Reading notes: This is a work of fiction. The majority of the characters described are figments of my imagination. That having been said, everyone in this story is aged 18 or older. All sex described is consensual. Please consider using the voting system after reading, and all comments are welcome. All authors thrive on feedback to improve their writing. Please note, this story contains references to enforced oral worship after penetrative sex and also to anal sex. If these activities do not float your boat, please move on and find a story more to your chosen tastes.
I left the house at the normal time that Friday morning to drive to school, as usual. Until the moment that I pulled into the teachers' car park, I had considered it a run of the mill school day. It was the last day of the school week, and I was looking forward to getting back home that evening. I had a date with my new(ish) boyfriend that evening, and on Saturday, I would be milking my cuckold, as usual. But as I parked my car in the bay designated for the Head teacher, I had to drive past the already parked Mini that I knew belonged to Mrs. Lyndsey French, a colleague and the youngest member of my teaching staff.
Despite her youth (she was just twenty three years old, and this was her first teaching post), Lyndsey French was the best teacher on my staff. Her classroom manner was relaxed, efficient and very well organised. The children adored her, worked hard for her, and her SATs (Standard Attainment Tests) were amongst the best in the borough. But all that having been said, Mrs. French never, but never got into school first. Intrigued as to what had got her in so early, I parked my car and went into school to find out the reason for her unusually early attendance.
I left my handbag in the Head teacher's office and walked down the corridor to Lyndsey's classroom. She was not there. So I made my way, via the assembly hall to the staff room. As I walked in, looked up at me and attempted a smile.
"Good morning, Mrs. Simpson," she said. I didn't return her greeting. I was horrified by what I saw.
The whites of her cornflower blue eyes were red with exhaustion, and black rings sat underneath them. The darkness of the rings was emphasised by the deathly paleness of her skin. All in all, Lyndsey French looked ghastly.
"Gracious me, Lyndsey, whatever is the matter?" I asked. "You look like death warmed up. Are you ill?"
She managed a smile.
"Not ill, as such," she confessed. "A bit hurt and very confused. I came in early in the hope of seeing you alone. I have a problem at home, and I wonder if I could have a confidential chat with you? You've always said that anyone on the staff is welcome to ask for help if they need it."
I hesitated. When I'd said that, I'd been referring to problems relating to school, or with a particular child or parent. I hadn't envisaged being an agony aunt to my youngest member of staff. Lyndsey picked up on my hesitation.
"Don't worry," she said, getting unsteadily to her feet. "I'm just being silly. Forget I asked. I'll just make myself a strong cup of coffee and get back to my classroom. I need something to keep me awake. I didn't sleep much last night."
I saw my opportunity.
"Let me make us both a cup of proper coffee in my room," I said, taking her arm. I could feel her trembling, and I was really concerned now. "If you haven't slept, that at least answers my first question, as to how you've come to school looking as pale as a ghost. You must be exhausted."
"No," I said sternly, as I felt her reluctance to come with me, "I have a duty of care to my staff as well as my pupils. I'm not asking you to come down to my room. I'm telling you. Come on, I'll help you. You look as if you're about to faint. Lean on me."
Back in my room, I sat Lyndsey down and set about turning on the coffee percolator that I keep in the little alcove that I use as a kitchen cum storeroom. When it began to drip, I turned to Lyndsey with an encouraging smile.
"Now then, young lady. What's troubling you? I was surprised to see your car in the carpark so early."
Lyndsey blushed.
"I've been driving around town for hours," she began. "Peter and I had a huge row last night, and I stormed out. I haven't been back home, and I don't know if I ever will. It's so embarrassing. I don't know if I can begin to explain what caused the row. You and Mr. Simpson have been married forever, I know. I can't imagine you and him arguing over such a trivial thing. Look, Mrs. Simpson, this is a mistake. I need time to think about what I'm going to do. I really don't know if Peter and I have a future together, but that's for me to decide. I shouldn't involve you with my marital problems."
I shook my head, and turned back to the coffee machine. As I poured out a mug of coffee for each of us, my mind was racing. What the hell had she gone and done? Was she having an affair? She'd barely been married two minutes. I handed her a mug of coffee.
"There's milk in the fridge, and sugar on that table, if you need it," I began, "and you are going to find yourself in trouble if you continue to call me Mrs. Simpson. You know the rules. It is 'Mrs. Simpson' in front of the children and their parents, but at all other times, it's 'Olwen.' I don't see anybody else here, do you?"
Lyndsey shook her head, and sipped her coffee. She winced.
"Fuck me, that's hot!" she said, then blushed deeply. "Oh god, I'm sorry Mrs. Simp... er... Olwen, I mean. I didn't mean to swear."
"Forget it," I smiled. I didn't tell her that I would jump at the chance to fuck her. I might have been old enough to be her mother, but she had a beautiful pair of tits, legs up to her armpits and what my dear departed mother used to call 'Come-to-bed eyes.'
Yes, Lyndsey French was extremely fuckable, but she was also a member of my teaching staff, and thus, out of bounds. She also had no clue that I was a bi-sexual Hot Wife, with a boyfriend about the same age as her, and a cuckold whom I loved, and who was kept permanently cock locked. I certainly wasn't going to admit to any of the above! To compose myself once more, I picked up my pipe from the ashtray on my desk, and began to stuff the bowl. Lyndsey smiled. I knew the staff were all amused to know that their Head teacher smoked a pipe.
"Lyndsey, my dear, anything you tell me here is as confidential as if you were in the confessional with your priest," I assured her. "I have kept more secrets than you've had hot dinners. Now stop being such a primadonna, and tell me what the hell is causing you such heartache."
"Don't worry," I continued, "I'm not being a nosy cow. If you aren't right, you are not going to be functioning properly. That will affect your teaching, and your pupils, and that is something up with which I will not put."
Lyndsey smiled at my tortuous sentence construction.
"Well, here goes," she smiled bravely, sipping her coffee again.
"Peter and I have been married almost two years," she began. "We met after I'd finished University, started going out and we fell in love. I'd never had a steady boyfriend before I left home. My father's a Parish priest back home, and I'd led a very sheltered life up until I went to University."
I nodded. Incredibly, Lyndsey's story was almost a mirror image of my own, except that my father had been a coal miner, not a vicar.
"Go on," I encouraged her.
"I went totally off the rails," Lyndsey continued, blushing in a most attractive manner. "I slept with my room mate, just to see what sex with another woman was like. I also slept with most of the first fifteen rugby team too. I drank like a fish, smoked, and even experimented with the odd spliff too. But I never took hard drugs."
I smiled and shook my head.
"What happened?" I asked. "When you came here for an interview, you were little Miss Prim-and-Proper. I didn't know who you've fucked, and I don't give a shit. All that interested me was your excellent qualifications and your obvious desire to teach. I'd never have considered offering you a job if I hadn't thought you both capable and worthy."
