*This was my idea,* I reminded myself as I looked in the mirror.
I continued getting ready by pulling my rainbow tinted hair up into thick curly pigtails. My makeup was light, typical of a teenage girl just permitted to use the products. My lips were a light pink with a gentle shine from gloss, my cheeks a soft rose, barely even discernible, and my eyes were layered in the lightest of pinks and tans with a thin black liner to highlight their shape.
My top was well-fitted, not too tight, but tight enough that my body was well defined underneath it. It was a plain white button up and it lay with a perfect collar around my neck, the top two buttons undone and a violet tie with a school emblem on it hung loosely from my neck and tucked under the collar. I adjusted the violet pleated skirt and took a deep breath before I finished buttoning up my top and tightening the tie. I slipped a short violet blazer on, grabbed my backpack, and headed out the door.
I walked down the street knowing all eyes were on me thanks to the vibrantly shaded curls in my hair. I may as well have placed a target on my back for creeps and perverts in the area. But I was making a statement. Taking a stand against something I found unfair in school policy. Boys were not restricted from dying their hair any color they chose, owing to the tradition of putting violet streaks in their hair come playoff time for both the football and basketball teams. The girls were not allowed the same privilege, even the cheerleaders were not permitted to change their natural hair color.
So I knew this would turn heads, and I knew I was going to get in trouble, possibly even suspended, and completely ruin my reputation as “the good girl” in our school. But I was a senior, graduation was two weeks away, and I was angry. Two weeks prior an underclassman had dyed her hair a slightly lighter shade than her normal color. It was not drastic, it was not bold or distracting, it was literally a dark blonde instead of a light brown. She was suspended for three days and was not permitted to make up any tests she missed, dropping her GPA to half a point below her needed score to maintain her scholarship.
It was a needless show of power over a 15-year-old girl because her grandmother took her to get highlights put in her hair for her upcoming 16th birthday. So today I would dare them to do the same to me. I’m not on scholarship. My father is an alumni of the school and for my entire duration here they have bent over backwards to help me succeed simply because he was rich and they were shoulder deep in his pockets.
I approached the school and saw the students whispering and leaning towards each other, some pointed at me, some just smirked in approval, most just stepped back and cleared the way. I made my way up the front stairs and was greeted by a scowling principal. I simply stood there until he moved aside and let me pass. And he did let me pass.
A few of my female teachers grinned when they saw me, one even gave me a high five, subtly, as I walked by her classroom. A couple of my male teachers scowled or shook their head, and one nodded in approval, and a couple held their clipboards a little lower than normal. There was half an hour left in our school day when I finally got the call to the principal’s office I’d been waiting for.
I walked in, ready to defiantly plead my case and stress the ridiculous treatment of my friend. But when I walked in my father was standing behind the principal’s desk, his arms crossed over his chest. The principal sat next to him, a smug smile on his face, tipping his mustache up until his nose slightly. I looked to my father and, though my confidence waned slightly, I held my ground.
“The policy on hair dye is archaic and sexist and I think it’s time to rectify that,” my voice wavered slightly but I stood tall and I looked the principal in the eye the entire time I spoke.
“Miss Timmons, you signed a code of conduct acknowledging the rule at the beginning of the year. It is not a negotiation. I know this is because of the outcome of Rachel’s case, but I assure you, she was offered numerous opportunities to rectify the situation without affecting her GPA in any way and she refused. I’ve spoken to the board of directors about her situation in particular and we’ve decided to allow her a make-up test for the ones that lowered her GPA as a show of cooperation,” Mr. Smith looked me over and wiped some beading sweat from his forehead as he turned to my father. “Mr. Timmons, I’m afraid I cannot let this blatant display of rebellion go unpunished or…”
My father held up his hand to quiet the principal and looked me in the eye, “Kara, I’m disappointed in you. I’m assuming it was your mother who took you to get that,” he motioned to my hair, “done to you?”
I nodded. They’d been divorced since I was five and I rarely ever saw my dad unless he needed a kid to parade around near him to show he was a ‘family man.’
He nodded and looked back to the principal, “So, we’re in agreement then? Five?”
The principal’s eyes went up and down my body and I scowled as he looked back to my dad, “We are. Five PM Saturday, and her hair is to be returned to its natural color.”
My father nodded, the bell rang and my classmates all fled the school as they often did. My father took me by the hand after the rush of students died down and pulled me out to the car with him. I pulled my hand away and glared, “It’s not a fair policy and you know it,” I complained.
He nodded, “It’s not. I 100% agree with you. But not all policy is fair. It’s a fact of life and rebellion gets you fired, not praised as a leader of change. You’re living a fucking fairy tale, Kara, and now…” He sighed and looked away from me as he pulled out of the school parking lot.
It was a silent ride back to mom’s house and I knew it would end in a fight between them, and it did. He told her about Saturday and insisted he would come get me and take me there himself whether I wanted him to or not. I was to be ready by three and no later.
I moped about and my mom tried to console me over it. I felt utterly defeated. She held me and stroked my hair, trying to reassure me, “Well, you want to be a teacher, perhaps one day you will take over for that old ass-hat and you can change the policy for the girls then.”
