Apple For Teacher
by Kallie Thomas
****Because apparently it is necessary, I will include this disclaimer: this is
a work of fiction. I write it because it arouses me, it pleases me, and I hope
it will have the same effect on those who read it. It is not real, nor should
it ever be real. If you have difficulty separating reality from fantasy, back
slowly away from my writing-I'm sure there's a technical manual out there with
your name written all over it.****
Ms. Manetti. What a hottie-all us boys wanted her, had from day one of 12th
grade at St. Peter's Academy. She wasn't one of those half-starved, leggy
things so many claim to lust after-who wants to fuck a skeleton? No, she was
soft, sweetly curved, sensuous. Lovely, curved hips, perky, round ass, and tits
to die for. Tits straining under her demure angora sweaters, ass moving
maddeningly in her modest skirt. She was the fodder for a few dozen frustrated
Catholic boys' jerk-off sessions.
I know this is going to sound like I'm bragging-I'm not. Because you see, she
was the sweetest thing. Soft voice, big doe eyes, always a kind word.
Encouraging, gentle. So when I tell you this, know that I'm not boasting, I'm
confessing my sins.
It happened the last day before Spring Break. When we went to her classroom
late after the day had ended, we didn't plan on doing what we did. After
wrestling practice, we'd been walking through the parking lot and noticed her
car had a flat tire. Honest to God, that's all we meant to do-tell her about
her tire, offer to change it. We were just kids, Josh and I. Our fantasies ran
to the mundane, not the violent.
Walking down the deserted hall toward her class, we heard a crash, a muffled
cry. We sped up, making a beeline for Ms. Manetti's classroom When we burst
in to see five men crowded around her, pinning her to her desk, hand over her
mouth, we stood stunned. The men turned, and I saw one of them had a gun.
"Close that fucking door, punk," he growled, "or the slut here is dead." Ms.
Manetti's huge brown eyes looked at us-terrified, pleading. I closed the
door-what else could I do? The man with the gun motioned us to sit at our
desks. Told us to not even think of interfering if we wanted our hot little
teacher to survive the night. We did as we were told.
The men manhandled her, flipped her on her belly and bound her elbows together
behind her back as she fought like a wildcat. Why was she fighting? Wasn't
she afraid to die? One look in her anguished eyes and I knew-she'd rather die
than have her students see her raped. I looked down, embarrassed for her, not
wanting to watch the humiliation she was about to suffer. I did love her so. I
still do.
One of the men roughly ripped her panties from her, jamming them into her mouth.
His belt came off, was looped around her head, cruelly run through her mouth,
forcing the panties deep in her throat. She gagged helplessly, began to buck
wildly. Each buck hiked her skirt higher, until her sweet ass was bare, cheeks
shaking with her struggles. I could see her hairless pussy lips, the clean,
maddening slit. I felt myself begin to stiffen, hated myself for it.
I glanced, ashamed, at Josh, and saw the huge bulge in the front of his slacks,
and knew I wasn't alone in my shame. Ms. Manetti's struggles increased as the
man behind her unzipped his pants and released his engorged cock. He pressed it
against her pussy lips, and she began writhing on her desktop. She was so tiny,
so petite-her shapely legs didn't quite touch the floor, kicked in vain as the
man relentlessly drove his swollen dick past her shaven lips, into her tight,
dry pussy.
"GMMMNNNNOOOOMPH!" her cries became tortured screams behind the makeshift gag.
Her lovely ass rose, jumped wildly, trying to escape this impaling of her young
twat by this giant tool. Each jump of her hips drove him deeper and deeper, and
her legs worked madly, seeking some purchase, some foothold by which she could
shake this monster off her. But she was pinned-there was no escaping this
pounding-and pounding it was. Her desk scooted a little each violent thrust,
her hips slammed against the hard metal edge. With each drive into her, she
screamed through the panties jammed in her mouth, and I became harder. God help
me.
One of the men grabbed her head, laughing, "This gag just ain't cuttin' it," he
smiled, unzipped his ratty jeans. His cock-huge, purple, and uncut, sprang
forth, bobbing before her wide, horror-stricken eyes. Loosening the belt, he
pulled the gag from her and forced his dick in her mouth in one smooth motion,
effectively silencing her. "MMMMGGGPPHH" was all she could manage, and even
that was cut off as he pushed his giant cock deeper, deeper, until it was in her
throat, cutting off all air. Wrapping his hands in her hair, he began to fuck
her face furiously, slamming so deep that her nose was pressed into his pubic
hair. I hadn't even known that was possible-how could she take it so deep?
