Chatterbox

My name is Madelyn but everyone calls me Lyn. Except my brother. He calls me Mad, damn him. But what can you do with brothers? The only suggestions that appeal are illegal.

Getting back to the important subject, me, I'm eighteen, brunette, nice figure (in my opinion), reasonably intelligent and, I have to admit, a bit of a chatterbox. I just love to talk and I've always got something to say.

Most times this doesn't matter, but it's the bane of my teachers. They've spent years trying to get me to shut-up in class. It's what gives me a reputation for misbehaving, but I'm not really what you'd call naughty, just talkative.

We got a new teacher halfway through the year and apparently he hadn't had anyone like me in his classes before. He believes in strict silence while he lectures. He's had a few goes at me, including a couple of detentions, hoping to teach me. Silly, really. The rest of the staff could have told him I talk right through detentions.

He got on my case again today. All I did was make a simple observation to Sally. She had a new hair job, and I was telling her I liked it, which I did. She'd had some real neat streaks put through it and then had all the ends feathered. My hairs too unruly for that sort of thing. Anyway, Mr Jonas got in a knot over me paying a classmate a simple compliment and told me to see him in his office after school.

Someone should really explain to Mr Jonas the customs of our school. I'm sure he knows the rules but he seems a bit slow in picking up the customs. Like in that teachers never give detention or see pupils after school on a Friday. They always leave things go until the Monday.

The nice thing about this custom is that we all know that come final bell on Friday we're free, teachers and students, and we all make a beeline for the gate. And Mr Jonas wants me to see him after school. Geez.

I fronted up to Mr Jonas's office right after final bell. He was sitting at his desk waiting for me. I tried to explain to him that this was against custom and that he should really get me to come and see him first thing Monday morning, which is a pain, but better than Friday after school.

He just ignored my suggestion as though I hadn't spoken. Well, not really as though I hadn't spoken because he said, "WILL you be quiet. I'll get around to you in a few moments." You should have heard the way he emphasised the word 'will'.

I said of course I'm willing to be quiet and would this take long as it was a Friday afternoon and strictly speaking this was my own time now as I wasn't really on detention, and he interrupted me. Talk about rude. He actually demanded that I just shut-up for a while. I opened my mouth to say OK and he just lifted a finger, glared at me and said no, he didn't want to hear it.

So I stood there without speaking. You can't really say muttering to yourself is talking, and I told him that, but he just put his face on his hands and said "oh god".

I could hear the stampede of students and teachers leaving en masse, and it wasn't all that long before the school was dead silent. Mr Jonas and myself were probably the only two people in the school. Even the cleaners wouldn't be there as they don't come until the evening.

Mr Jonas finally put aside the papers he'd been looking at and started looking at me, and it was a pretty sour look he was giving me.

"It seems to me that you never shut up," he said. "I've decided to see how long you keep talking and also give you something to talk about."

He got up from his desk and moved around to stand behind me.

"Lean over the desk, putting your weight on your hands," he snapped.

Oh my god, he was going to beat me, I just knew it. We still have corporal punishment at the school. In theory, anyway. I've never heard of anyone actually getting it. I leaned over the desk as instructed but thought I'd better make sure he knew the rules.

"Um, if you're going to beat me you're only supposed to use your hand, you know. Spanking's all that permitted under the rules. And you're a male teacher, so you're not supposed to spank me at all. You can only be an observer while a female teacher spanks me."

At that point I gave a startled squeal. Not because he started spanking but because he pulled my panties down.

"Ah, it's also in the rules that you can't remove a female students clothing when you chastise her," I pointed out quickly. I mean, my god, bent over like this he could see everything. Talk about embarrassing. Probably embarrassing for him, too, if he didn't know the rule.

I waited for him to apologise and tell me to pull up my panties, but he just laughed.

"Don't worry," he said. "I know the school rules regarding corporal punishment. They don't apply in this instance."

Why not, I wondered and promptly asked. After all, I've never heard of exceptions to the rules so what made this occasion different? And even if it was different, should he really be pulling down my panties?

"The reason it's different," Mr Jonas explained, "is because I have no intention of spanking you."

That gave me a feeling of relief for all of one second. I mean in that case, why were my panties down? Then I gave a real squeal as I found out why.

"You can't touch me like that," I gasped. "That's certainly against the rules."

Would you credit it? He'd just calmly reached between my legs and placed his hand squarely over my, ah, my mound. His hand was big enough to completely cover it, and then he started squeezing it. Not just a single squeeze, but he'd squeeze and relax, squeeze and relax.

