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Message-ID: <38350asstr$1032178203@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 1 (whole story) by she_cries (MF, mmF, nc, reluc, humil, inter)
Date: Mon, 16 Sep 2002 08:10:03 -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 FIRST WRONG STEP

            Miss Caulder could feel their eyes on her as she passed through
the halls.  Men. No, boys from 14 to 18 ogling the swell of her hips, the
way her chest swung slightly and jiggled above her bra.  She knew she had a
pretty face, thick, luscious lips and wide, brown eyes, and though she was
older than any of the high school students, at twenty-nine she barely
qualified as "old," at least in her mind.  A lot of the senior girls were
already dating guys she could have gone to high school with, and though
there were breasts and butts enough between them, it seemed that a she never
failed to find eager, male volunteers with enough time in their busy
schedules to stay after class to help clean up or check in after school for
help with homework, all the while letting their eyes run over the curve of
her hips, more pronounced for her 5'4" frame-or gaze down the line of her
cleavage, in the warmer months when she went in an open collar.

Miss Caulder didn't suffer any illusions about her beauty.  She had grown up
churning between chubby and skinny, and the effort had left its mark on her.
Much more comfortable with her broad hips and thighs she knew she was not
fat, by any definition, although she was conscious every time she bent
double that her belly scrunched up like an accordion, and that her butt didn
't seem to shrink no matter how many inches she took off her waist, which
was markedly thinner than the rest of her.

But these flaws of which she was so aware of seemed actually to attract more
bold overtures, as men in general seemed to be attracted to her voluptuous
curves, her young, prettyish face, and of course, her ample bosom, which,
though not all that big, proportionally stood out on her smaller body.

That and the fact that her round cheeks and pouting lips made her look more
like the high school students she taught.

            Only once, in her first month as a teacher had a student
actually come close to propositioning her, though there had been a lot of
subtle flirting.  A baseball player had snuck up behind her in the library,
between the bookshelves, his hands slipping up over her breasts, a warm kiss
secreted on her neck.  She could feel the bulge of his excitement rubbing
against the small of her back.  She tried to turn to face him, "can I help
you?" but he spun with her movement, taking advantage of the craned neck to
kiss her fully on the mouth, his clumsy tongue darting into her lips as his
fingers mauled at her chest.

            Pushing him away she held him at arms length, a striking young
man, just old enough to shave with an athletic build and a handsome, if
boyish face took her hands and held them apart, drawing her nearer, "I just
saw that you're new here, and I wanted to make an introduction."  With that
he tried to kiss her again.  She turned her head, but he stooped down to
kiss her neck, suckling.  She pushed his head off with some effort before he
gave her a hicky.

            "Well, what's your name then?"

            "Marcus.  I'm the pitcher on the team."  He grinned broadly-he
was really quite handsome.

            "Well, Marcus, I'm Miss Caulder, I teach Psychology here."

            It was like pouring salt on a slug.  He shriveled up so fast
that Miss Caulder could barely keep from laughing out loud.  He apologized
so many times, keeping a respectable distance that she had to promise him
that it would be their little secret just to get him to stop.  She couldn't
help but feel flattered that she still passed for 17-not to mention
delighted at the irony that a guy who wouldn't have given her the time of
day when she was seventeen was now throwing himself at her.

            But that was all in the past, for the time being.  Still a new
teacher at the school, though in her second semester she was still a novelty
to students who hadn't had her class yet, but no underage, young stud had
sought his way into her amours since--which was just as well, since she'd
had enough of clumsy pawing, sloppy tongues, rabid groping, and premature
ejaculation when she was in high school herself just trying to get guys to
pay attention to her with binge dieting and dressing up every day, a habit
that was only slowly fading into more conservative behavior.

            Spotting Marcus in the hall she gave him a courteous smile and a
nod.  He had long since stopped blushing at the sight of her in the
intervening months, and politely nodded his head to her-apparently having
forgotten what he was talking about with the skinny, leggy cheerleader with
the braces he'd been working when she saw him.  She stifled a giggle as she
saw two of Marcus' friends, also athletes-though jocks would better describe
the thuggish demeanor the two muscle bound linebackers wore.  They were
watching her with what appeared to be all the attention their limited
capacities would allow, fixated on her chest, which, loosely concealed
behind a light gray button down shirt bounced ever so slightly in her bra,
the motion visible behind the clingy fabric.  She regretted her tendency to
wear trendy clothes as these days wearing form fitting button-downs and
skirts was all the rage, but still single she didn't want to wake up one day
and realize that she had become an old maid, so she tried to look as
attractive as possible, while not seeming slutty.  Hoisting her stack of
class assignments over her chest she wasn't too astonished to see both pairs
of thick, beady eyes wander downward to the tight curves of her hips which
the stretch skirt clung to.

            In the crowded hallway she felt as vulnerable and naked as a
kitten in a hailstorm.  She could hardly help but imagine their meaty hands
pawing at her breasts, the great, heaving bulk pressing down on top of her,
pushing up inside her as she brushed passed them, too closely, as they were
too involved in their own infatuation with her to conjure up the courtesy to
move aside.  Rather than fighting the press of hallway traffic in the
opposite direction, and not wishing to hold up those walking behind her, she
pushed between the two football players.

            "Oh, I'm sorry Mrs. Caulder." One of them said, the slightly
larger of the two with a sandy-blonde bowl haircut.  Before she had a chance
to ask what for she felt the stack of class assignments slipping out of her
hands and suddenly, the press of a body against hers, the second one with
the belly and the jar-head haircut.  Trying to keep hold of her papers she
felt herself stumbling into the alcove of a doorway-one of the emergency
exits-and the unmistakable impression of a hand on her butt!

            She spun around, nearly tumbling over to face the jar-headed
jock but hands came up around her, catching her, one somehow aimlessly
clutching her breast for the moment it too for her to regain her balance,
though she dropped her papers.

            The hand moving, but the arms still around her waist, Miss
Caulder could feel the rigid line of engorged pectorals covering her
shoulders, and another feeling, something almost as rigid, a bit further
down.

            "Are you okay, I didn't mean to startle you" the bowl head said
over her shoulder as she pried herself free of him.

            The jarhead, seemed a bit shy, staring at the ground as he said,
"someone bumped into me.  I didn't mean to knock you over."

            Miss Caulder felt very vulnerable alone in this alcove, even
though three feet away there were dozens of students walking past.  There
was no overhead light, and it seemed very dark huddled between the two large
teenagers who pressed her on both sides, under the auspices of staying out
of traffic's way.

            "Can I help you."

            "Uh.  John!"  The jarhead said.

            "And I'm John too." The bowl head said from behind her.

            Miss Caulder had to think.  "You're both named John?"

            "No." the bowl-head stammered, "My jersey number is 'two,' so I'
m John-two."

            She couldn't help but grin over her shoulder at the slack-jawed
grunt, sucking in his gut and flexing his chesty and biceps so she'd have no
doubt as to what kind of man he "really" was, naming himself after his
football jersey.  It made the situation seem a little less dangerous.  "So,
how can I help you boys" she said facing back and forth.

            John (John-one, she thought) looked down.  She cringed
momentarily, thinking he was checking her out again, "Want me to pick those
up?"

            She looked down at her stack of papers.  A bit of a mess, but
not a disaster.  She hadn't stepped on them, at least.  Then she regarded
her knees, and had to ask herself if she wanted this boy on his hands and
knees at her feet while she was wearing a skirt and, worse, a sheer thong
underneath to hide her panty line from hormonal boys' wandering eyes. "No!"
She blurted, putting a hand on the boy's chest as he started to stoop in
front of her.

            She froze momentarily, greeting by the mixed sensation of rock
hard muscle, rigid, tense, the contours of hard worked definition drawing
lines in her mind, his vacuous face and pudgy tummy notwithstanding.  He
probably spent all his time doing bench presses.

            But what caught her attention was that he appeared to be
drenched in sweat, and her hand came away visibly wet as she took a step
back, putting the hand behind her to wipe it off before realizing that
John-two was behind her.

            Perhaps is was really just a blind chance, but more likely it
was John-two seeing an opportunity not to be missed, but the next thing Miss
Caulder felt must have been John-two's member, under his this shorts, a
thick, erect rod that pressed itself into her hand with a presence that she
knew she wouldn't be able to wipe off for days.

            Snatching her hand up to her chest she felt, rather than heard
the pair of then snickering, thought their expressions went blank almost as
instantly as she realized that she was wiping her hand over her nipple,
which protruded even under normal circumstances and dropped it to her side,
"I'll get them."

            Stooping down with a purpose she felt her backside make contact
with John-two's member again, though she knew there was ample room to the
wall behind him.  She tried to take a step forward, reaching for her papers,
before realizing that she was on a collision course with John(one)'s groin.
She lurched to one side to avoid him when hands grabbed her hips, she felt
fabric sliding over her and shooting straight up she felt her skirt sliding
down over her ankles and coarse hands running up between her thighs over her
bare bottom.

            "I should have worn a longer shirt today." Was her first though,
followed by an abrupt gasp of humiliation, shame, and disbelief, "Here, out
in the halls, in front of everybody?" but as if the world stopped for a
moment while she stood in a tight shirt, a sheer, nude-colored thong and
nothing else between two seventeen year old students, she saw that the hall
was empty.

            "When did the bell ring?" she thought, her hands futilely moving
to cover up the near transparency of her panties, the total exposure of her
behind, but her motions only seemed to draw their attention to her nether
regions, rubbing and fondling herself, as it appeared to the boys, was more
evocative than had she simply stood there motionless.

            She knew then that she was alone.  She could barely believe that
these two boys, muscle-bound jocks though they may be, were going to rape
her, here, like this.

            But both of them were snickering.  Heat swelling up inside her
chest warm flashes surging shame low in her belly she endured their laughter
and lurid stares for only a few moments.

            "What's so funny!?"

            The linebackers calmed down, but didn't stop smiling until she
turned from one to the other, pretending not to leer at her shapely, swollen
hips, and supple, round, jiggling behind.  In spite of the attraction many
men evidenced for her she hated her butt, considering it far too large for
her body, and having it exposed so completely, in spite of the obvious lust
in their eyes made her feel all the more embarrassed.

John-two stammered out "I thought you were going to fall."

She stared at him, astonished, "So you tore my skirt off?"

John-two never let an opportunity to stare at a woman's privates pass him
by.  Looking down, as if to regard the crumpled ball of a skirt, he mumbled,
"I was just tryin' to hold you steady, but you went takin' off."

Still half-undressed, trying to cover both back and front while huddled
between these two monsters of young men, she couldn't help but see the logic
of this-as absurd as it was.  She found strange comfort in having this
excuse that may not excuse her shame, but relieve her of a confrontation. "I
probably have Stockholm's syndrome" she couldn't help but thinking.

Aware that her shirt ended just below her bellybutton, and that her
underwear had made a bold attempt at following her skirt and hung loosely in
her crotch she bent over to pull up the skirt.  No sooner had she reached
down, when there where two of those huge hands clutching her hips, and for
all of her womanly curves, she couldn't help but mark how they seemed to
cover her from groin to cheek.  She straightened up, abruptly, aware now
that her shirt was hiking up with every attempt she made to bend over,
exposing her whole belly.  Hiking it down she spun on John-two whose hands
flew off, and was much closer than she'd thought, her chest mashing against
his as his hands reasserted themselves on her waist-very low on her waist.

"I just didn't want you to fall again."

She looked up at the much larger man, his chest looming in her vision and
his bulge pressed into her tummy.  She felt his hands wandering, and
wondered in spite of this what else was touching her behind.  Pushing off
from John-two she tried to turn around, but he kept a hold on her, and she
wound up clutching his muscular abdomen as she stared accusingly at the
jock.

"Let go!" she ordered John-two, and she went flying into John's arms as she
pushed off, feeling with the motion the crotch of the thong dangling between
her thighs as she was surrounded by the damp, chubby jocks massive arms.
Crushed against his chest she felt her hands involuntarily exploring his
muscle mass, again, even as her chest and bare (again from her jerking
around so much) belly heaved against his sopping midsection.  His hands,
even bolder than his friends, went straight down to her butt, pushing the
slipping panties right off her backside as she clamped her thighs together.

Resisting the urge to smack him she looked up, suppressing a scowl, "John,"
she smiled, unaware that she was unconsciously fondling his chest, "Thank
you for catching me.  But I need to ask you to move your hands."

John couldn't help but smiling back at the pretty, petite teacher cradled in
his arms, her fleshy bottom neither firm with adolescent muscle, nor flush
with fat as he slowly slid his hands up, careful to leave the panties
behind.  He couldn't help but notice that despite the fact that she wasn't
model perfect beautiful, she had a quality that made her something more,
perhaps simpler.  She just looked fun to fuck.

"Sorry teach, I just, I mean instinct, when you're on the field."

As he spoke Miss Caulder saw John-two from the corner of her eye, leering at
her totally bare bottom and stroking himself though his shorts-reminding her
of the other joint, grinding against her waist.  She suppressed an insane
urge to grab the thing and yank-hard!

"Let go of me John."

He let go, taking a quick step back and looking her over.

John-two was quick to step in, though he kept a bit of distance, "I'm sorry
Mrs. Caulder, I didn't mean to scare you, I was just tryin to keep you from
fallin over again."

"I know that.  You just need to warn me first, okay John?"

"I'm John." John said, still leering down at her.

"I'm John-two, Mrs. Caulder." John-two muttered, trying hard not to look
like he was leering down at her.

"What's your first name, Mrs. Caulder?" John asked, looking her in the eye,
a hand leaning on the wall to his side, effectively blocking any escape she
might make-though she wondered how long it would be before someone came down
that hallway, on a hall pass.

"It's Wendy, and I'm not a Mrs. I'm a miss."

"Yer not married" John-two stammered.

Miss Caulder shook her head, backing up into the wall, the Formica paneling
cold on her bare backside.

John one stepped a bit closer, "Any boyfriends?"

Miss Caulder put a hand up to John's chest again, blocking his advance, this
time finding the nipple underneath the this fabric of his T-shirt, as
drenched wet as the rest of him, "Easy, cowboy."

"Cowboy?" She thought to herself, "Christ, I've got to get out of here." In
spite of that she couldn't help tentatively stroking his chest, so
fascinated by the spectacle of his rigid bulk, as unsettling as it was.  But
the sudden sensation on her chest revealed that John was following her
example, and she dropped her hand, accidentally contacting this boy's penis
("now I've groped both of them," she thought even more disturbed)
accidentally clutching it for a moment, as she'd unconsciously groped his
chest before letting go.

"John, could you hand me my skirt-"

"So you don't have a boyfriend?" John-two had also taken a step up.

She resisted an urge to put a hand up to him, instead stepping between the
pair, stooping over to grab her skirt, but John-two held a hand up, "I'll
hold on, okay?"

Staring the young man in the eye she felt that he wasn't really asking.  She
forced a smile, and then suppressed a grimace as he plopped one hand down on
her cheek with a smack, nestling one finger down in the now exposed crack of
her ass.  Watching the other come in for a landing, smack on her boob but
she intercepted it in mid-air, and smiling up at the massive athlete, gently
placed it over her tummy, resisting the urge to grab both his hands and
thrown them off.  However innocent they were asking she knew damn well that
they could become violent at any minute.  She was counting on the thought
that they would content themselves with a few feels and suppressing a
churning feeling in her gut, guided his hand up a bit higher, nuzzled
against her breasts.

He made a weak smile that was almost a laugh, "Sorry" he grinned, and
started rubbing the cheek he'd smacked, his fingers inching down deeper.

She went down, the boy's groping fingers probing in what he must have
thought was a subtle way.  She felt a button pop on her blouse at her
ribcage, and was all too aware of her panties bunched around her crotch.
She could only hope she wasn't giving them a show as she wondered how she
could have forgotten to hike them up, but too many exploring looks in the
mirror when she was a teenager herself had taught her that her diamond was
not only visible, but pronounced in this position.

"So how come you don't have a boyfriend?" John asked stepping up, as Miss
Caulder felt another hand on her back, not exactly pushing her down, but not
exactly inviting her to stand up, either.  John-two was much more openly
fondling her buttocks, running his hand across both cheeks and treading
dangerously close with both towards her pouting sex.

Miss Calder gasped, bunching up her skirt and trying to stand, "I just haven
't met the right man." It was more like they were lifting her, and John
setting one hand neatly under her chest, on bare skin, and the other on her
back pulled her erect, one hand landing on her cheek, the other slipping up
under her shirt., sending another two buttons flying.

John-two let her slip from his grasp into his friends clutches, "He's been
hogging all the fun," Miss Caulder thought to herself, though he stayed
pressed into her side, letting her naked hip rub against his erection.

"Is that why you don't shave your bush?" John-two asked, plunging his hand
into her pubic bush, his finger probing into her labia as he and John burst
out into laughter.

Jumping, and barely containing a scream she leapt out from between the two,
her panties making the motion awkward where they bound her at the thighs
revealing her untrimmed bush of thick, black hair, not even a shapely
triangle.  She felt, rather than saw or heard, the buttons of her blouse fly
off as she tore away from John's hand, and she struggled with conflicting
desires to hike her panties up or pull her shirt together which now hung
open on her shoulders.

The two boys leered at the black lacy bra--which made no effort to conceal
Miss Caulder's wide nipples, nor the flush of red that rose up between the
shivering mounds, cradled in an underwire.

Caught in a quandary, panicking, Miss Caulder tried to do both at once, and
pulled her shirt across her chest with one hand while hiking up her panties
with the other, but the act of being rolled off her butt and being yanked up
had reduced the panties to the appearance of a thin rope, and she melvined
herself up one side of her sex, while the other hand, either out of fear of
shame or cheap fabric tore the shirt on her back down the middle, leaving
her even more exposed with two sides of her shirt falling down her arms.

Naked for all but her bra and a totally unconcealing stretch of rolled up
sheer thong, Miss Caulder clutched a hand over her sex and one up to her
chest-not so much to cover it, but to stop it giggling so evocatively.

"It's okay Mrs. Caulder," John said smiling, "It's not like we haven't seen
it before." He was openly checking her out, enjoying her shame.

John-two had a bit of advice: "You should take those off so I can straighten
them out for you." He took a step forward.

"John, please don't touch me!"

"I'm John-two."

"John-two!" she barked, then, afraid, she smiled, and said in a softer
voice, "John-two.  I'm sorry.  Please, don't!"

"I'm just trying to help." He said, innocently, grabbing the panties as Miss
Caulder froze, letting him undress her, letting her hands fall to the side
so the boys could see her and enjoy her nudity since there seemed nothing
she could do to stop them.

John reached forward as his friend managed to touch every centimeter of her
flesh on the way down her legs, "Let me help" and without any hesitation he
put his left hand in her crotch, his right behind her knee and he lifted the
leg up.  Miss Caulder thought, "I had sex like once this with a teacher's
aide after class, in the alley behind the gym in college."

John was talking, "I mean, like I said, we've both seen lots of girls, I
mean, it's not like we're virgins." Both guys sniggered.  Mrs. Caulder could
feel his fingers probing the dry skin under her labia as John-two pulled the
panties over one shoe.  John then set the leg down and switched hands.

"Do you date a lot of guys Mrs. Caulder?" John two asked.  Since John wasn't
lifting the other leg he amused himself with feeling up her Butt.

Date?  That was one way to put it.  Another way, of course, was to say that
she hadn't had a proper boyfriend since her own high school days, instead
taking home a lover whenever the sexual frustration mounted too high-every
few months.  The fact was that she was terrible in relationships.  The
closest thing she had were the occasional regular guy who came over just for
sex.  Inevitably they'd want to get involved and thing would go downhill
from there.

"I don't think that's an appropriate question, John-two."  She murmured,
submitting herself to Johns probing as he lifted her other leg.

The boys' laughter was almost infectious, but experiencing something close
to delirium, she only smiled, waiting for the inevitable to happen, "Why don
't I scream?"

"Here's your skirt."

She had to do a double take.  There was John-wo, standing up with her skirt,
holding it out to her.  John removed his hand and took a step back.  She
heard the late bell ringing, announcing detention to anyone who shows up
after it.

"We got to get to practice." John-two said, casually, as if nothing were
happening.

"Thanks" she mumbled, taking her skirt from the teenager.

John was looking her in the eye, though he kept wandering over to her
breasts and legs, "We just wanted to let you know we were adding your psyche
class."

"Oh," Miss Caulder said numbly.

"And to ask what we'll be covering."

The words choked in her throat as the boys were picking up their bags,
preparing to leave, "I need a shirt!"

John-two, who'd been unsuccessfully trying to unravel Miss Caulder's panties
suddenly balled them up in a fist and reached into his bag.

John continued, "I mean, we took it last year, but both failed the second
semester, so the counselor's letting us make it up with you."

Clutching her skirt to her crotch, which did little to cover her balled up
as it was Miss Caulder muttered another "oh."

John-two, meanwhile, produced a large T-shirt with the school logo, a PE
shirt, "You can have this, I got another in my locker"

Miss Caulder took the shirt, still numb, "thanks" John-two started
unraveling her panties again.

She glanced at the boy, he still had no idea how to do it, they were little
more than a wad of cloth at this point, "Keep them."

The boy's face lit up with amazement, and he exchanged knowing looks with
John.

"I mean," she stammered "You need to get to class, and we can't, I mean,
they won't.  Don't worry about it, I've got extras too."

"Thanks Mrs. Caulder." He grinned with some sort of triumph, stuffing them
into his bag.

The three of them stood stock still for a long moment, then John spoke up,
"Well, I guess we'd better go."

"Uhh, guys." She spoke up as the pair reluctantly made to shuffle out away
from their vulnerable, mostly naked psych teacher.

"Yes, Mrs. Caulder?" John asked.

"About." she looked the boy in the eye "It's Miss, John, not Mrs."

He sort of sheepishly grinned, an amusing gesture, considering Miss Caulder'
s predicament, "Sorry, miss Caulder."

"Why's it such a big deal?" John-two chimed, eager for an excuse to stay and
leer at Miss Caulder's nudity.  He put a hand on the wall next to her, "I
mean, you'd think you want the world to know you don't have a guy."

Miss Caulder looked him in the eye--or rather, at his large, sloping
forehead, his eyes were carefully examining the bit of nipple sticking out
of her bra (when had that strap fallen down?).  "John-two." She said,
putting her hand under his chin, making him look at her. "I don't think that
's an appropriate thing to say to anyone, much less your teacher."

She was reprimanding him, and she felt with a lurch how absurd that was at
this moment.

"Aww, Miss Caulder" John said, putting his hand on her bare shoulder,
rubbing it with a casual familiarity (causing the second strap to fall),
"You'll have to cut John-two a bit of slack, I mean this is an awkward
situation for us all." He had an absurdly insincere grin on his face.  As if
her nudity were making him 'uncomfortable.'

Regardless, she knew it was best to play along, though his hand was
'reassuringly' making its way down to her side, pulling her strap and
revealing more nipple than she cared to think about.  She snatched the
strap, and pulled it up, standing up straight, "Which is actually what I
needed to mention."  She lifted up one leg and stepped into her skirt.,
refusing to be put off again by John-two's timely 'assistance' which
amounted to another hand on her ass.

She looked at both of them, "I don't think we should mention this to
 anyone."

