Technically Not A Story
Mrs. Jamison gestured to the diagram she’d drawn on the whiteboard. It looked sort of like one of those heart monitors one saw in hospitals, straight, then abruptly up, then down, then straight again. As had happened already during that morning’s class session, as had happened every year of the past thirty, the aging school marm feigned excitement about the plot diagram.
It wasn’t even news to her class of seven miserable summer school students, who’d heard this information for years now. Not well enough for any of the seven of them to pass the class the first time around, but still. Their teacher was just happy the class was so small; usually they didn’t convene with fewer than twenty, but these were all seniors who needed it to graduate, and graduation rate determined funding. It was sacred.
They did their best to hurry her along, naming the points as she gestured to them, trying to preempt her long-winded explanations. It was no good. The script was hard-wired in her bones by now, and she delivered it as she always had.
“And this point here at the top. Do any of you now what that is?” she asked blandly.
“The climax,” the students droned as one.
“And what is that, the climax?”
There were snickers at this question, some students at one of the possible answers, and a few students with a bit more evolved senses of humor at the teacher needing that answer explained to her. She pretended not to notice, like this morning, like last year, like the 80’s.
Finally, Hailey raised her hand. “It’s the highest point of action,” she said by rote, having heard this line a thousand times.
“Oh my no!” Mrs. Jamison replied. “You see, ‘highest point’ is debatable. In many stories, even bright minds like yours may disagree as to what that may be. You see here,” she said, pointing back to the point where the line initially spiked upwards, “as we discussed, this is the point in the story where a conflict is introduced. Right?”
There was a pause, then her room full of thoroughly dulled bright minds realized she was waiting for an answer. “Uh huh,” they droned.
“That’s right! You see, the climax is actually the point in the story where the climax is resolved. It may not always be a point of high action. You remember in our reading of London’s ‘To Build A Fire.’ There, what was the conflict?”
“Person vs. nature. He was trying not to freeze to death,” Jeff said. That had been a brutal one for all involved. Read in the winter, she made an event of the reading—the students brought in blankets and they opened the window to the elements, feeling the cold as they read about it on the pages.
In summer school, during the hottest summer in recorded history… well, they’d read it, at least.
“Yes. So, forgetting the climax, what was the high point in the action? What do you think?”
No one cared enough about the story to have vivid memories of it, but they were eager enough to finish this tedium and move on to the next bit of tedium. Indeed, this anticipation was the only thing keeping many of them from jumping out the window. Eventually, a few threw out answers, each hoping theirs would be the one she sought.
“When he falls into the water.”
“When the spit freezes before it hits the ground?”
“When the dog tries to burrow in under the snow.”
Mrs. Jamison smiled. “You see? We all have our own opinions, and none of them are wrong. Now if the conflict of the story was his struggle to warm himself with a fire, how did that struggle resolve?”
“He failed. He froze,” Brandy replied.
“Right! And that right there is your climax.”
A few students laughed. Not in good humor at her enthusiastic analysis of the story, but at a doodle Chelsea was drawing in her notebook, showing a caricaturized Mrs. Jamison falling lying back in bed. There was a crude expression of rapture on her face, evidently from holding a book between veiny thighs. It read “To Build A Fire” on the cover, and a word balloon announced “you light a fire in me, Jackie Boy!”
Most days, this would have been the high point of the class, and no one would have argued otherwise.
“What happens if a story doesn’t have a conflict, Mrs. Jamison?” a student asked. It was Victor.
Victor was something of a legend around the school. He was flippant with administrators, lazy in class, rude to the girls and boorish to the men. Yet unaccountably, he managed an impressive GPA, never got detentions or suspensions, never got slapped. In fact, he was popular—invited to all the big parties, hooked up with many of the hottest girls in school. With his inexplicable good grades, what he was doing in summer school surrounded by kids repeating the class was anyone’s guess.
Mrs. Jamison frowned at the question. This was not part of the script. Students didn’t ask questions. They weren’t curious. They didn’t care. Still, it was a stupid question—or would’ve been, if she let herself believe in such anathema. “Victor, every story has a conflict.”
“But suppose one didn’t.”
“They have to—or else they’re not a story.”
“Well it’s still a plot, isn’t it?” he pressed. “Things are still happening, still might be something to be told.”
She shook her head. “Then it’s not a story—just a list of details or events.”
“Why not? Some people might want to read that.”
