I'm one of the few male teachers at St. Matilda's Academy for Young Ladies, an exclusive and very expensive English private school for girls. I'm single and at just turned thirty I'm the youngest male teacher there. Its a real privilege to be employed at such a place.
The occasion was St. Matilda's "Open Day" when parents of St. Matilda's girls were invited to a reception at the school. It was summer, with a big marquee in the school's grounds, a display of pupils' work in the school's magnificent late-medieval hall, and tours of some parts of the school. I was in the school grounds, mingling with parents, talking about the school's work and encouraging St. Matilda's benefactors to contribute more.
I found my eyes constantly following one woman among the gathered guests. She was probably late forties, tall and slim, and looking as elegant and sophisticated as you'd expect a St. Matilda's parent to look. She had obviously been quite a stunner in her time and she'd kept her looks. Her dark hair, down to just below understated but obviously expensive pearl earrings was perfectly-styled, with designer sunglasses perched de rigeur on her brow.
She was wearing a loose, flouncy-skirted button up the front cream-coloured summer frock ending just at her knees, shapely lightly tanned bare legs below, and white high heels that were causing her some difficulty on St. Matilda's spacious lawns. That dress made it obvious that she had also kept a good figure. The low-cut neckline of revealed a pearl necklace hanging in a V pointing toward the cleavage and a bulge of big breasts that in spite of her age looked firm, round and appetising. Another thing I noticed was how her eyes seemed to linger on me.
I saw she was with a man as smartly dressed as her in a grey suit with a patterned neck tie that I recognised as the old school tie from a boy's school every bit as renowned as St. Matilda's. He had greying hair and looked a good ten or fifteen years older than her.
I was curious who they might be. One of my male colleagues who'd been at St. Matilda's longer than me wandered by.
"Who's that skirt with the legs?" I asked him. Even from behind Sally's legs were a feast for men's eyes.
"She's Mrs. Sally Farnham and the man with her is her husband. Lucky guy to have her in his bed." He paused for a moment as if relishing the thought of Sally Farnham in bed, as coincidentally so was I. "But he's years older than her. I doubt if he services her as well as a woman like that deserves."
He explained the Farnhams were one of St. Matilda's richest and biggest benefactors.
"Make sure you keep them happy." He advised. As he was telling me that a pretty
little blonde girl in her St. Matilda's uniform floated by carrying a tray of drinks. Instantly distracted he wandered off after her.
At that point Mrs. Farnham's eye caught and held mine, and she and her husband strolled casually toward me. Remembering the advice I'd been given I greeted them politely as they approached. We got chatting. Mrs. Farnham did most of the talking, telling me she had been at St. Matilda's herself thirty or so years before, and their daughters had been pupils there. As we were talking she snuggled a bit closer to me, close enough that the bulge of her breasts lightly brushed my arm. I felt as if an electric shock had run through me, but her husband didn't seem to notice.
"I wonder," she began, giving me a mischievous smile and her brown eyes meeting mine as she took a sip from her glass of Prosecco, "If I could see my old classroom again. Would you? That would be so kind of you. And don't feel you have to call me Mrs. Farnham. My name's Sally."
The classrooms weren't part of the official school tour, but when a woman like that nudges me with her breasts I will give in to almost any request from her.
So off the three of us went with Sally's high heels echoing clickety-clack along St. Matilda's wood-panelled corridors. Up we went to the old classrooms. They hadn't changed much since Sally's day. There was the same wood panelling where girls from a century and more before had carved their initials. Sally was delighted when she found hers. The same arched windows looked down on us from high enough in the walls to prevent any distracting views out, or in. The blackboard had, of course, been replaced with modern screens, but the same old wooden desks were still there, now wired for IT.
"Just as I remember it!" Sally said gleefully. "I used to sit just here!"
She sat herself at one of the desks, leaned back, and slowly crossed her legs. The skirt of her frock rode up her leg revealing an impressive display of smooth, lightly tanned bare thigh. I felt that familiar stirring in my ever-hungry penis. Then it started for real.
"Go on darling," her husband said.
Sally slid out of her desk, then smoothly stepped her high heeled foot up unto her desk. The action pulled her dress high up her spread thighs. She pulled her dress up higher to treat me to a display of the whole length of her legs and a full frontal view of her panties. My eyes instantly and involuntarily locked onto them. They were light grey silky satin with a little white flower pattern. Even from where I was standing I could see the cameltoe outline of her vagina slit, a wet patch where the thin taut cloth bulged over her mound and a glimpse of dark pubic hair at the sides.
Then while she stood with her legs wide she reached down between her legs and pulled her panties aside. Between her spread legs was a bush of dark cunt hair, wild and untrimmed, much more erotic than any porn girl's neat landing strip or smooth shaved pussy. Her vagina lips were pulled open by her spread legs, and her pink inner labia were peeping through the surrounding almost black pubic hair.
