Mrs Grainger's Gift 20

By Ritchie Moore

(I'll forward it to the author)

* * * * *
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.
* * * * *

MRS GRAINGER’S GIFT

PART XX

Saturday 27^th June

Public concert. Lust in the Afternoon

Matthew indulged himself in a long lie in, and skulked around for a while. He made his way to the kitchen, where he found Catherine, evidently hiding herself. Mrs Ponsonby good-naturedly gave them fried eggs on toast, and they thanked her, which she brushed off, as if knowing what stress they were under. They imparted some idea of their humiliations to each other, and wearily took themselves off to the library, which was a sort of haven for them. They lost themselves in the bawdy jungle till lunchtime, and blanched when reminded of the concert.

“Actually, Matthew,” said Abigail, “it’ll hold no terrors for you. No nude frolics. We decided that it would be a bit much for the general public, and parents, to swallow, so you’ll just be expected to carry stuff, move scenery, wind up the gramophone, et cetera. Report to Miss Ford, the dance teacher. All right?” They heaved sighs of relief, and Catherine said she’d attend the show with Mr Bryden.

When he got there he found Enid in conversation with a fair-haired girl with glasses carrying a sheaf of music. On hearing his news she pouted in disappointment (as did the other girl), but agreed that the general public, who were just starting to arrive, would probably not accept it as readily as the randy girls had. “Fair enough,” she said. “I’ll speak to Miss Ford. Go out there and enjoy the concert, with nothing to trouble your mind. We won’t even ask you to wind up the gramophone. We’ve got a lot of talented performers you know. Jennifer Davidson here is playing the first bit of Beethoven’s ‘Pathétique’, the choir will do some Handel, Geraldine McKay will do her imitations of Harry Lauder, and Philippa Brown will do her magic tricks. It’s really good, you know.”

He nodded and smiled, and was relieved to be rid of his worry. Naturally the girls in the dance troupe complained, though they did realise his naked dance and ejaculation would be a bit much. But they sniggered as they told him he could expect to be performing for them the next time – a thought that made him go pale, at which they shrieked with bawdy laughter.

He didn’t see Catherine anywhere, though he did catch sight of Rachael and her brother; but enjoyed what he saw of the concert, from a seat at the very back of the hall, and it was rather strange to see these young girls, whom he knew in their bawdy guise, acting properly and with real talent most of the time. At the interval, he wandered out of the hall to have a quiet cigarette, humming the song ‘Art thou troubled?’ that the choir had sung so movingly. “‘Music will calm thee!’ Yes, and we need it, by golly! Troubled isn’t the half of it!”

He was calmed by his cigarette, though, and on the way back he suddenly found himself face to face with Alice, the girl from the camp. Her face lit up and she seized his arm. “Come along with me,” she said, and pulled him into a side corridor. “What—?” he was asking, but soon understood her – she opened a door and pushed him inside. When she switched on the light he saw they were in a kind of boxroom, with piles of clothing and general stuff all round. She turned and snibbed the door.

“What—?” he said again, but she caught his arms and leaned in to kiss him on the lips. Then deliberately she started to undo his buttons. “I discovered this place yesterday,” she said, as her fingers attacked his defences. “I wondered about you, and then by God you did that wonderful dance, and I hoped I’d get you here. I’ve been thinking about you a lot ever since the trip. Someone told me you wouldn’t be dancing today. So we have time, now, Matthew, to make love properly. No haste. Please let’s do this. I want you to make love to me again. I want you to fuck me.”

He shook off his astonishment and submitted to her stripping, and when he was naked he slowly made her as bare as he. They sank down on a pile of blankets and began to fondle each other, knowing that they had at least an hour to go before the end of the concert and they would be looked for. This time he was able to feel her all over, relishing the smoothness of her skin and the warmth of her flesh. He put his lips to her breasts and sucked the nipples, which seemed to excite her, and she tickled his chest as he grinned at her – then they kissed again, and her hands found his testicles. He started and gave a little yelp, then surrendered to her fingers, and lay back as she stroked his body into an eager sweat.

Once he was erect and straining, he returned the compliment, circling her nipples with his fingers, tracing the limits of her pubic hair, tickling her arse and impishly probing her anus, drawing his hand over the short perineum to feel the lips of her cunt and enter that moist moist cavity, seek out the clitoris and excite her till they were on an orgasmic plateau. Then they joined bodies and looked into each other’s eyes with wild smiles and began the dance of the two-backed beast. They didn’t hurry, at least not at first, but naturally after a minute or two they were heaving in passion and thrusting at each other, gasping and shutting their eyes in their approach to ecstasy.

They lay apart to recover and Matthew drew a deep breath. “Hey,” he said, ‘d’you smoke? Do you want a fag? It seems to help you get your breath back somehow.”

“Certainly,” she said. “please. And we’ll talk and smoke, and then we’ll—”

“Yes,” he said, “then we’ll fuck some more.”

She looked up at him with a delighted grin and nodded. “Yes,” she murmured, “yes.”

“Hello! I hoped I’d see you!”

Dulcie turned when she heard the well-known voice and blushed. David was standing there with his hat in his hand, looking in that silly admiring way. She wondered for the umpteenth time what he could see in her. But he’d been so attentive, and daring, too! that last time, and she had known she had to see him again. And here he was. Swiftly he took her arm and led her out of the press of the audience to a corner of the hall. “Listen,” he said. “I hoped to find you, to resume our conversation that we started last time.” He grinned meaningfully. “I do hope you’re not with friends here, or you’ve got some party piece to do. Can we walk outside?”

She got her breath back and stammered “Y-yes, of course. I’m not in the concert. Didn’t you come to see it?”

“No, you little fool,” he said fondly, “I came to see you. Come.”

They strolled out onto the lawn, and she impulsively took his hand and led him away from the buildings to the wood. “Where are we going?” he asked, though he had an inkling of an idea.

“We can talk in one of the summer-houses out here,” she said, with a delicious tremor in her voice. “Look, it’s a bit dusty but quite clean. I was over here a little while ago and decided to make it comfortable. Look.”

The little building that he thought of as a gazebo sheltered from the elements had an upholstered sofa on one side and a variety of cushions spread around, besides a comfortable-looking carpet with a deep shag. “My, this looks pretty cosy! And you did this?”

“Yes, with a bit of help. And it so happens that it’s here, and you’re here—”

“—And you’re here. Right, Dulcie, thank you. We can make ourselves comfy, and chat some more.”

“Yes,” she said, “chat.” She sat on the sofa, and he promptly sat close beside her and put an arm round her shoulders. She looked up at him, and he responded to the invitation in her eyes, leaning in to kiss her, putting his other arm over to her waist, and hugging her to him. Dulcie abandoned herself to him, this handsome boy who told her she was beautiful. His hand now moved down her leg, down to her calf, and then upwards again. She shivered as his questing fingers rode up under her dress to her knee, to her thigh—

“Oh God, Dulcie, you’re naked under there! Thank you, my sweet!” He applied his lips to hers again as he put his hand up to the top of her thigh to caress the round of her arse, her bare arse, bared all for him. She nestled into his embrace and kissed, kissed this delicious wonderful boy who admired her so, who was smoothing a hot hand over her hot body, who was moving into the folds of her groin, who had his fingers at her vulva, to stroke it gently, gently, and induce a naughty shiver in her, then oh a finger, two fingers, in her, inside her! She pushed against him and in just a minute she came, she came in an extraordinary orgasm, being fucked by his impudent fingers, his wonderful fingers….

