Chapter 8

Molly burst out of her classroom giving the bell barely enough opportunity to ring. French had never been her strongest subject - and given every time she had visited the country the locals insisted on speaking English, she knew she would never have much opportunity to put what little she had learned into practice any way.

She had spent much of the lesson thinking about what had transpired a few days earlier. Watching her father enjoy Miss Driscoll was more erotic, more exciting and more fulfilling than she could ever have imagined. Word had, of course, gotten around school. Several of the boys, all of whom had been late for school, had witnessed the three of them outside the gates, the beautiful English teacher slung over the car bonnet, Molly’s slender legs spread open enjoying Miss Driscoll’s tongue whilst her father expended every ounce of the sexual frustration that had been building for so long inside her vice-like arse.

Chinese whispers had, of course, taken over, and most of the boys believed that Molly’s father had fucked her, as well as Miss Driscoll.

It wasn’t true of course. Molly was still a virgin. But given everyone knew she had wanked off the elderly history teacher, Mr Jenkinson, as well as having had sex with Miss Driscoll in the playground in front of countless pupils and teachers, they had all drawn their own conclusions that she was now a slut herself.

Very few of the girls at St Augustine’s had lost their virginity. The boys’ teenage lust was fully directed at their teacher, and the girl’s had learned so much from the infamous sex education assembly that their desires were now fully met by their own small fingers.

So the idea of the pretty 14 year old, whose small frame, flowing strawberry blonde hair and cute dimples would have attracted most men and boys in a normal town, being so sexually open was something of a novelty.

The corridors filled with pupils making their way to their next class. All of them looked the same. Their polyester skirts, trousers and blazers, twinned with the gold and navy blue striped school ties, looked smart enough but there was little room for sartorial creativity. But Molly did her best, she refused to wear tights despite the autumnal weather, showing off her long white legs which seemed all the longer given how she had customised her skirt to sit only just above her bum. Molly rarely bothered to wear a bra now, choosing to keep her white blouse unbuttoned down to the naval ensuring any passer by saw more than a hint of her emerging firm breasts.

Molly fought her way past her fellow pupils. Her recent experiences, far from having put her off sex, made her hungry for it. Her pubescent pussy was, at least in her mind, permanently wet and any natural fear she had of losing her virginity - she had heard that the first time always hurts - was long forgotten. Losing her virginity was now the only thing that mattered, but she needed advice.

Miss Driscoll was the only woman she trusted to help. Her mother, she assumed, had heard about the recent encounter (nothing was kept secret in their small market town, especially when the gossip centred around the elegant English teacher). But there was no way Molly could talk about sex with her mother.

Molly arrived at the bottom of the central corridor which spanned the length of the main school building. The school hall was in front of her, the school cafeteria beyond it. She turned the corner, passing the vending machines that were busy serving chocolate to the youngest pupils, and headed towards the staff room.

She knew that pupils weren’t allowed in the staff room, they weren’t even allowed to knock on the door. But she had been trying to find her English teacher all day and this was the only place left to look.

The door was rock hard, the rich heavy oak seemed a little out of place given most of the classroom doors were made of cheap fibreboard. She waited impatiently, noticing a faint reflection in the small glass window that was covered in paper to stop pupils peering through.

The door swung open furiously.

“What are you doing knocking on the door!” bellowed the man, whose face quickly turned from fury to a smirk as he realised who was stood before him.

It was Mr Harrison. Physics was another subject she had little time for but ever since he had seen the girl having sex with Miss Driscoll on the school playground Mr Harrison certainly had developed an interest in her.

“Ah hello Molly...” he said, placing his cup of coffee down on the table next to the door frame. “You look amazing today, very sexy indeed”.

His admiring gaze flicked down her body, spending a little longer than was necessary looking down her open blouse as he licked his lips.

“Erm. OK, thanks Sir ... but is Miss...”

He interrupted her, ignoring one of the older female teachers as she slipped past, entering the room, dropping her books on the sofa before slumping down with a sigh. He had spotted an opportunity.

“Why don’t we go somewhere quiet? Just me and you? Surely your Dad’s not keeping your tight little body all to himself?”

