Michelle - Naked In School

Chapter 4

TUESDAY

"You were very quiet last night," commented my father at breakfast. It was his turn to stay home until I went to school. Mum had already left for the office.

"Um?" I hadn’t been listening, though it wasn’t his fault. I’m rarely at my best first thing.

"I said, you were very quiet last night," he repeated. "Is there anything wrong?"

"No. Just tired," I said, probably unconvincingly. If he suspected anything, he didn’t say so.

As usual, we were half-listening to the news on the radio… "And in local news, it’s been a quiet start so far this week to the controversial Naked in School program…"

Dad got up and turned it off. "We don’t want to hear about that. Some little tart prancing around."

"Why is it always, some little tart, or slut?" I asked. "There’s a boy as well. And nobody calls him a tart or whatever they call boys."

"Well, it’s… normal for a boy to… er… sow his wild oats."

"But if a girl does the same she’s a slut, or a tart, right?"

At least he had the grace to look embarrassed. "Is it anyone we know?" he asked.

"Sort of," I replied.

"Oh? What’s her name?"

"Michelle Foster," I said quietly and waited for the explosion.

"You?"

I didn’t answer.

"Why didn’t you call me? That’s it. You’re not going to school today. We’re sending you to a private school as I’ve wanted to all along."

"No, Dad."

"What do you mean, no? I’m not having half the boys in school gawping at my daughter."

"It’s a bit late for that," I pointed out.

"And how many have you screwed so far?" he spat at me, then more quietly, "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. But why would you want to stay there and be a…"

"Tart?" I suggested.

"Surely you can’t want to do this?"

"No," I admitted. "But you’re not taking me away, so I have to."

"But why?"

"Dad. Please understand. Money can’t sort out everything."

"It can do most things. I notice you didn’t object when I bailed you out last summer."

I and a lot of others had been caught spraying graffiti on the outside wall of the hypermarket. The others had been made to go back and clean it off, and work there for free for a week each, but Dad paid the manager some money so I was let off.

"No. And do you know how that made me look? Rich little daddy’s girl, who’s too good to be the same as everyone else. Daddy will sort everything. Half of them still don’t speak to me."

"I never knew you felt like that."

"Nor did I," I admitted. "Anyhow, I go to Spain on Wednesday, so it’s only two days," I lied.

I got up to go to school.

"Michie?" I stopped. He hadn’t called me that since I was about eight years old. (I suppose you spell it Michie, but it sounds like Mishy. I’ve never had to write it down before.)

"Yes, Dad?"

"If you can’t be good, be careful. Have you… Have you had the…"

"Shot? Yes, Dad. I’m not exactly a virgin, you know."

The look on his face told me he didn’t know. Whoops. Better get out of here.

"I know you hate all my money. But we love you, you know."

I ran to him and he hugged me.

"Dad, I know you do. I don’t hate your money. It’s just that sometimes I wish I was more like the others. Christine worked in a shop every Saturday to save up for her bike. Then you went and bought me a better one, just like that. She was so proud of that bike, till I went in the next day with mine."

"I didn’t know."

"No, and I didn’t think. I didn’t think about how I’d treated her or anyone else, until yesterday, when she stood up for me."

"Why did she have to stand up for you? What happened?"

"Nothing, Dad. It was a silly argument and it’s okay now. I have to go. I’m gonna be late."

"Michie?" There was that name again. "Can your terrible rich daddy at least drive you to school? After all, it was talking to me that’s made you late."

"Okay, Dad. But can you drop me off round the corner?"

He laughed. And I laughed. And we were okay again.

"Are you sure you don’t want me to drop you at the gate? You’ll get soaked."

"Well, at least I won’t have to walk around in wet clothes all day," I pointed out.

His concerned frown changed to a sheepish grin, "That’s true." As I got out of the car, he added, "Take care. I’ll see you tonight. And don’t worry about your mother, I’ll handle her."

"I do love you, Dad." He looked startled and drove away, rather too quickly. How long had it been since I’d told him (or Mum) that? Too long, obviously.

Roberta met me outside the gate. She was soaking wet and crying. "What’s the matter?" I asked her.

"Just before I left for school, I told them that everyone knew about the caesarean. My mum went ape, said I brought shame on the family and she never wanted to see me again."

