It had been a hard frost on top of six inches of snow yet all of the usual occupants of the school bus were on board as it ploughed its way along the tracks made by the council snow ploughs during the night and continuing. Derek had had no lodgers for a while and no gropes on the bridge, having to satisfy himself with the multitude of films he had made of the females staying at his house. To say he was randy was an understatement, it was a long time since his last real fuck with a teacher on the summer school camp, but he knew when he got to school he would always have a few sightings up girls skirts and sometimes he would stop by and innocently watch the girls go through their PE sessions with Jim in the large assembly hall, who never challenged him, probably realising the younger man who was single needed the odd bit of excitement in his life and why not let him ogle.

Jim himself had a secret place in the school, shared with the caretaker, where they could peep into the girls changing rooms when they went outside and had to don sports clothing such as hockey skirts, netball skirts and slips. Inside during winter, they all had to keep the shirts on but tuck them into the tops of the regulation dark blue knickers.

On the bus a very flustered Beryl Chapman had boarded ahead of some of the boys, to great hilarity outside and apart from the usual teasing for the boys, Derek noticed, once seated, she was getting some flak from the girls. He rebuked them and made her move and sit next to him, thereby separating her from the centre of attention. In doing so he couldn't help notice that Marina Wall's tits had grown larger in the few months after summer and looked forward to groping them when the weather improved and the village lads would be once again guarding the bridge.

Marina and Kathleen Snowdrop were giggling and smirking and Beryl was exceedingly tense and fidgeting, mostly with her skirt, making sure it was flat across her thick thighs and just about covered her bare, chilled knees.

"Is there something wrong Beryl?" Derek murmured, getting a tiny shake of her head. "Well why are they making fun of you? I know they are often nasty to you and I can't do anything about that unless it's in class, but not usually as bad as this."

Beryl again shook her head making her mousy brown pigtails swipe over her shoulders which were shrouded in a huge woollen scarf. She clamped her hands flat on the hem of her skirt and stared at the back of the seat, where the attractive young Molly Peters, a recent fifteen year old school leaver and trainee librarian sat.

"Holey Beryl," one of the boys giggled loudly and she cringed and seemed to tighten into a more tense bundle of winter clothes than before.

"What do they mean, hey stop that Evans,"Derek shouted, getting an instant response of quietness. "Why are they saying that?"

The child burst into tears and tried to wipe her eyes, knocking her standard NHS issue spectacles off centre and Kathleen and Marina stopped their giggling, moving down the bus and muttering to the boys.

"Oh come on Beryl, you're twelve years old, it can't be all that bad, surely you can handle a bit of a joke," Derek prodded, guessing something private maybe upsetting her and gently righting her specs with a delicate touch of his forefinger.

He slung an arm in a protective cuddle round her and she glanced up tearfully, her eyes slightly enlarged by the focus point of the glasses at closeup, shaking her head, but accepting his manly reassurance. The twelve year old wasn't the brightest kid in the village by a long way and with her dumpy, plain appearance always seemed to hang around on the edge of groups without any close friends. The bus was halfway on the journey and starting to descend a mile long steep hill. It would be slow on the ice covered but well attended surface, so Derek decided to try and charm the troubled child.

"Let me know Beryl and I can see what I can do about it, when we get there."

"You can't do anything Mr King," she snuffled, gripping the hem of her skirt with a fist as she fumbled inside her jacket for a handkerchief.

"We don't know until we try and you must tell me so that I can help."

"But you can't, you really can't," she mumbled into the cloth round her snotty nose.

"Why not?"

"Be.. becau......because I have a hole in my knickers," she blurted out and burst into more tears.

Derek looked round, but no one else seemed to have heard, even Molly as far as he knew.

"Good gracious is that all!" he exclaimed. "That's nothing to get upset about - why, I have a hole in my shorts, but I'm not crying."

"Yes, but the boys didn't see it did they? They lifted my skirt behind me. I knew I should have put new ones on, but Daddy was out on an emergency and Mummy was trying to sweep the snow for the old people next door and I couldn't find clean ones, so in a hurry I put these on and they've got a big hole at the back and the boys have seen it, I want to go home," she grizzled.

"Well you know that's impossible, but I have an idea, it's really brilliant. We have some of the costumes for the panto at school for alteration in the sewing class. I know there are several pair of under clothes in the pile, not real underclothes, stage things - but what do you say if I get you a pair of those as soon as we arrive and you'll be fine for the day. You can always return them to me tomorrow eh?" he persisted, the picture the boys would have seen formed in his mind.

They would be dark blue large knickers and she had bare legs except for the grey socks that just about reached her knees. How big the hole was, was not important and all he could think of was the possible chance of a glimpse of her arse crack. Empowered, he beamed down at her tear stained face which registered puzzlement more than relief.

"But if I do that, they won't be clean and I can't do that. Mummy won't have a chance to wash and dry them...." Beryl murmured falteringly.

Derek interrupted. "Ah well that doesn't matter, I can wash them, it's only one day and no one will know?"

He tensed his cock at the thought of having a pair of soiled knickers, fresh from the crotch of a twelve year old girl and reassured her once more getting a simple nod and a distinct sense of relief coursing through the child. The bus arrived safely and the school element of passengers disembarked, Derek shepherding Beryl inside and into the hall. He had told her to dump her coat and scarf and follow him, easily achieved in the noisy throng. Being first, he had reached the panto outfits and found a suitable couple of pairs of shorts, the sort principal boys wear, as she arrived. He told her to slip backstage as he checked to see if anyone would see then followed her. In the confines of the room used for stage equipment and other stuff he brandished the shorts to a befuddled child.

"These will do the trick, you can try them on here and I will keep a look out Beryl. go on, good girl."

She took both pairs examining them until he cajoled her further, mentioning the short time span available. Beryl slowly lifted her pleated grey skirt as Derek glanced at her.

"I'll tell you what Beryl. Before you change, let's just check how big the hole is and where it is - I mean we might be able to sort it out," he advised, his hand on her shoulder with pressure. "Bend down and let me see."

The simple school girl just did as she was told by the trusted teacher, her hands on a chair and he hoisted the back of the skirt high over her back. Her solid buttocks spread before him and the torn edge of the hole in question could just be seen on the extremity of the thickened gusset. He pushed her legs apart, loving the soft heat of her silky thighs and the hole appeared just as he imagined, dead centre and a good three inches in diameter revealing the soft curves into the warm depths of her crack.

"Wow! Yes it's a big one Beryl, you must change them. Here let me help you," he told her, grasping the waist band elastic before she could protest and pulling the garment down as she squeaked.

"Please Mr King, I can do that, it's alright Ohhh!" she squeaked again as Derek lowered them to her knees, ignoring her words.

to be continued