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(It was late autumn of 1960 and I, David Shaw, was 20 years old and was following my absorbing hobby of bird watching. I had unfortunately been detained by Amelia Wiff-Naseford, headmistress, for being an alleged ‘Peeping Tom’ in the grounds of ‘Dentwood Finishing School for Tall Girls aged 18 to 20 years old’. There were 120 girls registered at the school. Clearly I was not a so called ‘pervert’ but I could not prove it.
I had decided not to get the police involved by agreeing to submit myself to the traditional ‘Punishment Rules of the School’ as applied to Peeping Toms. This involved being stripped naked and spread-eagled on the headmistress’ study carpet, and fettered with ropes and leather straps to metal rings set in floorboards. I was then required to orally pleasure the ‘whole’ school. This is part eight of my tale)
Lying on my back on the cold tiled shower floor staring at the nozzles above me and smelling quite heavily of urine, I clearly must have made a pathetic forlorn sight. Someone near me, probably Miss Hopkins, the games mistress, turned the shower control lever on and I was immediately blasted by freezing cold water from all ten shower heads.
“Aghhh, ooh, bloody, farting bloody farting farty fart farts,” I blurted out above the noise.
Girlish giggling greeted my outburst from beyond the ‘rain storm’ as I stared across to the changing room where the twenty naked foreign eighteen-year olds were removing their tennis shoes and socks. The temperature of the water gradually increased until it was comfortable and tolerable. The urine on me and around me was rinsed away in the steamy dripping atmosphere of the communal shower.
I heard Miss Hamilton, the French teacher, order the girls into the shower. Above the loud persistent noise of water I heard her yell,”Les filles, entrez dans la douche, vite maintenant.”
Around me twenty pairs of sturdy shapely female legs gradually appeared in the hot mist. Excited girlish screams, giggling and loud echoing conversations surrounded me as I stared upward at all the many firm, rounded, pear-shaped buttocks swinging, strutting and swivelling above me. Needless to say my stiffening penis became rock hard once again.
My mind had never ever imagined being in this situation before.
Here I was, flat on my back, partly immersed in soapy water, in a large hot shower with twenty naked eighteen year old French girls standing above me, stepping over me while washing and wiping their wet tits, dripping vaginas and dribbling derrieres.
Everywhere I looked were buttocks, anuses, pubic hair and vaginas; this was truly heaven. I became aware that I was causing an obstruction because feet began tripping against me, kicking me or treading on my face and genitals.
I hauled myself up noticing that there were two girls to each shower nozzle and that they were taking turns to soap each other up then rinse one another down with sponges and face flannels. Lined up against the wall were small plastic bottles of shampoo and liquid soap. The shower smelled strongly of perfumed soap and lemon shampoo.
I stood self-consciously in the middle of a group of glistening slippery bodies and asked Yvette Duchesne if I could please borrow her soap. She replied by grabbing my head in both hands and French kissing me firmly, her tongue manipulating mine expertly and forcefully. She continued this way for several minutes and I could hardly breathe as her long brown wet hair fell over our faces and across my nostrils. She pushed me off frenetically as I gasped wildly for air.
She told me that she would prefer to wash me herself. I couldn’t hear her above the noise of water and loud girlish conversations. She repeated her offer of ‘washing me herself’ this time in French.
“Je veux vous laver, oui?” she screamed as the shower conversations suddenly died away.
All around us gleaming well scrubbed faces turned to watch her wash me.
My face was roughly at the same height as many of these tall girls’ breasts and as they crowded around me I was continuously poked and prodded by erect nipples in my eyes, mouth, ears, nose and hair. All within groping and fondling distance were warm wet wobbling shining tits.
I looked up into the French girls’ glistening perfumed smiling faces, their hair soaking and dripping under the constant spray. They gave me a predatory, almost primeval, look in return.
Angelique Brongniart stuck her dripping tongue firmly into my wet ear and gave it a vigorous probing wash. Marianne Martineau did something similar with my other ear, this time taking it completely into her mouth, sucking it.
I shivered with excruciating pleasure as I felt many other hands on my body. Small cool hands grasped my buttocks and genitals and squeezed them firmly. Other fingers rubbed my stomach and chest hair. Further hands touch my neck while others investigated my dripping anus.
