She does

Lexi watched the video. 'What a slut' she thought when the video first started but when Lexi saw the super slut drop it became 'WHAT A FUCKING SLUT!' If this got shown around school Lexi knew Betsie's life would be over. There would be no way her reputation would survive. If she got called a slut it would be one of the nicer names. Everyone would think she was an easy lay; the school bike. Lexi giggled at that. "Well, she might just be spending a lot more quality time behind the bike sheds!" Lexi said cruelly to herself. Lexi messaged Betsie to let her know the video was okay and she could move on to number three. Lexi clicked replay and slid her hand under her panties. "Hmm, I could do with some relief."

Betsie read the message: What a super slut u r! Cant wait 4 next vid lol! "My life is over," Betsie said to the silence of her room. She didn't know how long she would be obeying the 'do as you're told order' but with the three videos Lexi had, Betsie knew she would be obeying her for a long time. "Fucking bitch," spat Betsie with venom. Betsie's body lifted itself off the bed. She wanted to break her own legs. Then she remembered that the banana would end up in her back passage this time. "Fuck," she cried. Betsie had never had anything up there before and was determined to keep that hole as exit only. However what she wanted and what her body was doing seemed to be opposites.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, no, fuck, no fuck this, no, fuck, fuck my fucking life." To say Betsie didn't approve of her body's choice of clothing was an understatement. Out of everything in her wardrobe to choose from, this is what her body picked. Right now Betsie couldn't decide who she wanted to kill more; Lexi or herself. Betsie looked at the mirror and wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole. Looking back was the schoolgirl fantasy: white knee-high socks with black shoes; mid-thigh tartan skirt; white vest top under a white shirt with half the buttons open, showing too much cleavage for the reflection to be an innocent schoolgirl; and a red tie with silver and blue stripes, tied in a large knot. While Betsie knew she didn't look like an overtly slutty schoolgirl, she knew that was about to change. Betsie's hand reached for her phone. For the only time in her life Betsie wished her phone was dead.

"Hello Mr. Smith," Betsie began in her usual sultry tones. Her camera was pointing at the mirror, capturing her outfit in full. "Do you think I'm a good girl? I try to be good, you know, really try but a have bad thoughts." She stressed the words good and bad. "I want to be good but good girls don't always get noticed. And I want to be noticed by you Sir, I really, really want to be noticed by you Sir, and that's why I'm such a bad girl." Betsie did her best to maintain her innocent schoolgirl façade while her mind screamed all kind of obscenities - she did not like where this was heading.

Betsie put the tip of her finger in her mouth and gave a smile to the mirror. "What I really want you to do Mr. Smith is to say 'Betsie are you being naughty again?' and I say 'Yes Sir.' Then I image you would say 'Stand up and come here.' I would say 'Yes Mr. Smith.' I would stand and slowly walk to where you where pointing at the front of the class. You would make me face the class and order me to put my hands on my head. I would say 'Yes Sir,' and put myself into that position. I would spread my legs slightly because I'm such a bad girl." Betsie continued to use her sexiest voice to describe her own debauchery. The schoolgirl in the mirror had her legs shoulder width apart and one hand on her head. The other held a phone in front of her chest. Betsie continued her narration. "You would ask 'Why are you a naughty girl?' And I would say 'Because I was talking Mr. Smith?' And you would say 'No, try again.' I would take a moment and pretend to think before saying 'Em, because I didn't do the work?' and you would go 'No.' And stare at me with those piercing eyes. I would feel my body go weak. Finally I would say 'I'm sorry Sir but I don't know why I'm so naughty.' You would stand and walk behind me. I would feel your breath on my neck as you whisper the words 'This is why.' And with that you would do this."

