The Bully Chapter 1

Bully Chapter 1

Life is periods of hardship, where every step feels like dragging the world with you, or the glacial progress of smashing your head against a brick wall to dig a tunnel. In between, the good times, the happy times are where memories are made – the good ones at least. Moments you cherish, moments you remember fondly in later days.

This was, sadly, not a happy period for Mike. Indeed it was more of a struggle than he could remember. He was in his final year of college, studying Geology, and the year had not gone well. Mike had submitted two proposals for his thesis, both of which had been rejected on – what he felt were – spurious grounds at best.

It didn't help that, throughout the previous year, he had struggled to find a permanent place to stay. Every time he moved in somewhere either they flaked out on the rent, or couldn't put up with his all night writing sessions.

Mike had just been forced to move out of an apartment he was certain he could have sunk his feet into if the supervisor hadn't raised the rent. He could have afforded the place before, barely, but now he had no choice but to try to find somewhere else.

Of course, a month into the start of the semester, there was nothing affordable near campus left. He had spent hours online scrolling through message boards, listings, facebook and more. Nothing was left.

Nothing, of course, save for Jamieson Halls. The bottom of the barrel of student accommodation, an apartment complex which he knew housed mostly vigilantes and delinquents. Rumours built on rumours, as he had never been there himself, but had heard plenty of tales about it.

He had no choice, though, if he didn't want to live out of a shelter for the rest of his degree. As such he trodded onwards, carrying two hard-card boxes in which the sum total of his research thus far into what he hoped would be his third and final proposal.

Even this apartment, more than a mile from campus, in a place he didn't want to live, would have been unaffordable – but it was shared accommodation. He had no idea who his new room mate would be. However, he had no choice. It had been that or the gutter, so he simply hoped his room mate would be on the right side of sane.

By the time he got there, the sun was already dimming in the sky. The owners had mailed him a key, as he had already paid up front for the first month as part of the deal. He realised, as he rounded a corner and took in the building for the first time, why else they might have chosen not to meet him there in person.

The place was, to put it politely, poorly maintained. As he went to open the security gate of the compound, pulling out the keys and placing his hand on it, he felt it swing open without needing to be unlocked. Mike shook his head, disbelievingly, hoping the door of his and his soon-to-be-roommate's apartment was at least in working order.

The place looked like a motel from the 70's, with what had probably once been sleek and curved painted fixtures now bared concrete, with the cracks of age showing.

As he entered the foyer, walking past a long since emptied pool which seemed now only to collect stains, his eyes were met by two pairs in return, glowing from the shade of one arm of the building. Making sure to square his shoulders and, fixedly, stare directly ahead while never letting them out of his line of sight.

Something about their glinting stares cut right through him. He instantly felt as though he did not belong, no... that he was not wanted there. They stood in the arch of a tunnel that led through to the other side of the once-motel. They stared directly at him every step of the way until, at last, Mike rounded a corner and leaned against a wall, panting. He could feel their gaze on him still, as though they had left some mark upon him.

When he had checked to make sure they hadn't followed him, he relented and moved around the building, fruitlessly spending ten minutes looking for a front desk; he found what had probably once been the front office was now a cob-webbed mess.

Resigned, he decided to just get into his apartment, take stock of his situation and – with any luck – get through this year alive. The open riser staircase threatened to trip him with each step, as he carefully balanced two heaving boxes of his work, until at last he reached the landing and walked around.

The view of the sunset was, at least, quite pretty from here. The old compound was quite spacious, leaving a bit of room between the neighbouring buildings. However, he felt he wasn't entirely safe to enjoy it as the sunlight ebbed away, and moved as quickly as he dared past door after door.

3B, 4B... he strolled past each, assuming they were in order but not wanting to risk it, until he noticed that what should have been 6B was ajar. Pausing for a moment, he peered into the murky depths of the crack in the door, before a manic face appeared.

“YOU THE PIZZA GUY!?” came a shrill voice.

