Chapter 9

“Hurry up or we’ll be late” moaned Beverley as she waited impatiently for her husband to park his large 4x4 car. She never quite understood why he was so determined to ensure he parked perfectly between the parallel white lines of any given space. “It starts in fifteen minutes”.

She checked herself in the side mirror, making sure her make up was not smudged and her flowing blonde hair was exactly as she hoped.

Molly’s parents were nervous. They had settled into their new town well, but this was their first opportunity to meet other parents at St Augustine’s and they were keen to make a good impression.

The school talent show was somewhat notorious - or it had certainly become so in recent years since the new Headmaster, Mr Peddigrew had taken up his position. Men from all over the area had the date marked in their diaries months before, and they would chat excitedly in the local pubs as the date drew near.

They walked hand in hand through the guest car park, which was full of Range Rovers and BMWs, towards the entrance to the main school building. Even from afar they could see a large number of people queuing up, handing over their tickets and walking through into the school cafeteria which, today at least, served as a bar to entertain the parents ahead of the show.

In their old town they knew almost everyone. But they were still very much new, and had not yet found time to develop new friendships.

Their nerves eased as they entered the building. Over a hundred guests sipped cheap wine and munched on bland nibbles whilst chatting eagerly. The mum’s passed the time chatting about school curriculums, gossiping about the latest disagreements at the recent PTA meeting and collectively rolling their eyes as their husband’s asked each other if they had seen Miss Driscoll yet, regaling to one another the latest stories they had heard about the beautiful English teacher.

“ ... well if that’s what detention is like these days then I might have to enrol in night classes!” proclaimed one particularly overweight man to a small circle of friends, all of whom were laughing so hard that remnants of Pringles flew from their mouths.

“Here look at this...” said another, pulling his phone from his suit pocket and scrolling through the photos. “she sent it to my eldest boy last week to say well done for scoring the winning goal”.

They huddled around the phone and smirked, each of them asking if they could get a copy for their already extensive personal collections.

But the loud din of gossip, laughter and small talk turned to a hushed whisper as Molly’s parents walked into the cafeteria, helping themselves to a glass of wine from a silver tray.

The women enjoyed having a new couple to judge, but all of them allowed themselves a moment to admire John’s square jaw and muscular frame, watching lustfully as he took a sip of wine.

“Don’t bother ladies, I’ve heard Miss Driscoll has already got her claws into him” announced one woman, whose pearl necklace and conservative dress sense perfectly encapsulated the archetypal chairwoman of a small town Board of Governors.

“Oh yes” replied the woman next to her. “I was dropping Johnny off at school last month and I saw it with my own eyes”.

“She’s absolutely insatiable isn’t she?” whispered another. “My friend from yoga lives in the flat next door to hers and she can barely sleep for all the noise coming from her bedroom. And it’s every single night!”

They tutted to themselves disapprovingly, trying their best to pretend their annoyance was something other than jealousy.

Beverley and John cast their eyes across the room, instinctively knowing that they were being assessed from afar. They looked at each other anxiously, raising their eyebrows at each other as if speaking a secret language only they understood.

Beverley straightened her plain dress, worried that the reason so many were looking at her was some sort of wardrobe malfunction. John was used to seeing women gaze at him, but he couldn’t help notice the number of men in the room who were nodding at him as though he was some sort of minor celebrity.

“Ah you must be Molly’s parents!” boomed a deep voice, the kind that could only belong to a particularly old school Headmaster. “I’m Mr Peddigrew it is so nice to meet you at long last.”

The thin, wiry man was wearing his usual black gown, which covered his entire body from head to toe and was so dark that it somehow made his thin grey hair seem like a splash of vibrant colour. His face beamed at the opportunity to officially welcome the new parents to their first formal school event.

“My goodness” he said, looking deeply into Beverley’s eyes. “I can see where Molly gets her beauty!”

She smiled casually. She was used to compliments about her good looks but, as the years got on, she was most aware that such compliments were becoming increasingly rare.

“Although I’m sad to say you are covering yourself up a little more than Molly does. I can tell you she has caused quite the stir with my male colleagues in the staff room”.

Molly’s father knew exactly what he meant, but didn’t want to make the situation too awkward for his wife.

“Yes thank you. We are very lucky”.

