Chapter 7

Classroom Punishment 2

Sylvia stood in the center of the classroom, her voluptuous frame swathed in Tallibo’s faded, oversized t-shirt, the thin fabric clinging to her massive triple D breasts, their soft, natural curves pressing against it with every shallow breath. The hem draped just to her upper thighs, a frail veil that barely concealed the raw, welted expanse of her plump buttocks and the neat triangle of dark pubic hair crowning her plump vulva. For a fleeting moment, teaching these boys about Australian history had been a lifeline—a refreshing escape that let her sink into the familiar cadence of her voice, weaving tales of a distant land. She’d loved it, the way the words flowed effortlessly from her sultry lips, her large brown eyes flickering with a faint spark as she forgot, if only briefly, the nightmare that had consumed her last few days—worse than any terror her timid soul could have conjured.

The sixteen boys had listened attentively, their dark faces turned toward her, rapt and still, no giggles or humiliating jabs cutting through the air. They’d sat hunched over their rickety desks, encircling her in a rough ring, their tattered clothes rustling faintly as they leaned in. She’d told them of Australia’s natives—how they weren’t enslaved or tortured like the boys’ ancestors under colonial whips, but rather woven into a sanitized tale of coexistence, a hog washed harmony that glossed over the jagged edges of truth. Yet it mesmerized them, their dark eyes wide with curiosity, drinking in her words. Sylvia had even dared to hope—her angelic face softening as she spoke—that this story might convince them she was different, not like the white folks who’d shackled and broken their grandparents. Maybe, just maybe, they’d see her as something else, something kinder.

But then a breeze slipped through the grimy window, cool and insidious, snaking beneath the loose hem of Tallibo’s t-shirt. It brushed against her bare skin, lifting the fabric slightly, a fresh gust that reminded her with brutal clarity—she wore nothing else. The wind danced across her exposed privates, the coolness kissing her plump vulva, and she froze. It wasn’t just damp—it was wet, beyond damp, a slick, shameful flow that dripped steadily down her inner thighs, glistening in thin, betraying rivulets. Her alabaster skin flushed crimson, her dark brunette hair swaying faintly as the realization crashed over her, her huge breasts heaving beneath the shirt with a panicked breath.

She hated it—despised the involuntary arousal, the climax that her body conjured without mercy. She blamed her Hyper Libido Disorder, that relentless surge of hormones that turned even the faintest touch into a torrent of sensation. But here, there’d been no physical stimulation—no hands, no cane, no cruel probing. It was the humiliation itself, standing there half-naked before these boys, her voice trembling as she taught them, the shame of her exposed vulnerability seeping into her bones. The dread of the next ordeal—Marimba’s promised ten strokes to her “cow titties”—loomed like a storm cloud, and somehow, that anticipation, that pain and humiliation she feared so deeply, had twisted into a psychological trigger. Her vulva pulsed, juices flowing nonstop from her vagina, a relentless stream she couldn’t halt. Deep down, she knew it—she was a masochist, and the truth gnawed at her soul. She loathed herself for it, her large brown eyes shimmering with self-disgust as her hands clutched the shirt’s hem tighter, desperate to hide the evidence of her body’s betrayal.

“MS? What’s wrong?” Tallibo’s voice broke through, gentle but firm, his lanky frame tilting forward from his seat, his shallow face creased with concern.

Sylvia blinked, jolted from her daze. She’d stopped teaching, her words trailing into silence as her mind spiraled, lost in the mire of her shame. Her sultry lips parted, her breath hitching as she stammered, “Umm ... sorry ... sorry ... where was I?” Her voice quavered, soft and fragile, her hands trembling against her chest, pressing the fabric tighter over her massive breasts, their welted curves quivering beneath her grip.

“Ya was talkin’ ‘bout how well de natives o’ Australia was treated by new Australians, no enslavement...” Tallibo offered, his tone steady, his dark eyes meeting hers with a rare kindness.

