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The Girls of St Catherine’s Ch. 01

By: nightvoice2



The Headmaster Ritual (1)

Prologue: Friday, 26 April

Portia danced sinuously in the half-light of the dimly lit study, closing her eyes and losing herself in the thumping beats and intricate rhythms of the Latin music. She reached up and ran her hands around the brim of her straw hat, the fingers brushing against the silky pink ribbon. She watched him tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair as she eased it off her head and playfully tossed it towards him like a Frisbee. It skidded to a stop next to his sensible black shoes. She ran her hands through her long black hair then slowly down over the trim contours of her slim, young body until they rested on her hips, emphasising their tilt and sway. They moved left and right, undulating in time to the music that played on the radio, her dress swishing against her smooth, bare legs.

Professor Carter, her maths teacher, leant back in the large wing-back chair, lacing his pudgy fingers behind his head and stretching his legs out in front of him. He'd dimmed the main lights in his study and switched on his bright desk lamp before Portia had arrived. As her slim body moved to-and-fro in front of his desk, he was rewarded with shadowy glimpses of her long legs moving beneath the thin floral print dress. He was particularly pleased with her choice of this week's outfit. The thin dress was pale yellow with small red flowers and clung tightly to the girl's subtle curves. He felt his cock stir as he wondered what kind of underwear she'd chosen this week.

Last week she'd revealed a lacy, lilac-coloured bra and pants set as she slipped out of her tight denim cut-offs and khaki t-shirt. And the week before that, a pair of sheer black stockings beneath a silky, burgundy evening dress. When they'd first started their little weekly 'study sessions' she'd worn her school uniform, but she'd been happy to oblige when he suggested that she experiment with different outfits. Happy as long as he kept giving her such generous marks for her assignments, of course.

It was a large but cosy study with a thick carpet and antique mahogany furniture. A half-open door led to a small bedroom with an en-suite bathroom. A roomy, comfortable office was one of the benefits of being both the head of mathematics and the deputy headmaster. Recently, he'd been spending more time here than he did at home in the large detached house he shared with his wife in the nearby village of Eastbrook. In quieter moments, he sometimes wondered if his wife still believed him when he told her that he was working late or had too much to drink at one of the functions he had to attend in his capacity as deputy head.

Portia kicked off her strappy sandals and felt her feet sink into the soft beige carpet. All those dance lessons her parents made her go to on Saturdays were finally paying off, although they'd be horrified to see how she was making use of her skills now. She slipped one of the thin straps from her shoulder as she slowly gyrated, feeling him staring at her, undressing her with his dark eyes, the pupils swollen in the half-light. The first time she'd done this, his intense stare had made her nervous and self-conscious but now it excited her, encouraged her to take more risks.

Maths had never been one of her stronger subjects. She'd often noticed him staring at her in class so when he'd asked her if she'd like some extra tuition one evening she'd been sure that he wasn't talking about extra help with modular arithmetic. It hadn't taken much to tempt him: laughing a little too much at his jokes, sitting a little too close to him, a hand 'accidentally' brushing his leg.

It wasn't so bad though. They had a clear understanding: she'd perform a little dance routine for him whilst she stripped down to her underwear and he'd mark her assignments 'generously'. She made it clear that there was to be no touching and he'd seemed happy with that. Perhaps he felt he wasn't really cheating on his wife this way. In any case, it was a simple arrangement that suited them both.

Somehow, Portia instinctively felt safe around Professor Carter. He was a short, round, distinguished-looking man; not fat exactly, but with the soft, rounded edges and paunch of someone in his fifties, whose main pastime was solving arcane mathematical problems. The metallic frames of his glasses matched the colour of his curly, close-copped steely grey hair and his forehead was etched with the worry-lines of someone who'd spent too many nights fretting about his students' grades. Tonight he was wearing a crumpled navy blue suit and a blue-and-yellow striped tie, the end of which he used to polish the greasy lenses of his glasses. He hooked them back over his ears and leaned forward in his chair as he watched Portia tilt her head back and close her eyes as her hips slowly gyrated, describing the smoothest of ellipses.

"So do you like this week's outfit, Professor?" she asked as she ran her hands through her long, black tresses.

"Oh yes, very much, it's very sexy," he replied, watching as her little diamond stud earrings glinted in the soft light.

"You don't think it's too tight?" she continued, smoothing the thin material over the soft curves of her boobs.

He shook his head, unable to take his eyes off her.

"Or maybe too short?" she purred as she performed a slow pirouette, her hips wiggling sexily, drawing attention to her pert bottom. 

"You don't think it's too revealing if I do this?" she said as she paused halfway around and bent forward a little, shaking her bottom provocatively. He couldn't resist reaching out and pinching her, his fingers testing the firmness of her buttocks.

"Professor Carter! You naughty boy!" she protested, spinning around and pretending to be shocked, her glossy lips forming a perfect "O". "Sorry my dear, couldn't resist!" he said, grinning and holding up his hands as he leant back in his chair.

"You know the rules Professor, you can look but you mustn't touch!" she said.

"Ah, but you're just too tempting tonight Portia, I can't help myself," he said, watching as she bent forward and slowly drew her hands along the smooth skin of her endless legs. His breath caught in his throat as her hands caught the hem of her dress, sliding it up over her creamy thighs giving him a teasing glimpse of her white panties.

Portia smiled as she straightened up and eased the other strap over the smooth pale skin of her shoulder. 

"Such a naughty professor," she said, leaning forward as she wagged a finger at him.

He had an excellent view of her cleavage as she did so. Her modest but perfectly formed boobs straining against her flimsy dress. She giggled as his grasping hands stretched towards her again. He was in a frisky mood tonight, she thought to herself as she shimmied away from his clutching fingers. The first couple of weeks she'd felt awkward and self-conscious when she was dancing but each week she felt a little more confident, a little more sexy and recently she'd begun to enjoy it. 

It was such a contrast. In class, he was the one in control; he was the one that told her what to do. But on Friday evenings the normal rules were reversed, and for an hour or two it was her that was in control. She was the one setting the agenda. It surprised her how much she had started to look forward to it.

"I really need your opinion on my new underwear but you've been such a bad boy I'm not sure I should show you," she teased as she continued to sway to the driving beat of the dance music.

"Please Portia," he whined. "I'll give you an A for you next assignment. Your next two assignments!"

She smiled as she reached under her arm and found the discrete little zip. She felt his eyes burning into her as she eased it lower, the dress falling away and revealing her breasts encased in a lacy, white half-cup brassiere that barely covered her dusky pink nipples.

"Gorgeous," he gasped.

"You like it?" she asked as she eased the material lower so that it bunched around her hips, exposing the smoothly taut skin of her lean stomach.

"Yes, very much," he replied. 

He felt his cock strain against his suit trousers as he watched her hips swing back and forth. Portia slowly wriggled the dress over her hips, an inch lower on the left then an inch lower on the right. Taking her time, making him wait, his anticipation building. She could see him leaning forward eagerly as it finally slid down her shapely legs and formed a little yellow and red pool around her ankles.

The professor slowly stroked the swollen bulge in his trousers as Portia ran her hands over the lean contours of her semi-naked flesh. The skimpy white lace of her underwear clung tightly to her young body, the dark shadows of her nipples clearly visible beneath her semi-transparent brassiere.

"Looks like someone's very happy with my outfit," she giggled, covering her mouth with her hand coquettishly and nodding towards the growing tent in his trousers.

He watched as she ran her hands slowly up and down her semi-naked body. It was such sweet torture watching but not being able to touch her succulent, young flesh, to be able to feel the warmth of her silky skin, assess the plump firmness of those cupcake breasts. She looked so hot tonight.

The blood pounded in his ears as his sweaty hands fumbled with the zip. He felt a surge of hot pleasure as he slid his hands inside and squeezed his swollen cock. His heart thumped against his chest so hard it was almost painful.

"So you like my new bra?" she asked, running her hands over her boobs and squeezing the soft, round curves so that her flesh strained against the flimsy material.

"Yes, oh God yes," he replied, watching as she squeezed them together emphasizing the depth of her cleavage.

"And my new knickers?" she continued, turning around and bending over a little so that he had a fine view of her peachy buttocks bisected by a thin strip of white lace.

He nodded eagerly as he wrapped his fingers around his shaft and gently stroked himself.

Portia continued to dance as she watched him ease his erection from his pants, watching as he caressed the swollen shaft. Often, he would already have finished by now, prematurely achieving a happy ending before he could extract his cock from his pants but it looked like she'd have to work a little harder tonight.

"Gosh! It's so big Sir! So big and hard!" she gasped, feigning surprise as she peered into the darkness beyond the pool of bright light.

Actually, he wasn't particularly big. Or perhaps it just didn't seem that big against his fleshy thighs and flabby stomach. It was all part of her performance, he was well on his way now, and she just had to coax him over the edge.

"Are you touching yourself? Oh professor, what a naughty boy you are!" she cooed.

"I can't help it. You're such a tease, you turn me on so much," he panted.

"Mmm, I do like teasing you. I'm such a bad, bad girl, aren't I? Perhaps I need to be punished. I bet you'd like to give me a good old-fashioned spanking, wouldn't you?" she smiled as she reached behind her and undid her bra clasp. 

He felt his cock grow even harder as she slid the lacy bra from her arms with one hand, whilst she used to other to cover her perky breasts. She giggled as she tossed the bra towards him so that it landed on the arm of his chair.

"Yes, you need a good, hard spanking, you're such a wicked girl," the professor said breathlessly, as he continued to slide his fist up and down his rock hard prick, trying to ignore the slight burning sensation in his chest. There were indigestion tablets in the bathroom; he'd take some later.

"Mmm, you'd like that wouldn't you?" she purred suggestively. "I bet you'd like to bend me over your knee wouldn't you Sir? Hmm? Pull my knickers down and teach me a lesson I won't forget!"

"God, you're such a tease," he grunted, watching as she slid her hands down over her chest to reveal perfect gravity-defying boobs tipped with stubby pink nipples. Boobs that just begged to be held and squeezed. She spread her legs and placed her hands on her knees, her hips gyrating, her naked breasts jiggling as if she was being fucked from behind.

"Oh God!" the professor croaked as he watched her slim hips moving faster as the beat grew quicker, the music building to a climax, pounding in his head. He imagined her climbing onto his chair, her legs spread, her knees on either side of his thighs. The taut lacy material of her panties rubbing against his aching cock as their hot, sweaty bodies pressed together. Her firm breasts bobbing in front of his face as she slid a hand between her firm, young thighs and hooked her panties to one side revealing swollen, moist pussy lips beneath a neatly trimmed triangle of dark hair.

His heart was thumping like a bass drum now and his vision was starting to get a bit blurry at the edges. 

"Maybe I shouldn't have had that second gin and tonic at the pub earlier," he thought as the room began to sway alarmingly. The pain in his chest had spread to his left arm now as he feverishly pumped his fleshy cock.

"God, it's so hot in here, I can hardly breathe," he coughed. He loosened his tie with his free hand, desperately fumbling with the top button of his shirt. He was gasping for breath now, like a fish out of water. It felt like the air had been drained of oxygen. The room spun and swayed around him as his vision became darker and darker. He felt himself losing consciousness, surrendering to the darkness slowly filling his vision until it swallowed him.

"Professor Carter!" Portia shrieked, suddenly realising that something was wrong as his eyelids fluttered then closed and his limp body slumped back in his chair.

"Professor! Are you OK?" she said, grasping his shoulders and shaking him.

He was limp now, his face bright red, one fist still wrapped tightly around his deflated cock, the other clutching his chest as his breath rasped in his throat. She skipped over to his desk and picked up the 'phone.

"Night porter? Call an ambulance; I think Professor Carter's having a heart attack!"

Wednesday, 1 May

"Ah, good morning, Portia, do have a seat," the headmaster said, standing up and gesturing towards a chair in front of his desk. He watched as the girl sat down and demurely crossed her legs, smoothing her pleated skirt over her knees then neatly folding her hands in her lap.

"Now you're not in any trouble, and I know you must have found all this quite traumatic but I just need to understand what happened last Friday, OK?"

Portia nodded and smiled bravely.

"Good; well why don't you tell me what happened in your own words? Take your time, and let me know everything you remember, OK?"

"Well Sir, I've been having trouble with my grades recently and when I told Professor Carter, he invited me to his rooms so we could work through my assignments together."

"I see; and he wanted you to come to his rooms at 9 o'clock on a Friday evening?"

"Yes, I think he said he was going out earlier in the evening but he could see me later. I think he goes to the local pub with some of the other teachers on Fridays."

