David's Tall Girls' School Ch. 26

(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 Miss 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' one Friday. There were 120 girls registered at the school. Clearly I was not a so called 'pervert' but I could not prove it as I was caught with a pair of binoculars.

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 twenty six of my sorry tale.)

*

After my shower the Japanese girls dried me carefully and found a dressing gown for me to wear. It was several sizes too small and it did not hide my stonking erection which now bobbed about obscenely from between the loosely tied fronts.

I stayed with them until five o'clock, when, on the dot, Matron arrived with my clothes.

She winked at me and asked me how the "sucky-suck" went.

I just told her to shut up and pass me my clothes. I got dressed there and then and noticed that they had been washed and ironed. I felt human again and smiled at the twenty or so diminutive young women and bowed to them on my way to the door.

"Gokouun o inorimasu," said one girl.

"Oyasuminasai," said another.

I bowed and said thank you, but I had no idea what they were saying.

"Dewa mata," said Matron unexpectedly as we left the room.

"They said 'good luck' and 'good night'," she said "And I said 'see you'," she continued as I stared at her amazed. Molly was the last person I expected to know Japanese but she had picked it up when she had been taken as a prisoner of war in the Far East during the War. She had served as a medical orderly in Singapore.

I punched her in the buttocks and sped off to see Miss Wiff-Naseford. I don't know why but I was feeling quite happy and upbeat. I thought that the punishment would soon be over as I had only the staff to orally pleasure. I knocked on the headmistress' door and heard the familiar voice from the other side.

"Come in Tom, we're expecting you,"

As I turned the door handle and looked in and I couldn't believe my eyes. All the staff was there and they appeared to be just about to start a cocktail party. There was a cold buffet set out on Miss Wiff-Naseford's desk which had been pushed against a wall. I noticed canapés, French cheeses, pickles, cold Italian meats and various mixed salads.

There were wine, sherry and whisky bottles on a smaller table, and various sized glasses.

The ladies were wearing evening attire. Some of them looked very glamorous and fetching in their short black dresses, stiff net petticoats and black stilettos. There was a smell of expensive perfume hanging in the air.

"Have a drink dear boy, have a drink," said Miss Wiff-Naseford as I noticed her voluptuous figure encased in purple tulle and taffeta.

I helped myself to a large whisky and surveyed the crowd. There must have been ten teachers in the room; I must admit I was expecting more, but the headmistress explained that the married teachers lived off campus and usually left at five o'clock promptly. I recognised Angela Richardson the geography teacher, Muriel Browne, the classics mistress, Martine Hamilton, the French teacher and one or two others from the high table.

"Tom, we're not having our evening meal in the refectory so do please help yourself to food; there's quite a nice cold pasta salad with ham which I can recommend," said the head mistress clearly enjoying being the congenial host.

I helped myself to some food and joined a small group of teachers who appeared to be talking about the autumn term and how their girls were progressing with their deportment exams and etiquette. I tried to join in but found that I had little to add to the conversation so just stood there and ate, nodding at anything that any of them said.

I poured myself another whisky and then joined another group surrounding Lesley Hopkins, the games mistress who was talking about health and how important it was for the modern girl to keep herself fit for all that life had to throw at her. When she started on about childbirth I withdrew, had another whisky and joined Miss Wiff-Naseford and Molly.

"Ah Tom," the overdressed harridan began, "Only this lot to pleasure and the catering staff and that's it. I hear you have already pleasured the three cleaners. I hope they didn't frighten you; they are all ex-convicts from Hollowmoor Scrubs and have served time for molesting young men," she continued watching the horrified look on my face.

"Yes I think you were lucky to escape with your life; they only work here because of our 'female-only' strictures," she said.

"Anyway Tom we will have to get you ready for the ladies won't we?" exclaimed Miss Wiff-Naseford, clearly intent on getting the show on the road.

"Gather round ladies," said the headmistress clapping her hands. I noticed her pick up a cushion and drop it on the floor.

