Breaking in Teacher
(MF, mmF, nc, reluc, inter, humil)

By She Cries
Any feedback is welcome at she_cries@ftml.net.  
You can find my home page at /~she_cries/


     Miss Caulder could feel their eyes on her as she passed
through the halls.  Men… No, boys from 14 to 18 ogling the
swell of her hips, the way her chest swung slightly and
jiggled above her bra.  She knew she had a pretty face,
thick, luscious lips and wide, brown eyes, and though she
was older than any of the high school students, at twenty-
nine she barely qualified as “old,” at least in her mind.  A
lot of the senior girls were already dating guys she could
have gone to high school with, and though there were breasts
and butts enough between them, it seemed that a she never
failed to find eager, male volunteers with enough time in
their busy schedules to stay after class to help clean up or
check in after school for help with homework, all the while
letting their eyes run over the curve of her hips, more
pronounced for her 5’4” frame-or gaze down the line of her
cleavage, in the warmer months when she went in an open
collar.
     Miss Caulder didn’t suffer any illusions about her
beauty.  She had grown up churning between chubby and
skinny, and the effort had left its mark on her.  Much more
comfortable with her broad hips and thighs she knew she was
not fat, by any definition, although she was conscious every
time she bent double that her belly scrunched up like an
accordion, and that her butt didn’t seem to shrink no matter
how many inches she took off her waist, which was markedly
thinner than the rest of her.
     But these flaws of which she was so aware of seemed
actually to attract more bold overtures, as men in general
seemed to be attracted to her voluptuous curves, her young,
prettyish face, and of course, her ample bosom, which,
though not all that big, proportionally stood out on her
smaller body.
     That and the fact that her round cheeks and pouting
lips made her look more like the high school students she
taught.
     Only once, in her first month as a teacher had a
student actually come close to propositioning her, though
there had been a lot of subtle flirting.  A baseball player
had snuck up behind her in the library, between the
bookshelves, his hands slipping up over her breasts, a warm
kiss secreted on her neck.  She could feel the bulge of his
excitement rubbing against the small of her back.  She tried
to turn to face him, “can I help you?” but he spun with her
movement, taking advantage of the craned neck to kiss her
fully on the mouth, his clumsy tongue darting into her lips
as his fingers mauled at her chest.
     Pushing him away she held him at arms length, a
striking young man, just old enough to shave with an
athletic build and a handsome, if boyish face took her hands
and held them apart, drawing her nearer, “I just saw that
you’re new here, and I wanted to make an introduction.”
With that he tried to kiss her again.  She turned her head,
but he stooped down to kiss her neck, suckling.  She pushed
his head off with some effort before he gave her a hicky.
     “Well, what’s your name then?”
     “Marcus.  I’m the pitcher on the team.”  He grinned
broadly-he was really quite handsome.
     “Well, Marcus, I’m Miss Caulder, I teach Psychology
here.”
     It was like pouring salt on a slug.  He shriveled up so
fast that Miss Caulder could barely keep from laughing out
loud.  He apologized so many times, keeping a respectable
distance that she had to promise him that it would be their
little secret just to get him to stop.  She couldn’t help
but feel flattered that she still passed for 17-not to
mention delighted at the irony that a guy who wouldn’t have
given her the time of day when she was seventeen was now
throwing himself at her.
     But that was all in the past, for the time being.
Still a new teacher at the school, though in her second
semester she was still a novelty to students who hadn’t had
her class yet, but no underage, young stud had sought his
way into her amours since--which was just as well, since
she’d had enough of clumsy pawing, sloppy tongues, rabid
groping, and premature ejaculation when she was in high
school herself just trying to get guys to pay attention to
her with binge dieting and dressing up every day, a habit
that was only slowly fading into more conservative behavior.
     Spotting Marcus in the hall she gave him a courteous
smile and a nod.  He had long since stopped blushing at the
sight of her in the intervening months, and politely nodded
his head to her—apparently having forgotten what he was
talking about with the skinny, leggy cheerleader with the
braces he’d been working when she saw him.  She stifled a
giggle as she saw two of Marcus’ friends, also
athletes—though jocks would better describe the thuggish
demeanor the two muscle bound linebackers wore.  They were
watching her with what appeared to be all the attention
their limited capacities would allow, fixated on her chest,
which, loosely concealed behind a light gray button down
shirt bounced ever so slightly in her bra, the motion
visible behind the clingy fabric.  She regretted her
tendency to wear trendy clothes as these days wearing form
fitting button-downs and skirts was all the rage, but still
single she didn’t want to wake up one day and realize that
she had become an old maid, so she tried to look as
attractive as possible, while not seeming slutty.  Hoisting
her stack of class assignments over her chest she wasn’t too
astonished to see both pairs of thick, beady eyes wander
downward to the tight curves of her hips which the stretch
skirt clung to.
     In the crowded hallway she felt as vulnerable and naked
as a kitten in a hailstorm.  She could hardly help but
imagine their meaty hands pawing at her breasts, the great,
heaving bulk pressing down on top of her, pushing up inside
her as she brushed passed them, too closely, as they were
too involved in their own infatuation with her to conjure up
the courtesy to move aside.  Rather than fighting the press
of hallway traffic in the opposite direction, and not
wishing to hold up those walking behind her, she pushed
between the two football players.
     “Oh, I’m sorry Mrs. Caulder.” One of them said, the
slightly larger of the two with a sandy-blonde bowl haircut.
Before she had a chance to ask what for she felt the stack
of class assignments slipping out of her hands and suddenly,
the press of a body against hers, the second one with the
belly and the jar-head haircut.  Trying to keep hold of her
papers she felt herself stumbling into the alcove of a
doorway—one of the emergency exits—and the unmistakable
impression of a hand on her butt!
     She spun around, nearly tumbling over to face the jar-
headed jock but hands came up around her, catching her, one
somehow aimlessly clutching her breast for the moment it too
for her to regain her balance, though she dropped her
papers.
     The hand moving, but the arms still around her waist,
Miss Caulder could feel the rigid line of engorged pectorals
covering her shoulders, and another feeling, something
almost as rigid, a bit further down.
     “Are you okay, I didn’t mean to startle you” the bowl
head said over her shoulder as she pried herself free of
him.
     The jarhead, seemed a bit shy, staring at the ground as
he said, “someone bumped into me.  I didn’t mean to knock
you over.”
     Miss Caulder felt very vulnerable alone in this alcove,
even though three feet away there were dozens of students
walking past.  There was no overhead light, and it seemed
very dark huddled between the two large teenagers who
pressed her on both sides, under the auspices of staying out
of traffic’s way.
     “Can I help you…”
     “Uh…  John!”  The jarhead said.
     “And I’m John too.” The bowl head said from behind her.
     Miss Caulder had to think.  “You’re both named John?”
     “No.” the bowl-head stammered, “My jersey number is
‘two,’ so I’m John-two.”
     She couldn’t help but grin over her shoulder at the
slack-jawed grunt, sucking in his gut and flexing his chesty
and biceps so she’d have no doubt as to what kind of man he
“really” was, naming himself after his football jersey.  It
made the situation seem a little less dangerous.  “So, how
can I help you boys” she said facing back and forth.
     John (John-one, she thought) looked down.  She cringed
momentarily, thinking he was checking her out again, “Want
me to pick those up?”
     She looked down at her stack of papers.  A bit of a
mess, but not a disaster.  She hadn’t stepped on them, at
least.  Then she regarded her knees, and had to ask herself
if she wanted this boy on his hands and knees at her feet
while she was wearing a skirt and, worse, a sheer thong
underneath to hide her panty line from hormonal boys’
wandering eyes. “No!” She blurted, putting a hand on the
boy’s chest as he started to stoop in front of her.
     She froze momentarily, greeting by the mixed sensation
of rock hard muscle, rigid, tense, the contours of hard
worked definition drawing lines in her mind, his vacuous
face and pudgy tummy notwithstanding.  He probably spent all
his time doing bench presses.
     But what caught her attention was that he appeared to
be drenched in sweat, and her hand came away visibly wet as
she took a step back, putting the hand behind her to wipe it
off before realizing that John-two was behind her.
     Perhaps is was really just a blind chance, but more
likely it was John-two seeing an opportunity not to be
missed, but the next thing Miss Caulder felt must have been
John-two’s member, under his this shorts, a thick, erect rod
that pressed itself into her hand with a presence that she
knew she wouldn’t be able to wipe off for days.
     Snatching her hand up to her chest she felt, rather
than heard the pair of then snickering, thought their
expressions went blank almost as instantly as she realized
that she was wiping her hand over her nipple, which
protruded even under normal circumstances and dropped it to
her side, “I’ll get them.”
     Stooping down with a purpose she felt her backside make
contact with John-two’s member again, though she knew there
was ample room to the wall behind him.  She tried to take a
step forward, reaching for her papers, before realizing that
she was on a collision course with John(one)’s groin.  She
lurched to one side to avoid him when hands grabbed her
hips, she felt fabric sliding over her and shooting straight
up she felt her skirt sliding down over her ankles and
coarse hands running up between her thighs over her bare
bottom.
     “I should have worn a longer shirt today.” Was her
first though, followed by an abrupt gasp of humiliation,
shame, and disbelief, “Here, out in the halls, in front of
everybody?” but as if the world stopped for a moment while
she stood in a tight shirt, a sheer, nude-colored thong and
nothing else between two seventeen year old students, she
saw that the hall was empty.
     “When did the bell ring?” she thought, her hands
futilely moving to cover up the near transparency of her
panties, the total exposure of her behind, but her motions
only seemed to draw their attention to her nether regions,
rubbing and fondling herself, as it appeared to the boys,
was more evocative than had she simply stood there
motionless.
     She knew then that she was alone.  She could barely
believe that these two boys, muscle-bound jocks though they
may be, were going to rape her, here, like this.
     But both of them were snickering.  Heat swelling up
inside her chest warm flashes surging shame low in her belly
she endured their laughter and lurid stares for only a few
moments…
     “What’s so funny!?”
     The linebackers calmed down, but didn’t stop smiling
until she turned from one to the other, pretending not to
leer at her shapely, swollen hips, and supple, round,
jiggling behind.  In spite of the attraction many men
evidenced for her she hated her butt, considering it far too
large for her body, and having it exposed so completely, in
spite of the obvious lust in their eyes made her feel all
the more embarrassed.
     John-two stammered out “I thought you were going to
fall.”
     She stared at him, astonished, “So you tore my skirt
off?”
     John-two never let an opportunity to stare at a woman’s
privates pass him by.  Looking down, as if to regard the
crumpled ball of a skirt, he mumbled, “I was just tryin’ to
hold you steady, but you went takin’ off.”
     Still half-undressed, trying to cover both back and
front while huddled between these two monsters of young men,
she couldn’t help but see the logic of this—as absurd as it
was.  She found strange comfort in having this excuse that
may not excuse her shame, but relieve her of a
confrontation. “I probably have Stockholm’s syndrome” she
couldn’t help but thinking.
     Aware that her shirt ended just below her bellybutton,
and that her underwear had made a bold attempt at following
her skirt and hung loosely in her crotch she bent over to
pull up the skirt.  No sooner had she reached down, when
there where two of those huge hands clutching her hips, and
for all of her womanly curves, she couldn’t help but mark
how they seemed to cover her from groin to cheek.  She
straightened up, abruptly, aware now that her shirt was
hiking up with every attempt she made to bend over, exposing
her whole belly.  Hiking it down she spun on John-two whose
hands flew off, and was much closer than she’d thought, her
chest mashing against his as his hands reasserted themselves
on her waist—very low on her waist.
     “I just didn’t want you to fall again.”
     She looked up at the much larger man, his chest looming
in her vision and his bulge pressed into her tummy.  She
felt his hands wandering, and wondered in spite of this what
else was touching her behind.  Pushing off from John-two she
tried to turn around, but he kept a hold on her, and she
wound up clutching his muscular abdomen as she stared
accusingly at the jock.
     “Let go!” she ordered John-two, and she went flying
into John’s arms as she pushed off, feeling with the motion
the crotch of the thong dangling between her thighs as she
was surrounded by the damp, chubby jocks massive arms.
Crushed against his chest she felt her hands involuntarily
exploring his muscle mass, again, even as her chest and bare
(again from her jerking around so much) belly heaved against
his sopping midsection.  His hands, even bolder than his
friends, went straight down to her butt, pushing the
slipping panties right off her backside as she clamped her
thighs together.
     Resisting the urge to smack him she looked up,
suppressing a scowl, “John,” she smiled, unaware that she
was unconsciously fondling his chest, “Thank you for
catching me.  But I need to ask you to move your hands.”
     John couldn’t help but smiling back at the pretty,
petite teacher cradled in his arms, her fleshy bottom
neither firm with adolescent muscle, nor flush with fat as
he slowly slid his hands up, careful to leave the panties
behind.  He couldn’t help but notice that despite the fact
that she wasn’t model perfect beautiful, she had a quality
that made her something more, perhaps simpler.  She just
looked fun to fuck.
     “Sorry teach, I just, I mean instinct, when you’re on
the field…”
     As he spoke Miss Caulder saw John-two from the corner
of her eye, leering at her totally bare bottom and stroking
himself though his shorts—reminding her of the other joint,
grinding against her waist.  She suppressed an insane urge
to grab the thing and yank—hard!
     “Let go of me John.”
     He let go, taking a quick step back and looking her
over.
     John-two was quick to step in, though he kept a bit of
distance, “I’m sorry Mrs. Caulder, I didn’t mean to scare
you, I was just tryin to keep you from fallin over again.”
     “I know that.  You just need to warn me first, okay
John?”
     “I’m John.” John said, still leering down at her.
     “I’m John-two, Mrs. Caulder.” John-two muttered, trying
hard not to look like he was leering down at her.
     “What’s your first name, Mrs. Caulder?” John asked,
looking her in the eye, a hand leaning on the wall to his
side, effectively blocking any escape she might make—though
she wondered how long it would be before someone came down
that hallway, on a hall pass.
     “It’s Wendy, and I’m not a Mrs. I’m a miss.”
     “Yer not married” John-two stammered.
     Miss Caulder shook her head, backing up into the wall,
the Formica paneling cold on her bare backside.
     John one stepped a bit closer, “Any boyfriends?”
     Miss Caulder put a hand up to John’s chest again,
blocking his advance, this time finding the nipple
underneath the this fabric of his T-shirt, as drenched wet
as the rest of him, “Easy, cowboy.”
     “Cowboy?” She thought to herself, “Christ, I’ve got to
get out of here.” In spite of that she couldn’t help
tentatively stroking his chest, so fascinated by the
spectacle of his rigid bulk, as unsettling as it was.  But
the sudden sensation on her chest revealed that John was
following her example, and she dropped her hand,
accidentally contacting this boy’s penis (“now I’ve groped
both of them,” she thought even more disturbed) accidentally
clutching it for a moment, as she’d unconsciously groped his
chest before letting go.
     “John, could you hand me my skirt—“
     “So you don’t have a boyfriend?” John-two had also
taken a step up.
     She resisted an urge to put a hand up to him, instead
stepping between the pair, stooping over to grab her skirt,
but John-two held a hand up, “I’ll hold on, okay?”
     Staring the young man in the eye she felt that he
wasn’t really asking.  She forced a smile, and then
suppressed a grimace as he plopped one hand down on her
cheek with a smack, nestling one finger down in the now
exposed crack of her ass.  Watching the other come in for a
landing, smack on her boob but she intercepted it in mid-
air, and smiling up at the massive athlete, gently placed it
over her tummy, resisting the urge to grab both his hands
and thrown them off.  However innocent they were asking she
knew damn well that they could become violent at any minute.
She was counting on the thought that they would content
themselves with a few feels and suppressing a churning
feeling in her gut, guided his hand up a bit higher, nuzzled
against her breasts.
     He made a weak smile that was almost a laugh, “Sorry”
he grinned, and started rubbing the cheek he’d smacked, his
fingers inching down deeper.
     She went down, the boy’s groping fingers probing in
what he must have thought was a subtle way.  She felt a
button pop on her blouse at her ribcage, and was all too
aware of her panties bunched around her crotch.  She could
only hope she wasn’t giving them a show as she wondered how
she could have forgotten to hike them up, but too many
exploring looks in the mirror when she was a teenager
herself had taught her that her diamond was not only
visible, but pronounced in this position.
     “So how come you don’t have a boyfriend?” John asked
stepping up, as Miss Caulder felt another hand on her back,
not exactly pushing her down, but not exactly inviting her
to stand up, either.  John-two was much more openly fondling
her buttocks, running his hand across both cheeks and
treading dangerously close with both towards her pouting
sex.
     Miss Calder gasped, bunching up her skirt and trying to
stand, “I just haven’t met the right man.” It was more like
they were lifting her, and John setting one hand neatly
under her chest, on bare skin, and the other on her back
pulled her erect, one hand landing on her cheek, the other
slipping up under her shirt., sending another two buttons
flying.
     John-two let her slip from his grasp into his friends
clutches, “He’s been hogging all the fun,” Miss Caulder
thought to herself, though he stayed pressed into her side,
letting her naked hip rub against his erection.
     “Is that why you don’t shave your bush?” John-two
asked, plunging his hand into her pubic bush, his finger
probing into her labia as he and John burst out into
laughter.
     Jumping, and barely containing a scream she leapt out
from between the two, her panties making the motion awkward
where they bound her at the thighs revealing her untrimmed
bush of thick, black hair, not even a shapely triangle.  She
felt, rather than saw or heard, the buttons of her blouse
fly off as she tore away from John’s hand, and she struggled
with conflicting desires to hike her panties up or pull her
shirt together which now hung open on her shoulders.
     The two boys leered at the black lacy bra--which made
no effort to conceal Miss Caulder’s wide nipples, nor the
flush of red that rose up between the shivering mounds,
cradled in an underwire.
     Caught in a quandary, panicking, Miss Caulder tried to
do both at once, and pulled her shirt across her chest with
one hand while hiking up her panties with the other, but the
act of being rolled off her butt and being yanked up had
reduced the panties to the appearance of a thin rope, and
she melvined herself up one side of her sex, while the other
hand, either out of fear of shame or cheap fabric tore the
shirt on her back down the middle, leaving her even more
exposed with two sides of her shirt falling down her arms.
     Naked for all but her bra and a totally unconcealing
stretch of rolled up sheer thong, Miss Caulder clutched a
hand over her sex and one up to her chest—not so much to
cover it, but to stop it giggling so evocatively.
     “It’s okay Mrs. Caulder,” John said smiling, “It’s not
like we haven’t seen it before.” He was openly checking her
out, enjoying her shame.
     John-two had a bit of advice: “You should take those
off so I can straighten them out for you.” He took a step
forward.
     “John, please don’t touch me!”
     “I’m John-two.”
     “John-two!” she barked, then, afraid, she smiled, and
said in a softer voice, “John-two.  I’m sorry.  Please,
don’t!”
     “I’m just trying to help.” He said, innocently,
grabbing the panties as Miss Caulder froze, letting him
undress her, letting her hands fall to the side so the boys
could see her and enjoy her nudity since there seemed
nothing she could do to stop them.
     John reached forward as his friend managed to touch
every centimeter of her flesh on the way down her legs, “Let
me help” and without any hesitation he put his left hand in
her crotch, his right behind her knee and he lifted the leg
up.  Miss Caulder thought, “I had sex like once this with a
teacher’s aide after class, in the alley behind the gym in
college.”
     John was talking, “I mean, like I said, we’ve both seen
lots of girls, I mean, it’s not like we’re virgins.” Both
guys sniggered.  Mrs. Caulder could feel his fingers probing
the dry skin under her labia as John-two pulled the panties
over one shoe.  John then set the leg down and switched
hands.
     “Do you date a lot of guys Mrs. Caulder?” John two
asked.  Since John wasn’t lifting the other leg he amused
himself with feeling up her Butt.
     Date?  That was one way to put it.  Another way, of
course, was to say that she hadn’t had a proper boyfriend
since her own high school days, instead taking home a lover
whenever the sexual frustration mounted too high—every few
months.  The fact was that she was terrible in
relationships.  The closest thing she had were the
occasional regular guy who came over just for sex.
Inevitably they’d want to get involved and thing would go
downhill from there.
     “I don’t think that’s an appropriate question, John-
two.”  She murmured, submitting herself to Johns probing as
he lifted her other leg.
     The boys’ laughter was almost infectious, but
experiencing something close to delirium, she only smiled,
waiting for the inevitable to happen, “Why don’t I scream?”
     “Here’s your skirt.”
     She had to do a double take.  There was John-wo,
standing up with her skirt, holding it out to her.  John
removed his hand and took a step back.  She heard the late
bell ringing, announcing detention to anyone who shows up
after it.
     “We got to get to practice.” John-two said, casually,
as if nothing were happening.
     “Thanks” she mumbled, taking her skirt from the
teenager.
     John was looking her in the eye, though he kept
wandering over to her breasts and legs, “We just wanted to
let you know we were adding your psyche class.”
     “Oh,” Miss Caulder said numbly.
     “And to ask what we’ll be covering.”
     The words choked in her throat as the boys were picking
up their bags, preparing to leave, “I need a shirt!”
     John-two, who’d been unsuccessfully trying to unravel
Miss Caulder’s panties suddenly balled them up in a fist and
reached into his bag.
     John continued, “I mean, we took it last year, but both
failed the second semester, so the counselor’s letting us
make it up with you.”
     Clutching her skirt to her crotch, which did little to
cover her balled up as it was Miss Caulder muttered another
“oh.”
     John-two, meanwhile, produced a large T-shirt with the
school logo, a PE shirt, “You can have this, I got another
in my locker”
     Miss Caulder took the shirt, still numb, “thanks” John-
two started unraveling her panties again.
     She glanced at the boy, he still had no idea how to do
it, they were little more than a wad of cloth at this point,
“Keep them.”
     The boy’s face lit up with amazement, and he exchanged
knowing looks with John.
     “I mean,” she stammered “You need to get to class, and
we can’t, I mean, they won’t…  Don’t worry about it, I’ve
got extras too.”
     “Thanks Mrs. Caulder.” He grinned with some sort of
triumph, stuffing them into his bag.
     The three of them stood stock still for a long moment,
then John spoke up, “Well, I guess we’d better go.”
     “Uhh, guys.” She spoke up as the pair reluctantly made
to shuffle out away from their vulnerable, mostly naked
psych teacher.
     “Yes, Mrs. Caulder?” John asked.
     “About…” she looked the boy in the eye “It’s Miss,
John, not Mrs.”
     He sort of sheepishly grinned, an amusing gesture,
considering Miss Caulder’s predicament, “Sorry, miss
Caulder.”
     “Why’s it such a big deal?” John-two chimed, eager for
an excuse to stay and leer at Miss Caulder’s nudity.  He put
a hand on the wall next to her, “I mean, you’d think you
want the world to know you don’t have a guy.”
     Miss Caulder looked him in the eye--or rather, at his
large, sloping forehead, his eyes were carefully examining
the bit of nipple sticking out of her bra (when had that
strap fallen down?).  “John-two.” She said, putting her hand
under his chin, making him look at her. “I don’t think
that’s an appropriate thing to say to anyone, much less your
teacher.”
     She was reprimanding him, and she felt with a lurch how
absurd that was at this moment.
     “Aww, Miss Caulder” John said, putting his hand on her
bare shoulder, rubbing it with a casual familiarity (causing
the second strap to fall), “You’ll have to cut John-two a
bit of slack, I mean this is an awkward situation for us
all.” He had an absurdly insincere grin on his face.  As if
her nudity were making him ‘uncomfortable.’
     Regardless, she knew it was best to play along, though
his hand was ‘reassuringly’ making its way down to her side,
pulling her strap and revealing more nipple than she cared
to think about.  She snatched the strap, and pulled it up,
standing up straight, “Which is actually what I needed to
mention.”  She lifted up one leg and stepped into her
skirt., refusing to be put off again by John-two’s timely
‘assistance’ which amounted to another hand on her ass.
     She looked at both of them, “I don’t think we should
mention this to anyone.”
     She bent, to step her other leg into the skirt and
frowned as John two used the excuse to grab her breast,
letting his hand slide under the unstrapped bra cup, the
other prowling into her nether regions again.
     John was speaking, “Oh, Miss Caulder, we wouldn’t tell
anyone.  I mean we’re as embarrassed as you.”
     Miss Caulder hiked the skirt up, forcing John-two’s
hand off her butt, but not before feeling his fingers slide
over both her vagina and her butt hole with a shiver that
ran up her spine which she couldn’t supress.  Straightening
up she realized that her motion hand uncapped the breast
John was clutching.  His hand was the only thing hiding it
from view.  She knew from long experience that because of
the underwire, and the way her breasts hung (a little sag,
but a lot of fullness at the bottom) that she’d have to
unhook the back to cup it again, or uncomfortably stuff it
back into the cup.  Clutching John’s hand to prevent the
exposure (which was worse?  His groping or letting them see
what little she had left to be modest about?) she looked at
John-two, but spoke to them both,
     “I know that we’re all embarrassed here,” she lied
knowing that she was the only one with reason to feel shame,
“But after this is over, and we’re back with our friends,
we’ll probably want to…”
     John-two was taking her holding of his hand as some
sort of invitation to enjoy himself.  He was, again, rubbing
his free hand over her now covered bottom, and stroking her
nipple with his thumb.  A gesture she found frustratingly
ticklish.  John, meanwhile, had brought his hand up to her
other bra strap and was pulling it down again,
     “…we’ll probably want to…” she tried to continue but
found herself gasping, distracted as John-two teased her
swelling nipple and John started pulling down her second
cup.  She threw her hand up, preventing the teenager from
exposing any more, and tried to pull John-two’s hand away
fighting the tingling sensation, the flush of arousal from
taking a hold of her (“I have to get laid.” She thought,
knowing weeks of sexual frustration was betraying her).
     “I’m sorry Miss Caulder,” John was leaning very close
now, squeezing and plucking over the bra where it covered
her nipple.  She knew he must be able to feel how erect it
too was, “I mean I’ve just never seen a girl your age, I
mean, like this, in the flesh.”
     He leaned in close, she could feel him pulling at her
bra, and his free hand was now trying to navigate the hooks
of the bra in back, she felt like he was about to kiss her,
“It’s just that high school girls are, y’know, skinny, and
they act like girls, I mean, they don’t understand what a
man wants.”
     Their pawing was more insistent, eager, two erections
pushing against her sides.  She felt her skirt slipping down
a second time.
     “I’m sorry boys, and she burst forward between the pair
of them, free suddenly of their clutching and pawing.  With
her back to them she hiked up the straps of her bra and
roughly stuffed her breast into its cup—it felt like it was
twisted sideways.  She could feel her nipples straining
against the translucent lace of the bra, the heat of red
flush on her chest as she spun on the two, “I think you had
better learn a little respect if you want the attentions of
a woman.  This pawing and plucking has got to stop here, you
understand!”
     The two boys were crestfallen—shocked at how abruptly
she’d gone from sweet slut to Hell-bitch.
     But looking at the sudden coldness of their features
she knew that that was the wrong tactic.  She had to make
sure that these boys would keep a secret.  “Look,” she
began, smiling again, “I’m sorry.”  And with a gesture of
conciliation she put her hands on both boys muscular arms,
“I know how you feel, but out here, in the hall, I mean, I’m
a teacher!” she pleaded.
     “That’s okay Mrs. Caulder,” John said, “I guess I’m
used to it.” But he wasn’t smiling.  Miss Caulder couldn’t
help but remembering all the teasing she had done as a
teenager, trying to keep guys interested in her but not
wanting to have sex.
     She forced a smile, “I understand what you’re feeling
John,” she tried his conciliatory rub, “God knows I get
frustrated too, sometimes.”
     John-two was shocked, “Really?  I mean, chicks do too?”
     She found herself forcing a smile, and desperate as she
was to cover up she couldn’t let them walk away from her
blaming her for leading them on, “John-two, I mean… Of
course we do.” For some reason she didn’t leave it at that,
“I mean, it’s been ages for me.  Sometimes I get…”
     But she saw the expression on their faces, arched
eyebrows, renewed interest in the unclothed teacher.
     “I’m not trying to tease you boys?”  She looked from
squinting face to squinting face, hoping for some expression
of comprehension while cringing at the patronizing ‘boys.’
She should be more tactful.  Shaking her head she dropped
her arms and reached to the ground where she dropped the T-
shirt. “I’m just saying I know how you feel, and I’m sorry
it was me that had to be the cause of it, but it was
unintentional.”  She looked up, straight at the two boys as
she pulled the shirt over her arms.  They were nodding.
Good.
     “It’s a natural reaction, to want more,” she went on,
“It’s just not always appropriate to expect it.” She pulled
the T-shirt over her head, “And I appreciate that the two of
you have enough respect for me to be considerate of that.”
     “Oh, I wasn’t thinking anything like that.” John
blurted out, “I mean you’re a teacher.  I was just curious.
You’re just so different from the girls we date.”
     Miss Caulder smiled again, genuinely, though little of
the shame had evaporated.
     John-two was nodding, “Me too.  I mean, I don’t even
think you’re all that hot—Uhh… Just more developed”
     But Miss Caulder just smiled as she tried to navigate
the enormous T-shirt, tying it in a ball tight around her
waistband, “I just want to make sure that we don’t feel the
need to tell anyone about this, afterwards, when it’s
something we can all laugh about with our friends.”
     John shook his head. “No way Mrs. Caulder, we wouldn’t
tell no one, no way.”  He was so insistent that she just
knew that he was telling the truth.  In fact his insistence
was more disturbing than his earlier disingenuineness.
     Feeling remarkably more comfortable now that she was
clothed again Miss Caulder decided to press the point for
John-two’s sake, “I mean a lot of people wouldn’t
understand, not having been there.  Your girlfriends might
take it the wrong way.”
     From deep down within that thick, Cro-Magnon skull,
Miss Caulder was astonished to see a gleam of comprehension
in John-two’s face.
     “No ma’am.  I won’t tell no one.  Not even the guys.”
     She smiled at him, “Thank you.” But the look in John’s
eyes still disturbed her.  It was bordering on fanatical.
Either that or some sort of scheming, which was just as
disturbing.  Clearly he had no more subtly than his friend.
     “Well, you boys had better get back to class now.”
     They both nodded and shuffled out into the hall.
     She stepped after them, surprised at how much brighter
it was outside the tiny alcove, “Boys.”
     They stopped, turning, and she walked up to John,
running one hand up his gargantuan tricep, standing very
close, forcing herself to look up into his eyes, “It’s Miss.
Not Mrs., not Ma’am.” Clutching him arm with her small hand
she felt his powerful bicep brushing against her nipple
still protruding through the T-shirt, “I’m a miss.”
     John smiled, “No boyfriends, either, eh?”
     She suppressed an exasperated sigh, shaking her head,
“No, john.”
     John-two was still in his own world, “We’ve gotten
further with you than a lot of guys, eh?”
     John glared at him, then turned back to Miss Caulder,
“Don’t mind him.”
     “It’s okay, John.  He’s right, I suppose.” Certainly
he’d gotten further than anyone in the past year since she’d
been teaching at the school.  She was surprised at how
acutely she’d noticed the lack of sex in her life now, after
being humiliated before two boys she would never consider
laying down with.  “I just don’t want you to forget that I’m
your teacher.”
     “I won’t forget,” John-two said grinning. “Is psych a
hard class?”
     She let go of John and started back towards the alcove
to get her papers, “Not if you apply yourself.”
     “Hey Mrs. Caulder, is this what we’ll be covering this
semester?” John had picked up one of her papers and was
skimming over it.
     She turned to look, then felt an abrupt chill creep up
her spine.  “That’s right john.” She said numbly.
     He smiled up at her, “I don’t think we’ll have any
trouble applying ourselves.  Not one bit.”  Then with a
weird little salute he started walking off, showing John-two
the paper.
     Watching them go, John-two glancing back with a big old
grin on his face from time to time Miss Caulder felt the
sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach return.
     The paper John had picked up was titled Human Sexuality
and Reproductive Physiology.
     The pair had signed up for her Sex Ed class.

Chapter 2:

     Teaching the rest of the day in a PE T-shirt wasn’t
nearly so awkward as teaching knowing she didn’t have any
panties on.  She had been able to claim that she’d torn her
shirt (true enough) and borrowed the T-shirt from a female
student, but the lack of underwear, sheer though they were,
allowed the stretch material from the skirt to define her
every contour, riding down the cleft of her butt whenever
she so much as bent at the waist, and crafting an outline
over what she was now painfully aware of as her unshaven,
overgrown pubic bush.
     Not a few of her male students failed to notice this,
but the shame was little compared to what she’d experienced
in the hallway that morning, and aside from a few lingering
glances and rolled eyes from some of the girls (which was
worse, in her opinion for while boys forgot she knew girls
would hold that sort of thing against her) she figured that
she’s be particularly modest for the next few weeks and it’s
be written off to the shirt tearing incident.
     By fourth period, however, she had excused herself,
assigning some reading, to snip off to the ladies with a
pair of scissors where she proceeded to do a hatchet job on
her pubic hair.  It didn’t look much better, but it
certainly was an improvement over the pudgy outline she was
advertising before.
     In spite of the adjustment, she was relieved to run to
the teachers’ lounge and hide behind a big stack of quizzes
and a big cup of coffee for lunch.  She didn’t have a fifth
period class, since she was still a new teacher they didn’t
have a full schedule for her yet. So she had two hours to
kill before senior Psyche, with her two new students.
     After the first bell rang, and the other teachers filed
from the room, she felt the first pang of tension, and
uttered a silent wish for the John’s to behave themselves,
and to do well in the class, so she didn’t find herself
compromised due to any resentment they might feel for
getting poor grades.
     Then again, it dawned on her, that the more time that
passed, the less likely that their stories would reflect the
truth, and it’d be her word against theirs.  Being a
teacher, she’d be believed and they’d be not only
disbelieved by their peers, but reprimanded by the
administration.  She felt no guilt at considering this,
because in order for her to have to lie, they’d have to
break their promise.  Besides.  She knew damn well that the
‘incident’ with her skirt coming off was anything but
accidental.
     Her thoughts were interrupted by Mr. Gold, a PE teacher
and the Football coach.  He was in his forties, but still a
very well built man, with a paunch born of age and too many
beers.  He had a square jaw and a deep, natural tan
emphasized by the white crows feet around his eyes and his
graying hair.  He towered over everybody around him, and
must have been quite a specimen when he was younger.  He was
a classic alpha male, dominating every room he walked into
with his boisterous voice and sheer bulk, punctuated by the
gut which while huge, seemed made of the same steely stuff
that rippled down his arms and across his chest.
     “So, ready for your second semester, Wendy?” he said
eyeing her T-shirt.
     Miss Caulder smiled at him, putting away her previous
thoughts, “First day back and I’m already a mess.” She
proceeded to tell him her fiction regarding her torn shirt.
     “Okay,” he said laughing, “I was going to have to ask
Mr. Donovan (the principal) to talk to you about that
skirt.”
     She forced a grin, pulling her legs under the table a
little, “the shirt didn’t show this much.” She lied, knowing
she had been wearing this skirt for weeks.
     “Still,” he said, looking at his own bare legs revealed
over his high cut jogging shorts, “I’m not one to talk, but
boys, y’know.”
     “Oh, I know, I already met a couple of your boys in the
hall this afternoon.” She blurted out, wondering what she
was thinking even bringing it up with their coach.
     His expression narrowed, and she saw him running his
eyes over her swelling bosom, her supple hips, the way the
skirt tried to cling to her crotch and ass, “Any trouble?”
     “Oh, no.”  She covered, “Just a few stares.”
     “Well,” he said nodding, reluctantly reducing his
scrutinizing of the young teacher to furtive glances, “Boys
will be boys, which is why it pays to dress modestly.  No
doubt they’ll be dreaming about you all year long.”
     “Mr. Gold!”
     “Oh, no reason to be bashful about it, Wendy.  Hot Dogs
and Donuts, that’s all these kids think about.  They tow the
line, and don’t cross over it, if you don’t encourage it” he
added with a brief, piercing glare, “Who were the guys?” he
continued casually.
     “Oh, uh, John and…”
     “John-two.”  He shook his head. “That’s what I thought.
Great on the field, though I had to bench them twice for
unnecessary roughness.  But the pair of them make even
football players look prudish for the way they run after
girls.”
     “They see a lot of girls then?”
     “Oh no.  They still haven’t figured out that girls
don’t go for big and thuggish.”  He grinned, “Took me thirty
years to figure that one out,” he wiggled the wedding band
on his finger, “No, what you got there are the two biggest,
baddest virgins on the football team.”
     “You’re kidding?”
     “Dense as bricks too.  They fail one class this
semester, they’re back here for a fifth year because they
already filled up their Summer school schedule last
semester.  Hope that puts something on their plate to
motivate them.”
     “I though football players were… You know, dated a
lot.”
     Mr. Gold nodded, eyeing Miss Caulder’s supple frame
again, “Yes, well, some of them, but they’ve got to put up
with natural selection just like the rest of the guys, and
they’re not the two best lookers on the team.”
     “No” Miss Caulder agreed thinking of John-two’s sloping
forehead.
     “Poor boys came to me last semester to ask how to get a
girl to go to Homecoming with them.”  He shook his head,
“Turns out they both had dates, not too hard for a football
player, they wanted to know how to get laid.  Turns out they
went home alone, the girls ditched them.  So far as I know,
John, the dark haired fella, kissed a girl his sophomore
year, so he’s the leader.”  He burst into another peal of
laughter, while Miss Caulder simmered in the understanding
that their frantic groping had represented nothing less than
a desire to get to first base.  She had, in fact, taken them
straight to third!
     “I’m sorry, Wendy,” Mr. Gold put out his hand, covering
Miss Caulder’s, “I don’t mean to embarrass you.” He had
taken her reaction for embarrassment, and also taken the
excuse to lean over and look down John-two’s overly
stretched out collar.
     Forcing herself not to pull her hand away, Miss Caulder
straightened up a bit, “I’m not embarrassed, Mr. Gold.  It’s
just that they’re in my Psyche class.”
     “Oh dear.” He pondered that for a minute.  Then leaned
forward, “If they give you any trouble, you come straight to
me!”
     “Sure.”
     “Straight to me!”
     His concern reminded her in a creepy way of John’s
reaction before they parted ways.  “I’ll let them know that
you…” she met his eyes, felt his hand clutch hers slightly,
but in spite of that felt immense relief that she had an
ally that could possibly control the two Johns, “I’ll let
them know that your concern for their academic success
matches my own.”
     He grinned at her, revealing acres of perfect teeth.
     “Y’know, I’ve got fifth hour free until track season
starts.” He was leering openly at her, “and there’s no
classes in the temp building by the creek.”
     “Mr. Gold?”
     “John”
     “John, I…” She looked at the hulking older man, “Your
name is John too?”
     “No, just John.” They laughed together as he massaged
her fingers suddenly, looking her straight in the eye with
uncomfortably piercing blue eyes.
     “John,” She began, taking his hand to stop the rubbing,
“I make it a policy not to get involved with people I work
with.”
     “Who said anything about involvement?” he said not
batting an eyelash, “I’m a married man.  I was just
suggesting that this semester could be a bit of fun for the
two of us.  No commitments, just a much better way to kill
time than hiding in the lounge or running from students who
don’t seem to understand the idea that we need time to
ourselves too.”
     “We could get in a lot of trouble.” She was hedging, it
was the wrong thing to say—she should have flatly refused,
because he took her reluctance as interest, but she was
afraid of alienating possibly the one man who could stand in
between her and the biggest and oldest virgins she had ever
met.
     “It’s not as bad as having to sneak out to the old
water main up the creek.” He laughed, “That’s where the
students go.” He shook his head, looking off into the
distance, “I almost got caught with Martha—she used to teach
English here.”
     He looked back at her, “No, the windows are mirrored,
the doors are locked, and if you keep quiet the kids outside
won’t hear a thing.”
     “The kids.”
     “The weirdoes, you know the kids who don’t fit in, they
avoid the quad and hang out by the temps so they’re out of
sight.  That’s where they go when they cut classes.”
     “I… I don’t know… John.”
     But John wasn’t going to be put off.  He slipped over
to the chair next to hers, his arm around her, one hand
slipping down to her knee, “Come on, why should the kids get
to have all the fun.”
     Torn between her desire to run like crazy and not to
alienate the big coach she held her ground, turning to face
him, his lips right next to hers as he stooped down to her,
“John,” she began, hesitating only as she felt his fingers
plying at the hem of her skirt, “You are married, a co-
worker, you’re twenty years older than me, and you want to
do it here, where we could get caught.”
     He nodded, “That’s right.” She had to grab his hand to
keep it from sliding up her skirt.
     “And,” she continued, “You are fucking huge.  You’re
one of the biggest men I’ve ever met.  It’s not a little bit
intimidating.”
     But his maturity was evident in his eyes.  She wasn’t
talking to one of the Johns, he clearly knew what she was
feeling and immediately retreated, though his arm still laid
on her shoulder.
     “I’m sorry, Wendy.  I forget, sometimes.”  But he
wasn’t put off just yet, “But I think you’ll have a good
time, regardless.  And if you don’t, just say the word, and
I’ll back off.  I’m just asking you to give it a try.”
     Bloody male logic!  Miss Caulder couldn’t believe she,
at nearly thirty, was indulging this guy with this
ridiculous attempt to convince her to have sex even though
she didn’t want to and wasn’t attracted to him.  She found
herself remembering the frustration of not being able to
argue with this kind of rationale, instead resorting to
emotional pleas, “I don’t know, John.”
     “Then let me take control.”  He took her hand again,
very tenderly, “Just this once.  We’ll slip away, and try
things out, and if it’s not working out, well, no harm in
trying, right?”
     She could only shake her head.
     “I’ve seen the way you watch some of the students, you
know.”
     She could only stare at him in shock.
     “Don’t worry, I do it too, some of those girls… it’s
hard to tell them from women.” He smiled and almost winked,
“But they most definitely aren’t women.” His eyes ran over
her again, “and those boys aren’t men.  Believe me it’s a
lot better to take your satisfaction from a peer than to…”
     “I don’t find the students attractive.” Miss Caulder
insisted.
     “But you don’t have a boyfriend either, I heard you
telling Mrs. Oberman that.”
     Miss Caulder shook her head, wondering what else he’d
overheard.
     “I’m just saying that it’s better not to indulge in
little fantasies.”  He was fixing her with a piercing glare.
     All she could think of was the rough pawing that
morning of the two jocks, groping at her nethers, their
pokey little erections jabbing her from all sides, the utter
failure on her part to control them, to prevent the
humiliation she’d felt, and now, how powerless she felt with
this man, a feeling she didn’t doubt would increase if she
let him take her.  But she couldn’t deny the arousal that
the Johns had triggered, and what might have happened had
they been a little more persistent.
     She knew she’d never have willingly surrendered to
their groping, but she could not deny that she’d gotten
aroused.
     As she sat there, her heart beating, this older man
staring down at her, pantyless, in a football players’ T-
shirt, their dried sweat on her skin she couldn’t find a
single way to rebut his persuasions, nor could she let
herself break down and plead for him to let her alone.  She
realized that she’d been emotionally raw all day, and this
was something she simply wasn’t prepared to deal with.  The
simplest course was to play along, and worry about the
consequences another time, but that meant letting this man
take her, this huge, muscle-bound oaf of a man…
     
     She stood, uncomfortably by the door watching the older
man peel his shirt off his massive trunk.  His chest was
broad, and well defined, if not as impressive as John-twos,
but his belly, though protruding well beyond his chest was
tight, tan, and rigid, like a round ball of muscle.  He
smiled at her, not seeming to notice that she was quivering,
a scared young woman unable to find a way out of her
predicament.
     Through the Mylar coated Plexiglas window she could see
a few students, down by the creek, and although she had seen
very clearly that the windows were mirrored from outside,
the sight of them just a few yards from the building made
her very uneasy.  Mr. Gold had assured her that unless the
lights were on or the doors were open, the windows were only
one-way.
     John Gold had stripped out of his shorts and shirt, and
stood before her wearing jockeys, a wide crescent under his
belly, over a comfortably small bulge.  He looked expectant.
     “Mr. Gold, I’m not sure about this.”
     He took a few steps up to her, “Don’t worry, Wendy.
Just trust me.”  He leaned down and gave her a very tender
kiss, and she felt, for the first time, that she might be
able to pull this off.
     He was smiling at her still, “Maybe you’ll feel more
comfortable if you take something off.”
     She nodded, and pulled the T-shirt over her head.  Mr.
Gold leaned on the desk, preparing, it seemed, to enjoy the
show.  He let out a wide grin at the sight of Miss Caulder’s
healthy chest and lace bra.  She gave a reluctant smile
back, before reaching back to unclasp the bra, when she saw,
over his shoulder, a pair of students, freshmen from the
look of it, two young boys standing right outside the
window.  They weren’t looking in, not that they’d see
anything but their reflections, but the sight was unnerving.
Mr. Gold had seen what made her stop, and grinned broadly.
     “Go on, they can’t see a thing.”
     But Miss Caulder’s weak resolve was waning, and she
clung her unclasped bra to her falling breasts.
     Mr. Gold was trying to stifle a laugh, but he smiled
more broadly still, and took her by the elbows, crossed over
her chest.  “Trust me.  You’re safe from prying eyes.”  But
instead of trusting him she had to wonder why he was leading
her over to the wide picture window.  It went from head
height, to just below the hips, and overlooked the broad
expanse of the creek where it had been cleared to
accommodate the temporary classrooms.  He led her to a point
where, had there not been a window, she’d have been standing
right next to the two freshmen, who seemed engaged in
watching a group of older girls at the edge of the clearing.
At this point Mr. Gold took Miss Caulder’s hands and guided
them down, letting the bra slip off her arms.
     She felt for all the world like she had just exposed
herself to these two boys, barely teens, and despite the
mornings trial, she felt a surge of excitement being so
vulnerable.  All that needed to happen was for the overhead
lights to switch on, or the boy to cup his hands to the
glass.
     She barely flinched when Mr. Gold pulled her skirt
down, and listening to the boys muddles conversation through
the Plexiglas allowed Mr. Gold to fondle and tease her,
facing outside she let him stroke her nipples, and run his
hand down the front of her, allowing him to arouse her,
bringing a very familiar habit of letting her mind go with
sex, so she could endure it when she wasn’t really in the
mood.
     But it wasn’t really that bad.  The level of excitement
because of the imagined exposure, perhaps the frustrating
fondling of the jocks, and the sheer lack of sex she’d had
in the past months led her to actually enjoy Mr. Gold’s
gentle ministrations.
     She felt his hands wrap around her, his manhood
prodding her, like the jocks, in the small of her back.
Felt one hand slip down the crack of her ass and tease her
anus as it slid past and found her sex, slightly damp with
the beginnings of arousal.
     Pulling her around he pushed her against a desk, a
cold, student desk with the attached chair.  She expected
him to kiss her, but instead he gave her a little lift, his
great belly fitting snugly against hers, her chest resting
against his girth, and sat her on the edge of the desktop.
She put her arms up, over his massive shoulders, barely able
to reach around him as he pushed her legs apart and filled
the space with his hips.
     “John, slow down a bit.”
     “I like it when you call me Mr. Gold.” And instead of
slowing down she felt his member rubbing against her.  She
hazarded a glance out the window, but the two boys seemed
oblivious to their teachers’ activity.
     “Do you have a condom… Mr. Gold.”
     “Oh, you don’t have to worry about that.” He said,
condescendingly.
     She felt the spell slipping away, and tried to resist
as he slid inside her.  It wasn’t particularly big, maybe
six inches, but she gasped nonetheless as it filled her long
barren sex.  The minor pleasure, however, was dwarfed by the
sheer bulk of the giant pressing down on her.
     Her face knew only his broad, unpliable chest, and try
as she might, she could neither resist him nor find the
voice to stop him as the pressure from his great chest and
belly threatened to topple her off the desk.  Instead she
hooked her legs around him, clutched him around the ribs
(she couldn’t touch her hands together) and held on while he
started pumping, trying to derive what pleasure she got from
the action in her sex from it.
     Mr. Gold was nothing if not a man of constitution, and
what began as a small jet of fire of pleasure quickly paled
into a repetitive, redundant drive.  She tried kissing his
chest, sucking on his nipples, trying to learn to enjoy the
rigid steel wall of muscle and belly that bore down upon
her, but more often found herself clutching rolls of skin
that, taut around his belly when erect, crunched up and he
bent over her clutching the seat back of the desk to hold
himself up.
     She realized, with surprising humor, that it was as if
she was being fucked by a stomach.  It didn’t suck, and it
sort of felt good, but there wasn’t much more to recommend
it.
     But even that was getting tired, as the rhythmic
punting at her sex was just going on and on, and his belly
ground into her.  She found herself distracted by the fact
that her nipples were getting more pleasure from rubbing
against his belly than the sex itself was giving her, that
is, of course, when they weren’t being crushed flat by the
sheer weight.
     But the fucking continued, and she, in her distraction
saw that she was down to a mere fifteen minutes to get to
her sixth period class.  Not the best of situations to be in
when you’re pressed for time.
     But now she noticed that Mr. Gold was getting a bit
more frantic, pressing harder, rocking her a bit more
violently, and in spite of the omnipresence of the great,
round belly, she found herself pushing against, him,
enjoying the sensation both in her sex and on her body, sort
of a wall of flesh wiping out all sense of self but the
little pleasure she could derive.
     This wasn’t sex like she’d ever had before, neither as
pleasant, nor as ego crushing.  She found herself drowning
in this man’s drive, and the tiny stabs of pleasure at the
center of it were enough to get her through—even more,
though, there was a certain satisfaction in letting this
beast do it to her, crushing her sense of self from her.
Exactly what she’d been needing all day.
     So in spite of the pounding force of the belly she
found herself gasping and groaning, contorting herself to
gain what pleasure she could before he’d had his
satisfaction.
     And then, feeling him seizing up, he grappled her
violently with one arm and she knew he was shooting his load
inside her.  She was gasping and yelping as he let out a
great shuddering groan that seemed to shake the earth, but
she felt secure in his arms, bound as she was against the
broad girth of his belly.
     And then, totally tapped, though not exactly satisfied
she felt him let her go, but all she wanted was to cling to
him, to let the heat of his great belly continue to consume
her.  But the pressure relented as he drew himself out of
her,  stood up, looking with great pleasure and satisfaction
at her comparatively tiny body over the expanse of his chest
and belly.  Oddly he didn’t seem so much the stomach
anymore, so filled out he was with impressive arms and such
height.
     Reluctant to let him go she tried to hang on, but as
she drew herself up to kiss him he plucked her arms from his
dense shoulders and pushed her away, pausing to fondle her
breasts, then setting his hands on her thighs he took a
good, long look at her sex, swollen and damp with his semen,
but mostly her arousal.
     “Thank you,” she uttered, with genuine gratitude,
though not for the reason he probably thought.
     “Any time.  It wasn’t so bad after all, now was it,
missy?”
     She wondered at the nickname, but simply said, “No, Mr.
Gold.”
     He put a hand under her chin, “You enjoyed that, didn’t
you?”
     “Yes, Mr. Gold.”
     But the more this ridiculous conversation went on the
less she felt like she meant it.  The further removed from
sex with him she got, the less warmth she felt from his
bohemian embrace.  The lingering pleasures of being subsumed
by this man waned under the light of the soreness and ache
from the relentless pounding she’d taken over the past hour.
And this game he seemed to be playing, treating her like a
little girl, like some chattel.
     “Yes, I think you’ll do quite nicely.” Mr. Gold said,
interrupting her thoughts as he pulled on his underwear.
     “Nicely?” she asked sliding off the desk.
     “No, stay there.”  She froze, then slipped back into
the position he’d had her in, “Yes, like that, so I can
watch you.”
     She realized that this position defaulted to such that
she was facing the boys through the window, who were still
chatting, looking at cards of some sort.  It also meant that
she was spreading her legs to them, her breasts hanging
freely, sweat trickling down her sides and back. Something
seemed to lock in place as one of the boys turned to the
window.  The thrill of exposure, the excitement that if only
he could see seemed to trap the fading excitement inside,
and fuel her unsatisfied lust with renewed vigor.
     She realized that she was still panting, that she’d
never quite caught her breath after Mr. Gold had finished
with her.
     “I take it that you don’t have any plans for lunch
tomorrow?” Mr. Gold asked.
     She shook her head, unable to turn her head as the
other boy turned towards the window, looking at himself, it
seemed, in the reflection.  She could see both pubescent
faces now, skinny boys kind of dorky, fawning over playing
cards.  The kind of kids that didn’t even think about girls,
much less ever get to go out with them.
     “Yes,” Mr. Gold was dressed now as he scrutinized Miss
Caulder, “You like that, don’t you.”
     She mouthed in protest, and moved to get up, but firm
hands reached out and held her in place.
     “It’s okay, I get off on it too.  That’s why I like
this room.  Sometimes a pair of kids come down here to make
out.” He stared off, out the window where the group of girls
was walking up from the creek.  Then, walking behind her, he
pulled her legs apart, lifting them so she was perched on
the desk, spread eagled, semen glistening on her labia, and
her own juices moistening her.
     “Why don’t you come down here tomorrow?” he said,
moving towards the door.
     Miss Caulder was transfixed on the boys who seemed to
be staring straight at her simply nodded.
     “Be here at lunch, you can get yourself ready for me.”
     She glanced back, letting her legs fall closed, “I
don’t understand.”
     His hand on the doorknob, he smiled at her, “From the
look of it you could satisfy yourself for hours alone in
here, Wendy.  Isn’t that right?”
     “I don’t know about that, Mr. Gold.” She said ashamed,
but unwilling to compromise the feeling sweeping over her.
     “Well, why don’t you come down tomorrow and find out?”
he wasn’t smiling, all of a sudden.
     “And you’ll be here?”
     He smiled again, and gestured for Miss Caulder to turn
around again.
     She complied, lifting her legs.
     “Of course I will,” he said behind her back.  “Why
don’t you try it out now.”
     So she did, touching herself, gently, but startled to
feel the electricity rising up from her center, all provoked
by Mr. Gold’s game.
     “But don’t take too long,” he chided her as she seemed
to drift off in her pleasure, “Your next class starts in
five minutes.  Say hello to the Johns.”
     And then the door flew open, flooding the room with
sunlight that lit up the windows and sent a cool breeze
flying through the room.
     Swinging closed, Miss Caulder met the very bewildered
gaze of the two boys as they gawked at the window for the
few moments where they could see one another, the boys stock
still, Miss Caulder slowly stroking her clitoris as heaving
gasps flooded over her wracking her body with pleasure,
sought after, but arriving at a very inconvenient time as
the door shut and the boys, now sun blind behind the Mylar
window both cupped their hand to the glass to watch Miss
Caulder fingering her sex while the most intense orgasm
she’d had in years came washing over her.  Gasping and
moaning, her breasts swinging and bouncing, she locked eyes
with the boy voyeurs to her ecstasy and shame.
     
     Making her way out of the temp building, not knowing
how much the boys could see, their faces pressed to the
glass, if they recognized her, or how she was going to get
dressed, shaking like she was, with no place to hide in the
one room structure.  She had managed to pull on her skirt
(backwards with the slit up the front), and the T-shirt, but
had lacked the courage to retrieve her bra from the floor
below the boys before scampering to the door and bursting
out into the blinding sunlight.
     “Don’t look back” she kept repeating to herself, over
and over, not wanting to know if the kids had run around to
see her leaving, to get a better look, not wanting to lock
eyes with those who had seen her humiliating debacle.
     That fucking Mr. Gold, using her and running out, not
even the consideration to wait for her to get dressed before
opening the door, knowing those boys were outside.  As if he
really expected her to be there, waiting for him.  Doing…
doing that, like some perverted slut so he could come in and
get to business before running off to his PE class.
     “Hell with him,” she thought, “I can handle those boys
on my own.”  But her swinging breasts flopped around in the
baggy T-shirt, and she could feel his cum leaking out of her
aching crotch, and she felt her sweat drying on her back and
running down her pits with the frantic exertion to get to
the main building in time to use the bathroom before having
to go to class.
     How could she have let that fat, muscle-bound, old fuck
talk her into this.  Had she really thought she’d be better
off letting him use her like a fuck toy, calling him “Mr.
Gold” like a little girl and catering to his thick-brained
jock urges.  She hadn’t been fucked like that since she was
sixteen, and even those guys spent a little time afterwards
letting the intimacy fade instead of cutting it off abruptly
with instructions for later.
     She passed a cluster of girls, cheerleaders for the
Junior Varsity team, and in spite of the embarrassment for
the state she knew she must be in she had to wonder if that
was how they were treated by jocks their age, or if teenage
football players were just as whipped as the guys she’d
dated.
     Feeling the squelch of dribbling semen between her
thighs she put on a burst of speed, ignoring her bouncing
breasts, for the nearest bathroom.  Psych was going to be
Hell, and she didn’t know how she was going to be able to
make it through.
     
