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!< ---