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Just One Rule	By : GeorgeGlass Category: +G through L > The Loud House Views: 56451 -:- Recommendations : 4 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own The Loud House or its characters. I made no money from writing this story. Perversion is its own reward.

Chapter List
- 8
- 9
- 10
Chapter 9: No Substitute
It was Tuesday, and school had just let out. Lincoln was heading toward the front doors, trying to catch up with his friends. He was making an effort to spend more quality time with them these days, rather than letting his increasingly active and varied sex life overshadow all of his other social activities.
“Lincoln?” someone called from behind him.
Lincoln would have known that sweet-toned, Latin-accented voice anywhere. He turned around rapidly, nearly tripping over his own ankle in the process.
“Hi, Ms. DiMartino,” he replied sheepishly.
God, she was something to look at: tall and leggy, with skin of a honey tone that even the swankiest tanning salons could not duplicate; long, lustrous hair; and the dark eyes and brows of a wise goddess. On top of all that, she had a sweet smile born of a sunny disposition. In short, she was perfection in a pair of black pumps.
“Mrs. Johnson,” she said, “told me you did some extra-credit work for her recently.” Then, in a sultry tone that made Lincoln start going hard in his pants right then and there, Ms. DiMartino added, “She said she was very impressed.”
“Um, uh, thanks,” Lincoln replied mindlessly, unaware of the huge, silly grin he was sporting.
“I’d like to hire you to help me with some chores at my apartment,” Ms DiMartino said. “Would you be available after school tomorrow?”
“Oh, yes, definitely, for sure,” Lincoln replied, having no actual idea whether he had any obligations at that time.
“Perfect,” she replied. “See you tomorrow, Lincoln.”
He was glad she’d said that—otherwise, he might have stood there looking at her forever. Instead, he answered, “See you tomorrow!” and trotted off to catch up with his friends.
Now, he was hopelessly distracted. As his clique chatted around him, he couldn’t help but ruminate on what had just happened. Had Ms. DiMartino, Mother Nature’s greatest achievement, just invited him to her place for—did he dare think it—sex? Or was she actually hiring him to do chores? It was hard to detect innuendo in the voice of someone whose every word sounded faintingly sexy.
But no, Ms. DiMartino had to have meant what Lincoln thought she meant. She’d mentioned Lincoln doing extra-credit work for Mrs. Johnson, and he hadn’t done anything like that. Ms. DiMartino had to have been referring to his and Mrs. Johnson’s session of surreptitious desk-sex.
What was he going to wear tomorrow? Were his very best undies clean? Should he try putting on some cologne?
Then he realized that his top priority had to be keeping this a secret from the guys. Even if they thought Lincoln was just going to Ms. DiMartino’s place to do chores, his fellow fifth-grade boys might still murder him in a jealous rage. And maybe not just the boys; out the classroom window, Lincoln had seen his ex-crush Paige looking longingly at the attractive teacher on the playground. Which, when Lincoln thought about it, might explain why Paige had never responded to his secret-admirer note and seemed to have zero interest in him even now.
“What do you think, Lincoln?”
“She’s a lesbian!” Lincoln blurted.
Then he looked at Zach, who had asked the question, and Lincoln’s face reddened.
“Um,” Zach said, “I meant what do you think about going to Flip’s for Flippies?”
“Oh, um, that sounds good.”
“And who’s a lesbian?” Rusty asked.
“Uh, I don’t know, a lot of people.”
***
Ana DiMartino had never thought of herself as a beauty. In the small Honduran town where she’d grown up, her childhood peers had nicknamed her “Ana Banana” because of her outsized nose. And almost as soon as she’d grown into her distinctive facial feature, puberty struck and plagued her with terrible acne. She didn’t get over that until she was almost twenty, by which time she was an education major at Michigan State. Even now, having graduated college, earned her teaching license, and gotten a job as a substitute teacher at Royal Woods Middle School, it had never really dawned on Ana that the person she saw in the mirror every morning as she got dressed had become a very attractive woman.
