Catholic School My First Year

After spending what my parents referred to as "far too many years in school," I had finally received my teaching credentials. Early on, I had decided to become a high school teacher, like my father, though I knew that this would essentially ensure a life of abject poverty. Like many of us, I had gone through a rough patch in high school, and it had been my history teacher who had helped me the most through my petty adolescent crisis. Like him, I thought I could be of some help to teenagers, too.

I was excited to set my career, such as it was, into motion, but soon found that none of the schools in my area had any teaching positions available. It was with great reservation that I applied at St. Peter's Catholic School for Girls. I was, after all, looking to interact with and help normal, mixed-up kids, not a bunch of Jesus-addled girls who were angry at their fathers. As the money ran out, though, the school's offer began to look better and better, and I finally accepted a position teaching English.

My first day at St. Peter's was going smoothly. Class periods there lasted 70 minutes instead of the usual 40, so it was nice to actually have enough time to make sure that the students understood the material. Though this was technically a Catholic school, I found that the students were just as normal as students everywhere, with their same share of problems and insecurities.

It wasn't until the last period of the day, that things absolutely went to pieces. Class had just begun, and I was instructing my students to read quietly while I got the class' teaching materials together. The door swung open, hard, and in walked Timber.

Timber Michaels. It was a name I had heard only in the teacher's lounge. Feeling completely out of place amongst the priests and nuns, I took my coffee breaks quietly in the corner of the room, in an old, ripped, upholstered lounge chair. Just as I was finishing my newspaper, an exasperated nun burst into the room, and confronted Father Thomas.

"Father," she sobbed, “You simply MUST expel Ms. Michaels immediately! She spent the entire class whispering dirty jokes to the girls next to her in class, and even called me a 'penguin' when I told her to stop! Then, when I rapped her knuckles, she just laughed at me!"

"Now, Sister," Father Thomas replied calmly, "You know very well that Timber's father has made enormous donations to this school. It's not a simple matter, to simply expel her. After all," he continued, "If it weren't for her father, how would we have ever gotten that new science lab built?"

The Sister didn't even respond. She threw her lesson plan book on the conference table, and stormed out of the teacher's lounge, steaming. This didn't seem like particularly serene Sister-like behavior, and I knew this Timber Michaels person must have really gotten to her.

And now, with Timber standing at the front of my classroom, looking on my students as a Queen would look on her subjects, I could begin to understand why. Everything about this girl SCREAMED that she did not belong, at all, in a Catholic school. I thought, briefly, that she would probably look more appropriate in a strip club. Pushing that thought immediately out of my head, I tried to look at her more objectively. I guessed her to be 18 years old, with dark brown hair pulled tightly into two pigtails that stuck out softly from the sides of her head. She had gigantic, pouty, full lips, with just a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

She had obviously modified her school-issued uniform. The regulation white button-down shirt that all the girls wore, was tied tightly about three inches above her navel. The top of the shirt was unbuttoned all the way to the knot, exposing a wide expanse of the deepest cleavage I have ever seen on a girl her age. Her red plaid pleated skirt had obviously also been altered, falling what appeared to be three or four inches higher on the leg than the other girls. She did, however, leave the black knee socks and MaryJanes untouched.

I absorbed all of this in seconds, interrupted only when she spoke. "I'm sorry I'm late, Mr. Roberts," she said, reading my name off the blackboard, "I had to stop at my locker."

"Ah, very well, Timber. Just take your seat," I stammered. This was ridiculous. Here I was 24 years old, stuttering like a child in front of my class. I turned my back on the class, and began writing a question on the blackboard for them to discuss. I had just written the words, "What would..." when I heard a huge burst of giggling from the back of the class, where Timber had gone to take her seat. I turned around, smiled, and said gently, "That's enough, now, girls," and went back to writing.

The class period passed fairly uneventfully, with a few more minor interruptions and note-passing from the girls in the back. Remembering the anger of the Nun in the teacher’s lounge, I pretended not to notice, and tried not to be bothered by it. The church bells rang outside, signaling that it was time for the students to begin their next class. I sat at my desk, watching the students filing out, and wishing them a good day. After the last student had left, I looked to the back of the room, to find Timber still sitting there.

"Ms. Michaels, what are you doing," I asked, "Or is this why you're always late to class?"

She rose from the tiny student desk, slowly, and began walking toward my desk at the front of the room. She sat in the large, overstuffed chair to the right of mine, and began crying softly.

Completely taken aback, I asked her what the problem was. "It's my father," she sobbed. I placed my hand on her small, delicate shoulder. "What about him," I asked, innocently. "It's just that he... he caught me out last night after I was supposed to be in bed, and he brought me home, and he... he spanked me, Mr. Roberts. Gawd, I was so humiliated, I mean, no one has done anything like that to me since I was a little girl."

She completely broke down then, and as hard as I tried, I couldn't stop staring at the way her soft, white chest heaved with each tear. I was immediately broken out of this trance, though, by her arms around my neck. "You've got to help me, Mr. Roberts. I have got to get out of here, out of this school, out of this town!"

"Well, Timber," I replied, "There's not really a whole lot that I can do. You just have to understand, that you're growing up, and you'll be out on your own soon." There. That sounded rational enough, teacher-ly enough. But by now, my eyes were glued to the already too-high hemline of her plaid skirt, which raised even higher as she crossed her legs, exposing even more creamy, muscled thigh. Without intending too, my mind jumped to what the insides of her thighs must look like. I tried to quickly banish the image from my mind, but my cock gently stirring under my cheap pants told me that I had already thought about it too long. My eyes glanced up again to her gigantic, upturned breasts, almost half-exposed by the unbuttoned shirt. That was all it took. My dick became instantly rock-hard, and I tried to hide it with the newspaper on my desk.