“Oh yes...” Sylvia seized the thread, her voice quickening with a desperate eagerness to expand, to emphasize—even exaggerate—that point. She needed them to see her differently, to see her as a friend, a humanitarian aid worker once looked up to, a helping hand from a wealthy country. “When the British arrived, they didn’t chain the Indigenous people or force them into servitude,” she continued, her large brown eyes flickering with fragile hope. “They lived side by side, in a way ... sharing the land, building something together...” Her words stretched the truth, but she pressed on, her angelic face glowing with a quiet plea, hoping that even if Matumbo, Marimba, and Gambe had started this torment, the rest of the students might rally to her side now, their attentive silence a faint promise of redemption.

That’s when the bell rang, a shrill, jarring clang that sliced through the humid air, signaling the end of class. Sylvia’s heart lurched, pounding against her ribs with a frantic thud that echoed in her ears. Her breath caught, her voluptuous form stiffening beneath the oversized shirt, the cool breeze still teasing her wet thighs, the dread surging back as the fragile calm shattered. The boys stirred, their dark figures rising from the circle, and her large brown eyes darted nervously, her sultry lips trembling as the weight of what came next pressed down on her once more.

Sylvia’s fragile hope shattered like glass as Marimba’s voice slithered through the humid air, sharp and gleeful. “Finally, my turn, eh! Ya boys go to de restroom, take smokin’ break, whatever, while we prepare dis bitch for her next punishment. I already got approval from Principal Tuwme for ten strokes on dem white titties!” His slouched, teen frame vibrated with a wicked energy, his dark eyes glinting with cruel anticipation as he clapped his bony hands together, his tattered shirt clinging to his skinny chest.

A sob erupted from Sylvia’s throat, raw and unrestrained, her large brown eyes flooding with tears that spilled down her flushed cheeks in shimmering torrents. Her voluptuous form quaked beneath Tallibo’s oversized t-shirt, the faded fabric stretched taut across her massive triple D breasts, their soft, natural curves straining against it, the hem brushing her upper thighs—a flimsy shield now useless. She glanced around, desperate for rescue, but no one stood up for her—not even Tallibo, whose kindness had briefly softened her torment. The sixteen boys shuffled out, their dark figures slipping through the classroom door with a casual indifference, their footsteps echoing faintly on the gritty concrete, leaving her alone with the three bullies who loomed like shadows ready to devour her.

Marimba stepped closer, his slouched posture radiating menace, a smirk twisting his ugly features. “Take off Tallibo’s t-shirt, Mrs. Sylvia, ya ruinin’ it, stretchin’ it wid dem cow boobs, eh! Hehehe!” His high, grating laugh sliced through her, each chuckle a fresh wound as he pointed at the fabric warped obscenely over her chest, the faint outline of her welted breasts visible beneath.

Gambe’s thick frame lumbered forward, his dark face creasing with a leering grin. “Oh ya, Tallibo gonna jerk off tonight smellin’ de shirt, and jerkin’ off imaginin’ he’s de one whippin’ ya. He wishes!” His deep, rumbling voice joined Marimba’s cackle, a mocking harmony that swelled as Matumbo’s skinny form rocked with laughter, his bony hands slapping his thighs.

“Hahahah!” Their crude guffaws filled the room, a vicious chorus that drowned Sylvia’s soft, trembling murmurs of “Please ... please...” Her tears streamed faster, glistening rivers tracing the contours of her angelic face, her dark brunette hair clinging to her sweat-slicked cheeks in damp, tangled strands. Yet her hands moved, obedient despite her pleas, her submissive nature bending her will like a reed in a storm. Her fingers grasped the hem of Tallibo’s t-shirt, trembling as she peeled it upward, the fabric catching briefly on the swell of her massive breasts before sliding free. The shirt lifted, exposing the creamy, welted expanse of her chest, the red slashes vivid against her alabaster skin, her nipples stiff and vulnerable in the thick air. She tugged it over her head, her dark hair tumbling in a wild cascade as it fell, and let the shirt drop to the floor with a faint rustle, a discarded remnant of her fleeting dignity.