Not that Ana hadn’t noticed how much her students seemed to like her—particularly the boys. But boys were demonstrative by nature. Their expressions of appreciation for their teacher were simply more overt than those of the girls. Except Paige, perhaps; she seemed to leave as much fruit, flowers, and candy on Ana’s desk as any of the boys.
Another thing that Ana had never considered—at least, not until very recently—was the possibility that she might become attracted to a student. Certainly not an elementary student.
But now it had happened. In the weeks since the school year began, she had substituted for Mrs. Johnson once and Coach Pacowski twice (the man really needed to stop going to those all-you-can-eat seafood restaurants), and on each of those occasions, she’d had the chance to be in close proximity to Lincoln Loud. The boy might have been a typical fifth-grader in many ways, but his well-toned culo looked very nice indeed in a pair of gym shorts. Not to mention that the bulge of his package was visible through said shorts, suggesting that he must be packing rather more down there than his male classmates were.
But Ana’s eyes would never have been drawn to those parts of Lincoln’s body—or any elementary-school boy’s body—if it weren’t for another quality of his: an air of machismo that Ana had never seen in a boy so young. Like all true possessors of that quality, Lincoln wore it like a comfortable coat, never showing it off but also never concealing it. Clearly, the boy had done a great deal of growing up over the summer.
But as powerful as Lincoln’s animal magnetism was, Ana had resisted it. What else could she do? She didn’t want to end up a headline, let alone go to jail, or be deported back to Honduras, where the shame would no doubt follow her for life.
But after work one day, Ana had accepted Agnes Johnson’s invitation to join her for happy hour at Roxy’s On the Rox, the older teacher’s favorite bar. As they each sipped their third adult beverage at a table in the back of the bar, out of earshot of the other patrons, Agnes had raised an intriguing question.
“What if I told you…” she said, “strictly hypothetically, I mean…that there’s a boy in my class who is quite the stud?”
“What do you mean?” Ana asked.
“Well, he’s charming. And I mean in the hottest, manliest…” she lowered her voice “…most fuckable way you could imagine.” Her voice returned to normal volume as she added, “Hypothetically, of course.”
What Ana said next was against her better judgment. But then, her better judgment had wandered away two Pink Squirrels ago.
“Have you…had him?” Ana asked. “Hypothetically, I mean. And…is he good in bed?”
“Well,” Agnes replied with a leer, “I wouldn’t know if he’s good in bed, but he gave me the fuck of a lifetime on my desk.”
Ana gasped—partly from shock, partly from envy. She hadn’t had a good roll in the hay since college.
“You want to know who it is?” Agnes asked saucily. She apparently had decided to drop the flimsy pretense of a hypothetical discussion.
“Yes,” Ana breathed. “Yes!”
“You’ll never believe it, but…it’s Lincoln Loud.”
Ana should have been shocked, but she wasn’t. Not after having seen for herself what Lincoln was like these days. But she didn’t want to be too obvious about her interest in him.
“Um, you mean that cute chico with the white hair?” she asked.
“That’s the chico I mean,” Agnes replied. “I don’t know what happened to him over the summer, but sweet holy Jesus, he’s a freak of nature now. Not only does he know what he’s doing—I mean with his lips, his hands, and everything else—but he’s hung like a damn pit bull.”
Ana’s dark brows rose. “Madre de dios,” she exclaimed. “That sounds…magnificent.”
Agnes raised just one eyebrow and replied, “You saying you’re interested?”
“Well, I, I…yes,” Ana exhaled. “But, you would not mind…sharing?”
“He’s eleven,” Agnes replied simply. “It’s not like we’re gonna get married. Although,” she added with a sideways smile, “I wouldn’t mind if he made a little sperm donation. The ol’ biological clock is ticking, you know.”
“So, how would you suggest I, ah, raise the subject with him?” Ana asked.
Agnes snorted. “Just get him alone and let nature take its course. That kid was born to fuck.”
***
The next afternoon, Lincoln was as prepared as he could possibly be. He was wearing his very best pair of undies—red jockeys that accented his crotch-bulge to maximum effect, which was why his sisters had chosen them for him. He had on his regular clothes over them, though, so as not to seem suspicious. Wearing khakis to school would have been a dead giveaway.