"Do you like my pussy?" Sally said, smiling sweetly at me.
I glanced at her husband. He was grinning lecherously. I was still too shocked to say anything. I guessed he was into voyeur sex and wanted to watch me play with his wife. She nudged her hips toward me.
"Touch me!" she said softly.
"Touch me!" she repeated when I hesitated, but now with excitement in her voice and another nudge of her hips.
"Go on! Play with her pussy!" Her husband urged me. "You want to don't you!"
I got the idea. It was a familiar one. She was sexually active and hungry, he was too old to satisfy her, and she was frustrated. I could certainly help her with that.
My hand was instantly on the bulge of her mound. She gasped, trembled and spread her legs wider as I massaged her pussy, and ran my fingertips along the line of her vagina lips through the thin taut satin. Hooking my finger over the top hem I pulled the front of her panties down. Then my hand was cupped over her naked mound with my fingers ruffling her soft moist cunt hair and stroking her juice-wetted vagina lips. She gasped and squirmed with sexual pleasure and nuzzled her pussy against my exploring hand.
"Would you like me to take my knickers off?" Sally asked. It was a rhetorical question. What man doesn't want to watch an attractive woman taking her knickers off?
Without waiting for any reply she stepped down from her desk. She slid her hands under her frock and in a smooth movement slipped her panties off and gave them to me. They were still warm from her body. Running the soft grey satin through my hand I saw there was a slight yellow stain just where the wearer's vagina would be, and I caught a delicious aroma of a mixture of Sally's perfume and her juices. A strand of her dark pubic hair was caught in the stitching. My cock felt ready to explode.
"We boys know what to do with girl's knickers, don't we?" Her husband said, forming his thumb and forefinger into a ring and bobbing his hand the exact length and angle of a man's erect penis.
I certainly did. Just the night before, naked on my lonely bed, I'd played with a pair of my last girl friend's little white cotton panties. I'd brushed them over my balls and iron-hard penis, remembering the feel of her fingers and lips. Then I'd masturbated over them covering them with spurted semen. Yes I certainly knew what to do with girl's knickers, and what I'd be doing with Sally's.
Sally laughed, as if to say she too knew exactly what men did with girl's knickers. I was more than ready for her next request.
"Show me your cock. You're up hard for me aren't you?" Her hand went down and stroked the hard bulging ridge of my erection.
"Go on lad. Show her what you've got!" Her husband urged me. There was excitement in his voice too, but of a different kind.
By then I was frantic. I'd long wanted to expose my naked cock to a strange woman, even to one of my women colleagues at St. Matilda's but of course I'd never dared. A moment later my trousers and briefs were down round my thighs, I'd pulled my shirt back, I'd spread my legs as far as my briefs stretched round my thighs would allow and I'd rammed my hips towards her. I was pushing out eight inches of iron-hard muscle bending up from my hairy balls to its big purple-grey erection- and lust- swollen head which was pointing up almost vertically.
"Mmmmm! Big hard young cock!" she purred, and I grunted with the explosion of sexual pleasure as her hand explored my straining manhood, lightly stroked my balls and ruffled my pubic hair.
"Nice cock, lad." Her husband said, moving in for a look at my hard up penis. "I'll bet you've fucked lots of lucky girls with that." Then he laughed. "Perhaps a few boys too?"
Then his hand went down for a feel of my sex kit too. His fingers caressed my balls, then slid under me between my legs to my anus, and up again along my penis shaft. Then his hand wrapped round my penis shaft and he began to stroke my shaft rhythmically with his hand sliding right up over my cock head. I realised he wanted to wank my cock off. I hadn't been masturbated by another man since wild student parties at university years back.
That's when it began to dawn on me that her husband's age might not be the only reason he wasn't satisfying her. But right then I was so excited I didn't care who jerked my cock off, whether Sally or her husband. An erotic thrill ran through me and I involuntarily thrust my hips forward. But Sally reached down to grasp his hand and to stop him masturbating me.
"Darling," she said. "Later. He's mine now."
Her husband obediently stepped away. Even so I was fighting not to cum. I fought even harder when Sally unbuttoned my shirt and slipped it off my back, then still fondling my cock and balls she started to kiss me down my front. She started with my nipples and slowly down over my belly. She crouched in front of me to kiss and lick my penis shaft and head while she tickled me between my legs.
She took my penis head into her mouth, massaged it and licked it with her tongue and sucked it, lightly fingering my groins and my balls as she did. She certainly knew what a man liked. I could hardly take it. I was whimpering with sheer pleasure, running my fingers through her hair and my hips were involuntarily trying to force my cock down her throat. Thankfully she stopped before I came.
"Did you like that?" she asked.
