Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Name: Wistful
Title: A Private Education
Part: Part 6
Summary: Adrian is caught masturbating by the night matron of his
boarding school.  Over 2 nights, she manipulates and teases him, revealing
more and more about sex, and herself.  This is the final part, where the
story for Adrian reaches its climax.
Keywords: Fb, pedo, oral, dirty talk


Summary:

   I would really appreciate your feedback, good or bad.  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.



   They were sitting in front of the fire, wrapped in white towels.  They
had washed themselves in the shower and Nikki had insisted on kissing him,
everywhere, but when he tried to do the same to her, she wouldn't let him.
Afterwards, she asked him if he wanted to sleep, and he had shaken his head
violently, despite the tiredness he felt inside him.  She had made him
coffee, strong and bitter, and when he baulked at the taste, she had told
him that it would help him stay awake, and he had sipped it slowly.

   He looked up at the clock on the mantelpiece: 12.35.  He looked back at
the fire, staring at the flames, aware of time passing, their last time. 
She started to rub the back of his neck, soothing him, reading his mind.

   "Why do things like this have to end?" he sighed.

   "Because that is what life is like, my little one.  Things end.  We just
have to make sure that we make the most of them while they are happening."

   He turned and looked at her: it was the first time he had heard her
speak like an adult.

   "Nikki, can I ask you something?"

   "Of course you can.  You can ask me anything you want."

   He thought for a moment, wondering how to ask the question that had been
at the back of his for three days.

   "Who are you?"

   She laughed.  "I'm Nikki.  I'm the matron."

   He grinned.  "I know that, but who are you?" He searched for the words
to explain.  "You're not like other grownups.  Grownups usually stop me
doing things I want to do.  They don't do naughty things like you, they
don't ...." He stopped, unable to find a way of explaining his confusion.

   "Who do you think I am?" she asked gently.

   He shook his head.  "I don't know.  You're like a dream."

   "Is it a nice dream?"

   He laughed that she had asked the question.  His answer came at
once."You are the best dream I have ever had," he said, desperate to make
her understand.  "I love you, and I never want you to end."

   She leaned towards him and her towel unfastened itself, sliding down
into a bundle on her lap.  The swell of her breasts seemed to glow in the
firelight, her nipples red and pointed.

   "Listen to me, Adrian," she said, serious now, " I'm not a dream, I'm
real.  I'm just a naughty lady who likes playing with you.  I like teaching
you things, rude things.  I like being naughty with you and you being
naughty with me; it makes me excited; it makes me want to do such dirty
things with you.  That's why I'm here, that's who I am.  You mustn't think
of me as somebody to love.  I want you to use me, to play with me, to be
your toy, and I want to do the same with you.  I know it's hard to
understand, but I promise that one day, you will"

   He stared at her, surprised at the vehemence of her voice.  He tried
desperately to follow what she said, but it unsettled him and he knew that
the meaning was out of his reach.

   "Do you like my tits?" she said suddenly, her hands reaching down to cup
them.

   He nodded, confused by the sudden change.

   "Would you like to play with them?" She pulled them up and squashed them
together, making the nipples stand out like small red buds.

   He nodded.

   She reached down and pulled her towel away, throwing it across the room
behind him.  She opened her legs and pointed at her sex.

   "What do you call this?" she demanded.

   The violence of her questions made him suddenly shy.  "You're..." He
began, and then stopped.  He felt tears starting in his eyes.

   "Say it!" she ordered, raising her voice.

   "Cunt," he said quickly.  He didn't understand what was happening; this
lovely evening, this last lovely time seemed to be falling around him.

   She pushed her finger into her vagina, not softly but like a jab.  She
pulled it back up and held it between them, glistening opaquely in the
firelight.

   "Do you know why I'm wet?" she asked, more gently now.

   Adrian shook his head, knowing she was in control.

