Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Name: Wistful
Title: A Private Education
Part: Part One
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



   This is my first attempt at a longer story.  I anticipate that there
will be five or six parts.  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

   Adrian lay in the semi-darkness, listening to the sounds of the
dormitory.  Straining his ears he listened for sounds of activity, but
heard none, only the steady breathing of the other boys as they slept. 
Through the half open door, from which what light there was entered the
room, he heard only the silence of an empty corridor.  He had no idea of
the time but guessed it must be nearly midnight.  Slowly he moved his hand
inside his pyjamas, and grasped his small cock.  Already growing, he felt
it harden and he began to rub.

   This had become Adrian's nightly routine over the past term, ever since
he had discovered the excitement of masturbation.  At 9 o'clock lights out,
as the other ten year olds whispered, coughed, shuffled restlessly, he
would lie silently in his bed, feigning sleep, waiting.  Only when he was
sure that everyone was asleep would he start.

   The trouble was, he had a problem, and it worried him, occupied many of
his waking hours and drove him to touch himself every night: he couldn't
cum.  He knew about cumming; other boys talked about it, told him how great
it felt; one older boy even told him that white stuff came out of his cock.
But Adrian had never cum, and he was growing desperate.

   His cock was hard between his fingers, like a fat pencil, and he
relished the initial pleasure of the movement of his foreskin over its
swollen head.  Holding up the bedding with one hand, he began to increase
the rhythm of his strokes, all the while replaying in his mind what little
he knew about that mysterious and intangible world of women.  Each time,
his yearning to know more, to understand, to see, to touch, grew more
intense.  The rhythm of his fingers grew faster as his desperation built
and he felt a now familiar dry soreness around the head of his cock.  He
screwed up his eyes, tensed his body, and continued to stroke.

   Suddenly he felt a hand grip his shoulder.  He froze and for a moment
his heart seemed to stop.  Someone was there, next to his bed.  Time
stretched out around him, and the shame and horror of discovery gripped
him. He quickly moved his hands to his sides, kept his eyes shut,
desperately tried to appear asleep.

   "What do you think you're doing, young man?"

   A voice.  Whispering.  Close to his ear.  A female voice.

   He continued to pretend sleep, fighting against the panic that enveloped
him.

   The fingers grasped his shoulder more firmly.

   "I said, what do you think you're doing?  Answer me.  I know you're
awake."

   Fear paralysed him.  He couldn't move.

   "Do I have to go and get the Headmaster?" The voice was slightly more
threatening now.

   In an instant he saw his future - the arrival of the Headmaster - the
other boys waking and staring at him - the march down to his study.  And
then what?  A beating?  Expulsion?  The shame of his parents?

   He opened his eyes slowly.  and turned towards the voice.  He felt
welling tears and his vision blurred.

   "Nothing, Miss," he whispered.

   "It didn't look like nothing to me.  Tell me what you were doing."

   He sought desperately for an excuse, a way out.

   "Scratching, Miss." His voice was half whisper, half sob.

   There was a pause and then a strange sound, like a gasp or a repressed
laugh.

   "Put on your dressing gown and come to my office.  And be quiet; I don't
want you waking everyone up."

   Adrian knew he had no option but to do as he was told.  His tears
stopped and, abandoning himself to the inevitable, he felt strangely
calmer. He got slowly out of bed and shuddered as he stood on the cold
linoleum.  Looking down, he saw his now limp little cock hanging out of the
opening in his pyjamas.  He felt the colour rising to his cheeks.  He
tucked it in and reaching for his dressing gown, walked carefully across
the dormitory and out into the corridor.

   His eyes took a moment to adjust to the light.  Once they had done so,
he looked up at the owner of the voice that had summoned him and realised
that he didn't recognise her at all.  But it was not just surprise that
made him suck in his breath.  She was tall and thin, and she stood looking
down at him, her hands on her hips.  He could not stop his eyes, in that
fraction of a second, examining her.  Her face was very pretty, framed by
long blond hair which shone under the lights of the corridor.  He noticed
the intensity of her eyes as she looked at him, and the rich redness of her
lips.  She was dressed in a white uniform, like a nurse; her breasts stood
out under the material, with just as hint of enticing cleavage; a broad
black belt around her waist defined the curve of her hips; the hem of the
skirt finished above her knees and her long shapely legs tapered down to a
pair of red, heeled shoes.

