My name is Michelle. I'm happily married to a wealthy sales executive, 52 years old, and live, let's just say, in the suburbs of a large city off of Lake Michigan. More importantly, for this story; I have three children ready to attend a large 6 thru 12 private school on the shores of that same lake. The school costs in excess of $10,000 per child per year in tuition, and tack on room and board to that hefty amount if you're not from around here, or even if you are and but want the genuine English boarding school experience for your child(ren). So, because of the cost, and the prestigious location, if you attend the school, your child is rubbing shoulders with the children of titans of industry, politics, and entertainment. It's quite rarefied air, and in exchange for the financial sacrifice by the parents, your child's life can be transformed.
But, since it's still, at its heart, a grade 6-12 school, it still has all the mundane institutions any public middle or high school has. Classes. Athletics. Extra-curricular clubs. And a PTO. A Parent Teacher Organization. To organize social events around the holidays. To provide ancillary support for the highly talented, and relatively low-paid, staff. And to provide an organized way for well-meaning parents to contribute to the well-being of the school.
Now, our PTO is in some ways similar to, and in others different from, a typical American public school PTO. The similarity is that there are the typical egos and busy-bodies and petty rivalries of school mom's all bumping heads with each other, all for crazy combinations of well-intentioned (genuine desire to be supportive of the school) and ill-intentioned (selfish desire to promote one's child at the expense of others) efforts. It truly is a political rat's nest, and the PTO Head has to be strong and stare down school mom's who are inappropriately rocking the boat. Many of the mom's at the school do not work, leading to some of them having too much free time on their hands.
The PTO Head for the past 6 years has been a beautiful, successful blonde name Cheryl. She had 4 children work their way thru the school. Like me, she's local, from an adjoining suburb. Despite delivering and raising four kids, Cheryl somehow maintained a killer body, and her breasts still stand at attention--i swear sometimes that at 53 she doesn't need a bra. Her body, her face, her hair are all freaks of nature. She'53 and could pass for 32. Her banker husband is very much in love with her, and sites on her with gifts of jewelry and clothes.
This is also her last year as PTO Head. Her last child is getting ready to graduate, and it's time to pass on PTO leadership to the next generation.
I'm hoping that next generation will be me. Starting last year, Cheryl began grooming me to be the next PTO Head. She used me as her right hand woman for all planning and activities. She allowed me to see, day-to-day, what's involved. It's been a whirlwind, and I've made the occasional mistake, but I've learned a ton.
Now, one last relevant background fact to this story. Why, you might be wondering, did I step forward and volunteer to be groomed, instead of relaxing at home? For one reason. Cheryl.
I love my husband. But I have a raging girl crush on Cheryl. I want to get in her pants, and for her to get into mine. All the hours of volunteering, all the sweat, is just a scheme to spend time with her, and, eventually I hope, to start up something physical with her. Dumb. Juvenile. But I have a crush on Cheryl. And I'm afraid to just out and tell her, given that we're both married. So here we are.
Here we are indeed. It's now Fall, the start of Cheryl's last year as PTO Head. If I pass the test, Cheryl will nominate me as her replacement, and a smooth transfer of power to a new generation will occur. If I fail, Cheryl will step down without a suitable replacement. Chaos will ensue. Cheryl will hate me. And she and I will never kiss. Or fuck.
God, I want to fuck that woman.
I'm in her house tonight. Alone. This could be the night.
Cheryl and I are having our start-of-year PTO planning meeting. The year is off to a good start. Staffing and enrollment are strong. The calendar of social events is full but organized. Now time for Cheryl to evaluate me. The moment of truth. We're on her leather couch, both a bit buzzed. I look longingly into her eyes, praying for a favorable assessment of me. As a PTO future Head. And as a woman. Our knees touch.
Cheryl says, "Michelle, I've really enjoyed working with you this past year. You're hard working and organized. And loyal. Thank you for stepping forward and giving the PTO your time and talents."
Uh-oh.
