The Girl Who Cried Wolf 01

I feel bad about it now. Ginny has it hard enough around here without me making it worse. Girls can be so cruel to people like Ginny. Over the years I've heard more than one girl calling her a 'two bagger', which means that when she's with a boy, she needs to wear a bag over her head, and the boy has to wear the other bag over his, just in case her bag fails. Maybe I'm old, but she's never really struck me as that ugly. Certainly, her red hair is awfully stringy, and her freckles are so dense and dark that it looks like someone sprayed her face with brown ink, and her expression is badly distorted by those gleaming silver braces on her teeth, but she's kind of cute, to me anyway. If she weren't so obnoxious, I might even fantasize about her, but she is obnoxious, so I don't. Not like her roommate...

Britta Collier, the flirtatious brunette eleventh-grader of my dreams! When I moved on to Britta's bed I was surprised to discover what a slob she is. Her dresser is covered with a messy assembly of ribbons, scarves, jewellery, dolls, shoes, lotions, perfumes and other girlish things. Her bed is unmade, and absolutely littered with dirty clothes, school books, and half-finished homework. Beyond her bed, her wall is completely obscured with magazine cut-outs of male celebrities, most of them my age or older. I was about to move on when I noticed one of Britta's bras hanging loose from the headboard. Without thinking, I lifted it up in my hands and pressed my face into the cup, and breathed in her powdery, youthful scent. The scent of her naked breast. My cock began to rise, so I had to remind myself that I wasn't here for this sort of carnal foolishness. So I put my filthy thoughts aside, let go of Britta's bra, and moved on to Fern's corner.

Fern's wall is undecorated, but that's not surprising. She's only been here a week. Her books are piled up on her dresser, and appear mostly unopened. I looked through her dresser, but it was empty, except the top drawer which she's been using for dirty clothes. Her neatly made bed is decorated with three or four expensive Steiff animals, but other than that, I didn't see many personal items on display other than her flannel nightie. Odd. Then I checked under the bed, and found two fully packed suitcases. She's apparently been living out of them, either under the impression that her parents are going to change their mind and come get her, or she's planning to run away. I presume the latter.

Dreamers like Fern are prone to unrealistic optimism about their chances in the outside world. I fear for her. I must do something to prevent her from taking to the road. I'm going to recommend that Ms. Dollarhyde confiscate Fern's money and clothes, leaving only her uniform and underwear. Runaways can't get far from Bitterburn without bus fare. The city is too far away to walk unnoticed in a school uniform.

I looked through her suitcases thoroughly, just to make sure she wasn't hiding anything, such as drugs or alcohol. She has several magazines about dance, and a small collection of pop cd's, but nothing unusual. So then I checked under her mattress, where I found two items of notice. The first was a diary. I would have read it, but for the fact that it's got a locked clasp, so I put it back where I found it. The second item was a magazine called, "Public School Pussycats." At first glance I took it to be some sort of teenybopper magazine, because the cover featured a photo of a fresh, freckle-faced blonde girl dressed in a school uniform, not unlike the ones the girls at Bitterburn wear: Blue blazer, white blouse and striped tie, though this girl's skirt was gray, rather than the traditional blue-green tartan of Bitterburn. But upon opening the magazine, my eyes fell upon that same girl, now down on all fours, sucking her middle aged teacher's cock. Good lord. I was more than a little shocked that such a sweet young girl as Fern would have such utter filth in her possession. I flipped quickly through the filthy thing, finding each article to be a variation on the same theme. Teachers and students having a go at each other, in full colour, with no anatomical detail or physiological function left to the imagination.

My first thought was to confiscate this magazine, but its absence would surely be noted, so I moved to put it back where I found it. But my eyes fell upon that sweet faced girl on the cover again. Her blue eyes so sweet and innocent... a delightful spattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks... light brown hair neatly brushed behind her lovely little ears. I'd seen a thousand faces just like hers over the years, smiling back at me from behind their desks.

I absently sat on Fern's bed, and looked through the girl's article again, wondering how old she was. The model, I mean. She had to be eighteen, at least, but not much older. I was reasonably certain I'd never taught this particular girl, but somewhere out there in Britain there were other men, other teachers, who did have this very girl in their classrooms once upon a time. And those men might have bought this very magazine. God. What must that like for them, I wondered? Seeing a former student, now flat on her back on a teacher's desk with her legs wide be open as a man rammed his cock in and out of her fresh young pussy.

