me, Yvonne. Tell me who gave you the pills. Then you can walk out of this office with your titties intact."
"Oh, God! I-I can't tell you. M-Miss Hudson. He'll kill me for sure!"
"what?! A Man gave you those pills?! A prick did it?!"
"Aaaiiieee! My titties! My nipples! Stop! Oh, God!"
Bernice took out her anger on those thirty eight-inch tits. Why not? They weren't hers. Shit, they didn't even look like… hers. Hers had droopy nipples, not like these pert things that were turning an angry red under the brutal treatment her maniacal hands were giving them.
Bernice let go of Yvonne's tits.
Yvonne let go of the arms of the chair. She slithered to the floor, and her hands administered first-aid to her bruised and battered titties.
"Oh, God!" Yvonne moaned. "My titties I'll never feel the same. Oh, God! They're so bruised!"
Bernice watched the cock-seeking whore slither on the floor. The fucking cunt!
Bernice's tennis shoes squeaked as she spun around and went to her locker.
Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.
She opened the locker, lifted up a stack of Amazon and Batwoman comic books until she found what she was looking for.
Yvonne was stunned.
At first, because Coach Hudson had her back to her, Yvonne thought she was puffing on a field-hockey helmet. She saw the leather traps as they joined at the back of her short-bobbed hair.
Then Bernice turned around, marched towards Yvonne.
No! No! No!
Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.
That was when Yvonne realized that it wasn't a field-hockey helmet on Coach Hudson's head. From the back it had certainly looked like a field-hockey helmet. But from the front it certainly didn't look like a standard-issue field hockey helmet.
Unless they were purposely making field-hockey helmets for unicorns to protect the horn that spiraled out from the middle of their foreheads. But field hockey wasn't played with unicorns or horny-headed polo ponies.
Unless they were introducing a new line of helmets for girls who wanted to play night hockey with coal-miner hard hats.
It was hideous!
It was ghastly!
It was beastly!
Almost the exact words that had been inscribed on the package when Bernice had purchased her dildo helmet three years ago at the local head shop: Hideously exciting! Ghastly pleasurable! Beastly paradise! The new and exciting carnal cranial delight! Buy your Head Job now while the demand lasts! Sizes four through ten.
Bernice loved the fear she saw on Yvonne's face. Shit, it was a face they all made when they saw her put on the Head Job.
Yvonne scrambled to a far corner of the office. "Oh, please, Coach Hudson! Whatever you're going to do – don't do it! It looks ghastly!"
Bernice smiled butchily. "Well, Yvonne, you said you liked cocks. Do you like mine?"
Then, awareness came to poor Yvonne.
Yes, that's what that thing looked like!
It wasn't a horn off a unicorn, and it didn't shine like a coal-miner's hard hat.
It had to be a cock! A cock to be worn on a person's forehead, so that person with the dildoed sinus would have something other to do when they were eating pussy.
Of course. Naturally.
Oh, God! No!
"Oh, yes, Yvonne. Unless you tell me who that pill-pusher is, I'm gonna get on top of you and eat your cunt while my cock fucks your asshole. Or else I'm going to get on the bottom and eat your asshole while my cock's fucking your cunt. What's it gonna be?"
What's it gonna be! Did she have a choice? Jesus!
If Bernice, took the top position, that would mean that hideous-looking forehead prick would.
What should she do? God – decisions, decisions, and decisions!
"Get your fucking shorts off!"
"While you're deciding, the least you could do is get your fucking shorts off."
"Oh… oh, yeah."
Yvonne scrambled to her feet, hooked her thumbs into her lavender gym shorts and pulled them down. God! Should she take the tongue in her asshole or that head-aching cock?
"Now get down on the fucking floor."
"Huh?"
"While you're trying to make up your mind, get down on the fucking floor so I can eat you out."
Yvonne lay down on the floor. Oh, Jesus! That forehead cock would feel so cold in her ass; yet, that tongue would feel so squeamish. Oh, God!
Which one?
Bernice got naked.
Bernice got on top.
Bernice got to eat Yvonne's pussy while her cranial cock made up the young girl's mind for her.
