We crossed the fields without saying a word. Odile and I were both weary. I also had further motive to stay silent, as I was lost in thought, trying to make sense of some of the comments I had heard that night.
Everything was quiet. The moon was but a thin, pale scratch in the night sky. Threadbare clouds were running fast, now obscuring, now revealing its light.
As we approached the building and entered the courtyard, I heard some noise – the steps of someone! I searched for Odile's hand to alert her of this presence. We remained still, as we observed a tall shadow move across the lawn. Then, it was gone.
There was a single room lit with light. A window on the ground floor was brightened by a gloomy halo from within.
Odile and I walked to it and looked inside.
We saw the figure of Mlle Clery. In the dusky air of the room, barely lit by a single candlelight, she appeared more ethereal than usual. She was thin inside her white nightgown that seemed to float in the air without any support from within. Her pale face and fine, blonde hair had a sad beauty about them.
I remembered how our headmistress, Mlle Renouf, had ill treated her the day before, and, at the memory, I was filled with sadness and pity for this delicate creature.
As we arrived, she walked the last few steps to the door, which she opened.
On the other side, was the much larger frame of Marc Antoine, our unfortunate gardener.
'My little brother!' Mlle Clery cried, ushering him in.
This salutation surprised me, and I later found out that there was no relation between the two, which, in light of what passed after, puzzled me even further.
The gardener hugged her, without saying a word.
Next to her diminutive figure, he appeared taller and stronger that I knew him for. Her head barely touched the uppermost part of his chest, and his hands, that now encircled her, appeared wide and rough from the work. His complexion was furthermore much darker than hers from having spent much time in the open air rather than inside a classroom.
Our teacher, on her tiptoes, then reached up to him and pecked him on the lips.
'O my little baby, you've come!'
The two moved inside the bedroom.
She regarded him, admiring him, studying his large figure.
'You look well,' she said, 'I'm so glad you've come.'
Her face had her usual timidity and the sadness I often associated with her, but a new sentiment arose now. A hint of happiness and of hope.
Then it was gone.
'I don't know if you should visit me,' she continued, now tormented by some inner thought. 'I always wonder if it's wise to have you here with me, my little one. I suffer so much in this place, and you alone… But you don't even understand me, do you?'
She caressed his face.
Marc Antoine had the usual vague look about him. The poor soul, as I had heard many times, lacked any discernible intellectual faculty and was kept at the school out of charity.
Then, the gardener lowered one hand and, quite gently, cupped the teacher's breast.
'My little darling,' Mlle Clery said, 'you miss your mama, don't you?'
Then, she sat at the edge of the bed and untied her nightgown, so that she revealed her shoulders and her small breasts.
Marc Antoine lay beside her and reached with his mouth for one of her nipples, which he kissed and licked and sucked.
The teacher closed her eyes. Her face was now beaming with joy.
'I will be your mama. I will take care of you,' she said.
With one hand she was stroking his body and with the other was holding his big head.
The gardener sucked on for a while, rather patiently.
I was quite surprised by this behaviour. I turned towards Odile, wondering what she made of it.
On my friend's face, any sign of sleepiness had vanished to be replaced by a look of amusement.
'Look at these two!' she whispered.
Meanwhile, Mlle Clery was caressing the gardener's body in such a gentle way but was also moving from his shoulders down to his back, until she reached his hips and then his crotch.
'But you're all hard down there, my little bird,' she chirped. 'Does it hurt?'
Marc Antoine stopped his sucking and, looking up to the teacher, nodded.
'Poor, poor Marc Antoine. So good, so kind… I will take care of you!' she continued.
She then began to undo his trousers and, having slid her hand inside, began moving it up and down. Although I couldn't see what she was holding, it was apparent to me that those movements were greatly appreciated by Marc Antoine, who was now grunting with each stroke of the teacher's hand.
'See? I will make it better,' she said.
Then, the teacher looked at him and asked, a troubled look on her face once more:
'Is this what you desire? Am I doing it well? I believe this is a great sin…'
The man placed a hand on hers to indicate she should continue.
'You're so innocent. You don't even know what I'm doing to you,' Mlle Clery told him.
The man now raised his hand to touch her breasts.
The teacher smiled tenderly at him.
Marc Antoine didn't stop there. He moved his hand down along her stomach then onto her groin, which was still covered by her gown.
'I wonder if we should… My little brother, am I such a bad sister to you? I only want what's best for you. Maybe I'm just imagining it, but I believe you suffer as much as I do, and that I can take care of you.'
Meanwhile, Marc Antoine was fondling her through the nightgown, so that Mlle Clery's words were now and then interrupted by great sighs.
The teacher dropped on the bed and opened her legs, saying:
'Don't do it, if you don't want…'
But Marc Antoine, whether following a clear thought or an animal instinct within him, was quickly on top of her.
He fumbled with his trousers, extricating his dick, then picked up the hems of the teacher's gown and pulled it up.