She bent, to step her other leg into the skirt and frowned as John two used
the excuse to grab her breast, letting his hand slide under the unstrapped
bra cup, the other prowling into her nether regions again.

John was speaking, "Oh, Miss Caulder, we wouldn't tell anyone.  I mean we're
as embarrassed as you."

Miss Caulder hiked the skirt up, forcing John-two's hand off her butt, but
not before feeling his fingers slide over both her vagina and her butt hole
with a shiver that ran up her spine which she couldn't supress.
Straightening up she realized that her motion hand uncapped the breast John
was clutching.  His hand was the only thing hiding it from view.  She knew
from long experience that because of the underwire, and the way her breasts
hung (a little sag, but a lot of fullness at the bottom) that she'd have to
unhook the back to cup it again, or uncomfortably stuff it back into the
cup.  Clutching John's hand to prevent the exposure (which was worse?  His
groping or letting them see what little she had left to be modest about?)
she looked at John-two, but spoke to them both,

"I know that we're all embarrassed here," she lied knowing that she was the
only one with reason to feel shame, "But after this is over, and we're back
with our friends, we'll probably want to."

John-two was taking her holding of his hand as some sort of invitation to
enjoy himself.  He was, again, rubbing his free hand over her now covered
bottom, and stroking her nipple with his thumb.  A gesture she found
frustratingly ticklish.  John, meanwhile, had brought his hand up to her
other bra strap and was pulling it down again,

".we'll probably want to." she tried to continue but found herself gasping,
distracted as John-two teased her swelling nipple and John started pulling
down her second cup.  She threw her hand up, preventing the teenager from
exposing any more, and tried to pull John-two's hand away fighting the
tingling sensation, the flush of arousal from taking a hold of her ("I have
to get laid." She thought, knowing weeks of sexual frustration was betraying
her).

"I'm sorry Miss Caulder," John was leaning very close now, squeezing and
plucking over the bra where it covered her nipple.  She knew he must be able
to feel how erect it too was, "I mean I've just never seen a girl your age,
I mean, like this, in the flesh."

He leaned in close, she could feel him pulling at her bra, and his free hand
was now trying to navigate the hooks of the bra in back, she felt like he
was about to kiss her, "It's just that high school girls are, y'know,
skinny, and they act like girls, I mean, they don't understand what a man
wants."

Their pawing was more insistent, eager, two erections pushing against her
sides.  She felt her skirt slipping down a second time.

"I'm sorry boys, and she burst forward between the pair of them, free
suddenly of their clutching and pawing.  With her back to them she hiked up
the straps of her bra and roughly stuffed her breast into its cup-it felt
like it was twisted sideways.  She could feel her nipples straining against
the translucent lace of the bra, the heat of red flush on her chest as she
spun on the two, "I think you had better learn a little respect if you want
the attentions of a woman.  This pawing and plucking has got to stop here,
you understand!"

The two boys were crestfallen-shocked at how abruptly she'd gone from sweet
slut to Hell-bitch.

But looking at the sudden coldness of their features she knew that that was
the wrong tactic.  She had to make sure that these boys would keep a secret.
"Look," she began, smiling again, "I'm sorry."  And with a gesture of
conciliation she put her hands on both boys muscular arms, "I know how you
feel, but out here, in the hall, I mean, I'm a teacher!" she pleaded.

"That's okay Mrs. Caulder," John said, "I guess I'm used to it." But he wasn
't smiling.  Miss Caulder couldn't help but remembering all the teasing she
had done as a teenager, trying to keep guys interested in her but not
wanting to have sex.

She forced a smile, "I understand what you're feeling John," she tried his
conciliatory rub, "God knows I get frustrated too, sometimes."

John-two was shocked, "Really?  I mean, chicks do too?"

She found herself forcing a smile, and desperate as she was to cover up she
couldn't let them walk away from her blaming her for leading them on,
"John-two, I mean. Of course we do." For some reason she didn't leave it at
that, "I mean, it's been ages for me.  Sometimes I get."

But she saw the expression on their faces, arched eyebrows, renewed interest
in the unclothed teacher.

"I'm not trying to tease you boys?"  She looked from squinting face to
squinting face, hoping for some expression of comprehension while cringing
at the patronizing 'boys.'  She should be more tactful.  Shaking her head
she dropped her arms and reached to the ground where she dropped the
T-shirt. "I'm just saying I know how you feel, and I'm sorry it was me that
had to be the cause of it, but it was unintentional."  She looked up,
straight at the two boys as she pulled the shirt over her arms.  They were
nodding.  Good.

"It's a natural reaction, to want more," she went on, "It's just not always
appropriate to expect it." She pulled the T-shirt over her head, "And I
appreciate that the two of you have enough respect for me to be considerate
of that."

"Oh, I wasn't thinking anything like that." John blurted out, "I mean you're
a teacher.  I was just curious.  You're just so different from the girls we
date."

Miss Caulder smiled again, genuinely, though little of the shame had
evaporated.

John-two was nodding, "Me too.  I mean, I don't even think you're all that
hot-Uhh. Just more developed"

But Miss Caulder just smiled as she tried to navigate the enormous T-shirt,
tying it in a ball tight around her waistband, "I just want to make sure
that we don't feel the need to tell anyone about this, afterwards, when it's
something we can all laugh about with our friends."

John shook his head. "No way Mrs. Caulder, we wouldn't tell no one, no way."
He was so insistent that she just knew that he was telling the truth.  In
fact his insistence was more disturbing than his earlier disingenuineness.

Feeling remarkably more comfortable now that she was clothed again Miss
Caulder decided to press the point for John-two's sake, "I mean a lot of
people wouldn't understand, not having been there.  Your girlfriends might
take it the wrong way."

 From deep down within that thick, Cro-Magnon skull, Miss Caulder was
astonished to see a gleam of comprehension in John-two's face.

"No ma'am.  I won't tell no one.  Not even the guys."

She smiled at him, "Thank you." But the look in John's eyes still disturbed
her.  It was bordering on fanatical.  Either that or some sort of scheming,
which was just as disturbing.  Clearly he had no more subtly than his
friend.

"Well, you boys had better get back to class now."

They both nodded and shuffled out into the hall.

She stepped after them, surprised at how much brighter it was outside the
tiny alcove, "Boys."

They stopped, turning, and she walked up to John, running one hand up his
gargantuan tricep, standing very close, forcing herself to look up into his
eyes, "It's Miss.  Not Mrs., not Ma'am." Clutching him arm with her small
hand she felt his powerful bicep brushing against her nipple still
protruding through the T-shirt, "I'm a miss."

John smiled, "No boyfriends, either, eh?"

She suppressed an exasperated sigh, shaking her head, "No, john."

John-two was still in his own world, "We've gotten further with you than a
lot of guys, eh?"

John glared at him, then turned back to Miss Caulder, "Don't mind him."

"It's okay, John.  He's right, I suppose." Certainly he'd gotten further
than anyone in the past year since she'd been teaching at the school.  She
was surprised at how acutely she'd noticed the lack of sex in her life now,
after being humiliated before two boys she would never consider laying down
with.  "I just don't want you to forget that I'm your teacher."

"I won't forget," John-two said grinning. "Is psych a hard class?"

She let go of John and started back towards the alcove to get her papers,
"Not if you apply yourself."

"Hey Mrs. Caulder, is this what we'll be covering this semester?" John had
picked up one of her papers and was skimming over it.

She turned to look, then felt an abrupt chill creep up her spine.  "That's
right john." She said numbly.

He smiled up at her, "I don't think we'll have any trouble applying
ourselves.  Not one bit."  Then with a weird little salute he started
walking off, showing John-two the paper.

Watching them go, John-two glancing back with a big old grin on his face
from time to time Miss Caulder felt the sinking feeling in the pit of her
stomach return.

The paper John had picked up was titled Human Sexuality and Reproductive
Physiology.

The pair had signed up for her Sex Ed class.



Chapter 2:



            Teaching the rest of the day in a PE T-shirt wasn't nearly so
awkward as teaching knowing she didn't have any panties on.  She had been
able to claim that she'd torn her shirt (true enough) and borrowed the
T-shirt from a female student, but the lack of underwear, sheer though they
were, allowed the stretch material from the skirt to define her every
contour, riding down the cleft of her butt whenever she so much as bent at
the waist, and crafting an outline over what she was now painfully aware of
as her unshaven, overgrown pubic bush.

            Not a few of her male students failed to notice this, but the
shame was little compared to what she'd experienced in the hallway that
morning, and aside from a few lingering glances and rolled eyes from some of
the girls (which was worse, in her opinion for while boys forgot she knew
girls would hold that sort of thing against her) she figured that she's be
particularly modest for the next few weeks and it's be written off to the
shirt tearing incident.

            By fourth period, however, she had excused herself, assigning
some reading, to snip off to the ladies with a pair of scissors where she
proceeded to do a hatchet job on her pubic hair.  It didn't look much
better, but it certainly was an improvement over the pudgy outline she was
advertising before.

            In spite of the adjustment, she was relieved to run to the
teachers' lounge and hide behind a big stack of quizzes and a big cup of
coffee for lunch.  She didn't have a fifth period class, since she was still
a new teacher they didn't have a full schedule for her yet. So she had two
hours to kill before senior Psyche, with her two new students.

            After the first bell rang, and the other teachers filed from the
room, she felt the first pang of tension, and uttered a silent wish for the
John's to behave themselves, and to do well in the class, so she didn't find
herself compromised due to any resentment they might feel for getting poor
grades.

            Then again, it dawned on her, that the more time that passed,
the less likely that their stories would reflect the truth, and it'd be her
word against theirs.  Being a teacher, she'd be believed and they'd be not
only disbelieved by their peers, but reprimanded by the administration.  She
felt no guilt at considering this, because in order for her to have to lie,
they'd have to break their promise.  Besides.  She knew damn well that the
'incident' with her skirt coming off was anything but accidental.

            Her thoughts were interrupted by Mr. Gold, a PE teacher and the
Football coach.  He was in his forties, but still a very well built man,
with a paunch born of age and too many beers.  He had a square jaw and a
deep, natural tan emphasized by the white crows feet around his eyes and his
graying hair.  He towered over everybody around him, and must have been
quite a specimen when he was younger.  He was a classic alpha male,
dominating every room he walked into with his boisterous voice and sheer
bulk, punctuated by the gut which while huge, seemed made of the same steely
stuff that rippled down his arms and across his chest.

            "So, ready for your second semester, Wendy?" he said eyeing her
T-shirt.

            Miss Caulder smiled at him, putting away her previous thoughts,
"First day back and I'm already a mess." She proceeded to tell him her
fiction regarding her torn shirt.

            "Okay," he said laughing, "I was going to have to ask Mr.
Donovan (the principal) to talk to you about that skirt."

            She forced a grin, pulling her legs under the table a little,
"the shirt didn't show this much." She lied, knowing she had been wearing
this skirt for weeks.

            "Still," he said, looking at his own bare legs revealed over his
high cut jogging shorts, "I'm not one to talk, but boys, y'know."

            "Oh, I know, I already met a couple of your boys in the hall
this afternoon." She blurted out, wondering what she was thinking even
bringing it up with their coach.

            His expression narrowed, and she saw him running his eyes over
her swelling bosom, her supple hips, the way the skirt tried to cling to her
crotch and ass, "Any trouble?"

            "Oh, no."  She covered, "Just a few stares."

            "Well," he said nodding, reluctantly reducing his scrutinizing
of the young teacher to furtive glances, "Boys will be boys, which is why it
pays to dress modestly.  No doubt they'll be dreaming about you all year
long."

            "Mr. Gold!"

            "Oh, no reason to be bashful about it, Wendy.  Hot Dogs and
Donuts, that's all these kids think about.  They tow the line, and don't
cross over it, if you don't encourage it" he added with a brief, piercing
glare, "Who were the guys?" he continued casually.

            "Oh, uh, John and."

            "John-two."  He shook his head. "That's what I thought.  Great
on the field, though I had to bench them twice for unnecessary roughness.
But the pair of them make even football players look prudish for the way
they run after girls."

            "They see a lot of girls then?"

            "Oh no.  They still haven't figured out that girls don't go for
big and thuggish."  He grinned, "Took me thirty years to figure that one
out," he wiggled the wedding band on his finger, "No, what you got there are
the two biggest, baddest virgins on the football team."

            "You're kidding?"

            "Dense as bricks too.  They fail one class this semester, they'
re back here for a fifth year because they already filled up their Summer
school schedule last semester.  Hope that puts something on their plate to
motivate them."

            "I though football players were. You know, dated a lot."

            Mr. Gold nodded, eyeing Miss Caulder's supple frame again, "Yes,
well, some of them, but they've got to put up with natural selection just
like the rest of the guys, and they're not the two best lookers on the
 team."

            "No" Miss Caulder agreed thinking of John-two's sloping
forehead.

            "Poor boys came to me last semester to ask how to get a girl to
go to Homecoming with them."  He shook his head, "Turns out they both had
dates, not too hard for a football player, they wanted to know how to get
laid.  Turns out they went home alone, the girls ditched them.  So far as I
know, John, the dark haired fella, kissed a girl his sophomore year, so he's
the leader."  He burst into another peal of laughter, while Miss Caulder
simmered in the understanding that their frantic groping had represented
nothing less than a desire to get to first base.  She had, in fact, taken
them straight to third!

            "I'm sorry, Wendy," Mr. Gold put out his hand, covering Miss
Caulder's, "I don't mean to embarrass you." He had taken her reaction for
embarrassment, and also taken the excuse to lean over and look down John-two
's overly stretched out collar.

            Forcing herself not to pull her hand away, Miss Caulder
straightened up a bit, "I'm not embarrassed, Mr. Gold.  It's just that they'
re in my Psyche class."

            "Oh dear." He pondered that for a minute.  Then leaned forward,
"If they give you any trouble, you come straight to me!"

            "Sure."

            "Straight to me!"

            His concern reminded her in a creepy way of John's reaction
before they parted ways.  "I'll let them know that you." she met his eyes,
felt his hand clutch hers slightly, but in spite of that felt immense relief
that she had an ally that could possibly control the two Johns, "I'll let
them know that your concern for their academic success matches my own."

            He grinned at her, revealing acres of perfect teeth.

            "Y'know, I've got fifth hour free until track season starts." He
was leering openly at her, "and there's no classes in the temp building by
the creek."

            "Mr. Gold?"

            "John"

            "John, I." She looked at the hulking older man, "Your name is
John too?"

            "No, just John." They laughed together as he massaged her
fingers suddenly, looking her straight in the eye with uncomfortably
piercing blue eyes.

            "John," She began, taking his hand to stop the rubbing, "I make
it a policy not to get involved with people I work with."

            "Who said anything about involvement?" he said not batting an
eyelash, "I'm a married man.  I was just suggesting that this semester could
be a bit of fun for the two of us.  No commitments, just a much better way
to kill time than hiding in the lounge or running from students who don't
seem to understand the idea that we need time to ourselves too."

            "We could get in a lot of trouble." She was hedging, it was the
wrong thing to say-she should have flatly refused, because he took her
reluctance as interest, but she was afraid of alienating possibly the one
man who could stand in between her and the biggest and oldest virgins she
had ever met.

            "It's not as bad as having to sneak out to the old water main up
the creek." He laughed, "That's where the students go." He shook his head,
looking off into the distance, "I almost got caught with Martha-she used to
teach English here."

            He looked back at her, "No, the windows are mirrored, the doors
are locked, and if you keep quiet the kids outside won't hear a thing."

            "The kids."

            "The weirdoes, you know the kids who don't fit in, they avoid
the quad and hang out by the temps so they're out of sight.  That's where
they go when they cut classes."

            "I. I don't know. John."

            But John wasn't going to be put off.  He slipped over to the
chair next to hers, his arm around her, one hand slipping down to her knee,
"Come on, why should the kids get to have all the fun."

            Torn between her desire to run like crazy and not to alienate
the big coach she held her ground, turning to face him, his lips right next
to hers as he stooped down to her, "John," she began, hesitating only as she
felt his fingers plying at the hem of her skirt, "You are married, a
co-worker, you're twenty years older than me, and you want to do it here,
where we could get caught."

            He nodded, "That's right." She had to grab his hand to keep it
from sliding up her skirt.

            "And," she continued, "You are fucking huge.  You're one of the
biggest men I've ever met.  It's not a little bit intimidating."

            But his maturity was evident in his eyes.  She wasn't talking to
one of the Johns, he clearly knew what she was feeling and immediately
retreated, though his arm still laid on her shoulder.

            "I'm sorry, Wendy.  I forget, sometimes."  But he wasn't put off
just yet, "But I think you'll have a good time, regardless.  And if you don'
t, just say the word, and I'll back off.  I'm just asking you to give it a
try."

            Bloody male logic!  Miss Caulder couldn't believe she, at nearly
thirty, was indulging this guy with this ridiculous attempt to convince her
to have sex even though she didn't want to and wasn't attracted to him.  She
found herself remembering the frustration of not being able to argue with
this kind of rationale, instead resorting to emotional pleas, "I don't know,
John."

            "Then let me take control."  He took her hand again, very
tenderly, "Just this once.  We'll slip away, and try things out, and if it's
not working out, well, no harm in trying, right?"

            She could only shake her head.

            "I've seen the way you watch some of the students, you know."

            She could only stare at him in shock.

"Don't worry, I do it too, some of those girls. it's hard to tell them from
women." He smiled and almost winked, "But they most definitely aren't
 women." His eyes ran over her again, "and those boys aren't men.  Believe
me it's a lot better to take your satisfaction from a peer than to."

"I don't find the students attractive." Miss Caulder insisted.

"But you don't have a boyfriend either, I heard you telling Mrs. Oberman
that."

Miss Caulder shook her head, wondering what else he'd overheard.

"I'm just saying that it's better not to indulge in little fantasies."  He
was fixing her with a piercing glare.

All she could think of was the rough pawing that morning of the two jocks,
groping at her nethers, their pokey little erections jabbing her from all
sides, the utter failure on her part to control them, to prevent the
humiliation she'd felt, and now, how powerless she felt with this man, a
feeling she didn't doubt would increase if she let him take her.  But she
couldn't deny the arousal that the Johns had triggered, and what might have
happened had they been a little more persistent.

She knew she'd never have willingly surrendered to their groping, but she
could not deny that she'd gotten aroused.

As she sat there, her heart beating, this older man staring down at her,
pantyless, in a football players' T-shirt, their dried sweat on her skin she
couldn't find a single way to rebut his persuasions, nor could she let
herself break down and plead for him to let her alone.  She realized that
she'd been emotionally raw all day, and this was something she simply wasn't
prepared to deal with.  The simplest course was to play along, and worry
about the consequences another time, but that meant letting this man take
her, this huge, muscle-bound oaf of a man.



She stood, uncomfortably by the door watching the older man peel his shirt
off his massive trunk.  His chest was broad, and well defined, if not as
impressive as John-twos, but his belly, though protruding well beyond his
chest was tight, tan, and rigid, like a round ball of muscle.  He smiled at
her, not seeming to notice that she was quivering, a scared young woman
unable to find a way out of her predicament.

Through the Mylar coated Plexiglas window she could see a few students, down
by the creek, and although she had seen very clearly that the windows were
mirrored from outside, the sight of them just a few yards from the building
made her very uneasy.  Mr. Gold had assured her that unless the lights were
on or the doors were open, the windows were only one-way.

John Gold had stripped out of his shorts and shirt, and stood before her
wearing jockeys, a wide crescent under his belly, over a comfortably small
bulge.  He looked expectant.

"Mr. Gold, I'm not sure about this."

He took a few steps up to her, "Don't worry, Wendy.  Just trust me."  He
leaned down and gave her a very tender kiss, and she felt, for the first
time, that she might be able to pull this off.

He was smiling at her still, "Maybe you'll feel more comfortable if you take
something off."

She nodded, and pulled the T-shirt over her head.  Mr. Gold leaned on the
desk, preparing, it seemed, to enjoy the show.  He let out a wide grin at
the sight of Miss Caulder's healthy chest and lace bra.  She gave a
reluctant smile back, before reaching back to unclasp the bra, when she saw,
over his shoulder, a pair of students, freshmen from the look of it, two
young boys standing right outside the window.  They weren't looking in, not
that they'd see anything but their reflections, but the sight was unnerving.
Mr. Gold had seen what made her stop, and grinned broadly.

"Go on, they can't see a thing."

But Miss Caulder's weak resolve was waning, and she clung her unclasped bra
to her falling breasts.

Mr. Gold was trying to stifle a laugh, but he smiled more broadly still, and
took her by the elbows, crossed over her chest.  "Trust me.  You're safe
from prying eyes."  But instead of trusting him she had to wonder why he was
leading her over to the wide picture window.  It went from head height, to
just below the hips, and overlooked the broad expanse of the creek where it
had been cleared to accommodate the temporary classrooms.  He led her to a
point where, had there not been a window, she'd have been standing right
next to the two freshmen, who seemed engaged in watching a group of older
girls at the edge of the clearing.  At this point Mr. Gold took Miss Caulder
's hands and guided them down, letting the bra slip off her arms.

She felt for all the world like she had just exposed herself to these two
boys, barely teens, and despite the mornings trial, she felt a surge of
excitement being so vulnerable.  All that needed to happen was for the
overhead lights to switch on, or the boy to cup his hands to the glass.

She barely flinched when Mr. Gold pulled her skirt down, and listening to
the boys muddles conversation through the Plexiglas allowed Mr. Gold to
fondle and tease her, facing outside she let him stroke her nipples, and run
his hand down the front of her, allowing him to arouse her, bringing a very
familiar habit of letting her mind go with sex, so she could endure it when
she wasn't really in the mood.

But it wasn't really that bad.  The level of excitement because of the
imagined exposure, perhaps the frustrating fondling of the jocks, and the
sheer lack of sex she'd had in the past months led her to actually enjoy Mr.
Gold's gentle ministrations.

She felt his hands wrap around her, his manhood prodding her, like the
jocks, in the small of her back.  Felt one hand slip down the crack of her
ass and tease her anus as it slid past and found her sex, slightly damp with
the beginnings of arousal.

Pulling her around he pushed her against a desk, a cold, student desk with
the attached chair.  She expected him to kiss her, but instead he gave her a
little lift, his great belly fitting snugly against hers, her chest resting
against his girth, and sat her on the edge of the desktop.  She put her arms
up, over his massive shoulders, barely able to reach around him as he pushed
her legs apart and filled the space with his hips.

"John, slow down a bit."

"I like it when you call me Mr. Gold." And instead of slowing down she felt
his member rubbing against her.  She hazarded a glance out the window, but
the two boys seemed oblivious to their teachers' activity.

"Do you have a condom. Mr. Gold."

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that." He said, condescendingly.

She felt the spell slipping away, and tried to resist as he slid inside her.
It wasn't particularly big, maybe six inches, but she gasped nonetheless as
it filled her long barren sex.  The minor pleasure, however, was dwarfed by
the sheer bulk of the giant pressing down on her.

Her face knew only his broad, unpliable chest, and try as she might, she
could neither resist him nor find the voice to stop him as the pressure from
his great chest and belly threatened to topple her off the desk.  Instead
she hooked her legs around him, clutched him around the ribs (she couldn't
touch her hands together) and held on while he started pumping, trying to
derive what pleasure she got from the action in her sex from it.

