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LOVEBRIGHT ACADEMY: The Real Story ---  (Mf, Ff, MC, 
humor, preg)
By Homer Vargas
(with proofreading and very helpful editorial 
suggestions from Artie.  Muchas Gracias!)

Some of you may remember a wonderfully funny story by 
Downing Street a while back called “LOVEBRIGHT 
ACADEMY.”  Now Downing Street is one of my favorite 
authors, but he has his squiks and this made him to 
pull a few punches in his tale.  I happen to be 
Chairman of the Board of Governors of Lovebright 
Academy, so I know the whole story.  I don’t want to 
call too much attention to Downing’s omissions, so 
with his permission, I’ve decided just to re-post his 
story, inserting the needed additions and changes in 
the appropriate places.

LOVEBRIGHT ACADEMY: The Real Story
by Homer Vargas

I

Two women sat in the oak-paneled headmaster's office, 
behind the heavy old door with the frosted glass 
window.  The woman sitting behind the big desk was a 
little under forty, crisply professional in an 
expensive white blouse and navy blue skirt.  She wore 
her brown hair straight, parted in the middle and 
curling inward just beneath her chin, framing her 
attractive face.  Red highlights in her hair matched 
her bright red lipstick and the band of cute freckles 
that marched across her nose from one cheek to the 
other.  She had her hands folded in front of her on 
the cluttered desk, listening attentively.

The other woman, sitting on the edge of her chair 
in front of the oak desk, was a few years younger and 
a few inches shorter than her counterpart.  Her face 
would have been decidedly pretty were it not so 
contorted with anger.  Her hair was a maze of blonde 
curls on top of her head.  She had a sleek, almost 
slight figure, dressed to the nines in a designer-
label suit of burgundy wool cut calf length.  She was 
visibly trembling with rage.  "Mrs. McLeod!”  the 
woman snarled, spitting out the name in contempt.  
"You are supposed to be the headmaster of this 
Academy!  It is your job --your Job, madam --to 
maintain the academic and social standards that have 
given this institution its high reputation in the 
community.  Not to mention conforming with ordinary 
norms of decent behavior!  I cannot believe the things 
I have seen here today!  The slovenliness.  The utter 
lack of discipline.  The public indecency!  How could 
you allow this happen?  How could you let standards 
slip so far, in just one semester!?”  She glared at 
the other woman, her blue eyes bright with shock and 
outrage.

The headmaster wanted to roll her eyes, but she 
didn't.  It was true there had been many changes at 
Lovebright Academy recently --all for the better as 
far as she was concerned --but the line about high 
standards was a bit much.  It was well known among the 
upper crust that the former Mrs. Lovebright's School 
for Girls was the prep school of last resort.  It was 
a place where the rich could send their pampered, less 
brightly lit daughters and have some hope of getting 
them into college, or failing that, at least having a 
prestigious name on their resume before marrying them 
off to someone rich enough to support them.  Grade 
point averages and similar niceties were generally a 
moot point as long as Daddy could afford the tuition.

	The school had never taken more than 30 new 
students each year, allowing it to boast of small, 
interactive classes.  In place of academic excellence, 
it substituted strict discipline, a rigid code of 
dress and behavior, and a nearly obsessive attention 
to upper class propriety.  Until recently, that is.

	With the school's reputation (and enrolment) 
beginning to decline at the same time that its 
impressive but moldering old Victorian building needed 
major repairs, the Board of Governors decided, 
reluctantly, to re-invent the Lovebrigh School for 
Girls as Lovebright Academy.  The old headmaster 
("headmistress" she had always insisted) retired.  The 
Board's search for a young, dynamic headmaster who 
understood the need to educate spoiled young women 
destined to be the leaders of tomorrow, or at least 
the wives and others of their children, lead them to 
Mrs. McLeod.  Dr. Vargas, the Board’s Chairman, even 
insisted they set up a few scholarships, hoping to 
attract at least a handful of students with real 
potential.  The final and most wrenching change came 
when, in order to qualify for government subsidies, 
the Academy began to accept male students.

	The headmaster kept her voice calm.  "Why, Mrs. 
Baxter, whatever do you mean?  I confess I have 
decided to give the students a little more latitude --
"

"Latitude!”  the other woman cut her off.  "You 
call this latitude?  Don't you mean license?  Mrs. 
McLeod I have been here for no more than three hours 
and already I have seen enough violations of good 
order and discipline to cost you your job!  And 
perhaps the entire teaching staff!  I am shocked, 
madam.  Shocked and appalled.  Let me tell you I have 
every intention of bringing this to the attention of 
the Board, and you will be very quickly out of a job!”

Mrs. McLeod tried not to let her fear show, or her 
anger.  She knew Mrs. Baxter well enough to know that 
she would carry out her threat, the little bitch.  
Mrs. Baxter was an "old-girl" herself, and in the 
Lovebright's tradition she had succeeded in seducing a 
wealthy businessman and marrying him when she 
“accidentally” got pregnant.  Nevertheless she 
continued to meddle in the affairs of her alma mater, 
mostly by using her bought seat on the Board to oppose 
any new or innovative idea.  The headmaster could not 
understand why Dr. Vargas had gone along with Mrs. 
Baxter’s visit the campus.  “Don’t worry.  It’ll be 
alright,” he told her mysteriously.

	"Perhaps it would be helpful," the headmaster said 
coldly, "if you could describe some of the things that 
are upsetting you."

The blonde woman was almost too angry to speak.  
"Some of the things!  Well, I mean, all right then, 
why don't we start with the dress code --or should I 
say the absence of a dress code!"

"We have relaxed the rules slightly.  But students 
are still required to wear the school uniform."

"You call that a uniform!?”  Mrs. Baxter retorted.  
"They're hardly -- I mean there's no --" she struggled 
to express her amazement.

***

	Mrs. Baxter had dropped in on the Academy as the 
first of a series of regular Board inspections 
recently begun by Dr. Vargas.  Slyly, she arrived 
unannounced and a day earlier than her scheduled 
visit.  She remembered Lovebright's as a quiet, 
protective, old-world kind of place, and she didn't 
care at all for the changes that had taken place.  She 
didn't trust that new headmistress either; she was too 
full of modern ideas about education.

	But nothing had prepared the young wife for what 
she had seen.  In Mrs. Baxter's day girls at 
Lovebright's wore a traditional uniform: a white 
cotton blouse and knee-length plaid kilt, blue knee-
socks (cable-knit tights in winter), black flats, and 
a formal blue jacket bearing the Lovebright's crest.  
A severe dressing down awaited the student who dared 
to wear her skirt above the knee, or let her blouse 
come untucked.

	But not any more, it seemed.  Mrs. Baxter arrived 
at the Academy just as classes were changing and she 
was amazed at what she saw.  The girls still wore the 
traditional uniform, sort of, but all the rules of 
proper dress had been subverted if not abandoned.  
White blouses were still the rule, but sensible cotton 
had been replaced by smooth silk and slinky satin, 
worn tight, thin, and sleeveless.  Some of the blouses 
were see-through, most had the top three or four 
buttons undone.  A number of the less well endowed 
girls were wearing push-up bras to make the most of 
their inadequate cleavage.

	Few of the girls bothered to wear jackets, and if 
so, they were never buttoned up.  Of the two that Mrs. 
Baxter saw in that first shocking few minutes, one had 
done up none of the buttons on her blouse, but just 
tied it beneath her breasts, leaving her midriff bare.  
Mrs. Baxter was momentarily relieved to see at least 
one girl was wearing her jacket properly, until she 
realized she wore no blouse at all beneath it.

	The rest of the uniform was similarly mocked.  All 
of the girls were wearing their kilts micro-mini 
length, and some of the seniors' were so short they 
barely covered essentials.  Kneesocks were nowhere to 
be seen, although many of the juniors wore sexy, over-
the-knee stocking-things that stopped about mid-thigh.  
The rest of the girls were wearing nylons, sometimes 
sheer and skin-toned, but more often in gaudy colors 
or patterns with shiny fabrics and seams up the back.  

"The older girls are even wearing stockings!”  
Mrs. Baxter exclaimed.  "Every time they bend over the 
slightest bit in those little hussy skirts their 
garters are right there for all the world to see.  How 
can you tolerate letting our children dress in such a 
manner!?”

Mrs. McLeod nodded understandingly, but privately 
she had trouble understanding why anybody would object 
to stockings.  She was wearing a pair herself, silk 
ones as a matter of fact.  They were very comfortable 
once you got used to them, and felt wonderfully 
feminine.  Nowadays she seldom wore anything else.

	"Only the seniors are allowed to wear stockings," 
the headmaster said reasonably, "and they can hardly 
be considered children.  The majority of them are 
eligible to vote.  Shouldn't they be treated as adults 
if they are to adapt to an adult world?"

"That's hardly the point!”  cried Mrs. Baxter.  
"We are supposed to be teaching these students 
discipline and decorum, not lasciviousness.  Why are 
the girls allowed to wear shoes like that?  Haven't 
you noticed?!"

	Mrs. Baxter certainly had.  The traditional black 
pams had been abandoned as completely as kneesocks.  
Instead, the girls were wearing an astonishing variety 
of fancy footwear in which high heels figured very 
prominently.  Classic pumps with narrow toes and 
immoderately high heels seemed to be very popular, 
which combined with the traffic-stopping brief skirts 
and slinky hose to create a leg-man's dream.  The more 
adventurous wore exuberant platform shoes and sandals 
in wild colors and bright patterns that lifted their 
brightly painted toes several inches off the floor and 
their heels even higher.  While Mrs. Baxter watched in 
amazement, one pretty girl set down her books in the 
hall, put one foot on them, and spent several minutes 
carefully tightening the laces on her leather boots.  
She didn't seem very concerned that her too-short 
skirt hiked up over her behind to reveal lace-edged, 
powder blue panties to the approving admiration of two 
boys.

