The Cost of a Good Education Ch. 01

Note to reader: The first chapter of this story contains some sex, and a lot of story that will set up more and better sex in future chapters. Please be patient and stay tuned!

Fifth period was the best time of day for Rachel – or at least not as boring as the rest of the school day. St. Bartholomew's sat on a small hill with little to the west to obstruct a cool breeze that blew through the open windows on the far side of Miss Carpenter's classroom. The rustling of papers on the shelves and maps on the wall, along with the memory of the just-finished lunch period, made it easy to drift away from the geography lesson and into her daily daydreams of sex.

Although other real and imaginary characters moved in and out of these fantasies, she was naturally the recurring star. After all, who else should be featured in her own fantasies? And, besides, while she was not the most beautiful or popular girl in the school, she thought of herself as having above average looks. She was slender with small, but well-formed breasts, and nipples that didn't need a hot guy or a cool day to make them noticeable. Her strawberry blond hair hung to her shoulders except when she put it in a pony tail. Her legs were attractive, with or without stockings. But she had always thought her best feature was her small, round ass that looked much better in jeans than in the skirt of her school uniform.

Although she had prepared herself from a rather young age for later teen years filled with passionate encounters by sneaking peeks at the dirty books and movies she could find at the back of her sister's closet, at 18 her knowledge of sex was still mostly theoretical. But it was not for lack of trying. Not an hour earlier, she had nearly been caught making out on the floor in the back of the library with Steve, a boy to whom she was not especially attracted, but who shared her interest in sexy flirting. It was due only to the gullibility of the elderly librarian, who believed they were picking up scattered papers, that she had not been busted for a final time.

She was already one over the limit, having been punished once for playfully telling a boy who was hitting on her to fuck off, and twice for tying her uniform blouse up in front to reveal her midriff. The last time she thought was unfair since she was off school grounds, but St. Bart's jealously guarded its reputation all over town.

She knew that one more violation meant a trip to Mr. Helm's office and probable suspension. And suspension meant real trouble at home. Her parents had lost all patience with her mediocre grades, disrespectful tone and general lack of interest in anything, and had warned her that the consequences of more problems at school would be severe.

As her mind drifted into her fantasy, she was careful to keep her eyes in the room, partly to keep a mental foot in the lesson in case she was called on, and partly to incorporate one of the boys in the class into the scene her mind was borrowing from one of her sister's movies.

Today it would be Mark, one of the better looking guys in the school, who would please her without even knowing her name. She watched him, sitting one row over and two in front, and began to imagine him kissing her neck, her cheek and then her mouth. Then, as usual, her mind hit the fast-forward button and suddenly Mark was reaching behind her under the pleated skirt of her school uniform to caress her ass. But just as he was moving his hand around to the front, her view of him was obstructed by Melissa, who walked past Rachel to get a book from the back of the classroom for Miss Carpenter.

Melissa was something of a mystery to Rachel. Since transferring to the school earlier in the year, she had earned a reputation as a troublemaker, talking back to teachers and skipping classes. Like Rachel, she had pushed the limits of the rules at St. Bart's and was on the verge of suspension, but it never happened. Her behavior never seemed to change much – she had skipped fifth period several times this month alone – and Rachel suspected she avoided punishment only by doing the right things at the right times in front of the right people. Just this morning, Melissa and Rachel had bumped into each other right in front of Mr. Helm as they came into the building. Melissa thoughtfully, though uncharacteristically, picked up Rachel's purse and the few items that had spilled out. Rachel could not help but notice Mr. Helm's approval.

Following the interruption Melissa had caused, Rachel began to reconstruct the scene. This time Mark got his hand down the front of her panties and into her neatly trimmed hair. She neither consented nor objected. This was how she wanted sex to be, no permission, no responsibility. With his left hand, he began to pull down her panties enough to expose the young pussy that had been touched by others only in dreams like this one.

