I
It was like any other Monday morning in Mr. Suppes' office doing paperwork, giving kids disciplinary worksheets, and drinking his coffee. Mr. Suppes loved his coffee, and it would be his coffee that one kid would use for nefarious means.
7:30 AM, thirty minutes until class starts, I'm walking into school trying to retrieve the beanie that was taken from me last week by Mr. Suppes. My bussy is tight and composed walking through, and piercing the brisk morning air in early August. I walk into the school with purpose and I'm calm and collected. I caught a glimpse of Mr. Suppes working at his desk. I began to communicate with the front office lady. She had a less than desirable disposition towards me. I ask if this would be an appropriate time to speak to Mr. Suppes. The front office lady delays a bit before stopping what she was doing at her computer with a brief response, "No, he's busy"
No luck, I must see Mr. Suppes. I have a ploy to deploy against the man who says he's a principal, but he's a sham and I am not a fan. But I have no worries. I'm sure I can catch up with him at lunch. 10:00 AM, an hour and 20 minutes until lunch begins I had rushed through my first period in order to get to the infamous Mr. Suppes. The hour in which I would have to bore through would be long, hard, and tedious. But would be null compared to the mission impossible esque scheme I have planned for Mr. Suppes. Before I knew it, the hour was over and it was now lunchtime. I rush to the front office at a 'faster than a walk' but 'slower than a run' pace.
When I arrive, Mr. Suppes is also just getting to the front office. He pays no attention to me as he also attempts to get into his office at the same pace I was traveling just a little before. And that is when I spot it, the coffee tray. Every school day at around 11:20 AM a mobile coffee tray on wheels pushed by the lowest of the low minimum wage workers to provide staff and administration the bare minimum dose of caffeine needed to finish the rest of the 6 hours they need to work and to feed their caffeine dependency. But if I could slip a Viagra into the coffee tray and Mr. Suppes was to drink the Viagra tainted coffee, it is possible that I could seduce him, and ultimately get him fired from his position and make certain that anytime that anybody ever heard the name Mr. Suppes, that it would be synonymous with the word 'pedophile'. It just so happens to be that I had the dose of Viagra that would make a population of an entire city simultaneously get their blood rushing to their penises, for lack of a better phrase. As I clutch the Viagra in my pocket, sweat drips from my forehead. No one's looking, it is the perfect time. I step towards the coffee tray. I'm shaking more than your grandpa with Parkinson's. The lump in my throat is like the feeling the guy on the bottom feels in a gay porno. I toss the pill in the coffee labeled Suppes. Now I know how Bill Cosby felt when he committed crimes against his female co-workers.
No one noticed. Bingo, the simple part is over. Now I have to convince Mr. Suppes to crack my prostate open and scramble my bussy. I rush into his office. He is hard at work on his computer. I decide to bring him his coffee; he thanks me and before I have the chance to get my offer to get my beanie back from him; he clears his throat loudly and takes a sip from his coffee. My mind could tell from Mr. Suppes' metabolism that the Vaigra hit him instantly. From what I saw I could've sworn when the Vaigra hit him I heard a thud under his desk, but I brushed it off. I lean over his desk to show my cute boy chest. As I do this, I move my arms towards each other a bit more to puff out my small male diddies and to make myself look more feminine. I do this for hopefully suiting Mr. Suppes' tastes and desires. He bats an eye at my stance and I see a singular drop of sweat topple from his brow. He clears his throat once more. I make my move, and I gaze at him intensely. I can visually see him prioritize looking from his work to my face and then my luscious buzzom. He asks me to close the door in a dry and as 'formal as you can be in this situation' voice. While trotting over to the door, I realize I'm just a few steps away from fully grabbing his inner desire to scramble my bussy. I close it then I lock both locks on the door, just to be sure that our privacy is uninterrupted. I make my way back over to him and sit on his lap facing my body toward him. My bussy is tight from being so anxious about my plan. I need to loosen up or this is going to hurt more than it already is taking a big fat brolic principle phallus.
