David’s Tall Girls’ School Ch. 07

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(It was late autumn of 1960 and I was 20 years old and was following my hobby of bird watching. I had unfortunately been detained by Amelia Wiff-Naseford, headmistress, for being a 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.

I had decided not to get the police involved by agreeing to submit myself to the ‘traditional’ Punishment Rules of the School. This involved being stripped naked, spread-eagled on the headmistress’ study carpet, and fettered to the floor with ropes and leather straps to metal rings set in the floorboards. I was then required to orally pleasure the ‘whole’ school. This is part seven of my tale)


Nicole Barbier was eventually revived and taken by Matron to the sick room. This had delayed the proceedings by at least fifteen minutes.

“Louise Bazaine s’il vous plait,” shouted Miss Wiff-Naseford to the French tennis players across the room. I just prayed that Louise was not one of those experiencing a period. The whole process felt like a game of chance, namely Russian Roulette.

Louise was one of those young French women who had angular features; she had a prominent aquiline nose and high cheek bones which were exaggerated by her hair pulled back into a high pony tail. Her hair was dark and her eyebrows were untrimmed. She moved like a bird and held herself very upright despite being over six feet tall. She appeared proud and aristocratic.

“Please take off your tennis panties, thank you Louise,” came the routine order from the headmistress sitting behind me.

Miss Bazaine stood over me and slid her hands up her skirt and inside the waistband of her sports knickers and eased them down. She pushed them down to her ankles so they lay tightly across my face.

I wondered why so many of these eighteen year olds took pleasure in making me sniff their panty stains. Was this a fetish that girls of a certain age, class or nationality felt they had to do? I could not understand why they derived so much pleasure from it.

She stepped out of them and lowered her hairy vagina onto my mouth. Her coarse pubic curls made me sneeze and I asked her to wipe my nose, which she did with her skirt hem. She was very smelly between her legs but I did not let it put me off from probing her lips. As usual it did not take me long to expose her clitoris which clearly was ultra sensitive. Five minutes of intensive effort with her writhing to and fro above me produced a vociferous orgasm from her. Her French cursing seemed to shock her classmates who perhaps thought her a quiet type.

“Denise Bisson, please walk forward,” said Miss W-N. “Please remove your panties and squat on the ‘Tom’.”

“But what is this ‘Tom’ Madame Wiff-Naseford?” Mademoiselle Bisson enquired.

“It’s it’s this bloody bloody ‘Peeping Tom’ in front of you, you stupid idiotic girl. Who the hell did you think it is for crying out loud? General de Gaulle? Give me strength.” Miss Wiff-Naseford was clearly frustrated and exasperated at all her French girls and their lack of Basic English comprehension.

Denise Bisson burst into tears and with a degree of hesitancy she slowly reached up behind her pleated tennis skirt and I watched her pull down her white knickers for me but noticed that they were full of dark brown stains. I felt physically sick at what I saw.

Perhaps Denise was feeling distressed because she was at the heaviest stage of her menstrual cycle. I felt I could say nothing as it would upset her even more. Molly was not at hand to help or step in so I had to withstand whatever she had between her legs and make the best of it.

Her pleats shook above me as her crying intensified. She stared down at me through her tears as she placed her tennis shoes on either side of my face and opened her legs and squatted down on me. Her sobbing was pathetic.

It was not quite as bad as I thought it would be once I had examined her vaginal area in detail.

There was some blood and discharge but I managed to dilute it with constant salivating where it became smeared over my mouth. I pretended to stimulate her but she clearly was in no mood. Her weeping steadily continued above me. Her thighs were trembling and I nudged her off me with my head as best I could.

She took the hint and slowly raised herself up. She looked down at me and saw that I had red mucous on my chin. She wiped it off with one of Matron’s paper tissues and returned to the back of the room where her crying appeared to grow more intense. Her friends hugged her and consoled her and took her out of the room. I could still hear her sobbing echoing in the corridor. The door opened again and her friends returned.

I heard Miss Wiff-Naseford muttering to herself regarding periods and hoping Matron would return soon to sort the girls out. The game of Russian Roulette continued.

“Angelique Brongniart please walk forward and tell me whether you are having a period?”

“No güvenilir canlı bahis siteleri Madame, she said confidently.

“Good, now take off your knickers.”

