****** Growing Up as a Slut: 3 by Syndarella_snowhite ******
===============================================================================

Growing Up as a Slut: 3


My name is Wendy. I like to think of myself as a reformed slut. I go online to
tell my story sometimes, to people who will listen. I figure its therapy for
me, and if people get off by living vicariously through my experiences, well,
I'm glad to be of service.

I've discovered White Shadows stories, and have decided that this is a good
outlet for me, as no one interrupts me, and it seems to be a good method of
getting the feedback that I desire.

As I wrote about in my previous sessions, I started having sex with
neighborhood kids from the time I was 12 right up until high school. I
eventually succumbed to introducing my brother to sex, as I felt it was my
psychological damage that had made him feel inadequate in the first place.

I was glad when he developed into a woman-pleasing machine!

My own life in high school continued in the same vein. I was ever despised, and
yet there was no end to young men willing to service me.

However to get the ones I wanted I had to begin altering my style a bit. The
ones I usually wanted were the ones that belonged to other girls. Men are vain
creatures, and once they realize that a girl is easy, they may jump on the
opportunity. But if they are TOO easy, and available, then they may decide to
resist temptation so that they can say that they'd never get caught dead with
such a slut.

This wins brownie points with the more proper' girls, but sooner or later, they
will come around to see what they are missing. All it takes is a changing
actress to find what they want and lure them in.

It was in grade eleven, after having won yet another star player of the school
hockey team away from his ditzy girlfriend at least for a night, that I set my
sights even higher. We had a new teacher. More specifically he was a
substitute, but as our regular English teacher was off on maternity leave, Mr.
Markham was going to be with us for a few months, probably the rest of the year
we were told.

He was fairly young, but he was still certainly a man, maybe early 30s. He had
a wonderful set of baby blue eyes, and a decent physique, as he was also
qualified as a phys ed and athletics teacher. He usually wore a button-up shirt
and a suit jacket, but no tie, and he had a habit of sitting on the desks
closest to the front of the class when talking. One of those desks was mine,
and I stared up at him adoringly quite often.

I knew he was single, because he would often crack jokes about how stupid/
greedy/or bitchy his ex girlfriend used to be, and we'd always have a good
laugh, often right in the middle of studying something dry like Mac Beth,
comparing her to one of the more annoying characters.

For the first time, I was really stumped. Here was a man I wanted, but I could
never have. For all the power I had over the boys at my school. Mr. Markham was
a mature adult. Unexplored territory for me. My confidence came from my
childhood experiences, but this was something I had no experience with. He was
an AUTHORITY figure, and by definition I could never have power over him. Or
could I?

Oh god how I fantasized about him. Even while screwing some boy from some class
or another in the back seat of his car, my thoughts were on Mr. Markham.

Towards the middle of the year, we went on a class trip to see a theatrical
production. I don't recall the name but it was a mystery showing at the
Pantages Theater in Toronto (long before Phantom of the Opera I might add)

While we were being bussed there, Mr. Markham sat at the back of the bus so as
to keep an eye on everyone. I was already there, and sitting by myself as I
usually preferred, and so once everyone was seated, he just slipped into the
seat beside me. My heart was aflutter. It was one of those nice traveling
busses with the comfortable seats, tinted windows and the bathroom at the back.
Tons better than a yellow school bus!

We got to talking, him doing most of it. He was constantly cracking jokes and
making me laugh, despite my nervousness. He had one of those personalities.
Pretty soon, the monotony of the road trip was setting in and everyone in the
bus was reduced to subdued chatting, masked by the droning of the engine.

"So how do you like this class?" he asked.

"I like it a lot," I admitted with a smile.

"I'm glad one of us does. English isn't one of my majors," he admitted.

"I'd never have known," I replied. Mistaking it for sarcasm he jabbed me
lightly in the ribs.

"Easy now," he chided in feigned hurt. A few minutes of relative silence passed
while I thought of something to say. He beat me to it.

"It's not my business, but I noticed you don't really hang around with the
other girls very much. Is there some kind of problem? Family problems?" he
asked with genuine concern.

"I think they just don't like me very much," I replied. He nodded and was quiet
again for a while. I wracked my brain for a topic to keep up the conversation.

"You're a very clever girl Wendy," he said. "You have a lot of talent as a
writer. Maybe you'll be writing books some day, and then they'll all be
bragging about how they knew you in high school." He said finished with a grin.

I liked the idea of that, even better, I liked the idea that I was having a
nice talk with Mr. Markham all by myself. We eventually talked about lots of
things, and I was disappointed when we finally pulled up to the downtown
theater.

