Author: Connard Wellingham
Title: The Girls School
Part: Chapter 01
Summary: Adam Hazel finds a new job at an exclusive girl's school where he finds 
things are not quite as they seem...
Keywords: MF, Mf, FF, ff, M+F+f+, F+f+, bdsm, span, oral, cons

The Girl's School 
By: Connard Wellingham
Copyright (c) Connard Wellingham 2003

	This story contains what is known as 'adult content', ie sex.  Why one 
should be allowed to read about murder, torture, violence and killing but not 
sex is a mystery to me - but there you go, that's the way it is.  So if it is 
not legal for you to read about sex where you are, or you are deemed too young 
to read about sex or, you find stories about sex offensive - DO NOT READ THIS 
STORY.

	This story is fiction.  This story is FANTASY.  It is intended solely for 
your amusement and enjoyment.  The author would not like to mislead the more 
gullible among you that the world really is as depicted here.  Whether the world 
would be a better place if people did behave as they do in the story is a moot 
point.

	This story can be freely distributed so long as;
	a) neither the distributor nor the recipient make any profit from it,
	b) no words are changed without the author's consent,
	c) the author is credited with being the author,
	d) this warning section is included,
	e) acknowledgment is given to www.asstr.org as being the original source 
of the text.

	The author welcomes helpful comments and can be contacted at 
cwellingham@SoftHome.net.

Chapter 1:  The Interview (nosex)

	After 5 years of teaching Adam Hazel was bored!  

	It was not a conclusion he came to instantly.  It did not jump out at him 
from a cupboard shouting, "You know your problem, old son?  You're bored."  Nor 
did it descend upon him in a blinding flash one day while in the bath - for, 
truth to tell, he did not possess a bath.  Rather, it crept up on him bit by 
bit, slowly filling his consciousness until it became a foregone conclusion - 
something he had always known but had not really seemed important until now.

	He was not bored with teaching, of that he was certain.  He still derived 
a tremendous sense of achievement when he succeeded in igniting that spark of 
enthusiasm in one of his pupils.  It made the daily grind of teaching and the 
frustrations of dealing with bored teenagers, who would rather be somewhere 
else, all worth the effort.  Nor was he really bored with young people - 
although he found their refusal to be enthusiastic about learning frustrating.  
Out of class, however, he enjoyed their company, their sometimes irrational 
views on things, their black-and-white vision of the world.  And, if he was 
really to be honest with himself, he enjoyed the presence of nubile young women 
although perish the thought that things would ever go beyond a bit of idle day-
dreaming.

	But Adam Hazel was bored with teaching physics.  He resented the fact that 
he had had to specialise in one subject to get his qualification and was 
therefore restricted to teaching just that and no more.  He knew he could offer 
so much more.  Sometimes he wished he'd been born in the 18th century when all 
lines of enquiry were open to all men and it was common for men to be 'experts' 
in often disparate fields.

	However, a physics teacher he was.  Single, 26, unattached, not 
unattractive, no particular vices, no great passions - and a physics teacher.  
So when a small advertisement for the Greenwood Academy, who wished to recruit a 
'scientific generalist', caught his eye, he was intrigued enough to write for 
more details.

	Several days later an envelope in a restrained green colour with an 
imposing coat of arms and the words 'Greenwood Academy' embossed on it landed on 
his doormat.  Inside was a letter, signed by the Principal "A Henderson", which 
invited him to apply for the advertised post.  He read that the school, being 
small, wanted to recruit a science teacher who might turn his or her hand to 
other subjects - by mutual agreement.  Enclosed was a small map with directions 
for finding the school and a brochure.  He opened it with interest.

	'Greenwood Academy for Girls,' he read, 'was established in 1895 to cater 
for the complete and rounded education for young ladies of distinction.'  A 
girls' school!!  This was intriguing.  The brochure went on to describe the 
location - idyllic; the accommodation - palatial; the curriculum - broad; and 
the fees - staggering.  After a few moments of wild male fantasy, his natural 
good sense prevailed and he read the brochure again with a cooler head.  This 
was obviously an exclusive school.  No doubt they could afford to recruit the 
very best of staff with exemplary careers and exceptional qualifications.  There 
was no mention of salary, but, with the fees they were charging, it must be 
reasonable, at least.  He sighed.  There was no way that a single, 26-year old 
male could be regarded as suitable.  Still, there was no harm in applying, so 
without further ado he completed the application form and posted it first class 
along with his CV.  

