Horny teenager Garfield Winters inherits a time manipulation device.
Author's Note: This is the first story of any type that I have written since I was fourteen. I quit school at fifteen with zero English qualifications so bear with me if there are any terrible mistakes! Criticism / ideas & help are welcome.
"Garfield!! Garfield, get dressed and get down here right now!"
Garfield Winters groaned, stretched and thrust his duvet on to the floor. He lay still for a moment, staring at the plain white ceiling above. Blurry. Garfield rubbed his eyes and craned his neck towards the bright LED lights of his digital alarm clock. 07:47, and he was supposed to catch the bus at 08:00. "Fuck".
Sitting bolt upright, he scanned the room from side to side for the various pieces of his uniform that he had so idly scattered yesterday. Like a well programmed robot from the future, Garfield had everything spotted and placed together in under a minute. Everything except socks. Why did his socks always disappear? Where did they go? How did he manage to consistently lose pair after pair? Usually he would have an extra ten minutes to forage, but with the school science fair meaning an extra early start to the day, extra time was a luxury he could not afford.
Not unless he wanted to be late. To be late for the third time this week. To face another detention and another endless jabbering discipline lesson from Ms. Rock. Oh, how he loathed her and her constant overreactions to every little thing he seemed to do wrong. "Winters," she would say in her creaky witch-like voice, "You're just like the rest of your family - disobedient, lazy, uncouth...” She sure knew how to piss him off. Garfield was the seventh and second-to-last child of his family. Every one of his older siblings was in his mind an asshole and his younger sister at 13 was starting to become a royal pain in the dick.
He knew why she said that stuff, of course. They'd all been there before him. Forest Hill High had experienced 18 years of the Winters family and it was an understatement to say that they had left a negative legacy. Stabbing other students with protractors, check. Breaking the PE teacher’s nose, check. Beating up Ms. Rock after accusing her of being a lesbian and spying on them in the changing rooms (the work of his two eldest sisters), check. It wasn't difficult to see why some of the longer standing teachers at FHH had chosen to immediately dislike Garfield, but damn it, he wasn't like the others. And today he would show them.
Today Garfield would show all of those judgmental, negative bastards that he was just as determined, intelligent and resourceful as all of the uppity students from the snobby side of town that they seemed so intent on brown-nosing. Neither Garfield nor any of his friends had received even half of the attention and praise that the teachers reserved for those kids. And why? Because their parents went to the PTA meetings? Because living in your own house and not a rented council house makes you some sort of superior citizen? Because having a nice car and money makes your opinion count more?
Garfield seethed as he slung his backpack on to his shoulder, slamming the door behind him. In went the earphones, his thumb raising the volume on the player in his pocket. Calm, relaxing, escaping. Noticing his bus turning in to the street a distance away, he jogged towards the stop.
"Garfield?! Garfield! You've forgotten your project!" his mother shouted at the door just as he banged it shut so loudly that it shook the foundations of the house. No response. "Bloody idiot".
It was fifteen minutes and several miles later - whilst looking at the papier-mâché volcano of another student being lifted on to the bus - that the lack of his own project suddenly dawned upon him. He let out an audible "Fuuuuuuuuuuck!!" and volcano girl looked towards him. She started at his face and it was all of a second before she'd reached his feet and sniggered. No socks. Her smirk said it all. Red faced and furious with himself, Garfield leapt out of his seat and off the bus. He marched down the street in a blind rage, ignoring his surroundings almost entirely. How could he have been so stupid? Today was the day that he was finally going to show that he was worth his salt. Today was his day. And today he'd been a fucking imbecile as usual...
The old man’s groceries fell to the ground with a clatter. Cans of peas, a bag of carrots. A tin of sliced peaches rolled under a parked Escort. Garfield cleared his head quickly and acted fast. "S... Sorry, I was thinking about something" he mumbled as he crawled on all fours to retrieve the lost fruit. The man just looked him over. He was tall, grey haired, perhaps once blonde. Piercing blue eyes. They looked so sharp, but at the same time so friendly and warm. Pale skin. Garfield struggled to refill the man’s bags as quickly as he could, feeling like an idiot the entire time.
When he was finished, he stood up straight, apologised again and began to walk on when the man finally spoke.
"In a rush are we?" he almost seemed to whisper in a strangely low voice.
"I've got no time... I'm out of time... I mean I have this project at school and I..."
