Posted by: littlegirlyone | April 15, 2009

once upon a time

long ago when i was 23, i placed an ad on craigslist. i can’t remember the specifics of the ad, but i do remember that it led me to meeting with the professor.

the professor liked the idea of meeting with a lithe young thing, and i couldn’t resist the idea of meeting with an older, smarter man. after we exchanged a number of emails, and chatted, we eventually agreed to meet at a coffeeshop not far from my house. the professor had one request for our meeting: that i dress like the little school girl i wanted to be.

i had no idea how much i fetishized school uniforms until i went shopping to accommodate this request.

the idea of wearing a stereotypical “naughty schoolgirl” outfit has never appealed to me. there is something too obvious, too sexual, and far too forward about the cliche plaid miniskirt, and the collared shirt tied high above the navel. to me, this looks too much like a stripper (which is, admittedly, an altogether different fantasy).

i was always particularly drawn to school uniforms, even when i was still in school. i wished that i had some mandated form of dress. the schoolgirl look that activated me (and still makes me embarrassingly damp) was based on reality: a knee length skirt. a  modest white blouse. a solid, scholastic-looking cardigan. this is the idea of the schoolgirl that i set out to capture for my meeting with the professor.

i still remember the erotic charge i got while shopping in the school uniforms section of a department store. i coveted the khaki skirts and the peter pan collars. i ran my fingers dreamily over the navy sweaters and the white ankle socks. i felt guilty for fetishizing these “real” girls’ uniforms, but i couldn’t help it. the jumpers, the little skorts. all of the trappings of the “real” school uniform i’d always wanted, but never had sang to me from their labeled plastic hangers. nevermind that my 23 year old body meant i had to buy a size 18. i couldn’t wait to see myself in a real uniform, just like i’d always wanted. after blushing my way into, and out of, the dressing room, i left the store with a khaki skirt, pleated in the front, with little buttons, a navy pullover sweater and a white blouse with a primly rounded collar. and, a pair of white socks that folded over at the ankle.

getting dressed about an hour before i was supposed to meet the professor, i began to feel slightly nervous. not only was i meeting an internet stranger for the first time, i was actually revealing the little girl side of me quite obviously for the very first time. although i’ve always looked young, at 23, i couldn’t imagine that anyone would really believe i had to wear that outfit because i went to a school with a uniform. i was wearing my fantasy on my sleeve, literally. and i could barely get myself out of the house and into the car when i thought about what other people would think when they saw me. i couldn’t lift my eyes from the sidewalk as i made my way to the coffeeshop. i was sure that eye contact would dispel me into a blushing pile.

when i walked in, i had to lift my head and look around. there, by the window, with a wide grin and salt and pepper hair. there was the professor. after he bought me a hot cocoa, he patted the chair beside him as he sat again. i slid in next to him, staring shyly at the cocoa-swirled foam on the top of my cup. i pressed my cold hands into the mug, hoping the warmth would seep into me and stop my shaking. but my face burned.

he whispered in my ear “you look delicious.”

i kept my eyes down, and smiled. i felt so exposed. everyone in the shop could tell what i wanted. the way the professor was looking at my left little doubt that he would make sure i got it, too.

he continued to taunt and arouse me for the next hour or so. once i felt sure that this was something i wanted, that he was someone i wanted to try this with, i agreed to follow him to a nearby hotel. he waited for me in the garage, and took my hand like a father would. i could barely look as we walked in the front door together. he was so obviously old enough to be my father. i so obviously looked like a dirty little schoolgirl.

he gripped my hand tightly as he checked us in. my head spun with desire and humiliation. here i was, exposing myself as the real life naughty schoolgirl. i was about to live a huge fantasy. and was so overwhelmed with excitement, humilation, desire, wanting, and adrenaline that i couldn’t stop my knees from shaking, or warm my hands.

when he was done at the desk, he turned and i followed. up the hall. into the elevator lobby. up, up, up. up to the 10th floor. out of the elevator, and down the long, hotel hallway. the carpet looked like a magician’s vest, and it made me feel even dizzier.

he pushed me against the door to the room, and kissed me. and suddenly, i felt so, so so ready. he clicked the door open behind me and flicked on a light, maybe drank a glass of water. he told me to sit on the edge of the bed.

it was a nice hotel, and the bed was lofty. i sat on the end, and let my legs dangle, my little black maryjanes tapping against the footboard.

he told me to open my legs. i pressed into the bed with my arms, leaned back a bit, and obeyed. i heard him hiss as he watched my knees part.

i had chosen the panties carefully. they were softly striped in white and pink. gauzy mesh, no lace. bikini cut. he cooed about them for a while, running his fingers over my mound, the thin material providing almost no insulation. his hand was warm, big.

i was still nervous. he sensed this, and promised that he wouldn’t take my panties off unless and until i told him to. i took a modicum of comfort from this promise. i lay back on the bed. he flicked his fingers expertly over my slit, and i pressed into his palm. he teased me with his thumb, pressing just lightly inside of me. the barrier of pink striped mesh kept him from moving deeper. secure inside my flimsy armor, i relaxed and concentrated on his hands and my cunt. i was starting to respond, arching my back off the bed, pressing my feet into the footboard with a clack of leather on wood.

his tongue was a surprise. i flinched, but he reached up and patted me as if to say, “there, there.” i’ve never been very comfortable with receiving oral attention. i would much rather open my mouth to a cock, than open my legs to a mouth. but i also didn’t want him to stop. my panties were soaked now, with his spit, and my lubrication. he pushed them to the side. sort of cheating, but not actually removing them. i forgot to care once his hot mouth landed on my core.

his fingers slid into me, probing. his tongue kept working over and around my clit, making me squirm. partially, i was self-conscious, and partially, i was getting close to cumming. i felt incredibly vulnerable, split open on the edge of the bed. and the combination of his mouth, fingers, and my “not sure i like this, not sure i don’t like it” mindframe set me over. i pressed hard with my feet into the footboard, arched my back in anticipation, and bit my lip.

it was the first and only time i ever had an orgasm like that. i hated the fact that he was there, tasting my quivering pink, and the fact that he was there, despite my discomfort, made me quiver even harder.


Responses

  1. Goodness, but that was well written, the anticipation was almost overwhelming, little one. I hope you continue with this.

  2. Wow, I got hard just reading this. Did you fuck him? Did you meet up again?

  3. Oh my! Very, very hot story! I love it!

  4. Such a delightful young lady. Well written!

  5. Nice! Stuff I only fantasize about doing, alas, the days when I was free to be able to do so I was far too innocent to get that if you want to do that shit, you CAN do that shit. Fucking catholic upbringing. Too late! Now I’d loooove to do it, but it’s not exactly something my dh would appreciate. Bravo!Nice blog, I’ll be back!

  6. I like that you did a “real” school girl uniform, instead of the short skirt. I feel like an absolute dork for saying that was cute 🙂

    • Thanks, Allegra. I don’t think you’re a dork. I reallly have much more of a fetish-y reaction to “real” uniforms than I do to the stippery ones. It’s nice that I’m not alone.


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