Mr. Gold was nothing if not a man of constitution, and what began as a small
jet of fire of pleasure quickly paled into a repetitive, redundant drive.
She tried kissing his chest, sucking on his nipples, trying to learn to
enjoy the rigid steel wall of muscle and belly that bore down upon her, but
more often found herself clutching rolls of skin that, taut around his belly
when erect, crunched up and he bent over her clutching the seat back of the
desk to hold himself up.

She realized, with surprising humor, that it was as if she was being fucked
by a stomach.  It didn't suck, and it sort of felt good, but there wasn't
much more to recommend it.

But even that was getting tired, as the rhythmic punting at her sex was just
going on and on, and his belly ground into her.  She found herself
distracted by the fact that her nipples were getting more pleasure from
rubbing against his belly than the sex itself was giving her, that is, of
course, when they weren't being crushed flat by the sheer weight.

But the fucking continued, and she, in her distraction saw that she was down
to a mere fifteen minutes to get to her sixth period class.  Not the best of
situations to be in when you're pressed for time.

But now she noticed that Mr. Gold was getting a bit more frantic, pressing
harder, rocking her a bit more violently, and in spite of the omnipresence
of the great, round belly, she found herself pushing against, him, enjoying
the sensation both in her sex and on her body, sort of a wall of flesh
wiping out all sense of self but the little pleasure she could derive.

This wasn't sex like she'd ever had before, neither as pleasant, nor as ego
crushing.  She found herself drowning in this man's drive, and the tiny
stabs of pleasure at the center of it were enough to get her through-even
more, though, there was a certain satisfaction in letting this beast do it
to her, crushing her sense of self from her.  Exactly what she'd been
needing all day.

So in spite of the pounding force of the belly she found herself gasping and
groaning, contorting herself to gain what pleasure she could before he'd had
his satisfaction.

And then, feeling him seizing up, he grappled her violently with one arm and
she knew he was shooting his load inside her.  She was gasping and yelping
as he let out a great shuddering groan that seemed to shake the earth, but
she felt secure in his arms, bound as she was against the broad girth of his
belly.

And then, totally tapped, though not exactly satisfied she felt him let her
go, but all she wanted was to cling to him, to let the heat of his great
belly continue to consume her.  But the pressure relented as he drew himself
out of her,  stood up, looking with great pleasure and satisfaction at her
comparatively tiny body over the expanse of his chest and belly.  Oddly he
didn't seem so much the stomach anymore, so filled out he was with
impressive arms and such height.

Reluctant to let him go she tried to hang up, but as she drew herself up to
kiss him he plucked her arms from his dense shoulders and pushed her away,
pausing to fondle her breasts, then setting his hands on her thighs he took
a good, long look at her sex, swollen and damp with his semen, but mostly
her arousal.

"Thank you," she uttered, with genuine gratitude, though not for the reason
he probably thought.

"Any time.  It wasn't so bad after all, now was it, missy?"

She wondered at the nickname, but simply said, "No, Mr. Gold."

He put a hand under her chin, "You enjoyed that, didn't you?"

"Yes, Mr. Gold."

But the more this ridiculous conversation went on the less she felt like she
meant it.  The further removed from sex with him she got, the less warmth
she felt from his bohemian embrace.  The lingering pleasures of being
subsumed by this man waned under the light of the soreness and ache from the
relentless pounding she'd taken over the past hour.  And this game he seemed
to be playing, treating her like a little girl, like some chattel.

"Yes, I think you'll do quite nicely." Mr. Gold said, interrupting her
thoughts as he pulled on his underwear.

"Nicely?" she asked sliding off the desk.

"No, stay there."  She froze, then slipped back into the position he'd had
her in, "Yes, like that, so I can watch you."

She realized that this position defaulted to such that she was facing the
boys through the window, who were still chatting, looking at cards of some
sort.  It also meant that she was spreading her legs to them, her breasts
hanging freely, sweat trickling down her sides and back. Something seemed to
lock in place as one of the boys turned to the window.  The thrill of
exposure, the excitement that if only he could see seemed to trap the fading
excitement inside, and fuel her unsatisfied lust with renewed vigor.

She realized that she was still panting, that she'd never quite caught her
breath after Mr. Gold had finished with her.

"I take it that you don't have any plans for lunch tomorrow?" Mr. Gold
asked.

She shook her head, unable to turn her head as the other boy turned towards
the window, looking at himself, it seemed, in the reflection.  She could see
both pubescent faces now, skinny boys kind of dorky, fawning over playing
cards.  The kind of kids that didn't even think about girls, much less ever
get to go out with them.

"Yes," Mr. Gold was dressed now as he scrutinized Miss Caulder, "You like
that, don't you."

She mouthed in protest, and moved to get up, but firm hands reached out and
held her in place.

"It's okay, I get off on it too.  That's why I like this room.  Sometimes a
pair of kids come down here to make out." He stared off, out the window
where the group of girls was walking up from the creek.  Then, walking
behind her, he pulled her legs apart, lifting them so she was perched on the
desk, spread eagled, semen glistening on her labia, and her own juices
moistening her.

"Why don't you come down here tomorrow?" he said, moving towards the door.

Miss Caulder was transfixed on the boys who seemed to be staring straight at
her simply nodded.

"Be here at lunch, you can get yourself ready for me."

She glanced back, letting her legs fall closed, "I don't understand."

His hand on the doorknob, he smiled at her, "From the look of it you could
satisfy yourself for hours alone in her, Wendy.  Isn't that right?"

"I don't know about that, Mr. Gold." She said ashamed, but unwilling to
compromise the feeling sweeping over her.

"Well, why don't you come down tomorrow and find out?" he wasn't smiling,
all of a sudden.

"And you'll be here?"

He smiled again, and gestured for Miss Caulder to turn around again.

She complied, lifting her legs.

"Of course I will," he said behind her back.  "Why don't you try it out
 now."

So she did, touching herself, gently, but startled to feel the electricity
rising up from her center, all provoked by Mr. Gold's game.

"But don't take too long," he chided her as she seemed to drift off in her
pleasure, "Your next class starts in five minutes.  Say hello to the Johns."

And then the door flew open, flooding the room with sunlight that lit up the
windows and sent a cool breeze flying through the room.

Swinging closed, Miss Caulder met the very bewildered gaze of the two boys
as they gawked at the window for the few moments where they could see one
another, the boys stock still, Miss Caulder slowly stroking her clitoris as
heaving gasps flooded over her wracking her body with pleasure, sought
after, but arriving at a very inconvenient time as the door shut and the
boys, now sun blind behind the Mylar window both cupped their hand to the
glass to watch Miss Caulder fingering her sex while the most intense orgasm
she'd had in years came washing over her.  Gasping and moaning, her breasts
swinging and bouncing, she locked eyes with the boy voyeurs to her ecstasy
and shame.



Making her way out of the temp building, not knowing how much the boys could
see, their faces pressed to the glass, if they recognized her, or how she
was going to get dressed, shaking like she was, with no place to hide in the
one room structure.  She had managed to pull on her skirt (backwards with
the slit up the front), and the T-shirt, but  had lacked the courage to
retrieve her bra from the floor below the boys before scampering to the door
and bursting out into the blinding sunlight.

"Don't look back" she kept repeating to herself, over and over, not wanting
to know if the kids had run around to see her leaving, to get a better look,
not wanting to lock eyes with those who had seen her humiliating debacle.

That fucking Mr. Gold, using her and running out, not even the consideration
to wait for her to get dressed before opening the door, knowing those boys
were outside.  As if he really expected her to be there, waiting for him.
Doing.  doing that, like some perverted slut so he could come in and get to
business before running off to his PE class.

"Hell with him," she thought, "I can handle those boys on my own."  But her
swinging breasts flopped around in the baggy T-shirt, and she could feel his
cum leaking out of her aching crotch, and she felt her sweat drying on her
back and running down her pits with the frantic exertion to get to the main
building in time to use the bathroom before having to go to class.

How could she have let that fat, muscle-bound, old fuck talk her into this.
Had she really thought she'd be better off letting him use her like a fuck
toy, calling him "Mr. Gold" like a little girl and catering to his
thick-brained jock urges.  She hadn't been fucked like that since she was
sixteen, and even those guys spent a little time afterwards letting the
intimacy fade instead of cutting it off abruptly with instructions for
later.

She passed a cluster of girls, cheerleaders for the Junior Varsity team, and
in spite of the embarrassment for the state she knew she must be in she had
to wonder if that was how they were treated by jocks their age, or if
teenage football players were just as whipped as the guys she'd dated.

Feeling the squelch of dribbling semen between her thighs she put on a burst
of speed, ignoring her bouncing breasts, for the nearest bathroom.  Psych
was going to be Hell, and she didn't know how she was going to be able to
make it through.



Class had been horrible.  She'd managed to cover the basics, going over the
semester's syllabus, and what the students would be required to learn.  For
an upper level class there were surprisingly few girls in the course, only
four, and a lot of boys that ran the gambit from jocks like the two Johns,
to geeks.  It didn't occur to her that a lot of guys had rushed to add her
class for second semester when word spread of the new, young psych teacher
with the great bazongas.  An attraction that, no doubt, paid off, for
braless she was able to do little to keep them from swinging freely, and
hanging low on her chest.

Combating the John's leering glares, and the stickiness between her legs
that seemed endless was the worst of her trials.  She was glad the skirt was
black, otherwise she was sure a stain would show, as she'd seen shiny spots
on her chair and where she'd sat against her desk.  Mr. Gold seemed to have
quite the reservoir.  She just hoped she had some morning after pills left
at home, because she certainly wasn't using any protection.

When the bell rang it was a wave of relief that flooded over her.  Her last
class of the day.  Students sprang from their seats, eager to get out of
what must have been a very confused and disjointed lesson, coupled with
"read chapter-1 for the rest of class."  Though she had planned a very blunt
and forthright lesson in introduction to human sexuality, she gave it a miss
today, relying on the textbook which had a very dull and mostly useless
introduction to sex ed in America.

Making way for her exiting students she settled down on a corner of the
desk, breathing relief which was only slightly diluted at the squelching
sensation between her legs as Mr. Gold's jism seemed determined not to let
her forget what she had done that afternoon.

Relief, however, soon turned to apprehension as the last of the students
left, and the two Johns approached her, unaware of the omnipresence of Mr.
Gold's sperm on Miss Caulder at the moment.

Only one sophomore girl and Max the school nerd-genius remained behind,
finishing their reading.  But the classroom was large, and John didn't have
to lower his voice much to avoid being overheard.

"That was a great lesson, Miss Caulder."

"Yeah," John two chimed in, "I learned a lot."

Miss Caulder, though uncomfortable, was feeling utterly cynical.

"Was it?" she asked, "I thought it was pretty dry and boring.  What is it
you want?"  She was much more confident, possibly because she knew she had
Mr. Gold to back her up should they try to press any issues with her
regarding that morning.

Both boys shifted around uneasily.  John began to speak, then snapped his
mouth shut as the girl got up from her desk, started to approach them, but
seeing the two beefcake jocks though better of it and with a polite nod at
Miss Caulder, made her way from the room.

Miss Caulder, getting a bird's-eye view of herself realized that she was
slouching back on the desk (the most comfortable position for the sensation
of her sticky groin), and jutting her chest out, which, in the T-shirt,
exaggerated her bosom to Mrs. Oberman's proportions.  Overall, she looked
like a reclining bimbo, gaming the two guys fawning all over her.

But the girl was gone, she figured, the damage done, she might as well stay
comfortable.

But the John's were clearly distracted by it as well.

John, glancing back at Max, involved in his reading and seemingly oblivious,
kept his voice low, "Well, I skipped ahead a bit."

He dropped his book down and opened it up to the page that always made her
immature students snicker and giggle; a picture of a naked, middle-aged
woman, spreading her legs on a gynecologist's table.

Miss Caulder scowled, but John-two seemed to have anticipated that, "Oh, it'
s not the picture!  I mean, we've seen naked ladies before," and with that
he gave her the biggest shit-eating grin she had ever seen.

"I thought we agreed not to discuss that."

But John kept John-two from saying any more, "Oh, he didn't mean that, I
mean, he means other girls."

Miss Caulder sighed, "That's right, you both are experience men."

They nodded, and John continued,

"Yeah, but, I mean, you know, like we said, we been with girls."

"Young ones," John-two added.

"But never a real woman." John emphasized.  He was very close and, glancing
back at the apparently oblivious Max, set a hand on her thigh, "Except for
you."

She gently pushed his hand away, but he only slid it down to her knee as she
said, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I mean seeing." John quickly covered as John-two sat right next to her on
the desk, "We, I mean, you're the only real woman we've seen, outside of
pictures."

"What does this have to do with this class?" Miss Caulder asked, aware that
John-two's angle allowed him to see down her stretched out collar, and she
wondered if he could see her exposed breasts.

John was ready with an answer, setting his other hand behind her on the
desk, "It's just that this material looks hard, and we've got to pass this
class."

"Well, I'm sure if you study, and apply yourself."

John-two wasn't even pretending not to look down the T-shirt hole, "That's
what Mrs. Richmond said, but we had to take Summer school."

She pulled her collar up, not sure whether it was worse that this act
outlined her breasts and nipples better against the shirt.

"Here," John was pointing to a section in the book, "Where it talks about
women developing, and hormonal adjustment, and, I mean, why do girls grow
breasts but guys don't.

Miss Caulder couldn't help but smile, "John, we're covering that next
 month."

"I know," he said, leaning in to her, "But I wanted to get a head start."

She edged her way off the desk, hoping she wouldn't leave a mark, and stood
up in front of the boys, "That's great, you should read ahead."

"What about extra credit," John-two asked.

"John-two, we haven't even taken a test yet.

"I know," John stood up, towering over his teacher, "But if there's some
special project.  that might prepare us-"

"Like this morning," John-two blurted out loudly, and the boys both glanced
over at Max, still obsessed with his reading.

"John-two-"

"Wait, Miss Caulder," John interrupted, "John-two's right.  I mean we
learned more this morning about women than all the girls we been with put
together."

"Really," Miss Caulder replied looking up the boy's looming chest at his
beady eyes.

"You're so much more.  Mature."

She gazed at the two boys in astonishment, "No, absolutely not."

John gazed back at her blankly, "No, what?"

"Just: No."

John-two also stood up, "But, I mean, after this morning." but John thumped
him in the shoulder.

"We just want to know if we could get some private lessons." John said, with
sort of a triumphant look on his face.

Did these boys think she was a moron?  That she'd willingly expose herself
to them under the auspices of getting them an education?  Staring up at
their low brows and wandering eyes the thought occurred to her that yes,
perhaps they did.

"I'd be happy to arrange a tutor for you, and if you need more in-depth
information you need only consult the book-"

"But it's like the coach says, you've got to do before you understand."
John-two repeated, "And we'd much rather do you than any of the girls we
know."

She could feel herself trembling, her entire body perspiring.  She couldn't
believe that they were actually propositioning her.

"What John-two means," John quickly covered, "Is that we'd rather have you
as our teacher than another student."

"I'm flattered," she said not making any attempt to conceal the anger in her
voice, "but I have a very busy schedule, and I don't get paid to provide
private tutoring."

"We'll pay you." John-two interrupted her.

John quickly stepped in, putting his arm around her shoulder, "yeah, we both
do construction on weekends."

Her will to fight rapidly waning Miss Caulder decided to put an end to the
discussion, "I'm sorry boys, I don't think so.  Now I have to pack up and
clean the room."

"Can I have my shirt back." John-two asked.

"John-two." she stammered, "I need it."

But John was reaching in his bag, "Oh, we uh, borrowed this one from one of
the girls in PE."

She looked at the little thing.  It was a tube-top with a loop to go over
her neck.  It looked horribly small, and was clearly the kind you had to
pull up over your hips, like a dress, being too narrow for a person's
shoulders.

"Can't I give it back tomorrow?"

"John-two didn't have another shirt, like he thought, and he got detention
for not dressing down."

John looked a little sheepish, "Yeah, I got to get to it in ten minutes."

"I'm sorry, why don't I give it to you before school tomorrow,"

"We were already late to PE today, I mean if we're late two days in a row we
get Saturday school."

They were right, she knew, from the incident that morning, but she also knew
a well-rehearsed plan when she heard one.

Then again, the school day was over, and there was nothing stopping her from
leaving straight to her car, or locking herself in the class till well after
the students had gone home.

"Okay, I'll go change-"

John stepped in between her and the door, "The bathrooms are locked."

He was right, they were both down because someone had vandalized them at
lunchtime.

"I'll use the teachers' lounge."

But John-two had an excuse for that: "But I got to be in detention in ten
minutes.  Can't you change here?"

"In front of the two of you?"

John smiled, putting a hand on her shoulder, "It's not like we haven't seen
you before."

She peered up at him, pleading with his to stop using such absurd logic,
"That was an accident in a dark alcove."

He shook his head, as if he couldn't comprehend the difference.

Desperate for an excuse she gestured at Max, but she hadn't counted on the
rationale behind meatheads like John-two, who abruptly made his way across
the classroom, bagged the book Max was reading and hoisted him up by an arm.

Miss Caulder, in shock could only stare while the boy, pleading for help
from her with his eyes, was dragged brutally from the room.

Shoving him out the door, John-two shut the door and locked its deadbolt,
turning to look at his voluptuous, trembling teacher.

John was doing that 'reassuring' thing on her back again, "Now we're alone."

"Why don't you two wait outside?"

"It's just a shirt, Miss Caulder."

"John," she said fondling the top with disgust, "I can't just put this on, I
have to pull it up. it's too small to fit over my shoulders."

"I can help," John-two volunteered.

"Aren't you going to be late?" she asked.

John was standing very close, "If you'd just change we'd be gone by now."

He seemed to know how badly she wanted to be left alone, but John-two kept
the same course, "And like John said, we already seen you in a bra."

She wheeled out of him, putting herself out of John's reach, "No, I can't
just pull this over the skirt, it'll ride up, and I'm not wearing a bra."

She felt John's fingers exploring her back, "You had one on this morning, we
saw it."

"I. I took it off."

John-two seemed delighted, "I thought I could see a lot more this time."
She looked up at him, furious, but he only went on, "And you're not wearing
any underwear either 'cause I got those in my pocket," he produced her
wrinkled up panties.

John was still unabashedly feeling her back and sides where the bra would
have been, "How come you took your bra off, Miss Caulder, you knew me and
John-two would be back this period?"

"I don't know, John, now would you please."

"That's hardly me'n John-two's fault, I mean we didn't even tear your
 shirt."

John-two was walking up to her, "Yeah, you did that."

John put both hands on her shoulders, "Seems kind of unfair that we're doing
you all these favors, I mean John-two didn't have to borrow a girls shirt
for you, and you're giving us all these conditions just to get his shirt
back."

She was now nearly pressed between the two giants.  She felt herself gasping
for air, "You're right, it's not fair."

But John was working at the knot she'd tied in the T-shirt's side to contain
its bulk, "and here John-two's got detention because he stayed to help you
get dressed and you won't even give us private lessons."  John-two's hands
were reaching out for her midsection.

"Okay!" she spun around to stop the boy before he started to undress her. "I
'll tutor you.  I'm sorry John-two." Anything to keep control of the
situation.  The boys were repressing her, and although they had probably
planned it, she was the weak-willed teacher who let things get so
embarrassingly out of control that morning.  In a way she was responsible
for John-two's detention, and the way she'd played it up to them that
morning there was no way she could throw the blame back at them.

She was also the one at fault for losing control and tearing her shirt, for
letting Mr. Gold have his way with her and forgetting her bra.  She was also
the one who let John-two keep her panties.  It all boiled down to the fact
that she was the one who had let herself get into a position where
undressing completely, if full light, willingly, in front of these lusting
boys was the inevitable consequence of her failure to be more assertive.
Had she refused to let them touch her she'd have her panties, had she
rebuffed Mr. Gold she'd have her bra, and had she not panicked she'd have
her shirt and her modesty.

John-two, unaware of the train of thought going through her head was now
behind her, "I'd like my first lesson now, Miss Caulder."

She felt herself leaning against him he was so close, and she looked at John
as she said, "But you have detention."

John looked back at her, "So make it a quick lesson."

She simply nodded, "Please take your desks."

John-two seemed like he was going to refuse, but John reached out and pulled
him into the front row of chairs.

With a heavy sign, Miss Caulder pulled the T-shirt off.  Both boys' faces
lit up, and John-two couldn't help groaning, "Oh, yeah."

Miss Caulder's breasts while not too large, nor too firm, were supple,
flush, and feminine.  To boys who may have only ever seen the tight, budding
breast of the teenager, Miss Caulder's breasts, hanging just low enough to
cover her hand (but not one of theirs, she'd have thought), yet full enough
not to sag too much, with bold, round nipples just a little darker than her
skin, the exact shade of her un-made-up lips.  More than one of her lovers
had described them as breasts made for sucking, and this, despite her petite
frame and slightly fleshy bottom, made her sought after by many a man
looking for a one-night-stand, or a quickie, like Mr. Gold.

"Are those real?" John-two asked.

She tilted her head in exasperation, but John interrupted him, "Is this
supposed to be a lesson, Miss Caulder."

She could only swallow her frustration and pride, and nod, "Yes, John-two,
fake breasts don't. sag like mine." And after a moment of hesitation she
hefted her pair, to show them how low they actually hung.

"What makes nipples get hard?" John asked, timing his question well as she
had both thumb and index finger on them.

"Blood, John." She signed, "Blood rushes to them when they are cold, or.
stimulated."

"What kind of stimulation?"

Shutting her eyes tight she began gently running her thumb and finger around
them in gentle circles, relishing the pleasurable distraction from the
humiliation, but willing them as well not to erect.

But the tingles down her spine, and the stiffness between her fingers
revealed to her that she had succeeded in arousing them.  A wash of cold air
settled past her from the vent overhead and she felt the goose pimples
rising all over her body.  How ever had she gotten herself into this
position?  The only thing the boys hadn't seen that morning was her bare
chest, and here she was fondling her nipples for them.

"Uhh, Miss Caulder, aren't you going to put the shirt on?"

Startled to awareness she opened her eyes and saw the two horny seniors
staring at her agape.  She realized she had gotten distracted with her
nipple-play, sort of a mental retreat from the searing shame that bore down
so hard upon her.  She hadn't heard who said it, and could hardly bring
herself to look up at them.  Looking nervously at their feet she mumbles,
"Yes boys," and pushed her skirt down.

"Dude, you trimmed your bush!"

She glanced up at John-two's astonished gaze, but John was standing up as
her skirt was falling to the floor, "What's going on here, Miss Caulder.
Wendy?"

She froze, meeting his eyes for a moment, hands instinctively covering her
sex, which she realized was coated with glistening semen, dripping down her
thighs.

"I'm just. John.  The lesson." She could barely stay standing under his
fierce, penetrating stare.  John reached out and took her chin in one hand,
grappling her breast with the other, fondling it as she had just shown him
how.  The tingles of electricity born of the caress and excitement of fear
tore through her body with each none-to-gentle turn of his thumb.

He pulled her face close, "First you let John and me touch you all over in
the hall, an you don't complain like the other girls, Hell you even gave him
your underwear.  Then you make a big old point of lettin' us know you haven'
t got a husband, 'It's Miss.'" He mocked in falsetto.

