David's Tall Girls' School Ch. 13byThorilla©
(It was late autumn of 1960 and I, David Shaw, was 20 years old and was following my hobby of bird watching. I had unfortunately been detained by Amelia Wiff-Naseford, headmistress, for being an alleged 'Peeping Tom' in the grounds of 'Dentwood Finishing School for Tall Girls aged 18 to 20 years old'. There were 120 girls registered at the school. Clearly I was not a so called 'pervert' but I could not prove it.
I had decided not to get the local police involved by agreeing to submit myself to the traditional 'Punishment Rules of the School' as applied to 'Peeping Toms'. This involved being stripped naked and spread-eagled on the headmistress' study carpet, and tethered with ropes and leather straps to metal rings set in floorboards at each corner of the room. I was then required to orally pleasure the 'whole' school. This is part thirteen of my sorry tale.)
I finished drying myself and Molly, the Matron who had befriended me, reappeared with a ladies electric razor, and also my clothes which she had found tucked away in Miss Wiff-Naseford's study. It was a case of 'Matron to the rescue' yet again, thank goodness.
She told me that I was expected in the dining hall and that they had reserved a meal for me that night.
Now fully dressed, well shaved, and hair neatly combed, I followed Molly into the dining refectory where the other members of staff awaited me at the 'high table', which was on a raised dais at the far end of the dining hall.
As I walked in I noticed that the girls had finished their main course. I saw several of them look up as I walked past the dozen or so tables where they were sitting and talking to each other waiting for their plates to be cleared. They were now all wearing their school uniforms except for the four Cancan dancers who sat with their backs to me.
I recognised some of the faces. Maria Kingsland smiled at me, so too did Nicole Barbier and Victoria Gregory. The others, I had seen earlier, looked me up and down somewhat surprised to see me in clothes for the first time. I probably appeared very small and puny to them but I did not mind as I had had an incredibly exhausting and enjoyable day and, to be honest, I did not mind being 'Mr. Resident Peeping Tom'.
I sat next to Celia, the school secretary, at the very end of the high-table facing the girls, but noticed that Miss Wiff-Naseford was nowhere to be seen. She had been 'taken ill', apparently, and would be eating her meal much later. The room was full of the sounds of conversation and girlish laughter.
A young waitress served me with an appetizing plate of pesto pasta and salad. I even had a glass of cool white wine to drink with it. I looked at the waitress as she walked away, her hips moving seductively beneath her tight skirt, and it occurred to me that Miss Wiff-Naseford had told me that I had to orally satisfy the ' entire school staff' which, if I recalled correctly, included catering staff as well. I looked at her curvaceous legs and imagined my face between them licking her vagina lips, breathing in her odour.
The meal was delicious. I talked to Celia about her secretarial duties in the school and she mentioned how the school attracted girls from all over the country, and from abroad, because it was unique. She told me that very tall girls, from all countries had problems relating to boys of their own age and had other, less obvious, problems regarding men.
Celia looked about 45 to 50 years old. She was of average height and build and had wavy dark brown hair parted to one side held back with a hair slide. She had prominent teeth and full lips. Her speech mannerisms were somewhat haughty and spoke to me as if she had a plum in her mouth. She wore dark framed spectacles and pearls over her black polo neck sweater.
She considered that most of the eighteen and nineteen year olds probably had never had 'boy friends' because there were so few boys of equivalent height. As we talked I noticed that she was looking at me in a strange, almost expressionless manner. Her glasses were perched on the end of her nose and she peered at me, over them, with half closed eyes. She kept looking down at my lap.
Under the table I also became aware that she was gradually moving her leg closer to mine until they were both touching under the table cloth. I felt the smooth scratchiness of her nylon stocking against my leg, which was splayed towards her in order to avoid an awkwardly positioned table leg. I couldn't move my leg, even if I wanted to.
She began describing the school and its features, carelessly, almost casually, rubbing her knee over mine in slow but deliberate movements. I felt an erection begin to well up. She showed no emotion in her face, or any indication as to what she was up to under the long deep tablecloth which shielded her advances from the girls' tables in front of us.
