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(It was late autumn of 1960 and I, David Shaw, was 20 years old and was following my hobby of bird watching. I had unfortunately been detained by Amelia Wiff-Naseford, headmistress, for being an alleged ‘Peeping Tom’ in the grounds of ‘Dentwood Finishing School for Tall Girls aged 18 to 20 years old’. There were 120 girls registered at the school. Clearly I was not a so called ‘pervert’ but I could not prove it.
I had decided not to get the local police involved by agreeing to submit myself to the traditional ‘Punishment Rules of the School’ as applied to ‘Peeping Toms’. This involved being stripped naked and spread-eagled on the headmistress’ study carpet, and tethered with ropes and leather straps to metal rings set in floorboards at each corner of the room. I was then required to orally pleasure the ‘whole’ school. This is part nineteen of my sorry tale.)
*
Sunday afternoon in the Dormitory
*
Samantha and Lucy appeared to wander around the room like lost sheep. I asked them if they would like to play another game. Samantha looked at me suspiciously, suspecting that I would trick her into releasing me from the ties that held me down firmly to the bed. I had not been relieved of semen for at least an hour and the last game of cards had stimulated me to the point of bursting. I was desperate to ‘come’ I suggested that they could take it in turns to wank me for one minute each and the person who could ‘make a fountain’, to quote Samantha’s description of my orgasm, would win a prize.
” Whath sorth of a prize Mr.Thom?” Samantha demanded, throwing herself onto the bed.
“Well ‘Mr. Rabbit’ could visit ‘Mrs Rabbit’ in her burrow, for a start,” I suggested, and she looked at me perplexed.
I told them to lie on the bed and take turns to squeeze the tip of my erection simultaneously pulling my foreskin backwards and forwards over my glans.
Samantha straddled me and lay across my stomach so that her big bottom was over my chest. She placed her legs on each side of my head and pushed her derriere toward me. Her clothing slid forward to reveal her white lace-edged frilly knickers and suspenders. Her stockings were pale tan and contrasted only slightly with her beautiful smooth skin. I looked in awe at her white frilly petticoat which draped over my neck and shoulders. As I glanced down I could clearly see damp stains between her legs. It was a luscious delicious sight.
“1, 2, 3 go,” I said to them as Samantha began milking me firmly and surprisingly confidently. I glanced at the dormitory clock. One minute passed.
“Right Lucy next,” I said as I felt different fingers fumbling with my huge erection. Lucy was not as skilled as Samantha and my shaft kept slipping between her fingers. I looked across the room at the clock. Another minute passed.
“Samantha’s turn…now,” I yelled enjoying every second of their enthusiastic pulling and tugging. Samantha certainly had the knack as I was hardly able to hold myself from spurting. Another minute went by.
“This is a nice game isn’t it Sam.” Said Lucy clearly enthusiastic and innocently unaware how excruciatingly pleasurable it was for me.
“Lucy’s turn now,” I said in encouragement. I was so near the edge of my orgasm that it only needed a few more strokes but I wanted Samantha to feel me spurt in her hand.
I stared at the damp patch, now much wider in Samantha’s frilly knickers only inches from my face. Another minute of pleasure passed.
“Samantha’s turn now.” I croaked staring at the clock then at her broderie edged white knickers. The milking was exquisite, I never wanted it ever to stop.
“Oooh he’s shticky now,” lisped Samantha noticing my pre-cum oozing out.
Samantha slid further backwards over me and opened her legs further, clearly more interested in the present game of ‘fountains’ than the insane game of cards She wriggled into me so that her panty clad buttocks were thrust against my face. I breathed in her aroma from her damp knickers.
“Lucy’s turn now,” I whispered, too aroused to speak.
“It’s a thilly game but I like it,” giggled Samantha, clearly unaware that I was like a time bomb ready to detonate.
“Samantha’s turn….now,” I said as I allowed her to stimulate me to the point of no return. I jerked my hips, stared at her fabulous arse, and then exploded, pumping out seven long strings of warm semen all over Samantha’s fingers.
“It’s a founthain, he’s madth a founthain,” I had indeed ‘made a fountain’.
“Where’s my prize? I want my prize,” said Samantha Skirving-Thorpe looking over her shoulder at me. I told her that she had better not waste any skin lotion and the two of them slid off the bed and looked for cups.
