Part 1, The Music Classroom

I'm no good at the clarinet. I love playing it for the marching band, but really I just like the cool outfits with the silly skirts with slitted pleats and the funny hats that always leave black fuzz in my strawberry blond hair. And the marching, that's fun too. I like the rhythm, my body in pulse with everyone else's. And it's neat to be out there, at parades and stuff! This class, music class, this part is no fun.

Of course, my jacket doesn't really fit right anymore. Julie says I need a new one, and she says I should talk to my mom about getting some bras. But, I dunno, she always looks silly with her bra straps showing in everything, and, heck, her boobs already outgrew them all. She's always complaining about it. Plus, next year, when I start marching band in high school, I'll need a new uniform anyways.

Still, maybe I should talk to Mom. Even this old t shirt, which used to be a little loose on me, well, now I was even catching Mr Palmer, the music teacher, looking at my chest. Nobody cared about my nipples before they had breasts behind them, but now it felt like they were magnets for people's eyes.

But, then, I did kind of like it. It was almost funny talking to some boy and watching his eyes dart to my chest twice every sentence. Maybe I wouldn't talk to Mom just yet.

The bell rang and I was packing up my clarinet when Mr Palmer came over to me. I could feel his eyes on my chest as I closed the lid of my case and shoved the stiff snaps into place. I felt my chest jiggle with the each motion in that new way it'd been doing lately as I did. I looked up at him.

"Ms Forrel, we need to talk." He sat on the table next to me as the class spilled out of the room. It was lunch, and I was hungry, but, I'm always hungry. So I just smiled.

"What's up, Mr Palmer?" I leaned over in my chair, shoving the case into my backpack, cramming it around the books, my chest jiggling annoyingly again as I did. The case was still stuck halfway out, but it was lodged in tight, so I zipped up the bag as best I could and stood, hefting the heavy weight onto the table next to Mr Palmer. All the while, he just watched.

"Uh, I mean, what do you need, sir?" I repeated, confused. He didn't usually push the formality thing like the other teachers. He shook his eyes off my chest.

"Um, do you mind taking a seat?" He turned the chair I'd been sitting in away from the big circle and toward where he sat on the table. I obliged, sitting on the edge, feeling his knees a little uncomfortably close. I thought he was reading my mind just then, because he immediately spread his legs. I looked up at him and he coughed. "I know you love your instrument, but I think you might want to consider something else." He leaned over, pulling a stray hair out of my face.

"But, Mr Palmer…" My face went bleak, and I looked at my feet as his hand grazed my cheek, falling to my shoulder. "I… I'm only good at the wood ones… the ones you blow in…" I hated the clarinet, but it was honestly the only thing I could really make work. I couldn't do trumpets or anything, and my fingers weren't big enough for an oboe. "I could try the flute, sir." I offered.

"I don't mean…" He sighed, pulling his hand off my shoulder and sitting back upright. "Sweetheart, you start high school next year, and you'll have to try out for their marching band. I don't know how you'll do, Ms Forrel. I don't really know if music is exactly 'your thing.'"

I looked up at him, feeling my eyes water. I held my hands to my face, surprised that I was almost crying about this. But, I loved it. I loved marching band, even though I hated the clarinet. And, apparently, sucked at it. Hard. "Please don't make me quit!" I reached up, grabbing his legs, and felt myself all but bawling. "I'll do anything, please, sir, please!"

"I'm not…" He seemed to choke, shifting back on the table, "I'm not making you quit, Ms Forrel. Don't cry…"

I buried my face in his lap. "Why… I can't…" I wiped my tears on the thigh of his slacks, leaving wet streaks here there along his crotch. "I know can't really play at all." I choked back a sob, pulling my hair from my face, my elbows splayed across his lap as I leaned on him from my chair. "Please help me… Mr Palmer…"

I'm not stupid, I mean, it wasn't, like, the end of the world if I couldn't do band. But, I don't know, it hurt. It felt like he was rejecting me. Like the band was rejecting me. Like High School was. Maybe it's stupid to burst into tears over something like that, I don't know, maybe I'm stupid.

I must've been, because it wasn't until I pulled my hair from my face and set my hand back down on his thigh that I realized exactly what I was doing to him. I could actually feel his stiff flesh slide out from where it had been stuck down his trouser leg and pop up in front of me. I had been literally wiping my tears on his cock.

I'd caught him glancing up the legs of my jean shorts at least twice today, and wondered whether the sight of my pretty pink panties with their little purple hearts had been having this effect on him the whole class. I sniffled, looking at his obvious erection, then peered up at him.

He coughed. "I can talk to John, John Werner, at the high school." He seemed oblivious to my realization. I sniffled again as he leaned down close to look me in the eyes. "And I can help you with your clarinet, but, Ms Forrel, I just don't think it's meant to be."

I whimpered, because it hurt. It hurt to hear it, even though I knew it was true. He didn't have to say it like that. "What can I do, sir?"

