tagMind ControlFlashPlight



See No Evil: Contains sexually explicit and politically incorrect material. If you shouldn't be reading this, or if it might offend you, simply stop now.

Legalese: All actors and actresses are over the age of consent. Proof of age is on file. Any similarity of any character, event or place to any actual person, event or place, is purely coincidental. This is all fantasy, and the actors are all professionals -- do not try any of this at home.

Archiving: You are welcome to discreetly repost or archive this, just do not change it, steal from it or claim credit for it.

Author's Ramblings: I am working on wrapping up a couple of my unfinished stories, but this tale bubbled up out of the murky magma that is my brain in one sitting, sort of as a stress relief (been traveling every weekend with my job the last few months).

Warning: morbid self-reflection ahead.

* * * * *

I was a really big fan of Dierdre's. Her stories consisted of a set of quickly sketched scenes where reality simply melted into the sexually-laden substrate underneath and it was almost like watching one of those animation flip-books, the plots moved so quickly.

Hopefully, I've kept her sense of just how sexual things are underneath the surface and how that can just erupt into our artificially staid everyday lives. I haven't kept her quick, light style, I'm afraid. My characters are an unruly bunch that each demand (and usually get) their ten minutes on stage. So far, this has worked well enough, though I reserve the right to change in the future.

This story is different from my other ones in that I did NOT follow all the story leads nearly as far as I usually do: just three major interactions -- bap, bap, bap -- with lots of potential paths still unfollowed. Not a Dierdre story, but a step in that direction. Let me know if you prefer this less exhaustive style of plotting. I can change how many story leads I follow up on (though I won't change Dierdre's approach of that delicious promise of what is on everyone's mind, just underneath the surface, if only they knew and admitted ...).

P.S. I know I break the framework: the story starts as an email, but you wind up getting more information than Robert got from the email. I cite precedence with Ellery Queen, where the occasional scene showed more than our detective observed.

Live well, Jafar


They Got Us

Hi, Robert.

Yeah, it's me. Your self. If you're reading this, it means that they got to you. To us. To me.

Wow, this is weird, talking to myself. Or writing to myself, as the case may be -- to a now-ignorant version of me ....

I knew they would be after us when they found out -- after all of us. Something like this is just too big to not squash when it begins to leak.

When I realized this, I took several of our journal entries and included them with this explanation and sent it out on the net. This e-mail has probably been around the world 20 or 30 times, time-paused at each hop along the way to hopefully throw them off our trail. If you're reading this, I guess it worked. You may get this message several times -- I sent it out via multiple routes.

I deleted the original entries from our journal, though I don't expect that to help much. I suspect they'll just do a mass brain-wipe of the town to clean up this mess.

I'll warn you now that you're not going to believe this. I couldn't believe it even as it happened. But there it was ... happening.

Do me -- us -- a favor and read this entire message all the way through, no matter how insane it sounds before you judge me -- us? yourself? -- as crazy.

I guess the best way to start this off is to just jump right into our first journal entry of the events:

Monday, November 5th. I can't believe what happened today! It was like something out of a porn movie, for goodness sake!

I was sneaking to the supply closet in the front office for a cup of coffee when ....

Photographers Do It With a Flash ------------- -- -- ---- - -----

"You're not supposed to notice me," Robert whispered when Mrs Stotter glanced up from her desk in the front office.

"You know that coffee will stunt your growth, Robert," the pretty blonde secretary whispered back.

"I'm eighteen. I'm already as growthed as I'm going to get." He continued walking toward the supply closet that held the precious brown brewed liquid. "And thanks for understanding senioritis," he grinned.

Barbara Stotter understood senioritis -- had watched her daughter Tina go through it last year. But, "It has nothing to do with understanding bored high school seniors, Robert. Your mother said that it was okay for you to have a little coffee now and then, but to let you keep thinking you were sneaking it -- that it would taste better for you that way."

Robert harrumphed. His mother taught senior English and the administrative staff at the school always knew all about his life-events -- like his first kiss two years ago, which Mrs Stotter had thought was just darling. "Just darling"! No man likes to be "just darling."

It wasn't easy being a teacher's son.

"Well, get your coffee," she flicked her hand at the closet, "before we both get caught."

"Thanks!" he whispered and ducked inside. He filled his mug with the last in the pot, then ran some water in the empty pot to start brewing the next one.

