Sixth Formers’ Wet Tee Shirt Contest

Three teasing teenagers create a contest for cash and pay the consequences.

18th July:

Three shamefaced schoolgirls stood in Mr Sharpe’s office.
There was nothing unusual about that, you might think.

But:
– it was 7pm and school had ended hours ago.
– none of the girls were in uniform.
– they each had an unusual mask, hiding part of their face.
– one wore no more than a skimpy pair of bikini briefs.
– the other two wore similar briefs plus white tee shirts. They were both soaking wet and shivering.
– all three girls were wincing in pain at the torture of the first part of their punishment.
– they would all stand there, in pain, for five minutes, whilst an internet vote determined the next stage of their discipline.

‐—————-

Twelve Days Earlier (6th July)

Luke wasn’t surprised when the girls joined him at his lunch table. He knew they always felt safe and relaxed around him, unlike the straight boys who didn’t want to be accused of being one of his gay friends.
He was out and proud and ironically it meant he was far more popular with the female students than any of his hetero classmates. However it wasn’t his sexuality that had drawn three of the hottest girls in school to his table.
Faye, Sophie and Olivia were looking for a computer whizz. Ideally a computer whizz with a flare for style and a sense of the theatrical. Luke fitted their needs and the popular gay stereotype to a tee.

The girls had a plan. It was sexy and daring. They knew the horny boys would love it. But they didn’t know how to make it happen.

Luke gave them a vision. He knew just the right time and the perfect place. He knew how to attract an audience. He even worked out how the girls could protect their anonymity. And most important of all, he worked out how they could make money out of it.

“How much do you think we can get?” they asked.

“What you have in mind?”

“Erm, fifty quid?”

Luke eyed their well developed chests. “I’m sure you’ve got the goods to do better than that, ladies. Let’s aim for a hundred and see how far we get, eh?”

—————

8th July

Luke started his publicity campaign.

Every Sixth Form boy received an anonymous e-mail.

“Coming soon. St Tristan’s School Wet Tee Shirt Contest. Yes, you read that properly! Three of our sexiest girls showing you what they’ve got and competing for the title. Click link for further updates.”

Knots of male students gathered all over the school. Some thought it was a practical joke, others thought it might be a scam and they were all racking their brains to guess who the three girls might be.

Luke couldn’t have been happier. He had achieved his goal – everyone talking about the Contest and it wasn’t long before the “clicks” started to come in.

———-

10th July

It was time to prove the Contest was for real.

Luke posted footage of the girls.
He didn’t show their faces, just their torsos from collar bone to belly button.
Each of them was topless except for their modest but well filled, regulation white cotton bra.

The girls had chosen aliases.
Faye was “Mandy Melons.” A classic blonde, blue eyed beauty, with clear skin and firm, high, proud boobs.

Sophie was “Boobilicous”. A green eyed, red head, with a pale complexion. She carried a little more weight than the other girls, but that added an extra jiggle to her jugs.

Olivia had styled herself as “Titania”. She was the curviest of the trio. A striking black girl with D cup tits and an arse to match.

He added a line of text along with the pictures. “Who will be St Tristan’s Miss Wet Tee Shirt? The girls are coming soon. Are you?”

The saucy comment and the titillating images meant Luke had the boys’ full attention now. The lads threw caution to the wind – it still might be a scam, but now that was a risk they were willing to take!
They clicked onto his website in their droves with fresh speculation as to the girls’ identity and anxious anticipation of the show.

——————

11th July

The shoot.

After a few days of warm, sultry sunshine, the English summer was about to end in the traditional way. A thunder storm was forecast.
Just what Luke had been hoping for. He told the girls to meet him, back at school that evening.

They all arrived promptly and changed into their competition gear – white tee shirts and bikini briefs.

“How will you hide our faces,” asked Faye, “Are you going to pixelate them or whatever you call it?”

“No you’re going to wear these. They’re called masquerade masks.”

They put them on. Elegant, embroidered masks shaped like butterfly wings that hid the top half of their face whilst leaving their luscious lips uncovered and ready for action.

“Do you like them,” he asked, “They wore them in “Dangerous Liaisons”. Keanu looked gorgeous!”

The girls looked gorgeous too. The masks weren’t the best disguise but they were a naughty tease, hinting at their identity, but making the boys guess.

