Evening Tutorial

From Uniform Girls 52

The phone rang. It was Mr Finling.

‘Christine? Hello dear. Just a quick word. I’d like you in the sailor suit this evening. OK? I wasn’t sure what I said last time. But definitely the sailor suit. OK?’

Looking across at David, Christine smiled and said OK.

‘Lovely. The normal time then. Are you by yourself right now?’

Christine rounded her big blue eyes at David and said no.

Mr Finling laughed softly. ‘A girlfriend or a boyfriend? As long as you’re not doing anything naughty dear. You’ll have to tell me later, won’t you.’

He rang off. She thought: maybe he had rung to see how long it took her to answer. And if the phone had to ring a few times it might mean she was doing something. With David. She had told Mr Finling about David, the new boy at school whom she rather fancied. And Mr Finling had said last time he wanted the sailor suit. Although he could have forgotten, as he said.

Christine and David hadn’t been doing anything as it happened. Just sitting on either side of the coffee table in Christine’s lounge. It was 4.30 and neither of her parents got back before 5.30. So they could have been doing something. Right here on the lounge settee for instance. Christine could have had her knickers off with David on top of her. His stiff thing sliding in and out of her well-lubricated vagina. That was what Mr Lindale in Biology said, ‘the well-lubricated vagina’, making some girls in the class go very red in the face.

But of course Christine and David hadn’t been doing that. Christine hadn’t done it with anyone yet, although she was 18 and quite a number of girls of 18 had. Did Mr Finling really believe she hadn’t done it yet? With David? Or someone?

David asked who it was on the phone. Christine reached behind her to unfasten her blonde ponytail, the action, as she knew, thrusting out her big boobs. ‘Maybe it was my other boyfriend,’ she teased. ‘Desperate to see me. Do you think?’

David flushed slightly and shrugged. He was still unsure of himself with Christine who was such a beautiful girl with a stunning figure. Beautiful enough to be a model or something. He was new to the town and still found it difficult to believe he had got this far with Christine Calvert, who was certainly the best looking girl at his new school.

‘Actually it was Mr Finling. He’s my tutor. I have to see him later.’

Nothing about the sailor suit of course. Oh no, she couldn’t tell David about that. She couldn’t tell anyone about that.

‘Your tutor? What does he tute?’

‘Oh various things. Things that I’m stupid in I suppose. Come over here and sit next to me.’

David came across to sit on the settee.

‘What subjects. English, French?’ He couldn’t really believe Christine had a tutor.

‘Yes,’ she said airily. ‘Whatever I’m deficient in.’ She squeezed David’s upper arm through his shirt sleeve.

He laughed. ‘So it wasn’t really your other boyfriend?’

‘No. My other boyfriend doesn’t call on Tuesdays. I see him Wednesdays mostly. He comes round and I usually let him screw me here on the settee. If he’s brought a contraceptive that is, because a girl’s got to be careful about getting pregnant. But if he has I’m nice to him and let him have access to my well-lubricated vagina.’

David wasn’t laughing or smiling now. He had gone red in the face. She moved her hand to his thigh. ‘Mr Lindale said that in Biology. Prior to intercourse as a natural process the woman’s vagina becomes well-lubricated. Susan Bartlett and Angela Greene went bright red! Probably they’d been doing it the previous night and theirs had been well lubricated.’

‘But not Christine Calvert?’ David’s voice had a shaky edge.

‘No. I don’t think I went red. I kept my cool.’

‘I mean… you hadn’t been… doing it the previous night?’

‘No, it wasn’t my night for doing it.’ She rubbed his thigh. ‘Oh David, I was only joking. You know I don’t have another boyfriend. And I don’t do it.’ Her hand moved up to his crotch. ‘Mmm… are you stiff..?’

David grunted. He did have a semi-erection. As a result of what Christine had been saying — although the thought of her screwing someone else made him feel sick. Her hand rubbed him.

‘Would you like me to do something?’ Fingers finding his zip and tugging it down.

He said. ‘What about your tutor? Will he approve?’

Christine had it out. It was fully erect now. Her fingers clasped round it as far as they could. She commenced a pumping action.

‘No. Pretty definitely he won’t approve. And he’ll make me tell him. So I suppose I’ll get punished.’ She looked up her wide blue eyes meeting David’s as she continued stroking. ‘I’ll just have to take my punishment, won’t l?’

