My Gym Teacher

Probably the one place where having tiny boobs is an advantage is Gym Club. It is difficult for a girl to appear graceful when she has two huge melons hitting her under the chin. I always felt that my body was designed for gymnastics with my slim, supple form and just the right amount of curve in my lithe legs. My bum is probably a little bit too big but even that added to the effect when I touched down after a vault, landing on my feet and standing there with my back arched backwards, my pussy thrust outwards and my generous buttocks curving nicely in the rear. To be honest, although I would never say this out loud, part of the fun of gym was to perform in my skin tight red leotard so my shape was on show as if I were naked but with just enough covering to keep males from salivating over the bits which decency demands I keep covered.

It was because I know I am good at gym that I kept it up, so to speak, after many girls drop it and, even at eighteen, when I was living at home doing A levels, I would be at Gym Club every Thursday evening. The club was led by Terry whom we knew thoroughly enjoyed the sight of a hall full of teenaged girls wearing the bare minimum. He was always on hand to offer words of advice.

"Keep your tummy in and your bum out like this," and his hand would gently press us into the right position. When he advised us to pose after mat work with our hands above our heads he would direct us to keep our legs apart so that we were standing firmly and not wobbling and his hands would press the inside of our thighs to push our legs apart. Sometimes when he did this the top of his hand would accidentally brush the underneath of our leotard as he withdrew it. He never hurt us but there was the slight tingle of excitement as you felt him touch where no-one is ever supposed to touch us. Between ourselves we giggled that he had a peephole into the changing room so that he could watch us in there but there was never any evidence of that. None of us ever breathed a word about Terry to our parents because we were afraid that they would stop us coming to the club.

Anyway this story began one Thursday night after club as we made our way out of the hall to get changed. Terry asked if I would pop back into the hall when I was changed for a quick word. I assumed it was about some aspect of the moves I had been doing and did not think anything of it.

When I went back into the hall Terry was sitting on a pile of gym mats; he was sitting on one side of the top mat with a very obvious space beside him so I sat down. I was now in tight jeans, trainers and a black sweatshirt. Terry began by talking about nothing in particular, just general chat about how I was getting on, was I happy in the club, did I have any suggestions about new things we could do? I realise now that he was wasting time to allow the other girls to leave so we would be alone. Then he came to the point.

"Julie, I was on the internet this week and I found these stories about an eighteen year old living in Bournemouth with her parents and her sister called Gemma. Her dad works in a bank. Does that remind you of anyone?"

My mind short-circuited and for what seemed like a very long time I could not think of a reply. I know what you are thinking -- why did I not invent a character called Susan who lived in Newcastle but they were MY stories and I wanted to be in them. I wanted to somehow experience the things I wrote and that would not work if they were about someone else. I had reckoned that there are seven billion people in the world and hardly any of them have heard of me so the odds against someone I knew reading them were huge. I finally put together an answer although it sounded very weak.

"It can't say it's me. How many girls called Julie are there in the world?"

He slipped his hand under my arm and around my back and the other hand rested on my thigh.

"You see the problem I have is that now I know about this I should tell your parents. What do you think your dad would say after what you wrote that he did? And what would your mum say?"

To my horror the hand had moved from my thigh to the zip of my jeans and the hand behind me had gripped my upper arm on the opposite side of me from where he sat so my arms were now pinioned behind me and I was being pulled backwards. We were alone in the building and it sounded very quiet and lonely. He was speaking again.

"I have read your stories so I know how you think. I know what you like and what you want."

He had unzipped my jeans and his hand had slipped inside and was dragging my brief panties to one side as I tried to sit up but he was too strong for me.

"Look Terry. I, Um..look ah..."

Two fingers had found my most sensitive spot and he was rubbing gently at first and then building up the pressure. He had done this before and I wondered how many other girls had sat where I was sitting. I could not keep my bum still and I was feeling very hot.

"You have a wonderful imagination Julie but the thing is that, as you are able to make up such convincing stories, who is going to believe a word you say?"

