Bad Teacher – Chapter One: The Plan
Introduction:
A group of college students decide to get revenge on a dishonest professor.
“And that,” said Ms. Archer with the slightest smirk, “is why boys are falling behind girls in every category. The older generation of white-haired males may still be in power, but girls are more intelligent, less governed by primitive instinct, better at communication, and have longer attention spans; it’s just a matter of time before this generation overtakes both the good old boys and the weak, subservient old women who enable them. Final papers are due on Monday, and I expect each of you to provide solid arguments supporting your vision of a future society based on this premise.”
I muttered to myself a bit and rolled my eyes, but made sure to do so without being seen; I didn’t want to get drawn into an argument that the bitch would win by trumping in with some attack on my “obvious chauvinism” or, her favorite, veiled threats referencing the fact that grading in a politics class is based mostly on essays, and essay-grading is completely subjective.
Besides, I knew that come Monday, grading papers would be the least of her worries. I nodded to my accomplices as the bell rang and we filed out, careful not to let my irritation show.
We had been developing the plan for months now. At first, the guys in the class (and even some of the girls) had been annoyed by her incessant, strident preaching about the patriarchy, the male gaze, and other feminazi go-tos, but there wasn’t much we could do about it. We bitched a bit, whined about having to sit through a whole semester of this, but by now most of us were pretty used to hearing and seeing this general type of thing in the media, the movies, and so forth. So we figured we’d just grit our teeth and power through.
Then the results of the first test came back: I had written an essay suggesting that equality was already here, and continuing to harp on quotas and averages was not only futile, but counter-productive. I used what seemed like well-reasoned arguments, and just to be safe, I had had a female friend of mine read through the paper before turning it in to make sure I didn’t come across as sexist. She said that although she didn’t completely agree with what I was saying, it was certainly nothing outrageous and my arguments were well-supported.
A week after turning it in, my grade came back: D. I was shocked! I had written papers before that went against the professor’s apparent position on an issue, and for sure, I knew it meant they’d be a little stricter with their grading, but never had it resulted in anything more than a couple points off of what I thought it should be. I was used to getting A’s, and I had put as much effort and thought into this paper as I had any other.
The paper was full of red marks pointing out my “privileged male thinking”, my “lack of understanding of the female experience”, and so forth. At no point was there a single word about my logic or facts; what it boiled down to was that she disagreed with me and was going to punish me for it. I was, of course, furious, but I had never really been one to fight authority, and so I planned to just let it go and make sure the next paper was airtight, when I overhead a few other guys talking about their grades.
They all had similar sentiments to me; a couple of them weren’t the brightest bulbs, but still felt they had done better than F’s, and the rest were in the same boat as me. One of the bolder guys walked over to a group of girls who were all chattering excitedly, and asked them how they’d done. It was consistent: A’s and B’s for all of them.
As the next week went by, it became clear that this pattern was true across the board. Only one guy had anything higher than a C, and he was extremely effeminate and may have been even more stridently feminist than the professor. There were a few girls with bad grades, but by and large they all had A’s and B’s.
After a Friday class, a few of us guys were trying to figure out what we could do about it. The idea of going to the Dean’s office was brought up, but this was a liberal university in New York City, and we quickly dismissed the notion that the school would have our backs. A few other suggestions were thrown out and all were quickly shot down as pointless.
I had been thinking about this for a while, so I gathered my courage and said “I think we need to take matters into our own hands. This cunt needs to be taught a lesson.”
The other guys stared at me – we were a bunch of intellectuals studying politics at a posh university; “taking matters into our own hands” was not part of our thinking; for that matter, “cunt” was not part of our vernacular.
“What do you mean?” said Jake. “How does one teach a lesson to a professor?”
Slowly, but with growing confidence, I outlined the plan I had worked out in my head: we would kidnap the professor, take her to a country house outside of the city, and give her a lesson she would remember for a long time.
“I’m talking handcuffs, ropes, whips, riding crops – you name it. She has to learn that her behavior will not be tolerated.”
I went on like this for a few minutes, and I could see the other guys starting to warm up to the idea. We were so engrossed in thinking about it that we didn’t even notice Lisa, one of the girls from the class, eavesdropping.
Suddenly she piped up “I caught most of that. Are you guys serious about this?”
