Wishes Gone Wrong - Slut High Pt. 02

The bell rang.

"Shit. Sorry Jajay. Gotta cut this short. I'll meet you here after class, okay? Whatever's going on, we'll deal with it. You and me. We look out for each other. She gave me a sweet kiss on the lips, our tongues lingering. I swayed after her as she left, filling the void as she pulled away.

I floated dreamily through the halls, only three hours of slutty hell still standing between me and freedom.

Gym class.

This morning in the shower I had been so excited for gym class. Is there a greater target of a young man's fancy than the mysteries of the girl's locker room? In my case, certainly not. When I first woke up like this this morning, I had thought this coming moment a crowning jewel to cap a thousand masturbatorial fantasies. Instead, all I could feel was dread over what fresh horny hell awaited me next. Sexy, sure, but at this point, I'd had my fill.

I stood outside the changeroom. What had once been a divide leading left to the men's and right to the girl's was now a single door. I took a breath to steady my nerves, then pushed through.

I furrowed my brow in confusion. The room beyond wasn't like any locker room I'd ever seen. Okay, well, it had lockers, but that's where the similarities ended. The boy's locker had been a dirty cramped hole, practically an afterthought in the building's architecture. This place was spacious and opulent and sparkling with a feminine energy.

This had to be the genie making fun of me, right? I was pretty sure real changerooms didn't feature soft pillows and lounging furniture and sweet lesbian make-outs. This was a harem's den.

Girls fluttered about in various states of half dress like it was backstage at a strip club. In a vision ripped directly from my fantasies, a pair of blonde twins were engaged in an enthusiastic pillow fight over in one corner, while, closer to the fore, two topless girls with what had to be the biggest tits I'd ever seen were enthusiastically helping each other disrobe.

I coasted around the periphery of this magnificent sight, trying not to be too obvious as I gawked at the display before me. They were so casual, so content and confident in their femininity, their sexuality. It was like being surrounded by a flock of placid deer. I dared not move lest the truth of my presence scare them away.

Not that they hadn't seen me - I was drawing plenty of appreciative attention - but it was different. They smiled as they looked at me. They accepted me as one of them. Here, I belonged.

"Looking good, Thompson!" came a whistle from behind me. I jumped as an unseen hand slapped my ass, sending it jiggling. I blushed as I swiveled to look at the culprit. It was Jack, our old quarterback. She had seemed so sweet around her girlfriend earlier, but now there was an aggressive glean in her eye.

I don't know how real girls behaved in locker rooms, but the men's locker room is a place of intense privacy. You kept your eyes above chest level and focused on the task at hand, lest any deviation label you a raging homosexual deviant.

This was anything but. Here, you'd probably be labeled a pariah if you weren't checking out your fellow classmate's killer bodies. Case in point, in the corner a trio of girls had their chests pressed together competitively, the one with the biggest tits was grinning while the smaller ones pouted. Hell, I could see a pair making out at the back, it didn't get any more deviantly homosexual than that, and yet no one cared.

Regardless, by habit or awkwardness, I kept my head down, ignoring the catcall. Jack shrugged and diverted her attention elsewhere.

As I watched the other girls change, I was worried that my lack of gym attire would prove a hindrance. I was still wearing this stupid lost-and-found microskirt. To my surprise though, none of the other girls seemed to be dressing into workout gear. Oh sure, some of them wore scandalously short yoga shorts and daisy dukes, but many of them even seemed to be dressing up fancier, applying makeup, checking jewelry. What hell did that bode?

Poles.

A series of tall shining poles ran from the floor of the gym's stage to the ceiling.

"Alright ladies," said the amazon of a woman the pudgy Mr. Jackson had turned into. "It's the module you've all been waiting for. As promised, today we're going to get started on our pole routines." There was a cheer from the assemblage of girls. "I know a lot of you know this stuff already, but for many of you these are going to be important skills, so pay attention. We don't quite have enough poles, so I want you all to partner up. One of you will dance while the other plays the role of a client, then switch. Now, pay attention."

Pole Dancing 101. She reached up with one arm and grabbed high on the pole, then she crossed her other arm over her body and grabbed with that one as well. In a flurry of graceful motions, she extended her outside leg then circled it around, catching the pole and lifting her other leg, causing her to spin around, landing low with her legs widespread in a squat.

