Smoking the Whole Carton

“W-Who are you?”

I suppose I should have realized she spared so little thought to me that she doesn’t even recognize me from class. But if I had to wager, I’d bet she’d never forget me again. “David, from History? You can call me Dave.”

“Ah, right! But... a game?” Her lips curl up at their ends. “Surely not... chess?”

“Not quite: it’s a bit more of a social game than that.” Her confusion is palpable, as if people challenging her to chess was normal enough that I was the one going off-script. I go over the offer in my head, wording it as innocuously as I can; I have to be sure that challenges to games could mean any game... even ones I make up on the spot. Obviously I don’t intend to challenge her to chess, and I’m not about to go buy a board game in hopes she isn’t some tactical master of anything I could find. So I state it carefully, “It’s a competition between us to see who can be the first to make Ms. Lia yell, scream, or cry out loud. You win as long as you’re the first, even if it’s only one such noise you get out of her.” Donna’s expression shifts deeper into discomfort. “So that’s the game... and I’d like to play it with you. Whaddya say?”

Her head jerks slightly as she purses her lips... but she pauses in contemplation before answering, “That’s… not a game, that’s a wager.”

A pregnant pause sits between us before I finally manage, “W-What?”

I worried earlier that she'd make some aghast expression, or cry pervert, or some other terrible result of me guessing wrong about her... but instead, the Chess Queen truly puts on the airs of almost disappointed royalty. “A wager, or bet,” she lectures. "You are simply gauging which of us would be first to accomplish a task. That’s merely a wager, not a game, and it’s… not a welcome one. Please do not talk to me again.” Donna returns to her soup as I stand there, temporarily a pillar of salt.

What the Hell?! How is that not a game? How are games not ALL versions of that? Chess is a wager to see who can checkmate first, if those are the terms, right? But arguing with myself or the eavesdropping succubi isn't going to move my regal classmate. I mull over the meaning of this shortcoming of my purchases in the app. “So what would make something… a game, instead of a wager?”

“I’ll report you if you don’t leave me alone.”

I can’t leave things here; I put too many gems in already. “Then I challenge you to a game of… of… chess.” It was so heavy in the forefront of my mind that I could think of no other game... but what have I done?

She looks up, inhaling deep as if to call out to the concerned-looking receptionist behind the counter across the lobby… but she pauses. Her dark brown eyes, I could swear it, light up near to hazel as she looks up at me with raised eyebrows. Her smile dares to grow at the corners, seemingly against her will. Something tells me I didn’t need the app to get her to agree. “Our chess club meeting is after school on Mondays and Fridays. Today I have a recital and the rest of my schedule is booked with tutoring, so it will have to be on Friday at the club… unless you play on KnightCheck?” My blank stare seems to answer her question. “Oh well, I wish more people would support good, indie companies… ah. In any case, I accept your challenge. We’ll be in Room 153. I expect you there at 2:45 P.M., no later.”

“A-Alright, so… it’s a date.”

“It’s a duel, David,” she whispers with a cruel glint, “and I look forward to it.”

A certain menace can be felt from bullies, angry jocks, and drunken men that I’ve only seldom encountered. It’s a kind of energy or aura, or maybe more plainly just an animal instinct we have to detect danger, and it’s the sort of bad feeling I might expect to get from people like Ms. Hatts or the school police officers… but certainly I did not expect to feel it from this frail little chess master. She resumes eating her bowl of soup... as if I'm not even here.

I suddenly feel like I’ve signed up for more than I bargained for… and perhaps I ought to have gems ready for Friday to deal with her. For now, there’s nothing to do… and I try to rebuild the confidence I had a moment ago before I head into the meeting.

It’s a short walk to Ms. Hatts office, and I wish I could say I did not know the way. Sure enough, the three tiny school chairs are there, like gravestones of the misbehaved, with no one waiting in queue to meet with the AP today. Through the cracked open door, waiting in a huge gym towel that wraps around her entire body, was a distressed, flushed Ms. Lia. Behind her I see the billboard, filing cabinet, and a poster board filled with smiling, athletic girls; in short, the office is as busy and decorated as a sporty, entrenched administrator would have them. I resist the urge to give Ms. Lia a wink as she glares at me in confusion before I push the door open the rest of the way and see Ms. Hatts.

She is as I remembered: an upside-down pear-shaped woman with something like G-cups on most girls, but probably just D-cups on her massive torso. Muscles flex visibly in her arms and along her jaw as she contemplates the horny mess I’ve made. She only relaxes once she spots me.

“Mr. Haines, good. I... wanted you here for this. Close the door.” She stumbles over it in her gruff voice as if she still doesn’t quite understand why she texted me of all people.

“What... what is he doing here?” my soaked English teacher demands.

But I strive to be a model student and offer guidance... to Ms. Hatts, of course. “You wanted me to carry out a punishment, right? I’m just not sure on who.”

Ms. Hatts nods slowly. “That’s... yes, that’s right. It’s your first time, Mr. Haines, but I’m glad to see you’ve got a good head on your shoulders! I feared the worst, reading your record, but... well, that’s not the point today. Today, I need you here to help me with Ms. Lia.”

A dazed Ms. Lia sputters, “W-What? There’s nothing for me to helped with, Catherine-!”

“You are in deep shit, Sophia, and you know not to use first names in front of the kids!”

I’m nineteen years old, but I pretend to not be offended.

“I don’t have to take... I...” Ms. Lia struggles to resist, to refuse... but Ms. Hatts’ power of punishment now has Custom Girls behind it, and she can’t even suggest her right to refuse.