As it was, we were almost an hour early and the doors weren't yet open to the
public. A steady drizzle was coming down, and Mr. Markham made sure our tickets
were valid and registered, and then told the class that they were free to
wander the streets, but to be back in forty minutes for the opening. The class
was gone in all directions in pairs and packs of three to six, many at a run to
make use of their limited free time in downtown Metro.

Mr. Markham and I were left standing at the theater doors. "Wendy, care to join
me for a bite to eat?" he asked. I agreed immediately. We strolled down the
rain soaked street, my hair slowly getting wet and making little ringlets on my
forehead. I had neglected to bring any kind of substantial raincoat, but it
wasn't raining very hard and I was really too euphoric to care.

We stopped at a Pizza Pizza, it was a takeout only place, and had no seating,
so we got our slices and then got out of the pedestrian traffic by standing in
an alleyway. The rain started coming down harder and he mentioned that it might
have been a better idea to have everyone wait on the bus.

"At least you have a raincoat!" I accused him playfully.

Immediately he lifted up an end and wrapped it around me. It was a trench coat
style and so I was now in his coat with him, his arm around me in effect. I was
pressed to him, and we both started laughing.

"Hmm we'd better turn around so that nobody sees us and gets the wrong
impression..." he said, and we both turned so that our backs were to the
street, and we were facing down the alleyway.

I was going to say something along the lines of: 'and what impression exactly
might they get?' in my best coquettish way, but I was too chicken. Things were
going so well. He was a teacher and he was therefore heavily conditioned by
society to be repulsed by the very thing I wanted to do with him.

I knew that if he was confronted by the reality of our present closeness that
he might be able to insulate himself from me. It was all a matter of adjusting
my style to suit my prey. I knew that I had to let him stay in control, and let
the facts of human biology wear down his resistance.

To this effect, I pressed myself to him more snugly, making sure that my
breasts were against his shirt. I moved occasionally back and forth to make
sure that he felt them. All the while the rain continued to pelt us from above.

He then wrapped both his arms around me, and I was standing with my whole body
pressed to his. The rain was starting to fall in a mini torrent. We moved right
up against the wall of the alley to lessen the deluge, my back to the wall.

I was very aware of his body pressing against mine, and I could even detect his
hard-on through his pants pressing against my lower belly. My arms that I'd so
far been holding behind me at the small of my back, I tentatively wrapped
around his torso. I couldn't believe how nervous I was.

I also wasn't sure how sexual Mr. Markham had intended this situation to be.
Was he just getting aroused by accident? Or was he actually pursuing his own
fantasy, all the while believing, or hoping, that I was too naive to realize
the sexual connotations of our nonchalant embrace.

When I felt his pelvis grind against me ever so gently, I knew for sure he was
getting something more out of it than merely protecting me from the rain, but
he was still trying to be casual enough that I would probably dismiss it as my
own imagination.

I slowly slipped my hand up the back of his shirt and caressed the small of his
back and up his spine. He followed suit by lowering his own hands to my rear,
and squeezed gently through his coat. He pulled me tighter against him,
deliberately pushing his crotch against my body.

Obviously, he was getting braver, as he realized I was willing to go a bit
further. If only he knew how willing I really was.

That's when out on the street we heard one of my classmates call to one of the
others down the street. It was enough to snap us back to the reality of our
situation.

"Well we better get to the theater," he suggested hoarsely. I nodded, and we
walked there in silence.

Throughout the production I sat next to him in the darkness. The entire class
was seated in the two rows to our front, only he and I were in the rear,
surrounded by strangers. I reached across to grab his hand, and then guided it
to my knee.

He kept it there for a while and then it slowly began to creep up my leg, as I
knew that it would. Only a few minutes later, his hand was ever so gently
touching me between my legs through the fabric of my black cotton dress pants.
His slow squeezes got deeper and more penetrating, and I couldn't help but push
my pelvis against his hand with a soft sigh.

All the while we both kept our head and eyes to the front, and I was positive
that no one suspected what he was doing to me. He must have felt the dampness
seeping through my pants, as his middle finger rubbed up and down along the
length of my slit, plastering the fabric against my skin.

I placed my hand over his, and pressed his fingers against me tighter still.
After a while I let out an almost audible moan. That must have scared him,
considering our location, and he discreetly withdrew his hand.

It's no wonder I don't remember what it was that we watched because my mind
certainly wasn't on it.