The man’s eyes seemed to penetrate Garfield’s mind. His words jumbled and for a moment he felt as though he must be having a stroke. "I've got a project at school and I forgot everything at home and I and I don't have the time to..."
The man reached in to the pocket of his grey tweed jacket and pulled out a shiny circular object. His hand reached out for Garfield’s who was surprised by the coldness of the metal and momentarily jerked his palm back. The watch - as it was now clear to be - hit the floor with a clonk. "Clumsy today aren't we?" grinned the man, bearing a large portion of his surprisingly white teeth. Garfield reached down to pick up the watch, his face turning an ever deeper shade of beetroot. There were three silver buttons atop the watch, of which one had bounced off and was hiding somewhere amongst the mess of leaves on the pavement. By the time he'd located it, the old man was a distant figure on the horizon. Garfield watched him disappear, looked at the watch and button in his hands and pocketed them with a shrug.
Thirty minutes after, and fifteen minutes late for the planned preparations, he stepped in to the large auditorium at Forest Hill High. 9 o clock, Ms. Rock. 11, volcano girl. 2 o clock, Paul. Paul had been Garfield’s best and quite possibly only true friend for nine years now. They shared almost every aspect of their lives with each other and came from similar backgrounds. He was the only person who Garfield looked forward to seeing, besides the obvious cute girls that he'd had crushes on now and then. Garfield sought a path towards Paul between the placards, the demonstration booths and the tables. A path that kept him as far away from Ms. Rock as possible. After all that he'd been through this morning, he didn't need another bout of annoying superior bitch to add to it.
Paul nodded upon his arrival. "So where is it then? The big project that's going to blow everyone out of the water?"
"On my kitchen table"
"Is it supposed to be there?"
As they traded somewhat bemused looks, volcano girl chose this moment to walk by with another student - presumably a friend of hers, and a hot one at that. Volcano was mumbling something incoherent but Garfield was sure that he heard the word "socks" in there. Her friend giggled and looked towards his feet. Paul noticed Garfield watching her, and in turn saw where her eyes momentarily rested. "Where the fuck are your socks man?"
Garfield was about to explain when they were interrupted by the unmistakable screech of Ms. Rock and her trademark shrill voice. "Paul Wilson, less of that language, go to your form room at once and stay there until break!"
Paul’s face was instantly sullen and he turned heel towards the front of the auditorium.
"As for you, Winter... You're late again and you're not even wearing any socks. Where are your socks?"
"Where is your project for the fair? Why haven't you begun to set up?"
"I was trying to..."
"Excuses excuses. You're late again, your name isn't signed in to the register, you haven't set anything up, you're just like your brother - did I ever mention how..."
Garfield’s voice echoed around the auditorium for what seemed like an eternity. The busy, bustling noise of the room had come to an abrupt halt and was now making way for a low, excited hum of whispers as all eyes were on him.
For whatever reason, the voice of popular "Simpsons" character 'Comic Book Guy' popped in to his head. "Worst. Outburst. Ever".
Ten minutes later and he was alone in the Head of Year's office, with his Math’s book in front of him. God knows how long they were going to keep him in detention this time. He'd heard them speaking about calling his mother but couldn't be sure that that was what was going on. Mr. Johnson, the Head of Year had simply informed him that he wanted to see two days’ worth of algebra homework done by the time that he returned from the science fair, and left him to it. Ankles on desk, head in hands, Garfield ran his hands through his hair and massaged his skull. There was no way that this day could get any worse. Everything had been so promising last night as he applied the finishing touches to his masterpiece. And now what? He'd probably be suspended for a week, maybe more. And seen as all that much more like his pathetic siblings. Bleh.
Perhaps he could sneak out amongst the crowds at break time and just go home. After all, if they were going to suspend him anyway he may as well get something positive from it. A day on the couch playing video games before his mother returned from work filled with anger at the negative news which would no doubt be blown even more out of proportion on the telephone by Ms. Rock.
Ms. Cock. Ms. Stupid F. Bitch.
He looked at his wrist for the time, and realised that not only was he sockless, he was also watchless. Immediately his mind drifted to the clock in his right side pocket, and he fished it out along with the broken button. It was rather an ornate looking thing. Almost as though it were an actual antique with some value - but no, he thought - it must just be a cheap tin replica. Made in China. There's no way a random stranger would have given him something worth anything and then walked off in such a way. Not unless the old man was bloody senile. The buttons on the top didn't seem to belong, or to be part of the original design. They didn't look very classy or fitting. Garfield was now sure that this clock was naught but a cheap Asian reproduction but hey, at least it had the time. 10:25. Five more minutes until first break.
