| I had become aware that Brad had decided to fuck me. You'll notice I didn't say make love to me, just to fuck me. How did I arrive at this conclusion? Well, him lifting up my dress and pulling my panties down was a pretty broad hint. It was towards the end of the year during my final year at high school. I'd turned eighteen about halfway through the year, Brad achieving the same feat a few months earlier. Now, for some reason, he'd decided that he wanted me. I'd like to make it clear that Brad was not my boyfriend. He was merely an acquaintance, a classmate, another student among a host of others. I'm prepared to admit that he was tall and not bad looking and his marks indicated that he was reasonably intelligent. He didn't need to worry about that stupid rule that students were guaranteed
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a pass mark. He was quite capable of getting one without assistance, thank you very much, and that was his attitude about that rule. One that I agreed with, by the way. Did I have a boyfriend? Not currently, and I'd never bothered having had a serious one. Plenty of time for that. All the above is an indication as to why I was taken a little by surprise when Brad cornered me in the Arts room, pushed me up against a desk, and pulled my panties down. He didn't just pull them down. He took them right off and stuffed them in his pocket. He then took a pace back and slowly undid his trousers. I waited until he had them down a little bit, revealing all, and while I hadn't seen many of those things I had to admit that it was quite a sizable one. "That's very nice, Brad," I told him, "but right now I have a headache and can't help you out." To ensure he understood how much pain my headache was giving me I lifted a knee sharply, connecting very firmly with his family jewels. This gave him some pain to compare to mine. He gave a horrible scream and decided to sit down on the floor. Deciding that wasn't good enough he curled up in a ball, apparently wrapping himself around the painful area. I could hear footsteps approaching and guessed someone had heard the scream and was coming to investigate, so I departed stage left. In this instance it meant opening the window and hopping through it, and I didn't care if I flashed Brad on my way out. It wasn't as though he was paying attention to me. Now a careful young lady will make sure she had access to a second pair of panties, just in case she has an unexpected accident. Certain maladies come without warning and while the maladies can be treated they can leave you with coloured panties. I headed off to my locker to retrieve my spare pair. It was a pleasant day. The sun was shining and the sky was blue, bar a few scatter clouds floating about. The air was still and I idly wondered why the wind was blowing up there and pushing clouds around but not down here. Then I found out that there was a mischievous little breeze blowing around down here. It was just a small breeze. One that was designed to rustle leave, make flags flutter, and lift the occasional dress. The last I wouldn't have objected to if the dress hadn't been mine with Mr Ogilvie just a few paces in front of me. Mr Ogilvie was a hunk. There's no other way to describe him. He was the PE teacher and he was all smooth muscle and catlike grace. He came to a screeching halt as I hurriedly slapped my wayward dress back down into position, face red. "Patricia, isn't it?" he said. "More commonly known as Trixie. Why don't you step into my office for a couple of quick words?" The answer to that was thank you, but I'd rather not, but I didn't think that answer would be acceptable. I stayed mute and cringed along behind him as he changed direction and led the way to his office. I followed him into the office and he shut the door and leaned back against his desk, regarding me with a thoughtful look. I felt somewhat flushed and there was a nervous twitch down where something should have been decently covered by a pair of panties. "So, did you lose a bet?" Mr Ogilvie asked. Stupid me tried to play dumb. I mean, he was a male teacher. He wasn't likely to accuse a girl student of running around commando. "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't know what you're talking about." "I mean why this?" he asked, and to my absolute horror he lifted up the front of my dress so I was fully exposed. If that wasn't bad enough his free hand closed over me, gently stroking me there. I can tell you right now that that was a hell of a way to find out just how sensitive you are there to a man's touch. "You have never struck me as the type of girl to run around teasing the boys, so why now?" I dithered. What could I say? If I ratted Brad out he might be expelled. I couldn't do that to him. All I could do was um and ah. No. There was one other thing I could do. "Will you please take your hand off me?" I managed to gasp out. Talk about a relief when he did. He was giving me a very knowing smile, but