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Whose kid was that?

Lillian ground her teeth, trying to look like she hadn’t noticed, which made her, as far as she could tell, far classier than an easy third of the other first-class passengers. On her last stroll down the train corridor, seeking fresh air to clear her head and tamp down her arousal, she had seen through several compartment doors the extent to which the girl had disarranged them all.

Several of them were shifting in their seats, and others were actually starting to pant. One had thrown up the exterior window, as though the soot and smoke belching up from the industrial smokestacks they were passing at the time were still preferable to the spicy sweetness of an oncoming heat. She tried to scorn them, badly trained pups the lot, and not one of them actually obliged to share a compartment with the girl as Lillian was, except it was pure posturing on her part. She knew perfectly well it was only the girl’s clear oblivion to her own condition that was letting Lillian keep herself in check at all.

The girl should have had her parents with her. Should have had a good, strong shot to the arm, like every self-respecting kid in her condition would get. No use pretending she didn’t have people to look after her: she radiated upper middle class good breeding in every other respect, from the unexceptional tidiness of her shining red-brown hair to the pristine uniform that marked her as a homegoing student of one of the not-inexpensive schools in the area.

Which, Lillian, realized, perfectly explained the situation. She’d come into her first heat no doubt, and the matron at the school had not been as committed as she ought to doing her due diligence with end of term so nearly upon them. A quick thermometer under the tongue, a disinterested check of a slightly higher-than-normal reading . . . she would not have wanted the bother. Much easier to pack the girl off with a cup of cold water and hope the full flaming reality of the thing held off until she reached her parents, and they could deal with it all.

But the train had been delayed nearly three hours, and now the rich, lovely honey of the girl was leaking out into the air around her, drawing the attention of every ready and willing alpha in their carriage and beyond. Which was to say, the attention of every alpha. Because had there ever been one who wasn’t ready and willing? Lord knew Lillian was both.

She returned to the shared compartment with what she told herself was supreme reluctance. She had to make a decision. If the girl was getting off at the next stop that would be fine. Her parents would be waiting and they could take her under charge. Most alphas would still respect the parental claim on a girl this young, and the constabulary could be summoned to contend with any who would not.

But if the next were not her stop . . .

Lillian made a rapidfire calculation. This was not a local. She’d be shut in with them for another twenty minutes beyond, which meant . . . well. Some had that sort of self-control, but Lillian didn’t rely on there being any such on the train.

Already the girl was beginning to shift unconsciously against the seat. Rocking her thighs in an easy, dreamy glide back and forth, as she adopted the instinctive movements of a girl who knows how to fuck, even when there was next to no chance she had ever done such a thing before. The urge was that damn strong in her.

Lillian shook her head, cursing the negligence of the modern school system, and the benevolent trust of the parents who imagined this delicious little treat would ever be able to make it home unsampled.

She came to a decision.



“Oh and here we are at last!” the lady declared. Emma blinked, torn from the funny sort of day-dream that had taken her over entirely, and tried to focus her strangely muddled head enough to attend properly to the older woman.

The lady was quite lovely, and ever so well dressed. She looked like a tidier version of what Mum tried to be when she took Emma up to the school at the start of a new term. Emma was just old enough to understand that this difference lay primarily in the amount of money this lady was able to spend on herself, compared to Mum. This woman, Emma knew instinctively, must be terribly rich. And here she was, a very poised and beautiful woman, all lacquered nails and deep red lips, so nicely dressed, her dark hair arranged becomingly (if a trifle daringly free of any hat) leaning in to make conversation, as though Emma were somebody very important and worth talking to.

Emma fought through the pleasant haze of fairyfloss that seemed to have wrapped around her brain, and tried to make sense of the question. The lady repeated it, quite kindly.

 “Is this your stop, dear?”

“N-no,” Emma said, startled into simple speech. The fever glaze swam around the edges of her vision a minute, but she tried to focus on the social necessity in front of her. “No, I am travelling to London.”

