Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Dee STP 11 by peregrinf

   My "physical exam" over, Lance follows Doctor Smathers's lead, peeling
off his gloves, discussing me with the Good Doctor as if he were a
consulting physician.  His cock obviously has something else in mind, like
burying its little head deep inside me, which I would welcome.

   Me?  Frustrated?  I'm strapped down on the gyno table, hornier than a
moose, being discussed like I'm nothing more than a piece of meat.  Typical
doctors!  They really need to work on their bedside manner.

   Better it should be an in-bed manner.

   Oh God does Lance have a great body, with those smooth swimmer's
muscles, broad shoulders, marvelous pecs topped off with nips to nibble on,
a smooth six pack.  He's got a cock sculpted by Michelangelo and I have got
just the right warm, wet, safe, snuggly place for it.  I'm humping my hips
invitingly, horny to the max after the very tactile examination they'd
given me -- anatomy by Braille.  Dr.  Smathers casually rests her hand on
my right tit and toys with my nipple, which only further stirs my libido.

   "I think it's time for some dessert, don't you?" she muses, twanging my
teat.

   "Dessert?!  Now??!!" After serving as a living anatomy lesson for the
last twenty minutes food is the last thing on my mind.  As meager as my
supper was I'm more horny than hungry!  Lance TOLD me he loves me.  Now I
want him to prove it!

   That gets me a stinging slap on my naked tummy.

   "Don't interrupt the grown ups," she scolds me in the tone you'd use
with a kindergartner.  Faster than Clark Kent entering a phone booth and
emerging as Superman she'd shed her lab coat and become Mistress Elaine. 
If we were at the other end of the playroom she'd be reaching for the tawse
to chastise me -- or warm me up, take your pick.  It's one and the same
when I'm feeling like this.

   I shut up, wondering what was in store for me now that they've done the
rounds of my body parts.  Released from the table I climb down and hug
Lance's arm, my oozing crotch humping his knuckles.  Teasingly he extends a
finger to part my crevice and tease my clit, wringing a soft whimper out of
me.

   Pretending not to notice, Mistress Elaine turns to Mom, who's been
standing by playing the dutiful nurse, handing things like speculums to my
examiners.

   "Sweet-ums, get the gelato from the freezer, along with the ice-cream
scoop and two parfait spoons -- you know, the long handled ones.  Come,
Lance, while she's getting those we can set the table.  Bring her along."

   "Her" meaning me, of course.  Befuddled with horniness, my brain is
having trouble processing this.  The table down at the B&D end of the room
is hardly suited for fine dining, though Mom and I have both eaten and been
eaten on it, after being suitably tenderized by Mistress's ministrations. I
suppose some might regard us as haut cuisine.

   The standard height for table tennis -- its original use -- it is
mid-sized, scaled down in both length and width to fit an undersized
playroom, making it perfect for our anything but ping pong purposes.  The
legs have been reinforced to take my weight and then some -- it could
probably support the entire Chinese table tennis team if you could fit them
on it -- and other fittings have been added, such as anchor points for
restraints.

   Standing at one end, facing the table, when I bend over and lay down my
head winds up right where the net should be.  With my knees tied out to the
table's legs, my feet dangling clear of the floor, the sharp edge digs into
my tummy and I'm spread wide open.  The position is exquisitely
uncomfortable and highly arousing.  Using a ping pong paddle or one of her
selection of switches, whips and floggers Mistress practices her forehand
and backhand on my butt.  Sometimes she and Mom play a doubles match, one
cheek each, the winner determined by the redness of my rear.  Being the
judge Mistress always seems to win, but I'd never accuse Mom of holding
back.

   Probably my favorite is when Mom and I are bent over the opposite ends,
which brings us face-to-face in the middle.  Mistress then orbits the
table, playing a two-moon solo while Mom and I kiss and lick away each
other's tears until we're on the brink of coming.  Her match finished,
Mistress lovingly kisses and licks our ouchies while we're still in place,
or releases us so we can soothe each other.  Either way the result is
monstrous orgasms.

   Need I point out that with our legs spread so widely our openings are
quite accessible?  Elaine has even had contests to see who can hold the
most ping pong balls, in ass or cunt.  Mom holds the cunt record.  She
generously attributes her greater elasticity to Carl's and my birth.  I've
got the ass record and I'll say no more about that!

   To further serve our tastes the table is located under a section of
mirrored ceiling very much like the one over the bed in the master bedroom.
I don't often get to reflect on my activities here, since I'm usually face
down, my ass a target for Mistress's amusement.

   Now Mistress points me to the table.  "Sit!"

   I plant my ass on the edge of the table.  It's cold!

   "Now I don't want to hear a peep out of you!"

   "Yes Mistress."

   "Lie back."

   Good little slave that I am I lay back, my fingers laced across my
tummy, staring up at my reflection in the ceiling.  Never one to miss a
chance to keep my motor running she gives my nipples a pinch and a twist.
Gosh I'm naked.  With my legs dangling off the end of the table my tummy is
stretched taut, my naked pussy prominent and accessible.  My nipples are
puffed up like mini-volcanoes, my cunt blossoming like a peony in the
spring, just inviting Lance to plunder it.

   But in a display of what I hope is superhuman self-control he stands
back, ignoring the magnetic tug between his distended penis and my eager
receptacle.

   Mom appears with a tray with stuff on it -- gelato, ice cream scoop,
spoons and bowls.  "Here's dessert, Mistress.  You didn't say anything
about bowls, but I brought them...."

   "Oh thank you Darling, but we won't need those, will we Lance?"

   "Uh -- if you say so -- uh -- Mistress."

   "I keep telling you!  Call me 'Elaine' you sweet boy!  Put the tray down
over there, Darling, and come sit on the other end of the table and lie
back like your daughter so your head's next to hers."

