Chapter 464: Hot for Teacher

They did that better than I could, and Mandy will have an actual house that her dad earned with his own hands and brain in a few months. I better get my butt to work before I’m late.

Mandy squealed, giggled, and skipped happily to school as her mom told her all about what had happened this morning. When I got all the kids to walk to school, Mandy had plenty of girl talk with her mom about what happened last night. Her mom also told her about some fabrics causing Mandy to get soaked quickly and cum when they rubbed over her budding breasts. I did hear my name mentioned more than a few times but ignored it.

Now that we were on the regular schedule, I found I had the high school girl’s gym class first. The second was the freshman honors language class. My third period was the AP language class. Fourth lunch and a planning period. Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh periods were the sixth, seventh, and eighth-grade girls’ gym classes.

Marissa and I were in the office as the girls came in, found they had baskets with their gym clothes, including underwear, had changed, and got upstairs in the gym for us to take roll.

“ARRGH!” a very frustrated girl screamed out. “I can’t get this dang thing on. Why can’t I wear a sports bra like yesterday?”

I looked into the locker room to see a girl fighting a front-clasp bra with a unique design. When I hit up my implant, I found out why.

“It has a sliding clasp in the front,” I said as I held her fingers while showing her how to pull back the pins that locked it closed, lift one cup slightly, and then slide the cups apart. “I can get you a sports bra if you want to spend tonight in the hospital again trying to breathe while feeling like you have an elephant sitting on your chest with a spiked dildo in front and back between your legs.”

“No, please! I will go without a bra before going through that again,” she said in horror.

I moved her to a mirror to show her how to get the bra on and off a dozen times.

I told her, “Get used to this style and take care of them as the label says. These are the only kind you will wear for the rest of your life. Your body can’t handle having your breast compressed against your chest because it forces your spine out of alignment. The bra you’ve been wearing causes your shoulder muscles not to allow your spine to realign after taking off the sports bra. As much as you may want to go braless, you are a c-cup, so you have no choice. As you now feel, this design holds them firmly. The straps over your back keep the parts on your sides in the right position. You will get a bit more bounce than a sports bra, but less than the ones you have worn since you needed one. Now finish getting dressed before Coach Kimber marks you absent.”

“I didn’t even know something like that existed,” Marissa told me.

I laughed as I said, “I didn’t either. It came with instructions that the girl didn’t even look at.”

Not that I read them.

I found that the boy’s gym classes lined up against the wall in the hallway outside their locker room. They were outside stretching and then playing flag football. The girls were in the gym to stretch and get a baseline for sit-ups, pushups, jumping jacks, and a few other things Marissa had on a checklist. We did that today and tomorrow. The boys had the last two days of the gym while the girls played flag football.

It’s good to see that they aren’t discriminating on gender for the various sports.

Marissa had a knowing smile as she walked down the girls’ line, taking on the role and putting faces to the names.

When we started the girls stretching, I quickly found out why. About half the girls, including Mandy, hadn’t worn bras, only the thin Lycra gym shirt. Marissa whispered to me that the girls were supposed to wear another gym shirt over top of that, but none of them did. I found that only the girls having their period and very shy ones wore panties or biking shorts. As soon as they sweat a bit, the thin tops become transparent. Their shorts kept moving to one side when stretching, and their wet pussies spread open to show the glistening pink treasures. By the time they started to do sit-ups, both modest girls had pulled their panties to the side to show me their lightly fuzzed, tightly closed, non-aroused plump mounds. Each blushed when I looked at their faces and stopped trying to give a show.

“I see the girls are hot for the teacher, but I’m not sure if it is for me or you,” she whispered while the girls did jumping jacks.

I replied, “I’m not sure they even know. Mandy is just doing it because the other girls are.”

