Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Name: Wistful
Title: A Private Education
Part: Part Two
Summary: Ten year old Adrian is caught masturbating by the school
matron. When he is taken to her office, he dreads the consequences but
finds himself surprised and confused by what happens next.
Keywords: Fb, voy, pedo, slow





   The story below will hopefully make more sense if you read Part One
first.

   I would really appreciate your feedback, good or bad, as well as
suggestions you have for improvements, so that I can decide whether it is
worth continuing.  Email me at adrianloop@hotmail.co.uk and I will get back
to you.

   The story below is a work of fiction, and has no basis in fact.





   A Private Education

   "Right Adrian.  I think it's time we had a little talk, don't you?"

   The reality of her question left him tongue-tied.  He wanted to say
"No", to get off the examination couch and run from the room, down the
corridor, back to the safety and darkness of his bed.  But he knew that the
world wasn't like that; adults weren't like that.  She would come after
him, drag him from his bed, take him down to the Headmaster.  And then....

   "Yes, Miss," he said quietly, his voice almost a whisper.  He couldn't
look at her, but stared into the middle distance, his eyes unfocused.  His
only comfort was that he felt his erection shrinking, his small cock
shrivelling back against his tight little balls.

   "You don't have to call me 'Miss'.  My name is Nikki," the softness of
her voice surprised him, "and I'm not going to bite you." As before there
seemed to be laughter in her voice, and he glanced at her quickly to see
she was smiling at him.  Again, he was aware of her laughing at some
secret, unfathomable joke.

   "Yes Mi..." He stopped mid-word, embarrassed to say her name out loud.

   "Now I want you to be truthful with me Adrian.  I want you to tell me
what you were doing when I saw you in the dormitory." Again, there was no
harshness in her voice.  But how could she ask him such an impossible
question?  How could he possibly tell her the truth?  He felt his face
reddening and tears starting in his eyes.

   "Just scratching," he whispered, remembering his original lie just in
time.

   "Oh I don't think you were scratching, were you?" She paused, and when
he didn't speak, continued, "I was watching.  I saw your hand under the
covers, moving up and down, getting faster and faster." She paused again. "
I saw your body tense.  I heard your breathing get louder.  That wasn't
scratching, was it, Adrian?"

   The way she said the word 'scratching' left him defeated.  She knew what
he had been doing, had even watched him for a little while before she
stopped him.

   "No, Miss." His voice seemed to have shrunk away to almost nothing.

   For a moment she seemed about to speak but then stopped herself. 
Instead, she got up from behind her desk, picked up her chair and carried
it over to the examination couch.  She placed it slightly in front of him,
and, smoothing her skirt over her bottom, slowly sat down.  She leaned
slightly forward towards him, resting her forearms on her thighs, and her
blouse gaped.  He looked away quickly, frightened that his erection might
come back; whatever he did, he knew that he had to try not to look.  He
must keep his eyes down, unfocused.

   "You don't have to be shy, Adrian, and you don't need to be frightened
of me.  What we say to each other will be our secret, I'm not going to tell
anyone else.  And as we are on our own, I want you to call me Nikki.  Will
you do that for me?"

   Her tone was soft, persuasive.  "Yes Mi...  Nikki."

   "There that wasn't so difficult, was it?  So tell me, what were you
doing?"

   "I was touching myself."

   "And where were you touching yourself?"

   He looked at her for a moment, his blush rising again.  "I can't tell
you.  It's...  rude."

   "Adrian you can tell me, I won't be upset.  Like I said, this is our
secret.  Where were you touching yourself?"

   He thought desperately for the right word, the word that wouldn't upset
her.  He knew there was a proper word, but as his mind panicked, he
couldn't remember it.

   "On my....  cock." As soon as he said it he looked at her, expecting a
rebuke, but she simply smiled at him.  Her eyes seemed to twinkle back at
him.

   "And what were you doing to your cock, Adrian?"

   "Rubbing it, Mi..."

   "Was it hard when you rubbed it?"

   "Yes."

   "So you were masturbating, weren't you Adrian?" Sensing his confusion,
she continued quickly, "That's a fancy word for wanking.  You know what
'wanking' means, don't you?".

   Her use of the word startled him, startled and excited.  "Yes, Miss. 
Sorry, Miss."

   "You're sorry?  That you know that wanking means?" Her words were edged
with laughter, her tone, teasing.

