Teacher Training Pt2
Introduction:
The schoolboy’s grip on his sexy young teacher tightens.
Chloe stood shamefaced, her life an abject mess. Humble mumbled apologies went unheeded. “Come closer, Miss Hunt,” Mason beckoned.
Hands behind back like a naughty schoolgirl, Chloe shuffled forward to stand face to face with the head, though he remained seated. A towering presence in the mould of a typical 1950’s authoritarian, Mason was able to recall with fondness the days when corporal punishment was encouraged. In these more liberal modern times, however, any such indiscretion was a punishable offence in itself. Chloe knew it too, her momentary lapse unforgivable. “It’s a shame, for you’re a good teacher, popular with students and teachers alike,” Mason eulogised, like he was reading her obituary.
The words cut like a scalpel. “Is there anything I can do to keep my job?” she pleaded.
She was clutching at straws, knowing full well that the moment the snotty-nosed brat she’d gently backhanded squealed to his parents, her career was finished. But she loved teaching and had to cling to something. “Is there anything you can do to help, Mr Mason?” she appealed with doe eyed innocence.
Mason sighed long and hard. “Oh I think it’s too late for that, don’t you, Miss Hunt?”
Chloe’s eyes filled with tears. “There must be something you can do to help me, Sir.”
The old headmaster rubbed at his chin. “You want me to pull a few strings to get you off the hook, yes, Miss Hunt?”
Chloe’s spirits took a leap. He seemed to be coming round to her way of thinking, assisted no doubt by her personable demeanour and pretty persuasion. She’d been able to twist men around her little finger from an early age. Undoubtedly it was the blonde thing that men couldn’t resist. Chloe nodded enthusiastically as he proceeded to lecture her on how he kept a tight ship at the school, how he couldn’t tolerate teachers taking the law into their own hands…blah, blah, blah…
As he lectured endlessly, Chloe felt like she was drowning in a sea of words, not really hearing and only rousing when the tirade ended. “Sorry Sir?” she queried, thinking she must have heard him incorrectly.
“I said come and bend yourself over my knee, Miss Hunt and let’s get this over with.”
Chloe’s eyed bulged like a goldfish’s. He had spoken those words, it wasn’t a trick of her ears. It was unthinkable, yet she found herself compliantly obeying. Mason’s lap provided a firm platform, ably supporting her flat belly, toes stretched for support on the wooden floor one side, palms flat the other side. She could feel the old man’s eyes boring into her bum and thighs, surveying each aesthetic curve. A tiny whimper slipped from her pursed lips as she waited in heightened anticipation.
A huge hand took hold of her thigh, sliding the tiny skirt up and over the peachiest butt imaginable. Chloe shivered all over, breath held tight. Sure thumbs hooked inside the waistbands of her panties, shifting the flimsy garment down slowly to rest on the backs of her knees. As she awaited her fate, Chloe wondered how many other girls had been in this position before, back in the days when such things were allowable – or more recently perhaps. Maybe this was what the old pervert had wanted all along.
She sighed forlornly as the warm air of the study brushed over the moistness of her pussy and down the crack of her arse. Mason’s hand clenched and unclenched on the thigh then moved up and down, appraising the beautiful piece of legwoek. “You know what happens to naughty little girls,” mused Mr Mason, breaking the spell in a dreamlike voice.
Though it was a rhetorical question, Chloe felt compelled to answer. “Yes Sir, they get punished Sir.”
She flinched as the headmaster’s warm hands reached her hips, elevating them so that the sweet young arse plumped up. Chloe held her breath in growing expectation, a distant tingle deep in her loins. Then it happened, taking her by surprise. His hand moved away, hovering. Chloe closed her eyes. SPANK! SPANK! SPANK!
“Ow-eeeeeee,” she cried, biting her bottom lip. “Ow, ow, ow.”
