Extra Credit

A TIOS Story

“Heather, hold up,” called Jordan as she hastened for the door. Her third period
was on the far side of the school, so she always made it a point to leave Mr. Lyons’ class
as soon as she was allowed. He was often preoccupied with some last-minute hands-on
(or cocks-on) instruction, and on those occasions girls used that as an opportunity to
dash out early.
Not Heather, though. She followed the rules. Not that she was a suck-up; it was
simply that teachers tended to get along with students who did their work and stayed
out of trouble. If anything, the fact that she was a straight A student whose teachers
were indifferent to her at best bespoke how little effort she put into being a teacher’s pet.
Really she only had to coast by for a few more weeks, not lose any of her existing A’s,
and she would at long, long last be Berkeley-bound. Goodbye Northside, hello west
coast.
With a sigh of exasperation, she paused at the door, standing aside to let her
classmates by. Kirsten didn’t miss the opportunity to position herself so that Heather
was in the way of Olivia, allowing her to both bother the bustier blonde by having Olivia
nearly body check her to keep up, then to shoot Olivia a dirty look for slowing her down.
Win-win, insofar as keeping score for bullying went.
“Yes, Mr. Lyons?” she asked, folding her arms.
“Hey, so you got your college applications in and all, right?”
She arched an eyebrow. “Yeah. Like six months ago. Why, didn’t you?”
“See, dem titties aside, that’s what I like about you. So responsible.” He brushed
her arms aside and honked her tits. It pulled her crop top down underneath the right
side, so she had to tug it into place before everyone in the halls got a look. How had she
ever been friends with such a pig? Much less dated him. Ugh. She’d been hoping ever
since their breakup junior year that their circle would eventually cast him out, but since
his place was by far the best for parties, no such luck on that front.
High school is nearly past tense,​ she reminded herself. ​Put up with him for as
long as you have to.
“Is there something you needed? I don’t want to be late to third period.”
“Yeah, there was actually. I was wondering if you could give me a little help on my
admissions essay. Look it over, give me some feedback, proofread, all that dorky shit.”
She frowned. “I’d really rather not, actually. But you can talk to Mrs. Prendergast
in guidance, and she’ll probably help you. I know she looked over some stuff for
Hayleigh and Jackson.” Not that Jackson’s essay mattered next to the fact that he was
6’5” and averaged 21 points per game last season.
 “I don’t want that dusty old bitch’s help. I want you. You’re like third in our class,
aren’t you?”
“Second, down by .03 because I took art history as a sophomore and it didn’t
have an honors track.”
He flicked her nipple through her shirt with a forefinger. “Better yet!”
“Sorry, Jordan. I have a lot on my plate right now and I really don’t have time.”
“What, you mean porking Fishers?” he said with a sneer.
“I’m sorry, did you just use the word ‘porking’ unironically?”
“Hey, I’ve heard my little piglet squeeeeal like a peeeeeeg.” He reached behind
her and shoved a thumb up her ass, plugging the hole with her shorts, cackling at his
own grotesque joke. She squirmed to remove the obstruction. Crap like this was why she
didn’t put any energy into sucking up to her teachers.
“All right, now my answer’s gone from no to ​hell n ​ o. Excuse me.”
But he blocked her as she tried to squeeze past him. “I’m only kidding, god. I’d
call you uptight if I hadn’t just felt how loose you’re getting.”
She glared. There was no point defending herself; the surest way to catch more
grief in Mr. Lyons’ class was to defend yourself from his endless abuses. “Can I go now?”
“Man, you really are in a mood today,” complained her teacher. “Fine, tell you
what. Do me a solid on this, and I’ll guarantee you full participation for a week.”
“I earn full participation every week as it is. Thanks, but no thanks.”
“All right, help me out and I won’t flunk you just to be a dick. How’s that.”
She sighed. “Fine. Just text me and I’ll find a time. Now can I please get to class?”
“That’s an awfully disrespectful tone you’re taking with your teacher, Ms. Blake.
Now you apologize and show me your titties, and maybe I won’t dock you a day’s
participation.”
Heather took a deep breath, then forced a contrite expression onto her face as she
lowered her crop top. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Lyons.” She managed to not quite grit her
teeth.
“Atta girl.” He shoved her into the hallway, where she yelped at being suddenly
exposed to dozens of eyes.
What an asshole​, she thought.
 What a waste of perfect titties,​ Jordan thought as he watched her go.
He supposed that effort expended on Heather Blake was probably not the best
use of his time. After all, he had full access to her an hour a day five days a week. He had
Hailey and a few sluts from class who’d got caught up in a stray quote in the evenings,
and of course there was that brainless bitch Miss C, who was eating out of the palm of
his hand these days. Eating out of the tip of his cock, really.
Still, there was simply something about Heather that made him need to take her
down a peg.
He wasn’t even sure why himself. Was it because she’d shacked up with Fishers?
Maybe. He’d derived tremendous satisfaction watching Miss C ditch that loser to give in
to her slut urges. Or was it because of how suddenly she’d dumped him last year? That
had stung for sure. The tattoos? They were definitely hot as hell, he had to hand it to
himself. They made the other Pride skanks’ outfits look like formal wear by comparison,
they were so slutty. Or something else entirely? The knowitall smugness, the feminazi
propagandizing, her do-gooder attitude.
Hell, maybe it was nothing but those tits.
Whatever it was, she was going to be his new project. He didn’t even have a
concrete objective, much less a means of achieving it. All he knew was that he wanted to
get her. Just… ​get​ her.
 “Well?” he asked as she set the paper down.
“I’m not going to lie to you or sugarcoat this, Jordan. If you submit this to a
college, you better send a check from your father big enough to buy them a new
dormitory to go with it. I’m talking full-on Lori Laughlin treatment here.”
He’d told her he was using the laptop to take notes on her commentary. In
actuality, her opening line made for a pretty solid quote. The no sugarcoating might get
irritating, acerbic as the bitch could be, but honesty? He’d take that.
“That bad?”
“It’s… pretty bad. You don’t have a thesis. You used profane language on at least
three occasions. You neglected to mention your teaching experience, which seems like a
no-brainer. You clearly didn’t even do the bare minimum and run it through a
spell-checker. You come across as a halfwit. At best. Maybe a quarterwit.”
No sugar-coating indeed.
Jordan sighed and slumped back in the recliner. A breeze blew in through the
open window of his guest house, casting the paper off the coffee table onto the floor.
Good. There, the housekeeper could sweep it up with the rest of the trash in the
morning. “No need to spare my feelings, ya know.” No sugarcoating indeed.
“I’m trying to be straight with you. You did a bad job, and frankly, I know full well
you didn’t even try. You forget I see your work in yearbook all the time, and I know you
can write better than this. Are you trying to get rejected or something?”
“What, like you’ve got such awesome prospects?” he retorted crankily. He hadn’t
brought her over to get a lecture. Besides, he’d forgotten how boring she used to dress
before he fucked with the dress code. Outside NHS’s walls, here she was in a
loose-fitting sweater and mom jeans. It was blasphemy, covering up that skin of hers.
Why not slip a trash bag over the Mona Lisa while she was at it.
“As a matter of fact, I’m expecting to go to Berkeley in the fall.” There it was, that
smugness. Cunt. “If I can get straight A’s again, I’ll secure my inheritance from my
grandpa and be good to go. I already got accepted.”
“If you can get straight A’s,” he said dubiously.
“I mean, I’m 90% sure I will. As long you don’t renege on our deal here, I’ll be
almost sure to nail it. As long as Miss C doesn’t try to fuck me again.” She made a face
then, though he had no way of knowing the extra meaning her choice of word carried for
her. What had she been thinking, after prom?
Jordan seized on it, though. “Oh yeah? I thought you two were tight.”
“Why on earth would you think I’m close with that woman?”
He made a cat noise, laughing at her scowl. “So what happened? Come on, you
can tell me.”
“It was this whole big thing at the end of last semester. She gave me a C- on my
final exam, and between you and me I think she did it because Conner is her teacher’s
pet and there was that whole thing…” She was trying to be vague, but he prompted her
to continue with a puzzled expression. “You know, where he asked me out, I said no, he
fainted. Remember, after you humiliated him?” she finished with a withering look.
“Oh yeah, that.”
“Anyway, so it was enough to bring my semester grade down to a B+. Or at least it
would’ve been if Conner hadn’t begged her to reconsider.”
He looked impressed. “Wow, he cashed in a favor for you, huh? Wonder what it
cost him. Ball buster like Miss C doesn’t give out something for nothing.” Of course he
knew full well they’d slept together the very next day, but he was curious if Heather
knew.
She did, of course, though not in that degree of specificity. Heather took a deep
breath and unloaded her gossip, neither sugarcoating nor dissembling. He listened,
genuinely fascinated, as she explained how she’d caught them fooling around a few
months back, and how they’d explained she was extorting him in exchange for salvaging
Heather’s grade. Heather still believed it had all been a setup, failing her to get to
Conner.
“That’s fucking crazy!” he exclaimed as her story wound down. “I never would’ve
guessed. You and Miss C always seemed so close. I mean, the way you two were
bumping and grinding at prom, the way you and him and Carpenter all left together…
Seemed awfully chummy.”
Jordan legitimately almost did a spit-take in her face when she responded. He’d
simply been responding naturally, not even fishing for a quote or anything, when his
most recent entry snared him an appallingly honest response. “Well, we did go back to
her place and have a foursome that night,” she said, as casually as if she’d been
commenting on the weather.
“You did ​what?!​” he exclaimed.
“Did I stutter? A foursome. It was pretty wild. Not at all like…” She stopped, not
able to openly compare it to her group sex experiences in his sex ed. What happened
there stayed there.
Her meaning was clear to him, though. “We’ll compare it in class tomorrow. Man!
I mean, wow! You three babes and that pud Fishers. Fuck me… I never would’ve thought
the little bitch had it in him.”
