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?"