Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. G E N I T A__C L A N ____________________ Author: Brother Genita and Sister Genita Title: Chaseton Middle School Sex Ed: Ch 1 Part: Chapter 1 of 2 (this is one story; part 2 read out of order will make little sense) Universe: Chaseton, America Summary: In 1992, 13-year-old Roger and 10-year-old Brianna decided to skip sex education class at Chaseton Middle School for lessons of their own Keywords: mg, bg, MF, g1st, m1st, humor, mast, oral, ped, adult, preteen, teenage Language: English --------------------------------- WARNING This fictional story contains explicit descriptions of sexual activity. If you are underage for your jurisdiction, or not interested in such stories, please go read something else. --------------------------------- This story is copyrighted under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. In short, you can share and adapt this work, even for commercial purposes, as long as you give appropriate credit, do no imply our endorsement of you or your work, and do indicate if changes were made. If you make changes, you must license the result under the same or equivalent license. We suggest donations be made to www.asstr.org. --------------------------------- Chaseton Middle School Sex Ed: Chapter One by Brother Genita and Sister Genita "Do you really want to learn about sex from a cheerleader in a room full of giggling girls?" asked Roger. "Unequivocally not," said Brianna. The 10-year-old girl with freckled peach skin and curly brown hair was both the youngest and smartest student in her sixth grade homeroom. "Does that mean 'no?'" asked Roger, her much taller 13-year-old sixth grade boyfriend who was neither. He wasn't stupid, even though he was repeating sixth grade, just not as bright as Brianna. Roger scratched the above-the-collar dark brown hair on top of his dark pink head. "Yes, Roger, it means 'no,'" said Brianna. "If I can't be taught by a real teacher, I want something romantic." "Romantic," thought Roger. "If I want to get in her panties, I have to be romantic." A warm breeze teased Brianna's dark curly mane and the part in Roger's short dark brown hair. The two virgins stood on the grounds of Chaseton Middle School built when the 20th century was new. Brianna looked at her watch and saw it was 7:45 a.m., 10 minutes until the bell would ring for first period on that warm late spring Wednesday morning in 1992. She did not want to be taught sex education by the former Chaseton High School cheerleader who probably taught science as annoyingly bouncily as she did girls' physical education. "Miss Barton is nothing more than a grisette," she said, proud of her new word meaning "a young flirtatious working girl of loose morals." Roger nodded as if he knew what the word for the girl's PE teacher meant. "You're so smart and pretty," said Roger, thinking romantic. "What a lucky guy I am, Brianna, to have you as a girlfriend . . . my one and only girlfriend. I so want to teach you about sex because I know you'll be wonderful . . . a wonderful student and stuff." Brianna was smart enough to recognize flattery, but not experienced enough to not be moved by it. "We'll see," she said, pursing her lips to avoid a smile. Roger quickly kissed her lips with his own. "I hope that seemed romantic," thought Roger. Brianna's rubbing her index finger over her lips and then kissing it and touching her finger to his lips told him it did. "Brain-Anna's kissing Roger, Brain-Anna's kissing Roger," teased sixth grader Christopher who acted more like an immature fourth grader. Roger ignored him and Brianna rolled her eyes. Brianna was average height and build for her age and thus short for her grade. Her curly mop of hair could have earned her the nickname "Little Orphan Annie" if her curls had been red instead of chocolate brown. Instead, she was nicknamed for her IQ and called "Brain-Anna." Her peach pink nose was freckled under her green fawn eyes. Her rosey lips looked as if they were about to question or kiss again. Her thin pubescent hips were just beginning their womanly rounding, shaping her navy blue skirt that rode the maximum 3 inches above the bend at the back of her puckered knees over short white socks and navy blue shoes. Through the white fabric of her buttoned cotton and nylon short sleeved blouse, on either side of her red and white diagonal-striped tie, rose two tiny budding mounds inside a new white bra she bought specifically for today. Roger knew what those budding breasts looked like, but wanted to see and have all Brianna had to offer. "I wish I could be educated about human sexuality from Mr. Dewey" Brianna sighed. "I mean in a classroom. You do know what I mean, right Roger?' "Well, you can't," said Roger. "Mr. Dewey's teaching the boys and Miss Barton's teaching