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Message-ID: <38034asstr$1030533003@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "she-cries" <she_cries@hotmail.com>
Reply-To: "she-cries" <she_cries@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} {ASS} Breaking in Teacher II (3/?) by she_cries (mmmF, humil)
Date: Wed, 28 Aug 2002 07:10:03 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d



Breaking in the Teacher II part 3
(apologies for the '?' I will repost in entirety when I am done)
by she-cries

(feedback is welcome and encouraged at she_cries@hotmail.com)



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.

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