Invisible Girl - An Erotic Romance Pt. 02

She waited until she heard him turn another page. Then, little by little, as if dozing and unaware, she allowed her knees to begin drifting apart. Soon her legs were gaping, giving him, she believed, a clear view up her skirt. She wished she'd worn something prettier than the plain yellow cotton panties she had on, knowing how much he liked such things, but at least they went with her outfit.

She waited.

And heard him turn a page.

Hmm...

She allowed her right hand to creep forward, grasp the hem of her skirt and pull it, by infinitesimal degrees, up to her waist so that her panties were almost completely exposed. He could hardly pretend he didn't notice now.

Another page was turned.

O-kay, she thought.

She slowly slipped her hand between her legs and began to caress herself, not caring if he was watching or not.

She called up the memory of being tied to a chair in this position, her skirt up like this. Imagined him standing before her, touching her there with the conductor's baton. Remembered that day in the library, touching herself under the table while he watched. Remembered her panties suddenly sliding down her legs, the feel of his lips there, his tongue sliding up and down...

"Miss Harkin!"

She sat up so quickly that she felt dizzy for a moment and it took several seconds to focus on "Mr. Peters", who was glaring at her as if outraged.

"Miss Harkin, I am shocked by your behavior! You should be ashamed of yourself! What do you mean by such a vulgar display!"

Vulgar display? Where had he come up with that? Drama club?

"I-I'm sorry, Mr. Peters."

"You certainly should be. Why, I have a good mind to... Stand up, Miss Harkin."

She did so, her skirt falling back into place.

"Turn around." She turned so that her back was to him.

"Now, show the whole class exactly what you were doing."

The whole what?

Then she understood.

She whirled around to face him. "Oh please, no, Mr. Peters!" she cried in mock distress. "I'm sorry, really I am. I won't do it again, I promise! Please, Mr. Peters, don't make me..."

He slammed his hand down on the desktop, silencing her. Then in a cold, quiet voice, he said, "Do it, Miss Harkin. Now."

With feigned reluctance she turned to face the empty classroom. She pictured her English class sitting there, looking at her as they'd looked when she'd read her essay to them. Imagined them, boys and girls she knew, watching as she reached down and began to raise her skirt...

She turned back to 'Mr. Peters' as if to beg one more time to be let off, but was stopped by his glare and a pointed forefinger, indicating that she was to go on.

She faced the classroom again, and slowly raised her skirt up to her waist.

She pictured the whole class--the boys, especially--leaning forward intently as her panties were exposed to them. Pictured it so clearly that she blushed and felt her eyes fill with tears of humiliation.

For a moment, she tried to shake off the fantasy, to remember that she was alone with him; that no one else could see what she was doing.

But then, without knowing why, she surrendered to it, allowed it to fill her mind and take her over: she was standing in front of her English class, holding up her skirt, letting them all see...

She couldn't bear it! Tears running down her face, throat tight with shame, she turned her head and said, nearly sobbing, "P-please...Mr. Peters..."

"I'll tell you when to stop, Miss Harkin. Go on. Show them what you were doing."

She began to sob in earnest as she held her skirt up with her left hand and, moving her legs apart, began stroking herself between her legs with her right. She imagined the shocked look on her classmates' faces.

Then she pictured several of the boys trying stealthily to touch the sudden bulge in their pants as they watched her. This made her smile, even as she continued to cry. And she found that it excited her as well.

"Are you all right, Jane?"

It was Peter's normal voice: concerned, not knowing how much of what she was doing was pretend. She nodded twice, vigorously, still sobbing.

"Very well," came the cold voice of Mr. Peters. "Continue, Miss Harkin."

She continued, now filled with a curious blend of shame and excitement. In her imagination she saw some of the girls in the back row sneaking a hand under their skirts, their knees slightly apart, as they watched her.

Then 'Mr. Peters' walked out from behind his desk and went to stand behind the last row, hands behind his back, as if observing her effect on the class. Jane stared into his eyes as she continued to stroke herself, her mouth open, tears still running down her face, the crotch of her panties beginning to moisten beneath her touch.

"I don't believe the class can see what you're doing very clearly, Miss Harkin. Take off your skirt. And your blouse."

