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Message-ID: <39645asstr$1039129805@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Homer Vargas <vargas111@yahoo.com>
MIME-Version: 1.0
Subject: {ASSM} Lovebright Academy: The Real Story (MC, Mdom, preg)
Date: Thu,  5 Dec 2002 18:10:05 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Author: Homer Vargas
Title: Lovebright Academy: The Real Story
Keywords: (MC, Mdom, preg)
Summary: Additions to Downing Street's classic story. 
Why are all the girls and women teachers so hot for
the boys?
Redistribution: No restriction except that the story
may not be changed/edited and the title, author's name
and email, and request for feedback must remain
intact.
First Posted 8/13/99
Last Edited 12/05/02

Lovebright Academy: The Real Story (MC, Mdom, preg)
Homer Vargas
vargas111@yahoo.com

[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.

LOVEBRIGHT ACADEMY: The Real Story 
by Homer Vargas

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 mothers of their children, lead them to
Mrs. Francis 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
those of 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. Cynthia Baxter was an "old-girl" herself, and in
the Lovebright's tradition she had seduced a wealthy
businessman and got him to marry her when she
"accidentally" became 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 at the
suggestion of 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 kneesocks (cable-knit
tights in winter), black flats, and a formal blue
jacket bearing the Lovebright 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 that beneath it, the girl wore no blouse at
all.

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 overheated 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 exuberance 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.

II

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, particularly the admission of
boys.  Consequently, 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 happily
admitted to having slept with so many boys, she didn't
know or care which one knocked her up!

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. Cynthia 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-top
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 were 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 winning season 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 spent on her back
practicing the new sport her occasional boyfriend had
just taught her.  She probably wouldn't be going to
college, anyway, now.

"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, er, 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 impracticably 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 Craig makes Ms Winsome so late
for class every day she 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.  Miss Fecunda
confiscated all the girls' pills and I'm ovu .... 
Please, oh god, wait, oooooh, not theerrre....." 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.  They were actually going to do
it! The boy was about to drill the little vixen and
with any luck preg her, 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.

"Oh, god, Leanne, no wonder you're so wet.  Is it
really that time?  Your pussy is so tight like it's
ready for a baby.  Don't you want me to give you a big
belly?"  The chorus of moans and mews grew louder,
seeming to answer the boy's question.  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.

III

"So then.  This is what discipline has come to," Mrs.
Baxter said, scowling across the big oak desk.  She
tried to recapture the sense of furious shock and
outrage that had propelled her into the headmaster's
office.  Retelling even the innocent part of her
experience with the amorous students had unexpectedly
refreshed the memory in her mind, and she found
herself getting very warm, her nipples pressing
against her bra.  "Sex right here in the building!
Students coupling like animals! Where does this fit in
your new educational theories, Mrs. McLeod?  Did
*this* idea come up at one of your Student-Teacher
Committee meetings?  This situation must not be
tolerated! Those students must be punished for such
scandalous behavior, and you, madam -- are you
listening to me!?"

The headmaster's eyes were unfocussed.  With her head
rolling loosely, she was making little thrusting
motions with her hips, still largely hidden behind the
desk.  "Hmmmm? Lis-listening?" she said indifferently.
 "Oh! Oh yes! And I love it.  It's so good.  I want
to--, to hear it.  Please, don't stop now!" She was
breathing through her mouth.

Mrs. Baxter stared at the clearly aroused headmaster
in wonder.  Had her report about the two oversexed
students turned the older woman on so much?  It was a
hot story, she had to admit, the way Leanne looked so
sexy in her super-short skirt and striped stockings,
the confident, masculine way that Johnny guided her
onto the sofa and worked his ... way into her.

With an effort, she forced her mind away from the
scene.  She regretted not having let Arthur at least
try to fuck her this morning before she came here;
maybe she wouldn't have been so horny.  This was no
time to be caught in an erotic daydream! This was an
outrage and something had to be done! And you would
think, with all the money she paid for this dress,
they could have cut it a little shorter so it didn't
cover the best part of her legs and make it so dammed
difficult to get her fingers in her pussy! Wait, what
did that have to do with it?

