STRAP

by NoOneInteresting

mc; g; mg; gg; mast

The two boys sat perched on the backside of the brick planter watching as students trickled down the sidewalk that led into Suzanne Thompson Middle School. Derrick was 12 and Charlie was 13; both of them about to start their last year at STMS or “Stems” as some referred to it. They had picked that spot for only one reason.

“You think she’s one?” Charlie asked, not for the first time.

“How the fuck should I know?” responded Derrick. “It’s not like they’re labeled, you know.” Charlie punched him on the arm playfully.

“I know,” Charlie said as he watched the young brunette walk past them and into the school proper. They lost sight of her as she walked around the corner of the Admin Building. “They should make them wear shirts or something.”

“They do wear shirts.”

“I mean, like t-shirts that say ‘STRAP girl’ or something.”

“Why?”

“So we can tell who they are.”

“Dumb-ass,” Derrick snarked, “They’re the same as last year, ’cept for the new ones. And once classes start, everyone will know who the new ones are.”

“I know that, fucker,” Charlie said with a frown. “But I wanna know now!”

“What’s the point? You can’t do anything until school actually starts anyway.”

“I know.”

“So, what? You gonna stand in the bushes and jerk off?”

Charlie made a face. “Ergh, no!”

Derrick laughed. “That’s what you’re gonna do! You wanna whip it out and beat your meat!” He laughed even harder at his own joke. Charlie punched him again.

“Fuck you, asshole.”

“Oh, there’s one,” Derrick said, pointing out a particularly chubby girl whose nose appeared to be running. She chose that moment to noisily sniff and wipe her nose with the back of her hand. Derrick seemed to find this so funny that he doubled over in silent laughter. Charlie flipped him off, though he was clearly holding back his own laughter. Derrick fought to catch his breath. “You want... you want me to call her over here so you can splooge all over her?”

“Ha ha, very funny,” said Charlie. “You know they don’t pick fat chicks.”

A black Impala pulled up to the curb and the rear passenger door opened. A girl, older than the others that the boys had been discussing, stepped out and started toward the school entrance. Derrick forgot all about his poking fun at Charlie’s expense.

“She’s one,” he said, nearly drooling.

“No shit.” said Charlie. “Huh, Stacey’s got tits this year.”

Said tits were not much more than an a-cup but were still only barely concealed by the girls t-shirt which had been cut so short that the bottom rode less than two inches below the twelve-year-old’s nipples and was slit up the middle to the collar. Her shorts were so short that they could have easily been mistaken for bikini bottoms and her sandals had four inch heels. Her blond hair cascaded to mid-back and swayed from side to side as she walked with a slink that exotic dancers twice her age would have killed for.

Charlie watched her pass by with interest, while Derrick was a lion stalking a gazelle on the grassland. It was well known to Charlie that Derrick had had a crush on Stacey Warren since they’d all been in second grade. When she had been chosen as a STRA three years later, it had taken Derrick most of the year to work up the courage.

Stacey rounded the corner of the Admin Building and disappeared from sight. Derrick continued looking in that direction as though he had suddenly developed x-ray vision. Charlie, however, lost interest in the eighth grade girl before he’d lost sight of her. He watched disinterestedly as a couple sixth grade boys walked by before noticing another girl.

She could be one, he thought. She was just right. A new fifth grader most likely, small, cute, skin tan from hours spent playing in the summer sun, dark brown hair down to her shoulder blades. She wore a gray skirt that ended at mid-thigh, a sleeveless pink button-up blouse and a pair of glossy black Mary Janes over white ankle socks; a brand new powder blue backpack slung over her right shoulder. She paused and looked nervously up at the building in front of her, biting her lower lip.

Charlie let out a brief, quiet—though nevertheless audible—groan.

“Oh, I bet you like her,” Derrick said, almost startling Charlie who had nearly forgotten the other boy was there. “She’s your type. Ask her.”

Charlie’s response was to punch Derrick in the shoulder.

“Fine. I’ll ask.”

It took a few moments for Charlie to process what he’d heard. He started to say “don’t you dare say anything” but only managed the first two words before the rest of the sentence was rendered pointless.

“Hey,” Derrick called out, “little girl!”

Startled, the girl jerked as her attention was drawn from the building and aimed right at them. She glanced around as if to figure out who Derrick had called out to, but she was currently the only person on the main walk.

“You a STRA?” he continued.

“Shut up,” Charlie said to Derrick in a forced whisper, as though he could alter the fact that the girl had already seen and heard them. He elbowed his friend for good measure.

The girl glanced around again, apparently not understanding the question and deciding that there must be someone she’d overlooked that it was meant for. Finally she looked back at them and pointed questioningly at herself.

“Yeah you,” Derrick said. Charlie resigned himself to the fact that he wasn’t going to stop Derrick. “Are you a STRA?”

The girl still looked unsure and perhaps a little intimidated, but finally shook her head before turning and hurrying off.

Derrick switched between watching the girl walk away and watching Charlie, all the while laughing quietly.

Charlie got up and started shimmying along to their usual exit. Before disappearing through the bushes, he called back over his shoulder, “You fucktard.”

Derrick looked back through the bushes and called out, “If you run you can catch her!” before letting himself go and laughing loud and long, drawing the wary attention of a blond seventh-grader with pigtails and braces.

