She Has a Picnic by Mr. Nobody --This is intended for mature readers. Don't read it if you are offended by explicit sexual violence. -- It was ten-thirty and Davey sat in his truck, waiting for Chrissy. Sunday school kids would soon climb the stairs and exit the basement of the small church. Cars were now arriving -- parents picking up kids, parents joining kids for the eleven o'clock service. Davey and Chrissy had already done the eight o'clock. She stayed to teach Sunday school and he went home. His parent's farm was nearly ten miles outside of town. He changed into something comfortable and then gassed up his truck before returning to fetch Chrissy. She'd be a little late, as usual. Chrissy liked staying around to help. Several of the Sunday school teachers pitched in to move the partitions in the multi-purpose room. Space had to be cleared for the reception after the late service. That's when people congregated in the basement and ate cookies and drank coffee and weak punch. She finally came out and saw Davey in his truck. She's a pretty girl, probably the most pretty in the local high school. Very tall and athletic. Then again, Davey's no slouch, a big, strapping farm boy who stars on the football team. They make a good couple, Davey and Chrissy do. Mrs. Monash called out to Chrissy in the parking lot and the two talked for a moment. The elderly woman would be leaving soon to tend to her ill sister in Cleveland. Chrissy kissed the woman and wished her well. Then she waved at her boyfriend and hurried to his truck, sliding across the front seat to kiss him on the cheek. Her hand clutched a fist-full of Sunday school materials, plus her Bible. She was a conservative dresser -- a pair of rose-colored pleated slacks, a cotton sweater, and her favorite dress sandals. She lived but four blocks from church. Her dad stood outside, ready for the second service at the church. Chrissy and Davey pulled up in front. "Hiya, Mr. Emory," Davey shouted to him as he and Chrissy went on inside. Mr. Emory smiled and waved, but said nothing as he picked at some roses on a vine. Church was in a few minutes and he preferred to wait outside for his wife, who was late as usual. Chrissy ran upstairs to her room. Davey stepped over her little brother who occupied a strategic piece of the living room floor while watching television. He had just come home from Sunday school with a friend. "Hey squirt," and Davey ducked the little boy's feeble attempt at making him trip. In the kitchen, dressed for church, Chrissy's mom finished packing the lunch. "How's my boy?" and she patted Davey's cheek and kissed the other, she stepping up on her toes to reach the tall boy and he stooping to greet her. "You kids know where you're going?" "No. We'll find some place." The plan was for a picnic. They had done this last week after church, but it had been more spontaneous, without the sandwiches. This week they decided to go more prepared. It was Mrs. Emory's idea to pack an entire meal. "Okay. Well you two be careful, hear me? I've added extra sandwiches and potato salad. Chris said Stan and Marcy might meet up with you." "Thank you," and he leaned to kiss Chrissy's mother on the cheek, grabbing the old-fashioned picnic basket from her hand. His girl came bounding down the stairs, the thudding sound of her feet too loud for her mother's ears. "Chrisssseeee, you stop jumping like that!" "Okay, Ma." Chrissy smiled, her arm around Davey, the two anxious to get going. She wore a nylon warm-up shell and matching nylon warm-up pants, the kind that snap up the legs for easy removal. Underneath, she wore her school tee-shirt and running shorts. Davey was in an old lumberjack shirt and jeans. "It might be getting' cool out there. You have enough?" The mother looked at her daughter's preparations and then up to Davey. He smiled, "Yeah, I have a sweatshirt in the truck. If it gets that cold, we'll set in the cab and eat." "Okay, I'll grab something." Chrissy ran back upstairs for a sweatshirt. With that, the two kids left, both stepping over the little boy on the living room floor, waving good-bye to an irritated father out front, and driving off south of town. Chrissy cuddled next to Davey. It's called Carter's Lake, one of many small ones that dot the rolling foothills south of town. A mildly forested area, but