The Education Of Clarissa
by Izzy French

“Oh, Sylvia, darling, it was just horrid.”Clarissa threw her suitcase across the room and fell onto the bed, in her usual dramatic fashion. Sylvia remained silent; there was little need to speak. Clarissa would not be able to resist the telling of her tale. Sylvia listened to her sigh and watched her pass the back of her hand across her eyes and draw her knees up.

“Truly horrid. Too awful to tell. Come over here, please won’t you, sweetheart? Offer me some shred of comfort in my hour of need.”

Sylvia had no doubt that Clarissa would end up on the stage. She went and knelt beside her friend and roommate, taking her proffered hand. She stroked it softly. Her friend’s fingers were long and slim, her skin as soft as silk.

“Poor you,” she soothed. “Why don’t you just lie back and tell me all about it.”

Clarissa had just returned from a weekend home, an unusual occurrence for boarders during term time at St Hilda’s. But it had been a special occasion, for which Clarissa’s father had sought permission well in advance, her parents’ twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. And, as sixth-formers, they were entitled to special dispensations, sometimes. The party was to be fabulous. Clarissa’s family were landed, owning a rambling Tudor mansion in the country. Clarissa’s dress had been made by the finest Parisian couturier, from beautiful peacock-blue satin. And, in addition to the overall grandeur of the event, Clarissa also planned for it to be a special occasion personally. She intended to lose her virginity. She had informed Sylvia of this moments before leaving on Friday evening.

“But it’s top secret of course,” she’d added in one of her stage whispers. “I want to know a man, to touch him, before my parents marry me off to some hideous cousin and it all comes as some horrible surprise on my wedding night. I want to it experience it now. With someone young and beautiful. Don’t you ever feel that need?”

Sylvia didn’t reply. She wasn’t sure she did. Not in the way Clarissa described. At night, sometimes, she explored the curves and crevices of her own body, experienced a brief but sweet sensation as she felt between her thighs. But that was the problem. She enjoyed the feel of her own body, and thought about the bodies of other girls when she was doing so. Not boys or men. The thought of them repulsed her. Though she had never shared this with Clarissa.

Sylvia had respected her friend’s confidentiality, but had spent the whole weekend dying to know what had happened. Clarissa had even decided who the lucky recipient of her virginity would be – Archie, the son of one of her father’s closest friends. Charles, Clarissa’s brother, Archie and Clarissa, had virtually grown up together.

“He’s so handsome, now, Sylvia, just like James Dean,” she’d said. So the last thing Sylvia had been expecting was for Clarissa to declare her deflowering as being horrid. A little painful, maybe, or messy. But not horrid.

“Wasn’t Archie gentle?” she ventured.

“Archie? Oh, Lord, I have lots to tell about Archie. And Charles too. It soon became apparent that it wouldn’t be Archie making love to me. Why would he, when he was doing that exact thing with Charles?”

Sylvia gasped, as she was sure she was expected to.

“Yes, I came across them in the summer house together. Both entirely naked and entangled. They saw me, but didn’t even part, so I ran back towards the house and bumped into him on the way.”

“Him?”

“Oh, yes, haven’t I said? It all finally happened with Lord Shrewsbury.”

“But isn’t he …?”

“Old? Yes. Thirty-five at least. Oh, and married too of course. But then she’s a shrew, so who can blame him for straying?”

Who, indeed, thought Sylvia, looking at her friend lying on the bed, her thick dark hair falling over the pillow, her lips plump and moist, her brown eyes turned to her. Sylvia reached forward and stroked Clarissa’s hair, hoping to coax out more of the tale, and to be able to offer solace if it was required.

“He was a savage, Sylvia, darling, all hard and hairy and thrusting. And it was over so quickly. All I was left with was a tear in my gown and a bruise on my back where I’d been leaning on the wall of the pagoda.”

She reached out and touched Sylvia’s cheek in return.

“Even his lips were hard and rough. Not like your sweet lips.” Clarissa ran her forefinger over Sylvia’s mouth. “I’m giving up on men. Come up here and kiss me. I need comforting.”

Sylvia obeyed Clarissa’s instruction, almost kissing her on the cheek, but at the last moment Clarissa’s mouth met her lips. For a moment they were still. The warmth of Clarissa’s lips on her own made Sylvia melt, then she felt her friend’s lips part, and they began to move together, their kiss becoming insistent and firm, until Clarissa broke away moments later.

