1 comments/ 15022 views/ 6 favorites Henry's Exposed Adventure Ch. 01 By: Guiscard3636 [This is a work of fiction. All characters depicted in this fictional work are 18 years of age or older. Any resemblance of any character to any real person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.] My name is Henry Watson, and when all these things happened I was 18 and a senior at East Point Military Academy, an all-boys military high school in upstate New York. It was good being back at school, though I was a little sad that, come the end of the year, I had friends that I might not see again for a long time, if at all. It was fall, the air was chilly and crisp and tasted like lemon if you just breathed it in through your mouth fast enough. In those hours when the sun shone, the flaming oranges and reds of the leaves stood out against a sky as blue as the blue of Michelle's eyes, but before long it would retreat into a semi-permanent shade of battleship gray. The trees, with their waving masses of reds, browns and golds, were on fire, cold tongues of flame that flickered with each change in the wind. And wherever the wind had piled up hundreds of their little cadavers in small piles I made it a point to kick my way through it as I walked across campus to class. Michelle is Michelle Hadley, my girlfriend, but she's back in New York City, so I wouldn't see her again until Thanksgiving break. Even though turkey day was only eight or nine weeks away, time passes more slowly when you're young, and it felt like I had to wait two eternities to see her again, and to get our tongues in each other's mouths. East Point Military is just outside the little town of Armpit. That's not really the name of the town, of course, but that's what all the guys at the school called it. Back in those days Armpit had an ice cream shop, a store that sold cheap clothes and food high in sugar and brimming over with the type of fat that's bad for your heart, and a run-down theater with broken seats that played movies long since out of circulation down in New York City. But Armpit was the only outpost of civilization within a hundred miles of East Point, and it was within walking distance of the academy. The movies and the ice cream shop provided the perfect excuse for a Saturday evening date with a Grimsley girl -- always heavily chaperoned. Plus, you had get a date with a girl there first. We talked a lot about different Grimsleys, as we called them, but until Saturday rolled around, we had to be disciplined and focus our testosterone-addled brains on things like algebra and whether Hamlet really killed Ophelia. East Point was a military-style school, but it was pretty much like any other all-boys' boarding school, except that the discipline and regimentation were heavier and we were required to wear uniforms. On most days this wasn't so bad because it was just the "daily grays," a tunic that buttoned up the front like a combination shirt and light jacket, and a pair of pants, both gray. For parades and at all formal occasions, though, we had to wear our dress uniforms, which were real 19th century Queen's Own Hussars affairs with white, high-waisted pants, a jacket that was short in the front and had long tails in the back. If we were drilling on parade, we had to wear these tall shako hats made of fake bear hair. We called parades "nutcrackers" for two reasons. First, the get-up we had to wear made us look like 450 Christmas nutcrackers come to life. And, second, because it was ballbuster. Or a nutcracker, in more polite terminology. The school was on Lake Penasaukee, which was about ten miles long and ranged from about half a mile to a mile and half wide. Legend was that Penasaukee was a Mohican word meaning "penis - suck it." First-years were required to point their fingers at their crotch when whenever they said the name of the lake. It was a big lake, but only about 25 feet at its deepest point. That was more than deep enough to drown in, and it was damn cold, so we weren't allowed in or on the Lake unless it was an official school activity. You could get kicked out if you broke that rule. I was sent, or rather sentenced, to East Point by my parents. My performance at a regular private high school in New York City was not very impressive. They said it would improve my academic performance so I could get into a good college. Truth was that Michelle and I spent a lot of afternoons together making out and walking around the city when we should have been studying. So my parents had a point because I'd be about 350 miles from Michelle and that lovely mouth of hers. But after I got to East Point I still got mostly C's and a few D's, with an occasional B- thrown in as a saving grace by some sympathetic teacher. I was counting more on my family's money than my grades to grease the college admission rails. My father traded oil on the spot market, made a lot of money doing it, and traveled around the world for his job. My mom never traveled with him but instead lived in our apartment on the east side of Manhattan. Colleges aside, their real reason for sending me to East Point was to get me out of the way so they could pursue their own interests. Love interests, that is. They thought I didn't know that they cheated on each other, but it was too obvious not to notice. Parents always seem to have a denial complex about things like that. "Oh, I'm sure he doesn't know that I'm screwing my assistant at the office," when the assistant would be dumb enough to call him at home where I could quietly pick up the extension in my bedroom and listen in. My dad always had an "assistant," sometimes two, always female and most only a few years older than me. Some of them were so outrageously beautiful and dolled up they made me feel embarrassed. I mean, I wanted to make out with them, a lot, but when you knew your own dad was fucking her it made things really awkward. He changed assistants every few months, anyway. My mother was a bit different, though. Sure, she had her boyfriends to balance things out. Some of them were "mature" older men with gray hair, but some, like my dad's assistants, looked like they were fresh out of college and couldn't have been more than a few years older than me. What made my mom interesting was that she also had girlfriends, and they weren't just friends who were girls. I was pretty sure she swung both ways, though I never actually saw her with another woman in a compromising position. Mom and dad each knew what the other was doing, but they'd worked out their own peaceful coexistence for their little Cold War. Mom didn't complain as long as the money kept flowing in. Dad was happy if mom didn't interfere with his women or talk trash about him to people in their social orbit. It was all something we just didn't talk about on those rare occasions when the three of us were together around a table. So what about me? I'm maybe a little under average height for a guy, about 5'6'', and definitely on the thin side. I preferred the term "wiry" to "skinny," but I had to admit that just never had much muscle in my shoulders or arms. Not having lots of muscle was a problem I could live with, but what I couldn't get used to was the problem I had with girls. I'd had dates, and sometimes a relationship that lasted a few weeks. One lasted a month and a half. But I never had sex with any of them. Whenever things got to first base, I had to stop it there. Sometimes I'd sabotage my own relationship by being rude, other times I just stopped calling the girl. It wasn't that I didn't like them, and I certainly didn't want to be rude. But I was desperately afraid of going too far in a relationship -- and going too far with a girl -- because of my problem. What problem was that? I had the worst of both worlds. Half of it was that I got a lot of erections, some spontaneous, others triggered by the sight of something intriguing and female. At that age a boy's hormone factory runs three shifts a day, so everybody got a lot of inopportune erections. But I got more than most. My little soldier down below was always ready to stand at attention, even when I wasn't thinking about sex. My morning wood was so hard that just to get rid of it I had to wait until my roommate had gone out to take his shower and then jack off like crazy using the dirty magaziine I kept hidden under my mattress. Sometimes, when I knew I'd have to speak in front of a class, I "bought insurance": I'd duck into one of the stalls in the bathroom on the way to class and jerk off. Paying for insurance has never felt so good since then. But that was just half of the problem. The other half was that my penis was -- and still is -- small. Not a micro-penis, but it's considerably smaller than average. Soft, I'm just about one and a half inches. Well, not quite, but almost. Getting out of Lake Penasaukee or a chilly pool just aggravated this condition. Erect, I gain another inch, so at maximum stiffness my dick reached the commanding height of two and half inches. Well, almost two and a half inches. A penis my size was impossible not to notice in the locker room and the showers, and so I was given a few nicknames. Among the more colorful ones were "Sparkplug" and "Winecork." The size of my dick was why I was never very forward with