The cries were followed by a rapid inhalation of air. From her prone position she could picture the satisfaction on the old man’s face. And in a strange way it was on hers too. For in spite of the numb discomfort in the rose-blushed arsecheeks, the overwhelming feeling was of arousal. It was so intense that her pussy had leaked a sticky deposit on the headmaster’s grey slacks…
—
The pretty teacher cried out loud, jolting up in bed as the horrible dream replayed in a troubled mind beset with kinky musings. Thighs rubbing together, her soaking wet pussy from the erotic dream had found its way into reality, her newly bald cuntlips soaked with juice. “Oh my God,” she whispered, chest rising and plunging beneath the duvet.
Allowing a brief moment to let her mind un-fog, she fought to disassociate dream from reality. For once in her life, however, the girl’s dreams were somewhat less bizarre than reality, the events of the previous day with Kevin Manning reverberating in a troubled mind. Hard to believe, but this time yesterday, upon waking, her life had been following a normal, dare she admit boring, path. In twenty-four hours everything had been turned on its head by the evil young blackmailer.
Finally composing, she rose from the bed, immediately sensing a numb pain between her legs, courtesy of ex-boyfriend Jack’s brutal assault. Tiptoeing to the bathroom she surveyed the smattering of small brown bruises that littered her inner thighs and hips. After a soothing shower, she heard the mobile phone bleep. The text message read simply: It’s a hot day, dress appropriately, see you at school, K.
Chloe whimpered inwardly. It was beginning again already. Riffling through the line of hanging garments she searched for something suitable to please Kevin, hand drawn magnetically to the skirt she’d last sported as a carefree teenager. Peach in colour, it was terrifyingly tiny and she shivered at the prospect, wrestling with a better nature. A sheer cream blouse, almost see through, caught her attention and she wondered whether panties and bra were allowable under the terms of Kevin’s contract. Locating a little frilly white set in the drawer, the teacher was prepared to face the consequences if she was mistaken. Her highest heels, normally reserved for clubbing, completed the look, an appearance that screamed ‘slut’.
The walk to school was an awkward one, not just the awkward clicky heels that produced a totter, but also on account of a paranoic belief that all eyes were on her. It ranged from the parents dropping off the really young ones at infant school, to the pubescent teens who doubtless harboured outrageous wank fantasies of her, to the older ones who issued lecherous grins, and her bemused fellow teachers who didn’t know quite what to make of this bizarre transition from librarian one day to hooker the next.
One consolation was that her first two classes were with eleven and twelve-year olds that still regarded her as an authority figure rather than a sex object. A few gave her odd looks but she could brush it off easily. Miraculously, lunchtime came around uneventfully, though she did ensure to keep an eye open for Kevin Manning. As the morning wore on, she noticed kids pass and giggle, whispering stuff, but brushed it off.
As it transpired, he’d spent the morning sitting an exam, out of harm’s way. Consequently, her early optimism for a ceasefire was misplaced as the headmaster summoned her to his study after lunch. What have I done now? She thought. Oh God, he wasn’t going to pull her up on these clothes, was he? Chloe trudged along to the office with the previous night’s dream playing heavily on her mind. Surely he wouldn’t spank her, would he?
“Miss Hunt…” Mr Mason intoned with authority, and Chloe found herself almost in tears just at hearing her name. “Miss Hunt…I know you’re fairly new at this school but you mustn’t let the children take advantage of you.”
Take advantage of her? What did he mean? She could feel her cheeks blush profusely and her underarms moisten with the sweat of fear. Oh gosh, he hadn’t found about Kevin, had he? Within seconds Chloe’s cheeks were radiating a deep beetroot hue. “Your blouse, Miss Hunt,” Mason clarified.
Chloe’s eyebrows elevated and her mouth formed a round tunnel. It was a revealing blouse but broke no rules as far as she was aware. “My blouse, Sir?”
“The back of your blouse, Miss Hunt.”
Twisting to try to see, Chloe’s fingers groped at the buttons.
