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Tales Told Out Of School: 7. Eunice Dyson's Lost Panties

By johnksutherland All Rights Reserved ©

Erotica / Humor

Blurb

Eunice Dyson lost her panties on the fell top as the girls bathed in that pool. Her name was sewn in them and they were decorated with an embroidered heart over a crucial place. She was devastated, unable to sleep for two days. A young farmer inspecting his sheep, saw their clothes blown around in a sudden gust of wind. He watched the frantic girls run around in their delightfully naked states, recovering them, and searching desperately for something still missing, then leaving without it. He found a pair of white panties, returning them to the school office in a package with Eunice’s name written upon it. Everyone knew what it contained: Eunice’s panties, and knew who had found them! Fortunately, she was just a name to which he could not put a face. Not until that fateful day. She was working in the barn that the farmer had given the school, as they tended to the livestock for him in exchange for eggs and milk, putting hay down for the calves when she slipped. He caught her. Her skirt was askew, exposing everything to him, including her panties. She was frozen in horror. He smiled down at her. “Miss Dyson. How nice. We meet at last!” He recognized her from her panties!

An Embarrassing Loss

It was on a blistering-hot July day, just after school finished for the summer holidays, that the girls’ school moved the two hundred miles from their old school in Bridgewater to their new premises on the grounds of the Priory.

The school was new to them, but not ‘pristine’ new…founded in 1610, as a boys' school, teaching the sons of gentlemen…and it was set in the midst of rich farmland along the banks of the river. The less fertile pastures extended out onto the higher fells, devoid of trees, where sheep roamed free, and where deer (called, Hart, in a former time) were said to be common. One of the fells was called 'Harter Fell'. One could see the entire world from up there; mile after mile of tussocky grass, bare rocks, and sky. And sheep.

The school they moved to had been a boys' boarding school until a few years earlier, and now it had been refurbished and transformed to accommodate two hundred girls, both as boarders and as day pupils coming from the nearby city, about twenty miles away, with about half, boarders, and half, day pupils.

There was still another month and more to prepare for the arrival of the returning boarders coming back to them, as well as the influx of five grades of new girls from the school that had just closed in the city as well as all of their teachers. As summer advanced, more of the boarders from the old school began to trickle in from the train station, or the bus, as their parents went back to whatever they had been doing, or they got fed up of their darling daughters and shuffled them back to school.

A skeleton staff, and twelve of the older girls who remained in the school all of that summer for various reasons, helped with the relocation.

There had been a hectic week of organizing movers, shuttling back and forth on a daily basis, getting beds set up in the dormitories, and desks brought out of storage. The move had been contingent on there being everything they would need already being in place; water supply, functional toilets—without urinals--heating, kitchen appliances, and up-to-code electricity. As there had been almost a year’s warning about the move of the Girls’ school there was lots of time to get all of that done.

They were awoken each morning by the sounds of cows moo-ing in the distance, echoing between the valley sides, roosters calling, ducks quacking in a nearby pond; the smell of drying hay, and the not-entirely-unpleasant smell of manure.

There was no heavy traffic, nor the sounds or smells of industry as there had been in Bridgewater, and the air was cleaner and fresher.

After two weeks, the older girls were given enough time away from their chores to explore the local countryside, and even to head out onto the bleak fells.

Haymaking was just coming to an end, and cows were being turned out onto the lush pastures that had been the first ones cut. Barns were stuffed with hay. Everything was busy.

They were warned about the changeable and unpredictable weather in the dales so had put backpacks together, with rainwear and a change of socks, as well as a generous packed lunch which they saw to for themselves.

They would not get lost.

The leader of their intrepid little party of mature girls, Helen Morrissey, studied the maps of the local area in the newly-laid-out geography room before they left, and pinpointed various landmarks, elevations, water courses, railway lines, and a single, isolated, distinctive coppice of evergreen trees high on the fells; (Kirkcarrion) supposedly the site of the burial place of an ancient chieftain, or a look-out promontory that the Romans had used as they guarded an old road.