     Class had been horrible.  She’d managed to cover the
basics, going over the semester’s syllabus, and what the
students would be required to learn.  For an upper level
class there were surprisingly few girls in the course, only
four, and a lot of boys that ran the gambit from jocks like
the two Johns, to geeks.  It didn’t occur to her that a lot
of guys had rushed to add her class for second semester when
word spread of the new, young psych teacher with the great
bazongas.  An attraction that, no doubt, paid off, for
braless she was able to do little to keep them from swinging
freely, and hanging low on her chest.
     Combating the John’s leering glares, and the stickiness
between her legs that seemed endless was the worst of her
trials.  She was glad the skirt was black, otherwise she was
sure a stain would show, as she’d seen shiny spots on her
chair and where she’d sat against her desk.  Mr. Gold seemed
to have quite the reservoir.  She just hoped she had some
morning after pills left at home, because she certainly
wasn’t using any protection.
     When the bell rang it was a wave of relief that flooded
over her.  Her last class of the day.  Students sprang from
their seats, eager to get out of what must have been a very
confused and disjointed lesson, coupled with “read chapter-1
for the rest of class.”  Though she had planned a very blunt
and forthright lesson in introduction to human sexuality,
she gave it a miss today, relying on the textbook which had
a very dull and mostly useless introduction to sex ed in
America.
     Making way for her exiting students she settled down on
a corner of the desk, breathing relief which was only
slightly diluted at the squelching sensation between her
legs as Mr. Gold’s jism seemed determined not to let her
forget what she had done that afternoon.
     Relief, however, soon turned to apprehension as the
last of the students left, and the two Johns approached her,
unaware of the omnipresence of Mr. Gold’s sperm on Miss
Caulder at the moment.
     Only one sophomore girl and Max the school nerd-genius
remained behind, finishing their reading.  But the classroom
was large, and John didn’t have to lower his voice much to
avoid being overheard.
     “That was a great lesson, Miss Caulder.”
     “Yeah,” John two chimed in, “I learned a lot.”
     Miss Caulder, though uncomfortable, was feeling utterly
cynical.
     “Was it?” she asked, “I thought it was pretty dry and
boring.  What is it you want?”  She was much more confident,
possibly because she knew she had Mr. Gold to back her up
should they try to press any issues with her regarding that
morning.
     Both boys shifted around uneasily.  John began to
speak, then snapped his mouth shut as the girl got up from
her desk, started to approach them, but seeing the two
beefcake jocks though better of it and with a polite nod at
Miss Caulder, made her way from the room.
     Miss Caulder, getting a bird’s-eye view of herself
realized that she was slouching back on the desk (the most
comfortable position for the sensation of her sticky groin),
and jutting her chest out, which, in the T-shirt,
exaggerated her bosom to Mrs. Oberman’s proportions.
Overall, she looked like a reclining bimbo, gaming the two
guys fawning all over her.
     But the girl was gone, she figured, the damage done,
she might as well stay comfortable.
     But the John’s were clearly distracted by it as well.
     John, glancing back at Max, involved in his reading and
seemingly oblivious, kept his voice low, “Well, I skipped
ahead a bit.”
     He dropped his book down and opened it up to the page
that always made her immature students snicker and giggle; a
picture of a naked, middle-aged woman, spreading her legs on
a gynecologist’s table.
     Miss Caulder scowled, but John-two seemed to have
anticipated that, “Oh, it’s not the picture!  I mean, we’ve
seen naked ladies before,” and with that he gave her the
biggest shit-eating grin she had ever seen.
     “I thought we agreed not to discuss that.”
     But John kept John-two from saying any more, “Oh, he
didn’t mean that, I mean, he means other girls.”
     Miss Caulder sighed, “That’s right, you both are
experience men.”
     They nodded, and John continued,
     “Yeah, but, I mean, you know, like we said, we been
with girls.”
     “Young ones,” John-two added.
     “But never a real woman.” John emphasized.  He was very
close and, glancing back at the apparently oblivious Max,
set a hand on her thigh, “Except for you.”
     She gently pushed his hand away, but he only slid it
down to her knee as she said, “I don’t know what you’re
talking about.”
     “I mean seeing.” John quickly covered as John-two sat
right next to her on the desk, “We, I mean, you’re the only
real woman we’ve seen, outside of pictures.”
     “What does this have to do with this class?” Miss
Caulder asked, aware that John-two’s angle allowed him to
see down her stretched out collar, and she wondered if he
could see her exposed breasts.
     John was ready with an answer, setting his other hand
behind her on the desk, “It’s just that this material looks
hard, and we’ve got to pass this class.”
     “Well, I’m sure if you study, and apply yourself…”
     John-two wasn’t even pretending not to look down the T-
shirt hole, “That’s what Mrs. Richmond said, but we had to
take Summer school.”
     She pulled her collar up, not sure whether it was worse
that this act outlined her breasts and nipples better
against the shirt.
     “Here,” John was pointing to a section in the book,
“Where it talks about women developing, and hormonal
adjustment, and, I mean, why do girls grow breasts but guys
don’t.
     Miss Caulder couldn’t help but smile, “John, we’re
covering that next month.”
     “I know,” he said, leaning in to her, “But I wanted to
get a head start.”
     She edged her way off the desk, hoping she wouldn’t
leave a mark, and stood up in front of the boys, “That’s
great, you should read ahead…”
     “What about extra credit,” John-two asked.
     “John-two, we haven’t even taken a test yet.
     “I know,” John stood up, towering over his teacher,
“But if there’s some special project…  that might prepare us-
“
     “Like this morning,” John-two blurted out loudly, and
the boys both glanced over at Max, still obsessed with his
reading.
     “John-two-”
     “Wait, Miss Caulder,” John interrupted, “John-two’s
right.  I mean we learned more this morning about women than
all the girls we been with put together.”
     “Really,” Miss Caulder replied looking up the boy’s
looming chest at his beady eyes.
     “You’re so much more…  Mature.”
     She gazed at the two boys in astonishment, “No,
absolutely not.”
     John gazed back at her blankly, “No, what?”
     “Just: No.”
     John-two also stood up, “But, I mean, after this
morning…” but John thumped him in the shoulder.
     “We just want to know if we could get some private
lessons.” John said, with sort of a triumphant look on his
face.
     Did these boys think she was a moron?  That she’d
willingly expose herself to them under the auspices of
getting them an education?  Staring up at their low brows
and wandering eyes the thought occurred to her that yes,
perhaps they did.
     “I’d be happy to arrange a tutor for you, and if you
need more in-depth information you need only consult the
book-“
     “But it’s like the coach says, you’ve got to do before
you understand.” John-two repeated, “And we’d much rather do
you than any of the girls we know.”
     She could feel herself trembling, her entire body
perspiring.  She couldn’t believe that they were actually
propositioning her.
     “What John-two means,” John quickly covered, “Is that
we’d rather have you as our teacher than another student.”
     “I’m flattered,” she said not making any attempt to
conceal the anger in her voice, “but I have a very busy
schedule, and I don’t get paid to provide private tutoring.”
     “We’ll pay you.” John-two interrupted her.
     John quickly stepped in, putting his arm around her
shoulder, “yeah, we both do construction on weekends.”
     Her will to fight rapidly waning Miss Caulder decided
to put an end to the discussion, “I’m sorry boys, I don’t
think so.  Now I have to pack up and clean the room.”
     “Can I have my shirt back.” John-two asked.
     “John-two…” she stammered, “I need it.”
     But John was reaching in his bag, “Oh, we uh, borrowed
this one from one of the girls in PE.”
     She looked at the little thing.  It was a tube-top with
a loop to go over her neck.  It looked horribly small, and
was clearly the kind you had to pull up over your hips, like
a dress, being too narrow for a person’s shoulders.
     “Can’t I give it back tomorrow?”
     “John-two didn’t have another shirt, like he thought,
and he got detention for not dressing down.”
     John looked a little sheepish, “Yeah, I got to get to
it in ten minutes.”
     “I’m sorry, why don’t I give it to you before school
tomorrow,”
     “We were already late to PE today, I mean if we’re late
two days in a row we get Saturday school.”
     They were right, she knew, from the incident that
morning, but she also knew a well-rehearsed plan when she
heard one.
     Then again, the school day was over, and there was
nothing stopping her from leaving straight to her car, or
locking herself in the class till well after the students
had gone home.
     “Okay, I’ll go change-“
     John stepped in between her and the door, “The
bathrooms are locked.”
     He was right, they were both down because someone had
vandalized them at lunchtime.
     “I’ll use the teachers’ lounge.”
     But John-two had an excuse for that: “But I got to be
in detention in ten minutes.  Can’t you change here?”
     “In front of the two of you?”
     John smiled, putting a hand on her shoulder, “It’s not
like we haven’t seen you before.”
     She peered up at him, pleading with his to stop using
such absurd logic, “That was an accident in a dark alcove.”
     He shook his head, as if he couldn’t comprehend the
difference.
     Desperate for an excuse she gestured at Max, but she
hadn’t counted on the rationale behind meatheads like John-
two, who abruptly made his way across the classroom, bagged
the book Max was reading and hoisted him up by an arm.
     Miss Caulder, in shock could only stare while the boy,
pleading for help from her with his eyes, was dragged
brutally from the room.
     Shoving him out the door, John-two shut the door and
locked its deadbolt, turning to look at his voluptuous,
trembling teacher.
     John was doing that ‘reassuring’ thing on her back
again, “Now we’re alone.”
     “Why don’t you two wait outside?”
     “It’s just a shirt, Miss Caulder.”
     “John,” she said fondling the top with disgust, “I
can’t just put this on, I have to pull it up… it’s too small
to fit over my shoulders.”
     “I can help,” John-two volunteered.
     “Aren’t you going to be late?” she asked.
     John was standing very close, “If you’d just change
we’d be gone by now.”
     He seemed to know how badly she wanted to be left
alone, but John-two kept the same course, “And like John
said, we already seen you in a bra.”
     She wheeled out of him, putting herself out of John’s
reach, “No, I can’t just pull this over the skirt, it’ll
ride up, and I’m not wearing a bra.”
     She felt John’s fingers exploring her back, “You had
one on this morning, we saw it.”
     “I… I took it off.”
     John-two seemed delighted, “I thought I could see a lot
more this time.”  She looked up at him, furious, but he only
went on, “And you’re not wearing any underwear either ‘cause
I got those in my pocket,” he produced her wrinkled up
panties.
     John was still unabashedly feeling her back and sides
where the bra would have been, “How come you took your bra
off, Miss Caulder, you knew me and John-two would be back
this period?”
     “I don’t know, John, now would you please…”
     “That’s hardly me’n John-two’s fault, I mean we didn’t
even tear your shirt.”
     John-two was walking up to her, “Yeah, you did that.”
     John put both hands on her shoulders, “Seems kind of
unfair that we’re doing you all these favors, I mean John-
two didn’t have to borrow a girls shirt for you, and you’re
giving us all these conditions just to get his shirt back.”
     She was now nearly pressed between the two giants.  She
felt herself gasping for air, “You’re right, it’s not fair.”
     But John was working at the knot she’d tied in the T-
shirt’s side to contain its bulk, “and here John-two’s got
detention because he stayed to help you get dressed and you
won’t even give us private lessons.”  John-two’s hands were
reaching out for her midsection.
     “Okay!” she spun around to stop the boy before he
started to undress her. “I’ll tutor you.  I’m sorry John-
two.” Anything to keep control of the situation.  The boys
were repressing her, and although they had probably planned
it, she was the weak-willed teacher who let things get so
embarrassingly out of control that morning.  In a way she
was responsible for John-two’s detention, and the way she’d
played it up to them that morning there was no way she could
throw the blame back at them.
     She was also the one at fault for losing control and
tearing her shirt, for letting Mr. Gold have his way with
her and forgetting her bra.  She was also the one who let
John-two keep her panties.  It all boiled down to the fact
that she was the one who had let herself get into a position
where undressing completely, if full light, willingly, in
front of these lusting boys was the inevitable consequence
of her failure to be more assertive.  Had she refused to let
them touch her she’d have her panties, had she rebuffed Mr.
Gold she’d have her bra, and had she not panicked she’d have
her shirt and her modesty.
     John-two, unaware of the train of thought going through
her head was now behind her, “I’d like my first lesson now,
Miss Caulder.”
     She felt herself leaning against him he was so close,
and she looked at John as she said, “But you have
detention.”
     John looked back at her, “So make it a quick lesson.”
     She simply nodded, “Please take your desks.”
     John-two seemed like he was going to refuse, but John
reached out and pulled him into the front row of chairs.
     With a heavy sign, Miss Caulder pulled the T-shirt off.
Both boys’ faces lit up, and John-two couldn’t help
groaning, “Oh, yeah.”
     Miss Caulder’s breasts while not too large, nor too
firm, were supple, flush, and feminine.  To boys who may
have only ever seen the tight, budding breast of the
teenager, Miss Caulder’s breasts, hanging just low enough to
cover her hand (but not one of theirs, she’d have thought),
yet full enough not to sag too much, with bold, round
nipples just a little darker than her skin, the exact shade
of her un-made-up lips.  More than one of her lovers had
described them as breasts made for sucking, and this,
despite her petite frame and slightly fleshy bottom, made
her sought after by many a man looking for a one-night-
stand, or a quickie, like Mr. Gold.
     “Are those real?” John-two asked.
     She tilted her head in exasperation, but John
interrupted him, “Is this supposed to be a lesson, Miss
Caulder.”
     She could only swallow her frustration and pride, and
nod, “Yes, John-two, fake breasts don’t… sag like mine.” And
after a moment of hesitation she hefted her pair, to show
them how low they actually hung.
     “What makes nipples get hard?” John asked, timing his
question well as she had both thumb and index finger on
them.
     “Blood, John.” She signed, “Blood rushes to them when
they are cold, or… stimulated.”
     “What kind of stimulation?”
     Shutting her eyes tight she began gently running her
thumb and finger around them in gentle circles, relishing
the pleasurable distraction from the humiliation, but
willing them as well not to erect.
     But the tingles down her spine, and the stiffness
between her fingers revealed to her that she had succeeded
in arousing them.  A wash of cold air settled past her from
the vent overhead and she felt the goose pimples rising all
over her body.  How ever had she gotten herself into this
position?  The only thing the boys hadn’t seen that morning
was her bare chest, and here she was fondling her nipples
for them.
     “Uhh, Miss Caulder, aren’t you going to put the shirt
on?”
     Startled to awareness she opened her eyes and saw the
two horny seniors staring at her agape.  She realized she
had gotten distracted with her nipple-play, sort of a mental
retreat from the searing shame that bore down so hard upon
her.  She hadn’t heard who said it, and could hardly bring
herself to look up at them.  Looking nervously at their feet
she mumbles, “Yes boys,” and pushed her skirt down.
     “Dude, you trimmed your bush!”
     She glanced up at John-two’s astonished gaze, but John
was standing up as her skirt was falling to the floor,
“What’s going on here, Miss Caulder… Wendy?”
     She froze, meeting his eyes for a moment, hands
instinctively covering her sex, which she realized was
coated with glistening semen, dripping down her thighs.
     “I’m just… John…  The lesson.” She could barely stay
standing under his fierce, penetrating stare.  John reached
out and took her chin in one hand, grappling her breast with
the other, fondling it as she had just shown him how.  The
tingles of electricity born of the caress and excitement of
fear tore through her body with each none-to-gentle turn of
his thumb.
     He pulled her face close, “First you let John and me
touch you all over in the hall, an you don’t complain like
the other girls, Hell you even gave him your underwear.
Then you make a big old point of lettin’ us know you haven’t
got a husband, ‘It’s Miss.’” He mocked in falsetto.
     The stroking was filling her body with surges of heat,
while her skin felt like ice was scraping over it.  She
couldn’t tear her eyes from John’s, though they relentlessly
prowled her totally nude body, “Then you show up to class
all sweaty and smelly, showing off your butt in that super
tight skirt, without a bra on…” Suddenly he kicked the skirt
across the room, and slid his hand down to her crotch,
rubbing hard, forcing her to sob with a mixture of shock and
elation as the pounding in her body seemed to reach a
crescendo with each tugging stroke he made, rubbing around
in his coach’s sperm.
     “Shut up, Wendy!”
     She stifled her sobs, aware of tears of pleasure and
pain running past her cheeks.  He had called her Wendy
again; provoking a sensation not unlike the coach making her
call him Mr. Gold.
     “Then, when we think you’re gonna talk about tits and
stuff, you just strip off and start playing with yourself.”
     She looked at him, horror overcoming her, and their
conversation rolling through her like an echo in a house of
horrors.  Was he shitting her?  Nothing came back to her
directly that explicitly explained what she was doing.  She
had assumed their innuendo.  Had she drawn the worst
possible conclusions and caved into her greatest fears,
giving them what she feared they’d take most, rather than
what they really expected which was probably another
shuffling, embarrassed peepshow.  Instead she had given them
the full nine-yards.  She had willingly exposed herself for
them and there was no way she could think of that would
convince them otherwise.
     “Shit, I thought I was just gonna get to see that bra
again,” John-two had gotten up and regardless of the
‘lesson’ grabbed both of Miss Caulder’s breasts and mauled
them eagerly, “Miss Caulder, you sure do have one hot bod.”
     “And look,” John held up his hand, right under Miss
Caulder’s nose, glistening with a combination of Mr. Gold’s
semen and her own juices, though John certainly would never
have guessed the bulk of it was his coach’s, “She’s juicing
like crazy, I ain’t too dumb to know what it means when a
girl’s this wet!”
     “Please.” Miss Caulder cried, but John-two grappled her
roughly and planted a kiss square on her mouth.  She
struggled, but the gesture was purely in vain for she
couldn’t so much as budge the great behemoth that so crudely
shoved his tongue into her mouth.  He grabbed one of her
knees, hoisted it up, and in the process lifted Miss Caulder
to his hips as if she were a feather, and leaning her
against the hard edge of the desk started dry-humping her
through his pants.
     If Mr. Gold’s weight had been suffocating, this was
bone-crushing, and there was nothing resembling the
omnipresence of manhood, nor the sweet sensation of sex
between her legs.  And though the grinding of his hip into
her swollen, excited sex drove pleasure deep into her, the
rest of him seemed to be crushing her into dust, masking any
pleasure under omnipresent male muscle mass.
     As quickly as he had begun he came off of her, John’s
forceful arms separated the rutting couple, standing John-
two upright, and pinning Miss Caulder backwards on the desk,
leaving her legs hanging off the edge, which she slammed
together, trying to curl up, but couldn’t roll on her side
for John’s mighty grip.
     Desperate to stave them off she cried, “John!  John-
two, it’s all a misunderstanding!  That’s all it is!”
     They were hardly listening, John-two was bouncing for
joy, “Ha ha! I got to kiss a girl.  Now we’re even, John.”
He took Miss Caulder’s ankle and ran his hand up her thigh,
“Hey honey, how about another.”
     John smacked his hand away, “You aren’t gonna lose your
cherry before me, though.”
     “Why not, I kissed her first.”
     “I was the one who said she was up to something!”
     “It was my shirt!”
     They were now tugging at her, john-two trying to tug
her off the desk, John, literally grappling a breast, trying
to slide her across towards him.
     Miss Caulder was openly sobbing now, unable to control
herself she was experiencing a mixture of the sexual tension
she’d been flayed with all day and now the brutality of the
two teenagers fighting over her, “Please!” she cried over
and over, “Please stop it!”
     Eventually she realized that they had.  Letting the
shuddering sobs subside she found herself in a fetal
position atop her desk.  A coldness settled over her,
locking out every sensation except, oddly, the titillation
of the room’s ventilation across her damp labia, exposed as
she was curled up with her knees against her chest.  It felt
almost good against the numb bruising she’d just been given
by John-two’s frantic humping.
     “I’m sorry Mrs. Caulder.” John-two uttered from
somewhere behind her.
     A warm hand touched her gently on the shoulder, “Are
you all right, Wendy?  We didn’t mean to fight over you.”
John was trying to calm her, and it sort of worked.
     “I’ll be a textbook case for Stockholm if I have to put
up with much more of this” she thought, pulling herself
upright, watching the two boys look for all the world like
kids waiting to be spanked.  She looked around for something
to cover herself with, but could see nothing.  In her brief
survey of the room, however, she realized that there was
nothing preventing anyone from walking up to the door,
locked though it was, and looking in the small window set
head high in its frame.  She imagined she could see the two
boys from lunch, imagined the sensation of stroking herself,
the waves of humiliation as she scrunched up under their
astonished gaze, unable or unwilling to stop herself from
driving herself to orgasmic ecstasy.
     “Miss Caulder?” John-two asked, striking into her
thoughts abruptly, bringing herself back into the fact that
she was sitting naked, her breasts hanging freely, her sex
stained with her own recent arousal and Mr. Gold’s residue.
     “What is it John-two?” she simply couldn’t fathom any
of these boys’ behavior.
     “Which one of us do you want?”
     She let her legs fall over the edge.  Whatever
humiliation she’d felt at her nudity seemed to escape her
now, as she sat utterly defeated by these two kids, as
defeated as she’d been by Mr. Gold as he fucked her over the
desk.  It was only a matter of how long it would take.
     “Whichever.  It doesn’t matter.”
     But he persisted, “But who do you want?”
     Then she looked up at him, “What are you talking
about?”
     John stepped up, “What he means is, I mean,” he stepped
aside so as to block John-two from her view, “You wanna do
it with me, right?”
     She looked up at him, unbelievingly, then saw John-two
peering around his friend.  She shook her head.
     Immediately John-two shoved John aside, “Yes!  I told
you so!” and spreading Miss Caulder’s legs he pulled her
right up against him with one hand, pulling his rigid member
out of his shorts with the other and jabbing it at her.”
     “Stop it John-two!” she barked at him, and he froze.
     She tried to sit up, but with her legs suspended in
John-two’s iron grasp she could only lean on an elbow.
     “I don’t want to have sex with either of you!”
     Though frozen, she could feel John-two, perhaps
unconsciously probing around for her opening by twisting his
hips.  She reached down thinking to grab his hand, but
grabbed his shaft instead, trying not to react as John-two
let out a soft, cooing moan.
     He looked at her dumbfounded, trying to both pay
attention and enjoy the feeling, “But John said…”
     “He was mistaken… I was mistaken.” She said, more
tenderly this time, trying to ignore the fact that she was
having to goalie John-two’s penis away from her vagina as he
slid it over her moistened sex.  She found herself surprised
at its girth.  She’d always thought guys like John-two were
so built up so as to compensate for lack of manhood, but
John-two was clearly much bigger than Mr. Gold or any lover
she’d known, and she was only grabbing the tip, trying, and
failing, to not stroke him, but moistened as he was by her
present state her hand kept slipping over the head.
     John was trying to contain himself at one end of the
desk, “How can you say that, after the way you carried on!?”
     She’d have rolled her eyes under more innocent
circumstances, but instead she felt John-two’s penis brush
against her opening, and felt it lodge there as she
struggled to push it aside, unable to budge him for the bulk
of his weight, and obvious desire not to be moved, “I can’t
explain it like this, John.”
     Waves of pleasure and stabbing of soreness compounded
in her sex as she struggled to retain her sense of self, and
not succumb to the easy road of simply surrendering.
Through the haze of her conflict she heard John-two,
     “Does that mean we’re not going to fuck?” perhaps
because she was struggling to hold her head up he leaned in
a little bit, pushing himself against her sex, none too
gently, and gasping she cried out, “Please, it’s too big!”
     But motor control had taken over John-two, and as the
head of his thick shaft pushed past then entrance to Miss
Caulder’s sex his shaft began surging and his body spasmed
with impending orgasm.  Both the realization that he was
actually fucking a woman and the pressure of Miss Caulder’s
narrow sheath on John-two’s engorged member put him well
beyond anyone’s control.  Miss Caulder could only writhe
with the all-consuming sensation of being stuffed utterly,
the mixture of pain and stabbings of sexual energy while
John-two began pumping franticly, burying his massive trunk,
millimeter by millimeter inside her before erupting with a
huge, ghastly groan.
     For the first time in her life, Miss Caulder actually
felt a man cum inside her, felt the flooding gush of heat
penetrating her as she bucked and rocked, throwing her legs
up high in a vain effort to relieve the pressure, but
instead taking more of him inside her, unconsciously letting
her fill her up with the same domination that Mr. Gold had
imposed, a massive, all-consuming presence that made her
forget herself, and her failure to deny him utter domination
of her body and her spirit.  She cried out in squealing
gasps, indistinguishable from the cries of ecstasy she had
bellowed out under the scrutiny of the two boys through the
window, bucking and rocking, climbing his pole as it seared
through her, grinding herself against him that this carnal
atrocity might also bring about the throes of passion she
had only just discovered in the face of exposure and utter
submission.
     But nothing she did, nothing she could have done, would
change the fact that John-two, with all his clumsy mauling
and naïve stumbling had owned his sex ed teacher, in her
classroom, on her desk, because she’d stripped off her
clothes for him and stood still while he laid her out,
spread her legs and drove himself into her.  Her only effort
at resistance serving to ease his chance of penetration.
     Letting Mr. Gold have his way with her, use her like he
did, was shameful and embarrassing, but only to her.  No one
could fault a grown man and woman for sharing their bodies
with one another.  But nothing could have prepared her for
the humiliation she felt now, with this massive cock lodged
inside her, pumping its satisfaction into her loins, this
boy letting go of all his animal instincts upon her.  How
could she ever assert herself now?  She hadn’t even been
bullied into this submission, but had let her fears lead her
into his clutches, and now she was his.  She was the one who
had taken his virginity, and nothing would ever change that.
He had taken her, filled her up, stretched her beyond any
limits she had known, and had her ride him, take him deeper,
felt her desperate clutches and watched as she furiously
gasped for more like she had done with no man before.  He
had infused her with a desperate need and been immersed in
her unabashed expression of it: a furious, passionate
fucking, legs locked tight around his waist, hips grinding
down upon his manhood, a ferocious longing for him to
possess her.  And possess her he did.  John-two, like no
other man, had experienced this woman as his willing,
desperate whore, and ever more, she would live with the
impression of her utter surrender to his lust.  Ever more he
would see her as the slut who had ridden him to perdition
and back, crying out with every sense of her being for more,
more, more…
     But the more she clung to the hope of oblivion the
further she seemed to see it slipping away.  Every time she
felt like she only needed another inch, it would come, yet
she would be further away, only aware of the stench of stale
sweat, no matter how hard she tried to force the issue.  She
simply couldn’t fake it.  The moment, her chance had passed,
and she was left painfully aware of her situation.  It
slowly dawned on her that he was done, in hardly a minute he
had gotten in and gotten off, and now she was left with the
aftermath: the acute awareness of what had just happened,
and how she had carried on.
     And to make matters worse, she was no more protected
against his seed than she had been against Mr. Gold.  If the
freak chance that had led her to this position got her
pregnant she didn’t know if she’d be able to live with
herself.
     Refusing to look up at the bear of a man who had just
taken her she found herself locking eyes with John, staring
in astonishment, perhaps as much as hers, at what had just
happened.  But as she watched lines of anger creased his
face.  “Jealousy” she thought.  “He’s the one who understood
what I was trying to tell them.  And he knows that John-two
took me anyway.  He knows I won’t let him have me.  Or will
I be able to refuse?”
     Unable to bear that thought she looked up at John-two’s
blotchy face and bloodshot eyes.  His bottom lip was
glistening and a line of drool was leaking onto her chest,
tracing a line across her nipple and pooling at her sternum.
His manhood softening, the sensation no longer overwhelmed
her, but that he was present inside her, however shallow he
might be, was something that she would never be able to
erase from their relationship—no longer teacher and student,
but stud and conquest.
     “Oh shit,” He said with the same astonished expression
on his face, “I fucked a teacher.”  He couldn’t stop staring
at her breasts, and particularly, down where his thick shaft
protruded from between her legs, “I can’t believe I just
fucked Miss Caulder.”  As if she wasn’t there he turned to
John, “Dude, I just fucked a teacher.” Looking down at her
for another moment he looked to his friend again, “I’m still
fucking a teacher.” But his flaccid shaft combined with Miss
Caulder’s firm, narrow sex gave truth to the lie, as he was
slowly sliding out, like a python crawling out of a gopher’s
hole after it has finished its prey off.
     “John-two, get off me.”
     His face revealed shock, and maybe a little hurt, but
he obeyed, a bit, and straightened up, letting the head of
his shaft flop out of her, and quickly stuffing it back into
his shorts.  She couldn’t close her legs, as he still hadn’t
moved away, but she hardly thought it would make a
difference, having him inside her or across the room, now
that the damage was done, “Why, John-two?  After I told you
no?”
     “I… I…” But John-two could only stammer.  Finally he
shook his head, “I gotta get to detention.” And unable to
look at his friend or his whore he grabbed up his backpack
and tore from the room, pausing only to fumble at the
deadbolt.
     Miss Caulder sat up on her desk, clutching herself with
her arms.  The soreness between her legs was only surpassed
by the wetness, the dribbling heat that lubricated her
inside and out.  She could feel John’s eyes upon her, and
was too scared to look at him for what his expression might
be, but also that he might take anything as a provocation to
have her next.
     “You were going to explain something…” he said, his
voice hard.  Clearly he had no interest in allowing herself
to find more comfortable circumstances…
     But that was how she had tricked herself into believing
that she had no choice but to strip, or to let them fondle
her while she was trapped in the alcove with her.  The fact
that they were barely able to believe their eyes when she
undressed showed her that it had all been in her mind.
Perhaps this thick, violent ogre who intimidated her so much
was really only a figment of her imagination.  Hazarding a
glance in his lust filled eyes and hate-contorted face she
wondered if that ogre was a creation born of her own
irrational behavior that she would now have to find a way to
tame, or surrender to.
     “Could you…” her voice choked up, “Could you give me my
skirt?”
     John didn’t move, “You’re not going to do me too?”
     She shook her head, staring at the ground past her
swinging breasts and clutched them “You saw what happened.
You saw I tried to stop him--“
     “Don’t you dare blame this on John-two!”
     “I’m not.”
     “You laid down for him, you took off your clothes!  I
saw you put his thing inside you!”
     She couldn’t help but stare at him in shock, “You know
that’s not true.”
     For the first time he looked away.
     “I was so scared of you, John, I thought you… I felt so
trapped.”
     “That’s not what happened.” The boy murmured.
     “I could only think of what you’d do to me if I didn’t
play along.”
     John lurched over to her, grabbing her shoulders,
shaking her, “I’d never hurt you. Never!”
     Miss Caulder looked into the boy’s eyes (what little
she could see under his thick eyebrows and squinting lids),
“I was so confused.”
     “You didn’t want to fuck John-two?” he asked, his voice
light.
     She shook her head, “It was all a misunderstanding,
John.”
     He looked at her for a long time, holding her head,
staring down at her, not realizing the growing pool of jizz
she was now wallowing in, nor the magnitude of her shame,
“Don’t worry Wendy.  I’ll take care of it?”
     She looked up at him uncomfortably aware that the bulge
in his pants had shown no sign of subsiding, “Take care of
what?”
     He was now squeezing, perhaps unconsciously, and Miss
Caulder thought her head would burst as he said, “If John-
two ever comes near you again, I’ll kill him!” that,
realizing what he was doing he let one hand fall, then
turning her head up towards his leaned down for a kiss.
     She turned her head away, and slipped off the desk,
barely noticing that her entire buttocks were glistening
with semen.  John made no move to stop her “Get out of here,
John?”
     He stood still, watching her, seeing for the first time
the red mark down her back, the bruises on her buttock, the
tangled mess of her hair and her blotchy eyes, and running
mascara, “I’m really confused, here.” He said almost
sounding like a normal boy not infused with steroid driven
mass.
     “What does it matter, John?” she was looking for
something, anything to wipe herself with, “Get out.”
     “I could have taken you, you know… Wendy.” He said.
     She turned to look at him, but saw there was no anger
in his eyes, “You can have me any time you want, John.”
     But he shook his head, “But that’s not what you want.
Is it?”
     She turned to him, tears welling up in her eyes.  She
made a futile gesture to wipe the ruined mascara and to
neaten her hair, “Just do it, John.  Just get it over with.”
     In spite of the mess that she was, John still could not
help but feel the urge to respond rising in him.  Her
succulent breasts, her soft, supple lips, those plush,
pliable thighs, even the poochie stomach ribbed with red
scrunch lines;  The woman who had exposed herself utterly to
him:  a dim-witted, paunchy, ape-faced jock who couldn’t
even score with the school sluts who put out for booky
nerds.
     “I’m a virgin.”
     “I know you are.”
     “I don’t want you this way.”
     “It’s the only way you can have me.”
     He shook his head, feeling an unwilling smile come over
him, “That’s not good enough.”
     Miss Caulder ran a hand over her body, the aches and
pains seemed to fade away and she found herself stroking her
nipple the way she had shown the boys before, “I can’t make
it any easier for you, John.”
     He took two steps right up to her and peeled off his
shirt, “Tell me you want me.”
     He could hardly hear the words as she uttered, “I want
you.”
     “More.”
     “I want you…” she murmured again, then, louder, “I want
you to fuck me John.”
     Her face barely came up to his massive chest, but she
was struck by the similarity of his swollen stomach to Mr.
Gold’s, without the burnished skin and time-worn wrinkles.
His sinews strained against his bulk, and she saw herself
buried under them.  She let go of her breast, and put her
hands on his pecs, leaning in and smashing her chest into
his belly.  She kissed his nipple gently, and though the
skin barely stretched under her lips she suckled on him like
a baby, running her hands down his sides, pushing them into
his shorts, fondling his backside, admiring the rigid flanks
as she ground her hips against his thigh.
     “Fuck me, John.  Fuck me, please.” Every essence within
her cried out for the submission she had found underneath
Mr. Gold’s massive frame.  Her cunt ached with the need for
the all-consuming suppression of all she was.  This was the
only answer.  To surrender utterly.  Nothing would matter
after that.  If she fought it she would live forever with
the soul-burning knowledge of her failure.  Surrender and
she could live out her days in meek submission to the men
who would use her.
     She found his shaft.  Nothing like the massive girth of
his friend, John was actually rather modest.  A thought that
pleased her in no little measure as she thought of her
abused cunt. “I want you inside me.” She began stroking him.
     “Wendy…”
     “Take me, John.  I’m yours.”
     She was grinding her sex against his thigh with
increasing vigor, trying to build up enough passion to block
out any feeling she had ever had.  His shorts fell to his
ankles and she clasped his shaft to her belly, stroking it
with her vigorous pumping.
     But still he failed to respond.  He stood, paralyzed,
transfixed by what had happened to his teacher.  Utterly
unable to respond to her fevered demands.  Unable to shake
the awareness of what she was really asking for.
     And like a sudden scream in the night, she stopped.  An
emotional contact, a bond forged for an instant and she saw
herself through her eyes and realized what she was doing.
What she was asking for.  Why she was so desperate for it.
     She let him go like a spark, shuffling backwards.
     “Miss Caulder, I…”
     She shook her head, silencing him.
     “Thank you, John… I don’t know…”
     But John held up a hand, “You don’t have to tell me…
Miss Caulder.”
     Miss Caulder stepped behind her desk and pulled a roll
of paper towels from a drawer, one arm covering her nudity,
but John was already looking the other way.
     She wiped herself off, and pulled the slinky top on.
It was definitely too small, and as she pulled on her skirt
she realized that a sudden move could send her chest flying
from the top, which felt like it barely covered the span of
her nipples, and let the bottoms of her breasts peek out
underneath.
     She opened a cabinet, and began wiping off her make-up
using the mirror that she kept there, combing her fingers
through her hair, trying to feel normal.  She saw John
watching her again, but his eyes were resolutely on her face
in the reflection.  “I know this was my fault, John.”
     He shook his head, “It wasn’t… I mean, the
circumstances…”
     But she shook hers back, “No, John.  I was weak.  John-
two was weak.  You were strong.  You did the right thing…”
     She turned to face him, “Oh John, I didn’t mean to
sound patronizing.”
     He looked sheepishly at the ground, “I don’t know what
that means.”
     She smiled, surprising herself; “I’m just saying I
shouldn’t treat you like a kid.”
     “Thanks, Miss Caulder.”
     She closed the cabinet, and crossed to her desk,
putting her belongings in her purse, barely noticing the way
her breasts jogged around in the confining tube top, and
threatened to slip out the bottom at any minute.  She smiled
up at him, again surprised to find that the smile was
genuine, “What’s your last name, John?”
     He looked confused, “Uhh… Keller.”
     He was surprised to find that without any make-up, her
smile was even more succulent, with thick, plush lips,
perfectly shaped.  Against his will he found himself
imagining them sliding over his cock as she said, “Call me
Wendy, Mr. Keller.”
     She hoisted her purse to her shoulder and crossed the
room to the door.
     “Miss Caulder—Wendy?”
     She turned to him, “Yes Mr. Keller.”
     “I never been with a girl.”
     She nodded, still smiling, “You told me that.  It’s
okay.”
     He shook his head, “No, I mean… I never even kissed a
girl.”
     She raised her eyebrows, “But you…”
     Still shaking his head he said, “I told John-two I did,
cause he never did either, and I lie to all the guys, but… I
mean.”  He couldn’t look her in the eye, “I just wanted you
to know.”
     She took a step towards him, “That’s not right.  A
handsome man like you.” And she reached her free arm around
his neck, and pulling herself up, him leaning down, she
kissed him, slowly at first, then with more vigor, licking
his lips and letting hers slide over his mouth, his chin,
his neck, and finally a long, slow, passionate draw on the
lips again.  Letting him go only after she was sure he was
in no doubt that he had just been given the best kiss of his
life.
     “Walk me to my car, Mr. Keller.”
     He smiled, a feeling of pride unlike any he had known
in all his days.  He put an arm over her shoulder, “Sure,
Wendy.”
     
     
     Walking out the door arm in arm with John, Miss Caulder
tried to let herself ignore the ooze from two men between
her legs, her absolute submission her erotic urges in front
of the two freshmen, the rapture she’d found wrapped around
Mr. Gold’s belly, and the sensation John-two had left inside
her that told her no matter how much time passed she would
always feel his girth pressing at her insides and filling
her up with his seed.  But the warm comfort she had
discovered in this strange relationship with John only
served to absolve her of mistakes she had made in letting
the men use her so wantonly.  She could not ignore the truth
she had discovered, that the utter submission she had
experienced had driven her to beg for more from John, and
regret his refusal; That in doing so he had left her unable
to avoid imagining the two men ravaging her again and again.
How could she possibly confront Mr. Gold again, knowing that
as much as she loathed him she could not stop thinking about
fucking the man.  How could she face herself again knowing
that the next time she saw John-two she would be able to
think of nothing but his massive, penetrating girth filling
her up again and the oblivion she had so desperately sought
and lost.
     John let go of her at the first sign of another person,
a couple students passing down the hall.  A poignant
reminder that thought they now shared something significant,
the stigma of a known relationship between them was enough
to overcome John’s lust for his teacher.  Not that Miss
Caulder was any more willing to let on that she had
succumbed to his masculine domination in such a self-
serving, debasing way, but she couldn’t help but resent his
preference for his reputation over the truth of things.
     The school being mostly empty, few students got to see
her crossing campus in her chest clutching tube top.  Her
whole outfit, in fact, conspired to paint a vivid portrait
of her nude body, with her skirt clinging to the contours of
her hips and ass, and the top clutching her breasts, forcing
them out the underside, exposing her from the smooth,
hanging curve of her breasts to the subtle crease below her
belly, reddened from the ministrations of John-two and Mr.
Gold as they bent her in two to satisfy their lusts.
     Nevertheless, a number of boys stopped dead in their
tracks.  Girl students let their mouths fall open at this
wanton behavior by their slut a teacher, mostly perhaps in
envy at the developed breasts, the shapely curves, and the
apparent immodesty that they didn’t contain.
     Mr. Sharpe, a gangly math teacher with a long nose and
greasy, thinning hair was arrested at the sight of her
walking out of the main building, “Miss Cauler?”
     “Hello Mr. Sharpe.” She said, forcing an air of casual
dignity.  She felt John bristle at her side.
     “Uhh… Going out tonight?”
     She shook her head, aware of this skinny wreck of a man
pouring his eyes over her buxom curves, “No, just going
home.”
     “ahh, well,” he glanced at the massive boy at her
shoulder, hesitating to make eye contact with the giant,
“Well, Miss Caulder you’re looking lovely today, I just…
wanted to say goodbye.”
     And in his shambling, duck-footed gait he moved away,
but only far enough for the couple to pass, so he could gaze
after her, admiring the clutching skirt with illustrated the
curves of her ass.  If only he knew, Miss Caulder thought,
that the boy at her side had been fondling and groping them
all day.
     But then, he had failed to act when she was the most
vulnerable.  She had a hard time painting John, who had
respected her dignity in refusing to take her against her
conscious will, while she was desperate for escape, in a
different light as the distorted waste of a teacher who so
unashamedly lusted after her.  Glancing back over her
shoulder, stopping, pretending to glance in her purse she
wondered if Mr. Sharpe was endowed with the same kind of
mind-enveloping manhood that John-two had invoked to steal
her soul.
     She shook her head.  She was growing obsessed.
     Yet she reached down to adjust a strap on her shoe,
bending over in what she full well knew to be a glaring act
of sluttish teasing, allowing Mr. Sharpe to watch the skirt
slip a few inches as it stretched over her backside, and in
her new top, he could see under it the contours of her
peculiarly bound bosom.
     Stiffening, she asked John, “Have you ever heard of
Stockholm syndrome?”
     He shook his head.
     “We covered it in the first semester.” She started
walking again, “It involves a victim…” she glanced at him,
meeting his eyes, “of a kidnapping, or a hostage, falling in
love with her attackers.”
     “Why would she do that?”
     Miss Caulder knew the answer, but she couldn’t seem to
articulate it in her head.  Instead she nodded, continuing
as if he hadn’t said anything, “One symptom is an obsession
with her tormentor, now her lover.  A man who kidnapped her
she’d never leave.  A man who’d raped her she’d do anything
for…”
     “I dunno… Wendy.  That sounds sort of cool, though.”
     Cool?  Still she hadn’t expected understanding from a
seventeen year of jock.
     In fact…  The only thing she did expect was that he
would take her at any given moment.  That he had so far
failed to was something with left her uneasy, on edge.
Looking for the next way he might hurt her.  But in the
classroom things had been so comfortable, so reassuring,
like she had gotten over everything.
     Now she was fantasizing about slipping off with Mr.
Sharpe who would doubtlessly fuck her like a mindless
rabbit, avoiding stupid games, unconcerned with things like
John’s ridiculous pride.
     “John!  Wendy!”
     It was Mr. Gold, crossing the open quad outside of the
main building to them in the gym shorts and T-shirt he
always wore, exaggerating his chest and belly, making him
look like a Volkswagen on stilts in the sunlight.
     The couple stopped, not far from where Mr. Sharpe still
peered on as Mr. Gold approached, “So how was your first day
of Psyche, John?”
     “Great coach!” perhaps unconsciously he put his arm
around Miss Caulder, then abruptly shook it off, as if he’d
just been stretching, but Mr. Gold seemed oblivious,
     “Did you guys talk about tutoring?”
     “What?” Miss Caulder blurted, eyeing the coach, her
lover, suspiciously.
     “Well, if the boys don’t pass your class they don’t
graduate.”
     John was smiling proudly, “Miss Caulder’s going to give
us private lessons after school.”
     “Really?” he eyed his linebacker suspiciously, then let
his eye wander over Miss Caulder’s scantily covered breasts,
“I don’t suppose this has anything to do with this slinky
little getup that Wendy’s wearing today?”
     Miss Caulder felt like the wind had been kicked out of
her, “Mr. Gold!”
     But Mr. Gold grabbed her at the waist and gave her a
little squeeze, “Don’t mind me, Wendy, I’m just teasing the
boy.” He looked up at his student, pulling Miss Caulder next
to him and behind their backs he let his hand fall to Miss
Caulder’s rounded buttocks, giving a firm squeeze, his large
hands grappling half her cheek, and pulling her skirt down
another couple inches.  Miss Caulder was certain that she
was showing cleft above the waistline, and nervously aware
that Mr. Sharpe could see the entire incident, as well as
her complacence.  She might have objected, but she couldn’t
bear the thought of sparking an incident in front of John
that might let on the fact that he’d had her that afternoon
before class.  He jabbed John with his free hand, “Not that
I blame the boy.  I’d sign up for a years worth of
detentions if I knew you were going to be leaning over my
desk, checking up on me,” with that he leered at her openly,
and to Miss Caulder’s shock, lifted the hand that was
groping her and reaching around from behind gave her breast
a little squeeze.
     “Mr. Gold!” she gasped, squirming, but held tight in
his grasp.  Completely unsure of herself she couldn’t decide
whether to push his hand away or pretend to ignore it, so
she did nothing but smile weakly at John, who shook his head
at his coach,
     “No Mr. Gold, John-two and I are serious.  I don’t want
to have to repeat a year.”
     “Great,” Mr. Gold intoned, his hand visibly squeezing
the breast, “Just don’t let these guys go to your head.”
     Her nipples were now hard again, and she felt the sheen
of perspiration bubbling up on her chest.  She craved to
push his fondling hand away, and to hike up her skirt, which
was hovering dangerously at her pubic line, but could only
force herself to smile with politeness and pleading at the
men,
     “I assure you, Mr. Gold, that I don’t dress like this
every day.”
     At that Mr. Gold held her out at arms length, as if
appraising her, where both men could continue their
unabashed lechery.  She couldn’t believe that a teacher was
doing this in public, much less encouraging his student to
go along.
     “Maybe you ought to, Wendy.” He grinned at John, “I
mean, if it encourages my boys to study and get into a good
college, who am I to tell you to dress like a respectable
woman? Right John.”
     John seemed just as embarrassed by Mr. Gold’s behavior,
and just nodded.
     “Though,” Mr. Gold went on, sticking a finger to Miss
Caulder’s horror in her waistband where she saw her pubic
hair sprouting over the edge, “You really ought to shave
this if you’re going to wear your skirt this low,” and he
pulled the elastic waistband, exposing the matted, trimmed
pubic bush for anyone passing by to see, “Do you usually go
without underwear, Wendy?” he asked as if he hadn’t already
known she was unclad from that afternoon.
     She looked at John, who shook his head not really
knowing why.  Turning to Mr. Gold, enduring his mock
probing, “Not really.” She lied.
     “Well,” he let the waistband snap back into place,
inches below where it had been.  The lightest of tugs could
have exposed her, and as it were her unshaved bush and lack
of underwear were left plainly visible to the two men next
to her and the leering teacher skulking in the doorways to
the main building. He slapped John on the shoulder, “What do
you think of that, John?”
     John just shrugged innocently, as if he had no opinion
on the matter, and the three stood silent for a while.  Mr.
Gold broke the silence, “You going home, John?”
     “Yeah, coach.”
     “Well, see you tomorrow, then.”
     John looked at Miss Caulder, then his coach, but didn’t
make any effort to fight the dismissal, “See you in class
Miss Caulder.”
     But as he turned to leave his coach corrected, “You
mean, after class.”
     John forced a laugh and walked away.
     Miss Caulder punched the man hard in the chest, “What
the Hell are you thinking!?”
     Mr. Gold’s joviality faded and he jabbed his whore in
the chest, “Just letting that boy know who’s boss.  What the
Hell are you thinking wearing that slinky thing in your
class?”
     “I told you…”
     “Those boys are only thinking of one thing, you know.”
     She peered at the coach, thinking that if only he had
seen her riding John-two’s pole on her desk just a few
minutes ago.
     “I hope you realize that you’re going to have to dress
this way all the time, now?”
     She shook her head at Mr. Gold.
     “I mean, what kind of a teacher doesn’t wear
underwear?” he was still ranting, “What kind of teacher
shows that off to her whole class?”
     “Mr. Gold, I swear I’ll wear something decent
tomorrow.”
     “What?” he interrupted her, “and let those boys fail?”
     “What are you telling me, Mr. Gold” she cried out
desperately trying to make sense of the man’s anger.
     “That those boys are taking your class for one reason:
because they like to look at you.  And now that they’ve seen
you half-naked they’re going to expect it.”
     She shook her head, stepping back, “I told you, I
spilled coffee…”
     “You should have kept the T-shirt.  You think those
boys are going to keep coming back to watch you in a jacket
or something after they’ve seen your tits hanging out?”
     “That’s not my problem.” She set her fists on her hips,
and as an afterthought hiked her skirt up.
     “You promised those boys after school lessons in that
outfit.  You made the promise that if they came in and
worked hard after school they’d be able to feast their
horny, unfucked eyes on you, and all they have to do is
study a bit.  Now you’re going to let them fail—“
     “That doesn’t make any sense—“
     “You don’t understand boys, Wendy!”  He walked up to
her, towering over her and dominating her, “To them you’re
just a piece of meat now.  Chattel, a whore.  If you’d kept
your clothes on you might have been able to bear some
influence as an adult, but now the only way you’re going to
get them to learn is to keep their dicks hard in their
pants.”
     “No.” she whimpered under his overbearing personality.
     “The only chance of getting the boys to pass your class
is to keep them interested, and the only thing they’re
interested in is fucking you!”
     “I know that.”
     “Good!” she barked, then, stepping away he paced back
and forth for a few moments.
     He wheeled on her again, “Obviously you can’t dress
this way all day, you’ll make parents mad, and probably get
fired.  We can’t have that.”
     “No.” she said meekly, submitting to his judgment.
     “But you’ll have to bring a change of clothes.  The
sluttier the better.  Keep them thinking that at any minute
you’ll burst out of your clothes.”
     “I can’t do that, Mr. Gold…”
     He growled, in a low voice, “You can, and you will.  If
those boys fail senior year I’ll hold you personally
responsible, understand.”
     She looked up at him, cowering under the determination
and anger in his eyes, “Yes, Mr. Gold.”
     Suddenly he smiled, putting out a hand and rubbing her
shoulder, oddly reminiscent of the way John liked to
reassure her, “That’s better.  I hope this won’t impinge on
our little arrangement.”
     Confused for a moment she realized he was talking about
their lunchtime tryst, “I don’t know, I thought we were
just—“
     “Come now, Wendy.  You can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy
yourself.”
     She shook her head, “I just, I mean, you were so…”
     “You don’t have to play the modest girl with me, Wendy.
Not after I’ve seen you walking around dressed like this.
Not after the way you carried on in the classroom.”
     She looked up at him in horror.  How did he know?
     “I could hear you across the grass after I left,
screaming and shouting.”
     She let out a breath, realizing he was talking about
the time in the temp classroom.
     “I’ve been with quite a few ladies, but I’ve never
heard anyone lose control like that.”
     She shook her head.
     “And the way you took me in the classroom, that was
something special too.  I had to work on Mrs. Richmond for
two years before she let me have her, but you took hardly
any persuasion at all.”
     She frowned up at him, resenting the implication.
     “Now, now, Wendy.  None of that.  There’s no reason to
be ashamed.  I’m just as bad as you when it comes to pretty
women…  I mean, I’ve never exposed myself like this in front
of a student, before…” he put a hand on her shoulder, “But
there’s no reason to be ashamed of being a slut.”
     “Mr. Gold!”
     “What, I’m just speaking the truth.  Call it whatever
you like.  Just so long as you’re down in the temp class
tomorrow, like we discussed.”
     She hesitated just long enough for him to take it as
acceptance.
     “Good.  You can bring your slut outfit and change into
it while we’re there.  Don’t forget that those boys are
depending on you.”
     “No.” she said, though she didn’t know if she was
denying him, or promising not to forget.  It was clear how
Mr. Gold took it.
     “That’s my girl.” And glancing around he gestured with
a shake of his head at a cluster of bushes that grew
alongside the main building, “Why don’t we slip over here,
for a minute?”
     
     In spite of her desire to stand up and resist the man,
Miss Caulder allowed him to lead her into the bushes, and
reacquainted with the older man’s stamina she thought
longingly of John-two’s immature prematurity, as she took
the coach’s shaft into her mouth, kneeling on the mulching
of redwood bark, giving him head while he clutched her by
the neck, forcing her to learn the hard way how to work a
man who required long, forceful thrusts to enjoy himself as
she impaled her mouth on his modest shaft.
     After several, long minutes, the coach seemed to grow
restless, or bored, and he held her at arms length while he
stroked himself, finally coming, in long, runny streaks that
pelted her on the forehead and the mouth before he managed
to pull her close enough and drive his surging rod into her
mouth, where she swallowed the rest of his load and he
groaned.
     “Well, Wendy, for a slut you sure don’t know how to
give head.”
     She shook her head, refusing to respond, trying to wipe
the semen off her face, but with only her hands she only
spread it around.
     “You know, you ought to tutor some of my Juniors.”
     “What?” she looked up at him, her cum-smeared face
forgotten for the moment.
     “If you’re any good with math.  You might be the best
thing for the team since they made the cheerleaders wear
leotards instead of shorts.”
     “I’m not a math teacher.”
     “Who cares, you’re a college graduate, they just need
the basics.” Wiping the head of his penis on his T-shirt he
replaced it in his shorts, “Besides, they just need some
good motivation to study.”
     Miss Caulder climbed to her feet, aware of the cum that
was now all over her face and hands, as well as running down
her thighs and squelching between her legs, “I’m already
doing John and John-two.”
     But looking at his watch, Mr. Gold was already climbing
out from behind the bushes, “We’ll talk more about this
tomorrow over lunch.  In the meantime you should brush up on
your math.” And with that he was gone, and she was left
alone, in the bushes, on school campus, with cum on her
face, in a slinky outfit devoid of bra or panties, and she
still had to cross campus to get to her car.
     
