‘How lovely, headmaster.’ She returned his smile even as her insides turned to jelly.
Everything went well until their first night away when the boys were sleeping in the Readingly dorm in the beds left vacant by other boys; the sports day was planned to coincide with other excursions, thus leaving the loud and rambunctious sixteen to eighteen-year-olds alone in the school. This meant there was an entire floor of approximately fifty beds occupied by sixteen to eighteen-year-old boys. The Readingly staff were reduced, since many of them had to go with the older boys on their own field trips.
On the night of Miss Smith’s arrival with her loud and rambunctious charges, it was with some alarm that she realised her only professional companion, the headmaster himself, had been invited by the Readingly school’s own headmaster to drink in the Readingly Library, with its fireplace and leather chairs and crystal decanted old port. The Readingly nurse went home to her cottage on the edge of the grounds, and the male staff were all away on field trips. This, with the two headmasters ensconced contentedly over drinks and a game of chess in the library, left Miss Smith in sole charge of fifty boys. The responsibility fell on her alone to somehow make sure they all stayed in their beds.
She didn’t mind, really. Yes, there were the saucy comments from the older boys to deal with, after all, they were boys and randy as goats, but she didn’t mind too much. She blushed a little as she felt their eyes devouring her breasts as she passed down the halls in school, but she wore tight T-shirts because she liked to be noticed. She enjoyed the power her curvaceous body gave her over the male breed. She even enjoyed catching their eyes on her bottom as she turned away from the blackboard during a lesson, or looked up from her marking at the desk to find some boy staring deep into the neckline of her blouse, and blushing red as beetroot when she met his eyes.
That was how she had first noticed Darren Coombes liked her. He was taller than most of the other boys, and more than most, he seemed a man at seventeen. She had seen him swimming once when she passed the school swimming hall, and as she paused to admire his well-muscled body, he had finished his lap and caught her staring at him. Then one day she had caught his gaze burning through her T-shirt during maths. She asked him if he could count beyond the number two, and he went the colour of ripe plums with embarrassment. Ever since then he had not looked her in the eye again, not until that first night at Readingly.
She had the advantage in the dorm, in that all the boys were sleeping in adjoining wings and the partitions had been pulled back between them to make patrolling and controlling the huge lot of young manhood more simple. She walked, holding a torch, down the corridor between the two long rows of beds, flashing the narrow beam of light here and there and occasionally catching a furtive face. The headmaster had made it clear he did not wish to be disturbed this evening, and he was not above dropping her final grade as a trainee teacher on the basis of something as stupid as being made to lose a game of chess against another headmaster. And then her wandering beam of torchlight hit upon a sheet that was clearly being agitated. The agitations took the form of an up and down motion which suggested a boy was doing something improper with himself. She flashed the light over the head of the bed, and was surprised to see Darren Coombes’ face looking up at her with a leer, instead of with the mortified expression she had expected to see.
‘Found something interesting, Darren?’ she asked as insouciantly as she could. ‘Still having trouble dealing with things that come in twos, I see.’
He didn’t blush, and his stare did not waver from where it was fixed on her face.
‘Put it away, Darren,’ she said as firmly as she could without sounding too stern, ‘or it’ll fall off.’
‘Why don’t you put it away for me, miss?’
She was astonished. A bit of a fidget in the dark could be expected, but this insolence was inexcusable; she could not possibly let him get away with it. ‘What did you say, Darren?’ She was still whispering. She could not be sure how many boys within ear shot were still awake.
‘Why don’t you put my dick away for me, Miss Smith?’
‘Keep your voice down!’ she hissed. ‘Are you aware of how much trouble you’re in?’ She made an effort to keep her own voice playful - he was, after all, only a horny boy, God bless him - but such presumption could not be tolerated.
‘Are you aware,’ Darren pulled himself up in the bed, his hand still pumping away beneath the sheet, ‘of how much trouble you are in, Miss Smith, with a riot about to break out?’
