Mrs Grainger's Gift 16

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 XVI

Tuesday 16^th June

Another drawing lesson, a public spank, mutual pleasure

When Matthew arrived at the art room he found it crowded with girls and easels, with the little platform in the middle waiting for him. He was welcomed with grins and little cries, and Miss Thorburn put her arm round him and introduced him to the combined class, who seemed to number sixty. “This is Matthew Raven, girls, if you haven’t seen him before. He’s posing today, and I’m sure you’ll enjoy this. To begin with, we’ll have ten-minute poses, then a break, then change his costume, more poses, etc. The last half-hour or so can be devoted to a variety of poses chosen by you. All right? Fine. Matthew, I’m going to pose you in as expressive a mode as possible.” She spent a minute positioning his body and limbs, then stood back and said “Right, girls! Pose number one. Ten minutes!”

The time went by quite fast, and Miss Thorburn came back to rearrange the subject. Matthew allowed himself to be manipulated into a position and tried to empty his mind, but he couldn’t help thinking of what must be in store for him. At the break he flexed his limbs and looked over at the teacher, who was rummaging in a corner and swearing softly. Then she gave up her search and said “Right, now, change of costume. Matthew, I can’t find what I had in mind, so perhaps we can make do with your shirt. Please remove your trousers, with your shoes and socks, and that’ll be fine for now.” He bit his lip and complied, getting rather red as a buzz of approval and a few giggles greeted the announcement. “Now girls! Settle down. I hope you take this seriously. I’m placing Matthew so, arm out, foot back, and you’ll see how interesting the figure becomes when he’s partially naked. So draw the drapery of the shirt, the muscles of the legs – the thighs, and the hint of the buttocks – I’m pleased that the material of his shirt is semi-transparent, you see? The total effect is perhaps more interesting, more alluring, shall we say, than the same pose totally nude. Anyhow; fifteen minutes, then a change. Thank you, Matthew, now hold still, you’re doing very well.”

He was flushing hotly by now, and as his eyes roamed over the room he saw dozens of girls eyeing him with lecherous grins. They were drawing his naked thighs and the curve of his arse, hinting at his penis trembling behind the translucent shirt, and they were all thinking, as was he, of the ultimate exposure to come.

Another halt was called (“Relax, Matthew, for a bit. You’re doing excellently”) and then the long-awaited moment came. To a chorus of approving sounds, and a few more giggles, his shirt and vest came off, and he was posed roughly as Michelangelo’s David, but again there was a difference. To the amusement of the girls his penis, which had been merely twitching while covered, now reacted to his total exposure and slowly lengthened and lifted till he sported a fine erection. The girls behind him were disappointed, but Miss Thorburn accommodated them by turning Matthew round so that all had a good view of his arousal.

After fifteen excruciating minutes the teacher clapped her hands for them to stop that drawing and chose a girl to suggest a pose. A blushing young blonde came up to manipulate his naked limbs into a version of a discus thrower; ten minutes later a cheeky-looking redhead made him squat as if he was relieving himself, though she called it a frog position. Inspired by this the next girl deliberately set him in the attitude of the Brussels statue called Manneken Pis, as she announced to the rest. “He’s a boy who’s taking a wee-wee,” she said, and the others guffawed. But as she was placing his hands on his erect penis she muttered “And Matthew, it also looks as if you’re tossing yourself off.”

At the end of the extended period the girls crowded round to congratulate him on his modelling. He wore a permanent blush of course and wearily regained his clothes without looking at them. Miss Thorburn repeated the thanks and said “That was terrific, Matthew. I do hope we can do this again next term.” He looked at her in horror. She expected him to be here in the autumn term, exposed again to the giggling classes!? But he muttered a sort of agreement and left for a late lunch. God, he thought, O God! How can I bear this? Let me get to France with Catherine at least, and push thoughts of the future away.

As he was mooning about he came across Rachael again, and again he flushed as he remembered the embarrassing contact he’d had. She was going in the opposite direction, and looked at him with a question in her eyes. He got the awful idea she wanted him to feel her up again, or even go all the way. The idea made his penis twitch, and he shook his head and passed on. But he couldn’t get the idea out of his head, and he stopped and nearly turned to go back to his admirer, to do God knew what, but hesitated as a few boys came towards him. They looked at him as they passed and one said “You coming, Matthew?” “Where?” he asked. “To the spanking, of course!”

He didn’t know what they meant but joined them anyway, and Ezra, the gardener’s son (and naughty Rachael’s brother), chatted away. “My dad said Mrs G used to do this a long time ago. It was her husband, the old master, who managed it. They stopped when he died, but madam’s started it up again.”

“But what is it?” he asked. “A public punishment? Is that it?”

“Yes,” answered another boy, George, “I heard the boys in the bunkhouse talking. Mr G used to punish the servants by spanking them on the bare arse! And then madam tried it herself about five years ago. But she stopped, maybe because she hurt her hand! But she’s started again, and this time she’ll probably get a servant to do it and she can just watch.”

Matthew’s brow creased in wonderment. “So who is going to be punished?” he asked.

“Heavens, I don’t know,” said George, and the others shrugged. “But the word is out, come to the spanking. So we’re going.” They rounded the corner of the house to find a sizeable group assembled on the lawn, some looking excited and some apprehensive.

Just then Abigail emerged and clapped her hands for attention. “Right, everyone! This is a resumption of an old custom, which is to show you what happens when you offend Mrs Grainger in word or deed! Pat Walsh has earned a spanking, so you’re invited to witness it, Pat! Come forward.”

The ashen-faced girl came slowly to the middle of the lawn, where a sturdy chair stood waiting. “Right! Undress, completely. Now!” Tears stood in the girl’s eyes as she drew her smock up and off. The rest looked at the process, some with pity and some with lust, but all certainly thankful that it wasn’t they who were to suffer this.

Abigail looked around. “Where’s Jim Samuels?” A man in his forties stepped forward. “Ah, Jim, you’re delegated to do it today. Give her about forty smacks, maybe. That should do it.” He nodded without expression and she turned to the crowd. “Pat was smoking and wasn’t careful where she put her ashes and the butt. She nearly started a fire. So here she is. Lie down on Mr Samuels’ lap. Right. Now Jim, fire away!”

The forty smacks were soon administered, and Pat rose grimacing in pain to cover herself. “So you see, people, you can expect to have this happen to you in the future when you mess up. I don’t expect it’ll be every day, but you never know! Right, off you go. Thanks, Jim. Back to the bothie. Pat, get dressed and remember this, will you?”

Matthew went up to her to say “Abigail, this is terrible. What’s Mrs G thinking of? What—”

“She’s thinking of a deterrent, Matthew,” said Abigail with a smile, “and it’s a damn good one. Oh, I see you don’t like it, you’re a lily-livered compassionate virgin, but that’s beside the point. I do believe that Madam will be on the lookout for victims, though! She used to enjoy these sessions, she was telling me, years ago, and she’ll be pleased to start them up again.” She strode off, and Matthew looked after her in disgust. Then he caught up with Pat, and told her he was sorry. She looked at him with red cheeks and thanked him for his sympathy, then went indoors, presumably to lie down. Matthew sighed and went back to the library. Here at least there was peace.

