Belinda wore a dressing gown and slippers over plain white underwear. She carried a bath towel and her wash bag. It wasn’t hard to guess that she was headed for the washroom reserved for sixth form girls. She’d been avoiding Delphine for a week now and the feisty heiress wasn’t used to being ignored.
Belinda had the bathroom, with its row of basins and mirrors to herself. She hummed as she wrapped her hair in a small towel. You were supposed to collect the bath plug from one of the house mistresses, but Belinda had one of her own. She pressed it into place, before turning the taps. The water poured out noisily, emitting clouds of steam, which allowed Delphine to slip into the room unheard.
Belinda scattered a few fragrant bath salts under the gushing water and was just slipping out of her robe when she realised she wasn’t alone.
“Dammit Delphine, you scared me!” Clutching the garment tightly around herself.
“You avoid me – why?”
Belinda blushed, “I’ve – it’s – I’m very busy.”
“You have not come to the stables, to watch me ride Sargent.” Delphine leaned against the basins, watching through narrowed eyes as Belinda swirled hot water with her fingers.
“I have too much work.”
“This is not a problem before.”
“I was called in by Miss Ransom.”
“Yes – why is that?”
“She noticed I was falling behind.” Belinda turned away to cover her lie.
“School is stupid. We don’t need exams, your Papa is rich, like mine.” Delphine studied Belinda closely. The blonde girl’s blush had not faded, rather it suffused her neck with pink.
“Was it our kiss? Did it frighten you?”
Belinda nodded and Delphine crossed the tiled floor to her side in a moment.
“It is not wrong, what we feel, it is beautiful. Natural.”
“But women don’t love other women – that’s not the way -” Belinda broke off, eyes moistened with tears. She pressed fingers to her lips to stop them trembling.
“It can be,” Delphine coaxed. “It can be a beautiful way. We get pleasure and we practice for loving a man.”
She always seemed so knowing and experienced, it left her companion speechless.
“Take your bath, ma Petite, let me help with your toilette.”
So saying, she teased the fabric out of Belinda’s grasp and lifted the robe off her alabaster shoulders.
“Such smooth white skin, I envy you,” she sighed encouragingly. She could not take her eyes off her classmate’s voluptuous figure; she tingled with lust just looking at her.
Belinda stepped tentatively into the hot water then quickly sank down. She crouched over her knees, in an attempt to hide her body from Delphine.
“Oh do look away Bin, it’s terribly embarrassing to be watched.” She scowled at her friend.
“But I want to look. Such beautiful curves and look – you have golden curls.” She pointed with fascination at Belinda’s mons.
“Mine is dull and brown, I show you!”
With these words, Delphine unbelted her own robe, to reveal she was naked, her figure was slim and toned. Her bush was dark brown, like her long hair. Her high breasts had nipples which were coffee coloured and small, but they tightened in reaction to the cool air of the bathroom.
Belinda blushed anew seeing her friend’s nudity, but she couldn’t look away.
“I hate these ugly mouches!” Delphine turned and showed the cheek of her bottom, where she pointed to a cluster of three chocolate coloured moles.
“Oh they’re like a clover leaf!” Belinda exclaimed, and without thinking she dabbed at them with a warm, dripping finger.
Both girls giggled, and the tension was gone.
“May I wash you?” Delphine asked.
Kneeling beside the bath she took up the oval bar of Pears soap and a terry flannel before Belinda could protest. She lathered the washcloth and began stroking it in large circles on Belinda’s back. When her friend sighed, she moved more boldly, washing her sides, allowing straying fingers to soap the side of her breasts. No protests were made, in fact the girl in the bath raised her arms to allow better access, so Delphine changed position to lather Belinda’s full bust in earnest.
“What do you call these?” she smiled as she soaped, noting how pink and puckered the nipples were becoming under the rub of her washcloth. “In English I mean?”
“Tits,” Belinda sighed, then she giggled. “What do you call them in France?”
“Le teton,” Delphine smiled. “Do you like this?”
“It’s lovely.” Belinda had relaxed back in the water now, only her knees and tits broke the water’s surface.
“Sit on your fists, I want to wash you here.” Delphine indicated her friend’s bush, the curls of which swayed in the water like golden seaweed.
Again Belinda blushed, but she complied without protest, biting her lip she watched Delphine’s preparations. She lathered the flannel then pressed it against the pussy that was her target, rubbing and stroking her most intimate flesh. Belinda didn’t know whether to yelp or purr, it was such a strange sensation, and it grew more pleasant with every rotation of the flannel against her skin.
