Chapter Three

Miss Bridget divided lesbian girls into three categories. First were the out and out lesbians, who had never been touched by a man and never would be. Second were those girls who were to some degree, even if slightly, bisexual. She knew that some of her girls would, if left to their own devices, have occasional sex with boys. But of course Miss Bridget strictly forbade that. It took away the girls’ energies and made them less focused on their role within the Circle, which was to pleasure older ladies who had the means to secure their services.

And then there was a third category, girls who when they arrived at St Swithin’s were still in a pre-sexual state, not yet awakened. A proportion of such girls were lesbians, though they did not know it yet; for, unlike the other girls, their every waking moment was not full of thoughts of sex. They had come to St Swithin’s to learn, to prepare themselves for life and for a career. Sex could wait.

Flora had an uncanny ability to seek out such girls and to know which of them could have their undeveloped sexuality turned decisively into the lesbian channel. Miss Bridget had asked her more than once how she knew that a girl who apparently showed no interest in sex would when aroused prefer girls to boys. Flora had replied that she didn’t know. She just had an instinct. Miss Bridget asked was it in the way these girls talked, or moved, or sat, or what they said, even if they did not talk about sex? Flora replied that it was all and none of these things. She just knew.

Just a week after the beginning of the new college year, Flora had singled out one such girl. Clara looked younger than her nineteen years. She was pretty in an ethereal way: curly blonde hair, large blue eyes, a sweet little mouth and a slight, willowy figure. Flora could see that the girl was lonely; she had yet to make any friends at the college, and so Flora took her under her wing. She took her for walks around the grounds, she introduced her to some of the girls from the Circle, the quiet ones, though she could see that Clara had no idea of how these girls were drawn to her, how they would each and every one have jumped at the opportunity to take Clara into bed and initiate her into the pleasures of all-girl sex.

Flora took Clara to her room and suggested some reading she might do for her classes. She spoke about the college generally, its traditions and customs. She even gave her a glass of wine; Clara had never tasted wine before, and soon was light-headed. But Flora did not take advantage of her state. She knew that a premature advance would spoil everything. With girls like Clara you had to wait for the moment when, overcome by desires of which they had no previous experience, they themselves were the initiators. They had to want a kiss on the mouth, had to want a hand on the thigh, had to want fingers stroking their knickers and then sliding inside.

Clara was very shy. She came from one of the mountain states; was it Idaho? Her family were religious and strict. Sex was never mentioned in her house; it simply didn’t exist. Later, Clara wondered how she herself had ever been conceived. Gradually Flora socialised her. She told her that one of the girls had expressed admiration for her. “Me?” asked Clara. She couldn’t believe that anyone would even notice her.

“Believe me, these girls notice you,” said Flora. “They can all see how pretty you are. You have a lovely face. And your body is graceful.”

Flora was looking forward to the moment when she got to see that body naked. She imagined Clara’s small, shy breasts, with little pink nipples. She imagined her tight, round little bottom. And she imagined her cunt, its delicate pink lips unfolding to reveal the coral depths. But she was resolved to keep a check on her desires until such time as they might be unleashed.

Clara blushed. “Thank you, Miss Flora,” she said. She didn’t know why everyone called her Miss Flora when all the other girls were known simply by their first names. But if everyone did it, she thought it right to do it too.

“Which of the girls you have met so far do you think is the prettiest?” Flora asked her.

“Oh, gosh, search me,” said Clara She had a curiously old-fashioned vocabulary, as if she had been brought up in a time warp.

“Shall I tell you which one I favour?” Flora asked.

“If you like,” said Clara

“I like Sophia,” said Flora. “She has such a beautiful mouth, anyone would want to kiss it. And she has an eye-catching bosom.” Flora had had the pleasure of seeing the bosom close up, naked, and had touched Sophia’s breasts with great pleasure. She discovered even greater pleasure when she discovered that Sophia was addicted to spanking. The two had spent a very stimulating afternoon recently when Flora had given her a real workout that left her bottom sore and bruised. On that occasion, however, the breasts had gone untouched.

Clara wondered if it was proper to refer to a girl’s person in that manner, though secretly she had herself noticed Sophia’s impressive bosom and rather envied her for it.

“Have you ever kissed a girl?” Flora asked. It was surely time to move things on a bit.

Clara was surprised by the question. “I’ve never kissed anyone, Miss Flora,” she said shyly.

“Would you like to?” Flora asked gently.

“I don’t know,” Clara said hesitantly. “I suppose I wouldn’t know until I’d tried.”

