“I still can’t believe I wasn’t good looking enough for him!”

“Maybe he’s just interested in a little variety,” said Laura.

“Variety?” Donna laughed. “They were all blonde fitness models with huge tits. Bigger than yours!”

“Mine aren’t all that big,” said Laura, poking a shirt warping boob her bra named a D-cup. “You should see what I look like with them dialled all the way up.”

Donna looked at her old college friend like she was an idiot. “All dolled up,” she corrected, because dialled up made no sense at all. Who could change the size of their breasts? “If yours aren’t big… well then, mine must be tiny.”

“OK,” said Kerry, motioning for silence. “Let me get this straight. Your boyfriend was in the shower and you were bored, so you went though his laptop and stumbled across his porn stash. It wasn’t a very well hidden porn stash, was it?”

“I clicked on a photo of us on his desktop and when I went to close Photoshop I saw stuff like ‘big tits,’ ‘bigger tits,’ and ‘jumbo tits’ in the most recent list. He has whole folders of the stuff. Women with impossible breasts and some of them were obviously digitally altered.”

 “I’ve got news for you. Just about every woman in the media is digitally altered these days.”

“Not like this, Kerry!” spat Donna. “Some of these women didn’t need bras; they needed wheelbarrows.”

Kerry shrugged, watched Donna blink away the speckled lighting pattern dancing on her face, and took a sip of her coffee. “Yeah, that’s a bit excessive.”

‘C’? Donna wondered, looking at the sparking necklace trying to blind her. I swear that necklace was a ‘D’ earlier. She shook the discomforting feeling off and continued her rant. “Oh, just a bit! Some of them weren’t even done yet. He was making them! My boyfriend is—”

“Was,” interrupted Kerry.

Donna glared and then burst into tears. “He doesn’t want a wife or a partner. He wants a sex toy! If that’s what he wants in a mate, I don’t want him.”

“But you do want him,” said Kerry, “and that’s why you’re so upset. Listen, did you ever try role-playing or anything? You can get these huge latex boobs that look totally real—so long as you don’t move so fast that they fall off—and give him a sex toy for a while in bed.”

“What?”

“Come on! Where is he going to find real women that live up to his fantasies? Give him what he wants every now and then, and he’ll be yours forever. Then you just take the silly things off and go to work in the morning. Or just forget about the boobs. What else is he into?”

“Magic and stuff. He’s showed me some stuff before. When I first met him, he had this directory full of pictures of genies”

“So what did you do about that?” Kerry asked, flashing a knowing grin.

But how could she know? Donna thought, blushing. “I took belly dancing lessons.”

“There! See?” Kerry beamed at Donna. “Here I was about to write you off as hopeless. You can do it! You did something you knew he liked to win him away from another girl.”

“But I didn’t know it was all about wishing for bigger boobs and dicks and things! I thought….”

“Stop thinking! That’s the first thing you need to do. Listen, I have this idea for a little test, but I have to run right now. I’m filling in as a substitute teacher.”

“I thought you worked in a bank, Kerry,” asked Laura.

“Yeah, but sometimes I take on these charity cases, and these girls really need help.”

“So I’m here because I read in the paper that sex education was not being taught here at St. Vincent’s because…. Well, I guess because you are all good girls, but even good girls can get themselves in situations where it’s good to be a little bad.”

For Vicky, the teacher was hard to explain. Less difficult than she would have been three years ago, but college has that effect on people, even when locked up in St. Michaels. E-mail alone filled in a lot of the blanks. The school filtered e-mail and blocked so many sites that sometimes even legitimate research was difficult, but the kinds of things that slipped through left an impression on what the outside world was really like: A salacious wasteland of lust and depravity.

Some of it looked quite fun, though, even if she didn’t have the breasts to compete.

The substitute teacher, however, had all of the aforementioned lust and depravity under lock and key. And the breasts to get away with all of the things on the internet—except maybe gymnastics.

I wonder if she took some of those e-mail drugs? Judging by her clothes, she’d be all over the stuff.

