Mrs Grainger's Gift 7

By Ritchie Moore

(I'll forward it to the author)

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This work is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It may contain depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.
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Mrs G part 7

Part vii 131 – 149

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Monday 25^th May

A medical lesson and a forfeit

No one had told him what class he was to join, but after breakfast he wandered over to the school where he was seized by a girl from the upper class, sixteen or seventeen years old, who took him to the medical unit. He was scared about what was in store, and with good reason. Evidently Mrs G had recommended he be used as the demonstration subject for the class being instructed in nursing techniques. So there he was subjected to examination by fifteen girls just slightly older than he – they were instructed to depress the tongue, listen to the heartbeat, feel the pulse, check reflexes on the legs, and blood pressure, then a wash – a sponge bath! His clothes were quickly removed by the enthusiastic crowd and two volunteers sponged him all over then dried him carefully. He stood there hiding his groin and trembling, while the girls eyed him with smiles.

“Next, an enema.” He cringed at Miss Derwent’s words, but had to submit and kneel up on the table as two more (very willing) volunteers were instructed one after the other in lubrication of the anus and the insertion of the nozzle. He felt liquid entering his bowels, an amazing sensation, till they seemed to want to burst, and then they took him down and set him on a large bedpan. They looked at him expectantly and waited for a minute while Miss Derwent gave them a swift account of the history of enemas and clysters, till he farted loudly and shat mightily into the pan. They crowed with delight, and when he assured them he was finished two others were delegated to clean his arse. God, he cried to himself, a public shite and a public arsewipe – what more can they do? He was soon answered, for Miss Derwent asked if he’d urinated recently. He said yes, just before he came there, which disappointed her because she acknowledged she wouldn’t get any result from insertion of a catheter – for which he rendered thanks. But then one girl said “Why don’t we practise anyhow?” The others thought this was a great idea, so the teacher produced a little tube and took hold of his penis. “Before insertion,” she said, “the meatus, the opening of the urethra, has to be clean. Judith, why don’t you cleanse it with that sterile solution we have?” She handed his cock over to the delighted girl, and Matthew closed his eyes with a grimace. He felt her cool fingers swabbing the end of his penis, and detected a faint troublesome tremor in it. He knew that if this went on much longer he’d certainly attain erection, and tried to will his unruly member to be quiet. Then the tube began to be inserted into the opening, another extraordinary feeling, and he opened his eyes to look at what Judith was doing. She was concentrating on her task with her tongue showing between her teeth, but looked up to catch his eye, and blushed. He was blushing before this, but blushed deeper, and saw the others following the process with sparkling interest. He shut his eyes again and swallowed, and tried to shut out sensation till she’d finished. “Now, Agnes,” said Miss Derwent chirpily, “why don’t you remove it? Gently now!” The girl stepped forward and eagerly took hold of his penis, and with her other hand eased the tube out of his body, after which she wiped the penis again.

Next he had to bend over while a girl inserted an anal thermometer; while they waited for it to register the informed teacher told them about its invention and use. After reading off his (normal) temperature, the next step was inspection of the anus and rectum. This meant that one by one these young girls came up to his openly displayed buttocks and examined his anus, then inserted a lubricated gloved finger into him and felt around, searching for his prostate. All of them did this, all fifteen of them, and by now he was getting an erection. Next, examination of his groin. Miss Derwent instructed the class to feel the groin, testing for hernia, lumps and so forth, and perform the cremasteric reflex test. One by one they put their hands to his testicles and his groins, and stroked the inside of his thighs to see what happened to his scrotum.

A girl noticed he had moisture on the end of his cock, and was told with a smile by Miss Derwent that it was pre-ejaculation fluid. “It’s what they call otherwise ‘pre-come’,” she said. “He’s getting excited. Poor boy, it’s not surprising with you feeling him up like that!” They tittered. “But it means that he’s getting close to orgasm—aren’t you, Matthew?” He looked at her in disbelief and admitted it. “Well, we might as well demonstrate, don’t you think? Two more volunteers.” Everyone raised her hand, but only two were chosen. “Margaret, you insert your finger in his anus again and stimulate the prostate gland. Evelyn, you take his scrotum in one hand to stimulate the testes, and pull back the skin from the tip of his penis. That’s it. Now gently does it, just rub your fingers back and forth, pushing that foreskin, and perhaps then putting your finger round the head of his organ – that’s right! Keep it up, keep it up, now observe, girls! His face flushes, his breath is short, his belly heaves, his pelvis is moving in rhythm with Evelyn’s strokes. Matthew?” He looked up, his face suffused with red, to meet the gaze of the class, and cleared his throat, but couldn’t say anything, mouthing incoherently. In a minute all he came out with was “Aargh, aah, aaah!” as the white jet sprang from his penis. The girls watched in fascination till he was spent, when yet another two were delegated to clean him up and dress him. He was thanked profusely for agreeing to be their subject (agreeing? He snorted in derision), and waved goodbye by the girls, each with a bawdy grin. He staggered off home, wondering what the hell could happen next. He didn’t go down to lunch, and in fact went to bed and slept right through the afternoon, getting up rather groggily for tea. Catherine seemed quite preoccupied, so he didn’t bother her. On the other hand Liza seemed in an odd mood he couldn’t identify, but it seemed close to pride somehow, though when she happened to look at Abigail her face lost all expression. Catherine later told him what had happened.

                                                                       *******

“Well,” said Abigail, “the forfeit. Have you finished that?”

Liza sipped away at the cup and smacked her lips. “Nearly.” She held out a cup with a dark liquid in it to Catherine. “It’s chocolate, very nice. Have a sip, go ahead.”

Catherine took it and tasted it. “Pretty good,” she said, then looked warily at Abigail, who said “For God’s sake, finish it and let’s get on.”

Liza drank the cup and smacked her lips. “All right, what’s the hurry? Now what?”

“Come out to the lawn,” said Abigail, “where the guests are.”

“What guests?” asked Catherine curiously.

“Oh, Mr Dawson from St Mark’s is here, with a friend, to set up another visit for the boys. He said they had such a good time last time,” with a salacious grin at Catherine, who flushed, “that they want another visit. They’ve brought the head boy, a nice young fellow called Colin. They’re out on the lawn drinking beer.”

