11 - Second Verse, Same as the First

Elizabeth's breasts felt better by the next morning, which meant that she was able to touch her own skin there without cringing in too much pain. They still didn't feel good, by any means, but the worst edge of sharp rawness her skin had felt the evening before was blunted. She hadn't had the courage to try to clean herself off the night before, so had slept, eventually, still covered in a mixture of dried sauce and Mr. Riggs' saliva. She hadn't even been able to bear the touch of her sheets or blankets to her chest, so had pulled them around the rest of herself and slept as best she could on her back, her breasts uncovered and exposed, their bare, aching skin shivering in the relative chill of the air of her bedroom.

Elizabeth's skin now felt kind of like it had been sunburned, badly, although there was no peeling in evidence. She had stepped into her morning shower too quickly, forgetting her condition for a moment, and had been most sharply reminded when the soft threads of water cascading out of the shower head felt like needles being driven into her skin. Her flesh had adjusted, though, and by the end of the long, hot shower she was using the detachable head to closely spray away the lather of her third attempt to remove the sauce stains from her breasts. Try as she might, her skin remained lightly colored by the sauces, even after their last sticky remnants had been washed clean.

She had glanced once at her bra drawer, then shook her head to herself. There was no way she was up to that yet, she thought, so she simply went without. From the looks she got throughout the school day, it was obvious to her that most of her peers had noticed the change from her usual attire. Some, not all of them boys, and not all of them students, seemed to take pleasure in noticing as many times as they thought they could get away with. It didn't help that she had chosen to wear her lightest, thinnest top, to lessen the pressure on her sensitive skin, and that the day was as typically chill as one could expect in late autumn.

She had thought that chemistry that day might be a bit awkward, but Mr. Riggs' attitude towards her appeared unchanged. He called on Elizabeth once or twice during class, as he did to most of the rest of her peers, and treated her exactly as he usually did. He didn't even acknowledge her, beyond a cursory glance and slight nod, as she filed past his desk on her way to the door with the rest of her classmates at the end of the day.

The next day, Friday, Elizabeth's skin felt even better. Certainly not normal, but her breasts no longer occupied her almost sole attention anymore, and she could stand the light touch of fabric against her skin without wanting to bite her lip in reaction to the jangling pulses of irritated nerves. Nerves of a different kind were definitely jangling within her as the end of Mr. Riggs' class approached, however.

Her trepidation increased rapidly as everyone in the room but she and Mr. Riggs left, happily starting their weekend, and Elizabeth immediately began a series of stammering pleas and excuses as Mr. Riggs led her to the back room once again.

Mr. Riggs waited patiently for her to finish, a tolerant and amused expression on his face as her long list of reasons why they should postpone her next appointment with his oven, mostly composed of just how much her breasts still hurt and how they needed time to heal, eventually trailed off into silence.

"Pull your shirt up." Mr. Riggs said, wryly.

"Um, what?" Elizabeth replied, startled by his bluntness.

"Pull your shirt up, please, Elizabeth. I'd like to see the horrific damage my oven caused to you with my own eyes, if you don't mind." said Mr. Riggs, an amused half smile pulling up the corner of his mouth.

Elizabeth hesitated a moment, then complied, looking up and away from Mr. Riggs and blushing furiously as she grabbed the hem of her shirt in both hands and pulled it up to her collarbone, exposing her breasts. She couldn't help glancing back at Mr. Riggs' face as he bent down and peered interestedly at her chest.

"Well, they don't look particularly singed to me, Elizabeth." stated Mr. Riggs.

Her teacher casually reached out with his right hand and cupped Elizabeth's left breast, squeezing it gently as he pivoted it back and forth so he could see every side of it clearly. Elizabeth had inhaled sharply at his touch, and held in her surprised breath, eyes wide, as her teacher manipulated her breast with his large, warm hand.

Mr. Riggs released his grip, but rather than removing his hand, he instead brushed his thumb across the front of her breast several times, apparently studying the skin around her nipple and areola. Elizabeth squeaked at his touch. Her nipples were still by far the most tender part of her breasts, and his explorations had caused little lightning bolts of sensation, not entirely unpleasant, to shoot from them up her spine.

"You look a little stained from the sauces still, but that's not a problem." said Mr. Riggs, smiling and leaning back up from Elizabeth's bare chest.

"No, these are definitely going into the oven today, Elizabeth. We've still got a lot of flavors of sauce to test, and I don't want to waste any time." Mr. Riggs said, finishing his inspection and patting her breast fondly several times along its outside edge. Little jiggling quivers propagated back and forth across her flesh as he did so.

Mr. Riggs' ministrations, especially the little proprietary pat of her breast at the end, had caused a surge of odd emotions in Elizabeth, and she had to swallow her heart back down her throat before she could shakily reply.

"Oh.. Okay, Mr. Riggs. I guess.."

"That's the spirit. Now let's get you shirtless, scrubbed, and ready to cook." replied Mr. Riggs, beaming down at her.

