Suggested Audio Jukebox 🌶
 Van Halen Hot For Teacher
 Donna Summer Bad Girls (Instrumental)
 Doris Day Teacher’s Pet
 N*E*R*D Lapdance (Instrumental)
“See me after class”
Something tells me I’m in big trouble. Mr. Alford is known for his no-nonsense approach and, by the tone of his voice there, I reckon he’s well pissed. To be fair, I have been misbehaving pretty badly today and I’m not altogether sure how I managed to make it to last period without bagging myself a detention. But compared to Alford, all the other teachers are pussy cats and not a single one of them knows how to control a class. He does, to the point where the other kids wouldn’t dare to step out of line, for fear of rattling his rusty cage. The thing is – I’m not the other kids. Not even fucking close.
The name’s Emma and I’m what is traditionally known as the “dark horse” of class 4A. To look at me, you’d suspect that butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth and you’d be quite right in your assumption. That said, it wouldn’t fare up quite so well between my thighs. Now I’m only a sophomore, but reckon that may have something to do with the stream of nectar running right through the middle. This river wild has many names, not all of which are particularly flattering I have to say, but I like to call mine my juicy slit.
Did I shock you? I do hope so. You see, I’m a very naughty girl. Filthy in fact. Before you go signing off my report card with a scarlet letter, I’ll have you know I’m a straight-A student and treasurer of the student council. I happen to take my studies very seriously indeed and, by all accounts, I’m the model pupil. There’s no chance of me wasting the education I’ve been granted as I plan to make something of my life and have no great desire to flip burgers for a living; which is what most of the brain-dead skanks in my class will wind up doing once they get knocked up the moment they hit legal age. But that doesn’t mean I have to be dull as dishwater, does it? I mean, there’s always weekends right?
Weekends just so happen to be the period when I suck the most hard cocks. If I’m feeling particularly lustful, then a blow job behind the bike sheds isn’t totally uncommon. But I’ve never once been caught in the act as it’s normally over fairly fast. No half-stepping here, I deep-throat each stiff prick right down to the shaft, often to the point where I can massage their balls with my lips. Needless to say, it’s not long before a jet of hot cum hits the back of my throat and, depending on my mood, I may just guzzle every drop down. Alternatively, I’ll spit it straight back into their acne-ridden faces. Good for the skin is it? Well then, take this one-time offer face mask on the house and pass me a napkin as I have a tendency to dribble large loads.
It may surprise you then to learn that I’m actually sweet, innocent and have never been kissed, at least not on the lips. Boys my age offer precious little in the way of intellectual nourishment so I tend to use them for precisely what they’re good for – spunking their loads. Not a single one of these premature clots has what it takes to satisfy me. Thus the opportunity to take things to the next level has never once been allocated. There are plenty of walking cum dumpsters willing to forgive that first “getting to know you” fuck and I ain’t one of them. Anyone would think it’s a palace hedge maze down there; the way they find every path available other than the one that leads straight to the honey hole. If I wanted a bitten down thumb nail in my arsehole, then I’d pick up a tweaking meth-head outside the local 7-Eleven. I come to school to learn… and suck dick. Certainly not to surrender my cherished cherry to a mere scrap of a lad.
I need a real man. Indeed, you could say I’ve been saving myself for one such lucky suitor. None of this stubble that a cat could lick off, give me thick bristles to thread my tongue through and I may just unfasten the chastity belt. Real men don’t stop every five seconds to inquire as to whether they’re doing okay. They’re not fixated on performance and know just where to channel any excitement – their big stiff cocks. If I plan to get fucked for the first time; then I’m gonna get fucked good and proper. I want to know when it’s inside me, know what it’s doing while it’s there, and know damn well what it did before it leaves. I already told you I took education seriously. Easy A’s all the way, remember.