Sylvia stood naked once more, her voluptuous body quivering in the center of the classroom, her alabaster skin glowing under the harsh sunlight streaming through the grimy window. Instinctively, her arms snapped into place—one crossed tightly over her huge breasts, fingers sinking into the soft, welted flesh in a futile bid to shield their trembling swell, the other hand cupping her crotch, pressing against the neat triangle of dark pubic hair and the plump, hairless vulva beneath. Her wide hips shifted nervously, her plump buttocks—still raw and crisscrossed with welts from Gambe’s earlier punishment—quivering faintly behind her. Her large brown eyes shimmered with despair, her sultry lips parted in a soft, keening sob, her tears dripping from her chin to splash silently onto the concrete below, as the three boys’ laughter echoed around her, their dark gazes burning into her exposed, defenseless form.

The preparation unfolded with a cruel simplicity, orchestrated by Matumbo’s wiry hands as he seized Sylvia’s slender arms with a rough yank. He dragged them backward, her alabaster skin stretching taut over her delicate frame, and forced her elbows together with a deft twist. To his surprise, they met effortlessly, her shoulders yielding with an unnatural ease that drew a faint, wicked grin across his ugly face—he hadn’t yet learned of Sylvia’s years of yoga practice, her body honed by countless hours of stretching, her natural flexibility a hidden gift now turned against her. With a quick knot, he bound her elbows tight with coarse rope, the rough fibers biting into her tender flesh, leaving her back arched in a painful, exaggerated curve. Her massive triple D breasts thrust forward, their creamy mounds jutting out obscenely, smooth and unmarred against her pale skin, her nipples stiff and exposed, presented like ripe targets in the humid air. Sylvia’s voice broke, a trembling plea spilling from her sultry lips, “Please ... please ... it’s going to hurt so bad. Please ... I’ll do anything.” Tears welled in her large brown eyes, glistening like dewdrops on her long lashes before cascading down her flushed cheeks in shimmering streams, her dark brunette hair clinging to her tear-streaked face in damp, tangled waves.

Matumbo ignored her cries, his skinny frame striding to his tattered bag with a purposeful swagger. He rummaged briefly, his bony fingers emerging with a big black rubber dildo, its thick, veined surface gleaming faintly under the harsh sunlight, a grotesque mimicry of a swollen penis. He thrust it toward her face, the blunt tip brushing her trembling lips as he barked, “Suck on dis, eh. If dis come out and drop, it’s goin’ into ya asshole, understood?” His dark eyes glinted with a sadistic glee, his tattered shirt hanging loose on his wiry chest as he loomed over her.

Sylvia’s breath hitched, her voluptuous body quivering as the weight of his threat sank in. She had no choice—her submissive nature bowed her head in defeat, a faint nod jerking her chin as fresh tears poured from her eyes, tracing glistening paths over her angelic features. Her sultry lips parted reluctantly, accepting the rubber intrusion, the dildo’s thick girth stretching her mouth wide as she clamped down, her cheeks hollowing with the effort to hold it in place. Her sobs muffled around it, a pitiful, wet sound that vibrated through her throat, her alabaster skin flushing a deeper crimson with shame and dread.