He was very clearly making the point that he could do whatever he liked to me and I could not tell anyone about it. I had written about my dad and me.....well about us..and it was not true but I had put it on the internet and Daddy must never ever see it. It would just be too unbearable. If Terry told him about the stories...well I just could not think about that..it MUST never happen.

Those two fingers were rubbing hard now and I was gasping out loud and wriggling about all over the place and then he began to slip just the tips of his fingers inside me where I was already quite moist. I knew that I was already out of control; speaking was impossible and the volume of my involuntary cries was rising. He no longer needed to hold onto my arms to control me and that hand had slipped up my sweatshirt, slid up my bare belly and found my little bra which it had roughly shoved upwards so he could massage my left nipple adding to my sexual tension.

In between my moans I was trying to stop him. It is important that you know that. I DID try to stop him.

"No..please,,Terry, don't. Please..let me go..aagh..please Terry."

Those questing fingers were now being shoved deep inside me and withdrawn and pushed in again with increasing rapidity and my legs were all over the place. Somehow I found myself flat on my back on the mat with my knees bent and him leaning over me. His head came down over mine and his tongue rammed into my mouth silencing me apart from a lot of panting and gasping for air. His tongue filled my mouth as he slobbered all over my face and his hands continued to maul me and it was inevitable that I would finally tip over the brink. My back arched, my head went backwards and I howled like a vixen on heat with my shriek of orgiastic release echoing off the steel girders in the roof.

When I sank, spent, back onto the mat with my boobs going up and down I realised that he had left me alone and he was propped up on his arm looking down at me. I felt like a whore; I had performed for him even though I did not want to do so. He had known exactly what buttons to press and I had done nothing to stop him. For goodness sake whose body was it? Why didn't I knee him in the groin? Why didn't I just get up and run for it? I had been a weak stupid little kid and let him do whatever he wanted. He was speaking gently and quietly but also very firmly.

"You will tell your mum that we have a special meeting here on Saturday morning and it could last into the afternoon. It is just for a few special girls with the right skill set and you have been picked. You will tell her that you have to be here."

He wanted me to come back for a repeat performance and it would last for hours. And he thought I would just meekly come back and walk into his lair. So why didn't I just call him a pervert and walk out? Why did I say nothing at all?

"Even if I didn't have the threat of those stories to hold over you I know you will still come. This is your fantasy isn't it? You want me to be rough with you; you want to find out what it would be like. But if you don't come I WILL go to your dad and you have no proof at all that anything happened here today."

I stood up sorting out my clothes and wiping my face as I walked to the door. I didn't give him the satisfaction of saying anything to him. I didn't want him to see that I was crying. I walked home to give me the chance to sort myself out. I told my mum that I missed the bus and I got grief because I was very late home and they had not known where I was. I didn't sleep very well that night but, as I lay there with it all going through my mind, my hand went between my legs and stroked myself gently where Terry had touched me.

How I got through Friday I don't know. It all kept coming back to me all through the day but, however I thought about it, I knew I would go to the Gym Club Hall on Saturday. There just wasn't any other option. I told Mum about the special meeting when I saw her Friday evening.

And so on Saturday morning there I was. I pushed open the door and made my way into the empty building. Terry must have been waiting in the changing room because he heard me come in and then he came out into the passageway. He went straight to the front door and locked it behind me. We stood there in the corridor looking at each other.

I was again in my blue jeans and trainers and I had a white t shirt and my yellow jacket. Terry also wore jeans and his t shirt was black. He told me to go into the gym and he walked behind me. I walked to the centre of the room and looked back at him.

"Do you know what makes a great sports star Julie?"

I pretty much whispered that I did not.

"It's not technique. It's discipline. It's discipline which makes someone keep pressing on when their muscles want to stop and they are in pain. It's discipline which makes them keep forcing their body when it doesn't want to go on.

I still said nothing.