“Not here, Miss Hunt,” he boomed, the words turning Chloe’s cheeks even more bloodshot, if that were possible.
Excusing herself with a dainty curtsey, the pretty blonde trotted off to the staff toilet, heels click-clicking on the way. Ensuring she was alone, hastily the blouse was removed. Her cute little breasts were held in place by what amounted to a band of lace around the centre, a couple of daringly cut half cups and two spaghetti straps. Chloe’s face clouded as the cause of the headmaster’s irritation was revealed in the mirror. Some little swine had inked a swastika on the back. She hadn’t felt a thing and had no idea how long she’d been walking around like that on her back. It figured now what the passing kids found amusing, the embarrassment prompting a flood of tears.
Before she’d really given the matter nearly enough thought, the hot tap was steaming and the blouse was being doused in its cascade, the fabric rubbed against itself vigorously as she strove to remove the offending symbol. Regrettably, the stain merely blotted and ran, ingrained in the thread. The best she could do was to make it look less like a swastika and more like a shapeless blob of diluted blue. Yet now, not only did she have a stained blouse but a soaking wet one. Suddenly the realisation dawned that the hand dryer was painfully slow and ineffective, little better than one’s own breath. As if to compound the situation, the bell droned to signal the start of the next lesson.
Miserably Chloe slipped back into the wet and diaphanous blouse that clung to her body like a second skin, revealing her bra and the cleft of her bosom quite clearly. She wanted the ground to open up and swallow her. Looking left then right around the door, the corridor was thronging with pupils moving busily to class. She winced as the normally light blouse weighed heavily on her slender frame, the bra having absorbed the excess moisture and rubbing achingly against her nipples, causing them to point accusingly.
When eventually the corridor was adjudged to have thinned out sufficiently, Chloe made the daring exit. Immediately her breasts squelched together. She prayed the walk from toilet to classroom would dry the blouse, yet the corridor was no heat trap, the opposite in fact. As a chill draft blew through, her nipples throbbed and expanded, threatening to erupt through the front. “Oh my God,” she mouthed, fanning frantically with an open palm.
As the classroom door came into sight her stride slowed, not really wanting to arrive, yet already five minutes late. The hum of the fourth formers inside rose like an aeroplane’s approach the nearer she crept. Stealing a huge lungful of breath, Chloe executed the entry. The class stopped chattering immediately, a rare first. All mouths were agape at their teacher’s damp apparel and eye-popping damp boobs. “Is it raining outside, miss?” one impish boy chimed.
The entire class erupted in laughter and it was all Chloe could do to bring order. Appealing for silence as the wet blouse clasped at her boobs, she tried to wrest back control, but soon found she was fighting a losing battle. It was then that the door was pushed open. All eyes turned right, bringing a semblance of relief to the red faced schoolteacher, no longer the focus of attention. It was a short lived relief, however, for in the doorway stood nemesis Kevin Manning. He looked her up and down as if addressing a carcass before speaking: “Excuse me miss, the headmaster wants you in his office now, miss.”
“Oooooooh,” chorused the class.
Turning to the rabble and waving her hands agitatedly, Chloe warned: “One peep from this classroom while I’m gone and it’s a week of detention for the lot of you.”
A hollow threat, even as she spoke, Chloe could feel her authority evaporating. Tottering off in the unaccustomed heels, she ducked beneath Kevin’s arm, outstretched in a gentlemanly manner to hold the door open. He betrayed himself by giving her arse a good slap as she passed. “Did you fall in the pool, miss?”
Chloe glowered. “I wouldn’t mind betting you were behind this, Kevin Manning,” she spluttered.
“Me, miss?” he replied with an outward look of innocence that belied the evil schemer within. “It seems to me, miss, that there’s no one but your stupid self to blame.”