“Hell,” said the woman, quite explosively. Emma twitched in her seat, though an onlooker might not have been able to tell whether she did so from social surprise at the profanity emanating from such an obviously appropriate person, or whether instinctive response to the dominant personality shut into her compartment. Truthfully, Emma hardly knew herself.

“Why are you travelling alone, then?” the woman asked. Something like a frown pulled her face into pretty disarray, but Emma did not mind the transformation. Indeed, there was something oddly hypnotizing about the woman’s displeasure. It warmed her very deep within. “That’s nearly a half day’s trip.”

“Oh, yes,” Emma nodded, nearly falling over herself in her eagerness to explain: to be pleasing to this woman. “Normally we have an escort. But I was laid up this morning with an awful fever, you see, so I missed the group. I was meant to go down with Miss Kidder, but then at the last moment she was taken ill as well, and so I said I didn’t mind coming on my own.”

If Emma had been feeling at all like herself, she would have wondered at her own willingness to share so much private information with a perfect stranger. But Emma was in truth feeling a very new side of herself, and it was a side that told her being shut up in this small space with this tall, assertive person was close to something she needed very much, and she could possibly be quite happy if only she would work out exactly what that was.

She tipped her chin up to look appealingly into the other woman’s face, for the moment still altogether unaware that before her lay exactly the person preparing to undertake her instruction.



Lillian, for her part, was staring down into the sweet, unassuming little face, wondering idly whether Miss Kidder had begged off to refrain from the temptation of taking this little treat all for herself, thereby almost certainly losing a choice position at a very nice school, or if the child’s cycle had in turn sent Miss Kidder into a sympathetic heat and she, unaware of the position she was leaving the girl in, had locked herself up for her own protection.

Then again, it might have just been a regular flu, and rotten luck for . . .

“What’s your name, dear?” Lillian asked, almost mechanically.

“Emma,” the girl said, all in a rush, “Emmaline Ryder-Willett.”

As pretty as the girl who bore it.

“How do you do, Emmaline,” she said mechanically, and put out her hand in expectation. Emma took it almost shyly, and the smile she gave Lillian unsteadied the older woman’s voice as she went on, “I am Miss Lillian Arnott.”

“Miss Arnott,” Emma whispered, her gaze already dropping shyly to her shoes, and dear God, she was a delight.

Lillian imagined, dazedly, the impossibility of keeping Emmaline Ryder-Willett unmolested all the way from here to London. There was simply no accomplishing it. She might manage to get the girl into the care of the constabulary, but unmarked as she was, and no parents to claim her, the child would be passed around the station like a party favour. Honestly, Lillian thought, there should be a law! She would write to her MP directly she got home. But until then . . .

She rose, with cold deliberation, and slid the bolt home on the carriage door. Then she drew down the shade.

“My dear,” she said, seating herself directly across from Emma, placing a friendly hand on the smooth pink knee, “there is really no delicate way to ask you this, so I shall be frank, and trust in your maturity to bear up at the shock. Are you . . . cycling?”

Emma blanched as creamy white as the sheets in Lillian’s linen press at home. Then she flushed beautifully.

“I . . . I don’t . . .”

“No, you mustn’t be embarrassed,” Lillian said gently. “It’s a perfectly natural stage of your life, if indeed you are. I am in a position to detect the signs for myself. You understand?” Her pause was exquisite in its delicacy. She waited until understanding at last chased belatedly across the last traces of baby softness on Emma’s features before she went on. “But it’s quite impossible, you must see, to get you home safely in this state. Somebody will take you for their own, quite possibly attempt to keep you, if we don’t take steps to reduce the risk of such a thing.”

Emma looked side to side, as if seeking a second opinion.

“What—what steps . . .”

Lillian debated explaining herself, then decided it didn’t really matter. She did not intend on giving Emma any choice in this; she had decided already how best to proceed, so discussion would only further delay the necessity. She put her hand firmly behind the girl’s head and drew her sweet face close, so they were trading breaths: short, nervous ones on Emma’s side and deep, deliberate gusts on Lillian’s.

