Young teacher, two lads, a real education!
Ms Rochelle Moore was fed up with cocky assistant principal; Bob O'Hearn. But he ran the relief budget. Sure, she was a term-only; temp teacher, and she wanted to be re-hired again, but she kept getting the extra crap jobs.
This college wasn't the type of school any teacher, temp, relief or permanent was climbing over everyone else to get into. But here she was, sucking it in again to keep her name at the top of the list for Glebe: next semester.
"Yes," she had responded straight away when Bob told her she had the detention class to supervise after school. He made a poor joke — that it was her final time for the term.
It was Monday afternoon of the last week of term two, and Rochelle needed her vibrator, not an extra hour hanging around the school.
She knew she was sexually tense since breaking up with Matthew four weeks ago. She needed to move on.
At twenty-five, she couldn't remember a cock gap of a whole month through her early twenties.
It just wasn't right.
Still, she grabbed a pile of tests to mark and headed for C Block.
Glebe Central College was inner city, testosterone-fuelled, graffiti-splattered, under-resourced, full of scummy rundown classrooms, horrid dark locker-filled corridors and sweaty youths.
An outdated curriculum, an aging, close-to-retiring staff and no girls to calm the fifteen hundred boys from thirteen to eighteen into any male decency.
Rochelle knew her looks helped her keep all her classes in line. Her year twelve English class, all perverts and wankers; she had quickly decided; were no exception.
Well, she was a classy, long-haired brunette in a stunning tight-fitting red skirt and matching jacket in a sea of grotty grey uniforms and daggy blue male staff suits.
She also knew the discipline techniques to more than keep her head above water with these narky, sharky youths.
The designated detention classroom had two senior students; she had checked the list when collecting it from the office.
Joel Harris and Jarryn Peterson.
She decided something about boys whose names started with J: all had impetuous, spontaneous behaviour that always got them detentions.
It was most letters of the alphabet and boys at Glebe.
Rochelle realised she'd need a nineteenth-century name for any of her offspring one day to avoid associations with some college dickhead student who had crossed her path.
Both Joel and Jarryn had wagged maths class and were caught smoking behind the gym.
How original, mused Ms Moore.
They were both big college lads, a couple of months over eighteen, squeezed behind puny little desks at opposite sides of the room. The wooden desks bolted to the floor, and tape marked a square where the chairs had to remain on four legs.
On the wall next to the whiteboard were the rules of the Time Out/Detention Room.
Summed up as Silence.
NO electronic devices and get some school work done.
Both boys took in who was supervising but knew better than stare or perv.
Ms Moore was a known bitch for doubling detentions.
Rochelle marked her test papers efficiently, too proficiently.
Screw multi-choice, she concluded as she finalised her mark book.
She couldn't leave the room.
Yes, the goddamn room had a list of teacher instructions taped to the front supervising desk.
And highlighted in bold at the top: Never leave the detention room unsupervised.
She looked at her watch. She looked at the wall clock. It was four o'clock. Still, half an hour to go.
What to do?
O'Hearn was at the door, motioning for Rochelle to step into the corridor, where she could observe both boys.
He coughed and shuffled, "Sorry, no contract extension for next term. You finish up on Friday."
Turning and walking away, he added, 'The thankyous will be at the regular morning tea on Friday."
Rochelle slumped back at the teacher's desk, highly pissed off and seething internally.
She only had four days to circulate her name around the other city schools, public and private, to secure temp work for the next term, and her confidence had taken a body blow.
Screw you, O'Hearn, you faggot; was the nicest of her immediate thoughts.
She realised in her agitation that she had been opening and closing her legs as she was swivelling on the teacher's chair, and the two senior college lads' eyes weren't on their maths books but were looking straight up her short red skirt.
Rochelle had never needed stocking. She had great legs, was beautifully shaved, and wore skimpy, lacey, partially see-through underwear.
She knew what was going on.
She was suddenly enjoying watching the guy's eyes rove as she swivelled and opened her legs wider. Rochelle was trying to remember what knickers she had on.
She knew they were petite by their feel and shape under her skirt.
Oh, it was her pale yellow semi see through briefs.
Shit, her dark-trimmed pubes above her shaved slit must be visible under the thin yellow fabric!
Yeah, seniors, yeah, eighteen, but males, when it came to sex and sexual experience and sexual opportunism. Rochelle knew all this.
