Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Dee Does HS 11 By peregrinf

   Tuesday lunch, the second day of NiS for Missy -- she was at a nearby
table with Mike, who was also NiS, of course, and a couple other nudists,
sophs in The Program I assumed.  I guess Missy's week was going okay, since
she hadn't sought me out.  She and I were sort of doing a dance around each
other.  I still hungered for her, as a lover and especially as a friend.  I
knew the lover part wasn't in the cards at all, but I really missed her
friendship, and kept hoping we might revive that.  Over the years we'd
shared so many good times and she'd always been there for me.

   But she was skittish, unsure.  I suspected she was afraid if she got too
close to me I might press the lover issue, which I'd never, ever do.  I was
hoping over time that fear might go away and we could just be friends
again.

   Meanwhile, my lunch bunch, which, at one time, had included her, was
short another member.  Peggy was out for the second day.  I was poking at
whatever it was they were serving, trying to decide if it was prey or
predator, whether I was supposed to eat it or it was likely to eat me, from
the inside out.  I vowed that tomorrow I'd allow time to make my own lunch.
How long does it take to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?  I know
Mom would do it if I asked, but she's busy enough.

   "Has anyone talked with Peggy?" I asked the others.  "I tried calling
her last night, but her mom said she couldn't come to the phone."

   "I tried to call her after school yesterday," Inez reported.  "Her mom
said she wouldn't come to the phone."

   I went for what looked to be a vegetable.  "'Couldn't' or 'wouldn't'?" I
asked, looking at her.  "There's a difference."

   Inez shrugged.  "Wouldn't or couldn't.  What's the diff?"

   "Couldn't means, like, she's not there, or busy with something. 
Wouldn't means she could come to the phone but chooses not to," I explained
impatiently.  "That's the diff."

   "Oh."

   "Sorry." I apologized for sounding grouchy.  "I'm not sure if her mom
said 'wouldn't' or 'couldn't' myself."

   "That's easy," Fran put in.  "When it comes to Peggy and the phone,
'wouldn't' is a non-starter.  She never met a call she didn't like.  Has
she ever left you a short message on voicemail?  I swear, she'll carry on
both sides of the conversation with an answering machine.  Someday they'll
invent a phone that'll be grafted to her skull and she'll take it."

   Head bobs from the bunch as they masticated.  I only called Peggy when I
had at least an hour free to chat.

   I poked my meat again.  I think it moved.  Not a good sign.  I decided
to go vegan today.

   "Something's wrong," I mused.  I felt like The Stick was poking me with
-- well, with a stick -- trying to get my attention.

   "Flu," Fran suggested.

   I shook my head.  "She never gets sick."

   I sighed, pushing away the remains of my lunch, a rarity for me.  Even
my appetite has been known to wither in the face of school food, and worry
didn't help.  "I think I'll drop by her house after I get out of here
today."

   The moment I'd decided I'd visit Peggy after school The Stick quit
prodding me.  She can be such a bitch sometimes!

   That got nods of encouragement from the rest.  The conversation moved on
without me while I pondered my schedule.  The visit with Peggy would have
to wait until after me and Greg posed for Kathy.  That was a no-brainer. 
After all, we had an obligation to honor our deal with Kathy, even if it
involved a fate as terrible as, like, say, posing nude for hours on end
while carnally interlocked.

   I know, I know.  It's a tough job, but somebody's gotta do it.

   Inside I got all hot and squirmy at the very thought of it.  It was a
license to fuck.

   Then I got handed a note from an office courier that doused my fire.

   "Devers again?" Fran asked shrewdly.

   I nodded.  The note was as cryptic as the last one, letter for letter.

   Cue the chorus again: Uh oh!

   "What have you been doing?" Fran prodded.

   "Nothing." I wasn't worried, since it was probably something about the
committee's meet'n'greet this week, but of course I couldn't say anything.
As far as most student bodies were concerned, Devers was The Devil, the
dispenser of justice from on high.  I knew her as a teammate's mom,
Worthington's boss and my co-conspirator in fixing The Program, about which
I was sworn to secrecy.

   My schedule was shifting under my feet.  Okay, late to Kathy again, so I
had to get word to Greg.  He'd tell Kathy.  After we finished posing I was
confident Kathy would be willing to drop me off at Peggy's.  Once I was
done there it's an easy jog to my door -- good exercise, especially if I'm
wearing my backpack with its usual load -- and I'd be home in time to start
supper and get homework done, if all went well.

