Grade Inflation: Eighth Grade Fellation

by Stepdaddy

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft, Consensual, Spanking, Light Bond, First, Oral Sex, Teacher/Student, School, .

Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Two very different eighth-grade cuties -- a cheerleader and an honor roll student -- independently set out on the same day on similar missions: to suck teacher cock in exchange for grade improvements. We follow their intertwining stories -- so similar in conception, yet so variant in execution.

Misty Andersen and Tamara Brewer had shared homeroom together every semester since they had arrived at Monroe Middle School as sixth graders, two-and-a-half years past. Despite this fact, they barely knew each other, and throughout their tenure together, they had had little in common beyond the fact that both of their last names started with letters at the beginning of the alphabet - the sole basis of their common homeroom assignment. Through all of sixth, all of seventh, and now most of eighth grade, the girls' had spent each and every school day in completely separate worlds.

This day seemed, on the surface, to be no exception. Misty Anderson wore her cheerleading uniform; there was to be no game that day, but a mandatory "School Spirit Pep Rally" assembly was scheduled for the fifth period. Few of the boys in the classroom were able to keep their eyes from straying repeatedly to the popular little cutie, with her blonde ponytail, her apple cheeks, her sparkling blue eyes ... not to mention her healthy, prematurely large breasts, full B-cups at least -- almost Cs --, which pressed deliciously through the fourteen-year-old's tight cheer-sweater. Her long legs, bared from sock-top to pleated skirt-hem, were smooth and luscious. As Misty sat in the second desk of the first file, she was well aware that she was, as always, the center of attention and devotion. With a smug satisfaction, she also realized that come the pep rally assembly, the entire boy population of the school -- not to mention most of the adult male teachers - would be devouring her beauty as she cheered and pranced with the squad before them.

Tamara Brewer, on the other hand, was not the sort of girl who craved - or received - much attention from others. Not that she wasn't attractive, mind you; with her huge, dark eyes, her bob-cropped brown hair, and her svelte, reed-like -- but unmistakably maturing -- body, she was in her own way a delightful specimen of adolescent beauty. But unlike Misty, Tamara was a quiet, unassuming, and intellectual girl. Not surprisingly, considering her temperament, she had selected a seat at the very back of her file. Even now, as she whiled away the mandatory half-hour study period pretending to read her book, "Memoirs of a Geisha," the young girl drew barely a glance, except, perhaps, from the somewhat nerdy Timmy Abner, likewise sitting in the back seat, a few files to her right. Tamara persistently wore baggy, grungy clothes - not dirty, mind you, but styled to that carefully crafted teenage angst and "don't give a damn" look so important for the "emo" set to present.

Two girls, worlds apart ... but today, they had something very striking - and entirely coincidental - in common.

Both Misty Anderson and Tamara Brewer had a problem with their grades. Not, of course, the same problem - Tamara was practically a straight-A student, while Misty was barely getting by. But their problems, if not identical, were highly analogous.

It was late in the second semester of eighth grade. Next fall, both girls would be matriculating at the local high school, and both had distinct aspirations.

Misty, of course, fully intended to make the freshman cheerleading squad. And frankly, she was a shoe-in. Not only was she adorable, sexy, and an accomplished gymnast, but her older sister would be a senior cheerleader next year, and had promised to make sure she made the roster. However, there was one problem. She was currently on track to get a "D" in science class. While this was certainly no impediment to her moving on to high school, to be eligible to participate in extracurricular activities, a student could not have had any "D's" or "F's" the previous semester, even back at silly old middle school.

So today was the day that Misty planned to get Mr. Davis, the science teacher, to convert that "D" into a "C," or better. She was quite confident in her chances of succeeding.