"She’ll calm down," I said.

"I don’t think so, not this time. I don’t know what I’m going to do," she wailed.

"Come and stay with me tonight. We’ll figure it out."

She looked at me gratefully.

"I’ve got to go," I said. "Can’t be late for my big entrance."

As you know from last night, due to the wet weather, not to mention the cold, the clothes boxes and our stripping were in the lobby. Christine was already there, and already naked. At least it was warm inside. "Mrs. C’s gonna get the laundry to dry our clothes," she said. Then she gave me a funny look, "But you’re hardly damp."

"Nope, Came by car," I admitted. "Roberta, you borrow my clothes today and yours’ll be dry later."

"Okay, thanks."

"Christine," called one of the boys. "I request you undress Michelle."

"Hey," I objected, expecting Christine to back me up.

But she walked over to me and said, "It’s only fair, as you got me into this." She unbuttoned my blouse.

"Well, kiss her then," shouted the same boy.

"That’s not a Request," I stated.

"Please," said another.

I was going to argue when Christine kissed me. I was so surprised that I let her and the boys around us started cheering and whistling.

She carried on kissing me as she undressed me. She handed my clothes to Roberta.

"Can you go down on her?" yelled one of the boys to Christine.

"No," she said.

"But the girls at the other school did."

"I don’t care. I don’t want to."

"But you have to. It’s a Reasonable Request."

Christine looked as uncomfortable as I felt at that moment.

To my surprise, it was Roberta who came to our rescue. She waved a Program Pamphlet and yelled out, "No student is ever required to submit to oral sex or penetration with a sexual organ as a part of a Reasonable Request."

"Aw," the disappointment went around the boys around us.

Then one of them went up to Christine and asked, "Can I touch your tits?"

She nodded.

Of course I was next and soon we had hands everywhere. "I’ve got a Request," shouted one of the boys. "I want Christine and Michelle to lie down, and Steve and I will each finger one of them and see who we can get to cum first."

Christine giggled and lay down on the big rubber doormat, so I guessed that we’d accepted the Request. We were causing a bit of an obstruction, so the supervising teacher made us get up, while four of the boys moved the mats away from the doorway. Then she lay down again.

Actually I was quite relieved to only have one boy to cope with, so I lay down as well. The mat was rather wet and dirty with everybody walking over it, so it was cold. I was glad of the hot air blowers above us. We were still close enough to the doorway to feel some of the warmth. "But nobody else can touch us while you’re doing it," I told the boys.

Immediately I’d said this, I wished I hadn’t. Up to now we’d been surrounded and nobody could actually see what was happening. Now they made a little bit of a space and I saw all the boys eyes watching excitedly as the boy opened me up and slid two fingers into me. God this was embarrassing.

But not for long. My boy (I still don’t know his name!) got me so worked up that I almost forgot there was anyone else there, except that Christine and I were holding hands and she was squeezing my hand so hard it almost hurt.

I came. And by the time I came, I couldn’t have cared less who saw me. Then I turned over on my side and watched as Steve continued to work on Christine.

She was still gripping my hand and her grip tightened and loosened in time with the movements of her body. Her other hand was pinching one of her nipples and her top teeth were biting her lip. When she finally came she arched her bum off the ground and I could feel the tremor that went through her body.

She went a bit limp and Steve took his hand away, leaving her splayed wide open. Steve sucked off his fingers one by one, then put then back into her pussy for a moment before offering them to another boy to taste.

Had I looked like that when I’d cum? I’d only just cum and watching her had turned me on again, yet I felt embarrassed for her, lying limply, too weak to object as Steve offered his friends a taste of her on his fingers.

Then he offered his fingers to me. I shook my head. "I request you suck my fingers," he said. Feeling slightly irritated, I did as he said. It wasn’t so much the taste but the thought of where they’d been that sent a shiver through me. And to my horror, it was a nice shiver.

"My" boy then said, "I request you touch her pussy." I didn’t even think twice, I just reached across and felt her wetness. I was about to put my finger inside her when the bell went for class.

The others had left us alone so I helped Christine to her feet and we walked to the showers. We both needed one after that.

We were so stunned by what we’d just done that we didn’t even speak to each other in the showers. We just got clean and fresh again quickly, dried off, and went to our different classes.