* Sunday Dinner
* That evening, after another shower and a shave I was ready for the evening meal. Christine Forrester had several female electric razors along with her secret collection of ‘marital aids’. I had the strange feeling that she perhaps hired these out to other diyarbakır escort girls in the dorm. Anyway she leant me a razor and I felt a lot more human.
Someone had found my clothes and I appeared reasonably respectable to face the school.
Again as in previous evenings I sat on the high table with the members of the staff. I was really beginning to feel that I was the honorary resident Peeping Tom. Perhaps all Girls Finishing Schools have them, I don’t know. I had to admit that I was getting rather tired with Miss Wiff-Naseford and her straps and ropes. It would make life a lot easier if I could use my hands on these girls and we would have pleasured far more in my opinion.
Celia was all over me again with her hand inside my trousers and my hand caressing her suspender clips under her skirt. She was being incredibly suggestive and again reminded me of her garden flat room number before she left.
Miss Wiff-Naseford had different plans for me after dinner and had already singled out five girls from Class 2B, as an ‘after-dinner diversion’, as she put it. She had taken a half full bottle of Crozes Hermitage Blanc and a glass back to her office. There waiting outside were five six-foot nineteen year olds whom I’d never seen before. They were wearing bouffant style dresses and skirts, and because there was a chill in the air they wore cardigans over their shoulders.
“Strip off Tom, and you lot help me strap him down,” said the headmistress entering her lair and once again taking control. She sipped her wine and kicked me on the shin to hurry me along.
Sheepishly I walked naked to the middle of the room, my penis completely flaccid and lifeless, and lay on the familiar carpet with my head propped up against the solid six-inch 1898 cushion to once again endure the ‘punishment’ devised by Miss Geraldine Maxine Bliss-Frampton, the first headmistress of the ‘Dentwood Finishing School for Tall Girls aged 18 to 20 years old’.
As I lay there on my back I watched the five girls walk around me with the various buckles, straps and ropes, Under the direction of their principal they made sure that everything was tight, and that my limbs were stretched to their limit.
As they walked about, and over me I caught glimpses of nylon lace underskirt and seamed stocking tops. Their high heeled shoes clunked around me, and some came dangerously close to my face as they walked across me.
The drunk of a headmistress sat in her usual chair behind me, once again keen to have a ringside seat to enjoy watching her girls being orally pleasured.
“Rowena Bridges are you having a period?” shouted Miss W-N getting back into the swing of things.
“No Miss,” a girl replied stepping forward, clearly unsure of the procedure.
She was a very pretty girl with shoulder length dark brown hair. She wore a simple red striped button-through knee-length shirt-waister over dark tan stockings. She also wore brown three-inch high heel shoes. Her skirt was clearly pouffed out by several layers of net petticoat and swayed from side to side as she walked.
“Well Rowena, Mr.Peeping Tom here has kindly agreed to pleasure the whole school orally, and I do mean the whole school, not just the girls, so please take off your pants and squat on Tom’s face. He’ll do the rest,” she said trying to aim a kick at me but missing by a mile.
Rowena lifted the back of her dress up and inserted her fingers into her waistband and down came some pale pink lacy nylon panties. She placed them to one side and straddled me facing my feet.
“No, no, no the other way round so that I can see up your skirt girl, give me strength,” ranted Miss Wiff-Naseford.
From my level on the floor I had a wonderful view of Miss. Bridges’ very long legs, stockings, suspenders and petticoat. My penis rolled sideways then began to ‘crawl’ up my stomach straining at the glimpses of thigh and what lay nestling in between.
She placed one foot to one side of my head and the other one on the other and I peered up her skirt at her beautiful full buttocks. I licked my lips as I waited for her to lower herself onto my eager face. Her petticoat was vast. It was crammed with pink stiff netting and it crackled and swished as she steadied herself.
She spread her knees and squatted over me. It was like having a deflated parachute land on me. I was covered in nylon net and had difficulty in seeing, or even finding, her hairy opening. She rearranged her clothing over me and there, suddenly exposed, was her gaping slit.
The muskiness of her aroma was overwhelming. She eased forward and pushed her lower lips against mine. I nudged her with my nose and breathed in the sweetness of her fragrance. Before long Rowena Bridges’ labia opened further and I slipped my tongue between them and savoured the subtle textured irregularities of her skin and lubricated portals of her vagina. I lapped at the feast in front of me penetrating as far as my tongue could explore. diyarbakır escort bayan Above me and around me I watched her petticoat shake as she rubbed herself across my face.