She felt warmth and relaxation, a buzz built in her pelvis. She spread her legs a little wider, welcoming Delphine’s touch and yearning for something more. As the French girl circled and pressed her fingers against the skin of Belinda’s mons, jolts of pleasure radiated out from her agitation of the nub of flesh at the top of her crease. This must be what Miss Ranson talked about, the clitoris, purely for pleasure.
Belinda let her head drop back, experiencing bursts of colour behind her closed eyelids. She pressed her pelvis up seeking more of the sensations she did not understand which currently swaddled her in a fog of illicit pleasure … then they stopped!
She gasped with frustration, and opened her eyes. Delphine leaned her head on the side of the bath, studying her face with dilated pupils.
“Why – why did you stop?”
“You liked that?”
“Of course, it was wonderful, I wanted more!” Belinda realised she sounded whiney.
“What do I get?”
“What do you mean? You get to touch me,” Belinda was unsure what Delphine was getting at.
“I do, but I want you to touch me too.”
She hadn’t considered that. It made her feel faintly queasy, while at the same time it made her heart pound. She reached one dripping arm out of the bath.
“Tell me how. Teach me what you like.”
“Bien sur,” Delphine pressed her lips to Belinda’s rosebud mouth while guiding a hand to her breast. She cupped and crushed it, before demonstrating how she liked her nipple pinched.
Belinda looked shocked, “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“It’s good to hurt, I’ll show you.”
Delphine plucked Belinda’s plump nipple between ever tightening fingers. When she twisted and rubbed it between her forefingers, the girl in the bath writhed with pleasure and gasped for air.
“Now, do it to me!” she commanded.
Dropping her robe to the floor, Delphine lowered herself into the bath. In a tangle of wet limbs, she and Belinda exchanged touches and caresses, pinches and twists. They sank teasing fingers into each other’s pussies to press and stroke and very soon they were moaning and gasping as they frigged one another to a slippery climax.
Afterwards, Belinda mused “I – I didn’t know it could be like that.”
She rubbed herself dry, still unable to stop herself peeking at the toned contours of Delphine’s figure, as the other rinsed between her legs and climbed out of the bath.
“I often touch myself, it relaxes me.” Delphine was matter of fact as she wrapped a towel around her torso. “Don’t you?”
“No, never! I never have.” There was that blush again. “But I was curious what Miss Ransom meant about the clitoris.”
Delphine’s head whipped around. She fixed Belinda with an intent look.
“That bitch, what did she say?”
“That she was sure that I knew what an orgasm was. Then she told me the way to have one … to stroke the clitoris slowly and then faster.”
“Bien sur, but why does she speak of this with you?” Delphine looked a conbination of puzzled and angry.
Belinda trembled, but the truth spilled out. She described how their headmistress seemed to know about the growing intimacy of their friendship. She hesitated, but Delphine enticed her to reveal how she’d been made to remove her skirt and let Miss Ransom look at her. With Delphine’s arms around her, and fortified by memories of the pleasure so recently awoken with her nimble fingers, Belinda recounted the details of that humiliating interview.
“She told me the clitoris was a beautiful bud. Said it was the greatest pleasure of being a woman, then she rubbed me … there, with her cane.”
Belinda’s eyes filled with tears.
For Delphine memories flooded back of another occasion when Miss Ranson had beaten her with the same cane. She muttered “la pute!” under her breath.
“Not you, Cherie, her,” she said with a curled lip when Belinda looked startled. “What does she want? I do not trust her.”
“She gave me an exercise book – but I, I haven’t written anything in it yet. That book is why I’ve been avoiding you.” Belinda’s eyes pleaded with the older girl to understand.
“What does Miss Ranson want you to write?”
“What we do, what you say. If you try to kiss or touch me again. Oh no! I can’t write down what we did here, tonight!”
Belinda was distraught. She cried huge, hiccoughing sobs which made her shoulders heave.
“I don’t want to tell her any of this Delphine.”
“You shall not, but you will write in this book. Together – I will plan it. I know that dried up old woman has her tricks, but we will – how do you say this in English?”
“Beat her at her own game?” Belinda suggested, sniffling hopefully.
“Exactly! I will win this little game, and then I will trap her.”
[To be Continued …]
The image is from Pexels on Pixabay. The post is linked to #WickedWednesday