Service Provider Ch. 14-23

"I know Father Hood very well," he said ominously. Upon hearing the name of her confessor, as if in a trance, disgusted with herself, Janice spit several times into her hand and began jerking his limp prick. "If you don't please me, I'll tell him that one of his own parishioners is acting like a nympho on church grounds." Deftly, he reversed the cane and poked the end into her slit, pushing it up into her cunt, which was still wet from her orgasm in the confessional. She moaned, grinding her hips down as her hand pumped the aged cock.

"You're a cheap piece of ass and I know you'll love this." He mauled her slimy breasts with his free hand, raking his jagged nails into the flesh, grinding the sodden blouse into them. She milked her own breasts to gather the Father's cum and applied the additional lubrication to the old man's prick. Desperate to finish him and escape, she used all her skill on the hand job till his mouth dropped open, revealing his crooked and yellowed teeth. Ready to shoot, he yanked her hand off his prick and directed his cum spray at her gathered black skirt and the marked belly underneath. His semen was thin and watery but surprisingly plentiful, running down between her puffed lips.

Looking down, seeing herself almost completely nude, exposed for anybody in the courtyard to see, with her nipples crudely abused by cheap paper clips, a wooden cane swinging from her pussy, she came in an overwhelming orgasm, the knobby cane deeply embedded, shuddering and slamming her ass against the rough wall. As she came back to earth, he pulled the saturated cane out of her. "Lick it clean." Willing to obey anything after her shattering climax, she dutifully licked the cane as he tucked his shriveling cock into his pants. He wiped a handful of spunk off her belly and skirt and roughly rubbed it into her face and lips. He stared at this beautiful woman who stood unmoving in the twilight, long legs still spread wide, belly angled forward. He was only mildly surprised when, unbidden, her tongue emerged to wipe his jism off her big lips and bring it into her mouth. He yanked the skirt out of her belt and it dropped to her thighs. He took a final look at her cum-filled face, actually shining in the dimness.

"Now get out of here. And keep your mouth shut," he said. She stumbled toward her car, shocked at her own licentiousness and submissiveness, feebly holding the ruined blouse shut over the breasts that were still agonized by the clips on her nipples. She prayed nobody was on the sidewalk to see her fouled skirt, covering the huge clit and paper clip, forgetting about her glistening face, dimly aware of how incredibly satisfied she felt -- two massive cums from two different men within ten minutes of each other.

Dugan's gaze found the second-story Rectory window, whose curtain had been pulled back. He saluted the gaunt figure standing there and departed. Father Hood raised a hand and smiled at his old, influential friend Jack, who had performed a major favor for the priest several years ago. The Father so hated to have favors hanging over his head. He was relieved to have resolved what he considered a debt, especially since the encounter had been so easy to arrange and had had such a successful outcome.

Next: Janice becomes a substitute teacher.

Chapter Seventeen — "Sub" teacher

A short while later, Janice found she was missing her son, Matt, and feeling restless and irritable. She couldn't get the memories of New Year's Eve with Lauren and Mr. Wheland out of her head. In every room, she was reminded of how her handsome son had embarked on a relentless program, exploiting her voracious sexual appetite and hot body, converting her into the most degraded, reprehensible type of submissive, a sex slave to her sadistic son. Yet she felt like she was going crazy with sexual heat.

One morning, she received a phone call from the Headmaster explaining how the Academy was short of substitute teachers and that the fee package would be generous if she could begin tomorrow. Basically, she'd receive a full day's wage for a few hours of work. The group of boys would last for two hours every afternoon for five days. She accepted the offer and received detailed instructions from the Headmaster, including the sort of clothing appropriate for what he termed a "sub."

The next day, she climbed to a music room all the way up to the top floor. It seemed an unusual location for a detention class, but she figured it was the best the Academy could do. Being an unusually warm day, she began perspiring from the climb, the too-small blouse and short skirt (the same worn she'd worn for the Headmaster earlier). The hall and rooms on the fourth floor, with its dormer ceiling, were deserted since the music classes were long over by 2:00 pm. She was unable to open the large, heavy windows.

Janice had arrived a few minutes early to inspect the room and prepare herself. It was lined with thick cork to deaden loud music sounds. A stool was up front by the board. In the corner was some unused gymnastics equipment: a padded mounting horse, rope, and mats. She wrote her name on the board.

