Confessions of a Student: The Story of Kayin

Authors note: Any characters you do not recognize are COMPELTELY fictional, and are not based off of any real persons, living or dead.

---

In late fall of the year 2007, I had been sixteen for nearly four months. I was very small for my age, not much larger than the average ten year old. I was slim, but my body curved in ways that seemed to draw the eyes of men, both wanted and unwanted. Some would like to say that I was too young for what happened, but I disagreed, and even today, thirty years later, I still feel the same.

I was a very skilled little girl. I had just began to gain a little recognition for my piano playing, something that I would gain much more for in the future. But this is a very different story, it is not one of my ascent to fame, nor my fall, as others famed will package and sell, penned by hands they haven’t touched.

I was a poet and a singer, a pianist, and I felt I was a true artist. But few told me that. At that time I had a teacher who would rather have tried to get my pussy than train my little fingers to dance on ivory like gorgeous ballerinas. But I put an end to that quickly and soon was learning from an old woman, a woman who was cold, but more brilliant and skillful than many would be if they sat at a piano bench for a thousand years.

Everywhere I went I carried three things, my keyboard, compact, but large enough to play beautiful music, a laptop, on which I made notes when ideas streaked through my mind, and an iPod, a contraption now so old they’re as foreign to children today as record players were to me. But unlike iPods, records were classic and beautiful once they were old; when our technology grew old it was mere junk.

I fear I speak to eloquently for the story I am about to tell. And oh, my friend, it is quite a story, one I’m sure you will never believe. One I’m sure you’re skipping over these words to get to. It’s important to remember that not for a moment did I dislike what I was doing, despite how it may seem.

These men, to me, were ethereal creatures, men who play-fought for a living, men so beautiful my panties were soaked just to hear one sentence from their lips. I didn’t have any interest in these men, however, until earlier the very same year, and that was only thanks to a new friend who one day became more.

So, when we were traveling that summer we bought tickets to a show, and I grew quickly restless, the pressure building in my crotch until I felt I would accidentally pee myself. So I ran, searching for a bathroom, but somehow, and I can’t truthfully say how, I ended up backstage, before the door of a locker room.

I stood there, weighing the possibilities. I knew the women’s would be nearby, but those girls were whores, and back then, STDs were spread by toilet seats, or so we were told by friends in whispered, racy conversations.

“There is a bathroom in here, right?” I cried, throwing the door open and running in. A man stared at me, a blond man. I gasped. “I’m terribly sorry. I ran searching for a bathroom, and I somehow got back here. Please don’t throw me out of report me, I have to pee so badly I could burst. It’s hard to think like this.” All this was said in one short breath as I stared in awe at the man who, to me, was the most attractive one alive.

But at the moment I fainted. I woke to find myself wearing only my underwear. “Just what the FUCK do you think you did to me?” I screamed, appalled.

He looked humiliated. “I’m sorry. When you fainted, you peed yourself.” My face grew hot at his words. “I removed your underwear before it happened, so that you wouldn’t have to be totally naked. I put them back on quickly. I didn’t see your....” He trailed of, telling me he had saw, but hadn’t looked.

I quivered from his words, so excited, wishing he were lying, that he had stared at that place between my slender thighs for minutes, brought me back from the unimaginably short coma by licking that most sensitive part.

So I stood, dressed in my little matching pink and white striped bra and panty set. I felt no modesty, no fear, only arousal. To be in the presence of a man like this, so nearly naked, was amazing. My blood pumped through my body so quickly I felt my pulse in the tips of my toes and my fingers, felt it in other, unmentionable places. “Edge...” I whispered, still staring at him. Oh, thank God to have been born female!

“Yes?” He asked, staring at me, as if he could see into my mind.

“My dress, what did you do with it? It’s very expensive, and all the accesories, you removed those too!” I cried, realizing I had been dressed in a gorgeous, lolita dress, made from the softest cotton and lace, with a petticoat, knee stockings, gorgeous, high, half wooden shoes my Vivienne Westwood. Stupidly I looked at my legs. Of course I still had the socks and shoes on, fool! But why had he removed the blouse? Why the bow?

“You were sweating, badly. I gave them to Beth, she’s actually good at house hold things. She’s making them gorgeous and clean.”

I whimpered. Why didn’t she remove my clothes? I was frightened by this man, but so turned on.

I shook my head, and glanced to where I had dropped my bag. I grabbed for it, and withdrew that compact keyboard. “Can I play something to calm myself?” I asked, and so I did, without waiting for a response. I sang and played, sang things that seemed to frighten him. Songs by my beloved Dresden Dolls. Missed Me, Sex Changes, Girl Anachronism, Bank of Boston Beauty Queen, and soon, all that fear was gone. I stopped, and he applauded.

