How did Charlotte Lose Her Virginity? Pt. 06

How did Charlotte Lose Her Virginity?

Part 6

Graham Randall found he seemed to gravitate to that upper study to plan and mark. It was quiet and he rather liked the desk. He was not unhappy, one afternoon, to find Charlotte sneaking in to visit him. He looked up from his marking, fountain pen, the one with the red ink he used for marking and comments, held in his hand, "Yes, Charlotte?"

"I... wanted your autograph, sir -- sort of."

It was not, though, an autograph book she had brought, but a diary. No doubt fascinating reading. Quite a few girls keep a diary, recording the events of a day and their thoughts. Not for publication, not like Samuel Pepys famous diary. Graham would very much have liked to have read her reflections on her sexual encounters with him. If she had included them.

That she had almost certainly included and written at length became clear when she revealed quite what sort of autograph Charlotte wanted. It was not an autograph done with a flourish of his fountain pen; not his usual signature in black, blue or even red ink; it was an autograph done with another 'pen' entirely. He had already made several appearances in her diary and she wanted him to come again within it -- literally. She wanted him spurted across her page. Yes, to ejaculate across a page, a very intimate and personal 'autograph.'

"Would you, sir, I sort of want to remember..." She was biting a lip, clearly nervous at what she was asking. "I so remember when you first... see I've recorded what you said when I first saw you come." She turned the pages back and there under her finger the sentence - "You can let go now, Charlotte." But the pages were turned back before he could read more.

"You want me to ejaculate into your diary, Helen?"

She nodded, looking nervous.

"Really?"

She nodded again.

"Do you wish to do the job or me?"

"You, sir, in your own hand, I'd love to see you wank." Her hand flew to her mouth at what she had said. "Your autograph... sort of."

Such an unusual request, yet rather exciting in a strange way. Graham was tempted to suggest Charlotte came to see him in the evening but there was something just so appealing at the idea of 'signing' her diary on the big desk in that room. A risk someone might come but only a very small risk. Yet unlike Helen under the desk there would not be much opportunity to hide himself.

Yet with a strategic moving of his pile of exercise books between him and the door, plus his chair there behind him for a hurried sit down should the door handle turn, Graham decided to risk it.

"Very well, Charlotte, perhaps you might get my... err... pen out." Graham stood.

Lovely to feel and see the girl's hands at his fly, her slim fingers feeling inside and drawing out his penis and pulling at his foreskin. It erected easily. Graham glanced at the door. He would need to keep one eye upon that. Behind him, his chair; he could sit down very hurriedly if need be.

"Sometimes, Charlotte, when your fountain pen doesn't work do you lick the nib to make the ink flow?"

The smile on the young woman's face was a joy, the way her eyes sparkled with merriment and her pigtails with their dark blue bows jiggled; she had understood his allusion straightway. He really was having quite a bad effect upon her. She bent her head and crouched and Graham both felt and watched her tongue very deliberately licking his nib, where the 'ink' should flow; his rounded knob.

"A bit more, sir? But I don't want the 'ink' to come out all in a rush." The dear girl let her lips slide over the smooth skin and begin a gentle fellation.

It most certainly ensured the 'ink' was ready to flow but not to drip as fountain pens can sometimes drip over a page -- especially if they are flicked! Just a moistening.

So pleasant but so risky. If the door were to open and one of the girls -- other than Helen -- or one of the nuns... Graham lifted Charlotte back up. "I think I can write with it now, Charlotte, thank you. My, err, pen is..." he smiled, "...ready." He began to wank as if he was standing looking out of the window at the girls playing hockey in the field, or perhaps examining pictures in a men's magazine. A surprising thing to be doing himself when a young woman was there, perfectly capable, and normally willing to assist with her fine, feminine hands or warm, wet mouth.

"Any particular message with my autograph?"

"Please, write whatever you like."

Graham wanked as he looked at Charlotte, thinking what he might do if they were alone in his flat. He thought he would undress her; slowly, garment by garment -- he would like that. The thought how much he would like to have unprotected intercourse with her -- see the result afterwards, his white cum flowing from her sex. His thoughts brought him close to release. Normally he would have slowed, taken time and pleasure but with the door across the room and the risk of it being opened... Best to perform the deed reasonably quickly.