   "It's because you said cunt; it excites me that I have got you to say
it. It's because I want to do and say dirty filthy things with you.  I like
playing with small boys like you, teaching them, leading them, and I want
us to forget about dreams and love and adults.  I think you're a lovely
little man, Adrian, and I just want us to have fun."

   She stopped, the storm leaving her, put her hand on his arm, and smiled.
He felt the wetness of her finger on his skin.  He didn't really understand
her, but he smiled back, accepting.  Time was too precious to waste.

   She leaned forward so that her mouth was close to his ear.

   "Wouldn't you like to have some more fun with me, little man?  she
whispered, returning to her honey voice.  "Wouldn't you like to slide your
lovely little cock into my wet cunt?" His breath caught in his throat. 
"Wouldn't you like to fuck me?"

   He nodded.

   Her hand ran down to his groin and cupped his cock; he felt it hard and
throbbing against her palm.

   "Just imagine how this will feel inside me, that very first time.  You
will never forget it.  You will remember my cunt for the rest of your
life." She had been whispering, but she said the last words so quietly that
he only just heard them.  Somehow, he felt that they were really important
to her.

   "Do you want to play with me little man, one last game?"

   He swallowed.  "Yes," he whispered back.

   She sat up and took his hand.  "I am going to go into my bedroom now.  I
want you to wait here until I call you, and then follow me.  It's easy to
find, it's next to the bathroom.  And while you're waiting, you can think
about all the things I've taught you." She turned and walked away, naked.
In the doorway, she paused and ran her hand over her bottom, dipping her
finger into the crack between her buttocks.  She turned, raised her
eyebrows and smiled at him suggestively, and then disappeared from view.

   Aroused as he was, he tried to make sense of what she said.  What did
she mean about "all the things I've taught you" and why did she touch her
bottom and look round at him?

   And then suddenly an understanding came.

   All the things they had done, all the delicious wonderful things!  She
had been teaching him, showing him what to do, what sort of things he could
do.  He suddenly remembered her words from last night: "If a beautiful lady
were to slip her finger into the same young man's delicious little
arsehole, and push it in and out of his tight little bum, that could be
called fucking too." She had been preparing him, giving him the knowledge
for this last time so that he would know how to please her: "I like playing
with small boys," she had said, "teaching them".  And she had asked him if
he wanted to fuck her.

   He heard her voice softly and stood up, facing the door.  He felt
differently, suddenly.  She wanted to play with him, to be dirty, to do
dirty things and that, he realised, was what he wanted too, to be pleasured
by her, but most of all, to pleasure her.  His shyness left him and he
walked confidently out of the room towards her bedroom.

   ....

   He stood in the doorway looking at her, amazed by her ability to
surprise him.  She was lying on the bed, wearing hold-up stockings and a
pair of black panties with tiny red flowers on the waistband.  Her legs
were closed, and he could see her breasts rising and falling rapidly as she
breathed.  But that wasn't what surprised him, made him gasp: somehow, she
had handcuffed her hands to the metal frame at the top of the bed.

   "Come over here and stand beside me," she said quietly.

   He walked over and stood by the bed, uncertain of what he should do.

   "There's a key next to my face on the pillow.  Pick it up and put it on
the dressing table."

   He saw it glinting in the light next to her mouth and picked it up,
noticing it was wet, putting it where she asked and returning to the bed.

   "Use me, my little man.  Don't be frightened, don't be unsure.  Do
whatever you want to me.  And know that whatever it is, I want you to do
it. Make it your special gift to me." Her breathing was ragged and he knew
she was very aroused.

   He looked at the handcuffs.  They looked real, and they held her wrists
in strange way, as if they had been twisted over each other.  He wasn't
sure how she had locked them, but now that he had taken away the key, he
realised that she was helpless.  It frightened him a little until he
thought about what she had said.  His gift to her.  She wanted him to do
things to her, give her pleasure, but now that she lay there, he suddenly
didn't know what to do.  She was like a banquet spread out before him, an
array of delicious food, but where did he start, how did he give her what
she wanted, what he so wanted to give her?  And then, remembering his
sudden enlightenment before he came into the room, he smiled.

