Can't Say No Ch. 03

*All characters in this story are fictional and above the age of 18.

**The world depicted is fictional.

***Please do not read if you are offended by non-consent.

*****

Despite everything, I was excited for fourth hour ceramics. Working with my hands was fun, and pottery was an opportunity to zone out. People kept to themselves while they worked, so no one would notice my dishevelment. Taking care to avoid the pre-class chatter, I took my assigned seat and waited for the bell. All the while, I tried not to think about the cum seeping its way inside of me.

Heat prickled my cheeks. The hour with Mr. Stephenson had gotten me worked up. It wasn't that I found him attractive, but his stimulation had left me full of pent up energy. Now, I couldn't shift my mind back to school.

My panties were damp, and leftover semen was making my insides to itch. I slipped a hand under the table. The art room table was huge, big enough to obscure my hand. I glanced side to side. The seats next to me were still vacant. Our teacher, Mr. Carson, was washing tools at the sink.

I pulled my skirt tight and scratched myself. Instant relief followed, but it didn't satiate me. Even through my skirt, I could feel heat of my vagina.

I looked around. Class was starting to fill up. One of my friends sat down next to me, she was buried in her phone.

The ceiling lights flicked on and off. This was Mr. Carson's way of getting our attention. I felt grateful as the room quieted. At the front of the room Mr. Carson began to describe our daily project.

I only listened for a moment. Before I knew it, my hand was back on my crotch. I started to rub myself—This was crazy. Masturbation was something I'd only tried a couple of times, and I was in public. Horny though I was, I was painfully aware of my surroundings.

The pressure in my hips returned with a vengeance when I brushed my clit. A moan threatened to escape, so I bit down on my lip. My leg muscles clenched against my hand and my body turned rigid.

Suddenly, I noticed the classroom was silent. Adrenaline spiked in my chest—I looked up. To my terror, I saw Mr. Carson looking at me. He seemed to have trailed off mid-thought, because the rest of the class was looking at him.

I immediately looked away and waited. My breath was short, and my chest heaved. A thin sheen of sweat was covering my cleavage.

A few seconds later, the lecture resumed. I breathed a sigh and pulled my hand out from between my legs. Had Mr. Carson seen what I was doing? The thought horrified me. But, no. It was impossible, I reassured myself. There was no way Mr. Carson could've seen under the table from where he was standing. Still, the scare was enough to bring me back to the present.

I felt Mr. Carson's gaze sweep over me as he wrapped up his lecture.

"I'm going to show a short video demonstrating what you're supposed to make. While that's playing, Jessie, why don't you start handing out clay." Mr. Carson locked eyes with me as he spoke.

I gave a start when he called my name, but I settled down at once. This wasn't unusual. Mr. Carson frequently asked people to pass out clay before class.

A little annoyed, I got up and walked over to the barrel of clay as the video started playing. The bucket was nearly empty. With so little clay left, I had to stretch my arm as far as they would go just to reach any. I stood up. Someone would probably notice me struggling and come help. The class was absorbed in the instructional video, and no one seemed to notice my predicament.

Mr. Carson was watching me out of the corner of his eye. I looked at him. He usually assigned multiple people to sort out materials, I would just wait for him to send someone taller.

I waited, but Mr. Carson didn't call any more names. Did he expect me to pass out everything by myself?

I bent over the bucket again, but the clay was still tantalizingly out of reach. I pushed myself up on tip toes. With the extra height, I could just sink my hands deep enough to scoop clay out. My waist was balanced precariously on the edge of the bucket as I worked. Teetering, I wriggled my butt to pull myself back out.

I passed out the first ball of clay and returned to the bucket. Again, I was forced to bend all the way over just to reach the bottom. As I reached down, my skirt rode up my legs and hugged my butt. I pulled out a second ball.

This was ridiculous. Our class had nearly 20 people, and balling clay this way was going to take forever. Besides, clay was going to get all over my clothes. I looked around, but no one seemed to know I was struggling.

Frustrated, I continued to ball clay. Every time I bent over; I became more convinced Mr. Carson was watching me. I wasn't a stranger to guys checking out my ass, but usually if you caught them, they'd stop. The fact I had to keep reaching into the barrel meant I had no way of catching him.

