The Schoolgirl by John Warren
Stephanie had hated Catholic School: the nasty, demanding nuns, the constant lectures, the ugly costumes. “Well,” she thought, “they seemed ugly then.” She looked down at the straining white blouse. In the ten years since she had worn it, she had … well… grown. She had been able to get it on, but at the cost of discarding the bra, and now, her nipples showed clearly through the virginal white cloth.
The skirt fit fine. In fact, she had noticed with a smile that the waistband was already rolled a few times around the belt when she had taken it out of the box, an old trick to shorten its unfashionable length and a way of thumbing her nose at the nuns and their stodgy rules. She gave the belt a few more twists, bringing the hem well above her knees.
It had been a hot cyber relationship. He’d seem to know how to press all her buttons, and she’d gotten into the habit of telling him she’s have to stop chatting for a moment to go to the bathroom, but actually, she’d pulled aside her panties to finger herself. It hadn’t taken long, so worked up had the conversations made her. In fact, in the last week, she had taken to chatting in the nude to make the “bathroom breaks” more convenient. She had to laugh at that. One of the consistent male fantasies on-line was that the women chatters were sitting at their computers naked. In reality, she usually wore tattered and stained but comfortable sweats. Had she become a cliché? She didn’t feel like one; she felt turned on, frightened, HOT.
One of the hard and fast rules about turning cyber relationships into face to face ones was to initially meet your partner in a public place and never plan to play on the first meeting. Then, why was she standing on this porch, at night, reaching for the doorbell. She didn’t know, but she did know that if she didn’t do something in the next five seconds she was going to run back to her car and …
The door opened.
The room behind him was brightly lighted, so he was just a silhouette, a very big silhouette, a huge silhouette. His form seemed to fill the doorway. She couldn’t speak. Her eyes moved from the broad shoulders down the chest to the waist that was narrow only in comparison to his shoulders. She tried to speak but no words came out. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.
Before she could move, his hand came down and gently touched the back of her neck. For a moment, she felt the strength behind it and flashed on a fantasy of her, on her knees, with the hand holding the back of her neck, forcing her mouth to take his cock deeper and deeper until…
The voice that broke her reverie was deep and commanding but gentle. “Lovely, you didn’t lie. The outfit is perfect.” He stepped aside, keeping a light grip on her neck, and guided her through the door. Some part of her brain screamed, “Stop, Run,” but she walked obediently through the door and into a perfectly ordinary living room dominated by a big-screen TV.
He led her down a flight of stairs into…. It looked like a classroom. There were a line of three old-fashioned desks, the kind with the hole for an inkwell, a blackboard, a teacher’s desk and a map of the United States. At the back of the room, were other things covered in black cloth. He guided her to one of the desks and she sat down without being told. Then, he got a sheet of paper and a number 2 pencil off the teacher’s desk and put them in front of her. She looked at them in confusion. This was NOT what she had expected.
“This is your test,” he said. “I recommend you do not fail it.” The tone was flat but there was an underlying threat that made her mouth dry.
She turned over the paper and read, “What is six inches long and sticks out of a man’s pajamas?” The next was, “What does a man do standing up, a woman do sitting down and a dog do on three legs.” She laughed.
Where the ruler came from she had no idea. Her first inkling he was holding it was a shock of agony in her left hand. She gave a surprised scream and the laugh vanished.
“I recommend you take this test seriously, young lady. If you fail it, the consequences will be severe.”
He sat on the edge of the teacher’s desk and silently watched as she answered the ten questions. She didn’t know where this was going and she was beginning to be really afraid. It had been fun on-line when he ordered her about sternly, warning her about “the consequences of misbehavior,” but there she could turn a switch and be free. She thought she remembered the heavy click of a deadbolt as he closed the door at the top of the stairs. She fought down panic. All of the questions were overtly sexual and she answered them with one and two word answers. When she was finished, she lowered her eyes and raised her hand.
He took the paper. Sitting behind the desk, he took a red pencil from the drawer and began to read. “His neck,” he muttered and put a big red X on the paper. “Shake hands” Another X. Ten questions; ten X’s. Her head spun. She had not even considered those answers. She didn’t even see him move, but he was there, pulling her out of the desk by her ear. Her hands flailed and she screeched. As he pulled her across to the teacher’s desk, she may have hit him a few times. The blows had as little effect as raindrops on a brick wall. He bent her over the desk, and that strong hand came down on her ass. She wailed. “I have” Another slap “never see” Slap “such slutty answers” Slap “in all my days” Slap” “as a teacher.” Slap Slap Slap “You must be obsessed with sex.”
