Mrs
Grainger’s Gift
Part
XXXIII
Sunday
30th August
Tea
at Elizabeth’s
The
Classics teacher, with an armful of books, caught up to him and asked
him how
the summer had gone.
“I can talk freely to you,
Elizabeth, and I can tell you we did put the book into practice, as
Eithne
said.”
She laughed as she said “Good for you! It’s not
really a
textbook, though. But tell me, did you maybe try washing
together?”
He blushed as he said “Yes, we
did. And it was wonderful. Thank you so much for introducing us to that
book,
it’s really … it’s amazing,” he went on enthusiastically, “how it
captures
young love, and the trials and anxieties and doubts and mystifications
of the whole
process. Longus had been through all that. But still he has an adult’s
view of
the whole experience, he’s past that now and he looks back on it,
doesn’t he,
with humour? A … sardonic sort of understanding of the whole crazy
business?”
“You’ve got it, Matthew. That’s it
encapsulated. Very percipient. But it does have a happy ending at
least.”
“Oh,” he said, “I love the way it
finishes, when they finally go to their marriage bed, and lie naked and
clip
and kiss and twine, and it’s then that Chloe – how does it go?”
She smiled as she quoted. “And
Chloe then first knew, that those things that were done in the Wood,
were only
the sweetest Sports of Shepherds.”
He looked at her with a twinkle in
his eye. “Let me tell you. Elizabeth – we didn’t have much chance to
make love
here, and besides between ourselves Catherine just wasn’t ready. But
over
there, in Paris, after a really awful exposure that we’ll tell you
about later
– she let me make love to her, and it was the sweetest thing, the most
wonderful thing!”
He looked down at his feet. “Let
me be honest with you. Those girls I spoke about before – there’s been
more of
them. And I remembered what you said about practising to make perfect
love.
Well, it’s maybe true. But we have this unspoken bargain, maybe, that
makes us
both free agents. And so we can have experiences with others —
Catherine gave a
fellatio to the lawyer’s clerk, and I fucked both of the girls we were
with at
Vaulx. But when we’re together, it’s very different, it’s on a very
different
level; it isn’t just lust, it’s making love, with tenderness and …
commitment.
Do you understand?”
She smiled at him and nodded. “Oh,
I do understand, Matthew. So you’ve made love properly, quite often?”
He blushed. “We only did it a
couple of times really, but on the way back we stopped in London
overnight. We
had a room to ourselves. And we made love … five times.” She looked
amused and
surprised.
“But we’re back here, and it’s difficult again.
What we’re
faced with is … individual sex. I mean, let’s be plain, we have
to masturbate ourselves, or else – in addition, by God! – be the …
accept it from the hands of others. Me from girls, Catherine from boys.
Which
is all right in a way,” he blushed again, “I admit I like being wanked,
I do!
But it’s not the same.”
He
stared at her glumly, and she nodded and kissed him on the cheek.
“Cheer up,
Matthew,” she said, “there’ll be other times, other nights. Anyway,
come to
tea, will you? At five. You can tell us all – some – of your
adventures!”
“I
wish I knew what Mr Bryden was up to,” said Catherine. “Nobody seems to
know
where he is or what he’s doing. He didn’t give you pair any ideas, did
he, say
what his plans were?”
Elizabeth
and Eithne shook their heads.
Matthew
frowned. “He didn’t confide in anybody,” he said, “certainly not
Abigail, and
he didn’t let slip a hint of any kind to any of the girls, or the
doctor, or
anybody. Perhaps it’s a family thing, though I didn’t think he had any.
But
listen, he did say sometime he was going to write some important
letters.”
“Yes,”
said Catherine, “about me, actually! He was asking about Mamie, my
governess.
She’s in South Africa now. What she can tell him I can’t imagine.”
“Something
about your uncle’s death? Didn’t you say it was a heart attack? Is he
implying
there’s something odd about his death? Anyway, I don’t suppose he’s
gone to see
her?” said Matthew. “It’s a long way away. And terribly expensive to
travel.”
“We’ll
find out soon enough,” said Elizabeth. “Have some more tea.”
Eithne
had a faint flush as she said “I know it’s a long shot, but do you
think he
might have gone to see if he could find his boy, Jamie? Ever since he
told us
I’ve been thinking how nice it would be if he could find him again.
What do you
think?”
“I
say, that’s an idea!” said Matthew with a nod. “It makes good sense. I
suppose
he stopped looking a long time ago, but mentioning it now, to us,
brought it
back and maybe spurred him on to another search. Still, it has been
what,
thirty-five years since 1890. Oh, and young Jamie is a middle-aged man
of
fifty-two!”
“I
wonder if he’s still as handsome? Or if he … still has those feelings
that he
had back then,” said Elizabeth thoughtfully.
“Do
you mean,” asked Matthew, “is he still a homosexual? But I thought it
was an
inborn thing. But maybe he’s learned to hide it, do you mean? Can he
have
married, and tried to live a normal – ah, what did Bauvais say? And
what’s
normal, anyhow? Actually, when I think about it, his adventure with
Bryden may
have been a quite … transitory sort of thing. We don’t know how
seriously he
regarded the relationship, do we? He may have got another lover. Even
several!
Or he could be bisexual even. Anyway, we may find out, though I’m
certainly
never going to ask. And I suppose I hope he never finds disappointment.
Let
Bryden keep his memories. They’re bitter, but they’re also sweet!”
The
clock on the desk tinkled a chime.
“Oh,
I say! What time is that? Oh God, I’m due over at the … the dormitory
in
fifteen minutes.”
“What
on earth do you do over there, eh?” asked Eithne suggestively. “Oh,
wait! It’s
that ….”
Catherine
licked her lips and said “Yes, it’s … a punishment Matthew has. We have
to
follow Mrs G’s, and now Abigail’s, orders, and this is a spanking by
the girls
because he defied Mrs G last term.”
The
other two girls looked at the boy with caring frowns, and made
sympathetic
noises. But they couldn’t stave off the inevitable, and showed him out
the door
with a kiss each. Back
at the table,
Catherine found herself telling her friends all about it, and how she
was going
to go to his room with a healing salve to assuage the hurt.
“Oh!”
Eithne coloured and then smiled. “I understand. Oh Catherine, he’s
going to
hurt like hell – he’s spanked on his bare bum, isn’t he? I heard all
about it,
though I never did see it. I’d not have taken part, of course. There
were
others that felt the same, believe me, they don’t all follow the party
line! So
it’s his bare backside that’s attacked. But then you are there to
stroke that
sore bum with loving hands. Oh God, I can just imagine!”
“Yes,”
said Elizabeth, “it’s a pretty erotic thought, but it must be some
great
measure of healing, maybe. And then – admit it, Catherine – do you not
carry on
the treatment to a complete cancel-out of the sore bum by a pleasured
penis?”
Catherine
blushed. “Am I so easy to read, then? But you’re right. And wouldn’t
you do the
same for Eithne?”
Elizabeth
looked with bright eyes at her lover. “Yes indeed, Catherine, I’d
massage the
ointment into her arse, and prolong it really, just to have my hands on
that
sweet arse for a bit longer, and then I’d put them just an inch or two
differently, and make her forget the shame, drive it out with a sexual
joy!”
