The Aphrodite Experiment

"All right, That'll be all for today," said Miss Dunning a few moments later. "Now, homework is to be handed in by next Monday, without fail! Yes, that does include you, Ophelya. And you, Simone!"

Rochelle shook her clenched fists in fury at the cruelty of life. Had she stayed where she was, she would, this very second, be making her walk to freedom, along with all the other students, and with Miss Dunning's blessing. Instead, here she was, still trapped, and in the most insalubrious of surroundings at that.

And peering through the keyhole she could see that her captor cum jailer seemed to have no intentions of following her charges to the outside world. Instead, she was engaged in stacking up books, preparing the following day's lesson on the board, closing windows with the long hooked pole, checking a register, adding up figures.

Rochelle had already resigned herself to a long wait, made longer by her attempts to shorten it. But now, things got even worse.

For, suddenly, Miss Dunning put down her chalk on the small shelf at the bottom of the chalk board, and in a decisive manner, began walking towards the door behind which Rochelle was crouching.

Rochelle's heart shot into her mouth, and her eyes - which had, by now, adapted to the low degree of light within the cupboard - swept around searching frantically for some means of escape or concealment. At first, nothing occurred to her, then suddenly her gaze swept across the photograph of the clergyman. Moving as quickly as she had done for many years, she slipped behind it, for once achieving her aim without any manifestation of her usual clumsiness.

She peered from behind the frame, sure that Miss Dunning could hear her heart thumping in her chest - though, in fact, given Rochelle's physical attributes, it would have to have been a very loud heartbeat indeed for it not to have been muffled by her more than generous mammary allotment!

As soon as Miss Dunning entered the cupboard she arched her back, bent her left leg and, reaching behind her, removed her flat-soled brogue, repeating the action with the right. Even her in awkward situation, Rochelle had time to wonder why the teacher should be removing her shoes - after all, they did not look particularly uncomfortable.

But from that moment, Miss Dunning's actions became even more bizarre.

Rummaging in her handbag, she emerged with a make-up bag and, propping her compact open on a convenient shelf, began to make up her face, applying lipstick, eyeliner, and the other cosmetics usual in such situations, making rather heavy weather of the eye make-up since she was forced to do it without removing her spectacles. This completed, she fished out an atomiser, and sprayed herself with a somewhat cloying perfume that Rochelle recognised as Yves Rocher's Pur desir de gardenia.

Probably a hot date, Rochelle mused to herself. After all, even teachers have a love life.

Though why Miss Dunning felt it necessary to prepare herself for it in her supply cupboard was a total mystery.

What Miss Dunning did next, however, made the unusual location she'd chosen to perform her toilette pale into insignificance. She hoisted up her flecked tweed skirt and, with much wriggling and grunting, began tugging at something underneath it. After a struggle, she worked a crumpled pale blue long-leg panty girdle down her plump legs, stepped out of it, and shoved it into her handbag.

Poor thing, thought Rochelle, almost sympathetically. Her girdle's probably been acting up on her. As someone who had suffered discomfort from misbehaving control garments more times than she could count, Rochelle felt Miss Dunning's pain! No wonder the old chook was so snappy!

But not content with that, she then repeated the same act with her tan pantyhose, balling them up and placing them in the handbag with the girdle. And then did exactly the same with her off-white bra, reaching behind her under her mustard coloured sweater to unsnap it at the back and, with a grunt of satisfaction, and much gyration and gymnastic legerdemain, pull it free through the neckhole.

Watched unseen by the amazed Rochelle, she cupped her hands under both breasts in turn plumping them upwards as if to present them at their maximum attractiveness, smoothed her sweater and skirt, and, finally, whipped off her spectacles and put them in the now bulging handbag, which she snapped shut with a decisive click, and placed on one of the shelves, next to a pile of exercise books.

Heavy footsteps could be heard outside as Miss Dunning patted and primped at her hair, tugged down the hem of her sweater again, and ran a finger over her teeth checking for lipstick stains.

A strip of light grew at the entrance to the cupboard as the door opened, and she turned and faced the newcomer, opening her arms. Mister Sugden, the janitor who had previously conducted the conversation with her about sausages and sardines, drew her to him, the two exchanging passionate, face-sucking kisses, telling of pent-up passion and repressed lust.

Rochelle knew that, at this point, she should have turned away. This was, after all, the most private of private events. Secret as it need be, given the circumstances, the pair were committing no act that could have been regarded as actually unethical, or even illegal.

"Oh, my love, my love," moaned Miss Dunning, hardly able to articulate, so heavily was she breathing. "I so long for these times - those days when you come and utter our special secret codeword that I've come to love so dearly." She giggled, slipping the straps of his coverall from his shoulders and pulling his shirt free. "Are you sure no-one saw you come in?"

"''course not, lovely one," he replied, moving exploratory hands under her sweater, in such a way that he was able to fondle her now untrammelled breasts. "Who'd have thought I'd ever find the word 'sardines' so sexy, eh?"

"Whereas your sausage is the sexiest, most suckable one in the universe," replied Miss Dunning, pulling Mr Sugden's coverall down to the floor, going down on her knees, unzipping his fly and suiting her deeds to her words.

"Ah. Yes. That's. So. Goood." moaned Mr Sugden, in ecstacy. "Soooo gooood, my beautiful Randy Mandy. Oh yeeessssss."