Sara chewed on her lower lip—a habit that she’d had as long as she could remember—something she did when she was nervous. And was she ever nervous. It had begun the week before and had only grown in strength as the new school year bore down on her with all the speed and force of a runaway freight train.

It seemed like such a long time ago that her mother had sat her down on the living room couch and told her that she’d received a notice from her new school informing her that she’d been selected to be part of a special program called STRAP: Suzanne Thompson Rewarded Academics Program. A few days later—and a week before the official start of school—Sara and her mother had driven to STMS for an orientation video.

A secretary had led them to an office where they’d met with the vice-principal, a nice-looking man who couldn’t seem to stop smiling at Sara. To Sara, it seemed as though he’d talked forever about what a privilege it was for Sara to have been chosen; that she would be held to a more rigorous standard; that she would be helping the other students; that she and her mother should both be very proud that she had been selected; and so on and so on until Sara’s head just couldn’t hold any more of his words and her eyes began wandering around the room.

Finally, she and her mother had been escorted to separate rooms where they were told they would be watching a video. Sara’s would be the first of three videos (the others she would be watching after the school year started) about what was expected of her: her new duties and so forth. Her mother’s would be a more general overview of the program, how it got started and what the family of the selected student could do in support of the child.

Sara’s video hadn’t seemed like it was that long; only ten or fifteen minutes, so she’d been a bit confused when her mother had remarked as they’d left that they’d been there for several hours and would have to get take-out for dinner. Sara had tried to remember what she’d watched but all that had come to her were images of smiling faces, generic encouragements and something about not allowing stress to build up and impact the ability of the student to learn.

Sara squirmed a bit in the back seat of her mothers Ford Escape. She’d started squirming on that first ride home from her new school that night as well. She wasn’t sure why, but something about her panties made her uncomfortable. When she’d mentioned it to her mother a few days later, her mother said that it was just because her old ones were wearing out and that she’d be starting to wear her new panties on the first day of school. She would just have to wait until then.

But she’d squirmed and she’d shimmied and she’d rolled her hips around, trying to find a comfortable position. Nothing helped.

All that squirming and moving around however, did have one benefit.

It had made her tingle.

She’d never tingled like that before, and Sara quickly learned that rubbing herself between her legs was a very good thing indeed. It was later that day that Sara had made the further discovery, while sitting on the toilet after having peed, that rubbing herself with no clothing in the way was even better.

Then, on the day before school, she’d been sitting at her computer (thankfully with her back to the door) with her hands under the hem of her dress and her horribly uncomfortable panties on the floor at her feet when her mother had knocked and stuck her head in the door. Sara had pulled her hands from her crotch as though scalded and pretended to be playing a game.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” her mother had said, thankfully ignorant of what she’d been doing only moments before. “Come set the table.”

“’Kay,” she’d said. But she’d dawdled, waiting for her mother to leave, so she could put her panties back on.

“Now,” her mother had said. “Get a move on.”

And so Sara had ended up spending the rest of the evening without her panties. She’d felt so naughty. And yet, after days of being uncomfortable, she’d felt so right. And it made her tingle even more. By the time she’d gone to bed, forgoing her panties and wearing just her nightgown, she’d tingled so much that she’d rubbed herself for quite some time before falling asleep.

Now, squirming in the back seat of the car, she began to wonder if she should have “forgotten” to put on her panties that morning. She’d hoped that her new panties—the ones with the lace and the green and white stripes—would be more comfortable than her old worn out ones, but it seemed that wasn’t the case. She smoothed out her gray pleated skirt with her hands to give them something to do as they seemed to want to pull off her new panties and rub herself in equal measure.

Her mother brought the Escape to a stop next to the curb. Sara was already unbuckling her seatbelt.

“Be good,” her mother said, looking back over the seat. “Pay attention and listen to your teacher.”

“I will,” she said as she grabbed her powder blue backpack and pulled it into her lap. It seemed heavy since she didn’t have any books yet.

“I love you sweetie,” her mother said.

“Love you too, mom,” she replied as she pulled the door handle and pushed the door open. She slid out of the seat and closed the door before hoisting the backpack over her right shoulder. The passenger side window slid down.

“I’ll be here to pick you up at 3:45.”

“’Kay,” she said. “See ya.”

“Bye!”

Sara waved at her mother and hitched her backpack farther up her shoulder. She bit her lip again, nervous about what her new school held for her, and took a moment to rotate her hips in a vain attempt to make her pretty new panties more comfortable. Her stomach was doing flip-flops inside as she walked up the sidewalk and turned on the main entrance to the school.

The main path was lined on either side with chain link fencing, beyond which were two-foot high brick planters filled with large bushes that blocked her view of the school grounds beyond. She tried to tell herself that there was nothing to be nervous about, that it was just a school like any other—like her last one—and that she would be fine. She would see kids she knew from her old school and she would meet new people. . .

“Hey, little girl.”

Startled from her reverie, she looked in the direction of the voice. She saw two boys that she hadn’t noticed earlier, both older than her, sitting on one of the brick planters up against the chain link fence. One boy was thin with an angular face and brown hair, the other had a round face, was shorter and huskier than the other and, though he also had brown hair, it was a lighter shade. The thinner one seemed to be the one that had spoken as the other appeared to be trying to shut him up. “You a STRA?”

Sara heard the other boy whisper forcefully to his friend to shut up and followed it up by elbowing him in the side.

