Chapter 7 - Student Stress
It was the longest week of my entire life. The lesson had been explained and I knew the course of action I was to take, but there were moments when I seriously doubted my resolve. For the past few weeks I had been enjoying an incredible new world under Mr. Poln's tutelage, and as his loyal student I had been enormously rewarded for keeping my mind and my body open. I had gone from impossibly reserved and timid to secretly hungry; a ravenous beast underneath a pair of glasses, a set of braces, and a pleated skirt. Mr. Poln had already trained me at that point to get wet from his glance, and to melt entirely at his touch. I had learned to appreciate sex and sexuality, and I had learned to relish in the shame of being on my knees.
In short, I was already well on my way to becoming a slut when Mr. Poln had subjected me to this test of endurance. A week without our meetings, a week without sucking my teacher's cock, a week without him bending me over the side of his desk. The first day I couldn't truly believe what he had commanded of me the day before, and I had rushed to his office after school only to find it empty. I stood there, studying the chair he would so often sit in while his diligent student sucked his cock, remembering how he would comb his fingers through my hair and praise my skills if I did well. It sunk in for me that first day; Mr. Poln had been completely serious. And if he was serious, that meant that the lesson he had for me was an important one to learn.
Patience. I had to learn patience. At the time it seemed simply impossible; I was burning for him and would have done anything to have my teacher touch me like he so often did. That night, my body was wracked with emotion and frustration, and I spent my evening alternating between unsatisfying masturbation and juvenile, emotional sobbing. In the moments where I humored the imagined idea that Mr. Poln was simply trying to get out of our relationship cleanly, I reminded myself of the piece of paper he gave me to hand to my parents.
Our field trip. On Saturday I would leave with Mr. Poln for the trip, and an overnight stay. For a whole evening, a whole night, Mr. Poln would be mine...or more accurately, I would be his. My mouth would be his, my breasts would be his, and my pussy would be his. Every part of me, every twitching, hungry, eighteen year old part of me would belong to my forty-something teacher. On Saturday night I would be his slut, but until then...I had to be a patient slut.
I spent the days in class trying to focus on my studies, but my mind was in such a state that it was quick to wander. Handsome boys in my class were fodder for my daydreams as I imagined what they looked like naked, and pondered how they were in bed. Some of the boys seemed submissive and sensitive, the sort of traits that I'd look for in a boyfriend, but that was hardly the focus echoing through my body that week. Instead I'd study the jocks and the rebels, the perpetual bad boys in my private school that I knew were aggressive, unruly, and wild. Private schools lended people little way to identify themselves as troublemakers, but after so many years going to class with these men I knew which ones I would have wanted. In my daydreams and fantasies they had me, and I sat through my classes a wet, blushing mess.
That week in my fantasies, the linebacker of the football team took me in the backseat of his car. He was a large, muscular brute of a teenager, and his skin was a rich, dark brown. Throughout my English Literature class I pictured him pinning me against the back seat, claiming me from behind until my voice echoed against the fogged up windows. When he came in me, he forced me to clean his cock off with my mouth, and I eagerly did so hoping that he would rage and fuck me again. He sadly did not, and I was left to fantasize through my chemistry class.
In chemistry my mind spun a tale about the jerk in the back of the room, the first boy through all the grades of school to get in trouble for what would become the "in thing" that year. The first of my graduating class to get caught with cigarettes when we were freshmen, and the first of the class that very year to be caught with marijuana. He was unruly, crass, and almost staggeringly stupid by any standard estimation. He made fun of me throughout my many years at the private school, typically because of my lineage or the fact I was so constantly shy and afraid to assert myself. Most recently, he had taken to openly mocking me because of my need for braces at eighteen years old, at one point even remarking that any boy would be afraid to shove his mouth in there.
Well, in my fantasy he certainly wasn't shy. I had snuck into the AV room with him and sucked his cock for nearly twenty minutes, before he gagged me with my panties and fucked me with my back to the wall. He used it for leverage while he stood up, and my legs were wrapped tight around his waist, holding on as he pressed me in between the wall and his own firm body. Unlike the linebacker he used a condom, and when he finished and I slid down the wall and onto my rear, he pulled the full thing off and dangled it over my face. He ordered me to open my mouth, but when I did he only spit in it, and squeezed the contents of the condom out across my forehead, marking and humiliating me after I had served him so deliciously well.
A little odd, you might think, that I was so invested in the fiction of a boy I truly hated debasing and humiliating me on school grounds. I can't explain or even justify why it made me so wet, sitting there and pondering it in the middle of chemistry, but I was so entranced in the story that I had completely disregarded everything the teacher said for an entire day.