There were disused lead mines, and narrow-gauge rail lines leading from them, no longer in use, and long-since torn up. It would be almost impossible to get lost. The only hazards, would be stepping in cow patties, or being investigated by pushy calves, or sheep too used to humans.

Another reason for their outing was to scout for bramble patches, raspberries, hazel nut bushes, and whatever wild fruits they could find to supplement their school meals. Rationing, hit those in the school, almost as bad as it did for the general population.

They had no intention of returning with anything at that time, but would just feast on whatever was ripe, and earmark the rest for a later outing. The school cook, Mrs. Johnson and her three helpers, needed warning before she might be able to deal with a few tens of pounds of anything that needed her immediate attention, and would certainly need some help from the older girls to prepare and preserve it.

They had been out for about four hours, and were ready to eat lunch before they continued in the circle that would put them back at school, when they encountered one of those fell-top pools that the sheep relied upon.

They sat around it and ate their lunches, even taking shoes and socks off to dangle their feet into the cooling water while sitting on the rough white granite that surrounded and enclosed it. The rough granite was hard on their backsides through the thin fabric of their panties, and would leave pimply little marks. The water was too acidic to support growth of any algae, so was crystal clear, clean, and above all, unusually warm. There was enough of a breeze that flies were not a problem. Midges tended to come out more of an evening, but could be a real torment at any time when the wind dropped.

The temptation soon became too much for them. Before they knew it, the attraction of the warm water overcame them, and they progressively removed other clothing, but only after they looked around to make sure that they could not see anyone within a mile of them on that flat expanse of fell, then waded out into it. They walked gingerly over the rough surface of the granite, covering their breasts with their hands, but soon lost their concerns with each other as they saw others of their group begin to lose their fear of being seen. Their natural shyness with each other soon disappeared and their hands fell away. They were getting used to their rapidly changing bodies; wondrous breasts, which always needed to grow more, as far as they were concerned, and hair sprouting in a strange place that began to become more interesting to them, as well as to boys (a pox on them all!). The last three years had brought many such changes to their bodies and what was happening, but they always had difficulty getting used to it, and having others see them. They might even begin to joke about it all when they came up here again.

They could see much more than a mile in any direction, but only a few sheep watched them, never for more than a few seconds, wondering why they had to make so much noise.

In no time at all, they were all cavorting naked in that pool, having got rid of every shred of clothing, running about in gleeful excitement, hair flying everywhere, breasts bouncing, laughing and splashing each other, with their clothing safely ensconced, back from the short-cropped emerald grass surrounding where they were. It was rough on their feet, but they didn't care.

The few sheep near them did not seem to be amused at the disturbance to their peace, but as no one cared what they thought they were ignored. They now had two concerns: those noisy girls, and the dog that was loping silently among them to disturb them and bring them into view.

The girls were alone in their own little world on top of the fells, with no one to see them.

Almost no one to see them.

One of the younger farmers, Robert Coatsworth, was out with his dog, keeping an eye on his sheep, and he saw them. He knew who they were, and where they had come from, could hear them from a mile away, and guessed what they were up to at that pool, so he moved closer, staying out of sight. They were having such fun splashing each other, they would have noticed nothing once they figured they were safe from being seen. His dog sidled up and flopped beside him, tongue lolling out, panting.

Robert could see clearly that they were all mature girls. Disturbingly mature. All seven of them. He counted them again. Fourteen wondrous breasts, divided by two, equaled seven. The fourth prime number. He tore his mind back to what he could see, and not the way his mathematical brain wanted to go.

There was no shortage of jiggling breasts in many sizes and of different character to admire; girls (young women), sprouting patches of sometimes darker hair to marvel at upon their young bodies, developing, wider hips, setting his hormones tingling. As yet, there was nothing to mar their young bodies; no sagging breasts from the long-term effects of a man’s heated intervention and interference in their tight little harbours--as he would have liked to be doing even then, with any of them--childbirth or breastfeeding, nothing. Everything he could see was perfect, untouched by the despoiling, emotion-heightening hand of man (or anything more than just his hand), unsullied, and wonderfully stimulating to any young man with a spark of life in him and an imagination. And he had both. He cursed the mounting frustration he felt.

