I was not usually a naughty girl at school, but there was something about Miss Wilton that made me act badly around her. Although she was comparatively young, she was one of the strictest and most authoritarian of our teachers, and she always seemed to have a particular down on me – criticising my work, and pulling me up sharply for little things like running in the corridor between classes, the sort of things that everyone did and were nothing out of the ordinary. I was not sure of her age: she had been teaching at our school for several years, and was either in her late 20s or perhaps a little over 30. She was always dressed very smartly in a rather severe style – trouser suits, or jackets and matching skirts, in a dark colour; generally black, but sometimes navy blue or a charcoal grey, with a faint pinstripe. She favoured pencil-cut skirts which suited her slender waist, trim ass and slim legs, and which were long enough to just overlap the top of the boots that she liked to wear. Under her suit jackets she usually had a high-neck buttoned blouse in white, and when she walked or turned round there was just the hinted outline of a dark-coloured bra and a fuller figure than her austere style of ‘professional’ clothes would suggest. She had dark hair kept fairly short in a neat cut that shaped her face, which would be attractive if she smiled instead of looking so stern and sharp all of the time.

At the time this happened, I had just turned sixteen. Our school was co-ed but I hadn’t felt very attracted to any of the boys or had a regular boyfriend, just messed around a bit at parties as we all did, allowing some heavy petting but nothing further. I was one of a little clique of female friends and spent most of my free time with them, in and out of school; we weren’t quite the coolest set, but were not far behind and quite ‘in’, and we were all good-looking and up with the fashions. At this time I was about 5 feet 5 inches, and my figure was coming in nicely – well-shaped breasts that were starting really to need the support of a bra and, if I say so myself, a really pert ass and good legs. My hair is naturally brownish, but I had it dyed blonde in a layered cut that made it quite thick and bouncy. The school was old-fashioned in many ways, and one of these was its strict uniform rules. So on this day I was dressed as usual like the all other girls, in black shoes, white ankle socks (no tights or stockings allowed), a plain grey knee-length pleated skirt, white shirt and school tie, and a matching grey jacket with the school badge on the left breast.

Miss Wilton was our maths teacher, and it didn’t help that I have never been good at maths. On this warm afternoon in late spring my concentration wandered more than usual, and she had already reprimanded me for inattention a couple of times. The next time she was quite sarcastic about my ‘wool-gathering’ and remarked that I must have ‘cotton wool for brains’, and some of the other pupils smirked which got me cross. I glared at her and muttered under my breath ‘dyke bitch’ – I still have no idea why that expression came to mind, but I hadn’t been careful enough because she must have heard it (I don’t think anyone else did, as she had come to stand near my desk while she was telling me off). She went stiff and quite white, I thought with anger, and immediately gave me a detention, telling me to report to her classroom fifteen minutes after the end of the school day, which finished at 3.30 p.m.

My friends commiserated with my bad luck, and left as the school quickly emptied of both pupils and staff on this bright and sunny afternoon. Feeling victimised, I trailed grumpily along to Miss Wilton’s classroom, deliberately arriving about five minutes late. Her room was the last one on the right in the upper corridor of the science and maths block, which was now quiet and deserted. When I arrived at Miss Wilton’s room I saw that she was the only other person there. Although it was warm weather, today she was wearing her usual black boots and a closely tailored black skirt; she had taken off the matching jacket and hung it over the back of her chair. She was standing beside her desk, and seemed a little pre-occupied. When I came in, she swung towards me and – before I could trot out some lame excuse for being tardy – she asked me sharply why I had used those words in the classroom.

There was something about her demeanour and tone of voice that was a little bit off – just a hint of nervousness in her normally steely authority, and somehow I picked up on it. Instead of humbly apologising, it was like a little voice in my head told me what to do. I looked at her coolly and drew out the moment, shrugging my shoulders and saying suggestively: ‘Well …. you know why …’

My instinct was right, because she slightly blenched, and put one hand against the desk as if to steady herself for a moment. She rushed ahead, demanding ‘Who has been saying things?’, and then revealingly adding: ‘What has she been telling you?’

Well, well, I thought; on target – a bull’s eye, or rather a dyke’s eye! I began to see some possibilities here, a way of getting my own back on the haughty and aloof teacher. I felt excited and even a bit aroused, with a sensation of warmth in my lower stomach and the start of wetness between my legs.

‘Oh, I know plenty.’ I said, still keeping carefully non-specific and leading her on. Then, before she had the chance to demand any facts, I took my bluff further and attacked. ‘What would the School Board say if they knew?’ I challenged her. And then I had a moment of blinding revelation: if she thought a girl had been spilling secrets, it was likely to be someone I knew, someone in my class – and that meant the affair had almost certainly started when the girl was under-age, as most of us were not yet sixteen. This insight took only a split second, and acting upon it, I added the rider: ‘or the police?’

Miss Wilton looked pole axed and staggered back against her desk, mumbling ‘No! … Carla wouldn’t …’

Oh, ho! I thought, that explains a lot. Carla was in my class, though not in my close group of friends; she was a very pretty dark-haired girl, with one of best figures in our year, and a demure manner that just radiated subliminal signals that she was really hot stuff underneath. No wonder the cool Miss Wilton had been tempted to take such a dangerous risk – if anyone was hot pussy on legs, it was Carla Viatelli.

