Cross Country

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I’m a teacher. This was my first year teaching at Lawndale High. My first year teaching at any school, for that matter, but you have to start somewhere. So the big mid-year event came as a nasty surprise.

It turned out that it was tradition that Lawndale High held a cross-country run each year. Attendance compulsory. That was fine by me. Gets the students out of my hair and gives me a peaceful day.

That was until I found out exactly what attendance compulsory meant.

“You mean that we, the teachers, are all supposed to go on this run as well?” I gasped. He had to be joking. Dear god, let him be joking.

“That’s right,” Mr Pierce, our Principal assured me. “I expect all our teachers to be there, leading the way. It shows school spirit and helps to build morale.”

“It’s going to be a very slow run if I’m expected to be one of the leaders,” I pointed out and Mr Pierce gave me a slow once over.

I knew what he was looking at. Standing five foot tall I resemble a pixie, not a cross-country runner. He nodded thoughtfully.

“I’m sure you have the stamina to do the distance,” he said dryly, “but I will concede that you are a little on the short side. Instead of leading you can be one of the sweepers bringing up the rear.”

“I believe the correct description is vertically challenged,” I muttered, bring a choked snort from Meg, sitting next to me.

“Ah, what does a sweeper do?”

“Some of our students show a lamentable lack of school spirit and tend to drop out of the race early. The sweepers gather them up and encourage them to complete the course.”

OK. I could do that. Stroll along behind the pack and yell at anyone going slower than me. Piece of cake.

The day of the cross-country came along and a very fine day it was. I had the route memorised and it was supposed to be well marked with flags. I was dressed for the run in a fetching pair of yellow shorts and an official school t-shirt. I also had a tracksuit in my car to change into after the race.

The first chore of the day was to hunt the students out of their various hiding places. I wasn’t much use here as I didn’t know the normal hideaways, but I went along with Meg. She’s been at Lawndale for years and knows where even the smallest student might hide.

Finally satisfied that the school was gathered the Principal gave the nod and the whole herd took off at a slow trot. I will admit that at least Mr Pierce had the courage of his convictions and was doing the run with the rest of us.

I and the two other designated sweepers followed along behind. We were spread out to a fair degree to make sure no-one sneaked off to the side and away.

We came across the really lazy ones quite fast. A few growls tended to get them moving, resigned to the fact that they were between a rock and a hard place. They either ran or got ground up.

Now when the school took off, at the rear of the pack I spotted Michael. Michael is in the sixth form. He’s eighteen, graduates this year, though I don’t know how, and is a star on the football team. He is also a very big boy.

When I say big, I mean big. He’s over six foot tall and I’d hate to think how much he weighs. He’s all meat and muscle. I heard some other teachers discussing him. Big as an ox and just as strong, one had observed. Yes, but also just as dumb and just as stubborn, was the reply.

Now I had Michael in one of my classes and although he was quiet he always seemed to hand in his assignments on time and got good marks for them. If they were really his work he couldn’t be all that dumb, so I was reserving judgement.

The reason I mentioned Michael was because while he was ahead of the stragglers, just running along at the back of the pack, when we passed through a little wood he wasn’t at the back of the pack any more. Or with the stragglers. Or anywhere in sight.

I jogged over to one of the other sweepers and mentioned that Michael had turned up missing. He didn’t seem surprised.

He’ll be lurking in the woods until we’ve gone. I’ll let you go chouse him out.”

I sighed and trotted back to the woods. The joys of being the junior teacher.

I trotted along the path and finally spotted another path leading away. Guessing that Michael had slipped down there I headed on down. The path ended at a little grassy clearing, and there was Michael, reading.

“What do you think you’re doing, Michael,” I asked, feeling like a Chihuahua bailing up a Great Dane.

“Reading,” he said flatly.

“Really. And what may I ask are you reading.”

“Ah, it’s a book. That’s what most people read, you know?”

“And may I ask the name of the book?”

“You may.”

There was dead silence. He was waiting for me to ask, the swine. Was he really that dumb or was he having me on?

“And the name of the book is?”