	Mrs. McLeod patiently listened to the younger 
woman rant, without offering comment.  What a 
hypocrite, she thought.  Chastising my girls for 
expressing themselves a little bit while she sits in 
front of me in her thousand-dollar suit and matching 
heels.  Didn't she realize that young women were 
naturally fashion-conscious?  Aren't we supposed to 
teach them to take pride in their appearance and not 
be ashamed of their sexuality?  The headmaster crossed 
her ankles beneath the desk, feeling the comforting 
familiarity of the ankle straps on her own shoes.  
There were several more pairs in the filing cabinet if 
she felt like changing.

"And the make-up!”  Mrs. Baxter exclaimed, growing 
more animated by the moment.  "Why in my day we 
weren't even allowed to wear make-up during class 
hours.  Those girls are painted up as if they are 
preparing for a night at a club in the red-light 
district!  They spend all their time between classes 
fussing with their hair and fixing their mascara.  Who 
-- who's idea was it to install lighted make-up 
mirrors in the washrooms?"

"The lighting in the washrooms wasn't very good," 
the headmaster began, but her guest cut her off again.

	"It didn't need to be good!  It's just a washroom!  
Are you hearing anything I'm saying?"

"Of course I do.  But Mrs. Baxter I assure you, 
you are getting all upset over nothing.  A few minor 
changes to the dress code, nothing more.  Is there 
anything else?"

The young blonde stared at her blankly for a 
moment.  "Anything else?  Mrs. McLeod, there is much 
more...else.  There is openly loud, lewd and indecent 
behavior going on right in the halls of your school!  
And these new male students are right in the middle of 
it!”  

***

	In fact, the boys were even more disturbing than 
the girls.  Lovebright's had only been co-educational 
for a couple of years, and girls still outnumbered 
boys by about three to one.  Teens are terribly 
sensitive to embarrassment, so Mrs. Baxter expected 
that even the seniors would be a little intimidated by 
all those girls.

	Far from it  The boys strolled down the halls 
like minor princes on a royal walkabout.  They 
strutted like gangsters who had just been acquitted.  
They joked and laughed.  They kissed the cheeks and 
patted the barely covered fannies of the girls they 
walked by.  They whistled and stared, and handed out 
loud, unsubtle compliments at girls they admired.

	And the girls ate it up.  They giggled and 
tittered at the sexual innuendo and basked in the most 
tasteless compliments.  All the girls laughed at the 
boys' lame jokes and flirted shamelessly at every 
opportunity.  The halls were loud with shouting and 
conversations, jokes and laughter, more like a party 
than a school day.  The noise settled a little bit as 
Mrs. Baxter walked by, and many a nervous glance, or 
so it seemed to her, was directed her way.  But a few 
feet behind her the revelry started up again, as 
rambunctious as ever.

	When she had recovered from her initial surprise 
enough to look more closely, Mrs. Baxter noticed 
another oddity.  There didn't seem to be any solitary 
boys.  Every boy in the school was walking along with 
an attractive girl on his arm, sometimes two.  Even 
the big chunky goofs and quiet, nerdy types seemed to 
be amazingly popular.  A few of the more confident 
guys were followed by an ever-changing throng of 
admiring girl students, all jockeying to be near him, 
like groupies around a rock star.

	Mrs. Baxter noticed one fellow in particular, 
pausing outside a classroom with his girlfriend in 
tow.  She was a head taller than he and spectacularly 
beautiful.  She was dressed, like all the girls, in a 
travesty of the school uniform: a slinky white 
bodyshirt over a foreshortened kilt, dark, patterned 
hose that sparkled as she walked, and high-heeled 
black ankleboots.  When Mrs. Baxter was a student, 
even hair worn that long and loose would have been 
against regulations.  Not to mention the blatant 
display of affection with which she said goodbye to 
her boyfriend.

	Evidently they were going to different classes.  
Standing by the classroom door, in full view of 
anybody, the couple embraced, while the girl bent down 
and gave her boyfriend a long, sizzling kiss.  The 
kiss turned into an upright necking session.  When the 
boy ran his hands down her back and onto her bum the 
girl merely cooed excitedly and rubbed her crotch 
tighter against him.  At last he broke the kiss and 
gently pushed her away.  She was breathing hard.  
Reluctantly, looking back at him doe-eyed, she turned 
and waltzed into the classroom where the teacher was 
patiently waiting for the class to assemble.

	The girl was barely out of sight before another 
girl, a hot-looking blonde in a tight white jersey and 
an equally short kilt, shouted out his name from down 
the hall.  She tripped down the noisy corridor toward 
him in her wedge-heeled slides, smiling excitedly, and 
fairly threw herself into his arms, loosing one gaudy 
shoe in the process.  After a long and passionate 
melding of lips it was again the boy who pushed her 
gently away.  Until he mentioned it, she seemed hardly 
to have noticed her missing shoe.

	As she watched the couple recede down the hall, 
arm in arm, Mrs. Baxter looked on, amazed and 
unbelieving.  Never mind that the way both girls 
carried on with the boy bordered on public indecency, 
much less proper decorum for a private school.  There 
was an even bigger mystery.  The girls were both 
gorgeous and radiating sex appeal; the guy was short, 
plain, a little frumpy and wore glasses.  How in the 
world did he ever attract a girl []such as that?  Mrs. 
Baxter pushed a stray curl away from her ear and was 
surprised to find moisture there.  The aura of teenage 
sexual tension was so thick it was affecting even her.

***

	"Mrs. Baxter," the headmaster said, clinging 
desperately to common sense, "You must remember that 
these are adolescents just emerging into adulthood.  
They are discovering the other sex.  Naturally, when 
young men and women are thrust together there will be 
romantic liaisons --"

	But the blonde visitor was not listening.  
"Romantic liaisons!  Is that your Harvard euphemism 
for carrying on in public like rabbits!?"

	"Well, of course we attempt to discourage too open 
displays of affection.  But you know how young men 
are.  Sometimes their enthusiasm is a little hard to 
hold in check."

	It was a weak explanation, but Mrs. McLeod was 
loathe to admit that she found it difficult to 
discipline the male students.  They were all such 
huggable, handsome little hunks!  Even the shy, nerdy 
types were simply too cute for words.  Oh, she had 
hauled a couple into her office after some 
particularly flagrant incidents, intending to give 
them one of her famous tongue-lashings.  But when the 
guys stood smiling sheepishly in front of her she 
found herself as flushed and giggly as any of the 
young girls in her charge.  Unable to stay angry, she 
gave them a gentle lecture and sent them on their way.  
For some reason she found the incidents delightfully 
arousing, and any day when she had a student in her 
office her husband was guaranteed a lively time in bed 
that night!

	"Are you admitting then," Mrs. Baxter said icily, 
"that you cannot control your own students?"

	"No, of course not!  But you must understand that 
certain, ah, youthful rambunctiousness is to be 
expected.  It's part of --"

	"I see.”  the blonde woman cut her off 
disdainfully.  "So you are unable or unwilling to 
exercise your authority to maintain even a semblance 
of discipline.  The Board will be interested to hear 
that.  Could it be that student decorum would be more 
easily maintained if the teaching staff set a proper 
example?"

	"What, what do you mean?”  Mrs. McLeod said 
meekly.  She didn't like the way this was going.

	"I mean, quite simply, that I expect teachers at 
this school to be exemplary in appearance, conduct and 
performance.  I have seen nothing of the sort here, 
Mrs. McLeod!"

***

	Still reeling from her experience in the hall, 
Mrs. Baxter had found herself outside an empty 
classroom just as the noise of class change subsided.  
The classroom was deserted except for a good-looking 
young woman sitting at the front desk.  Evidently she 
was one of the new replacement teachers that had been 
brought on earlier in the semester.

	Women had always composed most of Lovebright's 
teaching staff, and like its building and its 
philosophy, much of the staff had grown old and tired 
and in need of rejuvenation.  In the upheaval 
following the name change and the admission of boys, 
many of the older teachers had retired.  A few months 
later several others had abruptly resigned amid 
disturbing rumors of illicit affairs with students.  
The situation required a raft of new hirings, many in 
mid-semester.  To save time, the Board had allowed 
Mrs. McLeod to make the appointments herself, with 
Board ratification suspended until after the school 
year.  Mrs. Baxter was therefore not surprised that 
she did not recognize the pretty young teacher.

	"Hello," she said, striding into the room, "My 
name is Baxter.  I'm with the Board of Governors, here 
on inspection.  And you would be...?"

	The woman was studying herself in a hand mirror 
while she applied lipstick.  She looked up, startled, 
trying to lodge her chewing gum in a corner of her 
mouth.  "Oh!  Oh, uhm yes, Mrs. Baxter, oh, yes.  Of 
course.  I like, didn't see you there.  Yes, oh, I'm 
Crystal Sexsmith, senior history and, uhm, geography.  
We were, uhm, sort of like, expecting you tomorrow."

	"I know.  That's why I decided to drop in today."