   He looked down at her face, studying it properly for the first time.  He
was drawn to her lips, slightly open and damp with her saliva.  He bent
forward and kissed them gently keeping his mouth closed at first, but then
opening it and touching his tongue softly against her.  He felt her breath
against him and pushed harder, into her mouth, exploring the wet warmth,
tasting her saliva.  He found her tongue and it responded immediately to
his, pushing against it, rubbing along it.  She closed her lips around him
and he felt her sucking him, as if his tongue was a small cock.  He was
aware of his own saliva running into her mouth, and could feel her pulse as
she swallowed it.

   He pulled his head back slowly until she released his tongue with a slow
pop.  He looked down at her and her eyes were shining, her mouth surrounded
by a sheen of their saliva.  He looked down her body, at the rise and fall
of her contours and slid a hand slowly down over her shoulders to cup her
breast.  He stroked the warm flesh and rubbed his palm over her hard
nipple, hearing her sharp intake of breath.  He took it between his thumb
and forefinger and squeezed it gently, twisting it as if he was playing
with a button.  He squeezed harder and heard her moan; he squeezed harder
still and her moan grew louder, deeper.

   He edged slowly down the bed, and took her other nipple into his mouth,
squeezing it with his lips, allowing her moans to conduct his actions.  He
began to suck and felt the bud harden even more against his tongue.  He
moved to her other breast and sucked hard, feeling the rising flesh as if
the whole mound was being pulled into his mouth, and he felt her body begin
to tense and buck underneath him.  The movement encouraged him and he began
to suck harder, while his finger squeezed and twisted on the other side.

   Eventually, he pulled his mouth away, and began to lick downwards,
leaving a trail of moisture.  He noticed the way her skin flinched as he
licked, and started feathering his tongue from side to side until he
reached the band of her panties.  He sat up and looked, thrilled by the
freedom she had given him.  He smiled at the tiny red flowers embroidered
onto the waistband and traced their looping path across her belly, making
her moan again.  The silken material shone in the light, and seemed to
mould to the shape of her mound before disappearing in a 'v' between her
legs.  He wondered what he should do next, when she seemed to answer the
question for him by slowly opening her legs.  He could feel the tension of
her body and heard her breathing in short gasps, and when he looked up at
her face, he saw what seemed like desperation in her eyes.

   It was a look he recognised, a feeling he understood: anticipation.  It
is what he had felt for the last three nights, the way that Nikki had
excited him, keeping him guessing.  He smiled at her.  Well two can play at
that game.

   He moved down to her feet and ran his hands over her calves.  The silk
of the stockings felt soft and smooth under his fingers and he stroked them
up and down, moving a little further up with each sweep of his hand, each
time making her moan.  When he reached her upper thighs, he studied her
stocking tops, admiring an embroidered band of small red flowers that was
laced into them.  He moved his hands higher, over the bare skin above and
pressed against the flesh, higher and higher, until he felt the edge of her
panties against his fingertips.

   "Oh fuck!" she gasped, and he realised that it was the first time she
had spoken since he had begun his delicious journey.  He took his fingers
away and looked up at her.  She was staring at him, her mouth panting, her
eyes wide with need.  He moved and settled himself between her outstretched
legs, and gazed on the wonder before him.  The material of the gusset had
been stretched tight by her splayed thighs, and he could see the contours
of her cunt.  He recognised now the erotic shapes, the swollen labia, the
nub of her clit, the enticing central valley.  Most of all, he could see
her wetness, a darker stain on the dark material.  He brought his face
close and breathed in deeply through his nose, savouring her musky scent.
He inched forward and licked slowly upwards through the wet cleft, tasting
her, brushing her clit lightly at the top.  She pushed against him, trying
to press herself against his mouth, but he pulled back, preventing her.  He
looked up at her and smiled again.

