Note to reader: The first chapter of this story contains some sex, and a lot of story that will set up more and better sex in future chapters. Please be patient and stay tuned!
Fifth period was the best time of day for Rachel – or at least not as boring as the rest of the school day. St. Bartholomew's sat on a small hill with little to the west to obstruct a cool breeze that blew through the open windows on the far side of Miss Carpenter's classroom. The rustling of papers on the shelves and maps on the wall, along with the memory of the just-finished lunch period, made it easy to drift away from the geography lesson and into her daily daydreams of sex.
Although other real and imaginary characters moved in and out of these fantasies, she was naturally the recurring star. After all, who else should be featured in her own fantasies? And, besides, while she was not the most beautiful or popular girl in the school, she thought of herself as having above average looks. She was slender with small, but well-formed breasts, and nipples that didn't need a hot guy or a cool day to make them noticeable. Her strawberry blond hair hung to her shoulders except when she put it in a pony tail. Her legs were attractive, with or without stockings. But she had always thought her best feature was her small, round ass that looked much better in jeans than in the skirt of her school uniform.
Although she had prepared herself from a rather young age for later teen years filled with passionate encounters by sneaking peeks at the dirty books and movies she could find at the back of her sister's closet, at 18 her knowledge of sex was still mostly theoretical. But it was not for lack of trying. Not an hour earlier, she had nearly been caught making out on the floor in the back of the library with Steve, a boy to whom she was not especially attracted, but who shared her interest in sexy flirting. It was due only to the gullibility of the elderly librarian, who believed they were picking up scattered papers, that she had not been busted for a final time.
She was already one over the limit, having been punished once for playfully telling a boy who was hitting on her to fuck off, and twice for tying her uniform blouse up in front to reveal her midriff. The last time she thought was unfair since she was off school grounds, but St. Bart's jealously guarded its reputation all over town.
She knew that one more violation meant a trip to Mr. Helm's office and probable suspension. And suspension meant real trouble at home. Her parents had lost all patience with her mediocre grades, disrespectful tone and general lack of interest in anything, and had warned her that the consequences of more problems at school would be severe.
As her mind drifted into her fantasy, she was careful to keep her eyes in the room, partly to keep a mental foot in the lesson in case she was called on, and partly to incorporate one of the boys in the class into the scene her mind was borrowing from one of her sister's movies.
Today it would be Mark, one of the better looking guys in the school, who would please her without even knowing her name. She watched him, sitting one row over and two in front, and began to imagine him kissing her neck, her cheek and then her mouth. Then, as usual, her mind hit the fast-forward button and suddenly Mark was reaching behind her under the pleated skirt of her school uniform to caress her ass. But just as he was moving his hand around to the front, her view of him was obstructed by Melissa, who walked past Rachel to get a book from the back of the classroom for Miss Carpenter.
Melissa was something of a mystery to Rachel. Since transferring to the school earlier in the year, she had earned a reputation as a troublemaker, talking back to teachers and skipping classes. Like Rachel, she had pushed the limits of the rules at St. Bart's and was on the verge of suspension, but it never happened. Her behavior never seemed to change much – she had skipped fifth period several times this month alone – and Rachel suspected she avoided punishment only by doing the right things at the right times in front of the right people. Just this morning, Melissa and Rachel had bumped into each other right in front of Mr. Helm as they came into the building. Melissa thoughtfully, though uncharacteristically, picked up Rachel's purse and the few items that had spilled out. Rachel could not help but notice Mr. Helm's approval.
Following the interruption Melissa had caused, Rachel began to reconstruct the scene. This time Mark got his hand down the front of her panties and into her neatly trimmed hair. She neither consented nor objected. This was how she wanted sex to be, no permission, no responsibility. With his left hand, he began to pull down her panties enough to expose the young pussy that had been touched by others only in dreams like this one.