The child’s eyes were large: a clear, greeny-brown. Like a mossy wood. Lillian had a sudden perfect mental picture of what the girl’s pussy must look like in that instance: a warm, unexplored treasure, gently mossed over with soft curls and utterly eager, yet unprepared, for what was about to befall it. Lillian’s cock was suddenly very much in painful evidence between her legs, and she had no trouble at all breathing her pheromones over the girl, trading breath for breath, filling Emma’s lungs with the scent of her own need until the girl’s exhalations were strongly scented with the mark of Lillian’s claim on her.

It was a good start. The girl’s eyes were promisingly glassy, and the rocking motion resumed. Some of the public availability of her had subsided, but Lillian was keen to obliterate all risk that Emma would be claimed out from under her, and moved quickly to secure her own stake.

“You must mark me back, now, Emma,” she said firmly. Of course the kid wouldn’t have any idea in the ordinary way what that meant, but she had Lillian here to help her, and instinct would do the rest.

Lillian drew Emma forward, helping to part her legs until the scent of her readiness nearly overwhelmed the woman ready to claim it. Her cock was twitching now, a live and hungry surge under the demure brocade of her pencil skirt. It knew where it needed to be, just as surely as Emma’s pussy knew what it wanted inside it. With an almost superhuman restraint, Lillian bent forward and lifted the girl’s skirt. The panties underneath were every bit as soaked through as Lillian could have predicted. She did not even need to remove them as she drew the girl up enough to get her face in there, to press her lips and chin to the plump softness nominally hidden by wet, white cotton, and inhale the rich perfume of her slick.

The chemical process of the mating mark was still very much an area of active study, or so Lillian understood from her perusal of the relevant periodicals. There were three competing theories as to the mechanics of the process, but the outcome was not in much debate. All agreed that the outcome of the scenting process was a diminished interest in all competing persons in the area. An alpha with a pre-existing claim might still override the mark, and of course parental dominance in a girl of this age would still hold definite sway, but no casual passerby would be seized with the same overpowering need to make Emma his own.

That privilege, now, fell entirely to Lillian. And she intended to make the most of it.

The poor girl looked positively dopey now that she had Lillian’s mark in her airways and could smell her own scent on Lilian’s breath. She stared, uncomprehending, unprotesting, as Lillian rucked up her skirt and, with a groan, at last let her cock spring free.

“Much better,” she sighed, and fit her hand around it, gleaming red nails standing out in sharp contrast to the fat, purple-veined readiness of her massive erection. “Would you like to touch it?”

Emma only stared. She did put her hand out in a fluttery-abortive expression of interest, then let it fall, trembling to the lap of her rumpled schoolgirl kilt.

“I . . . I don’t . . .”

“Oh, come now dear, of course you do,” Lillian sighed. She leaned forward, took the little hand firmly in her own, and wrapped it remorselessly around the instrument of Emma’s pending defloration.

Emma gasped, and the music of that single note of shock went right to Lillian’s cock. It leaped greedily in Emma’s hand, and only Lillian’s own hand on top of hers kept the girl from jerking back in fright.

“You will like it better soon enough,” Lillian predicted. “You’re bound to, after all. Fact of nature. Now I don’t intend on traumatising you, child, but I do insist on a little deference beforehand. So onto your knees you go, there’s a love, and open that pretty mouth nice and wide.”



Emma was not entirely sure she wanted to do as she was told. She knew she had to, of course. That much was written very clearly into some part of her she hadn’t even known existed until now. But all the same, deep down, she also felt she might like to refuse, if only it were an option.

Miss Arnott was very much prepared to prevent her, though. The strong grip shifted to her shoulders, and she bore down with equal parts physical force and biological authority. Emma sank to her knees, mouth open chiefly in shock, and her educator wasted no time in taking advantage of the opening given her.

