Kilted Cock
It was the highlight of the school's social calendar. The Leavers' Ball. No longer the tripping of a spotty light fantastic in the school hall, this was West End Aberdeen sending its young ladies out on a social extravaganza.
The dance had been moved to one of the city's top four star hotels and no expense was spared in rising to the occasion. Event Management had its uses.
Yes there were the occasional vulgar stretched limos, including the Hummer but why bother with that when Mummy has a Beamer X5 and Daddy has the Jag (A real one, and the estate version)?
You can get a lift to The Topbush, can't you? Plus Momsie and Popsie can deliver you gowned and fineried into the arms of your kilted beau at the stairs to the hotel. Well, you didn't hand her over on a plate, did you?
It was a place for the teachers to be seen and, regardless of the march of time the young beauties were joined by the fifty-plus crew, gladragged in little black dresses and ready to boogie, at least until they felt tired and headed home.
Jan Stater actually looked forward to the bash. Apparently oblivious to the age gap between her and the girls, let alone the younger staff, she sallied forth issuing compliments and good cheer to one and all, permagrin fixed.
She seemed to forget that her teenage years were behind her. But, then again, you're just as young as the person you're feeling. Isn't that the case?
Jan's little problem had surfaced again. As well as complimenting the fillies on their beauty and their gowns she might just as well have said that their stallions looked like cocks in kilts to her.
She'd not yet booked in to see the doctor about her uncontollable pre-menopausal randiness which wouldn't go away. Sooner or later she would have to. Thank God she didn't have a prick to give her arousal away. She'd to watch her nipple show when she was hot and they were hard and out, though.
Jan, as usual, was greeted with delight by the girls as she came in with The Gang. Nifty in her little black dress, she'd scrubbed up well. She couldn't turn up here braless but she was showing as much cleavage as she could. The dress was tailored and shaped her bust well. She'd been to the tan booths and been sprayed. She didn't look at all bad for her age.
As fully fledged fifty-somethings, The Gang could order alcoholic drinks, and white wines were duly sent for and served. The girls had to make special arrangements for their alchohol supplies, but more of that later. On the face of it they were all sipping soft drink cocktails and organic smoothies through straws.
"Hello Mrs Stater. I missed you when you arrived."
"Oh, Graziella, you look...STUNNING...Oh, BEAUTIFUL gown. Do a twirl..."
Graziella in her haute-couturie gown, sourced in London, did, indeed, look ravishing. The Belle of the Ball was standing there with Mrs Stater, no competition.
A Latina beauty could expect to be paired up well and Jan had to control the swoon when she was introduced to Campbell McLaren, 25 years old and 6'2 of kilted, sporanned, Prince-Charlied, hosed, dirked, brogued and tanned, fragranced bone and muscle.
Jan couldn't help but notice the size of his dirk, she later told The Gang.
Jan had also happened to notice the male porn-star candidates that two of the young sex-kitten teachers had got tucked into full, pantless (No VPL on the haunch), highland regalia, plaids and all and had brought with them to show off.
The two of them were prop forwards, apparently, for the Scotland rugby squad and were amply endowed for all physical requirements, so it seemed to a pheremoning, saturated Jan Stater.
Lyn McCabe, The Headmistress, seemed delighted to be introduced to her junior staffs' loose-cocked kilters too. She blushed, The Gang noticed, as she shook hands with the strutting, preening muscularity.
The Ball was definitely livening up. Jan and Co had arrived fashionably late and, somehow, by then, the soft drinks were easing the inhibitions of the excited young things all around them.
Jan was privvy to the state secrets of The Nunnery and played her part in organising some blind eyes for the girls on their big night.
The Management of the hotel were very co-operative. They were generally helpful anyway but where the daughters of Aberdeen's movers and shakers were partying, all stops could be pulled out.
The long and short of it was that the 'Facilities Operatives' were under strict instructions to keep their lips sealed over what they didn't see in the Ladies.
The make-up area had, of course been turned into a bar, and a well-stocked one at that. No teachers, other than the always-approachable Jan Stater, were keen to share the loos with their teenage charges, preferring to head to the toilets out in the main hotel. Sorted, Jan Stater-style.
Let us just say that the fuction room toilets, situated in their own corridor at the back of the hall, were in great demand from the young folk.
The night had worn on, the eightsome reel had been socially danced and the willow had been stripped, vigorously. Jan, for reasons which she had, did not take part in the Scottish Country dancing which the girls had been so carefully coached in but she had a pair of eyes.
The kilted cocks were hurling their partners around the room, energy and strength exploding. Kilts were twirling furiously and, yes, the bolder of them were, of course, true Scotsmen.