Then, just as he knelt to kiss her, she was once again interrupted when Melissa, on her way back to her seat, brushed by Rachel's purse and knocked it off the back of her chair, spilling the contents into the aisle. Annoyed by the disruption of her lesson, Miss Carpenter started down the aisle as Rachel began to pick up her belongings. As Rachel retrieved the mirror, lipstick and pen that had fallen out, Miss Carpenter knelt to pick up something small and blue. It appeared to come from the purse but couldn't have, because Rachel didn't recognize it as hers.

However, Miss Carpenter assumed otherwise and immediately told Rachel to gather her things and come with her.

She picked up her books, threw her purse over her shoulder and headed for the door to the smirks and snickers of her classmates, including Mark and Melissa, whom she passed along the way. Miss Carpenter waited just outside the door, signaling her toward the principal's office at the far end of the hallway.

"What's this about?" Rachel asked. "My purse just fell of my chair."

Miss Carpenter would not even respond. This was trouble. This would be the last straw unless she could explain whatever it was that had so upset her teacher. As they marched down the hallway, Rachel raced through the possibilities. Had she gotten carried away in her daydream and said something out loud? Not likely, since she couldn't remember any words being exchanged even in her head. What about a moan? That was possible. The scene was beginning to get hot and, as usual, she had felt her pussy getting wet just at the thought of a boy touching it. But would she be in this kind of trouble for just a moan?

No, the trouble had to be with whatever Miss Carpenter picked up off the floor. This had to be a misunderstanding. Rachel tried to look over to see what it was, but she couldn't tell which of her teacher's clutched fists held the contraband.

Miss Carpenter swung open the office door, motioned Rachel inside, and asked to see Mr. Helm.

"Oh, my God, it's that serious," Rachel thought. Mr. Helm saw only the serious cases, the lost causes, and after three previous violations, she fit that description. But the others had been moral violations. This couldn't be anything like that. On the other hand, if it weren't she wouldn't be here.

Mr. Helm's door opened and Miss Carpenter stepped inside. The door closed behind her without allowing Rachel to even see Mr. Helm. Although his office was only a few steps away, she couldn't hear anything from behind the heavy door. She waited only a minute or two before Miss Carpenter came back out and passed Rachel on her way out of the office without saying a word.

Now she waited.

"Mr. Helm will see you now," said the secretary.

Rachel approached the massive oak door and knocked quietly.

"Come in," she heard from inside.

She opened the door with some difficulty, never having felt such a heavy door. No wonder she couldn't hear anything. This room must be almost sound-proof. Mr. Helm sat at his desk looking at his computer.

"Sit down, Rachel." His voice was deep and commanding, but did not seem angry. She started to sit on the couch in his office, but he stopped her without even looking up. "No, sit on the floor."

Rachel set her books and purse on the floor as she lowered herself to her knees and sat back on her feet behind her. She played nervously with the hem of her skirt as she watched Mr. Helm, trying to gather some sense of his mood. Although she had been at St. Bart's for three years and had seen Mr. Helm many times in passing, she had never had a real conversation with him and had certainly never been alone in a room with him. He was considerably younger than the assistant principal she had been sent to before. She guessed he might be in his early 40s and, while serious looking, was not unattractive.

She looked around the room, at the pictures on the wall of Mr. Helm with sports stars and city leaders, at the desk with folders and papers stacked neatly between the computer monitor on one side and the large elaborate multi-line phone on the other, at the long table against the window holding several trophies and another phone, this one plain, with only one line.

"Do you know why you're here?" Mr. Helm asked, still not looking at her.

"No, I don't," Rachel answered. "My purse spilled and –"

"I didn't ask for an argument from you," interrupted Mr. Helm. "I asked if you know why you're here."

"No."

Finally, Mr. Helm turned his swivel chair and looked at her. "Do you know how this got in your purse?" He opened his hand to reveal the small blue object Miss Carpenter had picked up off the floor – a condom in a cellophane package.

"Mr. Helm, that's not mine. I –"

"Rachel, you have a bad habit of answering questions I haven't asked and failing to answer the ones I do. I did not ask whether it's yours. I asked if you knew how it got in your purse."

"I have no idea." She was getting more nervous and confused by the moment.

