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From: Homer Vargas <vargas111@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} RP Lovebright Academy: the Real Story 1 (mF, mf, Ff, MC, preg) Homer Vargas
Date: Thu, 10 Feb 2000 16:10:02 -0500
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Week after week, this is the story that gets the most downloads both
from Lazeez's site and Kristen's site.
LOVEBRIGHT ACADEMY:
The Real Story
by Homer Vargas
with proofreading and very helpful editorial
suggestions from Artie. Muchas Gracias!
Some of you may remember a wonderfully funny story by
Downing Street a while back called "LOVEBRIGHT
ACADEMY." Now Downing Street is one of my favorite
authors, but he has his squiks and this made him
pull a few punches in his tale. I happen to be
Chairman of the Board of Governors of Lovebright
Academy, so I know the whole story. I don't want to
call too much attention to Downing's omissions, so
with his permission, I've decided just to re-post his
story, inserting the needed additions and changes in
the appropriate places.
Part I
Two women sat in the oak-paneled headmaster's office,
behind the heavy old door with the frosted glass
window. The woman sitting behind the big desk was a
little under forty, crisply professional in an
expensive white blouse and navy blue skirt. She wore
her brown hair straight, parted in the middle and
curling inward just beneath her chin, framing her
attractive face. Red highlights in her hair matched
her bright red lipstick and the band of cute freckles
that marched across her nose from one cheek to the
other. She had her hands folded in front of her on
the cluttered desk, listening attentively.
The other woman, sitting on the edge of her chair in
front of the oak desk, was a few years younger and a
few inches shorter than her counterpart. Her face
would have been decidedly pretty were it not so
contorted with anger. Her hair was a maze of blonde
curls on top of her head. She had a sleek, almost
slight figure, dressed to the nines in a designer-
label suit of burgundy wool cut calf length. She was
visibly trembling with rage. "Mrs. McLeod!" the woman
snarled, spitting out the name in contempt. "You are
supposed to be the headmaster of this Academy! It is
your job --your Job, madam --to maintain the academic
and social standards that have given this institution
its high reputation in the community. Not to mention
conforming with ordinary norms of decent behavior! I
cannot believe the things I have seen here today! The
slovenliness. The utter lack of discipline. The
public indecency! How could you allow this happen?
How could you let standards slip so far, in just one
semester!?" She glared at the other woman, her blue
eyes bright with shock and outrage.
The headmaster wanted to roll her eyes, but she
didn't. It was true there had been many changes at
Lovebright Academy recently --all for the better as
far as she was concerned --but the line about high
standards was a bit much. It was well known among the
upper crust that the former Mrs. Lovebright's School
for Girls was the prep school of last resort. It was
a place where the rich could send their pampered, less
brightly lit daughters and have some hope of getting
them into college, or failing that, at least having a
prestigious name on their resume before marrying them
off to someone rich enough to support them. Grade
point averages and similar niceties were generally a
moot point as long as Daddy could afford the tuition.
The school had never taken more than 30 new students
each year, allowing it to boast of small, interactive
classes. In place of academic excellence, it
substituted strict discipline, a rigid code of dress
and behavior, and a nearly obsessive attention to
upper class propriety. Until recently, that is.
With the school's reputation (and enrolment) beginning
to decline at the same time that its impressive but
moldering old Victorian building needed major repairs,
the Board of Governors decided, reluctantly, to re-
invent the Lovebright School for Girls as Lovebright
Academy. The old headmaster ("headmistress" she had
always insisted) retired. The Board's search for a
young, dynamic headmaster who understood the need to
educate spoiled young women destined to be the leaders
of tomorrow, or at least the wives and others of their
children, lead them to Mrs. McLeod. Dr. Vargas, the
Board's Chairman, even insisted they set up a few
scholarships, hoping to attract at least a handful of
students with real potential. The final and most
wrenching change came when, in order to qualify for
government subsidies, the Academy began to accept male
students.
The headmaster kept her voice calm. "Why, Mrs.
Baxter, whatever do you mean? I confess I have
decided to give the students a little more latitude --
"
"Latitude!" the other woman cut her off. "You call
this latitude? Don't you mean license? Mrs. McLeod I
have been here for no more than three hours and
already I have seen enough violations of good order
and discipline to cost you your job! And perhaps the
entire teaching staff! I am shocked, madam. Shocked
and appalled. Let me tell you I have every intention
of bringing this to the attention of the Board, and
you will be very quickly out of a job!"
Mrs. McLeod tried not to let her fear show, or her
anger. She knew Mrs. Baxter well enough to know that
she would carry out her threat, the little bitch.
Mrs. Baxter was an "old-girl" herself, and in the
Lovebright's tradition she had succeeded in seducing a
wealthy businessman and marrying him when she
"accidentally" got pregnant. Nevertheless she
continued to meddle in the affairs of her alma mater,
mostly by using her bought seat on the Board to oppose
any new or innovative idea. The headmaster could not
understand why Dr. Vargas had gone along with Mrs.
Baxter's visit the campus. "Don't worry. It'll be
alright," he told her mysteriously.
