The Young Wife (28 page)

I noticed that everyone but me had a drink in front of them, and had to shake myself back to reality as Mr Webb stepped forwards with a long glass of sparkling, clear liquid in his hand. I took it, and smiled serenely, though inwardly my mind was aswirl with questions.

‘Mr Webb. It's such a shock to see you here,' I said, feeling terribly under-dressed.

Anne stood up and walked towards us, saying, ‘It's Elizabeth's doing. They have been friends for years. Mr Webb is a dreadful pervert – aren't you, Mr Webb?'

He answered her quite good-humouredly, all smiles. ‘I'm afraid I am, but then, I think I'm in good company, Anne. Aren't I?'

‘You certainly are, Malcolm,' said Anne, and turned to laugh at my expression of astonishment. ‘Oh, don't be so surprised, dear Jessica. This is a small town. It's only natural that teachers in such a place should know each other.'

‘I met Elizabeth at a seminar, actually,' said Mr Webb.

I couldn't think of him as Malcolm.

‘What is everyone here for, Anne?' I asked. ‘Surely not for me?'

‘'Exactly, my dear,' she answered gaily. ‘We are here to act out your dream, if you're willing.'

I took a long swig of my drink as I thought about it. I didn't know if I had the nerve to do anything in front of this amount of strangers. Then I thought of my morning in the garden, and I knew straightaway that I could. I could do anything I wanted.

‘I'm game, if you are,' I said, and knocked back the rest of my champagne in one long draught. Anne smiled, and turned to Malcolm.

‘Mr Webb, I do believe you have permission to proceed with the lesson,' said Anne, as she led me to my chair in the very front of the class.

‘Don't worry, they all know their lines off by heart,' she whispered to me, as I sat nervously down on the warm, wooden seat behind the little desk they had allotted to me. It was the strangest, dreamlike sensation, to be sitting there in front of my old teacher, with a class full of grown-up deviants. Strangest thing in a long line of odd occurrences.

‘I'm not worried,' I hissed, as she moved away from me to take up her seat, ‘I'm petrified.'

There was a little expectant, strung-out laughter from the class, which faded to giggles as Mr Webb rapped his cane against the surface of his heavy, leather-inlaid desk.

‘Attention, class,' he rasped, then began to launch into a thoroughly tedious explanation of the classifications of Latin verbs. I was amazed at how naturally he acted, and it calmed me a little, to hear the old familiar voice droning away. I knew that I was expected to give the signal for the play to begin, and my mouth was dry with fear, as I worked up the courage to start. I wondered how much they knew about my dreams, and I felt the nervousness communicate itself to my bottom and pussy. They felt heavy and loose with anticipation, or apprehension, and my thighs rolled nerveless against the edge of my seat as I tried to quell the fear. All at once, my panicked breathing eased, and I felt the steady warmth of slow arousal flood into my hips and groin. The class was silent, but the buzzing voice of Webb droned on, like an insect trapped between a curtain and window-glass.

My bottom mashed against the warm wood of my seat, and my sex-lips pressed heavily against themselves. I rocked a little, and felt the moisture pool between their pursing. My clit started to swell, and hum, with low pleasure, as I rocked my hips, back and forth, against the warm, unyielding seat. I felt my cheeks meeting and opening as I undulated, and I sat up a fraction, to toss the edges of my skirt out from under me. My cool cheeks met the solid, sticky, varnished wood, and I ground my pelvis dreamily against the chair, as I had done in my dreams. I tensed the big muscles in my thighs, and tilted my bottom up, so that the bone behind my clitoris worked against the trapped bud. My arse was up and open as I let my thighs spread over the hard edges of the seat, and locked my ankles around the hollow, metal legs. I felt the strap of light material between my upraised buttocks work its way further into my crack, and the sensation made me grit my teeth and hiss out air through my nostrils.

‘Jessica Farnham! What are you doing?' shouted Mr Webb, as he slammed his cane down on the desktop.

I was shocked out of my reverie, and blushed heavily as I realised how far I was gone into the dream.

‘Nothing, sir,' I said, straining the words out through a throat gone dry with fear.