I, in turn, slid my fingers into hairy vaginal openings, which opened up easily and completely in the hot soapy canlı bahis şirketleri water. More tongues were forced into my mouth; sometimes two at a time, and my fingers were pulled out from between engorged labia and inserted into others.
This happened many times over. Charlotte Sanci-Savard pulled my fingers out of Lysette Pelletier’s wet vagina and shoved my long middle finger up her anus as far as it would go. She swivelled around, sexily licking her tongue all over my face. Danielle Lalonde attempted to stick my other thumb up her derriere but she was not sufficiently relaxed or lubricated. Veronique Abati tried to masturbate me but was nudged off by Nicole Barbier, and Martine Cloutier who snarled at her like young leopards.
I was clearly the focus of their sexual attentions and could not really understand why they should be fighting over me because I was no smouldering Latin ‘movie star’. I got the impression that they had been starved of male company at this finishing school and I had the only penis currently available. Clearly I was not about to object.
Yvette Duchesne eventually fought her way back to me with some shampoo. She elbowed Martine Cloutier, Eloise Larocque, Isabelle Lenoir and Paulette Auclair off me as she filled her cupped hand so that it overflowed with cold shampoo.
I had a fair idea where she was going to put it and I was correct.
My balls suddenly sat in their own little cool bath of shampoo as she massaged the cool thick fluid under and over my testicles and pubic hair. I stared at Yvette with languorous half-closed eyes enjoying the sliminess and coolness under my bollocks. She massaged it well in.
She poured another pool into her cupped hand and gently bathed my heavy hairy balls a second time. She poured another cool stream of slippery shampoo into the palm of her hand and again immersed my genitals in it, smearing the runny dribbling contents around the base of my scrotum, penis and perineum.
Another cold handful was slapped onto my erect penis and massaged in. Yvette used a fourth to apply to her own pubic area.
I was so short and puny, and Yvette was so tall, at least six foot one inch at a guess, My erect penis was nowhere near her vaginal opening, in fact my penis head only extended to half way up her long thighs. There was no way I could even attempt to engage in sexual intercourse with any of these tall slim beauties in the standing position unless there happened to be a step ladder or ‘mounting block’ in the changing room which seemed very unlikely.
I was more than happy however to have Yvette massage shampoo into my ‘privates’ and French-kiss me at the same time.
Feeling brave, I suggested to her to ‘wank me off’ as I seriously wanted to come. I hoped that she understood what the word ‘wank’ meant and would not be offended at my request. Yvette nodded and smiled; her teeth appeared perfectly white.
Her fingers slid up and down my painfully stiff shaft. She built up the rhythm and pressure on my foreskin, firmly sliding it rhythmically over my exposed glans.
Up and down she pulled and pushed, twisting my erection on the down stroke and squeezing my knob-end on the upstroke. Up and down she continued, up and down, up and down, twisting-pushing, pulling-squeezing. Up and down she continued sneering at me, licking warm water off my face and ears. Up and down she continued relentlessly.
In the hot mist of the shower my tongue probed her pouting mouth and her darting tongue. The sounds of her sexy groans and moans stimulated me intensely. Her hand moved rapidly as she pushed herself against me trapping me firmly against the cool shower wall. Up and down she continued increasing the tempo. ‘Twisting-pushing’ and ‘pulling-squeezing’ she spat in my face between kisses. Up and down she continued, gripping my foreskin.
“Dirty pervert” she called me in her husky sensuous French accent kissing me with increased fervour. I could not hold back. Her hand was now moving up and down in rapid tiny short strokes concentrating her finger pressure on the bulbous head and foreskin. She was stimulating me beyond endurance. The little short strokes increased in speed and intensity. She gripped me, wanking me furiously. I couldn’t hold back any longer. I felt seminal fluid begin to rise inside me ready for ejaculation. She licked my panting shaking face as I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, primed for the inevitable release.
She could clearly read my mind as she groaned loudly into my mouth as I came forcefully, squirting several thick creamy spurts all over her hand and thighs. I continued thrusting wildly until my testicles were completely drained and every last scrap of sexual energy was spent. My knees gave way and I ended up leaning against her.