The stroking was filling her body with surges of heat, while her skin felt
like ice was scraping over it.  She couldn't tear her eyes from John's,
though they relentlessly prowled her totally nude body, "Then you show up to
class all sweaty and smelly, showing off your butt in that super tight
skirt, without a bra on." Suddenly he kicked the skirt across the room, and
slid his hand down to her crotch, rubbing hard, forcing her to sob with a
mixture of shock and elation as the pounding in her body seemed to reach a
crescendo with each tugging stroke he made, rubbing around in his coach's
sperm.

"Shut up, Wendy!"

She stifled her sobs, aware of tears of pleasure and pain running past her
cheeks.  He had called her Wendy again; provoking a sensation not unlike the
coach making her call him Mr. Gold.

"Then, when we think you're gonna talk about tits and stuff, you just strip
off and start playing with yourself."

She looked at him, horror overcoming her, and their conversation rolling
through her like an echo in a house of horrors.  Was he shitting her?
Nothing came back to her directly that explicitly explained what she was
doing.  She had assumed their innuendo.  Had she drawn the worst possible
conclusions and caved into her greatest fears, giving them what she feared
they'd take most, rather than what they really expected which was probably
another shuffling, embarrassed peepshow.  Instead she had given them the
full nine-yards.  She had willingly exposed herself for them and there was
no way she could think of that would convince them otherwise.

"Shit, I thought I was just gonna get to see that bra again," John-two had
gotten up and regardless of the 'lesson' grabbed both of Miss Caulder's
breasts and mauled them eagerly, "Miss Caulder, you sure do have one hot
bod."

"And look," John held up his hand, right under Miss Caulder's nose,
glistening with a combination of Mr. Gold's semen and her own juices, though
John certainly would never have guessed the bulk of it was his coach's, "She
's juicing like crazy, I ain't too dumb to know what it means when a girl's
this wet!"

"Please." Miss Caulder cried, but John-two grappled her roughly and planted
a kiss square on her mouth.  She struggled, but the gesture was purely in
vain for she couldn't so much as budge the great behemoth that so crudely
shoved his tongue into her mouth.  He grabbed one of her knees, hoisted it
up, and in the process lifted Miss Caulder to his hips as if she were a
feather, and leaning her against the hard edge of the desk started
dry-humping her through his pants.

If Mr. Gold's weight had been suffocating, this was bone-crushing, and there
was nothing resembling the omnipresence of manhood, nor the sweet sensation
of sex between her legs.  And though the grinding of his hip into her
swollen, excited sex drove pleasure deep into her, the rest of him seemed to
be crushing her into dust, masking any pleasure under omnipresent male
muscle mass.

As quickly as he had begun he came off of her, John's forceful arms
separated the rutting couple, standing John-two upright, and pinning Miss
Caulder backwards on the desk, leaving her legs hanging off the edge, which
she slammed together, trying to curl up, but couldn't roll on her side for
John's mighty grip.

Desperate to stave them off she cried, "John!  John-two, it's all a
misunderstanding!  That's all it is!"

They were hardly listening, John-two was bouncing for joy, "Ha ha! I got to
kiss a girl.  Now we're even, John." He took Miss Caulder's ankle and ran
his hand up her thigh, "Hey honey, how about another."

John smacked his hand away, "You aren't gonna lose your cherry before me,
though."

"Why not, I kissed her first."

"I was the one who said she was up to something!"

"It was my shirt!"

They were now tugging at her, john-two trying to tug her off the desk, John,
literally grappling a breast, trying to slide her across towards him.

Miss Caulder was openly sobbing now, unable to control herself she was
experiencing a mixture of the sexual tension she'd been flayed with all day
and now the brutality of the two teenagers fighting over her, "Please!" she
cried over and over, "Please stop it!"

Eventually she realized that they had.  Letting the shuddering sobs subside
she found herself in a fetal position atop her desk.  A coldness settled
over her, locking out every sensation except, oddly, the titillation of the
room's ventilation across her damp labia, exposed as she was curled up with
her knees against her chest.  It felt almost good against the numb bruising
she'd just been given by John-two's frantic humping.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Caulder." John-two uttered from somewhere behind her.

A warm hand touched her gently on the shoulder, "Are you all right, Wendy?
We didn't mean to fight over you."  John was trying to calm her, and it sort
of worked.

"I'll be a textbook case for Stockholm if I have to put up with much more of
this" she thought, pulling herself upright, watching the two boys look for
all the world like kids waiting to be spanked.  She looked around for
something to cover herself with, but could see nothing.  In her brief survey
of the room, however, she realized that there was nothing preventing anyone
from walking up to the door, locked though it was, and looking in the small
window set head high in its frame.  She imagined she could see the two boys
from lunch, imagined the sensation of stroking herself, the waves of
humiliation as she scrunched up under their astonished gaze, unable or
unwilling to stop herself from driving herself to orgasmic ecstasy.

"Miss Caulder?" John-two asked, striking into her thoughts abruptly,
bringing herself back into the fact that she was sitting naked, her breasts
hanging freely, her sex stained with her own recent arousal and Mr. Gold's
residue.

"What is it John-two?" she simply couldn't fathom any of these boys'
behavior.

"Which one of us do you want?"

She let her legs fall over the edge.  Whatever humiliation she'd felt at her
nudity seemed to escape her now, as she sat utterly defeated by these two
kids, as defeated as she'd been by Mr. Gold as he fucked her over the desk.
It was only a matter of how long it would take.

"Whichever.  It doesn't matter."

But he persisted, "But who do you want?"

Then she looked up at him, "What are you talking about?"

John stepped up, "What he means is, I mean," he stepped aside so as to block
John-two from her view, "You wanna do it with me, right?"

She looked up at him, unbelievingly, then saw John-two peering around his
friend.  She shook her head.

Immediately John-two shoved John aside, "Yes!  I told you so!" and spreading
Miss Caulder's legs he pulled her right up against him with one hand,
pulling his rigid member out of his shorts with the other and jabbing it at
her."

"Stop it John-two!" she barked at him, and he froze.

She tried to sit up, but with her legs suspended in John-two's iron grasp
she could only lean on an elbow.

"I don't want to have sex with either of you!"

Though frozen, she could feel John-two, perhaps unconsciously probing around
for her opening by twisting his hips.  She reached down thinking to grab his
hand, but grabbed his shaft instead, trying not to react as John-two let out
a soft, cooing moan.

He looked at her dumbfounded, trying to both pay attention and enjoy the
feeling, "But John said."

"He was mistaken. I was mistaken." She said, more tenderly this time, trying
to ignore the fact that she was having to goalie John-two's penis away from
her vagina as he slid it over her moistened sex.  She found herself
surprised at its girth.  She'd always thought guys like John-two were so
built up so as to compensate for lack of manhood, but John-two was clearly
much bigger than Mr. Gold or any lover she'd known, and she was only
grabbing the tip, trying, and failing, to not stroke him, but moistened as
he was by her present state her hand kept slipping over the head.

John was trying to contain himself at one end of the desk, "How can you say
that, after the way you carried on!?"

She'd have rolled her eyes under more innocent circumstances, but instead
she felt John-two's penis brush against her opening, and felt it lodge there
as she struggled to push it aside, unable to budge him for the bulk of his
weight, and obvious desire not to be moved, "I can't explain it like this,
John."

Waves of pleasure and stabbing of soreness compounded in her sex as she
struggled to retain her sense of self, and not succumb to the easy road of
simply surrendering.  Through the haze of her conflict she heard John-two,

"Does that mean we're not going to fuck?" perhaps because she was struggling
to hold her head up he leaned in a little bit, pushing himself against her
sex, none too gently, and gasping she cried out, "Please, it's too big!"

But motor control had taken over John-two, and as the head of his thick
shaft pushed past then entrance to Miss Caulder's sex his shaft began
surging and his body spasmed with impending orgasm.  Both the realization
that he was actually fucking a woman and the pressure of Miss Caulder's
narrow sheath on John-two's engorged member put him well beyond anyone's
control.  Miss Caulder could only writhe with the all-consuming sensation of
being stuffed utterly, the mixture of pain and stabbings of sexual energy
while John-two began pumping franticly, burying his massive trunk,
millimeter by millimeter inside her before erupting with a huge, ghastly
groan.

For the first time in her life, Miss Caulder actually felt a man cum inside
her, felt the flooding gush of heat penetrating her as she bucked and
rocked, throwing her legs up high in a vain effort to relieve the pressure,
but instead taking more of him inside her, unconsciously letting her fill
her up with the same domination that Mr. Gold had imposed, a massive,
all-consuming presence that made her forget herself, and her failure to deny
him utter domination of her body and her spirit.  She cried out in squealing
gasps, indistinguishable from the cries of ecstasy she had bellowed out
under the scrutiny of the two boys through the window, bucking and rocking,
climbing his pole as it seared through her, grinding herself against him
that this carnal atrocity might also bring about the throes of passion she
had only just discovered in the face of exposure and utter submission.

But nothing she did, nothing she could have done, would change the fact that
John-two, with all his clumsy mauling and na�ve stumbling had owned his sex
ed teacher, in her classroom, on her desk, because she'd stripped off her
clothes for him and stood still while he laid her out, spread her legs and
drove himself into her.  Her only effort at resistance serving to ease his
chance of penetration.

Letting Mr. Gold have his way with her, use her like he did, was shameful
and embarrassing, but only to her.  No one could fault a grown man and woman
for sharing their bodies with one another.  But nothing could have prepared
her for the humiliation she felt now, with this massive cock lodged inside
her, pumping its satisfaction into her loins, this boy letting go of all his
animal instincts upon her.  How could she ever assert herself now?  She hadn
't even been bullied into this submission, but had let her fears lead her
into his clutches, and now she was his.  She was the one who had taken his
virginity, and nothing would ever change that.  He had taken her, filled her
up, stretched her beyond any limits she had known, and had her ride him,
take him deeper, felt her desperate clutches and watched as she furiously
gasped for more like she had done with no man before.  He had infused her
with a desperate need and been immersed in her unabashed expression of it: a
furious, passionate fucking, legs locked tight around his waist, hips
grinding down upon his manhood, a ferocious longing for him to possess her.
And possess her he did.  John-two, like no other man, had experienced this
woman as his willing, desperate whore, and ever more, she would live with
the impression of her utter surrender to his lust.  Ever more he would see
her as the slut who had ridden him to perdition and back, crying out with
every sense of her being for more, more, more.

But the more she clung to the hope of oblivion the further she seemed to see
it slipping away.  Every time she felt like she only needed another inch, it
would come, yet she would be further away, only aware of the stench of stale
sweat, no matter how hard she tried to force the issue.  She simply couldn't
fake it.  The moment, her chance had passed, and she was left painfully
aware of her situation.  It slowly dawned on her that he was done, in hardly
a minute he had gotten in and gotten off, and now she was left with the
aftermath: the acute awareness of what had just happened, and how she had
carried on.

And to make matters worse, she was no more protected against his seed than
she had been against Mr. Gold.  If the freak chance that had led her to this
position got her pregnant she didn't know if she'd be able to live with
herself.

Refusing to look up at the bear of a man who had just taken her she found
herself locking eyes with John, staring in astonishment, perhaps as much as
hers, at what had just happened.  But as she watched lines of anger creased
his face.  "Jealousy" she thought.  "He's the one who understood what I was
trying to tell them.  And he knows that John-two took me anyway.  He knows I
won't let him have me.  Or will I be able to refuse?"

Unable to bear that thought she looked up at John-two's blotchy face and
bloodshot eyes.  His bottom lip was glistening and a line of drool was
leaking onto her chest, tracing a line across her nipple and pooling at her
sternum.  His manhood softening, the sensation no longer overwhelmed her,
but that he was present inside her, however shallow he might be, was
something that she would never be able to erase from their relationship-no
longer teacher and student, but stud and conquest.

"Oh shit," He said with the same astonished expression on his face, "I
fucked a teacher."  He couldn't stop staring at her breasts, and
particularly, down where his thick shaft protruded from between her legs, "I
can't believe I just fucked Miss Caulder."  As if she wasn't there he turned
to John, "Dude, I just fucked a teacher." Looking down at her for another
moment he looked to his friend again, "I'm still fucking a teacher." But his
flaccid shaft combined with Miss Caulder's firm, narrow sex gave truth to
the lie, as he was slowly sliding out, like a python crawling out of a
gopher's hole after it has finished its prey off.

"John-two, get off me."

His face revealed shock, and maybe a little hurt, but he obeyed, a bit, and
straightened up, letting the head of his shaft flop out of her, and quickly
stuffing it back into his shorts.  She couldn't close her legs, as he still
hadn't moved away, but she hardly thought it would make a difference, having
him inside her or across the room, now that the damage was done, "Why,
John-two?  After I told you no?"

"I. I." But John-two could only stammer.  Finally he shook his head, "I
gotta get to detention." And unable to look at his friend or his whore he
grabbed up his backpack and tore from the room, pausing only to fumble at
the deadbolt.

Miss Caulder sat up on her desk, clutching herself with her arms.  The
soreness between her legs was only surpassed by the wetness, the dribbling
heat that lubricated her inside and out.  She could feel John's eyes upon
her, and was too scared to look at him for what his expression might be, but
also that he might take anything as a provocation to have her next.

"You were going to explain something." he said, his voice hard.  Clearly he
had no interest in allowing herself to find more comfortable circumstances.

But that was how she had tricked herself into believing that she had no
choice but to strip, or to let them fondle her while she was trapped in the
alcove with her.  The fact that they were barely able to believe their eyes
when she undressed showed her that it had all been in her mind.  Perhaps
this thick, violent ogre who intimidated her so much was really only a
figment of her imagination.  Hazarding a glance in his lust filled eyes and
hate-contorted face she wondered if that ogre was a creation born of her own
irrational behavior that she would now have to find a way to tame, or
surrender to.

"Could you." her voice choked up, "Could you give me my skirt?"

John didn't move, "You're not going to do me too?"

She shook her head, staring at the ground past her swinging breasts and
clutched them "You saw what happened.  You saw I tried to stop him--"

"Don't you dare blame this on John-two!"

"I'm not."

"You laid down for him, you took off your clothes!  I saw you put his thing
inside you!"

She couldn't help but stare at him in shock, "You know that's not true."

For the first time he looked away.

"I was so scared of you, John, I thought you. I felt so trapped."

"That's not what happened." The boy murmured.

"I could only think of what you'd do to me if I didn't play along."

John lurched over to her, grabbing her shoulders, shaking her, "I'd never
hurt you. Never!"

Miss Caulder looked into the boy's eyes (what little she could see under his
thick eyebrows and squinting lids), "I was so confused."

"You didn't want to fuck John-two?" he asked, his voice light.

She shook her head, "It was all a misunderstanding, John."

He looked at her for a long time, holding her head, staring down at her, not
realizing the growing pool of jizz she was now wallowing in, nor the
magnitude of her shame, "Don't worry Wendy.  I'll take care of it?"

She looked up at him uncomfortably aware that the bulge in his pants had
shown no sign of subsiding, "Take care of what?"

He was now squeezing, perhaps unconsciously, and Miss Caulder thought her
head would burst as he said, "If John-two ever comes near you again, I'll
kill him!" that, realizing what he was doing he let one hand fall, then
turning her head up towards his leaned down for a kiss.

She turned her head away, and slipped off the desk, barely noticing that her
entire buttocks were glistening with semen.  John made no move to stop her
"Get out of here, John?"

He stood still, watching her, seeing for the first time the red mark down
her back, the bruises on her buttock, the tangled mess of her hair and her
blotchy eyes, and running mascara, "I'm really confused, here." He said
almost sounding like a normal boy not infused with steroid driven mass.

"What does it matter, John?" she was looking for something, anything to wipe
herself with, "Get out."

"I could have taken you, you know. Wendy." He said.

She turned to look at him, but saw there was no anger in his eyes, "You can
have me any time you want, John."

But he shook his head, "But that's not what you want.  Is it?"

She turned to him, tears welling up in her eyes.  She made a futile gesture
to wipe the ruined mascara and to neaten her hair, "Just do it, John.  Just
get it over with."

In spite of the mess that she was, John still could not help but feel the
urge to respond rising in him.  Her succulent breasts, her soft, supple
lips, those plush, pliable thighs, even the poochie stomach ribbed with red
scrunch lines;  The woman who had exposed herself utterly to him:  a
dim-witted, paunchy, ape-faced jock who couldn't even score with the school
sluts who put out for booky nerds.

"I'm a virgin."

"I know you are."

"I don't want you this way."

"It's the only way you can have me."

He shook his head, feeling an unwilling smile come over him, "That's not
good enough."

Miss Caulder ran a hand over her body, the aches and pains seemed to fade
away and she found herself stroking her nipple the way she had shown the
boys before, "I can't make it any easier for you, John."

He took two steps right up to her and peeled off his shirt, "Tell me you
want me."

He could hardly hear the words as she uttered, "I want you."

"More."

"I want you." she murmured again, then, louder, "I want you to fuck me
 John."

Her face barely came up to his massive chest, but she was struck by the
similarity of his swollen stomach to Mr. Gold's, without the burnished skin
and time-worn wrinkles.  His sinews strained against his bulk, and she saw
herself buried under them.  She let go of her breast, and put her hands on
his pecs, leaning in and smashing her chest into his belly.  She kissed his
nipple gently, and though the skin barely stretched under her lips she
suckled on him like a baby, running her hands down his sides, pushing them
into his shorts, fondling his backside, admiring the rigid flanks as she
ground her hips against his thigh.

"Fuck me, John.  Fuck me, please." Every essence within her cried out for
the submission she had found underneath Mr. Gold's massive frame.  Her cunt
ached with the need for the all-consuming suppression of all she was.  This
was the only answer.  To surrender utterly.  Nothing would matter after
that.  If she fought it she would live forever with the soul-burning
knowledge of her failure.  Surrender and she could live out her days in meek
submission to the men who would use her.

She found his shaft.  Nothing like the massive girth of his friend, John was
actually rather modest.  A thought that pleased her in no little measure as
she thought of her abused cunt. "I want you inside me." She began stroking
him.

"Wendy."

"Take me, John.  I'm yours."

She was grinding her sex against his thigh with increasing vigor, trying to
build up enough passion to block out any feeling she had ever had.  His
shorts fell to his ankles and she clasped his shaft to her belly, stroking
it with her vigorous pumping.

But still he failed to respond.  He stood, paralyzed, transfixed by what had
happened to his teacher.  Utterly unable to respond to her fevered demands.
Unable to shake the awareness of what she was really asking for.

And like a sudden scream in the night, she stopped.  An emotional contact, a
bond forged for an instant and she saw herself through her eyes and realized
what she was doing.  What she was asking for.  Why she was so desperate for
it.

She let him go like a spark, shuffling backwards.

"Miss Caulder, I."

She shook her head, silencing him.

"Thank you, John. I don't know."

But John held up a hand, "You don't have to tell me. Miss Caulder."

Miss Caulder stepped behind her desk and pulled a roll of paper towels from
a drawer, one arm covering her nudity, but John was already looking the
other way.

She wiped herself off, and pulled the slinky top on.  It was definitely too
small, and as she pulled on her skirt she realized that a sudden move could
send her chest flying from the top, which felt like it barely covered the
span of her nipples, and let the bottoms of her breasts peek out underneath.

She opened a cabinet, and began wiping off her make-up using the mirror that
she kept there, combing her fingers through her hair, trying to feel normal.
She saw John watching her again, but his eyes were resolutely on her face in
the reflection.  "I know this was my fault, John."

He shook his head, "It wasn't. I mean, the circumstances."

But she shook hers back, "No, John.  I was weak.  John-two was weak.  You
were strong.  You did the right thing."

She turned to face him, "Oh John, I didn't mean to sound patronizing."

He looked sheepishly at the ground, "I don't know what that means."

She smiled, surprising herself; "I'm just saying I shouldn't treat you like
a kid."

"Thanks, Miss Caulder."

She closed the cabinet, and crossed to her desk, putting her belongings in
her purse, barely noticing the way her breasts jogged around in the
confining tube top, and threatened to slip out the bottom at any minute.
She smiled up at him, again surprised to find that the smile was genuine,
"What's your last name, John?"

He looked confused, "Uhh. Keller."

He was surprised to find that without any make-up, her smile was even more
succulent, with thick, plush lips, perfectly shaped.  Against his will he
found himself imagining them sliding over his cock as she said, "Call me
Wendy, Mr. Keller."

She hoisted her purse to her shoulder and crossed the room to the door.

"Miss Caulder-Wendy?"

She turned to him, "Yes Mr. Keller."

"I never been with a girl."

She nodded, still smiling, "You told me that.  It's okay."

He shook his head, "No, I mean. I never even kissed a girl."

She raised her eyebrows, "But you."

Still shaking his head he said, "I told John-two I did, cause he never did
either, and I lie to all the guys, but. I mean."  He couldn't look her in
the eye, "I just wanted you to know."

She took a step towards him, "That's not right.  A handsome man like you."
And she reached her free arm around his neck, and pulling herself up, him
leaning down, she kissed him, slowly at first, then with more vigor, licking
his lips and letting hers slide over his mouth, his chin, his neck, and
finally a long, slow, passionate draw on the lips again.  Letting him go
only after she was sure he was in no doubt that he had just been given the
best kiss of his life.

"Walk me to my car, Mr. Keller."

He smiled, a feeling of pride unlike any he had known in all his days.  He
put an arm over her shoulder, "Sure, Wendy."





Walking out the door arm in arm with John, Miss Caulder tried to let herself
ignore the ooze from two men between her legs, her absolute submission her
erotic urges in front of the two freshmen, the rapture she'd found wrapped
around Mr. Gold's belly, and the sensation John-two had left inside her that
told her no matter how much time passed she would always feel his girth
pressing at her insides and filling her up with his seed.  But the warm
comfort she had discovered in this strange relationship with John only
served to absolve her of mistakes she had made in letting the men use her so
wantonly.  She could not ignore the truth she had discovered, that the utter
submission she had experienced had driven her to beg for more from John, and
regret his refusal; That in doing so he had left her unable to avoid
imagining the two men ravaging her again and again.  How could she possibly
confront Mr. Gold again, knowing that as much as she loathed him she could
not stop thinking about fucking the man.  How could she face herself again
knowing that the next time she saw John-two she would be able to think of
nothing but his massive, penetrating girth filling her up again and the
oblivion she had so desperately sought and lost.

John let go of her at the first sign of another person, a couple students
passing down the hall.  A poignant reminder that thought they now shared
something significant, the stigma of a known relationship between them was
enough to overcome John's lust for his teacher.  Not that Miss Caulder was
any more willing to let on that she had succumbed to his masculine
domination in such a self-serving, debasing way, but she couldn't help but
resent his preference for his reputation over the truth of things.

The school being mostly empty, few students got to see her crossing campus
in her chest clutching tube top.  Her whole outfit, in fact, conspired to
paint a vivid portrait of her nude body, with her skirt clinging to the
contours of her hips and ass, and the top clutching her breasts, forcing
them out the underside, exposing her from the smooth, hanging curve of her
breasts to the subtle crease below her belly, reddened from the
ministrations of John-two and Mr. Gold as they bent her in two to satisfy
their lusts.

