The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I

Two women sat in the oak-paneled headmaster’s office, behind the heavy old door with the frosted glass window. The woman sitting behind the big desk was a little under forty, crisply professional in an expensive white blouse and navy blue skirt. She wore her brown hair straight, parted in the middle and curling inward just beneath her chin, framing her attractive face. Red highlights in her hair matched her bright red lipstick and the band of cute freckles that marched across her nose from one cheek to the other. She had her hands folded in front of her on the cluttered desk, listening attentively.

The other woman, sitting on the edge of her chair in front of the oak desk, was a few years younger and a few inches shorter than her counterpart. Her face would have been decidedly pretty were it not so contorted with anger. Her hair was a maze of blonde curls on top of her head. She had a sleek, almost slight figure, dressed to the nines in a designer-label suit of burgundy wool cut calf length. She was visibly trembling with rage. “Mrs. McLeod!” the woman snarled, spitting out the name in contempt. “You are supposed to be the headmaster of this Academy! It is your job—your JOB, madam—to maintain the academic and social standards that have given this institution its high reputation in the community. Not to mention conforming with ordinary norms of decent behavior! I cannot believe the things I have seen here today! The slovenliness. The utter lack of discipline. The public indecency! How could you allow this happen? How could you let standards slip so far, in just one semester?” She glared at the other woman, her blue eyes bright with shock and outrage.

The headmaster wanted to roll her eyes, but she didn’t. It was true there had been many changes at Lovebright Academy recently—all for the better as far as she was concerned—but the line about high standards was a bit much. It was well known among the upper crust that the former Mrs. Lovebright’s School for Girls was the prep school of last resort. It was a place where the rich could send their pampered, less brightly lit daughters and have some hope of getting them into college, or failing that, at least having a prestigious name on their resume before marrying them off to someone rich enough to support them. Grade point averages and similar niceties were generally a moot point as long as Daddy could afford the tuition.

The school had never taken more than 30 new students each year, allowing it to boast of small, interactive classes. In place of academic excellence, it substituted strict discipline, a rigid code of dress and behavior, and a nearly obsessive attention to upper class propriety. Until recently, that is.

With the school’s reputation (and enrolment) beginning to decline at the same time that its impressive but moldering old Victorian building needed major repairs, the Board of Governors decided, reluctantly, to re-invent the Lovebright School for Girls as Lovebright Academy. The old headmaster (“headmistress” she had always insisted) retired. The Board’s search for a young, dynamic headmaster who understood the need to educate spoiled young women destined to be the leaders of tomorrow, or at least the wives and mothers of their children, lead them to Mrs.FrancisMcLeod. Dr. Vargas, the Board’s Chairman, even insisted they set up a few scholarships, hoping to attract at least a handful of students with real potential. The final and most wrenching change came when, in order to qualify for government subsidies, the Academy began to accept male students.

The headmaster kept her voice calm. “Why, Mrs. Baxter, whatever do you mean? I confess I have decided to give the students a little more latitude—”

“Latitude!” the other woman cut her off. “You call this latitude? Don’t you mean license? Mrs. McLeod I have been here for no more than three hours and already I have seen enough violations of good order and discipline to cost you your job! And perhaps those of the entire teaching staff! I am shocked, madam. Shocked and appalled. Let me tell you I have every intention of bringing this to the attention of the Board, and you will be very quickly out of a job!”

Mrs. McLeod tried not to let her fear show, or her anger. She knew Mrs. Baxter well enough to know that she would carry out her threat, the little bitch. Mrs.CynthiaBaxter was an “old-girl” herself, and in the Lovebright’s tradition she had succeeded in seducing a wealthy businessman and getting him to marry her when she “accidentally” got pregnant. Nevertheless she continued to meddle in the affairs of her alma mater, mostly by using her bought seat on the Board to oppose any new or innovative idea. The headmaster could not understand why Dr. Vargas had gone along with Mrs. Baxter’s visit the campus. “Don’t worry. It’ll be alright,” he told her mysteriously.

“Perhaps it would be helpful,” the headmaster said coldly, “if you could describe some of the things that are upsetting you.”

The blonde woman was almost too angry to speak. “Some of the things! Well, I mean, all right then, why don’t we start with the dress code—or should I say the absence of a dress code!”

“We have relaxed the rules slightly. But students are still required to wear the school uniform.”

“You call that a uniform!?” Mrs. Baxter retorted. “They’re hardly—I mean there’s no—" she struggled to express her amazement.

Mrs. Baxter had dropped in on the Academy as the first of a series of regular Board inspections recently begun by Dr. Vargas. Slyly, she arrived unannounced and a day earlier than her scheduled visit. She remembered Lovebright’s as a quiet, protective, old-world kind of place, and she didn’t care at all for the changes that had taken place. She didn’t trust that new headmistress either; she was too full of modern ideas about education.

But nothing had prepared the young wife for what she had seen. In Mrs. Baxter’s day girls at Lovebright’s wore a traditional uniform: a white cotton blouse and knee-length plaid kilt, blue knee- socks (cable-knit tights in winter), black flats, and a formal blue jacket bearing the Lovebright crest. A severe dressing down awaited the student who dared to wear her skirt above the knee, or let her blouse come untucked.

But not any more, it seemed. Mrs. Baxter arrived at the Academy just as classes were changing and she was amazed at what she saw. The girls still wore the traditional uniform, sort of, but all the rules of proper dress had been subverted if not abandoned. White blouses were still the rule, but sensible cotton had been replaced by smooth silk and slinky satin, worn tight, thin, and sleeveless. Some of the blouses were see-through, most had the top three or four buttons undone. A number of the less well endowed girls were wearing push-up bras to make the most of their inadequate cleavage.

Few of the girls bothered to wear jackets, and if so, they were never buttoned up. Of the two that Mrs. Baxter saw in that first shocking few minutes, one had done up none of the buttons on her blouse, but just tied it beneath her breasts, leaving her midriff bare. Mrs. Baxter was momentarily relieved to see at least one girl was wearing her jacket properly, until she realized she wore no blouse at all beneath it.

The rest of the uniform was similarly mocked. All of the girls were wearing their kilts micro-mini length, and some of the seniors’ were so short they barely covered essentials. Kneesocks were nowhere to be seen, although many of the juniors wore sexy, over-the-knee stocking-things that stopped about mid-thigh. The rest of the girls were wearing nylons, sometimes sheer and skin-toned, but more often in gaudy colors or patterns with shiny fabrics and seams up the back.

“The older girls are even wearing stockings!” Mrs. Baxter exclaimed. “Every time they bend over the slightest bit in those little hussy skirts their garters are right there for all the world to see. How can you tolerate letting our children dress in such a manner!?”

Mrs. McLeod nodded understandingly, but privately she had trouble understanding why anybody would object to stockings. She was wearing a pair herself, silk ones as a matter of fact. They were very comfortable once you got used to them, and felt wonderfully feminine. Nowadays she seldom wore anything else.

“Only the seniors are allowed to wear stockings,” the headmaster said reasonably, “and they can hardly be considered children. The majority of them are eligible to vote. Shouldn’t they be treated as adults if they are to adapt to an adult world?”

“That’s hardly the point!” cried Mrs. Baxter. “We are supposed to be teaching these students discipline and decorum, not lasciviousness. Why are the girls allowed to wear shoes like that? Haven’t you noticed?!”

Mrs. Baxter certainly had. The traditional black pams had been abandoned as completely as kneesocks. Instead, the girls were wearing an astonishing variety of fancy footwear in which high heels figured very prominently. Classic pumps with narrow toes and immoderately high heels seemed to be very popular, which combined with the traffic-stopping brief skirts and slinky hose to create a leg-man’s dream. The more adventurous wore exuberant platform shoes and sandals in wild colors and bright patterns that lifted their brightly painted toes several inches off the floor and their heels even higher. While Mrs. Baxter watched in amazement, one pretty girl set down her books in the hall, put one foot on them, and spent several minutes carefully tightening the laces on her leather boots. She didn’t seem very concerned that her too-short skirt hiked up over her behind to reveal lace-edged, powder blue panties to the approving admiration of two boys.

