Mrs Grainger's Gift 11

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 Grainger’s Gift Part XI

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Saturday 6^th June

Camp and a jury; singing songs, making love

“Matthew,” said Abigail, “you’re to go with the party to Ford’s End today.” He looked at her in puzzlement. “What it is,” said Abigail heavily, “is an annual trip shared with Mrs London’s School to a beauty spot, and this year it’s Ford’s End about twenty miles to the east of here. A very pretty place, they were there before three years ago and had a good time. Your job,” she said further, “is a sort of helper, you and the other teacher will sort things out for the girls. You’ll do any heavy lifting for instance. You can swim, so you’ll be a life guard as well. Keep them out of mischief, look after them, and bring them back safe. All right?”

“Um, yes, I suppose so,” he said in some bewilderment. “There’s another guide, then, one of their teachers?”

“Yes, it’s usually the games mistress, Miss Train (suitable name, isn’t it?) But this time it’s a Miss Bertram, and she’s new, so I only hope she knows what she’s doing. One of the girls will be acting as second in command, anyway, so there shouldn’t be any confusion. The bus will be here in an hour, so get your things together.”

“What things?”

“Why, some warm clothes for the evening chill, a favourite book, some sweeties, I don’t know. What you think you might need. Be ready for the bus.” She went off and he gazed after her and shrugged. Actually this might be interesting and enjoyable, he thought, away from the house for twenty-four hours! Away from Mrs Grainger and her baths, away from Abigail and her malice, yes, it could be very good!

He sat at the front of the bus with a knapsack on his lap, and as it rumbled along he drowsed, not paying much attention to where they were. The girls chattered to each other and left him alone, for which he was grateful. He awoke with a start when the bus ground to a halt and the driver opened the door noisily. “All out!” he roared, and the crew began to pile out of the vehicle, making more noise that grew as they squealed greetings to the other girls who had already arrived and were setting up camp. Matthew crawled out and looked for an adult, or maybe a late teenager, who would be Miss Bertram, his colleague, but could see no likely candidate. He buttonholed one of the London girls (identified by the school colours) and asked. The girl looked rather bemused and said “Oh, she’s been taken to hospital. Just this morning. Miss Train said that the teacher with the Academy could do everything, there’s no need to worry.” He stared at her in dismay. “But, we haven’t got a teacher, it’s me.” She looked at him and burst out laughing. “Then, by gosh, you’d better talk to Alice, our head girl, she was going to be helping Miss Bertram. She got all the instructions written down, who does what, all our activities. It was all worked out beforehand, so there shouldn’t be any trouble. There she is over there, the nice-looking brunette.”

He spotted the girl and went over to introduce himself, and she looked at him with a disappointed frown. “I’ve no idea how we’re going to do this,” she said, “except that we’ll treat you as we would another teacher. That means, mind you, we share everything.” He nodded affably, and she looked off and said “All right. First, set up camp, our tents. I’ll look after that. We’ve got to arrange a latrine, so you can do that. Look around for a good secluded spot and start digging. We have two spades, and Angela over there can help you, she’s got more muscle than me.”

Shaking his head, he found the spades and the brawny Angela, and together they looked around for a suitable location. “How deep should it be, d’you think?” he asked.

“Heavens,” she replied, “I don’t know. I don’t think we’ll produce too much shit, do you? In a day and a half, even if every one of us has a shit and a couple of pisses, we’ll still not fill a trench a couple of feet deep, no?”

“Yes,” he said, rather taken aback, “you’re probably right. So what about here?” he indicated a spot a bit removed from the tents that were going up, behind a little knoll.

“Yes,” said Angela, “why not?” and she thrust her spade into the ground.

A while later they looked at their handiwork and Matthew asked about a screen. “A screen?” hooted Angela, “What on earth for? We don’t use a screen, never have. Miss Train used to say we should get used to performing all our ablutions in the open. It toughened us, or something. Oh, no screen!” She shouldered her spade and walked back to the main camp, and Matthew followed, trying to argue. He had an awful presentiment about this weekend, and it had only just started….

Alice had got all the tents up and pegged, and was busy arranging for a camp fire. “That’s to do the cooking on,” she said, “and we’ll sit around it at night and sing songs and tell stories. Have you got all the supplies out of your bus?”

“Em, I’m not sure,” he said, “what supplies we have.”

Alice looked at him in disgust. “Trust a boy to fuck things up,” she said. “All right, come and we’ll see.” They went over to the Academy bus, whose driver was just getting into the seat. “Wait!” she cried, “we want to check what there is.”

He sighed and opened the door. “Look, miss,” he said, “it’s all out there. Boxes of food, bottles of lemonade, packets of tea, blankets, all sorts of stuff. Now excuse me, I’m off. I’ll be back tomorrow to take you back. Goodbye.” He slammed the door and drove off, and the two surveyed the heap of supplies.

“Yes,” she said, “this is it, the food, and everything. Look, you take over the first meal, all right? And afterwards we can go over the instructions Miss Bertram left.”

“Fine, then I’ll get a tea crew together.”

All went well for several hours; they had a pleasant tea, with sausages and buns, and everyone seemed quite happy with their affairs. Then a girl sidled up to Matthew and whispered “Matthew, I need to go to the … the …”

“Latrine?” he asked, and she blushed and nodded. “It’s over there behind the little hill.”

“Show me, will you?” She was squirming by now trying to hold it in.

“Oh! All right. Come with me.” He led her away round the little rise to show her the trench they’d dug, and she flew to it and squatted, pulling her knickers down. She’d forgotten about him, but looked up with a blush. “Matthew, please, help me here, hold me, or I’ll fall into the damn ditch.” He wrestled with his sense of propriety but darted forward and held her by the armpits while she urinated with a grateful sigh. Her eyes were on a level with his crotch, and she gave a shaky laugh as she saw an erection form in his trousers, which he couldn’t hide. Then she was finished, and he got her to her feet. She drew up her knickers and said “Thank you, Matthew! You’re a gentleman. It’s not every gentleman who helps his lady to pee!” And she ran off with a tinkle of a laugh. He followed slowly, and suddenly thought that he would be using it himself. What then? He decided he’d make himself wait till it was dark, which would be about four hours away. He could do that.