She dropped her skirt and covered her face with her hands. "No, Mr. Peters! Please don't make me! I'll do anything..."

"Indeed you will, Miss Harkin. And right now, you will take off your skirt and your blouse. Or shall I ask the class to help you?"

She saw herself with her classmates clustered around her--holding her arms, unbuttoning her blouse, pulling off her skirt, their hands all over her.

She moaned out loud with excitement...and came.

She fell back against the desk, grasping the edge with both hands. She kept her gaze fixed on him, letting him see her shuddering in orgasm.

Somehow, having him look at her while she came--plus the fact that she was still, amazingly, fully dressed--seemed to multiply the intensity, as if she were not only experiencing it but could see herself as he must be seeing her: chest heaving, pelvis twitching, eyes half-closed and mouth wide open, gasping.

Oh god...

'Mr. Peters' walked through the rows of chairs and stood in front of her, arms crossed over his chest.

He shook his head as if disappointed, and said, "Really, Miss Harkin--what are we going to do with you? You are not only a very bad little girl; you are disobedient as well. I've told you twice to take off your skirt and blouse and you still have not done so. I'm going to give you one more chance. And to be sure you make the most of it I want you to go to the blackboard and write ten times: 'I will take off my clothes whenever Mr. Peters tells me to.' Go on."

She turned and slowly walked around the desk to the blackboard. She picked up a piece of chalk and began to write, as close to the top as she could reach: I will take off my clothes whenever Mr. Peters tells me to.

She knew that Peter was just giving her some time to recover, but still there was something deliciously bad about writing such a thing on a school blackboard where anyone could see it. Not that anyone else would know who had written it--but she knew.

I will take off my clothes whenever Mr. Peters tells me to.

She imagined the class watching her write; wondering if she was really going to do it. The boys staring at her back, excited, trying to imagine her in just her underwear.

I will take off my clothes whenever Mr. Peters tells me to.

Whenever Mr. Peters tells me to. She imagined Mr. Peters walking up to her in the supermarket and saying, "Take off your skirt and blouse, Miss Harkin." Saw herself taking them off in the middle of the aisle and placing them in her basket. Continuing to shop in her bra and panties, customers staring at her.

I will take off my clothes whenever Mr. Peters tells me to.

From the corner of her eye she could see Peter--sitting at the desk and reading his book, pretending to be Mr. Peters--and felt a surge of affection for him.

She loved him: loved the sexy, secret things they did together, loved that he found her exciting, loved that she could please him. She wanted to go over and whisper in his ear, "Peter, I'll take off my clothes whenever you tell me to." She wanted to see the bulge in his pants and know that she had created it. She forced herself to continue writing.

I will take off my clothes whenever Mr. Peters tells me to.

She felt herself beginning to become excited again. She wanted to find out what would happen next. She wrote faster.

I will take off my clothes whenever Mr. Peters tells me to.

I will take off my clothes whenever Mr. Peters tells me to.

I will take off my clothes whenever Mr. Peters tells me to.

I will take off my clothes whenever Mr. Peters tells me to.

I will take off my clothes whenever Mr. Peters tells me to.

She put the chalk down in the tray, and went to stand in front of the desk, facing him.

He continued to read.

This time she knew better than to wait. She turned to face the classroom. She undid her black leather belt and dropped it on the floor. She reached behind her and opened the back of her red skirt, unzipped it, and tugged it down until it fell loosely around her ankles. She stepped out of it and nudged it aside with her foot.

In her mind's eye she saw the class leaning forward, felt the intensity of their stares. She unbuttoned the sleeves, and then the front of her rose-print blouse, then pulled it back off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor behind her.

She saw one of the boys, a pudgy kid with glasses, try to muffle his mouth with one hand as he said 'Ohhh!' and clutched at himself frantically with the other hand--and knew that she had made him come. She smiled directly at him to let him know she knew, as he tried to cover the spreading wet spot on the front of his pants.

Then she stood with her feet apart, slowly raised her arms, and clasped her hands behind her head, feeling her breasts rise as she did so, enjoying the effect she knew this would have on the boys.

