Mrs. Clarke’s High School English Test

“OK, I’ve got a story,” said Monica. The girls and boys were sitting around in the hallway of their dorm. They liked to snuggle and tell stories. Most of the girls were naked, which was best for snuggling, although some wore panties, and others wore a skirt or loose-fitting top.

“It’s about Mrs. Clarke’s English class,” Monica continued. Monica was wearing nothing but a pair of baggy white boxer shorts, which on her looked extra sexy. They were so thin you could almost see through them, and so baggy they kept “accidentally” falling down.

“Mrs. Clarke was an old lady who seemed obsessed with the outrageous styles worn by the girls in her class. For example, Lorraine’s favorite style was the poufy minidress, almost like a babydoll dress, but long enough to be decent. Well, decent to me, but I guess to Mrs. Clarke, not so much. After she left the room one day, Mrs. Clarke remarked to the class that you could almost see her butt crack! I was thinking, so what? Lots of girls show their butt cracks, like if they’re wearing a thong for example. What girl hasn’t rolled the waist of her miniskirt just to be a little cheeky?

“OK, so Mrs. Clarke was on this crusade. She had this crazy idea that a properly dressed girl had to be wearing four things: an outer top, and outer bottom, a bra, and a pair of panties. Every so often – maybe if one of the girls in her class was wearing something too sexy – she stopped the class and gave the girls a test to make sure they were properly dressed.

“A test?” asked Rachel. Rachel was a strikingly beautiful natural blonde, one of the few girls on campus who didn’t shave. She kept her muff trimmed short, and being blond, it really didn’t cover much. The Dress Code required her to remain naked below the waist, so if she wore any clothes at all, it was just a tiny little top. She liked to sit “Indian style”, with her legs spread apart, opening herself for viewing and touching by other students. Unlike many girls, if a fellow student would casually rest his hand between her pretty legs, she wouldn’t flinch at all. Quite the contrary, she would snuggle against her classmate, and maybe offer him a kiss. She moistened quickly, and often purred when she snuggled. Some boys enjoyed snuggling with Rachel, bringing her to orgasm again and again. Other boys liked to bring her almost to orgasm, then “punish” her for showing excitement. She enjoyed that, too, often kissing them passionately as they raped her.

“Yes, a test,” said Monica. “She thought it was fair to make a girl take off two items of clothing, and then prove her tits and pussy were still covered up.”

“I see,” said Rachel, while Michael stroked her soft golden locks. “And then if the girl wasn’t able to take off two items without exposing herself, then she would be punished, is that it?”

“Exactly,” purred Monica, shifting her legs from one side to the other as Judy gave her the sexiest, most exotic back rub she had ever experienced. Monica got up on her knees, and continued purring as Judy’s slender fingers made their way over every inch of Monica’s beautiful body. “After she takes off two items of clothing, the girl is inspected carefully. If her tits are showing, then she can’t put her top on – she has to spend the rest of the day topless. If her pussy is showing, then she can’t put her bottom on.”

“So Mrs. Clarke made her girls expose themselves to the rest of the school?”

“Where are my shorts?” asked Monica, who was by this point kneeling, covered in oil, and making no effort to hide her sexual excitement.

Answering the question, Monica said, “The girls Mrs. Clarke deemed properly dressed never had to expose themselves. These were the girls wearing a top and either pants or a skirt, with a bra and panties underneath. The worst these girls had to do was strip down to their bra and panties, endure Mrs. Clarke’s comments, if any, and then get dressed again.”

“Endure her comments?”

Monica laughed. “Yeah, like one girl who had some sexy seamless silk panties. I remember her camel toe like it was yesterday. Her panties were so tiny, they barely covered her pussy. It was obvious she was completely shaved.

“Then it was my turn,” Monica continued. “I was anxious to get it over with, so like the previous girl, I stripped down to my bra and panties. I was surprised by how really exciting it was to strip in front of the whole class. I felt my panties stick to me, and realized I was wetting them, so I covered my pussy with my hand. That just got Mrs. Clarke going.”