After dodging his friends and slipping out the school doors, he’d sneaked around behind the building and slapped on some cologne he’d bought. Lori had helped him choose it. But he hoped he hadn’t put on too much, or too little.
Now, riding the elevator up to Ms. DiMartino’s apartment, he looked carefully at the elderly gentleman who was on the elevator with him, making sure the man wasn’t wrinkling his nose or blinking hard against the scent. But the old guy appeared to be half asleep; in fact, Lincoln only just caught the man’s single bag of groceries as it slipped from his arms.
“Oh!” the man shouted, startled back into consciousness. “Thank you, young man. I’m overdue for my nap.”
“You’re welcome,” Lincoln said. Then the elevator bell chimed, and the door opened.
Ms. DiMartino’s was apartment 4A, at the end of the hall. Lincoln wondered how he should act when he got there. After he rang the bell, should he lean confidently in the doorway? Greet her with his trick-or-treating smile? Or should he even ring the bell? Maybe knocking would send a better message. No, knocking was too easily mistaken for other sounds, like that of the overworked icemaker in the Loud family’s fridge.
He stopped in the hallway, took a deep breath, and let it out.
Okay, just be yourself, he thought. The calmest, coolest, sexiest version of yourself. Then he took the last few steps to Ms. DiMartino’s door and rang the bell.
Ana, who had been trying and failing to concentrate on reading Ambrose Bierce’s “An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge” for the middle-school English class she would be substitute-teaching the next day, practically leaped up from her apartment’s one easy chair. Her reaction was part startlement and part enthusiasm.
She couldn’t believe she was actually doing this. There were so many ways this could go wrong. And as she looked through the peephole and saw Lincoln standing there in his orange polo shirt and jeans, a new potential gone-wrong scenario hit her that she hadn’t thought of: What if she’d been too subtle when she spoke to Lincoln at school? What if he actually thought he was coming over to do chores? Oh, God, what if this was all some sort of trap that Agnes Johnson had set for Ana, and she would soon be on camera for some true-crime show and then taken away by the police? It wasn’t like she knew Agnes that well.
No, Ana, you’re thinking like a crazy person, she chided herself. Just open the door and invite the boy in.
“Hello, Lincoln!” she said in what sounded even to her like a strange, loud whisper. Then she cleared her throat and said, “Come inside.” The words felt oddly sexual. “I mean, come inside my apartment.”
“Um, wow, thanks,” Lincoln replied, feeling his face go hot even as Ms. DiMartino nearly slammed the door shut behind him. Then he looked around. “Your place is, is really great.”
To Ana, the apartment wasn’t anything special; it was just the best she could do on a substitute teacher’s salary. There was a galley kitchen, a bedroom, a single bathroom, and a living/dining/everything-else room. But she’d tried to make it homey, decorating with bright-blue curtains and colorful throw pillows.
“It’s like, like you live inside a rainbow,” Lincoln said. His anxiety was now sharing space in his head with the dreamy wonder of being in Ms. DiMartino’s home—with having been invited into Ms. DiMartino’s home.
“Oh, thank you,” Ana replied with a nervous chuckle.
She took another deep breath to calm herself, which was how she noticed that Lincoln was wearing cologne. An eleven-year-old boy had put on cologne for her. And God, it smelled…sexy.
Lincoln gazed up at her. Despite the awkwardness of the situation and the fact that Ms. DiMartino was wearing her usual outfit—an above-the-knee red skirt and a pink blouse with white cuffs and collar—he was transfixed by her beauty. And for the first time ever, Ana realized that a schoolboy was looking at her with longing, with desire.
This realization was both exciting and calming. Exciting because Ana had never felt so wanted, and calming because she now knew that this situation was everything she had hoped it would be, and nothing that she had feared.
“Would you like something to drink?” she asked. “I have orange juice and sparkling water.”
“Sparkling,” Lincoln said, “like your eyes…I mean, um, sparkling water, please.”
Ana poured a glass of fizzy water for the boy and a white wine for herself. Yes, it was three-thirty in the afternoon, but she needed something to calm her nerves.