Mr. Helm sat back in his chair and drew a deep breath.

"Rachel, you've already had three serious violations of our code." He looked back over his shoulder at the computer monitor. "I see in your record that two of them were dress code violations. What was it you did with your blouse?"

"I tied it above my waste," she answered.

"Show me."

"You mean, you want me to do it now?" she asked.

"Right now."

Rachel hesitantly untucked her blouse from her skirt, unbuttoned the last two buttons and tied the ends together just below her rib cage. It was actually lower and more modest than she had worn it before, but he didn't need to know that. Her skirt was low enough on her waist to expose her navel and her flat stomach.

For several seconds, she could not look at him. When she finally did, she was surprised to see that he was staring, not at her exposed midriff, but right into her eyes. Maybe he snuck a peek while she was not looking at him, or maybe he wasn't interested. The fact is she had no idea what he was thinking. She was clearly in trouble, but he didn't seem angry and the long look into her eyes was beginning to unnerve her. She was glad when he finally spoke.

"Why would you dress like that, Rachel?"

"I don't know."

"Do you usually do things without knowing why?"

"No."

"Then tell me why you like to dress like that."

"It makes me feel pretty."

"Pretty . . . or sexy?"

She paused. "Sexy," she admitted.

"The other was a serious language violation. What was it you told that boy to do?

"I can't say it," she said.

"You won't be punished for repeating it when I ask you to. What did you say to him?"

"Fuck off."

"I gather from your language and your dress that you think a lot about sex," Mr. Helm said.

"No," she said in a way that would not convince anyone.

"Really?" he continued. "What were you thinking about on the floor of the library this morning?"

She was visibly startled. How did he know about that?

"Rachel, do you really think I don't know everything that goes on in this school? So, do you think about sex a lot?"

She looked down and nodded.

"Have you had sex?"

Still looking down, she shook her head no.

"But you fantasize about it."

Again she nodded.

Mr. Helm stood and turned his back to her as he walked toward the window.

"Rachel, I have a problem," he said. "As you know, the rules at St. Bartholomew's say that upon the third serious violation, you are to be suspended. I looked the other way when you committed your third violation, but if I didn't take some action now it might undermine my authority among the student body. You see that, don't you?"

"Yes," she said.

"Still, I don't want you to be hurt. The fact is there are two ways to deal with a student who continues to break the rules." He turned toward her. "I can punish you or I can teach you."

He began walking toward her and sat on the edge of his chair right in front of her. "What if I told you there was a way for you to stay here at St. Bartholomew's, not be in any further trouble, and be able to act on those fantasies of yours?"

His tone was different. He was speaking to her in a friendlier, more sympathetic way.

"I don't know what you mean," Rachel said.

"I think you do," he said. "Part of my job as principal is to help young people find what interests them. You have an interest in a wonderful thing. You should learn more about it, and I can help you. Now do you know why you're here?"

Indeed she did. It was becoming clear now. This had all been a setup, designed to get her here for this proposal. What exactly he wanted she didn't know, but it was clear it involved sex, sex with her principal. Did he just want to look at her, talk with her, or did he actually want to touch her and more?

"You and I both know I can't make you do this," he continued. "Now, there's no point in repeating this conversation, since nobody is going to believe you, but you can refuse my offer, serve your suspension and deal with the consequences at home." He leaned toward her ominously. "But you and I both know you want this."

She had never felt so humiliated, not because of what he had said, but because what he had said was right. How could that be? How could she actually want this?

She looked back into his eyes without objecting. That was all the consent he needed.

"Here are the rules," he began. "First, you will arrive at school every morning at 7:45 through the doors outside my office. If you don't see me, you will continue on to classes like any other day. But if you see me standing outside my office, even if I don't look at you, you will know that I'll be sending for you that day. You'll take every spare moment to make sure that you are as attractive as possible for me. Second, you will always have with you condoms and a vibrator. Third, you will talk with no one about this unless I give you permission. And, trust me, you'll enjoy this."

Rachel looked down and shook her head, mostly out of a sense of obligation to purity.