She came back to the present when the headmaster
emitted a little gasp.  Jimmy's hand had succeeded in
reaching the top of her silk stockings.  Now he was
teasing lightly over the little space at the top of
her thighs, between the dark bands of her garters and
her black bikini panties.  She had succeeded, while
the Baxter bitch was rambling on about Johnny and
Leanne, in hitching her skirt up over her bum, so it
no longer impeded Jimmy's questing fingers.  She
gasped audibly when one finger found the wet spot on
her crotch and slid along the length of her silk-
covered lips.  The presence of a Board inspector, and
the impending disaster to her career, were becoming
less and less important.

Thinking back, Mrs. McLeod remembered when she had
first decided to dress like a real woman and started
wearing stockings instead of the triple protection of
baggy slacks, panties and pantyhose to school.  Her
husband had thought it a little strange at first, as
she had always been so conservative.  He also objected
to the cost when she started buying the expensive silk
ones, and then insisted on wearing them every day. 
Eventually she had mentioned her husband's concern to
Jimmy, before a Committee meeting one day.  He
suggested she invite him over for supper.  Her husband
thought that was odd too, but he didn't realize that
Jimmy was an exceptional student.

On the evening of Jimmy's visit, Mrs. McLeod had drunk
too much wine with supper and tottered off to bed
early.  Jimmy and her husband had stayed up very late
talking, but not too later to get a delicious sleepy
fuck when her husband eventually came to bed.  Jimmy
must have explained things to him very well because
the next morning her husband made no objection at all
when, after another quick fuck, she slipped into a
pair of red fish-net hose and a matching red garter
belt.  In fact it seemed to turn him on quite a lot.

Jimmy came back for supper once more a week later,
just when ...?  Something important that slipped her
mind.  This time all three of them stayed up late,
drinking and talking and laughing, until her husband
fell asleep, glass in hand, in his favorite stuffed
chair.  Mrs. McLeod herself was feeling no pain from
the drinks and soon she was howling with pleasure as
Jimmy gave her a delightful little fuck on the living
room rug while her husband dozed.  It was so much
better than the quickies she was used to in her office
when Jimmy just turned her over a chair between
classes.

After that night her husband started helping her
choose her underwear each morning.  He often helped
her slip on her stockings and shoes, while Mrs. McLeod
sipped the fresh orange juice he made for her and
enjoyed the feeling of being petted and pampered. 
Dressing her seemed to get her husband awfully worked
up.  He was usually rock-hard by the time he was done.
 Sometimes she let him make her late for school. 
Lately she preferred to make him wait until she came
home at night and he had spent the day suffering. 
Sometimes he even called her from his law office just
to tell her how hot she looked.  When he did, she knew
she'd have no trouble getting eaten before being on
top that night.

Not surprisingly, it was Jimmy who responded to Mrs.
Baxter's last complaint, and now he became very
serious.  "Mrs. Baxter," he said intently, "I do not
mean to minimize the seriousness of this incident, but
I think there are two sides to the issue."  He leaned
forward in his chair, at an angle which incidentally
gave him better access to Mrs. McLeod's panties. 
"These are young people, full of emotions, and they
sometimes make mistakes.  We get carried away
sometimes, I admit it.  That's why we need direction
from adults, from teachers and parents.  Those
students are classmates of mine, I know them well. 
Perhaps they shouldn't have been skipping classes, but
they are very much in love."  If that were the case
then Johnny had been very much in love with at least
three other girls that week, but once again Jimmy's
sense of tact prevailed.

"They went some place to make out and they got carried
away.  An unfortunate scene.  But what about you, Mrs.
Baxter?  You saw what was developing, why didn't you
interrupt them?  These kids needed moral guidance at
that moment, and you just stood and watched.  Why? Why
didn't you stop them from doing something they will
both regret later?  Why did you just stand there and
watch an unplanned pregnancy occur?" This time it was
he who glared across the desk accusingly.

Mrs. Baxter was taken aback.  "Well, I never -- I
mean, I couldn't....  there was no time to..."

Jimmy interrupted her.  "It's easy to come in here and
complain afterward, but I can't help thinking you had
a chance to do the right thing and you blew it.  Could
it be that you actually enjoyed watching the girl
getting knocked up?  That you were spying from the
corridor while these two innocent kids made a baby for
your amusement?"

The pretty blonde's face was red.  "No! No, of course
not.  It wasn't like that at all!" She looked about,
trying to collect her thoughts.