“Beer?” said Catherine in disbelief, “but he’s too young!”

“I know,” said Abigail, “but what can you do? We’re being hospitable, offering beer and cigarettes like any reputable hostelry.” Catherine looked at her and grimaced. Somehow she knew the older girl had no qualms about contributing to the temptations of an innocent. Mind you, she thought, he’s probably no innocent. When they got outside Mr Dawson greeted Catherine with enthusiasm, at which she blushed rosily, remembering the exposure of the game, and shook his hand shyly. He introduced her to his friend, Simon Porter, an old university pal, and Colin Barham, an extraordinarily good-looking boy of eighteen or so, who eyed the girls hungrily, or so it seemed to the sensitive Catherine. There were quite a few others milling about on the lawn, including the gardener’s boys and stable boys for some reason, and Catherine asked one in curiosity why they were there.

“I dunno, miss,” he shrugged, “Miss Abigail told us to come.”

“She asked you, and who else?”

“Well,” he said, “look, there’s Ezra, Wilson that is, he’s the gardener’s son, and Mr Wilson’s boys, Jack—”

“Wait, maybe you can tell me how old they are.”

“Well, Ezra’s fourteen. The gardener’s boys, that’s them under the tree.” She looked over to where four boys lounged, two holding cigarettes. “Jack is twelve, Morris is thirteen, George and Giles are both fifteen. The stable boys, that’s me, I’m Tom, I’m thirteen, then there’s Mickey over there, he’s just twelve. Will and Dick are busy, they can’t come. The lads from the garage were coming I think, but they must be busy too.”

Catherine digested this. “And Miss Abigail told you to be here, today?”

“Yes, miss, at this hour on the dot, just to be here to see something, I think she said.”

Catherine had a horrible idea. She looked over at Abigail, who was staring at Liza with inexplicable relish, and that girl, talking to the head boy, was looking somehow troubled. Abigail strolled up to her and murmured something in her ear. Immediately she went scarlet and looked around as if about to flee, but the older girl seized her elbow and murmured some more. Catherine felt her own midriff and frowned, and came up to the group just as Colin was saying “Look here, Liza, is it, you’re not looking too well….” Liza shut her eyes and licked her lips, panting a little, and putting a hand to her abdomen.

Catherine muttered to Abigail, “You can’t do this! I know what it is, you can’t shame Liza like this!”

Abigail turned in surprise. “What’s that? I say, Colin, this is Catherine. She was playing in the volley ball game you’ll have heard about.”

The boy went red and muttered yes, he had. Just then Liza exclaimed “Oh, no!” and gave a loud fart. Everyone looked at her, the boys snickering, and her colour deepened. She farted again, and frantically began to shed her clothes, evidently fearful of soiling them. By the time she threw off her last clothing, her knickers, they were already dirtied, and then she was naked, standing with legs astride , slightly squatting, to shite in the midst of the crowd. The boys, obviously gathered to witness exactly this, were spellbound as they watched the girl squirm, dropping the soft turds brought on by Abigail’s laxative. Liza of course was beside herself with shame, but couldn’t move till the defecation was over.

Abigail looked at Colin and said “You know, it would be a kindness to help her get clean. There’s a bucket and sponge over there, why don’t you use it?”

He looked around, bewildered, and found the bucket, which she must have placed there before, and brought it over to the blushing girl, who looked at him and swallowed. He took the sponge and said simply, “Bend over.” She presented him with her naked bum, now dirty with faeces, and he cleaned it and her legs carefully, his hand on her waist, while the others looked on. When he had finished Abigail nudged Liza to thank him, and let her collect her clothes to go indoors, telling her to wash her shitten knickers at once. The others begun to buzz in conversation, the young boys in particular, grins on their faces as they left. The teacher and his friend looked a little stunned but were still seemingly gratified with the exhibition, and Colin, blushing himself, was trying to hide the bulge in his trousers. Catherine was outraged, but once more could do nothing, and merely cursed the malicious Abigail, vowing to pay her back somehow for the awful things she was doing to her and others. It was no use speaking to Mrs G about her – they were evidently of one mind about this sort of thing.

                                              *   *   *   *   *   *   *

Colin Barham lit a cigarette and strolled along the leafy walk, thinking about the day’s surprises. He turned a corner and came upon Liza, who looked at him and blushed, saying “Oh, you startled me! I—”

He took her elbow and looked into her eyes as he said “Wait, please, Liza, I want to talk to you.” Her blush grew deeper, and she made to leave. She couldn’t talk to him, not after he’d seen her shite, naked, and washed her bum! God, she couldn’t look at him—. He held her elbow, and said simply “Liza, it’s all right. I want to talk to you, to get to know you, to be a friend.” But she couldn’t look at him, he’d seen her intimate parts, her bum, her quim, he’d seen her shite, Christ how could he want to talk…. “Liza,” he said deliberately, “I like you and I want to know you. I want to see you when we come back in a week or so. Please, can I do that?”

He made her look at him, and smiled to see her lick her lips to say “Colin … If you want … If you still want me after that ….”

His smile grew as he said “Liza, of course. Please say we can meet when the school comes back.”

She looked bravely at him and started a small smile of her own. “I’d like that, Colin. I really would. We can find time to be together and … talk … about things.”

“Right!” he cried, “it’s a tryst! I’ll seek you out, you seek me out, somehow we’ll find each other.” She looked up at him trustfully, and he took her in his arms to plant a big kiss on her lips.