   Mom obediently joins me and we're ear-to-ear, our legs dangling off the
table at opposite ends.  It stretches our tummies, offering our pussies up
like oysters on a plate, since we're both hairless down there.  I admire
her mature womanly body with its full breasts so different from my lanky
frame with my swimmer's muscles.

   I'm getting a very interesting feeling about this.  Ice cream and
spoons, but no dishes?  I can't avoid noticing the dimple of my navel.  I'm
an innie, but not very deep, so I won't hold much.  Mom's is deeper on her
softer, rounder tummy.  She'll hold more, should that be the plan.  We
share a nervous horny look.

   Taking my right hand and Mom's left Elaine raises our arms and, drawing
on her boundless supply of Velcro strips, shows Lance how she wants our
wrists bound together, tightly, back-to-back.

   Velcro (tm), the product choice of Doms and strippers worldwide -- quick
to apply it holds securely but is swift and easy to remove.  It comes in a
range of stylish colors, widths, lengths, fashions and holding strengths,
perfect for the discriminating Dom or ecdysiast.

   Available at fine stores everywhere.

   In a trice -- which is to say a very short period of time, thank you
lang arts -- Mom's and my wrists are inextricably linked.  Shades of my
teamwork weekend with Maria!  Just scratching our noses will require a
certain amount of cooperative choreography.

   Of course my nose immediately starts to itch and I can see Mom wrinkling
hers.

   "Now both of you, bring your legs up -- no, bend your knees, roll
yourselves up -- bring them up further.  Do a tuck Dee, tuck yourself up as
far as you can my Sweet Mate.  See if the two of you can bump knees."

   We do each fold into what in diving would be called a tuck, though not a
particularly tight one.  A diver doing three-and-a-half summies sticks his
head between his knees as if he's trying to kiss his ass goodbye.  Mom's
not that limber, even with Mistress's help, and if we're going to have to
hold this pose for any length of time I do like to be able to breathe, so I
don't try too hard.  Mistress uses soft rope to link our knees the same way
she has our hands -- my left to Mom's right and vice versa -- so we can
relax without losing our tuck.  Our butts are up off the table, our pussies
and assholes visible in the mirror.  We instinctively close our legs to
protect what little modesty we have left.

   "No no, that won't do.  Relax!" Mistress gently parts our knees to the
sides, opening our crotches.  "Just relax and let your legs fall open, nice
and wide.  That's it!  We're all friends here.  We have no secrets,
remember?"

   Speak for yourself, I think, eyeing our gaping crotches.  Even though
Lance has just thoroughly examined all I have to offer I feel exposed.  I
try to close my legs again but Mistress chastises me by slapping the inside
of my thighs.  Dissatisfied with our obedience, she deploys bungee cords
from our knee ropes to eyebolts on each side of the table, holding us wide
open, and I do mean wide.  We are both visibly aroused.

   "Now don't move!  We don't want you spilling our dessert," she informs
us as perkily as a TV cook about to fill her tarts.  And I'm no longer
thinking navels.

   I'm not sure how I feel about this, but like it or not we are open for
business and Mistress has made sure we'll stay that way.  Lance is having a
wonderful time toying with my ruffles, probing me with a finger, tickling
my asshole, getting me juicier and juicier.  The air rudely invades my
aroused twat, evaporating some of the copious juices that have trickled
down over my bung, a reminder of just how vulnerable we are.  He could
penetrate me when and where he wants with whatever he wants and I wouldn't
mind if he got right to it.

   If he went for Mom, on the other hand....

   Mom's and my pussies are begging to be filled.  I grant you, I'm open to
all sorts of adventures, but this is a whole 'nother thing.  I watch
Mistress pick up the ice cream scoop and container of gelato.

   Black cherry.  How apt!

   "Lance be a darling, won't you?  Pull up chairs for us while I serve."
She scoops out a ball of the sweet frozen confection.

   Oh shit, here it comes.  I'm a living sorbet cup -- no, given my
funnel-like configuration I'm one of those deep parfait cups where you have
to dig deep for the last delicious drips of melted ice cream and chocolate
syrup, and won't that be fun!  She hovers the scoop over my torso, moves it
lower on me, lower, centering it between my thighs, closer and closer to my
blossoming twat -- still closer -- building the suspense.  Finally, her
gynecology trained fingers spreading me open, she gently turns the scoop
over and places that big ball of black-cherry gelato right in my ....

   HOLE!  LEE!  SHIT!!

   I go into the cuntal equivalent of a brain-freeze, simultaneously
sucking in my gut and gasping for air, every muscle in my body clenching.
My clit tucks its hood in around itself and vanishes.  My anus puckers
tighter.  Every muscle down there is knotting up, my crotch is chilled all
the way from my pubic bone to my tail bone!  My instinct is to curl up into
a defensive ball.

   Mom gets the same treatment, gasping and flinching, and I wince in
sympathy as my crotch slowly acclimatizes.  Our nipples, stiffer than
stiff, jut up like upside-down mini-ice-cream cones.  Her hummingbird
tattoo looks to be poaching dessert.  Speckled with dark bits of fruit the
deep lavender of the black-cherry gelato tastefully complements the light
rose of our chilled pussy folds.

   Setting the container and scoop aside Mistress picks up her long-handled
spoon and draws her chair up at Mom's crotch, ready to dip right in.  Lance
sits down, drooling over my calorie loaded crotch, brandishing his own
utensil.