A little while later she made him naked, and investigated his anatomy as assiduously as he had examined hers. She looked at his erection with pleased pride – she’d made that! – and knew she would bring it in its turn to ecstatic eruption. She just knew he would be fine, a great display of red prick and gush of cream, a grand fountain of his seed.

Not too far away another couple had found themselves in a favourite place; Colin and Liza settled themselves by that naked statue and soon made themselves just as naked. The boy looked at the girl and sighed amorously. “Oh, Liza,” he said, “the more I look at you, the more I fall in love with you. That’s what it is,” he added as she stared at him in sudden joy. “It’s not just … sex, wanting to get you naked, wanting to fuck you, and goodbye! No, I honestly can say I think I’m in love with you. But,” he caught her hand, “I must honestly tell you I don’t know if it is ‘love’. What is it? I don’t know. I just have this great feeling, a swelling of emotion, a sort of yearning, that can’t be satisfied except by you, holding you, kissing you!”

Suiting action to word, he clasped her to him and kissed her passionately. When they broke apart, mainly to breathe, they gazed at each other and laughed as they began to fondle each other, gradually becoming more excited, till he thrust himself upon her and cried “Liza, please, let me fuck you! Let me in to your wonderful body!”

She looked at him boldly and said merely “Come, Colin, come in to my cunt. I think I love you too.”

“Catherine! It’s you! I’m glad I found you.”

She smiled to see Nancy Radcliffe smiling at her, and hastened to introduce her to Mr Bryden, who treated her with old-world courtesy as a friend of a friend.

“Listen, Catherine, I have a quick word for you. May I speak freely?”

“Oh goodness, yes, Nancy, Mr Bryden here is a close friend.”

“All right. Here it is: I’m here to take you away from this prison, if you want to leave right now.”

“What?” She looked troubled. “But, I’m not sure—”

“It has to be now, or we’ll miss the chance. Later we might manage it, but I thought you wanted to escape?”

Bryden looked at them. “Think about it, Catherine. You might not have another opportunity like this.”

She looked at them and clenched her hands in indecision. “I know, I know! Thanks a million, Nancy, no matter what. It’s really good of you, but—”

The other girl looked at her and sighed. “No, Catherine, I know what you’re thinking. You can’t leave your boy.”

Bryden smiled and said “I think you’ve got it, Miss Radcliffe. Catherine longs to escape, but she can’t tear herself away from Matthew. They’re a pair,” he continued, eyeing the older girl, “as I’ve said before, and somehow I know she’d be miserable to be parted from him. Am I right, my dear?”

Catherine looked at them and bit her lip. “Yes, that’s it. I can’t leave Matthew to be tormented by Mrs G, and I think she’d take out her fury on him if I left. But we’ll be going to France shortly, Paris and Provence, and it’s bound to be better there. The main thing is, Nancy, that I want to be with Matthew, come what may.”

Nancy stared at her with compassion in her eyes and shrugged. “Well,” she said, “I do understand. I wouldn’t want to be parted from Philip, no matter how idiotic he is. But listen: the offer is still open. If you are still around when next I’m here, for some reason or another, I’ll ask you again. All right?”

“All right. Thank you, Nancy, you’re a real friend.”

The other flushed and dismissed it. “Well, back to the concert!”

The other three couples were in the throes of their engagement, two of them in practised mode, revisiting for the second time that wonderful place of passion, and glorying in the indescribable sensations that accompanied it. The third had something of a contretemps, for when David tried to storm the fortress Dulcie was reluctant, telling him in fright that she was a virgin, honestly! He however continued his addresses and after a long heated time, of caresses and sweating and heaving of breath, she cast caution to the winds and gasped “Yes! Yes! All right!” and separated her thighs. He didn’t waste any more time, but slily slid his lubricated prick, encased in a condom (which she had put on him, she had to remember), into the vestibule of her vulva, and pressed himself against her. “Oh! But it’s too big! It’s sore! Please, David, owww!” She took a breath and screamed as his eager weapon destroyed her virginity, and sobbed in anguish. She hadn’t known it would be like this. He patted her, saying soothing words, and after a long time she kissed him and said haltingly “It’s all right, David, it really is. Let me recover, though. Give me time.”

“Of course,” he said, knowing he could wait till she settled down, and she’d accept his prick in her cunt, this time going all the way to an orgasm. He kissed her and held her, hugging her tightly, feeling her heart beating fast against his. She nestled in his arms again, looking forward to his completing the awful act, when she would surely (surely) recover from his assault, and start to enjoy his loving attentions….

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sunday 28^th June

Packing, and a tea-dance

Bryden says goodbye to the girls

“My dear young people,” he said with a catch in his voice, “you’ve no idea how much I’ve enjoyed knowing you this past while. I’m awfully pleased you’re going off together to Greece, the isles, maybe, ‘where burning Sappho loved and sung’! I envy you the sun and the waters, and I’m glad to know that you will have your joy there. I will welcome you back to this gloomy palace in the autumn. You can at least look forward to renewing our friendship then. You won’t be lonely any more. And neither shall I.”

Eithne’s eyes filled, and she stooped to kiss the old man’s cheek. “God bless you, Mr Bryden! Believe me, we’re pleased to have met you. Thanks to Matthew, life isn’t quite as bleak as it was. This next year (my last year at the Academy) will be different, I know.” She looked at Elizabeth. “It’ll be different for Elizabeth too,” she said rather wistfully. “And then,” said the teacher, “you’ll be leaving….”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” said her lover stoutly. “Carpe diem. Sufficient unto the day are the problems thereof, et cetera.” Bryden smiled at them. “Yes, my dears,” he said, “let’s take things as we find them. For now, off you go to the sun. Send me a postcard perhaps.” Elizabeth kissed him in her turn, and his pale cheeks went rosy. He got up to embrace them both and saw them off with a mixture of sadness and joy. They’d be back to brighten his days, he knew.

“Where’s Matthew?”

Catherine paused with her hands in the sink and said blankly “I don’t know for sure. He was helping Mrs G pack things.”

“That’s all right,” said Abigail. “It’s you I want. Miriam, spare her for an hour or so.”

The Jamaican nodded. “See you later, Catherine!” she said with a smile. The girl followed Abigail to the drawing room, where she saw no sign of Mrs Grainger, and turned to ask what was meant, but the words died on her lips when she saw the awful son of the tailor and another boy of his age, who looked at her with open lust in his eyes. She knew at once what they intended, and turned to escape, only to see Abigail staring at her with a sort of gloating smile, who nodded and said only “Stay here, Catherine. These young gentlemen are here to attend to you.”

She left, and the girl turned to the visitors, stammering. “H-how, where is M-Mr J-Jackson? W-what….”

“Oh, he can’t come, but he sent me,” said Martin with a guileless smile. “And this is my friend Alistair.”

The boy was an inch or so shorter than his friend, with mousy brown hair and hazel eyes that peered at her pleasantly.” “How d’ye do?” he said, holding out his hand. She took it to shake, imagining in her dislike that it was clammy with excitement. She just knew they wanted to see her naked, but for heaven’s sake they, or Martin anyway, had done all that! Why were they here? Martin enlightened her.

“We have those extra clothes for you. You seem to be packing for the holidays, so we’re in fine time. Some skirts, a couple of blouses, a slip, and panties—”

She gave a whimper, seeing what was coming. “So, Catherine,” he continued, “we can fit these on you. To start with, the slip, maybe. So you can take off your clothes, and we’ll get you—”

“Naked!” said Alistair with relish, not bothering to hide his bawdy interest.

