Melody Smith's Schooldays
by Eve Adorer
Chapter 9 - My Third Week - Monday
Certain of Josephine's love, I worked hard on my fitness over the next few days.
My period eventually ended and my bruises disappeared and I gave the exhibition
of exhibitions to the school on the Sunday beginning my third week, when I swam
in the school pool totally naked for their pleasure. They saw me bathe in water,
but I also bathed in their adoration and their wolf whistles and their comments
about the beauty of my body, crude though some of these were.
Nobody, bar the gorgeous Jo, had touched me sexually whilstever I was on heat,
and she only to caress the ointment into my poor bruised and abused bummy. But
now my period was over, and I had returned my Slag's ring to my wedding finger
on the Saturday morning immediately prior to my naked swim.
The girl that strode to class the next Monday was a new me.
That day I was dressed in a tight fitting knitted top with horizontal alternate
light-blue and white-hooped pattern, in the manner of a French Apache dancer. It
had long sleeves but covered only a little below my lovely firm breasts leaving
my flat midriff and belly-button bare. It also hung off my delectable shoulders
baring my long slim swan's neck.
My golden hair cascaded down to below the base of my bum shining and shimmering
in the morning sun. I wore five-inch spike-stiletto heels, a wholly new high and
a very sensual and sexual sensation for me; they made me wiggle so, as I walked
on near tiptoe in them.
On my legs I wore midnight black fishnet stockings that were held up by my
deep-space black suspenders, one suspender running down my thigh at the front of
each of my legs, and the other purposely sexily, if impractically, stretched
right over my lovely bum half-moons to hold the stocking up at the rear.
My regulation garter was also deep-space black with a huge black rose. And my
skirt was again black. It just, and only just, covered my bum as I stood, and it
was slit all the way up both sides so as to reveal the whole of my thighs and
the sides of my bottom as I walked and even more of my bottom when I sat.
I had never ever felt so sexy and my nude shaven cunt was moistened by my
arousal and the cool air that blew over its soft tight-closed lips as I
wiggle-walked in my five-inch heels to my class, only to be stopped in my tracks
by the head-girl and her deputy.
I curtsied flashing more delectable strong fit heaven-made gorgeous leg.
"I have decided I want a fresh laid egg for my tea" announced the head-girl. I
looked up astonished to know what she meant.
To my utter incredulity, her deputy proffered a dark brown and freckled
chicken's egg from her hand. And, as if it happened every day, passed it to me.
"You will carry my egg, cook it in your juices for the day, and lay it for me
when I am ready for it this evening" ordered the head-girl.
Astounded, I could only answer, "Yes mistress" as I curtsied once more.
The metaphorical wind had been taken out of my equally metaphorical sails. I was
astounded. I was speechless. And yet I knew that this was just so sexy, so very,
very sexy.
Weird: it was undoubtedly weird. It was intended to humiliate me, but I was so
much on high with my girlness and femininity that I all but welcomed the
humiliation.
Some part of my mind wanted me to be humiliated. It was, of course, never in the
forefront of my mind. But in a secret part of my brain I wanted the secret
torture. The mistress between my lovely legs wanted every new experience and
turned every experience to sex.
Taking the already hard-boiled egg, I wiggle walked amid loud wolf whistles from
the junior girls going to classes, and took myself to a lavatory cubicle.
Of course I knew where the egg must go and where it must stay for the day. I was
so naughty-wet from the sexiness of my clothes and the wolf whistles and the
humiliation of what I had been ordered to do, that I easily slid the egg into my
slit, broad end first, deciding, that it was less likely to slide out that way.
Then I wiggled gracefully over to a sink keeping my thighs so close they rubbed
together, for fear I would lay my egg prematurely, to wash my fingers and
wondered how I could possible last the day with the egg filling me and always in
danger of being crushed by a wrong move. I had no doubt that I would be whipped
if I broke the egg, so the rest of my walk to class that day was slower than the
slowest snail.