Mrs. McLeod patiently listened to the younger woman rant, without offering comment. What a hypocrite, she thought. Chastising my girls for expressing themselves a little bit while she sits in front of me in her thousand-dollar suit and matching heels. Didn’t she realize that young women were naturally fashion-conscious? Aren’t we supposed to teach them to take pride in their appearance and not be ashamed of their sexuality? The headmaster crossed her ankles beneath the desk, feeling the comforting familiarity of the ankle straps on her own shoes. There were several more pairs in the filing cabinet if she felt like changing.

“And the make-up!” Mrs. Baxter exclaimed, growing more animated by the moment. “Why in my day we weren’t even allowed to wear make-up during class hours. Those girls are painted up as if they are preparing for a night at a club in the red-light district! They spend all their time between classes fussing with their hair and fixing their mascara. Who—who’s idea was it to install lighted make-up mirrors in the washrooms?”

“The lighting in the washrooms wasn’t very good,” the headmaster began, but her guest cut her off again.

“It didn’t need to be good! It’s just a washroom! Are you hearing anything I’m saying?”

“Of course I do. But Mrs. Baxter I assure you, you are getting all upset over nothing. A few minor changes to the dress code, nothing more. Is there anything else?”

The young blonde stared at her blankly for a moment. “Anything else? Mrs. McLeod, there is much more ... else. There is openly loud, lewd and indecent behavior going on right in the halls of your school! And these new male students are right in the middle of it!”

In fact, the boys were even more disturbing than the girls. Lovebright’s had only been co-educational for a couple of years, and girls still outnumbered boys by about three to one. Teens are terribly sensitive to embarrassment, so Mrs. Baxter expected that even the seniors would be a little intimidated by all those girls.

Far from it. The boys strolled down the halls like minor princes on a royal walkabout. They strutted like gangsters who had just been acquitted. They joked and laughed. They kissed the cheeks and patted the barely covered fannies of the girls they walked by. They whistled and stared, and handed out loud, unsubtle compliments at girls they admired.

And the girls ate it up. They giggled and tittered at the sexual innuendo and basked in the most tasteless compliments. All the girls laughed at the boys’ lame jokes and flirted shamelessly at every opportunity. The halls were loud with shouting and conversations, jokes and laughter, more like a party than a school day. The noise settled a little bit as Mrs. Baxter walked by, and many a nervous glance, or so it seemed to her, was directed her way. But a few feet behind her the revelry started up again, as rambunctious as ever.

When she had recovered from her initial surprise enough to look more closely, Mrs. Baxter noticed another oddity. There didn’t seem to be any solitary boys. Every boy in the school was walking along with an attractive girl on his arm, sometimes two. Even the big chunky goofs and quiet, nerdy types seemed to be amazingly popular. A few of the more confident guys were followed by an ever-changing throng of admiring girl students, all jockeying to be near him, like groupies around a rock star.

Mrs. Baxter noticed one fellow in particular, pausing outside a classroom with his girlfriend in tow. She was a head taller than he and spectacularly beautiful. She was dressed, like all the girls, in a travesty of the school uniform: a slinky white bodyshirt over a foreshortened kilt, dark, patterned hose that sparkled as she walked, and high-heeled black ankleboots. When Mrs. Baxter was a student, even hair worn that long and loose would have been against regulations. Not to mention the blatant display of affection with which she said goodbye to her boyfriend.

Evidently they were going to different classes. Standing by the classroom door, in full view of anybody, the couple embraced, while the girl bent down and gave her boyfriend a long, sizzling kiss. The kiss turned into an upright necking session. When the boy ran his hands down her back and onto her bum the girl merely cooed excitedly and rubbed her crotch tighter against him. At last he broke the kiss and gently pushed her away. She was breathing hard. Reluctantly, looking back at him doe-eyed, she turned and waltzed into the classroom where the teacher was patiently waiting for the class to assemble.

The girl was barely out of sight before another girl, a hot-looking blonde in a tight white jersey and an equally short kilt, shouted out his name from down the hall. She tripped down the noisy corridor toward him in her wedge-heeled slides, smiling excitedly, and fairly threw herself into his arms, loosing one gaudy shoe in the process. After a long and passionate melding of lips it was again the boy who pushed her gently away. Until he mentioned it, she seemed hardly to have noticed her missing shoe.

As she watched the couple recede down the hall, arm in arm, Mrs. Baxter looked on, amazed and unbelieving. Never mind that the way both girls carried on with the boy bordered on public indecency, much less proper decorum for a private school. There was an even bigger mystery. The girls were both gorgeous and radiating sex appeal; the guy was short, plain, a little frumpy and wore glasses. How in the world did he ever attract a girl such as that? Mrs. Baxter pushed a stray curl away from her ear and was surprised to find moisture there. The aura of teenage sexual tension was so thick it was affecting even her.

“Mrs. Baxter,” the headmaster said, clinging desperately to common sense, “You must remember that these are adolescents just emerging into adulthood. They are discovering the other sex. Naturally, when young men and women are thrust together there will be romantic liaisons—”

But the blonde visitor was not listening. “Romantic liaisons! Is that your Harvard euphemism for carrying on in public like overheated rabbits?”

“Well, of course we attempt to discourage too open displays of affection. But you know how young men are. Sometimes their enthusiasm is a little hard to hold in check.”

It was a weak explanation, but Mrs. McLeod was loathe to admit that she found it difficult to discipline the male students. They were all such huggable, handsome little hunks! Even the shy, nerdy types were simply too cute for words. Oh, she had hauled a couple into her office after some particularly flagrant incidents, intending to give them one of her famous tongue-lashings. But when the guys stood smiling sheepishly in front of her she found herself as flushed and giggly as any of the young girls in her charge. Unable to stay angry, she gave them a gentle lecture and sent them on their way. For some reason she found the incidents delightfully arousing, and any day when she had a student in her office her husband was guaranteed a lively time in bed that night!

“Are you admitting then,” Mrs. Baxter said icily, “that you cannot control your own students?”

“No, of course not! But you must understand that certain, ah, youthful rambunctiousness is to be expected. It’s part of—”

“I see.” the blonde woman cut her off disdainfully. “So you are unable or unwilling to exercise your authority to maintain even a semblance of discipline. The Board will be interested to hear that. Could it be that student decorum would be more easily maintained if the teaching staff set a proper example?”

“What, what do you mean?” Mrs. McLeod said meekly. She didn’t like the way this was going.

“I mean, quite simply, that I expect teachers at this school to be exemplary in appearance, conduct, and performance. I have seen nothing of the sort here, Mrs. McLeod!”

Still reeling from her experience in the hall, Mrs. Baxter had found herself outside an empty classroom just as the noise of class change subsided. The classroom was deserted except for a good-looking young woman sitting at the front desk. Evidently she was one of the new replacement teachers that had been brought on earlier in the semester.

Women had always composed most of Lovebright’s teaching staff, and like its building and its philosophy, much of the staff had grown old and tired and in need of rejuvenation. In the upheaval following the name change and the admission of boys, many of the older teachers had retired. A few months later several others had abruptly resigned amid disturbing rumors of illicit affairs with students. The situation required a raft of new hirings, many in mid-semester. To save time, the Board had allowed Mrs. McLeod to make the appointments herself, with Board ratification suspended until after the school year. Mrs. Baxter was therefore not surprised that she did not recognize the pretty young teacher.

“Hello,” she said, striding into the room, “My name is Baxter. I’m with the Board of Governors, here on inspection. And you would be...?”

The woman was studying herself in a hand mirror while she applied lipstick. She looked up, startled, trying to lodge her chewing gum in a corner of her mouth. “Oh! Oh, uhm yes, Mrs. Baxter, oh, yes. Of course. I like, didn’t see you there. Yes, oh, I’m Crystal Sexsmith, senior history and, uhm, geography. We were, uhm, sort of like, expecting you tomorrow.”

“I know. That’s why I decided to drop in today.”

Smiling coolly, Mrs. Baxter examined the young teacher. She was definitely still in her twenties, slender and very attractive, with long, blond hair streaked with darker bands, and glittering deep blue eyes. Her lips were full and cherry red from the freshly applied lipstick. Certainly plenty of fuel there for adolescent fantasies. Mrs. Baxter had voted against the emergency hiring approvals, and she certainly did not approve of senior classes being taught by a neophyte ten years her junior who looked more like a model than a teacher.

Still, sitting behind her big desk the young woman appeared professional enough. Her hair was mostly pinned up with a pair of gold combs. Stylish, gold-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. She wore a plain white blouse and a conservative gray suit jacket that looked properly academic. “Well, I guess, like, uhm, since you’re here, like,” she said, clearly flustered, “I’m like, really glad to meet you.” She rose to her feet and extended a hand.