	Smiling coolly, Mrs. Baxter examined the young 
teacher.  She was definitely still in her twenties, 
slender and very attractive, with long, blond hair 
streaked with darker bands, and glittering deep blue 
eyes.  Her lips were full and cherry red from the 
freshly applied lipstick.  Certainly plenty of fuel 
there for adolescent fantasies.  Mrs. Baxter had voted 
against the emergency hiring approvals, and she 
certainly did not approve of senior classes being 
taught by a neophyte ten years her junior who looked 
more like a model than a teacher.

	Still, sitting behind her big desk the young woman 
appeared professional enough.  Her hair was mostly 
pinned up with a pair of gold combs.  Stylish, gold-
rimmed glasses perched on her nose.  She wore a plain 
white blouse and a conservative gray suit jacket that 
looked properly academic.  "Well, I guess, like, uhm, 
since you're here, like," she said, clearly flustered, 
"I'm like, really glad to meet you.”  She rose to her 
feet and extended a hand.

	"Likewise," Mrs. Baxter said insincerely, but then 
her voice trailed off.  Standing up, Ms Sexsmith had 
revealed the bottom half of her clothing.  The 
conservative gray jacket matched the simple gray 
skirt, hip-hugging and distractingly short.  The 
hemline rode high on perfect thighs just below the 
edge of the jacket.  Her legs were long and lean, 
shimmering beneath sheer nylons with a dark seam up 
the back, and topped off with mirror-black, extra-high 
heels.  The skirt caught for just a moment on one 
side, revealing the black lace garters barely covered 
when it fell back in place.

	Mrs. Baxter was shocked again.  "Is this how you 
dress for class?”  she demanded.

	The leggy blonde fiddled with a wayward strand of 
hair.  "Well, uh, yeah, I guess so.  Like, when the 
weather's warm.  Is something wrong?"

	The other blonde studied her keenly.  "How old are 
you?"

	"Twenty-two."

	"And when did you receive your teaching 
certificate?"

	"Oh, well, uhm, probably in the fall.  I have to, 
like, just finish a couple of courses over the 
summer.”  She looked at the older woman nervously.

	"You don't have a degree!?"

	"I will!  I just have to repeat--I mean take a 
couple of courses to finish up.  It's like almost a 
formality.  Really."

***
	Mrs. McLeod shook her head as the young woman 
glared at her across the desk.  Of all the teachers to 
drop in on, it had to be Crystal.  She was adorable, 
but such an airhead.  The kids loved her though.

	But this Baxter bitch was demanding an 
explanation, and the headmaster knew she had to do 
something.  She was getting in over her head and if 
she couldn't come up with some ideas quickly there was 
going to be hell to pay.  It was time to get some 
help.

	"I, uh, I can explain all this," she said 
unconvincingly.  "But will you, uh, just excuse me for 
one moment?”  She picked up the telephone on her desk 
and punched a button.  "Holly?  Can you please find 
Jimmy and ask him to come in here?  Right away.  Yes, 
I know, but tell him we're having a fire drill.  Yes, 
definitely.  OK, thanks."

	She put down the telephone and smiled at Mrs. 
Baxter, some of her confidence returning.  Holly had 
recognized the code words "fire drill" which meant 
there was an emergency.  So Jimmy would come by and 
help her out.  He would figure out some way to explain 
the new school rules and mollify Mrs. rich-bitch 
Baxter.  Jimmy was always there to help her when she 
needed him.  He was such a remarkable boy.

II

	Mrs. Baxter's patience was wearing thinner by the 
moment.  "What is going on here, Mrs. McLeod?”  she 
demanded.  "Who is this Jimmy, and what has he got to 
do with hiring "teachers" who don't even have a 
teaching certificate?  For god's sake, that's not even 
allowed under state regulations!  Not to mention the 
Lovebright's tradition of hiring only first-rate 
faculty!  Is it possible you have forgotten that too, 
the way you have forgotten everything else about 
running a school!?"

	The shapely headmaster wilted before the other 
woman's rage.  She tried to think of something to say, 
if only to buy time.  That comment about Lovebright's 
first-rate faculty was another exaggeration.  Still, 
blondie Baxter did have a point, Crystal's appointment 
was technically unsanctioned.  Ordinarily Mrs. McLeod 
was punctilious about that sort of thing, but Crystal 
was such a sweetheart, and obviously so popular with 
the boys that she had decided to let it go this time.  
She would get her degree eventually.

	Actually, it had been Jimmy's suggestion that she 
hire Crystal; he had an unerring sense for this kind 
of thing.  Mrs. McLeod hoped he would get here soon.  
She wasn't sure she could hold off la Baxter much 
longer.

	"Mrs. Baxter, let me explain the situation with Ms 
Sexsmith," the headmaster said, thinking quickly.  "We 
were lucky to get her, all things considered.  She was 
finishing her master's degree in education and 
incredibly, taking the teaching certificate courses in 
her spare time.  We realized that it was slightly 
unconventional to bring on a teacher who hadn't 
officially finished the degree, but Ms Sexsmith's 
other qualifications were so sterling that the detail 
of a few unfinished courses seemed quite trivial."

	None of this was technically true, of course --the 
hardest thing Crystal had ever learned was how to walk 
in five-inch heels --but Mrs. McLeod knew she had to 
keep Baxter from leaving before Jimmy got there.  She 
was pretty much making it up as she went, and she 
wasn't too surprised to discover the curly-haired 
housewife didn't believe her.

	"Oh come now, Madam," she sneered, "do you really 
expect me to believe that that" --she paused, looking 
for a word --"that bimbo has a master's degree!"

	“But we had to do something when Ms. Hardling 
resigned so suddenly.”  Almost as soon as the words 
were out of her mouth, the headmistress realized her 
mistake.  Ms. Hardling had been one of the fiercest 
critics of the changes at Lovebright.  Everyone in the 
state, especially the blonde inquisitor sitting before 
her, had been shocked when the forty-five year old 
spinster had suddenly resigned, being found pregnant 
with the baby of one of her students.  Worst yet, she 
admitted to having slept with so many, she didn’t know 
which one!

	Mrs. McLeod was not a good liar and she could feel 
herself blushing under Mrs. Baxter’s fiery glare.  
Fortunately, before she could dig herself in any 
deeper there was a polite rapping at the door.  "Ah, 
that will be Jimmy now," the headmaster said, unable 
to hide her relief.  "I'm sure he will be able to 
answer any of your remaining questions.  Come in!"

	The door opened and a student walked in.  Mrs. 
McLeod jumped to her feet.  "Lov--, er, I mean, Mr. 
King, thank you for dropping by.  I hope you aren't 
missing a class.”  She gestured toward her still-
seated guest.  "This is Mrs. Baxter," she said, then 
added, significantly, "she's from the Board of 
Governors, and she has a few questions about the, uh, 
academic environment here."

	"Mrs. Baxter.  What a pleasure this is," the boy 
said, extending a hand.

	The svelte blonde was nonplussed.  The boy looked 
to be a senior and he was handsome in a kind of bland 
way, medium tall and kind of gangly.  Unlike the 
female student body he seemed to take the school 
uniform seriously, and was wearing the regulation 
jacket, tie and button-down white shirt.  But she had 
not missed the excitement in Mrs. McLeod's manner when 
he entered the room, or the almost fawning way she was 
looking at him now.

	Automatically, she rose to her feet and shook 
hands.  "Delighted, Mr. King," she said in a voice 
designed to put youngsters in their place.  "Now will 
somebody please explain to me what this **boy** is 
doing here?  Do you let the students run the school 
now, headmaster?"

	Mrs. McLeod ignored the sarcasm.  "Jimmy is one of 
the Vargas Scholarship students," she said proudly, 
"and also chairs our new Student-Teacher Committee.  
We decided early last semester that a forum was needed 
for the exchange of views between students and 
faculty.  It provides the students with an opportunity 
for real input into regulations which affect them, as 
opposed to the traditional, autocratic approach.”  The 
education-theory jargon came out easily.  She had 
almost forgotten that the committee was originally 
Jimmy's idea, and that he had even recommended the 
students and teachers that sat on it.

	"You seem upset, Mrs. Baxter," the boy said with 
an easy self-confidence far beyond his years.  "Why 
don't you tell us exactly what is bothering you, and 
we'll see if we can't allay your concerns.”  He pulled 
up a chair close beside the headmaster, sat down, and 
looked at the young blonde expectantly.

	Mrs. Baxter was nearly speechless.  The whole 
situation seemed unreal.  Not only had the whole 
Academy turned into a travesty, but now a student was 
sitting behind the headmaster's desk, calmly taking 
over an administrative discussion as if it were the 
most natural thing in the world.  This was too much.  
It was time to just walk out of here and go directly 
to the Board.  She could pressure Vargas into calling 
an emergency meeting.  When they heard her report this 
excuse of a headmaster would be out on her ear before 
sunrise.  Something had to be done.

	Yet she hesitated.  There was something going on 
here, she was sure of that, and this cocky, smooth-
talking senior was the key to it all.  She sat down.  
"Very well then," she said archly, "perhaps the chair 
of the Student-Teacher Committee can explain how a 
miniskirted nitwit came to be teaching senior 
geography!"

	But the boy only smiled.  "You must be referring 
to Crystal Sexsmith.  Her style is quite disarming, 
isn't it?  Don't let her fool you though.  Beneath 
that carefully cultivated little-girl image is a sharp 
and demanding mind.  She is a born teacher, too.  Her 
interview left us all stunned.”  Not nearly as stunned 
as Crystal had been when she found out she was hired, 
but he didn't say that.