That's disgusting, thought Rochelle to herself - somewhat unjustly, since she'd performed the same act, and received its reciprocal equivalent, many times. Her feigned disgust, was, in fact, an attempt to distract from her own attention the embarrassing fact that her nipples were beginning to harden at the sight of what was happening.

She watched, horrified, yet fascinated, and unable to shut her eyes or turn away as after a few moments, that, judging by his words and actions, brought Mr Sugden to the very border of ecstasy, the couple reversed positions, Miss Dunning lifting up her skirt, and Mr Sugden diving up under it, tonguing her muff in a manner that caused a hitching in her breathing that was so severe, Rochelle wondered if the teacher might be about to suffer an asthma attack.

"Oh, yes, harder. Harder. Oh, my lovely Raymond, my wonderful sausage man. Harder. Oh yes. Not your teeth! Not your teeth!"

Rochelle, to her mortification, found the crotch of her panties becoming damp. I mean, they must be in their mid forties at least, she growled to herself. And her a teacher, too!

Miss Dunning had ceased her fellatioric activities just as her lips had taken Mr Sugden to the very brink of explosion, but he was under no such constraints. Rochelle watched, peering around the frame of the photograph, her breathing almost as heavy as the participants at the spectacle before her.

Somehow, without her consciously realising it, her own hands had crept to her breasts, and she was massaging her own nipples. It was fortunate that Miss Dunning cried out at the very moment of culmination, for it masked Rochelle's moan of desire.

They were at it hammer and tongs now. Mr Sugden had backed Miss Dunning against the far end of the cupboard, and her skirt, and bunched slip were in a tangle around her waist. His pants and underpants had joined his coveralls on the floor, and he was clad only in a wrinkled check shirt, under which the hem of a ragged singlet dangled ridiculously. Rochelle could see his flabby buttocks moving like her own pumping heart, as he ground the object of his desire.

For her part, any resistance offered my Miss Dunning made the performance of the French army against the Wermacht armoured divisions seem heroic by comparison. Indeed, her policy seemed to have originated directly from Vichy, so eagerly did she collaborate in her own violation!

"Oh Raymond. Raymond. Oh, that wonderful, wonderful sausage," she screamed.

"Oh my lovely, lovely sardine in oil!"

Under normal circumstances, Rochelle - a girl so shy that, as she has already been seen to point out, the slightest mention of anything connected with the act of concupiscence caused her to collapse in a helpless blushing fit - would have been disgusted and mortified to the point of nausea at what she was watching. Sex, she was sure, was not intended to be a spectator sport, whatever views the internet demonstrated on the subject.

Yet, several factors were conspiring against this mental stance. The first was that, recently, sex - and kinky sex in particular - had been very much on her mind, re-channelling its normal pathways into those somewhat deviant from their normal, inhibited route.

Secondly, there was the sheer relief at remaining undiscovered, for surely Miss Dunning and Mr Sugden - or Sausage and Sardine, as she was learning to call them - were far too involved in the disgusting, yet highly entertaining acts they were performing to notice her.

And, again, the very realisation that she had become a voyeur - and that the object of her prurience was in itself, a forbidden, clandestine tryst - gave the entire event a frisson that no amount of inhibition could counter.

By Rochelle's standards, what was taking place was outre stuff indeed, and - she could no longer deny the fact, as her hands crept under the skirt of her gymslip and into her panties - it was making her as horny as hell!

So much so, that a few minutes later, she was forced to remove one hand from her private parts and stuff its knuckles into her mouth, grateful that her own scream of fulfilment coincided exactly with Miss Dunnings own!

*****

"You're right, Mel, it is unlike Rochelle," said Suzie, sipping at her coffee. "I guess something urgent came up. Maybe she got an urgent call from work, or something."

"Something like that," agreed Mel. "She wasn't all that forthcoming when she rang me. Sounded like she was on a bus or something." He gave a grin. "Still, it got me out of seeing that revolting Julia Roberts movie, so I'm not complaining."

"Now, that's not fair, Mel, she's a highly talented actress."

"With a face like a hatful of - " he broke off as he heard the front door click. "Ah, here she is."

"So where have you been, you naughty girl," sang out Suzie playfully. "You must be mad, girl, standing up a man like this just go go to some urgent sales meeting or - what the fuck?!!"

Suzie's mouth dropped open as Rochelle entered the lounge. Even Mel, used to feigning equanimity, was unable to entirely mask his shock and surprise at Rochelle, still clad in her wrinkled gym-slip with her socks trailing around her ankles.

"Never mind that now," said Rochelle, her face burning with desire. She strode towards Mel, grabbed him by the collar of his t-shirt and began pulling him towards the stairs. "Put that cigar down, and come with me."

Mel, surprised yet fascinated by the change in her persona, made no attempt at resistance."

A few seconds later, Rochelle slammed the door of the bedroom shut and began clawing at the hem of the t-shirt, pulling it over his head, then grabbing for the fly of his jeans.

"Wow, Roche, I've never seen you like this," breathed Mel, in excitement, returning her frantic kisses. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you!" . He began pushing her backwards, towards the bed.

Yet, to his surprise, she resisted.

"No, darling," she laughed. "Not there."

As if they were locked in some erotic waltz, she walked backwards, steering them towards the walk-in wardrobe, ignoring the puzzled expression on his face. Reaching behind her, she turned the knob.

"Today, I'd like to try something - a little different!"