Nevertheless, a number of boys stopped dead in their tracks.  Girl students
let their mouths fall open at this wanton behavior by their slut a teacher,
mostly perhaps in envy at the developed breasts, the shapely curves, and the
apparent immodesty that they didn't contain.

Mr. Sharpe, a gangly math teacher with a long nose and greasy, thinning hair
was arrested at the sight of her walking out of the main building, "Miss
Cauler?"

"Hello Mr. Sharpe." She said, forcing an air of casual dignity.  She felt
John bristle at her side.

"Uhh. Going out tonight?"

She shook her head, aware of this skinny wreck of a man pouring his eyes
over her buxom curves, "No, just going home."

"ahh, well," he glanced at the massive boy at her shoulder, hesitating to
make eye contact with the giant, "Well, Miss Caulder you're looking lovely
today, I just.  wanted to say goodbye."

And in his shambling, duck-footed gait he moved away, but only far enough
for the couple to pass, so he could gaze after her, admiring the clutching
skirt with illustrated the curves of her ass.  If only he knew, Miss Caulder
thought, that the boy at her side had been fondling and groping them all
day.

But then, he had failed to act when she was the most vulnerable.  She had a
hard time painting John, who had respected her dignity in refusing to take
her against her conscious will, while she was desperate for escape, in a
different light as the distorted waste of a teacher who so unashamedly
lusted after her.  Glancing back over her shoulder, stopping, pretending to
glance in her purse she wondered if Mr. Sharpe was endowed with the same
kind of mind-enveloping manhood that John-two had invoked to steal her soul.

She shook her head.  She was growing obsessed.

Yet she reached down to adjust a strap on her shoe, bending over in what she
full well knew to be a glaring act of sluttish teasing, allowing Mr. Sharpe
to watch the skirt slip a few inches as it stretched over her backside, and
in her new top, he could see under it the contours of her peculiarly bound
bosom.

Stiffening, she asked John, "Have you ever heard of Stockholm syndrome?"

He shook his head.

"We covered it in the first semester." She started walking again, "It
involves a victim." she glanced at him, meeting his eyes, "of a kidnapping,
or a hostage, falling in love with her attackers."

"Why would she do that?"

Miss Caulder knew the answer, but she couldn't seem to articulate it in her
head.  Instead she nodded, continuing as if he hadn't said anything, "One
symptom is an obsession with her tormentor, now her lover.  A man who
kidnapped her she'd never leave.  A man who'd raped her she'd do anything
for."

"I dunno. Wendy.  That sounds sort of cool, though."

Cool?  Still she hadn't expected understanding from a seventeen year of
jock.

In fact.  The only thing she did expect was that he would take her at any
given moment.  That he had so far failed to was something with left her
uneasy, on edge.  Looking for the next way he might hurt her.  But in the
classroom things had been so comfortable, so reassuring, like she had gotten
over everything.

Now she was fantasizing about slipping off with Mr. Sharpe who would
doubtlessly fuck her like a mindless rabbit, avoiding stupid games,
unconcerned with things like John's ridiculous pride.

"John!  Wendy!"

It was Mr. Gold, crossing the open quad outside of the main building to them
in the gym shorts and T-shirt he always wore, exaggerating his chest and
belly, making him look like a Volkswagen on stilts in the sunlight.

The couple stopped, not far from where Mr. Sharpe still peered on as Mr.
Gold approached, "So how was your first day of Psyche, John?"

"Great coach!" perhaps unconsciously he put his arm around Miss Caulder,
then abruptly shook it off, as if he'd just been stretching, but Mr. Gold
seemed oblivious,

"Did you guys talk about tutoring?"

"What?" Miss Caulder blurted, eyeing the coach, her lover, suspiciously.

"Well, if the boys don't pass your class they don't graduate."

John was smiling proudly, "Miss Caulder's going to give us private lessons
after school."

"Really?" he eyed his linebacker suspiciously, then let his eye wander over
Miss Caulder's scantily covered breasts, "I don't suppose this has anything
to do with this slinky little getup that Wendy's wearing today?"

Miss Caulder felt like the wind had been kicked out of her, "Mr. Gold!"

But Mr. Gold grabbed her at the waist and gave her a little squeeze, "Don't
mind me, Wendy, I'm just teasing the boy." He looked up at his student,
pulling Miss Caulder next to him and behind their backs he let his hand fall
to Miss Caulder's rounded buttocks, giving a firm squeeze, his large hands
grappling half her cheek, and pulling her skirt down another couple inches.
Miss Caulder was certain that she was showing cleft above the waistline, and
nervously aware that Mr. Sharpe could see the entire incident, as well as
her complacence.  She might have objected, but she couldn't bear the thought
of sparking an incident in front of John that might let on the fact that he'
d had her that afternoon before class.  He jabbed John with his free hand,
"Not that I blame the boy.  I'd sign up for a years worth of detentions if I
knew you were going to be leaning over my desk, checking up on me," with
that he leered at her openly, and to Miss Caulder's shock, lifted the hand
that was groping her and reaching around from behind gave her breast a
little squeeze.

"Mr. Gold!" she gasped, squirming, but held tight in his grasp.  Completely

unsure of herself she couldn't decide whether to push his hand away or
pretend to ignore it, so she did nothing but smile weakly at John, who shook
his head at his coach,

"No Mr. Gold, John-two and I are serious.  I don't want to have to repeat a
year."

"Great," Mr. Gold intoned, his hand visibly squeezing the breast, "Just don'
t let these guys go to your head."

Her nipples were now hard again, and she felt the sheen of perspiration
bubbling up on her chest.  She craved to push his fondling hand away, and to
hike up her skirt, which was hovering dangerously at her pubic line, but
could only force herself to smile with politeness and pleading at the men,

"I assure you, Mr. Gold, that I don't dress like this every day."

At that Mr. Gold held her out at arms length, as if appraising her, where
both men could continue their unabashed lechery.  She couldn't believe that
a teacher was doing this in public, much less encouraging his student to go
along.

"Maybe you ought to, Wendy." He grinned at John, "I mean, if it encourages
my boys to study and get into a good college, who am I to tell you to dress
like a respectable woman? Right John."

John seemed just as embarrassed by Mr. Gold's behavior, and just nodded.

"Though," Mr. Gold went on, sticking a finger to Miss Caulder's horror in
her waistband where she saw her pubic hair sprouting over the edge, "You
really ought to shave this if you're going to wear your skirt this low," and
he pulled the elastic waistband, exposing the matted, trimmed pubic bush for
anyone passing by to see, "Do you usually go without underwear, Wendy?" he
asked as if he hadn't already known she was unclad from that afternoon.

She looked at John, who shook his head not really knowing why.  Turning to
Mr. Gold, enduring his mock probing, "Not really." She lied.

"Well," he let the waistband snap back into place, inches below where it had
been.  The lightest of tugs could have exposed her, and as it were her
unshaved bush and lack of underwear were left plainly visible to the two men
next to her and the leering teacher skulking in the doorways to the main
building. He slapped John on the shoulder, "What do you think of that,
 John?"

John just shrugged innocently, as if he had no opinion on the matter, and
the three stood silent for a while.  Mr. Gold broke the silence, "You going
home, John?"

"Yeah, coach."

"Well, see you tomorrow, then."

John looked at Miss Caulder, then his coach, but didn't make any effort to
fight the dismissal, "See you in class Miss Caulder."

But as he turned to leave his coach corrected, "You mean, after class."

John forced a laugh and walked away.

Miss Caulder punched the man hard in the chest, "What the Hell are you
thinking!?"

Mr. Gold's joviality faded and he jabbed his whore in the chest, "Just
letting that boy know who's boss.  What the Hell are you thinking wearing
that slinky thing in your class?"

"I told you."

"Those boys are only thinking of one thing, you know."

She peered at the coach, thinking that if only he had seen her riding
John-two's pole on her desk just a few minutes ago.

"I hope you realize that you're going to have to dress this way all the
time, now?"

She shook her head at Mr. Gold.

"I mean, what kind of a teacher doesn't wear underwear?" he was still
ranting, "What kind of teacher shows that off to her whole class?"

"Mr. Gold, I swear I'll wear something decent tomorrow."

"What?" he interrupted her, "and let those boys fail?"

"What are you telling me, Mr. Gold" she cried out desperately trying to make
sense of the man's anger.

"That those boys are taking your class for one reason:  because they like to
look at you.  And now that they've seen you half-naked they're going to
expect it."

She shook her head, stepping back, "I told you, I spilled coffee."

"You should have kept the T-shirt.  You think those boys are going to keep
coming back to watch you in a jacket or something after they've seen your
tits hanging out?"

"That's not my problem." She set her fists on her hips, and as an
afterthought hiked her skirt up.

"You promised those boys after school lessons in that outfit.  You made the
promise that if they came in and worked hard after school they'd be able to
feast their horny, unfucked eyes on you, and all they have to do is study a
bit.  Now you're going to let them fail-"

"That doesn't make any sense-"

"You don't understand boys, Wendy!"  He walked up to her, towering over her
and dominating her, "To them you're just a piece of meat now.  Chattel, a
whore.  If you'd kept your clothes on you might have been able to bear some
influence as an adult, but now the only way you're going to get them to
learn is to keep their dicks hard in their pants."

"No." she whimpered under his overbearing personality.

"The only chance of getting the boys to pass your class is to keep them
interested, and the only thing they're interested in is fucking you!"

"I know that."

"Good!" she barked, then, stepping away he paced back and forth for a few
moments.

He wheeled on her again, "Obviously you can't dress this way all day, you'll
make parents mad, and probably get fired.  We can't have that."

"No." she said meekly, submitting to his judgment.

"But you'll have to bring a change of clothes.  The sluttier the better.
Keep them thinking that at any minute you'll burst out of your clothes."

"I can't do that, Mr. Gold."

He growled, in a low voice, "You can, and you will.  If those boys fail
senior year I'll hold you personally responsible, understand."

She looked up at him, cowering under the determination and anger in his
eyes, "Yes, Mr. Gold."

Suddenly he smiled, putting out a hand and rubbing her shoulder, oddly
reminiscent of the way John liked to reassure her, "That's better.  I hope
this won't impinge on our little arrangement."

Confused for a moment she realized he was talking about their lunchtime
tryst, "I don't know, I thought we were just-"

"Come now, Wendy.  You can't tell me you didn't enjoy yourself."

She shook her head, "I just, I mean, you were so."

"You don't have to play the modest girl with me, Wendy.  Not after I've seen
you walking around dressed like this.  Not after the way you carried on in
the classroom."

She looked up at him in horror.  How did he know?

"I could hear you across the grass after I left, screaming and shouting."

She let out a breath, realizing he was talking about the time in the temp
classroom.

"I've been with quite a few ladies, but I've never heard anyone lose control
like that."

She shook her head.

"And the way you took me in the classroom, that was something special too.
I had to work on Mrs. Richmond for two years before she let me have her, but
you took hardly any persuasion at all."

She frowned up at him, resenting the implication.

"Now, now, Wendy.  None of that.  There's no reason to be ashamed.  I'm just
as bad as you when it comes to pretty women.  I mean, I've never exposed
myself like this in front of a student, before." he put a hand on her
shoulder, "But there's no reason to be ashamed of being a slut."

"Mr. Gold!"

"What, I'm just speaking the truth.  Call it whatever you like.  Just so
long as you're down in the temp class tomorrow, like we discussed."

She hesitated just long enough for him to take it as acceptance.

"Good.  You can bring your slut outfit and change into it while we're there.
Don't forget that those boys are depending on you."

"No." she said, though she didn't know if she was denying him, or promising
not to forget.  It was clear how Mr. Gold took it.

"That's my girl." And glancing around he gestured with a shake of his head
at a cluster of bushes that grew alongside the main building, "Why don't we
slip over here, for a minute?"



In spite of her desire to stand up and resist the man, Miss Caulder allowed
him to lead her into the bushes, and reacquainted with the older man's
stamina she thought longingly of John-two's immature prematurity, as she
took the coach's shaft into her mouth, kneeling on the mulching of redwood
bark, giving him head while he clutched her by the neck, forcing her to
learn the hard way how to work a man who required long, forceful thrusts to
enjoy himself as she impaled her mouth on his modest shaft.

After several, long minutes, the coach seemed to grow restless, or bored,
and he held her at arms length while he stroked himself, finally coming, in
long, runny streaks that pelted her on the forehead and the mouth before he
managed to pull her close enough and drive his surging rod into her mouth,
where she swallowed the rest of his load and he groaned.

"Well, Wendy, for a slut you sure don't know how to give head."

She shook her head, refusing to respond, trying to wipe the semen off her
face, but with only her hands she only spread it around.

"You know, you ought to tutor some of my Juniors."

"What?" she looked up at him, her cum-smeared face forgotten for the moment.

"If you're any good with math.  You might be the best thing for the team
since they made the cheerleaders wear leotards instead of shorts."

"I'm not a math teacher."

"Who cares, you're a college graduate, they just need the basics." Wiping
the head of his penis on his T-shirt he replaced it in his shorts, "Besides,
they just need some good motivation to study."

Miss Caulder climbed to her feet, aware of the cum that was now all over her
face and hands, as well as running down her thighs and squelching between
her legs, "I'm already doing John and John-two."

But looking at his watch, Mr. Gold was already climbing out from behind the
bushes, "We'll talk more about this tomorrow over lunch.  In the meantime
you should brush up on your math." And with that he was gone, and she was
left alone, in the bushes, on school campus, with cum on her face, in a
slinky outfit devoid of bra or panties, and she still had to cross campus to
get to her car.





She didn't know how she fell asleep, but the dry, crackled feeling on her
face, and the brightness of the light let her know she had spent the day in
the bushes.  It was well into night, though the sun set early at this time
of year, so it could be as early as seven o'clock.

She had huddled in the bushes after Mr. Gold left her, waiting for her
courage to rise, but only to be greeted every time she thought to venture
out with a peal of laughter, or the clack of heels on concrete from someone
passing by.  She must have been more drained from the day's exertions than
she'd realized, because at one point she laid down, shivering with the
growing cold autumn air, and clearly, passed out.

What startled her most was that she hadn't just come to, she'd been woken up
by someone climbing through the bushes.  She could hear the cast of piss on
the mulch from a boy who she realized was standing right next to where she
was laying in the shadow cast by the bright floodlights as he peed on the
wall.  She lay frozen until he had finished, and climbed back out, and could
hear the voices of two boys talking, and smell cigarette smoke.

Resolved not to wait any longer she stood up as quietly as she could, and
took a hesitant step so she could see the walkway that led across the quad
to the parking lot.  She noted, with a bit of irritation, that in spite of
the dried cum on her face, the squelching between her legs had been replaced
by a slick goo that seemed to cover her inner thighs.

She also saw two boys, rocker-types, she guessed, though she didn't know
what rebel kids called themselves these days.  Sitting in their jeans and
band shirts, one had a tattered, oversized leather jacket on, the other a
shabby trenchcoat with safety pins and cheap spikes stuck erratically to the
collars.  Both had slightly long hair.  Both were uncompromisingly skinny,
graceless, and one was still struggling with adolescent acne.  Basically,
her old crowd from high-school.  Social rejects that didn't exactly have the
brains to fill out the nerd company, or the social skills to become a
clique.  She just hoped that these guys were as nice as the ones she'd hung
around with, as opposed to the antisocial types who had gotten her drunk and
taken her virginity when she was in her experimentation phase so many years
ago.

A thought unbidden, she could still remember the feeling of the cold asphalt
underneath her while the two guys took her in a parking lot, behind a local
grocery store, while she, unable to resist, or even articulate a proper
sentence, let them have their way with her.

She never imagined that she would find herself throwing herself into
situations like that, as she had earlier today, but then she hadn't imagined
that either.  Life was full of little surprises.

The boys were surprised to hear the sound of heels on the concrete behind
them, but even more surprised to see one of the school teachers (they had
never had her, so didn't know what she taught) staggering towards them
wearing what appeared to be a crap of cloth over her chest and a paper thin,
skin tight wrap skirt.  Under the glaring vapor light, placed so as to cast
as much light as possible, she could hide nothing from their young eyes, the
curves of her thighs, the arches of her breasts pushing out from underneath
the tube-top, nor the fact that her nipples, hardened by the cold, were
jutting out through the elastic fabric that was stretched to its limits.

Both of them scrambled to a sort of attention, and two cigarettes zipped out
of sight.  Whatever the circumstances, she was still a teacher, and they
were minors, trespassing on school ground after dark.

But she was so drained she just waved a hand at them.  After a couple steps
she felt the blood rushing to her head, and realized that if she tried to
cross the quad she might not make it.  She hadn't eaten anything all day,
and the long day had taken its toll on her.

"You guys go to school here?"

One nodded, the other shook his head.  Then the one who nodded shook his
head, while the other nodded.

She couldn't help but smile at the ridiculous behavior, and no longer
surprised at her reactions to the days circumstances she decided she had
nothing to lose.  She walked over to the edge of the walkway, which was the
top of a low rolling, grassy hill that went down to the quad, and said, "Got
another one of those?"

Both boys froze, then the one with the acne in the trenchcoat held up his
hand, most of a full cigarette burning there, "You can have this one. Mrs.
Caulder."

She looked at the boy, and taking the cigarette said, "Don't call me that."

"Sorry." He uttered, and they remained standing as she sat down heavily in
the soft, slightly damp grass.

"Thanks." She said taking a drag of the cigarette, resisting the urge to
cough with the unfamiliar smoke.  Enjoying the buzzing sensation the first
cigarette she'd had in year made in her head.  "I'm not a Mrs., I'm a miss.
I don't even have a boyfriend." And she started trying to scratch Mr. Gold's
dried cum off her chin.

The boy in the leather accepted her behavior with surprising ease and
gratuitously inhaled a drag off his cigarette, and sat down a couple feet
down from Miss Caulder.

The trenchcoat boy did the same, pulling out another cigarette from, of all
things, a pewter cigarette case, "Are you working late, Miss Caulder."

Miss Caulder sighed.  "Just call me Wendy.  What's your name."

"Eliot.  And that's James." He said indicating the boy in the trenchcoat.

James was peering past his friend at the teacher, "No offense. Wendy, but
you're a mess."

She nodded, pleased she had finally stumbled across a man who spoke
straight, "It's been a long, fucking day, James."

Both boys seemed tickled at her use of swear words, and they idly chatted
about how quiet the school was, about how they came up here a lot at night,
after their parents crashed.  Sometimes they even brought beers.  They were
really polite, but had no trouble grasping the idea that she didn't want to
be treated like a teacher, and at one point, Miss Caulder thanked them for
that, accepting her second cigarette from Eliot.

"Hell, I don't like being treated like a kid." He grinned back at her, "Of
course, if you weren't a teacher, I'd probably be trying to score on you
right now."

Miss Caulder found herself the only one laughing as both boys froze with the
fear that Eliot had gone too far.  She looked at the pair, "Oh for Christ's
sake.  I'm a sex ed teacher.  You think I've never had sex?"

But most adults, and especially kids, had trouble talking about sex in mixed
company, so she didn't expect much beyond their unconvincing attempts to
relax.

Miss Caulder realized she had been scratching her chin sore, "Shit, I need
to clean myself up."  She didn't know how late it was, but she didn't relish
the idea of a drive home in her condition, much less when she remembered
that she had to get gas as her car was on empty, and the security guards who
patrolled her apartment complex were leering bastards on a normal day.  She
looked at the boys, "Any ideas?"

James pointed his finger down the hill to where vending machines were lit up
in front of the cafeteria.  The school's drinking fountains were all
indoors, due to vandalism, and were thus all locked up for the night, James
explained, "We could get some bottled water from the machines."

Miss Caulder hefted her purse, but knew she kept her change in her car for
the meters, "Got any chage?"

The boys shook her head, but Eliot smile, "We don't really need it."  Miss
Caulder smiled back at him.

"Lead the way."

The five finger discount had involved the boys unplugging the bottled water
machine, then sticking a hand up the dispenser while the other plugged it
back in.  By shaking the machine violently at this point, one of them could
grab a bottle of water and guide it down the shaft.  Eliot produced four
bottles, two for Miss Caulder and one for him and James each, while James
pried the sliding doors of the sandwich vendor open and using a pair of
pencils as chopsticks fished out the napkin-utensil bag that came with each
sandwich.  Imploring him to get more than the two he had produced, she didn'
t stop the boy until he had fished every last one out of the machine, as
well as a pair of slightly mangled submarine sandwiches.

Finally, armed with the water and the pile of napkins she faced both boys,
"How old are you guys?"

"Fifteen" James said.

Eliot looked at his feet, "Sixteen."

She regarded them both.  In spite of the frequent glances over her partially
clad body, neither had made any move that could be regarded as disrespectful
or improper.

"I need to be straight with you.  I need to clean a lot more than my face,
and I think you can guess what's on my face."

The boys looked at each other, not wanting to look her in the eye, but it
was clear that they were pretty sure they recognized what they had woken up
to themselves many times in the past on their bedsheets.

Eliot mumbled, "That's why you don't want us to treat you like a teacher."

"Yeah," Miss Caulder sighed.  "You know, this is something friends might
understand, but I'm supposed to be some sexless drone, or something."

James shook his head, "I'll never tell anyone, Wendy."

"Thank you James."

"Me neither" Eliot chimed in.

"And thank you, Eliot, for not trying to score with me."

The boys laughed this time.

"You want us to keep a watch out?" James asked.

She realized that James, in spite of his seeming respectable behavior was
cultivating the perfect excuse to not have to wander far while she performed
her ablutions. , and couldn't help but grin.  Looking around she realized
that the vending machines were well shielded from a view across the quad,
and mostly from any late-night janitor who might be working in the main
building or the cafeteria.  It also wasn't as well lit as the walkway,
though the vending machines cast a lot of light.

Eliot jumped on the idea, "We'll go out where we can cover the entire quad,
and we won't look."

"That's not necessary." Miss Caulder laughed at the boy's earnestness.

He gave her a confused look, his eyes sweeping over her body.

She quickly covered, "I mean, if you just keep an eye out." She made a leap
of faith, knowing it was stupid, but did it nonetheless, "I trust you."

She had deliberately avoided telling them not to look, knowing that it would
be like telling a starving man not to eat.  It just seemed a better
situation, to implicitly endorse and peeking they might do, while accepting
their own description of themselves as noble enough not to.  That way they
might get to see her, but neither feel they were betraying her trust, and
shattering the bond that made her feel so safe at the moment, but not
asserting the teacher-student relationship that she didn't think she could
bear at the moment.

Whatever, it was a silly rationalization.  She just didn't feel like being
alone, and if that meant they got to watch her bathe, she could live with
that.

The two boys nodded their heads, and with them still watching Miss Caulder
unhooked the strap holding the tube top up and pushed it down to her waist.
In spite of their bulging eyes and evident interest, Eliot first, then James
spun around, moving their heads as if they were scouting the ground for any
sign of intrusion, but their eyes were firmly riveted to their periphery,
trying to move in such a way as would afford them a glance at their
succulent teacher in the half-light of the vending machines.  Not as bold,
or as arrogant as the jocks, or Mr. Gold, the boys contented themselves with
sidelong glances, always brief, as if by accident.

