Chapter 5

It was lunchtime at St Augustine’s. Almost a thousand boys and girls streamed through the long winding corridors of the school building, filing their way to the school cafeteria and out to the playground.

The girls gossiped about hair, makeup and reality TV. The boys kicked footballs, threw rugby balls and played cricket against the science block wall as they did almost every day, breaking from time to time to brag about their encounters with their beautiful English teacher, mercilessly teasing those who had not yet experienced her exquisite mouth, pussy and arse for themselves.

The grey cloud that had plagued the sky for several days had steadily dispersed, and the early afternoon sun shone brightly over the yard, save for the shadow of an occasional passing cloud.

Miss Driscoll strolled confidently down the corridor that connected her classroom to the central crossroads, which in turn led to each corner of the school facilities. Every inch of her naked flesh displayed for the gawping pupils to observe and admire. Her firm breasts barely moved with each step, her exposed bottom sliding from side to side each time her smooth, slender legs inched forward. Her long brown hair, the majority of which was slung over her left shoulder, shone each time it caught the rays of sunlight that streamed through the roof lights.

She held Molly’s hand tightly, each of their fingers interlocked with an almost romantic confidence. The sight of Miss Driscoll striding naked through the school was not especially new - she was often seen emerging from the sixth form common room making her way to the staff bathroom to redress before her next lesson. But this was an altogether new experience for Molly, whose brazen sexuality had only developed as far as exposing her small cleavage through her white school uniform shirt and, just half an hour ago, giving Mr Jenkinson, an experience he had long since craved.

The girl held her teacher close. Their arms brushing against each other, no one had ever seen her naked body before and she was terrified of what people might think. The warm September air felt cool against her skin, her light brown nipples stiffening more with every stride she took, and her tiny pussy, now sore from the enthusiastic penetration of her history teacher’s thick, rough fingers.

“Looking good Miss!” shouted a boy, whose books fell from his locker thanks to his diverted attention.

“Yeah Miss, wanna suck on my dick again?” Added another. Miss Driscoll looked at him, trying to remember if she had ever sucked it in the first place, but gave him the benefit of the doubt as she bit her lip and smiled.

“Maybe later sweetie”.

They were now almost surrounded and were fighting their way through the crowds as they reached the main door to the playground. A group of boys whispered excitedly, daring each other, one burst from the group, running from behind the pair and quickly thrust has hand between Miss Driscoll’s legs. His friends cheered before bursting into uncontrollable laughter. For a moment, she stopped, her pussy suddenly coming alive as the unknown boy’s fingers grabbed at her clitoris. She closed her eyes, moaning briefly, her hand reaching out to steady herself against the shoulder of a passer by, her right hand squeezing Molly’s just a touch tighter.

“Who’s she Miss?” shouted another boy, who the teacher remembered as being particularly well equipped for his age.

“Never you mind” she replied with a protective smirk, stroking his school tie briefly as she passed.

She loved the attention. Being surrounded by boys lustfully staring at her was a gift she couldn’t live without, and as they pushed through the ageing wooden frames of the exit door Molly found herself enjoying the attention too.

“She’s so proper tick”, the boy added, his childish slang indecipherable to Miss Driscoll but making Molly blush with gratitude.

The midday sun felt warm on their skin, and both of them noticed the cool breeze gently breathing through their pussies, as if the air itself was a lover taking a brief respite from giving them oral pleasure - pleasure that Molly had never experienced but had often imagined.

The playground fell silent aside from the sound of rugby balls hitting the concrete, and footballs skidding along the hard ground, ignored by the intended recipient whose attention now resided elsewhere.

Squinting as their eyes adjusted to the bright light reflecting off the windows of the adjacent buildings, Miss Driscoll and Molly noticed the pupils beginning to move towards them. They made towards the centre of the playground, where a small patch of grass stood as an island of greenery in a sea of drab, cracked tarmac that was long overdue relaying.

The grass, where pupils would often while away their breaktimes reading magazines and gossiping, lay empty. The teacher pulled Molly into its centre, and was quickly encircled by leering teenage boys.

“You’re such a skank Miss” called out one of the girls, quickly being hustled out of the way by a group of 14 year old boys. “I’m so going to tell my Dad about this”.

Miss Driscoll glanced over at her, recognising the girl immediately.

“You can tell him I said thank you for the lingerie as well”, she replied with an innocent smile, remembering opening his gift in the staff room the previous month - a tiny silk chemise that came with a handwritten note saying simply ‘for next time’.

The girl’s face dropped, her eyes rolling as she turned away in disgust, the cruel laughter of her friends ringing in her ears.

Molly swung around to face her teacher, now both hands interlocked and held above their waists. The boys cheered with amazement as the pair kissed, at first slowly and sensually - with only the softest of connections between their lips - but then with ever increasing passion, their tongues gently swirling around each other’s as they embraced.

To say Molly was terrified was an understatement, but it was a fear made more complex by the adoration she felt towards her teacher. She was inspired by Miss Driscoll’s complete and utter dedication to sexual pleasure, both her own and those around her. She felt her teacher’s hands move from her waist, up through her hair and gently squeezing the back of her neck, before moving slowly down to her bottom which was soon being pulled towards the teacher’s pelvis.

Miss Driscoll pulled from the kiss, smiling erotically as she looked around them, taking such delight in the joy they were giving to the boys, many of whom had removed their hardening cocks from their polyester trousers and were masturbating slowly but intently at the vision before them.

“Lay down” she whispered into the girl’s ear, smelling her strawberry blonde hair. She took Molly’s hand pulling it downwards, their knees bending as they made their way to the ground. The girl laid on her back, rearranging her hair which looked almost yellow in the strengthening sunlight. Miss Driscoll was on her knees, she opened the girl’s legs and slid elegantly and fluidly forward to resume their passionate kiss, Molly’s legs, first rigid, quickly relaxed and wrapped around her lover so that her feet hung in the air.

Molly could smell coconut, and tasted the greasy chap stick on her teacher’s lips that had a subtle flavour of summer fruits. Her fear had begun to subside and she was now so deeply in the moment that nothing else in the world mattered. She opened her eyes and saw dozens of boys looking down at her, including at least three she recognised from her form room. Some were pointing their mobile phones directly at her in one hand with the other helping them to make the most of the performance. She couldn’t believe how much they seemed to be enjoying themselves; she was helping to give them this excitement and for the first time she understood why her teacher appeared so addicted to being the centre of everyone’s sexual attention. She wanted to entertain them.

Miss Driscoll left her lover’s lips, licking the girls neck in a slow but long line to her breasts. They were beautifully firm - which you would expect for a 14 year old girl - and seemed to sit proudly on her chest at their first public display.

The girl gasped as her teacher’s tongue wrapped around her left nipple. At 28, Miss Driscoll’s breasts had become increasingly sensitive (she recalled how Mr Peddigrew, the Headmaster, had given her an orgasm purely from licking her breasts during her first job interview at the school), but Molly did not have to wait so long. They were already sensitive, almost ticklish, and she grasped at the thick grass as a wave of pleasure passed through her veins.

The teacher’s pussy became visible to the boys, her back now arching as her tongue made its way slowly past Molly’s belly button. The girl’s hands running through Miss Driscoll’s voluptuous brown hair, almost pushing her towards the gap between her open legs.