CHAPTER ONE:

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
antsy indeed.

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
her classmates.


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
to answer.

"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.


* * *


CHAPTER TWO

THE ONE WITH THE FLASHBACK

Tiffany stood with her nose in the chalk circle, her large, firm teen breasts
pushing against the blackboard, her back to the class. She could feel the lustful
gazes of the young men, all 16 years old just like she was, and as full of
hormones as 16-year-old boys can be, staring at her long tanned legs. Those legs
were even more on display than usual, as the skirt she was wearing - had been
forced to wear that morning - was about an inch shorter than her normal
cheerleading skirt. She knew that if she were to bend even slightly at the waist,
it would ride up high enough for everyone to see her white panties. Her thighs
were smooth, the inner surfaces freshly shaved, her calves shapely.

Tiffany Daniels was a good girl. She rarely got in trouble. Made mostly Bs,
occasionally an A from a male teacher who graded her up just because he enjoyed
having such a sexy girl in his class, occasionally a C from a jealous female
teacher. She never got detention, had not tried drugs, and was still a virgin,
although she had had a couple of close calls with boys who had pushed hard during
make-out sessions. She had let one such boy, Brad, get as far as a hand down her
panties and a finger teasing her teen pussy lips, and it felt better than
anything had ever felt in her life, but she didn't want to get carried away, and
it stopped the necking session, leaving Brad with a case of blue balls.

Brad had only told a couple of friends, but that was enough to get Tiffany
branded a "prick tease" around Daniels High School. That, and the normal cruelty
of teenagers. She exuded the confidence of the young, rich, good-looking teenaged
girl, the kind who got out on the basketball floor every Friday night in her
tight cheerleading uniform, and knew that every male cock in the arena was
twitching over her. It gave her a feeling of power, and even, sometimes, made her
pussy a little juicy, just thinking about how horny all the boys were for her.

Well, she wasn't feeling very powerful today. Powerless, in fact. She felt an ant
crawl across her clit. It was a maddening tickle, and made her slightly horny.
God, what a slut, she thought to herself, I've got an insect crawling on my
clitty and I'm getting off on it.

One little mistake, she thought. I cheated on one lousy little test, and now I
here I am with my panties taped to my body and my pussy full of ants. God damn
that Mr. White and the rest of them.

Her mind drifted back three days earlier, when her ordeal began.

Tiffany had been in algebra class with Mr. Brown, taking a test. She had been so
busy with cheerleading lately, and making signs for the big homecoming game, that
she had neglected her studies. So she had made up a tiny cheat sheet on a piece
of paper the size of a matchbox with the half-dozen formulas she needed but
hadn't memorized. When it looked like Mr. Brown was busy grading papers at his
desk, she had pulled the cheat sheet out and placed it beside her test and gone
to work.

The 16-year-old beauty was so engrossed in the test, her head bent low over the
paper, that she hadn't realized Brown had gotten up and was walking through the
room until he was standing right over her. He put his hand down on the cheat
sheet. Tiffany looked up, fear in her bright blue eyes.

"See me after class, please," Mr. Brown said. He picked up the cheat sheet and
walked away. The other students hadn't even realized what had happened.

When the bell rang, the students filed by Brown's desk, dropping their test
papers. Tiffany lingered. When the last student was gone, Mr. Brown shut the
classroom door.

"What do you have to say for yourself, Tiffany?" he asked. His dark eyes burrowed
directly into hers.

The young girl trembled. She didn't know what to do or say.

"Oh, please, sir, I'm so sorry," she blurted out. "I didn't mean to."

"You didn't mean to what?" Mr. Brown asked.

"I didn't mean to cheat on the test."

"Oh really?" he said sarcastically. "And how did that cheat sheet in your
handwriting get on your desk if you didn't mean to?"

"Oh, please, oh God," Tiffany burbled, almost starting to hyperventilate. Brown
noticed approvingly how her sweater was rising and falling rapidly, thrust out by
her heaving bosoms as she gulped in air.

"You've already said you're sorry," Brown said. "So just take that last little
step and tell me what you did."