Emma had no idea her mouth could be so full. The thing inside it seemed to be everywhere all at once. Cheeks bulging, eyes watering, she did not quite have the wit to fight but she would have very much liked to. Miss Arnott groaned, reaching out above Emma’s head, presumably to brace against the luggage rack so that the rock and sway of the train did not jerk her off her feet. The older woman let the gentle, rocking rhythm set her pace, and Emma, despite her many misgivings about sitting on her knees with a face full of cock, rose beautifully to the challenge, bobbing up and down on the thing she did not really want to suck until Miss Arnott’s breath came from somewhere a little deeper inside her.

“That’s a very good girl,” she growled, her voice sounding quite different. “You look so pretty with a cock in your mouth, Emma. Do look at me, if you can. I want to see your eyes again.”

Emma tried, but could not quite bear it. The submission instinct was too strongly on her now, especially having just been forced to kneel. Miss Arnott smiled appreciatively at Emma’s clear surprise that she could not actually comply with this particular demand.

“Good,” she said, “you are quite ready enough. Up now, dear, and turn around. I think the seat is just exactly the right height for this. You will be very comfortable.” She paused. “Well. Comfortable as you could be, under the circumstances, anyway.”

“Miss?” Emma said, making it a question, but Miss Arnott was clearly not in an explaining mood.

“Enough chatter, pet. It’s not your mouth I’m after, anymore.”

So Emma stumbled to obey.



Under Lillian’s exacting guidance, Emma responded with a truly endearing will to please. She was able to lean onto the seat with only a little further coaching, her face pressed down into the cushion, her skirted bottom pointing adorably upward, her knees very nearly reaching the floor. She was able to steady herself somewhat with her elbows, and at Lillian’s command struggled valiantly to hold the position.

Lillian, her cock glistening with the girl’s saliva, raised the skirt with trembling hands and peeled the soaked white knickers down.

The girl had the most adorable arse Lillian had seen in a very long time. Heart shaped, rose petal pink, and perfectly framing her heat-plumped cuntlips. The very prettiest picture anybody could have asked for, and quite fit to rival some of the art prints Lillian had ordered from France to adorn her boudoir.

The moss of the girl’s pussy was exactly as she had predicted it. Her curls were dark, sparse with the newness of their growth, and impossibly soft. Lillian petted them almost tenderly, and was rewarded by a very grown-up moan from her untutored conquest. The child thrust back and upward, quite womanly in deed if not in stature, and Lillian could not deny her any longer.

“My dear,” she said kindly, “I will not be gentle. You must be a very good, brave girl and take it as best you can. You understand? I don’t mind a little crying, but we can’t have great, babyish sobs or anything like that, now, can we? You are very nearly a lady, after all, and you must try to act the part. Can you bear up, do you think?”

Of course Lillian did not expect that this end would be entirely achievable, and she felt the girl’s fear fairly radiating off her, but the public school spirit won out, and Emma nodded bravely.

“There’s a good girl,” Lillian said, and gave the wet little pussy a gentle pat of encouragement.

Of course Emma ground back instinctively at this, just as Lillian had expected. The head of her cock lay in readiness, and as Emma thrust her hips up and back, seeking more of this so-pleasing contact, Lillian made her triumphant entry.

Virgin omega cunt, though rather readier and riper for the taking than regular cunt, is nevertheless a very sweet and tender thing, and poor Emma’s was no different. She did not quite scream as she was penetrated, but she did shriek, and only Lillian’s presence of mind in pushing the girl’s face down hard into the cushion of the seat was sufficient to stifle the worst of it.

She did not let up her advance, either. That would be unthinkable. The girl was hers, duly claimed, and she would have her in the manner as suited her best. Nevertheless, she did take care that her entrance should not be clumsy, and took particular pains to give the girl short, shallow strokes, especially at first. The slick of her had a purpose, after all, and Lillian had her needs but she was not an animal. As Emma’s natural protections against injury took over, she wet Lillian’s cock exquisitely with her slick and Lillian felt her strokes open the girl’s cunt up beautifully.