“Trust me, he has it in him, all right.” She sighed dreamily. “Anyway, so yeah,
ever since then, she and I have been on better terms. If nothing else, she can’t really
flunk me when I have carnal knowledge of her fucking three of her students. That I
know of. Four, if you count all the suck and fuck you two have been up to lately.”
“Huh.” Jordan took a moment to process all this. He’d known about Miss C and
Fishers, of course. That was what had started all this. And he’d known about Fishers and
Heather, and about him and Carpenter, too. All four together, though… man. For a
moment, he almost respected the little shit stain.
Still, what could he actually do with this? Anything?
 It took Jordan most of the rest of the week before he had a salvo that he thought
would get him across the finish line. Individual quotes were always dicey, but he figured
if he could pull another trick like with the dress code and funnel in half a dozen or so,
it’d really capture the spirit of things. He simply needed to get Heather’s people talking
about her.
Luckily, they were happy to oblige.
Up first had been Miss C. He’d hit her up during one of their after school tutoring
sessions, right before he came on her face. He liked to get the hair – way harder to clean
out of those curls of hers. The other day she’d walked out of the building with a big blob
she hadn’t noticed gleaming right above the center of her forehead.
“Jordan, would you please stop doing that?” she griped, reaching for the box of
tissues on her desk. She was struggling to grasp it, what with a fresh dollop of spunk in
her left eye.
“Come on, Miss Cunt, jizz is your best color.” Right before she could grasp the
box with her fumbling hand, he knocked it onto the floor. When she bent to pick it up
with a grumbled curse, he moved in and grabbed her ass like a bowling ball – two
fingers in her pussy, one in her ass. Jordan could hardly believe Fishers didn’t stretch
that baby out more often. For an older gal – approaching 30, yech – their teacher looked
mighty fine from behind. Muscle and fat in perfect combination. That ass had ripples for
days.
“Jordan!” she squealed in equal parts indignation, discomfort and pleasure. “Let
go of me!”
All it took to hold her down, though, was a little pressure from his thumb. “Don’t
pretend you didn’t come in to work today praying you’d get a little of this, slut.” Her
body stiffened in pleasure, as it almost always did when he laid on the so-called charm.
Damn, her head was a mess. He worked his fingers in her pussy to keep her going, and
she stopped even attempting to stand. “You wouldn’t have worn that skimpy little joke
of a skirt if you didn’t want me going up it. You’re as bad as Heather and her Pride
skanks these days.”
“Like I told Coach Conrad earlier, wearing a miniskirt – ​ungh!​ – is not an
invitation for the goddamn shocker!” she protested. “Or do I have to remind you what
Heather wore to class today? And you didn’t harass ​her​ – what makes this any
different?”
Really, Heather’s outfit had been pretty tame by Pride standards. Sure, the shorts
were a little too tight and a lot too short, but aside from the way the t-shirt had clung to
her tits, it had actually mostly covered her. Of course, that the Pride shirts had been a
custom job and read “look all you want” across the front and “touching costs extra” on
the back had taken it right back to their usual level of depravity. He could only imagine
what mental gymnastics it took Heather to spin that as feminist, and fuck it all if he
wasn’t tired to death of hearing her explain it.
“You say that like you don’t have respect for your star pupil.”
He’d been hoping to get her talking, but it seemed his fingers were being too
effective at putting her in the mood. “Oh who cares about Heather Blake,” she said
between whimpers. “Come on, just… say those things you always say. Seduce me.”
He wasn’t letting her off that easy, though. “Who cares? Come on, the way she’s
got your golden boy wrapped around her little finger, surely you’re at least paying
attention.”
Her eyes widened, and he could see the panic in her eyes setting in. As if being
fucked by a student pretending to be a teacher in the middle of a faculty meeting was par
for the course, but the idea of that same student finding out about her affair with his
classmate would be too scandalous. TIOS sure had a twisted sense of humor. “W-what
do you mean?” she stammered.
“Oh come on, I’ve seen you two carrying on for years. I think it’s pretty obvious
how much his happiness means to you,” Jordan said, driving his thumb ever deeper. “As
a student, I mean.”
She relaxed, at least in terms of the sudden anxiety. Her ass was too full to truly
relax. “Oh. I mean, yes, of course. I worry about him as a student. Yes,” she agreed. God,
what a shit liar. How did the whole school now know about those two by now?
“So? Aren’t you worried he’s going to get hurt by a girl like that?”
“Conner can take care of himself,” she said, but he believed that lie even less than
the last.
“Sure. Not like she’s going to run off to Cali and leave him alone and
heart-broken or anything, right?” This was easily the hardest part of this whole
inquisition, pretending he gave two fucks about Fishers’ feelings. “She told me about
how she totally fucked up her final last semester, and I bet this one’s even harder.”
“Sh-she told you about that?” Miss C asked once he slowed down in her cunt long
enough for her to speak halfway coherently.
“Sure did.” Jordan moved her over to her desk like he was wheeling a suitcase,
planting her facedown on a stack of ungraded essays. “She even thinks you flunked her
out of spite just to set up Conner to be a hero.” Not exactly what she’d said, but with
what he knew about the TIOS entries of that time, it was a plausible theory. More
plausible than Heather getting her first ever C- on a final in a class she’d been taking for
three and a half years, that was for sure.
“What? No!” She twisted around to look up at him, helpless to do more than
wriggle her torso around thanks to his firm grip on his makeshift handle. “Look, let me
tell you something about Heather Blake…”
 Next up was a trip down to the guidance office for a little actual work. Not his
forte, and something he’d gotten rather out of the habit of doing. Thanks to his
arrangement with Mrs. Prendergast and her all-consuming need to keep him from
telling anyone about how she’d scheduled his harem for him, he had no need to lift a
finger in his classes, either. He almost couldn’t wait to see the look on Miss C’s
condescending face when he threw her final exam on the trash can and was nevertheless
awarded an A+ in her class when Mrs. Prendergast overrode his grades.
In the meantime, it was that very woman who was getting him access to his next
line of attack on that uppity cunt.
“Jordan, I can’t allow a student to access his peers’ files,” she insisted. From the
look on her face, it was clear that both knew this was a lost cause on her part.
“Oh yeah? Hey Miss Jackson, wanna hear something crazy about how my second
period got set up? See, over winter break, Mrs. Prendergast and I–”
Then the woman was forcefully pulling him into the closet with its rows of file
cabinets. “Here. Teachers aren’t supposed to be permitted access to these files, but I’m
giving you special permission. Do whatever you need to – but ​please​ try to keep it
subtle, and leave things as you found them. Please?” She knew she had less than no
leverage to compel him, but it was cute that she tried.
Jordan’s only response was to kick the door shut in her face, almost hitting her in
the nose with it. It wouldn’t be the most traumatic thing he’d done to her. Sometimes he
still dreamed about that, woke up in a cold sweat. That had been the most fucked up
thing he’d ever done, bar none. Sometimes he still wondered what could have happened
if that whole ploy with the gun hadn’t worked. Would he be in juvie? Prison?
He shook off the thought. The ends more than justified the means.
It didn’t take long to locate the file in question, a thick manila folder with a label
ready to peel off from twelve years of storage in the district’s file cabinets. The cramped
closet didn’t have a table to work on, so he set it atop one of the file cabinets, right
beneath his chin level. The contents seemed to be surprisingly organized, beginning all
the way back with her application for enrollment in kindergarten. Heather’s dad’s
signature was even there, he saw; Jordan could barely even remember what the guy
looked like. No doubt Heather was trying to forget, too, considering how he’d bailed on
her. No wonder she had all that rage against the so-called patriarchy. He supposed
Heather was turning out OK despite the absence of a father figure – so far, anyway. High
school wasn’t over yet.
He flipped through the contents, laughing at some of her old school pictures
tucked between the pages. How had anyone ever thought that haircut had been a good
idea? There was a lot of material, though he didn’t know if any of it would be useful. Old
report cards, vaccination confirmations, a special ed consultation from sixth grade about
whether she might have ADHD, a doctor’s note about her shellfish allergy… Lots and
lots of paper, but scant promise any of any actionable intel. He considered what effect, if
any, it might have to profile her seventh grade social studies teacher’s customized report
card comment: ​Heather is a genuine pleasure to have in class, and one heck of a hard
worker. Any teacher would be lucky to have her! ​Would that improve her performance
in his class, or simply make him feel better about it?
During his initial explorations of TIOS, improvements to his appearance, his
social standing, or simply making some easy money had tempted him. Ultimately he’d
realized that a lot of it would be pointless. After all, TIOS had turned Hailey hot as fuck
and nobody had batted an eyelash. Besides, even for the edits with more promise,
Jordan didn’t like the idea of this fickle app fucking around with him. He’d decided to
leave it alone, and applied the same rationale to the report card comment. He’d make up
his own mind about what it was like to have Heather in class.
Page after page was discarded on the floor, unusable. What did he care about old
physicals, dozens of honor roll letters, a printouts of correspondences with Heather’s
mom? There were some printed emails between Principal Beckmann and several
teachers regarding their concerns over Heather’s protests that were amusing – Coach
Conrad had been particularly offended by her claims that the former dress code was
somehow “worse for chicks” – but again, nothing useful.
He paused over a particular document that looked to be a career survey from
back in freshman year. It had been so long that Jordan only vaguely recalled filling these
out, and had no idea what his own responses had been. If memory served, his interests
at the time had centered around playing video games, partying, and masturbating.
Heather’s survey, however, highlighted the sorts of things it obviously would.
Responses indicated that she enjoyed reading, public speaking, and volunteering.
Ugh. Of course she had. Hmm, volleyball? Oh yeah! He’d forgotten she’d been on the
team back through middle school and into freshman year. She’d sprouted early and then
peaked early, and all those extra pounds of pure titty she’d grown sophomore year
hadn’t done her vertical any favors. He could still remember her ass in those volleyball
shorts back in the day, though. No doubt an image that had fueled his own concurrent
passion for jerking it.
