Sexual Education

We'd just had the final cheerleader practice for the semester. For the year, really. For me, the last one ever. I was graduating in a couple of weeks and wouldn't be a cheerleader any more. I'd only attended the practise to help train some of the newer girls. I wouldn't be running out on the field again.

As the senior girl there I'd volunteered to make sure that everything was packed away, letting everyone else free to change and depart. Here was a method to my madness of course. Basically, everyone else would be leaving by the time I came in to shower and change, meaning I'd have free access to the showers. The boys hadn't been practising so that meant that there would still be plenty of hot water for the showers. It was the pits when we both practised on the same day as the hot water would always run out.

I strolled into the change-room, waving to the others as they departed. I enjoyed a nice leisurely shower and then went to get dressed. As soon as I opened my locker I ran into a little problem. My panties fell out of the locker and landed in a puddle that was on the floor. Yuk. No way was I putting on wet panties.

This is not a problem, I hear you saying. You were at Cheerleader practice. You'll be able to wear the modesty shorts that go with your cheerleader outfit, right? Well, yes. And no. Like I said, this was the end of my cheerleading career. Knowing it was coming up I had refrained from buying new modesty shorts when I should have. I'd had a little growth spurt over the last couple of months, putting on a few extra pounds around the bust and, unfortunately, the hips. Those modesty shorts were now so damn tight they might as well have been a coat of black paint. It was a struggle to get them on and just as hard to get them off. I loathed them.

I looked at the blasted shorts and then I looked at my school uniform. The tunic reached down to just above my knees. (I have been known to shorten it by rolling it up at the waist but not, I thought, this time.) I could wear the tunic without panties and who'd know, apart from me? I was going straight home after all. Five minute walking along the street. Ten at the most. Goodbye shorts, hullo commando, I decided.

Mr Macafee is our principal. For some reason he never walks anywhere. He charges. He'll burst out of his office and go shooting down a corridor as if he was in a walking race. Most disconcerting if you get in his way.

Why am I discussing our principal, you ask? Because I was just about to walk past the Coach's office when Mr Macafee came charging out. I bounced off him and landed on my behind. I also bounced up off my behind in double quick time, thankful that he'd been standing too near to notice anything amiss.

"Elizabeth!" he exclaimed. "Are you all right? Sorry about that. What are you doing here at this hour?"

"I'm fine," I said quickly. "I was equipment monitor for our practice session. That's why I'm a little late."

"Oh, right. Well good for you."

"Before you go, a moment of your time, please, Elizabeth," another voice said and I turned my head to see Coach Hopkins looking at me.

"Yes, sir?" I said politely. (What else could I say? No way and I'm out of here?)

He indicated I should enter his office and I did so sensing Mr Macafee following me in. Coach Hopkins just looked at me for a moment and then picked up this long pointer he has and used it to flick up the front of my tunic. I promptly blushed and squeaked, frantically brushing my tunic back into place.

"Mm. I didn't think the approved school panties consisted of a little black tuft of fur," he observed, while my face just went scarlet.

"Elizabeth?" said Mr Macafee.

"I, um, I had a minor accident in the change room," I said.

Would you believe that he then had the gall to reach down and lift the front of my tunic up, giving him and the coach a good eyeful?

"Stop that," he said when I tried to push my tunic back into place, and Coach Hopkins laughed.

"How long is it since we caught one of the girls going commando?" he asked.

"Oh, it must be nearly a week," replied Mr Macafee, much to my surprise.

"What?" I said, showing my surprise.

"Oh yes, it happens every so often," said Coach Hopkins. "They always have an excellent excuse for it. I admit the excuse I liked best was the girl who claimed she took them off so she could show the boys the colour of her panties when they asked."

"Who'd be stupid enough to do a thing like that?" I demanded.

"We give no names to protect the guilty and the stupid," Mr Macafee said solemnly, "but if you consider the stupid in the school you probably won't be too far off."