She stared into my eyes like an eagle and licked her lips. She brought her hand up to her face and licked off the thick sticky globules of semen which hadn’t been washed off by the force of the shower. She ran the slimy fluid around in her mouth canlı kaçak iddaa then kissed me again, forcing her slippery tongue down my throat. It tasted salty and slimy and my semen formed little globs in the water around her mouth which eventually were washed away in the spray.
At last she stopped kissing me and pushed me back against the cold tiles, staring at me beneath her nose, her eyes almost closed, and spat at me calling me a ‘dirty boy’. She turned and looked for some soap.
I felt zonked.
I could have remained in the shower all afternoon as part of my ‘punishment’. Clearly things were looking up.
Someone shouted that there were only three minutes left and that the girls and I should curtail our bathing. I swiftly shampooed my hair and rinsed it off and allowed Yvette to finish soaping me up and rinsing me down.
As we exited the shower Lesley Hopkins, the games mistress, handed us white bath towels and I followed the ‘long-legged beauties’ back to the dressing room where their uniforms were waiting for them.
I noticed that their tennis skirts, soiled knickers, socks and tops had already been sorted by Miss Hoskins into separate piles for laundering.
I sat on another low bench against the wall and dried myself off as best I could. I had no idea where Miss Wiff-Naseford had put my clothes and was apprehensive about ever seeing them again. I wrapped my towel around my shoulders and watched the girls get dressed.
I had not seen Class 1B in their uniforms so I was quite intrigued to see what French girls wore underneath them. I had this vague idea that they all wore frilly cancan petticoats and lacy bloomers. I wasn’t far wrong.
I sat between Danielle Lalonde and Denise Bisson. Denise was still very much aware of her heavy period and she wiped herself thoroughly between her legs before strapping on her sanitary towel. She appeared very self conscious as I stared at her under-trappings from close quarters. She adjusted the fastenings and loops so that the absorbent towel was pulled firmly up between her legs. She than stepped into a pair of very ordinary plain white cotton knickers and continued towel drying her hair.
Her breasts were very nicely proportioned and her nipples protruded towards me. I reached up and touched one of them. She did not pull away. She smiled and offered me the other one as well. She said that it was her ‘present’ to me for ‘putting up with her hysterical weeping earlier on’. I told her that it didn’t matter. She leant forward and rubbed them both over my upturned face. Natural my penis sprang into life beneath my towel as I stuck out my tongue and ran it around each of her areola enjoying the texture and taste.
Danielle, not to be outdone, shook her breasts deliberately in my direction as she also towel-dried her hair.
I stared at her pubic patch remembering her horrendously stained tennis knickers earlier on and wondering what sort of underwear she normally wore. All around me girls were retrieving their underwear from lockers and cloakroom hooks.
Danielle strapped a cream coloured lacy suspender belt around her waist and hooked it tightly above her hips. The individual suspenders hung down her very long thighs. She swivelled it around so that the metal fastenings were symmetrical.
She sat next to me and told me to ‘shove up’ or “poussez-vous pour moi si’l vous plait” in her husky French accent.
I allowed her enough space for her to squeeze her wide hips next to me as she rolled up a pair of black stockings. She pushed her feet into the reinforced toes of each stocking and unrolled them slowly using the inside of both her thumbs, making sure she did not snag them or ladder them. She made several attempts at rolling them up and smoothing them down so that there were no wrinkles or overlaps. The black welts at the tops of her stockings contrasted with the pale flesh of her thighs and her pubic hair.
Her legs were simply begging to be touched so I slid my hand over her nearer thigh as she looked at me, and my penis, under very dark lashes and smirked. She was beautiful and was quietly driving me wild with lust.
Danielle then stood up in front of me and placed one foot on my knee for support. She attached the front suspender carefully and tensioned it methodically. She repeated her actions with the other suspender again using my knee for support. She stood up with her back to me and asked me to help with the rear suspenders to ensure the seams were straight. “Sont mes stocking nylon sur correctement?” she reiterated girlishly in her native tongue, jerking her bottom from side to side.
I told Danielle I needed to feel them to make sure they were straight so took advantage of my position below her to run my hands over her derriere and smooth nylon encased legs. I sniffed her stockings and they had a newish smell to them. Clearly she had not worn them before. Her seams were fine. Both were central and vertical.