Besides, in my fantasy I still got my revenge on him. By the time he had caught his breath after fucking, let's face it, the greatest slut he'd ever get his cock inside, I had already snatched up his clothes and darted out of the AV room. I abandoned his clothes a few hallways down, leaving him naked and stranded in a public place.
Fantasies are fun sometimes.
The most notable came on Friday afternoon, the day before my trip with Mr. Poln was to take place. I had spent the week fantasizing about my fellow students, about what they would do to me given the chance, about how I would submit to them and let them use my body for whatever horny desires they had. By the end of it I had gotten fairly creative; thinking of bold new ways for my classmates to violate me, finding new and increasingly demeaning things for them to subject my body to. Some of them were things I had never even experienced with Mr. Poln, whom for all his dominance was still a responsible man, and would not push his prized student too far too fast.
Unfortunately, even a creative mind like mine got bored fucking teenage boys all week, and the sheer level of my building lust somehow beat through my imagination. My nights had been spent masturbating thinking of the grander fictions I had created through that day, but there were only so many imaginary boys I could suck off while kneeling on the floor of a dirty bathroom. My imagination had its fill of boys; and with my sleepover night with Mr. Poln quickly approaching, my mind and my desires were turning back to what truly aroused me: older men.
I was sitting in my Economics class, which was led by a sweet man in his thirties during his first official year of teaching. Mr. Carn had a reputation amongst students as a bit of a pushover, with large glasses that framed a narrow face and a slew of insecurities that were not at all uncommon for a first year teacher. He was unmarried, not terribly confident, but throughout the past year he had always treated myself and the other students with a measure of respect we often didn't deserve. Like most of my classes I was scoring straight A's in Mr. Carn's class, and I had even had conversations with him in the past where I praised his teaching style, letting him know that I was only able to get such remarkable scores because of his leadership. Technically a lie, but it was a harmless one at that, and ever since that day Mr. Carn had treated me with a kindness that showed he appreciated my gesture.
That day, at least in my imagination, Mr. Carn had far more to thank me for. When the class let out I had made my move, advancing on him while all the other students had slipped out for the day. I had approached his desk with a sway to my hips that I had learned during my many sessions with Mr. Poln, the pleated skirt sway back and forth around my hips, and my breasts shifting just enough within the confines of my bra. I had still not begun to dress in what you could call a sexy fashion; partly because the school dress code was so very limiting, and partly because it simply wasn't my style. There was a good chance that even if my private school didn't require me to wear a long sleeve, button-up dress shirt and a knee-length skirt, I still would have been. Socks pulled up as high as they could go were comfortable to me, as were my flat heeled, sensible school shoes. Though there were certainly times when I'd catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and feel something like a walking stereotype, I also felt comfortable in my skin. I was, after all, a Japanese schoolgirl.
Might as well live it up.
I approached Mr. Carn's desk, adjusting my glasses with one hand, and appreciatively rolling my tongue across my braces as I did so. My teacher was somewhat dumbfounded as one of his best students suddenly came up to his desk and dropped her books down on it, freeing up her hands to grab the edge of her skirt and lift. I stood there with a smile on my lips, holding the edge of my skirt at waist-level, showing Mr. Carn that I had not worn any panties that day. I was already shaven thanks to Mr. Poln's request, but now I showed that prize to Mr. Carn, letting another older man gaze at the glisten of my slit, a little prize that was his reward for a long day's work.
It was my fantasy, and since I was so intensely horny that day I found any amount of preamble boring, so our rush to sex was swift and without a lot of chitchat. Mr. Carn didn't need a whole lot of convincing; as soon as he saw the skirt lift to offer him a slice of teenage Japanese pussy, he was more or less on board with the project. I had crawled up onto the desk and pressed my knees into the metal frame, gyrating my hips while still holding my skirt aloft. My sweet Mr. Carn responded by enjoying the show for a moment or two, and then finally reaching out a hand to run his fingers down the length of one of my thighs. He was still a bit nervous, the poor thing, but my noises were enough to encourage him in his touches. Little brushes of his fingers became hungrier and more demanding, and before too long he was standing up beside the table, one of his hands palmed at my sex with two fingers deep inside of me. We were kissing like drunken fools; our tongues dancing while a line of our joined spit rolled down the corner of my chin. I could feel my teacher's two fingers inside of me, flicking back and forth, coaxing from me a nectar that I could no longer hold back.
When I asked Mr. Carn what he wanted to do to me through our hungry kiss, his demand shot waves of excited pleasure through me, pleasure that resonated not only to the Kim kneeling on his desk, but to the Kim sitting in the front row, daydreaming with wet panties.