She swallowed and put her fingers to the buttons of her blouse, not looking at the boys. Slowly she undid them and was about to shrug the garment off when she felt with a little shock that it was being eased off by Martin, who looked at his friend with a showmanship pride as he showed him those breasts nearly visible through the thin cotton of the slip she wore. Alistair was nodding as if to say “That’s right! Show me more!”

She shivered as the strip continued. The boys were careful to let her start the process, but took care to finish it, catching her skirt as it fell to the ground, and collecting the slip from her upraised arms – albeit with a long pause, in which Alistair came right up to her and smelt (God, what’s he doing?) smelt her skin between the breasts, with a strange expression that she couldn’t interpret.

Then it was the ‘panties’, which she only had time to touch before Alistair’s fingers joined hers at the waist to take hold and ease the garment down. He did this agonisingly slowly, his gaze fixed firmly on her belly, smiling as more and more of her shaved pubis was revealed. Then the start of her slit, and his eyes grew larger. Then as the panties were inexorably lowered to her feet he licked his lips and let out a satisfied breath. He stayed gazing at her cunny for what seemed a long time, and then rose to look into her eyes and say softly “Christ! You have a cunt there to shout about. I bet you’re proud of it. You should be.”

He turned away to say to his grinning friend “Yes, Martin, as you said! She’s a real peach! With the little groove and all.” He turned back to her, to say gloatingly, “Do you know that naughty riddle, Catherine? The answer is ‘a peach’. And it goes What's round like an apple, Shaped like a pear, With a slit in the middle All covered with hair? Hah! Answer, Catherine’s cunt!” He sniggered to see her red face get redder. “So, let’s start hiding that nice body, hmm?”

Martin laughed as he scooped up the clothes and flung them on the couch. “We start with this,” he said, lifting a very brief pair of knickers, “and see how it works. This, Catherine, is a rather special pair of knicks, the material carefully chosen to be light yet warm, and cool as well, for we know you’re going to be in that Provençal sun. Alistair will put them on you.”

She winced as she had to stand in front of the lascivious boys and allow this new one, this stranger, this boy, to kneel at her feet, his intent eyes inches from her vulva, and let him slowly pull a skimpy pair of knickers up her trembling legs. He sat back to admire, then nodded to Martin, who in his turn took them down.

She saw what they were at, and shivered. A prolonged dressing – undressing session, with the two teenagers passing their fingers over her bare skin, to cover only for a moment the nakedness she was still ashamed of, after all this time! And to uncover it again, and again, and again….

In time naturally their fingers dwelt longer on her body, running slowly along her legs and her torso, her breasts and her arse, her belly and her perineum, her vulva, and its attractive depths. In the next hour she came six times, and was finally left, naked, to sleep off her writhing pleasure. Mrs G received the thanks of the boys with a sardonic smile, and said that perhaps they would be back in the autumn? Who knew? They promised they’d come whenever the need arose, and left with smiles of contentment.

“Do you want to go to the dance in town?”

Matthew blinked at Laura. “Are you inviting me? What dance?”

“It’s the tea-dance they’ve started, the top forms of the four schools, they’re meeting in town, and the bus leaves in half an hour. If you want to go, there’s a place. I’m not asking you, you silly thing! Us servants? No, but you and Catherine are different, aren’t you? So go and find her and take her to the dance. Have a good time!”

He stammered a thank-you and went off to tell his girl about the chance of a few hours away from their prison. She was moping in her room, and clasped him round the body and haltingly told him of the latest exposure. He shook his head and ground his teeth, but they soon tried to perk up and get themselves neat to go out to the bus, where she sat on his lap all the way and tried to ignore the amused looks of the other girls.

As it turned out, the afternoon was a very enjoyable time, and though each was embarrassed again to be asked to dance by someone who had seen them in the altogether, on the whole they spent a pleasant respite from their usual life and even managed to dance some new steps. When he held her close Matthew kept breathing sweet nothings into her ear, which amused her a lot, and she was imagining the pair of them waltzing under romantic stars, which brought a silly smile to her face. Some of the others looked at the couple and envied their patent happiness with each other. Colin, who was missing Liza (she, being only a servant, wasn’t invited), smiled himself and wished them all the best. David, dancing most of the time with Dulcie, had a different sort of smile for them, a cynical sort of smirk that said I know you inside out, and I’ve been there, in your innards, you delicious bint! Then he turned his eyes on his other conquest, who had finally fallen before his breathless persuasion. “When can we get together again?” he muttered. She blushed and looked at the floor. “I’ll see you in the autumn,” she said. “Please say you’ll come to the school.” “Of course,” he said, telling himself the fish was truly landed.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Monday 29^th June

End of Term, prizes, more farewells

Matthew had agreed to attend the prize-giving, though why he needed to go was a mystery. Still, he was there with Catherine to applaud Eithne, who was evidently due for some reward for being first in the term exams for Greek. Miss Cramond read out the names of the lucky girls, and the Principal handed over the prize, with a smile of congratulation. At length Eithne’s name was called, and she went up to the stage with something like a flush at being the object of so much attention.

“Eithne Buckley,” said Miss Birkett, picking up a book from the table before her. She opened it and glanced at the title page, and smiled as she read it out. “Batrachoi! ‘The Frogs’! Ha! That’ll be a light-hearted change from tragedies about Agamemnon! Congratulations!”

Eithne took the book and mouthed a thankyou, dipping in a curtsey, then came back to her seat to a reasonable show of clapping, though Matthew thought that most of the girls were a bit jealous. He was roused from his thoughts by a nudge from Catherine.

“Listen!” she said, “it’s you!”

“What? Me? They’re giving me a prize? Oh God, not an acknowledgement of my nude entertainment!”

Miss Cramond repeated in her stentorian voice, tinged with West of Scotland salt, “Matthew Raven!”

He rose and got up to the stage, where Miss Birkett was beaming at him. She announced to the assembly “Matthew has endeared himself to us all by his attendance at our classes, and brought a delightful flavour of manliness to our closeted feminine world.”

There was applause and cheers as she presented him with an up-to-the-mark camera, loaded with film, which he was invited to take on his holidays to record the high spots of France. She was nearly drowned out by the storm of cheering (and laughter) from the two hundred-odd girls, who cherished their own memories of his unadorned participation in their classes. He naturally was blushing at all this, and returned to his seat, walking through the ranks of students, who gave him a standing ovation, probably savouring a memory of his grand performance at the concert. The parents who had attended were mystified, and Catherine was as embarrassed as her beau. He resumed his seat and she put her hand out to clasp his, and he smiled shyly at her and shrugged. They’d soon be free of their persecution. Wouldn’t they? If only for a while. He settled down to try to take in an encouraging speech by the Lord Lieutenant of the county, who was evidently another good friend of the powerful Lydia Grainger.

* * *

“Yes,” said Bryden, “I’ve already said goodbye, or rather au revoir, to Elizabeth and Eithne. I’m looking forward to seeing them again in September. My, they are a nice young couple! I do wish them well. I’m awfully pleased you introduced them, Matthew. They must have been feeling so lonely, friendless, before. Now they have you pair, and they’ll still have me next term. And I’ll still have them.”

Catherine looked quickly at him. “But you will have me, Mr Bryden. I know Matthew will be going off sometime back to Mrs Crossley, but I’ll probably still be here….”

He caught some sadness in her face and nodded in understanding. “And if you’re here, the cruelties will continue. That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “For Matthew too, if he’s still here doing the catalogue and things, Mrs G will still be tormenting him.” She turned to him and took his hands. “Oh Matthew! It’ll be the same—”

“No it won’t, my love,” he said, remarking the glad smile that greeted his affectionate word. “We’ll still be around to be taunted, yes, but this time from the word go we know we have friends, to share things with or just to cry on.” Unconsciously he echoed Bryden’s words to the other couple. “We won’t be alone, and that’s the most important thing. None of us, you, me, Elizabeth, Eithne, and dear Mr Bryden here,” he looked at the old man, “we won’t be alone any more.” As if by command they drew together in a tight embrace, and Catherine kissed the old butler. “Till August, she said gaily. “And now off to Provence!”

