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The janitor was going to have a fit. Was it Richie today, or was it Dave? Dave wouldn't care as much, but that fat bear hated cleaning up the senior bathrooms, especially the boy's room. How does someone who gets so touchy when you make him wipe up jizz wind up a mop jockey, anyways?

Heh. 'Boy's room'. There wasn't anything boyish about the third floor restroom, where only the seniors and some of their chosen few friends were supposed to be in. Four stalls, four urinals, four sinks, and enough musk and dried spunk to make your nose burn if you didn't expect it. This was where those of us with more, um, excitable natures went to ensure we could pay attention during class. At least that's how Mr. Lancaster in homeroom said. But he's a literature teacher and they get all flowery and stuff when they talk. Honest truth of it is we're horny teenagers, maybe more than normal I guess. I don't know, I've never been to another school.

But I can vouch for the horny part. Otherwise, I wouldn't be sitting here in this stall with my pants around my ankles, wiping spunk off my fingers with some toilet paper and watching the rest dry on the door, trying to keep comfortable on this cold toilet seat without getting my tail wet. My mom keeps telling me jerking off is bad for you and that it's filthy or I'll go blind or whatever. Dad just shrugs and says it's a guy thing and she just rolls her eyes. It's not my fault that everything gets me worked up! Girls just don't understand what it's like to be so hard it just hurts and they don't cut these uniforms right. I can't even wear my boxers under 'em. My dad goes down there once a month and complains, says that lions are bigger in the lower body, we need more than just big shirts and blazers, you've got to 'make room for the junk'. It's kind of embarrassing when he goes in there yelling at Principal Clemens about his dick. I bet he whips it out and shows her, too. Dad's really a smug asshole sometimes. I hope I don't grow up like him.

Listen, listen, don't go getting all judgmental on me. It's not my_fault, I swear. I'm not trying to be some kind of pervert. And I'm definitely_not the only one here who has to do this--I can hear someone in here with me, and I don't even think he's alone. Let me try to defend myself, okay? There's a real reason for it.

Today's Thursday. That means I have my 'long' classes today--three hours, two classes. It's kinda boring to have to sit there so long and listen to the same teacher go on and on, but eh. I like science, so Chemistry with Mr. Armstrong doesn't really bother me a lot. We get to do labs and experiments--it'd suck balls if it was Lancaster's English Lit class or Mrs. Davenport's history lectures. I'd just have to hide in the back and sleep the whole time.

The other class, though, that's the real winner--Trigonometry with Miss Clarice. That's not her last name, but she says we have to call her by her first name because she doesn't want to act all superior and stuff. It's cool that we can go in there and just talk like we're friends. I'm not very good at math though, and all these numbers and formulas get me confused. Mom got me a tutor and I study hard so I won't fail or anything. It's just really hard to focus sometimes when everything makes your dick hard and your head all fuzzy.

It doesn't help that Miss Clarice is smoking hot. I don't just mean like she's kinda pretty. I've had pretty teachers before and they're...okay. I mean my social studies teacher sophomore year had nice tits, and Coach Cliffton is pretty buff. He's a lion like me too and that's a good thing but he's old and has a big nasty gut. I hear he feels up the kids at the junior high too, and that's sick, real sick. It makes me want to puke just thinking about it.

But Clarice, she's like a goddess, an Afghan hound right out of the heart of France. Well, maybe her parents were French or something, but she's definitely got kind of an accent. It's soft and warm and it makes it sound like she's singing when she really gets going. Not that many of us are paying attention to what Clarice is saying, though--we're watching her broad ass bounce every time she moves. It's like it's keeping the beat to her walking, swinging as her heels click on the floor. And her tits, damn. They're not the biggest in the whole school (those belong to Mrs. Rheotovsky in Home Ec; she's so big she can't wrap her arms around them and they get stuck in doorways) but they fit her just fine. High and perky, good big handfuls that stand out like torpedoes in her push-up bra, just right on her otherwise slim frame. Hell, you can even tell when she's really happy or when the janitors couldn't seem to keep the air conditioning under control. We like to tease the freshmen about the teacher they can't have and how they'll just have to stare into her door from the hallway and dream about her. My friend Jerry is just kicking himself for not getting into Trig with me. It's like the honors class for guys with active sex drives--like me. The Promised Land, man.

