Story: The Bradhall Academy – The New Teacher, Part 4

Previous chapters:
The Bradhall Academy | The New Teacher, Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

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Hope had had a surprise visitor overnight. Her doorbell had rung, and when she opened the door, Chris was standing there.

He didn’t say anything. He just slapped her across the face, and then ripped open the front of her button-up blouse. She opened her mouth to protest, so he slapped her again, and then he reached into her bra to pull out her swollen, milky tits.

“What do you say, Miss Moo-Cow?” he asked her in a rough, unsympathetic voice.

She just stared at him in shock, her mouth opening and closing helplessly, until he slapped her again, and this time the slap focused her mind and she knew what he wanted.

“Thank you for slapping me, sir, and for helping me to expose my udders,” she breathed.

“You’re welcome,” he said, and slapped her again for good measures. Then he grabbed one of her large tits in each hand, and walked past her into the house, dragging her by her tits as he went. She felt milk squirting from her nipples as she staggered along helplessly.

He pulled her into her own lounge room, opened his pants to expose his cock, then pushed her to her knees. She fell, and instinctively began to lean towards his cock, but she didn’t need her own volition because Chris grabbed her hair and forced her lips down on his dick. Hope obediently opened her mouth and began to suck.

Just like I taught him, she thought bitterly. Full marks.

Chris roughly fucked her face until he was ready to cum, and then he pulled out of her mouth and ejaculated over her face and tits. Hope knew better than to clean it off without permission.

She was filled with a sense of how helpless she was – how much stronger and more muscular the young man in her house was, and just what he might do to her if he was displeased with her.

“Thank you for raping my face, sir,” she said, “and for decorating me with your sperm.”

“Do you have your lesson plan for tomorrow ready, cunt?” he asked her.

“No, sir,” she admitted. The schedule Chris had given her earlier told her that her subject for the lesson was “Communicating With The Female Animal”, but she was still processing her trauma from sucking the cocks of her students earlier that day and had been avoiding thinking about tomorrow.

“Good,” he said. “Where’s your computer?”

She led him to her study. Here, he had her remove the rest of her clothes, and sit in front of her computer naked. He placed a small vibrator between her legs, nestled against her clitoris, and then he found the cups of her milking machine and attached them to her tits. Soon she felt them engage, and she was filled with the twin sensations of rhythmic pain in her tits, and buzzing pleasure in her pussy.

“Write your lesson plan while I watch,” said Chris. “If it’s not slutty enough when you’re done, you’ll start from the beginning. You’re not allowed to cum until you get it right.”

She did her best, but her first attempt was so deficient that Chris slapped her in the face three times and told her she was a stupid cunt. By now, her cunt was beginning to wetten, and it was getting harder to think. She tried again, and again, but still it wasn’t enough.

Soon she was so horny she was stupid. Her tits hurt so much, and all she wanted to do was cum against the vibrator, but Chris had a remote for it and he kept stopping it when she looked like she was close to the edge. She was typing confused, degrading gibberish now, not caring what she said, only thinking of her cunt. It was riddled with childish spelling errors, she knew, but she didn’t care.

Finally Chris looked at what she had written and said, “That’s it. You’re done.”

He pulled her from the chair, and threw her to the ground. The vibrator fell away from her pussy, although the cups on her tits were still sucking mercilessly. He pried her legs apart using one foot, and then began to kick her in the cunt, hard.

On the fourth kick, she orgasmed.

“Thank you for kicking me in the fuckhole until I was able to cum, sir,” she whimpered.

Chris didn’t even reply. He just left her house.

He didn’t bother to close the front door or lock it, and, knowing that Chris hadn’t given her permission to do so, Hope left it that way overnight as well.

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When she arrived in class, the text identifying her as “Miss Moo-Cow” had finally been removed from the board. At first she was grateful – but then she became nervous. What if the boys in her class thought she had removed it? What if they decided to punish her?

She made a distressed sound, stood paralysed for a moment – and then quickly picked up the whiteboard marker, and wrote, in her own handwriting, “Hi! I am Miss Moo-Cow!” on the board. And she did her best to recreate the crude sexualised drawing of herself that had originally accompanied it. She took care to make her breasts look cartoonishly oversized, and replicate the look of bimbo-ish adoration that the original had had as it had masturbated to an anonymous cock.

