Chapter 2
Myra Castlebar began to unpack her two suitcases and transfer their contents into the drawers of the commodious mahogany dresser standing against the wall near the door of her new quarters. She had arrived at Danielson House a short hour ago and had been informed by Dan Weinbold, the surly, stolid janitor-gardener of the institution that Madame Helga would not be available until tomorrow morning. However, she had left word with all of her staff that if the new instructress should arrive she was to be shown to her room and made comfortable, and also informed that she might have her evening meal in the refectory at the end of the first floor of the main building, where all the members of the staff enjoyed their repasts.
Myra Castlebar would have liked to have seen her new employer, since she had thus far met her only via the telephone and had been promptly engaged through that medium. She was still on the emotional rebound from her most recent experience as a private tutoress for lovely Carol Bannister. She had spent the months of June, July and August at the luxurious Bannister home in Bent-ridge, a thriving little industrial town about fifty miles away from Danielson House. And if she had come to this unknown institution, it was only because the desperate need of her own financial situation together with her moral indignation over what she had discovered in her last position had driven her to seek any kind of refuge from the dissolute and lecherous man who was Carol's uncle and also the head of a plastics manufacturing company located on the edge of the town where she had worked these last three hectic months.
The new teacher was three months past her twenty-seventh birthday and still an untouched virgin. Five feet six and a half inches in height, svelte, with a sensitive oval face, her black hair neatly drawn back from her forehead and coiffed into a prim bun at the back of her poised head, she was exactly the typelikely to inflame the lusts of an experienced voluptuary, and certainly one like Murray Bannister, her former employer. Several factors, however, had contributed to keeping her virginal and delivering her as an instructress into an institution whence, if she could only have known its portents, she would have fled as from the very fiends of hell themselves.
An only child and born to a mature couple residing in Buffalo, Myra had been sheltered almost from birth. First, by a nurse who remained with her until she was five, and thereafter by a governess until she was all of eighteen. Her father, a wealthy jeweler, made frequent trips to Europe together with her mother and left her in the governess' charge. Because she was wealthy, the attractive black-haired girl was sent to private schools, concentrating on her studies and making few friends because of her bookish temperament, which left her happier when she could immerse herself in literature rather than have to participate in the gossip and boy-crazy chatter of her schoolmates.
Actually, she had been sent to a Swiss school for girls to begin her preparatory college work when her father, at the time in Paris, was very cleverly robbed by a pair of professional jewel thieves who made away with over two million dollars' worth of industrial and commercial diamonds. This loss, only partly covered by insurance, plunged Herman Castlebar into a desperate financial situation. He was not able to recoup, and being a man of integrity and honor, turned over a good part of his savings and sold most of his real estate, including the house where Myra was born, to satisfy his creditors.
A year later, despondent and ailing, he succumbed to a heart attack, and Myra's mother followed him to the grave six months after that, doubtless out of grief. But the upshot of all this was that the attractive black-haired young woman was left almost penniless, except for a small insurance policy of which she was the sole beneficiary.
Shaken by the double tragedy of her life, Myra Castlebar plunged herself even more than ever into her studies. Awarded a scholarship at a prominent Eastern girls' college, she took her degree and then two years more of study to obtain a teacher's certificate. She believed that by teaching, she could find her niche in life and also the spiritual fulfillment which her keen mind and sensitive nature so greatly craved.
Her parents had almost never discussed sex with her, and even her mother had been most evasive on the subject. Nor had the governess deemed it necessary to edify Myra as to the facts of fife. Both of them contented themselves with the old saying when the girl met Mister Right, bells would chime and happy harmony would ensue and at that time Myra would know what every girl should know.
To be sure, the lovely brunette was not ignorant of the process whereby a virgin became a fulfilled female. She had, after all, taken a biology course at the Swiss school; but more than that, she had heard sufficient gossip from her sophisticated European schoolmates to understand exactly what went on between a boy and a girl when nobody else was around to disturb them. Finally, a boisterous and very conceited blonde, Swiss skiing instructor had made a very serious pass at her, getting her to come skiing with him and stopping at a deserted cabin on a majestic slope of the Swiss alps. While there, he had tried to tug down Myra's ski pants, and she had been so shocked at his blithe and quite impersonal lustfulness that there had been absolutely no emotional preparation to make her yield to his advances, though secretly she had been almost half-curious to know just what would happen. Had he been more considerate and tender, he might possibly have succeeded.
