Rachel’s Shaved Pussy, No. Five

With the swathe Kirsty and I were cutting through the school, fucking like rabbits with a significant minority of the entire student body (male and female) plus a teacher or two, it was only a matter of time before we got the attention of authority. With practice, we were pretty proficient in keeping news contained from the inexperienced kids around us, but teachers have seen it all before and know the signs.

When I got the call to the headmaster’s office, I have to admit that I was pretty nervous, but I determined to put a brave face on and stand my ground. After all, what had we done wrong? Everyone involved was over the age of consent, and everything had been voluntary (that bit of coercion with Ricky aside) throughout. Perhaps our actions had been unconventional, but there are no rules against that.

I wasn’t kept waiting long, but ushered down the corridor from the secretary’s desk into the headmaster’s office. There I got my first surprise: sitting next to the headmaster Dr McPhail was Mr Adams. After hearing about Kirsty’s antics with Mr Adams, I had tempted him into a bit of fooling around myself. He really was as strong and muscular as she said, and that sense of power between my legs was a fantastic change from the boys and girls I was screwing with otherwise. Was that going to be held against me? Or was he in trouble, and I would be seen as the victim? I doubted they would have him in the room if they thought I would accuse him of some kind of rape.

“Sit down, Rachel,” Dr McPhail began, gesturing to the seat opposite him, on the near side of the desk. “Now let me set your mind at ease immediately: you are not in any trouble. However, we have noticed your… activities, and we want to make sure you are not going to do anything you might regret. Your adolescent body will be unfamiliar to you, and new experiences may tempt you not to consider the consequences…”

So it was that kind of conversation. I could handle that kind of conversation. Mr Adams had tried to start lecturing me after the first time, but I had cut him short with a kiss on his lips and a hand on his cock. I could predict most of what was coming, so I tuned out a bit while I assessed the broader situation. Mr Adams was probably there because he had approached the headmaster to discuss what ‘he had done’, and also to make it clear to me that they knew it wasn’t just all about fooling around with classmates. I could still see the lust in his eyes, even if he was trying to hide it and look stern. Mr Adams is a PE teacher, not a drama teacher, and no kind of actor, so the signs were clear. His worship and desire gave me confidence that I had some power in this situation.

That’s when I realized something: the headmaster had something of the same look. He wanted me too! He was hiding it better, so I couldn’t be absolutely sure, but there definitely seemed to be something there. His eyes travelled to the gap left by my undone shirt buttons, and the bulge of my breasts. I leaned back, tilting my body to push them outward and stretch the fabric a bit more over them, and saw him respond. I had not worn a bra that morning, and as my body responded to the presence of two horny men, the nipples hardened and poked through the cotton. Dr McPhail’s lips kept moving, spouting stuff about hormones and responsibility and consequences, but the corners were turning upwards in an involuntary smile.

I could have just sat there, taken the lecture, responded penitently and left to carry on with my day, but where was the fun in that? The results of this meeting could be so much more enjoyable if I just took action and sent them the right way.

“Have I broken any school rules?” I cut in sternly, interrupting the head of the school in mid-sentence.

A flash of annoyance flickered across his features. “Well, no…”

“Have I broken any laws?” I interrupted again, leaning forwards.

“No.”

“No. I am seventeen years old, and any sexual activities in which I have partaken are perfectly permissible under law. Have my grades dropped?”

“Well…”

I stood up, and pushed my chair back with my knees as I did so. “The answer is no again. My homework marks remain as strong as they have ever been, submitted on time and well presented. Have there been any unpleasant rumours about me among my peers?”

“Not that we are aware of, but…”

I placed my hands on the edge of the desk, gripping it. I leaned forward, my arms pushing my breasts together, displaying an enticing open cleavage to my teachers. “There will not be any. I know how to be discreet, and make sure anyone else I am involved with is discreet too.”

Then with a flourish, I heaved at the edge of the desk, spinning it away to the side – the brassy wheels on which it was mounted squealed a protest at this sudden movement, but did as I had hoped anyway. The two adults were now sat awkwardly side by side in the middle of the room on isolated chairs, while a vibrant, nubile, adolescent force of nature stood over them. The distinct tents in their trousers confirmed my theory.

