Bethany's Troll

"Devon, where were you when the bell went?"

"Cafeteria."

"That's thirty seconds away, why were you late?"

"Had to go to the loo."

He worked his way along the line, all of whom had been delayed by a call of nature.

"If this happens again, I'll come to the cafeteria at 'ten to', and call out your names and remind you that you need to leave early for the loo. Now, sit down and I'll give you thirty seconds to get your benches in order."

The boys found seats, and Devon slipped into the seat immediately behind Charlene.

Hunter controlled the classroom effectively and needed little assistance performing his duties. He was confident, commanding and competent; his clothes crisp and clean his voice clear and compelling. Bethany watched with admiration, as did the girls crowded in the front row. She was left to seek out the less promising students, who would need assistance in finding their noses, which she did eagerly. It was a pleasure to work for Hunter, to relieve him of these little distractions.

Normally, she was charged to shore up the failing control of a slovenly, negligent or incompetent lecturer, but not today. Moving around, she helped the students resolve the minor, non-academic problems they encountered. After assisting one student with a calculator, she rose to see Charlene kneeling on her seat, arse thrust out, rocking her hips, as she leaned over her bench to work. Devon sat behind her, staring.

Bethany thought the girl quite shameless.

"Charlene, please sit back in your seat."

Charlene stood up, flicked her head indignantly, glanced at Devon as she brushed the back of her skirt straight, and sat.

Bethany continued with her duties, and sat with a student, assisting with an exercise set by Hunter. When she looked up, Charlene was at the front, bending over Hunter's desk, rocking her hips, as he worked through some enquiry with her.

"Damned girl." she thought, "she's done that deliberately. She's a little bitch."

While she was thinking how she could draw Charlene's conduct to Hunter's attention, his head snapped up and he called sharply, "Devon, keep your hands above the bench, I want to see them at all times." His face was stony and fierce, and strangely exciting.

She looked across to see Devon lift his hands slowly onto his desk as he lounged back in his seat, grinning lasciviously. The girls looked at him and muttered disapprovingly. Charlene gave him a look of rebuke, stood, swept her hand over her behind and moved demurely to the side of Hunter's desk where Devon could not see it.

Hunter glanced at Bethany, his eyes and voice still imperative, "Bethany, can you keep a special eye on Devon."

She almost jumped, her heart thumped and the most delightful frisson rippled through her genitals. Of course, she would keep an eye on Devon, she could not think of anything she would rather do. She could not think of anything else to do, at all. Her mission was to keep an eye on Devon.

At the conclusion of the lecture, Bethany helped Hunter to tidy.

"I think Charlene's behaving inappropriately, she seems to be deliberately provoking the boys," she confided.

"It's been noted," Hunter told her, "We've discussed it at the Human Resources and Pastoral Care Committee, but we can't ask her to hide her backside, that's not possible. We'll have to talk about it again. She's just winding Devon up, but he's too dumb to respond in an adult way. She'll stop once they've worked out how adults relate. I can't help feeling sorry for the lad; all that pent up desire and no avenue for release. In the mean time, the best we can do is stop them masturbating in the classroom."

When they finished, they went to the cafeteria, and Bethany was flattered that, for tea, Hunter chose to sit alone with her.

Bethany said, "I understand you've been teaching in Africa," seeking to glean a little of his history.

"Yes; twenty years in the sun?"

"Do you find it very different here?"

"A little. Things have changed since I left," he told her, and paused, "Discipline has gone out of the window, far too much indulgence."

"I believe the girls are better motivated there than here," said Bethany, wanting to probe his response to long years of abstinence, "that must help in the classroom as well."

"I expect so," he told her, "I taught in an all boys school, mainly the sons of foreign workers, diplomats, NGO's, some government ministers."

"Ahhh, just boys," said Bethany, as though it was a profound revelation, and suddenly, quite incomprehensibly, finding herself horrified by the possibilities this raised, "Is it different teaching girls, I mean, do you enjoy it, do you find that girls are easier to teach?"