the girls." "Are you sure the rumors about you and Leslie from last year's sex ed class aren't true?" "Of course not," said Roger. "They're lies, all lies." * * * * * * Roger remembered the first time he snuck a girl into the small storage room at the back of what was then Coach Bell's science class. It was easy. Just wait for Coach Bell to get completely focused on the confusing lunch bell rush of students out the door, especially the girls with their wiggly bottoms, then take a few steps straight to the small back room with a sink and paper towel roll and shelves where the test tubes and chemicals and Bunsen burners were stored. It was mid fall of 1990. Leslie was then 10 years old and Roger was 11 and moving to 12. He actually preferred younger girls, but had left them behind at Chaseton Elementary School. Anyone who thought a preference for prepubescent girls began in adult men didn't know their psychology. But Leslie had the shape of a younger girl. Leslie was short for her age and thin, with long soft brown hair she wore in a ponytail. Her skin showed her mix of a white-skinned mother and brown-skinned father. She had eyes that looked dark gray in bright light and brown in dim. Her body was straight, with no sign of breasts in her short sleeve white button shirt and with little sign of hips in her black shorts that stopped three inches above her preteen knees. She wore short white socks and two black shoes with a strap that wasn't connected on her left foot. "What are we going to do, Roger?" asked the girl coyly. "Whatever you want to do, Leslie," said Roger. The 11-year-old Roger was average height and build for his age with brown eyes and short dark straight hair. He wore a white cotton polo shirt with a blue tie and blazer and dark blue pants with white tennis shoes. "What a lucky guy I am, Leslie, to have you as a girlfriend. My one and only girlfriend." Leslie giggled, using her hand to hide her grin with braces. "If you keep talking like that, I might let you kiss me," said Leslie, still hiding her mouth. "Oh, I plan to do a lot more than kiss you," thought Roger. He quickly kissed the 10-year-old's hand hiding her mouth. She giggled again. "Now move your hand so I can really kiss my girlfriend," he said. "Ok," she said, and moved her hand away and puckered. Roger licked his lips then planted his on hers. He then tried to slide his moist lips over her dry mouth. "Lick your lips, Leslie, so I can kiss you better." Leslie licked her own lips, above and below, and Roger kissed her again. He slid his lips wet with his saliva over hers that were wet with her own. Then he took her top lip in his two lips and slid his away to where they barely touched hers, then pushed forward to take her top lip in more fully again, and did that again and again. Then she did it to him. Roger put his hands around her back and she held him. Leslie pulled her lips away and Roger was worried, but it was just to catch her breath. She moved her mouth back to his and Roger felt more wetness and more movement. Was that her tongue? He let it lick his lips and knew it was. "So, Leslie," he thought. "You aren't an innocent as everybody thinks you are." He thrust out his wet tongue and licked hers. Soon their tongues were exploring each other's mouths. His tongue licked over her teeth and metal braces and went deep enough to feel where one of her back teeth was still coming in. At the same time Roger's right hand was exploring the back of her white shirt, feeling to see if there was a bra strap. He felt none. He slowly started massaging her back through her shirt while kissing her, but at the same time pulling her blouse up out of her shorts bit by bit. While still kissing, soon his hand felt the bottom of her blouse. He massaged and pulled a little more, and felt the slightly damp skin of her beige back. He stopped to see if she would react, but she seemed completely lost in his mouth. His right hand began awkwardly rubbing her back under her blouse, but soon grew more confident. With both hands he started feeling her back and then her lower sides. She still showed no sign of resistance. His right hand began slowly, little by little, moving higher and closer to her front. He finally felt her damp lack of hair under the pit of her left arm. "I'm so close to that 10-year-old nipple," he thought. Leslie suddenly stopped kissing him. "Are you trying to feel my breasts?" she asked. "No," said Roger. "Of course not." It was at least partially true. He was sure Leslie had a wonderful pair of young nipples he longed to fondle and to suck, but knew she had no real breasts. "Oh, I thought you were," said Leslie. Roger didn't realize she sounded disappointed. * * * * * * Roger snapped out of memory. "I didn't even like Leslie. It's all rumors. Just like the one about you showing your