tagGroup SexSex Ed

Sex Ed

bydr_mabeuse©

“Miss Dee? Miss Dee!”

Zanny stopped in the hallway and looked behind her to see Mr. Zobel fighting his way through the mass of students heading for the exits. It was three o’clock and most of the kids were now off for the day, so the noise and rush of young bodies was considerable, but the assistant principal had plenty of experience with negotiating crowds of excited students, and he made his way towards her like a salmon swimming upstream.

“Well, Miss Dee? How did it go?” he asked her when he had caught her up. “Miss Abershawm tells me it was your first day as a substitute.” He smiled at her a little uneasily, as if he knew that they both might be swept away by the mob at any moment.

“Oh, I think it went fairly well.” Zanny said. “Not as bad as I’d expected, really.”

As soon as she’d said it she regretted it. “I mean…”

Mr. Zobel smiled. “That’s quite all right, Miss Dee. I’m well aware that our school has a reputation as being a rough place. And our students are supposed to be ungovernable, if not downright criminal. But they’re not as bad as all that for the most part, are they?”

Zanny shook her head and smiled.

“Really it’s just a few bad apples.” Mr. Zobel said. “Most of them are fairly decent. So it all went well, all things considered?”

“Yes,” Zanny said. “No real trouble whatsoever.”

“Good. Excellent. I’m so glad.” Mr. Zobel said.

He took her arm and subtly guided her towards the wall where the current of rushing teenagers was considerably less than it was in midstream.

“I wonder if I might ask a favor of you.” he said.

Zanny looked at him expectantly.

“Mrs. Wells has taken ill, and there’s no one to oversee her ninth period detention class. Would you be willing to stay on another hour and see to it? You’d of course be paid overtime, and we’d all be so especially grateful.”

“Of course, Mr. Zobel. I’d be happy to help out in any way I can. I certainly don’t mind staying another hour.”

“Excellent. That’s very good of you, Miss Dee. We really appreciate it. I’m sorry for the short notice, but Mrs. Wells…”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Zanny said. “I’m happy to help out.”

“Fine, fine. Very good of you.” Mr. Zobel said with a smile. “Now, it’s in room 302 in the south wing, and Mrs. Wells has left some lesson plans in the desk. She’s very conscientious that way. I’m sure there’s a videotape of some sort you can run. Really, the class is more of a study period than an actual classroom, so you really won’t have to do any teaching. Just stay and keep the darlings company.”

“Of course.”

Still smiling, Mr. Zobel cautiously backed out into the lessening stream of students. “I wouldn’t have asked this of you, but all of staff has a district meeting at four, and there’s really no one else available.”

“I’ll be happy to do it.” Zanny said.

“Thank you so much, Miss Dee. Just stop in at the office as you leave and we’ll add the hours to your time card. Miss Abershawm will see to the details.”

“Fine.” Zanny said. “By the way, what does Mrs. Wells normally teach?”

Mr. Zobel was about caught up in the dwindling stream of students heading for the exit. At first she thought he perhaps hadn’t heard her, but then he turned, and still wearing his professional smile, said. “Sex Ed. Good luck. And thanks again.”

It was Zanny’s first day as a substitute teacher, and when they had asked her to go to Crane she had almost refused. Crane Technical High School was the district’s school for problem cases, where the difficult students were sent, and it had a reputation for being tough on both students and teachers. The students were discipline problems, trouble makers, and petty criminals. Crane was where they were warehoused and taught what they could be taught before releasing them out onto the streets.

But Zanny had heard that Crane’s reputation was now largely undeserved. Changes had been made, and the new staff that had been brought in several years ago had worked wonders, converting it from its former prison-like atmosphere to something much more like of a place of learning. And indeed her experience so far had confirmed her belief. There was quite a bit of horseplay between classes, and occasionally during class, but for the most part she’d found the students to be fairly well-behaved and obedient.

The obedience was important to Zanny, for she’d always been worried about her ability to impose her authority on a classroom, especially a classroom of rambunctious, hormone-fueled teen-agers. She was not an imposing figure by any means, being about the same size as the students she taught, and she had not yet mastered that instinctive air of authority most veteran teachers possessed.