	To his surprise he received a prompt response inviting him for an 
interview at his convenience and suggesting that he telephone to make 
arrangements.  After several conversations with the school secretary - a 
pleasant-sounding, helpful woman - it was agreed that he would come down on 
Saturday.  The journey was several hundred miles and he did not trust his rather 
old and dilapidated car to survive the journey so it was also agreed that he 
would travel by train to the nearest town, some 15 miles from the school, where 
someone would meet him.

	After a dull and uneventful journey he arrived at the station late on 
Saturday morning.  As he made his way out of the station, his eyes caught sight 
of three girls dressed in green blazers and short grey skirts, and a woman in a 
dark grey suit standing next to a car.  As there seemed no other likely 
candidates, he guessed they must be from the school and started towards them.  
As he approached, one of the girls noticed him and pointed and the woman stepped 
towards him.

	"Are you Mr Hazel?" she enquired, smiling.

	"Yes, I am," he replied.

	"I'm Jacqueline Wishart from Greenwood.  I'm your chauffeur."  She held 
out her hand.

	"Thank you.  It's good of you to go to so much trouble."

	As he shook the proffered hand with its slender fingers tipped by carmine 
nails, he saw that, despite the sober clothes, she was no older than he and was 
exceedingly attractive.  A mane of dark hair framed a triangular face with high 
cheekbones.  A face  dominated by a pair of almost black, almond-shaped flashing 
eyes and sensual red lips.  Her skin was swarthy and there was more than a hint 
of the Mediterranean in her genes.  When she moved, he was aware that the loose 
jacket could well conceal a generous figure.  Her skirt was short and revealed 
her shapely legs, trim ankles and neat feet clad in black stockings and high-
heeled shoes.  He unconsciously straightened his shoulders under her amused and 
challenging gaze.

	"Not at all," she said.  "I'm afraid it will be a bit of a squeeze, 
though.  As soon as they found out I was coming to town, these three minxes 
insisted they just had to do some shopping."  She indicated the girls who 
glanced up coyly from lowered eyes.  "This is Erica, Melanie and Zoë.  5th 
formers."  She sighed theatrically.  "They're impossible."  The girls giggled.

	"How do you do," he said.  "I'm Adam Hazel."

	He looked at the girls properly for the first time and did his best not to 
gawp.  The girls were stunning.  Beneath the dark green school blazers they were 
wearing white, tailored shirts and the charcoal grey skirts moulded themselves 
to shapely hips.  The uniforms covered but did not conceal the fact that, 
although still technically schoolgirls, these were three ripe, nubile young 
women.  The skirts clung to their svelte hips and were short enough to show off 
shapely legs, of which they seemed to have an abundance, sheathed in sheer black 
nylon.  Yet they were all completely and fascinatingly different; one with dark 
hair framing a heart-shaped face with green cat's eyes and a rosebud mouth; one 
with Titian ringlets, large, blue eyes and a generous mouth; and one blonde with 
an oval face, small nose, grey, hooded eyes and pouting lips that just begged to 
be kissed.

	They returned his greeting politely. 

	Jacqueline unlocked the car - of the large estate variety - where the 
girls insisted that Adam sit in the back.  In no position to refuse, he sat in 
the middle sandwiched between the red-head and the brunette.  He was more than a 
little disappointed as he had hoped to discreetly pump Jacqueline for 
information during the drive to the school but a back-seat/front-seat 
conversation in the presence of three girls would hardly be discreet.  He was 
also slightly surprised that Jacqueline had let the girls get away with 
insisting on the seating arrangements.  They set off and were soon out in the 
countryside.  The girls kept up a constant chatter and banter, in which 
Jacqueline was included, which was full of references and allusions he could not 
understand, so he kept silent and tried to simply admire the passing scenery.

	This was difficult, partly because of the chat, but mostly because he 
became acutely aware that he was in car with three; no, four, extremely 
attractive young women.  The car was hot and the scent of young girlhood was 
quite overpowering.  He could feel the warmth of firm, young, female thighs next 
to his and it seemed that, no matter how he shifted my position, a slender, 
black-nylon clad leg was pressed against his.  For such a large car, there 
seemed to be remarkably little room in the back seat!

	After a while he realised that he was sitting with his knees pressed 
uncomfortably together and a shapely female leg pressing against each side.  He 
glanced down to see why this should be and realised with a shock that his 
partners were sitting with their legs apart.  Their short skirts had ridden up 
their thighs exposing not just the lacy tops of their stockings - not tights as 
he had assumed - but also a tantalising glimpse of thin white panties, through 
which he could make out the shadow of their pubic hair.  He felt myself redden 
and go prickly hot as he hastily averted his eyes.  His position became even 
more uncomfortable as his cock started to swell unbidden - squeezed as it was 
between his closed thighs.