Luke started to film them.
There was just enough time to get some innocent footage of the girls amongst the blooms of the flower beds outside the Headmaster’s office, before the storm broke.

The heavy soft summer downpour was perfect for his needs. He shot all the scenes that he required in less than half an hour and edited them together later that evening.

———-

12th July

The broadcast.

Luke posted a message that the Wet Tee Shirt Contest would be online at 6pm.

The boys were ready and it aired bang on time.
The girls appeared on screen to the tune of “An English Country Garden. All very respectable, with innocent images of the masked beauties sniffing at the flowers and playing ‘peek a boo’ behind the shrubs of the Headmaster’s garden.

The next scene was more like it!. The heavens had opened and Brittany’s “Hit Me Baby One More Time” was the accompaniment to pictures of the babes scampering through the rainstorm and dancing in the courtyard. Their braless boobs bouncing unfettered beneath their inadequate clothing.

They each had their tee shirts tied under their tits revealing their bare midriffs. And the thin white cotton fabric clinging closer to their womanly curves as every raindrop fell.

They each completed the scene by dancing back towards the science block and cavorting in a broad stream of rainwater cascading from broken guttering, high in the eaves.

“Mandy Melons” was the first to take a soaking under the spout. She let the stream land on her head and splash all around her. Shrouding her face, behind the haze of droplets and damping her chest until the tee shirt was skin tight with her sharp little nipples were showing all the boys exactly how cold the water was.

“Boobilicous” took her turn next. Dancing around the stream, capturing every drop on her jiggling tits or her well rounded arse. Running her hands over her body to make sure the fabric of her near see – through top moulded itself to every contour. Sh left almost nothing to the imagination.

“Titania” completed the line up. All three of them knew she had the biggest boobs and she was determined to use them.
She stuck them out before her and walked slowly into the torrent.
Tits first.
She inched her way forward, as though she was impervious to the water’s cold chill.
She waited until her nips were fully drenched before stepping forward present her tit flesh to the tumbling tirade, little by little. She continued, allowing her chest to be showered and then taking the stream directiy onto her face.
She stood, unflinching, statuesque, in profile to the camera, back arched, tits high, nipplles hard, the water forming rivulets from her chin into her deep deep cleavage. Her tee shirt was saturated and could do nothing to conceal the dark flesh of her breasts.

It was a hell of a show, but it wasn’t finished yet.

The final scene took place in the ornamental fountain that gave the school an undeserved appearance of grandeur. It was time for a good old fashioned water fight accompanied by Cindy Lauper’s “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.”
The big titted trio splashed and dunked eachother in the shallow pool with childlike abandon. Each of them trying to render the others’ shirts totally transparent whilst trying, in vain, to protect what remained of their own modesty.
The sequence ended with the three breathless girls standing arm in arm, facing the camera. Their boobs barely covered by their redundant tee shirts.

“Don’t forget to vote for me!”, they chanted in unison.

An announcement followed. “Vote for your favourite girl in our website. You can vote as many times as you like and if you enjoyed the show, why not send the girls a cash gift. Your favourite girl will get an extra vote for every £1 you donate.”
“We’ll announce the results and declare our winner in a special show at 6.30pm on Friday.”
“And, oh, I almost forgot. If we get £100 or more in donations the winning girl will take her top off and show you her tits!
“Don’t forget to vote!”

The website almost crashed as many boys clamoured to voted straight away. A number of them more than happy to make cash donations. Some boys, though, were a little more patient and stayed at their computer screens to play the show again.

————-

16th & 17th July

The reminders.

The show was the talk of St Tristan’s, as soon as school resumed on Monday and they kept talking about it on Tuesday and Wednesday too.
And it wasn’t just St Tristan’s. The boys had told their friends. There was barely a single horny teenager in town that hadn’t had his todger teased by the tantalising troupe.
A couple of enterprising lads were even taking bets on which of the lasses would be declared the winner!

The votes and donations were flowing in nicely, but Luke wanted to surpass the £50 the girls had initially hoped for.
He shot a special reminder and posted it twice in the final days before Friday’s deadline.