Sara guessed that these boys were seventh- or eighth-graders and so must be talking to someone else. After all, she didn’t really understand the question. And why would they be talking to her? She looked around behind her to see whose attention they wanted, but she was alone on the main walkway for the moment. She wanted to ask them if they meant her but faced with two older boys—even if they were on the other side of a fence—her nerves caught up with her and her voice lodged in her throat, so she instead pointed at herself.

“Yeah you,” the boy with the angular face said. The other boy stopped trying to shut him up. “Are you a STRA?”

Was she a stray? What kind of question was that? Like a stray animal? Maybe he was asking if she was in the wrong place. Maybe he thought she was too young for middle school. She looked around again; surely there must be someone there that she hadn’t noticed that understood his question. Surely it wasn’t meant for her. But there was still no one else around. She thought again for a moment about asking him what he meant, but she found herself far too intimidated.

She decided she should just get herself out of this situation, so she simply shook her head and started walking again, planning on pretending she didn’t hear him if he said anything else. She needn’t have worried, since no followup was forthcoming. As the distance between them grew however, she was sure she could hear one or both of them laughing.

So that was it, she thought. They were playing some kind of joke on her.

She heard the boy call out, “If you hurry you can catch her!” and her heart thumped. Was one of them going to chase her? Was he planning on doing something to her?

She quickened her pace but that only served to draw her attention back to her panties and how weird and wrong they felt.

She saw a bathroom and, realizing that the boy would be unlikely to follow her in, ducked inside. There was another girl already in there, standing at one of the sinks, and so she slipped into one of the stalls and closed the door. Not knowing what else to do, she slipped her panties down and sat on the toilet.

The relief was immediate. She could only compare the feeling to desperately needing a drink and finally gulping some water, or being ravenously hungry and finally getting that first bite of food, or being under water too long and finally breaking the surface and being able to breathe again. And for some reason, that feeling of relief made her tingle grow and she found her hand slipping between her legs almost on it’s own.

She rubbed and had to suppress a gasp.

As she continued rubbing, the tingling felt better and better, spreading throughout her body until it reached the tips of her toes and the ends of her hair. And the more she rubbed, the more desperate she was to keep rubbing, exploring parts of herself that she’d never really thought about before. She especially liked the little nubbin she found at the top of her slit; it felt as though electricity arced through her whenever she stroked her fingers across it. Her pleasure mounted and she felt as though she were on the precipice of something new—something grand and powerful.

For some reason, she thought of the boys out at the fence and an image of one of them hovering over her as she lay underneath, opening herself up to him came to her mind and a thrill washed through her nearly causing her to cry out.

From the other side of the stall door came a noise and she suddenly remembered that she was not alone in the bathroom. She forced her fingers to slow their stroking and fought to get her breathing under control. When had she started breathing so hard anyway?

She silently willed the other girl to leave the restroom, but as expected, her ability to plant commands in other people’s minds was completely imaginary. She reluctantly pulled her hand from under her skirt and for the first time, wondered about the wetness she found on her fingers. She’d seen it before, but something had always seemed to happen that drove it out of her mind. She instinctively brought her fingers to her mouth and licked them clean, realizing only moments later what she’d done. She thought she should be grossed out by it, but instead, the realization was simply accompanied by another wave of tingles washing over her followed by yet another wave when she realized that she’d done it before and not even noticed it.

Thinking that there probably wasn’t much time until the bell rang and she had to be in class—and that she didn’t even know where her classroom was yet—she decided that she should get going. She reached for her panties just above her knees only to find that they weren’t there. They were, in fact, down around her ankles. When had that happened?

From the other side of the stall door, she heard footsteps, followed by the door opening and closing. She was alone now. Her insides lurched at the fact that she could go back to rubbing herself. And she nearly did just that, but remembered that she really needed to find her classroom before it was too late.

She reached down to pull up her panties and, grabbing them, stepped out of them. They were hanging limply from her hand in front of her before she realized she’d taken them off. She thought to herself that she really should put them back on but that thought was almost immediately chased out of her head by the memory of going without her panties for hours the day before and how comfortable and naughty it felt. Could she? Should she?

An image of herself tossing them into the toilet and flushing came to her mind, but instead, after a brief hesitation, she stuffed them into a small, zippable pocket on the side of her backpack. She stood up, lifted the backpack over her shoulder and let herself out of the stall.

Upon opening the restroom door and stepping into the crowded walkway, she had the insane thought that everyone would be able to tell by the small lump in her little backpack pocket that she wasn’t wearing any panties. And that thought simultaneously terrified and thrilled her and more tingling radiated out from under her skirt as she started off to find her classroom.

Sara didn’t know what she’d been expecting but Room 10B simply looked like a classroom. Sure, it didn’t look the same as the rooms at her old elementary school, but it was still just a classroom. There was the teachers desk at the front, whiteboards lining two of the walls, windows on a third wall, large cupboards to the back and desks for the students in the middle. Sara found herself in the second row from the door, third seat back.

Likewise, the students were much as she expected, kids just like her, a few she recognized from her old school, most she didn’t. She was about to say hello to a girl she knew, Phillipa, when the teacher interrupted the low level chaos that was the morning of the first day of school after summer vacation.

“Good morning everyone,” he said. “I’m your teacher for the year, Mr. Jones.” He was tall and thin, with short, curly reddish-brown hair and a mustache. “This is fifth grade in room 10B. Is there anyone who is supposed to be in another room?”