“Likewise,” Mrs. Baxter said insincerely, but then her voice trailed off. Standing up, Ms Sexsmith had revealed the bottom half of her clothing. The conservative gray jacket matched the simple gray skirt, hip-hugging and distractingly short. The hemline rode high on perfect thighs just below the edge of the jacket. Her legs were long and lean, shimmering beneath sheer nylons with a dark seam up the back, and topped off with mirror-black, extra-high heels. The skirt caught for just a moment on one side, revealing the black lace garters barely covered when it fell back in place.

Mrs. Baxter was shocked again. “Is this how you dress for class?” she demanded.

The leggy blonde fiddled with a wayward strand of hair. “Well, uh, yeah, I guess so. Like, when the weather’s warm. Is something wrong?”

The other blonde studied her keenly. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.”

“And when did you receive your teaching certificate?”

“Oh, well, uhm, probably in the fall. I have to, like, just finish a couple of courses over the summer.” She looked at the older woman nervously.

“You don’t have a degree?”

“I will! I just have to repeat—I mean take a couple of courses to finish up. It’s like almost a formality. Really.”

Mrs. McLeod shook her head as the young woman glared at her across the desk. Of all the teachers to drop in on, it had to be Crystal. She was adorable, but such an airhead. The kids loved her, though.

But this Baxter bitch was demanding an explanation, and the headmaster knew she had to do something. She was getting in over her head and if she couldn’t come up with some ideas quickly there was going to be hell to pay. It was time to get some help.

“I, uh, I can explain all this,” she said unconvincingly. “But will you, uh, just excuse me for one moment?” She picked up the telephone on her desk and punched a button. “Holly? Can you please find Jimmy and ask him to come in here? Right away. Yes, I know, but tell him we’re having a fire drill. Yes, definitely. OK, thanks.”

She put down the telephone and smiled at Mrs. Baxter, some of her confidence returning. Holly had recognized the code words “fire drill” which meant there was an emergency. So Jimmy would come by and help her out. He would figure out some way to explain the new school rules and mollify Mrs. rich-bitch Baxter. Jimmy was always there to help her when she needed him. He was such a remarkable boy.

II

Mrs. Baxter’s patience was wearing thinner by the moment. “What is going on here, Mrs. McLeod?” she demanded. “Who is this ‘Jimmy,’ and what has he got to do with hiring ‘teachers’ who don’t even have a teaching certificate? For god’s sake, that’s not even allowed under state regulations! Not to mention the Lovebright’s tradition of hiring only first-rate faculty! Is it possible you have forgotten that too, the way you have forgotten everything else about running a school!?”

The shapely headmaster wilted before the other woman’s rage. She tried to think of something to say, if only to buy time. That comment about Lovebright’s first-rate faculty was another exaggeration. Still, blondie Baxter did have a point, Crystal’s appointment was technically unsanctioned. Ordinarily Mrs. McLeod was punctilious about that sort of thing, but Crystal was such a sweetheart, and obviously so popular with the boys that she had decided to let it go this time. She would get her degree eventually.

Actually, it had been Jimmy’s suggestion that she hire Crystal; he had an unerring sense for this kind of thing. Mrs. McLeod hoped he would get here soon. She wasn’t sure she could hold off la Baxter much longer.

“Mrs. Baxter, let me explain the situation with Ms Sexsmith,” the headmaster said, thinking quickly. “We were lucky to get her, all things considered. She was finishing her master’s degree in education and incredibly, taking the teaching certificate courses in her spare time. We realized that it was slightly unconventional to bring on a teacher who hadn’t officially finished the degree, but Ms Sexsmith’s other qualifications were so sterling that the detail of a few unfinished courses seemed quite trivial.”

None of this was technically true, of course—the hardest thing Crystal had ever learned was how to walk in five-inch heels—but Mrs. McLeod knew she had to keep Baxter from leaving before Jimmy got there. She was pretty much making it up as she went, and she wasn’t too surprised to discover the curly-haired housewife didn’t believe her.

“Oh come now, Madam,” she sneered, “do you really expect me to believe that that”—she paused, looking for a word—“that bimbo has a master’s degree!”

“But we had to do something when Ms. Harding resigned so suddenly.” Almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth, the headmistress realized her mistake. Ms. Harding had been one of the fiercest critics of the changes at Lovebright, particularly the admission of boys. Everyone in the state, especially the blonde inquisitor sitting before her, had been shocked when the forty-five year old spinster had suddenly resigned, being found pregnant with the baby of one of her students. Worst yet, she happily admitted to having slept with so many boys, she didn’t know or care which one knocked her up!

Mrs. McLeod was not a good liar and she could feel herself blushing under Mrs. Baxter’s fiery glare. Fortunately, before she could dig herself in any deeper there was a polite rapping at the door. “Ah, that will be Jimmy now,” the headmaster said, unable to hide her relief. “I’m sure he will be able to answer any of your remaining questions. Come in!”

The door opened and a student walked in. Mrs. McLeod jumped to her feet. “Lov—, er, I mean, Mr. King, thank you for dropping by. I hope you aren’t missing a class.” She gestured toward her still-seated guest. “This is Mrs.CynthiaBaxter,” she said, then added, significantly, “she’s from the Board of Governors, and she has a few questions about the, uh, academic environment here.”

“Mrs. Baxter. What a pleasure this is,” the boy said, extending a hand.

The svelte blonde was nonplussed. The boy looked to be a senior and he was handsome in a kind of bland way, medium tall and kind of gangly. Unlike the female student body he seemed to take the school uniform seriously, and was wearing the regulation jacket, tie and button-down white shirt. But she had not missed the excitement in Mrs. McLeod’s manner when he entered the room, or the almost fawning way she was looking at him now.

Automatically, she rose to her feet and shook hands. “Delighted, Mr. King,” she said in a voice designed to put youngsters in their place. “Now will somebody please explain to me what this boy is doing here? Do you let the students run the school now, headmaster?”

Mrs. McLeod ignored the sarcasm. “Jimmy is one of the Vargas Scholarship students,” she said proudly, “and also chairs our new Student-Teacher Committee. We decided early last semester that a forum was needed for the exchange of views between students and faculty. It provides the students with an opportunity for real input into regulations which affect them, as opposed to the traditional, autocratic approach.” The education-theory jargon came out easily. She had almost forgotten that the committee was originally Jimmy’s idea, and that he had even recommended the students and teachers that sat on it.

“You seem upset, Mrs. Baxter,” the boy said with an easy self-confidence far beyond his years. “Why don’t you tell us exactly what is bothering you, and we’ll see if we can’t allay your concerns.” He pulled up a chair close beside the headmaster, sat down, and looked at the young blonde expectantly.

Mrs. Baxter was nearly speechless. The whole situation seemed unreal. Not only had the whole Academy turned into a travesty, but now a student was sitting behind the headmaster’s desk, calmly taking over an administrative discussion as if it were the most natural thing in the world. This was too much. It was time to just walk out of here and go directly to the Board. She could pressure Vargas into calling an emergency meeting. When they heard her report, this excuse of a headmaster would be out on her ear before sunrise. Something had to be done.

Yet she hesitated. There was something going on here, she was sure of that, and this cocky, smooth- talking senior was the key to it all. She sat down. “Very well then,” she said archly, “perhaps the chair of the Student-Teacher Committee can explain how a miniskirted nitwit came to be teaching senior geography!”

But the boy only smiled. “You must be referring to Crystal Sexsmith. Her style is quite disarming, isn’t it? Don’t let her fool you though. Beneath that carefully cultivated little-girl image is a sharp and demanding mind. She is a born teacher, too. Her interview left us all stunned.” Not nearly as stunned as Crystal had been when she found out she was hired, but he didn’t say that.

Mrs. Baxter looked at the boy unbelievingly. He sounded absolutely serious. That barbie doll a natural born teacher? “Mrs. McLeod! Is this true?”

“What? Oh, uh, yes, uh certainly. Absolutely true,” the headmaster said, brushing back her hair. She was a little distracted at that moment because Jimmy had his hand on her knee, just below the hem of her skirt, and he was lightly stroking the inside of her leg. It made it kind of hard to concentrate on the conversation. She spread her legs a little wider.

