ONE

I admit that I was kind of naive about men, especially what they thought about sex and girls. I mean, I always liked to look my best, and it made me happy to know the guys at school thought I was hot, but I had never imagined the things that went through their heads when they saw me.

See, I developed early, and I got to like the compliments adults turned my way. I knew the men were especially pleased by my looks, but didn't know why really. As I got a little older and the boys started coming on to me I realized why, of course.

Oh, I knew the boys wanted to sleep with me, wanted to get their hands on my nubile young body, and knew, sort of, that the men did too, but I gave paid it a lot of thought. I dressed to look attractive, and if the boys, well, got excited around me, all that did was give me a little bit of a ticklish feeling down between my legs.

I'm not stupid. Don't think that just because I'm a blonde that I'm dumb. I just never knew how fixated guys were on sex, how desperate they were for it, how violent they could be to get it, or how perverse, bizarre, and even cruel they could get to a sweet young girl like me.

Oh, I knew there were rapists out there, sick men, men who would steal what they wanted, and maybe even beat me up or kill me to keep secret the terrible thing they'd done. But these were far away considerations, and didn't really come close to the brutality that some men could, and indeed, liked to inflict on girls like me.

Of course it wasn't just men. Some women liked to hurt young girls too, some of them got all horny and excited by hurting pretty girls. I didn't imagine that, and still don't understand it. I lived in a small town, you see, in the south. It wasn’t like there were dirty movies on the TV or in the video store, not down there. And I didn’t really have much of an idea about sex except that reverend Smythe said it was an awful thing to even think about unless you were married.

So anyway, I pretty much dressed as I liked, sometimes in ultra-tight jeans that showed off my cupcake buttocks and dug up into my pussy crack, sometimes in tight tops to show my high, firm, proud young breasts, or tiny mini-skirts to show off my firm, perfectly contoured legs.

The day Mister Thomas came to school as a substitute teacher I was wearing a pair of short white shorts with a wide black belt through the loops, a pair of cowboy boots, and a white, short sleeved crop top with black buttons down the middle. I was a senior, you see, and we had to keep up fashion appearances.

I loved the top in particular, partly because it showed off my smooth, flat belly, and partly because it was what's called a stand away top. It was tight over my breasts, then hung straight down, hardly touching my body at all, and ending about six inches above my belt.

The boys always thought they could look up under it and see my boobs and kept finding excuses to bend over when I wore it and glance up. I knew, though, that unless they put their heads right up against my belly they wouldn't be able to see my boobs, and anyway, I wore a bra.

So anyway, I was walking around proudly, knowing the guys wanted me, knowing they looked at me with the idea of how sexy I was, but having no idea what went through their minds. I mean, if other girls my age, or even older women, knew the filthy, degrading, horrible stuff that went through guys' minds when they saw us they'd probably be too embarrassed to go outside in anything other than a raincoat.

I walked into social studies class and there was Mister Thomas, and ordinary enough looking middle-aged guy with a moustache and suit. I didn't know him and, like other kids everywhere, was glad to see a substitute. Substitutes were usually easy meat and gave easy assignments.

Mr. Thomas started out by asking everyone their names. I thought that was kind of dumb cause he would surely never remember them, but when he asked I answered of course, saying my name, Holly Morrison.

After that Mr. Thomas handed out writing assignments. We had to say what the most exciting thing was that had ever happened, and what was our most exciting fantasy or dream. A lot of the guys snickered at that and I knew they were imagining what they'd like to put down, something dirty. I knew they wouldn't dare, though.

Anyway, I wrote my most exciting time, which was when I was rushing to the hospital with my mother when she was pregnant with my younger sister, and my best fantasy(the one I'd admit to anyway), which was being a princess in a big castle. I handed them in and left without a second thought.

Next day I was wearing a blue dress with a loose short hem that drew the guys' eyes, as if hoping it would flap up and reveal my panties. I didn't wear panty hose; of course, I could just never feel sexy in them. Instead I wore a garter belt and stockings, dark blue ones to set off against the light blue of my dress.

Anyway, Mr. Thomas went through the things we'd done the other day. One guy had dreamed about being a football player and Mr. Thomas told him about when he'd watched an NFL game from the bench (big deal). Another guy said how he dreamed of owning some super powerful car I can't even pronounce and Mr. Thomas had actually driven one once when he worked for a car magazine and gave him an owners manual he had had laying around.

The class ended without coming to my fantasy, and we all got up to leave for lunch, and I thought nothing of it when Mr. Thomas called me up to the front of the office.

"I meant to get to your fantasy, Holly," he said, smiling in a very friendly way. "I brought these in for you."

He laid out a bunch of pictures of a big castle and I bent to look closer, setting down my books. Mr. Thomas moved up beside me, pointing out the tall tower on one of the castles, that he said was where girls like me could be locked up until our prince comes to get us.

I laughed and admired how pretty the castle was, then yelped as he put a hand on my arm and something stuck me.

"Oh, gosh, I'm sorry," he exclaimed, pulling his hand back. "I hope my ring didn't cut you."

"No, it just...stung for a second, I guess," I said, examining the arm. There was a tiny little prick, but no blood, and it didn't even hurt any more. I turned back to look at the pictures, leaning over the desk. I didn't even notice that Mr. Thomas had gone to the door and closed it.

In fact, I wasn't noticing much. The pictures seemed to be blurring on me. I blinked my eyes rapidly but they didn't clear up any, and my legs started getting a little rubbery and weak. I was glad when Mr. Thomas gripped my arm to steady me. And when he turned me around and sat me back against the edge of the desk I didn't protest.