Actually, now he mentioned it I probably could name a girl stupid enough to do that. Still, none of my business. These two oafs looking at my mons was my problem.

"If you don't mind?" I said, trying to tug my tunic out of Mr Macafee's grip, trying being the operative word.

"We don't," he said. "Ah, so you know, there's a standard penalty for young ladies running around commando. Any underage have to go and explain themselves to Mrs Fotheringham."

I could feel myself going pale. Mrs Fotheringham was a witch, an evil spell casting witch, and that was on her good days. Having to try and explain going commando to her would be a nightmare.

"Of course, you turned eighteen last month, so that doesn't apply to you."

From despair to relief in on short sentence. Before I could ask what did apply to me I was informed.

"For a young lady such as yourself we'll just take the time to further your education."

Even as he was saying that his hand dropped down to close over my mound while Coach Hopkins reached past him to shut the door.

"What do you mean?" I asked in a voice that was nearly a shriek, slapping at his hand at the same time.

His reply was to unzip his trousers and haul this whacking great cock out into the light. It looked huge and it was as stiff as a poker, and about as long as one, too, according to my fevered imagination, even if much fatter.

"You wouldn't," I gasped, turning to see what Coach Hopkins was doing. "Oh my god, you would," I said, seeing Coach had dropped his tracksuit pants and was displaying another fine erection.

I looked from one to the other and back again.

"How can you do this?" I demanded. "You're teachers."

"Who better to give you an education?" said Mr Macafee with a smile and a slight shrug.

What the hell was I supposed to do now? My poor virgin body was about to be devirginated by a couple of people I was supposed to be able to trust. That's when a thought hit me. I was going to be fucked and no-one could say it was my fault. I mean, I couldn't be expected to fight off two men, now could I? I glanced from one to the other. Yep. They had two great big cocks just waiting to fuck me and all I had to do was let it happen. Who would be first? Probably Mr Macafee as he was the principal.

I was feeling all hot and bothered just anticipating what was going to happen. I was also acutely aware of my vagina and I could feel my nipples puckering, and they hadn't even been touched yet. I was breathing slightly harder. Two men were going to take my virginity. Count them, two. Well, only one could take my virginity, but the second would just follow right on, wouldn't he?

Mr Macafee stopped fondling me and released the grip he had on my tunic and for one dreadful moment I thought they weren't going to go ahead with it. Then they started undoing buttons

"This is a lot more fun if you're completely naked," Mr Macafee told me, and he and Coach were making short work of my clothing. They must have practised this on someone as I was naked in very short order.

Coach Hopkins stepped up behind me and I could feel him plastered against my back. His hands were around me, holding my breasts, and I could feel the length of his cock pressing against me. Mr Macafee had resumed stroking my mound, his fingers starting to slide between my lips and explore inside of me.

"She's ready," he suddenly said, and I could feel Coach Hopkins changing his position.

I was breathing harder as the Coach reached down and clasped hold of my bottom, lifting me. At the same time he was tilting me slightly so I found myself leaning back against him. I was assuming that Coach was about to lower me onto him and I was holding my breath, waiting for it to happen. Then Mr Macafee made his move.

He stepped closer to me and it dawned on me that all Coach was doing was presenting me to Mr Macafee. I was wide open to him, my legs separated and Coach holding me in position. Looking down the length of my body I could see Mr Macafee's cock moving closer to me and then I could feel it, pressing against me.

I damned near yelled, "Yes," with relief as he started pushing past my lips and sliding into my passage, but I managed to keep silent. I had a feeling that it wasn't quite proper to cheer your rapist on, no matter how much you'd been anticipating it. As for losing my virginity, pah. I felt a slight twinge as it went by the wayside and then the interesting action started.

"Lift your legs and wrap them around my waist," Mr Macafee told me.

"Why?" I demanded.

"Because I'll smack your bottom if you don't," he said, and I had to admit that was a pretty good reason. I lifted my legs and wrapped them around him, surprised to find that this seemed to draw him just a little deeper into me.

