It was another day at the St. Margaret’s Academy for Wayward Girls, and having just finished their morning inspection, the twenty or so girls of Mr. Wilson’s eighteen-year-old class slowly let their skirts fall back down into place. Then, with their faces burning bright red from the lingering humiliation, they turned to walk back to their desks. In between the silence of the room and the chatter of their chairs, not a single sound could be heard as they turned to face the board again at the front of the class.

Their embarrassment was far from unusual. Masturbation was strictly forbidden at the academy, and even the slightest hint of arousal was enough to warrant a trip down to the headmaster’s office with a pink slip in hand. Thus, every day before the bell rang, they had little choice but to stand there with their uniforms lifted upwards as Mr. Wilson checked them between their legs. Reaching down to pull the fabric of their underwear aside, he would slowly trace his fingers over the sensitive folds of their labia as he examined their clits. Then, spreading them apart with his hands, he would tease them to the very brink of a climax before stopping to punish those who failed to hold themselves back from the edge.

A soft touch here, a light stroke there, for most of the girls who had gone nearly an entire semester now without an orgasm, the constant stimulation was almost unbearable as they struggled against the frustration of not being allowed to finish. The feeling only grew worse as Mr. Wilson slid his finger up into their tunnels to see if they were wet. With the tip curled up against their g-spots, it took them nearly everything they had to stop themselves from clenching down within.

Today though, the class was quite fortunate as the inspection finished on time without any incidents. Aside from a few short reprimands, most of the students made it through after only a single round of edging with only a couple being called up to the front of the class. Bent over at the waist with their bottoms lit up in a freshly spanked shade of red, they slowly wiped their tears away as they returned to their desks.

“Any questions before we begin?” asked Mr. Wilson.

“No, sir,” came the reply.

“Good,” said Mr. Wilson, “Then let’s start from where we left off last time.”

There was a flurry of motion as the girls rushed to obey. Pulling their textbooks out of their bags, they opened the thick volumes up to the appropriate page. There was a test coming up soon, and none of them wanted to end up scoring in the bottom half of the class. The large wooden paddle hanging up above the doorway served as a constant reminder of what would happen to those who failed to pass.

As they moved to take their school supplies out, however, the students couldn’t help but blush every time their bottoms made contact with their chairs. Two small bumps, each around an inch in size were carved into the smooth wooden surface, and every time they sat down the knobs were arranged in just the right way to press up against their privates and their anus. The padding of their skirts helped a little, but even through the protective layer of their panties, the stimulation was always just enough to keep them constantly on edge. It was an unusual form of discipline, but one that worked wonders at preventing them from falling asleep during class.

An uncomfortable look passed throughout the room as the girls shifted awkwardly in their seats. Eventually, however, it grew silent again as they opened up their notebooks and waited for the lesson to begin. A few continued to keep their legs pressed together, but besides the constant pressure of the two knobs as they pushed up against their most intimate places from underneath, the torment paled in comparison to what they knew was coming next.

From the front of the room, Mr. Wilson turned to face the class.

“Now,” he said, a smile on his face, “Would anyone like to volunteer to read?”

Not a single student dared to raise their hand. Of course, that was to be expected. Smiling to himself, Mr. Wilson pointed towards one of the girls at random.

“Adhira Nayak,” he smiled, “Always so eager, aren’t you?”

Caught by surprise, Adhira looked up from behind her desk. An exchange student, the softly burnt features of her skin stood out in sharp contrast to the hazelnut color of her eyes and her hair. Briefly, her eyes widened at the suddenness of having been selected. Like a stone sinking into the ocean, she slowly picked up her textbook and walked forward towards the front of the class.

It was a common enough procedure that most of the girls there had gone through it at least once, but the tension of the room still seemed to remain. As the rest of the class looked on in sympathy, Adhira slowly lifted her skirt up and tucked it to the side. Then, reaching down with her hands, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of her panties and lowered them to her knees. Fully shaven, there was nothing for her to hide behind, and she blushed even harder as the shape of her privates stood out for everyone to see. Spreading her legs until they were shoulder-width apart, she slowly began to read.

“On… on the French Revolution,” she read, “In 1788, the Estates General was convened to address the state of the nation, but the Third Estate, ah… that’s the common people, they wanted a vote for every member of the assembly. However…”

Adhira trailed off, her face turning bright red in embarrassment as her hands trembled across the page. The reason for the break, however, was more than just because of the way her panties were stretched out between her legs with her body on display. If it was just that, then she could have simply put up with the shame, but the cause of her discomfort came from a different direction entirely.