     
     She didn’t know how she fell asleep, but the dry,
crackled feeling on her face, and the brightness of the
light let her know she had spent the day in the bushes.  It
was well into night, though the sun set early at this time
of year, so it could be as early as seven o’clock.
     She had huddled in the bushes after Mr. Gold left her,
waiting for her courage to rise, but only to be greeted
every time she thought to venture out with a peal of
laughter, or the clack of heels on concrete from someone
passing by.  She must have been more drained from the day’s
exertions than she’d realized, because at one point she laid
down, shivering with the growing cold autumn air, and
clearly, passed out.
     What startled her most was that she hadn’t just come
to, she’d been woken up by someone climbing through the
bushes.  She could hear the cast of piss on the mulch from a
boy who she realized was standing right next to where she
was laying in the shadow cast by the bright floodlights as
he peed on the wall.  She lay frozen until he had finished,
and climbed back out, and could hear the voices of two boys
talking, and smell cigarette smoke.
     Resolved not to wait any longer she stood up as quietly
as she could, and took a hesitant step so she could see the
walkway that led across the quad to the parking lot.  She
noted, with a bit of irritation, that in spite of the dried
cum on her face, the squelching between her legs had been
replaced by a slick goo that seemed to cover her inner
thighs.
     She also saw two boys, rocker-types, she guessed,
though she didn’t know what rebel kids called themselves
these days.  Sitting in their jeans and band shirts, one had
a tattered, oversized leather jacket on, the other a shabby
trenchcoat with safety pins and cheap spikes stuck
erratically to the collars.  Both had slightly long hair.
Both were uncompromisingly skinny, graceless, and one was
still struggling with adolescent acne.  Basically, her old
crowd from high-school.  Social rejects that didn’t exactly
have the brains to fill out the nerd company, or the social
skills to become a clique.  She just hoped that these guys
were as nice as the ones she’d hung around with, as opposed
to the antisocial types who had gotten her drunk and taken
her virginity when she was in her experimentation phase so
many years ago.
     A thought unbidden, she could still remember the
feeling of the cold asphalt underneath her while the two
guys took her in a parking lot, behind a local grocery
store, while she, unable to resist, or even articulate a
proper sentence, let them have their way with her.
     She never imagined that she would find herself throwing
herself into situations like that, as she had earlier today,
but then she hadn’t imagined that either.  Life was full of
little surprises.
     The boys were surprised to hear the sound of heels on
the concrete behind them, but even more surprised to see one
of the school teachers (they had never had her, so didn’t
know what she taught) staggering towards them wearing what
appeared to be a crap of cloth over her chest and a paper
thin, skin tight wrap skirt.  Under the glaring vapor light,
placed so as to cast as much light as possible, she could
hide nothing from their young eyes, the curves of her
thighs, the arches of her breasts pushing out from
underneath the tube-top, nor the fact that her nipples,
hardened by the cold, were jutting out through the elastic
fabric that was stretched to its limits.
     Both of them scrambled to a sort of attention, and two
cigarettes zipped out of sight.  Whatever the circumstances,
she was still a teacher, and they were minors, trespassing
on school ground after dark.
     But she was so drained she just waved a hand at them.
After a couple steps she felt the blood rushing to her head,
and realized that if she tried to cross the quad she might
not make it.  She hadn’t eaten anything all day, and the
long day had taken its toll on her.
     “You guys go to school here?”
     One nodded, the other shook his head.  Then the one who
nodded shook his head, while the other nodded.
     She couldn’t help but smile at the ridiculous behavior,
and no longer surprised at her reactions to the days
circumstances she decided she had nothing to lose.  She
walked over to the edge of the walkway, which was the top of
a low rolling, grassy hill that went down to the quad, and
said, “Got another one of those?”
     Both boys froze, then the one with the acne in the
trenchcoat held up his hand, most of a full cigarette
burning there, “You can have this one… Mrs. Caulder.”
     She looked at the boy, and taking the cigarette said,
“Don’t call me that.”
     “Sorry.” He uttered, and they remained standing as she
sat down heavily in the soft, slightly damp grass.
     “Thanks.” She said taking a drag of the cigarette,
resisting the urge to cough with the unfamiliar smoke.
Enjoying the buzzing sensation the first cigarette she’d had
in year made in her head.  “I’m not a Mrs., I’m a miss.  I
don’t even have a boyfriend.” And she started trying to
scratch Mr. Gold’s dried cum off her chin.
     The boy in the leather accepted her behavior with
surprising ease and gratuitously inhaled a drag off his
cigarette, and sat down a couple feet down from Miss
Caulder.
     The trenchcoat boy did the same, pulling out another
cigarette from, of all things, a pewter cigarette case, “Are
you working late, Miss Caulder.”
     Miss Caulder sighed.  “Just call me Wendy.  What’s your
name.”
     “Eliot.  And that’s James.” He said indicating the boy
in the trenchcoat.
     James was peering past his friend at the teacher, “No
offense… Wendy, but you’re a mess.”
     She nodded, pleased she had finally stumbled across a
man who spoke straight, “It’s been a long, fucking day,
James.”
     Both boys seemed tickled at her use of swear words, and
they idly chatted about how quiet the school was, about how
they came up here a lot at night, after their parents
crashed.  Sometimes they even brought beers.  They were
really polite, but had no trouble grasping the idea that she
didn’t want to be treated like a teacher, and at one point,
Miss Caulder thanked them for that, accepting her second
cigarette from Eliot.
     “Hell, I don’t like being treated like a kid.” He
grinned back at her, “Of course, if you weren’t a teacher,
I’d probably be trying to score on you right now.”
     Miss Caulder found herself the only one laughing as
both boys froze with the fear that Eliot had gone too far.
She looked at the pair, “Oh for Christ’s sake.  I’m a sex ed
teacher.  You think I’ve never had sex?”
     But most adults, and especially kids, had trouble
talking about sex in mixed company, so she didn’t expect
much beyond their unconvincing attempts to relax.
     Miss Caulder realized she had been scratching her chin
sore, “Shit, I need to clean myself up.”  She didn’t know
how late it was, but she didn’t relish the idea of a drive
home in her condition, much less when she remembered that
she had to get gas as her car was on empty, and the security
guards who patrolled her apartment complex were leering
bastards on a normal day.  She looked at the boys, “Any
ideas?”
     James pointed his finger down the hill to where vending
machines were lit up in front of the cafeteria.  The
school’s drinking fountains were all indoors, due to
vandalism, and were thus all locked up for the night, James
explained, “We could get some bottled water from the
machines.”
     Miss Caulder hefted her purse, but knew she kept her
change in her car for the meters, “Got any chage?”
     The boys shook her head, but Eliot smile, “We don’t
really need it.”  Miss Caulder smiled back at him.
     “Lead the way.”
     The five finger discount had involved the boys
unplugging the bottled water machine, then sticking a hand
up the dispenser while the other plugged it back in.  By
shaking the machine violently at this point, one of them
could grab a bottle of water and guide it down the shaft.
Eliot produced four bottles, two for Miss Caulder and one
for him and James each, while James pried the sliding doors
of the sandwich vendor open and using a pair of pencils as
chopsticks fished out the napkin-utensil bag that came with
each sandwich.  Imploring him to get more than the two he
had produced, she didn’t stop the boy until he had fished
every last one out of the machine, as well as a pair of
slightly mangled submarine sandwiches.
     Finally, armed with the water and the pile of napkins
she faced both boys, “How old are you guys?”
     “Fifteen” James said.
     Eliot looked at his feet, “Sixteen.”
     She regarded them both.  In spite of the frequent
glances over her partially clad body, neither had made any
move that could be regarded as disrespectful or improper.
     “I need to be straight with you.  I need to clean a lot
more than my face, and I think you can guess what’s on my
face…”
     The boys looked at each other, not wanting to look her
in the eye, but it was clear that they were pretty sure they
recognized what they had woken up to themselves many times
in the past on their bedsheets.
     Eliot mumbled, “That’s why you don’t want us to treat
you like a teacher.”
     “Yeah,” Miss Caulder sighed.  “You know, this is
something friends might understand, but I’m supposed to be
some sexless drone, or something.”
     James shook his head, “I’ll never tell anyone, Wendy.”
     “Thank you James.”
     “Me neither” Eliot chimed in.
     “And thank you, Eliot, for not trying to score with
me.”
     The boys laughed this time.
     “You want us to keep a watch out?” James asked.
     She realized that James, in spite of his seeming
respectable behavior was cultivating the perfect excuse to
not have to wander far while she performed her ablutions. ,
and couldn’t help but grin.  Looking around she realized
that the vending machines were well shielded from a view
across the quad, and mostly from any late-night janitor who
might be working in the main building or the cafeteria.  It
also wasn’t as well lit as the walkway, though the vending
machines cast a lot of light.
     Eliot jumped on the idea, “We’ll go out where we can
cover the entire quad, and we won’t look.”
     “That’s not necessary.” Miss Caulder laughed at the
boy’s earnestness.
     He gave her a confused look, his eyes sweeping over her
body.
     She quickly covered, “I mean, if you just keep an eye
out.” She made a leap of faith, knowing it was stupid, but
did it nonetheless, “I trust you.”
     She had deliberately avoided telling them not to look,
knowing that it would be like telling a starving man not to
eat.  It just seemed a better situation, to implicitly
endorse and peeking they might do, while accepting their own
description of themselves as noble enough not to.  That way
they might get to see her, but neither feel they were
betraying her trust, and shattering the bond that made her
feel so safe at the moment, but not asserting the teacher-
student relationship that she didn’t think she could bear at
the moment.
     Whatever, it was a silly rationalization.  She just
didn’t feel like being alone, and if that meant they got to
watch her bathe, she could live with that.
     The two boys nodded their heads, and with them still
watching Miss Caulder unhooked the strap holding the tube
top up and pushed it down to her waist.  In spite of their
bulging eyes and evident interest, Eliot first, then James
spun around, moving their heads as if they were scouting the
ground for any sign of intrusion, but their eyes were firmly
riveted to their periphery, trying to move in such a way as
would afford them a glance at their succulent teacher in the
half-light of the vending machines.  Not as bold, or as
arrogant as the jocks, or Mr. Gold, the boys contented
themselves with sidelong glances, always brief, as if by
accident.
     Pushing the skirt and the top over her hips, Miss
Caulder was shocked at the sight of her glistening thighs.
The copious amounts of sperm left behind by Mr. Gold and
John-two made her wonder that they’d come in the past ten
years.  She wasted no time wiping her thighs down, tearing
open the platic napikin baggies and scrubbing until one was
drenched, then moving on to the next.  A lot of it had
dried, but her heat had kept most of it moist, and upending
a bottle of cold water over her crotch she gasped with the
effort to wipe their traces away.
     Eliot had hazarded a glance at her, “Are you okay, Mrs.
Calder?”
     She looked straight at him, her knees bent to the
sides, one hand pulling her crotch forward while the other
poured water over it.  He quickly snapped his head back.
James stole a quick peek too.
     “Who’s Mrs. Caulder?” she spat at him.
     “Sorry, Wendy.”
     Rubbing in the chilled water and pouring more over her
she shook her head, “It’s okay, Eliot, it’s just fucking
cold, that’s all.”
     For the rest of her bath the boys barely sought to
steal a glimpse, perhaps disturbed by the sight of her
scrubbing out her cunt.  Both boys remained vigilant, and
didn’t try to peek until a loud ripping sound had pierced
the night.
     “Shit.” Miss Caulder uttered.
     Trying their best not to look, Eliot asked, “What
happened.”
     “Eliot?”
     He still hadn’t turned around, “Yeah, Wendy?”
     He heard bare feet slapping against the concrete behind
him.  Turning around he was greeted with the sight of the
beautiful teacher, no longer a cum-crudded mess, , but hair
combed and face cleaned, a smooth skinned, shapely succubus
swaying towards him in the night, wearing her skin-tight
skirt, but topless, her arms crossed over her beautiful
nudity.  “I have a problem.”
     As James turned around they saw in one hand too small
to cover the swollen breast behind it, the tattered remnant
of her tube top, dangling like a castoff rage from her
fingertips.
     Eliot wasted no time, and stripped off his trenchcoat
and threw it over Miss Caulder’s shoulders, buttoning the
top two buttons.  She felt his body heat, trapped by the
insulating fabric embrace her, and like a drug, euphoria
washed over her and she leaned into the boy, letting his
arms take her weight and hold her tight.
     “What happened to you?”
     James was still standing apart, his hands stuffed in
his pockets, “Did someone hurt you, Wendy?”
     She started to nod, but found herself shaking her head.
“I don’t know how to describe it, James… Eliot….” But
describe it she did.  The tale of how the two John’s had
cornered her and gotten her naked, how Mr. Gold had
convinced her to “give him a chance” (a concept the boys
seemed to have trouble with, that a man and woman would fuck
so casually as to try each other out).  She detailed how
emotionally raw she had become, how in spite of the fact
that she had not wanted Mr. Gold at all she had let him use
her and ditch her when he was done with her.
     Omitting only the embarrassment before the peeping-tom
boys in the temp class, and glossing over any suggestion
that she had found a form of escape and solace between his
legs , and certainly the violent orgasm she’d experienced,
she only told them of her troubled trek through psyche, half
dressed, and then she told them how she had thought the
John’s were intimidating her into stripping for them, how
they ad been put off by her behavior, but at her frightened
compliance how John-two had had her anyway (again, not
admitting that she had thrown herself vigorously onto his
pole to seek the great escape Mr. Gold had shown her, and
also how she had tried to have John fuck her to make up for
John-two’s failure).
     She went on to describe her humiliation after school
with Mr. Gold demeaning her before his linebacker, and how
he had led her into the bushes to service him one last time
before he went home to his wife, and left her there without
so much as a hanky to wipe off with.
     She poured her heart out to them, only holding back the
gnawing feelings that seemed to carve out a burrow deep
within her.  The burrow that needed a great, forceful
intrusion, or a vast presence to fill up, that without she
would never feel whole.
     “You ever been with a woman, Eliot?” she asked the
scrawny geek shivering in his T-shirt.  She felt him shake
his head.
     But tight as she clung to him, it only served to remind
her how much he was lacking.  His bony shoulders and scrawny
chest seemed to jab into her, like leaning against a pole.
There was no strength in his arms that held her so tenderly.
The warmth and affection that washed over her seemed a
shallow substitute for being utterly consumed.  She thought
of Mr. Gold’s bold, tight-packed belly, the repulsive brick
sheathed in sagging skin that, nevertheless, took her to
such faraway places.  In Eliot’s arms she could only be
herself.  She could imagine him gently caressing her skin,
and lightly kissing her arms and neck, but felt nothing at
the thought, and when she tried to put him between her legs
vision of John-two and his massive member flooded her
thoughts.
     What had they done to her, those muscle bound oafs, too
dense to put a thought together for anything but sexual
conquest, to leave her irritated and distracted in the face
of genuine affection?   What kind of future could she have
if no man could ever satisfy her again who wasn’t crushing
the life out of her?
     The most astonishing thought of all was the thought
that had led her to this downward spiral of self-pity:  that
she’d give herself to these boys for being so nice!  This
morning the act of sex with a younger man was hardly
something she’d have ever contemplated, but with a student?
She had gone from having a very normal, if erratic, sex life
to considering it to be something of an obligation she let
go of for any man who saw her weak and helpless.  Even
surrendering herself to John-two’s forced intrusion,
allowing Mr. Gold to pick her up as this semesters fuck-
slut, to be used at his convenience, his whore, rather than
a partner in pleasure wasn’t as bad as the realization that
in one, very long day she’d gone from using sex only to
satisfy her own needs to satiate loneliness or sexual
desire, it suddenly seemed second nature, in fact obvious,
that she should give herself to these boys to use as they
wanted for their polite ministrations to her evident
suffering.
     Perhaps it was more than that, however.  Perhaps, she
felt the need to sever this bond of intimacy.  To peel back
the heart on her sleeve and restore their relationship to
one devoid of true feeling, but instead to replace it with
one of mindless lust.  Certainly these boys would find it
much harder to so stoically turn their back on her nudity
after they had ridden her like the whore the John’s and Mr.
Gold knew her to be.
     Whatever the truth of the matter, she found that she
was stroking Eliot’s rigid cock through his pants.  How long
she had been doing it she didn’t know, as her mind had
wandered far from the warm place in his arms.
     Knowing she’d hate it…  Knowing she’d gain no
satisfaction from it, she had already set in motion events
that would deprive her of the last vestiges of trust and
intimacy she might ever share with these boys.
     Already she saw the look in Eliot’s eyes, and James as
he discerned the motion.  The curious arch of the eyebrow
that revealed the doubt in their eyes as to the truth of the
charges she had just made.  A woman looking for pity is
bound to say a great many things.  They had seen the cum on
her face, had watched her swab it from her thighs, but they
had no reason to believe the forms of coercion she described
having led her to such a debilitating state, and the
evidence of her willing exposure before them, her insistence
on personalizing the relationship, and the motion of her
hand, left the boys wondering what she was really looking
for?  Had she tried to buy it with sex before and failed,
after giving up too much?  How much would she give up for
them?
     The change in Eliot’s thought process was evident in
that he pulled the trenchcoat aside, both to give her better
access to his groin, and to see her better.  The shift in
his demeanor was unsettling to Miss Caulder, having gone
from sensitive and caring to cynical and, most definitely
lusting.  She had transformed in his arms from friend in
need to bitch in heat, and he seemed to have no problem
accommodating the transition.
     However, shifting from the position of equal but
younger, behaving on her terms, the gangly, pimple-faced
dork in the speed metal T-shirt wasn’t going to let her off
too easy.  To Eliot sex, certainly was sex, but any nerd
could fuck a slut like Miss Caulder.  It was only his
virginity and his male desire to prove himself a man that
kept him from tearing off his trenchcoat and kicking her off
campus for fucking up what had been a pretty cool night.
     That and the fact that she was, very beautiful, if in
an older, sort of soft and flabby way.  He only had to
glance at James to understand that the same thought process
was going through his head.  James particularly didn’t
relish the idea of using the football coach’s castoff, but
she did look soft and warm, and those breasts were
definitely inviting.  He’d go home tonight knowing he was a
man, and he’d put up with a lot of shit for that, and had in
the past only to go home blue-balled.
     Eliot pushed her away, holding her at arms length, and
letting go.  “Let me have my coat back.”
     Miss Caulder, expecting this nevertheless let out a
regretful sigh as she unbuttoned the trenchcoat and once
again stood before the pair of them, topless.  Eliot took
the coat, but instantly forgot it, letting it fall to the
ground between them, his inexperience getting the better of
him.  The heat and the warmth fading away, Miss Caulder
clutched herself, inadvertently squeezing each boob in a
fist, trying to rub heat into her breasts.
     But seeing the look of lust and determination on the
boys she dropped her hands and abruptly pushed down her
skirt.  She was committed, and she was going to do this.
She wasn’t, however, going to lie there meekly and let them
come and use her.  She was going to fuck them like she’d
never fucked anyone before.  Before the night was over she
would own these two boys the way she’d been owned by their
classmate.
     But she hadn’t counted on the obsession with pride
young men use to keep their fragile egos together in high
school.
     Throwing her arms around Eliot Miss Caulder kissed him
deeply and passionately, grinding her body against his, and
then, with one hand, she deftly undid his pants and dragged
him to the ground with her.  The boy, inexperienced and
unsure how to proceed allowed Miss Caulder to pull his pants
down just far enough for comfort, but he lunged at her,
grabbing her by the arms and pulled her up till she was
laying on top of him, her naked belly quivering against his
throbbing cock.
     Shuddering with the sensation he rolled the older woman
over, onto her back, and straddling her he climbed atop her
and reached for the breasts which so invitingly called out
to him although they sagged from side to side.  Taking huge
handfuls he pawed at them, and shoved her back to the hard,
freezing concrete when she tried to put her arms around him.
Gasping with the shock she reached up again, “Kiss me
Eliot.” She implored the leering, pimply boy.  He stared at
her for a long moment, then with a frown, lifted one knee
and forcefully spread her legs apart to accommodate himself.
     Eager to regain the initiative, as soon as he had his
other leg between hers she wrapped her legs around him,
threw her arms up and planted another violent kiss on his
mouth, but after a moment of stabbing tongues he turned his
head aside, “Just hold still, damnit!”
     In spite of herself she felt herself submitting to the
order, letting him slide further down to where his dick was
grinding against her labia, but in spite of the growing,
necessary arousal that had been welling up in longing for
the kind of sexual escape Mr. Gold had introduced to her,
she wasn’t ready for a dick yet, and from the feel of
things, Eliot had quite a bit to accommodate.
     “I’m not ready, Eliot.” But she started grinding
against him, trying to use his manhood to stimulate her in
spite of the cold floor.
     “Well, what the fuck?” he said, reaching down to guide
himself in despite her words.
     She cupped a cheek, gently, but firmly, “Eliot, you
need to get me wet first.”
     She felt amateur hands pawing at her lower lips, felt a
finger prodding for her sex, “Well what am I supposed to
do?”
     Fighting off the feeling of despair that clutched at
her she forced a smile, “You could kiss me, Eliot.  Or suck
on my nipples.”
     In spite of his resolve not to get too involved with
Miss Caulder, Eliot really wanted to try sucking at her
tits.  He really just wanted to fuck her and be done with
her.  The thought of doting on this slut was enough to make
him feel sleazy and desperate.  Particularly enlightened as
he was as to how she’d let John-two and his ugly-ogre of a
friend use her the way he and james were going to use her.
The boys loathed the two Johns and the thought of fucking
their castoffs (why didn’t John even fuck her?) was almost
enough to forego losing their virginity.
     But not quite, and Eliot suckled at Miss Caulder’s
puffy nipples long and hard, writing off her squeals and
gasps as the fake orgasms he’d seen in porno movies.  She
was reacting wayyy too much.  A woman who meant it, who was
really worth having, would have just shut up and enjoyed it.
Only a slut desperate for attention by pleasing her guy
would squeal like a pig at a little sucking.
     For Miss Caulder’s part, the boy was a natural.  Having
always been particular to aggressive use of the mouth on her
nipples, Eliot’s inexperienced mouth was a natural fit.
Combined with the way he ground his penis against her
clitoris, rubbing the base against her sex she had begun to
have convulsions the sort of which she’d sought from John-
two by riding his tree trunk halfway up to the base.  No
longer the ego-gratifying quest to show she had power, she
found herself relishing his ministrations, though baffled by
his reluctance.  She willingly gave up any hope of
dominating this boy in exchange for the electricity
traveling between her breasts and her groin, that sent
tingles to the tips of her toes and seemed to float her
above the hard concrete.
     But the boy stopped sucking, “Shit!” he said, grabbing
his dick and stabbing frantically at her crotch, having no
idea where to stick it, he slipped on the now free-flowing
juices.  Gasping and moaning he seized up, and Miss Caulder
looked down in time to see his snake, a healthy member
enough to put John and Mr. Gold to shame, if not enough to
intimidate John-two, as it spewed out his service all over
her freshly bathed crotch, onto her tummy, shooting as high
as her breasts until he shuddered to a halt, and collapsed
beside her, cursing under his breath.
     “Why didn’t you let me fuck you?”
     She rolled on her side, flinching at the cold stone
underneath passing to a new part of her body, “I just needed
some time.”
     He hitched up his pants and sat up as she tried to put
an arm around him, “We can still play, Eliot…”
     But he shook off her arm, refusing to look at her, “Let
go of me.” And he stood up, pulling out a cigarette and
lighting it.
     “Eliot.” She appealed, cold and frustruated.  Craving
the intense heat that had shot through her body, but James
was there, pulling her towards him.
     Distracted by thoughts of another chance, Miss Caulder
tried to pull the younger boy down to the ground with her,
but he recoiled, “That’s fucking gross!”
     She watched him scowling at her body, and only after
following his horrified stare realized that he wasn’t
willing to roll around in his friends sperm no matter how
much he wanted to lose his virginity.  Not with a slut who
was giving it up willy nilly for kids half her age.
     She implored the boy, fondling her breasts hoping he
would be as compelled by them as Eliot, “Please James, I
want you so badly.” But her fondling only revealed the
extent to which James’s spray had covered her, and she saw
that she had pearly drops all over her chest and belly.
     James was clearly having an internal struggle with his
sense of disgust and need to get laid.  In the end, Miss
Caulder’s beauty, again won the day, but he ordered her,
“Roll over.”
     She reluctantly turned her back on him, rolling to her
side where she saw Eliot glaring at her.  The contempt in
his eyes was palpable, but she held still while James ran
his hands over her, fondling her but, then abruptly pushing
on her back, laying her flat out of the concrete, smashing
her succulent, beautiful breasts against the hard stone
floor!
     “Oh my god, James, that so cold!” she cried out.  After
Eliot’s head the cold tore through her with the jagged
surface of the concrete, but the pressure only mounted as
James climbed on top of her.
     “What?  I thought you wanted to get fucked” and she
could feel his penis probing at her nethers, slipping,
looking for purchase, lodging in her asshole until she
craned her back, grinding herself face first into the ground
to guide him down lest the lubrication let him into her ass.
     And finally he found it.  Whereas before there was
muscle, heat, and flesh, now she had stone, freezing cold,
and relentless pumping that drove her rock-hard nipples into
concrete.  Where she’d asked for kissing her lips pressed
against the rough gray surface, her tongue lapping at its
surface to keep herself moist.  His hand pinned her head,
his other pawed at the bulge of her breast putting all his
weight on her as he drove his member between the cheeks of
her ass, a bold, seven inch statement flooding in and out of
her as to who was in charge here.
     As quickly as he’d begun, James was finished, abruptly
freezing up, letting out a long groan, an Miss Caulder knew
that a third man had orgasmed within her.  As before, with
her lovers’ satisfaction, her blinding need returned:  the
craving for more, even more of this abuse, anything to blind
her to her humiliation, all the more poignant, aware how she
was of how she’d had the boys’ respect, and had thrown it
away for a few moments of terrifying, passionate, brutal
lovemaking.  This wasn’t some reward for their kindness,
this was the greed of an addict.  She couldn’t even claim to
be a nymphomaniac, like she had with past boyfriends, to
turn them on.  She was just trying to numb the awareness of
all she had done to herself, and in the attempt put her
further and further into it.
     Peeling herself off of the concrete she tried not to
look at the boys.  The cool blast of night air on her
swollen sex was a shocking blast that for a moment filled
her up like James had done, but it left her hallow.
     She looked up at Eliot, puffing at his cigarette,
smouldering that he had failed to lose his cherry even to
this wanton slut.  But the need for escape and satisfaction
was still strong in Miss Caulder, as it clearly was in the
boy.
     “Eliot, do you want to try again.” She rolled up on her
side, lifting a leg invitingly.
     He looked at her, clearly considering it, but with the
edge off from his first orgasm he found it hard to find even
her succulent curves compelling, coated as she was with
sperm. “Look at you, you’re fucking disgusting.”
     And she knew what he saw.  A slut, covered with jism,
his own, granted, but his buddies glistened on her sex and
she felt in every bone of her body, through the cold and the
bruises the true shame of what she had become.
     James had zipped up, and lit his own cigarette, “Hey,
can you buy us some beers?”
     After servicing the two boys it seemed a little thing
for him to ask, but it only seemed to drive home the point
that she was now also the whore for these two minors.
Slaving to their lusts, but also ministering to their every
whim.  She didn’t want to think about it and kept looking at
Eliot, “I could wash up again.” She indicated the unopened
water bottle.
     “You need a shower.  Look at you, you’re totally
trashed.”
     James was slightly less inclined to discard her having
enjoyed his ride so much.  In spite of Eliot’s pride, he was
no longer a virgin, and Eliot was.  He didn’t seem quite so
put out by the thought of using a slut like this, especially
since, unlike the schoolgirl sluts, who were decidedly less
attractive, she as an adult could open doors for them.
     “Why don’t we go back to your place, Wendy?”
     When she had tried to leave school that afternoon her
one thought was of finding some escape, some solace that
didn’t involve debasing herself.  The thought of two
sophomores having the run of not only her body, but her
house, and her possessions terrified her.  Every bit of her
cried out for more sex, anything to put that thought out of
her head, but she knew that Eliot wasn’t going to have her,
not like this.  She also knew it would be no trouble to find
someone to slake her thirst for humiliating, soul-crushing
sex if the bars were still open.
     The only trouble was she couldn’t bring herself to tell
them no, no matter how many times she tried to mouth the
word.  She knew she had no power to keep them from telling
anyone what she had done, nor using her at their leisure,
and that cooperating was her best road to keeping some kind
of control over the situation.  She also knew that Eliot was
deeply resentful that she had required preparation before he
had sex with her, and in spite of that that he might still
fuck her, were she not so soiled.
     Eliot finally broke a grin, looking up at James, “Hey,
I wonder how coach Gold would feel if her knew we’d taken
his girl out for a night on the town?”
     
     They had made her lead her across the quad to her car,
and after wiping herself down with her skirt, and the
shredded tube-top Eliot had reluctantly parted with his
trenchcoat, as Miss Caulder would have to go into the store
to pay for gas, beer, and a carton of smokes.
     Eliot had taken her keys and her wallet, frowning at
the shortage of cash with which to buy supplies.  Neither
boy had any money to speak of, depending on looting their
fathers’ cigarettes and liquor typically.
     Though he didn’t have a drivers license, Eliot drove,
and James, after making sure Miss Caulder was wiped down in
front, took her in the back seat, making her strip off so he
could play with her tits and kiss her.  He even allowed her
to take some control, showing him how to fuck, obviously
relishing her body.  In spite of James’ selfish reasons she
was grateful for his attentions.  She eagerly spread her
legs for his again, and contorted as she was in the back of
a moving car, it was much better than the cold concrete.
James’ frantic humping completely failed to produce the
overwhelming sensation of nothingness that she had
experienced with Mr. Gold, John-two, and under his weight
against the concrete, but she was beginning to discover that
the sheer act of humiliating herself for these boys who were
so young and immature was a satisfactory proxy, especially
when she played up the slut, embracing their cocks with
relish, squealing and panting like nothing on earth could
satisfy her more.
     She could hardly admit, even to herself, that while
this scrawny lad of fifteen pumped his second load into her
that night that visions of vast, wrinkled bellies and crotch
splitting members flashed through her, making James’ hollow
rutting even less satisfactory, but to watch her envelop the
boy no one would have guessed that the crushing girth of Mr.
Gold was what she was craving.
     Panting with the exertions of her act, still clutching
James between her arms, her legs wrapped tightly around him,
Eliot was watching her from the front seat.  Lust and envy
poured out of his eyes, but he had set his standards, and he
wasn’t prepared to violate them.  Besides, they were at the
store.  She had a job to do.
     Donning James’ coat this time, she had to slip out of
the car exposed to the whole street, but hidden by the gas
pumps they were lined up againt from the open glass windows
from anyone in the store in order to pull her cum-stained
skirt on.    Fortunately, it was almost eleven, and there
was little traffic on this suburban stretch, though the
noises emanating from the bar across the street left her
chilled with more than the cool night air that someone might
come out.
     No one did, and though it was too dark to tell, Miss
Caulder hoped that Eliot and James’ cum hadn’t had time to
dry on her skirt, and that she wouldn’t look completely
trashy to the clerk.
     She walked up to the driver’s side window, trying to
pretty herself as she went, though she knew the flush of sex
was on her face, not to mention the smell.  Eliot held out
twenty bucks, all the cash she had in her wallet (in the
four years she’d been teaching at other schools she’d had
her purse stolen three times, she didn’t even carry credit
cards in it any more).
     “That should get us a twelve-pack, and a couple packs
of smokes.”  He looked up at the girl, sitting in the
driver’s seat of her car as she humbly waited for further
orders, “You got something to douche with at home?”
     A flush of anger rose up from her collar.
Straightening up she curled down to stare at the boy, “You
want to spend the night jerking off?”
     The shocked expression on her face told him all she
needed to know.  Though she wasn’t gorgeous, didn’t have a
tight little body, and wasn’t young and pert like a sixteen
year old cheerleader she had a nice face, great tits, and a
succulent ass, and was very clearly willing to do anything
for this boy who was walking all over her.  Though
domineering pricks like Mr. Gold might toss her off at the
drop of a hat, this boy with the acne riddled face wasn’t
going to do anything of the sort.  Not until he’d got his
rocks off.
     She wondered where such resolve had been while he was
trying to fuck her on the quad, or why it hadn’t reared up
before she led herself down the path of being their fuck-
toy, but it was too late for that now.  She had invited them
into her pants, and now the only leg she had to stand on was
that it might stay between the three of them if she gave
them what she wanted.
     Besides, she thought, staring at the boy.  He wasn’t
entirely unattractive.  Skinny and pimply, yes, but he had a
good face, and would probably be a handsome man.  He also
had a dick that seemed enticingly between Mr. Gold’s half-
mast and John-two’s whale-tail.  She might genuinely have a
good time.
     “Sorry, Eliot.”
     “Nah,” he said, looking down at the steering wheel.
“I’m sorry.”  He looked up at her in James’ leather,
unzipped provocatively down to her belly button, her face
clear of make-up.  Aside from the ample cleavage and the
folds where her breasts hung down she looked rather young,
“I don’t mean to be such a dick, I just always thought…”  he
fell silent for a long moment.
     Miss Caulder stooped down, so she was looking up at
Eliot, “What is it?” she saw James trying not to pay
attention in the back seat.
     Eliot glanced at her, “I just thought that if a girl
was worth having she’d… Y’know, do it just for you.”  He
looked away bashfully.
     “That’s a good criteria for a girlfriend, Eliot.” She
tried not to sound patronizing, “But what’s wrong with just
having a good time together?”
     He shrugged.
     “I mean, are you going to go without sex forever, just
because you can’t make it work with Miss Right.”
     “Stop talking like a teacher, Wendy.” But he was
smiling.  He looked up at her, his smile slipping away, not
quite ready to revert back to thinking of her as a person,
“Why do you fuck around so much?”
     She held back a frustrated sigh, meeting his skeptical
gaze, “Eliot, when you put your arms around me…” she felt
herself gulping, knowing she was bullshitting him, “I just
wanted… after what I’d done today… I just wanted to be with
someone who wasn’t such a bastard.  Someone…  I don’t know,
I needed to remind myself that sex wasn’t just laying down
and taking it while some guy does his thing.”
     But she knew that was really all she could expect from
these boys.  In spite of all her acting she was really only
looking for one thing, an escape from whatever connection
they had forged, an answer to the pounding shame in her head
and the utter helplessness she felt in the presence of the
men who had started her down this path.  She was both trying
to gain some control back by choosing these boys to have her
and use her, while seeking the horrific sensations that had
given her so much solace in the arms of Mr. Gold.
     Maybe Eliot had seen the distant look in her eyes as
they talked, but she was pretty sure that he still didn’t
believe her, “Look, Eliot.  I didn’t mean to wind up with
you and James tonight.  I’d have probably gone to a bar and
found some guy to spend the night with, to make me forget
all about the John’s and Mr. Gold.  But I found you instead.
It turns out I like you, I like being with you.”
     That at least was true when he wasn’t treating her like
shit, “I just don’t know why liking to fuck makes me such a
bitch to you.”
     He peered at her, “Show me your tits.”
     Without hesitation she unzipped the coat and held it
open.
     Eliot pushed the car door open, grabbed the lever under
the seat and pushed himself all the way back.  Unzipping his
jeans he said, “Suck me off.” And pulled out his penis, rock
hard and rigid already, the tip glistening.
     Miss Caulder again didn’t hesitate.  Reacting
automatically to his demands was an act, she wanted to let
him know she was his, in spite of her defiance.  She was on
her knees in the parking lot, leaning into the car, taking
him into her mouth, only hesitating a moment to let the
jacket slip down her shoulders a bit so he could have access
to her breasts if he wanted it.  He was long and lean, like
the body on a well shaped athlete, his penis would have
taken two hands to cover it, and was just thick enough that
her fingers could touch at the tips, although her mouth,
though wide open had little trouble embracing it.  She was
glad, in spite of the trouble it had caused that she’d made
him wait.  It would have hurt a lot going in dry, but
properly inserted, she might be able to ride this like she
had tried and failed to ride John-two.
     She was by no means experienced at the kind of oral sex
she’d seen in movies.  Mr. Gold notwithstanding, she had
seldom used it as more than foreplay for real sex, but she
gave herself with vigor to the boy pressing as hard as she
could with her lips, using her head, slurping on her spit
with gusto as it gathered in foamy strands between his
manhood and her mouth.
     “Was it that easy for Mr. Gold?” Eliot asked abruptly.
She hadn’t noticed that he was refusing to enjoy her
ministrations.
     “What?” she asked, but he pushed her head back onto his
cock and she was forced to mumble a negative over his
pulsing glans.
     “Did John and John just say ‘spread’em’ before they had
you.”
     Again, she forced another negative mumble, slurping at
the spittle that was dribbling from her mouth.
     The pressure from his had was increasing, “Mr. Gold
didn’t even have to ask, did he?  You just grabbed his dick
and went at it, didn’t you?”
     She tried to shake her head, but was being pushed
further down onto the boy’s shaft.
     “You fucked the whole football team, didn’t you?”
     Again she shook her head, her whole face felt like it
was engulfed with massive dick.  She started breathing
heavily out of her nose.
     “But you would, wouldn’t you?  You’d spread your legs
for any guy with more meat than brains.”
     She couldn’t even moan a response, slurping and sucking
him.
     “And after they tossed you off like a soiled, dirty
slut you came after us.”
     She managed to open her mouth a bit, and moan, “No.”
over his throbbing dick.
     He pulled her head up, slobber pouring over his cock,
running over the side of her face, his member nuzzled
against her cheek where he again pinned her tight.
     “How many guys have you fucked?”
     She could look up into his eyes feeling nothing less
than the terror she’d felt when she thought the John’s were
going to rape her, “I don’t know, nine-ten.”
     “That’s bullshit!” he spat the words in her face,
tightly grappling her hair.  “You like it!  You like fucking
jocks, admit it!”
     She refused to reply, not knowing if yes or no would be
a lie.
     “You’re Mr. Gold’s Bitch, and you just want us to get
you off because he doesn’t!”
     She couldn’t help at wondering at the accuracy of that
statement, though Mr. Gold had only had her twice.  She
couldn’t see with any degree of certainly a scenario in
which Mr. Gold wouldn’t be able to use her whenever he
wanted to, and he certainly had left her craving exactly the
kind of satisfaction she had been trying to get from these
boys.
     “Fucking stop it, Eli!” James whispered to his friend
from the back seat.
     “She won’t even deny it.” But he let go of her and she
slipped down to the asphalt of the parking lot her head
resting against Eliot’s knee.
     He pushed at her head, “Go get the smokes.”
     “Eliot…” she pleaded, looking up at him.
     But he wouldn’t look back at her, “I’ll fuck you later,
all right?  Just get the stuff.”
     She fumbled with the zipper, but was shaking too much
to get it up.
     Go already!” Eliot barked, and she stumbled to her
feet, pulling the coat up and folding it over to try and
cover her tummy.  She could feel the air where her breasts
pushed it open in the center.  It was after all sized to fit
the scrawny James.
     
     Walking across the brightly lit store she found a far
corner to zip up in so she wouldn’t have to expose herself
to the clerk, a chubby, middle-aged black man with shaving
bumps all over his neck.  He was a fairly big man, but by no
means the power house that Mr. Gold was.  The resemblance
ended at his height and his tummy, which seemed to stretch
from his neck to his knees.  Regardless, Miss Caulder felt
no less intimidated, again covered in cum, naked but for a
coat and soiled skirt, fully head and shoulders smaller than
the man.  The only consolation she felt was that he didn’t
leer at her, but looked her straight in the eye as she set
down a case of beer and asked for three packs of Camel
filters and five bucks at the gas pump.
     He stared at her for a long minute.
     “Are you going to pay for what you put in your jacket?”
     She stared at him dumbfounded.  Unnerved by Eliot’s
outburst in the car she was barely able to maintain her
composure.  An act which made her look guilty as Hell to the
older man.
     I saw you putting something in your jacket, missy.
When you were back in the corner.” He pointed to a circular
mirror, right over the point where she had zipped herself
up.
     “I didn’t take anything… sir?”
     “You’re not gonna walk out of here with my shit by
being polite, missy.”
     She flinched at the condescending term.
     “Open the jacket.”
     “I… I can’t” the thought of being so modest after her
wanton behavior of the day struck her as silly, but she
simply didn’t want to deal with one more humiliation.  At
least she’d chosen the boys in her car.  In spite of the
fact that she was there at their bidding she was damned if
she was going to let that get her into more trouble when
she’d hitched up with them to get her out of it.
     “Honey,” again with the belittling terms, “I don’t want
to call the police.” And he stepped out from behind the
counter, blocking her escape form the store.
     “Mister, I can’t take this jacket off. I didn’t take
anything.”
     “You’ll take it off when the police get here.” And he
reached for a phone.
     “Wait!” she cried.  He was right of course.  And the
more things progressed the more she understood that the
number of men she’d abase herself before the night was over
had not yet stopped ticking.  But if she was going to have
to open her jacket anyway, she didn’t see any reason to
invite any more company.
     She looked at the ground, “I’ll do it, but… not in
front of the window like this.”
     He craned his neck, looking out at her car, seeing that
it was occupied, though it was too dark to see any more.
“Don’t want your friends to watch?  They don’t know what
you’re up to?”
     “I didn’t take anything, I just zipped up my jacket!”
     “Then there’s no reason not to let me take a look.”
     His position was certainly reasonable, and she knew the
only thing stopping him calling the police was probably pity
for her being a woman.
     “Come on,” and he gestured her to walk down the candy
aisle, where she would be hidden, at least below the
shoulders, from the street.
     She walked a few feet down the aisle, then turning to
face him, still blocking the door she unzipped the jacket
most of the way.  The spread of her breasts pushed it open
enough to reveal her state of undress, “That’s why I can’t
take my jacket off.”
     He put his hands on his hips and walked over to her,
“Do you take me for a fool, missy?” waving a finger,
actually jabbing inside the zipper between her cleavage he
said, “I’m supposed to say, ‘oh, she ain’t got nothing one,
can’t embarrass the poor girl.’”  Putting his hands on his
hips again he stood upright, towering over the girl, “Now
show me what you got!”
     She could see his eyes widen as he seemed, for the
first time to realize that she was a woman.  Perhaps the age
ticker in his mind was ratcheting up his estimation of her
age as his gaze took in the healthy bosom, and the way
gravity curved them down gracefully in smooth, luscious
curves.
     “What are you doing walking around like that?” he said
confrontationally, but his voice was clearly trembling.
     “I lost my shirt.  It tore.” She said, wondering when
the man would let her close the jacket again and zip up, but
he seemed content to stare.
     “Girl as large as you… I mean a woman.  Normally wear a
bra.”
     But she couldn’t think up an answer for that, and
shrugged, aware too late of how they giggled and swung
together when she did that.  Holding her arms apart she
couldn’t prevent the motion.
     He hadn’t taken his eyes off her chest yet, “Right
well, let’s see the jacket.”
     Her mouth fell open, but she complied, letting the
jacket fall off her shoulders, and swinging it up, where he
could paw at its pockets, though his eyes took the
opportunity to wander over her scantily clad figure.
     “Do guys your age go for that sort of thing.”
     She wrapped her arms over her chest, but that only
seemed to invite scrutiny of her tummy and legs, so well
revealed in the skirt, “What thing?”
     He was rifling through the pockets, but only seemed to
turn up a lighter so far, and some weird playing cards with
pictures of monsters, “Oh, you know, there’s so many skinny
women in movies, and on posters, shapely woman like you must
feel sort of left out these days.”
     Small talk.  She wasn’t surprised, it happened all the
time, especially from middle aged men who set their sights
on women they thought were attainable: the sevens as some
guys like to describe girls that were cute but not ‘hot.’
She found herself clutching her boobs, however, the day’s
events inflating the sheer intrusiveness and utter
condescension of such comments, “I don’t have trouble
getting attention, if that’s what you mean.”
     But he suddenly wasn’t looking at her, instead, holding
up a little gold colored steel pipe, “Well, what have we
here?”
     “Look mister,” she thought about reaching for her
jacket, but decided she preferred to keep her breasts
covered, “I didn’t take anything.  Can I have my jacket
back?”
     “Well, uh…” he was no longer confident, serious and
mature, but seemed to have dissembled into sort of a
shambling gait, not looking her in the eye, but at her body
or the floor.  He scratched the back of his neck and said,
“Well, I don’t know, ma’am.  I mean, you wandering around
with this,” he shook the pipe at her, “makes me wonder where
the goods are.”
     She shook her head, not knowing how to reply.
     “I mean, I’ll have to search your person.”
     She stared agape at him.  How she could have possibly
hidden anything in her skin tight skirt was beyond
fathoming, but she was beginning to suspect that he didn’t
care anymore if she had stolen anything.  Not that it
mattered.  She couldn’t go anywhere without the jacket, even
if he wasn’t blocking the exit.
     “I don’t have any goods!” she snarled at the man.
     “Well, we’ll have to see about that.  Turn around.”
     And stomping a foot she complied, feeling her hair
trail around after her caressing her neck.  She heard him
step up behind her, felt his breath on her neck.
     “Well, let’s see here.” And he crouched down, padding,
grabbing actually, her hips and thighs, giving her butt
little squeezes, though she couldn’t imagine what excuse
he’d come up with for searching there.
     He waited until she had put her arms down, it seemed,
before standing up, and hands on shoulders he turned her to
face him, standing just close enough to jut his belly
against her pouting nipples, erect against the exposure and
embarrassment which he peered at, arching his eyebrows as if
‘studying’ them.
     “I’m gonna have to ask you to lift up your skirt,
missy.”
     Her mouth fell open, and she recoiled, “What are you
looking for?”
     But he held up the pipe again, “Contraband.  Can’t have
people bringin’ drugs into my store.  Won’t stand for it!”
He put on a good show, but it was so farcical that she
didn’t even begin to play along with his game.
     “Are you aware that strip searching someone is illegal
for a private citizen!?”
     This definitely make him retreat, if only for a moment,
but his prize, so clearly more of her bared skin made him
digest this tidbit of information, almost as quickly as he
came up with a cover, “No you don’t want me to call the
police, now do you?”
     “Yes!  I do!”  she wanted to grab her coat, but he
blocked the aisle and had dropped it several feet back.
     He just stammered at her for a moment. “Let’s not make
this any harder than it has to be.  You just hike it up
there, lady!  Unless,” he laughed, “Unless you’re not
wearing anything under there either?”
     She cocked her head at him, “It just so happens that I
gave my underwear to one of my students this morning.”
     The older man simply didn’t know what to make of this.
Working the night shift he never dealt with students or
teachers from the school.  Still, he stuck to his course,
holding up the pipe, “You should have thought of that before
you came in here with this!”
     “Fine!” she bellowed, absolutely frustrated with the
situation she’d been put into ever since she’d stupidly
given her underwear to John-two and forgot her bra in the
temp classroom.  Stomping a foot she pushed the skirt down
and stood defiantly before the shocked black man, naked but
for her shoes, “Now can I buy my things and go?”
     He didn’t seem to notice her attitude at all, but
simply drank up her nubile figure, one hand mindlessly
stroking the thickening bulge in his left pocket.
     She snapped her fingers at the man, “Well?  What?  Do
you need to do a cavity search first?”
     “I’d sure like to get to know you better, missy.” He
was saying, nervousness and stumbling gone.  He seemed as
cool as a cucumber.
     “Uh huh, she said, hands on her hips, “What if someone
comes in?”
     “Oh, I locked that when I saw you zippin’ up your
jacket.  I could have sworn you took something.  Guess I was
wrong.”
     Naked before his sudden coolness, his methodic scrutiny
of her bareness with his eyes, she felt her cockiness ebb
away.  She wanted to get away, but she just didn’t want to
fight him any more.
     “I got two guys waiting in the car for me.”
     “Let’em wait.”
     She sighed, “Fine.” And sat down on the floor, laid
back, hands at her side, and spread her legs open around his
feet.
     Unlike the others she’d done that day, the clerk took
the time to remove his shirt, shoes, and finally his pants.
Keeping only his shorts on, though pushing them down to his
ankles, he climbed between Miss Caulder’s legs, letting her
embrace him on the tile floor in the candy aisle.
     She didn’t expect him to genuinely make love to her,
and was surprised when he started working over her nipples
with a deft tongue, running his coarse, calloused hands up
her sides and down her legs.  His bulk seemed to fill up the
space between her legs with dozens of inches of belly
waiting to be cradled by her inviting thighs.  Against her
will she found herself cradling his head with her hands, and
moaning softly as the pressure of his belly on her sex, and
the art of his tongue prepared him for his shaft, an inky
black tube that curved dramatically off to the left.  An
animal that could smack down Eliot’s if not with size, with
sheer character.
     It wasn’t long before Miss Caulder couldn’t help but
cry out, a loud, desperate wailing as the clerk penetrated
her slowly, but with exacting efficiency, timed to the waves
of heat that passed over her.  The short kisses they’d
shared were fast and furious, scratching her chin and
cheeks, but now she was engulfed under a coarse mat of wiry
chest hair and pudgy, squishy pecs, her face sinking into
the ample flesh.  She could feel the man sagging over her
sides, the slap of his flesh as he thrust forward, but the
pleasure he had risen in her found a perfect compliment with
his engulfing girth, and she allowed her fantasies of being
consumed blend with the electricity of the weight against
her breasts.  The grinding of paunchy rolls of fat against
her clitoris, and the invasive pressure of his shaft allowed
her to forget the fact that a fat lecher was having her; she
only thought of being absorbed as she fought to minimize the
discomfort of his bulk and the mass between her legs.
     She forced herself to hold her legs up as high as
possible, only just able to hook them around his sides, in
order to allow herself as little pressure as possible to
uncomfortably resist his penetration, but this only allowed
his to plumb deeper, and after several stabbing feints he
was ramming into her cervix, and her body was spasming
uncontrollably with waves of pain, pleasure, and bone-
crushing weight.  Nothing since her uncontrollable orgasm at
the provocation of Mr. Gold had given her so much escape,
and not since he had owned her in the temp class had she
been so blissfully removed from any sense of self.  Just a
vacuum to be filled by raging hormones, the slamming impact
of meat and flab on her tiny, voluptuous body, engulfing her
from the outside and within, no sense of anything but being
a vessel for a man’s pleasure.
     She could settle for being a vessel for a man’s needs,
like Eliot’s desire to lose his virginity, but nothing took
her away like the sheer abandoned intrusion that robbed her
of sense of self, space, even the ability to do naught but
cling tight and wait for the ride to be over.
     And over it was, though she couldn’t begin to guess how
long it had taken.  His great, surging member had pulsed
inside her, its odd shape pushing sideways into places she’d
never known could give any pleasure.  Lifting his weight
just a fraction the clerk allowed Miss Caulder to jiggle and
thrust just enough to bring herself to the climax she’d been
riding at the edge of since he’d impaled her, and she felt
like steam was rising from her body, like she’d explode with
electric fury.  She couldn’t stop screaming, louder and
louder, gasping for more air to pant some more, clutching as
his wide flanks as he let his seed fly into her and she let
go her furies into the wall of flesh that consumed her so
utterly.
     
     Watching those fat, dimpled buttocks quiver and shake
brought home the horror of what she was doing.  As fast as
the pleasure had taken her over, that it was born of the
need to be crushed, physically and emotionally left little
to enjoy about the afterglow.  The cold, hard tile seemed to
stick to her and she lacked the willpower to get up until
the clerk, pulling up his circus tent underpants turned back
to regard her, spread eagled, feeling very stretched out
before him,
     “Aww, missy, that was a nice break, but I need to get
back to work now.” He was smiling at her, looking at her no
so much with the lecherous lust from before so much as
appreciation, but she was pretty sure he wasn’t appreciating
her.  She wasn’t the kind of girl that guys would brag
about, and indeed, few of her lovers had sought her out a
second time for more than sex.  Short and pudgy, she had
enough curves that a man in a mood would settle, knowing
he’d have a good time in the sack, but she was really
nothing to write home to mother about, not with the way her
tummy folded into rolls when she bunched up, or the stretch
marks around the edge of her breasts, and on her hips from
the weight she’d lost a few years back.  She was pretty
enough to take home for a toss, but unless you were a guy
who could look past a few normal human defects, like a small
bit of cellulose on the thighs, you’d set your sites higher
for someone you wanted to hang off your arm.
     For some reason this seemed to include just about every
guy she’d had sex with, and in spite of his flabby rolls and
stomach that virtually sagged over his inky, distorted dick,
the clerk seemed to be thinking along these lines as well.
     Repulsed as she was by the man, creeping shame crawling
over her at knowing that she had just surrendered to a
little pressure from the ugliest man she had ever been with,
she could not help but stare in horror at the rounded
contours of his flesh.  Not a single muscle could be
discerned.  Each joint seemed to indent, rather than show
the sharp angle of bone.  From neck to knee he jiggled.  He
had more fat lines standing perfectly upright than she had
bending over to touch her feet.
     But he was laughing, “None of that, honey.  Maybe you
can come over after work, but you can’t go sayin’ that I
didn’t let you have your turn.”
     Abruptly she slammed her legs shut, scrambling for her
coat and skirt.  Conscious of his eyes on her flopping
breasts and her own ample buttocks (for her size), though
she was scarcely half his size.  His eyes seemed curiously
interested in her sex, and crawling hands and knees she
could guess why as his jism dripped on to the back of her
calf.  He was admiring his work.
     “Hang on, just a second, honey.” He said striding to
the end of the aisle, pulling something off the shelf, “I
got’s to get this for posterity.”
     He was unwrapping a disposable camera.
     “No way.” She barked, clutching the leather to her
chest.
     But he was already advancing the film, and before she
had gotten her hands on her skirt he had snapped a picture,
“I won’t show no one.  Honest.”
     “Bullshit!” she was seriously panicked now, knowing how
easy it was to distribute amateur pictures on the internet
from her friends.  She refused to look at him, grimacing her
teeth as he advanced and snapped, advanced and snapped.
Where the Hell was her skirt.
     “Aww, I’m just messin’ with ya, honey.” He leered, “I
just want one picture.”
     “Well, you got it.” She cowered before the little
plastic camera.
     “That wasn’t it.  I don’t even need to see your face.”
     It dawned on her what he was talking about, and
immediately the sensation of cum dripping into her labial
folds seemed to creep up over her body.
     “One picture?”
     “Well, a couple—but of the same shot!” he quickly
covered.
     It wasn’t as if she had any identifying tattoos, but
she had to snarl at him as he snapped off two more pictures
the moment she set down the coat and started to spin around.
     “Just teasing.”
     Whatever happened it was already too late.  He already
had a number of pictures of her, but really, it hardly
mattered to her at this stage.  A few snapshots of her
mostly naked on the floor.  A scandal, maybe, but nothing to
reveal the depths of her degradation that day.  Now a shot
of her spreading her legs deliberately for the camera was
different, particularly considering the condition of her
sex, coated in semen of two men.
     Nevertheless, she kept one hand up in front of her face
as she laid back again, and spread her legs, an act
significantly harder this time around, so disgusted she was
that she had surrendered to him once, now that her need was
abated.
     “Do me a favor and spread’em a bit for me, please.”
     She sighed, knowing the position he was talking about,
and removing her hand from where it was blocking her face
she reached between her legs and gave him the money shot.
     She could just imagine the close-up being duplicated
millions of times on the internet titled my-wife.jpg.
     Three or four snaps later he told her she could get up.
     “Do you have a bathroom I could use?”
     “Oh, uh, bathrooms are for customers only, actually.”
     She got to her feet, and stared at him, her breasts
swinging slightly with the movement.  She put her hands on
her hips.
     He gave an embarrassed smile, “Oh, just teasin.  It’s
through that door.” He pointed at a door behind the counter,
and putting the coat on (feeling strangely erotic wearing
nothing but a leather jacket) and hanging the skirt so as to
cover the side of her that faced the windows she crossed the
open space to the counter.
     “You want me to fill up your tank for you?”
     She froze, trying to figure out how to get behind the
counter, “Uhh…” she had completely forgotten about the kids
in her car.
     But then comfort seemed to rein her in.  In spite of
the shame of surrendering to the clerk’s coercion he had
delivered her from exactly the frustration she had been
hanging on to them for.  Thoughts of them left her feeling
nothing but sadness for how she had ruined a potentially
pleasant relationship with students she could really relate
too by becoming their slut.  She actually cringed at the
thought of James riding her like a bronco in the backseat of
her car, and she positively seethed with Eliot’s domination
of her in her driver’s seat, but that was overshadowed by
the fact that she knew she had played the part to get them
to act that way.  She couldn’t imagine craving Eliot’s dick
the way she had only a short while ago, but she knew she
really couldn’t blame them for the way she acted.
     Still, it wouldn’t do any harm for them to face the
music where their new slut was concerned.  James had had her
twice, and Eliot’s antics, she felt, absolved her of any
obligation to take his virginity.
     She turned to the clerk, “Yeah, would you tell my
nephew that I… tell him I got sick.  I mean, act embarrassed
about it, like I said I needed to go and you hear me
throwing up.”
     He looked confused by the instructions and she
remembered what a bad liar he’d been when he was trying to
get her clothes off.
     “I just don’t think they’d understand, they’re so
young.”
     That seemed to mollify his concerns, and he walked to
the counter to activate the gas pump.
     
     In a proper bathroom with actual soap and warm water
was like a heaven-sent blessing to Miss Caulder.  Even the
scratchy paper towels felt like downy silk lathering off the
filth and funk of the men who had used her.  Looking at
herself naked in the mirror, all the little flaws that
normally she’d obsess over in the mornings she thought of
Eliot, the little, pimple faced geek actually spurning her
for being too trashy.  She was no model ten, but standing up
she certainly had curves in all the right places.  All she
had to do was walk into a club and she’d walk out with a
man, so long as she made it clear she was willing to go home
with him.  That spindly geek had no right to reject her when
guys all over school leered at her tight fitting blouses and
students mistook her for one of their own.
     Pulling on her skirt she thought about seeing if there
were any hose out in the store, but like she felt after a
shower, the thought of binding herself up after finally
getting the boys’ crap off of herself, not to mention the
clerk’s briney smelling semen she didn’t think she’d be
comfortable in them.
     Besides, she thought maliciously, even though she found
James to be about as attractive as a hostess twinkie, she
actually relished the thought of doing him again in the
backseat while Eliot drove them around in circles,
frustrated at his stupid pride.
     Yes, she thought.  She may not be a man-killer, but she
could make a man want to fuck like nobodies business.
Unzipping the leather down to the waist and hiking the skirt
(which she had futily tried to wash off the cum stains) down
to just below her hips she walked out of the bathroom,
parting the top to reveal her most alluring feature all the
way out to the edge of her nipples.
     She hadn’t exactly counted on there having been a line
formed outside the store while she and the clerk went at it,
and certainly hadn’t noticed them with all the lights on in
the store and few street lights to light up the parking lot
as she crossed the store barely covered from the waist down
with the skirt which only trailed behind her with the motion
and hid nothing.
     It was a middle-aged man who’s scowl turned to shock as
he caught an eyeful of her bosom, and two, sleazy looking
white-trash suburbanites with mullot hairdos and little,
hickish mustaches, both her age, both smiling at her
knowingly as she crossed in front of the counter to where
they waited by the doors.  The clerk was behind the counter,
perhaps puffed up a bit more than before when he’d been able
to show off his conquest.
     Perhaps the only thing worse than having been had by
the clerk was having three complete strangers know that
she’d just done it, moments before, who could get their fill
because she’d decided to go out the tramp she’d come in.
     Aiming straight for the door, inbetween the two hicks,
she made a sudden detour to the counter, raching past the
middle-aged man in the overcoat to snatch up the bag in
which the clerk had put her beer and cigarettes into.  More
importantly she grabbed the camera.
     “Hey, lady!” the clerk shouted.
     But she was leaving, “I’ll give you a copy of your shot
tomorrow.” She was surprised to find herself grinning, but
felt it fade from her face as once though the door the two
hicks had stumbled though and were blocking her.
     “Hey missy, you gonna give us the show you gave the
nigger in there?”
     One of them grabbed her ass, giving it a mighty pinch.
She struggled to move away, feeling her coat spread wide
open and she bent her body.
     Now they could both see her exposed chest, and they
took a good long moment appreciating it.
     “Oh, lady, you have got to fuck me now. I was gonna let
you go with a hand job for doing a darkie, but you gots to
put out!”
     She tried covering herself with the bag, but the other
grabbed her arms, pinning them to her sides, “Now now,
bitch, don’t tell me you’re gonna give me any trouble after
givin it up for a nigger.”
     Panic began rising up in her at the thought of being
genuinely raped and she felt a hand plunge into her skirt,
clutching and pawing at the dry, clean skin.
     But suddenly a loud rapping noise came from the window.
The clerk, standing behind the counter was rapping the glass
with a policeman’s baton.  She held up a phone, face out so
the hicks could see him dialing 9-1-1.
     Stammering to make an insult, one of the hicks tried to
grab her bag while he made away, but finding resolve so
humiliatingly lacking over the entire day, Miss Caulder
socked him square in the nose, sending the fellows running.
     Miss Caulder figured it had taken a few moments for the
clerk to catch on due to the glare from the store lights on
the window.  She smiled at him, covering her breasts against
the cold, and he nodded back as he told the dispatcher on
the phone that the emergency was over.
     She made a promise to herself to deliver the picture as
she said she would.  She didn’t even want to think about it
as she walked across the lot to her car where the boys had
apparently not even noticed that she was about to get raped.
     Walking into the glare of the sodium vapor street light
that lit up the pumps made her feel very vulnerable,
particularly due to the two hicks she could see lurking in a
parking lot a couple stores down.  She could only see their
outlines, but she felt in her gut that they were watching
everything she did.  If they only knew who was waiting for
her in the car.  A couple of teenagers who she’d give
herself to a hundred times before willingly going along with
their Miller Genuine Draft coupling.
     She opened the passenger side door, looking in and
seeing Eliot, looking very sheepish.
     He couldn’t look up at her, “Are you okay?”
     Unsettled as Miss Caulder was by the abortive attack
she couldn’t help but be distracted by his behavior.  She
had walked out the store fully resolved to give them their
beer and smokes and to send them on their way.  Satisfied,
however briefly by the clerk, and more than a little
defeated by the quest provoked against her will by Mr. Gold,
et all, she wasn’t willing to find herself in the power of
any man should the urge to blind the maddening sense of
shame with sexual submission.  Her anger and resentment at
the arrogant boy had led her down here prepared to send him
off and damn the consequences.  Who would believe the lads
anyway?  It’s not as if they would ever corroborate their
stories with the Johns.
     But Eliot’s mood disarmed her.  She looked at James,
who looked at the back of Eliot’s seat, “What’s wrong?”
     He shrugged, “The guy who filled our tank said you were
sick.”
     She remembered her instructions to the clerk, but
hadn’t imagined the reactions they would provoke.
     But then, she recalled, she hadn’t picked two
insensitive misogynists, like John-two or Mr. Gold, on the
quad that evening.  These guys were a little more sensitive
than the rest, which was precisely why Eliot was reacting so
strongly to her wanton behavior from before.
     “I’m fine.” She said, simply.
     But Eliot, still staring at the steering wheel barked,
“I was mad.  I didn’t mean to…”
     “To what?” Miss Caulder pressed.
     “I was mad because…” but he choked up, clutching the
steering wheel hard.
     James filled in “He was mad because he came on you.”
     She understood, the humiliation at his premature
ejaculation stood in stark contrast to every boy’s self-
image of themselves as some sort of sexual powerhouse.
     She still couldn’t find it in herself to feel sorry for
him, “That doesn’t excuse what you did.”
     “I’m not asking for forgiveness.” He snarled out the
windshield.
     She was definitely not in the mood for this.  She
slammed the door, opened up the back door and climbed in,
dumping the bag on James’ lap.
     “Take me home.”
     