Not only were the teacher’s breasts what Vicky termed “huge,” but her clothing did not belong on the campus. A tight, black top bound together in the front with a crimson cord showed off her belly button but still covered her breasts—barely. Her skirt couldn’t be called such because Vicky had seen, had in her closet in fact, larger belts. At least the strange woman wore panties; that much became obvious when the teacher bent over to write her name, Kerry Malloy, at the bottom of the blackboard and the skirt pulled up higher than Vicky had thought possible.

As out of place as she already looked, finishing off her pornographic attire with a Nun’s habit was simply too much.

Vicky pried her eyes off the unexpected substitute teacher and then looked around at the rest of the class. Her fellow students—some of them, like Marissa Turner and Daphne Anderson, she’d been going to school with since kindergarten—sat staring just as stupidly, but something had kicked Vicky’s mind clear of the dazed amazement.

It took a few moments for the brain to fully engage, but once it did, Vicky’s mouth sprang into action. “Uhm. Actually, I think it’s because this is college.”

 “This is the college?” The half-naked parody nun blinked and then looked out the window. “Oh! I’m so sorry. I had no idea! I thought you looked a bit old, but you know. Kids grow up so fast these days, and you’re all dressed like mothers from, like, age two onward.”

Following the faux teacher’s eyes, toward the St. Vincent’s High School building across the lane between them, Vicky jolted, startled. “But the high school’s on the other side of the building. You can’t see it from—”

Suddenly, Vicky found herself swimming in her oversized school uniform and sitting at her desk just like three years earlier in Miss Kegelsworth’s almost fatally dull biology class. And there was Miss Kegelsworth, standing at the front of the classroom stiff like a statue. This time she really was a statue, unmoving and, near as Vicky could tell, not even breathing.

“—here.” Through the window, Vicky’s wide eyes saw the business administration building she’d been sitting in a few moments earlier turned around to face into the common courtyard shared by St. Vincent’s Christian Academy and St. Michael’s.

What common courtyard? That’s supposed to be a street, isn’t it?

She thought back to when she’d been in high school and dug through her memories, but she couldn’t remember. I know it was different! I know it was. Ha! Back in grade seven…. No, it was… but I know it wasn’t. I—

In denial of the impossible, or maybe it was panic. Vicky shook her head. The pretty, but ultimately too time-consuming, long hair she’d had at seventeen dragged across her shoulder and tried to crawl over her face, but met up with the arms of her glasses instead.

Glasses? My contacts! Taking stock of herself, Vicky looked seventeen again in hair, body, and glasses, but still wore the larger garments of twenty-year-old Vicky, victim of too-much sitting around studying and far too much ice cream. A Vicky that already was becoming a hazy memory like the now-forgotten street. A Vicky lost to the future along with her unwanted 32 pounds. She struggled to not adjust her bra. It seemed kinda loose, but the middle of class was not the place. Miss Kegelsworth would go mental!

“Lesson one,” said the pornographic nun and instigator of Vicky’s current confusion, “Dolling up for a night on the town so your date will need to fuck.”

Vicky’s eyes bulged and her ears burned at the word. Sure, the teacher was dressed oddly, but you never used that word! Not in school! She shook her head. What’s going on?

“After all, what good is sex ed without putting it into practice?” the teacher said, laughter bubbling in her voice. “Those uniforms are a great start, but sometimes you need a little more. Personally, I think it has a lot to do with expectations. You don’t expect to see anything sexy, but you sure hope your date is actually a sexually frustrated product of the single-gender schooling environment. That’s the beauty of Catholic School Girl—the See Ess Gee—if anything, the raw sex appeal of the CSG has been emphasized by it’s becoming a cliché. After all, your date could have Little Miss Purity sitting beside him in the car, but he could also have one of the aforementioned, carefully-disguised firecrackers.”

Her arm swept out in an open-handed arc toward the students and when the intruding teacher’s eyes and gesture washed over her, Vicky felt something. Her mouth went dry and her vision blurred.

