Melissa Warren slumped down in her desk, head in her hands, and tried to make sense of the most bizarre and humiliating day of her entire life. Waking up naked, the shift in her wardrobe, the outrageous accusations by Mary Ann and then later by Mr. Vickers, way she blindly opened herself to having her tits fucked by a student... and worst of all, how her thoughts kept betraying her as she analyzed it.

But you look so good naked...

Free wardrobe! And SO much sexier!

Can you blame them for thinking so little of you with the way you’re acting?

OMG that was totally the best orgasm EVER! And hey, at least was a senior – no statutory!

After a few minutes of wallowing in her total misery, she decided the only thing to do would be to just keep going. If they weren’t going to fire her, she needed to continue working, and continue earning her keep. She unlocked the library door, bracing herself for a flood of students coming into to ogle the librarian-turned-whore – media specialist turned whore – but no one came.

She sat down and resolved to get back to work on her presentation, not even noticing for a bit that her headache had suddenly disappeared. When she did noticed, she spared only a moment to be grateful for its absence and threw herself into the presentation. She was still frustrated, her fingers tripping over the keys and her mind freezing up when she reached for choice words, and more than once her calculator saved her from embarrassing errors in her figures. Duh, three times five is fifteen, not thirty-five.

Still, it was a relief to be working, and just the feeling of working was its own reward. Even with her brain still muddied from the crazy day, she could tell she wasn’t doing her best work, but at least she wouldn’t have to walk into the school board meeting naked. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Lunch came and went, and the library remained mercifully empty. There was a balance in it though, for by the time lunch passed – and Melissa most definitely ate alone today, unable to face her colleagues after the incident – her headache had returned, as violent as before. Tylenol did nothing for it, and she had no one to return to for help. She was afraid to close her eyes again, lest her body betray her again like with Matt Fischer. So she sat there, hands folded in her lap over her joke of a miniskirt, whimpering to herself.

Melissa was still engaged in this when the library door opened. She straightened her posture, all too aware of how her breasts were jutting forth obscenely in the painted-on top, and was for once glad to see that her visitor was not a student, but Carl Jenks, wrestling coach and health teacher.

Melissa detested the coach – he was the sort who gave hard-working public servants like herself a bad name. Behaving as I have today, I suppose I’m not much helping, she admitted privately. But the coach was the same old guy day in, day out. A muscle-bound idiot who gave out grades according to his whim and with a reputation for leering at the young women – and some said doing more than just looking. She still remembered feeling uncomfortable in his class a handful of years ago when she had attended this school. Heaven knows he’d made enough passes at her since she’d been hired on as faculty. But Principal Vickers always sided with the jocks, and Coach Jenks had three state championships under his belt.

The libr– media specialist braced herself for a lewd comment, a perverse stare, anything the Coach might throw at her. Instead, for the first time she could remember since she began working here, he completely ignored her. He walked right past her desk without more than a cursory nod, and went back into the nearby teacher’s workroom. (Melissa had tried to convince Mr. Vickers to be allowed to make it an office for herself, but no luck yet on that score.)

She resumed nursing her headache, massaging her throbbing temples, nearly forgetting he was there before she heard the coach’s gruff voice call out. “Hey Missy, can I see you in here?”

She positively snarled – she was irked to be called by her first name, much less the cutesy derivation Missy. No one had called her that since 4th grade, and she would be damned if she let this barbarian revive it now.

She stomped awkwardly on her towering heels into the workroom to find the Coach using the machine they used to make letters for bulletin boards. He seemed deep in thought for perhaps the first time she could remember.

“Now you listen here, Carl, I do not appreciate being referring to in such familiar terms. It’s Melissa, please.” She kept her tone insistent, and only belatedly realized she had meant to tell him to call her Ms. Warren.

“Sure, whatever,” he responded dismissively. “I wondered if your gorgeous self could gimme a hand here.”

“Carl!” Melissa sputtered.

“Mister Carl,” he smirked.

“Mr. Carl,” she corrected herself, “please keep yourself professional. I am not some tart you can just win over with mere flattery.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’d take a wink and a $20 to seal the deal with you,” he laughed, “but for once I actually need your technical expertise. I’m trying to do an educational bulletin board for the kids, and I figured you’re the expert, so...”

He moved on from his insult so quickly and made his request so earnestly she forgot her outrage. “Oh. Well. I suppose I am the media specialist.”

“Don’t push it, Missy.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he continued too quickly. “I’m doing a board on STD’s – you know, what to be aware of, symptoms, how to avoid ‘em, all that stuff. Any advice?”

She gaped. “And why would you think I would be in a position to give advice on such a subject? I mean, I’m sure we have books on the topic, but you can do your own research.”

“If I wanted to read a book, I’d talk to a real librarian. I just figured you’d have some tips from the school of hard knocks – you know, biggest slut in the school and all.”

Missy was confounded. What he had said was easily grounds for termination in any state in the country – and yet why had it made her knees go weak? Why did she suddenly feel flushed? And damp?

“Mr. Carl! You– I– Why–”

“I was kidding, Missy, damn. Coach is fine, if you wanna use a title. It’s what you used to call me in our little after-school tutoring sessions, remember?” He winked.

“Our...? No, we never... did I...?” Missy thought hard. She remembered being in the Coach’s class. She remembered the looks, the leers... just the memory of her made her so hot... she didn’t remember acting on them, but surely if he had suggested it... just once... or more if it felt good...

“Oh, don’t get too excited, Missy. Back then you were in mint condition, but now you’re damaged goods. Ain’t no way I’d shove my dick in that gentleman’s club you call a pussy now – that hole’s had more visitors than Mammoth Cave, and is twice as wide.” He laughed.

