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This is a work of fiction, lets keep it that way.
"How do you always manage to pick me up so late?"
Melendy was not pleased. Though she had been riding to school with Cassie since the dawn of Cassie's 16th birthday 8 months earlier, she still had not grown used to the inevitability of Cassie arriving at her door 15 minutes after she said she was going to.
Although not normally a problem, Melendy had racked up her share of demerits that semester at their tightly wound, all girls Catholic high school. The morning bell rang promptly at 7:50, andwith a 15 minute drive ahead of them in the horrible Seattle trafficthey were due to arrive a full 20 minutes later.
"Get over it" mumbled Cassie, still dreary from yet another near sleepless night and already slightly stoned. She drew on her small glass pipe and let out a thick, lascivious cloud of marijuana smoke.
Cassie was a drab girl. A petite, athletic frame betrayed her gymnastic predilections. She had a small, flat chest that she was deeply embarrassed about, and she wasn’t particularly clean. Her jet black, thick, shiny hair contrasted rather well with her subdued, pale skin, which would be beautiful in a few years, after she had outgrown the hormonal bumps that sometimes painfully adorned her face. Since she went to an all girls school, she reasoned, she didn’t need to keep herself particularly well groomed. Just enough to keep her parents from noticing her burgeoning drug problem. She wasn't ugly, but she wasn't attractive, eitheralthough she had had her ways with the boys at her gym since she was a young girl, she never seemed to "want it" in the same way that, say, Melendy had.
Melendy, by contrast, was unabashedly beautiful. Her tightly accented jumper was always perfectly kept-up, a tribute to the decidedly careful, "enriched" up bringing she had received. She was enviable only until one realized how kind she was; then, she was simply loved. Strawberry blonde hair gracefully hugged her shoulders, her expensively trimmed bangs coming to rest on the nape of firm, well proportioned breasts augmented with the latest from Vickie’s Penultimate Collection. (Was there ever an ultimate one?)
The girls had been inseparable since summer camp in the twilight of their adolescence, a period which had firmly been clasped shut when Melendy, in her delightful, innocent manner, had blown the camp counselor in the 7th grade. Melendy was never the same after that. She had become smitten with scandal, even more so than with her exquisitely sensitive sex, which she used to great effect on unprepared public school boys at the high school down the street from her house.
"We should skip fourth period and grab some lunch" mumbled Cassie, her eyes bloodshot, with a whimpering, coy grin. "Cassie, I will not miss English class again."
Homeroom was always a rushed time for Cassie. Since her homework was nearly never done, she always had to rush to complete it in the scant 15 minutes she had to prepare for the rest of the day, a feat which she never failed to accomplish, despite her stoned languor. Cassie was vaguely fond of mathematics, but hated the teachers at her school, who seemed uneventfully dull. They cared so much that it didn’t seem that they cared at all.
"Why? You could always just bang Mr. Roy and he’d give you the grade you want. He sure gives you a good look over every day when you waltz past his desk…" Cassie faux mimed Miranda’s trodden, sexual gait. "Cassie, stop being such a perv. His balls probably don’t work anymore anyways."
Cassie giggled, putting the final touches on her integration exercise for first period. She knew Melendy was wrong—according to google, balls keep working until the man dies. She didn’t say anything, and let out a subtle grunt as the bell rang.
"Why are we here again?" Cassie rubbed her tummy, upset that she wasn’t as stoned anymore and deeply hungry. "Cassie, if you don’t want to take the AP exam at the end of the semester, you don’t have to. But I for one will not be taking English in college." "Going to be too busy?" Cassie again mimed Melendy’s scandalous strut, a sorority girl even before she got through the door. "Of course I will…" Melendy knew exactly what Cassie thought of her college aspirations, and she deeply enjoyed it.
Into the room walked a smartly dressed, thin, 26 year old. This was not Mr. Roy.
"I will be your substitute for today. Mr. Roy has fallen ill, I’m afraid. My name is Mark Wacha. You can call me Mark."
Cassie was not amused. She had seen too many of these younger, over educated baffoons who think they were from the Dead Poet’s Society or something, trying to get their students to call them by their first names and be their friends. It was just creepy to her.
Still, Mark’s short cropped hair, professional demeanor and smart sport coat did something for Cassie. She could feel the soft whimper of desire lap up in the seam of her multi-colored, JC Penney panties. At first, she attributed this to the after affects of her weed buzz; but, as class progressed, she realized that she was becoming more and more turned on.