Mike found it suddenly possible to move much quicker, arriving at his door, 8B, and began to fumble for his keys. When that failed, he started knocking hurriedly, and kept his eyes fixed back at the door which was now slowly opening.

Suddenly, his knuckles were hitting empty air as – with a click – the door opened.

“You the pizza guy?” came a cool... almost familiar voice.

Mike felt his blood run cold, as that voice unlocked memories he had buried some time ago. He felt the strength in his arms, already weak from the journey, give way as his boxes collapsed to the floor.

His eyes were suddenly filled with a neon pink crop top, half discarded, with one strap hanging from her shoulder. Even had it not been, the fabric was struggling to contain her impressive bosom, barely able to pass the curves of her breasts. Black hair hung and cascaded down across her chest, a single blonde streak running through it. The girl's hips swelled wide, similarly straining their skimpy confinement, as a tiny pair of gym shorts was wrapped around her thighs and losing the battle.

She held herself loose, but the figure was imposing nonetheless. In her hands was a notebook from which she hadn't yet looked up, where she was writing something down. He couldn't see her face past it, but he didn't need to. He knew who it was, almost instinctually, even if his mind was trying to convince him otherwise.

There in front of him, as his eyes rose over inch after inch of her body, was the very embodiment of his early 20's horrors.

He stared up at the girl as she moved the notebook aside a few seconds later, their eyes naturally lay upon each other. For a short moment the pair were frozen in serendipity.

“Mike?” she asked, at last, breaking the silence with the subtlety of wine but the force of throwing the glass.

Mike merely croaked in response, his throat tightening and every instinct in him telling him to run.

“Mike...?” she asked again, seemingly sure it was him now, and frowned with growing concern as he simply stood there, a beading cocktail of adrenaline.

“You're... my new room mate...” she muttered, as the puzzle pieces fell into place.

For a moment, Mike considered leaping off the balcony. Even with a busted leg he was sure he could outrun her, as long as he got out of her sight. He could hide somewhere until she was gone. She would stop hunting for him eventually, she had to.

The grim calculus of reality settled in swiftly, however. This was it. There was nowhere else for him to go. It was live here or fail the degree. He was going to have to live here... with her.

Lois had been the girl who had made it her life's duty to make his life hell. She had found an excuse to be in the same classes as him, the same clubs. She would find a way to get invited to the same parties, and somehow always wound up sitting next to him. She obsessed over him, took every opportunity to torment him. It was as if she took sustenance only from his suffering.

It had started innocently enough. She would take his things when he wasn't looking, but then she began refusing to give them back until he did something for her, and what it was grew less savoury over time. Even back then she had been an intimidating presence, taller and stronger than most guys let alone the slightly-short teenaged Mike. Her torments grew as her confidence did. He could remember the hours spent trapped in her clutches, her hands... wandering. Mike shivered, memories long buried rising unbidden. Memories of her touch... and her using those massive breasts against him.

`She's just got a crush on you!` his mother had always told him when he complained to her, as ever failing to understand the situation.

The reality was all too clear to him whenever he looked in his yearbook. When he had at last graduated, escaping her torment once and for all – or so he thought, in his class photo she was clearly visible. She was the only one not looking at the camera... instead, her eyes were fixed on Mike, standing right behind him. It wasn't a crush, it was an obsession.

Now, face to face, he watched with a wrenched heart as a smile curled on her lips, the situation becoming clear.

“Oh my, Mike... don't tell me...” Lois almost whispered, as if she couldn't believe it herself.

Mike sank on the spot, barely holding himself upright, as it became all to apparent to him as well. He was going to be stuck here. Trapped with her. For months. During the worst time of his entire life.

She ran her tongue along her teeth, as her eyes lidded and focused on him properly.

“So you answered the ad too, huh? What a coincidence us running into each other like this.”

He slowly bent down, resigned to his fate already, feelings of the inevitable flooding back to him from his youth.