He was however rather nonplussed when a girl from the other school came up to him and asked him about the latrine. He pointed, but she said “No, show me,” and held out her hand. He took it automatically and looked at her doubtfully. She didn’t seem to be in any hurry to pee, and maybe she just wanted to know where it was. He led her behind the knoll and showed her the trench. “Oh,” she said, “that’s pretty good. Last year we had a very small one, and it would only take three people at once.” A picture flashed past his eyes of three nubile girls taking a shit at the same time, and he flushed. Her next words increased his embarrassment. “Well, now I’m here I might as well use it. Will you steady me while I have a pee?”

“G-God!” he stammered, “you want…,” and remembered the other girl who must have told her friends. How could he get out of this? The girl, who looked about thirteen, stared at him expectantly. He swallowed and held his hands out, and she obligingly lowered her knickers and raised her skirt, to reveal a pretty little vulva not quite obscured by a modicum of pubic hair. His eyes grew round as he gazed at this, and then he met her gaze, to see her smiling in a really roguish way, and he realised what he was expected to do. He took her by the armpits as before and allowed her to squat over the trench, and after a second or two she began to urinate.

He couldn’t help himself – he stared at the sight of her urine gushing from that open vulva, and his flush burned on his cheeks as he gained another hard-on. She looked at it and laughed, saying “Oh Matthew! You like what you see, maybe? Stella Harding told me you held her, and I thought I’d see if I could make you stand myself. How big are you?”

He drew her up and dropped his hands. Breathing deeply, he turned and hid his crotch, saying “It’s none of your business. Please, don’t tease me. I’m trying to be nice to you folks….”

“Oh, but you are, Matthew! We all think you’re a great-looking boy, and we wish we’d had you before! We’re going to let Mrs Grainger know.”

He looked at her sadly and sighed, “All right,” he said, “but no more helping you pee, or your friends I mean.” She nodded gaily and ran off. What next? he thought, and wondered about the salaciousness of these girls. Of course, the Academy girls had told the London girls all about him. He grimaced unhappily to realise he couldn’t escape, even here.

He decided to have a pee of his own, before anyone else turned up, and he was just shaking off when an Academy girl of about twelve came along. She tried to see his penis but he turned away and did up his buttons, and she pouted in disappointment. But then she pulled down her knickers and told him to go away. She didn’t need his help to maintain her balance, it seemed, and squatted down with a look of concentration of her face. He was leaving when she gave an exclamation and yelled at him “Matthew! There’s no paper! For God’s sake, get me some!” Startled, he looked back to see that she’d already started a shit, and then hurried off to the supply tent. Alice caught him with the toilet paper in his hand, and said “Christ, I might have known! You forgot the paper, didn’t you?” He mumbled an apology and hurried back to the trench, where another girl was just squatting down. She gave a little shriek but didn’t move, and the first one said “Thank God, now I can shite in peace.” Matthew’s flush increased as he handed her the toilet paper, and said “You can share this, can’t you? There’s more if you need it….” They looked at him silently and he withdrew.

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“Well boys, did you enjoy your luncheon?”

They chorused their appreciation, and she smiled and said “Our cook, Mrs Ponsonby, tried to make it special. Now I suggest you take a little while to digest it, stroll about, get comfortable, have a cigarette or whatever, and reconvene in an hour at the front entrance, and you’ll meet the others who have agreed to participate in the viewing. It’s a tailor and his son and friends. I’ll explain everything then. So off you go, and be back promptly.”

The four schoolboys separated to wander about, visit a bathroom, enjoy a cigarette, and in Colin’s case to seek Liza, who had said she’d try to be in the maze, not that they’d stay there. He had a whole hour, and wasn’t sure whether he’d be able to sneak off afterwards, so now was the time for a cuddle. Quickly he strode to the maze entrance, and just inside he found his girl waiting, evidently in some anxiety that he might not come. She rushed up to him and gave him a hug, saying she wasn’t sure he would make it.

“Well, Liza, I did, I’m here, I’m at your service. What shall we do?”

She flushed as the obvious thought came into her head, and took his hand. “Please, let’s just wander in the woods over there, listen to the birds, admire the flowers. Just a walk.” He reined in his eager libido and allowed her to lead the way. Soon they were under the trees in a wood deliberately left uncultivated, which turned out to be home to quite a sizeable amount of wildlife. Liza told him she’d seen a stag not long before. “The wood is actually quite big,” she said, “it extends in that direction for miles. We’ve been warned about getting lost in it, so we keep out, mostly. I bet you no-one will come to disturb us here.” She stopped when they came to a little clearing and said “This will be fine. Look, we can sit here and talk, or maybe do some … courting.”

She looked coyly sideways at him, and he smiled and said “Yes, it looks nice and peaceful.” They sat down and she nestled against him, looking up at him in what seemed perfect trust. He looked down at her and smiled tenderly. “Liza, Liza! I hope you realise just how much I like you. I’m the lucky one, who happened to be in the right place at the right time, to be introduced to you, to—”

She swallowed and interrupted. “No, please, Colin, don’t talk about that—”

“But I must,” he said. “It brought us together. It binds us together. That experience made all the difference in my life and yours. I can’t forget it, and I don’t want to forget it. In fact,” he said, “I want to see you again like that.” She blinked and shivered, then got up slowly and looked down at his eager face.

“Do you want me naked, then?” she asked quietly.

He nodded, and said “Liza, you are beautiful clothed, and wonderful naked. Do you know that old madrigal that says

                       My love in her attire doth shew her wit,

It doth so well become her;

                       For every season she hath dressings fit,

                       For winter, spring and summer.

                       No beauty she doth miss,

                       When all her robes are on;

                       But beauty’s self she is

                       When all her robes are gone.”

“That’s beautiful,” she said. “And you think—”

“Yes, Liza. I do.”

