Lucky: "Mom says girls don't count"

She was a one woman verbal orgy, a Lucky Greatest Hits EP, and she had only to lie there chattering away, clenching and unclenching her pussy, to achieve it.

What an amazing talent.

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Shortly afterwards I dressed, kissed her goodbye, left in my car and headed back through the night, across town.

I knew I would see Millie later that week at the next community lesson. I had to work out what I would do about that.

Doing my bit for the community had, in summary, meant phoning in a lazy fifty minutes on the comparative lifestyles of the Austrian peasantry and Viennese high society; followed by immediately seducing one of the pupils; concluding, as she relayed for my listening pleasure a variety of the depraved ways the girls of this benighted place were exploited for men's pleasure, with me coming said student's ass.

Clearly I was going to have try a little harder if I was going to pay something back to Lucky, in recompense for continued easy access to its stock of womenfolk.

After all, I wasn't about to give up on that easy access. Not after everything I'd just heard. I'd thought the last few years had been a smorgasbord of teenage trollops; turns out I'd barely scratched the surface.

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That mixture of sombre, high minded and filth-addled thoughts occupied me for much the drive home, until I was passing the street I knew Savanna and Brooke lived on.

At that moment I had a realisation.

I thought I had needed relief; I thought I had been going mad with pent up frustration because Jess and Savanna and my students were unavailable to me. Oh, and my wife.

But in fact, now I thought about it, this had been building for months, not just this week.

I didn't need relief. I didn't need more sex like the last sex. Another girl, another student, another mother, eager to please. I didn't need more of the same.

I had needed inspiration. I needed a reason to stay in this dump. I came here for the kind of get-away-with-it adventures you wouldn't dare try anywhere else, anywhere people actually cared.

Well, thank you Millie, and your depraved anecdotes. I now had all the inspiration I needed. No more settling for the easy shags with easy students. Sorry Jasmine. I needed to see just how deep the rabbit hole goes in Lucky. It was time to get *inventive*. It was time to go *exploring*.

I made a note to look up Neil's bar. That was step one.

And then, step two, when Savanna got back: Millie's family escapades had given my the very wickedest idea for Savanna and Brooke.

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Back at home I poured a tall Jameson's and took it into the living room where I slumped down to check my phone.

I had a message from the wife.

She was still at the 'convention'. Probably she really was at a writers convention. I ought to trust her.

Like she ought to trust me.

In any case, the message she wanted something from her tablet, something work related that wasn't backed up to the cloud, and would I mind terribly.

It was work related so that correlated. Then again, asking for something work related is exactly what I would do. Actually, its exactly what I have done, in similar circumstances. So that hardly reassured me.

I made a mental note to actually check for technical writers' conventions on in California at the moment, then got up to find her tablet.

I found it in her study on her desk. I logged in. She didn't keep the passcode a secret so I knew it, but I'm not the kind of person that's comfortable checking other people's phones and computers, regardless of suspicions I might be tempted to test. I just don't like doing it. I guess it suggests too much at someone doing the same to mine.

She wanted something from the one long note in her notes app. Didn't she realise you could open more than one note? It was like an ancient scroll. I panned up and down for a bit and found it. Looked like notes from a call with a client. Change this, tweak that, etc.

I pinched and pulled to select the section and, as tends to happen, when I tried to drag the selection markers up, the whole page span away upwards. I hate touch screens. I was about to wearily pan back down again when my eye spotted what was on the screen under my clumsy finger.

It was very short. A fantasy.

~~~

"If you told me during our engagement that I would be spending my wedding night letting my new husband knock up my big titted younger cousin, whilst I watched them from where he had told me to sit on the floor, getting myself off on my fingers and crying, and coming harder than I had ever come before *because* I was crying, I would have said... Yeah, that sounds about right."

~~~

Oh shit.

Our wedding. Her cousin. Had she found out? I mean, with a story like that, how could that *not* mean she found out, some how?

I hadn't knocked the cousin up and I hadn't made her watch (for Christ sake). And it hadn't been the night, it had been a couple hours before the ceremony.

But still.

From the context of notes above and below it must have been written in the last couple of weeks.

Was she trying to come to terms with the truth through a story?

Or was it a rumour she had heard and, whether she had believed it or not, it had it turned her on, so she wrote it up?

If she had found out, why was she still with me?

It didn't explain anything, it created only confusion.

Or... did it? There was a chance that, regardless of if she knew positively about her cousin and me, she was... Into it. I mean, just read that thing. That would explain her lack of curiosity about my less than subtle affairs over the years, up to and including my Teachers Assistant having a brace of healthy kids that looks just a little more like me than their 'dad'.

Yeah. I should be so lucky.

Lets get real, I thought. I didn't like the idea of being taken to the cleaners, I didn't like the idea of losing her, for all that I was a pig, and now I worried even more where she really was.