girls. I was always afraid of getting alone and busy with a girl. The thought of her putting her hand on my crotch -- or worse, down the front of my pants -- made me break out in a cold sweat. I always had to stop the action no matter how good it felt. I couldn't bear the thought of some girl getting startled by my diminutive penile dimensions and laughing me into the floor. Even more nightmarish was the thought that she would tell all her girlfriends about the date and how small my dick was. I'd be the laughingstock of Armpit. So I was always reserved around the girls and wasn't always trying to cop a feel when teachers or other adults weren't looking. In consequence I had an unearned reputation as something of a young gentleman. I had no way of knowing how much trouble that reputation was going to bring me. Though East Point was all boys, the girls weren't too far away. Grimsley Hall was an all-girls school on the other side of Lake Penasaukee, and about a half hour away from East Point by car. It was closer by water. To make sure none of the boys got the bright idea to break the rules and float their way over to Grimsley for an impromptu tryst all the canoes and rowboats were counted and locked up each night. I don't think anybody would have been fool enough to try to swim it because the water in the lake was always really cold, even in August. The thought of getting to Grimsley on foot wasn't appealing either. It was all winding country roads with no sidewalks and no lampposts. Soused farmers in their pickup trucks with gun racks in the back windows usually drove those roads at 90 mph to get to their next honky-tonk. It's too dangerous even to bike the route, which is why East Point didn't allow bicycles, just in case anyone might be tempted to try to cycle over to Grimsley. You'd probably be found the next morning along the side of the road flattened into a bloody roadkill pulp. And if you did get over to the other side of the lake, Grimsley had its own barriers. Grimsley's fortress-like stone walls extended on three sides around the school -- all except on the side fronting Lake Penasaukee. The Grimsley dorms all had double bullet-proof glass doors manned (or I should say womanned) 24/7 by a professional security service -- once again, all female. They weren't going to take any chances. Each Grimsley dorm was like a jewelry store in Manhattan: you had to be buzzed in and buzzed out. To make their appearance even more forbidding, the guards' uniforms had those belts that went across the chest diagonally - bandoliers, I think they called them. Why the hell they needed them, we could never figure out. We concluded it was all done for appearance's sake. Because of the bandolier, the East Point boys nicknamed Grimsley's female guards the "Chastity Belts." Grimsley likes to tell the parents of prospective students that no school did more to protect the virtue of its nubile young charges. Most of the Chastity Belts were older, mature women who might have been mistaken for refrigerators if they stood still and wore white. But there were one or two that were young and smokin' hot, and we joked about wanting to be strip-searched by them. Guys always talked about getting into the Grimsley dorm after lights out, and there were stories that someone had actually done it years before, but I thought that was bullshit. We could get into Grimsley for a blowjob only in the wettest of our wet dreams. Yet but for those wet dreams we were in a desert as far as female companionship was concerned, except for the teas and dances. And except for Miss Frobisher, whom I'll get to shortly. We had to wear our uniform dress pants whenever East Point held a dance with our "sister school," which was twice each year. Grimsley also hosted two dances, one in the winter just before Christmas break, and the second in the spring about two or three weeks before finals started. Grimsley had a so-many-inches-above-the-knee rule on skirt length, but when the girls came to East Point auditorium for a dance they headed straight to the ladies' room to hike their skirts up as high as they dared. It was as if they were all trying to out-Sailor Moon Sailor Moon. This, of course, had an immediate effect on the penis of yours truly. Little Herby wanted to rise up to get a better look at dozens of naked Grimsley thighs, and maybe even catch a panty shot if one of them bent over to pick something up. Some of them seemed to I always made sure to jerk off right before the dance to avoid making a tent in the front of my pants. That usually worked. But not always. There were some trips to Grimsley for "afternoon teas" that were heavily chaperoned by faculty. If you had any demerits for bad behavior or bad grades, you would be prevented from going to the teas until those were all cleared up. Having the proper manners with young ladies was something we were actually drilled and tested on at East Point, so the teas were seen as a way to practice what we'd learned. Tea and scones were served, and you were supposed to make nice conversation. They even allowed you to play bridge if you knew how. It was on one of these tea expeditions that I met Alicia, Regan and Genevieve. The only thing Genevieve French about her was her name, but she absolutely did not want anyone to call her "jenna-VEEV." That was far too American. It was always "zhonn-vee-EV." She was hot but too stuck up for me and after a while I stopped sitting with her. Alicia and Regan were also very pretty, so I was attracted to both of them, and I guess they were to me since they would whisper to me that I was "cute" or "fine." I was more attracted to Alicia, but learned she had a boyfriend back home. Regan knew Michelle, so if started something with Alicia, Michelle would likely hear about it. But if I started something with Regan, maybe not. Both of them could talk and act in some very bossy ways, and at first I didn't like that. But I found myself jerking off to images of them being bitchy and had to admit that it turned me on. In the end, Alicia became my Grimsley girlfriend. She had soft, dark brown hair that fell down in waves around her shoulders and caught the light in any room she entered, so that people just had to turn and look at her. Sometimes, in the winter when Grimsely had candles at its teas and she was standing in their glow, I wondered if some angel had just landed on earth. Her smile was honest and nice, and it never had that fakeness that you see in some girls who are smiling at you even when they want you to bugger off. She had perfect, just-enough-for-a-mouthful breasts. I was never a big boob fan, and if a girl didn't have too much on top that was all the better by me. And who was I to complain? I didn't have that much in the dong department. Our relationship started at one of the teas when we found ourselves alone in a hallway at the Grimsley student center, a gothic monstrosity that must have been designed by the guy who did the sets for all the Frankenstein films. I'd been sent to get something from the van, and she was taking a shortcut from the kitchen and carrying a tray of cookies. As soon as we saw each other our eyes locked. She didn't even hesitate. She put the tray down, right on the floor, and came over to me. I put my arms around her and drew her in close and kissed her, just touching her lips at first, and then opening her lips with my tongue and entering her mouth. Our tongues went at it for about thirty seconds before we had to come up for air. One of her legs had made its way between mine, and my erection was poking her upper thigh. She started to move her leg up and down, masturbating me through my pants. I kissed her again, deeply, and then we heard the click-clack of heels on the stone floors of Grimsley and we broke away -- at warp speed, I might add. I dodged behind a floor to ceiling windown curtain and held my breath, while she bent down to pick up the tray. It was one of the Grimsley teachers asking where she'd been with those cookies. One good thing about being so scared was that the excitement in my pants subsided quickly. About two weeks after that we arranged to go out on a date to the lone movie house in Armpit -- chaperoned, of course, by one of the Grimsley teachers. Alicia told me what she though I might be good at, telling me I should look at this or that for a career, even though I hadn't asked her for her opinion. But I felt good that she was interested, in fact, more than interested. She wanted to direct me. I was getting turned on again. We got our tickets and went into the theater. I thought for sure that the teacher was going to sit down between the two of us, but to my surprise she sat on Alicia's left so that she and I sat together. She kept looking over at the teacher, who eventually drifted off about a half hour into the film. "She always falls asleep," Alicia whispered to me. "That's why I always beg and plead for her to be my chaperone." For her to whisper without risking waking up the teacher she practically had to bring her lips next to my skin and breathe into my ear, and that had it's predictable effect on my cock, which was straining to get out of my pants and listen in on the conversation. Then she reached her hand over and put it right on my crotch. And she started