School for Nurses (9 page)

Miss Smith was on edge today, because although she was near the end of her teacher training year, this week was to be the crucial test of her pith, her stamina, and her authority over her charges. The week would begin when, alone with thirty boys and the headmaster, she would ride down to Readingly, another boys' school, for the annual Schools' Meet. The schools would compete against each other at cricket and all the other usual sports, which meant the boys would run about in the mud a lot. Normally more than one member of staff accompanied the headmaster to this event, but this time the school nurse had sprained a leg and begged off, saying the Readingly nurse would serve for both teams. And so the headmaster, a tall, greying and slightly forbidding man, smiled sweetly and told Miss Smith that it was just him and her. ‘Just we two and the elements,' he said cheerfully.

‘How lovely, headmaster.' She returned his smile even as her insides turned to jelly.

Everything went well until their first night away when the boys were sleeping in the Readingly dorm in the beds left vacant by other boys; the sports day was planned to coincide with other excursions, thus leaving the loud and rambunctious sixteen to eighteen-year-olds alone in the school. This meant there was an entire floor of approximately fifty beds occupied by sixteen to eighteen-year-old boys. The Readingly staff were reduced, since many of them had to go with the older boys on their own field trips.

On the night of Miss Smith's arrival with her loud and rambunctious charges, it was with some alarm that she realised her only professional companion, the headmaster himself, had been invited by the Readingly school's own headmaster to drink in the Readingly Library, with its fireplace and leather chairs and crystal decanted old port. The Readingly nurse went home to her cottage on the edge of the grounds, and the male staff were all away on field trips. This, with the two headmasters ensconced contentedly over drinks and a game of chess in the library, left Miss Smith in sole charge of fifty boys. The responsibility fell on
her
alone to somehow make sure they all stayed in their beds.

She didn't mind, really. Yes, there were the saucy comments from the older boys to deal with, after all, they
were
boys and randy as goats, but she didn't mind too much. She blushed a little as she felt their eyes devouring her breasts as she passed down the halls in school, but she wore tight T-shirts because she liked to be noticed. She enjoyed the power her curvaceous body gave her over the male breed. She even enjoyed catching their eyes on her bottom as she turned away from the blackboard during a lesson, or looked up from her marking at the desk to find some boy staring deep into the neckline of her blouse, and blushing red as beetroot when she met his eyes.

That was how she had first noticed Darren Coombes liked her. He was taller than most of the other boys, and more than most, he seemed a man at seventeen. She had seen him swimming once when she passed the school swimming hall, and as she paused to admire his well-muscled body, he had finished his lap and caught her staring at him. Then one day she had caught his gaze burning through her T-shirt during maths. She asked him if he could count beyond the number two, and he went the colour of ripe plums with embarrassment. Ever since then he had not looked her in the eye again, not until that first night at Readingly.

She had the advantage in the dorm, in that all the boys were sleeping in adjoining wings and the partitions had been pulled back between them to make patrolling and controlling the huge lot of young manhood more simple. She walked, holding a torch, down the corridor between the two long rows of beds, flashing the narrow beam of light here and there and occasionally catching a furtive face. The headmaster had made it clear he did not wish to be disturbed this evening, and he was not above dropping her final grade as a trainee teacher on the basis of something as stupid as being made to lose a game of chess against another headmaster. And then her wandering beam of torchlight hit upon a sheet that was clearly being agitated. The agitations took the form of an up and down motion which suggested a boy was doing something improper with himself. She flashed the light over the head of the bed, and was surprised to see Darren Coombes' face looking up at her with a leer, instead of with the mortified expression she had expected to see.

‘Found something interesting, Darren?' she asked as insouciantly as she could. ‘Still having trouble dealing with things that come in twos, I see.'

He didn't blush, and his stare did not waver from where it was fixed on her face.

‘Put it away, Darren,' she said as firmly as she could without sounding too stern, ‘or it'll fall off.'

‘Why don't you put it away for me, miss?'

She was astonished. A bit of a fidget in the dark could be expected, but this insolence was inexcusable; she could not possibly let him get away with it. ‘What did you say, Darren?' She was still whispering. She could not be sure how many boys within ear shot were still awake.

‘Why don't you put my dick away for me, Miss Smith?'

‘Keep your voice down!' she hissed. ‘Are you aware of how much trouble you're in?' She made an effort to keep her own voice playful - he was, after all, only a horny boy, God bless him - but such presumption could not be tolerated.

‘Are you aware,' Darren pulled himself up in the bed, his hand still pumping away beneath the sheet, ‘of how much trouble
you
are in, Miss Smith, with a riot about to break out?'

She looked at him in consternation. He was almost a man, really, and with his hand still insolently going up and down under the sheet, the look in his eyes was worrisome. Yet what could he be talking about? Then a light hit her full in the face from across the room as someone else lit a torch. ‘Who is that?' she demanded, but then another light hit her, and then another one. She was caught in a triangulated set of torch beams coming from three different sides of the dorm. And then a fourth torch came to life, and another one, and another one, until it seemed as if every boy had hidden a torch under his pillow. Miss Smith felt the blood rushing up into her face.

‘Miss Smith,' Darren Coombes sighed.

‘I demand to know what the meaning of this is!' she blurted. ‘Darren, are you responsible for this... this...?'

‘Rebellion?' He smiled up at her, and at least his hand stopped moving beneath the sheet. ‘I wouldn't call it that, miss, not yet.'

‘What are you talking about?' She told herself to remain calm. She had to remain calm. Too much was at stake here to panic.

‘I'm talking about fifty boys wide-awake and in need of entertainment,' Darren explained. ‘If you don't entertain us, we'll turn the place into a madhouse and disturb the headmasters.'

