Student Council election speeches

There are three “tickets” running for Student Council, which makes for a crowded stage. The first slate of candidates is finished and now it’s “The Big Change”’s turn. The three sets of hopefuls sit on folding chairs facing the audience, holding their notes. N’Stange is between Sonia and Kathy. Except for N’Stange, of course, they are all in their best outfits.

Speeches are to be no more than three minutes. Sonia is a minute into hers when Ms. Davidson, the art teacher, casually walks onstage with a cushion. She kneels in front of N’Stange and spreads the big naked girl’s knees widely. Because N’Stange’s legs are so long, her chair was given extra space to each side. As Sonia talks on the teacher’s head plunges into N’Stange’s crotch. Now N’Stange’s friend Stephan walks onto the stage and grips her left breast with both hands and not too gently starts chewing on the huge nipple. Ms. Canto, the home economics teacher, appears and attends to the right breast.

Sonia pauses when the moans get loud. N’Stange drops her notes and her eyes widen, looking upward. Gutteral grunting tells everyone that this will be a big one. The variety of her responses is well known. Now her eyes bug out at the audience and her hips jolt upward, nearly shaking off the three tormentors, but the determined grip of tongues and lips and teeth will not be loosened. A big inhale, and for about two seconds one can hear a pin drop. Now the silence is ripped by shriek after shriek, echoing through the General Purpose room and through the open doors down the hallways. Finally after a few irregular spasms she lays back in her chair. A sheen of sweat covers her black skin from her closely cropped scalp down to her bare toes. As she catches her breath the room erupts in applause. Ms. Davidson, Stephan and Ms. Canto smile and take a bow. N’Stange, smiling, manages to lift her hands and clap weakly.

Sonia turns back to her notes and finishes her speech. Per Mr. Simonson’s instructions, there is to be no applause except at the very end. N’Stange picks up her notes and with rubbery, unsteady steps, feet slapping against the floor, makes her way to the lectern. The room is humid with her female musk and penises near and far hidden inside pants react to this natural signal.

She still needs to catch her breath. “Sorry,” she says, then braces her hands against the lectern as she blinks and clears her throat. Finally she is ready. “Good afternoon, my name is . . . huh, sorry . . . N’Stange Fairweather and I am running for Treasurer on the Big Change ticket. I feel I would make a good Treasurer because . . .”