I Will Not


Both the teacher, Etta Coughlin, and the student, Reena Patellan, were thinking the same thing at the same time: it was the middle of April 1955; the weather outside was wonderful, inviting, tempting. Yet here they both were, stuck indoors in a warm, dusty classroom.

They blamed each other. Miss Coughlin was punishing Reena by making her write lines on the blackboard. Reena didn’t understand why she was being punished; just because she complained about the stuffiness of the class, then stood up at her desk, reached under her skirt, and pulled her panties down and off.

This act was so outlandish, so impossible that the class reacted by not reacting: they simply sat and stared in stunned silence. Miss Coughlin tried to return to her grammar lesson, but she was just going through the motions. Like someone who had witnessed a train wreck or some natural disaster, she kept on teaching a lesson she had taught for five years. When the bell sounded ten minutes later, signaling the end of the school day, she seemed to come back to life as she told Reena to stay while dismissing the others in the class.

The high school was an old building, looking like it had been built between the World Wars, and Miss Coughlin’s class was on the third story. When teacher and student were the only two people left in the room, Miss Coughlin drew a shade down to cover the window in the door. They heard distant voices in the playground but couldn’t see down into it unless they were at the window. Of course, nobody on the ground could look up and in.

Miss Coughlin sat at her desk, and Reena sat at hers. Nobody said a word for a minute or two, until Miss Coughlin, trying to act her sternest, asked, “Why did you do that?”

“Do what?” Rena asked, far too sweetly.

“Don’t pretend like that to me. That awful display in class!”

“Was it really so awful, Miss Coughlin? I rather enjoyed it.”

“Reena, NOBODY behaves like that in society! What’s gotten into you?”

“Well, I’ve been doing some outside reading.”

“I’m afraid to ask, but what have you…” Her voice trailed off.

Reena’s voice was loud and clear: “Kinsey’s report on the Human Female.”

“But, but you’re just a, a STUDENT! How dare you…”

“Easy; I went downtown and bought the book with my own money. No law against that, is there?”

“You’re a high school senior! Why are you reading about, about…”

“Sex?” Reena finished the sentence. “Miss Coughlin, I’m eighteen and next month I graduate from this school. When am I supposed to read it: on my wedding night?”

“Nobody even knows if half of what he wrote is true! There has to be a scientific approach to it all: experimentation, replication…”

“All I know is how reading that book made me feel, and it felt RIGHT! I recognized what he was talking about: how I feel when I touch myself, or when someone else touches me—male or female.”

“Female? Are you saying that book turned you into a—a deviant?”

“Deviant?” Reena’s reaction was the one that Miss Coughlin least expected; a reaction that froze Miss Coughlin to the marrow of her bones: Reena laughed delightedly. She laughed as if she’d just heard a joke watching Red Skelton or Milton Berle on television. “I remember my life, you know; years ago, before I ever heard of Kinsey. I remember how it felt when Mommy gave me a bath. I remember a summer by the sea where I took off all my clothes, right on the beach, in front of total strangers. I remember how it felt the first time I rubbed between my legs, and it all felt GOOD! I’ll never deny it; it felt good!”

Etta Coughlin felt as if she was hearing the confessions of a murderer. That this pretty young woman was so casually confessing to so many poker oyna horrible acts—it was monstrous!

“Reena, you’re a very bright girl,” Miss Coughlin replied, as steadily as she could, taking a different approach. “You have to know that you can’t just talk about getting undressed or, er, rubbing yourself. And you certainly know you can’t do those things in public!”

“Public, Miss Coughlin? It’s just the two of us, here and now.”

“Yes, and you’re not here because you want to be here, but because I want you to be here. Now, get started.” Miss Coughlin pointed to the front of the class. Blackboards covered three walls; the fourth was all windows. “Start writing ‘I will not take my clothes off in class.’ If you get bored with that, well, that’s good. I can give you some other lines until you’ve filled every inch of blackboard on these walls. And you will not leave until they’re all filled, so you’d better get started!”

With that, Etta Coughlin thought she’d made it quite clear to Reena Patellan who was in charge. She moved to a student desk in the back of the class with a magazine and began to read it.

Reena certainly got the message, and smiled as she started writing.