And yet she was worried it wasn’t quite so offensive to her as the original had been – and the boys would notice – and so she added a speech bubble in which her cartoon avatar was saying, “Thank you, sir! I’m a stupid cow!”

She was satisfied now that it was at least as demeaning to her as the original had been. It was the best she could do.

Soon, the boys were filing into her class. Chris passed her the usual cup of drugged liquid as he entered, and Hope drank it obediently. 

“Good bitch,” he said as she did, loudly enough for everyone to hear.

There was some laughter as the boys seated themselves. They had seen what was on the whiteboard – and realised that Hope had drawn it there herself. Hope blushed, and made no comment.

But then the laughter stopped, and the whole class were looking at her. No, not at her – at her chest. 

Suddenly Hope realised what was about to happen. Chris was about to come up to the front of the class and rip her blouse and bra – or cut them with scissors – to force her to expose her tits, just like yesterday. She couldn’t afford to keep losing clothes that way – not to mention how scary it was to have scissors being used violently so close to her skin.

It felt terrible to do it, but it was the only sensible course of action. Hope blushed, and quickly unbuttoned her blouse, and pulled it to the sides so it no longer covered her chest. Then she reached behind her back, unhooked her bra, and pulled it out of the sleeves of her blouse, exposing her large, lactating tits to the class.

There were some hoots, and applause from a couple of boys up the back.

Then someone yelled, “Show us your cunt!”

There was laughter, and the call was repeated. “Show us your cunt!”

She didn’t want to show them her pussy, but she knew what would happen if she didn’t. It would be violence, and scissors, and her clothes would be ruined, and she would end up showing them her cunt anyway. And she would have to thank them for forcing her.

So, trembling, she reached under her skirt and caught the waistband of her panties, and slowly slid them down her legs, until they fell to her ankles, whereupon she stepped out of them. Then she blushingly pulled up the front of her skirt, and tucked it into its own waistband, creating a triangle of visibility at the front, which exposed her shaved twat.

She couldn’t believe she was teaching a school class like this – her tits exposed, her cunt on display. She couldn’t believe she was just *obeying* these boys, that she was so helpless to their whims.

But the boys laughed and cheered as she showed them her fuckhole, and she knew that she had pleased them. They would now allow her to start her lesson.

“Women,” she began, working from the humiliating lesson plan that Chris had forced her to write, “are more like animals than like humans. They are really very stupid, and they are driven by only three basic urges. The first is the need to know that they are owned and controlled by a man. The second is the need to receive male cum in their mouth, anus, vagina, and on the skin of their face and breasts. And the third is the need to orgasm. Everything women do is driven by one of these urges, whether they know it or not.”

Everyone in the room was staring at her cunt. They would be able to see it was wet. Oh God, why was she wet right now? She was betraying her gender to a pack of 18-year-old rapists. She was encouraging them to treat her as a subhuman sex-toy. That shouldn’t turn her on. And yet…

“The actual words women say don’t matter,” she continued. “They’re just noises. As men, the only thing that matters is to understand which need a woman is trying to service. For instance, right now, I’m trying to service all three. By teaching you how to use me properly, I hope that you will learn to discipline me, and cum on and in me, and maybe allow me to orgasm from being used.”

She blushed deeper. She hadn’t meant these words when she had written them – she’d just wanted to be allowed to cum. But now she was reading them aloud as though they were the truth.

“If a woman is saying words that don’t please you, it’s because she wants you to hurt her or slap her, so that she’ll feel controlled or owned,” she said. “Women only ever disagree with men because they’re insufficiently controlled, and feel anxious and unhappy from their freedom. Every unpleasant word a woman says is just her begging you to slap her, and spank her, and beat her tits, until she feels the happiness of knowing that a man is in charge.”

A hand went up. It was Thomas.

“Yes, Thomas?” she asked.

“Miss, could you spread your pussy lips so we can see your fuckhole better?” he asked. There was laughter from the other boys.

“Thomas, I really need to teach the lesson…” she began.

But she had already taught it too well. Blake got up from his seat before she had finished speaking, and he slapped her twice across the face – back and forth – and then punched her in the tits.