“Oh heavens no,” said the elderly teacher. “It would be like reading a grocery list.”
“Well can we try it?” he asked.
“I’m sorry, no—we have too much to cover to squander an hour proving a point that really ought to be obvious. And we still have to cover falling action and resolution, after all.”
“I think I’d like to pursue it.”
Now it may seem like there is a conflict brewing here in the telling. The character of Mrs. Jamison, set in her ways and just determined to plow through her lesson, opposed by the defiant and inquisitive Victor. A classic Person vs. Person—or Man vs. Man, as it had been called when she’d begun teaching.
Before Mrs. Jamison could reply, Victor continued. “And we’re going to. Right, Mrs. Jamison?”
Just like that, the clouds parted, and the gathering storm was no more. “Right you are, Victor.” She smiled. It was nice to have students so interested in her curriculum. “So how do you propose we explore the question?”
“Well, I figure we need something interesting to happen—but with no conflict. Something that would be grabby, but doesn’t cause problems. Luckily, that kind of thing is just my specialty.”
The class listened with muted interest. “Oh, how so?”
“Well, let’s see. How about we start by having the girls take their tops off.”
Now the interest picked up as the four girls each stiffened at the suggestion. “Go fuck yourself, Victor,” said Rachael.
“Language, young lady!” said Mrs. Jamison harshly. “And Victor, that was a rather uncouth suggestion, and I can’t imagine what possessed you to think you’d get away with it.”
He nodded, immune to the frosty glares of the women in the room. “Well you see, I’m a bit like that semi-barbaric king in that other story we read. The one with the tiger, and the lady.”
“‘The Lady or the Tiger,’ you mean,” Mrs. Jamison pointed out. “How so?”
“I remember there was a line, something about how ‘nothing pleased him so much as to make the crooked straight and crush down uneven places.’ And that’s like me. I smooth things over.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” she said.
“Here, I’ll show you.” He looked around at the small gathering. “Ladies, front and center. This time, I mean it—tops off. Now.”
The girls shared a look, and then slowly stood and shuffled to the front of the classroom. They turned to face Victor and the other two boys, Jeff and Henry, then without fanfare began to remove their shirts.
Victor watched calmly, unsurprised to find they complied. They always did. Jeff and Henry were a bit more excitable on the subject. In fact, they had been delighted to have to retake the class just for the women alone. Hailey, Rachael, Chelsea and Brandy were easily among the sexiest girls in school, and a hot summer was a damn fine room to be locked in a room with four teenage babes.
There was Hailey, from the cheerleading squad, the classic blonde goddess. Tall and gorgeous, massive tits and a big round ass that had single-handedly boosted attendance at sporting events 10% since she joined the squad. No one was surprised to see her in summer school, though everyone was pleased to see Hailey’s bounteous boobs bursting from her bra.
There was Brandy, a brainiac and outspoken feminist who had run for student council (and lost) on a platform of Grrl Power. She was only in summer school because she’d insisted the curriculum was too male-centric in its selections, an opinion she shared loudly and often. Still, even with her unshaved armpits and legs, she was gorgeous, and considered displaying her cleavage an act of empowerment. The girl was short and curvy in all the best ways.
There was Chelsea, an angry goth girl with pale skin and pale blonde hair. She’d still dyed her nails black, a large ring dangling from a piercing in her nose, and had a series of web-themed tattoos up each of her arms. Her peers now saw just where the tats ended, or would have if not stupified by her gigantic tits, enough to dwarf even Hailey’s.
And finally, Rachael, the shy and quiet one. Most of them didn’t know anything about her. Just that she was pretty, with long brown hair almost to the top of her tight little ass; she had coltish legs and small but pert breasts; and she never liked to talk if she could avoid it.
“Uh… Victor? Does the teacher have to strip to?” asked Henry.
Oh—and there was Mrs. Jamison, who had removed her blouse to reveal an expanse of droopy, saggy, floppy breasts sagging in a bra that was helpless to correct them. Jeff hadn’t even noticed her alongside his classmates, but once Henry pointed it out, he couldn’t stop looking.
Victor considered. “You know, you’re right. With her up there looking like that, we may wind up with a conflict on our hands—Person vs. Nature, right? As our nature makes us not want to look?”
Mrs. Jamison nodded. “That’s right, Victor. See? You can’t do this without… without… oh my.”