"Perhaps it would be helpful," the headmaster said
coldly, "if you could describe some of the things that
are upsetting you."
The blonde woman was almost too angry to speak. "Some
of the things! Well, I mean, all right then, why
don't we start with the dress code --or should I say
the absence of a dress code!"
"We have relaxed the rules slightly. But students are
still required to wear the school uniform."
"You call that a uniform!?" Mrs. Baxter retorted.
"They're hardly -- I mean there's no --" she struggled
to express her amazement.
*****
Mrs. Baxter had dropped in on the Academy as the first
of a series of regular Board inspections recently
begun by Dr. Vargas. Slyly, she arrived unannounced
and a day earlier than her scheduled visit. She
remembered Lovebright's as a quiet, protective, old-
world kind of place, and she didn't care at all for
the changes that had taken place. She didn't trust
that new headmistress either; she was too full of
modern ideas about education.
But nothing had prepared the young wife for what she
had seen. In Mrs. Baxter's day girls at Lovebright's
wore a traditional uniform: a white cotton blouse and
knee-length plaid kilt, blue knee-socks (cable-knit
tights in winter), black flats, and a formal blue
jacket bearing the Lovebright's crest. A severe
dressing down awaited the student who dared to wear
her skirt above the knee, or let her blouse come
untucked.
But not any more, it seemed. Mrs. Baxter arrived at
the Academy just as classes were changing and she was
amazed at what she saw. The girls still wore the
traditional uniform, sort of, but all the rules of
proper dress had been subverted if not abandoned.
White blouses were still the rule, but sensible cotton
had been replaced by smooth silk and slinky satin,
worn tight, thin, and sleeveless. Some of the blouses
were see-through, most had the top three or four
buttons undone. A number of the less well endowed
girls were wearing push-up bras to make the most of
their inadequate cleavage.
Few of the girls bothered to wear jackets, and if so,
they were never buttoned up. Of the two that Mrs.
Baxter saw in that first shocking few minutes, one had
done up none of the buttons on her blouse, but just
tied it beneath her breasts, leaving her midriff bare.
Mrs. Baxter was momentarily relieved to see at least
one girl was wearing her jacket properly, until she
realized she wore no blouse at all beneath it.
The rest of the uniform was similarly mocked. All of
the girls were wearing their kilts micro-mini length,
and some of the seniors' were so short they barely
covered essentials. Kneesocks were nowhere to be
seen, although many of the juniors wore sexy, over-
the-knee stocking-things that stopped about mid-thigh.
The rest of the girls were wearing nylons, sometimes
sheer and skin-toned, but more often in gaudy colors
or patterns with shiny fabrics and seams up the back.
"The older girls are even wearing stockings!" Mrs.
Baxter exclaimed. "Every time they bend over the
slightest bit in those little hussy skirts their
garters are right there for all the world to see. How
can you tolerate letting our children dress in such a
manner!?"
Mrs. McLeod nodded understandingly, but privately she
had trouble understanding why anybody would object to
stockings. She was wearing a pair herself, silk ones
as a matter of fact. They were very comfortable once
you got used to them, and felt wonderfully feminine.
Nowadays she seldom wore anything else.
"Only the seniors are allowed to wear stockings," the
headmaster said reasonably, "and they can hardly be
considered children. The majority of them are
eligible to vote. Shouldn't they be treated as adults
if they are to adapt to an adult world?"
"That's hardly the point!" cried Mrs. Baxter. "We are
supposed to be teaching these students discipline and
decorum, not lasciviousness. Why are the girls
allowed to wear shoes like that? Haven't you
noticed?!"
Mrs. Baxter certainly had. The traditional black pams
had been abandoned as completely as kneesocks.
Instead, the girls were wearing an astonishing variety
of fancy footwear in which high heels figured very
prominently. Classic pumps with narrow toes and
immoderately high heels seemed to be very popular,
which combined with the traffic-stopping brief skirts
and slinky hose to create a leg-man's dream. The more
adventurous wore exuberant platform shoes and sandals
in wild colors and bright patterns that lifted their
brightly painted toes several inches off the floor and
their heels even higher. While Mrs. Baxter watched in
amazement, one pretty girl set down her books in the
hall, put one foot on them, and spent several minutes
carefully tightening the laces on her leather boots.
She didn't seem very concerned that her too-short
skirt hiked up over her behind to reveal lace-edged,
powder blue panties to the approving admiration of two
boys.
Mrs. McLeod patiently listened to the younger woman
rant, without offering comment. What a hypocrite, she
thought. Chastising my girls for expressing
themselves a little bit while she sits in front of me
in her thousand-dollar suit and matching heels.
Didn't she realize that young women were naturally
fashion-conscious? Aren't we supposed to teach them
to take pride in their appearance and not be ashamed
of their sexuality? The headmaster crossed her ankles
beneath the desk, feeling the comforting familiarity
of the ankle straps on her own shoes. There were
several more pairs in the filing cabinet if she felt
like changing.
"And the make-up!" Mrs. Baxter exclaimed, growing more
animated by the moment. "Why in my day we weren't
even allowed to wear make-up during class hours.
