Gender: Female Age: 41 Location: East Coast
|Introduction: This is one of an occasional series of stories set at Hirstmere Hall, a girls-only boarding school in the south of England. It is the same location as my series ‘In The Headmistress’s Study’ (which I will be continuing), but those stories take place in 1961 and these are present-day. The story is fiction, and any resemblance to real persons or places is purely coincidental.|
copyright: Lesley Tara, 2010
My name is Selina, and I am a pupil at Hirstmere Hall, an expensive boarding school for girls, located in the rolling green countryside of southern England. I have just turned fifteen years old, and all my friends say I am as pretty as a doll. I have thick dark curly hair which falls to my shoulders, deep large brown eyes in a heart-shaped face, a clear pale complexion and pink rosebud lips. I am also quite petite – only five foot three inches tall, with a narrow waist and a slender body – well, slender in most places, because my chest has already developed quite a lot, more than nearly all the other girls in my class. With my height and build, my tits are even more noticeable than is warranted by their actual size (28C), and I get quite a lot of interested looks. Oh – you think I mean when I’m out and about, right? No, no – I mean here, at this isolated boarding school for girls aged 13 to 18, and with its female-only teaching and support staff. Some of these looks are from other girls in my own class, some are from older pupils – even Sixth Formers and prefects – and, just recently, I have noticed some from a few of my teachers as well!
I am quite inexperienced, but I know enough to know what these looks mean, and what would follow if I chose to encourage and respond to them. As it is, I tend to maybe preen and flounce a little more when I get these signals – I can’t help it, they just give me a kind of electric buzz all over. I am not completely naive, and I’m not still a virgin. Last summer, when I was fourteen and a half, Jane, my best-friend here at school, came to stay at my house for a couple of weeks; we like to cuddle a bit anyway, and had begun masturbating each other – so much more fun than doing it for yourself! However, in her enthusiasm, Jane pushed her fingers into me a bit too far and firm, and broke my hymen (it didn’t hurt really, and so, at her request, I promptly performed the same service for her). Anyway, up to now Jane is the only person with whom I have had any sexual experience, and that was really quite limited.
My favourite subject is art, probably because I am really quite good at it – I have always been able to draw and paint well, and the tuition is giving me more skill and understanding in matters like composition, the use of a palette of colours, and so on. The art teacher for my class this year is Miss Reeve, and I really like her. I guess she is a little over thirty, though it’s hard to tell; she is a redhead, with a lovely mane of orange hair, and has quite a curvy figure – I think she must work out in the gym, for, as far as one can tell under her smart skirt-and-jacket suits, her stomach is flat and her shapely butt and legs are completely free of any flab.
About half of the teaching staff live in accommodation on the school premises; this is partly because they have duties in overseeing the pupils outside the classroom hours, on evenings and weekends, and partly for the convenience and the cheapness of it. They are all single, of course, and mostly under forty years old, and their number includes Miss Reeve – I quite often see her strolling around the grounds on a pleasant evening, with one of the other teachers for company; Miss Champney, one of the science teachers, seems to be a particular friend.
Miss Reeve has been complimenting my art work for some time, and helping me to improve it. Sometimes, when she stands close behind me and takes hold of my hand, guiding my pencil or paintbrush to show me the effect that she means, I feel quite nervous and flustered, and then when she glances at me with a knowing sort of smile, I blush and feel kind of twitchy. Jane said a week or two ago, as we lay on her bed in the two-person room which we share (the school tries to put friends together as room-mates if possible), that she thinks Miss Reeve fancies me, but I was doubtful. At the time I wasn’t really taking in what Jane was saying; we had discarded our panties and pulled our uniform skirts up around our waists, and our fingers were gently massaging up and down the length of each other’s parting and moist pussy lips. One reason for my dismissing the notion was that there is a kind of unwritten rule at the school that the teachers don’t get involved with girls who are under sixteen years old, although we pupils are pretty much free to do what we want with each other, as long as no one is coerced and it is kept discretely out of sight – it is a very relaxed and liberal regime here in that respect, although they are very strict against any drugs or alcohol. The system seems to work and, not surprisingly, most of the girls go down the avenue which is left open to them (hmm, I wonder if this is deliberate?), and get their kicks from intimacy with each other rather than from harmful substances.