There was a tingle spreading through her body, and as they watched, the years rolled off of her like disinterested student eyes off a poorly constructed simile. The steel in her hair darkened to auburn; the wrinkles smoothed; her skin became firm and youthful; her breasts regained their elasticity and rode so high and proud on her chest that they lifted right out of the bra.
“Wow, Mrs. Jamison—you were really a looker in your 20’s, weren’t you? Never would’ve guessed.”
She smiled, and even her voice was young again. “Thank you, Victor, though that’s not an appropriate comment from a student.”
“Um, and what about Brandy’s body hair?” Henry pursued hopefully, glancing at Victor.
“Up yours, misogynist!” Brandy cried out, hands on hips defiantly.
“Yeah, Jeff does seem to have a point. Let’s just… there.” Even before he finished speaking, her arms and legs were bare of hair. He then touched up an old surgical scar on Rachael’s mid-section, fixed Hailey’s prominent front teeth, and a large hairy birthmark on Chelsea’s shoulder.
“Now ladies, drop trou, let’s see the rest of it.” With complacent expressions, the five young women removed their shorts (or pants, for Mrs. Jamison). Hailey was wearing a little pink thong, and the rest had myriad sorts of traiditonal panties. With that done, Victor had them remove their underwear until the four girls stood naked in the front of the room.
“Wow, you took off her pubes, too!” Jeff exclaimed, pointing to Brandy’s smooth, bare slit.
“Rachael’s too,” added Henry.
“I, um, actually do my own,” Rachael said, her timid voice barely audible. “Just feels… cleaner. I guess.”
“Whoa, cool! You do your own too, Brands?” Jeff asked.
“Of course not,” she said feistily. “It’s infantilizing.”
“If by infantilizing you mean hot,” said Henry. He and Jeff shared a high five as Brandy glared daggers.
“All right, all right. So guys, everybody feel happy about how things are going?”
“Hell yeah!”
“And ladies, do you feel OK? Like, in your bodies—everything working right, feels normal? Check thoroughly now.”
Each of the girls took a couple minutes to feel all over their bodies. They felt along all the exposed acres of naked flesh. Each girl hefted their young boobs, rubbed at their bare asses, even stroked around and eventually in their pussies. In the end, they all had to admit everything felt pretty normal.
“Still,” protested Mrs. Jamison once she finished her self-examination, “you can’t say this is Natural, can you? Clearly this is in conflict of nature.”
“Sure it is. I just changed your nature. All of you still have normal human healthy bodies—nobody would look at you and think they were seeing something wrong. None of you look at yourselves and feel a powerful urge to go back to the way you were, do you? ’Cause then sure, that’d be a conflict.”
“I’m fine,” said Hailey apathetically. Chelsea agreed, as did Mrs. Jamison. Rachael softly thanked Victor for removing her scar.
Brandy folded her arms under her breasts and glared. “I don’t know what these girls are about, but I assure you, I’m already regrowing that hair, and I won’t be shaving it again. You’re such a pig for this, stripping me down and making me all girly and Playboy-sanitized.”
“See? Still that vs. Nature conflict,” said Mrs. Jamison.
“Hmm. Well then.” Victor waved Brandy over, and with a little pout, she came to stand in front of him. He folded his desktop to the side—which it wasn’t supposed to do, but Victor wanted to so it didn’t protest—and pulled her down onto his lap.
“Brandy, let’s realign you, OK? From now on, this is how you prefer to look. It’s sleek, and sexy, and girly—all things you strive to be. You like to look conventionally sexy. When you think about your personal grooming and attire, you’ll do so thinking about what would please men, especially me and Jeff and Henry, most. If men are pleased with you, then you feel happy. If we’re not, you’ll find out how to please us, and do that instead.”
Brandy listened. His words sunk in instantly, rewriting who she was. Her essential self changed—no longer did she rage against the patriarchy. She felt like she really understood feminism for the first time. There could never be equality so long as she put her sex in competition with men.
They needed to learn to cooperate. Collaborate. Work together. There didn’t need to be a clash between women and men, but rather a union, a glorious harmony of the spheres. She would be at the forefront, making sure there was no longer any conflict between herself and men.
“Sound good, Brandy?”
She snapped out of it, blinking. “Of course! Um, is it OK that I’m naked, guys? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“Uh, hunky dory with me, Brandy,” said Jeff.