Those girls are painted up as if they are preparing
for a night at a club in the red-light district! They
spend all their time between classes fussing with
their hair and fixing their mascara. Who -- who's
idea was it to install lighted make-up mirrors in the
washrooms?"
"The lighting in the washrooms wasn't very good," the
headmaster began, but her guest cut her off again.
"It didn't need to be good! It's just a washroom!
Are you hearing anything I'm saying?"
"Of course I do. But Mrs. Baxter I assure you, you
are getting all upset over nothing. A few minor
changes to the dress code, nothing more. Is there
anything else?"
The young blonde stared at her blankly for a moment.
"Anything else? Mrs. McLeod, there is much
more...else. There is openly loud, lewd and indecent
behavior going on right in the halls of your school!
And these new male students are right in the middle of
it!"
*****
In fact, the boys were even more disturbing than the
girls. Lovebright's had only been co-educational for
a couple of years, and girls still outnumbered boys by
about three to one. Teens are terribly sensitive to
embarrassment, so Mrs. Baxter expected that even the
seniors would be a little intimidated by all those
girls.
Far from it. The boys strolled down the halls like
minor princes on a royal walkabout. They strutted
like gangsters who had just been acquitted. They
joked and laughed. They kissed the cheeks and patted
the barely covered fannies of the girls they walked
by. They whistled and stared, and handed out loud,
unsubtle compliments at girls they admired.
And the girls ate it up. They giggled and tittered at
the sexual innuendo and basked in the most tasteless
compliments. All the girls laughed at the boys' lame
jokes and flirted shamelessly at every opportunity.
The halls were loud with shouting and conversations,
jokes and laughter, more like a party than a school
day. The noise settled a little bit as Mrs. Baxter
walked by, and many a nervous glance, or so it seemed
to her, was directed her way. But a few feet behind
her the revelry started up again, as rambunctious as
ever.
When she had recovered from her initial surprise
enough to look more closely, Mrs. Baxter noticed
another oddity. There didn't seem to be any solitary
boys. Every boy in the school was walking along with
an attractive girl on his arm, sometimes two. Even
the big chunky goofs and quiet, nerdy types seemed to
be amazingly popular. A few of the more confident
guys were followed by an ever-changing throng of
admiring girl students, all jockeying to be near him,
like groupies around a rock star.
Mrs. Baxter noticed one fellow in particular, pausing
outside a classroom with his girlfriend in tow. She
was a head taller than he and spectacularly beautiful.
She was dressed, like all the girls, in a travesty of
the school uniform: a slinky white bodyshirt over a
foreshortened kilt, dark, patterned hose that sparkled
as she walked, and high-heeled black ankleboots. When
Mrs. Baxter was a student, even hair worn that long
and loose would have been against regulations. Not to
mention the blatant display of affection with which
she said goodbye to her boyfriend.
Evidently they were going to different classes.
Standing by the classroom door, in full view of
anybody, the couple embraced, while the girl bent down
and gave her boyfriend a long, sizzling kiss. The
kiss turned into an upright necking session. When the
boy ran his hands down her back and onto her bum the
girl merely cooed excitedly and rubbed her crotch
tighter against him. At last he broke the kiss and
gently pushed her away. She was breathing hard.
Reluctantly, looking back at him doe-eyed, she turned
and waltzed into the classroom where the teacher was
patiently waiting for the class to assemble.
The girl was barely out of sight before another girl,
a hot-looking blonde in a tight white jersey and an
equally short kilt, shouted out his name from down the
hall. She tripped down the noisy corridor toward him
in her wedge-heeled slides, smiling excitedly, and
fairly threw herself into his arms, loosing one gaudy
shoe in the process. After a long and passionate
melding of lips it was again the boy who pushed her
gently away. Until he mentioned it, she seemed hardly
to have noticed her missing shoe.
As she watched the couple recede down the hall, arm in
arm, Mrs. Baxter looked on, amazed and unbelieving.
Never mind that the way both girls carried on with the
boy bordered on public indecency, much less proper
decorum for a private school. There was an even
bigger mystery. The girls were both gorgeous and
radiating sex appeal; the guy was short, plain, a
little frumpy and wore glasses. How in the world did
he ever attract a girl []such as that? Mrs. Baxter
pushed a stray curl away from her ear and was
surprised to find moisture there. The aura of teenage
sexual tension was so thick it was affecting even her.
*****
"Mrs. Baxter," the headmaster said, clinging
desperately to common sense, "You must remember that
these are adolescents just emerging into adulthood.
They are discovering the other sex. Naturally, when
young men and women are thrust together there will be
romantic liaisons --"
But the blonde visitor was not listening. "Romantic
liaisons! Is that your Harvard euphemism for carrying
on in public like rabbits!?"
"Well, of course we attempt to discourage too open
displays of affection. But you know how young men
are. Sometimes their enthusiasm is a little hard to
hold in check."