“There is no way for him to know! Isn’t it perfect? For example, look around you and try to gauge which of your classmates are really sluts in sheep’s clothing.” She paused for a moment while the girls dutifully inspected one another. “You can’t, can you?

“Now, we’ve established that the boyfriend wants a frustrated CSG sitting beside him in the car, ready to reach over, stroke his cock, and maybe even suck him off as he drives to the restaurant. So we know what he wants; now how do we use it to get what we want, specifically a good, hard fucking?

 “This is what makes the CSG camouflage so effective: The poor guy doesn’t know what’ll hit him, so the expectation drives the imagination, slowly turning up the heat until he hits a full roiling boil. He won’t last long after you tear his pants open, but at least we’ve broken through and made our needs known.

“But what exactly are those needs? Not everyone just wants to get naked and wham-wham-wham; though, it is a great place to start.” She looked over the class again and a wave of dizziness shot through Vicky as Miss Malloy paused on her and winked. “Now I want you to imagine yourself on a date with your boyfriend, or if you don’t have one, just pick someone you want to spread your legs or bend you into a really uncomfortable position so they can wiggle their cock around in your pussy without getting out of the car. Don’t worry. They won’t last long until you’ve taken the edge off. Then you can do them on the hood of the car where it’s much more comfortable, and it’s out in the open where you can get some fresh air. Fresh air is very important during sex and for general health reasons.”

Her mind went wild for a while and before long, Vicky sat in the back of a limousine with— The fantasy broke with a shuddering sigh from in front of her and the drumming of a pair of nervous feet.

Whoops. Vicky stilled her swinging legs and prayed it was fast enough.

“Vicky, stand up,” demanded the teacher, Miss Malloy.

“What? Me?” asked Vicky, slow to stand, but standing all the same.

“You, of all the girls here, have ambition. The rest of them are dreaming about dating some guy they know and are perfectly happy, but you’re sharing Champaign with Julian Bois-du-Lac in the back of a stretch limo. And you didn’t even think about going down on him. Poor bastard got Little Miss Purity, but with all the pussy thrown his way on a daily basis, who knows? That might be the way to snag the guy.”

To Vicky’s right, Marissa Turner giggled loudly. Vicky shot her an evil stare, but not too evil because the teacher was watching closely. Marissa’s blue eyes twinkled brightly, and was she really that blonde back then?

Back when? Wow. I can’t think straight today. Her eyes shot wide open for a second and then fluttered shut as she fidgeted in her seat. The wriggling set off a cascade of jiggling and Marissa’s large breasts puckered her shirt, filling it to the breaking point and… and her nipples were just huge! Vicky’s eyes followed the movement as Marissa’s breathing grew heavier and faster. The eyes couldn’t do anything but gawk; it just looked so… so… weird. Marissa was sticking out and her tits were huge and…

Omigod! I meant breasts! Her breasts are huge! But… they weren’t!

“V-vicky! S-s-stop! Stop watching!” she panted. “Uhn!”

With another, longer and deeper, “Uhhn!” her hips lifted off the chair and her head rolled back, lolling around on her shoulders as she shook. The “Uhn”s went on for a while and Vicky saw every single back-arching, hip-thrusting one. She simply couldn’t look away.

“And Marissa was dreaming about something else entirely,” said the teacher, licking her smiling lips. Vicky looked at her a moment, feeling a stronger echo of the odd pleasure from watching Marissa. There was something clear and shiny smeared around the teacher’s mouth, but it didn’t last long after a moist, steaming towel wiped the teacher’s face clean.

Vicky stared in true amazement. Not only had the towel come from—and gone back to—nowhere, but the teacher’s makeup was completely untouched.

 “Anyway,” said the teacher, picking up where she’d left off, “Vicky has aspirations and we’d all like to help her meet them. She needs to get the attention of a seriously hot rock star. She has to convince the guy to drop cash on a serious wining and dining, ditch whatever size zero bimbo he’s with that night, and get zero sexual satisfaction in return. Pretty heavy order.”

