Teacher

“A little higher. Come on, just a little more.” The frustration in Herbert Quall’s voice was obvious. His thick exhalations silenced the room. “Damn it, Caleb! I said higher!”

“Yes, Mr. Quall,” little Caleb droned. The boy held the poster card as high in the air as his arms would allow. He and his fellow kindergartners still had no clue as to their instructors reasoning for this particular exercise, one they did every morning at 9.

Herbert leaned back in the leather chair and admired his submissive group of children. The ignorant fuckers would do everything they were told. The thirty-two year old gently adjusted his tightening crotch, his lower half concealed under the large oak teacher’s desk. “Nate, I know you can stretch a little higher. Make that tummy show.” His voice was hoarse, and his throat was bone dry. The only thing keeping him from shooting a hot load on the speckled tile was the tight belt that pierced into his gelatin waistline; unbuckling the belt required focus and finesse – he should have taken up cardio over the summer. “I want to clearly read all of your cards.”

Printed on each card was a letter, all of them together spelling: Masturbation. That word combined with the twelve bare tummies drove Herbert crazy. He especially enjoyed seeing Caleb and George’s white underwear peek out from under their shirts. The sight made him ejaculate hands-free, and shortly afterwards he would rush to the bathroom to put on the fresh pair he carried in his front pocket each day.

But today was particularly different. Minutes passed, and still he felt no closer to orgasm than he was before, not to mention he felt peculiarly exhausted. Then suddenly, it struck him: he must have taken the nighttime allergy pills instead of the daytime by mistake.

Herbert felt his eyes grow heavy and his body relax. “Okay, kids, that’s enough for today.” Every word came out slurred and slower than the previous. “Go seats your back to, m’kay?” And he was out, retreating into a land where he could touch minors without being incarcerated.

“Mr. Quall?” Caleb nudged his frozen teacher with the note card. “Wake up, mister.”
Suddenly, Maisie, the short ginger girl with the overly large purple glasses, gasped. “Guys, look!” She pointed toward Mr. Quall’s crotch, which was at full mast within his tight jeans.

It was Brandon, the one who had seen the inside of the principal’s office one too many times, who suggested they see what their teacher was hiding inside his pants. While it took Herbert several minutes and skill to loosen his belt, the class of children had the belt unhooked and the jeans around his ankles in a matter of seconds, exposing the man’s erect penis.

“Oh my goodness,” shrieked Lindsay. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Rosie and Lane returned to their desk and covered their eyes. “Cover it up!” They demanded.

But Brandon was too fascinated to just put the man’s cock back in its resting place. Here was the greatest, most intriguing natural pencil he had ever seen. It was far larger than his and any others he had seen.

The boy grinned mischievously. “Hey Caleb, hand me your jumbo pencil sharpener. The one you use to sharpen those huge colored pencils.”

Caleb’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Just do it.”

Caleb was not about to go against Brandon; he would not risk being beat up over a silly pencil sharpener. So he complied, handing the so-called cool guy the green tool.

“Watch this, everyone. I’m going to sharpen Mr. Quall’s pencil.” Brandon beamed, his bright smile lighting the room. The young boy took the erect penis and shoved it as deep into the pencil sharpener as possible; however, the boner was far too thick – he could only get the sharpener over the tip of the penis.

“Are you sure about this?” Nancy inquired. She was typically the quiet one who sat in the back of class and had trouble comprehending the lessons, but even she had a sense of how terribly this could go.

Brandon scoffed and dismissed the girl. Who was she to question him? He was, in fact, the eldest; that was proven the first day of classes, when Mr. Quall had them line up in order of their birthdays. He tightened his grip on the pencil sharpener and quickly spun the razor around Mr. Quall’s piece.

The blade plunged deep into the soft head, instantly snapping Herbert out of his Benadryl-induced slumber. His hands cupped his bloody member, and the class erupted into chaos. Any attempt Herbert made to try and remove the sharpener from his penis was met with more pain and blood; he couldn’t remove the blade. Thick blots of blood seeped between his fingers as Herbert stumbled out of the classroom in tears.

The class sat crying and screaming at their desks, most of them utterly terrified at the scene they had just witnessed. That was everyone except for Brandon, who lost in thought. “So does anyone know what the deal was with the note cards? What word did we spell?” He asked over Herbert’s screams of terror, completely unfazed.

“Man,” Caleb piped through his tears, “I’m not ever going to get that pencil sharpener back, am I?” The boy collapsed into his hands and sobbed.

“I bet it was a first-grader word,” Brandon added.

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