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“Well, children,” said Bryden, “do you want to tell me what happened to you today?”

They looked at each other and sighed. “I think we should,” said Catherine, “though it’s embarrassing of course. I was taken yesterday to be painted by Lady Ethel Burrows, do you know her?”

“Yes I do, as a matter of fact,” he said. “She’s an excellent artist. A friend of Mrs G’s.”

“She was at that awful dinner party, and said she wanted to paint me, so she asked Mrs Grainger, who said yes, and she took me off to be painted….”

She went on to tell the butler most of her adventures, and he nodded. “It’s amazing, or maybe it isn’t, how Lydia Grainger’s world has this result – dreadful embarrassment all round, as if she was wielding her power, her magic baton, from afar to make things happen. I’ve seen it before,” he said with a rueful sort of look, “and I do sympathise with what you endured there. And look here: may I tell you that your misfortunes seem to parallel to a remarkable extent those of young Raven here. That’s so, isn’t it?” They nodded, and he spread his hands. “That maybe means she’s making sure of it, by some devious method or other, or it means that you two are a parallel pair, you know what I mean? You’re linked, by fate I suppose, or Providence. Yes, dear children, you are connected, and maybe you’re meant to be. Together, I mean.”

Matthew looked at him, then at his inamorata, and smiled. “I do hope that’s true,” he said. “Maybe it means that I must put up with the treatment I’m getting as a price to pay for the wonderful situation I’m in – I mean, knowing Catherine, and loving Catherine, and knowing she loves me.” She put her arms round him and leaned her head on his shoulder. He looked at Bryden and said “As for me, my day was mostly about posing nude for three combined classes of girls – I don’t know how many were there – and getting an erection of course, that the girls all giggled about. I may as well tell you I was bothered by the length of it –” Catherine laughed, then blushed. “I mean,” he said, blushing himself, “how long it took to pose, with a hard-on, and no release!”

“Yes,” said Bryden, “it’s true, Catherine, boys get terribly uncomfortable if an erection is sustained for a long time with no respite of any kind.”

Her eyes got big. “Oh dear!” she said, “and you were there for an hour and a half or so, wasn’t it?”

“It certainly seemed a long long time. And then yesterday I was at the French class, where Mlle Maury had me dressed up with hat and everything to show the girls words for clothing, that I had to take off, till I was naked of course, and then – oh God – she went through the vocabulary for parts of the body – and the little brutes could … handle me, and … they made me come.”

Bryden shook his head. “I’ll bet that Mrs G was told about that, and approved mightily. You do realise, don’t you, that the teachers are all under her thumb too, even the Principal? I don’t know about the Mademoiselle, but even if she didn’t want to abash you she’d have to. And Miss Thorburn too, she’d be pleased to have a live nude to draw, and any reservations she had about the propriety of the situation, and how you would feel at your exposure, would be suppressed because Lydia Grainger wanted it so. And look at that exhibition today on the lawn, the punishment.”

“Oh yes,” said Matthew, pushing away a memory of Rachael’s young vulva, “poor Pat Walsh getting spanked! Naked, too! She must have been so embarrassed—“

“And hurt, too!” said Catherine. “I can’t believe Mrs G has started that up again. It reminds me though that we’re not the only ones who are treated like that….”

“Not that that’s much consolation to you!” said Bryden ruefully. He lit a cigarette and continued.

“I remember Mr Henry indulging in that with enthusiasm. He was a young ruffian as a boy. I came here,” he said reminiscently, “in 1875, as a very junior dogsbody. Sixteen, I was, and very innocent. Henry was five years old at the time. I remember him as a sort of tantrummy boy, if you know what I mean. Not that I saw him much. He was away in the nursery a lot, at his lessons, on trips with his mother, Gertrude Merrick, to the continent, to America. They had a governess for him, a Miss Mackenzie, who may have been Scottish but sounded very English. She taught him for about six years I suppose, then they thought about sending him to Eton or Winchester, but he screamed and they capitulated. Miss Mackenzie disappeared, and another governess came, this time a very quiet woman called Maitland whom I never heard speak. She may have been a good teacher but she was an appalling disciplinarian. I mean he got away with anything and everything. Henry had the good sense to do well at his studies, as his father was quite willing to thrash him for slackness, and the poor governess put up with his rudeness because of that, and she never had to punish him for scholastic laziness. I don’t think she could have, poor woman. But he treated all the staff the same, with arrogance. The female staff kept changing all the time, and I couldn’t understand why till later. At twelve I know he knocked up, as they say, a chambermaid, who was fourteen. That caused a bit of a stir, but she was evidently given five pounds, a lot of money then, and sent away. He may have been admonished but no more. He got into physical abuse of the staff, I mean knocking them down, as opposed to up!” He sniggered at his pun. “He never attacked me, for I was a bit bigger, and I told him I wasn’t afraid of him. The girls however were terrified. He was allowed to punish them for mistakes, breakages, et cetera, mostly by spanking of various degrees of severity. And of course, feel them up as he pleased. When he got married there was a bit of an interval, but Lydia heard about it and started it up again, when she’d be seventeen or so. Not all the time, mind you, just occasionally. So Henry got back to it, till he died actually. There were one or two young men who suffered, too. She enjoyed that, doing it herself. Then last year she started it again, for a bit, using some of the grooms. And now she’s reinstated it. Oh well! All I can say, watch out, for she’ll be looking for excuses.

“Anyway, cheer up, enough of that. I want to play some music, and I’ll show you my photographs. I took some good views last year in the holidays.”

A while later he put his things away and rose. “And now,” the old man said, “I’m going off for my constitutional, a walk right round the property, before I go to bed. I shall probably be at least an hour and a half. When you leave, just close the door.” He rose and put on his hat and scarf against the cool evening air. “Goodnight to you both. Take care, and enjoy each other’s company.” With an enigmatic smile he nodded to them and left.

Catherine and Matthew looked at each other and burst out laughing. “The old rascal!” said Matthew, “he’s left us alone so we can cuddle, or….”

“Or something else,” said Catherine with a smile and a blush. “Well, Matthew, my dear Matthew, we shouldn’t disappoint him.” She came up to him and put her arms round his neck. He put his on her waist and drew her to him. They gazed into each other’s eyes and grinned, then touched their lips, then tightened their holds and pressed their lips and opened their mouths and thrust their tongues, and held the other’s dear body until they had to draw breath. “God, Matthew,” said the girl, “how is it that I can’t get enough of you? Why are you still so attractive to me, why do I still want you, to see you naked, to touch you and kiss you all over? And why,” she added with something of a blush, “do I want you to see me naked, to touch me in my secret parts, to kiss me all over and give me that amazing feeling that takes me right out of myself? Why—”

“That’s too many questions,” he said. “Listen, I still can’t get over the fact that I’ve only known you for an absurdly short time, but in that time we’ve been through so much together that it seems a lifetime. And what began as a … let’s admit it, an animal attraction, so quickly turned into a real respect, an awe. I’ve tempered my lust with affection, but it’s still there. I do desire you, Catherine, but I’m not going to press myself upon you. Let me be plain: I want to fuck you, but it’ll be on your terms. If it ever happens.” He looked down and walked over to the couch.