Before I realised what I was doing, I'd taken out my old fella and had begun to masturbate, right there in the girls' room, my eyes glued to that filthy article. I began to think about Fern. She'd looked at these very pages, while no doubt fingering her fresh young pussy in the process. Perhaps Britta and Ginny had masturbated to it too. I looked at Britta's bra, and thought about her soft, perfectly round tits, and jerked my long, hard cock, mumbling to myself filthy things that I blush now to remember. I even looked at Ginny's bed, a girl I'd never thought of sexually before, and pictured her pinched, freckly little face, and wondered what she would think of me if she knew what I was doing in her room right now. It made me so hard to imagine her watching me do this, green eyes wide with horror. Or would she love it? Yes, Ginny, feast your pretty eyes on by big fat lolly. Would you like a taste? Yes, that's it, get down on your knees, and open your mouth. But mind the braces. I wouldn't want you to scratch me old fella.

That thought was a little too creepy, even for me, so I looked into the magazine again, flipping to the final spread of that article, in which the teacher is shooting a copious frosting of cum all over his student's freckly face. Then I noticed that the pages were warped, as if they'd gotten wet at some point in the past. Holding it up to the light I saw the pattern of the dried wet spot: It was a spray, radiating upward. I realised with shock that Fern had cum while looking at this very image, squirting her hot juices all over these pages in the process. I'd fucked quite a few girls back in university, but never a squirter. I felt every hair on my head thrilling erect, and I buried my face in the article and breathed in deeply, catching just a whiff of Fern's sex. I was jerking myself so hard now that her bed was squeaking and scooting around on the tile floor.

And then I felt the warning signs that I was going to blow, and soon. Normally, I masturbate with a sock over my cock to catch the copious surges of cum that issue forth, but lacking such an implement, I opened Fern's top drawer and reached into her dirty clothes, hoping to find a sock, but instead bringing out a pair of white panties with little red hearts on the waistband. I wrapped it desperately around the tip of my cock just in time to catch the first explosion of cum. I moaned and jerked and filled Fern's cotton panties with a slimy load of semen, so dense and wet and gooey that several big white blobs fell on Fern's flannel nightie.

But of course, the moment that my crazy lust abated, I felt like a proper shit. A filthy, disgusting shit.

That's when I heard voices out in the green. I'd lost track of time, and now the hockey match was over and soon the girls would be running into the dorm, and I might be discovered. I quickly put my cock away, and jammed Fern's magazine under her bed again. Then I stuffed the dripping wet pair of panties into my pocket and left the dorm out the back way, terrified, thrilled, and extremely relieved.

Tomorrow I'm going to leave this silly, dirty old man business behind me. I'm going to make an appointment with Fern, and be a proper teacher to her. I barely know her, but I need to change that. If she ran away, I'd never forgive myself, so I must do something about that. I need to start having proper counselling session with her. I need to get serious.

And I need to get rid of these panties. If my wife found them in my effects, I'd be done for. I need to throw them in the fireplace.

I will.

But first. I think I'll masturbate into them one last time.

Dear diary,

I'm so stupid. I had to go and make the worst week of my life even worse. Oh shit. I'm going to be in the biggest trouble ever! I don't know what I'm going to do. There's no way out this. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!!!!!

Ok, so basically, Mr. Donaldson caught me spray painting on his chalk board after school.

But let me explain... it's his fault. His entire fault. He was stalking me. I mean, did he think I was stupid? That I wouldn't notice a big lumbering hulk following me from class to class? Watching me eat lunch? Watching me practice my dancing? Watching me, always watching me. And then I came back from that stupid hockey game and I swear he was in my room! I could smell him. His rank after-shave and something else. I don't know what. It just smelled funky in here. My poxy roommates said I was crazy. They didn't smell anything. But I've always had a sensitive nose. I know he was in here! And my knickers are missing. The ones with the little hearts around the waist band. The fucking perv nicked them, I just know it!