	Mrs. Baxter looked at the boy unbelievingly.  He 
sounded absolutely serious.  That barbie doll a 
natural born teacher?  "Mrs. McLeod!  Is this true?"

	"What?  Oh, uh, yes, uh certainly.  Absolutely 
true," the headmaster said, brushing back her hair.  
She was a little distracted at that moment because 
Jimmy had his hand on her knee, just below the hem of 
her skirt, and he was lightly stroking the inside of 
her leg.  It made it kind of hard to concentrate on 
the conversation.  She spread her legs a little wider.

	Mrs. Baxter was taken aback.  "Well I...you can't 
honestly believe....Very well, let's let that go for a 
moment.  There are many other things.  How can you 
account for the bizarre goings-on in the physical 
education class?"

***

	The corridors were mostly deserted by the time 
Mrs. Baxter left Crystal Sexsmith's classroom.  There 
did seem to be a little more noise than usual coming 
from the classrooms, occasional bursts of laughter or 
shouting, and what sounded like ... yes, it was 
definitely music coming from the gymnasium.  It was 
lively dance music with a pulsing disco rhythm.  The 
trim blonde's heels clicked smartly on the tile floor 
as she made her way to the gym.

	She opened one of the big wooden doors a crack and 
peered inside.  The music was coming from an oversized 
boombox set on a chair by the wall.  There were about 
a dozen or so students in the gym, and a taller woman 
who must be the teacher.  But this was no ordinary gym 
class.

	For one thing, the girls were not wearing the 
regulation blue top and knee-length shorts that 
Lovebright students always wore to gym.  These girls 
were dressed in bright blue leotards and sleek white 
leggings, with matching blue ankle socks and high-
topped white shoes.  The stretchy Spandex outfits 
flattered the young, if slightly rounded, figures and 
well-turned legs.  The girls were doing some kind of 
aerobic exercise, stretching and moving to the music.  
Their supple, easy movements suggested ample practice.

	The exercises were unconventional; at times they 
involved bending and turning at the waist, arms 
overhead and breasts thrust forward, at other times 
slow graceful steps and pirouettes like ballerinas, 
high on the toes of their fancy shoes.  Then the music 
dropped to a sensual, pulsing beat and the girls began 
doing in-place exercises, thrusting their hips forward 
on one beat, bending and pushing out their behinds on 
the next.  They seemed to be having a great time.  
Basketballs and other gym equipment was piled in a 
corner gathering dust.

	The only person not dressed in leotards was the 
instructor.  Instead she wore a white, sleeveless 
tennis dress trimmed with blue stripes, and silvery 
white tennis shoes tied up with wide blue ribbons 
instead of laces.  Something seemed out of place about 
that dress.  Trying to ignore the infectious beat of 
the music, or the blatantly sexy movements of the 
girls, Mrs. Baxter studied the instructor.  She was 
young, and impossibly well-built.  Large buoyant 
breasts and long, athletic legs burst out of the tiny 
rag of a tennis dress.  Long black hair flowed freely 
down past her shoulders.

	Her smile was radiant.  Swaying gracefully with 
the music she strolled among the students, correcting 
a misplaced arm here, encouraging a more exuberant 
thrust there.  She was wearing big hoop earrings 
patterned in blue and white, and matching bracelets on 
both arms.

	What in the world was going on?  Mrs. Baxter 
peered in through the gym door and watched the girls 
go through their well-practiced routine.  There was a 
compelling harmony in their movements, the whole class 
stretching and bending together like a chorus line.  
Many of the leotards were quite skimpy along the 
bustline and around the bum, and when the girls bent 
over to touch their toes the gym was filled with 
bouncing breasts and behinds.

	It was hard to tell from the door, but the girls 
didn't appear to be wearing anything beneath the 
leotards.  They straightened slowly, following the 
sensuous tones of the music, drawing their hands up 
their legs and over their torsos.  Mrs. Baxter drew in 
her breath.  She found one hand mimicking the girls' 
movements and she forced it to stop.

***

	"What in god's name are you teaching these girls 
in gym class!”  Mrs. Baxter exclaimed, glaring first 
at the headmaster, then at the student beside her.  
"Why aren't they learning basketball or field hockey 
or gymnastics?  Why, that wasn't even proper aerobics.  
Those....movements the girls were doing were 
practically obscene.  It was as if they were 
practicing to be bawdy dancers!  Mrs. McLeod, I demand 
an explanation!"

	"Ex--explanation?”  the headmaster gasped, her 
eyes darting about.  "Yes, I can, ooooh, yes, I---I 
can...  uhm, explain...  oh!  ...  explain....”  
Jimmy's hand was now above the middle of her thigh and 
the curvy headmaster was finding it increasingly 
difficult to focus on the conversation.  Her skirt was 
rucked up around her hips.  Jimmy was deftly stroking 
her stocking-covered inner thigh, moving a little 
higher with every pass.

	He was being terribly naughty, teasing her at a 
time like this, but Mrs. McLeod couldn't bring herself 
to try to stop him.  Jimmy's touch was always such a 
turn-on.  With a few strokes he could render her weak-
kneed and helpless.

	Mrs. McLeod spread her legs apart as far as the 
tight skirt would let her.  She wished he would let 
her wear minis, as he did the other teachers, but 
Jimmy said she had to present a more conservative 
image to the public and she grudgingly agreed he was 
right.  She compensated, however, by wearing the 
wildest underwear she could still find.

	"I think I understand your misapprehension," Jimmy 
interrupted smoothly, his hand still busy between the 
squirming headmistress’s legs.  "That would surely be 
Miss Libertina's class.  She has introduced a new 
concept in isometric exercise, blending together, as I 
understand it, diverse elements from aerobics, modern 
dance, ballet and even tai chi.  The result is an 
effective, low-impact routine that works the muscles 
while simultaneously teaching balance, poise and 
rhythm.  She explained it to us one evening at a 
Student-Teacher Committee meeting."

	For a moment Mrs. Baxter was dumbfounded.  That 
explanation was so bizarre it almost made sense.  She 
ignored the headmaster, who seemed to be twitching in 
her seat, and concentrated her anger on Jimmy.  "Do 
you mean to tell me," she said in measured tones, 
"that those exercises the girls were doing were 
intended as instruction?"

	Jimmy smiled.  "Absolutely.  Though of course 
traditional sports have not been abandoned.  In fact, 
our new football team is doing rather well, 
considering the small pool of talent we have to draw 
on."

	The football team's success was probably due to 
the success of Lovebright's large and energetic 
cheerleading squad at distracting the opposing teams 
with beaver shots, but again Jimmy let the details 
pass.  Ms Libertina was also the cheerleading coach 
and she applied her new dance ideas to their routines 
as well.  In fact, Ms Libertina had been a 
professional cheerleader herself until very recently.

	"Football," said Mrs. Baxter blankly.  It figured, 
she conceded with a sigh.  There were boys in the 
school now.  “But what about the girls' championship 
field hockey team?” she inquired.

	Jimmy smiled, realizing that it would be cruel to 
make Mrs. McLeod try to answer.  Leaving her to bask 
in his delicious manipulation of her sex, he spoke up.  
“It was offered this year as usual, but there just 
wasn’t enough interest.”  Actually, quite a few girls 
had been interested at first, including a senior who 
had been hoping to gain athletic scholarships under 
Title IX programs.  She soon realized, however, that 
time spent on the field meant less time on her back 
practicing the new sport her occasional boyfriend had 
just taught her.  She probably wouldn’t be going to 
college, anyway.

	"If I may ask you one question," the student 
prodded her gently, "If you were curious about the 
aerobics program, why didn't you just ask Ms 
Libertina?  She is very enthusiastic about it.”  
Actually, enthusiastic didn't quite cover it.  Since 
the idea had occurred to her at a Student-Teacher 
meeting, the statuesque gym instructor had gradually 
become obsessed with the new dance routines, until 
eventually they had pushed all the traditional sports 
off the curriculum.  The girls too had grown to love 
the exercises, especially since they were allowed to 
wear the new Spandex uniforms.

	For once Mrs. Baxter hesitated.  "Well, I...the 
fact is, I, well, I never got the chance.  I mean, I'm 
here to do an inspection, and I can't go around 
interrupting every class.”  In truth, she had been 
very reluctant to go farther into the gymnasium.  
There was something disturbingly captivating about the 
dance the girls were doing, and the rich young 
housewife was surprised to find herself getting warm 
just watching them.  Just as she was getting warm 
right now from remembering it.

	She shifted uneasily in her chair.  "Besides, 
young man," she said more firmly, "we still have other 
things to discuss.  Much more serious things.  Such as 
openly lewd behavior in the corridors of the Academy!”  
She raised her voice dramatically.

***

Closing the door to the gymnasium, Mrs. Baxter 
hurried on down the hall until, mercifully, the catchy 
beat of the music faded.  She fluffed up her hair, 
trying to regain her composure.  In the relative 
silence of the hall she could make out whispered 
voices coming from a narrow side corridor.  Curious, 
she turned to find them.  There should not have been 
any students about.  Lovebright's traditional strict 
discipline forbade students to be out of classrooms or 
the library during school hours.

	The corridor lead to a narrow back staircase, one 
of many such byways and alcoves in the complex 
architecture of the old building.  Walking on tiptoe, 
Mrs. Baxter approached the voices.  There were two 
students, seniors by the look of them, standing in an 
unused space beneath the staircase.  Old stuffed 
chairs and sofas were stacked up for storage.  The boy 
was tall and dark blonde, with hair too long for the 
regulations.  He wore the uniform shirt and pants 
without a tie.  His jacket was thrown over a chair.

