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Lovebright Acadamy
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T H E H O M E R V A R G A S S T O R Y A R C H I V E
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team, whichever is deemed necessary. (These were written for
adult entertainment and should not be accessed by children.)
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LOVEBRIGHT ACADEMY: The Real --- (Mf, Ff, MC,
humor, preg)
By Homer Vargas
(with proofreading and very helpful editorial
suggestions from Artie. Muchas Gracias!)
Some of you may remember a wonderfully funny by
Downing Street a while back called “LOVEBRIGHT
ACADEMY.” Now Downing Street is one of my favorite
authors, but he has his squiks and this made him to
pull a few punches in his tale. I happen to be
Chairman of the Board of Governors of Lovebright
Academy, so I know the whole story. I don’t want to
call too much attention to Downing’s omissions, so
with his permission, I’ve decided just to re-post his
story, inserting the needed additions and changes in
the appropriate places.
LOVEBRIGHT ACADEMY: The Real
by Homer Vargas
I
Two women sat in the oak-paneled headmaster's office,
behind the heavy 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. highlights in her hair matched
her bright 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
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 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 Victorian building needed
major repairs, the Board of Governors decided,
reluctantly, to re-invent the Lovebrigh School for
Girls as Lovebright Academy. The headmaster
("headmistress" she had always insisted) retired. The
Board's search for a young, dynamic headmaster who
understood the need to educate spoiled women
destined to be the leaders of tomorrow, or at least
the wives and others of their children, lead them to
Mrs. McLeod. 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 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. Baxter was an "old-girl" herself, and in the
Lovebright's tradition she had succeeded in seducing a
wealthy businessman and marrying him 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 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 for what
she had seen. In Mrs. Baxter's day 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's 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 were even more disturbing than
the girls. Lovebright's had only been co-educational
for a couple of years, and 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 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 they
walked by. They whistled and stared, and handed out
loud, unsubtle compliments at they admired.
And the ate it up. They giggled and
tittered at the sexual innuendo and basked in the most
tasteless compliments. All the 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 in the school was walking along with
an attractive 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 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 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 was barely out of sight before another
girl, a hot-looking 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 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
carried on with the bordered on public indecency,
much less proper decorum for a private school. There
was an even bigger mystery. The 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 []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 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 and women are thrust together there will be
romantic liaisons --"
But the visitor was not listening.
"Romantic liaisons! Is that your Harvard euphemism
for carrying on in public like rabbits!?"
"Well, of course we attempt to discourage too open
displays of affection. But you know how
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 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 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 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 and tired
and in need of rejuvenation. In the upheaval
following the name change and the admission of boys,
many of the 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 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
teacher. She was definitely still in her twenties,
slender and very attractive, with long, hair
streaked with darker bands, and glittering deep blue
eyes. Her lips were full and cherry 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 than a teacher.
Still, sitting behind her big desk the 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 fiddled with a wayward strand of
hair. "Well, uh, yeah, I guess so. Like, when the
weather's warm. Is something wrong?"
The other studied her keenly. "How 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 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 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 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. Hardling
resigned so suddenly.” Almost as soon as the words
were out of her mouth, the headmistress realized her
mistake. Ms. Hardling had been one of the fiercest
critics of the changes at Lovebright. Everyone in the
state, especially the inquisitor sitting before
her, had been shocked when the forty-five year
spinster had suddenly resigned, being found pregnant
with the baby of one of her students. Worst yet, she
admitted to having slept with so many, she didn’t know
which one!
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. Baxter," 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
said, extending a hand.
The svelte was nonplussed. The 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 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 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 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 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 were not wearing the
regulation blue top and knee-length shorts that
Lovebright students always wore to gym. These
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 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 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 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
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 bent
over to touch their toes the gym was filled with
bouncing and behinds.
It was hard to tell from the door, but the
didn't appear to be wearing anything beneath the
leotards. They straightened slowly, following the
sensuous tones of the music, 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
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 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 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 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 herself until very recently.
"Football," said Mrs. Baxter blankly. It figured,
she conceded with a sigh. There were 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
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.
"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 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 were doing, and the rich
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 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. stuffed
chairs and sofas were stacked up for storage. The
was tall and dark blonde, with hair too long for the
regulations. He wore the uniform and pants
without a tie. His jacket was thrown over a chair.
The was a leggy whose interpretation
of the school uniform included a kilt that couldn't
have been more than 15 inches long, worn above sky-
blue with dark stripes up the legs. Her
shiny black shoes had impractically 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 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 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 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 was about to drill and with any luck preg
the little vixen, right here in the school! Too
stunned to move, the well-heeled watched as the
young 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 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
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 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 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. 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 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 instead of the triple protection of
baggy slacks, and pantyhose to school. Her
husband had thought it a little strange at first,
given that she had always been so conservative. He
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 fish-net hose and a matching
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 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 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 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 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 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 strut around like little kings, and
the 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 who could send a woman
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 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 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 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 housewife was
amazed by the shameless uniforms the 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 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 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 were all dressed in a
foreshortened version of the school uniform. They all
wore navy blue, garterless that stopped just
at the edge of the mini-length kilt, and simple black
pams. The trailing 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 were being used as servants! This was
beyond belief! Appalled, yet fascinated, Mrs. Baxter
followed one as she in turn puppy-dogged her
senior. She stayed with him faithfully, making way
for any other 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 came out, bent
down to give his a quick peck on the lips, and
headed off to his next class, the 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 and heated that smoke nearly
billowed from her ears, the slender turned
about and marched down to the main office to vent her
rage on the headmaster.
Now she glared 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 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 each decide on their preferred proteges.
It was rumored that a number of the wealthier but less
well endowed 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 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 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 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 Jimmmmmmy!” 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
climax 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, 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; 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 was sighing. “It
seemed to start when I transferred to this school.”
“Just tell me what exactly is troubling you, dear”
a busty 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 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 and you
do have a nice set of, er … you are well developed for
your age. It is rather natural for 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 asked.
“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. Maybe I
should take a look,” she said and gently pressed the
girl back onto the examination table.
“What are you doing, doctor?” the 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!”
“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 lips.
“How do you expect to let the 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
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 like you
needs.”
“No, No” the panting 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 “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
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?” asked.
“I was just examining you, honey and you got a
little excited. You had an orgasm, 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, 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 a contraceptive, 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 no
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 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
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 another 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 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. Let’s see if
you’re 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 a male to get her
pregnant.” 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 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 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 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
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
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 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.
End
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