"I can teach you that. I can teach you to do things you don't want to do, that's how you learn discipline except, in your case, a part of you does want to be forced to do things doesn't it."

As he spoke he had been advancing on me and I had been backing away but suddenly he made a lunge forward and had me by the arm. He swung me around and dragged off my jacket leaving it to fall to the floor as I whined at the pain in my arm where he was gripping me.

"This is what you wrote about and this is what you are going to get."

He let go of my arm and I ran towards the back or the room but he ran faster and grabbed the belt of my jeans then he swung me round to face him and he was undoing my belt buckle.

"I heard you a couple of weeks ago in the changing room talking to Fran about a rape fantasy. Do you remember that? You said it was horrible and yet somehow thrilling."

"You listened to us changing!"

"Not just listened Sweetness."

He had yanked my jeans down exposing my black panties and because my jeans were below my knees I toppled backwards putting out my hand to save myself. Terry pulled my feet up in the air and stripped off jeans, socks and shoes then he gripped the waistband of my knickers and yanked. I tried to pull in the opposite direction but I was no match for his strength. Now I was on my back with my dark fuzz on display as he stripped off the wisp of black nylon and threw it across the hall. My hand went between my legs in an automatic response to cover myself. He came down at me and gripped the bottom of my t shirt pulling it up over my head as I screamed at him. He rolled me onto my belly and unfastened my black bra then stripped it from me.

Then I felt his weight on top of me pressing my body face down into the polished wooden floor and his mouth was just behind my ear.

"Now this is the deal. I am going to fulfil your every fantasy about violence and bondage and pain and we both know you fantasise about those things all the time don't we? DON'T WE?"

"Yes Terry, Yes," I whimpered. It was hopeless to deny it.

"I am going to hurt you and humiliate you but I won't do anything you really don't want and you will leave here almost unmarked and knowing that I will keep the secret of your literary efforts. Do we have a deal?"

He had turned me over so now I was on my back with him kneeling over me with one hand planted on the floor on either side of me. I quietly said "Yes."

He reached down to unzip himself and ordered me onto my knees. Dumbly I obeyed and he stood up and took out his erect thing. It was only the second erect penis I had ever seen and it looked huge; my face creased up at the odour. He grabbed bunches of hair at either side of my head making me squirm and whine and he pulled my head to his crutch.

"Suck it Bitch."

I tried to shake my head but he was holding me firm and I had no choice but to open my mouth for him to ram inside. He forced himself to the back of my throat and I gagged; this happened again and again and in between he took one hand from my hair and slapped my face. In the end my lips closed over the long, hard intruder as he moved it in and out. The process was not erotic at all (well not for me) it was just totally disgusting as he stood there making sounds and almost pulling my hair out.

Very soon I felt warm, thick fluid at the back of my throat and, as he withdrew and rammed again, my mouth was full of the revolting stuff which he shouted for me to swallow and I reluctantly obeyed feeling revolted by myself.

When he was done he had me lick him clean then he threw me backwards onto the floor like a used tissue and I curled up. Terry went to the wall where he had a large sports bag and he handed me a bottle of water which he told me to drink. The water was very cloudy and I looked up at him silently expressing my unwillingness to drink.

"Discipline Julie. It's doing things you don't want to do."

I unscrewed the bottle and took a drink. Instantly I choked and spat out some of the water the rest having gone down my throat. It was hideously salty. He shouted at me to drink it and, as I knelt there naked and vulnerable, I put the bottle back to my lips and knocked it back.

My stomach began to gurgle and I felt my temperature rise. I belched and felt nauseous; I knew what was about to happen. He pointed towards a red plastic bucket which stood next to his bag and told me to use it. Doubled up I ran to the bucket and knelt beside it.

My mouth opened and my stomach emptied itself as I vomited violently and kept retching up yellow bile long after my belly was voided. Strings of vomit hung from my nostrils and my mouth and it was sticking to my chin. I was shivering and sweating as I bent over the bucket with my bum in the air and the cleft between my taut buttocks fully on display to him. He ordered me to stand in front of him and I obeyed feeling totally defeated.