Something about Mark was deeply unsettling to Cassie. He was very soft spoken, especially for an English professor. He gently coaxed the other girls into sharing their revelations of the draconian 18th century drama about adultery they were forced to read. He had a soft glint in his eye, and from time to time, his eyes seemed to unconsciously fixate on the drab girls unassuming form, gently sipping its tender warmth.
"But why, then, did Hawthorne choose to allow the letter to remain on the protagonist? Is it that Hester actually wanted to be known as an adulterer? And what did this mean for her, as a woman?"
The arrogance of this man—presuming to know what a woman wants, when he isn’t even a woman. And to suggest that she wants to be…that is just not right.
"If you are suggesting that she wanted to get screwed, well, I think you are on to something" Cassie chirped into the discussion, without raising her hand. "No—now, I never said that" "But you seem to have implied…" "No, I meant only that Hawthorne intended her to be a symbol for Victorian repression. What is your name? Please see me after class."
Cassie was upset, but she honestly didn’t care that much. Since she had been a young girl, she had had vivid fantasies of being tied down and licked head to toe by a man, before being deeply throttled. Something about not wanting it, made her want it so bad.
Mark had hit a nerve in Cassie’s fertile mind. Once she became intoxicated by the fantasy of being unabashedly destroyed, she could not turn it off. She sat and stewed for the remainder of class, an endless feedback loop of getting turned on, then getting pissed that she was turned on, in turn getting her more turned on…
By the end of class, she was sitting with her ass all the way at the front of the seat, her clit uncontrollably throbbing as she angled her pelvis downward. She dropped her pen on the floor, and, leaning forward to grab it, could feel the slight tension created as her skin tightened against her groin, granting soft glimpses of pleasure to her awkwardly folded, toned, reaching body.
The rest of the girls left the class, and Cassie remained seated, her eyes aversive to any contact with Mark. She literally could not look at him without imagining him grabbing her and throwing her against the wall before she tensed, simultaneously resisting and expecting release.
"Why would you say something like that? Implying that a woman wants to be raped is not ok, Cassie." "I know" "Then why did you say that?" "Sometimes I just can’t contain myself" Cassie began softly stroking her dark black hair, tying it in a knot around her finger before letting her hand cascasde down her body. Mark sat down in the desk in front of her, straddling the chair from behind. He leaned across Cassie’s desk. Cassie blushed, her pale face becoming enlightened. Her mind incessantly screamed at her to leave, but her quivering sex begged her to stay.
"You know, if you want something, you only need to ask…" Mark stood up, and turned to walk across the room. Cassie noticed a slight protrusion near his groin, and smiled slightly, to herself, as Mark closed the door. Girls talked loudly in the hallway, but with lunch next period, no one would be in the class room for at least 45 minutes.
"But what if I don’t know what I want?" Cassie sensed something array with the whole situation. She stood up, grabbed her backpack and tried to leave. In between her legs felt velvety smooth as wetness began to dribble from the lips of her unshaven, lightly used pussy.
Seeing her leave, Mark stood up, and blocked her path. "I’m not done with you just yet."
"You’re not?" Cassie stammered out a few words, but the sentences were not quite there. She knew what she was trying to say, but she couldn’t articulate it.
Mark grabbed her arm, spinning her around, violently. She dropped her bag as he began kissing her neck, reaching around and grabbing what little breasts she had. Cassie stood, paralyzed by fear and enjoyment, and staring out into the hall, she could see the shadows of other girls as they walked by the closed door.
Mark began gently massaging her pulsating twat from outside her jumper. His hands were quite skilled. He began to softly stroke her pussy through the outside of her underwear. Cassie stopped resisting, relenting into the otherworldly, deviant pleasure.
Mark slid down her panties, and bent her down over the desk. She began whimpering as he undid his trousers and slid his smallish, very hard cock into her. As he began pulsating, Cassie was filled with waves of pleasure so deep that she began to cry. She straightened her spine into his chest, bringing her hips slightly forward and hugging his cock more tightly. Within moments, she could feel him pulsate into her, letting out a soft groan. She could not tell where her orgasm began and ended, shaking.
Mark promptly zipped himself up, and left the school, never to be seen again.
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