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Umberth College - Page 91 - ...was interrupted early on. - By Nightmare49 - Overview
Chapter 20: BUHNS in the Oven
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”We could start right now, crack open these old books and dig in,” Mrs. Mott-Fodsel said, leaning slightly on her podium, “Or we could leave the books under our desks for now, and find out what what we already know. No use repeating ourselves, right?” The students, in general, were all eyes on her, and nodding in agreement.

Jen looked around. Only 12 students in this class, counting herself. However, she was one of only three girls in the class, an aberration because girls outnumbered boys in this school six-to-one. Why was this classroom so different? Then she looked back to the podium, and guessed.

Mrs. Mott-Fodsel, in her infinite wisdom and power suit, had failed to recall that Mr. Fodsel (if that was who that was in the hall earlier) was unbuttoning her blouse when Jen had caught them. And apparently Mrs. Mott-Fodsel, like the Big Green Pillows, could not grasp the concept of undergarment support. Her chest, while nowhere big as the combined might of the Boobsie Twins, was still flourishing nicely. Mrs. Mott-Fodsel’s cleavage went from her podium up to her neck, and very nearly exposed her left aureole. The boys probably knew this kind of thing would happen. Of course they’d take her class!

The teacher stood back up and walked over behind her desk, then pulled down a map of New Hampshire. “First things first. Anyone know where we are on this map?” There was a hesitation, but a few of the boys and one of the girls raised their hands. Mrs. Mott-Fodsel chose the girl without hesitation. “Puchan, Nina.” she recited, pointing to the girl. She was slight of body and rather sickly of health, with greasy brown hair and a serious overbite. “All right Nina, where are we?”

The girl looked around, a little nervous now that all attention was on her. “We- we’re about 8 miles west of Lodge Army Station, off Highway 3. About fifteen miles south of the Canadian border.” She smiled a meek little smile. “My mom made me drive, so she could take a nap.”

”Well, good for your mom, then!” Mrs. Mott-Fodsel exclaimed, clapping her hands (and cleavage!) together. Every boy in the room jumped, and burst into laughter. “In fact, in 1775, American Revolutionary forces marched right through here on their way to capture Montreal. You mentioned Lodge Army Station. How many of you stopped there on the way here? Hands?”

Every hand in the room raised. The teacher nodded at this. “Of course you did. The only road to here is from there. No other way in. No other way out. Anyone care to take a guess as to why?”

A slightly overweight, blonde-haired guy answered, “Well, duh. We’re in a ‘bubble’. A Biohazard zone.”

This caused Mrs. Mott-Fodsel to scowl a little. “Mr. Hart, Dan. Why didn’t we raise our hands?” She shook her head and made a note on one of her papers. “He’s correct, however. Sort of. There is no bubble over us, magical, technological, or otherwise. But we are in a Biohazard Area, which brings me to my next question: What do you know about ‘Buns Seven-Eighteen’?” There was no immediate answer, and she knew it. “Anybody? Ms. Rocca, Jennifer, do you have any idea?”

Yikes! Put her on the spot! “Umm... we’d better take them out before 7:19, or they’ll burn?”

Dan thought that was funny. His laughter was solo, so he added, “Heh, or someone’s family is about to get waaay bigger!” The rest of the class thought Dan was funnier, apparently. The whole room was laughing now, and Mrs. Mott-Fodsel was genuinely grinning.

For about a second. “Mr. Hart, I will not have outbursts like that in my class! One more like that, and I’ll ask you to leave.” That said, Dan looked genuinely dejected. “And Ms. Rocca, making first impressions is important, I can agree. But you have to back it up with a second and third impression. So no, you are not correct. I’m talking about BUHNS-718, the acronym for our special problem.”

Again, nothing but blank stares, except for Jen, who wrinkled her nose a little at the notion of being lumped in with these sickos. She was NOT diseased! Mrs. Mott-Fodsel gave an exasperated sigh. “Acronym- it means the first letters spell out the full name of... oh, for Lady’s sake! It’s bee-you-aych (because the US government can’t help but throw an ‘H’ into the mix, to spoil the obvious jokes!)-en-es seven-eighteen. It stands for Biohazard: Upper New Hampshire Supervirus. The 718 stands for the approximate time the virus was first discovered, 7:18 pm on November 13, 1964.”

Now Mrs. Mott-Fodsel leaned again into her podium, exposing a dangerously generous amount of breast flesh. “What the book and my darling husband fail to tell you is who the first victim was. Me.”

There was a general awe that filled the room, as every mouth dropped in unison. Mrs. Mott-Fodsel had certainly captured her classes’ attention. “It was a cold Friday evening, snowing everywhere else except the area we lived in, and there was a home Football game going on. It was the playoffs, and we were on the way to make Lodge High School history as the first year to ever win the league.