“It’s silivri escort Odyssey. By Homer, you know. I’m reading it in the original Greek. I find it loses too much in the English translation.”

I blinked and looked harder at the book. Damned if he wasn’t telling the truth. Somehow the phrases ‘dumb ox’ and ‘reading the Odyssey in the original Greek’ just did not fit well together.

“Do you know what you’re supposed to be doing?” I asked pointedly.

“Attending a place of learning so I can further my education,” he replied.

“You’re supposed to be running in the cross-country,” I reminded him. “So why don’t you put the book away and get going?”

“Better yet, why don’t you, Miss Jackson, go chase those who need the exercise and leave me in peace?”

“As far as I’m concerned, you’re one of them. Now let’s get moving.” I snapped that out very nicely, demonstrating that I was in command.

Michael rose to his feet and put his hands on his tips. God he looked enormous.

“Look at me, Miss Jackson, and tell me what you see.”

I looked him up and down in an icy manner.

“I see a big lazy ox who isn’t entering into the spirit of things and going with the rest of the school on a cross-country run.”

“Wrong. You see a very large young man. I’m big and I’m strong and I’m fit. Despite what some people say, I have never taken steroids. Never needed to and don’t want to. I can run very fast in short sprints and I can keep on going steadily for quite a while. What you don’t see is a cross-country runner. For all my strength and stamina I’d finish the cross-country dead last, well after the others have gone home. Expecting me to ever be a cross-country runner is ludicrous. Just because the Principal thinks it’s a good idea doesn’t make it one.

There are things at which I excel and things that I’m good at and getting better at. Now I don’t mind putting time and effort into these things, burnishing my skills and developing new ones. However, I see no reason why I should waste my time doing something that I don’t like, don’t need and will never be any good at.

You, as a teacher, should understand this. You’ll also find that you’ll develop to be a better teacher when you come to understand that some rules need to be bent a little. This is one of those times. Now run along and yap at one of the lazy hounds that needs a Terrier snapping at their heels.”

A Terrier. A step up from a Chihuahua, I guess.

“Sorry, Michael. You make a good case for yourself but my instructions were to gather up the stragglers and you’re one, so let’s go. Think of it as building school morale.”

The big lummox just sat back down on the grass.

“I build school morale every time I help the team win,” he said. “You can consider that my contribution. Now run along. I’m reading.”

Apparently the stubborn as an ox bit was true, even if he was a damn sight smarter than some people realised. He was about to find out that I was even stubborner.

I marched over and stood in front of him, standing as tall as I could.

“On your feet, boy,” I snapped. “Now!”

He ignored me. Totally. Completely. I wasn’t even worth looking at. He turned a page of his book and continued reading.

I slapped the book out of his hand, sending it flying. That made him look at me.

“That book is an expensive item,” he said looking quite annoyed. “What’s more it’s my personal property. You, as a teacher, should have more respect for both books and other people’s personal property.”

It hadn’t even occurred to me that if I was standing close enough to slap his book out of his hand I was also standing close enough for him to reach me. I mean, I was a teacher. I was the one in a position of authority. Unfortunately, Michael didn’t see it that way. He just reached out, picked me up and dumped me face down across his lap. He did it so effortlessly that you’d think that he was handling a small child.

A very naughty small child at that. His hand came down and firmly spanked me on the bottom. It smarted and I squealed. Then came the next spank.

I couldn’t believe it. Michael, a student, was spanking me, the teacher.

“Cut it out, you great ox,” I yelled, yelping as another spank landed. “How dare you assault me like this?”

“How dare you show such disrespect for other people’s property?” asked Michael. “You don’t like being spanked like this?”

“No,” I yelled. Turns out I should have said yes.

“Right,” said Michael, and gave my shorts a firm tug. They popped over my hips and down my legs with no problems whatsoever. Before I could protest my panties went the same way. And Michaels hand came down firmly on my bottom again.

You can imagine my consternation. Being spanked was bad enough. Being spanked on my bare bottom şirinevler escort was a whole order of magnitude worse. I squirmed and protested and squeaked when he spanked, but I didn’t dare scream. What if I screamed and someone came? I’d just die. I would be forced to change schools, if I could find one that would take me.