Meanwhile, Principal Chadburn stepped out of his office, carrying a camera. "Hi, Barbara. Anyone else out here?"

Her eyes flicked toward the supply closet. "No, sir. Just me," she smiled.

"In that case, I'd like to get a couple pictures for the yearbook if I could."

"Sure," she sighed. Usually they waited another month or two before they started in with this yearbook stuff.

He brought the camera up and she put a smile on her face.

Robert had heard Principal Shitbum and was peeking out where the closet door was opened a crack.


"That's good, Barbara. How about a couple more?"

"O ... kay," she said, looking a little distracted.

"But you're a pretty girl. Stand up, take off that jacket. Let's see your pretty figure."

"Thank you, sir," she smiled, standing and removing the jacket.



"Oh, beautiful! You should have been a fashion model. Pull your hair back and up and let it fall to your shoulders."

Pleased with the compliments, she smiled and did so.

"Yeah, that's nice, Barbie! Now let's see a pout. C'mon, more than that. Show me that bottom lip. Your hubby won't get you that cute little kitten at the pet shop that you asked him so nicely for. Yeah, that's it."


"Now even more pout. You're man has abandoned you for the night all alone at home all HOT and BOTHERED. Isn't that just horribly, horribly MEAN of him? Oh, yeah, THAT'S the pout."


"Yeah, you're just EXUDING sexiness, baby. Now lean forward and cup your breasts through your blouse."

Robert's eyes widened as he watched the pretty blonde administrator do as she was told.


"Oh, Barbie, the camera loves you. Come around and sit on the front of the desk."

Robert watched Mrs Stotter flounce around and sit on the top of her desk.


"Okay, let's hike that skirt up and show a little knee, Barbie."

Mrs Stotter grinned naughtily as she pulled her hem up to about three inches above her knee.


"Barbie! You're a NATURAL! Now hike it up a little further and let's see that look of SHOCK as you get caught FLASHING your PUSSY."

Robert's jaw dropped as Mrs Stotter -- the coworker of his mother and the mother of one of his long-time friends -- pulled her skirt up to show white panties!

"No, no! What in the world were you thinking, honeybunch?!"

Barbie raised her eyebrows and looked hurt.

"You're a star, sweetheart, a model. You don't ever want to be caught wearing something as mundane as panties."


"No," Shitbum shook his head solemnly.

"I'm ... sorry ...."

"Well, now ... reach up and pull them off."

"I ... don't think that ...."


"You're HOT, baby. You're TEASING the camera. Now let's lose the sopping wet underwear."

Giggling, Mrs Stotter hopped off the desk, her skirt dropping back down. Reaching up underneath, she wriggled her ass as she slid her panties to her knees, then off. Smiling, she turned around and held them up, dangling from her thumb and forefinger.


"Now tell me how wet they are, Barbie."

"Oh, honey," she smiled, "I am just a JUICER! And I am SO turned ON right now!"

"WHAT ... is going on here?!" Ms Carmichael stood with her fists on her hips, having just walked in on a scene wholly unexpected and utterly inappropriate in a public high school!


"Yes, YES, the camera likes you TOO, Rachel."

"I, ehr ...."


"Oh, yeah, what a SEXY little thing you are. Doesn't this look like FUN? To pose like Barbie?"

"I, uhm ...."


"Yeah, now hold your left hand up behind your head, Rach, and cock your hip out to the left like you're a model on Vogue."

"I-- I, uh-- like this?" She flashed a smile up on her face.


"Beautiful! Hot! Sexy! Now lean forward and shake your chest to jiggle your boobies!"

Ms Carmichael, 45 year old stern brunette math teacher with pretty, arched eyebrows, bent over and tentatively shook her chest to show off her large boobs.

"Rachel, Rachel, no. You're wearing a bra, aren't you?"

"Uhm ... yeah?"

"No, honey. You have the cleavage to go bare. You don't ever want to mess up your pretty figure with a ...," Chadburn made a face, "bra."

"I-- I'm ... sorry. I ... I won't do it again."

"Good girl!"

By this point, Mrs Stotter was looking confused, still holding up her soggy panties for some reason like some wet flag of lust. "Perhaps I should," she pointed toward the door leading out.

"Nonsense! Let me get a picture of both of you. Sit next to each other on the front of the desk there."

The two women did as they were told, Mrs Stotter the more hesitant of the two.


"Beautiful! Beautiful! You were both MADE for the camera!"