With both elbows on the tablecloth she told me that she actually lived in the school, and had a small modest flat, and had never married because of the War. She continued rubbing her knee against my thigh and feigned a coughing fit in order to inch her chair slightly closer so that she could touch my arm.
I drank some more wine and then placed my hands on my lap. A minute followed and she cautiously looked about her and put her hand on top of mine. Her hand felt sweaty. She toyed with her fork and looked at me furtively.
"Where do most of the girls end up working?" I asked trying to sound as normal as possible. "I suppose model agencies would be interested in taking some of them on?" I said, again trying to sound as light and unphased as possible.
I felt her hand make small circles on my hand then move towards, but not actually touch, my stiffest part. I was aware that my trouser front had become a tent.
"Yes, quite a few of them do, especially the French contingent," she said staring at be blankly.
The girls were now being served their pudding course, which looked like blackberry crumble and custard from my vantage point. From where I was sitting it was easy to see which girls had most of their height in their bodies rather than their legs. Several stood out whom I recognised; the others, I assumed, would be 'introduced' to me in due course.
"..And some end up as secretaries or wives to Middle Eastern businessmen, particularly the blonde headed ones," she continued fingering my zip fastener.
I held my stomach in, and looked around at the 120 or so girls in front of me, 47 of whom I had 'pleasured' orally. Celia observed that she could now ease my zip fastener downwards. She 'accidentally', but deliberately, dropped her linen serviette on the floor next to me so that she could quickly use both hands to ease my zip down. I gripped my waist band to help her. We resumed our conversation staring casually at each other and other members of staff. I felt flushed and flustered.
Miss Richardson, who sat to the other side of Celia, engaged her in conversation on various procedures centred on school mail. I sat watching the girls over the top of my glass which had been refilled by one of the waitresses. As I did so, Celia dropped her hand onto my thigh and I felt her palm massage my knee, then slide along the inside of my trousers to rest near my opened zipper. I looked at the young waitress's arse.
Her conversation continued effortlessly as she removed her hand in order to drink some wine and emphasize some point that she was making to Miss Richardson. She replaced her hand casually on my lap, this time slipping it into my trouser fly. It remained there unmoving against my penis which was now tightly restrained, urgently waiting to be touched, inside my underpants.
"Well Angela," she continued to Miss Richardson, "We have to encourage the girls not to read their letters in the corridor as it can get quite crowded when the post arrives."
On saying these words she gently ran her finger nails up and down my erection which by now was pushing my underpants out of my fly by several inches. I moaned inwardly as she continued her slow clawing along my shaft, sometimes squeezing the very tip but returning to my lower penis and balls sac. I must have had a glazed look of contentment as she scratched and squeezed me gently but firmly over and over again.
As she carried on her conversation she gripped me harder whenever she replied 'yes' or 'no' to Angela's questions. Angela had been plying her with questions about individual girls, reading from a list which required either yes or no answers. The constant squeezing and scratching from Celia's fingers were making me feel oddly dizzy and I was getting occasional quizzical looks from some of the girls because of my strange facial expressions.
Before I gave the game away by lolling out my docile tongue in cross-eyed satisfaction, our puddings arrived and she withdrew her hand, just in time I thought as I was close to coming. As we finished our dessert course she whispered in my ear, "Garden Flat, first floor at the back." She winked at me and smiled and stood up.
I stared at her swaying rounded backside encased in a black pleated knee-length polyester skirt as she walked towards the door. I imagined my head trapped between her ample thighs.
Miss Wiff-Naseford was still nowhere to be seen. Matron, to whom I was just about to speak, had also left the room and as a bell sounded for 'end of dinner' all the girls stood up and slowly vacated the dining hall. It was now about 9.30pm and it was very dark outside. The glow from the dull ceiling lights gave everything a yellowish hue, and my skin appeared pallid. I stepped off the dais and made my way towards the door.
Some French girls from class 2A, in their high heels, clattered their way towards me and asked if I had enjoyed the meal in their remarkably poor English, but delightful French accents.
I replied that 'I had enjoyed the meal very much' and saw that they had noticed my erection pushing its way through my trouser fly front. Clearly my condition was obvious for all to see and I felt embarrassed and inhibited. I had forgotten to refasten my flies.
