Rachael Kazmer hugged and kissed her mother goodbye as she dropped her off. Some students were embarrassed to be seen with their parents, but not her. Family was important; her peers’ opinions of her were not. She was here to graduate valedictorian, build up her credentials, and go Ivy League. Making friends was not on her radar, compared to her ambitions.

It was the first Monday of a new semester. She’d bundled up tightly against the cold, and trudged up to the front doors through snow not yet packed down. As often was the case, she was one of the first people to arrive. Today, she’d shown up early for the National Scholars Club meeting and it would not do for her to be late, especially with the imporant issue of the Sady Hawkins dance theme to decide. She had a great idea for it, and was determined to push it through.

As Rachael stepped through the door frame, something happened. Her winter coat disappeared, as did her thick sweatpants and heavy boots, as did her hat and mittens and scarf. In their place was a skimpy tank top, stretched tight and distended by her breasts – which were suddenly unbound by a bra. Down below, her panties had remained, but now were concealed (mostly concealed, anyway) by a pair of cut-off denim short shorts painted onto her ass.

That’s better, Rachael thought. Got to use all my assets. My tits are kinda small, but nice and perky. Guys will like to suck on them, and girls won’t be threatened by them. My legs, though… 5’10” and half that in my legs. She concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other, wiggling her hips exaggeratedly. She checked herself in a mirror as she went by, relieved to see she’d done a quality job of smearing on exactly too much makeup, and checked her stride. It was good – sexy, suggestive – but not yet perfect. She pulled her planner out of her purse and penciled in a half hour of practice walking sexily tonight.

Satisfied to have a plan, Rachael headed on down the hall. She rounded a corner and nearly sauntered right into the kindly old custodian everyone called Grandma. Grandma had her long auburn hair in a pony tail behind her head, her custodian’s uniform untucked and unbuttoned, tied up under a pair of cute little breasts.

Wait, isn’t Grandma 78 years old? Rachael wondered, but then decided that she wasn’t fazed by the barely 20-something before her, nor even the way that the teen still somehow recognized her despite the monumental shift in the custodian’s appearance. What had been a haggard old woman before the semester break had become a young, bright-eyed, tawdry feast for the eyes. Her new uniform came complete with a pair of stilettos, and where she had once had the slow gait of a dumpy old lady with arthritis, she now had the slow gait of a mincing young woman with entirely impractical footwear.

“Hey, you’re looking great today, Grandma!” Rachael said sweetly.

“I feel great – ever since I came in, I’ve had this spring in my step. Hey, may as well call me Sis!” They both laughed. Rachael noted that her boobs didn’t shake as much as Grandma’s – rather, as much as Sis’s did, and added to her planner the following night some time practicing using her shoulders to wobble her jugs while she moved. Had to use every advantage.

Rachael continued on to her meeting. Mr. Jenkins, the National Scholars Club advisor, was the only one here yet, and as she walked in, his greeting was cut short mid-sentence with a look of shock. Rachael had always liked Mr. Jenkins – he was one of the teachers who tried really hard to really make a difference, and even though he was probably in his mid-thirties, maybe early forties, he seemed kinda young. Looking at him today, though, she wondered if she had radically over-estimated his age. Oh well. Not worth noticing changes.

“Ms. Kazmer! What do you think you’re wearing!” He stood, gaping at her attire.

She looked down at herself. Cleavage visibly jiggling with each step, neckline revealing as much cleavage as she could manage sans bra, ass cheeks barely visible at the bottom of her shorts, panties visible front and back, every inch of leg on display... “Mr. Jenkins? Like, what’s the problem? You know I like to dress functionamatically.” She frowned at that last word. It didn’t sound quite right, but she couldn’t think of a better one.