She gazed at him with a smile and put her hands to her chest to undo the drawstrings of her smock, and slowly stepped out of the garment. She was wearing a shift but nothing else, for she’d deliberately left off her knickers in case her boy wanted to touch her. Soon the shift lay on the ground, and she drew off her shoes and stockings to stand bare and shameless before him. He looked at her in silent worship and appraised the perfection of her body – her face, her neck, her shoulders, her breasts – were they showing the erect nipples of arousal? – her slim waist, her belly, her hips, her little bush of hair at that dear junction of the thighs – Christ! But she was beautiful. And not because she was naked, either. But her nudity added to her attractiveness, and he couldn’t restrain himself. He stood up and in a minute he was as naked as she. They stood together for a moment before grasping each other to run their hands over the other’s body and bring the other, and themselves, to a pitch of aroused frenzy. They sank to the forest floor and he took hold of his erection to place it deliberately at her slit, now opening for him; she took it and guided it in, holding eyes with him until their bodies were completely joined. Then she lay back and said simply “Fuck me.” He seized her shoulders and thrust into her loins with a great grin, and the pair of them bucked and heaved and groaned and gasped for what seemed a long time before she came, giving a little scream. She still moved to accommodate her lover, and it was not long before he too gave an indescribable sound and collapsed on her breast, out of breath, his heart hammering and his sweat mingling with hers.

They lay there for a while before he roused himself and said “Oh God, I’m to attend this fashion thing. It must be getting close. Let’s get dressed. Maybe I can see you afterwards too.” She nodded in pleasured anticipation, and they made their way back to the house. The others were already there, and David was about to ask what they’d been up to (which he knew perfectly well) when another group joined them, an older man and a youth of sixteen or so, with another two teenaged boys. Introductions were made. Evidently Martin Jackson’s friends were Billy and John Franklin, aged sixteen and eighteen respectively, and all four looking pleased for some reason at what they seemed to expect. Liza said goodbye to Colin and pecked him on the cheek, at which he coloured but said nothing. Mrs G strode up just then and took the group in hand. “Come with me,” she said, “to the morning room and make yourselves comfortable. When you’re settled I’ll explain.”

They arranged themselves on chairs, and she produced a standing ashtray and some cigarettes, inviting them to feel perfectly at home. “Now,” she said, “to business. You kind gentlemen are going to be the jury in a succession of fittings of various kinds and lengths of skirt for a young girl who lives here.” Their eyes opened wide. “That is to say, we’ll be seeing what the best lengths of skirt are and the best material for it. Heavy, light, or whatever. I do hope you’ll take this seriously and give well-thought-out decisions, and back up your opinions. Are you with me?” They looked at each other, and her, and made noises of agreement. “In a little while I’ll send for tea,” she said, “at an intermission, so to speak. But for now I should introduce you to the girl concerned.” She rang the cord by the fireplace and smiled maternally at them as they digested the information. Jessica appeared, and was told to produce Catherine. At the name, David perked up and looked at his hostess, who looked back at him and nodded. He smiled and nudged his friend Andrew Petrie, who looked amused and interested, doubtless guessing that this chore was not going to be too boring after all.

Jessica returned, shepherding Catherine in and retiring immediately. The man and boys looked at the girl, who was dressed in an attractive outfit of blouse and skirt, with ankle socks and plain shoes. She looked absurdly young, thought Colin, fourteen? No, fifteen probably. Maybe sixteen, even. Very pretty. Not as beautiful as Liza though. But the thought did cross his mind so recently exercised in sex that it would be exciting to shag her. Then he remembered this was the girl who had been playing volleyball mostly naked, and he wondered what her body looked like under those clothes. Mrs Grainger called the audience to order by clearing her throat and saying “Boys, this is Catherine, who will be modelling the garments today, provided by Mr Jackson here. Your task is to comment on the suitability of the skirts, as to material, design, length and so on. Your opinions will be carefully noted. Mr Jackson, you have the floor.”

The older man stood up and said “Now boys, take a look at what the girl is wearing right now. We’re interested in the skirt, but I should say you’re free to give your opinions on anything else. For now, though, take a good look at the skirt she’s wearing. It comes down nearly to her knees. Have you any opinions on that length?”

The boys stared at the garment and hummed and hawed, David finally saying “It’s fine, Mr Jackson, just the right length, I’d say. It isn’t so short as to be silly or useless, and it isn’t long enough to look dowdy or old-fashioned or anything. Actually it should free the legs, shouldn’t it, so she can move briskly?”

Jackson smiled and said “Very good, David, is it? That makes perfect sense. Anyone else?”

Andrew Petrie spoke up. “It depends to a great extent on the weight of the material, if you ask me. What is it?”

“Good question, laddie!” said Jackson. “Come closer, Catherine, and let them feel the material.” She warily approached the group and began to be flushed as they took turns in feeling the cloth.

Andrew said “It’s nice and light, actually, a lot lighter than it looks.” Colin concurred, and they all pronounced the skirt just right.

“Fine,” said Jackson, “now, taking that as a sort of benchmark, perhaps we can ring changes. Catherine, take off the skirt and we’ll try another.” She looked desperate but had to comply, and undid the buttons. As she stepped out of the skirt the boys’ faces lit up to see her short knickers, and David caught the eye of Mrs Grainger, who gave him a sardonic smile. He settled back to enjoy the process that he knew would involve some embarrassment for the poor girl, standing there in her underwear before eight men, most of them just a little older than she. This would be interesting. She, of course, had flinched as soon as she saw him, and was avoiding his eyes. Colin, meanwhile, reacted with yet another flutter in his groin. This was the girl he’d met last time, who had played volleyball half-naked. What was this viewing all about? When he saw her skimpy knickers, with hardly any leg to them, he knew they were in for something different, and resolved to control himself and not get too red in the face, as the girl seemed to be doing.

Mr Jackson produced another skirt somewhat longer in the same material, he said, and put it on the girl, buttoning it up with big fancy buttons. John Franklin looked critically at the sight and drew on his cigarette. “No,” he said, “personally I don’t like it, it’s too … old for her.”

His sixteen-year-old brother agreed, saying that the ease of movement that Andrew had spoken of was going to be compromised, however little. “It’s the same weight, you said, Mr Jackson? Let me feel that.” Catherine was urged closer and he ran the material through his hands, causing her to blush slightly at a strange boy raising her skirt. “Yes,” he said, “but at the same time I must admit it depends on how she moves, and so forth. If you’re bothered about how much she’s ever going to reveal, this is safe, ’cos she won’t ever show her knickers, unless she’s going up a ladder in a high wind.” The others laughed, and Catherine bit her lip.

It was decided to come back to that skirt, and Mr Jackson said “It’s all right, boys, we can repeat all these if you like, under different circumstances. Now look, here’s the same length, but a much lighter cloth.”