"OK, good, so you went over there at nine. Now I understand you weren't wearing your uniform, is that right?"

"Yes Sir. I'm going to a wedding next weekend and I'd been showing off a new dress to my room-mates. I guess I thought I'd wear it to the Professor's so I could get a man's opinion too."

"I see, and is that why you were wearing the make-up and the earrings?" he said, trying to sound neutral and keep the scepticism from his voice.

"Yes Sir, I wanted an opinion on exactly what I was planning to wear."

"OK, go on."

"Well, we both sat at his desk and he began to lead me through some of the questions on differentiation. At first, it all went well and I felt I was learning quite a lot from the one-on-one attention. But then, after about thirty minutes, I noticed he was looking quite hot. He was sweating and seemed to be short of breath, so I suggested he sit in his armchair and I helped him loosen his tie."

"Go on."

"Well he just got worse and worse, his breathing became laboured and he kept clutching his chest. So when he began to lose his consciousness I thought it was best to call the night porter."

"And he hadn't done anything in particular to bring this on? No physical exertion of any kind?"

"No Sir. As I say, we were studying together and then suddenly he was unwell. It all happened so quickly."

"OK, so you called the porter and then you went to Miss Hunter's room?"

"Yes, after the phone call I ran down the corridor to get Miss Hunter, the first aider, and she helped the Professor until the medics arrived."

"Now Miss Hunter says you weren't wearing any shoes, is that right?"

"I took them off Sir. I thought I could run faster without them."

"I see, and you're sure he hadn't done anything to bring this on?" the headmaster said, standing up and walking over to the window."

"No Sir, we were just studying."

"Well, I went to see Geoffrey, I mean Professor Carter, at the hospital today and you'll be pleased to hear that it was only a minor stroke. The doctors think he'll make a full recovery."

"Well that's great news Sir," Portia said delightedly. "So he'll be returning to the school?"

"Well, not for the time being. In view of his age and his health problems I've suggested that he take this opportunity to think about early retirement."

The head paced up and down as he thought about what to do next. He didn't really believe Portia's story; there was definitely something fishy going on. The doctor he'd spoken to said that the kind of stroke the Professor had had was normally caused by over-exertion. And as difficult as the headmaster found maths, it was hardly physically demanding.

On the other hand, Geoffrey said he couldn't remember much of the evening but what he could remember didn't differ from the girl's story. As they were the only two present, he couldn't really disprove their story. Obviously, his wife had been very upset when she'd heard he'd been rushed to hospital, was there any point in upsetting her further by implying there was something going on? Or creating a scandal at the time of year when parents were thinking about enrolling their daughters for next year? No, he'd been asked to investigate by the board of governors and he'd done all he reasonably could. He couldn't see any reason to rock the boat any further. Perhaps it was best if they all moved on from this.

He stopped pacing and turned back towards the girl, who was still waiting patiently.

"Well now Portia, I think you know that the uniform policy is quite strict here. It's usually two weeks detention if you're caught out of uniform on a weekday. On the other hand, your quick thinking may well have saved Professor Carter's life, so I'm going to be lenient this time. I'll suspend the two weeks detention until the end of term. Do you understand what that means?"

"I think so Sir. Thank you, Sir," she replied.

"OK, well I think you've had enough excitement for now so I want you to get back to class and concentrate on your studies, okay?"

"Yes Sir, thanks again Sir," Portia said as she stood up. She flashed the headmaster's secretary a smile as she walked past her desk. Not even a detention! She skipped down the stairs, feeling overwhelmed with relief.

The headmaster grimaced as he took a sip of his tea, finding it had gone cold whilst they'd been talking. He sighed and picked up a handful of CVs from the in-tray in his desk. It was such a bloody nuisance. Geoffrey had obviously been fooling around with that girl, the silly old sod. And now, as usual, it was left to him to clear up the mess. One thing was clear: they didn't have much cover, so he needed to get someone in quickly. Both Miss Hunter and Mr Wicklow had offered to help out, although he reckoned they were more interested in positioning themselves for the vacancy of deputy head. He'd already placed some adverts and had a few CVs in. If he worked quickly, he could organise interviews for next week and maybe get someone in for the week after. He needed someone who was cheap and, most importantly, available to start as soon as possible. He asked his secretary to get him another cup of tea then picked up the first CV and started reading.


The Girls of St Catherine’s Ch. 01



Thursday, 16 May

"Well thanks again for the opportunity headmaster, I'm really looking forward to it, see you on Sunday."

David put the 'phone down and grinned. Had that really just happened? He could hardly believe it; he'd only graduated from teacher college a couple of weeks ago and he'd already secured himself a job! He had been warned that jobs might be difficult to come by for someone without any real experience. He'd only applied to St Catherine's because it was fairly close to where he'd grown up. 

He had known a little about it: that it was an exclusive, fee-paying, residential girls' school with a good reputation. He had only applied just in the hope of getting some interview experience; he hadn't really expected to get the job. In fact, he hadn't even expected to be called for interview and so he was astonished to receive the call. 

"Mum!" he shouted up the stairs. "Great news! I've got that job!"

Sunday, 19 May

A few days later David found himself lugging his suitcase up the east staircase of St Catherine's manor house as he tried to keep up with the headmaster. The head was a distinguished, silver-haired man in a sombre, old-fashioned-looking black three-piece suit and a gaunt, craggy face. His slightly hooked nose and restless eyes gave him a hawkish appearance. He'd given David a brief tour of the school as he explained some of its history; apparently the manor house had originally been donated to the church by a local industrialist to be used as a kind of reform school for 'loose and fallen women', and had served this purpose right up until the second world war when it had been requisitioned by the government to be used as a convalescent home for injured soldiers. After the war, it had re-opened as a private boarding school for girls.

Despite his advanced years, the headmaster kept up a brisk pace along the labyrinthine corridors and David was relieved when he paused halfway up the old mahogany staircase by the large picture window. 

It was the headmaster's favourite spot on the little tour that he liked to give anyone visiting the school for the first time. From here, there was a lovely view of the grounds, the gentle slope of the lawn leading down to the river and a stand of ancient oak trees partially hiding the gymnasium off to the right. 

It was a warm, pleasant Sunday afternoon and there were girls scattered in small groups across the lawns enjoying the early summer weather. Some studying books in the cool shade of the trees, some sunbathing and others playing tennis on the clay courts, its rich red surface contrasting with the lime green grass. Even in the afternoon heat, all of the girls were all dressed immaculately in their distinctive olive green blazers and neat grey and green, tartan skirts. Some were wearing straw boaters to shield their heads from the fierce sun.

"In all, we own nearly two hundred acres of land here, we're very lucky. The nearest village, a little place called Eastbrook, is about two miles away," he explained, turning to David and sweeping his hand across the vista dramatically.

David couldn't picture how much land that was exactly but it sounded impressive.

"Gosh, two hundred acres," he said, as the headmaster waited expectantly. "That's huge."

"Indeed; as well as giving us plenty of room for expansion it helps with the sense of seclusion here. We try to provide these girls with an oasis of calm, away from the distractions of the modern world here. A place of peace and tranquillity where they can concentrate on their academic studies."

"Yes, there must be a lot of distractions for a teenager these days," David said agreeably, although he was only twenty-five himself.

"Yes, of course. Mobile phones, TV, the internet, social media, so many distractions for youngsters. That's why we tightly control the use of technology here. No TV, except in the common room in the evenings. No using laptops or mobile phones except at the weekends. And no internet except on the locked down PCs in the common room."

"But how on earth do you stop teenage girls using their mobiles?"

"They're kept locked away during the week by the head of their form, they hand them in on Sunday evening and can pick them back up on Saturday mornings."

"I see. I guess that must help with them concentrating on their work."

"Indeed, Mr Lean. There are too many girls these days that are certainly bright enough but don't apply themselves. Too easily distracted. No discipline at home either, you see. That's the trouble with girls these days. Do you know that old saying?" the headmaster continued, pausing only briefly before offering the answer. "It's better suffer the pain of discipline, than to suffer the pain of regret."

"So I guess you run quite tight ship here?" David said, following him up the stairs.

"Oh yes, discipline is fundamental to the way we do things here. We give the girls every opportunity to study productively here" the headmaster continued over his shoulder, "but it's not fair on the others if there are one or two troublemakers who spoil it for everyone else. Don't you agree?"

He remembered at interview that they'd spent some time on the subject of discipline. Actually, he didn't have particularly strong views on discipline but it was clear the headmaster did. In the pressure of the interview he'd felt compelled to say what he thought the headmaster wanted to hear.

"Yes, absolutely. You can't have one or two bad apples spoiling it for the girls who genuinely want to learn," David replied.

The headmaster turned and rewarded him with a thin smile. 

"Exactly. And that's part of the reason we liked you so much David. To be honest we have more than our fair share of challenging girls here and we need someone who can maintain order in a classroom. Someone who's not afraid to break a few eggs in order to make an omelette if you see what I mean."

"I see," David said, nodding although he wasn't entirely sure he followed the metaphor.

"Anyway, don't worry about that now. This is your room," the head declared, abruptly stopping at a door that already had a small sign in the middle reading "Mr Lean (Mathematics)"

"This is great, thanks," David said, heaving his suitcase onto the bed and looking around.

"Now I've got to get on so I'll leave you to unpack but if you need anything my door is always open," the headmaster said as he swept out, "good luck tomorrow, Mr Lean"

David closed the door behind him and looked around. It was a large room with uninspiring beige wallpaper and ancient looking floorboards that creaked as he walked over to the window. There was a small framed piece of cross-stitch over the bed that read: "Discipline is the bridge between goals and accomplishments".

"Wow, nice view," he murmured to himself, as he hooked the net curtains aside with his finger to expose an idyllic view of the grounds similar to the one he'd admired on the stairs earlier. There was an old wooden writing desk against the wall near the window, a large green sofa along the wall opposite and a large set of empty shelves near the door. The door next to it led to a small but surprisingly modern bathroom with gleaming white tiles and a chrome shower.

The head had explained that they didn't serve dinner on Sundays but luckily he'd had a large lunch. After he'd unpacked, David decided to stroll around the grounds. It was a perfect summer's evening outside on the lawns: the warm air filled with the sound of giggling girls, dandelion seeds and buzzing insects.

"Good evening Sir," a pair of girls chorused politely as he passed.

"Good evening girls," he replied.

"You must be the new maths teacher," one of them guessed.

"Yes, I'm Mr Lean, what are your names?"

"I'm Brianna," said the curvy redhead with the trendy, designer glasses.

"And I'm Emma," the other explained, blushing prettily. She was shorter than her friend with fair hair swept back in a neat ponytail.

"And you're both in Professor Carter's class?" They both nodded.

"Well I'll look forward to seeing you tomorrow morning then," he said pleasantly, before walking on, following the gravel path towards the river.

When he got to the bank, he paused and watched the river roll languidly by for a while. On the opposite side of the river, a meadow crowded with cow parsley, ox-eye daisies and nettles sloped down towards him. Cows chewed the cud, their tails swishing lazily at flies. It was quieter down here away from the lawns, the quiet gurgle of the river disturbed only by some ducks squabbling noisily further down the bank. 

He turned and looked back at the school. The original building was a large stone manor house but it was clear that over the years its complicated history had led to many extensions and changes to the old building. There was an obviously newer, red brick block with large sash windows on his the right that looked Edwardian. There were quite a few other buildings scattered around too, like the large grey, rectangular gymnasium off to the other side. Just downstream, he could see an old boat shed and some small cottages on the other side of the river linked by a quaint wooden bridge. He still couldn't quite believe he was here. What would his first day of teaching bring?

A little way down the bank, Tara's mother stopped to admire the view. She was wearing her favourite pearls and a stern expression as she turned and faced her daughter.

"What do you mean you might have to re-take your English?" she said frostily.

They'd had a late lunch at a little local restaurant that was run by one of her mother's oldest and dearest friends before returning to the school. Now they were strolling along the side of the river.

"Well as I say the other subjects are all going really well but I am having a little trouble with my English, that's all," Tara said apologetically.

"So what's the problem with your English? Is it the teacher? Are the other girls struggling?" her mother snapped.

"Well no, I mean, not really," Tara managed to say before her mother interrupted.

"Tara, your father and I spend a lot of money to keep you here. You're nineteen years old now and we can't keep finding different schools for you to re-take your A-levels indefinitely. We need you to get into a good university this September."

Tara nodded glumly. Over the years, she'd learned there was no point in trying to argue with her mother.

"So I suggest you talk to your English teacher and see if there's some way he can help. Perhaps he can give you some extra tuition. Maybe you can hint at some kind of 'present' at the end of term if he spares you some of his free time."