She was still tight as a kid glove, but there was little risk of actual injury to her at this point. Pain, certainly—the girl’s sobs might have been muffled by the carriage seat but they certainly weren’t swallowed by it—but that was all right. Omegas could stand a little pain, everybody knew that. The really important thing now was to ensure Lillian gave her a deep, thorough fuck, so she would settle down after knotting and not feel in anyway unsatisfied or incomplete.

“There’s a dear girl,” Lillian said absently. She took hold of Emma’s hips, angling her up a little for better approach. “Get your feet under you, Emma, can you manage that?”

Blind obedience was so writ into the girl’s very being, she really did try. Her knees must have been shaking like jellies but she managed to balance the soles of her black school shoes on the floor of the carriage. Lillian nodded her approval.

“Much better. Hang on now, this part’s bound to be a little bumpy.”

Emma could probably not have imagined the full truth of this until she experienced it. Lillian drove her hips forward with grim purpose at last, the girl’s cunt hers to claim. Emma shrieked, but breathlessly, raggedly, so that the clatter of wheels on rails was quite sufficient noise for cover. Lillian did her own best to keep her voice down, anxious that no conductor should happen along to make inquiries, and contented herself with a stern whisper, broken by rather unladylike grunts as she drove her cock home.

“Now, Emma. You are much too old to carry on this way. Hush, dear. Just lay your head down, and learn to accept it. You will find you mind it less as I go on.”

The charming little girl really did try to obey. She rested her head awkwardly on the cushion again, but moaned each time Lillian drove forward. Truth be told, that suited Lillian rather well. There was something deeply gratifying to hear the very strength of her wrung out of Emma as wet little sobs; to see the size of her, the enormity of her invasion, reflected in the wide-eyed, panic-stricken profile of the girl’s face.

“Oh please,” Emma groaned, “take it out; do take it out, Miss, please!”

“I’m afraid that’s quite impossible,” Lillian sighed. “In fact, I must put rather a lot more in before we are done. Be very brave, my dear. This part is going to hurt.”

She had the perfect angle of approach. The girl had no real purchase with her feet, and no sense of how to wrench free even if she had. Lillian had Emma's hips well in hand, and the girl’s cunt wore her cock like it never wished to let go. All that was required now was the final, driving fuck and she’d be sealed.

Lillian rather prided herself on her knot-fuck. She’d received very dazed compliments from seasoned omegas after the fact, and though she did not look for compliments from a fresh little thing like Emma, she did fully expect Emma to suffer an inexplicable disappointment when she was, someday, fucked again by an Alpha more of her own choosing.

Lillian pounded the girl fiercely; relentlessly. She ignored the thin, mounting cries and the fruitless scrabbling of little hands that reached back and tried in vain to signal the need for a slackened speed; a more tender pace. Lillian knew full well what the girl needed, better than the girl herself, and what she needed was this fuck.

Let the little bitch see what happened when you waved your hindquarters around in public like that! Get your cunt filled with cock, is what. Just like Lillian’s cock filled Emma’s cunt right now.

The grim satisfaction, the light sheen of sweat that settled on Lillian, came in tandem with the advent of her knot.

It was a really beautiful knot, ever so wide, twin bulbs on each side designed to stretch, strain and seal. It was a better fit, admittedly, for a more mature cunt, and even those were bound to sometimes feel the strain of its greatest demands on them, but Lillian knew that with enough brute force she could make Emma’s cunt equal to the acceptance of it one way or another.

It was just as well Emma had no way of seeing what was in store for her. She had begun just now to relent, hands falling limp and unprotesting to her sides as Lillian picked up speed, and with the help of the knot, teasing and stretching as it was, the tone of her moans had taken on a different note.

They always know what they’re made for, Lillian noted, with not a little pride and satisfaction, at the sight of Emma’s burgeoning arousal. Excellent. She could time this just right, and make it easy on them both.