He quickly removed the skirt and applied another one, then invited the boys to feel it. One after another they did so, and discovered it was, as Andrew said, almost like gossamer. “Oh, I like the feel of this,” said the elder Franklin. “Somehow it isn’t dowdy any more. I feel I could blow it away! Here, girl, Catherine, see if you can do a few twirls for us.” She looked at Mrs G, who made motions with her hand, and Catherine obediently turned round several times, making the skirt swirl out.

Billy clapped in appreciation, and said “Ha! That’s beautiful, she’s showing her drawers nicely.”

David chimed in with his own appreciation. “That’s the way to do it, as Mr Punch says! It’s the only way she’ll show her underwear, and it’s probably rather unlikely, unless she’s dancing an eightsome reel or something.” Andrew suggested making this the preferred weight for that particular length, and the others agreed.

Jackson whisked off that skirt and produced another visibly shorter. The buttons this time were small and dainty, and the hem was at mid-thigh. The boys looked at this with pleased expressions, and Martin told them “This is my own favourite, my suggestion. The material is not too heavy, though it can be, we’ve got it here, and the length is just right for modesty. It’s not as safe, I admit, as the others, but it’s a bit of a compromise I suppose. Billy, what do you think?”

His friend looked at Catherine’s thighs salaciously and grinned. “That’s it exactly. It gives that freedom you were speaking about, David, and it’s somehow more … liberating. To tell the truth, it reminds you of her body a bit more, which to my mind is exactly what it should do.”

Catherine’s flush was a trifle deeper by now, and Colin tried to be serious. “Can we have that in a heavier material, Mr Jackson?”

“Certainly, here it is.” The change was made and they all felt the new weight.

“There, I think that this is a bit better. I think,” said Colin judiciously, “that we’re maybe seeing a ratio here, of weight versus length.”

“I think I see what you’re on about, Colin,” said his friend. “The lighter the cloth, the greater the possible length.”

“Maybe,” said David, “but we’ve lots to try yet if I’m not mistaken.”

“True enough!” said Jackson. “Now we come to the fiddly bit.” They looked at him questioningly, and he smiled and said “I only mean the smaller lengths are more problematical. Catherine, get that off.” He turned to his pile of garments and produced an evidently scanty piece of material which he slipped up Catherine’s body and fastened with one small catch. Now the boys were all eyes, their gaze fixed on the hem just an inch or so below her crotch. Francis was first to speak. “That is quite daring,” he said, “and quite titillating too. If that’s your intention. Catherine, turn round, please, and touch toes.” She blushed and did so, and the boys laughed to see her knickers revealed.

Colin said “Catherine, can you move back and forth for us, stretch up, squat, and so forth?” She sighed and went through several poses for them. “You see,” said Colin, “I’m just making sure that the knickers are revealed no matter what she does. If she moves, she shows the world her underwear.”

“Wait a bit,” said Billy, “what about the weight? Mr Jackson, what’s that?”

“That is the heavy weight,” he said. “If you want to compare the light one—Catherine—” She slipped the skirt off and stood as he applied another, then pushed her over to the group, who felt the material and made pleased noises, saying eventually that it was a nice length and a nice weight, and perhaps it could be worn under certain circumstances. The skirt was removed, and everyone took a deep breath.

Mrs Grainger called an intermission, and rang for tea and biscuits. Mr Jackson lit a cigarette and strolled over to the window, where he was joined by the châtelaine and chatted for a while. Catherine was left standing in the middle of the room to make some sort of conversation with seven dressed teenagers, she in her inadequate undies. They told her to sit down and have a cigarette, and relax. It had to be a bit nerve-wracking, modelling for them, no? She didn’t know what to tell them, and was relieved when the tea trolley came in. Grace and Jennie gawked at Catherine in her knickers having tea with half a dozen boys, but took it in their stride—they’d seen much stranger scenes in that house.

Mrs G dispensed the tea, playing the gracious hostess, and fooling nobody but the Franklin boys, thought Catherine. She wondered again what the whole purpose of this show was—just to embarrass her one more time? What’s the point? Is it just to demonstrate her power, to be able to give me a red face whenever she wants to? She made halting conversation with the visitors, noticing their lustful looks at her underwear, and hoping for a swift end to the afternoon. There was more to come, however. Mr Jackson put her back in her long skirt with the light wool, and told her to take off her panties. Her cheeks flamed, and she saw Martin grinning at her. The other boys didn’t seem to be noticing, and she drew off her knickers slowly, not looking at anyone. Mrs G clapped her hands and got the boys’ attention. “Here’s where we start again, with another twist. Catherine, twirl around again.”

She was blushing as she performed a few turns, and the boys eyes grew round. The girl was wearing no knickers! Well, this made a difference to things. “Right!” said David with a grin, “as we said before, that length will do, for that weight, because she won’t show her thing unless she deliberately turns like that. Eh?” The others agreed, and Catherine stood abjectly before them, twisting her hands. Mr Jackson didn’t give her much time to react, but swiftly undid the big buttons and removed the skirt, to reveal her nakedness to them all. She automatically hid her crotch, but had to move her hands to let another skirt be applied.

This was her knee-length one, and it was admired again, but Mrs Grainger remarked “What about that high wind you were talking about, hmm? What would that do to this?” In answer she brought out an electric fan and switched it on, the breeze lifting the hair on the boys’ heads. She directed it at her victim, and it obligingly lifted the skirt and the shift underneath it to reveal Catherine’s bare pubis to the delighted teenagers. She couldn’t move, and had to stand there while they all admired her nakedness, and she clenched her fists and blushed painfully, her gaze on the ground. Eventually her employer switched it off, and said “Well then, you see what happened there. Mr Jackson?”

The tailor swiftly removed the knee-length skirt, and the girl covered her crotch again, but only for a moment, till he produced the miniature skirt, as he thought of it, and fastened it at her waist again. She was brought close to the jury, who riveted their eyes on the hem of the small garment. Martin Jackson fingered the material, lifting it to show her slit. “We said it was nice and could be worn, depending on circumstances, and with no panties (I like that word!), it’s even nicer. In my prejudiced opinion.” The others followed, raising the hem and judging the revealing of the vulva, and the consensus was the same as before. Nice (very nice) sometimes. And could she bend over, and squat, and reach up? She went through the motions, showing her slit every time, and the boys were getting quite excited. Surely they all had bulging erections in their trousers! Though they tried to hide them.