   He ran his finger softly across the track his tongue had taken, closing
his eyes so that he could see through his touch.  He felt the indentation
between her labia and pushed gently, the material starting to stretch
inwards under the pressure.  He pushed harder and it began to go deeper,
and he opened his eyes to see his fingertip disappear inside her.  It felt
so wonderful, wrapped in silk and wetness, surrounded by warmth.  He heard
her pant, "Oh God!" and she thrust herself forward, impaling him just a
little bit deeper, tightening around him.  He withdrew slowly, leaving the
indentation intact, a little tunnel of silk.

   He wanted to see her, and began to shift so that he could slide her
panties down, but then he stopped.  Instead, he slipped his fingers under
the edges and carefully slid the gusset to one side, exposing her cunt.  It
felt so deliciously dirty, like peering through curtains at abandoned
lovers.  He watched, intrigued, as her labia swelled, released from their
confinement, and saw an opaque liquid ooze between them, slowly spreading
through the tiny grooves and swellings like the first white foam of an
incoming tide.  Her scent washed over him, and he had a sudden desperate
urge to lick, to taste.

   Urgently, he moved to one side and pulled at the waistband, and she
raised her bottom to help him as he slipped them down and over her feet. 
She spread her legs again for him, bending her knees so that she was
obscenely available, and he knelt back between them.  He lowered his head
slowly and gingerly touched his tongue against her lips, and immediately
her flavour swamped his senses.  He pushed harder and his tongue slid
between them and slipped into the creamy interior.  It was like bathing in
syrup.  He felt her cunt squeezing him, and he pushed against the pressure,
driving his tongue as deep as he could until he felt a pain in his jaws. 
He heard her growl her pleasure, and slid slowly out, only to push back in
as hard as he could.  He felt her cream coating his lips and face, and
luxuriated in its slipperiness.

   She began to pant and fuck against him, and so he stopped, letting his
tongue slip out of her.  He licked upwards until he felt the hard nub, felt
her muscles tense again.  He gripped it with his mouth and sucked, running
his tongue lightly over the tip and heard the handcuffs scrape on the bed
head as her body thrust upwards.

   "There!" she panted.  "Oh fuck, yes..!"

   He sucked harder and pressed down with his tongue and she began to hump
against his face, thrusting her hips as she had last night, against his
fingers.  Again he stopped and lifted his head up, and he heard a deep
guttural growl of frustration.

   He looked back at her labia, so red, so swollen, and wondered what
sensation she felt from them, whether like his cock, they throbbed with
anticipation.  Gently he pulled them apart with his fingers and listened to
her moans.  He narrowed his eyes and looked into her.  Her vagina seemed to
flex open and shut, and with each flex, her cream oozed in tiny flows like
white lava.  He slipped one of his fingers into the tunnel and began to
fuck her slowly.  He heard the noise of her wetness, and moved his finger
from side to side, thrilling in the obscene squelching sound.  And then,
remembering his lessons, he sat up and looked up at her handcuffed hands.

   "Turn over," he said.  It sounded almost like an order, borne out of the
freedom she had given him.

   She stared at him for a moment, and he thought he saw, despite her
arousal, a trace of a smile.  She struggled to turn over, untwisting the
chain, and flopped unto her front.

   "Kneel up," he said.

   She struggled again, panting, and raised her bottom, supporting herself
on her knees, keeping her legs wide open, her face resting on the pillow.
He knew she couldn't really see him now, that she would have to try to
anticipate what he was going to do.