So I got spanked, with not much more than a token protest. I apologised. I told him I was sorry for possibly damaging his book. He said, “I know you are. Now. The idea is to learn not to do it in the first place.”

I’ve got to admit he was quite efficient about it. He just gave me a good spanking. One that smarted (oh boy, did it smart) but didn’t actually inflict any damage. Why, I’d probably be able to sit down in a day or so.

The problem really started when he finished spanking me. He sat there, me across his knee, his great paw resting on my bare bottom. He started idly massaging me, rubbing my bottom.

I squirmed and made ‘let me go’ and ‘stop it’ noises and was ignored. His hand casually felt out my bottom and then dipped between my legs. I hadn’t even known that they were parted, but they were, and with his hand already teasing my pussy closing my legs would do nothing more than jam his hand tighter against me.

I was ever so relieved when he suddenly swung me into a sitting position, even if I was still bare-assed and on his lap. At least his hands weren’t where they shouldn’t be. He promptly grabbed the hem of my t-shirt and told me to lift my arms.

It was a case of, “You’re joking?” and he said, “No. You might as well lift them because it’s coming off.” So I lifted my arms and he lifted my t-shirt right off. You can guess how long my bra lasted after that.

He pushed me down onto the grass and then whipped off his own things. As he was also dressed for the cross-country he wasn’t wearing much. And the swine was a big man, in every sense of the word.

They say that if a man takes steroids his balls shrink. Based on that, Michael has never taken a steroid in his life. Apparently he was just one of those naturally big people.

“Michael,” I said carefully, “what are you planning to do? You should think this through very carefully.”

What was he planning to do? He was planning on fucking me. Any idiot could see that. A student and he was going to rape me. How the hell did I get into this fix?

His hand cupped one of my breasts. It looked tiny in his big hairy paw, but he seemed to treasure it, holding it gently and teasing the nipple to life. Then he did the same to my other breast.

“What am I planning to do?” he repeated. He smiled at me, a truly wicked smile that went straight to my groin. “What do you think I’m going to do?”

“You’re not thinking of the consequences,” I gasped. He’d just nibbled on a nipple while his hand was stroking my mons, tugging lightly at my curls.

“You’ve got very soft curls,” he observed. “I bet you use conditioner on them.”

“That’s none of your business,” I hissed. “You shouldn’t be touching them. Consequences, remember.”

“Ah, yes, consider the consequences. The way I look at it, if I let you go now you’ll feel honour bound to report me for indecently assaulting you. Yes, you would,” he insisted, when I tried to say I wouldn’t, “and we’d both be in trouble.

However, if I continue and make love to you, will you still report it, knowing that you’d probably destroy my life just because I didn’t ask permission. No, you wouldn’t. You’d swallow your pride and pretend it never happened. So it’s better for both of us if I just keep on going and make love to you.”

I wanted to hit him, but his logic did make sense. If he didn’t actually hurt me when he raped me I wouldn’t have the heart to destroy his life over it. I’d just swallow my pride, like he said, and see if I could find a way to break his arms.

“There is, fortunately, a way around this without either of us having to back down or lose our pride. You’re not against building up school morale, are you?”

I shook my head.

“Well, making love to you will build my morale and that will help us win the game on Saturday which will build the school morale. So my making love to you is something you should agree to for the good of the school. Have you ever answered a reverse question?”

Michael’s convoluted logic was driving me batty. And what the hell is a reverse question?

“Give me an answer. Yes or no, will do, but it can be anything.”

“OK. My answer is ‘you are insane’.”

“Very good. And the question you just answered is ‘what would you think if I don’t make love to you?”

He smiled at me, that same wicked look he gave me earlier, and again it went straight to my groin. I could feel my nipples puckering again at the thought of him taking me.

“Don’t şişli escort be bashful,” he said. “Do it. I don’t mind.”


“Do what you’ve been wanting to do. I can see the curiosity in your eyes.”

