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My life changed the week before Christmas last year when I lost my virginity.
I’m sure that many might say that not having sex until I was twenty-five was unnatural, twisted even. And, to be fair, knowing what I know now, I’d have to agree. But of course before that fateful lesson I was perfectly happy in my celibate state; perfectly happy waiting until I was married to my longstanding fiancée, Bethany.
Perhaps I should give you a little background so you understand just what a life-shifting experience I went through.
I met Bethany in the college library almost seven years ago on the first day I went to university. We were both churchgoers and neither of us had been in a relationship before. By the end of that week we had become girlfriend and boyfriend, after kissing perhaps half a dozen times.
Since then we had become inseparable.
We studied together at University — I read Mathematics while Bethany read English. We had then done a PGCE together, training to become teachers. Two years ago, we had even managed to come and work at the same school together, Feckwith College for Girls, a minor public boarding school in Sussex.
We could probably individually have found better jobs but Feckwith was the only non-inner city school that could offer us both a role, a lucky circumstance in that Feckwith wouldn’t have normally taken a male member of staff at all were it not for the national shortage of Maths teachers.
The headmistress at Feckwith, the formidable Miss Birstthwaite, had only employed us after assurances that we wouldn’t live together as man and wife, despite our recent engagement. We had reassured her that we were committed Christians and were completely opposed to sex before marriage.
And so for the last two or three years, Bethany and I have had separate rooms at the school. In fact my room is part of the caretaker’s lodge a few hundred yards away from the main school building where the rest of the staff and girls live.
In retrospect I don’t really remember how I could have been so content with my sexless state. When we were together in private, Bethany and I would hold hands and kiss chastely. But even on the most romantic of evenings, Bethany would always dampen my arousal if I appeared over-animated, promising me that it would be worth the wait. It amazes me now but I’ve still never seen her naked and nor have we indulged in any foreplay or any other sexual antics.
Early in our relationship I seem to remember I found it difficult but I always managed to suppress my excitement. I didn’t even masturbate often as I’d been taught from an early age that it was harmful and iniquitous, although I did as a consequence regularly have unwelcome wet dreams sometimes brought on by my unconscious manipulation. Eventually I suppose I got used to it.
Since we had come to work at Feckwith, it had definitely become tougher for me. I found myself surrounded by an all-female teaching staff and three hundred girls. In particular the oldest girls caused me difficulty as they seemed to take real pleasure in teasing me.
I suppose it might have been even worse if I were in any way an attractive man. Fortunately, if that’s the right word, I’m physically small, a touch too thin with a receding hairline, glasses and a distinct overbite. People say that Bethany looks a like an attractive version of me and I’ve always found her most beautiful.
The trouble started with the three girls in my final year Maths class. I had been teaching them for a year already and had always found them uncomfortable to manage. Since they had started their final year and turned eighteen though, matters had deteriorated.
They seemed to have no respect for me whatsoever during lessons, probably spurred on by my meek somewhat timid personality and by the simple fact that there were only three of them in the class giving it a more intimate nature than others.
During the Michaelmas term, they had spent most of their lessons affectionately mocking me and ignoring my ineffectual attempts at discipline. I had to say that despite their lack of respect, I liked all three of them for their bright playful personalities. It also helped that they all seemed to have a natural disposition for the subject.
It was in the final double Maths lesson of the term, on the morning of the last school day before Christmas, that it happened. This was always a challenging time as the girls were all looking forward to going home rather than having their minds on their lessons but the impact on this particular class was dramatic.
The two girls that had always been the worst culprits were Christine and Brigitte. Chloe, the third member of the class, was a little more shy but she usually joined the others with only a little encouragement.
On this particular occasion, the girls had traipsed in a few minutes late after morning assembly.
The first thing I noticed was that both Brigitte and Christine were not wearing the correct uniform. Their navy blazers were open, revealing that their white blouses casino siteleri were unbuttoned at the top and their red and blue striped ties loosened down to their chests; also their grey skirts ended well above their knees and their legs were covered not in the approved thick grey woollen tights but in something significantly more dark, sheer and suggestive. They were also wearing shoes with considerably higher heels than allowed.
And if I wasn’t mistaken, they were also wearing eye shadow and lipstick! All-in-all they looked inappropriately mature.
Chloe, a tall willowy auburn-haired girl with soft green eyes and a sweet smile was wearing her uniform correctly although even she had loosened her tie somewhat.