   At first he just looked: her rounded bum, the open cleft, small brown
ring; and below it, her cunt, pouting and wet.  A glint caught his eye and
he bent down closer to see a loop of opaque cream stretching in a lazy
curve from her labia to her thigh.  He pursed his lips and blew softly,
watching it shimmer in the draught, but somehow stay complete.  He blew
harder and heard her grunt into the pillow, but still it would not break.
He reached out a small finger and pulled it through the arc; there on his
fingertip, a droplet wobbled.  He brought it to his mouth and rubbed it on
his lips like balm.  He stared at her bottom, entranced, and it seemed to
wink at him.  He remembered what it had felt like when she fucked him with
her tongue , and he knew now why she had touched her bottom earlier.  He
felt himself drawn forward.  Somewhere in his head, convention told him it
was disgusting, but he ignored the thought and pushed it away.  It was what
she wanted him to do, something dirty and forbidden and exciting, and that
was more important than anything.  He touched his tongue gently against her
anus and found it wet with the moisture from her cunt.  He heard her groan
so loudly, it was almost a scream, and he pushed harder, holding his
breath. Like some small magic door, the ring opened and his tongue slipped
inside.  It tasted dark and bitter, a taste that would have made him pull
back, except that she wanted him to do it.  He pushed in further, heard
metal scraping on the bed head, heard her muffles grunts into the pillow,
and the ring gripped him, imprisoning him inside, only to slowly loosen
again.  He pulled out gently and watched it slowly close.

   "Wouldn't you like to slide your lovely little cock into my wet cunt?"
she had said to him, and suddenly, as he looked at her he knew now as the
time.  He touched her once more, running his finger through her red wetness
and then shuffled forward.  She must have sensed his intention, because she
spoke, a ragged panting voice.

   "Yes!  Fuck me, little man.  Fuck me!"

   He grasped his cock, pulling it away from his body and leaned forward,
touching it softly against her.  She strained backwards against him and he
felt it slide into her.  A moment of calm descended on him as he marvelled
at the feeling: it was everything his fingers had felt, the warmth, the
wet, but so much more, as if in some strange way he was where he belonged,
as if he was complete.  The moment was only a moment.  She pushed back and
he felt her cunt squeeze him and deep-seated instinct took hold of him.  He
pushed back and all at once his hips began to pump, pushing him as deep in
as he could go.  He heard her shouting at him, raw guttural shouts,
something about making her his first, his best, to remember all his life,
but he couldn't hang on to the words as his hips pumped and his orgasm
built.  He heard the strange hollow sound of his belly slapping against her
bottom and felt her tightening around him, like fingers of muscle pulsing
around his cock.  And then suddenly he was there and crying out as he felt
the wave wash over him.  He felt the spasms of pleasure pumping in his cock
and some invisible internal command telling him to bend forward over her.
And then he was jolting against her as pulses of pleasure spasmed through
his body, and he felt her cunt gripping down on him, suckling him.  He
collapsed forward as the echoes throbbed inside him, and fought for breath,
and he felt her relax under him.  Slowly, she let her body down until she
was lying flat, and he lay draped on top of her, too tired to move.  The
only thing to disturb the quiet of the room was the slowly settling sound
of their breathing.

   ....

   He didn't know how long he had been asleep: it could have been a minute
or an hour.  Her voice was calling to him, and when he opened his eyes, she
was in the same position and he was lying next to her.

   "Hello, little man," she said, and smiled at him.

   "Hello," he said, collecting his thoughts, starting to remember.

   "Can you get me they key?" She giggled.  "My wrists are killing me."

   Semi-awake, he climbed off the bed and collected the key, and when he
walked back, he held it out to her.  She looked up at him and raised her
eyebrows, and he giggled when he realised his mistake.  Carefully he
unlocked one side of the handcuffs and she slid them out from the frame,
holding her wrist up for him to unlock the other.  As he did so, he saw a
ring of livid red where they had pressed against her.

   She stood up and stretched.

   "Lie down, little one, and I'll make us some more coffee."

   He didn't want more coffee, but just to lie down with her and sleep, but
as he started to protest, she interrupted him.

   "Don't think that you going to get away with things so easily," she said
with mock seriousness.  "I haven't finished with you yet, and I need you
awake!" As if to underline the fact, she gently patted his groin.

