Whore Couture

Their afternoon lesson today was ‘Whore Couture’ a pun the elderly female teacher clearly got a lot of enjoyment from. She was a small ball of furious, wrinkled energy; whizzing around the classroom full of mirrors like a cocaine-injected bumblebee. It was rare to see an older person who had not taken the surgeries and treatments required to stave off any map the years might have painted upon their face. Yet it was clear that Mrs Durren, also the wife of five decades to their Etiquette teacher, had very little interest in her own appearance.

“My Dolls, My beautiful Dolls!” She would cry, as she stripped one after another of them naked in a matter of seconds and then just began throwing one outfit after another at them from the unfathomably deep wardrobes at one end of the classroom. At first, of course, the collected sluts-to-be were horrifically embarrassed to all be exposed so in front of classmates they had only known for a day and a half. But their four-foot tornado of an educator didn’t allow a second’s questioning or shyness. They were simply to drop their previous clothes to the floor, slip into the new ones and look for any changes or adjustments which might be needed. All while Mrs Durren nodded, or tutted, or grabbed something back away to be cut or sewed by her attending crowd of military-drilled seamstresses. Who lined one wall of the classroom with their complicated-looking sewing robots and seemed to balance between unlimited respect and abject terror of the teacher in question.

For Jesse and company, the lesson actually became quite relaxed and fun, really. Once they got over the initial shock, spending short periods naked in front of each other hardly seemed unreasonable… considering what else they’d been through together and how little their normal uniforms actually hid. He also took the chance to just quietly take note of the variety of different body-types that made up the twenty members of their class. There were thirteen penises shared among them, with or without accompanying testicles and twelve sets of prominent breasts… Though whether some of those without such endowment were just waiting for them to grow in was another question. He supposed the algorithm actively generated tomboy-ish girls with wiry frames and flat chests as often as it did the bouncing marvels that Suzy’s upper-body held. Jesse caught himself feeling a little plain and un-embellished as he struggled to drag his eyes away from those perky balloons his fellow sissy unveiled… or the substantially-larger cocks that many around him owned, compared to his petite and dangling attempt. Suzy won out there, as well.

It could not be argued against that Mrs Durren had an expert eye for a… specific avenue of attire. Somehow everything she pulled out, in a huge range of fashions and styles, both drew out everything that was attractive in her model and screamed that they were simply meat available for purchase. Jesse was instantly in love with a flowing little summer dress that only had the occasional habit of flapping up when he walked to reveal more of his ass cheeks than he’d prefer. But it wasn’t long before this was whipped away to be replaced by a set of loose denim dungarees, or a mist-net top and tight, leather trousers, or a long, buttonless shirt and garter-belt panties. He and his friends cooed and giggled at each other as one revealing outfit or another was shaped perfectly to their frames, then stored and recorded under their name to be accessible whenever they… or any of their paying clients… wished.

Admiring his latest offering in the free-standing, three angle mirror they were each provided. Jesse caught the glint of several lenses studded into the side of that object. Reminding him once again that this would, of course, all be being recorded for Betsy and others to salivate over. He wondered if it was even being streamed out live… for one of those mysterious paying subscribers he’d already picked up; to watch while playing with themselves, at home or at work. He looked down at the off-shoulder crop top and hideously-tight short-shorts he was wearing. Presenting the small bulge of his genitals in near-perfect relief above fishnet-stockings and below clip-on braces. He really was nothing but a doll for others to dress up right now… a toy for others artistic amusement.

“Don’t be afraid to think outside the box a little when accessorising…” Came a voice in his ear. Turning around, his chin was locked in the claw-like vice of Mrs Durren’s needle-calloused fingers. She reached up with a tube of red lipstick and carefully scrawled upon his forehead in immaculately curled script. Leaving the boy facing himself, three-times multiplied… with the word ‘Slut’ written matter-of-factly above his brow.