Mr. Jenkins stood, still looking aghast. “All well and fine, if your ‘function’ is to be a street walker! This is a clear violation of the dress code…”

“Wait, am I in trouble? Are you going to give me a detention?” Her lip trembled, and she flashed big doe eyes. She’d never gotten in trouble in school before. Never. The scared look was an act of course – a girl who wanted to get ahead couldn’t worry about what anyone thought of her.

“Well you see, Rachael, an outfit like that is going to, well, give men certain ideas about you, and about what you want.”

Rachael considered. “But... won’t this help me get what I want?” It was a confusing notion, that somehow hiding her best assets would help her get ahead.

“Is that how you want to get ahead? By flirting and enticing men?”

She smiled brightly, beginning to see a solution. “Wait... Mr. Jenkins, are you saying that I’m enticing you?” She bounced a little on her feet excitedly, and sure enough, his eyes were drawn immediately to her chest.

He snapped out of it quickly, though. “Ms. Kazmer, don’t think you can get out of your sanction by flirting. It demeans us both.”

She pouted again. “But like, do you really think a detention will teach me anything? Won’t that just mean MORE time I sit around in school dressed like this? There has to be some compro...” She struggled for the word. “Compromisoritization, or something.” That sounded right. Smart. She was smart.

In his own mind, Mr. Jenkins quickly decided that the girl had a point – traditional disciplinary methods would be useless here. He invented a more creative approach on the spot, one that he thought might be more appealing to kids today. Teachers needed to think outside the box to reach this new generation. “You have a point, Rachael. A detention won’t cut it, not for such an egregious violation. I think you need to learn the consequences for dressing like that. For the rest of the week, you are to continue to dress this way, and any time your attire causes a man to make an advance on you, you are to submit to it.”

For a brief instant, Rachael was about to sputter a retort, but as quickly realized it was nothing to be fazed by. Sexual conduct in school was normal, of course. Not that she could ever remember engaging in any, but she was sure there was nothing odd about it. Besides, this could be an opportunity to get further ahead. Still, she didn’t remember owning any other outfits this revealing, so she decided to renegotiate. “But, all week? C’mon, Mr. Jenkins, it’s my first offense, maybe just for today?”

Mr. Jenkins considered for just a moment, quickly realizing it was best to let the students have a voice in their own disciplinary process. “You’re probably right, I was being too hard on you. Today will be fine. So you understand your sanction then?”

Rachael nodded vigorously. “Any time a guy hits on me, I have to let him do it.” When she saw his eyes still flitting down to her chest, she asked, “So like, does that mean I have to show you my boobs? I can totally see you looking, but I totally don’t know if that’s enough.”

He felt guilty for a moment before he remembered he was basically the same age as her, and perhaps it would help her learn the lesson. By way of response, he walked up behind her and without fanfare or hesitation, he took a handful of her ass and fondled it.

Rachael remembered his command to submit to it, and so just thrust her butt into his hand, wriggling her tush into his palm. She could feel his wedding ring there, and it made her giggle. “Sorry I gave you ideas, Mr. Jenkins,” she apologized. She tried to sound sincere, and while he didn’t question her, she knew she had to try harder to pretend like she meant what she said if she were to get ahead in life. (Honesty was for morons, of course, but it was important to seem honest.)

He patted her butt reassuringly. “It’s fine, Ms. Kazmer; we wouldn’t ever learn from our mistakes if we didn’t make them to begin with.”

By the time the first other student arrived for the meeting a couple minutes later, Rachael was bent at the waist with both hands on the chalkboard as Mr. Jenkins humped her butt from behind. Her tank top was pulled up over her breasts, and each had one of the teacher’s paws groping it.

“We’re still meeting today, right?” the newcomer asked, seemingly unfazed by the behavior before her.

“We sure are,” Mr. Jenkins replied. He barely glanced at her; whoever it was, she was a wallflower, like an extra in a movie. Completely unworthy of notice; present, but not worth thinking about. Rachael paid the girl-thing no more heed either.