Mrs. Baxter was taken aback. “Well I ... you can’t honestly believe ...Very well, let’s let that go for a moment. There are many other things. How can you account for the bizarre goings-on in the physical education class?”

The corridors were mostly deserted by the time Mrs. Baxter left Crystal Sexsmith’s classroom. There did seem to be a little more noise than usual coming from the classrooms, occasional bursts of laughter or shouting, and what sounded like ... yes, it was definitely music coming from the gymnasium. It was lively dance music with a pulsing disco rhythm. The trim blonde’s heels clicked smartly on the tile floor as she made her way to the gym.

She opened one of the big wooden doors a crack and peered inside. The music was coming from an oversized boombox set on a chair by the wall. There were about a dozen or so students in the gym, and a taller woman who must be the teacher. But this was no ordinary gym class.

For one thing, the girls were not wearing the regulation blue top and knee-length shorts that Lovebright students always wore to gym. These girls were dressed in bright blue leotards and sleek white leggings, with matching blue ankle socks and high-topped white shoes. The stretchy Spandex outfits flattered the young, if slightly rounded, figures and well-turned legs. The girls were doing some kind of aerobic exercise, stretching and moving to the music. Their supple, easy movements suggested ample practice.

The exercises were unconventional; at times they involved bending and turning at the waist, arms overhead and breasts thrust forward, at other times slow graceful steps and pirouettes like ballerinas, high on the toes of their fancy shoes. Then the music dropped to a sensual, pulsing beat and the girls began doing in-place exercises, thrusting their hips forward on one beat, bending and pushing out their behinds on the next. They seemed to be having a great time. Basketballs and other gym equipment was piled in a corner gathering dust.

The only person not dressed in leotards was the instructor. Instead she wore a white, sleeveless tennis dress trimmed with blue stripes, and silvery white tennis shoes tied up with wide blue ribbons instead of laces. Something seemed out of place about that dress. Trying to ignore the infectious beat of the music, or the blatantly sexy movements of the girls, Mrs. Baxter studied the instructor. She was young, and impossibly well-built. Large buoyant breasts and long, athletic legs burst out of the tiny rag of a tennis dress. Long black hair flowed freely down past her shoulders.

Her smile was radiant. Swaying gracefully with the music she strolled among the students, correcting a misplaced arm here, encouraging a more exuberant thrust there. She was wearing big hoop earrings patterned in blue and white, and matching bracelets on both arms.

What in the world was going on? Mrs. Baxter peered in through the gym door and watched the girls go through their well-practiced routine. There was a compelling harmony in their movements, the whole class stretching and bending together like a chorus line. Many of the leotards were quite skimpy along the bustline and around the bum, and when the girls bent over to touch their toes the gym was filled with bouncing breasts and behinds.

It was hard to tell from the door, but the girls didn’t appear to be wearing anything beneath the leotards. They straightened slowly, following the sensuous tones of the music, drawing their hands up their legs and over their torsos. Mrs. Baxter drew in her breath. She found one hand mimicking the girls’ movements and she forced it to stop.

“What in god’s name are you teaching these girls in gym class!” Mrs. Baxter exclaimed, glaring first at the headmaster, then at the student beside her. “Why aren’t they learning basketball or field hockey or gymnastics? Why, that wasn’t even proper aerobics. Those ... movements the girls were doing were practically obscene. It was as if they were practicing to be bawdy dancers! Mrs. McLeod, I demand an explanation!”

“Ex—explanation?” the headmaster gasped, her eyes darting about. “Yes, I can, ooooh, yes, I—I can... uhm, explain... oh! ... explain....” Jimmy’s hand was now above the middle of her thigh and the curvy headmaster was finding it increasingly difficult to focus on the conversation. Her skirt was rucked up around her hips. Jimmy was deftly stroking her stocking-covered inner thigh, moving a little higher with every pass.

He was being terribly naughty, teasing her at a time like this, but Mrs. McLeod couldn’t bring herself to try to stop him. Jimmy’s touch was always such a turn-on. With a few strokes he could render her weak-kneed and helpless.

Mrs. McLeod spread her legs apart as far as the tight skirt would let her. She wished he would let her wear minis, as he did the other teachers, but Jimmy said she had to present a more conservative image to the public and she grudgingly agreed he was right. She compensated, however, by wearing the wildest underwear she could still find.

“I think I understand your misapprehension,” Jimmy interrupted smoothly, his hand still busy between the squirming headmistress’s legs. “That would surely be Miss Libertina’s class. She has introduced a new concept in isometric exercise, blending together, as I understand it, diverse elements from aerobics, modern dance, ballet and even tai chi. The result is an effective, low-impact routine that works the muscles while simultaneously teaching balance, poise and rhythm. She explained it to us one evening at a Student-Teacher Committee meeting.”

For a moment Mrs. Baxter was dumbfounded. That explanation was so bizarre it almost made sense. She ignored the headmaster, who seemed to be twitching in her seat, and concentrated her anger on Jimmy. “Do you mean to tell me,” she said in measured tones, “that those exercises the girls were doing were intended as instruction?”

Jimmy smiled. “Absolutely. Though of course traditional sports have not been abandoned. In fact, our new football team is doing rather well, considering the small pool of talent we have to draw on.”

The football team’s success was probably due to the success of Lovebright’s large and energetic cheerleading squad at distracting the opposing teams with beaver shots, but again Jimmy let the details pass. Ms Libertina was also the cheerleading coach and she applied her new dance ideas to their routines as well. In fact, Ms Libertina had been a professional cheerleader herself until very recently.

“Football,” said Mrs. Baxter blankly. It figured, she conceded with a sigh. There were boys in the school now. “But what about the girls’ championship field hockey team?” she inquired.

Jimmy smiled, realizing that it would be cruel to make Mrs. McLeod try to answer. Leaving her to bask in his delicious manipulation of her sex, he spoke up. “It was offered this year as usual, but there just wasn’t enough interest.” Actually, quite a few girls had been interested at first, including a senior who had been hoping to gain athletic scholarships under Title IX programs. She soon realized, however, that time spent on the field meant less time on her back practicing the new sport her occasional boyfriend had just taught her. She probably wouldn’t be going to college, anyway, now.

“If I may ask you one question,” the student prodded her gently, “If you were curious about the aerobics program, why didn’t you just ask Ms Libertina? She is very enthusiastic about it.” Actually, enthusiastic didn’t quite cover it. Since the idea had occurred to her at a Student-Teacher meeting, the statuesque gym instructor had gradually become obsessed with the new dance routines, until eventually they had pushed all the traditional sports off the curriculum. The girls too had grown to love the exercises, especially since they were allowed to wear the new Spandex uniforms.

For once Mrs. Baxter hesitated. “Well, I ... the fact is, I, well, I never got the chance. I mean, I’m here to do an inspection, and I can’t go around interrupting every class.” In truth, she had been very reluctant to go farther into the gymnasium. There was something disturbingly captivating about the dance the girls were doing, and the rich young housewife was surprised to find herself getting warm just watching them. Just as she was getting warm right now from remembering it.

She shifted uneasily in her chair. “Besides, young man,” she said more firmly, “we still have other things to discuss. Much more serious things. Such as openly lewd behavior in the corridors of the Academy!” She raised her voice dramatically.

Closing the door to the gymnasium, Mrs. Baxter hurried on down the hall until, mercifully, the catchy beat of the music faded. She fluffed up her hair, trying to regain her composure. In the relative silence of the hall she could make out whispered voices coming from a narrow side corridor. Curious, she turned to find them. There should not have been any students about. Lovebright’s traditional strict discipline forbade students to be out of classrooms or the library during school hours.

The corridor lead to a narrow back staircase, one of many such byways and alcoves in the complex architecture of the old building. Walking on tiptoe, Mrs. Baxter approached the voices. There were two students, seniors by the look of them, standing in an unused space beneath the staircase. Old stuffed chairs and sofas were stacked up for storage. The boy was tall and dark blonde, with hair too long for the regulations. He wore the uniform shirt and pants without a tie. His jacket was thrown over a chair.

The girl was a leggy brunette whose interpretation of the school uniform included a kilt that couldn’t have been more than 15 inches long, worn above sky-blue stockings with dark stripes up the legs. Her shiny black shoes had impracticably thick platform soles and heels that towered like skyscrapers. Instead of a blouse she wore a thin white jersey with the bottom buttons unfastened to show her navel. The couple were locked in a heady embrace. As the school inspector watched, unnoticed, they kissed and necked hungrily.