When I moved them to do pushups, Marissa told me, “It is why the boys are outside, and girls are inside today and tomorrow, as this happens yearly. They try to see what they can get away with before going too far. Please don’t say a word to any of them about it. If you look at their shorts, these aren’t the ones they had yesterday. The crotch in them isn’t a clean seam and is very rough by design. When they finish the last three exercises, they will have bare spots where hairs got pulled out. From their butt cracks to right above, their pubic bone will be raw for the girls not wearing panties. I have a spray I used on their shorts that mixes with their juices that will smell so much that they have to shower to get rid of it. They all have liquid medicated powder in their baskets. It will provide them with some initial relief, but about ten minutes into their next class, they will start to feel the medicated part start doing its job to heal them. No going command for them. I don’t know how it works, but airing things out causes the menthol to activate. Wearing panties somehow stops the reaction, or maybe just slows it.”

I helped a girl with a muscle cramp in her calf right after starting the exercise, which Marissa said began plucking hairs, especially those on the sides of their mounds. I saw girls pulling at their shorts, trying to make it stop. The girl I was helping had her tits and rock-hard nipples on full display. She wanted to show me her pussy up close. I arranged her with her knee over her other leg.

The cramp in her leg hurt her a lot, and I worked it out. I occasionally pushed a bit harder on the area cramping to make her scream out in pain. At the same time, I would look her in the eyes as I flipped her cum trigger. She had a noticeable puddle of juices under her when I managed to massage out the cramp in her leg enough that she could get to walk on it.

As I helped her, I whispered sternly, “If you ever come to class without a bra, your biking shorts, or both, I will make you squirt and fart. I’m a grandmaster at martial arts. I can make you cum or feel the worst pain in your life by touching you with a finger.”

To prove my point, I made her scream out in pain when she put weight on the leg that had cramped and then cum hard enough to squirt out a few drops along with a fart.

“I won’t ever do it again, I promise. The other girls can call me all the bad things they want,” this girl whispered as I helped her walk around the gym to be sure her leg was better. “Though I can put in a pad if you ever want to pull my finger again.”

With a bit of a smile, she let out a fart.

I made myself busy in the office organizing things, looking over information about each girl’s physical exam for this school year, and other things that kept me where I wasn’t looking into the locker room. One time, I walked to help the girl with the custom bra to find the place she needed to get it open. She came right outside the office to have me make sure she was doing it right in the clean one she took from her basket.

It was a slightly different design.

Marissa and I ignored the girls cussing while washing their now raw, and I found out bald on both sides, pussies, before getting dressed. I did look up when one of the girls screamed out, threw her basket down on the floor, and then started to cry. She had a full black bush that now had bald spots in it. The girls on the rag had no sympathy for her or the other girls.

One of the modest girls screamed out right after the unmistakable sound of the wet tip of a towel smacking bare skin.

“Oh, cut it out already. You can hop on Mr. Jones’s desk, pull yourself open, and finger yourself in front of Mr. Jones. He isn’t interested. My sister said he doesn’t do it with anyone under eighteen anymore. Do you know that new girl in town? Bambi?”

“Bart’s sister?” the girl asked back.

“Yeah. Bambi’s older sister just had Mr. Jones’ triplets this past spring. She got pregnant on purpose. I’m not sure if he jacked him off like that one girl or if he had sex with her,” the first girl told the one that got her butt popped with the towel.

I stepped out into the hall and said, “Girls, you have less than ten minutes to get to your next class. I suggest you gossip at lunch or after school.”

That got them moving. Wonder what the punishment is for being tardy?

Marissa closed and locked the office door.

“You can’t miss that I’m a lesbian. I know you are the dick of choice in town for rug munchers. I asked around. My girlfriends told me it wouldn’t get weird between us if you gave me a good hard, quick fuck. I don’t want to find some guy in a bar. They aren’t up to the task most of the time,” Marissa begged.

Let me see. I have seven minutes before the second bell. If I give you a little push, I can get to my other office and get to my class a few minutes later.