Chloe held a tight lip until the corner was safely negotiated and they were out of earshot. She yearned for the blouse to dry off miraculously before the headmaster’s office, but it was still sopping wet. The frustration coming to a head, she pulled up sharply. “Now look here, Kevin Manning…” she cried, prodding a tremulous finger in his face.
The sixth former brushed away the slender digit with utter disdain. At that moment it dawned on Chloe that she’d been duped. Why would the headmaster send a sixth former to collect her? But by then it was too late. The geeky pupil jerked, forcing her inside the storeroom and slamming the door shut to swathe them in grey darkness. “I’ve missed you, miss. Have you missed me?” came his words.
“Kevin, no,” she pleaded as he strove to force his lips to hers.
“Don’t fight me, or you’ll end up the loser,” he threatened. “And when did I allow you to stop calling me Sir?”
SLAP.
“Ow,” she whined, more from surprise than pain, gingerly touching her cheek. “Sorry Sir. I won’t do it again.”
With that she let him have his kiss, cringing as the lizard like tongue darted against her lips. Consenting to open, she allowed it to slip inside the warm welcoming mouth, startling as a hand rose to cup a breast. The blouse squelched wetly and as Kevin’s palm grazed across the outer edge of the nipple and she moaned subconsciously back into his mouth. Clamping his thumb and forefinger around the erect teat, Kevin rolled it back and forth. Chloe almost forgot her hatred for a moment, consumed by a weird lust. For a nerd, he knew the right moves to push her buttons. But then he had been watching her long enough.
Footsteps outside alerted the odd couple, the storeroom door suddenly pushed open to allow in a sheet of light. Quickly the pair secreted in the darkest corner, Chloe’s back pressed tight to Kevin’s chest, her soft arse to his crotch. She could feel the powerful erection digging in. Thankfully Kevin had one hand over his teacher’s mouth, for her breathing alone would surely have given the game away. The other hand strayed dangerously close to her pussy.
In stepped the headmaster, three quarters of the storeroom lit by the artificial light of the corridor. The pair were concealed, but only just. Blissfully unaware of their presence, Mr Mason scanned the shelves as if looking for something in particular. Chloe grimaced as Kevin adjusted slightly, his hard cock prodding deeper into the crack of her bum. Gratefully the headmaster found what he was looking for quickly, turning to exit. As the door closed and restored the semi-dark, Chloe pushed away both of Kevin’s hands before exhaling a massive sigh of relief.
“Mmm, wasn’t that exciting?” observed Kevin nonchalantly, but then he had little to lose.
Chloe shook her head silently, willing the ordeal to end. It was then that she heard a key turn outside and the storeroom door was locked shut. “Oh my God!” she cried. “We’re trapped.”
“Mmm, alone with your favourite student and all the time in the world.”
“You may be finished for the day…Sir, but I’ve a group of fourth formers without a teacher. Do you really want to get me fired, Sir?”
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully in the semi-dark.
“Please help me get out, Sir. If the head finds I’ve left my class unattended again, I’m done for.”
Kevin mulled things over for a minute. “Okay, this might help in the short term. Why don’t you phone Mr Andrews? He’ll cover for you until we can get out. Here, use my phone.”
Jeff Andrews was the games teacher, a thickset rugby enthusiast who’d made it patently obvious he liked Chloe. Though the feeling wasn’t exactly mutual, she’d used the situation to her advantage, winning favours with her feminine wiles whilst managing to keep him at arm’s length. And right then she needed a massive favour. As the phone unfolded, it lit up the room like Christmas.
Chloe lapsed easily into her finest ickle-girl-lost voice. “Hello Jeff, um, it’s Chloe…hi. My mum’s been taken suddenly ill and I have to dash off urgently. Please, please, please could you keep an eye on my fourth formers in room eight?”