"I I I I cheated, sir. Oh please don't flunk me!"

"You cheated on my algebra test, Tiffany Daniels?" repeated Mr. Brown.

"Yes," she said in a tiny voice. "I cheated on the test."

Brown opened a desk drawer and pulled out a small tape recorded. He clicked
rewind for a second, and Tiffany's voice filled the room, admitting her
transgression.

Tiffany suddenly felt sick.

"Why did you tape that?" she asked.

"Evidence," Brown said simply.

Tiffany didn't like the sound of this at all. And she liked the rest of the
conversation even less.

"I'm going to give you a choice, Tiffany," her math teacher said. "I can take
this cheat sheet and this tape recording, and you, down to the principal's
office. There, we can call your parents. When your parents come in, we'll tell
them you're getting an F in algebra this semester and why. And we'll remind you
of the school rule that any F means you cannot participate in any
extra-curricular activities, meaning you'll be kicked off the cheerleading squad
as of this afternoon.

Brown took a deep breath. It was time to play the card. "Orrrrrrr," he continued,
"we can work out an alternative punishment. You can meet me tonight at this
address. Your parents won't know, you'll get an A in math, you'll stay a
cheerleader."

Tiffany had a feeling that the meeting involved something sexual. She felt
nauseated, felt like she wanted to cry. She was being blackmailed, but she had no
choice.

"I'll meet you tonight, Mr. Brown," she said timidly.

"I liked it better when you called me sir," he said sternly. "Let's stick with
that."

"Yes sir," the blonde beauty said. Her knees were trembling, and she was on the
verge of tears.

At 8 p.m., Tiffany knocked on the door at the address Mr. Brown had given her. It
was a nondescript apartment complex on the outskirts of town, and when Brown
opened the door, Tiffany saw that the apartment itself was as plain as could be.
Nothing on the walls, minimal furniture, no trace that a person really lived
here.

"Is this where you live, sir?" she asked, remembering to address him the way he
had requested.

"Oh goodness no, Tiffany," he said politely. "This is just a little place I rent
on the side."

He studied the 16-year-old cutie. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail
and she wore little makeup, but she was still a knockout. She wore khaki pants
and a long-sleeved navy T-shirt from Abercrombie and Fitch. Brown could tell she
had tried to make herself as plain and unsexy as possible. He'd soon fix that, he
thought.

"Come in, have a seat," he said, and gestured to the couch. "Can I fix you a
drink?"

"Like a Coke?" Tiffany said nervously. Her heart was hammering, her bountiful
breasts heaving again under the shirt. She had to get control of herself, she
thought.

"No, a real drink," Mr. Brown said. "Scotch and water, perhaps?"

"Uh, sure," said Tiffany. "I mean, I'd like that, please, sir." Tiffany wasn't a
drinker, but she wanted to play along with her math teacher. Plus if she could
somehow get evidence that he had offered a 16- year-old student alcohol, she
could counter-blackmail him and maybe get out of this jam.

Brown went into the kitchen, poured Scotch over ice, added a dollop of water, and
then his own little modest addition. He poured a powdered mix out of a baggie
into the unsuspecting girl's drink. It contained half a dose of GBH, a
tranquilizer that was another version of a "Roofie," or date-rape drug, mixed
with half a dose of Ecstasy, the tripping drug used at raves. Even together, the
dosages would not knock Tiffany out, just give her a mellow buzz, a feeling of
being disconnected from what was growing on. Brown hoped it would also make her
horny and make her highly suggestible.

The cheerleader sipped her drink, and Brown his, which was undoctored. To relax
her, he asked about cheerleading, about her other classes, about where she wanted
to go to college. Tiffany drank nervously, and answered, and began to think that
maybe her math teacher didn't want to fuck her after all. Maybe he was just
lonely and wanted to talk, she thought.

"That was tasty," she said after she had finished the Scotch. "May I please use
the bathroom, sir?"

"Sure," Brown said. "It's right down this hall."