She had all nine inches inside her when she came so hard I had to clean her up and dress her. I knew Marissa didn’t have gym classes this period, so I put her on the couch in the office and locked the door behind me. I walked into the classroom right after the bell.

“Ok, class,” I said. “Time to see who did their homework.”

Some of them refused even to try to participate at first. Others hadn’t done the homework.

“Look, kids, if I can learn over a hundred languages in around six months, you can learn four up the level of a ten-year-old that speaks it by Thanksgiving. Decide if we should do this the hard way or have fun. I can get textbooks for each language, assign you lists of verbs to conjugate, make you write out essays, and all that. At the end of the year, I could fly you to Ireland, Barcelona, or Belgium, and the best you will be able to do is sound like an American who did work from a textbook,” I told them. “I think that is a complete waste of our time, but we can do that if that is what you want. The other option is you decide right now to do the homework. Do it my way, and I will take you all to each of those three countries over the Thanksgiving break to let you see how it feels to watch the faces of those who live there as you speak it as well as kids in elementary school there. India and Pakistan are a bit too dicey to take a group of school kids, but if you work your butts off, I can invite families I know from there that speak and write Sanskrit.”

“Yeah, right, Mr. Jones,” a girl said. “Like you would take us off around the world for a week. You could not get tickets and reservations at places for us and our chaperones to stay. It took a year to get the French and Honor’s AP class to France for a week over the summer.”

“So, you didn’t do the homework or pay attention in class yesterday,” I told her in my best attempt at a teacher’s voice. “I keep my word. It is no problem getting rooms when you own five-star resorts and hotels worldwide. If I don’t have a property there, I have a friend whose dad does. Getting there is the easy part. You think I fly commercial unless I want to?”

You keep saying dumb things. I will make you feel stupid.

After letting them decide how they wanted to learn four languages at once, they decided to try it my way. When the bell rang, I had the class split into three groups. We started the first group singing Row Row Row Your Boat in Irish, then Basque, and they were singing in Dutch when the third group started singing in Irish. They didn’t know we had an audience of teachers and students trying to figure out what they heard. I had to stop them so they could get to their next class on time.

One of the kids in the room asked, “That sounded like Row, Row, Row Your Boat, but I couldn’t understand any of them. It wasn’t because some shouldn’t even sing in the shower.”

“See, class, I told you that everyone knows that song,” I said, watching them realize what they had already learned in just thirty minutes.

“They learned how to sing it in Irish, Basque, and Dutch today. Each group changed the language they were singing in with each verse,” I said to the kid who asked the question. “You are right on. I never said I was a music teacher. I know they all sound better than I do when I try to sing.”

When I got to the AP Honors Class, I told them, “You’ve spent at least two years studying Egyptian, Portuguese, Japanese, and Greek from books. Now you get to show me if I have to start from scratch or not. We will begin with Egyptian. Sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.”

Which one is going to be brave enough to speak up?

“This is a joke, right? You can’t be serious,” a guy finally said. “That is a little kid’s song.”

I smiled as I said, “Yep. Two years of Egyptian, I expect you could at least recite it, even if you can’t sing it. I can have my three-year-old brother and sisters singing it in all four languages you should know, and Irish, Dutch, and Basque by tomorrow.”

“Anyone for Portuguese, Japanese, or Greek?” I asked.

One girl did it in Japanese, so we started there. I would say a verse in Japanese, and then they would repeat it. I knew these kids knew how to speak a bit in each language, so I randomly changed one verse to one of the other three they had studied. Five minutes before the bell, they sang it in whichever language they had started saying it the first time.

“Your homework for tomorrow is Little Miss Muffet, Humpty Dumpty, Jack and Jill. If you want to impress me, you can try One, Two, Freddy’s Coming For You.”

One girl asked, “You mean, One, Two, Buckle My Shoe.”

“No. I mean One, Two, Freddy’s Coming For You. Either variant. Look it up. It is creepy in English. If done in Egyptian or Japanese, with the right inflection, you will have people giving you concerned looks and moving a few steps back.”