   After pitching my trash I dove into the afternoon.  Once done with
navigating those shoals I found myself outside Devers's office.  When I
rapped on her door I discovered maybe I should have worried.  She wasn't
alone and her gray eyes were serious.  Without being asked I closed the
door behind me and set my loaded backpack aside.

   Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber -- excuse me, Misters Cagney and Lacey
-- were slouching like lazy caterpillars in chairs by the wall, smug sneers
decorating their faces.  Whatever happened to their happy, carefree,
childish smiles, I wondered.

   Great.  Now what?

   She gestured to the chair opposite her desk, and I settled nervously on
the edge of it, angling enough so I could keep an eye on the
gruesome-twosome.

   "Thank you for coming, Miss Walker."

   Very formal.  This was looking worse and worse for me.

   "I've received a complaint that you -- ah -- assaulted Mr.  Cagney on
your way into school yesterday," Mrs.  Devers continued, studying a sheet
of paper in front of her.  "He claims that you -- ah -- threw a Frisbee --
quite hard he says -- and that it struck him -- ah -- in the groin."

   Shit!  There was no way I could deny that!  Whether he'd deserved it or
not -- in my book he had -- I could be in deep doo-doo.

   She set the paper aside.  "So, I've heard their version of what
happened. What do you have to say for yourself?"

   Jeez she looked serious!  I opened my mouth to voice the equivalent of
"he started it" but slammed it shut before more than a croak escaped,
hoping I hadn't chipped a molar as I did.  I was remembering two lessons
from my past.

   Lesson number one I'd learned early: When Carl and I would get in a
tiff, Mom's response to "he/she started it" was a succinct "I don't care
who started it!" End of discussion, with justice summarily imposed, usually
on the one who raised the point of order, if that's the phrase I want.

   Lesson number two came courtesy of my brief soccer career: Retaliation
is more likely to draw a penalty than the original offense, 'cause nine
times out of ten the ref didn't see who threw the first punch, so to speak,
and no amount of arguing would change that.

   Sure there were witnesses I could try to call in my defense, but the
three-monkey rule is endemic in high school.

   So, Tweedle Dumb starts it and I get busted.  There is no justice.  I
cleared my throat and organized my thoughts, trying to figure how I could
spin my version in a way that would minimize the damage to my academic
karma.

   "As I was walking toward the school," I began carefully, "Tw...  uh ...
Mr.  Cagney -- uhm -- sailed a Frisbee in my direction, and I had to catch
quickly to keep it from striking an innocent bystander, his aim being a bit
off.  He did give me some warning -- he yelled 'fetch.' I guess he'd heard
of the skills I'd demonstrated on Sunday and wanted to test them for
himself," I concluded charitably, though the look I gave Mrs.  Devers put
the lie to my words, and I made sure she saw it.

   I paused to judge her reaction, and decided that I never, ever wanted to
play poker with her.

   "Anyway, so, fortunately I caught it, almost by reflex, and returned
f..." I'd been about to say "fire" but quickly censored that.  "I returned
his Frisbee to him before proceeding inside."

   Was that a twinkle I could see in her eye?  There was a certain tension
to her lips.

   "Unfortunately, I guess I misjudged the strength of my return, and I
didn't mean to hit him in the -- uhm -- crotch.  He was maybe only twenty
feet away," I continued ruefully, "and being kinda caught off balance as I
was, well, my aim was off."

   "Ya think?  I may never be able to have children!" Tweedle Dumb put in
nastily only to get a look from Mrs.  Devers that made him flinch.

   Now THAT would be a net gain for humanity, I thought.

   As she turned back to me a muscle in Mrs.  Devers's cheek was performing
the rumba.  Maybe I wouldn't be sentenced to life in detention.  "The nurse
subsequently examined him, and determined there was no serious damage," she
assured me.

   Darn!  And what about the poor nurse?  His crotch would gag a maggot.

   "She treated him with an ice-pack and two aspirin."

   I hope it was a disposable ice-pack.

   "So," she said through clenched teeth, her fingers drumming on her desk.
"Well.  Hmmmm."