Complicating this was the fact that she was a beautiful and very attractive young woman, and her attempts to hide the fact for the classroom were not very successful. Wearing her hair in a school-marmish bun only accented the natural symmetry of her face and her sensuous mouth, and the glasses she wore in order to flatten her looks only called attention to her large brown eyes, at once honest and naturally somewhat seductive. Her restrained use of makeup only made her look younger than she already was.

These attempts would have been futile anyhow in light of her truly voluptuous body; the smooth curves of her legs led up to a comfortable spread of hips, and her thin waist exaggerated the thrust of her already large breasts. She was undeniably female, almost exaggeratedly so. She had worked hard to find an outfit that would disguise her shape, but her best efforts were largely unsuccessful. She had finally settled on a brown suit and blue blouse for her first day and hoped for the best. But the truth was, she looked very much like the stock movie character: the plain-looking librarian who, at the end of the film, whips off her glasses, lets down her hair, and turns out to have been a stunning beauty all along. Wherever she went in the school, she was dismayed to find that she was unintentionally sending out signals that said “Female” much more loudly than they said “Teacher”.

Room 302 was down at the end of the North corridor in a remote part of the building, and by the time she reached it the halls were empty of students. School officially ended at three o’clock, and this class was only for those who had detention slips they had to pay off by staying late.

She opened the door and walked into a din of young male voices just as the second bell rang. She closed the door behind her and looked at the class, and immediately all eyes turned to her. The bell stopped, its echoes peeling down the empty corridors of the school, and still there was a stunned silence in the room. They obviously had not been expecting a substitute, especially not one as attractive as Zanny.

She walked to her desk, conscious of all eyes on her. But she was used to the stares of men, even men as young as this, and it didn’t bother her. If anything, she enjoyed feeling their desire. It was her power over men and she enjoyed using it every so often. And it was even more fun when the men were powerless to approach her. She held herself erect as she walked, and allowed a slight exaggeration in the roll of her hips as she approached her desk, just to let them know what they were dealing with,

There were no more than fifteen or twenty boys in the classroom, but they were all over, sitting on the desks, sitting on the window sill, one group was already playing cards in the back. She smelled cigarette smoke and something sweeter, possibly hashish.

She marched directly to the teacher’s desk, her heels very loud on the wooden floor, and put down her purse and the books she carried about as a sort of shield to hide her breasts. The class list was in the top drawer, as well as a folded piece of paper that said “To Sub: Lesson plan” Zanny opened the paper and read. “Tape #HSP-8, in top right drawer. View and Discuss” She peeked in the top right drawer and saw a videotape inside. She opened the class list and looked up.

Detention halls in this school were different from what she was accustomed to. Rather than make students just while away time in detention, most teachers at Crane used to period to slip in an extra lecture. Zanny was glad of this, for it would give them something to do for the forty minute period.

She looked up at the class and smiled. “Mrs. Wells isn’t here today. She took ill. I’m your substitute. Miss Dee.”

She went to the board and wrote her name on it in large letters.

“Miss Dee. Misty? Like in the song?” someone said.

She turned around, but couldn’t tell who’d said it. All eyes were on her, and there were general smirks on half the class.

“Take your seats.” she said, as sternly as she could. “And put your cards away or bring them up here. We’ll take attendance. As I call your name, indicate that you’re here.”

On the whole they seemed to be somewhat older than the typical Crane student. Some were good, some bad, some perhaps had learning disabilities, perhaps some had emotional problems, but nothing too serious; a mixed bag.

As she took attendance it became obvious to her that there was one group of boys that hung together, a sort of clique or gang. All of them were maybe sixteen or seventeen years old, but each seemed older than that; some of them to have already crossed that hazy frontier between boyishness and manhood, too old to take part in class hijinks, but required by law to remain in a school they’d obviously outgrown. They all sat up front and to her left, and at first glance were the best-behaved students in the class; no talking, no rowdiness. But Zanny could tell from their expressions and their postures that their good behavior was, in this class, a kind of defiance itself. There were five of them. Three wore dark glasses, the other two stared at her with sullen interest.

“Desmond Weir?” she asked.

This was a white boy in the second row, a part of the clique, wearing a tee shirt and dark glasses. One of the more mature boys. A very good-looking boy-man with a studied, surly expression and a shadow of unshaven beard on his face. He seemed to be one of the leaders of the group.