Jackson made her take off the skirt, to stand there naked from the waist down, while he made notes about their decisions. Colin pointed out that they hadn’t checked the thigh-length skirt without knickers, and so it was produced and another examination made. Andrew suggested another test of moving about, stretching, bending, squatting, and this time of course they were all enchanted with the view repeatedly given of her vulva, not to mention her sweet bum, and made her go through the motions again. She was totally red by this time of course, and was sure the heat from her cheeks must be felt by all, but they fell to arguing and Mr Jackson fell to making voluminous notes, while she stood with heaving chest, sweating, her eyes shut in shame.

“Half a mo!” exclaimed Martin, “we’ve got those other panties to show you.”

“Ah yes,” said Mrs G, “let’s see them in combination.”

The other pairs were brought out, and handed round among the boys, who felt the cloth and approved mightily. “Yes,” said their hostess, “why don’t you try them on?”

Colin looked at the wisp of material in his hands. “Yes, Colin,” said Mrs G with a smile, “why don’t you see how they look?”

He looked over at Catherine and then at Mrs G, who nodded at him. He took a deep breath and said “Very well, ma’am. Let’s see.” He beckoned Catherine over, and Andrew, sitting next to him, deftly undid the buttons and caught the skirt as it fell.

“There she is,” he said with a grin, and held her wrists as she tried to cover herself. “On they go!”

Colin got her feet into the garment and drew it up her legs, gazing, with a blush of his own, at her most private place, which by this time was broadcasting its excitement. He glanced up at her face, to see her gazing down at his trousers, and his blush intensified as he realised he had a visibly strong erection. He put all his attention on the panties, pushing them up over her warm thighs to cover that sweet spot, and inevitably compared it with Liza’s, which was a bit bigger, longer, and of course provided with that shading of hair. He sat back and crossed his legs, gazing at the effect of the cloth tight against the vulva, and nodded to his companions. They all studied that picture, and laughed and said it was good. “It does cover you, Catherine,” said Francis, “but it doesn’t hide you at all!” Catherine had no respite, for Billy took her arm and pulled her over to him, pulling down the knickers and starting to apply the third pair. When he had them at her waist he broke into a laugh and said “By God, Mrs Grainger, that’s the best yet! Look, you fellows!” He spun her round to show her transparent nakedness to the others, who exclaimed in pleasure at the sight.

“Put on that skirt again,” said Francis, and Martin swiftly dressed her.

“Now,” said David, “let’s have some more bending and squatting!” The girl was put through some more postures, and all the boys feasted their eyes on the revelations. Then Jackson took off the skirt, and Billy was induced to take off her knickers. Catherine could feel a trickle of sweat on her thigh, and prayed that her vulva wasn’t pouring forth its waters, though it felt like it.

Mrs G suddenly saw her blouse and shift spotted with perspiration, and on a whim ordered her to take them off to save them. Her eyes opened wide and she looked for mercy, but there was none. She dragged off her moist clothes and stood totally nude before them, and they eyed her delicious body as they discussed her skirts. Francis was pointing something out to John Franklin, and they both went up to her to demonstrate to the other what they were talking about, putting their hands to her body.

“No, Francis,” said John, “see here. Her twat is here,” laying his fingers on her slit, “and the cloth will be here,” putting his hand just below the pubic mound. She flinched, and he grinned. “See for yourself.”

Francis tentatively put out his hand to her waist to steady her, he thought, as he put his other hand to her pubis, and measured with his fingers to below the mound as John had. “Yes,” he admitted, “you’re right.” And with a last stroke of her vulva with his thumb he sat down again.

“Anything else?” asked Mrs Grainger, looking round. “Mr Jackson, I should think you’ve got all you data by this time. Boys? Any last comments?” They assured her they had nothing more to say, and thanked her for the opportunity to be useful. “That’s all right, then. Catherine, off you go. Say goodbye to the boys and thank them for their help.” Feeling rather ridiculous, with one hand over her crotch, the naked girl shook hands with the boys and Mr Jackson, gathered up her clothes, and fled, followed by sixteen libidinous eyes.

“Well, boys! I hope today’s business has been pleasant for you….” Oh, they assured her, it certainly was. “And it has been most useful to us. Thank you so much.” Oh, no bother at all, ma’am, they’d enjoyed it, they said. Any old time, they’d be happy to help. She smiled at them and said to herself she was damned sure they would, the lecherous young dogs. As she waved goodbye to them at the door, she congratulated herself on another interesting exercise in humiliation. She turned indoors and sought her bedroom, where she sat on the bed and uttered a few deep sighs. Then she rose and went into the bathroom, where she sat on the toilet and creased her forehead with a worrying frown. Lately she’d been sorely constipated, and she’d found a need to urinate rather frequently. There was something wrong with her system, but what? Could it be the chronic digestive problems that had plagued her mother all the time she knew her? Come along, for God’s sake, let’s have a shit! Ah, there’s the pee of course. But what we want is a shit….

Colin was fretting because there was no opportunity to see Liza again, but Francis was full of content that he’d managed to see and handle a very pretty girl all naked. He’d have something to tell the gang back at the school. He kept on making lewd comments to his friend all the way back to St Mark’s, though Colin wasn’t really listening. He was going over for the umpteenth time the details of Liza’s enchanting body, from her hair to the soles of her neat feet, and all that was in between. Skin, shining eyes, inviting breasts, pubic hair, curves of thighs, roundness of arse, flatness of belly, shy slit of her vulva, open welcome of her vagina….

David and Andrew were comparing notes, and the former was telling the latter all about the last visit when they were allowed to spank the naked arses of the girls. Andrew hadn’t managed to be there, being laid up with a bad cold in the sickroom, and had only heard about it. Now he’d actually been to Summerton and met the girl concerned. He hadn’t managed to get his fingers in her hole, but he’d seen it at least. “I can’t get over it,” he said. “That Mrs Grainger has absolutely no shame. She really seems to enjoy showing off her pupils and her servants to us naked as the day they were born. Still, I have the idea that she was really laughing at us too, and if she saw the hard-on in my trousers, she’d have laughed out loud.”