Pushing the skirt and the top over her hips, Miss Caulder was shocked at the
sight of her glistening thighs.  The copious amounts of sperm left behind by
Mr. Gold and John-two made her wonder that they'd come in the past ten
years.  She wasted no time wiping her thighs down, tearing open the platic
napikin baggies and scrubbing until one was drenched, then moving on to the
next.  A lot of it had dried, but her heat had kept most of it moist, and
upending a bottle of cold water over her crotch she gasped with the effort
to wipe their traces away.

Eliot had hazarded a glance at her, "Are you okay, Mrs. Calder?"

She looked straight at him, her knees bent to the sides, one hand pulling
her crotch forward while the other poured water over it.  He quickly snapped
his head back.  James stole a quick peek too.

"Who's Mrs. Caulder?" she spat at him.

"Sorry, Wendy."

Rubbing in the chilled water and pouring more over her she shook her head,
"It's okay, Eliot, it's just fucking cold, that's all."

For the rest of her bath the boys barely sought to steal a glimpse, perhaps
disturbed by the sight of her scrubbing out her cunt.  Both boys remained
vigilant, and didn't try to peek until a loud ripping sound had pierced the
night.

"Shit." Miss Caulder uttered.

Trying their best not to look, Eliot asked, "What happened."

"Eliot?"

He still hadn't turned around, "Yeah, Wendy?"

He heard bare feet slapping against the concrete behind him.  Turning around
he was greeted with the sight of the beautiful teacher, no longer a
cum-crudded mess, , but hair combed and face cleaned, a smooth skinned,
shapely succubus swaying towards him in the night, wearing her skin-tight
skirt, but topless, her arms crossed over her beautiful nudity.  "I have a
problem."

As James turned around they saw in one hand too small to cover the swollen
breast behind it, the tattered remnant of her tube top, dangling like a
castoff rage from her fingertips.

Eliot wasted no time, and stripped off his trenchcoat and threw it over Miss
Caulder's shoulders, buttoning the top two buttons.  She felt his body heat,
trapped by the insulating fabric embrace her, and like a drug, euphoria
washed over her and she leaned into the boy, letting his arms take her
weight and hold her tight.

"What happened to you?"

James was still standing apart, his hands stuffed in his pockets, "Did
someone hurt you, Wendy?"

She started to nod, but found herself shaking her head.  "I don't know how
to describe it, James. Eliot.." But describe it she did.  The tale of how
the two John's had cornered her and gotten her naked, how Mr. Gold had
convinced her to "give him a chance" (a concept the boys seemed to have
trouble with, that a man and woman would fuck so casually as to try each
other out).  She detailed how emotionally raw she had become, how in spite
of the fact that she had not wanted Mr. Gold at all she had let him use her
and ditch her when he was done with her.

Omitting only the embarrassment before the peeping-tom boys in the temp
class, and glossing over any suggestion that she had found a form of escape
and solace between his legs , and certainly the violent orgasm she'd
experienced, she only told them of her troubled trek through psyche, half
dressed, and then she told them how she had thought the John's were
intimidating her into stripping for them, how they ad been put off by her
behavior, but at her frightened compliance how John-two had had her anyway
(again, not admitting that she had thrown herself vigorously onto his pole
to seek the great escape Mr. Gold had shown her, and also how she had tried
to have John fuck her to make up for John-two's failure).

She went on to describe her humiliation after school with Mr. Gold demeaning
her before his linebacker, and how he had led her into the bushes to service
him one last time before he went home to his wife, and left her there
without so much as a hanky to wipe off with.

She poured her heart out to them, only holding back the gnawing feelings
that seemed to carve out a burrow deep within her.  The burrow that needed a
great, forceful intrusion, or a vast presence to fill up, that without she
would never feel whole.

"You ever been with a woman, Eliot?" she asked the scrawny geek shivering in
his T-shirt.  She felt him shake his head.

But tight as she clung to him, it only served to remind her how much he was
lacking.  His bony shoulders and scrawny chest seemed to jab into her, like
leaning against a pole.  There was no strength in his arms that held her so
tenderly.  The warmth and affection that washed over her seemed a shallow
substitute for being utterly consumed.  She thought of Mr. Gold's bold,
tight-packed belly, the repulsive brick sheathed in sagging skin that,
nevertheless, took her to such faraway places.  In Eliot's arms she could
only be herself.  She could imagine him gently caressing her skin, and
lightly kissing her arms and neck, but felt nothing at the thought, and when
she tried to put him between her legs vision of John-two and his massive
member flooded her thoughts.

What had they done to her, those muscle bound oafs, too dense to put a
thought together for anything but sexual conquest, to leave her irritated
and distracted in the face of genuine affection?   What kind of future could
she have if no man could ever satisfy her again who wasn't crushing the life
out of her?

The most astonishing thought of all was the thought that had led her to this
downward spiral of self-pity:  that she'd give herself to these boys for
being so nice!  This morning the act of sex with a younger man was hardly
something she'd have ever contemplated, but with a student?  She had gone
from having a very normal, if erratic, sex life to considering it to be
something of an obligation she let go of for any man who saw her weak and
helpless.  Even surrendering herself to John-two's forced intrusion,
allowing Mr. Gold to pick her up as this semesters fuck-slut, to be used at
his convenience, his whore, rather than a partner in pleasure wasn't as bad
as the realization that in one, very long day she'd gone from using sex only
to satisfy her own needs to satiate loneliness or sexual desire, it suddenly
seemed second nature, in fact obvious, that she should give herself to these
boys to use as they wanted for their polite ministrations to her evident
suffering.

Perhaps it was more than that, however.  Perhaps, she felt the need to sever
this bond of intimacy.  To peel back the heart on her sleeve and restore
their relationship to one devoid of true feeling, but instead to replace it
with one of mindless lust.  Certainly these boys would find it much harder
to so stoically turn their back on her nudity after they had ridden her like
the whore the John's and Mr. Gold knew her to be.

Whatever the truth of the matter, she found that she was stroking Eliot's
rigid cock through his pants.  How long she had been doing it she didn't
know, as her mind had wandered far from the warm place in his arms.

Knowing she'd hate it.  Knowing she'd gain no satisfaction from it, she had
already set in motion events that would deprive her of the last vestiges of
trust and intimacy she might ever share with these boys.

Already she saw the look in Eliot's eyes, and James as he discerned the
motion.  The curious arch of the eyebrow that revealed the doubt in their
eyes as to the truth of the charges she had just made.  A woman looking for
pity is bound to say a great many things.  They had seen the cum on her
face, had watched her swab it from her thighs, but they had no reason to
believe the forms of coercion she described having led her to such a
debilitating state, and the evidence of her willing exposure before them,
her insistence on personalizing the relationship, and the motion of her
hand, left the boys wondering what she was really looking for?  Had she
tried to buy it with sex before and failed, after giving up too much?  How
much would she give up for them?

The change in Eliot's thought process was evident in that he pulled the
trenchcoat aside, both to give her better access to his groin, and to see
her better.  The shift in his demeanor was unsettling to Miss Caulder,
having gone from sensitive and caring to cynical and, most definitely
lusting.  She had transformed in his arms from friend in need to bitch in
heat, and he seemed to have no problem accommodating the transition.

However, shifting from the position of equal but younger, behaving on her
terms, the gangly, pimple-faced dork in the speed metal T-shirt wasn't going
to let her off too easy.  To Eliot sex, certainly was sex, but any nerd
could fuck a slut like Miss Caulder.  It was only his virginity and his male
desire to prove himself a man that kept him from tearing off his trenchcoat
and kicking her off campus for fucking up what had been a pretty cool night.

That and the fact that she was, very beautiful, if in an older, sort of soft
and flabby way.  He only had to glance at James to understand that the same
thought process was going through his head.  James particularly didn't
relish the idea of using the football coach's castoff, but she did look soft
and warm, and those breasts were definitely inviting.  He'd go home tonight
knowing he was a man, and he'd put up with a lot of shit for that, and had
in the past only to go home blue-balled.

Eliot pushed her away, holding her at arms length, and letting go.  "Let me
have my coat back."

Miss Caulder, expecting this nevertheless let out a regretful sigh as she
unbuttoned the trenchcoat and once again stood before the pair of them,
topless.  Eliot took the coat, but instantly forgot it, letting it fall to
the ground between them, his inexperience getting the better of him.  The
heat and the warmth fading away, Miss Caulder clutched herself,
inadvertently squeezing each boob in a fist, trying to rub heat into her
breasts.

But seeing the look of lust and determination on the boys she dropped her
hands and abruptly pushed down her skirt.  She was committed, and she was
going to do this.  She wasn't, however, going to lie there meekly and let
them come and use her.  She was going to fuck them like she'd never fucked
anyone before.  Before the night was over she would own these two boys the
way she'd been owned by their classmate.

But she hadn't counted on the obsession with pride young men use to keep
their fragile egos together in high school.

Throwing her arms around Eliot Miss Caulder kissed him deeply and
passionately, grinding her body against his, and then, with one hand, she
deftly undid his pants and dragged him to the ground with her.  The boy,
inexperienced and unsure how to proceed allowed Miss Caulder to pull his
pants down just far enough for comfort, but he lunged at her, grabbing her
by the arms and pulled her up till she was laying on top of him, her naked
belly quivering against his throbbing cock.

Shuddering with the sensation he rolled the older woman over, onto her back,
and straddling her he climbed atop her and reached for the breasts which so
invitingly called out to him although they sagged from side to side.  Taking
huge handfuls he pawed at them, and shoved her back to the hard, freezing
concrete when she tried to put her arms around him.  Gasping with the shock
she reached up again, "Kiss me Eliot." She implored the leering, pimply boy.
He stared at her for a long moment, then with a frown, lifted one knee and
forcefully spread her legs apart to accommodate himself.

Eager to regain the initiative, as soon as he had his other leg between hers
she wrapped her legs around him, threw her arms up and planted another
violent kiss on his mouth, but after a moment of stabbing tongues he turned
his head aside, "Just hold still, damnit!"

In spite of herself she felt herself submitting to the order, letting him
slide further down to where his dick was grinding against her labia, but in
spite of the growing, necessary arousal that had been welling up in longing
for the kind of sexual escape Mr. Gold had introduced to her, she wasn't
ready for a dick yet, and from the feel of things, Eliot had quite a bit to
accommodate.

"I'm not ready, Eliot." But she started grinding against him, trying to use
his manhood to stimulate her in spite of the cold floor.

"Well, what the fuck?" he said, reaching down to guide himself in despite
her words.

She cupped a cheek, gently, but firmly, "Eliot, you need to get me wet
first."

She felt amateur hands pawing at her lower lips, felt a finger prodding for
her sex, "Well what am I supposed to do?"

Fighting off the feeling of despair that clutched at her she forced a smile,
"You could kiss me, Eliot.  Or suck on my nipples."

In spite of his resolve not to get too involved with Miss Caulder, Eliot
really wanted to try sucking at her tits.  He really just wanted to fuck her
and be done with her.  The thought of doting on this slut was enough to make
him feel sleazy and desperate.  Particularly enlightened as he was as to how
she'd let John-two and his ugly-ogre of a friend use her the way he and
james were going to use her.  The boys loathed the two Johns and the thought
of fucking their castoffs (why didn't John even fuck her?) was almost enough
to forego losing their virginity.

But not quite, and Eliot suckled at Miss Caulder's puffy nipples long and
hard, writing off her squeals and gasps as the fake orgasms he'd seen in
porno movies.  She was reacting wayyy too much.  A woman who meant it, who
was really worth having, would have just shut up and enjoyed it.  Only a
slut desperate for attention by pleasing her guy would squeal like a pig at
a little sucking.

For Miss Caulder's part, the boy was a natural.  Having always been
particular to aggressive use of the mouth on her nipples, Eliot's
inexperienced mouth was a natural fit.  Combined with the way he ground his
penis against her clitoris, rubbing the base against her sex she had begun
to have convulsions the sort of which she'd sought from John-two by riding
his tree trunk halfway up to the base.  No longer the ego-gratifying quest
to show she had power, she found herself relishing his ministrations, though
baffled by his reluctance.  She willingly gave up any hope of dominating
this boy in exchange for the electricity traveling between her breasts and
her groin, that sent tingles to the tips of her toes and seemed to float her
above the hard concrete.

But the boy stopped sucking, "Shit!" he said, grabbing his dick and stabbing
frantically at her crotch, having no idea where to stick it, he slipped on
the now free-flowing juices.  Gasping and moaning he seized up, and Miss
Caulder looked down in time to see his snake, a healthy member enough to put
John and Mr. Gold to shame, if not enough to intimidate John-two, as it
spewed out his service all over her freshly bathed crotch, onto her tummy,
shooting as high as her breasts until he shuddered to a halt, and collapsed
beside her, cursing under his breath.

"Why didn't you let me fuck you?"

She rolled on her side, flinching at the cold stone underneath passing to a
new part of her body, "I just needed some time."

He hitched up his pants and sat up as she tried to put an arm around him,
"We can still play, Eliot."

But he shook off her arm, refusing to look at her, "Let go of me." And he
stood up, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.

"Eliot." She appealed, cold and frustruated.  Craving the intense heat that
had shot through her body, but James was there, pulling her towards him.

Distracted by thoughts of another chance, Miss Caulder tried to pull the
younger boy down to the ground with her, but he recoiled, "That's fucking
gross!"

She watched him scowling at her body, and only after following his horrified
stare realized that he wasn't willing to roll around in his friends sperm no
matter how much he wanted to lose his virginity.  Not with a slut who was
giving it up willy nilly for kids half her age.

She implored the boy, fondling her breasts hoping he would be as compelled
by them as Eliot, "Please James, I want you so badly." But her fondling only
revealed the extent to which James's spray had covered her, and she saw that
she had pearly drops all over her chest and belly.

James was clearly having an internal struggle with his sense of disgust and
need to get laid.  In the end, Miss Caulder's beauty, again won the day, but
he ordered her, "Roll over."

She reluctantly turned her back on him, rolling to her side where she saw
Eliot glaring at her.  The contempt in his eyes was palpable, but she held
still while James ran his hands over her, fondling her but, then abruptly
pushing on her back, laying her flat out of the concrete, smashing her
succulent, beautiful breasts against the hard stone floor!

"Oh my god, James, that so cold!" she cried out.  After Eliot's head the
cold tore through her with the jagged surface of the concrete, but the
pressure only mounted as James climbed on top of her.

"What?  I thought you wanted to get fucked" and she could feel his penis
probing at her nethers, slipping, looking for purchase, lodging in her
asshole until she craned her back, grinding herself face first into the
ground to guide him down lest the lubrication let him into her ass.

And finally he found it.  Whereas before there was muscle, heat, and flesh,
now she had stone, freezing cold, and relentless pumping that drove her
rock-hard nipples into concrete.  Where she'd asked for kissing her lips
pressed against the rough gray surface, her tongue lapping at its surface to
keep herself moist.  His hand pinned her head, his other pawed at the bulge
of her breast putting all his weight on her as he drove his member between
the cheeks of her ass, a bold, seven inch statement flooding in and out of
her as to who was in charge here.

As quickly as he'd begun, James was finished, abruptly freezing up, letting
out a long groan, an Miss Caulder knew that a third man had orgasmed within
her.  As before, with her lovers' satisfaction, her blinding need returned:
the craving for more, even more of this abuse, anything to blind her to her
humiliation, all the more poignant, aware how she was of how she'd had the
boys' respect, and had thrown it away for a few moments of terrifying,
passionate, brutal lovemaking.  This wasn't some reward for their kindness,
this was the greed of an addict.  She couldn't even claim to be a
nymphomaniac, like she had with past boyfriends, to turn them on.  She was
just trying to numb the awareness of all she had done to herself, and in the
attempt put her further and further into it.

Peeling herself off of the concrete she tried not to look at the boys.  The
cool blast of night air on her swollen sex was a shocking blast that for a
moment filled her up like James had done, but it left her hallow.

She looked up at Eliot, puffing at his cigarette, smouldering that he had
failed to lose his cherry even to this wanton slut.  But the need for escape
and satisfaction was still strong in Miss Caulder, as it clearly was in the
boy.

"Eliot, do you want to try again." She rolled up on her side, lifting a leg
invitingly.

He looked at her, clearly considering it, but with the edge off from his
first orgasm he found it hard to find even her succulent curves compelling,
coated as she was with sperm. "Look at you, you're fucking disgusting."

And she knew what he saw.  A slut, covered with jism, his own, granted, but
his buddies glistened on her sex and she felt in every bone of her body,
through the cold and the bruises the true shame of what she had become.

James had zipped up, and lit his own cigarette, "Hey, can you buy us some
beers?"

After servicing the two boys it seemed a little thing for him to ask, but it
only seemed to drive home the point that she was now also the whore for
these two minors.  Slaving to their lusts, but also ministering to their
every whim.  She didn't want to think about it and kept looking at Eliot, "I
could wash up again." She indicated the unopened water bottle.

"You need a shower.  Look at you, you're totally trashed."

James was slightly less inclined to discard her having enjoyed his ride so
much.  In spite of Eliot's pride, he was no longer a virgin, and Eliot was.
He didn't seem quite so put out by the thought of using a slut like this,
especially since, unlike the schoolgirl sluts, who were decidedly less
attractive, she as an adult could open doors for them.

"Why don't we go back to your place, Wendy?"

When she had tried to leave school that afternoon her one thought was of
finding some escape, some solace that didn't involve debasing herself.  The
thought of two sophomores having the run of not only her body, but her
house, and her possessions terrified her.  Every bit of her cried out for
more sex, anything to put that thought out of her head, but she knew that
Eliot wasn't going to have her, not like this.  She also knew it would be no
trouble to find someone to slake her thirst for humiliating, soul-crushing
sex if the bars were still open.

The only trouble was she couldn't bring herself to tell them no, no matter
how many times she tried to mouth the word.  She knew she had no power to
keep them from telling anyone what she had done, nor using her at their
leisure, and that cooperating was her best road to keeping some kind of
control over the situation.  She also knew that Eliot was deeply resentful
that she had required preparation before he had sex with her, and in spite
of that that he might still fuck her, were she not so soiled.

Eliot finally broke a grin, looking up at James, "Hey, I wonder how coach
Gold would feel if her knew we'd taken his girl out for a night on the
 town?"



They had made her lead her across the quad to her car, and after wiping
herself down with her skirt, and the shredded tube-top Eliot had reluctantly
parted with his trenchcoat, as Miss Caulder would have to go into the store
to pay for gas, beer, and a carton of smokes.

Eliot had taken her keys and her wallet, frowning at the shortage of cash
with which to buy supplies.  Neither boy had any money to speak of,
depending on looting their fathers' cigarettes and liquor typically.

Though he didn't have a drivers license, Eliot drove, and James, after
making sure Miss Caulder was wiped down in front, took her in the back seat,
making her strip off so he could play with her tits and kiss her.  He even
allowed her to take some control, showing him how to fuck, obviously
relishing her body.  In spite of James' selfish reasons she was grateful for
his attentions.  She eagerly spread her legs for his again, and contorted as
she was in the back of a moving car, it was much better than the cold
concrete.  James' frantic humping completely failed to produce the
overwhelming sensation of nothingness that she had experienced with Mr.
Gold, John-two, and under his weight against the concrete, but she was
beginning to discover that the sheer act of humiliating herself for these
boys who were so young and immature was a satisfactory proxy, especially
when she played up the slut, embracing their cocks with relish, squealing
and panting like nothing on earth could satisfy her more.

She could hardly admit, even to herself, that while this scrawny lad of
fifteen pumped his second load into her that night that visions of vast,
wrinkled bellies and crotch splitting members flashed through her, making
James' hollow rutting even less satisfactory, but to watch her envelop the
boy no one would have guessed that the crushing girth of Mr. Gold was what
she was craving.

Panting with the exertions of her act, still clutching James between her
arms, her legs wrapped tightly around him, Eliot was watching her from the
front seat.  Lust and envy poured out of his eyes, but he had set his
standards, and he wasn't prepared to violate them.  Besides, they were at
the store.  She had a job to do.

Donning James' coat this time, she had to slip out of the car exposed to the
whole street, but hidden by the gas pumps they were lined up againt from the
open glass windows from anyone in the store in order to pull her cum-stained
skirt on.    Fortunately, it was almost eleven, and there was little traffic
on this suburban stretch, though the noises emanating from the bar across
the street left her chilled with more than the cool night air that someone
might come out.

No one did, and though it was too dark to tell, Miss Caulder hoped that
Eliot and James' cum hadn't had time to dry on her skirt, and that she
wouldn't look completely trashy to the clerk.

She walked up to the driver's side window, trying to pretty herself as she
went, though she knew the flush of sex was on her face, not to mention the
smell.  Eliot held out twenty bucks, all the cash she had in her wallet (in
the four years she'd been teaching at other schools she'd had her purse
stolen three times, she didn't even carry credit cards in it any more).

"That should get us a twelve-pack, and a couple packs of smokes."  He looked
up at the girl, sitting in the driver's seat of her car as she humbly waited
for further orders, "You got something to douche with at home?"

A flush of anger rose up from her collar.  Straightening up she curled down
to stare at the boy, "You want to spend the night jerking off?"

The shocked expression on her face told him all she needed to know.  Though
she wasn't gorgeous, didn't have a tight little body, and wasn't young and
pert like a sixteen year old cheerleader she had a nice face, great tits,
and a succulent ass, and was very clearly willing to do anything for this
boy who was walking all over her.  Though domineering pricks like Mr. Gold
might toss her off at the drop of a hat, this boy with the acne riddled face
wasn't going to do anything of the sort.  Not until he'd got his rocks off.

She wondered where such resolve had been while he was trying to fuck her on
the quad, or why it hadn't reared up before she led herself down the path of
being their fuck-toy, but it was too late for that now.  She had invited
them into her pants, and now the only leg she had to stand on was that it
might stay between the three of them if she gave them what she wanted.

Besides, she thought, staring at the boy.  He wasn't entirely unattractive.
Skinny and pimply, yes, but he had a good face, and would probably be a
handsome man.  He also had a dick that seemed enticingly between Mr. Gold's
half-mast and John-two's whale-tail.  She might genuinely have a good time.

"Sorry, Eliot."

"Nah," he said, looking down at the steering wheel.  "I'm sorry."  He looked
up at her in James' leather, unzipped provocatively down to her belly
button, her face clear of make-up.  Aside from the ample cleavage and the
folds where her breasts hung down she looked rather young, "I don't mean to
be such a dick, I just always thought."  he fell silent for a long moment.

Miss Caulder stooped down, so she was looking up at Eliot, "What is it?" she
saw James trying not to pay attention in the back seat.

Eliot glanced at her, "I just thought that if a girl was worth having she'd.
Y'know, do it just for you."  He looked away bashfully.

"That's a good criteria for a girlfriend, Eliot." She tried not to sound
patronizing, "But what's wrong with just having a good time together?"

He shrugged.

"I mean, are you going to go without sex forever, just because you can't
make it work with Miss Right."

"Stop talking like a teacher, Wendy." But he was smiling.  He looked up at
her, his smile slipping away, not quite ready to revert back to thinking of
her as a person, "Why do you fuck around so much?"

She held back a frustrated sigh, meeting his skeptical gaze, "Eliot, when
you put your arms around me." she felt herself gulping, knowing she was
bullshitting him, "I just wanted. after what I'd done today. I just wanted
to be with someone who wasn't such a bastard.  Someone.  I don't know, I
needed to remind myself that sex wasn't just laying down and taking it while
some guy does his thing."

