Bad Medicine Chronicles Ch. 02

Her sight blurred.

Steadying herself with her left hand, her vision cleared.

She glanced up at what she'd written.

She gasped.

"My name is Miss Candy," was scrawled across the board.

She turned to look at the class.

They were copying her words to paper.

"Oh gosh, don't copy that!" she cried.

Grasping the eraser, she frantically swiped it across her words.

She made another attempt at writing her name.

She tilted her head and then goggled her eyes at what she'd written.

"MY CUNT IS—," was written in capital letters and ended in a long squiggly line.

She flopped back against the wall to cover the vulgarity.

Her eyes widened in astonishment upon viewing several adult students mouth the words.

"No," she yelped.

She blushed from embarrassment. Her hands shook.

The stress of her predicament triggered old memories that drove the hallucination.

The room spun and darkened.

Tiny lights reflected off an illusionary disco ball that suddenly plopped down from the ceiling. In the center of the classroom, it spun on an axis. It caused those mirrored projections to spiral as pinpricks of color along the walls.

She'd been nineteen when she'd worked as a stripper named Candy. That had been a short-lived job that got her through college. At the age of 42, the humiliation of that secret life now haunted her.

The concerned expressions of men and women seated in class morphed into the ogling faces of perverse men from her past.

A song several decades old began to play in conjunction with their jeers.

"Take it off!" they yelled.

She'd heard that directive many times.

Indecisive and confused, she involuntarily reacted to those taunts.

She jittered when her hand touched the top button on her dress.

Her fingers fidgeted and then popped it lose.

When the next button became undone, her anguish grew. What am I doing? This can't be happening.

The beats of the song caused her torso to sway. She remembered it as one she'd often danced to. The words, "Can't stop this," became a chant that caused her hips move in sequence to the music.

With each consecutive button, she mewed and sputtered out in dismay, "I'm not Candy anymore."

Gasps of surprise intermingled with catcalls from the audience.

Her dress dropped to the floor.

Words in foreign tongues spewed forth from the mouths of students that expressed their disdain over what she was doing. Many of these men and women got up and left.

However, a handful of men remained. They were simply too transfixed upon their teacher's gaudy show.

These men along with the apparitions stood and whistled out enticements for more.

"Show us your titties!" the phantasm of men taunted.

Their reverberant voices became an echo in her head. "Oh God, no..." she bawled.

She sobbed and then reached behind and unlatched her bra.

Dropping it to the floor, her exposed boobs jiggled as she danced. The more she pranced, the more comfortable she became.

She'd always been a ham on stage and enjoyed the attention. Even now, having men gawk at her produced a familiar tingle. Her panties wetted.

At the age of twenty-one, she'd taken a darker path. For years, she'd struggled to come to terms with that life and find closure. The degradation of those experiences had consumed her and the road to redemption had been a long one. Reliving it was the ultimate conflict that caused her mind to snap. Rhonda had become Candy once again.

Candy was the sugar plumb that did lap dances in darkened backrooms. If given a little extra cash, she'd do a bit more. The more money, the more open she was to performing. It was the secret that had paid her bills.

Unlike then, she no longer required currency to perform. She didn't require instructions for things that came naturally. She stepped out of her underwear and discarded it to the floor.

She strutted closer to the crowd and then turned her rear towards them.

Placing her legs shoulder width, she bent over her desk to display her pussy. It stretched and gaped wetly for the glare of her audience.

She reached between her legs and ran a finger along the slit.

Her body shuddered.

"Someone please fuck me!" she cried.

Upon hearing the rustling of cloth, she cocked her head over her shoulder to watch five men of different ethnicities disrobe.

"Candy needs a cane," she screeched feverishly.

When one man kneeled on the desk in front, she immediately took him in her mouth. It was like riding a bicycle. The familiarity of such a task came back to her.

She gave a grunt when a black Nigerian man entered her from behind and thrust deep. His meaty schlong repeatedly smacked against her cervix.

That man smiled and said, "I love Americans."

The other men nodded.

She didn't hesitate to reach out and grab the dong of the two men on either side.

With one man banging her behind and one gagging her in front, the fifth man played with her tits.

As a teacher, she'd acquired skill at multitasking. She used that talent now to service these men.

This hadn't been the first time she'd been gangbanged. Candy had been a promiscuous teen in her youth and had often partied with more than one man. She knew what was expected of her and knew how to make men cum.

It didn't take long for the two men to ejaculate. Having shot their load, they were replaced by the others.

After the third orgasm, she fully embraced her new life as Candy the whore.

She worked her pussy and mouth until the last man came. Although she believed her ordeal was over, she soon realized it had just begun.

Two hundred faceless men crowded and stood in line to replace the five. In such a delirium, she didn't question where they came from. She simply resigned herself to fate.

Reaching behind with both hands, she opened herself wide as an invitation for the next ghostly man.

***

The story continues in Chapter 3.