   Adrian swallowed, for a moment forgetting his fear in the vision that
stood before him.  She was a goddess; she was everything that his small boy
fantasies had been aching for.  Suddenly he realised that she was watching
him and he brought his eyes quickly back to her face.  He had expected her
to be glaring at him, but instead he thought he saw the hint of a smile
before she turned and started to walk down the corridor.

   It should have been a walk of desolation, the condemned man walking
towards the gallows, but even in this most humiliating of moments, he
couldn't help but notice her bottom.  As he followed her, he became
mesmerised by the sway of her hips and the movement of her buttocks under
the material of her skirt.  Adrian had spent a lot of time watching
bottoms, enjoying the shape of them, watching their movement beneath
skirts, longing to know what was underneath, but this was a bottom like no
other.  Normally they seemed tight and solid, or in the case of most of the
women he had encountered in his short life, huge.  But this one seemed to
roll and wobble, each buttock moving slightly independently of the other,
rising and falling to each step; seductive, beckoning mounds of soft flesh.

   So lost in his reverie was he that important questions, like who was
this woman, and where was she taking him, failed to occur to him until she
suddenly stopped.  In fact it was all he could do to avoid walking into
her, and he ended up standing just inches from her.  For a second, before
he quickly stepped back he could smell her perfume and feel the heat from
her body.

   "Come in," she said quietly and led him through a door.

   He realised where he was: the Matron's office.  It was a room that he
was only vaguely familiar with; he had been there a couple of times, for
aspirins and those dreaded injections.  It was laid out as he remembered
it: a desk and chair; a large, blanket-covered examination table with one
end raised for support; a tall, grey filing cabinet; and around the walls,
a range of cupboards and work surfaces.  He shuddered slightly.  It
reminded him of a hospital, and he hated hospitals.

   "Sit down."

   Adrian looked around him and hesitated; apart from the chair behind the
desk there was nowhere to sit.

   "Just scoot up onto the examination couch." Her voice was warm,
friendly, not stern as he expected.  She was smiling, standing, hands on
hips, legs slightly apart, hips cocked to one side, looking down at him. 
He could see the tops of her breasts swelling above the V in her top, and
he noticed that one of the buttons had somehow come undone.  He swallowed.
As in the corridor, he found himself staring at her, drinking in the way
she looked.  Once more he tore his eyes away and, pulling himself up, sat
on the couch, his legs dangling over the edge.

   "Lay back, get comfy."

   He obeyed her, shifting back so that his back rested against the raised
part of the couch, his legs stretched out across the plastic.  As he moved,
the covering made a strange farting noise beneath his bottom.  He shot a
glance at her, the colour rising in his cheeks, but her smiled broadened,
as if she was sharing the joke.

   "I haven't seen you before," she said, walking towards the filing
cabinets.  "Do you know who I am?"

   "No, Miss." His voice seemed to squeak as he spoke, his mouth dry.

   "I'm Matron," she said.

   Matron?  Matron was Mrs Peters.  She was short, and at least 60, and
very round.  She had hairs on her chin.  He had often seen her during the
day, waddling around the school, or eating lunch in the hall.  One of the
boys had once called her a dumpling, and the name had stuck.  But this
vision in front of him was no dumpling.

   As if she had sensed his confusion, she said, "I'm the night matron. 
Mrs Peters has to go home sometimes, you know.  I'm here to look after all
you boys during the night." There was something about her voice as she said
it, something he couldn't place, as if her words meant something more than
he could understand.

   "My name is Miss Heath.  My first name is Nikki.  What's yours?"

   "Adrian."

   "And your last name?"

   "Woodward."

   "Adrian Woodward," she repeated.  "Let me just get your file."

   She was standing by the filing cabinet with her back to him.  She began
to run her finger down the drawers, checking the labels, bending as she did
so.  But what arrested Adrian's attention was the way she bent; she seemed
to bend from the waist, her legs apart to keep her balance.  Lost in what
he was watching, he saw the material of her skirt stretching over her
bottom, defining the roundness of her buttocks.  And as he watched he saw
the hem of her skirt begin to ride up the backs of her thighs.  As she
reached the bottom drawer, the hem crept further up, revealing the dark
silk of her stocking tops.  He fought to control his breathing, his eyes
focused on that delicious gap between her legs.  He felt a desperation
rising within him, to walk up behind her, to run his hands up between those
thighs, to feel the silk beneath his fingers, to explore the dark secrets
that lay above.