She reached around then, quite nobly, and began to diddle Emma’s little clit. It was standing to charming prominence by now, so Lillian was careful not to go overboard. Conscious of her fingernails, she applied pressure only with the pads of her fingers, and only on either side of the fragile, flushed little bud that would soon indoctrinate Emma to all the pleasures unique to her sex and her rightful place in life.

“There’s a dear girl,” Lillian crooned. Her thrusts were deeper now, and slower. She tested the readiness of Emma’s cunt, watching it stretch, feeling the girl tense with pain that flared through her desire, and petting her little pearl in reply. The encouragement was carefully timed so that each spasm and flinch was answered with a gentle wash of pleasure from the advancing swell of her clit. “Feel how good it is, Emma? So sweet. If you’ll just take the knot in, dear, you’ll see how good it can really be . . .”

Emma twisted beneath her in an agony of pain and pleasure. Lillian sensed, rather than actually saw or knew by any scientific measure, the moment the girl began to climax. On the first flutter Lillian jammed forward. Her knot did not quite make it, and Emma screamed, but Lillian’s palm sealed her lips and the second crest of her orgasm hit just as Lilian found the leverage she needed and drove the knot home with a brutal, domineering thrust.


Lillian looked down, disbelieving, triumphant, at the sight of Emma imprisoned on her knot, orgasming helplessly as if it was the only thing she still knew how to do.

“Oh you dear girl,” she gasped, quite overcome. “Oh my goodness you have done so well, Emma.” Emma, eyes glassed over, face wet with tears, did not seem to hear. “It won’t be long at all, now. Here. Let me show you.”

She leaned over the girl’s trembling back and gently pinned her wrists above her head, one across the other. The shining auburn hair spilled over one shoulder, baring the slender white neck most temptingly. Lillian forbore to nip; only nuzzled, and was rewarded with an answering wash of pheromones from the frightened child underneath her.

“You are doing splendidly, Emma,” she whispered. “Now hold on.”

She could have commanded her to silence now, but where would be the fun in that? The clatter of the train was quite loud enough to drown out Emma’s lingering sobs, and as Lillian fucked forward, rooting in, seeking the last possible unclaimed space within her, she wanted to hear how it hurt. Wanted the size of her to echo on Emma’s every gasping breath, the searing stretch of her knot in the poor girl’s sweet little pussy to be heard in every whimper, gasp and shriek.

And when Lillian finally came, flooding the child with semen, filling her little cunt with every drop of what she needed to take her off the market to every alpha around them for the remainder of her heat, she relished the girl’s broken cries every bit as much as she did the way they rose into a new, gasping wail of completion as she came again, clamping, clutching, on the knot of Lillian’s cock.

Then Miss Emmaline Ryder-Willet collapsed, thoroughly used, utterly spent, and Lillian knew it was done.



Lillian took her time about arranging them both after the fact. Emma, coming very slowly back to her senses, could not understand this; could not, of course, possibly know that the feel of her still knotted to the older woman was almost too exquisite to bear. Drawing back a bit, Lillian was enchanted to see their seal was so tight, she could actually drag Emma along the seat by her cunt. Emma did not even have breath or will left to cry out at this, she was too thoroughly undone by the fuck she’d just received, which limp helplessness charmed Lillian all the more.

“Dear pet,” she sighed, and stroked the girl’s hair. “Really, what is this world coming to? If I had a daughter like you I should never let her out of my sight.”

Emma was droopy and unprotesting as Lilian sat down on the seat, settling the girl on her lap. She was, of course, much too big and grown up for lap-sitting in the casual way of things, and she felt she ought to say as much, but she sensed Lillian would not appreciate this commentary. Certainly, from Lillian’s perspective it seemed the best way to settle them both. Adorable as she looked bent over at the waist, Lillian’s back was hardly equal to maintaining the position for that length of time.