“War.” he said softly. “They call me ‘War’.”

Zanny looked up a half-smile frozen on her face. The tee-shirt hung on his frame as if he were a male model. His arms showed a man’s muscles, and he sported a tattoo on each shoulder. Over his upper lip was a small but visible scar that she found inexplicably attractive, a flaw that kept his face from being too pretty. Though she could not see his eyes, something in his attitude made her quite self-conscious and she looked away. Not for the first time that day she was conscious of her body inside her clothes.

“Frederick Zaubusont?”

“Here, Miss Dee.” said a tall, black boy next to Weir. How he could put such sarcasm into a simple answer she didn’t know, but it was unmistakable. He too wore dark glasses, and though his hair was arranged in dreadlocks, sitting next to Weir they made have been cast from similar molds, though Zaubusont’s muscles were smooth. He looked like he was made out of bronze.

“And do you have a nickname?” Zanny asked.

He shrugged. “Rick.” he said.

“Of course. From Frederick.” She smiled.

“Nuh-unh.” he said with a growing smile of his own. “From largo negro Ricardo.”

Zanny had picked up some Spanish and without thinking she worked it out for the class. “Oh. Long, black, Richard?” And then she understood. A few of the more alert and perceptive students laughed harshly, and she frowned, dropping her eyes to the book. She wouldn’t step into another one, she told herself.

The other members of the group were Alonzo, a very quiet, very dangerous-looking Italian boy--if you could call him that; to Zanny he looked as if he were well into his twenties--with a thick, powerful body. No doubt he was the muscle of the group.

Then there was Mickey, the smallest of the lot, who seemed to maintain his position in the group by playing the role of court jester, and a medium sized boy with lanky blonde hair named Jacques but whom they called ‘Joke’, who seemed unusually high string. What his role in the group was, Zanny didn’t know. His skin was ravaged with acne, and just looking at him as he fidgeted rhythmically at his desk made her nervous.

“All right.” she said as she put the class list back in the desk. “Mrs. Wells left us a video to see, so we’ll do that. Or if you choose, you may work on your homework or other assignments quietly.

Zanny pulled the telly-videotape player forward on its wheeled cart, noticing how well it was bolted and chained to the heavy cart. She turned on the unit and slipped the tape into the player.

“Are there any questions?” she asked.

“Miss Dee? Miss Dee?” Mickey called, waving his arm excitedly.

“Yes? Mickey is it? Yes, Mickey?” He stood up beside his desk and asked. “Are you wearing a bra?”

At this the entire class exploded in laughter, even the cool War and Rick smiled broadly. She felt herself blushing and hated herself for it. Quickly she ran through her discipline options in her mind, and realized with horror that there was very little she could do; this already was a discipline group.

“Very funny.” she said. “Now sit down.” She pushed the tape in and it began to play.

She pulled her chair around to where she could keep an eye on the video as well as the class, took a book off her stack and opened it randomly. She heard the typical educational video music begin, and the bright, clipped voice of the announcer as he said: “Tape 8 in the series The Human Sexuality Program: The Female Sexual Response!”

The class immediately hooted and began to applaud.

Oh my God! Zanny thought. This is what she left me to play?

But there was nothing to be done for it now: she didn’t dare stop the tape. That would be admitting her own embarrassment. She could feel all the eyes on her already, watching for her reaction, and she consciously kept her face impassive, as if absorbed in her book.

Maybe it won’t be so bad. Maybe it’ll be vague and general. They wouldn’t dare show anything in the least bit explicit in here.

“Miss Dee?” someone called from the back of the class, “May I please turn the lights down. I can’t see very well from back here.”

With the lights off she would be less visible to the class. That would be worth it, despite whatever mischief they might start in the dark.

“Yes you may.” she said.

The room was plunged into darkness save for the nacreous glow of the telly screen. The announcer was going on about the wonders of the human body, what marvelous machines they were, how very wise Mother Nature had been. Zanny kept her head down but kept glancing up on the screen as it showed pictures of couples hand in hand, a wedding, young girls and boys at the beach in some California never-never land; innocuous images that Zanny instinctively knew would not last long.

And then there it was. The naked female body, sectioned to show the sexual organs. She felt herself blush hotly and was glad she had let them turn the lights off. This was still pretty clinical, though some of the students had begun making comments she could hardly catch. She could feel all the eyes of the class on her, waiting for her to show some reaction to what was being said on the tape. She could feel their stares like a heat lamp on her neck.