The girl seemed to be protesting something. “Johnny, please,” she murmured softly, when he finally let her up for air, “we can’t. I have to ... get to class ... shouldn’t even ... out here ..” The pauses grew longer as Johnny silenced her with kisses, each one more eagerly accepted than the one before.

“Hey, relax, Leanne, you know I can get you a pass,” Johnny whispered, sprinkling kisses down her throat and neck. “And besides Ms Winsome never checks attendance anymore. We have the whole period to ourselves.” He had one hand on her back, and the other near the bottom of her tiny skirt.

The girl was flushed. “But what if, what if somebody sees us!” she whispered, trying unsuccessfully to keep his hands at bay.

“Nobody will see us. Nobody ever comes back here. And they’re all in class anyway.” He kissed her again, long and thoroughly, while they pressed their bodies together. In the hall Mrs. Baxter stood watching, shocked and fascinated. Unnoticed, her hand slipped into her panties.

The pretty co-ed was rapidly losing ground. “God Johnny,” she husked, when their lips separated an inch, “You’re making me so hot. Please, we have to ...” He covered her lips with his, pulling her closer. As they necked, his hand slipped down off her miniskirt onto the top of one nylon-clad thigh. The girl made a small sound deep in her throat. Following Johnny’s urging she lifted one leg and wrapped it around him, pressing herself against his thrusting hips.

“Please stop, Johnny,” Leanne panted at last, her eyes half-closed. “You’re driving me crazy. We can’t do this, not this week. Remember. Miss Fecunda confiscated all the girls’ pills and I’m ovu .... Please, oh god, wait, oooooh, not theerrre.....” The boy’s hand disappeared under her skirt effectively stifling her protests. Adroitly he turned her around and began to lower her onto one of the old sofas. “Please, Johnny,” she whimpered, “please hurrrry!”

From her vantage point in the hall, Mrs. Baxter watched, spellbound. They were actually going to do it! The boy was about to drill and with any luck preg the little vixen, right here in the school! Too stunned to move, the well-heeled blonde watched as the young girl collapsed onto an unused sofa, still clinched in an eager embrace. Most of the sofa was hidden from view by the staircase, so Mrs. Baxter could only see the bottom of their legs. Two fingers up her own well lubricated pussy made it hard to pay attention, anyway.

It wasn’t hard to infer what was happening though. Leanne’s sexy legs were rubbing against Johnny’s on top, amid much snuffling and groaning. Johnny’s ankles arched for a moment, and then his pants and shorts appeared around his calves, pushed down eagerly by Leanne’s delicate hands. Evidently her underwear wasn’t a significant issue, because a moment later Mrs. Baxter heard a sharp, feminine cry, followed by a sigh of “oh yesssss!” She could tell by the up and down movements of Johnny’s legs that he must be thrusting his hips. Leanne’s striped stockings glistened as she humped back. The movement of her own hand accelerated.

The chorus of moans and mews grew louder. Suddenly Leanne’s platform shoes lifted high in the air and then disappeared, and Mrs. Baxter realized instantly that she must have crossed her legs around his back. This was no teary romantic encounter: this was a mating rut.

Mrs. Baxter leaned back against the wall and abruptly realized she was breathing hard. The sounds of vigorous love-making were still coming from the stairwell. What should she do? This was intolerable behavior, they should both be expelled. She should just walk in and interrupt them, while they were... right in the middle of....god she was hot. Pulling on her collar, she imagined what Leanne must be feeling right then, pinned on the deep sofa with a hard, vibrant specimen of teenage virility thrusting into her, feeling her breasts against his chest, her nipples hard and swollen like Mrs. Baxter’s were now. She shuddered, and shook her head vigorously, but her hand was back in her twat. She was so close... She had to stop the ...

“Pull out, Johnny! Pull out! Don’t come in ...” Too late! “Aaaaahhhhhhgggg!” Mrs. McLeod gasped as the sound of the helplessly rutting girl’s orgasm triggered her own. She came and came hard. With a sharp exhalation she turned her back on the cries and moans and creaking of springs coming from the staircase and stumbled down the corridor back to the relative tranquillity of the main hall.

III

“So then. This is what discipline has come to,” Mrs. Baxter said, scowling across the big oak desk. She tried to recapture the sense of furious shock and outrage that had propelled her into the headmaster’s office. Retelling her experience with the amorous students had unexpectedly refreshed the memory in her mind, and she found herself getting very warm. She could feel her nipples pressing against her bra. “Sex right here in the building! Students coupling like animals! Where does this fit in your new educational theories, Mrs. McLeod? Did this idea come up at one of your Student-Teacher Committee meetings? This situation must not be tolerated! Those students must be punished for such scandalous behavior, and you, madam—are you listening to me!?”

The headmaster’s eyes were unfocussed. With her head rolling loosely, she was making little thrusting motions with her hips, still largely hidden behind the desk. “Hmmmm? Lis-listening?” she said indifferently. “Oh! Oh yes! And I love it. It’s so good. I want to—, to hear it. Please, don’t stop now!” She was breathing through her mouth.

Mrs. Baxter stared at the clearly aroused headmaster in wonder. Had her report about the two oversexed students turned her on so much? It was a hot story, she had to admit, the way Leanne looked so sexy in her super-short skirt and striped stockings, the confident, masculine way that Johnny guided her onto the sofa and worked his ... way into her.

With an effort, she forced her mind away from the scene. She regretted not having let Arthur at least try to fuck her this morning before she came here; maybe she wouldn’t have been so horny. This was no time to be caught in an erotic daydream! This was an outrage and something had to be done! And you would think, with all the money she paid for this dress, they could have cut it a little shorter so it didn’t cover the best part of her legs and make it so dammed difficult to get her fingers in her pussy! Wait, what did that have to do with it?

She came back to the present when the headmaster emitted a little gasp. Jimmy’s hand had succeeded in reaching the top of her silk stockings. Now he was teasing lightly over the little space at the top of her thighs, between the dark bands of her garters and her black bikini panties. She had succeeded, while the Baxter bitch was rambling on about Johnny and Leanne, in hitching her skirt up over her bum, so it no longer impeded Jimmy’s questing fingers. She gasped audibly when one finger found the wet spot on her crotch and slid along the length of her silk-covered lips. The presence of a Board inspector, and the impending disaster to her career, were becoming less and less important.

Thinking back, Mrs. McLeod remembered when she had first decided to dress like a real woman and started wearing stockings instead of the triple protection of baggy slacks, panties and pantyhose to school. Her husband had thought it a little strange at first, given that she had always been so conservative. He also objected to the cost when she started buying the expensive silk ones, and then insisted on wearing them every day. Eventually she had mentioned her husband’s concern to Jimmy, before a Committee meeting one day. He suggested she invite him over for supper. Her husband thought that was odd too, but he didn’t realize that Jimmy was an exceptional student.

On the evening of Jimmy’s visit, Mrs. McLeod had drunk too much wine with supper and tottered off to bed early. Jimmy and her husband had stayed up very late talking, but not too later to give her a delicious sleepy fuck when he eventually came to bed. Jimmy must have explained things to him very well because the next morning her husband made no objection at all when, after another quick fuck, she slipped into a pair of red fish-net hose and a matching red garter belt. In fact it seemed to turn him on quite a lot.

Jimmy came back for supper once more a week later, just when ...? Something important that slipped her mind. This time all three of them stayed up late, drinking and talking and laughing, until her husband fell asleep, glass in hand, in his favorite stuffed chair. Mrs. McLeod herself was feeling no pain from the drinks and soon she was howling with pleasure as Jimmy gave her had a delightful little fuck on the living room rug while her husband dozed. It was so much better than the quickies she was used to in her office when Jimmy just turned her over a chair between classes.

After that night her husband started helping her choose her underwear each morning. He often helped her slip on her stockings and shoes, while Mrs. McLeod sipped the fresh orange juice he made for her and enjoyed the feeling of being petted and pampered. Dressing her seemed to get her husband awfully worked up. He was usually rock-hard by the time he was done. Sometimes she let him make her late for school. Lately she preferred to make him wait until she came home at night and he had spent the day suffering. Sometimes he even called her from his law office just to tell her how hot she looked. When he did, she knew she’d have no trouble being on top that night.

