Rachel's ReEducation

Chapter One-2

Rachel’s mouth was dry as cotton. Blinking, she swallowed uncomfortably, acutely conscious of the eyes of all her classmates smirking down at her.

“If I recall, Rachel,” continued her professor, “you seem particularly keen to get down on your hands and knees before the crowd of naked males, open up those pretty red lips of yours, and get f****d on both ends at once. As anonymous hands reach in to grope and fondle and tug at your fiercely aroused breasts, you would gulp at one swollen purple cockhead, happily, as another mindless erection hammers beneath your upraised haunches, until semen pours down your throat as copiously as it oozes from the dilated lips of your overexcited cunt.”

Slowly she shook her head. “But I wouldn’t,” she whispered. “Not really…”

Professor McEvers smiled placidly into her face. “And during high school you secretly longed to be seduced by one of your mother’s best female friends, a statuesque and always very amiable woman who at the time would have been perhaps thirty-five or forty. She had shining honey-blonde hair, short and spunky, and sparkling green eyes that always made you wonder if maybe, just maybe she might be open to a little bi-curious experimentation.”

“But she was married and had kids,” Rachel tried to protest. “She was straight! I knew she was straight—”

“Well, you were straight, too,” commented McEvers patiently, “but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t have done just about anything to get the chance to make out with her if you thought you could get away with it. In fact, it was your particular wish,” he reminded her, leering, “to service this regal lady in the living room while the rest of the two families attended a barbecue in the backyard, unknowing. In the deliciously naughty incongruity of some languorous dream, you imagined the forbidden act taking place almost beneath the very noses of the unconcerned revelers. Parents and siblings and friends might laugh and cavort so close by, just on the other side of a single pane of plate glass, but somehow no one would notice sweet little Rachel’s public depravity.”

McEvers’ eyes twinkled, and Rachel could only swallow uncomfortably.

“You would present yourself to her naked except for a collar of red ribbon tied around your throat,” he continued, “while she would be fully dressed in an immaculate business suit of pinstriped charcoal. As she lifted her skirts and pulled her heels up about her hips on the couch that faced the sliding glass doors to a crowded patio, you would kneel reverently before her, breathing deep of her salty, intimate scent. Eyes bright, you might lick your lips without even realizing it, and perhaps run your fingertips contemplatively along the puckered points of your virginal young nipples.”

McEvers smiled. “And yet perhaps you might pose and preen there for a moment as well, teasing yourself just as much as you teased her as you pretended to be hesitant and shy and suddenly uncertain. Blinking coquettishly, you might murmur some platitudinous protest, thrilling all the while to the desire burning in your neighbor’s hungry face. Softly, then, trying to conceal her eagerness, the woman would have to convince you all over again, to praise your beauty, and tell you how much you excited her. On and on she would whisper and coo, as you posed and preened and flirted, nude and desirable before her. Smirking, you eventually would allow yourself to be seduced, and you would bury your flushed eighteen-year-old face gratefully in her hairy wet cunt and, whimpering in your inexpressible delight, lick her to a shrieking orgasm.”

“But I didn’t,” Rachel said softly. “I didn’t. I would never—”

“And yet you were secretly attracted to this woman, were you not?” he pressed her. “You contrived endlessly to glance down her blouse or sneak a peek at her long smooth legs as she bent to retrieve her keys or some such. You liked to gaze at her pretty face as she talked, imagining how those eyes might widen at the sight of your nude young body as you coyly exposed yourself before her, imagining what those lips would feel like as they finally descended hungrily upon your throat, your mouth, your wildly rigid nipples.”

Wide-eyed in her shame, Rachel could only shake her head slowly with a mute, scarcely believed denial.

“Well,” shrugged McEvers mildly, “that is what your own handwritten s*x-diary claims. You reported that during your teenaged years this particular lesbian seduction was perhaps your favorite fantasy, one to which you m*********d countless times—and not merely during your usual bout of bedtime self-indulgence.” He c****d an eyebrow roguishly. “In fact, if the written testimony is to be believed, you spied upon the unsuspecting woman repeatedly as she sunbathed on drowsy summer afternoons. You studied the long curves of her mature, womanly body, her rounded shoulders and the fuzzy nape of her neck, the shape of those hips that veritably begged to be grabbed, the smooth warm pillars of her thighs that glistened with sweat. What you particularly enjoyed, however, was when she rolled over on her belly, and as the woman’s plump bottom stuck up alluringly, she would reach behind her back to untie her halter top, and the sides of her heavy bosoms would spill out from beneath her, so full and jiggly and tempting. You would squat by your upstairs window, your hairy wet p***y open and swollen and smelly beneath your feverish fingertips as you tried to see how many times you could bring yourself closer and closer to orgasm before you finally had to give in and bring your dirty reverie to its welcome end.”

Rachel licked her dry lips, looking slowly around the room at the eager, leering faces that ringed her about.

“And then,” said her professor mockingly, “there is perhaps my own personal favorite of all your many naughty fantasies. You wish to be abducted by three men in an automobile who strip you bare, tie your hands behind your back, and masturbate you relentlessly until you can no longer resist.”