I gazed at him, and now I knew what I should be doing, knew as if I had known it all along. I grinned. “It’s still very hot in here, I’m sweating so much. Do you mind?” I asked, and quickly removed my bra, revealing my large, high breasts, their perky little nipples, coloured pink.

His reaction was quick and obvious. A large bulge appeared in his tight, spandex tights. I grinned, and slid off my panties, too. He stared in fascination at my young, slim body, standing before him in only a pair of lacy, knee high socks and high, Vivienne Westwood shoes, the top of my head barely grazing his shoulder.

I sat again on that cold, cement floor, my legs spread apart, my knees up, and slipped one hand around my breasts, caressing and squeezing it, whimpering with delight already. If it feels this much better with someone else here, I thought, imagine how it must feel when someone else does it!

Without willing it there, my second hand was between my thighs, rubbing quickly. My eyes fixed intently on that man, one I had fantasized about for months, one I had imagined taking my virginity. Now that man was standing before me, his tights and briefs pooled around his feet, stroking his completely solid dick. I could smell myself, that feminine scent, charged with pheromones, an old trick used by French prostitutes, cheap perfume, a natural aphrodisiac.

The sight of his hardness increased the speed of my fingers, so that in moments I felt the first of the most amazing orgasms I was to experience. As I whimpered with delight, the door creaked opened, and two males entered, tow more whom I adored.

John Morrison, and Chris Jericho. I whimpered, another orgasm hit me with such force I had to lay back. My head dizzy, my face flushed, I stared at them. “h...hello.” I whimpered. “I’m Kayin Burgo. Don’t you dare think Edge is doing something awful. I’m perfectly legal, despite this body and this face, I’m much older than you think!” And as with any male, that was all it took, they came to me, supported me, as Edge lay flat on his belly, and began examining my most intimate parts.

He spread the delicate lips, then looked up at me, a smile on his face. “It’s still sealed.”

“Have you ever had the pleasure of breaking a seal?” I asked, my hands busy as I stroked the two through their briefs, the long, thick male parts felt warm in my hands, somehow, I never imagined warmth when I thought of penises before. My little hands were nervous and unskilled, but they liked that. They liked to teach and dominate. Their sweating bodies were tense, every muscle awake as I stroked them, my arms moving as one.

“No,” Answered Edge. The last woman he had had publicly was Lita, a whore before she was a woman. I knew she definitely hadn’t been ‘sealed’ not for as long as I had been alive.

Edge began licking me, exploring me with his tongue, as John and Chris began caresses my warm breasts, squeezing and pinching the nipples. I whimpered softly, pulling their cocks free from their cotton bindings.

I tossed my last bit of fear out the window, and wrapped my lips around John’s large, brown cock, sucking gently and licking the head with my strong tongue, stroking Chris with my other hand. It tasted amazing, sweet and delicious. My friends had warmed me that it was awful. I suppose the difference was made when a man cared about his body.

I alternated back and forth, sucking and stroking, and Edge continued licking me, my body writhing with delight. It seemed to be ages before he stopped. When he did, he lifted me into his lap, and stroked my slit with the head of his dick. And then, it was gone. Gone forever in a moment of delicious passion. I felt agony, my skin tore, and I cried out. A little bit of blood slipped into his blond hairs, but I wouldn’t let it stop me.

In a moment Jericho’s hand was on my small clit, rubbing it gently, counteracting the pain, which was now fading. Morrison played with my breasts, while I continued alternating the two. Soon I felt amazing again, and was crying out for more, more, more!

I felt something wet and smooth press against my ass, and it slowly slid inside. I cried out louder, John Morrison was fucking me at the same moment as Edge! I groaned out with passion into Jericho’s cock, sucking harder than I had been before, stroking the shaft like a porn star.

A fire of passion had been lit in my young body, and I began screaming with pleasure every time I came. Finally, I felt their warm, hot seed shoot inside my body. With one last stroke, Jericho drained his balls into my mouth, and I swallowed every delicious drop.

We lay together, them holding me, petting me, telling me I was amazing. I felt dizzy, a bit lost. I pulled away and turned to my keyboard, and began to play a song of my own creation. I believe you’ve heard it? It goes something like “I abandoned you in the moment I cannot forget, nor shall I ever want to, for my most beautiful memory is of loss,” if my memory hasn’t failed me along with my skill. Born in that moment was the song that acted as a catalyst for my musical career.

But my time in those locker rooms wasn’t nearly over. Edge invited me to stay with him, and I did. My friends didn’t mind, for eventually they were going to another show, but not until August. I had nearly three months of this life left to live, so I have many more stories to tell.

But as of now, I am growing tired; perhaps another day I will bring you another story.

---

Author’s note: Next I think I will have Brian Kendrick do her...just him, no one else, a nice sweet break with Edge, and then the Phoenix part. I don’t know where to go from there, but you can suggest things if you’re interested.