Fork 10

I decided to kill time by masturbating in Algebra class. I was subtle but my shorts were unbuttoned and my hand was down the front, rubbing my clit under the desk. Some of the other students saw me but they kept quiet. The girls all looked disgusted and the guys all looked thrilled. It seemed like it took me forever to come, but I managed, rattling my desk while my legs spasmed from climax. Marshall mouthed words at me, asking if I just came. I nodded.

Adults are all assholes, I decided; they’d never give a teenager a straight answer about sex. But then I thought, there might be one ... I texted Dr. Sykora and said I wanted to talk to him face to face about the experiment. He texted me the address of the office he was working from that day.

The bus lines didn’t go too close to that office. I was about to text back, asking him to send a car for me, when I remembered the unattended purse from a couple loops ago. Sure enough, there it was on a desk in the school office. I walked up to the desk, and it looked safe, so I grabbed the ring of keys and walked out to the teachers’ parking lot.

The car that the keys belonged to was a smallish ordinary sedan - nothing special. I got in and started adjusting the seat and mirrors, and trying to figure out what everything does, certain that at any minute a bunch of adults would come bust me. They didn’t.

I knew the basics of driving of course, in principle, but there were so many stupid little things that I didn’t know, like that I had to put my foot on the brake just to start the engine. Eventually I figured out enough to get out of the parking lot.

Driving was so scary! There were SO MANY things to think about at once. All the other drivers were furious with me because I was going so slowly, and I kept stopping. I mean, I had to stop to figure out how to signal a turn, before I could turn. One guy who almost rear-ended me pulled up next to me, opened his window and yelled at me until I started to cry.

Somehow I made it to Dr. Sykora’s office. It didn’t look like a criminal mastermind’s lair - it looked like an office that you’d see on TV, with desks and computers and printers, and people carrying around folders full of papers. The receptionist let me in to see the doctor.

“What brings you here, Gretchen? And why are you sweating?”

“I stole a car and drove here. It was pretty scary,” I told him.

He gave me a curious, “Hmm.”

I went on, summoning the courage to be honest. “I tried sex. I mean, no consequences, right? Apparently I really suck. I need you to teach me to be good at it.”

He looked at me with his detached clinical face. “How did you envision that I would teach you?”

“Well, um...,” I said, fidgeting. I’m sure my face was bright red. I couldn’t believe that I could talk to an adult like this. “I figured you would fuck me a bunch, and tell me what I’m doing wrong.”

“Hmm,” he said again. “Did you tell Elyssa about this plan?”

I shook my head. “No. The more loops I do, the harder it is to talk to her.”

“Ah. Well, I’m not going to have sex with you, Gretchen,” he told me. “Among other reasons, I’m not willing to change the dynamics of our relationship like that.”

“But you won’t remember it!”

“But you will,” he explained. “I have every confidence you’ll find another teacher.” He turned his attention back to his computer screen. In an off-hand way, he added, “Ask the receptionist for directions to the break room if you’d like a drink or snacks.”

A lot of times there’s subtext behind the things Dr. Sykora says, so I wasn’t exactly sure whether he was just offering me a drink, or encouraging me to proposition his staff. When I got to the break room, I decided it was the second option. Most of the people in the office were grown-ups of various ages, but the three guys in the break room were young: probably only a couple years out of high school. And they were HOT! They were dressed in black T-shirts and black jeans, and they had closely-shaved haircuts like you’d see in the military. I couldn’t guess what they did for Dr. Sykora, but it probably wasn’t sitting in front of a computer all day. Of course, just then two of them were playing a console video game and the third was watching.

I screwed my courage. This was a temporary time loop thing - none of this was real. No consequences. “Hey guys?” I said. “I’m doing an experiment for Dr. Sykora, and he said I could ask you for help.” They paused the game and turned to look at me. “I need you to teach me what makes a girl good in bed.”

The one who was watching the game laughed. “Who sent you? This is a joke, right?”

“Well, I mean, Dr. Sykora did, sort of,” I tried to explain. “You see he put me in a time loop. Or alternate universe loop, or something. And, well, I mean, you guys have had sex, right? Some girls are better than others? I need you to teach me.”

They stood up and semi-surrounded me, but at a respectful distance. “Ginger Lolita’s Groundhog Day?” One of them chuckled.

“Look, kid, I’m guessing you’re not supposed to be here...,” the third one said.

“No, Dr. Sykora told me to come here!” I whined.

The first guy talked into his phone. “Hey, um, there’s a girl in the break room who’s making some ... weird requests. Says the doc sent her. Please advise.”