As she stood there, bound and gagged, the classroom door creaked open, and the students began to trickle back in. Their dark figures shuffled through the threshold, their footsteps scuffing the gritty concrete floor, their tattered clothes rustling faintly in the thick, humid air. The harsh sunlight streamed through the grimy window, casting jagged shadows across the cracked walls, illuminating Sylvia’s naked, contorted form in the center of the room. Her elbows tied behind her forced her chest outward, her massive breasts heaving with each ragged breath, their welted, creamy expanse trembling under the unforgiving light, her nipples jutting vulnerably forward. The black dildo protruded from her mouth, a grotesque gag that distorted her angelic face, her large brown eyes wide with terror and humiliation, tears dripping from her chin to splash silently onto her quivering breasts. Her wide hips shifted faintly, her plump buttocks—still raw and crisscrossed with welts—glistening with sweat, her plump vulva framed by the neat pubic triangle exposed below her arched belly. The boys paused, their dark eyes widening, then glinting with a mix of shock and cruel amusement as they took in the scene, their murmurs rising like a low, buzzing swarm around her defenseless, shuddering figure.

Sylvia stood rooted in the classroom’s center, her naked body a trembling monument to humiliation, her alabaster skin glowing with a faint sheen of sweat under the harsh sunlight that pierced the grimy window. Her slender arms were wrenched behind her, bound tight with coarse rope that dug cruelly into her tender flesh, her elbows forced to kiss each other in a painful embrace. The unnatural arch of her back thrust her massive triple D breasts forward, their creamy, unblemished mounds swelling outward, heavy and pendulous, their smooth curves glistening as they caught the light, her nipples taut and jutting like pale pink sentinels in the thick, humid air. A thick black rubber dildo stretched her sultry lips wide, its glossy surface slick with her saliva, protruding grotesquely from her mouth as her muffled sobs vibrated around it, a wet, pitiful sound that mingled with the tears streaming from her large brown eyes. Those tears carved glistening rivers down her flushed cheeks, pooling at her chin before dripping onto the quivering expanse of her chest, her dark brunette hair plastered to her tear-streaked face in damp, tangled strands that framed her angelic beauty with a shroud of despair.

The boys filtered back to their rickety desks, their dark figures slouching into the circle around her, their tattered clothes whispering against their skin as they settled. Sylvia’s gaze darted sideways, her large eyes locking onto Tallibo’s lanky silhouette, his shallow face briefly illuminated by the sun’s glare. She pleaded silently, her irises shimmering with desperate hope, but he averted his gaze, his dark eyes dropping to the floor, shattering her fragile dream of salvation. At the same time, Gambe and Marimba moved with grim efficiency, their dark hands clutching two small, weathered buckets, their chipped metal surfaces glinting as murky water sloshed within. They looped short, frayed ropes around the handles, the fibers rasping against the metal, and knotted them tightly to Sylvia’s ankles. Her legs splayed reluctantly, forced apart to twice her shoulder’s width, her bare feet pressing into the gritty concrete as the buckets nestled close, their cold edges brushing her skin, the ropes tugging her stance wider until her plump vulva, framed by its neat triangle of dark pubic hair, peeked vulnerably beneath her arched belly, glistening faintly with sweat.

Marimba stepped closer, his slouched frame casting a shadow over her, his dark eyes glinting with a cold, mocking glee. “Mrs. Sylvia, once I hit ya, dem cow titties o’ yours gonna hurt bad, eh. Since ya arms tied, ya can’t rub ‘em, so shake ‘em good. It gonna feel better, yeah? I won’t hit ya while ya shakin’. But one t’ing—don’t move ya feet. If de water in dem buckets spill more dan half, we start over, okay?” His voice rolled thick with the island’s jagged accent, his words a taunting veneer over his intent.

A sob tore from Sylvia’s throat, a raw, choking sound stifled by the dildo, her voluptuous body shuddering violently as tears gushed faster, splashing onto her heaving breasts, the creamy mounds trembling with each ragged breath. Her wide hips quivered, her plump buttocks—still tender and swollen from earlier—jutting behind her, their sculpted curves catching the light in a glossy sheen of perspiration, every muscle taut with dread.

