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The Bradhall Academy | The New Teacher, Part 1
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Hope almost didn’t come back to work. After all, it had been made very clear to her what awaited her. She would be the target of a project of active misogynist degradation by a class full of young 18-year-old male students, with little she could do to prevent it.
Only an idiot or a slut would willingly turn up to that, and Hope liked to pretend she was neither.
But the boys had the support of their principal to molest her. And, more importantly, they had the nude photographs of Hope and her girlfriend Georgina – the ones that she wasn’t supposed to have kept, the ones that could ruin her relationship with her girlfriend, and destroy her future employment prospects, and maybe even send her to prison.
So she went back, turning up to class in a shirt that was really too small for her swollen lactating tits, and a short skirt with no panties. She now believed that the gynaecological advice she had received from Thomas’ father was nonsense designed to humiliate her – but her deal with the principal had required her to follow it regardless.
The humiliating cartoon of her labelled “Miss Moo-Cow” was still on the whiteboard, and the boys were already in their seats and waiting for her. Her daily drink from Chris had also already arrived, and Chris watched her with a smug expression as she picked it up, closed her eyes, and took a long drink from it.
It was hard, knowing she was drinking something full of harmful drugs designed to reduce her control over her body, knowing that she was willingly taking in medicine that would make her tits swell, and her cunt wetten, and her bladder tighten. But it was part of her deal, to keep the photos secret.
“Good morning, boys,” she said, after she had swallowed a large mouthful.
“Good morning, Miss Moo-Cow,” chorused the students, and there was cruel laughter, and a couple of “moo” noises from the back of the room.
Hope blushed – but it was also in her deal that she wouldn’t correct them over the degrading nickname. In fact, she was to answer to it as if it were the name she was born with.
She cleared her throat. “So today we’re going to be learning about the role of feminism in anti-war protests…” she began.
There was a loud “mooo” from the back of the room, and then another, drowning her out. A third boy yelled out, “That’s boring, miss. We want to learn about your tits.”
“Yeah,” called out someone else. “Teach us about your tits.”
“No…” protested Hope. “This is a feminism class…”
“TITS,” chanted the boys. “TITS. TITS. TITS. TITS.”
Thomas, near the front of the class today, said, “You can teach us a full lesson about your tits, miss, or we can teach the entire *world* about your tits.”
Hope blushed. The principal had implied she would need to do this – to educate the boys about her breasts, and even show them her breasts and let them touch them. But she had hoped to avoid it.
Clearly that was not going to happen.
And so she found herself teaching a class where the subject was her breasts.
She repeated the information she had given them previously about her breast size. Then there was nothing for it but to expose her breasts to the boys, and let them play with her titflesh.
She went around the room, letting each boy rub her breasts, run their finger over her nipples, and then attempt to squeeze milk from her udders. Some just grabbed her breasts as if they were handles on an object, and pulled roughly. One boy put his mouth on her nipple and sucked – and then *every* boy wanted a turn sucking milk from her fuckbags.
All his stimulation of her breasts had an undeniable effect on her cunt. She felt herself growing more aroused with each squeeze, or stroke, or suck, until she felt the entire class must be able to smell the eagerness of her cunt. She could feel her fuck juices drooling slowly down her inner thigh, and did her best to keep her legs pressed together so no one would notice.
Still, she couldn’t help but produce involuntary slutty moans as the boys played with her tits. They humiliated her deeply. What kind of lesson was she teaching these boys, that they could openly sexually molest and degrade a woman in authority, and not only would she permit it, but she would be *aroused* by it? And yet she couldn’t help herself.
The boys asked her questions about her breasts as they played with her – or about the breasts of women generally.
“Is it true that women secretly like it when men treat them as nothing but a pair of slutmelons?” asked Geoffrey, as Hope looked into his frustratingly handsome rich-boy face while Geoffrey tugged on her nipples.
“No,” she replied. “Women hate it…”
Her words vanished into a surprised, agonised squeak, as Geoffrey yanked at her nipples.
“Wrong answer, Miss Moo-Cow,” he told her. “Try again.”
She blushed. “Please, Geoffrey,” she pleaded. “This is a feminism class. I…”
She yelped again as Geoffrey pulled on her tits even harder.
“You’re here to teach us about women, Miss Moo-Cow,” he said. “So teach us the *truth*.”
Hope was acutely aware of her own vulnerability, surrounded on all sides by cruel boys, her breasts exposed, her nipples in Geoffrey’s hands, her cunt sopping wet, and with every boy present having the power to ruin her life with the simplest of internet posts.
She looked down at the floor, humiliated. “Yes,” she whispered. “Women love it when men objectify them as nothing but a pair of tits.”
“Good girl,” said Geoffrey, and gave her breasts a much more pleasant squeeze. She looked up, to find that the boys were filming her on their phones. They had recorded her embarrassing answer.
Next it was Chris’ turn, as he ran his fingers teasingly around her areolae. “Miss, is it true that all women get turned on by having their breasts tortured?”
“Well, I guess some women do…” Hope began.
Chris sighed – and slapped her in the tits, hard. “I don’t think that’s right, Miss Moo-Cow,” he told her.
Hope looked at him, not wanting to degrade herself further.
Chris pulled his hand back for another slap.
“Yes,” said Hope. “All women get very sexually aroused by having their breasts beaten and abused.”
Then Thomas took a turn at the same time as redheaded Blake, They each took one of her tits in their hands, and pulled them in different directions, making Hope moan.
“You never told us the truth about tits and intelligence, miss,” said Thomas. “Is it true that women with bigger udders are stupider because they are devoting more of their brainpower to being a good breeder?”
Hope knew by now what was expected of her, and there was no point in resisting.
“Yes,” she said, “the bigger a woman’s tits are, the stupider she is.”