To her surprise, when her six students arrived they were accompanied by the Headmaster. who greeted Janice, smiling. She was also slightly surprised to note they were all boys. Although polite, they ogled the black-haired, long-legged and sensuous beauty, her prominent breasts half-visible through the tight, thin, sweat-stained blouse. Janice was aware that several of the boys were quite attractive.

Uncomfortable, Janice sat behind the protection of her desk. The Headmaster stood behind her and addressed the students. "Now boys, instead of a mean old hag, you are very lucky to have such an attractive and understanding substitute, or "sub," as Janice here. She is quite experienced being a sub for boys your age." Janice squirmed in her chair. "And she is here for you for a few days only. Janice, don't hide yourself behind that desk." Reluctantly, Janice stood behind the desk. The Headmaster looked at one of the boys. "Snodgson, have you ever seen a "sub" as good-looking as Janice?"

"No sir," the boy said. "She hardly looks like a teacher at all."

"Oh don't worry about that," the Headmaster chuckled, "she'll be an excellent instructor to each and every one of you. She's especially interested in young men like yourselves." Janice's head jerked at the strange remarks, looking at the Headmaster quizzically, but he ignored her. "Janice, is there anything you need?"

"No sir, thank you."

"Could you check to be sure? Do you have the correct supplies in your desk?" Janice opened the central drawer. Looking down, she was stunned to see a crop, tawse, ball gag, ropes, cuffs, chains and several weighted metal clamps. Her head shot up to the Headmaster, her body crimsoning with anger and humiliation. The Headmaster returned her stare, nonplussed.

"Are there any teaching tools missing?" he asked.

"No sir, these will be adequate," she stammered, slamming shut the drawer and eager for him to be gone. She was not to be so lucky.

"Now Janice, step over here." She reluctantly emerged from behind the desk and walked to his side. "All of you know that this Academy is a traditional school that honors the English practice of discipline. As a matter of fact, all of your parents signed waivers permitting corporal punishment. Even though this is a detention session, I want you all to know that discipline—and punishment, if necessary—will prevail." Janice stared at him askance, suspicion clouding her face.

"Because you're lucky enough to have such a beautiful and cooperative "sub" in Janice, she is going to demonstrate what you can expect if you get out of line." While talking, the Headmaster had walked the few feet to the blackboard and taken up a thin, cylindrical wood pointer, 18 inches in length. Since Janice still faced the class, she didn't see the object in his hand. "Janice, turn around." He placed two stools in front of her after she faced the blackboard and pushed her legs widely apart till each foot was at the outer edge of a stool. There was a rustling sound as the boys shifted in their seats. They admired the woman's long legs in the charcoal stockings and her 3-inch heels. "As you boys are also aware, our policy is called 'drop trou.' So Janice, lift your skirt."

The teacher was in turmoil. This turn of events was outrageous—and mortifying. Still, she didn't work out like a demon for nothing. It would be a detention class that these boys would never forget. Slowly, she raised the skirt till the tops of her stockings were exposed. The boys gasped at the sight of her thighs, covered in dense striations.

"Mmpphh! Very impressive! Janice can also be an athletic role model for you lucky devils. Look at how toned her legs are. How often do you work out, my dear?"

"Usually six days a week," she said proudly. "About two hours each time."

"And it certainly shows. Look at those exquisite stockings, boys. They must be expensive. What are they Janice?"

"They're imported. . . French."

"Oo la la! But that's not quite enough height. Pull that skirt up higher." Janice wondered how much further the headmaster would go. She pulled the skirt until it was waist high. "Ahh, excellent!" All eyes focused on the taut ass, barely covered by a pair of smoky, bikini-cut panties, but the skirt fell down. Irritated, the Headmaster said, "Pull it up again and tuck it into your belt." Once Janice had obeyed, he added, "And place your hands behind your head."

"What's the thing that called that holds up her stockings?" asked a towheaded boy in the rear.

"That 'thing' is called a garter belt," the Headmaster answered.

"Why is her bottom all full of marks?" said a boy in the front row.

"Yes, why is your bottom so full of stripes, Janice?"

There was a long pause. "Because I misbehaved and deserved correction."