I gave the bossy teacher a cruel smile, and replied ‘She might not tell … but maybe I will.’ Then inspiration took me a leap further, and I pointed out: ‘if it all comes out, she’ll have to say that you made her do it.’

Miss Wilton was horrified by the realisation of the danger she was in, and stretched a hand out to me pleadingly. ‘Janey, no, please … no, don’t’, she beseeched. This was such fun, such a turn around and a chance for payback – I was going to savour every minute of it. I pretended to look doubtful, and told her ‘Why shouldn’t I? You’re always such a bitch to me, even more than to everyone else.’

The teacher looked at the floor for a moment, and then she looked straight at me, biting her lower lip. I wasn’t ready for what came next, as she candidly admitted: ‘It’s because you girls turn me on so much that I have to keep a distance, keep everything professional – and I’m sharp with you, Janey, because you really excite me … that tight ass of yours flouncing along the corridors, I have to say something strict to stop myself putting a hand up your skirt and pulling down your panties.’

And then the little voice in my head made me say something that took my own breath away: ‘Well, why don’t you now? There’s no one else here …’

She gasped, and her mood instantly changed, with the reaction from her fear adding to a surge of lust. I realised just how sexy I thought she was – a feeling that I had been suppressing until now – as she stalked to the door of the room, turned the key in the lock, and pulled down the blind so that no one could see in. Miss Wilton returned to stand directly in front of me, looked me searchingly in face, and then cupped my chin in her hand. She leaned forward, brushing her lips along mine, and I parted them to let her tongue flick into my mouth. Her hands went behind my shoulders, and I could feel the firm swell of her breasts as she pulled me against her in a long and passionate kiss. The wetness between my legs had soaked my panties and I felt weak at the knees, but after a minute I pulled back and recovered control of the situation.

At my instruction, with an eager look in her eyes, Miss Wilton unbuttoned her blouse and dropped it on her chair. I admired what was revealed: two quite full round breasts, deliciously uplifted in a firm black underwired bra. I reached out to trace their outline through the silky black fabric, as Miss Wilton gave a slight shudder. I slipped my hand into the cup that was holding her left breast, easing it upwards and outwards. Her jutting nipple was firm and hard, showing her arousal. I had never done, and hardly even ever thought, about anything like this before, but somehow it seemed so obvious what to do. I bent my head, the fringe of my hair brushing tantalisingly across the flesh of her upper breast, and took the nipple into my mouth. At first I licked and sucked it, and then encouraged by her soft moans I got bolder, nibbling gently with my teeth to pull it forwards.

I jumped slightly as her hand came up under my skirt, feeling for the join of my legs and the gusset of my panties. ‘Mmm,’ she said appreciatively as her fingers found their target and she discovered how wet and open I had become, and she stroked my slit firmly through the damp cloth. I was now so turned on, and realising that I very much wanted this to go further – now, and in the future. Her hands deftly pulled my uniform skirt up to my waist, and then slipped the panties down my legs to my ankles. I stepped out of them with alacrity, and my new tutor in love steered me backwards to one of the chairs. I sat down, and she spread my legs apart and knelt between my thighs. Her hands sought my breasts, cupping and squeezing them through my uniform shirt and plain cotton bra. At once I swiftly unbuttoned the shirt and shrugged it off my shoulders, and she reached behind my back and uncoupled the bra’s fasteners. For a second I felt young and shy as she sat back slightly on her haunches to look at my youthful bust. But then her hands touched my nipples, and the feel of her skin against them was unbelievably erotic, causing me to put my head back and spread my legs even wider.

Miss Wilton applied her expert tongue to my swollen tits, whilst dextrously sliding her right hand up between my thighs, the forefinger pushing into the spread lips of my labia. My back arched, and I thrust my pelvis forward against her, bucking my hips. She stroked up and down my vagina, easing further inwards until she encountered my hymen. She paused for a moment, taking her mouth away from my breast. ‘Please … don’t stop’, I said in a strangled whisper, but she shook her head and said I was still a virgin. Recklessly, I told her that I wanted her to take me. She said ‘not here, not like this’, but I made her promise that she would take me home with her and do it there.

By now all tension between us had evaporated, and we were regarding each other with pleasure and the anticipation of many joys to come. She stood up, and I reached for the fastening of her stylish skirt, loving the sensation of disrobing this stunning adult woman. As the skirt tumbled to the ground, it revealed that she was wearing sheer black hold-up stockings and a naughtily skimpy pair of panties in black lace which matched her bra. With practiced movements she simultaneously kicked the skirt away and discarded the bra, setting her full breasts swinging free.