Sara, like so many other students, looked around the room wondering if some poor soul was going to raise their hand and be laughed at as they left the room. After several seconds of silent neck-craning, Mr. Jones continued, “All right then, I’m going to take roll. When I call your name, raise your hand and say ‘here’ or ‘present’.”

“Justine Abernathy.” A dark-haired girl near the back raised her hand.

“Here.”

“Nicholas Bates.” A mousy little boy two seats up from Sara raised his hand.

“Here.”

“Kara Bellows.”

“Here.”

“Raise your hand, please.” A hand on the far side of the room shot up but Sara couldn’t see its owner.

The names went on in similar fashion until:

“Karina Jackson.”

“Present.” Sara turned in her seat to see the girl with her hand raised one seat over, and one seat back. She had wild, curly brown hair pulled back in a pony tail. She wore a black pair of jeans and a t-shirt that said “I want it all” The “all” was below the rest in large block letters that were filled with a collage of pictures of expensive things: jewelry, a pool, a large house, a fancy car. . .

“It says here you’re in STRAP,” the teacher continued. Sara’s head shot from the girl to the teacher and back in surprise. She was mostly unaware of an excited low level murmur that sprang up almost instantly.

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“And you’ve watched the first video?”

“Yes, sir.”

“OK, then,” he said. And then he moved onto the next name on the list as though the previous interchange hadn’t happened and the murmuring slowly died down.

Sara, however, was only half listening for her name. Now she kept trying to sneak glances back at this girl who, it appeared, shared something in common with her. Part of her wanted to say something to the girl to let her know that they were both in STRAP and maybe they could be friends, but she was afraid of being caught talking out of turn. But then again, when the teacher got to Sara’s name, they would surely have a similar conversation and then everyone in class, including Karina, would know.

Karina for her part, seemed a bit self-conscious at having been singled out and appeared to be trying to make herself smaller, slumping down in her chair. Sara noticed, however, that no matter how much the girl seemed to want to have the attention somewhere else, she would squirm every so often. That reminded Sara of the fact that she was sitting in class in a skirt and no panties. And she fought the sudden urge to risk touching herself underneath the desk.

“Sara Micheals.”

Sara jumped, startled. It took her a moment to remember what she had to do but there was only a slight delay before she got her hand in the air.

“Present.” There was a brief pause before Mr. Jones continued.

“You’re in STRAP too?”

Suddenly the murmuring was back and Sara felt the full weight of the attention of the entire class. She now understood why Karina had been slouching down in her seat. She struggled to find her voice.

“Yes, sir.”

“And you’ve seen the first video?”

Sara risked a glance at Karina and found the girl staring at her with a hopeful kind of look. Maybe they would be friends.

“Yes, sir.”

“Excellent.”

“Ernest Montgomery.”

“Here.”

Roll went on. And the murmuring again died down, although it seemed to take longer this time.

Sara and Karina kept glancing at each other, trying to communicate silently and listening for any more names that had the teacher asking about STRAP. But roll ended when Aaron Vuckovich’s name was called and no one else appeared to be in the program.

“OK, class,” Mr. Jones said after they’d pledged allegiance to the flag mounted in the corner of the room, “before we begin, Miss Jackson and Miss Micheals, you both have an appointment in the main office for STRAP training. I only have one hall pass, so why don’t you both go together?” He handed Sara small piece of clear plastic that had a credit card sized paper inside it that proclaimed “Hall Pass 10B”. “Go ahead and go now. And don’t forget to take your bags.”

Sara stood and flung her backpack over her shoulder and headed with Karina to the door feeling the stare of everyone else in the room as she did so.

Once outside and the door closed, the two girls looked at each other and burst into giggles.

“That was so embarrassing!” said Karina.

“I know, right?” replied Sara. The pair started walking down the corridor. “I’m Sara. But I guess you already know that.”

“Yeah. Karina,” she said, indicating herself, “but I guess you already know that?”

Sara giggled again and nodded. Then she noticed that Karina was walking a bit gingerly.

“Are you all right?”

Karina slowed and looked a bit nervous. “Um, can you keep a secret?” Sara nodded. “My panties are driving me nutso. I don’t know why, but they are.”

Sara giggled yet again. “Mine were too.”

“They were?” asked Karina. “What did you do to stop it?”

Sara bit her lower lip. “Can you keep a secret?” she asked.

Karina nodded.

Sara opened her mouth to tell her what she’d done with the offending garment but instead gave into a sudden, overpowering urge and flipped the front of her gray skirt up.

Karina’s eyes darted to the movement and suddenly went wide. Her jaw dropped open.

Sara dropped her skirt and giggled once more.

“Oh my gawd!” exclaimed Karina. Sara shushed her and Karina dropped her voice. “You’re not wearing any panties!” she added unnecessarily.

“I took them off,” she said. “They were driving me crazy, so I went into the bathroom and took them off and stuck them in my backpack,” she said, pointing at the pocket.

Karina looked at her, still shocked. “I can’t believe you’re walking around wearing a skirt with no panties!”

Sara just shrugged. “Well, I didn’t want to be going out of my mind all day. They can’t bother me in there.”

Karina considered this and sort of nodded. Then she shifted her weight and rolled her hips.

“Can we stop by the bathroom?”

Sara just giggled again.

Karina giggled too—though perhaps a little nervously—and they both headed for the bathroom.