panties to Mr. Dewey." "That's utterly ridiculous," said Brianna. She tried not to think about hiking her skirt up a few more inches under her desk in Mr. Dewey's science class. She tried not thinking about "absentmindedly" scissoring her preteen knees over and over so that when they were further apart Mr. Dewey could catch intermittent glimpses of her white cotton hiphugger panties with pink and red green-leaved roses with burgundy lace trimming the waist and leg openings. Or her cornflower blue panties. Or her purple hip hugger panties. Girls weren't supposed to ever let their skirts hike up that much, and certainly were intended to keep their skirted knees together. But the shy Mr. Dewey was no more likely to grab his ruler and check inches than he was to admit looking up her skirt. "Are you sure we won't get caught?" Brianna asked. "Sure," said Roger. He wasn't a genius, but repeating the sixth grade gave him a year to plan. "We each go to the beginning of our science class. Miss Barton will mark me present and Mr. Dewey will mark you. After two minutes for attendance they'll send us to each other's classroom, but we'll take off and meet behind the old oak tree on the side away from Principal Crumb's office window. Then we'll go to a special place I've got all ready for us. And then I'll be your sex ed teacher," Roger said, adding "It will be romantic." The 13-year-old Roger was still average height and build for his age, but that meant he was a little bigger and more adolescent-looking than most of his 12-year-old classmates. His short straight hair was dark brown like his eyes, but was parted on the left side when the playful wind didn't tease it. His still hairless chest and nipples were hidden under a short sleeved white button shirt with a navy blue tie and a covering blue blazer that was optional in the warm spring weather, but that he thought made himself look more teacherly. His slacks were khaki which was allowed for boys that year, and his shoes were dark brown which was not. But they looked black if you didn't look close. "But will I learn as much?" asked Brianna. "Brianna," said Roger, "you can learn all you want to know about sex ed from me. I'm your boyfriend, trust me. I had it all last year, and I learned a lot more than anything the teachers taught." "If you know so much, why did you have to repeat sixth grade?" "The teachers didn't like me," said Roger very quickly. "If they didn't like you, why would they hold you back? That means they got you all over again." The bell rang, signaling Wednesday's first period. "Saved by the bell," thought Roger. * * * * * * Mr. Dewey so wished he could have convinced Principal Miss Crumb to let Coach Bell teach the boys about human sexuality instead of him. The thin Caucasian man was afraid the boys wouldn't pay attention. He was afraid they would. He was afraid just talking about intimate female anatomy and human reproduction would cause his unusually long male member to become engorged and enlarged, betraying him through his dark slacks and two pairs of white briefs he wore one over the other to help cover such an event. Anyone who thought it was a blessing having a penis that was 8 1/2 inches long when flaccid and 12 inches long when erect didn't have one. That Wednesday he looked over the boys from his and Miss Barton's seventh period, sixth grade science classes. He straightened his dark blue bowtie over his short sleeve button white shirt in a dark blue sport coat, steeling himself to teach them about sex. It was even worse than he thought. He was almost used to Carl, the girl-adored and boy-admired 12-year-old football player who looked like he was fast approaching 15. Most of the rest of the boys looked and acted like the 12-year-olds they were, although Christopher looked and acted more like a 9-year-old with ADHD. Why couldn't he have more boys like 12-year-old Matt who were quiet, respectful, and mature? But Christopher and Carl were nothing compared to what got dumped on him from Miss Barton's science class. There was 11-year-old Brandon, who probably knew more about explosive chemistry than any kid in school. Fortunately, there'd be no chemicals used in class that day. Also fortunately he didn't see Roger who was in his science class for the second year in a row. Roger had been suspended last school year because his idea of sex education was trying to get into innocent Leslie's panties. And Melanie's. And Melanie's little sister Darlene's. But the worst boy Miss Barton sent to Mr. Dewey's class was Danny. Mr. Dewey saw the 12-year-old as the living embodiment of Eddie Haskell from the 1960s television show 'Leave it to Beaver." He believed Danny to be an insincere two-faced sycophant who showed ironic respect to adults in front of their face, then threw spit wads at their back. Danny