Five more minutes until he could slink away and play Battlefield in the company of his cat, where he would forget about his woes for at least four more hours. Ahh, his beloved X-Box, the greatest piece of technology that he owned. Until perhaps - now.
Garfield idly turned the clock around in his hands, noticing that it still felt strangely cold despite it having been in his pocket and close to his warm body for almost half an hour. He picked up the detached middle button and rotated it between his thumb and forefinger. The repair seemed very simple, all he had to do was put it back in place and push down. With a light clicking sound, the button was back where it belonged. Garfield wasn't sure what any of the buttons were even meant to do, but he tested it for good measure.
The watch stopped. More peculiarly, every noise that had seemed to be going on only seconds ago seemed to cease at the same time. The lawnmower outside the window, the hum of the humidifier in the corner of the room. The sound of what was presumably a teachers heels walking down the hallway outside the door. Garfield dropped the clock on to the desk and clasped his hands to his ears, slapping them with his palms in a panic. As far as he knew, he had gone instantaneously deaf. What was this, some karma, some punishment? Did he have a brain tumour? He'd seen a documentary about this sort of thing. Dread overtook him. "No, no, no!!" he practically whimpered, reaching for the door. It didn't register with him that he had heard his own voice until he was outside of the room in the corridor. What he saw left him stunned and silent.
To his right, a door stood halfway open. Walking through the doorway, nay, frozen between the doorway - mid-stride with one foot off the ground - was a classmate that he recognised as James Davies. Garfield would probably have passed this off as a lame prank if it weren't for who was on the left side of the hallway, also frozen stiff. Ms. Rock. Bitchy, evil, humourless Ms. Rock unmoving and silent. From where he was, it didn't even look as though she were breathing. The atmosphere remained serene, with not a sound but Garfield’s own rapidly increasing heart rate in his ears. Finally, he spoke.
He waved first one arm, then the other. Now both. "Hello?! Ms. Rock?"
There was no way that this could be happening. It had to be fake. But it all seemed so real, everything so placid and stationary. A dream? Garfield pinched himself hard and gritted his teeth. Definitely felt that. Time for the ultimate test. Hey, he was no doubt being suspended anyway so why not?
"Ms. Rock? You're a bitch!"
No response. Not a flutter of an eyelash. Not a flinch.
"I said you're a BITCH!!!" he bellowed down the corridor.
Garfield went a little weak at the knees and lurched back in to the office. He sat down on a chair to think, to calculate, to determine what in the hell was going on here. Everything. Everything so surreal. What had happened, how had it happened, how had it started? A barrage of questions cycled rapidly through his head. Garfield stared at the desk, his eyes blurring. Focusing. Fingers massaging temples. The clock came in to view. The clock?
It couldn't have been. That's the stuff of fairytales and nonsense and bullshit Disney movies. Still, it didn't hurt to try.
The sudden influx of noise, the lawnmower outside of the window in particular caused Garfield to tumble backwards in the chair, where he lay groggily staring at a plain white ceiling for the second time that morning. Ms. Rock entered the room.
"Just what do you think you are doing Winters? You're left alone for ten minutes and you're already damaging school property! Oh, this is going to be a..."
Peace. Calm. Bitch on mute.
Garfield didn't know who the old man was, or why he had given him this clock. He didn't know where the clock came from, how it was created or where it sourced its power. But he did know that he didn't particularly care about finding out, so long as it continued to work like this. This was every schoolboy’s dream, a fantasy fulfilled. The power to stop time. And boy was he going to use it while he could. Ideas streamed through his mind. He looked at the clock. 10:27. Three more minutes until break time.
10:27. A time when the girls who had P.E. for first period would be in the changing rooms. In the showers. Garfield was on his feet and tripping over more chair legs down the hall in seconds.
It was like a dream, sauntering down the aisle between the classrooms, pausing to peer in a window here and there. The third window he peeked in to was Mr. O’Neil’s French class. A sea of seated teens. Icy, glazed over faces with vacant eyes stared blankly towards the front or down at their desks. A lot of the students seemed not unusually to be bored with proceedings, but a few of the male faces in the crowd looked to be paying particularly close attention. It was then that Garfield noticed precisely what to.
