A conversation

You carry your tray to the faculty table, taking a seat with Monica Fulton and Christina Thorpe. The three of you make small talk, comparing comments on the events of the morning.

You're interrupted by Julia Carrollton and Millie Wolcott bouncing up the table, both of them grinning happily.

"Hi Mr. Carter, we've come to move your car to the lot and wash it. Yours too Ms. Thorpe, Ms. Fulton."

"I don't have a car Julia," Monica reminds her. "I don't drive."

"Here's my keys," Christina says. "The yellow Miata. Put one scratch on her and I'll skin you."

"Don't worry," Julia bubbles. "We'll be ever so gentle." You pass her your keys and she takes them with a simpering grin. "You will come and watch us won't you Mr. Carter? You are our sponsor after all."

"Wouldn't miss it," you say with a smile, noticing Christina and Monica grin out of the corner of your eye. The two girls scamper away, and you can't help but cast admiring glances at their retreating asses.

"I suspect you are in for quite a show Mason," Monica giggles. "Julia's titties are going to be on full display."

"She'll fall out of it at least once," Christina laughs. "And Millie will be adjusting hers to show off her ass. If the other guys are there, she won't know which way to point it."

"Some of these girls seem to have trouble keeping their hormones in check," you say with a wry grin as you sip some coffee.

"All of them," Christina snorts. "The only reason some of them wear panties is so they don't leave a moisture trail on the floor. I'm gonna watch this, make sure they look after my baby. And to see how much of a titty show they put on. You coming Monica."

"Wouldn't miss it," the language teacher answers as she gets up. "Should be fun to watch Mason here try to keep his cool."

The three of you walk out of the dining hall, strolling up towards the parking lot, enjoying the sunshine. You can see activity on the lot, a cluster of uniformed students gathered in clumps. As you get closer you see your car and a few others parked several yards apart. Hoses have been strung and buckets of foamy water stand beside each vehicle. Several Latino maintenance men carry more buckets, brushes and rags as a bikini clad Julia directs them.

Looking at her you have to say that the estimate of her charms was, if anything understated. Her large ripe tits are barely restrained by the scantest of white bikini tops, her flesh bulging out of it and threatening to bounce free with each movement. Monica smothers a chuckle as she sees Julia, and nudges you in the ribs.

"Looky there," she smirks.