   And guess what?  He'll have a tasty reason for some deep diving. 
Sucking the heat out of my twat the load in my pussy is softening and
melting, trickles of melted gelato slowly making their way inside me. 
Obviously this adventure has hardly begun.  The extraction process promises
to be an entirely new experience!  I find myself wondering whether a spoon
will do, or would a straw be more effective?  I'd prefer a tongue, of
course.  My body continues to skate along the knife edge of an unbelievable
orgasm as I watch Lance delicately start eating the cherry confection from
my definitely NOT cherry pussy.  The ball of dessert stirs in my sensitive
pussy every time his spoon touches it, the vibrations rattling my folds.

   "Now remember, no coming without our permission," Mistress warns Mom and
me.  "You might spill some of this delectable treat.  And Lance, do make
sure you get some of her juices along with the gelato.  I think you'll find
she contributes a delicious savor to it.  Her mother does."

   Aaaaahhh!  Am I in heaven?  Or am I in hell?  And what the hell do I
care?  Lance's spoon flicks my clit and if I weren't trussed down like a
thanksgiving turkey I'd launch right up off the table.  The chilled edge
brushes my inner lips, wrenching a whine out of me.  He makes a show of
being an epicure, taking dainty little dips to prolong my agony/ecstasy,
rolling the sweet mixture of gelato and my personal syrup around in his
mouth before swallowing.

   "Quite delicious," he observes, smacking his lips theatrically,
extracting another spoonful, careful to scrape me as he does, the cold
spoon -- it's sterling, of course, an excellent conductor of heat --
burning my tender flesh.  And of course I'm avidly watching the whole
performance, every move of his spoon, and Elaine's.  Mistress makes a very
sexy show of licking her spoon, and as horny as I already am I find myself
getting even hornier, if that's possible.

   "I'm curious," Mistress muses after a half dozen leisurely dips into
Mom's cargo, "do you suppose they taste the same?"

   Oh no, I say to myself, don't go there.  Please don't go there Lance! 
I'm yours, I'm all yours and you're mine.  You stay away from my MOMMY!

   "Perhaps we should change ends," he replies, "do a taste test."

   Shit!  ShitShitSHIT!  Why am I feeling so possessive?  I never felt this
way about Greg.

   But then, Greg and I had never been in a situation comparable to this.
He'd never learned of my kink.  And Lance has just said he loves me.  He
loves ME, not my Mom!  HE loves ME.  He LOVES me!  It feels like a stake is
being driven through my heart as he gets up and carries his spoon around to
Mom's end of the table, while Mistress Elaine, that wicked, wicked witch,
is rounding the table towards me.  I vow my orgasm will be for Lance and
Lance alone, which only gives me more motive to fight to keep from coming.
Seeking distraction I flee into the recesses of my memories, recalling how
I'd led a band of naked seniors out of the gym towards the school office.

   * * *

   I'd felt much as I had only a year before, as a senior in middle school,
when I'd led the Dirty Dozen out to bring enlightenment to the sexually
ignorant masses.  Only this time I had a much larger and more experienced
army and we were on a much more critical mission -- neutralizing the
barbarians that were trying to sabotage The Program.  To avoid alerting the
enemy we'd kept our plans secret.  Even the Program participants presently
stripping in the school office didn't know that the cavalry was riding to
their rescue.  I could only hope my troops' maturity and self control would
keep this from becoming a total catastrophe.

   All it would take is one punch being thrown to bring this whole thing
down around my ears.  If didn't wind up in jail or hanging from a lamppost
for inciting a riot I'd be on detention for the rest of my high-school
career.

   Our primary mission was protecting this week's Naked in Schoolers.  The
intention was to provide enough escorts for each participant so that no one
would dare molest them.  At the same time we were charged with not
interfering with the spirit of The Program.

   This, of course, meant allowing reasonable requests, but how to tell the
intentions of those making the request?  We'd be walking a fine line and I
was sweating bullets, even though I was bucked up by the number of seniors
I knew in the group, and their reputations.  Before invoking our mojo I'd
deputized Matt Mozilla and Heather McKenzie to brief the troops on our
mission, figuring that seniors would be more likely to listen to their
peers rather than a mere frosh.

   Known to his fans as "Mongo," Matt is one of our leading lights both
athletically and scholastically, with a physique that had most women and
some men salivating.  Heather was head cheerleader and fashionista
exemplar. Though known sarcastically as the Queen Bee, she'd been making an
effort to distance herself from her hive of sycophants without offending
them, lest they turn on her.  Among the troops was artiste extraordinaire
Kathy Powers, awesomely tall and infinitely more beautiful than I and just
as comfortable in her skin, along with the co-captains of the swimming team
and a host of lesser lights.

   Even so, I was painfully aware of how quickly this whole operation could
descend into chaos, and hoped Maria had taken seriously my request to have
the riot squad on standby.

   As expected, with the NiS disrobing moved inside the spectator frenzy
had migrated to the corridor outside the school office.  My spies -- better
known as the Lunch Bunch -- confirmed that the majority of the crowd was
male underclassmen, their hormones inflamed by just the thought of seeing a
naked girl, maybe one they already lusted after.

   Acting on the reports of my agents I'd divided our forces into two
groups, each an equal mix of guys and girls.  On my signal we were to come
in from the opposite ends of the corridor, trapping the scrum between us in
a pincer movement worthy of General Grant.

   But as we moved into position a low growl warned me things were a little
more unstable than I'd anticipated.  Keeping my troops out of sight, I
peered around the corner to assess the situation and my mouth went dry.

   Because of the notoriety The Program had recently gained the crowd was
twice the size I'd expected, and it was undoubtedly laced with those of
evil intent waiting their chance to create trouble.  Adding to the problem,
where the disrobing usually took place outside there was lots of open
space, as well as steps and pedestals, benches, even lampposts and a
flagpole offering a range of vantage points.