"Yes, mother," Tara murmured obediently, as they walked on. 

If what the other girls told her about Mr Wicklow was true, she knew he'd be willing to help but he'd want something in return. Something more than a bottle of scotch at the end of term.

Monday, 20 May

The girls of the upper sixth were creatures of habit and always sat in the same seats in the mathematics classroom. Sadie, Emma and Brianna sat in the front row on the left. Portia, Tara and their friends always sat at the back. Sadie nudged Brianna in the ribs to get her attention.

"Hey, have you heard that joke about Professor Carter?" she said, making sure she was talking loudly enough for Portia to hear.

"No, what?" Brianna replied, as several girls turned towards Sadie.

"OK, you'll like this. What was Professor Clark doing when Portia was 'modelling' her new dress?" Sadie asked, her fingers describing imaginary quotation marks as she said 'modelling'.

"I don't know," Brianna replied, already smiling in anticipation of the punch line.

"He was having a stroke! Get it? Having a stroke," Sadie grinned as she crudely mimed rubbing an imaginary penis.

The girls around her erupted with raucous laughter then turned quickly as Portia leapt to her feet.

"He nearly died, you heartless cow! Take that back!" Portia shrieked angrily, striding over to Sadie's desk.

"Well if you were so worried about the poor old sod's health maybe you shouldn't have been stripping for him, slut!" Sadie replied, her chair legs squeaking against the polished wooden floor as she sprung out of her chair, squaring up to Portia.

"That's a bloody lie! I wasn't stripping! Anyway, everyone knows you're the biggest slut in the school," Portia said, furiously jabbing her finger into Sadie's shoulder.

"Say that again bitch, then you'll be bloody sorry!" Sadie replied menacingly, as she regained her balance and shoved Portia backwards.

David whistled happily as he strode along the long, well-polished hallways of the old manor house, the walls echoing with the noise of groups of excitable schoolgirls. He scanned the signs on the doors looking for classroom 9A with a barely suppressed feeling of excitement. His first day as a real teacher! Of course, he'd taught some classes as part of his training but this would be his first chance at the real thing.

He could hear classroom 9A from the end of the corridor, and a wave of noise washed over him when he opened the door. He'd expected them to stop when he entered, but the commotion carried on as if he wasn't there. 

"Quiet! Girls! Please!" he shouted, but it made little difference. 

Two girls near the front of the class were involved in a cat-fight, with much hair-pulling and shrieking and some language that was most unbecoming of young ladies. Most of the other girls were gathered around them, shouting encouragement as the girls slapped, shoved and pinched each other viciously. The blonde girl squealed loudly as her opponent grabbed a handful of her long, silky hair and tugged at it cruelly.

"Please! Quiet! Please girls!" he shouted at the top of his voice. Nothing at teacher training college had prepared him for this. Some of the girls at the front turned around, seeming to notice him for the first time, but the others just carried on, enjoying the cat-fight and cheering the girls on. Just as he was wondering whether he should wade in and break it up, the door opened. A tall, severe-looking teacher with a neatly-trimmed moustache and a face like thunder burst through the door.

"WHAT ON EARTH IS GOING ON HERE?" he shouted, "STOP THAT AT ONCE!"

For the first time, the teenage warriors paused and their audience melted away, quickly finding their seats.

"Right!" he said pointing at the two girls. "Sadie and Portia, any more bad behaviour and you'll be in detention for the rest of the term. Now then all of you open your books and show your new teacher the respect he deserves."

"You must be the new maths teacher. Mr Lean is it?" he continued, smoothly turning to David and offering his hand.

David had been watching with a kind of stunned detachment and slowly reached out and took his hand.

"Yes, I'm David Lean," he said dumbly.

"Like the film director? Jolly good. Well I'm Mr Wicklow, I teach English. I'm just next door if you have any more trouble, OK?"

"Yes, well, um, thanks for your help."

"Not at all, first days are always a bit rough here. Chin up!" he said cheerily as he breezed out.

With the threat of Mr Wicklow returning the girls behaved themselves for the rest of the lesson but David was still relieved to hear the bell signalling the end of the lesson. As he left, he bumped into Mr Wicklow in the corridor.

"Thanks again for helping out earlier," he said.

"Not at all," replied Mr Wicklow. "I think you got the worst class to start with, they were especially feisty this morning. Listen I normally go to the pub after work on a Monday. The Fox and Hounds, do you know it?"

"Yes, I think so," David said, as he vaguely recalled the taxi passing a pub on the road leading up to the house.

"Excellent, well I'll see you at dinner and give you a lift up there, yes?"

"Well I had planned to do some work on my lesson plan," he said.

"Don't worry you'll have the rest of the evening to do that."

"Well, uh, I suppose so..."

"Super, see you later then."

Michael took a long, refreshing drink from his bottle of water and shaded his eyes from the fierce sun as he watched the girls running up and down the Astroturf pitch. He'd had a busy morning helping Mr Black, the head of maintenance, fix a broken gutter on the roof and now he was enjoying the feel of the sunshine and warm breeze on his face as he watched the hockey game during his lunch break. Mr Black had taken the afternoon off; apparently, he was servicing Mrs Pinner's boiler. He'd been over to her cottage quite a few times in the last few weeks and Michael was beginning to wonder if the boiler wasn't all he was 'servicing'.

In truth, Michael was less interested in the hockey than he was in the players. The girls were so gorgeously healthy, so fit and lean, so full of life, their glossy hair shining in the sunshine, their perky boobs bobbing jauntily beneath their thin t-shirts. He watched as Sadie sprinted past him down the side of the pitch, her blonde hair flowing behind her as she was pursued by the girl called Portia. There was a high-pitched shriek of pain as Portia lunged forward, swinging her stick clumsily and catching Sadie on the ankle. The blonde fell in a tangle of arms and legs right in front of him.

"You bitch Portia!" Sadie shrieked, "That bloody hurts!"

"You big baby! I hardly touched you, and anyway it was an accident," Portia snapped.

"Was not! You did that on purpose!" Sadie whined.

"OK, enough, enough! Girls please!" Miss Lambert, the PE teacher shouted, waving the other girls away as she ran over.

Michael watched as Sadie sat on the Astroturf rubbing her ankle. Her short, pleated skirt had ridden up, exposing her long, tan legs. She noticed him watching her as she got to her feet. She glared at him angrily as she tugged the olive green material down.

"I'll see those legs again soon enough and more besides," he thought, smiling to himself as he headed back towards the sports hall. Invariably, the girls were all from wealthy families and wouldn't give someone like him a second look. After all, he was only a trainee handyman from an ordinary working class family in the village. Whenever he'd tried to approach girls in the past, they'd treated him with disdain, as if he were beneath them. The thought of how he'd been treated had made him feel bitter, but before long he'd found a way of getting his own back. Michael wasn't supposed to go into the sports hall without permission but old Blacky had left him the keys and without him around to interfere he was able to go wherever he pleased. He'd found out about the ventilation system when he'd helped the contractors fit the new extractor fans. The changing rooms used to suffer from damp and the school had fitted the new system a couple of years ago.

Glancing around, Michael quickly slipped inside the hall and fetched the aluminium stepladder from the utility closet, placing it under the access panel in the roof. With a final look around, he climbed the ladder and pushed the panel aside. He pulled himself up into the roof space then pulled the ladder up after him and slid the panel back in place so that there was no sign he was up there. In the crawl space, there was a large, aluminium duct, easily wide enough for his slim frame. He opened another access panel and crawled along in the darkness towards where the light spilled in from the vent over the changing room. Now it was just a matter of waiting, listening to the distant sounds from outside as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

"Bloody hot out there today, I'm exhausted," Sadie exclaimed, sitting down heavily on one of the long wooden benches and undoing her laces.

"Roasting," Brianna agreed, sitting beside her. 

"How's your ankle?"

"It's OK, just bruised," the blonde replied, tugging her long green socks off to reveal a painful-looking grey and purple splotch.




The Girls of St Catherine’s Ch. 01



"Ooh, that'll hurt in the morning. I didn't see what happened, was it Portia again?" Brianna sympathized, as she slipped off her trainers.

"Yeah, the little tart's got in for me but I'll find a way of getting my own back, don't you worry," Sadie replied angrily.

Five feet above, Michael watched the girls chatting as they undressed. He found nearly all of the girls attractive but Sadie and Brianna were two of his favourites. He pressed his face against the vent, watching closely as Sadie stood up and tugged her t-shirt up over her slim body revealing her trim torso, her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulders as she pulled it off. He felt his cock stir as she reached behind and unfastened her white sports bra releasing her modest but nicely proportioned boobs. 

At the same time, he kept an eye on Brianna. She looked different without her glasses. He held his breath as she unzipped her skirt, letting it fall to the floor before stepping out of it then wriggling her green knickers over her hips. Michael licked his lips at the sight of her pussy nestling between her naked thighs with its sparse triangle of fiery red hair. She was shorter and slightly chubbier than Sadie, her auburn hair cut short and framing her elfin face. He pressed against the vent as she unfastened her sports bra and he was rewarded with the sight of her lovely boobs, full and rounded and tipped with large, rosy-pink nipples.

He watched hungrily as the girls stripped out of their uniforms then grabbed their towels before skipping towards the communal showers, their bare breasts jiggling enticingly. Michael reluctantly left his view of the last few girls undressing and slowly slid along the smooth aluminium duct on his stomach being careful not to make any noise. Behind him, he heard the low drone of the fan drawing the warm, humid air past his face as he carefully eased himself into position above the other vent.

He looked around excitedly like the proverbial kid in a sweet shop. It was quite a sight, so much firm, young, naked flesh on show. He felt his cock stiffen as his eyes scanned the naked girls not knowing where to look first. Perhaps at the sleek form of Portia, almost directly below, tipping her head back as she ran her hands through her thick raven-black hair, her back arched, the water cascading over her subtle curves. She had dark, stormy eyes and plump lips that seemed set in a permanent pout. She seemed to have a reputation as a bit of a wild child and he reckoned she'd be a bit of a tiger in bed, loud and passionate.

Sadie was quite different physically; tall and willowy with long, silky blonde hair. She had pale blue eyes that glittered mischievously and a slightly too angular nose that gave her an arrogant look. He had the feeling that despite her golden girl looks she had a kinky side. He watched as she soaped her long, slender legs, her hands sliding over soapy thighs that looked athletic but soft and feminine too. He reckoned she'd like to be on top in bed and he pictured himself lying back on his bed, as she crouched above him. Those long, elegant legs either side of his as she pressed her nakedness against his.

He felt his prick stiffen, and enjoyed the feeling of it rubbing against the hard aluminium as he shifted position. 

Next to Sadie, Brianna squirted shower gel into her hands and ran them over her ample curves, the white foam clinging to her gorgeous boobs. He wished it were his hands caressing and fondling her smooth flesh. She was known as being a bit of a swot: the girls sometimes called her 'Brains'. He reckoned she'd be the kind of girl you'd need to talk into bed.

Sometimes he liked to play a game. Whom would he choose to sleep with if he had the choice? Portia , Sadie? Or maybe the cute, curvy Brianna? Or how about the petite figure of sweet, innocent Emma with her fragile good looks and marble skin? As always, he couldn't just pick one and he'd always end up fantasizing that he was in bed with a number of them, all fighting over him, tearing at his clothes, all wanting his body.

He ran his eyes over their subtle curves, trying to etch the images in his mind. Later, in bed, he'd re-play the erotic images of the girls' thighs and breasts and bottoms as he stroked his thighs till his cock strained against his shorts.

All too soon, the girls finished showering and headed back to the changing rooms. Michael sighed knowing he'd have to wait a good 10 minutes until he was sure the coast was clear. It was worth it though. Well worth it. He lay back and closed his eyes, his mind quickly filling with images of the girls' naked bodies, his hand straying down over his warm body and caressing his hardness through his grubby jeans.

The Fox and Hounds turned out to be a typical country pub, complete with horse brasses crowding the walls and an old man glued to the bar in the corner who looked like he'd been there since they opened. Or perhaps since the pub had been built. Under his chair, his small, wiry-haired terrier slept fitfully, legs twitching as he chased rabbits in his sleep.

"Pint of best, Harry," Mr Wicklow said breezily. "What can I get you?"

"I'll have the same." 

"So," Mr Wicklow said, leading him to a table in the corner, "how was your first day?"

"That first class was a bit rough," admitted David, "are the girls always like that?" Wicklow sipped his beer as he carefully considered the best way to answer.