By the time she was twenty-three and had obtained her teacher's certificate, the money from the small insurance policy had run out and Myra had to find a job. It happened to be a bad time of year for hiring teachers, and so she was obliged to become first a waitress in a little Buffalo restaurant, and then a receptionist in a small advertising agency. On both jobs, men who observed her delectable long legs, high-perched, pear-shaped tits and exquisitely sensitive features determined to find out what it would be like to get between those long sweet thighs and thrust their pricks deeply into her tight warm cunt. They, too, were as bold and abrupt and offensive as the Swiss ski instructor had been, and so Myra's instinctive fear and reluctance before the men was the more intensified.
Once again Myra tried to find a job in teaching, and at last managed to be appointed as a fourth-grade teacher in a rural school in downstate New York. There again male misfortune dogged her endeavors. The gross, widower principal of the school hired her because she was a toothsome morsel and hoped that by having given her the job, she would in due course express her gratitude by granting him fucking privileges. After about six months, during which he dropped many a bold hint, which Myra either did not comprehend or pretended to ignore, he finally asked her out to dinner. Once in his house, he began to make violent love to her, ripping her skirt as he tried to thrust his hand between her long ivory-skinned thighs. Bursting into tears and shuddering with revulsion, Myra Castle-bar extricated herself from his embrace, slapped his face and submitted her resignation.
Unhappily, his word carried a good deal more weight than hers as a novitiate teacher, and so when she reapplied to the placement agency, she found open hostility. It was at this point that she began to believe she could earn her living by teaching private pupils, and first she went to a rather genteel house in Schenectady, where for eight months she coached two boys and a girl in the rudiments of high school English and civics without any further incident
Indeed, she would have kept that job for quite some time to come if it had not been that the parents were suddenly transferred to the west coast. And then Murray Bannister engaged her to be both teacher and companion to his delicious seventeen-year-old golden-haired niece, Carol.
His older brother and sister-in-law had been killed three months previously in a plane crash, and so Carol had come to stay with him. Murray Bannister, brown-haired, stocky, bespectacled and glib of speech, a dynamic industrial executive and extremely prosperous, was a notorious pussy hound. He had never been married for the simple reason that he much preferred one-night stands, and at best, a mistress whom he kept for three or four months before seeking her replacement. There were many fish in the sea and there was no need to be faithful to just one woman, in his philosophy.
If Murray Bannister had hired Myra Castlebar, it was not only because she was attractive and desirable, but also because he believed her presence in the house would serve as a kind of chaperone which would make his intended seduction of his blonde niece all the easier.
Carol was affectionate by nature, with soft baby-pink skin, a heart-shaped face, long tumbling curls down to her shoulders, and a ripe full-busted figure that was already mouthwatering to a connoisseur of cunt. Naturally, the death of her parents made her affection for forty-two-year-old Murray Bannister all the more emotional, since he was now her only living kin. Artfully, he encouraged her caresses, and Myra Castlebar was often blushingly shocked to observe her pupil perched upon her uncle's lap in his favorite armchair, his arm slyly clenched round her waist and his right hand creeping nearer and nearer one of the big round boobs against which her tight blue woolen sweater clung like an adoring second skin. Nor did Carol seem to mind these far from avuncular attentions.
And so one night during the last week in August, Myra Castlebar found herself unable to sleep and decided to go downstairs to the refrigerator in search of a snack or a cold drink and perhaps sit up and read a book until fatigue overcame her. As she went down the hallway, she saw Murray Bannister in his bathrobe and slippers moving towards Carol's room. It was about one in the morning, and there seemed to be no reason for so late a visit. Murray Bannister had not seen the brunette tutoress, and carefully turned the knob of Carol's door, then entered. Myra, hypnotized and perhaps fascinated by what she feared, tiptoed towards the half-open door and watched with widened, incredulous eyes.