Stephanie wiggled, partially from the pain, but also from the realization that she was getting exactly what she wanted. Then the spanks stopped and she felt a finger being drawn between her legs. She wiggled some more. Then, a yank at her hair jerked her head up and a finger was thrust under her nose.
“Smell yourself, you slut; would any decent little girl get all turned on from a spanking?” It was so exciting that she gasped, and before she could close her mouth, the finger was inside and she heard, “Lick it clean.”
“Lick? Fuck,” she thought, overcome by a wave of sybaritic feelings, “I’ll suck his damned fingernail off.”
He left the finger in her mouth for a minute or two while his other hand played with the tightly stretched panties over her ass; then it returned to its grip on her hair and his other hand went into the desk’s drawer, emerging with an exacto knife. The forgotten fear returned. Her arms waved, but a jerk on her hair quieted her quickly.
She felt and heard the knife cut through the panties at the top of the crack and then cut slowly downward across her asshole and over her pussy. As the cool steel touched her pussy lips, she, involuntarily, drew in a breath and went rigid. Cool air touched her labia, but when his hand returned, she realized her pussy wasn’t what interested him. His finger felt cool and damp as it traced circles over her ass and then slid into her ass so suddenly she didn’t think to react. This scared her more than everything before.
“I’m a virgin back there,” she said softly, pleadingly.
“What did you say?” he questioned.
Gathering her courage, she said louder, “I’m a virgin back there.”
He jerked her to her feet, and she found herself standing only a foot or so from him. She had to crane her neck to look at his face. He didn’t look like her admission bothered him. Suddenly, he grabbed the front of her blouse with both hands and ripped it open. Buttons flew everywhere and her breasts popped free.
Grabbing her erect nipples, he pulled them until she was standing on her tiptoes and said, “That won’t be the case after today.” He spun her around and pushed her toward the back of the room.
The black cloth came off with a jerk. At first, Stephanie thought it was more school stuff, a vaulting horse from gym class. Then she saw the straps and the places for hands and feet and…. It puzzled her for a moment. It looked like a mechanical heron’s neck but where the bill would be was a…
“Noooooo!” she moaned, realizing it would do no good.
He was so strong that she had no chance to resist and in moments she was belly down on the machine, her knees and elbows strapped to small platforms. Her waist held by a wide belt and her head held back and up by a complex chin rest so, while she was laying horizontal, she was looking at the far wall rather than the floor, but none of this bothered her as much as what was behind, out of sight but far from out of mind.
She felt his lubed finger again inside her and she began to panic, but before she could decide to call her safeword, it pulled out. What replaced it, seemed softer and smaller, but as it penetrated, she felt herself being spread, ripped, she struggled, she fought, the safeword rose to her lips, but before she could say it, his hand crashed down on her ass. This confused her for a moment, just long enough for her to feel the object move inside and her asshole return almost to normal.
She tasted salt and realized she was crying.
She opened her eyes to see, not two inches away, his cock. Without being asked, she opened her mouth and let him enter. She considered herself a skilled cocksucker, but this was a new position for her and was trying so hard to accommodate him she didn’t notice at first the sensation. It was a vibration… rising and falling, but never quite falling beyond sensation. She gasped and he took advantage to push his cock harder against the back of her mouth… against her throat; she suddenly realized the position she was in had potentials she hadn’t considered.
Then she realized the vibration wasn’t the only thing that was changing. The damn thing was pulsing, getting bigger and bigger. Another gasp. Now, she realized he was in her throat and she was only able to breathe as he pulled back before each thrust. It hurt. Her throat hurt; her ass hurt, her neck, bent back the way it was, hurt and suddenly she didn’t care. She tried to thrust back against the machine in her ass. She sucked and tongued his cock as it slid in and out.
“I’m not giving him head,” she thought. He’s fucking my face. I’m just another cunt.” The thought was exciting. More exciting than she had thought possible. Logical thought eroded like a sand castle hit by an incoming wave. Feeling replaced thought. Passion replaced analysis. She moaned when she could breathe and tried to grip his cock with her throat muscles when she couldn’t.
She didn’t notice when he pulled out. She was lost in a maelstrom of sensation, an ultimate self-centeredness that recognized no boundaries between her mouth, his cock, her ass, the machine, the straps binding her or anything else. She vaguely realized the machine was gone from her ass but it was still full and pulsating. She felt a hard stomach striking her and hands pulling at her hair, stroking her face, come flooding into a place she had never felt, never considered.