The girls pushed in excitedly to get a better view as our teacher stood and worked her way through the rest of the basic moves in what turned into a long sultry routine. It may have been beginner material, but the grace and sensuality she put into it was anything but.

Then it was our turn. To my dismay, in the shuffle that followed, I ended up with Jack. Jack and I... well, it's not that we didn't get along, but as the big man on campus he'd always been aggressively brash, and more than once I had been the target of his putdowns. Even tiny as he was now, he - she - had a lurid glint in her eyes that projected a presence much larger than what her physical size would suggest.

She smirked as we approached the bar.

"What?" I asked.

"Just excited to see that sweet ass of yours on the pole." she grinned. I blushed and glanced away. I wasn't used to getting hit on. I was weirdly turned on by the girl's confidence. I don't know if it coming from a former guy made it better or worse. "You ever done this before?"

I shook my head.

"Me neither. Doesn't look to hard, though. Tell you what." her smirk intensified, "let's make a bet. I think I can handle this thing better than you can. Loser gives winner a private show after school." She shook her hips. She had such great hips

"N-no bet." I turned away so she couldn't see the flustered expression on my face. I couldn't afford to stay, win or lose. "L-let's just focus on class for now."

"Aw, what's the matter, afraid you might lose?"

"No! I just don't have the time to waste on that sort of thing."

"Oh yeah? Your loss. Tell you what, how about I give you a taste of what you'd be missing?" she winked. "Watch how it's done."

With a sultry, confident wiggle in her hips, she approached the pole and walked around it. She grabbed the thing by one hand then swung herself up onto it, spinning around in clumsy yet still admittedly sexy emulation of what Ms. Jackson had done earlier.

There was maybe a solid minute where I was legitimately stunned by her skill. No wonder she had wanted to make a bet. As her routine went on, however, the grace faded and the display became increasingly lewd. She'd abandoned spins and flow in favor of grinding her body against the pole as much as possible, rubbing her damp crotch against it as she slid down, and catching the thing between her tits and hugging it tight. Her eyes were rolling up into the back of her head and her tongue was lolling out of her fat pouty dicksucking lips. She wasn't so much dancing as she was fucking the pole.

"Come on ladies, focus!"

I looked over at the other girls. They seemed to be having the same problem. Several had graduated from pole to lap dances and some of them had dropped that pretense entirely and were just necking.

I chewed on my lip. Despite the good hard fucking I'd gotten less than an hour ago, like an addiction the flame of desire within me was rising again. It was amazing, that dream of a man I had fucked, but evidently it wasn't enough.

It probably didn't help that Jack was doing her damndest to turn me on as she spun and humped and fucked herself silly against the pole. There was nothing I could do but stew in my seat as the heat rose.

Finally, Jack pushed herself over the brink of orgasm, her body twitching around that long hard shaft as she cried out sweetly. She took a moment to comport herself then wiped the sweat off her brow. Her skin was hot and flush. She smirked as she stepped away from the pole. A dare and an invitation. My turn.

I stood awkwardly in front of the hard shaft, gripping it tightly. I tried to remember what the teacher had said, what she had done. I grabbed the cold steel with my other hand and extended my leg out, hooking it around, but as I leveraged that into a spin, I failed to get more than two thirds of a rotation. I tried again with a little more force.

Soon I was getting the hang of it. I thought I'd be a little more embarrassed - this was something I'd never in a million years do as a guy - and yet I found myself really getting into it.

I tried my best to keep the more lurid elements out. But it seemed impossible for me to do anything in a non-sexual way. My nipples, already plenty hard, began to stiffen further as a now familiar warmth spread through me. I don't know if it was the movements, or the exotic display or the way the hard pole kept pushing oh so good into my tits whenever I clung to it, but I was starting to get all worked up.

I tried to push past it, I tried not to focus on it, but Jack's leering eyes were a constant reminder that my body was putting on a scandalous display of arousal.

Still, I caught myself smiling. When I could push the arousal out of my mind and focused on the sensation of just moving, I was surprised at how much fun this was. This body was evidently just as athletic as my old one wasn't. My heart beat fast but strong. My body, supple and fragile, stretched and flowed with a grace and fluidity I'd never known. I felt like I was dancing underwater in slow motion.