I jerked around, surprised. Lisa was a petite brunette with a slim, athletic figure and fantastic breasts that she tended to show off with tight, low-cut shirts. Most of us had used her tits as a distraction to help us get through the awful, endless hours of the Archer lectures.
For a few seconds, I thought about laughing it off and telling her we were just joking. But I saw the other guys looking at me and realized that if I backed down now, they would probably lose whatever little bit of resolve they’d built up in our few minutes of conversation. It also occurred to me that Lisa had been one of the few girls with a low grade, so I wondered if maybe she might not interfere if we let her in on the plan.
“Yes,” I said. “We are.”
“Good,” she said. “I was tired of listening to that harpy after day one, and I can’t stand the way she stares disgustedly at me every time I walk by. Plus, there’s no way I wrote a C- paper. I don’t fucking write C- papers!”
For the second time in a 15-minute span, the other guys were standing there shocked, mouths just about literally hanging open; this time, I joined them.
“What?” she said. “Don’t look so surprised. We aren’t all brainwashed into believing her nonsensical raving. I’ve argued with her on my own, and she is absolutely dismissive of even the smallest deviation from her point of view. I don’t see any way around it: she needs to be taught a lesson, and what you guys have in mind is the best idea I’ve heard.”
“OK,” I said, gathering my composure by sheer force of will. “So you won’t rat us out?”
“Rat you out?” she scoffed. “Hell no. I’m going to help you!”
We all broke out into relieved grins. We decided to go back to her apartment before discussing this further, to make sure we wouldn’t run across any less-friendly eavesdroppers. Once we got there, the plan to grab Ms. Archer as she was walking to her car – she always worked late on Fridays – came together quickly.
By the time we were done, everyone was nervous, excited, and wired with anticipation. Lisa was dressed in one of her usual outfits – a tight tank top with spaghetti straps, shorts that were barely more than underwear, and tiny flip-flops that showed off her beautiful, red-painted toes. All five of us had been eyeing her during the planning, trying to stay on track but having a hard time not getting distracted. I kept thinking about what it would feel like to hold those wonderful tits and lick her soft, delicate feet.
I had become the de facto leader of the group, and Lisa looked over at me as we started to stand up to leave.
“Don’t you guys think it would be a good idea to practice a little before the real thing happens?”
I raised my eyebrows a bit, having a hard time believing she meant what I thought she meant, “Practice?” I asked, trying to keep the note of excitement out of my voice.
“Yeah, you know,” she said as slid off her flip-flops, opened a box sitting next to her couch, and pulled out a rope, “practice.”
Well, she didn’t have to tell me twice. I immediately took the rope from her hand, pulled her arms behind her, and tied her hands together with one end of it. I pulled her shorts and panties off and stuffed the panties in her mouth.
“Keep this in your mouth until I tell you otherwise. If they fall out, you will be punished.”
She was looking at me this whole time with a mix of excitement and fear. I could tell this was something she had fantasized about, but had probably never done before. I reached down and felt her pussy – it was shaved! – and she was wet already.
“Kneel on the couch with your head on the back and spread your knees apart,” I said. She quickly obeyed, kneeling with her ass up in the air, knees spread well apart, and feet hanging off the edge. I cut a length off the rope that was holding her wrists together, leaving plenty still attached. With the part I had cut off, I tied each of her ankles to the legs of the couch.
I looped some of the still-attached rope around her elbows, pulling them tightly together. I then took the end of the rope, went into her bedroom, and looped it around the leg of her bed like a pulley. As I pulled the rope taut, her hands were raised straight above her back, forcing her to stay in the bent-forward position; I tied it off once I started feeling serious resistance. As I pulled her into this position, I heard the first muffled squeals of discomfort through Lisa’s gag; I ignored them as I continued my work.
During all this, the other guys were standing around a little stunned, not sure what to do. Once I was done, though, they were presented with an irresistible picture: a beautiful girl, tied helplessly in a position that offered convenient access to her pussy, her asshole, and even, with a little maneuvering, her mouth.
“OK, here’s what we’re going to do,” I said to the group. “We’re each going to take turns fucking her – pussy or asshole, your choice.” As I said this, I was watching Lisa’s reaction, and I noticed a definite shudder at the word “asshole”. “But,” I continued, “no coming in either hole. The cum goes in her mouth. When you’re ready to cum, switch to the mouth end and the next guy can get started. Feel free to warm up with the mouth if you want, but since this is my op, I get first dibs on the pussy.” No one argued with this.