“Brigitte! Christine! What on earth are you wearing? Please do up your blouses and ties. And those skirts are just too short. If Miss Birstthwaite sees you, you’ll be given detentions!”
Brigitte, a leggy curvaceous brunette with an impertinent smile, gave her best friend Christine a significant look before replying insolently as she sat down at the front of the class. “Miss Birstthwaite isn’t here today, Sir. Remember, she’s away in London at a conference. Anyway, Miss Stricker already gave us a bloody detention at assembly. She said we had to get changed straight after this lesson, during morning break.”
The Miss Stricker to whom Brigitte was referring was Bethany, my fiancée. “Please don’t swear, Brigitte,” I warned calmly.
Christine, an energetic tall full-chested tactile blonde, chipped in. “It’s not fair. It’s the last day of term! No-one else is wearing their uniform properly but she doesn’t pick on them. I’d really like to get her back. She’s such a cow!” she whined.
For a reason I had never really understood, Bethany had often made clear that she didn’t particularly like these girls but this was just too much! “Christine! How dare you speak about any of your teachers in such a disrespectful way? You’ll do well to watch what you say; otherwise you’ll be getting another detention from me!” “Sorry, Mr. Bletchflap!” Christine replied with a smirk. “I forgot she was your girlfriend.”
Brigitte added, “Yeah, sorry, Sir. She can just be a bit funny. You know we really like you though, don’t you, Sir? Particularly, Chloe. She really fancies you, Sir.”
“Oh, yeah,” Christine agreed with a smile. “Chloe thinks you’re lovely.”
Chloe blushed bright red at this affectionate teasing from her friends. “Stop it!” she giggled, although she didn’t deny the accusation.
“Fucking hell, Sir. It’s really hot in here,” Brigitte said cheekily as she took off her blazer, thrusting her considerable chest out as she did so. I’d been in early to put the radiators on as some of the pupils had been complaining about the chilliness of the winter weather and the classroom had indeed become quite warm. However, nothing excused such vulgar language.
“Brigitte! If I have to warn you again you’ll be getting a detention,” I repeated.
“Oh, Mr. Bletchflap. You don’t really mind, do you? I thought we were your favourites,” Brigitte breathed, pouting at me imploringly.
I knew it was virtually suicidal in the circumstances but I couldn’t help it. I blushed.
Christine giggled. “Oh, Sir. You’re so sweet!” she said kindly which made me blush even more.
“Please, girls. We really need to get on. I want you to turn to chapter 11 in your calculus book…” I looked up and stopped, aghast at what I could see. “Brigitte what are you doing?”
Brigitte, who had already walked in with her top two blouse buttons undone, had decided to unfasten another, revealing a remarkably deep creamy freckled cleavage ensconced in an elaborate white bra.
“Oh it’s so hot, Sir. I need to get some air,” she whined.
“Please, Brigitte you have to do your blouse back up! What if someone came in?”
“Oh, don’t worry, Mr. Bletchflap. No one will see. And don’t you like looking, Sir?” she replied coquettishly.
I spluttered in disbelief at her nerve, fully aware that I was well out of my depth. I decided it would be best to ignore her completely and turned to my notes while they giggled disconcertingly.
I finally managed to start the lesson, which was on differentiating trigonometric functions, carefully keeping my eyes on the girls’ faces as I talked to them.
However within a few minutes they started even more trouble. Christine dropped her pen, stood up, gave me a smile as if to catch my attention, then turned and bent at her waist to pick it up.
I couldn’t help but stare as her skirt rode up over what I had thought were her tights to reveal that they were nothing of the sort! She was wearing stockings! Her thighs were lightly tanned and smooth. I sighed once in wonder before realising that Brigitte was watching my unfortunate reaction.
“Christine! You shouldn’t be wearing, um, er…” I stammered to a halt not knowing how to articulate my outrage.
“Ooh! Sir! Did you just look up my skirt! You’re so naughty,” Christine complained in mock indignation slot oyna as she turned towards me. She lifted her skirt deliberately to reveal the tops of her thighs and a just a glimpse of white knickers. “They’re called hold-ups, Sir. They let my bits breathe. You won’t tell anyone, will you, Sir? After all, you know I don’t mind you looking.”
Once more I was crimson with embarrassment.
“She’s got lovely legs, hasn’t she, Sir?” Brigitte added unnecessarily. “And a great arse too.”
“Brigitte, please stop!” I said in a strangled voice.
