Scales and Arpeggios" Part 4 (ff 1st)


Fiona amazed me. When we met in the corridor, she'd give a casual
greeting, or maybe just a wink, but never sought my company nor engaged me
in conversation. If we met in the refectory, we'd sit apart. For all the
world, we were the merest acquaintances. I was both astonished and
grateful. Her conversation was dull--unless the subject was sex, and on
that subject I would have found pretty much anyone interesting. She was
not exactly popular, and my circle of friends regarded her with utter
disdain, for no clear reason. She wasn't at all academic, she wasn't
attractive--to us high þyers, she was a "loser". To have been seen
socialising with her would have been an embarrassment to me. I didn't
particularly like or dislike her, but we were poles apart. I was glad and
surprised--for I still didn't really understand--that she didn't try to
insinuate herself upon me as a friend.

But then, about three weeks later, we passed one another in the main
school hall, striding in different directions to get to our classes. She
caught my eye, and clearly had something to say.

"How about tomorrow? Like to go for a walk?"

"Sure, that would be Þne." My heart was hammering already.

"Right after lunch, then. We'll meet here at--when can you be here? As
soon as possible, so we can get away. One Þfteen?"

"Yes, Þne." I'd miss lunch if necessary. I'd miss dinner, come to that.

"And will you try and bath and wash very carefully, everywhere, as soon as
possible before, OK?"

I blushed, but nodded. She was just stating her terms, not implying any
criticism of my personal hygiene.

"It's important to be clean. Right. See you then."

I was walking on air. I felt a sort of delicious anticipation--closest,
physically, to the post-orgasmic stage, with little þuttery shivers racing
one another around the body.

Like a gourmet who fasts before a grand dinner, I had no difÞculty in
abstaining for the next twenty-four hours. Despite my quaking arousal, I
slept soundly, dreaming of the morrow, while my body slowly, tightly
coiled its springs.

We met at the appointed time (I was early), and left on our walk with no
more than a raised eyebrow for greeting. We both walked fast. What little
conversation there was between us was calling attention to the wildlife we
saw, or some of the curious rusting artefacts we encountered on our walk.
Once or twice we stopped to inspect them. We were in a hurry, but wanted
to pretend otherwise. In fact my heart seemed to be in my mouth. I was
almost afraid. And then we were scampering on again. This was going to be
fun, she said, and this time, it being a Sunday, we would have plenty of
time.

I don't remember so much detail about these subsequent trysts. The goal
was always the same, and always if anything exceeded. However, this time
was to be memorable for two reasons. First, she brought a bag with water,
scissors and shaving gear. Second, I was to learn the correct use of the
tongue in sex. This time, I got naked at once. It was like Genesis: I was
so spiritually naked, physical nakedness just didn't signify.

First she trimmed and shaved me carefully, intently, without wasting a
movement. I found her touch all the more exciting because everything she
did was with a practical intent. I could hardly keep still when she felt
for stubble. There was absolutely no caressing, no arousing in and of
itself--none. But she was to prove the value of shaving so effectively
that I have been that way ever since.

This time, she taught me some ways to pleasure her. I was glad to do
anything she asked, although she had to rap out instructions and help me
on a number of occasions. She particularly enjoyed having my Þst in her
vagina--I never let her put so much as a Þnger into me, nor did she offer
to--and I can still remember how genuinely transported she was when I
gently revolved my wrist to and fro in her tight, warm, wet channel and
slowly, slowly teased her aching clitoris. I learned to love the feel of
her clitoris between my Þngers. To stroke that organ was its own reward,
so much so that the pleasure I was able to give her was a kind of bonus.

She was not particularly interested in having her nipples touched, of
which I was secretly glad, because her scrawny breasts were not
particularly inviting. Her pleasure zones deÞnitely resided between the
navel and the knees, which, whether coincidentally or not, was the
shapeliest part of her body. She obviously loved having her thighs
tickled, and although her calves were somewhat under-muscled, I recall
that her thighs were probably one of her best features--apart, of course,
from her spectacular cunt, which was neat, generously proportioned, and
satisfyingly responsive. In short, she was a pretty good guinea-pig for me
to practise my nascent skills upon, and when she had had enough, she was
civil enough to say,

"That was very nice. You're going to be good at this. In fact, you're
pretty good already."