Not surprisingly, it was Jimmy who responded to Mrs. Baxter’s last complaint, and now he became very serious. “Mrs. Baxter,” he said intently, “I do not mean to minimize the seriousness of this incident, but I think there are two sides to the issue.” He leaned forward in his chair, at an angle which incidentally gave him better access to Mrs. McLeod’s panties. “These are young people, full of emotions, and they sometimes make mistakes. We get carried away sometimes, I admit it. That’s why we need direction from adults, from teachers and parents. Those students are classmates of mine, I know them well. Perhaps they shouldn’t have been skipping classes, but they are very much in love.” If that were the case then Johnny had been very much in love with at least three other girls that week, but once again Jimmy’s sense of tact prevailed.

“They went some place to make out and they got carried away. An unfortunate scene. But what about you, Mrs. Baxter? You saw what they were doing, why didn’t you interrupt them? These kids needed moral guidance at that moment, and you just stood and watched. Why? Why didn’t you stop them from doing something they will both regret later? Why did you just stand there and watch an unplanned pregnancy occur?” This time it was he who glared across the desk accusingly.

Mrs. Baxter was taken aback. “Well, I never—I mean, I couldn’t.... there was no time to...”

Jimmy interrupted her. “It’s easy to come in here and complain afterward, but I can’t help thinking you had a chance to do the right thing and you blew it. Could it be that you actually enjoyed watching the girl getting knocked up? That you were spying from the corridor while these two innocent kids made a baby for your amusement?”

The pretty blonde’s face was red. “No! No, of course not. It wasn’t like that at all!” She looked about, trying to collect her thoughts.

There was no use appealing to Mrs. McLeod for support. The headmaster was lolling in her chair, quite obviously lifting herself on her arms to thrust her hips behind the desk, gasping “Hunh! Hunh! Hunh!” in time with the thrusts. Jimmy now had two fingers inside her panties. The freckled brunette was shamelessly goosing herself on his digits, very nearly oblivious to her surroundings.

“It wasn’t like that, not like you’re saying,” Mrs. Baxter said defensively. “The point is they shouldn’t have been there at all! And if proper discipline had been maintained from the outset they never would have come to such a compromising position! Letting the boys strut around like little kings, and the girls wearing their skirts so short ...”

Not that there was anything wrong with a fashionably brief skirt. Not, that is, if it were worn tastefully, by a woman with dynamite legs. Like hers. Maybe with shiny nylons and a new pair of shoes Arthur would fuck her more often, or the new Jamaican gardener. Now there was a man who could send a frustrated wife to the maternity ward! ...

She shook her head. Where did these thoughts keep coming from?

“Mrs. Baxter,” Jimmy said again, pausing to slip a third finger inside the panting headmaster, “I think we have answered your complaints well enough. Lovebright’s is going through some growing pains to be sure, but the Academy is still in good shape. And as for Mrs. McLeod, well, we are all taken with her openness and ability to accept new ideas.” His arm pistoned steadily as he spoke.

“Oh fuck yessss!” the headmaster gasped, slumping down in her chair. “Gimme some more ... more i-ideas!”

Mrs. Baxter was confused. The headmaster was acting just like a woman who was getting a dandy little finger-job, and above the desk she could see Jimmy’s arm moving back and forth, in and out. She knew she should be terrifically upset, outraged in fact, but the poor woman clearly needed to come, and badly. Besides, she had succeeded in getting a finger into her own hole and it seemed harder and harder to hold onto her sense of anger.

Jimmy had more or less dismissed her, but she knew she had more to say. It was just so difficult to keep it all straight. Flighty, irrelevant thoughts kept slipping through her mind, flipping against her consciousness the way a really short skirt would flip against her thighs as she walked, reminding her with every step of just how deliciously sexy she looked, how much she needed a good ...

Shaking off the wandering thoughts again, she cried out, “Wait! There’s more! There are other things! I just can’t quite...” Concentrating hard to keep her head clear she tried to remember what else she had seen that had shocked her so. The suspicious- looking plants growing in neat rows in the greenhouse; the new selection of books and magazines in the library, and the foxy young librarian more concerned with combing her hair than the laughter and necking going on around her; the male teacher sitting behind his desk between classes, yakking and flirting with two pretty, provocatively dressed students who were sitting on the arms of his chair; the obedient, identically dressed young girls walking behind the seniors.

That was it!

With the memory Mrs. Baxter’s composure, and some of her anger, returned. Ignoring the steady moans from the sexed-out headmaster and interrupting her own masturbation, she glared at Jimmy. “Let’s see you explain this away, Mr. smart-ass scholarship student,” she challenged.

Classes changed again shortly after Mrs. Baxter, her heart still pounding from her orgasm, returned to the main hall from her side trip to the stairwell. Once again she found herself engulfed in a swirl of boisterous, cheerful students, laughing and talking as they ambled to their next class or stopped at their lockers to comb their hair or change books. In the old days noise at this level would never have been tolerated. Once again the rich young housewife was amazed by the shameless uniforms the girls were wearing, the revealing tops, thigh-baring skirts, fancy nylons and sexy shoes. Once again she marveled at the male students, each with his steady gaggle of giggly girlfriends.

Several boys had seized the few minutes between classes for a quick session of making out, or more, in some darker corner. The senior male students, of which there could not have been more than a dozen, were particularly popular. As she watched, Mrs. Baxter found herself thinking there was something different about them. Then she saw it.

The senior boys were not carrying any books. In addition to whatever number of female companions he happened to have, each senior was accompanied by another girl, juniors by the looks of them, that patiently followed him around as he made his way to the next class. These girls were all dressed in a foreshortened version of the school uniform. They all wore navy blue, garterless stockings that stopped just at the edge of the mini-length kilt, and simple black pams. The trailing girl carried the boy’s books, and sometimes his jacket or whatever else he handed to her. They didn’t seem to mind at all.

Mrs. Baxter drew in her breath in shock. Why, those girls were being used as servants! This was beyond belief! Appalled, yet fascinated, Mrs. Baxter followed one girl as she in turn puppy-dogged her senior. She stayed with him faithfully, making way for any other girls that came over to talk to him. She waited patiently in the hall, without setting his books down, when he ducked into the washroom. While she waited, she chatted amiably with another girl, similarly burdened, who was waiting for a different senior. After a few minutes the boy came out, bent down to give his girl a quick peck on the lips, and headed off to his next class, the girl still following brightly.

It was all too much. Mrs. Baxter’s anger, which had been building steadily since she entered the school, finally boiled over. How could anyone tolerate what had happened to the school? She would not stand idly by while her beloved alma mater was reduced to a mocking nonsense of a prep school with no moral fiber or discipline whatsoever.

It was that new headmaster, McLeod, she was responsible for this, and by God she would pay. Mrs. Baxter swore she would have her head! Her fists clenched in anger, so red and heated that smoke nearly billowed from her ears, the slender blonde turned about and marched down to the main office to vent her rage on the headmaster.

Now she was glaring furiously at the complacent student sitting behind the headmaster’s desk. She was by now certain that he was responsible for Mrs. McLeod’s descent into panting delirium. She snarled at him: “Treating girls like servants, Mr. King. Like servants! I am speechless with anger. You and your hellish headmaster have destroyed the integrity of this once fine school and you will pay. Heads will roll, I promise you. Mrs. McLeod, I guarantee you will be fired before the week is out, and I will see that you, Mr. King, and all of your ilk are expelled!”

The student raised his free hand. “Mrs. Baxter, do try to stay calm. Those seniors you are referring to are prefects. They have been appointed to lend a hand to maintaining the rules and guiding the younger students through academia. This is a long-standing tradition at Lovebright’s.

“And, as the saying goes, those that are given the most have the most to give. We, the privileged members of society, must not forget we are bound to a lifetime of service to the community. The sub-prefects, not servants as you mistakenly called them, are learning the importance of service to a greater society by spending a little time in the service of others. They compete scholastically for the privilege, and in time many of them may become prefects themselves.”

Once again Jimmy was being tactful. The junior girls did indeed compete for the limited number of sub-prefect positions. Scholastic aptitude, however, had never been a strong suit with Lovebright students. It had proved simpler to substitute a bathing suit competition and a petting contest and then let the senior boys each decide on their preferred proteges. It was rumored that a number of the wealthier but less well endowed girls had undergone medical enhancements just to improve their chances of making the list.

