Old-School Nuns? Old-School PE

So yes, we had old school PE. Circuit training featured when it was too wet even for our nuns to venture outside, or we were four feet deep in snow. (One nun still sent us out cross country running even in the snow, while she stayed in the warm with her coffee! (The bitch). Still, no experience is bad if you can get some good out of it. I learned the delights of masturbating in the biting cold.

But back to indoors. 

Whoever decided that adolescent girls should climb ropes was a) a female b) a fucking genius.

Once I had figured out that you don’t climb a rope with your hands, but rather with your feet, and could get more than three inches off the floor, I discovered where those beautiful bumpy ropes naturally sat against me. If someone had measured me and thought “Hmm….what can I design that will naturally spread this girl’s labia under her panties and press on her clit?” They would have come up with these ropes. 

I remember the joy I felt at about 14/15 when, finally, I hauled myself to the very top and grasped the metal cap for the required five seconds. I remember the nun’s voice calling “Right. You can come down now.” I remember lowering myself hand over hand, gripping the rope with my feet, slowly at first, then getting faster and feeling this sensation against my clit. 

By a quarter of the way down, I was aroused. By half way down I was breathing hard, and very shortly thereafter I had cum deliciously into my panties. I almost fell down the rest of the way, which didn’t please Sister at all. “Right my girl! Off you go. To the top and down again if you please, and remember CONTROL girl, CONTROL.” 

I was up that rope like a rat up a drain pipe. On the way down I knew what to expect, or rather I hoped what had happened before would happen again. The rope went taught, positioned itself between my labia, and the descent began. This time my goal was to find the exact speed I needed. I found that quite easily and just at halfway down again I came sweetly into my undies. Not as big this time, but none the less nice for all that. 

Suddenly, from below I heard “Anna STOP. See if you can stay there for thirty seconds” Miserable old bitch. I wasn’t…still aren’t…overly blessed in the physical strength department, and anyway, like most girls, after two decent sized cums, I was something of a hot mess, so I clung to the rope and gripped tightly with my feet. 

This was one of the first times I was aware of Miss Brain. She tapped me on the shoulder and whispered quite clearly into my ear a question. “How many other girls have rubbed their cunts on this rope? How many other girls have cum on it like you have?” I quickly remembered how soon I had cut that first time, and I leaned my face in close to the rope and inhaled. There was definitely a smell of rubber from plimsoles, but there was also the unmistakable scent of cunt too. 

I hung there fo the required thirty seconds, and then slithered down to the bottom. As both feet touched the ground, I became aware of just how wet I felt. 

Maybe I should have explained before. We had (absolutely hideous) bottle green gym knickers. They came from our waists and ended in little cuffs about a quarter of the way down our thighs. They were, and remain the most hideous, least sexy garment ever invented. (They were  fun to pee through, I discovered.) So most of us wore our day panties underneath them. The nuns knew….they must have seen panty line under the gym knickers….but they never commented. This, today, was handy, because at least my gym panties weren’t visibly wet. My day panties however, were a hot mess. 

From that day on, I played a game with our two nuns. Although I could climb a rope faster than anyone in my class, I kept up the appearance that it was my worst piece of equipment. That meant, of course, those vindictive bastard nuns put me on ropes far more than anyone else. I managed to get into a rhythm. 

1) climb haltingly and unsteadily to the top, making a fuss about sore hands all the way. Sometimes shaking one hand after the other to add realism. 

2) hang on to that metal cap for ten seconds, or whatever time period the bitches set for that day, during which time press crotch hard against the rope and get a nice buzz going. 

3) on the order to ‘Descend!” Lower myself to the tune of ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’ lowering myself on the first syllable of every word. 

This produced an orgasm just over half way down the rope.

Sometime they would be earthshakers….especially if Miss Brain reminded me that “This rope smells of cunt” or, “This rope is covered in other girls’ cunt juices’. Miss Brain didn’t always wake up to play, but when she did…..wow! 

To finish, we must talk about THAT time of the month. 

We were not excused PE or games for something as inconsequential as a period. The only thing we were excused from was swimming, and then only if we still used sanitary pads. (We all claimed we did, and most of us kept a packet in our lockers so we could slip one in our panties just before the lesson.) 

Some girls or course really did still use pads. At 13/14 so did I. These fuckers of course insulated my sex bean from the rope. Even if I came down fast, really fast, I stood more risk of lighting a fire between my legs than having a rope induced cum.

But then, after much practice, I graduated from pads to tampons and I could cum 365 days a year, in any situation. Swimming pool filter jets, hot tubs, gym equipment….you know, I almost got to enjoy PE. 

