Stacey had studied hard to be an accountant, despite her dyscalculia making it a naturally difficult profession for her. She was proud when she graduated and proud when she got a modest job at a small firm, but it was inevitable that her confusion with numbers would catch up to her. A couple of small errors on small clients led to an audit of her work, and the auditors found that despite her degree she was falling below the professional standards required of her.
She was devastated, but the auditors assured her it wasn’t the end of her career. There were maths courses now designed for people with her disability, that could teach her to do simple arithmetic in ways that worked with her brain. If she committed to complete one – such as the one at the Werrick Institute for Disabled Learning – they’d continue her registration, and she could be back at work within a month.
It was not just a mercy, but an opportunity – Stacey could actually overcome her mathematical disability. The Werrick Institute, she learned, offered a variety of very specialised and very experimental live-in courses to treat a range of disabilities. She would check in, spend a month on their hotel-like premises, and come out a new woman – a mathematically capable woman.
Which would all have been fine, were it not for that same confusion with numbers.
In completing the enrolment form, Stacey was supposed to indicate that she wanted to do course 315 – “Mathematics for Dyscalculia”. Instead, she wrote that she wanted to do course 351. She didn’t understand her mistake until it was too late.
She arrived at the institute early on the first morning of the course. She checked her luggage, and signed the various forms and waivers she was passed, agreeing that she would stay on premises for the month and authorising the Institute to notify her sponsors if she left early – which of course would end her career as an accountant. It authorised the Institute to transport and store her belongings, to use force in dealing with “unruly students”, and to prescribe any medication or treatment necessary to allow her to complete the course.
Her first moment of alarm was when she arrived at the classroom for course 351, and saw her fellow students. They were all blonde, like her, and they were all buxom, like her. There were no chairs – they were sitting in a circle on the ground, in front of a male teacher.
“All right, everyone’s here,” said the teacher. “Let’s go round and introduce ourselves. My name is Sir, and I’m the teacher.”
“Good morning, sir!” chorused the girls. Stacey joined in, awkwardly, This seemed strange.
Sir pointed at the first girl in the circle, and she said, “Hi, my name is Tawny Musgrove.”
“Tawny’s a good name for someone like you,” said the teacher. “But I think Musgrove is holding you back. Can anyone think of a better name for Tawny?”
One of the other girls giggled – a distinctly brainless sound – and said, “Tawny Tits.” The other girls laughed and clapped. Tawny blushed.
“Okay!” said the teacher. “Your name is going to be ‘Tawny Tits’ now.” He wrote the embarrassing name on a sticker, and reached over to stick it on the front of Tawny’s shirt, right over her right boob. He squeezed her breast as he did, and Tawny squeaked.
“Hello, Tawny Tits!” chorused the girls.
The next girl said her name was Helen Jones. The teacher told her that “Helen” wasn’t a good name for her, and neither was Jones, and again asked the class for alternatives.
“Cherry!” suggested Tawny
.
“Cherry Tart!” called another girl excitedly.
“Cherry Tart is a good name,” said the teacher, and wrote the name on a sticker and stuck it to formerly-Helen, again being sure to squeeze her boob until she squeaked.
“Hello, Cherry Tart!” called the girls.
It was Stacey’s turn. “My name is Stacey,” she said, “and really I don’t want a different name…”
“Sexy Stacey,” suggested Cherry immediately.
“Slutty Stacey,” said another girl.
“Stupid Stacey,” suggested Tawny Tits, and it was this suggestion that the teacher accepted. He wrote it on the sticker, but Stacey was backing away.
“Come back here, Stupid Stacey,” he said irritably, “or I’ll report that you’re not engaging with the course.”
“I don’t want that name!” she protested. “I’m not stupid!”
“Well, you’re in this class, so of course you are,” he said. “Now, are you going to take the sticker, or are you going to fail out of the course?”
Blushing, angry, Stacey slowly returned to the circle, and let Sir put the sticker on her breast. His squeeze of her boob was deliberate, forceful, and very painful, a punishment for her resistance. He looked in her eyes as he crushed her tender titflesh in his grip, ensuring she got the message. She returned his gaze, and refused to squeak like the other girls.