I was only just aware of Miss Wiff-Naseford behind me in her low leather arm chair urging her on. “Go on Rowena, bring yourself off on him, there’s a good girl,” she cackled, almost in a deranged manner.
My tongue was as far up Miss Bridges as possible. Her pubic hair threshed around and over me as jerked herself backwards and forwards. After a few minutes she grabbed my head through her dress and petticoat. The sounds of crackling and threshing around me were almost deafening. Soon she was on the home straight and cried out that she couldn’t take any more.
“Oh I’m going to pee myself Miss, I can’t take any more of this,” she cried.
This, clearly, was the signal for me to speed up my tonguing movements.
Her shoes gripped my cheeks as she shuddered and thrust herself rhythmically over my slime- coated face. Together we moved ever closer to her orgasm, ever closer. Her clothing around me trapped a great deal of humidity and I perspired terribly. One more thrust and jerk and she trembled, shuddered and showered me with vaginal juices. I felt the tiny muscular waves in her vulva as her orgasm overtook her and eventually left her.
Once again I had pleasured one of Miss W-N’s ‘gals’.
Rowena stood up slowly, clearly not used to squatting for any length of time. I heard her knees crack and admired her legs once more as she stepped over me.
“Miss Wiff-Naseford, that was the best experience I have ever had,” she said smiling at her inebriated principal teacher, while pulling up her knickers.
“Oh that’s alright girl, that’s what the Tom’s for, to pleasure us women between our legs; isn’t that correct Tom,” she slurred, launching another futile kick at my head. Fortunately she missed and fell off her chair and had to be helped up by Miss Bridges.
Once she had regained her composure she summoned the next young lady.
” Oh yes, Hannah Jackson, step forward, and if you aren’t having a period pull down your knickers,” she said refilling her wine glass.
A rather prim looking girl, at least six foot one inch tall walked purposefully across the room. She wore her black hair in a bun and wore thick lensed spectacles which made her look like a librarian. She also wore a high necked blouse, pale blue cardigan and calf length A-line skirt in a thick grey tweed material.
She confirmed to the ‘resident harridan’ that she was not having her period and pulled her skirt up to reveal a long cream coloured underslip and grey nylon stockings tensioned by a cream coloured suspender belt. I noticed that her underwear was plain and not ornamented with lace. She pulled down a pair of plain cream French knickers which appeared stained in the crotch which made me wonder whether her personal hygiene might be in question. I also noticed that her low heeled shoes appeared old-fashioned.
“Right Hannah step over the Tom and sit on his face, and leave the rest to him dear,” said the slightly comatose head teacher, glass in hand.
Hannah had a hawk-like expression and sneered at me as she placed one foot then stamped down her other foot on each side of my head. She looked a fearful sight standing with her legs apart above me. I stared up her skirt into the gloom, past her grey stockings at the black bristling hair which I was just about to lick.
I watched as she stared down at me and brought her ankles together, gripping my head where it lay on the narrow solid pillow.
It hurt and I yelled “Ouch.”
Above me her legs parted and her knees bent and I watched as her skirt and petticoat dropped over me and I was faced by her slit, just inches from my face. She smelled of urine; it was horrendous. Reluctantly I touched her opening with the tip of my tongue and she instantly reacted by sliding forward onto my face so that my nose was rammed between her labia. The stench was appalling.
My main aim was to ‘pleasure’ Hannah Jackson as quickly as possible and extract my head from beneath her clothing before I passed out from the intensity of the ghastly smell. She, however, wished to take her time and began wiping her vagina backwards and forwards over my face in vigorous jolting sliding movements, pulling her clitoris alternately over my nose and chin.
I lay there, beneath her, trying not to breathe. I snorted between passes, gulping in air quickly and almost trying to avoid her slimy fleshy flaps which she dragged across my face over and over again. The whole experience disgusted me but at the same time I noticed that my penis had become rock hard again. I craved relief but of course there was no way I could masturbate. I could only watch Miss Jackson’s genitalia sliding over me, willing her to hurry up.
“Yes, yes, oooh yes, yes, fantastic ooh, yes, yes,” she chirped, in time with her jerking. escort diyarbakır Soon she was moving quicker and quicker. Her petticoat crackled as it discharged static electricity. I felt as if my face was going to be pulled off my head as her movements became more furious.