Not that I was dancing for Jack. I briefly thought about how he had used to look. Tall, rugged, powerful. No wonder he'd managed to land a girl as hot as Jenny. Mmm... but no. I tried to think of someone more worthy of my flirtatious attentions.

Jean's male form drifted to mind, with that butt of his and that winsome smile. I blushed a little at the specificity of my fantasy, but I was glad at least I hadn't imagined that guy from lunch.

I was really getting into it now. Pushing and swinging, hair flying. My long legs made this a special treat. I poured my heat and passion into it with sultry flourishes and flirtatious - no, seductive - expressions of need. I wanted to put on a show for Jean, I wanted to show him how much I needed him, I wanted to spread my fire into him so that it could rage high and consume us both.

I whimpered in surprise as the music finished. I stopped and opened my eyes. A crowd of girls stood staring at me, the teacher included. I just had time to realize it was me they were staring at before they broke in applause. I blushed. Jack was completely flustered.

"Very good, Ms. Thompson!" laughed my teacher, "I think you might be a natural." I could hear the arousal catching in her throat. "See girls? You could all learn a thing or two. It's what I keep saying: Focus."

I blushed all the harder.

"Alright, ladies, that's it for today. We'll be doing the more advanced stuff next time, so those of you with some free time, I encourage you to come down and practice. Now go hit the showers! Try not to waste too much water."

Just like that it was over. I found myself wishing I could go for one more song.

The showers. Honestly, most of the guys didn't even really shower after gym. The prospect of communal nudity was one few high-school boys wanted to do deal with. A lot of being a guy was like that, a constant trial in defence of your manhood. The men's showers, therefore, had had stalls, which put it at odds with the wide-open sauna that these girls seemed to share.

Still, this did little to stop the girls from gathering up in groups of two or three or more. It was ostensibly to save water, but with the intense amount of lathering and rubbing going on, I sort of doubted it.

The scene that played out was not dissimilar from the one that had played out at the end of first period. A class of horny girls pulling out all the stops to try to find some sexual relief before the next bell rang.

Soapy hands caressed slippery bodies, wet flesh slopping against wet flesh. The heady musk of feminine passion pervasive even above the bouquet aroma of sweet soaps. Several of them had brought out toys, though I guess with all the water they preferred to keep the electric ones safely elsewhere.

The hot water did little to subdue the inferno raging inside my chest.

I thought back to what Jean had said about needing to keep my wits about me. I considered, briefly, how I could get myself off without anyone noticing, then I realized what a dumb thought that had been. Everybody here was masturbating. I'd just be one more slut in the crowd.

It was all the excuse I needed. I shrunk back and reached a hand down to my crotch. It still felt so weird reaching down and not having a dick there to greet me. Good - so good - but weird.

I gasped. My body shivered in pleasure as my finger slipped between my wet puffy lips, playing inexpertly but enthusiastically with my still unfamiliar sex. Fuck, as fun as it had been, rubbing against the pole had nothing on this. My body tightened up as I circled a finger around my clit, trying to remember what Jean had done.

The cover the steam provided to the sapphic buffet before me only served to amplify the alure of the wet naked forms within, of the slippery bodies rubbing against each other and the hands and toys plunging wonderous wet depths.

There was a sort of sexual tension in the air, a mutual empathy and need. We were all after the same thing, we were all scratching the same itch. I felt close to those girls in that moment, like that desperate climb to orgasm before the bell rang tied us all together as comrades - sisters - in lust.

I whimpered as I came. My whole body bucking into my hand. Stars overtaking my vision from the heat and the blood. It was soft and short and nowhere near what my body was capable of, yet even the faintest moment of it was still more soul-shakingly powerful than anything I'd ever experienced as a guy. Was that something all girls experienced? Or was it a special little gift from the genie?

Dizziness overcame me. I put an arm out against the wall to steady myself. I wanted to slink down in the shower and just... relax. I wanted to cuddle and revel in the afterglow. But there was no time for that. I must have taken longer than I'd thought. All the other girls had left, save Jack, who was on her knees, both hands against the wall as she bounced on a dildo the size of her arm. The other girls had started to get dressed.