   He lay back on the bed and yawned.  His body felt tired and his hips
ached, but he couldn't feel anything but happy.  Memories of what happened
came into focus in his mind and he basked again in the afterglow.  He
wondered what else she could have planned for him, and whether he had the
strength to do it, but realised that he didn't care.  It meant that the
night would be longer, that dawn would be delayed.

   She came back carrying two small cups and as he watched her walk naked
across the room, he thought about himself three nights ago, of how he would
have reacted at this moment.  Now, it seemed so wonderfully natural.  He
sat up and took his coffee, and she sat beside him.

   "Happy?"

   He couldn't answer in words, but just turned and smiled.

   "You're a very good student," she said.  "You remember things, and you
put them to such good use."

   He grinned again, feeling a flash of pride.

   One of her hands disappeared between her legs, reappearing with one
finger glistening.  She stroked it along his lips, leaving a dewy deposit.

   "Taste," she said.

   He licked his lips and tasted.  He could taste her, but the flavour was
different, somehow saltier, less sweet.  He frowned and looked up at her,
not understanding.

   "It's us," she said, and smiled.

   "You mean I...?"

   "Yes," she said gently.  "you really are a little man now".

   The thoughts occurred to him slowly.  He had done what a man does.  In
all that frenzy and excitement and pleasure, he had done what he should do.
He had put his cock inside her and...  Visions of punishment and guilt and
shame swam before his eyes.

   "Nikki!" he cried, and she was surprised by the anguish in his voice. 
"Does that mean...  Does that mean you will have a baby?"

   She laughed, a laugh that wouldn't seem to stop, that had her fighting
to breath.  He watched, feeling strangely hurt.  As her laughter calmed,
she put her arm around his shoulder.

   "No, my love, you can make the juice, but that's only the beginning of
being a man.  It'll be sometime yet before you'll be making babies." She
smiled at him, recovered now, and kissed the top of his head.  "You have to
go one step at a time.  You are so clever, but you have to wait until your
body grows before you can make babies."

   He felt relieved and mollified, even though he didn't really understand
what she meant.  He wondered if it had something to do with being taller.

   She took his cup and put in on the floor with hers and then turned to
face him.

   "I see that your little man is asleep," she said, gesturing with her
head.  "Have I tired him out?" He looked down at his tiny cock and giggled.

   "The trouble is," she continued, "my little lady is still awake." She
lifted her left knee provocatively.  "Here, give me your hand." He held out
his hand and guided it down between her legs.

   "Push your finger inside, slowly," she whispered, and when he did so, he
felt her sopping warmth.  She lowered her head to his ear and used her
honeyed voice.

   "Will you remember this, little one?  Will you remember your first cunt?
Will you remember how wet it is, how it tastes.  Will you remember how it
felt when you fucked it with your little cock."

   He felt the power of what she was saying, of the way she said it and
thrilled to the crudeness of her words.  His cock started to harden.  He
nodded.  She pulled his hand outwards, and gently led it down to her
bottom, placing his wet finger on that crinkled circle.

   "Push," she whispered.

   He pushed, and she opened immediately.

   "Push all the way." Quieter still.

   He felt hypnotised.  He pushed deeper into her, until his finger was
swallowed inside her.

   "Fuck me." Just a rush of breath.

   He began to move his finger backwards and forwards, hearing her moan,
feeling her gripping him.

   "Harder!" she gasped, and he pumped more vigorously, impelled by her
ragged breathing, her growing abandon.  He felt her tensing, her bottom
pressing against his hand and with each thrust, the spasm of her muscle. 
Suddenly she grabbed his hand and pulled it away, panting hard.

   "Not yet," she gasped between breaths, "not yet." It seemed as if she
wasn't talking to him, but to herself.

   "I want you to let me do something, something lovely, something very
special.  Will you let me?" She looked down at him, an urgency in her eyes.

