Saturday, November 17, 2007

A Week in the Life of Lust

SUNDAY: Play-party brunch in friend's apartment. Caramel French toast, mimosas, and a bowl of condoms. During the "Welcome Circle", I introduced myself as Ms. Sellars. "I'm here to teach some lessons, hand out permission slips (Kinky Sex Coupons), and discipline unruly students." Some of the guests who had seen me as the naughty schoolgirl two nights prior snickered and winked at my rapid graduation to sexy schoolteacher. When it was the Princess Slut's turn to speak, she expressed her desire to be held in detention.

She wore a leash around her neck. I held her taut on all fours as she allowed me to demonstrate the usage of the medieval Russian fur flogger she brought into class for her oral presentation. There was a minor interruption when I had to address another student who was wearing bright orange panties with a black bra (against school uniform regulations). Miss Slut graciously resumed her performance and proved to be a good student after all. I gave her an A.

A hot British girl with blue hair licked my pussy for an hour. I didn't come. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that I already had three orgasms courtesy of Mr. Hitachi. My pussy was extremely sore after Friday night's teenage regression and a full day of lovemaking on Saturday.

I was going to share a cab with Princess and royal company to attend the open house party at Club Tantra but as they were headed toward the door, Ms. Blue was still licking my pussy. What a dilemma.

And what a party! Far more exciting than the New York Marathon, which was in full swing just a few blocks away. There's nothing like hearing cheers when you're in the middle of an orgy. What do those runners have to show for it anyway? We've trained for years to do what we do. It's about time we got some recognition!

I told Princess and her subjects that I would meet them there. After Ms. Blue lifted her head for the last time, I convinced her to come with me to Club Tantra. In the cab, she showed me photos of herself on her cell phone. There she was--red stripes and welts all over her naked body in a sexy pose. She likes it rough.

To be continued...

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Laundry and Blow-Jobs

Last night I gave my lover a homecoming blow-job in the laundry room.

I returned from the grand opening of Club Tantra to find him shirtless on my living room floor, doing leg-lifts to Peggy Lee. The sultry music begged for a strip-tease, which I fell into like a jazz singer who finds a scat outside the influence of preparatory thought. I danced around and seductively slipped off my jeans to reveal my retro pin-up lingerie. Then I straddled him while still standing, kissed and teased and shimmied over him till he was squealing with excitement, got up, grabbed my little coin purse of quarters, went to the door and said, "I'll be right back. I need to do my laundry."

I didn't put my jeans back on.

He laughed then watched me with a stunned look on his face as I stepped into the hallway and closed the door. As I was about to step into the elevator, my apartment door opened, revealing him looking rather incredulous.

When he realized I was seriously going to the basement in my lingerie, he followed me wearing sweatpants and an enormous erection.

Sex in the laundry room is hot! The lighting may be terrible, but it's private and warm and erotically confining. If you ever try this in an apartment building, I recommend that you play during the dryer cycle. There's no need to muffle your moans because the sound of the machine will drown out most other noise. (I'm not sure about orgasmic screams). And if you sit on a machine while it is running, I imagine you'll feel some nice vibrations. Unfortunately, the machines in my building are front-loading, so we had to settle for the little table in the corner.

The exhibitionist in me was disappointed that nobody else was doing laundry that night. How amusing it would have been if a neighbor had caught us in the middle of the spin cycle! Or in the elevator, with my lingerie and cum mustache and his "I just got great head" look! Oh well, the memory is just as good the way it is.

And with that memory, laundry will never be a chore again.

Tuesday, November 6, 2007

Naughty Schoolgirl Reformed

Miss Stephanie Sellars,

Let this letter confirm that you have completed your detention and remedial work on Friday, November 2nd. You should be very thankful and indebted to our amazing teaching staff, Mr. Krass, within the Perverted Parochial School System. Were it not for their dedication and guidance, your situation would be far more grave. Perhaps even calling for private sessions with the Chancellor himself.

At this time, I deem it unnecessary to inform your parents of your unbecoming behaviour.

However, you are on notice that any future infractions may result in your parents being informed of your tartiness or Mr. Krass referring you to the Chancellor's office.