I held the egg in me as I sat, resisting the natural pulses that would have
ejected it from me. In the snug warmth of my lovely naughty I slow-warmed my
first egg as I sat with the full incredible length of my glorious legs revealed
by my spilt skirt, right up to my cheeky bare bum cheeks.
As I stood to go to the lavatory, I must needs move very carefully and to walk
so slowly I feared I would gush forth my pee before I made the bathroom. Even in
peeing I kept a finger on my egg to hold it safe from even the slightest risk of
being prematurely ejected.
Morning break saw me standing legs crossed to keep the egg in my cunty. Girls
made clucking noises as they passed. I blushed with shame not hitherto knowing
they knew I was carrying an egg for my chief mistress. I found myself forcing my
naughty's lips closed and thereby exciting myself as I fought to keep my egg in
its delectable cooking pot.
By the end of the fifteen-minute interlude from lessons, I had become so honeyed
my egg must surely shoot from my slit and so, to ever-louder whistles and cheers
and jeers, I wiggled back, walking close-legged to tight hold my egg in my
naughty.
Chicken clucks and "cock a doodle doos" greeted me as I wiggled back to my seat
and lowered my bum carefully so as not to let go my precious first egg. Then I
blushed deep crimson at my deep, deep humiliation.
At lunchtime I declined to move amid comments about how the little hen must have
gone broody and how she must sit on her nest till she can lay. And I continued
to fight to keep the egg in me as near orgasmic pulses went through me. I bit my
pretty lower lip and squeezed my glorious thighs hard together to retain my egg.
Yet I knew I must walk to my next class. I was terrified I would abort my egg if
I stood. I held my thighs tight together and rose very, very slowly.
"Cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck", went the cruel young women witnessing my torment.
Then I stood and breathed a sigh of relief. I walked in mincing little steps my
slit grinding my egg as I wiggled sexily along. "Cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck",
and "cock a doodle doo" assailed my ears.
I would obey. I would carry my mistress' egg. I would be my mistress' hen. I
would be my mistress' cooking pot. It was my egg; my precious egg that I was
carrying. This hen would carry her egg to its full term and not lay it till it
was ordered she should. She would carry her egg for days or weeks if it were
ordered she do so.
My precious egg was warming in my spice. The heat of my naughty and the spice I
surrounded it with had heated my egg almost all the way through. My wonderful
cunt-heat would continue to slow warm my egg for my mistress for the rest of the
day.
Whilst others found some way to concentrate on their lessons, I sat gently down
on my hard wooden chair for my afternoon English lesson, with only my egg on my
mind. My egg was my mission. I would shelter and protect it in my lovely nest. I
would warm it slowly in my cunty and keep it safe and sound for my mistress.
My egg. It was my egg! My first ever egg!! Nothing must go wrong with my first
ever egg. They might mock me and jeer me, but I was going to be the loving
mother hen to my first ever egg, no matter what.
I was used to it in me now. I glowed with a little pride that I could hold it
safe and keep warming it in my naughty as I sat on my seat determined not to
move, so that my egg would be held safe and sound. I was a human chicken on a
human chicken's nest, so preciously did I sit to hold my egg within my sweet
soft cooking pot.
Then a sudden vision that I might be incubating a chicken in me shot though my
mind, and the class turned toward me as I gasped at the thought of the tapping
of beak on shell till shell broke, and a pretty yellow chick eased its way out
between the lips of my slit.
Was I really just warming this precious ready-boiled egg or was I being made to
bear a chick? My mind whirred as I sat on my metaphorical nest, obediently
warming my egg and hoping I would satisfy my mistress so that I might carry more
eggs for her.
And so I spent that day, alternating between arousal and discomfort as I
determinedly did my duty as a chicken sitting upright proudly on my nest.
That evening, school over, it took me ten minutes to walk the normally
five-minute route to the prefecture, such was the care with which I must wiggle
walk to keep from laying the egg, my egg. My first ever egg; my precious
treasure slowly warming in my delicious honey; my gorgeous cooking pot; my
beautiful naughty.