	He felt most uncomfortable and tried to recite the table of the elements 
to distract himself.  But the vision of stocking tops, sleek thighs and white 
panties remained.  Indeed, the girls seemed to sense his discomfort and rubbed 
their legs against him deliberately and provocatively.  In that instant he 
regretted he had ever set out on this vain mission and wished he was safely back 
home with the football on the TV and a can of beer in hand.  His swelling cock 
and was painfully squashed and he could no longer stand it.  In desperation he 
pushed back at the intruding legs to take some of the pressure off his aching 
genitals.

	The girls seemed to take this as some sort of signal and pressed against 
him even more blatantly.  Then he felt a hand on his right thigh gently pressing 
and caressing, followed shortly by another on his left.  'My God,' he thought in 
panic,  'here I am heading for an interview with the Principal of an exclusive 
school and I'm surrounded by nymphomaniacs.'  The roving hands moved higher.

	Suddenly something seemed to snap.  If these girls were deliberately 
trying to put him off and tease him, they were succeeding.  He would call their 
bluff.  He shifted my position carefully, pushing back against their legs even 
more and managing to free his arms.  He placed a hand on a leg on either side of 
him and started to caress the stocking-clad skin.  The girls did not withdraw!  
Instead they pushed back enthusiastically and worked their hands higher until 
they were resting just below his cock, which throbbed painfully in his trousers.  
He was now so aroused he was beyond caring.  Deliberately, he worked his hands 
up their legs over the tops of their stockings to soft, bare flesh of their 
inner thighs.  The girls wriggled in their seats in excitement.  He was aware 
that their breathing had quickened and become shallower.

	He considered his next move.  By spreading his fingers wide he was just 
able to touch the white panties, each of which, he suddenly realised, featured a 
damp and slightly sticky patch, and gently tickled the soft, flesh beneath.  
There was a low moan from one side and a sharp hiss of in-drawn breath from the 
other.  The girls slumped down further and their skirts rose even higher.  He 
glanced down to see two ample vaginas proudly defined by the panties which were 
pulled tightly around them.  The sight was so erotic, he nearly came there and 
then.  The girls parted their legs even wider to try to give him better access 
and he was able to flick his little fingers back and forth over the front of 
their panties.  He could feel the soft lips beneath part slightly and the tight 
material become even damper.  As he did, the girls clutched spasmodically at his 
thighs though, fortunately, not at his cock.  He was so caught up in the 
sensations that he did not realise that the car had become completely quiet.

	He was brought abruptly back to reality by Jacqueline saying, "Well, here 
we are," in a bright voice.

	He looked up in confusion to catch a glimpse of an imposing, ivy-clad 
building before the car came to a halt.  He hastily withdrew his hands and the 
girls sat upright, tugging down their skirts.  He was perspiring freely and had 
a raging hard-on and was aware that his hands smelt strongly of teenage female 
juices.  The reality of the situation burst upon him and he felt faint with 
embarrassment.

	Jacqueline and the girl in the front, climbed out energetically and his 
back-seat companions followed more slowly.  Adam remained where he was in a 
panic.  What was he to do with this obvious lump in his trousers?

	"Are you coming, Mr Hazel?" said Jacqueline with amusement in her voice.

	'Not quite,' thought Adam but said, "Er, yes.  Certainly.  I'm sorry.  It 
was quite hot in the car."

	"It certainly was."

	Reluctantly, he slid out of the car and stood up, surreptitiously trying 
to ease his throbbing member into a more comfortable and less prominent 
position.  He caught Jacqueline's eye and she flashed him a knowing, smile - 
almost a leer.  He felt himself blush.

	"I'm sure you'd like to freshen up?" she said.  "Long journeys can make 
you feel very sticky."

	"Uh ..  Thank you," he stammered, not certain if the double meaning was 
really meant or if it was just his guilty imagination.

	With an air of unreality, he followed her into the building and down and 
oak-panelled corridor.

	She indicated a door.  "There's a washroom in there.  I'll go and tell the 
Principal you've arrived."

	He opened the door and entered a clean, tiled, well-appointed washroom.  
After the usual ablutions, he stood, gazing unseeingly in the mirror and tried 
to get a grip on himself.  What was going on?  What was this place?  How could 
he face an interview in a sexual daze?  Ah, well, he was here now and would have 
to make the best of it.  Abruptly, he shook himself, squared his shoulders and 
left.

	Jacqueline was waiting in the corridor.  "Better?" she asked.

	"Yes, thank you.  I feel much refreshed."

	"This way then."

