Self Control--A Leanne Interlude

It was Tuesday morning, and the bell had just begun to ring First Period when Leanne slipped into the computer room. The young schoolgirl collapsed in a chair in the corner in front of one of the Macintoshes and dropped her head onto the keyboard. "What do I do now?" she whispered.

Of course, there was no answer. The room was empty and dark; no classes used it until after lunch, usually. She was all alone, with only the humming of the hard drives to keep her company. Which was exactly how she wanted it.

Yesterday, she'd come to school as if it were any other day...which it was. Until Ms. Nichols, the Dean, had given her detention for the week. That was bad in and of itself. But during detention, her favorite teacher, Mr. Morton, her friend, and trapped her in the art closet and...and...

Could anyone tell? Would anyone know? She got up and looked at her reflection in the window. She looked the same as ever. Shoulder length brown hair--no pigtails today, just pulled out of her face, pale skin, medium height. She wore a plaid skirt, Mary Janes, and kneesocks, just as the St. Catherine's school dress code dictated. Her blouse was blue, too tight across the front, which she normally took secret pleasure in, but today it just seemed confining and confusing. Like everything since yesterday afternoon.

She sat back in her chair in the corner and began idly netsurfing, trying to keep herself occupied. She knew what she should call yesterday, knew she needed to say something to someone, knew that he'd had no right... But she couldn't. And it wasn't just because she didn't want to turn in her teacher, her friend. It wasn't because she was afraid; she was far too tough to back down from any adult. Why then?

She sighed to herself. It was because, deep down--she knew she'd loved it. Every moment of it.

She clicked her mouse mindlessly, not even noticing where the screen was taking her, so awash was she in this new discovery. Yes, she couldn't help it, she knew it was wrong, it was un-P.C., but it had been what she'd wanted. It was what she'd telegraphed in all the stories she'd written for Mr. Morton's Creative Writing class. It didn't make what happened any easier to understand, or cope with, but it kept her from running to the cops.

In her mind, she replayed over and over again the moment where she'd dropped the pile of smocks in the art closet, how she'd bent over to pick them up, purposefully flashing as much of her fanny as she could in his face... And he'd taken the bait, pushed her over and--

Suddenly, Leanne realized she was sweating. And she knew why. It was the same sweat she got at night as she slipped between the sheets after calling a cute boy. Without meaning to, she began to rub her small, firm breasts through the fabric of her shirt. She'd forgotten her bra this morning and her nipples sprang to attention, demanding to be released, almost bursting forth from her shirt. She undid one button then another, massaging and squeezing as she did so.

What am I doing? she thought, wildly trying to regain control of herself. I was basically raped by my teacher, and now I'm masturbating to the memory. In the computer lab! Am I crazy? Sweat beaded on her neck and brow as she continued to caress herself. Warmth and pleasure oozed across her body. Maybe she was crazy, but it felt so wonderful! She couldn’t stop now!

Leanne got up and dashed to the door, locked it, and hopped back into her seat as quickly as she could. No sense in getting caught, she thought, grinning. Then she froze, seeing the image she'd last left on her computer screen.

She hadn't remember even finding the site, she'd just been on autopilot, overwhelmed as she was by her confusion about yesterday and Mr. Morton. But there it was. A porn site. A Catholic schoolgirl, over her teacher's knees being spanked. Why had she found this site? Why couldn't she stop looking?

A dampness began to form between her thighs, and she rubbed her legs together tightly, which only made her excitement grow.

Leanne clicked the mouse again. A new image came up, a nun in a latex habit, caressing another young girl.

Without even realizing it, Leanne absently shimmied out of her white cotton panties and slipped them into her backpack.

She clicked the mouse again. And again. Over and over, images flashed across the screen. She was rocking back and forth now, one hand between her thighs, moistness dripping into the seat, her face flushed, her mound aching.

That was what she'd wanted from Mr. Morton! That was why she felt so conflicted. It wasn't just that she'd been bad with him, but that she'd wanted him to punish her for being bad! The only thing he hadn't done was spank her, and without being punished she felt incomplete. He had only half fulfilled her fantasy, and she wanted more!

Leanne clicked on a small icon on the screen, and a second window popped up. A video of a schoolgirl being slapped came on the screen. There was no sound, but just the image of the schoolgirl, silently being slapped by a professor was enough for her. She watched in rapt fascination as the man's hand came down and the girl cried out in silent frustration, squirming in his lap. Oh, if only Mr. Morton had finished the job!

She plunged her finger into her dripping cunny, and clawed at her breasts with other hand. Her finger found her clitoris and began strumming it back and forth, sending waves of pleasure through her body. Then her fingers dove into the hole, as far as she could push them, but it still wasn't as deep as Mr. Morton had taken her. On screen, the schoolgirl was now sitting astride her teacher, working his shaft into her.

"Got to find something," Leanne said. She was taking out loud now, without even realizing it. "Oh God, I need to be fucked. Please, someone fuck meeee!" She tore herself away from the screen, fingers still dripping, and wrenched open the zipper of her backpack. She began rifling through it in desperation. "Pen...highlighter...c'mon...Yes!" she exclaimed. She held aloft her hairbrush as if it were Excalibur. Without a second thought, she plunged the round rubber handle past the aching lips of her nether region.

The round shaft filled her entirely, and the ridges produced a sensation that more than counteracted the feel of cold plastic. She began working the hairbrush back and forth. She'd slip it into her hole, then work along her clit, then plunge back inside. She was bucking now, dripping onto the chair.

On screen the girl was writhing in quiet ecstasy. In her chair, Leanne was almost sobbing with relief. "Awww…Uhhh..UHHH!" she squealed. She bit her lips hard. She squeezed a nipple harder. She plunged the hairbrush inside harder still. She was almost there! Almost there... Almost!!!!

She never even heard the key in the lock as her passion overcame her.

"God, yes. YES! Leanne cried. Oh, Teacher, make me cuuuUUUUUMMM!!!" Heat poured through her body, then ice, then her hips spasmed as the first orgasm took her. Another, like an aftershock followed right bed. Her lips locked around the hairbrush, and she could do nothing but quiver from head to toe.

When Dean Nichols found her a moment later, the sight was almost comic. A little schoolgirl, shirt open, now bra, small but firm breasts hanging out. Her skirt was bunched around her hips, her panties no where to be seen, and she had a hairbrush, dripping with slime, still inserted into her young cunny.

Leanne opened her eyes as the afterglow subsided. Dimly she recognized the birdlike, straightlaced figure of her Dean. Her eyes widened in abject terror.

Cold even tones from the Dean. "To my office young lady. Immediately."

End of the interlude, more to come, I'm sure.