From pamela7@juno.com Tue Apr 29 18:14:45 1997
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From: pamela7@juno.com
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Subject: Repost: Fantasia--Suffering Students 11/25
Date: Tue, 29 Apr 1997 22:14:45 GMT
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SUFFERING STUDENTS  11/25
by V.P. Viddler

                             11

     After that first time I didn't fuck Gloria again. I was saving
her. And in a way it was too easy, because Gloria was still hoping
against hope to avoid the mass gang bang I had scheduled for the last
day of classes, and so although she couldn't stand the sight of me and
hated having to submit to my lusts, I knew she wasn't going to resist
as strongly as she might want to, in hopes that that submission might
change my mind about the orgy. So I went on fucking Holly and Joanna,
but I kept my cock away from Gloria.
     Not that I forgot about her. In fact, I intensified my campaign
of humiliation and degradation, no longer limiting it to her daily
task in the cafeteria. It got so that any time Gloria and I happened
to meet in the halls or a classroom or anyplace, Gloria would start to
shake, knowing that I was likely to think up still another way to make
her debase herself right then and there. For instance, one day just
for the hell of it I took a short length of rope and bound one end of
it around each of Gloria's ankles, leaving about a foot of slack. This
left Gloria in difficult circumstances, as she could walk only with
very short steps, and had to be most cautious to avoid falling. As
Gloria walked around school that day with her tiny, hobbling steps she
attracted a lot of attention, particularly as that restricting walk
made her tits jiggle--especially after I told her to go to the girls'
room and take off her bra. Jiggle jiggle all day long. But that wasn't
the worst of it. Gloria had to go up and down stairs to get to her
classes. And there was just no way to do that with her ankles
hobbled--except by sitting down on the stairs and pushing herself up
or down, one step at a time. A slow and most humiliating process. With
crowds of kids watching each time. Going up was hard and painful, and
going down was still worse, as each time Gloria slid forward on a
step, her skirt slid upward along her fantastic thighs. Holding on to
her books, it was difficult for her to pull it down, and soon her
curvy legs were totally out in the open, to say nothing of other
fascinating parts of her anatomy. When I told Gloria I was going to
cut her panties off so the view would be still nicer, she couldn't
stand it. She cried and begged so piteously that I told her I would
make a bargain with her. I would allow the panties to stay if Gloria
chose, but I would print: "Property of Jerry Wilson" right on the
crotch, which was usually in plain sight as she made that awful
downstairs journey. Gloria begged again, on her knees, but that was
all she could get. I waited for her choice, and with an agonized moan
she chose the Magic Marker. So all the kids saw who Gloria's master
was. As if there had been any doubt.
     On another occasion I was sitting in class, right in back of
Gloria, and as the instructor was boring us all to death with his
abstract analysis of the philosophy of Plato, my eyes took in the
faintly discernible bra straps under Gloria's thin summer blouse. My
fingers twitched to play with them. So I put my hand through the slats
at the back of Gloria's chair, and began sliding her blouse out of her
skirt. Gloria felt my hands and stiffened, then sat very still. I
could imagine the look on her face. But I knew she couldn't do
anything to stop me. Not a thing. She could only sit and take anything
I wished to do to her.
     As I slid a hand in under the bottom of her blouse, Gloria took a
long shaky breath. I figured she was biting her lip, and I grinned.
And then I slid both hands up the blouse, got hold of the catch of the
bra, and slipped it open.
     What I was doing did not go unobserved. Guys were looking. Girls
too. And so was the instructor, whose droning voice had faltered a
bit. He was watching with the others. Gloria started to shake her
head, small helpless shakes, as if pleading with me not to do it, to
leave her alone. But I didn't. What I did was to slide my hands up to
her shoulders and pull the bra straps slowly and teasingly down off
them.
     By now almost everybody in that room was aware of what was going
down. So to speak. And our instructor was not making much sense any
more, though he still babbled on with his popping eyes glued to
Gloria's front. Obviously I couldn't pull the bra off with her blouse
on, so I got out my pocket knife and cut through the shoulder straps.
I heard Gloria give a low, tiny moan of despair. And I pulled the
brassiere off her breasts and slid it out of the blouse, dropping it
on the floor.
     And then, loving it all, I grasped the back of Gloria's blouse,
bunching it in my hand and pulling it tight, pulling as hard as I
could, pressing Gloria back against the chair, so that the thin,
porous material strained tightly, so tightly, across her front,
stretching across her luscious round tits, molding and outlining them
in every curve and plane, and making the provocative nipples, taut
with shame and fright, stand out, poke out boldly and erotically
against that straining fabric. Nothing could be left to the
imagination, and nothing was. Kids left their chairs to approach and
get a closer look. The instructor gave up his babbling and just stared
happily. And Gloria started to cry. Which naturally only made those
mouth-watering breasts shake and quiver against the taut blouse. I
held on tightly, holding Gloria as she was, helpless to do anything
about her shame. She tried to put her hands up in front of her tits,
but I said "No!" just once, and she put them down again, sobbing. And
then I said if she wanted to use her hands so much she should use them
to unbutton the blouse.
     Crying, shaking, choking, she did it.