The bus ride back was similarly enjoyable. It was evening, and the bus was
absolutely dark except for the dim courtesy lights running down the walkway. He
didn't waste much time before feeling my leg and then moving steadily back
between my legs.

I took it upon myself to unzip my pants and guide his hand to the opening. He
only hesitated a fraction of a second. It felt so good to have his fingers
inside my panties, caressing my pussy lips, flesh against flesh.

While many of my classmates were talking and joking amongst themselves, or more
often trying to get some sleep, Mr. Markham was exploring my damp folds.
Wordlessly, I lifted myself up and sat in his lap. He didn't object.

I twisted and rubbed my bottom against his crotch, as he lifted one of his
hands to feel my breasts, keeping the other firmly planted in my panties. I
felt his two middle fingers slide up inside me, and I pushed my back firmly
against his chest, laying my head back on his shoulder.

We froze as one of the other students came back to use the bathroom. The kid
would have just barely made out our dark outlines, if he were even bothering to
look. I can't begin to describe the sense of arousal and excitement at having
such an erotic encounter with my teacher at the back of the bus, with all of my
classmates unaware.

After the student exited the bathroom, Mr. Markham waited for him to be seated,
and then hoisted me up and nearly shoved me into the tiny bathroom stall. He
came in right after me, shutting the door, and bringing the 'occupied' light
on.

There was barely enough room for us both to stand, but he turned me about to
face him. I immediately undid his belt and slipped his pants down to his knees,
dropping to my own knees, I freed his cock from his underpants, and found it
already slick with the pre cum that had been bubbling up to coat it.

I slipped my mouth onto it and he groaned, though did it softly, aware of any
sounds that might carry. Surprisingly, he lifted me up by my arms, and then
began to pull down my panties and pants together. I didn't offer any
resistance.

Trying to keep our balance in the moving bus, I leaned back against the wall,
and he leaned forward kissing me deeply. His hand went down to stroke his cock
a couple times and then he guided his head to the opening of my young, wet
pussy. I opened my legs as much as I could manage with my pants bunched around
my ankles.

He inserted himself, and once sure that he was indeed in, he rammed himself
home with a smooth thrust.

"You okay Wendy?" he murmured. I'm not sure if he was asking if it was okay for
him to proceed, or if he thought that maybe I was a virgin and he'd torn my
non-existent hymen, but I nodded and gave him a 'mm-hmmm.'

He then started to pump me rhythmically, his hands probing under my shirt and
bra to grope my breasts. As my bra was still on and done-up it was quite
uncomfortable, but I didn't ask him to stop, thinking he'd mistake what I was
referring to.

I felt his cock sliding deep into me, and his pelvic bone grinding against my
clit with each deep thrust. He kissed at my neck hungrily. Here was my English
teacher fucking his favorite pupil in the toilet of a bus, and he loved every
second of it. I was so happy that he was enjoying himself, while I reveled in
the knowledge that I'd gotten him at last beyond my hopes. He was mine.

He was fucking me, and he was doing it because I was letting him. I knew that
he'd relive this moment for the rest of his life as I would, whenever he needed
a sexual fantasy.

He fucked me for nearly five minutes before his pelvis rammed me hard against
the wall and pinned me there. I felt spurt after spurt of his hot cum force its
way up into me.

I had thoroughly enjoyed the experience, even though I was nowhere near my own
climax. That could come later when I relived the experience in my own bed, with
my own expert fingers to make up for his ineptitude.

We didn't waste any time, immediately cleaning off our bodily fluids with the
handy materials available to us in the bathroom, and then we discreetly left
the bathroom and took up our seats.

The rest of the trip was pretty quiet.

Back at school the next day, Mr. Markham's class continued without disruption.
If he feared I'd report him, it was soon dispelled with the blowjob I gave him
a few days later in the class storeroom. I gave him head every couple weeks,
over the next two months before I got bored of it. He even reciprocated a few
times, but we never actually had sex again. It was just as well, as I didn't
think he'd be all that great a lover.

My marks in that class were understandably good, but as they'd always been
good, I came to resent the situation somewhat. I never knew if my grades were
reflecting my ability with the English language, or my ability to suck his
cock. Not that it really mattered though. I suppose I was A+ in both.

That year was special not only for the conquest of one of my teachers, but
because it was the year I got a steady boyfriend. He had just moved into the
city and didn't know about my past, and was genuinely interested in me.

For the first time I thought maybe I could have a relationship worth keeping. A
slut is a fun lay, but no one wants one as a steady girlfriend.

More on that another time.

Write me?

Syndarella_Snowhite"hotmail.com