Schoolgirls of St. Cats 01bycatwilliams©
Helene walked along the corridor, particles of dust floating lazily in the sunlight. There was already a girl waiting to see Nurse Bishop: Miranda Thomas. The two girls slept in the same dormitory, in neighbouring beds, had known each other since they first came to board at the Catholic school of St Catherine's. Since turning 18, they had grown apart: Miranda was far more experienced and knowing than Helene. Somehow it seemed that they had less in common than the two young girls who had giggled together beneath the bedclothes for months on end. Helene smiled at Miranda, who was, as usual, looking sensuously preoccupied.
Helene sat back. Miranda always pushed the school uniform rules, she thought. Although wearing the same charcoal gray pinafore dress, with the same row of buttons leading from the top of the skirt to the bottom, and the same crisp, white blouse, her dress was much shorter than Helene's, the tops of Miranda's stockings were clearly visible. And the shoes - "Smart black shoes of a sensible nature with no more than a one inch heel" - were distinctly sexier than the author of the rules had intended. Miranda had scandalized the dormitory with the underwear she'd brought back after the summer hols - all these tiny, strappy thongs and delicate, lacy panties - real lingerie, Helene remembered.
The nurse's buzzer sounded, and without looking at Helene, Miranda went through the door. The light turned from green to red.
Helene stood and looked through the window to the lawns. The school's grounds went down the hillside to the fish pond at the bottom, concealed by the trees. Helene liked that part of the gardens, it was out-of-bounds to the younger girls and hardly anybody bothered going down there. It was a real sun-trap, under those trees. Only the other day, when the rest of the school had gone on some sporting occasion, and Helene was supposed to be practicing the clarinet for her exams, she'd stolen down to the secret garden, had lay down on a towel in the sun and prepared to doze the morning away.
Helene had looked around the garden to make sure she was really alone. It was strictly forbidden for a girl to be out of uniform at St Cat's. Feeling naughty at this minor infringement, she kicked off her shoes, rolled the opaque, black stockings down her long, slim legs and lay back to enjoy the weather.
But before she had realized it, "those" thoughts had started to creep across her mind, and the hand that was so innocently undoing the buttons of her dress - the better to catch the sun - had exposed her from the waist to the legs, and Helene's hand was now tracing the contours of her flat young belly, feeling the edge of the innocent, white cotton panties, stroking the smooth mound that lay between her legs. With two hands now, she felt herself grow warmer and wetter, the pussy lips growing beneath the tight, white cotton; Helene felt her firm young clitoris standing proud beneath the material.
The schoolgirl slipped her hands beneath her panties, pushing them down, feeling her wet, almost hairless pussy aching with desire. She stroked her clit, ran a finger between her wet, willing cunt lips. She rubbed herself, faster and faster, the sunlight warming her body and young skin, until at last, moaning and trembling, she had found release in a loud and aching orgasm, so powerful it forced her to lift her arse off the ground.
Slowly she came down from her orgasmic high. And suddenly she felt embarassed, ashamed of herself. What was she doing, letting that lust grip her and take her, exposing her sex in public. She thought: anyone could be watching me. The music teacher, Mr Williams might have wondered where I was, had come to look for me, had stood under the trees watching my wet fingers as I made myself cum.
Helene stood up, pulling her stockings up to her thighs, aware of how damp they were from the juices that had run from her aching pussy, vowing that this really would be the last time.
The nurse's buzzer went. Helene shook herself desparately. She really had to get a grip. What on earth was wrong with her, even just the memory of that day was making her ache and tingle and long to touch herself again. But there was nowhere private in St Cat's. Another year to go, then she'd have a shared bedroom next to the dormitory, then she'd have some space, as long as she had the right partner.
The buzzer went again. It sounded more irritable.
The person sitting behind the desk was not Nurse Bishop - safe, confidential Nurse Bishop, with her long red hair, her pixie face and her "I'm one of you girls" attitude. The person sitting behind the desk was Doctor Clarke, the school's new GP, wearing his usual clean, white coat.
"Helene Ash?" he repeated, "please close the door and sit down."
He was looking at her notes, speed reading through the last year or two, Helene thought. She said:
"I'm sorry, I wanted to see the nurse", and stood up to go.
"You shouldn't go, Helene," Doctor Clarke said firmly, "I see you've made and missed a few appointments in the last month, so you may as well stay and get to the bottom of it. There's no-one else out there, so you're not wasting my time." He smiled. "Why don't you give me a go?"
