Message-ID: <38351asstr$1032178204@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "she-cries" <she_cries@hotmail.com>
Reply-To: "she-cries" <she_cries@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} REP Breaking in Teacher: Day 2 (whole story)  by she_cries (mF, mmmF, nc, reluc, exhib, humil)
Date: Mon, 16 Sep 2002 08:10:04 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


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 him 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 her 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 his "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 find 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 na�ve 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 his 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 na�ve 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 big 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.

"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.

"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. Chritendom 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.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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