Betsie watched helplessly as the schoolgirl in the mirror's hand went from her head to the hem of her skirt. She watch as the hand lifted the front of her skirt, exposing more and more of her thighs. The whole thing seemed to happen in slow motion to Betsie. Her hand continued to rise until it was level with her other hand at chest height. Her skirt was hiding nothing. "'This is why,' you would whisper in my ear, 'This is why you're so naughty; you're not wearing any panties!' The schoolgirl in the mirror was stood with the hem of her skirt raised to her chest; a clear view of her pussy for the camera to record. In Betsie's mind she was stood in front of her class with her shaved pussy on display for their viewing pleasure. She could see the shocked look on their faces, she could hear one or two giggle, she could hear others gasp. Betsie wanted to run and hide but in her mind and in her bedroom she was frozen in place, destined for further humiliation.

Betsie continued. "You would keep whispering in my ear 'Tell the class you are a naughty girl,' and I would say 'I'm a naughty girl.' You would make me repeat it louder 'I'm a naughty girl'. You would make me apologise to the class, 'I'm sorry I'm a naughty girl!'" Betsie practically shouted the last sentence. "But you wouldn't be done with me, would you Sir? You would punish me more. You would ask 'Why are all your buttons undone?' And I would say 'There not all undone Mr. Smith,' and you would reply 'Yes they are.' Your hand would then wander down my front, brushing my breasts and start undoing my buttons."

Betsie effortlessly transferred her skirt from her free hand to her phone hand. She began undoing her buttons for the benefit of the camera, and her imagined classmates. Betsie watched helplessly as her reflection undid one button followed by another. The seductive smile on her face betraying her true emotions. "You would ask me again 'Why are all your buttons undone?' Knowing what you want me to say, I would reply 'Because I'm a naughty girl Sir.' You would whisper in my ear 'Yes you are and naughty girls like to show off these.'" Betsie started groping her own breasts. "Breathlessly I would reply 'Yes Sir.' You would ask my what I call them and I would say 'My breasts.' 'No!' you would say harshly, 'Good girls have breasts. You have tits, you have fun bags.' I would repeat every name you called these." Betsie gave her left tit a big one-handed squeeze and lift in case there was any doubt to what 'these' referred to. Betsie's breathing was becoming heavy.

"You would ask me again 'Why are all your buttons undone?' and I would answer 'Because I'm a naughty girl and naughty girls like to show off their tits.' You would smile a wicked smile and say in a low voice, 'Good. Now tell them.' I would gulp not wanting to do it but powerless to disobey you. 'I'm a naughty girl and naughty girls like to show off their tits.' There would be more giggling. You would order me to push my tits out." Betsie took a deep breath and pushed her chest forward. "You would whisper 'Well, if you want to show off your tits ... '"

Betsie hooked her finger into her white vest top, right between her breast. She watched as her reflection began to lower her top. More and more cleavage came into view. Betsie could picture her classmates staring with baited breath. Slowly her top was lowered, Betsie could hardly breath. Her top seemed to cling to her breasts, trying delaying the inevitable. However it was no use, finally Betsie's bra covered tits came into view. In Betsie's imagined classroom she could hear a pin drop.

Betsie's hand went under one of her tits and raised it. Betsie continued with her narration. "You would lift my tits so they were really on display. You would make me say how much I loved showing off my tits and you would make me say it again and again until you were happy I was saying it with enough pride. Then you would ask me 'Are your nipples hard?' I would whisper 'Yes,' My voice nearly breaking. 'Tell the class,' you would say. I would hesitate. You would be more forceful 'Tell the class.' Before I could say anything you would reach inside my bra and twist my nipple; hard." Betsie's own hand was in her bra, twisting her nipple. "I would whimper because of your touch but I would manage to yell 'My nipples are hard.' You would twist and pinch some more. You would chuckle condescendingly as I moaned. 'Tell them again,' you would demand. 'My nipples are hard,' I would yell. You would free one of my tits from my bra and twist my nipple for the class to see." Betsie's reflection freed her own right tit and twisted her nipple. Just for good measure she gave a little tug too. Betsie moved on to her other tit. "Once more you would say 'Tell them again.' Again I would yell 'My nipples are hard.' You would free that tit too and play with my nipple."

