Healing the Hurt

  • Posted on July 15, 2015 at 12:14 am

By Eva

{ This story was originally posted at Lesbian Lolita in September 2012 }

Kerry Lines stood and watched the kids running through the downpour.

As a teacher, the woman felt duty-bound to be out on the playing fields while the kids galloped round the track against a backdrop of grey clouds and slanting rain. But despite the woman’s determination that all the children in her class should be in some sort of shape for the forthcoming sports day, it was a depressing sight to see the pupils of St Eleanor’s dragging themselves through the rain. They, like her, would rather be in the dry and the warmth.

Five more minutes, she told herself, and then she’d call them in. Right on cue a trickle of cold rain ran down the neck of her track suit top and the wind stepped up in intensity. Several of the children running were slowing up as if she might bring all this to an early end and blow her whistle, allowing them to race –– or amble, exhausted –– back to the changing rooms and get out of their wet PE outfits.

“Can we stop, Miss,” called one boy from the track, a boy Kerry recognised as Matt Hardcastle. Eleven years old and far too overweight.

“No, Matt, you can’t. You will have to run in it on sports day if it’s raining. Get used to it.” The woman watched the boy scowl and stumble on.

Sports day. That cherished event that drew all the parents (more than parent/teacher nights ever did) but seemed to bring out the worst in them. Kerry recalled last year when several fathers were screaming at their offspring to run faster or jump further and then being angry when the child didn’t win. Complaining mothers too, saying it wasn’t fair. Idiots, thought Kerry, bitterly, and she wasn’t looking forward to a repeat in a couple of weeks time. Right now the young woman stood and felt wet and miserable and wondered if all this was worth it. She took a deep breath and lifted her whistle to her lips. Already several of the kids — Matt Hardcastle and friends — were beginning to peel away from the soggy, wet grass track in anticipation.

That was when Leoni Fraser fell. Whether she slipped or tripped or even, perish the thought, she was pushed over but the girl went down in a heap. Her friends, and there were several as Leoni was a popular and attractive girl, were crowding round her. Kerry ran towards them, unable to see if the child was lying or sat up; her position would indicate the severity of her injury. She seemed, as far as Kerry could tell, to be sitting up. “Go on everyone, go in and get changed,” she called as she ran and pointed across to where the changing rooms were. “Hurry. And no fighting or messing around,” she called to the rest of her pupils. She remembered the whistle she was holding and gave it a short blast to signal to anyone who hadn’t heard her shout that this farce was over.

“Give her chance to breathe,” said Kerry as she arrived at the knot of girls standing round Leoni. The group of kids parted reluctantly, as if seeing someone sat holding their ankle was the highlight of their day and the teacher was spoiling it. “Go on, everyone, go and get changed. Quickly. I’ll see to Leoni.”

The girls who were stood there hesitated a moment and then scampered off, just as the rain increased. Leoni looked up at the teacher, her blonde hair matted to her forehead. “Sorry, Miss,” she said. “My foot just went on me.”

Kerry gave the girl a smile and said she wasn’t to worry. Leoni was, if the truth were known, one of Kerry’s favourite pupils. The girl was popular and pretty but in education terms she was a pleasure to teach. She was always polite and attentive and never late. She also would have done well at the school sports day, but the way she was sat holding her ankle didn’t make it look as if she would be taking part.

“Does it hurt?” Kerry squatted down by the side of the girl. She tried to position herself to help shield the girl from the way the rain was suddenly whipping in. Not that such a gesture would help her ankle, but it seemed the least she could do.

“A bit, Miss,” said Leoni. “Sorry,” she said again.

“It’s not your fault,” said Kerry. Actually, she thought, it’s mine. If I hadn’t insisted on them staying out in the rain she probably wouldn’t have slipped and wrenched her ankle. The teacher put the thought away. The important thing was getting this child to cover. Get the school nurse to look at her ankle. “Can you stand on it?” Asked Kerry, trying not to let her anxiety colour her voice.

“Try, Miss,” said Leoni. Kerry held her hand out and the girl took it and tried to stand. She winced and sat back down. “No, I can’t. Sorry.”

“Well, don’t worry. I will have to carry you.” Fortunately this was a slim little girl and not the likes of fatty Matty, Kerry told herself as she scooped the girl up. Fairly effortlessly as Kerry at least was fit from her weekly workouts at the gym. Picking up a child as light as Leoni was no great strain and she knew how to pick up a load, lifting from her knees and not her back. Being off work for a couple of months would be the last thing she wanted. “Put your arms round my neck, Leoni,” said Kerry. “It will help me carry you.” Leoni obliged and pressed herself to her teacher, almost resting her head on the woman’s shoulder.