	The girl was a leggy brunette whose interpretation 
of the school uniform included a kilt that couldn't 
have been more than 15 inches long, worn above sky-
blue stockings with dark stripes up the legs.  Her 
shiny black shoes had impractically thick platform 
soles and heels that towered like skyscrapers.  
Instead of a blouse she wore a thin white jersey with 
the bottom buttons unfastened to show her navel.  The 
couple were locked in a heady embrace.  As the school 
inspector watched, unnoticed, they kissed and necked 
hungrily.

	The girl seemed to be protesting something.  
"Johnny, please," she murmured softly, when he finally 
let her up for air, "we can't.  I have to...get to 
class...shouldn't even....out here.....”  The pauses 
grew longer as Johnny silenced her with kisses, each 
one more eagerly accepted than the one before.

	"Hey, relax Leanne, you know I can get you a 
pass," Johnny whispered, sprinkling kisses down her 
throat and neck.  "And besides Ms Winsome never checks 
attendance anymore.  We have the whole period to 
ourselves.”  He had one hand on her back, and the 
other near the bottom of her tiny skirt.

	The girl was flushed.  "But what if, what if 
somebody sees us!”  she whispered, trying 
unsuccessfully to keep his hands at bay.

	"Nobody will see us.  Nobody ever comes back here.  
And they're all in class anyway.”  He kissed her 
again, long and thoroughly, while they pressed their 
bodies together.  In the hall Mrs. Baxter stood 
watching, shocked and fascinated.  Unnoticed, her hand 
slipped into her panties.

	The pretty co-ed was rapidly losing ground.  "God 
Johnny," she husked, when their lips separated an 
inch, "You're making me so hot.  Please, we have 
to...”  He covered her lips with his, pulling her 
closer.  As they necked, his hand slipped down off her 
miniskirt onto the top of one nylon-clad thigh.  The 
girl made a small sound deep in her throat.  Following 
Johnny's urging she lifted one leg and wrapped it 
around him, pressing herself against his thrusting 
hips.

	"Please stop, Johnny," Leanne panted at last, her 
eyes half-closed.  "You're driving me crazy.  We can’t 
do this, not this week.  Remember.  Miss Fecunda 
confiscated all the girls’ pills and I’m ovu ….  
Please, oh god, wait, oooooh, not theerrre.....”  The 
boy’s hand disappeared under her skirt effectively 
stifling her protests.  Adroitly he turned her around 
and began to lower her onto one of the old sofas.  
"Please, Johnny," she whimpered, "please hurrrry!"

	From her vantage point in the hall, Mrs. Baxter 
watched, spellbound.  They were actually going to do 
it!  The boy was about to drill and with any luck preg 
the little vixen, right here in the school!  Too 
stunned to move, the well-heeled blonde watched as the 
young girl collapsed onto an unused sofa, still 
clinched in an eager embrace.  Most of the sofa was 
hidden from view by the staircase, so Mrs. Baxter 
could only see the bottom of their legs.  Two fingers 
up her own well lubricated pussy made it hard to pay 
attention, anyway.

	It wasn't hard to infer what was happening though.  
Leanne's sexy legs were rubbing against Johnny's on 
top, amid much snuffling and groaning.  Johnny's 
ankles arched for a moment, and then his pants and 
shorts appeared around his calves, pushed down eagerly 
by Leanne's delicate hands.  Evidently her underwear 
wasn't a significant issue, because a moment later 
Mrs. Baxter heard a sharp, feminine cry, followed by a 
sigh of "oh yesssss!”  She could tell by the up and 
down movements of Johnny's legs that he must be 
thrusting his hips.  Leanne's striped stockings 
glistened as she humped back.  The movement of her own 
hand accelerated.

	The chorus of moans and mews grew louder.  
Suddenly Leanne's platform shoes lifted high in the 
air and then disappeared, and Mrs. Baxter realized 
instantly that she must have crossed her legs around 
his back.  This was no teary romantic encounter: this 
was a mating rut.

	Mrs. Baxter leaned back against the wall and 
abruptly realized she was breathing hard.  The sounds 
of vigorous love-making were still coming from the 
stairwell.  What should she do?  This was intolerable 
behavior, they should both be expelled.  She should 
just walk in and interrupt them, while they were...  
right in the middle of....god she was hot.  Pulling on 
her collar, she imagined what Leanne must be feeling 
right then, pinned on the deep sofa with a hard, 
vibrant specimen of teenage virility thrusting into 
her, feeling her breasts against his chest, her 
nipples hard and swollen like Mrs. Baxter's were now.  
She shuddered, and shook her head vigorously, but her 
hand was back in her twat.  She was so close…  She had 
to stop the …

	“Pull out, Johnny!  Pull out!  Don’t come in …”  
Too late!  “Aaaaahhhhhhgggg!”  Mrs. McLeod gasped as 
the sound of the helplessly rutting girl’s orgasm 
triggered her own.  She came and came hard.  With a 
sharp exhalation she turned her back on the cries and 
moans and creaking of springs coming from the 
staircase and stumbled down the corridor back to the 
relative tranquillity of the main hall.

III

	"So then.  This is what discipline has come to," 
Mrs. Baxter said, scowling across the big oak desk.  
She tried to recapture the sense of furious shock and 
outrage that had propelled her into the headmaster's 
office.  Retelling her experience with the amorous 
students had unexpectedly refreshed the memory in her 
mind, and she found herself getting very warm.  She 
could feel her nipples pressing against her bra.  "Sex 
right here in the building!  Students coupling like 
animals!  Where does this fit in your new educational 
theories, Mrs. McLeod?  Did *this* idea come up at one 
of your Student-Teacher Committee meetings?  This 
situation must not be tolerated!  Those students must 
be punished for such scandalous behavior, and you, 
madam --are you listening to me!?"

	The headmaster's eyes were unfocussed.  With her 
head rolling loosely, she was making little thrusting 
motions with her hips, still largely hidden behind the 
desk.  "Hmmmm?  Lis-listening?”  she said 
indifferently.  "Oh!  Oh yes!  And I love it.  It's so 
good.  I want to--, to hear it.  Please, don't stop 
now!”  She was breathing through her mouth.

	Mrs. Baxter stared at the clearly aroused 
headmaster in wonder.  Had her report about the two 
oversexed students turned her on so much?  It was a 
hot story, she had to admit, the way Leanne looked so 
sexy in her super-short skirt and striped stockings, 
the confident, masculine way that Johnny guided her 
onto the sofa and worked his … way into her.

	With an effort, she forced her mind away.  She 
regretted not having let Arthur at least try to fuck 
her this morning before she came here; maybe she 
wouldn’t have been so horny.  This was no time to be 
caught in an erotic daydream!  This was an outrage and 
something had to be done!  And you would think, with 
all the money she paid for this dress, they could have 
cut it a little shorter so it didn't cover the best 
part of her legs and make it so dammed difficult to to 
get her fingers in her pussy!  Wait, what did that 
have to do with it?

	She came back to the present when the headmaster 
emitted a little gasp.  Jimmy's hand had succeeded in 
reaching the top of her silk stockings.  Now he was 
teasing lightly over the little space at the top of 
her thighs, between the dark bands of her garters and 
her black bikini panties.  She had succeeded, while 
the Baxter bitch was rambling on about Johnny and 
Leanne, in hitching her skirt up over her bum, so it 
no longer impeded Jimmy's questing fingers.  She 
gasped audibly when one finger found the wet spot on 
her crotch and slid along the length of her silk-
covered lips.  The presence of a Board inspector, and 
the impending disaster to her career, were becoming 
less and less important.

	Thinking back, Mrs. McLeod remembered when she had 
first decided to dress like a real woman and started 
wearing stockings instead of the triple protection of 
baggy slacks, panties and pantyhose to school.  Her 
husband had thought it a little strange at first, 
given that she had always been so conservative.  He 
objected to the cost when she started buying the 
expensive silk ones, and then insisted on wearing them 
every day.  Eventually she had mentioned her husband's 
concern to Jimmy, before a Committee meeting one day.  
He suggested she invite him over for supper.  Her 
husband thought that was odd too, but he didn't 
realize that Jimmy was an exceptional student.

	On the evening of Jimmy's visit, Mrs. McLeod had 
drunk too much wine with supper and tottered off to 
bed early.  Jimmy and her husband had stayed up very 
late talking, but not too later to give her a 
delicious sleepy fuck when he eventually came to bed.  
Jimmy must have explained things to him very well 
because the next morning her husband made no objection 
at all when, after another quick fuck, she slipped 
into a pair of red fish-net hose and a matching red 
garter belt.  In fact it seemed to turn him on quite a 
lot.

	Jimmy came back for supper once more a week later, 
just when …?  Something important that slipped her 
mind.  This time all three of them stayed up late, 
drinking and talking and laughing, until her husband 
fell asleep, glass in hand, in his favorite stuffed 
chair.  Mrs. McLeod herself was feeling no pain from 
the drinks and soon she was howling with pleasure as 
Jimmy gave her had a delightful little fuck on the 
living room rug while her husband dozed.  It was so 
much better than the quickies she was used to in her 
office when Jimmy just turned her over a chair between 
classes.