a tad dry for anything other than evergreens and the occasional Joshua tree. It's an arid region at best. Carter's is spring-fed. Up higher, in the mountains to the distance, the lakes are volcanic in origin and fed by run-off. Carter is the result of glacial movements, so not as deep, not as blue. Again, like all the others, it offers up nice scenery, privacy, and, if the Fish Department has done its job, ample trout. A small road leads to it, a road better suited for a truck like Davey's. The teenager angled his vehicle up the steep rise and down the other side to the lake. In the distance they could see Mr. Baird's car. "Wow," Davey muttered, "amazing he got that thing up here." "Mr. Baird!" Davey shouted as he climbed from his truck. Chrissy waved, too, and went to the rear of the truck to grab the picnic basket. Davey walked over, extending his hand for a shake. "Told ya we'd bring that lunch if you'd let us watch." "My-oh-my. Aren't you kids somethin'!" He was a small man, maybe in his very late fifties. He lived in the big city, hours away. Three Sundays ago he drove to this lake to paint and two weeks ago he met these two teens. The three hit it off. He showed them how he painted, his equipment, and some minor techniques. In his back seat, wrapped in cheesecloth, he had several works he carried around, meaning some day to find frames for them. Davey and Chrissy expressed interest in his work. Their pleasant manner impressed the man. "We'd like to watch you do this more, if you don't mind." That was last week. "I'd love for you to, but next Sunday's my last." It was then that Chrissy had the idea of coming back today with a picnic lunch for the three of them. It was their way, so to speak, to make up for their intrusion. Baird and Davey stood there and talked a while. "When you said you'd bring some lunch, well heck, Davey, I had no idea." He looked at Chrissy lift a huge picnic basket from the truck. "What on earth did she do, pack for an army?" The man laughed. So did Davey. "No, we've got a picnic quilt in there too. Chrissy's mom packed the lunch, so you have her to thank. Chicken, sandwiches. Wait'll you taste her lemonade." "Well....," moved by the generosity and kindness, "I'm very appreciative." He put down his paint brush and wiped his hands clean with an oily rag. He and Davey walked back in Chrissy's direction. The grass around the shoreline was tall, so they used a foot trail. Chrissy spread a large quilt on the soft grass next to the truck. Fifteen feet ahead of them the water of the lake lapped the shoreline. A large ash tree provided shade. The sun was intense and hot, but the breeze maintained an autumn chill. Each sat on a corner of the quilt, a triangle of sorts. The basket sat in the center and Chrissy stood on her knees, handing out food and drink, sandwiches, cold chicken, and a cannister of fresh lemonade which she poured into everyone's tumblers. "Boy," smacking his lips, "I can't say enough." Chrissy and Davey smiled appreciatively as Mr. Baird boomed in gratitude. Davey rolled on his back, staring into the sun, one leg propped on his elevated knee, bouncing his foot, dipping the remains of sandwich number one into his mouth. Beyond his feet, Chrissy sat with her legs crossed and a paper plate balanced on her lap. She ate potato salad with a plastic fork. Mr. Baird faced both of them, using the top of the picnic basket as a tray for his plate and drink. The three chit-chatted. Some of the conversation was between the two kids, personal or family or school conversation. Most of the time, all three talked. ".... and when you finish this one, what's your next picture? .... you kids grow up here; this your home? .... rebuilt the engine, oh, two years ago, with my dad; I've got maybe forty thousand miles on it since then. Love it. Great truck. You into trucks? .... my dad runs a hardware store. Mom's a nurse. Nope, dad's the tall one; I took after him, not mom. .... well, it's a long story. Sold insurance for years, divorced, moved out here, let's see, in 1970 and retired just two years ago. .... oh, I don't know. Mom and dad want me to do something other than farm, but we'll see. Depends if I get a football scholarship. .... I run track. Just ask Davey. I can whup his rear! I used to do gymnastics, but I quit. .... for relaxation -- son, I paint for pure relaxation. And, no, never sold one. My friends like for me to paint for them, so this one's going to a neighbor. .... yeah, Davey won't admit it, but I'm faster. .... never was much of an athlete. My daughter played tennis in college. I have another daughter, but she's not much into sports. .... don't listen to a word she says, Mr. Baird. She may be buff, but she ain't THAT buff. He-he!" Casual, aimless conversation. Peeks into personal lives. The enchanting ways of two kids jousting with each other, mildly in competition. Davey rolled onto his stomach. "Oh, Jeez, am I ever full." He placed his hands under the side of his face, as a pillow. Mr. Baird scooped up more potato salad. Chrissy got up and grabbed the camera from the cab and stood over her boyfriend and took a picture. She lowered and sat on her haunches, his head touching her knees. She reached forward and massaged her boyfriend's shoulders, the heat of the sun and the fullness of his stomach nearly sending him to sleep. "Oh my, babe, don't stop. That feels so nice.... so nice." Chrissy smiled at Mr. Baird as she massaged Davey. "He loves this. My hands are strong." She looked back at her beau, down his long body. Mr. Baird chewed and took a deep breath of relaxation through his nostrils. He watched Chrissy for a moment, then the boy. "You asleep, Davey?" but the boy did not reply. Mr. Baird then wiped a dollop of mayonnaise from his shirt. "Almost." Davey's delayed reply indicated the stupor from being massaged in the hot sun. Chrissy stopped and slapped her hands on her thighs, and stood. "Okay, buster. Enough." She began picking up plates and putting used utensiles in a plastic bag, working her way around the quilt, bending over for this, for that. Davey rolled on his side, propping up on his elbow to talk to Mr. Baird as Chrissy went about her way to and fro, taking the basket to the truck and returning with three plates full of chocolate cake. Mr. Baird's eyes grew wide. The man went on and on about the food and Chrissy kneeled to her knees and dug into the cake along with her guest. Davey played with his, running his fork through the icing and licking it clean. He looked up at Chrissy, smiling. "Wanna rub me again, huh?" "Heck no." She laughed at him, regarding him as silly. "One massage is enough, lunkhead. Eat your cake and consider yourself lucky I massage you at all." She smiled at her boyfriend. Her playfully stern response earned a friendly stare from Mr. Baird. She turned to him. "Can you believe this guy? Jeez!" Davey smiled at Mr. Baird as well. "Yup, guess she's right. I should consider myself lucky. Last thing I want is her gettin' mad at me. When she's mad, I'm afraid she'll break my neck with those hands." Chrissy smiled, not with embarrassment, but with a tinge of pride. Mr. Baird spoke with cake in his mouth, "Chrissy, you got me all scared now. Please, no hands!" All three roared. "Come on, Davey! Really. You make me sound like some sort of beast." She looked at Mr. Baird, her head nodding Davey's way, "He's just jealous. I can take him any day." "Yeah, yeah, you and what army?" Davey shook his head and winked at Mr. Baird with that one. "See, Mr. Baird, see what I have to put up with?" She got up and put her plate into a trash bag and placed the bag in the truck bed. Then she walked around the quilt. Mr. Baird still worked on his cake, as did Davey. Chrissy worked around the area and stood behind Mr. Baird and looked down at him. She cocked her head and looked at him seriously. A smile grew and her head cocked in the opposite direction. Davey sat up. She towered over the little man. Davey watched her. He put his plate on the quilt and crossed his legs. He watched her jaw rock back and forth and her smile grow impudent. Her eyes shot to him and then back to Mr. Baird, and then back to Davey again. Her smile faded. She looked detached, blank, unfeeling. She unsnapped the top button of her nylon shell, staring off into the distance, knowing Davey was watching her do this. She used both hands. They looked strong as she gripped the front of her shell. She stopped before unsnapping the second one and made two fists that pulled on her shell, her mouth dropping open as the snap popped open. Then, the next snap. Tugging, pulling until it opened, and her big eyes