“Panties are meant to keep you decent, Monica,” said Mrs. Clarke. “So if you’re decent, take your hands away from there.”

I did as I was told, sure every boy could see right through my panties.

“Now, remove your second item of clothing, Monica,” said Mrs. Clarke.

I practically shit my little panties. “S-s-second item?” I stammered.

“Yes, of course,” Mrs. Clarke said mater-of-factly. “You removed a top so far, revealing a lovely bra and panties. Now, take off one additional item, to prove that you are dressed like a proper young lady.”

I froze. Can you imagine how many thoughts were zinging around in my head? I might as well have been stark naked, for all the protection my sexy undies gave me. I felt my nipples, two little hard-ons, push against my tiny little bra. I felt my pussy throbbing against my wet panties. I started to cry in front of everyone.

Mrs. Clarke was not sympathetic. “Dear, sweet Monica,” she said in a cold voice. “You face a simple choice: Remove your bra, and then you won’t be allowed to put your top back on, or else remove your panties, and then you will be able to put your top on again.

“I can’t,” I said in a little voice. I hung my head and repeated, “I can’t do it.”

“Make a decision!” she said. “Bra or panties! It should be easy!”

It wasn’t at all easy. I could barely imagine taking off my bra, and how mortified I would be to bare my tiny little breasts before my whole class. I knew if I did that, I would lose my dress, and then I would be forced to wear nothing but my little wet panties for the rest of the day. Only being naked would be worse. But I couldn’t take off my panties in front of the whole class, either. I felt like I was about to cum, and if I took off my panties, I really would cum. And then, even if I got my dress back, everyone would know I was commando under it. It was too much. “I’m… sorry,” I said at last.

“You dare to disobey me?” bellowed Mrs. Clarke. “Then I have no choice but to teach you a lesson! You will be stripped naked and worse!”

What could be worse than being stripped naked? I don’t think I said it aloud, but she replied nonetheless.

“For the rest of the day, your body will belong to the boys in this class. You will be allowed to wear your dress, but no underwear. If any boy sees you later today, he may order you to assume any position he likes, and you have to do it. Then, he may lift your dress, or even remove it if he likes, and then he can bring you to orgasm while your classmates watch.”

I couldn’t speak. This was the most horrible punishment I could imagine. I felt so lonely, so powerless against a class of jeering boys who will taunt me, strip me, and humiliate me by making me cum. It was terrible! But then Mrs. Clarke read my mind again.

“I know you will feel lonely and sad when you are forcibly stripped and made to have sexual climaxes for the amusement of others, so I will let your girlfriends console you while you are being humiliated. That’s only fair.”

I felt I should say thank you, but the words wouldn’t form. No, not the words. The thought wouldn’t form in my head. I imagined myself being used as the sexual plaything of a bunch of horny boys, of being stripped naked again and again while they made me cum, of the way they would laugh at me when they see my pussy pulsing against its will. Having girls console me during this process would be… What? Nice? I can’t say. I can’t imagine it.

“You can thank me later,” said Mrs. Clarke. “There’s just one thing about the girls who console you during your most humiliating torture: they must also be naked. This is so you’ll know who your real friends are. Not just any girl will console you while you are suffering – only the girls who truly love you will be willing to strip naked and kiss you. Only your true friends will stroke your hair while you are being forced to cum in front of your classmates.”

I was pretty sure none of my friends would be willing to make that sacrifice. Would I make that sacrifice for one of my girlfriends? It’s hard to imagine.

“Okay,” I said. “I agree to your terms.” I looked around at my classmates. I beseeched the girls with my eyes, but each one looked away when I looked at her. I removed my bra and panties, and stood naked before my class. Mrs. Clarke handed me my dress. No sooner had I put it on than the bell rang. Without panties, the dress seemed a lot shorter than it had seemed just half an hour earlier.

As soon as I walked out of Mrs. Clarke’s classroom, one of the boys ordered me to kneel. “Right here in the hallway?” I asked.