Before long, the rest of the National Scholars Club arrived. Mr. Jenkins let go of Rachael, and was surprised to see that the rest of the girls – well, those who weren’t fat or ugly enough to just be more wallflowers – were attired from the same catalogue as Rachael. But now there were six of them; there was no way to discipline so many, he decided, and simply gave up trying.

The secretary began the meeting with the pledge of allegiance and reading of the previous meetings’ minutes. Then they began discussion of their only business item – the theme for the up-coming Sady Hawkins dance.

Excitedly, Rachael gave her presentation on the theme “A Night at the Carnival” – there could be little games and contests, and the décor…! She elaborated on her ideas, which she could barely remember without her notes, which helped her not sound like such a complete idiot. Mostly. Some were hard to read, and used words she didn’t understand any more. She was impressed with herself for having been smarter than she even thought she could think to be, she thought.

“And in concluderosity, that’s why I think our theme should be ‘A Night at the Carnival.’ Thank you.” There was some applause, and she smiled and bowed deeply, figuring a nice look at her boobs might help augment her ideas for any members who were undecided.

Rachael then tried to restrain a glower as Marissa, the vice president, made her own pitch for her theme, a cheesy, cliché “Heaven on Earth” – with a cloud motif, halos to distribute, and the dresses would be so much easier to match with blah blah blah… Marissa went on and on, her sexy, curvy body oozing out of the strapless red minidress she was wearing, easily two sizes too small for the hooker it had been designed for.

The discussion was brief; as usual, her sluggish, Neanderthal peers had little opinion or motivation. Someone made a motion for a referendum (which apparently just meant “vote,” she realized once people began raising their hands). When all was said and done, Marissa won by three votes.

“Wait, motion to reconsider!” Rachael stammered.

“Second,” someone said apathetically. Someone always did.

Rachael moved to the front of the room, making sure to keep the swaying of her hips sexy, using every weapon – psychological or rhetorical – in her arsenal. “Members of the National Scholars Club. I obviously didn’t do my job at convincing you before, and I can tell you doubt my commitment to making this dance absolutely perfect. You know me, and you know Marissa. Which of us do you think really has what it takes to make this dance the experientiality your fellow Trojans deserve?”

Marissa rushed up next to her, a scowl on her face. “Rachael, you lost. Just get over it.”

Rachael laughed inwardly. I don’t lose! I’ll do whatever it takes to accomplish my goals. Whatever it takes! She ignored Marissa, and addressed the group. “Tell me, fellow scholars. Tell me what I can do to change your minds – tell me what would make this idea, OUR idea, even better.” It was important to make people feel included, even though clearly these idiots were in no way capable of coming up with awesome ideas like hers.

“Show us your boobs,” someone mumbled in the back. It had to be Jacob; he always said something crude like that when he was bored, and he usually bored of Rachael’s tirades quickly. The room laughed.

Mr. Jenkins gave a harsh look to the gathering, less acutely aware of its source than was she. Meanwhile, Rachael’s mind sluggishly tried to process the situation. I need to win this vote. I have to. Whatever it takes. And since Mr. Jenkins TOLD me to submit, I can’t really get in trouble, right?

Her hands made her decision for her, and just like she’d seen those sluts do in a dozen movies, she lifted her top up over her tits and gave Jacob his wish.

Her only surprise was their lack of surprise. A couple guys whistled lewdly, but otherwise the boys just stared, and the girls sat there calmly as if the debate hadn’t changed. Mr. Jenkins sat back down, still scowling at the rude comment, but not seeming to care that the National Scholar Club president was baring her chest in the front of his classroom.

Marissa gave her a dirty look. “You little fucking slut! Trying to use your body to steal the vote from me?”

Say, that’s a great idea! Why didn’t I think of that? Rachael smirked as she took her tanktop all the way off and tossed it out into the room, landing on some wallflower’s face as he quickly pulled it off so he could resume his eye feast. “That’s right! Carnivals are all about having fun, being free and going wild! That’s what I want for DMHS.”