he didn't refer to that. He got back to the original subject. "As you don't seem to be the type to willingly forego your panties I'm forced to conclude that you had some help in losing them, help you probably didn't want. You're not saying anything as you don't want to get anyone into trouble. I can understand that. All right, I'll let you get on your way. If you visit Mrs Fotheringham you'll find she keeps a stock of girl's clothing for when unfortunate accidents occur." I'd seen them. I'd rather go commando than wear what she considered proper attire. "Um, no need, sir," I said quickly. "I always keep a spare pair in my schoolbag." "OK, but just remember one thing. Run around like this and someone may take advantage of you." Damn right they might. He'd lifted my dress and started rubbing me again in a very personal manner. I jumped back and fled. It was only after that I wondered why I hadn't used my knee on him, too. There again, he was a teacher, so it probably wouldn't be wise. I saw Brad again after school. He seemed to be OK but he was certainly walking carefully. He saw me looking at him, grinned, and moved in my direction. I gave him a carefully blank look while he was all smiles. "You won that round," he said cheerfully. "We'll see how round two goes." I watched him leave, feeling somewhat odd. Did he intend to rape me or did he just have a rather firm seduction in mind? I suspected the latter, so all I would have to do was stand firm. Considering Brad the thought crossed my mind, did I want to stand firm? I thought I did, but maybe he would change my mind. After all, I did have to start sexual shenanigans sometime. That first day Brad had been following me down the hall and sort of hustled me into the Arts room, taking me totally by surprise. Part of the surprise was the fact that he practically pushed me into the room when that was where I was going anyway. I had this little painting project I wanted to finish up. On the second day I made damn sure that he wasn't following when I went to the Arts room. It turned out that I needn't have bother because as soon as I entered the door slid closed behind me and Brad was grumbling that I took my own sweet time getting here. For variation Brad pushed me forward across the nearest desk before lifting my dress and pulling down my panties. That done he started rubbing the goodies, apparently happy that I wasn't in a position to knee him. Unfortunately for him I was in a position to kick backwards and I had on a rather solid pair of heels. My heel cracked very firmly into his shin and everything seemed to happen at once. Brad made a yowling sound, jumping back and away, I slipped off the side of the desk and landed on my hands and knees, the door opened and a voice demanded to know what was going on. Bard gave a squawk and hurriedly limped past Mr Ogilvie, scurrying away as fast as he could. Mr Ogilvie reached down and helped me to my feet. "I take it that that was the phantom pantie remover," he said, jerking is thumb towards the door. "Well, yes, and thank you for your intervention, but I could have handled him." I was polite. Slightly irritated, but polite. I'd have liked to see what Brad would try once he finished hopping up and down. I was quite sure I could handle it, one way or another. "I think it was his intention to handle you," Mr Ogilvie said. "Somewhat like this." I was shocked, shocked, to find him lifting the front of my dress and cupping my mound, rubbing it thoughtfully. "It seems to me that part of the problem is that you're a virgin," Mr Ogilvie said. "If it wasn't for that Brad would probably stop chasing you so intently. You could both relax and you could let him know whether you were willing to meet him half way, somewhere out of the school grounds, like a bedroom." "Well, really," I said indignantly, and somewhat breathlessly. That rubbing was doing peculiar things to me. "Um, would you mind not doing that?" "I don't mind. I was going to have to stop in a minute. You know, it's surprising the things a teacher has to do to advance a student's education." As far as I was concerned fondling my pussy wasn't one of the things that he had to do. I would have said so quite acerbically but he stopped, letting my dress fall back into place. My relief lasted for the length of time it takes to undo a zip. His. His hand slipped inside his trousers and he pulled out his own erection. I was totally shocked. My mind was gibbering he can't do that, while another part was wondering what would that thing feel like. Then I heard voices in the corridor and Mr Ogilvie was zipped up and moving away from me. I hastily pulled up my panties and scurried over to where my painting was. Mr Ogilvie departed and Miss Reman, my art teacher, came in, wanting to check on my progress. We discussed art while I felt flushed and peculiar. I somehow suspected that Mr Ogilvie hadn't intended such niceties as asking permission. If Miss Reman hadn't arrived I'd probably