“Hi!” said the grinning girls, wearing their masquerade masks once more, along with pretty brassieres in place of their tee shirts.
Their bras weren’t see through or overly revealing but they were the kind a girl might wear on a first date. Modest enough not to “give the goods away” but sexy enough to suggest that they were there for the taking “if you played your cards right”!

“Not long left to vote now!” They chimed. “Vote for me!” They begged in unison, “Don’t forget my name.”

The camera zoomed in on each girl’s boobs in turn. They had helpfully scrawled their aliases on their bare chests, with bright red lipstick.

“And, don’t forget. If we get over £100 in donations the winner will get her tits out for you!
Which do you want to see the most?”
They all leant into the camera, letting the boys look down into their bras and jiggling their boobs for their viewing pleasure.

“It’s up to you boys. Aren’t these tits worth a few quid? Wouldn’t you like to have one of us as your topless screensaver?
Vote and donate today to get our tops off!
Byeeee”
They blew kisses at their horny audience.

Could any boy resist?
Well, any boy apart from Luke, obviously…

———–

18th July

The results are in!

The voting closed at noon.
Luke carefully collated every one and added up all the donations. He put everything into a large A4 envelope and handed it over to the girls.
He wasn’t going to be there for the final broadcast. It was the girls’ moment – they had earned it. His work was done and they didn’t need a cameraman any more.

They went online at 6.30, as promised.
It was a sunny evening and they assembled in front of the ornamental fountain again wearing their masks, their white tee shirts and their bikini briefs. It went without saying that they were all completely braless.

“Titania” took the lead. Thanking the viewers for their votes and confirming that they “had been counted and verified”, just like they do on the TV shows.

“Our first runner up,” she announced, “Is the marvellous Miss Mandy Melons!”

Faye squealed in excitement. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t won. And all three applauded enthusiastically.

Titania, turned to the other girl beside her. “Would you like to award her prize?”.

“Of course.” replied Sophie (aka Boobilicous) stepping out of shot to collect a bucket of water.
She paused for a moment to tease the boys then poured it all down the front of “Mandy’s” shirt until it was plastered to her “melons”. Mandy squealed at the cool shock, but obligingly slid her hands over her slick, wet tits, smoothing down the shirt until the dark discs of the nipples showed through.
An unexpected gift for the boys!

Titania moved on to announce the other runner up, “Our beautiful babe, Miss Boobilicous!”

There was more squealing and applause before Faye appeared on screen with another bucket of water…
Her friend pushed her boobs out and allowed every drop the bucket’s entire contents to pour onto her plush pillows.
Her shirt was saturated and shaped it’s self to show off her ample curves. She bobbed up and down on the spot making her juicy jubblies jump and jiggle in the way she knew the boys loved.

Of course, there was one more announcement to make. Titania spoke again. “Well, it’s time to declare the winner and,” she pulled a card from the envelope, “Oh!”, she said with mock surprise.”It’s me!”

In truth, nobody was very surprised. The girl with the sexiest body, the naughtiest moves and, of course, the biggest boobs had won.
Titania (Olivia) was officially St Tristan’s Miss Wet T-Shirt!

There was lots of excited hugging, kissing and jumping for joy amongst the girls before Faye calmed them down.

“Hey! Hey! Aren’t we forgetting something? How many donations have those kind boys sent us?”

Sophie pulled a wad of notes from the envelope.
“Oooh £180! Wow! Thank you boys.
Well you know what that means?”

“Off! Off! Off!” Chanted the two runners-up as well as countless boys, watching online.

Olivia beckoned her two friends and lifted her arms, allowing them to peel off her top and reveal her prize winning pair.
The wide eyed boys thought they were phenomenal, but feared they’d be treated to no more than a quick flash. However the proud champion was in no mood to short change her fans…

She playfully pawed them, rubbing them, shaking them, pushing them together to exaggerate their cleavage and pinching her nipples to make them stand erect. She even tried to kiss them with her own mouth before finally stepping towards the camera and filling the whole frame with her fulsome funbags!

Then…

“Stop! Stop that right now!” An adult male voice brought the jamboree to an end. The camera shot was obscured by a man’s hand and the girls squealed off-screen.

“Come with us!” The St Tristan boys recognised that voice.
It was their Headmaster, Mr Sharpe.
The girls’ fun was definitely over but the broadcast was continuing. Most of boys watched on, intrigued as what was to happen next.