In desperation I attempted to zip myself up but without warning two of them held my hands and gripped them tightly, as if we were long lost friends.
"Well, Mr. Tom, it is time for you to visit us for sex in our dormitory," said one of them.
I recognised her as Danielle Lalonde, the one who spoke almost perfect English. On hearing the words 'visit us for sex' my heart jumped a beat then beat faster pumping blood into my penis which had now pushed it's way through the fly flap in my underpants and into the open air. My purple swollen head contrasted starkly against the whiteness of my underwear.
I must have appeared as a truly 'real' pervert.
Here I was, standing amongst four or five very tall slim nineteen year old French girls', with a 'raging hard-on', which I was unable to conceal, and in some respects, was proud to show it off, as it was clearly massive by anyone's standards.
"Come on Mr. Tom it is time we did sexy things to you, "purred Miss Lalonde leading the way along the echoing corridor. My two captors let go of my hands and sped off running with Danielle sprinted off to join them.
In front of me Marianne Martineau strode purposefully, swinging her hips, swaying her knee-length pleated skirt from side to side as we passed door after door. We were walking very quickly and her heels made noisy clattering sounds on the wooden floor as we progressed further. I found it difficult to keep up with her.
In the distance I saw a wide staircase.
"Nous avons attrapé un piaulement-tom et nous le portons à notre grande chambre à coucher pour le tra-la-la de sexe," sang Mademoiselle Martineau, deliberately rolling her wide buttocks from side to side so that I could see flashes of her lacy petticoat hem.
I understood from her lyrics that 'she had caught a 'Peeping Tom' and was taking him to the big bedroom for sex, tra-la-la'. Was this another traditional French song? I wondered to myself. Surely not?
I didn't know whether they had remembered what I had told them earlier about not being a real 'Peeping Tom' but at that moment I could not care. I had no cares in the world. At least I was not going to be strapped down by the 'mad harridan' who called herself the headmistress.
At least also, I thought, I would be free to use my hands for self relief, and on young French breasts, and hopefully be lying on a soft bed rather than on a hard floor.
We ascended the staircase in leaps and bounds. My erection hindered my progress as I watched the remaining girl overtake us. My eyes were riveted to Mademoiselle Martineau's backside.
At the first landing the temptation to touch her pear-shaped arse proved too much. I reached out and groped her magnificent bottom with both hands. It felt delicious.
Immediately she stopped dead and stood still, legs slightly apart in mid-stride.
I thought she was going to slap my face but instead she looked at me, smiled and winked, then pushed out her wiggling bottom, allowing me to put my hand under her skirt hem.
Instantly it was inside her nylon petticoat squeezing and caressed her buttocks through her slippery shiny panties. I cupped my hands under, and between her knicker crotch, feeling her warm vagina. I ran my middle finger firmly along her cleft.
She turned instantly on her long legs, reached down and kissed me full on the lips.
Within a second her tongue was in my mouth, attacking mine like a wildcat. She probed savagely and sucked and delved. I explored her mouth with mine. I wanted to say something but her kissing stopped me. I was not prepared for such ardour from one so young, tall and beautiful. She had clearly lost control and was venting all her pent up sexual frustrations on me.
I felt her cool hands grab, then grip, my exposed penis which jutted clumsily into her clothing.
She instinctively started to 'milk me' with rapid strong firm jerks, whispering "Dirty boy," at every pull, "Dirty boy," she hissed and pulled. "Dirty boy," she said between kisses. "Dirty, dirty, dirty, dirty, dirty..." she continued in time with her wanking. I was completely at her mercy, totally spellbound by her body warmth, odour and her cool fingers holding me.
She flicked her long hair out of her eyes then resumed her passionate tonguing.
"Dirty (pull) dirty (pull) dirty (pull) dirty boy," she sang at me over and over again, slowly driving me delirious with her incessant masturbation, and sexy French accent.
My hands gripped her buttocks under her knickers seeking her anus, spreading her cheeks widely, trying to stimulate her, but she slipped away.
"Dirty, dirty, dirty, dirty, dirty, boy," she groaned at me over again as we kissed with her tongue half way down my throat with her hand tugging furiously at my manhood. I was being thrown around the staircase by her savage kissing and wanking. I thought that I would 'cum-in-buckets' there and then.
