Headmistress

The school and university system of England is a strange, anomaly-ridden thing. It has grown up haphazardly over centuries, subject to the caprices of tradition and political whim, baffling to the outsider. One of the anomalies is that the great medieval universities of Oxford and Cambridge (collectively "Oxbridge") select part of their student intake on the basis of special exams which take place half a year after when most pupils leave school. And, of course, most of the schools which can, practically speaking, afford to keep a select group of pupils on for half a year extra are the private ones, the most expensive and exclusive of which are, most bafflingly of all, known as "Public Schools". You will have heard of some of these: Eton and Winchester for boys, Roedean and Bedales for girls. As a result, the English school system at any given time contains a cohort of pupils aged over 18 who are spending one extra term at expensive private schools, either at their parents' expense or, for some lucky few of those from poorer families, supported by charitable scholarships, all in the fervent hope of getting into Oxbridge. Furthermore, in these financially straitened times, it is not at all uncommon for a school dedicated to one gender to open its doors to pupils of the other, for this advanced tuition.

Excuse the history lesson; you did not come here for that. But I hope it serves to introduce the scene we are about to witness. Not at Eton or Roedean, but at the less well known, although no less proud, establishment of St Wendreda's Ladies' College, somewhere in the south of England, where Miss Price, the ambitious young Headmistress (teachers in Public Schools are known as Masters and Mistresses) has this year decided to admit boys to the school for Oxbridge entrance tuition.

It is a sunny autumn afternoon and Miss Price is in her rather daunting oak-panelled study, the portraits of her predecessors frowning down upon her. She is catching up on some mundane paperwork. Wednesday afternoons at St Wendreda's are devoted to sport, in line with the school's professed philosophy that a healthy body fosters a healthy mind. Through the slightly open window, Miss Price can hear the high, clear voices of the senior girls playing netball and, somewhere further away, the deeper shouts of the boys at football practice. Miss Price is calm and satisfied; the experiment of admitting boys has so far been a success, to judge from the first month or so. Not only financially, but in terms of bringing a certain variety, spice even, to her beloved school community.

The sounds from outside die away as the sports lessons come to an end and the pupils troop in from the playing fields and netball courts to shower and change. Miss Price has finished with one pile of paperwork and pauses for a moment to contemplate her grand surroundings and the long journey from humble roots that brought her here. If only her mother had lived to see it.

Her musing is interrupted by a soft knock at her study door. She stands up. "Come in!" A pause, then another knock. The door is thick, and people do not always hear her voice. She walks to the door and opens it, then stops dead in bewilderment.

Standing outside the door is Paul, one of the most gifted Oxbridge entrance boys (Miss Price's policy of calling her pupils by their first names is regarded as daringly progressive by her peers). Miss Price knows him as a shy, studious boy, rather awkward in social interaction, but an exceptional academic talent. Paul is trembling and tearful. He has a damp towel wrapped around his lower body and does not appear to be wearing anything else at all apart from his glasses. Miss Price composes herself and speaks calmly but firmly.

"Paul, what on earth is going on?"

Paul can barely get his words out. "Miss ... I'm sorry, it's just Miss Jackson said I had to come and see you straight away. I've done something bad, Miss."

Cathy Jackson is the head of girls' sport, coaches the netball team and is a formidable woman, unafraid to take disciplinary matters into her own hands. If she is escalating something straight to the Headmistress, it must be serious. And, thinks Miss Price, how would Paul have attracted Cathy's attention? Their paths should have no reason to cross. Something is very strange here.

"Come in, Paul. Stand in front of my desk there, that's right. Now tell me, in your own words, exactly why Miss Jackson sent you here, and why you are only wearing a towel. Take all the time you need, but I need the whole truth."

"Miss, you know this school is a really old building ..."

"Of course. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well some of the rooms have changed use over the years. Sorry Miss, I'll start at the beginning. We all had sport this afternoon. Football for boys and netball for girls. And we came back in and showered. And I was first in the shower and first out."

This seems irrelevant, but she had asked for the whole truth. "Go on, Paul."

"And ... and ... well like I said the rooms used to be different. I had heard other boys say that if you go to the back of the sports equipment storeroom there is still a door there that would lead through to the girls' changing room. It's been locked for years but you can see through the keyhole ..."