“Hello, Stupid Stacey!” all the girls called.
Soon all the girls were named – Teasing Tiffany, Moo-cow Mel, and Cockslut Charity all kept their birth names with a demeaning extra word. A late 20-something MILF called Peggy became Brainless Milkballoons. A college student called Joyce was renamed Kitten Cuntfun. And a cute teenager with a thick Moscow accent and an unpronounceable name was told they’d all just call her Russian Fuckdoll.
“Good girls,” the teacher said once they were done.
“Thank you, Sir!” chorused the girls. Stacey stayed silent, confused and humiliated.
“Now you all get your first treat!” said the teacher, and the door opened, and two staff came in. They began distributing little cups to each of the girls. Stacey took hers, and found it full of a sticky white liquid. She sniffed it.
“Sir,” she said, “what is this?”
“It’s your treat!” he said. As he spoke, the other girls were eagerly drinking from their cups. Some of them held the liquid in their mouths and turned and kissed the girl next to them. Stacey saw Milkballoons sip from her cup and then passionately tongue kiss Cockslut. The girls used their tongues to push the sticky fluid back and forth between their mouths, until eventually Cockslut swallowed it, then drank from her own cup and returned the favour, feeding it to Milkballoons mouth-to-mouth like a bird feeding its chick.
“But what *is* it?” Stacey asked.
“It’s your favourite food, Stupid Stacey!” said the teacher. “Men’s cum! And it’s mixed with a few little drugs, to help you get addicted to it, and get extra horny, and to make you more stupid and obedient so you won’t have to think as much.”
She recoiled in horror. “Cum? What do you mean? What kind of class is this?”
“It’s course 351 – Happiness for Bimbos,” said the teacher. “Why?”
“I don’t belong here!” said Stacey. “I’m not a bimbo!”
“Well, of course you are, Stupid Stacey,” the teacher said patiently and slowly, as if she were a child or a pet. “You’re blonde, and you have big tits, and you’re stupid.”
“I’m not stupid!” Stacey protested.
“Then what’s 35 divided by 7?” the teacher asked.
Stacey paused, blushing. She knew it was easy but the numbers refused to arrange themselves in her head. “Three?” she guessed. “No – six?”
The teacher laughed. “Oh, Stupid Stacey, you’re such a bimbo,” he said. “Tawny Tits, Moo-cow – could you girls help me hold Stacey down so I can feed her her treat?”
Stacey tried to run, but the big-titted girls grabbed her and held her down. The teacher held her nose shut until she opened her mouth, and then poured the drug-laced sperm in and made her swallow. It tasted awful at first – but moments after she swallowed, she felt a warm glow spreading through her.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he told her. “That’s the drugs. Soon you’ll feel very horny and stupid and happy . And you’ll need that feeling every day, because it’s addictive. And every day we’ll put a little less of the drug in your sperm, until you associate the feeling and the need with the cum itself, and the taste of cum will make you happy and dumb and slutty.”
She *did* feel dumb and slutty. It was hard to think. Her cunt was wet. The girls released her, and she didn’t move.
“All right girls,” said the teacher, returning to his seat. “Now it’s your favourite part of the lesson – exposing your tits! Everyone bare your fuckbags, and then we’ll go around and get each girl to explain why she deserves to be raped. The girl with the best explanation will be allowed to masturbate in class.”
The drugs were strong. Stupid Stacey’s pussy was so wet. Masturbating sounded good. She tried to think. She knew she was stupid, but surely she could think of some good reasons she deserved to be raped. Maybe she could talk about how stupid she was… or maybe she would talk about how she was starting to stare at Russian Fuckdoll’s bare tits, and what she was fantasising about doing with them…
===
Want more tales of humiliating education? Check out my e-book Lessons in Lust, available for only $4.99 USD at AllTheseRoadworks.com! Your purchase supports me to pay the bills and keep writing hot new free erotica! (Click here to view in store.)
===