have been riding that cock right then and there and wouldn't that have been embarrassing when she did turn up. Brad caught up with me after school and seemed slightly narked. "Did you have to kick?" he demanded. "It seemed like a good idea at the time," I admitted. "Did you have to try and pull my panties down?" "It seemed like a good idea at the time," he sniggered, "and what do you mean, try?" "Yes, well if you try to use force then I'm free to use force when saying no," I pointed out. "Try talking me out of them. You won't succeed but it's the politer way to do things." "We'll see," he said, and wandered off, leaving me wondering where I could buy a set of brass knuckles. The next day was a Friday and I decided that I'd just avoid Brad for the day, giving me the weekend in which to make up my mind. The way I was leaning now was a tentative no, and if he tried anything funny it would very quickly become a definite no and piss off before I lodge a formal complaint with Mrs Fotheringham. I smiled at the thought. I'd love to see him explaining himself to that old battle-axe. Friday was the one day that I didn't have any free periods so I was fully occupied all day. I did keep one eye open for Brad and had checked his classes. Apart from a couple of common classes in the morning he was elsewhere for the rest of the day with the last two periods free. Knowing him he'd probably leave early. In the afternoon recess I saw that he was lingering around the Arts room and I couldn't resist swinging past. "I've got a double Economics class for the rest of the day," I told him, smiling sweetly. "No art scheduled until Monday." I was giggling as I moved on, hearing him swearing as I left. He went stomping off down the corridor, probably not to be seen again that day. What I hadn't told Brad was that I had permission to visit the Arts room after school to finish up what I was doing. I wanted to hand it first thing Monday. I trotted happily down to the Arts room. That's not to say I didn't take care to ensure that Brad hadn't doubled back. He hadn't, and I set up my easel and started on the finishing touches. I was concentrating hard, effectively finished, but wanting to make those few extra touches. That was something I had to force myself not to do. When a painting is finished, it's finished, and I need to put my brush down. That's when I heard someone walk into the art room. I didn't look up right away. From the light footsteps I just assumed that it was Miss Reman coming to check on me. I knew straight away that it wasn't Brad as he'd have been sniggering about putting one over on me. That's when I knew I'd made up my mind. Screw him, but screwing him wasn't something I'd be doing. Next time I saw him I'd let him know that I was speaking to Mrs Fotheringham about his behaviour and that he'd better have his excuses ready before she ate him for breakfast. I wouldn't make it a complaint that would get him thrown out, but one that would let her express her feeling on the matter of sexual harassment. "That's a very nice painting, but it lacks passion," said Mr Ogilvie and I damn near screamed. It hadn't even occurred to me that he was the person who'd entered. Damn, but for a big man he was light on his feet. "It's supposed to engender peace and harmony," I told him. "It's the sort of painting you'd hang in a family room or personal office to help you relax. It's not designed to be hung in a bedroom." "In that case I'll agree that you've hit the mark. You're quite talented, aren't you?" "Yes," I agreed. Well, why not? I am talented. I was the best artist in the school, and that includes Miss Reman. "Modest, too," Mr Ogilvie observed, with me giving him a frowning look. "No boyfriend hanging around you today?" "Downplaying my skill would be false modesty. Brad is not my boyfriend. As a matter of fact, seeing you're here I'd like to formally report that he's harassing me." "Why tell me?" "You're a Master. You can have words with him. Saves me telling Mrs Fotheringham. She'd probably use him to demonstrate the art of castration with a dull knife." "So after flashing him a couple times you want me to chase him away?" "I did not flash him," I said with much indignation. "He snuck up on me twice and tried to molest me twice. If you check with the Nurse's Office you'll probably find he's also visited her twice as I told him no rather physically." "He missed PE this morning due to a badly bruised leg," said Mr Ogilvie in a musing voice. "Cop the same leg twice, did you?" "Um, no, but I don't think he'd want to show you his other set of bruises," I told him with a slightly vindictive edge to my voice. Mr Ogilvie laughed. "Like that was it? Good girl. That sort of thing does tend to get the message across. Maybe Brad is just a slow learner. I'll speak to him." "Thank you," I said. While we'd been talking I'd also been tidying up. I now took the painting off the easel and put it in the drying rack. I'd be able to present it to Miss Reman