She looked at him and smiled, then came over to sit beside him. “Till that happens,” she said softly, “we can still give each other pleasure, can’t we? Please?”

He stood up and faced her. “Maybe we can do this together,” he said, “at the very same time. Tit for tat.”

“And tat for tit,” she giggled. “My tit, your tit. My belly, yours.”

He joined in the list with “My bum, your bum. But there’s going to be a difference.” He remembered the anatomy lesson, and quickly started to disrobe. “This is what we want, isn’t it?”

“Yes, yes,” she said, unbuttoning her blouse. Matthew meanwhile was nearly finished unbuttoning his shirt, and drew the tails from his trousers. He threw the shirt aside and quickly drew off his short vest. She had removed her blouse and was undoing her skirt, saying it was sometimes an advantage that the clothes were made for rapid removal. He grinned and unbuttoned his trousers and drew them down his legs. As he stepped out of them, he looked at her and smiled in anticipation. She was, he thought, so beautiful, that he almost couldn’t bear it. As he put his trousers carefully on a chair, she stepped out of her knickers, and seized the hem of her chemise. She drew it over her head, elevating her perfect breasts, and he let out a groan of admiration. Then they gazed at each other, their eyes drinking in each visible part of the other’s body, grinning and licking their lips, prolonging the sweet moment till they touched.

He put his hands on her shoulders, and she put hers on his waist. They stood there for another minute, then as one moved their hands down the body, he to her waist, she to his thighs. He smoothed his hands over her upper body as she rubbed hers up and down his legs and reached round to his buttocks. He followed her in this and soon was caressing her round cheeks as she felt him, and their bodies moved closer till they met, pressed together, and their lips kissed again. After a minute they lurched, still locked together, to the couch and tumbled on to it, laughing at the figure they must have cut. There they began in earnest to roam over each other’s body, the hair, the cheeks, the breasts, tickling the nipples till they grew erect, tracing the spine, seeking the cleft of the backside, smoothing the skin of the belly, teasing the folds of the groin…. She felt that moisture on her vulva that betokened arousal and took his hand and placed it there. He took her hand, and guided it to his stiffening member. Then as before they caressed the other’s most private part, taking time this time to coax excitement slowly and tenderly, murmuring the dear names and incoherent noises of pleasure and approaching ecstasy. Gradually they increased the momentum of their drive to the peak, until they were both panting , looking into the other’s eyes and glorying in the headlong rush, suddenly climaxing at exactly the same time with simultaneous inarticulate cries, in an incandescent experience of union.

After a while they adjourned to the bathroom, with the lock on the door, but neglected to turn the key. They bathed together in a contented familiarity, dried each other on the big towels, kissed, dressed, and kissed again. They turned out the lights and climbed the stair together to their floor, kissed again at the top landing, and turned to their own rooms. Matthew felt for the first time that he might manage to survive in this extraordinary old house, in spite of the malice of its owner and head girl, in spite of the ribald torment of the rest of the staff. He had friends, he had a girl who loved him, he knew. Perhaps everything would work out.

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Wednesday 17^th June

Another spanking

“Now, boy, show me where those other books are.”

Matthew led Mr de Groot up to the attics and showed him his stacks of old unwanted volumes. The Dutchman’s eyes looked keenly at the fruits of Matthew’s labours, and he said disparagingly “Yes, there’s quite a lot here. You arranged them yourself? Well done. This makes it a bit easier. I’ll tell you, it’ll probably not take too long to go through these. Listen: I’ll look at them and pass them on to you, you stack them in another pile over there, unless I tell you to put them in a second pile. All right? You see, I’ll be dividing them into ‘ordinary’ and ‘extraordinary’. You follow?”

“Oh yes, sir, I understand. The second pile won’t be as big, will it?”

“Probably not. Well, are we ready? Here we go.”

The little bookman flexed his fingers and took a book from the top of the stack. He opened it to look at the title page, sniffed and handed it to Matthew, who put it carefully on the floor some feet away. The examination went on like this for some time, and the second stack was getting big, and then de Groot’s scornful face changed. His eyes lit up and he seemed to purr in his throat as he gazed at an engraved frontispiece and a title page in Latin. “Yes, Matthew,” he said, “it seems we can expect one or two worthwhile things to come from this motley array of expendable books. You see those ones you’re piling up there – they’re not necessarily rubbish, there’s some quite good stuff. It’s just that few people want them now. They’re old novels, old poetry, books published in their thousands and hence the reverse of rare, which means the reverse of desirable. To a book hunter, that is. It’s true that every book has its potential reader, but they don’t always get together. So a book may literally not be worth the paper it’s printed on. But statistically speaking, we may expect to find in a general collection of some age like this, one or two worthwhile items, as I said. That book – put it over there – is one such. It’s a fair item on astronomy. Mrs Grainger would seem to have the making of a fine general library here, and it really deserves better than being stuffed away up in these garrets.

“Now! Back to the fray.” He picked another book, and his expression of pity returned. Handing it to Matthew, he shook his head and said “Yes, back to the other pile. I say, when you get tired please let me know, I can go on like this for hours, but you don’t have to!”

“I don’t mind, sir, really,” said the boy, “I’ll just let you know when I want a pee.”

De Groot laughed, and went back to the books – the stack that Matthew had carefully created was visibly reduced, and the process went on rather swiftly. Another desirable was discovered, and almost immediately a whole dozen such, and de Groot was smiling contentedly. “This is what makes the drudgery worthwhile, Matthew,” he said, caressing the covers of a calf-bound quarto. “The discovery of a jewel among the paste. This particular book is a good early edition of a work by Camden, the English antiquarian. It’s probably worth – say, twenty pounds.”

“Is that all?” asked Matthew naively.

“Bless you, boy! Not every book is worth a fortune! And twenty pounds is a fair amount, these days. It’s a year’s wages for some! Anyhow, let’s see. No, no, … no, we’re back to the nonentities I’m afraid.”

“Can you tell me something about the books, do you think?”

“Oh, heavens, yes. This one is an English novel – I mean Scottish really, the purported autobiography of a daughter of the manse.” He paused, and Matthew read the title: The Life of Mrs. Margaret Maitland, written by herself. “It’s published, you’ll notice, by Tauchnitz and Co., in Germany. They put out a great deal of popular novels, in large editions, so that isn’t worth more than a few pence. It’s a reasonable book, I suppose, but only desirable to a collector of popular fiction in John O Groats!

“Now this,” he continued, hefting a large tome in mottled boards, “isn’t bad. This is a copy of the poems of Ossian, the Gaelic bard. Translated, supposedly, by James Macpherson into rhythmic prose. I must tell you, Matthew, that while it’s based on real ancient songs, it has to be called a forgery, for it’s ninety per cent Macpherson, I’m afraid. There was a great controversy at the time. Dr Johnson had his doubts, which shows how perceptive he was. And not because he had a low opinion of Scotsmen, either! But the book became famous; favourite reading for Napoleon, I’ve heard. Anyway, this edition is quite handsome, and is worth ten pounds perhaps.”

“Maybe we should start another pile, sir,” said Matthew, “of good books that are neither rubbish nor desirable, not rare or anything.”