"It actually happened about halfway through the first quarter. I was a cheerleader, and during a time-out, I was placed up into a daredevil move- my partner’s hand on my rear, one leg raised, balancing up there and cheering. I was the first person to exhibit any physical sign of what would eventually become known as BUHNS-718.”

Nina was practically falling out of her chair, she was so interested. “What happened?” she asked, without raising her hand.

But Mrs. Mott-Fodsel either ignored it or forgave her. “The next thing I knew, I was sitting on his shoulder. And he was tickling my insides,” she said with a grin. “Then somebody screamed. And then there was chaos.”

”Puh-leeze! Does she look old enough to have suffered from BUHNS back in 1964? Were you even born then?” The voice was deep, and coming from the doorway. Every head turned to see who was speaking. It was the man from earlier, the tall blonde who had been undressing/fondling Mrs. Mott-Fodsel when she’d first seen her. It was Mr. Fodsel! “I wrote the book so you’d tell the story accurately, Anne.”

Mrs. Mott-Fodsel smiled, anger seething in her teeth. “I’d tell the story by the book if you’d have written it right, Mr. Fodsel.” She stood and scowled at him, taking a few steps toward the door. Then she half-whispered, half-hissed, “We’re doing this today? I thought we were going to skip today...” Jen leaned against her desk, straining to hear what was going on. To her amusement, so did just about everyone else in class.

Mr. Fodsel immediately saw his wife’s cleavage, and his eyebrows rose in unison. Then, as he made a motion to his own buttons as a subtle hint to her faux paus, he said, “No, no I told them I’d show them today. It’s just the five of us. We won’t be a bother at all.”

The teacher gave a tiny shrug, turned, and returned to her podium. Then she leaned, harder this time so her bottom seemed to jut out behind her. “Fine,” she said with another sigh. “Class, this is Mr. Fodsel, my husband and Science teacher here at Umberth. Right now he’s teaching a group of young women the finer points of Anatomy, and decided that a field trip is in order. He’ll probably do this now and then throughout the term. Ignore him, he’ll go away eventually.”

As she spoke, Mr. Fodsel led a group of four girls, probably in their late teens or early twenties, into the room. Each took off their shoes and socks, belts and other jewelry, and put them in little drawers by the door. Mrs. Mott-Fodsel did her best to ignore them, especially when Mr. Fodsel stuck out his tongue.

”As I was saying, before I was rudely interrupted- there was chaos.” Mrs Mott-Fodsel said. “Within minutes, the announcer Mr. Gregg was cooing and gurgling like a baby. One of the football players was nearly killed when he became a seven-year old in the span of a single play...” As she spoke, Mr. Fodsel approached her from behind, and lifted her skirt. One of the girls followed right behind him and slid her fingers into Mrs. Mott-Fodsel easily. To her credit, Mrs. Mott-Fodsel barely blinked an eye.

”People were leaping from the stands to get to their cars. They swamped the already-muddy field, falling over each other to get to the parking lot. The local police fired shots in the air to keep them back, but then one of the officers fell to the ground, shrinking before our... very... eyes.” This last part was punctuated mostly because Mrs. Mott-Fodsel was, even as she spoke, being invaded by this girl. Lightning fast, the girl pushed her way into the teacher’s womb, stretching her heavily downward.

Jen was forced to watch as this normal-looking woman was suddenly transformed into a pregnant woman large enough to hold quadruplets or more. Her belly sank lower to the ground, never touching the podium but falling behind it. As it was designed to do, most likely. The last buttons of her blouse gave up the ghost, and the next girl stepped up behind Mrs. Mott-Fodsel.

”It were pan-der-monium!” Mr. Fodsel said in his best hickish accent. He was enjoying this. He got some kind of sick pleasure watching her stretch out with ‘babies’. Jen then realized that in a few minutes, he’d be ‘alone’ with four teen girls, inside of his wife! What a kinky bastard!

”It was pandemonium!” her teacher continued, leaning heavily on her podium and bracing herself as the next girl entered in. This one went considerably slower than the first, causing a slower, more steady growth in her belly. Despite this, Mrs. Mott-Fodsel had to moan a little, as the stretching was still so incredibly fast. Already, she held inside of her womb more than her whole body weighed before! How she was still standing, Jen had no idea. “The Principal made the decision to... lock... the gates... while...”

She had to stop, as the girl was trying to get her hips through. She began to pant a little, then wriggle her hips just enough to hear her intruder’s hips ‘pop!’ into hers. Breathing a sigh of relief, the rest of the girl soon followed. “Fuck it,” she said, more to herself than her class. Then she realized her place, and blushed a little. Now she blushes?! “Class, open your books to page 9. Ms. Puchan, you start reading aloud.” Then she turns her head to the third girl in line for entry. “Well, you coming or ain’t ya?”
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