Cant Say No Ch 07

A couple thoughts before the story:

*It's been too long since I've worked on this project, I'm going to try and update more frequently in the coming weeks*

**Please leave a comment, and let me know your thoughts on the story, or reach out to me through the contact section, I love hearing everyone's opinions and ideas**

The bell rang. Soon the halls of Newland High School were overrun with packs of grubby teenagers. As a Senior, I was over the noise and the idiocy, and eager to move on to college. My future, however, was still up in the air. There was no denying how desperately I needed a scholarship offer. My game on the soccer field should have been enough to propel me, but I had other hurdles to contend with. I'd turned eighteen a week and a half ago, and my life had been collapsing ever since.

A new threat had emerged to jeopardize my soccer career, not a catastrophic injury or even poor play, but pregnancy. Anyone who got pregnant was confined to bedrest. If that happened to me, my soccer season would end before it started. There would be scant chance of a scholarship then.

Mom told me girls in her generation had numerous ways to avoid pregnancy. The simplest, she said, was avoiding sex altogether. Turns out dealing with creeps was a lot easier when you had the luxury of telling them to fuck off. Of course, I didn't, because of the law. Whenever I was not engaged in school activities, men could have sex with me when they chose.

In my naivety, I had underestimated how many men actually indulged in such activities. Growing up, I'd ignored the signs. Since my birthday, however, I wondered how I had ever been so oblivious.

I scowled as I walked down the hallway. Once again, I was wasting my 3rd hour break with Mr. Stephenson when I should've been practicing. So far, he had been very insistent with me, and I was worried there would be no way to break things off without getting in trouble.

Wasting 3

rd

hour was just the start of my worries. Tonight, mom and I were hosting my neighbor, Mr. Lunder, for dinner. Our last encounter with him had been horrifying, it was beyond me why mom would stoop to inviting him over. The memory of him tearing off my clothes made me shiver. Sometimes, I could feel the phantom of his hand on my throat, forcing himself on me. Mr. Lunder, the man who had assaulted me and taken my virginity, tonight I would see him again. Dread gnawed at my stomach.

Maybe it would be better to look on the bright side.

I'm not pregnant,

I reminded myself. Evelyn had confirmed it yesterday. But how long would that last? If I had to keep going to see Mr. Stephenson I was screwed--

A pair of hands grabbed my shoulders and forced me abruptly to a halt. Disoriented, I looked up.

A man stood in front of me, he sported a large mustache, flecked with grey. His hands had forced me to a stop in the middle of the hall. After a moment, I recognized him as a teacher, but didn't know his name.

The teacher surveyed me. "You should smile more often--frowning doesn't suit you." He smiled to emphasize his point.

Smile more?

In my head, I fantasized about kneeing him in the crotch. Instead, I met his eyes and smiled indulgently. It was the kind of smile you got good at from posing in your friend's photos. A lifelong reflex. Fortunately, it was an acceptable response.

The unknown teacher beamed back at me--his teeth were yellow. Next, he gave my shoulders a squeeze. "There you go, don't you feel better?" His breath left something to be desired, but I resisted the impulse to wrinkle my nose. Instead, I kept my smile plastered on my face, waiting for him to let go. Didn't he have a class to go teach?

Other students jostled my backpack as they brushed past. It felt strange to be standing still in a busy hallway. "I feel better--It was nothing--I'm just stressed." I tried to fill the silence between us before it stretched uncomfortably.

"You're young, you shouldn't have anything to be so stressed about." His thumbs massaged my shoulders, wandering imperceptibly closer to my chest. He brushed my cheek and my smile almost faltered. Would he ever let go?

My muscles were tense but that was the opposite of how I wanted to look. I chuckled to relieve the awkwardness--trying not to sound nervous. He didn't know this was my free period, did he? As far as he knew I still had to go to class. "Perhaps you're right, thanks for the tip." The expression on my face was cheery as I bid to end the conversation.

Finally, the mustached teacher released my shoulders. He continued to linger in front of me, but once enough time had passed to not seem rude, I hurried away from him.

I rolled my shoulders to loosen the newly formed knots, shivering. Catering to creeps was exhausting, I was certain he'd made up an excuse to put his hands on me.

Relax, he was just being friendly,

I told myself.

Stop freaking out

.

When I reached Mr. Stephenson's office, I took a moment to steady myself. Now more than ever, I needed a clear head. I had a plan, and I needed Mr. Stephenson to agree to it. The scatter-brained girl from the hallway would not cut it.