peered down her nose at Mr. Baird as the snap popped open, an insouciant look, a barely audible grunt that Mr. Baird did not recognize, "Unnnnh." She shifted weight on her hips and moved her feet far apart, the slick material of her pants making a "zip-zip-zip" sound as her legs moved. She slid opposed fists to the next snap, "UNNNNGH!" and grunted more loudly, more sexily. Davey watched her look at Mr. Baird repugnantly, like she didn't like him any more, like she had no respect for him, like she wanted to play with him. Chrissy looked hungry. She paused. The man was oblivious to what was going on to his rear. "Mr. Baird, you look like you need a neck rub." Mr. Baird smiled in a way that more or less ignored her, smoothing the icing with his fork, then licking his fork. He nodded at Davey, more to acknowledge the terrific cake icing than Chrissy's suggestion. She let the sides of her shell flap in the breeze. "Huh, Mr. Baird, need a neck rub?" speaking again. Finally he responded. His head nodded at his cake plate. "Love one, but not now. Gotta get back to my work." He scraped his plate one more time, licking his fork and pulling it slowly from his mouth. Mr. Baird did not look up to watch Chrissy, who he though was much more distant from him than she really was. He gave a glance over his shoulder, but it didn't cast a gaze high enough to see her shell fall from her body. Chrissy let her chest swell and her shoulders roll back so the shell could slide off her arms. Davey smiled at how good she looked, her sassy way, her lips puckering as she stared at the man, a dismissive pucker, a bad-girl pucker. Her lips pursed, her sensual smile pulling until her teeth bared and gently bit down on her lower lip. Davey felt his penis stiffen as he watched the shell flap in the breeze, her arms reaching back behind her to let it catch the wind and parachute into the tall grass. Her shoulders are broad, broader and more shapely than any other girl in school, and she knows it. She sits across from Davey in the cafeteria, her legs reaching under the table and discretely grabbing his feet, her foot playing with him. She looks over his shoulder at Jennie Williams and looks back at Davey. She makes a comparison between herself and the completely unathletic Jennie, a comparison so outrageously contrived to be laughably unflattering. Her facetious question about who has the best body, the best shoulders, makes Davey's erection so big he cannot think of how to return to class without being noticed. Davey watched her standing behind Mr. Baird, watched her reach across her chest and scratch her other arm. Arms Davey once told her could get her on the football squad. Chrissy looked at her arm and smiled at it, now smiling down on the man. She made a fist that tightened her athletic arm and Davey coughed on his lemonade. Mr. Baird worked on his cake icing. "Say, Davey, who teaches art at your school?" Davey ignored the irrelevant question and watched his girl sink to her knees closely behind the man and place her hand gently on his shoulder. "Nope." At the slightest sensation of her touch, he smiled to Davey and moved away from her. He did so courtesouly, without alarm. His shoulder dipped beyond her reach, more a statement than a successful escape. "No, Chrissy, you don't need to...." "Oh!" and hers was a playful command, "just a small ruhhhhb! Davey likes it all the time. Come on." She played hurt with her voice, a plaintive voice. "No," dipping his shoulder again at her second touch. A movement, a facial expression, a tone now suggesting mild irritation with her insistence. "As much as I COULD use one, Chrissy, not now. Thanks anyway. Hey, do him," and he nodded to her boyfriend. "She means well, Mr. Baird," Davey said seriously. "She's very good at it." This wasn't the urging of youthful impetuousness, but a reassurance that nothing was wrong, that it was okay with him. "Heck, I don't mind. Let her if she wants. Besides.... feels great!" "Come on. I won't bite!" Her hand rested on his shoulder. It was a light touch she applied. Mr. Baird said nothing and sat up in acquiesence. She gently grabbed his collarbones and began a slow but not terribly penetrating massage. "See?" Davey tilted his head and raised his eyebrows, "Feels good, doesn't it?" He watched Mr. Baird shrug and sit up