The survey was a whole packet affair, including essay questions and at the end,
commentary from her homeroom teacher and her guidance counselor. The bell rang to
remind him he was ditching fifth period, as if he cared. Meanwhile, he perused onwards,
struggling to make out the smudged cursive shorthand – looked like the page had been
filed here while it was still wet and probably not reviewed since. Suddenly he found
himself grinning broadly.
“Thanks again, Prendergast.” Jordan reached for his phone, snapped a picture,
and exited the file closet, dumping Heather’s file on the floor behind him. “Someone
made a mess in there,” he said to the counselor as he passed by her office door.
 “Do you think this outfit would make me look fat?” Olivia asked, holding out her
phone to her friends at the table.
“I think you’d look good in it,” replied Hayleigh, “but that color is fucking gross.”
“It’s that butter-soaked muffin you had for breakfast that’s going to make you
look fat,” added Kirsten, snickering mirthlessly. Her boyfriend Owen echoed it
perfunctorily a moment later when he caught her warning glance.
“I’d butter your muffin, girl,” said Jackson, grinning.
“Huh? I can totally butter my own muffin, you guys,” insisted Olivia.
Poor simple girl. Sometimes he wondered if turning her into such a fucking idiot
had crossed a line, but god, she was so much hotter as an airhead. Jordan couldn’t quite
make himself regret the partially lobotomization of his middle school girlfriend. Maybe
if she’d been able to give a half-decent blowjob back then he’d feel worse. Stupid braces.
Still, it had the potential to be the kind of opener Jordan had been waiting for, a
segue to get Heather’s old friends talking about her in the vicious, snipey way of theirs.
Ever since she’d begun to gravitate towards sitting and hanging out with her Pride pals,
they’d more or less written her off. Small wonder. Heather was beautiful, yes, and her
legendary tits cemented her rightful place at the cool kids table. Still, Heather was also a
genuinely decent person and committed student, which meant these people had very
little else in common with her. Her presence was seldom missed aside from when
Kirsten had wanted someone’s homework to copy off of.
For a time, Olivia had tried to fill in for her, but after she’d turned into such a
moron, that had come to an end so fast it was like it had never happened. He’d caught
her misspelling her own name last week. He’d fucked her extra hard the class meeting
after that. So hot.
“I think you’d look better trying out that sweet Pride wear, Olivia,” said Jordan,
then nodded in the direction of where Heather, Amanda, and the others were
assembled. The scene was, as always, like something out of the early scene of a porno,
excepting that easily half of those girls had no business appearing in any porn that
wasn’t explicitly fetish. A shame he’d never been able to engineer a way to hottify the
uggos and the lumpies in the Pride squad, but since nobody but himself and the
douchebag editors-in-chief even appreciated how they dressed, it wasn’t a subject of
much discussion.
Today, for instance, the group was decked out in what looked to be snakeskin, or
maybe imitation snakeskin, each girl in an uncomfortably snug-looking two-piece
sheath that left legs and midsections exposed. On the bustier members like Heather, or
even Carpenter to a lesser degree, their tits were bulging out the top as well as peeking
out the bottom. TIOS had to be putting some textile sweatshops in the Philippines out of
business, furnishing wardrobes to these bitches pro bono.
 “Ew!” said Olivia, wrinkling her nose. “Like, I’m not some man-hater or whatever,
and I don’t care how cute their outfits are. I don’t even get what they’re always so mad
about.”
Kirsten sighed irritably and said, “Well for the love of all that’s fucking holy, don’t
let Heather hear you say that or we’ll have to sit through another interminable rant
about the evils of the patriarchal hegemony. Me, I don’t even get it. I, for one, happen to
be a fan of the patriarchy. Turns out the Man likes big-titted blondes. Who knew.”
“That he does,” said Owen, stealing a perfunctorily granted kiss.
“Why, you almost sound like you don’t respect her crusade for womankind,” said
Jordan.
Hayleigh looked up from where she was explaining Jayce’s homework
assignment to him, brushing a stringy wisp of orange hair out of her pudgy face. “Are
you serious? Nobody takes her seriously. Understand? Nobody. That girl’s whole future
hinges on being propped up by a pretty face and an industrial strength bra.”
“Isn’t she, like, on the honor roll?” said Stacey, nervous to risk contradicting
either Hayleigh or Kirsten, much less both. “I mean, she’s going to the Ivy League or
something, I think I heard.”
“Berkeley,” confirmed Jackson.
“Yeah, that’s Ivy League, right?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even know what I.V. stands for.”
“It’s ivy like the plant, not the letters, retards,” said Kirsten irritably. “And her
mom’s a goddamn waitress. You think she’s going to Berkeley on $2.15 an hour plus
tips? Fuck no.”
“Well, scholarships…” said Stacey, wilting under the sheer force of personality.
“Scholarships? Do you have any idea how much a school like that costs?”
“But like, she gets good grades and all,” protested Jackson somewhat feebly,
seeing that Stacey was by now totally defeated. “They do full rides for academics, too,
right Jayce?”
Jayce didn’t respond, frowning at a workbook full of unfamiliar Spanish words.
Kirsten shot a sneer across the cafeteria at where Heather was laughing with
Dawn Abrams, the two of them displaying every bit as much joviality as Kirsten
possessed venomousness. It seemed a perverse miracle that a being so beautiful could
simultaneously look so cruel. To Jordan’s mind, though, the latter only enhanced the
former.
She opened her mouth to give he take on Heather Blake. Jordan leaned in, trying
to remember every word.
 Jordan was feeling pretty proud of the list he was compiling, and was very much
looking forward to saving it to TIOS. It was somewhat annoying he couldn’t keep saving
it as draft like in the old days, but he’d caught Fishers and Carpenter alike scouring the
file system looking for more of his edits. Not that they could do anything if he’d already
saved it, but it was obvious that the more active he got, the more paranoid they grew.
His edits to Miss C were rather cleverly concealed, he thought, hidden away in some of
her own files, samples she’d made to showcase techniques to the class, and her pet
editors didn’t seem to have checked there. She probably wouldn’t find them herself until
she went to review her lesson plans for next year’s yearbook class, and even then TIOS
almost certainly wouldn’t let her realize how he’d played her.
Trying to catch Fishers in the act of discussing his tit-heaviest slampiece would be
the most deliciously ironic attack he could imagine, but it was rough going. The guy
clammed up around Jordan big-time, and on top of it, there was no way he’d say
anything critical of her, and almost as unlikely to casually discuss her in any way Jordan
could use. It would feel amazing to nail her coffin shut using her boy toy’s own nails, but
not worth the risk.
As for Carpenter, he didn’t have any higher hopes, and for about the same reason.
No sense barking up that tree.
“Look, this is awkward to talk about, but can you reschedule your… whatever,
with Conner Friday?” Heather asked Amanda one day early in second period as Jordan
was supervising undressing for class.
“My ‘whatever’? You mean date?” said Amanda, crossing her arms as Heather
undressed for class. “Why’s that?”
“My mom gave me two tickets to a comedy club – you know Chuckles, on 49​th​? –
and I wanted to surprise him.”
“And you can’t exchange them for a different night?” countered Amanda.
“No, actually. It’s normally a bar, but they’re doing an 18+ thing Friday night
only. We’d talked before about going, and I thought it’d be nice.” Heather unclasped her
bra, her tits practically sighing with relief as they bulged mostly forward and, as yet
spared the ravages of age, only slightly downward.
Jordan, meanwhile, tried not to look like he was paying them any attention,
grabbing Neveah and Maggie and having them make out in front of him to provide
cover. They looked perplexed at performing sex ed activities while still wearing their
out-of-sex-ed clothes, but obeyed indulgently.
“If I’m going to give him up this Friday, I want Friday ​and​ Saturday next
weekend,” Amanda was saying as he refocused his attention.
“What? That’s the last weekend before dead week!” protested Heather. Jordan
didn’t miss how she was so wet it was visibly trickling down her curvy thighs. He didn’t
like to give the guy credit, but having his little trio get turned on by their own jealousy
was a master stroke. He’d bet anything Amanda was leaking like a sieve, too. Maybe he’d
check later, push past that pathetic resistance of hers. She was so much hotter when she
pretended to fight back.
“So?”
“So, that means the weekend after that is finals, so I’ll be studying the whole time.
Then finals, then graduation, and then I’m basically gone!” Heather insisted in a rush.
Her fidgeting signaled that she was all too aware of her arousal.
“If,” Amanda said coolly, “you make the grade and have to leave for Berkeley. For
all I know, you’re going to come up short, and then…” She couldn’t finish. If Heather’s
goals didn’t pan out, then Amanda was left competing with two girls instead of only one.
Neither of them relished the prospect, Heather in particular.
Heather’s response packed so much heat Jordan wondered if he was about to
witness a fight. “What do you mean, ‘if’? I ​am​ going to Berkeley.” Jordan almost laughed
upon realizing how easily he could make her dreams come true with that. “I don’t care
what it takes. I have worked my ass off for four years to make this happen, and if you
think I’m going to blow it in the final minutes you’ve got another think coming.”
“I’m just saying, everybody gets B’s sometimes.” Her voice lowered, and she
glanced around at the other girls stripping nearby. “Didn’t I hear you biffed Kristy’s final
last semester?”
The shorter girl’s nostrils flared indignantly, her voice in a deadly hiss. “She did
that to punish me for Conner and you know it!”
Amanda was doing a poor job concealing how she was enjoying nettling her
competition. “I’m just saying. Everybody makes mistakes.”
Jordan let them go on another moment before he stepped in, eavesdropping
closely.
Good enough.
“Girls, what’s with the frowny faces? Come on, let’s get ready for class. We’re not
here for cat fights, we’re here for pussies tight.”
“Here for what?”
“Yeah, what?”
“You know, like… whatever, we’re doing Shakespeare in Brantley’s class, and it’s
fucking with how I talk. Heather, go have Steph give you twenty spanks for talking
back.” As the girl sighed and shuffled over to Stephanie, he looked back to Amanda.