From her seat at the side of the dance floor Jan observed four traditionalist Scots among the dancers. Jan's fanny was dripping with desire. Campbell McCalister, a dead ringer for the lad in the Scotch Beef adverts, was in tune with his heritage and displaying red-bearded cock, balls and tight, shining, firm, beautiful, hard-cheeked ass, for all to see.
Jan's mind was racing. She and The Gang had prepared a treat for themselves after the dance. She would enjoy the show and take her satisfaction, elsewhere, later, back on the Bridge of Don. For just now she would be a voyeur.
A recollection of that time when she'd watched the man over the way with his wife in their bedroom came into Jan's mind.
Jan Stater had stood in her own darkened bedroom, taking it all in, watching, wanting, envying, fingers in her fanny. She'd told Hubby about it later, almost warning him to keep on his toes all those ten years ago. As Hubby was shagging her, he sensed that her mind, that night, was elsewhere.
It was about 10.30 and Jan and Co were planning to beat a strategic retreat at 11 o'clock. The teachers had had a few drinks and the bolder ones had managed a few spins round the dance floor with the girls' partners. All very polite, very refined, all completely asexual, of course.
What if a fifty-plus tit brushed, in all its firmness and heaviness and purely unintentionally, against the forearm of a young kilter while dashing a vigorous White Sergeant?
Was it surprising that such ponderous titties should collide with the muscular chests of the young bloods giving an Eightsome Reel to whatever skirt came into their strong, young arms? That proud, thick nipples should linger, pressed against the upper arms of the beaus while polite nothings were declaimed into young ears?
All perfectly explicable, don't you think? The Gang all thought so. The Headmistress seemed to be giving it laldy too, so to speak. She was being flung around by the two rugby players that she'd homed in on, cheeks flushed, glasses steamed, beaming.
The sportsmen played the game, letting The Great One touch them with her tits, carefully placing their hands on the matronly, accommodating hips that they were obliged, for social dancing reasons, to hold on to.
Any idea that the two of them had eyes for any of the female flesh displayed so boldly before their very eyes, other than their own two fine young academics, was purely preposterous
They were only being mannerable, after all, weren't they? Tits are tits, at the end of the day. Cleavage is cleavage, don't you agree? There was a sporran between them and The Untouchable and that counted for something, by way of decorum.
The Gang couldn't agree if If Mrs McCabe had intentionally or unintentionally caressed the powerful gluteus maximus of the shaven-headed titan wearing the MacDonald Dress tartan as she skipped across the lines. All they could agree on was that Mrs McCabe had a hell of a smile on her face.
The two expert ball-handlers pretended not to be looking inside Mrs McCabe's sleeveless top when she raised her arms in the Highland style.
"She must have spent a fortune on that gossamer bustier, though! Hidden depths, it seems, in these prestigious lady teachers," the two of them mused as they sat at the side downing pints and surveying the action on the dance floor.
"Do you think she's got the hosiery to match under the long skirt?" said one colossus to another.
"Almost certainly," opined his observant friend. "Last time I came in to get The Blonde from The Nunnery, The Great One was wearing a shortish blue skirt with 'nearly nude' blue stockings. Her legs ain't bad for her age. She's got good tits. I'd lob my knob in her gob if she wanted..."
"Christ, Bud, you know what they're like nowadays. Even the seventy year olds are shagging their frillied way around the West End of our Granite City, when they're not too busy stripping off and posing for Calendars."
"I'm not too fussy myself. Bring them on if they're 40+, 50+...even the occasional 60+ if she's worn well... You're a long time dead. Ferrets rush up drainpipes, n'est-ce pas? I have been known to ejaculate six times in one day, I don't mind telling you."
"Your secret is safe with me, Bud. I won't tell anybody about your underperformance...hehehe!"
"Cheers Mate."
"Cheers Bud...Ready for another one...or seven?"
"We'll have the seven, eh, but no more. I've still got to stick my dick in my chick when I get her back to her flat up in Hamilbon Place.
When The Macdonald came back with the bevvy he gestured with his eyes, "Fuckin' Hell, Bud. Look at that little ride with the tits in the black number...she can't be 5' in her fishnet stocking-soles..."
"Oh aye...I'd be prepared to start her off with a Jig and finish her off with a Hornpipe..."
"Sport, eh, bro? Now, changing the subject slightly. Did your family pay for private education for you? If yes, were you not taught to keep your knees together, when you are seated, while dressed as a devil in a skirt?"
Jan had found herself being jealous, annoyed, even, to see Paula Gravey dancing with the hunk himself. When Campbell returned Ms Gravey to her table Jan found herself smiling her big smile at him. She chose not to tell the others what she was thinking.
Jan came out of the Ladies/Bar where she was 'maintaining a blind-eyed presence' from time to time, just as Campbell exited The Gents. They bumped into each other.