Last week, Miss Reeve offered to give me some special tuition out of the normal classroom hours, on Tuesday and Thursday evenings; she said that she always had preparation work to do in the art studio for at least an hour after dinner (which is from 6.00 to 7.00 p.m.), and it wouldn’t be any bother at all – I could spend more time on my pictures, and get up to a higher standard. I was ever so keen and grateful, eagerly accepting her offer and thanking her profusely; I love sketching and painting, and it honestly never crossed my mind that she had an ulterior purpose. However, when I went there for the second session, yesterday evening, I discovered that she certainly did!
It took me the first ten minutes to complete the crayon sketch I had begun, under her guidance, in the first of these private extra sessions. It was a still life of a vase with some flowers, and when I was done Miss Reeve came over to look at it. She made a number of useful points but in general was complimentary, and she concluded by giving me an appraising look and declaring that she thought I had a lot of potential, which made me glow with pleasure.
‘Well, Selina, I think you are ready to try something new – something a little more advanced’, said Miss Reeve.
I was flattered and intrigued, and asked what she meant. Her reply was that the greater challenge was to draw something that was alive, and the human body most of all – getting the shape and musculature to look convincing was the real test of an artist.
‘You really need to draw a nude, Selina – it’s the best practice there is.’
I gaped at her – I know my mouth was hanging open in surprise – and for a moment I wondered if she was joking, but she was looking at me quite seriously, as if such a thing was perfectly normal. Well, perhaps it was, I thought, remembering how so many of the great artists had sketched and painted nude figures. However, there seemed to be a flaw in her proposal, and I pointed out that we didn’t have a model for me to draw. Miss Reeve looked at me again, hesitated just fractionally, and then with a bright smile explained that well, yes we did, this was one way she could help me – she would be my model! I was thunderstruck, never having envisaged such a thing, and I felt a strange hollow feeling in my stomach and a peculiar heaviness in my pelvis. I felt a little relieved when Miss Reeve went on to say that it wouldn’t be a full nude, of course, but that I would draw her from the waist up – this would give plenty of difficult angles and curves for me to try and capture.
As I stood rooted to the spot, my teacher walked to the door and locked it from the inside. Turning back to me and smiling, she said that we must not have any interruptions – someone might not understand that it was art. I nodded, still mute with surprise, and then watched dry-mouthed as she casually slipped off her soft purple cashmere cardigan and the pale lilac silk blouse underneath which complemented it so tastefully, hanging both on the back of her chair. I was dumbstruck and saucer-eyed as she faced me again, wearing her smart and tight black knee-length pencil skirt and the black boots which came up almost to meet it, but above that only a quite skimpy black demi-cup balcony bra, which pushed up her quite large well-rounded breasts. Miss Reeve cleared the few things on her desk away to another table, and then she called me over. Turning her back, she casually asked me to unhook the bra for her – with unaccountable nervousness, it took my fumbling fingers three attempts to release it, and every time my fingertips touched the warm bare flesh of her back it was like getting an electric jolt. Finally, the bra fell away – I was left holding the thin gauzy fabric, still warm from her body, as she turned round, shaking her head to settle her flowing locks of bright ginger hair – and, in the process, making her full breasts bounce and jiggle in a disturbingly eye-catching way. Just for somewhere else to look, I glance down at her bra, and saw with interest that she took a size 32D; certainly, hers was the figure of a mature woman, her breasts being at least four sizes larger than my developing ones.
Miss Reeve sat on her desk, crossing her legs – her black skirt and boots making a striking contrast with the soft pink of her naked flesh. Then she put her hands out behind her to brace herself in the pose, which had the consequence of thrusting her breasts upwards and outwards to give me a three-quarter profile viewpoint. She had instructed me to ignore her face, and to concentrate on drawing her body from her skirt waistband up to her shoulders and base of the neck. Of course, by far the most prominent part of this was her breasts, and so my eyes were constantly upon them, drawn back again and again as I tried to capture their confident jut, their womanly fullness, and a sense of their firm softness. After twenty minutes of quiet work, during which the room seemed to be getting warmer, Miss Reeve called me to bring my sketch over to the desk, where she inspected my progress.
