Everyone in this story is over eighteen.


“Be good; and if you can’t be good be careful,” her best friend Rory Gilmore’s words repeated in Lane Kim’s head like an old fashioned LP stuck in a groove. “Be good, be good, be good,” the words hammering and ricocheting round her brain like bouncing zings of electricity, until they were no longer they no longer sounded like Rory, but her Mama; no longer friendly, but judgmental, “Be good! Be good! Be good!”

“I’m not a good girl,” said Lane with a burst of defiance.

The girl beside her, retouching her purple lipstick in the mirror of the ladies room, gave her a startled look and then took a step or two along the basins, making sure there was plenty of space between her and the possibly psychotic, though petite, Korean. Lane ignored her and continued to look in the mirror. Her own lip gloss, so carefully applied at Rory’s house was smudged as was the eyeliner, little lines of darkness smearing down where her watering eyes had washed away the dark pencilling. There wasn’t much she could do about either, stupidly she’d left her cosmetics in Rory’s room — which is where she normally hid them, not thinking she’d need them again.

Her lips felt dry and she ran her tongue nervously over them; it didn’t do much for the gloss, but there was a flavour there as well. Or not so much a flavour as a seasoning; bitter and salty, but also a reminder of the tastiest dish Lane had ever had. She licked again, feeling her tongue moisten her lips, continuing until ever last remnant of the cum was gone from her lips. Again she looked in the mirror, she didn’t think she looked like a slut, well not a total slut, her pullover was up her neck and was thick enough you could barely see her braless nipples through it. But just ten minutes ago she’d been crouched down sucking a guy’s dick. Yes, Mama Lane, she said to her mentally to her mother, I was on my knees, with a cock between my lips, giving head like I was born to it. And I was loving it.

The teenager gave a smile in the mirror and flicked back a lock of hair that had fallen from her fringe. She picked up her bag and strode confidently out of the ladies. The guys were just finishing their drinks as she went up to them and she grinned, “You ready to go? Let’s party.”

Earlier that evening

Pursing her lips Lane Kim artfully applied the lip gloss. It was a red, of such a deep hue her Mom would have called it sluttish; though even if it had been so pale a shade that it was barely noticeable Mrs Kim would still have regarded it as fit only to be worn by the Whore of Babylon. Which was why Lane was sitting in her best friend Rory Gilmore’s room getting herself ready for an evening of Rock ‘n’ Roll debauchery; or at least one beer and possibly two if she was feeling really daring. Lippy applied she looked in the window, “Looking hot,” she murmured to herself. She turned to Rory, who was lying on her bed, reading a book, “Are you sure you don’t want to come? You can pay on the door.”

Her friend looked up, “I’ve got some study to do; and I know you rave about the Swinging Warblers, but they’re a bunch of college kids who’ve no sense of either harmony or rhythm right, but cover it by playing very fast.”

That was probably a fair review, Lane inwardly admitted, but the tickets were cheap and, as it was late night Bible reading at the Kim house, Lane needed to be anywhere but home. Mrs Kim had reluctantly agreed to her sleeping over at the Gilmore’s house, probably because Rory would be more than happy to help Lane with her Math assignment and keep under the Korean’s GPA. Despite it all Lane had the grace to blush when her Mama’s friend had called her off with a cheery ‘Be good, at your friend’s, Lane’ only to be chastened by Mrs Kim saying, ‘Be Good. Lane is always a good girl.’ Technically it wasn’t a lie to say she was going to be sleeping over at the Gilmores — even if she wouldn’t get in until after Rory and her Mom were tucked in their beds, dreaming their dreams. Lane smacked her lips together, making sure none of the gloss smeared or smudged over her face, “You okay about me coming in late?” It was about the third or fourth time she’d asked, Lane was nothing if not considerate and so she added, “I’ll be quiet.”

Rory’s head had gone down towards the book, reading a few sentences, before shooting up again, “Yes. It’s fine, I’ll be sleeping like a log. So unless you’re planning to bring some handsome hunky guy back and wake me up with your screams of passion, we’re good.” She smiled to show she wasn’t serious. Lane grunted something that might have been a yes or a no, or something else entirely. She and Rory were probably the last virgins in Stars Hollow and Lane was sick of it. All the girls in class were always giggling as they said what they’d done with their boyfriends over the weekend whilst Lane’s main excitement had been browsing a second hand record store with Rory, followed by coffee at Luke’s. Rory’s smile faltered a bit at her friend’s lack of response and she backtracked, “I mean… I’m only joking Lane, I wasn’t suggesting you’re a slut. You’re good.”

