Deliciously Naked Ch. 03

Official Disclaimer: All characters in this story are 18 years of age or older. No cheerleaders were harmed in the writing of this story.

* * *

Mr. Dunston was out sick, so we had a substitute teacher for my 12^th grade history class. Substitute teachers love me-I'm a straight-A student and sometimes I know the subject material even better than the sub. I'm also polite. If they get stuck, I can usually help them out without coming over as a smarty-pants or embarrassing them too much. I'm just that good. Maybe I should get my teaching certificate and become a teacher myself someday. I think I'd enjoy it!

"In the 1950's Senator Joseph McCarthy masterminded a reign of terror against the United States government," Ms. Baranski proclaimed as she began class. "He claimed that there were communists in the U.S. State Department, the Voice of America, the CIA, the Army Corp of Engineers as well as other sectors of the U.S. government."

I smiled brightly. I already knew all of this.

"McCarthy never produced a shred of evidence for his claims, however, his grandstanding and incendiary claims grabbed him a great deal of attention and free publicity. He milked that free publicity and managed to get himself the chairmanship of an important Senate Subcommittee."

I nodded in acknowledgment. I was a huge history buff. I knew all about Senator McCarthy and I was waiting for an opportunity to show off and let the substitute teacher see just how much I knew.

"Although Senator McCarthy never produced any evidence for his inflammatory claims and he never succeeded in making a credible case against anyone, McCarthy was widely feared," Ms. Baranski continued, warming enthusiastically into her lecture, "and his melodramatic, emotionally loaded rhetoric and cleverly presented accusations created chaos, driving some people out of their jobs and defaming the character of others."

I glanced around at my fellow students. Some of them were furiously taking notes. Others were daydreaming. A few of the boys were staring at Ms. Baranski's ass whenever she was facing the board and wasn't looking. Elizabeth kept glancing at her phone. I was still waiting for an opening to show off just how much I knew about the subject of Joseph McCarthy and McCarthyism.

"Can anyone in this room give me an example of someone in your lifetime who abused their political power to create chaos, ruin the careers or reputations or political aspirations of innocent people by making baseless accusations with absolutely no evidence to back them up?"

I waited a few seconds to not seem overeager and then I raised my hand. Ms. Baranski made eye contact with me and invited me to give my opinion.

"Yes," I said with a broad smile spreading across my face. "Just recently Donald Trump claimed that the 2020 election was rigged against him. He claimed that there was massive voting fraud. His claims have been disproven dozens of times, but Trump keeps making those claims. Even though he doesn't have a scrap of evidence, his emotional rhetoric got millions of his followers caught up in an emotional fervor and hundreds of them attacked the U.S. Capitol, seeking to keep his opponent from being sworn into office."

"Very good Scarlett," Ms. Baranski said. "That's an excellent example."

A smug smile spread across my face as I got the recognition I was seeking and then the teacher continued, "In both McCarthy's, and Trump's cases, why do you think they repeatedly made these claims that they couldn't back up?"

Her question was inviting more opinion than historic fact, but I could make intelligent guesses as well as anyone else and I began to offer my opinion on the subject.

"Well, sadly, in politics, real power usually comes not from what's real, but what is perceived to be real. If you can sway boatloads of people to think the way you want them to think, you can bend political opinion and influence things like votes in federal elections and Aaaahhhh!"

Oh, God. That was embarrassing. Let me explain what just happened.

My friend Elizabeth likes to see me publicly humiliated. One of her first brilliant ideas to humiliate me in school was to make me go to cheerleader practice without panties. This resulted in me flashing my naked butt cheeks and bald pubes to my fellow cheerleaders during cheerleader rehearsals. This earned me one day of detention and a stern warning that if I ever got caught flashing my naughty bits during cheerleader practice again, I'd be cut from the squad.

Elizabeth decided that she didn't want me to get kicked off the cheerleading squad, so she gave me permission to wear panties at school again. However, since I could now wear panties, she had to find other ways to humiliate me.

One such humiliation is when she has me conceal an electronic device inside my vagina. Elizabeth calls it a vibrating egg. Its vibrations are powerful, and Elizabeth can control it with an app on her phone.