She struggled in surprise but soon gave in and kissed him back with some enthusiasm. “Till then,” she said, and hurried away. He looked after her and couldn’t believe his luck. This was something to tell the boys, but he knew he wouldn’t. This was a private affair. He could never tell his cronies about her shameful accident, even if they’d never meet. He couldn’t do that to her. As for himself, though, he knew he’d relive those amazing minutes as she stripped to the buff, as she stood astride, as she pushed out her arse to drop her shit, as she blushed like fury to do all that in front of a mostly male audience. As she stood afterwards humiliated, to accept his hands on her, as he drew the sponge down her legs, and over her arse, her delightful arse! He felt an incipient erection in his trousers, and smiled. Well, anyway, he’d see her again. He wondered if he’d see more of her. What more was there to see?! But yes, he wanted to see her again, to see her breasts again, to see her bum again, to see her cunt again. Just a week and a bit…. He couldn’t help himself, his prick had reached erection and cried out for relief. He cast about for shelter and made his way to a little kiosk-like affair among the trees, where he quickly unbuttoned his straining trousers and freed his organ from his underpants. Images of what had happened passed before his eyes as he stroked his ready penis, and he was soon in the throes of orgasm. He stroked till he was empty, then buttoned up and took a deep breath. “Liza!” he exclaimed, “Liza! A sweet name, a sweet girl. I bet she’s a virgin. I hope she is. Oh God, her body! I’ll have to see her, hold her, kiss her, feel her arse and her … vulva. That’s the polite name, a tender name. Vul-va.” He repeated it slowly and lingeringly, as if to lick it with his tongue. Yes! Lick it with his tongue!

All the way back to St Mark’s he was in a dream, and didn’t realise he had a pleased look on his face that his companions privately thought was quite silly. They discussed it later and worldly-wise Porter remarked sagely that the young rip looked exactly as he himself had felt after taking his first maidenhead. Dawson laughed and tended to agree. “Well,” he said, “I can see that if there’s another visit, he’ll want to be in the party. I wonder which girl—”

“Don’t be silly, Charles,” said his friend. “It has to be the poor girl who shat herself in public. Mark my words, he’s comforted her as best he could.”

Dawson nodded. “Maybe so,” he said, “it makes sense. But how did that happen anyway?”

“From what you’ve told me, it’s not surprising in that queer place. I’ve heard other things too…. Wait a minute, what about that volley-ball match you had with St Vincent’s?”

Dawson frowned. “No, Simon, that was an accident. At least it seemed so. But I admit to you, the more I think about it the more I suspect it was managed. By that ginger-haired buxom girl, whatever her name is. Yes, by cricky, poor Catherine was manoeuvred into it. Deliberately.”

“And she seemed to be stage-managing the shit, didn’t she? What’s she up to?”

“It’s Mrs Grainger, has to be, who’s given her instructions, or carte blanche. Listen, I think I’ll be paying close attention next time we’re here. God knows what she’ll think of next.” =================================================================

“Hey Matthew,” said Abigail, looking into his room. “You may be interested to hear about your baths.” He looked at her anxiously. “Yes,” she said, “it’s Dorah and Becky tonight, but I just popped in to tell you about the Academy girls.”

He grimaced and said wearily “What?”

“Why, you know Mrs G had the idea of getting some of them to bath you?”

“Yes,” he said heavily. “I tried to argue but—”

“Of course, you didn’t win. Anyway, the news is that the girls over there have been told that they have the chance of an opportunity to bath the boy next door if they buckle down and get good marks in their class tests this week. Isn’t that nice?”

He couldn’t believe his ears. His nudity was to be the prize in a contest for young girls! “But I can’t,” he moaned, “I won’t be able to bear it! Please—”

“It’s too late now, Matthew,” she said, “it’s all arranged. I’ll be introducing you to the lucky winners at the end of the week. Isn’t it interesting being an incentive to work!” She left him with a malevolent laugh, and he sat on his bed and felt sick. He was tired, tired of being an object of sexual fun, and wondered if he’d be able to survive much more of this. The one thing that kept him from running away was the thought of the consequences for his family, and besides, what would happen to Catherine if he weren’t here to help her bear her own humiliations?

Dorah and Becky were two fifteen-year-olds who looked after the carpets and linen, and he hadn’t actually spoken to them much before. Now they came to his door looking at him with evident anticipation to tell him it was their turn to “help him” at his bath. “We’ve been looking forward to this ever since we heard,” said Dorah, an eager-looking redhead. “Yes,” said Becky, throwing her dark hair back, “we’ve been imagining all sorts of things. Wondering how smooth your skin is, for instance. And how brown your bum is.” He looked at her and blinked, then swallowed and hoped she was joking.

“Don’t worry, Matthew,” she said, “Abigail has explained the whole thing to us. We have to make sure that the bits that are hard to reach are well soaped and scrubbed and rinsed, and the easy bits like your ballocks and prick get a good wash. Especially behind the foreskin, whatever that is.”

Matthew started in shock. “You don’t know?” he gasped, “you—”

“Well we have an idea,” said Dorah, “but you see neither of us has been lucky enough to see an erect prick, yet. But I’m sure we’ll muddle through.” They left him gaping and went off to run the bath, chattering to themselves. He started to take off his clothes, dreading this encounter more than the others, somehow….

He went in the bathroom shielding himself, but had to reveal his nakedness to them as he stepped into the tub. He forced himself to remain calm as they lathered up and soaped his upper body, saying complimentary things about him. He of course was blushing, and they looked him in the eye as their hands moved over him, smiling to themselves.

“You’re very well-made, Matthew,” said Becky. “Somehow your whole body is so neat and trim and pleasant-looking.”

“Yes,” said Dorah, rubbing her soapy hands up and down his belly, “you’re not too fat, for instance, like Peter the cook’s help, have you seen him? He’s only sixteen, but he’s got the beginning of a paunch already. Now you—” she stroked him over his navel and grinned. “You’re so nice and flat, and it’s great just to run my hands over you!”

Her companion was soaping up and starting on his backside. Matthew was flinching as her tender hands followed the curves of his buttocks and slid into his cleft. “Turn round, Matthew, and let us get at your arse, hmm? That’s it. Ooh, so nice and round and firm and squeezy.”

Dorah added, “Yes, you’ve got a fine pair of cheeks. Oh God, I never thought I’d be able to say that to a boy. Your bum! I love your bum!” She laughed in delight.

He was beginning to gasp, and his breathing was ragged as she caressed him with a soapy hand. “Yes! Just lean forward a bit. I want to get at your arsehole. Christ,” she laughed, “and I never thought I’d ever say that to anyone, let alone a boy! Right, Matthew, show us your arsehole.” They both crowed with laughter, and he bent forward to display his anus, which they immediately attacked, one after the other, lovingly smoothing their fingers over his sphincter and making him squirm. His eyes were shut, so he couldn’t see the ribald looks they gave each other, but he could hear the squeals of amusement and rude comments they made about his nudity.