"Sorry, I’m late. Program business," I explained.

"The Program isn’t supposed to interfere with your lessons," Mrs. Cately replied. Someone at the back made a meowing noise. "Who was that?"

Although her name is Cately, pronounced like Kate-ly, she is such a bitch that behind her back just about everyone calls her Catly or Catty, because she seems to take delight in picking on people and making them feel small. (Can I really say things like that in my journal? They said to be brutally honest about everything and say what we feel and we wouldn’t get in trouble. Or was that just about the sex stuff? I guess I’ll find out when Mrs. Chaplain reads this! If there’s no chapter for tomorrow, you’ll know I couldn’t say all that. Anyhow, back to me turning up late for the lesson…)

"Sorry," I explained, "but we’re not allowed to leave Morning Groping until the bell and it was either a shower or me stinking out the classroom."

"It’s Morning Display, young lady."

"Tell that to the guy with his finger up my…" Her look shut me up quickly and I took my seat while she hit her rubber on the desk in front of her to silence the giggling. I’d forgotten to put paper towels on my chair so it was cold as HELL, but there was no way I was getting up again.

At least I knew that in her Pure Maths class, I wouldn’t be picked on for anything sexual. It was actually a double, and some teachers prefer not to take a break in a double, but to release us five minutes early at the end. Unfortunately Mrs. Cately isn’t one of them.

Then it was break time. I’d scarcely got out of the classroom when "Reasonable Request", "Reasonable Request" was being yelled all around me.

You know all those lovely stories about girls in the Program who have the odd guy shyly touching her boobs, and maybe after about two or three days, one might dare to fondle her pussy?

CRAP! That’s all I can say. Either they’re propaganda or those girls live in a different universe to the one I live in. The moment I was out of that classroom, it was, "Can I suck your nipples?" "Can I finger you?" "Can we see how many fingers you can take?" (I said a firm NO to the last one.)

Maybe it was all the teaching we’d had about the Program. I think it just whetted their appetites, or wound them up like a clockwork toy, raring to go. Either way, I spent most of the time of every break that morning with a mouth over each nipple (and thankfully none of them bit me) and a finger or fingers up my pussy. It wouldn’t have been quite so bad if any of them actually brought me off, or even tried to, but this wasn’t sexy at all, not for me anyway. I was quite relieved that nobody was going for my arse yet.

Before lunch I made a quick phone call to my dad to explain about Roberta. He said not to worry, that he would take care of it.

"I could kill you and your sister," I growled to Shelley at lunch.

"Why?"

"All that about ‘You’re all participants in the Program’ you said."

"What’s wrong with that?" asked Suzie.

"That’s the trouble. They all seem to want to participate, at least with one part of me anyway." That got a laugh. "And none of them even tried to bring me off."

"None of them tried to bring you off?" asked Shelley, obviously not believing me. "Even after this morning?" The grin on Suzie’s face told me that they’d both seen Christine and me this morning.

But Christine backed me up. "Everyone I had all morning since then has been crap. I feel like a lab rat."

"Okay," I admitted, "I should be fair. One or two did try to bring me off, but they didn’t have a clue what they were doing."

"So, show them," said Suzie.

"What do you mean?" asked Christine.

"Show them," Suzie repeated. "The Program’s for their education too, not just yours. Show them what turns you on and what doesn’t."

"What she means," said Shelley, "is they’re only boys. If you don’t teach them, who the hell will? Their girlfriends, if they’ve got any? They’re probably too scared to say anything, in case they get dumped."

This was intriguing. "Can I really do that?" I asked.

"Duh," said Shelley. "It’s ED-U-CA-TION. That’s what it’s for." Then she started giggling, "The Program, I mean, not your pussy." That set the rest of us off.

Suzie was more tactful. "This is a school after all. The Program isn’t just a charter for exhibitionists like Shelley and a method of torture for the rest of us."

I laughed, then realised it was the first time I’d relaxed in school today. But the bell went, signalling halfway through lunchtime and all proggies were now available for Requests. Mrs. Chaplain is subtle like that, like a double-decker bus in a narrow lane.

The first request was "Can I feel your pussy?" But he actually did just want to feel me. It was actually quite gentle and nice. Where was he when I needed him earlier?

The second was more typical. "Can I finger you?"