   Despite himself, he felt a slight urge to laugh, but held it back.  "No,
I'm sorry that I was mast.., mastrer..., wanking".

   Out of the corner of his eye he saw her lean further forward and felt
her hand rest on his arm.

   "Look at me, Adrian."

   Her soft, seductive voice compelled him.  He turned and looked at her.
Her eyes looked directly into his, but try as he might he couldn't hold her
gaze but found himself looking downwards.  Her blouse now gaped so much
that he could see her breasts clearly.  They hung like two delicious globes
in front of him, pink, and to his mind perfect.  He looked at the soft
round shape of them, and at the darker nipples that if anything seemed more
pointed and erect than the last time he saw them.  And he yearned to reach
out and touch them, to feel their firmness in his hands, to brush his
fingers over the nipples and to run his face along that soft, warm valley
between them.

   As if coming out of a dream, he felt the blood flow into his cock, felt
it swelling, felt it pressing against the material of his dressing gown.

   He became aware that she seemed to be waiting, almost as if she knew
what he was doing, and he looked back to her face.

   "Listen to me," she said, as if nothing had happened, "you don't have to
be sorry for touching yourself.  Everybody likes to touch themselves, no
matter who they are.  You don't have to be ashamed of yourself."

   He felt so shocked by what she had said, that before he could stop
himself, he said, "But my mum says that things like that are wrong, and a
sin."

   He felt her squeeze his wrist and noticed for the first time that she
had moved her hand from higher up his arm.  Without looking down, he knew
that it was only six inches from what now must be a small tent in his
dressing gown.

   "Well I don't think she's right." She leaned even closer to him.  "As
you have told me a secret tonight, can I tell you one?"

   He nodded, entranced by the softness of her voice.

   "And you promise you won't tell anyone?"

   "I promise, Nikki, I won't tell anyone," he whispered.

   She smiled at him, and whispered back, "I like to masturbate too."

   The world seemed to stop for him.  He felt the impact of her words as if
he had been hit, and he was aware that his mouth was hanging open.  A
confusion of questions and images raced through his mind, but he couldn't
speak, couldn't move.  Except for that one part of him, that betrayer.  He
felt a surge of energy in his prick, felt it swell to its full size and
then stand vertically, held in place by his dressing gown.

   "Sometimes, I get excited, just like you.  And when I do, I like to
touch myself, between my legs."

   Automatically, his eyes slid down to that imaginary place under her
skirt.

   She smiled down at him.  "Are you OK?" she asked.

   "Yes."

   Her eyes glanced down his body for a moment and then back to his face.

   "Are you ...  comfortable?"

   His sheepish smile betrayed what they both knew.

   "So now you know my secret, will you tell me more about yours?"

   He hadn't thought about it that way before, sharing secrets.  He had
expected, at almost every moment, for this strange evening to stop, for
disaster to explode around him.  But he suddenly realised that it hadn't,
that in fact this beautiful woman, in whose body he wanted to drown, didn't
disapprove of what he was doing, but seemed to understand, even wanted it
to be a secret, just between the two of them.  He realised that he would
never understand the world of adults, but with her, now, he felt less
anxious, less ashamed, more confident.

   "Ok, Nikki." He used her name on purpose, as a signal that he trusted
her.

   He felt her hand leave his wrist and rest on his thigh, about halfway
between his knee and.....

   "Does your cock get hard every night, Adrian?" Her words were like
syrup, flowing over him to his loins.

   "Yes."

   "And do you rub it, like you were tonight?" She was bending forward,
eager to catch his answer, concentration on her face.  He felt sucked in by
her interest.  Her hand began to stroke gently up and down on his thigh.

   "Yes," he said, a little more quietly.

   "And does it make you feel really good?"

   He wasn't sure what to answer.  He knew he liked wanking, and that it
sort of felt good, but equally he had never cum.

   "I don't know what you mean."

   She smiled at him.  "Well, when I touch myself, it feels very good, but
at the end, it feels wonderful.  Isn't it like that when you do it?"

   For a moment he was lost in vague images of ridges and folds and dark
hollows.  He felt her hand extend its range, stroking slightly higher with
each slow sweep.  He was finding it hard to concentrate.

   "No it doesn't.  I mean, I like doing it, but sometimes it hurts and I
have to stop."

   She sat back slightly in her chair.  "Where does it hurt?"