I pointed out to him most vehemently that he should be doing that, but he just kept right on. Well, not just right on squeezing. Every so often he'd stop squeezing and start rubbing. And if rubbing back and forth along my pussy wasn't bad enough he switched to rubbing from side to side. I mean, geez, I could feel him pulling my lips apart, and then he'd rub the other way and they'd close and get dragged open again.

I told him that not only was it against school rules but I was pretty sure it was against the law as well, and he just laughed again.

"Think of it as giving you something new to talk about," he said. "And don't forget to include this bit."

This bit turned out to be him pulling my lips slightly apart and pushing his fingers inside me. Boy, I sure squealed at that one. I mean boys have made passes and tried to grope me but I've always fended them off. I've even waved my brother at a couple of dedicated molesters, which just goes to show brothers do have some uses. All that energetic fending off meant that this was the first time anyone had actually got their hands on my pussy, and as for sticking a finger inside me. . . Words failed me.

I told Mr Jonas this and he has the gall to laugh again.

"For someone who says that words fail her, you certainly have plenty of them," he said, which I considered rather rude, and I told him so.

"Ah, rudeness," he murmured. "We wouldn't want to be rude, now would we? You probably think I'm being rude confining my attention to your pussy. Let me correct that."

"What do you mean correct it," I demanded. "And I think you're being rude touching me there at all. You should stop and stop right now."

My goodness, would you believe that he did? I just couldn't believe it. I said stop and he stopped. Obviously I should have said stop earlier. It just hadn't occurred to me.

Then I found I had to protest all over again. Mr Jonas had reached around and was calmly undoing the buttons to my blouse. I told him to stop, but did he? It is to laugh. He just kept right on going and, what's more, as soon as the buttons were undone he was dragging my blouse off. No, really. Just lugged it down my arms and left it pooled on the desk.

I was protesting this high handedness quite bitterly when he unclipped my bra. I look down at the desk, where I'm leaning on my hands, and there's my bra, lying on top of my blouse, the straps still around my wrists.

What could I say? There was nothing I could say. I was half naked and Mr Jonas was now fondling my breasts. At least, it was a change from fondling my pussy, as I pointed out to him, but he still shouldn't be doing it.

"True," he said, "and I shouldn't be doing this, either."

He started poking around my pussy again, in a clumsy fashion. I squealed and told him to cut it out and that I was going to report him and then the numbers added up.

If he had one hand on my right breast, and one hand on my left breast, how was he able to poke at the soft parts of my pussy?

"Oh my god," I shrieked. "You're rubbing your thing against me. You stop it right now."

"My, you catch on quick, don't you?" he said, but I think he was being sarcastic.

With that he dropped a hand from my breast and used it to cover my mound again. At least, it was no longer his cock poking against me. I must be hopelessly naïve. It just didn't occur to me that he'd only put his hand down there to ease my lips apart and steer his cock into place.

Next thing I'm screaming, "What are you doing?" as I felt his cock pushing between my lips and into me. What are you doing is such a stupid question. Generally, by the time you ask, you know the answer, so why ask?

"You're raping me," I pointed out.

"And you've only just worked that out," Mr Jonas asked, sounding slightly stunned.

Well how was I to know, I asked him? It's not as though teachers make a habit of pulling off my clothes and feeling me up. It could just have been some sort of weird fetish he had. It's not, I explained, as though I would expect a trusted teacher to abuse his authority over his students to actively molest them.

"Oh, that was very good," he said.

I'm glad he appreciated it, but it didn't seem to stop him from pushing a little deeper into me. That's where he halted, but I could feel pressure building up inside me.

"Don't think I'm complaining," I said, "because I'm not, but why did you stop putting it in me? Are you going to take it out now?"

"I haven't stopped," came the reply. "It's just that your virginity doesn't want to yield too easily."

Comes the dawn. The pressure was his cock pushing firmly against my hymen. If he kept that up he'd break it, and I promptly told him so. That was his intention, he said, and if anything he started leaning even harder into me.

Something gave inside me and it hurt. A lot. I made sure Mr Jonas knew, although my squeal of pain had probably already apprised him of the situation. Did he care? Did he what. He made a comment saying the first time often does but not to worry. It was over and done with and I should just relax and enjoy.

"Relax and enjoy," I asked him. I mean I could feel him inside me, his cock was oozing its way down my passage, stretching me all out of shape. I was probably bleeding from where he'd brutally popped my cherry, without asking, mind you, and there seemed to be lots of other juices now flowing around inside me.

"Just your natural lubrication," he tells me. "That's why I was stroking your mound earlier, to get them flowing."

It was a case of thank you, such consideration wasn't expected. From a rapist. And how much more of that thing did he have? It seemed to have been plunging into me for ever.

