Who gives a flying fuck about rules on the last day of school? Not Sara; nor her besties. For they were the Coven; that self-styled moniker proclaiming us-versus-them defiance. Hitching tartan St Joseph skirts centimetres above a generous interpretation of buying into school or indeed maternal standards, they began burning their bridges.On the school’s main quadrangle, Loretta, using a lighter she’d nicked from her dad, set their shredded study notes ablaze. Flames flickered; students assembled. The foursome high-fived, shimmied out of white school blouses and tossed them onto the funeral pyre of their schooldays.She’d never own up to the obvious, but Sara was her father’s daughter. In her schoolbag was the frayed ‘School’s Out’ t-shirt he’d bought at an Alice Cooper concert sometime last century. Only worn on school’s last day, the textbook sartorial start to the summer holidays.But this time school wasn’t just out, this time really was forever. The Coven had chosen Alice Cooper’s hymn for summer as their fin de siècle theme song. The quartet’s singing echoed off the classrooms, drowning out calls of, “Show us your tits,” from the high testosterone half of the spectating students.Amanda upped the ante, slipping off her Clarks and tossing those scuffed shoes into the conflagration. Sara and Loretta followed suit; then, with pinkie promises of colourful socks forevermore, they cremated their despised white ankle socks.Acrid smoke from smouldering footwear drifting through the administration building alerted the principal. Marching across the playground, the stunned head saw Bianca holding her bra. On hearing Hugo’s piercing wolf whistle, her priorities had changed. To register her ongoing interest, she’d given him, along with most of the senior school, an eyeful of b-cups topped with perky nipples.Having been firm with year twelve about the irresponsibility of last-day-of-school shenanigans, the principal was totally pissed. She ordered Bianca to put her bra on, then focused on Sara, the suspected ringleader.“Sara Sommerville, why can’t you be the outstanding school prefect your brother was? Leadership is about the whole school, not your friends.”Sara’s blood boiled, loathing the comparison with her over-achiever of a brother. Loretta, fearing Sara’s razor-sharp tongue would say something slanderous, blurted out the first thing that came to mind, “Merry Christmas, principal.”“And a happy New Year,” Amanda and Bianca chimed.That bought Sara time to reconsider a pithy observation about the head’s hypocrisy. Instead, growing into the joys of subtle recalcitrance, she unsnapped her bra and tossed that into the flickering https://escortium.org flames. In an all for one, one for all spirit, three other bras fuelled the fire, followed by Bianca’s disreputable shoes and white socks.Linking arms, the Coven watched the head take a fire extinguisher to the detritus of their school years. They took pride in the gobsmacked looks on the faces of years eleven and twelve, who, while critically evaluating the principal’s firefighting skills, also were keeping an eye on boobs ranging from a-cup to d-cup, an appropriate metaphor for the foursome’s grades during the year.They were so over school and the principal was so over them. After waving to the crowd, the Coven raced out the school gates for the last time, the applause ringing in their ears.Sara was a bit weepy as they pulled on t-shirts. Not that this was the end of the Coven. They’d all be starting at Sydney University in March, no doubt more acquainted with the Manning Bar than the library. Rather, Bianca’s family were leaving for Byron Bay in two days, while Amanda and Loretta were heading to Bateman’s Bay.“Everyone’s at Byron this summer,” she’d whined to her father.“Weren’t you bored by Byron last year?”Parental logic, even when alliterated, got on Sara’s nerves like fingernails scratching across a blackboard. “Whatever. Bianca’s parents are cool if I go with them.”“Your brother’s American girlfriend is coming for Christmas.”“Andrew discovering a girl without taste means I have to put my life on hold?”“Stop it! Melanie will be lovely.”“But Melanie’s from Minnesota. Granted not her fault, someone’s got to be. But seriously!”Her father had smirked. “Get those smart-arse comments out of your system before she arrives.”In a geographically inappropriate mix of valley girl meets southern belle, Sara had trilled, “Summer Christmas. So weird. Didn’t think to pack a bikini.”“She’ll bring a bikini, Sara. That American accent is faker than a winter tan.”Eventually, after a torrential downpour of irreverent remarks about her brother’s loser girlfriend raining on her summer, Sara had run out of sarcastic steam. Seizing the moment, her dad had insisted she promise not to be an arse-hole to Melanie, a deal only sealed when cash changed hands.For the year’s last time, Sara hugged her friends, and yelled Merry Christmas at their dispersing backs. Pumping her fist, she skipped home, skirt swirling, boobs bouncing, happily humming, ‘School’s Out.’ So ecstatic that she vowed to be sweet-as to Melanie of Minnesota who’d flown into Sydney overnight from Hogwarts or Harvard, whatever university it was that was silly enough to have offered her brother a post-graduate scholarship.Dumping her schoolbag where it belonged, beside the rubbish bin, Sara grabbed a cider from the fridge and waltzed into the lounge. Her schoolgirl-gone-bad appearance, despite the addition of sprigs of the late-blooming jacaranda flowers behind her ears, brought conversation to a shuddering halt.Sara smiled sweetly at her parents and offered her brother a cheery, “Welcome home.” They were taking tea with an elegant epitome of a preppy princess; Melanie of Minnesota, presumably. Pretty, bespectacled and brunette, she was sipping genteelly from a Royal Doulton cup that had been Sara’s great-grans. If that wasn’t ridiculous enough, the fine china looked ludicrous in her father’s larger hands.Appraising maternal eyes traversed her daughter’s over-exposed body, before settling on the mauve, starting-to-rot, jacaranda flowers stuck between dusty toes. “Sara, we have a visitor! You’re a mess. Where are your shoes? And bra?”“Incinerated; school blouse and socks too. Would have burnt my skirt, but prefects don’t do that, apparently.”The brunette giggled. “I’m Melanie. Andrew has told me so much about you. ‘School’s Out,’ where did you get that t-shirt?”“It’s Dad’s. An Alice Cooper concert.”“Who’s she?”Amused, Sara watched her father juggle his heirloom cup and saucer, only just saving it from crashing onto the floor. “Need a beer, dad?”“Sure, honey. Melanie was saying she didn’t think to bring a bikini.”Father and daughter exchanged knowing glances; her dad wiping the smug ‘I told you so’ look from Sara’s face by rubbing his fingers together as if counting fifty-dollar notes. Having focused Sara, he added, “Can you take her bikini shopping this afternoon?”“It’s Christmas Eve, dad.”“The bikini shop you like closes at six.”“Wicked Weasel?” Andrew interrupted. “Isn’t that a bit risqué, Melanie?”“It’s mail order,” Melanie replied.“No; it’s an Australian brand. Retail in Surrey Hills, not far from here,” Sara said.“Open and not far. It’s my only chance, Andrew. Would you mind, Sara?”One glance at the new Tigress bikini in the Wicked Weasel shop window, sheer stretch lace overlaid with gorgeous tiger stripes, had Sara craving it. Only two colours, but one was the mauve she loved and, having adjusted the ties, the tri top and micro bikini bottom fitted perfectly.Stepping out of the changing room, she gave Melanie a slow, showy twirl. “What do you think?”“Super-hot. You do realize I’m seeing glimpses of nipple pigmentation and your grooming downstairs through those sheer stripes?”“I flashed my tits at the senior school today; modesty may not be my middle name. Getting to like letting my meow out to play. If this is too racy for you, the floral print bikinis are cool too.”Melanie smirked. “Maybe I should live a little; try the Tigress.” She took her time, adjusting the ties so the fit looked as if she’d painted the black bikini onto her smaller frame.The pirouette outside the changing room left Sara gobsmacked. Melanie’s physique was deliciously taut, and the Tigress bikini gave glimpses of pierced nipples and shaved cunny. For the first time, she actually suspected her brother of good taste. “I love it. Will Andrew approve?”Melanie giggled conspiratorially. Turning her back to Sara, she bent over, touching her toes. “See anything?”“Oh! A butt plug; seasonal red.”“I adore a plug’s delicious burn. Have a collection at home.”“Andrew?”“I love him, but he’s a bit straight-laced. I’ve not had cause to mention my butt plug obsession.”“He’ll notice the revealing Tigress.”“Maybe two bikinis, then? A modest floral print for his eyes. And this bikini for whoever might like my meow being let out to play.”“You’re so not what I expected.”“It’s a cliché, but still waters run deep, you know.”“An English post-grad resorting to clichés. I shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.”Melanie giggled. “I just knew I’d like you. Exactly as Andrew said you’d be. A not-so-secret Santa is paying for your Tigress.”“You don’t have to. But I really appreciate it.”The inescapable tradition of midnight mass kicked off the Sommerville’s Christmas Day. Upstairs to get ready, Sara found a small package on her bed. Puzzled, she tore off the wrapping paper, then smirked on seeing the purple glass crystal butt plug and a small bottle of lube.Her phone pinged; unsurprisingly, texts from Melanie.On the second day of Christmas, my secret Santa sent to meTwo plugs a stretchin’ And a micro bikini showing off my slit!Ever get bored in mass? Wear this plug; its twin is a stretchin’ my ass.‘Twin’ wasn’t strictly accurate. The plug in Sara’s hand was the smallest Melanie had bought to Australia. She knew from experience that ambition was a grievous fault when a plug first pressed into a pucker.Sara carefully lubed, then slowly twisted the plug against her virgin arse. The eye-watering intensity of the burn as her anal ring stretched open and then contracted around the bulbous head, liquified her pussy. Clearly more absorbent knickers had to be de rigueur for plug wearers.With an early arrival at church, the Sommervilles nabbed the pew in front of the open side door as it caught whatever summer breeze was around. Despite sitting still singing carols, Sara couldn’t help but focus on the delicious stretching sensation in her arse. Any movement on the wooden bench seat had ripples of achy pleasure zeroing in on her clit.