Murray Bannister had turned on the little night lamp beside his niece's bed. Carol lay on her side facing him, a dreamy smile on her rosy lips. Since the weather was extremely warm, she had unbuttoned the tops of her pajamas and the two lush globes of her tits were spectacularly exhibited. Myra waited until she saw Murray Bannister put out his hands and squeeze those juicy love-globes, and then she uttered a cry of indignation. "Mr. Bannister, how dare you do an indecent thing like that to a young girl, your very own niece?"
Murray Bannister swore an unprintable oath under his breath, turned to confront her, his eyes blazing and his face red with anger and thwarted lust. "Why, you prying bitch you! What's the matter, jealous?"
Myra Castlebar put her hand to her mouth and stifled a cry of humiliated fury at so unworthy a remark. He pursued it. "Why don't you mind your own damn business, Miss Castlebar? I don't think Carol would mind a little attention, but you, you certainly could stand some from a man. Isn't that right, Carol, honey?"
And then, to Myra's consternation, the girl had sat up, giggled, looked archly at her, and then back to her uncle as she murmured, "Oh, Unkle Murray, does she have to be here? I want you to cuddle me ... it was so nice when you were feeling up my boobs. Please send her away and let's have fun."
Bursting into tears, Myra Castlebar turned on her heel and went back to her room. The next morning, pale and shaken, she informed her employer that she could no longer stay in such an immoral house. He mocked her, drew her to tears again by reminding her that her show of outraged purity might actually be sexual jealousy, and then paid her in full. He contented himself with remarking that it might be hard for her to find another job, for he certainly did not intend to give her the best of recommendations in view of her spinsterish outlook.
But the very next afternoon, Helga Danielson telephoned the startled, black-haired young woman and offered her a temporary post through the semester at Danielson House. When Myra, thunderstruck, asked the directress how the latter had happened to hear of her, Helga Danielson quite truthfully had responded, "I know Mr. Bannister, and I am aware of some of the problems he has had with other young women whom he has engaged. I know that you have a teacher's certificate, and since you are such a nice and decent girl, you are exactly the sort I should like to have working for me."
Because she needed a job and because she had honestly begun to wonder whether Murray Bannister's scathing remark about her jealousy over his interest might not have some foundation in truth and fact, Myra Castlebar had impulsively accepted the offer on the phone. What she had no way of knowing was that dissolute Murray Bannister had made many cash contributions to Helga Danielson's school so that he might from time to time visit and enjoy some of the orgiastic goings-on. For the beautiful directress, remembering how European voluptuaries enjoyed the pleasures of the peeping Tom, had arranged some of the chambers where girls could be punished with one-way glass panels so that those seated in the adjacent room could watch the entire proceedings.
Also, Murray Bannister himself had called Helga Danielson and informed her about Myra's background, temperament and prudish sexual outlook, adding that it was his hope that, once working as an instructress at Danielson House, she might be wakened so that one day he himself could profit as her first initiator into the mysterious joys and torments of Priapus.
Penelope Fielding moaned softly and leaned back against the edge of the leather-padded examining table in the spacious examination room connected with her private office on the first floor of the second building in the stately quadrangle of Danielson House. She had been busy most of the afternoon going over the dossiers of all fifty-six female pupils and tomorrow she would examine the records of the forty-two boys enrolled in this unique institution. As resident physician to the entire school, Penelope Fielding knew a great many secrets, perhaps even more than the autocratic Amazon who ruled over this singular domain where pedagogy and precocity went hand in hand with sexual situations and topics that usually never appeared on the curriculum of any formal institution of learning.