I laughed, “Yeah, five generations out I’ll make a hell of a difference for them,” my lip quivered and I started crying.
Over the next few days my mom took me back to the salon where my hair was carefully stripped. Thankfully it was just a matter of stripping temporary dye from my blonde hair, so my hair wasn’t damaged by the stunt. I looked in a mirror after it was done and realized blonde hair was so fucking boring. I missed the colors already and soon as I was out of that ass-backwards school, I would piss my father off as much as humanly possible.
When dad came to pick me up on Saturday, I’d say my effort was set to minimum. I wore jeans and a t-shirt and pulled my hair back into a pony-tail and wore no make-up. I didn’t much see the point considering this seemed like it was going to be a forced community service gig to teach me how “sinful” hair dye was and how it would ruin my reputation and color me as someone promiscuous and rape-able. Because that’s all that fucking school did to us. Shame and sin for the girls, Lust and power for the boys. Little did my very Baptist father know, I was an Atheist with mom’s blessing.
“Kara, what possessed you to do something like that?” Dad asked when he saw me with my hair back to its normal dark honey shade.
I shrugged, “I think it’s ridiculous that boys aren’t restricted from dying their hair but girls are. They can’t even dye it other natural shades and the boys don’t get in trouble for purple? How is that remotely fair?”
He glanced over at me then turned his attention back to the road, “The only girls who dye their hair are…”
I scoffed and interrupted him in a mocking tone, “…are harlots and Jezebels. That’s a load of shit, dad and you know it. Even Christ would tell you you’re being a sexist dick.”
My dad’s cheeks flushed with anger as he gripped the steering wheel, “Well, I guess we’ll see.”
He took me back to his house and threw my school uniform at me as I walked in the door, “Go shower and get dressed, adhere to the dress code, your hair in long curls, light makeup and proper underclothing. We leave in an hour,” he snapped at me as he went into his den and slammed the door.
I could have screamed. I ran up to “my room” which was pretty much just a showroom that I slept in when dad didn’t want to drop me back off at home after a function. Sure, it had clothes in it and they were my size, but they were not my clothes. They were all long skirts and dresses, the clothes my father wanted me to wear.
I smirked and tiptoed down the hall to my dad’s bedroom and went through Alyssa’s dresser. She was about my size and I absolutely knew she didn’t adhere to dad’s strict dress code. I wasn’t disappointed as I found a gorgeous white lace bra and thong set with pale pink tied ribbon closures at the nipples and crotch. This could be my secret rebellion for the night.
I went back to my room and got ready as instructed, with the exception of wearing my step-mother’s panties and bra. I went downstairs and waited for dad by the door. He looked flustered as he left the den and grabbed our coats. He threw mine at me and we were out the door and headed to the school. Along the ride he kept glancing over at me. He looked almost remorseful, but with a strange angry scowl.
We pulled up at the school and he sighed, “Just do what you’re told and everything will be fine, okay?”
I furrowed my brow at him, “No, it won’t. Everything will be the same misogynistic bullshit, but it will not be fine,” I shot back at him.
We got out of the car and he walked with me into the school and towards my homeroom class. He opened the door, I walked in and he shut the door behind me. In the room I was met by the school principal, three other men I recognized as being board members for the school, and my homeroom teacher. I sat in the chair my teacher motioned to and waited for them to tell me what I had to do to repent for my sins or whatever.
Mr. Baker, my teacher, looked to the principal and nodded. Mr. Smith, my principal sat on the desk in front of me and motioned to the three board members, “Miss Timmons, we have come to the conclusion that your apology for usurping the rules will suffice as punishment.”
I laughed, “I’m not apologizing, I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Mr. Smith smiled and stood up, walking over next to me. He and Mr. Baker grabbed my wrists and lifted me from my seat. I pulled at my wrists and kicked my feet as they lifted me off the ground. The three board members walked over to me, the two younger ones, younger meaning 50-years-old rather than the 70 the other one was pushing, grabbed my ankles and held me still. The older man pulled out a bible and held it up in front of me.
“So you understand, Mrs. Timmons, community service comes in many forms. To end your service to us, you need to simply apologizing for attempting to humiliate us by thumbing your finger at our rules,” The man reached towards me and loosened the tie from around my neck. He un-knotted it until it was just a straight piece of fabric then began tying it around the wrist that Mr. Baker held. He walked behind me and pulled my arm tightly behind my back until I cried out in pain and Mr. Smith twisted my other arm back to the older man, who tied that wrist as well.
The two board members put me back on the ground and pushed me down to my knees. I was silent, but my lip quivered as I looked from one of their faces to another as they surrounded me. The older board member bent down in front of me and began to unbutton my shirt. I was breathing heavily as I began to panic and he simply smiled at me as he pushed my shirt off of my shoulders. Mr. Smith gathered my shirt around my forearms and further bound my arms behind my back.
I had tears streaming down my cheeks as the older man reached his hand out to trace his finger along my cheek, “You understand now?” he asked me with a smile.
I scowled and stayed silent.