feeling around. I froze with some combination of surprise and raw fear. "Are you erect?" she asked me, practically out loud in a regular tone of voice. "What?" I wasn't sure if I'd heard her right. I'd never had a girl ask me so direct a question. "Not so loud," I said. I guess I did hear her just fine. "Silly boy. I asked you whether you have an erection. Answer me. Is your penis erect?" I looked over to the teacher, but she was still asleep. "Unhh...Unhhh," I stammered, "I think so." "You think so? You only think so? What kind of boy doesn't know if he's hard or not? Take it out and let me see it." "What??!! Here?? What if she wakes up?" "She won't, trust me. Now don't make me ask again, of believe me I'll make you sorry for it. Take it out. Now." I reached down and zipped down the fly on my pants, reached in and started groping around for my cock. My shorts had gotten bunched up and twisted around a bit, and I couldn't find the opening, so it was taking longer than it should have. She looked over at me and started giggling. "What's the matter? Can't find it? Here, let me." And with that she jerked my hand back out of my pants and thrust her own into my fly. She was much more violent than I expected, and for a moment I thought she was going to rip my shorts, or my zipper, or even my pants. That would have been tough to explain. Then she got to the opening in my shorts and I felt her soft hand grip me around my shaft and lead me back out. I was so afraid that she would be disappointed with my lack of size that she'd laugh out loud and definitely wake up the teacher, not to mention the consequences to my reputation at Grimsley. Henry's Exposed Adventure Ch. 01 "Is that all there is to it?" "Yu..Yu..Yeah." "Poor baby." "Will you not tell anyone?" "Of course. Provided..." Here, she looked at me with a sly smile curling the corners of her mouth. "Provided what?" "Provided you do as I tell you and obey me in all things." "I thought you had a boyfriend back home." "Silly! I never said I had a boyfriend. I said I had a boy. I like having more than one, and I think your little thingy is very cute. Still, one of the things you'll have to learn is that I will be in complete command of when you may, and may not, have an erect penis. You'll have to learn that if a girl hasn't asked you to stiffen your penis for her, it's simply uncouth to present her with the fait accompli. How often do you jerk off?" "No, I...I mean I don't..." She quickly shoved her hand further down in my shorts, grabbed my testicles and squeezed them firmly. The pain shot up from my groin, all the way up around my sides and what felt like my kidneys. It was like I'd just been kicked in the stomach. I took in a sharp breath and lifted my butt out of the seat in a vain effort to appease her hand, to get closer to it so that she wouldn't use it to hurt me so much. She was squeezing me, all right. "Another rule is you must not lie to me. If you do I'll punish your balls. Do you understand?" "Yesss!" I hissed, my breath seizing in my throat with the sudden onset of pain from this girl. I learned really fast that when a girl's got you by balls, the threat is real, and submission is all that matters. "Good boy. Now tell me how often you wank." "Usually once in the morning and then before I go to sleep." She answered with a quick squeeze and I did another deep breath intake and butt-out-of-the-chair move. "Not more than that?" "Before teas and dances and anytime we might see Grimsley girls. I don't like to take chances that I'll get an erection." She released my testicles and drew her hand out of my pants. "That's much better. You have to be completely honest with me, at all times, as well. If you disobey me, or if you tell me something that's not true, I'll simply have to punish you. Now strip from the waist down." "Here?? In the theater??" Was she really asking me to do this? Yes, she was. I didn't even like changing for gym class where everybody was male, but here I was being told to get half naked in a public place. My mind raced from fear to embarrassment to thoughts of being jailed as a flasher and back again. "Don't worry. It's dark enough. No one will see." I hesitated. She leaned over and in a stern whisper said "Either you strip off those pants and your undies right now, or by tomorrow every girl at Grimsley will be snickering over the size of your penis and calling you Thimble Watson. So you decide. Which is it?" Without another word I quickly unbuckled my belt, unzipped my fly and pushed my pants and shorts down with one movement as I lifted my ass off the seat. When they were down around my ankles I left them there. Big mistake. Alicia looked at me and shook her finger in my face. "I said naked below the waist. That means shoes and socks too, and pants all the way off." Damn that was embarrassing. I'd be in trouble if an usher came down with a flashlight. But I didn't have any choice in the matter. If I wanted to keep at least some of my dignity among the Grimsley girls, I'd have to sacrifice all of it for a little while in this theater. When I got everything off, she reached down, picked everything up and put it in all in her school bag. Holy shit!!! I did not see that coming. My clothes were not merely off -- they were taken from me. If somebody saw me there would be nothing for me to do except cover up with my hands. While these excruciating fears were racing through my mind, I felt her hand grabbing the shaft of my penis. She started stroking me up and down, at first slowly and smoothly, then increasing both her tempo and firmness. In mere seconds I forgot my fears and became as stiff as steel. I felt my scrotum tightening, and then a tingling feeling started way down between my legs. Her hand was so good, and she knew so exactly how fast and hard to wank I wondered if she might have been a boy in prior life. It was like she could tell what was going on in my groin. All I could do was grip the armrests and close my eyes. My breathing got more raucous, shallower, and came only through my mouth. Then I felt it coming and my whole body tensed up. That was a signal to her to concentrate her stroking entirely on the frenulum on the underside of my cock, near the tip. Then it hit me. I started to jerk my hips up and down to intensify what she was doing with her hand, and my first spurt of com shot out and landed god knows where. The second went up only a little bit and fell back, the warm wet drops landing on my lap and upper thigh. From there on out, it was just a dribble. Alicia kept squeezing my shaft and she stroked upwards, almost like getting the last bit of toothpaste out of the tube. "There, doesn't that feel a lot better? The teacher on her left let out a cough that made me panic. Here I was sitting half naked, my erect cock softening with cum dripping out of the tip, in a public theater. If that lady opened her eyes, I was completely done for. Forever. "Yes. Can I please have my pants back now? Please?" "Lick this first." She held her hand up to my mouth. There was cum all over it, and I licked it. It was the first time I'd ever tasted my own spunk. She pulled her hand back. "I should keep your clothes as a punishment for not obeying my command immediately and let you get home by yourself -- bottomless. But since this is your first time accepting orders from a girl, I'll let it pass. Though it's just this once." "Thanks." I didn't know what else to say. I was desperate to get my pants back on before her teacher woke up. Just as I was pulling my pants up she started to nudge the teacher in the ribs with her elbow to wake her up. I zipped myself up as fast as I could, wondering why Alicia didn't wait until I was fully dressed before trying to wake up her teacher. Maybe that was more punishment, or more excitement. Maybe it was both. I was just putting my second shoe on when the teacher woke up. "That was a nice movie," the teacher said. "Did you two enjoy it?" "Well," Alicia said, "the acting was a bit stiff in places, and some of the smallest parts were really the best. But they managed to pull it off. Don't you think so, Henry?" "Absolutely. Definitely pulled it off." She put her arms around my shoulder and said "Such a good boy." The memory of Alicia forcing me to strip in a public theater and then jerking me off right in front of her sleeping teacher -- who could have awakened at any moment -- fueled my masturbatory fantasies for weeks. The handjob was all the more exciting because of the fear of being caught. But my auto-erotic happiness was tempered by my fear that she might not keep her promise, that she might tell the other Grimsley girls about my small penile dimensions. That thought could kill an erection in seconds, but there was nothing I could do. Henry's Exposed Adventure Ch. 02 [This story is not intended as a "slam-bam-thank-you-ma'am" porno tale, a semi-literate effort to recount genital jackhammering (either male to female, or vice versa) in such a way as to set a new Olympic record in the 100-metre dash. Your humble author has no problem with any such story, nor with those who enjoy them. That's all a matter of individual taste. But if that's what you prefer, then Henry's Exposed Adventure is definitely not for you. Your time will be better spent heading