“Hah! Perhaps, my boy. All right, put that one there. Now,” he seized a thin leather bound book and squinted at the title page. “This is pretty worthless, but an interesting example of the sort of thing school children were expected to read and profit by.” He read the title: “Poetical Chronology of Ancient and English History; with Historical and Explanatory Notes, by the late Richard Valpy, D.D. – 1838. And here’s the name of the owner, a child I suppose, written in ink on the flyleaf: Henrietta St John Margrave.”

“Sinjen,” said Matthew. “It’s pronounced Sinjen.”

“Sinjen? Ah yes, I think I’ve heard that. Yes, it’s in the first line of Pope’s Essay on Man. You English pronounce things, even names, in peculiar ways. So it’s Henrietta Sinjen Margrave. A distinguished sounding name. Perhaps a Grainger cousin or in-law. Anyway, she’s written some amusing comments. Look at this.” He handed the little book to Matthew, who found a note in pencil on the first page: Oh Dr. Valpy I would have thanked you not to have made this catechism. Then on the end flyleaf there were some heartfelt annotations: Oh Valpy Valpy you little think what you’ve brought on me. My dear Valpy Better have saved yourself the trouble of writing this book & you would have done more than you thought You would have spared me the trouble of reading it. He smiled in sympathy for the poor girl, and looked at the last page: Greek fiddles Latin torments English nonsense.

“Oh dear,” he said, “she was forced to learn all this stuff, and Greek and Latin too! I’m sorry for her. Learning shouldn’t be a harsh burden, it should be enjoyable.” He thought of Elizabeth Huxton, who he was sure could impart her knowledge well and in a pleasant way.

The little Dutchman smiled. “Indeed, Matthew! But this poor girl – maybe nine years old or so – was forced into a strait-jacket by uncaring parents. Who loved her, doubtless, in their way, but only wanted the best for her. A good education, instilled, I’m sure, by some dragon of a governess.”

“Just like the girls next door, then,” said the boy. “A lot of the teachers seem keen on driving their girls with switches, and they seem good teachers, I mean they know their subject, but they’re encouraged to punish the girls for slacking, or not getting things right.”

“But is that not one of the fundamentals of teaching? Pounding facts into heads, and thrashing the behind to push the slow? Pour encourager les autres, as Candide found? I think that this little pile of books were poor Henrietta’s school things. I can see her in this room, perhaps, with her Valpy and her Euclid, labouring away and longing to be out in the sunshine. I wonder who she was, though?”

“Mr Bryden might know,” said Matthew. “He came here a bit later, but he may have heard, or even met her. I’ll ask him next time.”

“Very well,” said de Groot. “Now, these others. School books, as I said. A history book, a book on arithmetic, a life of Nelson, ah, and here is Mrs Gatty’s instructive book, Parables from Nature. It used to be on every child’s bookshelf. It moralises out of country walks, animal doings, and so forth, it’s not a bad book, really, though these days it’s – well, you’d find it too pious, I expect. I wonder what Henrietta thought of it? Hmm, no annotations, but she did colour the title page. Ah well.”

In the afternoon De Groot went off to consult catalogues and reference books and Matthew was back in the erotic library, browsing for a while over a box of photographs in sepia showing naked women displaying their charms in what seemed the open air, underneath real trees, which was a change from the overly artificial exposures before painted scenery. He sighed and put the entire collection in a corner, marking the container with an X. Then he took an armful of smaller books and settled down at the table to examine them.

“Matthew, come here.”

He looked up to see Mrs Grainger in the doorway, and rose to go over to her. “Follow me,” she ordered, and took him outside to the lawn, where a small crowd was gathered. He saw a chair in the middle, and with a sinking heart he knew someone was going to be shamed in a public spanking. “Sit down there.” She pointed to the chair, and he realised that he was the chosen punisher. Reluctantly he sat, but looked up at his mistress.

“Mrs Grainger, madam,” he said, “I really don’t want to do this. I—”

She stopped him with a gesture and said “That’s beside the point. Abigail, take over.”

The head girl clapped her hands. “Where’s Catherine?” Matthew’s eyes bulged and he began to mumble “What? She’s not….” Then he saw her come forward, her cheeks flushed, her eyes wide with fright, and stand near him looking at the ground. “Catherine has earned a spanking by not passing on a message to Mrs G,” Abigail said with something of a smile, “and so here she is. Catherine, get ready. Undress, if you please.”

Matthew watched in dismay as the blushing girl took off her clothes, not looking at anyone. Then she stood cringing, her hands in their familiar guarding places, and glanced pathetically at Abigail. “Right! Now lie across Matthew’s lap.” She did so in silence, and the boy looked down at her lovely arse and raised a hand. Abigail cried “Go ahead, Matthew! As hard as you can! Get on with it!” Gently he laid his palm on that fine skin, and smoothed his trembling hand over the nates. The crowd laughed at the picture, but Abigail yelled “Go! Hit her! There’s her bum, so spank it!” His lips tightened, and he passed his hand over her beautiful arse. Then he looked up to say “No.”

“What?” Mrs Grainger strode forward. Matthew kept on fondling her backside as he said quietly “No. No, I won’t. It’s cruel, it’s shameful, it’s—” “Stop!” she cried, “Stop! Get up! Up, the pair of you!” They both stood up, and looked at each other. What would happen now?

Mrs G looked at the boy and merely said “Go and stand over there, where you can see better.” Then she turned to the crowd and beckoned a tall pudgy boy forward. “Peter,” she said with a smile, “do you think you could do this?” He grinned lecherously and said “Surely, madam.” Sitting down, he caught Catherine’s arm and pulled her over his knee. He was not averse to feeling her backside either, but quickly raised his hand to deliver the first slap, at which Catherine gave a little shriek. His grin increased as he settled in to his task with a will. Catherine was soon in tears, and Matthew felt like crying himself. Mrs G had her eyes on him, taking in his reaction, and he suddenly had the thought that he had to be in for some punishment of his own. Oh God, he said to himself, it’s no good, we can’t get out of our chains. It’s the party all over again, she’s determined to have punishments for silly lapses or mistakes. That bloody cook is laying into her and enjoying himself, and if I can get him alone I’ll kick the bastard unconscious!

Then it was over, and the crowd dispersed, Mrs Grainger going to her rooms smiling cruelly. Abigail thanked Peter, who flexed his hand and said cheerily “Oh yes, miss! Any time, just call on me!” and went off laughing. She looked disdainfully at Matthew, and simply said “You can get her dressed, hm? You can maybe feel her arse again, you like that, don’t you?” Then she left them alone to look at each other and heave tearful sighs. He helped her dress and then upstairs, where he left her on her bed after kissing her silently. Once he had gone she gave in to her pain and shame and sobbed quietly till she fell asleep.

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Thursday 18^th June

Elizabeth’s cottage, and a spanking.

He looked round the room. It was on the same plan as Justine’s, and similarly was surrounded by bookshelves everywhere he looked. He exclaimed in pleased surprise, and the teacher smiled and said “Matthew, let me admit I haven’t read all of them all the way through. And they aren’t all in Latin and Greek either. But some of the biggest scholarship in Classics is in German. Anyway I have some translations here, maybe you’d like to borrow something?”