Chancellor Morpheus

DISCLAIMER: If you think I'm really in tenth grade, you shouldn't be reading this. Furthermore, if you believe this account is meant to promote sexual behavior between teenage students and their teachers, I'm going to call your parents. Finally, although this is a fantasy role-play, it is not fiction. My "teachers" will vouch for the truth of the following events...

It began when I ran into Mr. Crane one crisp autumn afternoon. I was on my way to field hockey practice. I've always admired him, ever since we met at summer camp where he was teaching tennis. Although he's a lot older than me, I felt connected to him from the moment we met. He has a very direct way of communicating--a quality that eludes the boys of my age. Besides, Mr. Crane is pretty hot. I caught him looking at me while I was bending down to pick up a hockey ball. He had a serious, penetrating look in his eyes. I said, "Hello, Mr. Crane, where are you going?" He said he was rushing to a meeting with the Board of Education. I suddenly remembered that he was running for City Council...

Mr. Krass jerked me around to face Mr. Crane, whose accusation got me into detention. I had been in detention before, for being late and falling asleep in class, but never for seduction. This was serious. Mr. Crane said I showed him my breasts and invited him to touch them. Then he accused me of turning around, bending over and lifting up my skirt to show him my panties. He brought these purported (SAT word, thank you) actions to the attention of Mr. Krass, my primary teacher. The latter interrogated me in front of Mr. Crane, and when my answers failed to satisfy him, he forced me to demonstrate what I had done with Mr. Crane. Guilty or innocent--it didn't matter. I said I would do anything as long as they didn't tell my parents. Anything but that.

Just when I was bending over to show Mr. Crane my panties, Vice Chancellor Mary walked in. Oh God, not her. Everyone knows she's a kinky lesbian underneath that puritanical spinster exterior. She oversaw my humiliating demonstrations with Mr. Crane--feeling prurient (I'm headed to Princeton) delight, I'm sure, while assisting Mr. Krass in reminding me (as if I already didn't know) how "deviant" I am. Mr. Crane made a big deal about the fact that I was wearing different panties since the last time he had a glimpse of my a--, I mean derriere. As every detail provoked a question, I had to explain that I changed my panties since third period because they were wet.

"Why were they wet?" Mr. Krass asked.

I don't even remember what I said in response because at that point they made me sit down on a chair after handcuffing my hands behind my back.

The interrogation continued.

"Why did you seduce Mr. Crane, an upstanding citizen?" Vice Chancellor Mary demanded.

I couldn't hold back any longer. "Because he's running for City Council against my father and I don't want him to win!"

I think they misunderstood. My father has been on City Council for years, voting for the taxes that keep Perverted Parochial in a state of moral hypocrisy. I had a feeling Mr. Crane would be on the other side. Truthfully, I wanted my father to lose, and that's what I meant, but the pressure of the situation affected my expression so it sounded like I said the opposite. The confusion agitated Mr. Crane into believing I was setting him up for scandal. I wish I could take it back. Oh, Mr. Crane, don't you see? I want you to win. My wet panties had good intentions.

Before I could explain myself, VC Mary lowered her blouse to prove something. As she glided her breasts across my lips, she spoke about me as if I wasn't there..."I think she's enjoying it too much. I don't know, Mr. Krass, she's a good student, but we can't have this kind of indecency in our school."

"We might have to call her parents," Mr. Krass said.

"No!" I screamed and started to squirm. "Please don't tell my parents! If you tell them, they won't pay for my tuition to Princeton!"

"Shut up and sit down," said Mr. Krass. (Is this the same man that makes me melt in class?)

"She's speaking too much. We have to do something about that flapping mouth of hers," VC Mary said.

So she gagged me with a red scarf.

Now I'm on all fours, facing the wrath of their palms on my derriere. Mr. Crane made quite a brew-ha-ha about my panties--string bikini plaid with rows of lace on the back. "Those bloomers are not part of the school uniform," he said. "Look at that. They barely cover her bottom." You're weren't complaining earlier Mr. Crane!