over to the high street to stand outside the department store window and watch them change the dummies. This is a slow boiler, a crock-pot, not a microwave oven. Please stop reading now and find, among the thousands of other stories on Literotica, something faster that you will like a lot more.] [The objective of this work is to tell a story that is erotic, not to write something pornographic in the hope that it will somehow assemble itself into a story. This author will attempt to create three-dimensional characters who can lay legitimate claim to inner lives, and to bring the reader into their lives in such a way as to make her care about them, even if just a little bit. Whether I am successful in this effort is for the reader to judge. But, succeed or fail, this author will always insist that the quality of erotic writing lies in its ability to empower the reader to identify with the characters. Then, when those characters enjoy erotic experiences, so too does the reader, and with a degree of immediacy that keeps her coming (no pun intended) back for more.] [Almost forgot. All of the characters in this story are over 18 years of age, and any resemblance of any character, institution or place to any real person, institution or place is purely happenstance.] [In our last episode, Henry had been on a date with Alicia, his new Grimsley girlfriend, and she had come damn close to embarrassing him to death by forcing him to strip half-naked in a movie theater and inducing his ejaculation by manual stimulation. Immediately afterwards, she elbowed her dozing chaperone to wake her up. Henry barely succeeded in zipping himself up before the dormant matron regained consciousness.] As if I didn't have enough hormones racing through my bloodstream and causing unexpected erections at inopportune moments, the memory of my date with Alicia kept me hard through most of the following week. I promised Alicia I would call her. Well, really, she whispered in my ear that if I failed to call her by Wednesday evening she would gleefully inform all of Grimsley about the peewee dimensions of my little peepee (her words, not mine), and I would never be able to show my face again at Grimsley, or even in downtown Armpit, without triggering a tidal wave of girlish snickering. That would be really, really bad. So I knew I had to call her, even though it made me nervous as hell. Meanwhile, I was stranded in the all-boy sexual desert that was East Point Academy. Our only oasis was Miss Frobisher, the English teacher and drama coach. It was Miss, not Ms. Back in those days, the Ms. thing was just getting started, and it took a while before single women started to really use it. I was one of the lucky stiffs (and she usually made all of the boys stiff) who got into her senior English Lit seminar. The seminar was held in a conference room, rather than a classroom, and we all sat at conference tables rather than the traditional teacher's desk in the front and students' desks in rows stretching to the back of the room. This would not have been too bad, except that we had a clear view of her legs under the table, just as she, l soon found out, had a clear view of ours. She taught in the morning at East Point, and then around lunch time she drove the half hour or so over to Grimsley Hall where she taught English and drama in the afternoon. She taught drama at East Point too, but Grimsley's drama and theater arts program was much bigger and more elaborate than ours. Ms. Frobisher was, we guessed, 30 or 32. Her hair was dark, dark brown, almost black, and her skin was very fair, an almost translucent white that made her neck and cheeks look so delicate in the light that I just wanted to kiss and lick her face, and then beg to kiss and lick her between her legs. She cut her hair so that her bangs fell over her forehead, ending just above her eyebrows, and then the rest of it flowed around her head, framing it, before coming to rest on her shoulders. Her eyes were large and cast in a shade of slate-blue that, when she looked at me, made me feel like there was absolutely nothing that could be hidden from her gaze. Outside of class I fantasized that she could undress me with her eyes. Thus, in class a single look from her was enough to provoke an ungovernable hard-on. But her greatest feature by far was her mouth. She almost always held her mouth slightly open, poised in a just-about-to-smile position that, to me, made her look like she had just said "Yes! yes! yes!" She wore that shiny, wet-looking lipstick that girls wear, and hers was usually in a deep red color. Her dark hair, fair skin, red lips and slate eyes became the focal point of any room she entered. Her bottom lip was thick, full and generous, and her perfect, even, vanilla ice cream teeth peeked out from beneath her upper lip. My buddy, Mike Slade, sat next to me in her seminar, and after class we talked about how sweet would be the friction of being fellated by Miss Frobisher. We talked about how the underside of the tips of our cocks would rub against that thick lower lip, and how the topsides of our shafts would scrape lightly against her two front teeth as we thrust in and out of her mouth. And god only knows what her tongue would be like, sanding away at our frenulums. At these moments I had to think about something gross or terrible just to get a grip on myself or I would have spurted my load right through my pants and clear across the room. Her breasts were not big. Not small, mind you, but not big by any stretch. Mike Slade and I determined, based on our collective observations during class and our lurid study of brassiere ads in the Sunday newspapers, that she was more than an A cup but less than a B. Never having so much as felt a naked breast, much less seen a real one, we had no real clue as to what cup size meant. But her breasts were just right for me, all the same. I'm still a real contrarian when it comes to women's breasts. I think American culture and the porno world are as nutty about big breasts as they are about big dicks. If you like them, that's fine, but I personally never went in for the girls with big, swinging things that could knock down an old factory in an urban renewal zone. A girl with really big ones had to be careful to make sure that her twins didn't escape, which limited the types of clothes she could wear. But a small- or medium-breasted girl, on the other hand, could be much more daring and provocative in the way she dressed. She could wear a shirt with a button or two (or three) undone, or even go without a bra. Miss Frobisher always wore a bra because I could always see her shoulder straps under her blouse. But in the early fall or late spring, when the days were hot, Miss Frobisher - Elaine - would leave a blouse button or two (or, on occasion, three) unbuttoned. Ahhh, heaven on earth! She had a great ass, not small or flat like some anorexic supermodel on today's fashion tv, but soft and round, ample and bubble-like, an ass with a positive uplift, an ass that just cried out for a pair of male hands to knead its twin globes into an erotic trance. Her skirts were always stretched tight around her backside, lending it the contradictory allure of simultaneous display and concealment. She had great thighs and calves, with slim ankles that she showed off in high heeled shoes. In regular classes, as opposed to seminars, when she walked up and down the aisle between the desks, some of the guys would reach out and squeeze the air with both hands right behind her buns. Once she took a completely unexpected step backward and her buttocks almost got squeezed by Mike Slade's grasping paws. He managed to snap them back to his desk in the nick of time. My best jerk-off fantasies were the ones where I grabbed Miss Frobisher by her hips, pulled her in towards me, and did her doggy-style. She always wore skirts, and most of those skirts were cut above the knee. It was, after all, the era of the mini-skirt. Often well above the knee, much to our delight and the dismay of the other female teachers. She didn't pay attention to any of those old hags, and instead floated above them like some superior being. Mike and I hoped that she would spread her legs beneath the conference table so that we'd get as good a look at her crotch as she seemed to be getting of ours, but we never had any luck. She always kept her knees demurely pressed together...well, almost always. Every once in a while they would part, and we'd try to catch a shot up her skirt. We took imaginary bets on what kind and color of panties she was wearing, and then afterwards we'd argue back and forth as to whether she had a VPL -- visible panty line -- that day. Both Mike Slade and I thought that she must have been doing that intentionally, even though she never gave any definite signal of intent. But Mike and I concluded that she must have noticed our erections when she walked around the class. One time I had an erection in her class and I saw her looking down below my desk at my crotch, then back at me, then down again. When we were sitting at those conference tables she could get a full, unobstructed view of my crotch as my dick extended itself at the front of my pants. Mike's dick, like almost everybody else's at East Point, was a lot bigger