She swivelled around and thanked me as she stepped into cream canlı kaçak bahis coloured lacy panties which she pulled up with care over her suspenders. Her vaginal cleft could clearly be seen through her gusset. She put on a cream coloured bra which had a similar lacy trim to match the rest of her lingerie. She fastened up the rear hook and eye and ensured her shoulder straps were in place.
Throughout her dressing she stared at my face and penis and smiled seductively sticking out her tongue and running it around her lips. She was clearly flirting with me in an outrageous manner.
Danielle was certainly an extremely attractive long legged young lady who, to me at least, epitomised French feminity and moved in a deliciously graceful and civilised way.
Her grace was noticeable as she stepped into her wide nylon petticoat and pulled it up while shaking it down. Again as with her other lingerie her petticoat was cream coloured with a deep decorated lace hem which consisted of a delicate design of leaves and flowers.
I could not help myself and fondled her pert derriere through her flounced underskirt. I felt the seductive smooth texture of nylon sliding over nylon sliding over firm flesh. I was completely blown away.
She took her navy blue tartan school skirt off its hanger and unzipped it and shook out the heavy concertina pleats. Stepping into it she pushed her petticoat carefully down and around her hips, bottom and thighs and pulled her skirt up and zipped it ensuring that she did not trap any part of her cream nylon underskirt.
She stood in front of me and reached under her skirt and pulled her petticoat down evenly so it hung neatly underneath her flared knee-length pleated skirt. She put on her white blouse and grey v-neck sweater, tucking the former into the waistband of her skirt. She stepped into her brilliantly polished high-heeled patent-leather court shoes and she was instantly three inches taller.
She said to me “Mon jupon montre-t-elle au-dessous de ma jupe?” which I understood meant “Can you see my petticoat peeping out from beneath the hem of my skirt?”
I sat slouched on my bench as she twirled around in front of me. Naturally her pleats swung out and I could see her underskirt but as they dropped back into place there was no sign of her cream flowery lacy hems.
I told her that I needed to check her stocking seams again. I got off the bench and knelt lecherously on the floor, my towel covering my waist and prominent genitals, and asked her to stand with her back to me and bend her knees. With her in position I lifted up her skirt and petticoat and pushed my head underneath.
In the darkness her seams were obviously fine. I breathed in her scent and nuzzled her panties and she pushed back against me rubbing her knicker clad derriere firmly into my face. My erection ached for attention. She stood up and her hems dropped down again. Danielle put on her wristwatch and brushed out her hair staring down, pouting kisses at me and smiling. The other girls had finished dressing and stood about ready to leave.
There was no sign of Miss Wiff-Naseford, Miss Hamilton or Miss Hoskins. Clearly they had all left for afternoon tea in the staffroom or whatever.
It was four o’clock and school had officially finished for the day. I was not sure whether I should return to the headmistress’s office for a further strapping down session or stay with Class 1B. The girls were clearly still intrigued with having a semi-naked 20-year old man with them.
Martine Cloutier gathered the girls around her and said in a manner she thought I could not hear or understand. “Nous reviendrons a notre dortoir et aurons le sexe avec ‘Monsieur Tom’,” They huddled around her giggling and glancing in my direction. Their skirt pleats shook against their black nyloned knees as they laughed out loud.
Fortunately for me I understood that basically they wanted to get me back to their dormitory where they would have sex with me. I was obviously quite pleased with the prospect but hoped I wasn’t required to have multiple intercourse with all of them as clearly I would have to be carried out on a stretcher or, worse still, in a hearse.
They walked over to me where I was sitting on the floor of the changing room looking pathetic wearing my deliberately cultivated ‘little boy lost’ look which most women warmed to.
Jacqueline Lemieux placed a high-heeled shoe on the bench next to me and leant forward and told me that they were going to smuggle me up to their dormitory in the attic on the third floor of the south wing. She explained that it was a very long room and all twenty of them slept there and if I wanted to escape from Miss Wiff-Naseford and her ‘insane punishments’ I should go with them. She did not mention having sex; she didn’t need to as I could already smell it in the atmosphere.
I moved my head slowly under Jacqueline’s skirt and pure white nylon underskirt trimmed with scalloped inserts of white Calais lace. I pushed my head so that my lips touched her stocking top and breathed in the odours from between her legs. Clearly she was already worked up. I licked my way up and down her inner thigh then stopped as I felt a shoe kick me in my ribs. I pulled my head out from under her skirt and looked up.
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