Toying With Tiffany
THE ONE WITH THE ANTS IN THE PANTS
Tiffany Daniels squirmed in her seat. Her delectable 16-year-old ass slid forward
and back, forward and back, rubbing against the wood. As she rubbed her butt
against the seat, she crossed and uncrossed her legs.
Tiffany Daniels, high school junior, cheerleader, princess tease, was antsy. Very
She swung her right leg over her left, crossing them in mid-thigh, and squeezed
the muscles in her legs. She scooted back an inch in her desk chair. Nothing she
did revealed the terrible itching in her sweet young pussy, the itch that spread
deep up into her virgin asshole. She was afraid that if she wriggled much more,
her embarrassingly short skirt, which was already climbing up her thighs, would
ride up high enough to expose her white panties in front of her teacher and all
Mr. Green, her English teacher, was droning on about Emily Dickinson in front of
the class. Tiffany was too pre-occupied with the uncomfortable feeling in her
pussy and ass to notice how often Green was looking her way. He didn't stop
talking, but he was keeping his eye on the writhing youngster.
What he saw was one of the prettiest, sexiest young girls at Daniels High School.
(Named for Godfrey Daniels, Tiffany's grandfather, making her one of the town's
blue bloods, and one of its biggest snobs.) Even in days past, when Tiffany had
dressed like a typical teenaged girl, she had been a vision of pure desirability.
She stood five feet seven inches, weighed 115 pounds, and had blonde wavy hair
that fell down over her shoulders and gorgeous blue eyes. She had sprouted a
fantastic set of breasts over the last couple of years, perfect grapefruit-sized
beauties that stood out from her chest with the arrogance of youth. Capped with
the kind of large pink nipples that you usually only saw in girlie magazines. Her
slender waist flared out into rounded hips, and from there on down she was
nothing but long, tanned legs. Her cheerleading kept her fit. Her family's money
kept her tanned, with regular trips to a tanning salon, and exquisitely groomed
with regular trips to the best hair stylist in town.
She had been told, frequently, by boys at school that she resembled the tennis
player Anna Kournikova. She figured they were just saying that to get some pussy
- teenaged boys would say or do anything to get some pussy, particularly some as
wonderful as Tiffany's - but it was true, there was a resemblance.
But today, Tiffany was not dressed like the other girls. Just about everybody,
even the rich bitches like Tiff, wore jeans, sneakers and T- shirts to school. It
might as well have been the official school uniform at Daniels High. Tiffany,
however, wore a white blouse that was about one size too small for her, so that
her breasts pushed the front of the blouse out, calling more attention to them. A
plaid pleated skirt was the traditional Catholic schoolgirl look, but this skirt
was much shorter than any Catholic school would ever allow. It fell only a few
inches below the cheeks of her ass, and that's why she was so concerned about it
riding up as she wiggled in her seat. On her feet, she wore little white anklet
socks and white high-heeled sandals made up of many small criss- crossing straps.
It was an outfit that virtually screamed "Look at me! Look at what a sexy little
16-year-old tease I am!" Which was the idea. But not Tiffany's idea.
Tiffany was mortified by being forced to wear the too-tight blouse and the
too-short skirt. But she had forgotten about her deep shame for the moment as the
unbearable, agonizing itching in her pussy suddenly became even worse.
"MMMMMMffff!" moaned Tiffany, biting her lip, and rubbing her ass against the
chair for all it was worth.
"Miss Daniels, is something wrong?" asked Mr. Green, interrupting his lecture. He
stared at her. The entire English class stared as well.
"No sir, I'm OK," the suffering teenager squeaked out.
"Then why are you squirming so much in your seat and making noise?" asked Green.
His eyes glittered with a touch of evil.
"I'm sorry," said Tiffany. "I'll be good."
"Stand up, please," ordered Mr. Green. He gave her a hard look, willing her to
get to her feet.
Reluctantly, Tiffany slid out of her seat and stood beside her desk. Every male
eye in the classroom was riveted either on her naked thighs (the leg men) or her
nipples, which pushed against the thin fabric of her top.
"Miss Daniels, which poem are we discussing?"
Tiffany blushed. She had no idea. She had been so pre-occupied by the feelings
her young crotch that she had tuned the teacher out for the entire class.
