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How did Charlotte lose her virginity?
Graham Randall was amused to see, looking out from his window, young Charlotte going off for an early morning run the next day just as he had suggested. He had stood at his window looking out at the early morning sunshine, his window in shadow as the girl in white singlet and blue shorts had run past. He had arisen early in the expectation of seeing her; a vision of fresh, young, feminine loveliness. Highly desirable. He thought of her returning from her run and in the showers, perhaps with other naked girls; or instead, Charlotte coming in to see him, hot and sweaty from her run and him peeling her limited clothing off her and showering with her; the thought of her then spread and open on his bed. He was naked as he stood at the window, but his undoubtedly upright penis was safely concealed beneath the window sill. He watched the girl getting smaller and smaller as she ran across the playing fields. Probably it was early enough that no one else would be up. Charlotte and he could probably have run together — naked and done things in the far wood. That would be wonderful. He turned and walked across his bedroom to shave, tempting as it was to stroke until his stuff spurted out, he had hopes for rather more. He hoped Charlotte would come visiting again that night — he frowned, no she could not come that night, he had arranged to be out. Perhaps the next night: he would have all her clothes off this time. He stayed erect all the way through his shaving. Charlotte was certainly a very attractive young girl.
For her part, Charlotte had gone back the night before to her dormitory, got back into her nightdress and slipped between her sheets. Around her not exactly silence but the sound of girls breathing and just a little snoring. She pulled her nightdress upwards inside the bed and began to play. What she had seen and done! Not just Mr. Randall naked, his penis glimpsed from the tree but she had made it — yes — ‘come.’ It was a lovely thing, in its different guises. She had not dared to, or even mention it, but she had so wanted to kiss it. And as for all that ‘dangerous’ stuff coming out! What men did.
Charlotte brought herself off — and it was not just holding a penis that was in her mind.
She was up early, keen to produce an alibi for her scratches. She came back with one or two new scratches, deliberately done to produce blood. Her friends had laughed at her misfortune with the brambles, told her she was ‘stupid’ to go for a run and so early.
“If you do want to run again, I’ll come with you,” her friend, Helen, had said. Charlotte had been dying to tell Helen the real reason, but she had promised Mr. Randall not to speak, and she certainly did not want to get into his bad books. She wanted to tell Helen she knew what a penis was like — in the flesh — and, moreover, had done things with a real one.
It was late in the afternoon when she bumped into Mr. Randall in the corridor. “Sir, could I come for some more extra lessons this evening?”
“Charlotte!” He paused, just to give the impression he was thinking and such a thing was not inevitable. “Very well, tomorrow, not tonight. We’ll see what you can learn. A little bit of biology homework. I shall expect you to know the names and identify the parts of the human body.”
A very brief conversation, Mr. Randall had hardly paused in his stride along the corridor. To an observer nothing untoward had occurred. Untoward! Not to the sister coming towards them who might, just possibly, have heard the words about ‘homework.’ Charlotte, though, knew she would be taking her clothes off. She was going to do that in front of ‘sir.’ She wanted to feel his fingers on her sex. She bit her lip, ‘in’ her sex.
It was not easy preparing for bed knowing she would be up again very soon. She did not even wait for all the girls to be asleep, just so that all the bedside lights were out so she could slip with her ready folded clothes and shoes from the dorm. To anyone sill awake enough it would have seemed as if she were just heeding a call of nature. Dressed now in her uniform, Charlotte crept down the corridor, down the stairs listening carefully in case one of the sisters was up and about and then slipped out of the door into the darkness. This time she had no intention of climbing a tree, just Mr. Randall’s stairs.
Through the door and up the stairs. She had thought she would need to knock but the door to his flat was ajar. Charlotte pushed and went in. There was no sound of talking but it was unlikely Mr. Randall would be other than alone. None of the sisters would have dreamt of visiting a man late at night and probably he would not have had a visitor from outside the school. She peeped into his sitting room. Unlike the night two days before, Mr. Randall was dressed in his tweed jacket and trousers.
“Good evening, Charlotte, have you brought your homework to show me?” Evidently he had heard her.
“Charlotte, you wished to further study the sexual attributes of the bursa escort bayan human species, did you not? Have you brought something for us to examine together and discuss?”