“Well, I’d prefer it if you were on my lap instead of his, if I’m being honest,” Henry said.
Brandy frowned, feeling conflicted. She could only really sit on one man’s lap at a time, after all—how to make all the men happy?
“Go for it, Brandy,” said Victor. “And Hailey, I’ve seen Jeff’s eyeing you pretty hard—why don’t you settle on into his.”
Brandy sighed with relief and made her way over to Henry. There wasn’t really a way to fit into his lap in his desk, but he quickly worked around the conflict. “Why don’t you just kneel on the floor beside me, babe,” Henry offered.
She did just that, folding her arms across his lap and resting her chin on it, smiling up at him beatifically. Hailey ran into the same problem, which Jeff solved by inviting her to sit atop his desk with her legs spread.
“All righty. So no more Person vs. Nature conflicts, right Mrs. Jamison?”
The teacher eyed the events going on around her with obvious dislike. “Well, I suppose we’re all safe from the elements, our biology and the world around us. So yes. Though still, I think there are some clear Person vs. Person conflicts brewing. I do not approve of this sort of tomfoolery at all, young man.”
“Yeah, and I’m totally not just some piece of lap candy,” said Hailey sullenly.
“Seriously. This is all totally fucked up,” Chelsea chimed in. “If I could, I’d fuck up your world for this, you asshole.”
Rachael just frowned, looking too intimidated to complain. Mrs. Jamison, however, had issues of her own. “And it’s certainly not helping you eke out a passing grade in this class, young man. As it is, I’m afraid I’ll have to recommend you for expulsion.”
Victor nodded. “All righty, looks like we got some work to do on that front before we have a conflict on our hands.”
“We already do!” insisted his pretty young teacher.
“If there’s a conflict, then why aren’t you resisting? Fighting back? Trying to put your clothes back on, or put a stop to any of this?”
Nobody had a response to this. Except Brandy, who looked up at Henry and sighed dreamily. “Mmm, who would want to stop this?”
“Precisely. So let’s go on down the line, shall we? Let’s start with Hailey there, as I can see that scowl’s making Jeff pretty self-conscious.”
“It should—the creep’s got me spread wide on his desk like a desktopper toy.”
“But that’s the thing, Hailey—you are a toy. Why do you think your cheerleader uniform is so revealing? Why do you think guys are always drooling over you and kissing your ass and doing favors for you? Because they want to play with you.”
“Duh. I’m the hottest girl in school.”
“Eh, top five probably,” Victor said dismissively. “Anyway, from now on, you’re going to meet those expectations. You’re a living breathing walking talking toy.”
Hailey’s glare gave way to confusion. “I… I am? But… what does that… what do I…?”
“Well Hailey, what do people do with toys?”
“Um, they play with them?”
“That’s right. And in every movie you’ve ever seen with toys like you that have their own minds and free will—Toy Story, “Velveteen Rabbit,” whatever—what is the toys greatest purpose in existing?”
“To be played with!” she said, this time with more enthusiasm.
“Good girl. So from now on, that’s you. You’re our toy, Hailey. And Jeff and Henry and I are your owners.”
Hailey grinned. It was so easy now. “Hey, Jeffy,” she said, fondling her breasts for his amusement. “Would you like to play with me?”
Turns out Jeff did. With a wolfish grin, he slid his hand underneath her in the small space where the cushion of her butt lifted her pussy just off the desktop. She luxuriated at finding how her body now automatically lubed up as he began stroking her pussy.
Hailey didn’t have to be attracted to him. Her body was there to be played with, and she wanted him to play with her. So she juiced up and smiled as her classmate fingered her pussy. He didn’t have impressive technique, but a realistic reaction wasn’t fun. So she moaned and squealed like he was working her cunt like a fiddle.
“Oh ya, Jeffy, just like that! Finger my tight little pussy!” She giggled the way she thought he’d want to hear his cheerleader fuck toy giggle, making sure her tits jiggled with each lilting sound.
Meanwhile, Henry realized there was no call to just sit and watch the show when he could be playing with his own fuck toy. “Brandy, would you like to…” He paused, not quite sure what he wanted to do with his curvaceous, adoring pseudo-feminist girl.
“Yes!” she exclaimed.
“I, uh, didn’t finish.
“Whatever it is you want me to do, I want to do it.”
