New Phones, who dis? - Sex Stories

New Phones, who dis?

... rhythm. Most of the students stayed during the break to watch Maia’s hypnotic butt swallow phone after phone, while others focused on the cleavage of her breasts pressed against Mr. Beardsley’s legs.

One particularly annoying student was counting out loud the number of phones that were being inserted. “78! 79!”

And an even more particularly annoying student was counting out loud the number of times Maia failed to vocally keep her discomfort in check so the teacher could keep track of how many days his punishment would last. “92! 93!” At least a few of these were caused by Maia's frustration over the blatant bias; these boys had been allowed to speak 172 times without raising their hands.

“126!” The extra enthusiasm was thankfully attributed to this being the last phone.

“123!” Was the moan-counter’s final count. A ridiculous, unfeasible amount of days, but at least she had managed to slow the curve.

Maia’s once flat tummy was like the back of some weird tropical lizard, full of bumps from rounded corners rubbing uncomfortably against Mr. Beardlsey’s jeans. She tried to find the floor with her feet.

“Not so fast, Maia. I still owe you a spanking for speaking without raising your hand earlier.”

“She rolled her eyes, Sir.” Another example of male students being allowed to speak out of turn with impunity.

“Is that so? Then maybe I'll have to spank her twice as hard for twice as long.”

There was only an hour left to the afternoon when Maia was allowed ...

... to sit her tender cushion and its tender hole on her chair. Her panties were still around one of her ankles but bending down to slide them up was not a realistic task at that moment. Her sore butt would have to endure one last torture in the warmth that Mr. Beardsley’s butt left behind.

She couldn’t concentrate on the subject the teacher was rushing through, lost in the braille reading of the bumps through her shirt. Spending the night in school on this chair sounded like a better plan than trying to walk to the buses in time like a hunchback, a hunchfront. The students had one more surprise in store for her. The moment Mr. Beardsley left class, everyone pulled out their secret phone to giggly send one-letter texts. Maia’s intestines lit up in a flurry of shaking motors as she did a spot-on impression of a felon’s last moments in the electric chair. There was now a video of her wetting herself from thirty different angles, videos that would come in useful once she was ready to piece together what happened after parts of her brain checked out, overwhelmed by the intensity of her orgasms.

A few people stopped texting to test if Maia had control over her spasming limbs. Except for the one hand abstractedly going to town on her pussy, they acted like salted slugs that wouldn't do much to protect her breasts if someone was to, say, rip open her shirt to squeeze and massage the goods. Who would believe a moaning girl fingering her pantieless crotch between spread legs was ...