Helene walked along the corridor, particles of dust floating lazily in the sunlight. There was already a girl waiting to see Nurse Bishop: Miranda Thomas. The two girls slept in the same dormitory, in neighbouring beds, had known each other since they first came to board at the Catholic school of St Catherine's. Since turning 18, they had grown apart: Miranda was far more experienced and knowing than Helene. Somehow it seemed that they had less in common than the two young girls who had giggled together beneath the bedclothes for months on end. Helene smiled at Miranda, who was, as usual, looking sensuously preoccupied.
Helene sat back. Miranda always pushed the school uniform rules, she thought. Although wearing the same charcoal gray pinafore dress, with the same row of buttons leading from the top of the skirt to the bottom, and the same crisp, white blouse, her dress was much shorter than Helene's, the tops of Miranda's stockings were clearly visible. And the shoes - "Smart black shoes of a sensible nature with no more than a one inch heel" - were distinctly sexier than the author of the rules had intended. Miranda had scandalized the dormitory with the underwear she'd brought back after the summer hols - all these tiny, strappy thongs and delicate, lacy panties - real lingerie, Helene remembered.
The nurse's buzzer sounded, and without looking at Helene, Miranda went through the door. The light turned from green to red.
Helene stood and looked through the window to the lawns. The school's grounds went down the hillside to the fish pond at the bottom, concealed by the trees. Helene liked that part of the gardens, it was out-of-bounds to the younger girls and hardly anybody bothered going down there. It was a real sun-trap, under those trees. Only the other day, when the rest of the school had gone on some sporting occasion, and Helene was supposed to be practicing the clarinet for her exams, she'd stolen down to the secret garden, had lay down on a towel in the sun and prepared to doze the morning away.
Helene had looked around the garden to make sure she was really alone. It was strictly forbidden for a girl to be out of uniform at St Cat's. Feeling naughty at this minor infringement, she kicked off her shoes, rolled the opaque, black stockings down her long, slim legs and lay back to enjoy the weather.
But before she had realized it, "those" thoughts had started to creep across her mind, and the hand that was so innocently undoing the buttons of her dress - the better to catch the sun - had exposed her from the waist to the legs, and Helene's hand was now tracing the contours of her flat young belly, feeling the edge of the innocent, white cotton panties, stroking the smooth mound that lay between her legs. With two hands now, she felt herself grow warmer and wetter, the pussy lips growing beneath the tight, white cotton; Helene felt her firm young clitoris standing proud beneath the material.
The schoolgirl slipped her hands beneath her panties, pushing them down, feeling her wet, almost hairless pussy aching with desire. She stroked her clit, ran a finger between her wet, willing cunt lips. She rubbed herself, faster and faster, the sunlight warming her body and young skin, until at last, moaning and trembling, she had found release in a loud and aching orgasm, so powerful it forced her to lift her arse off the ground.
Slowly she came down from her orgasmic high. And suddenly she felt embarassed, ashamed of herself. What was she doing, letting that lust grip her and take her, exposing her sex in public. She thought: anyone could be watching me. The music teacher, Mr Williams might have wondered where I was, had come to look for me, had stood under the trees watching my wet fingers as I made myself cum.
Helene stood up, pulling her stockings up to her thighs, aware of how damp they were from the juices that had run from her aching pussy, vowing that this really would be the last time.
The nurse's buzzer went. Helene shook herself desparately. She really had to get a grip. What on earth was wrong with her, even just the memory of that day was making her ache and tingle and long to touch herself again. But there was nowhere private in St Cat's. Another year to go, then she'd have a shared bedroom next to the dormitory, then she'd have some space, as long as she had the right partner.
The buzzer went again. It sounded more irritable.
"Helene Ash?"
The person sitting behind the desk was not Nurse Bishop - safe, confidential Nurse Bishop, with her long red hair, her pixie face and her "I'm one of you girls" attitude. The person sitting behind the desk was Doctor Clarke, the school's new GP, wearing his usual clean, white coat.
"Helene Ash?" he repeated, "please close the door and sit down."
He was looking at her notes, speed reading through the last year or two, Helene thought. She said:
"I'm sorry, I wanted to see the nurse", and stood up to go.
"You shouldn't go, Helene," Doctor Clarke said firmly, "I see you've made and missed a few appointments in the last month, so you may as well stay and get to the bottom of it. There's no-one else out there, so you're not wasting my time." He smiled. "Why don't you give me a go?"
Doctor Clarke came around his desk and perched on the front. "He's quite an attractive man", Helene thought, taking in his twinkly brown eyes, his curly hair, his strong neck and powerful physique.
The doctor leant forward and took her hand.