She shrugged and the synthesizer music started.

“First,” The teacher lip-synched, clutching a microphone close. “When there's nothing, but a slow glowing dream that your fear seems to hide deep inside your mind—”

The music abruptly cut. “Too sappy,” proclaimed the teacher. “I think we need an example with more kick. What’s sex-ed without sex, huh?”

 To Vicky’s left, someone gasped. It should have been either Tammy Li or Megan Summerfield, depending on whether or not high school was in progress or college.

Duh! High school. College is next year. Who is Tammy, anyway?

“Oh.” Casting a glance to her left to find out, Vicky watched a pair of phantom hands positioning Tammy’s blouse, unbuttoned too far down for the street, wide at the top to make a show of a lacy black undergarment and a pair of small breasts pushed up into a set that looked bigger. Much bigger. Much, much bigger! They spilled out of her open blouse and overflowed her comparatively tiny bra as she writhed. Her mouth wide as she panted for breath and her face red, Tammy almost looked like a… a… sex movie star.

Of course Vicky had seen them. They were everywhere these days, and some of the things I’ve downloaded….

At the memory of last night’s porno, Vicky joined in with Tammy’s moan. Then she shook her head. I was studying last night, wasn’t I?

“Your class needed more colour so I took the liberty of transferring in Miss Li. I think you will all like her… exuberance. And her tits.”

Tammy’s almond-shaped eyes snapped open and a scream of pleasure distorted her heart-shaped face. She squirmed and then moaned as something pinched her nipples pinched her nipple and then the impressions of fingers roamed up her breasts, the V at the neck spreading wider and wider to show off more and more. Her long neck stretched and her mouth opened wide as her head rolled back spilling black—No, it’s blonde-streaked brown, Vicky corrected herself—hair over the desk behind her. Dainty, red-nailed hands cupped something about the size of a head and pulled it between her breasts as her hips began a seductive rolling.

Seductive? thought Vicky, her own breath catching as her body succumbed to the sight before her. Something is seriously wrong here! Tammy’s always been stacked, but like that?

“Sure, it’s a negative stereotype using an Asian as the class slut, but she isn’t a dragon lady or a submissive—just a girl who likes lots and lots of sex.” Miss Malloy nodded. “I can respect that. You Catholic girls were supposed to be repressed all to Hell and back, ready to burst at a moment’s notice, but she’s been sneaking off and getting it on the side from her boyfriend to keep the heat down.”

“What are you doing to her?” Vicky asked, fighting to keep her voice straight.

“Just showing her what she missed out on last night when she went home early and left her boyfriend with blue balls.”

“Bang!” moaned Tammy, sliding down in her seat with her legs spread wide and skirt pressed up against someone who wasn’t there. She thrust into the ghost and screamed, “Oh! Yes! Bang! Harder, Bang, harder!”

“Oh,” said the demented nun, wrinkling her nose and looking surprised herself. “Bang’s her cousin, not her boyfriend. My bad. Just ignore her. It’s too early in the lesson to start on the joys of incest.”

“Suck my tits, Bang!” Tammy shrieked. “Suck them!”

“That’s enough!” barked the nun. “If you don’t keep it down, young lady, it’ll be the strap for you.”

Tammy did her best to sit up straight and she managed for a few moments. “Ssss-sorry, Miss Muuh-oooooh!” she cooed, her body flexing as her bunched-up skirt relaxed and drifted back down her legs. But not far, because with a cry of , “Yes!” Her hands dove in to replace the retreating ghost.

Vicky gasped at the sight, her eyes bugging out as she watched one of her life-long friends part her own vagina and begin to stoke. Much like with Marissa minutes earlier, sounds of pleased satisfaction filled the room.