The teenager stood up, and suddenly her head began to swim as the drugs took
effect. Her legs felt wobbly, her tongue was thick in her mouth, and her whole
body was tingling in a strange way. She quickly sat back down.

"I don't feel good, Mr. Brown," she said pitifully.

"Oh you're fine, Tiffany, just fine," the scheming teacher reassured her. "Just
not used to drinking Scotch, I imagine." He got up from his chair and sat down
next to her on the couch. He continued to talk to her in a low, reassuring voice.

Tiffany felt so strange. Everything was swirly. She was very aware of her body.
Her nipples seemed to be more sensitive - she could feel them pushing against the
inside of her bra. Her pussy felt warm and open. Her limbs were numb and heavy.
She felt hot and flushed. She could hear Mr. Brown's voice, talking, talking. It
seemed to anchor her in all the confusion.

"I feel hot," she told the lecherous teacher.

"Let me see - do you have a fever?" He put his palm on her forehead and applied a
little pressure. Tiffany leaned back, her head against the back of the couch, and
shut her eyes.

"Yeah, you're really feeling warm, sweetheart," Mr. Brown said. "Is your heart
beating fast?"

"Oooh, God yes," said Tiffany. Even with her eyes closed, she felt the room
spinning, and the tingling was increasing.

"We'd better cool you down," Brown said. "Let's get you out of those clothes."

Oh God! thought Tiffany in the part of her brain that was still functioning. He's
trying to get me naked! But she couldn't believe when she heard her voice say, as
if from a distance, "OK."

Brown pulled her arms over her head, and pulled the T-shirt up over them,
exposing her white lacy bra. He quickly undid the front clasp, exposing her
teenaged breasts, leaving her naked from the waist up.

When the air hit Tiffany's nipples, they instantly sprang to life and became
erect, jutting out like little erasers. God, they felt so good and tingly,
Tiffany thought.

Meanwhile, Brown leaned over and unlaced her tennis shoes, pulling them off. He
lifted her ass up off the couch and somehow quickly pulled her pants and panties
down together. 16-year-old Tiffany Daniels, the virgin cheerleader, was now
wearing only her white knee socks.

"Here, lie back, Tiffany, you'll feel better," Brown purred. She stretched out.
Everything seemed so strange, like it was happening to her but not happening to
her.

She heard Brown's voice. It sounded so soothing. "Are you feeling tingly?" he
asked. "Are you very aware of your body and how it feels?"

"Oh God, yesssss," she moaned.

"I want you to touch your pussy," Mr. Brown said in a low, commanding voice, and
placed her right hand on top of the blonde curls. "I want you to play with it.
The more you play with it, the better you'll feel." His voice had a hypnotic
quality, and Tiffany obeyed.

She was no longer in a strange apartment with her math teacher. In Tiffany's
mind, there was only the male voice telling her what to do, and the the strange
but increasingly wonderful way her young body felt. She used her fingers to pry
open her lips, and began to rub her clitoris through its little hood.

"Mmmmmm" she moaned. She was oblivious to everything except the warmth spreading
out from her young pussy.

Brown let the drugs, his own suggestions and the girl's growing horniness work
their own magic. He got up and re-arranged Tiffany's legs, putting one leg high
on the back of the couch, placing the other foot on the floor. The effect was to
spread her legs wide apart, which wasn't difficult for a girl used to doing the
splits as a cheerleader. It also pulled her pussy lips wider apart, exposing more
of a special place.

Brown went into the kitchen and brought back an armful of stuff, which he
carefully arranged on the coffee table in front of the sofa. The bottle of Scotch
sat next to Tiffany's empty glass. He pulled out a Ziploc bag of pot and several
rolled joints, and scattered them on the table. He also laid down a mirror with
several lines of cocaine laid out.

Tiffany, her eyes closed, her head thrown back, her right hand working furiously
on her young, throbbing clit, was blissfully unaware of what he was doing.

"Feeeels so goooood," she purred. The dazed and confused girl continued to
masturbate as the combination of drugs took her further and further away from
reality. She felt as if there was a river of warmth flowing up from her crotch,
up her torso, caressing her breasts with their erect nipples, up her neck and
straight into her brain.

