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The names in this story have been changed and randomly selected. Any resemblance to real persons, dead or alive, is purely coincidental.
Friday after school, trudging out of the pharmacy with yet another yeast infection and round of treatment, I’d had enough. Was it all down to the masturbating I was doing? It certainly wasn’t anything to do with sexual intercourse. I showered twice a day and prided myself on my hygiene. I was a very clean and tidy teenager.
But everyday after school my knickers were soaked. Drenched in my vaginal discharge. It was supposed to protect my vagina from infection, not cause it.
Walking home, miserable and frustrated, I cut through the country lakes between my high school and housing estate and sat on my favourite bench for a cigarette before finally going home.
As I smoked I searched the internet for solutions to my never-ending yeast infections. An elderly couple strolled past and the woman cast me a look of disgust, while her husband grinned lecherously.
“A schoolgirl smoking.” I heard the old lady moan. “In this day and age.”
“Whatever. I’m eighteen, you old bag,” I muttered under my breath, and continued with my internet search.
What I found was both interesting and risqué. I giggled to myself as I languidly smoked my cigarette and read the article online: Why you should go commando.
The article explained that wearing tight underwear, which isn’t made from breathable material, such as the white and black cotton knickers I wore to school every day, can lead to moisture being retained in the genital area.
“Well, that makes sense. Kind of explains my problem,” I spoke quietly too myself, with a lazy exhale of smoke drifting from my mouth.
I already suspected the large daily staining in my school knickers was down to my constant sexual arousal. Recently, I had started masturbating, not only when I woke up and before going to bed, but also inside the girl’s school toilets.
I would become turned on at the drop of a hat, just sitting there in class. As the teacher droned on with their teachings my mind would wander, and suddenly I was giving some random guy a blowjob, or I was being fingered in class with my tits out, being groped by one of the hot boys in class. Or worse, I was fantasizing about Mr Matthews my English teacher, if it was his class I was daydreaming in.
I would often excuse myself in the middle of class and go to the toilet. In the stillness and privacy of the girl’s toilet I would lock myself in the cubicle furthest from the door, hitch up my grey pleated school skirt, pull down my cotton knickers and dip a finger inside my warm, wet, tingling, teenage tightness. It was heaven.
The only downside after satisfying my pussy was the immediate need for a cigarette. I was already on my final warning for smoking in and around school property, so I pulled out my back up e-cigarette and vaped hard before straightening myself out and returning to class.
At home that evening I started the course of thrush cream and refrained from masturbating all weekend. It was a nightmare. I was constantly fidgeting and wanting to rub my pussy against something, anything.
Over the weekend the mild infection cleared up and I was back to normal. Kind of back to normal.
I showered and dressed for school as normal. Lightly powdered my face, to cover the odd teenage spot here and there as normal. I put my long chestnut hair into a high ponytail as normal. And packed my books, school iPad, pens, phone, cigarettes, lighter, fragrance, chewing gums and e-cigarette into my school bag as normal.
What wasn’t normal, however, was the fact I was commando beneath my grey pleated school skirt. I giggled at my reflection in my bedroom mirror, dressed as a typical sixth former.
A bulging white school blouse. A just above the knee grey pleated school skirt with knee length grey socks and black shoes. With my school bag over my left shoulder, I was ready for my first commando day at school.
“Oh shit!” I giggled, realising I had forgotten something.
I fetched a spare pair of clean black cotton knickers from my drawer and hid them inside the zipped side pocket of my school bag, just in case.
As soon as I crossed the road and entered the country lakes, I took out my Marlboro menthol cigarettes and lit one. A few locals said “good morning” as we passed. I felt excited walking to school without any knickers on. Nobody would know if I was careful every time I sat down.
Smoking always made me feel free and rebellious. I didn’t hide it when I was walking amongst strangers. I would take long drags and inhale that delicious, thick, minty smoke into my lungs before holding it to savour the taste and absorb as much nicotine as possible. With a satisfied grin on my face, I’d exhale and take a few steps with the cigarette swinging naturally in my right hand, before taking the next drag as I walked to school.
Now I was experiencing the added danger and excitement of being commando. It felt bursa escort a little breezy at times, but it only cooled my inflamed labia.
