School for Nurses (10 page)

‘This is who I am,' Darren said, and flung the sheet back to reveal a truly impressive hard-on that launched proudly up from his lap. Its thick length was a lovely pink with a warm purple tip, and it looked like it was positively aching to be taken in.

‘What do you want me to... to do?' Miss Smith asked weakly.

‘Do you want to show us what you are, and then show us what you do with what we are?' Darren asked quietly, almost respectfully, his eyes intensely earnest.

‘What do you want?' she repeated desperately, helplessly, but she already knew, of course. She reached out her hand to him.

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand down, and over a hundred wide eyes watched as he forced her down onto her knees beside his bed. ‘Show me,' he said, ‘what you think of who I am.'

She looked at him, and he looked back at her where she cowered, nearly naked on the floor of a boys' dorm, and slowly lowered her face over the tumescent head of his beautiful cock. He groaned in anticipation, and fifty torches converged on her face as she parted her lightly painted lips and slipped his helmet between them. After that, there was no closing her mouth or turning back. She sucked Darren Coombes off in front of two sixth forms of teenage boys.

And that wasn't all she did. Although she sucked as gently as she possibly could, hoping to pull her mouth off in time, Darren gripped her neck firmly when his groin began pulsing, and to her horror, Miss Smith found herself swallowing mouthful after mouthful of her pupil's cum in front of all his peers. And then she fell flat on her bum next to his bed, her legs spread wide, when he pushed her away from him.

But she still had plenty more mortifications to endure. After Darren Coombes had come he made her take her panties off anyway, as she had known he would. Then he made her bend over the end of his bed as each individual boy stepped up to get a close look at her pussy. She held herself perfectly still while they each shone their torch right on her vulva, but didn't touch her. That was the deal, that there wouldn't be any touching. No one but Darren was allowed to touch her. The deal was that Miss Smith would bend over the bed while they all got a good long look at her quim, and then they would all get to watch while Darren fucked her, sitting on a chair, in the middle of the dorm.

First he took her from behind, still bent over the bed, then he sat down on the chair and she mounted him. After that she stood on a small table, also strategically placed in the middle of the dorm, as he fingered her pussy and subjected her to her first public orgasm.

Then Darren spanked her. ‘Just to make it official who's teaching who, miss,' he said. She had no choice but to bend over the bed again and take ten of the best from Darren, administered one buttock at a time, with his slipper. The sound of the rubber sole smacking against her cheeks echoed through the dormitory as more than fifty boys counted the strokes out loud while she sobbed and bit the pillow to stifle her cries.

She was sure the headmaster would finally hear something as, after her punishment, Darren shoved her onto her back across his bed and entered her again. He fucked her furiously, with at least ten boys standing around them and a mass of others lining up behind them trying to get a good view, all of them breathing hard and shifting restlessly with every groan she made.

And then she was coming again and found herself begging, with Darren's name on her lips, to be allowed to show them something more, anything they wanted. Which is how Miss Smith found herself lying facedown on that school bed as the first of the fifty boys, at Darren's instruction, dropped his pyjama bottoms and spread her cheeks to take his turn.

 

 

Sarah Thomas was a boxer. At the age of twenty, with glorious long blonde hair and a pair of breasts you could park a mini on, you would have taken her for a model or a dancer, but the truth was that her profession was beating other young women up - all her female colleagues in the boxing game, that is. A lithe and limber lioness, she took on all challengers at the gym, her head hidden inside a padded helmet, her strong but slender body gleaming with perspiration as she spun and jabbed and hit. At the end of her third consecutive year in the amateur league, Sarah was getting ready to fight her first professional match for a major purse, and she was to fight a man. It happened like this...

 

Sarah's new gym, which she joined as she moved up in the ring, was attended mostly by men. This was not unusual. With the exception of the first youth club where she learned to box, and the girls had their own allotted nights to themselves, all the gyms she ever trained in were mostly full of men. Joining was not difficult, as most facilities came equipped with a girls' loo somewhere on the premises, and that was where she changed into her workout clothes in comfortable privacy. Her post-workout shower was more of a problem. The men didn't like it if she accidentally caught a glimpse of their limp cocks when she entered after a shouted warning, and they especially resented having to let her have the shower room all to herself. If somebody tried to get a peek at her, or cop-a-feel as she walked by, she knew from experience that a professional punch in the mouth, delivered with all the force of an indignant twenty-year-old who hit fifty-pound bags for a living, usually left a bruise the size of a small cauliflower and earned her a muttered apology, after which the unfortunate sod never troubled her again.

As for the looks she got, frankly, she enjoyed those. There was power in being the only girl wrapped in a towel, or dressed in skimpy shorts and a vest, walking through a gym full of sweating men reeking of testosterone. There was power in knowing that not one of them would have the nerve to raise a hand, let alone a penis, in her direction, not after the first one who tried got a black eye for his trouble.