had moved out of Mr. Dewey's science class at the end of the first week of school to transfer to the shapely Miss Barton. But in just that one week, Mr. Dewey had found a thumb tack on his chair and a pair of purple panties in his desk drawer obviously both placed to embarrass him. He was sure the culprit was Danny. "All right, students--boys," said Mr. Dewey in a self-reminder that at least he didn't have to teach sex education to girls. Now would come the laughs and the rude comments. He just knew it. "Today is the first day of a three-day session on . . . human reproductive systems." The class was silent. Could the boys be as embarrassed about the whole topic as he was? Maybe this wouldn't be as difficult as he had imagined. But then Brandon said, "Mr. Dewey means we're going to learn about sex." The class exploded in laughter. "Now boys," said Mr. Dewey, "men," he said, suddenly thinking that term might encourage them to act more maturely. The next part was one the teacher dreaded like a mouse dreaded the coming of a hungry red-tail boa. It was part of the standard sex education program to break the proverbial ice and make discussion easier, but to the science teacher it loomed frighteningly inescapable. "To help you become more comfortable, I want each of you to turn to the person--the young man--behind you, and say, well, say the word, um, the word . . . 'penis.' The class laughed. Immediately, Danny, sitting at a desk in the last row to Mr. Dewey's far right, thrust his hand far into the air and waved it wildly. Mr. Dewey wanted to pretend he hadn't seen it, but half the class was looking at Danny, so he couldn't. "Yes, Danny," he said. "I'm sorry, Mr. Dewey, sir, but I didn't hear the word we're supposed to say. It's hard to hear, sir, here in the back. Could you say it again, please?" "The word, the word you're supposed to say, is . . . is 'penis.'" "Did you say 'peanuts?'" asked Danny. "No, Danny, I did not. I said, 'penis.'" "Again, please sir, a little louder?" "Penis. Penis. PENIS!" said Mr. Dewey to uproarious laughter from the class of boys. "Everyone say 'penis' to the boy behind you." "But Mr. Dewey;" said Danny. "There isn't any boy behind me. Who should I say 'penis' to?" Mr. Dewey really dreaded having all the boys say "vagina." * * * * * * "Penis," Brianna said to Roger. They had met successfully on the far side of the old oak tree on campus. Roger had given Brianna a flower he had plucked last minute that Wednesday from the white daisies growing on the east side of the school so it would seem more romantic. Brianna didn't think much of Roger's "special place." It was a small storage room and part of the larger boys' locker room. She did not find a small room crowded with cabinets and stacks of nearly adequate white gym towels and a cloth bag of balls romantic. But it was exciting sneaking into the boys only area. Roger assured her that there was no PE for seventh period which was the last, and that Coach Bell's assistant Mr. Michaels had already left for the day. At least they were alone together. "Now say 'vagina,'" said Roger. "Vagina," said Brianna. Like her boyfriend to her left, she was seated on a short stack of white gym towels and leaned against the wall. "Now you have to say other words that mean the same thing. Even dirty words. That's what Miss Barton and Coach Bell did last year." * * * * * * Roger remembered it clearly. "You've heard Coach Bell and I talk about how abstinence is the safest part of sex, but that it's important to know what to do when you're married" said then new teacher Miss Barton in fall of 1990. Roger remembered it was not long after the day he began his trick of sneaking into the back room of the class with a girl. Miss Barton and Coach Bell were near the end of their first of three planned days of a shared coed sex ed class that Principal Miss Crumb had strongly opposed. But the "progressive" school board had approved coed sex ed by a vote of three to two. "Now, in the last few minutes of class, it's your turn to talk about sex, to use sexual words" said Miss Barton. "You've all said 'penis' and 'vagina' to someone, but we all know there's other words, synonyms, for those things. Remember, you can say anything about sex in this class and not get in trouble. You won't shock us, I promise." "You haven't all died of embarrassment yet," said Coach Bell to the students. "So now boys, you say a word that means 'vagina,' and girls, you say a word that means 'penis.'" "Don't forget testicles and vulvas," said Miss Barton. "I won't ever forget them," said Coach Bell to laughter. "Yeah, say them too. So who's first?" Coach Bell, Chaseton High School class of 1981,wore his white polo shirt tucked tightly into his bun-hugging dark shorts over muscular legs ending in white athletic socks and black and white