“Try again, miss,” he said.

She gaped, shocked by the violence – but soon realised what she had to say.

“Yes, sir,” she said. “Sorry, sir. Thank you for forcing me to spread my pussy lips.” She paused, and added, “and for paying attention to the lesson.”

She reached down and spread her labia, so the whole class could see the entrance to her wet fuckhole, and the engorged bud of her clitoris. There was more laughter as the boys stared at her aroused twat, and she wished that the laughter didn’t make her even wetter.

“The actual words said by a woman are even less important…” she began, and then stumbled, blushing. She couldn’t believe she had written this, even as horny as she had been last night. She wasn’t really going to read it, was she? She knew what would happen to her if she did. The boys were going to… use her. And she would be teaching them to do the same thing to other girls.

But Chris knew what she had written. He would know if she didn’t present the lesson she had planned. He would slap her, and make her thank him for it. And then she would do it anyway. Or if she didn’t, the consequences would be worse. She might go to jail.

She took a deep breath, and tried to pretend that a roomful of horny boys weren’t staring at her tits and cunt, and started again.

“The actual words said by a woman are even less important when it comes to determining her consent to sex,” she said, breathing shallowly. “Ethically, the consent of a woman isn’t important, because women are made to be fucked, whether they claim to want it or not. But if you want to determine whether a woman really wants to be used, you can ignore the noise coming from her mouth, and check the primary sources – the wetness of her fuckhole, and the hardness of her nipples. If a woman is wet, or her nipples are hard, she consents.”

“Look at her,” whispered a boy near the back of the class. “She’s fucking dripping.”

She was. Her pussy was so wet, her fuckjuices were drooling down her thighs.

“And now,” she said. “We’re going to do a practical exercise. You’re going to find out whether I consent to you playing with my breasts, without relying on my spoken words.” She let go of her pussy lips in order to turn and reach into her handbag. With trembling hands, she withdrew two items that she had bought at a sex shop on the way to school.

The first was a ball gag. She opened her mouth and fit it between her jaws, and then (awkwardly) cinched it closed behind her head. The second was a pair of time-release wristcuffs. They were comfortable and fur-lined, and she was able to easily secure her hands behind her back. The timer was set for the remaining duration of the class – it would free her automatically when the bell rang to signal that the class was over.

“All right, boys,” she said – or at least, that’s what she tried to say. All that came out was ”‘mmm mfff mfff”.

Thomas was the first to stand and approach her. “Hey Miss Moo-Cow, is it okay if I squeeze your udders?” he asked.

“Mmmmf,” said Hope, which was supposed to be “no”, for the sake of the exercise. She shook her head as well.

Thomas reached out and stroked her rock-hard nipples. “Your tits say yes, miss,” he said, smiling. Then he reached down and felt her pussy. His hands came away dripping with cunt slime, which he looked at, and then wiped across her face. “Your cunt says yes, too.” 

“Mmmf,” she said again, and tried to pull away from him – but he pushed her back, up against her desk, and then put his hands on her tits and began to lightly squeeze.

She couldn’t deny it felt good. She moaned.

Then he tightened his grip, grabbing her breasts as if they were a pair of handles, and *pulled*.

She squealed into her gag, and staggered forward a couple of steps. It *hurt*. She felt milk squirting from her nipples.

The class laughed, and Thomas stepped back, to let Derek have a turn.

“Hey, Miss Moo-Cow, can I yank on your tits like that?” he asked. “It looked fun.”

She shook her head violently, and made “mmmf” noises, trying to explain that they were only supposed to *play* with her breasts, not hurt them, but he pinched her hard nipples between his fingers, and then swiped his palm across her cunt. Once again his hand came away wet, and he wiped it clean across her face.

“Feels like consent, miss,” he said. He made a show of sniffing his hand. “Smells like it, too.”

There was more laughter – and then Derek grabbed her tits as Thomas had, making her nipples squirt milk, and dragged her by them. This time he pulled her halfway across the classroom before releasing her.

Boy after boy stood up to play with her tits. Geoffrey wanted to slap her tits with his hands, and she tried to tell him no, but her cunt said yes, and he had to grab her hair to hold her still as he delivered ten hard slaps to her titflesh.