to accommodate Chrissy, to keep her from having to lean forward so much. "DAMN! MOTHER ALMIGHTY!" Baird literally jolted forward as if hit by a bolt of lightning, his shoulders lunging in unison as his body turned left and then right, and then left and then right to somehow, someway, break free. But she kept her grip, her iron grip sinking her fingers into soft, vulnerable shoulders. She pinched him hard, digging into him, not letting up, holding on, falling forward onto his back as he attempted to crawl away from her on all fours, screaming wildly. "LET GO. LET GO OF ME!" Chrissy squeaked sadistic pleasure, her mouth falling open in awe of hurting him so much, and she tightened until it turned her on. She rode his back for a moment, feeling herself rub against him, pressing against him. "What? What, Mr. Baird? That hurt, Mr. Baird?" She winked at Davey. "DAMMIT, GET OFF! Why are you.... PLEASE, OH that.... tha.... hurts!" Her smile was snotty. "How's that, Mr. Baird?" She bit her lower lip as her strong hands pushed him down and buckled his elbows. She drove his head into the quilt. "No.... DAMN!" Taunting, belittling, playing. "And that, Mr. Bairrrrd, that hurt. Huh, Mr. BAIRRRRD?" Her hands twisted the weak muscle and small bones. "Yeah, what's wrong, my girl hurtin' you?" and Davey's complicity weighed in. Her arm snaked the neck quickly, and decisively. Her shit-grin of nasty intention turned in, speaking into his ear, her sexy teeth tugging on his lobe. "Like that, fuckhead, huh?" and she jerked his neck with a powerful crimping movement, her teeth pulling his ear, her lips spreading. She straightened up on her knees and squared her broad shoulders. Her right arm yanked his neck and pulled him, and then let him slide down her side a tad, yanking again and pulling him up. She had good technique and one-armed the adult male with confidence, out-muscling him with ease. It aroused her. He couldn't get his feet under his body and leverage himself against her. His legs stretched out too far and never achieved traction on the quilt. His mistake was in not reaching up to slap her, to claw at her face, to pull on her hair. Instead, he grabbed the muscular arm in a fruitless attempt to overpower her grip. It was erotically pathetic. She stared into the distance as he struggled cloyingly, finding him tedious, hoping for something more physically challenge. There was nothing. Davey nearly fell backwards, mesmerized as his buff girlfriend unleashed and unhinged her self-restraint. She looked at him almost without expression, arrogantly triumphant, her mouth wide, erotically beckoning his awe, moaning as she breathed, her arm manhandling the neck back and forth, up and down, Baird's tongue rolling out puffy-like, his eyes bulging, his stare glassy-eyed and unfocused, his defenses useless. Baird reached to Davey for help, his fingertips wiggling at him to make contact. "I-I beyyy-beyyyg, pleee.... pulllleeeez." Davey watched his face slowly turn dark. "Unnnnh! Unnnnggggh!" Chrissy's moans became deeper, huskier. She grabbed her fist with her free hand and pumped Baird, pulling his head up to her right breast, her mouth inches from his scalp, her eyes studying the technique she applied. The grip vibrated her face. Davey was ready to explode in his pants. His head tilted back, his eyes half-lidded, and his pelvis bucked as his hand rubbed his jeans, things happening too fast to unzip and masturbate skin on skin. "He's easy, Davey," staring at Baird's hair. Her bravura made Davey's penis sting. She watched her arm with a feint smile. "See, see how easy?" She pumped him more. An erotic contrast, her brawn and his furrowed facial fat, his lips fish-puckering and his spit bubbling, her arm an anaconda. Her glare riveted to the head, with a confidence that oozed evil, she spoke to Davey. "I'll break him, if you cum." She wasn't angling for a treat from Davey. No, she simply stated the way it would be. Her arm jerked the head to underscore Baird's fate. "Only when I say." She paused, awaiting Davey. Moaning. "Lots of it." It's almost always in the truck where Chrissy makes Davey cum, when they're out alone and no one's suspecting or seeing them. The two are a known pair at school, but not the syrupy, public-type couple you see hanging on each other at every event. No, Chrissy