For a moment, we were motionless and silent; in their surprise, they were lost for words. Then, I giggled with delight and kneeled in front of them, and placed my hands on their knees. “I know when to keep my mouth shut. And when to open it.” I raised myself up on my knees, my hands travelling up their thighs to their crotches. “The choice is entirely mine, and I will continue to do what I like with my free choice. My openings are fully under my control.” With a deftness that surprised me (perhaps benefiting from recent practice), my fingers found their way to their flies, unzipped them simultaneously, and slipped into the gap… and all without my cool gaze leaving their faces.

Mr Adams gasped as my fingertips brushed his cock through his underwear, and he seemed about to push me away or stand up, but a hand on his forearm stopped him. Dr McPhail’s face betrayed nothing, but the fact that he was holding his colleague to stay and let this continue told me everything I needed to know.

For a minute or so my fingertips trailed up and down, and I am sure my smile as they swelled beneath my ministrations must have been a sight to behold. My fingers dived into their waistbands, gripped flesh, and pulled. “I think that right now… I will open my mouth.”

I looked down for the first time, seeing Mr Adams’ familiar shaft and Dr McPhail’s surprisingly large rod gripped in my girl-like fists. Diving down to my left, my tongue flicked the headmaster’s bell-end, and then made a more sustained contact, and my lips followed, tasting pre-cum. With the shaft propped up thus, my hand was free to undo the button and his trousers fell open to make way for the protruding sex organ. To my right, my fist began to pump Mr Adams’ member.

I set to, a cock in each hand, my hot mouth bouncing up and down. I paused in jacking the muscular athletics teacher’s organ to get at his trouser button, but with my eyes elsewhere I was struggling until he unfastened it himself and placed my fingers gently back onto his knob. Combined with the headmaster’s gentle hand on the back of my head, there was no doubt any more that permission was granted.

I went to work with gusto. For a while, the only sounds were the odd wet slurp or male grunt, nothing that could possibly be heard through the thick office door and down the corridor to the nearest other human being, Dr McPhail’s secretary. After a few minutes, I turned round and fellated the P.E. teacher for a while, a thick coating of my spit now easing the path of my palm up and down the veteran educator’s rod in the absence of my mouth. I could only take the top few inches of penis between my lips, having yet to really master the “deep throat” technique, but if they were at all disappointed by that, I should think they were disinclined to look this unexpected, erotically supercharged gift horse in the, er, mouth.

Their guttural moans were getting louder, but as satisfying as my powerful position in the situation was in itself, my cunt was pulsing for attention, so I decided to take it to the next stage. Stopping and grabbing them each by the forearm, I stood up, pulling them with me. The arms I then manoeuvred to place a hand at my top shirt button and another at the zipper of my skirt. They took the message and began tenderly undressing me, kissing my teen flesh wherever they could.

When they had me naked, they stood flanking me. I did a quick twirl, and even the inscrutable doctor of history (his teaching subject) could not suppress a gasp at the beauty of my smooth, pristine twat. “You boys have been very selfish. It’s time for you to return the favour.” I reached up and pressed down on the tops of their heads.

I am not sure I entirely expected what happened next to go down without protest, but with Mr Adams in front of me, nose brushing my pubis, Dr McPhail was at the back, his face inches from my bum. I really thought he would pull back, turn me around, stand up and kiss my mouth instead, or something. But no, both of them attacked with gusto, mouths slavering at my openings.

This was really happening! My PE teacher lapping at my pussy was remarkable enough, but this other thing was something else entirely. The head teacher, the very symbol of command and authority within the school that was a large part of my world… was tonguing my butt-hole! If I had felt the need, I could have shat right into his mouth. In degrading himself thus, he was not just giving me a thorough rim-job, but also the most unbelievable power trip any schoolgirl could possibly imagine. I had a moment of revelation, and once in my mind, I could not resist bringing it to life: in an insolent drawl, I said, “Kiss my ass, sir.”

Their twin chuckles, muffled by contact with my skin, vibrated up my body. I closed my eyes and surrendered to the sensations, my hands squeezing and massaging my small breasts. The two old men – they must have both been well into their forties, and certainly considerably over double my age each – continued to slather their tongues right around and into my vagina and anus, their chins presumably brushing each other at my perineum. Their hands gripped my thighs, and my legs could well have given way from the glorious pleasure of it all if they had not been supporting most of my weight.