By now my face was covered in her sickly sexual secretions which smelled less of urine and more of musk.
“Yes, yes, yes, y, y, y, y, yes,” she stuttered. She appeared to have a sexual stammer.
“Oh please finish, for goodness sake,” I blurted as she bounced violently on my face.
Her petticoat, suspenders and stockings shook around me and everything appeared as a blur. The air under her skirt still smelled dreadful.
“Yes….yes…..yes…Yes,” she screeched as she eventually ‘came’ holding onto my head with a vice-like grip. “YES…yeeeees,” she wept and everything went quiet. I nudged her off me and frantically gasped for oxygen.
I fell back exhausted and monitored the constant flow of vaginal spendings which dripped over my face and onto the pillow. I thought that I could only just survive this ordeal. My throbbing member was positively seeking relief, twitching feverishly against my stomach.
She hauled herself of me and wiped my face with her soiled knickers. It was terrible.
I heard the familiar click, click, click sound of more high heels strutting across the floor towards me. An amazingly curvy girl strode up to me, her hips swinging from side to side.
She had red hair and a magnetic smile. She smirked self consciously at me as her wide flared skirt flicked from side to side. She wore a black cotton top with long sleeves. Her skirt had a bold black and white floral design printed on it and looked crisp and starched.
From my low angle I noticed some hints of lace from her petticoats peeping beneath the wide gathered folds of her hem. She also wore black patent leather four inch stilettos and my penis extended further at the sight of her cruel looking heels.
“It’s Laura Hamilton isn’t it, and how are your parents? good good,” said the headmistress without waiting for an answer.
“They are fine Miss, and in case you were wondering I am not having a period,” she said in a very broad Edinburgh accent.
My penis perked up at the sound of her sexy Scottish voice.
“Good, good, now down with your pants, and you know the rest girl,” said Miss Wiff-Naseford finishing off the bottle of wine.
Laura pulled up her skirt and petticoat and turned her back to me so that I could watch her sliding her white lacy French knickers over her buttocks, past the tops of her black seamed stockings and down to her knees. She dropped her skirt hem and waddled over to me keeping her knees apart. I understood now what she intended to do and my penis strained further in anticipation. As I guessed she placed her shoes on each side of my face then brought her knees together and let her knickers fall on my face.
“Well done Laura, that’s perked up the Tom, now let’s see some face-sitting young lady,” said the demented old trout sitting to my rear.
Above me I stared up in wonderment at her thighs and stockings. Her crisp multi-tiered white nylon petticoat beneath her flared skirt seemed to hang above me like a huge fluffy cloud. She kicked her knickers to one side and I felt one of her spike heels graze my cheek.
I took in the view up her skirt. I admired the way her buttocks curved outwards and created a petticoated underspace around her legs. I felt drawn towards the red curls which towered over me. She shuffled about spreading her legs and slowly sat on my face. Instantly everything went dark and silent and I became aware of the very strong musky sweetness which exuded from her vagina. She shuffled forward so that my face was pressed against her pubic hair. I couldn’t help myself and pushed my nose into her as far as it would go. I felt her cool fleshy flaps grip my nostrils as she tightened her muscles. I savoured and languished in being close to her sexuality and breathed in her perfume, again and again.
On her toes and heels she rocked herself over me as I stuck out my tongue and licked her clitoral area. I glanced around and took in all the intricate transparent folds of her petticoat and exquisite lace detailing which shimmied and shook over me. From inside her wide flounced underslip I also studied the elaborate floral pattern of her skirt which shone through the white nylon. My penis strained to its absolute limit as I stared at all this femininity.
She cooed and mewed in pleasure as she pushed herself towards her climax. Once again I felt as if my face was merely providing a slippery surface over which women masturbated. For several minutes she made use of me until her rocking turned to fierce jerking and once again my head felt as if it was being ripped off my shoulders.
“Oh, oh, oh yes, yes,” she whispered as I watched her underwear thrashing around me in the confined space.
My penis felt painfully stiff as I drank in her aroma and licked her secretions. Over and over again she slid her labia against my nose and lips. Her hooded clitoris stood out and I licked it at every pass. Soon she was pushing down on me, almost bouncing on my face. I hoped she would soon finish as I was drowning and my neck ached.
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