“And you, let’s get those pants off.”
Her zipper was already down before she remembered she could try to fight back.
Her hand trembled as she fought to keep it in place. “Fuck off, Jordan.”
“Pink, today,” he said, stepping back to admire where the front of her panties
were still visible. “Twenty participation points if you can get those shorts off in the next
five seconds.”
 Her face turned redder than her hair with the effort of ignoring him. Not fifteen
feet away, Heather’s ass was turning the same color as Stephanie savagely went to town
on it.
“Forty points.” Nothing. “Sixty.” Was she holding her breath? “I don’t suppose
you’d do it for eighty…?”
“Go to hell.” Her knuckles were white, gripping her belt to keep them from
complying.
“Have it your way.” Jordan shrugged. “All right class, let’s settle in and get to
work. Lauren, would you get the lights? And Amanda, let’s see your pussy, if you would.”
There it was, that dark spot where her fight over Conner had soaked her panties.
It took her several minutes before she could muster the resolve to put her shorts back
on.
The glare she fixed on him for the rest of the period was even sexier.
 Jordan strode into Miss C’s classroom that afternoon in a surprisingly glum
mood. Yes, he had Heather right where he wanted her. Dead to rights. She’d be his every
bit as much as Kristy now was. More so, even. At his beck and call, whenever, wherever,
however.
So why didn’t he feel more enthused?
Deep down, he supposed he knew. What a waste of effort this had all been! He’d
already had Heather completely at his mercy five hours a week, plus a couple times he’d
cajoled her into something extracurricular. She was hot, sure, and that stupendous rack
of hers was a pretty sweet novelty factor, but she wasn’t his top pick by a substantial
margin. Kirsten and Amanda were both objectively hotter; Miss C and that priss Mary
Buchanan were more fun to torment; she lacked the spicy kinks of girls like Stacey or
Neveah; she lacked the warmth and charm of sweeter girls like Lauren, Ashley or
Sydney when he was in the mood for pampering. Heather was, for all intents and
purposes, a set of superior tits with inferior supplementary traits. Worse, his quotes
looked like they’d give him little beyond what he already had, so if he’d had dreams of
breaking her like he had Miss C, he suspected he would be disappointed.
It was, all things considered, a dispiriting conclusion to his intentions. Ah, well.
The quotes were loaded, and it was time to see what fruit it had born, excited or no.
Someone was definitely feeling excited that afternoon, however, and that
someone was striding across the room at him so fast that Jordan stumbled backward
defensively, nearly tripping over his shoelaces in the process of backpedaling into the
hallway. Conner didn’t slow, though, advancing right up in Jordan’s face and jabbing
him in the chest with a bony finger.
“What in the hell do you think you’re up to, huh?” Conner demanded, practically
snarling.
“Going to class?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Jordan. I know you’re trying to set up Heather. I don’t
know what for, but I saw that slate of quotes you’ve been assembling… I don’t know
what you’re trying to pull, but you won’t get away with it, you understand?”
“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean,” he replied, brushing at his shirt where
Conners had jabbed him.
Now, Jordan had thought his sarcasm pretty transparent, but evidently Fishers
didn’t take it that way. Suddenly a crumpled sheet of paper was thrust into his hands,
and on it he saw a list of his recent handywork, the quotes he’d been assembling to break
that bitch Blake. Jordan gave himself a moment to peruse it again, grinning broadly at
the results of his labors. “How can you be sure your girl Amanda isn’t behind it?”
“For one, TIOS generally won’t let you quote yourself. For two, she wouldn’t do
something like this.”
 Jordan hadn’t expected Conner to fall for the misdirection, not after having fallen
for the last several misdirections Jordan had sent his way. Idiot. Still, there was
something in Fishers’ voice that gave him pause.
“Something like what?” he asked. When in doubt, feign ignorance.
“Like… this,” Conner said, snatching the piece of paper back only to wave it in his
face again.
There, in the shiftiness of his eyes, Conner betrayed himself. The fucker didn’t
know!
Once more, TIOS had worked its magic and kept everyone but the one entering it
from noticing the change. Since Jordan was logging into TIOS with Amanda’s account,
Fishers was every bit as susceptible to manipulation as anybody else. So yes, he’d found
something unusual about a well-concealed collection of quotes about his girlfriend, but
as to what exactly was amiss… he couldn’t see past it. To Conner, those quotes would
seem as obvious as if Jordan had typed 2+2=4. Simple facts of the universe.
Before Fishers could react, Jordan shoulder-checked him out of the way and
made for Miss C’s room. The guy was hot on his heels, however – right up until Jordan
pivoted in the doorway. “Oh hey, I thought I should let you know. I got plans for class
today, and if you come in, you’re going to be in my way.”
Conner stopped in his tracks. “In your way?”
“Yeah. Bigtime.” Jordan kicked the door shut behind him. As the bell to start
class rang, he didn’t hear it open again.
 “Ugh, is Miss C ever going to remember she has an entire class to teach?” groused
Siobhan.
“It was bad enough when she let Conner run the class half the time first
semester,” echoed Marisa. “These days, I miss even having the knit-picker-in-chief. At
least then we knew what we were supposed to be doing. No offense, Heather.”
“None taken.”
That afternoon, Heather was too preoccupied with formatting a section of ads to
take offense at the minor slight on her boyfriend. More offensive by far was that one of
the ads was for the local Hooters, and if there was a joke she was beyond sick of it was
the old “if college doesn’t pan out, there’s always Hooters!” Hardy goddamn har
motherfucking har – and an extra har because, thanks to the democratic process,
Genevieve’s demand to model the restaurant’s clothing had been approved for today’s
protest. Her underboob had been slipping out of this teensy little shirt all day – a dress
code might almost make sense if its purpose was to avoid girls distracting themselves.
Almost as triggering were the faintly audible yet aggravatingly constant sounds
emanating from the computer lab, where Miss C was apparently once more engaged in
one-on-one “instruction” with the yearbook team’s most useless member. She was
always a poor judge of whether the ambiguously wet noises were echoing from the
woman’s pussy or her mouth, but in the end, it didn’t really matter.
What in the name of all that was good and decent did Conner see in Miss C?!
Heather dialed back her disgust, reminding herself that she was above the
inclination to slut-shame her teacher. Yes, the woman was a total joke, flirting and
flashing her way through her lessons, sucking and fucking her way through the
education of Jordan in particular, and squeezing and pleasing her way to being the
favorite pet of the male faculty. It wasn’t unheard of these days for one of her colleagues
to motorboat her on their way past during passing periods, feel up her skirt to check for
panties (as if she ​ever​ wore panties any more), or otherwise lay hands on her. Still, as a
feminist Heather believed that every woman had a perfect right to free and unchecked
expression of her sexuality, and if Miss C chose to exercise that freedom by being a
cheap piece of trash, Heather supported her in principle, if not in imitation.
Only a few more weeks remained in the school year, after all. Then she could
leave high school with her record unblemished, and go out into a place in the world
where she only had to prove anything to herself.
That was what people didn’t get about her. Berkeley wasn’t just an escape. It
wasn’t just California, and brilliant professors, on an historic campus full of
free-thinking and dedicated students. It was the opportunity to look her family in the
eye – in the eyes of the whole world! – and show them that she could do it. Every hurdle
cleared, the race won, her opponents beaten. Lapped, even, some of them. She could
take her victory lap at graduation, then never again have to submit herself to the
appraising eye of all the judges who’d stood by for the past twelve years waiting for her
to fail.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jordan emerging from behind the curtain
cordoning off the computer lab. For a little extra class, the pig was in the process of
zipping up his fly as he emerged. She rolled her eyes, not impressed in the least. It
wasn’t even the first time she’d seen his cock that day, after all. For a teacher, he sure
whipped out his dick in front of his students a lot. It made sense, she supposed, for his
curriculum; still, there was such a thing as taking too much satisfaction in one’s job, to
say nothing of questionably tangential “lessons” he shoehorned into his classes.
(Honestly, why the girls needed to be instructed on how to perform a strip tease – both
with and without a pole – was quite beyond her.)
Rather than return to his desk, however, it fast became obvious Jordan was
approaching hers. “Heather, Miss C wants to see you in the sexeteria.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You mean the computer lab?”
“You call it what you want.”
Heather sighed. “Did she say what she wanted?”
“Does it matter?”
“I guess not. Is she at least decent for once?”
He chuckled. “I think she’s sponging up the last of the mess as we speak. Should
be fine.”
She stood up, taking a moment to remove the clingy orange shorts from her butt
crack. Darn things were constantly creeping up on her. Glancing into the editor’s office,
she couldn’t imagine how Amanda’s always seemed to frame her butt without creeping
up inside it. That girl was put together a little too well to be real, it felt sometimes.
Heather realized she was starting to feel flushed and made herself look away
before the jealousy hit her too hard. Thank goodness Conner wasn’t in there with her, or
she’d be soaking through the crotch of her shorts. Like she had every day for the past
week during yearbook.
Even as she was wrinkling her nose at the prospect of the scent of her own
arousal, she emerged through the curtains into the computer lab and inhaled a massive
whiff of what could only be her teacher’s. Sure enough, squatting in front of one of the
swiveling chairs was none other than Miss C, the sole occupant of the lab besides
Heather. Clad in a dress that looked to have been torn open down the front – definitely
several buttons missing – she was in the midst of dabbing away at the worn cloth of the
seat, where there was clearly a sizeable stain. Whether originating from Jordan or from
Miss C herself Heather couldn’t say, but the aroma of each was strong in the air. She had
long since learned to pick out the nuances among the subtle fragrances of sex. She had
the highest grade in her sex ed class, after all. Even higher than Kirsten, and Kirsten had
eaten the teacher’s ass on multiple occasions.
 ​ renade for
Not voluntarily of course. Even Olivia hadn’t offered to jump on ​that g
her.
“You wanted to see me?” she said after her teacher failed to acknowledge her.
