Chapter 1: Tricked

God! She was wearing a hockey skirt to class. A pleated wrapover that was very short, and bright red, as though to make quite sure everybody noticed. Long socks up above the knee, drawing even more attention to the bare skin above. Virtually her entire thigh was exposed.

All eyes were on her, but Sandra Philips, sexy queen bee of Year 10, took it as merely her due. The boys watched in silence, knowing not to presume, as she paraded slowly past my desk, pretending to ignore me. But she knew. Oh yes.

She had her little gang watching me as they followed. Watching to see if my eyes tracked those thighs traversing my classroom. And my eyes did.

The gang would report back to Sandra. I could just imagine their mocking description of me later, giggling together at my inability to resist those thighs. Sniggering at how I’d so obviously tried not to watch, but failed. Head down as though to look at my tablet, but eyes on the thighs, giving me away.

They’re the most perfect thighs anywhere, quite possibly. I should know: I watch not only hockey but also tennis, volleyball, athletics, swimming and netball; from the sideline when I can, or a grandstand, with my binoculars, or whatever opportunity I can find. I’ve accidentally become quite a reasonable tennis player just from needing an excuse for hanging round the tennis courts.

As Sandra sat down I replayed her thighs in my mind: the hamstrings, curving deliciously out then in again. Semitencinosus; Biceps femoris; Adductor magnus. How I would love to feel them!

The quadriceps, a moving pageant of shapes: Rectus femoris; Sartorius; Vastus lateralis; down to the Vastus medialis.

Quite large, and all so toned and defined. Hockey is so good for thighs of course, with all the different types of running: accelerating, slowing down, sprinting, turning, endurance ... and now here they were with their consequent magic allure. Strong, but soft; wrapped in that gorgeous fine, tanned skin.

How they’d feel if only I could massage them! The texture, resilience, pliability. How my fingertips would sense the potent perfection, if they could stroke along those miraculous curves and subtle blended shapes!

And how her pussy would feel: the pussy promised by those thighs had to be paradise itself...

I was brought back to the present by the rising noise in the room. I was losing control of the class, letting them sit there with nothing to do but chatter, already looking forward to the end of the school day in an hour’s time. I’d better start the lesson: the history of medicine in the Renaissance.

I managed to get through the lesson by hardly looking at Sandra’s side of the class, resisting the teasing knees which were brazenly apart to flash her panties - no doubt the brightest white panties her mum’s washing liquid could achieve (with added miracle brightener by the look of it).

At the end of the class I sat back while the students filed out, shielding myself from the departing thighs by pretending to read my tablet again. But I sensed some girls coming up to me. I made an effort and looked up: Sandra’s thighs were not departing, they were on my right.

I looked left, and there were Jill Ashton and Melanie Brown - the rest of the gang. Pretty girls, brunettes like Sandra, in quite short skirts too, with thighs that are rather more slender, but nicely shaped as well, in their own individual way.

I was now alone with them.

“That was an interesting lesson, Dr Richards,” said Jill. She had a little smile on her sweet young face, telling me she was being insincere. She’s about five foot four, and clever. Slim, and lean of course: Sandra would never have anyone overweight in her gang, or anyone ordinary-looking. Melanie is the same immaculate type, an inch or so taller than Jill.

These three are the core, then there are various friends and hangers-on, hoping to join or at least be associated with the elite; hoping to meet the standard. But so far there are just these three.

“Very interesting,” Sandra was crowding me a little. She’s a good-sized girl, maybe five-seven or -eight, with broad shoulders. An athlete, strong and well-coordinated, with a lot of physical confidence. Old in her year, she’s sixteen already and I suppose that’s given her confidence too. Not super clever, but bright enough. Was she touching her thigh on my arm? I didn’t dare look.

Melanie sat impertinently on the edge of my desk, half facing me and trying not to grin. Her skirt was even higher like that of course. Her thighs did look good with being spread out on the desk...

I realised with a sinking feeling that this was a challenge. Quite a blatant challenge, since they didn’t say anything more, not justifying their presence. Betting that I wouldn’t be able to bring myself to do or say anything that might cause their thighs to move away.

Christ! How could they be so brazen about it? Weaponising their bodies, at only fifteen and sixteen.

