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The English Teacher
It was Friday afternoon, and Miss Bright was
walking to her car when Joe Phillips, the coach and
vice-principal stopped her. "Mary," he said, "I have
to talk to you. Perhaps we should talk in my car."
Seeing a puzzled look on her face, he added, "It
concerns your contract for next year." That got her
attention. As vice-principal, "Coach" often
dropped into her classroom to observe her teaching;
she had three seventh grade and three eighth grade
English classes, no, "Language Arts." Of course, he
had to evaluate her as a teacher, but she had thought
maybe he was evaluating her as a woman. They
were both single, and she was pretty and proud of
her big breasts. If he had just wanted a date, she'd
have declined ; she set her sights higher --- but if
it was her teaching contract, she'd talk. She slid
into the passenger seat and looked attentive.
Coach got in and said, "Mary, or should I call you
Jill, there are some serious impediments to our
renewing your teaching contract." The look on her
face confirmed his supposition. "I've been doing
some research about you. For example, I know
about your mother and your sister." She looked as
if he had just slapped her face. "You and your
sister grew up with your divorced mother. When
you were in high school, she began to lose her
mind, right?" Miss Bright nodded. "The diagnosis
was Huntington's disease. It's a lethal genetic
disease which doesn't become apparent until
middle age. It's very unusual in that a single
dominant gene causes the disease, and therefore if a
person with that gene has children, there is a fifty-
fifty chance the child will inherit the gene. Mary
and Jill were genetically tested, and it turned out
that the older girl, Mary, who had started college,
had not inherited the gene, but Jill, who was still in
high school, had. Jill was faced with the certainty
that, unless they found a cure, she would, at age
forty or so, begin to lose her mind, and it might take
twenty years of living hell before her body would
die. She began to act as if she had to experience
everything right away. She got pregnant, dropped
out of high school, had an abortion when
amniocentesis showed the child to have the
defective gene, and she ended up doing time in the
slammer on drug charges. When Jill got out, her
mother was in a nursing home, on welfare, with all
the family assets, house, car, savings, gone for
medical expenses. Mary was just graduating from
college and applying for teaching jobs. Mary and
Jill looked a lot alike, as sisters sometimes do.
They both had distinctive red hair. While Jill was
wild and impulsive, Mary was just the opposite, as
first-born children often are. Mary was probably a
virgin. She was hard working and religious. She
had glowing character references. Shortly after
graduation, there was a serious accident, and only
one sister survived." Miss Bright looked
devastated. "That sister was Jill, who assumed the
identity of her older sister, Mary. Later, when
Mary's body floated to the surface, no one
questioned her sister's identification of her. Jill,
you are not 23. You are 20. You don't have a
teaching certificate. You don't even have a high
school diploma. You could be fired tomorrow, and
charged with criminal fraud." The look on her face
made him sure he had the story right. "I didn't say
you will be fired tomorrow. That depends on you."
"What do I have to do to save my job?"
"From time to time, starting tonight, you will give
me your services."
"You mean sex?"
"Well, yes, but more than that. You will be my
slave for the night, do everything I order you to do."
"And this will be our secret? When I go to church
on Sunday morning, no one will denounce me as a
whore?"
The coach shrugged and said, "Tonight you are Jill.
Tomorrow you are Mary."
"What if someone should see us together?"
"You can wear a mask, so no one can identify you."
He pulled out a black sleep mask, the kind with no
eye holes, and placed it on her. "It's about five
o'clock. For the next twelve hours, you must obey
my every order. Then I'll bring you back here.
You can drive home, and who's to know? Monday
morning, you will still be Mary Bright, English
teacher." He started the car. "You might slump
down in the seat, so it looks like I'm alone."
After a fairly long drive, during which Coach made
a seemingly coded cell phone call, the car stopped,
and Coach led Mary, Jill, by the hand. She was
surprised, frightened, when they entered a place
which was surely a restaurant or bar. There was
loud, throbbing music and the smell of stale smoke.
He led her through the place to a back room and
closed the door behind them. He led her to a chair
and said, "Remove your shoes and stand on the
chair." She did. "Now, step onto the table." He
guided her so she was standing on a table. "Do not
remove your mask." She could hear that there were
others in the room. She didn't want to know who
they were, and she certainly didn't want them to
know who she was. "Remember, Jill. Do
everything I tell you, without hesitation, or you'll be
back in jail and out of a job. Agreed?"
"Yes."