"Well they seemed a bit more unruly than normal this morning, perhaps it was the excitement of having a new teacher. So what do you know about the girls here?"

"Well, only what the headmaster told me really. You've got about a hundred and fifty girls here, most of them boarders, but some day girls. Mostly eighteen, nineteen and twenty-year-olds retaking A-levels."

"Well yes," Wicklow agreed, "anyone could work that out from the website but what do you know about the type of girl we get here."

"The type of girl? I'm not sure what you mean," admitted David.

"That's what I thought," Wicklow said, with a sigh. "Let me honest with you: the girls we get here are, well, challenging, is the way the headmaster usually puts it."

"Challenging? Yes, the head did use that word."

Wicklow nodded thoughtfully.

"Frankly David, may I call you David? Well, we're not one of the best schools. We're not Roedean or St Swithun's. We're not even Westonbirt. We're somewhere for young women who need a second chance. The type of girls we get here have failed their A-levels or been expelled, or sometimes both. In fact, some of them have been expelled more than once. That's why some of our girls are in their early twenties, you see."

"Oh, I see," said David. He couldn't help wondering if this was why he was offered the job.

"Parents are attracted to us because we offer a place where their little darlings can study without any distractions. Parents also like the fact that we're so keen on discipline. Frankly, Mr Lean, a lot of these girls are spoilt and privileged. Their parents are often career-obsessed and don't spend enough time at home. They don't set any boundaries when they're young, you see. And now their girls have grown up, they want us to do that for them."

"I see, so that's why the head was so keen on discipline?"

"Exactly, it's our biggest selling point. We appeal to parents who think their daughter needs a dose of classical education backed up with good old-fashioned discipline." David sat quietly, absorbing what had been said whilst Wicklow took a long sip of his beer, the creamy head clinging to his salt-and-pepper moustache.

"Did the head tell you what happened to your predecessor?" Wicklow asked David shook his head.

"Poor old Professor Carter, he had a heart attack." 

"Oh really! Is he, uh..."

"No, no, he's fine now. Out of hospital and recovering at home with his wife. The thing is there are rumours about him fooling around with one of the girls. Apparently that's what caused it."

"Really, well that's shocking."

"I'm not that surprised. The girls here aren't always as innocent as they appear." "Really? I mean they're mostly teenage girls, how bad can they be?" Wicklow smiled and shook his head.

"You'd be surprised, David. In my experience, there's no more malevolent, spiteful or manipulative creature than a teenage girl. Not all of them of course but some of them are wicked. Especially if you show them any weakness. You really can't show any weakness."

"I see," said David, taking another long gulp of his bitter as he struggled to take it all in.

"That's why I invited you here. I mean I wanted to warn you. I saw what happened this morning. You can't let them get away with that kind of behaviour, they're like animals. They can smell any sign of weakness. You need to stamp it out before it takes root."

"I appreciate the advice Mr Wicklow but I think I can handle some teenage girls, once I find my feet." 

"Well maybe, but as I say I thought it was only fair to warn you." Wicklow said, looking at his watch. "Now drink up I've got an appointment at eight. One of the girls wants to talk about her grades."

Tara waited nervously, her hands toying with the hem of her green and grey-checked skirt and fiddling with her long chestnut hair as Mr Wicklow sat at his desk and finished marking the assignments. He was known for this. Inviting girls in then making them stand and wait anxiously as he casually finished what he was doing. 

She looked around his study. It was a very masculine room, the mixed odours of leather and furniture polish filling the warm, dry air. Very neat too. The books carefully aligned on their shelves and the papers on his desk in tidy stacks. The bottom halves of the walls were covered with wood panelling and the top halves a mixture of rather old-fashioned paintings of landscapes and framed academic certificates. It was quite cosy with its thick carpet and walls lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases. It occurred to Portia that it must be quite well soundproofed too.

Tara studied Wicklow as he sat behind his large mahogany desk, patiently marking some homework. He was a lean, wiry figure with receding hair and a greying moustache. Despite it being several hours since he was in the classroom he was still dressed smartly in a grey flannel suit with a pale blue-and-burgundy striped tie. Eventually he looked up.

"Well now Tara. What can I do for you?" "It's about my grades Sir," she said as he got to his feet.

"Yes?" he replied.

"Well I need a certain average to pass this module and you only gave me a D minus for my last assignment," she said, handing it to him.

"Ah yes, I remember. A book report on Brave New World," he said, taking it and glancing at the top page. 

"Well to be quite honest, I found it lacked any real insight or understanding. I gave it a D minus because I felt that compared to the other assignments that was what it deserved." There was a pause as Tara wondered how best to appeal to him.

"I understand Sir, but if you could perhaps mark it a bit more sympathetically I'd be ever so grateful."

"I see," Wicklow said, looking her up and down. She was an attractive young thing, with large mocha brown eyes framed by thick, black lashes.

"I mean, my father's a very wealthy man and if you were able to help me pass this module I'm sure he'd be able to find a way to reward you."

Wicklow nodded, then got up and walked to the door. Tara felt her heart skip a beat: was he going to report her to the headmaster? She watched as he turned the key in the lock and slipped it into his trouser pocket.

She felt a cool shiver of nervousness run along her spine and her palms grow damp as she watched him return to his desk and perch on the edge.

"I mean it's not against the rules if someone gives a particularly helpful teacher a gift as a sign of their gratitude," Tara said nervously, but Wicklow held up a finger to stop her.

"Young lady, let me be clear: I do not accept bribes. Now we may be able to come to some sort of arrangement but if we do, it has to remain between you and I. Now you probably know of my reputation and you've come to my private rooms at 8 o'clock in the evening. Now I could do you a favour and re-mark this paper a little more, how shall I put it, sympathetically. But what are you willing to do for me? Hmm?"

"I'm not sure I understand Sir," she said innocently, although it was immediately clear to what kind of reward he had in mind.

"You're a pretty little thing," he said, reaching out and clasping her wrist. It looked slim in his large meaty hand and he noticed she wore a slim silver bracelet. Looking at her closely for the first time, he also noticed she was wearing some light make-up. Her lipstick was a subtle shade of pink that emphasised her plump lips.

Tara felt his eyes slide over her as he tugged at her wrist, drawing her closer.

"Please Sir," she said, pulling away from him.

"Do you want me to help you out or are you just wasting my time, girl?" he growled.

"Please Sir, I'm not sure..." she started to say but he silenced her by placing a finger against her soft lips. 

She held her breath as he slid his finger down over her neck and toyed with the buttons of her spotlessly white uniform blouse. He locked eyes with her, almost daring her to stop him as his experienced fingers slowly and deliberately unfastened them one-by-one. She let out a little whimper of protest as he tugged her blouse open, exposing the swell of her apple-sized boobs encased in her white C-cup brassiere.

"Very good," he said hoarsely, as if he was assessing one of her essays.

This wasn't what she'd imagined. When she'd mentally rehearsed how she'd wanted this to go she'd pictured herself in control. She'd hoped he take the offer of a gift but if he didn't she'd pictured him pleading with her till she gave in and pleasured him as he moaned with gratitude.

He was quite close to her now, he smelt of beer and old-fashioned after-shave. Tara felt herself blush and suppressed a sudden flush of pleasure as a warm hand slipped inside her blouse and cupped one of her soft boobs, gently squeezing the yielding flesh.

"Please Sir, this isn't what I meant," she gasped.

"Oh I think you knew exactly what to expect, girl," he said knowingly as he grasped her wrist and pulled it towards his thighs.

"These girls are all the same," Wicklow thought to himself. 

In class, they behaved like butter wouldn't melt in their mouths, sitting there with their legs tightly crossed under their neat uniform skirts, but get them alone and offer them something they really needed and they'd do whatever you wanted. He could be very helpful to girls who were co-operative. Of course, not all the girls were so receptive to his needs. 

Surely, he reasoned, it was only natural that he'd make more of an effort to help those that were willing to help him. Admittedly, that meant he felt less inclined to help the less liberated, more prudish girls but surely having the odd bit of harmless fun was one of the benefits of being a teacher, wasn't it?

Tara reluctantly let him press her hand against the bulge already forming at the front of his trousers, feeling the steely hardness beneath. She hated to admit it but he was right. Deep down, she knew exactly what would be expected of her if she came to his rooms at this time of night. Everyone had heard the rumours about him. All the girls knew what old Wicklow expected. She felt the hardness beneath her fingers eagerly pressing against his zip.

"Now then girl, if you help me out I'm sure I can make things a lot easier for you," he said as he undid the rest of the buttons on her blouse, eyeing her semi-naked boobs hungrily as he tugged it from her skirt and pulled it open exposing her bare stomach.

"Sir I'm really not sure..." she mumbled as she watched his fingers fumbling with his trousers.

"Come along girl," he growled as he eased his trousers down over his thighs. "No-one likes a tease. I can make life very difficult for prick teasers."

Tara knew he was right; he certainly could make life very difficult for her. She considered her options: a few minutes spent pleasuring him versus the rest of the term struggling and being under-marked. She quickly made her choice. Wicklow groaned as she reached out and ran her fingertips along the bulge in his white shorts, feeling the urgent heat of his cock through the thin, tightly stretched cotton. She couldn't help feeling a little thrill of excitement deep in the pit of her stomach, knowing she'd caused his erection.

"Good girl," he groaned, smiling.

"Is this what you want Sir?" she asked knowingly, squeezing his hardness.

"Oh yes, that's the ticket," he moaned as her cool, slim fingers caressed him, stroking him up and down through the white cotton till he felt his cock might tear his shorts.

"You're so lovely and hard Sir," she purred, watching a little damp patch forming as she slowly rubbed him.

"Now then, on your knees girl," he said thickly, gently but insistently grasping her shoulder and pushing downwards. "Now pull down my shorts."

Tara let him push her to the floor and reaching up tugged at the waistband, easing his trousers and shorts down over his hips until his prick sprung free. Wicklow's dick wasn't very long but it was quite thick. It was already as hard as the wooden floor beneath her knees, the veins bulging like lengths of cord, the tip glistening with pre-cum. She heard him groan as she ran a pink fingernail along the taut flesh, his cock twitching, demanding her attention.

Wicklow looked down, feeling his heart thump in his chest as Tara wrapped her slim fingers around him and slowly stroked his throbbing shaft. However often this happened, the sight of a young girl on her knees before him like this never failed to arouse him intensely, and he trembled with suppressed desire as her soft, slender fingers explored his hardness.

Often a girl would jerk him off quickly like she was trying to get it over with and he'd have to make her slow down so he could savour the experience but Tara settled into a smooth, easy rhythm that made him groan contentedly as the juices oozed from the tip.

"Oh God, that's good girl, that's first class," he gasped, his hips slowly undulating as she squeezed him a little tighter. 

"Worth an A?" she asked cheekily, her brown eyes glistening like liquid chocolate, enjoying the feeling of being more in control of the situation.

"Oh you've definitely started your assignment well, but you'll need to demonstrate good oral skills to get an A though," he panted, reaching out and stroking her silky brown hair encouragingly.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll find them satisfactory," she replied, as her little cat-like tongue flicked over his sensitive glans.

He felt fiery tingles of pleasure as her soft pink lips planted a line of feather-light kisses along his cock. His breath was coming shallow and fast now as her lips brushed against the sensitive tip. The more she touched and teased him, the more he wanted, the more he needed, the more he craved the feel of her teasing tongue.

He released a long, low growl of satisfaction as she ran the tip of her pink tongue along his almost painfully hard shaft from his swollen balls to the twitching tip. When she got to the end, she swirled it around the thick, swollen head as he felt his heart pound against his chest.

"Do you like that Sir?" she teased as her tongue flicked out and gently lapped the tip till his breathing became ragged.

"Oh God, yes, I want to feel your mouth around me," he managed to gasp as her wicked tongue flicked over his cock, a large drop of pre-cum oozing from the tip and rolling down his shaft. He felt her warm breath on him as she grasped his hardness and slowly eased him into the welcoming wetness of her mouth, her warm lips sliding down his thick rod. He watched, trembling with desire, as she slid back up, his meaty erection glistening. Up and down, up and down her lips went, his hips moving in time as he felt himself grow hotter and hotter.




The Girls of St Catherine’s Ch. 02



---------------

Friday, 24 May

---------------

Portia hunted through her drawers frantically.

"Hey, have either of you taken any of my clothes?" she snapped, addressing the other two girls in her dorm. Tara and Lizzy both shook their heads as they got dressed.

"Why, what's wrong?" Tara asked, a concerned look clouding her pretty face as she brushed her hair.