Grudgingly the games teacher accepted, with the proviso that she owed him a big drink. The immediate dilemma solved, they still had to get out of the locked storeroom. Chloe sat down to ponder, distancing herself as far as possible from Manning. They could be stuck here for hours. Five minutes passed, then five more as they pondered in silence. Suddenly Kevin sprang to his feet, mounting a shelf and scrambling up. Above his head a feint dusty square of light hung in the air. Chloe heard the air vent being removed and saw a square passageway open. “No way, Sir…nooooooo way.”
“You want to get out, don’t you? Or do you want to get found in the storeroom with one of your pupils?”
He had a point. Dejectedly she stood.
Kevin helped her up, wasting little opportunity to paw at her bum as his schoolteacher squeezed into the smallest of recesses. Chloe spluttered as a face full of dust blew up. Shimmying through on her belly, she prayed there were no spiders or rats in the tunnel. A short yet exhausting snake-like crawl, marvellously there was light at the end of the tunnel.
Looking through the slats overlooking the corridor, the coast seemed clear. Lowering the vent she climbed out, quickly joined by Kevin who issued a sadistic smile. His dark clothes and jeans brushed down easily but from the reflection of a window opposite, Chloe’s cream blouse and peach skirt were caked in muck. With her hands and cheeks also having turned a charcoal black, she resembled a chimney sweep. “Oh dear miss, what a mess you seem to have made of yourself.”
Chloe sprinted for the exit, unable to escape the school quickly enough, furtive glances around like a truant. At least off-site there was less chance of encountering those that knew her, though the strangers she passed on the jog home offered quizzical looks at the once respectable woman who now resembled a Victorian street urchin. To make matters worse, a huge shower of rain fell. Frankly though Chloe was past caring and it was with immense relief that the door finally closed and she was able to savour the sanctuary of the shower.
Upon exiting, discovered a text message: hope your mum’s ok, jeff.
Guiltily she returned the text: yes, thanks, false alarm.
I’m just finishing up here, how about that drink? meet me in the sports hall.
It was as much a command as a request and one she could hardly refuse. Jeff had after all kept her career alive even of it was currently on life support. She had to go. In fact, right at that moment she needed an ally more than anything else in the world.
—
Games master Jeff Andrews herded the players inside the changing rooms with congratulatory words and pats on the shoulders for both teams. The away team was a big bunch of bastards for teenagers, he reflected ruefully, after they’d trounced his boys 36-10.
It was only when he got back to his office that he realised his mobile phone was missing.
—
As Chloe Hunt arrived, the last straggler from the rugby match was meandering to the changing rooms. Following on, she looked in the indoor sports hall for Jeff. Strangely there was no sign of her fellow teacher. Wandering back out, she went to remove her mobile phone to text him when she barged into a hefty prop. She just about retained her balance, glaring back. “Excu-u-use me,” she said a little sarcastically, waiting hands on hips for an apology.
The rugby player just gave a snort. “You should look where you’re going, darling.”
Darling? Chloe felt her blood boil. After all the indignity served up that day and the previous one she wasn’t going to be spoken to like that from some jumped-up teenager, how ever big he was. Crossing her arms, she fronted out the Goliath. “Well, are you going to say sorry or am I going to put you on detention, young man?”
The rugby player chuckled. Little did she know he was from the opposing school, way outside her jurisdiction, or what he and his mates did to stuck-up butches like her. “I’ll show you how sorry I am,” he mouthed, thrusting forward to pin her up against the wall.
Chloe screamed a fearful sound before a huge hand covered her mouth. Gathering up the petite teacher in his powerful arms, the prop wrestled her into the away team’s changing room where a mob of heavily built, mud splattered brutes of XXX proportions glanced up in various states of undress. A collective grin ran around the sweat-ridden congregation. “Looks like the post-match entertainment has arrived,” enthused a man mountain with a huge round shaved head, cauliflower ears and a flat nose, sporting the captain’s armband.
Quick to take charge, a set of banana-sized fingers wrapped around Chloe’s waist and she was pulled into the captain’s lap. Chloe wiggled like an eel. “Shush, now there’s a good girl.”
