My name is Jack Langley, aged twenty-two, and I was amazed that I had managed my first month of teaching experience without succumbing to the temptations that surrounded me and threatened my probationary year in Collington Academy.
Four years of the educational and lustful university experience and the latter part had contained just as much learning as the former. I had ‘kissed the girls and made them moist’, and, satisfying that moistening, over four years had demanded increasing expertise.
Leaving university with a first -class degree was pleasing. No solid awards for the lustful section, but plenty of gratifying girlish commendations, to make me really cock-proud. Entering the staid world of education, seemed to be an unavoidable loss of sexual freedom.
Collington Academy was my first interview. The building, built in 1880, showed a dismal grey exterior which, apart from the enlarged windows, appeared to confirm all my fears. However, inside, I found such a luxurious ambiance, and scrupulous cleanliness, that any fees charged had to be substantial.
I’d imagined Mrs. Plumpton, the principal, as an aging, mighty bosomed lady with grey hair in a bun and a constantly forbidding look. The lady I found waiting in her office, had fair hair, cut in a surprisingly modern style. And she greeted me with an open smile which, along with bright blue eyes, lit up an attractive, delicately made-up face. Five feet, seven inches tall, I estimated, and maybe early to mid-forties, slender in a dark skirt, and white blouse, which emphasized, a 36B bosom, (I had learned much about bust size during my university love-life).
But the academy principal was only my first surprise. Once seated, there followed an unexpectedly relaxed interview, with Mrs. Plumpton telling me how impressed she had been with my CV. After many questions, she told me some facts about the academy. Firstly, until this year, it had always been an all-girls’ establishment. From the coming year, boys would be gradually introduced.
My next surprise came when she told me, “For a time, you will be the only male teacher on the staff, apart from Mr. Angus, who is almost sixty and approaching retirement. Some of the ladies are quite nubile if you get my drift?” If she hadn’t laughed at that point, I might not have been sure of my response. “No problem,” I told her.
“You wouldn’t feel overwhelmed?”
I wouldn’t mind being overwhelmed by a roomful of nubile women. But I didn’t tell her that. Was I, after my riotous times in university, here with the chance to be dropped into a pot of honey?
My teaching commitments included, she warned me, a few older girls who might be highly provocative. With an enigmatic smile, she asked, “You know how adolescents can be, Mr. Langley?
I returned her smile and just nodded. Oh, yes, I knew exactly how adolescent girls could be. I’d just had four-year’s experience of that. “If they thought you were only two or three years older than them—well, they might give you an embarrassing time.”
She told me that, staff who lived more than twenty miles from the academy were expected to remain on the premises throughout the term, and I would be allocated a room at the rear of the building. I was agreeable with that, wondering how many of these “nubile” teachers had rooms at the rear. I could see that being interesting.
But as she offered me the post, I learned that it was one year on probation, which, Mrs. Plumpton was keen to stress involved, “The absence of any intimate activity on site.” A bit of a blow, and I hoped the temptations would not be too strong. My resistance had never been high.
On the day before the school term officially started, I was introduced to the staff, and I discovered how difficult it was going to be. I felt I was being stripped by a dozen pairs of female eyes. Or is that what I wished?
Dave Angus, a bald-headed amiable character, his smile creasing his lined face even further, shook my hand firmly, and whispered, “Watch yourself with some of these ladies’”
That didn’t seem too much of a threat. Although the staff was relatively young, there was a couple who were grey-haired, and in their fifties. From her immediate action of pursing her generous lips as I entered the room, and nudging her companion, who could have been her clone, I spotted I would come to know as Sheena. An obvious joy or, a threat? She had a truly curvaceous shape, emphasized by a tight dress. With her wide eyes and tawny hair to her shoulders, she oozed sensuality.
After a brief pep talk, the principal told me she’d leave me to get to know my ‘work colleagues’ better. And they certainly wanted to get to know me. They knew my name, my age, and that was about all.
“You married. Jack?” That from a small group of more mature ladies
I replied, which brought the next question, “A girlfriend?”
The one called Sheena spoke, “Gay?”
“No.”
Sheena again, “Oh, that’s good news, isn’t it, Melanie. A virgin?”
The other ladies frowned at her and ‘tutted’ and one hissed, “Typical Sheena.”
Sheena ignored them and asked, “Much experience?”
“Sheena! Stop it.” A voice from the back of the room. I didn’t mind the grilling as I told her, “Some.” But I was thinking, ‘Too much for you, blue eyes.’
Eventually, the session began to disperse to head for afternoon tea. One grey-haired lady, smartly dressed, apologized for Sheena, “She loves playing the trollop.” And I was thinking, I wouldn’t mind testing those trollop qualities.
So, there was my challenge to protect my probationary year. I was soon to learn that it wasn’t the only challenge.
I had to admit just a little trepidation, as I stepped into the world of education. The sports sessions with newly arrived boys were no problem. Of course, being sports, most were keen anyway.
