mattdyne: New Age Festival Her parents named her Conifer after an order of tree, Coniferales, but he
mattdyne: New Age Festival Her parents named her Conifer after an order of tree, Coniferales, but her friends called her Connie. Behind her back—perhaps I should say in front of her front—boys called Coney, not that she had ever let any of them see her wondrous titties in all their glory. But Connie knew what she had, and she loved to show them off. That girls were wearing bras less often gave her ample opportunity, and her cones punctuated her shirts and blouses in ways that were so revealing men did double takes as she passed by. Many turned to follow her, which was scary, and she saw many a hardon when men had opportunities to dwell upon her. Connie especially liked to let her schoolboy mates and men of any persuasion but particularly her teachers, look down her blouses and strain to catch a glimpse of her nipples. She’d bend over a teacher’s desk to ask a question, and once her photo teacher touched her nipple in the safelight of a darkroom when he handed her a print. Connie always wondered if was an accident—he pretended not to notice—but either way it excited her, and she wondered if she could get it to happen again. Or get him to really feel me up, she mused. Her photo teacher young, strong, and extremely sexy. The festival was billed as a New Age festival. Connie said to her mom, “That’s so two thousand.” But Connie was looking forward to the festival,because she knew men came out of the woodwork to ogle young women, and Connie did so love to be ogled, especially her nipples. At the festival Connie wore a short skirt and no bra, but her dad frowned disapprovingly when he saw her leaving the house. Of course she was growing up. He understood that. And he understood the sexual compulsions of a flood of hormones, but no way did he want to start a talk about bras and nipples with his pubescent teen daughter. To get around an overt discussion he simply made her change her shirt to something less sheer. To Connie’s frustration, what her dad handed her from a pile of laundry—he wasn’t about to start searching her dresser drawers and finding God know what—was somewhat thick, though she knew her nipples would not be denied. And, on the plus side, she discovered that the soft texture of the cloth felt really, really good, and by moving her body just so she could get the cloth to brush across her nipples, making them erect. Connie was looking at a handmade blouse, wondering how the cloth would drape to would expose her if she bent over for her photo teacher to look down in. She fantasized a scene in the darkroom, lamenting to her teacher how hot it in there: ‘Take your blouse off,’ he said. ‘No one will know. I won’t tell.’ Mr. Saunders unbuttoned my blouse, took it off my shoulders, slid it down my arms. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry Mr. Saunders. My nipples… I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do about them… That’s just the way they are.’ Connie sensed a man watching her. She turned to give him a glance of her front just as he pronounced her full name, “Conifer.” Connie’s eyes opened wide with surprise. “Mr. Sanders. I‘m surprised to see you,” Connie said, shocked to see her photo teacher standing near her as she was in the midst of imagining him taking her nipples in his fingers and suggesting she remove her skirt. That plus it was disconcerting to meet him in a public setting—away from school—away from the protection of rules governing teacher-student interactions. “I do get out,” Mr. Sanders said. “And the festival is a great place to take photos.” Connie had noted the expensive camera her photo teacher had around his neck. “Not exactly a smartphone,” Connie said as a joke, pointing to the camera. “My phone is only for candid shots,” Mr. Saunders said pulling his smartphone halfway out of his pocket and slipping it back in. Connie wondered what candid shots her teacher aimed for at the festival, but she knew he had a roving eye that frequently roved over her and other girls too. “Can I take your picture?” Mr. Saunders asked with his eyes glued to the outlines of Connie’s nipples. “Right here?” Connie asked. “I wouldn’t want anyone seeing you take my picture, not that there’s anything wrong with it,” she quickly added. “No, not that there’s anything wrong with it,” Mr. Saunders agreed. “Yes, a little privacy would be good.” Mr. Saunders thought for a moment. “Meet me at the far end of the parking lot, up against the woods. It would make a good background,” he added as if that were the reason for choosing the remote location. “Now?” Connie asked. She wanted her photo teacher to take her picture, but everything was happening so quickly. Mr. Saunders understood Connie’s reluctance and her desire that no one notice them together. But he wasn’t about to let this golden opportunity slip by. “In, say, five minutes or however long it takes you to be get there. I’ll go first and wait for you. At the back of the parking lot there’s a path into a clearing. Don’t worry. No one will see us.” Connie found herself nodding, agreeing to her teacher’s suggestions. Mr. Saunders started out taking shots of Connie fully dressed, coaching her how to move to show her body and then be still, to relax, to pose, and to enjoy being photographed. He marveled at the girl’s nipples. It was obvious she wanted them to be seen even if modestly covered by a layer cloth. He decided not to go there yet. She wasn’t ready to expose herself naked. “Are