The teachers continued to devour both my nether holes, drenching my entire crotch with saliva, and I swayed back and forth, enjoying the thorough tending. I could have gone on like that for hours, but I wanted more. I grabbed them both by the backs of their collars and lifted, and they rose obediently, their rigid members bouncing slightly with the movement. “Fuck me,” I instructed firmly. “Both of you. Fuck me right now.”

Mr Adams sighed happily. “I’ve always dreamt of double-teaming a nubile teen girl. It’s a huge fantasy of mine. But I knew it could never happen, so I resigned myself long ago to look, don’t touch, and fantasize on my own time. And now I can!”

“Shut up, Mr Adams, and do as the young lady says,” Dr McPhail replied calmly. I felt his knob slide up my bum-crack, re-wetting itself on the saliva there, and then press slowly into the opening. When the bulbous head penetrated my tight sphincter with an almost audible pop, I gasped. He started pressing in and out, pushing slightly deeper every time, and his deep breaths were hot on my ear. Meanwhile, Mr Adams watched me for a moment, getting a full vision of the young beauty in front of him, stark naked, everything on show, eyes widening at this astonishing invasion of my bowels. Then he pressed forward, and their middle-aged bodies sandwiched me, their slightly rounded bellies pressing against my tight, pale white skin. Again, they were lifting me off my feet, and my arms went around the chest in front of me. His did the same, enveloping my shoulders, while the headmaster grabbed my waist. Reaching around, Adams’ hand pushed my jaw upwards, and his mouth pressed mine.

The feeling of two fat penises stretching the walls of my cunt and rectum to their very limits, prodding nerves that had never experienced the like, was literally breathtaking. Their rock-hard cocks (and don’t think I didn’t recognize the compliment on my sexiness that their rigidity represented) seemed to push all the way into my body, pressing all my organs upward and restricting my lungs. That’s not to say I was choking, just that every breath ended with a heightened sense of being impaled, filled, by rods of visceral pleasure that penetrated to my core. In moments when the sensory overload eased enough to allow complete thoughts, I promised myself I would find more opportunities to do this double-penetration thing.

Having said that, my two middle-aged lovers must have been exercising much more skill than could ever be expected from the teenagers who constituted most of my harem. Like some kind of complicated steam-age carriage clock pendulum, they set up a rhythm of penetration that somehow eliminated awkward fumblings while simultaneously maintaining their balance upright and carrying my entire weight, a large part of which must have been easing back and forth on their shafts. After a while (there was no way I was keeping track of time in my condition), they even withdrew, span me around and, just as cold air was sweeping into the cavities, filled them again with hot, throbbing man-meat, then carried on just as before. My anal sphincter was now clutching at the PE teacher’s pistoning member, while his boss bred their little student in the traditional manner from the front.

The dream, although destined to be repeated in other ways as soon as I could manage, could only last so long this once. Completing the set, Dr McPhail kissed me deeply, his tongue forcing down my throat and seeming to fill it with writhing muscle almost as thoroughly as my vagina and anus were. The urgency of their pumping increased, and then Mr Adams let out a half-growl, half-groan, like an Olympic weight-lifter heaving a seemingly impossible load from the ground. And with that, he indeed achieved something I would not have believed possible a few seconds before, in filling my cavity even more. With a final thrust, he delivered his thick, creamy semen into the depths of my anus. So did Dr McPhail, firing jism deep into my nubile womb. And my world exploded.

In the after-echoes of what was a colossal orgasm, all other sensations dimmed. I faintly felt myself lowered to the ground, and I lay there, my chest heaving with the deep breaths that followed great exertion, my arms up to either side of my head, fingertips resting in my wide-strewn, fine black hair, legs akimbo, my crotch a mess of slick reproductive juices.

I slowly regained perception of the world outside my trembling body, and realized that both teachers were standing at my feet, phones out and pointed at me, their dicks slowly softening and shrinking. “May we?” asked the headmaster, as if he were a tourist asking to take the picture of a local dressed in quaint regional costume.

Smiling absently, I nodded slightly. “You’ve earned it,” I murmured.