Flora decided to try a different tack. “Don’t you feel it’s too warm for a sweater?” she asked.

Clara was wearing a rather boring blue wool jumper, which hung loosely, not revealing anything which Clara might herself have in the way of a bosom. “Perhaps,” she said.

“I’ve got a lovely shirt I bought, only I think it’s a little too small. Would you like to try it on?”

Clara blushed again. “Well,” she said, then her voice trailed off.

Flora fetched the shirt from a drawer. “Take your sweater off,” she said.

Clare sat unmoving, looking uncomfortable.

“What’s the matter?” Flora said.

“Please, Miss Flora,” she said. “I’m not wearing a bra.”

Flora laughed. “Do you think I haven’t seen a girl’s tits before? You don’t need to be shy with me.”

Clara sat still. “I can’t,” she said desperately. Not even her mother had seen her naked since her breasts had started to swell. But the thought that they hadn’t swollen much made her even shyer than ever.

“Clara,” said Flora sternly. “We are all grown-ups here. We don’t need to have these silly schoolgirl inhibitions. Now take it off, or I shall be offended.”

Offending Miss Flora was the last thing Clara wanted; she was the only friend she had. Slowly, still blushing, she took hold of the sweater and raised it, pulling it over her head. Immediately she let the sweater go, she moved her hands to her breasts to cover them, but not before Flora had seen a pair of sweet little pink-tipped breasts.

“You know,” she said as Clara hurriedly put on the shirt, “not everyone likes big breasts. Some of us girls actually prefer the little ones, firm and trim.”

Clara blushed more than ever. She didn’t know what to make of this. Why were they talking about breasts? Though she did notice she was getting a funny feeling, somewhere in the depths of her belly, somewhere near to that place she had never yet named, scarcely even thought of.

“I think it’s only fair, since you’ve been so brave, that I show you my tits in return,” Flora said. She stood up and undid her shirt, removed it, then reaching behind her back deftly unhooked her bra and let it fall. She stood there, displaying herself for the other girl. Clara didn’t know where to look, though she did take a peep. Miss Flora’s breasts were definitely bigger than her own, with dark nipples. Clara looked away.

Flora came closer. “Wouldn’t you like to touch them?” she said.

Clara thought she ought to leave. It was getting to be most uncomfortable. Yet something held her back. Flora stepped nearer and, taking one of Clara’s hands, put it to her left breast. Without knowing what she was doing, Clara closed her hand around the soft round breast.

“Doesn’t it feel good?” Flora said softly. “Put your hand on the other one too.”

Clara did as she was told. She daren’t look Miss Flora in the eye. Something was tingling lower down. She felt strange between her legs, as if she had got a little sticky. Flora put her arms around Clara’s neck and kissed her lightly on the mouth. “You can kiss my tits too if you like,” she said.

“No,” said Clara. “I couldn’t do that.”

“Perhaps you can’t,” Flora whispered, “but I think you’d like to.”

Best not to rush the poor little mouse, Flora thought. She moved away and began to put her shirt back on, leaving aside her bra.

“I think I’d better go, Miss Flora,” Clara said.

“I’ll introduce you to some more of the girls tomorrow,” Flora said. “I know they are dying to make your acquaintance.”

“Goodbye, Miss Flora,” said Clara hurriedly, quickly putting on her sweater. “And thank you for the shirt. It’s very nice.”

Clara was disturbed by this encounter with Miss Flora. Although she no longer shared her parents’ religious views, she had not freed herself from their legacy, mainly a strong sense of guilt. She felt that it had been wrong to expose herself to Miss Flora. And wrong also to peep at Miss Flora’s breasts when they were naked. And worse still to touch them, although it had not been her idea.

And yet looking and touching had given her a funny feeling between her legs. Back in her room she put her hand between her legs, slipping a finger under her knickers. She was wet. Why was that? She stared at her finger. It wasn’t blood. It wasn’t any colour at all. She put it to her lips and tasted; there was a faint bodily flavour. And perhaps a slight odour too. What did these things mean?

Guilt came over her again. She should be punished for her moments of weakness. Standing in front of the mirror she took off the shirt Miss Flora had given her and stared at her breasts. She put her fingers to her nipples and found them hard. She remembered that her mother had always told her that sensuality was the worst sin for a woman. Clara pinched her nipples hard as a punishment. Something twitched down below. She dug her nails into her nipples until she gasped. “You wicked, wicked girl,” she said out loud. “You should be punished.”