He smiled with pleasure and said “I’d dearly love to, Elizabeth, but I wouldn’t know what to pick. You’ll have to suggest something.”

“Well, look, here’s a collection of translations of poetry. I got this from … from a friend of mine. Oh for goodness’ sake, honesty! She was a lover of mine years ago.” Seeing surprise on his face and guessing its reason correctly, she went on, “It was a full nine years ago, Matthew, when I was just as old as you are. She was my first lover, and I’ll never forget her. When we parted – she went off to the war to be a nurse – she gave me this.”

Matthew looked at the title page, which faced a tissue paper protecting what purported to be a picture of Catullus. He read: “Erotica. The Poems of Catullus and Tibullus, and the Vigil of Venus ….”, then saw it was dated 1876. “Is it valuable, then?” he asked naïvely.

She smiled sadly. “No, Matthew, no, except to me. It’s all I have left of her now. She died in the war a year later.” The boy looked upset, and she hastened to calm him, saying “I haven’t got over it, Matthew, but the years have brought a resignation. And while I still love her memory, I can find another love. And, by God, I have! Eithne is the greatest thing that’s happened to me in ages. I know that I am her first lover too, and in a way I’m passing on the love in a chain. A daft idea? Maybe. Anyway,” she cleared her throat, “take this to read, see if you enjoy it. Perhaps you’ll let me read you a bit of the original Latin.”

“Certainly, that’s a good idea, and I can look at the English. What’s this Vigil thing?”

“Oh, it’s a late Latin piece, anonymous, from the fourth century we think, about the festival of Venus at the start of April, the Spring equinox, when all Nature wants to fall in love.” She began to recite as he turned to the English. “Cras amet qui nunquam amavit, quique amavit, cras amet! That’s the chorus. It was pretty nicely rendered by Thomas Parnell way back in the eighteenth century, ‘Let those love now who never loved before, Let those who always lov’d, now love the more.’.” His eyes followed the translation as his ears took in the rhythmic verse. “To-morrow let those love, who have never loved; let those who have loved, love to-morrow.”

After a while she stopped, and confessed with a laugh that she couldn’t remember any more.

“I like the sound of that,” said Matthew, “I mean the … cadence of the lines, you know what I mean?”

“Yes, Matthew, exactly. It’s a different sort of rhythm to the stuff that earlier poets like Catullus wrote, closer to our own ideas of what poetry should be like. But they hadn’t thought of rhyme yet. It was used in plays, though. The metre is called trochaic septenarius, or you could call it trochaic tetrameter catalectic. You get it in English for instance in Tennyson’s Locksley Hall. Do you know it?” She quoted:

“In the spring a livelier iris changes on the burnished dove;

In the spring a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.”

She looked at him with humour. “That’s you, isn’t it?” He was silent.

“What?” she asked, at a questioning expression on his face.

He looked at her and bit his lip and finally said “Elizabeth, maybe I could ask your advice about … something.”

She looked at him curiously. “Of course, Matthew,” she said, “ask me anything. It won’t go any further.”

He swallowed and said, “It’s about me and Catherine….” The teacher gazed at him serenely and waited.

“Well, you know I’m in love with Catherine.” She nodded. “And she hasn’t actually said so but I hope, I know, she’s in love with me.”

“Yes, so?”

“Well we haven’t … consummated it yet, we’ve just … er, embraced….”

“Do you mean,” said Elizabeth, with something of a blush, “that you’ve felt each other, caressed, that sort of thing?”

He blushed in his turn. “Yes. Let me be absolutely honest with you. After Mrs G’s dinner party, last Saturday, when we’d both been exposed to the company, and I … was beaten and … made … to spend in front of everybody—“ She drew in her breath and looked at him in dismay. “She came to my bed and we held one another and … felt each other … till we … came to orgasm.”

He looked at her directly. Elizabeth smiled at him and said “But that’s wonderful, Matthew! You’re not ashamed, are you? You’ve shown your desire for each other. What’s wrong?”

He looked at the ground. “I’m saying, that’s all we’ve done. We’ve done it twice, actually, But I’ve done more with other girls. Look, the French teacher, Justine Maury, had me over at her cottage and seduced me, and I fu… made love … with her and two of her pupils.” She stared at him. “And now I’m uncomfortable about it, having sex with other girls, when I’m in love with Catherine….”

She laid a compassionate hand on his arm. “Don’t flagellate yourself, Matthew. Looking at it quite coldly, she has no hold over you, you don’t owe her anything, you haven’t promised each other eternal fidelity. But looking at it otherwise, you think you’re unfaithful, reneging on a promise you haven’t made. Fine! Then look for a reason to forgive yourself. Listen: there’s a story in Greek, not a classical one, it’s about the second century A.D., called Daphnis and Chloe. It’s about two young goatherds who fall in love and don’t know how to deal with it – they’re entirely innocent, it’s a sweet story – till an old cowherd called Philetas explains the one relief is lying naked with each other.” Matthew looked at her, and nodded, remembering the discussion at the dinner party. “But still they can’t work out the rest of it—” She stopped at what she thought was his look of disbelief. “You think not? Have you seen the film The Blue Lagoon, or read the Stackpoole novel? It’s quite possible. So anyway, they’re in this situation of frustration when an older girl called Lycainion shows Daphnis how to make love.” A look of understanding came over his face. “So,” she continued, “he’s eager to try this with his girl, but he’s warned she’ll cry out and bleed, being a virgin, so he puts it off till they’re married. Now you,” she stared at him humorously, “can say to yourself, it was an exercise, a practice, for the real thing when you lie with Catherine. And you do want to, don’t you?”

He nodded and said “Thank you, Elizabeth. That helps, somehow. Though I know she won’t bleed or cry, because her hymen’s already broken.” He added quickly as an amused surprise came over Elizabeth’s face, “She didn’t tell me, she was telling Mrs G.”

He explained how he had overheard the interview, and the teacher nodded. “That’s typical of Mrs Grainger, I think,” she said. “She intimidates, and expects others to do the same. The teachers are encouraged to punish for the slightest infraction. I myself try to be fair about that, though maybe that’s a piece of self-justification. The girls I teach are fairly peaceable, and I prefer to give lines rather than stripes! I’ve sometimes wondered how I’d feel if I had to give punishment to Eithne. How would she bear it? Would she hate me? Would she accept it because it came from me?” She looked away and sighed.

“It must be difficult for you,” said Matthew, “seeing her every day or so, and trying not to be too affectionate, hmm?”

“Yes, Matthew, but when we’re alone it’s all the sweeter, all the more … passionate, let me confess to you. At the same time I’m still a bit impatient at the restraints on our chances to be together. The woman in charge of the dormitory has a strict curfew, and we’ve been lucky so far to get Eithne out and in again. I’m looking forward to the holidays. I’ve written to her parents to ask if she may accompany me on an educational holiday in Greece. Oh, Matthew,” she said, clasping her hands and looking at him with shining eyes, “to think of making love with that dear girl under a warm Grecian sun, to recite Sappho’s endearments to her naked loveliness, when we’re by ourselves, no prying eyes, no censorious neighbours, no Lydia Grainger or mocking students, no interfering relatives, just we two dabbling our bare toes in the Aegean Sea, admiring the same moon that shone down on Anactoria and her lover….”