I continued to work, feeling more self-conscious than ever. The lower I reached into the bucket, the further my skirt rode up my legs. Every time I stood up, I would brush my skirt back down, but it was a futile gesture. As I bent over, I imagined I could feel the heat of Mr. Carson's gaze burning into me. The thought made me feel dirty.

After what felt like an eternity, I had enough balls of clay. I straightened my skirt for the last time, and passed the remaining materials out. When I was finished, I tried to catch the ending of the video.

Balling clay had taken so long, I didn't have a great idea of what we were supposed to make. I only had time to surmise it was a vase before the video ended.

The lights turned on, and people started taking materials to their assigned pottery wheels. I followed suit. I liked my seat. It was relatively secluded, and near the window—I could see all the way out to the sports fields.

"Hang on everyone," said Mr. Carson, the class stopped to look at him. "I've composed a new seating chart."

Around me, I heard people grumbling. I shared their sentiment. I did not want to give up my seat by the window.

I waited patiently as Mr. Carson listed names and pointed to chairs. I watched with dismay as my seat was filled by Margaret, a girl I disliked. I idled as most of the seats were filled, by the end, my name still hadn't been called.

Finally, Mr. Carson pointed to the wheel at the end of the room—immediately next to his desk, "Jessie, your seat is there."

I looked at him, incredulous, "Isn't that wheel broken?

"It's functional. You should have no trouble, if you know what you're doing," he said. I wanted to protest, but everyone had already taken their seats. This new seating chart was the worst possible scenario.

I hated my new spot the instant I sat down. The stool was wobbly and it took extra effort just to sit still. Worse, the second I touched my foot to the pedal, the entire pottery wheel started to vibrate. It was impossible to stay balanced. Successfully molding clay would be next to impossible. I watched mutinously as Margaret organized her materials across the room. She looked cheery.

"You have 15 minutes to work. Show me what you can do," said Mr. Carson. I raised my hand in attempt to catch his attention.

"Mr. Carson, my station—"

"You may begin."

I looked around. Wheels spun as my classmates got to work. I wasn't positive what we were doing, so I decided not to waste time.

I hunched over my wheel and started working the clay. The wheel was jittery, which made molding more difficult. My arms and chest jiggled, and it took all of my concentration to keep the clay steady. I was so absorbed it took a few minutes to notice Mr. Carson staring at me.

Afraid to take my eyes off my creation, I examined him with my peripheral vision. He was indeed staring at me, but why? Distracted, I looked down momentarily. To my chagrin, I realized Mr. Carson could see straight down my blouse.

Suddenly, I became very conscious of how the wheel was making my breasts jiggle. As I examined myself, I lost control of my vase and the top collapsed.

Fuck. I would have to restart.

"That's alright Jessie, remember to say focused." I looked up in time to see Mr. Carson standing next to me. He was acting like he had only just noticed what I was doing. Jerk. This was his fault. I couldn't focus with him staring at me.

I restarted, resolving to sit up straighter this time.

Concealing my chest and shaping clay at the same time was next to impossible. Every time I saw Mr. Carson staring at me, I lost my concentration. By the end of our allotted half-hour I was sweaty, embarrassed, and sporting my worst creation yet.

Mr. Carson called class to a stop five minutes early. Most people were already done. I looked at my clay miserably. Normally my work was excellent. But even with the crappy wheel, my vase might be just good enough to be acceptable.

Mr. Carson stood up and prepared to inspect our work. He normally said glowing things about everything I made.

My wheel was closest to his desk, so he stopped there first. However, he only eyed my work for a moment, "This vase is unusable, I can't fire it."

I glared at him. No shit my vase was bad. The wheel he assigned me was barely functional. On top of that, I had missed the instructions because I was passing out clay alone. I swallowed my retort.

"I'm sorry. I'll make a better one tomorrow." I said.

"No, stay here. You can try again after class," he said. He reached down crumpled my vase. Then he tossed it into the clay bucket—I wanted to scream at him.

I watched as he graded the rest of the class. One by one he proclaimed their vases satisfactory. At first, I was angry, but it wasn't all bad I realized. Staying after class might get me out of my lunch date with Matthew.

Eventually, the bell rang and people filed out of the room. I saw my friend Sarah waiting by the door.

"Are you coming to lunch?" she asked. I shook my head. "Why not?"

"I have to stay and fix my vase. Sorry." I said. She shrugged.

