CHAPTER 11
THE ONE WITH THE QUICKER PICKER-UPPER
"Vanity of vanities, all is vanities," says the Bible, and if ever there had been
a girl full of vanity, it had been Tiffany Daniels. But never had there been a
girl in the history of Godfrey Daniels High School brought so low from such a
height. Only a few days ago, she had been queen of the school, a cheerleader,
dead ringer for Anna Kournikova, rich bitch driving her Miata and going to the
tanning salon, hanging at the country club. Her daddy was rich and her mama was
good-lookin', and Tiffany Daniels was both.
Technically, all that was still true, but the games that Principal White and the
others were playing with young Tiffany had changed her image drastically. Now she
was walking toward the cafeteria in her black high heels, the ones so high they
made her walk like a cheap whore trolling for tricks, her pelvis rolling as if it
was mounted on greased ball bearings. The halter they had made her wear,
advertising JUST DO ME, was ripped down the middle and barely held together by a
single safety pin; her gorgeous teenaged tits threatened to spill out with every
step she took. Her black Spandex micro-mini just barely covered her bare pussy
and ass cheeks, and had been sliced all the way up on both sides, as well as
front and back.
The effect was almost worse than being actually naked, as it was so grotesque to
the normally prim girl. Her mind was a swirling vortex of shame, humiliation and
anxiety as she approached the cafeteria. It was the very room where she had been
fucked up the ass just the night before, and had licked the janitor's asshole,
and had come over and over, but she wasn't going to think about that now. She
really wasn't, she thought.
She stopped outside, and took a deep breath. There was only way she would survive
this, she told herself. She must remember who she was. She was a Daniels " her
grandfather had founded this school, her father was a wealthy businessman about
to be elected to the City Council. Every boy wanted to fuck her, and every girl
wanted to be her. But none could.
She would brazen it out, she decided. Her teachers might have the upper hand over
her, but these were mere students, none of them good enough to wipe her ass, she
told herself. She squared her shoulders, stood up straight, and forced her face
into its usual gaze of haughty condescension. And walked into the cafeteria.
The usual clamor assaulted her, of 400 students talking at once. But as her heels
clicked across the linoleum, she noticed the room getting quieter. Conversations
continued, but in a low buzz, and she could tell, by all the faces looking at
her, that the buzz was about her, and the way she was dressed.
An outrageous wolf whistle sounded from somewhere, breaking the tension, and
everyone laughed nervously. Tiffany tried to ignore and gathered her usual lunch,
a veggie wrap, yogurt and a bottled water on a tray, paid for it, and looked for
a place to sit. She saw a table of her fellow cheerleaders " Marla, Brittany,
Suzy " with an empty seat, and even though the table was in the middle of the
room, she wanted so badly to be among friends who wouldn't mock that she walked
over and sat down.
"Jesus, Tiffers," exclaimed Brittany, "What is, like, the deal? Halloween is so
over.
"Hello to you too, Britt," she replied. "I don't have a problem if you don't."
She was still trying to bluff her way through.
"Yeah, but come on!" said Marla, a perky redhead. "What is with you? Everybody is
talking about the way you've been dressing the last two days, like some kind of,
like, whore or something. I mean, that dress is all ripped, but even if it
wasn't, you can practically see your butt!"
Tiffany was painfully aware that the conversations at several nearby tables had
ceased as the kids tried to eavesdrop on the cheerleaders' conversation. She had
to just plow ahead.
"Why is everybody ragging me about the way I'm dressed?" she demanded, trying to
take the offensive. "I can dress however I want to! I don't follow fashion
trends, I start them!"
"But Tiffers," Brittany squeaked, still not buying it. But before she could
finish, a blast of music roared forth from across the room. At first it was hard
to tell what it was or where it was coming from, but as Tiffany looked around
frantically she could see it was a table of several football players, not the
cute ones that she sometimes dated, but the big ugly grunts who played lineman
and rarely got the good-looking girls.
"I met a babe in a backseat drive-in/
Back in the saddle she'd sit/
Pulled on the reins just to keep me risin'/
She loved to chomp at the bit."