But, those eighteen-year-old girls and twentieth-century literature, were something else. My first session with them left me in no doubt where the more vibrant girls were. The threat of a fit of giggling had me uttering a gentle, “Please.” This appeared to settle the situation, and I was able to proceed with that first lesson without more disruption.
But this little ‘flirty group’, as I came to think of them, subtly altered how they wore the regulation school uniform of white blouse, v-neck maroon sweater, and navy skirt. Those skirts magically rode up over the knee, while blouse buttons unfastened, often as low as the first suggestion of cleavage.
The prime leader in this bravado was a dark-haired, busty young lady whose name was, Thelma Turton. To be fair, whenever I stalled a session in order to issue a reprimand, the offending thigh or cleavage would be quickly covered. Though not as quickly as when Mrs. Plumpton made one of her occasional appearances on the corridor.
Walking the corridor, I would occasionally get a provocative call. followed by giggles and mumblings from an assembled group. One occasion Thelma Turton stepped from a waiting group and said, with a sly glance at her friends, “Mr. Langley, Sally thinks you look like Tom Cruise.”
At least I got a warm laugh from them when I said, “I wish I had his money.”
So, after a month, I was pleased with myself, in avoiding any of the pitfalls that I might have fallen into.
If I happened to meet Sheena alone, she whispered things like, “It must be hard for you here, Jack. But is it hard enough for me?” How I wished I could test the promise of her offers,
In the dining hall, I usually sat with Dave Angus. Never missing the sexy grins and winks of Sheena and her closest colleagues. Teachers or pupils, there didn’t seem much difference.
Dave was a useful source of trivial information. Like, the fact that Mrs. Plumpton’s husband had left her nearly three years earlier.
“Seemed like a nice guy, but—” he shrugged, and scratched the side of his head. “For the following year, she was best avoided.” He shook his head and sighed, “Women! Have you seen that side of the building? Where her office is?”
When I shook my head, he went on, “She sold her house and had a private apartment built. adjoining her office. Buried in the academy, she is.”
Then things really moved towards the precipice that I feared could be waiting for me. It was the fourth Wednesday of the term. I’d had a reasonable day in class, Thelma and her cronies had kept their heads down. Since Mrs. Plumpton had made one of her occasional observation, that may have accounted for the unprovocative behavior. But, as she left, the principal had commented. “You seem to have captured the hearts and minds of the pupils, Mr. Langley.”
I entered the evening feeling pretty good about things. Having prepared lessons for the following day, just before eleven o’clock, I prepared for a good night’s sleep.
Having just pulled on my pajama pants, I jumped to answer an imperious knock on my door. I had never had anyone knocking at my room door, and thinking it might be something urgent, I hurried, bare-chested, to open it.
Something urgent? Well, yes and no. Sheena stood there with that seductive look in her blue eyes. Her hair was loose around her face and she really looked stunning.
“Oh, you’re ready for me. That’s good.” And she stepped close as though to squeeze past me. I held up a half desperate hand, noticing that she was wearing a thin summer dress, incongruous for the time of year.
“No one has seen me,” she said throatily, as she glanced meaningfully up and down the corridor.
She knew she had me, as she stepped inside. Trouble was I’d borne the ache of celibacy for too long. Nothing since the university’s orgy of sexual activity. So, even though I knew the risks, I had to take this chance with the superb body on offer.
I made my weak protest and grunted, “I’m on probation, Sheena. You’re a very attractive lady, but—”
Her hands moved over my chest, as she held her face up to mine, offering her full lips. An offer which I immediately accepted and our mouths were glued wildly together, tongues immediately searching. She gave a low moan as I pressed her back against the door, knowing she must feel my immediate hardness through my thin pajama pants.
My hands pulled at the buttons of her dress, and they parted as though trained to do that. I was right, under the dress, she was naked.
“Ooh, is that your cock threatening me?” Her eyes held mine, already clouded with passion. “You must know this was inevitable. We should get comfortable.”
As she backed towards the bed, her hands stroking my chest, moving downwards. I unfastened the rest of her buttons and tore her dress to one side, at the same moment as she toppled back on the bed, her legs spread wide. Seeing her tawny pussy open before my eyes were maddening. I quickly pulled down my pajama pants and heard her gasp.
“Jeez, I’ve never seen—" Sheena fixed her eyes on my rock-solid cock. “Oh, please, I can’t wait.”
Seeing her lying there, like the mother of all harlots, large breasts begging to be stroked, a pussy gaping with moisture already sparkling there, I was thinking the same thing. Waiting needed patience. But I intended to be as cool and deliberate as might be possible in my deprived state.
I lay alongside her, keeping the lower half of my body well away for her groping fingers. My own fingers stroked over her generous breasts. I could have performed longer in that area, but the rapid advance was called for, and I stroked up the infinite smoothness of her inner length.
She gave a low grunt as I said, “Have to check if you’re ready.”