"Okay," I said, looking at Suzie.

He was pushing his fingers in and out of me and leaving me cold. Suzie and Shelley both looked at me expectantly. I was just trying to think of a way to say it without sounding nasty.

Finally, I asked him, "Would you like me to show you how to do it so it feels good for me too?"

"Wasn’t that good?"

"Sorry, but no." I sat on the table and put my legs apart. "Let me have your hand." I made his fingers stroke lightly along the outside of my pussy lips. "Start gently, outside," I said. "It makes a girl feel tender and tingly. Well, it does me anyway."

I noticed that the boy who had been fingering Christine was watching me and copying what I was doing. Christine was watching too.

"Now, why don’t you get down, so you can see properly?" He knelt down, eyes level with my pussy, though if they popped out much further they’d fall on the floor and roll away.

I held myself open for him and made his fingers stroke me gently up and down. "Now this bit is my clit and it can be very sensitive. So although it can make a girl cum, remember sometimes it’s too much, so watch her reaction. Sometimes she might like you touching it, or rubbing it, other times not."

"How will I know?"

"That’s why you have to watch," I explained. I pushed two of his fingers into me. "Now the front part is most sensitive and if you bend your fingers and do it almost like you’re scratching an itch…"

I gasped as he sent something resembling a bolt of electricity through me. "Was that what they call your G-spot?" he asked.

"Mmm," I mumbled.

"Did you like that?" He was teasing now.

"Do you like having two balls?"

"Yes, Why?"

"If you don’t carry on and make me cum, you won’t have by the lesson bell."

Christine and "her" boy sniggered at that, but "my" boy just grinned. In a very short time, I needed another shower.

Another boy asked, "Can you teach me too?"

"Okay."

He started doing the same as the previous boy, but it was too much. He brushed my clit and it actually hurt. "Sorry," I said, pushing his hand away. "I’m too sensitive right now. Later if you want."

"Okay," he said, disappointed.

"Look. If we can’t manage later, tomorrow I’ll teach you how to go down on a girl if you like."

"Really? And make her cum like that?"

"Really. And you’d better make me cum like that."

"What can you teach us Thursday and Friday?"

I laughed. "Nothing. I’m getting a tan."

"Huh?"

"Spanish exchange."

"Oh. So you’re gonna put out for all the Spaniards?"

"None of your beeswax."

Christine obviously didn’t have any problems with being brought off repeatedly. Was that her third "lesson?" I headed for the showers without her.

The break after my first lesson was another boy who was hopeless until I showed him how. But by the time he was getting me going the damned lesson bell went.

My second lesson in the afternoon was Sex Education, with Mr. Martin. "Welcome, Michelle. I trust you’ve no objection to us using you in this lesson?" (Like I had a choice.)

"Actually, can I make a Request?"

"Er. What sort of Request?"

"I’d say about 80% of the guys here don’t know how to finger a girl to make it good for her."

One of the girls muttered "90%". Most were nodding.

"So," I said, taking a breath, "I’ve been teaching some, but can I teach the class how to do it?"

"This is Michelle Foster I’m hearing, isn’t it? The one who thinks this lesson is a joke?" I hope I looked suitably embarrassed. "The floor is yours, or perhaps I should say the desk."

Even writing this this evening, I can’t believe I actually did that. I taught a whole class how to finger me. And quite a few of them got a chance to try, including a few girls who didn’t want to be left out.

Whether it was because I was more confident, I don’t know. But I didn’t get all tense and sore after my first orgasm this time. I still only had two, but that was a first for me. The second was so strong that I couldn’t even get up at first, so I just lay there during the break, letting whoever feel my boobs.

One girl asked to lick my pussy and I said, "Not today."

What have I just promised her? I thought as she walked away grinning after saying, "See ya tomorrow then."

I barely noticed the final lesson even happened. It’s just as well I wasn’t called on as my brain had just about shut down.

Christine and Roberta were waiting for me at the clothes boxes. Both were dressed and Roberta had changed into her own, now dry, clothes. "What happened to you?" they asked. I explained.

"You taught a whole class?" gasped Christine, amazed. "God, I could never do that."

"And I had two orgasms," I said proudly.

"Only two?" said Christine.