Eithne’s
flush turned to a full blush. “Oh, Elizabeth! And didn’t you say you
had got a
nice sweet-smelling cream, the other day? I say, now we’re talking like
this,
you’ll have to get it out and use it tonight. We’ll have time before
our
curfew. And,” she added with a naughty smile, “I can use it myself on
that
beautiful arse of yours!”
Catherine
laughed to hear this, and Elizabeth blushed and laughed with them.
“Oh,
listen, girls, I have to go and get ready for him. Thanks for the
hospitality
and the chat, and the advice! It was good to be open about things. I
know you
won’t have any sexual feelings about Matthew, but I’m glad you see how
beautiful he is, and you understand what it’s like to worship someone
else’s
body. Yes, Elizabeth, my hands will relish his bare backside, but then
they’ll
move to the rest of him, and caress his ballocks and his seam and his
penis,
surely erect by then, and make him – let
him come. It’s going to be another wonderful moment. Anyhow, goodnight.”
=====================================================================
Monday
31st August
More
German, more exhibition. Catherine
helps
at the hospital. The first year gym class gets an eyeful; another
shower helped
by innocence
“Ahh!
What have you done? Where did she
go? What have you done with her? Get out of my way, you bastard!
What—Oh noooo,
no, what’s happening? You’ve done something to the lights, and – aah! I
can’t
see! Oh God, what—Ah holy mother of God! What—what are you? Get away!
Get away
from me! Aaaah! Don’t come near me! No! Keep back, or I’ll teach you!
Nooo! …
No! I’ll … I’ll fix you, you fucker! Take that!”
German
class
“Good
Morning, class! Guten Morgen! I am
Miss Benz, and you are to call me Fräulein.
This class is all about German, the great language of Schiller and
Goethe, the
writers, of Mozart and Schubert, the composers, of Dürer and Cranach
and Klee,
the artists – oh, there are many of them. And it is to come to an
understanding
of such men that you will study their language. But today we will look
at a few
ordinary words, and practise how to speak them, then look at the
vocabulary of
a few subjects, like parts of the body.”
Matthew,
who had been settling down, suddenly got a chill in his spine. He
looked up at
the girls, all heads turned dutifully to the front, and was glad he was
sitting
at the back so that his flush wasn’t visible. He had hoped against hope
that
this lesson would be different, seeing that these were the new girls in
their
first year, aged only twelve or so, and therefore, you’d think, not to
be
rudely introduced to rude bits of a strange boy – but no, it stood to
reason,
this was the sole purpose of his presence here, to interest the bored
children
in a hard language, while showing his arse – Arsch!
– to their innocent stares.
With
about thirty minutes of the lesson to go the teacher decided they’d had
enough
pronunciation practice and told them they’d get some useful words.
“Matthew!
Come forward.”
They
looked at him curiously as he made his diffident way to the front and
turned to
face them.
“This
boy is called Matthew. Dieser Junge heißt
Matthäus. Say hello. That is Hallo.”
They
dutifully repeated the word, and looked at her expectantly, wondering
what this
overdressed boy was doing here.
They
were soon informed what was to happen Again, she began with the hat,
went on to
the shoes, and in no time at all the girls were animated. Surely she
wasn’t
going to make him take off everything? No! Never! But still….
He
got an erection before his trousers came off, and his moderate flush
turned to
full-blown crimson as his shirt came off and his excitement was plain
to see.
The girls were making quite a commotion by now, and he expected Erika
to hush
them, but she had learned to indulge their enthusiasm as a good helper
along
the pedagogic way. Then the vest, then the underpants, and a naked boy
was
cowering yet once more before an interested crowd of young girls. There
was a
pause while Erika checked the words on the blackboard and had the class
repeat
them to drive them home, and the girls’ eyes kept going back and forth
between
the board and the thrilling view
of a Junge who was nackt.
Then
she started on the hair of the head, and he was asked to keep his hands
by his
side. The girls were nearly screaming (albeit in a quiet way) to peer
at his
penis, and it was not long before the examination got down there –
pubic hair,
arse, testicles, penis, and all. More recitation, and demand for
concentration
on the part concerned. Matthew somehow felt this was worse than last
time.
Would it get still worse?
The
procession quickly formed and the physical exploration of the body
began. Erika
was thorough in going over all the parts, but particularly his middle.
The girl
would be asked to find this or that, and she’d hold it (she was told to
hold
it) as she pronounced the word (till she got it right). The girls, as
he
expected, took their time about this, but ultimately that prick had had
enough
and fountained in a fine display that astonished most of the class.
Then they
were instructed to say Danke, and Auf Wiedersehen! And they dawdled out,
still a bit spellbound at the direction a boring class had taken.
Erika
kissed him and fondled his cheek, smiling her thanks and appalling him
by
talking about another class next week. “Maybe we can do verbs,” she
said. “You
know, with actions. I mean you will be miming an action or a movement,
such as
a leap, or imitating a trade, like hammering on an anvil, or pretending
to
cycle on a bicycle. All these sorts of things. And I mean I would ask
you to be
nude while you were doing all these things, to make sure the girls look
at you
and pay attention. That will be good. Will you do that?”
He
took a deep breath and croaked out a yes, and she left in a good
humour. He
dressed and crept out of there and went back to his room where he took
off a
lot of that clothing and sat on the bed with a sigh.
At
lunch he wondered where Catherine was, and Abigail was quick to tell
him.
“She’s
in town, at the hospital.”
“Oh
no! What’s the mat— ”
“No,
no, she’s not ill. She’s over there at the request of Mrs Nisbet, the
Matron,
who was asked by one of the doctors to find someone to volunteer their
services, to help the young students, the interns and so forth, with
their
studies.”
She
looked meaningfully at the boy.
“Oh,
God! I just know she’s being— ”
“Yes,
Matthew,” she nodded, “you’re right I’m sure. I don’t know what she’s
doing but
I’m sure it’s going to please those boys!”
Before
he could speak she added “But as for you, I think I told you about the
first
year gym class, didn’t I?”
He
looked at her.
“Well,
it’s this afternoon at two. You will attend, and take your shower
afterwards.
The girls will be very interested I’m sure.” She smiled maliciously and
left
him aghast.
“Now, miss, that was very
useful indeed. Sit
down and rest a bit. While we’re waiting, I want to tell you that we
really
appreciate your services. You’ll understand it isn’t easy to find a
person (of
either sex) who’s willing to exhibit himself or herself, especially to
the
opposite sex, as an anatomical example. But it is immeasurably useful
for those
who will need to know and understand, and deal quite intimately with,
that
body, that anatomical specimen. It’s rather like the early days, a
hundred
years ago, when cadavers were hard to come by and resurrectionists –
and Burke
and Hare! – had to oblige. So I repeat, it’s really very useful, you
volunteering like this. Especially in regard to those areas which are
more …
hard to get to, what shall I say? We can always find a bare foot, for
instance,
for instructional purposes, but a bare groin is something else. So
we’re really
grateful about this. Anyway, I think our other lot are next door by
now. This
is a sort of amateur class, a gathering of young aides and others who
are
aiming at being aides. This session will interest all of them,
especially
perhaps the virgins, can I call them? who have no experience but want
to try.