‘Hmm, yes, Selina – not bad, not bad at all, especially for a first effort’, was her encouraging verdict. She explained how to shade in the area around the base of the neck and shoulders to suggest both the delicacy and yet the strength of the bones beneath. Then, tracing her finger over where I had drawn the outline of her breasts, she shook her head a little.
‘I don’t think you are getting the breasts quite right, Selina. Well, to draw something, you need to understand it, to really know it – that’s why drawing something from photographs, rather than life, never works as well. Here,’ she continued, ‘feel the texture – really feel it!’
To my amazement, she took my nerveless right hand and placed it on her breast, covering the nipple – which to my shock was incredibly hard and firm. From a distance of only a few inches, she looked me directly in the eyes, unflinchingly and challengingly:
‘Go on, Selina, get to know what you are drawing,’ she said softly, but it was dawning upon me that I was scheduled to be learning something much more here as well. Hesitantly, conscious of the warmth of her body and the smooth texture of her skin, I moved my hand around her breast, and I made no murmur of resistance as she took my left hand and placed it on her other breast. I traced my fingers around her aureoles, admiring the stiff pinkness of her extended nipples, and then cupped the heavy soft weight of her breasts in my hands.
‘Good ... that’s very good, Selina, you’re getting the idea.’
Well, yes, I was ... and it was making me quite hot and bothered down between my legs, warm and sweaty and moist, and my own nipples were stiffening as the palms of my hands rubbed once again across my teacher’s tits. Then, she took things a stage further.
‘To capture the essence of something you must open up all your senses, Selina; not just sight, and even not just touch as well – you need to taste it, to smell it!’
Miss Reeve reached gently behind my head, and drew my face down towards the breasts that were filling my hands. She guided my mouth to the nipple of her right breast, and it just seemed the most natural thing in the world for my lips to part, her pink tit sliding right between my dry lips, and for my tongue to seek it, licking around and across it. Instinctively, I began to suck and nibble as well, and was rewarded for my efforts by the groan of pleasure that she gave, her back arching. Her legs uncrossed and spread apart, and I saw from the corner of my eye that this had made the pencil skirt ride up to half-way along her thighs.
As my licking and sucking became more confident, my surprise evaporating and a new-found enthusiasm taking its place, Miss Reeve gently stroked my hair and murmured sweet encouragements. Then, she played the final card in her accomplished lesbian seduction – she slipped her right hand under my skirt, hoisting it upwards as her fingers found their target – my crotch, my Venus mound. I gave a kind of startled squeal when I felt her first intrusion into my most private, most intimate place, and then my hesitations evaporated – I felt a liberating sensation of pure pleasure, and knew that this was what I wanted, what turned me on.
‘Ooooh, Miss – aahh, that feels so good, please do it more, touch me more!’ I begged, and a wide smile spread across my lesbian tutor’s attractive features. She drew my head up from her tits with her left hand, and kissed me firmly and passionately – a real sexual kiss, a kiss of desire, a kiss that said clear as words ‘I’m gonna fuck you’. All through this, she kept her right hand stroking the crotch of my panties, and then with a nimble twist of the fingers she slipped them around and inside the gusset, and for the first time I felt the incredible pleasure of the penetrating fingertips of an experienced and confident lesbian woman.
Miss Reeve jerked my panties several inches down off my hips, so that they hung across between my legs, halfway up my thighs. Her fingers pressed on the flesh on both sides of my Venus mound, and squeezed my puffy pussy lips together. I moaned as a wave of sexual desire washed through me, and almost without thinking I responded by shoving my right hand up the dark opening of Miss Reeve’s skirt, questing for her cunt. What I found was a surprise which at first stopped me in my tracks, and made me realise that all this had been carefully planned. My delving hand did not, as I had anticipate, meet the gauzy fabric of the panties matching her bra – instead, I found her naked pussy flesh, warm and giving and inviting.