Sara found she had to keep encouraging Karina after their stop in the bathroom. While Karina agreed that going without panties was indeed naughty and much more comfortable, she also seemed far more nervous and afraid that she’d be found out. She also said that the inside of her pants felt weird without her panties on. Not uncomfortable. Weird.

They opened the door to the main office and were greeted by a secretary behind a desk.

“Yes?” the woman asked.

Karina went suddenly nervous again and so Sara answered for both of them.

“We’re here for STRAP training. Mr. Jones sent us.”

“Jones,” she said as she picked up a folder and flipped through a few pages inside. “Karina Jackson?”

Karina nodded and blushed. The secretary raised an eyebrow but did not comment.

“Sara Micheals?”

“Yes ma’am.”

The secretary nodded. “You’re early.” she said to Sara.

“Mr. Jones said he only had one pass. He sent us together.”

“That’s fine,” she took the pass from Sara. “You can only go in one at a time, though. I’ll let them know you’re here. You can have a seat over there.” She pointed to a set of attached chairs set up waiting-room style. Sara and Karina made their way over and sat down.

“It feels weird,” whispered Karina.

“It feels good though,” Sara responded.

“Yeah. But it feels weird.”

“You said that.”

Silence.

“I kind of think I like it.”

“I know I like it.”

“I like it. But it feels weird.”

Sigh.

A woman in something that resembled a nurse’s uniform stepped into the room from a hall.

“Karina Jackson and Sara Micheals?”

They both nodded.

“I can only take one at a time. Who’d like to go first?” she asked, looking at the pair.

Sara and Karina looked at each other. Karina had a pleading look in her eyes that Sara took to mean she was feeling nervous again.

“I will,” Sara said.

“And you are. . .?”

“Oh! Sara,” she said. “Micheals.”

“Come this way.”

The nurse led Sara down the hall, past many doors, some of which were open but most were closed. The open ones generally had office type things on the other side: desks, bookshelves, computers, potted plants, and usually someone sitting typing away or talking on the phone.

Eventually, they came to a door with a sign on it that simply said “NURSE.” Sara was led inside, where she found a desk piled high with papers and books, a small bed in one corner, a door next to that, several chairs and an eye chart on the wall among other things.

The nurse told Sara to sit down in a chair in front of the desk while the woman sat behind it. She picked up a folder and slipped a sheet of paper out of it and grabbed a pen.

“You are Sara Micheals, correct?”

“Yes.” The nurse made a note on the paper.

“You have seen the first STRAP video, correct?”

“Yes.” Another note.

“Sara,” she said as she stared forcefully into her eyes, “This is a STRAP information request. Do you understand?”

Sara felt as though she’d been hit by a gust of wind and she wasn’t sure why. “Yes,” she heard herself say, though she hadn’t meant to say it.

“Very good. Age?”

“9.”

“Birth date?”

“November 30th.”

“Do you normally wear a bra?”

Sara wondered why that was a question that the nurse needed to know. A small part of her mind said that she should be embarrassed by the question and that she shouldn’t want to answer. But another part of her mind needed to answer.

“No.”

“Are you wearing a bra now?”

“No.”

“Have you begun menstruating?”

What did this have to do with school?

“No.”

“Tell me what you feel when I say the word ‘panties’.”

Sara couldn’t suppress a squirm.

“Uncomfortable.”

“Are you wearing panties now?”

“No.”

“How often do you masturbate?”

Sara’s brow wrinkled.

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll rephrase: How often do you touch yourself between the legs?”

“As often as I can.”

“Are you a virgin?”

“Yes.”

“Very good. STRAP information request end.”

Sara blinked.

The nurse smiled at her. “All right now Sara,” she said. “One last question. What was the last question I asked you just now?”

Sara thought hard. Her brain was a bit foggy which wasn’t good because she wanted to do well in the program.

“You. . .” she began a bit uncertainly, “asked me if I’d watched the first video. Right?”

“That’s right.”

Sara smiled.

“Now, next up, you have two things. We’re going to be giving you a type of examination, but to save some time, you’ll also be watching the next video while we do it.”

“OK.”

The nurse then ushered Sara through the door she’d noticed earlier and into the next room. The room was dominated by an examination table, like one one might find in a doctors office, with a couple of exceptions: There was a large mount near the head of the table that held an old TV up in the air aimed at the table’s occupant, and two imposing metal objects attached to the “foot” end of the table.

“All right Sara,” said the nurse. “I’ll take your backpack. You need to take off your clothes and get up on the table. I’ll be right back.”

And with that, the nurse was gone, taking her backpack and closing the door and leaving Sara alone in the room.

Sara stared at the closed door for a long moment.

Her clothes? She had to take off all her clothes? She couldn’t. Could she?

She wanted to be part of STRAP. And so, she began unbuttoning her blouse. Removing it was surprisingly easy and her shoes and socks, likewise. In fact the more clothing she removed, the less fearful she was about doing so, to the point that, by the time she started to take off her skirt, she was practically excited to be naked. She dropped the skirt on the pile and eagerly hopped up on the table. She leaned back until she was nearly laying down and looked up at the screen. It was an old TV, the kind with the rounded glass screen. She realized that it was like the one she’d watched the other video on.

By the time the nurse had returned, Sara had nearly forgotten the fact that she was naked and she completely ignored the fact that the nurse had left the door open when she’d entered the room. She sat up and looked at the nurse.

“That’s an old TV,” she stated matter-of-factly.

