Chapter One: The Oral Exam
I was scared the first time Mr. Poln made me suck his cock. What girl wouldn't be in my situation? Up until that point, I hadn't had the slightest bit of trouble in school. A straight A student. College bound for sure, most likely with honors, with scholarships, with two proud, beaming parents and an army of jealous classmates. Well, all it took was being caught passing a note in class to drag that perfect student down. Down to a punishment, down to a black mark on her record.
Down to her knees.
Now, I know it seems silly, agreeing to do such a thing just so he wouldn't report my note passing to the school authorities, but you need to understand my mindset at the time. I was incredibly naive for an eighteen year old; something that I no longer suffer from, given the things my body's been through since then. And for all the stereotyping that goes on regarding Asian parents, let me tell you something...it isn't all just for jokes. There's real pressure there; pressure to perform, pressure to excel, pressure to make your family proud and never give them anything negative to say when they're spending time with their friends.
And so I agreed to his terms because I was afraid of what would happen if that minor infraction got out. Sure, what he was proposing was worse, but...it was also something that could be kept secret. Something that my parents would never have to know about. Looking back, there might have been a part of me that wanted the excitement. A part of me that was bored with being the good girl, bored of being the sweet, innocent thing. It's easy to analyze things years later, but in that moment? I was terrified.
"Go on. Open your mouth," Mr. Poln was a handsome enough man, barely into his forties and caught in what I assume was a boring marriage at the time. He had stern features but wasn't always mean; and had a reputation at the school for having the ability to let his hair down. As it turned out, his method of letting his hair down that evening after class was making a terrified honor student suck him off in the men's bathroom.
I nodded to his order and opened my mouth a little; still very scared, and very unsure of how to proceed. Aside from overhearing the cheerleaders talk about things they had done on the bus, I didn't know what to expect, or even worse, what was to be expected of me. What if I did poorly? Would Mr. Poln not only tell my parents that I was passing notes, but that I didn't know how to go down on a man?!
Like I said, naive.
"Wider," Mr. Poln demanded of me, as his hands went down to his zipper, and started to work. I just stared ahead, my eyes wide, and a rush of fear going through me. At the time the school had uniform requirements, which...to be honest, took on a whole different level of wrongness for an Asian girl. Sure, you pretty blonde girls get the Catholic schoolgirl stuff, but when you're a Japanese girl that pleated skirt, those knee-high white socks, that vest over a dress shirt...?
Well, you're a walking porn fantasy, whether or not you realize it.
And so Mr. Poln's little Asian schoolgirl opened her mouth wider, and her eyes closed behind the frames of her glasses - yeah, I had the glasses, too - so she didn't have to look at what was about to emerge. I could hear the zipper slowly going down, and then he made a faint grunting noise as he reached into his boxers and fished it out. I felt it long before I saw it; there was a warmth that slapped against my cheek that didn't feel like anything I had ever experienced before. I flinched from it, my mouth closing if only for an instant before my diligent teacher-pleasing mindset kicked in, and I opened my mouth back up wide as I had been instructed. Mr. Poln just chuckled at that, and I could feel his fingers moving into my hair, a black, clean mess of locks that went into dual pigtails down the back of my head, and held bangs that just dusted above the rim of my glasses. His fingers slid through my hair, though he didn't grip me so much as tilted me into position, and I tensed up as I knew the moment was coming.
Like waiting for a needle, the fear built and built, so much so that by the time his cockhead brushed under one of my lips, I had a moment of panic. The empty boy's room was filled with the sound of my panicked squeal, as I slapped my hands over my mouth and shook my head back and forth again and again and again. Even then, I knew that there was no realistic way of stopping, and before too long I recovered my fear and opened up once more, my eyes still shut tight.
To keep my hands from misbehaving again, I lowered them to the hem of my skirt, where it rested just above my bare knees that dug into the tile of the bathroom floor. It hurt to kneel there, but when I had asked Mr. Poln if I could just sit on the toilet, he had advised me, quite correctly, that...
"Your place is on your knees right now."
And so I knelt, wringing my hands against my skirt, and waiting with my mouth open for the moment to arrive. It came slowly, and as he slid his cock past my lips, the thoughts and emotions that struck me where numerous. Certainly, there was shame in the moment, and part of me wanted to cry over what I was doing. And I'd be lying if I said there wasn't curiosity there as well. I was an intellectual girl after all; it was my first chance to know what a man's cock tasted like. As he pushed it inside, past my lips, onto my waiting tongue, the taste both intrigued and repulsed me, the latter of which I've long since decided was just a reaction of a nervous girl giving her first blowjob. Since then Mr. Poln's head had rested on my tongue dozens of times, and the taste never bothered me like it did that first moment.
I heard him give a content noise, and he started to move his hips, pushing it in and out of my open, motionless mouth. It was truly a "scared girl" blowjob; as I knelt there with my mouth open, my tongue not moving, and my eyes shut quite tight. And after a few thrusts I could tell that his cock was wet with my spit, and that some of it was started to roll down my lips, down past my chin. Too afraid to even wipe it away I allowed it to drool down, and it wasn't too long before I felt it splash down onto my hands at my skirt, somehow making me feel even dirtier with the liquid proof of my actions.
Mr. Poln had only gotten in a handful of thrusts before my mouth closed, and I finally dared to open my eyes. I looked up at him, with spit rolling down my chin, and my body still wrapped in that now-fetishistic outfit of my schoolgirl attire. My eyes remained firmly on his face, which I still found handsome, and they didn't dare drift down to his cock, for fear of seeing it would drive me utterly insane.
Catholic AND Asian. The level of sexual repression I had at that point was staggering.
Mr. Poln seemed to sense that I thought were were simply...done, and he shook his head with a surprisingly kind smile given the situation. His hand went down, and he took my spit-covered chin to open my mouth again, guiding my head forward to press his cock inside once more. He took my head into his own hands, lunging his member into my mouth, forcing me to taste, to experience, to feel every inch of him that I could within reason. My eyes closed after a while, but there was a moment in which I just stared ahead at his lap, eyes wincing on each thrust when he struck a point of discomfort. My hands went slack at my skirt, and my knees fidgeted, though for the first time not because of the pain the tile was causing them.