"I don't seem to have any white underwear. I was sure I had loads left," Portia said, feeling herself starting to panic as she searched through her drawers.

"Don't worry about it, just put something else on, who's going to know?" Lizzy said, as she buttoned her blouse.

Portia continued to mutter angrily as the other girls finished dressing and went down to breakfast. Finally, she conceded defeat, and instead started looking for something similar to the regulation white cotton bra and knickers. There was nothing similar at all; no ivory or cream or even yellow. It was as if they had all disappeared into thin air.

She stood, hands on hips and considered her options. Maybe it didn't matter; after all it wasn't as if anyone was going to see. In the end, she figured she might as well wear her favourites, a rather sexy red bra with matching panties that her ex-boyfriend had given her last Valentine's Day.

"Maybe Lizzy was right, who's going to know?" she thought to herself as she ran down the corridor hoping to catch up with her friends at the breakfast table.

----

Wicklow was surprised to find Sadie waiting outside his classroom. She was normally one of the last to arrive but she looked up at him expectantly as he unlocked the door.

"Good morning Sadie," he said. "You're early, is there something wrong?"

"Well I know it's not right to snitch on a fellow student but what if I knew someone was violating the uniform code? Should I inform one of the teachers?"

Wicklow smiled as he opened the door and she followed him inside.

"Well I suppose if one of the girls isn't obeying the rules, it isn't fair on the rest of you. Who are we talking about here?"

"Well I really shouldn't say..." she said, coyly.

"Come on girl, don't play games. I know you. You wouldn't have said anything if you weren't serious about telling me. Who is it?"

"Well just between you and me, it's Portia Sir."

"Portia?" he repeated looking surprised. "I saw her earlier at breakfast. I didn't notice anything odd."

"She may seem to be properly dressed on the surface but she's not fully compliant Sir, if you get my meaning," Sadie said, tapping her nose. 

"Not fully compliant? Oh, I see! Portia, hmm?" Wicklow said. "Well I shall have to have a word with Portia. Thanks for letting me know. If you're right you can expect some, shall we say, sympathetic marking on your next assignment."

----

At the end of class, Wicklow sat on the edge of his desk and watched as the girls filed past.

"Can you spare me a minute, Portia?" Wicklow asked.

"Yes Sir, what is it?"

"I wonder if I could have a word with you in private," he said, in a tone that suggested it was more an order than a question.

Portia felt her heart thump as she followed Wicklow upstairs to his study.

"What's this about Sir?" she asked nervously as he opened the door and stood aside, motioning for her to enter.

"Well Portia, I think you understand the importance we place on discipline here. And I'm sure you understand that means every girl following the school rules to the letter," he said, following her in and locking the door behind them.

"Yes Sir," she said anxiously, still wondering what was going on.

"Especially the rules regarding school uniform," he continued.

In the time it took him to walk from the door to his desk, she realised what had happened. It was the oldest trick in the book. Someone had set her up; they'd hidden her underwear and snitched on her to Wicklow, who had a notorious reputation for punishment amongst the girls. Only last night, Tara had explained in explicit detail what she'd been forced to do to get a decent grade from him.

"So is there anything you'd like to tell me?" he said, leaning against his desk. 

He crossed his arms and looked her up and down. She was an attractive girl in a dark, dangerous sort of way with prominent cheekbones, smoky dark grey eyes and black hair scraped back into a neat ponytail.

Portia felt him mentally undressing her; his eyes crawled up over neat black shoes, her white knee socks, her creamy thighs disappearing beneath her smart green and grey-checked skirt. Although it was knee-length, it seemed a lot shorter under his intense gaze.

"I'm really not sure what you mean Sir," she replied innocently as she tugged the hem down over her knees.

"Then let me be crystal clear, girl. A little bird has told me that you're violating the uniform code. I assume you're aware that the rules specify you must only wear plain white cotton underwear."

Portia's heart sank to her patent leather shoes. Clearly, he knew. Maybe her best strategy would be to come clean. Perhaps they could come to some kind of arrangement, like she'd had with Professor Carter.

"I ran out of white bra's Sir, so I had to put something else on this morning. Sorry Sir, I didn't think it was that important."

"Not important? We have very high standards here girl. Everything's important, you can't decide which rules to follow and which to ignore."

"Yes Sir. I'm sorry Sir."

"Hmm," Wicklow said, "well as a teacher it would be negligent of me not to check. So let's see shall we?"

"Sorry Sir?"

"Come on; don't play the innocent with me. You know very well that I have the right to inspect anyone I don't think is complying with the code."

"You want me to undress here in your room?"

"Well yes, unless you want to strip outside in the corridor."

"But Sir, I can't undress here, it's not right."

"Come along girl, unbutton that blouse. Or do you want me to take this to the headmaster? We can go to his office if you like and you can undress there in front of both of us. Perhaps we could invite some of the other teachers too, hmm?"

Reluctantly, Portia began to unbutton her blouse. She took her time, her mind frantically trying to think of a way out.

"Come along girl, quickly," Wicklow said impatiently. He watched closely as she slowly fumbled with the last few buttons.

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards him.

"Now let's see what you wearing under there," he growled, tugging her blouse open and exposing a lacy scarlet half-cup bra clinging to her gorgeously pert breasts. A thin silver necklace with a small cross pendant bisected the cups.

Portia crossed her arms across her chest modestly.

"I really will lose my temper with you in a moment," he growled tugging her arms down to her sides, "now put your hands behind your back and keep them there."

Reluctantly, Portia obeyed him, feeling her face flush red as Wicklow's eyes devoured her semi-naked boobs.

"Well that's not a plain white cotton bra is it girl?" he said, his voice thick with both excitement and triumph. 

"No Sir, sorry Sir," Portia mumbled.

Her boobs weren't overly big but they were nicely shaped and Wicklow couldn't resist sliding a hand up over the warm, smooth skin of her stomach.

"What are you doing Sir?" Portia gasped, feeling her heart flutter as he slid his hand over ribcage but it felt like her feet were glued to the floor. She watched helplessly as he cupped her right breast in his large hand.

"This bra's so skimpy you might as well have not worn it at all," he muttered, gently squeezing her warm flesh. 

The material was thin and semi-transparent with little flowers sewn into the crimson lace, hardly the kind of bra a virginal schoolgirl should be wearing. He could see the faint shadow of her nipple under the thin material and couldn't resist running his thumb over the dimpled surface.

"Please Sir, don't!" Portia mewed as he fondled her. He gently teased her nipples through the thin lace, creating little electric shocks of pleasure. Portia felt her body responding, her nipples hardening and she felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment.

"I hope you're not telling me what to do," he growled, cupping one of her boobs whilst flicking his thumb over her swelling nipple.

"Please Sir, it tickles," she whined.

"Well perhaps if you'd worn a proper school uniform bra it wouldn't 'tickle' quite so much," he said, smiling wickedly as he felt her young body responding to him.

Portia closed her eyes as Wicklow's eager hands fondled her. She hadn't been touched by a man since before the start of term. Even then, it had only been a drunken fumble at a Christmas party and now she could feel her body betraying her, surrendering to the delicious feelings caused by his experienced fingers. 

She shuddered, feeling a sudden warm surge of pleasure, her legs a bit shaky now as she felt him continue to flick his thumb over her hard little nipples. The bastard was obviously enjoying himself. He took his time, sometimes stroking the slope of her boobs, sometimes cupping and squeezing them in his firm hands. Portia felt her breath coming in short gasps, her boobs swelling against the tight cups of her bra.

"Please Sir, don't," she complained as he slid the thin straps from her shoulders and gently but firmly slipped the cups over her boobs. She had small, boyish boobs that sat high on her ribcage, tilted upwards and tipped with stubby pink nipples.

"Quiet girl," he grunted, ignoring her protests, his eyes feasting on her naked flesh. 

She couldn't suppress a small whimper of pleasure as she felt his warm hands caressing her bare skin without the flimsy barrier of her brassiere. Her nipples were rock hard now; tight little bundles of almost painfully sensitive nerve endings. He smiled as he clamped his thumb and forefinger around one of them, pulling and twisting it till he extracted a little yelp of pain from her.

Portia had to bite her lip to stop herself moaning even louder as he toyed with her swollen, ultra-sensitive nipples till she shivered with repressed desire.

He leaned back and eyed her hungrily, like a cat watching a mouse.

"Now then perhaps we ought to check your knickers as well, hmm?" he said. 

"What? No Sir, please don't make me!" she mewed. 

"Come along girl, I need to see just how many rules you've broken before I decide on your punishment. Now lift your skirt and be quick about it." 

Wicklow leant back against the desk enjoying the girl's obvious discomfort as she reluctantly inched her checked skirt over her creamy thighs revealing matching red panties stretched tightly over the gentle swell of her pubis. They weren't much more than a thong, a small crimson triangle held in place with thin strips cut high over her hips.

"Higher!" he insisted, making her lift the skirt all the way up till it was just a rumpled band of crumpled material around her stomach. Portia felt another hot flush of embarrassment as he stared at her barely covered pussy but also a sense of shameful excitement as she noticed the bulge forming in his grey flannel trousers.

"Well now girl. This isn't standard uniform either, is it?" he said as he reached out and ran a finger up over her thighs. 

"I'm really sorry Sir, I'll go and change into proper underwear, okay?" she offered, crossing her legs and squeezing her thighs together as she watched him run a finger over her pale skin.

"Yes, you certainly will, but not before you've been punished." 

"Please Sir, don't," she moaned as Wicklow toyed with her, his stubby fingers tracing little circles on the inside of her thighs. 

"Hold still girl, I need to see if this material is just as woefully inadequate as your bra," he insisted as his fingers slipped higher.

Wicklow stared into her large, dark eyes as he slid his hand along the inside of her thighs, gently stroking the silky skin, working higher till his fingers brushed against the lace of her panties. Portia felt her knees turn to jelly, wobbling a little as his teasing fingers slowly stroked back and forth, exploring her increasingly moist lips beneath the thin lace.

"Hold still girl," he barked, "and spread your legs wider so I can examine these so-called knickers properly."

The stern tone of his voice made her jump and instinctively Portia felt unable to disobey a senior teacher. She shuffled her feet apart and soon felt his tormenting fingers sliding between her trembling thighs, running along the full length of her slit, tracing the damp contours of her pussy.

"Please Sir, this isn't right," Portia panted, feeling her juices seeping into the thin lace. 

Up and down, up and down he stroked, pressing a little firmer now. Despite herself, she could feel her wet swollen lips opening up to him like an exotic flower unfurling. She shuffled her feet apart encouraging him to explore deeper. 

"Do you know what men think when they see a girl wearing underwear like this?" he asked, exploring the textured dampness of her knickers; his fingers probing her juicy folds beneath. 

"No Sir, please," she moaned, squirming as he stroked her warm thighs.

"Oh I think you do. They think, she's asking for it. Hmm? They think that young lady needs a good seeing to. That's what you want, isn't it?"

"No Sir! I don't know what you mean Sir," she replied breathlessly.

"Don't lie to me girl! I can feel how wet you are already," he teased and Portia groaned as he continued to explore her moist cleft with one hand whilst the other slowly slid up over her skin and fondled her naked boobs.

"Such a tiny scrap of material," he said thickly. "I think we both know what kind of girl wears knickers like this."

"Oh Sir," she moaned as his fingers firmly squeezed then cruelly twisted her achingly sensitive bud as her body trembled with arousal, her legs wobbling. 

"Oh yes," he teased, "these knickers don't conform at all, I think I'll have to confiscate them."

He smiled at her devilishly as he continued to flick and tweak her nipples with one hand whilst his other stroked her pussy through her wet clingy panties. He slid a finger beneath the edge of her skimpy knickers, lightly stroking the succulent, naked folds beneath.

"Please Sir," she sobbed urgently as her legs threatened to give way. "Please, I can't take much more."

"Right girl, high time for your punishment," Wicklow said decisively, grabbing her arm and pushing her over the desk. Her legs had turned to jelly and she clung to the desk tightly, like a lifeboat in a stormy sea.

"No please Sir!" Portia cried, feeling her hamstrings stretch as he forced her over the desk, his hand firmly pushing against her back. She felt her nipples stiffen as they pressed against the cold, polished wooden surface. Twisting her head she watched as Wicklow stripped off his jacket. 

"Now lift your skirt," he ordered. 

"No! don't make me," she pleaded, shaking her head, her glossy hair brushing the desk's surface.

"Get on with it, before I really lose my temper," he said threateningly. 

He smiled as he watched her slowly reach back and grasp the hem.