Then, just as he knelt to kiss her, she was once again interrupted when Melissa, on her way back to her seat, brushed by Rachel's purse and knocked it off the back of her chair, spilling the contents into the aisle. Annoyed by the disruption of her lesson, Miss Carpenter started down the aisle as Rachel began to pick up her belongings. As Rachel retrieved the mirror, lipstick and pen that had fallen out, Miss Carpenter knelt to pick up something small and blue. It appeared to come from the purse but couldn't have, because Rachel didn't recognize it as hers.
However, Miss Carpenter assumed otherwise and immediately told Rachel to gather her things and come with her.
She picked up her books, threw her purse over her shoulder and headed for the door to the smirks and snickers of her classmates, including Mark and Melissa, whom she passed along the way. Miss Carpenter waited just outside the door, signaling her toward the principal's office at the far end of the hallway.
"What's this about?" Rachel asked. "My purse just fell of my chair."
Miss Carpenter would not even respond. This was trouble. This would be the last straw unless she could explain whatever it was that had so upset her teacher. As they marched down the hallway, Rachel raced through the possibilities. Had she gotten carried away in her daydream and said something out loud? Not likely, since she couldn't remember any words being exchanged even in her head. What about a moan? That was possible. The scene was beginning to get hot and, as usual, she had felt her pussy getting wet just at the thought of a boy touching it. But would she be in this kind of trouble for just a moan?
No, the trouble had to be with whatever Miss Carpenter picked up off the floor. This had to be a misunderstanding. Rachel tried to look over to see what it was, but she couldn't tell which of her teacher's clutched fists held the contraband.
Miss Carpenter swung open the office door, motioned Rachel inside, and asked to see Mr. Helm.
"Oh, my God, it's that serious," Rachel thought. Mr. Helm saw only the serious cases, the lost causes, and after three previous violations, she fit that description. But the others had been moral violations. This couldn't be anything like that. On the other hand, if it weren't she wouldn't be here.
Mr. Helm's door opened and Miss Carpenter stepped inside. The door closed behind her without allowing Rachel to even see Mr. Helm. Although his office was only a few steps away, she couldn't hear anything from behind the heavy door. She waited only a minute or two before Miss Carpenter came back out and passed Rachel on her way out of the office without saying a word.
Now she waited.
"Mr. Helm will see you now," said the secretary.
Rachel approached the massive oak door and knocked quietly.
"Come in," she heard from inside.
She opened the door with some difficulty, never having felt such a heavy door. No wonder she couldn't hear anything. This room must be almost sound-proof. Mr. Helm sat at his desk looking at his computer.
"Sit down, Rachel." His voice was deep and commanding, but did not seem angry. She started to sit on the couch in his office, but he stopped her without even looking up. "No, sit on the floor."
Rachel set her books and purse on the floor as she lowered herself to her knees and sat back on her feet behind her. She played nervously with the hem of her skirt as she watched Mr. Helm, trying to gather some sense of his mood. Although she had been at St. Bart's for three years and had seen Mr. Helm many times in passing, she had never had a real conversation with him and had certainly never been alone in a room with him. He was considerably younger than the assistant principal she had been sent to before. She guessed he might be in his early 40s and, while serious looking, was not unattractive.
She looked around the room, at the pictures on the wall of Mr. Helm with sports stars and city leaders, at the desk with folders and papers stacked neatly between the computer monitor on one side and the large elaborate multi-line phone on the other, at the long table against the window holding several trophies and another phone, this one plain, with only one line.
"Do you know why you're here?" Mr. Helm asked, still not looking at her.
"No, I don't," Rachel answered. "My purse spilled and –"
"I didn't ask for an argument from you," interrupted Mr. Helm. "I asked if you know why you're here."
"No."
Finally, Mr. Helm turned his swivel chair and looked at her. "Do you know how this got in your purse?" He opened his hand to reveal the small blue object Miss Carpenter had picked up off the floor – a condom in a cellophane package.
"Mr. Helm, that's not mine. I –"
"Rachel, you have a bad habit of answering questions I haven't asked and failing to answer the ones I do. I did not ask whether it's yours. I asked if you knew how it got in your purse."
"I have no idea." She was getting more nervous and confused by the moment.
