Millie's New Uniform

(This is a fantasy. All the characters are over the age of eighteen.)

Millie's grades were plummeting, and it was all because of the new school dress code.

At Saint Diana's College, an all-girls school, uniforms had always been mandatory. But ever since the progressive new headmaster, Mr. Edwards, took over, everything had changed. The girls still had to wear plaid skirts, white blouses or shirts, and knee socks, but beyond that, there were no rules. Student-teacher relationships were no longer forbidden either.

"We're all adults here," Mr. Edwards had declared at morning assembly. "We can make our own informed decisions."

To drive the point home, he'd called big-breasted redhead Lola to the stage, grabbed her ass in front of everyone, and kissed her long and deep--tongue and all.

The pretty, popular girls adapted instantly. Take Millie's classmate Bambi, the golden-haired cheerleader. She started tying her white blouse just under her breasts, leaving it unbuttoned low enough to showcase her slender waist and amble cleavage. She told the teachers it was "okay to touch a little," and soon her mediocre grades shot up like rockets.

Or raven-haired Florence, the squad leader and millionaire heiress. She wore sky-high heels and the shortest plaid skirts in school, flashing miles of long, toned legs and the firm curve of her tight little tushy. More than once, she'd been spotted leaving the headmaster's office dabbing something from the corner of her mouth with a napkin.

Millie was nothing like them. She was a smart, studious girl, used to getting good grades and being top of class.

She had found the new rules silly, and the way some of the other girls acted, vulgar. She'd kept wearing her uniform exactly as before. It wouldn't help anyway, she thought, as she was a short flat-chested, spectacled girl with flat shoulder-length brown hair. No teacher would pay any special attention to her anyway.

And now, just a few months after the new rules had been introduced, her straight A's had crashed to C's and the occasional B-.

She hated it. She hated the rules, the slutty girls, the leering old teachers. Most of all, she hated that the one thing she was good at--school--had been stolen from her.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" Josh, her stepdad, asked when he found her face-down on her bed, sobbing.

Millie was relieved it was him. Her mom, a former prom queen Millie secretly thought of as a slut, would never understand. Josh was different. He was kind and attentive, always complimenting and encouraging her.

Without going too much into detail, Millie told her stepdad about the situation. Josh sat beside her, listening quietly, while gently stoking her hair.

"I'm just so... plain," she sniffled.

"You're not plain," he murmured, tilting her chin so she had to meet his clear blue eyes. "You have the prettiest face, Millie. Those light brown eyes? Gorgeous. And yeah, maybe you don't have big breasts, but you've got a tight, hot little body."

"Daddy..." Heat flooded her cheeks. "You're just saying that."

"I mean it." His thumb brushed her lower lip. "Lose the glasses and that prissy uniform. Put on a little makeup. You'd be every bit as pretty and popular as those other girls."

"I don't know, Daddy. Bambi's tits are huge, and Florence is so tall and perfect. I'm nothing like them."

"Then find your edge," Josh said firmly. "It's not just their bodies--it's how they move, what they wear, what they're willing to do. Whatever they do, you do it better. I know you're not a quitter, Millie."

Josh's encouraging words lit something inside Millie, and made her feel warm and electric. Suddenly she felt alive again, ready to fight.

"Thanks, Daddy. You're the best." Impulsively, she leaned in and kissed her stepdad on the lips--a quick, grateful peck.

He smiled. "You're so pretty, Millie. You can do this."

Then he leaned in and kissed her back. This time his lips lingered, soft but deliberate, parting hers for a heartbeat longer than any stepfather should. A shiver raced through her whole body, making it tingle.

She felt her small nipples stiffen against her cotton bra, and for a second she thought he might not stop, that something would happen between her and her stepdad.

But he pulled back, stood, and walked to the door.

"Go get 'em, Tiger," he said, flashing a clenched fist and a wink.

***

Millie was trembling. Monday morning, first day in her new uniform, and every step up the school stairs felt like walking a runway. Eyes tracked her--classmates whispering, teachers slowing their stride. She felt the cool air kiss the strip of bare midriff between her skirt and top, and lower, where the skirt barely covered anything at all.

She'd ditched the glasses for contacts. Her brown hair hung loose, held back by two tiny flower clips. Makeup: long black lashes, rosy cheeks, glossy pink lips that kept parting in nervous little breaths.

But no one was looking at her face.

The skirt was a scandal in pink chiffon--micro length, completely see-through. Black lace panties flashed with every step. Above, a cropped sailor blouse, white and gauzy, left her navel on display and did exactly nothing to hide her small, pert breasts. Her nipples, already stiff from nerves and cold, poked shamelessly against the sheer fabric. Chunky platform pumps forced her hips to sway, click-clack echoing down the corridor.