“Well, it’s a special video that you’ll be watching. The signal’s buried in the VBI, so it has to be a CRT; LCD won’t work. They’re working on it, though.”

Sara had no idea what any of that meant, but that was fine with her. She cooperated as the nurse placed her legs and feet in the stirrups which is what the metal things attached to the table turned out to be. There was only a momentary flash of concern when her legs were strapped in so that she couldn’t remove them. Then the stirrups were unlocked and moved to spread her legs as wide as possible before being locked in their new positions. Then the nurse attached a tall metal frame to the table with a green plastic curtain hanging from it such that Sara could now no longer see anything below her navel.

“Lean back, Sara,” said the nurse. “I’m going to start the video and then perform the examination. Anything you feel, Sara, will be part of the exam and is nothing to be worried about. Just enjoy it.”

Sara did as she was bid and lay back. After a few moments, the screen above her flickered to life. Lines and waves and little sparkly things drifted down the screen as the video began like an old VCR tape that had bad tracking. Sara found her eyes glued to the screen so that it was difficult to so much as blink.

A man came on the screen. He was standing in front of her new school. He addressed the viewer directly and Sara couldn’t help but feel that he was staring into her soul.

“Welcome,” he said warmly. “You have been selected to participate in a grand experiment. As this is video number two, you’ll have already seen the first video in the series, so you already have some of the programming buried in your subconscious mind. That first video caused you to feel uncomfortable wearing underwear and also sparked a curiosity about your sexuality. Perhaps you’ve started masturbating, perhaps you’ve looked up some sexual images online. Perhaps you’ve even had sex. That’s OK! That’s what STRAP is all about.

“In the first video, you learned that STRAP was the Suzanne Thompson Rewarded Academics Program. This is the name given early in the training process in order to facilitate acceptance. It’s also the name that is given to the parents or guardians of STRAP participants.”

Sara tried to focus on what the man was saying, but the examination had begun and, though she couldn’t seem to look away from the screen, she was most pleasantly distracted by something that felt like fingers caressing her, stroking her, teasing her. Every once in a while, they would stray across her little nubbin and she’d twitch as a sudden thrill raced up and down her body.

STRAP

“It has long been observed that in a coeducational environment, even with students as young as 9 or 10 years of age, that a tension can build between the sexes. A curiosity and sometimes frustration can build until the learning process is hindered. That’s why we created STRAP: the Sexual Tension Relief Assistance Program. . .”

The man in the video continued, but Sara could no longer pay him any attention. She’d just felt something slip inside her for the first time and she found she couldn’t concentrate on anything else. Her breathing quickened as she willed the finger to delve deeper. Never having had anything in there before, she was unsure just how deep it was, but she knew that she wanted more. She bit her lip in an attempt not to cry out in desperation.

“. . .through a series of videos with a special signal embedded in the vertical blanking interval, the participant’s thoughts and priorities are restructured, until. . .” the man droned on and on as her eyes remained locked on the screen and the finger probed her depths, swirling around inside her, driving her ever so slowly higher and higher along the heights of arousal. She felt as though she were speeding toward a cliff that she’d never seen, yet was desperate to leap from. Something brushed her nubbin and her hips jerked up involuntarily. She felt something like a pinch inside her, but the pain was fleeting.

“She’s ready,” she heard the nurse say. And the finger slipped from inside her. She’d never felt so empty and desperate to have something inside her. She wished she could reach down and rub herself but she new she would be in trouble if she reached past the curtain. She tried to move her legs, but they were still firmly locked in place.

“. . .will be your duty and privilege as a STRA—or a Sexual Tension Relief Assistant—to accommodate the needs and desires of the student population of Suzanne Thompson Middle School in a way that. . .”

There was a shuffling sound somewhere down around her feet and suddenly she felt something poking at her entrance again. She found herself trying to experimentally flex various muscles in an attempt to open herself up for that probing finger. She felt it swipe up and down her slit, brushing by her clit and making her shiver. Some small part of her brain that wasn’t either focused on the sensations between her legs or dimly aware of the man on the screen droning on and on about the Program wondered where she’d come up with the word “clit”. She didn’t think she’d ever heard it before, but she now knew that’s what her nubbin was.

She felt the finger slide up the length of her slit again before sliding back down and nudging at her entrance. She flexed more muscles and tried to use the stirrups for leverage to hunch herself closer to the teasing digit. Then there was a moment of sweet pressure and she realized that this finger was larger than the other one. That thought caused her stomach to flop and her heart to thump in anticipation.

“. . .ocess allows for the implantation of thoughts and concepts and, for the first time, true subliminal educa. . .”

Suddenly, it slipped inside her and she couldn’t help but gasp followed by a long low moan as it pressed farther inside her, opening her up as she’d never been before. Deeper and deeper the finger slid inside her, filling her for the first time, but doing so slowly. Almost agonizingly slowly.

She bit her lip, though this time not because she was nervous, but in an attempt not to cry out in desperation that the nurse slide the finger faster. After all, this was a medical examination, not a masturbation session.

Though the nurse had said to enjoy it.

Deeper and deeper still, spiking her pleasure to heights it had never been before. She felt something welling up inside her, like a balloon being slowly but unyeildingly filled with helium; soon the stresses would be too great and the balloon would burst. And she so desperately wanted that balloon to burst.

Soon enough, the slow inexorable penetration came to an end as she felt something press up against her crotch and her inner thighs, despite how widely they were spread. She had only a moment to contemplate how full and complete she felt when the finger began withdrawing.