"Alright, just because someone only has to touch you and you go off like a rocket every time," I said.

"Not true. I take ages to get going usually. It’s just that once I’m turned on once, I seem to be able to cum over and over again, and I take ages to cool down, so if someone makes me cum at lunch, I can still cum quickly in the next break."

"And the next," added Roberta with a sly grin. "And again before she got dressed while we were waiting for you."

"You lucky bitch," I almost screamed. "How many orgasms have you had today?"

"Dunno," she said. "Quite a few."

"Are you sure your parents won’t mind me coming home with you tonight?" asked Roberta, changing the subject abruptly.

"They’ll be cool," I assured her, as I knew from my lunchtime call to my dad.

Dad was waiting at the gate. "Oh. Hi, Dad."

"Don’t worry, the car’s round the corner."

I punched him. "Dad, this is Roberta, the one who’s coming home with us tonight, and this is Christine."

"Delighted to meet you ladies." Did I say Dad could be a charmer when he wanted to be? He even insisted on dropping Christine off home, on the other side of town, before taking us home, even though it wasn’t raining.

"You’d better take Roberta up to her room. I’ve put her in the first guest room."

I took her upstairs and was as open-mouthed as she was. Dad, or somebody, had put pink sheets on the bed and tied a little banner across the headboard, which read "Welcome, Roberta." There was a set of pink pyjamas about my size on the bed, with a pink wash bag containing soap, toothbrush, toothpaste and a pink flannel. Two matching pink towels were hung over the back of the chair along with a pink towelling dressing gown. On the dressing table were a couple of pairs of panties, yes, pink.

Roberta looked at me and burst into tears, so I hugged her until I was crying too. I showed her where the shower was and raced downstairs and flung myself into Dad’s arms.

"Money isn’t all bad, then?" he grinned once he’d managed to extricate himself.

"Dad. That was… incredible, if a bit OTT."

"I figured she needed to feel welcome after what happened," he explained.

I shook my head at him. Sometimes he doesn’t seem to understand anything, then other times… Then I remembered. "You got a thing about pink?"

"It’s a girl colour," he said. "I thought girls liked pink."

"Yeah, but it’s like working in a sweet shop, y’know? But, Dad, you’re something else. You thought of just about everything she’d need. I didn’t know you knew girls that well."

"Actually, I rang your mum," he admitted, "then told my secretary to get everything straightaway."

I should have guessed. "It’s the thought that counts."

Dad insisted that Roberta ring her mum, but her mum simply put the phone down on her as soon as she heard her voice. Before she could start crying again, Dad said, "Michelle’s mother said that you’ll need some clothes for tomorrow, so I’ll run you both into town."

I grabbed a shower, then, with Roberta protesting that she couldn’t possibly accept any more from us, we virtually forced her to buy a blouse, a skirt, a pair of jeans, a couple of T-shirts, some more underwear and some slippers. The clincher was when I asked her if she wanted to wear dirty clothes all day in school tomorrow.

When we got home, Mum was back. She’d brought a couple of pizzas and put the fryer on for some chips when we arrived.

Roberta had homework, so she went to "her" room for an hour or so before bedtime. I went up as well to write this journal.

When I went to see how she was doing before I went to bed myself, I found her trying on the pyjamas. "Lambs?" I cried, laughing at the pale blue pyjamas with little white lambs all over them that Dad’s secretary had bought her, obviously from a children’s store. Then I commented, "They’re a bit small for you. I’ve got a tracksuit that’s a bit too big for me. You’d better wear that instead."

"No. These are special," she said, with a look daring me to contradict her.

"Night, Roberta."

"Night, Chell."

I went back down to Mum and Dad. "Thanks for everything you’ve done for Roberta."

They smiled. Then Mum said, "What’s this your father’s been telling me about you going around naked?"

"Oh."

"Yes. Oh. Care to tell me what’s you’ve been doing today?"

I thought about that a lot. For at least a zillionth of a second. "Not really."

Mum laughed at me. "I thought not." Then she got serious. "You’re okay, though, right? You’d tell us if something was wrong?"

"I’m okay, Mum."

"Then I won’t press for details if you don’t want to tell us."

"Thanks, Mum."

"Now, up those apples before I change my mind." Mum is not a Cockney, but she tries it on sometimes.

I went to bed.