For effect, I recited it in German and Russian.

At least some of the kids snuck out their phones to look it up. I heard one group trying to do it in Portuguese and another in Greek. The girl who spoke Japanese at home gave me a mischievous grin as she started singing it close to the sound of the girls singing it in the movie. She got two girls and one boy getting the words down. As I went into my office to put my grade book down, I heard them singing that going down the hall. It wasn’t hard when the other kids in the hallway stopped talking as they tried to figure out what those four were singing that sounded so creepy.

“I’m impressed, and a bit freaked out at the same time. I don’t know what language those kids were singing it in, but that song gave me nightmares for years after I binged all the Nightmare on Elm Street movies at a friend’s house when we were in middle school,” a woman teacher told me.

I laughed and then said, “Wait until tomorrow then. Egyptian, spoken properly, with a bit of attitude, gets people’s attention. I expect the entire class to be saying it in Egyptian and Greek. I wonder if I should try to get the boys to it as a Gregorian Chant in Greek.”

“That I would like to see,” one of the male teachers said. “Though I have to ask, what is the point?”

“Two years of Egyptian, Japanese, Portuguese, and Greek. Only one girl, who speaks some Japanese at home, could recite Twinkle Twinkle Little Star in Japanese. They were doing it, willingly, in all four languages by the end of class,” I explained. “What is the point in learning a foreign language if all you can do is conjugate verbs and say a few things like bed, chair, and car? They learned these nursery rhymes as toddlers before knowing what some words even meant. I’m teaching them the same thing, just in different languages. That is how I learned over a hundred languages in six months, but I’m a natural linguist, so it was easier for me. Plus, they can find all of them, in all four languages, online with the lyrics highlighting the word.”

Another of the teachers asked, “Did you tell the freshman that you would take them on a field trip over Thanksgiving Break? Won’t that be expensive?”

“Yes and no,” I explained. “It depends on how much the kids spend on souvenirs. I’m sure I have hotels and restaurants in all three parts of those countries we will visit, or I know someone who does. So, no cost for room and board. The US Military has certified me to fly all of its aircraft.”

I paused to check my phone and found that I had guessed correctly. I now have my FAA Commercial Pilot’s License.

“I wasn’t sure, so I had to check. Once I turned eighteen, the FAA issued me my commercial pilot’s license. I already had a private pilot’s license and the required flight hours. The only cost there is fuel. Since I need to check on all those businesses anyway, that is a business expense,” I said. “Expedited passports aren’t around two hundred dollars for kids that don’t already have them. I can get cold-weather clothes in bulk in the same colors with school logos. You know, scratch that. I’m going to send a message to someone to get cold-weather gear, including long underwear and tights, for all the students. It doesn’t get as cold in Ireland and Belgium, but more kids are coming here with limited means than I knew. Some of them have to walk to school. Dang, I need to start a list of things to do.”

“Ah, the worries of a trillionaire,” one teacher said bitterly.

I’m going to fix this right now. The woman did this to herself.

I went to her, sat on the edge of her desk, and said, “Trishia, you, of all people, don’t have any right to give me that attitude. You think I’m some muscle-bound rich boy going all over, throwing money at everyone. I’ve heard what you’ve been saying about me, and I don’t care. I know you have nine children, two with special needs that require twenty-four-hour care and two more with mobility issues. Your husband got into a bad car wreck and can’t work, so it is all upon your head and has been for over a year. If you pull your head out of your stubborn ass and accept the job, I will have your family moved in before dinner, except for your husband and two children who need surgery to fix their problems. You are damn good at getting through to the hard-headed kids you’ve been teaching at this school. I have hundreds of them at my foster care complex that need you to get through to them.”

“Bullshit,” she hissed. “You don’t even have the first idea about me.”

I’m not going to take that bait and show you what I know about you in front of everyone.

I asked her to have a private conference with me in the staff room with windows without any way to cover them.