Ah, thinks Miss Price, now I see where this is going. Oh my God what has he done ...

"So ... so ... I sneaked in there straight after my shower ... I was there ... at the keyhole ... the girls were on the other side, showering and getting changed. And ... and ... I was watching them, Miss ..." His voice was barely audible.

"Is there more, Paul?"

"Miss Jackson came in to the storeroom to put some stuff away. She found me, Miss. She said I had to come straight to you."

"And that's it, is it?"

"Yes, Miss."

"Paul?"

"Miss, I don't know how to say this ..."

"Clearly and truthfully would be my advice ..."

"Miss, when Miss Jackson found me, I was ... I was ..."

"What, Paul?" But she has guessed.

"I was touching myself, Miss. And she saw what I was doing."

Miss Price looks down at her desk for a long time. Stupid little bastard, she thinks. Why can't he just watch porn on his phone like all the other boys? The implications of this are gigantic.

"Paul, listen to me carefully. Does anyone else besides Miss Jackson, you and me know about this? Did the girls know you were watching them?"

"No Miss. I'm sure about that." That at least was good. She trusted Cathy Jackson to keep quiet and await further instructions from her.

"Did you ejaculate? Is there any physical trace of what happened?"

"No Miss."

"Do you freely admit to what you have done? Did anyone force you? Is there anything about what you have said that you want to change?"

"No Miss. It was just me. It was my fault."

"Paul, we have here a prima facie case of gross misconduct. Now, as you know, usually this would be dealt with by means of a meeting between you, me, your parents and a representative of the school Governors, and we would agree on a warning, suspension or exclusion from the school. But what you need to understand is that this process takes place in the public domain. Word of your actions would get out - to other pupils and their parents, and inevitably into the media. And if it were to become widely known that my policy to admit boys had led to us harbouring a voyeur, you can imagine the outcome. Parents would withdraw their daughters from the school, maybe even so many that the school was no longer viable. If it closed - after more than 150 years of illustrious history, Paul! - it would ruin the life chances of all the pupils, and the careers of all the staff. The only way to save the school would be for me to resign. I would never work in education again. There would in any case be an official enquiry by the education authorities, and quite possibly the police. Do you begin to understand the seriousness of this situation?"

Paul is weeping uncontrollably. "I am so sorry Miss ..."

"I believe that you are, Paul. But that is not enough. You need to be punished for what you have done, and have your behaviour corrected for the future. Now, as this is a private school I do have a certain amount of discretion on disciplinary matters. It is a many years since a Headmistress at St Wendreda's has invoked her right to dispense a summary punishment of her choice as an alternative to the conventional process, but I think the time has come. Stand close to my desk, Paul." She gets up and stands behind him as he approaches the desk. "Drop your towel to the floor."

"Miss ...?"

"Do as I say. Drop the towel. Bend over the desk so your palms and elbows are flat on it. Look straight down. Do not move from that position, or cry out. I am about to administer corporal punishment."

He assumes the position according to her instructions. She stands behind him and begins to spank his slim, pale buttocks, hard and rapidly. She is petite and her hands are small, but all her fury at the danger Paul has put her in goes into the spanking. He does his best not to yell in pain, but cannot help whimpering and gasping. "Yes, Paul, I know it hurts. It is meant to. It's a punishment." She does not let up. His bottom flushes a deep red. Even individual small hand marks are visible on his pallid skin. Tears start to fall from his eyes onto the leather surface of the desk.

She only stops when her arm starts to ache. She steps back, her face pink from the exertion. Paul is weeping silently over her desk.

"Turn and face me, Paul, with your hands at your sides."

"Please Miss, I can't ... please don't make me ..."

"You heard me, Paul, stand up and look at me."

"But Miss ... I've ... I've ..."

"What, Paul?"

"I've ... got ... I've got an erection, Miss."

"That is immaterial, Paul. Turn to face me."

Slowly, he stands and turns, hands by his sides as she had ordered. His body is pale and skinny, small-boned. Almost hairless apart from a shock of thick, dark, pubes, from which his fully erect cock emerges and points, insolently, at Miss Price.