As he went to lift the boxes he had trawled all this way, he felt her hands on top of his own. He could smell her breath, and was forced to meet her gaze, face inches from his.

“Let me get that for you,” she said with a sweet voice.

The box was lifted effortlessly from his hands, and he watched, stunned, as she held them aloft, not even needing to brace them against herself. The boxes simply sank into the pillowy mounds of her breasts as she carried them inside.

Resignedly, he followed her like a condemned man, as she reached back with a foot to close the door behind them both.

“Oh Mike, I can't believe it's you! After all these years!” she said, not turning her head, “Let me put your stuff down and we can... catch up.”

Mike felt waves of gloom sinking in across his shoulders, weighing him down, as if reality itself had signed his warrant. He treaded as if towards his end across the soft, plush pink carpet.

Lois slinked back into the room casually, smiling all the while. He met her gaze again, at last, and for a moment felt a spark of hope. Maybe she had changed, it had been years after all.

She sank back onto the sofa, and Mike looked around for a seat, only to see no other furniture in the main room. With eyes fixated upon him, she patted the seat next to her.

“Come sit next to me... let's catch up.”

Every instinct was telling him not to trust her. Years of suffering, countless incidents, endless experience, all telling him she could not be trusted. Yet the subtle temptation of hope lured him in... That, and just maybe, a hint of attraction his former self would never have admitted to. It was hard not to let his eyes wander down to her body, even though his instincts told him to not to drop his guard.

Again, however, reality was sinking in. There wasn't much he could do either way. He sat delicately on the edge of the sofa cushion, and she lifted her legs directly in front of her, stretching her toes as she crossed her feet directly in front of them, before relaxing back.

He caught a brief glimpse of what she had been watching, a woman's face frozen mid-smile, but the rest of the screen was covered by the pause symbol.

“How long has it been, Mike? It must have been what, three years?”

“Four.”

Even as his eyes were fixed on the floor in front of them, he could feel her eyes boring into the side of his head, as if trying to read his thoughts directly. Not that he was doing a good job of disguising them, of course.

“Hmmm, was it?” she said, uncrossing and re-crossing her feet directly in his eyesight. “Oh of course! Sarah's party.”

Mike winced, shivering slightly, as he saw a brief flash of their last meeting before his eyes.

“That must be it... right after graduation,” she mused.

He flinched as she put a hand on his shoulder, nearly jumping out of the seat. “Nnn!” he groaned, automatically. After a few seconds, he settled back down onto the chair, and while she didn't remove her hand she wasn't pushing any further.

“Mike, I... I wanted to tell you something that night. At Sarah's.”

Mike looked into her eyes, and for the first time since he had met her, thought he saw perhaps a glimmer of regret.

“I... listen, I know you just got here, and it's all probably very overwhelming for you. I just want to say I'm sorry. I don't want to put any more stress on you than I probably have just by... well, being me.”

She didn't take her eyes off him the entire time she spoke.

“I don't, um,” he began, but his mouth was dry.

“I wasn't always nice to you, Mike. I know that,” she continued, and slowly, gently massaged his shoulder.

When he didn't recoil any further, although he remained tense, she continued.

“I was... a bully.” She said it. It came out in a burst, almost like pressure being released.

With a sob, she looked away from him and pulled her hands to her face.

Inside him, a war was raging. This girl had made his life a living hell. She had never hurt him, no her methods didn't leave marks, but the memories were painful nonetheless. Where his instincts had been shouting warnings at him before, now every ounce of his being was mobilized, utterly screaming from within him to be heard.

And yet... she was sorry. Her face was in her hands, and he heard another sob.

`Lies,` screamed the boy he used to be. `Crocodile tears. It's a trick. It's luring you in.`

He was tired. He was beyond tired, in fact, closer to exhausted. Not just physically, but run down in every way. Mentally, emotionally, even spiritually, he felt drained.