I fumed, feeling embarrassed. Was there anything he missed? I wondered just how bright he really was. I also did what I had been wanting to do. I took hold of his erection, using my hands to measure it.

My conclusions were horrendous. Too big, my mind shrieked. And I’ve got to handle this? I also found that my hands were running up and down the length of his shaft, almost greedily assessing it.

At the same time he was running his hands over me, building up my excitement. I was already wet and getting wetter.

“Lie back and lift your legs,” he murmured, and I did it without any hesitation.

He moved between my legs, brushing his cock back and forth along my slit, brushing it against my inner lips, lips that were puffy and swollen and spreading, inviting him in. He pressed lightly against me and then paused, looking at me.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Yes,” I gasped. Damn him, what the hell did he expect me to say?

He pressed forward. I could feel my lips first move wider and then close over him, my hips pushing up, feeling him sinking deeper.

Thankfully he took his time. He was filling me, quite rapidly really, but I could feel myself stretching, adjusting, finding room for him. He kept on coming and I kept stretching. I couldn’t believe that I was able to handle him, but he kept coming and I kept taking him and I was quite chuffed when he finally stopped, his groin pressed against mine.

Michael just lay there, pinning me against the ground. His hands were at my breasts, stroking them, enjoying them.

“Ready?” came the question and I just nodded. I was past ready. I’m not sure how I reached that point, but I was there.

Then he started rocking, just sliding gently in and out, stirring my nerves with every stroke. I fell into motion with him, relishing the gentle movement, excitement rising.

I thought that after a while he would start moving faster, but it didn’t happen. He just kept going at the same gentle pace, but somehow or other he was sending little spasms of lust surging through me. Maybe because he was so large and I was so tiny in comparison, I had automatically assumed that he’d be really vigorous, slamming hard into me, and I’m not sure how I would have handled that. His very gentleness got to me, igniting fires within me.

On he went, on and on, sliding back and forth, driving me wild. It finally dawned on me that at some stage Michael had started going in harder. He was now driving in harder, moving faster, and my excitement was increasing in leaps and bounds.

I was squeaking and squealing and bucking under him, gasping and shuddering, relishing every little movement. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so thoroughly shafted.

It didn’t seem that he was in a great hurry to finish. Michael seemed quite happy to pleasure himself, and he just kept it up. I was starting to squirm, tossing my head from side to side, gasping and squealing, hovering on the verge of being completely swept away.

When Michael finally decided to go for broke I was ready. Oh god, was I ready. He seemed to give one stroke that was harder and faster and the whole world came apart around me. I could feel him squirting inside me, pumping himself dry, while my passage clung desperately to his shaft, reluctant to let it go.

When I finally managed to sit up I found Michael dressed and seated, reading. He smiled at me.

“Ah, you may want to get some leaves and wipe yourself down before you get dressed,” he told me.

He had a point. Fancy re-joining the cross-country with various bodily fluids running down my legs. I shuddered. It didn’t bear thinking about.

“Ah, Miss Jackson,” Michael said rather sharply as I was reaching for some nice thick leaves. “I wouldn’t pick those leaves.”

“Why not,” I asked, turning to face him, a double handful of leaves in my grasp.

“Oh, god. Whatever you do don’t touch yourself,” he said. “That’s poison ivy.”

Wouldn’t that have been fun, wiping my thighs and privates with poison ivy? Don’t they put signs on these bushes?

“Drop the leaves, for god’s sake,” said Michael, “and don’t touch anything.”

Talk about embarrassing. I had to stand there, naked, while Michael first rubbed some leaves on my hands trying to get rid of the oils from the poison ivy. Then he got some more leaves and wiped my thighs and the rest of me down there. I know he was laughing inside, but he was smart enough not to let it show. I even had to let him dress me. Something he was suspiciously good at.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to miss the rest of the cross-country,” he said with immense satisfaction. “Unfortunately, so will I. I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I didn’t help you back to the school for proper treatment by the nurse.”

My hands were prickling and itching. Luckily for Michael, because I so wanted to slap that smug look off his face. Still, I was out of the race. There’s good luck when you least expect it.

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