Mr. Alford is a real man. He may be something of a taskmaster and the last member of faculty you’d wish to get on the wrong side of, but he’s also something of a sight for moist thighs and only need call out the register to get me all wet and unnecessary. Rumor has it that his wife ran away with the milkman a couple of years back and that would certainly explain why he looks so stern all the time. However, while not one for smiling a great deal, there’s something about him that I find myself inexplicably drawn to. Perhaps that would have something to do with the massive bulge in his trousers. I shit you not, the school ferret Frankie went missing last week and I’m fairly convinced the little fella is being held against his will down Mr. Alford’s pants. I try my darndest not to stare but that’s easier said than done when this plumpened polecat starts writhing.
So you see, I’m more than happy to be singled out for not paying attention during his lecture. Indeed, I rigged this little misdemeanor especially in his sole honor. There’s something about the way he brushes past me as he hands out textbooks; the way I feel his eyes on me while I pretend to study. It’s like I’m completely transparent; like he can read every last one of my forbidden desires and is taking notes for later. I may be way off base here and, should that be the case, then I could be staring down the barrel of a month of extra homework and that’s not the kind of extracurricular activity I’ve been yearning for. Should he fail to fall for the pig-tails I bunched today as a sweetener or the pleated tartan skirt that falls some way short of the appropriate length, then I’ll just have to break out the Bubblicious and commence twirling my locks, all coy like. Perhaps dribble a little saliva into my cleavage just to be really insolent.
Anyroad, if my Swatch reads right, then the final bell should be chiming in the next few seconds or so and I’ll get my answer, one way or another. Then it’s just a case of waiting for the rowdy rabble to disperse and doing my very best impression of a very naughty girl who simply has to be punished, ever so thoroughly of course. Naturally I’ll be using every low down dirty trick in the handbook to tease his cock hard. Biting my lower lip, looking up at him all doe-eyed, activating cheek dimples – the lot. Whatever it takes for Mr. Alford to make a woman out of me is fair game here; anything to earn myself his very worst “correction”. He’s got my full and unequivocal blessing to correct the living shit out of me and, just to clear up any confusion, that’s in whichever hole he pleases. Time to get my slutty little wiggle on methinks.
It would help if he looked up from his sodding papers. There’s me doing my very best impression of Britney Spears and Alford’s too busy brutally ignoring me to notice. To rub salt in the open slit, he still found a way of herding me to his desk using one pointed finger, without so much as acknowledging my existence. What am I? Tinned fish heads? How very dare he veto my voracious slide across the varnished floorboards! I’ve got half a mind to stomp on over and ram my pencil sharpener up his left nostril for such a blatant act of teacher-student negligence. Of course, I’ll do no such thing. Sir is in charge and, whatever sir says, goes. Anything he wants. Anything at all.
“You wanted to see me sir”
Still not the faintest concession. It’s as though I’m a sheet of frigging perspex or something.
“Interrupt me again and you’ll soon wish you hadn’t”
Fine. I’ll just take a seat then and wait until he can be bothered to register my presence.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Waiting until you’re ready for me sir”
“Did I say you can take a seat?”
“Erm… no sir… but I thought…”
“You thought you’d disrespect me”
“I wouldn’t dream of it sir”
Ordinarily I’d expect a little eye-contact as I’m being reprimanded but somehow he’s managed to dress me down without sending so much as a solitary glare my way. I’m beginning to get the sinking feeling that I’m about to come a cropper here, you know. Yet something about his curt commandment has me blushing and I’m not talking about my cheeks either. They do say treat them mean, keep them keen and his complete indifference towards me is making me all the more eager to displease. Perhaps that’s what he wants; for me to show a little backbone and flat refuse his stern request. Foreplay if you will. This could be about to backfire on me spectacularly but I reckon I’ll give him what I think it is he wants and see what transpires.
“Do you wish to tell me why you’re still seated?”
“My legs hurt sir”
“But it’s my thighs”
I’m not normally the biggest fan of being yelled at but, on the upside, Alford has finally seen fit to give me the time of day. Looks like today’s buzz word is thighs and the fact that I can feel his beady eyes burning through mine as we speak seems to corroborate my sneaking suspicions. My, what a big pair he has. Eyes I mean. I dare not allow my lustful gaze to venture any lower than his shirt collar, as tantalizing a proposition as that might be. I’m just grateful to have his full and undivided attention. No girl wishes to be ignored. I’d much rather my succulent arse be spanked until glowing scarlet than be bypassed altogether. Come on wishful thinking, pay off for me just this one time. Please let this culminate in a sound thrashing.