Justine kissed Matthew goodbye, telling him she’d meet up with the party later in Paris. That made it all seem suddenly very possible, a sort of escape, certainly a holiday, and in a foreign country, too! Where she hoped to see a bit more of him. The thought crossed his mind that she’d maybe try to—no, surely not! As he was going upstairs to his room he heard his name called, and turned to see Elizabeth and Eithne at the front door.

“I’m glad I caught you, Matthew,” said the teacher. “We’re just off to Greece, but I wanted to give you this before we left.” She handed him an old book, and he looked at the title. The Pastoral Loves of Daphnis and Chloe, he read.

“Oh! This is the Greek story you were telling me about! Thanks. I’ll look after it. Catherine and I will read it together.”

Eithne smiled and said roguishly “You may want to put it into practice one way or another!”

Elizabeth reproved her and said “Don’t mind her, Matthew. It’s a great little story, and you’ll need to tell us what you think when we’re back. Goodbye for now.” She kissed him, and Eithne gave him a hug and a kiss of her own, then they were off.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tuesday 30^th June

Overnight in London

“We’re going to be put up overnight at the house of a friend of mine, Lady Malvern, who has a very pleasant house in Mayfair. Besides a country house, naturally, in Buckinghamshire. Near Taplow, a nice little town. Where Cliveden is, if you know it, Nancy Astor’s place. Miss Cairns, our English teacher, is from there. Anyway she’s very kindly offered to put us up. Her husband, Sir Joshua Malvern, is a civil servant, quite high up in the hierarchy, it seems. One of the invisible mandarins who steer the ship of state. He was knighted for his efforts in the birthday honours. I expect you to behave yourselves when we’re there.” She looked at them sternly, and they nodded their heads. “Right. Get your things together, we’ll be at the station very soon.”

They were greeted by a tall woman with greying hair and a harassed look who welcomed Lydia with kisses and waved hands at the entourage. “Have you had dinner? Oh well, come through. Beakin, take their things.” A diminutive maid accepted their coats and hats, and another took charge of their luggage. The boy and girls weren’t addressed, so didn’t speak themselves, as they sat down to a simple meal in an ornate dining room. They had expected to be accommodated in the kitchen, but it was either more convenient to treat them as guests, or the wife of a Sir had liberal ideas. But they were servants, and so kept out of the conversation. Their hostess finally turned to them and said “Now, you girls – and boy,” she looked at him with what seemed distaste, “we’re putting you in a couple of spare rooms. Potter will show you.”

A stout maidservant led them to two doors in a long corridor. Opening one on a cramped cupboard she said “This is for the boy,” indicating a small cot that took most of the space. “That’s your bag, isn’t it?” “Yes,” said Matthew, surprised to see his luggage on the bed. “The other is for the girls,” she said, going to the other door and flinging it open. This was quite sizable and had two large beds in it, besides a wash-stand with basin and ewer and a chamber pot half hidden under a bed. Matthew asked where the bathroom was, and was directed to the end of another short corridor that led off the first.

He unpacked a towel and toiletries and his nightshirt, and went to the bathroom to wash and pee. Back in his cubicle he managed to undress and don his nightshirt, then peeked out to see if the others had gone to bed. Then he saw Mrs Grainger striding towards him and stared in surprise (and foreboding). “Why are you undressed so soon?” she asked, looking irritated. “What makes you think you’ve finished? Come.” He followed her back to the sitting room, where he was placed close to the chair Lydia now sat in. He began to ask why he was there, but his mistress said rather abruptly “Just be there in case you’re wanted. All right?” He held his tongue and stood straight, conscious of his scanty attire. All he was wearing was a thin nightshirt that didn’t come down to his knees, and he saw the hostess studying the hem with what seemed a gleam in her eye.

He ignored the chatty conversation for a while, but was brought back to present reality by the hostess talking about punishments. Oh no, he thought, I might have known it. She’s another just like madam. No wonder they’re friends.

“What do you use at the Academy, Lydia? A cane, a birch, or what? You gave Sir Norbert a birch to use three years ago. It was very successful.”

Lydia laughed. “I have them use a switch. It’s not quite as harmful as canes or whips. For the staff, well, it varies. We have paddles, and I’ve reinstituted a spanking (on the bare backside) with the hand. Which is doubly demeaning when a girl is spanked by a man. Or vice versa,” she added with a glance at Matthew.

“Here, I use a leather thong. A tawse. Or is that plural? Generally with two strands. It can be used on the hands or the posterior, and either on the bare skin or through the dress, or drawers. So you can have graduations of punishment, you see.”

“Very good! And it keeps the servants in order, I’ll wager! What about family? Your four girls?”

“Oh, goodness, Lydia! They don’t require anything like that. A reminder, with a slap or two, that’s all. But you’re right about the servants. If they put a foot wrong they know the consequences. I sometimes wish,” she said with a glimmer of wicked humour, “that we had some boys on staff.” Lydia had a faraway look in her eyes, which focussed suddenly when Lady Malvern exclaimed “Why don’t I show you?” Matthew’s jaw fell open, and he stared as the chatelaine pulled the bell-rope. A girl answered almost at once. She looked to be about thirteen, dressed in a dark skirt with a white blouse, and stood before her mistress looking at the floor. “This is Jacobs,” said Lady Malvern. “She just joined our ménage a month ago, and she’s just getting used to how things are managed here. Jacobs! Get the tawse.”

The girl went pale but immediately went to a chest of drawers in a corner and produced a wicked-looking strap split into two thongs, which she handed to her mistress. “Right. Over that chair.” The girl swallowed with a piteous glance at Lady Malvern, but went to the indicated chair and bent over it, holding the arms. Matthew drew in his breath. She was going to be strapped, just to demonstrate the use of the tawse! He made a sound of protest and put a hand up. Lady Malvern looked at him in astonishment, and Mrs Grainger merely said “Hush, Matthew. Sorry, Edith, he too is new and still finding things hard to adjust to. Continue.”

Matthew looked at them in disbelief. “But she hasn’t done anything!”

Lady Malvern looked at him furiously and spoke to the girl. “Jacobs! Raise your skirt.” The girl glanced over at Matthew, blushing, and lifted her skirt to show a pair of white knickers. “Right. This is how it’s done, Lydia.” She stood over the girl and swiped the belt at the knickers. Whap! The girl gave a little cry. Matthew winced to see the punishment (for no cause!) and he lifted his hands as if to prevent the strokes as Lady Malvern gave another two to the backside, and the girl gave little moans.

He muttered “Madam, please!” and Mrs Grainger looked at him disdainfully.

“Just wait, Matthew!” she said. “Yes, Edith! And perhaps—?”

“Oh, of course, Lydia!” said her hostess. “Jacobs, pull down your knickers.” Matthew’s protests grew louder. The girl looked over at the boy and a blush suffused her face as she drew down her knickers to reveal a pretty arse (as Matthew thought of it) already showing signs of the beating. "Now, on the bare bum, it’s even more effective!” Lady Malvern swung the tawse and struck that pretty arse four more times, producing more cries and a few tears. “Come over here, girl, and show Mrs Grainger your bottom,” said her mistress. This meant of course showing herself to Matthew who was standing next the chair, and that blush remained, or deepened, as the girl bent over slightly to present her nakedness to the interested gaze of Mrs Grainger and that of the boy, who now showed a very noticeable erection that poked out the thin cloth of the nightshirt.

