Following on, but not a serial, from my story Back to the Old days, Nancy’s grand daughter experiences events which she is never sure how and why they happened.
Celia Cumming spouted enthusiastically to her fellow students and select visitors at St. Hilda’s, Oxford University on her graduation subject – the research, manufacture, materials, marketing and usage of sanitary pads, tampons and nappies, being of a similar fabric. The over fat, black, twenty year old girl with the wild Afro hairstyle and cheery smile over vivid white teeth, had drawn a large audience and had an impressive PowerPoint presentation, with both videos and still photographs.
A mature academic in the mixed audience, in the equal sex college, since 2003, formally only female, was forty year old James Saville who was thrilled to see her ebullient personality and massive, sexy body, to him, in action. The fact Celia was dressed in a mock leather, black, tight, knee length skirt under a pale pink tee-shirt enhanced, in James’, her total attraction, matched with her oiled, bare fat legs in incongruous gaudy trainers. James was a visiting professor who had established a special needs school and one of his non curricular tasks was to purchase stock of the prime subject matter, in case of any accidents. He had a secretary but she was only hired for administration and basic accounts.
Another member of the audience was an American, twenty three year old, student by name of Wellesley Ample Cort – known as Wel. She was from Minnetonka, Minnesota and was studying botanical and science subjects, Celia’s subject being in the latter. A stout, six foot tall, swarthy, brunette, sported a severe raven hair style. She claimed to be of Indian descent, but had changed her native name for something more respectable – in her mind.
James who was a real charmer and wealthy with it, wooed, seduced and married Miss Cumming, now twenty three and much fatter. The cheap, red top British media having great fun with her Caribbean family name. He told her of his school, lied about his interests in the way children and teenager’s skin was affected by substandard products, she could do more research and he had friends in the industry who could help her. He was a skilled people manipulator and finally weaned her into mild porno, onto more explicit stuff and then through some technical and medical specialist websites, they viewed images of females of all ages in various stages of undress, ostensibly to illustrate skin problems. She found it easy to discuss and her untutored lack of knowledge about porn delighted and surprised him, leaving James with what is called a blank canvas to work on.
He certainly had ultra blank subjects at his school.
“Celia sweetie, there’s an application for our vacancy of part time gardener here,” peering at the school’s website. His now obese, pumpkin shaped wife was writing up a report about Pityriasis rosea, a mild skin rash that’s pink, scaly and inflamed she had found on a six year old girl, probably caused by her substandard nappies which she had to wear as she pissed in her clothes often.
She waddled over to peer over James’ shoulder letting her 52 HH breasts rest on him. Her stomach nudged at his back as he drank in her warm odours.
“Wel Cort ... that’s ... oh my god, it is,” giggled Celia excitedly, pointing at a photo on the screen and giving James thrills as her enormous bosoms crashed round his ears.
“I thought she went back to the States?” queried James, thinking Wel was not exactly an oil painting, with a pugnacious face. “She graduated and fucked off back there?”
“That’s what I thought, but look - she’s also qualified in horticulture and is a ... or was a gardener for Lord Youngmount, We couldn’t pay the same wages surely, he’s loaded,” chuckled Celia.
“Lets get he in, she’s looking good, what ... thirty three.”
Of course Wel got the job and proved highly successful at her job and relations with the school pupils, nurturing very limited and uninterested kids of all ages. She lived in a very desirable chocolate box style, ancient, thatched cottage on the outskirts of town, paid for by Lord Youngmount as a pay-off for not going public about him. Being of Dakota Indian stock she kept her word. Her Audi coupé was also part of the deal. His lordship died and the estate was sold to Tyler Wumpey for affordable housing.
2017 Monday, First day of a new term at SunnyDay Special Needs School
Tony and Barbara Hook’s seventy three old grandmother Nancy, having volunteered, took the two thick as two short planks girls to their special needs school for the one day in a week of concentrated classes, in a vain attempt to try and get them up to scratch with other children their age. Nancy picked up Janet Tarbuck from the seedy run down council house in Railway Terrace. They got out of her BMW at the school waving to Mr Saville, who walked to the kerb side to open the car door for his pupils. They just about remembered to say thanks to Nancy after a short prompt. He was especially pleased to see them at the start of this new term, since his pal Ralph Harris had done some private work inside the old converted Victorian school over the summer break.