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” Sylvia felt her whole body flush with heat, she stood and headed for the door. Clarissa caught her hand and pulled her onto the bed.

“Don’t say sorry. It was me. I’ve been dying to know how your lips would taste compared to his. They’re so sweet. He tasted of whisky and tobacco. You taste of violets. Kiss me again.”

Sylvia hesitated. Was this a trap? She turned to Clarissa. Her eyes were open wide, and they held her gaze, refusing to let her wander.

“I insist you kiss me again.”

Clarissa’s aristocratic tones brooked no argument. She was lying back on the pillow, her arms above her head. Sylvia lay on the bed next to her, reached over and kissed her. The second kiss was sweeter still, more prolonged and certain. Sylvia sensed they both knew that this felt right. Her body was aching now, with need and desire. Would the kiss be it? It was High Tea soon. Would they break away, go down to the hall together, enjoy sandwiches and scones, and never speak of these moments again? Just then the bell rang. They were due in the hall within minutes. They froze, still kissing, the tip of Clarissa’s tongue resting between Sylvia’s teeth. The bell ceased ringing. They resumed their kiss. Clarissa placed her hands around Sylvia’s cheeks, cupping them. She finally pulled away, though Sylvia knew then that this would not finish now. Clarissa caressed her cheeks with the tips of her fingers.

“Your skin’s so soft. Why would any girl wish to kiss a man who could scratch her face to pieces, when she could kiss you?”

Sylvia didn’t know the answer to that, but was happy to accept that, for now, it was Clarissa’s wish. She wanted to hold her friend now, tight, to feel her skin against her own, but she held back, wanting Clarissa to take the lead.

“I want more of you.” Clarissa whispered.

“And I want more of you too,” smiled Sylvia, relieved and happy.

They turned to face one another and kissed again. Sylvia felt Clarissa’s hand run down her side and pull her pinafore above her hip. The stroke of her hand on her thigh sent a shiver to her centre.

“I want to feel and see all of you,” Clarissa said. “I saw so little of him. Just his cock and the tops of his hairy thighs. Making love should be about the whole person, surely? Like it was with Charles and Archie. They were giving everything to each other. I could tell that, and that it wasn’t the first time they had either. I’m sure of that too.”

“I want that to feel what they were feeling.” Sylvia was feeling bolder. She began to unbutton Clarissa’s pale blue silk blouse, a little embarrassed at her own regulation navy serge pinafore and thick lisle stockings. Not like the delicate nylons that Clarissa wore, held up with a pretty suspender belt, no doubt. Once the blouse was open she pushed it back from Clarissa’s shoulders and gazed at her breasts encased in the pale pink satin bra. Clarissa shrugged the blouse away and threw it to the floor.

“We’ll be the same when we’re naked,” Clarissa reassured, obviously reading Sylvia’s discomfort. “But there’s no rush.”

Clarissa tucked her fingers under the tops of Sylvia’s stockings, causing Sylvia to groan with pleasure, at the sensation of her friend’s touch. She pressed her thighs together, feeling the familiar wetness. But this feeling was so much more intense, so sweet. She pushed Clarissa’s bra straps off her shoulders, and kissed the tops of her breasts. She wanted to feel her nipples between her lips, to suck and bite them, to squeeze them between her fingertips.

“Shall I take it off?” Clarissa anticipated her need.

Sylvia nodded.

“He couldn’t have cared less about my breasts. Or my pleasure at all for that matter. I can see that you won’t be so careless, Sylvia, darling.”

Clarissa reached around her back and released the clasp of her brassiere, throwing it to the floor on top of her blouse. She fell back onto the bed, her firm, full breasts bouncing as she did so. Her nipples and areola were large and brown. Sylvia had to taste these beautiful buds. She leant forwards and took the right one between her lips, feeling it harden, as, at first, she licked it gently, then sucked more vigorously. Clarissa had begun to re-explore her thighs, reaching higher this time, pushing the flat of her hand against her mound, rubbing the rough fabric of her knickers, and pulling them up between her slit.

“You’ve got an advantage over me darling,” Clarissa stated. “You’re wearing more clothes. Take some off. Your knickers please. And that hideous girdle.”

Sylvia flushed again at the ugliness of her school undergarments, rose to stand at the side of the bed with her back to Clarissa, and shrugged herself out of her stockings, knickers and girdle, allowing her pinafore to cover her nakedness.

“The dress and blouse too, of course.”