Well well, she thinks. Watch out for the quiet ones. Who would have thought that bookish, shy little Paul would be so impressively endowed.

"Paul, I have punished you for your offence. But now we need to look a little deeper to understand your behaviour and correct it in the future. What moved you to take such a risk when you decided to spy on the girls? In this day and age there are plenty of ways for a young man to see a female body, should he wish."

"Miss, my parents are really strict. Mum searches my room at home. They keep the computer in the living room and are always around when I use it. Dad works in IT, he's really clever at finding deleted files and browsing histories. They never gave me any sex education; they said I should focus 100% on studying if I wanted to get to Oxford. They withdrew me from sex education lessons in secondary school, said they didn't approve. Miss, the girls here are so beautiful in their short skirts and tight blouses, I think about them all the time, I just wanted so much to see more of them ..." he starts crying again.

"You know, Paul, in some ways I feel sorry for you. You feel under pressure at home and at school to excel academically, so much so that there is no outlet for some of your natural instincts. Tell me, Paul, what did you see through the keyhole?"

"Miss ...?"

"I want to understand you better. Tell me what you were looking at, that excited you so much."

He takes a deep breath, then the words flow from him. "The girls from the netball team were coming out of the showers. They were all completely naked, towelling themselves off. A couple of them started talking about ... about sports bras, Miss. Saying that netball was more difficult if you have ... er ... if you have bigger breasts. Because of all the running and jumping. There was a lot of talk about breasts and somehow it then got into a discussion about who had the biggest ones and therefore needed the best quality sports bra. They were laughing and giggling. Someone said they should make it official, who had the biggest breasts in the team. So they made Marie the judge, as she has very small ones so it was never going to be her. And it came down to a kind of contest between Emily and Laura. Marie made them stand next to each other with their chests pushed out. They were all giggling like crazy. Marie looked very closely at Emily's and Laura's chests, she was even touching their breasts to feel how heavy they were. And she decided that although Laura has really big ones, they are quite, sort of ... they sort of stick out, they are sort of firm, but Emily's are similar size, very big as well, but they are sort of round and heavy. So she said Emily needed the best sports bra. But she gave a consolation prize to Laura for having the biggest nipples, they really protrude. Emily's nipples are kind of small and flat. And I noticed that Karen was sitting on a bench watching all this and I think she had her hand between her legs and was touching herself. And then one of the girls, I don't know who, stood right in front of the keyhole so all I could see was her bottom. And then she bent down to pick something up and I could see ... you know ... everything, between her legs, from behind. And that's when Miss Jackson found me."

Caught up in his story, he seems more confident now. And perhaps even oblivious to the fact that he is still naked, and massively erect.

"Thank you, Paul, I appreciate your honesty. I understand that you are a young man with a healthy sex drive that has never been allowed an outlet. Do you masturbate a lot, Paul?"

"Er ... yes Miss. Every night in bed, every morning when I wake up. And in between especially when I've been around the girls at school."

"Well, masturbation is normal and healthy enough, despite what your parents think. My concern is that your sex drive is so out of control, as shown by the incident today, that you may escalate to even more delinquent behaviour. I feel I should help you divert that sexual energy in a less destructive direction."

"Miss ...? Er, Miss, what are you doing ...?"

She is unbuttoning her plain white blouse. He cannot believe it. She takes it off and folds it over a chair. "My intention is to allow you to express your sexual curiosity in a safe, controlled setting, Paul." She is wearing a pretty, white lacy bra. "You are interested in breast size, aren't you, Paul? Do you find large ones attractive?

"Uhhh ... yes, Miss."

"Do you know how bra sizes work?"

"Er, no, not really, Miss, I know there are numbers and letters ..."

"The number indicates the measurement around the torso. The letter indicates the size of the bra cups; the further along the alphabet, the larger the woman's breasts in relation to her body. So for someone like you who is strongly breast orientated, the letter is the crucial thing. Now I know for a fact, from the school nurse, that both Emily and Laura take a D cup although, as you have seen, their breasts are differently shaped. Can you guess what my cup size is, Paul?"

"Oh, Miss, er, I don't ... I mean ... I think ... yours seem to be a bit bigger than theirs ... er ... perhaps E cup?"