The attention on her body took the tension of O'Hearn out of her mind.
Rochelle started swivelling and squeezing her thighs together and opening them. She was also unknown to the lads squeezing her pussy muscles and building her internal moisture very quickly.
Ms Moore was running the show and was enjoying her captive audience of two.
Big blonde Joel was licking his licks and playing pocket billiards with one of his hands.
Swept back, darker- longer-haired Jarryn was wiping his sweaty brow with one hand and trying not to draw attention to some groin rubbing with his other open palm.
Rochelle was suddenly up.
She shut the door and sat between the two senior students on a desk.
Their eyes followed her every movement.
"Right, boys. Over here now —in front of me. Quick —Jarryn —Joel."
"Explain that bulge in your pants. Well, Joel Harris."
Stupefied, silent embarrassment.
"You too! Jarryn Peterson."
Dazed, quiet awkwardness.
"Oh, loosen up, you randy pricks. Get your cocks out where I can see them," she said, playful.
If there is a string of words young guys instantly respond to, it is:
Get your cock out.
Two lads complied, happy and with plenty of relief, as they eased the constriction in their school pants.
Rochelle was impressed—two hard, firm, very erect pricks.
"Very nice," she said, but the guys weren't sure where all this was heading.
Rochelle got them on the same page as herself, spreading her legs across the student desk, hitching her skirt, pulling her creamy yellow knickers to the side and saying: "I bet you wanted to see all of this."
It was more a rhetorical educator's assessment, as the guys were both cuntstruck.
Ms Moore had what can only be described as a beautiful cunt. But she closed her legs and stood up.
"Okay, guys, slowly remove my clothes, and I mean slowly. Girls like that. Remember that."
Joel and Jarryn were slow because they fumbled with excitement.
Ms Moore's red jacket and white blouse were off. She had a pretty, lacey yellow bra that matched her knickers, but it was her copious melons and cleavage that had the two guys wondering what to do next.
They both knew, like their grandmom's, delicate, fragile porcelain, something were off limits.
"Get the clasp undone and ease the shoulder straps off, Joel," she said leisurely.
Ms Moore realised they were more intimidated than complete sexual novices.
Joel groped and fumbled with the clasp but finally had it undone.
Each boy released a strap, as instructed, and two stunning breasts paraded on full view. Big, round, and natural. A perfect pair with prominent, eye-catching nipples.
"One each," said Rochelle.
Finally, the guys let their urges dominate their timid minds.
They were doing an outstanding job on each tit. Joel working a nipple between his fingers. Jarryn enjoyed the weight of her other breast, cupping her gorgeous roundness. Then both lads were fondling, caressing and massaging awesome titties.
There are boobs, and there are shapely large boobs. Ms Moore was endowered with firm round spheres packaging the oomph factor.
Perfect, perfect tits.
Spongy, supple, and so goddamn round.
Surely modelled on the tits God gave Eve for Adam.
Rochelle was getting impressed with the two seniors and was quite randy herself.
"Oh, suck them off," she said, taking the action up a notch as she grabbed a pecker in each hand and gave both lads a series of tugs, yanks and jerks.
The seniors were both sucking her nipples: kissing her breasts, and licking the delicate pinkness of her areola. Obsessed with her stunning big-titted roundness.
Rochelle was ready. She knew the guy's cocks were overready.
She leaned back over the student desk. Her pussy pouted on display as her panties had earlier been pulled to the side.
Two crimped ridges of flesh defined her womanly opening, with a short hood still hiding her clit. Rochelle shaved her lips but left her bush only lightly trimmed on her pubic mound.
The guys were looking again. Unsure in the face of private revealed human wonder. Genital capacity to gobsmack. The teacher factor was lost in pussy allurement.
"Run your finger up and down, one ridge each," instructed the teacher inside Ms Moore.
"Like this," and she showed them.
She spread herself, and Joel and Jarryn gently slid a finger along the outside and inside of her firm labia. Then they were in a repetitive rhythm of enjoyment, and Rochelle was in a rhythm of delightful, girl-understood pleasure.
"Joel, finger my pussy. Jarryn, finger my arse, now!"
And the lads were getting into the swing of things quickly. They were prodding and hooking and flexing quite well. Probing very smuttily in tandem.
Rochelle managed her own so sensitive clitty.