‘Come up here at once, you little slut!' he hissed, and my heart gave a jump as I thought of the class, and what was going to happen to me. I stood slowly, and the short pleats of my skirt fell over my silky cheeks. I felt them rolling sullenly under the scratchy wool, as I strolled lazily up to Mr Webb's desk. I knew that he would make me bare them, and the thought was so sexy that I felt the juices run into the crack of my tight pussy in reaction to the workings of my dirty mind.

I stood before him, eager for his disapproval, and swayed saucily under his stern gaze. I smiled insolently up at him, and cocked my hips to one side, making sure the class were aware of my curvaceous bottom, and the taut backs of my creamy thighs. Webb walked slowly around the desk to stand before me, then he swiftly put his hand under my skirt. His fingers trembled as he sought my slit, and pronounced it wet, with a voice that cracked with ill-concealed excitement. His fingers floated at the damp material that had wedged itself into my slippery crack. He pushed it in a little, to see what I would say, but I only smiled through the pleasure, and jerked my hips towards him.

‘You are utterly shameless, Miss Farnham. Step up to my desk,' he ordered.

‘But I haven't done anything,' I protested, even as I walked unsteadily over to the big desk.

He caught the ponytail that flowed from the back of my head, and forced my face down towards the green leather surface. I felt my skirt rise at the back, and knew that the class could see my white, silk knickers as they flowed tight against my plump pussy-lips. My cheeks rounded and tightened, and he flicked the hem of my skirt up with his cane to expose them. He stared at my bottom, breathing heavily, before turning to the class and saying, ‘Look! She's wet, the little slut. Come up here, class, and see for yourselves.'

I waited patiently, the lips of my mouth tasting the sour leather, and dipped my back so that my bottom opened for the class. The humming of summer drifted in through the window, disturbed by the sound of chairs being drawn back over wooden floorboards, and the clatter of hard heels. I relaxed myself, letting the muscles in my lower spine and hips loosen, then shifted my heels so that they were together. The backs of my legs tightened and my buttocks tensed, hard and smooth, with the strain.

I heard their stealthy approach, my fellow pupils, as they gathered like crows to a feast. Webb's hand was gentle but firm in my hair, and my cheek warmed against the green leather as the others loomed over my upraised rear.

‘Go on, class,' goaded Webb. ‘Don't be shy. She's a slut. She likes it, don't you, Farnham?'

I didn't answer, for I was a sulky girl, and I clenched my bum-cheeks a little to try and stop the others from having too easy an access. I felt the first shy tickle of someone's fingertips at the lowest edges of my bottom, then a surer probing at the silky cloth that covered the swell of my pussy. Sweaty fingers pinched my sweet, clean cheeks, and poked at the swollen mound between them.

‘Oh, this is no good,' cried Webb. ‘We can't see anything. You, boy! Hold her head.'

I felt the transfer of hands as someone – I think it was Roland, but I can't be sure – grasped my ponytail and twisted it to keep his grip secure. I struggled a bit, and spread my legs to get a better purchase on the floor, but the tearing at my hair's roots made me subside. I had to submit to the attentions I was receiving, whether I liked it or not. Webb took up a position at my hip, and he fiddled with my upturned skirt until it lay fully across my lower back, exposing my bottom completely. I stiffened, aware of my near-nakedness, and sought to still the trembling in my lower legs. My calves were like big knots, and my knees brushed lightly together as I tried to close my thighs. A hard hand grabbed one of my full cheeks, and squeezed voluptuously at the soft, firm flesh. I felt it being pulled to one side, and the skin beside my sex stretched. There was a groan of utter delight from behind me, as one of the class found the sight too stimulating to remain silent. I can only imagine what I looked like, bent over that desk, with the teacher holding one of my cheeks to the side to expose the strip of white knickers that covered my cunt. Fingers stroked the softness of my inner thigh, and tapped at the firmness of my hips.

‘Let's see what you've been hiding, Farnham, shall we?' said Webb in his excited, glottal voice.

I felt the tight waistband of my knickers being lifted, and then drawn over my tensed cheeks. I felt the material being tugged out of my tight, hairless cleft, and clenched my buttocks defensively.

‘Look at the way she squirms,' said the high, excited voice of one of the girls, as the tight pants were pulled down to my knees.