"My only hesitation is giving you my full-throated endorsement to be my replacement next year is your political toughness. The school board members and the parents here are very big cheeses, Michelle, some of the most powerful people in the world. You need to be strong, and protect the PTo's turf when it's threatened. You have a backbone, Michelle. But I need you to stiffen it and show it this year. Starting right now."
I sheepishly ask her how. What is about to happen seems like the most contrived teenage fantasy, but I swear it's 100% true.
Cheryl continues, "Michelle, when you're intimate with your husband, who's taking the lead? Show me right now that you can lead."
Cheryl then proceed and take my hair, leaned forward, and stuck her tongue down my throat. We were like eager teenagers on the couch, kissing loudly and enthusiastically. Michelle went from being an out-of-reach object of my desire to my actual kissing partner in nothing flat. I was excited. I was melting. I felt every square inch of her mouth with my tongue--it tasted as goid as I had been imagining for a year. I felt her hair with both hands. It felt as good, as young, as it looked. I tried to take in every touch, every scent of Michelle's face, mouth, and head, not understanding what she was doing. Was this foreplay to sex? Or was this some head game she was playing with me? If the latter, how was I doing?
Although I love my husband, I had had a handful of girl on girl make out sessions in the past three years. Old college classmates back in town. And one total stranger who I met out clothes shopping. I don't know how the total stranger thing ended up happening. It was pretty stupid, when you think about it--it could have been a setup to a robbery or a gang rape. But I did and and survived. I craved girl on girl kissing, like I was doing now with Cheryl. This was the roughest by far. Shit she kissed hard. I kiss her hard back just to keep from gagging on her probing tongue.
We continue kissing. She leans over and straddles me. She removes her mouth from mine and speaks.
"Michelle. You're letting me lead. Take the initiative. Take it from me. Bitch."
Cheryl tugs my hair as she says this. And not in a playful way. I let out an involuntary "Ow."
"Don't like it, bitch?," purrs Cheryl. "Do something."
Not wanting our make out session to end prematurely, I read my new partner, and respond. I grab Cheryl's blonde hair, and I raise my legs and turn the tables, now pushing her against the couch and straddling her. I'm on top for the first time tonight, and now I put my tongue inside her mouth. We resume kissing. Wet and loud. Our breasts begin rubbing. Hers feels as hard and firm as the look. I hope she feels the same about mine.
Although we are not speaking verbally at this point, our bodies are still communicating. I remember one of my reunited college friends telling me about hate-fucking. It's where you have sex with someone, but interact so roughly that it's as if the two of you actually hate each other.
Are Cheryl and I about to hate fuck?
Going with the flow, I free my hands from her hair and slap her shoulder. I want to also her face, but first want to calibrate the force of my swing. Too soft, and I'll confirm her doubts of my leadership abilities. Too hard, and it will be like waking a dragon. I kind of fear Cheryl right now. How much of this evening has gone as planned so far? Or has it already gone "too far".
Cheryl responds to my slap. "Yes, bitch. Yes. Let's hit and slap."
With me still straddling her, Cheryl and I begin slapping on the couch, striking each others shoulders, sides, and breasts. The flesh and flesh striking echoes thru the room. We are both breathing heavily and moaning.
"I'm prettier than you," I hear myself way. Cheryl stares me in the eye. She's angry i said that. No, she's angry I thought that.
She reverses our straddle, and slams me into the back of the couch. She grabs my hair, not for control, but actually trying to pull it out. We pause, our tongues missing each other. We alternate between rough tongue kissing and rougher hair pulling. Our tops slide off, our breasts touching at the nipples.
"My tits are nicer than yours, old bitch," I lie. Hers are nicer. But I want to hurt her.
"And yet I'm on top. I knew it, slut. You can't be PTO Head. You can't lead," Cheryl hisses.
"Just watch this, then," I his back, angrier than I've been all night. Angry because, as hot as this make out session as been, it's still just some sick control thing to this bitch. I don't know what will happen next. But I'm going to make sure this bitch gets some red marks out of it.
I slap Cheryl in the face. Hard and repeatedly. The catfight is on.
To be continued.......