"Take off your jacket." She was wearing a
conservative black pants suit. Adolescent boys are
bad enough without her flaunting her curves in front
of them. She took a deep breath, reminded herself
she had no choice, and slipped off the jacket. "Now
the blouse." Slowly, she undid the buttons, one by
one. She could hear rustling and whispers, as if
there was a pretty good sized audience, which
embarrassed her. At least, she thought, they
wouldn't know who she was. Finally, she pulled
the blouse out of the waistband and off her
shoulders. "Just let it drop. I'll take care of it,"
said Coach. "Now the pants." She was sure she
was blushing, but she had no choice. She unzipped
the zipper on the side and slid the black pants down
her legs. Carefully, for she wasn't sure where the
edges of the table were, she stepped out of them,
and she felt Coach taking them from her hand. She
was still "decent", more or less, for she had on a
white bra and panties and little nylon anklets; she
hated stockings. "Now the bra." She hesitated.
There were people watching. "Obey!" She reached
back and undid the clasps, then shrugged her
shoulders and let the straps slide down her arms.
With the bra off, she stood erect, shoulders back,
hands at her side, too proud to try to hide her tits.
She heard some low whistles and murmurs. Yes,
she thought, I do have nice knockers. "Turn
around. Show us you nice tits." Carefully, feeling
for the edges of the table with her toes, she turned.
"Pinch your nipples and pull 'em up." She pulled
her nipples outward, making her breasts go from
"grapefruit" to "missile nose cone", like the
publicity shots of starlets back in the 50's. "Shake
your shoulders. Make 'em bounce." Suddenly, Jill
was in high school again, at a wild party, doing her
stripper act. Someone clapped and whistled. "OK,
off with the panties." Her flashback ended. She
was no longer the willing performer. She was the
slave of a depraved coach who held her life in his
hands. She reached down and slid her panties
down, stepping out of them and standing straight
again. She heard a boyish voice remark on her
reddish pubic hair.
"Do a little dance for us." "I can't. I'll fall." "You
can. Do it." Jill tried not to move too far from
where she stood, but she gyrated her hips and did
some bumps and grinds, more or less to the music
which filtered through the door. "Spread your
pussy lips and show some pink," ordered coach.
Reluctantly, she did, and rotated so all could see.
"Finger yourself. Masturbate. Let us see you
come." She slid her right index finger up and down
between her labia, pressing on her hidden, swollen,
clit. She knew she couldn't come, in front of all
these strangers, but she had to obey. "Come on,
harder!" She rubbed faster, and rolled the swollen
shaft of her clit under its covering of pink, but she
couldn't come, not like that. "Shit, Bitch," yelled
the coach, "lie down on the table." Carefully, she
sat and then lay back. Her head, and her long red
hair, hung over one edge of the table, and she could
feel the opposite edge against the back of her
thighs. Strong hands grabbed her ankles and pulled
them up and apart, so her gaping labia were
obscenely displayed. A dozen or more hands
roamed her body, squeezing her breasts, pulling her
nips, stroking her inner thighs, parting her labia,
pulling her pubic hairs. She bore it as best she
could, until someone pinched her clitoris and she
yelled, "OW! That hurts!"
There was laughter. Someone with a stubbly shave
clamped his mouth over her clit and shoved a finger
into her vagina. "NO, no," she moaned, but it was
no use. He sucked and licked her clit, while finger-
fucking her dampening cunt. With two fingers,
curled upward, he pressed her pubic arch from
within, feeling for her G-spot. Even in the women's
prison, no one had ever done that. Just like that,
quite involuntarily, Jill felt that I'm-going-to-come
sensation building inside her. Her vaginal walls
drew back, and the clit sucker shoved four fingers
into her. She was gasping for breath, making
incoherent noises, when he slid his whole hand into
her and made a fist. "Yaaahh!" she screamed, as
she went "over the top" and flopped, bouncing on
the table and gushing pussy juices. "She's one hot
bitch," remarked a spectator. Someone else said,
"Let's get rid of that pubic hair."
Coach said, "Here you go." He probably came
prepared. Someone spread shaving cream over
Jill's crotch, rubbing it into her pubic hair and
between her labia. "God!," she screamed, "it's
menthol and it burns." "Shut up, slut," said the
latherer, and he put the nozzle of the can up against
her slit and filled her vagina with "cooling" creme.
For good measure, he squirted some in her anus,
which made her rectal walls spasm from the insult.
Meanwhile, someone was trying to get her to suck
his cock, but she kept her mouth closed. In a few
seconds, she felt his semen squirting over her face
and neck. Disposable razors aren't meant for long
hair, but someone was trying to shave her pubic
hair, and he was getting some of it. Another prick
pressed her lips, but she didn't open. "Coach, this
slut won't suck my dick." "Oh, yes she will."
