Helene dreaded Wednesday evenings at St Cats. Straight after dinner, when they should still be digesting and chilling out, the girls were herded down to the gym and told to pick their activity.
Helene sought out Miranda in the crowd. Miranda always picked running. It wasn't just her slight short-sightedness and vane refusal to wear her glasses, Miranda was actually good at running - especially cross-country, with its sticky mud and awkward branches. Miranda was graceful, Helene thought, able to pick her way along the tracks with elegance and the speed of a gazelle - leaving Helene and all the other girls trailing behind, slipping and sliding and tripping over anything that could be seen as an obstacle.
Helene thought: it hasn't rained for weeks, it won't be wet at least, and... she thought about her options. The swimming pool was notoriously cold, and the hockey pitch was just the thing if you liked teams sports - which Helene decidedly did not. So it was to be the cross-country.
The girls got changed into their running gear. Mostly they ran in tracksuits, but Miranda always wore a maroon school skirt. She runs for the school, Helene thought, she's earned it. She'll probably run for the county this year.
The teacher on duty for the cross-county was Forsdyke. No athlete, the girls had a theory that Forsdyke organised the cross-country because it provided ample opportunities for a cigarette and a drink. Helene smiled to herself. Out of all the girls in the group getting ready to run, only she and Miranda knew Forsdyke's dirty secret, how she liked to dress up in a school uniform and be fucked by Kelly, the grizzled head of humanities.
Forsdyke was speaking. "Usual route girls, down the boundary until you get to Pilgrim's gate. Into the woods to the lane. Along the lane, up the field and sprint your way home. Last girl runs again. We're taking times, so make it fast if you want to run for your house."
She blew her whistle, and they were off. Helene jogged slowly behind the main pack. Already she felt uncomfortable, the rhythm so hard to achieve. She could just see Miranda at the front, sprinting away with apparently effortless ease.
Miranda didn't know why people complained about running. To her, it seemed as natural as breathing and sex: just something her body did, something it enjoyed.
The run down the boundary was soft on her feet, the grass cut to a nice length. She vaulted Pilgrim's gate and ran over the short stretch of farmland before the wood, hurdling the small stream with a smooth action.
Down among the trees, the air was cool and moist, and Miranda put on a burst of speed. There was no-one behind her now.
When she emerged from the wood, the first thing she saw was a red BMW parked in a field gate, with a dark figure standing behind it. He seemed familiar: Miranda squinted at him from a distance. The man stepped onto the road, as if to confront her.
It was Mr Byrne, the cruel and darkly coloured geography teacher. He said: "Thomas, go and sit in the car."
Miranda said: "but sir, I'm on the run, and I don't want to be last..."
Byrne followed her back to the car.
He said: "you don't have to be, but that depends on you."
"What do you want, sir?"
Byrne kept his eye on the lane.
"I want you to make me cum. And when you have, then you can go."
Miranda was annoyed, but she tried not to show it. With Byrne, you never knew what he might decide to do.
She was sitting in the driver's seat, leaving him standing outside. Miranda could tell he was already erect beneath his trousers.
"How do you want it, sir?"
Byrne said, distantly. "I don't care, just get on with it, whatever you want."
Miranda leant forward, and started undoing his flies.
Byrne was quite a stylish dresser: he was wearing dark, button-fly trousers and a thick leather belt. Miranda undid the belt, the brass buckle falling heavily from his crotch. She struggled with the button flies, but eventually his trousers dropped away, revealing a thick cock, lifting up his white cotton boxers.
Miranda pushed the boxers down, she gripped his cock with one hand, felt around his balls with the other. She played with him for a few moments, pushing the foreskin back, watching the teacher's cock glisten.
Now she could hear the first runners panting along the lane. Byrne shouted occasional words of encouragement. Under his breath he said: "I told you to make me cum, I'm not your boyfriend enjoying a grope." He paused. "Or your girlfriend for that matter."
Obediently, Miranda opened her mouth and took his cock in her mouth. She felt it jerk against the roof of her mouth, could taste the salt on his skin. Gently she pulled his balls: scratching them lightly with her fingernails. Byrne grunted, and Miranda could feel his cock getting wetter, getting a foretaste of his cum. She thought: I've got to get a wiggle on, I've got to make him cum or I'll be horribly late!"
She started thrusting her head against him, forcing his cock fuck her mouth, but to her horror she felt him losing stiffness.
Byrne said: "are you wet?"
Miranda said: "do you want to fuck me?"
Byrne said: "well this is useless, I might as well wank myself off into your mouth, so yes, I'm going to fuck you."
He pushed her back into the car, lifted her skirt and pulled her knickers down her legs and threw them away, in one easy action.
"Turn around."