“I know, it’s gonna hurt,” Marimba pressed on, his tone laced with a hollow pity that didn’t reach his smirking lips. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Sylvia ... it hurt me just as much as it hurt ya, but ya earned it, ya know. If dere’s anyone we Aprico Islanders hate de most, it’s a snitch. Ya snitched on us ... I’m sorry for dat, I must do dis.” The mockery in his voice sparked giggles from the students, a sharp, jeering chorus that bounced off the cracked walls, their dark faces twisting with amusement as they watched her crumble.

Sylvia’s shame surged, a scorching flush that painted her alabaster skin a vivid crimson from her neck to her sultry lips, regret gnawing at her chest like a ravenous beast. She remembered the fleeting sting of Marimba’s earlier blows to her breasts—one or two sudden strikes that had sent her hands scrambling to soothe the fire, rubbing frantically. Now, ten blows loomed, a relentless barrage she’d have to endure with her arms bound, her body anchored by the buckets, forced to stand and face the next torment. Her large brown eyes shimmered with a glassy dread, her sobs relentless as they reverberated around the dildo, her voluptuous form a quivering spectacle of flesh and fear, every curve exposed and trembling under the weight of her impending punishment.

A sharp swish cut through the thick, humid air as Marimba swung the bamboo stick, its weathered length hissing with menace before striking with a resounding twack across Sylvia’s perfectly round, melon-sized breasts. The creamy, unblemished mounds jiggled violently under the blow, their heavy, natural curves trembling as the impact rippled through her tender flesh, her alabaster skin flaring with a vivid pink streak where the stick landed. Her nipples, pale and stiff, quivered atop the shuddering expanse, catching the harsh sunlight in a fleeting glint. A guttural, muffled scream tore from her throat—”Uummmmmmmmmm!”—smothered by the thick black rubber dildo wedged deep in her mouth, its glossy girth stretching her sultry lips into a taut, glistening ring, saliva dribbling faintly down her chin to mingle with the tears cascading from her large brown eyes. Those tears gushed in shimmering rivers over her flushed cheeks, her dark brunette hair plastered in damp, tangled clumps to her tear-streaked face, framing her angelic beauty with a chaotic veil of despair.

In a blind panic, Sylvia forgot Marimba’s command, her slender leg jolting upward as if to flee the agony, her bare foot kicking the air in a frenzied, futile dance. The small bucket lashed to her ankle clanged with a harsh, metallic clamor, its chipped rim scraping the gritty concrete, the murky water sloshing wildly within, splashing in dark droplets that stained the floor. Her massive triple D breasts bounced with unrestrained abandon, their creamy heft swaying and jiggling in a frantic, almost hypnotic rhythm, the smooth, sweat-slicked flesh rippling with each convulsive shake, their weight pulling her arched back even tauter as her bound elbows strained against the coarse rope. Her wide hips twitched, her plump buttocks—sculpted and glistening with perspiration—quivering behind her, their tender curves shuddering in the unforgiving light, her plump vulva peeking beneath the neat triangle of dark pubic hair, glistening with a faint, shameful sheen.

The pain seared through her like a branding iron, a white-hot throb that pulsed deep in her tender breasts, radiating outward in relentless, fiery waves that stole her breath. She kept shaking them, her voluptuous body wracked with tremors as she fought to dull the torment, her chest heaving with ragged, sobbing gasps, the creamy mounds swaying lewdly before the boys’ eyes. Laughter exploded from the circle of students, their dark faces twisting with savage mirth, rough guffaws and shrill cackles bouncing off the cracked walls—”Dem titties floppin’ like mad, eh!”—though some flinched, their jaws tightening with unease. Public punishment was woven into Aprico Island’s fabric, a brutal norm they’d all seen, but it was typically weathered men or stout, unattractive women bared and beaten. Never a creature like Sylvia: a white woman, their teacher, her luminous beauty stark and surreal, her naked form bound and writhing in a spectacle of vulnerability they’d never imagined. Her alabaster skin shimmered with sweat, every curve of her massive breasts trembling with each frantic shake, the buckets clattering in a discordant symphony as her legs lifted and fell, her fragile grace fracturing under their relentless stares.