Walking up to stand behind her as she read, Mr. Wilson wrapped his arms around her sides as he reached up to towards her chest. Then, tracing his hands over the thin material of her uniform, he slowly began to massage her breasts. They were hardly anything more than B-cups, tiny little cones rising up from her chest, but the results were still the same. Biting down on her lips, Adhira tried her best to ignore the feeling of his fingers as they ran over her skin.

“However, the First and Second Estate, that is the nobility and the clergy, didn’t approve of their plan and they were unable to come to an agreement,” she read, “In response the king, Louis XVI, summoned the nobility to Versailles but…”

Mr. Wilson slid his hands underneath the bottom of her shirt, and the stimulation only grew stronger from there. Sliding about her front, his fingers found the ends of her nipples and she gasped as he began to slowly play with the tips. Already, she could feel her eyes starting to wander as her clit grew stiff again from her legs. Having just been brought to the brink of orgasm a few minutes prior, it was getting harder and harder to focus now as she continued to read off the page.

“Finally, with no other solution present, the Third Estate declared themselves the National Assembly, and attacked the king’s palace, after which he was forced to recognize them,” read Adhira.

Stopping at the end of the page, she paused as she held her breath.

“Very good,” said Mr. Wilson, “And could you tell us what caused this upheaval?”

“Taxes…,” said Adhira hesitantly, “The people were angry at the lack of representation.”

“And anything else?” asked Mr. Wilson.

Adhira bit down on her lips as she tried to think.

“Inequality?” she said.

It was more of a random guess than an actual answer, and she closed her eyes as she prepared herself for the worst. To her surprise, however, Mr. Wilson only seemed to smile at her instead.

“Well done,” he said, “Congratulations on your golden star.”

Blushing, Adhira reached into her pocket for her points card. Marked upon it was a grid of one hundred blank spaces, and taking it from her, Mr. Wilson drew a mark onto one of the squares. Handing the card back to her, he gave her a pat on the head.

“T… thank you,” stuttered Adhira.

Since masturbation was strictly forbidden at the St. Margaret’s Academy for Wayward Girls, an alternative form of relief was needed. Thus, at the beginning of every semester, each student was given a small card to keep track of their performance in class. Answer a question correctly, and a golden star would be given out as a reward. Get it wrong, however, and five would be taken away. For those who went into the negatives, their cards would be confiscated and torn up.

Students who earned fifty or more points at the end of the year would be allowed sixty seconds to touch themselves, but still not allowed to cum. Seventy-five points, however, would earn them a ruined orgasm at the fingers of a teacher. Ninety points allowed them to replace the fingers with a vibrator for the last fifteen seconds prior to their ruined orgasm, and one hundred points earned them five whole minutes with the vibrator taped to their clits. Of course, orgasms not claimed within the allocated time were naturally considered forfeit.

Thus, for Adhira who had just earned her sixty-seventh point, this brought her one step closer to her next release. The triumph of her success was made just a little less cheerful, however, as Mr. Wilson reached down again between her legs. Running his hands over the soft folds of her lips, he traced a short circle around the opening of her entrance before using his fingers to draw back the hood of her clit. A soft tap against the delicate organ peering out from underneath, and the entire world seemed to tilt out from underneath her as a spark of electricity shot up into her head.

“So stiff,” he said, “How long has it been since your last orgasm?”

The question was all but redundant, given that the students were only allowed a single climax per semester. Adhira whimpered as he slowly rubbed around the edges of her lips, dragging her back up towards the peak even as her walls clenched down again upon the frustration within. Spreading her feet even further apart, she desperately tried to think of anything else to distract herself from getting wet. The last thing she needed now was a detention, especially not when she was already so close to the end.

“How do you do it,” said Mr. Wilson, “How do you manage to stay dry every time?”

Another stroke, and Adhira struggled to stay upright as her legs threatened to give out.

“I… I wash it,” she gasped, “With the showerhead.”

“Every day?” asked Mr. Wilson.

“Yes, sir,” gasped Adhira, “But I have to do it slowly or…”

“Or else you’ll end up having an accident,” said Mr. Wilson, “And then we’ll have to put you in a chastity belt for the rest of the year.”

Adhira nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and the fingers on her crotch moved against her one last time before finally pulling away. Whimpering, she thrust her hips out as the stimulation abruptly ended, but there was nothing to greet her but empty air as Mr. Wilson helped her pull her panties back up around her waist. Then, with the fabric drawn snugly back into place, he dismissed her back to her desk. The two points pressed up against her as she sat down again in her chair, but after what she had just gone through their familiar presence was almost a welcome relief.

