Bambi and Thumper

With Mr. Wilson

"That's it, Girls!" Mr. Wilson roared. Everyone in history class jumped. "I want to see the both of you tonight."

"Detention? But it was them." Thumper pointed a red tipped acrylic at three guilty looking boys in the back of class.

Them had been shooting paper clips. Bambi didn't care anymore about the purple welts they raised on the meaty part of her arms. Just as she did not care that they were yet again the victims of an injustice.

'It's karma', she decided. She also decided that she must have been like a serial killer in an earlier life.

The Girls sat in the empty room watching as Mr. Wilson corrected papers. Every once in a while, he'd chuckle, quite pleased with himself as he scrawled a bright red F on someone's life. He didn't finish until it was dark out and the parking lot was empty.

"You may leave," he said from beneath his glasses not even looking up. When Bambi stood, he added, "Thumper."

She sat back down shivering, wishing something large and heavy would fall from the sky and crush her.

When Thumper was long gone, Mr. Wilson said, "Come here, my dear."

Bambi stopped when she got to the front of his desk.

"No. Here. Next to me," he smiled toothsomely. "I won't bite."

When she was beside him, he pushed back his squeaky chair and patted the desktop in front of him.

"Sit here."

Bambi lifted her butt and squiggled on to the hardwood, pushing pencils and papers out of the way.

Her dress rode up and up, dangerously close to revealing her underwear. She squeezed her knees as tight together as she could.

"Relax. I wouldn't dream of doing anything you don't want."

Bambi let her knees spread—the dark space between her thighs mysterious and inviting.

"Your kind are always the smart ones." Bambi smiled blankly. Obviously, Mr. Wilson did not need a response because he just kept right on going. "You're a wonder you know that. Look at you. You do just as you please right out in the open. That tight little slip of yours that you call a dress can barely constrain your wantonness. Your anima strains at the feeble confines."

'He's a talker', Bambi nodded to both her and Mr. Wilson. She understood talkers. They needed to rationalize their indiscretions. They'd prattle on and on not really caring one way or the other who was listening.

"You've bloomed into quite the Lolita, you know."

He placed the fingertips and palm on her thigh, the backs of his hand and finger brisling with wire like black hairs.

"So soft. So believable."

He slowly slid his fingers up and between her thighs. Bambi's nipples strained against the soft silk. She may as well have been wearing nothing.

"You're triple desirable. Do you know that? You're a minor. You're my student. And you're a boy—a boy with a nice ass and tits."

"I'm—"

"Shss," Mr. Wilson whispered. "No one really gives a damn about what happens to a mostly girl."

His hand and wrist disappeared into the recesses of the tent her skirt made of her gape. With his thumb and two fingers he fondled her through the silk of her panty.

"So small and hard. Just like a clitoris. Do you know what a clit is, Bambi?"

"Please—"

Mr. Wilson stopped her mid-beg with a tight squeeze.

"A clitty is the on button for a woman. You stroke it—they forget everything—even that you're scum. It gets them all hot and wet." Mr. Wilson sneered. "My you seem to have wet yourself. Bad girl."

Bambi could feel a sticky goo running from her.

Mr. Wilson worked harder, squeezing Bambi, and pulling, making her stiffen slightly.

"Go ahead. It's okay."

Bambi spread her legs wider, pushing herself closer to him, feeling her ass slide across the desktop, pulling up her dress, showing her crotch.

Bambi could see that she wasn't really hard, just firm. But she was extremely excited, wanting something.

"Oh," she moaned, clenching her ass cheeks together and grunting. She saw a circle of wetness spread across the front of her panty, like she'd wet herself, had an accident, like a baby, right in front of her teacher. That humiliation excited her more than anything so far.

"Good night, Bambi," Mr. Wilson smiled, withdrawing his hand and forcing her legs together. "Next time. It's my turn."