So, back to the matter at hand. Everyone had filed into the classroom as fast as they could to get situated and ready to 'learn'. Now for most people, that's getting your books and shit out, maybe sharpening a pencil or finishing up your homework. With Trig and Miss Clarice, it's very different. We're almost all guys in here, so what most of us do is get ready to, well, deal with the day by making sure we're comfortable in the slacks. The modestly hung guys might undo their zippers and let their cocks just hang out under their desks, where you can't see that they're hard as rock and jerking off unless you really go looking. Matter of fact, the rabbit next to me does just that every time. Poor guy. He's kinda cute but he's so small--maybe five feet, if you count his ears--and he's got a dick to match. I might say it's five inches if he's at full mast. But I know he's getting ass. Damn near every guy in this school is if they want it, and I don't know any who don't!

Those of us guys with big dicks, though, we can't just whip it out. Clarice may be kind of ditzy but if that horse on the other side of the room just starts whacking off she's kind of going to notice, especially if he paints the floor baby-batter white. It kinda stinks to have to keep the boys tucked away, but it's the way we avoid having to explain to the principal what exactly we were doing and possibly getting' Miss Clarice fired or something. I dunno how the stallions and the bulls handle it, but me, I slip a rubber on before class and make sure it's on there good and tight. You know they make condoms just for situations like this? Yeah, no shit, my dad showed 'em to me. They're for strip clubs and places like that where you don't want to pop a load while some hot bitch is working your lap over. Only freshmen should have to go through the day with a big wad of drying come in their pants, and I wouldn't even want it to happen to them. It's just nasty, y'know?

"Whaddya figure she's gonna be wearin' today, Mitch?" Smitty's one of my best bros, a mink who taught me how to be more flexible than you'd expect a lion to be after he kicked my ass on the wrestling mat more than a couple of times. Black as night, taller than I am, maybe even better hung than me, but that's just how minks are. They're damned fuckin' machines. He was busy adjusting himself in his uniform slacks too, though I could tell you right now that not a damned thing was going to make either of us stop bulging at just the thought of what the educational goddess would have on.

"Shit, I dunno, Smit." I coaxed my cock down a little lower. "Maybe she'll wear that sundress that you could see right through." Curse these goddamned pants and how tight the legs were cut. If you had any kind of meat on your thighs--or between 'em--it was like trying to squeeze a kielbasa through a keyhole. I guess it's a small price to pay for being so damn perfect, y'know?

My ears perked up at the soft sound of a click to the back. Smitty and I gave each other a smirk before turning back to Jenna in the back. The tigress raised an eyebrow at us, looking back and forth. "What?"

Smitty clicked his tongue. "You think we don't hear that? Buzz buzz buzz...you keep sneaking Commander Buzzcock in here and you're going to get caught." He looked at me. "Or maybe she wants to get caught. Jen, babe, if you weren't such a hot dyke I'd tell on you."

Jenna sputtered, trying to cover up the vibrations coming up from her crotch. I laughed hard, ducking as she tossed a pencil at the mink's head. We all knew she had a thing for the ladies and we loved her just as much. Smitty was gayer than an entire pride parade--that's why he'd gotten into wrestling, as cliché as it sounds. It was a great opportunity to bump and grope big studs. It just pure damn luck he'd wound up being good at it to boot. State champion in his weight division, and you don't get that by screwing your opponents. Not all of them anyways.

Every head in the room, high and low, shot up as the door opened up and that staccato click told us Miss Clarice had finally made it. She was never quite on time. We figured getting yourself that pretty took extra time, and not a one of us in that class was going to tell her to take her time to style those bangs or stuff those lovely breasts into a bra that might not be the right size for her (but it was fine by us!).

"Good morning, class!" No one answered. I know I couldn't if I'd wanted to. I was way too busy holding my breath and watching her move in a pencil skirt that was fighting to keep her broad hips in check and mostly losing the fight against decency. If we'd been in an arena, the crowd would have broken out in deafening applause at the results. Those palmable tits were stuffed in a blouse that wasn't quite sausage-skin tight but couldn't manage to hide away the luscious curvature and enough cleavage for even the cyldedale in the back of the room to lose his dick in. I know I could, and oh you bet your ass I wanted to. And it was all white, pure stark freshly bleached white, the color of pure angelic beauty. Watching Miss Clarice strut across the room like a pin-up model with her hips swinging wildly at every step was better than any Viagra for making boys hard and girls wet.

Smitty whistled through his teeth. "Miss Clarice just don't know."

Jenna leaned forward between us. "Gee, Smitty, I thought you didn't like girls."