Jill’s right hand went to the hem of her skirt. The skirt wasn’t quite as short as the others’, but it looked as though she had a plan to compensate for that: she lifted the front of it, right up, revealing her panties - pink panties which seemed a little on the small side for everyday wear. She moved her feet apart and pointed to the top of her delectable right thigh, on the inside: there was a big purplish bruise.

“I bruised my thigh, Dr Richards,” she said almost in a whisper, the intimate tone out of place, “do you think I should get it looked at?”

I made a colossal effort. But failed. Her thigh is slender, nicely shaped and lean. Lithe, you might call it. The thigh of a slender girl who does plenty of sports. The bruise was quite big, right up on her iliopsoas, near the gusset of her girlie pink panties.

“Is it tender?” I had to ask, leaning towards it. I was so weak.

However had she been hit there? Why hadn’t she said what had happened?

I peered at it, feeling nervous but drawn irresistibly closer and closer to the gorgeous area of fine, soft skin with its tantalising proximity to ... it was makeup!! Powder and some waxy looking substance, done to make it look like she’d been hurt, when she hadn’t at all!

Shit! The little trickster. What should I do?

I’d bust her! I’d smear it and utterly expose the trick! Too fast for her to move I reached out a finger and rubbed it across.

There! It had smeared just as I’d suspected. I took a breath to convict her of her deceit. I had a good mind to give her a detention.

“Oh SIR!!” Sandra gasped, “You TOUCHED her!”

In a millisecond I realised I’d been had. I snatched my finger away, but too late.

“Right by her genitals!” Melanie joined in, “that’s SO inappropriate!”

“Dr Richards,” Jill cemented my doom, “you really did touch me right, you know, ‘down there’. Teachers aren’t supposed to do that, are they?”

“Now Jill,” I tried to extricate myself, “you know that’s makeup and you put it on to trick me. That’s very naughty too.”

I realised I’d admitted being naughty myself. I was so flustered I couldn’t think straight at all, surrounded as I was by schoolgirl thighs; penned in between the wall, the desk, and three sets of exposed thighs. And caught touching an underage pupil right between her legs.

Jill was still holding her skirt up and her legs open - gratuitously I thought. But it wasn’t for nothing: Sandra and Melanie had produced their phones and were taking photos of me with Jill standing there right next to me, holding her skirt up, revealing the smeared ‘bruise’ next to the gusset of her panties while I stared at it.

I heard the camera sounds sealing my fate. The idea of grabbing the phones flitted through my mind, to be dismissed with the thought of being accused of assault.

I felt a hand on my right shoulder. “It’s OK Dr Richards,” Sandra’s voice was silky smooth. “We won’t tell anyone. We wouldn’t want you to be in all that trouble and sacked and in all the papers, and Jill’s photo showing where it was you inappropriately touched her...”

My mind reeled at that all too credible nightmare. I HAD touched one of my pupils right next to her genitalia, and the smeared makeup was even there to prove it. Jill is only fifteen. These days it would mean limitless destruction of my whole life. The Sex Offenders’ Register loomed over the jobless decades to come, not to mention prison.

“We just want a bit of an extra lesson, that’s all,” Melanie was swinging her legs slightly. Waving them in front of me, it felt like. Her calves are beautiful.

“What sort of extra lesson?” I asked. It was an admission of defeat.

“Just a bit of a biology lesson,” Jill was now stroking a finger teasingly over her ‘bruise’.

“There’s a bit of a gap in our education you see, just at the moment,” Sandra was teasing too.

There was a pause. Jill put her hand on my left shoulder. It was controlling, with Sandra’s controlling hand on the other.

I felt ridiculous leaving the hands there - I’m a reasonably well-built six foot one, and fit. I could probably pick all the girls up together! And I’m twenty-seven with two degrees and a PhD, and for two weeks now an Assistant Head of Department! But I stayed passive.

“We want to see a penis, Dr Richards, that’s all.” Sandra’s voice was soothing ... fake? Or did she mean it in that friendly way?

“It’s not easy for girls our age, you see,” it was Melanie’s turn to twist the screw, “to learn about that bit of biology without compromising our, er, modesty. You see what we mean don’t you? Boys would insist on seeing our tits, or more even, in exchange for us seeing their cocks, but for you, well our thighs are enough aren’t they? We can see...”