   Her hand had gone, and her change of tone had worried him slightly.  He
knew where it hurt, but not how to explain it.  "It's difficult to
describe," he said.  "It feels sore at the back of the large bit at the
top. And sometimes lower down."

   "Mmmm," she said, as if considering what to do next.  There was a long
pause.  "I think," she continued, "that we need to find out what the
problem is, don't you?" Again, he had the feeling that there was more to
her words than he understood.

   "Yes."

   "And to do that," she paused again, "I am going to have to examine you."

   While he was still trying to grasp the significance of what she said,
she stood up, turned and walked over to a bag on the floor next to the
door. Again he watched the flesh of her bottom roll with each stride.  She
crouched down and picked up the back, squatting on her haunches, her back
to him.  She appeared to be trying to find something in it.

   Once again this evening he thoughts were full of contradictions: he was
suddenly anxious because she seemed to think he had a problem; and yet, if
she examined him it would mean that ...

   "Oh, the light in here is terrible!" she said, sounding annoyed.  She
seemed to pivot on her heels and turned around until she was facing him. 
As earlier, beside the filing cabinet, her legs parted, and once more he
was able to see to the apex of her thighs; as earlier, he abandoned all
pretence and simply stared.  Only this time the light seemed stronger.

   "Are you looking up my skirt again, Adrian?"

   He looked at her face, and there seemed to be no recrimination in her
eyes, rather the hint of a smile.

   "Yes." He was going to add "Sorry", but something about her expression
told him he didn't need to.

   "It's alright, you know.  I don't mind you looking." The soft, delicious
purr of her words invited him.

   He turned his body towards her on the examination couch, leant his head
on his elbow, and bathed in the sight before him.  His eyes traced the
small ridges and folds beneath her panties, trying to make sense of the
patterns of flesh.  He was suddenly aware that she was moving.  Barely
perceptibly her bottom seemed to be moving forward, pulling her panties
more firmly between her buttocks, stretching the material more tightly
against her.  And almost magically, he noticed a small bump, near where the
stretched tendons at the top of her thighs met her body, and below it two
curved ridges that seemed to part and then rejoin, leaving a small
indentation in the middle.  As he watched, he saw the material begin to
darken with moisture, and as it did so, it seemed as if it was becoming
transparent.  And this was where she liked to touch herself.  He felt the
room around him swirling, felt the breath stuck in his lungs, felt the
blood throbbing in his cock.

   "I don't think we're alone," she whispered.  He heard the laughter in
her words, but her eyes were not upon his face; they seemed to be looking
further down.  He followed her gaze and saw to his horror that his dressing
gown had parted, and the tip of his prick was jutting through his pyjama
fly.  It was fully erect, and red and swollen.  He lay back quickly,
pulling his dressing gown over himself, and felt himself blushing again.

   She stood up, holding a bunch of keys in her hand.  "If I'm going to
examine you, I think we better lock the door.  We don't want to be
disturbed, do we?" After locking it and walking back to the couch, she
moved the chair away and stood looking down at him.

   "Now Adrian, I know that being so intimately examined can be very
embarrassing for a young, handsome man like you, especially when it's by a
woman, but I think that it is very important we find out what is the
matter. To make it easier for you, we're going to play a game, a very
naughty game.  We're going to have to use very naughty words and do very
naughty things.  I don't want you to be shy, or we may not be able to get
to the ...  root of your problem.  Is that OK?"

   His senses were in overdrive.  He could hear his heart pounding in his
ears.  A strange musky smell, a mixture of perfume and something else he
hadn't noticed before, hung in the air.

   "Yes."

   "Good.  Now first of all I want you to open your dressing gown and slide
off your pyjama trousers."

   Like an automaton he did as she asked, finally kicking his trousers off
on to the floor.  He looked down at himself.  His prick pointed up towards
his stomach, but so erect that it slanted up into the air.  He could see it
pulse to the rhythm of his heartbeat.  He looked back up at her.  Three
buttons of her blouse were now undone, and her hand was inside it, moving
in slow circles.  As she withdrew it, the blouse stayed open, and he could
see the valley between her breasts.

   "Oh Adrian, what a lovely little cock!" She sounded like someone out of
breath.  "It's perfect, so straight and pink and hard." She stared at it
for a couple of moments, lost in her own thoughts, and then smiled.

   "Now the first thing I want you to do is to show me where it hurts when
you rub yourself."