The mink put a hand to his chest, looking taken aback. It was bull, we both knew it. "Moi? Why whatever do you mean? Dear, I'll have you know that I _prefer_men. There's still a small soft spot for the feminine mystique." He tapped Jenna's nose, making her snort and go a little cross-eyed. "Unlike you, my cunny-lapping feline friend."

"I trust everyone has done their homework, yes?" Miss Clarice cut in on our conversation as she adjusted a pile of papers on her desk. I hadn't even noticed until now, but she'd done her hair up into braids--not cornrows or anything like that, but a pair of long, thick braids that started near the top of her scalp and hung down either side of her head almost like pigtails, framing her long muzzle. There was still a long shock of loose hair in the back that reached down to her tail and almost obscured the short little thing--it might have been the only part of her that wasn't covered in thick blonde hair. She'd been complaining all semester about hair falling in her face. Hopefully this would make her smile. I liked seeing her smile.

Now if you expected class would be full of teasing and nipple slips, you couldn't be a lot more wrong. Maybe she didn't know that she was putting on a performance for her class, a class of teenagers that were less taking notes on cosines and radians and more taking notes on how when Miss Clarice bent down to get a piece of chalk or flip through pages in her textbook you could see the outlines of her panties as plain as day. (Jenna groused that she shouldn't bother wearing them. Me and Smitty just rolled our eyes.) That isn't to say I wasn't enjoying class. By the time we were down to the last half hour I was fit to be tied and my balls were bluer than a Smurf in a snowstorm.

"How do you keep from goin' crazy, Smit?" We were trying to be sneaky and whisper at each other. It was probably dumb, being as we were up near the front to get the best look at the goddess of trigonometry, but I'd never trade a little privacy for losing sight of those nipples trying to climb out of that bra. Dave must have messed with the thermostat again, bless his perverted soul.

He raised an eyebrow, trying not to look up from his notes and give away the 'game'. "What do you mean, Mitch?"

I leaned back to try and relieve a little pressure. "I need to come so bad, man."

"Then just do it. Geeze, do you need a hand?"

"No--no, man. I just, y'know--"

Smitty poked me with his pen. "You afraid you're going to be too loud or something? Or make a big mess?" Making sure Clarice was turned away, he leaned over to me and nipped my ear. "I've already popped twice, and number three's on deck." And then he was back and writing down formulae like nothing special with one hand while stroking along his thigh with the other. Goddamned minks...

"Mistair Maynard?" I shot my eyes to the front of the room like I'd been caught stealing. Miss Clarice only used last names when she was agitated, and if her accent was showing then it had to be really bad. One look confirmed everything, her arms crossed under her bust and toe tapping against the tiles sharply.

"Um...yes, Miz Clarice?"

She leaned forward, hands on her desk, spilling cleavage out at me. It was the best threat in the world and I suddenly wanted to be in trouble a lot more often.

"It is your turn to come to the front and solve the problem, Gabriel." I winced again. Smitty snickered behind his hand. No one called me Gabriel except my mother. Miss Clarice was pretty danged ticked if she'd come to that level of taunting me.

The equation on the board wasn't anything out of the ordinary for trigonometry. I'd done conversions like this a dozen times just in getting my homework done for the night. It was really hard to focus with all the half-naked afghans dancing through my head, though, laying themselves on the numbers and spreading those strong thighs around the variables. It was like solving for triple x.

"Are you having trouble, Gabriel?" Clarice was watching me from her chair, paying more attention to the board and my scribbles than me directly. Seeing that delicious bust didn't help the throbbing pain in my slacks. Walking up to the board had shifted my carefully laid 'pipe' and forced everything to bunch up in the crotch, making for the ridiculous kind of bulge that you usually only saw from porn stars and horses who'd needed to find a mare or six for way too long.

"N-no, I think I got it..." I made a few marks and started to hammer through, doing everything I could to ignore the screaming hormones in my brain. Even her scent was making my blood rush to my dick. But I couldn't let rip here, not in front of everyone, and definitely not just a few inches from the woman what had caused the problem in the first damn place! There were only ten minutes until class ended...maybe I could stall my way through until I could find a stall...

"No, no, Gabriel. You're using the wrong ratio." She stood up, shaking her head slightly and coming to stand right next to me. "We discussed this earlier today, but I do not think you were paying attention, yes?" Clarice took an eraser and started dusting away my work, sending her breasts swaying as she did. I was hypnotized. I'm sure she was saying something and I'm sure they were words, but if you asked me what any of them were, I wouldn't have had a single memory. The only word I could have used were 'tits' and maybe 'bluhhhh'.