"'Tell the class why are you a bad girl?' you would demand. 'I'm a bad girl because I was late,' I would say. 'No!' you would say and slap the underside of my tits as punishment." Betsie slapped her left tit then her right causing both to bounce. "'Try again,' you would say.' 'I'm a bad girl because I didn't do the work,' I would say. 'No!' Again you would slap my tits, twice each this time." Betsie demonstrated. "We would keep doing this with you ordering me to tell the class why I was a bad girl and punishing me because I was wrong. I would say things like 'Because I don't wear panties,' and 'Because I like showing off my tits,' and each answer would earn a ... " Betsie never said the word: slap. Instead she gave her tits a hard slap. "Finally, when I couldn't take much more I would beg, 'Please Sir, tell me why I'm such a bad girl.' You would laugh and slap my tits with every word. 'You. Are. A. Bad. Girl. Because. You. Are. Soooo. Wet!' You would then plunge your fingers deep into me."

Betsie's hand shot from her tits to her pussy before her tits had finished jiggling. There was no foreplay, no warning as two fingers penetrated her pussy. In her mind, Betsie could picture they were Mr. Smith's fingers. They easily entered which didn't surprise Betsie considering what she had been doing all morning. When she removed her fingers, Betsie could see they were glistening. In the mirror she held them up for the camera to see but in her mind it was still Mr. Smith holding up his fingers for the class to see. She could clearly see their faces, most were shocked, some struggled to hold back laughter but in a few she could see lust in their eyes.

"'See how wet you are?' you would say loud enough so everyone in the class would know for certain. 'I'm sor.'" Betsie never got to finish that sentence as her own fingers were thrust in her mouth. Betsie tasted her own love juice. She withdrew them with a pop. Her fingers returned to her pussy. "You would shove your fingers back into my hole and ask 'Why are you so wet?' But you wouldn't let me answer. You would shove your fingers in my mouth again." Betsie put her fingers back in her mouth and moaned loudly. She again withdrew them with a pop. Her fingers returned to her pussy. "You would say 'The reason you're so wet is because you're a naughty girl.' I would repeat 'The reason I'm so wet is because I'm a naughty girl.' 'Louder,' you would demand 'Tell the class.' I would do as you told Mr. Smith 'The reason I'm so wet is because I'm a naughty girl.' There would be some giggling from the class. You would put your fingers back in my mouth for me to clean." Betsie demonstrated. "Then you would say 'Tell the class the reason you're so wet is because you're a bad girl.' And I would do it because you told me Sir. 'The reason I'm so wet is because I'm a bad girl.' There would be more laughter from the class. You would give my nipples a hard pull and say 'And bad girls need to be punished.' And I would yell 'Bad girls need to be punished!' You would laugh at this and step back." Betsie's hand returned to her head.

The girl in the mirror had her knee-length socks pulled up, the only item of clothing untouched. One hand, at chest height, held her phone and her tartan skirt, exhibiting her damp pussy for the camera. Her shirt was completely unbuttoned and pulled open. Her vest top was around her stomach and her reddened tits rested on, rather than in, her bra. Her school tie fell between her breasts. Her other hand was on her head. In Betsie's mind Mr. Smith had been doing all this to her while she had been standing helplessly with both hands on her head.

"You would start my punishment. You would order me to shake my tits." Betsie began to shake her tits. She managed to keep the camera still as her breasts bounced all over the place. "You would say 'keep shaking them and take off your shirt.' I would say 'Yes Sir,' knowing that I was helpless to do otherwise." Betsie stripped off her shirt while she kept shaking her tits. When she had the first arm bare, Betsie transferred her phone and skirt to her other hand so could remove the other sleeve without the loss of recording. She dropped the shirt to the floor and placed her hand back on her head, shaking her tits throughout. "You would want more. 'Now take off your vest,' you would say. 'Yes Sir,' I would say meekly. Finally you would tell me to remove my bra. You would then tell me to stop moving. You would wait a moment before asking 'Are you ready for your punishment?' With a voice that sounds like it is ready to break I would say 'Yes Sir.' You would walk up to me and whisper in my ear 'Lie on your back on my desk with your legs spread high and wide. 'Yes Sir,' I would moan as a shiver goes through my body."