After a couple more minutes, I recovered my strength and sat up, looking for my clothing. The two men who had so recently ravished me were calmly donning their trousers, but I took pride in the fact that only I would know the reason for their cheery smiles. I too reclothed myself, and regretfully wiped my smooth crotch down with some tissues from a box the headteacher conveniently supplied.

Without another word, I made my way to the door, trying to straighten out my walk: as much as it would have been more comfortable, I did not want to raise questions by emerging from the office bow-legged.

As I opened the door, I heard a filing cabinet open. “This, Mr Adams, is form A7, a Student-Teacher Meeting Report. You will fill it out precisely as follows…”

~#~

It was not long after that, that I started receiving regular additional tuition from Dr McPhail at his home. And I do mean actual tuition, not just sex-visits. Although… well, let me explain it fully.

I would arrive at his home (where he lives alone) a short while after school. Sometimes I would still be wearing school uniform, sometimes normal clothes, but either way, nobody would be able to tell from my mode of dress that anything was out of the ordinary. I would knock on the door, he would let me in without much preamble, and I turned around in the hallway while he closed the door again.

Then we were in each other’s arms, tongues wrestling, saliva mixing, hands fumbling fervently at buttons and zips. He lifted me up, or backed me up, to the kitchen table, where he laid me down, face up or face down. Then he entered me.

The fucking that followed was generally short but hard. He ploughed my pussy (or occasionally my ass) with energy and enthusiasm, like a man starved of sex for months on end, and my whole body shook from the force of it. When he climaxed, usually inside me, I came with him, and we both crumpled to the table for a couple of minutes, gasping from the strenuous exercise.

Once I had my breath back, I stripped off any remaining clothes (after the first couple of times, I did it without instruction), placed them neatly in my bag, pulled a notebook out from it, and sat down at the table on a smooth plastic chair. From that moment until the time came to leave, I did not wear a thread of clothing. Then he began to lecture.

That continued for the rest of the evening. A perfectly ordinary tutoring session, except the student was completely naked. Oh, and once every half-an-hour to 45 minutes, he would move over to my side, pull his engorged dick out, and start jacking off.

Sometimes I would turn my face and take him in my mouth, or replace his hand with mine and jerk his cock myself. However, there were also times when I just carried on writing, maybe just leaning back a little, seemingly oblivious, until the warm white goo struck my face or chest. He seemed to like that: this sexy little teenage goddess in his own home, blissfully unaware of the rampant erotic beast mere inches away, like an illicit peep show but upgraded from a crappy 1990s portable TV to a huge 4K widescreen home cinema.

Usually, he carried on talking about the subject of the lesson even while he pleasured himself, or I pleasured him, and I did my best to keep up the note-taking with my other hand or without seeing the paper. Only right near the end, he would break off and groan ecstatically, “Yes, oh, little Rachel. Beautiful Rachel! Oh God, yes, my girl. Oh, little Rachel! AAAH!” and his penis pulsed, his ejaculate anointing the beautiful little girl’s pale skin.

Then he would wipe his softening dick off on my shoulder or cheek, sometimes pat me on the head, zip himself up and carry straight on where he had left off lecturing. The only indication he would give of what had just happened would be to stop me if I did anything whatsoever to clean myself up. If a significant-sized gobbet of semen fell from my face onto the book, I was allowed to lick it up and then take a tissue to dab the damp spot, but otherwise I sat there, eyes on my work, while his seed slowly cooled and slid down my face, tits and belly, pooling on the chair, my vagina lips resting on a growing puddle. There the semen mixed with the stuff leaking from my pussy – both his deposit at the conclusion of that first rampant rutting and the considerable juices of my own constant arousal. If some of it hit my eye, or slid down there from my forehead or eyebrow, then so be it, I would have to work one-eyed until it cleared, although I think he went to at least some effort not to completely blind me with his next load, aiming it instead at my neck or chest.

It may sound disgusting to you, degrading even. Covered in this white slime that was cooling on my skin, matting my hair, dripping off my tits or into the corners of my mouth, even smelling kinda funny. I can see why you would be horrified at the prospect of it happening to you… but right then and there, that wasn’t the way I saw it at all. To me, every cumshot seemed like the ultimate compliment, the most visceral, direct way a man could show the powerful, erotic effect I had on him. As he approached climax, he would praise my beauty, my perfection. His masturbation was almost like an act of worship, and his semen an offering to the goddess. In that private environment, separated from the world and its preordained values, who wouldn’t want to wear that as a badge of honour?

