edited by Master Ken

Wednesday, September 4th, 2013

"Hi, I am Miss Blythe," I said to my class, writing my name on the whiteboard with a red dry-erase marker. "I will be your World History teacher."

It was the first day of the new school year and, as I launched into the course syllabus, my thoughts kept drifting to that day in June at the end of the last term, when my Living God, the Holy Mark Glassner, walked into this very classroom and changed my very outlook on life. I didn't know he was a God then, and only later did my inexplicable actions – bending over my desk, and letting all the virgin male students in my class fuck me – make sense.

It was the most exciting thing that ever happened to me.

I was those boys' first fuck. It made me so happy to help them lose their virginities, to see the excited smiles that filled their boyish faces afterwards—I felt proud, honored even. I made those boys into men, and they made me feel so womanly.

This morning, as I made my way to teach this class, I bumped into one of them: Kev Spellecacy. He was holding hands with Maya Spooner, and the smile he gave me sent my heart fluttering—and my cunt dripping. He stopped to introduce me to Maya, his girlfriend. "It's all because of you, Miss Blythe," he had explained. "That day, you gave me confidence. Well, take care, Miss Blythe." His girlfriend gave him a questioning look as they walked off.

I was positively skipping when I headed to my class—I gave him confidence. I helped to bring him out of his shell. And it was so easy: all I had to do was let him fuck me. It got me thinking—wouldn't the world be a better place if caring, older women – not that I was old at twenty-five; I was mature and experienced – guided these young men through their blossoming sexuality.

As I spoke to my first period class, I perched on the edge of my desk. I was dressed in a tight vest with a plunging neckline; my 34DD breasts strained against my top and threatened to pop off a button if I breathed in too deeply. My skirt was short, exposing my long, tanned legs that were clad with dark, thigh-high stockings; I could feel all the boys', and a few of the girls', hungry gazes upon me.

There was one boy in particular that caught my eye with his lustful stare. Patrick Algar. He was slouched in the back, his deep, blue eyes – covered by large, silver-rimmed glasses – were glued to my cleavage. His face was pimply, round, cute; he looked so young and innocent. When I leaned over slightly, his eyes widened, and he shifted in his seat. My cunt let out a trickle of juices—I excited him.

He was all I could think about as I struggled to teach for the rest of the period. As my students filed out, I grabbed his arm. "I saw what you were doing in the back of the class," I sternly told him. "Detention, after school. My classroom."

He gaped and spluttered at me, " But I didn't..."

"Don't lie to me, Patrick, I saw what you did. Now go."

I watched his cute, little ass as he scurried out of my classroom, and pressed my thighs together to try and relieve that wonderful ache between them. Gods, I was sopping wet, and wanted nothing more than to play with my naked cunt. I didn't wear panties anymore, that was against the tenets of the Living Church, and I was beginning to smell my spicy arousal and felt a trickle of passion running down my thigh.

I was a ball of frustration, panting after every cute boy in my classes and struggling to teach my lessons—probably poorly; I just couldn't think straight. By the time my lunch period – the school had three of them – had finally come around, I had resorted to sticking a tampon inside my sopping pussy to try and control the flood of juices. I was about to settle in for a quiet fifty minutes in my classroom – maybe lock the door and finger myself to an orgasm or three – when Kev walked in.

"Miss Blythe," he greeted, closing the door behind him.

"Um, what can I do for you, Kev?" I asked, forcing myself to sound friendly, and squashed a bit of irritation at the interruption. I needed to cum so bad.

"Well, Miss Blythe, I just can't stop thinking about last June." His cheeks were pink, and I noticed a growing bulge in his crotch.

Well, well, well, this was one way to scratch my itch. As I walked to my door to lock it, I asked, "What about your girlfriend?"

"Maya's getting together with a few friends in the bathroom," Kev answered. "Um, for some, eh, lesbian fun. She knows why I'm here."

I frowned; students shouldn't be having 'lesbian fun' on school property. Of course, I wasn't supposed to fuck my students either. So I bent over my desk and wiggled my ass at him. "What are you waiting for?"

"Fuck yeah, Miss Blythe!"

"Don't swear," I admonished.

"Sorry," he muttered. I heard a zipper rasp, then his hands were on my ass, pulling up my skirt. "Um, there's a string."

"It's a tampon, just pull it out and fuck me!"

I could feel his hesitation. "Are you on the rag?"

"No!" I cried in frustration. I needed to feel his cock inside me. "Just fuck me! Now!"

I gasped as he yanked the tampon out, and I heard a soggy splat as he tossed it into the trash. His cock felt hard as he nudged my pussy, searching for my hole. I groaned; the tip of his dick rubbed about my slit, bumping my clit, before he slid back up and found my pussy canal.

"Yes," I sighed in relief as he slid home inside me.

"Oh fuck! Your cunt feels as great as I remembered!"