Doctor Clarke came around his desk and perched on the front. "He's quite an attractive man", Helene thought, taking in his twinkly brown eyes, his curly hair, his strong neck and powerful physique.
The doctor leant forward and took her hand.
"I've heard it all in the last two terms," he said, confidentially. "I've had girls tell me they're pregnant because they've touched their boyfriends' penises, I've had girls tell me they're going to hell because they had some brief and unfulfilling lesbian encounter in the dorms. I've even", he tapped his nose and grinned boyishly, "had the odd teacher come in. You'd be amazed what what goes on in a catholic girl's school."
He stopped, and looked down at Helene.
"Now, unless you're going to tell me that you had sex with three boys at the same time last night, you're not going to tell me anything new."
His eyes played over Helene, noting her schoolgirl pigtails, the sensible shoes, the correctly-sized dress, the stocking-tops properly concealed.
"And it's not that... but it's something to do with sex, otherwise you won't have been waiting to see Sarah. Nurse Bishop," he added, "Shall I guess? Shall I try and guess this dirty little secret that you're convinced is so shameful?"
Helene nodded, dry-throated.
"You fancy a boy and you don't know what to do about it?"
Helene shook her head.
"There's a girl, and she makes you have funny feelings..."
Helene blushed, shaking her heard vigorously. Doctor Clarke paused. He could feel his cheeks growing a little warm himself.
"You used a toy to pleasure yourself and you're worried you're not a virgin any more?"
Helene sat up, wide-eyed: "can that happen?"
Doctor Clarke laughed, "No, no, of course not, only a fully erect male penis, sliding into your vagina can take that away. Fingers, vibrators, dildos, cucumbers and bananas, it's not the same at all. So, what is it, Helene, what is your secret?"
Helene looked at her feet.
"I think about sex all the time. And I get so hot, and I get so wet."
She looked up at the doctor.
"And what do you do with these feelings, Helene?"
"Sometimes nothing. Sometimes I touch myself."
She swallowed hard.
"Actually. 'Sometimes' isn't right. It's 'always', I always touch myself when I think about sex."
Doctor Clarke was looking serious.
"And how often do you masturbate?"
"Four, five, six times a day, whenever I can," Helene confessed. "When I'm in the showers. When I wake up, when I'm lying in bed, sometimes I can make myself ... two or three times in one go."
Doctor Clarke laughed. "Lucky girl, I can only do it two or three times a day."
He noted her expression.
"We all do it, when you're lying in bed at night feeling guilty, chances are that half the girls in the dorm are playing with themselves, and probably most of the mistresses too! But, I can see you have a bit of a problem with being so self-conscious about your sexuality. Can you bring yourself to use the right words?"
Helene felt ashamed: she could hear the words - crude dormitory words - but they wouldn't go past her lips.
Doctor Clarke smiled kindly.
"I masturbate, Helene, shall I tell you how I do it?"
He didn't wait for her to answer.
"Sometimes I'm just so horny, I feel I'm going to explode. I feel my balls are going to explode, Helene, and I just need to make myself cum really quickly, and I'll just undo my trousers, and I'm already stiff, and a few moments later, I'm done. Sometimes I'll be thinking about someone, and I'll be lying in bed, and my cock is hard and big, but I tease myself, pulling my cock slowly, in long, steady motions, until I can stand it no longer - and then, when I cum, the spunk shoots over my stomach and my chest."
He laughed, self-consciously.
"Probably, if I could do it five or six times a day, I would, but I'd never fit it in. So, Helene, what words can you say?"
"I don't know where to start, Doctor Clarke."
"Let me help you. Repeat after me: 'I touch myself on the nose and I like it.' "
"I touch myself on the nose and I like it."
"I stroke my tummy and it feels nice."
Helene repeated it, unconsciously touching herself. Doctor Clarke thought for a moment.
"I like to feel how soft my legs are above my stocking tops."
Helene sat a little further back, her mouth open, stroking her legs above her stockings.
Doctor Clarke thought: "I'm glad they make them wear those, the number of times I've wanted a girl to wrap her long, stockinged legs around my waist and pull me in deeper while I empty my balls into her wet cunt."
He cleared his throat.
"I like to lie down and stroke my pussy."
Helene copied him in a daze, then thought, ashamed: "how can I say these forbidden things?"
But something inside her had changed for ever.
"Masturbate," she said, pronouncing the word carefully.