is the sweet girl, the good girl, the model girl. She's a girl who saves it for when she's alone with Davey. You wouldn't know this Chrissy at school, at church, or at the hospital. After school is inconvenient. Davey has football. She has track practise or hospital work with the elderly. The best is actually after church on Sundays, after she gets out of Sunday school. They can park for an hour or two. Chrissy makes Davey cum by seducing him. She plants her foot on the steering wheel with her back to the door, pulling up her skirt as her legs spread, and Davey can't control himself. She sticks her foot in his face and makes him suck her toe, or she makes him lean forward and lick both shapely legs. He slides his neck between the spitty skin to her panties. "I can break your neck." Her thighs close on Davey and he shouts in ecstacy. One Sunday she holds Davey. "How'd I look next to Blevins?" she coos, asking him as he nuzzles his nose into her crotch. She went to the front of Ms. Blevins' class on Thursday and wrote a verse on the board, reaching up, standing on her toes. Ms. Blevins stood there and read the verse aloud. Davey looked at both of them next to each other, Chrissy on her toes, writing away, and Ms. Blevins, a nice woman, but a skinny woman. Chrissy looked so healthy, so much so it made him leak at his desk. Next to the poor teacher, well.... remembering her that day makes Davey nuzzle his nose harder against his girl's mound. She lets him sit up and they watch him spurt on the dashboard. He pulls down his pants very quickly and turns sideways so she can calf-fuck him, pointing her feet to flex and slapping her calves against his football star organ. Her legs go up and down, making him flow like lava on her skin, making her slippery, gooey. Chrissy rocks her jaw for him in the way that drives him nuts, and rocks it to the rhythm of her leg movements, her eyes drinking in the semen, her chest releasing a thick contralto of self-indulgence. "I love cum, I love it." Chrissy stood looking down on the suffering painter. He assumed a fetal position, his hands clasping at his neck. Clipping her heel on her toe, she popped off her sandal, and then the other. Then she reached down, her eyes never leaving Baird, and ripped open the snaps on both of her pant legs, then untying the string around her waist and letting the warm-up pants drop to her ankles. She kicked them away with a sweep of her left foot. Wild, amazingly wild calves on the girl. Legs that drive Davey crazy, or any sane male. It's often an impediment to normal behavior, so Chrissy keeps herself in pants or slacks, exercising self-restraint when around others. Most of the time. Her best friend, a life-long friend, WAS sweet Betsy Truitt. Betsy WAS Davey's girl. Chrissy bums a ride from Davey one day. She's almost sickeningly dangerous in a skirt, a skirt that rides up her curvy legs as she twists in place and faces Davey. Poor Davey, he can barely keep his truck on the road. "Something wrong, Davey?" She stares at Davey's sweaty brow. "Doesn't Betsy have legs?" Davey's never been alone with someone this quality. As the ashened boy drops Chrissy at her house, he has to drive home in the winter air with his window rolled down to dry his pants. He's never had to do this before, but it becomes commonplace thereafter with Chrissy. Her calves casually around the neck of Mr. Baird was almost too much for Davey to handle, too much for any normal person to comprehend. Chrissy could get a hard-on from a castrato sitting like that, looking as she did, so preparatory to something, so frighteningly dominant, her legs slowly serpentining the weak neck cold-heartedly, playfully, her look so terribly insolent. Davey sat near her feet. She looked back and forth between him and Baird, sometimes snapping tight on the man, sometimes allowing a grunt to accompany the cadence of her pulsating constrictions, sometimes showing off, pressing her calf to his face to show how much her muscles covered. It was a slip-scissors. She slid her right shin under the back of his neck with his face staring vacantly at the sky. Her left calf pushed down on his forehead and bent his neck around her shin, pulling his mouth open in the process. She amplified by elevating her shin, her top leg capitalizing on the extra travel of his