"I know what you mean," Hunter said, "I do enjoy it, different problems, you don't have to shout as loud, you need to be subtle. Like, we know Charlene is subjecting Devon to a little psychological torture, but we can't shout at her to put her backside away, only keep her sitting for as long as possible, and keep his hands on top of the desk."

"Devon seems OK with the torture," remarked Bethany.

"He'll console himself planning his revenge when the boot's on the other foot," said Hunter.

"Is that day likely to come?" asked Bethany incredulously.

"Charlene must be shaking her arse at him for some reason; she must see something the rest of us have overlooked."

"He's a testosterone charged little pervert, as far as I can see," said Bethany dismissively.

"Maybe Charlene sees it too," observed Hunter, wryly.

Chapter 6.

Distressing Alienation.

That evening, before her bath, Bethany went on the internet and perused the great variety of sex toys available, saving pages when she saw something that attracted her. After an hour, she counted 32 saved pages, and decided that this project would take careful research. She would need several devices to enjoy the full range of pleasures they promised. Their variety of erotic shapes, beautiful curves, gelatinous bodies, ribbed surfaces, writhing motions and feminine colours were so much more sophisticated than the prosaic shaver and tooth brush which had been her childhood friends.

She remembered back to when, shortly after she reached puberty, following a racy discussion at school, she had first tentatively touched the tip of her toothbrush to her clitoris, and screamed out, bringing her mother to the bathroom door enquiring what was wrong. Then, when her father bought a fancy new wet and dry shaver she had eyed it with curiosity for weeks before testing it against her still virginal vagina. After she lost her virginity, she had tried the shaver and toothbrush together, clutching the shaver in her vaginal opening while playing the toothbrush on her clitoris. The first time the shaver slipped from her fingers and was swallowed she had been delighted by the exquisite sensations, but panicked when she could not retrieve it. How could she explain the disappearance of his shaver to her father? With trial and error, however, she had got it out, and soon acquired the knack.

Now it was time to move on, to make new friends. When, later that evening, she lay with her old friends caressing her body, she noticed her Troll also was moving on. Her childhood assailant had always been indistinct and incoherent, a savage growling force behind the huge, dribbling tumescence, gnarly and vividly coloured, hastening to penetrate her. The force behind the tumescence now took more precise form. Clothed in Hunter's garb, the savage growls also took on his tone, bellowing incoherent commands, unintelligible to her, but understood by her body, irresistibly controlling her limbs, bypassing her new brain and communicating directly with her old, disturbing, but exciting. As she basked in the afterglow she felt a little silly. Her first schoolgirls crush at the age of 22. She was as bad as the freshers.

For a couple of days, she saw him only at a distance, always avoiding his gaze, and feeling foolish. In the evenings, she continued her research, setting a budget, reading reviews, watching demonstrations, narrowing down options and combinations. This was an investment in her career, so she could afford three or four toys, and was looking for value and versatility. They would need to provide three square meals a day for many years, so quality and reliability were important. Lunch would require discretion, compact and silent. Breakfast needed to be light and filling, not too time consuming. Dinner would be the big meal of the day, the full four courses, leaving her sated and ready to sleep. She assembled her choice and looked forward to pay day.

Then, once more, she found herself sitting alone with Hunter to take tea. It disturbed her now to hear him speak. Her new brain received one message, but her old brain quite another. She fidgeted. Confused, she lost his meaning.

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" she replied.

"I asked if you were settling in well," he repeated.

"I was distracted for a moment," she explained.

He gave her a side ways look. "Have you bought your vibrator yet?"

Bethany nearly fell from her seat. She blushed and stuttered, "Did Mrs Cooper speak to you; we spoke in confidence."

"Yes, it's completely confidential," Hunter assured her, "it goes no further than the Human Resources and Pastoral Care Committee, nothing appears even on your employment record."

Flustered and annoyed she leaned towards him and whispered angrily, "Surely you don't discuss these intimate things at staff meetings; it's humiliating."

"It's just the grey heads, we deal with hormone management, the students and the younger staff, now that ours have settled down ...your behaviour had been noticed, and we asked Mrs Cooper to have a friendly word with you. She was reporting back, that's all. I simply wondered why you were still so distracted. She gave you very good advice, to feed the monster."