"Wup!", Campell caught the elbows of the lady teacher and held her steady so as not to knock her over. Her firm, heavy breasts had collided with the young man who made a snap judgement that Jan had a nice, firm set of titties, still.
The tiny Jan Stater looked up dreamily at the magnificent buck and was speechless for once in her life. She was coursing with lust and could only manage to nip her lower lip with her top teeth, coy. She tilted her head to the side.
The thing about a sporran is it does not go well with an erection. How do you get out of it when your sporran is at 45 degrees and heading up still further? You could spill your coins if you weren't careful.
Well, you can increase the grip on the lady teacher's elbows. You can pull her in tight and you can say to her, "I've never fucked fifty-plus before but I'd like to try. I've seen it on the internet and am led to believe that it can work out for both parties."
Jan melted and lost all focus. She was nothing if she wasn't quick thinking. She grabbed Campbell's hand and headed for the fire exit at the end of the corridor, almost pulling her stud behind her in her rush to find somewhere private.
LUCK! There was a fire exit corridor running behind the dance hall. Unless a fire broke out they would be alone. The only fire that was likely in the next ten minutes was in Jan's fanny. She would go for it.
There was no foreplay or preparation. She wanted fucked. He wanted to fuck her.
They kissed deeply and wildly, he reaching down from his height to get at the 4'11/50+ nympho, she standing on tiptoe, head up. He pulled her dress forward and got her tits from inside her bra, teasing and pulling at the heavy nipples. Jan was actually sighing in time to his fingers as he touched her.
Things had to move fast. Jan (Founding Member of the Lingerie Club) rolled her dress up around her waist, revealing a sexy set of kit. As always she was showing the lace topped holdups and the tiny black high cut knickers that she preferred.
They were good for lifting aside to take cock if they couldn't be dropped. She liked high-cuts for the cover that they still gave to her child-giving belly, when she was lying submissive on her back, even when they were pulled aside for penetration. She liked to keep some lace there when she could.
When she was gagging to be stuffed or about to take in cock standing up, Jan often took her own knickers off, and this she did, nipping her lower lip with her top teeth as she put herself on show for the twenty-five year old.
Campbell fingered her from back to front, taking in the springy triangle and teasing at it. She was giving off a strong sex aroma from her juice, fresh and inviting. Campbell ran his slippery fingers under his nose and took in the buzz of the instantaneous cock-hardening.
You could always tell when Jan was desperate for sex. She kept her eyes closed most of the time, opening them just to take in the view of what she was getting, giving and doing. Let's just say that on this occasion her eyelids were as if sown together.
She'd showed him hers and, yes, he was very, very interested in what he was about to get. No shaved pussy here, just natural, dark brown bushed, real womanliness, soaked and ready to yield. Of course it was only fair that he showed her his.
The kilt was lifted, sporran having first been put behind the back (useful tip!). It would be ridiculous if the endowment was insufficient but no such problems here. Campbell was rock hard at nine inches, perfectly hung and of course, gingered up with his viking inheritance.
"Have you got a jonny in your bag?"
"Fuck that! I never use the things, I hate them. I want to feel the warmth of sex and take your seed up me... What the fuck is a shag without exchanging body fluids, I'd like to know..."
"But, I thought you did the conny demos for the girls."
"OK, so I'm a hypocrite, but it pays the bills...All that safe sex shite is just spouted for appearances...What I get the pay-cheque for is all bullshit... I'm Head of Bull... Anyway, if any of them are caught I just get them the morning-after pill...It's okay, you're safe enough. I get myself tested twice a year at the Gynie Wifie on Rubisblaw Place!"
Campbell turned his woman around and pushed her shoulders forward. It was going to be given doggy-style and Jan Stater would offer no resistance. She reached behind her and pulled at the manhood, squeezing the girth, wishing she could suck it there and then but knowing that time was short.
She noticed the brass door handles on the door in front of her and held on as she parted her legs for what was about to go in.
Campbell was good and obviously no beginner. He dipped his good sized, gleaming head into Jan's lips and went no further. He gave her a lip job, probing and pushing at her soaking entrance, pushing in under the inner lips, noting how Jan's huge inner labia straddled his cock, deep pink against deep purple.
Jan was reacting in pure ecstacy and was lost.
"Want it teach?...Tell me you want it...beg for it..." Campbell was beginning to push further into her, beginning to give her the fuck.
"Oh, PLEASE, PLEASE...FUCK ME...PLEASE...Put me on it, PLEASE..."
Jan Stater, folded over, legs spread, tits dangling, huge-nippled was duly shafted and put straight onto the full length of a rigid nine inch, twenty-five year old, well ribbed knob. She was almost in faint-mode as she was probed and rodded for not much more than two minutes.