It was a weak explanation, but Mrs. McLeod was loathe
to admit that she found it difficult to discipline the
male students. They were all such huggable, handsome
little hunks! Even the shy, nerdy types were simply
too cute for words. Oh, she had hauled a couple into
her office after some particularly flagrant incidents,
intending to give them one of her famous tongue-
lashings. But when the guys stood smiling sheepishly
in front of her she found herself as flushed and
giggly as any of the young girls in her charge.
Unable to stay angry, she gave them a gentle lecture
and sent them on their way. For some reason she found
the incidents delightfully arousing, and any day when
she had a student in her office her husband was
guaranteed a lively time in bed that night!
"Are you admitting then," Mrs. Baxter said icily,
"that you cannot control your own students?"
"No, of course not! But you must understand that
certain, ah, youthful rambunctiousness is to be
expected. It's part of --"
"I see." the blonde woman cut her off disdainfully.
"So you are unable or unwilling to exercise your
authority to maintain even a semblance of discipline.
The Board will be interested to hear that. Could it
be that student decorum would be more easily
maintained if the teaching staff set a proper
example?"
"What, what do you mean?" Mrs. McLeod said meekly.
She didn't like the way this was going.
"I mean, quite simply, that I expect teachers at this
school to be exemplary in appearance, conduct and
performance. I have seen nothing of the sort here,
Mrs. McLeod!"
*****
Still reeling from her experience in the hall, Mrs.
Baxter had found herself outside an empty classroom
just as the noise of class change subsided. The
classroom was deserted except for a good-looking young
woman sitting at the front desk. Evidently she was
one of the new replacement teachers that had been
brought on earlier in the semester.
Women had always composed most of Lovebright's
teaching staff, and like its building and its
philosophy, much of the staff had grown old and tired
and in need of rejuvenation. In the upheaval
following the name change and the admission of boys,
many of the older teachers had retired. A few months
later several others had abruptly resigned amid
disturbing rumors of illicit affairs with students.
The situation required a raft of new hirings, many in
mid-semester. To save time, the Board had allowed
Mrs. McLeod to make the appointments herself, with
Board ratification suspended until after the school
year. Mrs. Baxter was therefore not surprised that
she did not recognize the pretty young teacher.
"Hello," she said, striding into the room, "My name is
Baxter. I'm with the Board of Governors, here on
inspection. And you would be...?"
The woman was studying herself in a hand mirror while
she applied lipstick. She looked up, startled, trying
to lodge her chewing gum in a corner of her mouth.
"Oh! Oh, uhm yes, Mrs. Baxter, oh, yes. Of course.
I like, didn't see you there. Yes, oh, I'm Crystal
Sexsmith, senior history and, uhm, geography. We
were, uhm, sort of like, expecting you tomorrow."
"I know. That's why I decided to drop in today."
Smiling coolly, Mrs. Baxter examined the young
teacher. She was definitely still in her twenties,
slender and very attractive, with long, blond hair
streaked with darker bands, and glittering deep blue
eyes. Her lips were full and cherry red from the
freshly applied lipstick. Certainly plenty of fuel
there for adolescent fantasies. Mrs. Baxter had voted
against the emergency hiring approvals, and she
certainly did not approve of senior classes being
taught by a neophyte ten years her junior who looked
more like a model than a teacher.
Still, sitting behind her big desk the young woman
appeared professional enough. Her hair was mostly
pinned up with a pair of gold combs. Stylish, gold-
rimmed glasses perched on her nose. She wore a plain
white blouse and a conservative gray suit jacket that
looked properly academic. "Well, I guess, like, uhm,
since you're here, like," she said, clearly flustered,
"I'm like, really glad to meet you." She rose to her
feet and extended a hand.
"Likewise," Mrs. Baxter said insincerely, but then her
voice trailed off. Standing up, Ms Sexsmith had
revealed the bottom half of her clothing. The
conservative gray jacket matched the simple gray
skirt, hip-hugging and distractingly short. The
hemline rode high on perfect thighs just below the
edge of the jacket. Her legs were long and lean,
shimmering beneath sheer nylons with a dark seam up
the back, and topped off with mirror-black, extra-high
heels. The skirt caught for just a moment on one
side, revealing the black lace garters barely covered
when it fell back in place.
Mrs. Baxter was shocked again. "Is this how you dress
for class?" she demanded.
The leggy blonde fiddled with a wayward strand of
hair. "Well, uh, yeah, I guess so. Like, when the
weather's warm. Is something wrong?"
The other blonde studied her keenly. "How old are
you?"
"Twenty-two."
"And when did you receive your teaching certificate?"
"Oh, well, uhm, probably in the fall. I have to,
like, just finish a couple of courses over the
summer." She looked at the older woman nervously.
"You don't have a degree!?"
"I will! I just have to repeat--I mean take a couple
of courses to finish up. It's like almost a
formality. Really."
*****
Mrs. McLeod shook her head as the young woman glared
at her across the desk. Of all the teachers to drop
in on, it had to be Crystal. She was adorable, but
such an airhead. The kids loved her though.
But this Baxter bitch was demanding an explanation,
and the headmaster knew she had to do something. She
was getting in over her head and if she couldn't come
up with some ideas quickly there was going to be hell
to pay. It was time to get some help.
