A dozen co-eds were gathered in a classroom for their first sophomore coach tutor poise training. It was the class year when the coeds practiced their vaginal sex poise. Although their original Total Woman Academy application documents recorded who was and wasn't a virgin, Ned and Ms. Penelope wanted the coeds to embrace an openness regarding their past sexual intercourse experiences.
After a brisk round table of dialogue, the two adults segregated the class into separate groups: ones that knew the feel of a real flesh and blood cock in their cunts and those who hadn't yet but needed to experience that sensation very soon. The six virgins formed a line at the front of the classroom. The others took seats to watch the proceedings.
The sophomores had completed their freshman year, when topless nudity was the standard daywear about the campus. Now, they had moved on to the modified schoolgirl uniform of TWA sophomores. Red plaid skirts were pretty much ubiquitous everywhere in the world, though these were shorter than most. They were fashioned to flash the underlying white satin thong panties; the guest coach tutors and visiting Pledge Contributors commented more on those sophomore furtive sightings than the freshmen's ever present boob show.
Black high heels were the standard footwear; not too high to become an ankle injury risk but high enough to condition and acclimate the girls to modern fashion requisites. No leg hose for now. The hair and makeup styles could be anything within reason but pigtails and bright lipstick were also hits with visiting gentlemen.
Today, the coeds wore complementing white cotton blouses. The top two buttons were always undone. The tails were pulled together and knotted in front. The fit should run one or two sizes too small, tight enough to stretch across the coeds breasts and still allow a little free movement when they walked. The thinner translucent fabric served best to flaunt a hint of nipple.
With these dress code rules in mind, Ned stood back and surveyed the half dozen candidates from which he would select his first deflowering assignment.
First up, or off, were the blouses. He stepped before the first girl in line.
"Hands at your sides, please."
He fiddled with the blouse tails and unknotted them. Then with both hands, he fisted the lapels and yanked them wide, popping the buttons and getting his first unobscured look at her tits. The physical act surprised her and she hopped in response. That was what he wanted, a bit of bounce to judge the pliancy of her breast masses. He pushed the broken blouse over her shoulders and told her to drop it on the floor. Ned repeated the act down the line five more times.
Now the line of young virgin ladies stood bare from the waist up. Time for another judgement of breast characteristics. He told the first in line to push her thong down to her ankles by bending at the waist. She reach under the short skirt and did as she was told; she waggled her ass to get the tight panties over her round hips and ass. In so doing, she dangled and swayed her boobs from her horizontal torso. Each girl in turn did as she was ordered and Ned got past his first classifying task.
Then he started at one end of the line and performed his tactile test of their pussies. At each girl, his index finger pressed each side of the vaginal slit, feeling for softness and rebound. He didn't probe through their labia; that opportunity came later when he effected their life changing penetration. For now, he was just ranking who would go first.
Having completed a cursory appraisal, he rearranged their order in line, from first to last. The attentive coeds, all different heights and ethnicities, modeled a variety of hair color: blonde, brunette, deep-black brunette, umber redhead, strawberry redhead. Interesting, Ned had not sorted then from short to tall, or by any distinguishing hair color. But it was obvious to the adult observers and attending experienced coeds that the line descended from the largest tits to the more moderate tits.
It was time to get on with the crux of the assignment. Ned stepped to the first in line and faced the dark brunette. Her brown eyes were highlighted by dark makeup, set above high cheekbones. Her hair was a full mass of rich waves that cascaded past her shoulders.
"Hello, little miss, what's your name?" he asked in an even tone of voice.
"Sofia" was the soft, shy reply.
"Sofia from?"
"Portugal, sir. A rural area of Portugal."
Ned reached out and drew a finger around the edge of her left areola. The little circumference bumps puckered beneath his touch, texturing the border between her bronze nipples and her Mediterranean-derived light tan skin tone. A swipe across the center brought stiffness in her nub. He teased her right boob and caused a similar response.
"You seem sensitive to my touch. Are you nervous?"
"Yes, sir."
Ned stood silent, letting Sofia gather her thoughts. She did and filled the awkward gap in the question and answer dialogue.
"My mother is a TWA graduate and has steered me away from the local boys, preserving me for my matriculation here. Virginity has been key part of my identity. And now all that's about to change; I'm just troubled about my future self-image."