“I think she’s a teacher at this piss-hole of a school,” another giant with a crew cut observed.
Suddenly it dawned on the fearful blonde that these weren’t her pupils, her scholarly authority worthless. Nonetheless she still enjoyed a position of power and seniority – didn’t she? “Yes I am a teacher,” Chloe confirmed. “Lay another finger on me and you boys are in so much trouble.”
“Wooooooo-hooooooo,” rang out the sarcastic response.
The captain held her tightly to him. “And how exactly does a female teacher go about explaining how she came to be naked in a male changing room?”
“Naked…I’m not…”
A rip and her blouse came away all too easily like crepe paper, its flimsiness no match for a pair of strong, rough hands, buttons flying around like shrapnel. Her bra presented a tougher proposition, its tiny clasp too fiddly for those thick sausage fingers. In frustration, the captain bit his way through the lace as another pair of brutes moved in to wrestle down her corduroys and thong, her legs kicking wildly.
With that she slipped from the captain’s grasp, squirming naked on the tiles in a film of liquefied mud and surrounded by a wall of muscle and sinew. Like a pack of lions closing in on its prey they moved forward, shorts loosened around their waists to reveal cocks of varying degrees of size and readiness. The captain stepped closest, lifting Chloe’s chin and pressing his stubby cock to her lips. “Who’s in charge here?”
A token defiance from the schoolteacher, clenching tight her lips, was resolved with a carefully aimed slap on the cheek. “WHO’S IN CHARGE?”
She looked around the baying mob. “You are,” she whined, miserably opening up to receive the insistent organ.
Short and stubby, it failed to tickle the back of her throat but boy did stretch her lips wide. The captain groaned as his cock disappeared up to the balls, raising a thumb to the fourteen others who looked on, clapping and chanting in unison. Chloe could only moan and bawl while cock-gagged. She closed her eyes and tried to withdraw her tongue. The response from his cock was to make it even more enormous, inflating in the warm wet recess. He boasted to the others that he’d never felt anything this good before. He could feel her dismay and repulsion through his cock.
The others laughed raucously as they looked on, willing their turn. Her initial resistance, moaning and squealing having abated, Chloe knew she had to accept what was happening. She was sniffling however, which made the captain enjoy his time even more. Her mind was trying to dissipate to somewhere else – disconnecting her from these naughty actions. She had to get this over with – and fast.
The braver ones among the onlookers issued the occasional slap to Chloe’s bobbling bum as she sucked and licked, naked and on her knees, tongue dancing as she did all she could to make the one in her mouth cum as quick as possible. The captain groaned, telling her what a filthy little fucking cocksucking whore she was, taking a firm grip of the pretty blonde’s hair and starting to pound her face like it was a hot cunt.
Two other bulky forwards moved beside him, watching the scene unravel and suddenly unable to contain their urges. They wanked furiously in Chloe’s periphery vision as she accepted the brutal face-pounding. They reached down to move her hands to their shafts, urging her to masturbate them. Chloe wrapped two pairs of tiny fingers around the thick slabs of meat and stroked defly, in rhythm with her sucking. The quicker she could get this over, the better, was all she could think.
The outcome of her skilful ministrations was a three-way tidal wave of cum, pumped into the pretty schoolteacher’s face. She swallowed all she could so as not to choke, the remainder sliding down her cheeks and chin. Little time to catch a breath, quickly the warm accommodating mouth was filled once more by another throbbing cock.
Chloe moaned onto the rampant organ as a hand lifted her underbelly, elevating her buttocks. She glanced back momentarily, witnessing the prop that had instigated everything ready to make the first venture inside that hot shaven cunt. Amid a triumphant exhalation, his cock tip entered the pink moist slit with purpose. Adjusting position, he thrust deep into the tormented teacher’s pussy and banged her cervix. A dozen raking strokes threatened to pierce her womb before the prop came with a mighty roar, his spunk flooding her box.