   He pointed at the underside near the tip, where the foreskin met the
shaft.  "Here."

   "Can you show me how you rub it?"

   He glanced at her to see if he had heard her right, and she smiled at
him.

   "It's all right, I said we'd be doing some naughty things." Her voice
was like silk.  "This is our little secret.  And I would like to watch you
do it."

   As if in slow motion, he grasped the shaft and began to move his hand up
and down, pulling the foreskin backwards and forwards over the head.  Once
more he saw her wrapped concentration, noticed the pink tip moving over the
inside of her mouth.  He felt suddenly foolish, wondering if he should stop
or carry on, and he felt his cock begin to shrink between his fingers.

   "Oh dear, Adrian, I hope I haven't embarrassed you.  You see, if we are
to find out what is hurting you, your lovely little prick needs to be
really hard.  In fact, that was why I let you look up my skirt earlier on,
so that you would be excited.  And now I've upset you."

   In his eagerness to explain, he used her name without thinking.  "Oh you
haven't upset me ,Nikki.  It's just that I didn't know whether to stop or
just carry on." He studied her response, desperate that he had in some way
upset her.  Destroyed the magic.

   She laughed.  "Well what are we going to do?  We're going to have to
start again.  I can't let you look up my skirt again - that would be just
too rude, but perhaps we could try something else to put things right. 
Would you like that?"

   He felt relief flooding over him, and nodded, unable to stop the smile
spreading over his face.  "Yes please."

   "Well perhaps we could do something else really naughty instead." She
paused and leant towards him.  Her blouse hung away from her body, almost
open.  He waited.  "Give me your hand."

   He lifted his hand up, and brought it towards her.  He noticed that it
was shaking.  She took it and held in hers, her eyes locked on his.  She
held it still for what seemed like an age and then slowly began to move it
towards her blouse.  He watched it's slow progress, as if it belonged to
someone else.  Another pause.

   "I noticed that my skirt was not the only place you have been looking
tonight, was it?"

   He shook his head, watching the his hand.

   "You've also been looking down my blouse, haven't you?"

   He nodded, watching.  He felt his legs shaking.  He felt the blood
racing back into his cock.

   "Did you like looking at my breasts, Adrian?"

   Nod.

   "But I bet you don't call them breasts, do you."

   He shook his head.

   "What do you call them, Adrian?"

   He swallowed.  "Tits."

   "Mmmm.  That is so naughty."

   Her tone grew more intense.  "Would you like to touch them, Adrian? 
Feel them?"

   Nod.  Swallow.

   "Then you must ask me.  Ask me if you can feel my tits.  Say, 'Nikki,
can I feel your tits'."

   His mouth felt suddenly dry.  He whispered, "N..Nikki, c..can I feel
your tits?"

   There was a pause, filled only with the sound of their breathing, and
then she pulled his hand into her blouse and rested it on her right breast.

   At first he didn't want to move it but just let it rest, to savour the
soft heat of her flesh.  He felt the curve mould to his hand and press
against it, like a pliant weight, a ripe fruit.  He felt a dull, restless
ache in his balls and deep in the base of his prick.

   "That feels nice, Adrian.  You can move your hand if you want to."

   He moved it slowly upwards, tracing the curve, his fingers feathering
the skin, until he found her nipple.  He felt the skin change, the little
studs and corrugations, and then the nipple, standing large and hard,
resisting for a moment the movement of his hand.  He cupped his hand
slightly, and felt it slide underneath, felt the friction of the hardened
skin sliding along his palm.

   He heard her gasp and then suck in her breath.

   "Oh yes, Adrian.  Touch me like that, touch my nipple, squeeze it with
your fingers."

   Obeying her delicious command, he took her nipple in his fingers and
gently moved them up and down, as if it was a tiny cock.  He applied a
stronger pressure, frightened of hurting her, gently squeezing the hard
bud, and she gasped again, her breath almost like a moan.  If he didn't
know better, it was almost as if she shuddered.

   And then he felt the touch of another hand.

   He looked down.  She was holding he shaft of his cock between the thumb
and first two fingers, gripping him lightly, moving the skin up and down.
He felt her grip tighten and the speed of her strokes increase.  He felt
his legs shaking uncontrollably as the reality of what was happening to him
grew.  He felt his balls begin to tighten, and a strange and wonderful
feeling at the base of his cock, and he began to push upwards in rhythm
with her fingers.