I'm also having troubles getting erect since I'm, by nature, not gay. I think about Bashar al-Assad since he is objectively feminine and it would not be gay to think about him sexually because of all the killings he has committed in Syria. This gets me, more or less, aroused. And as Mr. Suppes has, his hands gravitate toward my skirt. He lifts it up with purpose and intent. He notices my 2.2 inch shrimp cock and I blush. As cliché as it sounds, Mr. Suppes is really something when he's not yelling at me to take off my beanie because of the freedom of expression depriving new dress code. Back to the bussy scrambling, Suppes unbuckles his belt and pulls off his khakis to reveal battle scars he got from his military service. We have no lube, so I am preparing myself for the insertion of his impressive 7 inch pecker, which would be no easy feat to accomplish. I struggle at first, trying to find the rhythm at which he is thrusting, but the pleasure is overwhelming my senses and lowering my inhibitions. I feel my face go numb as I continue riding Suppes and it feels like everything around me is disappearing. Pure bliss. All other senses cease sending me information about what's going on around me. The pain fades, and the dopamine levels in my brain are peaking. All I can feel is Suppes tickling my prostate and massaging my taint to give me the greatest orgasm that a man has ever achieved. I spurt out all over his dress shirt. He pauses, and he says.
"Don't worry, I have another one inside my desk."
I stutter a bit, shocked by the situation I put myself in, but manage to get out the words.
"Wait, you didn't turn off the cameras."
Hoping to incriminate him, he replies with a smug response.
"I never had them on in the first place, and I haven't cum yet."
Oh no. Those words echo in my membrane. He continues scrambling my bussy. And a bit more cum comes out of the 'smaller than most' shaft of my penis. He then flips me over aggressively and puts me against his desk. I can feel his heavy moist breathing on my neck. Suppes knows I already came so my bussy is an easy target, I have also gone from 'half-mast' to fully erect. He continues thrusting his brolic penis inside me. I can feel his mildly obese stomach grazing my fat ass every time he thrusts in to pierce my prostate. I feel the tension in my penis. It seems I'm going to cum again. He's going faster and faster and he has my boy panties to the side. Then, sweet release for him anyway. I still have gas in the tank, so to speak. He is cumming buckets in my boy bussy that I'm going to have to fart out later. I feel full of his children, and I can tell I have satisfied his desire for bussy for now. But I also have the evidence I need to lock him away for good. He quickly finds a fresh shirt contained within his desk and puts it on, revealing a branding he got from being in the army. I shudder. Who knows what kind of ball busting endorphin induced primal butt fuck sessions he had during his service. I feel used, violated, and worthless. It seemed like I did just for him. I did, but the goal was to incriminate him. And to that, it was a victory, but a costly one. Some costs include a traumatic experience, a torn bussy, and an ass load of cum. Which would make walking quite difficult for weeks to come. But the costs were necessary.
II
I am now in limbo on whether I want to incriminate Suppes or use him for my own purposes. The next day I am nearing lunchtime. All that is on my mind is my own voluptuous body type hugging the true and vigorous specimen of the man who calls himself Mr. Suppes. I finished my PBJ just like I finished off Mr. Suppes the day before. My bussy is quivering from temptation and the 'what if' that is going to happen in the 10 minutes that it will take me to get into Mr. Suppes' office. I arrive, his face turns red, I lock the door behind me. He knows that this is going to be a daily thing. I walk over to him, I lift my skirt up, and I show off my cute pink boy panties. This time I don't even need the Viagra. He's already 'half mast'. I get on my knees and they scrape against the rough, cheap carpet that the school can barely afford to maintain. I pull off his khakis with ease, and I get his testicular hairs in between my teeth. Then, I move to his shaft. He jerks a bit. Yeah, I'm pretty good at this despite not being gay. It's kind of easy actually, easy to please the dark inner desire in Mr. Suppes' frontal lobe to scramble some bussy. Although I am flaccid, I think about the Rosa Parks' pictures I had seen in history class. She is pretty hot, no doubt about it. I turn semi-flaccid and I get to the tip of Suppes' male anatomical part and he groans a little… I never heard my principal groan. This makes me feel a little empathy. I mean, how long has Mr. Suppes had this desire for bussy? That is just now being fulfilled. If I were him, I would have snapped long ago. But, I can't imagine myself needing bussy, since I already have a pristine, and tight bussy attached to my body. Needless to say, I do have junk in the trunk. Back to me with Mr. Suppes inside my mouth. I continue going down on him and he releases his semen into my mouth. It is thick and chunky. Like some New England Clam Chowder mixed with cottage cheese, it gives me the hiccups. I still have a lot to learn from Mr. Suppes and we haven't even had that many notable conversations about the thing we have going on. Then a knock on the door, I immediately jump up, a string of semen comes off my bottom lip and I quickly slurp it back in before it can grab onto my clothes. I don't know exactly what to do with myself, so I sit in one of the chairs that line the other side of the room. Mr. Suppes hastily pulls up his britches and then comes to the door to greet her, his wife. Mr. Suppes was about to put together an excuse but then his wife chimes in before he can open his mouth. Mrs. Suppes doesn't notice me and she says cheerfully,
"I know, I know, I'm not supposed to bother when you're having your lunch time nap but-"
I think she notices it smells like hot ass coming from my bussy because of how potent it is.