Elizabeth was sitting just a few seats away from me and I could see her tapping the screen on her phone. Suddenly the vibrations in my loins ceased and I could speak without gasping.

I tried once again to impress the substitute teacher.

"Elections are basically popularity contests," I said. "And because of that, public opinion can be far more important than reality.'

As I spoke, there was a noticeable tingle deep within my sex. Elizabeth had turned the egg back on; however, it was on one of the lowest settings. It was rousing my libido, but if she left it at such a low setting, I could maintain my self-control.

I squirmed in my seat slightly as Ms. Baranski asked me another question and I listened intently, hoping to find another opportunity to gain more praise. But then, the egg's vibrations intensified, and an agonizing wave of desire passed through me, and my pussy throbbed with hungry spasms. My whole body stiffened, my heart pounded in my ears, and I couldn't concentrate on the words coming out of Ms. Baranski's mouth.

I was overcome with a feverish wave of lust, and I wanted to rip my clothes off right then and there. Of course, I was in a room with a teacher and thirty of my fellow students. Ripping my clothes off wasn't a plausible option. That would be a humiliation beyond all humiliations

I was swimming against a tidal wave of libidinous desire when I heard my name being mentioned. I looked up and realized that the teacher was talking to me.

Elizabeth dialed back the settings on the egg, and I could suddenly focus on something other than the intense sensations between my legs.

"Scarlett, do you feel okay?" Ms. Baranski asked. "You're not coming down with a fever, are you? You look flushed."

Elizabeth turned the settings on the egg back up again and I had to bite my lower lip to keep from screaming out in wanton sexual need. My panties were soaking wet at this point and my pussy was in a state of constant throbbing. My heart rate sharply increased as Elizabeth manipulated the egg inside me, causing it to throb and make me helpless with feverish lust.

"Um, well, I do feel warm," I conceded.

Warm was an understatement. There was a pulsing fire in my loins, and I broke out in a sweat as my feverish desire became all consuming. My nipples became so hard that they ached, and I sucked in air through tightly clenched teeth as I struggled to keep from moaning. My skin became tingly. I desperately wanted somebody to touch me. I gripped the edge of my desk so hard that my knuckles turned white, and I had to resist a powerful urge to reach between my legs and stroke my achingly hard clitoris.

Ms. Baranski placed one hand gently on my forehead and said, "Scarlett, you're burning up. I think you'd better go to the nurse's office and tell her how you feel."

How I felt? I felt like tearing my clothes off and furiously thrusting something phallic deeply inside of me until I exploded in orgasm. I saw one of my fellow students had a hairbrush with a long handle. The hairbrush handle would do nicely. I wanted to grab it and shove it inside of me, but instead I tremulously said, "I think going to the nurse might be a good idea."

I got up out of my seat on shaky legs and grabbed my books. Of course, before I could make it to the door, Elizabeth spoke up and said, "Maybe somebody should go with her. She looks kinda wobbly."

Oh, Elizabeth was being so diabolical! I don't know how close Elizabeth had to be for her remote control to send signals to the pulsing egg in my sex, however, if she walked with me to the nurse's office, she'd definitely be close enough!

After a few moments of silence and inactivity, the egg began pulsing once again, making it difficult for me to walk or even to remember where I was. Then the pulses abruptly stopped, just mere seconds before I would have reached an earth-shattering climax.

"You're evil," I whispered to Elizabeth, and she flashed me a wicked smile and nodded her head in agreement.

"Of course," she whispered back. "You wouldn't want it any other way."

As Elizabeth walked me to the nurse's office, Elizabeth played with her phone and the pulses would start and stop as I tried to make my way down the hallway. Sometimes the sensations in my sex were so intense that I had to lean against the wall or grab onto Elizabeth to keep from collapsing to the floor. At one point we passed a female student who gave me a curious look as I panted and leaned against a wall for support.

"She has the flu," Elizabeth said in response to the student's unspoken question. The girl just nodded and then she headed down the hall in the opposite direction.

I began to catch my breath, turned to Elizabeth and said, "If you keep doing that, I'll never make it to the nurse's office. My legs already feel wobbly. It's a challenge just to stand up."

