Chapter 12: Pricilla the Prick Teasing Pupil

After serving breakfast, and Pippa, in bed I had managed to put things right between us. I now had to telephone Professor Nicholls and apologise for my behaviour at the reunion, as it was he who had organised the event. The phone rang for some time but eventually the receiver was picked up.

"Yes!" said a rather terse and abrupt sounding Professor. It sounded like he had been interrupted doing something rather important, and strenuous, judging by his heavy breathing. I identified myself and started to apologise. The Prof's manner went from annoyance to euphoria.

"Des, my pugnacious pal! How nice to hear your Estuarine English voice."

I started to apologise for thumping Pride. The Prof wouldn't have any of it.

"Nonsense" he boomed, "the blackguard deserved it; had I been 10 years younger I would have horsewhipped the scoundrel myself for his caddish and insulting behaviour to the delectable Phillipa ... how is the sweet girl by the way?"

I replied that I had left her smoking in bed, and got the laugh I was expecting (Pippa doesn't smoke). Then I tried apologising for getting Tanya too drunk to be able carry out her doxy duties. Once again the Prof brushed my apology aside.

"I sent the poor girl home in a cab as she was rather an unbecoming shade of eau- de- nil, it didn't go with her hair" The Prof gave a short laugh. "Anyway I have you to thank for detaching the fragrant, and extremely athletic, Pandora from the clutches of that bounder Pride. With him going home early clutching his jaw and Tanya going home early clutching her stomach it left Pandora and I free to 'get it on together ', as one says."

He then said he had just been called to go and open Pandora's Box once more, and hung up.

On the1st January 1990, the second anniversary of us first making love, I asked Pippa to marry me. She turned me down!

When I had asked her (I didn't do on the bended knee bit!) she had looked at me in a mixture of surprise, pleasure, sadness, love and what could have been guilt. All these emotions, and a few others too swift to identify, flickered across her face. She put her arms around my neck, hugged me, and said in a tearful voice.

"Oh Dewey, that's the nicest thing I've ever been asked ... but I can't!"

She stayed holding me for a few minutes and then said "Let's sit down and I'll explain why I have to refuse, but you've made my day by asking."

Pippa started talking, looking at me with such an expression of love in her eyes that I knew she was speaking from the bottom of her heart.

"You are the nicest sexiest funniest and most lovely man I've ever met. I love you but I know if we married that within a few years all that love between us would have evaporated."

I made to reply but she laid a finger on my lips.

"First of all there is the difference in our ages" she continued. Once again I tried to speak but her fingers stopped me.

"I'm 38 and you're not yet 26; in 12 years I'll be 50 and you won't even be as old as I am now. You will want someone your own age to take out, not some old granny!"

She looked a bit rueful "Then there's my career, I can't just up sticks and follow you whenever the regiment moves base."

It could have been Miriam talking; she was using the same argument.

Pippa continued "I couldn't put up with all the separations; it's been difficult for me to cope the times we've been apart since we first set up home together. I want, need, a husband home at night, working regular hours, who isn't suddenly whisked away for months at a time to dangerous places."

"OK" I said, "I'll leave the army and get a civvy job!"

Pippa kissed me, softly and lovingly. "Oh Dewey, you love the army, it's your life. You'd end up hating me if you left on my account," she kissed me again, this time a bit more passionately, "but thank you for contemplating the sacrifice."

She gave a little sigh and continued. "In a way I'm making the same sacrifice, for love of you. If I married you it would end with you hating the frumpy old granny that forced you to leave the life you loved. I have to refuse your offer of marriage because I couldn't bear it if your love for me turned to hate!"

So that was the start of my New Year of 1990; turned down by the woman I loved because she loved me! How ironic is that? She was right of course. I'd make a lousy civvy and I did love the army, maybe more than I loved Pippa. (There was also the slight problem of me still being married to Miriam!)

The cracks in our relationship had probably started before the Tinamaen Square bust up, but that had been the defining moment, when deep down we had realised that we inhabited different worlds, and although we loved one another we could not exist together in the same world. Pippa's refusal to marry me just underlined that difference. From that moment on we knew that our relationship would end when the battalion moved on.

During the first few weeks of that January our love making was of the frenzied, frantic, 'fuck yer brains out' variety. I suppose it wasn't lovemaking but pure and simple fucking. Make no mistake it was very enjoyable and we would both collapse after our shared climax, fully satisfied. However the frequency, and intensity, of these occasions gradually decreased.

Pippa's Ph.D. was entering the final phase. She had written rewritten, altered, added, edited and generally sweated blood over the document. She should have got the award purely on the sheer hard work she had put in on it; almost 100,000 words written in her thesis and God knows how many man/hours (woman/hours!) spent in research, but I knew it had to be peer reviewed. (I made some joke about the House of Lords but she didn't laugh!) It had been finally despatched, to be printed up to presentation standard, about the middle of February. After Pippa had checked it for any printing errors, quite a task in itself, it would be then sent, anonymously, to several Universities for examination, with the final decision whether to award Pippa the doctorate made at Cambridge University. The amount/ quality of our love making around this time was negligible, mediocre and brief, Pippa was focussed on that Ph.D. and had time for little else.