But she knew that was really all she could expect from these boys.  In spite
of all her acting she was really only looking for one thing, an escape from
whatever connection they had forged, an answer to the pounding shame in her
head and the utter helplessness she felt in the presence of the men who had
started her down this path.  She was both trying to gain some control back
by choosing these boys to have her and use her, while seeking the horrific
sensations that had given her so much solace in the arms of Mr. Gold.

Maybe Eliot had seen the distant look in her eyes as they talked, but she
was pretty sure that he still didn't believe her, "Look, Eliot.  I didn't
mean to wind up with you and James tonight.  I'd have probably gone to a bar
and found some guy to spend the night with, to make me forget all about the
John's and Mr. Gold.  But I found you instead.  It turns out I like you, I
like being with you."

That at least was true when he wasn't treating her like shit, "I just don't
know why liking to fuck makes me such a bitch to you."

He peered at her, "Show me your tits."

Without hesitation she unzipped the coat and held it open.

Eliot pushed the car door open, grabbed the lever under the seat and pushed
himself all the way back.  Unzipping his jeans he said, "Suck me off." And
pulled out his penis, rock hard and rigid already, the tip glistening.

Miss Caulder again didn't hesitate.  Reacting automatically to his demands
was an act, she wanted to let him know she was his, in spite of her
defiance.  She was on her knees in the parking lot, leaning into the car,
taking him into her mouth, only hesitating a moment to let the jacket slip
down her shoulders a bit so he could have access to her breasts if he wanted
it.  He was long and lean, like the body on a well shaped athlete, his penis
would have taken two hands to cover it, and was just thick enough that her
fingers could touch at the tips, although her mouth, though wide open had
little trouble embracing it.  She was glad, in spite of the trouble it had
caused that she'd made him wait.  It would have hurt a lot going in dry, but
properly inserted, she might be able to ride this like she had tried and
failed to ride John-two.

She was by no means experienced at the kind of oral sex she'd seen in
movies.  Mr. Gold notwithstanding, she had seldom used it as more than
foreplay for real sex, but she gave herself with vigor to the boy pressing
as hard as she could with her lips, using her head, slurping on her spit
with gusto as it gathered in foamy strands between his manhood and her
mouth.

"Was it that easy for Mr. Gold?" Eliot asked abruptly.  She hadn't noticed
that he was refusing to enjoy her ministrations.

"What?" she asked, but he pushed her head back onto his cock and she was
forced to mumble a negative over his pulsing glans.

"Did John and John just say 'spread'em' before they had you."

Again, she forced another negative mumble, slurping at the spittle that was
dribbling from her mouth.

The pressure from his had was increasing, "Mr. Gold didn't even have to ask,
did he?  You just grabbed his dick and went at it, didn't you?"

She tried to shake her head, but was being pushed further down onto the boy'
s shaft.

"You fucked the whole football team, didn't you?"

Again she shook her head, her whole face felt like it was engulfed with
massive dick.  She started breathing heavily out of her nose.

"But you would, wouldn't you?  You'd spread your legs for any guy with more
meat than brains."

She couldn't even moan a response, slurping and sucking him.

"And after they tossed you off like a soiled, dirty slut you came after us."

She managed to open her mouth a bit, and moan, "No." over his throbbing
dick.

He pulled her head up, slobber pouring over his cock, running over the side
of her face, his member nuzzled against her cheek where he again pinned her
tight.

"How many guys have you fucked?"

She could look up into his eyes feeling nothing less than the terror she'd
felt when she thought the John's were going to rape her, "I don't know,
nine-ten."

"That's bullshit!" he spat the words in her face, tightly grappling her
hair.  "You like it!  You like fucking jocks, admit it!"

She refused to reply, not knowing if yes or no would be a lie.

"You're Mr. Gold's Bitch, and you just want us to get you off because he
doesn't!"

She couldn't help at wondering at the accuracy of that statement, though Mr.
Gold had only had her twice.  She couldn't see with any degree of certainly
a scenario in which Mr. Gold wouldn't be able to use her whenever he wanted
to, and he certainly had left her craving exactly the kind of satisfaction
she had been trying to get from these boys.

"Fucking stop it, Eli!" James whispered to his friend from the back seat.

"She won't even deny it." But he let go of her and she slipped down to the
asphalt of the parking lot her head resting against Eliot's knee.

He pushed at her head, "Go get the smokes."

"Eliot." she pleaded, looking up at him.

But he wouldn't look back at her, "I'll fuck you later, all right?  Just get
the stuff."

She fumbled with the zipper, but was shaking too much to get it up.

Go already!" Eliot barked, and she stumbled to her feet, pulling the coat up
and folding it over to try and cover her tummy.  She could feel the air
where her breasts pushed it open in the center.  It was after all sized to
fit the scrawny James.



Walking across the brightly lit store she found a far corner to zip up in so
she wouldn't have to expose herself to the clerk, a chubby, middle-aged
black man with shaving bumps all over his neck.  He was a fairly big man,
but by no means the power house that Mr. Gold was.  The resemblance ended at
his height and his tummy, which seemed to stretch from his neck to his
knees.  Regardless, Miss Caulder felt no less intimidated, again covered in
cum, naked but for a coat and soiled skirt, fully head and shoulders smaller
than the man.  The only consolation she felt was that he didn't leer at her,
but looked her straight in the eye as she set down a case of beer and asked
for three packs of Camel filters and five bucks at the gas pump.

He stared at her for a long minute.

"Are you going to pay for what you put in your jacket?"

She stared at him dumbfounded.  Unnerved by Eliot's outburst in the car she
was barely able to maintain her composure.  An act which made her look
guilty as Hell to the older man.

I saw you putting something in your jacket, missy.  When you were back in
the corner." He pointed to a circular mirror, right over the point where she
had zipped herself up.

"I didn't take anything. sir?"

"You're not gonna walk out of here with my shit by being polite, missy."

She flinched at the condescending term.

"Open the jacket."

"I. I can't" the thought of being so modest after her wanton behavior of the
day struck her as silly, but she simply didn't want to deal with one more
humiliation.  At least she'd chosen the boys in her car.  In spite of the
fact that she was there at their bidding she was damned if she was going to
let that get her into more trouble when she'd hitched up with them to get
her out of it.

"Honey," again with the belittling terms, "I don't want to call the police."
And he stepped out from behind the counter, blocking her escape form the
store.

"Mister, I can't take this jacket off. I didn't take anything."

"You'll take it off when the police get here." And he reached for a phone.

"Wait!" she cried.  He was right of course.  And the more things progressed
the more she understood that the number of men she'd abase herself before
the night was over had not yet stopped ticking.  But if she was going to
have to open her jacket anyway, she didn't see any reason to invite any more
company.

She looked at the ground, "I'll do it, but. not in front of the window like
this."

He craned his neck, looking out at her car, seeing that it was occupied,
though it was too dark to see any more. "Don't want your friends to watch?
They don't know what you're up to?"

"I didn't take anything, I just zipped up my jacket!"

"Then there's no reason not to let me take a look."

His position was certainly reasonable, and she knew the only thing stopping
him calling the police was probably pity for her being a woman.

"Come on," and he gestured her to walk down the candy aisle, where she would
be hidden, at least below the shoulders, from the street.

She walked a few feet down the aisle, then turning to face him, still
blocking the door she unzipped the jacket most of the way.  The spread of
her breasts pushed it open enough to reveal her state of undress, "That's
why I can't take my jacket off."

He put his hands on his hips and walked over to her, "Do you take me for a
fool, missy?" waving a finger, actually jabbing inside the zipper between
her cleavage he said, "I'm supposed to say, 'oh, she ain't got nothing one,
can't embarrass the poor girl.'"  Putting his hands on his hips again he
stood upright, towering over the girl, "Now show me what you got!"

She could see his eyes widen as he seemed, for the first time to realize
that she was a woman.  Perhaps the age ticker in his mind was ratcheting up
his estimation of her age as his gaze took in the healthy bosom, and the way
gravity curved them down gracefully in smooth, luscious curves.

"What are you doing walking around like that?" he said confrontationally,
but his voice was clearly trembling.

"I lost my shirt.  It tore." She said, wondering when the man would let her
close the jacket again and zip up, but he seemed content to stare.

"Girl as large as you. I mean a woman.  Normally wear a bra."

But she couldn't think up an answer for that, and shrugged, aware too late
of how they giggled and swung together when she did that.  Holding her arms
apart she couldn't prevent the motion.

He hadn't taken his eyes off her chest yet, "Right well, let's see the
jacket."

Her mouth fell open, but she complied, letting the jacket fall off her
shoulders, and swinging it up, where he could paw at its pockets, though his
eyes took the opportunity to wander over her scantily clad figure.

"Do guys your age go for that sort of thing."

She wrapped her arms over her chest, but that only seemed to invite scrutiny
of her tummy and legs, so well revealed in the skirt, "What thing?"

He was rifling through the pockets, but only seemed to turn up a lighter so
far, and some weird playing cards with pictures of monsters, "Oh, you know,
there's so many skinny women in movies, and on posters, shapely woman like
you must feel sort of left out these days."

Small talk.  She wasn't surprised, it happened all the time, especially from
middle aged men who set their sights on women they thought were attainable:
the sevens as some guys like to describe girls that were cute but not 'hot.'
She found herself clutching her boobs, however, the day's events inflating
the sheer intrusiveness and utter condescension of such comments, "I don't
have trouble getting attention, if that's what you mean."

But he suddenly wasn't looking at her, instead, holding up a little gold
colored steel pipe, "Well, what have we here?"

"Look mister," she thought about reaching for her jacket, but decided she
preferred to keep her breasts covered, "I didn't take anything.  Can I have
my jacket back?"

"Well, uh." he was no longer confident, serious and mature, but seemed to
have dissembled into sort of a shambling gait, not looking her in the eye,
but at her body or the floor.  He scratched the back of his neck and said,
"Well, I don't know, ma'am.  I mean, you wandering around with this," he
shook the pipe at her, "makes me wonder where the goods are."

She shook her head, not knowing how to reply.

"I mean, I'll have to search your person."

She stared agape at him.  How she could have possibly hidden anything in her
skin tight skirt was beyond fathoming, but she was beginning to suspect that
he didn't care anymore if she had stolen anything.  Not that it mattered.
She couldn't go anywhere without the jacket, even if he wasn't blocking the
exit.

"I don't have any goods!" she snarled at the man.

"Well, we'll have to see about that.  Turn around."

And stomping a foot she complied, feeling her hair trail around after her
caressing her neck.  She heard him step up behind her, felt his breath on
her neck.

"Well, let's see her." And he crouched down, padding, grabbing actually, her
hips and thighs, giving her butt little squeezes, though she couldn't
imagine what excuse he'd come up with for searching there.

He waited until she had put her arms down, it seemed, before standing up,
and hands on shoulders he turned her to face him, standing just close enough
to jut his belly against her pouting nipples, erect against the exposure and
embarrassment which he peered at, arching his eyebrows as if 'studying'
them.

"I'm gonna have to ask you to lift up your skirt, missy."

Her mouth fell open, and she recoiled, "What are you looking for?"

But he held up the pipe again, "Contraband.  Can't have people bringin'
drugs into my store.  Won't stand for it!"  He put on a good show, but it
was so farcical that she didn't even begin to play along with his game.

"Are you aware that strip searching someone is illegal for a private
citizen!?"

This definitely make him retreat, if only for a moment, but his prize, so
clearly more of her bared skin made him digest this tidbit of information,
almost as quickly as he came up with a cover, "No you don't want me to call
the police, now do you?"

"Yes!  I do!"  she wanted to grab her coat, but he blocked the aisle and had
dropped it several feet back.

He just stammered at her for a moment. "Let's not make this any harder than
it has to be.  You just hike it up there, lady!  Unless," he laughed,
"Unless you're not wearing anything under there either?"

She cocked her head at him, "It just so happens that I gave my underwear to
one of my students this morning."

The older man simply didn't know what to make of this.  Working the night
shift he never dealt with students or teachers from the school.  Still, he
stuck to his course, holding up the pipe, "You should have thought of that
before you came in here with this!"

"Fine!" she bellowed, absolutely frustrated with the situation she'd been
put into ever since she'd stupidly given her underwear to John-two and
forgot her bra in the temp classroom.  Stomping a foot she pushed the skirt
down and stood defiantly before the shocked black man, naked but for her
shoes, "Now can I buy my things and go?"

He didn't seem to notice her attitude at all, but simply drank up her nubile
figure, one hand mindlessly stroking the thickening bulge in his left
pocket.

She snapped her fingers at the man, "Well?  What?  Do you need to do a
cavity search first?"

"I'd sure like to get to know you better, missy." He was saying, nervousness
and stumbling gone.  He seemed as cool as a cucumber.

"Uh huh, she said, hands on her hips, "What if someone comes in?"

"Oh, I locked that when I saw you zippin' up your jacket.  I could have
sworn you took something.  Guess I was wrong."

Naked before his sudden coolness, his methodic scrutiny of her bareness with
his eyes, she felt her cockiness ebb away.  She wanted to get away, but she
just didn't want to fight him any more.

"I got two guys waiting in the car for me."

"Let'em wait."

She sighed, "Fine." And sat down on the floor, laid back, hands at her side,
and spread her legs open around his feet.

Unlike the others she'd done that day, the clerk took the time to remove his
shirt, shoes, and finally his pants.  Keeping only his shorts on, though
pushing them down to his ankles, she climbed between Miss Caulder's legs,
letting her embrace him on the tile floor in the candy aisle.

She didn't expect him to genuinely make love to her, and was surprised when
he started working over her nipples with a deft tongue, running his coarse,
calloused hands up her sides and down her legs.  His bulk seemed to fill up
the space between her legs with dozens of inches of belly waiting to be
cradled by her inviting thighs.  Against her will she found herself cradling
his head with her hands, and moaning softly as the pressure of his belly on
her sex, and the art of his tongue prepared him for his shaft, an inky black
tube that curved dramatically off to the left.  An animal that could smack
down Eliot's if not with size, with sheer character.

It wasn't long before Miss Caulder couldn't help but cry out, a loud,
desperate wailing as the clerk penetrated her slowly, but with exacting
efficiency, timed to the waves of heat that passed over her.  The short
kisses they'd shared were fast and furious, scratching her chin and cheeks,
but now she was engulfed under a coarse mat of wiry chest hair and pudgy,
squishy pecs, her face sinking into the ample flesh.  She could feel the man
sagging over her sides, the slap of his flesh as he thrust forward, but the
pleasure he had risen in her found a perfect compliment with his engulfing
girth, and she allowed her fantasies of being consumed blend with the
electricity of the weight against her breasts.  The grinding of paunchy
rolls of fat against her clitoris, and the invasive pressure of his shaft
allowed her to forget the fact that a fat lecher was having her; she only
thought of being absorbed as she fought to minimize the discomfort of his
bulk and the mass between her legs.

She forced herself to hold her legs up as high as possible, only just able
to hook them around his sides, in order to allow herself as little pressure
as possible to uncomfortably resist his penetration, but this only allowed
his to plumb deeper, and after several stabbing feints he was ramming into
her cervix, and her body was spasming uncontrollably with waves of pain,
pleasure, and bone-crushing weight.  Nothing since her uncontrollable orgasm
at the provocation of Mr. Gold had given her so much escape, and not since
he had owned her in the temp class had she been so blissfully removed from
any sense of self.  Just a vacuum to be filled by raging hormones, the
slamming impact of meat and flab on her tiny, voluptuous body, engulfing her
from the outside and within, no sense of anything but being a vessel for a
man's pleasure.

She could settle for being a vessel for a man's needs, like Eliot's desire
to lose his virginity, but nothing took her away like the sheer abandoned
intrusion that robbed her of sense of self, space, even the ability to do
naught but cling tight and wait for the ride to be over.

And over it was, though she couldn't begin to guess how long it had taken.
His great, surging member had pulsed inside her, its odd shape pushing
sideways into places she'd never known could give any pleasure.  Lifting his
weight just a fraction the clerk allowed Miss Caulder to jiggle and thrust
just enough to bring herself to the climax she'd been riding at the edge of
since he'd impaled her, and she felt like steam was rising from her body,
like she'd explode with electric fury.  She couldn't stop screaming, louder
and louder, gasping for more air to pant some more, clutching as his wide
flanks as he let his seed fly into her and she let go her furies into the
wall of flesh that consumed her so utterly.



Watching those fat, dimpled buttocks quiver and shake brought home the
horror of what she was doing.  As fast as the pleasure had taken her over,
that it was born of the need to be crushed, physically and emotionally left
little to enjoy about the afterglow.  The cold, hard tile seemed to stick to
her and she lacked the willpower to get up until the clerk, pulling up his
circus tent underpants turned back to regard her, spread eagled, feeling
very stretched out before him,

"Aww, missy, that was a nice break, but I need to get back to work now." He
was smiling at her, looking at her no so much with the lecherous lust from
before so much as appreciation, but she was pretty sure he wasn't
appreciating her.  She wasn't the kind of girl that guys would brag about,
and indeed, few of her lovers had sought her out a second time for more than
sex.  Short and pudgy, she had enough curves that a man in a mood would
settle, knowing he'd have a good time in the sack, but she was really
nothing to write home to mother about, not with the way her tummy folded
into rolls when she bunched up, or the stretch marks around the edge of her
breasts, and on her hips from the weight she'd lost a few years back.  She
was pretty enough to take home for a toss, but unless you were a guy who
could look past a few normal human defects, like a small bit of cellulose on
the thighs, you'd set your sites higher for someone you wanted to hang off
your arm.

For some reason this seemed to include just about every guy she'd had sex
with, and in spite of his flabby rolls and stomach that virtually sagged
over his inky, distorted dick, the clerk seemed to be thinking along these
lines as well.

Repulsed as she was by the man, creeping shame crawling over her at knowing
that she had just surrendered to a little pressure from the ugliest man she
had ever been with, she could not help but stare in horror at the rounded
contours of his flesh.  Not a single muscle could be discerned.  Each joint
seemed to indent, rather than show the sharp angle of bone.  From neck to
knee he jiggled.  He had more fat lines standing perfectly upright than she
had bending over to touch her feet.

But he was laughing, "None of that, honey.  Maybe you can come over after
work, but you can't go sayin' that I didn't let you have your turn."

Abruptly she slammed her legs shut, scrambling for her coat and skirt.
Conscious of his eyes on her flopping breasts and her own ample buttocks
(for her size), though she was scarcely half his size.  His eyes seemed
curiously interested in her sex, and crawling hands and knees she could
guess why as his jism dripped on to the back of her calf.  He was admiring
his work.

"Hang on, just a second, honey." He said striding to the end of the aisle,
pulling something off the shelf, "I got's to get this for posterity."

He was unwrapping a disposable camera.

"No way." She barked, clutching the leather to her chest.

But he was already advancing the film, and before she had gotten her hands
on her skirt he had snapped a picture, "I won't show no one.  Honest."

"Bullshit!" she was seriously panicked now, knowing how easy it was to
distribute amateur pictures on the internet from her friends.  She refused
to look at him, grimacing her teeth as he advanced and snapped, advanced and
snapped.  Where the Hell was her skirt.

"Aww, I'm just messin' with ya, honey." He leered, "I just want one
 picture."

"Well, you got it." She cowered before the little plastic camera.

"That wasn't it.  I don't even need to see your face."

It dawned on her what he was talking about, and immediately the sensation of
cum dripping into her labial folds seemed to creep up over her body.

"One picture?"

"Well, a couple-but of the same shot!" he quickly covered.

It wasn't as if she had any identifying tattoos, but she had to snarl at him
as he snapped off two more pictures the moment she set down the coat and
started to spin around.

"Just teasing."

Whatever happened it was already too late.  He already had a number of
pictures of her, but really, it hardly mattered to her at this stage.  A few
snapshots of her mostly naked on the floor.  A scandal, maybe, but nothing
to reveal the depths of her degradation that day.  Now a shot of her
spreading her legs deliberately for the camera was different, particularly
considering the condition of her sex, coated in semen of two men.

Nevertheless, she kept one hand up in front of her face as she laid back
again, and spread her legs, an act significantly harder this time around, so
disgusted she was that she had surrendered to him once, now that her need
was abated.

"Do me a favor and spread'em a bit for me, please."

She sighed, knowing the position he was talking about, and removing her hand
from where it was blocking her face she reached between her legs and gave
him the money shot.

She could just imagine the close-up being duplicated millions of times on
the internet titled my-wife.jpg.

Three or four snaps later he told her she could get up.

"Do you have a bathroom I could use?"

"Oh, uh, bathrooms are for customers only, actually."

She got to her feet, and stared at him, her breasts swinging slightly with
the movement.  She put her hands on her hips.

He gave an embarrassed smile, "Oh, just teasin.  It's through that door." He
pointed at a door behind the counter, and putting the coat on (feeling
strangely erotic wearing nothing but a leather jacket) and hanging the skirt
so as to cover the side of her that faced the windows she crossed the open
space to the counter.

"You want me to fill up your tank for you?"

She froze, trying to figure out how to get behind the counter, "Uhh." she
had completely forgotten about the kids in her car.

But then comfort seemed to rein her in.  In spite of the shame of
surrendering to the clerk's coercion he had delivered her from exactly the
frustration she had been hanging on to them for.  Thoughts of them left her
feeling nothing but sadness for how she had ruined a potentially pleasant
relationship with students she could really relate too by becoming their
slut.  She actually cringed at the thought of James riding her like a bronco
in the backseat of her car, and she positively seethed with Eliot's
domination of her in her driver's seat, but that was overshadowed by the
fact that she knew she had played the part to get them to act that way.  She
couldn't imagine craving Eliot's dick the way she had only a short while
ago, but she knew she really couldn't blame them for the way she acted.

Still, it wouldn't do any harm for them to face the music where their new
slut was concerned.  James had had her twice, and Eliot's antics, she felt,
absolved her of any obligation to take his virginity.

She turned to the clerk, "Yeah, would you tell my nephew that I. tell him I
got sick.  I mean, act embarrassed about it, like I said I needed to go and
you hear me throwing up."

He looked confused by the instructions and she remembered what a bad liar he
'd been when he was trying to get her clothes off.

"I just don't think they'd understand, they're so young."

That seemed to mollify his concerns, and he walked to the counter to
activate the gas pump.



In a proper bathroom with actual soap and warm water was like a heaven-sent
blessing to Miss Caulder.  Even the scratchy paper towels felt like downy
silk lathering off the filth and funk of the men who had used her.  Looking
at herself naked in the mirror, all the little flaws that normally she'd
obsess over in the mornings she thought of Eliot, the little, pimple faced
geek actually spurning her for being too trashy.  She was no model ten, but
standing up she certainly had curves in all the right places.  All she had
to do was walk into a club and she'd walk out with a man, so long as she
made it clear she was willing to go home with him.  That spindly geek had no
right to reject her when guys all over school leered at her tight fitting
blouses and students mistook her for one of their own.

Pulling on her skirt she thought about seeing if there were any hose out in
the store, but like she felt after a shower, the thought of binding herself
up after finally getting the boys' crap off of herself, not to mention the
clerk's briney smelling semen she didn't think she'd be comfortable in them.