Campbell was astonished and delighted to discover that Jan was softer and wetter than Graziella. She wasn't as tight as the seventeen year old but the absolutely soaking slit was well worth stuffing.
Neither could hold on much longer but Jan had the skill to time her climax to perfection. She loved shared climax and just as her buck shot his warm compliments deep into her, she shook and squirmed and gripped the pulsing cock in her filled-up fanny.
Campbell had read that 'matures' spasmed upon orgasm and, yes, this one was gripping the cock tight in her tunnel before relaxing and yielding up her man. He'd not felt the younger girls doing that. 'The older the fiddle, the sweeter the tune' crossed his mind.
Clothes were rearranged, hair smoothed and pecks on the cheek exchanged. Would it ever happen again? Who could say? Had it worked for them both? Absolutely yes.
Jan sneaked out first and walked into the function as if nothing had happened. The Gang were inquisitive. "Jan, has something happened? You look a little flushed."
Jan grinned her grin. "Mes amis, it's just my age...you know..."
Jan had just started sipping her drink, contemplating, when an excited, on-a-high Graziella came over. "Mrs Stater you haven't seen Campbell, have you? He seems to have vanished."
Jan smiled her biggest smile. "Graziella, I was with him just a minute ago. I think he's adjusting his sporran before he gives you The Highland Fling. Oh, look...he's just come...You're a lucky girl..."
Graziella beamed and clutched her favourite teacher's arm.
"Mrs Stater, If I tell you something will you promise not to tell anyone else?"
Mrs Stater had to think bloody fast. The Nunnery had spent £750.00 sending her on a day's training course on the very subject of the "Confidentiality Trap".
The course was, as usual, a pile of crap and, worse still, Jan hadn't even managed to get a shag out of it. It was all private Girls' Schools women teachers, not even the usual token man in sight to get in your knickers. The course certainly hadn't covered great adventures with pupils' boyfriends.
Jan Stater smiled her smile.
"Of course, Graziella. My lips are sealed tight...I won't open my mouth..."
"Mrs Stater, Campbell and I have promised ourselves to each other. We did it on my sixteenth birthday. We were on the bridge outside The Station."
"You know, Mrs Stater, 'Together, Forever'...We are going to be engaged on my 18th birthday and we'll marry when I finish University. Mrs Stater...I'm soooo in love..."
"We got the family bible out last Sunday and we looked at where we will be on the family tree when we're married. We found a copy of the Methodist Marriage Ceremony that Mum and Dad used 27 years ago. We found Mum's wedding dress and the wedding album from the seventies. "
"I'm going to have that ceremony, Mrs Stater. It's soooo romantic, soooo not-dated, soooo traditional, soooo binding, soooo eternal." Graziella clasped her hands.
"It's got everything in it...'I take thee...to my lawful wedded husband...Forsaking all others... and keep me only unto thee...so long as we both shall live...those that THE LORD hath joined in Holy Matrimomy, let no man put apart...'"
"That last little bit is a bit sexist, of course and sooo not politically-correct. I'm OK with that. It says 'man' but, of course, it applies to men and women, equally, you know, 'don't come between a married couple', which I've been told is still good advice. I think I'll still be allowed to remain a member of The Young-Scoroptimistas! "
Graziella was off in her dream world. "We're going to use the same Church. We're going to get the old Minister's son to officiate, Mr Jamieson...I might use mum's wedding dress...it's got a super little 'seventies' cap to go with it...I'll have lillies in the bouquet..."
"Graziella, that's lovely. I do wish you well..."
"Mrs Stater, I'm going to invite you to the wedding."
"Graziella, how lovely! I shall look forward to getting to come on your wedding day..."
Graziella beamed and headed over to her Campbell.
Jan Stater sipped her wine and fell silent for a moment.
It was the way of the world. A lady on her great adventure sometimes pulled things off at the expense of others. Grab what comes your way and hold it tight!
"Mrs Stater, you're wanted on the stage to draw the raffle..."
"Oh....BLUSH!...Ask Mr McColman...I'm sure he..."
"Mrs Stater...Pretty Please..."
Jan Stater smiled her biggest smile. She went on the stage to the loud, much respected, applause of the entire company.
Jan Stater had made her mind up. Yes, she would be the next Deputy Head of The Nunnery. She could do no wrong here, so long as the swinging was kept safely in Dundee.
All she had to do was encourage a certain someone that she couldn't stand, someone whose nose was out of joint, to seek promotion: ELSEWHERE.
Jan Stater had a cunning little plan but that was for after Christmas. It would involve conquering a big mountain. The sun rises in the east.
glowboy
was said by a school typist, Mrs Carbon Shits, to be presently having sex with her shaven-headed toy boy, Mr Cunninglinguist, in the downstairs token male staff bothy and, meanwhile, for the next two hours or so, unavailable.