Of course, they didn't like her. They glanced at her toned assets as she showered, and then skittered back all wet and clean and smelling of perfumed soap, to the ladies' bathroom to dress, with a mixture of irritation and barely controlled lust.

Looking back, it was only a matter of time before she ran into someone like Robbie Carlton. He was a champion in decline, but a champion nonetheless. She vaguely remembered some fight she had seen him in on television when she was a girl, during the upward swing of his career, where he'd beaten some poor skinny rival within an inch of his life. All by the rules, of course; if they don't quit, they have to be hit until they fall down. She had never followed his career, as such, but she remembered him well enough to recognise his face when she entered the new gym she was promoted to when she left the amateurs and moved to London. He had a streak of grey in his sideburns that gave the impression a flame had singed his tight curls, and there were faint bags under his eyes, but his body was as firm and muscled as it had been when he was twenty, and she recognised the look in his eyes immediately.

They were the weary eyes of someone who has killed people in the ring.

She saw him when she was sauntering through the gym in her vest and shorts for the first time. He looked up from lacing his boots when an uncanny silence fell over the large room as nearly all the men fighting and exercising stopped what they were doing to watch her. She nodded at him, and he said in a loud voice, ‘What will they let in here next, bloody boxing cats?'

There was a roar of derisive male laughter, and she bit her lip.

Later, in the shower, she took her time washing her hair, and no one bothered her. For once she didn't have to hit anyone to secure her privacy. On her way to the ladies' room wrapped in her towel, she saw that most of the men were still out on the floor, including Robbie Carlton, who was busy taping up his hands. She paused for a moment, a few feet away from him where he stood at his locker, and then she slowly walked right by him.

Water dripped from her bare thighs, and her breasts were swelling dangerously out of the towel she had wrapped tightly around herself, so that only her hands holding it up covered the rosy half-moons of her nipples. ‘At least the cat can still bite,' she said loudly enough for everyone to hear. ‘At least the cat can still move.'

There was a shocked intake of breath all around as Carlton looked up from taping his hand at her lovely and determined face. His copper-coloured eyes stared right through her and sent a hot thrill down her spine that sparked a debilitating warmth in her pussy, which tightened deliciously as his mouth hardened angrily. Then it was war.

 

Two days later she found a note in her letterbox from the gym membership board. Her request for guest membership was denied. Her fee would be returned to her by cheque under separate cover the following week.
Other members have complained
, the letter said.
Significant and important voices in the club raised fierce objections to your presence
.

When she walked back out into the gym that afternoon, Robbie was there, standing amongst a group of men, and this time he was in the process of pulling off his shirt. He was some six feet tall and built of steel. She walked right up to him in her short skirt, high-heels and low-cut blouse, and she felt strangely naked when he looked her straight in the eye. She thrust the note towards him. ‘Are
you
the significant voice?' she demanded.

He folded his shirt very neatly before he looked at her again. ‘Girls can't box very well,' he replied. ‘In fact, they're no good at it.'

‘Oh, really, what
are
we good at?' she snapped, balling her hands into fists and crumpling the offending note in the process.

‘Fucking, sometimes,' he replied in a husky, insulting voice, ‘although in your case I might make an exception.'

‘You...!' but she couldn't think of a scathing enough insult to hurl at him. She wanted to beat her fists against his rock-hard chest and smash his arrogant nose. ‘
You
couldn't beat a girl!' she said finally. ‘You couldn't hit your way through the little silver handbag I take dancing!'

‘Why should I? I don't need a fist to put you down, love. You need another part of me altogether.'

The men gathered around him laughed.

Sarah blushed red as she furiously raised a fist.

‘Be careful with that,' he said, smiling, ‘you might hit something.'

‘I'll beat you!' she challenged. ‘Five rounds. Any purse you like!' She didn't have the money, but she didn't care.

A sober silence descended on the amused crowd. Betting on a fight was illegal, and cross-gender boxing was not permitted, even privately, in a federation gym.

‘I'd have to have something other than money,' Carlton said quietly.

‘If you want me to leave, you have to box me,' she insisted, ‘and I'll give you any prize you want if you win.'

A few men laughed appreciatively at her promise as Robbie Carlton put down his shirt and reached out to caress one of her cheeks with a large hand.

She flinched away from him automatically, and then her blush deepened as she heard him accepting her challenge. Even more furious now, she dashed out of the gym to the ladies' room to change followed by the men's humiliating laughter.