than mine, and I remember watching her watch Mike and then stop talking for a second or two. She quickly collected herself and went on with her English lesson. Later on Mike told me he'd been hard up for nearly the whole class and she definitely saw it. I put two and two together. She was as unapproachable as she was voluptuous, and she was going to tease us into erections without ever letting on that that was her game. That's why I usually jerked off before her class to reduce the odds of an erection, but even that didn't always work. There are a few other female teachers at East Point, but they're all over 50, and all built like snowmen - real big on the bottom, almost as big on the top, and round all over. Only difference is that nothing on them melts in the spring. That Wednesday I dutifully called Alicia, and to my surprise she didn't bring up our little adventure at the movie theater that past weekend. I wanted to talk to her about it because some of it bothered me, but in another way it really turned me on. When I did try to raise it, to see if we might do something like that again, she changed the subject. "I've got something much more exciting that I want to ask you about, and I'm warning you that you can't say no," she said. That had me worried. If I said no, would I be disobeying her? And would she start talking about me at school. I felt trapped, though it was intriguing being trapped by someone as pretty and sexy as Alicia. "You know I'm in Grimsley's Theater Club, right? Well, this fall we're going to put on 'Sleeping Beauty.' "Okay, so you want me to be a techie for the show or something?" "You remember your Shakespeare stuff, how all the actors back then were male, and males even played the female parts? Well, at Grimsley it's the exact opposite because all the parts, even the male ones, are played by girls. With this play, though, we're going to do it a bit different. The way I want to stage it, we simply must have a real boy in the title role. "Isn't Sleeping Beauty the one where the handsome young prince kisses the sleeping princess to wake her up?" "Exactly. But we turn that upside down. I mean, we take some dramatic liberties with the traditional script. It's part of our school's mission on female empowerment." "Female empowerment?" "Right. In the old fairy tales it was always the girl who was the helpless one being rescued by some handsome prince, and that's just patriarchal dead-white-male literature. In our show, the brave handsome girl rescues the sleeping prince." This was sounding hotter by the minute but I still wasn't quite sure where she was going with this. But if I was in the Grimsley play, that meant that I'd be in rehearsals with Alicia, and Regan too, a few times a week. I was afraid to ask whether as part of the rehearsals I'd have to practice kissing one of them. Then she took the words from my mouth. "There is some...well...some or -- I mean, there's some mouth activity involved. We do have to wake up the sleeping prince after all. Will you be okay with that?" "Kissing?" "Sure, that too." "Of course I'd be okay with it." That too? I didn't follow her at the time, but I would soon find out. Would I be okay with it? Only okay? I felt blood rushing down from my brain to my crotch. "Great, then we're all set! You're a such a sweet young thing! Miss Frobisher is our faculty adviser for theater, so I'll leave a message for her and tell her that you're going to be in the play. Then you need to talk to her to make arrangements to get here for rehearsals, which are Monday, Wednesday and Friday, starting this Friday." "This Friday? That's two days from now?" "We don't have much time, remember. I'm going to call her right now. You have a class with her, right?" "The senior seminar." "Well, you talk to her tomorrow and make the arrangements to come over here with her on those days. Got it?" "Sure, got it." "What did you call me?" "Nothing. I didn't call you anything." "That's what I mean. From now on you are to call me 'Mistress' or 'Mistress Alicia,' and you need to really improve your manners when you're talking to me. It's 'Yes, Mistress' or 'No, Mistress.' You'd better be polite as hell with me or I'll paddle your balls. Don't say 'got it' to me." "Yes, Mistress," I said. Henry's Exposed Adventure Ch. 03 All characters are over 18. Any similarity to any real person, living or dead, is purely coincidental. ***** My earlier experience with Alicia -- Mistress Alicia, that is -- really pulled a mind-fuck on me. I could not get her or her words out of my head, and I was distracted all day. But it wasn't entirely bad. It turned me on like never before, and I walked around hard almost the entire day. My last class was Ms. Frobisher's English Lit Senior Seminar. If I said my mind wasn't there, that would be an understatement. She called on me once, and I had no idea what she was asking. "Well, Mr. Watson, welcome back to the land of the living, we're so glad you could join us today," she said The whole class burst out laughing, at my expense. I blurted out some excuse about forgetting where we were in the Shakespeare play. "Henry, I want to see you after class today." That shut everybody up. I remained sitting at my desk until all the other guys were out of the room. Miss Frobisher remained at her desk at the front of the classroom, writing something. The room was completely silent, so quiet I could hear her pen scratching across the paper as she wrote. She didn't even look up at me, and I began to wonder if she forgot about me or if she knew I was still there. Then she broke the silence. "Close the door, Henry," she said, still without lifting her eyes from what she was writing. I got up, closed the door and then headed back to my desk, but she stopped me. "No, Henry. Come up to the side of the desk, here," she said, motioning with her hand where she wanted me to go. Again, I did as she ordered. I was standing almost next to her at the side of the desk. She turned her chair to face me. Her precise placement of my feet was strange "Stand properly. Put your feet a little wider apart..." She put her hand between my legs at knee level and tapped the inside of each one. "Spread out further, yes, that's good. Now, as you know, I teach drama and theater over at Grimsley, and Alicia has talked to you about acting in a play we're putting on over there, right?" I nodded my head up and down. Was that ever a mistake. All I can remember seeing was a flash of the top of her dark blue high-heeled shoe coming up and at me, and the next instant I was on the floor doubled over in pain, blotches of light and dark dancing in my eyes, and involuntarily shielding my crotch. The pain surged up from my groin and into my sides, almost like a pair of hands reaching inside me and trying to rip my stomach out. She had just given me a swift kick in the balls. I couldn't believe it. Talk about unexpected. She looked down at me without bothering to get up from her chair. "You will not wag your head at me, young man. What do you think this is, a barn? And what are you, a horse or a goat? When I ask you a question you will answer with words, in the form of 'yes, Miss Frobisher' or 'no, Miss, Frobisher.' If you're a good boy, I'll let you use the short form 'Miss F_. Now get up and stand on your own two feet again." I was just beginning to get air back in my lungs. I struggled to my hands and knees and then stood up slowly. All the blood rushed out of my head -- probably on its way to save my balls. I felt dizzy. But there I was, standing in front of her, severely chastened. "You are going to be in the play at Grimsley this fall. It should be a good learning experience for you, and many of the girls you know will be in it, including Alicia, Michelle and Genevieve." She said the last en francais: Zzzhaaahn-vee-ev. "Perhaps you'll meet some other nice young ladies there. It's a very good way to get to know people, being in a theater production with them. It fosters a lot of..." She cocked her head at me and lowered one eyebrow in a rather sultry way. Then she whispered the end of her sentence, lingering on the two syllables: "close-ness." What did she mean by closeness, I wondered. No matter, the closer I got to Alicia or any other Grimsley girl, the better. Then a terrible thought occurred to me. "But I don't have a car, Miss Frobisher." "Silly boy. You'll ride with me to Grimsley for rehearsals in the afternoon. I have to drive back this way on my way home, so you'll be back in time for dinner at East Point. I've already cleared it with the headmaster. The thought of spending time alone with her, in the front passenger seat of her car, set my mind racing again. All I could see were images of her short skirt riding up her thighs as she worked the brake and the gas pedal. It was too great a temptation, and once again my little friend was standing at attention. Oh shit. I hoped she wouldn't notice. "But there are some things you have to know, and some conditions as well. you have to make a solemn promise to me," she said. Whoops. There was a catch. Wasn't there always a catch? Alicia had a catch too. I began to think that inventing catches for boys must be a talent built into every girl's genes. "What's that?" "You must obey every command I give you, as soon