   Here the mob was confined to the floor of the corridor.  Those in the
rear, trying to see, were pushing to get to the front, increasing tensions.
We had a mass in danger of going critical.  If the office doors opened
before we defused it there'd be a stampede.  Mrs.  Devers was no fool, but
cell in hand, I warned her to wait for a signal from me while my gerbil of
a brain took a quick run on its exercise wheel.

   What to do, what to do?

   Borne of desperation my frontal lobes coughed up an idea.  Another quick
flick of my cell put me in touch with Matt and Heather, the captains
leading the divisions and we refined our strategy, rearranging the troops
to send the ladies in first.

   Drawing a deep breath, I gave the signal to advance.

   The moment we were noticed the tone in the hallway began to change and I
felt a surge of hope.  The males on the fringe, swayed by their raging
hormones, were at first immobilized then attracted by the sight of our
feminine vanguard, quickly lowering the pressure of the mob.  Moving
amongst the gathering we rubbed up against every boy at every opportunity,
spreading our pheromones, sacrificing ourselves to their groping, our
bodies the wedges that parted the throng.

   The things we do for good old Central High!  Time after time, after
granting a good feel I gently disengaged hands from my tits, squirmed out
of fingers clutching at my butt, wriggled free of fingers probing my pussy,
leaving them wet and fragrant with my secretions.

   Ah me.  It was a tough job, but somebody had to do it

   Following us were the men.  These gatherings tended to be about three
quarters male, mostly freshmen and sophomores.  I was counting on the fact
that, even in these enlightened times, most straight high school boys,
especially the younger ones, have a mortal fear of appearing anything less
than 100% hetero-masculine.  They would rather handle a live rattlesnake
than risk physical contact with another naked male.

   Never mind that the ancient Greeks wrestled that way.  Everyone knows
they were gay, right?

   My men -- just as naked, remember -- followed us ladies, taking
advantage of the crevices we'd opened.  The gathering fragmented even more,
making our advance easier.

   Phase one was succeeding.  Our primary mission was to protect the
innocent when they emerged from the office and this allowed us to get into
position.  I also had a second goal in mind.  I anticipated, even hoped for
at least one disruption.  It was how that was handled that could make all
the difference.

   I wasn't disappointed on either score.  One of our moron miscreants
exposed himself by taking an opportunistic shot at one of my girls,
something that went beyond a mild groping.  There was squeal, a squawk, a
brief flurry that was quickly quelled, followed by a slight stir as someone
was quietly escorted away.  We would hold him in a quiet corner for now. 
Once the NiS participants emerged from the office, acquired their escorts
and headed off to class he'd be turned over to Mrs.  Devers for
interrogation.

   With the front ranks now dominated by our forces, gently easing the
crowd back, I sent a text to Mrs.  Devers.

   Yeah, I'd finally figured out how to do that, even on my simple dumb
phone.  Phase two had been completed, now for....

   * * *

   "YOWCH!"

   A bolt of lightning ripping up from my crotch lifts me right out of my
reverie.  Mistress is grinning down at me, her spoon raised, presumably
ready to snap down on my clit a second time.  Oh Wow does she know how to
press my buttons!

   "You were drifting."

   Still dealing with the aftershocks of the jolt she'd given my little
pearl all I can do is try to catch my breath as she turns her attention
back to her dessert, dipping another spoonful from my twat, which by now
was kind of numb from the cold, but hotter than ever on the inside,
delectably aware of every time the edge of her spoon scrapes my flesh,
melted gelato creeping deeper into my grotto.

   Wrapping her lips around the spoon she slowly and sensuously sucks it
clean.  Jeez that's sexy!

   "I think Dee has a lighter flavor, don't you Lance?"

   I can see in the mirror Mom's lush breasts quivering as Lance savors
every spoonful from her gaping twat.  He's digging deeper in her than he
had in me, and I'm jealous again.

   Oh please, please, please let me have Lance back!  But I don't dare beg
aloud.  If I do she'll only torment me more.

   "I'm not sure," he muses after rolling around in his mouth black-cherry
gelato seasoned with Mom nectar.  "Why don't we switch again."

   Yes, yes, yes!  My libido is doing handsprings as they exchange places
and he settles back at my crotch, his spoon dipping into me.

   OHmyGOSH!  We're getting down to the bottom now.  His spoon is scraping
the inside of my vagina as he slowly, teasingly cleans me out.  Oh WOW!

   He smiles wickedly as his tongue suggestively slurps the softened treat
off his spoon.  Oh, how good that tongue would feel inside me.  His lips
could warm my clit back up, making it burn, and burn, and burn until I went
up in flames!

   "May I come?" I ask, finally breaking my silence.  "Please, Master, may
I come?"

   Mistress chuckles.  "Give her clit a pop with the bowl of your spoon. 
It gets a great reaction."

   Oh no!

   "YOW!"

   He's a little gentler than Mistress had been.  Instead of lightning it's
one of those fireworks that goes off with a bang that you feel in your
chest, shooting sparkles out and out and out, all the way to the tips of my
fingers and toes, my whole body convulsing against my bindings.  I really
think some wires got crossed when I was assembled, because I can't tell
whether it's pleasure or pain.

   Now his spoon is probing deeper inside me, extracting scoops of melted
gelato mixed with my lubricants, scraping the walls of my vagina, including
my G spot.  Oh dear God!  I look at my reflection in the mirror, watch my
boyfriend slipping his ice-cream spoon deep into my gaping cunt, the tip of
his tongue between his lips the way it is when he's really concentrating.
He didn't want to miss a single tasty drip, and I was mentally urging him
on.

   Mom's mouth is slack with lust as her lover is just as thorough with her
dipping.