   I tried to look contrite.  The ceiling fluorescents hummed.  The
Tweedles breathed noisily through their mouths.  The clocked ticked --
well, it would have if clocks ticked, which they don't these days.

   I tried not to flinch when she spoke again.

   "I'm sorry, Miss Walker, but given the nature of the accusation, and the
testimony of a corroborating witness" -- she gestured at Tweedle Dumber --
"there does appear to be enough evidence to indicate there was real danger
in your response, inadvertent as it might have been.  Given the rules in
place, in the interests of public safety, I have no choice but to take
disciplinary action."

   Shit.  I hoped it didn't involve another letter home.  My knees still
hurt from scrubbing the floor last Saturday -- not that I expected a replay
of that scenario, of course.

   Was that really only last Saturday?  How time flies when you're having
fun!

   "Yes'm." I tried to look as guilty as possible, detecting a subtle
undercurrent here.  The Tweedles celebratory fist-bump didn't help, but I
was comforted by the fact that I knew Mrs.  Devers is no fool.

   "Detention," she announced ominously, and I swear it sounded like she'd
had to choke it out, "for the rest of the week."

   I wanted to shove Cagney's and Lacey's smug looks right down their
pimpled throats.  The rest of the week in detention?  What about my posing
for Kathy?  What about the meet'n'greet?  And I had homework, of course,
and chores, and Kathy's whole project depended on me and Greg, and I was
worried about Peggy, and....

   Shit!

   "You may go, gentlemen," she announced to the Tweedles, "and please
close the door behind yourselves.  I have some other matters to discuss
with Miss Walker."

   They smirked their way out of the office, leaving the door gaping wide
open, of course, as they exchanged high-fives.  Mrs.  Devers gave a weary
sigh and gestured, so I got up and closed the door for them.  When I turned
back she had her face in her hands and her shoulders were shaking.  I
thought for a minute she was having some kind of a fit or something.

   "You 'returned' the Frisbee to him?" she managed to chuckle out
sarcastically, raising her head.

   I nodded guiltily.

   "Knowing you, he's probably lucky his head is still on his shoulders. 
Did you really get him in the crotch?"

   I shrugged.  "Right in -- uh -- die Eier, you might say.  That's German
for....

   "Eggs.  I know exactly what you mean." She chuckled.

   "Yes'm.  Sorry.  Frau Blucher encourages us to try to put our lessons to
use outside the classroom."

   "An excellent idea.  Perhaps I should do that.  My German is pretty
rusty."

   "I didn't mean to hit him there, even though I wasn't happy with what
he'd yelled, and the way he'd yelled it.  Fortunately his aim was lousy or
I might be missing some teeth.  Anyway, I wanted to nip that sort of -- uh
-- crap -- in the bud by showing people I wouldn't take it lying down.  I
learned to throw from Carl, of course, and I guess I did throw it pretty
hard.  I was aiming for his -- what's the German word?  -- 'der Nabel,' --
his belly button.  I guess the wind caught it or something."

   "Or something," she agreed drolly.

   She may have been chuckling and shaking her head, but I wasn't laughing.
A week of detention would hurt Kathy more than it did me, so I explained
the situation.  "It's her senior art project, and she needs it for her
college application, too," I concluded.

   Mrs.  Devers didn't think more than a few seconds.  "Well, I think we
can extend the definition of 'detention' to include your work on Kathy's
behalf.  I'll make sure the monitor knows where you'll be.  It's very
generous of you to volunteer your time."

   Oh yeah, right.  It's a real sacrifice on my part to spend and hour or
so of my time sharing my body with Greg and maybe Kathy, too, should the
opportunity arise.  Still, I felt a wave of relief.  My "oh thank you" was
quite sincere.

   "But don't let it go to your head," she cautioned.  "Don't let it happen
again.  Keep your chin up and don't respond and the crap, as you so aptly
put it, will eventually die out.  The faculty and staff will do their best
to squelch it, too."

   "Yes'm.  Thank you.  I found out yesterday I have a lot of friends
who'll go to bat for me, too."

   "I'm not surprised.  Now to other matters.  We've scheduled an informal
get-together of the committee for Thursday after last period, in the
conference room, so you can get to know each other.  I expect it will run
about an hour, maybe less.  I'm sorry if that interferes with your work
with Kathy."

