Penmanship

Abby got up from her desk and skipped to the front of the classroom, her too-short kilt swirling around her bare thighs and her ponytail bouncing. With a triumphant gesture, she put the papers on my desk.

“There you go, Mr. Franklin,” she chirped. “Five hundred lines.” She sounded awfully cheerful for a girl who had been kept late at the high school, and given lines to write as punishment for misbehavior.

She turned to leave. When she was half way to the classroom door, I stopped her.

“Abby. Come back here, please.”

She walked back to stand in front of my desk. “What is it, Mr. Franklin?” she asked, with every appearance of innocence.

“The line I assigned you to write was: ‘I will not touch myself inappropriately in class.’”

“That’s what I wrote!” she protested.

“That’s how you started,” I replied. “Then half way down the first page, ‘touch myself inappropriately’ turned into ‘touch my panties.’”

“Well… that’s what you meant, right?”

I gave her a stern look. “By the end of page one, you were writing ‘touch my pussy’… here, it morphs into ‘play with my pussy’… and by the last page, ‘play with my hot, wet, needy pussy.’”

“Well… it’s just as clear, isn’t it?” She gave me a smoldering look that no 17-year-old had any business knowing. “You always tell us that clarity is important.”

“Finally, Abby,” I continued, trying to ignore the come-on look, “You forgot the word not in every single line.”

She put a foot up on the edge of my desk. My view up her kilt was unimpeded as she began to stroke her pussy through snug white panties. “I didn’t forget,” she said in a whisper. “Because I’m not going to stop. Because… you don’t really mind seeing me do it — not one little bit.”

She put her foot down, grabbed her books, and turned again to leave as I sat there, speechless. Then she stopped, turned to face me, and added, “But tomorrow in class, I might forget something. Like… my panties.” With a wave she skipped away, looking quite pleased with herself.

— Frenulum