To test the water. Remember, not everyone is cut out to be an aide, let
alone a
doctor! So here we go. I urge you to be patient and treat the boys
gently.”
Boys?
How many?
It
turned out there were twenty-two young men ranging in age from fourteen
to
nineteen, maybe, and they met the entrance of the scantily-clad girl
with
evident interest. She was positioned in front of them and the
demonstration
began. Looking out at them she was a little discomfited to realise
their
average age must be seventeen, and she had the awful feeling that they
were not
all ready to be impartial unemotional observers. No, they’re just dying
to see
the bare groin, aren’t they?
She
thrust the unjust supposition away, but it returned in full force quite
soon
when Dr Hall was called away for some emergency and he delegated one of
the
class to fill in for him. This was not the oldest and presumably best
informed
of the students but a very young-looking boy with dark blond hair and a
mischievous smile which he turned on Catherine as he approached her.
Hall
hadn’t got very far at all, so the boy, called Chris Hutton, wanted to
prepare
his fellows for the unveiling of the subject’s attributes. There was no
doubt
about it: he intended to take great pleasure in showing his peers some
interesting things about the female physiology that they’d have
difficulty in
finding in books. She was expecting this to be a perhaps more
gentlemanly
version of what Mr Walters had put her through at St Vincent’s, and to
begin
with at least it was. Nevertheless, it was unnerving to have to take
off the
little robe and present herself naked to a crowd of boys, for the
umpteenth
time, and again she wondered why she was still not used to it. But her
thoughts
were interrupted by Hutton talking about her breasts, lactation, and so
forth,
and answering questions from the rest. Then of course the tactile
investigation
of the area, feeling for lumps, which Hutton was very gentle about, but
he
asked all of the others to try it themselves.
Some
were so tentative, or shy, as to touch her nipples with feathering
fingertips,
which tickled her and nearly made her start, but she controlled herself
and
braced for the more energetic feel she got from most of them, often
with wide
eyes and wondering expressions. She could tell at a glance who were the
virgins
and who weren’t. Then it was the turn of the buttocks, and Hutton spoke
about
the lack of the prostate, and the fact that the female colon had little
unusual
about it. But he suggested they should examine it anyway. Catherine
quelled a
shudder as she saw eyebrows raised and grins appear, which grew as
Hutton
pointed out that it would be useful in this instance to make sure it
was clean
(“No offence, Catherine”) by application of an enema. The boys were
enthusiastic, telling the virgins it was something that every medico
should
know, while the hapless object of their attention got a start on her
flush. She
felt very exposed, somehow, very vulnerable, as she was put on all
fours and
her anus lubricated by several hands, a nozzle inserted and her bowels
irrigated. One boy was told to hold a thumb at the opening to prevent
early
expulsion, and he did this with some sort of expression that drew a
laugh from
the others, and prompted a joking reference to the little Dutch boy and
the
hole in the dyke. A bedpan was produced and she was set upon it, to
produce her
watery shit with the accompaniment of a great fart, which increased her
flush
and the boys’ jocularity.
Hutton
however called them to order and directed one to clean her anus with a
tissue,
the others crowding round to see his technique. Then it was the turn of
all of
them to insert a finger into the bowel, to check for piles, for
instance, and
before they did that they had to lubricate it again. So twenty-two boys
spread
Vaseline over her anus, inside the anus, and followed up with a roving
finger.
Catherine knew her lack of a prostate meant less arousal, but it was
still
there, and she remembered Miss James saying, at that awful time with
the anal
plugs, that the female could be thrilled as well via the vagina and the
womb.
Wasn’t that it? Anyway, by golly she did get more than a hint of that frisson. (Why did she think of it in
French? Because she’d come to appreciate it in France? Oh God, she was
mixed
up!)
They
washed their hands at a sink and looked at Hutton as if to say “Next!
Another
intimate moment!” He lost no time in coming to the most interesting
part of her
anatomy. It was very like the examination Dr Fauré had given her, and
was just
as embarrassing. The boys were understandably invited to digitally
examine the
vulva and its contents, and it was not surprising that she quickly came
to that
crucial point where her abdomen sucked in and she panted and clenched
her fists
as she willingly entered orgasm. The boys, understandably, were
fascinated, and
the well-informed Hutton told them all about the phenomenon, and they
shouldn’t
be embarrassed when it occurred. He gave a sideways glance at the girl,
and
added that it was a natural reaction to stimulus of the vulvar region,
particularly the clitoris. As they were able to demonstrate themselves.
There
followed a remarkable session of careful concentration on that little
interesting piece, and a succession of thrills one after another for
the
obliging volunteer. She was sweating after all this and was given a
sponge bath
by a helpful youth who took his time and had to be hurried along by the
rest.
He was just finishing when Dr Hall returned, to close the session and
thank the
girl (whose name he’d forgotten) for her useful willingness to be an
object
lesson in gynaecological anatomy. The boys applauded her and left, some
hitching their trousers significantly and looking at each other with
big eyes,
being promised other demonstrations like this. Catherine trembled at
hearing
this but put a brave face on it and accepted a ride back to the estate
from two
of her audience, a seventeen-year-old high school student who was
“thinking of
medicine” when he got to university, and his cousin, only fourteen,
along for
the ride so to speak and practically incoherent in his response to the
exhibition.
“I
didn’t think it’d be like that,” he burbled, “I just knew she would be
naked.
It was … very … interesting.” He glanced at her, sitting in the front
seat
still with a rosiness in her cheeks. The older boy laughed.
“Let’s
be honest, for God’s sake! You went along, Jimmy, because you wanted to
see a
naked girl. But I bet you were surprised when you got to touch – when
you were
told to touch her in all those places!”
Catherine
made a small whimper at this, and the boy laughed a bit louder.
“Oh
yes,” he said cheerfully, “there were several of us there who responded
to the
news. We probably had no intention of a medical career, but this chance
was too
good to pass up. I’m serious, in a half-hearted way, about studying
medicine at
uni, but I must admit it won’t all be like that show, particularly
playing with
your little man! That’s what you call it, right?”
“I’ve
never called it that,” she replied a little frostily, “but I have heard
it.
‘Little man in a boat’, but I’m damned if I know why.”
“It’s
a visual thing,” he said. “If the clitoris stands up and pokes out from
between
the vulva lips, it’s rather like a man standing up in a canoe. Or maybe
piloting some narrow boat like a kayak. I bet someone noticed that and
made a
metaphor out of it.”
“Yes!”
said the younger boy excitedly. “That’s exactly what it was like!” He
looked at
Catherine, who unaccountably blushed. Again.
“Well,”
said the other, “I must admit the prospect of another session like this
is
attractive. I’m not sure how it’ll work for us though – I mean Dr Hall
wouldn’t
be so accommodating as Chris Hutton, now would he? But it’s good to
contemplate.”
She
heard him and heaved a deep sigh. Her public shaming was going to
continue one
way or another. For how long, though? How long!