Timber, though, had been watching this entire scene unfold. She slowly licked those puffy, red-painted lips of hers, and asked, "Are you having trouble, Mr. Roberts?"

"Um, ah, no, Timber, not at all. Listen, I've got another class coming in soon, maybe we can pick up this conversation tomorrow."

"No," she said flatly, "I don't think it's the conversation you want to pick up. I think it's that big, heavy dick of yours."

I blinked at her words, and jumped to my feet, forgetting the enormous swelling in my trousers. "Dammit, Timber, that's enough! Get out of my classroom, right now!"

She only smiled, and looked at the bulge in the front of my pants. "Oh, something wants to get out, all right," she cooed, gently running a painted red fingernail along the length of my shaft. With one hand, she pushed me backward, until I fell into my chair, stunned.

"You see," she said, deftly unzipping my fly and pulling my hard cock into her tiny white hand, "There's a reason I'm allowed to stay in this school, even though I am constantly giving all the teachers a, um, hard time." She continued running one hand up and down my pole, which was growing larger by the second.

"Timber, Jesus!" I sputtered, although my knees were already too weak to stand.

"Uh-uh," she shook her head, "No talking." After a few seconds of rubbing, she spit onto the head of my dick and used both hands to slowly stroke my slippery cock from my balls to the gigantic plum head. The feelings running through my body were absolutely electric - on the one hand, this was completely, totally immoral. But the sight of Timber, on her knees in font of me, swinging her ass back and forth under that plaid skirt, was simply more than I could argue with. This meant my career, this meant my life, this meant my future. This meant I had to get that shirt off of her.

I reached over her stroking hands, and quickly untied the knot keeping those enormous tits together. She smiled at me, "Tsk tsk, " she scolded, "Always in such a hurry. You like my tits, Mr. Roberts? You want to see them? That's fine. But no fucking. I could never fuck a teacher. I save that for the boys my own age, from St. Paul." I wasn't even shocked at her language, anymore. This girl was obviously a little slut, and that's the way little sluts talked. Besides, by now, her shirt had fallen completely open, fully exposing what I would guess to be a beautiful, milky-soft pair of 38DDs, her young firm skin rendering a bra completely unnecessary.

I was startled when she took her hands off of my dick, which had by now reached it's boiling point. I was harder than I have ever been in my life, with thick veins standing up off my cock, contrasting beautifully with the stark whiteness of Timber's skin. With both hands, she slowly began massaging those perfect tits, rubbing the tiny, pink nipples against the underside of my straining cock. With another spit and twist of her pper body, I soon found my dick buried deep in her cleavage. She used both hands to push her giant tits together around my shaft, slowly massaging it through all of that soft flesh. She moved up and down, slowly, staring straight into my eyes, as my cock slid smoothly between her velvety tits. On each upstroke, she popped just the head of it into her mouth, sucked hard for a moment, and released it. The softness of her lips, and the warm moisture of her mouth, made me think I was going to come at any moment. I closed my eyes, and tilted my head back...

"So you see, Mr. Roberts," she said plainly, stopping all movement, "I need to get out of here. And I need you to help me. Will you help me, Mr. Roberts?"

I stood up so quickly, and with such force, that she was knocked backwards off of her perch on her knees. "That is about enough of your bullshit," I yelled, pushed to the breaking point by this tiny little whore in a schoolgirl's uniform. "You think that's how to get what you want? You think you can just rub those tits on every guy that comes along, and he'll do anything you ask!?!" I stormed over to the door of the classroom, which I had just noticed had been left open, my still-engorged cock sticking straight up out of my pants, and slammed it shut. Throwing the bolt home, I spun on my heel and rushed over to Timber, who was on the floor, skirt around her hips, ample breasts spilling out of the shirt she tried to button. I grabbed her by her delicate wrist, and pulled her to her feet. I spun her around so that her back was to me, and roughly pushed her over the front of my teacher’s desk. "What are you going to do," she squealed, as I pulled her sopping wet lacy white undies down around her knees. I didn't answer her - instead, I placed the head of my cock up against the soft, bare entrance to her dripping wet pussy. "Oh, Mr. Roberts," she cried, "You mustn't!" In one long, agonizingly slow stroke, I pushed my engorged cock deep up inside of her. Her moans of protest turned into moans of complete and utter joy the moment I had begun to move, proving that she had wanted this from the moment she walked into my classroom that day.

"Oh, you fucker," she gasped, "Is that what you want? You want to slide that big dick up inside me? Well come on - ooooooh - come ON!" I worked my cock in and out of her, speeding up my pace as she got wetter and wetter. I reached around the front of her, and took one of those giant breasts in each hand, feeling them bounce and shudder as I thrust inside of her. With one hand, Timber was bracing herself on the desk, and with the other, she busied herself by rubbing my swinging balls as I slammed my hips into her bobbing ass again and again. "Timber," I panted, "I'm gonna cum--"

Before I could say any more, she wrenched her tight pussy off of my dick and whirled around, instinctively dropping to her knees in front of me. The length of my dick slid down her throat in a second, and I instantly began pumping load after load of my spunk straight down her delicate throat. She took all she could, but her efforts didn't stop a long ribbon of my salty load from running straight down her chin and onto those tits.

***

Needless to say, that was the end of my teaching career. We were caught almost immediately by a janitor, who had let himself in to clean the classroom. He simply couldn't keep his toothless mouth shut about the whole thing. I guess I'm not as good at helping people as I had wanted to be. Unless, of course, I were to go to medical school...