After an amused and enlightening study of them for about five minutes through his binoculars, continuing to note their obvious and intriguing maturity that would drive any man, wild with anticipation (it did, him), he continued around his sheep. All of the girls were from the local school, still being populated with local virgins (maddening thought) and those from farther away. He smiled at their enthusiastic and unconscious antics; Greek goddesses, enticing lesser men like him to join them, and succumb to their wiles as they all romped naked together in the most amazing sexual antics possible; coupling endlessly. However, there would be a stiff penalty to pay for that unless they were all of the same mind about him, which would be unlikely.

If he gave in to a sudden mad impulse and went over to join them, getting rid of his clothes on the way, his body might never be found. But what a way to go!

Having a girls' school next to the farm was a mixed blessing that he would try to take advantage of, but only in a worthwhile and unthreatening way. However, he would have to persuade the headmistress of that, and deceive her about his underlying feelings, which all men had, concerning her older girls. Everything about a male was deception, up to the point where he got his way with a young woman, or several of them and then he could let out his true self: liberate the beast.

He sighed. He would have loved to have given in to the temptations of the moment but he had other things to do. Besides, he would have frightened them off as soon as he appeared. They might never have seen an aroused man before in their sheltered little existences, and likely would have had no man touching into their maidenly shrubbery or knocking at their tight little portals with what he could certainly offer them. Typical girls. They always enticed with their come-hither eyes from a safe distance when they were fully clothed, but the moment anything threatened to get closer, or to become more intimate in response to what they were signalling, and the clothes began to be loosened or to come off, they would run away, screaming bloody murder. No, you needed to work your way closer to them, slowly, and without letting them see your real intent. Ignore them as much as you could; no eye contact, and make them think you were not interested in them, no matter if it almost killed you to do that. Then, you pounced! He’d never be allowed to get anywhere near them, but he would try. They were not bad looking girls either. In fact they were too good looking for their own good, or his.

There was no point in dreaming about what could be, if…, or what might have been. When haymaking was done, it would then be time to round up the sheep and get them down to the lower pasture, to ‘dip’ them in insecticide to kill off any warble flies and grubs in their wool and skin, but he had to be sure to inspect them and to be sure that they were still safe. Hence, this outing.

Those girls would be in a mindless panic if they knew what he could see of them, but he had better things to do unfortunately, and little enough time to do it.

He signaled his dog to heel, and walked directly away from the pool, taking note of the gathering clouds swooping down the dale from the west. It might rain later on, and the wind would get up stronger. They needed rain, but not just yet. Those girls would be back in school before it began. His dog loped off to disturb more of the sheep and bring them into view. At least that horny bugger of a dog didn't have to hide his feelings from anything.

He might even stop by the same pool on his way back, after they had gone, and wet himself down. His dog was already intent on going back there and seeing if they had left anything behind from their snacks and to learn of their wondrous smells from those rocks they had sat upon. The dog could even smell food at that distance, and those other interesting smells. He was always hungry. Or horny.

The wind came in sooner than he reckoned it would, but it didn’t matter. The sheep were well enough sheltered in and around the grassy clumps. It was the snow they wouldn’t survive up here, but snow was still four months away. He’d have his sheep down in the lower pastures by then, and let the tups get started on the breeding process. The lambs would be born in spring, five months later, and they would be where he could keep an eye on them.

He rested in the grass for five minutes, and realized that the wind was unlikely to let up, so he began to make his way back off the fell.

That was when he saw the wind touch down; a mini twister, picking up dust and dead grasses, and watched it move over to where those girls still could be heard.

He saw the concern of those girls as they watched their clothing sail off in rising circles before they were dropped, according to their weight, to be spread around as they chased them down and recovered them in naked confusion and concern, hair being blown everywhere, tits, jiggling, and heedless of their naked bodies being fully exposed to his scrutiny as they forgot everything else.

They couldn’t know how exciting it was for him to watch them do that. He stayed well back as he chuckled, and made sure he would not be seen as he cheered the wind along. 'Another gust please. Another big gust.' It obliged, and he watched their lighter clothing being spread farther, and wider, as he drank in their young, mind-shattering bodies.