“Well? Whatever’s wrong with you?”
“I think I pulled a muscle sir”
“I said I think I pulled a muscle sir”
Hold on, he’s on the move. Is this a good sign? I’m pretty sure he keeps his meter rule in his stationary cupboard so it could well be time to assume position. What else could he plan to flagellate my bare bottom with, if not that? Wait, he just walked straight past it. Is he leaving? I don’t get it. That’s the exit sir. What happened to my penance?
Ah, the door. Of course. You can’t have a private lesson with prying eyes upon you and this bodes decidedly well for my hopes of some rough academic justice. Now don’t forget to stop off at the stationary cupboard on your way back to retrieve your drub stick sir. On second thoughts, rolling up those sleeves works for me too. Mr. Alford has such manly hands and, I’m not gonna lie to you, the thought of those dry palms slapping my peachy buttocks until flush has been achieved has my cotton white knickers bunching in anticipation. Good work fella.
“You look absolutely fine to me”
“The pain seems to be coming from a little higher up sir”
“Well? What are you waiting for girl? Show me!”
I believe that is what’s known as hitting pay-dirt. Unless I’ve misread the memo, regulation length for skirts at St. Gabriel’s is an inch above the knee and, if he’d bothered to retrieve his meter rule, then he’d soon be aware that mine is a full three-inches shy of acceptable. The imaginary twinge I’ve been feeling happens to be situated closer to my groin than anywhere else and one strong gust of wind right now would be sufficient to divulge the coordinates. Alternatively I could lift it just enough to offer a fleeting glimpse of my fast-soiling underwear and see where that takes us. Yeah, that’s precisely what I’ll do.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“I was going to show you where it hurts sir, just like you asked”
“You’ll do no such thing, at least, not in that position. Turn around and face the wall”
“Like this sir?”
“And what would you like me to do now sir? Would you like me to bend over and touch my toes sir?”
“I wouldn’t like you to do anything. I insist you do”
“Of course, sir. The pain seems to be coming from right about… here”
“I see. And where would you say that is?”
“My juicy slit sir”
“Slit you say?”
“Yes sir. My tight bald slit sir. Shall I slide these grubby knickers to the side so you can take a closer look sir?”
“Who’s the teacher here?”
“You are sir”
“Best you remember that. Now slide those grubby knickers to the side so I can take a closer look”
I thought he’d never ask. To be fair, I’m not expecting extra credits for deducing that it’s on like Donkey Kong as I’m fairly certain any teacher-student boundaries were well and truly obliterated a good couple of minutes ago. I tell you one thing – that juicy slit of mine is nice and slippery and I’m gonna need all the sap I can muster if I’m to stand a wish or a prayer of accommodating the ginormous girth he’s packing. From my doubled over position, I’ve got a bird’s-eye view of his lunch box and I reckon that’s my daily five sewn up right there you know. Ten minutes with that serpentine schlong writhing around inside me spitting the odds and I’ll likely require a chiropractor to realign me. Can’t wait.
“There… that’s better. I bet you’ve never seen one like this before sir”
“I’ll be the judge of that young lady. It looks terribly inconclusive from where I’m standing”
“Then why not come a little closer sir?”
“I’ve got a better idea. Reach back with both hands and spread your bottom for me”
“Wide enough sir?”
“Wider. I want to see that mucky little arsehole”
“You mean this one sir?”