By this point, of course, I was rock-hard. I walked up behind Lisa and unceremoniously crammed all nine thick inches into her now-soaking pussy. As I fucked her, the other guys started lining up at her mouth.
“You can let the panties out now,” I grunted. She did, and one by one, they moved up and she started sucking. After a very short time, I felt a shudder from Lisa, and from the spasms that followed it was clear she was coming, and coming hard. Her whole body tensed and flushed, and she pulled involuntarily at the ropes holding her in place as she screamed in ecstasy. After that, she went limp; the only thing keeping her from sliding to the floor was those ropes.
I kept fucking her for a few minutes but knew I wouldn’t last long, and I still wanted to give her the real treat. I pulled my cock out of her pussy and lined it up at her asshole. She stopped sucking the guy she was on, turned her head to the side as much as possible, and said “I don’t know if I can handle that in my ass – can’t we just stick to the pussy for now? It feels soooo good!”
“Why is she able to talk?” I said dismissively. “Seems to me there are plenty of gags available for her.” Jake got the hint and quickly jammed his cock back into her mouth, using her hair as handles to pull her head down onto it. I went back to what I was doing and slowly but firmly pushed my way into Lisa’s ass. She squirmed and struggled, but it was hopeless and she knew it. After a minute or so she just gave in and let me pump away, occasionally letting out a cock-muffled cry of pain. Pretty soon I was back to being ready to blow, so I said “Move it!”, ran quickly around, shoved my cock all the way down her throat, and blew a bigger load than I ever have in my life, before or since.
“Swallow it all,” I said, my cock still in her mouth. She swallowed, and I pulled my cock out. “Now clean off the rest.” And she licked my cock clean as Ben started fucking her. One by one, the cycle was repeated until everyone had had their turn. Lisa came at least once with every different guy, and by the time we were done she was completely exhausted.
“Now, just one last thing,” I said. I untied the rope from the bed and brought it back around. I moved her coffee table right next to the couch, laid her back on it, and tied the rope to it. Now her head was hanging off the edge. “Now,” I said, “it’s bukkake time.” One after the other, we fucked her mouth, and by the time we were all done, her face, tits, and hair were covered in cum.
“I’ll see you guys in class next week,” I said. “Lisa and I have some more practicing to do this weekend.” Lisa, completely worn out, tied to the table and with the cum still dripping off her, could only muster a soft groan and a small shiver of anticipation.
I muttered to myself a bit and rolled my eyes, but made sure to do so without being seen; I didn’t want to get drawn into an argument that the bitch would win by trumping in with some attack on my “obvious chauvinism” or, her favorite, veiled threats referencing the fact that grading in a politics class is based mostly on essays, and essay-grading is completely subjective.
Besides, I knew that come Monday, grading papers would be the least of her worries. I nodded to my accomplices as the bell rang and we filed out, careful not to let my irritation show.
We had been developing the plan for months now. At first, the guys in the class (and even some of the girls) had been annoyed by her incessant, strident preaching about the patriarchy, the male gaze, and other feminazi go-tos, but there wasn’t much we could do about it. We bitched a bit, whined about having to sit through a whole semester of this, but by now most of us were pretty used to hearing and seeing this general type of thing in the media, the movies, and so forth. So we figured we’d just grit our teeth and power through.
Then the results of the first test came back: I had written an essay suggesting that equality was already here, and continuing to harp on quotas and averages was not only futile, but counter-productive. I used what seemed like well-reasoned arguments, and just to be safe, I had had a female friend of mine read through the paper before turning it in to make sure I didn’t come across as sexist. She said that although she didn’t completely agree with what I was saying, it was certainly nothing outrageous and my arguments were well-supported.
A week after turning it in, my grade came back: D. I was shocked! I had written papers before that went against the professor’s apparent position on an issue, and for sure, I knew it meant they’d be a little stricter with their grading, but never had it resulted in anything more than a couple points off of what I thought it should be. I was used to getting A’s, and I had put as much effort and thought into this paper as I had any other.
The paper was full of red marks pointing out my “privileged male thinking”, my “lack of understanding of the female experience”, and so forth. At no point was there a single word about my logic or facts; what it boiled down to was that she disagreed with me and was going to punish me for it. I was, of course, furious, but I had never really been one to fight authority, and so I planned to just let it go and make sure the next paper was airtight, when I overhead a few other guys talking about their grades.