A girl with medium dark brown hair swivelled her hips in front of me. She was a pouting blonde with large blue eyes and long lashes which she fluttered at me in a flirtatious way.

She looked at my penis and licked her lips slowly and playfully. Her eyes widened and she put her hand over her mouth as if to be shocked by its size.

She was obviously a talented young actress and I played along with it by smiling lecherously beneath her and blatantly looking at her between her legs and sticking my tongue out at it, flapping it around.

I moved my tongue up and down rapidly as if simulating stimulating her labia. She pretended to be shocked and pulled her knees together while pulling her skirt down at the front. She frowned and admonished me with a pointed finger which she waved vigorously and mouthed “Non, non,non,” in melodramatic style.

I lay back and continued moving my tongue around staring at her crotch and into her enormous smiling eyes. She laughed and I did too, both realising we’d put on an impromptu mime show for the headmistress.

“Bravo you two, very good, now Angelique be so good as to pull your knickers down for me, thank you very much,” said Miss W-N summoning more tea.

Angelique flipped up her pleated tennis-skirt and allowed me a view of her very slim waist above her waistband. Slowly she slid her knickers off and, ‘surprise, surprise’, she tossed them on my face. I shook them off me as this eighteen year old beauty straddled my face and lowered her hairy vagina onto my nose.

She began singing the now well recognisable French nursery rhyme above me as she slid her slimy cleft up and down my nose and tongue. After several minutes of incessant singing she approached her climax and swore loudly several times in French which received an enthusiastic applause from her class mates.

She lifted herself off me, curtsied to the headmistress, curtsied to her classmates then curtsied to me. She stuck her tongue out, picked up her knickers and strutted back shaking her pert derriere beneath her pleats in triumph.

“Nadia Brun please walk forward please,” came the now familiar order from behind me.

“Are you having a period Nadia?”

“No, Miss Wiff-Naseford.”

“Good, now please will you lower your knickers.”

Nadia looked quite ordinary but legs were exceptionally long and shapely. She flicked her pony tail from side to side as she reached up under the back of her skirt and pulled her panties down to her calves. She stepped out of them and shook them in my face before dropping them on my nose.

I was becoming rather tired with being treated as a ‘soiled laundry-basket’. What was it about these French girls and their knickers?

Nadia fortunately was delicious and delectable between her legs. Her labia opened beautifully and I enjoyed tonguing her. Her vaginal juices were fresh and musky to my nostrils and she climaxed easily, persistently and steadily.

Her swearing was particularly imaginative and she accused me of being a ‘Fucking shit faced fucking fucking pervert,’ which I really appreciated hearing in her sexy French girlish accent.

“Martine Cloutier please step forward.” Another tall black haired beauty stood in front of me. I stared up her short pleated tennis skirt which ended at mid-thigh. Her pleats were neatly laundered and twirled out to one side as she stood with most of her weight over her left foot.

“Before I go on Miss Wiff-Naseford I have to inform you that it is against my religion to expose myself to this, this Peeping Tom, and I refuse to take off my knickers.”

“And what religion is that girl?”

“I do not have to tell you,” she replied haughtily.

Martine turned to her classmates and repeated what she had said to Miss Wiff-Naseford, this time in French.

“Je ne veux pas exposer mon cul a ce Tom Jetant un coup d’oeil; il est contre ma religion; Je refuse d’enlever ma culotte.” The other girls greeted her remark with agreement and cheering.

“Give me strength ‘Tom’.” whispered Amelia Wiff-Naseford to me,” and to think I thought that we’d get through this lot quickly.”

Amelia clapped her hands and asked how many girls refused to take off their panties because of their religion. They all put up their hands. She then asked who refused to sit on the face of the ‘Peeping Tom’ and none of them put up their hands.

She then asked a further question to make sure everyone understood. “Who wants to sit on the Peeping Tom’s face while wearing their knickers, panties, culottes or whatever you wish to call your underskirt underwear?” All the hands shot up followed by exciting giggling, jumping up and down and smiling glances towards me and my erect penis.

“OK Miss Cloutier straddle the ‘Tom’ please.”

At last we seemed to have stemmed güvenilir illegal bahis siteleri the little ‘French Revolution’ I thought.