She saw that several of them were now rubbing themselves with only minimal attempts at concealment--a notebook held over the lap; a shirt-front pulled out--as they stared at her breasts, at the wetness between her legs.

It made her feel like the sexiest girl on earth.

She saw one boy in the back row trying to surreptitiously edge his chair closer to the girl sitting next to his. Saw his hand join hers under her skirt. Saw her suddenly sit straight up, eyes wide, as if she'd received an electric shock. Saw her look sideways at the boy, alarmed...then slowly close her eyes. Saw her knees drift a little further apart. Jane smiled.

Then all activity ceased, and Jane saw the boy and girl whip their hands back into their respective laps as she heard Mr. Peters close his book and scrape his chair back as he stood.

He walked slowly back to his place behind the last row. He put his hands in his pockets and looked at her, studying her.

She wondered if he minded that her yellow bra and panties were so plain. She remembered what he'd said about naked versus undressed, and wondered if the fact that she still had on her white knee-socks and penny loafers somehow made it sexier for him. She sneaked a glance down at herself and decided she liked the effect--it did make her look more undressed.

"Better, Miss Harkin. That wasn't so hard, now was it?"

"No, Mr. Peters."

"Good. Now explain to the class why you were touching yourself in such a disgusting way."

Suddenly she was in front of her real English class again, about to read her report, but she was in her bra and panties, and everyone could see her.

She blushed furiously. She tried to speak. Her lips moved, but nothing came out. She glanced at Mr. Peters, then away. Then she took a deep breath and addressed the class.

"I was thinking about a boy. I wanted to lift up my skirt so he could get down in front of me and lick my thighs. I wanted him to...pull down my panties...and...and kiss my pussy."

She dropped her arms to her sides. She ignored the gasps of her classmates as she walked through them, then past Mr. Peters to the back of the room.

She picked up a wide steel ruler from one of the tables. She walked back and stood in front of Mr. Peters. Then she knelt, holding the ruler out to him with both hands, like a scepter. She looked up at him and said, as clearly as she was able, "I'm a little slut, Mr. Peters, and I should be punished."

She put the ruler into his hands, then rose to her feet, turned and marched to the front of his desk. She pushed his book off the desk so that it landed on the floor with a bang. She spread her legs as far apart as she could then lay across the desktop--head turned, arms extended to grasp the sides...and waited.

She heard him walk slowly toward her...and stop. She could tell he was standing very close. She wondered if he was going to rub himself against her the way he had before.

Then she heard him turn around.

"Well, class? You heard her. How many of you think she should be punished? Raise your hands."

There was a pause.

Then: "All right, the majority votes 'yes'. Now, everyone who voted 'yes', form a line right here--quickly, please. Good. Now, one at a time, each of you take this ruler and spank Miss Harkin with it...like this."

She was completely unprepared when the flat of the ruler hit her behind with a loud Whack! The unexpected, searing pain caused her to lift her head off the desk with a gasp, then whimper as she put it back down.

"Each of you will only spank her once," Mr. Peters continued, "but you may spank her as hard as you like. Then hand the ruler to the next person in line and go sit down.

"Miss Harkin, you keep count...and thank your classmates for helping you. All right? You first, Mr. Wilson..."

He had named a boy they both knew. He wasn't in her English class, but it didn't matter. In her imagination she could see him, perspiring, his hand sweaty as he held up the ruler, looking at her behind. She could also see that he had an erection...

Whack!

Even though she knew it was coming it still hurt like blazes, literally. She gave a grunt of pain, and said, in a near-whisper, "One. Thank you."

"You next, Miss Selton."

She must have been shy, or felt sorry for her, because she felt only a light tap on her behind.

"Two. Thank you."

"Miss Jarzembowski?"

Oh no. She was a huge girl who looked like she should be on the football team.

WHACK!

"OW!"

The force of the blow tore the cry from her, harder than any of the ones preceding it. She felt the tears spring to her eyes and her voice broke as she said, "Th-three. Thank you."

"Mr. Soren?"

Whack!

She sobbed, "Fo...four. Thank you."

In her mind's eye she could see the classroom: the scattering of empty seats among the full ones; the line of students waiting to spank her, some embarrassed, some excited but trying not to show it. And everyone staring, watching her behind bounce inside her panties each time she was hit by the ruler.