She moaned at the loss and realized she didn’t care that she’d be heard. She just wanted the feelings to continue. This was far and away so much better than she’d ever felt when she’d rubbed herself.

“. . .nd in most cases, a vastly increased drive, capable of handling the demands of any number of students. . .”

The finger retreated until only the smallest bit remained inside her before it stopped. There was a moment’s pause where a ray of hope that the process wasn’t over grew within her.

Then suddenly and quite unexpectedly, the finger shoved back inside her to its full depth. She grunted out a breath and sucked in another. Her eyes, still fixed to the screen, desperately wanted to close in pleasure, even as her brain failed to process what it was seeing. The balloon within her began swelling again and this time didn’t abate even as the finger was withdrawn a second time. The sensation of it moving inside her was an experience that she knew she would seek to recapture for the rest of her life.

Out and in, it stroked, driving her pleasure ever higher; filling the balloon incessantly, making it strain under the pressure.

Out and in.

In and out.

She felt as though she were nearing that precipice again; that cliff she’d never seen but somehow knew was drawing ever closer.

Out and in.

In and out.

“. . .eed to cast off normal societal inhibitions, to allow for the optimal performance of many of your new duties. . .”

The pressure of the finger filling her up and the exquisite friction of it’s sliding inside her. . .

She never wanted this feeling to end. And the sensations continued to swell in her.

From the other side of the curtain, she heard a strained grunt and realization came to her so suddenly, it was as if she were seeing herself and the examination from outside her body.

It wasn’t a finger.

It wasn’t an examination.

It was a cock.

She was being fucked.

The balloon burst.

Orgasm.

“Huuggghhnn,” she cried out as the overwhelming waves of pleasure washed over her. “Yes! Yes! Fuck me! Oh, God, fuck me!”

Her hips, despite her legs still being strapped to the stirrups, found a way to shove themselves down to meet anonymous hips thrusting cock deep inside her.

She was dimly aware of muscles she never new she had rippling inside her, milking her partner and driving him onward.

“. . .for that reason, the first sexual encounter in STRAP is anonymous. This allows for the breaking down of old moral barriers without. . .”

His pace quickened, and despite the ebbing of her first ever orgasm, she matched his speed. He was no longer silent, though his vocalizations seemed to be limited to grunts and groans. She wondered who he was but realized with a shock that she likely didn’t know him and that she didn’t care. A part of her wondered crazily if she could spend the rest of her life naked and leaping from cock to cock, riding climax after climax; an endless wave of pleasure. That though spurred the building of a second orgasm within her.

“Fuck me!” she demanded. “Fill me up. Fuck my pussy. Shoot your cum inside me.”

She no longer wondered where these thoughts and ideas came from. They’d probably come from the video she was watching, but she just didn’t care. Like she didn’t care who was fucking her. Like she didn’t care that she didn’t know who was fucking her.

“Use me. Fuck meee!!”

Her pleasure spiked as she felt her second orgasm building. This one was going to be massive. Their pace was now much faster and his vocalizations were becoming much more erratic and desperate.

She realized that he was about to cum and that thought thrilled her like nothing ever had before. She noticed for the first time that his hands were grasping her thighs giving him leverage and allowing him to slam into her forcefully.

A wave of pleasure washed over her as he rammed himself into her and his thrusting became irregular. He was about to cum and that served to drive her right to the edge.

“Oh God!” She screamed, the sensations nearly overwhelming her. “Oh God. Oh God. Ohgodohgodohgodohgod. Fuck me!”

He slammed into her one last time with a forceful grunt and began spilling himself deep inside her. At the same time, her own pleasure peaked and her orgasm hit as a wave of euphoria washed over her. She screamed and halfway through it became a “YES!”

“Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Hughn, hughn, hughn.”

Slowly she came down until she lay there and he stood between her legs, both panting in the afterglow. She could still feel him twitching inside her occasionally and that thought brought with it another pulse of pleasure. She closed her eyes and basked as the sensations slowly receded leaving her feeling happy and fulfilled, yet eager to do it all again.

She was unaware of how much time had passed with them still coupled when she felt him let go of her thighs and pull back. His cock slipped out of her with a wet squishy sort of sound, leaving her with a subtle feeling of emptiness.

Sara opened her eyes and realized for the first time that the video had ended and the screen was dark.

She heard some quiet shuffling on the other side of the curtain and then heard the door close. Then the nurse appeared and removed the metal frame and curtain. Sara leaned up on her hands and looked down at her freshly fucked cunt. It was red and swollen and covered in a mixture of his cum and her juices. Without conscious thought, she swiped a finger up through them collecting some and licking it off. It was salty and tangy and a bit sweet. And she’d never tasted anything more delicious in her life. By the time her legs had been unstrapped and released from the stirrups, she’d scooped up all their fluids and swallowed it all.

Sara hopped gingerly down from the table. She was a little sore, but, she decided, it was a good sore. The nurse walked back into the other room and returned with Sara’s clothes. Sara hadn’t even known they’d been removed.

“Here you go,” the nurse said as she handed them to Sara. “The second year Home-Ec class has finished with these, but you won’t get the rest of your clothes from your backpack until they’ve had a chance to alter them all.

Sara was confused for a moment before she made the connection. Her mother had watched the other video which made her support Sara in STRAP. There was probably something that made her mother put her school clothes in her backpack. That was why it was so heavy.