One deep breath later and my confidence was reset. Feeling better, I knocked and entered.

Inside Mr. Stephenson's windowless office, the world felt sealed off. My eyes had to adjust to the dimness. The lamp from his coffee table illuminated a pile of books.

Probably just an excuse to look smart,

I thought. He sure acted like he knew a lot.

The light cast Mr. Stephenson in an orange glow. Narrow shoulders, and a skinny frame. Even his shadow was not an impressive figure. As my eyes traveled down, I caught sight of his belt, already unbuckled in anticipation. I clenched my jaw and pretended not to notice it.

"Ms. Gartner, nearly late. My expectation is for us to make the most of our time together." He met my eyes for a moment, then lowered his gaze to my stomach. I crossed my arms over my midriff.

"Come now," Mr. Stephenson closed the distance and pulled my arms apart by the wrists. Once my arms were out of the way, he nestled his body into mine.

Perspiration formed on my scalp. I searched for the words I had rehearsed, but my mind came up blank. All I could think about was the cologne in my nostrils. Already his hands had probed underneath my shirt, his fingers unnaturally soft.

Sensing I was losing my initiative, I cleared my throat, and waited for him to look at me. Apparently, his eyes had their own agenda, because they were fixed on my blouse.

Wincing in discomfort, I looked down to find Mr. Stephenson had slipped his hands into my bra. Kneading my nipples between his fingers, he flashed a grin. "What did you say? You distracted me. It was your fault really."

Out of habit, I nearly apologized. Thankfully I stopped myself. For nearly two weeks I had been coming here, this time, he would to listen to me.

Standing up straight, I arched my back, adopting some of my confidence from the soccer pitch. "Well, I was thinking--and like, there was uh... something I wanted to try..." My lips fumbled the words.

Mr. Stephenson looked down at me, face impassive. I could not afford to lose his interest. '

You should smile more. Frowning doesn't suit you.'

The words sprang into my head, it was all I could think of. Still annoyed at the advice's origin, I let a smile play over my face. This was it, time to ask him

.

There were flutters in my stomach, like I was preparing to jump from a cliff.

Stifling my dismay, I smiled until my cheeks were stiff, and tousled my hair.

Mr. Stephenson's eyes honed in on my face, and he arched an eyebrow. "Might this be a breakthrough, Jessie? What do you want to try?" He adopted his counselor's demeanor with a condescending smirk. Meanwhile, the earnest prods on my thigh revealed the truth, he had little mind for conversation.

Fuck it,

I thought. "Well, it's just something I heard about, something that's supposed to feel really good," I slowed the words, trying not to let my nerves rush me.

Suddenly, I had all of Mr. Stephenson's attention. His mouth dropped, though he quickly corrected his features. "Please, uh, elaborate." Mr. Stephenson worked to moisten his mouth as he spoke. On my back, his hands were re-positioning themselves fretfully, touching me in sequence.

This was the last chance to abandon my plan, otherwise I'd have to go through with it. If I backed out now, we would only have traditional sex, likely less painful, but he would also cum inside me. The realization had taken a few days, but I understood now, Mr. Stephenson wanted to get me pregnant. If I didn't do something, he would succeed. That made my choice easy.

I shifted from foot to foot, bending my knees in quick succession. "You probably have more experience with this stuff... But I want to try uh--" In my heart, I hoped Mr. Stephenson would connect the dots, and save me the embarrassment of asking. "--you know... " I prompted, but his face remained blank."...Anal." I finished.

Silence followed, only broken when I coughed. Whatever thoughts were in his head, I badly needed to know them, but his eyes had grown distant. Not daring to hope, I waited, smiling sheepishly.

"We can do that." No longer restless, his hands found a permanent home on my butt. He squeezed me into him, making his erection grind the front of my skirt. A jolt ran through my stomach and tingled my spine. I breathed a sigh of relief, and let myself melt slightly. I'd been nervous about this conversation all morning, but now I felt stupid for even worrying.

As our bodies meshed together, I studied his face. My suggestion had pleased him, more than I could've hoped. Far from being upset or disappointed, Mr. Stephenson actually seemed happy.

He brushed a hair out of my face, and stroked my cheek. My smile became a little bit real. He leaned forward, and I accepted his kiss--closing my eyes. His lips were warm, and I felt the stubble of his chin scratch my face.