She was completely mortified. And she wanted more.

She wished Mr. Peters would make her touch herself now, while she was being spanked. Still, imagining her classmates lined up to spank her, and never knowing when the next blow would land, or how hard it would be, was exquisite torture.

In fact, by the time the final student--number sixteen!--had come up to bat she was gripping the desk as hard as she could to keep from writhing in a mixture of pain and desire. As it was, she was helpless to stop herself from whimpering and moaning, although she did it as quietly as she could.

She wanted desperately to simply turn onto her back and thrust her hand inside her panties.

She was barely able to whisper, "Ssss...six...teen. Ohhhh.... th-thank...you..."

And she was so lost in her arousal that it hardly registered when Mr. Peters said, "Thank you everyone. Please open your books to Chapter Seven. Miss Harkin, you will remain where you are until the end of class. Oh...and Miss Harkin? Pull down your panties--I want the class to see what happens to students who misbehave."

She knew she was supposed to say, 'Yes, Mr. Peters,' but barely had the strength to bring her arms back to her sides, and still moaning and sobbing, push her panties as far down her thighs as her hands would reach, the tight elastic scraping like steel wool over her welted behind as she did so and making her cry out softly. Then she returned her arms to their outstretched position and gripped the sides of the desk.

She pictured the class, staring in horrified fascination at her reddened behind, at the raised lines of angry welts crossing it. Saw the boys peering between her legs above where her panties were stretched across her thighs. She knew she was still very wet there, and having them see it made her wetter still. She would give anything to be touched there right now.

Where was Mr. Peters? Was he looking at her? She began to move her hips up and down slightly, signaling. Maybe he would see how she was going crazy. Maybe he would put his hand...

She heard his footsteps and then saw him coming around the desk. Then she couldn't see him because of her head's position on the desk, but heard him pull out his chair and sit down.

There was a pause.

She heard him get back out of his chair, take a couple of steps, pause, walk back and sit down again. She heard something being propped against the edge of the desk, less than an inch from the top of her head. Heard him open his book.

"All right class, continue to read Chapter Seven until the end of the period."

Silence.

Oh no you don't, she thought.

She drew in her arms and pushed herself upright. She pulled up her panties, ignoring the pain and enjoying the startled expression on his face as she did so.

"Miss Harkin!"

She ignored him as she marched around the desk and went to the blackboard. She picked up a piece of chalk, and in letters so huge that they took up the entire rest of the blackboard she wrote:

I WILL LET MR. PETERS PUT HIS COCK UP MY ASS.

Then she dropped the chalk to the floor, and came to stand in front of his desk again.

She took the book out of his hands and threw it on the floor.

Glaring at him, she reached behind her back, unfastened her bra, and dropped it on the desk in front of him. Then she pulled her panties down to the floor, stepped out of them, picked them up and dropped them on the desk as well.

Then, wearing only her white knee socks and loafers, she stood with her legs apart and leaned down until her forearms were on the desk and her face was practically touching his.

She stared into his eyes, as if to say,...Well?

He smiled back at her and, without taking his eyes from hers, pulled open the top drawer of the desk, fumbled inside it for a moment, then took something out and placed it on the desk between them.

She looked down and saw a small jar of Vaseline.

Then she heard him begin to rise from his chair, and looked up just in time to hear him say, over her head,

"Class...dismissed."

Chapter Eleven

She came twice more that afternoon.

The first time was just after he entered her, having applied Vaseline to her and to himself.

As he slid into her, he leaned down and said, softly, "Tell me what I'm doing to you, Miss Harkin." and she had replied, gasping, "Putting...your cock...up...up my ass! Your cock is up my ass, Mr. Peters! Oh, god!"

And nearly fainted from the intensity of the orgasm that washed over her.

He had held her by the hips as she bucked against him, and waited until she was done.

When she had quieted, he asked softly, in his normal voice, "Do you want me to stop?" Thinking, perhaps, that she had had enough.

And she had, really--she felt totally wrung out, physically and emotionally. And she loved it that he was willing to stop, even though he was standing with his pants around his ankles and his unsatisfied cock inside her.