It was strange aiming himself at a book, the double open, but still blank pages of Charlotte's diary. His eyes moved back from book to door and then to Charlotte. She was watching intently, awaiting the signing.

Unwise to unnecessarily prolong his exposure, probably best to get past the most dangerous time for discovery -- when he was helplessly unable to stop the ejaculation and when he was actually coming. Graham did not 'edge,' did not pleasurably hold himself close to coming, rather he stroked himself over the edge. A glance at Charlotte's intense face and then he watched himself ejaculate.

A spurt across the pages.

"Yes!" breathed Charlotte,

Graham pulled his penis downwards as his fingers made an upstroke knowing the second spurt would be stronger, the action causing the second spurt to not land upon the first but to its side -- and importantly not go off the edge of the further page.

A sudden thought, why not aim up into the air like a fountain so it splatted down. His fingers a blur as he pulled upwards and another pulse launched up and down onto the page, and another. Graham had another fleeting idea as he stared at the pages. One corner of the closer page was untouched. It was a lucky twist of his wrist, just done at the right moment, but he flicked an almost perfect 'G' onto the page; a semicircle anyway and with a sort of slanting cross piece. A final trickling dollop of his cum made a full stop after the 'G.' Graham grinned. No 'R' but clearly writing with an ejaculating penis is not at all easy. One initial was probably more than most men ever tried!

Pink blotting paper between the leaves of the diary. Charlotte carefully blotting up the moisture leaving the shape of the spurts across the page.

"How about that!" Graham was pleased with his signature. It really was there.

"What does the other writing say?" Asked Charlotte -- and she was giggling.

Graham Randall obliged with a mock translation:

"The turtle lives 'twixt plated decks

Which practically conceal its sex.

I think it clever of the turtle

In such a fix to be so fertile."

Charlotte laughed the more. "I thought it would be something more -- more sexy."

Graham stood there, his penis still soaring over the page. He needed to put it away. He glanced at the closed door. Really, he needed to hide himself but the moment seemed special. "Not Ogden Nash, then; how about Chaucer -- the Merchant's Tale?"

"And sodeynly anon this Damyan

Gan pullen up the smok, and in he throng."

"I don't remember that."

"You wouldn't. Not with the Bowdlerised versions the nuns let you see!"

Graham watched Charlotte go, her diary tucked under her arm and his penis now safely tucked away. He wondered what she would write. Would she simply write over his 'signature' and his other 'words' or write around it; might she even outline the shapes with a thin pen line or seek to find images or pictures in the shapes.

And what might she make of the shapes? And what would Hermann Rorschach have made of that? Graham smiled again as he prepared to resume his marking. Somewhat different from the Swiss man's famous test in which subjects' perceptions of inkblots were subject to psychological interpretation.

It would have been better had Charlotte's hand done the deed at the time, but in retrospect there was something remarkable and erotic about the hand signing of her diary; him providing a permanent memento of what she and he had done together. Certainly, better than an unwanted baby! Graham smiled. It was probably, in retrospect, the more memorable for him having done the signing.

Upon his desk, still the sheet of pink blotting paper. A virgin sheet, absorbent and not yet with ink spots or the faint reverse image of inked writing. The mirror of his ejaculation very much upon it. Graham smiled. He would not simply throw it away. It would amuse him to use it for blotting the girls' exercise books after he had written his comments. He left it to dry before slipping it into his mark book when he finally arose from his work.

A few nights further on the girls had asked him if they could visit him in the flat - again. He had stood there in the corridor and told them they could, but it would mean they would both be fucked. He had not put it so crudely:

"You realise you will both be having sexual intercourse?"

"With condoms?"

"Yes, Helen, with a condom." The use of the singular had been deliberate. It would be the same one going into each girl. That added to the eroticism to him -- though of course to have pushed naked, without the latex, into both would have been somewhat preferable -- if unwise.

Graham had told them to come to his flat in their running shorts. The girls would be running in the morning, running straight from his flat, having slept with him. An excuse for them; better than returning to their beds in their uniforms in the morning when they might be caught. Much better to return exercised from having been out on the running track -- a real reason for having been out and about so early.