She looked around for something appropriate. In the kitchen area at one end of the room was a pot stuffed with utensils. Clara picked out a wooden spoon. She went back and stood in front of the mirror again and started to smack her breasts with the spoon, as hard as she could. It hurt, more and more. Her nipples got harder still and her breasts got pink. And down between her legs she could feel she was wetter than ever.

It’s down there where I should really get the punishment, Clara thought. That’s where the wickedness is. She took off the rest of her clothes and stood looking at herself naked in the mirror, something she had hardly ever done. What was it that Miss Flora had said? Her body was graceful. And she said she had liked her breasts. (Clara couldn’t bring herself to call them tits, like the other girls did. It sounded smutty.)

Clara turned round and twisted her head to get a view of her back. Would the other girls like her bottom? She reproached herself not only for sensuality but for vanity too. She picked up the wooden spoon again and struck herself between her legs. It was a hard blow and Clara gasped as she put her hand on her crotch to soothe herself.

“Take your hand away this minute,” she ordered herself. “You’re in trouble, young lady.” She began to smack her cunt, a stream of solid blows aimed squarely between her legs. The pain was really bad, but she knew she needed it. She deserved it for being a slut. “Slut,” she said out loud. “Take your punishment.”

At last she stopped. She put her hand between her legs again. She was wetter than ever, her cunt drooling, some of it even trickling down the inside of her thigh. On an impulse she crossed to the kitchen table, placing herself at one corner. Gingerly she pushed up against it, feeling the hard edge of the wood press into her. She started moving backwards and forwards, each time nudging her cunt against the wood, until she was banging herself cruelly, the corner of the table digging into her mercilessly, finding her clit (which she scarcely knew existed) and making it ache. The more she hurt herself the wetter she got, and the more pain she thought she deserved. Then, quite unexpectedly, her body began to quiver and shake. Her breath was taken away by the shudder which shook her and the intense sensation between her legs, a sensation of pleasure that was too much, much too much. Gradually it subsided.

Clara didn’t know such things could happen. She sat down on a chair, getting her breath back. Was this normal? Did other girls have this experience? Why had no one told her? She felt unclean now, in her body and in her mind. She went and took a shower, washing off all that wetness between her legs. She put on a clean pair of white cotton knickers, had a quick cup of tea, then went to the library, her mind still in a whirl.

It was still in a whirl when she went to bed. Her cunt was sore and she put her hand there to soothe it, but that made it tingle, and before she knew what was happening she was rubbing herself. That thing happened again, the shuddering, the almost unbearable pleasure; surely anything as good as this must be wicked, she thought, She really needed to be punished again. But she was too tired. Tomorrow, perhaps.

Miss Flora came looking for her again the next day. She introduced her to two nice girls, who asked her friendly questions about herself, about where she came from and about her family. Then one of them asked her if she had a boyfriend. Clara saw her glance at Miss Flora as she did so. Had she been told to ask such a question? Clara blushed and replied that she did not.

“Have you ever had one?” another girl asked.

Clara shook her head.

“Well, nor have I,” said the first girl.

“You’ve made up for it with girls, though,” said the second girl, and they both giggled. Clara looked at Miss Flora. She didn’t like to talk about boys. They were rough and noisy and hairy and she couldn’t bring herself to think about that thing they had between their legs. How could any girl want that inside her?

They were all having lunch and afterwards Miss Flora took Clare back to her room. Clara was wearing shorts this time, which showed off her long legs. Images came into Flora’s mind of Clara with her shorts around her ankles, or off altogether, her legs splayed. Flora was sure she would have an untended little bush, a knot of blonde hair, even a thick one.

Clara had been very quiet, as if she was hiding something. Flora asked if anything was troubling her. Clara had an irresistible urge to unburden herself.

“Is it bad to like girls, Miss Flora? Is it wrong to let them touch me? Or touch them? I don’t remember the bible says anything about that.”

Flora was amused, but refrained from showing it. “Some girls like boys, and some girls prefer other girls. They are more civilised. And their bodies are more graceful, softer, smoother.”

“Is that what you prefer, Miss Flora?”

“Yes, Clara, that is what I prefer,” Flora answered.

“I’m very conflicted, Miss Flora. I feel it’s wrong to like girls, and yet I’m starting to think I have these feelings too. What should I do?”

“Let me ask you, Clara, have you ever done anything with a girl or a boy? You know what I mean.”

“No, Miss Flora,” Clara said. “I’m afraid I am very backward. What should I do?” she said again.

Flora thought it time to take the plunge. “You can’t know if you really like girls, in that way I mean, unless you have tried it. If after that you don’t feel girls are right for you after all, then perhaps you could try a boy.”