She had found a length of thin rope--rather like sash-cord--which helped
to stabilize me upon the bench and hold my legs back so that she could
give me all ten of her talented Þngers, as well as her astonishing tongue.
She was able to point it out an extraordinary distance, and tremble it to
and fro with incredible speed, like a perfectly-executed trill. This was
electrifying on the nipple and dazzling on the clitoris. However, today's
big discovery was still further down.

She had me quaking with expectation, and then began softly tonguing the
backs of my thighs, carefully dodging the turns of rather grubby sash-cord
which held me relatively still. The feel of her tongue on my newly-denuded
outer lips was deliciously, dreamily tickly. Not screaming material, this,
but soft, sweet bliss. There was nothing narrow about her repertoire. She
tongued the outside of my pussy for an incredibly long time. At Þrst, it
was delicious; then, I began to feel a burning need in my clitoris and
nothing much from her tongue, although she kept up her big, wet, sloppy
licks. And then, gradually, after delicious, dreamy aeons of soft, purring
contentment, out of nowhere, an amazing sensitivity returned and my body
began to tense and shiver, and here I was on the brink of orgasm. After
that I was squeaking and mewling in abject bliss. Truly, having your cunt
tickled for upwards of an hour by a talented--and patient--tongue is one
of the most gentle sensory delectations. Whereas on the previous occasion
I had been wrenched and tortured by a blinding, Þzzing, dazzling display
of sexual pyrotechnics, today I was melting sweetly into a glorious,
passive swoon of voluptuous delight. It was simply exquisite. I felt so
deliciously soft and female, with just that insistent, sweet throb of the
clitoris--which her tongue studiously avoided--to add a touch of piquancy
to this gentle, insidious seduction.

And when, after all this time, she had reduced me to hypnotic, hedonistic
lingual languor, she began to lick that oh-so-sensitive area between my
anus and my cunt, I began to sob and weep with the sheer beauty of it, and
I know I was babbling a litany of thanks and praise all the time,

"Oh lovely, oh my God, thank you, thank you, that's so lovely..." and so on.

I must have thanked her a thousand times over. But then the terrible,
insinuating, soft, tickly tongue reached my anus, and afterwards I
realized the reason for her insistence that I wash carefully--at the time,
I was frankly too busy dealing with a combination of ecstasy and delighted
astonishment. Everything I had felt until that moment was lovely,
delightful, yes: but now I was not screaming, I was lowing like a cow in
labour. Gently, insistently, I was invaded by a sinuous, insidious warmth,
which gradually seized and cramped Þrst my belly, then my chest, and
Þnally my whole body. My skin, normally smooth and lustrous, was a lunar
landscape of spiky goose-þesh, the hair standing out straight from my
head. Never before or since have I trembled so long upon that crest, and
when I went over, my descent was fearsome. I think she was too tired to do
anything other than watch me writhe and gargle and choke in a storm of
crazy passion, no doubt feeling a quiet satisfaction at a job well done.
And then, when my defences were down, and I was hyper-sensitive, ticklish,
drugged with satiation, she attacked me with those incredible Þngernails.
I became very shrill then, and I think I was laughing, squealing, crying,
bawling as she hustled me through Þve or six thunderclap orgasms.

By Þve o'clock I was almost too drained to be able to reciprocate, but she
was more than grateful to hold my Þst inside her again, while I gently
made love to her very appreciative clitoris, which had a delightful,
slightly metallic, cool taste to it.

And as before, we returned content. We hardly spoke. We were both absurdly
happy. She kept looking at me and smiling. We basked in the shared
knowledge of our shared euphoria. Back at school, with few words, we went
our separate ways, as ever scarcely acknowledging one another's existence
until our next tryst.