The girls scattered and searched around to recover more of their clothing, having been inattentive to the wind that had blown up. They were a real sight to see, running about like that, heedless of modesty in their mad rushing about, and getting into some delightful poses as they struggled to dress in individual pieces of their clothing as they found them, or had to hand them off to the one they really belonged to.

It would have been interesting if the wind had taken their clothes away completely, and a group of naked girls had to make their way back to school just like they were now. It almost defied the imagination and rendered him weak at the thought.

He couldn’t have done anything to rescue them without considerable embarrassment to all of them, even if not for him. They would have fled from him in total panic. Or maybe not. They might have stood around in a tight cluster, arms across breasts and a hand covering that place below as they scowled at him, facing out like circled Musk Oxen, defending the pack from this marauder, this man intent on all of them and with but one thought on his mind, as well as another part of him showing his feelings for them!

He amused himself by considering how he would have handled that--how he would like to have handled that--and tried to calm them down at the same time. It would have been impossible of course. There would be no calming them once they saw him coming at them with that intent.

One of them could have his jacket, another his shirt, yet another his trousers, giving them partial cover. What his clothing would cover would be important for them, but what was left uncovered...? The thought was becoming painful.

They would watch him undressing with growing concern as he inevitably became more aroused, breathlessly more excited, and then even more aroused. After that questionable generosity, four of the girls would still be completely naked. He stopped his mind going any further. He’d got three of them partially, but never sufficiently enough covered for their comfort, or to allay his discomfort. One could have his undershorts (four down, three to go). It would be a pair of converging pathways, like a slow motion traincrash. The more he gave up to protect their modesty, the more he would be seen to be threatening it. By the time he gave up his undershorts all hell would have erupted.

Except he could pull a sock over the offending parts (including his balls) without hiding any of it from them, making things even more threatening by emphasizing that aroused item. That threat would always be present the way that part of his would be saluting them by then. He would strut around them with his swagger stick, not under his arm, but between his legs, adjusting a little bit on them, here, touching, titillating (expressive word, that) a little bit, there, to perk them up. They would panic. They may never have seen an aroused male before; never been touched by the profane, soiling hand of eager man.

No, he’d have to stay dressed and hide his purpose from them a little longer. He’d have to behave like a gentleman, a concerned friend, close his eyes shyly, and tell them to hide in one of the barns that he would lead them to as his dog kept them herded loosely together behind him like errant sheep, or stumbling about like the knights in a Monty Python skit, or the mind-splitting always-suggestive comedy of a Benny Hill interlude. Or the dog could lead, and he would circle them and pick off the odd straggler, leaping in, wrestling one and then another to the ground, and...?

He'd get some clothing to them somehow, or get them covered in empty feed sacks; all of the time admiring them. It was an entertaining daydream. They would not have good memories of that, or of him, but he would. Frustrating memories.

Robert stayed back and watched them dressing, getting ready to leave the fell-top. They were all in the school uniform, with their tartan skirts that wrapped around them.

One of the more interesting and older of the girls—though they were all interesting—was still searching for something. Not all of her clothing had been easy to find, but as far as he could see, she had everything she needed, but maybe not, although everything about their bodies was covered from him by then. All of the girls were searching in widening circles, looking for whatever that one girl was still missing. Undoubtedly a light piece of clothing that got carried farther off. He was interested now. With any luck she would not find it, but he would.

After ten minutes of that, they gave up, except there was an argument of some kind. That one girl did not want to leave just yet. But the others got fed up of looking by then, regarding it as a lost cause and began to head off, leaving the final girl with no choice but to follow them, still protesting, throwing her arms around trying to reason with them.

He watched them disappear, emerged from cover, and went over to the pool. Long before he got there, he saw what they had been searching for. There were a pair of girl’s delicate, and filmy panties snagged on a sharp tuft of grass in a slight hollow. They would have needed to extend their search out another few tens of feet to see them. Luckily, he found them before his dog did, but his dog was after food. Always food first with him.