"As you know Mr. Peeping Tom here has been in the school for the past five days pleasuring our girls. I have on the whole thought that it introduced most of them to the ...err...'pleasures of the orgasm'. Doubtless you have heard good reports; I know I have," she continued "It is now Tom's final evening and I have laid on this little soiree in order to thank him for what he has done and to acknowledge his..err...unusual services to the school," she carried on as if it was a prize giving ceremony.

Her speech went on for several minutes and I stared at the cushion at her feet. It felt unusual to be fully dressed in her room and wondered if there was something she was not telling me.

"...and finally Tom here has agreed to pleasure you as and when you feel the urge. He'll kneel on this cushion, won't you Tom, and service you under your lovely skirts, party frocks and dresses; I'll leave it up to you whether you keep your...undergarments on or not," she explained as she looked at me and pointed to the cushion.

Reluctantly I knelt down and stared around me and at the legs and high heeled shoes of the middle aged teachers who stood next to me. For the first time I felt extremely self conscious and unsure what to do, I sat back on my heels so that my head was roughly at their waist level and waited. The conversations resumed and they split up into little groups. Helping themselves to food and drink.

A tall blonde woman in her early forties walked up to me. I stared at the hem of her wide black skirt. It was knee length and was obviously supported underneath by stiff net petticoats. She wore a white blouse with a pearl necklace. She smelled of expensive perfume and wore black patent leather four-inch stiletto court shoes.

"I'm Rosemary Bentley, the etiquette specialist," she said looking me over. I wondered whether she was expecting me to stand up and shake her hands. I smiled up inanely and wondered what she would do next. We both felt awkward as we realised that there were no formal conversational guidelines regarding performing cunnilingus at cocktail parties.

She stood in front of me and edged forward. I stared at her smooth black stockings and watched her raise her skirt. She handed her drink and plate to Muriel Browne who stood in her green bouffant dress to one side. She shuffled closer to me and I became aware of her body heat which emanated from beneath her hem. She was clearly excited.

An erection began to well up inside my underpants as I lowered my head. I watched her part her feet and shuffle forward while she lifted her gathered skirt and white petticoats and ushered me under. Immediately the heat and odour from her thighs and crotch bowled me over. I felt her shake then drop her clothing over me so that I was enveloped inside three layers of petticoat and one layer of lined skirt.

I let my eyes wander over her knickers which were just an inch from my face. They were white French knickers edged in a wide band of ruffled lace. They looked so feminine and expensive. Beneath her knickers her suspender belt and straps were trimmed with similar lace.

Her whole ensemble looked stunning. Before I could decide what to do I felt her pull my head into her. Her hands felt soft through all the layers of nylon net. I decided that this woman needed serious stimulation so began nuzzling her pubic hair through the loose folds of her knickers.

"Pass me that bottle Muriel please," I heard her say, muffled by the crisp crackling layers surrounding me.

She let go of my head and poured Muriel, and then herself, another glass of wine. I became aware of her striking up a conversation with other teachers close by. Soon around me, and above me, the debate ebbed and flowed as I began probing Miss Bentley with my tongue.

I allowed my hands to wander up inside her knicker legs and gently eased them to one side. She flinched as I ran my tongue up and down her slit. She smelled moist and ready for further deep delving and cunt exploration. She flinched again as I slid my slippery tongue under her clitoral hood and flicked at the now prominent bud.

"Well how does one engender personal responsibility in young women..." she said as I caught snippets of the conversation above me. "...a sense of pride and goal setting....and don't you agree Muriel?" the disjointed words flowed over me as I licked enthusiastically at her labia and vaginal opening.

Her secretions also flowed over me and my nostrils snorted in the powerful muskiness from between her legs.

"I see young Tom is busy under your pretty skirt Rosemary," said the head teacher pleased that someone was making use of my services.

"Yes thank you headmistress," she hissed trying to control herself and preventing herself from shouting the house down.

"Hold onto my drink again Muriel," said the Etiquette teacher now on the brink of 'coming'.

"Don't bloody stop Tom, d'ya hear," said a disembodied voice somewhere above the many layers of stiff nylon net.