"I think I'll call you Vomit from now on. Would you like that Vomit? How is my little disgusting Vomit?"

I looked at the floor and he slapped my face. It was not hard but he kept using both hands to slap me on either cheek and it was humiliating and disorientating.

"Are you a virgin Vomit? Tell the truth because I will soon know."

Sniffing and holding back the tears I told him my deepest secret about a boy one year older than myself. We had gone to his house one Saturday morning when his parents were out and a snogging session had gone too far. I had been stupid and naive and had not understood that when a boy has reached a certain point he cannot stop. I had put my bloodstained knickers in a wastebin and told no-one because I knew my dad would have killed the boy and I just could not tell anyone how stupid I had been. I had been terrified that I was pregnant and had gone on the pill in case of a repeat performance.

Terry reached forward, his semi-erect organ still pointing out of his trousers at me, and he grabbed me by the forearms propelling me backwards until I felt my bare bum and back pressed against the wallbars. His body pressed against me forcing me hard against the bars as his tongue explored my face and then he covered my mouth with his making it hard to breath. His hands were all over my squirming body and they found their way down to my pussy where he brutally mauled me and began to rub my clitty and painfully pull me open. For some reason I found myself remembering what my dad had once told me.

"If a boy is all over you with arms like an octopus go for his tentacles."

But there was nothing I could do and, to my confusion, I found that I was getting very worked up. My cries of protest were becoming mixed with moans and screams of dark pleasure. Despite him pressing me against the bars I was jerking about like a cheap stripper. It was not long before his, now rock hard, manhood was against my moist pussylips and he began to thrust into me causing me to buck helplessly. Again and again he rammed into me making primeval grunting sounds as my head went back and I howled. Time meant nothing and his taking of me went on and on, his staying power must have been amazing not that I had much experience by which to judge. Every second I felt that my body could not stand any more but still it went on until eventually, with my mind completely knocked out by endorphins, I found myself slumping to my knees and then slipping sideways with my back still half against the wooden bars at his feet.

Terry turned with his back to the bars and slid down so that he was sitting on the floor beside me and we sat silently for a while apart from the sounds of our subsiding panting. I noticed that my skin was shining with sweat and my nostrils were full of the scent of sex. A tiny part of my mind was still trying to be analytical and was working on the question of "Have I just been raped?" but I could not come to any conclusion. I was just too muddled about the whole situation.

After a while Terry zipped himself up and crawled on hands and knees the few feet to his sports bag. He came back carrying a black cloth bag and some ropes then he held my arm (not as roughly as before) and lifted me to my feet although I was still weak and unsteady. He dropped the rope and the bag at my feet and steered me to the bucket of vomit where he told me to pee.

I found that I did need to go and did not refuse to crouch down despite his eyes watching me. That small part of my brain told me that I could not go the toilet with him watching but it was over ruled by simple biological imperative. The long, pungent flow came out of me and then he pulled me to my feet and pushed me back against the bars. I did not resist as he dragged the black bag down over my head and left me in darkness apart from the little bit of light which I could see if I looked downwards to the open neck of the bag as it rested on my shoulders.

He bound my wrists tightly in front of me and then he must have climbed the bars because I felt my arms pulled high above my head so that I was forced to stand very straight with my arms at full stretch. As he tied me in place I felt extremely vulnerable and a little scared.

My feeling of vulnerability and helplessness multiplied when I felt my right leg pulled to the side and bound to one of the upright bars then his hands were on my bare left foot and he pulled it off to the side so that I was standing spread wide open and knowing that my most intimate secrets were open to be viewed and whatever else he may want to do. A cry arose in my throat as he lifted my left foot and began to bind the ankle to the bars. The foot was not resting on the bars; it was tied sideways on to them so that it was hanging in space and all my weight was shared between my other foot and my bound wrists. It was a horribly awkward and uncomfortable position particularly as I was spread so wide open that I felt like a wishbone.