She got it. He wanted to see her naked and was going to touch. Mr. Randall had told her the other evening not to hurry things. She came around to his front, standing whilst he sat in his armchair and undid the top button of her blouse, showing a little of her brassiere. She had done that the other day, indeed had undone a second button. He was watching. Just as he had said, she had his full attention. She did not stop at the second button.
It felt a little strange pulling her blouse from the waistband of her skirt, letting it hang open with her tummy and brassiere on view to her teacher. She glanced downwards, looking to see if his thing had become big like the other night. So big, so much bigger than she had imagined a penis to become. She could not quite discern in his trousers. Was the bulge greater than usual?
Charlotte reached behind her and undid the clasp of her brassiere. Despite having seen Mr. Randall naked, despite having handled his penis and made it spurt, she was suddenly shy, suddenly a little unnerved at undressing and showing her breasts to her teacher. She held the twin cups in the palms of her hands, almost falling away, almost exposing her breasts. She looked up at him. His eyes were fixed on her hands, waiting.
“Very good, Charlotte. Very good. You have taken to heart what I said about not rushing things — teasing your boyfriend, exciting him by not rushing, not being a bull in a china shop. A little of the strip tease, eh? Pausing at the right places. Very titillating almost showing me your breasts but not quite. It has certainly had an effect.”
He tapped the bulge in his trousers and for Charlotte that had rather the same effect as her holding but not releasing her brassiere upon him. Mr. Randall was referring to, showing her where he bulged rather than fully revealing his… she even had difficulty thinking the word in her mind — erection.
“Go on, Charlotte, let me see them now.”
She was used to obeying teachers. Her hands came away and with it the brassiere. She looked at him, hoping he liked what he saw. She thought them rather small as compared to her friend, Helen’s, and the nipples similarly rather small and pale compared to Helen’s. Helen, though, was dark haired and darker skinned; her pigmentation correspondingly different. How brown she had got in the summer holidays. How funny it has been seeing her naked, yet as if she were still wearing her beach bikini, white skin where the sun had not been and brown where it had. Of course, the triangle of black had not looked so bikini like. Not at all the sort of decorative motif for a bikini! Her friend was much bushier ‘down there’ too.
“Very nice, Charlotte, sweet.”
She frowned, by sweet did he mean small? Her thought, though, was replaced by something quite different as Mr. Randall raised both hands and cupped her breasts, replicating her brassiere with his hands. It made her shiver. Such a good feeling. And then he rubbed her nipples with his finger. She already knew she liked that. Had been doing that to herself in her bed but how much better having a man do that. He spread his fingers out across the skin of her breasts and then brought his fingertips together, again around her nipples.
For Graham Randall it was something of a dream come true. This young convent schoolgirl letting him play with her breasts. Eighteen yes, but looking younger. Very much post pubescent. A woman, but only just. A virgin — indeed virginal. Such sweet little breasts with their so pale pink areolae and nipples. He could well imagine her older and with fuller breasts, perhaps even full of milk and those little nips extended and fat, dripping milk. She would be sexy then, different from now, but as sexy. Variety was good.
He reached and held Charlotte’s pig tails and brought the ends forward so they hid her nipples with their bows. They were more than long enough. What a sight! How he rather imagined a young German Fräulein might look, naked from the waist up and perhaps serving beer in foaming stein. He brushed her nipples with the ends of her pigtails and was pleased with the reaction. An intake of breath. He knew Charlotte was excited, sexually excited. He could see that in the hardness of her nipples. He looked forward to feeling the wet evidence of her excitement later.
“Oh, Mr. Randall, I like that. Shall I take my skirt off now?”
He smiled as he continued to twirl the pigtails, their soft hair caressing her nipples and then made a start, as if he had forgotten something. “Charlotte, how remiss of me, I haven’t offered you cocoa.” He rose from his seat making the bulge in his trousers, a long bulge, the more obvious to Charlotte. “Would you like a hot drink?”
There seemed to be s a hint of amusement behind his request as if there was a joke there, but Charlotte did not know what it was. It would have been bursa anal yapan escort impolite to refuse.