“Oh yeah?” Marissa retorted, “well welcome to heaven!” Marissa stormed up to the front of the room beside Rachael, who was waving like a fair queen. With what appeared to be a serious effort, the busty raven-haired girl peeled off her skin-tight minidress down to her waist. Like Rachael, she had eschewed a bra, but unlike Rachael, she could have easily filled out a D-cup. She smirked at her rival as all eyes locked on her hardening nipples.

Rachael tried to think. What had Marissa’s idea been a second ago? I know it was super smart… oh yeah, use my body! “Marissa, Marissa, Marissa… here’s the problem with your proposal. You’re all talk – showing your tits? I mean, anyone could do that. What I offer you – what I’ve always offered, and will continue to offer – is my unswerving commitment to the student body’s satisfaction.”

She pivoted to show her ass to the class and pulled down her shorts. Inwardly, she could hardly believe she’d entered a strip-off, especially over something so ultimately trivial as a theme for a school dance. Still, she had set the goal of having her theme be selected, and now she was committed.

Then she tugged off her shorts, revealing her lily white ass to the room. Marissa may have her beat by a couple cup sizes, but Rachael knew she had a fantastically tight caboose. She shook it from side to side, bending her knees one at a time to display each cheek. Her thong hid nothing; she figured that, if anything, it highlighted her assets, rather than conceal.

Marissa scowled as several of the boys in the room stood up and cheered her adversary’s wanton display. “Oh yeah? Well welcome to the heavenly gates!” She grunted as she tugged down her dress over broad hips. She wore no panties, of course – what would be the point? – and she hopped up on a desk and spread her legs lewdly. Her pussy was already moistening, understanding its role in maintaining her victory.

The boys in the room positively roared their approval, and Mr. Jenkins’ roaring at them to restore discipline was lost in the din. Rachael thought fast – she was still losing this fight!

“Wait!” Her shrill voice cut through all the noise. Even the teacher fell silent to hear her out. “Mr. Jenkins? Like, isn’t Marissa violating the dress code?” She looked to the nude girl whose masturbation had paused momentarily with two knuckles slipped in.

Mr. Jenkins considered. “Well, I suppose it’s a creative means of evading it, but yes, it does rather seem that way...”

The NSC president interjected. “If you’re going to discipline ME for violating it, it seems only fair to make HER submit to any guy she gives ideas to, doesn’t it? I mean, isn’t it important to be fair?”

Mr. Jenkins grinned, delighted that she was demonstrating an appreciation for fairness and ethical behavior. “That’s right, Rachael. Marissa, your sanction is the same as Rachael’s – you need to learn not to give men ideas like this. For the rest of the day, every time a man makes an advance on you, you are to submit to it. Do you understand?”

Marissa glared at Rachael for getting her in trouble, already annoyed to think she would likely spend the rest of her day being felt up and fucked by every student at WMHS. “Yeah, I guess.”

Rachael beamed. “Hmmm. Mr. Jenkins, unless I miss my guess, it sure looks like Marissa is... well, giving you ideas.” She looked meaningfully at the prominent bulge in his slacks. “Your cock is super hard, I mean.” Implying was no longer something the valedictorian did well.

The teacher nodded, his lusty gaze fixating on the vice president’s spread eagle pose.

“Well then, it seems like it’s her duty to, you know, do stuff to you, right?”

He grinned wolfishly. “It does. Marissa, come here please.” She pushed herself to her feat, stepping daintily back to the corner with the teacher’s desk. The whole class watched him fondle her tits for a few moments.

“You’re such a good teacher, Mr. Jenkins! She’ll learn a lot under your instructificationism, I know it. I mean, look how much she obviously wants to blow you. Her mouth is watering, she wants it so bad.”