At the head of the class stood Mr. O'Neil. 6'1, shoulder length hair, white chinos and a terrible multicoloured baggy shirt that he had no doubt purchased in the 1980s. This though, was not where the more animated boys’ eyes were focused. Standing next to him and looking tiny in comparison was one of Forest Hill's latest batch of French exchange students. If she was any sort of indicator of the average French girl then Garfield knew where he was destined to live in the future. At 5'3 she was several inches shorter than he himself, with long, straight and seemingly endless flowing blonde hair that stopped just below her waist. Her nose was the cutest little button that he'd ever seen. Not that his gaze stayed there for long.
It was common practice at Forest Hill for exchange students to wear the uniform of the school, and since it would be a waste of money to purchase one for a two week vacation, the visiting students often borrowed a uniform from the student with whose family they were staying. Garfield wasn't sure who this beauty was staying with, but she must have had smaller tits because fuck, Frenchie's were practically exploding out of her white blouse. He decided that he needed to take a closer look at this fine specimen of sweet schoolgirl ass and pushed the door open.
Slowly pacing towards her, he took a look around the classroom. By the time he reached her side it felt as though all eyes were on him and he was overtaken with a brief panic. Garfield waved his arms wildly at the classroom, half expecting everyone to burst in to laughter, to point at him, to mock him. Their faces remained the same. There must have been 25 students, and not one of them flickered. This was real. This was really, really real.
He turned to face Frenchie and saw that she held a whiteboard marker in her hand. On the whiteboard was what could only be her name, Cherie, and a list of her hobbies. Cycling, tennis, jogging, all of which no doubt contributed to her lithe, killer figure. Garfield looked her up and down and felt his dick lurch.
From head to toe she was a vision of extreme fuckability. The regulation uniform for girls at Forest Hill was a white 3/4 sleeve blouse, a black pleated skirt, white knee-high socks, black Mary Jane’s and an optional black jersey or blazer with a navy and cream striped tie to finish it off. Cherie was wearing only a blouse on top, and it seemed to be at least two sizes too small. Her pleated skirt ended not far below her buttocks and Garfield was sure that if she bent even lightly she'd be giving someone an eyeful. Her socks were pristine and new, and her shoes looked the same. Shiny. Garfield guessed that you couldn't always borrow footwear from someone else.
Cock hardening rapidly, Garfield nervously reached out to touch her. At first, he gently tapped her cheek and quickly withdrew his hand. Nothing. He reached out again, this time touching for longer. His fingers lingered on her cheek; he stroked it with his palm. Lightly, Garfield moved his fingertips to her mouth. Cherie's lips were soft and full. His horny friends would have described them as "DSL" or 'Dick Sucking Lips', not that any of them had had their dicks sucked. That could change today, Garfield thought. At least, for him. He gently brushed his fingertips over her lips once more, before taking his index finger and pushing it between them. With ease her teeth parted, and his finger sank to the knuckle in her wet mouth. By now, Garfield was sporting a full throbbing erection in his slacks.
Overtaken with desire, he no longer cared whether this was all a giant prank and was fully willing to risk everything to cum on or in this sweet girls beautiful body. He reached down, unbuttoned, unzipped and freed his hard member. At 7 inches or so, he knew from Internet research that it was enough above average for his age that he didn't have to be ashamed or embarrassed. Not that this mattered, since nobody in the room so much as stirred when it flopped out of his shorts.
Here he was, at the head of a classroom, prick out and being gazed at by dozens of unfazed students. Next to him and still sucking on his finger, a fuck toy fantasy, an innocent but oh so poundable schoolgirl with tits, lips and an ass to die for. An ass at the top of some sexy white socks. An ass encased in a short little pleated skirt. An ass that he needed to see.
Garfield removed his finger from Cherie's mouth and walked to the teacher’s desk in the corner of the room. He grabbed a hold of the edge and pulled it to the middle, situating it directly in front of Cherie. Stepping behind her, he slowly lifted and positioned her arms so that her elbows jutted outwards, then pushed her whole body forwards until she was leaning on the desk with her butt in the air. Garfield hitched her skirt up to get the view he'd been waiting for. Her gorgeously round little ass was now on full display to him, encased in white cotton mini briefs that seemed too small for those gloriously tight globes.