"...let me fuck your ass." He groaned, and I gave a murmured grunt of heated agreement.
Mr. Poln had not yet trained my ass; it was one of the things he had often observed, commenting on it like it occupied a vague area between a threat and a promise. Often it would be after we had sex, when he would pull his cock out of my cum-filled pussy, slap the wet head against the pucker of my rear, and mention it like a fading afterthought. One day, he had even remarked that my anal training would be rough but rewarding, and would be one of the final stages of my slut orientation.
Well, Mr. Poln hadn't yet trained me how to take a man's cock in my ass, but you couldn't possibly convince the imagined Kim on Mr. Carn's desk of that. I was already on my knees on the floor, sucking on Mr. Carn's cock like I typically did to Mr. Poln. A mess of spit and slop against my face, Mr. Carn's unexpectedly large cock stretching the comfort of my lips. Whether it was his general girth or the awkwardness of my braces, it was a particularly sloppy and noisy blowjob, with every second was filled with wet, popping delight. Mr. Carn was enjoying himself quite a bit, remarking that it had been a while since he had enjoyed a woman's mouth by the time I had yanked his cock from my mouth and looked up at him with a hungry gaze.
"That's too bad." I offered, a line of spit connected my mouth to Mr. Carn's throbbing cock. I held a firm grip around the spit covered base, my hand steady and strong. "A cock like this is made for fucking students."
I'll freely admit that in my fantasies, the dialogue was never the strong point. To be completely honest my daydream about Mr. Carn was unique in that we did share a few brief words; usually my fantasies were pretty focused on me being treated like a craven slut with as little buildup as possible. Less waiting, more fucking; my body was a thing to be taken and used and the men who did so didn't have to ask permission or even say thank you after tossing my cum and sweat covered body to the side.
...Mr. Poln had me enormously worked up that week.
Mr. Carn's cock was covered in my spit, a thick, rich coat that one could only give through a mixture of dedication, some light gagging, and an absolute disregard for the comfort of the woman servicing you. My throat was still sore but as Mr. Carn rolled me onto the desk, I knew it wouldn't be the greatest ache in my body for long. He rolled me to sit on the desk upright, and he snatched my legs to lift them up, preparing to claim me in a missionary position.
"Want to see your face while I wreck your ass." The otherwise repressed and conservative Mr. Carn remarked, and I could feel the fire inside me burn a little hotter. Before too long my legs were hitched against his waist, my socks rubbing against the small of his back and my rump squirming around on the desk in anticipated delight. I was still completely clothed, but the sheer amount of spit from the messy blowjob I had given him made sure that the collar and front of my shirt was soaked and sticking to my flesh. I hadn't even bothered to wipe my mouth off, and as I gazed up at Mr. Carn it was through one lense of my glasses obscured with spit, the result of him dismissively slapping my face with his prick.
My lips were parted, and my breath was halted as I felt the touch of his cockhead, pressing against my rear entrance. Mr. Carn's face was a mask of grinning, devious delight, and it was clear to me that he enjoyed the idea of fucking a schoolgirl in the ass almost as much as he enjoyed the deed. An unexpected mean streak lit my teacher's face, and as he pushed the head of his cock inside and I felt that aching pinch, he spoke to me in a callous and cold fashion.
"Just a fuckhole for your teachers, huh?" He asked, watching as my face contorted from the pain of his head. I winced and struggled with the sudden pressure, my hands resting on his forearms and squeezing tight. "I know what you do with Poln. How many old cocks does it take to satisfy a slut like you?"
"Ah...ah…" I couldn't respond, partly because as his cock inched further into my ass my voice was stolen, and partly because I didn't have an answer. I truly didn't know how many it would take to satisfy me. As I sat in the middle of class watching Mr. Carn drone on in a far more passive manner than my fantasy, I couldn't help but quietly wonder if there even was some magic number.
At the time? It didn't feel like I'd ever be satisfied.
Mr. Carn pushed himself deeper into my ass, and every inch left me squealing, gasping, and wincing. My toes curled inside my boots and at one point my legs even thrashed about, my body trying to escape the slowly crawling pain that was pressing up my entrance. Mr. Carn forced me into position, pinning his hands against my lap and holding his teenage fuckhole firmly in place. With wide eyes I watched as Mr. Carn drew back, the spit around his cock shifting inside of me, and then with an unexpected motion he drove himself inside again, deeper than before, suddenly striking the depths of my ass. I could feel his cockhead crash against my walls, and his lap collided with my own as he claimed me with a savage, hungry pierce.