Wicklow loosened his tie, feeling his cock nearly burst his zip as he watched her slide the tartan skirt up over her deliciously plump bottom. Portia was a keen hockey player and she had lovely, toned legs. Her panties were just a thin strip of red lace disappearing between her firm, young buttocks, clinging to her slick pussy lips. 

"Now then, the school rules clearly state that I can confiscate any non-conforming items of clothing," he said, his voice rasping in his throat. He slid his hands over her peachy buttocks and hooked his thumbs under the thin waistband. 

"No!" she squealed, instinctively reaching back to stop him and a brief tug of war ensued, her skimpy panties a thin strip of scarlet stretched tightly between their hands.

"You're only making it worse for yourself girl," he growled, swatting her hands away before easing the damp little scrap of material over her derrière. He took his time, enjoying her helpless little sobs of protest as he slowly peeled the thin material from her damp thighs till it was around her knees. 

"No please!" she begged as she felt his rough hands pushing her down against the desk. Portia sobbed with embarrassment realising he'd be able to see how aroused she was.

"Now spread your legs and arch your back girl," he said, enjoying the sight of her bare pussy peeking out from between her buttocks as she inched her legs apart, her lacy knickers tightly stretched between her knees. He felt his cock press against his trousers impatiently as if magnetically drawn to her naked thighs, and he started to unfasten them to release the pressure.

"Please don't spank me too hard," she pleaded, feeling the cool air against her moist thighs.

He laughed callously as he ran his rough hands over the smooth, flawless skin of her bottom.

"Spanking? Oh I didn't say anything about spanking you, girl," he sneered as he unzipped his flies.

"You're not going to...oh no Sir!" Portia gasped, suddenly realising what kind of punishment he had in mind.

She felt she ought to protest, though in truth she was very horny now and desperate for him to finish what he'd started. She twisted around in time to watch him tug his sturdy cock from his trousers. He was still fully dressed, looking like he'd just stepped out of the classroom. Apart, that is, from the thick, stiff cock now protruding obscenely from his smart grey suit trousers. It was big and angry-looking. He held it in one fist whilst the other pressed into the small of her back pinning her to the desk.

"I think we both know that girls as naughty as you need more than just a spanking," he growled, as he leaned over her, his lips next to her ear, his breath warm on her neck. "I think we both know what you need, girl".

"No Sir, please don't Sir, I have a boyfriend," she begged weakly, realising how pathetic it sounded as the words left her lips. 

"I don't doubt that girl. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if you have several 'boyfriends'," he chuckled, making her squeal with a well-aimed slap on one of her firm, young buttocks.

Portia shuddered, her whole body wanting him now, aching for release as she felt him clutch her buttocks, spreading them apart and exposing the moist, inner folds of her pussy. She shuddered as she felt the bulbous head of his cock press firmly against her swollen lips.

Her teenage pussy was deliciously tight but she was also very wet and he was able to ease the first two inches of his fat cock into her as she groaned and gasped and shivered beneath him. He slowly pulled it out, the tip glistening with her juices before sliding it back in. God, it felt so good, pushing his stubby dick into the warm, tight, velvety wetness, pushing a little deeper each time as she sighed encouragingly.

When he was younger, Wicklow had travelled the world with the merchant navy, and had sampled most earthly pleasures but there was nothing as pleasurable, he concluded, as the embrace of the tight pussy of a nubile, young woman. He'd certainly had his share when he was younger; enthusiastic, dusky-skinned whores in Bangkok, loud black tarts in Havana and quiet, skinny white girls in Rotterdam. He'd thought that that life was over when he re-trained as a teacher but here he was, moaning happily as he clutched Portia's soft hips and smoothly eased his thick shaft into her wetness.

Beneath him, Portia slid a hand beneath her stomach and gently stroked her aching clitoris as she felt his hardness slide into her. She was desperate to cum now.

"No, please, it hurts," she gasped. And it did hurt a little but in a satisfying, fulfilling, thrilling way that made her catch her breath.

"God, you're so tight girl," he grunted. 

"Oh, oh, please," she panted, as he eased another inch of his throbbing cock into her, stretching her pussy even more.




The Girls of St Catherine’s Ch. 02



"What a wicked little tart you are, wearing that sexy underwear under your uniform," he grunted, watching as her hand slid between her legs and toyed with her hot, little clitoris. He couldn't resist slapping her plump buttocks as he pushed a little deeper into her clasping wetness. 

"No! Ow!" she shrieked as she felt his hard hands stinging her bottom.

He smiled as he watched the smooth skin of her buttocks blush pink as he spanked her again then eased his cock out of her until the head rested against her hungry lips. His shaft was coated with her juices now. He could smell how aroused she was.

"Now tell me what a horny little tart you are," he growled, as he abruptly plunged back into the tight, silky embrace of her pussy, enjoying her surprised squeals of pleasure. 

"Yes, I'm a hot little tart!" she gasped deliriously, the words spilling out of her mouth. She was loving the feel of his hardness, her fingers tracing tight little circles over her hungry clit as he began to fuck her harder and deeper. She rocked back and forwards, her weight on her elbows as his thighs slapped against her tender buttocks, her hair brushing the desk and the little silver necklace swinging back and forth between her boobs.

"You're such a naughty girl, what are you?" he growled, spanking her again, her buttocks blushing pink beneath his stinging hand. 

"Yes, I'm so naughty, don't stop!" she gasped, the pain in her buttocks contrasting with the exquisite pleasure in her clit and pussy. She could already feel the first thrilling stirrings of a scrummy orgasm and spread her legs wide apart encouraging him to press deeper.

"You're such a bad girl; girls like you need a good fucking!" he insisted, feeling her hips rock back against him. He ran his hand over her glossy black hair, grabbing her thick, black ponytail, and wrapping it around his fist. He roughly tugged it towards him as he plunged deep into her.

Portia felt her head snap back as he pulled her hair painfully. Her back arched as he pulled her back towards him, impaling her on his thick, hard cock. She felt her boobs jiggling back and forth as he thrust into her, her nipples rubbing against the desks cold, polished surface.

"You need a good hard fucking, don't you girl? Say it!" he insisted, as he pushed his swollen cock into her again and again, fucking her with hard, staccato strokes, scratching the delicious itch deep inside her.

"Oh God, yes, I need to be fucked, please fuck me!" she cried helplessly, pleasure mixing with pain as he tugged at her hair and his prick plunged into the fiery depths of her feverish cunt.

"Louder, tell me what you want!" he ordered, reaching under her and squeezing her boobs roughly. She was so wet now he was able to slide all the way into her, savouring the feel of her hot, rippling depths.

"Please fuck me, please don't stop, pleasefuckme, ohfuckme, fuckmefuckme!" she pleaded desperately, the words tumbling out in a long wail of excitement as he thrust faster and faster, harder and harder, the old desk creaking beneath them.

"Horny...little...tart," he grunted, punctuating each word with a firm thrust that forced the air from her lungs. He dug his fingers into her fleshy hips, gripping her tightly as plunged deep into her velvety depths again and again, his swollen balls slapping against her buttocks.

"Oh, oh, oh!" she moaned, her voice a strangled cry, her heart thumping, her boobs swaying back and forth as he plunged deep into her. Her fingers stroked her swollen clit sending luscious sensations up and down her spine as she teetered on the edge of divine pleasure, the waves of pleasure lifting her higher and higher.

"Yes, oh God yes!" she squealed joyfully as she climaxed, her young body shuddering and twisting, her back arching as the orgasm ripped through her.

As she came, her body bucked and writhed beneath him, her pussy contracting around his swollen cock, squeezing him, milking him as he plunged deep into her and suddenly he couldn't hold back any longer. 

"Oh God!" he groaned as his thigh muscles burned and with a final exquisite thrust, he felt his balls tighten and his hot semen surge along his shaft and spill deep into her as fireworks exploded behind his eyelids and the blood roared in his ears.

----

"Well now, I hope you've learnt your lesson girl," he said as he fastened his trousers.

"Yes Sir, I feel I've been thoroughly disciplined," Portia replied. He watched as she stepped daintily into her panties, and wriggled them up over her thighs, the crimson lace matching the colour of her sore, swollen buttocks.

"And I hope we can keep this matter just between us."

He turned away but Portia caught the worried frown that flashed across his face. She looked over at him as she buttoned her blouse. She suddenly realised that he had a lot more to lose than her if this became public knowledge. Teachers who seduced young, innocent students could lose their jobs. For the first time, she felt the tables were turned and now she was in control.

"Of course Sir, I'm happy to do you that favour. Perhaps you can do me a favour too. Who told you about my underwear?"

"Well I really shouldn't say..." he replied.

"Well I feel like I have the right to know. Maybe you're right. Maybe we ought to take this matter to the headmaster after all, tell him the whole story. Tell him everything that happened. And I mean everything," she said, the threat giving her voice a steely edge.

Wicklow looked at her as he tucked his shirt back in and saw only grim determination in her slate grey eyes. 

-----------------

Saturday, 25 May

-----------------

Brianna couldn't resist glancing over her shoulder at Portia and Tara as they undressed. 

It was another warm, sunny day and a full hour of non-stop hockey practice had left them all hot and sweaty. She felt her damp t-shirt cling to her torso as she struggled to pull it over her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Portia slid her knickers down revealing her scarlet buttocks. She giggled and nudged Sadie, who stood next to her unzipping her skirt.

"Looks like our plan worked," she whispered.

Sadie turned and grinned at the sight of Portia's sore-looking bottom and couldn't resist saying something.

"Ooh, looks like someone's had a serious spanking," she announced loudly, pointing at Portia. 

The other girls stopped undressing and started laughing and pointing at Portia's glowing derrière. One of the girls started taking pictures with her mobile.

Portia turned and glared at her. Suddenly realising they were staring at her bottom which was still red and sore from when Wicklow had slapped her during the passionate 'punishment session' the day before.

"Yes, somebody snitched on me to old Wicklow, I wonder what little tart could have done that?" she spat, looking over at Sadie.

"Well don't look at me. You know some of us are able to get good grades from Wicklow without dropping their knickers. Or doing special 'favours' for him," she continued, staring pointedly at Tara who was undressing next to Portia.

Tara tried to ignore her but Sadie wouldn't let it go.

"So what exactly did you have to do for old Wicklow to get that 'A'? Did you have to take *all* of your clothes off?" she taunted.

"Bitch!" Tara hissed, as she felt her cheeks burn red with embarrassment as the memories of being on her knees in Wicklow's study came flooding back. Sadie, Brianna and Emma all collapsed in fits of laughter that quickly spread around the changing room.

"Don't worry," Portia whispered to Tara, as they walked towards the showers. "We'll find a way of getting her back. A slut like her is bound to have some dirty little secret. We just need to find out what it is."

A few feet above, Michael watched as the girls undressed. It was supposed to be his day off but he knew they had hockey practice so he'd found an excuse to cycle up to the school. It felt hot and sticky in the ducts, the loud hum of the extractor fan vibrating through the aluminium ducts and drawing the exotic, feminine scents of the girls' shampoos and shower gels past him. As the last few girls undressed, he slid along the wide aluminium duct towards the vent over the shower room, the warm fragrances of verbena and citrus filling his nostrils. He spent a very pleasant fifteen minutes slowly stroking his hardness through the rough denim of his jeans as he watched the girls showering.

After they'd dressed, Sadie, Brianna and Emma chatted as they slung their kit bags over their shoulders and headed into the bright sunshine. They were nearly back at the main house when Sadie suddenly stopped in her tracks, and started searching through her bag. 

"Damn!" she exclaimed. "I've left my hockey stick in the changing room"

Brianna and Emma groaned as they watched Sadie turn back. 

"Come on, I suppose we ought to go back with her and help her look," Brianna said, and they both reluctantly turned and followed.

Michael waited till the girl's voices had faded away and the main doors slammed shut for the last time then slid the ceiling hatch to one side and lowered his head through the gap. Once his eyes had adjusted to the brightness he had a quick look around and, satisfied that all of the girls had gone, he slid the ladder back down until the rubber-tipped feet bumped against the varnished floor of the gym.

The gym was large and functional; its walls made up of large grey concrete blocks and a highly polished blonde wood floor, which was covered with markings for the different indoor games, the multi-coloured lines criss-crossing like a giant tube map. The ceiling consisted of tiles that had probably been white when new but were now ivory coloured. Sadie hadn't really noticed the ceiling before but she noticed it now. She watched as the young man carefully climbed down the ladder pulling the hatch closed above him. She recognised him as Mr Black's apprentice, the one that always stared at them when they were playing hockey. What was his name? Michael? How long had he been up there and what had he been up to? She'd always found him a bit creepy. Something about the furtive, quiet way in which he descended made her think he was up to no good. 