	After that night her husband started helping her 
choose her underwear each morning.  He often helped 
her slip on her stockings and shoes, while Mrs. McLeod 
sipped the fresh orange juice he made for her and 
enjoyed the feeling of being petted and pampered.  
Dressing her seemed to get her husband awfully worked 
up.  He was usually rock-hard by the time he was done.  
Sometimes she let him make her late for school.  
Lately she preferred to make him wait until she came 
home at night and he had spent the day suffering.  
Sometimes he even called her from his law office just 
to tell her how hot she looked.  When he did, she knew 
she’d have no trouble being on top that night.

	Not surprisingly, it was Jimmy who responded to 
Mrs. Baxter's last complaint, and now he became very 
serious.  "Mrs. Baxter," he said intently, "I do not 
mean to minimize the seriousness of this incident, but 
I think there are two sides to the issue.”  He leaned 
forward in his chair, at an angle which incidentally 
gave him better access to Mrs. McLeod's panties.  
"These are young people, full of emotions, and they 
sometimes make mistakes.  We get carried away 
sometimes, I admit it.  That's why we need direction 
from adults, from teachers and parents.  Those 
students are classmates of mine, I know them well.  
Perhaps they shouldn't have been skipping classes, but 
they are very much in love.”  If that were the case 
then Johnny had been very much in love with at least 
three other girls that week, but once again Jimmy's 
sense of tact prevailed.

	"They went some place to make out and they got 
carried away.  An unfortunate scene.  But what about 
you, Mrs. Baxter?  You saw what they were doing, why 
didn't you interrupt them?  These kids needed moral 
guidance at that moment, and you just stood and 
watched.  Why?  Why didn't you stop them from doing 
something they will both regret later?  Why did you 
just stand there and watch an unplanned pregnancy 
occur?”  This time it was he who glared across the 
desk accusingly.

	Mrs. Baxter was taken aback.  "Well, I never--I 
mean, I couldn't....  there was no time to..."

	Jimmy interrupted her.  "It's easy to come in here 
and complain afterward, but I can't help thinking you 
had a chance to do the right thing and you blew it.  
Could it be that you actually enjoyed watching the 
girl getting knocked up?  That you were spying from 
the corridor while these two innocent kids made a baby 
for your amusement?"

	The pretty blonde's face was red.  "No!  No, of 
course not.  It wasn't like that at all!”  She looked 
about, trying to collect her thoughts.

	There was no use appealing to Mrs. McLeod for 
support.  The headmaster was lolling in her chair, 
quite obviously lifting herself on her arms to thrust 
her hips behind the desk, gasping "Hunh!  Hunh!  
Hunh!”  in time with the thrusts.  Jimmy now had two 
fingers inside her panties.  The freckled brunette was 
shamelessly goosing herself on his digits, very nearly 
oblivious to her surroundings.

	"It wasn't like that, not like you're saying," 
Mrs. Baxter said defensively.  "The point is they 
shouldn't have been there at all!  And if proper 
discipline had been maintained from the outset they 
never would have come to such a compromising position!  
Letting the boys strut around like little kings, and 
the girls wearing their skirts so short...."

	Not that there was anything wrong with a 
fashionably brief skirt.  Not, that is, if it were 
worn tastefully, by a woman with dynamite legs.  Like 
hers.  Maybe with shiny nylons and a new pair of shoes 
Arthur would fuck her more often, or the new Jamaican 
gardener – now there was a man who could send a woman 
to the maternity ward! ....

	She shook her head.  Where did these thoughts keep 
coming from?

	"Mrs. Baxter," Jimmy said again, pausing to slip a 
third finger inside the panting headmaster, "I think 
we have answered your complaints well enough.  
Lovebright's is going through some growing pains to be 
sure, but the Academy is still in good shape.  And as 
for Mrs. McLeod, well, we are all taken with her 
openness and ability to accept new ideas.”  His arm 
pistoned steadily as he spoke.

	"Oh fuck yessss!”  the headmaster gasped, slumping 
down in her chair.  "Gimme some more....more i-ideas!"

	Mrs. Baxter was confused.  The headmaster was 
acting just like a woman who was getting a dandy 
little finger-job, and above the desk she could see 
Jimmy's arm moving back and forth, in and out.  She 
knew she should be terrifically upset, outraged in 
fact, but the poor woman clearly needed to come, and 
badly.  Besides, she had succeeded in getting a finger 
into her own hole and it seemed harder and harder to 
hold onto her sense of anger.

	Jimmy had more or less dismissed her, but she knew 
she had more to say.  It was just so difficult to keep 
it all straight.  Flighty, irrelevant thoughts kept 
slipping through her mind, flipping against her 
consciousness the way a really short skirt would flip 
against her thighs as she walked, reminding her with 
every step of just how deliciously sexy she looked, 
how much she needed a good ....

	Shaking off the wandering thoughts again, she 
cried out, "Wait!  There's more!  There are other 
things!  I just can't quite...”  Concentrating hard to 
keep her head clear she tried to remember what else 
she had seen that had shocked her so.  The suspicious-
looking plants growing in neat rows in the greenhouse; 
the new selection of books and magazines in the 
library, and the foxy young librarian more concerned 
with combing her hair than the laughter and necking 
going on around her; the male teacher sitting behind 
his desk between classes, yakking and flirting with 
two pretty, provocatively dressed students who were 
sitting on the arms of his chair; the obedient, 
identically dressed young girls walking behind the 
seniors.

	That was it!

	With the memory Mrs. Baxter's composure, and some 
of her anger, returned.  Ignoring the steady moans 
from the sexed-out headmaster and interrupting her own 
masturbation, she glared at Jimmy.  "Let's see you 
explain this away, Mr. smart-ass scholarship student," 
she challenged.

***

	Classes changed again shortly after Mrs. Baxter, 
her heart still pounding from her orgasm, returned to 
the main hall from her side trip to the stairwell.  
Once again she found herself engulfed in a swirl of 
boisterous, cheerful students, laughing and talking as 
they ambled to their next class or stopped at their 
lockers to comb their hair or change books.  In the 
old days noise at this level would never have been 
tolerated.  Once again the rich young housewife was 
amazed by the shameless uniforms the girls were 
wearing, the revealing tops, thigh-baring skirts, 
fancy nylons and sexy shoes.  Once again she marveled 
at the male students, each with his steady gaggle of 
giggly girlfriends.

	Several boys had seized the few minutes between 
classes for a quick session of making out, or more, in 
some darker corner.  The senior male students, of 
which there could not have been more than a dozen, 
were particularly popular.  As she watched, Mrs. 
Baxter found herself thinking there was something 
different about them.  Then she saw it.

	The senior boys were not carrying any books.  In 
addition to whatever number of female companions he 
happened to have, each senior was accompanied by 
another girl, juniors by the looks of them, that 
patiently followed him around as he made his way to 
the next class.  These girls were all dressed in a 
foreshortened version of the school uniform.  They all 
wore navy blue, garterless stockings that stopped just 
at the edge of the mini-length kilt, and simple black 
pams.  The trailing girl carried the boy's books, and 
sometimes his jacket or whatever else he handed to 
her.  They didn't seem to mind at all.

	Mrs. Baxter drew in her breath in shock.  Why, 
those girls were being used as servants!  This was 
beyond belief!  Appalled, yet fascinated, Mrs. Baxter 
followed one girl as she in turn puppy-dogged her 
senior.  She stayed with him faithfully, making way 
for any other girls that came over to talk to him.  
She waited patiently in the hall, without setting his 
books down, when he ducked into the washroom.  While 
she waited, she chatted amiably with another girl, 
similarly burdened, who was waiting for a different 
senior.  After a few minutes the boy came out, bent 
down to give his girl a quick peck on the lips, and 
headed off to his next class, the girl still following 
brightly.

	It was all too much.  Mrs. Baxter's anger, which 
had been building steadily since she entered the 
school, finally boiled over.  How could anyone 
tolerate what had happened to the school?  She would 
not stand idly by while her beloved alma mater was 
reduced to a mocking nonsense of a prep school with no 
moral fiber or discipline whatsoever.

	It was that new headmaster, McLeod, she was 
responsible for this, and by God she would pay.  Mrs. 
Baxter swore she would have her head!  Her fists 
clenched in anger, so red and heated that smoke nearly 
billowed from her ears, the slender blonde turned 
about and marched down to the main office to vent her 
rage on the headmaster.

	Now she glared furiously at the complacent student 
sitting behind the headmaster's desk.  She was by now 
certain that he was responsible for Mrs. McLeod's 
descent into panting delirium.  She snarled at him: 
"Treating girls like servants, Mr.  King.  Like 
servants!  I am speechless with anger.  You and your 
hellish headmaster have destroyed the integrity of 
this once fine school and you will pay.  Heads will 
roll, I promise you.  Mrs. McLeod, I guarantee you 
will be fired before the week is out, and I will see 
that you, Mr. King, and all of your ilk are expelled!"

	The student raised his free hand.  "Mrs. Baxter, 
do try to stay calm.  Those seniors you are referring 
to are prefects.  They have been appointed to lend a 
hand to maintaining the rules and guiding the younger 
students through academia.  This is a long-standing 
tradition at Lovebright's.

	"And, as the saying goes, those that are given the 
most have the most to give.  We, the privileged 
members of society, must not forget we are bound to a 
lifetime of service to the community.  The sub-
prefects, not servants as you mistakenly called them, 
are learning the importance of service to a greater 
society by spending a little time in the service of 
others.  They compete scholastically for the 
privilege, and in time many of them may become 
prefects themselves."