A few boys squirmed in their rickety seats, their dark hands darting beneath the frayed hems of their tattered shorts, fingers curling as their breaths grew shallow, their eyes locked on the white woman’s desperate, shuddering dance, her voluptuous form a vision of raw, unwilling allure under the classroom’s merciless glow.

Marimba’s voice cut through the humid air, sharp and taunting. “Ya spilled de water, eh, dat one don’t count. We start from one again.” His slouched frame loomed over Sylvia, his dark eyes glinting with cruel satisfaction as he gestured to the overturned bucket, its murky contents pooling in a dark, spreading stain across the gritty concrete.

Sylvia’s heart sank, a wave of dismay crashing over her as she inwardly cursed herself, her large brown eyes shimmering with fresh tears. She hated herself for forgetting, for letting her leg jerk upward in that blind moment of agony— all that pain, all that effort, reduced to nothing. Her voluptuous body trembled, her alabaster skin flushed crimson with shame and frustration, her dark brunette hair clinging in damp, tangled strands to her tear-streaked cheeks.

Marimba turned to Chaina, his tone barking with command. “Chaina, go bring us ‘nother bucket wid water, eh!” The small, nerdy boy with glasses scrambled from his desk, his skinny frame darting out the door, returning moments later with a weathered bucket sloshing with fresh water, its chipped metal glinting faintly under the harsh sunlight. Marimba and Gambe set to work, repositioning Sylvia with ruthless precision. They forced her legs wider than shoulder-width apart, her bare feet scraping the rough floor as they tugged her stance open, her plump vulva peeking vulnerably beneath the neat triangle of dark pubic hair. They tied the new buckets to her ankles with coarse rope, the fibers rasping against her tender skin, placing them snugly beside her feet, the water rippling faintly within. Marimba didn’t need to repeat his warning—Sylvia’s dread-soaked mind clung to the rule, determined not to start over again, her body rigid with the resolve to keep her feet planted.

Her large brown eyes widened with dread as Marimba prepared, his slouched form gripping the bamboo stick with a casual menace, its scarred length catching the light in a sinister gleam. The first blow had landed atop her nipples, but this time he shifted his angle, swinging from below with a vicious upward arc. Swiiiish—the stick sliced through the air, a high-pitched wail of motion, before crashing with a resounding Twaaaaaak beneath her massive triple D breasts, striking the tender undercurve where they hung heavy and full. The creamy mounds jolted upward from the impact, their smooth, sweat-slicked flesh rippling violently, a vivid pink welt blooming across the pale expanse just below her stiff, pale nipples.

“Ahheeeeeeeeeee!” Sylvia’s scream erupted, a shrill, piercing cry muffled by the dildo, but in her shock, the thick black rubber slipped from her stretched lips, tumbling to the floor with a dull thud, saliva trailing in a thin, glistening thread from her chin. Her legs quivered but stayed rooted, the buckets clanking faintly as she fought to obey, her bare feet pressing hard into the concrete. Without moving them, she shook her breasts frantically, her voluptuous body writhing in a desperate bid to dull the searing pain. The massive, creamy orbs swung up and down at first, their weight pulling her arched back taut, then began a wild, pendulum-like dance—swirling round and round, one circling clockwise, the other counterclockwise, their smooth curves tracing obscene, hypnotic arcs in the air, glistening with sweat under the unforgiving light.

The boys roared with laughter, their dark faces splitting with unrestrained mirth, rough guffaws and high-pitched cackles bouncing off the cracked walls—”Look at dem titties spin, eh! Like a damn clock!”—the sight so comical, so absurd, they clutched their sides, their dark eyes glinting with wicked delight. Sylvia’s shame burned hotter, her alabaster skin flaring a deeper crimson as she registered the ridiculous spectacle she’d become, her huge breasts twirling like some lewd carnival trick.