   "That's okay.  I've already warned them I might have something later
this week.  Who all is going to be there?" I still had no idea who the
other committee members would be.

   "You and Mike, of course.  You'll meet the others then, and Worthington
should be there, too."

   So I was still clueless, but Worthington was the major concern.  I shook
my head.  "He still hasn't shown himself in the halls at all."

   "Well, there's nothing we can do about that.  You kids -- sorry -- you
young ladies and gentlemen have no choice about being on parade, given the
rules and your class schedules.  Him we can't force out of his cave, even
if he is violating the spirit of The Program."

   "No'm," I agreed.  I frowned.  "But I can't help thinking something is
going on with him.  I just have a bad feeling...." My voice trailed off.

   "Anything specific?" She wasn't about to let a hint like that drop.

   "Just a feeling.  Do you know Peggy Thompson?"

   "Of course.  In your class, the first girl caught in The Program last
week, and you stood up to Worthington for her.  For which Worthington stuck
you in The Program," Devers filled in.  "I know her as a lovely young lady,
good student, perfect attendance record...."

   "Perfect until yesterday," I interrupted.

   That got her attention.

   "She was out yesterday.  She's out again today," I went on.  "Two days
in a row.  That is so totally unlike her."

   Devers was checking something on her computer.  "According to the
absentee report, her mother called in yesterday, and again today, saying
she was going to be absent, giving an unspecified illness as the cause. 
Probably cramps.  It happens."

   I shook my head, but she was still studying her computer screen.

   "Two more days out, though, and she'll have to bring in a doctor's note
when she comes back."

   I was still shaking my head.  "It's just not like her at all.  Until now
I'd have predicted she'd crawl out of her own casket rather than miss
school.  That's why I'm worried."

   "Anything specific?"

   I shrugged.  "Just a bad feeling.  I haven't seen her since lunch on
Friday.  What if something happened that afternoon?"

   At least Mrs.  Devers didn't pooh-pooh my concerns.  "Well, there's
nothing I can do, since her mother called in."

   "I can.  I'm going to stop by her house once I'm done posing for Kathy."


   "Keep me posted." She scribbled something on a card and handed it to me.
"That's my home number.  Don't share it out, but call me if there's a
problem."

   I nodded.  "Yes'm."

   "Now, get out of here, and tell Kathy I'm looking forward to seeing the
results of your collaboration.  That pastel of hers, the one of a flower
that hangs in the hall gallery, is magnificent."

   "Yes'm."

   I left, wondering if Mrs.  Devers truly didn't know that the "flower"
was actually an awesomely detailed close-up of Beth Finch's aroused pussy,
complete with a sparkling drop of her juices clinging to one petal and the
little pearl of her clit peeking from under its hood.

   At least she didn't say she could almost smell it.

   This time I was not worrying about my reception at the art room.  In
fact, I was looking forward to whatever pose Kathy might have in mind. 
Visions of spending an hour with Greg's cock in me while Kathy shaped her
clay had me well lubed by the time I arrived.

   After hugs and kisses all around the three of us got naked.  Don't ask
me why the artist had to be naked, too.  Maybe she didn't want to get mud
-- I mean clay -- on her clothes?  Whatever.  I always enjoyed seeing Kathy
nude.  The only better thing was being in her arms naked.

   But the photographs of us she had tacked up to refer to weren't the ones
I'd been hoping for.  Instead of reenacting what we'd done the day before
-- missionary position, that is -- she wanted to begin at the beginning.

   "Courtship," she explained.

   Shoot!  It wasn't even foreplay!  I remembered her taking the pictures,
of course.  In them we were naked, Greg and I, but seated on a bench, doing
nothing more than holding hands!

   First she posed us gazing soulfully into each other's eyes, but shook
her head.  She tried an earlier photo, one of the first in the series,
where I was looking coyly away from Greg as if I were a blushing virgin,
shyly letting him hold my hand.

   Okay, I grant you, I still blush, but my virginity had been shredded a
year ago, and two boys since had independently confirmed that the job was
nicely and thoroughly done.

   Anyway, Kathy adjusted us this way and then that, but wasn't satisfied.
The real fly in the ointment, if you can call it that, was the raging
hard-on sported by my allegedly bashful suitor.  His appendage insisted on
posing gleefully erect, jutting up from his lap, a cunt-seeking missile on
the launch pad, the slit on the tip smirking, leaking a clear drop of
pre-come.