Tiffany didn't know the lascivious song, but the boys all did: "Cheese Cake" by
Aerosmith, a dirty little ditty by a dirty little band.
The songs was apparently being played on a portable CD boom box, which was
strictly forbidden on school grounds. Tiffany looked around for the cafeteria
monitor who would make them turn it off, and spotted him: Mr. Green, her damned
English teacher and one of the men who was abusing her. He was standing against a
wall, smiling, arms folded, tapping his foot in time to the music. Although the
boys were violating the rules, he made no move to stop them.
"Daddy do it, ooh, just do it/
Daddy do it, please let me see/
Do it, please just do it daddy/
Do it, do it, drivin' me crazy."
As Steven Tyler sang, one of the beefy boys climbed up on his lunch table. At
least, thought the embarrassed cheerleader, the students were now all looking at
him instead of at her. But then he pulled his T-shirt up to the middle of his
ribcage, imitating her halter top. He reached under the shirt with both hands and
with a mighty heave he ripped it in half down the middle, just as Tiffany's
halter was ripped. He looked right at her and grinned and stuck out his tongue
and wiggled it obscenely, and the place went completely nuts, as if Aerosmith
themselves had just appeared in their midst to perform for free. They were
cheering her degradation, Tiffany knew, and there was nothing she could do about
it.
"She always walks with her eyes down on her bootlace/
She lives to give it away/
She don't believe in the right time or the wrong place/
She's always liable to say/
Cheese cake, looser than her sister/
Cheese cake, mmm, her sugar gets me high/
She knows I can't resist her (cheese cake)/
Got my fingers in her pie (cheese cake)."
The brutish lineman did a bump and grind, waggling his pelvis, and everybody
roared with laughter as Tyler's voice boomed out. Green continued to do nothing
about the scene.
The moment the song stopped, Tiffany heard a loud splash, and realized it was
right beside her. She whirled away from watching the football player, and saw,
out of the corner of her eye, Old Joe the janitor hovering near her. Brittany was
standing up and shrieking, "Ohmigod, ohmigod, you knocked over my Coke, you
clumsy oaf!" Brittany's enormous cup of Coke was laying on the floor, ice and
cola flowing everywhere. Some of it had splashed onto Brittany's and Tiffany's
ankles, as well as Joe's.
"Oh ma'am, I am so sorry, I really am," Old Joe said, taking on the subservient
tone he was well-known for, one that bordered on a Stepin Fetchit parody. But
Tiffany knew the man better, knew what he was capable of. Briefly, she flashed on
last night, when he had been the last to fuck her up the ass, the one with the
biggest cock, and the one who gave her an orgasm that still made her tremble,
even as a memory.
Old Joe's voice was obsequious, but his eyes glittered with hardness, Tiffany
noticed for the first time.
"You idiot!" Brittany was still shrieking.
"I apologize, miss, I surely do," Joe said. "I wish I could clean it up, but my
back went out this morning, and I can't bend down for nothing. Would one of you
girls do me a big favor and clean this up for me?"
The cheerleaders all looked at him as if he were insane. Old Joe the janitor was
asking them, the cheerleaders, to get down on their hands and knees in the middle
of the cafeteria and clean up a spilled Coke? As if!!
"It's a little thing to ask," Joe said. "How 'bout you, Miss Daniels. Would you
do this for me?" he asked. "'Scuse me a minute, girls, while I talk privately to
Miss Daniels here."
He loaned over so that his mouth was close to Tiffany's ear, and only she could
hear. He whispered, harshly. "Cunt, if you're not down on your hands and knees in
10 seconds getting this floor spotless, tonight we're gonna take turns on you,
and we're gonna fuck you with my mop handle. How far up do you think we can make
it go if we push reeeeeeal hard?" he hissed.
Tiffany flushed with anger. Goddamn it, they had trapped her again. She had no
choice.. She got up out of her chair as her friends all started babbling. "Jeez,
Tiff, what are you doing? You don't have to clean up that mess. He knocked it
over, it's his fault, let him do it."