Deep down, he had never processed his feelings for Lois... mostly negative, but not entirely. Now, here and now, was a chance to change it all.

A single drop of faith, long since thought lost, trickled into his heart, as he reached a hand out to comfort his oldest nemesis.

“It's... well...”

As his hand touched her arm he felt a warmth that he had never known from her. It was as though the sheer intensity of his hate for her was, in a way, motive enough to want to be rid of it.

“It's okay.”

She looked up over her palms as he returned her gesture, and he thought for just a moment he saw a glint of something he had hoped he wouldn't see.

Then, her arms were around him, her long hair clouding his vision as her breasts were now very much against him.

“Oh Mike! I'm so glad you feel that way!” she shrilly cried.

With one last surge, adrenaline rushed through him, fight or flight kicking in – yet he was so taken aback that he simply froze. She had never seemed so... human before.

He raised his arms, and hugged her back.

She pulled back slightly, looking into his face, and now she was all smiles. No... more of a grin.

Mikes arms, now over her shoulders, she pushed him back into the sofa and pressed her breasts directly into his face.

He cried out instantly, but was just as quickly muffled by her bosom, just as she always had before. She covered his face in her breasts, until he was thoroughly sandwiched into her cleavage, and then... her hands began to wander, creeping into his now terribly exposed and vulnerable armpits, as his arms were pinned across her shoulders.

Groaning in agonized realisation, he had fallen for it. He had somehow, after all those years, believed her yet again, and once more he was trapped, at mercy to her whims.

“Ahhh, that's more like it. Just like old times, hmmm Mike?”

Mike screamed some string of expletive laden demands, and as it had always been before, it was entirely unintelligible through her cavernous cleavage.

“Now,” she mused, “there was something I always did to you whenever I had you like this... what was that? What did I do to poor little Mikey...”

He hated that name she always used for him, especially when he was helpless under her, and squirmed and struggled mightily, but her titanic breasts and massive body translated his fierce struggles into the weak squirms of a kitten under a heavy blanket.

In contrast to her words, pretending she had forgotten, she slowly curled her forefingers, just by themselves, against his oh-so-ticklish skin.

Suddenly, Mike's screams were silent, as he froze in terror, recognizing that he was just as ticklish as he had been, if not even more so.

Still, he was a man now, and determined not to give her the satisfaction. Even pinned under her, his face smothered in her tits, he refused to submit. He was not going to give her what she wanted. Mike bit his lip, struggling against her, but he might as well have been banded in cast iron.

He felt Lois's fingers ever so gently speed up, plucking at his armpits like she was tickling a kitten's chin. Breathing through his nose, he focused as hard as he could, and willed himself to not be ticklish.

“What was it, my oh my, I just can't remember what it was...” she said, casually, her torment requiring absolutely zero effort on her part. All she had to do was sit there atop him and let her body do the work, and lazily stroke her fingertips under his arms. She loved this kind of torture, the kind which inflicted the maximum suffering for the tiniest amount of exertion.

He clenched his teeth as he felt her add a second finger to the mix under each arm, and he tugged as hard as he could, desperately trying to pull his arms to his sides to protect his vulnerable armpits, anything, anything for even a moment's relief from the agonizingly slow strokes of her fingernails under his arms.

“I know, maybe you can tell me Mike! What was it I did to you back then? What was it the mean old girl did to little Mikey?”

He grunted with effort, lungs heaving as he drew in deep breaths, practically hyperventilating between her tits. In contrast to her lazy, slow fingers he was fighting for his life, his whole body breaking a sweat.

Lois, for her part, barely noticed. Mike was hardly any stronger than he had been, but she had grown considerably still.

She would always tickle him, sometimes just because she wanted to, sometimes to get back at him for something, but usually because she wanted something from him – and she would never stop until he did it. Right now, obviously, what she wanted was for him to say what it was... what she was doing to him...