Was he really down her throat? I watched, horrified, fascinated, saw her throat
working, expanding, and knew that, yes, it was possible, and he was down her
throat. My cock ached, throbbing. Another peek at Josh, and I knew we were
both going to hell. No doubt about it.
The man fucking her pussy began to pump at a frenzied pace, his climax
approaching. Every hammering stroke shook her violently, and she grunted around
the cock in her mouth, groaned in pain. Shouting hoarsely, the man came inside
her, his cock twitching, spitting forth wave after wave of hot spunk into her
pussy. I watched her legs kick at him, trying to save her womb from the flood
of cum. His ass cheeks contracted, thighs stiffened as he emptied his testes
into her.
Pulling out of her reddening pussy, the man turned to us-and winked. Oh, I
hated him. Wanted to kill him for what he'd done. I looked at her trembling
ass, saw his cum trickling out of her quivering pussy, running down her
pinkening thighs. Another jolt, and I was harder, still-so hard it hurt, begged
for release. How could I be aroused? I was still pondering this when the man
in her mouth began to moan, pick up his pace. Slamming into her face, driving
down her throat, his cock exploded, coursing hot, sour cum in her mouth, down
her throat. He forced her head to his belly, cock deep in her throat, ensuring
she swallowed every drop. "AGGHHHHMM" she cried around his huge, spewing tool,
struggling to not vomit, to swallow, to breathe. As his dick became limp, he
pulled out, wiping it on her sweet, pretty cheek. She began to sob softly. I
wanted to take her into my arms . . . and fuck her. Oh, sweet Jesus, I wanted
to fuck her.
Another man behind her, whispering, "What a sweet little ass you have, teach-and
I brought you a treat." Pulling his turgid cock from his pants, he began
pressing the head against her small, pink rectum. She screamed, "NOOOOOO! Ah,
D-dear G-god in Heaven, p-p-please NOOOOOOO!" The men laughed raucously as she
was impaled, her asshole forced wide. When he had buried his tool to the hilt,
he pulled her back from the desk, and she hung, struggling on his cock. Her
legs swung back and forth, kicking ineffectually. The man turned, lay back on
the desk with her on top of him, face up. Pussy up. He held her to him, hands
roughly kneading her breasts through her pretty blue sweater. Another man
stepped up, cock already in hand. He drove it into her deep, bottoming out,
slamming cruelly as the man in her ass began to match his stroakes.
"AAAARRRR, AH, GOD, it HUUUURTS!" Ms Manetti was writhing, thrashing, her back
arching, legs kicking around the man in her pussy's waist. Every buck, every
struggled drove them deeper into her, and they laughed cruelly at her struggles.
The last man stepped up, pulled her head to the side and sank his impossibly
wide cock into her straining mouth. Her cheeks ballooned, her throat tore as
he pushed mercilessly in, then began fucking her head, his belly slamming her
nose, his balls smacking her cheek. Sometimes he would pause, sunk deep in her
throat, and just move his hips slightly, enjoying the constricting of her throat
around his manhood as she gaggled helplessly.
.
Josh and I were stricken, yet unspeakably aroused. Our young cocks strained,
pled for release. The men heaved on her, in her, triple fucking her as her body
protested, wriggled in agony. As the men came, one after another, filling her,
she moaned around the giant man in her mouth. Cum mixed with blood, ran down
her thighs, puddled on the floor. They left her there, spread, battered on the
desk, and turned to us. I actually feared they would rape us next. I wish they
had.
Their eyes fell on our aching, swollen crotches, and they began to laugh.
"Sorry, teach," one of them crowed, "Looks like you're not done-your students
here have a little something for you." Josh and I both shook our heads
violently. Yes, we were aroused, but no way were we going to rape Ms.
Manetti-were we?
"Your call, boys, but look at her. You know you want her, no one will ever
know, and hey, she's already been fucked silly-why not have what you've been
needing? You think we don't know?" He grinned cruelly at her moaned denial,
"She struts around her in her little sweaters, her tight skirts, teasing you,
tempting you. Don't you think it's about time you gave her what she deserves?"
