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Gwen walked home in a daze. She could not believe what had just happened her, what she had just done. Her wet shirt clung to her breasts and her sex was aching. She could still feel his hands on her, his fingers inside her. She wanted to scream.
When she arrived home she had slipped quietly into the house and gone straight up to her bedroom. She sat for a while on the edge of the bed, her legs shaking and her heart racing, reliving what had happened, playing it over again and again in her head. She couldn’t figure out how she felt about it; she had no perspective, her world had just moved on its axis and she was not sure which was now up. She was still caught up in the wild and heady excitement and emotion of the experience. One minute she would burst out crying and the next she wanted to leap up and shout at the ceiling with pure joy and excitement. She was spinning like a top.
Pushing herself up off the bed she had finally stripped off her clothes and looked at herself in the full length wardrobe mirror. She was amazed that her nipples were still erect, red and distended and she could still see the marks of Mr Keitel’s teeth and fingers on her breasts, fading now but still visible. She had touched the fading marks with her fingertips sending warning shivers of memories down through her vibrating body. Without heeding the warning she had slipped her hands down between her legs to cup and feel her pubic hairs, coated in her own juices, now hard and matted around the soft, aching, fullness of her still tingling sex.
Her fingers had inevitably pushed between the soft, moist lips of her sex, unconsciously searching for the knowledge and relief that she knew was to be found there. The jolt of sexual excitement from her fingers that had raced through her sex was positively electric and she had rocked back in surprise. She was still incredibly turned on. As if in a slow running film she had moved back across the room, throwing herself onto the bed and rolling over into the foetal position. She hugged herself and tried not to touch herself as she rocked slowly backwards and forwards, trying to make sense of what had happened to her back in the school darkroom and trying to make sense of what she was feeling now.
She tried to remember it all and as she remembered her hand once again crept unbidden between her legs, touching where he had touched her and suddenly she was cuming again. Her orgasm was intense and crashed over her leaving her dazed and breathless. She felt as if she was on fire, charged with some kind of a wild sexual energy; she had just wanted to keep cuming and cuming.
As the light faded in her room her fingers had fallen from between her legs. She did not know how many times she had taken herself to climax but she had masturbated herself almost to the point of exhaustion. Her sex felt raw and swollen, her lips bruised and sore. She rolled over on to her back and in the gathering gloom she stared at the ceiling, a post coital tranquillity finally seeping over her, calming her, cooling her madness.
She had slowly got up and stared at herself again in the mirror, tentatively, exploratory; as if expecting to see a different person looking back at her in the half light, someone who was certainly more sexually mature, more worldly that she had been this morning and she was strangely disappointed to find only herself staring back at her. She examined her body and her breasts in the fading light and was again disappointed to find that the traces of this morning’s handling had faded and were now more just memories rather than real marks. Her badges of sexual maturity were fading.
Noises from downstairs had slowly, finally, intruded and she realised that her parents were about, her father home from work and her mother getting tea and she gathered up her still damp clothes and headed slowly off to the bathroom to run a bath.
The next morning she had awoken at first light and had had to force herself to stay in bed and wait until she could hear her parents moving around and knew that it was safe to get up without attracting attention to herself. She had lain there through the early hours, waiting impatiently, her hand slowly working its way inside her pyjama bottoms and down between her legs, her fingers slyly touching her sex, opening herself up to the new day and her first climax. Her fingers would not leave her alone and continued to stroke and manipulate her through climax after climax until she had to stuff her mouth with blankets to stop herself from crying out.
Her mother, passing by her door on her way downstairs had paused, disturbed by the muffled noises from her daughters room and had called out softly enquiring if everything was alright. Gwen had never heard, lost in her own world of flashing lights moving fingers and never saw her mother, suddenly blushing furiously as she recognised the sexual message carried blatantly in the her daughters sighs, move away from the door and slowly walk away, suddenly looking younger, smiling, her own head suddenly full of the memories of when she herself had beşevler escort moaned like that.
