the distracted student

During the morning the appearance of Miss Smithers walking around in a tiny, dark bikini was well noticed around campus.  Most people were cool about it, doing a double-take but then going about their classes.  There were some prolonged stares and a few offhand remarks.  A couple of guys said, “Wow, Tami, you really covered up today,” which she tried to ignore. Her unaccustomed clothing, scant though it was, tended to distract people from the fact that she did not appear well.  Her movements were jerky, her walking was labored, and she always seemed flushed.  Even sitting and taking notes in class, she seemed to twitch occasionally, as if scratching an unseen itch.  Also, the few people who tried to engage her in conversation were rebuffed, as their nearly naked, barefoot friend politely explained in a whisper that she had laryngitis.  Aha.  So that explained why she wasn’t looking well .  .  .  ?

It was Hell on earth for the nearly naked, sexually tortured girl.  She kept her movements to a minimum, trying to decrease the friction that accompanied walking.  When she and the other students had to wait around for her 10:00 advanced calculus class because the 9:00 class was running overtime, ordinarily she would have paced, if only to look at the bulletin board or go to some corner where she would not be on display.  But today she stood straight and still waiting at the door, along with all the other students.  She tried not to look at them but couldn’t help darting her eyes furtively at one, then another of these guys (there were only two other girls in the class), hoping not to catch them in eye contact, trying to determine if any of them had a remote control, one of the “several dozen” that Wanda referred to.

Bzzzz!!  No sound, just vibrations.

Tami’s legs shook and her eyes opened wide.  In a blessed second the vibrating stopped as quickly as it started.  She put her hand over her eyes to hide her expression, trying to make it look she had a headache.  She longed to search the faces of the guys in front of her.  Who did that?  Was it one of them?  Or somebody in another part of the building?  Could the signal from the remote go through concrete walls?  So much she didn’t know, longed to know, and also was glad she didn’t know.  Thank God it lasted only a second.  While her eyes were still covered she said a quick, fervent prayer.  Please God, if I have to -- to come today, let it be at a time when I can hide, in a bathroom or someplace.  Please not in front of anyone! Please .  .  .  !

She swallowed and tried to force her arousal back down to a manageable level.  Thinking about math might do it .  .  .The early class let out and with halting steps, accompanied by a couple of silent gasps, she entered the classroom and sat down in her usual place, near the back.  Once she had parked her nearly naked butt into the seat, feeling the cold plastic against her exposed cheeks, she realized she should have gone up to Professor Hinton, a middle-aged nerd who was dense about everything except math, and asked him not to call on her today because she had laryngitis.  But now that would mean getting up and walking up to the professor in front of the class, a shaming experience on a normal day, and definitely out of the question today.

With another quiver she brought her legs together and opened to her notes.  Think about math .  .  .  think about math .  .  .  Fortunately as always she had done the work ahead of time and knew today’s topic.  She looked at her notes and then looked up at the professor, trying to keep her mind off the dildo filling up her pussy, and the other one, the one she was sitting on, filling up her butt, both of them so far in that she could almost feel them touching each other, making her feel stuffed and immobilized .  .  .  Think about math .  .  .

In a moment of relative calm she looked around at the backs of everyone’s heads.  Then she looked out the window.  Was there somebody out there .  .  .  ?  That guy right in front of her who kept glancing back at her, was he just doing the usual gawking of Tami Smithers (a constant sport for Campbell - Frank males), or was there something else to his glance . . . ?

Realizing she was obsessing on paranoid thoughts, though with good reason, Tami looked up and tried to pay attention.  Her eyes met the professor’s as he was in the middle of a sentence about third level integrals.

Bzzz .  .  .  zzz .  .  .

The onset of the attack caused Tami’s eyes to bulge out a bit, something which the professor seemed to notice and that Tami quickly acted to correct. She started shaking and tried to correct that too, but all she could manage was to relax her bare shoulders and confine the shaking to her lower regions, which caused the chair to shift and her face to flush and her mouth to open, taking in a gasp of breath as she tried to keep the air away from her vocal chords.

The professor stopped and said, “Miss Smithers, are you all right?” Heads turned.

“Y - yes,” she said, remembering to keep her voice in a loud whisper in case someone here had overheard her before when she said she had laryngitis.

After a pause, the professor said, “Okay, then -- ” and continued his discussion.  Heads slowly, slowly turned back to the front.  Tami’s lids grew heavy as she prayed the buzzing to stop.  But it didn’t!  Her pelvis was getting heavy and flushed.  Her nipples felt like someone was rubbing, rubbing, rubbing them with rough fingers.  Her clit was hard, alive, throbbing, engorged, pushing against the vibrating bristly friction pad, making the friction rougher, more intense .  .  .  Her toes squirmed against the floor, wiggling, wiggling, acting like a barometer of her arousal.

Tami took a deep, ragged breath and closed her eyes.  Please God.  Please God.  Make this buzzing stop.  Please God.  But God wasn’t listening, and the girl became more and more bereft of hope as she realized with horror that orgasm, never far away, was approaching for sure.

She passed the point of no return and was gripping the edges of her desk with her fingers when she heard her name called.  Looking up dully, she heard the professor say, “Miss Smithers?” Pointing to an equation on the board, he said, “what would be the level of this integral then?”

With desperate eyes she focused on the equation, and in the back of her mind knew the answer.  Then her eyes opened wide and went out of focus and everything became a blur as she went over the crest.

Tami Smithers’s first in-class orgasm began as her mouth tried to form the answer, which fortunately was one word.  “F - f - four,” she said, with eyes that might have been those of a girl with a cold trying to suppress a sneeze but were actually pools of bottomless shame.  The end of the one-word answer was clipped short as her lower body shot forward, causing the chair to shift and people to turn around.  It was the first contraction. The second and third contractions took place as she bent over to one side and made it look like she was itching her foot.  With superhuman control she exerted an iron grip on her body so that the fourth, fifth and sixth spasms were reflected only in a shaking of her legs and twitches of her foot.  During the seventh, eighth, ninth and -- oh God, let it finish please -- tenth spasms, she looked to the window, still bent over, scratching the heel of her bare foot.  The final, weaker spasms found the girl slowly sitting up again, her whole body flushed, starting to sweat.

Then the buzzing stopped.

Tami closed her eyes thankfully, then in her calm post-orgasmic mood opened them and looked around.  Did she fool everyone?  Did she fool anyone? The professor had gone back to his integrals, and now was asking questions of someone else.  She detected the odor of female musk emanating from her and felt herself blush a deep red.  Surely these guys can smell that.  They mostly seemed as nerdy as the professor, maybe a lot of them were even virgins.  It would have been obvious to any experienced person that Tami Smithers had just come.  How about these guys?

With a start Tami realized that the buzzing had stopped right after she was finished coming.  This must mean that whoever had the remote control that caused it must be in this room.  Or does it?

In this jumble of agonized thoughts, Tami Smithers endured the rest of the fifty-minute class, thankful that at least there was no more buzzing.