And then things got much worse.

“The external female genitalia are rich in sensitive nerve endings.” the announcer said, which caused general hoots of approval. And when he intoned in the same bright voice that “The clitoris is the only organ found in the human body, in men or women, whose sole function is to generate pleasurable sensations.” The class exploded into loud laughter and catcalling, some pounding on their desks.

“That’s enough!” Zanny shouted. ”Keep quiet or I’ll turn it off.”

But her words had no effect on the pandemonium, which drowned out the voice on the tape.

“Shut up!” War yelled suddenly. The laughter immediately stopped and the room grew very quiet as the tape played on with only an occasional snicker or giggle.

If anything, the silence was worse than the raucous laughter and catcalls. Zanny had to sit and listen as the voice went on about female arousal, erection of the clitoris, lubrication of the genitals, swelling of the labia and vaginal tissues, tilting of the uterus and change in the vagina so as to accommodate…

That was more than she could take. Zanny stood up and turned off the tape to moans of disappointment. “I think this is a little more than what we need to see right now.” she announced, hiding the redness of her face by keeping her head down..

There were boos and catcalls.

“We want a demonstration!” someone yelled out.

“We ain’t got to the best part yet!”

“Yeah! Demonstration!”

Zanny ignored them. In her most unflustered voice she called to the back of the room, “Will you please put the lights back on now?”

“No lights!” “Leave ‘em off” “Wait!” they called.

“Lights!” Zanny insisted.

The lights came on and she blinked at the brightness as she looked around the room. She couldn’t keep her eyes from glancing at the boys’ crotches, and she saw the bulges quite clearly.

With a raw shock she realized that two of the boys were openly masturbating at their desks, their penises clearly visible in their hands. The closest to her was Joke, hunched low in his seat, pumping away at his shockingly large prick, oblivious to her horrified stare.

“Stop it!” she cried. “Stop it this instant! All of you stop it! My God! What’s wrong with you? This is a classroom!”

The boy toward the back of the class cowered in his seat and surreptitiously closed his pants, but Joke kept on frigging himself.

“Uh-uh! I’m gonna do it! I’m gonna do it!” he breathed, eyes closed, his hand a blur in his lap.

Without thinking Zanny marched right to his seat. “Stop it! Stop it! This is disgusting! Stop it right now!”

“Hey, leave him alone.” War said to her. “Guy’s got a problem, you know? He can’t help it.”

“Yeah.” Rick said mildly. “He’s got to do it like five times a day, you know? Otherwise he goes all wack, starts trouble, know what I mean?”

Zanny was outraged. Joke was ignoring her, his eyes closed, mouth open as he pumped violently at his rigid cock, shaking in his seat and moaning.

“Not in my class!” she said. “He’s going down to the principal right now!”

War shook his head sadly. “Man, you shouldn’t a shown him that tape, lady. What’d you expect him to do?

“You can’t even let him see no pictures of babes in magazines, he goes all sex crazy.” Mickey chimed in.

“Besides,” War said, cocking his head and looking at her. “Principal’s gone for the day.”

Still intent on stopping Joke, it took Zanny a moment to understand the import of what War had just said. The principal was gone for the day!

She took a nervous step back and glanced out the window at the parking lot below. From this room she could see where the teachers and staff parked. Aside from her car and Miss Ambershawm’s, the lot was empty. She realized with a chill that there was no one else in the school.

They all saw her reaction. They all knew what it meant. The silence that followed was deafening. She knew now that she was alone in the building, and they knew it too. A thrill of fear writhed up her spine.

How could they do this to her? Leave her alone in a class with these problem kids with no one else in the school? Leave her that explicit tape to play to a group of young, oversexed boys. Didn’t they know what they were doing?

“Oh Fuck! Look at me! Watch! Watch!” Joke cried out. He twisted in his seat so that his cock was now visible, and aimed at the nearest wall. His hips bucked up from his chair, he groaned with relief, and Zanny watched horrified as he ejaculated, shooting his semen almost seven feet to splatter it against a blackboard at the side of the room.

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bydr_mabeuse© 8 comments/ 201720 views/ 57 favorites

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