The seed thus planted, it took root immediately. Marissa angrily opened her mouth to tell Rachael to shut up, but Mr. Jenkins put a finger to her lips to silence her. Experimentally, he then slid the finger into her mouth. Dutifully, she swirled her tongue around it and suckled softly, the hate in her eyes never dulling. “Too right, Ms. Kazmer.” He put a hand on each of Marissa’s shoulders and guided her to her knees. She disappeared beneath his desk, save for one last furious scowl at Rachael.

The president smiled and resumed her oration. “Now. You see our vice president selfishly gives of herself only to the faculty – do we really want another puppet of the administration in charge?” One of the wallflowers grumbled something about that really had nothing to do with picking a dance theme, but Rachael (and everyone else) ignored it.

“Now I, my friends, I am committed only to YOUR satisfaction! I say, let any man who has need of my leadership step forward and claim it!” Rachael smiled her brightest, fakest smile. Of course she could give two shits about pleasing her peers, but if it was what had to happen to secure the vote, then she would do it. And she would do it perfectly.

She sank to her knees, and a line quickly formed. The first boy, Jacob, walked straight up to her and wordlessly sank his dick balls-deep in the National Scholars Club president’s throat. He pistoned in and out of her, rudely giving her no chance to work on improving her technique. At least he had the courtesy to be swift about it, and not three minutes into the face-fucking, pulled out and pumped himself to climax with his aim at her face. “I’ve been wanting to do that since freshman year, you fuckin’ holier-than-thou bitch.” Jacob wiped his softening dick in her hair, grinning smugly.

Painted with sperm like it was spirit day, she smiled up at him. “I hope this means I can count on your–” and then the next cock was inside her mouth. This boy wanted her to work for it, and she tried to imagine what would feel good to a cock. Lots of tongue, she decided, and swirled it in rapid circles around the dome. Jacob had seemed to like being in the tightness of her throat, and when she remembered this, she pushed herself down until her lips were nestled in the thicket of her peer’s pubes. It felt horribly wrong, having this fat thing lodged in her airway, but she was bound and determined to perform flawlessly, and mustered her strength of will to conquer her gag reflex. Her determination – as always – paid off, and he shot his load directly down her esophagus.

Rachael was working on Boy #3 as the fifteen minute bell rang, announcing the impending beginning to the school day. She needed to hurry! She guided her present blowjob-recipient to a desk and seated him sideways. Rachael bent at the waist, using her abdominals to guide her up and down bobbing on his cock. They didn’t seem to take the hint, and so she reached behind her to pull her thong to the side and lifted her leg onto a desk. It required balance, giving a blowjob like this, but she had been in gymnastics in middle school and – like anything she did – she had worked to be her best at it.

Within seconds, a dick slid into her well-lubricated fuckhole, and hands grabbed her hips to pull her up and down on the cock. The valedictorian was grateful for the support – it helped her keep both ends balance while they were bouncing in different rhythms. She thought she was as cock-full as a girl could be until another student, evidently impatient for his turn or worried the meeting would conclude before he got a piece, spun her a little sideways and forced his cock up her ass.

The two young men behind her now had complete control over her body’s movements – she was a puppet, suspended helplessly as each of her holes was fucked. The girl could never have comprehended feeling so positively stuffed, and was sure she would never whore herself out like this if there weren’t votes on the line. In the new position, she fought hard to continue her blowjob, having to angle her neck to the side as the weight of the front half of her body was now supported by her shoulder resting on the hummer-receiver’s lap.

Cum flooded her pussy. Cum flooded her ass. Cum flooded her mouth. It dribbled down her chin, down her tits, down her butt, down her thighs.

The motion for a re-vote passed, and she won by a single vote. As the NSC body hastily shuffled off to their first-hour classes (except Marissa, who had been told her punishment would now include remaining under Mr. Jenkins’ desk for the remainder of the day), Rachael checked off the meeting and headed off to begin earning a new semester’s worth of A’s. She would be perfect.