"Nevermind, I can tell you're busy."
She says this with a less than cheery tone.
Mr. Suppes fires back
"I have needs too, you know, and with running a school with this proportion, I will NOT be disrespected like this."
Mrs. Suppes, or I should say Ms. Suppes, after the events that are transpiring, responds with.
"I don't even want to know who it is this time, whether it be one of your fellow soldiers or another student. I also don't care how good the bussy is." She storms off.
Mr. Suppes returns to his desk and I stand up to close the door and lock it. I get the words out.
"You wanna' get back to business?"
Mr. Suppes looks at me dead in the eye, with a stoic emotion, and says.
"Yes, yes, please."
I know what to do, so does Mr. Suppes after that response. I walk back over to him, pull his khakis back off, and I guide his phallus to my anus. He is much more enthusiastic about my bussy second time around. We are going faster and faster and he is pounding my bussy into oblivion. He blows his enormous load and some of it doesn't make its way into the deep caverns of my rectum instead on the floor. That's okay. I'm sure there have been some more queer things that have spilt on the carpet. He exits my bussy, and it makes a suction noise. I giggle. Mr. Suppes smiles, and he leans into my neck to smell my femboy perfume. He asks if I would like to go for round 3. I look at the clock and lunch isn't even close to being over. I reluctantly agree. He stands up with me still in his lap and then he lifts me up. Mr. Suppes must have the sperm count of a whale because goddamn. Who knew his testicles would be filled to the brim even though he let out two loads into both of my entries.
He scrambles my bussy beyond my scramble limit and I let out my fluids all over his chest. He has quite the jungle of a chest, and I can tell his prime time was in the 70s, slamming some marine ass. I cake his chest hairs in my fondue like sperm. I am still grappled onto his penis with my poop sphincter, and I leaned down to gain my poisonous splooge from his jungle of a chest. It tastes like banana danimales. He lays me down on his desk like a caring mother tending to her baby. I am literally in a stupor from the baby making fluids inside my ass right now. I pull my undies back up to seal up my poop sphincter from leaking cum. A little stains into my whitey tighties, I have no worries, my skirt will hide the principal cum stains. I get home and reflect on the sin I had just committed. I seriously contemplate whether to incriminate or keep up the daily bussy scrambling. It feels like I am at a crossroads here. But if I stop now, then, would I have accomplished my goal of imprisoning Suppes? But if I continue I know that because of how much of a 'shitter' I am, will I just let Suppes use me like his personal fleshlight? Who knows? But I know one thing, Suppes is going to be getting to his office a little early tomorrow.
III
I get dropped off by the bus and I storm into the building. The office lady exclaims, "You're a little early" I ignore her. I have no time to get into meaningless conversations with the minimum wage workers that live in this god forsaken school. I walk into his office and that is when I see it. The unthinkable, Mr. Suppes and another femboy who attend this school. First sadness, but then an idea. They were already mid-way through pounding bussy. So I ask
"Ay yo, can I hop in?!"
Suppes is so shocked at first that he urinates into the femboy's ass. Moaning is followed soon after. Then suppes responds
"Well er uh of course!"
I am delighted to be helping a veteran in the army, so I get to it. Suppes puts on some zz top and me and the femboy, which I don't even know his name, get Suppes to blow the biggest load I have ever seen onto mine and the other femboy's face. A quick knock on the door is audible, and then it opens to see the sight of Suppes standing over two helpless, wayward femboys covered in splooge. The secretary is in shock, her mouth is wide open just like mine but I have more cum in mine than hers. I gulp down the salty treat and stand up quickly to brush myself off the other femboy follows suit. The secretary hastily shuts the door and Mr. Suppes doesn't look like he wants to continue. I know for a fact that the secretary is going to report this so I walk out of his office and the on campus police officer asks me to wait in his office. He had me waiting in there for 3 hours before the police arrived and was able to apprehend Suppes. Am I glad? Am I sad? Am I mad that Mr. Suppes won't be able to tongue punch my fart box? No. I feel nothing. Later on I am asked to testify against Mr. Suppes. I do. I say the truth and nothing but the truth. Mr. Suppes was surely to be given a prostate exam in prison without consent. I'm just glad that I'm not the one in his shoes. But all the costs were necessary.