Molly rolled her eyes, flicking her hair behind her right ear.

“I’m not having sex with my Dad” she replied, trying to peer past him to see who else was in the staff room.

Mr Harrison looked surprised, his hand slid up against the open door as he leaned against it. His cheap, ill fitting suit looking all the more misshapen.

“Oh. That’s ok. His loss I suppose. Well I know you’re not just into girls, Mr Jenkinson has been telling anyone who’ll listen how much you enjoy his cock inside you”.

Molly sighed. Even at 14 she knew men and boys alike had the tendency to exaggerate their sexual conquests. But Mr Jenkinson was famed for being supposedly against the liberal attitude the school had recently taken to sex education and she was more than a little surprised that the 68 year old history teacher had resorted to the same false stories as the rest of them.

“I haven’t had sex with him either.”

“Oh really!” He replied with delight.

The door opened a little wider, she saw immediately Mr Jenkinson sat marking homework on a small desk by the window, surrounded by several other teachers who were flicking through magazines and sipping tea casually.

“So you haven’t been fucking Molly after all you silly old fool!” He cried, facing him directly.

Mr Jenkinson looked mortified, looking up from his books. His lips moved inaudibly, his shoulders dropping with embarrassment as his hand ruffled his short grey hair, trying to ignore the exposure of his lie. The other teacher’s laughed heartily, crying ‘I told you so!’ and ‘I knew you were lying’ through their smirks.

“Well then...” Mr Harrison returned his attention to the girl and stroking her shoulder. “Why don’t we just sneak into the toilets, I’ve seen your gorgeous little pussy maybe it’s time you saw my hard cock”.

His smile was lecherous. He wasn’t a good looking man but his leering manner made him all the more unattractive still.

“I was looking for Miss Driscoll but I can see she’s not here”.

Molly turned and walked away, her rebuff seemingly breaking Mr Harrison’s heart. He thought about going after her but he thought better of it and returned into the staff room, the door slamming shut behind him.

She made her way back towards the main corridor, ready to give up her search. Schoolchildren continued about their business, filling the corridors with noise and laughter, but obstructing her view and ending her faint hope of bumping into her beautiful teacher.

She turned in exasperation. Mr Peddigrew, the Headmaster swept through the cafeteria, past the main hall and towards his office door which was virtually hidden behind a large poster advertising the forthcoming talent contest.

Mr Peddigrew was in his 60s. He was taller than most men, but he was thin and gangly, an almost wiry frame that seemed all the more noticeable by his poor posture. His long black gown covered his whole body, the knot of his dull silver tie and bright white collar peering above it’s hem.

Molly knew that Mr Peddigrew was as obsessed by Miss Driscoll as anyone else - she had never quite been able to scrub the image of his face as he pleasured himself watching Miss Driscoll’s sex education class several weeks earlier from her mind.

“Sir...” she called out. Molly had never spoken to the Headmaster before. She’d often thought him a little aloof, not because he was rude but rather because many men of supreme intelligence had difficulty making polite conversation.

But he was pleased to see her. He knew of Molly more by reputation than anything else - Miss Driscoll had taken great delight in regaling their adventures whilst sat on his knee during a particularly dull staff meeting.

He stood before her, smiled, and held out his hand, holding her chin whilst he inspected her.

“My goodness, you really are a beautiful little thing aren’t you?”

“Erm ... thanks Sir” she blushed awkwardly, noticing the corridor beginning to empty as the bell rang again to signal the beginning of the next classes.

“I suppose I’m meant to say how I disapprove of your rather lax attitude towards proper use of the school uniform, but it would be a shame to hide what wonderful assets you have”.

He smiled softly, thoughtfully.

“Molly I’m glad I ran into you. You do know we have a very strict policy on preventing pregnancy among the female pupils here at St Augustine’s. I can’t help but notice you have a rapidly developing reputation...”

She was mortified. Molly knew he was right, and had done her best to emulate Miss Driscoll’s enjoyment at her own infamy, but to hear it put so bluntly from the Headmaster gave her pangs of guilt and horror.

“ ... so I want you to be very careful. Enjoy yourself by all means, heaven knows I understand how strong our desires can be. But please be careful. Do you understand?”