Guys could be a bit rough down there. She knew how to tease it under its protective hood. Working her fingers around her clit's foreskin for maximum bliss.
Now you see it; now you don't—the pink bean; peek-a-boo.
Exciting her clitty made Ms Moore want cock.
She was up off the table and was sucking off a surprised Jarryn and tugging off an equally astounded Joel.
Then Rochelle swapped cocks. Slurping along Joel's astonished pecker and rubbing and gripping Jarryn's dazed throbbing meat.
Ms Moore was planning on the go. A teacher speciality. Two cocks, two resources, use them both.
"Get your pants off, boys. Joel, on the teacher's desk, on your back now! Jarryn, you follow me."
The two guys had no frickin idea what was going to happen except the hope it would be smutty and arousing: a great combination with any girl.
Joel was flat on his back across the teacher's desk. Only his penis upstanding.
Ms Rochelle Moore straddled him on her haunches and wrapped her cute lips around his stiff pecker.
The brunette teacher was doing all the hard up and down work, bending and flexing her thighs, but the reward was delectable wanton bursts of pleasure filling her pussy.
"Oohh, yes, aah, yes, ahh," she released.
Her wet-filled expanded slit was hard male flesh filled, and it was compelling. Instinctually, she pushed herself up off the prick inside her and squeezed back down on throbbing meat.
Joel was cock centred in his thoughts.
Man, was pussy great. God, did he love his own cock.
Jarryn wasn't left out of the desk flesh party. His instruction was to fondle and lick Ms Moore's bouncy jiggling titties in freeform motion.
Of course, a young lad like Joel couldn't last that long, but God, he was hard in her. A youthful, rigid flagpole. He shot off a massive wad of jizz without warning, creaming Rochelle's sodden womanly canal.
No matter. Ms Moore had a cock in reserve.
She was still looking for more.
She quickly got the lads to swap positions. Jarryn was so excited.
He was lying back, holding his dick straight up to receive her coochie and awaiting the plunging and enveloping of his pleasure package.
Joel, in stupefied youthful post-male orgasm happiness, buried his face in the best set of tits he had ever seen.
Or likely to see.
Rochelle, with streaky cum goo dribbling from her spread pussy, wrapped her warm flesh tunnel around Jarryn's fresh stiff dick.
Cock was fuckin' amazing.
She had just had one, pounding down around it, then dragging her channel of pleasure up with it, feeling the filling. Needing the filling. Living for the filled sensation of cock in her body.
Yet taking more cock now simply because there were two.
It was like her pussy could never be satisfied.
Milk one cock. Now, she was enjoying milking a second.
Was it right?
It felt good.
Therefore, it was right for her.
Excess was frickin' good.
"Orrgh, yes, oh fuck yes, yes, yes, yes!"
The two Glebe seniors weren't complaining.
Rochelle bent forward over Jarryn. She let her butt and pussy muscles do all the work. Bumping, humping and grinding into the lad's pubic bone. Her clit received the maximum benefit of intimate body contact.
Jarryn hadn't experienced such sensational pussy captivation and sheer cunny muscle power in his tender years.
His cum burst in rapid spasms into his teacher's fantastic body.
"Orrgh, orrgh," he grunted.
Ms Rochelle Moore felt the male contractions and added her own. It was a sweet, sweet bodily treat.
Her clitty fired off its reward just before the second inexperienced cock, shot off in her.
It was four-twenty-five, Rochelle noticed, tidying herself up.
Minus her bra and panties. She stuffed them in her small handbag.
The guys were scrambling back into their school pants, finally realising what line they were all well over.
"Pack up and go," said Rochelle.
The two seniors grabbed their stuff and left, not saying anything.
Well, when it's been that good, words would spoil it.
And cock bliss empties guys' minds.
Rochelle, feeling totally happy and relaxed for the first time in weeks, got on her mobile phone to The Bay College, an exclusive all-girls school, and in ten minutes, she had a job there as a temp next term.
Her voice was full of confidence.
There's nothing like a good dose of sex for ego-building.
She knew her skills and could sell herself well, and she reflected smugly; use her body frickin well, too.
As Ms Rochelle Moore locked the door and headed back to her office with her test papers in her hands, she had that naughty little thought: Watch out, you private school tarts, I fancy a taste of multiple nubile pussies.