There was no use appealing to Mrs. McLeod for support.
 The headmaster was lolling in her chair, quite
obviously lifting herself on her arms to thrust her
hips behind the desk, gasping "Hunh! Hunh!  Hunh!" in
time with the thrusts.  Jimmy now had two fingers
inside her panties.  The freckled brunette was
shamelessly goosing herself on his digits, very nearly
oblivious to her surroundings.

"It wasn't like that, not like you're saying," Mrs.
Baxter said defensively.  "The point is they shouldn't
have been there at all!  And if proper discipline had
been maintained from the outset they never would have
come to such a compromising position!  Letting the
boys strut around like little kings, and the girls
wearing their skirts so short ..."

Not that there was anything wrong with a fashionably
brief skirt.  Not, that is, if it were worn
tastefully, by a woman with dynamite legs.  Like hers.
 Maybe with shiny nylons and a new pair of shoes
Arthur would fuck her more often, or the new Jamaican
gardener.  Now there was a man who could send a
frustrated wife to the maternity ward! ...

She shook her head.  Where did these thoughts keep
coming from?

"Mrs. Baxter," Jimmy said again, pausing to slip a
third finger inside the panting headmaster, "I think
we have answered your complaints well enough. 
Lovebright's is going through some growing pains to be
sure, but the Academy is still in good shape.  And as
for Mrs. McLeod, well, we are all taken with her
openness and ability to accept new ideas." His arm
pistoned steadily as he spoke.

"Oh fuck yessss!" the headmaster gasped, slumping down
in her chair.  "Gimme some more ... more i-ideas!"

Mrs. Baxter was confused.  The headmaster was acting
just like a woman who was getting a dandy little
finger-job, and above the desk she could see Jimmy's
arm moving back and forth, in and out.  She knew she
should be terrifically upset, outraged in fact, but
the poor woman clearly needed to come, and badly. 
Besides, she had succeeded in getting a finger into
her own hole and it seemed harder and harder to hold
onto her sense of anger.

Jimmy had more or less dismissed her, but she knew she
had more to say.  It was just so difficult to keep it
all straight.  Flighty, irrelevant thoughts kept
slipping through her mind, flipping against her
consciousness the way a really short skirt would flip
against her thighs as she walked, reminding her with
every step of just how deliciously sexy she looked,
how much she needed a good ...

Shaking off the wandering thoughts again, she cried
out, "Wait! There's more!  There are other things!  I
just can't quite..." Concentrating hard to keep her
head clear she tried to remember what else she had
seen that had shocked her so.  The suspicious- looking
plants growing in neat rows in the greenhouse; the new
selection of erotic books and girlie magazines in the
library, and the foxy young librarian more concerned
with combing her hair than the laughter and necking
going on around her; the male teacher sitting behind
his desk between classes, yakking and flirting with
two pretty, provocatively dressed students who were
sitting on the arms of his chair; the obedient,
identically dressed young girls walking behind the
seniors.

That was it!

With the memory Mrs. Baxter's composure, and some of
her anger, returned.  Ignoring the steady moans from
the sexed-out headmaster and interrupting her own
masturbation, she glared at Jimmy.  "Let's see you
explain this away, Mr. smart-ass scholarship student,"
she challenged.

****

Classes changed again shortly after Mrs. Baxter, her
heart still pounding from her orgasm, returned to the
main hall from her side trip to the stairwell.  Once
again she found herself engulfed in a swirl of
boisterous, cheerful students, laughing and talking as
they ambled to their next class or stopped at their
lockers to comb their hair or change books.  In the
old days noise at this level would never have been
tolerated.  Once again the rich young housewife was
amazed by the shameless uniforms the girls were
wearing, the revealing tops, thigh-baring skirts,
fancy nylons and sexy shoes.  Once again she marveled
at the male students, each with his steady gaggle of
giggly girlfriends.

Several boys had seized the few minutes between
classes for a quick session of making out, or more, in
some darker corner.  The senior male students, of
which there could not have been more than a dozen,
were particularly popular.  As she watched, Mrs.
Baxter found herself thinking there was something
different about them.  Then she saw it.