There’s something mighty liberating about flashing your rusty bullet hole to a man of authority, especially when he’s close enough to discern it clench and release anxiously. I actually really need to fart at this present moment but dare not let it slip out in case it’s deemed too broad for his tastes. I’m presuming they’re reasonably expansive but think I might just await instruction on that one, just to be safe. With virtually every drop of blood in my body rushing to my head all at once, I may well pass out before that point. Come to think of it, I’d hazard another guess that this transaction will ultimately end in collapse anyroad. It really is staggering what surgeons can reconstruct nowadays. I’m sure they’ll have me walking again in no time; although I fear I may never piss in a single jet again. Seems a scant price to pay for a personal address from the python.
Speaking of old snake eye, I’m not seeing a great deal of zipper action going on in my slipstream. Now I’m no expert, okay I am, but don’t you have to lower the drawbridge before you can play toy soldiers? Let’s not slug the slow-worm here, that gargantuan girth looks more than capable of breaking formation on its own and only physics knows why it hasn’t bolted the barracks already. My pristine pussy palace couldn’t possibly withstand a pummeling from a fatty like that one. Mercifully, and with a vague hint of disappointment I hasten to add, that doesn’t appear to be Mr. Alford’s number one priority right now. Good call on not farting as it’s his long, slender nose presently bounding towards my meadow fresh muffin with intent to inhale twin barrels.
“It’s not very clean, is it?”
Perhaps that would have something to do with the fact that you’re not supposed to smell it from the inside sir. We may have crossed any teacher-student boundaries a good while back, but it would have been nice to have been offered the opportunity to draw the line at being worn like a Groucho disguise. Bearing in mind both my legs are akimbo, these sodden knickers are tangled around my knees like cotton snot, and I’m as open as a box of spunks in a birthday cake factory, you should have at least a vague clue as to my current indisposition. Dignified it most certainly ain’t.
“Find anything interesting back there sir?”
“Nothing a good stiff cock couldn’t fix”
Hallelujah. Now he’s talking my language.
“Any idea where I can find one sir?”
“A pretty good one, yes”
“Are you going to whip it out or maybe you’d like me to do it for you sir?”
“As you wish”
Oh my gosh. It would appear I’ve tamed the beast. Well, perhaps tamed would be a tad premature given that I’m set to wrestle with Nessie. But it sure beats having a snout rammed up your crud cave. To be fair, the bridge of his glasses were kind of hitting the spot there. I’ve never had a rectal convulsion that didn’t entail refuse and plan to investigate further at a later date. At any rate, that flimsy zipper is beginning to buckle, so I’d be better served unleashing this kraken so it can do me a mischief.
“I’m reaching in now sir”
“Grip it hard and yank it out”
“It’s so big sir. I’ll need both hands”
“Don’t just talk about it, DO IT!”
“Shall I spit out my bubblegum sir?”
“Very well. No wait. You can leave it in”
“Thank you sir. I love to blow bubbles sir”
“Not so fast. I want you to wank my stiff cock for a bit while I work out what to do with you”
Had I mentioned that I was in a marching band a couple of years ago? I played the clarinet. Always found it helpful to dribble a little into the mouthpiece before recitals. Perhaps a little additional moisture would serve me well here; when the time comes for me take this woodwind instrument down to my tonsils. As we’ve already established, sucking a mean dick is my forte and satisfaction comes guaranteed. But I refuse to repent until this meaty marauder is sliding between my juicy slit and deep into my sticky honey hole.
“Don’t be scared of it. Wank it”
“But it looks so angry sir. Like it’s going to spit sir”
“Then give it a lick”
“A lick sir?”
“Yes, a lick. Just the very tip of your tongue, mind”
“In the tiny little hole at the end?”
“JUST FUCKING DO IT!”
“Tastes yummy sir. Like cotton candy sir”
“I’ll give you cotton candy you filthy little slut”
“I am a slut sir. I’ve tried to be good, heaven knows I have, but just can’t resist sir”
That’s quite possibly the least sincere thing I’ve ever said, right there. Not the bit about zero resistance; the trying to be good baloney. It takes hard graft and perseverance to be a bad girl and that’s why I’ve flossed with over forty Fat Alberts so far this calendar year alone. I believe I’m currently staring dead in the one eye of the mother lode. It would take a particularly bad girl to confront such a threat and an even worse one to ever hope to topple it. In a few minutes time, I should have a reasonably good idea where I sit in the pecking order. Right then, all-you-can-eat time.
