Eunice Dyson's lost panties.

Correction: postpone the end of the world!

A young man came to the school two days later.

Most of the girls in the entryway at the time saw him and even recognized him; Mr. Coatsworth. He was the farmer whose fields almost surrounded the school. They often watched him working out there in all weathers and often envied him his freedom, but only when the weather was good.

When he entered the school he had a small brown-paper-wrapped package with him. They could not help but be curious.

Any man was of interest to the girls, even the older delivery men who brought milk, or the butcher, or the tradesmen with their ladders and wheelbarrows were interesting. They were always around somewhere, but this one was the handsome young farmer from the farm that adjoined the Priory and school grounds, and he merited closer attention.

He was close to their own ages, and could not be any more than twenty, or twenty-one, but not much older. They had plans for him if they could ever get close enough to him.

One did not ever let opportunities to attract a young and handsome member of the opposite s*x go to waste, and they applied their minds about how to deal with him when he came out of the school office again.

What did he want? And why did he need to go and see Miss Dawkins, and what had been in the package? As if they didn’t already suspect.

He had his dog with him, but he left his dog sitting outside on the front steps to wait for him. Butter would not melt in his mouth. The dog was a saint. A 'bent' saint who craftily bided his time.

“Hey, Gina. A man’s best friend is his dog, right?” Madge spoke up.

“More likely his dong, and not his dog, is his best friend if he’s anything like my brothers. What are you getting at?”

“Love me, love my dog! Make friends with his dog, and you are even closer to the man.”

The girls began to see Madge’s rationale and started to pay attention to the dog; calling him over to them so that they could give him some affection.

This was what the dog had hoped for.

They fawned all over him. He was a friendly kind of animal, prepared to take advantage of any situation. They sat on the stone steps as they petted him, giving no thought to their modesty or the dog's sudden interest in them under their skirts, and waited for Mr. Coatsworth to appear again and admire their friendliness with his dog, and whatever else they would let him see of them as they sat carelessly, fussing over his dog.

That would be when their modesty might take a further nose-dive, and they became even more deliberately careless with their clothing as they sat there.

However, they were unleashing a demon as they soon discovered. The dog, suddenly being admitted early to doggy heaven, had never been surrounded by such an opportunity. Many such opportunities. He was suddenly, ‘doggedly’, intent on snuffling more eagerly under their skirts to their complete surprise, nosing into them very personally under there at the most delightful smells; haunting, licky-licky types of smell, pushing, snuffling, licking, even as they squealed and threw themselves around trying to fend him off, (gerroff!) and pushing their skirts down to stop him. As long as they were sitting down, the dog became even more pushy and intent with each passing moment. They were not sure how to deal with the obviously horny devil who wanted to be at all of them. It was almost as dangerous to be standing up.

One of the girls, Brenda, very nearly lost her virginity to the dog while she was otherwise distracted and on her knees. And maybe she had. He moved over her, behind her, with more serious intent, put his front paws on her shoulders and began to pull himself into her; or pull her back onto him before she could scramble to her feet, wondering what in hell had brought that on, and had that dog actually buggered her through her panties, had torn a hole in them with that monstrous, pointed red prick of his? It felt like it. She touched herself to learn more.

“Watch that he doesn’t get himself planted in you, Brenda, or you might never get him out. Though you won’t have to worry about becoming pregnant if he does.”

She was already aware of the danger. The demonic dog had somehow wet her down there. Already? Had it actually ejaculated onto her?

Mary continued to explain, as they ran around and laughingly tried to fend off the overfriendly dog, pushing him away and speaking harshly to him in half panic once he nosed under their skirts. He ignored their protests and waded in once more.

“If you watch a b***h and a dog doing it, they can be locked together for ten or fifteen minutes at a time. If they weren’t, then ten other dogs would be on her in that time, so I guess it makes sense from an evolutionary point of view. Survival of the genes of the fastest dog to nail her and get stuck in.”

Brenda moved fast.

“Get off me you horny sod!” She was flushed.

“No such thing as Coitus interruptus with him into that b***h that hard, and even stuck there.

“Just look at the rod on him!” They had all seen that, with amazement.

Mary proceeded with her explanation. Despite what was happening, it was really quite funny.

“First dog that gets into the b***h that way, gets to stay there and do the three ’f’s.” Her friends looked blankly at her for explanation, as they continued to fend off the dog.

Mary’s voice dropped to a whisper as she looked around. “The same thing... the only thing... boys think about with us. First, find us… then, f**k us… then, fertilize us with his sperm.

"Or, with other, more intent boys, like this bloody dog; f**k… f**k… f**k, and then more f**k. The three imperatives of procreation, and recreation. Recreation for them. Discomfort for us.”