Miss C glanced over, but only briefly. “I did. Have a seat.”
Heather didn’t miss the opportunity to snark, asking, “Which one is safe?”
Her teacher answered dryly, “Most of them. Though if you’ve suddenly gone
squeamish, I’d avoid the couch.”
Heather stopped herself from doing just that, shifting her approach towards a
vacant swivel chair. When Miss C continued to focus on tidying up, Heather’s
impatience soon got the best of her. “So… is it a secret what you wanted me for?”
“It’s not your winning attitude,” said her teacher, at last setting down her rag and
taking a seat on a dry chair. Heather didn’t give her the satisfaction of responding to the
jibe. “So, here we are, two and a half weeks to graduation. Do you feel ready?”
“Um, yeah,” said Heather. Was the woman daft? Did she not know who she was
speaking to? Heather had completed every single assignment on time and with
exemplary effort all year long.
“Good. In your case, I’m inclined to agree. You’re sitting at a solid 94% last I
checked.”
“96%,” Heather corrected her. The 94% had been an anomaly after Miss C had
erroneously given her a zero on an assignment she had thought hadn’t been submitted.
It turned out that it had been turned in, but had been considered a “no-name” because
someone had come all over the top of the sheet. Heather wanted to be mad at Jordan,
but she wasn’t stupid. That could just as easily have been Conner and Amanda. Thank
goodness there was no cause to worry it was Conner and Miss C. He had told her that
prom night had been a crazy one-off thing, mostly Amanda’s idea, and she knew he
wouldn’t lie to her. “Was that all you wanted to talk to me about? Because I was kind of
in the middle of something.”
“Keep your seat,” Miss C said firmly. Heather, of course, complied. “Now, as you
may know, not everyone is in quite such good shape.”
“Who, you mean Jordan?” That was the understatement of the year. That kid
didn’t do a lick of work in any of his classes. Yesterday, when Miss C had asked everyone
to pass up their take-home quiz, he’d told her he’d stuffed it down the front of his pants.
Sure enough, five minutes later the only thing she managed to withdraw from inside his
pants was a handful of cum. He didn’t even seem to care about getting a zero on a quiz!
“I do, in fact. He’s currently sitting at what, if we continued down the alphabet,
might be called a J minus.”
The blonde laughed in spite of herself. “Sounds about right.”
Miss C, however, did not laugh. “That’s funny to you, is it? Someone failing,
possibly not even finishing high school?”
 “Well, no, but–”
“Because I don’t find it the least bit amusing. I would have thought that someone
in your situation, recognizing how important your academics are to a successful future,
would have more empathy.”
“I do, it’s just–”
“I’m glad to hear it. You may have noticed – or maybe you haven’t – that I’ve
been trying really hard with Jordan these past few weeks. We’re making some progress,
but unfortunately, it’s simply become a bit too time-consuming.”
Heather was positively seething by now at the way she was being spoken to.
“Really? I’d think someone in your situation, with your commitment to teaching, would
have a little more sticktoitiveness,” she said, adding with a smirk, “and by the way, your
tits are still showing.”
Miss C briefly took note of the unclosable gap in her dress, but didn’t seem
perturbed. Or at least not as much as Heather would have liked. “Thank you, Heather.
And speaking of wardrobe, you look very nice today. Hooters is a good look on you.
Really suits you.”
It was only thoughts of Berkeley that kept Heather from leaping across the room
and choking the woman. “Did you bring me back here solely to insult me, or is there
actually something you wanted?”
“Insult? I’m sorry, I meant it as a compliment. After all, you seemed so proud of
them on prom night, dangling them in his face while he fucked me.”
Her eyes threatened to bulge out her head. Ever since that night, they had
steadfastly avoided acknowledging that it had ever happened. For Heather, it had been
simply too humiliating to acknowledge. That she’d let it happen at all; that she’d been
upstaged so many times in the course of it; that for all her berating and intimidating
Miss C after discovering hers and Conner’s affair in the first place, she had become every
bit as tarnished. Before, only fear of what might happen to Conner held her back from
telling Principal Beckmann, but now? She couldn’t exactly tattle on her cradle-robbing
teacher without having it come out that she’d been in the cradle, too. Still, it was one
thing to have to know it had happened – to have to fight so hard to keep it out of her
fantasies – and quite another to have it acknowledged right there in the classroom!
However, as Heather’s mouth opened to launch herself into a vehement attack on
her teacher’s appalling lack of decency, the woman held up a hand. “Let me stop you
right there and get to the point. Heather, whatever else you may be, you’re a smart girl
and a good student. Moreover, you’re a reasonably attractive young woman.”
Heather gasped. ​Reasonably!​ How dare she?! But she kept right on speaking.
“I’ve given Jordan all the time and attention I can, but I still have the rest of the class to
see to. As such, from now until the end of the year, I’m assigning you to help tutor
Jordan.”
 “What?! Tutor Jordan? Why does he get his own tutor? And why me? Why can’t
Amanda do it, or DeShaun, or Cassie?”
“Because I trust you to do it. Moreover, Jordan requested you specifically.”
“Requested? Who cares who he requested? People in hell request ice water, but
maybe they need to brace themselves for disappointment.” Miss C knew full well that
Jordan was an ex-boyfriend; did the woman have no sense of propriety?
“Well someone needs to do it. I’m, ah, helping him out after school, but he needs
someone to keep him motivated during class. I’ve given him permission to turn in all of
his late assignments for full credit up until the last day of school. He can log into his
account and show you what all is missing. If you could remind him to submit it online
that would make my life a lot easier.”
Heather, of course, did not care in the least about making Miss C’s life easier.
“And if I say no? I mean, I have my own work to do! Besides, students shouldn’t get
preferential treatment!”
“While I’m grateful to be given the benefit of your pedagogical expertise, maybe
as the teacher, I could decide how to do the teaching in my classroom, hmm?”
“Do you have time for that, in between blowing and screwing your students?”
Heather snapped.
Immediately, she realized she’d gone too far. Miss C rose to her feet with glacial
calm, striding over and looming quite successfully. “At the end of the semester, I’m
going to average yours and Jordan’s homework scores together. So if you won’t help
your classmate because it’s the right thing to do, then you can help him because your
future depends on it.”
“That’s not fair! If he doesn’t turn in his work, I’ll…” Her lips couldn’t even form
the words.
“You’ll wind up needing that uniform,” said Miss C curtly. She cinched the front
of her dress together with her fingers and strode abruptly back into her classroom. Even
as the sounds of her addressing her class reached her ears, Jordan stepped into the lab
before the curtains had even swung closed.
“You heard all that?” Heather asked in a muted voice. She was horrified, while at
the same time feeling numb. Suddenly, her future hinged on the success of the laziest
jerk in her entire class.
“More or less. She and I have been talking about it for a while now. Gotta say,
nice to be upgrading to a newer model.”
Heather frowned at him. “Then let’s make everything perfectly clear. I will ​help
you with your assignments. I won’t do them for you, and I won’t tolerate you screwing
around. We’re doing this ​in class,​ too – no extracurriculars. Don’t think I’m wasting my
free time getting you caught up. And don’t you think for a second I’m going to put up
with a tenth of what you put Miss C through. You speak to me like that, so much as lay a
finger on me, and we’re done. Understood?”
Jordan smiled down at her in his classic smug fashion. “Understood.” With that,
he flopped down on the couch – apparently not sharing her apprehension about his and
Miss C’s fluids – and closed his eyes.
“Uh, what do you think you’re doing? You have a shit-ton of homework to catch
up on. This isn’t nap-time. Get your butt up and let’s get to work.”
“Nah.” He didn’t even open his eyes.
“What do you mean ‘nah’? You’re failing, Jordan! You can’t ‘nah’ your way into a
passing grade.”
“Yeah, but if I fail, you fail, right? That’s what Miss Cunt said.”
“Well, yes, but–”
He shrugged. “Then you do it. You’re better at this shit anyway.”
Heather probably railed at him for another ten minutes, in which he yielded not a
single inch. It was the rhetorical equivalent of trying to . The closest she got to
persuading him to get to work was having him bring up a list of his missing assignments
– over two dozen! – and print it out for her so she knew what she needed to do. With
only fifteen minutes to go in the period, she barely had time to finish one, then go back
and rough it up to make it plausible that Jordan had contributed.
“I’m done,” she said with two minutes to the bell. “Now get over here and log in
so I can submit it.” Then she saw he was asleep, so she nudged him awake and repeated
herself.
“Oh. Nah, I’d prefer not to.”
“Rather not? Fuck off, Bartleby. Get your butt over here and enter your
password.”
“Bartleby?”
“The Scrivener? It’s a short story. We read it in Mrs. Brantley’s class? God, you
pay no attention to anything. Anyway, come on, let’s go. Move it. The bell’s about to ring
and I’m not missing my ride.”
“I said, no.”
Heather frowned. “But… OK, tell me your password and I’ll enter it for you.
Jesus, you’re lazy.”
“And I. Said. No.” He sat up, regarding her frostily. “I’d use smaller words, but I
don’t know any simpler way to put it.”
“What? Why not? I literally did your work for you. What more do I have to do?”
His mouth twisted. “Evidently, nothing you’re willing to do.”
She put her hands on her hips, trying not to notice the way he was peering up the
underside of her top. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“You said not to touch you.”
 Heather paused. “I… what? What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, I’ll let you turn in my assignment – ​if​ you lift the touch ban.”
“What? No way!” Letting him feel her up in second period was one thing. That
was part of her education, and in a private place. This, though… this was straight-up
sexual extortion! “Over my dead body. No – not even then, because you still might enjoy
that, you creep.”
He addressed her back as she made to storm out of the lab. “Hey, suit yourself. I
always thought Berkeley was overrated anyway, ya know? Bunch of douchey liberal PC
pricks.”
She froze at the curtain. “You wouldn’t. ​She​ wouldn’t.”