I shuffled in my chair, suddenly aware of my expanding cock struggling for room in my briefs. The girls were staring at it. The contact had set it off, coming on top of the three pairs of fit schoolgirl thighs all on show and all within touching distance.

“And is that all you want, to look at it?” I clutched at that straw.

“Just a look,” affirmed Jill, “and a quick description of the parts, obviously, as it’s a biology lesson.”

They were all smiling at me. I had to trust them: these days it only needs a hint of inappropriate touching for a teacher’s career, and their whole life, to be in tatters. Not to say two of them are underage, and with my ‘position of trust’ it would mean years in prison, I was pretty sure.

They were confident I was going to do it. They knew once I’d touched Jill I was theirs. Three of them saying the same thing, with the photos ... I had no chance of getting out of it. I could say it was a setup till I was blue in the face but teachers aren’t supposed to be victims.

Teen girls are victims, and that’s how the story would play, if it got out. My size was against me too: ‘Hulking Brute Abuses Little Schoolgirl’ was the nightmare headline ricocheting around in my skull.

That was probably why they’d used the smallest of them, even. And if they needed to they could make a real bruise there...

“Alright, close the door then,” I capitulated. Jill ran lightly on her fit legs and closed it. There was no lock but it wasn’t likely to be opened by anyone at this time of day.

I stood up. “Round here,” said Sandra, indicating the front of the desk. It was rather close to an order, but I let it go. I was desperate for them to clear off and leave me alone, thighs or not. The feeling of being in their not altogether benign control was scary. They could have asked it as a favour, after all, without making it blackmail and such a power thing.

They gathered round me and closed in on my crotch. I was still a bit swollen. Melanie undid my belt, Jill undid my trouser catch, and Sandra slowly opened my zip. The vibrations from the zip made me fully hard.

They were such a team, doing it all so fast. I could just imagine them planning all this, laughing about what they were going to do to me.

Sandra tugged on my trousers and they fell down to my ankles. I felt weak. But I just stood there.

She crouched down, so nearly revealing her panties, her quads looking more amazing than ever, and pulled the waistband of my briefs away so that Melanie could reach in and help my cockhead flip over the top.

It boinged out, zinging manically at her touch. Jill rolled the tails of my shirt up, leaving me completely exposed.

“Mmmm” pronounced Sandra at my nearly eight inches by one point seven, “Not bad. I think you need your feet a bit further apart.” She nudged my feet to pull off my shoes, followed by my trousers and briefs. Now I was in my shirt and socks, feeling ridiculous, but with my cock still hard and sticking out. Well I supposed flaccid would have been even worse.

The girls clustered round, giggling and victorious.

“Ooh, so that’s the cockhead,” said Melanie, pointing.

“And that’s the shaft, all veiny,” Jill was pointing, getting her fingertip rather close. “It’s pretty thick.”

“And these are the balls, all hairy!” Sandra laughed and almost cupped them. I jumped, but didn’t try to stop her. Her hand was only just tickling the hairs.

“So does it do anything if I touch it?” Melanie did! Her fingertip was on my cockhead. It was an escalation, but only a small one. If that would satisfy them, so they’d leave, I didn’t want to make an issue of it.

“Oooh, what does it feel like?” Jill wanted to know. Before I could do anything her finger was on it too. Then I felt Sandra’s hand tighten around my balls. Not hard, but sensuously.

Jill’s delicate hand enclosed my shaft, then Sandra’s squeezing became rhythmical, and Melanie had more fingers on me. The sensation was overwhelming. Already some precum was leaking out, lubricating Melanie’s feminine little fingers, so they were now sliding electrifyingly up and down my cockhead.

It was all happening so fast!

The blood was rushing through my head, the feelings were building, out of control, up and up, my cock taking over my being. In a minute I heard myself groaning. I’d been aroused for too long, with their thighs, and now the feeling built to bursting. It was irresistible ... I was cumming, spurting my desperate release in spasm after spasm. Jill and Melanie moved quickly to let my sperm spurt onto the floor between them.

I came and came, lurching and groaning while the girlie hands milked me dry.