"I, uh, I can explain all this," she said
unconvincingly. "But will you, uh, just excuse me for
one moment?" She picked up the telephone on her desk
and punched a button. "Holly? Can you please find
Jimmy and ask him to come in here? Right away. Yes,
I know, but tell him we're having a fire drill. Yes,
definitely. OK, thanks."
She put down the telephone and smiled at Mrs. Baxter,
some of her confidence returning. Holly had
recognized the code words "fire drill" which meant
there was an emergency. So Jimmy would come by and
help her out. He would figure out some way to explain
the new school rules and mollify Mrs. rich-bitch
Baxter. Jimmy was always there to help her when she
needed him. He was such a remarkable boy.
*****
Mrs. Baxter's patience was wearing thinner by the
moment. "What is going on here, Mrs. McLeod?" she
demanded. "Who is this Jimmy, and what has he got to
do with hiring "teachers" who don't even have a
teaching certificate? For god's sake, that's not even
allowed under state regulations! Not to mention the
Lovebright's tradition of hiring only first-rate
faculty! Is it possible you have forgotten that too,
the way you have forgotten everything else about
running a school!?"
The shapely headmaster wilted before the other woman's
rage. She tried to think of something to say, if only
to buy time. That comment about Lovebright's first-
rate faculty was another exaggeration. Still, blondie
Baxter did have a point, Crystal's appointment was
technically unsanctioned. Ordinarily Mrs. McLeod was
punctilious about that sort of thing, but Crystal was
such a sweetheart, and obviously so popular with the
boys that she had decided to let it go this time. She
would get her degree eventually.
Actually, it had been Jimmy's suggestion that she hire
Crystal; he had an unerring sense for this kind of
thing. Mrs. McLeod hoped he would get here soon. She
wasn't sure she could hold off la Baxter much longer.
"Mrs. Baxter, let me explain the situation with Ms
Sexsmith," the headmaster said, thinking quickly. "We
were lucky to get her, all things considered. She was
finishing her master's degree in education and
incredibly, taking the teaching certificate courses in
her spare time. We realized that it was slightly
unconventional to bring on a teacher who hadn't
officially finished the degree, but Ms Sexsmith's
other qualifications were so sterling that the detail
of a few unfinished courses seemed quite trivial."
None of this was technically true, of course --the
hardest thing Crystal had ever learned was how to walk
in five-inch heels --but Mrs. McLeod knew she had to
keep Baxter from leaving before Jimmy got there. She
was pretty much making it up as she went, and she
wasn't too surprised to discover the curly-haired
housewife didn't believe her.
"Oh come now, Madam," she sneered, "do you really
expect me to believe that that" --she paused, looking
for a word --"that bimbo has a master's degree!"
"But we had to do something when Ms. Harding resigned
so suddenly." Almost as soon as the words were out of
her mouth, the headmistress realized her mistake. Ms.
Harding had been one of the fiercest critics of the
changes at Lovebright. Everyone in the state,
especially the blonde inquisitor sitting before her,
had been shocked when the forty-five year old spinster
had suddenly resigned, being found pregnant with the
baby of one of her students. Worst yet, she
cheerfully admitted to having slept with "so many of
the little studs," she didn't know which one had
pregged her!
Mrs. McLeod was not a good liar and she could feel
herself blushing under Mrs. Baxter's fiery glare.
Fortunately, before she could dig herself in any
deeper there was a polite rapping at the door. "Ah,
that will be Jimmy now," the headmaster said, unable
to hide her relief. "I'm sure he will be able to
answer any of your remaining questions. Come in!"
The door opened and a student walked in. Mrs. McLeod
jumped to her feet. "Lov--, er, I mean, Mr. King,
thank you for dropping by. I hope you aren't missing
a class." She gestured toward her still-seated guest.
"This is Mrs. Baxter," she said, then added,
significantly, "she's from the Board of Governors, and
she has a few questions about the, uh, academic
environment here."
"Mrs. Baxter. What a pleasure this is," the boy said,
extending a hand.
The svelte blonde was nonplussed. The boy looked to
be a senior and he was handsome in a kind of bland
way, medium tall and kind of gangly. Unlike the
female student body he seemed to take the school
uniform seriously, and was wearing the regulation
jacket, tie and button-down white shirt. But she had
not missed the excitement in Mrs. McLeod's manner when
he entered the room, or the almost fawning way she was
looking at him now.
Automatically, she rose to her feet and shook hands.
"Delighted, Mr. King," she said in a voice designed
to put youngsters in their place. "Now will somebody
please explain to me what this **boy**is doing here?
Do you let the students run the school now,
headmaster?"
Mrs. McLeod ignored the sarcasm. "Jimmy is one of the
Vargas Scholarship students," she said proudly, "and
also chairs our new Student-Teacher Committee. We
decided early last semester that a forum was needed
for the exchange of views between students and
faculty. It provides the students with an opportunity
for real input into regulations which affect them, as
opposed to the traditional, autocratic approach." The
education-theory jargon came out easily. She had
almost forgotten that the committee was originally
Jimmy's idea, and that he had even recommended the
students and teachers that sat on it.