“Ah yes you are my dear man! And thanks to her our raffle tickets are nearly sold out! You must try and get some before it’s too late. Just one pound per ticket and all the proceeds will go to a good cause of some sort. The prizes really are exceptional this year we are so grateful. And of course it’s a big night for her too! You must be so proud”

The couple nodded, ever so slightly baffled by the eccentric Headmaster who was now shaking their hands furiously ahead of turning sharply and making his way off to meet the other parents.

And they did indeed buy the raffle tickets as they entered the dusty of school hall, handing over a crisp twenty pound note to Mrs Clarke, the kindly old home economics teacher who was dutifully manning the charity desk.

“Ah yes. You’re Molly’s parents. I’ve been asked to keep these tickets aside just for you”.

John was confused that they had tickets already reserved for them, but thanks the lady with a smile as he looked down on his strips of raffle tickets which read from 480 to 500.

They took each other’s hands and made their way along down the centre of the room to find their seats.

John was instantly reminded of his own school hall - they all looked the same. Bland curtains covered the six huge windows to his right, a hundred or so plastic, uncomfortable seats were lined in rows facing the stage which was dark and drab. He looked around as the parents, grandparents and, in some cases, perfect strangers took their seats, each of them busily scanning through their thin paper programmes and whispering to each other as they tried to determine how long they would have to wait for the raffle prizes to be announced.

He couldn’t help wonder where Miss Driscoll was. He wanted to be supportive of the Talent Contest but he was particularly keen just to set eyes on her. When he closed his eyes he could still feel her lips around his cock, her tongue swirling sensuously. Indeed, he could still hear her moaning, begging to be taken harder and deeper. But nothing would ever erase from his mind the sight of her making Molly cum. Ever since their pre-school encounter several weeks earlier, his infatuation with his daughter had turned to an uncontrollable lust. They hadn’t spoken about what happened, but they would look at each other across the dinner table and laugh awkwardly as if trying their hardest not to succumb to their desires.

Beverley had at first found their obvious sexual chemistry difficult to understand, but the more she settled into their new home town the more she began to accept that the open mindedness of the local people was something to be embraced, not challenged.

John put his memories to one side. Just the thought of what had happened made him erect, and now wasn’t the time or the place. He was relieved to be distracted as the house lights went dim, and the stage suddenly glowed brightly as the audience clapped politely.

“Friends of Saint Augustine’s!” bellowed Mr Peddigrew before he had even taken his place in the centre of the state, holding a long black microphone tightly, “a very warm welcome to you all. Our annual talent contest is our opportunity to show you the very brightest and best our wonderful school has to offer. Now, I know why many of you are here ... particularly our gentlemen guests!”

A gentle hum of laughter passed through the hall as if no one was quite willing to admit that they had no particular interest in the acts that were to follow.

“But it’s important to enjoy the entire show. Many of our children have all manners of more, shall we say, traditional talents and no doubt we will enjoy them all equally. But don’t worry, Miss Driscoll will join us a little later for the raffle draw, and may I say this year we really do have a rather exceptional first prize. So without further ado, let’s start the show!”

Another polite round of applause filled the room as, one by one, the acts entered the stage. First was a dance group, 5 young girls throwing themselves around to the heavy beat of a One Direction song. Some men enjoyed it, but the girls were fully dressed and it was hard for most in the audience to get particularly enthused. The next a stand up comedy routine, one of the fifteen year old boys clearly thinking he was funnier than he was.

Over the next hour various acts came and went; a dramatic reading, a piano recital and a Monty Python sketch that was actually rather good - the oldest in the audience chuckling to themselves as four young boys in fake, thick Yorkshire accents and even thicker flat caps regaled to themselves a story of how difficult life was ‘in their day’. It was a highlight in an otherwise dull affair which was tolerated entirely on the basis of what was still to come.

“We are doing the right thing aren’t we?” whispered Beverley, squeezing her husband’s muscular arm. “I mean, all these people ... and she’s still very young.”

“Of course darling” came the hushed reply. “We sat her down and asked her. She said she wanted to. This is just what they do here.”

Beverley was reassured, but she looked around the audience and all the men were so much older. She wondered which one it would be. She remembered her own first time - how awkward she felt when, at her best friend’s 14th birthday party, one of the Dad’s followed her into the bathroom. But at least she was alone with him. She couldn’t help ask herself how she would have felt doing it in front of a hundred leering people.