Clarice moved forward in front of me, putting her palm against my chest to push and make some room. "Gabriel, you are not paying very much attention to me. Focus, please! Now, we must consider the unit circle..." Either she really wasn't aware of what she was doing and was the biggest airhead in the world today or Miss Clarice Deboucheau was the absolute biggest pricktease in the world today. Either way, she was my entire world, every inch of it. Her perfume filled up my nostrils, mingled with the faint scent of shampoo and dog-hair. There was a total struggle in my brain on just where to put my damn hands, let alone anything more involved than that.

I felt something soft and plush press against my waist. I nearly choked on my own spit and died right there on the spot, staring down as Miss Clarice ground her ass, the ass I'd stared at for hours and hours, the ass I'd dreamed about for even longer, and the ass I'd filled more than a few condoms and piles of Kleenex while fantasizing about. Hell, I'd lose at least one girlfriend when I shouted out the wrong name while we were fucking. I would have dumped me too, that shit's just rude. But I'd worry about dumping me another time.

"What--what are you doing, Miss Clarice?" My voice was a hoarse whisper, the kind that two teenagers sneaking around behind the scenes for a good hard screw that they aren't supposed to even understand about use, not the kind you use when you're talking to your teachers.

She turned and looked up at me, total innocent written across her eyes. "Ah...writing on the board? There is more room at the bottom." She wasn't teasing. You can tell when a girl is doing that, there's something in their voice or the way they move. No, fair and serious and true, she was just adjusting for more room to write, scribbling away at the problem to try and make it simple for me to understand.

It wasn't helping. My big brain had shut down and had put the smaller one in full control of everything, meaning Clarice could have been explaining anything from astrophysics to how to spell 'cat' and it would have registered exactly the same way. My cock wanted a piece of that ass, wanted it so bad it was looking for a way to burst out of my zipper and tear the clothes off my damn math teacher. I sucked in a breath and held it hard, getting back a little control. It was just enough to not start rutting the hound right then and there. (Much as we're a liberal school and all, there are limits, and banging your teacher is grounds for...discipline.)

"Now, Mister Maynard"--she puthard emphasis on my name to try and snap my distant brain back to the matter at hand: math. "Do you think you can finish this problem? I will stay here and guide you, yes?" She gave me a soft, motherly smile of support, touching my hand as I put the chalk to the slate. "Vous pouvez le faire. Je crois en vous." I have no idea what that means. Maybe she was flirting with me? Dammit, why couldn't I have paid attention in French class?!

I hunched forward. Having Clarice wedged between me and the board meant I had to lean down some myself to reach. Most importantly it forced the straining crotch of my slacks right into her backside, pressed against the impossibly soft curve of her ass like it was meant to be there. How could she not notice the throbbing and the stink of randy lion being her? I could hear someone snicker from behind me, and I whipped my head around to see silent hoots, hollers, applause--we were putting on a show for these goons! It must have looked like a total sex show from their angle, and I was sort of jealous.

"Almost, almost..." Clarice was saying it, and I was thinking it--I almost had the problem solved in both ways. A few more moments and I could be free, I could go bang one out in the restroom or maybe get Smitty to jerk me off in the locker room. I sure as fuck couldn't go to gym this fucking hard!

I wrote the last number on the board and waited. It was an eternity while Clarice said and did nothing.

"Wonderful!" She stood up suddenly, almost knocking me over, and clapped her hands together. "You are such a wonderful student, Gabriel. I am proud of you." The hound stretched up on her toes and kissed my cheek softly--she did that sometimes, I guess maybe it was a foreign thing, a way to congratulate someone?

It was more than just that for me. For me it wasn't just some silly-ass way to say I'd done a good job. For me in my fucking horny state, it was the final pull on a trigger that was worked to the very limit. That trigger, if you don't get it, was my cock. I came like a firehose, throwing my head back and letting go of a long, soundless roar as the condom did its job and held back the flood of spunk. It went on and on as I stared at the ceiling, so much I was afraid for a second that it might break and I'd end up embarrassing myself more than I probably already had.

Clarice blinked several times, holding her hand to her mouth, completely confused. "Oh my. You appear to very much enjoy the mathematics, Gabriel." She giggled, tail wagging behind her furiously. "I should have you to the board more often!"

"You bet he likes them hard problems, Miz Clarice!" Smitty, I'll kill you when I get a chance.

