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The project topic for week two was “Ivy’s Porn Star Role Models”.
Archer didn’t provide any further guidance than that, but Ivy guessed that she was not going to get a good grade by highlighting women who had advanced feminist causes or run successful businesses.
Every morning she met Archer in the courtyard and blushingly removed her panties, before pressing them into his hand. Each time he would reach under her skirt and check if her pussy was wet with two fingers.
The first time after that first Monday she wasn’t wet, and his response was to flip up her skirt, bend her over the planter, and spank her ass ten times. Luckily there was almost no one around to see, but after that Ivy took the time to rub her pussy for five minutes behind the science building each morning before approaching Archer.
She was making an effort to wear her least attractive panties – she felt sure that Archer would call her a slut if he saw her in something even slightly provocative – but each time she gave him a pair he would put it in her pocket, and she would never see it again. If this went on she would either have to wear something sexier – or else ask her daddy to buy her more panties, which might lead to a question about why she needed them.
Archer had another cruelty for Ivy each morning – a 1.25 litre bottle of water. He would pass it to her after he had taken her panties and tell her to drink, and he wouldn’t let her go until she obeyed, and finished the entire bottle.
“You need to stay hydrated, after all,” he told her.
The bottle removed any realistic chance of Ivy getting through a school day without having to use the toilet. Most days she needed to go twice. And it was getting harder to find the boys to ask for permission. She suspected they were deliberately avoiding her, to force her to use the alternate option Archer had provided.
They succeeded on Wednesday, when after running futilely around the school all recess, she heard the class bell ring, summoning her back to classes, while her bladder was still bursting.
Crying with frustration and shame, Ivy was forced to run to the most isolated place she could find nearby – the arts block emergency stairwell – and pull up her skirt to show her bare pussy. She held her phone so it would catch both her cunt and her face, and said in a voice so loud it made her quiver with shame, “I’m a stupid cunt. May I piss in the boys’ toilets?”
She sent the resulting video to Archer, and ran to the toilets. She hated that she had done it – that Archer now had a video of her calling herself a cunt and showing her pussy, to keep and distribute however he liked. But she was terrified to break the rules – and as hard as it may be to find one of Archer’s boys when she needed to ask permission, there always seemed to be one outside the toilets when she came out. Watching her. Checking she was being a good girl. If she cheated, they would know – and her punishment would surely be worse than just a spanking or a toilet flushing.
She worked on her new assignment on Wednesday night and Thursday night. She went looking online for porn models. What would Archer want her to choose? Girls who looked like her, with elegant, expensive faces? Or bleached-blonde fake-titted bimbos?
She ended up picking a few of each. She printed out pictures of their faces, and labelled them on her assignment poster with their names. And then there was the matter of the essay.
She thought again about what Archer would want – and then wrote about how these girls were her role models because they looked pretty for men, they entertained men, they were attractive, and they weren’t bitchy to boys.
But when she presented it to Archer on Friday along with her panties, he made a face of disgust.
“God, are you brain-damaged, bitch?” he said. “What the fuck is this?”
She didn’t know how to answer. She knew immediately, instinctively, that she had been very stupid, and she waited to find out how.
“Just faces of these sluts?” he asked. “Does anyone care about their faces? Are they being good role models by not showing their tits and cunts? You’re supposed to be showing them getting treated as they deserve – as you deserve, and as you aspire to be treated. You’re a dumb bitch who deserves to be raped, so show me dumb bitches being raped and tell me how they’re better than you and how you will learn from them.”
He rolled up the poster, and said, “This is another D. You’re really very stupid, bitch. We need to make things harder on you.”
The boys around Archer sniggered.
“You know, you’re not very affectionate, bitch,” said Archer. “Give me a kiss.”
Ivy made the mistake of wrinkling her face.
