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Article 11 of 31

Subject:      Repost: Fantasia--Suffering Students 20/25
From:         pamela7@juno.com
Date:         1997/05/01
Message-Id:   <3369182e.21324098@NNTP.ix.netcom.com>
Newsgroups:   alt.sex.stories
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SUFFERING STUDENTS  20/25
by V.P. Viddler

                              20

     No students had ever been so anxious to get to school each day as
the students this term at Abraham Lincoln High.
     Each day was a treat and a holiday and an adventure. Each morning
there was Mr. Gibbs' class, with Holly as the main attraction. At
lunchtime, there was Gloria's always arousing show in the cafeteria.
All day long there was usually something interesting going on in the
halls or the classrooms, some exciting divertissement involving Gloria
or Holly or Joanna or maybe Ginny or whoever. And now, every
afternoon, there was Miss Anger's class. And what a class it was!
     I took it very gradually after that first day. The fearful
anticipation on Miss Anger's face each day as she wondered what I had
in store for her was too delicious to lose by opening the whole box
all at once. Day by day, bit by bit, I twisted the screw tighter. It
made each new capitulation, each further fraction of degradation, that
much more delightful for us. And torturous for our teacher. Who,
nonetheless, and not without much pleading and crying and
vituperation, did everything I demanded. For she had no way out.
     So Miss Anger wore the tight dress. Without underwear. And after
that she wore the short miniskirt I asked for. And the plunging
neckline, braless of course.
     And then I began making her strip in class.
     Not all the way at first. I let her conduct the class topless. Or
bottomless. And all the time Miss Anger knew that day was rapidly
approaching when her class would consist of a different kind of
lesson. Lessons she conducted with her vagina, and her mouth, and her
ass. But I was in no particular hurry.
     And then one Sunday I got a call from Henry. "Your teacher bird
is flying away," he said.
     "What?"
     "Miss Anger. Looks as if she's moving."
     "Shit," I said, and I hung up and found Miss Anger in the phone
book and ran all the way to her house. And damned if there wasn't a
moving van right in front. And four guys carrying furniture from the
house.
     "Hold it," I said. "Stop right now. Put it all back."
     "What?" one said. "Who the hell are you?"
     "I'll show you," I said, and I strode up to the door and pushed
inside and saw Miss Anger standing in the living room. She saw me and
cried out.
     "Going someplace?" I said. "Going away, Miss Anger?" And I
slapped her as hard as I could in the face, and then I slapped her
again backhand, and then a third time. Miss Anger fell to the floor
and just lay there, crying and moaning.
     "That's who I am," I said to the movers. "Now bring all that
stuff back in. This lady's not going anyplace."
     "Oh god," Miss Anger sobbed. "Oh dear god."
     "What about our pay?" the guy said.
     "Here's your pay," I said, and I poked Miss Anger's body with my
foot.
     "No!" Miss Anger cried in horror.
     I hooked my toe under the bottom of her skirt and pushed it up
over her curving legs. "Nice, isn't it?" I said. "How about it? Will
she cover your bill?"
     "Maybe," the guy said. "If she's good enough."
     "Don't worry," I said. And I reached down for Miss Anger's long
yellow hair and pulled on it hard, bringing her to her feet with a
shriek of pain. I forced that beautiful head back and I spit in her
face. "Okay, bitch," I said. "You brought this on yourself. That was
dumb, trying to go away. Now you pay." I let go her hair. "Okay, guys.
All yours. Any way you want."
     "No!" Miss Anger sobbed. "No no no please you can't no god help
me please--"
     "Shut up," I said, and hit her again. "Strip," I said. "Strip for
us, Miss Anger. Now."
     "Please--" Miss Anger choked. "I can't, I can't, no--"
     "Christ," one of the moving guys said. "What a dish! My prick is
so hard I'd like to whip her with it."
     "Stubborn twat, isn't she?" the first guy said, his voice thick.
     I could tell these guys thought as I did. "Would you like to make
her do it?" I said.
     "Hell, yes!" the guy said.
     "Okay," I said, and I took hold of Miss Anger and shoved her hard
in his direction. Miss Anger shrieked as she staggered into him.
     He grabbed her and twisted an arm up behind her, making her arch
her back, and with his other hand he mauled her breasts. "Come on,
baby," he growled. "Do a strip for us or I'll break your arm."
     "Go ahead," another guy said. "Snap it off."
     "How about a finger?" I suggested. "Or two or three or four. One
at a time. See how many it takes to get her to do it. That way she can
hurt like hell but still stay conscious."
     "Good idea," the guy said. "Hold her hand."
     "No!" Miss Anger screamed in terror.
     One of them grabbed her hand.
     "The left hand," I said. "So she can use the right one to strip
with."
     "Right." And he got Miss Anger's left hand and the first guy took
hold of her little finger and grinned at her.
     "No," Miss Anger babbled, and her voice shook with fright. "No
don't don't no please no--"
     And the guy just grinned harder and pushed her finger back, back
and back until it snapped. Miss Anger howled in agony and her body
twisted and spasmed, but the guy still held her hand.
     "How about it, baby?" he said. "Will you strip for us now?"
     Miss Anger was crying and moaning so hard she couldn't answer, so
the guy took hold of her ring finger and pushed it back.
     "No!!" Miss Anger howled, but too late. Snap! And a piercing
scream.
     Still he held her. "Will you do it?" he said.
     "Yes!" Miss Anger screamed desperately. "Yes! Yes! No more! No
more god no more! I will!"
     "Okay," I said. "Do it."
     The man let her go.
     And sobbing, moaning, in terrible pain, her left hand hanging
with its twisted fingers by her side, Miss Anger with her right hand
began to unbutton her blouse. Not looking at any of us, she got it
unbuttoned, and with difficulty pulled it off. Crying with shame and
agony, she pushed down her skirt. She had a good bit of trouble trying
to open her bra with one hand, but nobody helped. The guys whistled as
she bared her breasts. And then she slid off the panties with that
good hand and stood naked in front of us.
     "Crawl," I said, and we watched avidly as she crawled like a
wounded animal, favoring her painful hand. And crying all the time.
     And then they spread Miss Anger out on the floor and went at it.
     It went on all day long. All ways. Again and again. With a few
variations involving leather belts and sharp tools and burning
cigarettes. We had to stuff rags in her mouth so no one would try to
investigate all that frantic screaming.
     And finally I told them to take the trip Miss Anger had scheduled
across the country, but to take her too, and bring her back. So they
strung her up by her wrists in the back of the van and took off. Miss
Anger dangled naked and screaming through her gag in pain and horror
as they drove away.

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