"You seem upset, Mrs. Baxter," the boy said with an
easy self-confidence far beyond his years. "Why don't
you tell us exactly what is bothering you, and we'll
see if we can't allay your concerns." He pulled up a
chair close beside the headmaster, sat down, and
looked at the young blonde expectantly.
Mrs. Baxter was nearly speechless. The whole
situation seemed unreal. Not only had the whole
Academy turned into a travesty, but now a student was
sitting behind the headmaster's desk, calmly taking
over an administrative discussion as if it were the
most natural thing in the world. This was too much.
It was time to just walk out of here and go directly
to the Board. She could pressure Vargas into calling
an emergency meeting. When they heard her report this
excuse of a headmaster would be out on her ear before
sunrise. Something had to be done.
Yet she hesitated. There was something going on here,
she was sure of that, and this cocky, smooth-talking
senior was the key to it all. She sat down. "Very
well then," she said archly, "perhaps the chair of the
Student-Teacher Committee can explain how a
miniskirted nitwit came to be teaching senior
geography!"
But the boy only smiled. "You must be referring to
Crystal Sexsmith. Her style is quite disarming, isn't
it? Don't let her fool you though. Beneath that
carefully cultivated little-girl image is a sharp and
demanding mind. She is a born teacher, too. Her
interview left us all stunned." Not nearly as stunned
as Crystal had been when she found out she was hired,
but he didn't say that.
Mrs. Baxter looked at the boy unbelievingly. He
sounded absolutely serious. That barbie doll a
natural born teacher? "Mrs. McLeod! Is this true?"
"What? Oh, uh, yes, uh certainly. Absolutely true,"
the headmaster said, brushing back her hair. She was
a little distracted at that moment because Jimmy had
his hand on her knee, just below the hem of her skirt,
and he was lightly stroking the inside of her leg. It
made it kind of hard to concentrate on the
conversation. She spread her legs a little wider.
Mrs. Baxter was taken aback. "Well I...you can't
honestly believe...Very well, let's let that go for a
moment. There are many other things. How can you
account for the bizarre goings-on in the physical
education class?"
*****
The corridors were mostly deserted by the time Mrs.
Baxter left Crystal Sexsmith's classroom. There did
seem to be a little more noise than usual coming from
the classrooms, occasional bursts of laughter or
shouting, and what sounded like... yes, it was
definitely music coming from the gymnasium. It was
lively dance music with a pulsing disco rhythm. The
trim blonde's heels clicked smartly on the tile floor
as she made her way to the gym.
She opened one of the big wooden doors a crack and
peered inside. The music was coming from an oversized
boombox set on a chair by the wall. There were about
a dozen or so students in the gym, and a taller woman
who must be the teacher. But this was no ordinary gym
class.
For one thing, the girls were not wearing the
regulation blue top and knee-length shorts that
Lovebright students always wore to gym. These girls
were dressed in bright blue leotards and sleek white
leggings, with matching blue ankle socks and high-
topped white shoes. The stretchy Spandex outfits
flattered the young, if slightly rounded, figures and
well-turned legs. The girls were doing some kind of
aerobic exercise, stretching and moving to the music.
Their supple, easy movements suggested ample practice.
The exercises were unconventional; at times they
involved bending and turning at the waist, arms
overhead and breasts thrust forward, at other times
slow graceful steps and pirouettes like ballerinas,
high on the toes of their fancy shoes. Then the music
dropped to a sensual, pulsing beat and the girls began
doing in-place exercises, thrusting their hips forward
on one beat, bending and pushing out their behinds on
the next. They seemed to be having a great time.
Basketballs and other gym equipment was piled in a
corner gathering dust.
The only person not dressed in leotards was the
instructor. Instead she wore a white, sleeveless
tennis dress trimmed with blue stripes, and silvery
white tennis shoes tied up with wide blue ribbons
instead of laces. Something seemed out of place about
that dress. Trying to ignore the infectious beat of
the music, or the blatantly sexy movements of the
girls, Mrs. Baxter studied the instructor. She was
young, and impossibly well-built. Large buoyant
breasts and long, athletic legs burst out of the tiny
rag of a tennis dress. Long black hair flowed freely
down past her shoulders.
Her smile was radiant. Swaying gracefully with the
music she strolled among the students, correcting a
misplaced arm here, encouraging a more exuberant
thrust there. She was wearing big hoop earrings
patterned in blue and white, and matching bracelets on
both arms.
What in the world was going on? Mrs. Baxter peered in
through the gym door and watched the girls go through
their well-practiced routine. There was a compelling
harmony in their movements, the whole class stretching
and bending together like a chorus line. Many of the
leotards were quite skimpy along the bustline and
around the bum, and when the girls bent over to touch
their toes the gym was filled with bouncing breasts
and behinds.
It was hard to tell from the door, but the girls
didn't appear to be wearing anything beneath the
leotards. They straightened slowly, following the
sensuous tones of the music, drawing their hands up
their legs and over their torsos. Mrs. Baxter drew in
her breath. She found one hand mimicking the girls'
movements and she forced it to stop.