“Ha, Matthew,” said Mrs G, as she slowly drew her fingers across the red buttocks of the trembling girl, “you’re excited, are you? Hm. We’ll see about that. My, girl, your bottom feels hot! See, Matthew, what an effect that has!” To his incredulity she took his hand and guided it to the crimsoned buttocks. “Feel her bum, there!” He did, trembling himself, while the exposed girl made little moaning noises.

Her employer spoke sharply. “Jacobs! That’s enough! Let him feel you. He has to see the result himself.” She stifled her whimper, and looked down at the floor as this strange boy fondled her bare backside.

Lydia, well pleased with the humiliation, said “All right, girl, off with you. Edith, thank you.”

“Yes, Jacobs,” said Lady Malvern, “off to your room. No, leave the tawse. Go.” With another blushing look at the boy and his obvious erection she drew up her knickers and went out, and Lydia looked at Matthew.

“All right,” she said. “You never learn, do you? Edith, do you mind if I give him something to remember?”

“Oh no,” she replied, “feel free, Lydia. Take down his impertinence!”

“Yes,” said Mrs G, “Matthew, take off that nightshirt.”

His hands went to the neck, but he looked at her abjectly. “Please, madam,” he said, “I—”

“You’re going to apologise to Lady Malvern, not me,” she said coolly. “And then—”

She was interrupted by a quartet of young girls who entered in night attire, evidently to say goodnight to their mother, and they stopped short at the scene before them. “Just wait a little, my dears,” said Lady Malvern. “Lydia?”

“Yes. Edith. Matthew, off with the nightshirt.” He gulped and stared at the girls, who ranged in age from about eleven to sixteen. They in turn gazed back at him with gleeful expressions, the youngest actually licking her lips. He gritted his teeth and pulled off his garment, and his member perked up again as it met the stares of the interested girls. He stood for a moment hiding his genitals behind the cloth, and looked desperately at Lady Malvern, who instead addressed her daughters.

“Oh, girls! I forgot, where are your friends?”

The seeming eldest of the four answered “Oh Mummy, they’re coming, they’re right behind us. Look!” – at which another three girls of fourteen or fifteen came in, to stare in disbelief at a crimson-faced naked boy frantically trying to hide behind a shirt. What they could see of him – lithe limbs, the hint of a behind – looked interesting, and smiles soon decked their lips. One spoke up.

“Lady M., we’ve come to say goodnight. But if you’re busy –”

“Oh no, my dear,” she replied with a ferocious smile, “not busy at all. Come in, come in. We were just about to punish this boy, who’s been misbehaving. Haven’t you?” she added, addressing him.

Mrs G looked at him to prompt him, and he gasped “Y- yes, I – I have. I’m s-sorry—”

“I should hope so. And you have the effrontery to show yourself in an offensive excitement, before me and these young girls. Lydia?”

“Yes, Edith, thank you. Well, Matthew, you’ve got a nice little audience now. That should make it interesting for you. And rather interesting for them too! All right. Drop the nightshirt and go over and apologise to Lady Malvern again.” He gulped but did as he was bid, showing his excited organ to them all for a moment till he covered it with a shaking hand. The girls gave little titters of amusement, and Mrs Grainger was smiling grimly. He stammered out an apology to the hostess, who looked at him with a twisted smile that took in his entire body. “Fine,” said Mrs Grainger. “Now put your hands by your sides and apologise to the girls.” He grimaced and approached the seven in succession, avoiding their eyes, which he knew were focussed on his erection, almost bursting with embarrassment. He came back to face Mrs Grainger, who was holding the tawse and flexing her fingers. “Right, Matthew! Now for the strap. Bend over and touch your toes. No, spread your legs. That’s it.”

The action, he knew, gave them all a fine view not just of his buttocks and anus, but his testicles as well, and the girls moved round so that they could see every bit of him. “That’s right, girls,” said indulgent Lady Malvern. “Make sure you can see him.”

“I can’t see his peepee!” complained one of the guests.

“That’s because it’s pointing up,” said another.

“Kneel down, Gloria,” said Lady Malvern, “you’ll see everything just fine.” Matthew was blushing more at this discussion of his anatomy, and drew a deep quavering breath and waited for the belt. Whap! Whap! Whap! He flinched and grunted, and was conscious of his member reacting to the stimulus.

“Goodness,” muttered Gloria, “it just got bigger! How funny!”

They all laughed, and Mrs G, encouraged, smote his sensitive buttocks another three times, then paused to inspect her work. A cruel smile came to her lips, and she turned to her hostess. “Edith, do you think the girls would care to wield it? A couple of strokes each?”

“My,” said her friend, “that’s an excellent idea. Isn’t it, girls? After all, it’s you who have been insulted by his shamelessness. Two lashes apiece, that sounds reasonable. Who’s first?”

They all wanted to be first but finally settled on the guests, by age, then the family, and each smote the boy with vindictive force. He tightened his lips and told himself to be brave. I won’t cry in front of those bitches! I won’t! Aaaah! God! What kind of a family is this? I’d expect – aah! – nothing less from that fucking – aaagh! – sadistic – aagh! – Christ almighty! And that poor Jacobs girl – aah, God! – aah, Jesus, I can’t bear it – but I must! In spite of his determination not to give Mrs G the satisfaction, he was near crying by the end of it, and looked down at the floor panting for breath. The last girl, eleven year old Mary, was just as severe as the others, and looked at the red bum with a fascinated pride.

Lydia took the instrument from her and turned to the hostess. “I’m not sure about using it at Summerton,” she said. “I think we can try it again, though. Thank you. Edith. Most instructive! Can we send him to bed now?”

“Yes, Lydia, but perhaps we can assuage some of his discomfort. Boy! Get up! Olivia!” The eldest looked at her. “Get that lotion, you know the one I mean, from the bathroom, and use it on the boy. Goodnight to you all.”

They chorused goodnight, and two took Matthew’s hands to lead him off. He babbled a plea at Mrs Grainger, who smiled sweetly at him and waved the eager girls out. Somehow they all managed to crowd into the little room and surround him. Olivia produced a bottle of pink cream and began the process of smearing it on his behind. All took turns, not deigning to be polite in talking about him as they fondled his buttocks. “Ooh, I like his bum!” “I’ve never seen a boy like this!” “Pru, feel his arsehole!” “Yes, let’s all put our fingers up his bum!” “Oy, look, his cock is waving at us!” He was panting again as he’d done with the Academy girls, and he knew they were going to bring him to climax, and he tried to relax and submit. They finished exploring his arsehole and turned their attention to his ballocks, which the younger girls were instructed about, never having seen male genitals close up, on a living boy – all about them, and the cock, and the foreskin, and the way to excite him further. Of course he exploded in orgasm after a very short while, and the crowd greeted the sight with glee. Then they patted him like a well-behaved pet who’d performed its trick for their amusement, and left, still giggling. He lay there devastated, and thought about crying, but sleep finally overcame him, and he was soon fast in dreamless slumber.

In the sitting room the ladies were sipping wine and smoking, and Lydia smiled at her friend. “That was a bit of luck. I love finding ways of exposing the boy. And the other girl too.”

“Oh, which one?”

“She’s the one with fair brown hair, brownish gold. An attractive child.”

“But all your servants are attractive, Lydia. Even the boy. I must say my daughters and their friends enjoyed that, and they’re probably doing something cruel to him right now, bless their innocence!” She laughed. “It’s a pity we can’t embarrass the girl. She’ll be in bed by now, I suppose. And you should really have a crowd of boys for that.”

