(All together) Lined up in rows

All three girls shared their final class of the day. Mixed-sex gym, which, as always, was a bit of a joke really… considering it basically just consisted of doing what they all did everyday anyway. Grace appreciated the school-board’s dedication to the idea that sex was one of the best forms of exercise… But left in the hands of a certain Mrs Farrow, these periods seemed to just devolve into a puppet-show theatre for her own personal fantasies. Row upon row of paired up young students, instructed to position themselves as she saw fit and then thrust themselves together to the rhythm of her own voice. Any student could request not to participate of course, but here more than anywhere, the great popularity contest came into play. Skipping out on an hour's worth of end of day screwing in front of the whole class? No true-blue healthy young slut would even consider it. That was a one-way trip to prudesville.

Grace, Simone and Alex usually ended up somewhere near the middle of the rear ranks. Shoulder to shoulder while various boys jostled and bickered over who got to fuck them this time. Some of the other multi-siblinged teens sniffed at Simone's inclusion here, but the girl's reputation and ferocity usually kept their judgements to themselves. Girls who didn't end up with a partner were offered strap-ons to use with each other, an option that many just chose for themselves on occasion… to avoid all the spillage and scuffle… or just have a chance of pairing with someone who knew what they were doing for once. Sim’s personal law on not being invaded apparently didn't extend to the rubber devotion of female admirers. Both Alex and Grace took it upon themselves to make sure the girl got a bit of penetrating relief at least once in a while. To be honest they both found the feel of that lithe creature bucking against their en-phallused thrusts rather uniquely arousing… It felt special to be one of the precious, precious few who got to pierce the ice-queen.

Boys who didn't win a partner were very much encouraged to all ‘help Mrs Farrow instead’. An act which tended to dictate the speed of her cries, and thus the rest of the class quite heavily. Again, some boys preferred to explore the possibilities of each other than deal with that particular middle-aged nymphomaniac. She was an experienced devourer of young men, with the thighs of a woman who had spent almost all day, everyday fucking her “virile little cherubs” to the very edge of their physical limits. Like many of the female teaching staff, the woman seemed mostly interested in the advantages of her position as shepherd to this flock of barely fledged studs and sluts; as akin to being the first to open a box of chocolates. She could wrap her legs around as many as possible before the rest of the world had worked out their value. It was a fairly successful tactic: a steady flow of fresh, young college graduates only lasted about a year in educational employment before winning a plump, round belly and the associated life of ease. Some even came back after every child, hoping to consolidate their positions by way of a parade of baby-daddies ever another generation younger than themselves.

However for every such success another crowd were left behind. Cursed with wombs that would not work, however much fresh teen spunk was poured into them. Mrs. Fallow had been trying for nearly 20 years now. Kissing one of her first young lovers, now turned husband, on the cheek each morning. All the girls she taught saw this. All of them understood. The good among them pitied her. The self-aware feared they might follow the same footsteps. Alex felt a bit of both.