How come she doesn’t have any hair down there, wondered Vicky, unable to look away. Something was happening to her as well. Her heart pounded and a warm, tickly sensation radiated out from between her legs. As wrong as it was, Vicky had to fight to keep her hands from mimicking her friend. The next time we have a pyjama party I have to ask how she does that! The hair thing, that is.

She looked around the room almost all of her classmates were lost in the throes of passion, feeling themselves up lewdly. Vicky gripped her hands into fists and crushed her thighs together in an attempt to quell the pulsing, burning need sweeping through her. One sweaty hand slipped free of control, and she choked back a sob, knowing where it was headed and unable, unwilling, to stop it.

“OK,” said Miss Malloy, rolling her eyes and twitching softly as she slipped her fingers out of her panties. “We all needed that.”

With a series of soft, stuttered, sighs, the rest of the class relaxed. Nancy Baker fell over in her chair and rested peacefully on the floor.

Some of it more than others,” continued the teacher, “and the girl who needed it most… well better luck next time. Sit back down, Vicky.”

“What are you doing to us?” Vicky asked, her voice breaking from too deep to too squeaky.

“Teaching,” she replied. “Sexual education requires a very deft touch and some unusual methods, but I’m sure you’ll all understand its importance by the time we are finished.

“Now then… My colleague, Miss Kegelsworth, is going to demonstrate what—”

“Yes!” bellowed Tammy, bent nearly backwards and slamming her hips into her probing hand. Every drive caused her to arch further, until with one loud, incoherent scream of untrammelled bliss, her shirt burst open, her bra—an F-cup according to the bra comparisons at the sleep over earlier that year—shattered, and she slammed her head back on Allison’s desk before rebounding. Dazed, she let out a loud sigh before gravity pulled her down into her seat and she slumped forward, fingers still buried between her legs.

For a moment it looked like she’d knock herself even more senseless, smacking her head into her desk, but her large breasts served as luxurious pillows, slowing her descent. They looked freakishly huge as they compressed and relaxed with every slow, deep breath the semiconscious girl took, but Vicky felt the tingling between her legs ramp up yet again from watching. She quickly turned her attention to the teacher.

“—Miss Kegelsworth, is going to demonstrate what she did wrong this morning,” said Miss Malloy, doing her best to ignore the disruption.

Miss Kegelsworth jerked back to life with musical accompaniment, tearing her blouse open top to bottom with a powerful wrench. Buttons flew around the room revealing a saggy, old body to the world.

“Eeew,” said Miss Malloy. “The first problem is she let herself get old. No more calling me Miss Malloy, OK? Call me Kerry. Formality makes you seem older, and older is only useful if you want to look distinguished. Some men get off on elegant, distinguished women, but not the kind of guys you’re after at your age. To be honest, distinguished is hard to encapsulate and teach. It’s something you have to pick up for yourself.

“For example, think of your headmistress. She has it down solid.”

Mrs. Kradelrober appeared before Vicky’s eyes unbidden, a strange heat smouldering in the headmistress’s face, as she stood proud in a stylish, dark suit with her hair piled on atop her head. She did look impressive, Vicky had to admit, even with the whip.

“Now me, on the other hand,” Kerry’s hands started at her shoulders and slid own over her firm breasts, taut belly, she soft bulge before the panties started and then swept off to draw the eyes down her long, toned legs. “Technically, I’m thirty one, but don’t you dare tell anyone. Do I look a day over nineteen? No. That’s because I won’t let myself. Now Maureen here—that’s Miss Kegelsworth, by the way—is pushing sixty, but that’s no excuse. She’s never really let herself look like much. So what does she look like if we strip away, say, thirty years?”

Maureen’s hair lightened and some of her spot collection vanished, but that was all, as far as Vicky could see. Even at twenty-eight….

How do I know she’s twenty-eight? pondered Vicky.

“Don’t worry about it,” replied Kerry, as though she could read minds. “She still looks like saggy hell. We’d have to go back to sixteen for her to look even remotely good, but she’s never really been as ugly as she makes herself look. To start with, what if she ditched the car and did some walking now and then?”