“You don’t think she would?” He shouted, “HEY! MISS C! GET YOUR FAT
FUCKABLE ASS IN HERE!”
A moment later, their teacher nearly collided with Heather in her haste. The
woman even had the gall to glare at Heather like it was her fault for being in the way.
“What’s up?” she asked, as if his method of summoning her had been perfectly standard.
“Babe, you’d totally flunk Heather if she doesn’t help me, right? That wasn’t a
bluff?”
“Of course it wasn’t a bluff. Why, did she refuse?”
Brimming with indignation, Heather interrupted. “I – we – did an assignment,
but he won’t log in and let me submit it!”
“Because she’s not as good of a teacher as you, my little puss fountain.” He
affected a pout, the sort of thing that might weaken the knees of girls with no
self-esteem.
Kristy swayed across the room, releasing her hold on the split in her dress, ample
cleavage suddenly visible. “But you do have an assignment to turn in?” she asked as she
settled onto his lap. She didn’t even have the decency to sit sideways, instead
straight-out straddling him.
“Yeah, I got it done,” he lied, “but I just don’t feel like handing it in.”
Instead of slapping him, Miss C only cooed as his hand slipped inside her dress,
squeezing one heavy boob. Heather knew firsthand what that boob felt like, and Jordan
was clearly exaggerating his satisfaction. “What can I do to make you feel like it?”
Jordan reached under the woman’s dress with his other hand to fondle a
decidedly bare ass, then leaned in and whispered in her ear. Then the two began to make
out right in front of her, and were still at it when the afternoon announcements
commenced. That meant only a couple minutes to go in the period.
“So… can I go, or what? I tried today. I really tried,” she said, trying to pry her
teacher’s attention away from her student’s tongue.
“Come here,” Miss C said. Her mouth never really came away from Jordan’s, but
the speech was intelligible enough.
 Gingerly, Heather came up behind her teacher. “Um, yeah?”
“You see what I’m doing?” she asked.
Being a giant slut?​ Heather thought. “Yes,” Heather said.
“Tell me what I’m doing.”
With her sex ed teacher in front of her, she would be embarrassed to get
squeamish over something as pedestrian as description of sex acts, even if they were
between two of her least favorite people. “You’re kissing him, and grinding your pussy
against his cock through his jeans.”
“Technically correct, but you’re missing the spirit of the answer,” replied Miss C
as Jordan shredded open the front of her dress for what seemed to be the second time
that day. Most of the remaining buttons clattered around the room. “You see, what I’m
doing is ​motivating​ him.”
“Oh.” Heather made a face, and in the relative quiet picked up the sounds of the
rest of the class packing up their things and heading out early. No reason to wait for the
bell when their teacher was once more fixated on teaching Jordan’s dick in preference of
teaching the rest of the class.
“Pay attention, Heather. If you want to get him moving, you have to give him
something to move towards. Use all of your assets. Your mind and your experience, yes,
but you have so much more to offer the world.”
“Are you saying my tits are an offering to the world?” Heather demanded of Miss
C as Jordan sucked on hers.
“I’m saying, what you were trying wasn’t cutting it, and what I’m doing has
yielded some results. So suck it up, step it up, and put those udders to use.
Understood?”
Heather gaped. “You can’t seriously be telling me I have to whore myself out to a
classmate on pain of flunking your class!”
“I’m saying, if you want to wear that outfit as a trampy Halloween costume at a
Berkeley frat house instead of wearing it to work so men can stuff sweaty wads of singles
down those shorts, start getting serious about doing what your teacher – teachers,
actually – tell you to do.”
Heather gave herself a moment to analyze her options, but the choice was all too
clear. Jeopardize Berkeley, or…
“So… do you wanna play with my titties, Jordan?” she said, trying to sound
cheerful. She’d learned her lessons well in sex ed, and while she didn’t care at all for
chauvinistic terms like “titties,” Jordan did, and Berkeley deserved her best effort.
“I dunno,” he said after popping Miss C’s nipple out of his mouth. “After the way
you were acting earlier, I’m not sure. Tell ya what. Lift your top up and jump around a
little for me. Show me how those puppies can jiggle.”
 It was something he’d already seen earlier in the day, but who was she to decline
him? Still, even the moment of hesitation wasn’t fast enough for their teacher. “The man
said to shake your tits for him, Heather. Now do you want credit for my class or not?”
She hoped her scowl targeted Miss C exclusively. It was short-lived nonetheless,
quickly covered by the bottom of her shirt as she whipped it up to reveal her tits in all
their tattooed glory. The bosomy blonde bounced on the balls of her feet, making sure to
over-do it for maximum jiggle. Why did this feel so natural in second period and so
utterly humiliating in seventh? She couldn’t have said. Luckily, neither member of her
small audience seemed to care about how she felt about it. Not in the least.
“Eh, I think I’m gonna fuck Miss Cunt’s tits this afternoon. Is that what you call
irony? Huh, maybe I’m learning something in here after all,” Jordan remarked. “But
hey, thunder titties, maybe if you actually put in a little effort tomorrow, I’ll let you
motivate me some.”
Why did Miss C smile at that? It was one thing to use her body as an instructional
aid, but she didn’t have to act like she enjoyed having this pig objectify her. From the
way the woman giggled at the suggestion, though – and from the way her nipples
hardened before her eyes, Heather noted – she was very enthused about teaching this
particular student. No wonder she wanted to drag Heather in on it. She seemed
oblivious to what an onerous task it truly was.
“Oh. OK then,” Heather said as amiably as she could. “I’ll leave you two to it, I
guess.”
The bell rang while she was still gathering her supplies, and practically the
moment it did, Conner was rushing in so heedlessly that he crashed into her in the
course of her exit. “Oh gosh, I’m sorry! Are you OK?” he said, looking her over – and not
only to make sure he hadn’t hurt her. That felt nice. She didn’t wear these outfits to
delight the male eye, but for those big soft baby blues, she didn’t mind the attention.
“I’m fine, Conner. How about you? Ditching class again?”
He scowled down at a piece of paper wadded up in his fist for some reason. “No.
I… had to, um, check on… I dunno. It’s top secret editor-in-chief stuff. Classified.”
She made a sound of mild interest, but inwardly she burned with curiosity. Top
secret? What could it be? To think her boyfriend was involved in classified affairs…! She
didn’t want to pressure him to divulge it, though. That wouldn’t be fair to him.
“Is Jordan still in here?” he asked, looking around the room as if he expected to
find his quarry hiding under a desk or something.
“Yeah, Miss C’s helping him complete some assignments in the computer lab.
They just got started, so it could be a while. I wouldn’t bother – you know how she gets
when she’s helping someone.”
Conner’s anxious face softened somewhat. “Yeah, she’s pretty hands on with her
students – but I guess I don’t need to tell you that.”
 Heather’s jaw dropped in mostly feigned offense, and she gave him a little punch
as she demanded he take it back. The jab made her Hooters top slip up over her tits, but
it was nothing Conner hadn’t seen a million times. Honestly, the way this thing fit, half
the school had probably seen them today. (​And yet the male student body somehow
endured the “distraction” of seeing my tits out,​ she thought bitterly.)
“Come on, walk me out,” she said, extending a hand. “I’ll tell you about our
exciting date plans coming up next Friday.”
He peered hard in the direction of the computer lab, but after a long stare he took
her hand. The wad of paper was still in it, though, and curious if it had something to do
with these top secret editor activities, she hastily snatched it and darted away to look at
it. “What’s this?”
Conner stammered incoherently as she read it over, and she fast tuned him out.
What the heck was going on?
 “[Heather Blake] is focused entirely on her future, and that future centers
entirely around Berkeley. There is nothing else that comes close to mattering that
much to her.”
– Kristiana Coszic-Lewandoski

“Her academic aptitude extremely high, but she struggles with taking direction.
If she expects to attend top tier institutions per goals, Heather [Blake] would benefit
from learning to follow directives, especially in classes where material challenges her.”
– Excerpted from a career survey

“Mistakes? No. I am going to do whatever it takes to get to Berkeley, hear me?

“They only give full ride scholarships to legacies and unrepentant kiss-asses.
The way she’s pissed off the administration, that bitch [Heather Blake] would have to
spend the rest of the year non-stop ingratiating herself to any teacher who’ll let her.
It’s totally obvious to everyone. Totally old hat.”
– Kirsten Vaughan
 “Conner? What is all this?” she asked again, this time with a little more gravity to
her tone.
“I… I didn’t write any of it,” he said shakily.
“I’m not asking if you wrote it. I’m asking what it was doing wadded up in your
hand.”
“Heather, it’s not… I’m not sure what…” As her eyes narrowed to slits, he stopped
himself to regain his composure. “All right. Let me be honest with you.”
“That would be nice.” She folded her arms.
He moistened his lips at least three times before he finally began to speak. “It’s…
have you heard about those experiments where they expose an AI to something and then
let it try to reproduce its own version?”
“Um, I think so, yeah. They always seem kinda fake.”
“They probably are. But this one… I, um, programmed an AI to listen to students
talk, uh, about you – like, with my phone? – um, and then I had it print out its own, you
know, like, versions. Of words. Sayings. Quotes. About you.” He winced as if expecting
her to sock him.
“You. Programmed an artificial intelligence. With next to no computing
knowledge. And had it record people talking about me, somewhere or the other. Then
had it make up facts. All of which happen to sound totally legit and are, more or less,
true.”
“Um, yes…?”
“That… is…” She tried to think of the right word. “Incredible!”
Conner eased his defensive posture. “Really? You believed me?”
“Sure, why wouldn’t I?”
“No yeah, totally.” He smiled feebly.
“Seriously, that’s so impressive! Man, what even possessed you to try something
like that? AI! That’s some seriously advanced programming, and I didn’t even think you
dabbled, much less possessed ​that​ kind of talent!”
“What can I say,” he said sheepishly. “Top secret editor-in-chief stuff.”