“Now, Matthew! Your prick!”

Becky soaped his ballocks and covered them with suds, and Dorah rubbed his pubic hair carefully, saying “I’m told you get crabs or something if you don’t wash your bush right. You don’t have to worry though, do you? You get yours cleaned all the time. Let me tell you, we’re glad to be able to do this. And there’s a whole lot of girls out there just agog about washing you.”

“Please!” he stammered, “p-please, I don’t want—”

“—To hear about it? Fine. Becky, let’s get on with his prick. Never mind, Matthew, we know what we’re doing. The other girls were very careful to tell us. Now then Becky, turn about.”

Dorah began to stroke him, turning back the foreskin, which she examined closely as a new sight, then Becky, and in turn they brought his erect organ to full throbbing excitement. He cried out as the jet of semen shot into the air, and the girls, after an astonished pause, kept up their delighted administrations till he was all done. They rinsed his floppy penis and hauled him out, dried him carefully on the comfortable towels, and led him to bed.

As they tucked him in, Becky leaned over and kissed him, saying “There, Matthew, rest up. That was a great show. Your prick is magnificent, and your come is glorious! That was our first time, and we’ll remember it, for sure!” He felt he was blushing even more, and looked at them speechlessly.

Dorah kissed him in her turn. “All the girls want to bathe you,” she said, “and feel your arse and your cock, and make you come. Mrs G said we were welcome to enjoy you being bare-arsed and all, and I know she expects us all to wank you off like that. You should enjoy it. More to come! Goodnight.” They switched off the light, and he lay there too tired to do anything but weep a few shamed tears before sleep claimed him.

Mrs Grainger nodded and smiled. Yes, it was going very well indeed….

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Tuesday 26^th May

Abigail looked in to Matthew’s room to tell him that the cards had chosen Laura and Jill for the chore of bathing him that night. “Am I right in thinking it was those two who managed to see you naked, being drawn by young Hilary Benson?” Matthew nodded unhappily. “And Laura saw you when you being measured for your clothes, didn’t she? Yes, she was full of that. The rest of us were amused. Well, now it’s Jill’s chance to get a closer look at you. I’m sure they’re keen on helping.”

“Helping!” he screamed at her, “Helping! For God’s sake, Abigail, they take over and wash every bit of me, and concentrate of course on my privates. That’s the main point, isn’t it? It’s not the cleanliness that counts, it’s the handling of my penis, it’s making me come. I’m just a sexual plaything, amn’t I, a walking prick to be manhandled till I’m erect and coming. Oh God, if I’d known what was to happen when Mrs Grainger came to tea I’d … I’d have—”

Abigail broke in. “Matthew, you stupid boy, you know full well you’d have had to accept it. As you accept it now. Unwillingly, yes, of course! You don’t like girls pawing over your privates. But you have to take it. If you don’t, you’ll spoil Mrs G’s fun, and that is not permitted. You’ll be sent back in disgrace to Maude Crossley’s, and see your family let go. Isn’t that it?”

He looked at her numbly. Of course it was that way, and he had to take it. But he felt tears gather as he sighed and said “I don’t have to pretend to like it though. I shouldn’t coöperate with the girls. If they don’t have fun playing with me then maybe they’ll stop—”

“Matthew, Matthew!” cried Abigail, “just listen to yourself! You know full well that it’s Mrs G who calls the tune, and she’s determined to have you perform for the girls. If you don’t, it’s the same story, the threat to your family! Make the best of it,” she added, “you might as well. Get some pleasure out of it. That reminds me though. I wondered myself whether you’d be overtaxed by being pulled off every night. You’re not getting too tired, are you?”

He flushed and said “No, not really. I think at my age I can expect to be able to perform fairly regularly. It’s just that I’m so ashamed—”

“That’s what puzzles me a bit. I’m really curious why you’re just as embarrassed now as you were when you came.”

“I don’t know myself,” he mumbled. “I’ve never liked to be seen undressed, and here I’m undressed all the time….”

She nodded sympathetically. “There’s some things one just can’t get used to,” she said philosophically. “Well, tonight as I said it’s Jill and Laura’s turn, and tomorrow it’s Norah and Liza. And the Academy girls are in the wings. Just to let you know.” With a sardonic grin she waved goodbye and left him to his dark thoughts.

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German, Bryden and bath

“In this class,” said Miss Helena Barnes sternly, “we shall look at German music, with most attention paid to the songs of Schubert.” She stared round the room as if daring anyone to question her statement, or find fault with her intentions. “I am going to play you some gramophone records, and we can discuss them later, but for now just listen. The names of the songs, and some other material, are written up on the board for you to copy in your books.” She looked at Matthew, who shrugged and gestured at his empty desk. She then sighed theatrically and rummaged in her desk to find a large notebook which she dropped on his desk, and gave him a pencil as well.

“Now that we’re all prepared,” she said impatiently, “we can begin. Now, Franz Schubert. Let us trace his development, put him in context. And to set the mood, listen to this.” She went to the gramophone on her desk and started it up. Matthew, who had heard about the composer but knew nothing of his music, sat enchanted, and drank in the music with a dreamy look on his face. Miss Barnes looked at him and smiled to see the effect of the music, which she had a particular liking for, and contrasted his rapt attention to the boredom of many of her students. When it finished she started her lecture, which the boy found fascinating, and he thoroughly enjoyed the session, contrasting it painfully with most of the lessons he had endured.

At the end he made a point of thanking the teacher, who smiled graciously and said “When people talk about the Germans, Matthew, and say how beastly they are, and all that, just remember they gave us Schubert as well as Zeppelins. Martin Luther and Goethe, Dürer, Holbein, as well as bombs and mustard gas. Will you do that?”

“Yes miss, certainly. Thank you again.” He left in something of a good mood, which lasted most of the evening, for which he was glad.