Suddenly someone was pulling her pubic hair, with
pliers, probably, and someone else was holding a
lighted cigarette very close to her right nipple.
"OK!" she yelled, and took the waiting penis into
her mouth, her hanging head turned to the side as he
fucked her throat. At least they stopped burning her
nipple. Her legs were spread even wider and lifted
higher, as the razor man worked on her labia. The
guy she was fellating unloaded down her throat, and
she had to swallow or choke. With most her pubic
hair gone, someone wiped off the shaving creme
with a rough towel and whistled. She knew what he
saw, a crude tatoo she'd acquired in prison,
normally hidden by her pubic hair: Jill Bright does
it right.
"I tolja!" yelled a spectator. "She's the junior high
English teacher. I seen her at games." Oh, no,
thought Jill, it will be all over town in no time.
Miss Bright does it right. The many hands holding
her pulled her across the table, so her head was
supported by the table and her butt was off the other
edge, supported by the guys who held her legs.
Then began the almost non-stop fucking of her now
hairless pussy, lubricated by the irritating shave
creme which had been squirted inside her. Hands
held her arms and shoulders down as others spread
her legs. There was no way she could resist. One
guy said, "Bend her back a bit more. Lift her ass. I
always wanted to see a slut take it up the ass." She
tried to resist, but her anus was lubricated with
shaving creme, and her rapist forced his way in. Jill
was thankful that he found it so exciting, because
he ejaculated after only a few thrusts, and pulled
out of her burning ass hole. Now the ones who
were holding her were replaced, one at a time, by
the guys who had already fucked her, and while she
lost count, she figured there were at least a dozen,
plus the guys she's sucked off, unless some of them
were going for seconds. At least, she thought, they
seem to be wearing rubbers. She wasn't worried
about pregnancy; she'd had her tubes tied, but she
didn't want an infection. At one point, they let go
of her and helped her to stand on the table. Then
they made her squat over a guy who lay on the
table, so her vagina slid down over his upright
penis. She had to rock her pelvis and ride him until
he came inside her. Two more customers elected
for "rowboat," her sitting on their cock and sliding
back and forth, and then it was back on her back,
with her legs held apart. The whole ordeal just kind
of blended into unpleasantness, like being in the
dentist's chair. At last the activity slacked off.
Apparently anyone who could get it up had got
down again, by mouth or ass or vagina. But it
wasn't over yet. "Wait a minute," said an
adolescent voice, "I gotta try this." She felt another
squirt of shaving creme, "cooling", burning, her
vagina, and then some guy worked his hand in and
fisted her again. "Come on, cunt, come!" he said as
he moved his fist, twisting, up and down, side to
side, until, in spite of herself, she came again,
shaking and sweating and seeing stars.
Then it was over. No one held her, and she slid off
the table and knelt on the floor, exhausted. Coach
said, "Here, stand up, and I'll wipe you off." He
toweled her dry and handed her her pants. "Where
are my panties?" she said. "Someone took them for
a souvenir, I guess. Your bra and blouse are gone,
too. That's all right. You're street legal in pants
and jacket. He was right, but the lining of her
jacket teased her nipples. When they got back to
the school parking lot, Coach took off her mask,
and she saw that it was still light in the west. It
hadn't been twelve hours, more like two. As she
got out of the car, she asked, "Who were those
guys?"
"Me, of course, and Jack, the Math teacher -- I
owed him from a poker game last week -- and
Hank, the head custodian, and a guy who repairs my
car, Felicity Branson, the cook, and, of course, the
basketball team. I promised them a treat for a
winning season. Everyone is sworn to secrecy, but I
do have it all on video tape, in case you change your
mind about keeping your job. Those guys you "row
boated" were under-age, and, as far as the video
shows, nobody was forcing you, so you could be put
away for a long time as a serial child molester.
Don't make me show that tape to the prosecutor, or
the school board, either."
She leaned against the car, thoroughly beaten.
Every school day she was likely to see the cook or
the Math teacher or the custodian or a member of
the basketball team. Could she meet their eye?
Every day she would be reminded of her
humiliation. And Coach had her at his mercy.
"Now that I've fucked your basketball team, is that
it? I can keep my job?" Coach laughed wickedly.
"Sure, until we have another winning team. Oh, I'll
need you from time to time, nothing much, just say
a blow job now and then after school, or maybe
some week end duty, if I lose at cards. Look at it
this way, Miss Bright; I, for one, am going to be
boosting your career as a teacher, as long as you
keep me happy. How's that for job security?"
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