I got back from barracks one dark and cold late February evening to an empty house. A note stuck on the 'fridge door informed me that Pippa would be back late from a meeting and that there were sandwiches and a 6 pack of Murphy stout in the front room. The room was now a combined sitting/dining room, with a table that was usually folded down in a corner but this evening was set up, with a number of exercise books, a ruler and some text books on it. A single upright chair had been placed at the head of the table so I figured that Pippa had been doing some Ph.D. related work and hadn't had the time to put things away. My sandwiches and beer were also on the table, but I took them and sat in an easy chair to eat.

I had just about finished the sandwiches and had drunk one of the cans of Murphys when there was a ring at the front door. Pippa had a key so I wondered who it might be, unless she had forgotten her key of course. I opened the door and 'Priscilla' said, a bit breathlessly,

"I hope you won't give me a low mark for being late with my homework Mr Desmond!"

She spoke with the standard south east England accent, not posh but not Estuary English; in a little girl voice, (think a Marilyn Monroe voice with a Helen Mirren accent) that was higher pitched and nothing like Pippa's normal speaking voice.

Priscilla pushed past me, managing to rub her buttocks against my genitals as she did so, and made her way into the front room. I stood there, my mouth hanging open, completely astonished by this sudden manifestation of Priscilla the Prick Teaser Pupil.

Although this was the first time Priscilla had appeared I had studied the scenario, which was more structured than 'Hannah', and one in which I had a more proactive role. Basically the scenario was that Priscilla hands in her homework late; her teacher (lucky me!) gives it a low grade and then Priscilla attempts to get a higher grade by promising 'favours'. When the teacher tries to collect his favours she plays hard to get and threatens to tell the school board of his behaviour. He takes her against her will and the scenario ends with her being compliant and submissive. I had some misgivings about the simulated rape segment but Pippa had said it would be up to me how much, simulated, force I used, and that she wouldn't let it go too far before 'surrendering.'

Priscilla was dressed in traditional schoolgirl garb, as depicted in porno films. Her short plaid skirt barely reached mid-thigh, the white blouse she wore was tented by her breasts( remember Pippa was a full grown woman not a schoolgirl, but then so are the 'girls' in the porno films!). Her blazer was undone, and was the same dark blue as the long socks she wore, which were pulled up to just above her knees, leaving an expanse of bare white flesh between the stocking tops and the hem of her skirt; very erotic. She wore minimal make up, which was what you would expect from a school girl; the faint blush of pink on her lips, and the dark eyeliner around her eyes, made her look both vulnerable and sexy at the same time, a very potent combination. Her shoes were black patent leather and had straps around her ankle; with her dark hair pulled into a pony tail, tied with a green ribbon, she was the very epitome of a walking wet dream.

Priscilla had stood demurely in front of me while I had conducted this inventory. Now she started the scenario.

"Shall I show you what I've got to offer you?" she asked suggestively.

I sat down in the chair at the table and said,

"Give me your book; you realise I will have to give a low grade because of the lateness of the work?"

She handed me an exercise book and took off her blazer, then went and sat in an easy chair directly across from me. I opened the book, playing the part, but to my surprise there was something written on the first page.

'I've been a self-centred bitch these last weeks and you have been a darling. I'm going to make it up to you tonight, love Pippa'

I looked over to Priscilla with a huge grin on my face and said,

"This work is excellent, but I still can't give you an A."

Priscilla opened her legs showing her white, schoolgirl, cotton knickers.

"Can't you see anything that's likely to change your mind? I really need that A."

I realised then what a difficult job male teachers had in schools, with temptations like Priscilla thrown in their path every day.

"Come over here and we will go through the options." By now I had an enormous hard on. Priscilla came over to the table and leaned over my shoulder, looking at her 'homework'. Her breath tickled my ear and her soft warm breasts nudged my neck. She stuck her tongue in my ear and said,

"I've seen you staring at my boobs, would you like to touch them?"

I nodded and she unbuttoned her blouse and pushed her bra covered tits into my chest. I went to grab them but she said.

"I think that that's worth a C+"

I marked her book C+ and rubbed her tits through her bra. Priscilla kissed me, a virgin schoolgirl kiss and turned her head when I tried to put my tongue in her mouth.

"Putting your tongue in my mouth? That's so yucky Mr Desmond!"

"What would I get from you if you got an A from me?" I asked, breathing hard; this was really getting to me, I was beginning to get into character, determined to give this prick teasing school girl a shagging, by fair means or foul. She thought for a while and said.

"I would let you put your tongue in my mouth."

"Not enough" I said "what about sucking my prick?"

Priscilla was shocked.