as I say it, never talk back to me and never disobey." Damn, that was the same thing Alicia asked for. Was there some standard operating procedure followed by all females connected to Grimsley? "I understand you and Alicia are an 'item,'" she continued. All of Grimsley knows that, in fact, and she's very sweet on you too. But you must be on your best behaviour at Grimsley because you'll be the first male ever to appear in a Grimsley theatrical production. So if you do can make that promise to me, then you'll have a chance to see your girlfriend almost every day because she's in the play. Can you make that promise?" "I think I can." "You think you can or you know you can?" "I know I can." "So say it." "What?" She rolled her eyes. "Tell me you promise to obey me." "I promise to obey you." "In all things, without objection or hesitation." I repeated that line too. It reminded me of some inauguration speech. "And you'll be on Grimsley's grounds, so you must also promise to obey all the commands of all of the other young ladies in the play. In fact, all the females at Grimsley Hall will be your superiors, and you must submit to them as you would me, without question and without hesitation. Can you do that?" I couldn't imagine any situation in which the Grimsley girls would be giving me orders, so I thought she was just exaggerating things. I would later find out how wrong I was. "Yes, I'll obey them the same as you," I said. "That's terrific, Henry. I know you'll be very pleased and...satisfied ... with the results of your choices. Of course, if you do disobey me or any female, there will be consequences." "Like what?" "Let's not worry about that now, since I'm sure you'll be a good and obedient male." Her words were a little bit strange to me. A good and obedient male? Disobey any female and there would be consequences? I thought it all sounded a bit strange, but I didn't worry about it at the time because, after all, Grimsley was an all-girls school. They wanted me to behave while I was there, and of course I would. Anyway, Miss Frobisher went right on without bothering to explain the consequences of disobedience or what being an "obedient male" entailed. "There are some other important things you'll need to know about Grimsley Hall before I take you there. First, it's more than just an all-girls' school. You have to think about it as more of an all-female environment. The faculty are all female. The administration are all female. The security officers are all female. Even the janitorial crew. It's really a female-superior environment. There's one men's room in the main administration building, but that's locked except on parents' day, when mothers and fathers both come to visit. So if you need to use the restroom, you'll have to let one of the girls know and then she'll escort you to the nearest one, and then you can go in and...take care of business." That struck me as very strange and likely very embarrassing. I'd have to tell one of the Grimsley girls, some girl my own age, that I had to take a leak. Well, they'd just have to accept it as a bodily function, I rationalized. After all, girls have to do it too. Miss Frobisher continued. "This female-superior environment is something that we're very proud of as part of Grimsley's progressive mission in the world, and particularly in the education of young ladies as future leaders. The girls can concentrate on their studies without the distraction of boys, and prepare themselves to lead the boys. Our planet won't survive unless we replace male war mongering and greed with the feminine virtues. "But just because the girls aren't seeking attention from boys doesn't mean that they're careless about their dress or appearance. Far from it. Dress and beauty are part of the essential feminine skills we teach so that when the girls graduate and get into the real world, they'll have more control over their males. Over their lives, I mean." Then she explained the dress code inside the Grimsley buildings. "It's different from what the girls can wear outside, since it's an all-female environment. As long as there are no visitors, especially male visitors, they can follow the internal uniform guidelines." "Internal guidelines?" "Yes, but only for clothing worn while inside the school buildings. Most of the girls' still wear their blue tartan uniform skirts, but they can hike them up -- a lot. Even up to the tops of their thighs. It's kind a fashion for all the girls to dress like those funny female characters in Japanese cartoons, all long legs and short skirts. Many of the girls wear their skirts at panty level." Miss Frobisher gave me a little smile. "They're so cute when they bend down to pick something up off the floor, with their cute little thigh-highs and panties showing. I'll bet that gets you thinking about things, eh Henry?" As if all this talk were not sending enough blood into my penis already, she put her right hand out to reach the inseam of my pants, right at my crotch. Having been kicked there once already, I instinctively shielded myself with my hands. Miss Frobisher's face changed instantly from smiling to cross. "In addition to absolute and immediate obedience to any female, you are to keep your hands at your sides and not try to protect yourself... there. That's a rule. I'll forgive it this time because it's a natural reaction, but you'll have to train yourself, especially if you're going to spend any significant amount of time at Grimsely." I moved my hands away, back to my sides. "That's much better." She cupped my balls through my pants and started to fondle them through the fabric. "Before you and your little man there get too excited," she said, as she unzipped my fly with her other hand, "you will not, absolutely not, be allowed to wander the halls. You'll be restricted to the auditorium, the stage, and the backstage area. In fact, you can't even go into the school by the main entrance. It's kind of the opposite of Shakespeare's Globe Theater centuries ago, where all the roles, including female roles, were played by male actors. There has never been a boy in any Grimsley stage production. You'll be the first. And I'm still working on getting permission from the administration to have you in the play, truth be told, but I think they'll come around. "I'm going to have to bring you around to the back entrance where the stage door is, and then after I drop you off there I will go into the school as I usually do, at the front. I'll come back to the stage door and unlock it from inside. Once I drop you off at the stage door, you have to stay right there! You must not move a step! You just wait until I come back to get you because Grimsley can't have some unidentified male wandering around the campus." "You mean I'm not supposed to be there?" "Well, not exactly. You'll be there with me, and all the girls in the theatre group know you'll be there, including your girlfriend, Michele. You probably know the other girls from the dances and teas as well." By this time she had her hand well into my open fly and was gripping my shaft -- well, what there was of my shaft -- firmly. "Alicia told me you were not very well endowed," she said. "She really wasn't kidding." At that remark I should have started to wilt, but she started rubbing her palm up and down the front of my pants, stimulating me so much that I thought I would ejaculate right then and there. I looked down. "I'm really sorry." I had a boner that was quite evident through my pants, even though I wasn't very big down in that department. "I'll go now." "No, stay right where you are." She was looking up at me and then down at my crotch, up and down, and it was turning my brain into mush. "It's quite a natural reaction. A liberated, progressive woman likes it when a man shows his appreciation of her beauty, so long as the male drive is not allowed to simply run loose. That's why the man must always submit to the woman in the relationship. Don't you agree?" I was so embarrassed and distracted that I wasn't really following what she was saying. "Agree? I'm sorry, Miss Frobisher, I don't follow." "It's true. God gave Adam one head on his shoulders and another head on his dick, but only enough blood to run one of them at a time." I still didn't understand what she was talking about, but I nodded and said: "Yes, Miss Frobisher." What else was I going to say? "Your little corporal is fighting to stand at attention. Take down your pants and undies and let him out now, let's see what we have." I was dumbstruck. Did she just say I should drop my pants take my erect dick out in public? No woman of Miss Frobisher's age had ever said anything like that to me. I had no clue what to say, but I wasn't fast enough. "Remember what I said about obedience, immediate and absolute. Before I could say I was sorry I felt her hands deftly undoing my belt, button and zipper, and in a few seconds she'd hooked her thumbs into my shorts on either side of my hips and pulled them down with my pants. I stood there, naked from the waist to the knees with my little hard cock standing in the breeze, begging for attention. "Oh dear!" she said. "That's it?" I was standing right in front of her, with her sitting at her desk. My dick and balls were level with her eyes. She was