In my head I pictured Zeke--a friend who had kissed me at Homecoming--kissing me. The sensation had felt warm and tingly on the insides.

But this feeling was

different,

Mr. Stephenson tasted like coffee, not mint. Plus, the proportions were off, my head wasn't tilted up far enough. Also, last time, Zeke hadn't held two handfuls of my butt. The illusion popped.

Mr. Stephenson's hands worked over me relentlessly, grabbing my boobs and butt with greater intensity. My left boob in particular, began to ache, as his hand circled back, pinching the flesh.

I groaned into his mouth. As if in response, he pinched me harder, and I moaned again. My sounds of discomfort only encouraged his probing, but I was unable to stifle them.

We had done this before, and he would be upset if I did not reciprocate his touches. Feeling reluctant, I rubbed my right palm against his thigh.

Sure enough, he sighed, pressing his tongue deeper into my mouth. I shifted my own tongue in an attempt to adjust to the new rhythm. Encouraged by his sigh, I commended my effort. Willing or not, I was going to get through this.

Mr. Stephenson's hands went to work with growing intensity, kneading my butt between his fingers. Like a car revving its engines. The embrace constricted, leaving me slightly breathless.

I shrunk back. The quiet intensity of his affection concerned me. It felt like I had missed something. Mr. Stephenson was usually a meek intellectual, not forceful.

Suddenly, I became unsure of my victory.

What am I doing?

Anal sex was uncharted territory, and I was about to blunder into it. My first encounter with traditional sex had been rough enough, and this was supposed to be worse. I was foolish to volunteer for this.

I clenched my buttocks defensively, and my muscles grew taught in his grip. When I looked back up at Mr. Stephenson, he was no longer staring at me, but at something over my shoulder. "Stand over there," he panted.

Our bodies were mashed together, and wriggling out of his embrace wasn't easy. It took me a moment to see what he was talking about. His desk. Shakily, I edged beside it. Each of my shoe heels clicked hesitantly off the ground, announcing my uncertainty.

"Bend over and put your elbows on the desk." His features were hungry, "oh, and put your hair back."

Anything else you want me to do?

I thought with annoyance, but the expression in his eyes bared no further discussion. It wouldn't do to contradict him, and lose the progress I'd made pleasing him. Besides, if I spoke up, would I really change his mind?

My arms jumped to obey him. Following the safe pattern of habit, I slid a hair tie off my wrist and whisked my hair up into my usual ponytail. No, this was what I wanted. I'd be safe from pregnancy this way. All I had to do was not get emotional, and do as he asked. Besides, I knew Mr. Stephenson well enough to know an objection would upset him.

Click--click--

my shoes tapped the floor as I turned around.

As I bent my waist, my face drew near his desk. Books, notes, and pens littered the surface. It took a moment to clear a space for my elbows. The desk was cold. I spread my palms on the surface and waited.

The papers on the desk rustled, and I knew Mr. Stephenson had drawn close. His hands fastened on the hem of my skirt. He pulled, and a moment later my skirt wedged on my hips and stuck there.

My breath caught as my skirt came partway down. The second tug was more forceful, and my skirt popped over my hips and fell in a heap around my shoes. It was off. Apparently, I was still not used to having my legs suddenly exposed.

I waited for him. The desk was cool on my forearms and so was the air on my butt. There was movement behind me, so I glanced back, Mr. Stephenson had taken off his shoes and was stepping out of his pants. He folded them neatly and set them on the couch. Though he kept his shirt on. He had been staring at me as he worked.

"I want you to keep your eyes straight ahead, unless I tell you otherwise, Jessie. Do you understand?" He spoke like I had been caught misbehaving, and the unfairness stung. I felt my cheeks burn. "And take that blouse off too."

"Yes--sir." I finally said, annoyed it was all I'd managed to say. My boobs ached in relief as I unhooked the buttons on my blouse. The wretched thing was painfully small, and I could hardly stand it anymore. Still smarting from his comment, I placed my elbows back on the desk and waited for whatever was coming next.

I felt Mr. Stephenson wrap his hand around my ponytail. It was unexpected, and the tension forced me to pull my head back slightly away from his desk. I stood up slightly.

He picked my blouse off the desk and tossed it on the floor. "Keep your elbows down."

His voice caused a jolt to run through me. I pressed my elbows back onto the desk, pulling my hair uncomfortably in the process. Again, his rebuke stung. Annoyed with myself, I tried to dismiss the silly notion I had done something wrong. I deserved his respect.