“And if you like Christine’s bum, you should see Chloe’s. It’s really pert!” Brigitte said.
“Please stop! This conversation is highly inappropriate,” I protested feebly as Christine finally sat down.
“Oh, come on, Sir. It’s the last day of term. Wouldn’t you rather talk about nice things like Chloe’s arse or Brigitte’s boobs rather than calculus? You know we can catch back up quickly in the New Year,” Christine said earnestly. It was true that all three girls were intelligent but her argument was still specious.
“Christine, please…” I started to object before being interrupted again by her.
“Don’t you ever fantasise about other women, Sir? I know you’re in love with Miss Stricker but she’s a bit straight isn’t she, Mr. Bletchflap? And she’s not much to look at either.”
Before I could say anything Brigitte joined in. “Yeah, Sir. She’s, well, a bit bony and she always looks so severe. And she’s so skinny and flat-chested. Don’t you ever want to have a feel of a nice big pair like mine or Christine’s? Though to be fair, Chloe’s tits aren’t huge either but they’re a lovely shape with gorgeous big nipples, aren’t they, Chloe? You should see them, Sir. I have.”
Once more my subconscious betrayed me as I glanced at Chloe’s chest, her slender figure exaggerating the size of her high pert breasts. I looked up to see Chloe’s bewitching green eyes glowing with satisfaction as she smiled enigmatically at me.
I shook my head and took a deep breath trying my best to remain calm but I was struggling to control my agitation. For a few seconds, I buried my face in my hands in confusion.
In response Brigitte stood up to lean over me with a concerned look on her face, her deep brown eyes perceptive and urbane. I could see right down between her large round boobs to the front of her lacy bra.
“Are you OK, Sir?”
“Brigitte, please,” I stammered. “You really should sit down. I’m fine. And you must do up your blouse. I’m sure your, er, bra isn’t within the school dress code.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Sir. Shall I take it off, Sir? I don’t want to get into trouble.”
“No, please don’t!” I gasped but she was already undoing the last few buttons of her tight white blouse.
“Brigitte, what are you doing?” Chloe gasped, her eyes wide in amazement. Christine however was giggling with delight at her friend’s behaviour.
“It’s OK, Chloe,” Brigitte replied smoothly as the last button was unfastened. “I don’t think Mr. Bletchflap really minds. Do you, Sir?” she said as she finally opened up her blouse completely.
Brigitte’s breasts were simply enormous, snugly held in a lovely delicate white bra. Her skin was pale and freckled and her stomach taut and flat. I knew that I shouldn’t but I just couldn’t stop staring. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I shifted uncomfortably in my chair as I became explosively and immediately erect under the desk.
Christine came to stand beside Brigitte before glancing at Chloe. “Chloe, would you mind keeping watch, babe?” she asked.
Chloe licked her lips and nodded before going to stand by the door, although she kept a close eye on the events unfolding at my desk. Luckily the classroom was at the end of a corridor and its windows weren’t overlooked.
“Thanks, Chloe,” Christine said before turning back to me, her limpid blue eyes sparkling hungrily. “Isn’t Brigitte gorgeous, Sir? And she’s got lovely tits. Don’t you just want to reach out and touch them?” she said her arms slowly encircling her friend to gently cup the undersides of her glorious breasts. Brigitte’s tie as hanging incongruously down her cleavage.
My hands twitched in need but I managed to bite back my urgent restlessness.
“You have to stop, girls,” I hissed painfully.
Christine’s long graceful fingers lightly slid up a few inches higher to squeeze Brigitte’s boobs on the full. “Oh, Sir,” she moaned, “they’re so firm and fat. Why don’t I get them out for you?”
Brigitte’s grin was huge as her friend stood back and deftly unclipped her bra. Brigitte held it on for a brief tantalising moment before she slipped it off, allowing her hands to drop and reveal the full magnificence of her chest.
“Oh, Brigitte!” Chloe whispered from the door, shocked at the sheer naughtiness of what her friends were doing.
My mouth was too dry for me to say anything. As I’ve already mentioned I had never before seen Bethany’s breasts or indeed any other woman’s, at least not in real life. To go from such canlı casino siteleri paucity to the lush sublime abundance of Brigitte’s stupendous bosom was just too much for me. I moaned out loud at the sight of the high dark brown ovals of her small hard nipples causing Brigitte to give a low laugh in wicked knowing delight.
“Please you have to stop. Somebody might see us,” I groaned but they didn’t listen.