“You’re probably right, Andy old thing,” said David. “You should have seen her at that punishment session. A strange cruel smile she had, and she deliberately pushed Catherine into the line, evidently just for talking back to her. Yes, she was probably despising us for our reactions to the poor girl’s twat. You saw it was shaved, of course. What do you think of that?”

“Very neat,” said his friend. “Personally, I find a girl’s beard is a bit of a put-off sometimes. Besides, it tends to hide the cunt, and it’s all very well you saying that’s just a delightful little game of hide and seek, like you did last time we talked about this, you must admit the tangle is a bit much to get past. Like that poem young Derek showed us last time about Davie’s trout, remember? ‘The hairs upon her belly Were as stiff as any broom, And they grew so close together To get in there was no room.’ And we can’t all be as clever as Davie.”

The real David laughed. “No,” he said reminiscently, “nor me either.” He quoted with a grin,

                                   “To the Brig o’ Dee they took her,

                                      In the morning’s early mist,

                                   And he tickled her and tickled her

                                      Until the lassie pissed.

                                   Wee Davie’s arms were round her,

                                      As she stood in clouds of steam,

                                   And he slipped his prick into her

                                      Like a trout would go upstream.”

“Hah!” exclaimed Andrew, “that’s enterprising for you. Entering, anyhow. But I can actually imagine a real difficulty if the hair is too thick. It must happen, sometimes. But shaving just for cosmetic reasons is a bit much, I admit.”

“Prostitutes do,” said David. “Look at that pair we saw last Christmas.”

“Oh yes!” laughed Andrew, “and I thought it a bit rich at the time. But a pretty cunt, now, may look prettier if there isn’t any hair to distract you.”

“All right,” said his friend, “I’ll agree with you this time. And her cunt was pretty. Is pretty.”

“By the way, what did you get up to, in the free hour?”

“Oh, listen, I ran into the head girl, Dulcie Jennings. I chatted her up a bit—”

“Oho! Felt her up, too, I bet!”

“Well, if you must know, I did make a few advances,” said David primly. “She’s got nice tits. Just a bit bigger than Catherine’s. She’s two years older of course. As for the rest of her, I managed to get my hand up her skirt. And believe it or not, the hussy wasn’t wearing any knickers.”

Andrew laughed. “Quick work! Then what?”

“Well, I tickled her a bit, and she didn’t object. We didn’t have time to do much before the meeting, but she promised to write, and I promised to come back, and we will, you know. Even if it’s only the concert at the end of the month. And so, Andy my salacious friend, I fully intend to find out more about her lack of knickers.”

“You intend to fuck her?”

“Of course, you ass! I don’t know about here, but I could see her in town—”

“Wait a minute! Surely there’s miles of forest near the place? And a fuck al fresco is always refreshing.”

“Say you so? Well, it’s an idea. Under the spreading chestnut tree,” he improvised, “I have a mighty stand, And if you ask me nicely, I’ll put it in your hand!”

“That’s awful,” said Andrew with a shudder. “But she’ll be leaving, won’t she?”

“No, actually, she said she’d be around for another year, in the sixth form, the pre-university class.”

“So you can see her in the autumn, then? And get some more fucks. Good luck with that! As for me, by the bye, I found the library along there and it’s really an amazing place. A treasury of dirty books! Lots of old stuff, but they have a copy of Ulysses, that banned thing by James Joyce, and some really revealing pictures. I nicked a little thing, look I’ll show you, later on when we get to school. Now, tell me again about that punishment.”

“Well, they did it to whistles, like a naval exercise….”

The Jackson party meanwhile was bowling along home in the tailor’s car, and discussing in lively fashion the whole episode, passing comments on the girl’s body, and making recommendations about materials, lengths, and so on. The Franklin boys were in high spirits and profuse in their thanks for the invitation.

“Hey, Mr Jackson,” said Billy, “do you think we’ll be able to repeat this sometime? Can you persuade Mrs Grainger to get another dress made for that girl?”

“Actually, Billy,” said Martin, “I was thinking maybe we can get Mrs G to order up a swimsuit.”

“Ooh! That’d be all right,” crowed his friend. “Bathing is a sport,” he quoted, “Enjoyed by great and small, In suits of any sort, Though better none at all.”

“The only difficulty,” said Jackson, “is that we’ve already got all of the necessary measurements.”

“No, father, it just means that we won’t have to measure her, though I’d like to again. What we do need is a lot of fittings.”

“Aha,” said John, “I see. We’d need to see her absolutely naked to start with….”

“And then try on a whole lot of suits,” said Billy. “Could we do that?”

Mr Jackson laughed and shook his head in amusement at the randy young rips. “Oh,” he said, “it’s possible, yes, and I suppose I can suggest it to Mrs G. Knowing her, she just might be grateful for the suggestion. You can see, can’t you, lads, how eager she is to humiliate her staff? That poor girl especially. Whenever she sees us she blushes—”

“All over,” said his son with a leer. “But she is a beautiful girl, father.”

“Yes she is,” his father replied. “And we’re damn lucky to have had this opportunity.” They all nodded enthusiastically, and smiled all the way home.

Catherine lay naked on her bed and wept silently. There was no respite, no relaxation from the constant exposure in one way or another. She seemed to spend her days in dread of some new means of showing her nakedness to some stranger, or young boys, who were only too ready to laugh in bawdy mockery, touch her as they could, feel her up and cause an orgasm…. God! She could only hope that Matthew was having a nice time at the camp….

* * *

Later that evening they all sat around the big camp fire and sang songs. One of the girls had brought along an eight-string ukulele, which she called confusingly a taro-patch fiddle, and was very good at playing it, so she accompanied the crowd, and the soloists, one of whom was Matthew, who was persuaded to sing his mother’s favourite song, “The Fountain in the Park.” He had a pleasant voice, and was encored, so he gave them “The Man Who Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo.” He followed that with, as requested, “The Lily of Laguna”, and they didn’t want him to stop, but Alice called a halt, reminding them they’d be up early to go on a hike.

Gradually they thinned out, and Matthew realised he didn’t know where he was to sleep. He asked Alice, who looked shocked and said “I forgot about that. Well, you may be interested to know that the couple in charge share a tent.”

He nodded, then gasped. “Do you mean—”

“Yes, Matthew, I’m afraid we share a tent. We’re not changing our arrangements, we can’t. Don’t worry, I don’t snore.”