“Well, I’ve sent her to a boys’ school a couple of times to be exhibited….” Lydia told her friend about Mr Bradley’s entertainments, all with serious purposes, of course.

“That should be amusing, I must say. But Lydia, what about protests, from his staff, the governors, and so forth?”

“Oh, Edith! He knows what he’s doing, and can justify it – to the few staff who object, he’s told them she’s an actress of low morals, quite a bit older than she looks, who enjoys showing herself like that. The governors, well, they want to believe it. And the others of course are quite as ready to leer at a naked girl as any twelve-year-old. In my case, all my teachers obey me, in punishments as in erotic displays, and I am the Board of Governors. The town nearby has a respect for me, or even, shall we say, a fear of me, as it has had of the Graingers for generations. So young Matthew can be exposed any time, and Catherine can be shamed in town or at the school with no problems at all. Oh, it’s enjoyable!”

“So what’ll happen in Vaulx?”

“Ah, that depends on circumstances. That isn’t why we’re going, after all. It’s a holiday. But obviously if an occasion arises for a diversion of this sort, it’ll be seized. In that sun, as Longus says, it’s so hot it seems that … how does it go? ‘The sun, as a lover of beauty, turns the rurals all naked’! Yes, Edith, there’s possibilities.”

Lady Malvern sighed. “As for ourselves, it’s a cruise. The girls hanker for the sun themselves, so it’s Majorca and other places. It’s boring for me, but who am I? Besides, I’ve to think of ways to spend that money Joshua is making in the City!”

Lydia drew on her cigarette. “How is your husband, do you mind my asking?”

The other sipped her drink and pouted. “Who knows? I forget how long it’s been since he dropped by. He has that little pied-à-terre in Chelsea, you know, with his doxy installed, and he shuttles between there and his office, the Exchange, and a committee room at Westminster. He’s happy, I’m happy. And long may it continue!” She drained her glass and smiled. Then smiled wider as she recollected the thrashing of Matthew’s arse. “Hm!” she said, “didn’t I say I wished we had a boy or two on staff? This little episode has convinced me. Thank you, Lydia, for this! I think I’ll advertise for a male servant of about twelve or so. Maybe up to fifteen, like that young man, isn’t he? By that age he should be a strapping lad with all his endowments. Hah!” she laughed. “I do think the girls would be very pleased to have him – or them – a pair, on the staff, and pleased to witness their punishment. Which they’d inevitably earn one way or another. But you saw how Jacobs reacted to the order. I’ll give her that, she’s very docile and obedient. She even drew down her knickers, in front of the boy! That’s obedience for you!”

Lydia smiled in her turn. “You could always have the boys punished totally nude, like Matthew. And remember, being nude itself is a telling punishment, more so in some ways than a beating. What about having them serve tea naked?”

Lady Malvern chortled. “Oh Lydia, you do have a good imagination for this sort of thing. What else could we do with them?”

“Well, for one thing you could interest yourself in their health, their hygiene. Their cleanliness. Let me tell about our bath routine.” The other heard her out with bawdy interest, and looked pensive.

Then a thought crossed her mind and her smile grew wider. “Lydia! When do you have to leave tomorrow?”

Her friend pursed her lips. “Well, there’s no rush, I suppose, really, it’s just that we get to Dover in good time for the cross-channel ferry, in order to arrive in Calais at a reasonable hour. Working backwards, I’d say noon would do. Why?”

“Well,” said Lady Malvern with a naughty gleam in her eye, “I just thought we could have the girls make sure your Matthew was up in good time, see to his toilet, perhaps supervise a bath?” She looked at Lydia, who was nodding eagerly, and they smiled like conspirators.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wednesday 1^st July

A bath and a ferry; a night in Calais, France

Matthew had slept naked, having left the nightshirt in the drawing room, so was discomfited to be wakened by the girls, who invited him to get up and wash before breakfast. He clutched his sheet and stammered a plea for privacy, but the sheet was torn from his grasp and his hands were seized to sit him up, thus exposing a morning erection, at which they made appreciative noises. He was pulled along to the bathroom, where the young maid Jacobs was testing the tub’s water, and she gave a startled look at him, her blush answering his. He was invited to use the lavatory, and he squirmed and squealed, but he knew he had to urinate, and nodded in defeat. “Oh good!” said one, “we can see him pee!” “Wait”, said another, “maybe he needs to do a number two!”

He struggled, but couldn’t win. They decided to let him pee, at least, and held him in front of the lavatory pan, instead of letting him sit, because they’d be able to watch. He pointed his pelvis, but it was not going to work, and Olivia had an idea. “Jacobs!” The girl, who had been trying to be inconspicuous at the back, came forward. “Hold his prick over the bowl.” The girl looked horrified, and turned to flee, but she had to comply, and the others egged her on. She blushed even more furiously and timidly took hold of his penis, which reacted in full erection, and he gasped “Girls, it’s difficult like this!” They were implacable however, and after a long minute he finally managed to piss, they observing interestedly and making critical remarks, and the young blushing servant trying not to show her own fascination with the tool and the process. Olivia was pleased, saying “Well done, Jacobs! I knew you’d help! Now just set him on the pan, will you?”

She bit her lip and took him by the naked waist to turn him and plunk him down on the seat, gazing into his eyes with a look he interpreted as sympathy for his ill-treatment. “All right, boy! Get on with it! Move your bowels!” They encouraged him, and two of them tried to help squeeze the shit out of him (as they crudely put it) by stroking his back and abdomen. He farted finally and produced a turd or two, to the disgust of the younger crew, who wrinkled their noses and made protesting noises, which continued as the elder daughters, Winifred and Olivia, fifteen and sixteen respectively, cleaned the red-faced boy’s backside. Then he was lifted by all the hands and placed in the tub. Somehow or other all managed to get their soapy hands on him, and he tried to keep his composure as long as possible, but he knew they wanted to see him ejaculate again, and catching sight of the round-eyed interest of young Jacobs, who was only a year younger than he, he was sure, he was stimulated by remembering her pretty arse, and came, holding her gaze as he jerked his pelvis forward, seemingly flaunting his naked excitement, and came again, to the oohs and aahs of the assembled girls.

He was dried and taken back to his room, and the girls disappeared, probably to report to Lady Edith, leaving him to dress, sighing in dejection and humiliation. He put on his shirt and turned round to see the servant-girl at the door. She looked at him, her face still red, and said “Sir, I want to thank you for trying to stop madam from beating me last night. You were beaten yourself, I heard, because of that, and shown to the girls. You were very brave. Oh—” She looked at his crotch, and Matthew made haste to cover his erection peeping out. The girl drew a deep breath and rushed over to him and seized him round the waist to kiss him on the lips, holding him to her body and being able to feel his pulsing erection through the shirt cloth and her own flimsy dress. Matthew automatically put his arms round her, and when she took her lips from his he murmured “Thank you for being understanding. We’re even maybe, I mean because Mrs Grainger made me feel your beautiful bum—” She gasped, and her colour deepened. “And then you could see me and, and feel me. Listen: I can see the sort of life you have here, and I really sympathise. Lady Edith is just as sadistic as my own madam. But you’ve got to bear it. I wish you well. Oh listen, tell me your name. Mine’s Matthew.”

She swallowed and said “Yes I know. It’s a nice name, and you’re a nice person. And – and you have a – a beautiful bum yourself. And,” her colour increased as her courage grew, “your cock is beautiful too. And when they made you shoot out your come, it was the most – the most amazing thing. My name’s Ellen.”