Then came the most wonderful part of all, as she knelt back down between my legs, and brought her mouth to my sweet pussy, licking it, teasing it, nibbling it, and questing for the hotspot of my clitoris. It swept me away in waves of lust, as I happily accepted my bisexuality – or, probably, lesbianism – and I clutched at the back of her head, running my fingers through her hair and pressing her face into my cunt. Her expert tongue flicked along my slit, caressing and sucking on my nub, as I was brought to my first-ever orgasm by another person. She held me on the crest of that, her fingers reaching up to tweak and pull on my nipples as my body shuddered under her attentions, and then she tongued me to a second bone-shaking, sweat-drenched climax.

Miss Wilton pulled back, licking her lips in satisfaction, and then we shared a long lingering kiss. We put our clothes back on, and I followed her out to the car park. She drove me back to the quiet flat that she lived in alone, and after I reassured her that I wanted to go ‘all the way’ and for her to be the one to take my virginity, she gently undressed me and I lay down on her bed, my hips resting on a towel that she had spread on top of the sheet. As I watched avidly, she stood at the foot of the bed and slowly disrobed, until she was naked apart from her boots and hold-up stockings. She bent to unzip the boots, but I caught my breath – she looked so stunning with them on, so I told her not to take them off. She smiled and said ‘that’s my girl’, and then from a drawer she selected a medium-sized strap-on dildo. Miss Wilton told me call her Sandra when we here, and came to lie beside me on the bed. For a while she caressed and kissed various parts of my body, having the effect of both relaxing and exciting me, until without haste she eased my legs apart and positioned herself between them.

‘Janey, are you quite sure about this?’, she asked for the sixth or seventh time. I answered without hesitation: ‘Sandra, please, I want it and I want you most of all – take me, do it now!’ She slid forwards until the knob of the plastic cock was stroking against my pussy lips, and then gently but firmly eased it inwards. When it encountered my hymen she paused briefly to give lascivious oral attention to my throbbing breasts, which resulted in my cunt becoming even wetter and looser. Suddenly she pushed forward again, breaking into me with a swift movement – there was a moment of jolting pain, over almost as soon as it had registered, and then I was lost in the sensations as my once-cool teacher began to stroke the dildo in an out in with ever faster and deeper thrusts. I think I must have been almost shouting in my unbounded pleasure, as she took me to the third, biggest and best climax of that wonderful afternoon.

After I came, I lay limp and breathless on my older lover’s bed for several minutes. Then I roused myself, for I could see that Sandra was gently massaging her own breasts. ‘Let me do that’, I said softly, and I took her fullness into my mouth – it felt so good, so right. Sandra unbuckled the strap-on to give my tongue access to her cunt, and for the first time ever I tasted the sex juices of another woman and feel of her pubes and the muscles of her vagina and cervix. Gasping from my eager and enthusiastic attentions, Sandra reached to the drawer of the bedside table and produced a long blue plastic vibrator. She switched it on and handed it to me, saying ‘babe, do me, please.’ I knelt on the bed, my breasts almost brushing the sheet, and pushed the vibrator into my teacher’s cunt. The whole situation was such a turn on – aloof and snotty Miss Wilton had become my total lesbian bedroom whore, with my sweet young body driving her wild with desire. I had a sudden feeling of confidence and even of mastery over the older woman, and began to piston the vibrator in and out of her with vigour and relentless determination. She looked at me wide-eyed, hardly believing her luck, and began to gasp: ‘Oh migod! do me, oh! do me hard, do it harder, harder!’ I repositioned myself for a better angle, looked her straight in the eye, and to her further arousal I said: ‘I’m gonna do you, you fucking snotty bitch, I’m gonna make you cum, cum for me, you cunt, you slut!’ My hot words and the shafting with the vibrator, which was making wet slapping sounds as I drove it in and out of her gaping pussy, took her to the heights of ecstasy. Her back arched off the bed, her hips spread as wide as they could, and her whole body jerked in waves of orgasm before she collapsed down again, her eyes closed. I withdrew the vibrator, and then gently and tenderly I licked her slit clean and kissed each of her breasts. She drew me into her arms, and for the next half hour we just lay close, cuddling and caressing. We spoke for a while, and I assured her that I would never let anyone know about what we had done – and I confessed that Carla had not breathed a word of her secret, and it had been just a lucky guess. She was relieved at this, and playfully slapped me lightly on the bottom, saying I was a very naughty girl – and that she was glad that I was.

Then she took me to her bathroom and we showered together, laughing and joking in the confined space. She was a completely different person from the severe authoritarian schoolteacher, and I fell in love with the sweet body, impish smile and tender affection which she hid beneath her professional mask when at work. It was now nearly six o’clock and I would be expected home for the evening meal, so she gave me a lift in her car and dropped me at the end of the street, out of sight of my house. Before I got out of the car, I kissed her on the lips, and made her promise that we would make love again soon. She said it was too risky at school – we must act there as if nothing had happened, so she would be cool and I would tell my friends what a bitch I thought she was. However, I could come to her house sometimes after school and at the weekend. Then she said that Carla would be there on Saturday afternoon, and why not come along then get to know her better. That prospect nearly made me come on the spot, and I said I would. So within a week I went from inexperienced virgin to my first lesbian threesome – which certainly proved that when it’s us girls in bed, three definitely isn’t a crowd.