First
year gym class, helps with shower
Matthew
wondered why the touchy Scot didn’t like him. Maybe she was one of
those very
female women (he had difficulty in expressing his thought) – how did
they say,
who was fed up with their age-long subservience to men and retaliated
by hating
and demeaning them whenever they could? God knows they had a point, and
Matthew
actually sympathised, so he tried not to feel resentful of how Miss
Cramond treated
him, though he resolved to speak to her about it and see if he could
convince
her he was on her side. But that was probably far off, for she seemed
to take a
fiendish delight in embarrassing him, as she could, since a gym
practice gave
lots of possibilities for a red face.
When
he got to the gym, he found twenty or so young girls who would be the
new
intake, and so hadn’t had a chance to see him. They were lined up
underneath
the hanging rings, standing straight and stiff, their hands by their
sides,
staring ahead like statues, or the Guards at Buckingham Palace, and
seemed to
be frozen in fright. Miss Cramond had evidently convinced them to be
obedient
by swishing that switch of hers. She looked at Matthew and a sort of
sneer
curled her lips.
“Right!”
she said. “Stand there in front of the class. Now girls, this boy is
going to
join the class today. You may see him like this again, and probably in
other
classes through the day and through the year.”
She
looked meaningfully at him, and he swallowed and gave a little nod of
the head,
wondering however just how long he’d continue to be a class clown for
everyone.
When would Mrs Crossley ask for him back? But oh God, he’d be sent away
from
Catherine! It always came back to that.
“And
just so that you may become accustomed to the fact of his presence, as
you
should be accustomed to your special gym costume, I’m ordering you now
to take
off your knickers.”
They
turned to look at her in horror, with a squeal or two, but saw she was
adamant.
Slowly they took down their knickers, going very red, no doubt
wondering why
they were shamed like this in front of a strange boy, who looked at the
process
with what they saw as rude pleasure.
“Right
then! You realise now that anyone, including this boy, will be able to
see up
your skirt when you’re climbing those ropes, for instance, or vaulting
over the
horse.”
There
were a few muted cries, besides a mortified silence.
“But,”
she told them with relish, swishing her switch, “he will also be at a
disadvantage. Raven! Undress.”
The
class broke into excited squeals and laughter as they realised what was
to
happen, and he flushed and put his hands to his shirt. Golly!
This boy was taking off his clothes in front of them!
There
he was, finally, naked yet once more, shielding his manhood behind
sweating
hands, waiting for her command to stand straight and reveal all. But
she wanted
to make a point.
“He
will be able to see your bottom and your private place, yes, but not
all the
time. And you will not wear knickers in this class for the very reason
that
you’ll be reminded that you are, for the time being, in total
submission to me.
As you are in total submission to all the teachers. I am allowing the
boy
visual access to your bodies to underline that fact, but he too is in
submission
to me and other adults, so I am evening the score, shall we say, by
having him
stark naked as he participates in the class, and he will be on constant
view to
you, you will be able to look at his bottom, to see all his private
places, all
the time. In doing this, and I’m being quite open with you, I’m doing
two
things – reminding you of your status and the consequences for many of
you of
previous intransigence (and a warning for the future), and also to let
you know
that the boy is below you, being a mere boy, a figure of fun to laugh
at and to
humiliate. Now! Form a line here under the rings, the boy on the end.
Watch me
carefully, and in your turn do what I do to exercise on the rings.”
She
leapt up to take hold of the rings and swung her legs up and down,
turned a
somersault and several other movements, while the class looked up at
her,
Matthew being quite surprised at her athletic prowess. But could he do
all
that? And the girls, God, he’d see their arses and cunnies again. Oh
no! The
very thought brought an unwelcome hardening of the penis, which no one
noticed
since he was on the end of the line. But oh …. “Oh
no, no,” he thought, “I’ve
got to reach up and grasp those rings, and hang there – I can’t hide my
balls,
and my prick will erect!”
The
teacher finished her remarkably sinuous movements and dropped to the
floor, not
in the least out of breath, to command the first girl to try to do the
same.
The girl tugged at the hem of her gym slip, without much effect, and
swallowed,
realising her coming exposure, then leapt up bravely to catch the rings
and
hang for a moment, blushing to know that the skirt had ridden up and
that the
boy could probably see everything. Cramond called out to make her raise
her
feet and try to perform those gyrations she’d seen. She made an
attempt, but
was soon told to come down – “You will get the hang of it, Angela, in
time.
Next!” She grinned at her weak pun, and a few sycophant girls tittered.
Matthew
had enjoyed the continued exposure of her bum and her cunny, and his
penis was
a bit harder, though the fear of his own exposure seemed to temper his
excitement.
As
the girls went through the motions they became increasingly adept, but
they
betrayed signs of utter mortification and lined behind the naked boy
after their
turn, giving him angry scowls, though some had anticipatory grins,
thinking of
his turn. He knew he would get no sympathy when he showed them his own
body.
Then
it was his turn, and he resolved to do his utmost to perform well,
trying to
rid his mind of those bawdy eyes giving vengeful stares at his arse,
and then
at his erection, as they were sent over to see all his nudity. He swung
his
legs up and down, separating them to reveal the penis, turning the body
up and
over in a somersault, using his strong muscles to move himself in what
the
girls privately thought was a beautiful motion, as they feasted their
eyes on
that intriguing projection between those naked legs, shining in their
sweat.
He
was made to use the rings much longer than the others, some because
this was an
extended humiliation, but mostly because he proved he could exercise
like this
better than the rest, and Miss Cramond used him as an example of what
could be
done. There was also an element of grudging admiration on her part for
the able
agility of the boy, combined with a cruel emphasis on his evident
desperate
embarrassment.
Finally
however he was allowed to hang there, blatantly showing his red face
and his
purple glans, for the girls to investigate at will. The dour teacher
thoughtfully placed a sheet on the floor just in case of accidents, and
stared
at him as if in invitation. The girls surrounded him and were not shy
to touch
him and feel those muscles, gaze with amusement into his eyes as they
put a
hand to his bum, to his seam (Part your legs!) and his ballocks, which
they
weighed in their small hands and felt those funny little balls inside,
and
latterly that threatening penis, stiff and stark and attractive, by
gosh! Oh thank you, Miss Cramond!
When he
came, jerking his body as he hung there, the girls gave cries of
amazement and
disgust, as well as laughter at shaming this fool of a boy, and Miss
Cramond
looked on with sardonic sneer at their initiation. They’d see more, she
knew,
when the boy was smacked at the dormitory, and this would encourage
their
tolerance of the otherwise rather austere treatment they’d receive at
this
Academy. She hoped he’d be kept for a very long time, and decided to
plead with
Mrs Grainger for an extension of his visit well beyond the original
idea.
He
was allowed a while to recover from
his exertions and his ejaculation (a girl being commissioned to remove
the
sticky sheet to the laundry basket), and the class got on with climbing
ropes,
which gave him welcome views of their nether parts, and vaulting over
the
horse, and then he was invited to do the same to demonstrate how to do
it. This
was a welcome view for the girls, as he spread those strong bronzed
limbs and
showed that interesting muscle again, close to renewing its amazing
hardness.
All too soon though the lesson was over and they were sent to the
showers. Miss
Cramond made a decision about that which she intended to institute,
namely that
the girls would shower with the boy, and get used to his eyeing them
up, an
equalisation again for their constant staring at his genitals. They
naturally
shrieked about this, while Matthew gave a tired sigh.