Mr. Helm walked over to her and reached down to pull her chin up. "Rachel, I know this is a lot to take in, so I'll overlook that. But you are never to tell me no again, do you understand?"

She looked up at him in both fear and respect. "Yes," she said quietly.

"Well, let's just test that right now, shall we? Stand up."

Rachel slowly rose, looking at the floor. What could he be planning now?

"Take your clothes off," he said.

Rachel instinctively began to object, but stopped herself. Still she could not move.

"Look at me, Rachel," he insisted. "Now take your clothes off."

Rachel first took her shoes off. Then her trembling hands slowly began to unbutton her blouse, starting at the top. After removing it, she unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the floor, standing in front of him in just her bra and panties.

Her pause angered him. "Rachel, I'll give you just one more chance to do as I asked."

Resigning herself to the humiliation, she reached behind to unhook her bra, letting it slide forward and off her arms. He now had his first look at her young, firm breasts and seemed to like what he saw. But he said nothing. In a few moments, his eyes raised from her chest to her face and she knew what he meant. Deciding quicker was better, she grabbed the elastic waistband of her cotton panties and pulled them straight to the floor. Her hands immediately moved to cover her pussy.

"If I had wanted you to cover yourself, would I have asked you to remove your clothes?" he asked.

She returned her hands to her side.

He noted the neatly trimmed hair above the visible pink lips of her pussy that protruded nicely between her legs.

"Tonight you'll shave that," he said, gesturing with a nod, as if she wouldn't know what he meant.

Although it was not intentional, her eyes now dropped to below his belt and she noticed a bulge that she hadn't expected. She actually found herself taking unconscious pride in the effect she was having on him. Although still terrified at the situation, she could not help but be pleased that her body was having an effect on him.

"Turn around," he said, admiring her like a sports car he was about to buy. As she turned he looked at her ass approvingly. "Now, get down on your knees and elbows and stick your ass in the air," he said.

She hesitated again. This time the problem was not the fear of showing even more of herself, or the fear of what he might do next. It was that he would see that she was wet, and know that this terrible experience was actually exciting her. Still, she had no choice, and was glad for that. As she bent over for him, the knowledge that she was exposing more of herself to him than anyone had ever seen only made her more excited and more wet.

He said nothing while she knelt there, her round ass pointed directly at him, and she supposed he must be taking his time, savoring the sight.

"Take your right hand and touch yourself between your legs," he ordered. She complied, but tried to fake it, simply rubbing her hand against her hair. "No," he said patiently, "I mean I want you to rub your wet pussy."

She cringed at his words but, as she moved her hand past her mound, her fingers reached her pussy lips and slid effortlessly across them, picking up the moisture. Involuntarily, she began to rub her cunt the way she had so many nights in bed. She closed her eyes and noticed she was breathing more heavily.

Suddenly she felt his touch as he knelt behind her. She wasn't even aware he was that close to her. She opened her eyes and peered back between her spread legs to see his bare thighs. When had he taken his clothes off? Had she been rubbing herself that long and that intensely?

He rubbed his index finger up and down along her now almost dripping pussy and then slid it inside. She couldn't believe this was happening. She couldn't believe she was enjoying this. It felt different from her own. Did everyone's hand feel different, or was it that it was someone else, or was it that this was so wrong, so shocking?

He slid his hand further up until he reached her asshole. This sent a shiver through her. Even she had never touched there. Now he was making circles around it with his finger wet from her pussy. He pressed against it, leaving her feeling aroused by her own extreme vulnerability.

His touch left her as he stood up.

"Very nice. Now I want you to turn around and face me on your knees," he said. His voice was so calm, so reassuring, he made her feel this was all okay.

She did as she was told and now saw the cause of the bulge she had noticed. His cock was hard and pointed slightly up so she could see more of the underside than the top.

"Give me your right hand," he told her. She complied and he placed it on his cock and guided it up and down the shaft. She was mesmerized by the look and feel of what she had seen only in her sister's movies and her own fantasies. She nervously clutched him and the dryness made it hard to stroke.