He looked at her and smiled affectionately. “I do wish you happiness, Elizabeth. I hope it works out for you and Eithne. That sounds like a good holiday to me.”

She gazed at him seriously. “But what about you, Matthew? Are you going back to the Crossleys?”

“Oh no,” he said, “Not yet. Catherine and I are going to France with Mrs Grainger and a couple of the girls. Paris and then Provence.”

She smiled in surprise. “That sounds pretty enjoyable, though frankly the presence of Mrs Grainger must be a bit … restrictive. Tell me,” she said with a twinkle in her eye, “are you going to get a chance to make love to Catherine? You must be scheming to do it, surely.”

He flushed and said “Not scheming, Elizabeth, just hoping. Now that I know how to do it,” he added humorously, “now I’ve had my own lesson from my own Lycainion, I’m waiting till the opportunity comes. And at her behest,” he said, “not mine. I’ll wait – I can wait – till it’s all right with her, and we come together by mutual consent. It may well happen in Provence. It certainly isn’t easy here. The house is depressive and gloomy and forbidding, but in Provence it’ll be sunny and warm and cheerful. So we may finally fall into bed and consummate the love. No schemes, just hopes and prayers, thoughts and imaginings…. Now, really, I must go.” He stood and reached for his coat, then looked at her. “Have you been back to see Bryden yet?”

“Yes,” she said, “we had a very nice time. He’s an adorable man.”

“Have you … told him, er …”

“Oh Matthew,” she said, “don’t be tongue-tied. Does he know about Eithne and me? Of course. I suppose it’s obvious really, but he let us know his feelings on the topic. He told us about Jamie Hudson.”

His eyes flew open in surprise. “I thought he might, actually. It’s good it’s out in the open. Would you have known?”

“I’m not sure, Matthew. Maybe you think all homosexuals are alike, but if you think about it we’re as varied as heterosexuals, it stands to reason. And it isn’t always possible to guess someone’s orientation. But he knew. He asked you, didn’t he?”

“Yes, and I didn’t want to give you away—.”

“It’s all right, Matthew. He told us he knew just by seeing us together. That pleased Eithne, to be taken as one of a pair, to be recognised as the other half. She loves me,” said the teacher, looking into space, “loves me. Why on earth she should I don’t know. I was attracted to her and could only hope, but then we fell together somehow and she told me how she felt. God, it was wonderful…. But what she sees in me –”

“Elizabeth! Don’t be silly. You’re a wonderful woman, talented, knowledgeable, articulate, gentle, compassionate – oh, and besides your inner qualities, you’re a strikingly beautiful woman.”

She looked at him with something of an embarrassed blush. “Maybe,” she said. “But let me tell you, I see exactly those qualities in her. And as for beauty, she has it to the point of stopping my heart. When we’re making love, I almost always say to myself that she’s so beautiful, her body, her –.” She stopped and looked at him. “Oh well, Matthew, you’ve seen her, you’ve seen us both making love naked. Tell me she’s beautiful all over.”

He looked a bit uncomfortable. “Elizabeth, let me admit I was taken aback at seeing you kissing her … her vulva,” he said bravely, glancing at her rather guiltily, “but it was easy to see the sheer love, the passion, the sexuality, yes, but also the affection, the dear regard you shared. So I could admire you as a couple, naked lovers, and find it a wonderful sight. Each of you, beautiful girls, all over. Yes, you are and she is.”

She blushed and said “Thank you. I’ll tell Eithne. She was a bit upset, initially, as you can gather, at being seen tipping me the velvet, and being tongued herself, naked, seen by a boy she hardly knew! But she was pleased to know you didn’t laugh at her, and pleased to share her emotions. She had been, she told me, very lonely, and until she met me she thought no one else was like her, that they’d all laugh at her and despise her. I felt exactly the same when I was her age, before I met Meredith…. Anyway, I should thank you for making her feel accepted, and for introducing us to Mr Bryden. He’s a dear old man, and I think he’s pleased to have acquired the four of us as a sort of family. He’s old enough to be our father after all. Your grandfather, even. You’re only fifteen, like Catherine, right?”

He nodded. “Elizabeth,” he said rather wearily, “I’m only fifteen and a half, nearly, but being at this house at the beck and call of a sadistic woman with sexual perversions, I’ve aged mentally by a hundred years. I know I’m immature and undeveloped and naïve, but by God I’m not innocent any longer, I’m not a virgin any longer, and at times I feel life is getting faster all around me, it’s accelerating like a downhill lorry, it’s a sexual juggernaut I can’t stop. Where it will end I hate to think, but I just have to keep going, and hope it’ll turn out all right. Still, I’m looking forward to France, Paris, and Provence. It sounds nice, and maybe Mrs Grainger will leave us alone for a bit. And you pair, in Greece,” he said smiling, “acting Sappho and Anactoria, I do hope you enjoy yourselves.”

She leaned over and kissed him. “Thank you. But you’d better get going if you want your tea.”

“Oh! Yes, thanks for reminding me. Goodbye for now.” He stepped out of the cottage and drew a deep breath. My, it was good to have like-minded friends!

Abigail looked at Matthew with a strange gleam in her eye and said “You’re to report to Mrs G after tea. She’s got something for you to do.” Matthew blinked, but forbore to ask anything. He knew she wouldn’t tell him. When he presented himself his mistress looked at him without expression and said “Matthew, you’re to go to the dormitory at the stroke of six. The girls expect you. Be prompt.” He waited for further information or instruction, but she looked at him in a challenging sort of way, as if to ask Well, why are you still here? He blinked and muttered “Yes madam, certainly,” and left in some bafflement. He only knew (oh yes, he was sure) that he was not going to enjoy it.

At six o’clock he was at the front door of the dormitory. Trembling, he knocked on the oak door and it was soon opened by the head girl Dulcie, who blushed as she met his eyes, and fingered her collar nervously. “Come in,” she said, trying to smile but failing, “come through here.” She led him along the hall to what seemed to be the general living room, with chairs and little tables and a welcoming fire in the grate. The room was filled with girls who stared at him, some flushed, some grinning, and a few with expressions of disdain. “Here he is,” said Dulcie. “Who has the dice?” A girl he’d seen in the French class held up her hand, smiling a little evilly at the boy she’d seen naked, erect and in orgasm. “Right, Joyce,” said Dulcie, “you throw first, then Molly, then Sandra….” She named a girl from each of the dormitories. “May the best girl win!”

Matthew had no idea what was going on. He looked around and estimated a couple of hundred girls, from eleven-year-olds, probably, to those who had to be going on eighteen. All of them looking at him with interest, though there were some who looked disgusted at his presence in their domain, and another few who looked from their blushes to be as embarrassed as he was. The girls threw the dice, and eliminated the tied throws, till there was one overall winner.

“You’ve got it, Julia,” said Dulcie. “Will you do it here, or up in the dorm?”