She looked at him in consternation. He was almost a man, really, and with his hand still insolently going up and down under the sheet, the look in his eyes was worrisome. Yet what could he be talking about? Then a light hit her full in the face from across the room as someone else lit a torch. ‘Who is that?’ she demanded, but then another light hit her, and then another one. She was caught in a triangulated set of torch beams coming from three different sides of the dorm. And then a fourth torch came to life, and another one, and another one, until it seemed as if every boy had hidden a torch under his pillow. Miss Smith felt the blood rushing up into her face.
‘Miss Smith,’ Darren Coombes sighed.
‘I demand to know what the meaning of this is!’ she blurted. ‘Darren, are you responsible for this... this...?’
‘Rebellion?’ He smiled up at her, and at least his hand stopped moving beneath the sheet. ‘I wouldn’t call it that, miss, not yet.’
‘What are you talking about?’ She told herself to remain calm. She had to remain calm. Too much was at stake here to panic.
‘I’m talking about fifty boys wide-awake and in need of entertainment,’ Darren explained. ‘If you don’t entertain us, we’ll turn the place into a madhouse and disturb the headmasters.’
He would make a great negotiator one day, she thought wildly, suddenly disturbed instead of relieved by the fact that his hand was no longer pulling at his cock beneath the sheet. It made her wonder what he thought was going to touch his cock now instead of his hand. It made her mouth water against her will and her legs feel weak. ‘What... what are you thinking of?’ she muttered. The lights of a good forty to fifty torches were shining directly on her. She felt as though she was on stage beneath a hot spotlight trained directly on her. She could feel the subtle warmth of so many penetrating beams pricking the hairs on her bare arms, and almost caressing her breasts through her thin T-shirt like a very soft summer breeze.
‘Strip,’ Darren Coombes said.
Just one word and her whole universe was suddenly turned upside-down. She stood gaping at him in pure disbelief. Then all around her in the breathless silence, as she tried to absorb that one word, she heard fifty beds creak as fifty boys edged forward across the sheets. She could almost feel them all holding their breaths, waiting. ‘You - you can’t be serious,’ she said.
No sooner had the words passed her lips than Miss Smith heard the first hand landing on the first bed frame with a clang of hollow steel tubing, followed by another clang as another hand fell to brace itself on another bed frame. Suddenly the dorm was becoming a dangerously loud percussion orchestra. And then the chant began, ‘Strip! Strip! Strip! Strip! Strip! Strip!’
‘Get your panties down for the lads.’ Darren Coombes smiled up at her placidly over the growing noise. ‘It’s the least you can do, Miss Smith. After all, we’ve all behaved very well for you this year, haven’t we, and fair’s fair, isn’t it? We scratch your back, you scratch ours.’
‘Enough!’ she cried.
The clanging continued as the chant ‘Strip! Strip! Strip!’ gradually became throatier, more of a threatening growl.
‘You won’t get us to be quiet any other way,’ Darren warned her, somehow making his quietly firm voice audible to her over the commotion.
‘No,’ she gasped. ‘I couldn’t possibly!’
‘Strip! Strip! Strip! Strip! Strip! Strip!’
<
br /> ‘All right!’ she screeched, suddenly prepared to do anything to stop all this dreadful noise. Any second now, she was sure, the headmaster would hear it and her career as a teacher would be over before it ever really began. She would cause him to lose his chess game and it would be proved that his staff could not control his pupils. She would be downgraded at the end of her year; she would not teach at St Martin’s again. Perhaps she would never be able to teach anywhere again. She had to stop this terrible racket at once.
‘All right,’ she said again, more calmly.
Darren raised a hand, and a blessed silence fell over the dorm. Suddenly it was so quiet she could hear raindrops pattering softly against the windows. ‘Your shoes first,’ Darren said.
‘What did you have in mind?’ she asked, trying to sound casual and to buy herself some time to think about how she could get out of this very strange predicament she found herself in.