The senior boys were not carrying any books.  In
addition to whatever number of female companions he
happened to have, each senior was accompanied by
another girl, juniors by the looks of them, that
patiently followed him around as he made his way to
the next class.  These girls were all dressed in a
foreshortened version of the school uniform.  They all
wore navy blue, garterless stockings that stopped just
at the edge of the mini-length kilt, and simple black
pams.  The trailing girl carried the boy's books, and
sometimes his jacket or whatever else he handed to
her.  They didn't seem to mind at all.

Mrs. Baxter drew in her breath in shock.  Why, those
girls were being used as servants!  This was beyond
belief!  Appalled, yet fascinated, Mrs. Baxter
followed one girl as she in turn puppy-dogged her
senior.  She stayed with him faithfully, making way
for any other girls that came over to talk to him. 
She waited patiently in the hall, without setting his
books down, when he ducked into the washroom.  While
she waited, she chatted amiably with another girl,
similarly burdened, who was waiting for a different
senior.  After a few minutes the boy came out, bent
down to give his girl a quick peck on the lips, and
headed off to his next class, the girl still following
brightly.

It was all too much.  Mrs. Baxter's anger, which had
been building steadily since she entered the school,
finally boiled over.  How could anyone tolerate what
had happened to the school?  She would not stand idly
by while her beloved alma mater was reduced to a
mocking nonsense of a prep school with no moral fiber
or discipline whatsoever.

It was that new headmaster, McLeod, she was
responsible for this, and by God she would pay.  Mrs.
Baxter swore she would have her head!  Her fists
clenched in anger, so red and heated that smoke nearly
billowed from her ears, the slender blonde turned
about and marched down to the main office to vent her
rage on the headmaster.

Now she was glaring furiously at the complacent
student sitting behind the headmaster's desk.  She was
certain by now that he was responsible for Mrs.
McLeod's descent into panting delirium.  She snarled
at him: "Treating girls like servants, Mr. King.  Like
servants! I am speechless with anger.  You and your
hellish headmaster have destroyed the integrity of
this once fine school and you will pay.  Heads will
roll, I promise you.  Mrs. McLeod, I guarantee you
will be fired before the week is out, and I will see
that you, Mr. King, and all of your ilk are expelled!"

The student raised his free hand.  "Mrs. Baxter, do
try to stay calm.  Those seniors you are referring to
are prefects.  They have been appointed to lend a hand
to maintaining the rules and guiding the younger
students through academia.  This is a long-standing
tradition at Lovebright's.

"And, as the saying goes, those that are given the
most have the most to give.  We, the privileged
members of society, must not forget we are bound to a
lifetime of service to the community.  The
sub-prefects, not servants as you mistakenly called
them, are learning the importance of service to a
greater society by spending a little time in the
service of others.  They compete scholastically for
the privilege, and in time many of them may become
prefects themselves."

Once again Jimmy was being tactful.  The junior girls
did indeed compete for the limited number of
sub-prefect positions.  Scholastic aptitude, however,
had never been a strong suit with Lovebright students.
 It had proved simpler to substitute a bathing suit
competition and a petting contest and then let the
senior boys each decide on their preferred proteges. 
It was rumored that a number of the wealthier but less
well endowed girls had undergone medical enhancements
just to improve their chances of making the list.

Mrs. Baxter became aware that she was staring.  It was
all too unbelievable.  The boy spouted this nonsense
as if it were actually true.  For a long moment she
was simply dumbstruck.  She could feel the press of
her slim dress against her legs, and for some reason
that got her thinking that the nice thing about
short-short skirts was that you could wear them with
anything.  With heels or flats, sandals, slip-ons or
even a pair of slick, knee-high boots....  She was
aware of just how badly she needed to get off again.

The sleek blonde fought off a panicky feeling.  "Mrs.
McBoots!" she shouted at the headmaster, "I mean, Mrs.
McLeod, do you, do you believe any of this?"

The overheated headmaster looked at her unseeingly,
her wild eyes half hidden behind the hair that had
fallen across her face.  "Oh fuck it, I'm going to
come!" she cried.  Pushing back from the desk, she
threw one leg over the arm of her chair.

Mrs. Baxter rose to her feet, eyes round in
astonishment.  For the first time she could see
clearly what was going on behind the desk.  The
headmaster's legs were spread wide, her tiny black
panties pushed aside.  Jimmy's fingers were slipping
in an out, quickly now, pausing occasionally to
lightly tickle her clitoris as they went by.  The
headmaster's black lace garter straps stretched across
her thighs.  On her feet were shiny black sandals with
towering platform heels and spaghetti-strap laces that
wound across her foot up to the big bow knot at the
top of the ankle.  "Jimmmy!" she whined, thrashing
about in the overstuffed chair, "Oh Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy
Jimmy Jiiiiiiimy!" Her voice rose higher and higher,
finally fading out as her body arched and shook in
orgasm.

