School for Scandal Inspection!!!!

hey studs and sluts,

Here with the 3rd written offering of the month as promised.

Had fun writing this, I really like this strand, see what you think! Carries on from Inspection in chyoa.

more additions, more exclusive writing, more AI goodness next month!

XXX

Ian shepherded Ginni away from the site of debauch that was rapidly and inexorably staring to develop in the classroom behind them, bombshell fuckdolls having stirred themselves into a lascivious froth through both the teasing of their classmates and the delicious tension over having pretend that they weren’t insanely lewd, sexually voracious bimbo whores. Slamming the door a little too abruptly, Ian took Ginni’s elbow and manoeuvred her into the corridor as all hell broke loose behind them, any class with Diamond and Titania in it liable to break into a three-hole gangbang ball-bursting orgy.

The way ahead of them was mercifully clear. The corridor had been denuded of its usual array of artefacts that proclaimed the lewd exploits of the school’s students, packaged as achievements, accolades, hyper-pornified class portraits and imaginatively vulgar examples of ‘work’. The production photos of the stunning star turn of the school’s resident thespian Jody Coxxx-Staynes (not a stage name) performing in Sheridan’s immortal satire ‘School for Scandal’ had all been taken off the walls. Ian had seen the show and could see very well why they had opted to change her character’s name from Lady Sneerwell to Lady Spearwell, and while he hadn’t actually realised exactly how filthy eighteenth century plays were, he was pretty sure that the bukkake scene had been an insertion.

That was gone – alongside the beaming pictures of the girls of Miss Campbell’s form on the charity visit to dig wells in some part of Africa or other (lots of important plumbing achieved), the cheerleading team enjoying the boy’s football team’s victory both with the boy’s team and their vanquished foes, several important latex-themed fashion shows superintended by Miss Stark, herself wearing an eye-popping pink skintight vinyl babydoll. Everything had been scrupulously cleared away, so that the bare walls were showing up the faded patches of paint from where they had been removed. The display cases, the motivation posters (‘You Can Take It’ featured a life-size reproduction of his own massive phallus entering B.J. Devine’s asshole), and the much-beloved ‘Top of the Pops’ competition, whereby students voted for the best facial cumshot of the week from a selection that were posted ad-hoc on the school’s website, had all been whipped away.

‘It’s a little… bare, isn’t it, Mr White?’ Ginni said, unevenly, looking at the walls.

Ian thought. Maybe he could come up with some bullshit about the benefit of letting the students go around with clear heads. Then something turned the corner ahead and came up the corridor.

‘We’re…’ he squinted at the approaching figures, ‘redecorating!’

The school’s redoubtable handywomen, Roxxxi and Foxxxi, we suddenly sighted approaching towards them hefting ladders, rollers, brushes and tins of paint. Both were in baggy camo combats and immodestly abbreviated skintight white vests that their gargantuan tits bulged out of, leaving their ripped midriffs exposed.

‘Hi Mr White!’ Roxxxi said.

‘Hi Roxxxi,’ Ian said to the stacked, tattooed fuckdoll as she set up a ladder ahead of them, ‘all cleared out for you?’

‘Just going to give it a lick,’ Roxxxi said in her usual raspy whore-voice, giving Ian a sumptuous wink.

‘Of paint,’ Foxxxi said, eyefucking Ian all the same.

‘Don’t get any on the inspector,’ Ian said, façade of bonhomie still intact, ‘very important person coming through!’

Roxxxi gave Ian’s ass a spank as he sidled past her, which hopefully Ginni didn’t detect.

They turned the corridor, they made towards science, and the hopefully subdued, middle-class calm and propriety of Charles Woodcock-Splatterwell, who was reliable to a fault except when in proximity to one of his many crushes, like Vixxxen Sinclair, Nurse Pennyweather, Diamond, or, come to think of it, pretty much anyone. Ian glanced at his watch. Ten o clock, meaning five more hours of this agony to endure. On the plus side, some of their biggest liabilities – Diamond, Sanddy, his own damned girlfriend – had already been negotiated, and to all intents and purposes, Ginni was so far non the wiser that the school was not in fact a further education college but a institution for perverse, sexually gifted, and unusually endowed eighteen year olds to… what was the educational phrase? ‘Explore’.