They all had similar sentiments to me; a couple of them weren’t the brightest bulbs, but still felt they had done better than F’s, and the rest were in the same boat as me. One of the bolder guys walked over to a group of girls who were all chattering excitedly, and asked them how they’d done. It was consistent: A’s and B’s for all of them.
As the next week went by, it became clear that this pattern was true across the board. Only one guy had anything higher than a C, and he was extremely effeminate and may have been even more stridently feminist than the professor. There were a few girls with bad grades, but by and large they all had A’s and B’s.
After a Friday class, a few of us guys were trying to figure out what we could do about it. The idea of going to the Dean’s office was brought up, but this was a liberal university in New York City, and we quickly dismissed the notion that the school would have our backs. A few other suggestions were thrown out and all were quickly shot down as pointless.
I had been thinking about this for a while, so I gathered my courage and said “I think we need to take matters into our own hands. This cunt needs to be taught a lesson.”
The other guys stared at me – we were a bunch of intellectuals studying politics at a posh university; “taking matters into our own hands” was not part of our thinking; for that matter, “cunt” was not part of our vernacular.
“What do you mean?” said Jake. “How does one teach a lesson to a professor?”
Slowly, but with growing confidence, I outlined the plan I had worked out in my head: we would kidnap the professor, take her to a country house outside of the city, and give her a lesson she would remember for a long time.
“I’m talking handcuffs, ropes, whips, riding crops – you name it. She has to learn that her behavior will not be tolerated.”
I went on like this for a few minutes, and I could see the other guys starting to warm up to the idea. We were so engrossed in thinking about it that we didn’t even notice Lisa, one of the girls from the class, eavesdropping.
Suddenly she piped up “I caught most of that. Are you guys serious about this?”
I jerked around, surprised. Lisa was a petite brunette with a slim, athletic figure and fantastic breasts that she tended to show off with tight, low-cut shirts. Most of us had used her tits as a distraction to help us get through the awful, endless hours of the Archer lectures.
For a few seconds, I thought about laughing it off and telling her we were just joking. But I saw the other guys looking at me and realized that if I backed down now, they would probably lose whatever little bit of resolve they’d built up in our few minutes of conversation. It also occurred to me that Lisa had been one of the few girls with a low grade, so I wondered if maybe she might not interfere if we let her in on the plan.
“Yes,” I said. “We are.”
“Good,” she said. “I was tired of listening to that harpy after day one, and I can’t stand the way she stares disgustedly at me every time I walk by. Plus, there’s no way I wrote a C- paper. I don’t fucking write C- papers!”
For the second time in a 15-minute span, the other guys were standing there shocked, mouths just about literally hanging open; this time, I joined them.
“What?” she said. “Don’t look so surprised. We aren’t all brainwashed into believing her nonsensical raving. I’ve argued with her on my own, and she is absolutely dismissive of even the smallest deviation from her point of view. I don’t see any way around it: she needs to be taught a lesson, and what you guys have in mind is the best idea I’ve heard.”
“OK,” I said, gathering my composure by sheer force of will. “So you won’t rat us out?”
“Rat you out?” she scoffed. “Hell no. I’m going to help you!”
We all broke out into relieved grins. We decided to go back to her apartment before discussing this further, to make sure we wouldn’t run across any less-friendly eavesdroppers. Once we got there, the plan to grab Ms. Archer as she was walking to her car – she always worked late on Fridays – came together quickly.
By the time we were done, everyone was nervous, excited, and wired with anticipation. Lisa was dressed in one of her usual outfits – a tight tank top with spaghetti straps, shorts that were barely more than underwear, and tiny flip-flops that showed off her beautiful, red-painted toes. All five of us had been eyeing her during the planning, trying to stay on track but having a hard time not getting distracted. I kept thinking about what it would feel like to hold those wonderful tits and lick her soft, delicate feet.
I had become the de facto leader of the group, and Lisa looked over at me as we started to stand up to leave.
“Don’t you guys think it would be a good idea to practice a little before the real thing happens?”
I raised my eyebrows a bit, having a hard time believing she meant what I thought she meant, “Practice?” I asked, trying to keep the note of excitement out of my voice.
“Yeah, you know,” she said as slid off her flip-flops, opened a box sitting next to her couch, and pulled out a rope, “practice.”