Miss Coughlin spent the next ten minutes or so reading about the troubles brewing on the island of Cyprus, while in the back of her consciousness she listened to the click-swish click-swish of chalk on the blackboard. By the time she finished the article, she realized that the chalk had stopped making noise. She looked up

The board in front of the classroom was filled with lines, and Reena herself had stopped writing. Instead, she sat on top of the teacher’s desk, facing Miss Coughlin. Her skirt was pulled up over her knees, revealing her bare pussy, sodden with sweat and maybe other fluids. The brown hair that should have been a fluffy crown was instead plastered to her skin.

And, worst insult of all: a piece of chalk was stuck halfway up her vagina, the tip of it sticking out from between her labia.

Miss Coughlin almost jumped up from her seat. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, you disgusting pervert?!”

Reena had her eyes closed, focusing on the sensations she was giving herself as she groped at her breasts through her blouse. However long she’d been doing it, it was long enough for her nipples to swell and show themselves prominently bulging against her blouse. Apparently she hadn’t even bothered with a brassiere. Reena’s head lolled slowly back and forth, her eyes still closed, as if slowly coming awake from some lovely dream. “What’s the problem?”

“What’s the problem?! I look at you and the disgusting things you’re doing, and you can’t see the problem?!”

“I wrote enough lines for now,” Reena said. Sure enough, she had filled the front blackboard. “I had such a good time I had to take a break.”

This wasn’t supposed to be “a good time.” The first half-dozen lines were repetitions of “I will not take my clothes off in class.” But then, they started to change. She’d repeat the newer version, but only two or three times, before making more changes:

“I will not slide my panties down over the warm smooth globes of my ass.”

“I will not pull the sopping wet crotch of my panties away from the sopping wet crotch of my pussy.”

“I will not bare my cunt, spread my legs, and let the scent of my aroused body fill this room from one end to the other.”

The moment she read that sentence, Miss Coughlin realized that she could indeed smell it: the scent of an aroused woman, a scent she was all too familiar with sharing a dormitory room at a teacher’s college. A dormitory room where a succession of roommates either diddled themselves to start the fire and canlı poker oyna then damp it out; or smuggled in a boyfriend, or sometimes a girlfriend, or sometimes both…

Etta shook her head violently, as if trying to force the images in her brain out through her ears. “Just … get back to writing. You need to fill all three boards before you can go.”

Reena pulled the chalk slowly out of her cunt, held it to her nose, and sniffed it slowly, languidly; not avidly, like someone who hadn’t eaten in a week smelling a banquet, but like a connoisseur in a garden smelling a rare and delicately fragrant blossom. She slid off of the desk and started writing again.


Etta was completely lost. She had studied long and hard to become a teacher, and she thought she had mastered all the pedagogic material. But no class she ever took had prepared her for THIS!

She knew that she had to get Reena back on track, to change the writing on the board back to punitive lines, not to … to self-indulgent pornography! This girl was obviously mentally unbalanced. There must be something wrong with her parents if they let her take things this far. Were there other authorities she could speak to…

And yet there was a small corner of Etta Coughlin’s brain, which usually sat quietly back in her head, that stopped her from interrupting the wild child writing filth on the board. That small corner actually was curious, waiting to see what would happen next. Etta was subconsciously biting her lower lip as she stared at the words appearing on the board:

“I will not frig my red hot pussy with the chalk.”

“I will not squeeze my nips until lightning bolts run through me and explode in my cunt.”

“I will not lay awake at night rubbing my cunt red and raw while chanting my sexy teachers name.”

WHAT! What sexy teacher … or did she mean teachers? Her grammar and punctuation was usually better than that, Etta thought; she shouldn’t lose focus like that…

“I will not stay awake for hours with one dildo in my pussy, another up my ass, and a third in my mouth all the time thinking Etta Etta Etta!”


Reena froze, with her face to the board and her back to Miss Coughlin. Without turning, she asked, “Yes, Miss Coughlin?”

It took every bit of willpower she had in her to ask, and even then her voice was a hoarse whisper that sounded, to the speaker, unintentionally sexy: “What … is the meaning … of that?”

“Of what?”

“Those last sentences! You’re mocking me!”