Instead she rearranged the girl’s little plaid skirt over them both, modestly concealing the bareness of her own thighs as well as the girl’s, and hiding from all sight and suspicion the place where Lillian’s cock still stood proudly, resolutely, at attention within Emma’s cunt.

She would come at least two or three more times before the knot shrank enough to separate. Until then, though, Lillian enjoyed the scent of the girl, the warm weight of her head drooped against Lillian’s shoulder, and the way she sighed and nestled in closer like a little kitten.

“Feeling better?” Lillian murmured, and could not resist jostling her a little, so the tug of the knot sent small echoing ripples through the girl’s hyper-sensitive cunt. Greedy little thing, trying to milk her for all she was worth. Lillian’s cock gave an indulgent, answering spurt.

“Oh-h-h!” Emma cried out softly. Her eyes flew open wide, the sensation of the residual coupling rising up within her. Lillian smiled at the sight.

“It wasn’t so bad as you first thought, was it, dear?” Lillian prompted. Emma shook her head shyly.

“N-no. I don’t . . . I don’t think so.”

“At the end, did you not even enjoy it a little?” Lillian suggested, then smiled archly at the sight of Emma’s blush. “Oh, come my dear! You may confide in me. I think it’s safe to say we know each other too well now to play silly games. Did you not enjoy yourself in the end?”

“Yes, Miss,” Emma whispered, still not quite able to look Lillian in the eye. She thought, somehow, that if she dared such a thing, Lillian might slap her. She did not exactly mind the thought of Lillian slapping her, strangely enough, but she also knew she didn’t want to make her want to. “It . . . it hurt, very badly, but it came to be . . . not such a bad hurt, in the end.”

“Spoken like a very good girl indeed,” Lillian decided, and made so bold as to rearrange Emma’s hair, smoothing and neatening it around her face. “Of course, a very good girl would not be out in your condition at all, and I have half a mind to have words with your parents about how carelessly your nice school has treated their daughter—”

“Oh!” Emma cried, and so forgot the knot inside her as to turn to beg, only to be abruptly reminded by the stretch of her cunt that she was not free to do so, and she doubled over instead, gripped by an unexpected orgasm.

“Ohh-hh,” she moaned, in quite a different tone. “Oh . . .”

Lillian laughed, not altogether unkindly, and reached down to stroke the girl’s pussy where it joined in a wet, painful stretch with her cock. She teased another orgasm out of her little captive before Emma was at last restored, panting, to nearly complete possession of her faculties once more.

“Please don’t tell them, Miss,” Emma whispered, eyes still downcast. She made a very conscious effort not to move, though in fact if she had been just a little more comfortable, she might have tried to wriggle her way to orgasm again. Emma was waking rapidly to the restorative powers of a good orgasm. “They’ll be very cross. They might even make me leave school. And I do love it there.”

“Hmm.” Lillian toyed with the girl’s hair again, reflecting on all avenues of possibility that opened up to her here. “Well, I suppose it would not be wise to disrupt your education in that way. I need not tell them, maybe . . . provided,” sternly, “you ensure that no such carelessness befalls you again.”

“Oh no,” Emma agreed, “I am sure it won’t.”

Lillian nodded, but still looked skeptical. Emma, still bound to please her, searched desperately for the means that she might do so.

“You might,” she suggested, “even stop by the school to check.”

A slow, considering smile curled Lillian’s lips.

“Do you know,” she murmured, “I very well might.” She petted Emma’s hair approvingly. “What a clever girl you are.”

Emma glowed under this praise and would have thanked her very prettily indeed, but she shifted too much to do so, and another orgasm wracked her slim body. In the end her thanks were delivered as sobs and tremors, for the poor girl was quite bereft of words once more.

Lillian, untroubled, continued to pet Emma’s hair, both the shining waves on her head and the sweetly sticky curls that framed the invasion point of Lillian's cock, and settled back to enjoy the residual effects of the train ride all the way to London.