Friday 26th May

I brought her the cabinet to her office on a trolley, knocked quietly on her door, and waited. No response. I knocked again.

“Yes, yes,” she snapped. “Come in, if you must.”

I entered. She wore black today, with a prim blouse with the white collar over the outside of the collar of the jacket. If she hadn’t been such a cow, I would have been chronically erect. Even so, she did stir something inside me.

“Oh, it’s you,” she sniffed, as though she was saying hello to something she found on her mudflaps.

“Where do you want the cabinet, Miss Gonzales?” I asked politely. I was polite, I always am.

“Where do you think?” she shrugged, and pointed in the direction of the gap I had measured the previous day. “Over there, and be quick about it, I’m a busy woman.”
I nodded obsequiously and pushed it into place. As I pulled the trolley away, I nudged over a yukka plant, and she got to her feet.

“Sorry Miss,” I said. “I’ll clean that up in a minute.”

“You’ll clean it up now, or else.”

“N-no,” I said nervously. “First, I need to show you how the cabinet works.”

I opened the doors, and she stepped closer to it, looking inside, mumbling something about knowing how a goddamn cabinet works and certainly not needing any lessons on it from a boneheaded caretaker, when I pushed her inside with a single hand on her back. She stumbled in, bounced sweetly off the back wall, then disappeared as I shut the cabinet on her. She banged heavily on the door, which got louder when I locked it and put it on the trolley. I pushed her out into the corridor. The headmaster was coming in the other direction.

“I say, Ted, where are you going with that cabinet? What’s in there?” he asked when he heard it rattling.

“Umm, no sir, Miss Marie Gonzales is in here, I’m going to ravish her quite vigorously.”

“Jolly good, do carry on,” replied the head, satisfied. “Please don’t let the girls see it, though. You know how much trouble they cause when they get aroused.”

“Yus sir,” I nodded. He was right. When they did well on their exams, we rewarded them with a George Clooney marathon on the school TV. Took me three days to get all the stains out.

It meant I had to find a deserted place, somewhere where the closed-circuit cameras and the girls couldn’t see me. When I thought of the place, I began to laugh so hard, it stopped the banging on the doors and made Miss Gonzales begin to squeal nervously.

I was glad the trolley had wide wheels, otherwise it would have got stuck in the lighter mud, long before the virtual swamp that sat in the middle of the playing fields. I unlocked the cabinet, not saying a word, then I upended her. She flopped out of the cabinet, right into the mud with a heavy squelch. Quickly, she got up, began to run uncertainly on her four-inch heels, and started to stumble even before I chose to catch her. My old rugby union days helped me out. I grabbed her by the wrist, spun her round like I was John Travolta, and hurled her into the mud again.

She slid for three yards in the mess, gasping at the cold water as it seeped into her clothes. When she got up this time, her blouse was virtually transparent, and her suit was almost totally filth-ridden, certainly ruined. She looked nervous, but did not scream.

“You will p-pay for t-this,” she said, but the confidence in her voice had gone. She turned and ran, and I just had to take two quick paces towards her, reach out a leg to trip her up, and she was on her face again. This time I crouched by her fallen frame, and her pathetic posture seemed to inspire me.

“You want everything clean, but you don’t know what dirt really is, do you?” I snarled.

Umm. Then I regret that I may not have treated her like a lady. I sat on her as she lay face down, and used both hands differently. With my left hand, I held that bun of hers, and forced her head into the mud, which made her arms flail wildly, and her legs kick up in the air.

“You love to be treated like a dirty bitch, don’t you?”

“Yowgle,” she spluttered when I let her come up for air.

“That’s yowgle, Mister Stoat,” I responded, and pushed her head back down again. My other hand – and I should stress that I am right handed – curled around under her short skirt, and was pinching and scratching some sensitive skin at the top of her inner thigh. It was hard to get any closer, because the silly thing kept clenching her legs shut on me. I lifted her head again and whispered “Spread those legs for me, Miss Gonzales,” into her ear.

“Burple,” she replied, but when I feinted to push her head in again, she complied. In return, to prove that I was a reasonable man, I let go of her head.

