"So yeah, I'll be late for dinner", my wife said over the speakerphone located in the storage alcove adjacent to my classroom. I could hear papers on her desk rustling over the phone line. She was distracted by work, so I might be able to stumble my way through this, so to speak. "I might not even make it until late. Go ahead and have something on your own. You're always eating at your desk anyways, so that'll be fine. I just wanted to let you know before you thought anything bad happened."
On my end of the conversation while she was talking, there was something bad happening. Very bad. There was a soft grunt, thankfully inaudible over the phone that sat on the floor beside my head, as a long, thick turd inched closer to my mouth, not only growing longer but also astonishingly thick considering the petite teenager it was sliding out of, squatting inches above my face. As it emerged with a soft, moist hiss of escaping flatulence from her distended, tight ring, the lower tip entered my mouth. My eyes were wide open and locked on the monstrous log. It just kept coming. I prayed that there was some anatomical limit to how big a log her colon could produce, or that it would break off, or that she would just not be so obvious during the phone call. But it just glacially flowed on. Slowly her hips moved back and forth causing her chocolate tail to sway along in gentle arcs. There was my answer. She was going for full on humiliation while I was on the phone with my wife, whom I prayed was oblivious to the noises on this call. Watching me the entire time, she wanted me to chase her turd back and forth. I complied, carefully lifting my head and inching it into my mouth with my lips and teeth, trying like hell to prevent it from breaking off and smearing into my hair and clothes. Inches passed, moist and rank, until her seemingly bottomless colon finally ran out of raw material and I began to chew through the soft, horridly bitter mass as quickly as I could to avoid any abnormal lull in the conversation, trying to hold my breath so as to delay any inevitable retching on my part. "Mmmmhmmm" I replied, nasally but as calmly as I could manage without gagging as the ample dump overwhelmed my senses. Swallowing what I could, I croaked out "I'll be fine" with a mouth half full of the heady foulness. I swooned.
My wife laughed. "I can hear you eating already. Don't have too much of that junk. It'll make you sick. I'm always telling you that you need to chew your food sweetie. I'll see you when I get home. Love you, bye!"
My response of "Love you!" came out muffled as I was disconnected and the ass that was supplying my dinner lowered back down, fully onto my face, and supple, smooth buttocks surrounded me and sealed off my view from the floor.
"Junk? We'll see about that. She is right, though. You need to take your time and chew," followed by a girlish laugh came from above me.
The filthy ring blossomed into my mouth like some obscene flower as she farted, loud and wet, with my mouth sealing it. "Ready for the main course? I kept it warm for you so wouldn't be hungry later!" I groaned from my position underneath her as she began to rapidly deliver the rest of my meal with a renewed vigor into my still half-full mouth.
In another context those words would sound so caring, but here and now they had so much menace in them that I involuntarily shivered since I knew it didn't matter if I was ready or not, it was coming and I had to make space as it began snaking out from her and into me. Sure enough, my mouth filled much faster than I could swallow as her supply seemed to be limitless. I knew this was intentional on the part of my tormentor. She must have been controlling herself during the phone call, to prolong the anticipation of her dump, but not now. She was unloading at a high rate now. I knew there would be no mercy from her. It was swallow or choke on her rich gift.
"Save some room," she teased "I've got loads more!" I could hear her heavy breathing as she frigged herself and neared orgasm.
It wasn't always like this.
I teach science. Where isn't important. Let's just say it's older kids, high school juniors and seniors mostly. It's no place special and the school itself is just an average public school you could find anywhere throughout the country. Besides, I'd hate to have this story get out. The internet and other technologies have made it really easy to trace people these days over just the smallest revealed detail. I am still somewhat amazed that I have not gotten into more trouble than I'm in now over this.
Last fall, I called a new class of students to order with a welcome back from summer vacation, a roll call and then a brief review of the course syllabus and what topics we would be covering over the year. I have been teaching for a few years at this school (gotta be careful about revealing how many!) so I had a good rhythm in my teaching style by this point in my career. Still, I was young enough to imagine myself in their position: sitting inside on a beautiful day, in a funk because summer was over, and the march of seasons that meant autumn was coming soon and then winter.
I'd seen most of the students in this class around the school over the previous years. Some I had even taught as underclassmen. Some were eager students, some projected boredom like a shield around them. Once you've progressed into adulthood, you almost forget that no one can quite project that apathetic "anywhere but here" mood the way that teenage students can. I empathized briefly but leading a class means everything runs on a tight schedule, so I dug into the lesson plan. So began another school year.
Schools have had to catch up with the changes in society so there's a greater sense of accountability and monitoring. Lawsuits, other threats and payouts for misdeeds in other school districts mean this is just the schools protecting themselves. It's common sense really. Cameras now silently monitor areas throughout the school and for the first few days, there is a sense of someone watching. That sense passes in time. It always does. Cameras are pervasive in society and you almost forget they're there.
While there weren't cameras in my classroom, there was one outside my room, focused on the door leading to the small walled off alcove attached to the room I taught in, since the room was used as storage for various class materials and equipment. The entrance to my room was just out of view of the cameras.
This particular class was a general level chemistry course. Most of the students were smart enough to plan on getting into a 4-year university post-graduation. In fact, since the class was a mix of grade levels, many had already applied to various universities, local and distant. The class was a fairly even mix of male and female. Where maybe a decade or so before, most math and science courses were weighted heavily towards male students, there was a gradual trend to more girls applying themselves to the sciences. This was a good thing, in my opinion.
As I noted, I am younger than many of my co-workers. Not fresh out of teaching school, but not an old fogey either. Of course, I have heard the stories of some of the student lolitas begging teachers for improved grades and offering various things in return. Well, I suppose all teachers have heard this. Turn on the news and not a month goes by during the school year with some teacher or school official being caught with their pants down in some form or another. That wasn't me. Really.
I had been married for a few years (oops, almost slipped again!) to a woman I met in grad school while I was getting my teaching degree. She was pursuing her J.D. to become a lawyer. We were friends for almost a year before we began dating. Looking back, time fogs as it tends to do, and it's hard to remember exactly how that all came about, but it seemed like "boom!" and we were a couple. The relationship progressed and we ended up married after she had passed the bar exam.
