All Characters In This Story Are 18+ Years Old.
*****
Mary McGuinness loved her little cunt. She thought its pale blonde downy fuzz and thin central groove made it look like a peach. Moreover, she loved to fiddle it until its thick sticky juice coated her fingers and her breath was taken away by the rushing sensation which always accompanied the flooding fluids. At eighteen, with five years of experienced experimentation behind her, she was expert at thrilling herself.
Her little pussy was such an easy reach that she could play with it almost anywhere or anytime. In fact, lately she derived extra pleasure when she knew a man or a boy was watching, but they did not know that she knew. She saw no harm in teasing. "After all," she would think to herself, "It's not as if THEY are touching me!" She was very proud that her father and uncle were the only males who had ever kissed her, and then only on the cheek. When she had danced with school chums, just to learn how, she very carefully maintained a proper distance when her partner held her.
On this warm afternoon, in late May, 1930, during her final year at George Washington High School, Mary sat modestly dressed in a mid-calf length forest green cotton smock with gold camellias splashed in a big bold pattern. She tapped the toes of her shiny black Mary Janes and yawned with boredom while a substitute English teacher read translated excerpts from the epic poem, 'Parzifal' by Wolfram von Eschenbach. Stifling another yawn, she wished Mrs. Anderson had not gotten sick. This new teacher was young, and he was handsome enough to look at, but Mrs. Anderson never read anything out loud. She usually just sat quietly at her desk while her twenty-three senior students copied each other's compositions or drew naughty pictures in their notebooks.
As Mary listened to Mr. Trotter's expressive stentorian baritone voice, her left hand drifted below the steel belly of her wooden flip-top desk while her right hand crept diagonally across her own tummy and rested on her ribcage. She was hardly aware of her actions until she felt her fingers begin to caress her left thigh and gently squeeze the swelling underside of her left breast through her clothes. She smiled like Mona Lisa as a familiar dreamy warm sensation built in her pussy and her throbbing nipples.
Tommy Watson, on Mary's right, coughed softly and surreptitiously pointed at her. Marty Bolger and Bill Yates lifted their heads from their tic-tac-toe game. Soon all three boys were staring at Mary, hoping that she would, as she had in the past, provide them with some amusement. Even though she made them ache and sweat, the boys enjoyed their discomfort and were ever alert for repeat episodes. Of course, they never let on they were watching for fear she would change her strange habit.
Marty already had his trousers unbuttoned as a precaution. Tommy twisted his body in his swivel chair and clutched his crotch through his corduroys. Bill hunched forward. His critical view was restricted, but he at least had a good angle on her hips, which sometimes moved quite a lot when she got going.
The substitute teacher also saw the developing show. In fact, he had the best view, over the cover of von Eschenbach's book, as he read the selected passages. His problem, after he watched Mary's left hand dive between her thighs and drive her flimsy dress skirting upward against their junction, was keeping his place in the verses. After a few moments he gave up trying and closed 'Parzifal.'
Looking at the big wall clock, Mr. Trotter scanned the classroom and said, "Well, you have all been a terrific audience and I appreciate that this great epic romance is probably not what you expected to hear about today." He smiled at the room and continued, "And there's ANOTHER lesson for you: Expect surprises and you may be less surprised by the unexpected." Trotter laughed lightly and concluded, "As a reward, and because this is the last period of the day and the week, you are excused early. By which, I mean, NOW! Have a great weekend."
The classroom burst into noise as desks opened and slammed shut. The kids jockeyed for position and chattered amongst themselves as they scurried out the front and rear doors. Mary, caught unawares by the sudden announcement, was still sitting in her desk when the last student fled. Trotter quietly closed and locked the exits. After pulling the doors window shades down, he crossed the room, between the desk rows, to the opposite outside wall.
As he passed behind her seat, Mr. Trotter said, "Miss McGuinness, please go to the blackboard and wait there for me. I'll be with you in just a moment." With a quizzical look and a small shrug, Mary walked to the front of the room. She watched, with mild interest, while the substitute teacher closed all the venetian blinds on the tall windows and approached her. At Mrs. Anderson's big oak desk, Trotter turned the tall straight chair and sat, facing Mary, with his knees apart. "Stand near me," he quietly commanded. His tone was even, but the imperative was clear.
As she stepped forward and stood between his legs, Mary wondered what was going on. Wordlessly, Edward Trotter took her hand. The same hand she had been rubbing against her pussy through her clothes. The dry warmth from his large palm enveloped her. Her peach moistened and her tummy turned over. He raised her fingers to his face, imagining a faint sex-scent there as he sniffed her fingernails. Kissing the tender tips, he closed his lips around the first joints of her three longest digits. Her pinky naturally poked the crease at right corner of his watering mouth.
The unexpected sensitivity of this little act made Mary's cunt quite keen. She inhaled sharply as a pleasure pang pierced her chest. Still silently nibbling her knuckles, Trotter lowered his left hand and slid it up Mary's calf, under the hem of her thin green dress and thinner beige rayon chemise. Resting his curved palm on Mary's hip, he removed her fingers from his mouth and crabbed the dress and lingerie material up her left side with her own hand in his.
Mary lifted her right hand to her teacher's face but, instead of slapping him for his unrequested advances, she ran the backs of her knuckles down his cheek. Reversing her fingers at his lips, she pushed them past his pearly teeth and hooked her thumb under his chin. Trotter accepted the offered replacements and sucked gently while he traversed her abdomen with his left hand and untied her bloomers' drawstring. Mary, fidgeting at his soft tugging touch, freed both her hands and braced herself on his shoulders.
Swiftly, Mr. Trotter pulled the balloon-legged cotton underwear to Mary's knees, then raised her skirts to her waist. Beads of honeyed dew glistened on her downy mound. Her nether lips beckoned with a thin smile. Content to let Mary's dress drape his wrists, he squeezed her bottom with his right hand while his left addressed her peach's perfect slit. He lightly fingered up and down, gliding ever more easily within her increasingly slick track.