Then I'm squealing again as he gives a hefty push and I feel his cock slap fully into me, and slap was the word. His groin gave this huge slapping sound as it landed against me.

Alright, you're in, I told him. I hope you're satisfied. Now take it out so I can go home.

He asked me if I'd ever paid any attention in sex ed. Of course I had, and I told him so and, I added, there wasn't anything in sex ed about what to do when your teacher rapes you, so how could I be expected to know.

"You can't have reached your age without seeing at least some porn on the web," came the snide reply. As if I'd admit to seeing any. "Don't worry. Just move in time with me. You'll be fine."

Move with him hell. No way, and I told him so. He could do his worst but he couldn't expect me to help him. So he started. I could feel his cock dragging slowly out, and just before it would pop free he'd reverse and push it slowly back in. I could feel every inch of it rubbing along my passage and god it felt strange.

I was leaning there, feeling him sliding in and out, when something funny happened. He was pushing back in, still moving nice and slow, thank god, when I started to feel this band of heat or something emanating from his cock into me. As he pushed, the heat just seemed to travel down into me.

When he pulled back the heat stayed behind, pooling low down in my groin. The next time he pushed in I could feel more heat coming, his cock pushing it along to join the earlier pool. A few more pokes and I was feeling all hot and bothered.

I found that I was starting to push back against him, seeking that heat and excitement, wanting it to come faster. I wasn't doing it to help him, and I told him so. I was just to make it easier for myself.

His hands were back around me, playing with my breasts, and the same funny heat seemed to be dripping from them, arrowing down to that pool.

The whole thing was going too slowly. Couldn't he get a move on? I pointed out that if he had any consideration for his victims he'd put some effort into it and get the whole thing over with. That apparently had some effect because he started moving faster, pumping his cock into me quite quickly. It was weird, because now that he was moving faster I could actually hear him slapping home into me.

Naturally, with him banging me harder and faster I had to start bouncing my hips harder and faster. The bright side was that pool of heat. It was warming me nicely and felt quite fantastic. Every time he drove into me more heat would gather. And I was wanting more of it. Lots more.

"Come on," I told him. "Can't you move any faster?" I mean, really, some people have no consideration. If I was raping someone I'd at least try to do a proper job of it.

I thought I heard him laugh but it must have been my imagination. There was nothing funny about what was going on. But he at least started going even faster, and I had to really work at it to keep up with him. I could hear myself squealing and making these funny little sounds and I sort of hoped that he'd put them down to my unhappiness at being ravished. Such a downer if he thought I was actually enjoying it and getting all excited by what was happening.

The heat kept building and I was sweating and squirming and bouncing against him as hard as I could. I was so hot and that pool was even hotter and I just didn't see how I could contain it. It seemed that all the energy we'd expended was right there, pooled inside me.

It turned out I couldn't contain it. Mr Jonas suddenly made this funny noise and then something splashed inside me. Whatever it was must have hit that pool of heat dead on, because it just erupted and swept over me and that was all, she wrote.

When I managed to gather my wits about me I was still slumped against Mr Jonas's table. Reluctantly I pushed myself to my feet, feeling quite giddy and distinctly euphoric.

"Turn this way," Mr Jonas said and I automatically turned to face him. There was a flash and I saw that he had his smart phone pointing at me. Thank god I at least had my skirt on to cover me. That's when I suddenly realised that I didn't. He must have removed it while I was out to it. I was absolutely naked except for socks and shoes.

"I now have a lovely picture of you looking at me and smiling," I was told. "If you happen to mention this little incident to anyone a copy of this photo will find its way onto the internet, starting with the school's web site. I'm sure you wouldn't want that to happen, would you?"

He showed me the picture, and oh my god, I'm standing there starkers with this wonderful smile on my face. I look so happy. Not that I wanted the picture to appear on the internet of course. But still. . .

"Um, could you send me a copy of that," I asked. "It's not that I really want it, but it's a good photo. I can Photoshop most of it out and I'll have a really good portrait. You're quite a good photographer, or do you just have a real good camera in that phone? And after all, no-one will know that I was just viciously attacked from looking at that photo, now will they, because I look so happy.

Do you take photos of all the girls you ravish? I'm sure I'm not the first. Can I have a look? Is there anyone I'm likely to know? If there're other girls from this school we can talk about it between ourselves. Or wouldn't you like to have your technique discussed? It wasn't too bad I suppose.

Um, I'm a bit sticky. What do I do about cleaning myself up? It's easy for a man, isn't it? You just wipe it off and put it away, but we've got to clean up the mess, as usual. Men are always leaving a mess for the women to clean up. You should see my brother's room. Talk about a pigsty. Do you have anyone to clean up your mess at home. . ."