What she did not realise was quite how much Graham Randall enjoyed having a half-naked, bare breasted Charlotte wandering around his flat with him. A girl in her school skirt but naked from the waist upwards. Being there with him in the kitchenette as he made the cocoa. He was practising his own advice. Despite the urgent signals from his erect penis he was not rushing into having it stroked and emptied by the young girl — nor did he plan to empty it himself into the young girl. He was not so foolish as to want the complication of Charlotte’s tummy swelling and the school’s doctor explaining to the sisters just what the cause was and worse the inquiry and having to face Charlotte’s parents.
Charlotte carried the cocoa mugs through from the kitchen: Graham Randall, for his part, watched her from behind enjoying the slight sway of her hips and skirt. How good to know he was soon going to have the opportunity of seeing Charlotte’s bottom and her sex; moreover, he was going to touch her and play with her secret femininity; was she hairy down there, how tight would her vagina be to his fingers; could he make her come?
He sat there watching Charlotte sipping the cocoa. Perhaps he might kiss those lips. Would she like that, would she let him?
She, for her part, had been surprised Mr. Randall had not asked her to take all her clothes off straightaway. She crossed one knee over the other and looked at her legs. “Men like stockings and suspender belts, don’t they?” Charlotte looked up at her teacher, his face betraying a little puzzlement at her question.
“Yes, they do. Why do you ask?”
“We’re not allowed them or tights. These long white socks just seem so little girlish. I’m sorry I’ve not got…”
“Hardly something to apologise for, Charlotte, you look just right in those socks. We could leave those on but, yes, let’s have those knickers off now. We’ll leave the skirt until you finish your cocoa.”
Again, the shyness coming over her as she stood and reached up into her tartan skirt. What a thing to be doing with a man watching, and one of her teachers what was more. Taking her knickers off was something she did every day — had done before bathing and going to bed not half an hour before — but it did not feel then like it did now. The act of pulling them down her thighs made the wetness come the more.
Charlotte dropped the knickers with her other clothes and sat again, picking up her cocoa; she crossed her knee over the other again, very conscious there was now nothing at all between her legs. Mr. Randall had been watching her all the time, an intense gaze. She looked at his trousers and could see the tell-tale bulge there. She rather wished he would take his clothes off too; she wanted to see his ‘cock’ again; see that so strange thing sticking up in the air; she wanted to touch, fondle and stroke; yes, she wanted to see it do that ‘thing’ again.
She sipped her cocoa. There was not much left. What would Mr. Randall do next? What did he want to do? What did she want?
“Have you finished, Charlotte?”
She nodded and put her mug down.
“Come here then.”
It was the moment: Mr. Randall had said her skirt would be left on until she had finished her cocoa. She got up and stood close to him.
“A bit closer, Charlotte, now spread your legs a little.”
He reached, but not for the clasp at the side of her skirt: rather to her knees. The touch of two hands, male hands, was exciting. His fingers placed on the soft flesh behind her knees made her tremble — and then his fingers moved slowly upwards, up the smooth skin of her thighs. At first at their back but then pausing and moving around to their inner faces.
“Oh, oh yes, certainly is… but you are going so slowly. I want…”
“I want you to touch… you’re going so slowly.”
“Best with sex not to go at it like a bull in a china shop. Or a bull in a field with a heifer! Gently and slowly; don’t let a future boyfriend hurry you, Charlotte; don’t let him rush and he comes and you don’t; nor rush into sexual intercourse: there’ll be time enough for that another day.”
Charlotte shivered. A boyfriend, with his penis in her hand! “Don’t you want to… um… you know…”
“Of course, I do, Charlotte, I want to do that very much. It is very much my natural male response to a sexual young lady.”
His fingers were sliding slowly upwards. The fingers of each hand getting steadily closer to the other hand as the gap narrowed. The fingers travelled further up her skirt. Charlotte bit her lip. She could barely wait until they met at the top where her thighs came together and she was, she could feel, just sopping — and naked.
“What I would like to do, Charlotte, is hurriedly remove my clothes, sit back in this armchair, pull your skirt up and have your wet quim settle bursa rus escort down on my cock and slide back and forth until, almost accidentally, I slip inside, if you are not too tight, if your hymen is not in the way, fuck you hard and release my semen, make it spurt up inside you.”
“Oh!” The idea sent shivers through Charlotte. What words he had used but what exciting imagery.
“But, Charlotte, I’m not going to do that. Too quick, too urgent and too hurried. Hardly educational and I do not want, any more than you do, the risk of getting you in the pudding club.”