Miss Reeve shifted position slightly, and then told me to unbutton and unzip her skirt – it had concealed fastening on her hip. When I had done so, she lifted her ass of the desk for a moment, and without being told I swiftly pulled the skirt down her legs, and dropped it on a chair behind me. Now Miss Reeve was completely naked apart from the black boots – their presence making the effect even more enticing, the sole element of clothing highlighting the absence of everything else. She slid off the desk to stand with her buttocks resting against its rim, her feet spread quite wide apart. Then she took my head and, with a gentle pressure on my shoulders which clearly communicated that I should kneel or settle on my haunches, she drew my face towards her cunt.
I was amazed – never had I thought that I would be doing this, never mind enjoying it so much! It spoke to something inside my psyche, released something in me which I had suppressed even whilst enjoying the friendly cuddles with Jane, and suddenly I was consumed by a raging molten lava of lesbian desire which surged irresistibly through me and erupted from my drenched vagina. I began avidly to lick and munch on her pussy, and my art teacher’s breathing turned to rasping pants and gulps of air, in between which she exhorted me go deeper, to work on her harder. Then she began to use dirty words, increasingly incoherently, as her shoulders shook and her ripe breasts swayed above my head.
‘Fuck, oooh, fuckit, Selina, yes – go for it, yes, do me like that – you little hot bitch, eat my cunt, eat me out! ... aaaah, yes, yes, Selina, more, shit! ooooh! ... fuck, make me come, make me really come, you sexy cunt, aaaaaaaah, yes – I’m coming, yes!! YES!!!’
Her sobs and shrieks became a crescendo, her whole body vibrated and trembled, and then soft warm spicy juices splashed onto my tongue and across my cheeks. As she subsided, I brought my head up for air, sticky but exultant – had I just made a grown woman come, had I just eaten out the cunt of my own teacher? Well, yes, it was clear that I had!
I felt the blood hammering through my veins, was conscious of the sweat on my back and breasts, and most of all was aware of the unfulfilled burning desire down between my legs. I swiftly undid my uniform skirt and let it drop, following it with the panties that were already at half-mast, and kicking both aside. Before I had the chance to unbutton my shirt – I think I was so impatient that I would have just torn it off, letting the buttons fly in all directions – Miss Reeve drew me back into her arms for a loving kiss, and then she took over. She undid my school tie and her fingers flew down the front of my shirt, nimbly opening every button and then slipping it backwards off my shoulders. My teacher reached round behind my back to unsnap my plain white cotton bra, and it was allowed to fall onto the pile of my discarded clothes. All I was left with – matching my teacher, which I liked, was my school shoes and my knee-high white socks.
Miss Reeve slipped her hand between my legs again, and teased her fingertips along my labia, sliding just a centimetre so into my vagina. I sensed her caution and reluctance, and asked her what the problem was. Her reply was that I was still a virgin, and she needed to take care not to break that. I felt suddenly very grown up, and told her not to worry – I wasn’t a virgin, though I had very little experience of being penetrated.
‘Ah’, breathed Miss Reeve in understanding, smiling at me; ‘young Jane, was it? – you make such a nice pair together, and anyone can see that she’s really sweet on you ... I do hope she isn’t going to get jealous about this.’
My head was in a whirl from her casual comment – did Jane actually fancy me that way, and our fumblings weren’t just friendly comfort and experimentation, but the sexual relations of lovers ... of lesbian lovers? I tasted that thought experimentally, and was amazed to find that not only was it not alarming, but that it was pulsatingly exciting.
‘No, she won’t be’, I said, ‘she’s already guessed that you wanted me.’ Then I continued, with a new decisiveness: ‘anyway, I’m assuming this is going to happen every Tuesday and Thursday evening’ - Miss Reeve gave a smiling confirmatory nod – ‘so she’ll have to accept it, because I’m not giving this up, and I’m not giving her up either!’ I’m not normally so assertive, or at least I never used to be, but this I knew with total confidence – I wanted my friend to be my girlfriend, but I also wanted all the fucking I could get from this stunning and experienced mature lesbian.
‘Well now’, said Miss Reeve, ‘if you’re not a virgin, then I know just the thing for you, my girl!’