*****
"What in god's name are you teaching these girls in
gym class!" Mrs. Baxter exclaimed, glaring first at
the headmaster, then at the student beside her. "Why
aren't they learning basketball or field hockey or
gymnastics? Why, that wasn't even proper aerobics.
Those...movements the girls were doing were
practically obscene. It was as if they were
practicing to be bawdy dancers! Mrs. McLeod, I demand
an explanation!"
"Ex--explanation?" the headmaster gasped, her eyes
darting about. "Yes, I can, ooooh, yes, I---I can...
uhm, explain... oh!... explain..." Jimmy's hand was
now above the middle of her thigh and the curvy
headmaster was finding it increasingly difficult to
focus on the conversation. Her skirt was rucked up
around her hips. Jimmy was deftly stroking her
stocking-covered inner thigh, moving a little higher
with every pass.
He was being terribly naughty, teasing her at a time
like this, but Mrs. McLeod couldn't bring herself to
try to stop him. Jimmy's touch was always such a
turn-on. With a few strokes he could render her weak-
kneed and helpless.
Mrs. McLeod spread her legs apart as far as the tight
skirt would let her. She wished he would let her wear
minis, as he did the other teachers, but Jimmy said
she had to present a more conservative image to the
public and she grudgingly agreed he was right. She
compensated, however, by wearing the wildest underwear
she could still find.
"I think I understand your misapprehension," Jimmy
interrupted smoothly, his hand still busy between the
squirming headmistress's legs. "That would surely be
Miss Libertina's class. She has introduced a new
concept in isometric exercise, blending together, as I
understand it, diverse elements from aerobics, modern
dance, ballet and even tai chi. The result is an
effective, low-impact routine that works the muscles
while simultaneously teaching balance, poise and
rhythm. She explained it to us one evening at a
Student-Teacher Committee meeting."
For a moment Mrs. Baxter was dumbfounded. That
explanation was so bizarre it almost made sense. She
ignored the headmaster, who seemed to be twitching in
her seat, and concentrated her anger on Jimmy. "Do
you mean to tell me," she said in measured tones,
"that those exercises the girls were doing were
intended as instruction?"
Jimmy smiled. "Absolutely. Though of course
traditional sports have not been abandoned. In fact,
our new football team is doing rather well,
considering the small pool of talent we have to draw
on."
The football team's success was probably due to the
success of Lovebright's large and energetic
cheerleading squad at distracting the opposing teams
with beaver shots, but again Jimmy let the details
pass. Ms Libertina was also the cheerleading coach
and she applied her new dance ideas to their routines
as well. In fact, Ms Libertina had been a
professional cheerleader herself until very recently.
"Football," said Mrs. Baxter blankly. It figured, she
conceded with a sigh. There were boys in the school
now. "But what about the girls' championship field
hockey team?" she inquired.
Jimmy smiled, realizing that it would be cruel to make
Mrs. McLeod try to answer. Leaving her to bask in his
delicious manipulation of her sex, he spoke up. "It
was offered this year as usual, but there just wasn't
enough interest." Actually, quite a few girls had been
interested at first, including a senior who had been
hoping to gain athletic scholarships under Title IX
programs. She soon realized, however, that time spent
on the field meant less time on her back practicing
the new sport her occasional boyfriend had just taught
her. She probably wouldn't be going to college,
anyway.
"If I may ask you one question," the student prodded
her gently, "If you were curious about the aerobics
program, why didn't you just ask Ms Libertina? She is
very enthusiastic about it." Actually, enthusiastic
didn't quite cover it. Since the idea had occurred to
her at a Student-Teacher meeting, the statuesque gym
instructor had gradually become obsessed with the new
dance routines, until eventually they had pushed all
the traditional sports off the curriculum. The girls
too had grown to love the exercises, especially since
they were allowed to wear the new Spandex uniforms.
For once Mrs. Baxter hesitated. "Well, I...the fact
is, I, well, I never got the chance. I mean, I'm here
to do an inspection, and I can't go around
interrupting every class." In truth, she had been very
reluctant to go farther into the gymnasium. There was
something disturbingly captivating about the dance the
girls were doing, and the rich young housewife was
surprised to find herself getting warm just watching
them. Just as she was getting warm right now from
remembering it.
She shifted uneasily in her chair. "Besides, young
man," she said more firmly, "we still have other
things to discuss. Much more serious things. Such as
openly lewd behavior in the corridors of the Academy!"
She raised her voice dramatically.
*****
Closing the door to the gymnasium, Mrs. Baxter hurried
on down the hall until, mercifully, the catchy beat of
the music faded. She fluffed up her hair, trying to
regain her composure. In the relative silence of the
hall she could make out whispered voices coming from a
narrow side corridor. Curious, she turned to find
them. There should not have been any students about.
Lovebright's traditional strict discipline forbade
students to be out of classrooms or the library during
school hours.
The corridor lead to a narrow back staircase, one of
many such byways and alcoves in the complex
architecture of the old building. Walking on tiptoe,
Mrs. Baxter approached the voices. There were two
students, seniors by the look of them, standing in an
unused space beneath the staircase. Old stuffed
chairs and sofas were stacked up for storage. The boy
was tall and dark blonde, with hair too long for the
regulations. He wore the uniform shirt and pants
without a tie. His jacket was thrown over a chair.