Naturally the girls attacked him with soap
and smiles, and again naturally he came with a loud cry of release.
Then the
drying, and their enthusiasm naturally prompted them to bring him to
orgasm a
third time. He was exhausted when he got back to his room and just
collapsed on
his bed. But he had a faint smile on his face as he fell asleep.
“Catherine,”
said Abigail after supper,
“you’re going back to St Vincent’s tomorrow for your first bath.” She
looked
with pleasure at the devastated girl, whose lip trembled and whose eyes
closed
in awful imagination. “Mr Bradley telephoned to ask, and I assured him
it was
fine. It’s earlier than expected, but evidently there’s an important
person who
wants to witness it. You realise Mrs G gave me carte blanche for things
like
this in her absence, don’t you? You’ll be leaving at ten, so you’ll be
got
ready about 9 or so. Yes, it’s interesting to look forward to, isn’t
it?” She
left with a contemptuous laugh, and Catherine could only look after her
with
tears in her eyes.
“M.
Bauvais? M. Bauvais? Is that you
hiding down there? Come out where we can see you better. Yes, that’s
right,
that’s right. Look, my hands are empty. You needn’t fear me. I just
want to ask
you a question or two, that’s all. Yes, that’s all. Now—watch it! Grab
him!
Don’t let him— Oh for God’s sake. Lie there, you bastard! Don’t move!
Don’t
move a muscle! Ferrier, keep him there till we get things tidied. Now,
my
friend, about these questions….”
=====================================================================
Tuesday
1st September
St
Vincent’s gymnasium; Matthew sees more of Erika; art and anatomy
When
she got back to her room after breakfast, she found Abigail sorting
through her
clothes. “Right, this is what you’ll wear,” said the older girl. “Look:
change
into this outfit. Camisole, the short one here, knickers – this pair –
the new
little ones from Mr Jackson, this skirt, stockings, and your usual
shoes.
You’ll be indoors, so you don’t really need a blouse. All right, the
car’ll be
at the door at ten.” With a cheerful smile, her nemesis left, and she
was left
to contemplate the transparent panties and the short skirt that
promised more.
She didn’t know how she’d get through this, but at least it would be
over by
midday, surely, and then she’d lie down and recover. Only grin and bare
it, as that
horrid boy had said at the party….
She
arrived to acclaim by a small crowd of boys aged about 14 to16. She
stepped out
of the car and saw that they were fascinated by her paltry attire, and
she was
sure that she’d revealed her charms as she came out. She was escorted
to the
gymnasium, where a large bathtub was displayed, being filled with
steaming
water by a procession of boys of about twelve. The place soon filled
with
excited boys, and some of the staff, and she saw Sir Bertram seated at
the very
front beside Bradley. Catherine stood there twisting her hands in
desperation,
dreading what was to come. Evidently it was to be a very public bath,
and she
was dying slowly as she looked out at the array of eager faces. Several
boys
were carrying Brownie cameras, and she knew choice views of her
ablutions would
be making the rounds, probably enlarged to show every delicate fold,
every
blushing piece of her.
The
bath finally had enough water, and Bradley gave a signal. Four boys
sprang into
action and surrounded her, slowly removing her clothes, to the noisy
appreciation of their peers. Her shoes and stockings went first, then
her short
skirt, and a subdued roar went up as the boys saw her skimpy
transparency of
panties. They were removed lovingly by a lucky pair of boys, and
finally her
camisole joined the small pile of clothes at the side. When she was
naked she
tried to cover herself, but they seized her hands and deliberately
showed her
to the multitude, who were now making a bawdy din that echoed through
the room.
She was led round the room so that all could get a good view of her,
front and
back, and the noise was tremendous. Bradley had a grim sneer on his
face, and
the governor was sitting forward with staring eyes and licking his
lips. She
raised her eyes and saw some of the boys she knew – Robert Briggs,
grinning
from ear to ear, and Smith and Westaway, the seventeen-year-olds who
had given
her the enema with such enthusiasm. And there was dear Nicholas,
looking
dismayed at the same time as he displayed an alert keenness of his
eyes,
yielding to his adolescent urgings like the rest.
Two
boys stepped forward, one older, from the prefects group, and one a
year
younger, she thought, who seized her and lifted her up to deposit her
in the
bath, where the others held her so that she couldn’t hide. Then all
four soaped
up and started the process, with delighted grins on their faces as
their hands
roamed over her body. The audience followed their every move, shouting
out
encouragement, and yelling in glee when the hands reached a sensitive
area. She
naturally was scarlet and panting, and waiting for the inevitable
arousal.
Hands followed the curves of her bum, sought the central hole to fondle
it and
investigate its mystery. At that point she found herself pushing back
at the
fingers, trying (God, no!) to
increase the erotic feelings of those many nerves around the sphincter
that
Miss James had mentioned. But then other hands were at her belly, her
delta,
smoothing their salacious way across that shaven mound to cup it,
stroke it,
tickle it, find the very visible slit of her vulva, and open it – it
opened
itself, it threw open the lips as if to say welcome to the fingers that
probed,
that found the vagina, the urethra, the clitoris. She was attacked on
all fronts
– four boys with eight hands, quite enough to cover her tender places,
her
breasts, with erect hard nipples, her behind and her anus, her groin
and her
cunny, all of her shameful spots, openly handled, to be seen by the
raucous
crowd of lecherous adolescence and coaxed into frenzied arousal. She
came, and
they whistled and cheered, but the boys carried on, changing their
targets, and
persuading her to come again. Each boy had a chance at her clitoris,
and each
was able to bring her to orgasm at least once.
When
they saw she was exhausted they lifted her out and began to dry her.
This took
a little while, because each had to ensure her perfect dryness, so felt
her all
over, every fold of skin, every nook of her body, all the while
ensuring her
nudity was visible to the noisy audience. She raised her eyes again and
locked
stares with Nicholas, who was gazing at her with open desire in his
eyes. He
blushed, but held his gaze, then bit his lip and shook his head, as if
to say I can’t do anything about it, but I
admit I
lust for you. I’m sorry for your torment, but I can’t help wanting you,
wanting
to fuck you, even like I did before.
She
looked away, realising that she echoed his desire, hoping she hadn’t
betrayed
her own, and saw Bradley and Sir Bertram leaning forward, intent on the
spectacle. The headmaster caught her eye, and bared his teeth in a
fearful
smile. She could only look at him accusingly and hope he saw how she
despised
him. Her gaze shifted to the lascivious governor, who was quite
evidently
lusting after her, and she tried to convey the same loathing, but it
was really
no use, they had no shame at all, while she, she had shame, oh yes, an
almost
suffocating shame that threatened to overwhelm her. But maybe she could
be
brave – Matthew would tell her that – and bear the assault on her
modesty with
stoicism. And anyway, didn’t Matthew say she had a beautiful body? Let
them see
it, be proud of it, flaunt it in their prurient faces. She’d show them!
Oh no, she cried silently, I am showing them, showing them everything,
so they can gloat at my nakedness, my secret parts, my private corners,
oh God!