staring at my penis. Her mouth was wide open, expressing real shock. All three inches of me were standing up, pointing right at Miss Frobisher's face. At least she didn't laugh. Instead, her face had a cast of of sympathy, even one of pity and commiseration. She raised both hands to her cheeks. "Poor, poor Henry!" She took my penis in both her hands. "How do you ever expect to satisfy a girlfriend, much less a fully grown woman, with that little thing? I mean, it's cute as far as penises go, but you'll need to find a girl who'll accept your inadequacy as a male and will value your other qualities. You do you have other qualities, don't you?" "I guess so." I was scarlet with embarrassment and shame. It was happening. The female reaction to my male endowment that I feared most was happening. I dreaded the thought of a girl discovering the size of my penis and then telling all her friends at school how small I was. "Stick out your tongue." I was too dense to realize what she wanted. "Miss?" Next thing I knew I was on the floor and doubled over again, looking up at Miss Frobisher as pain once more coursed into my midsection like a river of molten steel. She'd given me another drop-kick to the testicles. I lay in a fetal position, cradling the family jewels for protection. "I told you to stick out your tongue, young man. You must obey me without hesitation. If you think that's bad, your testicles and your buttocks will both feel my anger if I have to ask you to do something twice. Do I make myself clear?" "Yes, Miss Frobisher." "Get up, and let me see your tongue." I scrambled to my feet and stuck my tongue out at Miss Frobisher. It seemed disrespectful to me, but I didn't think she was really interested in my opinion at the moment. "Can you touch your nose with the tip of your tongue?" "I've never done it before, but I'll try." I stuck my tongue out more, stretching it to the limit, and then tried to arch it backward. I felt it going out, up and back around, like a wave in a Japanese woodcut. Then my tongue met something solid. It was the tip of my nose. Miss Frobisher leaned into me, sat facing me, staring intently at my crotch, her face so close that I could feel her breath and almost chew on her perfume. Then she leaned back a bit and put her right hand out between my legs and cupped my scrotum, hefting my testicles. "Cheer up. With a tongue like that you will definitely be good for some things. You'll never hurt a woman's vagina by being too big for her, and you can have oral sex without choking her. You may find there's a lot of pleasure in store for you at Grimsley Hall -- assuming you are obedient. You will meet me tomorrow at 1:30 at the main entrance, and we'll go to the first rehearsal at Grimsley." Henry's Exposed Adventure Ch. 04 The earlier chapters give some background on our hero's situation, and how he found himself sitting beside a sexy teacher in a short skirt driving a sportscar at high speed. All characters are over 18, and any resemblance to anyone, living or dead, is purely coincidental. ***** The next afternoon found me driving in Miss Frobisher's little red sportscar on the way to my first rehearsal at Grimsley. The sky was a middling battleship gray when she picked me up, and as we drove it started looking more and more ominous, rain-wise. We went up, down and practically sideways along the little two-lane country roads. She maintained a fairly steady 50 miles per hour despite the speed limit of 30. It made me nervous, but I should have expected it. Everything about Miss Frobisher was fast. Her little sportster was a manual transmission, which a bit unusual for a woman to drive, at least back in that day and age. But there was much about Miss Frobisher that was unusual for a woman. Of course, I didn't know how to drive stickshift myself, so I wasn't about to say anything. I determined that I would learn to drive one. At least that was one inadequacy I could overcome. She barely talked to me either. I wondered if she was angry with me for something. Though I'd had to rush like crazy, I'd been at her appointed pick-up spot a few minutes early, so it couldn't be that. I couldn't think of anything I'd done that she could find fault with. "Looks like rain," I said, with hopes of breaking the silence. Stupid move. No response from her. She must have heard me, though. She was probably thinking, 'no shit, Sherlock,' or maybe 'gee, do yah think?' Going that fast was scary, but I certainly didn't want to criticize or complain about her driving. Who knows what she'd have done in response, but whatever happened I was sure it would hurt. And from my experience with Miss Frobisher, I guessed the pain would start with my balls. God knows where it would end, though. The first drop was yet to fall, but it was just a matter of time. Would she slow down for the rain? Or, Jesus H_, would she go faster just to moon Mother Nature? I could see the headlines in my mind: "Teacher and Student Killed in Stormy Accident." Or maybe, if we were lucky enough to have a few final minutes together: "Student & Teacher Found Killed, Hands in Each Other's Crotches." Would they even print something like that in a family newspaper? I guessed not. I had to get a grip and not let my negative imagination run my mind. As I stared out the window wondering about who should or should not be on the guest list for my impending funeral, I could almost see the cloud cover go from battleship gray, to dark gray, to even nastier dark gray, and then to that final stage of booger green that presages a storm severe enough to win the praise of Dr. Frankenstein. Looking at that sky, I began to understand and forgive the ancient Greeks for thinking that there were gods who nursed grudges against mortals. Then almost on cue, a streak of lighting rent the sky. The woods on either side of the road were bathed in a blinding white light, making them look like they were coated with snow. A deafening roll of thunder sounded just a second later. "That's pretty close," I said. Still no response The rain was slow at first. One drop hit the windshield, then another, then two or three at once, and then it was like going through a car wash while you stayed in the car. Water, water everywhere. The windshield wipers could barely keep up. I mentally kicked myself for not bringing my umbrella, or even a raincoat, and most of all for not even checking the weather report before leaving the dorm. But I had been rushing, nervous about following Miss Frobisher's directions and getting to her pick-up point on time. Instead of concentrating on sensible things like umbrellas and weather reports, my mind oscillated between the cold fear of her kicking my balls if I were late and the hot prospect of a good half hour watching her legs work the clutch and the brake in that short skirt. I was, to say the least, distracted. That was to be a fateful mistake for me. On the plus side, the bad weather enhanced her leg show beyond my horniest expectations. As she sped up and down all those country hills with no brakes to speak of, with rain coming down in sheets, she worked the clutch with her sexy left leg and the gas pedal with her sexy right. She was really a mistress of manual transmission engine braking. Her right arm went back and forth on the stick shift, as she steered with the other. This continuous series of leg and arm motions sent her skirt, already on the short side, riding higher and higher on her thighs. I kept my nose pointed at the front windshield, pretending that I was looking straight ahead at the road, but all the while I kept shifting my eyes down and to the left, straining my peripheral vision to check out her increasingly naked thighs. I thought I could just about see the tops of her stockings, and I couldn't resist it any longer. I had to confirm it, to see it clearly. I turned my head and started down at her thighs. Yes! Yes! She was wearing some kind of thigh-high jobs, and everything beyond that was naked skin! And it was Miss Frobisher's naked skin, no less. Some animal part of my brain must have taken over and opened the sluice gates for all the blood in my veins to flow straight to my cock. I think I felt stiffer than I'd ever been before, and I was tenting up the fly on my pants, to the meager extent I could do that. "What the hell are you looking at?" she said. I was busted. I blushed with embarrassment. She was Robo-mistress, cop, judge and jury all rolled into one, and the verdict was guilty. I was going to say "sorry," but I couldn't get my mouth to say anything.The evidence was trying to get out of my pants, the smoking gun. Well, in my case it would be more like a smoking snub-nosed revolver. Or maybe a puffing little derringer. In any event, she was looking right at my pants. All of a sudden she slowed down and pulled off on what I hoped was a shoulder and stopped the car. "Looks like someone's getting a little bit excited," she said. "I'll forgive you this time because we're just here in my car, but let's be really clear: I did not grant you permission to become erect. Apart from it being an offensive male trait, that kind of lewdness is absolutely forbidden inside Grimsley. Understand? "Well, sometimes it just happens," I said. Holy crap. She was going to tell me when I could get