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2006-10-03
My husband got promoted and transferred to a branch office of his company in a small Midwestern town. The move involved a considerable raise so that made leaving a teaching job I loved a little easier. . but not much. To complicate matters, our new home town had just one high school that drew students from throughout the county. I really didn't have much hope of finding a new position, but submitted my resume to the local school board anyway.
I was pleasantly surprised. It turned out that a history teacher had just left the high school and they had been just about to start a search for a replacement. And, despite the small size of the town, the salary range was quite competitive. The initial interview with the human resources department went very well and I was referred to the principal of the high school, a Mr. Birdwell, for the final interview.
I immediately liked the school. I noticed the students all seemed neat and clean and moved between classes with a minimum of noise and commotion. I went to the office and told the very pleasant secretary that I was there for my interview. She had me take a seat while she told the principal I was there.
My first impressions of Mr.
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Birdwell weren't so positive. He was a tall, rather heavyset middle-aged man with a face that can only be called grim. The perfunctory smile he gave me as he shook my hand came and went very quickly. In his office, I sat in an uncomfortable silence as he studied my resume like it was a third grader's composition that he suspected the kid had copied off the internet.
"Any children of your own?" was his abrupt first question.
I ignored the fact that the question was probably illegal. "No, not yet. We knew my husband would be transferred at least once and didn't want to disrupt a child's life just yet. " I managed a smile. "And my husband and I are only 30. "
His smile again flashed on and off. He continued with more typical questions which I thought I fielded well. As the interview wound down, he paused and looked at me steadily. I thought I saw his eyes dart quickly to my legs, which showed only from the knees down beneath my conservative skirt. "Tell me, Mrs.
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Craig," he said slowly, "Do you consider yourself a team player?"
From his tone and posture, I could tell that he attached great importance to the question. I considered carefully before I answered. I said yes, giving examples from sports I'd participated in, team projects I'd been involved in at my previous school and similar experiences.
He seemed dissatisfied with my answer and again looked at me intensely. This time, I was sure I saw him glance at both my breasts and my legs, but I pretended not to notice. I looked back at him, smiling sweetly while thinking, 'I'm happily married, you old fart! And even if I wasn't, YOU would never have a chance!'.
"We have a. . well. . strict dress code here for both teachers and students," he said. "Does that bother you?"
"Not in the least," I answered truthfully. "I think it's a good idea. "
"Good!" he actually grinned and I wished he hadn't. It was creepy.
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He went back to studying my resume then looked up and said, "Are you able to start immediately?"
He caught me off guard, but I recovered. "Uh, yes. Certainly. " Wow!, I thought, I got the job!
I reported for work the following morning and met my department head and fellow teachers in the social studies department. I liked everyone and was soon forgetting about the weird Mr. Birdwell.
I also found my students to be likable, even the few clowns that I had. Serious discipline problems were rare, largely because Mr. Birdwell was not shy about expelling troublemakers.
I can't say I was wild about the conservative atmosphere at the school, but things sure ran smoothly.
About three months later, I was due for my first performance review. I spent an uncomfortable morning with Birdwell sitting in on my classes, watching me intently, and scribbling notes. But I wasn't worried. My performance ratings had always been superior. I was a good teacher.
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Imagine my shock when I found my review in my mailbox and finding it marked 'average' in all categories and 'Needs Improvement' under 'Teamwork'. I thought I was going to cry and hurried to the ladies room to compose myself.
Mr. Birdwell was out of the building, but Barbara, my department head, was in her office. She's a plump woman in her forties, friendly and pleasant. I sat down in her office and expressed my disappointment and hurt at my rating. She looked at me sympathetically.
"Jennifer," she said quietly, but with some discomfort. "We do things. . well. . differently here. The principal likes to see specific signs of cooperation, of team play. "
"Uh.
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. ok" I said, confused.
"Let's take the dress code, for example," she said.
"Something wrong with the way I dress?"
She avoided my gaze and said, "Well, I think maybe you overdress. "
I was completely lost. "What?"
She sighed and stood up. She closed the office door and then came back behind her desk. Still standing, she reached down, grabbed the hem of her skirt and raised it and her slip up over her hips. I stared.
She wore no panties or pantyhose, just those 'thigh-high' stockings that stay up by themselves. Beneath the swell of her belly, the slit of her cunt was plainly visible. . she was totally shaved.
"Mr. Birdwell feels strongly that a woman who wears underwear is not an 'open' person who can be a good team player," she explained.
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I was dumbfounded. "You mean. . . I. . I have to go without panties to get good ratings?"
Barbara shrugged and nodded, spreading her hands.
"And be shaved too?"
"Oh, that’s a matter of personal choice," she said. "But a bush is a bit more obvious if a student peeks up your skirt. You probably should shave. "
"What about a bra?"
"Women bigger than 36C can wear a bra. "
I swallowed hard. I was a 34B.
"What if I just quit?" I said, feeling angry. "And tell people what's going on here?"
She shrugged again, "Well, you'll take a rather poor rating with you.
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And no one will believe you, none of the teachers here will back up your story. We all need our jobs. "
I sank back in my chair. "How does that old creep know if we have undies on or not?"
"Well, part of my job is to check," she said, somewhat sheepishly. "And. . well. . have you noticed how the chairs in his office kind of slant towards the back so your bottom is lower than your knees?"
"So I should sit there with my legs apart to give him a good view," I said with disgust.