   "Ah, here we are, 'W'." Not changing her position, she pulled the drawer
open.

   After another pause, she straightened, running her hands slowly over her
ass and down the back of her thighs to smooth down her skirt.  She then
walked around the drawer and stood so that she was facing him.

   "Now, let me see," she said, still seemingly absorbed in her search. 
And she bent slowly forward again, her legs straight, and reached her hand
down towards the open draw.  As she did so, her uniform blouse fell
forward.

   Adrian gasped.  He couldn't help it.  Another button of her blouse
seemed to have come undone, and as she leaned forward, he could clearly her
breasts.  Of course he had seen breasts before; smuggled pictures torn from
magazines that he and his friends had drooled over, but these were real. 
Flesh.  In front of him.

   He focused his eyes, not wishing to miss a moment of this undreamt of,
and yet so often dreamt of moment.  They were round and firm and beautiful.
He could see the swell of them, rising to a darker pink around the nipples,
and the nipples themselves, standing out, pointed, like small buds.

   "'Watson', 'Williams', 'Wilson', 'Wodehouse' ....  Ah, here it is,
'Woodward'.  As she spoke, her fingers had walked along the files, but now
they stopped and she grasped the file underneath.  Adrian quickly looked
away - she was bound to look up at this point, catching him looking,
getting into even more trouble.  But she didn't look up.  Instead, she
crouched down, resting her bottom on her heels.

   He looked back.  Her skirt was stretched tight around her thighs, her
knees held closely together, pointing at him.  He could see a small
triangle of darkness formed by the hem of her skirt stretching over her
legs, but look as he might, the darkness was impenetrable.  Never in his
young life had he been so close to discovering what he had dreamed of so
much, and yet those locked legs denied him.  And Miss Heath, oblivious of
his craving, continued to examine the file in front of her.

   As if in answer to some unspoken prayer, she began to change her
position, shifting her balance on her toes, causing her legs to open and
her skirt to ride up.  Adrian watched as her knees began to part; as the
gap between her thighs grew wider.  It seemed to happen so slowly, like the
movement of the first rays of the sun through a gap in the curtains.  The
light seeped slowly up her thighs, glinting on the silk of her stockings,
until it reached the darker material of her stocking tops.  For a moment it
seemed to pause, but then resumed its upward caress, over the stocking tops
to the white skin of her thighs, up to the dimples at their apex, and
finally to her sex, covered snugly by the material of her white panties.

   All pretence of subtlety gone, he stared at her panties, noting the
shapes and undulations under the surface, the unknown contours of what lay
beneath.  She looked so soft, so rippled, so curved.  And there he noted,
without understanding, in the very centre, in what seemed to him a small
valley, a trace of a greyer line, like moisture soaked into the white
material.  And finally, the material bunching and disappearing between her
buttocks.  Oh, how he wished he could be those panties, to touch what they
touched, to be so close....

   He looked up from this view of paradise and found that Miss Heath was
looking at him, the file in her hand forgotten.  For a second their eyes
locked and she held his gaze, before suddenly standing up and closing the
filing cabinet drawer with her foot.

   She walked over to the desk and sat down, placing the folder in front of
her.  "Right," she said, looking over the desk at him.  "I'm just going to
have a look through your folder."

   For a moment, as he came back to reality, he was confused; surely she
had done that already, when she was at the filing cabinet.  But then he
became suddenly aware of something more serious: he had an erection.  He
looked carefully down his body and saw the small bulge under his dressing
gown, and if he could see it, that meant that Miss Heath could see it too.
As if he wasn't in enough trouble already!  Carefully, he moved his hands
on to his lap and pressed down.

   "Just relax, Adrian.  Leave your hands at your sides."

   He jumped when he heard her voice.  Looking up at her, she was still
looking at the file, but the command in her voice compelled him.  He moved
his hands back down to his sides but, looking down, he saw that the bulge
was still there, betraying him.

   As he waited for her to finish, he tried to make sense of the last ten
minutes.  There were things he didn't understand about Miss Heath.  It was
almost as if she had gone out of her way to show herself to him.  And the
way she had looked at him when she saw him looking up her skirt.....  But
she was an adult; she belonged to that mysterious world of grown-ups; and
he was just a ten year old boy.  And now he was in big trouble: she had
caught him wanking; she had seen him looking up her skirt; and now he had
an erection.  He looked across at her and gloom began to close in around
him.

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

   To be continued?