Well, she didn’t have to tell me twice. I immediately took the rope from her hand, pulled her arms behind her, and tied her hands together with one end of it. I pulled her shorts and panties off and stuffed the panties in her mouth.
“Keep this in your mouth until I tell you otherwise. If they fall out, you will be punished.”
She was looking at me this whole time with a mix of excitement and fear. I could tell this was something she had fantasized about, but had probably never done before. I reached down and felt her pussy – it was shaved! – and she was wet already.
“Kneel on the couch with your head on the back and spread your knees apart,” I said. She quickly obeyed, kneeling with her ass up in the air, knees spread well apart, and feet hanging off the edge. I cut a length off the rope that was holding her wrists together, leaving plenty still attached. With the part I had cut off, I tied each of her ankles to the legs of the couch.
I looped some of the still-attached rope around her elbows, pulling them tightly together. I then took the end of the rope, went into her bedroom, and looped it around the leg of her bed like a pulley. As I pulled the rope taut, her hands were raised straight above her back, forcing her to stay in the bent-forward position; I tied it off once I started feeling serious resistance. As I pulled her into this position, I heard the first muffled squeals of discomfort through Lisa’s gag; I ignored them as I continued my work.
During all this, the other guys were standing around a little stunned, not sure what to do. Once I was done, though, they were presented with an irresistible picture: a beautiful girl, tied helplessly in a position that offered convenient access to her pussy, her asshole, and even, with a little maneuvering, her mouth.
“OK, here’s what we’re going to do,” I said to the group. “We’re each going to take turns fucking her – pussy or asshole, your choice.” As I said this, I was watching Lisa’s reaction, and I noticed a definite shudder at the word “asshole”. “But,” I continued, “no coming in either hole. The cum goes in her mouth. When you’re ready to cum, switch to the mouth end and the next guy can get started. Feel free to warm up with the mouth if you want, but since this is my op, I get first dibs on the pussy.” No one argued with this.
By this point, of course, I was rock-hard. I walked up behind Lisa and unceremoniously crammed all nine thick inches into her now-soaking pussy. As I fucked her, the other guys started lining up at her mouth.
“You can let the panties out now,” I grunted. She did, and one by one, they moved up and she started sucking. After a very short time, I felt a shudder from Lisa, and from the spasms that followed it was clear she was coming, and coming hard. Her whole body tensed and flushed, and she pulled involuntarily at the ropes holding her in place as she screamed in ecstasy. After that, she went limp; the only thing keeping her from sliding to the floor was those ropes.
I kept fucking her for a few minutes but knew I wouldn’t last long, and I still wanted to give her the real treat. I pulled my cock out of her pussy and lined it up at her asshole. She stopped sucking the guy she was on, turned her head to the side as much as possible, and said “I don’t know if I can handle that in my ass – can’t we just stick to the pussy for now? It feels soooo good!”
“Why is she able to talk?” I said dismissively. “Seems to me there are plenty of gags available for her.” Jake got the hint and quickly jammed his cock back into her mouth, using her hair as handles to pull her head down onto it. I went back to what I was doing and slowly but firmly pushed my way into Lisa’s ass. She squirmed and struggled, but it was hopeless and she knew it. After a minute or so she just gave in and let me pump away, occasionally letting out a cock-muffled cry of pain. Pretty soon I was back to being ready to blow, so I said “Move it!”, ran quickly around, shoved my cock all the way down her throat, and blew a bigger load than I ever have in my life, before or since.
“Swallow it all,” I said, my cock still in her mouth. She swallowed, and I pulled my cock out. “Now clean off the rest.” And she licked my cock clean as Ben started fucking her. One by one, the cycle was repeated until everyone had had their turn. Lisa came at least once with every different guy, and by the time we were done she was completely exhausted.
“Now, just one last thing,” I said. I untied the rope from the bed and brought it back around. I moved her coffee table right next to the couch, laid her back on it, and tied the rope to it. Now her head was hanging off the edge. “Now,” I said, “it’s bukkake time.” One after the other, we fucked her mouth, and by the time we were all done, her face, tits, and hair were covered in cum.
“I’ll see you guys in class next week,” I said. “Lisa and I have some more practicing to do this weekend.” Lisa, completely worn out, tied to the table and with the cum still dripping off her, could only muster a soft groan and a small shiver of anticipation.