When
she was declared dry, Bradley arose, and went out with Madison, talking
quietly
and probably laying plans for another exhibition. The boys got her into
her
skimpy clothes and escorted her out, followed by an enormous chorus of
cheers
from the school. Catherine kept her trembling lips together, and her
eyes
steadfastly fixed on the ground, refusing to meet the lubricious stares
of her
randy admirers. They put her into the car and waved goodbye, grinning
and
assuring her she’d be very welcome back. She ignored them and sat in
quiet
tears till they were back at Summerton. It was nearly lunch time, but
she just
stripped and crawled into bed, willing herself to sleep.
………………………………………………
“Tell
him … I thank him. Tell him I
forgive him….”
………………………………………………
Matthew
& Erika
“Matthew,”
said Abigail after breakfast, “you’re wanted by Erika Benz again. Go to
her
digs. It’s the cottage along to the west with roses all over it. All
right?
That’s at ten. Miss Thorburn wants another art class, that’ll be after
lunch.
My, what a full productive life you lead! Contributing to the
education, the
language and art of so many young people! You should be proud. Yes,
you’re
performing a public service. Ha!” she brayed in laughter, “it’s a pubic service. Ha!” She enjoyed her joke,
and he looked at her sourly. Would she ever tire of humiliating him?
No, and
Catherine was in the same spot. Wearily he went to the library and
tried to get
some enthusiasm going for the salacious books, but couldn’t
concentrate. His
lovely girl was off to St Vincent’s for another exposure, and Lydia G
even now
was probably devising another means of giving them red faces, maybe in
collusion with the salacious so-called poet.
Towards
ten he made his way to the haphazard row of cottages a little distance
from the
school and found the rose-covered one with no difficulty. He knocked on
the
door, idly wondering why they weren’t meeting at the German room. Just
to
sketch out plans, maybe? The door opened and the young teacher welcomed
him in.
“Come through here, Matthew,” she said, inviting him into the living
room-cum-study that seemed the pattern in these little houses. She had
only
recently moved in, and furnishings were sparse, but there were two
comfortable-looking chairs and a table piled with books and papers.
“Here!”
She handed him a glass, and he automatically raised it to his lips.
“Prosit!”
She tossed back her own drink, and he imitated her like the naïve
innocent he
was (or had been). Of course the liquor, to which he was not
accustomed, made
him cough, and tears came to his eyes. She laughed and said merely “You
will
get used to it, Matthew! Have another!”
She
filled his glass, and he found his voice. “I—I don’t think I should—”
“Oh
come, Matthew,” she said, “one is never enough. Now make yourself
comfortable.
Take your shoes off, like me.” He looked down to see her bare feet, and
thought
he might as well. Sitting down in one of the comfortable chairs he took
of his
shoes, thought a bit, and then his socks. He flexed his toes on the
sheepskin rug
and smiled at the feeling. “It’s pleasant, isn’t it, with bare feet?”
She moved
her right foot on top of his left, and stroked it. The sensation was
quite
erotic, and he shivered in surprise. Deciding that he should make
conversation
before they got on to talking about the lessons, he asked her about
herself.
“Oh,
as I told the class, Matthew, I am from the old university town of
Heidelberg.
Though I was born in Nuremberg, where the Master Singers were, to the
east, in
Bavaria. I’m twenty years old and a few months. I was over here in
England
intending to spend a year improving my English, before I go to
university back
home. Then someone suggested I apply for this teaching position, which
had
become available, and I was accepted. I am very glad I did. The
conditions are
excellent, and I must say I was very pleased to meet you!”
He
blushed and gulped his drink. She laughed and laid a hand on his thigh.
“Yes,
Matthew. I was pleased, and my girls were pleased too. Having you as a
model
was a very good idea. I thank Mlle Maury for that.” His blush grew and
he bit
his lip. “Listen, Matthew. I tell you seriously, your body is
admirable. I mean
I, and the girls too, admire your body, how it is made. Miss Thorburn
was
talking in the staff room about it, the proportions of your limbs, the
relative
length of arms and legs, the dimensions of your torso, the elegance of
your
behind.”
He
looked away and took a swig of his drink, then summoned up courage to
protest,
“But it was … embarrassing—”
“Yes,
Matthew, perhaps for you, and perhaps for one or two of the girls as
well, but
all in all it was a beautiful show, the girls learned things, and got
to enjoy
the sight of a beautiful body. Yes, Matthew, don’t doubt me – you have
a
beautiful body which deserves to be seen and admired. You should be
proud of
it.”
He
swallowed and said “I see what you’re saying, Miss—”
“No,
please, call me Erika! We must be friends.”
“Erika,”
he repeated, “listen, I’m not being coy or whatever, false modesty and
all
that. I really do think my body is reasonably nice-looking, and other
people
have told me that. But my modesty is real, I mean I don’t like being
seen
naked. I’m embarrassed, it—”
“What
does it do, Matthew? How do you feel? Do you get hot, or shivery, or
what?”
He
stared at her. “All of that. But at the same time….” He finished his
drink and
put the glass down. Erika sat beside him and put her arm round his
shoulders.
“Yes,”
she said. “Hot and shivery, like a fever or ague. And a fear of eyes
devouring
your bare body, laughing in derision.
But if there is no derision, if there is wonder and
admiration, then one
can enjoy the attention, glory in one’s nakedness, accept the laughter
of joy,
have delight in giving delight. And the ultimate point of that is….”
She put a
hand to the buttons of his shirt.
As
if
in a dream he allowed her to unbutton his shirt and pull it off. She
looked at
him and smiled. Then she was at his waist and the buttons of his fly.
She stood
up and raised him by his armpits, and he stood dumbly in a strange
withdrawn
otherness as she gradually rendered him naked. He looked at her and
drew breath
to speak, but stopped as she stood in front of him and, with a smile of
her
own, began to shed her clothes. When she was as bare as he, he saw that
she was
just an inch taller than he, with nice breasts a little larger than
Catherine’s
(who was, he supposed, his pattern), slim build, narrow waist, a little
broader
in the beam, but not too much. A
pubis
adorned with a small bush of hair that did not cover the slit of her
vulva,
which was quite long. She turned round to show her backside, and he
smiled to
appreciate the round buttocks. He put out his hand to touch her there,
and she
started, then obligingly leaned forward to proffer her bum for his
attention.
His
dream continued as he fondled her backside, daring to put a finger to
her … Arschloch, yes! Then her
front, her
breasts, her belly, her thighs, her cunt!
*
* *
An
hour later he roused himself. “Erika,” he murmured, “I’ll … have to be
going.
Thank you for letting me … fuck you.”
She
grinned contentedly. “Our verb is ficken,
Matthew, it’s the same originally I suppose. Du
hast mich voll gut gefickt, mein Schatz. Danke. But yes, we
should get dressed. It will be lunch soon I think.”
As
he
gathered his clothes and began to dress, she looked at him and
stretched her
own beautiful bareness, and said “Please don’t be afraid, Matthew, of
letting
the girls see you, and handle you too. Drink up their glances, glory in
your
nakedness, and relish the pleasure of your climax.”