"Text me if you change your mind, I'll be in the parking lot for a bit."

"Okay." I said. I acted like there was a chance I might go and meet her, but I knew it was impossible. Even if I wrapped up things here quickly, there was still Matthew to deal with.

Sarah was the one with a car, once she left, I wouldn't be able to go out for lunch. Sarah left the room, then it was just me and Mr. Carson. I turned to find him already staring at me.

"Why don't you grab another ball of clay to work with, and I'll give you some pointers as you go this time," said Mr. Carson.

Reluctantly, I walked back to the clay bucket. I remembered the start of class. Mr. Carson had been checking out my butt while I handed out clay, I was sure of it. We were the only two in the room now, and the thought of bending over again made me self-conscious.

"Come on, be quick or we'll miss lunch," Mr. Carson said.

Reluctantly, I walked back to the clay bucket. Again, my skirt rode up my thighs as I bent over the barrel. There was even less clay than at the start of class. I stretched every inch of my 5'4 frame in an attempt to reach. Finally, my hand grazed the bottom. This time, as my hand neared the clay, something odd happened.

I felt the sensation of my skirt being lifted up and over my hips. Cool air brushed against my buttocks. Dumbfounded, I stood there on my tippy toes. To my shock, I realized my ass was stuck in the air and completely exposed. As I tried to register what happened, I felt my panties yanked to my ankles. Alarmed, I reached towards the edge of the bucket to catch my balance.

Before I could find my grip, strong hands clamped my wrists. I gasped as my arms were bent awkwardly over the small of my back. Pain shot through my upper arms as a hand pinned me down.

Mr. Carson, I realized, was directly behind me. What the fuck was he doing? I tried to move, but I had no purchase. My legs were all the way extended from reaching into the bucket.

I felt something poke me. Mr. Carson had pressed his hips into my butt.

"Mr. Carson what—"

I heard the sound of a belt unfastening. Oh my god. This wasn't happening. I cried out.

Behind me, he twisted my arms painfully. I cried out again.

"Shut up." My head was stuck inside the barrel and the voice was muffled, but unmistakable.

I felt Mr. Carson position his dick against the outside of my vagina. I writhed on my perch, but my body hardly moved. Without warning, his hips slammed into me. The force drove my butt forward and caused my legs to bang into the container. The barrel was the only thing that stopped me from falling. I was wedged in place, with no room to move. Inside the bucket, my head and torso dangled helplessly. He was inside of me.

I couldn't see him, but I knew Mr. Carson was fucking me from behind.

His pace became violent and erratic. His dick scraped all along my insides. My soft cries were magnified by the enclosed barrel.

A cramp wracked my calves as he plowed into me. My muscles were in knots. The pain of standing on my tip toes was too much. I forced my body limp and surrendered myself. Breathing in the smell of clay, I tried to relax. As the cramps subsided, all I was left with was the sensation of being fucked. I could hear the slaps of his flesh on mine.

I noticed I was enjoying the feeling digging through my insides. What the fuck? There was no way I was enjoying this. The day had just had so much build—

Without warning, the pressure inside me reached a boiling point. Mr. Carson didn't slow down. I couldn't stop it.

I exploded past the precipice my body had ached for the past two hours. Involuntarily, I arched my back, pressing my ass an extra ounce into the air. His dick plunged into me, and a spasm wracked my body. My dam of pent-up energy finally burst. I squealed and the high pitch echoed in the confines of the barrel. Ecstasy. I tensed for a wonderful moment, then my body shook.

I moaned as an open palm slapped my ass. Snot dripped out of my nose and ran over my lips. My mouth lolled open; I couldn't help it. The air was thick and I couldn't breath through my nose. I panted. Snot mixed with the drool and dribbled down my chin.

He slapped my behind again, hitting my rump in the same place. I heard a loud grunt over my squeal. Mr. Carson pressed forward, forcing my body hard against the barrel.

Our pitches mixed together as he thrust hard. My squeal turned into a yelp as my body was banged repeatedly into the barrel. His dick pulsed. He was cumming, I recognized. Instinctually, I tried to pull forward, but there was no room to move. I tried to pull my arms free, but they were bent awkwardly and weak in his grip.

There was a loud sigh and I felt Mr. Carson pull out of me. His weight gone, my knees buckled, but the barrel kept me propped me up.