   Suddenly Mom gives a shriek.  Mistress Elaine is twirling the spoon
buried deep in Mom's twat, spinning the bowl inside her cunt, at the same
time slowly drawing it out.  The rosy blush of an orgasm floods Mom's skin,
her breasts quivering, her stomach muscles clenching, her head tossing
beside mine as she wails at the ceiling.

   Uh oh.  She'll pay for that if Mistress hasn't given her permission to
come.

   "Brace yourself," Lance warns me softly.

   Oh no.  He's been watching, and he is such a good student!

   His spoon twirls within me, beating me to a froth and I'm fighting not
to come, only he adds his own special touch by leaning over me, planting
his gelato-chilled lips right on my hot, distended nipple, and sucking
hard.

   Aaahhhh!  Straining against the bindings my whole body is engulfed in a
monumental orgasm that seems to go on forever and ever and ever until my
muscles give out, leaving me panting and sweating and limp.

   Mistress clucks.  "Tsk, tsk, tsk."

   Even as I contemplate the delectable possibilities they have available
for chastising us my mind scampers away again, hiding in memories from my
freshman year.

   * * *

   The first naked student to emerge from the office was Cameron Whitaker,
whose molestation had triggered our march, and therefore the last person in
the world I expected to see there.

   She didn't slink out, either.  The set to her jaw and frame and her
clenched fists left no doubt that she was ready to do battle.  My esteem
for her soared and I took a step in her direction, wanting to bolster her,
a little concerned with how she was dealing with all this.  The moment she
saw me her smile blossomed like the sun coming out from behind a dark
cloud. She wrapped her arms around me, pressed her whole self against me
without the reserve many girls, naked or not, would use when embracing
another girl, especially a naked one with known les tendencies.

   Oh she felt so good, her warm, satin skin on mine, the softness of her
breasts, the bush at her crotch brushing me.  I couldn't resist humping and
squirming in her embrace.  I was so proud of her!

   "What're you doing here?" she asked after a wonderful moment, her breath
hot on me as she squeezed me back.

   Reluctantly I released her, though she showed no sign of wanting to move
away.  "I could ask you the same thing.  After yesterday...."

   Her jaw got that set again and there was a steely glint in her
astonishingly deep blue eyes.  "My parents weren't wild about it, but I'm
not about to let those...  those...."

   "Bastards," I filled in for her.

   "Those bastards win, and I told Mom and Dad that.  At first I blamed
Jason for not being with me, but realized that wasn't fair."

   Releasing me she cuddled up next to who I assumed was Jason.  Love in
bloom -- if she still had her virginity now I was willing to bet she
wouldn't by the end of the week.  Around us the other Program participants
were being welcomed by my army becoming bodyguards.

   "I realized it wasn't his fault," Cameron explained.  "He had to talk to
Mrs.  Gleason.  Then I blamed myself...."

   "It wasn't your fault," Jason scolded.  "I blamed myself, too.  You know
that."

   "And I blamed myself," I admitted.

   "Well don't, either of you!  I finally did figure out whose fault really
was -- is."

   "Who?" I asked hopefully.

   "I don't know specifically who it was, but it was whoever set me up."

   "Set you up?"

   She grabbed up her bookbag and dug into it, pulling something out.  "I
put it in here, trying not to handle it too much.  Maybe there's
fingerprints."

   I took the sealed envelope she handed me.  "What is it?"

   "Don't open it!  See, each of us who's handled it, we've initialed and
put the date and time on the flap.  You should, too.  Mrs.  Devers says
it's called maintaining the chain of evidence.  She's seen what's inside --
she handled it with tweezers -- said I should give it to you, that you know
a cop.  You'll see.  It's what I was reaching for when that ...  that ...."


   "Fucker," I suggested.

   "That fucker goosed me," she went on.  "He must have slipped it in my
locker to catch my eye with the idea I'd go for it.  Which, like a fool, I
did.  Don't we have classes?  Maybe we can talk about it at lunch.  Now,
what IS all this?"

   She looked around at the clusters of seniors surrounding her fellow
participants, and the ones around us, among them Kathy.  The spectators had
melted away and Mrs.  Devers was standing in the office door, looking smug.
I didn't recognize our prisoner of war as he was turned over to her, but he
was one of the white-shirt brigade we suspected of being responsible for
the attacks.

   "We're your escorts for the rest of the week," I explained, waving an
arm in the direction of the troops already broken up into groups, sorting
themselves out and getting ready to move out.  "We should have started
doing this the moment there was a problem.  I'm kicking myself we didn't
think of it sooner."

   "This is Jason.  He's my partner.  He's a sophomore too," Cameron
introduced me, doting on him.  He was naked too, of course, a bit on the
pudgy side, nerdy but nice was my estimation, with an energized package.

   "I figured.  Hi Jason." I hugged him, unabashedly letting his hard on
slide up, trapping it between us, squirming as I did to paint my tummy with
his pre-come.  It was a greeting I'd already seen happening in the halls
between NiSers, usually male to female or female to female, sometimes even
male to male.  A naked hug is a lot more intimate greeting than a simple
handshake.  The Program, it seems, was altering age-old social gestures.

   "Pleased t'meetcha," Jason responded, blushing as he drew back.

   "Happy to see me?" I teased his cock and licked pre-come off my finger.
He didn't seem to mind.

   "Happy to see her!" he corrected loyally, putting his arm around
Cameron. "I should have been with her yesterday."

   "You can't be everywhere at once," I pointed out.  "That's why we're
doing this.  We've got enough people here to cover all of you all the time,
except when you're in class when you shouldn't need us, so none of you will
ever be without an escort.  If anyone needs to go to the john they're to
notify the office and someone will be dispatched."

   "I bet this is your idea," Cameron observed.

   I tried to duck that.  "It's a team effort.  All these are seniors who
have already done The Program, so they know what's what."