David’s cock was getting even bigger, the head a swollen purply-pink. David’s face was red too, and intense-looking.

‘Shall I tell you how he punishes me?’ Christine said silkily. But of course she was only joking. She wouldn’t tell David that. And that was what she said afterwards, after David had come, spurting out and she had caught it in a tissue so that he didn’t make a mess on her dress or the carpet. He asked, as she thought he would, because clearly David was rather interested in Mr Finling, and she told him:

‘I was only joking. He doesn’t punish me.’

But of course that wasn’t true. Mr Finling could hand out really painful punishments.

----//----

‘Hello lovely girl!’ Mr Finling greeted Christine with a little kiss on her mouth. ‘Come in and take your coat off. Then come through to the drawing room and let me see you.’

He was wearing a black open waistcoat on top of his shirt this evening which with his trimmed beard, Christine thought made ,Mr Finling look quite like an artist. Although he wasn’t of course.

His house was about a mile from Christine’s and she normally rode her bike over as she had this evening. If it was raining, though, Mr Finling would give her a lift in his car because he was very keen for her not to miss any of her regular Tuesday and Thursday evening sessions. Whatever her mode of transport Christine wore a coat because Mr Finling’s outfits were likely to cause more than a raised eyebrow if seen by the casual passer-by. The sailor suit was perhaps one of the least eyebrow-raising outfits but it would nonetheless cause comment when worn, as it was, by a beautiful and very well-developed 18-year-old girl.

The sailor suit consisted of a short-sleeved navy top with little white buttons down the front and with a wide white sailor collar, plus a very short full-pleated white skirt. With this outfit Mr Finling required shiny black patent-leather strap-over shoes with white ankle-socks, but these were only put on after Christine’s arrival because again the little-girl shoes in particular might look odd on a full-grown girl.

With the shoes and socks now on (they had as usual been waiting for her in the hallway) Christine followed Mr Finling into the drawing room. He was sitting in his favourite armchair with a glass of white wine on the little table in front of him.

Christine stopped in the centre of the room. She came to attention, then curtsied. Finally she performed a swirling pirouette. As well as spinning out her long blonde ponytail this caused the short pleated skirt to bell out and reveal everything underneath as far as her waist. The full, softly-rounded thighs and above them her ripe-cheeked bottom and in front the bulge of her mons veneris all contained in snowy-white nylon knickers.

‘Splendid!’ Mr Finling applauded, clapping his hands. With her pirouette finished Christine performed a second curtsy, then continued forward to stand at his side in a little-girl pose: the shiny black shoes together and her hands clasped together in front of the abbreviated skirt.

‘Lovely!’ Mr Finling said. His hand came round to gently caress the back of Christine’s near-side thigh. ‘I do love you in the sailor suit. You make such a lovely little sailor-girl.’

The caressing hand slid up. ‘One with such a scrumptious big bum.’ The hand fondling her bottom through the tight white nylon knickers. ‘Not to mention her quite marvellous big boobs, eh Christine dear?’

Mr Finling didn’t really need an answer to this, but he did to his next question. ‘Well, was it that David you were with dear? Mmm…?’

Christine said, ‘uh… yes…’ As the hand continued its detailed exploration of her bottom. Although of course it was terrain that the hand was very familiar with.

‘And were we smooching, Christine darling? Were we getting all hot and steamy. With our school clothing in charming disarray? Our knickers perhaps down — or even off altogether?’

‘No! Really I wasn’t. We were just talking… about school work.

‘Of course! I am sure you were dear. And I am sure my lovely Christine would not dream of taking her knickers down when she is having an innocent visit with a boyfriend. Nor indeed would she dream of letting this boy take her knickers down, even though boys can be very persistent about such matters. No. But I just think…’

Mr Finling’s hand had moved up from the cheeks of Christine’s bottom to the waistband of her knickers. ‘I just think that… a little something… as a reminder… would not be at all amiss.’ The hand was of course now sliding Christine’s knickers down.

‘Not the cane!’ she blurted. ‘Not that bloody cane! And anyway… I wasn’t doing anything. Really …’

The taut nylon knickers were down off Christine’s shapely bum now. And Mr Finling’s hand was back there, now on the silky bare flesh.