“I’m ready. I’m fucking ready, for God’s sake.”
Even as she spoke, my fingers found her enlarged clit and moved on to poke into her desperate entry. Her body heaved and squirmed, as strange vocal noises, a mix of pure desire and frustration escaped her lips.
- needed release just as much as she did, but I was determined that she knew that she was experiencing something different. Slowly, trying to be nonchalant, I rolled my body between her trembling thighs, aiming my cock towards her gaping entry, and pushing her own desperate hands away from it.
As soon as the purple plum of my cockhead touched those wet lips, her anxious hip thrust took it inside. Then one gentle early push carried my eager rod to glide slowly through the clawing of her inner muscles.
She orgasmed instantly. And, despite my own needs, I enjoyed watching her eyes roll into the top of her sockets as her head twisted from side to side to side, leaving her hair plastered over her face. Weird gasping and grunting, mixed with wild yelps, issued from her lips, any louder and I would need to gag her in some way.
My cock continued its slow journey up into the depths of her, until like some wayward train, it struck against the buffer of her cervix. Her eyes widened as I drew it back and then made a swift, harder thrust, and she gave a squeal which I assumed was of delight. I slipped into that smooth familiar rhythm that was filled with my hunger for her femininity. I had been starved of this wondrous motion, this rapture of possession, that I forgot my own rules for taking a woman.
Always think of her pleasure first. That was gone from my considerations as I knew I was simply using this superb body. Although somehow, I knew also, that she had orgasmed at least twice more. I was humping into her, deeper and deeper it seemed. Her internal muscles continued to pinch at my cockhead for a while as she tried to match my thrust with her own hip movement.
Very soon she gave a mighty heave to take me to her very core, and I heard her groan, “Oh, Jack. Jack. Oh, fuck.” Her whole body shuddered.
Still sheathed deep inside her, I paused for just a few seconds to see what her face would tell me. Her hips had stopped pushing, and she was lying perfectly still, apart from the heaving of her ribcage, as she caught her breath. Her eyes were wide open, showing sheer amazement.
“How many orgasms have I had? That’s never happened before,” her strained voice revealed her bewildered state of mind. Her brow furrowed as she looked up at me and asked, “Did you enjoy it?”
“I’ll won’t know until I’ve finished,” I told her, deliberately picking up the rhythm again, pumping my aching rod into her again and again.
Sheena looked utterly stunned as I continued, and she was clearly becoming aware of her insides responding again. All she could muster was a low moaning sound.
I was very close myself, as she responded to my deeper, faster plunges up her. My cock began to swell under the pressure of what my balls were releasing, and within seconds, my hardest stroke was pushing her up the bed as, spurt after spurt of cum fired into her womb, and along her cunt walls.
Our gasps were a duet of delight, and my long-term ache was relieved. Now, my mind began dwelling on the risk I had just taken. My whole future could be in doubt if I failed my probationary year. But in this situation, my will-power was virtually nil.
“You must not tell anyone about this.”
She gave me a wide, but sly smile, “No, I want this to be my secret. I can come back, can’t I?”
“Only if you want to.”
“After what I’ve just had?” she raised her head. “Jack, I’ve had a few cocks, but, and don’t get big-headed, none have reached my depths as yours has. So mighty. I thought I knew what an orgasm was, until tonight.”
When she had dressed, and stolen away, I lay down and wondered what kind of fool I’d been.
“Admit it,” a voice declared inside my head, “whatever else university did for you, it turned you into a cock-proud sex addict. Risking all in giving way to your baser instincts.” Eventually, I slept.
Every other evening, for three weeks, I was able to astound Sheena further with my staying power while she had multiple orgasms. One of which would be given with my tongue dallying around her erect clit and trailing the length of her musky cream filled pussy.
On the fourth night, she insisted on giving me a complete blowjob. It was great just relaxing and giving in to the push and pull of her lips, the slither of her tongue and the ravishing pull of her sucking. And that is exactly how it was, “Oh, the feel of your creamy juices pouring down my throat,” she gargled on the last drops.
I was still able to recover sufficiently to give her the fucking she demanded afterwards.
I was convinced that Sheena had told no one. But, as I would find out. there was more than one person knew of my activity. They say that pride comes before a fall, and my boastful display of my ejaculatory control was soon to catch me out.
Normal teaching went on. My sporting time with the boys was just sheer enjoyment. With my literature class, despite a few studious girls, the flirty group became more and more provocative. Little doubt that Thelma Turton was the main tormentor. Not an unattractive girl, and no dullard when it came to academics. But she wore her sexuality like a badge. I sensed that unless I was cautious, real trouble might evolve.
Then, at the end of that third week of servicing Sheena, stark reality set in. Wearing a shirt and pants, I moved quickly when I heard the expected heavy knock at the door. Opening it wide for Sheena, I wasn’t expecting the two sensuous ladies, who marched boldly into my room. Sheena, yes, but the other was her companion, a most voluptuous, Melanie.