When the masturbation spree had ended and her fingers finally simply rested between her legs Gwen lay and looked up the new day. Noises from downstairs told her mother at least was up and she vaguely wondered why she hadn’t called her as she usually did. She dismissed the thought and rolled over in blissful ignorance, her fingers reluctantly leaving her sex, she would have been horrified had she known of her mother’s breathless pause outside her door.
Despite the need to get up and get to school she lay there for a long time telling herself that he would not be there today and that yesterday was a ‘one off’ and would never be repeated. Telling herself that she was behaving like a slut and to ‘get a grip’ she pushed herself out of bed. She dressed carefully for him in her best t-shirt and her best ‘Sunday outing’ shorts. She felt they were a bit old fashioned, baggy legs and semi elasticated waist with buttons down the front but they were the smartest summer outfit she could muster. She laid the outfit out on the bed and stared at it, eventually trying the shorts on and looking disapprovingly at herself in the mirror.
She eventually discarded the shorts in favour of the same style short gym skirt she had worn when ‘it’ had happened the day before. She thought furtively that if he had fancied her in it before maybe he would fancy her in it again, before quickly coving the thought with the lie that it was probably the best outfit if they were to work in the hot confines of the darkroom again. She lied convincingly to herself although she recognised that she could not look herself in the eye as she thought it. She sat on the edge of the bed as she brushed her thick auburn hair. He sex tingled and she had to resist the urge to touch herself again.
When she was ready she stood and looked at herself in the mirror. She nodded almost knowingly at the young woman who stared back. ‘Not too bad’ she thought and then stopped and on impulse she stripped off her t-shirt and then her bra. She pulled her t-shirt back over her head and looked at her reflection; her breasts were clearly visible beneath her thin cotton top and after a moment’s hesitation her nerve failed her and she pulled the top off again and put the bra back on. Staring at herself in the mirror she hesitated for a moment before she pulled the bra and top off again. Standing erect she admired her breasts in reflection wondering what he had seen in them that had so turned him on. She idly wondered if her breasts were somehow special and she hadn’t known it before.
She placed a hand under each breast, pushing them up and out although there was almost no movement in the firm young flesh. She touched her sleeping roseate nipples as she half turned her body to the light. Sensitive beyond belief they were immediately erect. In her mind’s eye she could see his hands on her body and her sex grew instantly moist. The urge to masturbate was suddenly fiercely strong and she had to press her legs together until the feeling passed.
Resting her head against the coolness of the wardrobe mirror she took deep breaths until she slowly regained her composure. She shook her head, she must stop thinking about sex, she must get some control back, she was acting like a nymphomaniac. She stepped back and pulled her bra on, reaching behind her firmly to fasten the clasp. She looked at herself and settled her breasts into the cups before pulling her T-shirt back on again. She looked at herself in the mirror and told herself firmly that she was being foolish and what had happened yesterday was a mistake and she could never allow it to happen again; even if he is there, she repeated to herself sternly, it must never happen again.
She had breakfast in the kitchen, fending off the usual questions about what she was going to do that day and what she had done yesterday. She told them she would be going to school again to see in Mt Keitel needed any help with the next batch of prints. “Think you must have a crush on him the amount of time you two spend together in that darkroom” her father said from behind his paper. She didn’t see the amused glances her parents exchanged when she had looked down, blushing darkroom red, while denying him furiously. He mother had looked at her strangely she thought, somehow knowingly although kindly and she had looked away embarrassed at the frankness she had found in her eyes. Her mother had gently touched her father hand which held the paper and had blushed herself when her husband had raised a quizzical eyebrow in response.
She had hung around after breakfast for as long as she felt she must before making her goodbyes and slipping out of the back door. She tried not to run but her feet felt light and she covered the distance to the school in no time at all. Her heart fell when there was no sign of his car in the staff car park. As her let her into the school through the small side door near the science labs the caretaker had balgat escort said that he hadn’t seen him that morning. “Didn’t mean much though,” he conceded as he walked away, “could have let himself in with his own key.” But the science lab was empty when she got there, looking exactly as they had left it the day before.