‘I know dear. And I’m not accusing you of anything. It’s just a reminder. And really I think we might have the cane. These darling springy nates seem to be crying out for it.’

‘No! They’re not. They’re crying out not to get it. Please! Just a spanking. And I’ll be really good! I’ll keep really still. And if you want… I’ll open my legs. And keep them… just how you like.’

‘Hmm…’ Mr Finling’s fingers gave a sharp pinch to the full flesh of Christine’s near-side bottom-cheek. ‘We’ll have to see. I’ll have to keep my options open of course. Anyway we’ll start off with a spanking. Go and wait for me while I finish my drink.’

The fingers gave a dismissive, and this time very sharp, pinch to the companion cheek, this one bringing a yelp from Christine. She stepped away, and reached to pull up her knickers. Mr Finling would want them down but he would also want her to go through the proper ritual for a spanking. Which began with knickers properly in place. She rubbed ruefully at the site of the final painful pinch. It was a reminder that he could hurt her. That she could still get the cane.

With knickers up again she walked demurely over to the alcove and the high-backed wooden chair which was Mr Finling’s routine spanking chair. A spanking wasn’t all that bad. It could make your bottom sting — but nothing like the cane. And maybe Mr Finling wasn’t going to believe she hadn’t been doing anything at all with David. And if he managed to prise something out of her… Well the fact that she hadn’t been telling the truth would make it worse. She would certainly get a caning then. Probably a pretty awful one. Like that time before when he had found out she hadn’t told the truth.

Christ! She shouldn’t have done that with David. Not taken his thing out of his trousers and played with it. But at the time she had felt a real urge to do it. To have that hot and quivering thing in her hand. And then being able to bring him off. Pumping it… and feeling the climax coming. David’s sperm ready to spurt out. And David with no control of course, she was doing it.

You should learn more self-control, she told herself. Standing now behind the spanking chair. Eyeing Mr Finling as he leisurely sipped his wine. And thinking at the same time of David’s stiff and urgent prick which she had had in her hand less than two hours earlier. Oh Christ! She didn’t want the cane. Maybe she should confess, it might make it easier. Get down on her knees. Then she might not get the cane.

Mr Finling had finished his drink. ‘Are you ready?’ he called over.

‘Yes Mr Finling.’ A contrite little-girl voice. Turning in front of the chair now. And flipping up the short pleated skirt. Holding it up round her waist, to show Mr Finling her bottom in the tight knickers. The delectable twin-moon target facing him as he now came over.

Coming close and his fingers lightly testing underneath the ripe jut. ‘So. Nothing more to say at this juncture dear?’

‘Ah… I…’ She wanted to say. Confess at least something. But Mr Finling didn’t really seem to want to hear. Not at this point. He was ready for a spanking. He wanted to get his hand at Christine’s ripe bum. Later on perhaps.

‘Come on!’ He moved her and sat down. Then pulled Christine over his lap. Right away tugging down the knickers.

‘Come on! Let’s give you something to be going on with at least.’

Christine gave a yelp as his hand slammed down on her bare bottom. Sometimes Mr Finling liked to fiddle about first. Fiddling with her bared bottom — and his hand frequently sliding in and under to also fiddle with her pussy. And Mr Finling of course knew just what to do, exactly where to put or insert his fiddling fingers, so as to get a girl really going. And then when he had got her going, that was the time he might start slamming his hand down, with devastating effect, when she was all hot and squirmy and ready to come.

But tonight there was none of that. Or at least not yet. It was just straight in with the slamming hand. A real shock to the system. Though not as much of a shock as when Mr Finling had got her going first. And certainly not as much of a dreadful shock as getting that bloody cane.

But it was hurting alright. Really stinging! Just think of the cane! And grit your teeth. As Mr Finling’s hard hand kept slamming down. Yes, think of that awful bloody cane. The only trouble was… she might still get the cane! Afterwards. In addition to this!

At last Mr Finling had had enough. Christine’s poor bottom felt red hot. But at least it was over. For the moment at any rate. She struggled off of Mr Finling’s lap, then stood in front of him with her skirt still held round her waist. Her bottom towards Mr Finling, so he could inspect his handiwork. Inspect the glowing cheeks which must be bright red.