 By the time Heather arrived in Miss C’s class the next day, she felt as if she had
undergone a transformation, for the better. Better yet, she could even say she owed it all
to Conner.
She’d spent a lot of time in the intervening evening reflecting on what his little AI
experiment had produced. It was silly, she knew, to ascribe any more merit to these
random musings (with their eerily accurate portrayal of the speakers listed!) than she
would to a horoscope column. Still, sometimes there was wisdom to be found even in the
most unlikely of places.
She looked back on her behavior of that day with not a small amount of dread.
Yesterday, she’d nearly let her pride get in the way of her dream. Sure, what Miss C had
demanded of her was degrading and distasteful – no, it was outright repulsive – but was
it worse than giving up on herself? She hadn’t been wrong about Heather’s prospects,
either. With an inheritance from her grandfather, she could afford to go to school
anywhere. Without it? She ​might​ be able to afford community college on scholarships.
Certainly no one would give her a loan, even with her mother to co-sign. She was a
waitress, after all, making less than minimum wage before tips. Her name wasn’t even
on the deed to the house – that was a gift from her sister, who’d fared far better after
their father’s passing. The only way Heather was going to go to college rather than
follow in her mother’s footsteps – wearing that dreadful uniform she’d worn today – was
by landing the straight A’s that would trigger the money set aside in that will.
Was it fair, being at the mercy of her teachers like this? No. Still, there were kids
in her class getting straight A’s who wouldn’t receive a dime for it. It would be
completely stupid of her not to do everything she could to pull this off. And there it was,
that printout from Conner, with all the accidentally brilliant insights. Focus on her
future. Follow directions, especially when she found the task cumbersome. Ingratiate
herself to her teachers, even the ones she didn’t like. Kissing ass wasn’t glamorous, but it
was a small price to pay. Plus, even if she didn’t like the source, there had been that
advice from Miss C to use all of her assets, not to value pride over results.
She would do whatever it took.
So when Heather went in to school the following day, it was with an entirely new
and better attitude. Her alarm was set to allow an extra half hour to prepare. She styled
her hair with some soft waves, spent extra time on her makeup, even a dab of perfume.
The brilliant, buxom, blue-eyed blonde beauty set out for Northside with hope and
determination vying for supremacy in her heart.
First period was earth/space science. She arrived twenty minutes before the first
bell and made her way over to where Mr. Baird was sleepily sipping at his coffee. He’d
barely acknowledged her presence before she’d fished an apple out of her purse and set
it on his desk as an offering. “An apple a day, Mr. Baird!” she said pleasantly, giggling at
nothing. She’d made sure to bend over deep when she set it down so he could get a nice
long view down her shirt. It was a simple thing, a loose-fitting t-shirt that read “Yes
Daddy” across the chest. She’d tailored it this morning, cutting a sizeable heart-shaped
hole to showcase her boobs, but enough of the original text was there to let the
imagination fill in what the gap had removed.
It perked Mr. Baird right up, that was for sure. He had a reputation for favoring
the hot dumb girls, and the hotter and dumber, the more favoritism. This late in the year
it was too late to convince him she was truly dumb, considering she’d had a solid A in his
honors class since last September.
Still, she could help him forget.
“You look tired, Mr. Baird,” she said as he took a tentative bite of the apple. “Not
sleep well last night?”
“Eh,” he replied, which she took as agreement.
“Yeah, I know how you mean. My mom? She likes it, like, way toastier in the
house than me?” All her life she’d heard girls end declarative statements with question
marks, but she found it surprisingly challenging to dumb herself down enough to try.
“So, like, you know how hot it was out last night? Yeah, so like, I was totally sweating my
tits off, so I had to like, take my pajamas off and just sleep above the covers.” She
wrinkled her nose, as if the image was somehow distasteful despite sounding anything
but. (To a man’s ears, anyway.)
Now he was listening. Good. “You look tense, Mr. Baird. You feeling OK?”
“Um…” he said around a mouthful of apple.
“Here, let me rub your back. That would help, right?” Before he could object, she
was behind him, her fingers sinking into the abundant flesh along his shoulders. She’d
learned a lot about this in second period, and within moments, his head was lolling
forward, apple and coffee forgotten.
Would it be weird to him that she’d come in today and spontaneously begun
flirting her ass off? Maybe. But he knew full well she was a suck-up, and if she was
hinting at sucking something else today, it was perfectly in character for her.
She kept right on massaging right up until the bell, ignoring her classmates filing
in as she worked lower and lower down his back, using the opportunity to wrap her tits
around his neck while she got the lower reaches, smashing them into his back as she
kneaded his pecs. “Any time you need another one, you let me know, mkay?” she
chirped, giving him a wink and skipping back to her desk. There, she spent the rest of
the period moving her legs like she was using an invisible thighmaster, her skirt making
sure he got a solid glimpse of her pink silk panties.
Second period was the easiest, as usual. Sex ed was one of her only non-honors
classes, and Mr. Lyons was a notoriously biased grader. The sluts in class who threw
themselves at his cock were practically guaranteed max participation points, so that day,
that was precisely what she set out to do. From the moment he walked into the room,
she was on him, one hand down his pants, her other directing his grasp to both of her
tits before pawing needily at his chest as she begged for him to fuck her. Because she
knew how his mind worked, she even told him that she’d been horny out of her mind
after yesterday afternoon, and Conner had been too much of a pussy to satisfy her,
again.
(Conner had, in fact, satisfied her amply, but she wasn’t here to be honest. She
was here to ingratiate herself.)
On her way to third period she had a brief skirmish with Holly from Pride. “What
are you wearing, Heather?” she demanded of her as they passed in the math hallway.
“Today we were supposed to do leopard print, remember?”
“I know, I know. But I have to start thinking about ​my​ future, and not about the
politics of Northside High,” she said. She saw Mr. Rodriguez coming and seized the
opportunity to soften him up for later in the day, lowering her skirt on the side to bare
her hip and half of her ass to show Holly the tattoo of an anthropomorphic leopard with
fuzzy tits on her right hip. Her Spanish teacher nearly collided with a pair of freshman
as he ogled.
Holly was only somewhat mollified, but Heather had places to be. Calculus,
taught by Mrs. Peete, didn’t afford the same opportunities for self-advancement as her
other morning classes, but after a little ass-kissing about how interesting their lecture
video had been last night, she settled in to pay attention.
About ten minutes into the class, Gary McGonagle started mouthing off and
being a nuisance, as was too often the case. Heather knew it drove Mrs. Peete positively
berserk. Forty years of teaching hadn’t done much to give her patience with blowhards.
Heather raised her hand, waving it until the old school marm noticed and called on her.
“Mrs. Peete, Gary’s been really annoying,” she said.
“That makes two of us,” quipped Gary.
“Pipe down, Mr. McGonagle. Ms. Blake, unless you brought a muzzle to class,
we’ll both just have to cope.”
“I can muzzle him – if you want,” she said before the woman could turn back to
her lesson. “I already went over today’s lesson online – the video was really awesome, by
the way, thank you – so I wouldn’t be missing anything.”
“Muzzle me? What am I, a dog?” Gary asked. Then, to make sure he was as
irritating as possible, he gave the class a few barks.
Mrs. Peete’s old eyes narrowed, but she simply shrugged. “If you can find a way to
occupy the boy, be my guest. Now, where were we? If we examine the slope field of our
differential equation…”
As their teacher continued, Heather made her way over to Gary’s desk, ignoring
his bemused smirk. Whatever he’d expected her to do, though, it hadn’t been to seat
herself atop his desk, release one enormous breast from the hole in her shirt, and stuff it
into his mouth.
For years, ever since she’d grown the things, she’d heard lewd comments and cat
calls about what guys thought they would like to do to them. Gary, she remembered, had
once said he’d “suck dem nips right off dem titties” – then refused to apologize when
she’d confronted him, the ass. Today, he did his noble best. With Heather stuffing his
face full of tit, he was transfixed, powerless to engage in his usual antics with such a
worthy alternative.
“Thank you for that, Ms. Blake,” said Mrs. Peete as the class dismissed for fourth
period. “Some days I really think that boy will be the harbinger of my retirement.”
“Any time, Mrs. Peete,” said Heather, snatching a wad of tissues from her
teacher’s desk to mop the saliva off her exposed breast. “See you tomorrow!”
Fourth period was AP US History, or APUSH. Mrs. Coyne was out for the day and
had the class watching a video about the escalation of the Vietnam War under Nixon and
doing a packet for some easy points. It was a pretty pointless filler activity that Heather
knew she could answer at home (especially since the video was streaming from
youtube), so she simply snuck off to the back of the darkened room to ask the sub, Mr.
Chapin, what she could do to guarantee a positive review on her performance. When she
caught him glancing down at her very exposed cleavage, she simply smiled, slid down to
her knees, and treated him to a leisurely tit fuck for the rest of the period, finishing him
with her mouth when she saw the bell was about to ring.
“That’s Heather Blake,” she said, gesturing to the notepad where he was leaving
feedback on Mrs. Coyne’s classes. He nodded hastily, and she watched him write
Heather Blake was an extra special help today – above and beyond! w ​ ith a smiley face
after it. She blew him a kiss and left for lunch, where a couple of people at her table
teased her for blowing the substitute.
“I mostly only used my tits,” she insisted, but they teased her good-naturedly for
that, too.
“Typical Heather – sucking up by sucking down.” She laughed and dug into her
tuna casserole as the conversation turned to more interesting topics than her boring old
academic habits.
After lunch was more of the same. Brit Lit with Mrs. Brantley featured an
assignment she finished with adequate time to spare. Her speed gave her the
opportunity to organize some of her shelves, where her sophomores had haphazardly
dumped the copies of the book they’d recently finished. Mrs. Brantley thanked her on
her way out, though Heather didn’t miss the way she almost took it for granted by now
that Heather would go out of her way to find ways to help out.
(Maybe she and her husband were looking to spice things up and could use a
third some night? She made a mental note to make a research project of it.)