——–

What happened next took place in the Headmaster’s office.
The camera had been repositioned by the iT Master, Mr Ingram. It was focused on the girls once more. They were still dressed (well barely dressed) as they were before. All three were masked. The two runners-up were clad in their tee shirts and briefs, whilst the winner was topless. Olivia made no attempt to cover her breasts – there was no point. She was sure the men had already had a good look at her charms and, of course, they had just been displayed of the worldwide web for everyone to see.

Sharpe berated them for shaming the school with their lewd and disgusting behaviour and for broadcasting it to the world. He had no doubt that it would “go viral” and St Tristan’s School would forever be associated with topless immortality.

He told them that the internet would decide their ultimate punishment, but whilst Mr Ingram was collecting their votes, he would give them “something to be going on with…”

The “something” was six clothes pegs -two each.
The girls were puzzled.
Sharpe told them they had to wear them. He ordered Olivia to go first to show the others what to do.
She looked at him quizzically.
“On your boobs girl! he demanded. “Snap them on your tits!”

She was shocked.
She took the first peg and squeezed it’s jaws open. It was tight and she knew it was going to pinch her tender flesh harshly.

She closed it carefully on the end of her left nipple. It pinched the sensitive nub. She barely had time to wince before it dropped off.

“Put it in properly before I do it for you!” came the Head’s rebuke.

Olivia decided she’d better not take any more risks. She gritted her teeth. Took her nipple between her fingers and pulled it forward. Opening the peg as wide as she could she avoided her nip completely and closed it on chocolate flesh of her breast. It hurt like hell, but she didn’t want to frighten her friends. She steeled herself to give no more than a small cry of pain.
The second clamp hurt her right breast just as much, but she bravely bit her lip and remained stoic.

Her friends fumbled with their own tits, pulling them into shape under their sodden shirts and winced with pain as they snapped the pegs tightly into place.

Mr Sharpe tested their tightness. Cruelly twisting every peg in turn and bringing an end to the girls’ stoicism.
They stood in line.
Facing the camera.
Shamefaced and painfaced.
No longer the grinning gaggle of glamour girls.
Now the sorry set of sluts awaiting their fate.
A fate that would be decided by a hoard of unseen adolescent boys, hiding behind their computer screens.
Nothing to worry about there then….!

Ingram read out the judgement of the online jury.
3% thought the girls should be expelled.
28% thought corporal punishment over their clothes would be appropriate.
34% thought they should be let of with nothing more than a detention.
But 35% of the horny young buggers wanted to see them get their bare arses whacked. So that was that.

The young sluts were ordered to turn round and place their hands on the Headmaster’s desk, sticking their backsides out towards the camera.

The weight of the clothes pegs brought an unexpected wave of agony to the girls chests as they lowered themselves into position. However, they knew they had even greater agonies ahead of them.

Mr Ingram pulled all three pairs of briefs down to the girls’ knees and refocused the camera on the six freshly bared buttocks.

The viewing audience squirmed in expectation, adjusting their trousers and hoping that the livestream wouldn’t end before they had witnessed the whole of the girls’ intimate punishment.

Sharpe started with his hand. Working down the line. Two spanks per cheek. Four spanks per girl. They “ouched” and “aahed” as every one struck home.

The spanks were hard.
Almost as hard as the boys who were watching!
The girls’ show had given rise to a mass of erections and many joyful eruptions right across the town and even further afield. No one had expected this climax. No one was complaining and no one was logging off!

Every boy imagined themselves in the Headmaster’s place. Spanking each girl hard, making her arse wobble, keeping his hand in place to feel her up, leaving a hot red palm print, then slapping down again on the same spot to fondle it once more, before moving down the line of smooth round defenceless buttocks at his mercy.

Sharpe spanked his way down the line twice, satisfied with the six red swatches decorating the students’ naughty bums, but knowing that they deserved to feel more than just the sting of his hand.

All three sobbing girls all flinched with fear when they heard the unmistakable “swish” of a cane searing through the air.
It was only a practice stroke and it was, in fact, one the lighter canes in the Headmaster’s armoury. However that was of little comfort to the sore, scared girls across his desk.