She went to a locked store cupboard – in class, we had often wondered what it contained, as it was never opened. The answer seemed at first disappointing – there was paper, pens and paint brushes, though I realised they were of high quality and must be Miss Reeve’s own items. Then she opened a small drawer, from which she withdrew an oblong tin box, rather like a cash box. Once this was unlocked, I saw its contents and gasped – just because I had never seen one before didn’t stop instant recognition, for it was obviously a strap-on dildo.
Miss Reeve brought it over in her hand, and then she gently pushed me to where she had previously stood, my ass pressed against the rim of the desk, my legs about two feet apart. Holding the intimidatingly long – and wide, my God! can one take something that thick? – plastic phallus by its base, she pressed its bulbous knob against my pussy and rubbed it quite firmly up and down my cleft. I shuddered, a thread of fear running through my churning desire, heightening it to an all-consuming flame. I could tell how intensely Miss Reeve wanted to give me this, wanted to spear it into me, impale me on its shiny plastic length. Her eyes glittered, her cheeks were flushed and her features had a rigid edge, as she rubbed it against me with greater insistence. She leaned close, her breasts compressing against mine, her hard nipples pressing into my soft girl-flesh, and her hot breath was in my ears as she whispered in a throaty rasp:
‘Do you want this? Do you want it, babe? Tell me you want it – tell me, and I’ll take you, I’ll have you – you’re mine, and I want you, so take it, take it all for me!’
I babbled my consent – more than that, my desperate eagerness:
‘Oh Christ, Miss Reeve, yes – take me, fuck me, please, just ram it into to me ... oh God, yes, split me open, fuck me, please, please! – any way you want me, just do it, just do me ... please, now!’
Her delight at the way I had been transformed into a total wanton lesbian slut was apparent, and she kissed me hungrily whilst one hand groped for and mashed my breast, so firmly that there were finger-shaped bruises for the next day or so (Jane admired them and kissed and licked them better, but I had to be careful to conceal them when changing for gym class). Her other hand pushed the dildo an inch or so into me, making me gasp at the width of the intrusion. Miss Reeve broke away and took a step back, and then stepped into the harness of the strap-on and tightened its buckles. I felt another tinge of apprehension as its full size was revealed, sticking out from her crotch horizontally like a pink plastic battering ram. However, the art teacher looked incredibly sexy, masterful and mature, with her black boots and the black leather codpiece on which the dildo was mounted, and at the prospect of what I was about to receive I felt my knees go rubbery and fluids seep from my cunt down my inner thighs.
At first, Miss Reeve left me in position facing her, so that I could see everything. She sat me on the desk with my legs spread open, and she brought the tip of the dildo to brush against my distended labia. Then, taking a firm grip on my hips, she pressed it inwards, not so much forcefully as with a firm and confident pressure. My vaginal tube opened up for her, stretching to a capacity I never dreamed that I had, although I felt incredibly filled and stretched in the process – and so entered, so fucking penetrated, that all the breath was driven from my lungs and I just gasped. Actually, she had only gone in maybe three inches, and she flexed her hips to pull the shaft most of the way back – but not right out – and then stroked it in again with the same calm assurance. My eyes nearly bugged out as I saw it sink in further, at least another inch, and even more when the next insertion entered me further still. She adopted a steady rhythm, and then began to speed it up – in response, my legs arched further apart and my pussy stretched wider, until unbelievably the whole length of the thing (I thought it was vast, but it was probably only seven inches) went into me with every thrust, the faceplate of the dildo mounting pressing right up against my labial lips.