The bell rang suddenly and I managed to summon up enough bodily function to make it out of the classroom, only forgetting my books for a couple of seconds. You kind of had to understand that right that second I was mostly concerned with my own personal needs, particularly the warm and squishy ones between my thighs, so Smitty's laughing and the applause and shouts from the other folks in the class just kind of rolled over my ears and kept on going. I didn't hear it. I was too busy stomping my way up to the third floor, where there weren't any classes most days, just dusty closets and rooms full of outdated A/V gear.

Mostly importantly, it had the "Boy's Room". Like I said back at the beginning, it's where we seniors got to go to and deal with our crazy hormones in privacy. I kicked open the first stall and slammed the door behind me, already working down my slacks with a loud sigh. Letting the big foot-long frank out of a cotton-blend prison was like getting both good and bad news--good, the rubber had held and I wasn't going to have to try and wash jizz out of my thigh fur. The bad, on the other hand, was that it hadn't been enough. The titan was still at full mast, the veins standing out all angry and thick, the whole thing held down by the weight of the fully loaded condom that was still hanging on tight. Thank whoever for really durable latex...

I peeled the thing off carefully, trying not to spill any that I didn't have to--especially on me!--and knotted off the end before tossing it away with absolutely no concern for where it landed. It'd hold, and it wasn't going to be the only fully packed cock-sock they'd find in here today. I slumped onto the toilet and groused to myself. I'd hoped that there was someone else here I could beg some ass off of, maybe one of the cheerleaders skipping class to help the jocks not blow a testicle or maybe Smitty or one of his boitoi friends. But no, not a sign; the whole floor was dead silent except for the soft thrum of the over-worked air conditioner as it made all the nipples in the building crinkle and stand. There really wasn't anything for it but to manage my own needs. Damn you, Miss Clarice, and damn that fuckin' wonderful ass of yours!

I undid the buttons on my shirt and hung up my blazer, not wanting to get any of them dirty with whatever was gonna come (and it was probably going to be a lot of it) and gave my sticky cock a few tugs, testing the waters. Of course. The first pop meant it was going to be a lot harder to pull up another one, no matter how hard the thing was and no matter how bad I wanted it. Jacking off wasn't really helping, it was just frustrating me worse than before and making my hand a tacky mess of half-dried spunk. Sometimes, being the king meant you had to go the extra mile, I guess. What I was the king of I didn't know, but it wasn't getting off easily today. These inches and inches of dick needed more love than Rosie Palmer could possibly provide.

I took a look back out in the hall, not even bothering to cover my raging hard-on, just to see if there were any options. It was even quieter than before if you can believe that. Class must have started downstairs. If no one was up here before that, then they sure weren't going to go sneaking off now. It was just me, my hand, and my imagination, I guess.

Well, there was one other option. Normally I wouldn't have even considered it, but today it not only sounded like the best idea, it sounded downright wonderful, like the perfect capper to the day before I staggered into my next class late but not packing a pocket rocket that could have blown up the Moon.

I slipped back into my stall and put my shirt with my jacket, stopping for a moment to preen. I'd been gifted with dad's muscles; I was a thinner beast than him but I still had all the perfectly sculpted lines that made everyone swoon when I hit the pool or walked into a party in a tanktop. Wrestler's beauty, the coach called it, that build that comes somewhere between your hugely bulky footballer and the slimmer swimmer's build. I loved it, maybe a little too much, but cats get to be a little narcissistic.

That done, I got myself comfortable on the floor, hissing as my back hit the cool tiles. No one used this place for anything but fucking and coming, so I wasn't particularly worried about getting filthy. Trust me, this is not something I'd normally do in a fuckin' men's room, you understand? Those stories are completely untrue. I swear it. Slowly, I 'walked' my feet up the wall in front of me, making sure to let things stretch carefully. I'd only done this maybe twice and both times Smitty had helped, so you'll pardon me if I feel a little nervous about spraining my back and needing help to get out of here. My dad wouldn't stop laughing for a _month_after that shit.

Finally I got myself up, feet high in the air and just my shoulder blades on the ground. Okay, Mitch, clutch time, I told myself, sucking in a deep breath before pushing off the cheap plastic divider. The strain on my back made my teeth grind, the muscles pulling taut as I slowly folded myself over into a package, bringing my target just that little bit closer to bear.

A few steps, a few pauses to adjust, and there it was, dangling right in front of my face like a big red...thing. I don't know what you'd use to describe it. I just know it as the twelve inches of steel-hard lion dick that had been the terminal excitement for more women than I could count and more than a few men as well. It'd been lusted after, groped, fondled, stroked, and rubbed like a cherished toy. And right now, it was lingering a breath from my mouth, dripping on my lips. Now, I'm only bisexual a little. I like a man now and again, but women are really where it's at. But even a guy like myself can appreciate seeing a truly impressive member up in his face, especially when he's really hard-up to get off.