So the next morning I went straight to Dollarhyde the dyke, and told her everything. But did she believe me? No. Not a word. And then she asked me to empty out my bag on her desk. So fucking weird. She confiscated the pills the nurse gave me, AND my iPod!!!! THEN she opened my pocketbook, as if she had a right, and handed me my school ID. THEN that fucking dyke put my pocketbook in her desk!

She smiled at me and said, "It'll be safe with me, dear."

"WHAT THE FUCK?" I screamed!!! "YOU FUCKING BITCH! YOU CAN'T STEAL MY SHIT!!!! Wait till my mum hears about this!!!"

And she says, still smiling, "Well, why don't you call her, dear?"

So I called her, and mum says she already agreed to all of it. Said that Professor Donaldson reported that I was planning to run away. How could he possibly know that? I barely say a word to him in our stupid 'counselling' sessions. He just stares down my blouse as he bangs on and on, while I pretend I'm somewhere else, far far away.

But now I know for sure that he was in my room, because he saw my suitcases all packed and ready to go! How else would he know?

So I told Mum everything. About him stalking me, and looking down my shirt, and going into my room, and stealing my panties, and setting things up so that all my stuff gets taken from me, so he'd have me in his power. "He's a right wolf, he is!" But Mum just laughed. LAUGHED!!! Told me to, "stop fantasizing, Fern." My own mum!!!

Then she tells me to give my phone to Dollarhyde so they can have a chat. I shouldn't have done it, but I did, and yeah, you guessed it, the filthy whore confiscated my phone!!!!

FUCK!!!!! I'd already decided to ring Kirsty and tell her to come rescue me, but what was I supposed to do now? I don't even have change for the pay phone! I ran back to my room, and told Ginny to lend me her phone, but she said, get this, "What have you been doing in my drawers?"

I say, "Uh, what?"

She opens up her panty drawer all dramatic like and points at her knickers and says, "You having a laugh?"

"What the fuck are you blithering about muggins?"

"It goes white, yellow, green, blue, violet, pink. You know that! Not green, blue, yellow..."

"You've gone barking mad" I turned to Britta, and said, "I need your phone! This is a serious emergency!"

But she just grinned at me and said, "You've a hope."

I screamed, "Has everyone gone barmy around here?!"

Then Britta said, "Thief."

The bitch. She called me a thief. Me.

"I know you took it," she says.

And Ginny says, "What did she take?"

"Never you mind. She knows what she took. She's a liar and a thief."

Okay, so I did steal her poxy magazine, but how does she know that? I mean, who assumes a person is a thief without any proof?

So I said, "It wasn't me took anything, or fucked with Ginny's fucking knicker rainbow! It was Donaldson! I told you he was in here!"

And then Britta flips her ponytail and says, "You're a liar, Fern, and everybody knows it. We've heard all about that boy you put in jail. You called him a rapist. Who does something so mental? So vicious? Don't come in here spinning lies about Dear Old Donny!"

I tried to reason with her, but then Ginny... skinny Ginny, grabs me and turns me around and slaps me in the face, yelling, "Shut up, you liar!"

Wow, that little ginger bitch hit me hard. It hurt. Really hurt. And then they just stared at me all cold and heartless, while I sat on the floor and cried. And then I saw that my suitcases weren't under my bed any more. They fucking took my clothes. Everything except my underwear and uniforms. Then I started crying for real. No acting any more. I was stuck and I knew it.

At least they didn't find you under my mattress. Right now, you're my only friend in this cruel, heartless world.

Fucking Donaldson.

I'm not daft. I know that the only way they'll ever give me back my things is if I act all reformed and shit. So all week long I've been giving a performance worthy of the Royal Shakespeare Company. It's been hell, but I've been an absolute angel. Even my roomies have started being nice to me, fucking bitches. They all think I'm turning over a new leaf. But all I want is my fucking phone and credit cards back, so I can get the fuck out of here, and on to my real life.

I guess I should have stopped pulling pranks on Donaldson, but I couldn't. I wanted him to suffer like he's made me suffer. So I flattened his car tires. And I put dog shit in his desk. I even drew a nasty drawing of him fucking a girl on one of the stalls in the restroom, hoping to start rumours that can't be traced back to me. But all week the fucker has acted as if nothing at all is going on. It was driving me barmy! I needed to do something that he couldn't possibly ignore. Something that would get every tongue in the school wagging.

