The Booster Club Chinese Auction

©2009 Herb Cat. Do not reproduce or distribute this story without the author's permission.

As an author, I welcome feedback from readers. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herbcatwriter@yahoo.com. Thank you.

.oOo.

15 - THE FINAL SACK

"One more sack, Little Girl. And then there's no more. I bet you feel bad. I bet you want to keep on being a bitch all night long for all these fine boys. But rules are rules, Little Bitch. We can only have one more winner. Here's the very last sack. Look at this pretty picture." Toni-Jo looked and quickly covered her privates. Ha, they could hardly be called that any more now could they! ((The picture is so obscene. How could one of my BFF's draw such filthy pornography. It's like the picture in the middle of the magazine I saw in Daddy's desk one time when I wasn't supposed to be in there. The one that folded out in three sections. Except this picture is only the middle section. the really bad section. I bet Kathy drew this one. In the middle of the girlhood she made it look like little fuzz there, like my little fuzz, like my girlhood. Certainly nobody here wants that part. Oh my, there's so many tickets in there. It's like the mostest tickets of all. Why would they want to win that?))

Everyone was anxious to hear the winner's name. Each boy (except one) had his fingers crossed, hoping that by some stroke of fate, one of the few tickets with his name on it would jump into Toni-Jo's fingers this time. Every week, this final prize goes to one of the men who can afford to buy a lot more tickets than any of the boys.

But Coach had to prolong the agony of waiting to deliver his pep talk. "Congratulations, Kevin, Zach, Tommy, Bob,--yeah, Bob, you won twice tonight,--Frank, Mel, Ian, George, Duane, Petey, and Vince. All of your performances tonight were commendable! You really are winners! And you know I don't mean down on the field. As for the rest of you losers, let tonight be a lesson to you. It's time to reconsider your strategy. Get a good game plan and then stick to it. Maybe next week you need to buy more tickets. Don't be fuckin cheapskates. And don't waste too many on sacks where you know you don't have a fuckin chance. Got that. What do you need?"

"A Game Plan!" they shouted. The 12 winners looked at the losers around them, made the L signal on their foreheads, and began chanting "Loser! Loser!" Coach didn't stop them but turned the meeting back over to Hollander. However, he couldn't resist one final jab, "Ron, you didn't win tonight either. Better think about your game plan, Loser."

"There's still one more sack, Coach. OK, Little Girl, Little...Bitch! We're all anxiously waiting to hear what name you pull out." Toni-Jo reluctantly took her hand away from her pussy and reached in the bag, dug way down deep, and took out a ticket. ((I feel sorry for the winner this time. It sure doesn't seem like much of a prize. Let's see who it is. Oh Dear. Well, I guess I have to say it.)) "Thang."

Thang shot his fist into the air and pumped it in a gesture that always reminded him of the way his long-distance trucker father sounded the air horn. Thang felt victorious. He felt vindicated. But he wasn't surprised. All night, he had been confident. Ever since a few minutes after half time, he knew this prize would be his. His cock pointed the way as he paraded up to the massage table, the rest of the crowd staring in astonishment.

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Thang's parents were Vietnamese immigrants who came as teenagers to this little midwestern town. The local Lutheran church sponsored a total of twenty refugee families, assisting them in finding jobs and places to live, as well as helping them assimilate into American culture.

And assimilate they did. There is now a thriving Vietnamese community on the east side of town, a little Saigon. The men work hard and provide for their families, considering it shameful to apply for welfare. The women are active in the ladies sewing circle and garden club and various other groups. The kids do well in school, usually get part-time jobs as teenagers, and never get in trouble.

On the other hand, the Vietnamese also maintain their separate identity. They have their own cultural center where new generations learn the old country's crafts, cuisine, dances and language. Where the males every Saturday play what they call football, but Americans call soccer. And where fine young Vietnamese girls can go to meet fine young Vietnamese boys and not fall in love with some other boy and produce half-breed kids and shame their parents. So Thang, born in the USA, was in that middle world, integrated yet segregated, a world that justified a hyphenated title: Vietnamese-American.

When he went to elementary school, he tried to write his name the way he learned at the cultural center: Tha('ng.
But his teachers kept changing it, and he soon gave up. Just like he gave up trying to correct their mangled pronunciation of his name. It sounded like that Southern Baptist Gospel singer he once heard on TV singing "Jeeeziss, Jeeeziss, Jeeeziss, there's jist some THANG about that nahh eeme."