Etta expected Reena to burst out laughing again. Instead, she turned and took a couple of steps toward the teacher, who was certain she could see tears starting to form in Reena’s eyes.

“I’m not mocking you. I mean everything that I wrote, especially about you.”

“This is … this is some kind of sick joke.”

“No it isn’t, Miss Coughlin; sincerely. Some nights I can’t get to sleep because I think about you so much. About all the things we could be doing together.”

“But that is so WRONG! You’re a high school student, and I’m…”

“You’re not a student; yes, I know, Miss Coughlin. You’re a grown woman, with a voluptuous body. You wear beautiful clothes that show off your beautiful curves. And society says we shouldn’t be together, which makes me want to be with you all the more.”

“But I’ve never said or done anything to lead you to believe that I … I could be with another…” She couldn’t even bring herself to finish the sentence.

“I … I know what that’s like,” Reena said in almost a whisper. “The first time I was attracted to another girl, I didn’t know what to do about it. I still liked boys, too, you see. That’s when I started reading books like internet casino Kinsey’s, to try to figure out what was going on. And I finally realized something: that love is just love. Some people attach all sorts of other stuff to it, like age and money and even gender. But all I know is I fell for you from my first class with you, in the fall. And I wanted to tell you this from that very first day.”

Etta was still trying to figure out what to do with all this new information. All she knew was that she hadn’t had much experience, with love or sex, and certainly none with other girls. But she had witnessed it; pretending to be asleep in her dormitory room watching or listening to roommates performing acts she’d never even imagined and certainly had no chance—or desire—to put into practice herself. If her mind was still a blank, it was because, here and now, with Reena almost offering herself, all those possibilities became real for the first time in her life, and she literally had no idea how or where to start.

Reena stepped forward again, closing the distance between them. Softly she asked, “Can you still smell me? Can you smell my pussy?”

“Y-yes,” Etta said, also barely above a whisper.

“Do you want to kiss it?”

“Oh, God, yes!” Etta dropped to her knees, pulled up her pupil’s skirt, and drove her tongue into the sopping wet glory before her. It was the first pussy she’d ever eaten, but the noises coming from Reena’s throat were perfectly clear: whatever the teacher was doing, she was doing it right. The first pussy she’d ever eaten was not going to be the last.

“Yes yes oh god yes!” Reena moaned. “You make me feel soooo good! You’re doing it exactly right!”

And in that moment Etta Coughlin felt something she’d never felt before, nor ever expected to feel. She felt proud: proud to be praised so enthusiastically by her student lover, overjoyed that she was apparently talented at this act she had never performed before in her life. She licked and kissed, sucked and tickled and nibbled at the glorious hole before her, not thinking as she would have just an hour before of what it was or where it had been or how she could dare to do what she had been doing. She just kept on and kept on until she was rewarded with a gush of fluid, thick and spicy like some exotic gravy atop a perfectly cooked steak—a perfect part of a perfect meal.

She tried to keep going but she felt fingers pushing against her skull.

“Miss Etta! Please stop, Miss Etta! It’s too much, too much. I can’t…” Reena just let the words trail off; she was panting as if she’d just run five miles.

“Are you feeling all right?” Etta asked, shifting her position to look her student in the eyes.

Reena looked at her teacher through half-open eyes. “I feel wonderful,” she whispered, as if afraid everything would vanish if she spoke too loudly. Her head darted up and kissed Etta on the mouth, and Etta hungrily returned the kiss. When they broke the kiss after two minutes, the both were emiling uncontrollably.

Finally, Etta said, “We can’t stay here, you know.”

“I wish I could.”

“What about your family?”

“My parents are travelling: half business trip, half vacation. They won’t be home until tomorrow night. Until then, I’m all alone.”

“Well,” the teacher smiled, speaking without even thinking what she was saying, “we can talk about that.”

They got up off the floor and straightened their clothes. Then Miss Coughlin started erasing the lines Renna had been writing. “We shouldn’t leave these up. For one thing, the janitor might read this and have a stroke.”

Reena giggled.

“Did I say something funny?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Reena said, as she started erasing the second board full of lines. They met in the middle, exchanged another long deep kiss, then, after opening a window to air out the room, walked hand in hand to Miss Coughlin’s car in the parking lot.

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