your panties modest?” Mr. Saunders asked. You have very nice legs. I’d like to get all of them i a shot, if you don’t mind.” Connie raised her skirt to show Mr. Saunders her panties, which though quite skimpy did respectfully cover the treasures within. “Take it off,” Mr. Saunders suggested. Connie first thought he meant her panties but then realized he meant just her skirt. As her panties weren’t too revealing she agreed, slid her zipper down, lowered the skirt to her ankles, and took it off. Mr. Saunders clicked away, having Connie pose for him, as he took shot after shot. “Take off your shirt,” Mr. Saunders said. Connie knew he was going to ask, and though she very much wanted to show off her swollen, tender nipples they seemed obscene—seemed clearly to be an invitation to be manhandled. As much as Connie wanted to be touched, to have her nipples tweaked and pulled and played with in whatever ways her photo teacher wanted to play with them, she knew she had gone too far, was vulnerable, was in an isolated spot with a man making her naked. “One shot, and I’m not taking my shirt off all the way. Then I have to go,” she said. “Okay. This will be our little secret,” Mr. Saunders said. Connie nodded, as she lifted her shirt over her head, placed it behind her neck, pulled her shoulders back, took a deep breath, and posed. Mr. Saunders, a man who came far too easily for his liking not to mention that of the occasional schoolgirl who willingly succumbed to his advances, gritted his teeth, clicked the shot, and exploded a huge load of cum into his underwear. He started to hide his climax but gave up and held and squeezed his cock, crying out, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” as he pumped out every last drop of jism he had in him. “Wow! Did you just come?” Connie asked, stating the obvious. Mr. Saunders nodded, embarrassed, once again by his lack of control. Connie was fascinated watching a man come, even though his penis was out of sight, and she didn’t yet think to lower her shirt and put her skirt back on. As soon as Mr. Saunders was done with his coming and back in control, she realized her mistake as the photo teacher approached with fingers aiming to latch onto Connie’s overly sensitive nipples begging to be touched. “No Mr. Saunders, don’t do that,” Connie cried out as his fingers captured the her erect nipples. “No, nooo, ohh, ohhh,” Connie wailed as waves of pleasure shot from her breasts into her pussy that was quickly on the verge of a climaxing. She couldn’t resist the onslaught of desire—her legs buckled, she fell to the ground, and Mr. Saunders follow her down with his fingers pinching and pulling her right nipple—not so hard as to hurt her—and his mouth attached to her left nipple, his tongue swirling around it, as he sucked it in and out of wet lips. Mr. Saunders cupped Connie’s pussy with his hand and squeezed rhythmically, as Connie slipped her fingers inside her panties to stimulate her clit in the ways she loved best. “Oh, oh, oh,” Connie moaned, as she bucked in time to her clitoral manipulation. She was close to coming when Mr. Saunders pulled her panties down, and without permission rudely thrust two fingers inside her. Very wet girl, he thought, as he fucked Connie with his hand. Connie came with a long drawn out “Ohhhhh,” followed by a delightful chorus of girl sounds that if her photo teacher had not had such an intense orgasm would have inspired him to have a real go at the girl. Connie’s climax was intense too, and it took her a long time to calm down at which point she had to ask Mr. Saunders to take his fingers out of her. The girl pulled her shirt over her head and to her photo teacher’s sorrow covered her nipples. She straightened her panties and put on her skirt. “Thank you,” Mr. Saunders. “I’ve got to go now,” she said lamely. Easy come easy go, he thought, and he wondered if he would really keep Connie’s photos private. He thought it unlikely. Wish I could have fucked her, made use of having my balls chopped. He thought about his vasectomy and the use he would eventually make of it, as he watched Connie walk back to the parking lot and festival. He looked down to see a wet spot at the front of his trousers. Connie felt her panties wet with her juices. Before I leave I’ll just mention another one or two schoolgirl happenings. Here we see a girl after a rehearsal for a school play. The school always avoided putting on anything resembling sexy, but this year, in one scene, girls were allowed to wear bathing suits. Of course they selected their sexiest models. Everyone but the drama teacher and this girl had left. “Is this what you’re trying to see?” the girl asked her teacher who was always trying to look into girls’ bathing suits. Another day this girl and the drama teacher were the only ones left after rehearsal. The play had one scene in which it was hinted that students would be punished for disrespectful behavior. There was no suggestion that the punishment would be corporal or anything resembling that, but it was clear to this girl that the drama teacher was aroused by the idea because of the glint in his eye and the way he rolled “punishment” around in his mouth as he spoke it. Imagining being restrained and punished had always been this girl’s most productive fantasy. The drama teacher’s back was turned, and the girl, who wore no bra and needed none for support, lowered her blouse. “I’ve been a bad girl. Tie me up and punish me. Please, Sir,” she said as the drama teacher turned toward her. -- source link