Not Econ!


We began a mock investment in the stock market that day. We'd be tracking our money and growths and percentages and a whole lot of other things I didn't particularly understand and didn't really care to understand. I hated my Econ class with a passion. They hated me back, but that wasn't anything new at my small town high school. In particular, I actually hated this subject, as I've never been good at math. As a result, Mr. Brather never missed an opportunity to be hideous to me.

"I suggest you invest in those businesses that are of interest to you, so that you'll stay engaged in the project. For instance, a favorite coffee store chain or clothing line. Although you, Ms. Bradley, should probably be aware you can't invest in organizations like Salvation Army or Goodwill." Mr. Brather locked eyes with me, suddenly a helpless sitting duck in the front row, his sneer evident.

Shock and rage and intense shame washed through me as the class sniggered. I was wearing my usual attire—a large, soft, baggy and comfortable sweatshirt and jeans. Not designer jeans, but the entire outfit was far from being Salvation Army pickings. It was only in comparison to the hundred dollar outfits everybody at the school wore that I could even begin to be considered raggedy. Eighteen years old, eleven years in this town, and still everybody despised me, with the few exceptions being those who pitied me. Even the teachers hated a brilliant girl who didn't get good grades and made no particular effort to "fit in". I spent the rest of the class with my eyes on my desk and was thankfully spared any further humiliations.

I went straight to the principal's office. I knew this was an issue to bring to a guidance counselor, but our guidance counselor creeped me out with his oily smiles at the girls at lunch time, and the principal was known for being something of a Nazi, which I wanted on my side. I had to wait for about twenty minutes, as he was in a conference with somebody, but I didn't mind. I was missing English, but that was hands down the one class that no amount of dislike could justify a teacher docking my grade. Finally the principal was ready to meet with me.

There was no chair in the room, so I stood straight-backed in front of him and waited until he acknowledged me. I told him what happened, and explained Mr. Brather's general degrading and humiliating attitude towards me, generally focused on my appearance and how "ugly" he found me.

Principal Sulligan leaned back in his chair and looked me up and down with his eyes, and I was suddenly acutely aware of the power he held over me through the simple fact of my standing and his sitting. He rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and linked his fingers, and from the expression on his face I knew the sinking feeling of rejection.

"Here's the thing, Ms. Bradley, if Mr. Brather is correct, I can hardly encourage him to be untruthful. We value honesty at this school."

I blinked at him, feeling like I'd just been smacked and desperate to hide it.

"Clothes hardly make a person," I replied icily, "and I happen to have a fantastic body underneath mine. I feel no need to empty my wallet to look like everyone else."

Principal Sulligan leaned forward and rested his chin on his hands.

"Show me," he said.

"What???" Was my startled reply, and my heart started beating too fast as he spoke.

"Show me this great body of yours and I'll vouch for it to Mr. Brather and persuade him to stop his supposed torment of you." The principal's eyes were amused and slightly bored, as he clearly expected me to be horrified and stomp out of the room. Instead, I felt adrenaline course through me. I knew I wanted to prove something. In this high school where looks and excessive displays of money were everything, I wanted to prove I had a fantastic body. That I dressed how I wanted to because I wanted to, not because I had something to hide.

I deliberately and insolently thumped my books down on his desk, startling him. I grabbed the bottoms of my sweatshirt and the tight tank top and pulled both off in one ungraceful movement that knocked my glasses askew. I flung my clothes into the corner and pushed my glasses back into place before reaching for the button on my jeans. The principal made a small sound and I looked up to meet his eyes.

"You're not wearing a bra." He said it as if he didn't quite believe it.

"Indeed," I replied dryly, but inside I was smug, well aware of just how attractive my pert firm breasts were. Seniors didn't have gym class, and without that threat of being caught, I'd stopped wearing bras. I was relatively confident my huge sweatshirts hid me, and nobody would be checking me out at this school anyway, so I was safe.

I now had the principal's undivided attention as I ran my hands down my flat stomach to the top of my jeans, which I slowly unbuttoned and unzippered. I turned around under the pretense of kicking my shoes off by my sweatshirt, but really I wanted to have my ass in his face as I slowly pushed my pants and underwear down. As I turned to face him, I exalted in the triumphant feeling engulfing me, only to have it shocked out of me by the satisfied look on the principal's face. He nodded towards the upper corner of the room.