Betsie lay on her bed, legs spread and her sock covered toes pointed at the ceiling. Her tie snaked its way between her breasts and her skirt was bunched around her waist, exposing everything to her camera. She had put her phone into selfie mode and stood it on her chest of drawers. Looking through her legs Betsie could see the image of herself on the screen and knew it was perfectly positioned to capture her upcoming humiliation. The banana in her hand felt unbelievably heavy.

With a smile on her face betraying her true emotions, Betsie continued narrating her humiliation. "You would unzip your pants, freeing your cock. I would not be able to see it but from the gasps from the class I would imagine it would be big. You would ask 'Are you ready for your punishment naughty girl?' But you wouldn't wait for my reply, and you wouldn't be gentle. 'Yes Sssiiiiiiiiirrrrrr!'" When Betsie had said the word: Sir, her hand had shoved the banana deep into her twat, eliciting a genuine scream from the schoolgirl. Betsie kept fucking her self with the banana in long, hard strokes. Betsie stopped with the banana half buried. Panting she said, "You would pound me with your massive cock but you would be satisfied with that. You would say 'Good girls have sex in their vaginas but you're not a good girl are you?' When I didn't answer you would give me a slap." Betsie slapped her face. "'No Sir,' I would cry, 'I'm a bad girl, a very bad girl.' You would laugh and say 'Yes you are.' Then you would make a mess of my ass."

Betsie's mind went into meltdown. She had no idea how she was going to get a banana up there. While her love juice had lubricated the banana, with how tight her sphincter felt, a grease covered needle would have struggled to penetrate her asshole. As her hands approached the banana, Betsie's mind began to panic more and more. Then her hands did something Betsie had not been expecting; they peeled the banana. It looked like someone had just shoved a half-peeled banana into Betsie's pussy. She then broke off the middle part and moved it to her asshole. The tip of the banana has below her brown opening. She broke off a small piece and pushed in it her asshole with her little finger. She squealed. When she had pushed it far enough in, Betsie broke off another piece and repeated the process.

"You would, ugh, keep calling me a, ugh, a bad girl while, argh, you fucked my aaassssss. I would beg yyyyoooooouuu top stop but you wooouuuullld get faster. The claaasssss would point and laugh, ugh, as you destroyed my tiiiiggghhtt virgin hole with your massive coocccckkkkk. When you were about, argh, to burst, you woooouuuuuld give one last deep thrust aaaaaannnnnnnnddddddd!"

Betsie tried to **** what was left of the banana into her tight hole. Some of the banana went in her brown hole, some of it was smeared around her hole, and some of it landed on her skirt. Betsie kept her finger plugged deep in her shitter while she caught her breath.

"You would then make me clean your cock," Betsie panted after a few moments. She removed her finger from her asshole and put it in her mouth. She made a show of cleaning it. Betsie was too mentally exhausted to care about the taste in her mouth.

Betsie continued. "The bell would then sound and you would zip up. I would try and move but you would demand I stayed in position. You would tell the class to come and take a closer look as they left the classroom. They would all see the mess that you made of my asshole. You would encourage them all to give me a slap and call me a bad girl. When the last one left you would close the door and walk up to me. You would pull my tie," Betsie pulled her tie. "Lean close to my face and say 'You better do as you're told and be my bad little girl.'"

Betsie pulled the banana from her pussy, stood up and walked to her phone. Looking at the camera she kissed the banana, winked and said in her sexiest voice, "Yes Sir!"