The girl pondered, but urged on by all the others, said “Why not here? Right girls, come forth.” About twenty girls stood and came forward. They surrounded Matthew and looked at Julia expectantly. “Right,” she said, “let’s get to it.” They turned to the quaking boy and proceeded to undress him, quite slowly, savouring the minute. He meanwhile stood there gulping and clenching his hands in terror while they, egged on by the entire multitude, stripped him bare. He put his hands over his genitals and stood with bowed head looking at the floor, and the crowd were not shy of making bawdy remarks. After a minute to enjoy the sight, Julia said “All right, gang. I’ll go first. Then it’s you, you, you – oh, sort it out among yourselves. Boy, come here.”

She sat down in a chair and motioned him close. “Over my knee.” He looked at her numbly. This was his punishment for refusing to spank Catherine – be spanked himself, by all the girls in one of the dormitories. Swallowing, he edged over to her and looked at her for mercy, but there was none. She slapped her lap and said “Come on. Putting it off won’t help.” Sighing deeply he took his hands away from his crotch, and the girls murmured in salacious glee at the sight of his penis, trying to erect. Quickly he hid it by lying face down on the girl’s lap, biting his lip as he felt his tumescence press against her thighs. She meanwhile made sounds of pleasure when she sensed his arousal through her dress, and moved her legs to tease his swelling member. The rest of the crew got a little bored by her fidgeting and urged her on. Finally she put her hands to his bare behind and he gasped. “Ooh, he likes that!” yelled one of her companions. “We should all do that. At first anyway.” Then his punisher began to smack his bottom, trying to do as much damage in her short time as she could. Matthew flinched and groaned through his tight lips and compared it with his beating at the dinner party, and had to admit that it wasn’t so bad, for the hand that landed on his buttocks was soft, and through the pain he managed to gain some excitement – how could that be?

But Julia finished her stint and another took her place. He was stood upright, to show his erection and his red bum to them all, then placed over the new girl’s lap, and the spanking renewed. After the fourth session he was grimacing in pain, and after the tenth tears were coming to his eyes. Soon he was openly crying, and the girls were looking at the scene with some dismay. Latterly a girl said “No, not me. He’s had enough. Let him up.”

Though there were some dissenters, the others agreed to stop the show, and Dulcie gave the final word. He was allowed to stand in the midst of the crowd and look around pitifully at the horde of girls, some looking shocked and some in dislike, as if to say he got what he deserved – he’s only a boy after all. Some however looked sympathetic, though most still showed their bawdy interest in his nakedness, with flushed cheeks and bright eyes. He didn’t bother to hide his still erect penis, and wondered why he showed arousal after all that. Because of the feel of a girl’s hand, even though it smacked down on his backside? So he stood there as the last girls, who had forgone their part, took up his clothes to dress him, not omitting to stroke his tortured bum and his struggling penis on the way. Soon he was dressed and escorted to the front door. He turned and looked at them, and they stared back. Dulcie, who was blushing hard, said “Goodnight, Matthew. You’ll be back.” He nodded silently and trudged wearily back to the house, where he mounted the stairs painfully and shed his clothes to lie carefully on his bed and begin again to sob quietly.

“I don’t know how many blows I got,” he said to Catherine later. “There were twenty-odd girls in that dorm I suppose, and maybe a whole twenty that actually spanked me. Each gave me at least twenty slaps, in fact I’ve no idea how many. My bum was all red, and it still is.”

She looked at him and blushed. “Matthew … listen … let me … take care of it for you.”

He gulped. “You mean … yes, and why not? Maybe you can tell me how red it is!”

She smiled in sympathy. “Right, let me see, then.”

He took down his trousers and underpants and lay on the bed. She looked at his poor backside and drew in her breath. “Yes, Matthew,” she said, “it’s really red and raw-looking. Listen, don’t you still have that ointment you used on me after my … shave?” He raised his head and said “Yes, I do. It’s in a drawer there.” Quickly she found it and took some on her hands. Then she positioned herself over him and delicately put her cream-covered fingers to his sensitive buttocks. He flinched but held his peace, and after an anxious glance at him she proceeded to smooth the ointment over his dear bum.

For her part, the feel of his skin under her stroking hands was an erotic reminder of their mutual pleasuring after the dinner, and the enjoyable session in Bryden’s room, and she found herself becoming quite aroused by the business. She rubbed his cheeks gently and carefully parted them to bestow attention on his sphincter, though it had escaped the punishment. She was wishing he had put his hands to her hot arse like this after her own spanking. Matthew lay there and sighed in relaxed pleasure. Perhaps, he thought, it wouldn’t be bad to suffer this again, if the end result would be a lovely soothing caress of his arse by those soft and loving hands….

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Friday 19^th June

Jack gets more work to do; an unknown masterpiece

Catherine was ordered to present herself in the morning room at ten, and went along in her usual state of anxiety, never knowing what new embarrassment her employer had devised. When she got there she quailed to see the barber and his grinning apprentice waiting for her, being instructed by Mrs Grainger. She stopped at the door, and turned as if to flee, but went in to her ordeal, her face already flushing in anticipation of her shame.

“Ah, Catherine, there you are,” said Mrs G affably. “Come along in, and drop your robe. It’s been a month since your pubis was shaved, so we’re going to take a look at it, as we mentioned last time. Lie down on the couch here, on this towel, and raise your knees.”

Without a word the girl did as commanded, and shut her eyes so that she would see the bawdy stare of the young apprentice, who brought his bowl of suds over and stood by as his master inspected the bare pubis critically. “Wait a bit,” said Mrs G with a naughty smile, “we need another opinion.” She pulled the bell-rope and Jessica appeared, to be told to fetch Matthew from the library. “Yes, madam,” she replied, smiling to herself. So here was lecherous Mrs G up to her tricks again! She soon produced the boy, who looked at the tableau with a sinking heart. It was another shaving, no doubt about that. Mrs Grainger wouldn’t let a chance go by of shaming poor Catherine. But he could do nothing about it.

“Matthew,” said Mrs G, “come over here and confirm the state of Catherine’s pubis. It was shaved a month ago and may have developed stubble by now. Examine her, run your hand over her, and tell me what you think.”

Catherine at this speech had opened her eyes and looked up in despair, and met Matthew’s powerless gaze. He felt the stirrings of an erection just looking at her nakedness laid out so invitingly on the couch, and swallowed before stammering “Y-yes, madam, of course.” He put out a shaking hand to his girl’s crotch and touched it gently. She gave a little cry and shivered, then resolutely closed her eyes and firmed her lips, resolved to lie inert and unresponsive. He was in heaven again, feeling the dear private part of the one he admired, knowing that his erection was getting stronger and more evident.

“Well? Do you feel the stubble?” asked his employer querulously.

“I think so,” he said honestly, “but it’s really not much. I think you can leave it for next time, maybe another month….” Catherine looked up in gratitude, her blushes matching his own, but to no avail. Mr Reeves, who had a pecuniary interest in another shave, opined that while not great, the stubble was there, and his apprentice heaved a sigh of relief, having a lewd interest in attending to a naked cunt.

He was allowed to cover her nudity with a lot of lather, and stood back to learn from his master once more the proper way to shave pubic hair. Then he applied a damp washcloth to the area and eyed it in its bareness with aesthetic satisfaction. He looked up at Mr Reeves and said “The same as before, sir?”

“Oh yes, I think so, just to be sure,” said his master, and looked at Mrs Grainger, who said merely “But first the armpits.”

When that was done she stared at Matthew and said merely “Well?”