The girl was a leggy brunette whose interpretation of
the school uniform included a kilt that couldn't have
been more than 15 inches long, worn above sky-blue
stockings with dark stripes up the legs. Her shiny
black shoes had impractically thick platform soles and
heels that towered like skyscrapers. Instead of a
blouse she wore a thin white jersey with the bottom
buttons unfastened to show her navel. The couple were
locked in a heady embrace. As the school inspector
watched, unnoticed, they kissed and necked hungrily.
The girl seemed to be protesting something. "Johnny,
please," she murmured softly, when he finally let her
up for air, "we can't. I have to...get to
class...shouldn't even...out here..." The pauses grew
longer as Johnny silenced her with kisses, each one
more eagerly accepted than the one before.
"Hey, relax Leanne, you know I can get you a pass,"
Johnny whispered, sprinkling kisses down her throat
and neck. "And besides Ms Winsome never checks
attendance anymore. We have the whole period to
ourselves." He had one hand on her back, and the other
near the bottom of her tiny skirt.
The girl was flushed. "But what if, what if somebody
sees us!" she whispered, trying unsuccessfully to keep
his hands at bay.
"Nobody will see us. Nobody ever comes back here.
And they're all in class anyway." He kissed her again,
long and thoroughly, while they pressed their bodies
together. In the hall Mrs. Baxter stood watching,
shocked and fascinated. Unnoticed, her hand slipped
into her panties.
The pretty co-ed was rapidly losing ground. "God
Johnny," she husked, when their lips separated an
inch, "You're making me so hot. Please, we have
to..." He covered her lips with his, pulling her
closer. As they necked, his hand slipped down off her
miniskirt onto the top of one nylon-clad thigh. The
girl made a small sound deep in her throat. Following
Johnny's urging she lifted one leg and wrapped it
around him, pressing herself against his thrusting
hips.
"Please stop, Johnny," Leanne panted at last, her eyes
half-closed. "You're driving me crazy. We can't do
this, not this week. Remember. Dr. Fecunda
confiscated all the girls' pills and I'm ovu ..
Please, oh god, wait, oooooh, not theerrre..." Ignoring
her, the boy's hand disappeared under her skirt effectively
stifling her protests. Adroitly he turned her around
and began to lower her onto one of the old sofas.
"Please, Johnny," she whimpered, "please hurrrry!"
>From her vantage point in the hall, Mrs. Baxter
watched, spellbound. He was actually going to do
it! The boy was about to drill and with any luck preg
the little vixen, right here in the school! Too
stunned to move, the well-heeled blonde watched as the
young girl collapsed onto an unused sofa, still
clinched in an eager embrace. Most of the sofa was
hidden from view by the staircase, so Mrs. Baxter
could only see the bottom of their legs. Two fingers
up her own well lubricated pussy made it hard to pay
attention, anyway.
It wasn't hard to infer what was happening though.
Leanne's sexy legs were rubbing against Johnny's on
top, amid much snuffling and groaning. Johnny's
ankles arched for a moment, and then his pants and
shorts appeared around his calves, pushed down eagerly
by Leanne's delicate hands. Evidently her underwear
wasn't a significant issue, because a moment later
Mrs. Baxter heard a sharp, feminine cry, followed by a
sigh of "oh yesssss!" She could tell by the up and
down movements of Johnny's legs that he must be
thrusting his hips. Leanne's striped stockings
glistened as she humped back. The movement of her own
hand accelerated.
The chorus of moans and mews grew louder. Suddenly
Leanne's platform shoes lifted high in the air and
then disappeared, and Mrs. Baxter realized instantly
that she must have crossed her legs around his back.
This was no teary romantic encounter: this was a
mating rut.
Mrs. Baxter leaned back against the wall and abruptly
realized she was breathing hard. The sounds of
vigorous love-making were still coming from the
stairwell. What should she do? This was intolerable
behavior, they should both be expelled. She should
just walk in and interrupt them, while they were...
right in the middle of...god she was hot. Pulling on
her collar, she imagined what Leanne must be feeling
right then, pinned on the deep sofa with a hard,
vibrant specimen of teenage virility thrusting into
her, feeling her breasts against his chest, her
nipples hard and swollen like Mrs. Baxter's were now.
She shuddered, and shook her head vigorously, but her
hand was back in her twat. She was so close. She had
to stop the .
"Pull out, Johnny! Pull out! Don't come in ." Too
late! "Aaaaahhhhhhgggg!" Mrs. McLeod gasped as the
sound of the helplessly rutting girl's orgasm
triggered her own. She came and came hard. With a
sharp exhalation she turned her back on the cries and
moans and creaking of springs coming from the
staircase and stumbled down the corridor back to the
relative tranquillity of the main hall.
Continued in part II
--
You can read Homer Vargas stories at
http://www.storiesonline.net (Thanks, Lazeez.)
and
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Vargas/www/ (Thanks, Kristen)
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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