running shoes. He considered a gold-colored whistle held by a dark green cord worn around his neck to be a tie. The 6-foot-tall tanned Caucasian coach sported a brown crew cut and brown eyes. The 29-year-old was built like he had been his high school's football quarterback and his college's football center which he had. Miss Barton, Chaseton High School class of 1985, wore a yellow buttoned shirt and a dark green too-short-for-a-student pleated skirt over white socks and white tennis shoes. She had been a cheerleader, and cheerleaders could wear their uniforms with skirts higher than the otherwise required three inches above the knee maximum. The 5-foot-tall perky blue-eyed teacher's blond ponytail often bounced over her still-looks-like-a-gymnast body. The 23-year-old light skinned Caucasian woman looked like she planned to take over the cheerleading coach position from Miss Miller which she did. Unfortunately for the discussion, some seventh graders who had been through it all the previous year had fun spreading a rumor. The sixth graders were told that anything they said in class would be reported straight to Principal Miss Crumb who was waiting with paddle and detention slips in hand. Those few who didn't hear the rumor were too shy to begin. No one raised a hand to volunteer saying a sex word. "Come on, men--and girls--somebody get the ball rolling," said Coach Bell to a few twitters. "You know what I mean." "Any volunteers?" said Miss Barton. "Just raise your hand." "Don't be a bunch of pus--wussies," said Coach Barton. "We only got a few minutes . . . All right, I'll choose someone. Sammy." "Me coach?" said Sammy. "Yes you. Say a word that means 'vagina.'" "Or 'vulva'" said Miss Barton. Sammy, who had heard and believed the rumors, struggled to find a synonym that would be completely inoffensive. "Well, um, well . . . " "A word for vagina, Sammy," said Coach Bell. "Don't tell me you don't know one." Sammy hesitated. "Well, um . . . 'trickle?'" "Trickle?" said Coach Bell. " From my sixth grade football team halfback? What kind of a little girl word is that?" "Well, it's what my little sister Allison calls her . . . body part." "It's fine, Sammy," said Miss Barton. "I used that word too." "George," said Coach Bell. "Give me a word. For vagina." George had also believed the rumor. "Um, 'flower?'" "Flower?!" said Coach Bell. "Let one of the girls try," said Miss Barton. "Virginia. Do you have a word that means "penis,' Virginia?" "Oh no, me?" said Virginia. "Yes, Virginia; it's Ok," said Miss Barton. "I won't get in trouble?" "No, Virginia; of course not." "Well, pee pee?" said Virginia. "Pee pee?" said Coach Bell, brushing his large right hand over his brown crew cut. "Is this 1991 or 1891?" "It's 1990, actually," said the blond Miss Barton. "Whatever. That does it. Miss Barton and I will show you how to do it. I'll do vagina words . . ." "And vulva . . ." "And she'll do penises and testicles," said the coach. The combined class of boys and girls laughed. "I'll start," said Coach Bell, looking straight into Miss Barton's eyes. "Beaver." "Snake," said Miss Barton, looking intently back. As they continued exchanging sexual terms, they spoke faster and more heatedly. "Coochie," said Coach Bell. "Donkey Kong," responded Miss Barton. "Pussy." "Cock." "Snatch." "Schlong." "Twat." "Joystick." "Cunt." "Prick." "Pussy lips." "Balls." "Balling." "Screwing." "Copulating." "Mating." "Fucking." "Fuck me." "Fuck you?" asked Coach Bell. "Yes, Coach Bell, fuck me," said Miss Barton. "I'd fuck you again right now Missy," growled Coach Bell. "Do it Ballsack!" gasped Miss Barton. "Thrust your hard throbbing 6 1/2-inch prick deep into my dripping cunt and fuck me right here right now!" The students froze. The teachers both froze. Eleven-year-old Molly hopped out of her chair, raised her hand, and ran out the door saying "I have to pee real bad.". "And that's how you talk about sex," the blond ponytailed Miss Barton said cheerfully and bouncily to the stunned class. "Use your clipboard," she whispered to Coach Bell. "What? Oh," he said, hiding his shorts-covered hard-on with his clipboard. "Yes it is," said Coach Bell. "That's how. . . How much time til class is out?" "Three minutes," said the flushed Miss Barton. "Only three more minutes." Coach Bell told the students "Why don't you all run a lap around the track . . . wrong class." Miss Barton said, "Why don't you all go to the restroom . . . or go early to nutrition break. Or whatever." Coach Bell said to the students, "Class is out. Go!" Firing the probationary Miss Barton would have been easy if it didn't mean also firing Coach Bell. As much as Principal Miss Crumb wanted to get rid of both of them, the extended Bell family owned Bell Pharmacy that provided medicine used by the school nurse at cost, owned Bell