My first class was English with Mr Mathews. I sat in my usual seat on the front row, slightly off to his right. I immediately pushed my hands into my lap and made sure he couldn’t see up my skirt. I was already walking on thin ice for breaking the schools no smoking policy. The next time would see me in front of the head teacher Mr Johnson. The last thing I needed was to be caught indecently exposing myself to a teacher.
But then Mr Matthews stood in front of the class and began to recite Andrew Marvell’s poem ‘To His Coy Mistress’, and I found myself becoming very giddy.
We’d briefly touched on the poem in our last class. Today we were going to discuss it in full. I was in turmoil watching this handsome teacher so eloquently discussing the poem with us hormonally driven students, particularly me. What a class and time to choose not to wear any knickers. I felt nauseous.
Mr Matthews was forty-two years old. Tall and handsome with a chiseled jawline, clean shaven face and short wavy blonde hair. He was married but he didn’t have any children. He’d openly said this before.
I’d happily bare him children if he only asked me to, and I had the large boobs to breast feed our offspring. He was a dreamboat. A real schoolgirls fantasy. My fantasy. He had to have a mistress or two on the side, I reckoned. I wished I was one of them. Behave yourself, Pippa!
I churned slowly into an emotional mess, listening as my hot English teacher discussed Marvell’s poem, which is a metaphor for the mistress’s heart. My heart. I could be Mr Matthews mistress. I didn’t care that the poem is talking about the speakers love not being sincere. That he will do all those nice things just to have sex with her. He could have sex with me. He wouldn’t need to be nice about it either. I wouldn’t be his coy mistress. I’d be his horny little schoolgirl-slut-mistress. Oh God what am I thinking?
I raised my hand. “Sir?”
“Can I please be excused. Nature calls.”
“Of course,” he smiled. You don’t need to ask, Pippa.”
I was aroused and in need of some desperate sexual relief. Having listened intently to my English teacher talk about coy mistress’s, love, hearts and sex, desire and so on, I needed to release some love and desire of my own.
I hurried to the girls’ toilets and locked myself inside the cubicle. With more urgency than usual, I pulled my skirt up and stroked my stubbly mound. I’d need to sort that out when I shower tonight, I noted.
My soaking wet, tight pussy was swollen and sensitive to the touch. I could feel it calling to me. If any adult with a cock walked in and caught me, I would have begged him to stick it inside my aching wet hole. I wasn’t a virgin at this point, but I was single and not very experienced. I was simply awash with sexual fantasies.
Slouching against the back of the toilet, I put my feet on the cubicle door and placed two hands between my legs. My left index finger rubbed my clit while I thrusted the right one in and out of my hole. It was good but not good enough. I was feeling ravenously dirty.
I unbuttoned my blouse and lifted up my bra to release my big tits. It was tight but I wanted to be totally exposed. I took my e-cigarette from my skirt pocket and took a few hits before exhaling strawberry flavoured vape inside the cubicle. I then placed the longer, thicker end of the battery inside my pussy and continued on my path to reaching an orgasm.
Back and forth I went, vaping from my soft lips at one end to fucking my wet pussy lips at the other, while Mr Matthews seductive voice played in my mind.
The thought of him walking into the girls’ toilets and hearing me masturbating inside the cubicle with my tits out brought me closer. The thought of him kicking down the door and ripping the school’s uniform from my curvaceous teenage body brought me even closer. Then, whilst inhaling a deep drag from the e-cigarette, I climaxed and exhaled a lung full of vape, as the image of Mr Matthews ramming his cock into my tight pussy consumed my thoughts.
My body shook violently, and I dropped the e-cigarette onto the floor. My feet bounced against the door, making a racket as I tried to stifle my groans of ecstasy.
I eventually straightened myself out and near skipped back to class full of smiles. Before I entered the classroom, I took a few deep breaths and composed myself.
That evening I was at it again, this time on my bed, naked, about to have a shower, using the handle of my hairbrush as a cock. The soft gel comfort grip handle was designed to conform to my hand. Lately, it was used to massage the tight muscle spasms inside my pussy and confirming to bring me pleasure.
Using the rounded tip, I teased my hole and thought about Mr Matthews. We were in class, and I was flashing him my pussy. He was grinning at me as I moved the tip to my clit. bursa escort bayan Transitioning between my hole and clit, I dreamed of my English teacher bending me over his desk and taking me harshly.