‘Yes, she's a right little tease is Miss Farnham. Trying to keep this all to herself,' rasped Webb, ‘But we won't let her get away with it, will we, class?'

They all chorused a low agreement, as they bent to inspect my bare bottom.

‘I can't see, sir,' said one petulant bitch from the back.

I felt eager fingers delve into the tight crack of my defenceless behind, and then my cheeks were rudely pulled apart by Mr Webb.

‘There,' he said hoarsely. ‘Is that better?'

My arse was completely spread open by his sweaty fingers, and I felt my anus desperately trying to tighten against the spreading pressure of his grip. I could not lower my bottom, and so I did the opposite. If they wanted to see, I was determined to show them, I dipped my lower back, and thrust my hips up, so that Webb's slippery fingers nearly lost their purchase in my suddenly opened cleft. They scrabbled lewdly on the tender skin, and found an easier grip. My anus quivered compulsively, such was the strain it was under.

‘God, it looks so tight!' said one of the boys.

‘Which?' asked Webb. ‘Her bottom, or her cunt?'

‘Both!' said one of the girls, and they all laughed cruelly, while I panted in shame against the desktop. My knickers had gradually worked their way down to my ankles, and they hung in a loop on my shiny, patent shoes.

‘Someone take her knickers away,' ordered Webb, and I felt hands adjusting my feet up and down so that they could draw the innocent white pants away from my heels.

‘Give them to me,' said Webb, and his grip on my cheeks was released, so that he could receive the gift of my knickers. He bundled them into a ball, and pushed them between my straining lips. The taste was strange, but I endured it.

‘Now, where's my cane?' came the question I had dreaded and hoped for. They were really going to do it to me then, was my only thought. My stomach muscles clenched, and my thighs went weak and wobbly with a strange mix of powerful feelings. I was to be chastised, humiliated, punished in front of the whole class for my naughtiness.

‘Clear away there a little, class. I want to get a good swing at her,' cried Webb, exultantly, and his left hand stroked the tight, pale skin of my plump hemispheres as if they were pots of liquid silver. The skin on my cheeks was drawn and tight over the tenseness of my large buttock muscles, and the usually narrow cleft between them had spread wide for his attention. I stuck my bottom up, and prepared to endure as best I could, but when the first sharp blow came I nearly choked on the gag of my knickers. The bastard really whacked my poor, quivering cheeks, and all I could do was grunt wildly through the material in my teeth. Three more times the whistling cane came down, and each time I squealed a muted protest behind the rough and ready gag. My bottom glowed, hot and stinging, and I bent my legs to lessen the tautness of my poor, punished bottom. The pain wasn't unbearable, but it was sharp, and it lingered long after the blows ceased. I felt the warmth spreading into my cleft and up into my little slit. I flexed each leg in turn, and stepped from arched foot to arched foot. Webb's fingers flirted with the marks that striped the cool, white flesh of my bottom, and stole up into the crack to rub at my anus. I could feel his excitement in the tremor of his hands, as they explored the tender cleft of my exposed bottom. I felt a finger insinuate its tip into the first millimetre of my little hole, and the familiar itchy, stinging sensation made me squirm my hips in delight.

Another finger ploughed the wetness of my lower opening, and ran the moist length of its furrow. I could not keep my hips still, and they jerked at every long rubbing on my pussy's outer lips. I felt the finger in my bottom moving steadily but slowly further into the tight, rubbery well. It was uncomfortable, but nice, and I stuck my bottom out firmly to encourage it. Soon it was fully embedded in my dry arse, and the tip turned lightly in my sucking tube. The sensation was maddening, and infinitely, deliciously dirty. I squeezed the ring of muscle against the probing stem, and Webb responded by moving it in and out more quickly in the slightly oily passage. I squirmed, like a dirty girl, as he fingered my open bottom-hole, and the class was breathless with admiration.

‘She loves it, look,' said Webb, in a halting, strangulated tone.

I wondered how he felt, finger-fucking his erstwhile pupil's bottom, while everyone looked on. His excitement was obvious in the way his voice cracked and warbled as he spoke. His finger was moving quite easily within me, by then, and I felt the want of something bigger. The class were keen, too, and they told him so.

‘Put something else in there, sir. Go on, sir, she loves it,' they chorused greedily.