I had decided to take the job offer. Sure, it meant moving, but I was single, had lived alone for the past five years, and didn't have a lot of material possessions.
The Benson School For Girls was less a school and more akin to a reformatory for rich female teenagers whose parents were at their wits' end. Think the Rejects School from the movie Toy Soldiers except with even worse-behaved female students. Dealing with angry high-school-age female delinquents would not be easy, but I had five years of experience as a prison guard before I decided to get my teaching certificate. I figured if I could deal with prisoners, I could deal with anyone.
I just had to get past my final interview, and the job was mine. I had driven the 80 miles to the remote area where the Benson School was located. It was so remote my cell phone wasn't getting a signal. It even looked like a prison, with the strong iron gates that had to open to let my car, already packed with all my things so I wouldn't have to make another trip if I did get the job, inside the complex.
Now I was sitting across from Janine Benson, the school's founder and headmistress. She was a middle-aged woman, tall, toned, with salt-and-pepper hair and a permanent scowl on her face.
"We've never had a male teacher here," she informed me. "The risks were deemed too great. The girls are very angry and aggressive, and willing to use any technique necessary to get their way. Some of them are quite attractive. But they are all underage. If you engage in voluntary sexual contact with any of them, you will be fired and arrested."
"I won't succumb to their advances. I can deal with whiny brats."
"You do come highly recommended."
"By the way, what would INvoluntary sexual contact be? I'm just curious why you chose that particular phrasing."
"We had a female gym teacher who was knocked out by a gang of students, blindfolded, tied up and raped with a strap-on. Clearly that wasn't voluntary on her part. The students involved were sent to adult prison, and the teacher quit."
"Indeed, something like that would definitely be involuntary. Is the teacher doing all right?"
"Her therapist says she'll have PTSD for a long while to come. She found a job working with the elderly. And after that incident, we added more cameras: instead of just covering the classrooms and the living quarters, we now have cameras that cover every square inch of this complex."
"A sensible precaution."
Ms. Benson produced the paperwork I needed to sign. "You've already had your drug screening, we have your financials and your direct deposit is set up. Just read this employment agreement and sign the bottom."
It was a simple agreement. It basically said that I was to obey all orders from Ms. Benson, and that I consented to have every word I said and every movement I made caught on camera, wherever I was in the complex. I signed.
"Your first order is to drop your pants."
She put a chastity cage on my cock, then had me re-dress. The key was around her neck on a thin chain.
"Just an extra precaution. Not that I don't trust you, but..."
"I understand."
I was shown to my quarters, my possessions were installed, and I was given my teaching schedule. My first class was at 9 a.m. tomorrow morning.
"Good morning, girls. My name is James Alexander Dixon, and I will be your biology teacher. I will not tolerate misbehavior or inattention in my classroom. Get out your notebooks and start taking notes. We will begin with the study of -"
A tall blonde snickered and elbowed the redhead next to her. "This guy thinks he's so tough."
In two strides, I was at her desk. I glanced at the number on her uniform.
"Girl #26785, report to detention immediately."
"I have a name!"
"Do I look like I care? Leave this room NOW."
She sulked off, muttering under her breath. The redhead was wide-eyed. "I guess he IS so tough."
Three weeks in, I'd had to send Girl #26785 to detention three more times, and several other girls once each. I'd stopped getting sassed - I guess the lesson had been sinking in that I would tolerate zero nonsense - but now several of the girls would huddle after class and whisper among themselves.
Because of previous life experience, I always locked my door when I entered my quarters in the evening. One night I went to sleep as usual. I groggily started to come awake in the middle of the night one night. Something wasn't right.
The overhead lights in the room suddenly came on, blinding me momentarily. Ms. Benson's rageful yell jolted me fully awake.
"You, you and you are finished! I'll have you prosecuted as adults, just like I did the last time the girls acted out."
Girl #26785 and two of the other girls I had given detention to were in handcuffs and under the control of female security guards.
"There are cameras that cover every inch of this campus, with extremely sensitive microphones, that catch every word you say to each other even if you whisper. We've known for a week what you were plotting and have all the evidence."
The girls were led dejectedly away by the guards. It wasn't until then that I realized that I was in pain. My balls were aching and my cock had somehow gotten hard - or tried to inside its cage, anyway. I let out a groan.
"Trouble, Jim?"
I pulled the sheet off my body and wordlessly indicated my predicament.
"Put your pants on and follow me."
I put my pants and my shirt on, then followed Ms. Benson to her office. She pushed a button and a panel in the floor slid open, revealing a set of stairs leading down. Ms. Benson gestured for me to go down them. As I started to descend, she followed, pushing two more buttons. One slid the panel back into place and the other lit up the basement we were in.
"This is the only place on campus not covered by the security cameras," she informed me. "Anyway, go ahead and strip."
I did, and she lay me face down on a platform, spread my limbs, and manacled my wrists and ankles. The platform had a hole for my face, so I could breathe, and a hole for my cock. I heard the sounds of a key in a lock, and an instant later my pole was free of its confines.
"Looks like you need relief," Ms. Benson observed. "Your balls are quite swollen."
"Your assessment is correct, ma'am."
She got beneath the platform, so I could see her, and lubed up a Fleshlight - essentially an artificial vagina. "This can help with that." Then she slid it around my aching pole. I moaned softly as she began sliding the device up and down, thus having my rod be alternately all the way in and most of the way out. It did kind of feel like pumping in and out of an actual pussy, except this time the pussy was moving instead of my cock.
"I can tell you're liking this."
"What was your first clue?" I panted. I was now shivering with excitement. It had been almost a month since my last orgasm, after all.
"You like being controlled by an older woman, don't you, you little man-slut?" She moved the device faster on my shaft and I could feel the cum starting to boil up in my balls. "My little boy-toy wants the big strong woman to let him release his nasty goo from his pathetic balls."
I could no longer speak coherently, but my moans and gasps let her know.
"Go on, you pathetic whore. Give me that nasty man-juice. Empty every drop of it out of your balls for me. I want them totally drained."