He wanted them to sleep with him. The thought of it, two young girls in his bed at once. Something he had never done and was unlikely to do again in his lifetime. Very worth doing once -- maybe thrice... maybe...

It was wrong, really, Graham knew he really should have had Helen there on her own for her first time. He should have concentrated upon her; yet the thought of fucking them both together so appealed and, perhaps, it was really kinder on Helen to have Charlotte there for mutual support -- and to help.

The girls arrived quite late. Outside the world was dark and silent. He had been waiting, had had his supper, and done a good deal of marking before his impatience and sexual desire had got the better of him. He had bathed and sat waiting for their arrival, trying to concentrate on the latest Alastair MacLean thriller.

The tentative knock and then there they were. Graham had fantasised about quite a few of the girls in their gym things, and indeed sports kit, but now here 'his' girls were in Aertex shirts and nice little white cotton shorts, their legs so much more visible than in school skirts. Inside, they stood a little nervously; perhaps Helen rather more. They were there to be fucked and for Helen to be deflowered. Between the leaves of his dressing gown, Graham's knob poked out. Simply seeing them had aroused him. Helen spotted it and bit her lip.

"Good to see you, girls, are you going to give me a kiss?"

Helen straightway knelt and kissed his protruding penis. More than that she opened her lips and took him in; her hand reaching inside and cradling his balls. From anticipation to sexual reality just like that! And no doubt just the same for Helen. One moment creeping silently with Charlotte around the school grounds, the next with that male organ in her mouth.

Charlotte was not to be outdone and was down on her knees as well, her mouth seeking to supplant Helen. Graham undid the dressing gown's cord and let the woollen gown slip from his shoulders. He stood there, gloriously erect, with the two white clad acolytes attending to his penis. It was fantastic, such a fantasy indeed! To have these two young women so wanting to please him and to be naked with them; and they in their gym kit.

Momentarily he imagined the whole class in the gym. The class in their kit but him naked and all the girls delighting in him being there both unclothed and strongly erect. A stag with his horns (well, horn singular) and his hinds -- or a buck and his does -- a harem of young women. How would it be sexually? So many girls and just the single penis. Him free to touch, but it could hardly be all the girls would be reaching out for him. Too many. The teacher then, permitted to touch at will but the girls would have to seek permission. Perhaps the climax in the showers afterwards. The girl who did best not receiving a gold star or a merit mark but something rather different.

The girls brought to a fever pitch by their exercise, the sight of a naked and tumescent man and their anticipation. The girls trooping into the changing room. Thin cotton shorts pulled down and the scent of a score of aroused young girls filling the room. Jostling, swinging boobs, bouncing off friends; wide hips touching as they entered the steaming showers. Graham following them in and watching them soap themselves as he stood -- and how he would stand -- and did the same to him. All the girls watching him. A collective gasp as he soaped his cock and balls, female flesh shivering at the sight of the suds in his pubic hair before it was all washed away by the hot falling water.

What would it be? The girls all jilling themselves as he wanked, building themselves to their own orgasmic climax as they watched their teacher exercising his male organ; such excitement as they waited for the ejaculation -- the white spurting they so wanted to see. Or would he simply point and say one girl's name -- the girl for the 'gold star.' The girl coming forward, chosen by the teacher to be the recipient of his semen. Perhaps the star pupil of the day - the girl who had best performed in gym -- or maybe simply one of the girls he had not yet fucked!

A real live fuck for the girls to watch and masturbate to. The girl knowing the drill. A nervousness -- of course -- she might not have been penetrated by a male before; knowing to bend and clasp her ankles, having watched others of her classmates similarly taken, and hold the position as Mr Randall prepared her, his hard penis stroking between her thighs. Of course, she would be wet; of course she would be lubricated but so good to see her react; perhaps a squeak as he touched her clitoris.

"Now watch carefully, girls." But they would be doing that. Each fascinated by the sight and wishing it were them.

A slow penetration and an equally slow withdrawal. A turning to the group of girls, a mass of young female flesh. Such a pleasure seeing all their eyes drop to his erection, wishing it were their wetness upon it. For Graham, the delight of seeing every one of them with hand between thighs and fingers playing with breasts before he turned back to the girl and began the fuck.