“Stop what you’re doing at once”
“But I’ve already dislocated my jaw in advance sir”
“Do I look like I give a toss? Take off your clothes. Oh and leave your socks until last”
“You mean this tight little blouse sir?”
“Ahem… yes. For starters”
“Then I won’t be needing this skirt any more and perhaps I should step out of my knickers too sir. They’re dirty anyroad”
“What does that leave? My bra. How silly of me. But that would mean you’d get to see my ruby-red nipples sir”
“Make it so”
“There. That feels much better. I think I need a bigger size sir. They get stiff you see. Like your cock sir”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“Am I sir? Oh, the socks. Let me just roll them down past my knees and over my strong calves. Would you like to see my toes sir? I painted them fresh this morning”
“Feels good to give them a wiggle sir”
“Then wiggle them over here and come take a seat on my stiff cock”
“You want to put that big hard prick inside my honey hole sir?”
“Very much so yes”
“But it looks like it will split me wide open sir. My juicy slit’s not big enough”
“Then you’d better make space young lady. Honestly, your generation I will never understand”
Here goes nothing. Well, my virginity. I guess that’s something. There comes a time in any young girl’s life when she must place her faith in human nature and ride that snake to the apple’s core, so to speak. No turning back now, it’s time to slide down the fireman’s pole and flame grill that whopper. Actually, better make that a quarter pounder.
“If I sit on your lap, will you tell me a story sir?”
“Something like that”
“Okay then sir”
Good lord, it’s like straddling a nuke. If I did possess a cherry, then I’d say it well and truly popped at the very first pussy fart. I’m not sure whether to be embarrassed by the acoustics or proud to be conducting my very first vaginal symphony. Either way, it’s imperative that I ride each fierce tsunami as it comes as this clearly isn’t over yet, not by a long chalk. My rampant rabbit is now officially redundant. Note to self – head to town market tomorrow and pick up a marrow.
“Are you going to cum inside me sir?”
“I haven’t decided yet”
“I hope you do. Maybe you could flush out all this filth sir”
“Actually I had my mind set on pulling out and shooting all over your tits, perhaps drizzle a little into your belly button to lick out afterwards”
“Would you sir? I’d love it if you did”
“I may even flip you over and splash some across your arse, soften up that hole some”
“While you’re feeling so generous, may I request a squirt in my arse dimple sir?”
“I’d say you can bank on it”
Do you know what? It just dawned on me that I still haven’t the faintest idea what I’m actually being reprimanded for. Not that I have any intention to bring that up when getting pole-axed, but it has got me wondering. At any rate, I reckon we’re well on our way to eruption now and that should mean that my cup is about to runneth over. Whatever my indiscretion, I’m just glad I stayed behind after class as sir requested. Granted, the learning curve has been steep, not to mention the stiff cock currently preparing to unleash all over me like a fire hose. Indeed, I wonder what the board would make of Mr. Alford’s punishment methods. But I have an inking that I’ve passed his stern test with flying colors.
“One more big push and we’ll have all that backed-up spunk out of you sir”
“I’m gonna come”
“Do sir. Please do sir”
“YES! FUCK ME SIR. FUCK ME THROUGH THE WALL SIR”
“See me after class”
What? Where? Huh? Why am I suddenly getting a strange feeling of déjà vu? More to the point, why am I the only person standing and with around twenty sets of beady eyes gawking at me in unison? I believe they would be my classmates and that would make this whole torrid affair a daydream right? Jesus Christ, I was just getting into that. At least it clears up the whole punishment conundrum. Anyroad, if my Swatch reads right, then the final bell should be chiming in the next few seconds or so. I reckon I could get used to this, you know. Now where did I leave my bubblegum?
Truly, Really, Clearly, Sincerely,
Richard Charles Stevens
Keeper of the Crimson Quill
Copyright: Grueheads Films 2017