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Suffering Students by V.P. Viddler (torture, inces
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
torture, incest, degradation, underage characters. If these
things offend you, do not read.
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SUFFERING STUDENTS
by V.P. Viddler
19
Miss Anger's class was almost as much fun as Mr. Gibbs'.
For me, anyhow. Because each time I saw Miss Anger I recalled
that morning in Doctor Pratt's office, and I recalled that fabulous
body naked, and I thought about what Miss anger had looked like
all naked and sobbing and hurting. I recalled the sight of
her with Pratt's cock in her mouth, and with Pratt's cock up
her ass; and I recalled the way she had looked and sounded and
felt bucking and squirming and flailing underneath my body as
I raped the shit out of her, pounding up and down, in and out
of her as she howled and fought and twisted desperately against
the floor.
I saw all that in my mind every time Miss Anger walked
into the classroom. And she knew it. Knew what I was watching
in my mind. And I knew she knew. And though that knowledge
was exciting to me, it was exquisite hell for our beautiful
teacher. A flush would come to her face the first time she
met my eyes, and after that she would avoid looking my way as
much as possible. when she had to call on me, she didn't look
at me. But she had that awareness all the time. The awareness
of my awareness. I had seen those breasts. I had ogled that
body bare. I had heard that mouth howling, and I had seen it
stretched around a big stiff cock. I had fucked her cunt.
And there I was in her class, day after day.
It was hell.
And that wasn't the worst part. No. The worst part was
that she was waiting. Waiting for that day. She knew it would
come. And so did I. Miss Anger could do nothing about it.
Doctor Pratt had seen to that. Nothing.
So Miss Anger could only wait. And I held off, day by
day, holding myself back, loving the anticipation, that almost
painful looking forward while holding back. And her awful shame
and self-consciousness and that terrible waiting.
But one day I coudn't wait any more. Not another second.
And Miss Anger knew right away.
I stood up, just stood up in the middle of something she
was reading, and she knew. Her face went suddenly white, and
she dropped her book and her voice faded out. And she stood
there shaking. Shaking. And the kids started to murmur, and
the sound got louder, until it was a low anticipatory cry for
blood.
And I smiled.
"Miss Anger," I said. "I have a good idea. Why don't
you finish teaching this class on your knees."
Miss Anger stared. Swallowed. The kids went deathly silent.
I stood grinning.
"That would be nice," I said. "For us. To see you down
on the floor on your knees. We'd all dig that."
Miss Anger just shook. A thin, pitiful, involuntary sound
issued from her throat. It made my cock hard.
"Miss Anger," I said, and now I put something into my voice
that probably made her think of that morning in Pratt's office.
"Go down on your knees. Now."
Miss Anger was shaking harder and the thin moaning sound
was louder. And with a sob of despair, Miss Anger slowly sank
to her knees.
Her skirt was in disarray across her thighs, and automatically
she started to straighten it. "No," I said sharply, making
her stiffen. "Don't touch it. It looks good that way. FNow
pick up the book, Miss Anger. Go on. Pick it up and go on
reading."
Miss Anger said one word: "Please." The way she said it
almost had me spurting in my pants.
"Would you rather do it with your dress off, Miss Anger?"
I said.
Miss Anger went even paler and her head shook from side
to side, and I didn't even think she knew she was doing it,
it was moving of its own volition, shaking no so hard that that
silky yellow hair was flying about her stricken face.
"But," I said, "you know you will, don't you? Soon enough.
You will, Miss Anger."
And Miss Anger began to sob.
"Now," I said. "Pick up that book and go on with the class."
And sobbing, Miss Anger groped for the book and picked
it up. With difficulty she found her place. Her hands were
shaking so hard that she could hardly hold on to the book.
Then, there on her knees on the dirty classroom floor in front
of all of us, Miss Anger began to read again. Sobbing as she
read. Sobbing so hard that it was almost impossible to hear
what she was reading. But that was all right. Nobody was listening
to the words. We were all listening to her cry. And looking
at our luscious and haughty Miss Anger as she knelt on the hard
floor, knelt in shame and humiliationi and horror. And knowing,
as she knew, that this was only the beginning. The first step.
Knowing, as Miss Anger knew, that now it was only a matter of
time until she would stand naked in front of the whole class.
Until she would strip for us. Until we would be watching in
joy as Miss Anger crawled for us. And finally--
And the bell rang. Class was over. There was a murmur
of disappointment throught the room. But the kids had other
classes to go to, and gradually they left.
Miss Anger started to get up, but I said, "No. Stay."
And she froze. Many kids lingered to hear what I was going
to say. I said, "Tomorrow, Miss Anger."
"Please," Miss Anger whimpered, looking at me in pleading
desperation. "Oh, god, please--"
I had to restrain myself; I wanted to go to her and whip
out my cock and grab her hair and ram it into her twisting mouth
and into her throat until she was choking on it, and fuck that
gorgeous face till she gagged on my come. But I didn't.
I said, "Tomorrow. You will wear something tight. You
understand, Miss Anger? A dress. A tight, tight, clinging
dress. YOu know. One of those soft wool jobs that just stick
to you all over. You hear me, teacher?"
Miss Anger was sobbing again, or still. I took a step
forward. Hastily, she nodded her head.
"And," I said. "No underwear."
"W-what?" Miss Anger gasped. Her fine big eyes went wide.
"That's right," I said. "You will not put on any underwear.
No bra. No panties. No slip or anything. No stockings. Just
you, Miss Anger. Just you under your tight sexy dress. And
I mean I want those nipples poking out. I want to see the folds
in your crotch. I want--"
"No!" Miss Anger cried pitifully. "No, god, no, I can't,
I can't, don't--"
"You can and you will," I said. "Or Doctor Pratt will
know it."
And now the still kneeling young woman sobbed in truth.
Her breasts heaved, body shaking.
"You will do that, won't you?" I said. "Tell me."
"Oh god yes oh god oh no oh yes yes. All right. Yes."
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