Chapter 3

2 months had passed since Miss Driscoll and Mr Peddigrew had struck their bargain and, so far at least, both sides had stuck to it.

The Headmaster had drawn a long list of those he suspected of knowing the truth about Molly, and Miss Driscoll had entertained them as promised. It had hardly been the worst challenge for her. Steve, the mechanic, with his rippling muscles and thick cock that curved at an unusual angle. Alan, the new Chairman of St Augustine’s Board of Governors who had signed off on the decision to expel the 14 year old as soon as news of her pregnancy spread. Bryan, a work colleague of Molly’s father who had spent most of the encounter asking what the young girl’s pussy tasted like. There were many more.

Miss Driscoll was very late for school, but since she had been made Deputy Headmistress she had fewer classes to teach and had decided she could turn up whenever she liked. She dusted her face with make up and finished grooming her rich, mahogany hair. She straightened the sheets of her large bed, pulling aside the forgotten boxer shorts of her most recent lover - a handsome 15 year old who was so nervous it took him several attempts to get erect. She took a moment to breathe in his scent (she was used to the smell of the cheap body spray that most of the boys at school used) before folding them and placing them neatly in the ‘lost property drawer’ she kept for items that had been left behind.

She brewed herself a cup of coffee and reached disappointedly for her empty pack of cigarettes, scrunching the packet and tossing it aside. She looked down at the letter of handwritten names on official St Augustine’s headed paper. Mr Peddigrew had sent her a note listing the 50 or so names who he believed might know about Molly. She scanned down the list that had all but but a handful of names ticked off, reaching for her pen. Adam, the 15 year old who sat next to Molly in her English class was now accounted for, she remembered with a smile the feeling of his cum pouring over her firm breasts.

The winter sun washed over her face as she exited her building and headed onto the market place square. The usual mix of businessmen, pensioners and housewives scuttled from shop to shop, stopping briefly to chat to neighbours and friends who were impossible to avoid in such a small community.

Desperate for cigarettes she walked casually into a newsagents. Two boys, dressed smartly in school uniform, giggled in the corner as they flicked through this month’s copy of Topless Sluts magazine.

“Like what you see boys?” she asked, trying not to laugh.

The boys cringed at having been caught. Even with Miss Driscoll’s reputation, they knew being seen in town during school hours was likely to get them in trouble.

But she didn’t mind. They handed her the magazine bashfully. She flicked through it briefly, her lips pursing as each page showed naked woman after naked woman in all manners of provocative poses.

“Don’t waste your money on this stuff. There’s so much free porn on the internet, it’s cheaper and much more hardcore than this”.

The boys nodded and scuttled off.

“Ah Sophie! Good to see you, my dear!”

Mr Patel stood proudly behind the counter, his greying moustache twitching as he tried to hide his delight at seeing her.

“You look glamorous as ever! Still keeping the school boys in line I see!”

“I’m trying my best!” she acknowledged with a girlish smile as he handed a pack of Marlboro Gold’s to her, taking the opportunity to brush his hand against hers.

“On the house, my dear!”. Mr Patel cried in his thick Indian accent which still hadn’t softened despite having lived in England for many years. He never expected monetary payment for her cigarettes.

“I’m sure you want something in return!”she laughed as he beckoned her to join him behind the counter.

She bit her lip seductively, reaching for a small hairband from her purse, tying her long brown hair in a simple knot. Mr Patel was already hard, and busy unzipping his trousers.

Miss Driscoll joined him, hitching her figure-hugging dress up above her waist to allow her to drop to her knees.

“You are so beautiful aren’t you?”, his tone was almost paternal. “Take your dress off my dear, I want to see those tits”.

An exasperated cry was heard from the corner of the shop as Mrs Patel stormed toward the counter.

“VIJAY! What have I told you about that whore!”

His wife was a short, burly looking woman whose face contorted with rage at the mere sight of Miss Driscoll, who quickly bounced to her feet. Mr Patel looked horrified.

“Come now that is no way to talk to valued customers” he responded half heartedly, looking apologetically at the teacher whose eyes were still rolling. She was used to this.

“Ah but she’s not a customer is she? You give her free cigarettes for a reason you dirty old man! It’s bad enough she spreads her filth around the whole town but I will not allow her to corrupt my own family! And put that thing back in your trousers!”

Miss Driscoll knew there was no point in staying, she mouthed ‘sorry’ to the shopkeeper, thanked him again for the cigarettes and made for the door.

The weather was cold, her whole body shuddering as she lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. It was rare for her to smoke the first of a pack without the salty taste of Mr Patel’s semen still coating her mouth.

Her heart raced, the screeching sound of his wife’s angry voice still ringing in her ears. There were occasions when she asked herself whether she should be doing all this. She caught her reflection in a bookshop window. Her tied hair exposed the skin of her neck and she looked herself directly in the eyes.

She knew she was a good person. She was kind, she treated people nicely, gave to charity, everything she was meant to do. But her whole life she had been an object of desire. She could not remember a time when her first thought of the day wasn’t about sex. How many marriages had broken down because of her? Was she wrong to believe her schoolboys weren’t in any way damaged by her submission to hers, and their own lust? Even Molly, the sweetest, most innocent of girls was now suffering the consequences of the lust she had inspired.

Miss Driscoll shrugged off her momentary regret, dropped her cigarette to the floor and stubbed it out with her black Jimmy Choo high heels. Mrs Patel was right, she was a whore. A recognisable rush fizzed through her body. She needed sex quickly, her pussy almost burned with desperate need.

It would take too long to get to school and find a boy able to fulfil her needs. She breathed deeply, faster and faster fearing she was on the verge of a panic attack. Trying to calm herself, she strode quickly and confidently through the marketplace, the imposing town clock striking 11am and ringing loudly.

The town square’s public toilets had a local reputation among the seedy old men of the town. Set back from the local shops and hidden behind a mass of cars, the grey concrete building stood out as the ugliest, most brutal architecture in a town more accustomed to pretty Victorian terraces. Nevertheless, there was a small army of frustrated grandfather figures who would visit secretly in the hope of finding some fun. For the most part, their hopes were squandered, having to settle for an hour standing by the urinals slowly stroking their tired cocks endlessly waiting. But once in a while they would strike lucky, a boy from St Augustine’s who, having heard rumours about what happened there, would turn up to explore his confused sexuality.