   He wondered but he didn't ask her what it was that she wanted him to do.
He just knew that he would do anything for this wonderful woman; she had
given him everything and there was so little he could give in return.  With
an intuition that he didn't know he possessed, he remembered what she had
said when he walked into the bedroom.

   "Use me, Nikki," he said and lay back.

   She seemed to throw herself on him.  He felt the sudden violent suction
of her mouth on his cock and her hands caressing him roughly, his balls,
his nipples, his bottom.  He felt a wet finger press against his anus,
insistent, forceful, and for a moment push into him so hard that it was
close to pain.  And then she was kissing her way up his body, his stomach,
his nipples, his neck, until she stopped, kneeling astride his head.  He
looked up at her towering above her, the features of her body foreshortened
by the angle.  He saw her hand between her legs, rubbing quickly,
rhythmically across her sex.

   "I want to you to suck my cunt," she said desperately.  "I want to cum
in your mouth!"

   He stared up at her, but she didn't move.  "Say the words for me
Adrian," she said, almost begging, "say the dirty, filthy words!"

   His throat seemed to tighten and he tried to force his voice out of his
mouth.

   "Say them!" she screamed, her hand a blur.

   "I want to suck your cunt," he said, trying not to cough, trying not to
spoil it for her.  "I want you to cum in my mouth."

   She let out a deep groan and lowered herself forcefully onto him.  Her
wetness pushed against his mouth, the livid folds of skin squashed against
his lips, and his senses were flooded in her scent.  She began to grind
against him, her cunt covering his mouth and nose and he fought to breath.
Her thighs pressed against the sides of his head, trapping him under her.

   Suddenly, he heard her speak, her voice harsh, desperate.

   "Oh fuck!  Oh God!  I'm cumming Adrian." She stopped grinding and
pressed down hard.  "Open your mouth!" She was shouting now.  "Drink my
cunt, little one!  Swallow me!"

   He forced his lips wider against the pressure of her body, tried to
ready himself.

   "Oh God...!" she screamed and jolted hard against his head.  A torrent
of syrupy liquid flowed into his mouth, impelled against his tongue and
teeth, so quickly that he found it hard to swallow.  Her sex jerked
painfully against his lips and with each spasm, more liquid gushed.  He
couldn't move, could hardly breathe; her thighs squeezed his head, holding
him in place as she rode his mouth.  He could only drink.

   Eventually, he felt her legs relax and she toppled sideways beside him.
They lay together, each struggling for breath, both consumed in their
different ways by the violent passion of her orgasm.  It receded slowly and
the aftershocks made her jerk against him.  He turned towards her and put
his hand on her breast and closed his eyes.

   ....

   He awoke suddenly, knowing something was wrong.  He was dressed again in
his pyjamas.  He sat up and in the dim early morning light could make out
the familiar shapes of his dormitory and hear the sounds of sleeping boys
around him.  Shock washed through him and his heart pounded in his head. 
He looked around desperately for her, but apart from the sleepers he was
alone.  At the end of his bed, his dressing gown lay where it had always
lain.

   Without hesitating, he climbed out of the bed and ran out into the empty
corridor, oblivious of the noise he made.  He felt panic rising and a
desperate urge to find her, to hold her, to say goodbye.  It carried him
headlong down the corridor and up the stairs, and his feet thumped past the
doors of sleeping staff.  It was only when he got to her rooms that he
stopped to catch his breath, and then only for a second before he opened
the door.

   The rooms were empty.  He ran from room to room, the places where they
had been, but there was no one.  The bed was neat and looked unused, and in
the bathroom the slow drip of the shower echoed emptily.  Tears glazed his
eyes and he sat down where she had sat on the couch, his head in his hands.
He looked at the empty fireplace and then at the clock; the hands swam on
its dial.  He sighed and rubbed his hands over his eyes and looked again.
6.30.

   6.30!  Mrs Peters came on duty at 7.00, everyone knew that; she made so
much noise she woke up the corridor!  So Nikki might be there, must be
there, in her office, clearing up, filling in forms, doing whatever it was
she did when the night finished.