head. Davey watched her calf spread over the forehead and eyes and nose, her feet clasping together to form a fulcrum. A slightly dismissive smirk, the kind designed to register indifference, automaticity, unstoppability. She never watched Baird. She watched Davey instead. His eyes widened like a child in a candy store. Clean, steady, as if needing no rehearsal, as if preternaturally disposed to this, she straightened her top leg and bent Baird backwards and down until the man's body shuddered. Chrissy gave out a squeak, a sexy exhale, and licked the bottom ridge of her upper teeth. She looked very smug. But she proved remorseless. She released her top leg and pushed the flat of her foot down on his forehead until the man's neck was so distended his Adam's Apple stood up like a big knuckle underneath the stretched skin of his throat. She stared at Davey as she pushed, seeing if Davey could take it as much as she certainly could, seeing if it turned Davey on as much as turned her on, pushing on Baird's forehead until gristle-like pop in the man's neck. She scooted on her butt, pulling on Baird and moving him on the quilt. She positioned his shoulders between her legs with his face to her crotch. Chrissy figure-foured Baird. Her left calf crossed the back of his skull and her left foot locked behind her other leg. She rocked forward and applied pressure to the face with her crotch. Her eyes slowly closed as her pelvis rubbed him into her running shorts, into her sports panties, into her clitoris. She barked and she rocked her body. Her shoulders spread full and her big arms hung loose. Her mid-section swayed around and around with Baird captured in her legs. Her upper lip curled like a nasty girl feeling good about herself, her yelps those of a very profound orgasm. "Get over here!" she snarled at Davey. "Cum, now! On my legs." Davey scurried on his knees, straddling Baird's body and nestling himself as close as possibe to Chrissy, unzipping his pants with worry it might be too late. It wasn't. "No. No hands." He blew gizz across Chrissy's front, splatting her shirt and Baird's head. Her breathing intensified, her words barely unable to find escape from her gasps. "No-no.... ju-just my legs!" and Davey moved his pelvis to aim at her legs, especially that big calf across the skull, as she reached with her eyes closed, seeing by feeling, and her hand spread it around on her skin. It is a few minutes later and Chrissy finishes a second piece of cake, sunning her legs and arms. Davey paces. He worries about the semen on Baird. His behavior pressures her. She slips on her warm-up pants, although his cum still a little sticky. "Okay, then." She drags the body to the shoreline and kicks the shoulder to roll Baird face down into the shallow, muddy water, thus obscuring Davey's evidence forever. She stands in the water with one foot on the back of Baird's head, pushing his face into the mud, "Well....?" The ball of her foot twists on Baird's scalp. She looks at Davey, "Satisfied now?" They return to her house by five and Chrissy leans against Davey in the cab of the truck. She kisses him. "Seven-thirty?" Davey nods. Tomorrow is school. "I'll be here. You have mud on your pants, you know." Chrissy looks at her warm-up pants and rubs away the dried mud. "That's about it, but let's check." She turns and faces Davey, pulling snaps apart on her jacket shell. Both of them stare at the large splotches across her school insignia. "Nope. No blood." She pauses, her head slowly lifting and her mouth slowly opening sexily at him, her head cocking slightly. "Nope, just cum." She giggles and scrunches her nose for him. "Lots of cum." Chrissy slides out the cab and sticks her head back inside the window. "I don't think my mom knows what it is, anyway." Davey watches her shapely butt swagger to the door of her house. He hits the accelerator and drives home with the wind blowing on his pants. Inside, his girl helps her mother with dinner. Later that evening, she uses a tweezers and removes a rose thorn from her dad's thumb. Her brother scuffles with her on the living room floor. She goes to bed, reads, and grows tired. She turns off the light and slides under the cool sheets. Her hand reaches down and her fingers rub her shin. She picks at it. The crusty cum flakes off. She sleeps like a rock.