Tamara, on the other hand, had very good grades in everything - except gym. With her lithe and flexible body, she might have done well in the required activities, but to do that, she would have had to participate. Tamara had an unacceptably large number of "No Dress" days next to her name on the attendance roster. Somehow, she had too often "forgotten" to bring her gym clothes on the days she had P.E. Those students who failed to dress for gym spent the hour in the library reading, and this "consequence" was actually a big incentive to a girl like Tamara. So now she was facing a "C" in the class, which was, of course, fine for getting into high school, but unacceptable if she wanted to qualify for the "Honors Track" program. Tamara found school unchallenging and boring enough as it was -- she dreaded the possibility of getting stuck in the even more tedious "Standard Track."

So today was the day that Tamara planned to convince Coach Fellows to erase a few of those "No Dress" marks from his grade book, and give her a "B". She, in contrast to her classmate, wasn't at all confident of success.

The day passed quickly for Misty - she always got a thrill from performing in front of a crowd, especially for the whole school during a pep rally, inciting lust and adoration. This was no conceit -- it was true that every male, from the least-mature sixth-grader to the sixty-year-old principal, had been leering at her athletic young body throughout the performance. After a couple more classes, still abuzz from the rally, school let out. Misty made her way across the school to the science department.

Tamara, however, felt the day was endless, with the frightening prospect of her outrageous plan looming before her. She mulled silently throughout the pep-rally, not even able to muster her usual cynicism. Two classes -- an eternity each -- later, and she made her way through the emptying day-end hallways towards the P.E. office.

The girls, heading in opposite directions, passed each other. They did not acknowledge one another, because they weren't friends -- nor enemies. Either would have been shocked to know that the other was on mission nearly identical to her own. Their respective destinations were camouflaged, in any case, by the flow of numerous other junior-high students grabbing their jackets, slamming their lockers, and heading for the exits.

Misty strode into Mr. Davis' science lab like she owned the place. In a sense she did - if the ability to distract boys from their assigned experiments conveyed property rights. However, if completing one's own work was the measure, then Misty's proprietary flair was surely misplaced.

She wasn't worried about succeeding in her mission. Mr. Davis was a nerdy old guy, thirty-five at least, and Misty figured he'd never even kissed a cheerleader in his life. Misty, on the other hand, had plenty of experience. She had had lots of boyfriends already - initially, the most popular boys in middle school, and more recently high school boys. She'd started her sexual explorations by giving handjobs to eighth graders, and had since worked her way up to sucking sophomore cock. She'd snuck out to attend high school parties with her seventeen-year-old sister, and had once found herself in a rec-room with six boys, all of whom she ended up orally servicing; she'd later learned that one of those boys was actually in college! She loved the sense of power it gave her, to have so many boys acting like total fools, just 'cause she was so hot, all under her control.

She'd never had sex, though - that is, she'd never been fucked. She was saving that, not of course for marriage, but for some special occasion. Like for her first steady "real" high school boyfriend, next year, who she just knew would be someone popular, most likely a senior, with a cool car. She figured letting him be the first would help her lock him down.

Today, she knew she wouldn't need to fuck anybody in order to get her way.

"Why Misty, what brings you to the science lab after school? I don't suppose you want to re-do your color wheel experiment, do you? You could sure use the extra points." While he said this, Misty watched his eyes scan her tight sweater, hungrily taking in the vision of her prominent breasts. This was a reaction Misty took for granted when approaching any boy or man.

"Mr. Davis, I did come to talk to you about my grade. Basically, I need it to be higher."

"Well, like I said, you might be able to re-do an experiment or two. Frankly, there are only a few weeks left in the semester, and you have a "D" right now. It would be difficult to get that grade up ... are you sure you want to do all that work? After all, I haven't seen much diligence from you up to this point."

To his credit, Mr. Davis tried to say all this while looking Misty in the face, but the experienced tease resolved that problem by hopping up on a lab table and crossing one smooth, delectable, and bare thigh over the other. Her pleated skirt slid further up to expose more flesh as she did this, and the effect was predictable: the poor teacher could not maintain his discipline, but glanced down to drink in the inviting sight.

As usual, Misty was completely in control of the situation, and she knew it.

"Sorry, Mr. Davis, but I don't want to do any more of those yucky experiments."

.... There is more of this story ...

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