Not much changed as far as Vicky could see.

“Meh. Slow metabolism. OK, so what she really needed was to work out a few times a week. You know, jog in the morning and stuff like that.” Maureen tightened up in a hurry, but still looked dumpy. “And stood up straight. Just standing up makes all the difference in whether you look fat or not, if you’re on the border. Watch.”

Like a puppet, Maureen stood erect, slouched and stood erect again. Vicky noted the difference and sat up in her seat.

“Good girl,” Kerry said with a beaming smile that sent Vicky’s heart racing. “See? Your neck looks longer, that emphasizes your beautiful hair, and you actually have breasts!

“And nipples,” Kerry said with a smirk a few moments later, causing Vicky to collapse inwards. “No! No! Sit back up, damnit! You’re a woman. Women have nipples. Have some pride! You have lovely nipples.”

Vicky sat up again and cast an eye down to the little points jutting from her blouse. That had never happened to her before, even when it got cold out, but they did look… interesting. Too interesting. She cast about for something else to look at, but not Kerry. Kerry made her feel way too interested and that left her feeling way, way to confused to be comfortable.

During the distraction, Maureen Kegelsworth had become further defined, her virtual fitness regimen becoming more and more extreme. The flabby body was gone and cut abdominals slowly took shape. Ropes of flesh began to dominate her legs.

“We don’t want Maureen, Maureen, Muscle Queen here, so how about we stop about here? She looks fit, but not butch—once we do something about that hair. What do you think? Bob or long? What colour?”

Brainy Barbara Bentley’s hand shot straight up so fast that her short red hair bounced. “Blonde! Blonde and long!”

“That is a good look,” said Kerry, “but you spoke out of turn and that is rude. Still, let’s try that idea out.”

“Like, what do you mean?” Barbara asked, taking off her glasses to reveal brilliantly blue, piercing eyes. Vicky blinked. No way could such a cute, tiny nose have supported such a huge pair of glasses. And that wasn’t all.

“Barbara…” said Carmen San Francisco, pointing at Barbara’s hair.

“Omigod!” blurted Barbara, grabbing a handful of her growing, flowing blonde locks and staring at it dumbstruck. She sucked in a breath to scream and a button burst off her blouse. Flowery bra peeked through the new gap forced open by a pair of breasts surging to match Tammy’s immense set.

“That’s the Barbie look,” explained Kerry. “It’s nice when applied correctly. Stand up, dear.”

She tried, Barbara really did, but…. “Like, I-I can’t!” she whined.

“And why not?” prompted Kerry.

“Like, Barbie’s knees won’t bend,” she said stupidly, her whole arms wiggling as though she had no elbows. Vicky looked at classmate closely. Her perfect, long legs stuck straight out, looking slightly plastic-y.

Barbie sat stiffly in her chair, not even breathing as far as Vicky could tell, a happy expression on her face.

Kerry clapped, drawing attention back to her. “Any other suggestions? I think Maureen could go the elegant route, don’t you Carmen?”

Carmen nodded dumbly, her eyes flicking beside her to Barbie and then back to Kerry. “She’s… dead?”

“Oh forget about Barbie. She’s just taking a time-out in the corner without having to go to the corner.”

“Her hair… grew?”

“Along with her breasts and legs, yes.”

“You… did this?”

“Yup.”

“Can you do it to me?”

“Yup.”

Vicky took one look at the Ken doll sitting next to Barbie and tried not to laugh. She turned away because if she didn’t she’d be doomed.

“She asked,” said Kerry with a wink. “Now, what about Miss Kegelsworth? Looking for a hairstyle here, not a lifestyle.”

Marissa raised her hand and waited.

“Good to have you back with us. What do you think would look nice on Maureen?”

“Miss Mal—Kerry—Vicky and Tammy and I thought it was pretty sad that Miss Kegelsworth was like sixty and probably still a virgin, so one sleep-over, we did like fantasy make-overs.”