“Well, Ellen,” he hugged her, “I hope you have a fair time here, and wish you the courage to endure the treatment you’re getting. Now away you go and let me get dressed.” She blushed anew and disengaged herself, looked at his erection again with a sigh, then took a deep breath and put out her hand to seize it, her colour rising, as did his, and they stood thus for a moment, looking into each other’s eyes, till he took her again round the waist and nodded at her. She had a look of pleased wonder on her face as she tightened her grasp on his member, and began to fondle it in her hand. He for his part sighed in pleasure as he moved it, back and forth, accepting her attention, and they looked at each other, blushing hard, as he increased his motion, and she moved her hand up and down, experiencing the amazing feel of his warm skin and the throb of his excitement, till he came again, and she held his cock till he was spent.

“Thank you, Matthew,” she said. “Oh, thank you! You’re … oh, you’re wonderful!” She gazed into his smiling eyes, and turned to leave. He drew a deep breath and looked after her for a minute, then went on with dressing. That was a bit of a surprise! So my cock is beautiful? Well, Catherine seems to think so too. In fact a lot of the girls do. But how is it that they get these chances to see me, feel me up? It’s truly as if Mrs G had a wand to wave to make me naked at embarrassing times. Well, thank God Catherine wasn’t there. Though again, I don’t mind her seeing me naked, or erect, come to that, or coming, even! Oh, I bet that bitch has more plans for us, I just know it! She’s going to shame us somehow in France! And the trouble is, you stupid bastard, he told himself, you can do fuck all about it. You can’t stop her showing off Catherine, can you? Actually, I wouldn’t mind a hundred exposures of my own balls if I could spare dear Catherine one of hers. He sighed and did up his shoelaces, and walked down to the sitting room to find the others.

Breakfast was a lively affair, at least for the women. Matthew as the only male felt incredibly alone, and had to endure the amused looks and arch asides of the gaggle of girls, some of whom couldn’t look at him without a flush on their fair cheeks. His own companions were rather bemused by the family’s behaviour, but held their peace, hoping to have it explained later on. Mrs G of course acted perfectly naturally, only now and again smiling in a sardonic way at her hostess.

When they were ready to depart, Mrs Grainger sent the girls out to get a taxicab and turned to Matthew, saying “I’ll leave you to say goodbye to the girls. Edith, napoo, toodle-oo, and thanks!” She left, and Matthew was left in the midst of a crowd of girls, who took turns in saying farewell in their own way. Lady Edith sniffed and left them to it. Once she had gone they lost any inhibitions they had and surrounded him, their hands eager for a last experience of his body. Some unbuttoned his trousers, others pulled them down, others drew down his underpants, while the rest held him to stop his preventing a digital rape of his genitals. Each was able to enjoy a last adieu of his penis, soon sticking out at a right angle, and his ballocks, and his beautiful bum. Of course he orgasmed nicely, though at first he doubted he’d manage a third time, and they crowed with glee, then left him to button up and leave the house, in the hall running into young Ellen, who blushed when she saw him. He smiled and took her by the waist to plant a big kiss on her lips. “Goodbye, Ellen!” he said. “You’re worth two of any of the Malverns!” She smiled sadly at him. “Goodbye, Matthew!” she said, “you’re wonderful. I—I love you!” and turned tail to flee to the kitchens. Outside the others were waiting impatiently in the taxi. Mrs G looked at him and saw his flushed face, and surmised what had happened. The others looked their curiosity but said nothing, and Matthew didn’t feel like telling them.

In Calais they were shepherded into a cosy hotel, the servants of which were fawningly attentive to the rich anglaise, who had booked three rooms. They were given a simple supper that satisfied them and shown their beds, the girls being all together in a large one and the boy in a rather small one. He turned in with a yawn and then found he wasn’t sleepy. Perhaps he could toss himself off? It was nearly twelve hours since his last ejaculation. All right, we can try. Think of Catherine, think of those shaming scenes…. Wait a bit, better get some bumpaper to take the ejaculate, no? All right, now where was the lavatory again? He couldn’t be bothered dressing, so he snatched up a towel from the washstand and quietly opened his door. There was some noise from the kitchens downstairs, but apart from that the place was quiet and deserted. Quickly he padded along the corridor and round the corner to find the lavatory and eased open the door. He didn’t want to switch on the light but managed to make out the toilet paper, of which he seized a big bundle, and turned to leave. Then he thought he might as well take a piss while he was there, and hiked up his towel. As he shook himself dry the towel started to slip, and he caught it just in time to stop it falling into the bowl. Sighing in relief, he flushed the toilet and turned on the tap, rinsing his hands and drying them on the towel, which finally fell into the sink. Swearing, he took it out, finding it was mostly wet, and pondered how to dry it. Leave it here, on the radiator, yes. Collect it first thing in the morning.

So he was naked as he crept back to his door, and had almost turned the corner when a door opened and light shone out, revealing him to the woman who held the door handle, who stared at him in disbelief before putting a hand to her cheek and starting to chuckle. Matthew stood frozen, and was just about to race to his door when she put out a hand to grab him by his arm, and haul him into the room, where he stood blinking in the light and trying to hide, once more, his private parts from someone else’s gaze.

She was around thirty-five, he thought, a brassy blonde, and slightly drunk. This naked Adonis was a gift from the gods for her. She (called Bettine Marais) was French, on her way back to her home in Normandy with her daughter Michelle, 16, and her friend Aurélie, 17, who were delighted with this situation. She had been about to leave the room in search of some drink but this would delay her most pleasurably. Matthew tried to cover himself but it wasn’t much use. All three attacked him, and he didn’t want to make a row for fear of waking other guests, including his party, so his resistance wasn’t too strong. In the next few minutes he was pawed over, and his erection, which he’d got as soon as he realised his position, soon became unbearable, and he was dying to spend – but they stopped, leaving him gasping for release. He kept on trying to get to the door, but Bettine held him, her arms around his bare waist, while the two girls tickled him and he nearly came right there, but no, the bitches stopped, Aurélie dashing to the door and locking it. The three women resumed their drinking, forcing some into him, and but for their roughness he would have enjoyed it. He found to his dismay that he was beginning to feel tipsy himself. They, with a head start, quickly grew quite reckless and started to tear off their clothes, then somehow forced him to dance with them to a gramophone, and he was worried about the noise. fearing the manager would evict them – naked or not – and then they appalled him by opening a window and getting him to piss out onto the street. He needed a piss, so he was easily made to do this, and he was sure someone would complain. The police? And what would Mrs G say? But then they started fondling him again and the mother managed to inveigle him into an embrace on the bed, which inevitably turned into a fuck. Then there was a knock on the door.

Michelle, a glass in her hand, opened the door wide to greet the apologetic manager, or his blushing envoy, who asked the party to quieten down a bit, please? He looked at the naked boy and smiled. “I don’t blame you, madame, for your interest in the boy. He’s beautiful, yes, and I’m sure he’s enjoying himself. But keep it down, hmm? Good night.”

“Right!” and Matthew was attacked again, this time managing to fuck Aurélie, and ultimately Michelle as well. The women shortly fell asleep, and he managed to unlock the door and stagger out and into his room before he could be pursued. In a daze he dropped into his bed, relaxing into an exhausted sleep.