   Kathy is all business when she's working.  "Can't you do something about
that thing?"

   "Sorry," Greg apologized insincerely.  "It has got a mind of its own. 
Always has."

   So, in my usual forthright fashion, I decided to take matters into my
own hands.

   Well, more accurately, in my mouth!  Apologizing to Kathy for breaking
my pose, I assured her I'd take care of it, and knelt in front of Greg.  I
happily gave his rampant dick a long lick, tasting his warm meat, already
seasoned with his deliciously musky seepings.

   "Will this take long?" Kathy asked.

   "I doubt it," Greg answered.

   "I'll hurry," I assured them, just before I closed my mouth around the
head of Greg's tower of power.

   "Ymmmmmmmmm," I purred.

   "Eat, and don't talk with your mouth full!" Kathy scolded impatiently.

   "Mmm-hmmm," I agreed.  I love the taste of pre-come, especially Greg's.
I slid my mouth down on him, his meat sliding along my tongue to the back
of my mouth.

   "Oh God!" Greg moaned.

   I slipped my fingers between his thighs, lifting the soft, wrinkled sack
holding his balls, at the same time raising my head until I had just the
soft bulb of his pecker in my mouth, my tongue playing over it, savoring
the next wave of his juices before I slid my mouth back down over his cock.


   I dandled his balls on my fingertips.

   Now, I'd best reveal that, in an effort to -- ahem -- enhance my
partner's enjoyment, I'd been polishing my oral sex skills by practicing at
home with a banana.  And I admit, just knowing why I was doing what I was
doing when I did it made it feel incredibly sexy, sort of like a kinky
version of masturbation, you might say.

   I was going to say "don't try this at home because I'm a paid
professional operating on a closed course," but I'm not -- a professional,
that is -- and you'd probably ignore me anyway.

   HOWEVER, if you should try this at home, do not peel the banana!  Peeled
bananas are fragile.  A chunk could easily break off in your throat and
choke you to death.

   They should label bananas as dangerous for children under five, because
they can present a choking hazard.

   Anyway, leave the peel on.  It holds everything together.  Just wash the
outside of the banana to avoid ingesting whatever it is that might be on
the outside of a banana.  A tasty personal lubricant helps it go down
easier.

   Oh, and a banana is preferable to a pickle because its diameter and
length more closely model those of the average cock, providing a firm
handhold, and its contours allow it to better conform to the curve at the
back of your mouth to the throat.  A hot dog -- one of those long ones --
will also work well, but don't use a frozen one, and here, too, be careful
of it breaking.

   But, getting back to the matter at hand, or in mouth, in this case,
Greg's lovely, lovely cock, my gag reflex suitably suppressed, my throat
embraced the plumy head most comfortably.  All it takes is a little
practice.

   "Sheeee-it!" Greg gasped.

   Up again, slurping and swallowing waves of saliva and cock juice before
going down yet again, my fingers making his balls dance.  I drew in a deep,
deep come-scented breath through my nose while I could, then proceeded to
swallow as much of his cock as I could, my throat massaging his hot tool.

   "Aaaahhhhhhhhh!" he screamed, his hand coming down on the back of my
head.  I happily let him push my face even farther down on a cock that was
harder and longer than I'd ever felt it, until my nose was buried in his
curly red bush.  With his prick snugly seated in my throat, which was
clenching rhythmically as I tried to swallow him whole, his dick began to
pulse, shooting his cream right straight down my gullet.  He grunted with
every squirt, his hips trying to force it even deeper.

   OOoh my gosh, what an incredible feeling!

   I knew, thanks to my swimming-developed lung capacity, I could hold my
breath for going on three minutes, and it was a Good Thing.  I swear he
must have held my head down almost that long as he hosed my throat, only
letting go as his cock oozed its last and began to shrink, letting me rise
up, catching the last delicious seepings on my tongue while I sucked in
some badly needed oxygen.

   Slowly drawing my mouth off his shriveling, draining dick I smiled up at
him, swallowing the last of his cream before rising to give him a very
gooey kiss, then returning to sit primly on the bench beside him.

   "Holy shit!  Where'd you learn that?" he asked.