Just give in, came a voice he hadn't heard in some time. That little part of him that, as her torments went on, had always gotten louder. The part that wanted him to surrender to her... the part of him that wanted to surrender to her.

He wouldn't, though. He couldn't. Mike owed it to his former self, who suffered all those years, not to give in to her, no matter how hopeless it already seemed.

“Hmmm, I guess I'll just have to think until you can remember it for me Mike.” She said with finality, and began to hum to herself whimsically as her fingertips played merry chaos under his arms.

His biceps were shivering with the strain of pulling against her, but Lois was simply too strong. She may as well have been a statue for how pointless his struggles were.

Mike screamed through his nose, trying to force the ticklish away by any means, as his mind began to slip into insanity.

“Hmmm-mmm-mmm, hmmmmmm...” she hummed on, as her fingers began a 1-2-3 curl, the forefinger, middle finger and fourth finger in order curling and tickling into his pits in rapid succession, so he had not even an instant of relief from her torturous onslaught.

This is just her fingers, look how easy it is for her, you don't stand a chance, give in.

Tears of pure frustration welled in his eyes as he well and truly went berserk. He thrashed mightily, like an animal caught in a trap – as he very much was – now at total breaking point. Yet it did absolutely nothing. With her straddling across his lap, and her full body weight across him and pressing him into the sofa, he was barely able to kick his feet.

Give in. Give in. Give in. Give in. Give in. Give in. Give in.

At one point, he was sure he was hearing those words in her voice. Was she whispering to him? Was she saying those words just loudly enough for him to hear? He couldn't tell anymore. Mike couldn't focus on anything. Her tickling fingers had so easily sent his mind in a hundred directions, unravelling completely under her merciless yet oh-so-facile torture.

“Oh, have you remembered? Are you trying to tell me?” she asked at last, and he felt her body weight ever so slightly roll back off of him, and her fingers stopped their devilish dance.

Gasping for breath, not just due to his mild suffocation, he felt her soft pink shirt removed from his face and the underside of her colossal cleavage was held just over his face, revealed by her skimpy short-cut top.

“What did you want to say, Mikey? What did I do to you all those years?”

He swallowed hard, clearing his throat, and summoned every ounce of his remaining strength. Through sheer force of will, he knitted back together some semblance of sanity in his mind, reorganizing his thoughts.

No. NO! His mind reeled, refusing to give in to her. He would scream, he would shout, he would not play her game.

As he took a deep breath, preparing to signal his defiance, she gently pressed down against his waist, pressing her sex against his – to his shame – understandably hard cock. No man could resist those massive tits in their face. Indeed, years of Pavlovian conditioning had associated her torments with the closeness of her body, and to his already confused brain the signals penetrated easily.

As such, his defiant scream became a muted “Nn-”, before she interrupted.

“What's that? No? You don't remember? Oh well I guess we'll just have to wait here until you do!”

Her fingers swept in for the kill now, utterly merciless as they scrabbled around under his arms, just as she began to gently rock against his stiffening cock, coaxing a throbbing erection out of him.

His body betraying him, Mike whined, and his defiant whine became a barely contained “Snnnnnnrkkkk”, before he clamped his throat shut at the last moment.

Now at his wits end, however, there was no hope left. He watched defeatedly as her massive breasts slowly descended. He felt her skimpy pink shirt slip across the back of his head, tightly trapping him between her breasts now.

“NNNNNH!” he whined in utter defeat, as her massive breasts now fully imprisoned him within their cushy but inescapable grip.

“You let me know the second you remember little Mikey!” she sang, as she truly dug into his skin with earnest, and her fingers danced wildly.

He could take no more. There was a physical limit beyond which even his steeled resolve could not withstand. Mike rolled his head from side to side, but was unable to escape the slightly sweaty breast flesh which constantly threatened to smother him. His poor vulnerable armpits were ragged and his shoulders ached with the strain of trying to protect himself.

Mike wasn't sure how long it had been, perhaps only a few minutes, or perhaps not even that, before he finally gave in.