She was sympathetic, "It’s only two or three times a year. Well, maybe more often for you because you're young and pretty. "
I had one last, but very important question: "Does your husband know?"
"Oh yes," she said. "He understands. "
I wasn't at all sure that my husband Steve would understand, but sighed and said, "All right, I'll shave tonight and no underwear tomorrow. "
"Good!" Barbara said cheerfully.
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"And it can help if you put the hair in an envelope and bring it in. You know, kind of a peace offering. A sign of cooperation. "
I just looked at her and said, "As a sign of teamwork?"
Barbara nodded happily as I left.
That evening, I had two quick glasses of wine before dinner. Steve asked me if something was wrong but I just shook my head. But at the dinner table, I blurted it all out. Steve looked at me with surprising calm.
"Wow!" he said, "You gonna do it?"
"I think I have to," I said, without looking at him. "Does it bother you?"
His answer surprised me. "Jennifer, we've been married eight years. We've both commented on how things have cooled off. This is kinda kinky. Maybe it'll spice things up. And all the old goat will do is look!"
At first I was a little hurt by his answer, but then realized that he was right.
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I brightened a little and grinned at him: "Wanna shave me?"
I undressed and laid across the bed with my legs spread. Steve did a nice job of reducing my bush to stubble, carefully putting the wad of light brown hair in an envelope.
Then he pushed a finger up inside me.
"That all you got?" I teased. Almost instantly, the finger was replaced by his wonderful cock. He came quickly. but so did I. Afterwards, I took a shower and used a 'bikini bare' type hair remover to make sure I was totally bald between my legs.
The next morning, I almost put on my bra and panties out of habit. I dropped them back in the drawer and pulled out a pair of the thigh high stockings and put them on. I put on my slip, blouse and skirt. I chose the blouse for its loose fit which I hoped would conceal the movement of my braless breasts.
I wasn't prepared for how naked I felt. The smooth material of the slip rubbed against my bare buns and nipples, constantly reminding me that I wasn't completely dressed.
I went to the bathroom before my first class.
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In the stall, I hiked up my skirt to pee and actually blushed at the sight of my totally exposed cunt. Habits from years of covering up and being modest are hard to break.
My first two classes seem to drag on forever. I was sure that every student knew what I wasn't wearing. Actually, I am pretty sure some of the boys noticed the jiggle in my boobs. But it DID seem to make them pay attention better!
I had the third period free and used it to see Mr. Birdwell. I could have sent the envelope with Barbara, but I was determined to show him that I wasn't intimidated. I walked past his secretary, into his office and closed the door. He looked up in surprise.
"Yesterday, Barbara told me how things were," I said with a note of defiance in my voice. I dropped the envelope right in the middle of his desk. He looked inside and smiled broadly, "Ah yes, I knew you were a team player. Have you told your husband?"
"Yes," I answered calmly. "In fact, he shaved my pussy.
. . and then he fucked me. "
I got a great deal of satisfaction out of his surprised look. "I-I see. . he had. . uh. . intercourse with you last night?" His voice had a strain to it that I knew was arousal. I should have been disgusted, but I was enjoying teasing him.
"He sure did," I said in a tone of voice I might use to discuss the weather, "He shaved me, fingered me, then got on top of me and shoved his cock up my cunt. He pumped like mad and really blew his rocks in me. "
"Oh!" he said, voice almost squeaking, "How nice.
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Did you-well-achieve climax?"
"Oh yes Mr. Birdwell," I said, "I tend to come rather easily anyway. I sometimes get off two or three times when my husband fucks me. " I was REALLY starting to have fun with the old pervert!
"Really? I wish my wife. . " but then he caught himself. "So you're feeling differently about things today?. . Uh. . better, I hope?"
"Oh yes sir," I assured him and took the hem of my skirt and slip and hiked them up past my hips, exposing my bare pussy.
His eyes went wide. I turned to give him a nice view of my firm buns, "I forgot to mention that my husband occasionally fucks my ass. I enjoy that. Is sodomy Ok, Mr.
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Birdwell?"
"Yes. . yes. . no problem there," he sort of gasped. As I turned back around, I saw one of his hands was under the desk.
I tucked the hems of the skirt and slip into my waistband to hold them up. I began unbuttoning my blouse, saying innocently, "And Mr. Birdwell, I want to assure you that I got rid of that silly bra too. . " I pulled my blouse off my shoulders and shrugged off the shoulder straps of slip. Both tumbled to my waist, exposing my breasts. I was essentially standing before him naked.
"So I see, so I see," he said in a strangled voice. "Mrs.
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Craig, you'll have to excuse me. . I have a. . " but he didn't finish. He stood and fumbled frantically with the front of his suit pants. His fly came down and he pulled his penis out of his underwear just in time to avoid having an accident in his pants. .
He looked totally mortified as he helplessly gripped his spewing cock. The first huge spurt shot over the desk and landed just in front of my feet. More squirts followed, splattering the top of his desk. Finally, he stood leaning over his desk, panting, bracing himself with both hands. His still hard cock gave jerky bounces as it throbbed.
He was so spent that he didn't even notice me as I inserted one finger between my legs, gave myself a few fingerfucks, and came quickly with a soft "uh!"
I buttoned up and pushed my skirt and slip down. I left his office, wondering if it was part of his secretary's job to clean up the mess on his desk.
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. . .
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