She had taken her medical degree three years ago, and after two years as a general practitioner in a town not far from Arton, she had quite accidentally met Helga Danielson when the latter had been driving to see a friend, stopped off in the very town where Penelope was practicing and had suddenly come down with what appeared to be an attack of acute appendicitis. Helga Danielson had seen Penelope's sign in the window of her office in the very block where she had been seized with the attack, had stumbled into the reception room and been immediately examined by the auburn-haired medico. Fortunately it wasn't appendicitis, but an attack of gastritis, and so competent had the willowy female doctor been that Helga Danielson had then and there made her a financial offer which Dr. Penelope Fielding couldn't afford to turn down. Moreover, since Helga Danielson immediately discerned that Penelope's sexual interests were concentrated on her own tender sex, she foresaw that at her school there would be ample opportunity for this attractive and sensual beauty to enjoy diversions with many of the pretty pupils who were not especially fond of boys. And of course Helga Danielson expected to enjoy Penelope herself.
Almost as tall as Helga, Penelope Fielding wore her auburn hair in a mannish short cut, which left her nape bare and called attention to the strikingly exotic angularity of her features, with pronounced cheekbones and an aquiline nose whose sensuous thin wings at once declared their owner's highly nervous sensitivity.
Dr. Penelope Fielding was not a virgin, and she had actually had two years of marriage to a high school football coach who had gone at her as an Australian sheepherder might go after one of his ewes after long deprivation from pussy. Penelope could not explain how she had allowed Ralph Tor-gerson to overcome her natural indifference to men and actually wed and bed her, but once the bedding came about she knew it had been a terrible mistake. The energetic in-and-out thrusting of his heavy prick had made her wince and gasp and beg him to take it easy, but Ralph was too excited by possessing so fastidious and cultured a beauty to have any interest in self-control. Had he been more deft, tactful and aware of dalliance between man and maid, he might very well have overcome Penelope's aversion to fucking. As it was, he had only directed her more strongly towards the shadow world of Lesbos, to which she was already beginning to turn.
As staff doctor to Danielson House, it was of course necessary for Penelope Fielding to make certain all the boys and girls were in exceptionally good health. She had, like all the other instructors and instructresses, the privilege of administering corporal punishment when it was deserved. This privilege was a fringe benefit of the job, so to speak, for very often the threat of it or perhaps even the actual execution had enabled her to coax many a hesitant young teenaged virgin into learning her first real sexual lesson in the art of gratifying a mature pussy and having her own gratified in the process.
With the boys, Dr. Penelope Fielding demonstrated a cool aloofness which of course managed to excite some of the older and wiser pupils. Quite a number of them, as a matter-of-fact, were hoping that by some hook or crook they could get a private session in Dr. Fielding's examining room and coax the auburn-haired beauty into testing not only their virility but also their staying powers. Thus far, however, no boy had achieved the millennium of getting into Dr. Penelope Fielding's sheer, skin-tight white nylon panties.
At the very moment that Myra Castlebar was unpacking and taking stock of her new surroundings, Dr. Penelope Fielding, wearing only a bra under her glossy white medical uniform, was watching through half-lidded dark blue eyes as Maxine Talbot knelt, her head and shoulders concealed under the gaping, unbuttoned skirt of the uniform. Maxine had been impertinent during the examination, and so the Lesbian medico had threatened her with a sound switching. Immediately contrite and not a little afraid, the pretty brown-haired fifteen-year-old pupil had humbly apologized.
"I might let you off, Maxine," Penelope had drawled, "if you do exactly what I tell you to. Now you unbutton my skirt and then stick your head under it, take my panties down and use your lips and tongue you can just guess where. If you can't, you naughty girl, I'll have you tied down on this table with your own panties off for at least fifteen good hard cuts with a hickory switch!"
Just as she had guessed, Maxine, who had been enrolled at the school for only two months, didn't have to be told a second time what to do. What was most astounding was the enthusiastic and almost reverent way she was going about it. Her fingers had tremblingly grasped the hem of the thin nylon panties and very gently and carefully worked them down till they lay in a crumpled little pile about Penelope's slim ankles. Then as Penelope put her palms behind her and bore down on the leather padding of the table to support herself, closing her eyes and giving herself up to the sweet reverie of being gamahuched by a tyro-perhaps one of the most thrilling experiences for a sophisticated Lesbian of her nature-Maxine had immediately wound her arms around Penelope's thighs, pressed her soft, warm moist mouth right on Penelope's cunt and began to suck and kiss voraciously.