He gave them two strokes each. Swift, well aimed strikes at the junction of buttock and thigh, where he knew they would have greatest effect.
His victims squealed and writhed. Unable to hold their positions, their thighs parted, allowing momentary glimpses of pubes and pussy lips that the boys would cherish in their private moments. Mr Ingram made sure he captured them all on camera, for future reference!

But that was all.

Sharpe accepted the girls’ customary apologies and the pro forma “thank yous” for their punishment, before instructing the iT teacher to end the broadcast.

He allowed the girls to stand, pull up their briefs and remove the clothes pegs from their tits. He enjoyed the painful surprise as the blood returned to their nipples, delivering a final, unexpected jolt of punishment.

Faye and Sophie were instructed to accompany Mr Ingram to the gym where they should get at a hot shower and a change of clothes. They “were going to catch their death of cold in those wet tee shirts”.

Olivia had to remain with him, though. Topless, alone with her Headmaster, in the privacy of his office.

“Now then Olivia. What shall we do about all this money?” He held up the wad.

“Well erm…”

“I suppose you think you’ve earned it. You’re looking forward to spending it. Already got your eye on a few nice little treats.”

“Er yes…”

“But I really ought to donate it all to charity though. Unless you can persuade me otherwise.”

“Oh, well. I don’t know where I should start. I wasn’t expecting to make a speech….”

“Then don’t say a word. Surely you know there are other ways for a girl to persuade a man to grant her his favour.
He looked down at his crotch.
Olivia noticed the huge bulge in his trousers for the first time. She knew what he wanted, but had to think about it.
She didn’t need to think for long though.£180 was a lot of pocket money for a girl her age. She dropped to her knees and began to exercise her powers of persuasion.

She unhooked his belt, unbuttoned his waistband, lowered the zip and peeled down his trousers, before stretching his Y fronts over his tumescent manhood.

She took a pause.

It wasn’t the first cock she’d seen.
She had encountered her share of tiny little boy cocks and eager adolescent cocks, she had even sucked a couple, but this was a man cock! Fully grown and fully engorged to a size she had never seen before.
Would she be able to take it into her mouth?

She licked his length, playing for time, then tongued the head, trying to gauge his girth.
He moaned his approval. She knew it was too late to back out now.
She continued to slaver around the head, lubricating it, to the best of her ability, then slipping her lips over the helmet. Opening her jaws wide and accepting it into her mouth.

She didn’t think she could take anymore, so she improvised. Using her right hand to grasp his shaft and her left to tease his sack.

She concentrated on the task at hand. He was too big for her and she wanted to get him out of her mouth, but she wanted the money too. She had no option other than to give him the satisfaction he craved. The sooner the better.

So she sucked and licked and stroked and wanked and teased for all she was worth.
Hollowing her cheeks, increasing the pace, speeding the rhythm until she felt his body tense, his balls retract and his cock pulse.

“Yessss! Ohmygod! Yes! Yes! Yes!”
The Headmaster was pleased with his student’s performance.

She was “a good girl in the bedroom” and gulped down all of his thick, sticky, salty load. Draining his balls completely and licking the last drops off the end of his knob.
Surely she had succeeded in “persuading” him that she deserved the money.

He allowed her dress and passed her the camera, which he thought was hers too.
He went to the pile of cash and handed Olivia £60.

She was confused.
“Oh, erm? Sir? What about the rest of the money Sir? Wasn’t I “persuasive” enough Sir? I did my best, I promise you.”

“Oh you were very persuasive, Olivia. More than satisfactory, in fact. That is why I have given you your full share.”

He could see she was still puzzled. “There were three of you. £180 split between three is £60 each. I’ve given you your share.
Tell Faye and Sophie to report to me after school on Monday, if they want theirs.”

She should have known it! He was never going to give up all the cash for just one blowjob – even though it wasn’t his money!

She had to accept defeat and pass the baton to her friends.
She thanked him, as she knew she must, and made to leave with an aching jaw, throbbing boobs, a sore ass and a surprisingly wet pussy.

Sharpe called her, as she reached the door.
“Hey Olivia!”
She turned to face him.
“Nice tits!” he winked.

———–

I hope that was fun.
I don’t think there’ll be a sequel to this one

This story will be posted on sexstories69.com and no where else. If you see it on another site, they have taken it without consent and they probably don’t deserve your support

Thanks
Mr Rodd

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