 In sixth period Spanish, Mr. Rodriguez had them taking turns reading passages
from their novel, ​La casa de los espiritus​. He had ample material to cover and no time
for his diversions, so she simply lifted her shirt over her tits the way he liked and
massaged her nipples whenever she caught him staring too long. It was pretty uncool of
him, lusting after a girl young enough to be his daughter, being more interested in the
quality of her bodies than of her mind. Still, an A was an A. Soon, she’d leave him in the
dust and move on to bigger, more exciting things than a rube like him could imagine.
“Anything else I can do to help my grade in here?” she asked him pointedly after
class. No sense beating around the bush; he understood the status quo. Some teachers
had integrity, and some pretended to, but Mr. Rodriguez was a straight shooter. A perv
for sure, but she could respect him for being honest about it.
He stroked his chin while leering up and down her body. Mostly up. The man was
nothing if not a sucker for big tits. “Tell you what. My car could use a good wash. Why
don’t you come over after school Friday and I’ll let you wash it for me.”
That was the night she was taking Conner to the comedy club, but she ought to
have time. A car wash – plus whatever that lead to – wouldn’t take that long. “You got it,
Señor Rodriguez. See you around three thirty?”
“Sounds good.” He stopped her with a few fingers in the waistband of her skirt.
And panties, she realized. “And Heather?”
“Yeah?”
“Wear your skimpiest bikini for me, OK? If you really want that grade, that is.”
“Como desées, Señor! No puedo esperar para mostrar mis senos!” He
complimented her on her Spanish and her commitment, and soon sent her on her way.
She could have done without the thumb up her ass, but whatever. Indignities like that
were temporary. Berkeley was the future.
Finally, it was time to head back to yearbook.
Class opened with Conner and Amanda leading a progress update meeting,
passing on news about the printing and binding schedule as it pertained to the few
remaining projects. Heather couldn’t tell if the editoress was giving her stinkeye for
bailing on her Pride wear like Holly had, but she at least had the consolation of knowing
that her own outfit was every bit as much a stand against the patriarchy as Amanda’s
slinky micro mini dress. (That girl’s genes really were unfair.)
Jordan browsed social media on his phone during the whole meeting, but
Heather was using it as an opportunity to be productive. The whole time, she was
bracing herself for the unsavory task of bringing that lout up to speed to save his grade,
and thus hers. There was no use insisting on the injustice of it all, no more so than when
Mrs. Peete had given them a take-home test on Halloween, or Mr. Baird’s son had
tossed out their lab reports with the household recycling and they’d had to retake it. It
was what it was and she needed to adapt.
 Ergo, she spent the meeting half-listening to Conner drone on in his charmingly
dorky way about yearbook affairs while replaying prom night in her head on loop.
Watching Amanda go down on Conner while Miss C drove them to her house. The three
of them stripping for him in her living room, each zeroed in on whose body drew his
eyes first, and how long it held them, and where. Making out with him over Amanda’s
splayed-out body while he leisurely fucked her, Miss C kneading her tits for his
amusement. Seeing Amanda take the initiative to lick his cum off of her tits, watching
Miss C hurry to follow suit, dying inside of envy that her tongue couldn’t reach that far.
The four of them crammed into Miss C’s thankfully spacious shower, none of the women
able to track any more whose hands were grasping at whose tits, whose pussies, whose
asses, but all of them imagining they had Conner’s attention and buzzing head to toe in
smug bliss.
“Heather?”
She blinked. Conner – the real Conner, clothed and not coated in sweat, spit, and
girl juices – was standing in front of her, smiling softly. The meeting had ended
somewhere in there, leaving her stewing in a puddle of her own arousal. “Sorry, was
daydreaming a little. What’d I miss?”
“I’ll say. I was asking if you wanted to work on the meta spread today. The end of
the year is coming up pretty soon, so I figured we should get to finishing touches.”
“Oh! Yeah, we definitely need to get on that.” She glanced over to Miss C, who
was sitting at her desk and watching her expectantly. “I, um, have another thing I was
supposed to help Miss C with, though.”
“Come on, I know what your project load is. Nothing time-sensitive. Throw a guy
a bone and let him take the opportunity to spend the period working with his
girlfriend?”
She grinned. “You’re too sweet, you know that?”
He took her hand. “Well?”
She glanced back to Miss C, ready to have her aspirations dashed, but was
surprised to see the woman smiling at the two of them. At Conner, anyway. That creepy
smile she had whenever he was working on something with her, or with Amanda. It was
too knowing and too indulgent by half. Still, if Miss C playing favorites with Conner gave
her a period making a slideshow with him instead of whatever debaucheries Jordan had
in mind, she was all for it.
In their office, with Amanda working only a few feet away, it was hard not to let
that jealous tide keeping carrying her along in its wake. She was so lucky! She got to be
stuffed into a closed room with him with minimal supervision for an hour a day. It was
like they got a free date every afternoon – how was she supposed to compete with that?
Still, it was some small satisfaction to see Amanda fidgeting in her own seat, thighs
rubbing together subconsciously as she took in the sight of Conner’s hand gently resting
on her thigh. Heather knew full well by now that the girl’s capacity for envy was every bit
as deeply ingrained as her own.
“Do you guys smell that?” he asked at one point.
“No!” exclaimed Amanda and Heather in unison, sharing a brief, alarmed look.
They both knew full well what it was, because they smelled it every morning in second
period, only at ten times the intensity.
He sniffed. “It smells kinda good, I think, or at least reminds me of something
good…” He took another deep whiff, not quite placing it..
Mortified, Heather redirected his attention to his laptop. “Hey, what do you think
about left-aligning the slide titles instead of center? It would open up room to expand
the graphics up the right side, which would be handy for that shot of Marisa using
DeShaun as a human ladder to get a shot at the homecoming game.”
And he was once more distracted. They stole away for the whole period like that
and Miss C didn’t say a damn thing. She tried not to listen as he and Amanda shored up
their plans for the evening. They had the courtesy to try to make it sound like yearbook
stuff, but nobody grinned like that without something more salacious in mind. She
watched as the two strode out the door, her heart pounding in her chest with how much
she wished that could be her. She’d been dialed up to eleven all period.
Then, Jordan stepped out from behind the curtain, lipstick smeared across his
cheeks and neck in the same shade Miss C had been wearing. Her creepy, lazy, douchey,
vulgar ex-boyfriend, an albatross around her neck and the gravest threat to her Berkeley
dreams. And he was covered in evidence of Miss C’s affection. Miss C, who’d tried to
steal Conner from her time and again.
Heather threw herself at him.
Their bodies collided with the wall, then reeled through the curtain and nearly
slammed into their surprised teacher, who looked to be in the midst of tucking her
blouse back into her skirt. Heather ignored her, thrusting her tongue into Jordan’s
mouth with the same intensity that she thrust his body onto the couch. It creaked
alarmingly under the force of their combined weight slamming down, but Heather
wasn’t waiting for results. Her shirt was off, thrown across the room so hard it nearly
knocked one of the monitors over. She clawed his shirt off next, immediately going to
work on his pants.
“Whoa there, tittycakes – what got into you?” Jordan asked, laughing in obvious
delight at her aggression.
“I need this ​so​ bad,” she breathed, raising her skirt up around her waist. What
had she been thinking, wearing panties? It was only slowing her down.
“You do, do you? How’s come? You’ve been in a mood today, I swear.” No doubt
he was referring to second period, when she’d made an unprecedented voluntary offer of
her ass. He’d declined, but had decidedly noticed her going above and beyond.
 Miss C was taking notice as well. “Indeed, Heather. Yesterday, you spent the
whole period dragging your feet, and today you avoided your responsibilities to goof off
with Conner. Now, all of the sudden, this…?”
“Just fuck me,” she pleaded. “You can both fuck me if you want. I don’t care. Just
hurry up and fuck me.”
But Jordan grabbed her wrists and stopped her in the midst of jacking him back
to erection. She could still feel the wetness of Miss C’s pussy on him. “Hold it. You said
nothing out of class, didn’t you? Nothing extracurricular? Ring a bell? So tell me what
you’re doing, ya little freak.”
She cocked her head to the side. Was he being obtuse on purpose? But Miss C
looked as stern and perplexed herself. Considering they were the ones making her do
this, it was hard to believe they could be so dense. Heather pushed her arms back hard
against Jordan’s grip, and though he could have overpowered her, he didn’t. She braced
herself on his chest, lining up her pussy over his cock, the tip of it twitching tantalizingly
on the fringes of her throbbing sex.
“Homework.”
The valedictorian-to-be lowered herself onto his waiting shaft, moaning in
unwilling ecstasy as this deadbeat’s prick filled the gushing ocean of her pussy. She
leaned down in his ear, her dagger-hard nipples smashed against his chest. The smile
that crept over her face had nothing to do with the shaft of molten pleasure filling her, or
seeing that bitch Miss C sink to her knees to wait her turn to assist her, and certainly
nothing to do with the unfortunate necessity of whoring herself out to students and staff
alike.
“You’re not at home, bimbo,” said Jordan, snapping his fingers and gesturing for
Miss C to disrobe. His hands then settled on Heather’s ass, right over the ​YES PLEASE
tattoo and the one that sort of looked like a tree, but if you looked closer, all the leaves
were tits. Had Jordan ever noticed that about it? He’d probably never paid much
attention to her tats, what with his negative attitude about feminism.
He was right, though. Not about her being a bimbo – that was only a lesson she’d
learned, a tool like sohcahtoa or i before e or the states and capitals song. Tools in her
kit to get where she was going, titties and pussies, an angel face and ample ass. But it
was true that this dingy couch with these provincial failures was not home.
Heather closed her eyes, and sighed as her partners melted away. They were
replaced, as they had been time and again, by hazy dreams of walking to class past
Sather Tower; people watching in the Sproul Plaza; ascending the marble steps of
Bancroft Library; and basking in the culture and legacy of the Free Speech Movement
Café.
Her hips began to rock. “I am now.”