Clothing that provided team and cheerleader uniforms at wholesale prices, and had their name displayed on Bell Hall, the main hall at Chaseton Middle School that held the principal's office. It would be a scandal the school could not afford. But Principal Crumb would nevermore let Miss Barton and Coach Bell teach sex ed together, no matter what the school board said. * * * * * * "Next Coach Bell and Miss Barton showed their bodies to each other," said Roger. "No they didn't," said Brianna. "Yes they did," said Roger. "And how would you know if the class left?" asked Brianna. "Some of us . . . I . . . didn't leave." * * * * * * Roger remember what happened right as the fall 1990 sex ed class ended. He and Leslie quickly but quietly went for the second time to the small storage room with a sink and paper towels and shelves covered with supplies at the back of the science room. Roger didn't completely close the storage room door for fear of making too much noise. It was barely cracked open. Just enough to see what might happen. "What are they going to do?" whispered 10-year-old Leslie. "Quiet," whispered Roger. "They're all gone," said Miss Barton to Coach Bell. "Lock the door! Quickly!" Coach Bell sprinted to the classroom door and locked it. "Locked," he said. "I've got next class free," said Miss Barton. "I've got 15 minutes," said Coach Bell. "That's long enough." Miss Barton leaped into the 6-foot-tall Coach Bell's muscular arms and he held her tight and kissed her. "Oh Missy," he said, breaking the kiss with the 5-foot tall ponytailed gymnast and former cheerleader. "It's been too damn long since you were at Chaseton High School. You were so hot in your yellow and black cheerleader . . . " "Oh, shut up and fuck me," said Miss Barton. "Oh my God!" said Leslie. Roger quickly cupped her mouth with his hand hoping to God the teachers hadn't heard her. "What?" said Coach Bell. "Shut up and fuck me," repeated Miss Barton. "That's what I thought you said," said Coach Bell. "Thank God," whispered Roger, peeking through the barely opened storage room door. Leslie was in front of Roger, her head right under his, peeking too. They could see Miss Barton's back with her blond ponytail hanging over her yellow shirt and Coach Bell holding her with his athletically muscled arm under her short green pleated skirt. The classroom's florescent lights were on while the storage room was dark, so Roger was sure the PE teachers wouldn't see him even if they weren't so focused on each other. Leslie was so focused on the couple she wasn't much thinking about being seen. Coach Bell set Miss Barton down on her feet and started unbuttoning her yellow blouse from the top. She started unbuttoning it from the bottom. Undone, she tossed it to the floor, and Roger and Leslie saw the white strap of her bra. They had barely seen it before Miss Barton snapped it off and tossed it to the floor. Coach Bell pulled his white polo shirt over his head and tossed it down, somehow without removing his gold-colored whistle on dark green cord. His manly chest was covered with brown curls. Miss Barton undid her green pleated skirt while Coach Bell unsnapped and pulled down his tight dark shorts and kicked them off. His cock and balls filled his large white jock strap. The girls's PE teacher tossed her skirt on top of Coach Bell's discarded shorts. Coach Barton looked at her and whistled. "Missy, those aren't regulation." Roger and Leslie saw a black lined green triangle pointing down to a thin black strap that disappeared into the crack of Miss Barton's small firm ass. The former cheerleader was wearing thong panties. "Let me see that ass," said the coach. Miss Barton turned, her back to the boy's PE coach, and thus displayed her front to the storage room's barely cracked opened door. Roger and Leslie, her head still underneath his, saw her small A-cup perky breasts for the first time with their pink erect nipples and areolas. Leslie absent-mindedly started unbuttoning her white button shirt from the top down. As soon as Roger saw what Leslie was doing, he undid his blue tie and tossed it, then pulled his white cotton polo shirt over his head without unbuttoning more than the already undone top button. Leslie tossed her shirt down. While Roger hesitated from behind her, she reached behind herself with both her hands, grabbed both of his hands, and put them on her 10-year-old nipples. He hesitated, wondering who was in charge. Then he stopped wondering and started fondling her prepubescent nipples, tiny pink projections from her beige skin. They were very small on a flat chest with just a hint of roundness, just the way Roger liked it best. They both saw Miss Barton turn around and bend over, her glorious thonged gymnast bottom toward them. She put her head at the coach's lap, then moved her head