   It took a few more minutes for initial assignments to be parceled out,
based on schedules and who already knew whom.  The groupings wouldn't hold,
of course, but a rotating staff would be on call in the office to support
anyone needing an escort.

   After initialing, dating and time stamping the envelope she'd handed me
I tucked it away in my backpack before walking with her and Jason and their
other escorts to class.  A pair of kids from their grade hesitantly
approached us and we all went on alert, but they only had a reasonable
request for our charges -- posing.  Cameron and Jason assumed the position,
feet spread about shoulder width apart, hands on the backs of their heads,
making an offering of themselves.

   I and the other escorts stepped back.  As volunteers we were exempt from
requests, reasonable or otherwise.

   "Can I touch?" the girl asked Jason, gesturing at his cock.  She was a
cute little thing with small, perky tits, wavy sandy hair cut short.  I'd
like to see her naked so I could count her freckles.

   "Sure!" he agreed.  "But be careful.  Maybe you'd like to give me relief
in class -- unless you'd like to, Cameron?"

   Cameron's lovely boobs, creamy pale with pink areolas and nipples sharp
and alert, were getting their own attention.  Blushing prettily she gave
her rosy lips a very suggestive lick.  "We don't have this class together,
silly, so I guess it's okay with me as long as I get the next turn."

   "You got it!" Jason agreed, the gathering moving on as the class bell
rang.  I split off to hurry to my own class, feeling smug at how
successfully my plan had worked out.  I whipped out my cell and speed
dialed Maria to tell her the riot squad could stand down.

   "How'd it go?"

   "Okay, but I can't talk now.  See you this weekend?  I've got something
for you."

   "So do I.  See you.  Should I bring my cuffs?"

   As we switched off I had to remind myself that while we may have won
this battle the war was still on.

   A week later as I pedaled home from swimming practice someone tried to
run me off the road, but by then I'd met with Maria and found out what we
were really up against.

   * * *

   A stinging slash across my butt yanks me back to the present.  Still
trussed together, our Doms were taking advantage of our readily available
asses.  Jeez I wish I'd get some warning before being yanked out of my
daydreams!

   Lance is wielding one of Elaine's thin, whippy switches, which explains
my deliciously stinging rear.  At least my pussy is pretty much free of
gelato and that single blow had warmed it up quickly.

   "A little more wrist action, Lance, and no follow through, like this!"
In the mirror I see Mistress snapping her switch sharply down on Mom's
tush. Mom yelps, her hips churning.  Maybe it's genetic.  She seems to be
wired the same way I am.  Every stroke or pinch, no matter where it's
applied, sends a jolt right to our cunts.

   Oh great.  Now I'm Lance's practice dummy for a dominance tutorial.

   "One, thank you Mistress," Mom gasps out.

   "The first one you gave her doesn't count," Mistress helpfully points
out to Lance.  "She forgot to count, and thank you for it.  And make sure
she calls you 'Master.'"

   Uh oh.  I can only wonder how many more I'm in for.  I can think of any
number of reasons for a little torment -- orgasms without permission,
multiple wine spillings, slow to answer the door -- you name it I've done
it....

   ZAP!

   Yowch!  Oh yeah, he got more wrist action into that one!

   "Uh, one, uh, thank you Master," I yelp, frustrated that I can't get at
my cunt to stimulate it.

   ZOWIE!

   I'm blinking away tears.

   "Two, thank you Master!"

   That'll teach me to pay more attention!  Maybe I shoulda tensed up.

   SNAP!

   This is also a test for Lance.

   "Three.  Thank you Master."

   Will he wimp out?

   ZOTZ!

   EEEEEP!

   "Four.  Thank you Master."

   No danger of that happening!

   POP!

   Ouch!

   "Five.  Thank you Master."

   Or go too far the other way.

   CRACK!

   One does not want a Dom who loses control.

   "Six.  Thank you Master."

   But with Elaine keeping an eye on him....

   ZANGO!

   that's not a worry....

   "Seven.  Thank you Master."

   ZOT!

   I'm still concerned he'll go too easy on me.

   "Eight.  Thank you Master!"

   That would never do!

   WHACK!

   Oh SHIT!  Forget that worry!

   "Nine.  Thank you Master."

   I am getting so horny!

   ZAP!

   Inside I'm chanting fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!

   "Ten.  Thank you Master."

   He's got the rhythm.  He's got the force.

   Ahh ha ha ha ha!

   And so it goes, and goes, and goes.  Lance is as steady and even as a
metronome and I hear Mom begging for release through my haze of
pleasure-pain -- or maybe that's me begging?

   Suddenly there's a pause, and I hear Mistress quite clearly.

   "I think that's enough, Lance.  Now watch closely how I finish her off.
First I tease her little pucker...."

   I watch along with Lance as Mistress tickles Mom's butt hole with the
tip of her wand.

   Mom whines ecstatically.

   "And then delicately slip it into her there, just a little ways...,"

   She wiggles the tip of it into Mom's pucker

   "...and take her for a spin."

   Mistress twirls it between her fingers, the same way she'd spun the
spoon in Mom's pussy, setting Mom keening....

   "...and then I finish her off this way!"

   Pulling it out, she brings the switch down on Mom's gaping twat,
wrenching from her an incredible shriek.

   Being the good student I know Lance is, I'm confident he is going to do
the same thing with me, and I can't do a thing to stop him -- well, I
could, I suppose, since I do have a safe word -- but I really don't want
to. I giggle as the very tip of his stick tickles my anus, making my little
pucker pulsate ecstatically.

   I watch as Lance wriggles the tip into my rosebud, making my butt clench
around the invader.

   "You don't need to go in more than an inch or so," Mistress cautions. 
"We don't want to risk any damage.  Now give it a twirl."