He would make a great negotiator one day, she thought wildly, suddenly disturbed instead of relieved by the fact that his hand was no longer pulling at his cock beneath the sheet. It made her wonder what he thought was going to touch his cock now instead of his hand. It made her mouth water against her will and her legs feel weak. ‘What... what are you thinking of?' she muttered. The lights of a good forty to fifty torches were shining directly on her. She felt as though she was on stage beneath a hot spotlight trained directly on her. She could feel the subtle warmth of so many penetrating beams pricking the hairs on her bare arms, and almost caressing her breasts through her thin T-shirt like a very soft summer breeze.

‘Strip,' Darren Coombes said.

Just one word and her whole universe was suddenly turned upside-down. She stood gaping at him in pure disbelief. Then all around her in the breathless silence, as she tried to absorb that one word, she heard fifty beds creak as fifty boys edged forward across the sheets. She could almost feel them all holding their breaths, waiting. ‘You - you can't be serious,' she said.

No sooner had the words passed her lips than Miss Smith heard the first hand landing on the first bed frame with a clang of hollow steel tubing, followed by another clang as another hand fell to brace itself on another bed frame. Suddenly the dorm was becoming a dangerously loud percussion orchestra. And then the chant began, ‘Strip! Strip! Strip! Strip! Strip! Strip!'

‘Get your panties down for the lads.' Darren Coombes smiled up at her placidly over the growing noise. ‘It's the least you can do, Miss Smith. After all, we've all behaved very well for you this year, haven't we, and fair's fair, isn't it? We scratch your back, you scratch ours.'

‘Enough!' she cried.

The clanging continued as the chant ‘Strip! Strip! Strip!' gradually became throatier, more of a threatening growl.

‘You won't get us to be quiet any other way,' Darren warned her, somehow making his quietly firm voice audible to her over the commotion.

‘No,' she gasped. ‘I couldn't possibly!'

‘Strip! Strip! Strip! Strip! Strip! Strip!'

‘All right!' she screeched, suddenly prepared to do anything to stop all this dreadful noise. Any second now, she was sure, the headmaster would hear it and her career as a teacher would be over before it ever really began. She would cause him to lose his chess game and it would be proved that his staff could not control his pupils. She would be downgraded at the end of her year; she would not teach at St Martin's again. Perhaps she would never be able to teach
anywhere
again. She had to stop this terrible racket at once.

‘All right,' she said again, more calmly.

Darren raised a hand, and a blessed silence fell over the dorm. Suddenly it was so quiet she could hear raindrops pattering softly against the windows. ‘Your shoes first,' Darren said.

‘What did you have in mind?' she asked, trying to sound casual and to buy herself some time to think about how she could get out of this very strange predicament she found herself in.

‘Take your shoes off or we'll lose you your job.' Darren's tone was a slap in the face.

Blushing to the roots of her hair, she bent over to undo them, and her blush deepened as someone whistled at the sight of her bottom raised up into the air, now the avid target of the combined torchlight. She straightened up again quickly, and stepped out of her shoes. ‘Is there anything else I can do for you?' She tried to smile, as if her heart wasn't racing and making it hard for her to think straight.

‘Your shirt,' Darren said simply. ‘Take it off.'

‘What are you getting out of this, Darren?' She appealed to him directly. ‘Don't you like me?'

‘Oh, I like you all right, Miss Smith, I just want to see if I can like you even more. Don't you want to see how much better we can get along, Miss Smith?'

As she was trying to think of an answer, the laughter went out of his eyes.

‘Your shirt,' he said again, flatly.

She reached to her belt, and tugged the bottom of her T-shirt out of her jeans. She heard the collective catching of over fifty breaths in anticipation as she reluctantly dragged the hem of her T-shirt up over her tummy, and then taking a deep breath herself, pulled it up to expose her bosom. She wasn't wearing a bra and she felt her breasts spring free, their soft nipples quickly stiffening a little in the cool air of the open dorm. ‘There, is that all right?' Holding her shirt up, she squinted into the light blinding her as she showed off her stiffening breasts to over fifty pairs of avid eyes; to fifty boys who she knew would all love to fuck her; to fifty boys who wanted to screw her brains out one after the other... she new she was in trouble when she felt the unmistakable melting sensation in her pussy as it began to get dangerously wet.

‘Take if off,' Darren insisted.

Without further protest, she pulled her shirt up over her face as she felt all their eyes, hungrily, ravenously devouring her naked torso. Then the shirt was off over her head and she had let it fall to the floor beside her.

‘Now the jeans,' Darren said.

She looked at him again almost shyly, and started raising a protective hand towards her bare breasts.

‘Drop it,' he said harshly.

She quickly lowered her hand, and trembling a little, she opened her jeans. She had to tug on the stiff metal zipper, and she cursed the tightness of the denim she had revelled in wearing to torment these boys, who now held her captive. It was that much harder to struggle out of, and she gave over fifty boys quite a show as she was obliged to bend over slightly, thereby sticking her bottom out again in order to push her jeans down her slender legs. There was a soft, collective sigh as the cheeks of her buttocks sprang free of the imprisoning denim.

Finally, she stepped out of her jeans and straightened up again. She was naked now except for a skimpy pair of white cotton panties that barely covered her ash-blonde bush, and she was blushing as deeply as Darren had that day in class when she humiliated him in front of his peers, perhaps even more deeply.

‘Let's see you,' he said. He was speaking quite softly now as all the boys shone their torches right between her thighs. Fifty torch beams were aimed right at her pussy.

‘Is there anything else...' she began without really knowing what she meant to say, ‘I mean, do I really have to? It's so private. It's who I am...'