Ralph had told him about Barbara’s granny doing a strip tease at Bill Hook’s 50th birthday party, so having been notified by Helen Hook that Nancy would be bringing the girls, he lingered at the side of the car as Nancy leaned across to the back seat thinking that one of them had left a bag. It was an empty crisp packet. He liked the way the outline of her bra showed under her green top. She screwed the empty bag in her bony, elegant, heavily ringed, well manicured hands and gave it to Mr Saville through her side screen.
“Could I have a word Mrs Hook,” he asked through the same window, grabbing the door handle. Nancy opened the door and swayed out gracefully, without revealing a sight up her skirt, which he had aimed for. He wouldn’t have had a chance as the old lady was dressed for meetings in town, so her skirt was a gingham, mid calf length, cotton-blend, black and white, checked design under a green colour-block knit top. A long, yellow coat hung over the passenger seat back. He did catch a sight of high-shine metallic kitten heeled shoes and slender bare legs. Hmm, elegant and stylish he thought, oh well I’ll have some fun later.
“What was it? and I’m not Mrs Hook, that’s Barbara’s mother, I’m her grandmother,” she enquired firmly, sensing she needed to get away from this pervy man, plus she had to get parked in town.
Disgruntled at not getting a early morning ogle at the elderly stripper, James apologised, said he would speak to Mrs Hook another time and sauntered after the girls, thinking Nancy was too old and skinny for his taste.
The girl known as Barbed by some of her class colleagues, because her ignorant, brusque, short, blunt, unknowing responses to their generally inane remarks, sounded barbed. They were all boys except Janet. She ignored jibes and catcalls when Mr Saville called her out for special measures as an adjunct to the special needs. Janet felt peeved that she hadn’t been called dirty. James was eager to try Ralph’s work and needed an element of separation from the other noisy dumb class members. In the corridor he spoke to the dim, mild mannered, empty brained teenager.
“We think some exercise might be worth trying Barbara. Not the usual PE you do, this is a little special and made just for you,” he patronised her. She ignored him, she didn’t care and trotted alongside his big strides. They walked across a courtyard, Saville seeing Wel Cort to the far end of the once magnificent school, the ugly, part time gardener bending over some small shrubs and exposing a lots of sturdy bare thighs between her Wellington boots and the crease of her lower buttocks and a smidgeon of pale blue material between them. Her denim mini skirt was dirty with mud and soil. If he could get her to ... no first things first and was he interested in an American dyke? He shuddered at her sex life, as he understood it, thought about greeting her to get a look at her big tits, but he was really focused on the task in hand and apart from her magnificent chest, the back view was considerably better than her front.
In what he had created as a sort of sports hall and a conversion of half of a once huge kitchen into a shower area, Saville gave Barbara some simple exercises which were slightly yoga’ish but standing, having got her to remove her anorak, white, knee socks and clumpy shoes. The girl obeyed to the letter while consulted his Smart device. After fifteen minutes he told her stop and it would be best if she had a shower.
“But I had one this morning,” she told him blankly.
“Maybe Barbara but you’ve just made yourself a bit sweaty and it won’t be nice for your friends in the class for the rest of the day will it? In here look, you know where the showers are, but go the nearest one at the end, the others are faulty,” he ushered her to a set of swing doors which led to across a corridor to the showers. The daft pupil meekly followed him, shrugging. If that’s what Mr Saville says - OK.
“I didn’t know I was going to this, I haven’t a towel or anything and do I have to take all my clothes off?”
“Yes of course, silly it’s a shower and here is a swim cap and a fresh clean lovely fluffy towel for you – Mmmm,” he smiled at her, smelling but rubbing the blue towel on his face. He had prepared well.
The sixty year old head master of this private school, ran the whole place with his Jamaican, second wife Celia who was nearing her thirtyfifth birthday. They had their own pleasures and foibles and an immaculate security system. Their fees were high but they granted internships to parents who could prove financial hardships, Janet Tarbuck, Barbara’s close pal being one of them. He popped Barbara into a changing cubicle, told her in detail what to do, she needed that guidance all the time, then went to the corridor and buzzed through to Celia.
“She’s getting changed, seems to be OK and doing what I tell her. Come down and take over darling, I’ll tell her. If you want to get involved I reckon you could, we’ve got about half an hour,” he told his wife and closed the communication device.
“Barbara, Mrs Saville is coming to make sure someone is with you,” he called out re-entering the changing room. “Ah you’re there,” he chuckled nearly bumping into young Miss Hook as she emerged from a cubicle with the blue towel wrapped round her. He would love to have stayed but didn’t want to risk anything, just in case somebody else on the staff or another pupil entered, fouling their carefully laid plans. He would see plenty later.