Coach moved away from behind me and Mr Macafee wedged me up against the Coach's desk. Then he started in on me. I have to admit that I found the action superbly satisfying and I was moving in unison with him almost from the word go. It all seemed perfectly natural to me and if it wasn't for the fact that it was rape I'd probably have been cheering him on, exhorting him to do more and more.

That's when I had an epiphany. I could cheer as much as I liked. All I had to do was change what I said. Instead of going 'yes, yes, yes' I could shout 'no, no, no', satisfying my urge to cheer while letting Mr Macafee know I was still protesting. What was even better was that I could abuse the school principal and he wouldn't be able to do anything about it.

"You're an animal," I wailed, pushing hard to meet his thrusts. "How can you do this to one of your students? We trust you and you're showing that you're nothing but a brute. Stop it at once."

I'd probably have died if he had stopped it. Everything was coming along nicely. I don't think I could have asked for a better performance for my first time, with his cock plunging full length into me time after time, all to the music of me caterwauling and abusing him. I'd never had so much fun.

He didn't stop, of course. He just kept pounding away, taking his pleasure and the hell with whatever I might say or think. For all that he was definitely getting to me, or at least his cock was. He'd slide into me (make that ram into me) and my libido flourished, my arousal becoming more intense every passing second.

Eventually he made this groaning sound and started to go all out as if his life depended on it. Whatever the reason it was enough to push me over the edge and I squealed softly as I climaxed, it slowly dawning on me that Mr Macafee's sudden urgency was due to him also climaxing. (And his life had depended on what he was doing as I'd have killed him if he'd finished without me going off.)

Mr Macafee withdrew, leaving me sitting on the desk. They say no rest for the wicked and I must have been an evil person as Coach Hopkins stepped forward. He thoughtfully produced some wet tissues and used them to clean me up a bit and then he arranged me to his liking on the desk.

In hindsight it occurred to me that the Coach had done this sort of thing before and knew precisely how tall the desk was. He sat me right on the edge of the desk, spreading my legs wide, and I was wide open to him when he stood in front of me. The height was just right for him to point his cock at me and step forward, driving right in. He didn't have to crouch down at all, or stand on his toes. He had me at precisely the right height. I subsequently wondered if he'd had the desk adjusted to that height.

When I said he drove right in I suppose that I really should say that he ambled into place. No fuss or rush. He just lined up and slowly pushed forward and, glancing down, I could see his cock just slowly sinking into me.

I gave him a slightly stunned look and he had the gall to wink at me. Then he started swaying back and forth, the only thing touching me was his cock. I continued looking down and I could see it, sinking in and retreating, only to sink in again.

I wasn't saying anything. I was just too fascinated in watching him in action. There was none of the frenetic activity that Mr Macafee had showed but Coach was demonstrating that he knew exactly what he was doing. Oddly enough he didn't even need me to move with him, which was fortunate as the way I was perched on the desk I couldn't have if I'd wanted to. (I sort of wanted to, but it just didn't seem appropriate at this stage. It was most peculiar.)

Coach seemed perfectly happy with what he was doing and he just kept on and on and on. I just sat there, feeling myself get all dreamy as he took me, not feeling the least bit of urgency. As far as I was concerned Coach could do this for ages and I wouldn't complain.

It turned out that Mr Macafee could and would.

"For fuck's sake, Jack," he growled. "See if you can finish off sometime today. We've still got work to do."

Coach didn't say anything but he did change his style a little. His hands came up and closed over my breasts, fondling them, while his steady drilling changed from his easy glide into a more determined thrust. I'd already been floating along close to a climax, relishing the feel of being held there while Coach played with me. Now with his added urgency he easily pushed me over the mark, letting me have my second climax of the day.

Coach calmly cleaned me up again afterwards and I departed. Mr Macafee put in one last word about the dangers of going commando and I just gave him a nasty look. I headed off home. And yes, I did walk home commando.