Miss Reeve continued like this for a dozen or so deep thrusts, carefully watching my face to gauge my reactions. She cupped my breasts in both of her hands and squeezed my nipples, making me get even looser and wetter – so, I remember thinking in a euphoric daze, these things are wired up to each other after all! Then my teacher pulled the plastic cock all the way out of my pussy, but before I could protest she gestured me to turn round – and suddenly I knew, with a rush of lust, what was next. She braced me on the desk – I gripped the further edge with my hands, and rested my forehead on the wood, which allowed me an amazing view backwards, through the gap between my hanging and swinging breasts, down my stomach to my mound, where I saw her reinsert the dildo. My legs were now spread wider apart, and she took a firm grip around my waist and began to drill the fake cock in and out of me, rapidly reaching a much faster and harder tempo than when I had been facing her. I began to gasp for breath as the angle of her penetrations made the ridges of the dildo rasp over my clitoris, driving me nearly insane with desire. I don’t know what I was saying, in broken cries and shrieks, foul language that would never otherwise cross my lips mingled with desperate beseechings to be fucked even harder, even deeper. Suddenly, one of her hands left my hips and seized my hair, jerking my head upwards and backwards, arching my spine and lifting my chest off the desk. Her thrusts became even firmer, and her other hand reached round to grab one of my wildly jiggling breasts and maul at it (it was the same one that had been mashed before, so it was tender and receptive – I think most of the bruises that appeared later were actually from this final frenzied fucking. Miss Reeve was slamming the dildo into me so hard that I was almost being lifted off my feet by its impact, and I gave a hoarse scream as I climaxed – my thighs trembled, my hips bucked frantically back against her pile-driving impalement, sweat poured down to pool in the small of my back, my nipples felt like they were on fire, and my whole body shook from top to toes in an explosive orgasm – my first real one, my first true fucking by a woman.
I slumped down on the desk, my stomach slicked with sweat, floundering and gasping for air like a landed fish. With real tenderness, Miss Reeve stroked and massaged my back – I shall always remember her loving gentleness in that moment of extraordinary calm after the passing of the raging storm. She traced her fingers down my spine, and rubbed in gentle circles around the small of my back, even as she moved her hips and gently slid the length of the dildo out of my battered but electrified vagina. Leaning forwards, she kissed the back of my neck, then each shoulder blade, and then down my back, as I luxuriated in her tender care and the knowledge that I was truly now a woman – not a girl who had semi-accidentally lost her hymen and then done some fooling around with an equally inexperienced friend, but a female who had the knowledge of what it was to be totally filled, ridden hard and shafted deep, and fucked to climax.
I lay there blissfully for a few moments, aware that Miss Reeve had removed the strap-on, wiping it with a damp cloth and drying it before restoring it to its box and cupboard. In the process, I savoured the sight of her moving around the art room, wearing only her black boots – I admired the full jut of her ripe breasts, the lithe ripple of her ass as she moved, and I knew that she knew I was looking at her body with desire, the lust of a lover who is already beginning to count the minutes until next time. She smiled back at me, enjoying in her turn the delectable prospect of naked teenage girldom that I presented, with my legs still spread open and my butt up in the air. As I was just over fifteen, she had breached the unofficial rule that teachers didn’t have affairs with girls under the age of consent, and I knew that she was taking a real risk by doing so – that she had placed her confidence in me, and had trusted to her judgement that I would be ready, willing and able. Thank goodness she is smart as well as so fucking sexy! I realised that it was an incredible compliment, that she had found me so attractive, so sexually desirable, that she had not been able to wait another ten months until I was sixteen, that she had needed to take me for herself now, and before any other teacher grabbed me first. I was so pleased and thrilled, and resolved to myself to be worthy of both her trust and her lust – to give her my body whenever she wanted it, with passion and energy and, yes, with love.
Miss Reeve handed me a towel and I dried off my sweat, enough at least to be able to put my underwear and my school uniform back on for long enough to walk through the halls and corridors back to the landing where the rooms for the girls in my year were located, and then to head straight for the showers! I would tell Jane all about it, of course, under oath of secrecy; I knew I could trust her, and anyway had formed instant plans to take my relationship with her much further into definitely sexual territory – I would tell her about it after lights-out time, in bed together, naked and with our legs entwined and pussies rubbing against each other, and I would stick my fingers deep inside her as I did so, matching my account of Miss Reeve’s dildo penetrations with a finger-fucking of my roommate’s pussy and clit at the same time.
Before I left the art studio, Miss Reeve and I kissed again, and once more she slipped her hand underneath my skirt, giving my mound a caress and a possessive squeeze. As my lips parted in a little moan from the pleasure induced by my teacher’s touch, she kissed my neck and then said, her eyes dancing with merry delight:
‘Oh, yes, Selina – you have definitely got potential!’
If you enjoyed this, check out my other stories ... you might like them too ... (to find them, follow the author link at the top of this story)
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