"Well what about your monsters; do you feed yours?" Bethany shot back angrily.

He raised an eyebrow and looked at her quizzically.

"All those years in Africa, by yourself, in a boy's school, did you discuss that at your meetings?"

"It hasn't come up. I'm sure some people are curious, but no one has asked," said Hunter.

"Mrs Cooper thinks you fancy black girls; she thinks you have the hots for Charlene, she thinks you lust to spank her skanky arse." Bethany was malicious, wanting to wound both Hunter and Mrs Cooper.

He sat up straight. "I don't think we should be having this conversation Miss Lomax. I'm sorry I enquired after your welfare. If you feel unable to receive advice from your seniors then maybe this is not the place for you." He stood and walked away.

Bethany took fright. She did not feel she had spoken out of place; at least that she was justified in repeating back what Mrs Cooper had said. But, she was very junior, and the committee contained all the senior staff. They were a club, and they would look after one another. She felt very vulnerable. Hunter was suggesting she was not cut out for the job, and she had only been at St Onan's for three weeks.

That evening, she did not masturbate, nor for the next two days. At the weekend, she made an effort. For the first time, she did not orgasm. Her Troll would not answer to her call. It felt lonely, and a little bit pointless.

The following week she felt nervous all the while she was in the school, wondering who was watching her, how they were interpreting her behaviour. She longed to see Hunter, and then scuttled away whenever he appeared.

Chapter 7.

Joyful Reconciliation.

On Thursday, her form master told her not to come in until 2pm the following day. There was an extracurricular activity and she would be required to work until 8pm. It was an inter-college netball match. All she had to do was to sit there, and intervene only if any of the students started to have sex, drink alcohol or smoke. That is how it was put to her.

When she sat to supervise the students who turned up to support the teams, she was surprised that Hunter appeared, and sat beside her.

He greeted her pleasantly. Her response was hesitant and aloof.

"I'm sorry we misunderstood one another the other day," he said in a conciliatory manner, "I've been teaching for so long that I expect everyone to know about college politics. A college is a small, incestuous community. We nose into the details of one another's lives. Colleges run on rumour and gossip, about the students, about the staff. I know, and expect, that the most lurid rumours are spread about me. After a while, one encourages it, one quite enjoys it, the more lurid the better, but, it takes getting used to. I'm sorry I didn't appreciate that you would be offended by my speaking frankly with you."

Feeling she would rather have Hunter as an ally than an enemy, she accepted this olive branch with alacrity. "Oh, I've got over it, I was taken by surprise, I didn't expect staff to talk about one another's sex lives." she said.

"It always has been a hot topic, with all those vulnerable young people, their popping hormones, seeking a sexual identity, and lecturers in a position of authority, ideally placed to exploit them. Today, monitoring is mandatory. Supervisory staff are required to be vigilant for the precursor signs of inappropriate sexual activity, and they're expected to intervene quickly. Ninety nine times out of one hundred, its male staff exploiting female students, but under equal opportunities legislation we must monitor female staff as closely as male. You showed some precursor signs, and we were obliged to take precautionary steps."

"But, my behaviour's been perfectly normal," Bethany objected.

"Perfectly normal for a single, 22 year old girl; but we live in an age of political correctness gone mad. We were obliged to intervene to save Devon from you."

Hunter was looking toward the courtside seats. 95% of the supporters were girls, but Devon and two pals had taken courtside seats.

Bethany followed his gaze, "I would have thought cage wrestling was his sport," she said contemptuously.

"Yes, cage wrestling with Charlene," said Hunter, "She plays Goal Attack. Every time she shoots, he sees the Promised Land clad in tight cotton."

He called loudly, "Devon, Arthur... Colin, keep your hands out of your pockets."

Devon pulled his hands out of his pockets and sat back, grinning his lecherous grin.

The evening went well.