So I snuck into his room about 9pm, after I was sure he was gone. In my bag I had a can of white spray paint and I was going to write on his chalkboard, "I love to fuck little school girls". There's another chalkboard that rolls down from above, so tomorrow in class, he'd lift the chalkboard in a room full of students, and there would be my message. It would have been so fucking epic!

I climbed onto his chair so I could get high enough and I started writing the message. I was halfway through the last word when I heard the door swing open. I jumped and looked over to the door to find Donaldson standing there, with his mouth wide open, speechless for once. Before I could think, I dropped the spray can, grabbed my bag and bolted out the door. He didn't even try to stop me. He just stood there, in amazement, as I ran past him.

I need to talk to him. I have him for first period tomorrow, 8am on the dot. That's if I'm not expelled by then. My parents are going to kill me. They'll probably put me up for adoption! Or worse, send me to military school! Dad has a bunch of friends in the Royal Navy. I bet he'd be able to get me in, even if I don't want to go, and then... oh god.

No, I can't leave it like this. I need to talk to Donaldson, now! That's if he hasn't already gone to Dollarhyde. I'm going to see if he's still in his room, maybe I can persuade him not to tell. Come to some sort of agreement. I'll do anything! If I get thrown out of this school I'm done for! I'll tell you what happens when I get back. Wish me luck.

Fern.

I feel like I'm having an out of body experience. Nothing seems real. Who am I? What have I done? I look at my hand, and I still feel her flesh. Her naked flesh.

What sort of man would do a thing like that? Oh god. And what about tomorrow? What about tomorrow?

I thought I'd turned things around for Fern Clabberton. I'd behaved myself all week, like a proper professor. I'd even burned her panties, and tried to help her in our sessions. Her schoolwork hasn't improved, but at least she started smiling at me, and thanking me for trying to help her. It made me feel so good that I was able to ignore those stupid pranks.

But then I found out that Fern was my prankster all along. I caught her white-handed, her fingers still wet with white spray paint, standing on my chair, spraying a libellous lie on my blackboard. I was gobsmacked. Utterly. I felt furious, embarrassed, and bitterly guilty, all at the same time. Mad as I was, I knew that I'd driven her to this. After all, she'd told everyone about me stealing her panties. Nobody believed her, thank god, but the fact is, she knew. And she was pissed. And who could blame her?

I let her down. How could I help her now? Would it do her any good if I called her parents? They'd only punish her some other way. And she'd probably run away and end up homeless. Another lost child. What a waste. She's really quite brilliant. She just needs proper motivation.

That's what was on my mind when she came back into my office around eleven. She didn't waste any time going into her act, getting down on her knees and begging me not to tell on her. God, her face was beautiful. Those bright blue eyes, gushing wet hot tears, which tumbled freely down her anguished face, through her adorable dimples, before falling to her heaving breast, leaving dark splats on her blue jacket.

I watched her for a minute, my cock swelling inexplicably at the sight. Then I said, as if someone else were speaking for me, "You need to be punished, Fern."

And in that moment, I saw the real Fern flashing through the tears. A look of arrogant disgust distorted her visage, before she turned those crocodile tears on again.

I shook my head and said, "Oh stop the act. I'm on to you."

She cried for another minute, but when she realised how unmoved I was, she suddenly shot to her feet and shrieked, "Oh, yeah? I'm on to you too, perv! What did you do with my knickers, you dirty geezer?"

"I burned them."

"To get rid of the evidence, eh? After you wanked into them, I suppose?" She laughed. Loudly. Mockingly. I saw her father in her then. That condescending arrogance of the born aristocrat. She never had to work to earn her way. Spoiled brat. She needed to be taken down a peg or two. It was the only way she'd learn.

"Come over here," I said, pointing at her spray can on the floor. "Pick it up." My deep voice resonated through the room.

She paused for a moment, not sure what I wanted, but then she sauntered over and picked up the can, absolutely slithering with disrespect.

I said, "You didn't quite finish." She laughed mockingly again. But I said, "Your problem, Fern, is that you never finish anything. You only do the bare minimum to get by. But tonight you're going to finish your work."