Standing before the desk, watching the other woman
being climaxed in her chair, Mrs. Baxter clung
desperately to her senses.  Suddenly she realized how
wet she was as a whole new set of memories flooded her
mind, perceptions that had been there all along but
had somehow been held back.  There was more to each of
the scenes she had so recently recounted.  

The girls' uniforms, for example -- they were not only
obscenely short or provocative, but most of them were
cut to accommodate various stages of ... pregnancy. 
Why Crystal Sexsmith's tummy poked so far out of that
gray skirt, it looked like the young teacher was going
to have triplets!  Ms Libertina's strange class was
teaching nothing more than a erotic version of Lamaze
exercises.  She'd better know how to do them; the
instructor looked like she herself was due any day
now.  And the rutting woman before her.  No wonder
Jimmy's fingers had so easily aroused her; the
headmistress was at least six months pregnant!

Pregnancy!  The infirmary!  That must explain it.  A
final repressed scene burst into her consciousness.  

*****

Of course! Just after seeing Johnny filling the
helpless Leanne, Mrs. Baxter had fled into the hall
trying to make sense of her reaction to what she had
just seen.  A "Lovebright Infirmary" inscription
caught her eye.  Well, at least she was pleased to see
one innovation she approved of.  After so many
horrors, a sense of fairness impelled her to look in
on the infirmary so she could at least season he
report with something positive.  The door was
partially oven, so she walked in.

"I don't know what is happening to me, Dr. Fecunda,"
the slim, dark-haired girl was sighing.  "It seemed to
start when I transferred to this school."

"Just tell me what exactly is troubling you, dear" a
busty blonde in a short white nurse's smock replied
sympathetically.

"It's like I have always been so good in school, top
of the class.  I'm going to be an astrophysicist and I
just don't have time for boys.  They are so stupid;
you can't talk to them about anything serious!  All
they are interested in is trying to grope you, anyway.
 And here it's even worse.  They expect you to enjoy
it!"

"Don't you?"

"That's the problem, Dr.  Before I didn't, but now I
think I'm starting to!  I ride the bus and every day a
different boy sits by me and tries to put his hand in
my blouse and up under my skirt.  I fight them off but
it's getting harder and harder.  And by the time I get
to school, I'm so horny I can hardly think.  My grades
are starting to suffer."

"Well, Britney, you are a very pretty girl and you do
have a nice set of, er ... you are well developed for
your age.  It is rather natural for young men to
become excited and your reaction is not that unusual
either.  You have reached an age when your body is
starting to give you some new priorities.  Well built
girls like you just naturally need sex; it's nothing
to worry about.  I suppose you have begun to
masturbate more frequently, right?"

"Masturbate?"  The innocent teen looked shocked.

"You know, play with yourself, get yourself off."

Britney turned red.  "Oh, no Dr. Fecunda.  I'd never
do anything nasty like that!"

"Nothing nasty about it honey.  Girls you age need to
come a lot.  There's nothing wrong with having a few
good orgasms by yourself," she smiled wisely, "even if
there are much better ways.  Maybe I should take a
look to make sure everything is ok down there," she
said and gently pressed the girl back onto the
examination table.

"What are you doing, doctor?" the girl exclaimed,
taken aback as the older woman began unbuttoning her
blouse

"Just checking the sensitivity of your breasts,
Britney.  A girl with hooters like you should go ape
when a boy gropes you.  Perhaps you don't respond
enough to simple fondling.  How does that feel?" the
doctor asked, starting to massage first one then the
other of the teen's pert and now quite hard tits.

"Please, don .  .  .  .  Oh, doctor.  ... I ..."

"You like it, don't you, Britney? Looks like you have
the makings of a normally hot little girl.  No wonder,
a little feel-up gets you so horny you can't think!"

"No, Doctor! I'm not ..."

"Not fooling anyone, you little tart.  I'll have to
check you down here, too." The woman smirked,  pulling
up the girl's skirt.  "My god! Still wearing
pantyhose?  Soaked, though, just as I expected.  Let's
get you out of those horrid things!"