   But then the pain returned, like rain on a summer's afternoon, a burning
pain that made him wince on each downward stroke, made him slow his
thrusts. She sensed it too, and slowed her hand until it was still, holding
his little cock softly.  Finally, she took her hand away.  Frustration
engulfed him, and a deep sense of loss, of the greatest opportunity in his
young life being missed.  He wanted to scream, to shout his anger, but he
remained silent.  He removed his hand from her breast and felt tears
starting in his eyes.

   "It's all right, Adrian, I know what the problem is." She spoke quietly,
but her breathing seemed laboured, as if she had been running.  "Your
lovely cock is too dry.  That is why it feels so sore.  There is something
I can do to help you, but you must make me a promise first.  What I am
going to do is a very special, secret...  procedure.  When I do it, I want
you to lie back, and keep your eyes closed.  They must be firmly closed,
all the time.  Will you promise to do that for me, to keep your eyes
tightly closed?"

   He didn't understand what she was talking about, but on this wonderful
couch, on this wonderful night, with his desperate hope rising again, he
would have promised her anything.

   "Yes, Nikki, I promise."

   He lay back and closed his eyes, screwing them up slightly to show her
they were shut.

   And waited.  Nothing seemed to happen.  He could hear a soft rustling of
clothing, and slight shuffling of her shoes on the lino floor, but nothing
else, and especially, no touch.  In an shudder of expectation, his legs had
started shaking again, and he felt his stomach tighten into a knot.  Then
he felt her fingers grasping him gently, the sensation of her touch
heightened by his self-imposed darkness.  This time, she did not begin to
stroke, but instead pulled his cock away from his body, holding it pointing
upwards, like a small flagpole.  Another pause, and then something soft
touched against the tip.

   It was wet.  Fighting for understanding, he waited.  It touched again,
this time lingering, swirling around his cockhead, and more wetness, not
cold, but warm.

   Her tongue.  And now he understood and hardly dared believe.  He felt it
return a third time and this time stay, swirling over his soft, sensitive
skin, sending ripples of delight through him, coating the head with
soothing moisture.  And then a different feeling, a feeling of being
enveloped in a warm, wet embrace as her lips slid over and down, taking him
deep into her mouth.  He felt her move her head up and down slowly, her
lips squeezing his shaft, her tongue coating him in saliva.  Controlling
his cock with her mouth, he felt her hand move down to his balls, her
fingers gently pressing, massaging.

   He had promised her he would keep his eyes shut.  But this miracle, the
sight of this amazing thing was too much for him to bear without seeing,
without taking that mental snapshot that would stay with him and feed his
dreams.  He opened his eyelids just a fraction and then a fraction more. 
She was bent over him and he saw the side of her head moving slowly up and
down.  He could not see her mouth because her long blond hair obscured his
view.  Her legs were parted, and her hand was under her skirt, moving
slightly to the same rhythm of her head.  He closed his eyes again, and
abandoned himself to her.

   Suddenly he felt the movement of her mouth speed up, felt her lips
tighten around him.  He felt his instincts take over again and began to
thrust his hips in response, sensing once more that powerful need in the
base of his cock.  This was when the pain normally started.  But this time
it didn't start; the soft stroking of her wet tongue seemed to soothe it
away.

   And then a force inside him that he had never known took hold of him. 
He felt his hips thrust more strongly, felt his cock seem to swell in her
pumping mouth, felt a wave of almost unbearable pleasure move upwards from
his balls, up the shaft of his small cock, and then explode in waves of
ecstasy throughout his whole body.  For seconds the waves of pleasure
throbbed through him as she held him tight in her mouth, and then became
too much, like a delicious pain.

   He screamed, and then collapsed back onto the couch.

   .....

   When he woke up, he felt so peaceful, so relaxed.  She was sitting back
on her chair smiling at him, and he smiled weakly back at her.

   "Well Adrian, I think we have found out what the problem was, don't
you?"

   He laughed, his smile growing wider.

   "And do you remember what we said about secrets?  "

   He seemed to be floating.  "Yes."

   "Tonight is our secret.  You mustn't tell another soul.  Because if you
do, we won't be able to carry on with your treatment tomorrow night."

   ....

   There was only one thing he remembered about his journey back to his bed
that night.  It was as he got off the couch.  Something white caught his
eye, on the floor, by one of the legs.

   It was a pair of panties.