She half heartedly tidied some loose prints on the desk near the darkroom, disappointment gripping her chest and for a while she fought the urge to cry. She tried the door to the darkroom and it swung open a fraction and she immediately closed it again; lacking the courage on her own to go in there where ‘it’ had happened. She turned around and leaned against the door, kicking it with her heel in frustration. Feeling foolish she hung around the classroom for a while trying to look busy but eventually she gave up and made her slow and heavy way home.
The next day was a repeat of the same process and she began to despair; he was obviously not coming back. A whole range of possibilities/fantasies ran through her head: That he had had an accident and was lying critically ill in hospital somewhere, uncared for and alone; That he had simply up and left and that it would force some kind of inquest at the school and what had happened in the darkroom would all come out and everyone would know and her would will be ruined; all the way through to that he had fallen in love with her and dare not face her because of some problem in his past that she does not know about. She ran the whole gamut of childish, romantic, scenarios through her head in turn as she waited.
The next day she turned up more out of routine than in hope of finding him there. She had already decided that she would steel herself and go into the darkroom and at least finish sorting out the prints that would by now have dried and be ready for labelling and cataloguing. She opened the door to the classroom and her stomach gave a sudden lurch when she suddenly saw him standing at one of the long rows of science lab benches sorting through large piles of prints. He smiled at her, obviously pleased to see her.
“Glad you turned up I could use some help,” he said holding up some loose prints as a means of explanation, “still a lot to finish off.” She hesitated in the doorway, taken by surprise and now unsure in the face of reality. She sees he is dressed for the darkroom again in shorts and an old t-shirt. He looked up at her quizzically. “Are you here to help or what?” he joked and pushed a pile of prints across the desk in her direction.
Gathering her courage she hesitantly walked down the length of the classroom and stood beside him. She looked sideways at him, unsure and nervous but her looked up and smiled again, putting her at her ease and she pulled the pile of prints across the desk towards her. Leafing through the first few prints she noticed that her hands were trembling. He looked sideways at her, pretending not to notice.
“Someone has already sorted them,” he said quietly and she nodded.
“I came in yesterday and finished them off,” she said, trying to control her voice.
He tapped a stack of prints by their edge on the top of the desk, straightening them, “I know,” he said placing them back on the desk, lining the stacks up with the tip of his finger, “and the day before that as well. Johnstone the caretaker told me.” She nodded, suddenly embarrassed as if caught out in a lie. “Wondered where I’d got to?” he asked and she shrugged. “I’m sorry Gwen,” he said and reached across and took one of her hands in his, “you deserved better than that.”
She shook her head, aware that must be able to hear her heart thudding in her chest. He turned her hand over and pulled it closer to him, palm up. She could feel the warmth of his body through her fingertips and he stroked her palm and mound of Venus with his thumb as he spoke, “I’m sorry, I had to get things straight in my head,” he said. “I needed a little time .. after what happened in there,” indicating the darkroom behind her. She looked hesitantly over her shoulder as if unsure of what he meant. He ploughed on, all the time his thumb stroking the sensitive palm of her hand, sending ripples of pleasure through her body. “I am a schoolteacher after all, I should know how to control myself, it should never have happened.” She nodded vaguely , his words drifting away. “And it won’t happen again,” he said and she looked up into his eyes, “will it?” he said with a finality that made her feel cold.
She shook her head, her eyes fixed on the table in front of her. “Good,” he said releasing her hand, “a professional relationship if we can then,” he said with a heartiness that crushed her. “Think we can manage that?” He asked and she nodded, and she shivered slightly as if a winter chill had stolen into the room. “Good,” he said again, his bonhomie harsh and galling in the stillness that had fallen between them, “are you OK with helping me still or do you want me find someone else to help finish off?”
“I’m fine,” she said, feeling herself move batıkent escort slowly towards tears. “I really do want to help get this done.”
“Great,” he said, adding after a slight pause, “even in the darkroom?”