After about a minute, she forced herself to stop, her chest heaving with ragged sobs, the afterpain still throbbing like a relentless pulse through her tender flesh. She wanted to shake more, to chase away the agony, but the awareness of how obscene, how utterly humiliating her display had been, froze her movements. Her large brown eyes shimmered with despair, tears dripping onto her quivering breasts, her sultry lips trembling as she stood there, legs splayed, buckets still, her voluptuous form a shuddering testament to her ordeal.

Matumbo rose from his chair, his skinny frame unfolding with a deliberate slowness, his dark eyes flickering with a cold intent. He bent down, his bony fingers snatching the fallen dildo from the floor, its slick, black surface gleaming faintly as he held it aloft, his wiry form casting a shadow over Sylvia’s trembling figure.

Matumbo’s wiry frame loomed over Sylvia, his skinny fingers clutching the thick black rubber dildo, its glossy surface slick with her saliva and glinting ominously in the harsh sunlight that spilled through the grimy classroom window. “Ya dropped my dildo, Mrs. Sylvia,” he growled, his voice thick with the jagged lilt of the island’s accent, his dark eyes narrowing with a cruel glint. “As I said, it now must go into ya asshole.” He bent down with a slow, deliberate grace, scooping the fallen toy from the gritty concrete floor, the faint thud of its earlier drop still echoing in Sylvia’s ears. Straightening, he held it aloft, the veined rubber shaft swaying faintly as he repeated, “Dis time, it go to ya asshole.”

Sylvia’s large brown eyes snapped wide in a sudden, electric jolt of panic, their rich, shimmering depths mirroring the raw terror that gripped her chest like a vise. A buried secret—a mortifying memory she’d entombed in the darkest recesses of her mind—burst forth with vivid, unwelcome clarity: a fleeting, clumsy moment back in Australia when she’d dared to ease a Bratwurst, that firm, taut German sausage—a bit smaller than her husband Robert’s penis, which had been modest at best, smaller than average—into her anus. The sensation had surged through her, a forbidden wave of pleasure that flooded her soul, illuminating a truth she’d long sensed but never faced—why, every time she’d made love with Robert, every time arousal stirred her, her anus tingled with an exquisite, insistent ache. The realization had drowned her in shame, a private disgrace she’d sworn to bury forever, unknown to Robert, her closest friends, or anyone. But this dildo? It mocked that delicate Bratwurst in every brutal detail. The black rubber beast was monstrously thick, its girth a grotesque parody of excess, its length an obscene stretch that defied comprehension. Her alabaster skin blazed a fierce crimson, the flush creeping from her neck to her trembling sultry lips, her voluptuous body quivering violently under the crushing weight of her dread as she stared at it, helpless and exposed.

“But I know ya ass,” Matumbo pressed on, his voice dropping to a low, taunting rumble, “how tight it was when I put my finger in ya asshole yesterday.” His bony hand waved the dildo lazily, a smirk tugging at his ugly features, his tattered shirt clinging to his wiry chest as he savored her reaction.

A boy’s voice piped up from the circle of desks, sharp with disbelief. “Real-ly? She let ya put ya finger in her asshole?” Darko’s skinny frame leaned forward, his very dark skin gleaming faintly as his wide eyes darted between Matumbo and Sylvia, incredulous.

Another voice chimed in, Chaina’s nerdy tone cracking with awe. “Wow, she finger-fucked her asshole wid ya finger?” His small frame hunched over his desk, glasses glinting as he gaped, his mixed-race features alight with a twisted fascination.

Marimba slouched forward, his teen form radiating a smug energy as he added, “Ya, it was my turn next, but she squirted and peed all over Matumbo’s face, climbin’ and stuff. She climax so weird, eh!” His high, grating laugh sliced through the air, his dark eyes glinting with mockery as he relished the memory, the students’ giggles swelling around him like a cruel tide.