	She led him down further panelled corridors, all very dignified and 
discreet, knocked at a door and entered.  Adam followed her.

	"Mr Hazel," she announced.

	From behind an imposing oak desk, a vision arose with outstretched hand.

	"Mr Hazel," she said.  "I'm Anne Henderson.  I'm so glad you could make 
it.  How was your journey?"

	For a moment he stood open-mouthed, then stepped forward to shake her 
proffered hand.

	"Thank you.  It's good of you to see me.  The trip was fine."

	"Do sit down."

	He sat, abruptly, on the indicated chair and watched as Anne Henderson 
resumed hers.  So: 'A Henderson, Principal' was female, and young - early 
thirties he estimated, and she was stunning - more than that, she was breath-
taking.  Soft, blonde hair fell in waves well below her shoulders with a fringe 
which partly hid her finely-arched eyebrows.  Her hair softly framed a fine-
boned face with large, blue eyes, straight, rather thin nose and a mouth with 
full, pink lips.  Over a high-necked, white shirt, open at the collar, she was 
wearing a loose, dark blue jacket which could not disguise the swelling of 
exceedingly full breasts beneath.

	"Jacqueline, could you do me a favour and rustle up some coffee?" 

	Jacqueline left and she turned to me in business-like fashion.

	"May I call you Adam?  And I'm Anne.  OK, Adam, now, firstly, tell me 
about you current job."