No actual insemination -- no, of course not -- but a long fuck and then, perhaps when he heard one or two girls making orgasm sounds, bringing himself over the edge. One, two strokes and then pull out and wank himself spectacularly (and why not 'spectacularly' -- it was his fantasy after all) over the girl's bottom, his semen shooting right up her back. What a sight for the girls. Their orgasms coming thick and fast, the air filled with the sound of young feminine ecstasy.

What an idea! Beneath him just the two girls -- not a score wishing to suck his cock. He raised them to their feet and kissed both on and in the mouth, pressing his cock against their barely covered bodies.

"Bedtime girls, I expect you want to lie down and go to sleep. It is a long way past your bedtime." It was obvious neither girl was sleepy -- not at all. So good to pat their young but womanly bottoms through their thin cotton shorts as he encouraged them into his bedroom once again. Upon the bed a single small packet. The necessary condom. It sat there very much a token of what was to come. Very much a reminder -- or warning -- to Helen. He could see she was looking at it.

But it was Charlotte who grabbed it. Charlotte the experienced. Charlotte who knew 'all about' such things. Proprietorially she was going to show Helen. Graham knew he would have to say and do very little. Just stand to attention whilst Charlotte 'clothed' him.

"See, Helen, I've told you." Her fingers were undoing the cardboard packet, removing a foil wrapped condom. She carefully ripped the foil and emptied the round rubber disc into her hand. There it was in her palm, moist with lubrication. "You have to roll it on the right way, onto Sir's penis, Helen. You hold it -- no, his cock, silly! I'll show you how to put it on."

Quite wonderful to stand there; have Helen reach and hold his penis, even lift it upwards as Charlotte placed the rubber disc atop his knob.

"See, the teat has to be uppermost, ready to take Sir's stuff when he comes. It stops it getting all over and into our cervixes. You have to nip it before you roll it down -- is that right, Sir?"

Graham nodded. Charlotte had certainly been listening to his lesson a few weeks before.

Charlotte nipped with the fingers of one hand and then began to roll the ring of rubber down his knob; on down the shaft until it reached its extent with a thin ring encircling his flesh. "It's important," she looked at Helen, "when removing after sexual intercourse to ensure no stuff escapes. It's important to grasp the rubber at the base when the penis is withdrawn to ensure a tight seal."

Graham stood there with the two girls sitting on the edge of the bed looking at his now latex covered cock. Aesthetically Graham thought it lost a lot from its unclad state, in part from that sticking up teat. The cock itself was well moulded by the rubber. Perhaps clad like that it was actually more erotic to a woman -- because it was 'safe,' but to him it lost something of its appeal. He would have much preferred being and going 'in' without!

So enjoyable hearing Charlotte being ever so serious and perhaps a little superior, even condescending with her friend.

"Do you want to try first, Helen?" It was Charlotte asking -- asking Helen if she wished to fuck first. Remarkable!

Helen shook her head, "No, after you, Charlotte, I'd... I'd like to see first. You know -- how it goes in."

That was not going to be so easy or rather visible if they went 'missionary.' It needed to be done differently and Graham thought he would be helpful and obliging. There was something very pleasing to let himself be used by Charlotte as a demonstration model. He lay down on the bed to let her ride 'cowgirl' facing him.

"Now watch, Helen."

And Helen was certainly watching. She rolled onto her stomach to stare as her friend manoeuvred herself over Mr Randall, one thigh either side of him and her sex open. Helen watched as much as he did, as Charlotte took the latex covered penis in hand and held it vertically allowing her fair-haired fringed sex to descend. They saw the teat touch and then disappear, followed by the moulded knob and then more and more of the shaft until Charlotte was resting upon his thighs, a full embedding.

Helen was open mouthed, "It's... it's all the way in -- your body."

It certainly was! Graham could feel the hot tightness all the way down his cock. But not the wetness, not with the latex in the way. So annoying. How he would like to have been free and natural. Washed up from a shipwreck on a desert island with the girls, there would have been an inevitability about natural sexual intercourse. The extra pleasure of 'unclothed' sex. Proper insemination indeed. Charlotte and Helen's tummies growing from his seed. The thought erotic. Walking hand in hand naked on the desert island beach, his two schoolgirls both with extended tummies.