That did the trick. I slipped the handle into my squelching hot hole and fucked myself as fast as I could. I came quickly, arching my back and moaning as Mr Matthews rammed his cock in and out of my tight pussy until he filled me with his warm cum.
The next day I was sat once again in the English classroom without any knickers on. No sexy poems this time though. I didn’t need any. I was horny and I shaved my pussy the night before.
I spent the first half of the lesson writing and daring myself to pull my skirt up. I glanced around the classroom several times and everybody around me was busy with their heads in their books. I bit down on my lower lip and glanced at Mr Matthews.
The handsome teacher was busy reading something. The classroom was quiet. With my head down, pen in my right hand, I pulled my left hand from my desk and dropped it into my lap.
Biting a little harder on my lower lip, my nipples became sensitive and my pussy seeped moisture, willing me to reveal her to Mr Matthews.
Slowly, carefully, silently, I walked my fingers against my left thigh, pulling my grey pleated skirt up my leg. I did the same on the right side until my school skirt was resting mid-thigh. I brought my hand back up to the desk, turned a page in my book and sighed as I opened my legs.
Mr Matthews looked up. I could just about see him with my eyes forced to the top of my head, trying my best to watch him with my head directed at my book.
He looked. But then he looked away. His facial expression told me nothing. He looked again. Still nothing. Although his gaze lingered a little longer this time before he looked away.
Mr Matthews seemed unfazed. While my heart was pounding and my pussy was getting wetter, he kept his feelings out of sight. He looked again and again and again, but still nothing on his face to let me know if he was shocked, excited or uncomfortably annoyed.
Then, Mr Matthews pulled his phone out of his trouser pocket and appeared to be innocently looking at his screen. I watched through strained eyes as my English teacher covertly angled his phone in my direction.
I knew what he was doing but I couldn’t bring myself to close my legs. Instead, I opened them wider and finally glanced at my book. When Mr Matthews put his phone away I closed my legs and sat up straight.
I didn’t look at Mr Matthews for the remaining ten minutes of the lesson. My plan had backfired. Not that I had a plan other than flashing him. Now my English teacher had a photo or more of my schoolgirl pussy. One of his pupils.
That night in bed I felt different. At first, I felt violated. Then I felt horny, imagining Mr Matthews wanking himself off to the image between my spread legs. I shouldn’t have been surprised. If I’d flashed any other boy in school, he would have done the same. At least Mr Matthews was highly unlikely to share it around. Unless he posted it anonymously on the internet.
The thought of millions of people around the world seeing a candid up skirt photo of my shaven, tight slit had me reaching for my hairbrush again. There was no teasing this time. I turned it upside down and slid it right up inside me, all the way up to the brush head, before I fucked myself stupid with it.
There was only two weeks until the half term break. When I returned it would be late October. I’d be wearing tights. So, I continued with my obscene flashes during my English classes. Mr Matthews must have had a whole photo album of my pussy by the time the last Friday of term arrived.
On the final day of term, I wore white cotton knickers to school. I’d grown bored of flashing my English teacher. He never looked at me differently. He never spoke to me differently either. He said absolutely nothing. I sat in class and flashed my knickers though.
It was my way of saying ‘fuck you’ for not making a move on me. He could have spent the last few weeks fucking me senseless. I knew I was being ridiculous.
When the school bell sounded the class erupted into cheers. Sounds of pupils scraping chairs and packing their bags followed.
I walked out of school trying to make sense of the term I just experienced. The fantasising and flashing had affected my concentration levels. No doubt about that. To make up for it I was missing out on weekend fun with my friends to catch up. I didn’t need anyone to tell me, I knew it myself.
Walking home through the country lake I lit a cigarette and exhaled at the ground. Down hearted and feeling silly, I dragged on the cigarette looking like a lost soul. When I reached the car park my heart start pounding, and my jaw dropped.
I quickly flicked my cigarette butt away and pretended I hadn’t been smoking. So stupid.
“Sir?” I gasped at the man leaning against a red Mazda sports car. I couldn’t escort bursa believe my eyes.
“Hello, Pippa,” Mr Matthews smiled. “Get in. Let’s go for a short drive and talk.”
I glanced around as he opened his passenger door.
“Is everything ok?” I was in shock, climbing into his car. I then flinched when the door shut.
“You weren’t yourself today,” he said, getting behind the wheel and driving out of the country lake car park.