She looked over her shoulder again at the offending room and nodded. “I’m fine,” she said, “honestly, I can handle it.”
“Great,” he said, almost distractedly. “Let’s get on with it then.”
He led the way, ushering her before him. Once inside he locked the door before pulling the heavy blackout curtain across and turning on the exterior ‘Darkroom Occupied’ sign and switched on the red developing light.. As always it took her a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the deep velvet red lighting. When she looked up he was staring back at her smiling, just standing there looking at her. She half smiled back at him and looked sideways as if expecting him to say something. He stepped across the short gap between them and this time there were no preliminaries.
Without any preamble he gathered her up into his arms, bending her back over the workbench. She cried out in surprise but his mouth stifled her protests. He kissed her long and hard, his tongue deep in her mouth, the kiss continuing until she was gasping for breath. In one movement he placed her arm behind her back and held it there, his free hand moving up, under her blouse to take possession of her breast. He pulled her bra up and his fingers closed on her nipple, pulling it taut, squeezing the breath from her body. She cried out as his hand gripped her breast, squeezing and moulding it until her senses reeled, all the while his kisses, deep and devouring kept her silent and dazed.
Suddenly his hand was on her thigh, travelling upwards, taking her skirt with it, exposing her, laying her open. For an instant he dipped between her legs and cupped her sex and she called out at the sudden warmth and pressure from his fingers but his hand had already gone, moving on and up in its quest for even more intimacy. He tugged at the waistband of her knickers, drawing them down to allow his hand inside. His hand slid down across her taut, flat stomach, grazing quickly across her soft red pubic hair before pushing its way down between her legs, finding and touching her sex, briefly exploring the soft folds of her lips, orientating himself, feeling her wetness before opening her up.
She tried to open her legs to give him access but she struggled to keep her balance as he held her prone across the worktop. He pressed the heel of his hand hard against the front of her pubic bone and she gasped as he curled his palm down over her sex, his fingers slipping between her lips, travelling through her wetness, searching for and quickly finding her already erect clitoris, instantly stroking wild sensations up from her groin to explode behind her eyes. She cried out, she knew she would come in seconds; she has been ready to come for him for three days. His fingers pushed deeper into her and her legs began to tremble; she tried to stretch her legs apart to let him in. She could feel her juices beginning to seep down around his probing hand into the clean white material of her knickers and she was suddenly past caring about anything, she was about to cum; he was manipulating her masterfully yet again and she was happily, completely under his control; willing to be led wherever he would take her.
His fingers played softly, knowingly and insistently between her lips and she came quickly, her thighs squeezing together, trying to hold and contain the hand that was wreaking havoc with her senses and destroying her self control; but the fingers continued to move, causing her to cry out and to try to curl up around his hand as the waves of her climax continued to shake her.
Releasing the hand that he had been holding behind her he turned her around sideways to him. He kept the one hand down the front of her knickers, sliding the other down inside the back to find and mould itself to the shape of her bottom. He was manipulating her like a puppet, moving her to his will, his hands insistent and determined, his fingers hard, needy and softly resolute, pushing down between her legs, invading and overrunning her soft, warm, secret places. His eyes glinted hotly in the darkroom light, giving him the devilish appearance she had seen before, red skin and flashing red eyes. His breath sounded harsh in her ears.
With one hand he probed and caressed her wet and open sex while with the other he opened the cheeks of her arse, running his fingers between then, intimately caressing the soft brown rosebud that puckered at his touch. Sweat suddenly sprang from her and could fell it joining up and running down her back and down between her breasts, her clothes were already sticking to her. His finger slipped between her lips and moved deeper inside her and she cried out, trying to stop her legs from buckling. She was again instantly awash with sensation, a repeat performance of the other day. Like a drowning woman she suddenly recognised his ability to swamp her, to flood her senses, to unmast her. She was having difficulty in breathing; his fingers were driving the air from her lungs, sucking the oxygen out of the room. The heat was suddenly unbearable; she wanted him to take her clothes off, she wanted to lie down with him on the tiled floor and allow him to cool her feverish skin
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