=====================================================================

Thursday 2^nd July

Matthew observed by the chambermaid

He awoke at what seemed an early hour, and wondered what time it was, then stretched and got up, finding a need to pee. Instead of going along to the lavatory he got out the chamber pot, sat down and peed, then started a pleasurable shit, remembering in amazement some of the wild deeds of the evening. There was a quiet knock on the door, and he froze for a moment trying to remember the French for No, don’t come in. Then he stammered something which the knocker took for permission to enter, and a girl came in pushing a trolley with several jugs on it. She saw him on the pot squirming, and beamed a smile, saying Bonjour, monsieur! He goggled at her while she explained that she’d been sent to bring hot water, and she proceeded to put a large ewer on the tile of the lavabo. She turned to look at him, and it was quite obvious that she was bawdily amused by his situation. Keeping her eyes on him, she told him at absurd length what she was doing, which he tried to understand. “When you are finished, monsieur, I will return to remove the chamber pot. Do you have plenty paper?”

“What? Paper, did you say? It’s—”

She misunderstood. “Ah, then I will bring you some. Just wait.”

She smiled and left, and Matthew hunched his shoulders and waited, panting, till she returned with a handful of paper sheets and laid them down next him on the carpet.

“There you are,” she said. “As I said, when you are finished I will come back to remove the chamber pot.” She bobbed her head and made for the door, which opened to show another young girl in maid’s uniform, who looked at the scene with a smile and a blush, and spoke rapidly to the first one. They had a little conversation, while the scarlet boy sat in front of them, naked on a chamber pot, cringing at his exposure. The second girl spoke to him then in English.

“Does monsieur understand? Babette here will take away the pot de chambre, when you have finished relieving yourself.” She kept her eyes on his bareness while she said it, and he nodded, desperate to be left alone to finish his shit. “Bon. A bientôt.” They left, and he could hear them giggling as they went down the corridor. He sighed and took up the paper to clean his arse. Then he would use the hot water she had kindly delivered. He wondered if that little scene had been engineered, once again, by his mischievous madam. “I wouldn’t be surprised,” he said, getting up and heading to the washstand, “I wouldn’t be surprised at all!”

He poured some hot water into the bowl and reached for the soap. In a few minutes he’d washed his face, and thought about cleaning his arse properly. “All right, why not?”

He soaped up his nates and bent forward, sticking out his bum to lather up his arsehole, which he attended to with a sensuous smirk. Then it all went to hell.

“Here I am. Monsieur! I will remove the ordure!”

He looked up to see Babette grinning at him as she reached for the chamber pot, and he moaned in shame. Where was the towel? Where was the fucking towel? God, no, he’d left it in the lavatory! He put his soapy hands on his penis and felt it immediately move. He was getting an erection in front of her! No, no, he couldn’t turn, could he, to show her his arse? What the fuck could he do? Brazen it out and let her get to hell out of the room. He plastered a smile on his face and mouthed “Merci,” then nodded as she bobbed politely, picked up the chamber pot, and turned to leave. What could happen next?

He was not to know that Babette had been asked by Mrs G if the boy was awake, and had told her yes, he was on the pot. Lydia was naturally delighted, and suggested she go back for the po, as suggested, and she might be lucky enough to see the boy tout nu. Babette was pleased at this, and understood that she was being given permission to ogle the embarrassed anglais.

“It occurs to me,” said the English lady in impeccable French, “that he may need a towel. That’s another reason for visiting. Your friend might be interested too. I suggest also that if he’s washing himself, you might help him. In any way you can. And dry him too, very carefully. Away you go, and report to me after.”

Babette lost no time, and enjoyed the look of the beau anglais tout nu, noticing that the towel seemed to be missing. Aha! She turned back to him, again grinning to see his crimson face and his trembling hands covering what was evidently a nice erection, to say “I will bring monsieur a towel. Continue washing please.”

Matthew dithered a bit but finally finished soaping himself, then sponged off with more hot water. Now for a towel. What had she said? He soon had his answer. Babette came in, with the other girl, who was able to tell him in fairly good English that they were happy to help him, as the English lady suggested. Christ, he sobbed to himself, it’s Mrs G again! He couldn’t defend himself without seeming ridiculous, but then he was going to look (and feel) ridiculous under the hands of the two young girls, who seemed to be no older than he. They soaped him up again, the other girl (evidently called Chantal) telling him they would pay especial attention to his behind, seeing that he’d been having a … quoi? “Shit!” he exclaimed, “I was having a shit! A shit, oh God!” He subsided as they dealt with that, and trembled silently as they washed his belly, washed his poil, washed his couillons and his queue.

They stopped, and he drew a ragged breath. Then gave a quiet mewl as he saw them brandishing towels. Yes, yet again, a couple of young girls, his own age, interested in his hitherto private parts, drying his body, feeling his skin, and he nearly bursting with shame, finding himself immeasurably inflamed by their touch, came with a deep groan and buckled at the knees. They stood back to watch him, ready to catch the ejaculate as it spasmed forth, and looked with what seemed star-struck eyes at the performance. Then they left, with a Merci, monsieur! and broad smiles, probably to amuse the other girls in the kitchen with their tale. As it was they were able to reassure the English lady that the boy had been well served. She laughed at their story, and gave each an acceptable gratuity, and they went off very pleased with the morning.

* * * *

At the Gare du Nord

“Girls, and Matthew! This is Monsieur Bauvais, a good friend of mine. He’s a poet!” The children muttered greetings, wondering what sort of person she’d count as a friend. After all, thought Catherine, the ones we’ve seen have mostly been awful. At that party, and poor Matthew’s beating at the Malvern house, and everything! Still, he may be the exception that proves the rule. I’ll be nice to him. He on his part was sizing up the girls, and Amelia and Jennie were conscious of his attention, and they smiled saucily at him. Ah, he thought, two pretty young girls! Both in their teens, and both showing me they know the game! We’ll see what we can make of this. The boy, of no account. The other girl, who looks at me directly and smiles, she is another sort. Quite beautiful actually. I like that colour of hair.

Matthew didn’t like the look of this poet. He seemed sly, somehow, and was quite obviously undressing the girls in his imagination. I wonder what sort of poetry he writes? But maybe I’m judging him badly, too early? We’ll see how we get on. Bauvais was about thirty-five, perhaps, though Matthew acknowledged to himself that he wasn’t good at ages, really. He stood about five foot eight, and had thick dark brown hair, with a thin moustache. Brilliant teeth, which he kept flashing in smiles, and keen brown eyes. “Well, mes amis,” he said with a smile that was maybe sincere, “welcome to Paris. Come with me, we will find a cab, what we call a fiacre, to take us to our apartment. We have two, actually, one for you and the other for us. They are one floor apart.”

So! He was evidently going to be living in Mrs G’s flat, not just visiting, and presumably sharing her bed. Now they knew she had a sex life herself. Matthew had wondered about that. On the journey the poet, whose first name was Raoul, pointed out places of interest, and gestured to the Eiffel Tower which loomed over the city. “That is a monument,” he said, “to commemorate the hundredth anniversary of our Revolution. Is it not magnificent?” They all made admiring noises. “It is lit up at night, you will see, for the Exposition of Decorative Arts which we are having right now. You must see that. There is much to see in Paris, oh yes!”

They were shown their own apartment, with four rooms and a parlour, and spread their luggage around. Mrs G clapped her hands. “Tonight M. Bauvais is taking us to a restaurant for dinner. Then you can settle in. All right?” It was all right, they agreed, and it turned out to be very enjoyable, Matthew tasting new dishes and sipping wine, and feeling quite grown-up and sophisticated. They got to bed at a reasonable hour, Bauvais telling them that they’d shortly go out on the town and expect to be up late, for “Paris comes truly alive after dark!” He said that with a wicked smile, and Catherine looked at Matthew with raised eyebrows and a smile of her own. The next day, though, they settled on sightseeing, and turned in to surprisingly comfortable beds.

(End of File)