Mrs. Baxter became aware that she was staring. It was all too unbelievable. The boy spouted this nonsense as if it were actually true. For a long moment she was simply dumbstruck. She could feel the press of her slim dress against her legs, and for some reason that got her thinking that the nice thing about short-short skirts was that you could wear them with anything. With heels or flats, sandals, slip-ons or even a pair of slick, knee-high boots.... She was aware of just how badly she needed to get off again.

The sleek blonde fought off a panicky feeling. “Mrs. McBoots!” she shouted at the headmaster, “I mean, Mrs. McLeod, do you, do you believe any of this?”

The overheated headmaster looked at her unseeingly, her wild eyes half hidden behind the hair that had fallen across her face. “Oh fuck it, I’m going to come!” she cried. Pushing back from the desk, she threw one leg over the arm of her chair.

Mrs. Baxter rose to her feet, eyes round in astonishment. For the first time she could see clearly what was going on behind the desk. The headmaster’s legs were spread wide, her tiny black panties pushed aside. Jimmy’s fingers were slipping in an out, quickly now, pausing occasionally to lightly tickle her clitoris as they went by. The headmaster’s black lace garter straps stretched across her thighs. On her feet were shiny black sandals with towering platform heels and spaghetti-strap laces that wound across her foot up to the big bow knot at the top of the ankle. “Jimmmy!” she whined, thrashing about in the overstuffed chair, “Oh Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy Jiiiiiiimy!” Her voice rose higher and higher, finally fading out as her body arched and shook in orgasm.

Standing before the desk, watching the other woman being climaxed in her chair, Mrs. Baxter clung desperately to her senses. Suddenly she realized how wet she was as a whole new set of memories flooded her mind, perceptions that had been there all along but had somehow been held back. There was more to each of the scenes she had so recently recounted.

The girls’ uniforms, for example—they were not only obscenely short or provocative, but most of them were cut to accommodate various stages of pregnancy. Crystal Sexsmith’s tummy poked so far out of that gray skirt, it looked like the young teacher was going to have triplets! Ms Libertina’s strange class was teaching nothing more than a erotic version of Lamaze exercises. She’d better know how to do them; the instructor looked like she herself was due any day now. And the rutting woman before her. No wonder Jimmy’s fingers had so easily aroused her; the headmistress was at least six months pregnant!

Pregnancy! The infirmary! That must explain it. A final repressed scene burst into her consciousness.

Of course! Just after seeing Johnny filling the helpless Leanne, Mrs. Baxter had fled into the hall trying to make sense of her reaction to what she had just seen. A “Lovebright Infirmary” inscription caught her eye. Well, at least she was pleased to see one innovation she approved of. After so many horrors, a sense of fairness impelled her to look in on the infirmary so she could at least season he report with something positive. The door was partially oven, so she walked in.

“I don’t know what is happening to me, Dr. Fecunda,” the slim, dark-haired girl was sighing. “It seemed to start when I transferred to this school.”

“Just tell me what exactly is troubling you, dear” a busty blonde in a short white smock replied sympathetically.

“It’s like I have always been so good in school, top of the class. I’m going to be an astrophysicist and I just don’t have time for boys. They are so stupid; you can’t talk to them about anything serious! All they are interested in is trying to grope you, anyway. And here it’s even worse. They expect you to enjoy it!”

“Don’t you?”

“That’s the problem, Dr., I think I’m starting to! I ride the bus and every day a different boy sits by me and tries to put his hand in my blouse and up under my skirt. I fight them off but it’s getting harder and harder. And by the time I get to school, I’m so horny I can hardly think. My grades are starting to suffer.”

“Well, Britney, you are a very pretty girl and you do have a nice set of, er ... you are well developed for your age. It is rather natural for young men to become excited and your reaction is not that unusual either. You have reached an age when your body is starting to give you some new priorities. Well built girls like you just naturally need sex; it’s nothing to worry about. I suppose you have begun to masturbate more frequently, right?”

“Masturbate?” The innocent teen looked shocked.

“Play with yourself, get yourself off.”

Britney turned red. “Oh, no Dr. Fecunda. I’d never do anything nasty like that!”

“There’s nothing wrong with having a nice come by yourself, even if there are much better ways.” she smiled wisely. Maybe I should take a look to make sure everything is ok down there,” she said and gently pressed the girl back onto the examination table.

“What are you doing, doctor?” the girl exclaimed, taken aback.

“Just checking the sensitivity of your breasts, Britney. Perhaps you respond too much to simple fondling. How does that feel?” the doctor asked, starting to massage first one then the other of the teen’s pert and now quite hard tits.

“Please, don . . . . Oh, doctor. ... I ...”

“You like it, don’t you, Britney? Looks like you have the makings of quite a hot little girl. No wonder, a little feel-up gets you so horny you can’t think!”

“No, Doctor! I’m not ...”

“Not fooling anyone, you little tart. I’ll have to check you down here, too.” The woman smirked, pulling up the girl’s skirt. “My god! Still wearing pantyhose? Soaked, though, just as I expected. Let’s get you out of those horrid things!”

“Ahh!,” the confused teen gasped as the garment gathered around her ankles and she suddenly felt fresh air hit her soggy twat. “Uuuuhhh,” she exclaimed again as Dr. Fecunda’s fingers began trailing lightly over her pussy lips.

“How do you expect to let the boys diddle you if you don’t allow them access to this pretty little pussy, Honey? You do like being diddled, don’t you?” The helpless teen only moaned in reply as the older woman’s expert fingers pushed her nearer and nearer to orgasm.

Mrs. Baxter was transfixed. She knew she should rush in and stop this terrible perversion, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. Her own hand was too busy in her own pussy, her fingers mimicking those of the lascivious doctor with similar effects on her own arousal. Again, she was so close . . . .

“Of course a little sexpot like you enjoys being diddled,” the grinning doctor cooed; “but that’s not what your really need is it?” Not waiting for a reply, she reached beneath the table and withdrew a large dildo. Teasingly and then more determinedly, she began sliding it into the teenager’s well prepared twat. “This is soooo much better, Honey, big and thick, almost exactly what a horny girl like you needs.”

“No, No” the panting girl gasped, but her thrusting hips belied her feeble protests.

“Yes, dear. You need to come. Just relax and I’ll get you there.”

Little mewing sounds escaped the pretty girl’s mouth as she closed her eyes tightly.

“You are soooo horny, baby. Just relax and let me make you feel good.” Dr. Fecunda’s voice had become very soft, almost a whisper and she was working the dildo deeply but slowly in and out of the almost unconscious girl “That’s it, honey. You need this bad, but I’ll take good care of you. Relax... Sooo sleepy. You need a good come help you go to sleep. A ... nice ... sleepy ... Come!”

A final flick of the doctor’s thumb and Britney shrieked, bucked several times, and collapsed unconscious. The teen’s noisy orgasm covered similar sounds from just outside as Mrs. Baxter almost passed out from her own orgasm.

“Very good, dear. Have a nice nap. Now listen carefully to what I’m going to tell you, but you won’t remember it when you wake up.”

The next thing Mrs. Baxter heard was, “Time to wake up, dear.”

“Wow! What happened?” Britney asked.

“I was just examining you, Honey and you got a little excited. You had an orgasm, several in fact. Nice, wasn’t it?

“Oh, god, yes.”

“I’ve got a feeling you will be having a lot more before long.”

“Really? How?”

“Well you can get yourself off, of course. I’ll issue you a full set of vibrators as I do all the new girls, but it’s a lot more fun with boys. And there are plenty of them that would love to help you. You’re not going to pass up any chances now, are you?”

“Not anymore! But if I start letting boys, er ... be with me, couldn’t I get pregnant or something.”

“You’re a very smart girl, Britney,” replied the doctor proudly. “But I can give you something so you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Like contraceptives, you mean?”

“Not exactly. The law does not allow me to give you a contraceptive without your parents’ permission,” the doctor explained. “And I’ll bet you don’t want them to find out what you’ll be doing, do you?”

“Oh, no!” she giggled.

“But if you take these pills, I guarantee you won’t have an unwanted pregnancy.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Just take one every day and you will, Sweetie.”

But Jimmy was speaking again.