Sylvia pulled her remaining clothes over her head and rejoined her friend on the bed.

“That’s better, no obstacles this time,” Clarissa smiled as she ran her hand from Sylvia’s knee, up her thigh, and between her legs, exploring her folds with a firm but gentle touch. Sylvia felt her legs squeeze around Clarissa’s hand involuntarily, and she gasped as her friend rolled her tiny nub of pleasure between her fingers. This felt so much better than her own rapid and silent explorations in the dead of night.

“You are so beautiful, Sylvia, darling.”

“You, too.” Sylvia had grown confident. She undid the button and zip on the back of Clarissa’s skirt, and pushed it down over the curve of her hips. Her stomach was gently rounded and her French knickers matched her brassiere. The silk was of the finest quality, and Sylvia could see Clarissa’s dark curls through the fabric. She pressed her hand against the darkness, and could feel the moistness of her desire though the fabric too.

“He made me take him in his mouth, you know. The first time. Before he fucked me. You’ll taste sweeter, I know.” Clarissa moved down the bed, resting her head first against Sylvia’s stomach. Then she planted dozens of tiny kisses around her belly button. Kisses that sent shots of delicious desire to Sylvia’s core.

“Your skin is as soft as butter, Sylvia,” she whispered before reaching lower still, nuzzling her face in Sylvia’s curls. “And you smell divine. Not like him. All cologne and sweat.”

Clarissa bent her head again. This time her tongue parted Sylvia’s folds, tasting her juices. Sylvia groaned with pleasure, a pleasure so much more divine than that achieved on her own. She parted her legs, allowing Clarissa access to her centre of bliss. She felt her tongue insinuate its way between her folds, exploring her, devouring her. This was beyond her wildest imaginings. She felt herself tighten, as if the waves of pleasure were about to unfold and rush over her, when Clarissa pulled away.

“You taste wonderful too, Sylvia.” Her fingers had taken the place of her tongue, for now. They had found their way to her opening and were delving inside her, meeting little resistance, besides the tightening of desire.

“Charles said he and Archie pleasure each other together, sometimes. Shall we try?”

Before Sylvia had a chance to answer there was a knock at the door. The two girls froze.

“Clarissa? Sylvia? Are you in there?” They remained silent.

“You’re late for evening prayer. Hurry now.” Miss Bannister’s voice was peremptory.

They glanced at one another and stifled a giggle. Miss Bannister’s footsteps tapped away on the corridor.

They turned to one another.

“I’d like to try that thing that Charles and Archie do. Can we?” Now Sylvia was bold enough to try anything. Her pleasure, and that of Clarissa, was paramount, and urgent. Clarissa turned herself around on the tiny bed, legs straddling Sylvia, stomach to stomach, showing Sylvia the full beauty of her cunt. For a few moments Sylvia just looked, admiring the delicate moist folds surrounded by tight, dark curls.

“Aren’t you going to touch?” Clarissa asked, before delving again between Sylvia’s legs with a fervour that relighted her desire. At first she was lost in herself, wanting her flame to be quenched, its intensity almost painful with the desire for fulfilment. Then the need to give pleasure to Clarissa overtook her, and she reached for her friend’s hips and pulled her down to her mouth. The taste of her was exquisite. Creamy and warm, Clarissa’s juices ran down her tongue, like nectar into a bee. Clarissa pushed against her, demonstrating her own pleasure. Rhythmically and silently they moved against one another, kissing, sucking, nibbling, driving each other towards fulfilment. Desire and friction raised their body heat. Sylvia matched Clarissa’s moves. When a tongue encircled her clitoris, she ran hers around Clarissa’s, knowing it was creating the desired effect by her friend’s moans of pleasure. She plunged three fingers inside her in response to feeling herself opened up by her friend’s hand; then tightened around it as her climax drew near. It was unstoppable now, and as Clarissa’s cunt squeezed her own fingers faster, she knew hers was too. Sylvia cried out loud as her release finally came, and it was of an intensity she had only dreamed of. She could only focus on her cunt, at the heart of her being, as it radiated pleasure throughout her body. As her climax ebbed towards satisfaction Clarissa turned and reached up to kiss her, allowing Sylvia to taste the sweetness of her own juices. She knew from the glow and smile on her friend’s face that she was fulfilled too.

“I like that thing Archie and Charles do, “Clarissa said, drawing Sylvia close, so they could lie in each other’s arms, kissing and touching. They would be late too for evening prayers now.