“Good girl,” I said, and began to stroke the back of her neck with the tips of my fingers. She calmed instantly, and the muscles in her legs relaxed, the arms went limp. My right hand moved upwards, and found what I expected to find. Ed would not have hired someone at the rates he charges, if they were normal.
“You’re not a normal girl, are you?” I asked in a triumphant, smiling voice. “Your little cunt is all wet, isn’t it? ISN’T IT?” I grabbed her hair and pulled her head so far back that her shapely, slim neck was exposed.

“Yes, Mr Stoat, it is,” she purred.

I slid a finger halfway into her cunt. The chin dropped, the eyes clenched shut, she let out a tender little gasp, but said nothing.

“What do you propose I do? Should I measure something to put into it?” I asked.

“N-n-y-no,” she gurgled.

“Or maybe I should just fuck you right here in the mud,” I added. It was not a question.

“Yes,” she said with a growl in her voice. “Fuck me, sir.”

That was all I wanted to hear. I undid the bun on the back of her head, stood up, and dragged her to her feet by the straggly, dirty hair. She grunted and arched her back, standing uncertainly on her heels.

“Take off your skirt. Throw it in the cabinet.”

Her shaking hands undid a clasp on her waistband, and the skirt was removed. She tossed it weakly at the open cabinet, it landed a good three yards short. As it landed, I brought my hand hard down on her left buttock.

“Clumsy,” I said, and slapped the other one. Her body jolted forwards at each slap, the gasps were a dead giveaway. “You love this, don’t you, slut?”

“Y-yes sir, t-this slut loves it.”

I pushed her to the floor again, and ordered her to get on all fours. This, she readily did, and I knelt behind her for more observation. “Arch your back, whore, and get those knees further apart. I want to see this cunt of yours,” I slapped her inner thighs hard, and she dutifully spread her legs. I slapped them again, harder this time, just because the red marks contrasted wonderfully against the brown skin and drops of wet mud. Then I looked at her tight little pussy. “Ahh, my goodness, Miss Gonzales, I am going to enjoy fucking this cunt. It is small, and I love to stretch pussies like this, you know? But it’s wet, my god it’s wet, you’re a damp little fucktoy, aren’t you?”

“Yes sir!”

I slapped her arse again. “What are you?”

“I’m your stupid little fucktoy, sir!”

I scraped my fingernails down the small of her back to the top of her stockingtops. I didn’t even ask her again, but she continued.

“And I need to be fucked, because I’m an insatiable cowslut, sir. Make me your cumbitch, please sir, I need your cock in me so badly, sir!”

I unzipped myself, already ready to burst, and knelt behind her. I placed the head of my cock into her, and he whimpered with anticipation. Then I leaned over her and my entire length slid into that tight little cunt. I could feel her muscles tighten on it, as though she never wanted to let it go. I pushed her head forwards again, face down into the mud. She gurgled happily as I began to fuck her, coming up for air to beg me to fuck her harder.

It only took a few minutes, she may have pissed me off so much in the previous few days, but she did look like Salma Hayek, and she was coated in mud and calling herself degrading names that even I had never heard before. So when she asked if she could cum, and I let her, and she roared with a cry that made birds fly from the treetops, it only took a second for me to spurt deep into her pussy. I collapsed on top of her, my heavy mass forcing her tender frame into the mud, which seeped happily around her. My hands idly stroked and fingered her hair as she cooed warm thank-you-sirs to me. She was a grateful little cunt, I thought to myself.

Eventually, when I found some strength, I got up, pulled her to her feet, dragged her to the cabinet and roughly shoved her inside. She turned to face me, her mud-soaked face looking up with devilish eyes and a wicked grin. I bit my lip and shut the door on her, then put the cabinet back on the trolley. I took my time to brush some of the mud from my overalls, remembered to zip up, and began to push her back to her office. She remained silent. I thought I had gotten away with it, but as I passed the girls coming out of their usual detention, something they said seemed to indicate that we may have been discovered.

“Have you had a good day, sir?” asked Suchaminx.

“Nice weather, isn’t it, sir?” asked Cariad.

“Always good to get some fresh air, isn’t it, sir?” asked Seababy.

“Wow, sir, I loved the way you shoved your fingers in her cunt when you were pulling back on her hair,” grinned Jennyfer.

Maybe I was paranoid.

The end