Clara turned up her nose. “I don’t think I could do that,” she said firmly. “If I find I don’t like girls, I think I will give up that side of life altogether.”

That would be a waste of such a pretty little thing, Flora thought. Now was the time for action. “Come here, Clara,” Flora said. Clara approached warily. Flora put out a hand and stroked her cheek. “You are a very pretty girl,” she said. “Let me show you what pleasures there are to be found in the arms of another woman.” She put her arm around Clara’s neck and gently pulled her closer, then she planted her lips on Clara’s mouth, not hard but firmly. She moved her lips slightly, so that Clara could feel the life and energy in them. Flora was glad to be answered by a movement of Clara’s lips too. Flora opened her mouth just wide enough for her tongue to sneak out. It slid into Clara’s mouth. For a moment she resisted, trying to pull away, but Flora held her firmly and soon Clara relaxed and let Flora’s tongue explore her. After a while she even began to reciprocate, sucking on Flora’s tongue, sticking her own tongue into Flora’s mouth. It was nice, this kissing. Why hadn’t anyone told her?

Flora pulled her head back slightly, then moved her mouth around to Clara’s ear. She licked it, then tried to slide the tip of her tongue inside. Clara moaned. This was too much. Something was happening down below, and she wanted to be touched there, she didn’t care if it was wicked or not.

“Come with me,” Flora whispered in Clara’s ear. The girl let herself be led towards the bed and put into a sitting position. Flora sat beside her. She resumed kissing, a little rougher now, forcing her tongue into Clara’s mouth as far as it would go. She moved a hand up to Clara’s chest and felt the girl stiffen. Clara was wearing the shirt that Flora had given her, and Flora began to undo the buttons. This time Clara was wearing a bra, the sort a schoolgirl might wear, in white cotton. Flora slipped a finger inside it and found a nipple. She put her finger on the end of it and moved it round and round. Soon the nipple was hard, then harder still. Clara’s breath was coming more quickly now. Flora knew the girl could not have stopped if she had tried. But she wasn’t trying. When Flora took a hand away from her nipple and began to slide it up her thigh, Clara did not even try to stop her. The skin on the inside of her thigh was wonderfully soft and smooth. Flora stroked it, all the while getting higher and higher. Soon she touched Clara’s knickers, which Flora was sure would match the white cotton bra. She stroked the outside of them for a while, feeing how warm they were, and damp already. Flora slyly worked a finger inside her knickers and Clara sighed. Her eyes were closed.

“Do what you like, Miss Flora,” she said. “I don’t mind.”

Flora pushed her gently back so that she was lying on the bed but with her feet on the floor. Flora got down on her knees, between Clara’s legs. She began to kiss Clara’s thighs on the inside, first one leg then the other. Without even being aware of what she was doing, Clara put a hand on Flora’s head, as if to guide her. Flora slowly moved up the thighs. She pressed her hand against Clara’s crotch, feeling the springy bush inside. Then she undid her shorts and pulled them down, with the knickers too. This was surely the point of no return. Clara held her breath. Flora pressed her mouth to Clara’s cunt, kissing the soft pink lips, then licking, up and down, at first on the outside, then parting the lips with her tongue, tasting the juices that now flowed copiously. She could feel Clara’s clit with her tongue and she licked it, round and round. Clara groaned.

Flora lifted her head, and Clara sighed with disappointment. Now it had started, she wanted more. Lots more. Flora ran her fingers through the tight little knot of pubic hair surrounding Clara’s cunt. That would have to come off, of course; it was Miss Bridget’s iron rule that all her girls were shaved. Until then, however, Flora found it pleasurable to play with the blonde bush.

Flora bent her head and resumed her work on Clara’s cunt. It was glistening now, made moist by Flora’s saliva and Clara’s own juices. Flora sucked on it, nibbled at it, put one then two fingers up inside and began to address Clara’s clit with more intent. Her tongue circled, lapping at the swollen little bud, then Flora sucked on it, before resuming licking. All at once Clara began to shake. She clenched her legs together, almost choking. For a while her slender body shuddered.

When the convulsions stopped, Flora held her and stroked her gently, kissing her face, her mouth, her nose, her eyelids. “Do you think this is wrong?” she whispered.

Clara opened her eyes. “I don’t know,” she said, “but if it is I don’t care.” She smiled.

In her bed that night Clara made herself come over and over again as she relived the experiences of the afternoon. She tried to remember every kiss, every caress. Would Miss Flora want to do it to her again?