His answer was a swift slap to my bottom. I dropped to all fours, expecting him to rip my dress off any minute, leaving me stark naked. Instead, he pushed my legs apart and felt my pussy, making me moist. He lifted my dress, but not all the way. I felt a breeze, but I wasn’t sure if I was exposed. He gently stroked my asshole, then slapped my bare butt hard, making me fall forward off my elbows. He raised my dress further, and made me spread my legs apart more, and raise my butt high in the air. He rubbed me all under, from my belly, between my legs, to my butt cheeks, which he slapped again for good measure before completely removing my dress.

I cringed when I felt a new set of fingers stroking my face and hair. I opened my eyes and saw a girl looking back at me. She kissed me, and stroked my hair and back. “It’ll be OK,” she whispered, and then she winced.

I looked down to see she was as naked as me, and receiving pretty much the same treatment, or maybe even worse. “Spit on it,” a boy ordered, pushing a dildo into my face. “It’s for your own good.” I spit on it, and waited, but they didn’t push it into me, they pushed it into my friend. Then they made her spit on it before shoving it into me.

“You didn’t have to do this,” I said to the girl.

“I wanted to,” she said. Then she kissed me, not just a friendly peck on the lips, but a deep, sensual kiss. She stroked my breasts, soothing me, and taking my mind off the boy who was humiliating me. I closed my eyes and kissed her, and imagined it was the girl who was stroking me between the legs and slapping my butt. It started to feel really good, and the more I imagined her playing with me, the better I felt. Even after the boy discarded the dildo and began using his own penis inside me I still imagined it was the girl fucking me. I couldn’t help cumming just as the boy came inside me. I felt my asshole and pussy still pulsing when the boy got off me and another boy got on.

But it wasn’t another boy. It was the girl, kneeling behind me, her breasts soft on my back, her hands hugging and caressing me. She began shoving me like the boy had done, but why? It took me a minute to realize she was being raped by another boy, even as she was stroking and consoling me. Her kindness overcame me, and I came again just as the boy finished inside her.

I helped her to her feet, and kissed her deeply, no longer caring that I was naked, and that my classmates were watching. I only cared about this true friend, a girl who was willing to strip naked just to console me. A girl who was willing to be raped just so I would not be alone in my own rape and humiliation. I kneaded her sexy back as I kissed her fiercely. I squeezed her delicious butt and held her tight against me as we loved each other with such purity I had never felt before. It seemed as if time stood still when we kissed, and then when it was over, it seemed like just an instant had passed.

“Thank you,” I said.

She replied by touching a finger to my lips, and then kissing me again.

I kissed her for another timeless instant, and then struggled to speak, but I could not. I spread my legs wide to match hers, and closed my eyes as she stroked my butt crack, gently fingering my most slippery parts.

“Seven oh seven,” she said.

What? I still couldn’t speak.

“Partly cloudy,” she said.

I kissed her again, and spread my legs wider because her hands felt so good on my bare butt.

“Obama,” she said.

I opened my eyes, and realized I was alone. I was in my bed, and there was no girl making love to me, which made me sad. On the other hand, there wasn’t a boy raping me, or a crowd of onlookers cheering him on.

“Who was the girl?” asked Rachel, now naked except for her sexy blonde bush.

“She was…” I began, but my throat closed up, and tears began to flow. “She was an angel,” I finally managed to say. Then I kissed Rachel, and she kissed me back. I sobbed uncontrollably, and soon Rachel was crying, too, while we kissed. Time stood still again. The girl in my dream was Rachel.

3 thoughts on “Mrs. Clarke’s High School English Test

  1. Base

    Indecision. It cripples many. She could not decide whether to remove her panties or bra, so she ends up losing both.

    It could be worse; she could wake up and find Suzanne Pleshette in bed next to her. Wait. That’s not so bad.

  2. Freud

    What an interesting dream … It seems you have much Bottled up sexual tension. I recommend regular release. I will consult you if you come to my office every Wednesday at 7 pm where I have an open slot (!)


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