He
did up his buttons and said “All right, Erika, I’ll try. You’ve maybe
given me
some courage. Let me kiss you.” They embraced, and he went on his way,
leaving
her with a lasting grin to see him off at the door. He looked back and
was
startled to see her, still naked, waving goodbye. He smiled again and
returned
to the house, where he washed himself thoroughly, feeling guilty about
the
sexual sweat he had produced.
It’s
probably true, though,
he thought, maybe I should be pleased girls
want to see
me naked, admire my bum, touch my prick, excite me till I come? And let
me
admit, to come in orgasm is pleasurable. Maybe he could
manage to enjoy the
next German class, which would probably be next Monday, perhaps? All
right.
Brace yourself. Enjoy yourself. So what then, about French for
instance? Was
Abigail waiting till Mrs G returned? He resolved to ask her. But he’d
better
not seem too eager. He wasn’t actually, when you came down to it. He
was still
afraid of the laughing eyes of the girls, and their inquisitive hands.
He
acknowledged a mixture of feelings – sexual excitement and shivering
shame. Was
that normal? Did Catherine feel the same? He tried to remember what
she’d said
that time…. Now that they had no secrets, though, they could have a
frank
discussion about their feelings, and what they expected of the other.
She
seemed to have forgiven him, or understood, anyway, his own adventures
with
other girls, at least those he’d told her about. And this had been yet
another
one….
The
thought went through his head that Mrs G and Abigail were probably
planning to
have his girl deflowered sometime in the future, and publicly too.
She’d been
lucky so far, but it was surely only a matter of time. And, he was
glumly sure,
it wouldn’t be he that was delegated to take the bloom from the rose.
But, he
consoled himself, he had already plucked her flower, and a wonderful
experience
it had been. He couldn’t bear thinking of someone else fucking her. How
would
she feel? As for him, he admitted he’d be jealous of someone other than
himself
getting so intimate – but surely she didn’t belong to him, like a wife
or a
slave or a horse, for God’s sake. He didn’t have the right to insist on
her
keeping herself for him. After all (conscience declared), he had been
happily
fucking other girls. But how would she feel? That was it. If she wanted
another
boy to fuck her, it was her decision, her want, and he couldn’t
protest. Though
he did want her to want him…. God! What a mess they were in! Oh, it was
silly, he’d had this argument
with himself before, and nothing came out of it. At lunch he thought
about
Catherine, wondering whether to tell her about Erika, but the idea went
out of
his head when Abigail told him not to forget about the art class that
afternoon.
“Oh
God,” he said, “I’d forgotten. It is just one class, isn’t it?”
“Yes,”
said Abigail, “just one class, the second year, about thirty or so
girls of
twelve and thirteen. Most haven’t seen a nude model, so it’ll be very
instructive for them. I told Miss Thorburn that she should give an
anatomy
lesson to start with. Isn’t that a good idea?”
Matthew
swallowed but made no reply. He looked down at his plate and sighed.
After the
meal, which he had little appetite for, he went to the bathroom, where
he made
sure he was clean all over, especially his admired arsehole. He arrived
at the
art room to find it seemingly packed with excited girls, who on seeing
him gave
a concerted gasp of anticipation. They had evidently heard from others
what to
expect, and their expressions ranged from healthy curiosity to
unconcealed
bawdy amusement. Off to the side there was a steel framework that was
evidently
designed to house clothes hangers, although none were there, so he
wouldn’t be
using any costumes, it seemed. Miss Thorburn welcomed Matthew and
introduced
him to the class, then asked him to undress. As he did so he saw the
faces of
thirty-odd young females go from pale to rosy, their quizzical frowns
to delighted
grins, and their bored glances to sparkling eyes intent on the
unveiling.
Finally he stood before them, blushing, his head drooping, hands by his
sides –
why bother to try to hide? Miss Thorburn hushed the class, which was
buzzing
with muttered comments, and asked them to attend to a little lecture.
“Here,
class, we have a naked boy to draw. In art, we call him a nude. Before
we draw
him however we thought you should be instructed in the general shape of
the
body. Some of it (most of it) is identical to yours, obviously, but
we’ll
concentrate on the differences. Turn around, Matthew. Now look at the
back. See
the way the spine comes down to the buttocks.” She traced it with her
finger.
“The buttocks themselves now. These are nicely formed. See the
roundness of the
cheeks, the nates, the gluteal muscles, the dimple where the behind
meets the
thigh, and the interesting cleft – the natal or anal cleft – which
leads down
inevitably to the anus itself. Bend forward, Matthew. That’s it.” She
parted
his cheeks to show his anus, and the class giggled. “Now, girls, why
laugh?
Each of you has one too. Here is the so-called seam, or perineum,
between the
anus and the genitals. It’s also called from the Greek word for seam, ‘rhaphe’.” She spelled it out. “If he
were a girl you’d see the vulva right there. All right, Matthew, turn
round.”
He
turned to show his penis, which was trying to do something untoward,
and the
girls oohed and aahed.
“Girls!
Behave! Now let’s examine the front. These are his pectoral, or chest,
muscles.
See the areolae of his breasts. Notice the shape of the ribcage.”
She
asked them to admire his flat belly, notice his hip bones, the relative
length
and girth of his thighs, the shape of his shins, the delicate form of
his feet.
Then the pubic hair, which she stroked affectionately. Then of course
his
genitals.
“Now
pay attention, girls. See the way the penis here sits on top of the
scrotum,
this bag here which contains two testicles, little round glands,
sometimes
vulgarly called ‘balls’ or ‘ballocks’. Just a minute.”
She
turned to a large pad of paper hoisted on an easel and quickly sketched
a very
good large reproduction of his penis and balls.
“This
is what they look like at rest, or flaccid, when they’re not aroused by
anything. I suggest you all quickly make a sketch of this area. Now.”
They
sprang into activity, and Matthew was beginning to feel hot. Thank
goodness
Miss Thorburn wasn’t handling him much! She leaned towards him and said
“Matthew, it’s good that you’re flaccid. I’m doing this in case you
erect later
on. All right?” He swallowed and nodded, knowing full well how the
lesson would
finish.
“Right
now! All done? So, to continue, take careful note of his genitals.
This, as I
said, is called the scrotum, or ball-bag , shall we say, which will
either show
the two testicles hanging down, or just be a round container. Notice
the
wrinkles on the skin. Miss Huxton told me that the word is probably
from a
Latin word, scrautum, meaning a
leather quiver for arrows. An ammunition bag, you might say!” The girls
tittered. “However! Now the penis.” She stroked it, and it began to
react.
“You’ll see the veins in there. I must say it’s good to see the whole
area of
the loins browned from the sun. Isn’t it?” The girls agreed with smiles
and
nods. “Now the penis changes its shape when the boy get sexually
excited – it
gets bigger and longer, and the hood of skin at the end, the prepuce or
foreskin, retracts to bare the head, or the ‘glans’, with the little
slit on
the point, through which he’ll pee.” They giggled, and Matthew’s penis
was
beginning to get a little more stiff. Miss Thorburn let go his organ
and he
began to breathe more normally.
