"Millicent, I have asked you three times to stop interrupting the video with your rude comments. You may wait out in the hall where you will not disturb the rest of the class, and I will speak with you after class about detention."

Liss had been in more than her share of trouble, but she was sorry to have made Ms. Hinton angry. Despite her formal manner, the science teacher was fair, kind, even funny now and then, and really pretty. She was Liss' favorite teacher. But that video! So stupid! So ugly! So rude!

So embarrassing!

Liss had been in the creche since she was six, almost all her life she could remember (or cared to). Good little creche girls avoided the more lurid rumors about what was between their legs. They knew that babies came from the nursery. Doctors helped.

Liss knew she was not a good girl. She'd used a small mirror to watch herself pee. She'd used it again when she'd had to learn about tampons. And she understood vaguely that her vagina had something to do with actually making babies, which worried her enough that she tried not to think about it.

Beyond those hints and necessities, though, there were lines that even bad girls didn't cross, not in a creche.

So who the heck had approved this? Most of the girls in class were barely able to look at the screen.

Like most educational videos, this one had ugly, stilted, flat out bad acting, a droning narrator, cheesy music. But it also featured actual naked girls and boys, men and women, good looking ones, with close-ups of their private parts, all clearly labeled. It even had simple but disgustingly clear animations of intercourse.

People actually did that to each other? Why?

She had wondered what the boys had to watch. Then horror had struck. Boys had penises! She knew that, she did, she felt sorry for them having such an ugly thing that she'd heard could be terribly painful, but now she realized that penises were supposed to go in her vagina! Every boy she knew could do this to her!

It had stirred up feelings she hadn't known she had and didn't want. She'd stopped listening, stopped reading the captions, stopped taking notes, stopped doing anything but watching the disturbing images she couldn't look away from.

And she couldn't keep her mouth shut. No surprise there, she never could.

Liss walked out, leaving her things behind as hostages. Margie, good girl, perfect angel, and class president, frowned and shook her head sternly as she went past. Smug little bitch had been costing her demerits since the first day they'd met; it was like she was obsessed or something.

It was the cartoon of a penis entering a vagina, spreading the, uh, labia majora? that had gotten to her. What did that feel like? Just touching herself felt icky and wrong, and tampons were disgusting! She hated the feel of them pushing up inside her; the cramps didn't help. Now, though, there was a weird ache, almost a cramp, almost an itch that she wanted to rub and scratch, and the thought of putting in an applicator made her shiver.

In fact ... She glanced up and down the hall. No one. It was at least thirty minutes till the end of class. The room was at the dead end of the hall, which only had emergency doors that wouldn't open from the stair. Most of the rooms here were unused anyway.

She leaned against a pillar between two windows that would give her some cover — glanced up and down the hall, listened — and put her hand in the lap of her skirt, pressing against her crotch. Ahhh ... right ... there...

Except rubbing it didn't help; it got worse. Her skirt was in the way. She peeked around the column again, and let her hand slip up under her skirt.

Her panties were damp. God, was she leaking? Was she starting again already? She hadn't settled down to a regular cycle, yet.

What was that smell? It was animal, penetrating. Her fingers came out slimy, but thank heavens, not bloody. She sniffed them and went brick red. She was going to smell like that for the rest of the day! Maybe if she let her panties dry out ... she pulled them down.

She felt herself again. Her crotch was slick.

And she had to touch it. Had to rub it. She really was a bad girl, she knew now, bad bad bad. She rested her palm at the top, let a finger slip between ... Oh! Her hand startled away; it had found a spot of untouchable tenderness. But rubbing around it was good. And beneath it ... she slipped into herself, and the ache intensified and sweetened.

She WAS a bad girl. A little bit of pride flickered in her heart. Touching herself wasn't disgusting, it felt good. Really, really good, in fact. Fine, if she was a bad girl, she'd be a Bad Girl. She'd been punished before, many times, and she'd learned that sometimes being Bad was worth the paddle, even the crop. This seemed to be one of those times.

She rocked her hand on its heel, pressing at the top, probing at the bottom. Her finger couldn't go in deep enough. Her knees went wobbly, and she sank to the floor. Soon she was too weak even to kneel, and she fell forward, resting her head on her left arm while her right desperately tried to find the place that needed to be rubbed so very, very badly.

Oh! Right ... there ... the cli ... clitoris? Hers wasn't as big as the one in the vid, but that had to be it. She wished she a mirror. She laughed raggedly at the thought of what she must look like, bottom up in the air like that.

She closed her eyes to concentrate on the insane feelings coming from her cro ... vag ... her pussy! Pussy, yes. She didn't even know where she'd heard the word, but she understood now what it meant to have a pussy instead of a vagina, hot, wet, eager, hungry. Naughty. Bad. She was a Bad Girl with a Bad Pussy, and she planned to make the most of it.

She turned her face down and moaned into the sleeve of her jacket. Every little move she made pulled and rubbed at her clitoris. Her finger rubbed the inside of her pussy. She was mashing at what had been, only moments ago, too tender to touch, pounding it as hard as she could. Her last coherent thought was, I need to do this in bed with something bigger than a finger.

When she was done, she slumped, then remembered where she was, and looked around in a bit of a panic.

She found herself staring at Margie. Shit! Oh, shit, she was never going to hear the end of...

But Margie didn't look bossy now. She wasn't gloating, wasn't getting ready to denounce her. Margie was leaning against the fire door, staring at Liss' pussy, hand up her skirt, panties around her ankles, face flushed, breathing hard.

Instead of making Liss ashamed, it made her want to start over while Margie watched. She started to rub herself again.

"I ... couldn't ... the vid ... Ms. Hinton ... I had to..."

Liss' hand continued to work her pussy, spreading the lips to gauge Margie's reaction.

"You look ... god you were so ... I've never ... I want ... want you to..."

She looked desperate. Her voice became a strangled whisper.

"Please ... please help me."

Liss' mouth fell open in surprise.

"Please ... I can't make it ... Please, Liss. Please ... Please hold me. Please touch me. Please help me."

Liss sat back against the pillar, smiling in something like triumph. She spread her legs, rucked her dress up, and crooked a finger.

Margie knelt before her, hand still up her skirt, holding her pussy like she was afraid it would run away. "What, what do you want me to do?" Margie's voice was so small, so helpless, so very cute.

The feeling of control was enormous. Why, Liss realized, if I told Margie to kiss my pussy, she probably would! The thought was a mean one, nasty, but it immediately twisted in her mind, and she felt herself flooding again at the thought of the girl's mouth on her. She wondered what Margie's pussy would taste like.