Sara put on her socks and shoes. They were the same as before. She slipped on her pink blouse to find that it now had no buttons and, in fact, gapped in the middle by a couple of inches. It had also been shortened so that it ended just below her nipples. Likewise, her skirt had been shortened so that it was now little more than a wide belt; below the waistband, the pleats were only about three inches long. Everyone, she knew, would be able to see her naked fuck hole. A fresh wave of excitement and a surge of moisture between her legs accompanied that thought. She slipped the skirt on and positioned it so that it just covered the top of the crack of her ass. Looking in a full length mirror that she’d been too preoccupied to notice before, she admired the fact that she could just see the bottom of her pussy peeking out from under the skirt. She looked like a slut.

And she loved it.

“Very nice,” said the nurse.

“Thank you,” she replied.

The nurse led her back down the hall, but stopped and led her into a room behind one of the previously closed doors. There was a large table and several chairs, a refrigerator, a microwave and a counter with a coffee maker on it. The woman explained to her that it was the teachers lounge and that she would have to remain there until Karina was in the examination room. Sara understood. Karina might not understand her new look. Yet. Sara giggled at the thought of her new friend getting the same treatment she’d just received and, as soon as the nurse had stepped out of the room, Sara sat on a chair and stuffed first one, then two, then three fingers into her wet cunt.

She had a nice, low-level buzz going when the nurse stuck her head in the door a few minutes later.

“Well, I was going to take you back to the front office,” she said upon noticing what Sara was doing. “But I guess you’ll be fine here until your friend is finished.”

Some time later, the nurse opened the door again to find Sara just sitting there. Sara had given up masturbating when she realized that she couldn’t cum that way. They had made it so that she could only cum from fucking which was OK with her, but left her frustrated for the time being.

Sara stood as the nurse opened the door wider and admitted Karina. The girls squealed and launched themselves at each other ending in a hug. Then they pulled apart to check out each others new look. Karina’s t-shirt which had said “I want it all” was now as short as Sara’s blouse and simply said “I want it”. Karina’s pants were now skin-tight, but they were as long as they’d ever been.

“Check this out,” Karina said, on noticing Sara looking at her jeans. She sat down in a chair and spread her legs wide. There was now a slit in the crotch of Karina's pants that perfectly lined up with the girl’s cunt. It was perfectly hemmed and appeared for all the world as though it had always belonged there. The pussy it displayed was just as red and swollen as Sara’s own had been.

“Oh my god!” Sara exclaimed. “That’s awesome. I hope my pants are done that way.”

Karina smiled and stood back up. “I hope I get a skirt like yours,” she replied.

“OK, girls,” the nurse said, reminding them that she was indeed still in the room. “Back to class with you. They’ll be waiting.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they chorused.

They went back to the front desk to retrieve the hall pass only to be told by the secretary that it had already been returned.

“You don’t need it,” the secretary said. “Your style of dress is your hall pass. STRA’s can go anywhere. It’s part of your duties.”

And so, Sara and Karina headed back to 10B chatting merrily about their experience with the training.

“God it took me forever to realize I was being fucked.”

“Not me. I figured it out pretty quick.”

“How many times did you cum?”

“Only once.”

“I came twice.”

“Lucky. How many times did you cum in the teachers lounge?”

“None. I don’t think we can cum by ourselves.”

“Oh. That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

“How about this?”

Karina reached over and slipped her hand beneath Sara’s skirt and slid a finger into her pussy. Sara gasped as the unexpected sensations flowed over her. Their pace slowed and Sara reached out and returned the favor. Karina groaned as her new friend’s finger penetrated her.

Before long, they were both stopped and hanging onto each other in the middle of the school corridor, oblivious to anyone that might have been watching them. They panted and moaned and squealed as first Karina, then Sara climaxed. Neither were anywhere near as powerful as the orgasms they’d had while strapped to the table, but the were nice nevertheless.

They began walking again.

“God I hope we get fucked in class.”

“Mmhmm.”

“I hope it’s like a forest of cocks, one after the other pounding us into oblivion.”

“Me too.”

“If it is, I hope the school day never ends.”

“Oh yeah.”

“I never thought I’d say that.”

They paused outside the door to 10B and Karina looked at Sara.

“No matter what happens in there,” she said, “we’ve got each other.”

Sara nodded fervently.

“We’ll trade numbers and we can get together after school and on weekends and fuck ourselves silly.”

That sounded good to Sara. She impulsively leaned in and kissed her new friend on the lips. They opened the door and stepped inside. Everything seemed to come to a stop as thirty or so heads swiveled in their direction. Eyes widened. Mouths dropped. And several smiles turned predatory.

Simultaneous rushes of pleasure washed over the girls.

And two cunts began drooling again.

*Image courtesy of Danaume Rook*

If you are under the legal age to view mature content, if you are offended by it, or if it is illegal in your location, then leave this site immediately. None of these stories may be viewed by or distributed to a minor by any means. None of the situations in these stories should be attempted in real life. The stories on this site are works of fiction and are for entertainment purposes only; any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental, excluding parodies and works involving public figures. All fan fiction stories are parodies of the original content and are not authorized, sponsored by, or affiliated with owners of the original works. No fan fiction story implies anything about any person or entity affiliated with the subject of the fan fiction. No story involving a public figure implies anything about the public figure in real life. No story may be copied, reposted, sold, or otherwise distributed without the express permission of its writer.

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