During that afternoon he was further pleased when he found an opportunity of introducing Elizabeth and Eithne to Bryden, who was charming to them. They were a little scared at first but he put them at ease and chatted in a general way about the school and the world outside its walls – which one tended to forget about sometimes – and displayed his own somewhat unexpected knowledge of the classical world. He looked at Matthew and said “You’re maybe surprised, young Raven, that an old butler is into that sort of thing? Let me tell you, when you’re retired you’ll be glad to occupy yourself with something equally useless. Not,” he added hurriedly, “that the classics are useless. Miss Huxton, forgive the lapsus linguae.”

The girls laughed. “Well phrased, Mr Bryden,” said Elizabeth. “At least Latin’s useful for tags like that. But we’d better be going. Thanks for the tea and cake. I’m really pleased to have met you, and I do hope we can manage this again.”

“Yes, Mr Bryden,” said Eithne shyly, “please have us back.”

He beamed at them. “My dears,” he said, “I extend the open invitation that Matthew already has – you’re welcome any time.” With that he showed them out and turned to Matthew. “I am very, very pleased to meet them,” he said emphatically. “Thank you, young Raven, for bringing them. They’re a nice young couple. And you can see they are a couple. The way they look at each other, for one thing. Oh yes, lad, those two are deep in love. It’s a great pleasure to see. I’m looking forward to improving our acquaintance.”

That evening the lucky girls were Laura and Jill, who were eager to get their hands on him (as they freely admitted) Jill in particular having only seen him naked at a distance. Now they were close, not just to see but to feel, to pass their hands over his body – enjoying the feel of his smooth skin, the sparse pubic hair, the folds of his behind, the sensitive spot of his anus. They soaped him enthusiastically and rinsed him with glee, then soaped him again to push impertinent fingers into him, then to hold his erect shaft and rub it up and down until he came with a shuddering cry. Another rinse, dry off, and deposit in bed. They looked at him and grinned, and he gazed at them without expression. “Oh Matthew,” said Laura, “don’t be upset! I know you protest about us handling you like this, but I bet deep down you enjoy it. Every night you’re given a present, we feel you up till you come. And I bet it’s a lot more exciting than when you toss yourself off, being tossed off by girls. Isn’t it?” He swallowed and had to agree. “Well then! Smile! Enjoy it! Tomorrow it’ll be another pair. They’re all talking about you, you know, all the girls, and the ones at the Academy as well. You’re famous, actually. Famous!” They withdrew, and he lay in the dark thinking about fame. Then about Catherine, and her own wonderful body, which deserved to have its own fame. He’d like to have a photograph – yes, a naked photograph (call it a nude), to show every detail of her. Her details … her breasts … her pretty mouth … delicate fingers … curve of her bum … glorious hair … shining eyes … welcoming vulva …. He slept.

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Wednesday 27^th May

Anatomy, and Catherine to town

Miss Derwent welcomed him, and he flushed to remember the nursing session. He was sat down in the front row with fifteen girls, some of which he’d seen before (and had seen him before in all his glory – he recognised Agnes, who had removed the catheter, and Margaret, who had stimulated his prostate gland to help him ejaculate, and flushed when they smiled saucily at him). The teacher began speaking about human anatomy, and of course he quailed at the thought – but she was speaking about female anatomy, it turned out, which he found blushingly interesting. Drawings were made on the board, but then Miss Derwent picked one of the girls, fifteen-year-old Harriet, to be the demo model. She was unwilling and mortified, but got up from her seat, and teacher switched her smartly to persuade her to disrobe. She flushed and looked at Matthew, trying to delay, but got another switch, and so she reluctantly undressed and the teacher was able to point out areas on her body – anus, breasts, perineum, vulva. Harriet gasped as her labia were parted to show the interior of the vulva, the vagina, the clitoris and so on. Matthew of course, sitting only a couple of feet from the reluctant model, was enjoying this and had acquired something of a hard-on, but one girl murmured about unfairness. Next one asked about the male anatomy, how it differs, with a pointed look over at Matthew. His heart sank – there was no escaping. The teacher said they didn’t have much time left, but perhaps they could have a brisk trot through the basics. “Boy, up here and undress.” He tried to demur but got a swipe of the switch, he slowly undressed before them and Miss Derwent pointed out rapidly the obvious differences. “From behind, no differ really, except that when bending, -- bend forward, Harriet! – you’re liable to see the vulva of the girl; but frontally we have the penis and testicles, and no mammaries. Internally, we have the ovaries, fallopian tubes, womb, vagina; and the boy has the prostate gland and the seminal vesicles. The girl’s urethra is internal; the boy’s is outside, running through his penis, here. What’s the matter, boy?” He needed to urinate, but couldn’t bring himself to say so, and just began to dance on his feet as the girls gazed in bewilderment. “I know, miss!” cried one of them “he needs to pee!” They all laughed, and Miss Derwent asked “Is that true, boy?” Red faced, he muttered yes. “So,” she said, “well we’ve mentioned the urethra, yes. Here –” she handed him a glass beaker. “Urinate in this.” He couldn’t believe it, but he did a piss in front of fifteen girls and a young teacher. She looked at the performance and said “Notice he shakes his organ to get rid of the last drops. Girls use a piece of tissue paper. Here though – ” she took the beaker, handed the naked girl a tissue and directed her to Matthew, who was overcome when she took his penis and dabbed the end of it with the paper, and under her hand his penis erected. The bell rang at that moment, and she hurriedly dropped his organ and started to dress. Miss Derwent thanked them both and left with the container of urine. The others dawdled about leaving, eyeing his erection hungrily. He dressed wearily under their lascivious gaze and escaped to his room. He was losing count of the number of his humiliations.

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Abigail led Catherine, dressed in Mr Jackson’s blouse and skirt, out to the drive where a beautiful open car, gleaming in the sunshine, stood. The chauffeur, a sour-looking middle-aged man in uniform and peaked cap, waited by the door. He opened it with a sardonic flourish and bowed as she boarded. Catherine looked at him and wondered whether she should say something, but he forestalled her. “In case you’re wondering, miss, I’m Rawlins, the main driver of her highness. I know who you are. The car is a Daimler, one of the best. She has a name too. I call her ‘Daphne’. Because of the colour, green, like laurel leaves. Yes?” Catherine nodded in some astonishment. Just then Mrs Grainger came out and the door was flung open again as Rawlins said in a fawning manner “Good morning, madam! A fine day!” His mistress glanced at him as she entered the car, saying only “Yes, Rawlins, I suppose it is.” She settled herself, Rawlins got into the driving seat, and they took off.