The part of the preparations that Elizabeth had been most dreading, perhaps even more so that actually having to endure the heat of the oven or her teacher's culinary delight in her flesh afterwards, was Mr. Riggs scrubbing her breasts clean before hand. He did not disappoint her expectations in this regard.

She somehow endured his scrubbing, her eyes wide, biting her lip, with a frown of surprised, disbelieving consternation marring her brows, as he worked her flesh with the rough pad remorselessly. He had instructed her to grasp the lip of the lab station and thrust her chest out over the sink, and she stayed in that position, mostly, throughout the whole ordeal. Mr. Riggs had only needed to slap her hands away from shielding her abused flesh a few times before she had given up and simply let him finish his task. Her only audible contribution to the event was a continuous low sound, something between a whimper and a wail.

She recovered from this trial to find herself positioned before the same oven as last time, though it appeared different now. The oven itself was much the same, but instead of being located on the workbench, Mr. Riggs had apparently constructed a stand for it, ingeniously overcoming the awkward positioning that had troubled Elizabeth's last session with this device. The sturdy wooden stand stood free of the workbench, and was the exact height necessary to place the oven at a perfect level for Elizabeth's breasts.

While Elizabeth took in the new developments in breast cooking convenience, Mr. Riggs stepped behind her, appropriated both of her arms, and rebound them behind her back. Then, without any ceremony, he pushed her torso down on to the pads of the angled side of the oven, her breasts fitting through the holes made for them perfectly.

"Everything feel alright, Elizabeth? Is the height correct?" he inquired, still behind her.

"Uh, yeah, Mr. Riggs. Um.. everything feels the same as last time." Elizabeth replied, and gulped.

"Good, good. I had hoped so. Now, stay in position, please." Mr. Riggs replied.

Mr. Riggs then proved himself to be as good, or perhaps bad, from Elizabeth's point of view, as his word, because he produced several straps from beneath the work bench and proceeded to bind Elizabeth securely to the oven's metal frame, using hooks and little ratcheting mechanisms that Elizabeth was only now noticing had been added to it.

"Um, Mr. Riggs, is that really necessary?" Elizabeth asked, alarmed.

"Yes, I think so, Elizabeth. You nearly squirmed right off the oven several times last session. I know it was inadvertent, but now you won't have to worry about that happening at all any more." said Mr. Riggs, as he finished tightening the last strap.

Elizabeth was held down quite tightly to the oven by the straps. She could still breath acceptably, but she certainly wasn't going anywhere without Mr. Riggs' help, or perhaps permission, first. The thought didn't comfort her, because she hadn't been worrying in the slightest about accidentally slipping off the oven while she baked. She had actually thought that being able to get off the contraption whenever she wanted to was an excellent feature, but apparently Mr. Riggs disagreed.

"Now, down to business." said Mr. Riggs, happily rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

The process of Elizabeth's breasts being basted and baked occurred much the same as it had last time, with Mr. Riggs turning the oven up each time after the first few bastings of sauce across her flesh. Elizabeth would have sworn that Mr. Riggs had turned the oven up even higher than during her previous time on the device, but her teacher promised her that he had returned the temperature to exactly the same as she had last endured, and not a degree higher. Whether it was the same temperature or not, it certainly felt hotter to Elizabeth, and she moaned and writhed in near agony as her breasts roasted in the tremendous heat for an entire hour.

Mr. Riggs did try out a new experiment on her, which resulted in a few moments of unanticipated excitement. The previous time he had Elizabeth's breasts within his oven, he had basted them the entire time by brush. He was satisfied with the results the utensil had provided, but wondered whether or not it might be more efficient to use a turkey baster once the sauces pooling below the slowly baking globes had heated up to temperature and were deep enough. His first attempt to utilize the turkey baster in this way was was also his last, and very nearly brought the whole show to a crashing stop, quite literally.

Mr. Riggs had waited until several bastings into the session to try the turkey baster. He stuck the opaque plastic tube deep within the sauce below Elizabeth's left breast, and drew as much of the very hot fluid up in to the utensil as he could manage. Then, using both hands to aim the baster, he squirted the liquid liberally over Elizabeth's trapped flesh, quickly and effectively coating her whole left breast in steaming sauce.

Elizabeth's reaction to this event was entirely predictable, Mr. Riggs thought, looking back in hindsight. Each previous time Mr. Riggs had basted her flesh, he had been dragging just a little of the sauce, which was so hot that she could barely endure it, across her skin. The amount of additional heat transferred into her quivering flesh at any one time by the brush was minimal. The turkey baster, however, splashed an entire breasts' worth of sauce on to Elizabeth all at once. Elizabeth squawked loudly in shock as heat, far more than she was prepared for, flooded into every portion of the skin of her left breast, and she jerked back hard against the straps securing her to the oven in reaction. The straps held, which meant that the force of Elizabeth's sudden motion was transferred directly to the oven itself.

The oven, which was just a mostly hollow box of medium thickness glass and thin metal, jerked with Elizabeth. It nearly toppled off its stand, which it had been merely resting on, backwards on to the poor girl strapped into it. The situation was only saved by Mr. Riggs dropping his turkey baster and lunging forward to grab the oven hard, using his weight arrest the fall from the stand before it could properly begin. He wrestled with the device for a moment, and managed to drag both it and the girl cooking on it back to their proper place on the stand.