     During the drive James had tried to move on her again,
but she wasn’t remotely interested in his insatiable fifteen-
year old passions, feeling particularly selfish and still,
somehow, basking in the halo of the crushing numbness
brought on by the clerk and her tremendous orgasm.  She
wasn’t eager to provoke the feelings of humiliation that had
dominated so much of her day, and only after refusing to let
the boys open the beer case in her car had she allowed James
to lay her down, again, in her back seat.
     This time, however, she took control.  No longer acting
the slut, she made him service her, showing him how to
couple with a woman slowly, building her pleasures by gently
stroking her, and taking his time.  She taught him how to
kiss, taught him the technique the clerk had shown in
fondling her nipples.  She helped him to find her g-spot,
showing him how to stroke it.  He was an avid learner, and
by the time they pulled into the maze of her apartment
complex she was convinced of his infatuation for her.
     Following Miss Caulder’s instructions, Eliot guided the
car into her covered parking spot, and she lay in the back
seat amazed at how in spite of her defiance when they had
left the store, that she was once again naked, under the
pawing hands of a child, and she couldn’t bring herself to
send them away.
     This time she was very apprehensive about getting out
of the car to undress.  The security guards that patrolled
the lot were a crude, unsavory pair of Mexican illegals.
They did a great job of keeping the complex secure, two
beefy Latinos with attitudes to match their jobs, but they
never hesitated to let her know they were “keeping an eye on
her.”  Aside from having caught them skulking below her
windows they had both, on separate occasions tried to entice
her to take them home with her, and one actually grabbed her
butt, shamelessly, though that seemed a petty thing now
after the treatment she’d been through.
     Getting uncomfortably out of the car, she sunk low to
avoid prying eyes while James did his best to block her from
view, and the sulking Eliot looked away.  She was in such a
hurry to get to her apartment that she only snapped the
bottom button on the leather, clutching her arms together to
hold the jacket since she hated navigating the cheap zipper
on the thing, besides, it was too small and pinched a lot
when zipped up.
     It wasn’t until she’d gotten to her apartment, up a
flight of concrete steps into a landing that opened into
four apartments that she saw Julio, one of the guards down
below.  He was smiling up at her.
     “Getting home late, Wendy?”
     She hated when they called her by her first name,
“That’s what it looks like, Julio.”
     The boys were clearly nervous, aware as Miss Caulder
was of the illegality of what they were doing, but mostly
because of the large, imposing man.
     “Bringing home company, I see.  Not planning on having
party, are you?”
     She pushed her keys into her lock, “No, Julio.”
     “Your friends look a little young, Wendy.  I hope you
not up to something…” he was grinning mischievously.
     She pushed her front door open, gesturing the boys to
go in, then peering down at the bulky security guard,
thinking of the state of things had she come home without
having met the clerk first, under the gaze of this bulky
Mexican, “If I was up to something, Julio, it’d be with
you.” And setting her hands on the cold iron railing she
felt the leather fall open, even as she stood shocked at her
own innuendo.  Julio, while by no means unattractive of
face, was a crude bastard, and his bulky physique and
cliché, unintelligent speech was something that made her
cringe.  In spite of all the bulky men she had suffered and
enjoyed that day, she knew she hadn’t grown a taste for it.
It was more like medicine.  Something to be had when needed,
but only when needed
     Julio had no such reservations about her.  He and his
partner clearly savored the voluptuous short teacher.  His
eyes fell open at the copious amounts of bosom revealed in
between the open jagged steel zipper of the leather,
spreading out, Miss Caulder’s breasts swinging forward,
straining with gravity as she leaned forward, as if pulled
down to the lusty Mexican with the will of his lust.
     But he regained his composure long before Miss Caulder
gained hers, “Wendy, you one sexy woman.  A woman like you
could have a lot of fun with a guy like me.”
     “In your dreams, Julio,” she said, pushing the jacket
closed.
     “Come on, senorita.  Don’t be shy.”
     But she was definitely feeling shy.  What had compelled
her to grab the damn railing like that, and leaning over to
talk to him?
     He had taken a few steps, and his head was just below
the level her feet were at.  “Come on, Wendy.  You already
give me a show, why not finish it?”
     She peered into her open door, but the boys had
disappeared into her living room, probably hiding from the
intimidating security guard.
     “Why should I?” she backed a step away from the
railing, but Julio only took another step up, getting a much
closer view than the one he’d had before.
     “I just want to see, senorita.  You are such a
beautiful woman.”
     “It was an accident, Julio.  I didn’t mean to show
you…”
     Julio interrupted her, “But can you blame me for how I
feel?”
     She looked around, but they were alone, “If I show you,
it doesn’t mean I’m gonna do anything with you.”
     “Of course not,” he was almost at the top of the
stairs, already looking her straight in the eye.
     “You’ll behave?”
     His expression was comical.  As if she had any reason
to trust this man other than that his job security depended
on not getting any more complaints (she had raised a few
herself), she couldn’t bring herself to wonder why she was
about to flash this creep who so obviously wasn’t going to
behave because he had never behaved himself around her in
the two years he’d been working the complex.  Nevertheless,
she let him approach her.
     He said, “Wendy, I do nothing you don’t tell me to do.”
He spread his arms, and she felt like the innocent gesture
might turn into an embrace,
     “Then back up.”
     The big man froze.  Then smiling, he took two steps
back and stopped.
     Still glaring at him she sighed, and unsnapping the
coat felt the chill night air grab hold of her, sending
goose pimpled up her chest, contracting her nipples for the
entertainment of this creepy Latino who deserved nothing but
her contempt for his past behavior.  The only
rationalization she could find in her mind was that after
the day’s indignities, Julio’s request seemed a small favor
to ask.  The shame she had woken up with that morning had
taken on an entirely new dimension in her life.  One that
had to be cultivated and fed.  Clearly it controlled her
judgment, for in spite of the fact that she felt nothing but
humiliation under Julio’s lecherous gaze she reached down,
unbidden, and pushed the cum-stained skirt off of her hips.
     She could tell that although he was enticed by her
breasts that the rest of her had little sway over him.
Regardless, it seemed only natural to cut to the quick, to
slate whatever urge drove her to humiliate herself so she
could move on.  She felt, deep inside her that if Julio
asked, she’d be on her knees for him without hesitation.
     But Julio only stood, nodding, “Well, Wendy, you
certainly got a beautiful pair of coronas.” He smiled, “I
bet you’d be lots of fun to fuck, eh?” he took a small step
forward.
     Against whatever drive had led her to stand naked
before the security guard she felt herself wrapping her
hands around her nudity.
     The guard stopped, “You like to fuck, no?”
     She suddenly couldn’t look at him, paralyzing fear
shooting through her while burning, tingling sensations rose
up out of her center, like when she was touching her sex.
She nodded, perhaps a little too frantically, her body
beginning to shake.
     “You’re a real punta, ain’t you, Wendy?”
     She didn’t know what a punta was, but she nodded,
forcing herself to look up at him.
     “Well, let’s see.  Turn around.”
     Much like the clerk, and Mr. Gold, he wasn’t as
awestruck by her nudity as the younger boys.  He was clearly
playing with her, though he let out a whistle as she turned
her back to him.
     She shuddered as he slapped her ass, “You got to lose a
few pounds, eh?”
     She froze, and he grabbed her around the waist, one
hand fondling her uncovered breast, whispering into her ear,
“But any time you want to fuck, you call Julio, no?”
     She forced a quick nod, and he let go of her, laughing.
     “You’re one saucy bitch, Wendy.”
     She could only force herself to imitate his
lighthearted smile as he walked to the steps.
     “But I give my word, I behave, and you no ask me to
cross that line.”
     Going down the steps she shivered with mixed relief and
frustration at what she had just put herself through as she
watched the guard go.
     “But one day, Wendy,” he said from the bottom of the
stairs. “I’m gonna fuck you in all three holes and you gonna
know what it’s like to love a real man!”
     She tugged on her clothes as the guard walked away
laughing.  Cringing with the thought of what she had done,
virtually throwing herself at him, a creep who’d been after
her for years, knowing that he could have taken her, as he
said, in all three holes, flooded her with nervous anxiety.
But that was nothing compared to the frustration she felt at
the fact that he hadn’t.  That he had been so casual about
the encounter that her debasing spectacle of undressing, in
public, before one of her security guards was something he
could take or leave.  Struggling with conflicting emotions
of hurt pride and deep-seated shame of the wanton slut she
had become she walked into her apartment and slammed the
door behind her.
     
     It was only 4am when Miss Caulder woke up, not knowing
why.  She could still smell the soap and shampoo on her skin
and hair.  She wondered for a moment why she was undressed,
then she felt the bony shoulder of James, the boy wonder who
had managed to arouse himself twice again before passing out
a little after one o’clock.
     Her body felt only dim aches, thanks to all the Midol
she’d taken after her bath, but her sex was distinctly sore.
Perhaps not sore, but it felt horribly distended, although
finger examinations revealed little physical difference.
She knew it must be the memory of the number of men who had
been inside her in the previous day.  Her previous record
had been two men in one month, seconded by three in a year.
Miss Caulder didn’t even want to count the number of men
she’d been with the day before, much less the times her sex
had been used repeatedly.  James alone accounted for four
assaults on her unprotected womb.
     Sliding out of the covers she regarded the gangly youth
bound up in her sheets in the dim light of the street light.
Her heart sunk as she realized that she had somehow been
stooped so low by Mr. Gold and the John’s that she had taken
a fifteen year-old boy home with her to use as he saw fit.
     Actually, she had enjoyed it a bit, though she hadn’t
cum with the boy.  His attentions were much more selfless,
as he eagerly threw himself into learning the art of the
lover.  “You’re going to make some girl a Hell of a
boyfriend, James.” She whispered, hoping ironically that it
wouldn’t turn out to be her.
     She went out into the hall of her small, one-bedroom
apartment, and peered into the living room.  She didn’t have
much furniture, but the place was clean except for a few
empty beer cans where Eliot and James had drunk and smoked
while she bathed.  Earlier she had decided that she didn’t
want Eliot touching her, not in exchange for James’ panting
affections.  She was in the mood to be fawned over, and
didn’t have any patience for Eliot’s brooding insecurity
over the fact that he’d come prematurely, and consequently
still had his virginity.
     “You can keep it.” She whispered to the prone figure of
the boy on her couch.
     She grinned at the thought of how much trouble he’d be
in when he got home to his parents.  She felt a moment’s
lamentation for James, but she seriously doubted that James
would regret for a moment any punishment that his all-
nighter might provoke.  She felt a twinge of guilt for not
at least giving Eliot the satisfaction of losing his
virginity, but something about the perverted way in which he
mingled pride and lust, the way she seemed to disgust him
for having been the vessel for other men’s lusts, yet he’d
have willingly used her thusly otherwise…
     “Keep what?” she heard Eliot whisper.
     Shocked out of her reverie she peered into the gloom,
seeing a hand dart up to his crotch.  Her eyes now adjusted
to the dimmer living room she realized that he had been
masturbating on the couch when she walked in.  She grinned
at the shame that must drive into him, knowing that he has
to jerk off like a boy while his younger friend has complete
access to the woman he’d come so close to having.
     The grin faded as she realized that she was naked, and
he wasn’t, but for his member sticking out of his pants.
Regardless of their previous encounters, she knew that only
doctors and married couples treated nudity with familiar
nonchalance, and though he had seen her submitting to James
twice before they had repaired to her bedroom, she wasn’t
about to give him the pleasure of having her to himself.
     Retreating to her bedroom, and afraid to turn the light
on for fear of waking James up and having to service him
again she could only find one of her short robes in the
closet (the more modest ones were in the bathroom, across
the living room).  Pulling it on she felt its silky hem
caressing her buttocks.  She grinned again, knowing that
seeing her in this would be more frustrating than in her
fluffy terrycloth bathrobe, even if it showed a bit of leg.
     Still, she found herself tugging it down in the front
as she returned to the living room where Eliot had had a
chance to tuck himself away.  She clicked on the light, and
they both squinted and peered around until their eyes
adjusted.
     The boy was a mess, his clothes rumpled, his hair
tousled, his zits shining brightly on his face.  She put a
hand on her hip, “Don’t stop on my account, Eliot.”
     “Stop what?” he couldn’t look at her.
     She smiled at the boy, “I saw what you were doing.”
     He couldn’t look up from his feet, “You want to… watch
me?”
     Startled from her little game at the thought of living
up to his perverted expectations of her she crossed the bar
into the open kitchen, feeling his eyes upon her as she
turned away, “Not really, I’m just letting you know that it
doesn’t bother me.”  Reaching the refrigerator she opened
the door, leaning in she felt the cold air tumble over her
as if she was wearing nothing.  She decided to mock the boy
further, “But I’d prefer you go in the bathroom so you don’t
stain the couch.”
     Standing up with a can of diet 7-up she saw that Eliot
was now standing over the bar looking down at her body with
a wistful look in his eyes.
      “I’d rather…” he looked away, then right in the eye,
“I mean if you still want to.”
     She caught his meaning, cracking open the 7[up, “I
don’t think so, Eliot.”
     He was frowning, looking away again, “Then why’d you
come out in that… thing?”
     Taking a moment to connect the dots she realized he was
talking about the shift.
     In a moment of cringing stupidity she realized that the
robe she had on was perfectly sheer, black chiffon.  Rather
than hiding her body she had made it all the more enticing
for the boy, cradling her free swinging breasts in gauzy
chiffon the robe did nothing to conceal, only exaggerate her
already ample curvature.
     She resisted the temptation to rip the robe off,
realizing with a flash that she had bought it years ago and
now was the first time she had ever worn it for a man.  She
might as well have been in a teddy and a g-string with
fishnet stockings.  She also resisted the temptation to
admit that she’d grabbed the wrong robe.
     “Look, Eliot, I’m sorry things didn’t work out with us-
“
     “I’m sorry.”
     “I don’t care!” she snapped, anger flooding over her,
“You had me on the ground, begging for it and you spit on
me!”
     He turned away, but Miss Caulder crossed the bar and
stood in front of him, forgetting her nudity again,
     “You had me on my knees, Eliot,” she grabbed his chin
and turned his face up to look at her, “You had your cock in
my mouth…”
     Frustrated beyond words she tore the robe off of her
shoulders, careless of anything the boy might think, and
stomped across the living room into the bathroom,
reappearing a moment later strapping her pink, fluffy
bathrobe around her waist.  Staring at the boy she went on,
“You owned me, little man.”
     That got his attention.
     “You owned me, at school, in my car, I spread my legs
for you—not James, you!  But that wasn’t good enough for
you, was it?”
     He shook his head, surprising her.  She expected him to
either deny it or stay stubbornly quiet, but he seemed to
agree.
     “Wendy, I…”  he started pacing, “I wanted my first time
to be something special…”
     Again, he paused, making lines back and forth across
the living room while Miss Caulder waited, her arms crossed.
     “But when you… offered, it was like my whole body
betrayed me.”
     He wheeled on her,
     “A lot of guys do it with Sally, I mean she’ll sleep
with anyone!  I didn’t want that.  I thought I was better
than them.” He looked away again, “But you came on to me and
I just gave in.”
     Miss Caulder was fighting the urge to sympathize with
the boy, “What was wrong with that, Eliot?”
     He threw up his arms, “What was wrong?  You…  I mean,
you’re a…  What you told us—“
     “I’m a slut.”
     He was obviously forcing himself not to nod.
     “I didn’t mean it to happen like that, Eliot.” She took
a few steps up to the boy, “Things got out of hand and I…”
     She waited until the boy was looking up at her to see
if she’d continue, “Eliot, the same thing that you felt
about me.  In spite of all your feelings and reservations, I
let myself get drawn in…”
     She looked away from the boy, “You were stronger than
me.”
     She heard the boy shrug, “Not at first.”
     But she suddenly barked at him, “That doesn’t forgive
the shit you pulled in the parking lot.”
     But he didn’t look away.  “No, it doesn’t.”
     She went to the bar, grabbed her seven-up and crossed
to the couch, plopping down.
     Eliot sat at the other end of the couch, “There are
some guys at school…” he looked away from her again, “Who
did that to me.”
     She couldn’t believe her ears, but then she remembered
hearing third hand about the way some boys treated each
other.  Eliot went on,
     “I mean they didn’t put their dick in my…  But they
tried to make me take it.  Kept calling me a fag…”
     “Who?” Miss Caulder asked, putting a hesitant hand on
the boy’s knee.
     He looked at her, “John and John-two.”
     And it all fell into place.
     “Mr. Gold just told me to laugh it off.  Grow a
backbone.”
     He was obviously choking back tears.
     “It didn’t occur to me until right now that that’s
probably what happened to you.”
     She nodded, knowing how much Eliot hated himself for
what he had done.  But she didn’t want to lie to him,
     “I think I was easier than that, Eliot.  I should have
been stronger.”
     He turned to her, “Well, you will be.  I mean next
time.” He was actually smiling, sharing this horrible moment
with someone, perhaps for the first time ever, as tears
welled up in his eyes.
     She smiled at him, but couldn’t quite bring herself to
lie to him.  She honestly didn’t know what she would do the
next time Mr. Gold decided he needed a whore.  She didn’t
have any idea how she’d be able to act in front of the
John’s, having surrendered so utterly to John-two and thrown
herself at John.  She simply couldn’t bring herself to face
any of that, much less fight it, like Eliot had done.
     Instead she found herself gently pulling the strap on
her bathrobe.  The hurtling shame descending upon her, and
before she knew it she was naked again, spreading her legs
for him.  Eliot didn’t hesitate this time.  She had clearly
won him over.  Or had given in to him, she couldn’t be sure
as she held him off, fingering herself so he wouldn’t come
too soon, as a favor, her mind flooded with visions of Mr.
Gold, the clerk, and the sensation of John-two’s painful
girth.
     Before she knew it she was panting with the mind-
numbing escape, and Eliot descended upon her, his healthy
member pressing against her moistened sex, and letting Miss
Caulder guide him in he groaned with the loss of his cherry,
grunting and panting with the ecstasy of penetration.  Miss
Caulder too was not immune to the pleasures of being had, to
the shame of letting a sixteen year-old boy take her on her
couch, in her home, and though it was over in a few short
thrusts she felt enormous contentment at having sated one
cause of shame even at the expense of another, that she
hadn’t been able to seduce the boy.
     As the two lay panting Miss Caulder looked up at her
ceiling, not a little confused over whether she should be
content of further shamed, but Eliot’s warm embrace, bony
and gangly though he was, hardly any weight on her body,
seemed to bring its own form of solace, and she felt herself
once again able to ignore all these questions and
conflicting emotions; just a body, just a void that had been
filled.  And she savored that feeling for as long as she
could while the boy panted and gasped over her.
     
     
THE NEXT MORNING

     I woke up abruptly.  Though I felt rested, I had not
dreamed, nor had I forgotten anything.  No moment of
disorientation or fuzzy confusion, just as if I had been
switched on.
     I was naked, on the couch.  Sprawled rather
ungraciously I might add.  I had fallen asleep under the
panting sighs of Eliot, my latest lover; only sixteen years
old.  Though I had worn out his younger friend James, Eliot
had only just begun on me in the wee hours of the morning,
so I stayed with him until he was spent.
     My sex was oddly relaxed, considering the rampant abuse
I’d put it through the day before, and especially
considering my long abstinence beforehand.  I’d have
expected it to be sore and painful, but though I had a few
bruises on my back I felt surprisingly fit as if the copious
amounts of sex I had had the day before had served to
invigorate me.  I felt that after John-two, the leviathan
jock with a member to match (despite all jokes about over-
compensating weightlifters) that I should have been unable
to copulate for weeks, but clearly I had a few things about
myself yet to learn.
     “Wendy?” the whiney voice alerted me that I was not
alone, and I opened my eyes to be greeted with James, the
skinny, short sophomore who had doffed his leather jacket
and sat on the floor with his friend Eliot in his underwear
and an overlarge sweatshirt.  Eliot was wearing his
trenchcoat, and they both were smoking.  James looked away,
almost bashfully, and Eliot was staring lower, at my mid-
section.
     I sat up quickly, snapping my hand to one side when I
realized I had been fingering myself, my legs spread apart,
while I had been contemplating the lack of soreness.
     I realized they had been talking in hushed tones,
probably what awakened me.  I also realized that I was not
only naked in front of them, but in spite of having let them
use me all last night I was completely shamed to find myself
so.  Giving yourself to a man is one thing, two is another,
but waking up to the almost casual behavior of two high
school sophomores was another thing entirely.  They could
have been any thirty year-old guy I’d brought home from a
bar with their nonchalance about my nudity.
     They seemed almost indifferent.  Having had me, I
suppose, they didn’t seem to have the same pressure that was
on them before to score.  Maybe they woke up and realized
that I wasn’t exactly the hottie they’d picked up last
night, but was instead nearly thirty with slightly saggy
breasts, a few stretch marks, and a tummy that scrunched up
when I bent at the waist.  I certainly didn’t have a tight
bottom or slender legs or, quite frankly, any of those
attributes that make men slaver after women though I do have
a cute face.
     The simple fact is that I’m the girl a guy goes after
after he’s had a few and he’s struck out with everyone else.
I’m not exactly desperation material, and I certainly don’t
think any guy has ever woken up next to me and wondered how
much he’d had to drink, but, simply put, I’m the girl you
walk up to when you only have one thing on your mind.
     It wasn’t a long trip to the bathroom, but it felt like
I couldn’t have been more dorky, stumbling around, my tits
flopping every which way, my hair undoubtedly a ridiculous
mess.  But I made it away from them, and got through a
shower.  They kept their distance, which didn’t bother me so
much as the fact that it bothered me at all.  That their
attention was worth more to me than their leaving me alone.
There was nothing particular about the boys that compelled
me to desire their attention, but the fact that they had
grown so disinterested made me feel cheaper than ever.  That
feeling pervaded me as I scrubbed Eliot’s semen out of my
labia.
     Coming out of the shower I was a little surprised to
see how early it was, barely six o’clock.  James was on the
couch, Eliot was rifling through the fridge.
     “Can we come over tomorrow, Wendy?”
     I had expected the question the night before, and even
prepared a response, but it still caught me off guard, how
casually he seemed to deal with having a teacher as his pet,
rather than the other way around.
     “I can’t James.  Last night needs to be a one time
thing.”
     He seemed like he was expecting to hear that, but I was
both relieved at the dismay in his voice, and upset at my
relief.
     “You mean, like, never again?”
     I looked at the boy who so clearly refused to
understand the serious complications such a relationship,
even a casual one might bring, and couldn’t bring myself to
draw the line quite that boldly.
     Indeed, after only a few minutes of persuading, by both
James and Eliot, I had promised that they would get to spend
the night again, “some day.”   They had even offered to let
me stay over.  What little satisfaction I had gotten knowing
they were skipping out for the night, at the risk of
punishment by their parents, for the chance to have me
evaporated when I discovered that James’ parents were out of
town and that Eliot was spending the night at James’ under
false pretense.  So staying out with me hadn’t been a
sacrifice they’d made so much as an added bonus to the
liberty they were already enjoying.
     James made me take down his number and the dates his
parents would be returning.  They also argued me into
agreeing to let them drop by any time, so long as they had a
good cover story.
     After that I smoldered in the bedroom at my weak-willed
personality.  The only real consolation I had against my
behavior was that I was no longer frantically fantasizing
about the men who had had me the night before.  I wasn’t
compelled to abase and humiliate myself.
     I was, however, deeply upset at the thought that if I
didn’t follow Coach Gold’s instructions to wear something
slutty for his boys that I was in for a potentially serious
confrontation.  In spite of the fact that I’d only let him
have me as a hedge against the Johns’ behavior, my
disobedience could have ramifications that could expose my
liaison, accidental as it was with John-two and his massive
member.  What was more was that I didn’t know how I’d accept
the coach’s displeasure.
     But I was no longer the beaten down whore of the day
previous.  I had recovered.  I simply couldn’t decide
whether I wanted to face the coach’s disapproval, or worse,
wrath.  I could have called in sick.  Or refused to talk to
him, but how could I, given that he’d had me twice the day
before.  Or I could simply tell him how it was.  Yes.
Standing up for myself would be the best thing I could do in
any situation.  It certainly would have prevented me from
getting into the situation yesterday morning that ultimately
led me to giving myself freely to two boys.
     That was it.  I was resolved.  Let the coach lament
over what he’d had and lost.  Maybe if he hadn’t been such a
prick I might have been a little more receptive to his
desire to have a future chew toy to play with, unattractive
though he may be, his style of sex was something I still
found rather compelling, as oppressive as it was.
     And the Johns would probably not be any trouble, if
John’s behavior after John-two had filled me up on my desk
was anything to account for.
     Fuck it, I decided, I wasn’t going to do anything the
coach asked me, or the Johns, including their private
lessons.  They were the ones who’d abused me and used me,
and now I’d made the choice that two sixteen year-old boys
were what I’d prefer.  They may not have had dicks like John-
two or bulging guts like the coach (as repulsive as the
thought still was I had to admit that those attributes gave
them the power to treat me like shit and have me beg for
more).
     In fact, I was going to dress for the boys…


     I don’t know how they did it, but somehow Eliot and
James had managed to pick out the trashiest things I owned,
which is not saying much, but in a drawer stuffed with
socks, underwear, and T-shirts, how James found my black
satin and lace corset and fishnet bodysuit was beyond my
comprehension.  Eliot’s contribution was a black G-string
that served only to cover the sex, so low was it cut.  It
showed my whole bush.  I hadn’t seen that in ten years, but
good to my promise I tried everything on—after a peremptory
trip to the bathroom to trim off what was left of the pubic
hair leaving only a little tuft to mask the opening of my
lips.  The runway, as it was called.
     The boys were enthralled, to my satisfaction.  The
corset was lace all around but had satin panels in the front
and back where it zipped up underneath my breasts.  The
bodysuit covered me toe to tit, and seemed sort of like a
hairnet over each boob.  It held them in place, but they
stretched the netting and quivered like bowls of Jell-O
eager to be let out.  The open crotch of the bodysuit was
much wider than the patch of skin the G-string covered,
serving more to enhance my new baldness than allow access,
though it definitely allowed access as Eliot proved pushing
me down on my own bed and having me, only the slightest
tugging gesture required to expose my sex to his probing
member.
     I have to admit, I was completely ready for him.
Dressing up like this as I hadn’t done in ten years made me
feel very sexy.  The thought of knowing how I was going to
be dressed under my normal clothes as I rejected Mr. Gold
gave me added arousal, as did the thought of John-two’s
bulging manhood straining against his pants while he tried
to maneuver me into spreading my legs for him.
     Spreading my legs, but for the younger, scrawny, nerdy
Eliot gave me a great deal of satisfaction as he buried
himself inside me for the third time since we’d met, knowing
how those arrogant Jocks would feel if they knew that I’d
eagerly give myself to this boy but not them.  Never again,
I told myself over and over as Eliot pushed his thing inside
me, thrusting and grunting with little grace, a single-
minded effort to get his rocks off before school.
     Enjoying myself only marginally, more psychologically
for the imagined victory over the men who had used me the
day before, I lay there in my slut outfit, legs wrapped
around the unshowered boy, letting him kiss me and use me as
his lover until finally, after several long, frantic
minutes, he came, pumping more seed inside me.
     Fortunately Eliot was spent from the previous night’s
efforts, and little of his semen dribbled out into the three-
inch swatch of cloth that substituted for underwear as I
drove the boys to school.  I had donned a long, gray skirt,
somewhat modest, but still tight on my hips; mostly to hide
the fact that I was wearing fishnets, a violation of school
dress code for students, although they still showed from
about mid-calf down to the conservative heels I was wearing.
     On top I wore a simple black sweatshirt.  It was James’
idea to wear his shirt, which he had worn tied around his
waist, and though it was large on him, my bosom ambitiously
pushed against the front doing little to hide the fact that
only a bit of elastic fishnet held my breasts from swinging
freely.  Still, it was much more modest than my usual
attire: flimsy skin-tight button-downs, and it gave James no
little satisfaction that I wore his totem.  For Eliot, I
contented him with the fact that I would be carrying his
semen inside me for the remainder of the day.  I promised to
let him fill me up any time I wanted to wear James’
sweatshirt.  That was a promise I suddenly regretted, not
only for the overt promise of future sex, which had only
been implied before, but for the fact that the sweatshirt
was very cozy, and quite frankly, felt like body armor after
my exposed state the day before.
     I had done my make-up as usual, though the lipstick,
quite unconsciously on my part, was much bolder and redder
than I had done since well before I started teaching.
Against the cold day I wore a knit stocking cap.
     I let James drive most of the way to school, holding my
breath and gasping at his inexperience behind the wheel, but
after a few scares we reached the point where we had agreed
that they would walk, and I would drive myself.

     I got a few stares in the teachers lounge; being
dressed down from my usual dapper self (from the waist up,
at least), but the sudden cold explained that for me.  It
was very chilly, and a cold fog clung to the ground.   Mr.
Sharpe seemed very interested in my welfare, but my renewed
confidence, even if it was born of slaving myself to the
passions of two boys, bore itself out, and I could honestly
tell him I was fine.  I couldn’t ignore, however, the look
in his eye.  Knowing he had witnessed Mr. Gold sexually
harassing me in front of a student (if only he knew the
extent of that harassment when we were alone), and may well
have seen the way Mr. Gold had pulled open my skirt, and
grabbed my breast, left me slightly chilly.  It was obvious
for anyone to see that Mr. Sharpe wanted a piece of me,
spread open on his desk, no doubt, in spite of the fact that
he claimed to be happily married.  The fact was that he was
happily married to a born-again Christian who weighed in at
nearly three hundred pounds.  Understandable for someone of
Mr. Sharpe’s poor social skills and even poorer appearance:
gangly, clumsy, and duck footed, he had an overbite and a
ruddy, sunburnt appearance under his oily skin and greasy
hair, he rated down there with jocks and computer geeks for
me; jocks had all the wrong ideas about what attracted
girls, geeks didn’t seem to notice there were such things as
attractors.  I had certainly spent the day before slaving
after jocks, before settling in with Eliot and James, but
that was born of fear and some yet unexplored instinct in
myself to succumb before the aggressive side of masculine
nature.
     I realized with irritation that thinking about the
abuse I had taken I was once again fantasizing about the
moments of complete distraction, where I had succumbed to
the throes of passion, and in spite of Mr. Sharpe’s constant
chatter I was becoming aroused.  It became worse when I
thought about what I was wearing under a simple sweatshirt
and skirt.
     But Mr. Sharpe’s attentions waned as the first bell
range and we all ran off to our morning classes.
     Passing by the spot where the John’s had started it
all, by stripping and molesting me in the alcove to the
science classes (by accident, they had claimed) I began to
get very apprehensive.  But aside from throngs of students
rushing to their classes, and a few of the typical smiles
that some of my more friendly male students always gave me,
nothing happened.  The John’s were not there, and I started
my day off as if it were any other day.
     Any day, that is where I might be wearing a corset and
fishnet bodysuit with a sixteen year-old’s semen dribbling
out of my sex into a tiny g-string that would get a stripper
fired for indecent exposure.
     I was thrilled when the vice-principal announced to the
school that third period would be an assembly for a special
speaker (something about ethnic sensitivity).  Though
technically mandatory, a teacher could use almost any excuse
to get out of it, and I quickly arranged during the break
after 1st period to get Miss Phillips, another math teacher,
to take my students with hers.
     What I didn’t realize at the time was that John-two was
in her third period class.  I cleared out my class and left
and returned with a steaming mug of coffee from the
teachers’ lounge.  Shutting the door behind me I took a few
grateful sips for the gift of peace and quiet (I was going
to have to assign reading for fourth period).  Then I set
out to take care of the issues that had been bothering me.
     Over the course of the past few hours, Eliot’s semen
had dribbled out of me, and though there was little of it,
it was wet and sticky and making a run down my inner thigh.
This was aided by the fact that the thong had slipped up one
side of my crotch.  The skirt had a function that allowed it
to be worn as a typical, long skirt, or it could be split up
the side by means of a concealed zipper, which could be
buttoned at three set lengths.  I unbuttoned the skirt at
the top and shifted it around.  Peeking out the window in
the door to the class I saw no one, so I quickly unzipped
the skirt all the way up.  It ended below the crotch so I
hiked it up a little more and proceeded to swab myself out
with a Kleenex.
     I actually felt guilty for breaking my promise to
Eliot.  I tried to rationalize it by telling myself that his
semen was still swimming around in my uterus, but knew this
was weak at best.  A man’s presence in a woman was a thing
to be felt, endured, and adored.
     Still, what he didn’t know.  Yet I found myself almost
playing with it.  Rubbing it around, using it as lubrication
over my over-used clit.  I realized I was still very horny
from my mind-wanderings with Mr. Sharpe (that thought
disgusted me), and though I tried to block the thoughts from
my mind, I saw myself spreading my legs for Mr. Gold, his
thickened girth of a waist bearing down on me.
     
     That was when John-two barged in.
     He slunk in, hunched over, looking for all the world
like a bad secret agent parody.  He was wearing school
sweats, dark blue with the school initials in yellow on one
thigh and the back of the hooded shirt, a backpack over one
shoulder, his letterman jacket under the other arm.  Though
clearly well fitted, the outfit did little to keep his
pectorals from bulging through them, nor did it hide the
massive stocks that defined his thighs and arms.
     All my well rehearsed planning started to fade away as
John-two burst in on me, fingering myself over a cup of hot
coffee, slipping into dust as I shoved myself forward to
hide my nudity under the drawers, slamming my legs together
too soon as I realized that I had two fingers plunging in
and out of me.
     John-two looked at me, frantically struggling to pull
my skirt low enough to zip it: a difficult feat done while
sitting down.  His face seemed to be asking for tacit
approval.  He was certainly not authorized to be here, and I
could technically give him detention for cutting the
assembly.  For all his mass and bulk he seemed rather
pathetic, groveling like this with a forced, fake grin for
my permission to be here.  It seemed absurd to me, who he
had been spread open wide on my desk before him only
yesterday.  I cursed silently that he hadn’t waited two
minutes to come in, when I would be decent.  He was so
clearly panicked that I realized something more was up.
     “I think Mr. Schaffer saw me!” he whispered.  Mr.
Schaffer was the Hall monitor on Tuesdays and Wednesdays.
He was a younger black guy who patrolled the halls.  I think
he was still in college.
     I was sorely tempted to send John back out into the
halls to take his reward.  It pissed me off in no small
amount that John-two had decided to cut the assembly, and
then, fearing capture, had run to the woman he’d used and
abused the day before, as if I would offer some solace.
     But he was so pathetic—just like he’d been yesterday
after he had realized he’d raped me—that I simply didn’t
have the heart.  I freed a hand from my skirt struggle and
gestured him to sit down, grabbing a hanky abruptly as I
realized my fingers glistened with my own juices.  I
certainly wasn’t going to discuss anything with him till I’d
straightened myself out.  John immediately sat down, and
just as abruptly, Mr. Schaffer walked in.
     Nearly as short as me, Mr. Schaffer, at 23, was no less
intimidating that John-two.  What he lacked in height he
made up for with attitude and bulk.  No, he wasn’t mean, he
just had a great, “don’t fuck with me” vibe.  He wore his
hair in short dreads, and wore a tight T-shirt, in spite of
the cold, over his bulky arms and chest.
     He was startled to see Miss Caulder behind the desk.
Though he was a terror for the students, he was deferential
to the staff, “Oh, I’m sorry Wendy.”  He gestured at John-
two, “This student didn’t show me a pass when I asked for
it.”
     I looked at John-two, acting surprised, “John, why
didn’t you show Mr. Schaffer your pass?”
     He was still visibly shaken, “Uhh…  I didn’t hear him?”
     Mr. Schaffer gave me a wry grin, leaving me in no doubt
that John-two could not have missed his instructions.
     I looked back at John-two, “Why don’t you show him your
pass now, John” I was relieved that I could foist off any
disciplinary action onto Mr. Schaffer.  Having to punish
John-two with detention seemed just too damn awkward after
having his huge pole impale me—particularly because of the
way I’d behaved while he rode me: panting and screaming,
bucking up to get more of it inside me as I sought to make
the humiliation go away by burying myself in pain and
pleasure.  In the cold light of day, well removed from the
fact, I simply didn’t understand what rationale had led me
to act that way, (though rational thought certainly didn’t
describe any of my actions so much as primitive animal
instinct).  Regardless, John-two had watched me writhe and
buck like a video porn star on his tree-trunk member and
came inside me.  The first woman he’d ever been with.
Writing a detention slip seemed absurd in the least.  It
would take a lot more than him cutting an assembly to
restore the appropriate roles in our relationship.
     But John was dissembling.  I knew he didn’t have a
pass, but I could pretend that I had assumed he did.  The
frustrating part was that I wasn’t enjoying this.  I
actually felt bad for the kid.  In spite of everything that
had happened I knew that I had to put it down to both
teenage stupidity, and my own weakness.  John-two wasn’t
genuinely malicious.  I had seen enough teenagers that were,
including the ones who had taken my virginity.  Most boys of
John-two’s age and size would have date-raped their way past
their virginity long before John-two found me spread-eagled
on my desk.  I just felt so sorry for him, trying to
cultivate an explanation from his chimp-like mind.
     I sighed, and looked at Mr. Schaffer, “I asked him to
return some books he borrowed yesterday before lunch” I
gestured to a pair of books on female reproductive anatomy
on the counter by the door, “but” I added looking at John,
“that doesn’t mean you don’t need to get a pass first.”
     Mr. Schaffer seemed all too ready to accept this.  I
knew, like a lot of the teacher that he turned a blind eye
to certain rules, over eighteens smoking on campus, for
example.  He also didn’t call the police when he caught kids
smoking weed, and he never interrupted kids making out if
they were out of view.  He knew something was up, and I was
covering for John-two, but that was good enough for him.
     Regardless, he looked at me and said, “You need
anything, Wendy, you come and get me.”
     I nodded, somewhat dumbfounded.
     He nodded back, and said, “You coming to the assembly?”
     I nodded again, “After I finish up.  I asked him to
return the books to have a chat with him.” And I fixed John
with a humorless glare, hoping it would convince Mr.
Schaffer that John-two was to get some discipline.
     He smiled, actually, and said to John-two, “You’re not
gonna graduate if you get into any more trouble, man.  You
come to me if you need anything.  I could have followed you
here and talked to Miss Caulder without the confusion.”
     John-two was looking at his feet, “sorry.”
     Mr. Schaffer nodded at me and turned to the door, then
pausing, turned to me, “This whole wing’ll be clear during
the assembly.” He glanced at John-two, then back at me, “So
you two’ll be alone.” Then with a nod that felt like a wink,
he turned and left.
     Both John-two and I remained motionless until we heard
Mr. Schaffer’s footsteps round the corner of the empty
hallway outside.  Immediately I dropped the soiled hanky I
had, for some reason, been clutching the whole time, and
started trying to hike my skirt down, but John-two was up
and leaning over the desk in a second,
     “Aww, man, Mrs. Caulder, that was great.  I really owe
you one.”
     Slamming myself against the edge of the desk I shot
back at the boy, “Do I look like a Mrs. To you!?”
     John backed off a bit, “Oh, uh, sorry…”
     I leaned forward, “did I look like a Mrs. Yesterday
after school?” but I immediately regretted bringing it up.
     John-two also seemed embarrassed, but clearly had to
stifle a grin as he said, “No, you definitely looked like a
miss.”
     I felt myself flush, but John seemed to have drifted
off, remembering how it felt to have me under him, impaled
on him, on the very desk that separated us presently,
“Good!” I said, only managing to bark in a harsh whisper,
“So what’s my name?”
     “Can I call you Wendy?”
     “What?”
     “Well, I mean, it’s kind of hard to think of you as a
teacher—“ he immediately shut up, a look of shock coming
over him, “But I’m really, really, really sorry about what
happened yesterday!  I was totally wrong.”  He was
practically begging, and he came around the desk, another
step with each “really” until he was kneeling at my side,
behind the desk.  It was all I could do to clutch the skirt
up around my legs.  Letting go, hiked up as it was, would
let them fall apart and reveal the fishnets from toe to
waist, not to mention the thong.
     John-two seemed to notice that I was sitting there,
frozen, as I tried to compose a reaction, “Are you okay,
Mrs. Caulder?”
     I groaned with frustration at the simple-minded boy,
“It’s miss--!  Never mind.” I turned away from him, “you
need to get out, John.  You need to leave me alone for five
minutes, okay?”
     “What’s up?  And it’s John-two, not john…”
     “I know!” I spun back on him unconscious of the fact
that though I held my skirt together, by turning in my chair
to face him I was revealing the condition of my skirt, and
not a little bit of skin that showed though the cracks.
     John was talking, “It’s just that you’re always
correcting me…” he had seen what I had tried for so long to
conceal, and broke into an honest grin, Aww, Mrs. Caulder,
you don’t have to worry about me.  It’s not like I ain’t
already seen you.”
     As if he had completely forgotten his overtures of
pathos a few moments before, John-two was leering over me.
He even gave me a playful poke in the ribs, “Though I ain’t
never seen a girl wearing that before.” He was indicating
the fishnets.
     Having succumbed to the pressure of the John’s
yesterday, under the same false rationale he blurted out
then made me cringe, but for some reason made it no easier
to argue.  There was simply no rational way to counter that
statement, and emotional pleas always sounded pathetic in
the face of cold, male logic, as base and simple as it may
be.
     Clutching my legs together I had to try, “John, please,
I just need you to leave.”
     But he wasn’t listening.  He had a hand on my leg and
was pushing the skirt back, “Come on, I just wanna see what
you look like in those—“ and hooking one hand he started to
pull one leg apart from the other.
     But I was on my feet.  If he caught a glimpse I don’t
know, but I shot up, spun around and tugged the skirt down.
Quickly and efficiently I corrected myself, now that there
was no need for stealth.
     I had worn the underwear to spite John-two and the
others.  Letting him look would not only defeat that
purpose, but undoubtedly provoke added speculation in John-
two’s thick, addled mind, as to why I would dress in such a
way if not for him.
     I quickly straightened out the rest of my outfit,
looking in the cabinet mirror, asking, “Now John, what do
you want?”
     I saw him blushing in the reflection, “I need you to
look at something.”
     Turning to face him I could see that he was, once
again, completely dissembling in embarrassment, “What sort
of thing, John-two.”
     It took him forever, it seemed, but finally he said,
“The coach gave us a lecture, last season on, uhh… STB’s.”
     It took me a moment to realize that he meant STD’s:
sexually transmitted diseases.  The thought certainly hadn’t
occurred to me the day before, but Mr. Gold, being as
promiscuous as he was could certainly have given me
something which I’d have passed on to John.  What didn’t
make sense was how soon symptoms would arise in John-two,
since neither Eliot nor James had given any indication.
“John, it’s too soon to be seeing signs of anything.”
     “But it…” John was clearly fighting with terminal
embarrassment to admit this, “But it hurt to pee yesterday.”
     I had to grin, “That’s normal, John-two, after an
orgasm.   Sometimes….”
     But he spun on me, “And there’s a mark.”
     I sighed, “What does it look like john?  Are you sure
it’s not a scratch, or a bruise?”
     He shook his head, “It’s easier to show you.”
     I gasped, “I’m not a doctor, John.”
     But he walked up to me, towering over me, “But you’re a
sex ed teacher.  I mean, that makes you qualified, doesn’t
it?”
     I cursed the fact that he was, in fact correct.  I had
even worked in a free clinic for a while, and had learned to
diagnose the more common forms of STD.  But I knew he had
been a virgin before me, and that he couldn’t possibly have
any visible signs less than one day later.  “Yes, John, but
you can’t possibly…”
     “Can you just look?”
     I felt my head spinning, burning deep in the pit of my
stomach.  He had come to me as the one person he could
trust, in spite of having raped my (again, by accident).  I
had proven faithful to that trust by covering for him with
Mr. Schaffer.  My feet were shaking, but something deep
inside me told me that by examining him, in essence turning
this into a doctor patient relationship, I might well take
us further along the road to restoring the teacher-student
relationship that was appropriate.  The other, important
factor was that if he was diagnosed with an STD somewhere
else they might ask who he got it from, like the school
nurse, and he might be too dense to hide the truth.
     At the very least I could put his concerns to rest, and
my own, for I realized that there was a slim chance that
there might be something I was overlooking in my confusion
and fear that may well indicate and STD that I was
spreading.
     “Lock the door,” I said, looking at the clock.  There
was a good forty minutes before the assembly was over.
     John-two did as I asked, and I brought him to the back
corner of the classroom, where we would be well hidden from
the door window.  I was very hot, due to the sweatshirt and
the heated room, something I hadn’t anticipated.  My own
anxiety was also a cause of this heat, but there were simply
no circumstances that I could take it off.
     I would have preferred to use my desk as an examining
table, where I could stand over him, but the class desks
were too tiny, and something in me recoiled at the thought
of having him lie on the floor while I kneeled by him, so I
resolved to do it standing up.
     “Okay, let’s see.” I said, holding my breath as he
untied the sweatpants and pushed them down.
     They fell quickly to his ankles, his legs muscular and
well defined.  His member was soft, but impressive
nonetheless, hanging a full eight inches, while flaccid,
down the length of his left thigh, “show me,” I said.
     He started to reach for it, but hesitated.  My initial
thought had been that it might be a ruse, just to get me
into the same sort of position I’d been in yesterday, but
his lack of erection arrested that concern.  This boy would
spring up at the slightest hint of a woman.  He must be
genuinely concerned.  But he looked me in the eye, “can’t
you… go down on m… I mean, get down and look?”
     I sighed.  His waist was much higher than my own, his
manhood reaching my bellybutton.  But in order to examine
it, I would have to look all over, and that meant kneeling.
I took solace in the fact that he seemed pretty genuine.
Besides, I knew how to treat a patient, even ones who did
get hard.
     I started to kneel, but realized that my skirt
prevented that, risking tearing, “Okay, John.”
     “It’s John-two.” He stammered, “and you’re Miss
Caulder.”
     I glared briefly at the boy, then unzipped my skirt
where it parted, now on the side.  It only buttoned at the
calf, below the knee, and up high, so I just left the zipper
half undone, at mid-thigh, so I could use my legs while
crouching.
     In my kneeling position I realized that I was looking
up at his member.  The head drooped to just below my own,
and it occurred to me that if he were hard it would be
poking me in the forehead.  I was reminded uncomfortably of
kneeling before Mr. Gold like this the day before.  How he’d
used me, came on my face, and left me in the bushes.
Nevertheless, I took the head of his penis in between two
fingers and turned it over. I couldn’t see anything, and I
said as much.
     “It was totally there this morning.  This big, red
spot.”
     “When you woke up?”
     “Yeah!”
     “Were you erect?”
     He seemed to blush at this, and nodded, his body
shifting with the gesture, his penis swinging to the left
and the right.
     I was looking up, over the length of his body, past his
penis, which was only a few scant inches from my face, “it
might have been a bruise colored by the blood from the
erection.”
     “Can you check that?” he asked.
     I immediately cursed myself for suggesting that.  “Not
unless you are erect.”   I remembered how obsessed I had
been with his gargantuan sheath the day before.  How it had
spread me beyond any levels I had ever known, leaving me
frantic to find a substitute, someone to fill me the way he
had, only without the pain but with the all consuming
envelopment.  I remembered the humiliation of trying to
drive myself to that escape on him as he came too soon, and
returned nothing but humiliation and pain.  I could feel
that sensation in me then and there, kneeling before this
boy, his penis dangling in front of me, and tried to stifle
it.
     “Okay.” He said.  Fortunately he still hadn’t seemed to
have regained the confidence of the day before.
     I waited.  “Well?”
     He shrugged, “I don’t know, I mean, I can’t just make
it hard.”
     I groaned, silently.  Normally I’d have suggested a
magazine, but that seemed patently absurd now, “What do you
need, John-two?”
     And then he was grinning, “Well, if you did what you
did yesterday, during the private lesson…”
     “I’m not taking my clothes off.”  On that point I was
adamant.
     “But you didn’t…”  he stammered, “I mean you—I already
seen everything.  We, I mean, you and I, were…  You ain’t
got anything to hide from me.”
     But I simply shook his head, aware that I was doing
very well, though the burning in the pit of my stomach
didn’t make it any easier.  The fact was that I refused to
let him see me in my slut outfit, and I was actually
thankful I had worn it.  Were I more modestly dressed I
might have considered it, but stripping like this would be
an invitation to more sex, and the only way to make sex
tolerable with the boy would be a repeat of yesterday’s
degrading performance.
     “Can’t you masturbate yourself to an erection?”
     But I had forgotten that I was dealing with a teenage
boy,
     “Oh, no.  I don’t do that.” He mumbled unconvincingly.
     “Fine.”  I took the massive member in my right hand and
started stroking it, but it was so damn big and squishy that
I simply couldn’t create a kind of rhythm.  I had never been
good at hand jobs.  It actually grew a little, but it was
clearly not doing the trick.  Yesterday, John-two would have
sprung up at the thought of me, but now, having had me, he
was clearly less inclined.  After sex, a hand job wasn’t
going to elicit much response, especially when he was so
embarrassed about this “mark.”
     “Mrs. Caulder.”  He said.
     I ignored the mistake and stopped pumping him, looking
away.  I simply couldn’t bring myself to look up at him,
trying as I was to jerk him off to an erection, this big,
lumpy, flopping eel, “What?”
     “Maybe if you…  If you, you know?”
     A glance up at him was enough for me to realize what he
meant.  He was pointing at his mouth, obviously to ashamed
to say “blow job.”
     I felt a great shiver pass over me.  Though flaccid the
head of John-two’s member was enormous.  Easily enough to
fill up the palm of my small hand.  Putting that in my mouth
would require a wide-open stretch, and that was until it got
hard.  I remembered how big it was pushing inside me,
lubricated and spread wide.  But vaginas are made to deliver
babies.  A woman’s mouth would be forced to simply open wide
and engulf.  There is nothing there to stretch.
     But it wasn’t such technical considerations that sent
tingles running all over my body, and shooting stabs of heat
from my tummy to my sex.  It was the thought that taking
John in the mouth was not the re-instatement of a teacher
student relationship, it was, in fact, the next ultimate
step in a woman submitting herself to a man’s desires.
     Still, he wasn’t erect at the prospect, and that gave
me some rationale for proceeding as I did.  That he was
genuinely concerned, and I was helping him.  But even as I
spread my lips wide, licking them and leaning forward, I
knew that I was doing this because I had already gone too
far.  By putting myself in this position, kneeling before
his penis, I was humiliated and ashamed.  Perhaps, the great
engorgement might drown some of that out.  I licked the head
of his manhood several times, not too surprised to find a
dull, faintly acidic taste.  Using two hands I lifted it up,
and squeezed so as to engorge the head as I took it in my
mouth, running my lips over the glans, licking his frenum.
     It was only a few strokes with my head before the blood
started pumping, and John-two’s member began to swell and
pulse with new life.  It was more massive than I could have
remembered, in spite of having impaled myself on it and
feeling for all the world like my body was being consumed by
his penis the day before.  Stuffing it in my mouth, I could
only open wide while trying not to gag while my hands were
spread apart by the girth.  I felt like I was trying to
grapple with a tree branch.  I had never tried to put my
fist in my mouth, but I discovered in that instant that I
could probably manage with little discomfort.
     He was so much longer and wider than any man I had had
before, and I felt the great, slobbering gulps of spit trail
off his glans dribbling down my face as my lips passed, back
and forth, fucking him with my face, strained to the limit,
when John-two let out a mighty groan and a vast gush of
briny tasting semen, acidic like the sweat on his penis,
poured onto my tongue, slipping down my throat as I tried to
retreat.  My face came off his member with a ‘pop’ and I had
a brief instant of feeling hollow, but his joint continued
to shower me with sperm, splattering me in the face, the
neck, the hair, and dribbling down onto my shirt, jet after
jet of his milk pummeled me while I stood there and let it
bury me.  Taking every shot square in the face, I had to
open my mouth for air because of the jizz dripping on my
nose, and another shot hit my teeth, before John-two’s
member came plowing back in, and I was forced to open wide
as John-two cradled the back of my head and fucked my face
as the last drops shot into my mouth; great, gushing bursts
of his essence as he rocked me, over and over again, pumping
himself dry into my face while I knelt there and let him,
owning me like he had the day before.