I gripped her buttocks and tilted back my head. Her muff was resting on my face and my tongue entered and re-entered her portals over and over again. I wiggled my tongue inside her and felt her body respond. She gyrated her hips and grabbed my head and began thrusting herself over me. I concentrated all my efforts on her clitoris which was now fully revealed and dancing on the end of my tongue tip.

"Yes," she grunted, "Yes," she grunted again as I continued stimulating her beyond the point of no return.

She bent her knees and parted her legs further. I pushed my tongue firmly inside her and felt her spasm, first gently then violently, then degenerate into a full blown orgasm. All around me her petticoats shook and crackled.

"Shit, shit, shit, fucking yes, fucking yes, fuck....yes...yes," she screamed quite clearly out of control. Her language was unbecoming to one who taught etiquette to young ladies.

"Fuck, shit, fucking hell that was fucking incredible," I heard her say to Muriel who was just within earshot.

She stepped backwards, pulling her clothing off me and I looked around and saw that all eyes were on me and on my wet face and sticky hair.

"So that felt good dear?" said Miss Wiff-Naseford to Miss Bentley clearly pleased that I had done my stuff.

"That was absolutely wonderful headmistress," she said regaining her composure but still looking red faced.

She shook down her skirt and rearranged her petticoats so that her bouffant outfit appeared not quite as dishevelled as it had been with my head underneath it. The other members of staff gathered round Miss Bentley and smiled and patted her on the back.

Someone put a record on the gramophone and the party really got going. From my kneeling position in the middle of the head teachers study I watched these teachers helping themselves to the table buffet and pouring more drinks. The atmosphere became more and more congenial and the hubbub of conversation grew in intensity. A very frisky pair walked up to me. Both looked a little drunk. They introduced themselves as Annette Sanderson, the biology mistress and Hazel Mears, the mathematics teacher.

"After you Hazel," said Annette holding onto the top of my head for support. I looked into her youngish face. She was in her thirties and had long wavy hair pulled back into a pony tail. Annette wore a deep pink floral ankle length party dress gathered at the waist. The hem was very wide and flouncy. It stuck out quite a distance from her legs so I guessed that she too was wearing stiff nylon net underskirts.

"No after you Annette," Hazel said pushing her colleague further towards me.

" Only if you are sure," said Annette," I must admit that I have been looking forward to this," she said to her friend.

Neither of them spoke to me and once again I realised that these women regarded me as a sexual aid and not as a person. Annette kicked me on the knee with her three-inch heels and I sat back on my haunches and stuck my head forward. I watched her shoes part as she walked up and stood astride my knees. She handed her glass to Hazel and pulled up her skirt. I watched spellbound as first her shins, then her knees and then her thighs were exposed. Her stockings were very fine denier and dark grey in colour. Her knickers were loose legged and pink with frilly panels of Calais lace. Her suspender straps were similarly decorated. I could also tell by the stain around her crotch that she was already aroused as well as being slightly drunk. I licked my lips and got ready.

She edged forward and threw her dress over me. Hazel helped by pulling it down and rearranging her net petticoats so that I was completely covered from my chest upwards. Needless to say I had another erection inside my trousers and began to wish that I was naked and able to jerk myself off. I pulled her knickers leg upwards and to one side and immediately slurped my way into the soft flesh between her labia. I nuzzled at her clitoris and felt her flinch then settle down. For ten minutes I slurped lapped and licked. I had pushed a middle finger inside her anus and twiddled it about, slowly gauging her reactions by her involuntary movements. She appeared to revel in my tongue-fucking and secreted a copious amount of fanny juice which I was obliged to swallow. I heard her talking to Hazel in a way which didn't convey any impression of her currently stimulated state.

"...and I prefer the designs of Ernest Gimson to those of William Morris, and it so goes with the architecture of Voysey..." she continued clearly trying to keep the conversation on the English Arts and Crafts Movement going while I slobbered around inside her under her pink evening dress and white net petticoats.

By now her twitching was accompanied my little gasps. I could tell that I didn't have to push her much further.

"Hold my glass and plate please Hazel," I heard Annette say in a very matter of fact way.