"Now, Rachel, lay your left hand on Barbie's right knee. Smile, girls."


"Great! Now, Barbie, lean over and kiss rachel on the cheek. That's it! Beautiful!"


"Rachel, turn your head around and meet Barbie's kiss."

Robert watched through the door crack in amazement as the two women pressed their lips together for the camera.


"Wonderful! Wonderful! Now Barbie, I want you to use a little tongue on Rachel, but pull your lips back from hers slightly so I can catch it on film."

Mrs Stotter wound up messily licking Ms Carmichael's lips and tongue, which came out to play with hers.


"Rachel, reach up and tell me if ... if Barbie is wearing a bra."

"Yeah ... yeah, she is," Ms Carmichael gasped in between tonguing Mrs Stotter back after she groped the younger woman's boob a few moments.


"Well, let's continue this photo shoot in my office, girls. And we can turn it into a really hot three-way shoot."

The two women stood, still caressing and feeling each other up, and followed Mr Chadburn into his office.

Holy ... SHIT!

Mrs Stotter just ... and then Ms Carmichael just ... and then they BOTH ....

Holy ... SHIT!


Like I said earlier, I couldn't believe that happened any more than I'm sure you can reading about it now. I pinched myself to make sure I was awake until I bruised. I threw out the coffee in case someone had spiked it with something that would make those three act like that. I poked my head back in the front office that afternoon to see what Mrs Stotter was doing then. She looked at me a little strangely -- I didn't usually step in just to say good night -- but she seemed otherwise okay.

I spent the next few days trying to figure if what I thought happened was real or not.

Principal Shitbum had told Mrs Stotter that she should never wear panties and Ms Carmichael that she shouldn't wear a bra anymore ....


"More coffee, Robert?" Mrs Stotter asked without looking up.

Robert wasn't even trying to sneak by this morning.

"Uhm, Mrs Stotter, could I get you to check where the coffee pot is plugged in with me? I thought it might have a loose wire yesterday and wouldn't want it to start a fire."

"Sure, Robert. It wasn't smoking or anything, was it?"

"No, ma'am, but it looked like part of the six-way plug was loose.

She stood and followed him into the supply closet.

Robert pulled the cords out of the six-way plug, including the coffee pot, then pulled the six-way out of the wall and let it slip to the floor.

"Oops. I dropped it. Could you pick it up for me?"

Barbara raised her eyebrows -- Robert was perfectly fine to bend over and pick it up himself -- but after a moment, she knelt to retrieve it.

Robert quickly studied the back of her skirt as best he could -- there did not APPEAR to be any panty lines.


"Ma'am?" That was a wrinkle to the side of her hip, not a panty line.

"Are you trying to stare at my ass?"

"No!" His eyes widened and he jerked them away from her and to the floor. "No, ma'am!"

She stood. "Because it sure looked like it."

"No, ma'am! I just wanted to check the six-way." He took it from her. "But it appears to be okay now." He turned and plugged it back into the wall, then reconnected all the plugs to it and turned around.

Mrs Stotter was standing with her arms crossed, her eyes at half-height. Very deliberately, she moved her eyes from his ass up to meet his gaze. "Now you know what it feels like," she arched an eyebrow.

"Uhm, yes, ma'am." He cast his gaze down. Head bent over, he stepped past her and out into the office. "Uhm, thank you."

He was still dark crimson as he stepped back into the outer office and then into the hall.


After math class -- the last one of the day -- Robert walked up to Ms Carmichael's desk. He had studied the back of her blouse for bra straps during class, but hadn't seen any.

"Yes, Robert?"

"Ms Carmichael, it looked like someone, uhm, taped-- " he gestured toward her back, then stepped behind her. While he reached behind his own back to retrieve the "grouch" piece of paper that he had taped there, he felt across her shoulder for a bra strap.


He felt up the center of her back for bra snaps.


"Robert, are you feeling me up for a bra?"

"No! I-- " he swallowed hard.

"Because I'm not wearing one."

"-- I was just getting this." He held out the "grouch" sign. "Someone taped that to you."

She took it and studied it, raising one eyebrow.

"You're not, uhm, wearing a bra, Ms Carmichael?"

"No." She arched one eyebrow. "Robert ... isn't this YOUR handwriting?"

How could she know?! She COULDN'T tell with big printed letters like that! She HAD to be bluffing!

Ms Carmichael took note of Robert's panic-wide eyes and nodded. "You're just trying to ogle teacher's boobies, aren't you, young man?"