THE INEVITABLE

     It was a long minute or two while the two of us held
that position, me breathing through my nose, trying not to
snort too much of his semen, John, eyes closed as the last
wave of orgasm left him, pouring into my mouth.  I simply
held on with my mouth, and realized that I had clutched his
backside in the furious moments of the orgasm and had two,
firm, muscular butt cheeks in my hands.  I was actually
pulling him towards me.  I had been grappling him, making
him fuck my mouth which yawned wide open submissively.
     To my surprise, the last thing I wanted was for him to
pull out, though my jaw ached and I was having trouble
breathing.  My face was covered with semen, and I felt
sluttier than I had even the day before, stripping before
the John’s.  But with that feeling was a sense of numbness.
A vague reprieve from the humiliation and shame of once
again having found myself this boy’s sex-slave.  All I knew
was that there had been a giant cock in front of me, and I
had leaned forward, taken it in my mouth, and sucked it till
it exploded in my face.  That was all that mattered.  Even
the escape I’d found under Mr. Gold’s weight, or the gasping
orgasms I’d had with the old fat clerk in the convenience
store had left me craving something more, as if the simple
pleasures I’d gotten from being fucked were rooting me to
the here and now.
     Taking it in the face, however, as brief as it had
been, had been an entirely different experience, and having
it there, still, long after John-two had finished, kept me
there, in a state that was entirely void of thought, self,
even time.  Even as the feeling began to fade, and I knew
what I was doing I found myself shaking my head as John-two
tried to pull out.  His penis was shrinking, and I was able
to gulp more of its length, and feel the reward of another
drop oozing onto my tongue as I milked him with one hand,
clutching his buttocks and pulling him closer with the
other.  He indulged me as I tried to maintain the
experience.
     But inevitably, after I spent not a little time trying
to support the flagging length with my hands it slipped out,
and John-two was a little too sensitive to let me take it
back in, hastily pulling up his sweatpants and tying off.
It wasn’t long after that that I suddenly wanted… no needed
to be anywhere but there, on my knees before him in this
way, covered with his jizz.
     John-two seemed to feel otherwise, “Oh, Mrs. Caulder,
that was amazing!” he plopped down in a desk, which was
something of a relief, since I could almost look him eye to
eye, “man, you’re covered in it.”
     I could only nod, my shame binding my tongue.
     “I never,” he went on, “I mean, no girl has ever done
that for me.  I mean, that was better than sex.”
     I tried pushing the semen away from dripping into my
eyes, and found myself also licking my lips and around them,
lapping up John’s sperm.  I wanted to get up and get
something to clean up with; my hands were covered with it,
but I just knelt there, watching him, letting him “praise
me.”
     “I mean you were a great fuck, you know.  I loved
fucking you.  But that, I mean, all I had to do was stand
there.  You did all the work.”
     His dim face seemed to realize something,
     “But I suppose that wasn’t too cool, I mean, I shoulda
done something for you.”
     “It was fine, John.” I was actually pushing up the
sperm dribbling off my chin, and licking it off my fingers.
I don’t know why, except that something kept me from
standing up and I needed to do something.
     “You mean it?  I mean, you’re cool with it?” he asked,
shocked.
     I nodded, “But you weren’t supposed to come.” I said,
even as I lapped up his expenditure before his gaze, eyes
wide with wonder as I slurped his semen off my palm.
     He sort of shrugged that off, “Aww, I couldn’t really
help myself.  I mean, I didn’t expect it to feel just like
sex.  But what’s up, I thought girls hated the taste of that
stuff?”
     This time I was the one who shrugged, abandoning any
pretense at what I was doing and visibly gulping the sperm
in my mouth, which I was having trouble swallowing.
     “I mean, Tony says his girl won’t even let it touch
her, and Mary, one of the mascots, I heard her saying the
stuff is gross.”
     It was gross, semen is gross.  Semen is like warm,
runny eggs, and it tastes a lot like bleach smells, though
it can be salty, and even meaty, like John-two’s was.  I
simply didn’t have an explanation, “I’m just…”
     But John was way ahead of me, “You know.  Coach tells
us that when a woman eats a man’s sperm, you know, it means
something.”
     I froze, knowing exactly what he was talking about.  To
a man it means that he’s had a woman totally submit to him,
though it’s not exactly that with a girl.  Some girls don’t
care, and like to flatter the egos of the guys who believe
that bullshit.  In my case, though technically right, that
wasn’t why I was doing it.
     “John, you shot so much of it in my mouth, it doesn’t
make a difference, okay?”
     “Yeah, but wouldn’t a lot of girls spit it out?  I
mean, you’re licking your fingers.”
     I let my hands drop, curling them lest they stain my
skirt.  As annoying as John-two was getting I had to admit
that the slurping at his cum had served as a mild extension
of the blow job itself.  I was doing it because it gave me a
sort of presence, something that I wasn’t ready to let go of
though I had regained my sense of self, and even quite a bit
of my composure.  One thing was for sure, rather than
teacher student, I knew now that the two people in this room
were definitely not equals, but master and servant, and one
of them had come in the other’s mouth.
     I felt myself tilting my head, acting like a teenager,
and with as much bitchy attitude as I could muster I said
“Look, I like it, okay?”
     John backed off, “Oh, hey, I’m sorry.  I’m just trying
to say… Aww, shit.  I’m just trying to say that it, you
know…  I mean, I know what it means and… like thanks, you
know?”
     I outwardly balked at his attempts at sensitivity,
though I was, surprisingly touched by them.  He could have
been cocky, like a lot of guys, taking it for granted that
it was all about him, but he was genuinely appreciative that
I was willing to submit to this degradation, every man’s
fantasy.
     “So what’s next, John-two?” I said, standing up and
crossing the room to my Kleenex box, deliberately crushing
the instinct to be moved by the boy’s sincerity, “I didn’t
see anything on your dick.  Is there a lump on your ass
you’d like me to probe with my tongue.”
     John-two may have been dim, but he seemed to recognize
sarcasm, and acted sheepishly ashamed of himself.  “I’m
sorry, Mrs. Caulder—“
     “John, I just gave you a blow job, let’s skip the Miss,
Mrs. Shit, since you can’t seem to remember that I’m a
miss.”
     He gave a bashful grin, “Sure, Wendy.  But then he
crossed the room to sit at a desk in front of mine, “But you
know I didn’t mean it.”
     “It’s just awkward, you know?” I said, wheeling on him
as I wiped the sperm from my fingertips, “Teachers aren’t
supposed to fuck their students.  They aren’t supposed to
blow their students.  They aren’t even supposed to check
them for strange marks, John, but every time you come in
here I walk out covered with your cum.”
     John didn’t seem to find anything wrong with that, and
gave a sort of “that’s life” shrug.
     “You know, if I was a man and you were a girl, I’d be
put in jail for this.”
     “But you’re not.”
     I sighed, “I know, but technically it’s illegal, and
it’s damn improper.  How am I supposed to teach you anything
when things turn out like this?”
     John just stared back at me.  Clearly this line of
thinking was beyond his level of comprehension.  He said,
“Well, you’re still gonna give John and me special lessons,
right?”
     I looked back at him, “No John, the school won’t pay me
for private tutoring.”
     “Oh.” He said, clearly trying to remember something,
perhaps what we had discussed the day before, “But I can
stop in and see you, like when I need help?”
     I shook my head, but I was smiling, for some reason, at
the persistence of the big, dumb brute, “Yeah, I mean, all
my students can.”
     John stood up, and took a few tentative steps in my
direction, “But like you said, I mean, I’m like, more than a
student.”
     I crossed behind my desk, not so much out of fear, but
to avoid having to look up at him over his massive
pectorals, “John…”
     “I mean, not like we’re, umm…”
     “An item?”  I offered.
     “Yeah!  I mean, no.  I mean I understand what you
mean.”  He scratched the back of his head, clearly trying to
articulate a way of saying what was on his mind that would
keep his options open.  He wasn’t exactly as quick as Eliot
and James were, “Just like you said, I mean, we’ve been…” he
seemed to stretch for this next part, “making love.”  He
looked at me for some kind of confirmation, as if there was
some doubt on the matter.
     “Yeah, John.  But I think it would be more accurate to
say we’ve been having sex.”
     “Yeah, but I love fucking you!” and he grinned broadly
at his little joke, even letting out a single syllable
laugh.  He quickly stifled it at the expression on my face.
I simply couldn’t understand why I could have such power
over him, considering the positions I’d been in for him.  In
the past 24 hours I’d become the receptacle for John-two’s
sperm, but I could still silence him with a glare.  He
looked at the floor, shuffling his feet, “I mean, you said
you like it…”
     I had said that, but not in the way John-two thought.
I hadn’t even been talking about sex, but trying to get him
to stop talking about the cum all over my face, “John, I
wasn’t talking about sex when I said that.”
     “Oh yeah, you said you liked the taste.”
     I just shook my head, but John was still looking at the
ground.
     He looked up, “Hey, you know, we can do it again, I
mean…” he seemed to lose courage, but I was starting to find
him more amusing than annoying, and though he mistook my
smile for gaining ground with me, he stopped talking so I
could respond to that.
     “John…  Eating a guy’s cum is, like you said, something
special.” Oh god, why had I said it like that?  But I went
on, “I mean, it’s…  Blow jobs are really a big deal for guys
and girls because of the… control factor.  You know, she’s
down on her knees in front of you, you’re filling her up…”
what the fuck was I talking about.  I had gotten so muddled
in trying to cover my comment that I had lost all track of
what I was saying.  Still, I plodded on, “It’s like, when
you take a man in your mouth you’ve submitted yourself to
him.”  Shut up.  I told myself, but I just tried to cover it
even further,
     “Look, John, when I did what I did, it wasn’t supposed
to be sexual.  I was just trying to help.”  I could feel my
knees shaking, and leaned forward to sit on the desk.  I
could feel my arms wrapping around myself, but in a distant
way.  I couldn’t look at the boy, and I spilled my guts, “I
just wanted to see your problem and get it over with, but
once you were in my mouth…”
     “You were really sucking me off, Mrs. Caulder…” I
glared at him, “…Wendy, I mean.”
     I shook my head, “That’s what I mean, it became sexual.
You can’t just connect in that way and have it be clinical.”
I looked straight at the boy, “it’s not what I intended, but
you were so needy, so driven, and surrendering myself to
that…  completely, was sort of a way for me to deal with the
fact that I really shouldn’t have been down there in the
first place.”
     He was actually nodding, but I saw that he was looking
at my leg.  I looked where he did and realized that I hadn’t
zipped up the skirt seam and was showing my leg from the
hipbone all the way down, fishnet all the way.  I suppressed
a response, figuring it didn’t hurt anything, even though he
wasn’t supposed to see that.  I figured since I had already
done much worse there wasn’t anything to lose.  He was
sitting across from me on the desk, his back twisted so he
could look at me, and I put a hand on his massive deltoid,
     “John, eating your semen was more about that, that I
should never have caused you to spend it, much less in my
mouth, than about enjoying it.  It just means that I liked
doing it better than just letting you do me while I knelt
there, passively.”
     He was nodding.  I had to give him credit, he was
trying hard to follow what I was saying, which was,
admittedly, a bunch of neurotic female psychobabble.
     “So, that’s why you fucked me so hard yesterday?”
     He actually did get it.  “Yeah,” I nodded, but then,
seeing the crestfallen look on his face I added, “Not
completely, I mean, that was really different.” He looked
up, not understanding any more.  “I mean, the difference is,
that I was trying to force it yesterday.”
     He just shook his head, “You weren’t… forcing it
today?”
     I shook my head back, “No, I was sort of on autopilot.
Like it was completely natural.” I knew that was the wrong
thing to say before it had finished coming out of my mouth.
     John perked up dramatically, “Well, that means
something… Wendy.  I mean, I’m cool, if you just want to
blow me.  I mean, I can understand not wanting to fuck, with
pregnancy, and disease…”
     But I interrupted him, “No, John, I like to fuck as
much as any girl.” I let out an exasperated sigh, “what I’m
trying to tell you is that we can’t have a sexual
relationship.  I’m just trying to… figure out with you, why
we had one in the first place.”
     “Aw shit, Wendy,” John was frustrated too, “I don’t
know about any of that, I mean, I don’t understand these
games that girls play and stuff.”
     “John, I’m not playing games with you.”
     “Well then let’s fuck, I mean, I don’t want a
relationship either.”  He stood up, towering over me again,
“I mean, I like you, but you’re a teacher.  I can’t take you
to prom, but we’ve been fucking, and you said the blow job
was cool, and you just said you like to fuck, so why don’t
we just agree to be normal like with everyone else, but you
know, I wanna fuck, that’s all.”
     “John…”
     “You just gave me head.  I mean, you swallowed my whole
load.  You licked it off your fingers, Mrs. Caulder.  What’s
the point of saying no to a little more?”
     I just stared at him.
     “I mean, blow job or sex, you make the call.  I wanna
fuck, but I’m cool if you want to give me another blow job.”
     I stammered, “We don’t have time.” Abandoning any
attempt to explain myself to him, which was clearly going in
one ear and out the other I started making stupid excuses.
     John shrugged, “We got twenty-five minutes, then a ten
minute break between classes.  But you gotta get your
clothes off.”
     “I thought you just wanted a blow job.” I had no idea
what else to say.
     “Well, maybe tomorrow, but, like, I really want to get
laid again.”
     “John, you practically raped me yesterday…”
     “I said I was sorry, and you were cool with it today, I
mean, you even ate my wad.  You said surrendering made it,
like, forgetting you’re a teacher, so what about it?”
     “No.”
     He was frustrated and exasperated, and I was getting
nervous.
     “Well, will you at least try?”
     “Try to fuck you?”
     “Yeah.  At least take your clothes off, you might feel
like yesterday.”
     “I tried to stop you, John.”
     “I mean today, natural, like you said.”  He didn’t wait
for a reply this time, instead reaching out and grappling
with the top button on my skirt.  Undoing it instantly, I
knew he’d been thinking about that since he’d seen me button
it when he walked in.  As the skirt fell he pulled up the
sweatshirt, and suddenly I was uncovered before him in my
slut costume, barely concealed boobs jiggling under fishnet,
and the barest swatch of black satin hiding my sex.
     John was momentarily struck with awe, “Aww, Mrs.
Caulder, you been holding out on me.”
     I simply stood in front of him, shaking.
     “You look hot.  Man, do I want to fuck you again.”  He
reached out, fondling my boob with one hand, and squeezing a
butt cheek with the other, “You know, a lot of guys don’t
appreciate you.  I mean, they say you’re kinda chubby, and
sort of old, but you know, you’re practically made for
fuckin.”  He groped me harder, “I mean, those chubby thighs
and tits… Well, come on, we don’t have a lot of time.” And
he took a step away from me.
     Confused I took a step towards him,
     “No, I mean, I can’t fuck you in that get up, strip
down, I want to fuck you naked.”
     “But John…”
     He didn’t listen, “No, I like it when you’re naked and
I’m not, you know, it’s like you said about the blow job,
sort of control, and all.”
     I was lost. The last vestiges of resistance had been
stripped off of me and I was forced to defend my honor with
cum residue on my face and a skimpy whore’s costume
stretched over my body.
     Submissively I nodded, following his orders numbly,
trying to bury the crushing sense of defeat, the
overwhelming sense of shame and impending fear of having his
member pushing at my sex again. Pulling off the corset as he
watched I quickly stripped the bodysuit off my skin, aware
that I was standing right in front of the door window, but
too numb to object.  Something in me asked why I was doing
this, and the only answer that came back was that John-two
was right.  It was easier than pretending things were
normal.  To give in to him, after all that had happened
yesterday was simply the path of least resistance, like
agreeing to ‘examine’ him.  I hated myself for the weakness,
and bit my lip against the humiliation: a drug I was hooked
on.
     Suddenly I was naked, and without John-two prodding me
I lay back on my desk, cooperatively, pushing anything in my
way to the floor.  With one hand I made a preemptory feel of
my sex, trying to figure out how I was going to accommodate
him, but discovered that I was still very wet.  It couldn’t
have been the fingering I’d given myself before John-two
walked in, it was too long ago.  I must have gotten wet from
John-two, though there was nothing remotely exciting or
sexually arousing going on.  It was even more startling, the
electric tingling my hand gave me, and by the time John had
unstrapped himself and tried to bear down upon me I had
enough selfish self-interest to hold him back.
     “Let me do it.”  I ordered, knowing were he to plunge
in wildly like yesterday he could tear me apart.  Just the
thought of willingly taking this gigantic monster inside my
tiny, pouting sex made me cringe, but the first contact as I
rubbed his head against myself, guiding it into my hole sent
reassuring twinges through my body of heat, tingling with
hidden arousal now tapped.  In spite of the pain I knew
would follow I knew my body would find it’s own sadistic
pleasure, but it still made me want to weep that after all
my resolve, I was complicitly spreading my legs for this
beast of a man; even guiding his monster inside me.
Something told me that John-two’s persistence had as much to
do with the evident pleasure I took in his ministrations.
He couldn’t be expected to understand that my reactions were
the same as a child being molested, and he certainly
couldn’t be held responsible for that.
     Just the analogy made me feel truly pathetic, moreso
for the fact that refusing to fight the neurotic pleasure
that made such humiliations bearable would undoubtedly help
my situation and discourage John-two.  But I knew I was too
weak for that, and thusly condemned myself to the very act
that was about to see me spread willingly for this ogre who
wanted nothing but to have a vessel to dump his seed in.
     John was obviously eager to begin, but having cut
through my BS and gotten me where he wanted he was a little
more patient, knowing he was about to get what he wanted.
     “Now John, slowly.”
     And as he pushed himself past my opening I let out a
piercing wail, and spread my legs wide, arching my back as
pleasure mixed with lacerating pain and I impaled myself on
John-two’s manhood for the second time.
     John was following instructions, taking his time on the
entry.  No doubt, less eager because of the blow job I had
given him, and he could feel the great amounts of resistance
my sex was offering.  I reached down, rubbing his sides,
encouraging him to take it easy as I panted with each
miniscule thrust,
     “That’s it baby, nice and slow.” I murmured laying
back, the cold Formica of the desktop sticking to my skin as
I surrendered myself utterly to the teenage monster who
threatened to split me in two if he wasn’t tender enough.
     “Mrs. Caulder,” John-two said, leering down on top of
me, not nearly so lost in his pleasures as he had been the
day before, “You are one hot, fucking teacher.”
     “Just fuck me, John.” I mumbled, not wanting to talk,
obsessing on the sensation between my thighs that was so
overwhelming, though little of it could be called pleasure.
     “I mean, are a lot of teachers slutty like you?”
     The naïve question was ricocheting around in my head,
fighting the numbness and incredible hot, flashing pleasure
that rode over me in waves.
     “Come on, John” I cried out with another thrust, then,
softly I pleaded, “Don’t talk John, just fuckin’ do it.”
     But John-two was grinning proudly, obviously nowhere
near as lost and involved in the coupling as I was trying to
get, “I am fuckin’ you, baby.” And he started to pump,
jamming his great member inside me as I struggled to
accommodate it, stretching myself to the very limits of my
body to get him in deeper where the pain was worse, but the
electric fire flashed that much brighter.
     “Hey, Mrs. Caulder.  Wendy.  Hey, look.”
     He was pointing at his penis, and I, in a half-daze
though I was, couldn’t make the escape complete for John-
two’s repeated interruptions.  Somehow, I clumsily raised
myself to my elbows and peered where John was pointing.
     “I’m almost up to the hilt, man.”
     And he was.  He had completely stuffed me.  I had never
imagined being able to accommodate such a monster before
yesterday, and here I was completely speared on it, my labia
straining, stretched out painfully about his girth,
glistening with the copious juices I was flowing.
     “You like it, don’t you?”
     “Oh John, don’t be tacky.”
     “I’m just askin’”
     “Just fuck me.” I lay back, panting from the effort of
bending myself with his huge sword inside my belly, trying
not to think about the massive stuffing I was enduring,
“Just give it to me John.  You’re so big, it just...  You’re
so goddamn big, John.” I moaned as I lay back, panting with
the effort not to start crying from the pain.
     “You kind of sound like a hooker when you say shit like
that.”
     I suppressed the urge to scream in frustration.  A
smaller guy I might have been able to ride in the position I
was in, but John-two being so massive, with him standing
while I lay back, I was completely subordinate to his whims.
I swallowed, a little too late, as I realized that I was
drooling over the edge of my mouth.  I could still taste his
sperm in my mouth, “What do you want me to say, John?”
     “Why’d you eat my cum?”
     I was gasping for breath as he pushed just once, just a
tease, slamming against my cervix.  I fought for the air to
reply, gasping and moaning, “You… I told you…”
     “Why don’t you call me baby again?”
     I tried wrapping my legs around him and pulling him
closer but he was already completely buried, and I couldn’t
make him fuck me, “Do you want me to…” I could hardly make a
sentence, gasping with the intensity in my cunt.
     “Girls should have names like that for their guys.” And
he abruptly pulled back and slammed into me.  I cried out,
my whole body flying up into him arms, grinding my sex
against him in rapture, half desperate for him not to stop,
half terrified of another such assault.  John-two was
laughing, enjoying his power, while I cringed, humiliated,
wishing he’d just get on with it.
     Running my hands over his back I started kissing his
chest.  I could feel hot tears burning in my screwed-shut
eyes and I fought not to start crying, “I want you, baby.” I
sobbed, “I want you so much.”
     I looked up at him, his low-browed face, ugly, square
jaw, thick eyebrows, and mat of tousled dirty-blonde hair.
He was looking back, his eyes seemed like solid brown, so
beady and squinty they were.  He seemed to have no
expression but curiosity.
     “You my girl, Miss Caulder?”
     I didn’t even think.  I just nodded, still looking in
his eyes, “Yeah, baby.”
     Through my blurring, tear stained eyes I think I saw
his eyes widen.
     “Really?” he asked.
     “Yeah.” I said, unable to look at him any more,
tightening my legs around him and trying to ride him, much
easier done sitting up, while I grappled his broad, steel
muscled sides, kissing him profusely wherever I could reach,
losing myself in the thought of such utter surrender for the
same reason Eliot and James had taken me away, for being a
play-thing for two such young boys.  His persistent
conversation, however, was making me wish for another such
young boy, someone who I could just be humiliated and
debased for, without the pain of a gargantuan dick and
without stupid questions.
     With one hand John-two took my head and turned it up to
face him again, but I wouldn’t stop riding his cock, what
little I could of it, it was more than I’d ever had before,
and I was desperate for the pleasure it gave that made the
intrusive, flooding pain and stretching fade away.  He
smiled and said, “So you’ll like, fuck me whenever I want?”
     I tried not to answer him, trying to lose myself around
his violently piercing member, but he pinned me against him,
not letting me look away, “Well?” he asked.
     As desperately as I wanted to agree, hoping he’d shut
up and fuck me, I just couldn’t do it.  There was too much
at risk, “I want to.” I sobbed, the tears running freely
that John-two didn’t seem to notice.
     He let me go and I nearly fell back onto the desk,
catching myself by grabbing his shoulders just in time.  He
seemed like nothing more than an angry student, almost
ignorant of the fact that he had me spread open before him
with his dick buried to the hilt inside me, while I gushed
with accommodating lubrication and begged him to fuck me.
     “I don’t want to play any games, Mrs. Caulder.” His
almost took a step back, but seemed to remember as he was
halfway pulled out that he was fucking me, and that he liked
it, “I mean…”  he paused, growing tender again, a single
hand reaching out to grope my breast in what might have been
a sign of tenderness, “I mean, I will if I have to.  I ain’t
never had a chick like you who just wants to fuck.”  He was
looking me over, adoration in his eyes, “I mean, you are
seriously hot.  I mean, there’s hotter chicks, but they’re
like, bony and shit.  And you suck dick.  I mean, I asked
and you just did it.  No bullshit.  I mean, I know that
wasn’t supposed to be a blowjob, but like, you were cool
with the idea.  You even ate it”
     I leaned back, letting him squeeze my tits, my sex
aching with relief at the lightened load of turgid manhood
splitting me open, agape at his monologue.  Inside me was a
void aching to be fulfilled, one full of pain and terror,
and numbness that made Wendy Caulder go away, and left
simply a slut who would lay back for anyone, but I simply
couldn’t go there for John-two’s diatribe about me, the
chick who sucks dick.
     I swallowed, willing my eyes to stop tearing as I
caught my breath, “John, do I put out for you?”
     “I liked it when you called me baby.”
     “Baby,” I said, putting a hand up to his chin but not
quite able to reach, I settled it on a pec bigger than a
dinner plate, “Baby, who just sucked your dick?”
     John-two smiled, “You did, Mrs. Caulder.” and he made a
peremptory stab, causing me to shudder and gasp as he slowly
pulled it back again, obviously wanting to talk more than
fuck, which shouldn’t have been so surprising since he’d
come already only a few minutes before (though for a man his
age it represented the triumph of feminism, for sure).  But
he obviously knew he was teasing me (though torturing was a
more appropriate term).  I was just glad he didn’t seem to
realize how wrapped around his little finger I was (which is
to say nothing of his cock), because I would have just about
agreed to anything and dealt with it later.
     “Uh, huh.” I sighed, trying to regain my composure
after sobbing on John’s chest, “And who’s got her legs
spread wide open for you?”
     He grinned broader, running his hands over my legs as I
held them up wider, as if to emphasize the veracity of my
statement, “You spread’em for me.”
     I nodded at him, “That’s right, baby.  And who’s big,
fucking dick have I got inside me, huh, baby?” I gasped and
then almost cried out as he started pumping me with
enthusiasm.  I couldn’t believe that I was wet enough for
him to pump so easily, but he slid in and out, and for the
first time I heard great slurping sounds from my sex.
     But all too soon he stopped, “So you my chick, or
what?” he asked, slowly letting his shaft drive through me,
almost absent-mindedly.
     I bit my bottom lip at the frustration, though I was
happy the pain had seemed to recede, “I’m your chick, John.”
I looked him square in the eye, “I’m your chick, girl,
bitch, whore, slut, whatever you want.” I was almost
shouting at him, my spittle flying out of my mouth as I
panted with his almost absent-minded thrusting, “I’ll suck
your dick and fuck you six ways till Sunday if you’ll just
shut the fuck up and take me like the bitch in heat that I
am.”
     John-two was smiling ear to ear, “So you’ll fuck me
again?”
     I nodded, but he didn’t start fucking me again.
     “I just want to know one thing.”  He asked.  I waited
for him to ask it.  “Why’d you eat my cum?”
     I tried to form an answer, but one thing came to me,
and nothing else made sense.  I couldn’t even invent a lie,
so I just said it, “Because you own me, John-two.  I’m your
fucking woman, and a woman doesn’t spit out her man’s cum.”
     That seemed to satisfy John-two because he fucked the
living shit out of me until I had to bite my wrist to keep
from screaming at the top of my lungs.  When he finally came
he pulled out, his jizz flying all over me, and pulled me
around so I could drink his goo from the source.  Half-dead
and blind from crazed sexual frenzy I slurped at the
baseball sized head and gulped it down, licking my own
juices off his member like it was the essence of life.  I’d
have slurped my drippings off the floor if John-two had
asked me too, so numb was I from every angle, physically,
emotionally, and spiritually I was just plain dead.
     He talked a bit, but I could barely understand, so I
just mumbled affirmatives while I knelt on my desk bowing
before him, slurping at his waning member, sweat, cum, and
saliva seemed to cover me.  With great regret, but unable to
hold on, I felt my master slipping out of my grasp.
     Through slowly focusing eyes I saw him using my skirt
to wipe his dick dry before pulling up his sweatpants and
tying them off, his great member still boldly outlined aside
his massive, brick-hard thighs.  I wondered faintly how I
could not succumb to such a towering Adonis of a man.
Curling into a ball I found myself eagerly anticipating the
time he’d come for me again.  I found myself licking my
lips, savoring the acrid semen, wishing I had more, that I
would never have to drink anything but sperm from John-two’s
mammoth funnel.
     “Admit it,” John-two was saying, picking up his bag,
“You like eating it.”
     “Mm-hmmm.” I affirmed, still rolling on my desk, and if
only to prove my point, but in reality to prolong the
blessed numbness that kept me from thinking about what I
really was doing, I lifted a leg, rolled on my back, scooped
two fingers into my sore, strained and stretched labia, and
pulled a glistening glob of runny sperm and my own juices
and stuck them in my mouth.
     It hardly tasted like sperm as John-two had only shot
his first drop inside me, but the aftertaste was definitely
there, and I sat up, scraping the dribbles off my tummy and
my tits.  When that was dry I reached into my sex again.
     John-two was at the door.  I think he said something
about the bell, and sixth period, but I was too invested in
my own twisted craving, and I proceeded to scoop and lap the
combined passions of John-two and myself, slurping and
licking, scraping and scooping.
     And then the school bell rang.  The assembly was over.

A NEW LOW

     As quickly as it had begun, with John-two rushing into
my classroom, it was over.  That feeling of numb disconnect
was gone, and aside from the thin coating of smeared cum all
over my body, the taste of John-two on my lips, and what
felt like a gaping chasm in my loins I might as well have
been sitting there, sipping coffee with thirty teenagers
rushing to my classroom for all the difference that I felt.
     I knew that feeling wouldn’t last.  I knew that I had
made a sort of pledge to John-two, and I knew that there was
no way on Earth that my body could endure keeping such a
commitment, though that thought gave me a pang of guilt,
which I abruptly ignored.  I felt like I had been run
through with a baseball bat, and in spite of the imminent
arrival of my 4th period class I could barely straighten out
for all the abuse I’d been through.  I knew I’d have to face
that reality later, not to mention Mr. Gold and the boys,
and the other John, plus the clerk I’d promised a picture
too, but I had a more pressing problem:  namely, how to get
dressed and ready for class in about a minute when I could
barely stand and had cum all over my face, my chest, and
dripping from my vagina.
     My eyes rapidly coming back into focus I found what was
probably going to be the one chance I had.
     My classroom had a back door that led into the library…
     I hit the ground with a hard thud.  I hadn’t expected
my feet to hold me up properly, but I also hadn’t expected
my body to just buckle with the attempt to stand up.  It
wasn’t so much the ache in my crotch as the complete
exhaustion from having to endure John-two’s relentless
invasion.  The effort of accommodating him, combined with
the emotional commitment he had extracted (I could only
pretend to deny that I had meant every word I had said to
John-two when I said it) had drained me to the very core,
and it was a struggle to raise myself to my knees.
     I dragged the clothes nearest towards me, setting my
sights for any stray pieces.  Spying my shoes I resolved to
leave them.  I could always explain that away.  Explaining
to my Junior sociology class that I had been fucked royally
by a senior linebacker was not an option.  My head was a
mess, though, and I was crazily trying to audit what I
needed to grab.  Definite yes on the bodysuit.  The skirt.
Need that.  Don’t need socks.  Where the fuck was the shirt?
     I tried lifting up, and managed to kneel with one hand
on the ground before my head started swimming too badly.
This felt rather like being drunk, and I had to admit, it
wasn’t entirely lacking the more pleasant qualities of being
drunk, though euphoria wasn’t quite one of them.
     And suddenly I heard stomping outside my door.  Someone
running down the hall, voices calling out.  This was it.  I
was caught.  Ruined.  Maybe I could cry rape, but I would
still be ruined as a teacher.  I couldn’t do that to John-
two…
     But the footsteps faded and disappeared.  They were
running to another class.  The knot in my stomach loosened
slightly, and I started crawling across the carpet.  Five
feet to the desks, the coarse, industrial beige carpet hard
on the knees, my clothes clutched in a wad in one hand.  The
leg of the desk, icy cold against my shoulder.  I can feel
John-two dribbling down my inner thigh, his sperm is very
viscous, and warm.  The cold air on my wet sex, high in the
air as I struggle to keep my head up.  Arms pumping against
the floor, three desks, four desks, someone’s backpack left
from second period.  It’s dripped to my knee now, rubbing
together, smearing around where my thighs touch.  I lose
strength, my face smacks against the carpet while I pant,
willing the blood to flow through my arms as my ass sticks
up in the air, like it’s pining for john-two to come back
and ram it some more.  Somehow I make the effort and lurch
myself up.  Seven desks.  I’m at the back wall.  I smell
some cleanser, carpet cleaner, maybe.  My head is pounding,
but not as much as my sex, throbbing with my heartbeat, it
feels hotter now, hot despite the cold air licking at its
wet lips.
     The door is seldom used.  A desk sits in front of it,
students are supposed to go through the front, so they don’t
steal books, but I couldn’t move it.  Too heavy, this little
scrawny desk.  The steel legs chill my spine as I squeeze my
naked body through them, squeezing my breasts against the
chair, I thought of all the boys who had sat there.  All the
boys who could have me if they only knew what John-two did,
which was to ask, and when I say no: to tell.
     My hand fumbled on the handle, pulling it down and I
felt it pop, the door opening a fraction.  When did I become
so easy?  So easy I could let a man do this to me.  Maybe I
always had been.  Just too ashamed to surrender.  Now I had
no shame.  Now all I had were a cuntfull of John-two’s sperm
and a few scant moments to get through the door where
hopefully, there wouldn’t be any students in the back of the
library.
     I had forgotten about the computer lab.
     It was part of the library and being rather popular
among the geek-set they’d installed a set of internet
terminals in the back, to keep kids using their writing
passes from surfing the internet, which was only allowed for
research, but the computer students pretty much got to use
them all the time, and the internet stations were set up
along the back wall on a long, wide table rather well
concealed from the rest of the library.
     My back door opened up at one corner of this table,
which blocked the door completely.  You could turn right
from where I was, and you’d be standing in the front lobby
of the library, with an open view of all the study tables,
the check-out counter, the front doors, everything,
including the track field outside the plate glass windows
that exposed the entire side of the library.  To the left
was the internet lab, concealed by the wall of books that
was straight ahead, but like John-two, a group of kids,
freshmen, or really skinny upper classmen were cutting the
assembly, clustered around their computers.  It was only the
fact that I’d come out under the table that kept them from
seeing me sticking out of the door.  From what little I
could see of them they were definitely the nerdy lot that
always hung around back here.  Geeky enough to make Eliot
and James look like quarterback and class president.
     I’d given myself to James and Eliot, sure, but they
were really kindred spirits, just younger, and Mr. Gold and
the Clerk, but we were all adults and sex is just sex.  Even
John-two for all his muscle-bound addle-brained
repulsiveness had a claim to me for his sheer single-minded
determination, repeatedly crossing a line these kids didn’t
even know existed, but all they’d have to do is look under
the table and they’d have me.
     Maybe, in a real stretch could I explain away being
caught naked in the internet lab, but there was no way I
could ever justify the cum on my face, the fishnet bodysuit,
and my great, glistening, swollen labia.
     The library was deserted.  The kids had probably
ditched the assembly, and quite frankly, for all its
openness, it looked like the better bet.  All I had to do
was get dressed, after all.  There was no way I was going
back in my class, and except for the smallest of gaps, the
bookshelf would hide me completely from the kids.
     I heard the door shut behind me, and froze, for fear it
might attract the kids attention, but they just kept
chattering about W-A-P’s and sniffers, whatever that meant.
And I was in the open.  Alone, but in the wide open library,
naked and barely able to move, but I had a few moments and
immediately started struggling with the fishnet.
     I cursed James for picking this thing out.  I couldn’t
exactly go without because braless it was the only thing to
keep me from reliving the experience of having to go braless
like I had the day before.  The problem was untangling it,
getting my feet into it, and pulling it up.  A lay on my
back, one leg up in the air because it was too hard to sit
up, exhausted as I was, and pushed one foot through the
tangled mess, relieved to have found a leg so quickly.  Then
I had to drop my leg and pant, catching my breath, amazed at
how much I still felt John-two inside me, the aching
stretch, the deep pressure, the feeling of being wide open.
     But as I said, I was buck naked on the floor of the
library with a bunch of totally nerdy kids playing computers
on the other side of a wall of books.  I started struggling
to get my next foot into the bodysuit.
     This one wasn’t as cooperative, as I knew it wouldn’t
be.  Stockings are tough to deal with when they’re not
rolled up, hose is harder, bodysuits can be a bitch, and
fishnet makes all that just about ten times more difficult.
It wasn’t made any easier by the fact that I kept having to
set my feet down as I panted for air.  But finally I got the
other foot in and started pulling them up to my knees, where
I had to untangle them further.
     I was interrupted from this by the sudden appearance of
a trio of girls barging into the library.
     A younger kid, or an adult might have noticed the nude,
cum-speared woman on her back on the floor just a few yards
away, but there is little that can distract a pair of
gossiping teenage girls, and they breezed right past my
spread open legs lost in talk and down to the back of the
library, where the couch was, no doubt.
     But three students would be followed by others, and the
only choice I had left to me was to go back in my classroom.
     I didn’t even think of walking with my sex stretched so
wide, I couldn’t bring myself to put any weight on my hips,
or even straighten them out properly, and I made a sprinting
crawl back under the table, cringing at the thought of the
nerds but hoping the table would keep me hidden while
flashes of pain threatened to make me pass out.
     But the door was shut, and only when I arrived did I
remember that it had only one door handle, on my side of the
room.
     Looking out from under the table I wondered how far
back you would have to stand before noticing there was a
naked woman on her hands and knees crouching under it.  I
thought of making a dash across the library.  I felt a
little stronger now, and might make it to the return room,
but a pair of feet appeared in front of me, a chair was
dragged down the table by unseen hands and suddenly a pair
of brand new generic sneakers were planted right under my
swinging bosom, a pair of oversized, olive-green corduroy
pants led up to an unsightly, jiggling, hairless belly
sticking out from under a T-shirt.
     I could hear the boy crying that he had an “easy way to
spoof amateur facials” and some typing.  Two pairs of feet
followed him over, and I was trapped.  I couldn’t believe
how pathetic it seemed, these boys oohing and ahhing over
nude girls on the internet when they had a real live one,
just as cum covered as the ones they were talking about,
right at their toes.
     I knew the moment that they came over that it was only
a matter of time before they found me.  I was resolved to
it, and was rehearsing excuses, but aside from accusing John-
two of rape, or making up some anonymous assailant, nothing
came to me.  As furious as I was at John-two for abandoning
me to this predicament, I couldn’t ruin his life by pointing
a finger at him like that.
     Then I heard something strange.  A high pitched,
nasally voice:
     “Guys.  I need you to do something, and not ask
questions.  You just need to do it, right now.”
     Another voice, “What’s up Rodge?”
     “Rusty, just do it.  Please, I’m serious.”
     A third voice, “Yeah, man, whatever.”
     The first voice, ‘Rodge’ continued, “I need you to get
up, turn around, and leave.”
     “Why?”
     “Mac, Please.  I’ll meet you in class”
     A long pause, then Mac replied, “Yeah man, sure.”
     Suddenly two of the boys on either side of the corduroy
extravaganza stood up and walked out of the Internet lab.
     I peered up, and saw a chinless face trying not to look
at me.  I had been found out, but like some noble knight, by
someone who thought to minimize the danger to me.  And his
friends, to get up like that and do what’s asked of them,
without even looking back.  Taking their friend at his word.
I’d never seen anything like that but in old fifties TV
shows.  I still couldn’t see Rodge’s eyes, he didn’t seem
willing to look down at me, but he said, “What do you need?”
His voice was soft, sincere, concerned.
     I shuddered with cringing embarrassment, but also
relief.  How many guys would have acted this way?  Even
James and Eliot, for all their nobility. Weren’t able to
keep from looking.
     Then again, I wasn’t quite so pathetic, “I just need to
get dressed.”
     “Are you okay?” came the nasal whine.
     “No.” I sobbed, and realized I was beginning to cry.
So much tension, so much humiliation and frustration, only
to be found and pitied by this boy.  It would almost have
been better had he pulled me out and used me, but who would
want a woman so spoiled.
     Still he didn’t look, “Are you hurt?”  His questions
were precise, not wasting any time on unessential banter.
     I shook my head, not wanting to risk breaking out into
full-blown bawling, but he obviously couldn’t hear that,
“No.” I croaked.
     “You don’t have much time.” Came the sensitive voice,
“I’ll try to keep anyone from entering, but people don’t
really listen to me.” And he started to stand up.
     “No!” I barked, conscious that he was the only thing
blocking me from view should anyone walk in.
     “You can’t get dressed under the table.” But he
remained sitting.
     “Just wait.” I pleaded, trying to pull up the bodysuit
with one hand, but I was so weak it was all I could do to
stay on my hands and knees, shaking so much with fear.  But
what surprised me was the warm, hot sensation rising up over
me, from the pit of my spoiled and stretched out loins, I
felt a hot rush coming over me.
     “Is there someone I can get?”
     But the thought of being exposed to anyone else
horrified me, in spite of the rush that made by breasts
flush, my nipples tingle.  My body shook with terror, and I
felt that this was the only person I could trust, he who had
sent his friends away and refused to look.
     “I need help.” I panted, hoping he wouldn’t realize
that I sounded just like I had when John-two had been
pushing his thing inside me.
     He started to stand again, “I’ll go get someone.”
     “No.” I cried again, “Please,” I gasped, realizing I
was fighting an impending orgasm, which I simply couldn’t
fathom.  I knew girls who claimed to have had them, when
their arousal was too great, but the thought that being so
terrified and exposed could provoke one baffled me utterly,
and I fought with all my will to contain it.
     I knew that to get this boy’s help meant exposure, but
I also knew, for his peculiar actions so far that he was
about as safe as any woman he might bring, and he probably
wouldn’t ask any probing questions.  I might even be able to
manipulate this boy into silence with my allures, and not
have to worry about him turning predatorial, like most other
men would.
     “Your name’s Rodge?” I stammered.
     “Roger.” He mumbled, surprised that I knew.
     “I want you to help me.”
     “What can I do?”
     “I need you to help me get dressed.”
     For all his noble behavior I had expected him to
decline, but he agreed almost too quickly, “Okay.”
     This was the last thing I wanted, but I could hardly
control my body, what with the weakness, the sudden flush of
arousal, and the impending orgasm which threatened to turn a
humiliating experience into an utterly profane one.
     And hand after hand, knees bound in fishnet I crawled
out, exposing myself to Roger, a doughy faced, overweight
freshman that only a mother could look at and not shudder at
how utterly unattractive he was.  He wasn’t even the kind of
kid that looked like he might grow into his defaults, but
simply someone who’d been hit with too many human defects in
too short a time.
     I collapsed on the floor, and Roger was on his knees
beside me, “Are you okay?”
     I could only nod, trying to fight the waves of sexual
energy that rode up over me from my glistening sex.
     I could feel his eyes upon me, feasting upon every
smoldering inch of my body.  The smeared cum, my heaving
breasts sprawled on the carpet, my ample thighs, and, as I
rolled on my back he could see my swollen labia, glossy and
distended.  I watched his eyes grow wide.
     “How does it look?” I felt myself asking, somewhat
distracted from the sensation taking me over, wondering how
long I could hold off.
     “Uhh…” he muttered, glancing at my face, eyes widening
again at my condition:  Smeared make-up, cum smudged all
over, “Fine?’ he asked.
     I had to grin at his pathetic attempt to lie to me, as
discomforting as the thought of evident wrongness with my
sex, but he quickly amended that, “It’s a little… swollen.”
     I thought about my labia, normally very small, slightly
pudgy and pinkish, but the only word to describe them was
neat.  My inner lips didn’t stick out like a lot of girls my
age, and the length of my lips was rather short, and tight
together, like girls just hitting puberty but for the pubic
hair.  “Swollen?” I asked.
     “I mean,” the boy stammered, obviously choking for
breath, “It’s not like pictures I’ve seen, it’s like… open.”
     The combination of the sinking feeling in my chest and
a blast of heat from deep within me was deeply disturbing,
as was the visual I tried to see of my sex gaping wide open
with semen dribbling out of it.  Still, it did nothing if
not increase the waves of erotic energy that were
overwhelming me and closing my eyes to the sensation I
imagined John-two pummeling me again, buried deep inside me,
“You should have seen it when he was inside me.” I murmured,
surprised at how sensual and confident I sounded, gasping
and weakened though I was.
     “Was he big?” clearly I had broken through the boy’s
cool, professional can-do exterior, though I doubted
anything could have prepared him for me, a used up whore
cumming spontaneously in front of him.
     “Roger.” I said, trying to lock eyes with him, but
finding my body rocking and bucking in slow, sensual waves,
“I need you to dress me.”
     He looked around, tearing his gaze from my body, and
saw my skirt wrapped around a table leg.  He reached over
and grabbed it, while I unconsciously put a hand to my
breasts and started stroking my nipple in a coarse, downward
motion, exciting me considerably while I rode on the edge of
an orgasm.
     He turned back to me, “I don’t think we have time for
those…” and glanced at the bodysuit mangled around my
ankles.  I nodded, but he asked, “Are you sure you’re okay?”
     I decided that there was no point in BSing him, “Roger,
I’m having an orgasm.”
     His mouth fell open.
     I grinned, even as my body shuddered with the effect
stroking my nipple had.  I decided to try to explain, “I
don’t know why, Roger, I’m terrified, but I’m cumming-oh my
god!” I almost cried out as a wave of ecstasy wracked my
wretched body, and though the pleasure was intense, the
humiliation was all the more keen that I could not preserve
a scrap of dignity.
     Passing momentarily I looked at the astonished boy, “I
can’t stop it.  That’s why…” and I started gasping for air.
     The boy, panicky and nervous stammered, “I’ll get these
on.” And gestured to the skirt while I moaned and writhed on
the ground in front of him.
     Bringing my other hand up, I was unable to control my
hands, which fondled and squeezed both nipples while the
excited boy went down to my feet.
     “Yes.” I heard myself stammer.
     “Huh?” Roger hesitated.  I could feel his eyes on me
though mine were shut tight.
     “He was enormous.”
     My mind imagined the boy’s gaze tilting down to
scrutinize afresh the gaping maw that must have been my sex.
I fancied he was picturing the vast member that had
penetrated me so thoroughly, wondering how a woman could
accommodate such girth, even when presented the evidence
before his eyes.
     He put a hand on my ankle, to pull the fishnets off,
and it began in earnest.
     Every touch sent me bucking with another uncontainable
orgasm.   Just having him cradle my feet send electricity
flying up into my loins and an orgasm would explode inside
me.  At one point he put something in my mouth to stifle my
moans and groans, but I kept cumming as he ran his hands up
my thighs, trying to get the skirt over my shaking and
curling legs.  I couldn’t keep myself from fondling and
stroking my chest, my belly, my face, and even ground my
fingertips into my clitoris while the child buttoned the
skirt around my waist, forcing him to leave it unzipped.
     Over and over, rampant waves of ecstasy buffered me
from the utter humiliation of being found in such a debased
state, in public, by a child.  I burst with orgasmic
convulsions which in turn led to more and more body-wracking
climaxes, like every orgasm I’d ever had rolled up and fired
over me again and again, gaining power with each wave.
     I felt a shirt being pulled over my head, my hands
being wrestled into sleeves.  I felt a cloth rubbing over my
face, but the whole time I was lost in a heated daze as my
body, beaten and fatigued completely wore out, and I lay
there panting for a long, long time, the afterglow
sustaining me.
     
     When I was able to sit up, not long after the orgasms
stopped, surprisingly, I found myself sitting on the floor
of the internet lab, facing the doughboy of the century.
Roger was a bit shorter than me, less than half my age, and
equal in weight, though it all seemed to be ass and gut.  He
didn’t have muscles like John-one and Mr. Gold did to shore
up the rest of him and add bulk and strength to his flaws,
just a sad, pathetic, hairless body that made no impression
aside from something you’d leave on the counter to rise.
     I’d been fighting off the waves of revulsion that kept
coming over me at the thought of this little pudge-pot
running his hands over my body, dressing me while I was lost
in successive waves of orgasms, had seen the sorry shape of
my poor, pathetic, stretched out vagina—Hell, I even bragged
about the size of the monster that had done it to me,
clueing him in to the secrets of my degradation.
     I didn’t know what was more pathetic, that he didn’t
take the chance of a lifetime to have a woman who would have
thrown herself at him, or the thought that I was so
repulsive, spoiled by John-two, that this disgusting little
blob wouldn’t touch me.  It was worse than Eliot rejecting
me for so long last night.  Eliot was a reject, but he
wasn’t ugly, and he’d probably be dating in a few years.
This kid would be decades before getting to kiss a girl if
some of the schlubs I’d met in my day were any guide.
     Then again, given the demonstration I’d just given, I’d
be surprised if he didn’t turn out gay.
     “Thanks, Roger.” I uttered, in a flat, monotone voice.
     “Sure.” He said, bashfully looking at the ground
between us, “Sorry.”
     “Why?” I asked.
     He shrugged, “You know…”
     “What?”
     He shrugged again, “Like, that you…  I… I mean, you,
like that… out here…”
     “It’s not your fault, Roger.”
     “You’re a teacher.” He said matter of factly.
     “Yes.”
     “So why…” he risked looking up, “Can I ask you a…” but
looked away as I stared back at him, hoping I was masking
the revulsion in my eyes.
     “Go ahead.”
     “Well, y’know… I mean…”
     “What was I doing underneath your computer in the
library, naked, covered with sperm, and cumming so
uncontrollably that a Freshman half my age had to dress me?”
     He was looking up at me again, but simply staring,
mouth wide open.
     I shook my head.  “I can’t explain…  Look, I should
write you a note, so you don’t get in trouble.”
     “Oh,” Roger came back to reality, “Mr. Sharpe is cool
if you’re in before ten after.”
     “Ten after?”
     Roger nodded, “The bell just rang.  Didn’t you hear
it?”
     I shook my head, staring off at the wall of books
behind Roger, “I though we’d been in her for…”
     “It’s fourth period.” Roger interrupted, “Twenty minute
break.”
     Astonished I felt my mouth opening and closing, “I
didn’t know…”
     Roger interrupted me again, “That’s understandable.  I
mean you were…” he fell silent.
     Trying to hide my irritation was too much for the mood
I was in, “Say it.” I ordered.
     “’Cumming,’ like you said.” And he was blushing
ferociously.
     “You weren’t so shy before.”
     He was trying to smile politely, but unable to face me,
“I was… I mean, it… I was kinda stunned.”
     That was no surprise.
     “Look, Roger…”
     “I won’t tell anyone!” he blurted, looking straight at
me.  Then turning away he said, “I mean, I have to tell the
guys.”
     “No you don’t.”
     “They’ll want to know, I mean, they…”
     Still numb but for the feelings of disgust and filth at
what I had been exposed in front of I couldn’t even feel
sympathy for what his friends had done, cooperating without
asking questions, “Can’t you make something up?”
     He looked at me like I’d kicked him.  I was fully
prepared to believe that this boy was too naïve to lie, and
after the way his friends had acted, I understood that they
must know this about him too.
     “Roger,” I said, tentatively trying to sit up, curling
my legs back and noticing that the zipper was still undone
all the way up to the waistband.  I made a tentative gesture
towards zipping them up, but remembered that I was trying to
convince a fourteen-year-old boy to do something for me.  I
let my hand fall, actually pulling the skirt open, as if by
accident.
     I continued, “Roger, do you think they’ll believe you.”
     His first expression was decidedly affirmative; then it
dawned on him the sheer improbability of the incident that
had just occurred.
     I decide to help him out, “Just tell your friends that
you saw Miss Caulder right by that bookshelf, and didn’t
want to say anything incriminating.  That’s the truth.”
     He nodded, unassured, “But why would I stay if that’s
all it was?”
     I nodded at the screen, “To cover your tracks.”
     With a lurch the boy jumped up, his bulgy belly
juggling and he stumbled and staggered to the terminal where
a high-resolution picture of a naked girl with cum
splattered on her face was displayed.  To my amazement, he
didn’t even touch the mouse, but with a series of quick
keystrokes the picture vanished, a menu appeared,
disappeared and what I recognized as the “empty trash”
display played on the screen.  He turned to face me,
blushing worse than ever.
     “Roger, that’s hardly worse than the condition you
found me in.”
     He swallowed hard, his belly vibrating with the effort,
“You were doing the real thing, weren’t you?”
     It was my turn to swallow.  I nodded.  “I have to get
back to class.” I said.
     He nodded back, “I guess I ought to go too.”
     “Can you help me up?” and Roger came over, gave me an
arm, and with a little bit of effort I found myself able to
stand again, though the ache between my legs was
considerable.  I felt like I was pressing my sex closed.  I
took a tentative step to see how it felt and gasped.  It
almost reminded me of having John inside again.  Pleasure
with a bit of pain, but very stiff.
     “Does it hurt?” Roger asked.
     I looked at him, suddenly irritated again, “Have you
ever had a baseball bat in your ass, Roger?”
     He shook his head, eyes wide.
     I shook mine, “Sorry.”
     “He…” but Roger couldn’t speak the words.
     “Go on.” I prodded.
     “He used a baseball bat?”
     I couldn’t help but laughing out loud, and what an
incredible sensation it was, tension flying off of me, my
whole body seeming to drain of knots of anger, fear, and
frustration.  Still smiling I put a hand on the boy’s
shoulder, then, though Roger wavered under the pressure, and
stooped down to zip the skirt up, “No, John…  I mean: he
didn’t use a baseball bat.”  Straightening up I looked at
Roger, “It just felt like one.”
     He nodded, relief mixed with embarrassment clear on his
face, “Sorry, I just thought…”
     It was my turn to interrupt him, “Look, Roger, don’t
think.  You took care of me, and I’m not going to bullshit
you.  Just ask, okay?”
     He actually flinched at the swear word.  “What happened
to you?”
     I started guiding him out of the internet lab,
surprised to find the library so empty, though I could hear
faint giggles coming from the back of the library, “I had
sex with someone, and he was so big that I simply…  I don’t
know how to put this.”
     “It looked like someone had put a phone in there or
something.”
     A phone? I wondered at the odd choice of things to go
inside me, distracting me for a moment from the thought of
what he had seen as I hobbled alongside him out of the
library and down the deserted corridors of the school.
     “Sorry,” he apologized again.  “I don’t mean to
interrupt.”
     “Don’t worry, Roger you’ve done me a really big favor
and I owe you.  I’m not going to get mad at you for
interrupting me.  Besides, you don’t want to know the
details.”
     “Oh, no, I do.” He said in what was almost a
conciliatory voice, as if he was politely indulging me.
     “Why?” I asked, condescendingly.
     He shrugged, “Adults never talk about sex to a fourteen
year-old.”
     I nodded at the logic of that, surprised that in spite
of his blushing he seemed to be having an easier time doing
just that than the older boys who had had me already.
     “It’s hard to explain to any man, Roger.  That’s why I
mentioned the baseball bat thing.”
     “Oh.” He said, following me. “Did it hurt?”
     I had to nod, but said, “Yes and no.  It was too much,
definitely.  But it also…”  I looked at the boy as we
rounded a corner, coincidentally past the alcove John and
John-two had molested me in the day before, “I shouldn’t be
talking about this with you.”
     He shrugged.  He did that a lot, “You shouldn’t have
been doing that in school.”
     I stared at the boy as we walked, but he was grinning,
as if he’d gotten a joke off at a teacher in class, and I
had to smile back, “No, I shouldn’t have.” And I went on,
“It felt like electricity was firing in every corner of my
body, fueled by this incredible heat.  And that drowned out
the pain.”
     “Did you have to use a lubricant?”
     I almost tripped at the pointed question; like he was
asking how I tuned up a car or something, “No, I was…” it
was my turn to be bashful.
     “It might have helped.”
     I shook my head, “No, you don’t understand, it wasn’t
friction, it was just…”
     “Size.” Roger finished my sentence.
     We had come to an intersection that split off to my
class and Mr. Sharpe’s, and I turned to the boy, “Look
Roger, promise me you’ll never tell anyone.”
     He swallowed, and pleading with his eyes, said, “Can I
tell someone if I don’t say who you were?”
     I glared at the boy, “If you promise never to.”
     “I promise.”
     And that was good enough for me for the boy who had
rescued me and restored me to sanity.
     “You teach sex ed, right?”
     I frowned, but had to nod.
     “You… Do you… do it a lot.  In school, I mean?”
     I tried to lie and shake my head, but something about
the inscrutably honest boy made me nod, since that was the
simple truth.  By any standard it was the glaring truth.
“Look, Roger, don’t think of me that way, I mean, before
yesterday…” I trailed off.
     “I’ve never…  I mean, I’d like to…” but before I could
stammer out a firm negative he blurted out, “Watch.”
     And for some reason, prepared as I was to be taken
advantage of like so many other had, I said, “You just want
to watch?”
     “Uh-huh.  You said you owe me one.”
     And I just nodded, dumbfounded.  I heard myself saying,
“I owe you a lot more than that.  I mean…  That’s not what I
mean!”
     But he didn’t seem to have heard, “You could, like hide
me, or do it by a window, or…”
     “Roger!” I put my hands on his shoulders, immediately
repulsed as they sank into his soft, pudgy flesh, “I don’t
plan for these things.”
     He shrugged, “Couldn’t you?”
     I started to imagine the numerous ways that this could
wind up with Roger inside me and his cum all over my face,
“That’s not very fair to the guy, is it?”
     “It wasn’t very fair of him to leave you like that in
the library.”
     “No.” I agreed, “It wasn’t.” and I shook my head,
“Isn’t there something else I can do for you, Roger?”
     “Well… You know how I’m not going to tell anyone who
you are?”
     I nodded, a feeling of apprehension coming over me.
     “Well, maybe the guys would believe me if they got to
meet you.”
     “Roger, that’s out of the question…”
     “You could wear a mask.”
     “A what?”
     But Roger wasn’t listening, “And neither of them have
ever seen a real woman before.”
     “Roger, I can’t just let your friends spy on me and
some guy!” I was arguing in harsh whispers now, afraid
someone in one of the classrooms might overhear.
     “No, you just have to, like, hang out.”
     “In a mask?”
     “Yeah.  You could dance and stuff.”
     I snarled at him, “I don’t dance!”
     He was appropriately sheepish after that, “I’m sorry, I
just thought…”
     “That you could take advantage of me the way John-two
did.” And too late to catch myself I cursed my lapse in
silence.
     There was a long pause.
     Roger said almost mechanically, “John-two’s a football
player.”
     I nodded, too late to try and play it down.
     “He’s a student.”
     I nodded again, unable to face the boy’s shocked and
disappointed gaze.
     “You did it with a student?”
     “Yeah, Roger.”
     “Was it because he was big?”
     I shook my head, not wanting to explain, “It wasn’t
like that.”
     “Did you know he was that big?”
     I nodded, drifting off in my head, not caring what the
boy asked as I leaned against the wall, the physical
exhaustion of the trip from the library taking its toll as
well as the latest revelation to the boy.
     “Do you do it with a lot of students?”
     I shook my head, glad that that at least was the truth.
Three isn’t a lot by any definition.  Then again, teachers
tallying up the number of their students they’ve been with
would probably average out to a lot less than three.  I
nodded my head, “Three.”
     “Were they all as big as John-two?”
     “Will you get off the size thing already?” I barked,
but Roger only shrugged.
     “I just can’t imagine how something as big as a
baseball bat could fit inside a girl.”
     “So you want to see it?” I asked.
     “No, I just want to see you doing it.  Do you like
jocks.”
     “No!” I shouted in frustration.
     “Then why did you…”
     But I didn’t let him finish, “Because I can’t say no to
them, okay?  They play nice, then they get pushy, and then
I’m on my knees because I’m too much of a pussy to say no,
okay?  Is that what you want to know?”
     Roger was nonplussed, “On your knees?”
     I just rolled my head, looking down the hall, wondering
if I should just walk away, “You know, giving head.”
     “You mean; you do it orally?”
     I looked at the brat, “No, Roger, I suck dick.” He
flinched, the little prude, “I give head.  I’m a cocksucker.
I take it in the face, and today I even ate his cum.  In
fact, that’s all I’ve had to eat since yesterday morning.”
That thought mildly astonished me, but not so much as the
diatribe I was unleashing on the innocuous boy.  Truly, he
seemed utterly unaware that I was angry, sarcastic, and
despite the hushed tones, shouting at him.
     “Would you eat mine?”
     The futility of this entire discussion began to dawn on
me, “Roger, I have to get to my class…”
     
     Somehow, I didn’t get away clean.  I actually had to
admit to the kid that I would eat his sperm by admitting
that I’d probably eat any man’s sperm if I was giving head
to him.  I was just happy he didn’t seem to have any
interest in asking for sexual favors, though his proposition
about anonymous dancing for his friends was disturbing.
     As was discovering that instead of James’ sweatshirt, I
was wearing Roger’s olive drab army shirt.  He claimed that
he hadn’t seen the sweatshirt and I honestly couldn’t
remember grabbing it on my way out of the class.  It was
actually tight enough, and heavy enough to act as a bra, and
thanks to Roger’s girth it fit me well enough, though the
thought of wearing his clothes in the way I had worn James’
made me feel pretty pathetic.  It wasn’t nearly as bad as
knowing what he’d seen me do, but that was over.  Roger, on
the other hand, would be back for his shirt at lunch.
     My only consolation was that it gave me a legitimate
excuse to dodge Mr. Gold who was no doubt expecting me to be
primed and ready to let him ride me like a dog in heat.
     I went to the bathroom, did a quick wipe-off of all my
make-up (and drying cum, I was cringing thinking about how I
looked to Roger while he was asking me about the students
I’d fucked), and finger-brushed my hair.
     Fourth period passed really quickly, and I didn’t even
have to come up with an excuse for being late, though I was
nearly 20 minutes past the bell.  The only awkward part of
class was finding my panties on the ground in front of my
desk, and the realization that the entire class had been
waiting for me to discover them.  I simply swept them into
the trash, as if it were beneath my dignity to regard them
while the class obediently passed notes instead of doing the
reading assignment I had given them.  Either way was fine by
me.
     I was also a bit concerned about the smell in the room,
when I came in.  In spite of the 25 bodies in the room, all
I could smell was the unmistakable scent of myself writhing
in an orgiastic frenzy.  How anyone could mistake that odor,
I don’t know, but they were young, and might chalk it up to
any number of things before presuming that their teacher had
been spreading her legs for a linebacker on the desk.
     Still, I didn’t want to take any chances and kept my
distance from the students whenever possible lest they catch
a whiff of the source.
     
