Slaughterhouse High

Futzy took in her ache, her mouse-beauty, the look he had always assumed meant nothing more than bland respect. Now, as she came near, that look softened into something else, something warm and inviting.

"You're… I'm-"

She surged toward him, a velvet dream, her lobebag angling as her head tilted in. A tight lipline puffed and swelled and touched his mouth, tasty, warm, moistening beneath the flicker of her tonguetip.

Some women came at you, when the moment finally arrived for such a bold move, tentatively, their hips seemingly dead, their torsos not much better. Adora Phipps wasn't like that.

Her whole body, behind its deceptive folds of old-lady velvet, exuded urgency, pushing against him in a solid wave of give me, give me.

Futzy's hands glided past her waist to her rump. The fabric slid over naked curves of flesh.

No undergarments.

Adora broke the kiss and hugged him fiercely, grinding herself into him.

"I don't think we should-"

"Shut up, you!" she said, forcing his lips open with hers, tonguing him as her hands snaked below his belt and found his zipper. The mousy little English teacher, bold as any whore, had backed him up against his desk.

His hands rose and clutched as they bunched up vast accumulations of velvet, shoving them up her body like rolls of hippo fat, gathering more and more of the stuff to make them heavier still.

His organ popped out into Adora's hand, just that little bit longer and fatter for the Tuffskin he had beefed himself up with.

She eased him back. Futzy felt hem, naked thighs, and perfectly cuppable buttocks, her cleft moist and jesus christ warm and wondrous where his fingers brushed it.

Something, a pen set, jabbed against his coat. Then it gave way, propelled off the front of the desk to smash against the floor.

Adora pillowed Futzy's head on an unabridged dictionary and climbed aboard him, an animal, this prudish covert brainy genius thrusting her taut love-sleeve down about him, deep to the balls, riding him, her hips in sexy sway, her face hypnotic, her eyelids shut, a sheen of lovesweat even now beginning to glow upon her brow.

Futzy swam in revelation.

Opaque encounters now came clear, the many odd looks she had given him: her love for him, and, far stranger, his love for her.

He wanted her, he needed her, he adored her.

In a matchless conjoining of flesh, Adora rode him, her balance precarious but for Futzy's hold upon her waist. He worried about her knees, a hard polished glass surface to either side of the blotter. But Adora, consumed in ecstasy, paid them no mind. She muffle-moaned into his mouth, getting off, her hip thrusts and her fierce climax bringing him off as well.

Into her sweet waiting lovewomb, Futzy arced his seed, the pair's urgency fueled by years of denial and by what was transpiring in the gym.

Adora collapsed upon him, exhausted, laughing aloud. He fancied the glass top, stretched almost to shattering, might give way beneath them.

"Whew."

"No kidding," he said. "I think you found the gun."

"I most assuredly did." Her eyes glistened above their shared laughter.

He looked at her. "You're my wife!"

"I don't think so."

"No, I mean really you are. We're in a tight spot-"

"Well you certainly are." She gave his cock a vulval squeeze.

"-we, unnngh, I mean there's no time for bullshit at a time like this. We could die at any moment. You and me are crazy to be doing this and I love it. I love you. In the morning, if we're still alive, I'm reclaiming my life, I'm putting my foot down, I'm ordering the sorry bitches I married to pack up and get out."

"They've hurt you," she said. "I've heard stories."

"I let them do it. I needed it. I don't need it any more." It was true. Adora had broken a logjam in him, one that had robbed him of years of happiness.

Right now, however, he had a school full of terrified students to save. but they're all mine. Eventually the little savages would throw off their inanities and insensitivities, straighten the warps in their warped little noggins, and grow into the imperfect adults we've somehow managed, the rest of us, to become.

"I love you, Futzy."

"I love you too, my sweet Adora Phipps." He gave her a quick kiss. "We've got to go." She nodded. "But this isn't over. This has only begun, you understand?"

"I do."

A humming kicked on. The service elevator on the far side of the wall was in operation. During school hours, a host of sounds masked it. But here, at night, with the throb of music no longer pounding in the gym, the elevator's hum could not be mistaken.

They heard its door open.

Something rumbled out, into the hallway, just outside the principal's office.

Futzy helped Adora off, the flesh that joined them reluctant to let go. The snubnose lay in the middle drawer. He drew it out, moving swiftly and soundlessly to the door.

Adora swayed behind him.

Get back, he motioned. Then he yanked the door open.

The stench of death assaulted them.

A clothesrack. A confused tangle of limbs, oddly bent, more flesh than went with two bodies.