Besides, there was something about the smooth, slick feel of it on my skin that I rather liked too. As it cooled, I got goosebumps, contrasting greatly with the latest warm blast. That smell, that taste… My senses were all being stimulated at once.

And maybe he was dominating me, but that was fine too. I had enough experience as a top-dog to my little schoolboy bitches that changing positions and being the sub was a nice change. When he took charge, I could relax into his power, the irresistible force of a personality who knew exactly what he wanted and exactly how to get it. I could set aside the burden of having a say: he wanted to see a sexy seventeen-year-old schoolgirl covered in his jizz, and in his house, that meant that it would happen. That was all there was to it.

When I think about it, his sex drive was incredible, to cum 7 or 8 times in one evening. Even separated by a recovery period, his balls must have been working on overdrive to generate that much semen. It’s strange to think of such a seemingly upstanding figure of respect secretly being a rampant sex monster, and I can only wonder how he coped before settling on this scheme. One thing is certain: I was not the first pretty young girl he brought discreetly into his life to satiate his carnal needs.

The tutoring was, I have to say, incredibly beneficial to my studies, setting aside the sexual element. Dr McPhail’s background is in humanities, so that was the most common focus, but he had decades of experience as a teacher, and knew how to apply his knowledge to other subjects. I learnt physics through the history of science, the work of Newton and Hooke and Boyle, and historical context improved my work on English literature essays and art projects. I learnt the sinister economic realities of the mining industry, grounded in the workings of mining and ore-processing chemistry. The carbon and nitrogen cycles, which I had struggled to follow in science classes, made much more sense in the context of physical geography. I was free to ask questions whenever I wished about the work, and his answers were always patient, pertinent, informative and illuminating. I was spending a lot of my free time fucking, yet my grades were only going up, and it seemed to me that I had Dr McPhail to thank for that.

At the end of the evening, he would remove my notebook, signalling that we were done. Then I lay on my back on the table, and he penetrated me again. This time, it was slower, more studied. He would stare in wonder at me as his hips moved back and forth like a pendulum, and his hands smeared his cum around my body, massaging sperm slowly into my face, neck, shoulders, chest (oh yes, especially there), belly, crotch and thighs. I sometimes felt as if he were trying to get an even coating, as if he could thereby envelop me in an embrace all the larger with his ejaculate as a part of his body by proxy.

Or maybe he just loved the tactility of it, the smoothness of young skin under his fingers, lubricated to even greater smoothness. In this position, I got the most direct look at him of the entire evening, and saw the naked bliss and joy he took in fucking me this way, and indeed every other way. It never took me a great effort to distance myself from my partners, to keep the separation between even the most exciting, passionate sex and romantic attachment, but looking at the pure happiness I was bringing to him as we orgasmed once more together, I think I might have come as close I ever did to falling in love, if only for a few moments.

I realized once that there was something deeply metaphorical about what he was doing here, and I mentioned this to him. If sperm was symbolic of the creative, procreative act, the very stuff of inheritance and passing on your life force to a new generation, then he was focusing his energies on his students rather than any children of his own. It also cast this dedication to education as more of a selfish act than the customary perception of selflessness.

He smiled and complimented me on my insight, and pointed out that there were precedents for this line of thinking. We discussed Freud, Jung and Nabokov in terms of the psychiatric underpinnings, and also the philosophical implications. We covered ancient Greek philosophy, including some of its more lurid figures. In some ways, that conversation was as stimulating intellectually as any of the sexual acts were physically, and I came away with my head buzzing with new ideas and concepts I couldn’t wait to consider.

#

At the end of it all, with his spend inside me and on me, I took myself off to the shower. Often, he would join me, but he would almost never bring himself off yet again. Instead, he kneeled in front of me, tonguing my twat as the water cascaded down my body, washing all the semen, sweat and other filth down onto his upraised face.

Finally, I would dress again and leave quietly, only a bit of dampness in my hair suggesting that anything more unusual than an extra study session had occurred…

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