“Barbara, Mrs Saville is coming to see you’re all right,” he repeated, seeing her vacant bemused expression, shit! she was hard work but there would be benefits, he mused. “We can’t leave you on your own, so have your shower, get dressed and I’ll see you back in class, it’s your favourite lesson later – cookery.”
The girl, who was blank faced, not impressed and not interested, stood motionless, gazing out of a high window, while he pretended to check she had her swim cap, which he could see was in a ball in her right hand. Celia arrived as he emerged from the changing cubicle. Barbara toddled to the shower room with the obese brown skinned woman while the dirty old man had a long searching sniff at his pupil’s knickers then replaced them, they were odourless. He had repeated and Celia emphasised the instruction for Barbara to use the end shower, which she did while Celia perched on a bench and watched the shower operation for a short while and then...
Saville was really pumped up now and on the way to classes back he encountered Wel Cort in the courtyard again as she easily carried a fork and spade and a large Hessian bag of weeds. She was tall, swarthy and strong and aiming for her storage shed where all her tools, fertilisers and machines were kept safe.
“Mornin’ Wel, perfect weather for the job,” he gushed, in a mock version of a Southern American accent and failing dismally, but his prime focus was ogling her, stoutly brassiere encased big bosoms bouncing towards him, her armpits showing large dark sweaty stains. There was another, less obvious, but he’d eyed it, in her groin. Her soil smeared, perspiring, swarthy face attempted a smile and responded, knowing he was looking about a foot below her face.
“Sure is Mr Saville, just about finished here. Going on to another job, busy busy.”
“Hmm good, you do enjoy getting deep into the shrubbery don’t you. That’s a lovely bush by the way,” he pointed past her but close to her hips. “You’re a little soiled and damp I see.”
His fucking innuendo, she pondered, does it have to be so obvious? Just like the lord dirty bastard.
They went their separate ways.
Two weeks later
The special needs class that day had dwelt on safety and particularly online and how easy it was to be drawn into evil groups etc. James Saville the owner, only lecturer and head master had return messaged a friend while the class of ten, eight boys and two girls, watched a information video. His friend Ralph Harris, who had delivered a DVD to Celia as Saville was absent, was interested in the small, fat, half caste girl with big tits, as she’d been described. They had been noticed when he delivered the video. She was with a white girl, a bit taller and not so fat, just sort of bulky.
James Saville was desperate to see the results of the private work Ralph had done during his own school summer break and couldn’t wait to view the long awaited DVD. The headmaster knew exactly who he referred to and could help. He also sent an another text, saying if that was his taste he might be interested in Celia. Ralph thought he must be fucking joking, she had elephantine legs, with fat rolls on her fat rolled knees and he would have to employ a search party to locate her pussy.
Saville, had divided his class of ten into boys and girls and sat on the floor in front of Barbara Hook, Janet Tarbuck, Louise McGovern and Jenny Stait, the four prime, in his evil perverted mind, pupils in his class of special need pupils. The seating plan was part of his pre-planning for the mornings session about ‘Birds and Bees’. The chosen ante room off the main hall in the SunnyDay private special needs centre in an old Victorian building in town, was very small, a perfect choice, he thought, considering five people, a desk, four chairs and a pile of learning gadgets. The two fourteen and two fifteen year old girls, whilst being his constant pupils - were – as he liked to call them a few threads short of a sweater which was particularly relevant to Janet, by far the chunkiest of the group and her incessant struggle to keep her chocolate brown chest and thighs within the constraints of threadbare garments, her mother kitted her out with. The simple girl had no concept of her body’s effect on anyone, it was just that the garments were generally ill fitting and uncomfortable.
Today it was a tight, probably hand me down, once white tee-shirt and another possible previously owned, bright yellow mini skirt. Saville was thrilled at her nipple bulges, fucking hell they were stout and only fourteen he mused, through the shirt and a minimal black brassiere, clearly seen beneath her Primark shirt. He remembered Celia telling him she would never wear a black brassiere under a white shirt. His first glimpse up Janet’s skirt was blocked by the innocent, daft young girl simply sitting with her thick thighs jammed together, but he knew through the class time he would be rewarded. The fact that she had slipped off her slip ons, so that her smelly feet could breathe, provided him with sights of the soles of her feet and the resultant pink colours which only enhanced her native attraction, coupled with bright pink painted, chipped toe nails. His other target, Barbara, wore a roomier short, navy blue, pleated skirt. Her legs had knee high white socks and he got glimpses of her white knickers. Saville liked the look of her pristine white shirt, which was opaque, but like Janet, he could definitely see breasts jiggling under it and nipples quivering. Hmm, maybe no bra. Tonight’s the night he mused.