"Oh my, you surprise me, darling ... but not so fast, don't spoil it ... mmmmm ... a little more to the left ... oh yes, that's it, Maxine dear, now hold off a moment till I can get my breath. My gracious, where did you learn all that? Certainly not here?" the doctor gasped.
Without emerging her head and shoulders from under the gaping folds of the partly unbuttoned skirt, Maxine had stammered, "It was ... it was
Delia, my roommate; she showed me what girls do. Oh, gee, I didn't mean to go and snitch on her. Please, Dr. Fielding, don't tell anybody I told you that, please!"
Dr. Penelope Fielding smiled to herself. Delia Norway, a year older than Maxine, a ripely curved strawberry-blonde, had thus far resisted her suggestive approaches to putting the examining table to a more amorous use than the various colleges of medicine intended. Now that she had had this blurted-out confessional of Delia's naughtiness from Maxine herself, Dr. Penelope Fielding would be able to use it as a Damoclean sword to compel Delia to see the light of day and be less hesitant about the sweet wanton ways that a teenaged girl and a mature woman could essay in the quest for pussy-pleasure.
"I shan't snitch at all if you do just what you're told and make me come properly, you tricky little bitch," she murmured in a gently indulgent voice. "Now I want you to use your tongue. Put it out just a little and go on around and round my little spot ... oh yes, that's the way. What a darling you are, Maxine! Now a little higher, till you feel the little button there ... oh yes, how intelligent you are, to find it right away like that! Mmmmm, gently now, and keep kissing all over. Oh my, you really are a clever thing, and if you keep it up this way, I shan't switch you at all. Go on, but more slowly. And don't forget to lick my button ... oohhh! Aahhh, oh now, now, harder, dig it into me, I'm coming, I'm coming, Maxine, oh you sweet bitch you ... I'm coming!"
As the paroxysm seized the willowy, almost naked doctor, Maxine Talbot edged herself further under the yawning and bulging skirt, her hands gripping the backs of Penelope Fielding's thighs, and she suddenly felt one of the Lesbian doctor's hands feel for her neck through the thin material of the uniform and grip it so she couldn't move her face away. Penelope Fielding's body shook and vibrated until the spasm had passed, and then with a sigh of delight, she murmured, "That was a good girl. Now you may go back to your room. And do me a favor ... don't let Delia do that to you again. If she wants to know why not, just tell her that the monitors might walk in some night and find you, and you know that would mean a good sound spanking for both of you in front of the whole school. Now run along, darling."
As Maxine Talbot ducked her head out from under the skirt and got to her feet, her face scarlet and her eyes averted, Dr. Penelope Fielding smiled tenderly and put out her hand to stroke the girl's flaming cheek. She made no move to replace her panties until the door of the examining office closed. Then with a little sigh, she squatted down, hesitated in the act of replacing the panties and then decided to leave them off entirely. Walking slowly and unsteadily to a luxurious private washroom, complete with tiled bathtub, she showered, then put on a pale peach-colored slip and a light blue summer frock, cobwebby gun-metal-gray nylons held up by a wispy garter belt, and a dainty pair of blue suede pumps.
She was suddenly ravenously hungry. Gamming always did that to her, especially when it was a new girl who hadn't been tried out before. How grateful she was to dear Madam Helga, for having saved her from the rapacious world of men so she might pursue her chosen profession and delight herself from time to time with these dainty little virgin pussies. Oh yes, of course she understood that eventually they would have to lose their cherries to the boys or to the instructors, but at least she could inculcate within them a greater appreciation for the delicacies and nuances of pussy-loving. Perhaps even if they had the ill fortune to get married to uncouth, inconsiderate men later on, they would at least have learned enough from her to find sweet consolation in the arms of some divorcee or next-door neighbor's wife.
She glanced at herself in the mirror, smiled lovingly at the narcissistic image, and then hurried to the refectory.