"Hey! You there! What do you think you're doing?" she shouted, striding confidently through the door.

Michael glanced over his shoulder as the blonde approached him.

"I've just got here, there's a problem with the air conditioning," he bluffed.

"But I've only just left. I didn't see you come in. What problem?" she replied suspiciously. She couldn't help noticing the sizeable bulge in his tight jeans.

"There's some kind of blockage up there, maybe a dead pigeon or something," he said, as he reached the floor.

"So you've got permission to be here then?"

"Yes, of course I've got permission," he said, looking past her as he heard the door open.

"What's going on?" said Brianna as she came through the door with Emma.

"I think we've got a peeping tom," Sadie said angrily.

"What? No, you've got it wrong, you know me, I'm one of the staff. I'm here to examine the air vents," he insisted.

"Well there's an easy way of resolving this. We can go and ask the headmaster if he really has got permission," Brianna reasoned.

"Well, no, I mean... I don't think he's here today," Michael said, sounding a little desperate.

"Well if he isn't here how did he give you permission?" Emma asked.

"Well, I, er, I mean I saw him yesterday and..." Michael mumbled.

"You know what I think?" Sadie said, jabbing a finger at him. "I think you've been up there watching us shower, you little pervert. isn't that right?"

"Listen, I was only up there for a few minutes, I mean I couldn't help seeing..."

"Ah, so he admits it!" Brianna exclaimed.

"We're going to tell the headmaster!" Emma shrieked.

"No! Wait! Please! I'll lose my job!" Michael wailed.

"Well perhaps you should have thought of that before you started spying on us, you pervert," Sadie said sternly.

"Please don't," he said, running his hand through the tight curls of his dark hair, "listen I'm sorry, alright? Can't we just forget this ever happened?"

Sadie looked him up and down. He looked like he was about to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness.

"Ok" she said, finally, "it's up to you. Either we take this to the head, or we punish you ourselves."

"What do you mean by 'punish'?" he asked nervously.

----

"What are you doing?" whispered Brianna as they marched his sorry figure to the changing room, still filled with warm, steamy air from the showers.

"I've got an idea. If we play our cards right, we can have some fun with him," Sadie whispered back.

Sadie took the keys from his belt and locked the changing room door behind them.

"Now then" she said, sitting beside her friends on one of the benches. "Strip!"

"What?" Michael said.

"You heard her, odd job boy," Brianna said angrily. "She told you to strip. You've watched us undress; now it's our turn."

"But I'm not sure, I mean..." he said.

"Would you rather we took this to the head?" Emma threatened.

Michael quickly pulled off his shoes and socks. He'd often fantasized about being naked with these girls but not like this. This was humiliating. Emma put her hand over her mouth and giggled excitedly as he stood up and pulled off his t-shirt.

"And the jeans," Sadie insisted.

The girls watched as he undid his belt and slid his dusty, faded blue jeans off his hips and down over his legs. He waited nervously, hands clasped in front of him, clad only in his tight grey shorts as the girls looked him up and down. He had a good body, tanned and lean from all of the practical outdoors work he did around the school. Sadie let her eyes drift up over his thick, muscular thighs to the solid-looking bulge in his shorts.

"Come on, you're not naked yet," she insisted.

"Come on, I can't take these off, be reasonable," he pleaded.

"You've seen us naked, so get 'em off," Emma ordered.

"Yeah, get 'em off," Brianna echoed.

Reluctantly, Michael slid his shorts over his hips revealing his semi-flaccid but still impressively thick cock, framed by sparse dark-brown curls of pubic hair. It swayed between his thighs as he shuffled his feet anxiously.

"Very nice," Sadie said as Emma and Brianna nudged each other and giggled at his nakedness.

"Is that it then? Can I go now?" he said hopefully, hands cupped in front of his prick.

"Oh, we're only just beginning," Sadie said, a predatory smile forming on her plump lips. Michael watched as she delved into her sports bag and pulled out an old pair of black tights that she wore to play hockey when it was cold.

"Come on, you didn't say anything about being tied up," he complained, but he didn't struggle as Sadie pulled his wrists together out in front of him and wrapped the sheer, stretchy material tightly around them.

"As my friend said, you've seen us naked so now it's our turn to have a little fun," the blonde said as she tugged his hands over his head, fastening them to a coat hook.

With his hands stretched above his head, Michael had never felt so naked. He felt his cheeks flush red as the girls stared at his naked thighs.

"Hey! No photo's! Come on, that's not fair," he exclaimed as Sadie held her mobile phone up in front of her.

"You know what? I don't think you're in any position to stop us," she said, taking a close-up of his thighs.

She showed the picture to her friends. 

"Nice picture but he doesn't look, you know, as *impressive* as he could" Brianna said critically.

"Come on" said Sadie mockingly, "I bet you could get it up when you were spying on us. Perhaps he needs some help girls."

Brianna didn't need much encouragement. Michael was soon groaning as she ran her cool hands over his nakedness. With his hands trapped above his head, he could only watch as she ran her hands up over his bare legs.

"Go on, touch it," Sadie giggled. "I dare you."

Brianna bit her lip as she reached out and ran a finger over the soft, wrinkled flash of his prick. Her prudish boyfriend insisted that they only made love in bed with the lights off so she'd never really seen a penis this close in real life before and she was determined to make the most of this opportunity. Michael's cock was thicker than her boyfriend's; longer too and she watched, fascinated, as it slowly came to life beneath her fingertips.

Emma stood next to her, watching intently as her friend stroked him. Brianna looked at her and smiled. She took Emma's hand and slowly pulled it towards his erection.

"Ooh, he's really warm!" Emma exclaimed as her fingers stroked his rapidly thickening cock.

Michael moaned as he felt their fingertips lightly stroking him, sending delicious tingles through his helpless body. Their touch was soft and light making him tremble with anticipation. There was something incredibly erotic about the fact that he was naked whilst they were still dressed in their smart uniforms, their hair neatly tied back, their blouses fastened up to the neck. His feelings of embarrassment and humiliation were soon swept away by the delicious sensations.

"Ooh, I think he likes that," Brianna purred as she watched his prick stiffen. 

"That's it, good, I want him nice and hard," Sadie said as she continued to take pictures, her mobile clicking and whirring like an old-fashioned camera. 

She was still angry with him and what better way to get revenge. She remembered how he'd stare at her legs when she played hockey. How dare he spy on them? She was determined to exact revenge by humiliating him. She wasn't entirely sure what she'd do with the pictures but had a feeling that they'd come in handy if they ever needed a favour from him.

Emma giggled as she felt his cock harden. It was as if it had a life of its own! She ran a fingernail along one of the bulging veins, watching with growing excitement as the blood pumped into his semi-swollen member. She looked up at his face as she stroked him, watching him close his eyes, his head thrown back, gasping as she gently squeezed his throbbing shaft. 

"I'm doing that," she thought to herself, feeling increasingly hot and excited. "I'm making him all big and hard."

Next to her, Brianna pushed her glasses up over her nose. She leaned forward, watching closely as her friend stimulated his cock. It quickly became erect beneath her teasing fingertips, like a balloon being inflated. She watched the flesh becoming taut, the head swollen as it bobbed in front of them at a jaunty angle.

"Gosh, it's so big! Are they always this big?" Emma exclaimed excitedly.

"Only if you're lucky!" Brianna giggled, unable to resist reaching out and squeezing his hardness, finding it as thick and hard as her hockey stick.

"Go on, I dare you to kiss it," Emma challenged.

Michael felt a surge of hot anticipation as he watched Brianna grasp his thick shaft.

"I bet you'd like that wouldn't you?" she teased, looking up as she stroked him.

His mouth was suddenly dry and he could only nod eagerly.

He felt his heart thump against his chest as she knelt on the floor and slowly planted a line of kisses along his aching dick. Although he wasn't a virgin, he'd never had a blowjob before and the thought of the redhead's sweet lips caressing him made him shiver with excitement. 

"Is this what you fantasized about when you were watching us, pervert?" Sadie asked, her hands grasping the tight curls of his hair and tugging his head back. 

"Yes," he confessed as he felt Brianna's tongue lapping at his hot flesh.

"And I bet you touched yourself while you watched us undress, didn't you, you dirty boy?" she said.

"Yes, yes," he confessed, already feeling the first stirrings of an intense orgasm.

"Would you like my friends to make you cum?" she continued, her bubblegum pink fingernails squeezing one of his nipples painfully.




The Girls of St Catherine’s Ch. 02



"Yes. Please," he gasped.

"Come on, I want to hear you beg us. If you don't, we'll leave you tied up here for Miss Lambert to discover," Sadie teased, feeling strangely aroused at the young man's discomfort.

The thought of being discovered by the girl's PE teacher naked and tied up in the girls' changing room genuinely frightened him. He knew Sadie was spiteful enough to carry out her threat.

"Please don't," he panted desperately. "Please, I'm begging you"

"Good boy," Sadie said, smiling as she took more pictures of his naked, writhing body, his thick biceps straining against his bonds.

"Oh God yes, please make me cum, please," he moaned, his breath coming in hot, shallow gasps as he felt Emma's tongue on him too, lapping at the juices that leaked from the swollen purple tip. He wanted to make this divine experience last but already he felt himself losing control.

He shuddered with hot pleasure as he watched Brianna's slim fingers stroking up and down the length of his cock whilst Emma's catlike tongue lapped at sensitive swollen head of his prick.

"Louder!" Sadie insisted, squeezing his balls painfully.

"Please, please, make me cum, please!" he begged as he watched Emma, sweet innocent Emma, slowly draw the end of his shaft between her rosebud lips. It felt so good as she sucked him into the warm, inviting wetness of her mouth and he suddenly felt his heart race and his balls tighten.

"Oh God!" he wailed helplessly. "I'm going to..., I'm going to..."

The girls squealed and jumped back as, with a helpless howl of ecstasy, his cock suddenly exploded, his thick pearly-white cum erupting from the tip, like foamy champagne from a well-shaken bottle. Sadie took picture after picture as his swollen balls contracted, pumping copious amounts of molten spunk from his rod. The girls watched, fascinated, as his virile young cock jerked and bucked wildly, thick globules of cum spurting from the tip and splashing on Emma's chin and Brianna's blouse.

Sadie untied his hands and Michael slid down the wall, until his naked bottom hit the cold, hard, wooden bench beneath. 

She waited for him to catch his breath then grasped his chin, twisting it until he couldn't avoid her ice-blue eyes.

"Now then, I've got some very candid pictures of you here," she said, holding up her phone. "And if we ever catch you in here again the headmaster's going to hear all about the day we found you spying on us and how you exposed yourself to us in our changing rooms. A man in his early twenties molesting three young, innocent schoolgirls. I mean, imagine the scandal."

"But I didn't, I mean I never..." he protested

"Well it would be your word against ours wouldn't it? I mean, how else would we have got those pictures?" said Brianna, interrupting as she dabbed at the wet patches of her blouse with a tissue.

"Of course the headmaster would have to involve the police." Sadie added. "So one more thing: if we ever need a favour you're going to be only too happy to help, understand?"

Michael nodded miserably. He knew they were right; he knew when he was beaten.

----------------

Tuesday, 28 May

----------------

Tara looked very pleased with herself as she joined Portia at the dinner table. The small canteen was filled with the sound of conversation and Tara had to lean across the table to make herself heard.

"I said, I think I've got something on our friend Sadie," she repeated.

"Really? What?" Portia said, leaning forward eagerly.

"Rumour has it that she's got a mobile phone. She hides it in her room somewhere."

"Really? How did you find out?"

"Vicky says she saw it in her sports bag the other day."

"That *is* interesting. Having a mobile phone on a school-day is a serious offence," Portia said thoughtfully.

"Yes. Although of course it's only a problem for her if a teacher finds it. I'm not sure we could persuade a teacher to have a look just based on hearsay."

"Oh I think I might know of teacher who'd be willing to help us out," Portia said, smiling broadly and showing her perfectly even white teeth.

----

Sadie sat cross-legged on her bed, trying to concentrate on her book: "And thus I clothe my naked villany," she read, "With odd old ends stol'n out of holy writ; And seem a saint, when I most play the devil." 

Gosh, Shakespeare was so boring and the language was so arcane! A flash of light distracted her and she looked up towards the window. Had that been lightning just now? It had been another uncomfortably hot and humid day now the evening sun was disappearing behind ominous grey and purple clouds that rolled in from the west. It was still very warm but she shivered as she heard a low grumble of thunder in the distance. She was really struggling to concentrate on her book, "Richard The Third", which was part of the set reading list for her English literature A-level. She was finding a bit dry and would much rather be re-reading the much juicier and well-thumbed copy of 'Fifty Shades of Grey' that she'd stashed beneath the loose floorboard under the rug next to her bed.