Like a waterfall breaking the ridge, it started as a trickle but soon became a flood, as he coughed, spluttered, and at last... laughed.

Wrenching his head back, he momentarily found room to breathe, as he saw her looking down at him with a predator's toothy grin into her own cleavage. He could take no more. He screamed with laughter from within her crop-topped pillowy prison.

“Oh my, what a reaction! Are you that happy to see me again little Mikey? Do you like it when I give you a special cuddle like this?”

He screamed, he cried, he giggled, and while he was no longer fighting it he was still trashing madly beneath her – albeit totally unable to escape, or gain even a moment's respite.

“Tell me, Mikey. Tell me what I'm doing.”

Her voice was flat, now, devoid of any pretence. She was done playing – she wanted her answer.

Mike rolled his head from side to side, what little he could, as the rest of him was fully buried beneath her. Desperately, he pulled back, gasping for breath.

“TICKLING!” he screeched, before collapsing into hysterics under her ruthless molestation.

“Oh yes!” she cried, grinding down against him as she did so, though whether it was a reward for his submission or simply her own gratification was unclear, “Yes, I was so mean to you, wasn't I little Mikey? The big mean girl bullying you...”

She really let him have it now, panting as she rode the high of her power trip, straddling his now aching cock through his clothes. Her hands were a blur, and it was obvious she was getting more satisfaction from his suffering than simple sadism.

Lois relished in it, gasping with arousal as she felt him squirm beneath her. It had been far too long since she had had Mike under her, both literally and metaphorically. Since then... other playthings simply hadn't given her the same.., rush.

From the moment she had laid eyes on him, Mike had held a certain fascination for her. Maybe it was the fact he'd been a bit short even then, diminutive in both stature and spirit. The way he seemed so easily intimidated by her, and yet she could always tell there was a little reciprocation of her feelings... and she took great joy in torturing such confessions from him.

“You forgive me though, right Mikey?”

Now her fingers moved down to his sides, snaking into his loose shirt with ease, and he railed against their invasion what little he could. All that could be heard, though, were his muffled protests and the soft beat of his heels against the carpet.

“You forgive me, right?” she insisted, rhetorically, as her fingers raked up and down his sensitive sides.

“MMMH!” he replied, but evidently she wasn't satisfied... at least not by his answer.

“Oh Mikey, please forgive me,” she cooed, leaning in close and squeezing her chest against his face, fully immersing him, yet now tracing her fingers across his stomach, hands crossed across his chest.

Utterly beside himself by now, Mikey was reduced to a quivering wreck beneath her. What semblance of his sanity remained had been co-opted by his own fifth columnist libido.

Give in. Do whatever she wants. Anything, anything to end the tickling, he agreed. He was once again her slave, her victim, willing to do anything at all. He hated her for it, but more, he hated himself.

“MMMGH FFHHHFHHHFH!” He managed to splutter out against her breasts, trying fruitlessly to free his face from her curvaceous confinement.

“Oh Mikey, please forgive me,” she continued, mock melancholy masking her intentional misunderstanding, all the while excitedly panting as she ground down into Mike's crotch.

Beneath her now, Mikey's mindless attempts at escape were inadvertent – though not entirely unintentionally – thrusting himself against her in a way she found very gratifying. Indeed, she found that the harder she tickled, the more desperately her trapped tickle toy would thrust, further increasing her pleasure.

As it became increasingly clear that she wasn't listening to his clear attempts to forgive her, however coerced, and as he increasingly lost his last fraying finger's grip on sanity, his desperate desire for relief from tickling instead resigned itself to an increasingly desperate desire for a different kind of relief.

Mike's cock throbbed within his shorts, his senses totally overloaded, adrift in a sea of sensations and awash with a mix of unbearable torture, forced mirth and near-overwhelming sexual arousal.

As Lois's breathing quickened swiftly, becoming more ragged, she leaned back and allowed Mike a real breath of fresh air.