down, her blond ponytail giving a slight bounce. They couldn't see what she was doing at first, but then saw she had the top of his white jock strap in her mouth and was pulling it down with her teeth. His 6 1/2-inch long, thick coach cock popped out and slapped Miss Barton on the right cheek. It projected from a dark brown bush of pubic hair. "Umm," said Miss Barton, "just the way I remember it." She licked the head of his uncircumcised cock for a few seconds. She tasted precum. Then she pulled his jock strap down the rest of the way with her hands, and Coach Barton kicked it off. The two sixth-graders saw why he'd earned the nickname "Ballsack." His huge testicles looked like they belonged on a bull. The boys' PE teacher grabbed Miss Barton by the hips, and the two peeking students saw him slide down her green and black thong panties until she tossed them aside. "That's not the way I remember that," he said, rubbing his hand through his brown crew cut. "You shaved." "Waxed, actually," she said. "It's nice and smooth, just like a prepubescent sixth grade girl's. Feel it, Coach Ballsack." The coach began stroking her lower abdomen, but much of that was hidden from the two students peeking from the back room. Leslie stroked her brown ponytail, trying to imagine it was blond and she was Miss Barton. Then she felt something pushing at her bottom. She turned and looked quickly at Roger's bulging pants poking her behind and then at his face and his short brown hair. "I'm not ready to go all the way," she whispered. "How, how far can I go?" whispered Roger, who really hadn't thought he'd get any further down than her nipples. "You can touch me, down there," Leslie said quietly. "But don't go oral. We don't have time." "How much time we got?" Coach Bell asked Miss Barton. "Just a few minutes," said Miss Barton. Her right hand grabbed the coach's cock and started rubbing it and his huge balls while her left hand started diddling her hairless cunt. "Let me do that," said Coach Bell, reaching his large right hand to feel the young woman's soft hairless pussy. He pushed his thick fingers into her mound, feeling her pubic area push in with his pressure. Her pink labial lips were wet and opening like a flower. Then his index finger moved down her slit and felt the wetness beneath. After a few seconds, he said, "Oh God you're wet." "That sex ed class was like an hour of foreplay," said Miss Barton. "Did you see Sammy with his hand moving under his desk?" "Sure I did," said the coach. "That's why I called on him first. Did you see where Virginia's hand was?" "Slipped under the waistband of her skirt," said Miss Barton. "That's why I called on her. I bet she's a virgin, and I bet you'd like to fuck her." "Not as much as I want to fuck you, Missy." "Then do it! Let's do it like the first time we did it." The muscular 6-foot-tall Coach Bell quickly sat on top of the desk wearing only white socks and black and white shoes with the American flag to his right, his 6 1/2-inch cock standing at attention. The students heard something that sounded like a small tear, and saw the coach had opened a small package and was taking out a condom. The 5-foot-tall Miss Barton, wearing only white socks and shoes, turned, facing the back of the room and thus giving Roger and Leslie a clear view of her front. Her slit pussy mound with opened pink labial lips looked so pink and smooth, and it and her upper thighs wetly reflected the room light. Roger and Leslie noticed simultaneously that Roger's white briefs on the floor were peeking out from Leslie's pink bikini panties. From behind her, Roger looked over the girl's right shoulder and down. He saw the brown ponytailed Leslie was as hairless as Miss Barton, only the 10-year-old girl didn't have to wax. Roger's penis was 4 1/2 inches long with a wisp of curls darker than the short brown hair on his head. Even though his penis was much smaller, it was every bit as erect as the coach's, and the tip like the coach's was moistened with precum. Leslie reached behind herself, grabbed the sixth grader's cock and started rubbing it. Roger, with his short brown-haired head behind hers, whispered in her ear, "How did you learn how to do that?" "Never mind," mumbled Leslie. "Touch me, touch my pussy, Roger." When Roger hesitated, Leslie grabbed his hand and moved it forward, putting it on her preteen snatch. "Now rub me," she said quietly. They started rubbing each other, their naked bodies touching, Roger's front to Leslie's behind. Then they noticed what the two Chaseton Middle School teachers were doing. Miss Barton had hold of Coach Bell's condomed cock and was sitting with her back to him on his lap. The blond was aiming his ready penis inside her smooth pussy. She sat down, and it went right inside her. "Oh my God," said Roger, forgetting to