Author's introduction: Having been sacked from her post at an exclusive fee-paying school, Rhiannon has returned home to her Welsh village, in part because Monica, Rhiannon's lover, Mistress and landlady has kicked her out and taken up with a new, younger lover. Rhiannon's mother was also seriously ill in hospital. Following the untimely death of her mother, from whom she was estranged because of her lesbian activities, Rhiannon is now running her late mother's village shop. She is unhappy, frustrated and very lonely, despite being back home amongst familiar faces. Now read on. This chapter follows immediately on from the end of chapter one...
Rhiannon heard the front door close. She continued to sit in the kitchen and think about what she'd just heard. Olwen Simpson was going to be the head teacher in the village school, and would be back in the village soon, looking for a suitable place to live. She'd also offered Rhiannon a job there. Kate whatever-her-name-was was not only pregnant, she was moving to Canada. And, let's face it, Rhiannon told herself, I'm a teacher not a shop keeper.
She was aware that considerable heat and not a little dampness was emanating from her panties. Thinking back over her recent chat with the mysterious pipe smoking woman who had just come into her life, Rhiannon realised that she was really sexually frustrated. She hadn't been fucked for too long. Even when she was still with Monica, sex had been rationed, she recalled. No doubt because Monica was probably fucking and getting her cunt eaten by that bitch Stephie. Rhiannon stroked herself through her panties.
"Fuck it!" she thought to herself. "I need to cum. And then I need to get myself in order. I wonder if anyone local would be interested in buying this house and the shop?"
She went upstairs to her bedroom. A few minutes later, with her nipples tightly clamped, Rhiannon was writhing on her bed as her vibrating dildo wrung a lovely orgasm out of her. She rode out her orgasm, giving the chain holding her nipple clamps the occasional tug. Luxuriating in the sensations of throbbing nipples and an extremely wet cunt, she sat up in bed and tried to get her thoughts in order.
Like the good, organised teacher she was, Rhiannon made a list for herself. Then she went back downstairs, wearing only her summer pyjamas. She made herself some supper and ate it at the kitchen table. Her mind was made up. She was going to turn her life around.
Lighting herself an after supper cigar, Rhiannon grinned to herself. If mam was still around now, she'd be scandalized by the sight of her daughter smoking. Rhiannon slid her hand into her pyjama bottoms and fingered herself. Smoking and wanking! What a slut she was!
"I do hope Mrs. Simpson will come good on her promise," Rhiannon thought as her fingers worked their magic, and she felt her clit begin to stir. "I wonder if I should try a pipe myself? It doesn't do any harm to give a prospective boss a good impression."
Rhiannon spent a restless night, tossing and turning in her bed, unable to sleep for any length of time. Her mind was in turmoil. Should she try and contact Mrs. Simpson and hint that she'd be willing to accept her offer of a job? Eventually she fell into a restless sleep, her mind still not made up.
Despite her lack of sleep, Rhiannon was up bright and early next morning, the shop door open all ready to receive the morning delivery of newspapers. Gilbert, the man who had shouted at her on her first day as a shopkeeper, had mellowed somewhat, thanks no doubt to the mug of tea that Rhiannon always had waiting for him.
"Morning, sleepy head," he greeted her as he breezed into the shop. "Bloody hell, girl, I know it's almost August, and we've been promised a heatwave, but it's not yet six o'clock in the morning! Aren't you bloody freezing in those pyjamas you're almost wearing?"
Rhiannon grinned at the little old man.
"Once I've put the papers out, I'm back off to bed for an hour," she said cheekily. "The pity is I've no-one there to warm me up!"
Gilbert blushed.
"No need for smutty talk, Rhiannon," he said, picking his mug of tea up and swallowing the contents in a couple of gulps. He must have an asbestos throat, Rhiannon thought to herself. That tea was boiling!
"Ta very much," Gilbert said, handing the mug back to Rhiannon. "I'll see you in the morning. Ta-ra."
Rhiannon stood in the cold shop and shivered. How she needed warming up! A good spanking followed by some enforced cunt worship before being bent over and strap-on fucked from behind would go down really well right now, she thought. Fat chance of that, though!
Rhiannon shut and locked the front door and went back into the kitchen. The range was still in, just, and she riddled the ashes and put some kindling in. When it had caught, she shovelled a couple of loads of coal on and sat at the kitchen table.
Her hand strayed down between her legs. She rubbed her slit over her pyjama bottoms and shivered. Fingering herself was really nice, but what she needed was a good deep fuck. She pulled her hand away and mentally shook herself. This was no good!
"Get a fucking grip, Rhiannon," she scolded herself. "Either shit or get off the pot!"
She stood up and went over to the worktop. Switching on the kettle, she began to list things to do. By the time the kettle had boiled, and she'd made herself some toast, Rhiannon had a plan. She was going to stick to it until it succeeded or failed, she decided.
The shop opened at half past eight, as usual. There was a steady trickle of customers, buying newspapers on their way to work, or crisps and sweets on their way to school. At half past nine, the exodus out of the village to workplaces in the nearby town had finished, and school had started. The shop was empty, and Rhiannon had time to put her plan into action. She picked up the phone and dialled the number she had looked up earlier.
The phone was answered after barely two rings.
"Good morning. Brynffynnon school. How may I help you?" Whoever had answered the call was speaking Welsh. Rhiannon answered in the same tongue.
"Good morning," she began. "I'm ringing about the vacancy for a teacher next term. Could I speak to..."
"How do you know about that?" the woman on the other end of the phone interrupted. "The post hasn't been advertised yet."
"I was informed of the vacancy by Mrs. Simpson," Rhiannon replied confidently. "She mentioned that a member of staff was moving to Canada."
"Well, I can neither confirm or deny that," the woman said, her voice betraying the fact that she was less sure of her position now that Rhiannon had mentioned the name of the new Head teacher.
"Let me put you through to Ms. Daniels She's the Head Teacher until the end of term. Please hold the line."
Rhiannon listened to some dreadful electronic version of 'Bugeilio'r Gwenith Gwyn', one of her favourite Welsh love songs. It was appalling, she decided, but then she heard a different voice in her ear.
"Good morning," she heard. "I understand that you are making enquiries about the vacancy here next term?"
"That's correct," Rhiannon replied. "I've recently moved back to the area, and I happened to speak to Mrs. Simpson yesterday. I understand that she's to be the new Head Teacher?"
"My, you are well informed," chuckled the voice down the phone. "Well, you are correct. I'm Ms. Daniels, the current Head, and I'm taking early retirement. My wife and I are going travelling. We hope to do some painting in the Aegean."
"You're a lesbian?" Rhiannon blurted out before she could stop herself. "Snap! So am I. But I'm not fortunate enough to have a wife!"
"I hardly think this is a suitable topic of conversation," Ms. Daniels replied snappily. "I shall contact Mrs. Simpson and inform her of your interest in the post. Good morning."
And with that, Rhiannon heard the dialling tone in her ear. Slowly, she put the phone down. What the hell had she just said and done? What if Mrs. Simpson had already found a teacher to fill the vacancy? Rhiannon shuddered as she recalled her outburst with Ms. Daniels.