Lane longed not to be, but she forced herself to grin to show there was no offence, “I’m not bringing anyone back… okay unless I find Sebastian Bach in the audience, then all bets are off.” She picked up her bag.

Rory laughed as her best friend headed towards the door, “Be good; and if you can’t be good be careful.”


The couple standing a few feet from Lane were making out passionately, their hands wiggling so quickly over each others bodies as their legs rubbed and wrapped round, so that they looked almost like a two headed octopus. Lane tried to ignore the horny twosome and concentrate on the band. The trouble was the band were shit. She hadn’t been expecting much, but she was sure last time she heard them they’d mostly played in time with each other and the singer’s vocals were roughly the right pitch. They hadn’t so much gone downhill so much as plummeted heard-first into an abyss.

“Oohh Friedrich,” one head of the octopus moaned, “ooooh Friedrich.”

Lane moved away, the sound and sight of the two lovers was making her ache with sexual desire and the cruddiness of the band wasn’t making it easier to act as a distraction. In fact looking at the band made it worse, as the guitarist whipped off his shirt to show a set of well toned pecs, shiny with sweat under the stage lights. Lane tried to ignore his muscular six-pack and listen to the music, trying to guess what cover they were murdering and whether the original singer could claim damages.

“They’re fucking terrible, aren’t they,” a voice behind her sounded. She paused for a second unsure whether the person was talking to her. The voice continued “I can’t say I wasn’t warned – everyone told me they were total dumbasses.”

Shyly Lane twisted round, half-expecting that the speaker would be talking to someone else and she would have to execute a perfect half-turn back, whilst pretending she hadn’t moved at all. The guy was about twenty, a six-foot pack of black muscle in jeans and a T-shirt proclaiming his loyalty to local college. He was smiling at her, which was a good indication that he had been speaking to her. But Lane wasn’t sure, he could just have turned as she did from one of his two friends, leaving his smile still fixed. The diminutive Korean hesitated and the guy spoke again, “Fuck, they’re bad,” he shook his head in despair.

There was no doubt that he was talking to Lane. She nodded, “They’re what’s killing live music.”

The guy grinned, “I’m Don. Brandon and George.” He waved his hand towards the two young men standing next to him. At the sound of his name the one called Brandon gave a friendly nod and hello, he was another early twenty guy in a college shirt, with long blonde hair and the beginnings of a goatee. George paused a moment, still concentrating on the band, before giving a curt nod. He was a lean, almost cadaverous, youth with his blonde hair cropped so short that if he hadn’t been hanging out with a black and a hippy would have easily been mistaken for a neo-Nazi.

“Lane,” she smiled back. He was handsome, with a firm chin and sharp cheekbones; the light from the stage glinting on his bald head.

“You from round here?” he asked.

“Stars Hollow,” she replied, “It’s the next town over.” She gestured towards his top, “You at…”

“Yeah, we’re all sophomores at the University. I’m majoring in Spanish. Brandon’s a English Major and George’s — he’s a science geek, but other than that he’s cool. You on your own?”

“Yes,” said Lane, “I’m staying the night at a friend’s; she’s leaving the key under the mat.”

Don gave a lop-sided grin, “So you can get back late?”

“Yeah, I guess,” said Lane, “but it won’t be too bad. There’s a bus direct to Stars Hollow and it’s still running way after the gig ends.”

“Sure, that’s what I was thinking,” Don replied. He sounded a little stand-offish. He pulled out a packet of cigarettes, “Want one?”

Lane shook up her head and held up her glass, still almost full to the brim with orange juice, “I’m alright.”

“I see you’re a good girl,” said Don, his tone was dry and his face showed sudden disinterest.

Something snapped in Lane. He was the third person to tell her she was ‘good’ in as many hours and all of a sudden she was sick of it, sick of being good little Lane, who always did what she was told and crossed her legs when ever she thought of sex. She didn’t want to go through her life being meek and pitiful and hearing all the other girls’ stories whilst having none of her own. She put her glass on the nearby stand-up table and shook her head, “I’m not good at all.”