She was completely unaware of the tiny, high-pitched whir of the digital video
camcorder recording her every move. The Daniels High School principal, Roger
White, was sitting in a closet across the room from the masturbating cheerleader,
pointing the expensive camera through a broken slat, capturing her every move.
His erection strained against the front of his pants, and he thought how nice it
would be to get out of this damn closet, whip out his massive prick and plunge it
into her boiling twat. "All in good time," Roger, he thought.

John Brown, her math teacher, saw the Tiffany was approaching her orgasm. Her
breathing was getting ragged, her large breasts rode up and down, her fingers
flew. Her pink clit had now completely escaped its protective hood and was
swollen with lust.

"Uhhhhhhhhh. Uhhhhhhh," Tiffany groaned, lost in her own druggy world of sensual
pleasure and self-gratification.

"Does that feel good, sweetheart?" Mr. Brown asked softly, his lips only inches
away from Tiffany'e ear.

"Ohhh, yessssss," she shuddered as her climax approached. Her young pussy was now
slick with her own sweet juices, and her inner labia gaped open, exposing the
redness within.

"I want you to listen very carefully, Tiffany," Mr. Brown addressed her. "In
order for you to be able to cum, I'm going to have to cum, too. That's the only
way you can cum tonight is to make me cum."

Tiffany's eyes flew open in panic, and she saw her math teacher standing next to
her head, his trousers down to his ankles, his huge erection bobbing a few inches
from her face. It was angry and purple, its head swollen.

She knew she should be afraid of the large organ, and what Mr. Brown was asking.

"Close your eyes, sweetie," Mr. Green said. "And open your mouth. Doesn't your
pussy feel so good?"

Tiffany obeyed. Her young lips parted, almost of their own accord. John Brown
moved forward and slipped the bulbous head of his cock between her lips.

"Now suck on it, Tiffany."

A tiny part of the drug-addled girl's brain knew this was wrong, but she didn't
have the strength to object or fight. It was so much easier to just do what he
said, and keep fingering her pussy. She began to suck on the teacher's dick, and
he pushed a couple more inches into her mouth.

For the next few minutes, the room was quiet. There was the slight whir of the
video camera, the slurping sound of Brown's cock as it sawed back and forth into
the cheerleader's luscious mouth, and the wet, sloppy sound as she frantically
rubbed her clit, which slid around in circles in the lubrication of her pussy
juices.

"OK, I'm going to cum now," Mr. Brown told her, his breathing labored, as he felt
his scrotum tighten and his balls prepare to release a massive load into the
young girl's warm, moist mouth. "There's going to be some sperm shooting into
your mouth, and as soon as you feel it hit your tongue, it will be time for you
to come too. I want us to come together. And I want you to swallow all my sperm."

Tiffany, in a daze of lust, close to her own orgasm, practically stripped of her
own will by the drugs, just moaned in agreement.

Suddenly, she felt her teacher's hot cum spurting onto her tongue, and his
hypnotic suggestion took hold. She tipped over the edge into her own orgasm and
began to cum hard. The older man's cum spurted and spurted, hot and salty, and
she began to swallow, as her pussy began to spasm. Her hand kept busy on her
clit, rubbing furiously, as Green rammed his cock into her mouth again and again
until his balls were drained.

The student and teacher were both at peace, drained by their tremendous orgasms.

The remainder of the evening was just logistics. Brown helped the groggy girl get
dressed, and fished out of her purse the address he had given her, so as not to
leave any link to himself. He walked her out to her car and drove her home - she
was certainly in no shape to drive! - all the while talking gently to her to keep
her from freaking out. Tiffany just hummed softly to herself, and seemed unaware
of her surrounding.Brown parked the car in her driveway and told her to go into
her house and go to bed, and the girl obeyed. Roger White drove up five minutes
later and picked the math teacher up.

"God almighty," I got a hard-on like fucking crowbar," said White.

"Well then," said Brown, "I guess you get first crack at her tomorrow."