“Oh. Um… maybe… give me a blowjob?” He had a hard time even saying the words, but Brandy took them in like they were music to her ears. In moments, she was bobbing adoringly at his cock, delighted to be erasing years of tension between her kind and his. One lick at a time.
“One down,” said Victor, who stood and approached Chelsea.
“Don’t you dare turn me into some stupid little bimbo like these two. Don’t you fucking dare, Victor!” she said warily. Nonetheless, she stood stock still, passively watching him come at her.
“Language! I realize you’re under stress, but the next young lady to use such language I really will have to reprimand,” scolded Mrs. Jamison.
“You know Chelsea, I really don’t think you’re such a bad girl as you pretend to be,” Victor said, pulling her up tight against him, those gigantic pale tits of her squashing against his chest.
“Great. Except I don’t give a shit about your approval,” she retorted angrily.
“Only I think you do, Chelsea. Look at yourself. You’re not a cutter. You have light blonde hair. I mean… how much did that purse cost?”
“It’s a handbag, not a purse, and it cost more than your car, loser.”
“See? What goth girl is worried about having the right designer purse? You know what I think you are is a delicate little blonde sex bomb who’s just posing as goth. Eh? You’re a poser, aren’t you?”
“I…” she frowned. “I… guess I am.”
“So I tell you what. Let’s turn the tables. Goth girls are proud of who they are, right? They don’t hide it or make apologies.”
“Damn straight.”
“Good. So, since you’re a naked blonde with pink nails and heart earrings and a tongue piercing any man would give an arm and a leg to get licked by… be proud of it. Own that delicate fluffy sexy submissive man-pleasing little blonde tart that you are.”
“Wait, my nails aren’t… my tongue… I’m not… I’m…” Chelsea blinked—and realized she had long fake eyelashes to replace the thick layer of black eyeliner. Her hair suddenly sported pigtails held by little pink hairbands, to match her pink polish. Glitter was sprinkled all across her bare chest, and the ring in her nose had moved and reshaped itself to decorate her tongue.
“Now don’t you feel better Chelsea, getting to really be yourself and not have to pretend any more? So goth.”
Chelsea giggled. “Totes, Victor! I feel like a bajillion buckeroonies! I don’t have to worry about my folks complaining about how I look any more, or boys not liking me, or people being intimidated by me.”
“Yep. Who’d be intimidated by this.”
She giggled harder. “Fer sure! I’m really excited to be proud of who I am now. Like, do you think I could tell my friends I’m finally done pretending? And my family?”
“Tell ya what—why don’t you take over Mrs. Jamison’s desk and send everyone you know a personal snapchat to show them how comfortable you are in your body. Don’t stop until you’ve shown everyone what a sexy silly babealicious piece of ass you are, OK?”
“Great! I can’t wait to show everybody.” She pointed at the door. “Guess I already showed one guy without meaning to!”
“Guy? What guy?” He looked at the door and just caught sight of Carl darting away from the window. Victor sighed, and after a moment’s pause, the balding janitor came in through the door as Chelsea settled onto the teacher’s desk, spreading her twat for her camera phone.
“Watching again, Carl?”
He grinned sheepishly. “Thought I might’ve gotten away this time.”
Mrs. Jamison arched a neatly sculpted eyebrow. “Again? You’ve caught him at this sort of behavior before?”
Carl shrugged. “Victor’s a bit of a wildcat, and I see a lot more that goes on around here than most. Ya never know exactly how you might get caught up in the whirlwind, I’ve found”
“Yep. Carl’s caught me in more than a few compromising positions. But he’s a good guy—he helps me smooth things over, so every now and then I toss him a bone. And he’s definitely caught me on a day when I’m looking to avoid any trouble.”
Carl grinned. “That’s a relief. I see you’re having quite a day in here.”
Victor was about to respond when he saw Rachael fidgeting. “Something wrong, Rachael?”
She shifted her feet, but didn’t cover her petite breasts or bare pussy. “I don’t like him being here,” she near-whispered.
“Oh? How’s come?”
“I… I’ve seen him looking at me. And other girls. He looks at us like we’re objects. It’s… not right. He’s twice my age. He shouldn’t see me like this. Any of us.”
“Wow, Rachael, that’s the most words I’ve ever heard you string together at once. You must feel pretty strongly.”
She nodded wordlessly, eyes fixed on the floor. Nearby, Hailey squealed as Henry’s clumsy fingering brought her over the edge for the first time.