Why she bothered wearing anything so light and flimsy, defied the imagination. They effectively did not exist; a delicate gossamer web of nothing, covering everything of value to both her, and him, and would have concealed nothing of her there. He could see right through them. They were so delicate, it was only by good luck, or bad, that they hadn’t been carried for miles by that wind.

He picked them up and made his way to the pool.

They’d had a real party up here. The rocks were wet where they had splashed each other. He sat on the edge of the water, wet down his handkerchief to dampen his hair and his neck inside his shirt, as the dog drank thirstily, and then he inspected his find as his dog licked at a smaller, suspicious-looking patch of wetness at the side, held from draining away by the granite basin it was contained within. One, or more of them had actually peed there. The whole bloody place was alive with hormonal triggers for both the dog and him.

The panties were softly-delicate little things with a small ribbon at the front of the waist, and a delightfully detailed heart, embroidered into the front over her mount of Venus. The needlework was exquisite. The girl would be the same.

There was a name-tag sewn inside, at the waist. ‘Eunace Dyson’.

He wished he’d paid better attention to those girls now, to identify which one had been Miss Dyson in her obvious distress. What a pity she had not been alone. He could have helped her in so many ways while not finding her panties. They would, by then, have been safe in his pocket.

She was now making her way back to the school, knickerless, under her school skirt, and was probably agonizing about it as much as he was, though her friends hadn’t seemed to be as concerned as she was about her loss. He gave in to temptation and held them up to his face for a moment and breathed deeply of them, not sure what he might sense of the enigmatic Miss Dyson. It was faint, and haunting, but it was characteristic: that faintly musty odour of virginal quim.

Damnation, he was turning into a pervert! Except he wasn’t. It was a horny-man, thing.

Should he leave them up here in a secure and obvious place in case they sent a search party out? No, they wouldn’t do that. Besides, the wind was only going to get stronger. Rain was not far off, and his dog might still find them to carry with him like a trophy. He also liked the smell of females of any kind.

He’d better take them with him and see about getting them back to the school when he could, and in such a way as to cause no embarrassment for anyone, especially not for him, or the girl they belonged to.

He knew where to return them, but he’d have to be careful how he did it, or he’d raise a few hackles and maybe devastate the girl. The headmistress, Miss Dawkins was a sharp old lass who brooked no nonsense. He knew that about her already. He’d better make his approach through her. She was canny enough that she might see right through him and discern his male intentions on all of her vulnerable girls. Lock them all up, dear!

He also had a suggestion--of a businesslike nature to present to Miss Dawkins. It needed some careful thought about how to broach what he would suggest, and he could return those panties at the same time, but without anyone knowing what they were or how they affected him. Miss Dyson would be embarrassed enough as it was, without having her dirty, delicate linen, so to speak, aired out in public. Somewhere down the line he'd meet up with her again. But then what?

He could dream, couldn't he?

He pushed them into his pocket, called his dog to his side, and followed the girls back down the hill. He’d done enough with his sheep. They were okay.

He could still hear the girls squealing as they ran down the hill ahead of him—six of them, anyway—skirts flying everywhere, panties on display. Except for one of them. That one, would be flashing something else of deeper interest to him and every other man--white cheeks, a flash of hair and delicately hautning lips, or she was walking sedately, holding her skirt down.

The girls would likely go through his farmyard on their way back to school, but he’d better stay well back and out of sight, rather than get there ahead of them as he could, and hang that pair of panties on a gate post where they wouldn’t be able to miss them. They’d realize someone had seen them if he did that, and would know that it had been him.

They would have to go through that gate, and by then, they might also be close enough to see him hang them on that. It would be better if they didn’t know anything about how he had watched them bathing, or seen their laughing and cavorting about, or had even seen their bodies, breasts, or antics in recovering their clothing, but he would never forget it.

There was no way he could easily give Miss Dyson, whichever of those girls she was, her panties back, other than through the school (heavy sigh), and he already knew how that could be done. Then, he would be patient and slowly learn who she was before he struck. The suspense would kill him.

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