A cluster of freshmen gasped in unison, hands flying to their mouths.

"Jesus, look at Millie..."

"Is that even allowed?"

The balding chemistry teacher Mr. Hargrove slowed to a stop, and as she passed, he reached down and blatantly rearranged the obvious bulge in his khakis.

Heat flooded Millie's cheeks. She reached her locker on autopilot, heart hammering. And just as she was reaching for her books, she heard a friendly familiar voice.

"Hello, Millie. You look... different today. Very cute."

It was Mr. Michaels, her English teacher. Tall, blond, fortyish, with a faint scent of coffee and cedar that she really liked. He was her favorite teacher -- at least until the new rules turned his smiles toward Florence. Now he loomed close, eyes raking over her like he'd never seen her before.

"Thank you, Mr. Michaels," she managed, voice small. "I wanted to try something new."

"I can see that." He smiled, and without asking, he reached out and pinched one nipple through the blouse, rolling it gently between thumb and forefinger. "Adorable."

The gauze-thin blouse rasped over the tender bud, sending sparks straight to her clit. He twisted gently, watching her face. Millie's breath hitched. "Th-thank you--"

His other hand claimed her right nipple, pinching, rolling, tugging until both peaks throbbed visibly against the fabric. The hallway noise died. She felt it--the hush, the stares, the weight of a hundred eyes.

"Are you coming to my class?" he asked, casual as if discussing homework.

She nodded, unable to speak.

"Wonderful." He leaned in. His mouth brushed hers. His tongue tracing the gloss on her lower lip before slipping inside. Millie kissed back on instinct, a helpless little moan vibrating between them.

His free hand slid under the hem of her skirt, cupping her ass, then drifting forward. Fingers pressed the lace against her slick folds, rubbing in slow circles.

She was soaked. Shamefully, instantly soaked.

Her own hand moved without permission, brushing the thick bulge straining his slacks. God, he was huge.

Click.

A phone camera flash, lit them from the side.

Millie's eyes snapped open. Someone was recording. Another flash. A second phone.

The realization should have horrified her, but instead she felt her lust overcome her. A fresh rush of wetness coated Mr. Michaels' fingers. She moaned into his mouth, hips rocking forward, chasing more.

He broke the kiss with a low chuckle. "See you in class, Millie. Don't be late." One last pinch to her nipple, one last stroke between her legs, and he was gone.

Millie sagged against the locker, legs trembling, nipples aching, panties plastered to her folds. The chiffon skirt still fluttered teasingly against her thighs, as if reminding her exactly how exposed she was.

"Oh my GOD!" Her BFF Evelin came skidding up in towering platforms, arms windmilling for balance. Her best friend, a tall, nerdy Eurasian girl, still hadn't mastered the new heels. "Did you just make out with Mr. Michaels? In public?"

Millie nodded, cheeks burning.

Evelin squealed. "I get him, though. You look red-hot today! Is that uniform even legal?"

"I read the rules pretty thoroughly," Millie said, finding her voice. "They don't say anything about see-through fabric."

"You sneaky little genius." Evelin glanced down at her own modest (but shorter than before) plaid skirt. "I can't believe you made out with Mr. Michaels. He is so dreamy. Only guy who touches me is wrinkly old Bauer. Gross."

"So gross," Millie agreed.

Evelin tottered off like a newborn deer, platforms clacking. Millie watched her go, then looked down at herself--nipples still hard, panties clinging wetly--and felt something new spark inside her.

***

Millie's first class was math with Mr. Roberts. He was a big man, a former quarterback, and everyone knew he preferred the curvier girls--Bambi, Florence's redhead friend Lola. He always lingered at their desks, eyes glued to their deep cleavages, or called them to the blackboard so he could palm their round asses while they worked. Sometimes he kept them after class.

Millie, flat-chested and overlooked, never thought she'd be noticed. So when Mr. Roberts suddenly barked, "Millie, blackboard--solve this," she nearly dropped her pen.

She walked to the front, the pink chiffon skirt brushing her thighs with every step. She felt the damp spot in her panties from the hallway and prayed it didn't show. Chalk in hand, she started the equation.

Mr. Roberts moved behind her, his huge frame blocking the class's view. "Very good," he grunted. The thick bulge in his khakis pressed firmly against her ass. A large hand slipped under the floating hem of her skirt, cupping her mound through the soaked lace.