'Aaah!' she cried as he entered her. 'Ohh! My little one, my little darling one… Mmmh!'
He was now moving back and forth, in a rhythmic and stilted sort of way, but not devoid of passion.
He never said a word, but he grunted greatly and often laughed in an unrestrained and unaware manner. He groped now her sides, now her breasts, while Mlle Clery ran her hands on his large back, pulling him closer, hugging him tenderly.
I thought once more about how disrespectful the students were during Mlle Clery's classes towards her, about how harshly the headmistress often treated her, and I also thought about how sad she often looked.
Now, she appeared to be at peace. It wasn't just the pleasure that the conjoining of a man and a female genitals produce in both, although this appeared to inflame Mlle Clery as we as Marc Antoine in a great way, but also the knowledge that she was in the company of someone who was not able to treat her harshly and that was very thankful for her attention.
The teacher's body was so small and frail underneath the gardener's bulk, but I then saw how this disproportion was all at her advantage.
'I feel it everywhere!' she now screamed. 'It's so deep… and big…'
As each inch of him went in and out of her, she sighed and cried, now of joy, now of pain, and now of relief.
Her face, usually so pale, was now flushed crimson. Even her breasts were inflamed of the same colour.
The two never varied their position. I knew not if it was because they ignored any other, or if it was because they preferred the one they had begun with.
I felt great sympathy for both those unfortunate people: the one, the gardener, offended by Nature who had only half-made him; the second, the teacher, offended by the society of men, who scorned her intelligence and abused her kindness and indulgence.
Then I turned towards Odile, expecting to divine similar sentiments, but my friend was now intent, having lifted her skirts, on fingering herself. As she did this, she mumbled:
'Look at that big cock… Fuck her, fuck her hard… Mmmh! I could take it all and make him cum up inside my ass…'
Seeing this amused me but also showed me how different our natures were.
I turned back to observe the scene on the other side of the glass.
Madam Clery was now holding Marc Antoine tightly. Her legs encircled his hips.
Each push of the man made the teacher gasp and yelp louder and louder:
'Don't stop now… It's so good! Aaaah!'
Then, she touched his chest gently. Her face was still contorted by the great pleasure.
'No… no… You know you can't… My dear brother, my baby… Please…'
Marc Antoine then gave another grunt and slid his dick out of her.
'Let me finish you: I will take care of you… You'll see: I will make it nice,' she assured him, to excuse herself for having requested him not to come inside her.
He rolled on his back, and Mlle Clery crouched between his legs and put her lips on the tip of his cock. With her hand she stroked him gently.
'Ugh! Ugh!' he grunted urgently.
To this, she sped up the pace of her hand.
The gardener grunted in appreciation and began hitting the mattress rhythmically, laughing as he did so.
Then, he gave a loud, guttural cry, and the jet of come must have been so copious that Mlle Clery couldn't hold it all in her mouth, or swallow it fast enough, for it splashed out of her lips.
'Oh, my poor Marc Antoine,' she said. 'Look at what I've done. Let's me clean you up.'
So, she proceeded to tenderly lick all his private parts, drinking all the thick liquid. This final act diverted the gardener so much, for he wriggled with laughter as she did so.
The sun was now rising, and my friend and I abandoned this scene.
'That was very strange,' I said to Odile.
'I don't think you understand how much,' she replied.
And I believed she was right. As I said, I later learned that Mlle Clery was no relation of Marc Antoine, even though she insisted on calling him her brother or her baby; but I also learned more about the gardener that made me question the nature of that encounter I had just witnessed.
Of this I will write another time.
For now, it will suffice to say that my teacher had built a strange fiction around Marc Antoine, and that acting as his protector was cause of great arousal to her. She could have enticed the gardener into her bedroom and had intercourse with him without the preamble that she had concocted, but this was clearly necessary to her, and it enhanced the encounter.
Once more, I was confronted with the reality that the pleasure that our senses give us is but a pale reflection of the greater one that our intellect provides. People attach great importance to the strangest ideas, while ignoring much more obvious and direct stimulation.
That night, I had experienced this directly when Odile and I pleased that gentleman we called Uncle Stone. While some of what passed was new and strange to him, one could easily ascribe the great pleasure he received with our young age and attractiveness. However, what is hard to explain with simple direct stimulation is how I too enjoyed that experience greatly.
That man was old and unattractive, and some of the activity was, in itself, not pleasing, but I enjoyed causing him some discomfort to his genitals, and then suffocate him under my buttocks, to finally relieve him with great magnanimity.
Now, the encounter between our melancholic teacher and our unfortunate gardener had proved this theory once more.
Odile held my hand in hers, which was quite warm and sticky, and we walked through the empty corridors.
'Goodnight, my little baby,' she giggled in my ear, as we walked into our dormitory.
'Goodnight, my good sister,' I said in returned.
We both slipped into our beds and slept for a few hours until it was time to walk down to breakfast and then to class along with the other girls, who had slept all night, innocent of all that had passed.