Almost as if heaven was smiling on them, the rain suddenly stopped and the sun broke out through a gap in the cloud. “Typical,” said Kerry, feeling the sudden heat on her back. If only it had been shining earlier…

The teacher walked across the school playing field carrying Leoni, aiming for the entrance that would take her not to the changing rooms but the nurse’s room. It would be chaos with unsupervised kids getting changed but that couldn’t be helped. As she walked she was aware of Leoni looking up her. “Miss,” said the girl and then hesitated. “This is nice.”

“Nice? Leoni, you’ve hurt your ankle.” Kerry stopped herself saying twisted it or even broken it as that would make the child distressed. It was always better to keep the alarm bells quiet in a child.

“No, this is nice. Being carried by you.” The girl sighed and put her wet head against Kerry’s neck. A shudder went through the woman. For a second she thought it was a reaction to the wet hair pressed to her skin, but hers was wet too. A second more and that feeling was replaced by the sensation of warmth of the girl’s head coming through. But there was more within Kerry. She felt a warmth deep within, like she was carrying something precious, a source of joy that she must protect. A sensation ran through her like liquid gold and she pulled the girl closer. In turn, Leoni pressed her head tighter to the woman and tightened her grip round the teacher’s neck.

“Miss,” the girl said quietly. “Don’t take me to the nurse.”

“I have to, Leoni. You’ve hurt yourself.”

“No, I’ll be alright. Just take me somewhere quiet and…” the girl didn’t finish her words.

“And what?”

Leoni lifted her head away from the woman’s neck and looked up at her. Kerry felt a pang of regret that the child was breaking contact with her. A pang increased by the thought that soon she would put the girl down and there would be no contact, no touch. But this was silly, Kerry told herself. I’m a mature teacher, responsible for children. My job is to ensure they learn, that they are returned home safe and sound. Back to the ones who love them.

But.

There was a big but. The word went through Kerry like a cold fire. But she would be letting go and she didn’t want to let go. Not ever. Kerry Lines stopped walking and looked into the little girl’s face, the girl she was carrying. The sun was shining on them and the warmth of it or their bodies was making thin wisps of steam curl up off them. The school was in front of them with all its demands and chaos and noise and Kerry wanted to go somewhere quiet and put the girl on a soft bed and caress her injured ankle and…

Kerry shut the thought off sharply. Teachers don’t do that sort of thing. Hell, I’m 27. I have a fiance and one day I will be married to him and I have a career ahead of me. She swallowed a little and asked again. “And what?”

“And…” Leoni shook her head. “You wouldn’t like it, Miss.”

“Like what?” Leoni was gazing into the bright, clear eyes of the lovely child, her face no more than a few inches from the girl’s. Their lips were closer than she wanted, but not close enough. Stop it, said a weak voice inside Kerry. And she shut that out too. She gave a half-glance at the school building in front of them. Solid walls, no windows here. No one to look out on them. No one to demand or scream or act badly. Just the two of them, alone and close.

“Not what. Where,” answered Leoni quietly, still looking up.

The fire in Kerry’s belly surged anew. She wanted to bask in it, didn’t want to put this girl down. She could take her to the nurse’s room, do the sensible and the safe thing. Leave the hurt girl to a sour old cow who would tut and put her cold, uncaring hands on the girl’s body, while she — the trained teacher –– would retreat back to her duties and lose the warmth of her young, slim body. “Where do you want me to take you?” It was a silly question because in a way, Kerry knew the answer.

“Somewhere we can be on our own. Just you and me. Like in bed,” said the girl without batting an eyelid. “Somewhere where you can hold me and we’ll be safe.”

“I’m holding you now,” said the teacher. Her heart was beating faster now. Holding something lovely did that, apparently.

“Different kind of holding,” said the girl in Kerry’s arms. “Holding me like you want me.”

Kerry gulped. “Leoni… you’re only eleven. I can’t.”

“Nearly twelve. And you can, Miss. You can do whatever you want with me. I won’t mind.” The girl put her head back on Kerry’s neck, but a little more face than hair this time. Without moving it, she said: “my ankle doesn’t hurt really. I was just pretending so you would pick me up. Sorry, Miss.”

“You shouldn’t lie, ever.” Said Kerry. But she was lying to herself, thinking she had a duty to fulfil and that she didn’t care. She did care. More than she had cared about anyone else, and yet the realisation didn’t shock her. It was almost a relief to finally admit how she felt, what was inside her heart. Not Gary or his grasping ways and his ambition to have a house with a double-garage so he could own two cars and have big parties for his stupid mates… Just her and Leoni instead. Safe, like the girl said. But it was impossible, wasn’t it? Leoni had family and Kerry wanted a family, of sorts, and there was the age gap issue that they would have to sort out and funny valentine’s day cards to make the other one laugh… “Oh, God,” said Kerry as the impact of what she was thinking hit her.

“What, Miss?”

“Nothing.” She smiled at the girl, reassuringly. At her lovely if slightly anxious face. “Nothing at all, least nothing important. Nothing to ever be sorry about. Look, Leoni, I have to put you down now.”