I scrolled down the notes app again, copied the correct work notes and pasted it to herself via her Whatsapp account.

From my own phone I sent her a good night message and a kiss and an "I love you".

I went to the kitchen and washed out the glass and put it on the draining board.

I went upstairs, lay my suit over a chair, neatly, thinking how similar the room looked to Millies, and how my wife looked when she lay here, approximately where Millie had lay in her bed, and whether I would see my wife lying in that same place in this bed ever again.

I hit the pillow and within seconds I dreamed.

I dreamed of Lucky. Of pornographers and their barns, of motorcycle clubs, of police bars and cruddy little teenage house parties. And in all of my dreams there was a blur of flesh and sex and pleasure and pain. And in all of my dreams my wife was there, not taking part, but watching, from the corner, from the floor, naked, getting her self off. Except she wasn't crying. She was just looking at me, calmly. Just looking. Never looking away.

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The next morning, Wednesday morning, I went to work as usual. Jess was still off sick. It was business as usual for the first few lessons of the day. The sun was shining, the air was warmer than it had been expected to be. I found my matrimonial worries if not fading exactly then at least being pushed back.

I was also, thanks to the blessed Millie, still entirely sated, still buzzing with thoughts about the future and what terribly inappropriate things I could do with it.

At lunch time, as I rounded the sports hall, looking for somewhere quiet for a smoke, I caught a gaggle of girls. Three. Enough for a coven.

I recognised them; the three of them made up the loud, glamorous, hard partying and inseparable core of the cheer squad. They stood backs pressed against the brick wall, grinning at me.

I had them red handed, smoking a spliff and drinking those absurd vodka jello shots that students made at home and smuggled in in beakers liberated from the chemistry labs. This was not the sort of school where you got expelled for anything less than murder, so why not? Still; there was such thing as being suspended from the squad.

The girls were really steaming. I was surprised they could stand up.

"Uhhh, ohhhh. Sorrryy, sir. We just got a bit carried away. Can we just... Skip to the us making it up to you part and right over the us getting in trouble part?" said the ring leader. The other two laughed hysterically.

"We heard you like girls that like girls, sir," she continued. "Maybe we could all just mess about to say sorry to you. You could watch us mess about. Or like, not just watch..."

And with that she took one of her friend's by the pony tail and used it like a handle to bring the girls face down to her and she kissed her. It was a real show. A real show in the sense that they were doing it for effect and barely touching lips at all. All dancing tongues and 'mmm' noises. The girl on the other side giggled and leaned over to join the kiss but stumbled and fell back against the wall.

What was I going to do with them? Other than standing there watching the show. Standing there watching the show was a good start, for sure. But the, "Or, like, not just watch..." part?

Nope. Nothing, was what I was going to do with them.

I knew for a fact they were the three gossipiest girls in the school. If it hadn't been for having Millie last night, I might have cracked, I really might. But I had, so I didn't.

Still, a bit of sexual tension would put a spring in everyone's step. Hmm. What to do, what to do.

In the end I gave them all detention after school so they had time to sober up and wonder just how exactly I would take them up on their offer.

When detention came around it was just those three in one of my favourite tucked away disused corners of the school. A classroom that had been last used to teach something, something, citizenship, something. No-one taught citizenship in this school and more. It was perfect, the girls knew no-one came that way. We'd have total privacy.

I had them sit in different corners and each of them write an essay on how the other two girls should be punished. They were told that the most 'interesting' essay wins and its author gets to watch that punishment inflicted on other two.

I gave them twenty minutes.

They came up one at a time to drop their scrawlings on my desk, page down so the others couldn't read it, then sashayed back to their desks with a lot more wriggle than was strictly necessary.

I sat and read.

They had turned in what was, quite simply, the purplest, most amateur teenage softcore porno crap I had ever read. Full of spanking and rampant hormones.

It was very entertaining to read.

Then I got out my phone and started dialling. They looked confused.

I called Leanne, the supply Phys Ed teacher, the self described and none-too-subtle bull dyke. These cheerleaders would know all about her.

"Ms Conway! I had hoped you would still be on the grounds... You are?" I had told her about this in advance.

"Oh excellent. I wondered if you could help me out. I have to be off on time today, you see, can't be late, but I have three *very* troublesome girls here in detention. You probably know them. They've chosen their own punishments...

"Yes, I had each of them write an essay about exactly how they, personally, should be punished. But like I say, I have to be off. Would you mind... You don't mind?

"You're just around the corner? How convenient. Wonderful, thank you."

I hung up. I watched my three troublemakers as their faces went white.

A minute later I was closing the door on them and Leanne.

Just as I did I heard Leanne address her nervous charges.

"Well, well, well. A starter, a mains, and a dessert. Lucky me."

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