   "Eeeeeeeeeee!" When he gives it a spin the sharp corners scratch my
sphincter, a deliciously dirty reminder of how Mom used to take my
temperature!  She used to wonder why I so often insisted I didn't feel good
when I was little, and then giggled gaily as she wiggled the thermometer in
my ass!

   All too soon he draws it out.

   "Now when you strike make sure the contact is well down the shaft. 
Avoid hitting her with the tip, considering where it's been.  And make sure
you strike her clit.  "

   Oh shit, here it comes, and I'm watching the whole thing in the mirror
and my muscles are tensing in anticipation as he raises the switch, and
brings it down sharply....

   And yes, he has very good wrist action and his aim is perfect!

   KAZANGO!

   "You better fuck me right now!" I growl at him through my agony/ecstasy
as he tosses his switch away and steps back to admire his work.

   "Nope." His answer is like a splash of cold water in my face.

   "Nope?  NOPE?!  What kind of a sadist are you?  You're worse than
Mistress Elaine!"

   He just looks smugly down on me, stroking his gorgeous hard on before
kneeling at my crotch.  He fingers my petals.

   "Not until I make sure there isn't any more gelato lurking in there. 
This has got to be the sweetest cunt this side of Colorado."

   Oh SHIT!  His mouth descends on my twat -- hot breath, hot lips then his
hot tongue bathe folds still recovering from thawing gelato.  My thighs
would be applauding if they weren't still bungeed open.  My wrists are
pulling against Mom's and she's pulling right back, and we're banging our
heads together because Mistress has her face buried in Mom's crotch.

   AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

   Lance is an experienced muff diver and refined his skills further under
my tutelage.  I think he has the longest tongue ever to taste me, and his
willingness to risk inundation by my juices knows no bounds.  After all,
like Greg, he's a swimmer.  He can hold his breath for a very, very long
time.

   "Lip smacking good," he assures me when he finally surfaces for some
air, leaving me gasping and still desperate.

   Fighting my bondage, I'm panting like a bellows.  "I -- want -- your --
COCK!  IN ME!  If you -- don't -- fuck -- me -- right -- now -- when -- I
-- get loose -- I'm gonna -- EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

   Not about to turn down a lady's offer -- not that I'm any kind of a
lady, and that wasn't an offer but a threat -- Lance sets the head of his
cock at my wide open blossom and drives it home like the song says John
Henry drove steel.

   There's a ripping of Velcro (tm) and suddenly my arms are loose and I'm
like an octopus, pulling him down on top of me, where I do my best to eat
his face as Mistress releases my legs so I can wrap them around him as
well, my heels spurring him on.  He John Henrys me like he's competing with
a steam drill, driving, driving, driving into my welcoming cunt, cracking
my already abused clit with every stroke and I'm coming, and coming, and
coming, my pent up horniness roaring through me.

   I'm vaguely aware of Mom warbling her own orgasmic aria as Mistress does
to her whatever it is she does to bring Mom off, using whatever tools
Mistress has to hand, which might well be her hand, right up inside Mom's
cunt.

   I'm just along for the ride with Lance.  What had been a series of
orgasms is melting together into one long coming and I'm thanking the
carnal gods it takes Lance a wonderfully long time to reach his own peak.
Just about the time I think he's going to run out of steam he redoubles his
efforts, and I do my best to clamp my vagina tight around his cock.  He
freezes, pushing like he wants to pop his cock right out my mouth and he's
pumping what feels like gallons of hot come into a pussy already flooded
with its own juices and whatever remnants of cherry gelato lurk deep
inside.

   Finally we both slump with exhaustion, but I'm thinking I've got
something I have got to tell him before I conk out completely, so I finish
making a meal of his mouth, grab him by the ears and look into his eyes.

   "I love you!" Smooch!  "I love you, I love you, I love you!" Smooch,
smooch, smooch!

   I know it's not Shakespeare, but its the best I can manage under the
circumstances.

   "After everything I did to you?" He pants.

   "Because of all the wonderful things you did to me I love you more than
I already did."

   "Well I love you even more, too, and I am going to love doing more
things to you."

   "And I will be looking forward to them," I whisper hotly in his ear. 
"Oh yes I will."

   Later, together in my bed, we're snuggling.

   "Have you heard from Greg recently?"

   Snuggles are nice, unless they're interrupted by questions that make me
uncomfortable.  "Nope."

   We're fresh from a snack -- cannoli -- following a warm shower and
douche.  It seemed wise to sluice away any lingering traces of gelato and I
enjoyed Lance giving me the douche, using one of the many special
attachments to the master bedroom's shower.

   Lance gave me a douche?  Indeed he did, tenderly sliding the nozzle up
into my cunt, the warm water flooding me, rinsing away his come and the
sweet confection that had preceded it.

   Really, it's not as kinky as it sounds.  After all, it's not an enema.

   I'm watching the light show on my ceiling from the ripples in the pool
below my window, while Lance, half on top of me, breathes softly in my ear.
It takes awhile to decompress from a session and this one was more intense
than usual.

   "I haven't heard a peep out of Greg in months, or about him," I add,
running my fingers up and down Lance's back, enjoying the feel of his
smooth skin all the way down to tickle the crack of his tight ass.

   Lance isn't jealous.  At least, I don't think he is.  He and Greg
competed in the pool a few times, but not over me.  Lance wasn't in Greg's
class in the pool, but out of it, well....

   Anyway, Lance had been very careful not to ask me out until after Greg
had left town for good.  I hadn't been a widow, exactly, but he'd held me
while I grieved.

   "Do you expect to?  Hear from him?  Or about him, for that matter." He
thumbed my nipple.