I felt kind of bad for her. I'd been the one to get her as worked up as she was. Maybe I should go over and help her? Lend her a hand? It was the least I could do, right?

But no. I looked at the clock. There was no time. I'd be late. Reluctantly, I left the poor girl to her fate.

I only just made it to English class on time. Though once I'd taken my seat, it too seemed to drag on.

I was staring out the window as a discussion about feminist perspectives in classic literature had gotten side tracked by a discussion of which Jane Austin guy was the most fuckable.

About half the class seemed to be in favor of Mr. Darcy on account of him being a broody emotional mystery, but the other half seemed to take this as a negative, with a small majority of that half preferring the much more romantically minded Captain Wentworth, who, besides, as a military man was obviously ripped.

"Yeah, but that's the whole point," argued the raven-haired Jennifer. "he's supposed to be the man every woman wants. That's why we all want him! It therefore stands to reason that as a platonic ideal of romantic desirability, he's gotta have, like, the biggest goddamn dick!"

"Bullshit!" countered blonde Jennifer. "he's a toxic holdover of outdated social norms! Just because he lives up to the platonic mold doesn't mean he should be treated as an ideal. The thing he's a symbol of doesn't hold up in a contemporary context! We shouldn't be trying to romanticise it by assuming that he's got the biggest dick! We should be trying to find men that are stable and treat us with respect and that are emotionally frank. Sure, he turns out to be sweet on the inside, but how many guys are actually like that and how many of them are just as big a mess all the way through?"

"No, no no, listen, I agree with you. He's very nearly more trouble than he's worth, but this isn't a discussion about which guy we want to marry, this is a discussion of which guy we want to fuck, and Darcy is undeniably the hottest and most passionate one night stand out of the bunch. He doesn't open up to me? I can't make him a better person? Fine, you're right, this isn't the 1800s. I'll just go find someone else to fuck. I don't need that kind of commitment."

To my great annoyance I found myself agreeing. Who wouldn't want a sensitive brooding bad boy for a wild night of passion?

"I always liked Mr. Knightly." said a shy pigtailed girl behind me.

"Oh my god, Jane," said the two Jenifers together "you would."

The teacher, just glad to have her students discussing books, encouraged the conversation.

Ms. Jacobs was a younger teacher. I'd always sort of seen her as a bit of a hippy which was why I'd been more than a little surprised when I walked in to see her greatly enhanced - though no less perky - bust jutted out of the half-unbuttoned blouse of a sexy librarian. Don't get me wrong, it was hot, but it seemed at odds with her generally cheerful demeanor.

"What do you think, Jamie?" she asked.

"Huh?" I snapped to attention. My mind had started to wander into lurid fantasy as soon as one of the girls had started going on a rant about how the plot would have been resolved a whole lot faster if all those fancy parties had ended in an orgy instead.

"You've been awfully quiet. What do you think of the matter?"

"Uh." I shook my head. "Why do they have to choose a man at all?" I sighed, trying to get the image of dashing English gentlemen out of my brain. "What's so great about men anyway?"

"Exactly!" said another girl. "The pressures we face to pick guys are crazy! My boyfriends drive me nuts sometimes with the way they compete for my attention."

"Boyfriends?" laughed a Jennifer. "Oh my god, your so old fashioned. I don't know if I could ever tie myself down like that."

"Oh its an open relationship, we don't want to tie each other down. They're all very sweet about it. We share one-night stands."

"Aww," said a third Jennifer who had hitherto been staying out of the conversation, "that's so romantic."

"Why do we think none of Jane Austin's characters considered an open relationship?" probed the teacher.

"Because one of the main themes in these books are about finding agency and your own happiness within or by transgressing your role in society. It doesn't matter what guy gets chosen, what matters is that these characters make the choice instead of having it made for them."

"Very good, Jane."

"Right," answered another girl "but how is she supposed to choose if she doesn't at least sleep with them all first? If I was in one of these novels, I'd have theme each fuck me in turn and then..."

The attention off of me, my mind drifted back to smutty regency-period fantasies and of strong romantic men competing for the affection of my heart.