"I'll tell you what, I can try to help you out, and if you start to improve I'll call Mr Werner." He smiled at me as I felt my lips pout, struggling against sobbing. I was never going to improve. "But I can't promise anything."

"You can just call him and he'll let me in?" I sniffled off the sob, looking up at him. "Just like that, Mr Palmer? "

"I don't, I mean, Ms Forrel, you really need to show a lot of improvement for me to do that." He held out his hand and I took it, letting him pull me up, briefly standing awkwardly close to him, between his knees. "Can you put in the extra hours? Do you think you can really show me something?"

"Uh, maybe…" I said, bracing my hand unthinkingly on his thigh as I lifted my bag onto my shoulder, my face a pouty mess. "I mean, no, I mean, yes. Yes, sir, I'll show you something." He nodded to me, an earnest, faithful smile, full of belief in me, and I turned, crossing to leave,trying not to cry.

I don't know why, but the bulge in his pants popped into my mind as I came to the other end of the classroom. I paused by the door. I knew I wasn't going to show any improvement on the clarinet. But maybe that wasn't what he was asking.

I closed the door, clicking the lock and shuffling off my book bag.

"Ms Forrel?" He had slid off the table and walked over to his desk.

"I think I can show you something to convince you right now, Mr Palmer…" I set my bag by the door and started walking back to him.

He looked from me to the door and back. "Then you'd have to play pretty well. Better than you've been playing lately."

"What if I didn't show improvement?" I ran a finger along the hem of my shirt, catching it and pulling it up, "What if I showed you something else…" I pulled my fingers up along my stomach, and up between my cleavage until I could feel the fabric of my shirt drag past the bottom of my breasts, hanging gingerly on the edge of my nipples.

"Ms Forrel…"

"Oops!" I ran my free hand along under my breasts, tracing their bared curves, "I guess I can't show you my bra if I don't have one…" My free hand dropped to my jean shorts, sliding a thumb between them and the pink cotton underneath. "And I noticed you already peaking at these."

Standing barely a foot from my teacher now, I tugged down, the too-loose shorts slipping more easily than I'd planned, popping off my butt entirely and almost falling straight to the floor. I kicked my feet wide as they slipped, catching the waist just above my thighs, baring nearly all of the front of my panties to Mr Palmer, save the increasingly-damp bottommost half inch or so.

"Ms Forrel, you can't possibly think this is anything like acceptable behavior." His eyes were glued to the pink cotton. "You have to stop this."

"But I want to show you something, something to convince you… " I bit my lip. He was hardly jumping up to stop me. "Maybe I can show you what's inside my panties, you haven't seen that yet… "

I dropped my shirt hand, letting my shirt drop with it as I grabbed both sides of my little pink panties with their pretty purple hearts and flipped them down, over the outside of my shorts, exposing their insides, and the smooth skin that was just seconds ago inside them. A quick glance down caught just the very tip of my slit, peeking out at Mr Palmer, whose eyes held nearly the same angle as mine and couldn't possibly be shaken from the sight before them.

"I can't… " He tried to start, sputtered and tried again. "I can't…"

I let my feet slide back together, my shorts slipping down only an inch, caught in the waistband of my panties. But what an inch!

"No, this has to stop, this isn't…" He couldn't look up. "This is… "

"If I can't show you enough to convince you…" I instantly dropped to my knees in front of him, his eyes meeting mine as my face slid into the spot his gaze has been locked on to. "Maybe I could convince you some other way?"

"… inappropriate…" He managed to push my shoulders gently back, but I shrugged him off, reaching up to his belt and tugging his buckle loose, pulling his belt open.

"Maybe you're right, Mr Palmer… Perhaps I should try a different instrument…" I licked my lips and gripped at his hot, stiff cock through his ugly brown wool slacks.

"Ms Forrel, you have to stop." Approaching him seemed to make him panic, and he firmly pushed my hands away, glancing at the locked classroom door with its small frosted window, but I knew he wanted more. His cock was so obviously stiff in his pants it looked practically painful. So I unbuttoned and unzipped the front, yanking them and his boxers to his knees. His cock caught in the elastic waist of the boxers, springing up in front of my face. I smiled up at him, his eyes wide with shock.

"No, stop this!" He stepped back, stumbling as his pants fell around his ankles, falling roughly against his desk. I leapt forward, my shorts and panties slipping in a tangled mess around my ankles as I grabbed the base of his cock with both hands, shoving my mouth onto it without hesitation. "Oh god…"

I knew what I was doing. Well, I mean, my friend Marisa had told me about it. She knew what she was doing. But, I guess I didn't, not really. She'd shown me this video on her sister's computer where a girl sucked on this guy's cock for, like, forever, and then pumped it with her hand until squirted his stuff on her tits. I guess that was my plan.