"Ahh!," the confused teen gasped as the garment
gathered around her ankles and she suddenly felt fresh
air hit her soggy twat.  "Uuuuhhh," she exclaimed
again as Dr. Fecunda's fingers began trailing lightly
over her pussy lips.

"How do you expect to let the boys diddle you if you
don't allow them access to this pretty little pussy,
Honey?  You do like being diddled, don't you?"  The
helpless teen only moaned in reply as the older
woman's expert fingers pushed her nearer and nearer to
orgasm.

Mrs. Baxter was transfixed.  She knew she should rush
in and stop this terrible perversion, but she couldn't
quite bring herself to do it.  Her own hand was too
busy in her own pussy, her fingers mimicking those of
the lascivious doctor with similar effects on her own
arousal.  Again, she was so close .  .  .  .

"Of course a little sexpot like you enjoys being
diddled!  What girl doesn't?" the grinning doctor
cooed; "But that's not what your really need is it?"
Not waiting for a reply, she reached beneath the table
and withdrew a large dildo.  Teasingly and then more
determinedly, she began sliding it into the teenager's
well prepared twat.  "This is soooo much better,
Honey, big and thick, almost exactly what a horny girl
like you needs."

"No, No" the panting girl gasped, but her thrusting
hips belied her feeble protests.

"Yes, dear.  You need to come.  Just relax and I'll
get you there."

Little mewing sounds escaped the pretty girl's mouth
as she closed her eyes tightly.

"You are soooo horny, baby.  Just relax and let me
make you feel good." Dr. Fecunda's voice had become
very soft, almost a whisper and she was working the
dildo deeply but slowly in and out of the almost
unconscious girl "That's it, honey.  You need this
bad, but I'll take good care of you.  Relax... Sooo
sleepy.  You need a good come help you go to sleep.  A
... nice ... sleepy ... Come!"

A final flick of the doctor's thumb and Britney
shrieked, bucked several times, and collapsed
unconscious.  The teen's noisy orgasm covered similar
sounds from just outside as Mrs. Baxter almost passed
out from her own orgasm.  

"Very good, dear.  Have a nice nap.  Now listen
carefully to what I'm going to tell you, but you won't
remember it when you wake up."

The next thing Mrs. Baxter heard was, "Time to wake
up, dear."

"Wow! What happened?" Britney asked.

"I was just examining you, Honey and you got a little
excited.  You had an orgasm, several in fact.  Nice,
wasn't it?

"Oh, god, yes."

"I've got a feeling you will be having a lot more
before long."

"Really?  How?"

"Well you can get yourself off, of course.  I'll issue
you a full set of vibrators as I do all the new girls,
but it's a lot more fun with boys.  And there are
plenty of them that would love to help you.  You're
not going to pass up any chances now, are you?"

"Not anymore!  But if I start letting boys, er ... be
with me, couldn't I get pregnant or something."

"You're a very smart girl, Britney," replied the
doctor proudly.  "But I can give you something so you
don't have to worry about that."

"Like contraceptives, you mean?"

"Not exactly, my dear.  The law does not allow me to
give you a contraceptive without your parents'
permission," the doctor explained.  "And I'll bet you
don't want them to find out what you'll be doing, do
you?"

"Oh, no!" she giggled.

"But if you take these pills, I guarantee you won't
have an unwanted pregnancy."

"I don't understand."

"Just take one every day and you will, Sweetie."

*****

But Jimmy was speaking again.

"Look, Mrs. Baxter," he said intensely, withdrawing
his hand from the sighing headmaster, "I know you mean
well, but if I may say so, I wonder if you are seeing
the situation here with unbiased eyes."  He sucked the
headmaster's sex juices from his fingers, while beside
him Mrs. McLeod, still out of breath, began to slowly
tug her dress back into place over her bulging belly. 
"I wonder if you are really prepared for the sexual
awareness of the younger generation.  In fact, I
wonder if you are not just projecting your own sexual
insecurities onto the school."

"Now just a minute! How dare you -- "

"It isn't unusual for a woman of your age and position
to be a little bit uptight.  After all, any kind of
sexual liberty threatens your own cozy one-child
little world, doesn't it?  A supportive husband, nice
home, and no need at all to confront your own
debilitating fear of sex lest it result in another
pregnancy."

