I'm one of the few male teachers at St. Matilda's Academy for Young Ladies, a very exclusive English private school for the sixteen to nineteen year old daughters of rather well off parents. One afternoon almost the end of the summer term I was ogling some eighteen year old young beauties, or rather their bulging boob-clinging white blouses and their bare legs displayed in mini skirts at the very limits of St. Matilda's dress code. I heard the click-clack of high heels approaching and the next moment the Headmistress, Miss Fiona Pemberton, was beside me.
"Have you got a moment Mr. Thompson?" Miss Pemberton asked.
Fiona Pemberton's in her early forties, that's about ten years older than me, though she looks younger. She's a beauty with styled blonde hair down to just below her ears, a man's dream figure and legs to match, and she radiates sophistication. I've always got a moment for Miss Pemberton, especially when like then she was standing so close to me I could see down the cleavage of her dress and I could feel the warmth of her body. I'm single, and needless to say, in my lonely bed Miss Pemberton is a regular performer in my masturbation fantasies.
"Their skirts are very short, aren't they?" she continued. "And those blouses are so thin you can see their bras." I felt my face go red. Miss Pemberton continued "I wondered if as a man with an eye for our young ladies you'd be interested in coming to a little party I'm holding in my flat for some of our girls who are off to university."
At St. Matilda's a request from Miss Pemberton is to be taken as an order.
"Which girls?" I asked.
"Annabelle, Lucy, Susan and Wendy," she replied with a mischievous smile. "And your teaching colleague Mr Sanderson will be there too."
She didn't need to tell me more. Annabelle, Lucy and Susan were eighteen on the brink of nineteen, Wendy was already just nineteen, and sex smouldered off all four them. They were constantly being reprimanded for wearing skirts miles higher up their young thighs than St. Matilda's regulations allowed. But I certainly wasn't complaining about the leg show and upskirt glimpses of white schoolgirl knickers their short skirts treated me to in class. All four girls also participated enthusiastically in my wanking dreams, sometimes together with Miss Pemberton.
If Dave Sanderson was going to be there too that confirmed my guesses about what kind of party it would be. Dave was around fifty and married, but he was one of the most lecherous guys I'd ever met. I knew he had a taste for young girls. In his staff room locker he had a stash of hard core porn magazines, mostly featuring girls and boys which the magazine assured readers were over eighteen, if only just. He also had a collection of knickers he said St. Matilda's girls had given him. St. Matilda's was the perfect place for a guy like him. When I mentioned Miss Pemberton's party to him he laughed. He'd been to Miss Pemberton's parties before and had some helpful advice.
"Make sure you wear decent underwear, take some condoms and don't wank for a week before." I took his advice.
A week or so later, on a Friday afternoon after school had ended, after the convoy of parents' BMWs, Mercedes and Range Rovers had whisked their daughters away and silence had descended on St. Matilda's, I made my way to Miss Pemberton's flat annexed to the school building.
I'd never been to Miss Pemberton's flat before. The place was as neatly and tastefully decorated and furnished as I would have expected. Miss Pemberton's blonde hair was as neatly styled as always and she was in a curve-clinging, zip up the back grey dress ending just above her knees and low cut between her breasts. Her shapely legs were in sheer black nylons and the shiny black high heels that click-clacked in school corridors. She was wearing an expensive looking pearl necklace and earrings.
I'd only ever seen her so glamorous as she glided smoothly among our girls' wealthy parents at St. Matilda's parents evenings radiating the kind of elegance and sophistication they expected St. Matilda's to infuse into their daughters.
She showed me into her lounge. There was a leather sofa and armchairs and a coffee table with drinks and nibbles on it. Annabelle, Lucy, Susan and Wendy were already there, fresh from school still in their St. Matilda's uniforms of white blouses, neckties and grey pleated skirts as high up their bare thighs as ever.
The girls were sitting on a rug on the floor in front of a big screen TV that was showing what appeared to be a compilation of videos of well hung men masturbating. On the screen a boy about the same age as the girls was laid back naked on a bed rhythmically tugging his huge erect penis arching over his belly almost as far as his belly button. The girls were so engrossed by the action on screen they didn't seem to notice me arrive
"That's how my older brother does it," I heard pretty blonde Susan say. "He didn't know I was spying on him." The girls giggled." He was looking at my dad's dirty magazines and playing with my worn knickers he'd taken from my laundry." There were more giggles.
To a chorus of excited squeals from the girls the boy's hand suddenly went frantic, his hips rammed up and huge dollops of semen spurted up over his belly and chest. As if only then acknowledging my arrival the girls turned and looked at me.
"Is your cock as big as his Mr. Thompson?" brunette Lucy asked with a big grin, followed by giggles.
Sweet little brunette Wendy, seated cross legged on the floor, turned to treat me to a peep up what little there was of her skirt of the thin gusset of her white knickers between her spread thighs.
"Are you going to wank off for us too Sir?" Wendy asked, looking up at me so innocently in her big glasses, accompanied by more giggles