“Pregnant, Charlotte, pregnant. Your lovely flat tummy swelling.” A hand moved away from her thing and caressed her exposed stomach. “You’d look marvellous pregnant, with your stomach all swollen with child but not something you want now, is it? One day, a few years yet. So…” His hand returned to her inner thigh. “…we’ll do other things. Educational things.”
“Aren’t I going to see your penis again this evening?”
“Later, Charlotte, but first…”
He was very close, she was sure Mr. Randall could feel wetness coming down her thigh. Charlotte was sure she was flowing enough that she would have overflowed and run. “What’s a hymen?”
“A protective membrane partly across the vagina. You may have an intact one, though exercise or enthusiastic use of fingers or a hairbrush handle might have pierced it. Your virginity or maidenhead. I’ll see or certainly feel.”
“Oh… golly!” Mr. Randall’s fingers had now reached their goal. For the first time a man was touching her — there! It was wonderful. Thick, manly fingers, just lightly stroking her lips. So wonderful to be standing there with legs apart whilst Mr. Randall’s hand disappeared up into her skirt. Was she dripping on his fingers? It felt like she might.
“Oh, that’s just, oh, wonderful. I feel so…”
Graham Randall smiled and thought just how wonderful it was. His fingers touching the wet sex of this young girl. How lovely to have her standing in front of him, bare chested and his fingers up her skirt touching such soft wetness. Nice flaps of inner labia, to tug on, a little, and pull open. He kept his fingers away from the really soft inner pool of wetness — for a time. He stroked her outer labia, detecting with his sensitive finger tips a certain amount of curly hair. Teasingly he slipped his fingers back to the tops of her now very wet thighs. How good it would be if he were naked and Charlotte just straddled his thighs and lowered herself onto his (still confined) erection. He would have to be careful with himself. Condoms — he must be good and wear them!
“Play with your breasts, Charlotte.”
The request surprised her, but she complied. Presumably Mr. Randall liked to see that. Her mouth dropped open as his fingers touched her sexual opening and then her teacher had a finger inside her!
“No hymen that I can find.”
He had two — no was it three — fingers inside her, just as she had done to herself in her bed but that had been her fingers not someone else’s!
“This is what the penis does inside of you, but you know that.”
Mr. Randall was moving his fingers up and down, like, like — even in her own mind she found it difficult to say rude words. What would it be like if she was really…”
“It’d be so big…” she had spoken out loud.
“What would be so big, Charlotte?”
“Um, I, could I see it now, your big… penis!”
“You keep doing what I’m doing, and I’ll get it out for you.”
Charlotte dropped her hand and brought it up under her skirt. She had thought he would just get his… thing out but instead he undressed quickly and completely. Amazingly, to her, she was in a room almost completely naked with a naked man.
Mr. Randall pulled her hand from her skirt and his fingers replaced hers.
Now she could not only imagine but see and imagine his… penis. Crumbs it was big!
Her mouth opened again. Mr. Randall’s fingers had moved and were touching her where she had found herself most sensitive.
“Your clitoris, Charlotte, an analogous structure to the penis. Boys and girls develop differently. I have rudimentary nipples, you have a rudimentary penis but as sensitive as my own. A bundle of nerve endings and can’t you just feel my fingers rolling you!”
She could — just a bit! Wonderful. As was Mr. Randall’s penis. So big, so strong, so upright.
“Can I touch it?”
“Not until you’ve come, Charlotte.”
“I’ve never come standing up.”
“A first time for everything. And I hope we might do quite a few first-time things. You need to learn.” He smiled, “And perhaps to practise.” Mr Randall undid her skirt.
Charlotte stood there, legs apart, her teacher’s fingers frigging her — so much better than doing it herself — and did as she was told. Mr. Randall had told her to come and she had been taught to be obedient to her teachers. A lovely long shuddering climax with Mr. Randall’s fingers poking up inside her.
“I can touch it now, can’t I?”
“Yes, Charlotte, why don’t you sit down. You look a little wobbly on your feet.” And so she felt, her knees had become a little jelly like as she had come, momentarily imagining herself collapsing upon Mr. Randall — flesh to flesh. An almost romantic swoon: sort of Jane Austin like. Sort of, but not!
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