DISCLAIMER:- The following text is sexually explicit and contains depictions of sexual acts that have been classified by the surgeon general as potentially dangerous and unhealthy. You must be a broad minded adult to read the text, and you must not make this text available to minors or to any person who does not wish to view it. Unprotected sexual relations with unknown partners is hazardous and we urge the use of condoms and safe sex at all times.

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 to 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
vargas111@yahoo.com
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 Lovebrigh 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. 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 in ...."

"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 without employment!"

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 getting
him to marry her 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 - even
promoted -- 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 like 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 for "Seventeen" 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. Hardling resigned so suddenly."
Almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth, the headmistress
realized her mistake. Ms. Hardling 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 admitted to having slept with so many,
she didn't know which one!

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 ninth-grade
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.
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 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 the boy's 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
her experience with the amorous students had unexpectedly refreshed the
memory in her mind, and she found herself getting very warm. She could
feel 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 her 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. 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 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, given that she had always been so
conservative. He 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 give her a delicious sleepy fuck
when he 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 had 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 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 they
were doing, 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 looking on voyeristically as an unplanned pregnancy
occured?" 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 allowing these two
innocent kids to make 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 as 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 woman 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
books and 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 glared furiously at the complacent student sitting behind the
headmaster's desk. She was by now certain 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 Jimmmmmmy!" 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 climax 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. Crystal
Sexsmith's tummy poked so far out, 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; 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, fertile 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 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 never had 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., I think I'm kind of 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 asked.

"Play with yourself, get yourself off."

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

"There's nothing wrong with having a nice come by yourself, even if there
are much better ways," the nurse chuckled. "Maybe I should take a look,"
she said and gently pressed the girl back onto the examination table.

"What are you doing, doctor?" the girl exclaimed, taken aback.

"Just checking the sensitivity of your breasts, Britney. Perhaps you
respond too much 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 quite
a 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!"

"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," 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
climax.

"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, 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, 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 a contraceptive, you mean?"

"Not exactly. 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 no 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 young 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
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. 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 a male to get
her pregnant." 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. "Lover!" she
squealed when she recognized Jimmy. "You're doin' 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 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 her. "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. "Hey, No! 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.