Mrs. Baxter lost her temper completely.  "Sexual
inhibitions!  Why you impertinent little fucker!  You
haven't the slightest clue what you're talking about! 
I'll show you who's afraid of pregnancy, you little
twerp!" Reaching behind her she unfastened the button
on her designer dress and pulled the zipper down. 
Staring fixedly at Jimmy she pulled the dress down her
arms and off her torso, then pushed it down her hips
and onto the floor.  "How's this for sexual
inhibition, asshole," she taunted, pulling off her
slip.  "I bet you haven't seen a body built for baby
making like this since the last time you drooled over
Playboy!"

The fuming blonde took a deliberate step toward him. 
Without hesitation she unfastened her bra and let it
slide down her arms.  She held out the brassiere in
one hand and posed in the middle of the office, one
leg thrust forward, wearing only panties, pantyhose
and heels.  "You were saying something about fear of
pregnancy?" she challenged.  The bra joined the pile
on the floor.  "What's the matter, smart-ass.  Nothing
to say? What's happened to all your glib explanations,
huh?" She cupped her small, upturned breasts in each
hand.  "I had my period two weeks ago.  So I should be
fertile as a turtle today.  Let's see if you're man
enough to knock up a real woman, you half- baked kid."

For once Jimmy looked abashed.  "Why, uhm, Mrs.
Baxter, I'm, I'm amazed.  I guess I misjudged you
completely.  I'm terribly sorry about what I said.  I,
I just had no idea." He got to his feet, looking
contrite, but there was a definite bulge in his school
pants.

"Course you didn't, you little fool.  You're just a
kid.  You need someone to show you how a real woman
takes charge when she chooses the male she wants to
put a baby in her belly." She took another step toward
him, deliberately swinging her hips.  "Ready to put
bun in THIS oven, youngster?" she cooed, playing with
his tie.

"Well, I, I guess so.  How do I start?"

"Like this," the blonde husked.  She pulled him toward
her by his tie and locked his lips in a deep and
lust-inspiring kiss.  "Mmmmmmm, not bad for an
amateur," she whispered a little while later.  "Keep
it up!" They kissed again, longer, while Jimmy's hands
explored her tight, smooth curves.

After a few minutes of heavy necking Mrs. Baxter was
breathing hard.  "Wow, you learn fast, baby," she
whispered.  "Let's move on to the main event."

He pinched her left nipple.  "Great idea."

"Oh! How do you want me?"

"Here, turn around.  We need to get these off."  While
the trim blonde giggled above him Jimmy knelt down and
slowly peeled down her pantyhose, making generous
contact with her skin as he went.  She let him pull
the material off her feet, then impulsively stepped
back into her Italian-made shoes.  "Now lean over the
chair, OK?"

"Lover!" Mrs. McLeod said with amusement, "You're not
going to take her from behind her are you?"

"Why not?  She's up for having a baby, aren't you Mrs.
Baxter?"  He slapped her buttocks playfully.

The rich housewife wiggled her hips in return. 
"Course I'm up for it, kid.  You think I've never had
a simple doggie-fuck before? 'S perfect for
conception!"

With a resigned smile, Jimmy unzipped his pants and
let them fall.  He heard a sharp intake of breath from
Mrs. McLeod when his dick sprang free.  Mrs. Baxter
was well lubricated and he had little trouble slipping
into her.  She fell into his gentle, unhurried rhythm,
the blonde leaning over the arm of the overstuffed
chair and bucking back at Jimmy to drive his strokes
deeper.  Little groans of contentment came from her
mouth.

Jimmy spoke without breaking his stride, "Headmaster,
I uh, think you had, ooof, better call, call Holly in
with, uh, the re-report.  I'm not sure how long, I
can, l-last."

Mrs. Baxter's head was lowered over the chair arm. 
"Ooooh, you kids," she teased.  "No staying power." 
But she was panting for breath.

The headmaster, who had been watching the proceedings
with open fascination, calmed herself with a deep
breath.  She retrieved the telephone that Mrs. Baxter
had been gripping unknowingly.  She looked at her
watch.  "It's three-thirty.  I hope she's not too
drunk." She punched a single digit.  "Holly? No,
everything's under control, Jimmy's here and he's
taking care of everything." She leaned against the
desk and idly stroked Mrs. Baxter's hair.  "Did you
finish that report we gave you? Good girl.  Can you
please bring in the good copy.  Yes, right now. 
Thanks."