	...  and the interview began.

~~~~~~~

	"... there's one final set of questions I must ask you.  How do you get on 
with young girls?"

	Adam started to say 'Fine' then stopped.  That was not the question she 
was really asking.

	"I'm not sure exactly what you mean by that.  But, as this is a girl's 
school, I assume you want to know why I want to come and teach here rather than 
somewhere else?"

	Anne smiled.  "Very astute.  That is precisely what I mean."

	"Well, in all honesty, I don't particularly want to come here at all," he 
began.  Anne looked startled so he continued hastily.  "I mean here 
particularly, as opposed to somewhere else.  As I've said, I want the 
opportunity to expand my horizons and you seem to be offering that.  I don't 
distinguish between girls and boys when I'm teaching.  In fact it's been a 
puzzle to me why girls seem to better at science than boys when they're younger 
but, somehow, so few of them carry on to exam level."  He though for a moment 
and decided to take a risk.

	"Apart from that, I like girls.  I'm decidedly heterosexual and enjoy 
looking at and being with attractive women."

	Anne smiled at him encouragingly.  "Have you ever had a relationship with 
one of your pupils?"

	Adam was shocked.  "Never."

	"Ever been tempted?"

	He was, again, about to give a stock answer but then decided to be honest.

	"I admit there have been one or two that, given other circumstances, I 
would not have turned down," he grinned.  "But I value my job more than my 
libido."

	Anne nodded.  "And have you ever had a relationship with a fellow member 
of staff?"

	Adam flushed slightly.  "Er, yes, once," he admitted.

	"Will you tell me what happened?  It is important."

	"Well it was just after I started teaching.  The lady in question had just 
split up with her husband and needed a shoulder to cry on.  One night we got a 
bit drunk and ended up in bed.  That sort of soured the relationship and she 
stopped using me as a human handkerchief.  We continued to see each other for a 
while.  But nothing came of it and, finally, she moved away.  More to get away 
from her husband, I think."

	"And that was the only occasion?"

	"Yes."

	"Thank you for being so frank.  Are you involved with anyone just now?"

	"No, I'm not.  And, if you'll forgive me for saying so, I think your 
questions are getting a little bit on personal side."

	"I'm afraid I have to ask them.  As this is an all-girls school, and a 
boarding school, and caters for the, shall we say, 'well heeled' as well, I must 
be sure that all members of staff have a sound and healthy attitude.  This can 
be quite a hot-house environment and emotions can get quite, er, heated at 
times.  You understand that if I were to offer you the post, you would be the 
only young male in the vicinity - and, as you are not an unattractive man, I 
must be particularly careful.  We've had male teachers here before, of course, 
but they have tended to be, shall we say, 'maturer'."  She smiled.

	Adam flushed. "Of course.  I understand."

	Anne gave him another encouraging smile and leaned forward confidentially, 
her breasts straining the material of her shirt.  "Thank you.  Now, before we go 
any further, I feel I must say that you do impress me.  You are, so far, the 
best candidate I've interviewed."

	Adam was taken aback.  "Why, thank you," he stammered.  "To be honest, I 
didn't really think I stood a chance.  What with my age and general lack of 
experience."

	"I am not looking for a pedagogue.  All-round manner and attitude are more 
important than how many years you have been teaching.  Now, I know it's not 
usual to indicate how an interviewee is doing, but I do so so that you will 
understand that I do not ask the next questions lightly."

	"OK," he said, bracing himself for the next questions.

	"What is your attitude to corporal punishment?"

	"I've never found the need for it."

	"But, suppose it was the policy of the school."

	"Is it?"

	"For the moment we are speaking hypothetically."  She leaned forward 
slightly in anticipation of his answer.  He was uncomfortably aware of these 
fabulous, hypnotic blue eyes gazing at him eagerly and the shifting of her 
breasts beneath the silk blouse.

	"Well," he said carefully.  "It would depend."

	"On what?"

	He took a deep breath.  "On the circumstances and the nature of the 
punishment.  If, for example, it was policy to greet a minor breach of 
discipline, say talking in class, with a caning: or if the punishment was 
designed to cause severe harm to the child, then I would have to decline the 
post."

	"But if not?  If there was the usual stages of warnings, punishment 
exercises, detentions, and so on, and then, as a final resort, mild corporal 
punishment for the most serious misdemeanours - chastisement, and this was 
designed to enforce rules not abuse the girl?  What would your attitude be to 
that?"  Her voice was eager, urgent.

	He had a sudden vision of the three minxes in the car, bent over with 
their skirts raised, their bottoms in the air - and suppressed it hurriedly.  
Something in her manner made him realise that she was not speaking 
hypothetically at all: that the school had a policy of corporal punishment and 
the success of this interview hung on his answer.

	"Well, er...  um...  Then I suppose I would have to carry out school 
policy.  I've never seen the need for it so it's really not something I've given 
much thought to."  A sudden picture of some of the more troublesome pupils he 
had taught flashed through his mind.  "Although, to be quite frank, there's been 
one or two in the past I've felt would have benefited form a sound spanking."

	Anne seemed to breathe a slight sigh of relief and sat back in her chair.

	"I take it that it is your policy?" he ventured.

	"Yes.  You see, in a state school, you have the ultimate sanction of 
exclusion but here ..., " she shrugged, " ... the situation is more, shall we 
say, delicate."

	Her tone and look suggested that he would be wise not to push the matter.  
He smiled, reassuringly.  "All I can say is that I would be guided by you and 
follow school policy."

	"Good," she smiled and leaned forward again.  And he was again supremely 
aware of her big blue eyes and heavy, sensual breasts.

	"What is your attitude to lesbianism?"

	"I beg your pardon?"

	"What are you feelings about lesbianism?" she asked a trifle impatiently.

	"Again, I'm afraid I don't have one.  As far as I'm concerned, people's 
sexual preferences are their own affair.  Like many men, I find the image of two 
beautiful women making love quite erotic. But I don't go prying into personal 
relationships and I certainly wouldn't condemn anyone for being a lesbian.  I 
may even know some, for all I know."

	"Good."  She relaxed back in her seat.  "Thank you again, Adam, for being 
so frank."

	"Does much of it go on here?"

	"What?"

	"Lesbian relationships."

	She flushed slightly and said quickly, "Some, inevitably.  Adolescent 
girls are emotionally vulnerable, you know."  He had the feeling she was not 
being entirely open.

	"Now," she said, suddenly business-like again.  "If we were to offer you 
the post, when would you be able to start?"

	... and they were back on familiar territory.

~~~~~~~~~~

	Twenty minutes later he was stepping back into the car, the interview 
over.  As Jacqueline Wishart guided the car out of the grounds, the tension of 
the last few hours suddenly left him and he slumped back in his seat with a deep 
sigh.

	"Tough, huh?" said Jacqueline, sympathetically.

	"You could say that.  I feel like the proverbial wet dishrag."

	"Anne Henderson can be a tough lady."

	"Yes."

	He was exhausted and, although he now had the opportunity to pump 
Jacqueline for information, could not find the effort to try.  The journey back 
to the station was completed in silence.

~~~~~~~~~~

	"Well?" asked Anne Henderson to Jacqueline and the three girls who had 
gathered in her office.  "Is he the one?"

	"Oh, yes," Melanie breathed.  "He's dishy."

	"And he's big," added Zoë.

	"I don't think being big or dishy necessarily qualifies him for the job," 
said Anne a trifle primly.

	"Sorry, Miss Henderson."

	"I think he is," Erika said.  "He responded well in the car."

	"Jacqueline?"

	"It's difficult to tell from just one encounter," Jacqueline said slowly.  
"But I think I agree with Erika."

	"Good," said Anne with satisfaction.  "I think so, too, but I wanted to 
get your impressions."

END of Chapter 1