“No…” the young man started to say, but he had hardly got the word out before Lane had slammed her mouth onto his. She had to stand on her tiptoes and hug her hands round the back of his neck to pull him down, but he swiftly got the message opening his own mouth and slamming his tongue at hers. His hands went to her waist, pulling her into him, so close that she could feel the throb of his prick beneath his denims; it seemed large.

“Whoah, full on,” grinned Brandon

“Way to go,” added George in a West Coast accent.

Lane was surprised by her own audacity, but any misgivings she might have had were swept away by the way her toes were tingling in excitement, sending up waves of excitement through her body and making her feel warm and alive. Don was kissing back at her hard, one of his hands moving up and down her waist, pushing up the pullover so that he could massage her skin. The other hand was almost still, but as it was squeezing her rump Lane wasn’t complaining. They broke for air and Lane said, “I’m a party girl”

“You sure look like a chick who likes to parrrttttaaaay,” laughed Brandon in agreement.

“A lot,” confirmed Lane and slammed her mouth back against Don. They moved together like dancers on a stage, their legs rubbing up and down each others thighs, his hands both now clamped to her, squeezing hard at her butt and making her wet, whilst hers were wrapped round him, not letting him go. Lane felt her glasses starting to steam up, heat rising from her and Don. It didn’t matter — at the moment sight was less importance than feeling and she was feeling good. She slid one hand from his back and round to his front, feeling daring she rubbed it over the lump in his jeans. She could feel the lump moving and quivering, like a snake waiting to strike. The black guy didn’t seem to mind her touch, his tongue pushed harder into her mouth and his fingers dug deeper at her butt. She continued to stroke at the covered cock, in her mind seeing its length and girth and look. Her own cunt was getting wet and warm at her imaginings, the sex sticking at her panties and making them damp under her own jeans.

“You like naughty Lane?” she pulled her mouth back and stroked harder at him, pushing her palm over his dick, feeling it vibrate in excitement.

“I’m not complaining,” Don barely had time to reply before Lane’s mouth was back on his. The teen had never felt so alive and so absolutely and totally horny ever, not even when she was secretly toying herself when her Mom was asleep nor when she and Rory had watched the secret sex films Lorelai Gilmore hadn’t hidden very well. And she knew she wanted to do more, to touch and feel Don’s manhood and make herself a bad girl Almost without thinking she untwisted the button of his jeans and slid her hand in and under the boxers.

He straightened, his body tensing like a spring, and for a second Lane thought she’d gone too far. But then he relaxed and leant into her, pushing his mouth hard against hers and squeezing her butt like it was play dough. The teen Korean moved her fingers, stroking the cock. It had seemed big when she’d been massaging it under cover, touching it made it seem mountainous. It felt hard and firm; quivering like a taut high tensile wire as she touched it. She tried to place her whole fingers round it so that she could work as she’d heard the cheerleaders describe, but there wasn’t the space in his pants, not unless she wanted to drop them to the floor there and then. Instead she continued to stroke and tease, rubbing at the meat as Don continued to thrust his tongue deep into her and grip her butt so tight she probably could have let her feet leave the floor.

They broke again, and Lane looked at him, “I can’t get my hand round it properly,” she said in a voice which was a mixture of apology and lust. He didn’t say anything, instead giving a small smile and using his eyes to indicate the half-open fire escape. For a second Lane continued to stand close to him, playing with his prick, wondering how far she was going to go. She decided she was certainly going to go further, and make such a story for Rory and the girls at school so that no-one would think she was the geeky goody two-shoes again. Smiling she took her hand out of his jeans, “Let’s go somewhere else.”

“Yeah,” Don agreed. He turned to his buddies and straightened his denims, “Me and Lane are just going off to have some private time.” He grinned as Brandon pushed his tongue into the inside of his cheek and made a suggestive movement with it.

Lane smiled as well, she didn’t want to appear stand-offish as she was sure bad girls didn’t care about their reputations only having fun and Lane was desperate to be a bad girl. She took Don’s hand and walked him towards the fire escape, trying to wiggle her ass at the other two as she did so. There was no-one at the ajar door to stop them pushing through and into a dimly lit and poorly painted corridor. Lane walked along and round a corner. There was a door to a storeroom in front of her. She tried the handle. It opened.