That wasn’t… Vicky stopped to think for a minute. Oh maybe it was? Tammy wasn’t… yes she was. Or was it with Marissa and Jen? Where is Jen, anyway?

“And?” asked Kerry.

“Dark hair,” said Marissa. “Almost black, cut in smooth arcs sort of like Betty Page, and a dark blue business jacket with no blouse and a push-up bra. Knee length skirt, stockings and heels to finish things off.”

“Thick eyelashes,” added Jen, her voice coming from behind Vicky. “With a bit of blue highlighting to make them stand out more. Like sexy, not like a hooker.”

Vicky spun around in her seat and Jen winked at her as if to say, “Remember the rest?”

She couldn’t remember. She just had the barest memories of any of their many overnight parties. She did remember the discussion, though, even if she couldn’t for the life of her remember anyone named Betty Page. She could picture the room, some sort of dormitory as though they were in college, but the remainder was hazy.

Jen smiled her big, gap-toothed smile and Vicky’s mind clicked.

“Not heels,” she blurted, spinning to face the front of the class again. “Boots! These Thigh high leather things with heels like this long!” She gestured with her hands a half a foot apart.

Kerry blinked. “No… I think the boots would be too much and clash with the rest of the suit. Something a wee bit different is what we need here. Any more ideas? Vicky?”

“The boots will work if they’re not all super shiny and she has longer legs,” insisted Vicky, lowering her arm and hoping she wasn’t taking her life into her own hands. She glanced at Ken and Barbie, and shivered.

Kerry pursed her lips. “You know, I think we can work with that, with a few modifications.” She snapped her fingers.

Maureen stood at the head of the class in a black leather and lace creation bound by a thong to hold her breasts together and unnaturally high on her chest. Miss Kegelsworth looked odd with breasts jutting like bowls, but she looked odder with the tight black panties and the boots making her stand well over six feet tall.

“Not bad for someone five-foot-two,” commented Kerry.

Her tightly muscled calves gave way to hard thighs and, as the teacher turned and posed, a rounded ass that looked too plush for such a toned body. Halting in profile, Maureen’s head turned and her eyes swept over the classroom, burning with something Vicky had seen before on TV, movies, and on the internet—mostly on the internet. Horny porno sluts stared always back at her out of the e-mails before she could delete them and… and her nipples were poking out again.

There was no embarrassment this time because Vicky knew she had nice nipples and Miss Kegelsworth was in similar condition, that was plainly obvious. In fact, she looked ready for sex. She looked like she lived for sex and had gone far too long without any sort of satisfaction.

“Holy fuck,” whispered Megan Douglas, too loud to not be heard.

Maureen, clad in her bustier, a pair of flowery-front thong panties, stockings, and thigh high boots wagged her ass at her rapt audience while looking over her shoulder when poof! Suddenly a dark blue suit jacket and skirt covered everything except the boots. She pouted, and turned again to flaunt her cleavage and demonstrate a high-energy sex-strut. Black hair exploded down her back in waves and she shook it out mercilessly.

Now Vicky remembered! She had no idea how she remembered, but the hair knocked loose some old memory of a magazine, a gaggle of giggling girls. The pictures weren’t too bad, certainly not porn, but not something she should have seen at her age. But it wasn’t at her age. Something was not right. Fuzzy.

Now that she thought about it, something really was not right. Both teachers danced round each other

“See? I can’t believe they don’t teach sex ed in college if even an old battleaxe like Miss Kegelsworth can learn a trick or two,” Kerry and the high school teacher embraced and locked lips for a long time. When they broke, Maureen looked as though she’d ascended to heaven.

“I’m through with teaching. It’s time for me to learn a few more things. Megan!”

 “Uhhh. Yes, Miss Kegelsworth?”

“Call me when you are legal. I want that dirty little mouth of yours on my pussy.”

“Yes Ma’am,” said Megan after a soft shudder.

She walked out the door and that was the last Vicky ever saw of Miss Kegelsworth, but she did read about the brothel and the arrests in the paper.