How did Charlotte lose her virginity?
Part 2
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.
"Homework, sir?"
"Charlotte, you wished to further study the sexual attributes of the 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 impolite to refuse.