The purse, it was decided, would be five-thousand pounds; a figure arrived at when each of the men present pledged a hundred pounds to fill the pot. Sarah said she would cover it when she stood in her vest and shorts, her breasts hanging free inside the baggy top, not taped up as they would be if she had come prepared for a match with another woman. She had thrown shadow-punches at the wall and done knee bends in the loo, glancing at herself in the mirror. The shorts hugged her bottom as she bent and straightened, bent and straightened, and despite herself, she found herself admiring how good she looked in her skimpy fighting outfit. Then she entered the gym determined to knock this guy down. He would lust after her when he saw her, he would long to be inside her shorts, and it made her happy knowing he wanted to fuck her. It would make putting him away even more of a pleasure.

 

She stood in the ring with men all around her. They had locked the front door of the gym to keep anyone from entering during the illegal contest. She felt all their eyes on her body, on her breasts, round and firm inside her vest but jiggling softly as she stepped this way and that to warm up. She felt the deepening waves of lust flowing through the ropes protecting her. Then Rob walked into the gym, his chest gleaming with sweat, indicating he had warmed up in the changing room.

It pleased her to see that he at least took her seriously, and a cry went up from the men as he climbed into the ring with her.

He was looking at her breasts as the first bell sounded, and he came slowly towards her in the classic stance, arms bent, fists held up in front of his face. His eyes, cold and appraising, lingered on her bosom before finally settling on her face. Then he said, loudly enough for everyone to hear, ‘Why don't you take that vest off, girl?'

She hit a right and he wasn't expecting it; her glove connected with the left side of his jaw like a brick. He flinched slightly, but then shook her blow off as easily as a cold drop of rain and came back at her with a left. She ducked and dodged him, which led her smack into the upper-cut of his powerful right.

His first punch stunned her; she had never been hit with such force before. Women simply did not have the weight of a six-foot tall, middle-weight man of forty. She found her vision swimming, and half her face went numb for a few seconds.

‘Kiss that away?' he offered, dancing around her as she tried backing away from him. She took care not to stay still long enough for him to hit her again.

They danced for what felt like hours. It was merely minutes, but the music of the groaning canvas, of the men murmuring amongst themselves, the hiss of leather just missing as he swung and she ducked, the smack as she got him in the side, the stomach, the ears and the head, made it all seem to last for days. She kept hitting him in the stomach when his guard was up, and finally she landed a good one on his chin. She got him good right beneath the jaw, and he went down like a ten-ton sack of potatoes.

There was a collective gasp as he lay there at her feet like a beached whale. She stood her ground, one of his gloves resting near her ankles. There was no referee, no one to stop the fight. She would hit him until he stopped getting up!

He whispered something and she lowered her head, trying to make out what he was saying. Finally, she sank down on one knee beside him.

‘I can see up your shorts,' he said. ‘I like a natural blonde.'

Despite everything she felt herself smiling deep inside, and she realised she liked him looking at her pussy. She sprang to her feet again as if a snake had bitten her. ‘Get him on his feet!' she demanded. ‘If he can't fight, he doesn't belong in here!'

Robbie pushed himself up onto one knee, and then rose slowly, smiling at her a little groggily, but he was steady on his feet. The bastard had been fooling her.

She wound her fist up for a bigger punch, and when he caught her instead it came as a total shock. A brush to the left with his low right, which she had easily dodged, turned out to be a set-up for his left hook. He caught her square on the jaw and sent her sprawling onto her back. When she opened her eyes a moment later she saw him looming over her as she struggled to clear her head. She could see up
his
shorts now. His cock was huge, and more than just a little hard. She could see its head reddening as it stared down at her, and thought
he wants to fuck me! He wants to fuck me after he beats me
! And she was glad. Then she felt her eyes closing again...

A splash of cold water immediately brought her round. All the men were still there; she couldn't have been out more than a minute or two. She felt her nipples sticking up like pine cones against her wet T-shirt and felt as good as naked. Robbie was still standing over her, and his prick was noticeably harder. He also didn't seem to mind that she was peering up at it.

‘You said
any
prize,' he reminded her. ‘Take off your vest.'

She let the full implication of his request sink in before she asked, ‘Here?'

‘Any prize,' he repeated, ‘means any place. Take it off.'

Sarah began to sit up with the intention of making a run for it, but he put one boot gently against her shoulder and pushed her back down. ‘Don't bother getting up off your back,' he said, ‘just raise your arms.'

Blushing as fiercely as she ever had in her life, Sarah lifted her arms so Robbie Carlton could pull her vest off and expose her breasts to all the men gathered around the ring just inches from her bared flesh.

‘And now the shorts,' he said.

‘Do I have to?' she asked, but she knew the answer as he slapped his gloves together impatiently. She didn't even try getting up again. Instead she rolled over, rose to her knees, and quickly shoved her shorts down as her head spun from the sudden movement and forced her to lean forward on her arms. To her horror, this position thrust her bare bottom up towards her opponent as she knelt on all fours between his feet. And there she stayed, with her shorts around her knees in a gym full of men in the middle of a boxing ring, her forehead down on the deck waiting for Robbie Carlton to do whatever he wanted to her.