The Interview

It was my no nonsense name that caused it to happen Lucy Smith. That’s me– 23 years old, brown hair, 5’6” and a figure that I am proud of. Apart from occasionally being referred to as thunder thighs I have had my share of boy friends. I had finished the university, done my training, got my diploma, and a job. Not just any job, but at my old school, so I could live at home and it would be easy to pay back my loans. I had an appointment with the department head after lunch and as that was some way off, I arranged to meet an old friend of mine who was already a teacher. We met at a pub, I had not intended to have any booze at all but Sandra, ( my friend) pointed out that it might compose me before my interview. I asked her whether I had anything to worry about. “No” said Sandra, “but the head is absent and you are seeing the new deputy head and there is a report that he is setting very high principles –he will expect you to start as you mean to go on.” After that as we talked I drank about two and a half pints of strong lager as we chatted about the past and got quite giggly. Sandra wished me well and I set off to walk to the school, arriving and finding the place practically deserted. I realized that the pupil’s toilets ( which I now needed ) were closed and the staff ones were at the other end of the block. Thinking I would not be long, I proceeded to the school secretary’s office. Gillian, the school secretary greeted me warmly. “Well Lucy, how nice to see you again, the deputy head will see you in the board room – he is just working out in the gym and I have got to pop out for a moment. I will give him a call as I go” and as I stepped in to the board room on the other side of Gillian’s office I heard her leave. However, good old security minded Gillian inadvertently locked the door. A premonition bell rang in my mind and I tried the door to the corridor that to was locked. I had wanted to pee before, but with the knowledge that it might be some time before I could reach a loo, I found myself standing with my legs crossed as I looked around for some way out. After all, I have had knicker wetting problems nearly all my life and I was an expert at avoiding accidents. In the corner of the room was an immense porcelain jug with dried pampas in it, I listened carefully to make sure there was no one around, and removed the pampas. Then tucking my skirt in my panties I pulled the gusset of my yellow panties to one side, then with a devious feeling of naughtiness commenced to pee, after all that lager drinking my pee gushed out – splashing nosily into the jug. Hardly had I got started when I heard a step in the corridor and the jangle of keys, I let go the gusset of my panties, which pinged straight back into place. But I was unable to stop the flow in to my panties, for about a good few seconds. By the time that the door started to open the pampas were back in the jug and I was standing at the table, looking relatively normal. Beneath my skirt, however, where the gusset of my panties were soaked and my thighs were stuck wetly together, I felt like I had years ago when I had wet myself in class and been sent to this very room to be punished. What was worse is that I was now a teacher due to meet her boss for the first time. And– as everyone knows once you have begun peeing and are forced to stop the need to finish is acute. Then suddenly I was confronted with a face I knew. “Well goodness me, if it isn’t Lucy Smith! Lovely to see you again! How are you– when I saw the name I did not even realize that it was you.” The man confronting me was none other than another old pupil who had obviously become a teacher, a few years older than I, but one I had reason to know well. His arms went round me in a welcoming hug. “How are you now?” He sensed something in my posture, “Gosh I remember you from …” and we both stood there remembering a good number of years ago when we were still at school. We had been an item for a time. I blushed to the roots of my hair. Remembering the evening that Roger and I had been for a walk, having gone beyond the petting stage a long time ago ( I was on the pill unbeknown to my parents). We stopped behind the cricket pavilion and started to pet. He was frigging me through my panties. I wanted to pee then but I had not stopped him it was too nice and it had been some time since we had an occasion to indulge. I could feel his prick pressed against my thigh, I whispered in his ear I needed to wee but instead of stopping, the news only seemed to arouse him to additional urgency. He scissored his fingers in my vagina stretching me and tickling my clit. I pushed my hand into his trousers and pulled out his prick so that it pressed against my thigh and as I felt him about to spurt I gave in. I was aware of the intensity of my own orgasm and that I was weeing through my panties all over Roger’s hand and down my legs. I made no effort to stop but let it all go– he did not withdraw his hand but rubbed all the harder as he spunked copiously up the side of my leg. I found out later it reached my blouse and marked my skirt. Afterwards we had fucked at length on the grass and walked home with my sopping panties in Roger’s pocket. It was then that I remembered and coming back to the present said on cue “I don’t assume that you still have my panties?” I could see Roger had remembered by the bulge in his pants, as I whispered “in some ways I am still the same girl.” “You don’t mean you have done it now? But how? And you, a teacher!” “And you still got a hard on!” I seized his hand and thrust it between my legs “I had been to the pub, I was nervous, I was locked in by that stupid Gillian and was utilizing that jug” I pointed, “but you came back before I could finish.” He looked at me discerningly. I seized my chance, going into a little school girl routine I declared “Oh! Sir, I couldn’t help it– I have peed my panties and I have not finished and it’s too late for the toilet! Oh! Sir, it’s coming– I wriggled and squirmed lifting my skirt I thrust my hand between my legs rubbing myself. Roger could tolerate no more. He sat me on the table, pulled his shorts down, his thick prick rock hard, pulling aside my wet panties, he nudged into my wet opening. The only variation from that other time was we both had much more to offer, and yes I peed myself just as I had before– all my piss splashed all over the board room table and floor. What an interview! Roger walked me home as we talked over a lot of things. “It’s a good job that Gillian did not come back,” I said, recalling that in cleaning up I forgot to empty the jug. “Yes but not in the way that you think! That woman is so far into wet sex, she would have been unable to resist joining in.” I thought on reflection that that might not have been such a bad idea( but that’s another story). Instead I commented, “well at least we have something to look forward to.”
Undine