My butt is flaming. I haven't had a spanking like that since I was like four. No wait, what am I saying! I've never been spanked in my life! It's not such a bad punishment. Even though it hurts, it kind of feels good. Especially when administered by the devastatingly handsome Mr. Krass.

Mr. Krass, besides being a TILF (teacher I'd like to flagellate), is a staunch disciplinarian of utmost meticulousness. Somehow he knew that I had been reading a book about ancient Greek culture and it was recorded in my file along with my "modern France obsession" among other acts of "depravity." He mentioned while torturing me in front of VC Mary and Mr. Crane, that I was caught perusing this censored material (including images of homosexual acts) in the girls' room. Naturally this was an opportunity for him to reinforce the mission statement of Perverted Parochial: "Sex should be only between a man and a woman...a penis and vagina...all other forms of sex are depraved and misguided...blah, blah, blah." As if you wouldn't jump on a guy if the mood was just right, Mr. Krass.

Instead the mood called for some serious demonstrations. They accused me of playing with myself in the girls room. I confessed that I had. I suffered a beating for that--but it would've been worse if I had denied it. They would've called my parents...anything but that! My college education and future financial support were at stake. Not to mention my position on the school paper!

It gets worse. It was clear, according to my file, that I had not only played with myself in the girls' room, but I had played with other girls.

"How do you play with girls?" Mr. Krass asked. "Mary, will you help Stephanie demonstrate exactly what she was doing with the girls?" (At this point I was laying on my back, still handcuffed and gagged.)

But wait...before that, Mr. Krass asked me if I had been with boys. I admitted that I had fooled around with boys, in accordance with school regulations. Then he asked me how many (at least five) and what I did with them! He wasn't satisfied with my answer--making out, second base.

"Second base! What does that mean these days?" Ms. Mary intercepted.

"Tell us exactly what you did with those boys," Mr. Krass said.

He removed the gag so I could speak. "It was behind the the football field...I was hanging out with this guy who's in the marching band...he played the trombone. I like your trombone, I said. I have another one, he said, do you want to see it? So then he took me behind the bleachers and we talked and..."


"He kissed me. That's it."

Mr. Crane stepped forward. "They did more than that," he said. "I was there. I was a witness."

"You were spying?" I blurted.

"Shut up!" Mr. Krass said. Another wallop for my bruised bottom. "Mr. Crane, will you assist Stephanie in showing us what she did behind the bleachers?"

I had already been fondling Ms. Mary's pussy with one hand and now the other was forced to touch Mr. Crane's cock. (This school is really into hands-on learning.) The transformation of his cock from flaccid to hard distracted me from the business of my other hand.

"Don't stop!" Ms. Mary belted. "She's enjoying this too much," she said, turning to Mr. Krass. "I don't know...overall, she's a good student, but this behavior is unacceptable. We might have to consider suspension."

"Yes, I think we're going to have to call her parents," Mr. Krass threatened once again.

Just then, Chancellor Morpheus walked in. I nearly peed my naughty little panties! "What's going on here?" He barked.

After Mr. Krass explained the situation, Chancellor Morpheus reminded me of my inferiority with several excruciating squeezes of my nipples. The issue of girls came up again.

Just then Suzanne slinked into the scene. (She's not the brightest student, but definitely one of the sexiest. And her timing couldn't be more impeccable).

Mr. Krass didn't miss a beat. "Did you play with her pussy in the girls room?" he asked me.

As I hesitated, he turned to Suzanne and asked, "What grade are you in?"

"Twelfth grade," she said.

"And you're in tenth grade," he said to me.

"Yes, but she's twenty-two!" I blurted.

So she had to repeat a few grades...she's hot and French and smart enough to act cool in front of her teachers. So cool that when Mr. Krass asked her, "Did she play with your pussy?" She licked her lips and replied with a slow, sophisticated yes.

Bitch! On my stomach again, Chancellor Morpheus exercised his supreme authority upon my welted ass.

"You need to be more prurient!" He blasted.


"You know what that means don't you? You're literary."

"Prurient means lascivious...lewd. You want me to be more prurient? That doesn't make sense."

"It's called humor," he said. "We value humor at this fine institution. Isn't that right, Mr. Krass?"