With Hunter supervising, the students dared not misbehave. Charlene dodged about energetically, her short skirt flouncing up whenever she shot, revealing her charm, the details distinctly outlined under a taut veil of blue cotton stretched thin. She would then glance at Devon, who clapped his hands noisily, and sweeping her skirt back in place, demurely mince back to her position, looking very pleased with herself. Neither seemed very interested in netball.

Hunter entertained Bethany with stories from the Dark Continent and Bethany sat and listened adoringly. At the conclusion he offered her a lift home, which she accepted.

Chapter 8.

Fiendish Fornication.

Hunter tapped Bethany's address into his GPS, and seeing the route appear, said, "We pass very near to my flat, do you mind if I pop in and shove my dinner in the oven, then it'll be ready when I get back."

Bethany felt she could hardly object.

When he parked, he said, "I'll be about ten minutes, come up and have a look at my collection of Africana."

She accepted the invitation, curious to see how he lived. Immediately on entering, the African mementos were evident in the décor, even the furnishings.

"The bathroom is just through there if you need it," he pointed.

"Thank you," said Bethany and entered.

She did not need it. When the door was locked, she had a good look around, inspecting the toiletries. The bathroom was clean and orderly. She quietly opened drawers and cupboards. There were no suspect odours or toiletries, no spare female clothing, no suspiciously long or coloured hair in the plughole. It was none of her business, of course, but she would have been very jealous had there been. She flushed the loo, ran the tap, and emerged. On re-entering the living room, the lights were dimmed, melodic music was playing and a glass of wine stood on the coffee table. Hunter was in the kitchen, busy unpacking a pre-prepared meal.

"Make yourself comfortable for a moment. Try the wine, I brought it back from France, it's one of my favourites."

Having just checked out his availability, she now felt wary, the atmosphere a little too intimate, suspiciously like an amorous ambush.

"I really need to get home, my Mum will have dinner ready for me," she replied.

"We'll be on our way in two minutes," he said, "I just need to understand the instructions, and programme the microwave."

Bethany picked up her glass, sipped it, selected an armchair and sat.

"OK, ready to go," said Hunter, emerging from the kitchen holding a fairly well drained glass.

Bethany relaxed.

Seeing her still well charged glass he said, "Finish your drink; do you like this wine?" and lay back on the sofa, stretching his legs.

"Yes, it's very nice, I don't know much about wine, but I like this."

Bethany sipped the wine as quickly as was decorous, but it was a very full glass.

She glanced at his feet stretched out towards her. His legs were crossed at the ankles, and he was waggling his feet against one another. The sight of the shiny brogues immediately reminded her of her Troll, and a jolt of arousal shot through her body.

Hunter was making small talk, but Bethany was responding without really listening. Her gaze moved from the brogues, up the cavalry twill clad legs, to his crotch, and locked there.

Was it her imagination? Perhaps it was the way he was sitting. Perhaps it was a freakish way the fabric had folded, but she imagined it was bulging away from his body between his waist and his groin. She broke her gaze away.

"And what was it that brought you back into college, so soon after graduating?" Hunter was asking, "Did you enjoy college?"

"Oh yes, I was happy at college, that was part of it."

"And, were you a well behaved girl, or one of the difficult ones?"

"Well behaved, a lecturers pet."

"You didn't mind the rules, the authority figures, the discipline?"

"It was relaxed, not like school. And I didn't have to wear a uniform any more," she replied.

"A uniform would suit you. It would hang well on your figure. I had to wear a uniform, even as a lecturer," said Hunter, "In Africa I was expected to appear in class, in Mortar Board and a Gown edged in the colours of the university I graduated from, all worn over a jacket and tie, with pressed trousers and polished shoes, regardless of the temperature. In the sleeve of my jacket would be my three tailed tawse."

"What's that?" she asked.

"It's a belt of thick leather used to discipline the boys, we were issued with the 22 inch Lochgelly 'Xtra Heavy three tailed tawse. The founder was a Scottish Missionary; he found it effective and the tradition was passed on."

"So you didn't spank their bottoms with your hand?" said Bethany, surprised.

Before he replied, she was sure that out of the corner of her eye she saw the crotch of his trousers move.