     When the lunch bell rang I stayed in class, wishing
that I had, indeed, eaten something besides the semen of
other men, but reassured that at least it meant I might drop
a couple pounds.  With all the exercise I’d been having
lately I wouldn’t have been surprised to find that I’d gone
down a whole size.
     I did use the chance to lock the door and examine my
sex properly with a mirror, and was immensely relieved to
discover that a full hour after having been ravaged by John-
two, I was relatively back to normal.  It was still very red
and slightly puffy.  Not too different from what it looks
like when I’m aroused, but nothing like the gaping
distention that Roger described to me.
     I applied some moisturizer to it, working it into the
cracks, and though it was a little tender, I was sure it
would be fine in a day or two.
     I was just hoping that I could go a day or two without
John-two coming back for seconds.
     I spent a little time cleaning up the class before
getting out my purse and resolving to go home for lunch.  I
might not have time for a big meal, but a bra and a decent
pair of underwear would be a great comfort.
     Unfortunately, when I opened the door, Roger was
standing there.  Worse, he was accompanied by his two
friends.
     I stared at the boy, rage and anger pulsing through my
veins, “Roger you promised—“
     But he was holding up his hands, “It’s okay, I didn’t
tell them.  They already knew.”
     “How—“
     But he wouldn’t even let me ask, “They saw you
yesterday in the temp.”
     The rage vanished, replaced with utter paralysis.  I
recalled all too clearly the pair of boys standing outside
the window when Mr. Gold had opened the door allowing them
to see in through the tinted windows.  Mr. Gold had had me
bring myself to the verge of an orgasm, then pulled open the
door as it washed over me.
     These three boys had seen me naked, orgasming, and
utterly debasing myself.  A chill shame crept over me.  I
felt like I was shrinking, sunk so low that I was suddenly
at the mercy of the lowest of the low.
     “This is tank,” Roger was gesturing to a four foot
tall, weasel faced kid with wild, unkempt hair, “And this is
Rusty,” Rusty was covered with freckles, had no chin, but a
huge dental retainer strapped to his head and the thickest
glasses I have ever seen.  He was taller than me, but only
by an inch.  Roger was still babbling, “Anyway, when I told
them the story they fessed up seeing you in the temp class
yesterday, but they didn’t see any guys, and they didn’t
want to tell me because they thought I wouldn’t believe
them, but when I told them what happened they told me
everything and they described you exactly, only they didn’t
know you were a teacher, so I told them, and—“
     “Roger!” I barked.
     “Yes?”
     “What do you want?” I wanted nothing more than to be
rid of them completely.  I was so mad at the brat I could
have strangled him.
     Roger’s two friends were silent, utterly bashful,
unable to look up at me, though ‘Tank’ didn’t seem to have
any compunction about staring at my boobs.
     Roger answered me, “To get my shirt.”
     I nodded curtly, “And why are they here?”
     Roger blushed, suddenly finding it hard to speak,
“Well… we were wondering what you were doing for lunch.”
     I couldn’t help but shudder at the thought of spending
lunch dancing, or doing whatever for these children, “I’m
going home.”
     “Oh.” Roger said, apparently at a loss for words, when
‘Rusty’ thumped him on the shoulder, “Umm…” he began, “We
were just gonna, you know, treat you.”
     Tank started snickering, but Rusty gave him a whack
too, but all three of them were smiling.
     “Is this some kind of joke?” I attempted to tower
imperiously over the boys, but it was difficult knowing they
had all seen me naked.
     Roger just stammered, and a long, uncomfortable pause
fell upon the four of us.  I was just about ready to tell
them to get lost when Rusty chimed in, “Rodge tells us you
like to eat spunk.”
     Again, the suppressed giggles.
     I glowered at the boy, then stared down Roger, “Roger
is exaggerating.”
     “I didn’t say you like it!  Just that you eat it.”
Roger defended himself, thumping his friend on the side of
the head.
     “Hey, watch the headgear!” and he hit Roger back,
followed by Roger hitting him, and the two were trying to
bitchslap the other harder and harder.
     “Cut it out!” I cried.
     Tank finally spoke up, “Well, do you?”
     I looked at the boy, frustrated that my attempts to
intimidate them had failed.  I covered my eyes with a hand,
“Roger, why did you tell them who I was?”
     Rusty was not going to let up, “You do, don’t you?”
     I dropped the hand, and Roger just looked up at me
sheepishly and shrugged.
     I suddenly lunged out and grabbed the metal bar that
arched over Rusty’s face, “What do you want!?”
     This did put some fear into the boys, and Rusty
stammered, “We just want to see you eat it.”
     Roger put in a word for his friend; “You said you
hadn’t eaten anything else since yesterday.”
     I let go of Rusty, “That wasn’t by choice.”
     Rusty, a little cowed but still a cocky fuck blurted
out, “You said you owe Roger one.”
     “I didn’t mean I’d blow someone in front of him.”
     But Rusty gave a weak smile, “You don’t have to.  You
just have to eat it.”
     I frowned, putting my hands on my hips, “What, like off
a plate?”
     The boys burst out into giggles, and I had to grin with
them.
     Roger was the first to calm down, “Like, a glass.”
     I nodded, “And where is this cum going to come from?”
     Rusty had the answer for that, “A penis, dummy.”
     And though Tank and Roger broke out into fits of
laughter, Rusty seemed to worry that he’d stepped over a
line.
     I actually grinned at the boy, though why I didn’t
smack him, I don’t know, “Any penis in particular?”
     “Ours.” Roger answered.
     I scanned the three boys, “You’re all going to shoot
your wads in a cup,” they started snickering, “So I can
drink it?”
     “Naked,” Rusty belted out.
     “Ah, hah.”
     But Roger thumped his friend, “You don’t have to be
naked.” And I realized that though they had all seen me
naked he was actually protecting my dignity like he had in
the library.  Maybe because he had seen me stretched out.
     Rusty was rubbing his head where Roger kept hitting
him, “It’s not like we haven’t seen her.”
     I had to nip that one in the bud, “That’s the stupidest
excuse I’ve ever heard.”
     Rusty’s friends actually seemed to agree.
     “Look, Roger, you really saved my ass today, but I just
can’t…”
     Again, he interrupted me, “They didn’t tell anybody,
and I won’t tell anyone else anything. I promise.  And even
if we did nobody would believe us ‘cause, were…”
     “Nerds?” I finished for him.
     Simultaneously the three of them shrugged.
     I shook my head, but stepped back nonetheless.  It was
as if the light of god had poured out the door at the three
boys, when they realized I was going to do it, but I held up
a hand as Rusty began to barge in.
     “Is this it?  You’re not going to ask me to do anything
else?”
     The boys nodded.
     “I won’t touch you—“
     “But you did John-two.” Rusty chimed.
     “He’s a senior!”
     That seemed to have done the trick, and the boys came
in quietly and lined up in front of my desk.  I imagined
seeing the trio there again in three years, eager to get
their shot at their teacher.
     “Rusty, there’s a cup on the shelf, why don’t you go
and wash it out?”
     “Tank, you do it.” And before I could protest Tank
obeyed his tiny friend.
     I shook my head and sat down behind my desk.  I waved
at the boys to go sit down while I steeled myself to what I
was about to do.  I had never drank cum from anything but a
penis, a highly sexual act.  I had never considered drinking
it from a cup.  On the surface, cum was disgusting.  It
stank, was runny and gooey at the same time, it coated your
mouth, dried hard, and only a heightened state of arousal
made it tolerable.  Even then, more often than not I’d make
him cum to the side.  Chugging three shots from a glass
while the three least attractive boys I had ever seen, lower
than even John-two and Mr. Gold who were right at the bottom
before yesterday, watched made me wonder what else I was
capable of doing, willingly, to get through the day.
     And where was rusty, the drinking fountain was right
around the corner.  I looked at the door and to my dismay,
Mr. Gold was standing right there.
     He gave a big, broad smile, “I was hoping to meet you
again today, Wendy.”
     I forced a polite, diplomatic smile, “As you can see,
Bill, I’ve got company.” And I gestured to the two geeks
hunkering down before their PE Teacher.
     Mr. Gold squinted momentarily, “Roger, Archie!”
     They both said, “Hi coach Gold.”
     If their high school experience with PE teachers and
coaches was half as bad as mine was they must have
absolutely hated Mr. Gold, and I had a strong feeling that
they had it far worse than I ever had.
     “I didn’t think you had any freshmen, Wendy.” Mr. Gold
seemed to emphasize my name.
     “I’m just helping the boys with a little extra credit,
Bill.” I punched his name right back, and almost chuckled
when he stiffened up, his belly sticking out further than I
could have remembered after my afternoon yesterday
underneath it while he used me for his pleasures.
     “You’ll be done by second lunch, though.” It was not a
question.
     “Yes, Bill,” I emphasized the name again, remembering
how he’d insisted that I call him ‘Mr. Gold’ like a student
when he was fucking me, “I’m going home for lunch.”
     Mr. Gold took a step into my class and spoke in a
conciliatory tone “But we had agreed that we would… Partner
up at lunchtimes.”
     I glanced at the boys, wondering whether they were as
stupid as Mr. Gold thought they were.  They were observing
our discussion with great interest,
     “Mr. Gold,” I began, “Bill.  I agreed to give it a try.
Not to make it a regular thing.”
     Mr. Gold actually looked hurt, “But you…” he glanced at
the boys, then relaxed, looking at me, “You can’t tell me
you didn’t enjoy it.  I mean, I’ve been with a lot of…” he
seemed to stop himself, then continued, “You liked it.  A
lot.”
     I smiled at the coach, “Bill, if you’d excuse me, the
boys don’t have much time.”
     But he didn’t budge, “Just admit it.  You liked it.”
     I stood up, and crossed over to the giant of a man,
nearly John-two’s height and much bulkier, if not as well
defined.  His great beer gut was his most prominent feature,
“Coach, I thought it was great.” I decided to be honest with
him since these two freshmen seemed t be keeping a leash on
the coach, “But I’m just not too happy about the way you
carried on afterwards.”
     I glanced sidelong at the boys, who seemed eager to see
their teacher being told off.
     “Well, Wendy, perhaps this isn’t a good time to discuss
this.” Mr. Gold glanced at the boys, who instantly pretended
to be studying the woodgrain pattern of the desktops.
     “Bill, there’s nothing to discuss.”
     “But you had a great time, you just said so.” Mr. Gold
actually put both arms out and cradled my shoulders.
     “You chewed me up and spit me out, Bill.  That may work
on the cheerleaders, but it doesn’t fly with me!”
     He whispered harshly, “Wendy, watch what you say.” His
grip was tight on my arms.  I tried to pull free but he was
too strong.
     “Mr. Gold, let go of me.” I ordered.
     “Wendy, we ought to talk about this outside.” He was
growling, and his face was starting to redden.
     “Mr. Gold?”
     Both he and I looked up, over at Roger, who stood up at
his desk.  I could see his hands trembling
     “Are… Are you okay?  You’re all… all red.” The
talkative boy could barely speak straight.
     But Mr. Gold let go of me, and the color drained from
his face slowly, “Yes, son, I’m fine, just…” and he turned
from me and went to the door, “Just a little too much sun.”
     Roger sat down again, “You should carry a bottle of
water with you.”
     Mr. Gold nodded, clamping his teeth at being lectured
by a little boy.  He glanced at me, “We’ll talk about this
later.”
     I leaned on the desk, strangely confident with the 14
year old Roger backing me up, “Perhaps we could discuss it
with the superintendent.”
     And with that, Mr. Gold seemed completely cowed, though
his fists were tightly balled up, “No, that’s not necessary.
Of course, you’re right.”
     And with that, he was gone.  I had faced him down.  The
only reason I had succeeded was because of the presence of
two freshmen.  I suddenly regretted my behavior at them in
the doorway.  Drinking their cum seemed a pittance compared
to what they had done for me.
     Then I looked at them and any sympathy disappeared.
Mr. Gold had seemed utterly repugnant to me, but these boys
were worse still.  Immature, childish, and ugly.  The only
virtue they had was the lack of violence present in Mr. Gold
and the Johns.  They made up for it with their scheming.
What else would they come up with, now that I had agreed to
drink their cum?  I found myself longing for James and
Eliot.  Their sincerity was a strange comfort, but it was
purely lust, without a need to possess and control.
     And where the Hell was Tank?
     Seemingly in response to my question, Tank appeared in
the door, my coffee cup dangling from one hand, a glass held
up in the other, “I brought a glass.”
     Indeed he had, and the reason for his delay was clear.
He had already filled it.
     At the bottom of the glass was a fairly healthy dose of
adolescent boy’s semen.
     “I did it twice.  I figured you’d be hungry since you
haven’t eaten.”
     I frowned at the boy’s naivety, but waved him in, and
shut and locked the door behind him, “Put it on the desk.”
     I heard the thunk, and when I turned around the three
boys were lined up in the front row of desks, watching me
eagerly.  The glass on the desk Tank was sitting at.
     I crossed over to him.  I had to gulp several times, my
throat suddenly dry.  I was wondering if I had any gum in my
purse.  I caught myself licking my lips and forced myself to
stop, lest the boys take it as a sign of enthusiasm.  I was
surprised at how much was in the glass, even for two shots.
It seemed a good ounce of fluid, viscous, yellowish, cloudy
strands running through the fluid in wild spirals.
     I took a deep breath, picked up the glass and tilted it
over my mouth, pouring it in, trying to get it straight down
my throat, but it spread and oozed over my tongue, a salty
pungency, with a strong bleach smell.  It pooled up in my
mouth as my throat closed against the taste, and I had to
clamp my lips shut to keep it from spilling out.  I forced
myself to swallow once, but got mostly air as it oozed out
my lips, dribbling onto my chin.  I swallowed again, then
again, and it was down.
     Suddenly I burst out coughing, and the boys scattered,
crying “Ewww.” As Tank’s seed flew in tiny droplets with my
spittle.  I ran to the counter where I had my Kleenex, and
coarsely wiped the dribble off my face, coughing, hacking up
sperm while the boys watched.
     When I had calmed down, Tank said, “Sorry, Mrs.
Caulder.  I guess it was too much.”
     Still unable to look at the boys I shook my head, “It
wasn’t.  It was fine.” For some reason I didn’t want to
offend him, like being polite to the cook at a dinner party.
     “Can I go next?” Roger asked.
     I just nodded, still trying not to hack, holding the
soiled Kleenex to my face as Roger picked up the glass and
left the classroom.
     I went back to my desk, and sat down heavily in the
chair.
     Rusty got up, and came over to the side of the desk,
“Did you like it?”
     “I looked at him sardonically, “Do I look like I liked
it?”
     He shrugged, “Why did you eat it, then?”
     My tongue was running over the inside of my mouth,
searching out the remains of the sperm, which seemed to
cluster in every nook and cranny.  All I could taste was
salty bleach.  Rusty was slurping too, but at his retainer.
His eyes seemed to bore into me, magnified as they were
through his glasses.
     “Rusty,” I said, “A woman doesn’t eat sperm because she
likes the taste.”
     “Then why do you do it?”
     He was as nosy as Roger, “Because…” I looked away,
“It’s from a man, it’s the fruit of his pleasure, it’s…
It’s hard to describe.”
     “Does it make you feel slutty?”
     Before I could think about it I found myself nodding.
I caught myself, and started to say no, but Rusty was on to
me,
     “Do you like to feel slutty?”
     Looking at those coke-bottle eyes, I found myself
agreeing, silently, though I wasn’t sure I wanted this boy
to know that.  “There’s something to be said for being able
to let appearances drop.”
     “You mean you appear like a teacher, but when you let
it drop—“
     “No.” I interrupted him, “It’s just that we all have to
obey certain rules and…”
     I stood up, frustrated that the boy was bringing this
out of me, and wondering how what I was talking about
related to what I’d told John-two.
     “Look, Rusty, if everyone ate semen it’d be no big
deal.”
     “Gross,” Tank editorialized.
     I looked at the boy, actually shocked that he’d be so
insensitive after I’d done this for him; willingly guzzled
his sperm.  But then, this was really just a freak show for
the kids.
     “So you mean,” Rusty went on, “Since normal people
don’t eat sperm, you eat it because it’s a way of letting
appearances down without letting them down?”
     “Rusty, I don’t eat it normally.  I’ve had more semen
in the past two days than I’ve had in my whole life.  I
don’t buy it in six-packs.”
     “Well, how do you—“
     But Tank interrupted Rusty, “What she means is that
girls normally don’t eat it when they’re going down on a
guy.”
     I shuddered at the fourteen year-old’s comprehension,
but nodded.
     Rusty picked it up from there, “So nice girls don’t put
out, and girls that do don’t go down, and girls that do that
don’t swallow, but they do it because it makes them feel
slutty?”
     I shut my eyes, wondering when Roger would get back so
I could get this over with, “I can’t speak for other girls.”
     But the message was clear, “So why do you like feeling
slutty?” Tank asked the question Rusty hadn’t delved into.
     Eyes still closed I found my hand rubbing my chest.  A
little pleasure wouldn’t hurt, and it would take the edge
off their probing, “It’s not about liking it,” I heard
myself speaking in a low, sensual voice, wondering what they
thought of the way I was drifting off, the way I was
fondling myself, “sometimes you have an itch that needs
scratching.” I was pinching my nipple now, and felt the heat
rising slowly up inside me, “Sometimes you have to scratch
an itch.  The scratch doesn’t feel good by itself, but when
you have an itch…”
     “But no one *needs* to drink cum.” Rusty countered,
distracting me from my escape and self-consciously I dropped
my hand to my side as Roger barged in the door with my next
glassful of cum.
     It was only half as full as Tanks, and I took the glass
and knocked it back without hesitation.  My aim was better
this time.  Except for a faint musky odor I tasted little,
and the semen went straight down my throat.
     I held the glass out to Rusty, not looking at him, or
anyone “Next.”
     “I can’t do it like them.”
     I looked at the boy, “That was the agreement.”
     “Come on, Russ.” Roger put in.
     But Rusty had other plans, “I can’t do it that way.”
     Tank laughed, “You said you do it three times a day.”
     I got to watch Rusty blush.  He glowered at Tank, “I
do!  But there’s movies and stuff.”
     I decided not to give Rusty a break, “Three times a
day?”
     He got even redder, “Yeah, well, girls don’t talk to
me, okay?” and he turned around.
     In spite of myself I felt sorry for him, but that
didn’t mean I was going to do whatever he wanted.  “Rusty, I
can’t be a movie for you.”
     He turned to face me, “I’ve already seen you do it.”
     I shook my head, “What?”
     “He means masturbate.” Roger volunteered.
     I had had a feeling that it wasn’t going to be as easy
as drinking three shots of jizz.  “Rusty, I can’t do that
for you, ”I actually felt sorry for this kid, brought up in
an age where porn was so ubiquitous that he couldn’t use his
imagination to bring himself to orgasm.
     Tank was out of his desk, standing next to me, “Maybe
if you just took your clothes off?”
     I stared at him hard, wondering if the thought had just
occurred to him, or if he had been waiting for a chance to
suggest that, but Roger interrupted my thoughts.
     “No, Just your shirt!”
     Tank glared at his friend, but remained silent.  I
looked from face to face, the three boys on three sides of
me.
     “I’ll unbutton my shirt, okay?  But that’s all.”
     Three heads nodded.
     “Roger, lock the door.”
     Roger moved to obey, while I turned to face Rusty.
     “Rusty, take that ridiculous contraption off of your
head.”
     He nodded, suddenly polite and obedient and unstrapped
the retainer gear while I reluctantly started unbuttoning
the shirt that Roger had loaned me.
     “Did you ever find your sweatshirt?” Roger asked.
     I was trying to find somewhere to look that wasn’t a
greasy, adolescent face, “I haven’t had a chance to look
yet, Roger.”
     And before I knew it, the shirt was unbuttoned.  The
only thing left for me was to pull it open.  I took a deep
breath, turned to Rusty, and flashed him.
     He made a silent ‘O’ with his mouth, but didn’t make
any move towards his drawers.
     “Well?” I asked.
     He shrugged and couldn’t look me in the eye, “I was
kinda hopin…”
     It was my turn to throw up my arms, and for some reason
I reached down, unbuttoned the skirt, unzipped it a few
inches, and suddenly I was naked, but for a shirt pulled
wide open.
     “No.” Roger was protesting, but I realized his concern
was for the apparent abuse I’d suffered and he worried that
his friends would see me so distended.
     “Roger it’s fine.” But though I was naked, I was not
spread open, and Roger only nodded unconvinced.
     Rusty still hadn’t made any move to do his thing, “Did
eating Roger and Tanks stuff make you feel slutty.” As shy
as he was, unable to look at me, I couldn’t help feeling
invaded by his resumption of our conversation now that I was
naked.  Nevertheless, I nodded.
     “And you like that?”
     I held my breath for a long moment, getting a little
chilly now that I was undressed again.  For some reason it
struck me as finny that Mr. Gold had claimed too much sun in
the middle of Winter on a foggy day.  But I looked at Rusty,
meeting my eyes now, and said, “It scratches the itch.”
     “But you like scratching that itch.”
     I stared at the boy, who didn’t look away this time, “I
like eating it, yeah.  I like feeling slutty, Rusty.”
     The other two boys looked at me in amazement.
     “Is that why you did it with John-two?”
     I nodded.
     “Could you…” Rusty lost his voice for a second, but I
realized he was stroking himself through his pants, “Say
it.”
     It took me a moment to connect the two fragments,
“Rusty, when John-two fucked me it made me feel like a
slut.”
     “And you liked that?”
     I suddenly grabbed myself, wondering at the fact that I
was sopping wet, but only for a moment as I stroked myself,
leaning back on the desk that I could spread my legs a bit.
It was sore, but not too sore to masturbate, and masturbate
I did while three freshmen gathered around.  Rusty stood in
front of me as I spread my legs in front of him, utterly
amazed at the effect he was having on me, “Come on, kid, do
it.” I pleaded, hoping to have this degradation done with.
     Rusty was way ahead of me, and while I fingered myself
he pulled his thing out.  It was almost pathetically small,
and more pathetic still he was already cumming.
     His jizz shot everywhere, coating me once more in my
third libation of the day.
     “Russ!” Tank cried, “You were supposed to do it in the
glass!”
     But Rusty was feeling no pain as he grappled with his
puny, pathetic penis, barely long enough to stick out the
other end of his hand as the last shot arched out and landed
on my thighs.
     “Dude, you suck.” Roger chimed, and Rusty gave him a
scowl, blushing badly.
     “Fuck you!” Rusty opined, trying to jerk himself to
another erection, no doubt for another chance at having me
imbibe his sperm.
     I found myself joining the other boys in laughing at
the pathetic sight before me.
     “What are you laughing at, slut!?” Rusty cried at me,
silencing the three of us.
     “It’s just a joke.” I said, calmly, strangely subdued.
     “I’m not the joke you are.” He was still pumping
himself, even while he insulted me, “You’re the one who’s
got cum all over her.  Who took off her clothes because
she’s a slut!”
     “Rusty, you need to stop,” and I stood up, pulling the
shirt together.
     “No.  You have to eat my cum.”
     I gritted my teeth at the boy, ready to smack him like
his friends had, but for some reason I held still, like he
had ordered me to, and said coolly, “You had your chance.”
     He was pumping harder and harder, and though I could
hardly see it, it looked like his thing was hard again,
“Shut up, slut.”
     “Stop calling me that.”
     “You said you like being a slut.  That means you’re a
slut.”
     “No it doesn’t” but I could barely hear myself say it.
     “You’re a fucking bitch.”
     I scowled at the boy, “Who the fuck do you think you
are?”
     “Shut up bitch!  Slut!”
     And instead of barking back at him I did.  I shut up,
crossing my arms and looking away.
     “Don’t cover yourself.  You’re a slut.”
     I glared at the boy, trying to menace him, but he was
still jerking off, his magnified eyes bearing into me.  I
felt my arms falling to my sides.
     “Why you wearing that shirt, bitch?  I thought you
liked being slutty.  Whore!” the boy snarled at me, and I
let the shirt fall open, then, reaching up I pulled the
shirt off, letting it fall to the ground beside me.
     Roger was next to me, “Rusty stop.”
     “She doesn’t want to, do you, bitch!” the fourteen year
old masturbator barked at me.  “Tell him!”
     I shook my head.
     He reached out and slapped my boob, hard enough to make
it swing across my chest and slam into its partner. “Do it.”
     “Roger, just forget it.”
     Again he slapped my boob, right on the nipple, harder,
but under the sting I felt the heat and my hand went up to
cover my nipple, but not to protect it.
     “Rusty’s okay, just let him finish, Roger.”
     And Roger took a step away while the light of triumph
lit up Rusty’s face.
     I took a deep breath, and knelt down in front of him,
the carpet harsh on my worn knees from my last adventure on
them.
     “Go ahead, Rusty.  I’m ready.”
     “Ready to be a slut.” He countered.
     I nodded.
     “Grab your tits.” And I scooped them up in my hands
obediently, feeling his sticky cum where he had sprayed me.
     “You’re a stupid, fucking whore, you know that?”
     I gulped down a response, my body willing me to
surrender.  I nodded.
     “Say it.”
     My mouth was dry, and I croaked, “I’m a whore.”
     “A stupid whore!  Smart girls aren’t sluts you stupid
bitch.” He was wanking himself right into my face as I felt
myself crumbling before him, unwilling to argue with him.
     “I’m a stupid whore.” And he let go of his dick, just
for a moment, I’m not sure why, but in the space of a second
I leaned forward, took the puny member in my hand, and
engulfed it in my mouth, just as his second eruption
happened.
     I barely had to part my lips for him, and only had to
swallow once, so little did he spend on me, but it was more
than sufficient and I had been completely put in my place
before the boy’s misogynistic furor.  His shaft pulsed a
couple of times, then I felt his hand on my head and he
shoved me violently off of him, and I tumbled too the
ground, ass in the air.
     “What you want to get fucked now?”
     “No.” I pleaded.
     “What, not slutty enough for you?” Rusty’s voice was
calmer now, not as hostile, in spite of the venom in his
words.
     “I can’t…”
     “Then get up, you stupid bitch.”
     And I peeled myself up off the floor, leaning hard on
the desk.
     “I forgot that John-two already wore you out.  Slut!”
     “Come on, Russ.” I heard Roger’s voice on the other
side of the desk.
     “Whatever, Rodge.”
     “Dude,” Tank jumped to my defense, “Leave her alone.
You’re a dick.”
     “You’re just jealous,” but even as he protested he let
the two shorter boys lead him away from me, “because you
didn’t get a blow job.”
     “Yeah, well, I don’t want one the way you got it.”
     “She doesn’t fuckin care, she wants to be treated like
shit.”
     “Come on, man.”
     I heard the door open, and steps walking out.  Slow
footsteps made their way back to me.  I saw shoes come into
my periphery, but I couldn’t turn to look.  I couldn’t move.
     I heard Roger’s voice, as if from far away, “Sorry
about Rusty, Miss Caulder.”
     I felt myself shrug, naked and exposed, my sex damp and
cum glistening on my lips, legs and breasts.  The boy’s
presence hardly seemed to register.
     “Thanks for eating our cum.  It was cool.”
     “Sure” I heard myself utter, without feeling.
     “Maybe next time you can do me and Tank like you did
Rusty?”
     Something in me stirred, and I turned to face the kid,
“Roger, if you ever try that with me, I’ll bite your dick
off.”
     The boy went white.
     I snarled at him, “Come back for a piece of me, eh?”
     He shook his head frantically.
     “Come back to get a little bit of the whore your friend
left behind.”
     “Uh-uh.”  He adamantly denied.
     “Another guys cum all over me doesn’t bother you,
Roger?  How about a kiss?” and I leaned over to him, my head
hovering at his crotch level as I craned up to look him in
the eye, pursing my lips.  I felt a cum bubble inflate and
pop.
     “Nuh-uh, Wendy, I just wanted to say I was sorry, and
your shirt’s under the desk.” The boy was paralyzed,
shivering at my wanton display of whoredom.
     “You don’t want to whip out that little thing of
yours,” I glanced at his corduroy zipper, “And stick it in
my mouth.”
     But he was frozen solid, unable to look away, unable to
move.
     I fell back, slouching on my butt, and grimaced as the
coarse carpet grazed my tender sex.  Thoughtless of the boy
standing over me I cursed, and spread my legs apart to lift
my labia off the floor, rubbing them tenderly, feeling the
sticky ooze of John-two and Eliot’s remains.
     “It looks better.”
     I looked up at the boy, partially recovered, but
obviously in the thrall of my nudity again, poor sap.  I
would probably be the last naked woman he would see until he
could get into bars. “Roger, you’re a nice kid.”
     He sort of nodded, staring at my hand, which gently
caressed my sore sex, pushing the lips from side to side.
     “Then tell me why I’m sitting on the ground here, naked
again, with cum all over me?”
     He shrugged.
     “You were supposed to help me, Roger.”
     “Sorry,” he said, looking away, “I guess Rusty got
carried away.”
     I shook my head; “You should never have brought them
here, Roger.”
     He nodded.
     “Get out.”
     He nodded again, hesitating for one last lingering look
over my body, then turned to go.
     “Roger!”
     He stopped, spinning around on command.
     “Don’t ever stand by while a guy does that to a girl.”
     “I… I won’t.”
     “I mean it.”
     He gulped hard, “People don’t pay much attention to
me.”
     I put my hands on the floor and crawled, slowly, my
breasts swaying in slow, loping drags.  I stopped at his
feet and looked up, “Make them pay attention, Roger.  Make
them.”
     He stood silent, then said, “I will.”
     I let my butt settle on my feet and sat up, my breasts
slapping against my ribs.  “Now get out.”
     And he walked to the door and pulled it open.
     “Miss Caulder?”
     I looked at him, silent.
     “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” And
he slammed the door behind him.
     I heard his footsteps running down the hall and vanish.
     

MOPPING UP
     
     Though the locker rooms were supposedly closed during
lunch, girls liked to use it as a shortcut to the back alley
behind the school.  Whereas the younger kids, and the
rejects hung out in the much more exposed creek area, the
older kids actually left campus, albeit only by the line of
a fence, to smoke, make-out, whatever.
     It didn’t take me long, rummaging through the empty
locker bin, to come up with a mismatched set of bra and
panties that would fit, though the bra would be a bit tight.
It was the wrong cup size, but it wrapped around my chest
well enough.  I wondered at the underwear girls wore, these
days.  The panties were green, see-through chiffon in the
butt and front, with a satin crotch.  There were other
pairs, but they were all too small.  The bra was flesh
color, seamless and not lacy, like mine were, and was the
only one that wasn’t padded in some way.
     I looked around to make sure that no one had seen me
pilfering what was technically a lost and found box, and
seeing no one, stuffed the objects in my purse and made for
the exit.
     The locker room was strangely quiet, but then, it was
the middle of first lunch, and most students would probably
have already cut through.  It was then that I spotted the
showers, and realized that I had a great chance to scrub up.
Even if I was caught, no one could deny that I had every
right to stop in to take a quick shower, and the only people
who might catch me would be girls.
     I didn’t have my watch, having forgotten it in the
morning’s rush to get Eliot off and get to class, but I
hadn’t heard second lunch bell, and that meant that I had
well over an hour to kill.
     Returning to the box, I grabbed a lost towel which
wasn’t too stinky, and walked over to the closest bench to
the showers.
     I had expected the showers to be a little more closed
off, being for teenagers, but only a low wall, about two
feet high separated the pink (gah!) painted concrete shower
room.  It didn’t have separate stalls, just a series of
showerheads jutting out of the concrete.  The rows of
lockers ran perpendicular to the length of the low wall,
which meant anyone standing in an aisle could see into the
showers, but I figured the worst that could happen would be
that a girl might catch me.
     Indeed, I had only just found an open locker to hang my
clothes in and pulled off my top when I heard voices, some
girls returning from the alley.  I started to turn my shirt
right side out, hoping to cover myself before they saw me,
but the proximity to the alley door had them walk right past
me in a few seconds.
     It was Melanie, from my senior psyche class, one of the
few girls in it.  She was a tall, lithe, slender girl, who
ought to have been a cheerleader, but for some reason hadn’t
made the cut.  She was certainly beautiful, with gorgeous
large brown eyes, thin lips and a button nose, and wavy
blonde hair that came down past the middle of her back.  She
always looked immaculate, and had been a constant reminder
to me yesterday of my disheveled state when I showed up to
class, braless, pantyless, wearing John-two’s sweat stained
PE shirt.  She was a smart girl who had been pushed forward
a year, but was struggling to keep her GPA up for college
admission, coming up soon.  She also had the reputation,
from what teachers had told me, of being a monster tease.
She had dated half the football team, but was apparently
still a virgin.  At sixteen that was an accomplishment,
though going from brainy tomboy to popular beauty had
probably instilled some weird values in her.
     Her companion was an equally pretty, if a little less
snotty looking, brunette, with an admirable pair.  I
recognized her as a Junior, though I didn’t know her.
     The pair of them stopped abruptly on seeing me, both
like deer caught in the headlights, and both shocked to find
me half-naked in the locker room.
     “Miss Caulder?” Melanie exclaimed.
     I swallowed and tried to don a cool exterior, though I
was quaking inside, “Melanie.”  I didn’t really have any
reason to be nervous, though with what I had been through
today it didn’t take much to set me off.  At any rate, I was
standing in front of a sixteen year-old beauty, both smart
and sexy, with my sagging boobs and my waistband sinking
into the rolls of tummy flesh, and felt anything but
confident.  At any rate, she smelled like cigarette smoke,
and was not supposed to be in the locker room.
     Melanie was almost as nervous as me, “Oh, we, uh… I
left my purse, and, uh…” she held up a miniscule purse that
I knew somehow contained all her make-up, wallet, and
apparently smokes.
     I held the shirt over my chest, glad that it was James’
sweatshirt as it covered a lot more than Roger’s button-
down.  I was both feeling modest, for the natural flaws
absent in girls as young as Melanie, and the spatterings of
dried cum all over my breasts and belly.
     “You know you’re not supposed to be in here, Melanie?”
I decided it would be best for me to get authoritarian.
     I caught Melanie looking over her shoulder, towards the
back entrance, perhaps gauging how far it was from me.  She
saw me looking in the direction she was, and said, “Oh, I’m
sorry. I just couldn’t go back to class… Someone might have
stolen it.”
     Her friend was a little more tactful.  “You’re the sex
ed teacher?”
     I tried to look patronizingly at her, “Miss Caulder.”
     “Oh, I’m Cassie, I’ll be in your class next year.” She
smiled and I nodded at her.  Then she asked, “What are you
doing in here?” as if it were any of her business.
     I had prepared an answer for that, “I had an accident
and need to clean up.”
     Both girls understood instantly, “Oh, I hate it when
that happens.” Melanie said sympathetically, her eyes
darting quickly to the panties on the bench beside me.
     “Miss Caulder, can I ask you a question?”
     I shook my head, “Now’s not a good time.” I indicated
the fact that I was half-dressed, “maybe in class.”
     But she shrugged that off with a smile and a cocky tilt
of her head, almost rolling her eyes, “Oh, we’re all girls,
here.”
     Strangely shamed for my prudishness, I nodded and felt
my hands reluctantly letting the shirt fall.  Both the
girls’ eyes went wide momentarily at the sight of my
breasts.  What was a cause of occasional discomfort, and a
lot of rude staring and crass comments was still, obviously,
a cause of envy in girls so young, but old enough to know
they would never be as big as me.
     Cassie recovered first, “I wish mine were that big.”
But her brow was wrinkled, and I wondered if she had spotted
the telltale signs of dried cum, and if she knew what that
meant, “Really, don’t be embarrassed, we do it every day.”
     I smiled, and hung the shirt up, nervously reaching for
the button on my skirt and undoing it.
     Cassie went on, “But you’d better hurry up—“
     “Miss Caulder, it’s about my grade.” Interrupted
Melanie and she sat down on the bench.
     Suddenly I remembered the conversation I’d had with her
parents, who were livid that their daughter had gotten a C
in my class.  Being a top student at the school they decided
to blame me instead of their daughter, who had spent half
the class flirting with the jocks in class instead of paying
attention.
     I shook my head, and sat down nest to her “It’s water
under the bridge now, Melanie, I can’t change your grade
from last semester.”
     “But you can, you can petition the superintendent…”
     “No.”  I interrupted.  “It’s too late for that.” I had
forgotten my discomfort entirely.  “If you commit yourself,
and pay better attention this year you’ll have no trouble
getting an A.”
     “But if I don’t have a four point oh half the schools
I’m applying for won’t even read my application!”
     It was an interesting feeling, standing half naked in
front of a sixteen-year-old girl and chastising her for poor
performance, but her behavior left me very confident.  I
felt like a teacher for the first time in two days, and
didn’t hesitate to lord that over her,
     “Melanie, this is really not the time for this
conversation.  You earned that grade, and it would be
unethical for me to increase it for you.  It’s a mistake
you’re going to have to live with.”
     I stood up, and glowered at the girl, but watching her
eyes crawl over my tummy, which was at her head height left
me nervous, wondering if she could recognize the telltale
signs of being used as a plaything by horny boys.
     She was scowling, though not looking at me, but she
said, “I’m sorry, Miss Caulder.  I’m keeping you from your
shower,” and she gestured at the shower block, Don’t wait on
me, go ahead.”
     I nodded, irritated at the girls timing, but grateful
that she was acquiescing so readily.  A that moment I was so
thankful that she was a girl.
     But she just stood there, smiling up at me, and all I
wanted was to be left alone.  Nevertheless, I smiled, and
unbuttoned my skirt, while she waited patiently.
     In another moment I was naked, and feeling all the more
self-conscious for the swelling of my thighs, the way my
tummy pudged out, and my butt, which was as big as both
girls’ butts combined, folded at the thigh.  The old
insecurities of being the fat girl in high school came back
to me before these skinny, perfect, popular girls, and
though I was by no definition fat, it had left its mark on
me, and I felt for all the world that these girls were
everything I had always wanted my body to be.
     I worried at what they might think upon seeing my lack
of panties, but my excuse was a perfect cover story for
that.  More worrisome was what they’d make of my nearly
completely shaved pubic bush, and that the little
christenings I’d been receiving all day extended the length
of my body and showed under the harsh overhead fluorescent
lights.
     The worst part was how unabashedly the girls
scrutinized my every flaw.
     “If that’s all then, girls?” and I closed the locker
and took a tentative step between the pair of them.
     “Miss Caulder, you’ve got something on you.”
     I froze, not missing the silent gesture Cassie made to
Melanie, telling her to shut up.
     Feeling squished between the two girls I made a show of
looking for what she had indicated.
     “It’s all down the front of you.”  Melanie said,
standing up.  Even at sixteen she was beginning to tower
over me, “Like you got splattered with something.”
     Cassie snorted, and had to cover her mouth and pretend
to cough.  They had recognized it.
     Well, I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of
acknowledging it.  “You two had better be going.” I said.
     “Of course,” Melanie said.
     Cassie turned around, going back the way they had come,
but Melanie blurted out, “Cassie.  It’s this way.”  Cassie
stopped, and gave a long silent communication with her
friend, which I couldn’t exactly fathom, but Cassie gave me
an embarrassed grin, and walked in the opposite direction,
towards the school side entrance.  I watched Melanie’s eyes
follow her friends, and realized that she had forgotten that
they had entered that way, and that Melanie was trying to
cover for having been in the alley by going out the main
entrance.
     “That really is the most peculiar pattern.” Melanie
said, her eyes wandering over my naked body, like John-two’s
penis had wandered, trailing cum, up to my mouth, and Rusty
had wandered, his wad splattering across me as he spanked
his tiny penis.
     But I simply couldn’t come up with an excuse for it.
Fortunately, Melanie looked at her watch (for the third time
since she’d sat down, it seemed) and giving me a very
knowing glance, like she knew exactly what I had been up to,
she said goodbye and left.
     I didn’t trust that girl, but then, I was naked, it was
freezing, I was covered in cum, and really needed a hot
shower.
     
     The shower was wonderful.  Actually it was loud,
brutally forceful, and only shot in these narrow streams, so
you had to do this little dance to get it to cover you
instead of just turning around.  The first two nozzles I had
tried, ones safely at the back, barely gave a trickle, and
the third, the most secluded, back in a corner, only poured
cold water, but a third, midway between the back wall and
the low dividing wall, was the one I wound up using.  The
low soap dispensers and the crud and dust built up on the
shower heads told me how seldom they were used, which
surprised me, since girls had been pretty avid about
showering when I had been in high school.  At least, ones
who weren’t ashamed of their bodies, like I was.  Perhaps
there was another shower stall, one less exposed than this
one, somewhere else in the gym.  I had never explored it,
having no interest and nothing to do with PE.
     But the shower was hot, and for all its forceful
brutality, that meant it would blast the crud off my body.
The space was big enough where I could easily step well away
from the jetstream and soap up, and I was well into my
second soaping when I heard, faintly for the shower was very
loud, the second lunch bell ring.  I wondered if I should,
indeed, hurry through, lest another group of girls pass
through on their way out to the alley, but shrugged that off
as unimportant.  Besides, seniors took 1st lunch, and not a
lot of freshmen and sophomores were into smoking behind
school.
     What hadn’t occurred to me was that there were more
students to pass by, and it was only a moment after the bell
rang that I turned from rubbing soapy suds up over my thighs
and crotch to get more soap and saw two guys standing agape.
     They were both my students, from the very 4th period
class I’d just gotten through, not athletes, or geeks, but
pretty run-of-the-mill types who were very nice, average
students.
     Now they were standing, watching me rubbing soap into
my crotch, which in the shock of seeing them, I had not even
stopped doing.
     “What’s up?” a girls voice made the boys jump, and
myself.  They parted and a third girl whom I didn’t know saw
me, and let out an abrupt peal of laughter before slapping
her hand over her mouth.  The three suddenly took off
running towards the main entrance.  The sound of their
footsteps echoing across the locker room with great, booming
thuds, and a wail of laughing children echoed to me as they
exited at the front.
     Fuming I wanted to immediately blame Melanie.  Had she
told them.  Had she encouraged them?  Who did that girl
think she was.
     But it dawned on me, as I heard footsteps from the
alley entrance (now that I was listening for them, I could
hear them through the shower sound).  Unable to hide in the
open cube of a shower, I simply turned my back, hoping that
whoever it was would see me and move on.  At the very least,
they wouldn’t recognize me, if I didn’t look.
     But it made sense.  The girls had been a sort of
scouting team, to see if things were all clear.  Having
found me, a teacher in there, they were unable to go back
and warn their friends, who upon hearing the bell were
taking the shortest route back to their classes.  Either
that or Melanie and Cassie had deliberately chosen not to
warn their friends, but that didn’t seem too important a
distinction at the moment.
     I realized that I was just standing there, doing
nothing, and that to anyone who might see me that might seem
peculiar, so I started rubbing the soap in again, for some
reason soaping my breasts this time, squeezing and mauling
them to get the suds underneath the crease.  I was starting
to get very cold, in the big concrete room, and wanted to
step into the shower, so I gave a preemptory glance over my
shoulder.
     “Miss Caulder!?”
     It was another of my students, peeking around a locker,
apparently so stunned by seeing who it was he hadn’t
bothered to duck and cover, nor, it seemed, to hide the
digital camera with which he was taking photos.  A face
poked out, and disappeared as quickly, footsteps heralding
its departure.
     I was frozen, my boobs cradled in each hand, with soap
lathered all over my body.
     I was desperately trying to remember his name as I
tried willing my hands to drop.  Only about fifteen feet
away from me I could see that he was equally paralyzed,
though I could see his finger press the button and another
shot was taken, an eager puptent protruding under his
Bermuda shorts (who wears shorts on a day as cold as this?).
     My hands folded across my body, sliding like a skater
on ice, and I was freezing, my nipples protruding as the
thin suds dribbled off of them.  I tried to hide my sex and
nipples with my feeble slipping arms, but I was shaking, and
the guy, frozen still, stood there while my hands slipped
over my nether regions
     “You’ll get a better picture if you use a flash.”
     It was Betsy Steiner, this bitch of a senior from last
semester’s 6th period psyche.  Like a lot of teachers, I had
serious problems getting her to respect me and to commit to
her studies.  She did the bare minimum to pass, but her
attitude was terrible, and she was constantly putting less
popular, or younger people down, loudly, which drew my
intervention on a number of occasions.  On one occasion she
had been suspended for a week for calling me a “White trash
bitch” after I gave her detention for refusing to stop
talking during a test; There was actually more to the
argument than that, and I had let my temper get the better
of me and put her down in front of everybody, stinging her
pride.  I was not the first teacher to rise to her bait, but
that didn’t make my situation any better, though I was glad
she had dropped my class at the end of the semester, and I
wouldn’t have to face her again.
     “Huh?” the guy who’s name I couldn’t remember asked,
unable to look away from me, locking eyes with him,
petrified, both of us, of the consequences we could only
imagine.
     There was another girl, who looked pretty young, with
Betsy; she hunkered back by the wall that separated the
alley entrance from the shower block.
     “Use the flash.  You get a better picture in this
light.   Isn’t that right, Miss Caulder?”
     I was squeezing myself tight, trying not to panic and
scream.  Betsy was a really 0big girl, almost six feet,
black, with a bosom and an ass comparable to my own, but
much more flattering on her athletic figure.  Betsy made
Melanie look like a little girl.  Here was a real woman, all
the right curves, healthy and lithe.  She had beautiful,
lush pouting lips and eyes so white, in contrast to her
deep, dark skin, they seemed to bore into you.  I felt the
pit of my stomach seem to drop, and then a boob actually
squeaked over the top of my arm, I was squeezing myself so
tight.
     Suddenly the camera flash went off.  And not just once,
three more times.
     “That’s it baby,” Betsy was clapping, she gave the
photographer a little squeeze around the waist, then looking
at me she cried, “Hey, sweets, why don’t you put those arms
down so my buddy here can get a better view.”
     I heard myself utter, very softly, “please,” but felt
my arms sliding down the length of my body.
     She let out a wicked peal of laughter, this giantess of
a woman, and gave a playful, but stern thump on my
photographer’s head, “Hey, bitch!  It was a joke.  Can’t you
see the woman’s trying to take a shower?”
     The guy broke from his shocked reverie, as if he just
realized he’d been caught.  His body did sort of a folding
flinch at the waist, and he almost fell over before
straightening up.  He looked at me, “I was just…” Looking at
Betsy he hysterically cried, “I was out back, you saw me,
you gave me a light.  I wasn’t peeping-!”
     But Betsy actually smacked him, hard, on the cheek, and
the boy reeled back, slamming into a locker, “You keep your
fucking mouth shut, boy!”
     And the boy was cowed.
     “What’s this?” Betsy asked, looking at the guy’s
puptent under his shorts.  She looked at her friend, then
turned to me, raising a cocked eyebrow, “I think Johnny’s
got a thing for teacher, how about you?”
     Paralyzed, but shivering, I could only mouth
nonsensical words, no sound came out for a moment, but I
wrapped my arms tightly around my waist, hoping I wouldn’t
be sick.  I suddenly had to pee, but I simply didn’t know
what the Hell to do.
     “Hey Johnny!” Betsy cried to the boy, “You gotta thing
for Miss Caulder?”
     The boy stammered, “That-that’s not my nam-“
     “I asked you a question, Johnny-boy!”
     And “Johnny” shook his head.
     “Oh, really?” she looked back at her friend, then spun
on Johnny, “Then what’s this?” and she actually slapped his
penis, hard where it stuck out.  The boy collapsed, not so
much in pain, but in a really overdone flinch.
     “Get up!”
     And Johnny scrambled to his feet.
     Betsy was really quite a sight, standing there in a
short skirt (again, a thigh-length in this weather?), a
really tight, pink sweater, her hair pulled back in neat,
tiny braids, towering over the shorter guy.  I might have
wished to have her strength, her force of will, but between
the sinking wave of nausea over my predicament, and the
growing burning in my pee-hole, I wasn’t in a mood to do
much but watch in awe, though I did regard the fact that I
wasn’t having a spontaneous orgasm as a good sign.
     Betsy gave Johnny a hard shove in my direction, right
up to the edge of the concrete wall, “Why don’t you show
Miss Caulder what you think of her?”
     Johnny stood there, wavering, the puptent waning in his
shorts.  He still held his camera, but hanging at one side.
His other hand hovered protectively over his manhood.  He
didn’t know what to do.
     “Go on, honey.  Miss Caulder wants to see what you’ve
got in store for her.”
     “Huh?” Johnny asked.
     Betsy waved me over, “Come on up here honey, Mr. Ansel
Adams wants to show you something.”
     Though I was petrified of the girl, physically and
emotionally, taking a step forward actually relieved me of a
bit of the sickening nausea, as if playing her game would
get me through this.  I just hoped it wouldn’t last too
long, because I had to pee really bad, and I was freezing,
lather and soap clinging to my body as the water had
dribbled off.
     I made it about three steps forward, but my shivering
feet conspired against me, and by the fourth step I was
beginning to shake uncontrollably.  I was only about 5 feet
from them, the water from the shower splashing on my toes,
sending heat rising up my body, which felt wonderful.  I
longed to step into it, but dared not to, though I couldn’t
exactly say why, except perhaps that Betsy had not told me
to.
     “Can’t you see you’re makin’ the lady nervous, Johnny?”
and she slapped him upside the head.  Lightly, but it made
him jump.  “Miss Caulder wants to see it, don’t you, Wendy?”
     At the utterance of my first name I was brought a
pretty good ways back to reality, out of the hypnotic daze.
She had called me by my first name last semester, which was
one of the reasons she had gotten so many detentions.
Unfortunately reality had me posing naked before three
students, one of whom had a camera, and one who had a
grudge.
     But then again, though I wasn’t exactly getting any
help from Betsy regarding my predicament, she was giving it
pretty hard to the guy who had been snapping shots of me,
which made me respect her in spite of her problems.  Perhaps
she had more animosity for his behavior, than for me.  That
made us sort of allies, though it was really clear who the
subordinate was here.
     I decide to play along, and my body seemed to relax a
bit more, even warming up a little inside, which didn’t help
the need to pee.  I looked at Johnny, “Yeah, Betsy, I want
to see what Johnny’s gonna do with those pictures.”
     Betsy let out a surprised grin, looking back at her
friend, eyes wide, “Ya-heow, Girl.” She looked back at me,
“You are a naughty little bitch-!”  she stopped, and for a
brief moment, there was fear in her eyes, as if calling me
bitch was worse than trapping me in a shower and having me
pose for a guy she was trying to humiliate.
     It didn’t last, and she turned to Johnny, putting an
arm sensually around his shoulder, one hand rubbing his
chest, while her thick, luscious lips brushed his ear, but
she was talking to me, in a low, seductive voice, “Say,
baby, why don’t we give Johnny some motivation.” And she
peered at me, “I mean, a reward, for cooperating so well.”
She ran her hand down his chest where it tucked, just barely
into the elastic waistband of his trousers.  Though his eyes
darted nervously to the side he hadn’t turned away from me.
Betsy put her other hand on Johnny’s face, gently caressing
his neck, “A man’s got his pride, don’t he?”
     Johnny nodded.
     “Would you like Wendy to give you some motivation.”
     Nervously he shook his head.
     Betsy looked at me with a wry, sardonic grin, “Don’t
take no notice of that, baby, he wants it.  Why don’t you
give the man a show?”
     And she took the camera from the boy, stepped away and
said to Johnny, “Now, you gonna give Wendy something to
dance for?”
     This time, Johnny nodded, nervous, shaking.  He was
actually a handsome boy, not much older than 16, but he had
a good face, a strong jaw, and a pretty good physique,
though he had a bit of growing to do.  He certainly made a
better picture than Eliot or James, and lacked the gross
musculature of the John’s, and the belly of Mr. Gold (I
wasn’t even going to compare him to the freshmen).
     I stood there, still waiting for something to happen,
while Johnny did the same.
     “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Wendy, if you don’t do something
I’m gonna have to suck his dick for getting him all worked
up, and I don’t like suckin dick, so how’s about it, okay?”
     A dozen courses went through my mind.  Running for the
exit, or my locker.  Ordering them all out of the locker
room, even screaming at the top of my lungs.  But what I
really wanted to do was cooperate.  I was actually enjoying
watching Betsy go off on this guy, even though I was
catching half the brunt of it.  I wanted to see her utterly
humiliate him, and goddamn it, I wanted to learn how it was
done.
     Sure I was naked, and up till now had done nothing
improper other than make a remark that could be construed in
a lot of different ways.  It was here that I had to decide
my course.  End it now, or see it through?  In this Johnny I
tried to see the numerous men who had gotten off at my
expense over the past two days, but the unusual feeling
seemed to fade.  Taking another good look at him, I say him
afresh.  This Johnny, a handsome guy, pretty nice usually,
maybe a little too opportunistic with that camera, but
generally your Joe Average, OK guy, and I had the chance to
see him humiliate himself in the exact same way I had done a
dozen times now.
     I knew what I was supposed to do, but instead I took
the chance to step to the nearest shower nozzle, turn it on,
and it flowed out in a firm, but steady stream.  I felt my
hands come up, starting to rub the soap off, but slowly,
moving the flesh with every stroke.  I let my head fall
under the force of the jet, soaking myself, all the while my
legs rocked slowly back and forth while I abandoned myself
to the comparative sensual ecstasy of the heat washing over
me.
     I didn’t see it happen, but when I heard Betsy ask,
“How’s this work?” I caught a glimpse of Johnny kneeling on
the low wall, not four feet from me, bathed in the gentle
mist of water splashing off my bare skin.
     “”Come on, already, Johnny.”  I said in a low voice to
him, and he complied, untying the top of his shorts, and
pushing them down, his manhood standing proud and erect,
about seven inches long with an interesting flare in the
middle that made it wider in the middle than at the base.
He was also uncircumsized.
     “That’a boy, Johnny.  Shit, Johnny!” Betsy was hovering
over him, “you got some ammo in those drawers.”  She turned
to her friend, “You ever seen a package this big, Bernice?”
     Bernice, her friend who had been hovering by the door
finally came out, now that the show was in full swing.
“Girl, do you date any black guys?”
     “Eat me girl.  You know how to work this?  It says
full.”
     I swung around, turning my body to face Johnny’s, my
hands running down the length of my bosom, past my tummy,
and artfully dodging my tuft of pubic bush.  Our eyes were
locked.
     “Turn around.” Johnny whispered, kneeling, stock-still
on the low wall, his member sticking out pointedly.
     I felt myself smiling at him.  What the fuck was I
thinking.  I was his teacher.  This wasn’t like giving in to
John-two, or even Coach Gold.  I was leading him on.  But I
obeyed, actually taking a step towards him, and upon turning
another, so I was at the edge of the shower falls, facing
away, my backside within arms length of the boy.
     “Wendy, you ever seen a dick that big?”
     I looked over my shoulder, not turning to prevent the
boy from seeing the show.  I saw her look up from the camera
she and Bernice were pondering, eyes wide at my proximity to
the boy.  I gave her a rolling glance, a condescending stare
that said “Of course I have,” and even if I hadn’t had John-
two, Eliot was easily this boys master.  Betsy’s
inexperience surprised me, or at least her bad luck with
choice of men, although I envied her never having known the
painful, forceful intrusiveness of having a man the width of
a phone, as Roger would say, pushing his way inside you.
     But Betsy scowled back at me, sending a tinge of fear
under my skin, and she swaggered her hip, tilted her head
and said, “Girl, you get any closer to that boy you’re gonna
be fucking him, and you know it’s true.”
     I was pretty close, but not close enough to fuck.  I
looked at Roger, now rubbing himself in earnest, eyes
fixated on my ass, but he looked up to meet my eyes.  I
winked at him and he mouthed the words, “Bend over.”
     What an impudent little fuck.  He’d never get laid in
the real world, not without a tramp like me to dominate.
But then, it was probably better that he was so crass.  A
more mature guy, one with more experience, would have had me
on my back already.
     I made a show of rinsing off once more, and running my
hands down the length of my body, took a step back,
spreading my legs and bent over to “wash” my calves.
Through the part in my legs I could see that I was much
closer to him now.  I had called her bluff.  I was indeed
close enough to fuck, and what was more, my sex was raised
and ready.  I could feel the warm water dripping off of it,
the warmth pulsing through it, just underneath the surface.
I couldn’t believe that I  had been ravaged by John-two just
hours ago, much less that I had to pee, so focused was I on
the proximity of my sex to this man’s pulsing, pumping
shaft.
     “Bernice says I need a new cartridge.” Betsy’s voice
pierced through the moment, she was tapping the boy on the
shoulder, who took a lot of effort to come back to her.  I
watched the exchange through my legs.  Betsy was clearly
into with the guy’s penis, though the fact that it was
inches from my vagina didn’t seem to phase her.  She looked
pretty aroused, and the guy reacted to her putting her arm
around him, and especially the fact that her boobs, at least
as big as mine, but perky and firm, instead of drooping and
pendulous.  He stopped stroking himself to pay attention to
Betsy’s question, seeming to forget about me entirely.
     Betsy went on, “The camera.  Bernice says it needs a
new cartridge.”  Clearly Betsy didn’t know the first thing
about the digital camera, and Johnny compliantly took the
camera, pulled a small, rectangular object from a lot in the
side of the camera, and taking them both in one hand,
retrieved a fresh one from the pocket on his T-shirt,
tucking it neatly in the empty slot and handing them both to
Betsy.  She took the camera, and dropped the used cartridge
into his pocket.
     I realized I was till bent over.  The moment shattered,
whatever illusion had been giving me such confidence, such
ease of motion, was gone, and I stood up, shivering again.
I had to pee again, and it was compounded by the throbbing
in my sex, still sore from John-two’s abuses.
     Betsy looked at me, “Don’t worry, hon, we ain’t done
quite yet.” She turned to Johnny, “Now it’s this button
here?”
     Johnny nodded. “Yeah.  My name’s Mike.” He said in a
weak, whipped voice.
     She patted him on the shoulder, “That’s nice, Johnny.”
And with her free hand she reached down, running one finger
along the length of Mike’s shaft, “You have a beautiful
tool, boy, but we don’t want to disappoint Wendy, do we?”
     Mike looked at me, as if noticing me for the first
time.  He was clearly conflicted, and seemed to be torn
between the beautiful black amazon, and the forbidden fruit
of his teacher.
     “Come on, Wendy,” Betsy said, leering at me, “Johnny’s
losing focus.”
     And she held the camera up, looking at me through the
LCD on the back, and snapped a picture, the flash blinding
me.
     A second later my eyesight returned, and Mike was
looking between the two of us while Betsy took a step back,
putting Mike into the frame.
     “You just go back to where you were.” Betsy smiled at
me, and fighting the burning sensation in my vulva I stooped
over, though without the numbness and sensual arousal that
had led me there in the first place.
     Another flash, and I could hear Mike stroking himself
again.
     “That’s it baby,” came Betsy’s deep African voice.
     At a loss for what to do next I ran my hands over my
behind, then drew them around front, and pushed them between
my legs.  I felt the flash firing again, and again, but the
pressure made the sensation burn, and I felt a squirt as I
lost control for a split second.  I stood up quickly, and
felt Mike’s shaft graze my buttock.
     He let out a low groan, and I turned around, retreating
into the shower’s mist, grateful for the heat, trying not to
look at the camera, while forcing myself to do the little
sway that had come so easily to me only moments before,
running my hands clumsily over my body.
     Betsy flashed a couple more pictures, “Don’t be
nervous, child, come on back, where Johnny can get a good,
close look.”
     But I was dancing now, and not the way Mike would have
like, “Betsy, I have to go.”
     She put her hands at her hips, the camera jutting out
where her wrist bent backward as she cocked her whole body
at me, “Now Wendy, don’t go getting cold feet.  You’re not
gonna leave Mike like this, are you?”
     Mike was looking at Betsy, still absently stroking his
dick, “Maybe we should go somewhere more-“
     “Come on girl,” Betsy interrupted him, pretending to
not even notice him.  “You started this, let’s at least
finish it.”
     But I shook my head, resigned, “No, Betsy, I have to
pee.”
     A blank expression hit Betsy in the face, and suddenly
she and Bernice burst out laughing while I felt myself
shrink, retreating into the stream of the shower’s warmth,
pummeled by their mocking laughter.
     But it died down shortly, and Betsy, wiping tears of
joy from her eyes said, “Well, go ahead then.”
     I couldn’t possibly pee in front of the three of them.
There was no way, “Please, Betsy,” I pleaded, knowing that
just by asking I was putting myself further and further into
her power.
     “Sweets, you ain’t got nothin’ left to hide from us.”
And she and Bernice broke out into another round of
laughter. “’Sides,” and she stepped alongside Mike once
more, putting her hand on his back, “Mike ain’t never seen a
girl pee, have you?”
     Mike didn’t look like he wanted to either.  He wasn’t
stroking himself, though he remained hard, “Uh, that’s
okay.”
     “Nonsense!” Betsy exclaimed, and I saw her hand slip
down to couple with Mike’s bare behind. “Wendy’s only to
happy to oblige.” And she moved her hand down even further,
provoking a shudder from the boy.  “Come on, dear, up close,
where the boy can see you.”
     And obediently I strode forward, wondering if I could
do this.  I had peed in the shower before, but I had never
peed for an audience, even for boyfriends.
     Stepping out of the water, and back in front of Mike
and Betsy I parted my legs, just slightly, enough for the
pee to fall free.  Betsy took a step back and started
focusing the camera on me, putting Mike in the foreground it
seemed.
     It wasn’t as hard as I thought.  Standing alone, I felt
the hot piss streaming out in the thick gush, splattering my
thighs and splashing up on the ground were it sprayed over
my feet.  Mike wasn’t nearly as apprehensive as he had been
at first, and in spite of Betsy having removed her hand, he
was stroking himself in earnest.
     Betsy was snapping shot after shot, and I wondered how
many damn pictures a cartridge allowed.  She must have taken
thirty.
     The stream seemed to stretch on and on, and though I
had deliberately not done it, I found my hand moving
unconsciously to pull my vulva forward, my legs parting a
bit wider, to accommodate the flow, and also serving to
accommodate Mike’s and the camera’s view, in turn, also
putting a finger right on my clitoris, which I thought about
rubbing/
     I was waiting for something to happen.  Some numbness,
some shot of erotic passion that had accompanied my prior
humiliations, but even as relief flooded through me with
every draining drop, I remained perfectly myself.  A
teacher, naked, soaked to the skin, baring herself before a
masturbating boy, and two girls who were snapping pictures
of the degradation.  No blissful escape from being naked in
the library, or from giving myself to two boys.  Just the
bone-rattling awareness of what I was doing, and how I would
never be able to live this down, having been caught in a
situation, and acting like I had with the Johns, or with
Eliot and James, or Mr. Gold, or even the kids.  Only then
it had been under duress, or at least, a forceful pressure
for me to behave.  I needed the escape Eliot and James had
given me, and the three freshmen needed some compensation
for the secret they were keeping, and managed to corner me.
I was pretty much powerless over John-two, and I had stood
up to Mr. Gold, though I had let him use
     But here I was, pissing on my feet before my students,
my fingers parted over my sex, another hand cupping my
breast (when had I done that?).  I had had every chance to
put a stop to this. I had even felt the control at my
fingertips, but some malicious instinct had driven me to see
this play out
     “That’s it, baby.” Betsy was hooting and hollering, her
friend evincing distaste, but, like her partner in my
humiliation, she couldn’t look away, “What’chou squeezing
those titties for?”  My hand shot down to my side, “You
think he can’t do that for you?” Betsy called out before her
and her friend broke up into hysterical laughter.
     I looked at Mike, hoping for some kind of help, as the
last few drops drizzled out, thoroughly drenching my thighs,
which now glistened with golden droplets.  I could smell the
faint, acrid scent of my urine, puddled at my feet, and
Betsy could see it, golden against the pale, pink floor, and
snapped another shot.  The pee hadn’t run off due to a
depression in the floor, though some runoff from the shower
was mixing with it.  I took a half step towards the shower,
     “Hold on, honey!” and Betsy came over, not close enough
to stand in the pee, but close enough to reach me and Mike
from her position, “And you hold on too, Johnny.” She patted
the hand stroking his cock.
     “Johnny,” Betsy asked, striking a sexy pose, even as
she snapped a picture of him, alone, with his hand on his
stiff member. “I think Wendy’s done her part pretty fair,”
she looked at me, “Don’t you think so?”
     I shook my head, “Betsy, I think this has gone—“
     But she squeezed my arm, though she kept her distance,
“Baby, you’ve gone too far to back out now.” Her expression
had a mixture of kindness and malice.  She towered over me,
and looking up at her meant looking over her swollen bosom.
I instinctively looked down, and was surprised to see that
she wasn’t wearing any shoes or socks.
     “I need to wash up.”  I said, and tried to pull free,
but Betsy clung to me, pulling me back and I overstepped and
fell into her.
     Strong arms enveloped me.  Not as mighty as John-two’s,
but certainly strong enough to hold me, cradled there, my
head in her bosom, squished into her breasts while she
clutched my nudity close.
     “Let go.”
     “Calm down, baby, I ain’t no lesbian.” She said
sternly, but then she actually cupped my breast, hefting it
up, “But if I were I’d sure like to get my lips around one
of these.”
     I looked up at her, her lips supple and lush, I
imagined one of them going to work on me, and felt a broad
tingle running up my spine, her thick, soft lips suckling on
my nipple, actually able to engulf it.  But I shuddered at
the thought of coupling with a woman, and found my hand on
hers, trying to extract it, but as she glared down at me I
only held her hand there, as if tacitly consenting.
     She smiled at me, “Now, you wanted to see what Johnny’s
gonna do with those pictures he’s been takin’ of you, and I
think we’re about to find out, eh Johnny.”
     “What are you-“
     The hand dropped my breast and my lips were suddenly
pinched between finger and thumb.  Gently, but the meaning
was clear, as was the control she exerted over me.
     “Why don’t you get down and take a closer look, honey?”
     I glared at her, shaking my head to remove her hand,
“I’m not your honey!”
     And though I tried to pull my arm away she held fast,
the action shaking me violently, my breasts swung out and
slammed into her as she pulled me back into her grasp,
clutching my body to hers.  I could feel the camera digging
into my back where she pinned me with her other arm, “Miss
Caulder, I don’t mean any disrespect,” she said in a low
tone, “But I think you owe me one for dealin’ with Mr.
Photographer here.”
     I looked over at Mike, still clutching his member but
nervously looking from Betsy to me, not sure at all what
Betsy’s statement meant, and perhaps, not comfortable with
the pressure Betsy was putting on me, but clearly, he was
not so put out that he was willing to forego his reward.
     Betsy leaned closer, whispering in my ear, “Now you
play along, and we’ll have him by the balls.” She let go of
my arm, and loosened her hold on me, but I didn’t pull away.
She continued, “You don’t, and this whole show you been
puttin’ on becomes a little party for the boy, you follow
me?” and I felt her fondling my boob again.  Was this girl a
lesbian? She smiled and said aloud, “I can’t believe these
are real, honey, but proof is in the pudding.” She turned to
Johnny,
     “Hey boy.  You wanna little piece of Mrs. C.?”
     I opened my mouth to protest, but found myself slamming
shut, playing along.  Just a little longer, to see what
Betsy had in mind.  She was right, after all.  If I quit
now, I’d have dance, nude in the shower, teasing this boy
and debasing myself before the girls for nothing.
     I swallowed hard, and took a step towards Mike, trying
to ignore the fact that I was sloshing in my own pee
“Michael, is looking all you want to do.” And I was suddenly
right next to the boy, so close his hand clutching his cock
was touching me, right at the groin.  His hand pulled back,
and the head was pushing me, straight on, nestling itself
into my loins, parting my soapy, wet sex (I think he forgot
it was piss-soaked).  His face, kneeling as he was, was
right at mine, and though he gave a brief glance at Betsy (I
didn’t see her reaction), he let his hands come up, running
over my body sending delicious curls of heat up my sides, to
where he cupped my breasts, groping and squeezing them
roughly, his inexperience obvious.
     Then, him looking me in the eye for an instant I kissed
him, hard, pushing my tongue past his teeth, his member
pushing past the squeeze of my thighs to part my lips down
below and grind against my clit, punching at my sex which
positively oozed with anticipation, though I had been ready
to flee moments before.  I could feel the flash going off as
Betsy documented my wantonness.  I imagined it capturing his
steely member penetrating me, and despite my ravages from
the morning, I felt no pain, only an eagerness to please, to
let this boy paw roughly at my bosom, to accommodate his
pumping and stabbing in this impossible position, wishing he
was inside me, so I could let him take me utterly.
     I don’t know when I lifted my leg up, but I know the
exact moment he got the right angle, because I didn’t wait,
but put my hand down and guided him inside me, while he
guided me down to lay back, both of us oblivious to the fact
that our loving was taking place in a pool of piss.  All I
felt was the tingling sensation of lukewarm water and the
spray from the ever running shower, while flashes pulsed
over me, and Mike found his stride and starting riding me in
earnest.
     There was one more flash, and Mike seized up, his
member pulsing inside of my sensitive nethers, though it was
barely a quarter the girth John-two had speared me with, and
I felt the faintest of orgasms build up inside me and I
gasped, wrapping my legs around him while he seized up
tight, letting go of the last of his wad.
     “I’m sorry,” he moaned.
     The flighty orgasm fluttered through me, and all I
could do was look my student in the eye, clenching my teeth
as he watched me cumming under him while the last dredges of
his orgasm emptied into me.
     But he didn’t linger long, and as soon as my legs
relaxed he pulled himself off of me, looking over my
complacent, willing body and legs spread wide.  He pulled up
his shorts, fastened the top, and stepped off of the ledge
he had just fucked me on.
     “It’s okay,” I said, belatedly realizing that he was
apologizing for cumming so quick.  “You can try again.”
     But Betsy was behind him, “Okay, Wendy, Mike here has
to get to class.” And though she was pushing him away from
me she snapped a picture of me, on my back, laying on the
ledge, legs spread and, no doubt, Mike’s semen dribbling out
of my sex.
     She handed Mike the camera, “Souvenir for ya.” He took
the camera and she said, looking me over, “I can’t believe
you wasted it on that tramp.”
     Mike stammered, “I thought…  I mean, you said…”
     But the “tramp” comment had gotten under my skin, and I
threw my legs over the wall, refusing to let my legs buckle
with the renewed flashes of weakness, as after when John-two
had had me.  I took a couple steps to the shower when my
legs started to shake.  I couldn’t believe that I’d done it
again.  Just thrown myself at a student, and at only the
slightest goading.  I felt like the world’s trashiest whore,
and, with the waning sense of numbness, the passing of my
orgasm, I felt sore, like I’d let a dozen guys take me,
owning my ass, one after the other, while I spread my legs
asking for another.
     My knees buckled, and I let myself fall to my hands and
knees, crawling into the shower where the ablution of the
water running over me could wash away the piss and semen.
But it couldn’t wash away the shame.  It couldn’t wash away
the knowledge that I’d thrown myself at this boy in front of
two other students, one of whom had every reason to hate my
guts.
     Suddenly the water turned off.   Betsy was standing
over me.
     “You know, Miss Caulder, you are about the dumbest
bitch I ever met in my life.”
     I could only look up at her, stammering with
humiliation.  I felt about an inch tall before the tall,
black, amazon bitch.
     That boy was snappin pictures of you in the shower, and
I shovel out the sweetest revenge you could come up with and
you go and spread your legs for him like some whore,
rewardin him for being a sonofabotch peeping tom!”
     “But you said.” I stammered, hoping she couldn’t see
the tears in my eyes for the water dripping down my face,
“You said to finish it.”
     “I meant to let him cum, dummy!  I was gonna snap a few
pictures with just him in the shot, get Bernice to mail them
around school.”
     She kicked her foot, splashing water in my face.
     Stepping closer to tower over me she growled, “But
don’t seem much point when you just give it up.  I mean, who
just lays back and spreads’em ‘cause some chick says to?”
     “I thought he… I thought you…”
     “Oh, yeah, like he’s gonna get all embarrassed for
fucking the sex ed teacher.  Guys like him’d pay to  brag
about that shit.  Hell, guys already do that ‘bout you.”
     “They do?” I looked up, horrified.
     “Shit.  Get up.” And she actually leaned down, helping
me to my feet.  “It ain’t no thing, just guys braggin.”
     “Who said they’d been with me?”
     “Just some guy talking in the locker room.  Hell, I
heard a couple guys sayin the same thing last semester while
you were writing on the blackboard.”
     I turned to her, “In class?”
     She nodded, “Shit, they do it about all the teachers,
no one believes them.”
     “You think they won’t believe Mike?”
     She picked up my towel off the ledge, handing it to me,
“When they see the pictures they will.”
     I clutched the towel close, “Oh my god.”
     She rolled her eyes at me, “You were the one who walked
over and fucked him.” Then she looked over my shoulder, “Can
I help you with something!?”
     I spun around in time to see two boys turn and bolt for
the front entrance to the locker room.  Two more!  How many
people had seen me naked in here?  How much had they seen?
“You don’t think they saw…”
     “Honey, I don’t know.” And the pity in her eyes was
worse than her anger.  “Go on, Hon, you’d better get dressed
and get out of here.”
     I nodded, and started to turn, then stopped, “You gave
Mike the camera.”
     She got indignant, “You gave him your ass!”
     I bowed my head, shamed.
     “What’d you expect me to do?  Steal his shit after
you’d shown him you wanted it?”
     I shook my head, shamefaced.
     “Betsy?” I murmured.
     “Yeah, baby, what is it?”
     My voice was barely a pathetic squeak, “Why…  I mean…
Why are you helping me?”
     An arm went over my shoulder as the big woman came up
behind me, another one gently kneading my shoulders, “Miss
Caulder, a lot of teachers took a lot of shit from me over
the years.”  I felt both hands take my shoulders, turning me
around.  Betsy looked down at me, running her hands down my
arms, “You stood up to me, told me what it was about.” She
smiled broadly, her gleaming white teeth sparkling, “I’m not
sayin I liked it, but I respected it, you know?”
     I nodded, “yeah.”
     “Which is why I expected you to play along.  I dunno, I
mean, you layin down for that boy, kinda disappointing, you
know?”
     I felt my ego crumbling under her disapproval.  I
nodded.
     Betsy pulled the towel away from me.  I didn’t resist,
letting her uncover my body, “You are a beautiful woman,
Wendy.”
     I looked up to see her appraising my curvy body.
     “Maybe a little full in the hips.” Her hands had moved
to my sides and she ran them down the length of me, forcing
me to shiver as she caressed my buttocks.  “But I seen
bigger butts.”
     She let go of me, abruptly, and I was shocked to
realize that she’d been feeling me up.  She stepped away,
still looking me over, “So let’s try to take a little better
care, okay?”
     I nodded.
     Betsy turned and walked to the entrance.  Bernice gave
sort of a reluctant wave, shrugging her shoulders before
turning to follow her friend.  Were they lovers?  Or was
this some black thing I didn’t know anything about?
     I turned on my heels, and walked back to the locker,
hoping I’d be able to find it.
     Instead, turning the first locker, I found Mr. Gold,
coming down the walkway with a student.
     