“That’s one,” said Archer, and Ivy knew it meant a spank on her ass at the end of the day.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said. She awkwardly stepped towards her tormentor. The last thing she wanted to do was kiss this boy she hated, but…
He grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her face towards his. She felt her lips mash against his own, and then his tongue pushed its way into her mouth.
She made a moan of violation and humiliation, and blushed as she realised it must have sounded like a moan of lust.
Archer kissed her harder – and then let her go.
“Every morning from now on, while I check your pussy, you kiss me,” he told her. “You’d better make it feel like you love me and desire me, or else there’ll be consequences.”
He looked around at the other boys. “In fact, I think all my boys deserve affection,” he said. “They can take turns checking your cunt and getting their kiss – a different one each day.”
“Yes, sir,” said Ivy, unhappily.
“Oh, and bitch – is that your daddy who drops you off at school every morning?” asked Archer.
It was.
“Yes, sir,” she said, not liking where this was going.
“I’m warming up to him,” said Archer. “I’m grateful to him sending his bitch here for us to play with. I think you should pass on that gratitude.”
“How, sir?” she asked.
“By kissing him on the lips when he drops you off,” said Archer. “It’s up to you to make him let you. If you don’t do it every morning, or if he prevents you from doing it, you’ll be punished. We’ll be watching.”
“But… he’s my daddy!” protested Ivy.
“That’s another one,” said Archer, warningly. “Don’t talk back to me, bitch. And the fact that you hate it is exactly why it’s happening. Now get out of my sight – and see that the assignment is fixed by Monday.”
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Ivy was honestly terrified of what Archer might do to her if she failed the same assignment twice in a row, so she didn’t hold back on improving the assignment. She found new images of the girls she had chosen – images where they were nude, where their legs were spread, where their fake tits were bouncing, where they had cum on their faces, where they were sucking dicks or being fucked. In a couple, Ivy wasn’t honestly sure the pictures didn’t depict a genuine rape – and she made sure to include those ones, as she knew Archer would like them.
She wrote about how she wanted to be just like these girls. She wanted fake tits. She wanted to look like a fucktoy. She wanted to be fucked by boys whose names she didn’t know, and she wanted them to cum on her face and tits. She wanted them to not care whether she consented or not. She wanted everyone she knew to fantasise about raping her.
She added extra stars and glitter, and signed her name.
She also treated her daddy as homework. She had thought several times of just kissing him on the lips on Monday morning at school – but she felt certain he would react strangely, or push her away – and then she would be in trouble with Archer.
So she went to him on Sunday and said, “Daddy, why don’t you ever kiss me anymore?”
He looked awkward and said something about her being older now, and it not being appropriate.
But she did her best pout and said that she didn’t feel close to her daddy anymore – not since her mother had left, years ago. She didn’t feel affection from her daddy.
She got close to him and sat in his lap and asked if she could kiss him, and looked at him with big eyes. And he blustered and blushed, but eventually said yes – and when he did, she kissed him on the lips.
She had to make him like it. She had to make him want more. So she gave him her sluttiest, most seductive, most sexual kiss, melting into him, pressing her tits against his firm chest, caressing his cheek with her hand, and parting her lips as she kissed him to allow his tongue into her mouth.
He was awkward. He knew it was wrong. But she was sitting on him, and he couldn’t get away without physically pushing her, and after a moment he let it happen.
And a few moments after that, she felt a hardness against her ass. It was her daddy’s erection. His dick was hard from kissing his daughter.
She felt crushing waves of guilt and shame when she realised this. Normal girls didn’t cocktease their daddies. They didn’t make their daddies’ dicks hard. Just her. Just the slut who was letting boys at school feel her pussy.
But she had a job to do.
“We’re going to kiss like that every morning when you drop me off at school, daddy,” she said. “It’s okay to enjoy it. But if you make it weird or awkward, I’m going to ask you why you won’t kiss me. Loudly. Where everyone can hear. So don’t make it weird, okay?”
“Okay, honey,” breathed her father.
And just like that, the issue was solved.
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