Now in High School, Thang and his friends get along great with all their peers, no matter where their ancestors came from. Yet they still group themselves together at times. That's why Thang doesn't sit at the jocks table in the cafeteria, but with seven of his fellow Nammers, sophomores, juniors and seniors, including two girls. They talk and joke and flirt, all in a secret language only they understand. Some xenophobic teachers are convinced they're a gang, plotting untold nefarious acts.

Family is important to these immigrants. Thang has a deep love and respect for his father. He never wants to disappoint the man who has sacrificed so much for him.

Five years ago, when Thang had just turned 12, his father found out he was having wet dreams (although he usually wasn't asleep when he had them). Dad decided his boy was man enough to accompany him on a haul down to Fort Worth. Thang was thrilled, seeing states and topography and animals he had only read about, listening to his Dad's stories about the old countries, taking the opportunity to brag about his good grades in school. Throughout his life, he looked for ways to make his father proud.

They stopped overnight in Omaha and Dad took him to a brothel run by some distant cousin. Thang found himself alone in a bedroom with a sweet young whore who only spoke Vietnamese. She taught him a lot of new words which he couldn't wait to share with his buddies back in East Brentwood. But she gave Thang a lot more than a dirty language lesson. Thang returned home no longer a boy and no longer a virgin. His father said, "You will always use a condom!" And that was that. Thang wasn't going to gamble with his future.

At the beginning of this semester, his father told him to try out for football. Thang tried to explain American football was different from the game his father's friends play, but only got the reply, "How different can it be? You will try out!" And that was that. Thang knew he'd never make the team.

About that time, the school board was giving Coach a lot of heat because the football team wasn't integrated enough. Poor Coach. He had a few black players like George, but most of the black kids didn't want to play on a losing team. Instead they opted for basketball where the Warriors had been winning at least 75% of their games for years. So, when a young Asian boy showed up for tryouts this year, Coach immediately put him on the team. Whenever Thang's father wasn't hauling on Saturday, he'd attend the game rain or shine, and watch his son, a second string defensive end, spend all four quarters sitting on the bench. Thang longed to make his father proud of something he did, but clearly it wasn't going to be on an American football field.

It isn't that Thang and his seven fellow Nammers have no interest at all in the sport. In fact, they all follow the games closely. That's because they have a pool going every week. It's a simple pool. Two teams and four quarters make eight boxes. Each kid puts in fifty bucks and the boxes are assigned randomly. Thang's cousin, Danh, holds the purse. The kid with the highest score in his box wins the total pot. This week, Thang had the Mustangs third quarter. So right after half time he took a real interest in what was happening on the field. When the visitors started scoring, he tried not to let his fellow benchmates see his excitement. He booed on the outside and cheered on the inside. Then came Zach's colossal fumble, and Thang knew two things: the Warriors were heading for another defeat and Thang was about to win a major victory.

After the embarrassing team handshake, the losing team headed in to get ready for the night's festivities. Thang, along with his teammates, stripped to his jockstrap, but instead of putting on his jersey like they did, he donned his team jacket. He needed something with pockets to hold several items he retrieved from his locker, items he'd been waiting all season to use.

Fortuitously, cousin Danh had a job at the local pizzeria. So when he delivered the pizzas after the game, Thang was there to meet him and collect his $400. The first thirteen tickets he purchased went in their proper sacks, but all the rest he wagered on the top prize, fifty times as many as any other kid, and fifteen times as many as any man. Hence his confidence.

.oOo.

No, he was not surprised when Toni-Jo read his name. He strode up to the table, pumping the air with his fist, shouting, "Yes, Yes, Yes," his team jacket opened to show his not very hairy chest, but a dark black treasure trail descending from his navel spreading into an impressive bush above a hard jockless cock that disproved the myth about Asians being under-endowed. He stood there a moment, soaking up the homage which was his due. He looked down at Toni-Jo, smirked, then turned to Horton. "Watch and learn, Coach." A collective gasp went around the room.