Under her dress my head was bobbing up and down frantically tonguing her fanny and probing her anus. Her hands held my cheeks as she pushed my head back and edged further forward. We were now galloping along the home straight and felt her bend her knees and stiffen suddenly. Her buttock muscles gripped my finger up her arse while I continued sliding my tongue up and down, and around her clitoris.

"No stop, don't stop, yes, no, please," she squealed incoherently. "Yes, oh yes," she yelped as she bent her knees further and pushed my face firmly into her fanny.

"Oh no, oh no, oh yes, oh yessss," she moaned as she shuddered in my face squirting out vaginal spendings all over my face and shirt front. She was so sticky and slimy and smelled of warm vagina and sweat. "Oh my goodness," she said to Hazel almost in tears.

She lifted her dress and I knelt back on my heels and wiped the colourless slime off me with the back of my hands. My teeth had trapped pubic hair between them. I must have made a pathetic sight. I noticed that the women weren't paying me much attention and that the party was going full swing. The music was upbeat and I noticed Miss Wiff-Naseford's hips jiggling as she snapped her fingers in time with the rhythm. She appeared to be rather drunk and waved to me insanely.

"Are you OK Tom?" she yelled above the music and conversation. I told her I was fine just as Hazel Mears held onto my shoulders and shuffled up to me.

I stared up into her big brown eyes and admired her thick black hair which was swept up into a bun. She looked very regal and haughty. I stared down at her black sling-back sandals as she pulled me towards her and her raised skirt. She wore a red silk tiered skirt which ended just below her knees. It looked like a gypsy or Spanish skirt. I saw that she also wore a white flounced petticoat with a deep lace trim. My heart skipped a beat when I saw her fishnet stockings.

"Oh my, oh my," I simpered as I watched her haul her clothes up to her waist and rub up against me.

Her white French knickers looked so crisp and neat that she looked almost virginal. I had not really noticed Miss Mears before except at the high table and I had to admit that her legs were incredible. Her thighs above her stockings were so curvaceous. She had one of those pairs of legs which curve in and out and leave a gap at the top of her thighs just below the cunt. I reached up and pulled her towards me just as she shook down her underskirt and red party outfit over me, hiding me once more from view.

Through the two layers surrounding me I heard muffled laughter as Miss Wiff-Naseford appeared to be telling a joke. I could also make out Annette talking to Hazel and laughing at something, and it wasn't their head teachers joke. I looked down and noticed that the zip fastener of my trouser flies had slid open and that my penis was pushing my white underpants out.

"Well the little pervert is trying to flash at us," said Annette aiming a kick at my balls and missing by a mile.

"Don't do that Annette," said Hazel perturbed. "Let him do what he likes," she continued clearly trying to humour me.

Meanwhile my tongue was lapping at her clitoris and sliding up and down her labia tasting the softness of her inner flesh and sucking at her inner lips. She parted her legs further and I pushed myself further up her breathing in her strong natural aroma. I basically just couldn't get enough of this woman. She looked, smelled and tasted exquisite and the nightmare of Doris, the cleaner, seemed a long time ago. I was again enjoying doing what I was good at and slurped and slobbered my tongue all over her genitalia, making her jerk and flinch and gasp.

Hazel's anus didn't yield to my fingers; she was one of those women who did not warm to having a digit up her back passage so I didn't pursue it further. I did try with my little finger but she pushed me away. Her bent splayed legs and pelvic thrusts told me that she liked having my tongue between her legs and she chortled incoherently as I licked and sucked her more savagely.

Within a few minutes she was gasping breathlessly and completely out of control. I doubted that her pupils had ever heard their mathematics teacher swear so vehemently, nor gush out sexual secretions so wildly. The room fell silent as I finished her off with a stream of multiple clit-flicks. She spasmed then orgasmed gripping my tongue with small muscular ripples which pulsated up and down her vulva.

When it was over she lifted up her gypsy skirt and I backed away noticing that the waistband of my trousers had come loose. I stood up and stretched and tried to do up my clothes but hands suddenly appeared around me and pulled my trousers down to my ankles.