Introducing Miss Driscoll
Chapter 4

Copyright© 2017 by Headmaster

Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 4 - Miss Driscoll, the beautiful English teacher, is not like most teachers. But this is no ordinary school.

Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   mt/Fa   Fa/ft   Mult   Teenagers   Consensual   BiSexual   Heterosexual   Fiction   School   Cheating   Incest   Father   Daughter   Rough   Gang Bang   Group Sex   Cream Pie   Exhibitionism   Masturbation   Oral Sex   Voyeurism   Public Sex   Small Breasts   Teacher/Student   Nudism  

Miss Driscoll reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a half empty packed of Marlboro’s. She reached for a cigarette, lit it and inhaled deeply, blowing a thick cloud of smoke into the classroom air.

Still glowing from exertion, enjoying the warm sensation of her pupil’s cum inside her pussy, she pulled the straps of her bra around her shoulders, readjusted her dress and casually checked her reflection in the small mirror that sat neatly on top of a grey filing cabinet.

She had enjoyed her brief encounter with Jeremy, and imagined the excited look on the faces of all those who had watched it live on Facebook.

But despite her pretence, she had been left without the satisfaction so many other boys had given her and she could feel the dull ache between her legs, as though her body knew it had been so close to orgasm, but was now confused that the fun had ended prematurely.

Making small talk with Molly, the 14 year old girl who was increasingly behaving like an overzealous fan girl, did not particularly interest her. But she was at least made curious by the wet stains that darkened her navy blue skirt.

“So you had some fun too?” She asked the girl mischievously, taking another drag of her cigarette. “Who with?”

Miss Driscoll and the Headmaster, Mr Peddigrew, had taken great steps in eliminating the school’s teenage pregnancy problems, which had caused a national scandal when exposed by a leading newspaper a few years previously. She had taken great pleasure in diverting the sexual attentions of the boys away from their female classmates, and the school’s reputation was steadily being restored. Nevertheless, they had to remain vigilant.

“Mr Jenkinson” the girl replied, with more than a hint of embarrassment.

Miss Driscoll laughed, another cloud of smoke bellowing from her lungs. Mr Jenkinson, the history teacher in his late sixties had a reputation as being holier than thou, who made the pretence of strongly disagreeing with her approach to education. He had once made a complaint about her liaisons with the boys, which he had promised to drop in return for a sexual encounter of his own. But she didn’t do blackmail. If he had only asked, she thought at the time, like everyone else, she would probably have said yes.

“Oh my goodness. Did you fuck him?”

“No I just wanked him off in the corridor”.

The teacher was a little relieved on Molly’s behalf, but admired her brazenness. She could tell the girl had changed since the sex education assembly. She was now more confident, her blouse undone to expose her developing cleavage and her skirt folded at the waist to appear far shorter than its original cut intended.

“And you enjoyed it?

Molly nodded bashfully, “he fingered me too. He gave me my first orgasm”.

Miss Driscoll stubbed her cigarette out on her wooden desk, leaving the stub casually next to her pile of lesson plans. She couldn’t help but be proud of the girl as she remembered with a warm shiver her own first orgasm - to this day she had never known anyone with a tongue quite like her father’s.

For most of the female pupils, the assembly had turned them off boys completely, their interest shifting to masturbation and, in some cases, a lust for their teacher. But there was often at least one girl who was inspired, who saw the lust men and boys alike had for their English teacher and wanted some of it for themselves.

“The important thing for girls like us” Miss Driscoll said, in her eloquent, almost old fashioned English accent, “is to understand their needs as well as our own”.

She stood from her seat and moved closer to Molly, perching on the corner of her long wooden desk, her legs crossing sensually from her thighs.

“Older men love young girls. And young boys love older women. Most of them go their entire lives without living out their fantasies, all the while hoping they will meet girls like us.”

Molly smiled, beginning to understand, a rush of butterflies filling her tummy, honoured by the suggestion they might be similar.

“But you can’t understand the power you have over them until you see it with your own eyes. And that means more than just wanking an old man off”.

 
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