Josh and I looked at each other doubtfully . . . hopefully. And then we rose,
strode toward her.
She lifted her head, eyes stricken, horrified, and began to sob anew. The men
gestured for me to go first. I stepped up, almost crying in frustration as I
struggled with my fly. My cock jumped out readily, and I looked in her eyes.
And I was lost-I was going to fuck her, and my God, I wanted to. I wanted to
push every bit of them out of her, shake her so hard that I was all she knew,
fill her with my cum, coat her pussy, her womb in it. I wanted to make her
mine, give her the fucking I knew she'd wanted from me for months. I moved
between her legs, and sought out her clit with my thumb. I thought it would
make it better if I could bring her some pleasure, thought it would make it
easier for her. Oh, how stupid of me. But I was young. My thumb began to move
rhythmically against her bud, pushing in a circular motion. My other hand
moved up her belly, pushing her sweater up over her breasts-those breasts I'd
fantasized about for almost a year now. I tugged at her pretty white lace bra,
trying to get the maddening bit of material out of my way. She whimpered, her
eyes never leaving my face as I, in frustration, tore the bra away, leaving her
lovely, perfect breasts open to my touch. I squeezed first one, then the other,
and she finally tore her eyes from me, began to struggle, to beg, even as her
body began to respond, her hips began to move rhythmically under my hand.
"Brian, please, dear God please stop!" I looked at her and felt so distant-I
didn't know her, didn't care what she wanted. I had a hand on her pussy,
massaging her clit, another on her soft breast, working, pinching, and my ramrod
stiff cock dangling inches from her wet pussy-what did I care what she wanted?
Obviously she wanted ME, why else were her hips moving, her pussy dampening with
her own juice, her voice becoming breathy? Bitch had been a prick tease since
I first laid eyes on her-her hands on my shoulders, her "accidentally" brushing
her breasts against my arm during lab. Oh, she wanted it, she DESERVED it. And
she was going to get it.
I twisted her nipple hard, then slammed my swollen dick into her as her hips
bucked in surprise and pain. Grasping her hips, dragging her legs over my
shoulders, I began slamming myself into her, harder each time, making her grunt
in pain, making her breasts jiggle and dance wildly. And oh, Jesus wept, it was
so amazing. My thighs trembled with excitement and exertion as I heaved on her,
drove into her again and again, pummeled her insides with my cock. I bent
forward, hips still thrusting, and took her nipple into my mouth, sucked hard,
then bit harder. She squealed, her pussy contracting around my tool, milking
me. I shouted, laughed as my cock began to twitch, to dump load after load into
her cunt. I filled her, hot and thick, while she cried. And I didn't care. I
kept thrusting until I was limp, then turned to Josh. I smiled cruelly,
high-fived him. Then he took his place, pulled her legs over his shoulders, and
drove into her ass. I was surprised, but pleased-that meant the last spunk in
her aching pussy would be mine.
She screamed as he plunged into her, "JOSHHHH, ah, GOD, it HURTS, Josh,
P-P-PLEASE!" He laughed, rammed harder, burying his impressive cock all the way
in her protesting asshole before pulling back out to do it again. She shook
with it, her back arched, hips bucked wildly.
"You know," the man with the gun smiled, "You're young-put that puppy in her
mouth and I'll bet you could fuck her again in just a few minutes."
I looked up, shocked, then thoughtful. Yes. Yes, I could. I could plant my
root in her sweet mouth and be hard again in no time. I could come in her pussy
again. Or her ass. Or hell, I could just stay put and choke her with my jizz.
Yes. I could.
I did.
The men departed while I was in her mouth . . . the first time. But we stayed
with her, in her, on her until 5 am. Great thing about spring break, no one
comes to school. We were merciless, relentless, raping her every hole over and
over. I even got to fuck those marvelous tits, spraying my thick, sticky cum
all over her face, her neck. Even up her nose. And I laughed as she snorted,
choked.
I laughed.
Ms. Manetti never came back after spring break, and I don't know what ever
became of her. I hate myself for what we did to her, wish we could take it
back. I go online every week, search, try to find an address for her. And what
would I say if I found her? I would like to think that I would beg forgiveness,
but you know, my body says something else. My body says I'd do it all over
again. And again.