   He stood up and was running again, bursting through the front door, and
sprinting down the staff corridor.  He took the stairs two at a time and
finally ground to a halt outside her office.  He paused, trying to breath
silently, trying to listen.

   All was silence.

   And then, a metallic scraping like a drawer closing, and chair legs
scraping on the floor.  She was there!  He rushed forward the last few
steps and turned the door handle, throwing open the door and launching
himself into the room.  He was already smiling, already felt the elation of
seeing her just once more...

   A plump middle-aged woman was sitting behind the desk in the act of
opening a file.  She stared at him, her face a mixture of shock and
outrage. Mrs Peters.

   "What on earth do you think you're doing boy?" she shouted angrily. 
"How dare you burst into my office like that."

   He stared at her, his world collapsing around him.

   "Do you know what time it is?  You'll have woken up the whole school! 
I've a good mind to report you to the headmaster."

   He looked around the room and towards the door to the bathroom.

   "Well?  What have you got to say for yourself?"

   "Where's Nikki?" he asked desperately.

   Mrs Peters looked confused.  "Who?"

   "Miss Heath," he said imploringly, "the night matron."

   She looked at him disbelievingly.  "We don't have a night matron.  The
headmaster's wife is on call during the night."

   ....

   He sat in his form room, pretending to read a book, staring at the page
through misted eyes.  Everyone else was outside, enjoying their free time
and the sunshine, and he was pleased to be alone.

   It had been sorted out eventually.  Mrs Peters had mellowed rather
quickly, frightened that something serious was wrong; she had even asked
him to lie down on the examination table.  He made up an excuse, about
feeling unwell, and the night matron telling him to come to her office and
him forgetting, and once more Mrs Peters told him there was no such person.
He had cried then, great heaving sobs of confusion and loss, and she had
tried to comfort him, reassure him that the whole thing must have been some
sort of dream.

   And as he sat staring at the unread page, he wondered seriously if that
was what it was; a dream.  But if it was a dream, how could it have been so
detailed, so real, so...  wonderful?  How did he suddenly know so much, why
did he feel he had done so much?  A bell rang for tea and he got up wearily
and walked past the school offices towards the hall.

   He heard his name called and turned to see the secretary walking towards
him, looking over the top of her glasses

   "There's a parcel for you," she said, sounding annoyed.  "You know that
you're supposed to check for post in the morning.  I can't have parcels
cluttering up my office half the day." She thrust out her arm and gave him
a small package wrapped in brown paper.  It was soft and seemed to weigh
almost nothing.

   "Thank you," he said quietly.

   "Just remember next time please," she said haughtily and spun on her
heel.

   "Yes Miss, sorry Miss."

   He looked down at the package, and saw at once that there was something
odd about it.  It bore his name, but there was no address, and where there
was supposed to be a stamp, there were just a few squiggly lines.  No, not
squiggles, it was a tiny drawing.  He wiped his eyes and peered more
closely.

   It was the figure of a little man.

   He turned and ran back to the form room, closing the door behind him. 
He tore at the brown paper and threw it on the floor.  Inside was another
package, wrapped in red paper and tied round with a thin ribbon.  Attached
was a folded piece of paper.

   He unfolded it carefully, and read.

   "Hello little one,

   I know that you will be sad that I am gone, but you must be strong. 
This time had to come and we must not be unhappy.  Always remember that you
are a clever, clever little man and be proud.  Remember me, my sweet boy,
remember what we did and how we felt that lovely night we spent together.
Grow up strong and tall, and make lots and lots of babies.

   Nikki.

   PS I have a little present for you, something that will always remind
you of me.  Keep it for me always."

   His hands trembled as he undid the ribbon and laid it carefully to one
side.  Freed of its constraints, the wrapping paper yawned slowly open.

   Inside were a pair of black silk panties with tiny red flowers
embroidered into the waistband.