As winner of the grand prize, Thang was entitled to use not just the bitch's cunt, but any other part he wanted, regardless of who else used it already. He took her left hand with mock tenderness. "Sorry, Mark, this isn't your hand any more. Now it's mine!" He yanked her hand, with the arm and elbow attached. No longer supported, Toni-Jo flopped on her back. Thang quickly scooted around to the end of the table and grabbed her two feet. "They're mine now, Kevin." He yanked them off the table, spreading her legs in the process. She slid across the wet surface until her bottom was perched on the very end. Now her hair was in the piss puddle. Thang licked his middle finger and deftly began probing her virgin cunt, exploring every ridge and valley as she squirmed and wriggled helplessly. No fingers, not even her own, had ever stimulated her there before.

Then he knelt down and buried his face between her legs, chewing out all of Kevin's dried jizz, her father's drying jizz, and her own piss and very wet pussy juice. When Toni-Jo tried to lift her head to see, only his dark black hair was visible. ((What is he doing? Why does he want to put his face THERE? Is that something guys do in China? I think he's Chinese. I'm sure American boys would never want to do that. Chinese people eat funny things, though. When Mommy takes me to the Chinese Buffet, I never know what the things are. But there's one good thing the Chinese gave us, the Chinese Auction, hehe. Oh my, he's putting his tongue, oh my, he's putting it in my, oh my.)) Thang grabbed her thighs to keep her from bucking as he continued to feast. Had he not had his mouth full, he would have said, "They're mine now, Mr. Lewis."

Suddenly, he threw her legs off him, stood up, ran to the other end of the table and grabbed her shoulders. "They're mine now, Zach." He grabbed them and slid her back up the length of the table until her head was hanging off the end. He stuck his two thumbs in her mouth. "Mine, Vince." Then standing there, he stuck his cock inside. "Suck it, Bitch. The way Vince taught you. Ah yeah, Vince, you did a good job!" All Toni-Jo could see now was Thang's sack which hung right over her eyes. Black needlelike hairs from it poked and titillated the bridge of her nose. "That's the way, Bitch. Suck it like it's a big old fuckin candy cane. A big old fuckin gook candy cane." Thang reached over and cupped his fingers under her boobs. "Mine, Hartman." Last summer he worked in Hartman's Hardware and hated it. Thang rubbed his thumbs across the nipples, and smiled when he saw them perk up. He pulled out his cock. He didn't want a full blow job, just a fluffer. He was saving his Oriental splooge for something far better. He reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out a leather cock ring. As all the men stared in wonder, he snapped it in place to keep his pole rigid until the right time.

Thang pushed her body down again, so her head was back on the table. Then with the agility of a martial arts expert, he jumped on the table, planting his knees inside this twelve-year old's legs. "MY legs." Again he started manipulating her cunt with his hand, playing with her clit, dipping his fingers in her very fluent pussy juice and then licking them, and of course finger-fucking her.

Hollander offered the jar of vaseline. "You're gonna want this, Young Man."

"Nope."

Merle almost lost it. "Hey, that's my little girl. She's never been opened. For God's sake, use some fuckin lube. You gonna rip her wide apart, you filthy Chink." It took both Hartman and the Coach to hold Merle back from pulling Thang off his daughter.

But the calm, shall we say inscrutable, Thang simply reached into his jacket again and pulled out a tube of KY. Not just any KY, but Sensual Silk warming lubricant. Through extensive research, Thang had found most females really enjoy the soft seductive warm feel of this product, especially the virgins. He began to apply it to Toni-Jo's cunt, HIS cunt, and she closed her eyes in rapture. He glanced around the room. The boys were studying his every move. Mr. Lewis no longer had to be restrained; he looked impressed. Mr. Malachowsky was taking notes.

Thang put his hands on either side of Toni-Jo's arms, HIS arms. She felt his jacket brush against her titties and opened her eyes. He whispered to her. "Does your pussy feel good, Bitch?" She nodded. "All nice and warm?" Another nod. "Well now, Thang is about to make it feel even better. Thang will make your pussy more excited than it's ever been. But first, Bitch, Thang needs you to do something." One last nod.

He raised up again, reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a Trojan. He tore the packet open with his teeth and handed the little latex circle to her. "Now, Bitch, you're going to take those pretty little hands, MY hands, and you're going to roll that rubber on to my big fat yellow cock." She reached up, put the condom on the tip and started rolling it slowly back. ((Why did he say it was yellow? It's not yellow. Maybe he's color blind. Gee, his boyhood looks real nice, like it's all dressed up now. It's got that little leather belt, hehe, and now this little raincoat, hehe. Like maybe it's going to a party, hehe.))