Miranda wriggled around in the car, lifted herself onto a knee, trying to keep her other leg comfortable under the steering wheel. She could feel the wind on her bare arse.
Byrne shouted: "move your butt, Ash!"
Miranda thought: "Damn, if Helene has gone past I'm in trouble!"
She wiggled her arse invitingly.
Byrne said: "good God, they are rubbish".
Miranda felt his cock exploring the gap between her legs, rubbing her almost hairless mound. She reached between and held it, guiding Byrne forward to her cunt.
Byrne pushed himself into her without mercy, suddenly filling her up: she gasped with surprise and with the suddenness of the sensation.
"You're not very wet," he complained, "try playing with yourself, see if that works."
Miranda said: "you want me to masturbate while you fuck me, sir?"
Byrne grunted an acknowledgement.
Miranda slid a hand between her legs. She could feel Byrne's cock sliding awkwardly out of her cunt, she felt around her splayed pussy lips, the hard masculine flesh disappearing inside her. She thought about Doctor Clarke and Helene, thought about their tongues and fingers, thought about all the orgasms they had shared and would share. Now she found her clit was hardening, and she rubbed it with her fingers, feeling the warmth lubricate her cunt.
Byrne was sliding smoother inside her now. When she rubbed herself, she could touch his balls with every stroke, and she knew that the teacher - who was penetrating her in full view of the lane - liked this very much.
Byrne was fucking her deep and fast now, and to her surprise, Miranda could feel herself approaching an orgasm. She thought: "nearly there, just a minute," and then Byrne pulled out of her.
"Wet enough now, girl," he commented, and Miranda felt his cock sliding over her arse. She thought: "he'll never get it in up there," and then realised that Byrne was pushing against her arsehole.
As soon as she understood what he wanted, she clenched up, as if to resist his cock - but then took time to relax herself.
Byrne pushed his cock against her ring of muscle. As she relaxed, it loosened and Byrne took advantage, Miranda felt his cock enter her arse, penetrating her, sliding on her pussy juice.
The teacher groaned, and then spoke: "you can make yourself cum, you lazy cow."
Miranda felt her clit again. Still hard, still sensitive to her touch, she found she could now finger herself and play with her clitoris at the same time - whilst feeling the most intense sensation of fullness she could imagine.
Byrne's hands were on her arse cheeks now, he was fucking her for his pleasure, taking voyeuristic delight in the schoolgirl's masturbation. Miranda started to moan: long, low, animals noises. She could barely tell where Byrne's cock and her asshole finished, so intense was the pleasure she was taking.
Her leg, braced on the steering wheel, started to shake, and at the same time, she felt Byrne fuck her ass even deeper.
He groaned: "I'm cumming now," thrusting inside her.
Miranda said, "Sir, sir, are you going to full my arse with your spunk?"
Byrne almost laughed with glee.
"You're such a slut, Thomas."
Miranda's masturbating fingers were a blur. Byrne's cock fell from her, she could feel cum dripping from her hole, down the inside of her legs. Now she she had brought herself to a climax, she was pressing her face into the car seat, rocking with the rhythm of her fingers.
She fell forward over the hand-brake, panting.
Byrne stood back.
"Not bad, but you're going to have to sprint to catch up."
Miranda turned to look at him
"Well don't look at me, get running!"
Miranda got out of the car with difficulty, standing shakily to her feet, looking around for her knickers.
Byrne shouted: "get running!"
The schoolgirl sprinted along the lane. There was almost no hope, she thought, not unless one of the girls had stopped for a smoke - there was always that hope. Ahead of her, she thought she could see a couple of people in the far distance. A car was crunching along slowly, and Miranda hopped onto the grass verge to let it pass.
Byrne's red BMW pulled up alongside her, the window slid down, and Byrne threw a pair of green knickers out onto the road. Miranda heard him laugh as he drove off at speed.
She scooped up her knickers and burst into a faster sprint. Her skirt was flying around her, and anyone would have seen her cunt if they'd bothered to look. By the time she got to the last stretch, she could see two figures sauntering along the lane at the end. Desperately she ran as fast as she could in an effort to catch them up, but as she got close, they heard her approaching, and started running. The three girls ran towards the gym block - they could see Forsdyke, Helene and a handful of girls at the finishing line.
Miranda was struggling: she was trying to hold her skirt down as she ran, anxious not to give Forsdyke another reason to complain, but the two other girls - large girls, unfit girls, girls who had stopped for a smoke - oh the shame of it - they were beating her to the finishing line.
Forsdyke ticked their names off and gestured at the shower block. She said: "What are you looking at me for, Thomas? Go around again."
Miranda said: "it wasn't my fault, my elastic broke".
