How did Charlotte Lose Her Virginity?
Part 6
Graham Randall found he seemed to gravitate to that upper study to plan and mark. It was quiet and he rather liked the desk. He was not unhappy, one afternoon, to find Charlotte sneaking in to visit him. He looked up from his marking, fountain pen, the one with the red ink he used for marking and comments, held in his hand, "Yes, Charlotte?"
"I... wanted your autograph, sir -- sort of."
It was not, though, an autograph book she had brought, but a diary. No doubt fascinating reading. Quite a few girls keep a diary, recording the events of a day and their thoughts. Not for publication, not like Samuel Pepys famous diary. Graham would very much have liked to have read her reflections on her sexual encounters with him. If she had included them.
That she had almost certainly included and written at length became clear when she revealed quite what sort of autograph Charlotte wanted. It was not an autograph done with a flourish of his fountain pen; not his usual signature in black, blue or even red ink; it was an autograph done with another 'pen' entirely. He had already made several appearances in her diary and she wanted him to come again within it -- literally. She wanted him spurted across her page. Yes, to ejaculate across a page, a very intimate and personal 'autograph.'
"Would you, sir, I sort of want to remember..." She was biting a lip, clearly nervous at what she was asking. "I so remember when you first... see I've recorded what you said when I first saw you come." She turned the pages back and there under her finger the sentence - "You can let go now, Charlotte." But the pages were turned back before he could read more.
"You want me to ejaculate into your diary, Helen?"
She nodded, looking nervous.
"Really?"
She nodded again.
"Do you wish to do the job or me?"
"You, sir, in your own hand, I'd love to see you wank." Her hand flew to her mouth at what she had said. "Your autograph... sort of."
Such an unusual request, yet rather exciting in a strange way. Graham was tempted to suggest Charlotte came to see him in the evening but there was something just so appealing at the idea of 'signing' her diary on the big desk in that room. A risk someone might come but only a very small risk. Yet unlike Helen under the desk there would not be much opportunity to hide himself.
Yet with a strategic moving of his pile of exercise books between him and the door, plus his chair there behind him for a hurried sit down should the door handle turn, Graham decided to risk it.
"Very well, Charlotte, perhaps you might get my... err... pen out." Graham stood.
Lovely to feel and see the girl's hands at his fly, her slim fingers feeling inside and drawing out his penis and pulling at his foreskin. It erected easily. Graham glanced at the door. He would need to keep one eye upon that. Behind him, his chair; he could sit down very hurriedly if need be.
"Sometimes, Charlotte, when your fountain pen doesn't work do you lick the nib to make the ink flow?"
The smile on the young woman's face was a joy, the way her eyes sparkled with merriment and her pigtails with their dark blue bows jiggled; she had understood his allusion straightway. He really was having quite a bad effect upon her. She bent her head and crouched and Graham both felt and watched her tongue very deliberately licking his nib, where the 'ink' should flow; his rounded knob.
"A bit more, sir? But I don't want the 'ink' to come out all in a rush." The dear girl let her lips slide over the smooth skin and begin a gentle fellation.
It most certainly ensured the 'ink' was ready to flow but not to drip as fountain pens can sometimes drip over a page -- especially if they are flicked! Just a moistening.
So pleasant but so risky. If the door were to open and one of the girls -- other than Helen -- or one of the nuns... Graham lifted Charlotte back up. "I think I can write with it now, Charlotte, thank you. My, err, pen is..." he smiled, "...ready." He began to wank as if he was standing looking out of the window at the girls playing hockey in the field, or perhaps examining pictures in a men's magazine. A surprising thing to be doing himself when a young woman was there, perfectly capable, and normally willing to assist with her fine, feminine hands or warm, wet mouth.
"Any particular message with my autograph?"
"Please, write whatever you like."
Graham wanked as he looked at Charlotte, thinking what he might do if they were alone in his flat. He thought he would undress her; slowly, garment by garment -- he would like that. The thought how much he would like to have unprotected intercourse with her -- see the result afterwards, his white cum flowing from her sex. His thoughts brought him close to release. Normally he would have slowed, taken time and pleasure but with the door across the room and the risk of it being opened... Best to perform the deed reasonably quickly.
It was strange aiming himself at a book, the double open, but still blank pages of Charlotte's diary. His eyes moved back from book to door and then to Charlotte. She was watching intently, awaiting the signing.
Unwise to unnecessarily prolong his exposure, probably best to get past the most dangerous time for discovery -- when he was helplessly unable to stop the ejaculation and when he was actually coming. Graham did not 'edge,' did not pleasurably hold himself close to coming, rather he stroked himself over the edge. A glance at Charlotte's intense face and then he watched himself ejaculate.
A spurt across the pages.