Glasses in hand, Ana led Lincoln to her apartment’s single sofa, a smallish loveseat. After the boy sat down and accepted his beverage, she took a hearty swig of her wine and then sat down next to him.
Despite all of Lincoln’s experience with girls, and his much less extensive but growing experience with women, Lincoln could barely manage to have a coherent thought, let alone attempt small talk. Being this close to Ms. DiMartino, with their sides almost touching, was magical.
“So, Lincoln,” the woman said after a second draught of her wine, “I’ve heard good things about you from Mrs. Johnson. She seems to…enjoy your company, very much.”
“Um, wow,” Lincoln replied. He couldn’t take his eyes off Ms. DiMartino’s perfect face. “Well, she’s…I mean, we…we had…fun.”
Ana felt a bit of a buzz coming on; at her light weight, it didn’t take much. Thus emboldened, she leaned down and kissed Lincoln on the lips.
Ms. DiMartino’s lips were the softest and sweetest that Lincoln had ever kissed. Her warm scent filled his nostrils and then his head, blotting out the world. He wasn’t even aware that his arms were wrapping themselves around her until he felt them pull her to him. Her body was soft and warm against his, and all Lincoln wanted in the world was to be like this with her forever.
This must be what heaven is like, Lincoln thought.
But while Lincoln’s mind was in a state of bliss, his body hungered for more. Soon, the kiss became open-mouthed, and then Lincoln’s tongue was moving gently against his teacher’s.
Oh my, Ana thought. This little boy is giving me the best kiss of my life.
It seems that Agnes Johnson hadn’t been exaggerating, which made Ana eager to see what else Lincoln could do. Her tongue still in the boy’s mouth, she took hold of the hem of the boy’s orange polo and began to pull it upward.
Getting the hint, Lincoln broke off their kiss and raised his arms just long enough for her to pull the shirt off of him. Then he was rewarded with the feel of Ms. DiMartino’s warm, soft hands moving all over his back as they made out.
Seemingly of their own volition, Lincoln’s hands reached between his chest and Ms. DiMartino’s and began to unbutton her pink blouse. The woman broke off their kiss and said, “Wait.”
Suddenly, Lincoln’s internal world shifted from a paradise to the edge of a cliff. Had he done something wrong? If so, what was it, and how could he fix it?
“Let’s go to my bedroom,” Ms. DiMartino said.
Lincoln let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. Then, as excitement filled him again, he followed Ms. DiMartino through her bedroom door.
To a more objective eye, the small bedroom would have seemed unremarkable: a queen bed with a pink coverlet, a plain dresser and mirror, a single closet door. But to Lincoln, this was the abode of an angel. And it was made even more heavenly when Ana, smiling down at him, unbuttoned her blouse to reveal the lacy pink bra she had on underneath. And then, even more wonderfully, she unbuttoned her pink skirt and let it drop to the floor, showing that she was wearing matching pink panties.
“Wow,” Lincoln murmured, staring.
Had she dressed up for him? To Lincoln, it seemed possible that a rare beauty like Ms. DiMartino wore nice lingerie every day. Either way, seeing her in her gorgeous under-ensemble gave Lincoln the idea that he should show her that he had dressed up for her. So he unzipped his jeans and let them drop to show her his very best pair of undies.
“Oh, Lincoln,” Ms. DiMartino said, “you look very handsome in those.”
Lincoln could have melted right into the floor. Especially when Ms. DiMartino pulled him to her and kissed him again. The contact between his bare chest and her bare stomach made the experience even more magnificent.
His hands once again seemed to have a will of their own; as Lincoln basked in the marvelous sensory overload that kissing Ms. DiMartino brought, they reached behind the woman’s back and unfastened the clasp of her bra. After pulling the garment away and dropping it to the floor, his hands then slid down the gentle dual curves of her waist to her hips, where Lincoln’s fingers hooked the waistband of her panties and pulled them down until they fell down to her ankles.
“My goodness, Lincoln,” she said, breaking off the kiss. “You are an eager young man, aren’t you?”
