Snowbound Teacher: Two Scandalous Schoolgirls - Kethandra Wilde - E-Book

Snowbound Teacher: Two Scandalous Schoolgirls E-Book

Kethandra Wilde

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Beschreibung

A Christmas snowstorm traps a young boarding school teacher in the dorm with  he thinks  only a single student, Missy, a tiny and precocious gymnast. He soon discovers that another girl is trapped with trapped with them, a buxom beauty who graduated last year. 

When previous attractions are revealed, all three head down a shared path of intimacy and exploration.

~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~

Until now, his biggest actual trespass of the sacred wall of teacher-student trust had been that too-brief kiss with an even younger Trudy, barely eighteen, a grief and fear fueled instant of passion. Thoughts, fantasies - of Trudy then, of her and others, including confident little Missy, since - didn't count as trespasses, no matter what Jimmy Carter says about 'lusting in your heart.'

Finally drained, he shook off the last few drops, noticing he was starting to thicken as his sleepy body and reptile brain responded to his thoughts. He grinned at his dimly visible self in the small mirror over the sink, rinsed his hands before splashing his face. Wet fingers combed back his hair; the grin grew.

The thrill of his violation rushed through him. He could be fired, blackballed from teaching. He had no savings or back-up plan. And none of that mattered a bit.

He had tasted something here, something forbidden and sweet. A hunger had been fed, validated but in no way sated. Now that an almost unacknowledged lock had been opened, he was unsure if he could allow it to be once again secured.

In the windowless hallway, he just noticed the closed bedroom door before he would have collided with it. Pulling up short, the rapid click of a stove pilot light made him start, coming from the far end of the hall, in the kitchen. After the round flame bloomed to life, Trudy turned to face him.

She had somehow found one of his white sleeveless undershirts. It fit her like a snug, almost translucent, scandalously short dress. Face unreadable in the poor lighting, he heard her voice, but only just. "Hi."

Silent, he let his hand drop from where it hovered, near the knob to the closed door.

"She sleeps like a hibernating log."

He stepped into the small kitchen, nearer to her. "I didn't know logs hibernated."

Dawn was beginning to brighten, still blueish through the kitchen's wide bay window. He could see a shyness, a doubt behind the challenge in her bright eyes. 

"There's a lot you don't know."

His hands found her hips, enjoyed feeling his shirt over her skin, her near-naked availability, here in his home, his lair. "Like what?"

Her arms slipped over his shoulders, around his neck. "Do you know how long I've wanted to kiss you again?"

"To the day and hour."

Her eyed scrunched up, almost tearful at his response. "You're not the only one."

He leaned forward, down. His nose stroked along hers. She made a small, almost whimpering noise. Pulling back, she looked up at him. "Can I ask one thing?"

"Of course."

She hesitated. "Will you kiss me? Last time I kissed you."

He nodded, silent. One hand rose to stroke her silky brown hair back from the side of her face. It settled behind her head while the other arm slipped around her narrow waist. He pulled her close. Her full chest pushed into him and up as she rose on her toes. His lips found hers.

Neither hurried this time. Soft nibbles lingered before lips parted wide enough for the first tentative tastings of either's tongue. She made a small, sweet, almost sub-audible gasp when the tip of his first flicked over her upper lip.

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Snowbound Teacher:Two Scandalous Schoolgirls

By Kethandra Wilde

Cover art by Moira Nelligar

Copyright 2020 by Kethandra Wilde

All characters are fictional and over the age of 18

Editor’s Note:

After the recent arrests and publicity concerning Spenser Wainwright, known through his published works as the 'Head Master', and wealthy socialite Missy Ellsworth - 'Mistress Missy' - the following manuscript came to light. Now that a legal settlement has been reached with the Crookshank Academy, this work of ‘fiction’ can be published. Crookshank admits no connection or culpability associated with any of the many acts of sexual excess and 'training' of the 18- and 19-year old students of Wainwright's fictional Academy.

Based on court testimony and stylistic comparison to Wainwright's own popular series of 'porn lite' confessionals centered on the ribald adventures of the Head Master and Mistress Missy, written under the pen-name of Dexter Wayne, it can only be assumed that the unnamed male protagonist of this manuscript is the author himself. It appears to detail his first sexual encounter with both a young Missy and Gertrude 'Trudy' Maxwell, the un-indicted co-conspirator named in government filings who serves as the Academy's admissions officer.

We hope the reader will find this an interesting light shone on how the notorious program, and the Head Master's sordid career, may well have begun, years ago.

Update: with the surprise tossing of all charges against the accused by District Judge Miranda Harkins, the infamous Wainwright is again Dean at Crookshank and Ellsworth has retaken her seat on the Board of Trustees. The Academy reports the recent publicity has almost tripled the female applicants to their post-graduate 'intensive finishing trainee' program.

 

The Head Master and Mistress Missy: A Beginning

 

A few days before Christmas

 

Just outside the closed dorm room door, he halted at the sounds of feminine laughter. Well, female laughter. One of the two voices was indeed feminine, a trilling of silver bells. The other, not so much. Loud, clear and distinct, it blended the honk of a goose with the bray of a cartoon burro.