It was a shame she was struggling with her book so much as she had to write a summary of it by Friday and she could really do with improving her grades. She, Brianna and Emma were all struggling to get good grades from Wicklow; everybody knew that he kept the A's for girls who were willing to visit his rooms late at night and do him 'favours'. Everybody knew that was how Portia's friend Tara had managed to get an A recently. Tara the tart.

In fact, Sadie, Brianna and Emma were struggling to get any good grades at all. A real worry with their exams just around the corner. Everyone knew about Wicklow, how corrupt he was, how easy to bribe with 'favours', but were the other teachers were just as corrupt? She thought about the pictures she had taken of Michael. Men were so weak! A couple of embarrassing pictures and he was willing to do whatever she wanted. She wondered if all men were so easy to manipulate.

If only she had pictures of all her teachers in compromising positions. Then she could blackmail them; force them to help her get the grades she needed to get into a good university. She had no qualms about cheating. Everybody bent the rules. Her father worked in the city and she remembered what he always said: "everybody bends the rules; it's only cheating if you're stupid enough to get caught". But how would one go about getting such pictures? Maybe Brianna and Emma would have some ideas. 

Gosh, Tuesday evenings were so dull! Emma had film and photography club and Brianna was rehearsing for a school play so she was left on her own. She slid off the bed and retrieved her smart phone from beneath the floorboards. It was a slim, neat little thing that daddy had bought for her seventeenth birthday. She tried texting Marcus, her boyfriend from back home, but he texted back to say he was just going into the cinema.

Instead, she idly flicked through some recent pictures. The first ones were mainly of her boyfriend taken on a recent day out; all floppy hair and watery blue eyes. Then there were some pictures of her room-mates and finally the pictures she took of Michael. She couldn't resist taking another look at them, her finger deftly swiping across the screen. Michael stripping off his shirt. Swipe. Michael looking uncomfortable in just his grey pants. Swipe. Michael sliding them off over his slim hips...

Of course, he was nothing more than a pathetic little pervert. Imagine: hiding in the vents above the girls showers and spying on them! Disgusting! 

She pictured him lying in the semi-darkness, the light shining through the vents and casting thick black lines across his face. He'd be watching intently through the steamy atmosphere as she ran her hands through her long, silky hair. Her head back, her eyes closed, her back arched as the hot water cascaded over her naked body. She imagined him lying face down, pressing closer to the vent, drinking in the sight of her nakedness, his hand sliding beneath him to slowly stroke his growing hardness through his faded blue jeans. Perhaps he'd be thinking about all the things he'd do to her if he caught her there alone. Thinking about how he'd force her up against the cold tiles and ravish her nakedness as he rubbed the solid bulge formed by his hard cock pressing against the denim.

How filthy, how wicked, she thought to herself as she undid the first few buttons of her blouse and slid her hand inside as she picked up her phone with her other hand. She ran a cherry red thumbnail along the screen, flicking through the pictures, watching as his cock went from limp to semi-erect to hard. From vertical to horizontal. 

Even though he was a vile peeping tom Sadie couldn't help admiring the firm contours of his body. He was built like a swimmer; quite tall and lean with sleek, toned muscles packed into his slim frame. She felt a lovely moist warmth spread between her thighs as she recalled his strangled cries of pleasure as her room-mates had stroked and teased him, till his cock was rock hard, jutting out at right-angles to his helpless body. The memory of him naked and bound, begging them for release made her horny as hell. She eased her short plaid skirt up over her thighs a little, letting her hand stray between her legs, gently stroking the smooth, warm skin beneath.

She wished Michael were here now. She'd threaten to take the pictures to the headmaster if he didn't do what she wanted. And what she wanted was someone to play with. Someone to help her scratch the delicious itch that was spreading between her legs.

She imagined him whining about his precious job as she made him strip. Making him take off every stitch of clothing till he was quite naked. Begging her not to expose him as she made him lie on the bed and tied his wrists and ankles to the bedposts with some old pairs of tights. She closed her eyes and lay back, picturing him on her bed. Naked and spread-eagled. Then she'd perform a slow, teasing strip. Slowly unfastening the buttons of her blouse. One at a time, making him wait. Sliding her skirt up over her long legs. Making him beg before she removed each item. She'd remove her bra and lean over him, her pert boobs just out of reach. Making him strain the sinews of his neck before permitting him to lick the smooth skin of her boobs and suck at her tight, puckered nipples. 

She gently stroked her thighs, letting them fall open like the pages of her book as her fingertips traced intricate patterns on her sensitive skin as she imagined him begging her for more. She lightly stroked her pussy through the thin, clinging cotton of her knickers as she pictured him powerless and at her mercy. She took her time, lightly caressing herself as she pictured that gorgeous cock of his, ramrod straight and pointing at the ceiling, hard as a tent pole. It would belong to her. 

Ready for her to use for her pleasure any way she wanted.

But before she toyed with his dick, he'd have to earn it by using his tongue to pleasure her. She closed her eyes as she pictured herself kneeling astride his chest, easing her hips forward until her sweet pussy was over his mouth, her most intimate parts exposed to his intense eyes.

"If you ever hope to get free you'd better get licking," she'd explain coolly.

It was such a deliciously erotic image; her sat astride his chest, her knees wide apart, her fingers tangled in his dark curly hair as she tugged his mouth to her wetness.

Sadie couldn't bear it any more, her pussy was on fire, longing to be touched. She let out a long, low groan as she hooked her knickers to one side. A sudden, cool breeze from the window tickled her moist lips. She licked her finger and gently ran it over her puffy, bare lips, mirroring the movement Michael's imaginary tongue. She pictured her hips slowly moving back and forth as his captive tongue lapped hungrily at the honey spilling from her pussy. With her eyes still closed, she slowly explored the velvety contours of her pussy lips, the sensitive peaks and moist valleys, the hard little pearl of her clitoris. How long had it been since she'd last been able to play with herself like this? A fortnight, a month? It was so difficult to get time alone when you shared a room and she hadn't been able to masturbate without fear of interruption for ages. 

Sadie lifted her hips and slid her panties down over her hips till they were a tangled band of white cotton stretched between her wide-open thighs, feeling the cool air against her moist thighs. She spread the wet folds with two fingers and moaned contentedly as she ran a fingertip along the glistening, pink inner lips. Even the lightest touch there caused intense, fiery tingles to radiate out from her thighs and shoot up and down her spine. 

It felt so gloriously decadent to be stretched out on her bed; panties around her knees, her legs splayed, her eyes squeezed shut, mouth half-open. She could already tell the long-awaited climax was going to be especially pleasurable. She sighed happily as she licked her fingers and traced patterns over her slick folds, taking her time, determined to make the most of this opportunity and wring every last drop of pleasure from her hot, young body.

Her thoughts were interrupted by an odd noise. A low rumbling sound. Was that more thunder? No, it was coming from outside the door, something echoing in the corridor. 

It sounded like two pairs of footsteps striding purposefully down the hallway, one heavy, one lighter. Instinctively she knew it was bad news. She pulled her panties back over her thighs and sat up. If she was caught with a mobile phone she'd be in big trouble and she quickly looked around for somewhere to hide it. She jumped as she heard a hand urgently knocking on the door. Unable to think of a better alternative she quickly slipped the phone down the front of her knickers. She was smoothing her skirt down over her knees and sweeping her hair out of her eyes as the unlocked door burst open and Wicklow strode in with Portia close behind him.

"Right girl, on your feet, this is a room inspection!" he barked. Room inspections weren't uncommon at St Catherine's, especially for girls like her.

"A room inspection? At this time of the evening?" Sadie replied. She tried to appear unconcerned as her heart thumped against her chest.

"Come on, girl. it's not the first time, you know the drill. Go and stand in the centre of the room whilst we search."

Sadie reluctantly slid off the bed as Portia closed the door and stood behind Wicklow, smirking.

"Maybe I can help you. Are you looking for anything in particular?" she said, as she got to her feet.

"I've heard rumours you have a mobile phone," he replied.

"A mobile phone?" she said, acting surprised. "But that would be against the rules Sir."

"Exactly," he said, as he started to search through the drawers of her bedside table. Portia quickly joined him, searching through her chest of drawers.

"So what's *she* doing here?" Sadie asked, jerking her head in the direction of Portia.

"Portia was good enough to inform me, and she's volunteered to help me search. Unless you want to save some time and tell us where you've hidden it, of course."

"There's nothing to tell, I handed my phone in on Sunday," Sadie replied. 

Which was partially true. She'd handed in her old phone on Sunday. How had that sneaky little tart Portia found out about her new phone?

She watched as Wicklow and Portia searched methodically, her hands clasped together in front of her. Although the 'phone was very slim and invisible beneath the pleats of her uniform skirt, it felt like a huge pregnant bulge. 

Wicklow and Portia worked methodically through her bedside table, her chest of drawers and her wardrobe before moving on to her desk. Her anxiety gradually faded away and was replaced with feelings of relief and then confidence as they searched but found nothing. It was clear they didn't know about her secret hiding place under the floorboards where the vodka and her books were hidden. After a few minutes, they ran out of ideas and began going back over the same ground.

"Are you sure about this mobile, girl?" Wicklow said accusingly, glaring at Portia who was anxiously searching through Sadie's underwear drawer.

"Yes, I'm sure Sir. It must be here somewhere," she said, sounding a little desperate.

"What's the matter? Not found anything?" Sadie said, unable to resist grinning smugly as the girl tossed another fistful of her underwear onto the bed.

"Well I'm a busy man; I can't spend all night searching for some phantom 'phone," Wicklow said irritably, sitting down heavily on the edge on Sadie's bed. 

He felt annoyed and disappointed. He'd always found Sadie to be quite arrogant. She had a little too much self-confidence for his liking and he'd been looking forward to giving her a dressing down. He'd hoped to give her a jolly good spanking and see a little more of those long, shapely legs.

"Just a couple more minutes Sir, it must be here somewhere," Portia pleaded.

"Perhaps Portia, you need to be taught a lesson about spreading unsubstantiated gossip about your classmates."

Portia shuddered at the thought of another 'lesson'; her bottom was still sore from the last one.

"Wait!" Portia exclaimed. "I have an idea: can I borrow your phone?"

"This had better be good or you've got an appointment with my cane, girl," Wicklow growled. 

He was determined to give someone a good spanking tonight and if it wasn't Sadie it would be Portia. He wouldn't mind another look at her slim, young body.

Portia took Wicklow's phone from his outstretched hand and quickly dialled the number that she'd scribbled on the back of her hand earlier. 

"I got her number from the admin. office, " she explained. "Now, we'll wait quietly and see if we can hear it ring."

Sadie swallowed nervously. She hadn't had time to switch off her phone although luckily she always kept it in 'silent' mode. After a few tense moments, it started to vibrate discretely, making her jump. She looked over at Wicklow but he hadn't noticed her reaction.

Buzz, buzz, buzz. Buzz, buzz, buzz, it went. Sadie had to bite her lip to stop herself moaning with the sudden, unexpected sensations as it vibrated beneath her skirt.

"I think I can hear something," Portia whispered, her cold, slate grey eyes darting around the room.

Sadie felt little electric tingles shooting up and down her spine as it continued to buzz. It sounded so loud to her! She felt her cheeks burn red at the thought of them finding it. How humiliating! It stopped after five or six rings and Sadie hoped they didn't notice as she let out a long, silent sigh of relief.

"I've got her answer phone, so it's definitely the right number. Let's try again," Portia said, hitting the redial button.

"Look, is this really necessary? I already told you I handed my 'phone in, you can check with the hall monitor," Sadie said impatiently, clasping her clammy hands together in front of her as she waited nervously.

"Quiet girl!" Wicklow snapped, noting how uncomfortable she looked.

Sadie bit her lip harder, tasting warm salty blood, as the phone started to vibrate again. Her panties were quite fitting and held the slim, shuddering, little rectangle tight against her aching pussy. She closed her eyes, her whole attention focussed on her increasingly damp thighs. 

Buzz, buzz, buzz. Buzz, buzz, buzz. It felt like a mini-vibrator, driving her crazy. All those lewd thoughts of what she might do to Michael had already made her quite horny and now she could feel delicious tingly warmth spreading through her loins. She had a strong primal urge to touch herself, press the mobile against her aching lips, and rub it against her swollen clitoris to try to relieve the yearning ache between her legs.