on Monday and if I didn't get top marks for it, it would only be because she was jealous of my skill. Art is where I excel and my college was an arts college. I'd applied at a few and been accepted by them all so I had my choice. I turned away from the drying rack and promptly bumped into Mr Ogilvie who was standing a lot closer than I thought. "Sorry," I said, rather automatically, even though I knew it wasn't my fault. "No worries," he said, and lifted my dress and exposed my panties. "Do you mind?" I snapped, slapping his hands away and letting my dress fall back into place. "No," he said. "Just checking to see if Brad had stolen them again." "Well, now you know," I hissed. "I've steered well clear of him all day, thank you very much." "Now that I know that Brad hasn't taken them as a trophy I feel free to ask you to take them off. Please," he added, as though that made a difference. "What?" I was appalled. "Your panties. Will you please take them off? I wouldn't want to come between you and your first love but as you make it clear that he's not I feel that I can go ahead." "You can't be serious!" "Yes, I can. I'd take them off myself but you've already said you have this unfortunate propensity for kicking men who do that. Not wanting to be kicked and seeing that you're unlikely to kick yourself it's safer for both of us if you take them down." He looked at me consideringly and continued before I could tell him what I thought of his crappy idea. "I will, however, be quite pleased to undo your blouse and bra. Tell you what, I'll do that first." He did, too. I was protesting and slapping at his hands but that didn't get any of the buttons fastened again. I now had cleavage from neck to navel and it was showing everything. And I mean everything because he hooked hold of my bra and lifted it up over my breasts, letting them spill free. Not that I was looking at my breasts bouncing around for long. His hands came up and covered them, protecting my modesty I don't think. "You can't do that," I half yelled at him. "You're a teacher." "Obviously I can," he said, "probably because I'm a teacher and that gives me the opportunity, but you're digressing from the main point." "Your hands on me are the main point right now," I said bitterly, and he had the gall to shake his head. "No. You were going to take your panties off, remember? My admiring your beautiful breasts is just the preliminary." "I was going to do no such thing," I said with a gasp. "Why not? You know you want to." "I most certainly do not," I insisted and he just gave me a knowing smile. "Look at your breasts and see how they're anticipating what's coming," he said, taking his hands away. "See how your nipples have peaked? I bet your breasts are feeling full and heavy right now." "You'd lose your bet," I lied, not wanting to give an inch. "So you're not going to take them down?" I shook my head vigorously, immediately regretting it as my breasts promptly wobbled from side to side. "No matter. I can do it," he assured me, sinking down onto one knee in front of me. "Mind how you kick or you could do me a serious injury here," he said. "Hold this." He handed me the hem of my skirt and like a fool I took hold of it. The next moment my panties were going down. For heaven's sake, I couldn't really kick him because he was too close but I could lift my knee sharply. Trouble was, if I did that the only target I had was his face and breaking his nose or knocking out his teeth seemed a bit excessive. Mr Ogilvie rose back to his feet but one hand lingered, closing over my pussy and starting to stroke it. "Before your imagination goes into over-drive and you start panicking I'd like to say that I'm only going to be touching you for a while. Breasts and pussy, just some gentle touching, seeing if I can arouse you a little." A little. From the wet heat I could feel he'd already started arousing me. "Just some touching?" I gasped. "You swear?" "I swear, just touching. Hands and mouth, touching and tasting, that's all," he assured me and I looked at him wondering if I could trust him. He must have seen that I wasn't quite sure because he sighed. "Come on, Trixie," he said. "Don't tell me you believe that garbage for even an instant. You know damn well what is going to happen." I blushed, feeling foolish and a little naïve. Then I blushed some more as it truly dawned on me what he intended to do. I started babbling a few incoherent denials as to what was going to happen but he put a finger against my lips and told me to shush. "Tell you what," he said. "To help you adjust to what's coming I'll let you hold this." With that he calmly unzipped and pulled out his erection and there it was, rearing up between us. Hold it? I wasn't even going to touch it. At least, that's what I thought. Mr Ogilvie had other ideas. He calmly took my hand and closed it over his erection. I tried to pull my hand away but he held it steady.
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