"Oh lord you fuck good!  Give me that baby!" Mrs.
Baxter cried.  She raised herself on her hands and
lowered her head, trying to look back to where Jimmy
was doing his best.  He leaned over her and reached
around to toy with one breast.  "I'm going to be
pregged up so fucking good," she wailed.

The door opened and a tall, long-haired brunette came
in.  She had the slender good looks of a model,
exaggerated by a short black maternity dress and
platform sandals in soft black suede.  Her large,
expressive eyes went wide when her gaze landed on the
couple beside the desk.  "Jimmy, baby!" she squealed
when she recognized the figure methodically prowing
the panting blonde.  "You're preggin' her right here
...  I mean, like, right on the chair, oh god that's
sexy." She brushed back her hair and bangles glittered
on her wrist.

"Do you have the report, Holly?" Mrs. McLeod asked.

"Huh?  Oh, yeah, the report.  Sure, here it is."  She
handed the headmaster a slim sheaf of typed pages. 
The front page read "Mid-Term Report on Lovebright
Academy."

"The date's wrong," Mrs. McLeod observed.  "The girl
wasn't supposed to come till tomorrow." She shrugged. 
"It'll do."

Without dismissing Holly, who was clearly getting
turned on herself, Mrs. McLeod approached the blonde
housewife, who was still getting plugged, and sat by
the side of her chair.  "Mrs. Baxter, I thought we
could save a little time.  We took the liberty of
preparing a report on your visit.  It's dated tomorrow
but that's not a problem.  It just needs your
signature." She slid the report beneath Mrs. Baxter's
perspiring face.

"Signature?  What? Wha signatuuuuuuure?" Mrs. Baxter
burbled, uncomprehendingly.  "Ohmygod does he ever
know how to use that thing.  I'm going to have
triplets!"

Mrs. Baxter sat down on the edge of the desk in front
of the incoherent woman.  "Perhaps you would like to
read it first.  "Here, I'll turn the pages for you."
She flipped casually through the ten-page report. 
Mrs. Baxter's sex-fogged mind caught the words
"academic excellence", "innovative and imaginative",
"maintaining high standards" and "extremely favorable
impression".

The headmaster flipped to the last page.  "Just sign
it here." She pointed to the line above Mrs. Baxter's
typed name.  Uncaringly, Mrs. Baxter took the
proffered pen and scrawled her name across the page,
then tossed the pen away.  "Wheeee! I'm coming!" she
shouted as her climax swept across her.  Somewhere in
the ensuing convulsions of pleasure she heard Jimmy
cry out behind her and she realized he was coming too,
shooting his virile load far up into her.

At length the couple separated.  Mrs. Baxter collapsed
happily into an overstuffed chair, keeping her legs
raised so the boy's baby juice would stay where it
would do the most good while Jimmy caught his breath. 
"Well, we have the signature," Mrs. McLeod said
proudly, showing him the report.  "Just as you said we
would.  I'll make sure this gets to the Board." She
looked over at the naked, sweating housewife, still
basking in the afterglow of her climax.  "Do you want
to give her another go round?"

Holly spoke up from across the room.  "No fair!  I
wanna be next!"  She had one hand up under the hem of
her short dress.

Jimmy grinned.  "No hurry, ladies.  I think I have
enough for everybody this afternoon.  I'm sure Mrs.
Baxter will want to stay a while.  Let's have Dr
Fecunda check her into the infirmary for a few hours,"
he smiled benevolently.  "After all, we don't want her
to leave here with an unwanted pregnancy."

The headmaster looked admiringly at the father of her
next baby.  Such a remarkable boy!

*****

The Board of Governors had ample time to read Mrs.
Baxter's glowing report before the next regular
meeting.  The mostly male Board was very receptive. 
Mrs. Baxter herself led the discussion, laughing and
teasing and flirting at the front of the room in her
high heels, her loose smock, hiked provocatively by
her proudly protruding belly.

End

Comments gratefully received at vargas111@yahoo.com 


=====
My stories are now found on
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http://www.eroticstories.com (Thanks, Art)
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Vargas/www/stories.html (Thanks Kristen)

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