I teased at the crown with my tongue, letting the rough texture roll around and collect up the little drips of salty pre-come that were all over the place. The scent was strong and the taste stronger as I rolled over the leftover jizz from my little...incident with Miss Clarice. As suddenly as I'd popped before, she appeared in my mind, her shirt open and breasts bouncing in front of me as she pushed her lips over my fat cockhead.

Steeling myself I drove my hips down, cramming the first inches of my prick into my face, sucking it down past my teeth until it tapped the back of my mouth. I was not about to try to deep throat myself--that sounded like a recipe for ending in the 'weird news' section of the local paper. In my dreamworld, the lovely afghan opened her mouth as wide as she could, welcoming my member in, the soft prick of teeth against the surface making me suck in my breath through my nose.

If you've never tried to fuck your own face, you have to understand that it's a very slow thing at first. There's lots of adjusting, getting your breath under control, and making sure you don't hurt anything. I don't know how Smitty does it, but Smitty does a lot of things I don't get. Fucking minks. I clamped my hands on my thighs, pulling down until I was jack knifed into myself and started to rock, just shallow to start, getting more and more bold as I went at it, rumbling deep at the feeling of a good blowjob by someone who knows what you want more than anyone else possibly could. I think I even started purring before too long. Or maybe it was a deep, feral, animal growl. Yeah, it was the latter.

My imaginary lover was no less enthusiastic about the game we were playing together. My meat rolled all the way to the base and my balls slapped against her chin with every stroke, her tongue playing the entire length like a well-tuned instrument in the hands of a professional musician. Or a professional cocksucker, I'm sure they exist somewhere. Smooth palms with the most wonderfully manicured nails rolled up my thighs and cupped my balls, her tongue sliding free to lavish them in warm saliva and even hotter love. I definitely would not last very long under the tutelage of such a magnificent teacher, and I think she knew it, her eyes lidded and breath heavy.

"Je ne sais pas ce qu'elle allait dire ici," she whispered to me. "Mais je suis sûr que ce serait quelque chose de vraiment chaud." When did my brain learn French? Did I have some kind of secret power locked away? Oh who really cares, I was getting the best head of my life, pounding my cock into my mouth faster and faster, gagging as I tried to breathe through my nose and ignore the complaints from my spine. Finally I couldn't take it anymore and rolled to my side, pushing up and sitting spread legged on the toilet seat, both hands wrapped around my cock and banging away at it with a fury like no other. You could have likely tapped the tip with a feather and I would have blown more than a Twilight film. You would have needed a shovel to dig out of the come.

"Oh, oh Gabriel...my wonderful Gabriel..." Miss Clarice fell to all fours, her skirt hiked up and her impossibly soft rump pointed at me, the delicate folds of her pussy spread open wide as we got off together. Every pump of my hand was answered with the squishing wetness of four fingers deep inside a sodden and overworked snatch that was as desperate to come as I was.

I roared. It's hard for a lion not to when he reaches a peak he's been desperately seeking for some time now. I don't think it was too loud, and besides, no one up on the third floor would really care--they didn't have classes, remember? So I growled and churned, splattering every surface with jizz, lots of it, more than I thought I could carry. I spurted until my balls hurt and then a little longer, over and over until my hand hurt and I had to stop and catch my breath.

I took a quick look around, evaluating the damage. I'd missed my uniform, so I had that much going for me, but the place looked like a paint bomb had gone off. The janitor was going to have a fit. Was it Richie today, or was it Dave? Dave wouldn't care as much, but that fat bear hated cleaning up the senior bathrooms, especially the boy's room. How does someone who gets so touchy when you make him wipe up jizz wind up a mop jockey, anyways?

I grabbed a handful of toilet paper and set to wiping the gunk off my fingers, licking a little bit at it. Ugh. Smitty's right, that's really an acquired taste. Sometimes I understand why Jenna doesn't want anything to do with dicks. They're messy and smelly and taste like crap.

I perked my ears a bit. The far stall was rattling and I let myself smirk. Someone else must have found their way up here. I guess people really would cut class to get their fuck on, given half a chance. Or maybe it was one of the faculty, but they usually used the staff lounge.

I sat back against the cold pipes of the toilet and just listened for a bit. I had time before I needed to be anywhere.

And I'd need to remember to get off before trig, or this was going to become a recurring problem...