So I sucked on his cock, right there, in the classroom, holding him onto his desk with all my weight, my knees awkwardly bent out with my ankles tangled in my shorts. That seems pretty silly now since he could easily have picked me up and moved me aside. Which actually makes his constant pleading for me to stop kinda weird.

"Oh god, Ms Forrel, don't…" His fingers threaded into my hair as I pumped my head on his stiff cock, fitting more and more of the increasingly slippery shaft deeper and deeper into my mouth, until it hit my throat. I wrapped my right hand around the base of it, and my left squeezed his balls. I watched his face and he winced, too tight, so I stopped and just played with them gently. "Oh, Ms Forrel…"

I pulled off sloppily, my chin dribbling with my spit as his cock swayed gently in front of me. "Call me Lexi, Mr Palmer."

"Oh, Lexi, don't stop… You've almost got me there…" He pulled my head back onto his cock and I slipped it into my mouth again. "Oh god…" I felt his hips stiffen in front of me and thought he might be finishing. I tried to pull him out to let him squirt on my tits, but he held onto my head.

I struggled to pull off, pushing against his hips, drawing my head back when I felt hot goo fill my mouth. The end of his cock was just inside my lips now, and I could feel it squirt into the back of my throat and all over the inside of my mouth. I gagged as his grip loosened, and I pulled off his cock, another burst splashing across my face. The white goop was dribbling from my mouth onto the floor.

"Geez, Mr Palmer," I tried to spit the sticky fluid out, but i could feel it clinging to my teeth. "This is so gross! I can't believe you did that!"

"Lexi, I thought…" He looked down at me as I wiped dribbles of spit and cum from my mouth and face. "You've never done this before, have you?"

"I've never even seen a penis before, Mr Palmer…" I whispered shyly. "I mean, one time, in a porn I watched with Marisa, but he squirted his stuff on her tits…" I spat again, the goop still sticking to my teeth. I got the feeling it wasn't going to go away. "That was kinda my plan." I looked up at him, pouting.

"Fuck, Lexi, I…" He yanked up his boxers and pants, "Call me Bill." He fixed his shirt and zipped up, pulling his belt tight. "I'm sorry I came in you mouth… Wait, Marisa? Marisa Quinn?"

"Came?" I wiped as much off my face as I could get off and stood up, goo stick clinging to me as I wiggled my feet free from my clothes. "I'm sorry I spat it all over the floor… Let me clean it up…" I turned, grabbing some tissues from his desk, and knelt back down to clean up my mess.

"Ya, Lexi, it's cum. It's called cumming. Do you often watch porn with Marisa Quinn?" He watched as I rubbed the floor, and I felt my breasts bouncing softly in that way they do now that they're big. His eyes were on them when I looked up at him, likely only because everything else being exposed was at the wrong angle.

"It was her sister's porn. And I wanted you to cum on my tits, not in my mouth." I rubbed my teeth with my tongue, feeling his 'cum' still on them.

"Some girls swallow it, is all, I just thought…" He looked through me for a second. "You mean Alisa Quinn? She's Marisa's sister, right? The smart one?"

"Ya, apparently she watches porn, like, all the time." I stood up, smiling at him. "So, Mr Palmer, sir, do you think you could possibly call Mr Werner for me? Please, sir?" I smiled my sweetest smile up at him, giving him the biggest doe eyes I could. It occurred to me I must look silly, his cum still stubbornly sticking all over my face, my shorts and panties tangled up on the floor behind me. I hoped he didn't mind. "I promise to keep practicing my new instrument with you, if you want…" I fluttered my eyelashes. "I can even practice swallowing the cum…"

"I'll call him right now, immediately. Of course." Mr Palmer shook his head and sped around his desk, rooting through his drawers, presumably for his address book.

"Thank you very much, sir!" I spun, scooping up my clothes and hurriedly tugging them on as I walked over to the door. I picked up my bookbag, clicking open the lock and flipping on the light. I was about to step out when he shouted to me and I turned back. He gestured me over and I came up to his desk, my backpack on one shoulder. "Is there something else you need, Mr Palmer?"

"Yes, Lexi," He pulled a neatly folder handkerchief from his drawer, and reached over to wipe gently at my face, the smell of the clean cloth mixing with the salty musk. He held it out, the streaks of cum that had been stuck to my face now stuck to it, "We can't have you running around the school with this all over you, can we?"

I smiled, grabbing his wrist and pulling his handkerchief to me. With my eyes locked on his, I drew the cloth into my mouth, sucking off as much of his goo as I could and hungrily swallowing it, showing him just how eager I was to stay in band.

"Can I come in for more practice next week?" I smiled sweetly, my eye pleading once more.

"Let's count on it." He licked his lips.

"I'll want to practice this every day!" I grinned, turning and darting to the door, heading out with my usual friendly wave as he picked up the phone.

'That was really something.' I thought to myself as I wandered through the empty halls to the cafeteria. 'Maybe I'll have to have a talk with Mr Jackson about that history test I bombed last week…'

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