"Good boy. That's right. Thirty four E, in fact, which means I have fairly small body but large breasts." (Miss Price, five foot one and slim but for her magnificent bosom, used to hate netball when she was at school.) To Paul's amazement, arousal and , if we are honest, terror, she takes off her bra and stands before him with her breasts fully exposed.

"Oh Miss ... oh my God ... they are bigger than Emily's or Laura's. They are beautiful. And nipples even bigger than Laura's, they stick out so much. Oh Miss ..."

"Touch them if you want to."

"Miss ...?"

"Touch them, Paul."

He has unusually small, delicate hands for a man, and as he gently cups Miss Price's great pale globes, they seem to overflow his grasp. "How does that feel, Paul?"

"Miss, they are amazing, it's like they're firm and soft at the same time, heavy and full, I've never felt anything so beautiful. Oh thank you Miss ..." He begins to weep again.

"Shh, Paul, we have not finished yet. Would you like to suck them?"

He does not even reply, just bends down to her chest, holds her left breast up to his mouth and sucks, gently but steadily, on her big nipple. And she is getting very very turned on. For a boy who has never touched a woman before, he is good - gentle and attentive. He moves to the other breast, sucks that one a bit harder. Miss Price cannot stifle a little moan as she feels a rush of warmth to her crotch. "Miss ... sorry ... did I hurt you?"

"Not at all, Paul. The female breast is a very powerful erogenous zone, and your sucking is stimulating me sexually. I will show you more in a moment. Do you see how my nipples are now long and stiff? That is because they contain erectile tissue, like your penis, which responds to sexual arousal."

"Yes Miss."

"You did not go to sex education classes, you said?"

"No Miss, my parents ..."

"If you had, you would know about erogenous zones. Now as you know very well, the primary sign of sexual arousal in the male is penile erection, which you are demonstrating very clearly as we speak. Do you know what the female equivalent is?"

"Er ... not really Miss ... something to do with lubrication, I think ..."

"Broadly correct, Paul. Erection of the clitoris, swelling and softening of the labia, and, as you say, the production of vaginal fluid as a lubricant. Here, I will show you."

Unbelievably, she hitches up her smart grey skirt, above the tops of her black hold-up stockings, and slips off her white lacy panties. She sits back in a venerable-looking leather armchair and spreads her legs wide. "Come here, Paul, and look closely. You'll need to kneel down."

Spellbound, he kneels, naked and still erect, in front of her with his face close to her wet cunt. Using her fingers, she parts the lips ever so slightly. "You see, Paul, clitoris here, outer labia here, inner labia here, and the actual opening to my vagina is ... here. You should be able to see the swelling and arousal, and the wetness of my secretions, very clearly."

Oh, he can see clearly, all right.

"Paul, I suspect that most of the girls in the netball team remove all their pubic hair. It is the fashion these days. You should not believe the myth that female pubic hair is ugly or unhygienic. As you can see, I trim mine around the edges but leave most of it intact."

"It's beautiful, Miss."

"Thank you. Good boy. If you are very, very careful you may touch my genitals so that you know what an aroused woman feels like."

Gingerly he reaches out a fingertip to her clit, to her cunt lips. Traces it gently up and down her wet slit. Probes a little further. Just finds the entrance to her vagina. She is breathing heavily now.

"Paul, do you know what cunnilingus means?"

"No Miss."

"Well perhaps you can guess - you know some Latin."

"Um ... well lingus must be something to do with language, or ... ah yes, tongue." Amazingly, his studious brain has kicked in automatically even in the middle of this outrageous sexual encounter.

"And cunni ... cunnus perhaps ... I know cuneus is wedge ... cunnus, cunni ... oh, I see ..."

"Cunt-licking is what it means, Paul. Would you like to try? I am very close to orgasm and I think it would demonstrate that nicely."

"You want me to lick your cunt, Miss?"

"Yes please, Paul."

He is a natural. Amazing. Very gentle, responsive to her responses. He caresses her clit with his tongue, flicks it softly. Runs his tongue and lips slowly up and down her slit. She pulls her outer labia apart with her fingertips, lets him in deeper. He finds her cunt hole with his tongue, probes it, licks up and down again, gently tongue fucks her, then back up again to her clit.