“But … look, we can’t ….”

“Matthew, I’m going to bed. That’s our tent over there. Suit yourself.”

“But … I haven’t any pyjamas ….”

“Neither have I. I’ll be sleeping in my underwear. Does that interest you?”

“But,” he stammered, “I haven’t got any.”

By this time they were at the tent and she ducked inside. “Matthew, don’t be silly. I won’t peek.” She left him gasping and went in, shining a torch to see what she was doing. He peeped inside to see her pulling off her dress and shoes, and lying down in her slip and knickers. She looked up at him and patted the pile of blankets. “This is it,” she said. “It’s a bit Spartan I’m afraid. Come on, I don’t take up much room.” She put out the torch and turned over. He dithered for a bit, then muttered “What the hell?” and pulled off his shoes and socks. Looking anxiously at her back, he took off his trousers and shirt, then went the whole hog and stripped off his vest. Naked, he lay down beside this strange girl hardly older than himself, and turned his own back.

It was not a warm night, and he realised he was getting cold. He tried to get more of the blankets, but Alice seemed to have a tight grip of them. She felt his struggles and finally said “For fuck’s sake, Matthew! Try cuddling me, make spoons or something, we’ll both be warmer.” He responded by nestling into her back and putting his arms round her, and she seemed to purr at the contact. He felt his penis pressing up against her backside, and it gave a little tremble. Alice sighed and moved her body towards him as if to deliberately feel his penis, which reacted of course. He didn’t know what to do, and tried to ignore his incipient erection, but it was no good, she surely must feel him there? His erection was pressing into the crack of her arse! He turned his back again, and this time she turned over to spoon up against him, putting her arms round him to hug him warmly. That was fine, except that her arms, round his waist, were only inches away from his erection, and the feel of her bare arms on his bare belly increased his excitement. He made the mistake of bringing his knees up for comfort, and he pushed his erection against her arms. He started and she shivered, and moved a hand down to his bare thigh. She murmured something in his ear, but he was frozen in that position and couldn’t get himself to move. She brushed her hand down his thigh and then up to his waist, and with a decisive sort of grunt moved her attention to his buttocks. He gave a little yelp and moved onto his belly, so inadvertently giving her full access to his behind, which she caressed with warm fingers, squeezing the cheeks and putting her hand into the cleft, making him clench the muscles, at which she murmured “Yes! Matthew, do that again. Tighten your bum like that. Oh, it feels great….” She continued running her hand over his back, and then put it between his legs. He gave a little shriek and turned over, which was a mistake, for she now had free rein. He babbled at her, “Please, Alice, stop, I can’t , I—” She was running her hand over his belly and now down to his erect organ. “Wow, Matthew!” she said, “you’ve really got something there! What do you want to do with it?” She moved away and he could feel her fussing with her clothes. Oh God! She had made herself naked, and she came back to him and pressed herself against his trembling body. Her arms went round him, and his hands imprisoned thus at the level of his crotch, were at the level of her vulva, which he couldn’t help touching, stroking, oh God he couldn’t help himself….

Alice guided his hand to her slit and waited. He stroked her and then pushed his fingers in, and she gave a little yelp of her own, but pressed her pubis against his, and caressed his thigh with her hand. He didn’t know how it happened, but all of a sudden he was astride her body and his prick at her cunt, and then in, and she exclaimed something – and he thrust his member deep in to that warm wet harbour. Their faces were close, and he automatically leaned closer to kiss her. Her arms tightened round him, then slid down to his buttocks and drew him in to her, and he began the motion he had learned from his own Lycainion. Alice was coöperating and moving her own pelvis, and the pace picked up until they were gasping and approaching a mutual climax. “God!” breathed Alice, “Matthew, Matthew, you –” He said nothing, but panted as he reached orgasm, and thought about stopping the motion of his loins. She however hadn’t come yet, so he maintained the rhythm till she exclaimed again and tensed up, then relaxed with a shuddering sigh.

They lay thus for a while, then she eased out from underneath him and kissed him, then turned her back again. He nestled against her, conscious of his naked prick against her naked arse, and put his arms round her again. She gave a contented sigh. “Thank you, Matthew,” she said, “Good night.” He felt contented too, and surprisingly fell asleep quite soon.

====================================================================-

Sunday 7^th June

A hike, a bath, a quickie

Matthew awoke to find a naked Alice looking down at his nakedness with a smile, as she traced a finger over his chest. He lay there and looked up at her, and smiled himself. “Good morning!” she said, playfully running her fingers down his belly to tickle his pubic hair.

He laughed. “Good morning yourself,” he said. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Oh Jesus,” she said, “I suppose it’s porridge, it always is. Do you eat porridge?”

“Not if I can help it,” he said.

“Well then, maybe you’d better do your own. You know where everything is. But we have to hurry, for we’re off on a hike in about an hour.”

“Where to?”

“You’ll see. Miss Bertram gave me a map. It’s not too strenuous. Anyhow, let’s get dressed so’s we don’t shock those young girls out there.”

He looked at her and took in her slight form and her nice breasts, just a shade larger than Catherine’s, her pubic hair, quite a bit more than what Catherine had had at first, and he asked “How old are you, then? You’re the head girl, so I suppose you’re older than the rest?”

“Oh,” she said, “I’m fifteen and a half, nearly. My birthday’s early December. Those kids, you’re quite right, they average fourteen and a half. I’m not the real head girl of the school. That’s Christine Bellamy, she’s seventeen. She’s laid up with a broken leg, from hockey, so I’m a substitute. Oh goodness….”

“What is it?” he asked, reaching for his vest.

“Oh,” she said, “nothing. Nothing that can’t be fixed. You’re coming on the hike, I suppose.”

“I’m to join in everything, I assume,” he said. “Is there a problem?”

“No,” she said, “I don’t think so. Now get dressed and have a pee before others get to the shithole, and then breakfast.”