Everyone waited quietly until he reported his orders. “Huh, get this,” he said. “We are ‘authorized but not required to give Miss Bell any assistance she requests’.”

They looked at each other with disbelief. “Did the boss just give us permission to triple-team the jailbait on company time?” One asked.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. First, what’s your name?” The leader said.

At first it was just talking. They gave me the usual speech about love and being yourself and all that crap, but once I got them talking about the best sex they’d had, the break room turned into a classroom. One of the first things they taught me was about the different archetypes of female sex partners.

“Ever watch Japanese porn?” Hoffman asked. I shook my head. “Girls in Japanese porn always look like they’re being tortured. It’s like the guy that’s fucking them is so powerful, so awesome, that she can barely stand it. Sex with this guy is something that she must endure. She may love it, but it’s always a test of will and fortitude.”

“Yeah, but see, American girls do the ‘overwhelmed’ thing a little different,” Cruz added. “For American girls, it’s all about playing up the surprise. When you put it in, her eyes will go wide and her mouth open. And then while you’re doing it, she’ll constantly be talking about how amazing it feels, how deep you’re going, and she’s never felt anything like this. She can’t believe how good it is, and she won’t shut up about it.”

They were really trying not to ‘take advantage’ of me, but it was inevitable we’d need to get at least a little bit physical for them to teach me what I needed. Valentine locked the door when Hoffman lay on his back and I climbed on, still fully clothed. It was necessary to practice the various hip movements they thought I should know.

“Cowgirl, for the guy, is as much about seeing you as feeling you,” Cruz explained. “Bouncing tits and a smile are nice, but there’s so much more you can do. Move your hips in circles and do a belly dance on his cock. Play with your tits. Suck your fingers suggestively. Bounce and wave your arms like you’re dancing at a rave.”

Hoffman had a big hard-on in his pants while I practiced on top of him - I could feel it. At one point he groaned and told his friends, “I’ve got to tell you - this girl is looking pretty damned grown up to me.” He wanted to do me. The guys gave him looks that said, “No, she’s too young,” though.

Things got serious when they started telling me about anal, and how good it feels.

“Well, sure it feels good for the guy. For the girl it probably feels like taking a twenty minute long constipated dump!”

“It’s not like that,” Valentine argued. “Not if you work your way up to it. It stimulates a lot of the same nerves as vaginal sex. Girls come with anal.”

“Yeah right!” I argued.

I was sitting on the couch, and Valentine moved close to me in a way that felt different. “I’ll be you ten bucks that I can make you come with nothing but this finger in your ass,” he told me. He held up his index finger.

“Please!” I scoffed. But then I thought about it. A finger up my butt didn’t sound great, but it would be a step toward real sexual activity, and hopefully real learning. “Okay, yeah, you’re on,” I told him.

He put me on the couch face-down, and pulled my shorts and panties down to expose my ass. His hand squeezed between my thighs and started rubbing my pussy all over. “That’s not my ass,” I said through a giant smile.

“I need to get it wet,” he said dispassionately.

“That shouldn’t be too hard,” I observed. Just then he dipped his finger into my vag and I eeped.

He got my butthole nice and wet with my pussy fluids and then he worked his finger in and out. It didn’t feel the same as finger-banging my pussy, but strangely it was doing it for me. Soon I was panting and my butt was bucking along with Valentine’s finger magic. My shorts were bunched on my thighs, making my legs feel tied up. My hands were free, so I dug them under me to squeeze my tits. The other guys moved around to look at me in pre-orgasmic bliss from a variety of angles.

“Ohmygod!” I cried as I felt climax overtake me. “Oh, oh, oh, eeee!” I squealed. “Oh fuck,” was all I could say as I came down. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.”

Valentine left me to wash his hands at the nearby sink. The other two stood there staring at my bare ass with hard dicks in their pants.

“I’m convinced,” I finally said. “Which one of you wants to fuck my ass?”

Hoffman and Cruz both started to unbuckled their belts. “Guys, no,” Valentine told them. “She’s too tight - you’d tear her apart.” To me he said, “You’re going to want to stretch to prepare yourself. Start with a thick pen. Work your way up to cocks.”

“Or find a classmate with a little dick,” Cruz suggested.

I grabbed my phone and shot off a text to Marshall. He had been the loser of my dick-measuring contest a few loops ago. I told him that I hoped I’d see him at the party tonight.

I flopped onto the floor and wiggled out of my shorts, shoes, and panties - naked from the waist down. I smiled at Hoffman. “I could use some more cowgirl practice,” I suggested.