Ana had never felt more attractive in her life than she did right now. The idea that this boy, imbued with a degree of masculine charm that most adult men couldn’t equal, wanted her like this was intensely flattering—and arousing. She took a step back, out of her panties, and let Lincoln look at her in the nude.
Lincoln could barely keep from gaping. This wasn’t like being with Mrs. Johnson; he’d admired her body, of course, but he’d never had the sort of massive, tongue-tying crush on her that he had on Ms. DiMartino. Even now, with his newly enhanced confidence, he felt weak in the knees at the sight of her magnificent nude form: her pert breasts, her tiny waist, her womanly hips, and her tan skin that seemed to luminesce in the small amount of sunlight that filtered through the window blinds.
“Ms. DiMartino?” Lincoln managed.
“Please,” the woman replied warmly, “call me Ana.”
Lincoln swallowed and said, “Ana, can I…can I eat your pussy?”
Performing oral sex wasn’t normally something that Lincoln would volunteer out of the blue to do. Not that he disliked it, but when he did eat pussy, it was usually part of some larger activity, like when one of his sisters wanted to sixty-nine with him, or when one sister was riding his face while another rode his cock. But this was Ms. DiMartino’s—Ana’s—pussy, and that made it the most desirable pussy in all the world.
“You’re such a sweet boy, Lincoln,” she replied. “Yes, I would be very happy if you did that.”
She lay down on the bed and spread her legs—magnificently toned and smooth—and exposed her little black-tufted pussy to Lincoln’s eyes. He could scarcely believe that he was even looking at this great treasure, let alone being invited to touch it so intimately.
He put his face between Ana’s warm, silky-smooth thighs and began to run his tongue up and down between her folds, which was his standard opening move when performing oral sex. He felt Ana’s hands alight on the top of his head, and her sigh of pleasure was like the first note of an angel’s song.
Being the son of a chef, Lincoln was aware that one’s emotional state could affect the taste of things. So maybe Lincoln’s long-standing attraction to Ms. DiMartino was coloring his perceptions. But at the moment, Lincoln did not care. All that mattered to him right now was that hers was the tastiest pussy he’d ever eaten.
“Mmmm,” he moaned, continuing to run his tongue up and down between Ms. DiMartino’s folds, going from her clit to her hole and back again.
Dios mío, Ana thought. How can such a young boy be so good at this?
“Oh, Lincoln,” Ms. DiMartino gasped. “Oh, you sweet boy, please don’t stop…”
Lincoln had no intention of stopping. He pushed his tongue into Ms. DiMartino’s entrance and then began bobbing his head, tongue-fucking her. Her fingers, which had been merely holding his head, now wound themselves in his white hair.
“Oh, yes,” Ana moaned. “Oh, Lincoln, you’re everything I hoped for…”
Lincoln couldn’t have been more encouraged. He continued his tongue-fucking for a good while, then moved his face upward to tongue and then suck Ana’s clit. She moaned loudly.
“Lincoln,” she gasped, “I need you to fuck me. Put yourself inside me and fuck me. Please.”
“Anything you say, Ms- I mean, Ana,” the boy replied eagerly.
He got up on his knees and pulled down his red undies. Ana’s eyes widened as she watched his cock spring free and bob with seeming eagerness.
“Tienes el pene de un toro joven,” she gasped. Then she translated, “I mean, you are hung like a young bull.”
Lincoln’s grin almost exceeded the width of his face. “Thanks! It’s, it’s all for you.”
Ana spread her legs wider and raised her knees invitingly. Lincoln moved between her open thighs, lay down on top of her, and positioned his cock at her little opening. The pleasurable sensation of pushing inside her was so intense that Lincoln nearly passed out.
In unison, Lincoln and Ana sighed, “Ohhhhhh, yes.”
He started moving inside her—very slowly, as he was half-delirious with pleasure and joy. His head was at the level of her perky little breasts, and he couldn’t resist the urge to take one of her dark brown nipples into his mouth and suck it as he pumped her.
Even though Agnes Johnson had talked up Lincoln’s sexual prowess, the boy was an even better lover than Ana had expected. Not only was he better endowed than she imagined an eleven-year-old could be, he was also more patient and considerate than anyone she’d ever been with.