The shelves were packed with cleaning products; soaps, towels, bleach in industrial size containers, mops and buckets — nothing which was likely to be needed until the place had closed and the cleaners began to scrub up from the nights revelry. Lane closed the door behind herself and Don, and then for extra privacy pushed one of the big boxes in front of it. Don gave a nod of approval and moved in front of her, “Where were we?”

“I was about to blow you,” the words were out of Lane’s mouth before she had even thought what they were going to do.

“I could live with that,” grinned Don as Lane dropped down to her knees in front of him.

He unbuttoned his jeans, but it was Lane who reached up and pulled them down to his knees, exposing thighs like tree trunks and a prick like a python. It had seemed big when Lane had been massaging it with her fingers; when out and erect in her face was monstrous. For a few seconds she regretted her words, wondering how she’d ever be able to cope with it in her mouth. However, her worries quickly went, replaced by a rush of warm wetness between her legs. She placed a hand down there and began to rub and push through the denim, pressing at her pussdy. At the same time she began to slide her tongue up and down the dick; it was, surprisingly or not, tasteless. Don shivered in excited anticipation as he was licked, “That’s it, that’s a good girl.”

Lane pulled her tongue back for a minute and purred, “I’m not a good girl. I’m a bad slutty rock chick.”

“Yeah, baby, that’s right; don’t stop, just lick,” murmured Don in reply, “Lick it good, if you want to be a slut cos that’s what bad sluts do.”

“I’m a bad, bad, bad, slut,” giggled Lane and returned to licking the dick. She ran her tongue back and forth over the throbbing black member, pushing at the skin over the tip and slowly running her tongue over his ballsack. She twisted and turned, over the top and down below, her tongue leaving barely a millimetre untouched. All the time Don gave little grunts and moans, his entire body shaking in excitement at what was to come.

Pulling her head back Lane looked at the prick, shining with her saliva. It was still massive, but she was ready for it. She opened her mouth and started to take it. Her mouth felt stretched and it pushed at her tongue and into her cheek and that was with only a quarter of it. She pulled back, looking upwards at the young black man as she did; his handsome face was picture of pleasured ecstasy. His expression gave her the confidence to go down again, taking the prick as deep as she dared and making her eyes water. Don let out a groan, “That’s my slut, my bad slut. Suck it baby, suck it.”

Lane’s head worked down, pushing back the skin on Don’s cock and then pulling back, slurping greedily at his member. She moved faster, sucking as hard as she could as her head bobbed. The thick dick punched at her tonsils, making her eyes water and she struggled not to choke. Her jaw was aching as well, as the huge, hard prong gaped her mouth open, like an oversized lump of candy. She almost would have stopped if it hadn’t been from the grunts of pleasure and mutters of ecstasy coming from Don, “Suck it baby. Suck my big black dick.” Lane carried on, cramming her mouth with cock.

Slowly she began to get used to it, breathing through her nose and moving to rhythm, her tongue, below the dick, struggling to push up and tickle at his muscle. Don was certainly enjoying it, and that made Lane enjoy it as well; especially as she continued to rub at her pussy. She had undone the top button of her jeans and slid a hand down under her panties to rub at her slit; there might not be much room but there was enough to ease the finger in and pleasure the top of her cunt. The harder she touched the more she sucked, and the more she sucked the harder she touched, her own pleasure swelling up through her body and transferring to a groaning Don, “Fuck, baby, suck it, suck it.”

She did, putting every ounce of energy into choking down the dick, sucking and slurping it like a Popsicle, dribbling her saliva out from her lips as she banged back and forth. Never having given a guy a blow she just hoped she was doing it right; from the guttural grunts and pelvic shakes she guessed she was.

Especially as Don suddenly gave a big grunt and gasped, “I’m about to cum.”

Lane remembered some of the girls in the locker room discussing the etiquette of ‘spit or swallow’. Unfortunately she couldn’t remember what the right response was, so deciding you couldn’t go wrong by continuing she carried on bobbing her head back and forth as Don’s body tensed and gush of sperm shot out of his mouth. It was down her throat before she almost realised it, salty, but smooth. Another blast of goo slammed into her mouth as Don groaned, “Yes, fuck, yes.” Lane swallowed at it greedily, unwittingly unleashing another explosive cum shot. She couldn’t take it all down quickly enough and hoped Don didn’t mind as it dribbled over her lips and down her chin. From the stunned happy look on his face Don didn’t care about anything as the last of his seed spurted out to be eaten by Lane.

September 2018
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