SLAP.

I yelped, as a hand struck the left side of my bottom. It hurt. Mr. Stephenson had never hit me before, and it caught me off guard. He pulled ponytail back and I found myself staring at his wall. A framed diploma hung there--

Jon Stephenson

,

Psychology, M.S.

"Hold still." His voice came out gruff.

Hold still,

I scoffed.

What exactly does he think I've been doing all this

--I froze.

His dick, I realized, was pushing against me, but not in the right spot. It was too high. My jaw fell open.

No, no

, the sensation was all wrong. There was no room where he was pressing, it wouldn't fit there. Still, it continued to press forward. Ignorant of my thoughts.

"Wait!" All my previous thoughts forgotten, I cried out in shock. Mr. Stephenson had pulled me to my tip toes, which I realized had been a mistake on my part, because a moment later I slipped.

A moment of vertigo followed, then I was falling, falling back on to his dick. Tearing and scraping wracked my insides as his dick stretched me out, and I yelped. There were tears in my eyes. Like a gymnast on a high-beam, I fought for my balance.

Our bodies came to a rest, and I breathed out some tension. It felt like I was standing barefoot in a field of glass, a move in any direction would be painful. All I needed was a moment to adjust. I begged silently for Mr. Stephenson to hold still, but he didn't.

Before I could come to terms with my new reality, he pulled back and thrust into me once more. My cries filled the room. It was impossible to stifle them, they filled the silence. They echoed off the walls, repeatedly. The room was blurry. Once he heard me, Mr. Stephenson would realize something was wrong, and then we could stop, he had to. Surely, he didn't understand the pain I was in.

Only he didn't stop. Why didn't he stop? Maybe I could put a stop to this, all I had to do was beg him to fuck me normally.

It doesn't hurt that bad,

I scolded myself. Was it possible I was overreacting? It was risky to complain anyway, he'd be upset with me.

No, I wouldn't complain

,

I decided to focus on my goal instead. Otherwise, Mr. Stephenson might scold my effort. I had just gotten him on my side.

Mentally I made a list of things to focus on: Elbows on the desk, stare straight ahead, keep breathing. That was all I needed to do. It wasn't much of a list, but it was enough to distract me. If this was all he expected of me, I would deal with the discomfort.

My breath cut short as Mr. Stephenson plowed forward. With a squeal, I exhaled. On the inside, my body screeched in protest at the invasion. Meanwhile, on the outside, I was determined to keep my cool. No matter how I felt, all he would see when he looked down was my elbows on his desk. The perfect student.

Maintaining a docile posture took every ounce of my effort. Every moment he pressed in on me, the pressure mounted, and demanded I do something about it. The discomfort was unlike any I had experienced, but I held my still, just as instructed, there was nothing else to be done.

Elbows on the table,

I thought

. Relax

. I'd given up so much just to get here, I couldn't fail now. Demoralized yet stubborn, I glared down at the desk of the man fucking me.

The palms of my hands lay flat on the desk. How odd. My nails, painted green only yesterday, had chipped in a couple of places. With annoyance, I made a note to repaint them tonight.

Mr. Stephenson rocked forward. With an exhale, he willed his manhood as deep as length would allow. In front of him, Jessie held still. Hands on the desk. Her ass swallowed his thrust down to the hilt. It was stimulating, but he only allowed himself a moment to enjoy the sensation. Not daring to let the feeling overwhelm him. Otherwise, he risked spending himself too quickly.

So far, with the exception of a few shocked yelps, Jessie had been quiet. Far quieter than he expected. She was a stubborn girl. That fact inflamed him. She was pretty, stubborn, and stupid. There was no one he wanted to carry his seed more than this dumb little eighteen-year-old. Was she pregnant already? He hoped so. Maybe she'd make a post about it on Instagram.

Self-absorbed slut.

He slammed forward again, pulling back on her blonde ponytail. She rocked slightly, but her legs were sturdy. Strong legs, he realized. Much stronger than most girls you saw.

She was a stubborn girl, with stubborn legs and a thick ass. Blood pumped in his ears drowning out his thoughts. He wound back for another thrust, and surveyed her sizeable glutes.

You're going to take it,

he thought

.

With a tight grip he yanked on her ponytail, timing it with a powerful thrust of his hips, determined to elicit a reaction from her. His hips slapped against the meaty curve of her butt, driving her forward, and pressing his body deep against her flesh. Her skin was warm.