She told them more, having gained her feet but still not entirely safe from assault.

“The dog’s tool, his p***s, the head of it expands when it’s inside her; gets locked deep into her there, and he can’t take it out for ages, so the pair of them have to stand there panting, rolling their eyes, and just letting it soak until it lets go by itself. Unless someone throws a bucket of cold water over him to cool him off. I wish boys were more like that, instead of in, out, gone.

“You’d better get to your feet, Brenda before he gets into you instead of dreaming like that, or you might never get him out of you. That would look really good when Mr. Coatsworth and the headmistress come out again.”

They watched and waited for its owner to return as they gently, but firmly, parried the dog away, holding their skirts down while observing its impressive state of erection with wonder and some trepidation. Even boys were not that obvious, but came too damned close to it once they got their erections uncovered to show you, for you to admire and marvel at.

Despite the dog, they had nothing better to do with their time, than wait for the right man to discover them. The right man would never be a waste of time. The right man was one who noticed them or was the one you could encourage to notice you in any way you could, even for the three ’f’s, if that was what it would take.

“Oh, sir, please help me. Please. Can you get your dog off me? I think he’s f*****g me, and he's already eaten my panties and he might eat me next!”

No, not the best opening line to meet any man, with you on all fours, protesting, laughing hysterically, and with his dog humping you furiously with its tongue hanging out, unless he dragged his dog off you, and took its place, then carried you home. His home, to continue it as he made a meal of you.

Mr. Coatsworth and Miss Dawkins spoke together for what seemed like a long time to those girls, as they tried to get the dog settled down. It was actually not a bad dog except for that inability to leave them alone under their skirts.

Then, Miss Dawkins appeared as the young Mr. Coatsworth left the school and rescued his panting, and single-mindedly excited dog from the girls… his p***s (the dog’s p***s, not Mr. Coatsworth's), almost dragging on the floor by then. (But give Mr. Coatsworth a bit more time and....)

”Come on Rod.” His dog did not want to be rescued. By then the girls had re-adjusted their momentary disarray, temporarily shelving their plans to get Mr. Coatsworth interested in one of them in a more decorous way at that particular moment, and were scattering to the four winds, leaving his frustrated dog wondering what had happened to see so many interesting smells and intriguing possibilities disappear so quickly, just when he was beginning to work up a sweat, and enjoy himself.

He called his dog, ‘Rod’? It was aptly named, with an eager rod like that, wanting to be at everything female.

Miss Dawkins asked one of the slower girls to escape, to stop playing with the dog, and to go and find Eunice Dyson and ask her to come to the school office.

Stop playing with the dog? It had only one idea on its pea-sized brain. It might not be that easy for her to escape, and she certainly wasn’t playing with it, any more than it was playing with her. The damned thing was too intent, as if it wasn’t obvious for anyone to see.

When Eunice heard that summons two minutes later, she began to panic, but knew that she could not avoid her fate.

There was a delegation of men at the gate, asking for her?

She dragged her leaden footsteps to the school office where Miss Dawkins had left a small, unopened package for her pinned to her closed door.

The package had her name written on it in bold letters: ‘Eunace Dyson’.

The way her name was spelled, told her what it contained. Her panties. Her heart both fell and rose.

Below her name was written simply… ‘These belong to you Miss Dyson. They were just returned to the school by the one who found them on the fells by the pool’.

It said nothing else.

Miss Dawkins knew about the pool? And she knew these were her panties even without opening the package? Of course she did. The spelling gave it away.

Eunice quickly recovered them and retreated to the dormitory to inspect them. They were hers, of course, and they appeared to be exactly as she had left them, unsoiled by grubby fingermarks or other stains, as she heard sometimes wound up on a girl’s panties; sometimes even when she was wearing them if she was not more careful what she was doing, or who she associated with.

She was overcome by an uneasy feeling of relief, concerned that nothing could be so simply resolved as this had been. Surely there was another shoe to drop.

There was indeed, but she would find out about that later, at the next meeting of the older girls that would take place in about a week.

Unfortunately, everyone in the school (not many of them, fortunately), all of the older girls anyway, seemed to know what had been in that package… who had returned them to the school, and with other tales and speculation flying around about why it had taken him two days to return them, and what he had done with them in the meantime… and where they had been lost, and how, with too much wild speculation and invention about that too, which bore no resemblance to the truth of it.

Fortunately, there were only a dozen students in the school, so how bad could it be?

They would soon forget, provided Eunice said nothing to remind them.

Some hope!

Eunice knew that those other girls would make sure that the subject of her lost panties were always somewhere on the agenda at each of their meetings just to embarrass her.