LOOSE ENDS
     
     I didn’t even try to cover myself, so shocked and dazed
I was.
     “Mr. Gold.”
     Mr. Gold appraised me, scanning me over unashamedly,
unlike his student, a kid in a football Jersey with a thick,
single brow, stocky around the midsection like Mr. Gold, but
much shorter, almost my height.  He seemed to wear a
perpetual sneer on his face, and was looking frantically in
spite of it, between my naked body, and Mr. Gold, waiting
for someone to tell him to leave, but not willing to go
until he was ordered to.
     “Wendy, this is a surprise.”
     I felt the pairs of eyes crawling over my body, but
could barely bring myself to move, much less pull up the
towel to cover myself.
     But then, like the John’s liked to say, they’d already
seen me.  What was the harm in seeing more?
     “I needed to take a shower.”
     Coach grinned, “We require girls shower in their
swimsuits, Wendy.”
     I swallowed.  It seemed that Melanie and her friend had
been lying to me after all, encouraging me to bathe naked,
knowing that so many boys would be coming through.
     I tried to look Mr. Gold in the eye, but failed, “I
need to get dressed,” I said meekly.
     There was a long silence, while the two males looked me
over.  I felt like turning around.
     Mr. Gold cleared his throat, “We received a report of
some boys coming out of the locker room, Wendy.  We came in
to check it out because no one is supposed to be in here
during lunch.”
     I nodded, “I heard a couple people come through.”
     The coach didn’t respond, though his kid was getting
more and more comfortable enjoying the view, which neither
the coach, nor I appeared to be forbidding him.
     “Please, Mr. Gold.” I sounded barely audible, “Can I go
get something on?”
     Suddenly the coach slapped the boy next to him on the
back, “Wendy, I’d like you to meet my new center.  Ronnie,
this is Wendy, she’ll be your sex ed teacher next year.”
     “Hi Wendy.” Ronnie growled, his voice gravelly and
nasal.
     “M-Miss Caulder.” I stammered.
     The coach let out a short, sharp laugh, “We don’t stand
on formality here, Wendy.  He won’t be yours till the Fall.”
He set a hand on my shoulder, quickly sliding it down my
back and grabbing my butt, while I stood there, letting him.
     “Mr. Gold, we talked about…”
     He looked me straight in the eye, and said with all
sincerity, “We did, and you are right, Wendy.” But he gave
me a little pat on the butt nonetheless, raising his
eyebrows at the boy before turning back to me, “But you
can’t blame me for being a little opportunistic, can you?”
     His smile was disarming, although I didn’t trust it,
“No, but I do have to go.”
     He didn’t even seem to have heard me, “I teach all my
boys to take advantage of what little chances life throws in
their laps, don’t you think that’s good advice?”
     I felt the pit of my stomach tightening up, “Uh huh.”
     Mr. Gold’s hands were running up and down over my back,
now.  He was in effect, holding me to face Ronnie, who
leered at me with abandon in light of his coaches behavior,
showing me off to the boy, “Sorry, Wendy, what was that?”
     I crossed my arms in front of me, suddenly very
ashamed, trying to make the towel cover more than it could,
“I think you’re right, Mr. Gold, but you should consider-“
     “That’s right!” Mr. Gold barked, interrupting me.
“Now,” he continued, letting go of me, “I’m going to check
out this locker room head to toe.  Ronnie!”
     The boy snapped to attention, tearing his eyes away
from me.
     Mr. Gold stepped between Ronnie and myself, keeping a
hand on each of us, “Now I don’t know who’s in here, so I’m
going to leave Ronnie with you, Wendy.” He turned to his
pupil, “Don’t let her out of your sight.”
     The boy nodded curtly, then peered at me as if obeying
instructions.
     “I’ll be back in a few minutes, and we can get you to
your locker.” He patted me on the shoulder, but didn’t wait
for a reply.  “In the meantime, perhaps you can give Ronnie
a taste of what you class is going to be like.  Like you did
for my boys yesterday.” And with a grin he slapped me on the
behind and, whistling, marched off down the hallway.
     “Hi Wendy.” The gravelly voice came groaning out.
     I clutched the towel to my front while the boy began
circling me, “This isn’t what you think, Ronnie.”
     “Coach said not to take my eyes off of you.”
     “Look, Ronnie, Coach Gold is mad about something that
happened this afternoon.  He’s using you to get back at me.”
     “Right on.”
     The boy was either malicious, or denser than even John-
two, which was to say: as a brick.  Ronnie circled around
behind me, and I spun to keep the towel between us.
     “Look, Ronnie, I have to go.” And I made to walk down
the aisle, but Ronnie intercepted me, our chests colliding,
but he didn’t make to grab me, “Coach said to wait right
here.”
     “Coach doesn’t have that authority.  I told you, he’s
using you.”
     “What did you do?”
     Had I seen a glimmer of intelligence in the young
center’s eyes?
     “N-none of your bus-“ I stammered,
     “You want me to do what you want, but you won’t even
tell me why.”
     I fumed, biting back a sarcastic retort.  “Coach wanted
to… have sex.”
     “And you said no?”
     I nodded.
     He looked me over.
     “What else?”
     “That’s it,” I shrugged, inadvertently dropping half
the towel and flashing the boy, who perked up, but I
snatched it up and wrapped it around me, covering both front
and back while the boy tried to catch fleeting glimpses.
     “Why’d you say no?”
     I peered at the kid, “He’s…” twice my age, fat,
married, I tried to say, but that hadn’t stopped me from
spreading my legs for him yesterday.
     “He’s a dick.  You saw how he treated me.”
     “You seemed pretty cozy, what with you being naked and
all.”
     I sighed, “We’ve done it before.”
     This seemed to confuse him, “You and coach?”
     I nodded, and watched his face light up in a big smile,
as if he understood me now, or worse, that he understood why
coach had left him alone with me.
     I quickly cut that thought off, “But that’s over.  I
told him today.”
     His smile faded slightly.  “What did you do with the
coach?”
     I frowned at the boy, “What do you think?”
     He shrugged, stepping closer, the smell of onion on his
breath and his BO rather strong, “I think you fucked him,
but I want you to tell me.”
     This time I held still while he paced around me, “I
fucked him, I…  I let him take me in the temp building, down
the hill.”
     “Bottom or top?”
     I looked at the boy, very close now, “What does it
matter?”
     “I want the details.”
     I peered at him, looking straight on at the short boy,
“I’m not going to fuck you, Ronnie.”
     He shrugged, “That’s cool.”
     But instead of accepting that he unzipped his shorts
and pulled out his dick.  A short, stubby, unimpressive
thing, and he started stroking it.
     “Ronnie…  What are you- Put that away!”  I tried not to
look, but I couldn’t peel my eyes away from his little
member.
     “Could you take off that towel?”
     I couldn’t believe that he was actually going to just
ignore me and jerk off, like I was some sort of peepshow
girl.  It wasn’t as if I hadn’t given the impression that I
was going along to the other boys.  He was actually defying
me.  I sat down, clutching my arms around me, but that only
allowed him to step up closer, jerking his dick in my face.
     “Come on, I just need to see some skin.”
     “You’ve already seen me.” I huffed, forcing myself to
look away.
     “Just a tit?”
     But it was obvious he didn’t need anything to stimulate
him.  He was pumping hard and starting to breath heavy.
     Regardless, I signed, and wanting to get this over with
I pulled the towel off and let him feast his eyes on me once
more.
     “You are not to tell anyone about this, okay?”
     “Sure thing teacher.” He said, reaching out a hand to
grope my breast.
     “My name is Miss Caulder.”
     He stepped even closer, spanking his dick right in my
face, but I made no move away from him, nor did I remove his
hand except to maul me more aggressively.
     “Coach called you ‘Wendy.’”
     “That’s my first name.” And I found him parting my legs
with his knees, so he could get even closer.  I humbly
acquiesced to the pressure, spreading my legs, and his eyes
found my swollen, abused sex.
     “Well, Wendy, don’t this put us on a first name basis.”
And he let out a groan, wavering, accidentally bashing me
lightly in the nose with his pumping fist.
     “Careful.”
     “Sorry, baby.” But he was intent on pumping.
     “I preferred it when you called me Wendy.” But I found
myself putting my hands on his bottom, to help hold him
steady as he aimed at my face.  “Are you going to be much
longer?” I asked, glancing sidelong down the aisle of
lockers for Coach Gold’s return.
     “It won’t if you’d shut the fuck up.”
     “Sorry” I mumbled before realizing I should have
reprimanded the boy.  Instead I shut up, waiting patiently
for him to cum.
     
     When Mr. Gold found me I was alone, splattered head to
tit in Ronnie’s semen.  He had arrived almost like clockwork
after Ronnie had done his thing and split.  He had a great
big grin on his face, “My god that boy had a lot of spunk in
him.”
     I nodded, sheepishly.
     “Boy’s got a lot of potential, but he’s got a lot to
learn.  In my day I’d have had you on your back in under a
minute.”
     I glared up at him, “Don’t count on it.”
     He leaned down to look me in the eye, “It only took me
two to get you undressed yesterday.  If you hadn’t had those
brat kids with you I’d have had you on the desk like that,”
and he snapped his fingers.  “How’d you like to have a man
take you on your own desk.”
     I thought back to giving it up to John-two, and how
utterly I had surrendered to him, wishing I was there now,
covered with his sperm in the blissful numbness of having
been utterly ravaged. “I think I’d like it a lot, John.”
     That wasn’t the answer the coach wanted.
     “Come on.” And he pulled me up by the arm and led me
down the aisle.
     I don’t know why I didn’t fight him.  Perhaps I was
actually too numb after all, from the past two hours
humiliations.  Drinking the freshmen’s semen.  Blowing the
insolent Rusty.  Laying down for Mike in front of Betsy, and
finally letting the revolting Ronnie jerk-off on my face.
It was still dribbling off my lips, my chin, and my tits as
the coach led me to a nondescript door.  He pulled a key
chain out of his pocket and opened it.
     Instantly the smell of stale sweat wafted out.  I was
looking into a narrow row of lockers.  About ten feet past
them another locker room opened up.  This one a bit dingier,
a little more wear on the lockers, the benches had a lot
more scratches in them, and the odor was definitely that of
a boy’s laundry hamper.
     Any doubt that mind have lingered in my mind was
dispelled as the sight of a healthy, lithe, young man passed
by the opening wearing nothing but a jock strap.
     Cold fear shot through me.  If I had been unable to get
out of the girl’s locker room without getting fucked,
photographed, and spanked on, what the Hell could I expect
from the Boy’s locker room?
     I opened my mouth, and felt the air escaping, but no
sound as I screamed silently in horror at the thought of
being so utterly exposed, so completely ravaged.
     “Get’s ya wet just thinking about it, doesn’t it you
little whore?”
     I was too paralyzed to respond.
     “What say you and I take a mosey across the locker room
to my office?”
     I finally found my voice, “No fucking way.” I
whispered.
     Mr. Gold turned to me.  I could see his cock sticking
up in his pants, “
     “What’s the matter?” he gave me a shove, pushing me
through the door before I could try to stop him. “Think a
few teenage boys will be too much for you?”  He reached
down, grabbing my sex roughly, sending stabbing pains deep
inside me as he mauled the tender skin still healing from
John-two’s abuse.  Mike had been eager, but tender, but he
used me the way I was meant to be used, and I had been soapy
and aroused.  Mr. Gold just pawed. “I hope I didn’t wear you
down too much, Wendy.  I still got plans for that little
pussy of yours.”
     He pushed me back against the icy cold steel of a
locker, slamming his body against mine, burying me beneath
his rigid girth, his broad, prominent gut smashing my
breasts.
     “I don’t say this to a lot of girls, Wendy,” he
breathed on me, “But you were a pretty damned good fuck.”
     He suddenly let go of me, and took a half step back,
still close to me, touching his belly to me, but not the
same pressure as before,
     “I wasn’t so bad, was I?”
     “John…” I murmered weakly, then looking up at him I
felt my self-esteem assert itself.  I wasn’t standing, nude,
cum-covered, and passive before a dominant alpha-male.
Rather, he was a weak, insecure boy, who was desperately
trying to keep his own fragile ego from crumbling to pieces.
     “Mr. Gold,” I went on, “I think I liked fucking you
better than any man I’ve ever had in my life.” I said,
knowing that it was true.  Letting the coach use me had
introduced me to a form of submission that utterly engulfed
anything else that might be “Wendy.”  The domination, the
physical bulk, the crushing weight, and yes, even the
humiliation had spurred me to an explosive, uncontrollable
orgasm, even if the sex had been pretty dull.
     The coach liked that answer, and came a bit closer,
“Wendy,” but I held up a hand.
     “Coach.” I indicated the open locker room, and he
quickly moved to block me from view.  An easy feat for a man
of his size.  His free hand, however, was still reaching
across me, holding the door back to the girl’s locker room
shut.
     “Mr. Gold, I let you have me.  I gave you everything a
girl could give a man.”
     He was smiling, nodding, “That’s why I don’t
understand—“
     But I interrupted him with another hand, “But…  But you
blew me off, Coach.  You tossed me aside, you embarrassed me
in front of a student, you came on my face and didn’t have
the courtesy to help me clean up so I could walk to my car…”
     I had to stop, as I was starting to raise my voice.
The last thing I wanted to do was attract attention.
     The coach looked a little off-put, but a weak smile
reasserted itself, and he actually shrugged, “What can I
say, I mean…” he looked me straight in the eye, “You can’t
say you didn’t love every minute of it!”
     In spite of my attempts at boldness I found myself
crossing my arms, consciously trying to hide my nudity from
him.
     “It’s too late for that game, Miss Caulder.” He lunged
for my sex again, but I scooted back, slamming into the cold
concrete wall to the side of the door.  He went on, “You’re
gushing down there.  You could take half my team and one or
two of the cheerleaders on top, you’re so wet.  You trying
to tell me that that kid shooting his load on you didn’t
turn you on?”
     I felt my insides tingling.  I was shaking on my feet.
How could he possibly misconstrue the fact that I was a
little wet for enjoyment.  How absurd.  He had me here, in
the boy’s locker room, after letting his new Center get off
on me, and he had the audacity to insinuate that I was
sexually aroused by it.
     I know there wasn’t any other rational explanation, but
how could I articulate that?  How could I defend that a
woman gets wet when she’s ready for sex, even if she doesn’t
want it.  How could I force the coach to understand that
even if I was enjoying my situation, that it didn’t mean
that I wanted him.
     “Coach, what do you want from me?”
     He smiled broadly, all traces of anger gone from his
face, “Oh, you know.  Just a little fun from time to time,
that’s all.”
     “J-just sex?” I was shaking, and I knew he could see
it.  I could only hope he didn’t see the quivers in my
belly, or the heat which seemed to envelop my groin.  What
was I going to do this time, I wondered?
     “Sex, a little head, maybe…” he glanced over his
shoulder, “Give some encouragement to some of the boys…”
     I felt myself trying to creep into the crack between
the lockers and the wall.  I clenched my arms tight, wishing
I had a third one to crush my sex as hard as I was crushing
my nipples.  “Encouragement…  Like Ronnie.”
     “Oh, that.” The coach waved a hand dismissively, “I was
just trying to make a point.  No one will believe him.
Hell, John-two in here was telling some of the guys that
he’d fucked you silly this morning, guys make shit up all
the time.”
     “John-two said what?”
     “Nothing.  Just guy’s telling tales.  Ronnie says
something they’ll just chalk it up to shallow boasting.”
     “What did John-two say?”
     He put his hands on my shoulders, they were almost hot,
and I realized half my shaking was shivering from the cold.
     “Don’t worry about it, Wendy.  Mrs. Christenson had a
talk with him.”
     I nodde, trying to seem reassured, but John-two aside
there was nothing comfortable about my predicament.  Even as
Mr. Gold gently lifted my chin up I heard boys laughing on
the far side of the locker room.
     “Wendy, you look so good splattered with sperm like
that.  Naked, alone, covered in it, like a wanton slut who
couldn’t get enough till she was drenched, head to toe.”
     I scowled at the man.
     “You ought to be a little more discreet, though.”
     “Mr. Gold,” I said, “How am I supposed to be discreet
when I’ve got a sophomore’s semen on my face because you
left me alone with him, while I’m standing naked in the
boy’s locker room?”
     “Oh, good point.” He said, glancing over his shoulder,
and removing his hand from the door he had been barring me
from all this time.
     I started to move to the door, but he spoke too soon,
“But I meant about the boys in general.”
     I hesitated, looking at him, “What boys?  What have the
boys got to do with this?” what did he know?
     “Well, what I meant about encouragement.  I mean, me
and Ronnie finding you like that in the locker room, that
was good, discreet; a plausible excuse for me to give next
season’s starting center an incentive to work hard.”
     “An incentive, like I’m a reward?”
     “No, no, he waved his hands apart, “But when the boys
do good, good things happen.  Maybe next time Ronnie will
get to drive the prom queen home, or catch a glimpse of the
cheerleader’s changing room, little accidents that make them
hungry for more.”
     “I see.”  I said.  “And you want me to do this with all
your boys.”
     He laughed heartily, “No, Wendy dear, no.  Leaving the
boy to watch you was a favor for picking my team, and not
signing up for wrestling.  Frankly I can’t believe that you
let him pull his thing out, much less cum all over you, but
I can’t say I wasn’t grateful.  That boy’s going to be a
Gold player through and through on the slim chance that
something like that will ever happen again.”
     “I see.”
     “Good!  Like you did with the John’s yesterday; slinky,
sexy, seductive.  You don’t have to let the boy’s touch you
to get what you want, you know?”
     That thought calmed me, but the thought of letting the
coach use me as some sort of incentive reward for his proud
athletes left me rigid, cold, yes aflame with defiance.  He
went on,
     “Quite frankly it’s better to adopt a hand’s off
policy.  I mean, boys talk, and enough talk, they’ll start
believing.  Besides…”  He didn’t finish, but he was puffing
out his chest and raising his eyebrows.  The meaning was
clear.  I was his.
     I felt a steady burn creeping up from my loins.  The
shivering subsided and I was filling up with a cold contempt
for the ogre of a man. “Besides what, Mr. Gold,” I asked,
but letting my left arm fall I scooped a runny bauble of
Ronnie’s sperm off my breast, raised it lo my lips, and
licked the finger clean.
     “Wendy, that’s…” but the coach just stared.
     “The boys can’t touch, but you can, Mr. Gold?” I asked,
scooping up a runnel that had gone nearly down to my belly.
     “Well, yes, I mean, you’re a teacher.” But he stopped
again as I slurped up the little troll’s semen.  It was
actually quite good compared to other semen.  Salty, smoky,
and with a little bit of flavor.  It smelled like detergent,
but on the tongue it was far better than any other man I’d
had the previous day.
     Mr. Gold grabbed my hand away, then just as quickly let
me go as he recoiled, wiping his hand off frantically on his
shirt hem.  “Wendy, that’s disgusting.  That’s not…  You’re
not supposed to…” but he peered at me, “You’re just trying
to get under my skin, aren’t you?”
     I found myself smiling, and nodding, replacing the
finger in my mouth as a scooped the dribble of semen off my
chin.
     “You little whore,” he wagged a finger at me, but he
was grinning, “I’d fuck you silly right here if you didn’t
have that boy’s stuff all over you.”
     I made a goggle-eyed baby face at him, lolling my head,
“You gonna let a little ‘stuff’ stop you coach?” and I
turned around, and leaned forward, jutting my ass out at
him, rubbing it into his bulging hard crotch.
     I felt, rather than heard him moan, just before his
body shuddered, but he snatched me by the shoulders and
straightened me up, “Are you crazy, woman?  We can’t do it
in here?”
     But I turned on him.  Just around back of him I saw two
boys, probably sophomores.  They were dressing down, but
didn’t seem to notice the coach or myself.  They probably
thought he was talking to a student.  The coach didn’t see
them at all.
     I gave the coach a grin, and stuck my hand in his
shorts, grappling his member, hard to the point of bursting,
“Don’t you want me, coach?” I whispered.
     The coach, for the first time was speechless.  He
quickly overcame that as I started pumping him, “Oh, all
right you little slut, but make it quick.” And with a firm
hand he pushed me down, but I twisted, and bent at the waist
rather than going down to my knees, but took his shorts down
to the ankles in the process.  Stealing a glance I could see
the two boys still hadn’t spied me behind Mr. Gold, nor
noticed anything amiss as far away as they were.
     I straightened up, the feelings of arousal sweeping
over me like they had yesterday in the temp.  I felt like I
was literally burning up inside, yearning to be seen, used,
and fucked, but I was in control and I knew how I wanted
this to be done.
     I looked Mr. Gold in the eye, “How about a kiss first?”
     Mr. Gold recoiled at the thought, his face twisting,
“No way, Wendy.  Unh-uh!”
     I faked a pout and put my hands on my hips, “My mouth
is good enough to wrap around your cock, but not good enough
for a kiss?”
     “Not until you wash up, honey.  And brush your teeth.”
     That was exactly what I had expected him to say.
     “Well then,” I said, taking a step back.  “Don’t move a
muscle.”
     I pulled the door open, and a quick glance assured me
that the locker room appeared, at least, to be empty.  I
felt at the locking mechanism, the same as all the hall
doors, and flipped the autolock.  I stepped through and gave
Mr. Gold a wink.  He stood there, shorts around his ankles,
totally confused for the loop I’d taken, “Don’t move a
muscle.” I said.
     I hesitated for a moment.  I was genuinely burning up
inside.  I really wanted nothing less than a thunderous
ovation of cock in my cunt and felt like I’d crumble to dust
with the shame of being led around nude for the last hour if
I didn’t get some kind of satisfaction.
     But I resolved to get it from some more deserving soul,
if anyone, and slammed the door as hard, and as loud as I
could, while Mr. Gold’s face dropped in terror as the door
swung closed.
     I could only imagine the reaction of the boys down the
aisle, any anyone else who might come running.
     My heart beating hard I put a foot down against the
door, hoping to brake it against Mr. Gold should he try to
escape, but I knew it was faster for him to just pull up.
Nevertheless I leaved there for a long moment, though I
could hear nothing through the door.  My sex seemed to throb
heavily, and my body ached to be abused again, in spite of
being ravished and humiliated in more ways in 24 hours than
I’d been in my entire life.  Regardless, I felt the pain and
shame wane as the satisfaction of a job well done settled on
me.
     I left the door, smiling boldly now.  I had to get my
clothes on and get to my next class, in spite of my intense
arousal, and I knew I’d be late again, but first I needed
yet another shower, to wash off Ronnie’s spunk.
     Besides, I thought.  I might get lucky again.
     
     THE OFFICES
     
     I hadn’t realized that I had a whole hour left for
second lunch.  Time seemed to really drag while I was in the
locker room.  A quick tally in my mind made me realize that
I’d exposed myself for no less than eleven students, sat
still while one of them jerked off on me, and let one of
them have sex with me while two others looked on.
     For all the degradations I had succumbed to that had to
be a sort of record.  I was spending half my time trying to
rationalize how I let myself get into those situations.
What was I doing that got things so bad that I’d inevitably
wind up naked, or worse, giving myself to some boy?  The
other half of my mind was busy trying to figure out how I
was going to deal with the growing numbers of the student
body who’d seen me naked, had sex with me, or just watched
me guzzle their cum.
     The only real advantage I had was that few people were
going to take anyone’s word at face value; they were either
girls with a grudge or guys…  Well, guys bragging about
bagging the hottest teacher on campus.
     I wasn’t that hot, not by many standards.  I was fairly
short, and a little heavy. Though my waist was thin, and I’m
very shapely, my butt was too big for my own comfort
(especially around dozens of tiny, tight teenage girls),
round and plump, you could see little cellulite dimples when
I stood straight up, and when I bent over my tummy would
fold up in these pudgy little rolls.  My chest would dangle
down when I did this, flopping freely.  They hung low on my
chest when I stood up, and my broad nipples were hard to
hide in the thin shirts I usually wore.
     Still, I knew my allure was in the very shapeliness
that put me off.  Other men seemed to be attracted to that,
if only for one-night stands and adolescent fantasies.  They
liked to play with my boobs, but wanted a skinny china doll
for their showpiece girlfriends.  They liked grabbing my
ass, but they preferred to watch waifish girls at the
swimming pool.
     Regardless, my looks certainly hadn’t protected me from
the embarrassing situations that seemed to have snowballed
since the two Johns, two school linebackers, had
accidentally torn my skirt off yesterday, which led to the
state I was in when I allowed the Mr. Gold, the school coach
to convince me to have a liaison with him in the temp
building, which in turn led to my shattered, fragile ego
stripping for the Johns again and ultimately letting one of
them, John-two, rape me.  I had sex with no less than three
other men before John-two found me the next day and I
willingly acquiesced for him this time, promising to be his
girl while he humiliated and abused me on the most massive
dick I’d ever seen or heard of.  This led me to further
degradations, including drinking the sperm of three eager
freshmen from a glass, and ultimately my experience in the
locker room, where I’d finally gotten one up on Mr. Gold.
     I had just finished buckling the odd front clasp of the
flesh colored bra I’d looted from the lost and found bin in
the girls locker room, and contemplated the combo with the
lime green chiffon panties I’d been able to find.
     It certainly wasn’t the most flattering look; it made
my chest seem rather smaller while enhancing the size of my
ass.  At least they fit, and as I pulled on my skirt and
sweatshirt I felt armored as I hadn’t felt all day, since
I’d left wearing a fishnet bodysuit, corset and thong to
please two of my erstwhile lovers, a pair of sophomores
names Eliot and James who had spent the night at my house
last night while I was on the run from myself, seeking
oblivion in further humiliation by encouraging even younger
boys to use me.
     
     It was only 12:45 when I walked out of the locker room.
Nearly 25 minutes before my next class started.  The Portal
was a large cement block surrounded by the gym, the
administration offices, and the school lockers maze.  The
other end opened out to the parking lot.  Most kids hung out
in the large grassy quad by the cafeteria on the other side
of the lockers during lunch, but there was no shortage of
students to notice me coming out of the locker room.  I was
comfortably assured that I looked fine, as opposed o how I’d
looked when I went in.  It wasn’t too reassuring, because I
felt like each and every one of them must know about the
things I had done.
     “Miss Caulder?”
     I jumped, and glancing across the Portal saw Mr.
Donovan, the school principal calling my name.
     I waved at him, and straightening my skirt a bit I made
a bold show of casually walking across the Portal to him.
     Mr. Donovan was nearly sixty years old, bald, portly,
and a fairly tall man, though he didn’t exactly stack up to
John-two or Mr. Gold.    He certainly didn’t have the
muscles, and was thusly all pudge.  The kids called him
Pudge-van, but he was really quite nice.  He loved kids,
loved his job, and worked very hard to treat everyone
fairly.
     He was smiling as I walked up.
     “Good afternoon, Paul.” I said to him.
     “Hello Wendy, just take a shower?” he was looking me
over carefully.
     I shrugged and made up a lie on the spot, “Some kid put
honey on my desk… got all over me.”
     “Ahh…” he nodded, “You weren’t at the assembly today.”
     I nodded, “Yeah, I needed to get breakfast.  Didn’t get
to eat this morning.”
     He nodded again, “We try to encourage our staff to take
part in student assemblies.  It looks hypocritical for us to
not attend if we require them to.”
     He was smiling, but I gritted my teeth.  I was only on
my second semester at the school, and I still had a lot of
status to earn before I’d be able to play with the rules,
     “I’m sorry, Paul.  I won’t do it again.  I just had a
really rough day yesterday.”
     “Problems?” he raised an eyebrow, but didn’t seem too
surprised.
     “Oh.” I waved a hand, “Nothing I couldn’t handle…” but
I trailed off, unable to think up an excuse, worried that he
might already know something.
     “Come into my office, Wendy.”  He was smiling, but I
was concerned nonetheless.
     
     Mr. Donovan’s office was a fairly large affair, with
one long wall of Plexiglas windows, which had long since
been scarred and pitted to the point where you could only
see the vague outlines of people moving around in the
administrative offices.  Once, I imagine, you could have
watched the reception desk all the way out to the vice
principal’s office where students were lined up to be
disciplined, but now it was impossible to tell who was
walking past unless you knew what color clothes they were
wearing already.  He had a few comfortable chairs, and a
cheap, leather sofa, and a very large desk, which he sat
behind, dominating the room.
     I sat down across from him, in a very high, hard backed
chair.  Why he didn’t have one of the loungers up at the
desk, I don’t know, but in this chair I had to sit perfectly
upright, and my feet hardly touched the floor.
     Mr. Donovan was really very nice, but he was also a man
who got straight to the point.  “Wendy, as you are aware we
have a fairly rigid dress code we require students and
faculty to adhere to.”
     I nodded.
     “I am pleased to see that the reports I received today
were in error, that you are in fact not wearing fishnet
stockings.”
     I glanced at my feet, glad too that I had abandoned the
bodysuit in the library.
     “I have not mentioned anything about your blouses,
though they technically could be considered…” he raised an
eyebrow, “Too revealing?”  He nodded.
     “They’re very fashionable, Paul, and I’m always careful
to…” I paused, not finding the words to describe hiding my
nipples without being vulgar.
     He held up a hand, “Of course you do, and you always
cut a very smart, professional woman.  I would no more
criticize you for wearing those than tell Mr. Gold that he
needs to wear larger shorts in gym class.”
     We shared a grin, for Mr. Gold was notorious for his
tighty-whitey’s showing every time he demonstrated sit-ups
to the class.
     “But yesterday, I am told, you attended two of you
classes, well, less modestly attired.”
     “Oh, I spilled coffee!” I blurted out.  “It was just
before class, I didn’t have time to…  One of the students…
I borrowed the shirt.”
     Mr. Donovan was nodding understandably.
     “That’s good enough for me, Wendy.”
     I breathed a sigh of relief.
     “However, I did receive a phone call.”
     I felt my heart skip, and my chest tighten up.  “A
parent?”
     He nodded gravely, “and I told them I’m sure it was
nothing, that there was a reasonable explanation, but the
picture they described…”
     I forced myself to speak, “Picture?”
     “Wendy, I’m sure you had your reasons, but sometimes
reasons aren’t good enough.”
     I stammered, not knowing what to say while I tried to
get comfortable in the damn chair.
     “Wendy, I told them I would look into it.  Normally I’d
have assured them it was nothing, an abnormality, not
representative, but… braless?  In a white T-shirt?”
     “It was a school T-shirt.  It was totally opaque!” I
offered.
     “Relax, Wendy,” he reclined in his chair, smiling
broadly, “I’m on your side.  I’m going to intervene here,
you have got nothing to worry about.”
     I was, for some reason, not reassured, “Then why are
you…”
     He spread his hands, “Because I needed to know your
excuse.  And furthermore if I’m going to call these parents
back and assure them it was nothing I’m going to have to see
for myself that it was as you describe.”
     “Oh.” That was okay.  The shirt really wasn’t that bad.
It was really the condition I was in, my nipples swollen and
pouting, the leaking semen between my legs forcing me to
walk like a geisha, bending over at the waist showing
everyone my full cleavage in John-two’s oversized PE shirt.
     Mr. Donovan pulled a PE shirt out of the desk drawer,
“So, if you’d just put this on.”
     I froze for a long moment, “Here?”
     He smiled, “Indulge me, Wendy.  I really prefer to be
on solid ground when dealing with concerned parents.”
     “Oh.  Do you want me to change in your bathroom?”
     He shook his head.  He didn’t seem happy, “I’m afraid I
have to ask you to undress in front of me, Wendy.”
     My mouth fell open.
     He put up his hands, a gesture of supplication, “I
assure you, I would be happier not to have to do this, or to
have one of the female teachers do this with you, but,” he
crossed his hands, looking directly at me, “But, you being
new, I thought it would be best not to expose you to idle
gossip and speculation.  If you’d like I can arrange to have
a female teacher do this, however.”
     I shook my head.  With rumors of my indiscretions being
spread by vulgar boys and upset girls, I didn’t think it
would do to have any reason to give legitimacy to a round of
teacher gossip.  These were the people I might be working
with for years, and I was still the new kid on the block.
Mr. Donovan was giving me a way to avoid having this
incident taint me in their eyes.
     “But why do you have to watch?” I asked.
     “Wendy, I just need to better understand why they think
it was improper.  If I know what you look like without a
shirt on, I can understand what that implies when you are
wearing a shirt.”
     I couldn’t make any sense of that at all, but he was
the boss, and he was the guy who was keeping my ass out of
the sling for the moment.  I was already in hot water for
missing the assembly, and I really didn’t want any bad marks
for my first year.  If this was just a way for him to get
his kicks, I calculated, perhaps this would indulge him to
forgive my ditching assembly.
     Nodding, I stood up and pulled off my sweatshirt.
     Too late, I realized that I had done it abruptly,
without thinking.  Had I become so wanton in my behaviors
that I didn’t think twice about stripping once I had decided
to do it?  I realized that it would make a far better
impression to be shy about if, and made a show about turning
around to undo the clasp on the bra.
     After I let it fall off my shoulders I wondered, still,
had I done it too abruptly?  I was standing topless in the
principal’s office, facing a room full of blurred, distorted
figured moving to and fro just a few feet from me.  Was this
a test?  Had I failed it?  Was Mr. Donovan trying to see if
I was the kind of woman who would simply strip down in his
office?  What else did he know?
     “Wendy, you can turn around, now.”
     That was a bit of a relief.  That I had hesitated so
long.  He had to see that as embarrassment, which wasn’t an
act at all.  I crossed my arms over my chest, wondering what
the Hell it was that made me so susceptible to orders from
people when my own modesty was at stake.  I turned to face
him.
     “Drop your arms, please.”
     I let them fall, again, cursing myself for not pleading
with him not to.  Here I was, chilled to the bone under his
gaze, exposed, vulnerable, nervous, and my mind was telling
me to show it, but his commands seemed to trigger an
automatic reflex.  An unconscious trigger in my brain that
had decided to just do the damn thing and get it over with.
     “Is that the skirt you were wearing yesterday?”
     I shook my head.
     “Describe that skirt please.”
     I glanced over my shoulder, wondering if the door was
locked, seeing all the bodies passing along the long,
frosted widows.  Wondering if anyone looking in could tell
there was a topless woman in this office.
     “I assure you, they can’t see much.” Mr. Donovan said,
reading my mind.
     I turned to him, “It was a stretch cotton skirt.  Very
smooth.  Black.”
     He nodded, “Not bulky, like this one?”
     I shook my head.
     “Very well, take it off.”
     I reached down and unsnapped the button, then caught
myself, “Wait.  Why?” I stammered out.
     He criss-crossed his fingers, leaning forward, eyeing
my nudity carefully, but appearing as if he were merely
scrutinizing the details of my body for scientific purposes.
“I can get a better recollection by seeing the curves of
your body, based on your description, than by seeing that
bulky skirt.”
     “Oh.” I thought about that.  It was really a stupid
reason, and as usual I couldn’t come up with any rational
argument, since I didn’t really understand why he felt the
need to see me nude.  Still, I figured that in spite of
being topless I still had a bit of mileage being the prudish
woman to play, and I crossed my arms, “I’d rather not.”
     But defeating my point, my unbuttoned skirt plummeted
to my knees.
     I made a quick gesture, trying to grab them, but almost
banged my head on the desk, so close was I to it.  I stood
up, stepped back, tripping on the skirt and fell backwards
onto my butt, kicking the skirt off in irritation and
disgust.
     Mr. Donovan was laughing, and he stood up and crossed
around the desk.  He came over to me and kneeled by me, “You
know Wendy, with escapades like that I can well believe that
you got yourself dirtied up twice in two days.”
     I frowned at him, “That hurt.”
     He smiled back sympathetically, and stood up, crossing
to a lounger and plopping down on it. “Well, stand up, let’s
see you.”
     I suppressed my frown and pushed myself to my knees,
trying to keep my ass from sticking up too much and my boobs
from jiggling like crazy, but it was like trying to push
hair back into its root.
     I stood up in the middle of his office, totally naked
but for the chiffon underwear, which only hid my pubic bush
but revealed my whole backside.
     “Those are rather revealing panties, Wendy.” Mr.
Donovan said from his position in the recliner.
     “It’s not as if you can see them through my skirt.” I
pointed out, as if that were relevant, the number of times
my skirt had come off in the past day alone.
     “Let’s have a closer look.”
     And though my mind said to rebuff him I started walking
over to him.  By the time I had formed my objection to say I
was standing over him, looking down past my pendulous bosom
at him, peering up at me from his chair.
     “Well, they’re fairly modest in front.  I can’t discern
anything like what was described.  I think we can safely
presume that they were mistaken in that regard.”
     I started to ask him what he meant, but I realized too
soon that he had been told about the mass of untrimmed pubic
hair that had blossomed without panties under the elastic
skirt I had worn the day before.  I had since shaved that to
the smallest nubbin tufts of hair.
     “Well, let’s see the back of you.”
     I turned around, and immediately felt a probing hand on
my bottom.  He didn’t say anything for a long time, though
he fondled and squeezed my butt, spreading the chiffon
smooth, then scrunching it up between my cheeks, then
smoothing it again, hiking it up and pulling it low,
nuzzling his hands between my thighs in a way that made me
have to grit my teeth in order to avoid spinning around and
smacking him.
     “Yes, yes.” He said, patting me on the butt.  I turned
around, stepping out of his reach.  He continued.  “You’ll
have to take those off too, but first, how are you with
video equipment?”
     My mouth fell open.
     “It’s just, I’m terribly old fashioned, and modern day
gizmos mystify me.”
     “What do you need a video camera for?” I asked.  It was
bad enough that I was going to track down one of my students
and somehow convince him to give me the numerous digital
photos he and Betsy had taken of me in the showers, but
video?  Photos could be doctored.  Video was much more
convincing.
     “Wendy,” Mr. Donovan placated me, still sitting as if
he were too old and tired to get up.  “I simply need a
reference to study in case I have to meet with the parent.
If he contests the issue, I will be able to show him that
his child’s description does not match reality.”
     ”You’re going to show a parent?  A father?” I was
struggling to keep my voice down, suddenly aware that though
the windows were blurred, one could discern the outfits
people wore on the other side.  It didn’t seem too hard for
me to imagine being able to discern a nude woman on the
other side.  But there had to be a reason Mr. Donovan felt
so comfortable with the circumstances.
     “Well, I hope it doesn’t come down to it, but rather
than meeting him in person and putting on the same display
you are doing for me, wouldn’t you rather he could see a
video of you in that T-shirt?”
     I glanced at the shirt on his desk.  “Just the shirt?”
     “I would hope that’s all that would be necessary.”
     “You’re not going to show anyone else?”
     “Only involved parties.”
     