"Yes Chancellor, but let's be serious. Stephanie has been playing with girls...Suzanne here confirms this behavior, and with the boys and that business with Mr. Crane...I think we have no choice but to call her parents and--"

"No! Please not that! I'll do anything! Just don't call my parents!"

"Quiet!" Chancellor Morpheus spanked me so hard I screamed. "You'll do anything?"

"Yes..." I whimpered.

"Yes what?" (spank)

"Yes Chancellor."

"Yes Chancellor?" (spank)

"Yes Chancellor Sir!"

"You know, Chancellor," said Mr. Krass, "What I think Stephanie needs is to learn first-hand what we stand for here, that sex is between a man and a woman only."

"I agree Mr. Krass. I'll leave you to teach her that lesson. I'm going to check on the other classrooms, but if you need assistance don't hesitate to ask."


I said I would do anything. Anything to get out of detention and into Princeton. So I took Mr. Krass into my mouth. I was doing alright, until Suzanne slinked around and pulled her pants down right in front of me, her bushy French pussy just inches away from my face. As if that wasn't torture enough...

Mary: "She's distracted. She'd rather be licking Suzanne's pussy."

Krass: "She's not concentrating. This is mediocre cock-sucking at best."

Mary: "She's faltering. She's not even paying attention to your balls."

Krass: "Well, I'm not surprised. She did very poorly on her PSAT's...

Mary: "If she passes this test, we won't have to call her parents."

Then Mr. Krass said to me, "At the rate you're going, you're never getting into Princeton. You'll be lucky if you make it into Devry."

But Mr. Krass, you know I don't test well! I'm creative! I'm going to be a writer! Wouldn't your pussy-licking skills be a little compromised if you had to perform under these circumstances! Maybe if your job were at stake and you had to demonstrate 5-star pussy-licking in front of Chancellor Morpheus to keep it, you'd have a bit more compassion!

At that moment, my biology teacher, Ms. Veginna, came in. Mr. Krass gave her a run-down of the situation. Before I even lifted my head, they were drooling at second base. Teachers have affairs all the time. Big deal. But to actually see it happening! Especially with Mr. Krass! Oh, he has no idea!

I thought it couldn't get any worse. Then Ms. Veginna pointed out all my faults to Mr. Krass. "She's not paying any attention to your balls. She's doing the minimum, no creativity whatsoever."

Mr. Krass then suggested she take over for a while to demonstrate the proper techniques. It would count as a lab credit.

I stepped aside and watched in awe as Ms. Veginna rubbed Mr. Krass's cock in between her massive breasts. I felt very inferior knowing that my A-cup teenage titties could never accomplish that experiment. Then she moved down and started demonstrating Fellatio 101. Mr. Krass encouraged me to get close to her so I could see exactly what she was doing...using her tongue to tease the tip then engulfing it with her mouth while moving up and down--sometimes fast, other times slow. She demonstrated a variety of skills that I absorbed like a sperm-filled sponge.

Ms. Veginna turned the experiment over to me again. I was much more confident now that I had some guidance. Mr. Krass noted my improvement as I relaxed into the sensations of his cock in my mouth and hands.

"I'm enjoying this now, Mr. Krass. I like you. I've always had a crush on you...when I look at you in class, I get so distracted and wet. You think I'm only into's just that I don't like boys my age. I prefer older you."

Mr. Krass was much kinder to me after that. Honesty often has a way of winning people over, even if the truth is shocking. I also learned that sometimes it takes a painful lesson to really learn something.

Chancellor Morpheus returned and showed his approval. He even gave me permission to write about my experience in the school paper. Ms. Mary praised my performance and Ms. Veginna gave me an A in Biology. Even Mr. Crane expressed admiration for my backhand while he was teaching another misguided student a lesson.

As I continued that afternoon's work with Mr. Krass, Suzanne floated in and watched with a detached air.

"Do you ever plan on graduating?" Mr. Krass asked.

With a snobby nasal exhale and smug smile, she replied, "This school? Why?"

Suzanne may stay at Perverted until she's forty, but I have higher aspirations. Now that I know what pureient means, I'm going to Princeton.