Catherine tried to make conversation as they went, but Mrs G was monosyllabic. It was only as they were reaching the town that she spoke at any length. “We’re going to do some shopping. Mostly for you. Yes, don’t look surprised. You really need a change of clothes – you can’t wear that bathrobe all the time, and Mr Jackson’s outfit is for best wear. So we’ll get you nice underwear and a frock, and a light overcoat, a hat, shoes and stockings. A fairly complete set of clothes. Will you like that?”

“Oh yes, madam, thank you.”

“All right. Rawlins, drop us in front of Mason’s, and you may go off for a smoke. Return in an hour or so.”

They parked and alighted, Rawlins giving a hand to his mistress, and went in the front door of what seemed a vast emporium. Mrs Grainger quickly led the way to the floor which housed male and female garments and was met by a stout older gentleman who rubbed his hands together as he welcomed what was evidently a favoured customer. “Get two of your young gentlemen to attend us, please.” A pair of what looked like high school boys were summoned.

“If you don’t mind, Mrs Grainger, we’ll have Stephen here and our apprentice Arnold to serve you?”

“Excellent. We can do the fitting right here, I trust?”

“Certainly, if you wish it. And perhaps we can use this little platform?”

“Ah yes! Just the thing, we’ll all be able to see her. Now, Catherine, up and be measured.”

Catherine looked at her and her heart beat faster. The awful experience with Mr Jackson came back to her, and she began to whimper, but Mrs Grainger clapped her hands and motioned her to get up on the low dais. The boys produced tapes and began taking all sorts of measurements. This was rather embarrassing but at least, she consoled herself, she was dressed. That of course did not prevent the clerks brushing their hands over her bosom and her backside, accidentally of course. Catherine knew it would be no use complaining. Mrs G sat there contemplating the activity with a bored look. Then she spoke, to startle the girl into another flush. “Right, now show me a camisole and a blouse or two.” The boys went off and returned in a moment with a selection of garments in their arms. Catherine looked at Mrs Grainger and opened her mouth. “No, Catherine, don’t say a word. Take off the blouse.” The girl hesitated and shook her head, but the tyrant gestured to the one called Stephen, who was maybe eighteen, and said merely. “Undo the blouse, please.” He obeyed with a smile on his young face, unbuttoning her blouse and easing it off her shoulders. Catherine’s flush grew as she saw several shoppers stopping to see what was going on.

“Now try those blouses,” said Mrs Grainger, and Arnold passed one to his colleague, who deftly put it on the subject, buttoning up the front and passing his fingers over the girl’s breasts. Mrs Grainger shook her head and several others were tried before she was satisfied, and the chosen blouse laid by. By now the onlookers were quite numerous, and Catherine’s face quite red. Then her cheeks went crimson as Mrs Grainger said “Right, now take off the shift and try on the camisole.” Arnold, who was enjoying the process, suggested shyly that they could take of the skirt to free the shift first. Mrs G of course agreed, and the young boy quickly removed the lower garment. The crowd gasped at seeing the short knickers revealed, and the boys stood back to admire the girl’s figure, she trying to cringe, and her mistress ordering her to stand up straight. Then Stephen took hold of the shift and drew it up over her head. A great murmur of admiration came from the crowd as the action elevated her naked breasts. Again the boys paused to drink in the sight, then hastened to put on the camisole. Mrs G frowned and asked for another, so Arnold took it off and Stephen found another. Eventually Mrs Grainger was satisfied and asked for the chosen blouse and camisole to be laid aside for her. The boys looked at her expectantly, the apprentice (who seemed to be about fourteen) with an eager smile on his face. The girl meanwhile stood up on the dais naked but for her skimpy knickers, her arms crossed over her breasts, her eyes shut in an attempt to hide from the eyes of the boys and the crowd that had gathered.

“Now,” said Mrs Grainger, “I don’t think we need a brassiere, or any kind of corset. I’m not in favour of any confining or constricting garments.” The boys nodded, their gaze still on the girl’s body. “So the torso is taken care of. Perhaps we can dress the bottom.” The boys were now both grinning, and Catherine shivered, knowing what was coming. “Right, Catherine. We’ll get you some other underpants, stockings, and shoes. Boys, please show us a selection of all those.” The boys scampered off, and Catherine looked pathetically at her employer. “Please, madam,” she quavered, “don’t expose me like this. Why don’t we take them home and try them on there…?” “Don’t be stupid, girl,” snapped Mrs Grainger. “Now we’re here, we might as well get everything settled. Take off those panties.”

Her cheeks were blazing as she obeyed, sliding her one garment down her legs and stepping out of it just as the boys came back with more armfuls. The crowd around them was hushed, staring at this unbelievable sight, a totally nude young girl in the midst of a busy store, standing up on a little dais so as to be more easily seen. Her hand were clenched at her sides and her lips trembled as her gaze met the eyes of her audience, and the boys looked at each other, seeming to gloat, as they realised that the lady in charge in fact wanted the girl to be embarrassed; and they had carte blanche to torment her as they saw fit.

“Why not try the stockings, madam?” asked Stephen, displaying a pair of long hose. “Certainly, certainly,” said Mrs Grainger, and without more ado Stephen put his hand under the girl’s thigh to raise her leg. Arnold took a stocking and inserted her foot, then drew it up her leg to where his colleague’s hand rested. They looked at the result, then took the other stocking and put it on the other leg, smoothing the top, deliberately close to her quivering groin. “Hmm,” said the lady, “perhaps. But let’s see some others.” The process was gone through twice more, and Catherine could only grit her teeth and hope she wasn’t showing any arousal. Why should these boys (and the crowd) arouse her? But she knew it was coming.

