Read Online The American Princess - Best Love Story Ever by Jennifer Tate - Free Book Online
Authors: Jennifer Tate
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here isn't gender equality. It's the
containment of a sexually lethal weapon."
She gave him her best happy face. "Okay. You
win. Do with me as you please."
Magic words, he thought. Magic beans? No, not
a believer. But magic words! Is there a guy under eighty who
doesn't recognize them when he hears them? He placed his hand under
her chin and kissed her forehead.
"If you move a little closer, I'll teach you
my rain dance," he said.
"We're going to make it rain?"
"I call it my rain dance, but when done
properly, only you get wet."
"Animal," she said, and moved suggestively
against him.
-12-
BETTY-JO CHANCE & THE DUNG BEETLE
Richard
Wins a Party Favor
If Betty-Jo had blinked she would have missed
it. In less than a nanosecond—or so it seemed—Richard had smashed
the back of her hand onto the table.
"Don't you just hate it when that happens,
Stud Plaything?" His ugly puss was inches away from hers, and the
warm blue eyes were gone: the cold black ones—with their pinprick
pupils—had returned.
Darn right I do! A butt-ugly wimp had just
kicked sand in her face, and the horror of what would soon happen
to her was sinking in fast.
"How can I be delicate about this?" Richard
said. "'Your ass is grass, and I'm your lawnmower.' Tomorrow you'll
wear what I tell you to wear. I want a very short skirt, a garter
belt, black stockings, and a tank top that shows off your tits. I
want you to be looking your decadent best for my clients."
A festive atmosphere blossomed in the
cafeteria. The guys congratulated Richard. They couldn't help
themselves. They were looking forward to the coming good times with
the Dung Beetle's party favor.
Betty-Jo was unable to sleep that night.
The arm wrestle was fair, and I lost it. So
now I'll have to stand and deliver, kneel and deliver, or lie down
and deliver. No matter what position Dungie puts me in; I'll have
to give him what he wants.
When she arrived at school the next day,
looking delectable, Richard smirked and patted her bottom.
"Not bad, Stud Plaything," he said. "You've
packaged my squirrel rather nicely."
She was mortified. "I'm pleased that you're
pleased."
"Time for you to drink out of the toilet," he
said as he shoved construction paper and elastic bands in her
direction. "Make a couple of cone shaped cups for your boobs, the
kind Madonna wears. Then hook these elastic bands together and
staple them to the cones so I can fit them over your tits like a
bra."
When she had finished the pointy
bust-enhancements, she handed them to Richard. He pulled the
elastic over her head and shoulders, and placed the cones over her
breasts, fondling her while he made his adjustments.
She felt nauseous, but what could she do? He
hefted her right breast and wrote, 'Brought To You' on the right
cone, and 'By Richard Whittle' on the other one. Then he taped a
sign to her back. It read: A Buck a Kiss—Two for a Slug Hug—Noon in
the Cafeteria—
"Wear your cone-bra advertisement this
morning, and report to me in the cafeteria at noon."
"I'm not sure these things conform to the
school dress code."
"Don't worry your pretty little head about
that. The teachers will think its all part of an April fools
thing."
Her last hope for salvation was gone. If the
teachers don't help me, I'm doomed....
A long line of guys had already formed to
neck with her when she reported to the cafeteria. All of them had
paid the extra dollar so they could French her. It was party time
with Richard Whittle's party favor.
One after another they pulled her against
them, and tongued her.
"Damn!" Richard said. "I could have charged
twice as much."
"Best thing that's happened to me all year,"
enthused one nerd, when his turn was over. "Don't go away, B-J, I'm
coming back for seconds."
When the line finally began to dwindle,
Richard placed a professional sized Frisbee on the lunchroom floor,
filled it with a tin of dog food, added water, and stirred. "Lunch
time," he said. "On your hands and
containment of a sexually lethal weapon."
She gave him her best happy face. "Okay. You
win. Do with me as you please."
Magic words, he thought. Magic beans? No, not
a believer. But magic words! Is there a guy under eighty who
doesn't recognize them when he hears them? He placed his hand under
her chin and kissed her forehead.
"If you move a little closer, I'll teach you
my rain dance," he said.
"We're going to make it rain?"
"I call it my rain dance, but when done
properly, only you get wet."
"Animal," she said, and moved suggestively
against him.
-12-
BETTY-JO CHANCE & THE DUNG BEETLE
Richard
Wins a Party Favor
If Betty-Jo had blinked she would have missed
it. In less than a nanosecond—or so it seemed—Richard had smashed
the back of her hand onto the table.
"Don't you just hate it when that happens,
Stud Plaything?" His ugly puss was inches away from hers, and the
warm blue eyes were gone: the cold black ones—with their pinprick
pupils—had returned.
Darn right I do! A butt-ugly wimp had just
kicked sand in her face, and the horror of what would soon happen
to her was sinking in fast.
"How can I be delicate about this?" Richard
said. "'Your ass is grass, and I'm your lawnmower.' Tomorrow you'll
wear what I tell you to wear. I want a very short skirt, a garter
belt, black stockings, and a tank top that shows off your tits. I
want you to be looking your decadent best for my clients."
A festive atmosphere blossomed in the
cafeteria. The guys congratulated Richard. They couldn't help
themselves. They were looking forward to the coming good times with
the Dung Beetle's party favor.
Betty-Jo was unable to sleep that night.
The arm wrestle was fair, and I lost it. So
now I'll have to stand and deliver, kneel and deliver, or lie down
and deliver. No matter what position Dungie puts me in; I'll have
to give him what he wants.
When she arrived at school the next day,
looking delectable, Richard smirked and patted her bottom.
"Not bad, Stud Plaything," he said. "You've
packaged my squirrel rather nicely."
She was mortified. "I'm pleased that you're
pleased."
"Time for you to drink out of the toilet," he
said as he shoved construction paper and elastic bands in her
direction. "Make a couple of cone shaped cups for your boobs, the
kind Madonna wears. Then hook these elastic bands together and
staple them to the cones so I can fit them over your tits like a
bra."
When she had finished the pointy
bust-enhancements, she handed them to Richard. He pulled the
elastic over her head and shoulders, and placed the cones over her
breasts, fondling her while he made his adjustments.
She felt nauseous, but what could she do? He
hefted her right breast and wrote, 'Brought To You' on the right
cone, and 'By Richard Whittle' on the other one. Then he taped a
sign to her back. It read: A Buck a Kiss—Two for a Slug Hug—Noon in
the Cafeteria—
"Wear your cone-bra advertisement this
morning, and report to me in the cafeteria at noon."
"I'm not sure these things conform to the
school dress code."
"Don't worry your pretty little head about
that. The teachers will think its all part of an April fools
thing."
Her last hope for salvation was gone. If the
teachers don't help me, I'm doomed....
A long line of guys had already formed to
neck with her when she reported to the cafeteria. All of them had
paid the extra dollar so they could French her. It was party time
with Richard Whittle's party favor.
One after another they pulled her against
them, and tongued her.
"Damn!" Richard said. "I could have charged
twice as much."
"Best thing that's happened to me all year,"
enthused one nerd, when his turn was over. "Don't go away, B-J, I'm
coming back for seconds."
When the line finally began to dwindle,
Richard placed a professional sized Frisbee on the lunchroom floor,
filled it with a tin of dog food, added water, and stirred. "Lunch
time," he said. "On your hands and
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