"Yes, very good," the Headmaster said. Without pausing, he struck her rear with the pointer stick. A loud "Whoosh!" filled the air and the boys jumped in their seats, startled by the crack of the bruising implement. It seared Janice, but not nearly as severely as previous canings. "Notice, boys, how she neither sniffles nor bawls. Let that be a lesson to you, Evansby. The problem, Janice, is that our style at Ansonia does not include half measures. Remove the panties."

Resignedly, Janice pulled the panties off and replaced her hands behind her head. The boys leaned forward, incredulous that this voluptuous adult was exposing her ass to them all. The moment Janice's arms were in position, Headmaster pushed on her back until her torso was lying on the tops of the stools, thrusting her ass prominently. She wondered how well the boys could see her damp pussy. Headmaster struck again. By now two livid marks had formed. "Any questions, boys?"

A handsome boy lifted his hand. "Yes, Brandon?"

"May we try just once, to know what it's like to administer?"

"No, Brandon, you may not." Another hand was raised. "Trevor?"

"Headmaster, I've heard of floggings to the back, but I've never seen any boys at school punished anywhere other than their bottoms. Does Janice have any marks on her back?"

"Good question, Trevor." Headmaster pulled the submissive up by the back of her hair till she was vertical. "Janice, remove your blouse." Her pussy juicing, the sub teacher unbuttoned her blouse and threw it on the desk, exposing her tawny back, covered with a network of welts. The boys gasped again.

"As you see, Janice has been soundly thrashed and is well acquainted with no-nonsense discipline. I hadn't planned to, but since your blouse is already off. . . Undo your bra, Janice." The docile submissive unhooked the clasp from between her breasts, slid the bra off her shoulders and threw it on top of the blouse. Headmaster swung the pointer and slashed her back precisely where the bra had been. Janice held steady, mouth open in silent pain.

"You may wear the bra again," Headmaster said. Once it was secured, he added, "Janice, turn around and show the boys how your bra matches your fancy French garter belt and panties." The humiliated mother turned around, breasts heaving as the boys ogled the gauzy demi-bra, breasts bulging beneath the tight cups, dark nipples jutting fiercely. She didn't even think about her bald pussy lips, the slit glistening with fresh moisture. After only a couple of seconds, she dropped the skirt, covering up her mound, grabbed her blouse and threw it on—but not before the boys had a good look at the whip marks scoring her breasts, abdomen, belly and thighs. However, they were too shocked and abashed to ask a single question.

"Since this is not an actual punishment, we're done with the demonstration. Thank you, Janice, for being such a good sport." He handed her the pointer. She knelt down to retrieve her panties. "Oh no, leave those, won't you? Let's give the class something to dream about, eh?" The group responded enthusiastically. "Boys, be sure to take advantage of Janice since she may not be back after this week. Feel free to ask her any questions. She's all yours, boys." The Headmaster departed, leaving Janice to wonder why he didn't reverse his comment by saying "They're all yours, Janice."

Several seconds passed while Janice gathered her thoughts. "Well, boys, I don't like being cooped up in this warm room any more than you. So let's make the best of a bad situation and hope the time passes quickly. Since I'm not a regular teacher here, you can call me Janice. Now take out your notebooks and write a few well-composed sentences explaining why you're here."

After a few minutes, the boys passed their sheets forward. "Go ahead and start on your homework while I read these and take attendance." She heard a few bored moans but the boys opened their textbooks. A boy named Brandon had written the first sheet. He said that the Dean told him he was getting into trouble with girls because he was too aggressive. He needed to learn how to act with girls so they would get along with him.

The second boy's sheet said he knew Matt, and since Janice was a mother -- "a hottie" -- she could answer questions about how girls wanted to be treated. She blushed when she read the compliment. He wrote that girls complained that he was indecisive; they wanted a strong boyfriend. It was the opposite situation to the first boy's needs.

"Where's Greg?" A hand was raised. "Greg, why are you here?" she asked the author of the third sheet.

"Brandon's my best friend and I thought I might learn something," he said.

"About. . .?"

"About girls, but seeing how great you look undressed, about women—even better than girls!" The boys snickered.

"Well, it's good to have you," she said, noting the strong arms beneath Greg's T-shirt.