He looked at my bra and wagged his finger at me, “Naughty minx, it looks like you were hoping for a stern punishment.”
He pulled at the lace ties and pushed the fabric away from my nipples, which hardened almost instantly in the cool classroom. The older man grabbed my jaw and pulled my face up towards him, “Are you ready to apologize yet, Miss Timmons?”
I narrowed my eyes and scowled. He nodded with a little laugh, “Well, she didn’t say no, did she boys?”
The rest of the group laughed and the older man of the bunch grabbed my jaw and pried it open as he unfastened his pants. He started to shove his cock in my face but pulled back for just a moment, “If you bite me I will hand you back to your daddy in pieces, understand?”
I looked away from him and lost some of my defiance as he pushed his already hard cock to the back of my mouth and forced it down my throat as I gagged. Mr. Smith held me by the back of the neck. Mr. Baker stood to my right and started stroking his own cock as he watched this old man gag me until he was certain I was going to throw up. He pulled himself free of me and one of the other board members held a bucket, the other held my hair back, and it became apparent to me that I was not the first girl this has happened to.
I wretched and they wiped my mouth and gave me some water to rinse my mouth with. They looked at me and smiled, “Remember, all you have to do to end it is apologize.”
I coughed and gagged and the old man grabbed my jaw and pushed himself down my throat again. I could feel my throat spasming as it tried to keep this man out of it, but it only seemed to excite him as he took a few more deep and painful thrusts and spurted a thick goopy white cream into the back of my throat.
He pulled his cock out of my mouth and I gagged and tried to spit it out but he grabbed my jaw and held it closed, lifting my head, he looked me in the eye, “Swallow it or drown in it.”
I gagged and sputtered, some of it forced its way through my lips, but most of it was choked down. One of the other board members, a man in his late 50s with salt and pepper hair came up to me. He rubbed my throat and ran his hand over my cheek, wiping away some of my tears. I shook my head and whimpered, but he just smiled at me and shoved his cock in my mouth.
My tongue tried to block it, but it just managed to push his foreskin away from the head, causing me to gag on the taste of a not-recently-washed cock. He cupped my chin in his hand and guided my head down over his cock. My fingers were flexing and trying to loosen my binding but I think I was just tightening them. I whined and he moaned as he fucked my face much more slowly than the old man had.
His cock was thicker than the old man’s had been, but not as long as his had been, so while he stretched my lips, he didn’t choke me by ramming himself down the back of my throat. His cock rested on my tongue and he angled himself in such a way that he was rubbing against it. It took him longer, but he came in my mouth too. Unlike the old man, he held my mouth open after and made me hold his cum on my tongue as the last board member came over. I was crying and the second guy told me I could spit it out or swallow it. It was bitter and had already been in my mouth for long it was just easier for me to choke it down than it was for me to let it flow down my tongue again in order to spit it out.
The third board member looked down at me, his features were much softer than the other two. He was probably closer to 45 than 50. He knelt down in front of me and looked me in the eye, “Are you ready to apologize yet?”
I sobbed and averted my eyes and it wasn’t long before I felt his cock, just as thick as the second guy’s and just as long as the first’s, push past my lips. I gagged and he moved slowly. Where the others had guided their cocks into my mouth, he maneuvered my head and lifted my chin to guide my lips over his cock. He wasn’t circumcised either, but his cock tasted of water so I knew he had to have recently washed himself. He was much gentler than the first two and I found that after a few minutes my tongue was circling his cock and he wasn’t moving my lips towards him so much as I was.
I looked up to him, eagerness in my eyes as he smiled at me and stroked my hair, “I don’t think she’s going to apologize at all guys…” he said as he grabbed a handful of my hair and held his cock down my throat until the last rope dribbled off. He pulled himself free and smiled as he saw the blush spreading across my cheeks.
Mr. Smith was a disgusting and creepy-looking 60ish year old. His hair was much more grey and black, and he had that nasty mustache that made him look like the kind of guy your mom warned you about as a kid. He walked over in front of me and I opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue. He was a little too eager as his dick just touched my tongue and he shot his load across my my lips and cheek.
When Mr. Baker came to stand in front of me, I repeated the motion I had done with Mr. Smith. Mr. Baker was a different kind of experience though. He wasn’t an old man. He was maybe in his late 30s and he was fit with dark brown hair and bright blue eyes. He was the kind of teacher girls fantasized over. I eagerly took his cock in my mouth and he almost had to push me back to keep me from gagging myself on his dick.
He grabbed my hair to pull me back and smiled as I looked up at him and pushed myself forward still. He was blushing and bit his lip as I wrapped my tongue around the head of his cock and tilted my head to let him easily slide into my tight throat. He made some slow and gentle thrusts and I moaned, which was just enough vibration from my throat to get him to pull my hair and cum down my throat.
He pulled away and walked back to the other guys and I sat back on my heels and waited. I was not going to apologize. Then I felt another hand on my cheek and turned towards it to see my dad standing beside me with his cock in his hand.
My lip trembled and I looked up at him, “Daddy?”
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/abt4f5/rebellion_part_1_teachers_oral_dubious_consent