"That camera has just recorded you performing a striptease for your principal. I can tell just about any story I please to explain the events, given that it has no audio input. My dear Ms. Bradley, I regret to inform you that there simply is no college that will be interested in a student who uses her sexuality to get ahead academically."

Horror and then panic washed through me. I knew my mom would fight for me in court, but what a horrible taint to carry around forever. I wanted to go into politics—I could not have this kind of background. I knew then that I'd do whatever the principal told me. By the pleased look on his face, I knew he knew what I was thinking. He rolled his chair back and patted his thighs.

"Why don't you join me Ms. Bradley?"

I threw a longing look towards my clothes and then moved to stand in front of him. He put his hands on my hips and turned me around, then pulled me onto his lap. I felt his cock straining against my ass through his pants. He moved my hair from my neck and breathed on my shoulder.

"What could you do to convince me to destroy that tape, hmm?" He asked conversationally. His right hand went to my thigh and began to trace a slow path up it. Despite my disgust, I felt my breath catch at the near-tickling sensation.

"Are you a virgin Ms. Bradley? Or has someone seen past your wretched clothing and hardcover books to this hot body underneath?" His hand was on the short curls between my legs, one finger starting to slide between my lips.

"No," I lied, "I'm not a virgin." I was determined that he not believe he was the first to touch me this way.

"Indeed," was all he said, but his finger started to push into me, where I was treacherously wet. He hissed in surprise, obviously not expecting the large amount of slickness.

"Stand, please, Ms. Bradley," he told me. I did as he said, and I heard him unzip his pants and pull them down. I started to turn around, but his hands caught my hips again, and he pulled me down, guiding himself against me. Then he was sliding brutally into me—me straining to stand up, but him pulling me down against his crotch. I felt myself clamp down around him—he was much larger than anything I'd ever had the guts to put inside me, and the position made my thighs burn. He grunted a little behind me.

"Ah, you are so tight and wet. Are you enjoying this, you little slut?"

I was unsure how to respond, and pulled against his hands a little. But he just gripped my hips tighter, slowly pulling me up off of him and then down again. The erotic slide of him inside me made my insides squirm with pleasure. My hands were braced on my knees to keep myself from collapsing, but I wished in a detached way I could be rubbing my clit. To my surprise, Principal Sulligan reached his right hand around and started to circle my clit for me. Suddenly passionate, I pumped up and down on top of him, clearly enjoying it, but ceasing to care about modesty. I could feel his cock shudder and pulse and was starting to think I might actually cum before him when he moved his hand from my cunt and with his grip on my hips pulled me completely off of him again. Still in the rhythm, my ass started to sink back down towards his groin again, and with a jolt of awareness, I felt his cock at the entrance to my ass.

"No!" I yelped.

"Want the secretary to hear you?" He asked in a thick gravelly voice and with one brutal pull he slammed my ass into his crotch again. I felt myself drench in sweat as the pain and discomfort bolted through me. I felt my bowels loosen and tighten, and before I could get them under control, he started moving again. I started moaning in humiliation and pain, and he came very quickly, every pulse of his cock stretching me painfully. He withdrew and pulled me onto his thighs one last time. I had tears in my eyes and thought I was as far from aroused as ever, but with his legs he forced my thighs apart and slapped, slapped my cunt. With a cry, I came hard, convulsing in his lap, my ass leaking cum and anal juice onto his thigh. As I shuddered through my release, the principal pushed me onto the floor and wiped his thigh with a Kleenex.

"I suggest you put your clothes on and get on to your classes," he said as he stood up and buttoned and zipped his pants. He sneered at me and then turned to his desk, ignoring me completely, as if I wasn't shaking and dripping on his office floor. I slunk over to my clothes and pulled them on, trying to get as little of the mess on them as possible, but well aware I'd be making a desperate run to the bathroom. As I opened the door, the principal finally looked up again.

"Ms. Bradley?" I turned around reluctantly. "I'll make sure to let Mr. Brather know about this incident. I'm sure it'll change his attitude towards you." He gave me a leering mocking smile and then turned back to his computer. Horrified, and in severe physical discomfort, I left.

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