Reading the remainder of the notes, she learned that the other four were here for similar reasons: "poor communication skills" with the girls' swimming coach at a swim event, "antisocial tendencies" with a girl at a school picnic, etc. Odd, how all the boys were here because of issues related to sex. She felt a slight fluttering in her stomach and began by engaging each of them in a little conversation to break the ice.

There was a seventh note. That's odd, she thought. It was written in a different hand than the others. The first paragraph:

"I know you better than you know yourself. Students at the Academy expect—no, demand special attention. Before you read any more, sit on a stool."

Her head shot up, but each of the boys had downcast eyes, immersed in their work. Well, it was a simple and innocent request from a self-confident admirer who probably wanted to see her legs. She climbed onto one of the four-legged wood stools, eager to read more.

"Good. Continue to cooperate and you will enjoy the next week as our sub teacher."

She felt a heat wave wash over her. She looked up but all she saw was six diligent students. What game was this presumptuous writer playing? Did he think she would simply do his bidding? Yet, what harm would it be to engage in a little flirting? A bit of teasing with such good-looking boys? She could play this game. She raised her feet, keeping her knees together as the short skirt slid up her thighs, and read the next line.

"No. Put your feet on the side rungs, not the front."

Keeping her head down, she glanced up with her eyes, hoping to trick him, but nobody was looking at her. He was clever. The room started spinning as her breathing quickened. She was aware of how much more she was perspiring. She would play along until she discovered the culprit.

"There will be consequences if you don't obey, now."

This boy was so domineering he was actually threatening her! But with what? Slowly, trying to make no sound, she spread her legs to the sides. Her skirt rode up even higher. She knew that the moment they looked up they'd be able to see all of her tanned thighs, thighs that ended at a bare wet slit. She had a sudden coughing attack. Although her head was down as she coughed, she was aware that they were all staring at her. "I'm, I'm fine, thank you," she managed to say through a haze of humiliation. "Go back to your work."

"See, that wasn't hard. Besides, you actually like it. You like to be exposed. You like to be controlled. If you don't do what I say, the photos of you at the Vice-Chancellor's pool party will be in next week's school newspaper. There are so many we'd have to make a special edition. What would we call it? Take Five with Janice?"

Her face flushed with anger and shame. Yet the thought of the photos sparked a jolt in her pussy. One of the boys was staring at her thighs but did not make eye contact.

"Go ahead and teach the subject at hand."

She felt helpless, controlled by a mere boy. So she began to teach. Brandon was the tallest and best looking. "Brandon, what do you mean when you said the Dean criticized you for being too aggressive? Do you mean coming onto girls?"

"No, not exactly," he said, obviously embarrassed.

"Then what?" she asked.

"Well, I'd tell them to. . . do things."

"Do things? Like what? You can speak freely."

"You know. . .", he mumbled, distracted by the surrounding boys who were staring and smirking at him.

"No, I don't know. Do you mean kissing? Petting? More? Sometimes you can say things to a substitute that you'd never be able to say to your regular teacher."

"I mean. . . how am I supposed to say it? Oral sex?"

"Well, you can call it anything, it won't bother me. Do you boys use the terms 'going down,' 'blow job' or 'giving head'?" They acknowledged that they did.

"It all depends on how you express your needs. Brandon, let's try some role-playing. Step up to the front of the class." He shuffled up, grinning at his friends. She stood and noted how tall he was. "Pretend I'm a girl you told this to."

Standing in front of her, he put his arms on her shoulders and said, "Go down on me. . . Suck my dick." She sank under the force of his strong hands and knelt before him, her face in front of his groin. There was an awkward pause. Still kneeling, she turned her head to face the class.

"You see how important it is for us to re-enact this, boys? If I hadn't had Brandon come up here with me, we wouldn't have seen how he put his hands on girls' shoulders. He's tall and strong. Some girls may like to be controlled or directed, but others would take the weight of his hands as a sign of coercion. Do you understand, Brandon?"

"Yes, I guess so. But how do you know if a girl likes to be told?"

"You just have to find out slowly."

One of the boys asked, "Which type are you, 'Sub' Janice?" The energy in the room changed.

Janice hesitated. "What's your name?"

"Trevor." With dark curly hair, lively dark eyes and a lithe body, she thought he was very cute.