He said something, but the words were slurred and seemed to come from a great distance, like the bottom of a well or something. I looked up at Mr. Thomas and his head seemed to swim back and forth, shimmering and going in and out of focus. He was smiling, though, so I knew nothing was wrong.

I didn't even realize it when he slipped the straps of my dress over my shoulders and lowered the front to bare my bra clad breasts. Then, as he undid the bra and pulled it over my shoulders and off, I made a small murmur, not a protest or anything, maybe a complaint because he moved my arms to get it off.

My breasts felt a bit cool and I looked down stupidly, seeing the firm round orbs thrusting upwards, and the nipples stiffening with the cold. I wasn't embarrassed or surprised or worried or anything. I saw them and thought nothing of it.

Mr. Thomas's big soft warm hand came down and cupped my right breast, stroking back and forth along the underside, then cupping and squeezing lightly. His big round thumb came up and rubbed across my nipple, and I sighed in acceptance because it felt good.

I looked up at him again and his shimmering face smiled so I smiled back, though a bit tentatively. He had his arm behind me to hold me up but I still swayed a bit. His hand continued to rub my breast, now squeezing it more, and rolling the nipple from side to side. That made my boob warm up and feel funny, but I didn't appreciate why or in what way.

He bent and began to suck on my other nipple, drawing it into his mouth and working his tongue on it. That was a little ticklish at first and I giggled.

He straightened up and his hand, the one squeezing my breast, slid down and gripped the hem of my dress, pulling it up over my hips. He gripped my thin lacy panties and gave a sharp tug. The tiny elastic snapped and the panties came right off, baring my almost hairless pussy crack.

Now years and years of being taught never to show anyone that part of me, that secret, private place, seemed to cut through the haze and I feebly tried to pull the dress down again. Mr. Thomas looked angry and pulled his hand up suddenly to slap my face. The pain wasn't great but it shocked me and I stopped struggling at once, looking up at him in fear.

He gripped my thigh and jerked my leg up, pushing it back onto the desk, baring my pussy even more. He jammed my foot down on the edge of the desk and told me to keep it there in a very mean voice. I was trembling a little, but did as he told, afraid he'd hit me again. Nobody ever hit me and I didn't know what to do about it.

Then his warm hand cupped my crotch. Oddly, that made me feel better. After all, my private place was now covered again. His hand rubbed up and down, then I felt a sort of sharp pain down there. I looked down and saw he was pushing a finger inside me. That made me open my eyes wider. I'd never pushed anything inside myself, fearing I'd break my cherry, so seeing something pushing into that secret little crack was amazing to me.

He gave a little laugh and pulled his finger out, then I watched as he undid his pants. They fell down around his ankles, and he jerked his underwear down too. Now I was really surprised. I stared in dazed fascination at his thick heavy appendage hanging down there, sprouting out from a thick tangle of dark pubic hair like some monstrous mushroom springing out of the weeds.

Two thick round balls hung below it and I was at a loss to figure out what they were in the condition I was in. Besides, I was too interested in watching his cock, which seemed to almost be moving, the mushroom-like head coming up more and more as the thing seemed to grow thicker and longer and harder.

I stared at it stupidly as Mr. Thomas continued to stroke my pussy and squeeze my breasts. He took my hand then and pulled it up between his legs, squeezing my fingers around the thick organ. I stared in wonder, feeling it pulsing with life in my hand. It felt - awesome. But I couldn’t help thinking that he should have shaved his pubic hair, and that it was odd women had to and men didn’t.

Mr. Thomas let me lay back across the desk, my legs hanging over the edge. He moved between my legs, gripping my thighs and lifting them up, pulling them wide apart. I watched in dull acceptance, my mind gripped by a strange haze that made everything around me seem like a dream.

I saw his huge monster cock pointing up along my belly. It confused me anew, never having seen anything like that before. At least, not in real life.

Mr. Thomas slid his hands up my nearly naked body then, surrounding my breasts with his fingers and squeezing inwards.

They mashed upwards like bloated balloons, the nipples sticking out hard and pointy. Mr. Thomas leaned in and licked his tongue across one, then the other, then slid his lips around the right one and sucked hard. His teeth came down and gnawed at it and I moaned because it hurt.

My nipple sparked with pain as his teeth chewed on it, but at the same time it felt oddly warm and exciting. The feel of his tongue as it lapped on the tender, sensitive pink flesh was new and strange, but very, very pleasant.

He straightened; his hand gripping his strange, almost menacing looking penis, then placed the funny looking head against my pussy slit and rubbed it up and down. It felt very good there, and as he kept rubbing I felt a strange tingling, an unidentified yearning. I wanted something, but didn't know what.

He pressed the cock thing, the odd looking head of it, against my pussy crack. I could feel it pushing against my flesh with more and more pressure, to the point where it became kind of uncomfortable. I murmured what I thought was a protest, but it didn't stop. I raised my weary head and looked down there and was amazed.

My pussy crack was kind of pulled open and his thick thing was pushing inside, in between them. The whole, darkly discoloured head was inside and my pussy lips were tight and straining under the tension as his cock moved deeper.

I wanted to ask what he was doing, but didn't. I just watched, accepting the strange kind of pain as the thing moved deeper. I felt the tightness of my flesh, not only there at my groin, but, very strangely, inside me, just inside my body.

I didn't know what to make of that, but it seemed to be growing, sort of moving deeper inside my groin. I was confused and a little worried, wondering what was going on and where these odd feelings were coming from. I'd never felt anything like that actually inside myself.

Then there was a sudden, sharp pain that made me whine and jerk my head back. I raised my hands and pushed against him, but already the pain was beginning to fade. Mr. Thomas shoved me back, gripped my legs and jerked me against him, sliding my warm buttocks up against the side of the desk as he thrust into me with his cock.