Doctor Clarke looked surprised.
"Is that an order?"
For a moment, Helene nearly said yes. But she smiled and shook her head.
Doctor Clarke stood up, suddenly brusque. Helene noticed that his brown corduroy trousers were bulging, as if under tremendous pressure.
"Naughty Doctor Clarke," she thought, and then suddenly: "I did that, I made that man's cock grow hard. He wants me, he wants to put his cock inside me, he wants to empty himself deep inside my wet, lusting pussy."
Helene could feel herself being overtaken with lust, she said: "I think I'm going to go back to the dormitory now."
Doctor Clarke laughed: "I bet you can't say what you're going to do."
Helene blushed, and looked deliberately up into his brown eyes.
She spoke slowly: "I'm going to lie down and stroke my pussy."
Doctor Clarke looked thoroughly rattled.
"I see, well, we haven't finished here yet, that'll have to wait. You really ought to have a check-up, you know. Would you mind sitting down on the bed there." He turned away, "I think I need a glass of water."
Helene sat down on the bed, and swivelled up, stretching her legs out in front of her. Her dress had risen to about where Miranda's had been. She wondered if Miranda had had the same type of conversation with Doctor Clarke. She smiled: certainly not, she was probably the one who'd slept with three boys at the same time. One in the ... cunt. One in the mouth. Helene was puzzled for a moment, oh, one in the arse! She nearly said it aloud.
Doctor Clarke was facing away from her, fiddling with something on the shelves. The office was rather gloomy and old-fashioned. Just like all the teachers' offices really, only with cloudy glass in the windows, and those two always-closed doors in the opposite wall. Records, she thought vaguely, records or equipment.
Doctor Clarke came over to the bed. He'd put a stethoscope around his neck, and he was being very professional.
"Now Helene, if you could unbutton your top, I'll listen to your lungs."
Helene obeyed him, undoing her dress, slipping out of her blouse and leaning forward. She felt the cold disk on her back, obeyed the instructions to breathe in and breathe out.
She lent back on the bed, her pinafore school uniform dress wide open, she hadn't bothered with a bra, and she felt suddenly aware that her firm breasts on show. Clarke applied the stethoscope's cold disk again, gave the formal instructions.
As Doctor Clarke moved around her chest, his finger grazed her exposed nipple. Helene shuddered with pleasure, then blushed as she realised that just that glancing touch had made her nipple stiffen. Clarke looked at the erect nipple, rosy-red, except for the tip - a small white bud, straining to be touched and bitten.
"Hm," the Doctor said, "your breasts are well-developed."
Helene could feel herself burning with excitement as he examined her nearly naked body. His finger was sliding down her belly, pulling the dress aside, and she could feel her pussy aching beneath her white cotton panties.
"So, young lady, just how do you touch yourself?"
Helene looked directly into his innocently enquiring brown eyes.
"I don't know", she lied, "I do whatever I want."
Doctor Clarke suddenly looked masterful.
"I want you to show me."
It wasn't a request.
Helene looked up at Doctor Clarke and the older man looked down at the young schoolgirl in his spell.
"Let's say... Let's say that I want to make sure that you're doing it properly."
He looked down at her white panties. God, he thought, she's already wet.
"So, Helene, how do you start? Do you take you underwear off first?"
Helene shook her head.
"No doctor, usually I like to touch myself everywhere else, just feeling myself, waiting..."
Her hands were stroking her belly, the inside of her thighs, running around her stocking tops.
"I don't touch my pussy at first, I'm touching myself and thinking."
Her finger tips brushed beneath the waistband of her knickers. The promise made Helene draw breath sharply.
"I can't touch myself straight away, it's too much."
She pulled her hands up from the waist-band and started feeling down the material.
"Like this, " she murmoured, "this makes me wet and ready. I can feel myself getting wet, all that juice coming from me."
Helene widened her legs. She was using both hands now - on either side of her panties, top and bottom.
"I'm so wet..." she sighed, "so horny".
Doctor Clarke thought: those knickers are soaking, so much wetness. He closed his eyes, imagining grabbing hold of those innocent, white panties, of ripping them apart to expose the quivering flesh, of plunging his cock into her gaping hole, grinding against those pussy-juice soaked knickers.
"What's making you wet, Helene? What words would you use?"
"I can't hear what you're saying? Speak louder please, Helene."
"Ohh, my pussy, my pussy juice... my cunt... it's so wet, so wet for you, Doctor."