Instead Christine reached around her schoolmate once again to softly caress her breasts.
“They’re so lovely, Sir. Go on, have a good squeeze,” she urged. “I bet Miss Stricker’s tits don’t feel as soft and full and firm as these. Go on, Mr. Bletchflap. You know you want to.”
And of course I did. But somehow I managed to keep my hands flat on the desk, away from hot sinful temptation that Brigitte’s astounding gravity-defying chest represented.
“This is wrong. You have to stop,” I repeated but I couldn’t take my eyes from Brigitte’s heavy boobs as Christine’s dainty fingers pinched her nipples, rolling them firmly between finger and thumb.
“Does Miss Stricker like you to lick her tiny titties, Sir? I love licking tits,” Christine breathed, her clear azure eyes keeping hold of mine as she slowly lent forward to flick her long lithe pink tongue repeatedly over Brigitte’s left nipple, causing me to bark a groan of utter disbelief.
Brigitte moaned in pleasure, closing her eyes and muttering an obscenity as Christine began to suck in earnest, making loud smacking sounds as her lips occasionally slipped from Brigitte’s fine breasts.
I shook my head to clear it. I couldn’t stand up and reveal my excited state. I opened my mouth in an effort to reason with them but before I could start things got even worse.
At some unspoken gesture Christine stood back and Brigitte pulled off her tie and reached down to her sleek hips to unzip her grey skirt.
“No. Please, no,” I whimpered but the skirt fell to the floor revealing white high-cut non-regulation briefs and sheer black elasticated stockings. Her thighs were long and made a small enticing ‘v’ at their junction with the bulge of her plump pubis. I was intoxicated.
She turned slowly, facing her perfect bottom towards me. She began to unhurriedly, deliberately peel down her knickers.
As the top of the crack of her bum came into view, Christine slid her hand down her friend’s back until she was squeezing her pert buttocks.
Finally, with her panties on the floor, Brigitte slowly turned to reveal that she was cupping her vagina with her right hand. “Would you like to see, Mr. Bletchflap?”
I didn’t say anything, desperately trying not to look at the small strip of dark hair that was peeking out from behind her hand.
Christine decided to join in. “Go on, Sir. Don’t you want to see Brigitte’s pussy?”
It was only a few seconds after that I realised I had nodded.
“Here you are, Sir. Just for you,” Brigitte promised as she sat back on the desk and slowly spread her legs, still wearing her heeled shoes.
For a few moments there was silence. The girls, perhaps realising the enormity of their actions, paused to gauge my reaction.
I, for my part, was spellbound. I knew this so wrong on so many levels but I just couldn’t force myself to leave or to call for help. Matters had gone too far.
Brigitte’s legs were wide open, exposing her glistening pink lips to me, only a few inches from my face. Her clitoris was turgid and peeping out from below a cute hood nestled just under a beautifully trimmed strip of dark brown hair. The lips themselves were lewdly welcoming, gaping open to uncover her wet slick hole. I could smell her – sweet, sharp and headily seductive.
“Oh damn,” I swore entirely uncharacteristically.
My curse galvanised Christine into action. With a dirty challenging smile, she slid her right hand across and then down Brigitte’s stomach until her manicured middle finger slipped over her clitoris and between her lips to slowly push into her hole.
“Oh my God,” I blasphemed, transfixed by sight of Brigitte’s violation and the sound of her deep needful moans.
Christine began to unhurriedly slide her finger in and out of Brigitte, whose groaning was becoming higher and louder, although I could still hear the rude squelching of the finger in her pussy.
Christine began to speak to me in time with her scandalous manipulations. “As you can tell, Sir, we’re very friendly. It gets cold and lonely in our dormitory during the long cold nights and so we like to keep each other warm with our fingers and tongues. Does Miss Stricker keep you warm at night, Sir? Personally I think she’s too frigid to be any good in bed. I bet she doesn’t put out very often. Maybe that’s why you keep looking at us so hungrily, Sir.”
I wanted to deny this accusation but nothing came out beyond some incoherent mumbling. Christine’s finger was sodden with Brigitte’s juices.
She continued. “Would you like to stick you finger up her, Sir? Or even better your cock? I bet you’re nice and hard under the desk, Mr. Bletchflap. Why don’t you take it out and you can push it into Brigitte’s cunt? She won’t mind, Sir. She’s a real slut. She fucks the village boys at the weekends for extra cash.”
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