‘Take your shoes off or we’ll lose you your job.’ Darren’s tone was a slap in the face.
Blushing to the roots of her hair, she bent over to undo them, and her blush deepened as someone whistled at the sight of her bottom raised up into the air, now the avid target of the combined torchlight. She straightened up again quickly, and stepped out of her shoes. ‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’ She tried to smile, as if her heart wasn’t racing and making it hard for her to think straight.
‘Your shirt,’ Darren said simply. ‘Take it off.’
‘What are you getting out of this, Darren?’ She appealed to him directly. ‘Don’t you like me?’
‘Oh, I like you all right, Miss Smith, I just want to see if I can like you even more. Don’t you want to see how much better we can get along, Miss Smith?’
As she was trying to think of an answer, the laughter went out of his eyes.
‘Your shirt,’ he said again, flatly.
She reached to her belt, and tugged the bottom of her T-shirt out of her jeans. She heard the collective catching of over fifty breaths in anticipation as she reluctantly dragged the hem of her T-shirt up over her tummy, and then taking a deep breath herself, pulled it up to expose her bosom. She wasn’t wearing a bra and she felt her breasts spring free, their soft nipples quickly stiffening a little in the cool air of the open dorm. ‘There, is that all right?’ Holding her shirt up, she squinted into the light blinding her as she showed off her stiffening breasts to over fifty pairs of avid eyes; to fifty boys who she knew would all love to fuck her; to fifty boys who wanted to screw her brains out one after the other... she new she was in trouble when she felt the unmistakable melting sensation in her pussy as it began to get dangerously wet.
‘Take if off,’ Darren insisted.
Without further protest, she pulled her shirt up over her face as she felt all their eyes, hungrily, ravenously devouring her naked torso. Then the shirt was off over her head and she had let it fall to the floor beside her.
‘Now the jeans,’ Darren said.
She looked at him again almost shyly, and started raising a protective hand towards her bare breasts.
‘Drop it,’ he said harshly.
She quickly lowered her hand, and trembling a little, she opened her jeans. She had to tug on the stiff metal zipper, and she cursed the tightness of the denim she had revelled in wearing to torment these boys, who now held her captive. It was that much harder to struggle out of, and she gave over fifty boys quite a show as she was obliged to bend over slightly, thereby sticking her bottom out again in order to push her jeans down her slender legs. There was a soft, collective sigh as the cheeks of her buttocks sprang free of the imprisoning denim.
Finally, she stepped out of her jeans and straightened up again. She was naked now except for a skimpy pair of white cotton panties that barely covered her ash-blonde bush, and she was blushing as deeply as Darren had that day in class when she humiliated him in front of his peers, perhaps even more deeply.
‘Let’s see you,’ he said. He was speaking quite softly now as all the boys shone their torches right between her thighs. Fifty torch beams were aimed right at her pussy.
‘Is there anything else...’ she began without really knowing what she meant to say, ‘I mean, do I really have to? It’s so private. It’s who I am...’
‘This is who I am,’ Darren said, and flung the sheet back to reveal a truly impressive hard-on that launched proudly up from his lap. Its thick length was a lovely pink with a warm purple tip, and it looked like it was positively aching to be taken in.
‘What do you want me to... to do?’ Miss Smith asked weakly.
‘Do you want to show us what you are, and then show us what you do with what we are?’ Darren asked quietly, almost respectfully, his eyes intensely earnest.
‘What do you want?’ she repeated desperately, helplessly, but she already knew, of course. She reached out her hand to him.
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand down, and over a hundred wide eyes watched as he forced her down onto her knees beside his bed. ‘Show me,’ he said, ‘what you think of who I am.’
She looked at him, and he looked back at her where she cowered, nearly naked on the floor of a boys’ dorm, and slowly lowered her face over the tumescent head of his beautiful cock. He groaned in anticipation, and fifty torches converged on her face as she parted her lightly painted lips and slipped his helmet between them. After that, there was no closing her mouth or turning back. She sucked Darren Coombes off in front of two sixth forms of teenage boys.