"I can tell," Elizabeth said with a smug look on her face. "But isn't this more fun than sitting in class taking notes?"

I rolled my eyes and ignored the question. My entire body felt deliciously alive, but if anyone realized that I was in a hyper-aroused state from a pulsing, electronic device in my sex, it would be a mortifying scandal that would fill me with so much shame, I'd never be able to set foot in Fairhaven high school ever again.

"Ah! Oh Jesus!" I gasped as the egg stimulated my g-spot with a short, but extremely intense pulse. Then it died down. I was able to take four or five more steps and then the egg throbbed inside me again. I was so close to orgasm, but Elizabeth seemed to have some sort of wicked intuition that allowed her to know how to push me to the brink of orgasm without bringing me to climax.

"You'd better lean on me," Elizabeth suggested. "You look like you're about to fall down.

By the time we made it to the nurse's office, my panties were sopping wet, and my upper body was drenched in sweat. I felt feverish and it was no challenge to convince the nurse that I was sick.

The nurse put me into one of the beds and took my temperature. Elizabeth hovered in the background as my concerned friend and continued to make the egg vibrate while the thermometer was in my mouth.

"You're running a low-grade fever," the nurse announced after she examined the thermometer and saw a reading of 100.5 degrees. "Do you want me to call your parents?"

What I really wanted was for the nurse to rip off my clothes and roughly fuck me with her fingers, but I obviously couldn't tell her that, so instead I said, "I think I'll feel better if I just lie here for a while and get some rest."

The nurse told Elizabeth to go back to class and a little while later she brought me a cold compress and some bottled water. I drank the water down thirstily and I instantly felt more relaxed.

After Elizabeth went away, the vibrations from the egg ceased. I'm not sure if Elizabeth turned the settings down to zero or if she was just out of range. However, the lack of pulses didn't mean that my sexual need magically disappeared. It just meant the inferno of desire between my legs had been reduced to a dull and consistent ache.

I desperately wanted to unzip my pants and finger myself to orgasm, but the nurse was in the next room and the door was wide open. And the orgasm that had been building up inside of me was so potent there was no way I'd be able to reach climax without screaming.

I spent the rest of the school day lying in that bed, fantasizing about fingers, strong fingers roughly impaling my wet sex, thrusting in and out of me. Fantasies were the best I could manage while lying in a bed in the school nurse's office. It didn't relieve my sexual frustration, but it gave me something positive to think about.

* * *

After school, Elizabeth caught up with me again and had me unzip my pants and pull them down so she could retrieve her electronic device from my sex.

We were standing in the school parking lot where anybody could just walk by. She pulled down my sopping wet panties and worked her fingers into my sex to withdraw her egg. I spotted Sidney Morningstar six cars down from where I was standing. I prayed she wouldn't see me and decide to come over and chat. I would have died of embarrassment if she saw me with another student's fingers digging into my pussy.

"Oh, God," I gasped as she pulled the device out of my wet sex. There were other students in the parking lot, but Elizabeth's car blocked my lower body from their view. With my pants still pulled down and my shaved pubes on display, Elizabeth held the egg up and declared, "You got your juices all over this thing!"

"Are you surprised?" I asked. "You kept me in sexual torment for most of the day! And you never let me have any sexual relief!"

When I was done complaining, Elizabeth pulled my pants up, kissed me on the mouth and told me to get in the car. I zipped my pants up first, snapped the snap on the front and got in.

I assumed that she was offering to give me a ride home, but when she should have turned left onto Lake Avenue, she turned right instead.

"Lizzie, where are we going?" I asked when it became obvious that she wasn't taking me home.

"I've got something fun planned," she explained as she took a left and headed down the beach front main road. We ended up in front of an impressive house overlooking Broad Bay. The whole neighborhood smelled of money with all those closed guard gates in front of mansions, most of them hidden in the trees. But our destination wasn't behind a guard gate, only a long driveway that wound up through a small forest. The house was large, approximately five or six times the size of the house I lived in.

"You cannot possibly know the people who live here," I said. "This looks like Bruce Wayne's mansion. There's probably a secret entrance to the Bat Cave nearby."

"I haven't met her face to face yet," Elizabeth confided, "but this is the home of Beverly Streng."