"Aaaiiieee! Oh, God! My asshole! Toooo big! My God! You're killing my asshole! Ooohhh! Tongue my clit! Tongue my cunt!Suckit, coach! Oooohhhh, Godddddd! My asshole hurts like Hell!"
Bernice's six-foot amazon frame came up and over Yvonne's sweaty body.
"Aaaaiiiieeee! My asshole! My ass-hole!It's too biggggg! Oh, God! Oh, Jesus! No! Not your cunt! No, Ican't eat your… mmmmggggffff! mmmmggggffff!"
Hummmmmm.
Hummmmmm? Who said: hummmmmm?
Oh, God! Her asshole was coming alive with something that was vibrating the sensitive tissues of her shitter as her cunt was being chewed and licked and sucked by an ogre with a unicorn's forehead.
Yvonne wanted to die. Of the following:
She could have chosen to die from the hairy cunt that had descended very rapidly on her mouth. Because breathing was very important to the young naive girl. But breathing was now very difficult because it was like being stuffed to the tonsils with moldy walnuts.
Or she could have chosen to die from a bleeding asshole. Because something big and huge and cold as stainless steel was humming happily in her shitter, causing her lower bowels to emit embarrassing noises between grunts.
Or lucky Yvonne could have chosen to die from the ecstasy that was oozing out of her cunt, dispelling in gassy cloudbursts from her asshole, or regurgitating moistly from her cunt-filled mouth.
She chose the last way to die because it was the most pleasurable. In fact, it was the most pleasurable thing she had ever felt, rather the two most pleasurable things she had ever felt.
First there was pleasure in her asshole. It resided in all the sensitive nerves that clustered at the opening to her turd dispenser. And those nerves were proving to be indispensable now because without them she would never have discovered how much ecstasy and passion and juicy joy there was in getting her asshole named by a brainy cock.
Second, there was pleasure in her pussy. Her cunt-lips, and more particularly her clit, also had sensitive nerve tissues scattered here and there. They were scattered here and there because it seemed wherever Bernice's tongue touched, another nerve came alive and sent a pleasant sensation conning trough her erogenous zones.
"Mmmmggggffff!" Yvonne said.
"Mmmmggggffff!" Bernice said.
"Mmmmggggffff!" Yvonne repeated.
"Mmmmggggffff!" Bernice reiterated.
Such meaningful dialogue was repeated for ten minutes and thirty-two seconds. Bernice knew it was ten minutes and thirty-two seconds because the miniature battery in her cock-head had a lift span of only ten minutes and thirty-two seconds.
Now Bernice had to rely on another head-strong method of keeping Yvonne's asshole titillated. She nodded. Nodded again. Nodded many times. Her cock-head beat a fast tattoo in and out of Yvonne's asshole.
No more hum jobs; just head jobs.
"Mmmmggggffff!" Yvonne moaned.
"Mmmmggggpfff!" Bernice groaned.
They were like lesbian snakes the way they twined around each other. They were like gay eels wrapped up in each other. They were like Sappho mummies wrapped for all time.
Then the climax came. For Yvonne first because her asshole was suffering from so much pleasure.
Bernice could tell that Yvonne was coming. The girl was hunching her hips wildly, and Bernice's mouth was stuffed with lots of delicious, pussy. Pussy was coming out of her ears, there seemed to be so much of it.
Bernice nodded.
Yvonne couldn't believe the sensations that were bursting like TNT in her asshole: she couldn't believe the potent power of that dancing dynamite tongue in her cunt. God! She felt like a walking time bomb, an unwrapped, walking time bomb going off at this very moment.
Yvonne's cunt tingled, then erected – gobbled up by Bernice's pussy-hungry mouth.
Yvonne's cunt juiced and oozed – swallowed up by Bernice's cunt-starved mouth.
Yvonne's asshole stretched and warped – Bernice nodded.
Then it came.
The ecstasy to end all ecstasies.
It started in her tits, made them grow hard like the cock-head fucking her asshole. It wound its way like a lesbian snake into her cunt, made it grow as hard as that helmet with a cock for a rim, and as slippery as an eel. Then it ended, as nature intended, in her ass.
Bernice nodded.