Louise being older and very thin had given him great sights up her grey, pleated, knee length skirt, but her pale, bony, knock knee limbs and her acne splattered, goofy toothed face created a nerdy unattractive persona. He could learly see her white knickers and they seemed to be either oversized or slack but he didn’t get a view of her teen cunt flesh. Jenny Stait was the oldest and took after her divorced mother Verity, being extremely good looking, with flawless skin, lustrous, flowing black hair, with a tremendous well upholstered figure, but always wore loose fitting black slacks under a voluminous sweater. Jenny lived with her father who had left solid instructions that because of some unheard of to Saville skin complaint, Celia was investigating, she was to always be excused showers and had a special soap. A great pity considering her appearance, but rules were rules.
Later that day
James and Celia Saville, finished dinner, cleaned up and settled naked on a couch to watch the video supplied by Ralph. He inserted it, clicked the commands while Celia dragged out his puny flaccid cock and continued snacking on crisps, then on chocolate.
On the 38” screen, Barbara dumbly wandered to the shower he had told her to, There were six showers in a row with no dividers, just water spouts high in the wall over the lower foot well. She took off the blue towel. She was average height with a slight knock-need walk and slender with a firm pert bum and ... delight of delights for Saville, her breasts were firm cones, what he would expect on an average teenage body, without sag but even more delight were her puffy nipples. He had seen them on porn sites and always wondered about them, like were they induced somehow or false? He had discounted those theories, but he’d never seen any in the flesh. Well Barbara’s were not in the flesh but here on his big screen. He guessed her puffy areolae were two inches in diameter, slightly darker than her surrounding skin tone, but extended like another breast on a breast – quite unique – tits on tits. Her actual breast shapes were straight and even, but her puffy nipples had a convex shape.
“Wow they’re nice darling,” breathed Celia, sensing his excitement. “Puffy ones.”
He didn’t respond, too enraptured by the gorgeous image as the fourteen year old girl showered. She certainly lathered well and when she washed her cunt, he loved her stance of open knees, slightly bent and her reach into her crotch. “You like that don’t you darling?” Celia giggled, sensing his tool moving. He nodded, speechless, thinking his wife luckily needed him to get down and sluice her slack vagina. Barbara sported a smattering of light brown pubic hairs.
“You didn’t tell me about this sweetie,” James giggled as the enormous pale naked shape of his wife waddled into view, careful not to obscure Barbara.
“Thought I’d give you a little surprise, it did her,” Celia chuckled at the pupil’s stunned expression, who then shrugged in blank acceptance.
“Once I’d explained she had reminded me I needed a shower too, it was easy, now watch.”
Voices were drowned in the splashing flow onto echoing hard surfaces, but Celia took over, without protest from Miss Hook, washing her all over again. She got the girl to touch her toes with her legs wide open, then opening the teen’s buttocks, displaying her sphincter to the camera.
“Ouch! Be careful with those crisp crumbs darling, that’s my knob,” James snickered.
“She’s got a cute neat one, not like mine,” Celia informed him, knowing he would ask and apologising.
Saville didn’t respond further, too enamoured with the whole scene, which developed further, as Celia lumbered out of the shower, off camera and retuned with a white plastic chair. She got Barbara to sit on it, open her tender young legs wide and proceed to wash it slowly, making sure every detail, within the confines of the camera lens focus, could be recorded. Saville loved the different expression on a usually vacant fourteen year old’s face, as Celia’s fingers flicked and stroked gently. He loved what he saw and what Celia did to him. She had flopped to the floor and knelt between his legs and gobbled him to orgasm, enjoying a couple of crumbs lingering in his greying pubic hairs. They viewed the video again and made plans.
The same evening
Upstairs on her bed, not in her bed but on top of her duvet, with her back to the padded headboard, with two reading lights, having shed her nightdress, tee-shirt and socks, keeping as always, her knickers on, as her mummy had taught her. The Hook girl yawned, it was late as she’d watched some TV. Now and again a hand would slide up her chest and twiddle a surprisingly taut and tender nipple – she liked the sensation, but didn’t know what it meant, but something similar had felt the same way that day. Mummy had also told her that she mustn’t play with her minnie, so she didn’t, but thought she might like to – one day.
Barbara sent a text to Janet
Her chubby brown pal opened the text which read :-