Above me from the staircase the other girls shouted down to us to hurry up.
She squeezed my penis a final time, spat in my face, turned, and then clattered up the creaking old wooden staircase to the third floor attic dormitory I followed her staring wildly at her buttocks and swaying skirt and wondering what I might find at the top of the stairs.
My hands were still warm from holding her. I walked up dizzily and hastily, catching my breath, my heart beating faster and, trying not to bruise my ungainly protruding erection against the stair balustrade or any other projection.
At the entrance to the attic room there was a big wooden door with the words 'Dormitory Four, Class 2A, Private, Keep Out' written on it. I was not sure why this had been written, or for whom it was intended, or whether it included me.
"Clearly not," I muttered to myself as I took in the layout of the room. It was a vast long space which must have spanned the roof of the whole of the South Wing of the school. The room had a lowish angled ceiling which had several dormer windows along it and many shelves and cupboards built into it. Fitted wardrobes extended from one end to the other. On either side of a long central walkway twenty 'double-beds' were positioned in two lines, ten on each side.
"Why 'double beds'?" I wondered.
It now dawned on me that, because the girls were so tall, they clearly could not lie on normal sized single beds and must sleep, therefore, diagonally across the bed from corner to corner. I looked up and down the room, and walked to the centre and stood with my exposed erection awaiting attention. Two of them, Isabelle Lamarliere and Madeleine Saint-Pierre, took me to a bed towards the far end of the room and told me to sit down.
I did as they said and watched Madeleine kneel before me and untie my shoe laces and take off my shoes. My erection was just inches from her face as she slipped off my socks. It jerked about with little involuntary movements, frantically seeking entrance to her soft French smiling mouth.
Teasingly she pouted then licked her red lips and turned her flashing eyes on me beneath her long lashes. She blew on my exposed glans and stuck her tongue out and wiggled it about tantalisingly, smiling at me.
"Vous avez un beau pénis raide," she said to me.
I guessed she was complimenting me on the stiffness of my penis. I told her that she had nice eyes and that 'I wished to fuck her so hard that she would be unable to sit down for two weeks'. She smiled back at me, clearly not understanding a single word I had said to her.
Isabelle, in the meantime, had pulled up my sweater and was easing it over my head.
She kissed me and whispered "Je veux votre langue a l'interieur de ma bouche."
I stared back and nodded while she grabbed me by both cheeks and forced her tongue savagely into my mouth, almost attacking it. Her breath was hot and came out in little gasps. I put my arms around her and held her. We collapsed onto the double bed with Isabelle on top of me and continued our kissing while she continued unbuttoned my shirt. My hands were all over her breasts under her grey v-neck sweater. She tried to take it off and unbutton me at the same time, but she was having problems. We kept kissing and snogging with our hands exploring each other everywhere.
While I was kissing Isabelle, Madeleine had loosened and tugged open the waistband of my trousers and was unzipping my flies when I felt a third pair of hands pulling at the front of my underpants. At the foot of the bed I felt my trousers being dragged off; I pushed my buttocks off the bed whilst young hands eased off my trousers, followed by my underpants. Again I was completely naked.
I felt wafts of cool air against my exposed legs, feet and genitals as several girls rushed about. I couldn't exactly see what was happening in the room as Isabelle's fervent kissing, with her long hair draped over me, concealed all other activity from view. I appeared to be lying on a large soft duvet with my head half buried in its deep feather-filled pockets.
Isabelle suddenly pushed herself off the bed, removed her shoes, and swung her long legs over me then straddled my waist, her smooth stockings brushing against my naked skin. Various conversations were going on around me but I couldn't understand much of what was being said.
Isabelle eased herself forward so that she now straddled my chest with her skirt hems touching my chin. I stared up at her bosom bouncing about inside her school uniform. She pushed herself down on me, making the mattress rock up and down. She did this several times as if to attract my attention.
She looked down at me and mouthed, "Me pensez-vous suis-vous sexy? Voulez-vous me baiser?" I replied that 'I did think she was sexy and did want to kiss her' whereupon she pulled off her sweater and threw it onto the adjacent bed.