     For the next twenty minutes (Mr. Donovan had arranged a
substitute for my sixth period class, which had been a great
relief at the time) I stood up a tripod in his office,
mounted a very expensive and fancy camera, hooked up a low
wattage floodlight (all under his “mystified” instruction),
a boom microphone, and a pair of lavaliere microphones, one
on the desk, and one on the couch (for sound balance he
said).  He then had me mount an odd contraption to the
swivel head of the tripod, which swung the camera
automatically around to the cabinet Mr. Donovan kept all the
gear in.
     “Oh, good.  It works!” Mr. Donovan was clapping like a
child.  You’re really very good at this, Wendy.”
     “Thank you, Mr. Donovan.”  Why had I called him that?
We only used last names in front of students.  Regardless,
my skill was totally dependant on his expert instruction.  I
had little doubt that he was enjoying watching me hop around
nearly naked setting up a little movie studio for myself.
     “Now, in the cabinet there’s a little clip-on sensor.”
     I found a small, but boxy device with a small antenna.
It was about half the size of a deck of cards.  It had a
clip on one side and a big, white dome on the other.
     “Go ahead and clip that on somewhere.”
     I looked at him, “I’ve got nothing to clip it too.”
     He looked puzzled for a long moment.  Then he
brightened up and sprung out of his chair.  The first time
he’d moved since I’d taken my skirt off.  Rummaging through
the bottom drawer of his desk he came out with an odd
assortment of dog toys, a bag of biscuits, and a heavy, red
collar, complete with an identification tag in the shape of
a bone.
     He set it on the desk, “Put this on, that ought to do
nicely.”
     I froze.  “What the Hell is that for?”
     He looked up.  He wasn’t smiling, but he probably
wasn’t used to being talked to in that tone of voice.
“Wendy, I do appreciate how difficult all this must be for
you, but you must understand that I don’t like this any more
than you do.  I have a great deal of work to do and will
likely be here late into the evening making up for it.  The
cost of your substitute on such short notice is putting us
over budget on the second day of semester, but we could have
done this over lunch had you been at the assembly like you
were supposed to.”
     I had never seen the old man so angry.  It was as if it
were my own fault that I was practically naked in his
office, setting up a video production for the sake of some
specious defense of my dress the day before to be presented
as evidence to some angry father, as if it were going to
prove that I wasn’t a wanton slut like his kid had
described.
     But he was my boss.  He was the one who had to
intervene for all the angry parents and problems that came
up, so I could concentrate on the Herculean task of teaching
these kids something.  It was my fault that I’d wound up in
class yesterday in no underwear with just a T-shirt and a
skin-tight skirt.  If he wanted to see a little skin in the
process it seemed a small bit of compensation compared to
what I’d done.   I really didn’t feel good about the video,
and the collar, for some irrational reason was even worse,
and I gritted my teeth just thinking about donning it, but
he really had me over a barrel.  If he thought this was all
just about an immodest shirt he’d fight for me, but if he
probed a little deeper there was so much he could find out.
     I forced a shy smile, “Sorry, boss.  I’m just nervous.”
     He smiled back at me.  His relief palpable.  I felt an
urge to shudder, but suppressed it by rubbing my hands hard
over my chest, and down my belly, as much for his benefit as
mine.  His prowling gaze corroborated my guess that he was
by no means immune to the dangers of being alone with a
naked woman half his age (literally), and the tingling that
resulted from the caress, which I continued past my hips,
send a little wave of heat through me, relaxing me.  I felt
my shoulders drop, my nipples contract, and I let out a
breath as I stepped over to the desk and turned my back to
him, holding my hair up so he could put the collar on.
     His touch was light, almost ticklish, but the collar
was scratchy, and there was a band of metal, for a leash to
attach, which sent icy chills through me.  The thought of a
leash made me stiffen up.  I felt my thighs clenching, but
my pulse was pounding hard and I felt it in my chest, in my
hardened nipples, between my legs, all the way down to my
toes.  I gasped, then panted as he tightened it, not for
loss of air, but for the same reason a woman gasps when a
man enters her.  It was like an intrusion, but a cold,
crushing one, which got tighter and tighter, until I had to
wonder if he was choking me.
     But he let go, and although it was tight, I could still
breath well enough.  I felt the dog ID on the collar bobbing
against the nape of my neck.  His hands were on my
shoulders, but he reached down and patted me on the bottom,
     “All right, then, go and clip on the sensor.”
     Obediently, I did as he instructed, and when I lifted
the sensor out of the cabinet I saw the camera adjust
itself, tilting up as I lifted it.  I clipped it onto
myself, understanding the purpose of the sensor, and the
camera followed me as I moved away from the cabinet.
     “Just one more thing,” Mr. Donovan said, brandishing a
remote control and pointing it at a large TV screen in the
corner of the room.  He punched a button and it came on,
revealing me standing alone in the middle of the screen,
bare from head to knee (it didn’t show my feet) but for my
panties.  In the upper right corner of the screen the word
‘rec’ was lit up.
     “Yes, everything looks to be in order.” Mr. Donovan
said.  “Please, move about the room.”
     I thought about that for a moment, and before taking a
step I reached down and pulled off the panties.
     “Oh, yes, I’d forgotten about that.” Mr. Donovan
stated, and I bit my lip, frustrated that I had assumed
otherwise, like a student who reminds a teacher that they
forgot to collect homework.  Nevertheless, I began to walk
in what I felt was a casual manner.
     “Oh, my.  What a peculiar little tuft of hair you’ve
got.” I stopped, realizing that Mr. Donovan could see my
pubic bush for the first time.
     “I…” I couldn’t think of a response, so I said, “I try
to keep it neat.”
     “Not very modest, I’m afraid,” but he was on his feet
and crossing to the other side of the desk, “But certainly
not the ungainly bush the parent described to me.”  He
patted the edge of his desk closest to the camera, “Come
over here and have a seat.”
     I obeyed him, leaning back on the desk while I saw on
the TV screen, Mr. Donovan use the remote to get a close-up
of my tuft.
     “Very small amount of hair.  You know, I’ve heard some
girls carve little hearts?”
     I nodded, “I did know that, Paul.”
     He smiled, “Well, up on the desk, let’s get a good
look.”
     I scooted back up on the desk, but realized that with
my legs bent that this would be a worse view.
     “Oh, don’t be shy now, you’re already on film.”
     He was playing with me, and I faked a smile as I let my
legs spread apart, which they had already begun to do as
soon as he had spoken, of their own accord.
     I had already noticed how the camera exaggerated
everything, making my breasts look larger, by butt rounder
and fatter, but I wasn’t prepared for how red and raw my sex
looked when blown up to ten times its size on TV.
     But Mr. Donovan wasn’t looking at the TV, “Is that
reddening normal?”
     I stammered, but simply couldn’t think up anything to
say.
     “I’m sorry, Wendy, I don’t mean to embarrass you.  You
really have the most immaculate vagina.” And like before, he
put his hand out to examine it, tenderly touching my lips,
stroking and poking them where they were reddest.  “It’s
really quite something.  So much tinier than other girls.”
     I was struggling not to pant and gasp as he gently
rolled his fingers over my clitoris.  As sore as I was, the
pain was nothing compared to the discomfort of having him
rubbing my most sensitive, over-abused spots.  He then ran a
finger along the narrow slit under of which I could see the
glistening of my inner lips.  Mr. Donovan’s finger was
glossy under the camera light, and I could see that I was
positively gushing, my sex anticipating another invasion.
     “It-“ I stuttered, “It’s always like that?”
     “Is it?” Mr. Donovan asked, looking me right in the
eye.  He gestured to the TV screen, “Show the camera.”
     I swallowed and spread my legs further apart.
     “Go on,” Mr. Donovan urged me, taking a step back to
get a better view while being out of camera shot.
     I gulped again, then reached both hands between my
thighs and spread my lips apart, revealing the reddened pink
and swollen lips underneath my outer mound.  Every
centimeter glowed with the bath of feminine juices, and I
caught the unmistakable whiff of semen, still dripping
slowly from deep inside me, pooling and dribbling out of my
vagina into the outer folds, threatening to overflow.
     Mr. Donovan was riveted, though he had one eyebrow
raised, “And this is your natural state, is it?”
     I nodded, removing my hands and closing my legs, “Is
this enough?  Can I get dressed now?”
     Mr. Donovan held up a hand, urging me that there was
more to do.  “We’ve got your chest, the shape of your body,
and an examination of your vitals,” he winked at me at that
last part.  I felt myself blushing and modesty asserted
itself as I crossed my legs and brought my arms up to cover
my chest.
     But he wasn’t finished, “There’s just this sexy walk
issue.  ‘Displaying yourself for the students’ was how he
described it.”
     I shook my head, “That’s absurd.”
     He nodded, “That’s what I said, but if we can
demonstrate what you look like when you are trying to walk
sexy, perhaps he can see his mistake.”
     “Who?  The parent?”
     “And the student.”
     My first instinct was to roll my eyes at this, but the
shock of the principle condoning such exhibitionism left me
speechless.  I had certainly done worse, but little that I
had intended, much less condoned.
     “It will all be done under parental supervision, of
course.  The student will be left in no doubt that this is
for their benefit.”
     I didn’t doubt that, but how could I actually go
through with some sort of gross perversion of the very
system that was forcing me to degrade myself to prevent
exposure to it.
     “Wendy.” Mr. Donovan said, using the remote to pull the
camera back for a view of my whole body. “I would much
rather not have to call you in for a demonstration if it
comes to this.  It’s very unlikely that this tape will ever
need to be shown to the family in question.”
     “Can’t I at least put on my clothes for this part?”
     “Yes, well, we’ll do a bit with the T-shirt, and a bit
without.  That way I can have a reference for my
preparations and you don’t have to worry about… whatever.”
     I let out a long sigh.  I really didn’t have any place
to go here.  I was already posing on film for the old man;
there wasn’t much good reason to argue.  At least he
wouldn’t be showing the student me in the nude.  I reached
for the shirt across his desk.
     Mr. Donovan interrupted me. “Let’s do without first, so
I don’t have to fast forward and such.”
     I suppressed a sigh, and nodded.  Standing up I crossed
to the far end of the room, took a deep breath, and started
swaggering across the room, trying to swing my hips, keep my
legs apart, and hold my chest up high so I walked as little
like I had in class yesterday as possible.  The camera
panned and tilted as I passed by, Mr. Donovan keeping tabs
on the remote as I went by to keep the frame tight, but
covering the whole of me.  Watching the TV it really didn’t
look all that bad for an amateur shot.
     “Again, but this time, a little less swagger.  More
seductive.”
     I held my tongue, thinking that I was supposed to be
looking natural, and directing me sort of defeated the
purpose, but I did it anyway, taking my time, taking smaller
steps, and letting my shoulders, and consequently, my
breasts move even more.  I ended right by the door to his
office, and was startled to discover that there was someone
standing right there on the other side of the glass.  There
was a copier, I could hear it and smell the ink.  I
swallowed, and told myself that Mr. Donovan wouldn’t
compromise himself by doing something that would expose us
both to scandal.
     “Now, Wendy,” Mr. Donovan called from across the room,
“I want you to walk right up to the camera, as if it were
the student in question.  Treat it like it’s your lover.
Like you’re trying to entice it to making love to you.”
     I shut my eyes, taking deep breaths, trying not to lash
out at the thinly veiled opportunism the old fart was using
to get his rocks off.  But, I reasoned, as long as he has
his excuse not to suspect me of worse, I ought to play along
and keep him happy.  I did as he asked, and he made me do it
again.  Before doing it a third time he had me use my hands,
and I found myself fondling and groping my chest as I
strutted towards the camera, reaching down and clutching my
sex as if it were on fire for intrusion, finally falling to
my knees and crawling, slowly, licking my lips, doing
everything I could to get that camera off its tripod and in
between my legs with my eyes, my lips, and my body.  I rose
to my knees as I came before the camera, dragging my hands
up from the floor, slowly across my body, letting one linger
on my sex, tenderly grinding at myself, letting my senses
blur as my other hand found a rigid, erect nipple on a
flushed breast, which I stroked, trying not to watch Mr.
Donovan, but rather myself on the big picture TV screen as I
leaned back to give the camera a better picture of myself.
     “Yes, well, when you’ve finished, dear…” Mr. Donovan
had his arms crossed and was tapping his toe.
     Shit, I had gotten really carried away.  It’s not like
I wasn’t just taking this to the logical conclusion, but the
grinding and fondling, he hadn’t asked me to do that.
     “Sorry, Mr. Donovan.” I murmured as I sheepishly stood
up.  I was fairly lightheaded, but I was glad he’d stopped
me when he had.  I could have lost all control, and had a
spontaneous orgasm like in the library.  That would have
looked great to Mr. Donovan.
     “Wendy, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but let us try to
handle this with a bit of decorum, shall we.”
     I wasn’t exactly sure why he was chiding me.  “Sure.”
     “Now.” He said, his arms still crossed.  “We still have
an issue to concern ourselves with.”
     I shook my head.
     “Wendy, have you had sex with anyone at school today?”
     I just gulped.  Oh, yes I had, but I couldn’t own up to
it.  “Of course not.”  I’d be fired if he had had proof
anyway, so there was no reason to expect leniency by being
honest.
     “You look like you’ve had sex with someone.”
     “What?”
     “Your vagina, dear.” And he turned to the TV and with
his “old-fashioned” technical skills brought up a series of
still frames of me from the video he’d been recording.  The
‘rec’ in the corner never vanished, but in the lower left
corner still video captures on me in erotic positions
flashed past until he stopped on the one of me spreading my
sex wide open for the camera.
     He pointed at the image, “Red, swollen, engorged labia,
dear.”
     I felt my hand going down to cover my sex.
     Mr. Donovan went on, “your vagina is slightly
distended, and this material looks suspiciously like viscous
semen.”
     I tried to force some conviction out of my throat, but
all I managed was a weak, “That’s absurd.”
     “You do realize that I have on a number of occasions,
been called upon to determine a ladies’ chastity.”
     “I’m not a virgin, Mr. Donovan.  I had sex this morning
with my boyfriend.” Finally.  My befuddled mind had taken
that long to come up with that stupid, obvious excuse.
     Mr. Donovan walked across the room and sat on his desk,
very close to me, “I am not going to comment on the
indiscretions of modern girls, Wendy, if you want to be a
slut in your spare time that, unfortunately in this day and
age, is not my business.”
     “Then what’s the problem…?”
     “Wendy, when I began teaching we held our teachers as
well as our girls to the highest standard of decency.  There
were a number of times we were called upon to ascertain if
that standard had been violated.  Now, it’s been a long time
since I was allowed to…”  He put his hands on his hips and
peered down at me, “But I still think I know the
difference…”  He was becoming visibly more frustrated, “Do
you mean to tell me that the condition of your vagina is due
to fornication that took place six hours ago?”
     I realized that I had both hands covering my sex.  “Of
course it is.”
     He stood up, “I have heard about Mr. Gold’s
indiscretions with certain teachers.”
     I stood up, finally, unwilling to be badgered about Mr.
Gold.  “He hasn’t done anything with me.” I quickly omitted
adding the word ‘today’ at the end of that sentence.
     “Well, Wendy, there’s a very simple and age-old method
for determining the truth of the matter.”
     Oh shit.  Was he going to test me?  I should have
showered more thoroughly, but there was no way for me to
clean up inside myself in the locker room.  If he took a
sample he might come up with the semen of three different
men.  I’d be fucked.
     “A simple before, and after examination.”
     Of course.  This was his very roundabout way of getting
in my pants.  It all made sense now, though I much preferred
John-two’s method of just pushing me on the desk and doing
it.  If I was going to be forced into having sex, I found I
preferred it with as little preamble as possible.
     “Where do you want me, Mr. Donovan?”  I gestured to the
couch.
     “No, dear, I’m not going to do it.  I’m a married man;
I am not about to submit to your generation's degeneracy.
You may be able to manipulate other men on the staff with
your loose morals, but you can’t manipulate me with your
whoring.”
     I bit my lip, trying not to lash out at the old fuck
for his ignorant, atavistic reaction to discovering that I
might have had sex.  Apparently, prancing around naked with
a dog collar on was nothing, whereas the consideration that
I might have had sex during school made me a whore.  Well, I
wasn’t going to let him know that I was right, so I crossed
my arms.  “What do you want me to do?”
     “Well, in the old days I’d simply examine you, see if
you are still a virgin.  Or we’d bring in the husband, let
him give testimony.  As you don’t have one, I suppose we’ll
have to get this boyfriend of yours in here so we can
conduct an examination, to see how different you appear
after having sex, as opposed to before.
     Shit.  Now I was caught in a lie about having a
boyfriend.  “He’s going to be gone all day, Mr. Donovan.”
     “Naturally.” That seemed to be an excuse he was
expecting.  “You’ll have to find someone else, then.”
     “What?  You mean, just…”
     “Please don’t insult my intelligence, Wendy.  I know
girls of your generation have little compunction about
sleeping around.  I’m sure you won’t have any trouble
finding an eager candidate with equally loose morals on
campus.”
     This ignorant fuck was actually using that misogynistic
BS to force me to go out and find some stranger to fuck.
     “You want me to go have sex… with anyone?”
     “Out my back door, down the hall, we have the
extracurricular activities room, I’m sure we have some older
students milling about there.”
     “Students?”
     “Well, I doubt you’re going to find a staff member
willing to cheat on his wife for the sake of a simple
examination.  Just make sure you do it under the security
cameras outside.”
     “Outside!?”
     “Dear, dear, calm yourself.  The cameras monitor
activities behind the bushes and the parked cars.  I need to
make sure you aren’t doing anything… irregular to yourself
to skew the results.”
     
     Mr. Donovan wouldn’t let me leave with my clothes on.
He was afraid that I might not come back, so he gave me his
oversized suit jacket which was like a tent for me, though
it left my legs bare well above the school dress code limit
for skirts, and the open collar left no doubt in anyone’s
mind that I had little to hide underneath.  It certainly
didn’t hide the dog collar.
     Our first stop, after a hair raising moment out the
back door into the hallway, where at least four students
passed us by, all of them staring in amazement at my attire,
was the vice principals office where I was alarmed to
discover, all the security cameras broadcast on a succession
of screens, fully visible to anyone in the office, and
anyone looking through the window, which wasn’t scratched
and fuzzy like Mr. Donovan’s were.  More alarming was the
pair of students, two juniors, both black boys, sitting on
the couch in the vice principals office while he contacted
their parents, waiting to have punishment for some
infraction doled out upon them.  They were fairly recent
transfers, I knew from their attire.  It was pretty clear
that they were in the office for wearing gang colors to
school in the form of blue handkerchiefs sticking out of
their back pockets, as well as their oversized, black hooded
sweatshirts.  They both turned to look at me as I came in
and didn’t look away.
     Mr. Christiansen, the male vice principal took one look
at me, then at Mr. Donovan and his mouth fell open.
     “Paul, what are you doing.” He was nervous, but my
presence clearly wasn’t as much of a surprise than I had
thought at first.  Mr. Christiansen was a very handsome man,
not much older than I, with a square jaw, a healthy build
(well, he had a little gut), and was generally a very
amenable guy until you crossed him, in which case he became
the terror of every student who was thinking about breaking
the rules.  The two black guys in the office probably saw
him as the archetypal white, male oppressor.  I sort of did
too, though he was always pleasant to me.
     Mr. Christiansen stood up, but Mr. Donovan waves him
away, “Nothing to worry about Mr. Christiansen, I was just
going to let you know that Miss Caulder here will be on the
screens in a minute, but it’s all cleared with me, just
procedure.”
     Mr. Christiansen stood up regardless and crossed over
to us, “Paul,” he said in a low voice, “We need to talk.”
Mr. Christiansen took a good look at me, glanced at the boys
in front of his desk and said, “I’ll take care of this
Wendy.”
     And then he escorted Mr. Donovan to the door, pausing
to draw his curtains closed, shielding me from the
administrative offices.  He turned to face the boys, “Raul,
Pierre, you behave.” And then he walked out of the office.
I saw the door latch lock and that was the end of it.
     One of the boys, ‘Raul’ I think, turned to regard me,
“Oh, we’ll behave if you take that old jacket off.”
     I shook my head, “I don’t think so.”
     Pierre was peeking out the curtains, “They goin back to
the principal’s office.”
     Raul stood up.  Both boys were very similar, though
Raul had cornrows and a pretty ugly, pouting chin with huge,
fat blubbery lips.  Pierre was much better looking, a little
paler, but both boys were very dark for American black kids.
Both of them were tall, stocky, and intimidating, especially
to someone my size.
     Pierre looked up at me, or, more accurately, he took a
good long look at my legs, then looking up he said, “Don’t
worry teach, Raul and I just got out of juvie.  We get into
trouble we go back, so we’ll behave.”
     “You were in…” I stuttered nervously, “Juvie?”
     Raul took a long, slow saunter around me, giving me the
once over, “Eighteen months, baby.  That’s a long time to go
without seeing any ass, if you know what I mean.”
     Pierre had to comment, “You saw ass, bitch, that little
white boy in block A.”
     Raul didn’t even look at his friend, but gave him the
finger, “Put this in your ass, bitch, I didn’t fuck no
boys.”  He gave me a little poke, “How come you ain’t got
nothing on under that.”
     I gave the usual excuse, “I had an accident.”
     “She got panties on.” Pierre offered.
     Raul stooped down to see, but I backed away, “I don’t
think so.  Don’t see how you can tell.”
     “She does, I can see the shadow.”
     Raul took a step closer to me, but I couldn’t back
away, leaning against the wall of security monitors.  I
could see that one of them revealed this very room. “So
what’s the scoop, you got any panties on?”
     “N-none of your business.”
     He smiled, looking at his friend, “She says it’s none
of my business.” He turned to me, looking down the open
front of the jacket, which I tried to pin closed, “You
standin here in front of me all half naked and shit.  That
sort of makes it my business, you know.”
     “That doesn’t make any sense.  Please, leave me alone.”
     He held out a hand to the door, “You’re free to leave,
baby.”
     I shook my head, “I can’t go out there.”
     Raul moved so I was facing him, “I can’t go either, so
we’re stuck together, let’s make the best of it.”
     “Meaning what?”
     “Well, like I’m betting Pierre here that you don’t got
any panties on.  Say, a hundred bucks.”
     I didn’t bother to ask where he’d get that kind of
money. “So?”
     “Well, you could help us settle that bet.”
     I sighed, “Fine, I don’t.”
     “Bullshit.” Pierre cried.
     “Pierre don’t believe you, teacher.  What’s up with
that?”
     I shook my head, trying to inch along the wall away
from the boy, “I don’t know.”
     Raul stood still and shrugged, “You know you could
settle this real easy if you’d just show Pierre.”
     “I’m not taking off the coat.”
     Raul shrugged, “Come on, it’s worth a hundred bucks to
me.  Whatcha say?”
     “Why should I do you any favors?”  I asked, stupidly
adding, “What’s in it for me?”
     Pierre grinned, “Shit, I’ll take care of you baby.” He
was rubbing his crotch.
     “No thanks.” I said to the leering black teenager.
     “It’s ‘cause I’m black, ain’t it?” Raul said, his
expression darkening.
     “Don’t be ridiculous.” I retorted.  “You’re a student.”
     “You’d fuck a black man?” he sallied back at me.
     “None of your business!” I barked at him.
     Raul crossed his arms and turned away from me, “That’s
what I thought.”
     I don’t know why, but his accusation pissed me off,
considering the black clerk I’d let use me last night. “Of
course I would.”
     Raul just glanced back at me, “Would what?”
     “What you said.”
     Pierre kicked his legs out, reclining in his chair,
SWhat who said?”
     “About black men.” I stammered, not wanting to play
their game.”
     Raul gave me a condescending look, “Man, you can’t even
say it.” And he turned away.
     I sighed, “I would fuck a black man.”
     “Uh-huh.” Raul said, still keeping his back to me.
     I don’t know why, but it really pissed me off that
they’d accuse me of racism.  As if fucking a black person
was some sort of vindication I went on, “I fucked a black
man just the other night.”
     “What was his name?” Pierre asked.
     I realized for an instant that I didn’t know it.
     Before I had a chance to make one up, Raul interjected,
“Yeah, you done a nigger.”
     “I did!”
     Raul turned around on the desk, leaning up to me, “You
let him fuck you?”
     I nodded, getting really uncomfortable again.
     “Top of bottom?”
     I hesitated trying to figure out what he meant, then
said confidently, “H-he was on top.”
     “He wear a condom?”
     I shook my head, not sure why it mattered.
     Pierre asked, “You make him pull out?”
     I couldn’t keep eye contact with Raul, so I looked at
the floor, growing more ashamed of my escapade with the
clerk last night, who had cornered me as he thought I was
shoplifting.  I wasn’t exactly willing, but I let him
basically use me without fighting him.
     “No.” I said.
     Raul was still in my face, “You let a nigger shoot his
load in your snatch?”
     I closed my eyes tight and nodded.
     “Say it.”
     I looked up at the boy, right in the eye.  “How old are
you Raul?”
     He looked away for a second, “Sixteen.”
     “What kind of a fucking name is Raul?”
     He scowled, “My folks… and Pierre’s are Haitian.”
     I nodded at that.  “Well, Raul, Pierre…” I looked at
them both, “Last night I let a nigger shoot his load in my
snatch.”
     Both boys’ jaws dropped.
     Raul, right next to me, was the first to recover. “So
you gonna win the bet for me, or what?”
     I let out an exasperated sigh, then turned to Pierre,
“Is anyone coming?”
     He looked through the curtain, “Mr. Christiansen and
the principal are talking out there, but they across the
way.”
     I turned to Raul. “You split the winnings, and neither
of you says a thing.  Ever!”
     Pierre nodded.  Raul said, “Then you take the coat off.
You can’t just flash us.”
     “Fine I said,” and pulled the jacket off.
     As it fell to the floor Raul snatched it up and held it
there. “Well, well, you got a nice ol body.”
     I crossed my arms and suppressed a scowl.  I knew full
well that whereas a lot of white guys thought I was fat,
black guys liked my round ass and weren’t shy about it.
Since I had a skinny waist and a healthy chest, I had little
doubt that I was a pretty good score in their eyes.
     Pierre stood up, “Shit Miss Caulder, if more white
girls looked like you there’d be a lot more black babies in
the world.”
     “Please, Pierre, save it for girls your own age.”
     Raul actually put his arm around my shoulders, “That’s
right, Miss Caulder’s a woman.  She don’t fuck around with
small talk.”
     “What’s that supposed to mean, Raul?” I asked.
     He grinned, pulling me a little closer, “Well, a woman
who knows what she wants…” he let the sentence trail off.
     I looked the young man over, “And presumably that would
be two teenage boys fresh out of juvie.”
     Pierre hooked his thumbs in his pants, causing them to
drop down a few inches, revealing baggy, yellow boxers, “You
really done a nigger?”
     Conscious of how close Raul was I didn’t want to
discuss it.  Especially if my nudity wasn’t proof enough.
“Yeah.”
     Raul was talking in my ear, his hand running down my
side, “You really let a nigger shoot his load in your hole?”
     I pushed him off, “Yes, Raul, I let a nigger shoot his
load in my hole.”
     He let me go and started scrambling with his zipper,
“This I got to see!”
     I lunged for my jacket, snatching it out of his hands
and spreading it out to find a sleeve.  “No fucking way.”
     Raul acted all put out, “So what, you was lyin the
whole time?”
     I found a sleeve and stuck my arm into it, “Just
because I’ve fucked a black man doesn’t mean I’ll fuck any
back man.”  I had found the wrong sleeve, so pulled the
jacket off and turned it around.  Neither boy made any move
to help or hinder.
     Raul was still incensed, “So how we supposed to know
you ain’t lyin if you won’t put out?”
     I found the right sleeve and pulled the jacket up,
hiking it over my shoulders and finally blocking my body
from these boys.  I couldn’t believe that I’d actually
gotten my clothes back on without getting fucked six ways to
Sunday, but I was in the Vice Principals office.  I looked
at the two black guys, “Boys.  I would be more than happy to
demonstrate my enthusiasm for black cock to you, but as we
are in school, in the vice-principal’s office, and they are
expected back any minute, I think you’re just going to have
to do without a demonstration.”
     Pierre laughed aloud and turned to sit back down, while
Raul just crossed his arms and turned away, “Racist bitch?”
     “Fuck you.” I retorted.
     Just then Mr. Christiansen burst into the office.
“Boys, consider this a warning.  I don’t have time to punish
you right now, but don’t think this means you can wear those
kerchiefs to school anymore.”
     He walked over to me, “Wendy, I’ll explain everything.
I have to take Paul home, I’ll be back in half an hour.” He
looked at the boys.  “Did they behave themselves?  I didn’t
mean to leave you alone for this long.”
     I shook my head, “No, they were great.  Perfect
gentlemen.”  I don’t know why I lied about them, but I
figured if one good favor returned another, they’d keep
their mouths shut about our little bet.
     “Great,” Mr. Christiansen said.  He turned to them,
“Boys, would you be so kind as to escort Miss Caulder back
to the principal’s office?”
     I froze in terror, trying to figure out how to respond.
     Paul was still talking to them, “I just don’t want
anyone to stop her, or ask any questions.”
     I tugged at Mr. Christiansen’s sleeve, whispering,
“Paul, these boy’s were in juvie.”
     He turned to me, pulling me further from the boys, “We
have to put our trust in people in order for them to learn
to trust others.  They could have misbehaved and done
anything while I was out, and I think this trust is well
deserved.”
     I moved my mouth, trying to tell him that I had lied,
but that would in turn lead to the revelation that I had
stripped, willingly, for fifty bucks.
     Mr. Christiansen went on, “I just want someone who can
keep you safe on your way back to the office.  I can’t go
with you; I need to take care of Mr. Donovan.  I’ll send my
secretary in to lock up.”
     And with that he grabbed his jacket and sped out the
door.
     Raul was already at the side door, “After you Miss
Caulder.” He had a huge grin of his fat, blubbery lips.
     The hall was deserted, and it took no time at all to
get back to the principal’s office.  Once at the door I
tried to go in first, but Pierre burst through the door
ahead of me.
     The office was deserted, and the TV, thankfully, was
off.  The floodlight that had lit up the room was also
turned off, though the camera was still directed at me.  I
had forgotten all about the dog collar, and scrambled to get
it off, but couldn’t reach the buckle.  I sufficed with
unclipping the sensor and throwing it on the couch.  The
camera spun to face it.
     Both boys examined the room with no small amount of
wonder.  The camera, the lights, the microphones.  Raul went
to the TV and switched it on, but fortunately, the freeze
frame of my sex was no longer there, instead there was
simply the camera’s view of the couch.  I saw the ‘rec’
still written in the upper corner of the screen, and crossed
to the camera, but Raul interrupted me before I could
remember how to turn in off.
     “So, Miss Caulder, how about that demonstration.”
     I tried to play ignorant.  I couldn’t believe that Mr.
Christiansen had left me alone with these boys, “Thank you
boys, I can take care of things from here.”
     Pierre just shook his head and crossed to the couch.
     Raul came over to the camera and pointed it at me.  It
didn’t seem to follow the sensor when someone was
controlling it, “Come on, Miss Caulder.  After the big fuss
you made about the Veep coming back, and all that.  You
ain’t gonna back out on us now.”
     “Boys, I have no intention of giving you a
demonstration.  You’ve already seen enough of me.”
     Pierre quipped from the couch, “Like you said.  She
ain’t never done a black guy before.”
     I wheeled on him, “Of course I have.”
     “It’s not like you ain’t already shown us the goods.”
Raul barked from behind me, the camera displaying my
discomfort on the TV screen.
     “There’s a big difference between showing you my body
and letting you have sex with me.”
     “I thought you was just settling the bet.” Pierre said
from the couch.
     Raul tilted the camera down to reveal my unclothed
legs, “We just wanted to see that you didn’t have any
panties on.”
     I stepped away, but he just re-aimed the camera, “You
said I had to take off the coat.”
     “That was to settle the bet.  You didn’t do nothin to
show me you’d do a black guy.”
     Pierre laid back on the couch, “You didn’t seem too
phased bein’ naked with us.  You done a black guy before,
what’s the big deal?”
     “I can’t do this.” I cried.
     But Raul was capturing this all on tape, and he wasn’t
going to let me off, “You said you’d be happy…” he turned to
Pierre, “She said happy right?”
     “Uh-huh.”
     “Happy” Raul reiterated, “To show your enthusiasm for
black cock.” He grinned, “Your words, not mine.”
     I shook my head, “I didn’t think…”
     “She didn’t think she’d have to put up.” Pierre laughed
from the couch.
     “You’re sixteen!” I pleaded.
     “Come on Wendy,” Raul said, “Just go over, and give
Pierre a little head.  That’s all you have to do.”
     I stared at him, then turned to Pierre, “That’s it?”
     Raul laughed, “She don’t mind that too much!”
     Pierre laughed, “Yeah well, it ain’t the same as
letting him shoot his load off inside her.”
     “Of course it isn’t.” I said.
     “So you admit it.  You wouldn’t let a nigger cum in
you?” Raul accused me.
     “Of course I would.”
     “Would you let me?”
     “Yes!” I said, then quickly, “But you’re a student.”
     “You got no problem suckin off Pierre, though.”
     “You said all I have to do is…”  I shut up, realizing
that I was actually negotiating the terms here.
     Raul stood back.  “Well, let’s see it then.”
     I looked at the boy, and then at Pierre.
     “Is it really that important.  Why can’t you just
believe me?”
     Raul was adamant, “White people always goin on about
how they love black people.  ‘My best friends are black.’
‘I done lots of black people.’  They just can’t ever
remember their names or nothing.”
     “Fine.” I said.  I don’t know what I had to prove, but
I had the distinct feeling that the path of least resistance
would be to show them I could take a black dick in my mouth.
I really didn’t mind the idea, in principle, just that they
were so young and I had already had to do so much already.
I took a couple tentative steps towards Pierre, and Raul
followed me with the camera.
     “You gonna film me too?”
     But Raul seemed to back down from that.  He pointed the
camera at the ceiling and stepped in front on it.
     I sat down on the edge of the couch, midway down the
length of Pierre’s body.  I couldn’t believe that I was
going to do this just to make a point.  Who cared if they
thought I was racist?  What absurd point was I trying to
prove?  I struggled to keep the coat covering me, but it was
difficult, leaning off the edge of the couch, which squeaked
and groaned, as cheap leather is wont to do.
     I gritted my teeth and resolved to be done with it, as
I unbuttoned Pierre’s pants and pulled his underwear down.
He seemed content to let me do all the work, not even
lifting up for me, and I had to fish his cock out through
the flap in his boxers.
     Say what you will about black men, the rumors had
certainly held true in my experience.  He was healthy,
thick, and jet-black.  Though it was flaccid I could see it
was no modest member.  I started stroking it, trying to get
it hard.
     “Aww, she’s just gonna jerk me off.” Pierre quipped,
and both he and Raul laughed.  I looked down at him, then up
at Raul, who had come to sit on an arm of the couch,
     “I’m just trying to get it hard.”
     But Pierre pushed my hand away, “Well, use your tits or
something, I can fucking jerk myself off.”
     I swallowed, gulping down a retort as I decided that I
was just going to get this over with.  I opened up the
jacket, conscious that both boys could see my whole body
again, and leaned forward, trying to stroke his dick with my
breasts.
     “Come on, bitch, wrap it up!”
     I sat up, pulling the coat around me, “I’m not going to
do this if you call me bitch.”
     Pierre rolled his eyes, and Raul said, “You telling us
your nigger boyfriend don’t call you bitch when you
fucking?”
     I shook my head, “He’s not my boyfriend, and no, he
never called me bitch.”
     Raul slapped Pierre’s shoulder, “I told you she ain’t
never done a nigger.”
     “I have.” I insisted.
     “Yeah, well, where we’re from we call our women
bitches.  It don’t mean nothing.”
     I bit my bottom lip, willing myself not to run
screaming from the office.  “Fine, call me bitch.” And I
knelt down to try to stuff Pierre’s flaccid member between
my boobs, but he said, “You mean, ‘I’m your bitch.’  That’s
what black chicks say.”
     I looked up at the teenager, “I’m you’re bitch,
Pierre.” And I started stroking his cock with my tits.
     “Say it again.”
     “I’m your bitch, Pierre.”
     “What about Raul?”
     “I’m his bitch too.”
     “You’re a fuckin whore.” And both boys burst out into
laughter, but I didn’t say anything, not wanting to start
another round of what black men called their women.  Instead
I took his swelling cock in my mouth, glad that it wasn’t
nearly as big as John-two’s, and started pumping it with my
hand.
     “Oh, that’s it bitch.” Pierre moaned, “Oh, you the
fucking ho, bitch.  Ain’t she a slut?” he asked Raul.  I was
too involved to see Raul’s reaction, but I just wanted to
show them I could do this and be done with it.
     I felt Raul’s hands on my shoulders, pulling the coat
down, “You don’t want to get this messy, do you?”
     But I came up shouting, “No way, you just said I had to
show you I could do it.  I just did that.”
     “You ain’t gonna suck him off and not finish him?”
     “Yeah, I nodded, pulling the coat around me.”
     Pierre wasn’t pleased, “You are a fucking bitch.”
     I threw up my hands, “What does it take with you guys?”
     Raul jabbed an accusatory finger at me, “You wouldn’t
leave a white guy hangin on would you?”
     “No!” I declared before I realized what I was saying.
     Raul nodded to Pierre, who hadn’t moved, his cock
standing to attention, ten inches of jerk straight man
muscle.  I shuddered at the thought of that pummeling my
sensitive vagina.  Raul said, “Just like I said, she’s a
fucking bigot.”
     “I just sucked his dick!”
     “You didn’t make him cum, Hell, you wouldn’t even take
off your jacket till I paid ya fifty bucks too.”
     I stammered, “Why does making him cum…  What’s that got
to do with it?”
     But Raul just taunted me, “Oh, I don’t want to get a
black man’s jizz on me, it might be filthy!”
     “I already took his dick in my mouth!” I cried out.
     “Then what’s the point of stopping now if you ain’t
afraid of a little nigger juice?”
     I stood up, “Fine.” I pulled off the jacket, letting it
fall to the ground, and slapped his legs off the couch so he
was sitting up.  Then I climbed on the couch and knelt next
to him so I could get a good angle of approach at his cock.
My ass stuck up in the air because the couch wasn’t long
enough for me to stretch out, but I figured that Raul would
get a better show that way and maybe shut the fuck up.
     I took Pierre’s dick in my hand, appreciating his
girth.  Though he simply had nothing on John-two I could not
help but appreciate what a cock this size could do to a
woman like me, “You got a great cock, Pierre.”
     Pierre grinned wide, “Maybe you thinking about other
things I could do with it?”
     I smiled back, then leaned forward and gave him a kiss.
He didn’t resist, but he seemed somewhat reluctant.  I
pulled back and said, “Too bad you’re a fucking nigger or
I’d let you.”
     And with that I dove down, gobbling up his cock as deep
as I could go (which wasn’t far), then bobbing my head,
doing my best to keep the pressure on my jaw as the boy
started moaning.
     “Oh, shit, Pierre!” Raul was cackling, “She just done
smacked you down like a bitch!”
     I felt Pierre’s hand on the back of my head, holding me
down whenever I rose too high off his cock, “I ain’t the
bitch with a cock in her mouth,” he said, a note of anger in
his voice, and then he lifted his hips suddenly, jamming my
head down so I had to swallow half his cock, jamming it up
against the back of my throat, “Who’s the bitch now, slut?”
     And he yanked me by the hair back up, so I could
answer.  It hurt a lot.
     I glared at him, “I’m not the desperate fag who’d fuck
a whore like me.”
     He glared at me for a long second, then pushed my head
down again, “Just shut up and suck it.”
     But I came back up, “I may not be a racist, Pierre,” I
added special emphasis on the girly sounding name, “But I
don’t do assholes.” And I stood up.  “This demonstration is
over.”
     Raul was stammering, “B-but, you didn’t even.  I-I
mean…”
     I turned to face the large black boy, “You mean don’t
you get a turn?”
     He was obviously trying to stammer out an affirmative
without actually saying ‘yes.’
     I shook my head, “No.  Raul don’t get a turn.”
     “Forget this bitch.” Pierre said, putting his cock
away.  “She’s just having us on.”
     I spun on the sixteen-year-old, “There’s a big
difference between having sex with someone and what you’re
doing!” I jabbed my finger in his chest, and the boy was
clearly intimidated.  However, I was also naked, a full foot
shorter than he, and I’d just sucked his cock,
     “Bitch, you’re just a cocktease!”
     “You’re just pissed because you ain’t getting any.”  I
was growing more and more conscious of the fact that my
situation was becoming more and more precocious.  Pierre was
getting angry, and he could get violent.
     He growled at me, “You just like makin niggers all hot
and bothered for your fat, white ass.”
     I growled back, “Yeah, because when they don’t treat me
like shit I let them fuck the crap out of me.”
     “Bullshit!”
     I turned and walked to the desk, looking for what Mr.
Donovan had done with my clothes, “You fucking whore, I bet
you ain’t even wet.  You just doin it to show me and Raul
up.”
     I was getting really sick of his fucking attitude, “Of
course I’m wet,” I sighed, tired of the confrontation, just
wanting to leave.
     “Bullshit.”
     I refused to turn around, but heard Raul, “Man, chill
out.”
     Pierre wasn’t going to, “Shit, she ain’t no Tomb
Raider, she’s just a fucking tease.”
     I spun around, conscious that my boobs swung out and
smacked hard back down against my chest, bobbling there as I
corrected the boy, “You were the ones going on and on about
me, ‘Take off your coat, Miss Caulder’ ‘How about that
demonstration, Miss Caulder,’ and I gave you one and you
treated me like shit!”
     Pierre was finally cowed, but only a bit, “Shit, it’s
not like you was enjoyin it.”
     “I might have if you’d have just shut up and enjoyed
yourself.”
     “How can you say that when you ain’t even wet?”
     “How can I get wet when you’re trying to choke me on
your cock?”
     “You just said you were wet.”
     I just stammered.  I had told them that, and of course
I was, it was like an automatic reaction now, every time I
took my clothes off my body just clicked into sex mode, “I-I
am.”
     Pierre crossed his arms, feeling the control return to
him, “So which is it, you wet, or ain’t you? You liked it or
you was turned off by it?”
     I bit my lip, and tried to back my way out of it, “I…
I got wet because we were…  Because I was…” I couldn’t think
up a way to explain that I was some sort of automatic
fucking machine because I didn’t understand it myself, “But
you had to be a dick!” It was all I could think of.
     “So you are wet?” Pierre pushed, forcing the issue.
     I nodded, “Yeah, gushing, okay?”
     “Prove it.”
     I scowled at the boy, “Fine.”  And while both teenagers
watched I reached around back and inserted a finger into my
vagina.  I was rewarded by Raul’s wide-open mouth. Pierre’s
eyebrows shot up.  I held up the glistening finger.  It was
my middle finger.
     Pierre actually grinned, liking the joke, but he said,
“Shit, that ain’t nothing.”
     I grabbed a Kleenex off the desk, “What do you want, a
fucking fountain?”  I started looking around again for my
clothes, but couldn’t find them.
     “You ain’t wet enough to fuck.”
     What the fuck was his problem?  I didn’t look at him,
rutting around behind Mr. Donovan’s desk, “Pierre, it
doesn’t fucking matter.” I refused to look at him.
     “That’s what I thought.”
     I picked up a stapler off the desk and hurled it at
him, “Would you just fucking drop it!”
     He dodged, his face contorted with anger.  Raul went
into control mode, putting his hands on his friend, “Maybe
if you let Pierre see for himself.”
     Pierre let his friend calm him, but he didn’t drop it,
“No, she’s too good to let a nigger touch her pussy.”
     I stood up, dropping a button down shirt that Mr.
Donovan probably kept as a spare and fixing Pierre with a
glare “Is that what it’s gonna take to get you to shut up?”
     Pierre scowled at me, “If you think you can handle it.”
     I looked at his crotch, “That little thing?”
     He snapped, “Let’s see you put your money where your
mouth is, whore!”
     I crossed to the end of the desk, “Fine.”
     “You think you can take this thing?” he pointed at his
dick, walking over to me.
     I hopped up on the desk, spreading my legs and
fingering my clit.  I was really sore, and I didn’t know for
sure if I could handle this, but for some reason it was more
important at that moment to prove him wrong.  It wasn’t as
if I hadn’t already sucked him off.  It wasn’t as if I had
any shame to save by doing this.  The thing that really
irked me was that no matter how I played it, I’d reward him
by proving him right about me, or by giving him my body to
use. “You think you can do this without calling me names?” I
asked as he pulled out his dick, which was still brick hard.
     “I just call em like I see em, whore.” He snarled, and
before I could respond his dick was rubbing against my sex,
rubbing the raw, bruised flesh.
     Pierre saw me wince, “Shit, bitch, I only just got
started.”
     I scowled at him, “You need some help with that thing,
you seem lost.” But I leaned further back, arching my hips
up to accommodate him.  His cock nestled against my anus.
     “I ain’t lost, just getting warmed up,” and he thrust,
forcing me to yelp and scoot away as his lubricated head
threatened to penetrate my anus.
     He pulled back, shouting at Raul “See, I fucking told
you she ain’t wet.”
     “That’s the wrong hole you fucking amateur.”
     If he wasn’t black Pierre would have gone bright red.
Raul could barely contain his laughter.
     “Give it to me,” and I reached out for Pierre’s dick as
he came back up to me.  Gently I slid down the edge of the
desk and nestled my sex against him.  Guiding him gently I
let his head slip into the nestle of my vagina.  It was
tender, but I was no less lubricated than I had been with
John-two, and it easily slid past my opening.  The boy let
out a long low groan.
     “Come on.” I urged him gently, but he was almost
paralyzed with pleasure.  I had never seen anyone so
enraptured without cumming, but he just stood there, his
eyes glazed over.
     “Shit.” He moaned.
     I was definitely not comfortable, but I knew that if I
got him further in that the pressure would alleviate some of
the pain, hopefully, a little.  I grabbed his butt and tried
to pull him, but instead actually slid down myself.  The
result was the same, and I gasped as his healthy cock filled
me up.  I tried to ride him a bit, but as I’d learned while
dodging the assembly this morning, it was hard to do when
leaning back on a desk.
     Jerking my hips I felt a few brief flames of passion
come over me, but the rigid boy wasn’t helping any.  I
grabbed his butt again, and this time noticed a wire
sticking out of his back pocket.  I grabbed it, suspecting
something and discovered that it was the very sensor I’d
tossed off hen we walked in.  I looked around and saw the
camera pointing at us.  A glance at the TV revealed myself,
impaled on Pierre in all my naked glory.  A beautiful side
shot, showing me wrapping my legs around the lean black
teenager and bucking my hips up, eager for more cock.
     I pushed on the boy, but he didn’t budge, “Okay, that’s
enough Pierre.”
     He grabbed my hands, springing to life, and pushed them
away, “Shit, bitch, I only just got started.” He yanked the
sensor out of my hand and stuffed it back into his pocket,
then pumped me, hard, three times and I gasped, first in
pain, then as the breath was knocked out of me, then,
finally a third time in pleasure as my body realized it had
another cock up inside.  Not a monster, like John-two’s, or
a wiener, like Mr. Gold’s, but a long, lean shaft that could
make me forget the pain, forget the camera, forget Raul, and
forget the sixteen-year-old fucking me.  “That’s it,” I
cried, “Give it to me, baby!” as I laid back on the desk,
bucking under his pumping, numbly driving myself towards
orgasm, and oblivion.
     Then he came.
     He pinned me down, leaning over me, groaning and
moaning as he unloaded his ballsack in my cunt, letting go
this weird “woo-hooooo” pant as he finished with me.
     “That was it?” I cried from under the moaning boy.
     He was grinning, a bead of drool on his big black
bottom lip, “Oh, yeah.”
     I pushed at him, but he was too heavy, “You called me a
fucking tease?”
     He pushed himself up on his arms, his cock growing more
flaccid by the second, but not pulling out, “Come on, you
liked it.” He insisted.
     But I pulled my leg up, put a foot on his chest and
kicked hard.  The boy went flying back, his cock popping out
of my pussy with a loud ‘sluuurp’ and he tumbled backwards
into his friend.  “That was the worst fuck I ever had in my
life.  You’re pathetic!” I hollered, and spying my clothes
suddenly on the lounger by the door I stood up, cum
streaming from my aching and horny wet sex, marched straight
through the boys who scattered in my rage and grabbed the
first thing I saw, the flesh colored bra.
     I pulled the straps over my arms and turned to the
guys, “Get out, I’m done with you.”
     “Done with us?” Raul belted out in shock, gawking at me
as I stood defiantly with a dollop of his friend’s sperm
dribbling from between my legs.
     I almost smiled at the thought of how that sounded,
“Yeah,” I said, “I got what I wanted, go back to class.”
     Pierre was dumbfounded and indignant, “Nu-unh.  You-I
fucked you.”
     “Took you long enough to.” I hooked the bra and grabbed
the panties.
     “No way, bitch, I had you pegged from Go!”
     I gave the boy a condescending smile while I stepped
into my panties, “Right, and Mr. Christiansen just let you
walk out of his office without punishment.”
     Both boys were clearly buying it.  I knew it wouldn’t
matter in the long run.  I’d let myself once again get
manipulated into putting out.  I started missing James and
Eliot, for their straightforward sincerity.  They didn’t
play stupid games, and they seemed to like my company,
unlike John-two, who just wanted to fuck.  But if I could
leave these boys with the sting in their pride that I’d used
them; that was at least some compensation for yet another
humiliating submission and a cuntfull of black sperm.
     I stepped into the skirt, and sat down on the chair to
pull it past my feet, “Why are you still here?” I asked
them.
     Pierre took a few angry steps to the door, then stopped
suddenly.  Raul was still looking at me, “What about me?  I
mean, don’t I get any?”
     I looked at him.  “What about you?”
     He was totally dumbfounded.  Pierre, however, to my
horror was rooting around the TV, “Where’s the tape.  You
didn’t sucker me, butch.” He was trying to open artificial
wooden panels while I stood up and buttoned the skirt.
     This was bad.  I couldn’t let those boys walk out of
here with that tape.  That was the worst thing that could
happen.  Photographs of me fucking Mike was bad enough.  If
these guys got a hold of that tape, I’d be seriously
screwed.  They could blackmail me for everything I’ve got.
Fuck me any time they wanted to.
     I suddenly remembered the monitors in Mr.
Christiansen’s office, “They’re in the vice-principal’s
office, remember?”
     Pierre took the bait as I pulled on the sweatshirt.
Covered at last.  “Come on, Raul.” He ordered his friend,
“We gonna get that tape and we’ll see who’s the bitch here.”
He pulled open the door and looked at me, “You might as well
get undressed right fucking now, cause when I get that tape
you gonna do what I say or everyone’s gonna know whatchoo
doin in the principal’s office.”
     With that he stormed out of the office.  Raul gave me a
wistful look, as if begging me to tell him to stay so he
could get a piece of me.
     “Go on Raul,” I waved him on, “Your boyfriend’s
calling.”
     He grimaced, balling his fists and clenching his teeth.
Had I hit on a nerve?  Was that what they were up to in
juvie?
     Nevertheless he walked out after his friend, slamming
the door behind him.
     I quickly crossed the room and locked the deadbolt.
Then a sauntered over to the camera, and hit the eject
button.  After a long, frustrating moment while the camera
stopped recording, unspooled the tape, and spat it out I
pulled the little cassette out and stuffed it in my bra.
     After a moments thought I decided that that was about
the least safe place to put it, given the amount of time
today I’d actually been able to keep a bra on, and pulled it
out and stuffed it in my purse.
     I thought about going out the front door, but I really
didn’t want to deal with the crowds in administration.  I
listened at the back door, and heard nothing.  I figured it
would take the boys a few minutes to figure out that Mr.
Christiansen’s office was locked, and slipped out the door.
     “Miss Caulder, about my grade?”
     I spun around.  Right outside the door Melanie was
standing there.  How long she had been there I don’t know,
but the thought of her knowing what had gone on in the
office terrified me.  I just stared at her, suddenly acutely
aware of Pierre’s semen as it dribbled down my thigh.
     She had a malicious grin on, looking down at me with
her large, brown eyes, her hair falling in luscious waves.
With her was a boy, probably younger than her, but
unmistakably one of the boys who had caught me in the
shower.  He was trying hard not to look straight at me.
     Melanie leered at me, my disheveled hair, my rumpled
clothing, “You remember, Miss Caulder.  I mentioned it in
the shower.” The emphasis she put on the word ‘shower’ left
me no doubt of her complicity in my humiliation.  I only
hoped that she didn’t know all the particulars, only that
the guy on her shoulder had seen me.  She went on, “Lee told
me what happened.” I could only presume that the blushing
boy was Lee.  “When you weren’t in class I knew immediately
what happened.”
     I crossed my arms and tried not to blush myself.  I
couldn’t believe how humiliated I was, considering the
things I had done.
     She smiled at me, patting me on the arm, “I’d hate to
hear that that incident got around school.”
     “I’ll take care of it.”
     She acted surprised, “You will?  That’s great.”  She
reached back and ran a hand down Lee’s arm, “Do you think
this semester’s class will be as hard?”
     I couldn’t believe that I was letting this bitch
blackmail me for something as petty as being caught naked,
when I had a tape in my purse of me blowing and fucking a
student.  “No, Melanie, I think it will be very easy for
you.”
     She grinned, her demeanor malicious.  She had a proud,
gloating expression on her face.  I forced a smile on my
face, but told myself that that shit-eating grin would
vanish when she saw a big fat ‘F’ on her report card at the
end of the year.  Try getting into prep school with that.
She would spend the whole semester confident that I was
wrapped around her little finger, and I’d save every half-
assed test, document every missed assignment, and by the
time she tried to stick it to me, it would be summer
vacation.  Changing her previous grade to an A would be a
pithy concession for the satisfaction I’d have ruining this
cunt’s life.
     Then I saw James coming out of the room used for
extracurricular activities.  Class period was just about
over, and obviously his group had called it quits early.
     “James” I called out.  “I’ve been waiting for you.”
     James was a skinny little sophomore who I’d given
myself to with his friend Eliot last night when I was
lonely, disheveled, and utterly humiliated.  James seemed to
honestly like me, even if it was just because I had taken
his virginity.  I didn’t really want to see him, but I
wanted to get the Hell out of that hallway before Pierre and
Raul came back.
     “You’ll be back tomorrow?” Melanie asked.
     “With bells on.” I said, taking James by the shoulders
and pushing him out the back door, into the very parking lot
Mr. Donovan had wanted me to go to get fucked by a student.
     The door slammed shut behind us, and I pulled him to
the side where we would be hidden by the row of bushes.
     “Hey Wendy.”
     I looked at the boy, in a black T-shirt with some band
on it, jeans and old, ratty sneakers.  He was a reject in
school.  An outcast who wasn’t a smart nerd, or a drama
geek.  Just a reject.  The kind of kid I was in school, and
I had a lot of empathy for him, which is probably why I
chose him and Eliot to be my lovers.  Sort of compensating
for all the men who ordinarily disgusted me who used me
nonetheless.  I seemed to remember having rationalized it by
telling myself that if I was going to be a whore for the
student body, I was at least going to get to fuck people who
I identified with, but really I had just been craving a mind-
numbing release by submitting myself to two boys in so
humiliating a fashion.
     “James, we’re in school.”
     “Sorry, Miss Caulder.”
     I grinned at him, then leaned back against the wall
next to the door.
     “Rough day?” he asked.
     I nodded to him, “When am I going to learn?”
     His mouth fell open.  “You mean…  It happened…”
     I nodded, “Again, yes.”
     He seemed pretty put out by that.  “You mean you…”  he
looked at the ground, embarrassed, “Does this mean…?”
     He was so distraught that I just reached out and
grabbed him, holding him close.  He threw his arms around me
and we hugged like that for a long time.
     Finally I forced myself to speak, “No, baby, I’m still
your girl.”
     How he responded to that I don’t know, his face was
over my shoulder, but he held me tight.  Finally I let go,
and he stepped away, leaning against the wall with me.
     “Why do you?  I mean, how come…” but he couldn’t ask
the question.
     “I don’t know James.  I don’t understand.” I moved
closer to the 15 year-old and put my head on his shoulder.
“It’s like I can’t fight them.  I keep getting in over my
head and…  Well, it happens.”
     “You can’t just say ‘no?’”
     I shrugged as he put his arm around me, “Sometimes.  I
sure told Mr. Gold off today.” And I laughed at that, but
quickly stopped, “Then there’s other times when it’s the
only thing that makes sense.”
     He seemed to force the next words out, “Is that why
you…” and he fell silent.
     But I could follow his thoughts, “No, James.  I chose
you and Eliot.  I wanted you guys to…  I just…  No, James.
The others kind of make me do it.”
     I turned to the boy, making him look at me.  It was
terribly important that the boy understand.  “I chose you.
I wanted you.  I love how you make me feel.  You make me
feel like a woman.”
     He was speechless for a long moment.  Then he blurted
out, “I love you Miss Caulder.”
     I stared at the boy for a second, then grinned and
cuffed him playfully on the head, “Shut the fuck up you
little perv.”
     He laughed, and I went on, “You just want to fuck me
again.”
     Laughing he said, “Yeah, I mean.  Sure.”
     We giggled for a minute; then there was an awkward
silence.
     “Let’s not tell Eliot, okay?”
     He nodded, “He’d probably get jealous, yeah.”
     And I kissed him.  He was still pretty awkward at it,
but he was getting better.  I kissed him like I wanted to be
kissed, and let his hands rove over my body.  By the time I
pulled back he had stopped trying to jam his tongue down my
throat, and was almost using it like a Frenchman.
     “I have to go meet Mr. Christiansen.” I said, not with
a little regret.
     “Are you coming over tonight?”
     I shook my head, “I don’t know.  Something’s going on,
I’m not sure how long I’ll be.”
     “I hope you can.”
     I smiled at the boy, and put my hand on his cheek.
     “I hope so too.”
     I was surprised to discover that I meant it.
     
     Mr. Christiansen looked at me over his desk with his
beautiful blue eyes.  His well-muscled shoulders were
covered by a tasteful blue button-down with a conservative
black tie parting his chest.  He wasn’t as muscular as many
of the men I had been with, but his proportions were nearly
perfect.  He had a square jaw, a perfect nose, and was in
all ways the ideal male specimen.
     I hated him.
     Having grown up my whole like as something of an
outcast, with neither the social skills to attract lots of
friends, nor the figure to be fawned over by men, I both
resented him and envied him.  The fact that he maintained
his looks and figure at forty made me all the more resentful
of a man who probably never suffered a single insecure
moment.
     However, he seemed to be treating the situation I’d
found myself in with the principal with a great deal of
respect, and decorum.
     “Mr. Donovan has been taking anti-psychotics for the
better part of a decade now.  When he started teaching, in
the fifties, few people considered it improper for an adult
male to investigate a woman’s sexual behavior, and he was
even required to do gynecological examinations, as his minor
was in pre-med.”
     I couldn’t help scowling at the thought of a generation
of girls tormented by such discrimination, “That’s
horrible.”
     “It was a different world back then, Wendy.  But Mr.
Donovan grew and changed with the times.  He pioneered a lot
of the integration we see in school administration today,
but about ten years ago he started forgetting who and where
he was.”
     “I can’t believe that man is allowed to be a
principal.”
     “I assure you Wendy, nothing so extreme has ever taken
place.”
     “That sounds like you are implying that there have been
incidents.”
     Mr. Christiansen nodded, his perfect brow knotting
gently, “He did perform a spot check on some of the girls
last year.”
     “For what?”
     Mr. Christiansen seemed almost reluctant to say, “Uhh…
Thongs.”
     My mouth fell open at the thought of him lifting up
student’s skirts, “Only women are allowed to examine girls!”
     “Which is why we gave him administrative leave until he
had been firmly re-established on his medication.”
     “So he went off meds, is that what happened?”
     “I don’t know, Wendy.  He wouldn’t talk about it.”
     “What did he say?”
     He shook his head, “He made a bunch of allegations
about you that were none of his, nor my business.”
     “Though I think you and Mr. Gold should be more
discreet.”
     “What?” How the hell did he know about that?
     “Wendy, if I can catch you, there are going to be ten
students right around the corner.  You simply have to keep
it out of school.”
     I was flummoxed, but I couldn’t’ bring myself to admit
to this idol of American conservatism that I had allowed
myself to become Mr. Gold’s slut du jour.  “That’s
preposterous!”
     He shook his head, but still kept eye contact. “Okay,
then who were you with in your class during assembly?”
     John-two, but I couldn’t tell him that.  I’d not only
be fired, but likely arrested for statutory rape if I told
him about letting John-two ravage me.  I held my silence.
     “Like I said…  I wasn’t spying, I was looking for
truant students, and heard you in the classroom.”
     My mouth fell open, “You saw-“
     But he held up a hand, “I didn’t look, Wendy.  I know
how pushy Mr. Gold can be.  I’m asking you to have a bit
more resolve.”
     I glared at him, “That won’t be a problem for me.”
     He gave me a look that made me wonder if he wasn’t more
than familiar with the way Mr. Gold treated women than he
let on.
     He nodded for a moment, then gave me a very serious
look, “I need you to tell me, in explicit detail, exactly
what happened with Mr. Donovan.”
     I bit my lip.  “David,” I used his first name, “Why
don’t you just ask me to undress on your desk and have sex
with you?”
     He wasn’t too dense to pick up on my sarcasm.  “I know
it’s difficult, but if Mr. Donovan is a threat to our
students I must deal with it.  If he can wield this kind of
influence over a teacher, he could try it with a student.”
     I had to nod at his logic.
     “But without a report from you, I am afraid we will be
unable to act upon it.”
     I swallowed hard.  Bearing my soul for this man would
be hard, but not as hard as what Mr. Donovan had put me
through.
     For an hour, amidst numerous interruptions from
students and faculty I detailed the story of how Mr. Donovan
had essentially blackmailed me into undressing myself,
allowing him to videotape me, and examine me.  I told him
how I strutted for the camera, and acted sexy, trying to
appear evocative, and finally how he had instructed me to
have sex with a student so he could ascertain whether my sex
had been used recently or not.  He took it all in stride.
He didn’t appear surprised, nor shocked, although he did
appear to appraise me in ways that left me less than
confident of his esteem for me.  His questions regarding my
compliance to the outrageous demands left both of us
wondering how much responsibility I myself bore for the
events of the day.
     Mr. Christiansen’s conclusion was less than flattering,
although I had to admit that he was right.
     “Wendy, while I don’t condone Mr. Donovan’s behavior, I
cannot help but think that most women would not have let
themselves be drawn into such a situation.  Even a student,
I daresay, would resist such bald excuses.”
     I could only nod.
     I had declined to tell him about my further liaison
with the two black students he had been planning on
suspending.  The boys had gotten a reprieve as Mr.
Christiansen had had to deal with Mr. Donovan’s behavior.
They had also gotten to have me, as a bonus, and I’d found
myself spreading my legs for Pierre, on camera.  Even now,
Pierre’s semen was pooling up in the folds of my labia.  An
exclamation mark, it seemed, on Mr. Christiansen’s
allegation that I had given in to Mr. Donovan’s
humiliations’ too easily.
     “I have trouble saying no, sometimes, David.”
     He seemed surprised at this confession, “I hope that
doesn’t get you into trouble yourself sometimes, Wendy.”
     I just shrugged.
     “Mr. Gold?”
     I wasn’t sure what he meant, but I nodded.  My failure
to refuse him had certainly gotten me in a lot of trouble.
     “What about the students?”
     A ball hot lead seemed to coagulate deep inside me,
“Mr. Christiansen!”
     He actually blushed, “I’m sorry Wendy.  You know how
boys can be.”
     “I certainly do.”
     And with that I stood up, trying to ignore the way he
looked over my body, probably imagining what Mr. Donovan had
seen. “So, can I go now?”
     “I’m sorry I kept you so long.”
     
     
     ---This is where I ran out of steam for a story that
had basically gone far past the original teacher/student
fetish I was trying to purge so as to keep my grimy paws off
of one of my students (no, it didn’t work).  I may write
more, but in the mean time, this is all she-cries wrote
>smooch!< ---