"Mr. Green? Please? I don't feel well," Tiffany said, her voice taking on the
pleading tone of a little girl.
"And what exactly is the matter, Miss Daniels? Do you have ants in your pants?"
The whole class burst into laughter. Tiffany turned crimson red in shame.
Because the truth was, she did have ants in her pants. She had hundreds of ants
crawling all over her pussy, down between her legs, along her ass crack. She had
ants up deep inside her pussy, and ants deep up inside her rectum.
And the rule for the day was, she could not take them out. Couldn't even take her
panties off to scratch. She had to suffer, all day long, both the physical
discomfort of the nasty little insects violating all of her private parts, and
the psychological pain of knowing that she was not allowed to do anything about.
Green waited for an answer. Tiffany wondered: Did her know? She stammered, unable
"Well, if you won't even give me the respect of an answer to a simple question
like whether you have ants in your pants, would you please come up to the front
of the room?" Green asked, politely but firmly. Tiffany didn't move. Her heart
was pounding like mad.
"Now, Miss Daniels!" barked the English teacher. "Or it will be detention for you
today after school!"
Detention? thought Tiffany. God, that was the last thing she could handle.
Reluctantly, she walked to the front of the room.
"I believe you know the spot," Mr. Green said, and gestured at the blackboard.
There was a chalk circle drawn there, and whenever a student misbehaved, Green
ordered them to stand with their nose pressed to the circle and their back to
their fellow students. Tiffany had never been singled out for this humiliating
punishment, and on this of all days! She didn't know how she could bear it.
"Circle or detention, Miss Daniels," Green said coldly. Suddenly she knew,
somehow, that Green was in on it, that he knew what the principal had done to her
that morning. How he'd poured honey all over her pussy and ass, parted the tender
labia with his rough fingers and dribbled the honey deep into her pussy, then
parted her ass the same way and applied honey there. How he'd then pulled a jar
of ants from his desk drawer and dumped them all over her middle. How he'd handed
her the white panties, and after she put them on, had taken a roll of heavy-duty
white duct tape and firmly taped the top of the panties to her skin, all the way
around her waist, 360 degrees, then done the same with each leg band, taping each
to her luscious thighs. The ants were trapped inside the panties, but they didn't
mind. They had honey to feast on.
The principal, Mr. White, had told the cheerleader that she would keep the ants
in her panties all through the school day, and only be allowed to take them out
at the end. If she tried to get the ants out before the final bell, the next day
he would repeat the exercise, using fire ants instead of regular ants. Fire ants,
Tiffany knew, would bite her tenderest places repeatedly and be a hellish agony
far worse than the tickling of the regular ants.
Green knew about the ants, Tiffany thought. And if he knew, detention would be
far, far worse than the chalk circle. It would mean she'd have to keep the ants
in her pants after the final bell.
Slowly, Tiffany walked to the front of the room, as the guys snickered and
watched the sway of her short, pleated skirt moving back and forth across the ass
they all wanted more than anything in the world. Her cheeks burned. She felt as
if she was on the verge of tears, but told herself she would not cry. She reached
the black board and pressed her nose into the circle. In order to do so, she had
to stand so close that her 36-C breasts mashed into the blackboard as well. She
worried that she was getting yellow chalk marks all over her blouse right over
her breasts, which would call even more attention to them the rest of the day.
But she did not dare take her nose out of the circle.
Mr. Green went back to his lecture on Emily Dickinson, but no one was listening.
The boys were all ogling Tiffany, wondering why she had started dressing like
such a slut. The girls looked at her with various mixtures of envy for her good
looks and malice for her past bitchiness.
"Nice ass, Tiff!" she heard a boy yell. She couldn't recognize the voice, but her
face felt so hot. She didn't dare look around and let them see her.
Tiffany felt the itching start again, deep, deep insider her rectum. Several ants
were working their way up further and further. She wanted more than anything to
rip her panties down, even there in front of everyone, and plunge her fingers up
her own ass, crushing the ants, plucking them out. But with every eye on her,
that was impossible. Even if she had been alone, she knew what would happen if
she didn't keep the panties in place all day.
So Tiffany Daniels suffered. And waited in agony. There was still half an hour to
go in English class.