The ropes weren’t always out for our use though, and sometimes there was the hideous circuit training. One station required us to hook our feet under the lowest wall bar while sitting on a bench. We then had to hold a medicine ball at arms length and lean backwards and let it touch the floor before recovering to a seated position with the ball in our laps. 

It was fucking torture.

Although an orgasm was out of the question, this particular station could be used for foreplay. Leaning backwards over the bench was a very vulnerable position, and I learned I could pretend my wrists were tied and that I was about t be forcibly fucked. So, I would lean back, pretend the ball was way too heavy (which it was), wriggle about a bit moaning and groaning before sitting up and going for it again. 

I found I could get a really good buzz going mainly because I could mutter “No….oh no….please” without it seeming out of context.

One thing about these so-called trunk curls was that the next day, my tummy felt like I’d had a baby! Fuck, but it hurt! I think this exercise is illegal now, but tell that to two ancient crones of nuns who think pain should be “Offered to God for your sins, girls”. And yes, I suppose we did sin, dirty-minded bitches that we were. 

In the gym, we all worked very hard. No choice not to, and we all got extremely hot and sweaty, which suited me. I loved the scent of sweaty adolescent girls…I still do. So, I’d leave the gym, either having had a couple of orgasms or indulged in some fantasy foreplay, which led us to the showers. Plenty to see there to add to the foreplay. Lots of girls soaping themselves up, washing their boobs, am pits (remember, only one o two girls shaved) and between their legs. We used to tease each other by saying “More than three rubs is a wank.” God, sure, teenage girls can be cruel, can’t we?

Before we leave the locker room, may I introduce you to a girl we were unspeakably cruel to, and who we called “Sweaty Martha.” You know those girls who seem to have a visibly growth of hair on their top lips? Well Martha was one of these. In fact, her armpit hair ad pubic hair looked more like rainforests viewed from the air….even her forearms had hair that we could see. And Martha aLways smelled sweaty…..which I loved. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I was as cruel to her as the other girls, but sometimes I would sit next to her in class inhaling her body odour and creaming myself like crazy. 

I know now, of course, exactly why Martha was like this, and I envy the fuck out of her. She suffered from a higher level of testosterone than most girls, hence the visible hair, and deeper voice. All girls have testosterone, and it’s there for one reason and one reason only…to give us a sex drive. I have a high sex drive, but Martha…well, she started puberty at 10 and was having periods at 11. Towards the end of my time at school, I befriended her. She told me that her sex drive was the biggest problem of her life. “Sure, I’m horny ALL the feckin’ time. I need to masturbate four or five times a day…sometimes more. I’m always wet, always horny.” Talking to !artha about sex, she would say. “I haven’t done it yet, but I’m so ready! When I do myself, I do myself vaginally and anally. Sure, I’d love to get fucked in both holes…maybe even at the same time! I just want to be screwed…all day every day. 

Well, I know what Martha is doing now. She is a sex worker, and loving every minute of it. She has also made a small fortune out of it, and is still going strong. Oh she’s not your everyday hooker. She is what you might call a “High class escort.” She says “People pay me for my time, whether or not anything sexual happens is up to me…although I admit, it usually does. If business keeps on like this, I will be able to retire when I’m 35, and live very comfortably for the rest of my life.” I had to ask. “And what about your one week a month rest?” She actually laughed in my face. “Oh sweetie, there are men who will pay extra for that…a lot extra.” 

So Martha, bless her, is happy doing what she’s doing, has never faked an orgasm, and has already had more sex with men and women than I will probably have in my entire life. 

Anyway, back to school…

There were days when I didn’t get a cum out of a rope climb. Maybe I wasn’t in the mood, or maybe Miss Brain had something planned for later in the day….maybe, despite my proudly worn tampon, the period pains were just too much.

Looking back, our nuns were vindictive bitches, no doubt. They loved discomfort and pain, and they loved inflicting it on us. You try doing a cross country run in knee deep snow dressed in just a pair of trainers, shorts or skirt and a long sleeved top. See how you like it. It was a credit to us..well…some of us…that we got some pleasure out of it, but then thinking about it, when those hormone start to flood your arterial route map, almost everything or anything is horny if you want it to be. 

I remember pressing my cunny against the corner of a teachers’ desk sometimes, or, if it was one of the non-Religious teachers, ie NOT a monk or a nun, even their elbows when they were sitting at their desks. We would wank in class either by slipping an eraser into our panties and crossing our legs and bouncing the foot, or maybe even, if we felt brave enough (which I often did) going panty-less and simply shoving my hand up my skirt! 

Ah well….school days. I have more memories, but this is already quite long enough I think.