hard? This was getting deeper. "Nothing could be more crude and disgusting to the demure young ladies of Grimsley Hall than to suddenly be confronted with an unbidden male erection, whether in or out of your pants." That last comment had me stumped. In or out of my pants? When would I be out of my pants at Grimsley. I guessed there would be some kind of costume I might have to wear for the play, but why would anyone be looking at me without my pants on? "No, Miss Frobisher," I said. But I had to know what she meant, and there was no way to know except to ask her. "But I'm not sure I follow about in or out of my pants." "Well, there was something I forgot to mention yesterday when we were talking about the play. Actresses, and actors too, wear different costumes in different scenes, so they have to learn how to change quickly and efficiently. And Grimsley has always been an all-girls school. So, when the stage was added many years ago they didn't see the need for dressing rooms, since everyone involved was female." She paused. I must have looked puzzled. "So..." she continued, "you'll have to change costume between scenes a few times yourself, and when you do you'll need to... to... well, shed some of your inhibitions." I must have looked still more puzzled. She let out a sigh of exasperation. "Look, Henry, what I'm saying is that everyone, boys and girls - or boy and girls, that is - has to dress and undress in the same little area backstage. People, including you, will be in various stages of nudity. And we simply can't have your little soldier suddenly standing at attention at such inopportune moments." Then she grabbed my dick through my pants before I knew what what was happening. "Of course, with your size you probably won't look like much of a threat. One of the lessons each Grimsley girl learns is that it is simply intolerable for any male to present her with his erect penis when she hasn't expressly bidden him to become erect. Such conduct is more than just rude and undignified. Why it's practically rape! So there will be some nudity backstage, but you'll have to keep your... your "emotions" strictly in check." "Yes - Miss Frobisher!" It was hard to focus with her hand on my dick. "Good, good, I'm sure you do." She patted my dick and then unzipped my fly. My dick emerged as hard as, well, wood. Did she just say that all these girls would be naked, or almost naked, right next to me? Wow!! Then it hit me. Oh shit. Shit. Shit! And more shit. I would be just as naked in front of them! In front of Alicia, well, she'd already seen me so I guessed things couldn't get much worse in that quarter. But my blood temperature sank to Antarctic levels at the thought that all these girls...girls my own age, would be looking at me. Naked. Full frontal, dick out, balls out. And they wouldn't have had to see very many male speciments to realize that my member was anything but impressive. Oh my god. Michelle? Her! Shit, I wanted to date that girl. I wanted her to like me, or at least get the chance to have her like me. She'd see my little willy and burst out laughing. And that beautiful, snotty Genevieve. Or Zzzhen-vee-evv, or however the hell she always insisted I pronounce it. And the rest of these girls that I knew from the dances and the teas, and from basketball games and on and on. I'd never be able to show my face again at Grimsley. Or at East Point. Or anywhere in Armpit, New York, for that matter. But if I thought I was in the shitter then, I just hadn't realized yet how big a shitter it was. "Well," she said, looking over at my dick, which was still poking out of my fly, "at least now we know what it takes to make him go soft again. Still, we can't take the chance. Take down your pants and shorts." My mind was still racing around the thought of having to change in front of all those girls, many of whom I knew from the teas and the dances, so my reaction must not have been fast enough. I didn't even notice that my erection had gone down. "Remember what we talked about yesterday, Henry? Absolute and immediate obedience!" "Yes, Miss Frobisher!" The memory of two swift kicks to my balls was still sharp and fresh, so I didn't need to be told twice. I quickly unbuckled, unzipped, and lifted my butt off the seat to lower my clothes, as ordered. Then I sat there, fully exposed to her view, not knowing what would happen next. "You're taking to the training very well, so I'll let you call me 'Miss F_.'" She put her right hand out over my crotch, grabbed my sack firmly, and started manipulating my balls again. It didn't quite hurt, but it was uncomfortable enough to make me wince. "Your testes appear to be normal in size. I can't check your prostate here, so we'll leave that for later." I didn't even know what a prostate was. "Assuming it's normal, you should be able to produce normal amounts of sperm and semen. How often do you masturbate?" "Miss Frobisher? I mean...Miss F?" I'd never been asked a question like that by anyone in my life. I didn't even talk about that type of stuff with the other guys at East Point, even with the one or two I considered good friends. It was just something we didn't talk about. There were ten beds in our common dorm room, in two rows of five, and there was an unwritten rule, an omerta, or code of silence: if you woke up during the night and heard some up-and-down bed-squeaking followed by a gasp or three, you just let it go without saying anything. After all, you were likely to be just as unbearably horny one of these nights, so no one wanted to embarrass another guy by calling attention to the fact that he was jacking off. And here was the hottest, sexiest teacher in the school asking me about something neither I nor any of the other guys talked about. My stunned silence must have lasted too long because she began to sound exasperated with me. She tightened her grip on my balls and sighed out loud. "Obedience includes answering questions when I ask them of you. You should know by now that it's not good to keep me waiting." "Twice a day, usually. That is, before a little bit after lights out at night and then when I get up, if I can get up earlier than the other guys in the room." "Do you achieve ejaculation each time, or merely stimulate yourself to erection?" Damn. She was thorough. "Usually I do at night, but in the morning it depends on how long it takes. If it starts taking too long, then I just have to give it up without cumming. "And did you ejaculate this morning?" "No. Some of the other guys were starting to get up." "All right. I think you're being honest with me, and I appreciate that. But we just can't take a chance of you sprouting up, especially during this first rehearsal. And you've been good this afternoon, so I'll give you a special treat." With that, she leaned over and put her mouth right on my flaccid penis. Naturally, it didn't stay flaccid for long. She was the first girl to ever give me a blowjob. This happened eons before the internet. Some magazines floated around the dorms, but these were mostly Playboys, and there was still a pubic hair embargo at that time so some of the centerfolds had discrete little lines blocking the most strategic views. So although I'd heard about blowjobs from other guys who claimed to have the experience (which I doubted), I had never actually seen it done. And here was Miss Frobisher sucking my little dick up into her mouth, and the feeling was so intense I almost couldn't stand it. I had to lift my butt out of the seat, which caused her to take her mouth away. All I could think of was getting her lips back on me. "What's the matter, you don't like this?" she asked. "I love it. It's just so intense!" "How sweet. This is your first time, then?" I said yes. She smiled and went back to work. It was all I could do to control my breathing, and the sound of her slurping suction was louder than the sheets of rain still falling on the windshield. Then she changed the position of her head a little bit, craning around so that her bottom teeth could scrape up against the bottom of my shaft. She held my shaft in one hand and reached her other hand around, behind my balls, and started pressing on the thin skin at the center of my crotch. I would later learn that was where my prostate was. That was all I could take, and I started to erupt, emptying my first thick bolt of cum into her mouth. I involuntarily lifted my butt up from the seat again. This time she didn't take her mouth away, but instead kept right on sucking. My second shot was a lot weaker, and then the third was hardly there. Yet she kept on sucking, which was almost painful given how sensitive my penis was from the whole orgasm experience. Finally she let me out of her mouth, but not before giving me a playful little nip with her teeth on the top of my dick. "Your taste is acceptable, but we'll have to change your diet to make it really pleasant. You can pull up your shorts and pants and button up now. But from now on you will not masturbate at any time unless you have my permission. That's the rule." "Yes, Miss F_" "Good. Remember, I'll be inspecting your genitals. Either I or one of the other girls will be the only ones authorized to extract your semen." She started driving again, and off we went on the road to Grimsley.