"Don't swear!" I again admonished even as his cock began to churn my insides.

"Sorry, Miss Blythe," he groaned. "Your pussy feels great!"

His hips pistoned quickly and pleasure rippled through me from our friction. I had been fucked plenty of times over the summer, mostly at the Church of the Living Gods, but a teenage boy had a certain enthusiasm, a frantic need to spill his cum, that was quickly bringing me to an orgasm. My desk creaked as it slid an inch on the floor. Everything on my desk rattled from the force of his thrusts, and a pencil cup fell over with a clatter, sending its contents skittering wildly across the linoleum.

"Oh Miss Blythe!" Kev grunted. "Oh yes! Geez yes!"

"Harder!" I hissed. "Fuck me harder!"

My orgasm swept through me as Kev pounded my cunt. I gripped the edge of my desk, holding on for dear life as my legs felt like wet noodles. The slap of flesh echoed throughout my classroom, punctuated by grunts and moans from Kev. His strokes grew more and more frenzied.

"Oh f ... darn, Miss Blythe!" Kev moaned. "Your pussy just feels more better with every thrust!"

"Just better, Kev!" I panted, unable to shut off my teaching instincts despite the pleasure flooding my brain. "Not 'more better'!"

"What?" he demanded. "Oh shi ... oot! Oh shoot!"

His balls were slapping against my clit, sending wicked vibrations through my body. I was so close to cumming a second time when Kev buried his cock all the way inside me and I felt his cum shooting into me. He thrust one last time – as if to savor the feel of my cunt – before he pulled out, leaving me empty, horny.

Dammit, I was so close to cumming!

"Thanks, Miss Blythe," he said, zipping his jeans up. "I've been thinking of you all summer long."

Gods, I still wasn't satisfied; I was almost there. "Kev, which bathroom is your girlfriend at?" If some students were having 'lesbian fun' in a school bathroom, at the very least I should supervise them. All extra-curricular activities should have a teacher to monitor and advise the students—for their own safety.

"First floor by the science labs." He hesitated. "You're not going to get her in trouble?"

There was a gaggle of girls lounging in that bathroom, and they all looked guilty when I burst in. I didn't see Maya Spooner, but I did hear a girl's moans coming from the first stall. All three were occupied, and I heard more soft sighs and gasps. In fact I heard quite a lot of them; they were fooling around in all the stalls. The girls lounging in the restroom fled quickly, squeezing past me, trying not to look me in the eye, as I walked over to the first stall.

There was a trick to opening any of the stall doors from the outside, and I came prepared with a quarter, figuring if there was any hanky-panky going on it would be in a stall. I stuck the coin into the slot on the latch, twisted, and the door popped open. Melody Johnson, a pixie-faced girl with black hair and purple highlights, sat on the toilet while Maya Spooner was busy between her legs.

"Miss Blythe!" Melody gasped.

I smiled at her. I knew her from the Church. Melody liked to tell the story about the day of her sixteenth birthday when she met our Gods, Mark and Mary, in the South Hill Mall's Old Navy store. Melody and her mom had been shopping when they were honored to be our Gods' lovers. Maya tried to rise up, but Melody grabbed her short, black hair and held Maya's mouth to her pussy.

"Keep licking, pee-slut!" purred Melody. "I'm almost there!"

"Pee-slut?" I asked.

"Mmm, Maya and a few other girls were taught the pleasures of watersports in this very bathroom by Him!"

I knew just whom 'Him' was—our God. Mark had blessed a lot of girls that day last June when he visited Rogers High School, and more than a few girls showed up pregnant at the start of this school year.

I watched as Melody shivered and came all over Maya's hungry mouth. Smiling happily, Melody got up and squeezed past me, whispering, "Have fun!"

Maya looked a little uncertainly at me, her face sticky with Melody's juices. "Relax," I told her, sitting on the toilet; the seat warmed for me by Melody's tight ass.

"Did Kev come and see you?" Maya asked.

"In fact he did cum by, and left you something inside me."

Maya pushed my legs apart and saw my messy cunt. She licked her lips, and buried her head underneath my skirt, her mouth latching onto my pussy. And then she didn't do anything—no licking, no sucking, not even any fingering. I was so fucking horny! What was she waiting for?

For me to pee, I realized after a minute, feeling a little stupid. She was a pee-slut after all.

Well, I did have to urinate. Feeling a little weird, I relaxed my bladder and flooded her mouth with piss. I heard Maya moan as she drank my piss down. Gods, there was something so intimate, so erotic, at having someone drink your pee—the way it sounded as your urine splashed into an eager mouth, the obscene sounds of swallowing, and the moans of delight issuing from your pee-slut's hungry mouth. I strained, forcing out as much piss into her nasty mouth as I could and letting the pleasure of urinating tingle through me. The stream died down until only a few drops came out; I sighed sadly, it was over.