“My pussy is not wide!” She hefted her skirt, bunching it up to a two-inch ribbon around her waist. She was surprised to realize she’d omitted panties in her outfit that morning, but it worked to her advantage now in her demonstration. She grabbed the Coach’s meaty hand and thrust it between her legs, which she spread for his ease of access. With a smug grin, the Coach slipped in a couple fingers.

“Not bad – it’s no henhouse, but it ain’t no barn either.” He probed around, and she found herself wriggling and writhing as she impaled herself on it. His thick thumb rubbed at her clit, and her sweet little cunt just oozed around it as it readied itself for something more interesting than some fingers.

The Coach amused himself playing with her, chuckling at how she responded to his artless ministrations. Soon Missy found herself hopping up onto the countertop, legs spread wide, moaning and panting. “Fuck me, Coach. Mmm, fuck me...” she pleaded.

“Yeah right,” the Coach said, suddenly pulling his hand back. “There ain’t enough condoms in the world to make me feel safe plugging a cunt like yours.” He looked at her in disgust.

“No! I’m clean! Pretty please, Coach! I promise, I’ll fuck you so good, just stick it in me, pweeeeease! You can trust widdle Missy!” she heard herself pleading.

“That’s what they all say, slut – I’m not buying what you’re selling, even though I hate to leave you high and dry. Or sopping wet, I guess.” He laughed. “Say, I know. Why don’t you put that pretty little mouth of yours to use, and while you suck me off, I’ll let you play with yourself. How’s that sound?”

Though his tone suggested he was being entirely facetious, Missy locked on the idea. It had been fun having Matt Fischer’s dick in her mouth, after all! How much more fun would it be with a big muscley man like the Coach? She threw herself forward and off the counter, landing on her heels but letting the momentum carry her down to her knees, where she frenziedly tore into the Coach’s belt buckle and jeans.

Suddenly, there it was before her – the Coach’s cock in all its glory. It was already hard! From her! Missy was so proud of herself. She’d done something good today after all – maybe she couldn’t concentrate on some stupid presentation or remember to keep her titties covered in the hallways, but she could for sure make cocks hard, and that was braggable, she thought.

Then it was her mouth, and conscious thought evaporated in a torrent of sheer feeling. It felt so right! She eased it deeper, deeper, until the Coach’s thicket of pubes tickled her nose. She giggled as she tried to slide it into her throat – she’d read about that somewhere, she was sure, how boys like it when girls took a boy’s dick into their throat. Missy moaned; she loved books almost as much as she loved sucking dick.

“Oh, you’re as good as they say,” the Coach grunted as he began to piston his hips in and out of her mouth.

“As who says?” she tried to say, only it came out “uzh huhs zhuh?” The Coach rolled his eyes, not knowing or caring what came out of her mouth and instead simply enjoying what he was shoving in her mouth.

Missy was having so much fun she barely noticed when Mrs. Kunstler stepped into the workroom behind her. She tried to twist her head to see, but the Coach thumped the top of her head and then held her head in place and started to fuck her face at a nice leisurely pace. “Sorry, Mary – little bitch couldn’t help herself. Again.”

Mrs. Kunstler clucked her tongue. “I can hardly blame you – it’s easier to give the bimbo her fix than fight her off, I hear. Did you hear she was parading around the halls this morning without even a bra on? One of these days, John really needs to put his foot down.”

The Coach’s voice was a bit strained – Missy could tell he was close to blowing his load in her mouth. It renewed her commitment. “Yeah, I hear he tried to let her go last year, but then she traded a weekend at each school board member’s house for her job. I guess until cheap sex with a hot piece of ass goes out of style, we’re stuck with her.”

Mrs. Kunstler filled her coffee mug and looked down at Missy with utter contempt. “You just don’t give a fuck, do you?” The older woman sighed, and just for spite started tapping Missy’s forehead like she was testing a melon. “Anyone in there? Anybody home?”

“Ouuuummmm!” Missy griped through a mouthful of Coach. The two laughed derisively at her irritation and discomfort. Missy considered stopping the blowjob – that’d show Coach to be nicer to her! – but then his body tensed, and suddenly he was spewing cum like a firehouse. The taste of it triggered Missy’s own orgasm, and as her vision blacked out from the magnitude of the pleasure, she dimly remembered she had forgotten to finger herself while she blew him.

As she came to, she became aware of two shapes standing over her. She heard a man’s voice speaking. “... really sorry about your coffee – when she fell off me, it just sort of sprayed.”

“It’s fine – I’ll set the mug on Missy’s desk. I doubt she’ll mind.” A woman’s voice.

“Yeah, she’s probably so used to it by now she wouldn’t even notice.” The man again. Coach Jenks? Yes, his voice.”

Missy was still lying there spread eagle, gingerly jilling herself off, when the two walked out. She made a mental note about the coffee... something was in it. She’d already forgotten what.

She was still there when another teacher walked in. Mr. Prendergast, the chemistry teacher, all set to retire this spring. “Morning, Missy. C’mon, stand up and let me take care of you.”

As the hexagenarian bent her over the letter machine and slipped his wrinkled old cock into her, Missy forgot all about coffee and presentations and did her whorish best.

Meanwhile, back in the real library, Albert stood over Ms. Warren’s prone body from where it had slumped forward on her desk. His spells were working – it had put her to sleep, and the illusion seemed to be working better than he had hoped judging from the faint moans and twitching of her hips. Soon he would wake her up, and see if he could manage to seal the deal.