Helene lay back, and looked up at the doctor, raising her hips, pushing her panties down to her stocking tops. Doctor Clarke pulled them down further. She had, he thought, a perfectly formed cunt. Petal-like lips, parted and ripe - a firm clitoris - a hairless mound, he could see every detail, every crease. Suddenly he wanted to touch it, lick her, part those young legs and taste her from her ass hole to her clit, slowly and deliberately, drinking that fragrant juice with every lick.
But not yet.
"What else do you do Helene? Do you use your fingers? Do you use toys?"
Helene shook with lust, "just my hands," she said, slipping a finger between her cunt lips, using her thumb to stroke her clitoris, to keep it in a state of lust.
"You should use a toy," the doctor said, "you'll find that an orgasm is so much more satisfying when you have a thick cock filling you up."
Helene groaned in anticipation.
"Fuck me, doctor," she gasped, "fuck me, fill me up."
Doctor Clarke touched Helene's pubic mound with his fingers. They were firm, probing, manly. Helene pulled her hands away, grateful for this experience. He carressed her around her clitoral hood, deliberately provoking her with expert strokes.
"Do you ever taste yourself, Helene?"
Helene's cunt, her belly, her legs were on fire.
"No... no, that's too naughty."
"It's very naughty," the doctor agreed, "but I want you to finger yourself, and taste your fingers."
He carried on rubbing around her clitoris. Helene's hips were rocking now, they had found a mutual rhythm, her body hovered around the point of no return. Helene reached down, felt the doctor's fingers on her, felt around them, to her wet lips.
"I'm fingering myself," she said, "I have my fingers in my ..."
"Go on," ordered the doctor.
"I have my fingers in my cunt, my cunt, my fingers are in my cunt, and they're so wet."
"Taste them. You should know what pussy juice tastes like."
Helene licked the length of her fingers, mesmerized by the salt, the hint of spice, the rich perfume.
"I love it, I love that taste."
She was surprised to hear the words.
"Everyone tastes different, Helene, you'll learn that."
"Taste me," she said, abruptly.
The pressure on her clitoris immediately stopped.
"Finger yourself again."
Helene looked up at the doctor, he seemed utterly absorbed in her now, there was nothing in the room: no desk, no light, no shelves. No closed door to the hall, no cupboard door left carelessly ajar. Helene thought: he hasn't locked the door, anyone could come in, they would see me like this, my knickers around my ankles, my uniform half off, my cunt, so wet and willing this man on - Helene, the virgin slut.
Now she was fingering herself, rubbing herself with her thumb. She could barely bring herself to stop. Helene licked her fingers, rubbed them around her mouth. She could smell the musky pussy juice with every breath.
"Kiss me now."
The kiss was soft to start with, gentle and exploring, his mouth commanding, leading Helene's experience. Their tongues met. She thought: "he's tasting my pussy on my mouth", and shuddered, feeling the doctor's fingers and thumbs on her cunt again. She rubbed herself against his hand, finding the rhythm, driving herself towards an orgasm. She felt his mouth smiling as they kissed.
"What do you want me to do, Helene? Tell me what you want."
She broke off.
"I want you to fuck me, doctor. I want that cock. I want to see it, I want to feel it. I want to taste it. I need it inside my cunt, doctor. Now - I need it now!"
Doctor Clarke grabbed Helene's legs and pulled her around so she was lying across on the couch. In one deft movement, he dropped his trousers and his pants. Helene had a glimpse of a long, pink cock, and then the doctor was pressing it against her pussy. She felt him rubbing his cock on her clit, she thought: I'm going to die without this cock, please just fuck me!
"Fuck me!" she shouted, "just fucking fuck me!"
Doctor Clarke spread her legs apart with his hands, and slid his cock between her lips, then pulled out, rubbing her, teasing her. Touching her wet clit with his cock, parting her lips, holding her buttocks apart, he let it nuzzle her pussy-juice soaked ass hole.
Helene nearly came, she shouted: "oh god!" and then Doctor Clarke's cock entered into her inviting cunt. His large, manly hands pulling her hips down, forcing his cock inside her. A deep, powerful thrust rid her of her virginity, forced open her pussy lips, spread her legs wide. Helene boiled over: on the second thrust she cried out - "fuck me, doctor!" - and on the third her body exploded with pleasure and passion, the orgasm rippling through her from her hair to toes, touching her tits, her belly, her arse, her cunt.