“Am I too heavy Miss? Sorry. I promise I’ll lose weight so you can pick me up again.” Leoni hadn’t let go. If anything she was holding Kerry’s neck tighter. Then she said: “Please don’t let me go.”

“I have to, but I’m not letting go forever,” said Kerry, fighting down the urge to kiss the girl in her arms. A grown woman kissing a ten year old girl. Of course that was wrong. Of course it shouldn’t happen. But she did it anyway. Not a long kiss, but lips to lips as if they meant it. A tender kiss that sent flames of lust shooting through the woman and, she hoped, through the little girl too. Gently she put the girl down. The child’s ankle was fine and the sun was shining and they were drying in the warmth and Leoni finally let go of her teacher’s neck.

“I’ll do anything for you, Miss,” said the girl as they broke the kiss and let her hands slide down the woman’s front, across her breasts where her nipples poked hard through her top. A gentle brush that made Kerry’s cunt pulse once more. “Promise I’ll make you happy. I’ll not make you sorry, Miss.”

“My name’s Kerry,” said the woman. “Miss is for class. Kerry is for when we make love.” She was a little astonished she had said it so easily, but it seemed so natural as that was what they’d be doing. No doubt about it.

“Cool,” smiled the slender, pretty girl. “I’d love to make love to you. Kerry-all-mine.”

With that, the girl with the healed ankle ran into the school, her drying hair flowing behind her and her teacher looking after her. What lay ahead wouldn’t be easy, thought Kerry as she watched the door swing too behind the child, but then nothing worthwhile is easy. There were duties for Kerry to be seen to, classes to organise, lessons to be given, arguments to deal with and maybe fights to quell. Parents to be placated, colleagues to steer round. Even sports days to oversee. And when she had done all that the woman would go home to the little girl in her bed, and kiss her again and again but with tongues this time, touch her little, wonderful body and ask the child to do things to her too. It wouldn’t be just the woman caressing the child, stroking her bald pussy, slipping her long finger between those tender little folds, stroking the emerging mounds on the girl’s chest, whispering that she loved Leoni. It would be the girl in turn toying with the woman’s breasts and cunt and nibbling her and biting and licking and heaven knows what they could think of to do to each other. Just as lovers should. They’d laugh and talk and kiss and feed each other and make each other happy.

They’d go shopping together and look for the sort of thing they might wear in bed; a gorgeous pink nightie for Leoni and maybe a strap-on to go round Kerry’s hips. One with nice ridges and shape that would thrill the child under her when she lay on her back with her thin legs wide apart and her nightie hitched up to her waist and say: “Fuck me now, Kerry-all-mine. Make me all yours.”

With a contented sigh Leoni followed the girl she would love forever into the school, but for the first time ever she felt happy. Truly, deeply happy. With Leoni in her arms she could face anything, and they would face it together. But above all there would be no more hurt in their lives. Only love.

5 Comments on Healing the Hurt

  1. PoppaBear says:

    The happy accident, although this one was contrived.

    We have all experienced, or thought of, those incidents that bring opportunities within our grasp.
    Thank you for this story, guys.

    ‘Tis full of possibilities yet stays within the few minutes from pouring rain and sodden clothing to warm cuddles, soft words, and sunshine on their backs.

    Like Leoni herself, a little gem to be cherished forever.

  2. JetBoy says:

    Thank you, Poppa, for consistently reading our Stories of the Week and sharing your thoughts about them. (I think you might be the only one doing so…)

  3. Cheryl says:

    Oh, I think others read but just don’t comment, as with the other stories on here. Still, if you are a member here (she said, speaking to the silent crowd in what seemed an empty room), please do comment. Even suggestions are welcome, if given in the proper tone.

    For example, other than a slight need for editing (some minor punctuation errors, etc., and the change in Leoni’s age from almost twelve to ten), this is a wonderful story. I find the lack of sexual details titillating. What I would like to see is a continuation. This is obviously a girl who has explored sex with another girl or woman. Who was it? What were the circumstances? She’s rather bold to be so open with her teacher. What from the past suggests to her that her teacher would be accepting of this? Why is there no fear that her teacher will tell her mother about her suggestion they make love? Is this a hint about where Leoni’s lesbian experiences began?

    JetBoy, you know I love romance, and this story is dripping with it. :)

  4. Jennifer says:

    I did not comment because i honestly don’t like the story, and my good education tells me to say nothing, if i cannot say positive.^^
    You can be sure that i am reading simply everything, sometimes i am too lazy to comment, sometimes there is lack of time and sometimes it occurs i don’t like the tale, which by the way is very rare. In this case it is the rush in which the story is written, the lack of delicious details and the unreal production, that leaves me unsatisfied.

  5. Drod says:

    I’ve read this story, and like Cheryl, would like to see a continuation.

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