His hand there, fondling and giving little pinches. ‘Well, that was a start. Eh Christine sweetheart! To get you warmed up, mmm?’ His hand slapped one hot cheek.

‘No! I mean no more please! I mean I haven’t done anything.’

‘We haven’t fully discussed that David business. Does he know you visit a tutor twice a week?’

Christine said yes.

‘And does he know what for?’

‘I told him subjects I need help in. English and French, etc.’

‘You didn’t tell him you get punished.’

Christine squirmed as the hand pushed in between her legs. ‘Yes.’

‘What?’

‘I uh I told him you screwed me. If you weren’t happy with my work.’ She gave a nervous little laugh. ‘It was only a joke.’

‘Did he think it was a joke? Maybe I should. Then you could tell him it was for real. Tell him all the details.’

Christine gave another anxious laugh. She shouldn’t have said that. Why did she say these things? She made a sort of bleating sound. Mr Finling’s hand was at her pussy and she was quite wet.

‘Don’t you think so? We could go upstairs now.’ He slid his finger into her. ‘And I’m certainly in the mood. Spanking you has put me right in the mood.’ Mr Finling was standing up, taking his hand away now. He reached round for her hand, pulling it behind her.

‘You see. I’ve got a nice big erection for you.’ He was putting her hand on it. Christine clasped it. It was big alright.

‘No… really. I don’t want to. I’m… not ready for it.’

Christine liked to think of fucking but she was scared of the real thing. She liked to think of fucking various people. She would do so in bed, as she played with herself and it was a big turn-on. Various boys, including David. A couple of masters at school. And Mr Enright who lived next door who certainly wanted to fuck her. He had said so, said that now she was 18 she should certainly start and it was best to start with an older man. Christine had fended him off saying she would think about it. But if she wanted an older man — there was Mr Finling. Yes, she thought about fucking Mr Finling too. But basically she was scared of the real thing. She was scared of getting pregnant for one thing. You could use contraceptives but did they always work? Mr Lindale had told them all about the different methods — but also said that none was 100% foolproof.

She squeezed Mr Finling’s erect penis. Pumping it gently. Thinking of having it pushing into her wet pussy. Thrusting up into her. And then maybe one of those millions of sperms getting through to where they all wanted to go.

‘Tell me about David,’ Mr Finling said. ‘What you really did.’ His hands came round and cupped Christine’s boobs.

Oh Christ! He would get it out of her! And it would only make it worse by trying to continue with her claim of nothing at all.

‘I… played with his thing. Wanked him. That was all. He… didn’t do anything to me. I just took out his thing and gave him a wank. He didn’t even ask me to.’

Christine let out a sibilant sigh. Of relief. It felt a lot better having said it. Everything. But she should have said it right away, that was the only problem. She bit her lip. Taking her hand away from Mr Finling’s prick now.

‘Well you’ll have to be punished,’ he said, squeezing her tits. ‘For telling lies. You’ve got to learn that lesson. Pretty girls with lovely big tits mustn’t tell lies to their tutors.’

‘Please! Not that bloody cane,’ her voice hissed out. She wanted to say: screw me instead. Take me upstairs and screw me in one of the beds. I’ll be really good and cooperative. And you’ll be the first one.

But she didn’t say that. Because she was too scared for one thing. What was she more scared of: getting pregnant or the cane? The answer was the first. Although there probably wasn’t a real risk. Susan and Angela both screwed every night according to Jane Moreby, although that might be an exaggeration, but anyway they weren’t getting pregnant. Susan said doing it was really swoony, and Christine could believe her. Certainly thinking about doing it could be fantastic.

----//----

Christine was thinking about doing it as she lay in bed. Imagining doing it as she let her hand play gently with her swollen clit. David and also Steve Banley whom she also fancied. Also Mr Enright next door, and of course Mr Finling. Letting them all in her mind have a turn on top of her. Or in some other more exotic position. It took her mind off the caning of course. Off of her bottom which was still stinging from Mr Finling’s whippy cane.

He had done it upstairs. Maybe wanting to scare her. Wanting her to think she was being taken up there to be screwed. But it was to get the cane. Lying over the side of his bed. With her skirt off as well as her knickers.

Wearing just the sailor top and the shiny black shoes and white ankle socks. With her ripe bottom nicely positioned over the edge of the bed.

For that bloody awful cane!