“You like flaunting and playing with your chest on school grounds, huh?” Somewhere down the hall, someone drops a pile of folders as they stumble about. These doors and walls are thin, then... good. “When I tried to pick up smoking, my mother straightened me right out with a full carton in my lungs until I was ready to cough blood... and sure as shit, I never smoked a cigarette again. Wouldn’t have made the barbell team if I did,” she gloats.

Ms. Lia seems unimpressed, but I like where this is going. “So, if we want Ms. Lia to stop this lewd behavior,” I offer, “we should have it **** on her until she’s sick of it, right?”

“You are sharp, kid.” Her sharp side-glance is clear: but don’t steal my thunder.

“W-What?! You expect me to... to humiliate myself in front of you, here and now?!”

“No, that’s probably a good time for you,” Ms. Hatts mutters with a shake of her head. “I’m going to have Mr. Haines do it until you’re sick of it.”

I... I don’t know that I can thank God for this one. Thank you, Jane? Thank you, other demon girls responsible for this app? Thank you, Satan? It’s hard to hide my delight... and it looks like I should have when I turn to Ms. Hatts’ grimace.

“This is discipline, Mr. Haines: do not misconstrue our purpose, or your function, here.”

“Of... Of course, Ms. Hatts.” I do my best to put on a somber face... and Ms. Lia’s dread makes it no small task.

“Catheri- Ms. Hatts, please, this is wrong! How am I-?”

“Proceed, Mr. Haines.”

I all but leap to go behind Ms. Lia as she hugs the towel closer to her body, but I grab its edges and tug. “I’m sorry, Ms. Lia, but I can’t do this if you keep them covered.”

Despite her mewled protest, she releases the towel into my grip as I pull it back and down, leaving only her lower-half covered. My eagerness to engage in fantasy halts as I'm left dumbstruck at the precipice of making it reality. She sits before me now in the real, her massive tits glistening despite her effort to clean them earlier, and the shine of fluorescent lights upon them is a sight more pronounced than my masturbatory speculations could ever have imagined. Each one sits barely held in the soaked bra and perfectly visible through her thin blouse. But my stunned state is temporary; knowing that I'm in control, I put away my trepidation and thrust my hands forward.

"N-No, please-!"

Rather than try and undo her bra, I simply reach into her clothes and drive my hands in to try and get under her massive melons. I exhale as I feel my hands get pinned between bra lining and tender, yielding fat until I'm confident I'm firmly entrenched. With a rough yank, I scoop her tits out through a cleavage that was already tired of trying to contain her. With a sigh of cloth, each slips, one after the other, until the blouse is largely tucked under their fat. I pause for a moment, appreciating how many hands feel trapped underneath these heavy funbags and how her nipples, forever hardened, look almost cartoonish in their turgid states.

Ms. Hatts eyebrows twitch as she watches me work. Ms. Lia far more than twitches: she suppresses crying out as I handle her absurdly sensitive chest. I lean over and into her, putting my left cheek on her right as I hug her and do my work. She feels lighter than I’d expect, fragile even, and she shakes like a leaf as I feel her breasts in my hands, letting my fingers glide across their moist surfaces. My fingers vanish as I duck them under and again test their weight; her nipples are rocks on my fingertip’s caress, and each finger comes away coated in a fine layer of gray. She’s lactating again... and a testing squeeze of her under boobs sends small streams into the floor between Ms. Lia and the desk.

“Please don’t make a mess, Mr. Haines.”

“I’ll clean it up myself, Ms. Hatts.”

“Good boy.”

“Mr. Haines, you are... you are being...!” Sophia Lia can only barely huff her protests now to stop from moaning as I manhandle her milkers, but I’ve only just begun. Hands soaked in her sweat and milk, I begin squeezing and pressing them, pushing them up to her chin and letting them slam back down, and transitioning between that and giving them tender massages as my fingers make waves into her tender titflesh. The room begins to stink of her arousal.

Her breaths come quick, and I now know their meaning. Fun as this is, I need to plant seeds here for me, too. I whisper them as my lips tickle her ear, “Ms. Lia, I know you’re enjoying this... and that’s alright. I’m always here to help you when you need release. It can be our secret arrangement... just say the word.”

“How... how dare-iee!” She exclaims as she feels deeply saddled shame ride in on a wild horse of an orgasm. It had been terrible before, but now, sore and exhausted as she was, sensitive and swollen as her various regions have become, it is made all the more sensitive and abysmally pleasurable... when someone else is the source of touch. Her body responds with glee; her turning of her head to lecture me turns into her lips against mine in an open-mouthed, breathy kiss as she moans almost into a shriek. Her body seizures and quakes against the chair and against me, her tongue lulls out and accidentally tastes mine, and I crush her beautiful breasts until they plump out from between my fingers as I send her deeper over the edge.

“Ms. Lia! This is not a license for you to sexually **** your student!”

I’m the only one with enough sense to turn, baffled, and regard her. Having Ms. Lia in my grasp and half-kissing me shook me... and only after a few seconds of still holding my English teacher’s knockers do I realize what had happened. This was discipline, me squeezing her tits and doing all the prep for it... but her kiss, however, unintentional, was not part of it. So all it became was a teacher swapping spit with a student... and luckily, I don’t seem to be in trouble for this one.

I make sure of it by pulling away as if disgusted. “T-Thank you... Ms. Hatts.”

The bulldog nods with a snarl. “Unbelievable. Even when you’re in the middle of being disciplined...!”

“I... I...?” The teacher seems just as confused, but my job is not finished. With my head behind hers, I go ahead and inhale the scent of her scalp as I continue to pull her tits up and maul them. Milk pools on her areolas before they dribble down in every direction, dirtying her anew as her right leg begins stomping and kicking out. She can barely stand this treatment anymore, but as Ms. Hatts stated: we're here for the whole carton.