The teacher knew of only one girl who had ever made a sound like that. She had graduated last year and had no business being in this dorm at all, and certainly not tonight, behind this closed door. The entire floor should have been unoccupied, with one exception. Without a last minute snowstorm and a canceled flight, he would have been the only resident in the entire sprawling brick building. And the single snow-stranded student with permission to be here, whose flight had been canceled, would be the likely source of the silvery trills, not the barnyard horn blast.

He shivered in the cold hallway, wishing he was back in the woodstove-warmed comfort of his apartment, at the hall’s far end. As opposed to the students’ spartan dorm rooms, the apartment was spacious. His mid-term hire at the elite college preparatory Crookshank Academy, nearly a year ago now, had included 'room and board' in the offer. He had taken over the two-bedroom space previously occupied by a married couple, both English instructors, with a small child. The two had, for unknown reasons, left on an unexpected sabbatical.

The central dorm heat had been turned down low for the ten day Christmas holiday. He had given the one stranded senior, Missy Ellsworth, a small electric space heater from his closet before retreating to his apartment. A phone call from the Dean at just after nine that night inquiring about the unusual arrangement did not surprise him. Dean Kirby was a micromanaging busybody, but not one who would consider needlessly going outside into the bitter cold wind that carved the deep, powdery snow, still falling, into ever shifting drifts.

The Dean had left him with strict instructions to have the girl only use a specific ceramic heater to ward off the frigid winter night. Anything else would void the insurance or something. His closet had also contained such a heater, but of course it had not been the one he had found first and plugged in for her.

Now he stood, motionless, approved ceramic heater under one arm, in the heavy grey sweatshirt he'd gone back to his apartment for as soon as the chill of the unheated hallways hit him. The unique, familiar sound heightening his awareness, he noticed a faint line of wet spots, loose footprints, trailing down the tiled hall, ending at this room.

Through and under the wooden door, the familiar braying laugh came again. It brought to his mind a memory from last Spring, at the conclusion of the regional track championships. The event had been held at the academy for the first time, showcasing the brand new athletic complex.

The school's 4x100 relay team had managed a surprise Silver medal. One of the four female teammates on the raised podium stood out. Shorter than her three companions, she noticeably filled her nylon tracksuit, top and bottom. Trudy Maxwell had been unofficially dubbed 'Trudy with da Booty,' but 'with da Boobies' was also heard around campus when no disapproving ears might catch it.

The tall, rather severe looking woman representing the regional athletic commission had presented Trudy with her medal last. As the curvy girl bowed her head to accept the ribbon being placed around her neck, her short bob of thick brown hair had fallen forward, hiding her face.

Jennifer Wise, the fastest member of the team and Trudy's good friend, had let loose with a sudden loud honk in her honor. It didn't have the resonant quality of Trudy's reverberant laughter, but it had still carried. And it was answered.

Trudy was popular and friendly and uncruel, the last being a bit too unusual among her peers. The remaining two relay team members had not been alone when they added their own imitation of the distinct laugh. A chorus of affectionate hoots had come from dozens in the crowd.

The brunette's broad, bright smile when her head popped up in shock, catching the medal's ribbon at an awkward angle on one ear, had showed she didn't mind the public teasing. Then the official and Trudy had both reached for the ribbon at the same time, the pursed frustration pinching the tall woman's face a marked contrast to the short girl's beaming, infectious joy.

There'd been a tangle of hair and ribbon and hands before Trudy lost it, granting the assembled crowd a lesson in laughter.

Braaaay. Honk. Bray. Honk honk honk. And repeat.

As the crowd joined in, the official had finally managed a brief smile before a final, petty adjustment of the ribbon near Trudy's shoulder.

He could still clearly recall the way the small tug had brought his eyes and many others to the suspended medal it shook, swinging free in the sizable crevice between the girl's round, full breasts, bouncing freely under her stretchy top with each hearty laugh.

Those full firm breasts. Pushed hard against his chest. That's what the sound of that laugh brought back most. Pushed tight against him as she had stretched up on her toes and kissed him, tears in her eyes.

Track season had ended. Graduation, a week away. Trudy had knocked on the door to his office, already ajar. Her face was tight with fear.

"What's wrong, Trudy?" He saw the thick sheaf of typed paper in her hand, knew this was not a term paper issue. Though final versions were due Monday.

"My…my dad. He's...somebody shot him!" The tears released.

"What? Is he..." He knew Ellison Maxwell had recently been appointed Ambassador to Somewhere, reward for being a top campaign 'bundler' in the last presidential election.

Her lower lip was pushed out, nose running. "They don't know if he'll make it."

He'd stood when she rushed in looking scared. His arms wrapped around her without a thought when she leaned into him, shaking, after she dropped the sheaf on his desk. He'd stroked her hair, tried not to think about the breasts nestled under his own chest. The firmest, most resisting breasts he could remember feeling. "Shhh."

She had looked up at him, face a smear of grief, his hand still alongside. "They shot my Daddy!"

He'd opened his mouth to say something. Something reassuring, comforting. Instead, Trudy kissed him, hard. Tongue, doubts, lips, fears, all unleashed in one fierce kiss.

Then she had run, pausing at the doorway. Her words came out in a streak, muffled by the back of a hand wiping at her nose and eyes. "Gotta go the airport. I'll have the paper edited when we get back I hope. Thank you."