Rachel’s eyes were wide, silently pleading, but McEvers’ voice continued matter-of-factly. “You begin by begging with them to let you go, but they merely laugh and chuckle to one another about how long they have gone without s*x—ten, twenty, thirty days!—just so they will be able to be particularly merciless in their demands upon this lovely young victim. Leering, they expose themselves to you so that you may see how desperate their fat red erections are, how hopeless is any petition for mercy. Their organs thrust straight up in their excitation, thick and trembling, already oozing… At the sight of those veiny shafts, those sperm-heavy balls, those swollen purple cockheads, you fall silent. Biting your lip, you realize that you will have no option but to submit to whatever indignities these brutes chance to imagine.” The professor smiled.

“The three drive you to some secluded trail in the woods,” he went on, “and their hands and mouths travel all over your bare body. Soon, despite your fear and your shame and your nagging inhibitions, you grow aroused, and you find yourself writhing in the back seat among them, longing for ever greater intimacies.”

McEvers nodded solemnly. “Eventually, of course, your captors make you beg to be handled, and you do, shamelessly! For hours they tease and tantalize your whorish flesh, squeezing your smooth pale breasts, kissing your wanton mouth, stroking the glistening black fur beneath your palpitating belly, sticking their smelly fingers to the hilt in every hole. Naked and sweaty in your bondage, agitated beyond belief, you whimper so prettily that they grant you the first of many orgasms, negligently. Laughing at what a sluttish cunt you have revealed yourself to be, they masturbate you over and over and over again in all the weird and shameful ways which their inventive minds can imagine.”

Rachel tried to shake her head, tried to say that she had never written such things—and yet no words could escape her frozen throat, for the ideas came back to her as clearly recognizable as her own signature, her own photograph. She could not escape, not even from the shame of her own forbidden fantasies. The eyes that surrounded her burned eagerly down upon her exposed flesh.

“After they ravish you methodically,” continued McEvers, “the men finally take out their frustrations by m**********g themselves all over your face. Still bound helpless before them, your suddenly untouched flesh cries out wordlessly in its hunger, and, gasping, you beg for whatever defilement they can give you. You whimper, you plead, and you tell them how much you need to taste the frothing goop which the sight, the feel, the very smell of your body will force them to squirt. Their phalluses are red and engorged, and you watch doe-eyed as the urgent things jerk faster and faster in demanding male fists.”

McEvers smiled briefly at the bright verbal tapestry he wove. “Finally, of course, those roping veins twitch, and the drizzling tips of those great purpled cockheads begin to spasm, and then all at once your pretty face is soaked, spurt after spurt of their semen churning and spattering all over your flushed visage. Cooing, you gurgle and slurp, bubbling the sour mouthfuls theatrically, and you gulp and gulp as they pour out their lusts upon you. Each man soils you two or three or even four times, grunting, and you lie drowsily between them, sweaty and spread-legged and fulfilled, with your trembling belly full of their c*m. When at long last they finally are done, they drive you back to town and, with your hands still bound behind your back, they leave you standing naked on a busy street corner with the gooey strings of their sperm dangling from your flushed countenance.”

Mortified, she stared helplessly back at him. It was intolerable that anyone should know these terrible, forbidden thoughts! And yet now she was naked not only physically but emotionally as well, for her professor had bared the dirty, secret thoughts of her very soul. This man was naked, too, of course, yet whereas her nakedness was one of helpless vulnerability; his nakedness seemed based upon unquestioned authority. She was, he had to know, his to command.

As she bit her lip uncertainly before him, her professor twisted the dusky nubbins of her n*****s idly between cruel fingers and thumbs, sending a strange tremor running down to the soft places brooding beneath her fluttering belly. Addressing the others and yet staring all the while into Rachel’s wide, dark eyes, he said, “Well, class? What do you make of such fantasies?”

“I think she must have a very low self-esteem,” said one of her classmates, a boy that Rachel herself had pegged as a rather smarmy kiss-up.

“It’s not that!” she found herself gasping defensively. “It’s just—” Under McEvers’ bland stare, she stopped, flushing.

“It’s just a natural experimentation, you were going to say, perhaps?” he wondered. Idly he toyed with her sensitive n*****s, making her shiver in unwanted arousal before him. “I would concur. And, really, Mr. Smith,” he said reproachfully to the smarmy young man, “is that what an undergraduate education is worth these days? Anyone with a true academic’s attention for details would see that the slinky young Rachel is not some abused piece of trailer trash. She is,” he added, eying her judiciously, “merely an imaginative and healthy young girl who dreams of fulfillment she could never dare speak aloud.”

“B-b-but according to Dr. Villanova’s framework of sexualization,” protested the one called Smith, sputtering, “such exhibitionistic tendencies are often associated with some sort of early-childhood abuse that—”

This time McEvers actually turned his head, and he fixed the young man with an icy stare. “Concept-juggling does not the truth make,” he reminded Smith, “for no matter how tidy the labels and pigeonholes may seem, they are still merely arbitrary labels and pigeonholes.” As his two doctoral students smirked and the rest of the class looked on in frozen silence, McEvers upbraided the youngster thoroughly. “In addition, of course, it is not enough to say, as you perhaps have read in textbooks or even in journal articles, that one thing is associated with another. This is an unfortunate convention of the writings of our profession, an over-cautiousness that often obscures true meaning.” In his irritation his fingers grew rough upon the sensitive points of Rachel’s breasts, and, unheeded, she shivered and gasped out the humiliating, unwanted pleasure that her poor body could not deny. “Causation,” he intoned precisely to Smith. “Causation. What exactly is caused by what, and how do we know?” He sniffed with disdain. “This jargon association which too often students ape actually explains nothing.”