There are many bad people in the school

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-23

My wife and I were classmates at the provincial normal university. After graduation, we were fortunate enough to be assigned to teach at the same middle school. Life was peaceful and happy. My wife wasn't exactly stunningly beautiful, but her graceful demeanor, honed from years of dance training, combined with her delicate and quiet face, made her quite a beauty. Especially her figure—curvaceous and undeniably sexy. Her most prominent female features were full and rounded, leading a group of outdated colleagues at work to jokingly call her "a vixen"—"protruding breasts and buttocks, alluring and seductive." While the term was harsh, it wasn't entirely unfounded. My wife loved to dress up; her trendy outfits, heavy makeup, and innate allure often made people want to patronize her. This frequently drew criticism from our superiors—for example, her neckline revealing her cleavage, her skirt too short, and so on. But my wife always feigned compliance, admitting her mistakes to their faces but resolutely refusing to change. The leader also enjoyed using conversations as an opportunity to lick his wife's face from head to toe in his office. Perhaps it was his wife's beauty that captivated everyone, or perhaps it was to please the leader; in any case, more and more female teachers at the school dressed like his wife.

His wife wore skirts year-round. Summer was a given, and even in the dead of winter, long skirts flowed freely. And of course, stockings were indispensable. When it was hot, she wore sheer, almost translucent flesh-colored stockings with high-heeled sandals. When it was cold, she wore thick flesh-colored wool stockings with shiny, thin, core-spun silk stockings, and black or white patent leather boots. In short, she wanted to showcase her sexy legs to everyone's eyes. The first time I was attracted to his wife's beautiful legs was during a school labor activity, when everyone was organized to plant trees. Several people were assigned to a group; it was springtime, the wind was strong, and dust was flying everywhere. His wife was definitely not cut out for manual labor; she stood to the side in her clean dress, watching her male colleagues sweat profusely as they dug holes and dug soil. After the trees were planted, she fetched half a bucket of water and watered them, so her trip wasn't in vain; she had participated in the labor. She was very careful, afraid of getting her skirt dirty. But fate is cruel; a strong wind blew, lifting her skirt and catching it on a dry branch of a sapling. Who says plants are heartless? Two small branches caught the hem of my wife's skirt, like a lecherous wolf, lifting it up and completely exposing her back to everyone. Our group had finished their task early, and everyone else had sneaked away while the leader wasn't around. I was a little tired, so I sat down on the slope to rest, not too far from my wife's group, but right behind her, so I could see clearly. Because it was early spring, my wife was wearing thick, flesh-colored wool pantyhose under her skirt. Although they were thick, they were worn close to her body as pants, and with the skirt lifted, it was all too obvious. The tight pantyhose accentuated my wife's curves, making her appear almost invisible from a distance—like she was wearing black leather boots with her bare bottom exposed. My wife seemed distressed about her expensive, beautiful dress, unsure what to do. She tried to pull it off but was afraid of damaging it, so she fidgeted, her plump buttocks swaying back and forth, as if deliberately flaunting her beauty to the three male teachers in our group, and of course, to me, not far away. It was at that moment that I was captivated by my wife's beautiful legs and full hips; I wanted to possess that beauty. Then the three men in our group began to help my wife. As if they had planned it, they became clumsy, ostensibly helping her get the hem of her dress down from the tree branch, but actually taking the opportunity to grope her. They would touch her buttocks or her thighs, infuriating my wife, who wanted to curse them but dared not raise her voice, only muttering curses at the three lecherous men. The youngest of them brazenly raised his middle finger and made thrusting motions back and forth on his wife's buttocks, eliciting gleeful laughter from the other two. The laughter attracted the leader, who, assuming his wife was flirting with the young men, walked over, clearly displeased. Seeing the leader approach, the three quickly pulled his wife's skirt down. Because the leader always pretended to be a gentleman while engaging in shady dealings, we called him a hypocrite behind his back, and by extension, we called him the fake secretary. The fake secretary came over, speaking in an official tone: "What are you all doing, staring at those women instead of working properly?" The three laughed and walked away. As they left, one of them blurted out, "We're here to check your work." The secretary, of course, didn't understand the implication and feigned concern, asking his wife if they had mistreated her. While doing so, he criticized her for wearing a skirt while working, saying, "Look, you've got dirt all over your pretty skirt," and bent down to brush the dirt off her, taking the opportunity to stroke her buttocks. The wife was a little annoyed. She had just been laughed at by those three young rascals, and now the old rascal had touched her. So she said to the secretary in a coquettish voice, "Secretary, my boots are dirty. Can you help me sit down so I can wipe them?" She sat on a rock, took off her boots one by one, revealing her beautiful feet encased in flesh-colored stockings. Unable to find a place to step, she pouted and offered her feet to the secretary, "Secretary, could you help me support my feet?" Without further ado, she put her feet into the secretary's lap. This made the old man so happy he almost fell to the ground. He held his wife's beautiful feet like a treasure, and if he hadn't been constantly wiping them, he would have drooled. The old man touched his wife's toes, tickled her soles, and grabbed her heels, making her laugh lasciviously. The secretary was completely captivated and began to act without restraint, grabbing his wife's feet and putting them into his crotch. Seeing that she'd had her fill of fun, the wife kicked him in the chest, sending the secretary sprawling to the ground. She quickly put on her boots, laughing lewdly as she pulled him up. What a slut!

[The End]

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