"I've heard it all in the last two terms," he said, confidentially. "I've had girls tell me they're pregnant because they've touched their boyfriends' penises, I've had girls tell me they're going to hell because they had some brief and unfulfilling lesbian encounter in the dorms. I've even", he tapped his nose and grinned boyishly, "had the odd teacher come in. You'd be amazed what what goes on in a catholic girl's school."
He stopped, and looked down at Helene.
"Now, unless you're going to tell me that you had sex with three boys at the same time last night, you're not going to tell me anything new."
His eyes played over Helene, noting her schoolgirl pigtails, the sensible shoes, the correctly-sized dress, the stocking-tops properly concealed.
"And it's not that... but it's something to do with sex, otherwise you won't have been waiting to see Sarah. Nurse Bishop," he added, "Shall I guess? Shall I try and guess this dirty little secret that you're convinced is so shameful?"
Helene nodded, dry-throated.
"You fancy a boy and you don't know what to do about it?"
Helene shook her head.
"There's a girl, and she makes you have funny feelings..."
Helene blushed, shaking her heard vigorously. Doctor Clarke paused. He could feel his cheeks growing a little warm himself.
"You used a toy to pleasure yourself and you're worried you're not a virgin any more?"
Helene sat up, wide-eyed: "can that happen?"
Doctor Clarke laughed, "No, no, of course not, only a fully erect male penis, sliding into your vagina can take that away. Fingers, vibrators, dildos, cucumbers and bananas, it's not the same at all. So, what is it, Helene, what is your secret?"
Helene looked at her feet.
"I think about sex all the time. And I get so hot, and I get so wet."
She looked up at the doctor.
"And what do you do with these feelings, Helene?"
She shrugged.
"Sometimes nothing. Sometimes I touch myself."
She swallowed hard.
"Actually. 'Sometimes' isn't right. It's 'always', I always touch myself when I think about sex."
Doctor Clarke was looking serious.
"And how often do you masturbate?"
"Four, five, six times a day, whenever I can," Helene confessed. "When I'm in the showers. When I wake up, when I'm lying in bed, sometimes I can make myself ... two or three times in one go."
Doctor Clarke laughed. "Lucky girl, I can only do it two or three times a day."
He noted her expression.
"We all do it, when you're lying in bed at night feeling guilty, chances are that half the girls in the dorm are playing with themselves, and probably most of the mistresses too! But, I can see you have a bit of a problem with being so self-conscious about your sexuality. Can you bring yourself to use the right words?"
Helene felt ashamed: she could hear the words - crude dormitory words - but they wouldn't go past her lips.
Doctor Clarke smiled kindly.
"I masturbate, Helene, shall I tell you how I do it?"
He didn't wait for her to answer.
"Sometimes I'm just so horny, I feel I'm going to explode. I feel my balls are going to explode, Helene, and I just need to make myself cum really quickly, and I'll just undo my trousers, and I'm already stiff, and a few moments later, I'm done. Sometimes I'll be thinking about someone, and I'll be lying in bed, and my cock is hard and big, but I tease myself, pulling my cock slowly, in long, steady motions, until I can stand it no longer - and then, when I cum, the spunk shoots over my stomach and my chest."
He laughed, self-consciously.
"Probably, if I could do it five or six times a day, I would, but I'd never fit it in. So, Helene, what words can you say?"
"I don't know where to start, Doctor Clarke."
"Let me help you. Repeat after me: 'I touch myself on the nose and I like it.' "
"I touch myself on the nose and I like it."
"I stroke my tummy and it feels nice."
Helene repeated it, unconsciously touching herself. Doctor Clarke thought for a moment.
"I like to feel how soft my legs are above my stocking tops."
Helene sat a little further back, her mouth open, stroking her legs above her stockings.
Doctor Clarke thought: "I'm glad they make them wear those, the number of times I've wanted a girl to wrap her long, stockinged legs around my waist and pull me in deeper while I empty my balls into her wet cunt."
He cleared his throat.
"I like to lie down and stroke my pussy."
Helene copied him in a daze, then thought, ashamed: "how can I say these forbidden things?"
But something inside her had changed for ever.
"Masturbate," she said, pronouncing the word carefully.
Doctor Clarke looked surprised.
"Is that an order?"
For a moment, Helene nearly said yes. But she smiled and shook her head.
Doctor Clarke stood up, suddenly brusque. Helene noticed that his brown corduroy trousers were bulging, as if under tremendous pressure.
"Naughty Doctor Clarke," she thought, and then suddenly: "I did that, I made that man's cock grow hard. He wants me, he wants to put his cock inside me, he wants to empty himself deep inside my wet, lusting pussy."
Helene could feel herself being overtaken with lust, she said: "I think I'm going to go back to the dormitory now."
Doctor Clarke laughed: "I bet you can't say what you're going to do."
Helene blushed, and looked deliberately up into his brown eyes.