And that wasn’t all she did. Although she sucked as gently as she possibly could, hoping to pull her mouth off in time, Darren gripped her neck firmly when his groin began pulsing, and to her horror, Miss Smith found herself swallowing mouthful after mouthful of her pupil’s cum in front of all his peers. And then she fell flat on her bum next to his bed, her legs spread wide, when he pushed her away from him.
But she still had plenty more mortifications to endure. After Darren Coombes had come he made her take her panties off anyway, as she had known he would. Then he made her bend over the end of his bed as each individual boy stepped up to get a close look at her pussy. She held herself perfectly still while they each shone their torch right on her vulva, but didn’t touch her. That was the deal, that there wouldn’t be any touching. No one but Darren was allowed to touch her. The deal was that Miss Smith would bend over the bed while they all got a good long look at her quim, and then they would all get to watch while Darren fucked her, sitting on a chair, in the middle of the dorm.
First he took her from behind, still bent over the bed, then he sat down on the chair and she mounted him. After that she stood on a small table, also strategically placed in the middle of the dorm, as he fingered her pussy and subjected her to her first public orgasm.
Then Darren spanked her. ‘Just to make it official who’s teaching who, miss,’ he said. She had no choice but to bend over the bed again and take ten of the best from Darren, administered one buttock at a time, with his slipper. The sound of the rubber sole smacking against her cheeks echoed through the dormitory as more than fifty boys counted the strokes out loud while she sobbed and bit the pillow to stifle her cries.
She was sure the headmaster would finally hear something as, after her punishment, Darren shoved her onto her back across his bed and entered her again. He fucked her furiously, with at least ten boys standing around them and a mass of others lining up behind them trying to get a good view, all of them breathing hard and shifting restlessly with every groan she made.
And then she was coming again and found herself begging, with Darren’s name on her lips, to be allowed to show them something more, anything they wanted. Which is how Miss Smith found herself lying facedown on that school bed as the first of the fifty boys, at Darren’s instruction, dropped his pyjama bottoms and spread her cheeks to take his turn.
Boxing Clever
Sarah Thomas was a boxe
r. At the age of twenty, with glorious long blonde hair and a pair of breasts you could park a mini on, you would have taken her for a model or a dancer, but the truth was that her profession was beating other young women up - all her female colleagues in the boxing game, that is. A lithe and limber lioness, she took on all challengers at the gym, her head hidden inside a padded helmet, her strong but slender body gleaming with perspiration as she spun and jabbed and hit. At the end of her third consecutive year in the amateur league, Sarah was getting ready to fight her first professional match for a major purse, and she was to fight a man. It happened like this...
Sarah’s new gym, which she joined as she moved up in the ring, was attended mostly by men. This was not unusual. With the exception of the first youth club where she learned to box, and the girls had their own allotted nights to themselves, all the gyms she ever trained in were mostly full of men. Joining was not difficult, as most facilities came equipped with a girls’ loo somewhere on the premises, and that was where she changed into her workout clothes in comfortable privacy. Her post-workout shower was more of a problem. The men didn’t like it if she accidentally caught a glimpse of their limp cocks when she entered after a shouted warning, and they especially resented having to let her have the shower room all to herself. If somebody tried to get a peek at her, or cop-a-feel as she walked by, she knew from experience that a professional punch in the mouth, delivered with all the force of an indignant twenty-year-old who hit fifty-pound bags for a living, usually left a bruise the size of a small cauliflower and earned her a muttered apology, after which the unfortunate sod never troubled her again.
As for the looks she got, frankly, she enjoyed those. There was power in being the only girl wrapped in a towel, or dressed in skimpy shorts and a vest, walking through a gym full of sweating men reeking of testosterone. There was power in knowing that not one of them would have the nerve to raise a hand, let alone a penis, in her direction, not after the first one who tried got a black eye for his trouble.
School for Nurses Page 7