He stole a glance at Ginni’s immense chest and wondered why she couldn’t just be normal, like all of the other hypersexual nympho bimbo fuckdolls he encountered in his professional life. It was tremendously inconsiderate and of no help to anyone. However, what was a boon to him was Gina Taylor’s apparently successful attempt to depornify the school’s outward appearance -all that was left to conceal, was to apply the same standards to his own sex-corrupted heart. That and the thousand other reprobates in the immediate vicinity. As he was mulling this over, an example of this very liability suddenly presented itself, and his heart sank. A single female student was making her way down the hallway towards himself and Ginni. And she clearly hadn’t got the memo about appropriate dress.

Ginni, finally - finally - was taken somewhat aback.

‘Heavens…’ Ginni said.

Heavens was right.

Approaching them down the corridor, was the unmistakable sight of Jizzelle Cumshotte. It would be difficult for Ian not to recognise her, because he had fucked her only yesterday, railing her over his desk during a lesson – whatever it was – where she had squealed and sprayed a glistening welter of girljuice before kneeling in front of him and holding up her phone to capture the enormous, molten gluey cumshot that Ian had ejected directly into her face, giggling and wincing playfully as each massive bolt of groin-syrup smacked between her eyes. Jizzelle was the scion of an incredibly rich and aristocratic family who had sensationally renounced her class status and privilege on her 18th birthday, whereupon she had eschewed the chance to appear on a trashy reality posh-porn show with her older sister by instead enrolling at the school to train for a career in real porn films, compressing her double-barrelled surname Cumming-Bagshotte into its more fittingly distinctive sobriquet which she planned to use as her erotic-movie handle.

Jizzelle was a perfectly and evenly tanned bimbo slut with a bimbo hardbody, plump dicksucker lips, glossy, shimmering blonde hair and a tattoo across her clavicle that read ‘GET FUCKED’ in elaborate script. She was dressed completely normally for her, which was to say, full fuckdoll attire, consisting of shiny black PVC ankle boots with platforms and 8 inch heels, black fishnet stockings, shiny black bracers on her forearms, and a red shiny kinked-up bra and panty set that was linked together, out of which her humongous, spheroid, tanned, projecting tits burst out of, areolas visible, but nipples mercifully covered.

Those nipples being concealed was the only thing that kept Ian in a job, and the school from being closed down on the spot.

‘Mr Whiiiii-iiite’, Jizzelle called.

‘Jizzelle,’ Ian said, heart in his mouth at the foxy teen nympho strumpet’s salutation. He cursed the fact that while her name was so pornified, it was actually her actual real name, Jizzelle every bit as posh as she was trashy.

‘I’ve sent you the video we took in class,’ Jizzelle said, making goo-goo eyes at him, ‘did you get it? I love your lessons soooooooo much…’

Ian had received it, and had studied it carefully. He had had to admire the way that Jizzelle managed to keep her eyes open even as rope after rope of hot spunk belted into them. He’d skullfucked her after his sixty-seven spurt spunk cannonade of semen, and ended up hammering the back of her head against his desk.

‘Very useful teaching aid,’ Ian spluttered, saying literally anything as they went past Jizzelle, ‘can’t stop, I’m with the school inspector.’

Ian whisked Ginni further down the hall, glancing over his shoulder to see Jizzelle hold her hand up to her mouth and stick her tongue in her cheek as he went.

‘Active teaching,’ Ian said, ‘sometimes we record as we go. Cutting edge.’

Ginni’s brow furrowed suspiciously.

‘Mr White, I feel I have to say something. That is most unusual. Not to say outrageous. How on earth do you allow girls to go around the school in that sort of attire? Shouldn’t there be some form of reprimand?’

Ian considered this. He needed to think, but all his blood was engorging his enormously stiffening fuckpiece, stuffed down his leg, bloating his trousers, hot and hard and heavy against his skin. He needed it, for the first time, in his brain. He gulped and held the manilla file closer against his groin and leg to secrete the bulge, and was about to burble some sort of response, when yet another female force majeure presented itself at the end of the corridor.

It was none other than Harley Staxxx.

Harley was new to the school, having turned eighteen less than a fortnight earlier, and Ian had personally expedited her application, recognising her instantly upon meeting her as a genius cocksucker, with incredible potential in the sloppy blowjob stakes, and completely uninhibited slut to boot. How she had achieved that level of aptitude at her age was anyone’s guess. Perhaps she was a natural. He’d been so drained by the encounter with the teen whore’s slurping, sucking lips and constrictive throatsleeve that Nurse Pennyweather had asked if he wanted to be attached to a drip that afternoon (how she had articulated that question with Ian’s immense dickbrawn stuffed in her mouth was another matter for science).