Blake wanted to do the same thing, but using a ruler, and he wanted to hit her thirty times, not ten. She actually tried to run out of the classroom entirely then, but with her hands cuffed she couldn’t get the door open, and anyway, her cunt was still saying yes, yes, yes, and so Blake got other boys to hold her still and he struck her in the tits 30 times with a wooden ruler, as Hope screamed into her gag, and tried to tell her cunt to stop being wet, to stop consenting, to stop this torture.

But her cunt just got wetter and wetter. One boy chose to write on her tits in permanent marker – “MOO” on the left breast and “COW” on the right. Another boy found elastic bands in her teacher’s desk, and put them over the base of each tit, doubling them up until they constricted the base of her udders and made her titflesh bulge lewdly. And still her cunt kept consenting. Her face was smeared and sticky from her own cunt juices, as each boy wiped the results of his “test” across her cheeks and eyes and jaw.

Finally it was Chris’ turn. “Miss Moo-Cow, would you like to have your tits slammed in the desk drawer again, like the other day?”

She really didn’t. It had hurt so much. She still had some bruising on them. She shook her head as hard as she could – and shook her tits too, for extra emphasis.

But none of that mattered. Chris backed her up against the wall, and tested her pussy, and of course it was still wet, so he led her back to the desk, opened the top drawer, and then leaned her over it until her tits were hanging into the drawer. Then he slammed it on her tits.

She felt her eyes water. It hurt so much – and on top of that, it was so demeaning. These boys could do whatever they wanted with her, and not only could she not prevent it, but her cunt kept telling them that she actually *desired* it, no matter how painful and degrading it was.

“Say thank you, bitch,” said Chris.

“Mmmf,” said Hope.

Chris slammed the drawer on her tits again.

“Say, Miss Moo-Cow,” he said, “would you like be fucked while we torture your tits?”

She suddenly began to struggle again. “Mmmf! Mmmf!” she protested. This exercise was supposed to only be about her tits.

But Chris had a firm grip on her, and she was strapped bent over the desk with her tits in the drawer. He held the drawer closed with one hand, crushing her tits in it, and with the other he felt her pussy.

“Yep – still consenting,” he announced to the class, and there was much laughter.

She heard him unzip his pants – and a moment later, she felt it: the hard warmth of his penis, poking against her wet cunt lips. He probed at the mouth of her fuckhole once, twice – and then he slid inside. 

It was the first time in her life that lesbian Hope had ever had a penis in her pussy – and she couldn’t help but moan with raw pleasure into her gag.

After that, there was nothing she could do to prevent it from happening. Thomas came up to help with the drawer, reaching under her and repeatedly slamming it shut on her tits as hard as he could, while Chris began to rhythmically fuck her pussy. 

She realised she was crying, and she wasn’t even sure why. Was it the pain in her tits? Was it the pleasure in her pussy? Was it the knowledge she was being raped, and that Chris would cum in her, and maybe impregnate her? Was it the shame of her pussy having “consented” to this treatment? Was it the humiliation of seeing that the entire class of boys was *filming* her violation on her phones? Or was it the self-awareness that she allowed herself to reach this point – of being a helpless rape-pig for a class of young men, complicit in her own degradation and the degradation of her gender?

Whichever it was, it didn’t stop her cumming against Chris’ cock. And when the bell rang, and her handcuffs disengaged, she didn’t bother making another attempt to escape. And a few minutes later, when she heard Chris sigh, and felt his dick twitch, and experienced the warm wetness of him ejaculating into her womb, it didn’t stop her from experiencing a second humiliating orgasm from her own possible (though unlikely) impregnation.

She allowed Chris to remove her ball-gag after he pulled out of her, and she immediately said, “Thank you for raping me, sir,” – and to Thomas, “Thank you for disciplining my tits, sir.” And then she fell to her knees and sucked Chris’ cock clean.

She stayed there on the floor, as the boys filed out afterwards. Tomorrow was the weekend, and she would have two days without classes before she needed to return and keep teaching these boys how to treat women as objects. And a large part of her was grateful for that respite.

But she couldn’t deny that a part of her was frustrated – and that part was her mouth, and her cunt, that were still aching with desire even after her rape was over, and counting down the hours until she would be non-consensually violated again….

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