He walked around her, admiring the view. The front just wasn't good enough. He reached for her blouse and tore it apart, buttons scattering on the floor. Her pale, fleshy tits were pushed up inside of a white bra with just a hint of pink nipple showing. "How's the view?" he asked out loud to the frozen audience. Garfield answered his own question. "Well, my dick seems to like it". Looking at the marker pen still clutched tightly in her hand, an idea struck him. He took her hand in his and carefully slotted the thick pen out. Her hand retained its gripping shape. Perfect. Garfield spat a generous amount of saliva in to his own hand and worked it up and down his throbbing shaft. Lubricated enough, he pushed it through the O left by the marker in her hand.
Cherie had dainty little fingers, thin and painted a light shade of pink with tiny glittery sparkles. This alone almost sent him over the edge. Garfield had never had more than a 20 second kiss with a girl before, and now he was getting a handjob from one of the hottest he'd ever seen. He continued to thrust in to her hand while his eyes drifted to her tits, a C, maybe even a D he thought. Large for her age and frame, and so delicious looking. He could suck on those all day long. First though, she could suck on him.
Garfield pushed down on her head so that it was closer to his pulsing cock, which remained within her firm grasp. With a little effort and adjustment his burning purple head was finally at her lips. For a while he thrust forwards, simply fucking her hand and meeting her lips with his gland, coating their sweet pouty softness in a thin layer of sticky precum. The nervous look in her eyes from dealing with her class presentation only served to make her appear that much more innocent, and fuelled Garfield’s fantasies. He was using her for his own satisfaction. He was using an untainted, pure little schoolgirl in front of an entire class, in front of the teacher. He'd bent her over; he'd hitched up her skirt. His scorching dick was brushing against her luscious little sinless lips. No matter what she had been minutes ago. No matter how pure.
She was his now, his toy, his to use and his to fuck. If this slut was going back to her mère and père in Paris, she was taking a good load of his sticky hot cum with her. It was time to take this a step further.
Garfield pulled his cock from her grasp and rested her arm on the desk once more. He looked around the classroom for what he required for his next planned step and found it around the arm of a vacant, sleepy looking girl. Two hair ties. With great care, he parted and separated Cherie's hair and tied it in to two long, slutty looking pigtails. Nice. Bent over the desk with her panties on view from behind, her tits on view from the front, her lips pouting and glazed, an innocent, nervous look on her face and her hair tied in to fuck handles, she looked every bit the dirty whore he'd always fantasised about fucking. This was the kind of picture he would look up on his laptop at night to stroke his cock to. Except now, it was in 3D with touch, taste and smell-o-vision. All that he could think was that it was sad there was no real sound. He'd love to hear her moan and protest in her cute little French accent when he parted those tasty looking ass cheeks and slammed himself in to her.
With his back to the eyes of the class, Garfield pushed his cock to sweet Cherie's velvet-soft lips and drove the head past her teeth and over her tongue. This was the warmest, moistest, most incredible sensation that he had ever had, and Garfield wanted more - fast. He took a hold of a pigtail in each hand and tugged on them, pulling her pretty face in to his crotch. All seven inches of his rock hard shaft disappeared in to her mouth, with a good portion of it filling her throat. Unexpectedly, there was noise here. A gurgling, gagging sound. Garfield grinned to himself and threw his head back in ecstasy. Another white ceiling faced him, for the third time. Third time lucky. And how lucky he was right now.
He withdrew his iron shaft, wrapped her fuck handles around his fingers and thrust forwards, again and again. His balls were slamming against her chin now, almost hard enough to bruise. It sounded good and felt blissful. Cherie's eyes remained unmoved, sweet, innocent, and nervous. Her throat felt tight, warm, all enveloping of his pulsing cockhead and shaft. The wet gurgling noises coming with each hard thrust along with the vision of her beautiful face was beginning to send him over the edge. He felt the heat rising in his balls. Garfield knew that he wouldn't last long, and with one almighty shove forwards of his hips and tug backwards on her piggy tails, he drove his cock deeper in to her throat than ever before. Hot sticky seed spewed out in what seemed like gallons. Burst after burst of Garfield’s white-hot cum coated the guilt-free, unaware little French girl’s insides.
He pulled his dick from her mouth with an audible 'plop' and one last squirt of creamy fuckjuice hit her on the side of the nose and ran down across her pretty, glazed lips.