Joe pulled a large rag, almost as big as a towel, out of his pocket and handed it
to Tiffany. She bent down, and realized the only way to clean the floor was to be
on her hands and knees. She knelt with the rag, which was dry but very dirty, and
began to mop up the spilled soda.
Within seconds, she realized the sight she presented. Bending over on her hands
and knees caused the skimpy halter to hang away from her chest, and the better
parts of her tits were in full view. If someone were standing above and in front
of her, they could see right down her front almost to her nipples. The rear view
was even worse, she knew. Because her skirt had been split right up the ass
crack, then pinned back together, and because the skirt was so tight, the bending
of her ass caused the skirt to pull apart, exposing the crack of her ass
completely. With no underwear, she was showing off her booty to the entire lunch
room.
Still, Joe's threat was real. She had no doubt the men would fuck her with the
mop handle if she refused to cooperate. Or worse. They had told her they expected
full obedience of everything they told her to do, or she would end up being video
fodder for the perverted Dr. Wu. All she could do was mop up the Coke, and do it
quickly.
But even though she was working fast, rubbing at the Coke for all she was worth,
there was so much of it all over the floor. And many of the boys, realizing the
position she was in, had decided that subtlety was for wimps, and they wanted a
good look. A couple dozen boys had stood up behind Tiffany, and several more had
walked over, so that there was a good-sized mob of teenaged boys all gathered
behind her, staring at the fine crack of her young ass, and at the rounded globes
as they pressed on the tight Spandex of the skirt. Another crowd of youngsters
had gathered in front of Tiffany, ogling her tits. The two groups gawked, and
laughed and pointed. Elbows nudged ribs, guys jockeyed for a better view, and
teen dicks started stiffening inside jeans.
"Ohmigod, Tiff, what do you think you're doing?" Marla called to her. "You are
putting on such a show. You don't have to do this. Get up, girl! Show some
self-respect."
But Tiffany's self-respect, once an armor she had worn with pride, was now in
tatters.
And just when she thought it couldn't get any worse, the Aerosmith song started
again. They had only pushed pause on the CD player, and there was more to sing
about still:
" Cheese cake! Sneakin' out the back door/
Cheese cake! Rollin' down the lawn/
Everybody's kissed her (cheese cake!)
At the crack of dawn!"
Tiffany scrubbed at the soda, slowly soaking it up into the dirty rag. The crowds
of boys grew and grew, and they hooted at the richest, prettiest girl in school
down on her hands and knees with her ass and tits showing. A rubber band was shot
out of the crowd and smacked her right on her naked butt crack and she flinched,
but refused to look around at whoever had shot it. She was focused intently on
getting through the outrage and getting this day over with.
Mr. Green walked over, finally. "Is everything OK here?" he asked blithely.
"This nice girl is helping me with a spill," Old Joe explained, winking at his
co-conspirator. "I just don't know what I'd do without her."
"Why Tiffany Daniels, I'm pleasantly surprised," Mr. Green said in a voice louder
than it needed to be. "You used to have a reputation for being stuck up, but here
you are down on your hands and knees mopping up Coke, helping our janitor. Good
for you!"
The students all guffawed at this. Tiffany grit her teeth and didn't say
anything, but her face was crimson with embarrassment and her skin burned with
shame.
"I hope I'm not out of line here, but this kind of sacrifice deserves to be
honored," Mr. Green said with fake sincerity. "Why don't we all give Tiffany a
hand?" He began to clap, and the students joined in. The applause rose, louder
and louder, echoing off the lunchroom walls. It was supposedly for her doing a
good deed, but Tiffany knew they were all really applauding the spectacle of her
near-nudity, her position of submission at the feet of the janitor, the sudden
and drastic change in her image from prim and proper to dressed-to-thrill.
Tiffany had always craved the spotlight, but only when she was in control. Now
she no longer was. It seemed to her as if everyone else in the school was above
her, putting her down. She had never felt so low.
Of course, she hadn't gotten to Homecoming yet.