By the looks of it, Harley was enjoying her newfound freedom in the school.

The little slut was in a slingshot bikini. A hot pink one. And clear stripper sandals. And nothing else. She had both arms with colourful floral sleeve tattoos, which, if one squinted, gave her at least the appearance of being more beclothed than she was. But Ian didn’t want to hang anything on that. She came down the hallway in a glorious stripper strut, tits the size of bowling balls. The material that covered the middle of her enormous cans was stretched tightly in the air, suspended between her shoulder and her melons.

Ian stole a glance at Ginni, and saw, magnified by the lenses of her glasses, that her eyes were boggling. Inwardly, something dropped inside of him. The jig was most certainly up now. This little cockgobbler Harley was a loose cannon for sure, and could say – or do – anything.

Harley slinked towards Ian and Ginni with elite level sexual poise and skill. Ian dreaded to think of all the dicks she had sucked already that morning.

‘Mr White, I’ve been looking for you all morning! They said you were with a school inspector!’

The eighteen year old make that sentence sound ridiculously whoreish.

‘That’s right, Harley,’ Ian said. ‘I don’t really have time to chat now, I’m afraid.’

‘But I wanted to speak you yoooooouuuu!!!’ Harley pouted, lips plumping up even further and massive knockers wobbling behind their constraints.

‘Harley I’m sorry, I just don’t have the time…’

But Harley was not to be deterred from speaking, and set about putting her case in the same way any teen airhead bimbo would when they wanted to borrow the car from Daddy.

‘Puh-leeeease? It won’t take a sec. Listen. The boys in my class are being so mean! They’re saying I’m only good at one thing. They’re saying I can only do oral –‘

‘French,’ Ian interjected, for the benefit of clarity. ‘Definitely French.’

‘But I can do so much more! I can do everything all the other girls can do, but they don’t see that because everyone always wants oral from me! And what I really like, what I want to do just as well as my oral is a-’

‘A-Levels!!!!!’ Ian said, as emphatically as he could.

‘That’s it yaaah!!’ Harley said, patting her hands together delightedly, ‘I want my A-levels, if you know what I mean Mr Wang.’

‘White-‘

‘Mr White –‘

‘Mr White,’ Harley corrected herself, ‘thank you so much! I can’t wait for you to give them to meeeeeeeee!!!’

The way that Harley sucked, Ian reflected briefly, it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that she could demonstrate her oral talents and get the anal experience she so craved at exactly the same time. Some of the swinging dicks of the first years in the class he’d put her in had to be seen to be believed.

Ian used the manilla file as a protective shield to prevent Harley from twirling her hand over the massive bulge in his trouser as a thank you, and Ian tried incredibly hard not to turn his head to watch the supple glutes of her insane teenage bubble ass pop as she strutted away.

‘And another one!’ Ginni said, ‘Mr White, I’m afraid I must demand an explanation for what I am witnessing here. There are students running around in a state of undress!’

Ian resumed walking, doing anything to get to the next class where there might be a chance of reprieve from someone sensible.

He thought harder than he’d ever thought in his life.

‘Ginni, are you aware of a film called Barbie?’

‘I’m aware of the film Barbie, yes.’

‘Well,’ Ian said, ‘I haven’t seen it myself…’

This was a lie. There had, of course, been a school trip to see Barbie. All the female staff and students had dressed up like whores – which made little difference from their usual attire, but a few of them had amped up their versions of gorgeous nympho hyper-femininity. Laura turned up with tiny pink slivers of tape in X’s over her nipples - just her nipples, mind you, not her areolas – and hot pink gauze pair of bikini bottoms with a slit in the middle. Huge white vinyl thigh lengths completed the look. It had been quite an outing.

‘But as I understand it,’ Ian continued, ‘the message of the film is that female empowerment can take many forms, that women can choose to express themselves how they want without being judged, that their self image is important to them, and has to be preserved respectfully. And if someone chooses to embrace a stereotype, who are we to say that’s bad or wrong? Perhaps their acceptance of the stereotype is ironic, in some sense, a knowing wink to the way women are perceived however they choose to dress?’

He held the door open to the science lab.

‘I think some of the female students took it to heart. But I’d hate to discourage their aspirations. Wouldn’t you?’