"Very good," he repeated, voice low. Millie widened her stance just a fraction. He took the invitation, two thick fingers now rubbing slow circles over her clit.

It was impossible to concentrate with him stroking her pussy, one finger finally pushing sliding inside her tight, wet heat, but Millie was good at math. She finished the equation with no mistakes.

"Perfect," Mr. Roberts said. He withdrew his finger and licked it clean. "Bambi! You're next."

Millie turned to leave, legs wobbly.

"No, stay right here," Mr. Roberts said, dropping into his chair. He patted one broad thigh. "I am sure Bambi can use your advice."

She obeyed, straddling his lap. The chiffon rode high; her soaked panties settled directly over the rigid swell in his pants. He kissed her cheek, then her neck, warm breath tickling her ear. "Almost forgot how smart you are," he whispered. His hands spread her thighs wider, guiding her to rock gently against him.

Millie bit her lip to stay quiet. The fat length of him nudged her clit with every tiny grind, soaking her panties even more.

Bambi pranced up in pink, skirt flipping to flash matching panties. She bent over the board, sucking innocently on one finger, her breasts nearly spilling out, as she started on the equation. "Like this, Mr. Roberts?"

Millie's hands moved on instinct. Under the desk's cover she unzipped Mr. Roberts, freeing his cock. It pulsed in her small hands, short but hard and impossibly thick. She stroked slowly, base to tip, feeling him throb.

"What do you think, Millie?" Mr. Roberts panted. "Is she right?"

Millie leaned forward just enough to check the numbers, still slowly pumping the teacher. "Almost," she whispered. "Tell her to carry the negative."

Mr. Roberts's hips jerked; a bead of precum slicked her palm. "You heard her, Bambi."

Bambi turned, her blue eyes widening when she noticed Millie jerking of Mr. Roberts in a steady rhythm. She was the only one who could see it, as the desk was hiding the sight of Millie's hands on the teacher's fat rod from the rest of the class.

But everyone sensed it. The subtle shift of Millie's shoulder, the faint wet sound of skin on skin, Mr. Roberts's low breathing. Florence's glare could cut glass. Lola's lips parted in shock. Goth girl Cadey's hand had vanished beneath her own skirt.

Millie kept stroking, slow and steady, twisting at the head the way he seemed to like. She was so wet now the lace clung to her folds; every rock of her hips dragged her clit along his shaft. And she didn't even like Mr. Roberts!

"Why don't you make it a little wetter," Mr. Roberts muttered.

Millie glanced around--no one could see below the desk's edge. She gathered saliva, and the class watched as she let a long thread drool down on what they could only imagine was the teacher's fat cock. Someone gasped softly. Cadey panted.

Millie massaged her saliva onto the cockhead, then spread it down the shaft. She was painfully aware of everyone knowing what was happening. It was embarrassing, but also so hot. Mr. Roberts cock felt so good throbbing in her hands and rubbing against her vulva. If she just raised her butt a little, that big fat teacher-cock would slide right into her.

Millie's train of thought was interrupted, as Bambi turned to say that she had finished. Both Mr. Roberts and diligent Millie leaned a little forward to check the calculations.

"it's correct," Millie whispered.

"Very good, Bambi!", Mr. Roberts groaned. Bambi leaned in for her usual reward kiss. As their tongues met, her hand slid under the desk, joining Millie's. The two schoolgirl's hands now worked him in unison, jerking him slick and fast.

Millie couldn't resist. She tugged Bambi's top down and latched onto one perky pink nipple, letting her tongue flicker over it and sucking it into her mouth. Mr. Roberts's cock pulsed wildly, and they quickened the pace, as his breathing became heavier.

He came with a muffled grunt--thick ropes bubbling over their knuckles, coating fingers, dripping onto Millie's bare thighs. The smell was sharp, unmistakable.

"Thank you, girls," he sighed, voice lazy. "You are excellent students."

Bambi licked her fingers clean, winked at Millie, and sauntered back to her seat. Millie followed, thighs sticky with cum, skirt fluttering, heart racing.

She couldn't help but notice the damp sexual tension in the classroom. In the front row shy Emma looked adoringly up at her passing classmate, as her hand moved feverishly under her desk; and in the back Cadey, slouching on her chair, with her fishnet clad legs spread, pulled two sticky fingers out of her black skull panties, and licked them clean with a wicked expression.

Millie caught Florence's icy stare, her full lips twisted into a venomous snarl. Millie smiled slyly. Without breaking eye contact, she slipped her middle finger into her mouth and sucked off the last of Mr. Roberts cum.