He sat and ate his sausage roll and drank his tea, enjoying the morning air and the sight of all those pretty girls, and even the plain ones, tucking in to their porridge and chattering merrily. He admired the way Alice had managed everything: all woken up, badgered into dressing and using the latrine, tending the fire, cooking the porridge, brewing the tea, and preparing for the hike. When the hubbub died down a bit she addressed the crowd and told them about their destination. “It’s a little lake, more like a pond actually, five miles in that direction. Over a little hill, well, small mountain more accurately. It’s not just a walk on the level. So then we get there , wash off the sweat, and eat our early lunch. It’s a nice snack that Matthew’s crew have made for us. Then we start back by a slightly different route, and we’re here in the later afternoon. We have our last jollifications, pack up, away by six. The buses are due by five thirty, at least. Home again home again jiggety jog, and write up your diaries.” She looked around, making a mental reservation about her own diary, and asked for questions. “No? Fine, get ready to move off in half an hour.”

Matthew brought up the rear of the rather straggly crowd that wound its way along a trail that led them by slow degrees to a hill that loomed over them menacingly. The weather was fair and quite warm, and he was sweating, like most of the girls. Some had taken off their blouses in an effort to keep cool, and he was enjoying the sight of those breasts thrusting out the camisoles , or hiding shyly under them. He decided he might as well be comfortable, and took off his own shirt. At the summit of the little mountain a halt was called for a few minutes, and some of the girls went off behind bushes to relieve themselves. He thought about a pee himself but it didn’t seem urgent. Then he thought he had to keep up, and shouldn’t fall behind, so after the last girl rejoined the group he went off himself to urinate and once everyone was comfy, they set off again. They reached the pond (for that’s what it was, though called Tatford Lake) at eleven o’clock and sat down wearily. “There’s the lake, girls!” called out Alice, “now get in there and wash!”

Some of them immediately began to shed their clothes, but one gave a scream and said “But what about the boy there?” – at which they turned their attention on him. He looked at Alice, who said “Sorry, Matthew! That’s what’s supposed to happen. We bathe in the lake and refresh ourselves. That’s what those big towels are for. I’m not sure what to do about this.” One of the girls had an answer, and gathered her pals together to gang up on him. “Simple!” she cried. “He goes first!” They grabbed the boy and ignoring his yells, soon had him naked. He covered himself, but they seized his arms and legs and carried him to the water’s edge. His penis rose in shame, and they all gave oohs and aahs at the sight of his erection. Then he was thrown in, and the shock of cold water (through nearly tepid) brought him down. He stood up and shivered, putting his hands to his crotch, and looked helplessly at the crowd, which was admiring what they could see and cheering.

Alice suddenly solved the problem. “Everyone in!” she cried, and quickly stripped and dived in beside him.The rest had to follow her example, or lose face, so soon there was a multitude of naked teens frolicking in the water beside the bemused and bewildered boy. Alice followed him out and seized one of the many towels. She turned to him and said “Sorry, Matthew. I didn’t know what to do. At least you’re not alone in your embarrassment.”

He looked at her and smiled ruefully. “No,” he said, “and thank you. Do you want to dry me?”

“Me first,” she said. “Or don’t you want to?”

“Oh yes,” he said, “certainly. I don’t get the chance very often.”

As he dried her fine body, and then as she dried his, he told her something of his situation at Summerton Manor. She listened sympathetically and nodded. “I have heard some tales,” she said, “about that Academy and Mrs Grainger, but I didn’t know what to believe. Now I see that’s not the half of it.” She was at his legs. “Lift your feet. Ah-ah. Now your middle bits. It’s the groin that’s difficult I think.” By this time the other girls were out at drying, dressing, and gathering round. He bore their inspection bravely, and was proud of his lack of tumescence. She finished, and they dressed. “All right, everybody!” she called, “Lunch!” The little snack was soon disposed of, and she marshalled them expertly. “That’s the entertainment over. Get your stuff together, and we’re off. Over the mountain again, and back. What about a tune?”

Someone struck up The British Grenadiers, and most joined in. Matthew saved his breath for the exertion, and so was in quite good shape by the time they arrived back at camp. The striking of most of the tents (save the large supply one) and clean-up didn’t take too long. He and Angela filled in the latrine, and the tents and supplies were piled ready for stowing on the buses, who rolled up at five. The last little while was spent enjoying a nostalgic sing-song round the dying fire, and Matthew was enjoying it in a sad sort of way when Alice nudged him and said “The supply tent.” He went over and peeked inside. Alice was there lying on a sheet, her knickers round her ankles. He looked at her in stupefaction. “One last time, Matthew,” she said, “before we part.” She waited, and he undid his buttons and let his trousers sink to the ground.

“Have we time?” he asked throatily, and she nodded. He knelt and said “There’s no time to feel you up, though, is there? Just … this.” His erection was ready, and he placed it before her ready vulva. She took it in her warm hand and guided it in. Then they started their fuck, slowly at first, then increasing the pace to a frenzied fury, they gazing into each other’s eyes with determined lust. It was over all too soon, and they disengaged and adjusted their dress.

“Thank you,” she said. “Matthew, you have a wonderful body. You should share it. I’m serious,” she added. “The girl who gets you will be very lucky. Now let’s dismantle this and get back to the singsong.”

She darted out before he could reply, and they busied themselves for the few minutes it took to take down the tent and roll it up. Then they got back to the fire, which was soon being ceremonially buried, and farewells were being said. Some new friendships had been made, and kisses and hugs were exchanged. Alice looked humorously at Matthew and said “Well, Matthew, this is it. I’m sure we’ll not meet again. So fare-you-well, and thank you for making this trip a memorable one.” She leaned close. “You fucked me well, you know. I’m going to remember you.” She kissed him and entered the bus.

All the way home he sat in a daze, while the girls chattered around him or dozed, being tired out with their rambles. At the school Abigail was there to supervise the stowing away of equipment, and the schoolgirls departed yawning. Matthew sat down with a cup of tea and was barraged with questions from the servants, which he fended off well enough, he thought. He made a point of smiling at Catherine, but she again was withdrawn, and he wondered whether she could guess he had been intimate with another girl. She left shortly, and he grew more troubled the more he thought about it. Then he remembered Mr Bryden, and considered asking his advice; but he was too tired, he decided, and crawled off to bed. He fell asleep pretty quickly, and it was not till morning that he realised he hadn’t been helped to bathe. Had the ever-watchful Lydia G found out about his bath in the lake? Nothing was beyond her, he thought. But however it happened, he’d had a respite. That evening, for sure, he would have company. Two of the Academy girls? Very likely. And there were two hundred of them….

(End of File)