I heard the sound of Mr. Carson fastening his belt. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a flash. Then his footsteps moved away from me.

"Are we still on for lunch? — I'll be right there."

Was he talking to me? My brain struggled to make sense of his words. A few seconds later, the room went dark and the door shut. He was gone.

My body hung limp over the edge of the bucket. The pressure on my abdomen started to hurt. With some effort, I wriggled myself off the bucket and collapsed to the floor. The muscles in my legs had gone limp. I lay on the ground in a panting, sweaty mess. My knees were bruised from where they had slammed into the barrel. My whole body hurt, but I also felt relaxed.

I stared through the darkness at the ceiling. My mind still hung in the afterglow of my momentary euphoria. What the fuck just happened to me?

I pulled my panties from the floor. Rather than try to pull them on, I balled them in my hand. Like a child, I crawled to the table and pulled myself to my feet. My legs wobbled as I stood. Trembling, I walked to my seat.

After collecting my things, I checked my phone. I ignored my messages until the most recent one—unknown number: sent two minutes ago.

'I know you're in there. Hurry up.'

There was no need to wonder who sent the message. I probably had Emily to thank for giving away my phone number on top of my schedule. Matt was waiting in the hall, just my luck. What did Matt want from me?

I took a few steps toward the door and winced. There was definitely some chafing. I didn't think I could take part in whatever Matt had planned.

Suddenly, the classroom door was thrown open and light spilled in from the hallway. I squinted to see Matt's silhouette in the doorframe.

"There are you are. Lunch started ten minutes ago, what have you been doing?" said Matt, "it doesn't matter. Come on." He looked exasperated. I nearly laughed at the absurdity. He wanted to know what I had been doing? Obviously, everything that had just happened was an attempt to waste his time.

I folded my arms across my chest, "don't worry about it." Matt closed the distance and put his arm across my shoulders.

"Whatever." He marched me into the hall. I thought about removing his arm, but didn't bother. Instead I focused on keeping my legs steady.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"You'll see." He said, picking up his pace. Something was dripping down my leg. I came to a stop. Matt pulled me insistently.

"I need to go the bathroom." I said.

"Like hell you do. Do you think I'm an idiot? You just spent ten minutes dawdling in class, now you're trying to waste the rest of lunch. I've seen that trick before. Let's go." I pulled away from him.

"I'm serious. I need to go." Anger flashed in Matt's eyes. "Please?" I added. Something in my tone must have changed his mind. He took in my appearance for the first time.

"Okay, fine. It looks like you could use it," said Matt. "But if you're not quick, someone's going to hear about it." The relief of hearing him assent was replaced by jolt of fear.

"It's not like that." I said. "I'll be fast." I turned and hurried to the bathroom. I could feel cum dripping down my leg. Fortunately, the hallways were deserted.

When I entered, the bathroom was occupied.

"Damn, girl. You're the worst I've seen, no offense," said the girl at the sink. "Lunch time is a killer." I stumbled and grabbed the sink to keep myself from falling. "Woah, there." The other girl caught me and held me steady.

I looked at my savior. She must've been in my grade. Her blouse bore the same pin as mine.

"Thanks." I said. She nodded.

"Don't mention it. Girls need to look out for each other," she said. She inspected my face and I became conscious of the trails of drool and snot. "Your name's Jessie, you play soccer, right? I've seen your Insta, you're pretty popular."

"Thanks," I said, but she laughed loudly.

"It's not a compliment. Soccer, Instagram? You must be an idiot," she said. I ignored her, and started wiping my face. The last thing I needed was another person trying to judge me.

"Actually, I'm doing well in school, thanks." I replied.

"I'm not talking about school," she said. "You're too visible. If you want guys lining up to drag you off all day, that's fine. Keep doing what you're doing. You'll be pregnant by the end of the month. I've seen plenty of girls like you." Her words stung. I tried to think of something hurtful to say, but couldn't think of anything.

"I can't get pregnant. I need a scholarship to get to college." Was all I could say.

"Yeah? Then you'll want to do something about that." She pointed to my leg. To my horror, I saw something wet running down my thigh.

"Oh no." I rushed into one of the stalls. Bundling as much TP as I could, I started to wipe myself off. I scoured every inch of myself. Finally, there was nothing more to be done.

"That's not good enough." The girl spoke up the moment I left the stall.