“I forgive you! I forgive you!” he panted between heaves, arousal, exhaustion and her constant boob-smothering collectively leaving him near breathless.

“Oh Mikey, I'm so glad!” she cried, shivering from a minor power trip induced orgasm.

At that, her fingers slowed, and she lowered her face down to his once more.

“So I guess you wouldn't mind if I continued, right?”

Her fingers hovered, scant millimetres from his skin, as she panted eagerly. She was frozen still, and under her, Mike was now increasingly desperate in his attempts to gain some friction against his cock.

“You wouldn't mind if I kept tickling you, then, would you Mikey...” she whispered venomously, “if you forgive me then it can't have been that bad, right?”

Mikey felt his heart ache at her words. Within him the last resurgence of his defiance was fighting vehemently to be heard. Yet it was steadily being drowned out by his libido. Could he truly abandon all he had fought for, all he had suffered, just for sexual release?

Such a total surrender, he saw in her eyes, was what she truly wanted. More than sex, that was the true source of her pleasure. His capitulation... no, his submission to her whims. Her desire. Her power. Her control. Submission... to her.

She wanted him to give up everything to her. It would never be enough, she would always want more. She would leave him with nothing.

And yet, he couldn't help it. No man could withstand her sheer control. It was futile.

As her fingertips began to graze under his arms, he flinched in pure anxiety, and yet as she slowly began to coax his cock with her mound, he could not help but whine with need.

She wanted him to ask her for it. To ask her to continue. To give her permission to torture him more. It would never be enough...

He cried freely, tears dripping down his cheeks as he forsook everything he had ever stood for, betrayed his very self to her.

“Yes.”

She giggled manically, intoxicated by her own power. Now she was truly merciless.

“Oh Mikey Mikey I'm so glad, because I love to tickle your sensitive little body so much!”

Her fingers were a blur, and Mike was near blind with the sheer exertion of his laughter. Not that it mattered, as he was truly blinded moments later as she forced his face back into her shirt, swallowing his head whole with her womanly assets.

“Such a ticklish little boy you are! Listen to how you react when I just tickle you ever so little, oh my... imagine what you'll be like when I REALLY let you have it!”

Her hips rocked in a staccato rhythm, her true climax evidently close.

“All that's left is... I want to see if you're still as sensitive as you used to be. I wonder if little Mikey will cream his pants when the big mean girl gives him a little tickle... hmm? Will he? Is Mikey gonna cum for me?”

As if trying to pull his orgasm out of him through his arms, she groped and scraped into his sensitive skin. Just like that, as soon as she had made him surrender something heartbreaking, she demanded more. Now she would not be satisfied until she tickled him to orgasm, that her torment itself spurred on his liquid surrender.

“Cum for me, little Mikey. Cum for the big mean bully. Cum for me. Cum.”

Her mantra of sexual demand was only partly muffled by her heaving chest, and even as he felt the ice cold trickle of guilt settle into his stomach for yet again surrendering to her, that only made it easier to want to concede to her further demands.

Why keep fighting? She always wins... in the end. JUST GIVE IN.

At that, he felt the hot tingle of impending orgasm spread from his cock to his toes, and Lois siezed upon it.

“Yes, yes-yes-yes! That's it, cum for me. Cum! CUM!”

She ruthlessly milked his cock betwixt her thighs, encouraging his white-flag orgasm in every way she could.

In the end there was only so much a boy could take. Mike felt what was undoubtedly the most powerful orgasm of his life wrack his body as, pinned beneath her, what was an earthquake inside him was barely a tremor beneath her.

“Oh yes, yes, yes!” She screamed, as her own climax came to fruition.

Her fingers slowed to a stop, as she shivered atop him.

“Oh Mikey...” she breathed, and her fingers snaked across his back into an inescapable hug, “I'm so glad you decided to move in with me. I promise, we're going to have so much fun together...”