“Everyone, please thank Adhira for her excellent performance today,” said Mr. Wilson.

A slow round of applause made its way around the room, and Adhira blushed even harder as she brought her hands up to hide the blush on her face. Even though it was probably the hundredth time she had done this, the humiliation of it still clung to her all the same. With her embarrassment now over though, Mr. Wilson continued on with the lesson.

“Now,” he said, “Would anyone like to go next?”

There was another pause, and the silence that followed was near absolute as the students all looked down again towards their desks. Despite the obvious discomfort they felt from the pressure against their crotch, none of them seemed eager at all to raise their hands. Only the endless rhythm of their heartbeats could be heard as the sound echoed out through the air. It didn’t really matter much in the end though, since Mr. Wilson simply pointed towards another girl at random and called her up towards the front of the class.

“Amanda,” he said, “Would you like to pick up from where Adhira left off?”

All eyes in the room turned to look at Amanda as she climbed to her feet amidst quite a few looks of relief. Her own face was flushed red with color, however, as she slowly walked over to the front of the room with her textbook held in her hands. It took her a minute or so to set herself up, but eventually, she assumed the standard position with her feet spread apart and her panties scrunched up around one of her feet. She had opted to take the entire garment off instead of having the fabric constantly stretched out between her legs, and the tiny scrap of cloth looked woefully insufficient as she stood there with every inch of her privates exposed for everyone to see.

“After the attack, by failing to respond to the crisis of revolution, the king quickly lost his authority,” she read, “However, he would quickly attempt to seize control of the situation again, and in 1789…”

Like before, her voice trailed off as Mr. Wilson stepped up behind her to grab her breasts. Using one hand to play with her nipples through the thin layer of her uniform, he moved his other hand further down between her legs. Rather than go directly for her clit, however, he ran his fingers gently through the outer folds of her lips as he sought out the opening of her entrance. Then, a soft press against her g-spot placed just an inch or so within and it didn’t take long after that for her concentration to waver and break.

“The king… the king, he…,” she stuttered.

Looking up from behind their desks, the rest of the girls winced in sympathy. Unlike Adhira who had just gone before her, Amanda had been one of the few unlucky students who had missed out on the cutoff the previous year. Thus, standing there at the front of the room with her legs spread apart and a finger buried up her slit, the shame of her arousal was more than evident on her face.

Forty-seven points, that was all she had managed to scrape together by the time the previous semester had ended. Just three points shy of the lowest tier. But despite her abysmal performance, she was still required to attend the reward ceremony along with everyone else who passed. Sitting there in the auditorium with a punishment plug shoved up her bottom and the vibrations turned on low, she had been forced to watch as the rest of her classmates walked up onto the stage. Then, as they lifted their skirts up to receive their reward, she was left with nothing to do but to squeeze her legs together as she squirmed in her chair.

Each session only took five minutes at most, but with over a thousand students in attendance and about half of them eligible for a release, the entire ceremony seemed to go on for hours without end. All while she had to sit there with her clit throbbing uselessly between her legs. One by one she had to listen to their cries of relief as they came, and by the time it was over her panties were completely soaked through with the fabric clinging to her skin. Then, as if to make matters worse, it wasn’t until the very end that she found out she would have to continue wearing the plug for the rest of the week. A reminder to do better next time, they had said, but with the toy still buzzing away in her rear, it was hard to think of anything else except how close she had been. Even the simple satisfaction of a ruined orgasm sounded like bliss compared to the frustration of having to hold it in for another year.

Standing up in front of the entire class now, Amanda whimpered as the fingers on her crotch forced her closer and closer to the brink. She could feel the beginnings of a climax just starting to build again, a fluttering feeling in her lower stomach as her walls tightened in preparation, but she knew it was something she could never hope to achieve. Mr. Wilson would simply pull his hand away the moment she hit the edge, and then the process would only start all over again from the beginning.

“The king…,” she said.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, a small voice told her she had been repeating the same sentence over and over again for the last minute. Or multiple minutes perhaps. It was getting harder and harder to tell with how much the room was starting to spin. The emptiness in her womb wasn’t made any better as she hit the peak again only to cry out in despair. As usual, Mr. Wilson had stopped at just the perfect moment to leave her hanging by a thread.

“Well then,” he said, a look of amusement on his face, “I don’t suppose you have anything to say for yourself?”

As the rest of the girls in the room looked away, Amanda seemed to curl up into herself in shame. There...