"I-- I-- " he shook his head in denial.

"Oh, I understand. All the boys try." She smoothed the blouse over one of them. "There quite nice, really -- the boobs I mean. I don't blame you young men," she mused.

"I-- I-- "

"But we're teacher and student, Robert, and we shouldn't pursue this much further. Here," her face melted into a compassionate smile, "I can do this for you, but nothing more." She hopped up and down for several seconds.

Robert swallowed hard. Her boobies really jiggled quite ... delightfully ... through her blouse.

"You like that, don't you?" she smiled.


"Well, you whack off to that for a little while, but that's the most I can give you." She wagged her finger at him. "And don't you go trying to cop feels from me, young man."

"No, ma'am!"

"Because I'd have to say something by the fourth or fifth time you did something like that," she smiled. "Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Now you run along," she ushered him out of her classroom, copping a feel of his butt in the process."

WHAT ... in the HELL ... was going on?!


He headed downstairs to the front office in time to catch Mrs Stotter.

She raised one eyebrow. "Hi, Robert."

Don't even MENTION this morning's little scene, he told himself -- don't draw any more attention to it than it had already drawn.

"I just, uhm, wanted to show you the coins that Mr Johnson brought me back from his trip to France. Here, this one's a franc." He deliberately held it so she'd have to spin her chair toward him to take it, which she did.

"And this-- oops." He dropped the next coin to the floor, then dropped himself to his knees to retrieve it.

And to look up her skirt for panties.

"Oops." He let the other three coins clink out of his hand onto the floor, then slowly retrieved them too, all the while trying to see if he could make out any panties in the shadowy space between her knees.


From his hands and knees, he looked up to meet her gaze.

"Are you trying to look up my skirt?"

Shit, not again!

She was still looking at him, one eyebrow raised.

"I-- " he shook his head.

With a faint smile, she pinched the hem of her skirt in her fingers, then slid her hips forward, spreading her knees apart.

Robert's jaw dropped.

Soft, light brown pubic hair surrounded dark pink pussy lips. Robert gaped back up at her face.

"Well, that's what you wanted to see, wasn't it?"

"I-- I-- "

She slid her hips back and dropped her skirt. "Does that get it out of your system? Or are you going to need follow-up treatments?"

Jesus Christ! What was going ON here?! He stood and backed out of the office, stammering.

How Do You Get a Twinkle in a Blonde's Eye? --- -- --- --- - ------- -- - -------- ----

Author's Note:

Q: How do you get a twinkle in a blonde's eye?

A: You shine a flashlight in her ear.


By this point, we knew that SOMETHING was going on, you and I.

Other people were catching on too:

Thursday, November 15th. Paul was really wound up today ....


"Man, you OWE me," Paul pointed his forefinger at Robert, "for bringing you IN on this!"

"Okay, okay, I'll owe you. For bringing me in on what?"

"Just follow us," Al Chadburn nodded smugly. Altus -- Principal Chadburn's son -- had been a fat pimply brat as a child, and he was now a fat pimply brat as a young man.

Paul Glickman was a skinny, pimply geek. The mad scientist comes in two flavors: the arrogant bastard that tampers with things that man was never meant to tamper with; and the timid genius with the occasional perverted taste. Paul was of the latter category. He was already accepted into MIT, where he would work with laser and sub nuclear fusion and other scary things while paying for sex with the monthly prostitute.

Paul was also Robert's best friend.

"Man, you are going to LOVE this!" Paul spun around, ready to pop with excitement as he and Robert followed the fat kid up the hall.

"Easy, Paul. Don't wet your pants."

Paul deflated and turned back around, considerably dampened. "Man, you're not showing NEARLY enough appreciation for this," he muttered.

The halls were empty, abandoned by the students when the end of day bell rang twenty minutes ago.

Al came to a stop in front of Miss Caloway's geography classroom. Debra Caloway mostly taught 8th and 9th graders, but she was the centerpiece in many a wet dream by all male students. And male teachers. In fact, the principal would like to bend her over and ....

She was in.

The three boys stepped into her classroom. "Hi, Miss Caloway," Al smiled. "Tina told you I was going to come by to take your picture for the yearbook, didn't she?" He dropped his backpack and dug a camera out of it.

Miss Caloway frowned. "No, she didn't say anything about-- "

"Guess it slipped her mind," Al shrugged, "But that's okay."

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