   "I heard from him for about two months, then nothing.  Now it's been
over a year." I shrug instead of going further down that cold trail.  "As
for hearing about him -- with the Olympic trials coming up, if he's really
a contender for the Olympics don't you think we would have?"

   "Realistically, even good as he is you and I both know how slim his
chances are," Lance points out.

   "One in a hundred?"

   "How about one in a thousand.  The competition is fierce."

   "Do you know what my brother said to me when he was home for the
holidays last year, when I was still wearing that damn collar -- and no, I
do not mean a slave collar?"

   "Nope."

   "Carl said I was lucky I'd broken my neck."

   "That's harsh.  But at least he didn't use the collar to harness you to
a wagon or something.  Or did he?"

   I slapped Lance's naked butt gently.  I love his swimmer's butt!  "No he
did not!  I told you, it was not that kind of a collar.  Besides, Carl and
I never played those kinky games -- well, not since I was four when I was
the cowboy and he was the Indian -- excuse me, Native American.  He is my
brother, after all!  "

   I'm not about to admit that things between me and Carl got -- shall we
say intimate -- thanks to that sex ed class in middle school.  He and Beth
may have played some B and D games -- I've never had confirmation of that
-- but they hadn't involved me or Mom or Elaine.  "It was harsh, what he
said.  At least I thought so at the time."

   "You won the states this year yourself.  You could have followed Greg."

   "Not really.  The timing is off.  As a couple Greg and I would have been
media darlings.  By myself I'm just another fast female hopeful.  I missed
the wave."

   "And Greg's just another fast male hopeful.  So why'd Carl say you were
lucky?"

   "He trains with some Olympics contenders in college.  He says all they
do is train, all day, day after day, just in the hope they'll make the
team. It's their whole life."

   "He's at Stanford, right?"

   I nod.  Lance shifts and I give him a squeeze, wiggle against him.  He's
half on top of me, his thigh between mine so I can press my pussy against
him just enough to stimulate myself.  His cock is getting harder, his
tongue is exploring my ear, his grip on my tit is more urgent.  Oh goody!
He's up for another frolic!

   "Anyway, Carl asked me if that was all I want to do -- swim."

   He wriggles further over on top of me, and I make room for him between
my thighs, welcoming his weight on me.  His cock nuzzles curiously at my
opening, checking to see if I'm interested.  was open for business.

   "That got me thinking.  Then he also pointed out that swimmers aren't
like, say, football players who can go on to the pros.  With swimming,
after the Olympics -- if you're lucky enough to make the team -- then
what?"

   "And what do you want to do?"

   Rather than deal with that I move against him so my cunt snuggles over
the very tip of his pecker.  "Right now only one thing.  You wanna help out
a little down there?  You can take your time, though.  I'm a little tender,
we've got all night and I'm not in any hurry."

   "Okay.  That's good.  Neither am I." He begins working his wonderful
wand into my sheath, slow, gentle advance, withdraw, advance, withdraw,
each time a little deeper.

   I purr.

   This is such a total contrast to our last coupling down in the playroom,
me tied down while he plunged into me with a single, powerful thrust -- at
my invitation, I admit -- and proceeded to pound me to a flaming orgasmic
pulp.  This is torture of another kind, because, tender as I am I still
want him in me, all the way, and he's teasing me with these little pushes
and pulls.

   I can feel his tension.  He's straining, resisting the urge to push his
cock all the way into my drooling cunt.  His skilled swordplay really
demands my attention as he slowly works his way deeper and deeper.  With
each advance he changes the angle slightly, now left, now right, more
downward to add pressure to my rectum, or upward against my G spot.

   "Ooooooooo!"

   "Do you like that?"

   "Yeeaahhhhh!" After a delicious eternity he's finally full depth in me
and I'm loving it.

   From short ins and outs it turns into a deep, slow, sensuous fuck. 
We're getting close, and he stops moving, buried so deep I feel his
cockhead against my cervix.  I'm breathing short, shallow breaths,
desperately holding myself back, afraid this might be the end, wanting it
to go on longer.  I'm being rocked by tight little mini orgasms, my cunt
pulsing around his hot, hard cock for a few tantalizing moments before I
feel him edging back from the brink along with me.

   Oh sure, I could let myself come in one big gush and be ready to go
again in a few seconds, but what's the fun of that?  Besides, that might
push him over the edge.  Then we'd have to wait for him to recover before
he could do me again.  I might be asleep by then.  Better to save myself
for the grand finale.

   He starts moving again, slowly and carefully and my mouth finds his and
we share breaths musky with sex, our lips and tongues and even our teeth
involved, slobbering over each other.  I've wrapped him up in my arms and
my legs, his sweaty flesh and mine the only barrier between us.  I wish he
could climb right inside me.  I wish I were a starfish so I could totally
engulf him.

   Feeling it coming close again I wrench my mouth away from his and bury
my head in the curve of his neck and shoulder, shuddering.  Once again
we're on the brink and we hover there, frozen.  All it would take is one
little twitch and we'd tumble over the edge, but somehow we manage to avoid
it and slip back away, quivering with the knowledge that we'd almost done
it that time, almost gone too far.

   Oh God!  We.  Are.  So.  HOT!

   So, we slowly climb the mountain again, closer and closer, and this time
there is just no holding back.

   We go over the edge together and it is like we're soaring off into
space, wave after wave of pleasure as he drenches me with another rich load
of semen, all creamy and hot while my vagina milks his pulsating shaft
until he's wrung dry and I'm flooded.  It's a slow swelling tsunami of
joyful sharing, pleasure nurturing pleasure as we cling together, swept
along until we finally are beached, limp, catching our breath, kissing
tenderly and petting.

   It has been a hell of a day, and I'm exhausted.  We untangled ourselves
and, with him spooned behind me I snuggle the hand tenderly holding my
breast, and we sleep.