The boys were enjoying themselves immensely, Stephen putting his left hand on her behind to support her as he raised the leg, and the young apprentice drawing his hand twitchingly close to her pubis. At length some stockings were agreed on, and kept on while the boys tried on several pairs of shoes. This time they asked her to walk about to make sure of the fit, and so Catherine found herself walking up and down the aisle between rows of amused spectators. Just then another little crowd came up – a dozen or so boys from the local school, who it turned out were being shown over the store by one of their number, the manager’s son. They were mirthfully astonished to see a girl, naked but for stockings and shoes, parading up and down, and settled in to watch, not caring about the rest of the establishment.

Two pairs of shoes were decided on, and the scarlet girl was returned to the dais. “Why don’t we try some knickers, madam?” asked Arnold. “A good idea, my boy,” said Lydia. “What have you got there?” As they produced half a dozen pairs of drawers, Catherine began to feel better – surely she’d get to keep a pair on? And so it was, though it took all six pairs to finally agree on a cover for her bottom, and in between the boys were peeling the panties down to reveal her and drawing them up past her vulva, which they kept touching as they went. But finally she was standing in concealing knickers, and some of the crowd began to leave. Mrs G asked the boys to bring several frocks, and she was now rapidly dressed to the satisfaction of Mrs G, who upset the girl by asking the boys to remove her garments and put them by for purchase. They lost no time in stripping the blushing girl, to the vocal approval of the crowd, which began to increase again. Then Mrs Grainger stood up, and Catherine hoped her torment was over. But her mistress merely said “Gentlemen , I’m off for a little while to order some other things in another department. Why don’t you use the time to see if there’s anything else you can do for us?” Catherine looked at her desperately. “But madam, please! Don’t leave me like this!” Mrs Grainger looked at her contemptuously. “Stay with these kind gentlemen. I’ll return in a little.” She left with a nod and a smile to the boys, who grinned at her and each other.

When she had gone, the elder said to his colleague “Why don’t we try a few scarves and things? And a belt or two round that slim bare waist! Come on.” They went off to fetch the new articles and Catherine was left up on the dais, the centre of attraction for a sizeable crowd, mostly masculine, including the dozen schoolboys, who edged closer till they surrounded the girl. She had put her hands to their places, to hide her breasts and crotch, but she couldn’t do anything about her backside, and so it was easy for a questing hand to caress her buttocks. She gave a little squeal, which amused the boys immensely, and the predator used both hands to smooth the cheeks of her delicious bum. She couldn’t prevent this, and could merely squeeze her legs together in case the obnoxious child could gain access to her vulva, which she knew was betraying her moist excitement. As for the other boys, those on her sides began stroking her down from her armpits all the way to her calves, and one in front of her did the same from the tops of her thighs to her ankles. She knew she was becoming carried away by these attentions, but couldn’t move, and her breath was panting anxiously. Her cheeks were brilliant red, and her nipples were hard, as one boy remarked, as he began to fondle her belly. She shuddered and tried to plead with them, to no avail.

They continued with their attentions till she was near frantic, and all of a sudden she had an overwhelming urge to urinate. Oh God, she thought, what if I peed right here? I can’t – but I have to! Oh no, please God! Then the assistants reappeared with more accoutrements, and the schoolboys retreated. Stephen looked at them amusedly and said “Sorry to spoil your fun, boys. But we’ve got more work to do.” They laid their burdens on the counter and looked with relish at their victim, who squirmed and stammered “B-boys, please, I have to –” They looked at her, and Arnold said “What?”, suspecting the truth but wanting to hear the pretty girl say it. She looked at the floor and muttered, “I need to … to pee.” “Oh well,” said Stephen cheerfully, “we’d better take you to the loo. Come this way.” She gratefully followed him, and the fourteen-year-old apprentice came after, admiring the action of her naked buttocks. The schoolboys, curious as to what was to happen, followed, and the rest of the gawking crowd dispersed, thinking the erotic sight was over.

She was led through the men’s wear section, to the lewd amusement of several customers, to the back of the store, and Stephen looked back at her to say “I’m afraid the ladies’ lavatory is too far, and you seem desperate – you are, aren’t you?” She grimaced and choked out “Yes! Please, hurry—” “All right,” he said, “you’ll have to use the gents.’” She looked at him in dismay, but had to follow as he led the entourage to the corner of the floor, and indicated the door labelled “Gentlemen”., He thrust open the door and beckoned her in. She was followed by Arnold and the schoolboys, who filled the entire room. The sly young clerk waved his hand at the toilet stalls and said mendaciously, “The lavs are out of order right now. You’ll have to use the urinals over there.” She looked at him in horrified disbelief. “Yes,” chimed in Arnold, with a salacious grin, “that’s all there is.” “But not in front of you!” she near screamed, “please! And those boys!” “Never mind us or the boys. D’you need to piss or not?” Oh God, she thought, the final indignity. But needs must – and she stepped up to the porcelain fitting, setting her feet apart. Then she realised this would not work.

“What’s the matter?” asked Arnold. “Wait,” said Stephen. “I know. Girls have to sit down to piss. So—” “Oh!” exclaimed Arnold, maybe we can --?” “Yes, exactly. Miss, turn round.” She did so, still shielding herself, and beginning to writhe with the effort of keeping her urine in her insistent bladder. “We can help,” said Stephen, taking one arm. Arnold took the other, and her cover was gone. The schoolboys took another stare at her enticing nudity, then gasped as they saw what would happen. “Squat,” said Stephen, pulling the crimson girl down, and the boys drank in the sight of her vulva gaping in that position. Then they gasped again as she lost control of her sphincter and a copious flow of urine gushed into the urinal. Catherine closed her eyes in anguish as she heard the crude remarks of the boys, who had never imagined seeing such a sight on a ho-hum visit to a store, and clapped their friend on the back for bringing them there. Arnold let go of his arm and went over to the ‘out of order’ lavatory stalls, returning with some toilet paper. He passed it to a couple of the staring boys, and looked at the blushing girl, who had just finished. Stephen stood up and nodded at his friend, who waved at Catherine and said to the boys, “Right! Now you can dab her dry.”