Soon he was replaced, another series of frenzied thrusts and another load despatched deep into her belly. And then that one was replaced. None lasted any length of time, such was the joy conferred by banging such a tight wet pussy, yet each came with a grunt of sheer joy. Hands felt every part of her body as they played joyously, her nipples foever being pinched, twisted and pulled, leaving Chloe in a daze.
The motion from behind of one particularly large boy forced Chloe forward so hard that she almost swallowed the cock she was sucking. The result of that deepthroating motion was another frenzied explosion and a stream of cum sprayed straight into her throat. Thrashing around in the muddy puddle, literally she became a dirty slut.
One after another they took their turns, using her body mercilessly until she was too exhausted to remain upright. Flipping the delicious blonde onto her back, the last few took her missionary style. Dwarfing the petite blonde, just her raised knees were visible as buttocks bounced in between. So many cocks ploughed her furrow that evening she lost count, her womb overflowing with thick young seed.
Occasionally her head was raised and angled to take more cock, though her mouth was numb. Not until every player had been satisfied both vaginally and orally did the rape finally relent. Warning off those that harboured lingering urges, the captain lifted Chloe like a ragdoll in his powerful arms, conveying her to the showers. The water felt good as it washed away the dirt and cum.
Despite two hours of being fucked relentlessly, sadly Chloe had still to cum. Gathering up a ball of lather in her hands, she coated the captain’s cock with foam and begged him to shove it inside and fuck her. “You really are a dirty fucking slut,” he observed with a smile.
Chloe averted her eyes. Ever willing to oblige, however, he lifted her to the shower wall, stretching her pussy with that short fat cock whilst sucking and biting her neck. Despite having cum twice already, he was full of youthful exuberance and plenty hard for the sexy blonde, buttocks pumping back and forth. Chloe raked at his strong shoulders with her fingernails, mewling lightly. The orgasm when finally it arrived was worth waiting for, Chloe’s whole body convulsing. She slid down the wall and onto her bum.
A strong hand reached to ease her out. With compassion, each of the team took his turn towelling her dry, apologies whispered if they’d been a little rough. Chloe thanked each with a soft parting kiss.
And then they were gone to catch their team bus. Glancing around in their wake, Chloe searched out her discarded clothes. In the battle to remove them, every item had been torn to shreds. All that remained was a forgotten rugby top. With no other option, Chloe put it on tentatively, smelling the aroma of sweat and toil in its fabric. Sucking in air and sore as hell around the mouth and pussy, the bottom of the shirt barely reached mid thigh. She could hardly walk home looking like this. It was then that Kevin Manning appeared through the door, with a sneer. “Nice show, slut.”
Chloe’s eyes slanted. “Did you watch that, Sir?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you come to help me, Sir?”
Kevin grinned at the irony: his puny body against fifteen giants. “You looked like you were enjoying yourself too much to me.”
Chloe said nothing, looking embarrassedly to the floor. Little did she know Kevin had maufactured the whole thing, ‘borrowing’ Jeff Andrews’ mobile phone to send the text and aware of the reputation of the away school’s rugby team. And it had worked a treat. “Come on you dirty whore, I’ll give you a lift home.”
Chloe’s face brightened ever so slightly.
It clouded again when she saw Kevin’s pushbike propped up outside. Forlorny she tugged at the tail of the rugby top and it stretched down a little, but then rode back up again, revealing a hint of shaven pussy. It was going to be a long ride home on Kevin’s crossbar. Try as she might, flashing at passers-by was unavoidable, the day’s humiliation reaching completion. Kevin pulled up outside his house. “Are you looking forward to the weekend, miss? I certainly am,” came his departing words.
He winked and Chloe whimpered. It couldn’t get any worse for her, could it? It could if Kevin Manning had anything to do with it.
—
Part 3 will follow.