Thankfully, at least to Mr. Riggs, very little of the sauces in the pan below Elizabeth's breasts had spilled, and Mr. Riggs was able to wipe up what had quickly enough to prevent it from running down the inner sides of the oven and on to the heating elements below. Whether or not Elizabeth was grateful that not much of the sauce had spilled, Mr. Riggs wasn't able to tell, because the girl was still sputtering and moaning, eyes streaming tears, about her left breast.

Elizabeth had, in fact, hardly even noticed the near catastrophe, so consumed was she by the sudden eruption of heat on her breast. Even now, after most of the heat within the oven had escaped during the excitement, her flesh felt like it was still being dipped in boiling water. She hardly noticed when Mr. Riggs resumed basting her right breast in its own coating of fresh, hot sauce. He returned to using the basting brush, rather than turkey baster, to do it, however.

Mr. Riggs's experiment hadn't proved quite as successful as he had hoped, but it hadn't been a complete failure either, he thought. The turkey baster had coated Elizabeth's breast quite thoroughly and efficiently, after all. He just hadn't thought far enough ahead to the inevitable results of doing so. An oven more securely attached to a sufficiently heavy base, and perhaps further immobilization of the girl being baked within it, would allow for the use of the turkey baster during the majority of the cooking process. Less time basting would mean less heat escaping from the oven, which, in turn, would mean more time for the meat to bake at a more even temperature. Yes, Mr. Riggs thought, the turkey baster certainly had promise. He would need to try to accommodate it into the next round of re-designs for this particular oven.

After their little bout of excitement, Mr. Riggs resumed basting Elizabeth in the tried and tested way, ignoring her periodic tearful pleas for release or, failing that, at least a decrease in the temperature she was cooking at. He did, however, give her several large drinks of water throughout the process. He also paused occasionally to take up his little camera and snap photos, both wide shots of Elizabeth strapped to the oven from various angles, as well as close-ups of her sauce dripping, slowly browning breasts.

The water seemed to help, because Elizabeth was a little more responsive this time after her hour on the oven was up. She actually almost walked by herself the few steps over to the work bench, needing only a guiding hand from Mr. Riggs to keep her steady and upright, after he released her from the oven. He did have to help her up on to the surface of the bench though, as she couldn't do it herself with her arms still bound behind her.

Once she was sat up on the bench, and Mr. Riggs had taken his place in front of her, head level with her browned and heaving chest, Elizabeth had begged him, brokenly, during the time while her meat "rested", to please be gentle while testing the flavors of her flesh. Mr. Riggs, after snapping several more photos of her and her half-cooked chest, shushed her pleas with a single finger across her lips, and assured Elizabeth that her welfare was the foremost thing on his mind.

Once he started in on her, however, whatever restraint he may or may not have intended seemed to evaporate. He spent long minutes devouring the sauce baked in to each of her breasts, savaging her flesh even more thoroughly than he had the previous Wednesday. He seemed to especially relish every suck, every lick, every nibble, and yes, even every gentle and not so gentle chew, on the tender tips of her breasts. He ravished her nipples, taking from them everything they had to give, then demanding more.

Elizabeth was, by the time he had finished with her, an insensate wreck. Her only movements were a juddering, shivering, and practically continuous full body quivering, which made her to appear to be nearly convulsing. Her head hung limply back, her eyes were rolled up, and her jaw hung mostly slack, only barely managing to mouth the occasional wordless, low groan. His meal concluded, he laid her down on her side on the top of the work bench, not ungently, and left her there to recover as best she could, without bothering to unbind her arms.

By the time she had regained a little of herself, nearly half an hour later, Mr. Riggs had cleaned and squared away all the mess and disorder that had accumulated while he had cooked Elizabeth, and was sitting before her, simply observing the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. He helped her lean herself upright, then helped her drink a beaker of pep infused water, which soon had its revivifying effect on her. Once she began to show a bit more animation, Mr. Riggs unbound Elizabeth's arms, and watched with interest the movements that the slow stretching and rolling of her sore shoulders produced within her ample, bare, baked breasts.

Elizabeth again declined to have Mr. Riggs clean her chest of the residue of his meal, and nearly screamed when she felt the fabric of her shirt be pulled down her torso and over her bosom by her very solicitous teacher. He mounted her backpack upon her shoulders, producing more grimacing and agonized moaning, then sent her on her way with his thanks and several pats to the rump, both of which she hardly even seemed to notice. He watched her toddle away slowly, Elizabeth occasionally pausing for a moment after several steps, as if steeling herself for the next few.

"I'll see you Monday, Elizabeth." Mr. Riggs called, grinning at her slowly retreating form. "I'm looking forward to it."

No reply came from her, but Mr. Riggs thought he saw Elizabeth hunch over and shiver a little extra when she heard his words. Mr. Riggs chuckled, then pulled the door shut behind him as he reentered his classroom, his grin transforming into a broad, satisfied smile.