	Once again Jimmy was being tactful.  The junior 
girls did indeed compete for the limited number of 
sub-prefect positions.  Scholastic aptitude, however, 
had never been a strong suit with Lovebright students.  
It had proved simpler to substitute a bathing suit 
competition and a petting contest and then let the 
senior boys each decide on their preferred proteges.  
It was rumored that a number of the wealthier but less 
well endowed girls had undergone medical enhancements 
just to improve their chances of making the list.

	Mrs. Baxter became aware that she was staring.  It 
was all too unbelievable.  The boy spouted this 
nonsense as if it were actually true.  For a long 
moment she was simply dumbstruck.  She could feel the 
press of her slim dress against her legs, and for some 
reason that got her thinking that the nice thing about 
short-short skirts was that you could wear them with 
anything.  With heels or flats, sandals, slip-ons or 
even a pair of slick, knee-high boots....  She was 
aware of just how badly she needed to get off again.

	The sleek blonde fought off a panicky feeling.  
"Mrs. McBoots!”  she shouted at the headmaster, "I 
mean, Mrs. McLeod, do you, do you believe any of 
this?"

	The overheated headmaster looked at her 
unseeingly, her wild eyes half hidden behind the hair 
that had fallen across her face.  "Oh fuck it, I'm 
going to come!”  she cried.  Pushing back from the 
desk, she threw one leg over the arm of her chair.

	Mrs. Baxter rose to her feet, eyes round in 
astonishment.  For the first time she could see 
clearly what was going on behind the desk.  The 
headmaster's legs were spread wide, her tiny black 
panties pushed aside.  Jimmy's fingers were slipping 
in an out, quickly now, pausing occasionally to 
lightly tickle her clitoris as they went by.  The 
headmaster's black lace garter straps stretched across 
her thighs.  On her feet were shiny black sandals with 
towering platform heels and spaghetti-strap laces that 
wound across her foot up to the big bow knot at the 
top of the ankle.  "Jimmmy!”  she whined, thrashing 
about in the overstuffed chair, "Oh Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy 
Jimmy Jimmmmmmy!”  Her voice rose higher and higher, 
finally fading out as her body arched and shook in 
orgasm.

	Standing before the desk, watching the other woman 
climax in her chair, Mrs. Baxter clung desperately to 
her senses.  Suddenly she realized how wet she was as 
a whole new set of memories flooded her mind, 
perceptions that had been there all along but had 
somehow been held back.  There was more to each of the 
scenes she had so recently recounted.  The girls’ 
uniforms, for example – they were not only obscenely 
short or provocative, but most of them were cut to 
accommodate various stages of pregnancy.  Crystal 
Sexsmith’s tummy poked so far out, it looked like the 
young teacher was going to have triplets!  Ms 
Libertina’s strange class was teaching nothing more 
than a erotic version of Lamaze exercises.  She’d 
better know; the instructor looked like she herself 
was due any day now.  And the rutting woman before 
her.  No wonder Jimmy’s fingers had so easily aroused 
her; the headmistress was at least six months 
pregnant!

	Pregnancy!  The infirmary!  That must explain it.  
A final repressed scene burst into her consciousness.  

***

	Of course!  Just after seeing Johnny filling the 
helpless Leanne, Mrs. Baxter had fled into the hall 
trying to make sense of her reaction to what she had 
just seen.  A “Lovebright Infirmary” inscription 
caught her eye.  Well, at least she was pleased to see 
one innovation she approved of.  After so many 
horrors, a sense of fairness impelled her to look in 
on the infirmary so she could at least season he 
report with something positive.  The door was 
partially oven, so she walked in.

	“I don’t know what is happening to me, Dr. 
Fecunda,” the slim, dark-haired girl was sighing.  “It 
seemed to start when I transferred to this school.”

	“Just tell me what exactly is troubling you, dear” 
a busty blonde in a short white smock replied 
sympathetically.

	“It’s like I have always been so good in school, 
top of the class.  I’m going to be an astrophysicist 
and I just don’t have time for boys.  They are so 
stupid; you can’t talk to them about anything serious!  
All they are interested in is trying to grope you, 
anyway.  And here it’s even worse.  They expect you to 
enjoy it!”

	“Don’t you?”

	“That’s the problem, Dr., I think I’m starting to!  
I ride the bus and every day a different boy sits by 
me and tries to put his hand in my blouse and up under 
my skirt.  I fight them off but it’s getting harder 
and harder.  And by the time I get to school, I’m so 
horny I can hardly think.  My grades are starting to 
suffer.”

	“Well, Britney, you are a very pretty girl and you 
do have a nice set of, er … you are well developed for 
your age.  It is rather natural for young men to 
become excited and your reaction is not that unusual 
either.  You have reached an age when your body is 
starting to give you some new priorities.  Well built 
girls like you just naturally need sex; it’s nothing 
to worry about.  I suppose you have begun to 
masturbate more frequently, right?”

	“Masturbate?” the innocent teen asked.

	“Play with yourself, get yourself off.”

	Britney turned red.  “Oh, no Dr. Fecunda.  I’d 
never do anything nasty like that!”

	“There’s nothing wrong with having a nice come by 
yourself, even if there are much better ways.  Maybe I 
should take a look,” she said and gently pressed the 
girl back onto the examination table.

	“What are you doing, doctor?” the girl exclaimed, 
taken aback.

	“Just checking the sensitivity of your breasts, 
Britney.  Perhaps you respond too much to simple 
fondling.  How does that feel?”  the doctor asked, 
starting to massage first one then the other of the 
teen’s pert and now quite hard tits.

	“Please, don . . . .  Oh, doctor. …  I …”

	“You like it, don’t you, Britney?  Looks like you 
have the makings of quite a hot little girl.  No 
wonder, a little feel-up gets you so horny you can’t 
think!”

	“No, Doctor!  I’m not …”

	“Not fooling anyone, you little tart.  I’ll have 
to check you down here, too.” The woman smirked,  
pulling up the girl’s skirt.  “My god!  Still wearing 
pantyhose?  Soaked, though, just as I expected.  Let’s 
get you out of those!”

	“Ahh!,” the confused teen gasped as the garment 
gathered around her ankles and she suddenly felt fresh 
air hit her soggy twat.  “Uuuuhhh,” she exclaimed 
again as Dr. Fecunda’s fingers began trailing lightly 
over her pussy lips.

	“How do you expect to let the boys diddle you if 
you don’t allow them access to this pretty little 
pussy, Honey?  You do like being diddled, don’t you?”  
The helpless teen only moaned in reply as the older 
woman’s expert fingers pushed her nearer and nearer to 
orgasm.

	Mrs. Baxter was transfixed.  She knew she should 
rush in and stop this terrible perversion, but she 
couldn’t quite bring herself to do it.  Her own hand 
was too busy in her own pussy, her fingers mimicking 
those of the lascivious doctor with similar effects on 
her own arousal.  Again, she was so close . . . .

“Of course a little sexpot like you enjoys being 
diddled,” the grinning doctor cooed; “but that’s not 
what your really need is it?”  Not waiting for a 
reply, she reached beneath the table and withdrew a 
large dildo.  Teasingly and then more determinedly, 
she began sliding it into the teenager’s well prepared 
twat.  “This is soooo much better, Honey, big and 
thick, almost exactly what a horny girl like you 
needs.”

	“No, No” the panting girl gasped, but her 
thrusting hips belied her feeble protests.

	“Yes, dear.  You need to come.  Just relax and 
I’ll get you there.”

	Little mewing sounds escaped the pretty girl’s 
mouth as she closed her eyes tightly.

	“You are soooo horny, baby.  Just relax and let me 
make you feel good.”  Dr. Fecunda’s voice had become 
very soft, almost a whisper and she was working the 
dildo deeply but slowly in and out of the almost 
unconscious girl  “That’s it, honey.  You need this 
bad, but I’ll take good care of you.  Relax…  Sooo 
sleepy.  You need a good come help you go to sleep.  A 
… nice … sleepy … Come!”

	A final flick of the doctor’s thumb and Britney 
shrieked, bucked several times, and collapsed 
unconscious.  The teen’s noisy orgasm covered similar 
sounds from just outside as Mrs. Baxter almost passed 
out from her own orgasm.  

	“Very good, dear.  Have a nice nap.  Now listen 
carefully to what I’m going to tell you, but you won’t 
remember it when you wake up.”

	The next thing Mrs. Baxter heard was, “Time to 
wake up, dear.”

	“Wow!  What happened?” Britney asked.

	“I was just examining you, honey and you got a 
little excited.  You had an orgasm, in fact.  Nice, 
wasn’t it?

	“Oh, god, yes.”

	“I’ve got a feeling you will be having a lot more 
before long.”

	“Really?  How?”

	“Well you can get yourself off, of course, but 
it’s a lot more fun with boys.  And there are plenty 
of them that would love to help you.  You’re not going 
to pass up any chances now, are you?”

	“Not anymore!  But if I start letting boys, er … 
be with me, couldn’t I get pregnant or something.”

	“You’re a very smart girl, Britney,” replied the 
doctor proudly.  But I can give you something so you 
don’t have to worry about that.

	“Like a contraceptive, you mean?”

	“Not exactly.  The law does not allow me to give 
you a contraceptive without your parents’ permission,” 
the doctor explained.  “And I’ll bet you don’t want 
them to find out what you’ll be doing, do you?”

	“Oh, no!” she giggled.

	“But if you take these pills, I guarantee you no 
unwanted pregnancy.”

	“I don’t understand.”

	“Just take one every day and you will, Sweetie”

***

	But Jimmy was speaking again.