whisper. "Quiet" whispered Leslie. But the two teachers were so involved in their own fucking, the beginning bumping sounds of well-toned flesh against well-toned flesh and the swishing sound of a hard cock sliding in and out through a juicy vagina that they heard nothing else. Leslie was thrusting Roger's penis with one hand behind her, then his hand on her pussy was joined by her other hand as she bounced her head like Miss Barton. "We'll rub me together," she whispered. "How am I doing on you?" "Oh yes," said Roger. His erection was not only being rubbed by Leslie's hand, her small bounces meant her 10-year-old bottom was bouncing against his 11-year-old penis. He imagined he was Coach Bell fucking from behind. He didn't care that he wasn't going to enter any of Leslie's openings. It felt incredible. "Yes." "I guess that means 'good,'" said Leslie. The rubbing and the fucking continued . . . "Oh Ballsack, I'm about to cum, with your cock inside me," said Miss Barton, humping her coach while facing away on his lap. Coach Bell's hands were holding her where her thin waist met her small breasts. Roger noticed Miss Barton was rubbing her cunny and clitoris just like Leslie was. And her blond ponytail was bouncing just like Leslie's brown one was bouncing. "Damn it, me too, Missy," Coach Bell said. "Fuck me, Coach," said the blond teacher, "keep fucking me." "I'm fucking your wet cunt girl I'm going to . . . oh fuck I'm . . . Ahhh!" moaned the coach as his thick cum spurted several times inside Miss Barton. "What's that . . . oh," said Leslie as she heard Roger moan and felt something spurt on her naked butt. The 11-year-old cock she was stroking was spurting hot white cum on the floor and the towels and her hand and especially on her bottom. "Stick your finger in me," whispered Leslie, guiding Roger's finger into her wet vagina. "Now rub me, no, yes, right there while I play with my clit. Yes, that's it!" "Here I cum, Ballsack," said Miss Barton. "I'm cumming now with your cock and spunk inside my snatch! Oh God, oh God!" At the moment she said the second, "Oh God," the warning bell rang. "Shit," said Coach Bell. "The kids will be here any . . . we got to dress and clean up." "I want another cum," said Miss Barton. Coach Bell ignored her. He held the base of his condom with one hand so it would stay on. With his other hand he pushed up on the former cheerleader who reluctantly slid off his cock, then he pulled off the condom. She took a packaged cleansing wipe out of her purse and hurriedly cleaned herself. He grabbed a tissue and tried wiping the cum off his cock, but the tissue fell part. "Damn cheap," he said. "I need a paper towel. I got some in the back." Still naked except for his shoes and socks, he started heading toward the back storage room. "Oh shit!" said Roger, forgetting to rub inside Leslie and almost forgetting to whisper. "He's coming back here!" "Oh Roger, I'm so close to it happening," said Leslie, still rubbing her clitoris. "Please, don't stop rubbing inside me." "But Leslie he's coming right here!" quietly but frantically pleaded Roger. "I can't stop Roger . . . " whispered Leslie. "Oh that feels good." "Ballsack," said Miss Barton. "Use these." She threw her green and black thong panties which he caught with his left hand. "Won't you need these?" the boys' PE teacher asked. "I always keep an extra pair, just in case. Keep them as a souvenir," smiled Miss Barton. Coach Bell wiped off his lap with her panties, and the two teachers hurriedly threw on their clothes. "I can't give you my jock strap, Missy" said the coach, "'cause thinking of you would give me a hard-on you could hang a flag from." Miss Barton swatted his bottom hard. He grabbed her and kissed her hard as the bell rang for class to start. "My class is waiting," said the coach. "So where do you want to fuck next, Coach Ballsack?" asked Miss Barton. The coach smiled at her, then unlocked the door. The students piled in while Miss Barton, dressed but without panties under her short green pleated skirt, wiggled out. "Everybody take their seat," said Coach Bell. "Miss Barton was just asking me a question." Several students chuckled. The report of the teachers' sex word exchange of 20 minutes earlier had already started spreading across campus. Still in the storage room, Roger was rubbing his index finger inside Leslie's pussy frantically. "We're late for class, Leslie," he whispered, "you have to come or I'll have to stop." "We can't go out there now anyway, Roger. Not with a whole class . . . Oh, I'm going to cum, Roger, I'm going to cum. I'm really going to cum!" Coach Bell said, "Open your books to page . . . oh, wait, attendance first." The coach went through the attendance list. "Andrea, Bret, Chuck . . . is Fran here?" "Cumming!" screamed Leslie. Continued in Chapter Two . . .