"Who?" I asked.

"Beverly Streng is kind of a legend. She used to teach at our high school," Elizabeth explained, "then she either got fired or quit. The story comes out different depending on who you ask. However, there are some important facts on which everyone seems to agree. One, she's a notorious lesbian, and two, she came into a huge amount of wealth after she left teaching."

"Where did all the money come from?" I asked as I looked at the ostentatious displays of wealth surrounding us.

"Nobody seems to know," Elizabeth confided. "Some people say that she sued the school for wrongful termination. Other people say that her husband was some sort of cybercriminal who blackmailed rich people."

"So, where's her husband now?" I asked, not wanting to meet with a cybercriminal. Elizabeth was already turning me into some sort of shameless sexual degenerate. I didn't want her to turn me into a known associate of criminals as well.

"He's dead," Elizabeth explained. "Some of the people say he was murdered. Some people say he died of a heroin overdose. Others say he died from anaphylactic shock. Again, it depends on who you ask."

"Okay, so summing up, former teacher, lesbian, who was married to a man, that's counterintuitive, the husband is dead now, possibly murdered and now she's living in Wayne Manor with more money than she could spend in three lifetimes. Why are we parked in front of her house?"

"Based on the salacious stories told about her, she had all sorts of kinky lesbian sex with girls your age. There were stories of bondage, spanking, making girls crawl around on their hands and knees, the sort of stuff you wrote about in your notebook. So, I found her email address and emailed her videos of you naked and tied up. Then I asked if she wanted to meet you."

"Lizzie!" I screamed in outrage. "Those videos are pornographic! Now, she probably thinks that I'm a prostitute!"

"Scarlett, no. The politically correct term is sex worker," Elizabeth said. "And you're not a sex worker, because you don't get paid. You enjoy it too much to ask for money."

I felt my face blushing hot again with shame. The way Elizabeth just described me made me sound like a slut. Beverly Streng would likely think that I was a slut after the way Elizabeth was introducing me to her. I was a straight-A student, going to meet a former teacher, but instead of knowing about my academic successes, she was going to know that I was a horny lesbian that had a multitude of kinky sexual fantasies.

"Okay, so she'll think that I'm a libidinous slut," I corrected.

"There's nothing wrong with being a libidinous slut," Elizabeth said as she placed a comforting arm around my waist. "They're popular, get invited to some of the best parties and once there, quite often become the center of attention."

The maid who answered the door seemed bored and aloof. She gave me an especially disdainful look before turning to Elizabeth and saying, "May I help you?"

Her tone, body language and facial expression made me feel that what she really wanted to say was, "You don't belong here. Please go away."

"Beverly Streng is expecting me," Elizabeth explained. "I communicated with her by email. She said she wanted to get a good look at my friend here."

I gave a friendly wave and introduced myself. I gave the maid a huge smile, hoping to get a congenial reaction out of her.

The maid continued to be cold and distant, but she told us we could wait in the foyer while she informed her employer that we had arrived.

"I didn't seem to be very popular with her," I commented after the maid was gone.

"She doesn't know you like I do," Elizabeth explained. "Show her your naked body and lick her clit with that talented tongue and she'll fall madly in love with you."

Elizabeth made a number of playful comments like that and eventually I smiled. I was still nervous about meeting with the infamous Beverly Streng, but I had confidence that if things went bad, Elizabeth was there to protect me and would somehow keep anything bad from happening to me.

When the maid returned, she brought some grim-looking security people with her. They eyed me suspiciously.

There were two of them. The female was about 5'9" and looked like a stern Gwyneth Paltrow with a butch haircut. The male was about 6'0" and looked like Jon Favreau, only with an extremely receding hairline and a massive bald spot. They were both wearing shoulder rigs that were barely concealed underneath their black blazers.

I was immediately intimidated by them both.

"Ms. Streng will only agree to meet with you if you agree to be searched," the butch female said. "She wants us to verify that you're not carrying any weapons, hidden microphones, cameras or recording devices of any kind."

"Seriously?" Elizabeth asked. "We're high school students, not the feds."

The humorless security team ignored Elizabeth's comment and the woman asked, "Do you consent to be searched, or should we escort you back to your vehicle?"