“Where are we going, Sir? I only live on the estate across the road.”
“I know your address, Pippa. That’s why I got here before you. And call me Ian. We’re not in school now.”
“Ok, Ian,” I giggled, calling my English teacher by his forename for the first time ever. “Is everything ok?”
“It will be,” he smiled, then broke the speed limit as he took me away from where I lived. “You don’t seem to be paying attention in class lately, and today you looked down in the dumps. So, I’ll ask you, Pippa. Is everything ok?”
I shrugged, not sure how to answer. He was the root of my problems. Well, the source of my fantasies that led to the root of my problems.
“I’m ok, honestly,” I lied, but my nipples told a different story as they hardened inside my bra.
“Are you having boyfriend problems?” he inquired, turning off the road towards some farmland.
“I’m single. No boy troubles.” Just a certain teacher trouble, I thought. My pussy started throbbing.
We pulled up in a small lay-by behind some bushes. I gulped and became nervous, realising we were in a very isolated spot. Mr Matthews, or rather Ian, turned off his engine and adjusted the front of his trousers as he turned to face me.
“Are you nervous?” he asked.
“Should I be?”
“Not at all. You just look it. I’m not going to hurt you, Pippa,” he assured me.
“Maybe I am a bit nervous.” I let out a shy giggle.
“Perhaps a cigarette will relax you?” he suggested, bringing the windows down.
“Is this some kind of trick?” I asked warily.
Ian laughed. “No trick. You might be in school uniform but you’re not in school now. You’re a young eighteen-year-old woman outside of school, Pippa, and a very attractive one at that.”
I squirmed in my seat and blushed. “You’re not bad looking yourself, Sir. I mean Ian.”
He chuckled and pulled an e-cigarette out from the side of his car door. “I used to smoke. Long before you knew me. Now I just vape. I know what it’s like to crave nicotine. Go on, lit up if you want to.”
“Are you sure? Your car will stink of cigarette smoke.”
“I want you to smoke, Pippa. Ever since I heard you were on your last warning for being caught smoking, I have imagined what you’d look like holding a cigarette.
I blushed again and leaked excitement into my knickers as he adjusted the front of his trousers and put his hand on my thigh. I dipped into my school bag and took out my Marlboro menthol cigarettes, wondering how long we were going to pretend he hadn’t seen my pussy in class.
When I put the cigarette between my lips and lit the lighter, I noticed my hands were shaking. I also noticed his hand was smoothing my thigh up and down, travelling a little higher with each stroke.
I placed the flame at the end of the cigarette and sucked hard. I then inhaled and quickly exhaled out of the door.
“I was saddened today,” he said nonchalantly, before taking a drag on his e-cigarette.
“How so?” I asked naively, then took a longer drag from my cigarette. My pussy was on fire and my nipples were red hot sensitive.
“You came to class with your knickers on.” He dropped the bomb.
My eyes bulged with embarrassment as I exhaled in shock through my nostrils. I then gasped when he flicked my skirt up to reveal my white cotton knickers.
“Remove them for me, Pippa. It’s just us here now. Why did you decide to wear them on the last day of term?”
“I didn’t think you were interested. You never said anything to me. You never looked at me in any way that told me how you felt.”
“I had my poker face on the entire time. We were in class, Pippa. I didn’t want either of us getting into trouble. Now take off your knickers and you’ll find out what I think.”
Letting the cigarette dangle from my mouth I lifted my arse off the seat and pulled down my knickers.
“All the way off,” he grinned, when I stopped just below my knees.
I smiled with the cigarette dangling and completely removed my knickers. Cheekily, I dropped them into his lap, believing I was going to finally have him.
“You have a lovely tight, shaven, closed lip pussy. Are you a virgin?”
“No,” I said, inhaling a thick ball of smoke into my mouth and lungs.
“I didn’t think so, but I bet you’re still nice and tight,” he breathed heavily for the first time, adjusting the bulge that had appeared at the front of his trousers.
“But I’m not a slut!” I quickly fired back.
“Of course, you’re not. You’re just an innocent schoolgirl who enjoys flashing their tight cunt at teachers. Who else in the staff room has seen that slit of yours?” he sounded slightly jealous, whilst finding himself unable to take his eyes from my glistening hole.
“You’re honestly the only one. Not even the boys at school have seen it,” I told him with pride in my tone.
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