“Look, Mrs. Baxter,” he said intensely, withdrawing his hand from the sighing headmaster, “I know you mean well, but if I may say so, I wonder if you are seeing the situation here with unbiased eyes.” He sucked the headmaster’s sex juices from his fingers, while beside him Mrs. McLeod, still out of breath, began to slowly tug her dress back into place over her bulging belly. “I wonder if you are really prepared for the sexual awareness of the young generation. In fact, I wonder if you are not just projecting your own sexual insecurities onto the school.”

“Now just a minute! How dare you—”

“It isn’t unusual for a woman of your age and position to be a little bit uptight. After all, any kind of sexual liberty threatens your own cozy little world, doesn’t it? A supportive husband, nice home, and no need at all to confront your own debilitating fear of sex lest it result in pregnancy.”

Mrs. Baxter lost her temper completely. “Sexual inhibitions! Why you impertinent little fucker! You haven’t the slightest clue what you’re talking about! I’ll show you who’s afraid of pregnancy, you little twerp!” Reaching behind her she unfastened the button on her designer dress and pulled the zipper down. Staring fixedly at Jimmy she pulled the dress down her arms and off her torso, then pushed it down her hips and onto the floor. “How’s this for sexual inhibition, asshole,” she taunted, pulling off her slip. “I bet you haven’t seen a body built for baby making like this since the last time you drooled over Playboy!”

The fuming blonde took a deliberate step toward him. Without hesitation she unfastened her bra and let it slide down her arms. She held out the brassiere in one hand and posed in the middle of the office, one leg thrust forward, wearing only panties, pantyhose and heels. “You were saying something about fear of pregnancy?” she challenged. The bra joined the pile on the floor. “What’s the matter, smart-ass. Nothing to say? What’s happened to all your glib explanations, huh?” She cupped her small, upturned breasts in each hand. “I had my period two weeks ago. So I should be fertile as a turtle today. Let’s see if you’re man enough to knock up a real woman, you half- baked kid.”

For once Jimmy looked abashed. “Why, uhm, Mrs. Baxter, I’m, I’m amazed. I guess I misjudged you completely. I’m terribly sorry about what I said. I, I just had no idea.” He got to his feet, looking contrite, but there was a definite bulge in his school pants.

“Course you didn’t, you little fool. You’re just a kid. You need someone to show you how a real woman takes charge when she chooses the male she wants to put a baby in her belly.” She took another step toward him, deliberately swinging her hips. “Ready to put bun in THIS oven, youngster?” she cooed, playing with his tie.

“Well, I, I guess so. How do I start?”

“Like this,” the blonde husked. She pulled him toward her by his tie and locked his lips in a deep and lust-inspiring kiss. “Mmmmmmm, not bad for an amateur,” she whispered a little while later. “Keep it up!” They kissed again, longer, while Jimmy’s hands explored her tight, smooth curves.

After a few minutes of heavy necking Mrs. Baxter was breathing hard. “Wow, you learn fast, baby,” she whispered. “Let’s move on to the main event.”

He pinched her left nipple. “Great idea.”

“Oh! How do you want me?”

“Here, turn around. We need to get these off.” While the trim blonde giggled above him Jimmy knelt down and slowly peeled down her pantyhose, making generous contact with her skin as he went. She let him pull the material off her feet, then impulsively stepped back into her Italian-made shoes. “Now lean over the chair, OK?”

“Lover!” Mrs. McLeod said with amusement, “You’re not going to take her from behind her are you?”

“Why not? She’s up for having a baby, aren’t you Mrs. Baxter?” He slapped her buttocks playfully.

The rich housewife wiggled her hips in return. “Course I’m up for it, kid. You think I’ve never had a simple doggie-fuck before? ‘S perfect for conception!”

With a resigned smile, Jimmy unzipped his pants and let them fall. He heard a sharp intake of breath from Mrs. McLeod when his dick sprang free. Mrs. Baxter was well lubricated and he had little trouble slipping into her. She fell into his gentle, unhurried rhythm, the blonde leaning over the arm of the overstuffed chair and bucking back at Jimmy to drive his strokes deeper. Little groans of contentment came from her mouth.

Jimmy spoke without breaking his stride, “Headmaster, I uh, think you had, ooof, better call, call Holly in with, uh, the re-report. I’m not sure how long, I can, l-last.”

Mrs. Baxter’s head was lowered over the chair arm. “Ooooh, you kids,” she teased. “No staying power.” But she was panting for breath.

The headmaster, who had been watching the proceedings with open fascination, calmed herself with a deep breath. She retrieved the telephone that Mrs. Baxter had been gripping unknowingly. She looked at her watch. “It’s three-thirty. I hope she’s not too drunk.” She punched a single digit. “Holly? No, everything’s under control, Jimmy’s here and he’s taking care of everything.” She leaned against the desk and idly stroked Mrs. Baxter’s hair. “Did you finish that report we gave you? Good girl. Can you please bring in the good copy. Yes, right now. Thanks.”

“Oh lord you fuck good! Give me that baby!” Mrs. Baxter cried. She raised herself on her hands and lowered her head, trying to look back to where Jimmy was doing his best. He leaned over her and reached around to toy with one breast. “I’m going to be pregged up so fucking good,” she wailed.

The door opened and a tall, long-haired brunette came in. She had the slender good looks of a model, exaggerated by a short black maternity dress and platform sandals in soft black suede. Her large, expressive eyes went wide when her gaze landed on the couple beside the desk. “Lover!” she squealed when she recognized Jimmy. “You’re doin’ her right here ... I mean, like, right on the chair, oh god that’s sexy.” She brushed back her hair and bangles glittered on her wrist.

“Do you have the report, Holly?” Mrs. McLeod asked.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, the report. Sure, here it is.” She handed the headmaster a slim sheaf of typed pages. The front page read “Mid-Term Report on Lovebright Academy.”

“The date’s wrong,” Mrs. McLeod observed. “The girl wasn’t supposed to come till tomorrow.” She shrugged. “It’ll do.”

Without dismissing Holly, who was clearly getting turned on herself, Mrs. McLeod approached the blonde housewife who was still getting plugged by the side of her chair. “Mrs. Baxter, I thought we could save a little time. We took the liberty of preparing a report on your visit. It’s dated tomorrow but that’s not a problem. It just needs your signature.” She slid the report beneath Mrs. Baxter’s perspiring face.

“Signature? What? Wha signatuuuuuuure?” Mrs. Baxter burbled, uncomprehendingly. “Ohmygod does he ever know how to use that thing. I’m going to have triplets!”

Mrs. Baxter sat down on the edge of the desk in front of her. “Perhaps you would like to read it first. “Here, I’ll turn the pages for you.” She flipped casually through the ten-page report. Mrs. Baxter’s sex-fogged mind caught the words “academic excellence”, “innovative and imaginative”, “maintaining high standards” and “extremely favorable impression”.

The headmaster flipped to the last page. “Just sign it here.” She pointed to the line above Mrs. Baxter’s typed name. Uncaringly, Mrs. Baxter took the proffered pen and scrawled her name across the page, then tossed the pen away. “Wheeee! I’m coming!” she shouted as her climax swept across her. Somewhere in the ensuing convulsions of pleasure she heard Jimmy cry out behind her and she realized he was coming too, shooting his virile load far up into her.

At length the couple separated. Mrs. Baxter collapsed happily into an overstuffed chair, keeping her legs raised so the boy’s baby juice would stay where it would do the most good while Jimmy caught his breath. “Well, we have the signature,” Mrs. McLeod said proudly, showing him the report. “Just as you said we would. I’ll make sure this gets to the Board.” She looked over at the naked, sweating housewife, still basking in the afterglow of her climax. “Do you want to give her another go round?”

Holly spoke up from across the room. “Hey, No! I wanna be next!” She had one hand up under the hem of her short dress.

Jimmy grinned. “No hurry, ladies. I think I have enough for everybody this afternoon. I’m sure Mrs. Baxter will want to stay a while. Let’s have Dr Fecunda check her into the infirmary for a few hours,” he smiled benevolently. “After all, we don’t want her to leave here with an unwanted pregnancy.”

The headmaster looked admiringly at the father of her next baby. Such a remarkable boy!

The Board of Governors had ample time to read Mrs. Baxter’s glowing report before the next regular meeting. The mostly male Board was very receptive. Mrs. Baxter herself led the discussion, laughing and teasing and flirting at the front of the room in her high heels, her loose smock, hiked provocatively by her proudly protruding belly.