Martine Cloutier appeared a feisty high-spirited young woman, a ‘natural leader in the making’ I thought. She towered over me in her short pleated tennis skirt and placed her tennis shoes firmly to each side of my face. Bending her knees and opening her thighs she placed her knicker crotch firmly on my nose.

It smelt intensely of stale sweat and urine. In some respects it smelt worse than an open hairy vagina. At least a vagina is bathed in fresh juices whereas Martine’s knickers smelt as if she had been wearing them for several tennis sessions.

I could hear her laugh at me as I tried to breathe in fresh air. She was clearly pleased she had me under her control and under her vagina. As she lifted her buttock cheeks off me she said. “Je veux chier dans votre bouche stupide,” which I understood to mean that she would quite like to empty her bowels into my rather handsome but stupid mouth. What a pleasant girl.

Yvette Duchesne, Danielle Lalonde and Isabelle Lamarliere all treated me in the same way. All had horrendously stinking sweaty urine stained knickers. They wiped their damp crotches all over my face and chin. None of them appeared to want me to take them to orgasm and they merely wanted to assault me with their odours. Evidently this appeared to be a ‘French thing’, possibly payback time for being treated as mere masturbatory objects by village boys in the past, I thought.

Eloise Larocque was a tall elegant young woman. Her tennis skirt had a wide overlapping slit at the side which exposed her white sports knickers as she swayed towards me. Her hair was very curly which created an interesting looking bouffant pony tail. She appeared less aggressive than the previous four. She smiled at my penis, Miss Wiff-Naseford and me.

Gracefully she placed her pristine tennis shoes on either side of my ears and lowered her crotch onto my mouth. To my surprise and delight there was only one small yellowish stain on her gusset. Clearly this woman looked after herself. She wiped her knickers slowly over my nose and mouth then unexpectedly her gusset filled with vaginal juices. Literally her knickers became immediately soaked like a thin sponge. Eloise was one of those young women who becomes quickly aroused. She became rather embarrassed at her ‘gushing’ and felt about around me for the paper tissues that Matron had left for such emergencies.

“Mes jus vaginaux sont tres lourds oui?” which I took to mean that she already knew she was a ‘gusher’. My face was covered in her slimy lubrication and I hoped Matron would return quickly.

To my utter amazement, at that very same moment, Matron suddenly returned with Nicole Barbier who was now fully recovered. It was like ‘the cavalry to the rescue’. Molly rushed over to me as she could see I was having problems with Eloise’s juices. She told Eloise to stand up and put a towel between her legs while she wiped my face down with a flannel.

“Thank goodness you have returned Matron. Our ‘Tom’ appeared to be drowning in the French girl’s emissions.” said the apparently ‘helpless’ Amelia behind me.

“We’ll have to get him showered soon. He really smells quite badly,” Matron complained trying not to breathe too deeply near me.

“Well that’s fine Molly we’d better get through the rest fairly pronto, according to the register there should be another seven to go. Jacqueline Lemieux please step forward.” Said the headmistress behind me.

“Ask Celia for more tea Matron, if you will. Thanks awfully.”

After Jacqueline Lemieux had stepped off me her damp urine and sweat stained sports knickers were replaced by Isabelle Lenoir’s. She wiped her panty clad buttocks all over my face. Her urine had a garlic smell to it, quite extraordinary I thought.

Marianne Martineau stood above me with her legs apart. Her pleated tennis skirt hung down from her very wide hips. Her bottom appeared generously proportioned as she swung her body from side to side above me.

“Another young actress,” I said to myself as I watched her swaying performance above me.

My penis stiffened and again my punishment appeared very harsh as I could not freely masturbate to relieve my condition. Whoever Miss Bliss-Frampton was, this head teacher of 1889 who thought up this charade, she was certainly a sadist and clearly knew that this form of torture was going to work. I imagined her trying it out on some poor farmhand, messenger boy or visiting pedlar.

After Marianne Martineau, Lysette Pelletier wiped her period soiled knickers over my face. It was quite repulsive and was pleased when she pushed herself off me.

Madeleine Saint-Pierre’s knickers were tolerable. The sweatiness was not as intense as some and my nostrils withstood the olfactory assault. Finally Charlotte Sanci-Savard spread her damp knickers over my face and rubbed herself enthusiastically güvenilir bahis şirketleri over me whispering “Dirty Pervert” at me and forced herself to fart long and loudly into my face.