Matthew took hold of Catherine’s legs behind the knees and raised her up to show the others her anal region, and she trembled in his hands. “Right Jack,” said the barber, “there’s her bum. It looks nice, I think, can’t see any hair, but still….”

“Yes,” said Jack, “it’s nice. Maybe I should feel it.” Catherine gave a gasp, and Matthew nearly turned on the boy, but couldn’t move, and anyway he couldn’t avoid the inevitable.

“Yes, boy,” said Mrs G, “feel her bottom, round the anus, her hole,” she translated into the vernacular, “and judge for yourself.”

Jack eagerly felt all round the anus, and passed his hand over the nearby vulva, to declare “We should do it just to be on the safe side, sir, ma’am.”

“Fair enough,” said Mr Reeves, “go ahead and lather.”

The lather was done, the razor applied, the washcloth wiped over the beautiful bumhole, and Matthew could only convey his sympathy by squeezing Catherine’s legs. “Right, now, Matthew, put her down,” said Mrs G, “you’ve done well. As have you, Mr Reeves, and young Jack! Very nicely done. Am I right in thinking that she should be checked in another month or so? Yes, we can arrange that. No, wait. We won’t be here. Hmm. We had best postpone it till September, by which time it should be obvious I think. Agreed? Right then. Oh, thank you, Mr Reeves. Look, Matthew, here’s that ointment again. Apply it to her pubis and her bottom. Mr R, Jack, come over here and we’ll sort out the appointment.”

It was his fantasy again, come true again. He had felt her cunt now three times, and there was still the thrill of touching her. He was sure he’d never lose it no matter how long they were acquainted. He put his fingers covered in the salve to her pubis, and rubbed tenderly. She looked up at him and her blush seemed to intensify. He looked her straight in the eyes and mouthed Catherine, dear Catherine! I love you. She looked back at him gravely and nodded, then closed her eyes contentedly. He took his time over the anointing, and dipped his fingers in the jar for more, then just as tenderly applied himself to her dear bum. She couldn’t help some reaction to his attentions, and squirmed beneath the fingers, remembering her orgasm last time, but looked calmly up at him and his blush and smiled, mouthing a Thank you in return.

Mrs G, who had observed all this from the other side of the room while checking dates with the barber, smiled herself. When the barber and his lascivious brat had gone she came up to the pair, who were still looking at each other, to say “Excellent! Now notice, in a month’s time we’ll be in France. I think I’ll arrange for a local barber to do it there. You can still rub her vulva, Matthew, you seem to like doing that, so why should we stop? All right. It’ll be arranged.” She left them, their faces registering shock and disappointment, and swept out.

Matthew said “Oh Catherine, it’ll be terrible for you again….”

“But for you,” she said with a rueful smile, “it’ll be another chance to feel me up, won’t it? You’ll like that, and I don’t want to forbid you either. After all,” she said, sitting up and seeing his discomfort, “I like it as well. Listen: in France we’ll have lots of opportunities to cuddle, I know it. Yes,” she said, standing up and donning her robe, “we’ll be able to … feel each other, fondle each other’s … privates, oh hell, I mean my cunt and your prick, you want to, don’t you?”

He drew breath and said haltingly, “I want to feel your glorious breasts, pass my hand down your body, to your waist, to your thighs, to your cunt, yes, and put my hand inside you and make you come. And I want you to feel my arse, feel my ballocks, feel my prick and coax it erect, pull me, pull me off so that I come too. We’ll do that in France. We’ll do it a lot in France.” He bent and kissed her, and left. She went back to her room and sat for some time in a sort of dream, imagining the coming summer, a summer of coming! She snorted a laugh and thought she’d pass on the joke to her boy next time. Her boy! Yes he was. She was sure now, as never before, they were a pair, but a unit. Together, one. Her buoyant mood all of a sudden turned sombre. For how long? At least for the summer. Please God, let it be longer, much longer! For ever? But she saw no profit in looking far ahead. Sufficient unto the day… and carpe diem.

At lunch, they gazed at each other with pleasure, and Abigail felt somehow put out, as if she wasn’t privy to a secret joy they shared. That was true, actually, said Matthew to himself, and smiled smugly at her, which seemed to annoy her, and she left the table in a pet which she didn’t bother to explain. After lunch Matthew went back to his books, and the little Dutchman turned up again to continue fawning over the contents of the treasure house of curiosa, as he called it.

“Curiosa is a good word for this kind of thing, Matthew. It covers a lot of course, from quite delightful things to … well, those works on flogging, like that Swinburne item, and those photograph albums you were shocked by.” He threw a deprecatory glance into the corner. “Then there’s this thing,” he said with a grimace of distaste, flourishing a book bound in old buckram, with a paper label on the front. Matthew took it, and read “The Polymorph: an epic poem in seven books. By Outis Nemo. 1835.”

“Oh,” he said, “is it an epic like the Odyssey, then? I’ve never heard of it. Or the author. Who is he?”

De Groot screwed up his face and shook his head. “I’ve no idea,” he said, “I’ve never heard of it either. The name of the author is symbolic, I suppose. ‘Nemo’ is Latin for ‘No-one’, and ‘Outis’ means the same, in Greek. It’s the name Odysseus gives to the Cyclops, in Homer. Browse, boy, and see.”

Matthew opened up the old book to find old handwriting. “It’s a manuscript, then,” he said. “Maybe it’s the only copy!” He read



“The beef between her thighs was meritorious,

                                   And such great strands of hair thereon were glorious;

                                   He put his hand upon the treasured site,

                                   Which so excited him, he longed to shite;

                                   And letting forth a fart more loud than many,

                                   He soiled his breeches costing quite a penny;

                                   Whereat she laughed, and so relaxed her pipes

                                   At witnessing the ordure of his tripes,

                                   That she by mockery of the noisy sport

                                   Bepissed herself a gallon and a quart.”

He looked at the little Dutchman with a smile. “Oh, I agree it’s not great verse,” he said, “but maybe there’s someone will like it. The main thing about it, maybe, is that it’s an unknown poem, maybe by somebody famous, hmm? Well, we can put that with what, the …, wait, we haven’t got a category for this.”

“Yes, Matthew, we do have two or three manuscripts actually, and that’ll join them. I do have doubts about its real value though. What it fetches at auction is wholly in the lap of the gods. All right. Next!”

Catherine was thinking of looking at the other books in the attic, but was waylaid by Grace who directed her to Mrs G’s rooms. There she was told that she should report to Wilma at the school, where she was to help to clean. “The toilets need attention,” said Mrs G, “and the gymnasium and showers. Which reminds me; it’s time for another bath, but we’ll postpone it till Sunday. So at two o’clock on Sunday you should make your way to the stables where it’ll be prepared.”

She looked with frightened eyes at her tormentor and asked shakily, “W-will there be any … helpers, madam? Please, I—”

“Of course, you silly girl! That’s the regimen you’re under. Assisted baths. This time it’ll be two boys from the car shop, and two others as witnesses. After all, it’ll be their own turn soon.” She laughed shortly as she saw the hopeless look on the girl’s blushing face, and dismissed her. My, she said to herself, stretching her arms, this was the most delightful pair of toys she’d ever had….

(End of File)