   "I've been practicing, with a banana," I admitted.  "How's that?" I
asked Kathy, indicating my boyfriend's now relaxed state.

   "Wipe your chin!" she answered, handing me a rag.

   Darn!  Not even a "nicely done" from her.  She's a hard master when
she's working.

   After I cleaned off the overflow -- some on my chest, too, which my
titties liked -- we went back to our pose, carefully readjusted by Kathy. I
probably should have gotten an Oscar for managing to look demure and
bashful after that yummy snack, especially since my own cunt was juicy with
envy.

   After about fifteen minutes, Kathy gave a sigh.  "Quit fidgeting, Dee!"

   "I'm sorry," I apologized, my thighs squirming together.

   "Do you want to do something about her, Greg, or should I?" Kathy asked
finally.

   "I thought you'd never ask," Greg answered, slipping down to kneel in
front of me, his hands on my knees spread my more than willing legs.  I
leaned back on my hands as he went for my crotch with gusto.

   I smiled happily down at him as he buried his face in my crotch, my muff
giving him a sort of mustache, his fingers spreading my pussy lips.  He
looked up at me, and I could feel his grin as he began to feast.

   Ohmygosh did that feel good!  Oh wow!  His lips mooshed around in there,
his tongue probing my streaming cunt, his nose squirming against my clit,
and I let the wonderful feelings wash over me while my pussy did its best
to drown him.  I spread my legs wider and wider, until the fire made me
swing them over his shoulders and scissor them around his head.  Somehow he
managed to worm fingers into my vagina while he shifted lips and tongue to
torture my clitoris and I got closer to coming.

   Then his free hand found one of my tits and pinched my nipple as he
wiggled his fingers inside me and sucked and tongued my clit and I erupted.
For the longest time all I could do was quiver, out of my mind with
ecstasy. I must have held on a bit long, because it took a some prying on
his part to get my legs to open so he could breathe, and I knew from the
last time we competed he could hold his breath as long as I could.

   When we were done he had to use the rag to wipe his face -- after we
shared a deliciously juicy kiss, of course.

   "If you two are quite through, can we get back to work?" Kathy got us
back in our pose and returned to her clay, and we actually managed to stay
still until she'd gotten done what she wanted and let us relax.  Our arms
around each other, his dick half hard again, we got up to admire her work.

   She was frowning and cocking her head this way and that as she studied
it.

   "It's good," I insisted, but she shook her head.

   "It's just not quite right," she complained, "but I can't put my finger
on the problem."

   She covered it with a damp cloth.  "But I know just who to ask.  I'll
see if he can be here tomorrow.  Let's get cleaned up and I'll get you two
home."

   I was giving myself a final wipe down with a clean towel.  "Can you drop
me at Peggy Thompson's house instead?"

   Kathy was mopping off various clay smears.  "Who's she?  Where does she
live?"

   "A classmate, lives not far from me," I answered.  "I'll show you.  You
can drop me and I'll walk home from there.  She's one of my lunch bunch. 
She's missed school the last two days and I want to make sure she's okay."

   "Why wouldn't she be?" Greg knew her, of course.

   "I don't know, but I've got a funny feeling that something is wrong."

   "Want me to stop off with you?"

   "No, you go home.  Try to keep Drindy out of trouble.  Tell her I
promise, we'll get together one of these days," I assured him as we headed
out to Kathy's car.

   "You'd better come through," he warned.  "She gets mean when she's
crossed."

   "Tell her I promise, and that I never break my promises."

   When we pulled up in front of Peggy's house I gave him a lingering kiss,
and again turned down his offer to come along with me.

   "Keep your ride home.  I may not even get in the door, and I don't think
she'd talk with you there anyway."

   "Well, thanks a lot!" he grumbled.

   "It's girl talk, all right?  Leave it at that." I leaned in and gave him
another kiss, waved them off, then turned away, drawing a deep, steadying
breath as I headed up to the front door of a nice split-level ranch set in
a meticulously groomed lawn dressed with carefully trimmed shrubs.  It was
all as neat and tidy as Peggy was.

   I had no reason to think I wouldn't be welcomed, but you never know.  I
remembered a rather tense encounter with Missy's mom, and Missy's family
and I had been closer than close for years.
   All I could think of was, shit!  How do I get myself into these messes?