"Very good, Bitch. Thang is ready. Now don't say a fuckin word!" He tore off his jacket and flung it at Hollander, who accepted it as if he were Thang's personal manservant. There was nothing else the boy needed from his pockets. He put his hands back on the table where they were and slowly lowered himself down on top of his prize. He wiggled a little until his cock found its target. Then he started pushing, steadily, relentlessly. Toni-Jo's eyes opened wide again. ((Something much thicker than his finger is invading me. I don't know how to close him out. I don't know if I want to close him out. I don't know how to open to let him in. This isn't the same as my poopie hole where Daddy taught me to pretend to make poopie and then it opened so Coach could get in. Ow, it really hurts. Ow, ow, ow. Oh, he stopped pushing. I guess he's done. No, he started pushing again. Ow, ow, ow. I gotta tell him to stop. But he said he didn't want me to talk. He said now don't say a F word. If I scream, that's not a word, Right?)) Toni-Jo's scream filled the room. The boys turned to look at Mr. Lewis, but he looked satisfied. He could tell this Thang boy knew what he was doing. The boys returned to watch Thang's bounding ass, the way they watched her father's ass earlier.

Thang kept up his assault, occasionally stopping to give the cunt a little time to get accustomed to its first visitor, but only a little time. He pushed in deeper and deeper. There was something else almost lost in the din of Toni-Jo's screeching. Paul was one of the few who noticed how silent Thang was, not like the guys in the porno movies who grunt and groan and shout obscenities. This fucker was demonstrating quiet resolve. He was a man with a mission. Every thrust was calculated. There was no wasted energy. And his ears were shut to the bitch's screams.

Thang's balls finally hit the girl's crotch and he knew he'd reached the end zone. He began his pistoning. Her loud complaints began to change to loud expressions of ecstasy. She couldn't help it. Now she had to use words. "Oh, yes, yes, yes. Oh, Thang. Make me your bitch. Make me your fuckin American bitch. Did I just use the F word? Sorry. Oh, oh, it feels soooo hot in there. I'm burning up."

Thang had one way to shut her up. He came down on her face and planted his mouth on hers. She opened her mouth, hoping his tongue would come in. And her wish was granted.

No longer propping himself up on his arms, he now could play with her boobs as he continued to french kiss her mouth and fuck her no-longer-virgin pussy. He felt the nipples getting stiff and knew he had her. ((Oh my, Thang told me my girlhood, no he called it my pussy, but I think he meant HIS pussy, would be more excited than it's ever been, and he was right. Oh, it hurts so much but feels so good. His boyhood belongs in there. I don't want Zach any more. I want to have Thang's babies. Oh, oh, oh.))

Thang felt his balls churn up. He was almost ready. He lifted his face and spit on the bitch's mouth. He leaned back and raised his hands, his cock's rough exit making a slurpy pop. Then he tore the condom off and threw it in her face. He unbuckled the cock ring and tossed it to his manservant. He glared his Fu Manchu face at the little twelve-year old. "This is for you, you fuckin white bitch! This is from your fuckin cherry-popper Thang." He grabbed his cock, took aim, and shot a huge blast of cum right at her face. "Mine!" Then another at her tits. "Mine!" Then another smack center on her clit. "Mine!" The fourth he pointed to the ceiling where it came raining down on him, her, and half the others in the room.

He jumped off the table, grabbed her arm, pulled her off and dropped her at her father's feet. "Here, Merle, you can take her back. I'm through with her." Thang stared right at the camera. "Paul, you're going to deliver the first DVD to my father. Then on Monday morning, you'll give me seven more copies. I have seven friends. You can send the bill to Mr. Merle Lewis." Finally he grabbed his jacket and cock ring from Hollander, and walked toward the door. Before he left, he turned and said, "Now listen up, it's not Thang! It's Tha('ng! Learn to say my fuckin name right. And do you know what Tha('ng means in Vietnamese? Of course you don't, you college rejects. It means Victory! Got that? Victory!" He made sure every football player was looking at him and then made the L sign with his right thumb and index finger on his forehead.

The boy headed for the locker room. He had finally done something as an East Brentwood Warrior to make his father proud!

.oOo.

As an author, I welcome feedback from readers. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herbcatwriter@yahoo.com. Thank you.