My voice broke out into the air, a small tear appearing at the corner of one of my eyes. I couldn't scream, I couldn't moan, I could only gasp out a small squeak, a tiny noise to summarize all that oddly delightful pain.
From there, I barely remember what had happened, but it was a mess of sweaty, lust-scented joy. Mr. Carn rammed my ass again and again, all the while gazing down at me, studying my body with nothing short of aroused contempt for the whore underneath him. At times his hands held my hips down to the table, at times they closed around my neck, tightening and nearly choking me. At one point his fury became too much to bear and as he clashed into my ass he grabbed the front of my shirt, violently jerking it open to send my buttons flying. At my breasts underneath my bra he showed no mercy, yanking down the covering garment and grabbing my nipples, twisting them until I owed in discomfort and delight. Once, he had even held my head at my jaw, forcing my mouth open so he could spit in it. Once he had he forced my mouth closed with both hands, covering my face with his hand until I had no choice but to swallow. When my tear broke away from the corner of my eye and slid across my cheek, he just gave a confident smirk and wiped it away with a firm slap that left my cheek red and my body on fire.
All the while, he claimed my ass. Heavy, spitsoaked strokes that made his desk creak and his schoolgirl whimper, delivered without mercy, without empathy, and without any regard for anything but his own visceral pleasure. Sweet Mr. Carn, whom I had always assumed was a gentle soul underneath his insecurities and his shy brown eyes, was a beast far more vicious than Mr. Poln would ever imagine being with me.
In my fantasy, I was obsessed with it. I sat in the real world at my real desk, my panties wet and my eyes constantly darting over Mr. Carn's face and body. His chest which bared down on me like an anchor, his throat which I had kissed and slaved my tongue across while he fucked me, and his hands. His hands that slapped me, choked me, pulled my hair until I screamed and twisted my nipples until they broke a boundary of tenderness that I never knew existed.
In the real world he was sitting at his desk, sipping coffee and reading the newspaper while the class worked on our quizzes. In my mind, he was breaking me, and forcing me to love every last second of it.
When he came, the desk shook from the impact, and the flood of cream into my aching ass was a torrent I knew was coming, but was powerless to defend myself against. It was an odd sensation; acutely different from when my pussy was claimed, and Mr. Carn's thick member twitched and spasmed throughout the entire duration. My glasses askew and my hair an absolute mess, when he pulled out my legs flopped down to the floor with my body following after. I slumped into a heap like I had completely melted, landing with my face against the cold tile of the floor and my ass lifted into the air. While I gazed blearily through askew eyeglasses I could feel his cum rolling out of my ass, dripping to the floor when it didn't cling in thick gobs against my thighs.
"Making a mess, Kim." I could hear Mr. Carn murmur, though my sense of reality was growing hazy. "Open that mouth and clean it up."
"Mrhrhrhm." I can't remember what it is I said, but I'm confident that it came out as gibberish. As my eyes blurred more I could hear him again, his voice sterner and more focused.
"Kim. Kim, time to turn over and clean it up."
"Hrmsh thsepin."
"Kim!" Suddenly there was a flash of light, and I was acutely aware of the distinction between words spoken in my dreams, and words spoken in real life. I jerked from my desk like I had been stuck with a knife, my hair bouncing about my head and my glasses actually flying off my face. I fumbled to catch them, juggling them briefly before clutching them against my chest. My head flew from side to side, trying quickly to figure out the puzzle that brought me back to the real world, and ultimately failing until the voice spoke again.
"Kim! I said turn in your sheet!" Mr. Carn stood over me, arching a brow as he held out a hand. I swallowed nervously, and looked down at my paper, my color draining as I gazed at what was laying on my desk.
My name wasn't Ki. And unfortunately...that looked like it was all I had gotten around to writing.
I shamefully scooped the paper up and held it out to Mr. Carn, giving him a sheepish, apologetic look.
"I...uh…" I whimpered, glancing from side to side as I heard some of the other students snicker. Mr. Carn looked at my paper and gave me a surprised and concerned look, clearly vested in the answer his best student could give for such an obvious display of negligence. "I...test...desk."
I test desk. I test desk?! What the hell was "I test desk?!" Mr. Carn just gave me a slightly disappointed look as he shook his head and turned his back, while the students around me snickered at what I only prayed they assumed was an intentional joke on my part. After he turned and left I let my head flop down on the desk, my forehead bumping against it as I gave a pathetic whimper. The worst part? I was still incredibly wet.
Saturday morning couldn't come soon enough.
For that matter, neither could I.
End of Chapter 7.
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