	"Look, Mrs. Baxter," he said intensely, 
withdrawing his hand from the sighing headmaster, "I 
know you mean well, but if I may say so, I wonder if 
you are seeing the situation here with unbiased eyes.”  
He sucked the headmaster’s sex juices from his 
fingers, while beside him Mrs. McLeod, still out of 
breath, began to slowly tug her dress back into place 
over her bulging belly.  "I wonder if you are really 
prepared for the sexual awareness of the young 
generation.  In fact, I wonder if you are not just 
projecting your own sexual insecurities onto the 
school."

	"Now just a minute!  How dare you --"

	"It isn't unusual for a woman of your age and 
position to be a little bit uptight.  After all, any 
kind of sexual liberty threatens your own cozy little 
world, doesn't it?  A supportive husband, nice home, 
and no need at all to confront your own debilitating 
fear of sex lest it result in another pregnancy."

	Mrs. Baxter lost her temper completely.  "Sexual 
inhibitions!  Why you impertinent little fucker!  You 
haven't the slightest clue what you're talking about!  
I'll show you who's afraid of pregnancy, you little 
twerp!”  Reaching behind her she unfastened the button 
on her designer dress and pulled the zipper down.  
Staring fixedly at Jimmy she pulled the dress down her 
arms and off her torso, then pushed it down her hips 
and onto the floor.  "How's this for sexual 
inhibition, asshole," she taunted, pulling off her 
slip.  "I bet you haven't seen a body built for baby 
making like this since the last time you drooled over 
Playboy!"

	The fuming blonde took a deliberate step toward 
him.  Without hesitation she unfastened her bra and 
let it slide down her arms.  She held out the 
brassiere in one hand and posed in the middle of the 
office, one leg thrust forward, wearing only panties, 
pantyhose and heels.  "You were saying something about 
fear of pregnancy?”  she challenged.  The bra joined 
the pile on the floor.  "What's the matter, smart-ass.  
Nothing to say?  What's happened to all your glib 
explanations, huh?”  She cupped her small, upturned 
breasts in each hand.  "I had my period two weeks ago.  
So I should be fertile as a turtle.  Let’s see if 
you’re man enough to knock up a real woman, you half-
baked kid."

	For once Jimmy looked abashed.  "Why, uhm, Mrs. 
Baxter, I'm, I'm amazed.  I guess I misjudged you 
completely.  I'm terribly sorry about what I said.  I, 
I just had no idea.”  He got to his feet, looking 
contrite, but there was a definite bulge in his school 
pants.

	"Course you didn't, you little fool.  You're just 
a kid.  You need someone to show you how a real woman 
takes charge when she chooses a male to get her 
pregnant.”  She took another step toward him, 
deliberately swinging her hips.  "Ready to put bun in 
THIS oven, youngster?”  she cooed, playing with his 
tie.

	"Well, I, I guess so.  How do I start?"

	"Like this," the blonde husked.  She pulled him 
toward her by his tie and locked his lips in a deep 
and lust-inspiring kiss.  "Mmmmmmm, not bad for an 
amateur," she whispered a little while later.  "Keep 
it up!”  They kissed again, longer, while Jimmy's 
hands explored her tight, smooth curves.

	After a few minutes of heavy necking Mrs. Baxter 
was breathing hard.  "Wow, you learn fast, baby," she 
whispered.  "Let's move on to the main event."

	He pinched her left nipple.  "Great idea."

	"Oh!  How do you want me?"

	"Here, turn around.  We need to get these off.”  
While the trim blonde giggled above him Jimmy knelt 
down and slowly peeled down her pantyhose, making 
generous contact with her skin as he went.  She let 
him pull the material off her feet, then impulsively 
stepped back into her Italian-made shoes.  "Now lean 
over the chair, OK?"

	"Lover!”  Mrs. McLeod said with amusement, "You're 
not going to take her from behind her are you?"

	"Why not?  She's up for having a baby, aren't you 
Mrs. Baxter?”  He slapped her buttocks playfully.

	The rich housewife wiggled her hips in return.  
"Course I'm up for it, kid.  You think I've never had 
a simple doggie-fuck before?  ‘S perfect for 
conception!"

	With a resigned smile, Jimmy unzipped his pants 
and let them fall.  He heard a sharp intake of breath 
from Mrs. McLeod when his dick sprang free.  Mrs. 
Baxter was well lubricated and he had little trouble 
slipping into her.  She fell into his gentle, 
unhurried rhythm, the blonde leaning over the arm of 
the overstuffed chair and bucking back at Jimmy to 
drive his strokes deeper.  Little groans of 
contentment came from her mouth.

	Jimmy spoke without breaking his stride, 
"Headmaster, I uh, think you had, ooof, better call, 
call Holly in with, uh, the re-report.  I'm not sure 
how long, I can, l-last."

	Mrs. Baxter's head was lowered over the chair arm.  
"Ooooh, you kids," she teased.  "No staying power.”  
But she was panting for breath.

	The headmaster, who had been watching the 
proceedings with open fascination, calmed herself with 
a deep breath.  She retrieved the telephone that Mrs. 
Baxter had been gripping unknowingly.  She looked at 
her watch.  "It's three-thirty.  I hope she's not too 
drunk.”  She punched a single digit.  "Holly?  No, 
everything's under control, Jimmy's here and he's 
taking care of everything.”  She leaned against the 
desk and idly stroked Mrs. Baxter's hair.  "Did you 
finish that report we gave you?  Good girl.  Can you 
please bring in the good copy.  Yes, right now.  
Thanks."

	"Oh lord you fuck good!  Give me that baby!”  Mrs. 
Baxter cried.  She raised herself on her hands and 
lowered her head, trying to look back to where Jimmy 
was doing his best.  He leaned over her and reached 
around to toy with one breast.  "I’m going to be 
pregged up so fucking good," she wailed.

	The door opened and a tall, long-haired brunette 
came in.  She had the slender good looks of a model, 
exaggerated by a short black maternity dress and 
platform sandals in soft black suede.  Her large, 
expressive eyes went wide when her gaze landed on the 
couple beside the desk.  "Lover!”  she squealed when 
she recognized Jimmy.  "You're doin' her right 
here....I mean, like, right on the chair, oh god 
that's sexy.”  She brushed back her hair and bangles 
glittered on her wrist.

	"Do you have the report, Holly?”  Mrs. McLeod 
asked.

	"Huh?  Oh, yeah, the report.  Sure, here it is.”  
She handed the headmaster a slim sheaf of typed pages.  
The front page read "Mid-Term Report on Lovebright 
Academy"

	"The date's wrong," Mrs. McLeod observed.  "The 
girl wasn't supposed to come till tomorrow.”  She 
shrugged.  "It'll do."

	Without dismissing Holly, who was clearly getting 
turned on herself, Mrs. McLeod approached the blonde 
housewife who was still getting plugged by the side of 
her chair.  "Mrs. Baxter, I thought we could save a 
little time.  We took the liberty of preparing a 
report on your visit.  It's dated tomorrow but that's 
not a problem.  It just needs your signature.”  She 
slid the report beneath Mrs. Baxter's perspiring face.

	"Signature?  What?  Wha signatuuuuuuure?”  Mrs. 
Baxter burbled, uncomprehendingly.  "Ohmygod does he 
ever know how to use that thing.  I’m going to have 
triplets!"

	Mrs. Baxter sat down on the edge of the desk in 
front of her.  "Perhaps you would like to read it 
first.  "Here, I'll turn the pages for you.”  She 
flipped casually through the ten-page report.  Mrs. 
Baxter's sex-fogged mind caught the words "academic 
excellence", "innovative and imaginative", 
"maintaining high standards" and "extremely favorable 
impression".

	The headmaster flipped to the last page.  "Just 
sign it here.”  She pointed to the line above Mrs. 
Baxter's typed name.  Uncaringly, Mrs. Baxter took the 
proffered pen and scrawled her name across the page, 
then tossed the pen away.  "Wheeee!  I'm coming!”  she 
shouted as her climax swept across her.  Somewhere in 
the ensuing convulsions of pleasure she heard Jimmy 
cry out behind her and she realized he was coming too, 
shooting his virile load far up into her.

	At length the couple separated.  Mrs. Baxter 
collapsed happily into an overstuffed chair, keeping 
her legs raised so the boy’s baby juice would stay 
where it would do the most good while Jimmy caught his 
breath.  "Well, we have the signature," Mrs. McLeod 
said proudly, showing him the report.  "Just as you 
said we would.  I'll make sure this gets to the 
Board.”  She looked over at the naked, sweating 
housewife, still basking in the afterglow of her 
climax.  "Do you want to give her another go round?"

	Holly spoke up from across the room.  "Hey, No!  I 
wanna be next!”  She had one hand up under the hem of 
her short dress.

	Jimmy grinned.  "No hurry, ladies.  I think I have 
enough for everybody this afternoon.  I’m sure Mrs. 
Baxter will want to stay a while.  Let’s have Dr 
Fecunda check her into the infirmary for a few hours,” 
he smiled benevolently.  “After all, we don’t want her 
to leave here with an unwanted pregnancy.”

The headmaster looked admiringly at the father of 
her next baby.  Such a remarkable boy!

*****

	The Board of Governors had ample time to read Mrs. 
Baxter's glowing report before the next regular 
meeting.  The mostly male Board was very receptive.  
Mrs. Baxter herself led the discussion, laughing and 
teasing and flirting at the front of the room in her 
high heels, her loose smock, hiked provocatively by 
her proudly protruding belly.

End

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