The air under her short tennis skirt was fettid and ghastly. Eventually Miss Wiff-Naseford couldn’t stand the smell either and ordered her off me.

“Matron we need to get the Peeping Tom and class 1B showered quickly, get Lesley to sort it out for me.” Said Miss Wiff-Naseford opening some windows to let in welcome fresh air.

Matron and two of the girls unstrapped me at my wrists and ankles and led me out into the corridor. Lesley Hopkins, the games mistress looked me up and down and told me that I had better share the showers with the French girls as it would be quicker and easier than arranging separate showers.

My face was stinking of vagina and urine; my hair was lank and greasy, and my limbs ached. I followed the tall long legged tennis players to the girls shower room and sat on a bench and watched them undress. I felt shattered.

They giggled at me and stuck out the derrieres and shook them in my face. Around me tennis tops were being pulled off and bras loosened. The tiled changing room echoed loudly with sexy French conversations and laughter.

As I looked up my eyes feasted on twenty pairs of tits, some in sports bras, some naked. They were wobbling above me and to each side of me. One girl leant forward and exposed her bouncing tits in front of my face and sneered “Dirty Man”.

Others loosened their pony tails and shook both their hair and breasts in my direction.

Some girls waited until I caught their eye before removing their bra for me smiling lasciviously and lewdly. I had never seen so much naked female flesh in my life. I felt that my penis was the length and thickness of a broom handle although obviously it wasn’t, but it did feel that way.

Paulette Auclair sat on my lap and rubbed her tanned tits firmly over my nose and mouth, her tennis skirt pleats stimulating my erection.

Martine Cloutier, the leader of the ‘revolution’, straddled my erection as she rubbed her knickers over it and kissed me teasingly on my lips. She probed my mouth and told me I was a ‘pervert’ and French-kissed me again and again until Veronique Abati dragged her off and kissed me viciously, her tongue half way down my throat.

Several other girls pushed there way in and French tongued me, purring loudly.

Denise Bisson caressed my penis vigorously as she sat next to me while Danielle Lalonde seriously squeezed my testicles while flicking her tongue around the inside of my mouth and lips.

All around me knickers and sports panties were being pulled down and white pleated tennis skirts unzipped and hung up on hooks behind the bench. Their school uniforms hung up in a separate changing area adjacent to the shower.

Across the room was a large communal shower which had ten stainless steel shower nozzles, five to each side, controlled by two control levers on the wall outside the shower. The shower area had white tiled walls and a white tiled floor with three stainless steel drainage grilles set flush with the floor. There was a tiled threshold sill designed to retain water inside the shower and stop it spilling into the changing area.

Miss Wiff-Naseford clapped her hands as shearrived in the changing room. Her eyes feasted on her French girl’s state of undress and at me with my ‘broomhandle’ erection. The girls were now all naked except for their tennis shoes and socks which they had kept on for some reason.

“Now Mr. Peeping Tom before we get you and the girls showered there is something I have decided they shall do to you,” said the headmistress, her loud sonorous voice echoing around the enclosed tiled space. She smiled like a demented jackal.

My mind raced as I wondered what she had in mind for me. Clearly there was nothing mentioned in the 1889 School Rules about ‘showers’ so I guessed that she was thinking on her feet and making things up as she went along.

The French girls were clearly restless and anxious to get showered. It had been an hour or so since they had finished their tennis and goodness knows how long since they had relieved themselves in the toilets.

It dawned on me what the next stage of the punishment might be and I was just hoping thet it did not involve ‘peepee’.

Martine Hamilton, the French teacher appeared at Miss Wiff-Naseford’s side. My heart dropped when I thought what was going to happen next.

“Mr. ‘Tom” she said smiling at me in a predatory way, “Please get into the shower and lie in your back on the floor.” I thought that if I refused the police would become involved so reluctantly I did what she asked me to do.

“In the middle if you please, thank you.” She ordered me in her controlling voice.

She said something to Miss Hamilton who looked astonished and shook her head looking at the naked girls and looking at me. The atmosphere was electric. I felt my heart beat faster. the white tiled shower floor felt incredibly cold and slippery. I was feeling very vulnerable and apprehensive.

“Mr ‘Tom’ you will open your mouth and keep it open is that understood?” I blurted out “Yes,” in a high pitched screech which made the girls giggle sexily.

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