Besides, she thought maliciously, even though she found James to be about as
attractive as a hostess twinkie, she actually relished the thought of doing
him again in the backseat while Eliot drove them around in circles,
frustrated at his stupid pride.

Yes, she thought.  She may not be a man-killer, but she could make a man
want to fuck like nobodies business.  Unzipping the leather down to the
waist and hiking the skirt (which she had futily tried to wash off the cum
stains) down to just below her hips she walked out of the bathroom, parting
the top to reveal her most alluring feature all the way out to the edge of
her nipples.

She hadn't exactly counted on there having been a line formed outside the
store while she and the clerk went at it, and certainly hadn't noticed them
with all the lights on in the store and few street lights to light up the
parking lot as she crossed the store barely covered from the waist down with
the skirt which only trailed behind her with the motion and hid nothing.

It was a middle-aged man who's scowl turned to shock as he caught an eyeful
of her bosom, and two, sleazy looking white-trash suburbanites with mullot
hairdos and little, hickish mustaches, both her age, both smiling at her
knowingly as she crossed in front of the counter to where they waited by the
doors.  The clerk was behind the counter, perhaps puffed up a bit more than
before when he'd been able to show off his conquest.

Perhaps the only thing worse than having been had by the clerk was having
three complete strangers know that she'd just done it, moments before, who
could get their fill because she'd decided to go out the tramp she'd come
in.

Aiming straight for the door, inbetween the two hicks, she made a sudden
detour to the counter, raching past the middle-aged man in the overcoat to
snatch up the bag in which the clerk had put her beer and cigarettes into.
More importantly she grabbed the camera.

"Hey, lady!" the clerk shouted.

But she was leaving, "I'll give you a copy of your shot tomorrow." She was
surprised to find herself grinning, but felt it fade from her face as once
though the door the two hicks had stumbled though and were blocking her.

"Hey missy, you gonna give us the show you gave the nigger in there?"

One of them grabbed her ass, giving it a mighty pinch.  She struggled to
move away, feeling her coat spread wide open and she bent her body.

Now they could both see her exposed chest, and they took a good long moment
appreciating it.

"Oh, lady, you have got to fuck me now. I was gonna let you go with a hand
job for doing a darkie, but you gots to put out!"

She tried covering herself with the bag, but the other grabbed her arms,
pinning them to her sides, "Now now, bitch, don't tell me you're gonna give
me any trouble after givin it up for a nigger."

Panic began rising up in her at the thought of being genuinely raped and she
felt a hand plunge into her skirt, clutching and pawing at the dry, clean
skin.

But suddenly a loud rapping noise came from the window.  The clerk, standing
behind the counter was rapping the glass with a policeman's baton.  She held
up a phone, face out so the hicks could see him dialing 9-1-1.

Stammering to make an insult, one of the hicks tried to grab her bag while
he made away, but finding resolve so humiliatingly lacking over the entire
day, Miss Caulder socked him square in the nose, sending the fellows
running.

Miss Caulder figured it had taken a few moments for the clerk to catch on
due to the glare from the store lights on the window.  She smiled at him,
covering her breasts against the cold, and he nodded back as he told the
dispatcher on the phone that the emergency was over.

She made a promise to herself to deliver the picture as she said she would.
She didn't even want to think about it as she walked across the lot to her
car where the boys had apparently not even noticed that she was about to get
raped.

Walking into the glare of the sodium vapor street light that lit up the
pumps made her feel very vulnerable, particularly due to the two hicks she
could see lurking in a parking lot a couple stores down.  She could only see
their outlines, but she felt in her gut that they were watching everything
she did.  If they only knew who was waiting for her in the car.  A couple of
teenagers who she'd give herself to a hundred times before willingly going
along with their Miller Genuine Draft coupling.

She opened the passenger side door, looking in and seeing Eliot, looking
very sheepish.

He couldn't look up at her, "Are you okay?"

Unsettled as Miss Caulder was by the abortive attack she couldn't help but
be distracted by his behavior.  She had walked out the store fully resolved
to give them their beer and smokes and to send them on their way.
Satisfied, however briefly by the clerk, and more than a little defeated by
the quest provoked against her will by Mr. Gold, et all, she wasn't willing
to find herself in the power of any man should the urge to blind the
maddening sense of shame with sexual submission.  Her anger and resentment
at the arrogant boy had led her down here prepared to send him off and damn
the consequences.  Who would believe the lads anyway?  It's not as if they
would ever corroborate their stories with the Johns.

But Eliot's mood disarmed her.  She looked at James, who looked at the back
of Eliot's seat, "What's wrong?"

He shrugged, "The guy who filled our tank said you were sick."

She remembered her instructions to the clerk, but hadn't imagined the
reactions they would provoke.

But then, she recalled, she hadn't picked two insensitive misogynists, like
John-two or Mr. Gold, on the quad that evening.  These guys were a little
more sensitive than the rest, which was precisely why Eliot was reacting so
strongly to her wanton behavior from before.

"I'm fine." She said, simply.

But Eliot, still staring at the steering wheel barked, "I was mad.  I didn't
mean to."

"To what?" Miss Caulder pressed.

"I was mad because." but he choked up, clutching the steering wheel hard.

James filled in "He was mad because he came on you."

She understood, the humiliation at his premature ejaculation stood in stark
contrast to every boy's self-image of themselves as some sort of sexual
powerhouse.

She still couldn't find it in herself to feel sorry for him, "That doesn't
excuse what you did."

"I'm not asking for forgiveness." He snarled out the windshield.

She was definitely not in the mood for this.  She slammed the door, opened
up the back door and climbed in, dumping the bag on James' lap.

"Take me home."



During the drive James had tried to move on her again, but she wasn't
remotely interested in his insatiable fifteen-year old passions, feeling
particularly selfish and still, somehow, basking in the halo of the crushing
numbness brought on by the clerk and her tremendous orgasm.  She wasn't
eager to provoke the feelings of humiliation that had dominated so much of
her day, and only after refusing to let the boys open the beer case in her
car had she allowed James to lay her down, again, in her back seat.

This time, however, she took control.  No longer acting the slut, she made
him service her, showing him how to couple with a woman slowly, building her
pleasures by gently stroking her, and taking his time.  She taught him how
to kiss, taught him the technique the clerk had shown in fondling her
nipples.  She helped him to find her g-spot, showing him how to stroke it.
He was an avid learner, and by the time they pulled into the maze of her
apartment complex she was convinced of his infatuation for her.

Following Miss Caulder's instructions, Eliot guided the car into her covered
parking spot, and she lay in the back seat amazed at how in spite of her
defiance when they had left the store, that she was once again naked, under
the pawing hands of a child, and she couldn't bring herself to send them
away.

This time she was very apprehensive about getting out of the car to undress.
The security guards that patrolled the lot were a crude, unsavory pair of
Mexican illegals.  They did a great job of keeping the complex secure, two
beefy Latinos with attitudes to match their jobs, but they never hesitated
to let her know they were "keeping an eye on her."  Aside from having caught
them skulking below her windows they had both, on separate occasions tried
to entice her to take them home with her, and one actually grabbed her butt,
shamelessly, though that seemed a petty thing now after the treatment she'd
been through.

Getting uncomfortably out of the car, she sunk low to avoid prying eye while
James did his best to block her from view, and the sulking Eliot looked
away.  She was in such a hurry to get to her apartment that she only snapped
the bottom button on the leather, clutching her arms together to hold the
jacket since she hated navigating the cheap zipper on the thing, besides, it
was too small and pinched a lot when zipped up.

It wasn't until she'd gotten to her apartment, up a flight of concrete steps
into a landing that opened into four apartments that she saw Julio, one of
the guards down below.  He was smiling up at her.

"Getting home late, Wendy?"

She hated when they called her by her first name, "That's what it looks
like, Julio."

The boys were clearly nervous, aware as Miss Caulder was of the illegality
of what they were doing, but mostly because of the large, imposing man.

"Bringing home company, I see.  Not planning on having party, are you?"

She pushed her keys into her lock, "No, Julio."

"Your friends look a little young, Wendy.  I hope you not up to something."
he was grinning mischievously.

She pushed her front door open, gesturing the boys to go in, then peering
down at the bulky security guard, thinking of the state of things had she
come home without having met the clerk first, under the gaze of this bulky
Mexican, "If I was up to something, Julio, it'd be with you." And setting
her hands on the cold iron railing she felt the leather fall open, even as
she stood shocked at her own innuendo.  Julio, while by no means
unattractive of face, was a crude bastard, and his bulky physique and
clich�, unintelligent speech was something that made her cringe.  In spite
of all the bulk she had suffered that day, she knew she hadn't grown a taste
for it.  It was more like medicine.  Something to be had when needed.

But Julio had no such reservations about her.  He and his partner clearly
savored the voluptuous short teacher.  His eyes fell open at the copious
amounts of bosom revealed in between the open jagged steel zipper of the
leather, spreading out, Miss Caulder's breasts swinging forward, straining
with gravity as she leaned forward, as if pulled down to the lusty Mexican
with the will of his lust.

But he regained his composure long before Miss Caulder gained hers, "Wendy,
you one sexy woman.  A woman like you could have a lot of fun with a guy
like me."

"In your dreams, Julio," she said, pushing the jacket closed.

"Come on, senorita.  Don't be shy."

But she was definitely feeling shy.  What had compelled her to grab the damn
railing like that, and leaning over to talk to him?

He had taken a few steps, and his head was just below the level her feet
were at.  "Come on, Wendy.  You already give me a show, why not finish it?"

She peered into her open door, but the boys had disappeared into her living
room, probably hiding from the intimidating security guard.

"Why should I?" she backed a step away from the railing, but Julio only too
another step up, getting a much closer view than the one he'd had before.

"I just want to see, senorita.  You are such a beautiful woman."

"It was an accident, Julio.  I didn't mean to show you."

Julio interrupted her, "But can you blame me for how I feel?"

She looked around, but they were alone, "If I show you, it doesn't mean I'm
gonna do anything with you."

"Of course not," he was almost at the top of the stairs, already looking her
straight in the eye.

"You'll behave?"

His expression was comical.  As if she had any reason to trust this man
other than that his job security depended on not getting any more complaints
(she had raised a few herself), she couldn't bring herself to wonder why she
was about to flash this creep who so obviously wasn't going to behave
because he had never behaved himself around her in the two years he'd been
working the complex.  Nevertheless, she let him approach her.

He said, "Wendy, I do nothing you don't tell me to do." He spread his arms,
and she felt like the innocent gesture might turn into an embrace,

"Then back up."

The big man froze.  Then smiling, he took two steps back and stopped.

Still glaring at him she sighed, and unsnapping the coat felt the chill
night air grab hold of her, sending goose pimpled up her chest, contracting
her nipples for the entertainment of this creepy Latino who deserved nothing
but her contempt for his past behavior.  The only rationalization she could
find in her mind was that after the day's indignities, this seemed a little
favor to ask.  What shame she had woken up with that morning had taken on an
entirely new dimension in her life.  One that had to be cultivated and fed.
Clearly it controlled her judgment, for in spite of the fact that she felt
nothing but humiliation under Julio's lecherous gaze she reached down,
unbidden, and pushed the cum-stained skirt off of her hips.

She could tell that although he was enticed by her breasts that the rest of
her had little sway over him.  Regardless, it seemed only natural to cut to
the quick, to slate whatever urge drove her to humiliate herself so she
could move on.  She felt, deep inside her that if Julio asked, she'd be on
her knees for him without hesitation.

But Julio only stood, nodding, "Well, Wendy, you certainly got a beautiful
pair of coronas." He smiled, "I bet you'd be lots of fun to fuck, eh?" he
took a small step forward.

Against whatever drive had led her to stand naked before the security guard
she felt herself wrapping her hands around her nudity.

The guard stopped, "You like to fuck, no?"

She suddenly couldn't look at him, paralyzing fear shooting through her
while burning, tingling sensations rose up out of her center, like when she
was touching her sex.  She nodded, perhaps a little too frantically, her
body beginning to shake.

"You're a real punta, ain't you, Wendy?"

She didn't know what a punta was, but she nodded, forcing herself to look up
at him.

"Well, let's see.  Turn around."

Much like the clerk, and Mr. Gold, he wasn't as awestruck by her nudity as
the younger boys.  He was clearly playing with her, though he let out a
whistle as she turned her back to him.

She shuddered as he slapped her ass, "You got to lose a few pounds, eh?"

She froze, and he grabbed her around the waist, one hand fondling her
uncovered breast, whispering into her ear, "But any time you want to fuck,
you call Julio, no?"

She forced a quick nod, and he let go of her, laughing.

"You're one saucy bitch, Wendy."

She could only force herself to imitate his lighthearted smile as he walked
to the steps.

"But I give my word, I behave, and you no ask me to cross that line."

Going down the steps she shivered with mixed relief and frustration at what
she had just put herself through as she watched the guard go.

"But one day, Wendy," he said from the bottom of the stairs. "I'm gonna fuck
you in all three holes and you gonna know what it's like to love a real
 man!"

She tugged on her clothes as the guard walked away laughing.  Cringing with
the thought of what she had done, virtually throwing herself at him, a creep
who'd been after her for years, knowing that he could have taken her in all
three holes, flooded her with nervous anxiety.  But that was nothing
compared to the frustration she felt at the fact that he hadn't.  That he
had been so casual about the encounter that her debasing spectacle of
undressing, in public, before one of her security guards was something he
could take or leave.  Struggling with conflicting emotions of hurt pride and
deep-seated shame of the wanton slut she had become she walked into her
apartment and slammed the door behind her.



It was only 4am when Miss Caulder woke up, not knowing why.  She could still
smell the soap and shampoo on her skin and hair.  She wondered for a moment
why she was undressed, then she felt the bony shoulder of James, the boy
wonder who had managed to arouse himself twice again before passing out a
little after one o'clock.

Her body felt only dim aches, thanks to all the Midol she'd taken after her
bath, but her sex was distinctly sore.  Perhaps not sore, but it felt
horribly distended, although finger examinations revealed little physical
difference.  She knew it must be the memory of the number of men who had
been inside her in the previous day.  Her previous record had been two men
in one month, seconded by three in a year.  Miss Caulder didn't even want to
count the number of men she'd been with the day before, much less the times
her sex had been used repeatedly.  James alone accounted for four assaults
on her unprotected womb.

Sliding out of the covers she regarded the gangly youth bound up in her
sheets in the dim light of the street light.  Her heart sunk as she realized
that she had somehow been stooped so low by Mr. Gold and the John's that she
had taken a fifteen year-old boy home with her to use as he saw fit.

Actually, she had enjoyed it a bit, though she hadn't cum with the boy.  His
attentions were much more selfless, as he eagerly threw himself into
learning the art of the lover.  "You're going to make some girl a Hell of a
boyfriend, James." She whispered, hoping ironically that it wouldn't turn
out to be her.

She went out into the hall of her small, one-bedroom apartment, and peered
into the living room.  She didn't have much furniture, but the place was
clean except for a few empty beer cans where Eliot and James had drunk and
smoked while she bathed.  Earlier she had decided that she didn't want Eliot
touching her, not in exchange for James' panting affections.  She was in the
mood to be fawned over, and didn't have any patience for Eliot's brooding
insecurity over the fact that he'd come prematurely, and consequently still
had his virginity.

"You can keep it." She whispered to the prone figure of the boy on her
couch.

She grinned at the thought of how much trouble he'd be in when he got home
to his parents.  She felt a moment's lamentation for James, but she
seriously doubted that James would regret for a moment any punishment that
his all-nighter might provoke.  She felt a twinge of guilt for not at least
giving Eliot the satisfaction of losing his virginity, but something about
the perverted way in which he mingled pride and lust, the way she seemed to
disgust him for having been the vessel for other men's lusts, yet he'd have
willingly used her thusly otherwise.

"Keep what?" she heard Eliot whisper.

Shocked out of her reverie she peered into the gloom, seeing a hand dart up
to his crotch.  Her eyes now adjusted to the dimmer living room she realized
that he had been masturbating on the couch when she walked in.  She grinned
at the shame that must drive into him, knowing that he has to jerk off like
a boy while his younger friend has complete access to the woman he'd come so
close to having.

The grin faded as she realized that she was naked, and he wasn't, but for
his member sticking out of his pants.  Regardless of their previous
encounters, she knew that only doctors and married couples treated nudity
with familiar nonchalance, and though he had seen her submitting to James
twice before they had repaired to her bedroom, she wasn't about to give him
the pleasure of having her to himself.

Retreating to her bedroom, and afraid to turn the light on for fear of
waking James up and having to service him again she could only find one of
her short robes in the closet (the more modest ones were in the bathroom,
across the living room).  Pulling it on she felt its silky hem caressing her
buttocks.  She grinned again, knowing that seeing her in this would be more
frustrating than in her fluffy terrycloth bathrobe, even if it showed a bit
of leg.

Still, she found herself tugging it down in the front as she returned to the
living room where Eliot had had a chance to tuck himself away.  She clicked
on the light, and they both squinted and peered around until their eyes
adjusted.

The boy was a mess, his clothes rumpled, his hair tousled, his zits shining
brightly on his face.  She put a hand on her hip, "Don't stop on my account,
Eliot."

"Stop what?" he couldn't look at her.

She smiled at the boy, "I saw what you were doing."

He couldn't look up from his feet, "You want to. watch me?"

Startled from her little game at the thought of living up to his perverted
expectations of her she crossed the bar into the open kitchen, feeling his
eyes upon her as she turned away, "Not really, I'm just letting you know
that it doesn't bother me."  Reaching the refrigerator she opened the door,
leaning in she felt the cold air tumble over her as if she was wearing
nothing.  She decided to mock the boy further, "But I'd prefer you go in the
bathroom so you don't stain the couch."

Standing up with a can of diet 7-up she saw that Eliot was now standing over
the bar looking down at her body with a wistful look in his eyes.

 "I'd rather." he looked away, then right in the eye, "I mean if you still
want to."

She caught his meaning, cracking open the 7[up, "I don't think so, Eliot."

He was frowning, looking away again, "Then why'd you come out in that.
thing?"

Taking a moment to connect the dots she realized he was talking about the
shift.

In a moment of cringing stupidity she realized that the robe she had on was
perfectly sheer, black chiffon.  Rather than hiding her body she had made it
all the more enticing for the boy, cradling her free swinging breasts in
gauzy chiffon the robe did nothing to conceal, only exaggerate her already
ample curvature.

She resisted the temptation to rip the robe off, realizing with a flash that
she had bought it years ago and now was the first time she had ever worn it
for a man.  She might as well have been in a teddy and a g-string with
fishnet stockings.  She also resisted the temptation to admit that she'd
grabbed the wrong robe.

"Look, Eliot, I'm sorry things didn't work out with us-"

"I'm sorry."

"I don't care!" she snapped, anger flooding over her, "You had me on the
ground, begging for it and you spit on me!"

He turned away, but Miss Caulder crossed the bar and stood in front of him,
forgetting her nudity again,

"You had me on my knees, Eliot," she grabbed his chin and turned his face up
to look at her, "You had your cock in my mouth."

Frustrated beyond words she tore the robe off of her shoulders, careless of
anything the boy might think, and stomped across the living room into the
bathroom, reappearing a moment later strapping her pink, fluffy bathrobe
around her waist.  Staring at the boy she went on, "You owned me, little
man."

That got his attention.

"You owned me, at school, in my car, I spread my legs for you-not James,
you!  But that wasn't good enough for you, was it?"

He shook his head, surprising her.  She expected him to either deny it or
stay stubbornly quiet, but he seemed to agree.

"Wendy, I."  he started pacing, "I wanted my first time to be something
special."

Again, he paused, making lines back and forth across the living room while
Miss Caulder waited, her arms crossed.

"But when you. offered, it was like my whole body betrayed me."

He wheeled on her,

"A lot of guys do it with Sally, I mean she'll sleep with anyone!  I didn't
want that.  I thought I was better than them." He looked away again, "But
you came on to me and I just gave in."

Miss Caulder was fighting the urge to sympathize with the boy, "What was
wrong with that, Eliot?"

He threw up his arms, "What was wrong?  You.  I mean, you're a.  What you
told us-"

"I'm a slut."

He was obviously forcing himself not to nod.

"I didn't mean it to happen like that, Eliot." She took a few steps up to
the boy, "Things got out of hand and I."

She waited until the boy was looking up at her to see if she'd continue,
"Eliot, the same thing that you felt about me.  In spite of all your
feelings and reservations, I let myself get drawn in."

She looked away from the boy, "You were stronger than me."

She heard the boy shrug, "Not at first."

But she suddenly barked at him, "That doesn't forgive the shit you pulled in
the parking lot."

But he didn't look away.  "No, it doesn't."

She went to the bar, grabbed her seven-up and crossed to the couch, plopping
down.

Eliot sat at the other end of the couch, "There are some guys at school." he
looked away from her again, "Who did that to me."

She couldn't believe her ears, but then she remembered hearing third hand
about the way some boys treated each other.  Eliot went on,

"I mean they didn't put their dick in my.  But they tried to make me take
it.  Kept calling me a fag."

"Who?" Miss Caulder asked, putting a hesitant hand on the boy's knee.

He looked at her, "John and John-two."

And it all fell into place.

"Mr. Gold just told me to laugh it off.  Grow a backbone."

He was obviously choking back tears.

"It didn't occur to me until right now that that's probably what happened to
you."

She nodded, knowing how much Eliot hated himself for what he had done.  But
she didn't want to lie to him,

"I think I was easier than that, Eliot.  I should have been stronger."

He turned to her, "Well, you will be.  I mean next time." He was actually
smiling, sharing this horrible moment with someone, perhaps for the first
time ever, as tears welled up in his eyes.

She smiled at him, but couldn't quite bring herself to lie to him.  She
honestly didn't know what she would do the next time Mr. Gold decided he
needed a whore.  She didn't have any idea how she'd be able to act in front
of the John's, having surrendered so utterly to John-two and thrown herself
at John.  She simply couldn't bring herself to face any of that, much less
fight it, like Eliot had done.

Instead she found herself gently pulling the strap on her bathrobe.  The
hurtling shame descending upon her, and before she knew it she was naked
again, spreading her legs for him.  Eliot didn't hesitate this time.  She
had clearly won him over.  Or had given in to him, she couldn't be sure as
she held him off, fingering herself so he wouldn't come too soon, as a
favor, her mind flooded with visions of Mr. Gold, the clerk, and the
sensation of John-two's painful girth.

Before she knew it she was panting with the mind-numbing escape, and Eliot
descended upon her, his healthy member pressing against her moistened sex,
and letting Miss Caulder guide him in he groaned with the loss of his
cherry, grunting and panting with the ecstasy of penetration.  Miss Caulder
too was not immune to the pleasures of being had, to the shame of letting a
sixteen year-old boy take her on her couch, in her home, and though it was
over in a few short thrusts she felt enormous contentment at having sated
one cause of shame even at the expense of another, that she hadn't been able
to seduce the boy.

As the two lay panting Miss Caulder looked up at her ceiling, not a little
confused over whether she should be content of further shamed, but Eliot's
warm embrace, bony and gangly though he was, hardly any weight on her body,
seemed to bring its own form of solace, and she felt herself once again able
to ignore all these questions and conflicting emotions; just a body, just a
void that had been filled.  And she savored that feeling for as long as she
could while the boy panted and gasped over her.


end

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