Blake chuckled. “You have pretty large tits, miss. What does that mean about you?”
Hope blushed. “It means I’m very stupid,” she whispered, in a humiliated voice. And really, it must be true, mustn’t it? Because what kind of smart woman would let her tits be molested by a classroom of 18-year-old boys?
“I think learning requires an experiment,” said Chris. “Don’t you, miss?”
She did not like the sound of this at all. Thomas and Blake were still tugging on her tits, and it was hard to think with her pussy so wet. She made a noncommittal noise.
Chris took it as agreement. “Excellent. Let’s bring her up to her desk.”
Blake let go of her left breast, and Thomas seized it, so that he held one of her tits in each hand. He then began to pull on them, hard, and Hope had no choice but to follow him to stand behind her teaching desk.
Here, Chris opened the top drawer of the desk. It was largely empty, but for a notepad and a couple of pencils. He put a hand on the back of her head, and pushed down. Hope was forced to bend at the waist, her face pressed into the surface of the desk, her tits hanging down into the open drawer.
Bending had the unavoidable effect of making her short skirt lift up at the back, and some of the assembled boys chuckled as her wet, panty-less cunt came into view. Hope squirmed with humiliation.
“This is an experiment to see what happens when you torture a woman’s breasts,” said Chris. “Hold her down, lads.”
Hope’s eyes went wide, and she tried to rise up, but there were strong young arms holding her down, and she couldn’t move at all.
And then Chris slammed the drawer closed on her breasts.
She screamed – but the classroom was far from the rest of the school, and no one would hear her. And even if they did, would anyone at this misogynist school care?
He opened the drawer again – and then slammed it closed on her tits a second time.
“Stop,” she begged. “Stop. Please stop.”
“It’s an experiment, miss,” said Chris. “We want to see how having your udders punished makes you behave. We think it will make you submissive and slutty.”
“Her cunt’s sopping wet,” said Thomas, from behind her. “You should see it.”
“Why don’t you put a finger into it, Tom?” said Chris.
And a moment later, Hope did indeed feel a finger slip between her pussy lips and into her fuckhole. A moment later it was joined by a second, and Hope couldn’t help but give a moan of slutty, eager lust.
In front of her, Blake held up an A4 page. It was covered in words.
“We’re going to keep torturing your tits, miss,” said Chris. “But if you want it to stop, all you have to do is read out everything on the page, twice, and then orgasm. That’s it.”
He slammed the drawer on her tits again. The pain was excruciating.
At the same time, Thomas began to pump his fingers in and out of her pussy.
Hope tried to focus on the piece of paper. The words were awful – humiliating, misogynistic, degrading.
Chris slammed her breasts in the drawer again.
She moaned, and started to read.
“I deserve to have my tits abused because I’m a big-titted slut,” she read. “All women with big udders deserve to have them beaten. Having big tits makes me a stupid fuckdoll. I’m so stupid I need men to beat my udders for me.”
On every line, Chris slammed the drawer on her tits again, and Thomas pistoned his fingers into her cunt.
Her breasts hurt so much. Her cunt was so wet. She couldn’t think straight.
The boys were filming her, of course.
“All women deserve to receive pain in their tits,” she mumbled. “Women have no right to decide what happens to their breasts. Women’s fuckbags are for men to enjoy. All women love having their slutmelons abused. Hurting a woman’s tits inevitably makes her horny and eager to breed. I love having my fuckbags bruised. I’m a dumb big-titted cunt.”
She had reached the end of the paper.
“Again,” demanded Chris, slamming her breasts extra-hard.
She began to read again from the top.
She could no longer distinguish the pain in her breasts from the pleasure in her pussy. Each time her tits were slammed in the drawer, her fuckhole pulsed with need and desire, and each time Thomas shoved his fingers deep inside her, her body shivered and trembled.
She was reaching the end of the page again. “I love having my fuckbags bruised,” she moaned. “I’m a dumb big-titted cunt.”
“Now cum,” instructed Chris.
And just like that, she did. The order pushed her over the age, and suddenly her whole body was shaking, her hips twitching, her cunt muscles pulsing. She made a long, slutty moan, and she thought she might be drooling.
When the boys saw she was cumming, they burst out in cruel laughter, and she trembled through her orgasm to the sound of an entire classroom of boys finding it hilarious how stupid and slutty she was. Somehow it just made her orgasm more powerful.
“Good moo-cow,” said Chris, stroking her hair. “You put on a good show.”
And of course, she had. They had video of her saying all those disgusting things, and cumming from it. That would be as bad as anything they had possessed of her previously, if it got out in public. She could never show her face to her feminist friends again. Not to mention that the police might have something to say about a teacher engaging in sexual activity with her students, never mind that they were all 18 or older.
The boys were backing away from her now, and Hope was able to lift her tits out of the hated drawer, and smooth down her skirt at the back to hide her pussy.
“Here’s a lesson plan for the rest of the year,” said Chris, dropping a piece of paper on the desk. “See that you stick to it. I expect that we’ll have a lot of very educational levels.”
The boys began to file out of the class, laughing among themselves at their teacher’s slutty behaviour, and Hope reluctantly looked at the paper that Chris had left her.
Her heart sank.
The next lesson she would be giving, apparently, was titled “Fellatio – The Female Need to Suck Cock, and How to Force a Bitch to Swallow Your Cum”.
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“And really, it must me true, mustn’t it?” I think the word is be, not me
Yes, I’m re-reading a lot of stories. You write very well. I’m not looking for typos, I just notice them while re-reading some of my favorites
I appreciate readers catching typos. They’re few enough that it’s not worth my time doing more proofreading than I already do, but I’d still prefer to stamp them out. I’ll fix this one here and in my master file, and it will be updated in the e-book the next time that the e-book gets a new edition.