“Well, we can’t have that—that is a definite conflict.” Mrs. Jamison voiced her agreement.
“So Rachael, you’ve always been really quiet, soft-spoken. A meek, do-what-she’s-told kind of girl. Seen and not heard, you could say. So… if you’re just scenery, something to look at and talk at that doesn’t respond… Mrs. Jamison, what is it you were saying about the difference between a subject and an object?”
Mrs. Jamison smiled, pleased to see some of her instruction had sunk in. “Subjects act; objects are acted upon.”
“That’s it. So Rachael, that’s you, isn’t it. Something that gets acted upon. Don’t pout; you’re the one who’s made you an object, not me. Embrace it. You’re a beautiful thing. A girl-shaped mass that can be acted upon however a person wants. And right now, I think Carl should get to act upon you.”
Rachael opened her mouth to respond… but objects didn’t respond, unless made to. So she turned to face Carl, all dread vanishing from her face. She just stared blankly ahead. Carl put a hand on her neck, and with only a little coaxing, she bent forward, long hair hanging almost to the ground.
The janitor took out his dick and waved it in her face. “Too old for you, am I? Apologize, ya little brat.” He gave her ass a hard smack that echoed around the classroom.
“You have made me sorry, sir,” Rachael responded.
“Good. Now let’s put your pretty mouth to better use.” Carl opened her mouth with his hand, then slid in his cock, cautioning her about her teeth as he took a handful of her mane and started her bobbing up and down on him. As he face-fucked his Rachael doll, a long tendril of drool slipped out of her mouth and onto the floor.
Once he was fully hard he pulled out of her mouth and slid and moved around behind her. With his cock wet from her spit, he slid into her pussy with minimal resistance and started fucking the teen girl. “Damn you’re good and tight girl. You don’t know what you’re doing to me!”
Rachael shook her head. “An object doesn’t do. An object is done to. I’m being fucked.”
Carl laughed as he kept thrusting into her. “I like that. Keep going, baby!”
“My tight virgin pussy is being stretched by your cock. I’m being juiced up from the friction you’re creating. I’m being told to talk like a whore. Your commands are being obeyed by me.”
Mrs. Jamison looked on in disapprobation of the student-turned-sex-doll, to say nothing of her anxiety at seeing her freshly graded stack of essays being dripped on by Chelsea’s cunt.
“Well now Victor, I must say I simply do not approve of all this.” She tsked at him.
“You’re the only one. Anybody else have a problem with any of this?”
“Mmm, not me,” purred Hailey, who was now lying on her back on Jeff’s desktop. He was straddling her, fucking those big cheerleader tits he’d been ogling all semester, as she laughed in glee at this fun game he’d found to play with his toy.
“Nmmm mmmm,” Brandy attempted. She too was on her back on a desktop, but rather than fucking her tits, Henry had leaned her head back as far as it would go and was thrusting in and out of her throat as she gasped and gurgled around it. She fondled her tits, because boys liked seeing big-titted girls play with their boobs.
“I’m having soooooo much fun,” said Chelsea. “My guy friends keep asking for more faster than I can pose!”
Victor smiled. “Good to have supportive people in your life. How about you, Rachael?”
Rachael responded in a monotone. “Rachael cannot object. She is an object. She is being fucked like the object she is.”
Mrs. Jamison frowned. “You really need to work on your passive voice, Rachael. And you, Victor, need to work on your manners. Honestly, treating these girls so. This is not the gentlemanly conduct the school’s honor code requires.”
“Yes, let’s deal with you. You know, you said something to me on the first day of class this summer that I want to remind you of. You said, ‘I learn more from my students than they learn from me.’ Do you remember that?”
“I… well, yes, I said that.”
“Is that true? You still come in to work every day, eager to learn from your students? Even after all these years?”
“I do…” she said guardedly.
“Good. Now I want you to look around this room at these young women. What are they doing?”
“They’re… they’re being sluts. Hailey is using her breasts to stimulate Jeff, Brandy has a penis in her mouth and Rachael in her vagina, and Chelsea is posing.”
“Hey now, that’s not how we talk. Show us you’re learning from your students by trying that again, but like your students would say it.”
She considered, thinking through the vulgar vernacular her students found so enticing. “Well… Hailey’s using those big titties of hers to get off Jeff’s big cock. Brandy’s getting her throat fucked raw by Henry. Rachael’s bent over getting her pussy reamed by that sleazy janitor, and Chelsea appears to be fucking herself with my stapler and recording it on her phone for all her friends.”