“Bebecito,” she moaned, running her fingers through Lincoln’s hair and moving her hips in time with his. “Don’t stop…Don’t stop for anything…”
The words were unnecessary, as stopping never would have even crossed Lincoln’s mind. He would have been happy to stay there forever, slowly fucking the woman of his dreams and sucking her beautiful tits as he inhaled the sweet scent of her skin and listened to her lovely sounds of pleasure.
But after some period of time—five minutes, an hour, Lincoln didn’t know—Ana began to move her hips faster against his. By pure instinct, he sped up his thrusts to meet her pace, and he sucked harder on her now very stiff nipples.
“Oh, Lincoln!” Ana moaned. “You’re fucking me so good…”
Lincoln’s state of bliss was now spiked with a need for more. And it seemed as though the harder and faster he fucked Ana, the stronger his need became.
It had been a long time since Ana had made love, and it had been longer since she had really and truly fucked. And she’d never been fucked like this, with this singular, animal intensity that made her feel pleasure like nothing she’d ever experienced. She bucked wildly beneath Lincoln, sweating, gasping, working her whole body against his in a mad, galloping ride toward the cliff’s edge of release.
“Chíngame!” she cried as ecstasy began to overtake her. “Chíngame mas! Más! MAAAAAAAS!”
“HUAAAAAAAH!” Lincoln cried, shooting a huge load into the wildly spasming woman beneath him.
When it was over, Lincoln panted like mad, and he could feel Ana beneath him doing the same. But he soon got his breath back, and then he felt postorgasmic joy wrap around him, warm and sweet.
“Wow…” Lincoln murmured, his eyes half closed. “That was amazing…”
“It certainly was,” Ana replied, stroking his hair.
“What does ‘chíngame’ mean?”
“Oh,” Ana replied, chuckling as her cheeks went pink. “It means ‘fuck me.’”
“That’s soooo coooool…”
As they lay there, Ana had the thought that she wanted more, but also that she couldn’t handle more, at least not right now. So after a few minutes, she gently rolled Lincoln off of her, threw on a robe, and walked Lincoln to the bathroom to get cleaned up.
“You know this has to be our secret, right?” she said as she washed his cock with a warm, wet washcloth.
“Yeah,” Lincoln replied dreamily. “Soooo secret…”
He suddenly imagined the other boys finding out what he had done and stoning him to death on the playground. Shocked out of his reverie, he added, “I mean, yes, definitely.”
Ana helped Lincoln wash up and dress, then escorted him to the apartment door.
“Let’s do this again soon,” she said with a smile.
And just like that, Lincoln’s state of bliss was back. “Definitely,” he replied with a goofy grin.
Ana closed the door behind the boy, then returned to the bathroom to get cleaned up herself. That was when she noticed the blue plastic case on the counter—the one with her unused, forgotten diaphragm in it. Her dark eyebrows rose.
***
It was a bit of a hike from Ms DiMartino’s apartment building back to his house, but Lincoln didn’t mind it much. Not while a healthy portion of afterglow still suffused his body and brain.
“Hey, Lincoln!”
His afterglow instantly snuffed, Lincoln looked around a bit frantically to see who had called his name. Then he saw Clyde crossing the street towards him.
“Where’ve you been?” the bespectacled boy asked. “We were looking for you after school. We went and got milkshakes at Burpin’ Burger.”
“Oh, uh, sorry,” Lincoln stammered. “I was, I, uh, I had a-”
“You were with a girl, weren’t you?” Clyde cut in.
Lincoln sighed. “Yeah.”
Then, to Lincoln’s surprise, Clyde came up next to him and put his arm around Lincoln’s shoulder.
“Buddy,” Clyde said, “it’s no big deal. If you’re popular with girls, then I’m happy for you. I mean, I only need to be popular with one girl, and it’s not like I need to compete with you for Lori.”
“Um, right,” Lincoln replied as they walked. “It’s definitely not like that.”
Last but not least—Chapter 10: No Place Like Home
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Just One Rule