She wailed with shame as the lucky boys came at her licking their lips, and quickly seized her by the bare hips to dab the drops of urine from her vulva. One said “By golly, she’s really wet! She pissed squint or something!” “No, you fool,” said the other, pressing his hand on her slit and looking her in the eye, “it’s the juice of her cunt, she gets it when she’s up and excited. Don’t you, miss? What’s your name, anyway?” He stroked her slit, and she squealed and answered “Ca-Catherine.” “Nice name. Nice tits. Nice cunt. Don’t you agree, fellows?” He turned to the others, who agreed as one. “Thank you, gents, for showing us.” Stephen and Arnold smiled and the former said feelingly, “You’re very welcome, boys. You won’t see this again, though, I’m sorry.” The boys laughed and left, and Catherine was led back to her post.

She wearily mounted the dais and the insufferable assistants began trying on a variety of scarves, belts, boas and shawls, and another crowd began to gather, this time seemingly only of high school boys who wore a different uniform, and who stood in awe at the spectacle. It took an excruciating fifteen minutes to go through all the appurtenances, and by that time Mrs Grainger had appeared to survey the scene with satisfaction. The girl was near fainting, it seemed, at her exposure to a randy young crew of near peers, and she saw the younger clerk called Arnold use a cloth to wipe moisture from Catherine’s vulva. Ha! Then she was, as expected, aroused by all this. Excellent.

“I’m afraid that’s all for today, gentlemen” she said with what was genuine regret, “but we may be back.” Catherine trembled at the thought.”Please parcel up my purchases and despatch to the manor with the bill as usual. Thank you so much for all your attention.” “Thank you, madam,” answered Stephen with a grin, “it’s been very enjoyable serving you. Come again.” “Oh. I will,” she replied, “fairly shortly. We’ll see.” “And thank you, miss,” added Arnold to the girl, who was still up on the dais hiding herself, “we hope to see more of you.” He grinned bawdily, and she shivered as she came down not looking at him.

They were bowed out, and walked a few yards, but Catherine stopped suddenly. “Madam! Please! I’m naked. What about my clothes?” She covered herself again from the amused gaze of customers and appealed to her mistress. “Oh, I’d forgotten that. Well, they’ll be sent on with the new things. Come on.” She led the way to the entrance, Catherine shielding her crotch, near tears. “Get in the car.” Catherine bit her lip and stepped onto the pavement in the sun and fresh air, immediately the target (she felt) of all eyes on the street. She climbed into the Daimler and sat with bowed head, wondering whether her blush would ever end. They drove off, and she knew she was being exhibited to all the townsfolk. Some stared, some deliberatedly looked away, some in disgust, some in vicarious shame. Some of course ogled her with obviously lecherous glee, and she imagined she felt the palpable impact of all those eyes. The drive was deliberately slow, and seemed to take a very circuitous route – evidently to show her off to as many people as possible. But at length they reached the outskirts and drove home at some speed, and Catherine began to shiver in the breeze. She thought about asking Mrs Grainger about the legalities of the situation, but didn’t dare. She knew that to question her mistress about anything would merit some retribution or other. At the mansion the driver helped Mrs G to alight, then let Catherine out, studiously avoiding looking at her, before driving to the garage. The girl crept up to her room naked, hoping paradoxically to meet a sympathetic Matthew.

Mrs Grainger sat in the morning room and lit a cigarette. Well now, she thought, that visit went very well, even better than last time. Those young lads were most cooperative, and I’m sure they enjoyed dressing a naked young girl their own age. She reacted beautifully as I knew she would. So – I think the same sort of expedition will do nicely for Matthew. We’ll have to have him served by two female assistants of course. And I think I’ll take the carriage, it can show him off a bit better, Oh yes, and what about the swimming pool? I think I’ll phone the chairman of the board and arrange something…. Her lips formed a calculating smile, and she drew in the smoke and puffed it out to the ceiling. Yes, that would do. Oh, how she was enjoying his shame! He was still reacting to his exposure like the first time she’d showed him to the girls. Like Catherine, he was still unused to being bared in public. She licked her lips in satisfaction. How lucky that she’d seen him at Maude Crossley’s! She’d keep him for quite a while yet.

*

“Well, Matthew,” said Norah with a grin, “I caught you pissing the other day, and Liza caught you shitting, so we’ve seen two sides of you! Now we see another side. The backside—” They both laughed. “And the front side, and every other bit! We’ve been waiting for this. We told each other about seeing you, and laughed about it, but we didn’t reckon on actually bathing you, and making you come! That’s the piece of resistance, as they say! It’s not quite the same as fucking with you, as I was talking about, but still—”

Liza took up the strain. “Look, Matthew, I was paid back for teasing you about your shit, when Abigail made me skitter myself on the lawn. I bet you heard about that from Catherine, yes? Well, this is another piece of the game we play. You can at least allow us to get some fun out of it. Come now, off with your togs, and into the tub. It’s all ready for you!”

He sighed and took off his clothes, they watching his every move. When he was naked, they took his arms and led him to the bath, where he was soaped and washed and soaped and washed and felt and fondled – for God’s sake, Mrs G must have told them to enter his arse! – till he came yet once more, to their applause. Back in his bed, he looked up at them and tried to smile, and wondered if he was meant to thank them for helping him masturbate. “Goodnight, Matthew,” said Norah. “You’re just as good, it’s just as much of a thrill, as the girls have been saying. We’ll be telling them too, the ones who haven’t had you yet. And you, think of it, you’ve got God knows how many more of these from all the girls on the estate, yes, why not? – servants and pupils alike. I’m sure madam is thinking about it. You’re very lucky!”

He looked at her in astonishment, but could only sigh as they turned out the light. Very lucky? Yes I am, I am! I’ve got friends now, I’ve got a girl to love, and who maybe loves me. Put that beside the teasing and the shame, and it makes it up, surely. Yes. Thank you, God! If you’re up there, or wherever the hell you are, I thank you, God, Guardian Angel, Providence, Demiurge and anything else, Demon or Mirage, thank you for Catherine, the dearest, sweetest girl anyone could hope for. Aah, Catherine! Ca – aa – the – rine…. He slipped into sleep with a quiet smile on his lips.

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(The End)