Mrs. Jamison smiled. It felt good to still be able think like her students. Like when she’d started teaching all those years ago. When she’d still looked like this.
“Good. Now… what do you think you could learn from them?”
She considered. “Um, sucking and fucking? How to service cocks? How to act like a depraved little slut who only thinks about how to please men?”
“See? And is that something you know much about?”
“No. My husband and I were never very sexually active, and we only got less so over the years.”
“Well won’t he be pleasantly surprised when you come home from school. So go on, Mrs. Jamison, go learn from your students.” He gestured for her to join the class.
Victor sat back and watched as she made the rounds. She began with Chelsea, joining her in some shots. Chelsea was only too pleased to show her how to strike an alluring pose, and together the two of them were exponentially sexier. The girls did a short video making out and groping one another’s tits, then sent it to Chelsea’s dad to show him what she was learning in school. Victor made sure his response was a supportive one—in fact, he said he’d be writing to the school board to commend Mrs. Jamison’s hands-on instruction.
Then she went to Carl, apologizing him for her poor attitude, and inviting him to do anything he wanted to her body. The janitor said he was perfectly happy with his cock right where it was, but still had her bend over and take a few whacks to her firm, shapely ass to make sure she was good and contrite. Mrs. Jamison happily complied, trying to be every bit as submissive and devoid of will as Rachael.
Then she joined Hailey and Brandy. The boys were ready for her by now, and told her exactly how they could use her. They put her down on her hands and knees, with Brandy lying on the floor on one side and Hailey smiling vacantly on the other. At the boy’s instruction, she started finger-fucking both of the girls.
Brandy was elated to see grrl power in action.
Then, the boys flipped a coin to see who got which end. Jeff lost, so he came around in front of her and filled her mouth with his cock. Henry, the victor, used some lube Hailey had provided from her handbag, then slid his greased up dick right into their fussy teacher’s sweet ass.
Mrs. Jamison was still lying face-down on the floor, cum leaking between her lips and out of her ass, when Victor came and sat beside her. Carl had finished up with Rachael and gone back to work; the willowly brunette still stood bent at the waist, though Chelsea was eyeing her like she might find some use for her.
He patted his teacher’s ass affectionately. “Looks like you learned a lot—like what a climax is, for one.” She giggled—like she thought the other girls would do. “What do you think, any more Person vs. Person conflicts?”
She looked around. Everyone seemed so happy. She was. “No, Victor. But…”
He sighed. “But what?”
“What about Person vs. Self?”
“Well, we’d need to have someone experiencing internal conflict for that. Anyone undergoing inner turmoil?”
There was no reply.
“See? That takes care of that.”
“And Person vs. Fate? Come now, we’ve discussed this—struggles against the supernatural, agents or entities neither human nor natural but still extant in the story’s framework. Don’t… don’t you qualify as that? And didn’t we struggle against you?” She sounded unsure, though it was an affectation. She’d learned from Brandy that women shouldn’t contradict men.
“It would only constitute a conflict if there was ever any chance of it going differently. Come on, I’ve been going to this school for four years now, fucking any bitch I want any time, any way I want, doing and saying whatever I want to whomever I want.”
“But… you barely even touched us.”
“Mrs. Jamison, I’ve fucked every girl in this room at least twice before today. And you didn’t know jack shit about it, did you?”
“I… no, I guess I didn’t.”
“Darn right. If I want to turn you back to how you were and make you forget all this, I will. If I want to leave you like this as a spineless nympho fuck toy to be nailed by any student who wants to for another thirty years of teaching—like I did Mrs. Colliard—I will.”
“Mrs. Colliard? I thought it seemed like her methods were becoming a little more unorthodox, what with the corsets and the blowjob trainings…”
“Yeah. You didn’t know anything because that’s what I wanted. Because none of you can resist me. You don’t struggle—I tell you what to do, what to be, and you comply. Seriously—knowing what you know now about what I can do… was there ever a chance this could have gone any differently today for any of you?”
“Hmm. No, I suppose not.”
“So if there was never any resistance, no struggle, no conflict, no suspense, no chance of any other ending but this… was there a conflict? So doesn’t that make this a story with no conflict? Didn’t I disprove your point?”
Well?