“Now,
perhaps a closer examination is called for. Up you come, front row
first, to
examine the area. Get familiar with it. Then we’re going to draw it
very
carefully. Right! Jocelyn, you first.” A thirteen-year-old with shining
eyes
came forward, followed by the line of her fellows, to peer closely at
his penis
and lift a tentative hand to feel the soft skin. The penis trembled, as
did
Matthew, and it was not long till his organ awoke to point out at the
girls,
who viewed the development with more exclamations. By the time they had
all
felt his member it was rock hard (at which they commented) and pointing
up at
the ceiling. “Now, class!” cried Miss Thorburn, “I’m asking you to draw
the
erect penis. You very rarely see this in art, but you should know how
to do it.
Matthew, put your hands behind your head, that’s it, and maybe thrust
your
pelvis out. Like that, yes, very good.”
She
went round the class commenting and correcting, and Matthew stood there
stiff
and stark and scarlet, hoping he wasn’t betraying himself with that
pre-ejaculation moisture that the doctor had mentioned that time. How
long ago?
God, it wasn’t that long, but what had happened in between? A lifetime
of
shameful exposure. And here was another show for giggling girls (who
made no
secret of their gloating admiration of his cock), who will have their
own
souvenirs of his genitals….
“Miss,”
said one pert child, “it’s going down!”
The
class tittered, and the teacher bit her lip and said “Oh, Matthew!
Sorry, I
think we should keep it up as long as possible. Jocelyn, maybe you
should do
it, and Maisie too. Come out.” They advanced eagerly on the trembling
boy and
were instructed to deliberately bring him erect, Jocelyn to stroke the
penis,
and Maisie to finger his anus.
“What?”
she said, “put my finger up his bum!”
“Why
yes,” said the teacher. “It’s perfectly clean, isn’t it, Matthew?” He
swallowed
and said yes, he’d just washed it. The girl was dubious but poked her
Vaselined
finger at him anyway, and he relaxed his sphincter to allow her to
explore his
colon. In went the finger, and the girl evidently enjoyed the novel
exercise,
pushing in and pulling out, till enjoined by Miss Thorburn to find a
little
bump in there and massage it. She found the prostate with no
difficulty, and
between them the girls brought Matthew to a satisfying erection once
more.
“Thank you, girls! Now wipe your hands and finish your drawings.”
The
last portion of the class was devoted to quick studies of various
positions of
the naked body, some of which inevitably had his genitals front and
centre, and
some with a side view showing the erection jutting forth, he holding
the top
bar on the framework, while others displayed his arse, especially
revealing his
anus. The girls were vocal in their appreciation of the nude model, and
he
sought his clothes again despondently. Miss Thorburn thanked him again,
alarming him by talking about “next time”, but he just nodded
hopelessly and
made noises of agreement.
As
they got ready for tea Abigail was in a good humour, telling the rest
of the
crew that she’d been talking to the art teacher, who had been pleased
about
Matthew’s performance. “The girls were evidently charmed to see a nude
subject
up close,” she said. “I told her I thought they could usefully
concentrate on
one piece of you – the feet, maybe, which are really nice-looking. Mrs
G was
commenting on that way back (although you’d obviously have to be naked
anyway,
wouldn’t you?) and at some point your arse, getting the curves right,
and your
arsehole, yes?”
He
clenched his teeth and said “They – they already did that—”
“Yes,
but not the whole hour, not in real detail. So anyway, that’s what
she’s going
to do next time. Isn’t that nice?”
The
others laughed and teased him, and he could only sit there with a flush
on his
face, thinking in dread of the coming weeks. More exposure to art
classes,
French and German classes, anatomy classes, to girls his own age, to
girls a
little older, to girls of twelve and thirteen, oh God! And baths from
the
girls, and spankings on the bare arse and being made to ejaculate in
front of
them all—! And, oh God in Heaven! Knowing that Catherine was being
degraded
over at the boys’ school!
Tea
that afternoon was a quiet affair
somehow; everyone seemed withdrawn in their own way. When Matthew
looked at his
lover he saw resignation and tiredness, yet a gleam of comradely love
in her
eyes. Later that night they held each other without speaking much, and
knew
they were contemplating a long stretch of unbearable mortification.
Then they
kissed sadly and went to their beds.
Wednesday
2nd September
Catalogue,
swim class in town. C on sheets and carpets
“Miss
Davenant has come to collect you. Isn’t that kind of her?”
He
stared at her foolishly and foolishly asked “Why?”
“It’s
another swimming class of course,” said Abigail in exasperation.
“Really, how
stupid can you get? Have you forgotten what happened? She’s out there
waiting
in her little car. Hurry now.”
She
watched as he put the books he was dealing with on a shelf and turned
with a
defeated expression to leave the room.
“You
don’t seem very enthusiastic. Can it be because you know all you’re
really
going to do is show your rude bits to forty girls or so? And you don’t
like
that, do you?” She piled on the taunts.
“They’ll
look at you and see every inch of you. Hah! What is it again? Six and a
bit
inches, isn’t it? And you’ll be upright, won’t you, waving your cock
like a
flag in their faces! With any luck you’ll actually come in front of
them,
you’ll get your thrill and they’ll get theirs, and everyone will be
happy. Hm!
So Miss D will bring you back sometime in the afternoon I suppose. Off
you go.”
He
made his way out to where a little sporty car was idling. Millie
Davenant
smiled gaily at him and waved.
“Hello,
Matthew! It’s good to see you again. Did you have a nice summer? Mrs
Grainger
sent me a long letter about her French holiday, and your part in it.
Oh, look,
you seem to have got a tan! It looks very good on you. And is it all
over, eh?”
She laughed mischievously and started to drive off.
“Well
now, you really must fill in some details of your adventures. We
haven’t really
talked, have we? So start. I’ll be interested to hear your side of
things, see
your perspective.”
.
. .
“But
tell me please, do you want me to wear that suit? I haven’t got one,
you know.”
He looked at her with a pleading expression. Surely she wouldn’t shame
him like
that again!
“Hell,
no,” she replied, “I’m not sure where I put it. So you can just swim
naked. You
do all the time, don’t you?”
He
groaned and stammered something, but she dismissed his anxiety and
laughed.
“Oh
no, Matthew! The girls liked you au
naturel from the start last time. And believe me,” she turned
her head
dangerously away from the road to look him in the eye, “you have such a
nice-looking body that it’s a shame to cover it up with anything. The
girls
will be enchanted – they’ve been looking forward to this all summer!
And then,
if you do go erect, they’ll be thrilled. What?”
She
looked at him again. She couldn’t be that blind, could she?
“Miss
Davenant,” he said in a trembling voice, “I just know I’m going to get
an
erection. I bet the girls are counting on it. But for God’s sake have
some
feeling for me. I’m still embarrassed to be seen naked, it’s
paralysingly awful
to me when anyone sees me naked. I know an awful lot have seen my … me
naked,
but I’m still not used to it. It … it sort of chokes me, as if I’m
suffocating,
my heart beats extra fast, and I know I break out in a sudden sweat.
You’ve no
idea how I feel, with everyone’s eyes on me, on especially a part of me
that
no-one – at least no strangers, and God, no girls! – had ever seen
before
Spring, before I came to Summerton. All right,” he continued, “I maybe
have a
good body, but it’s private! But no,” his voice sank to a whisper,
“it’s not
private any more….”
She
nodded as if she understood, and even sympathised, though a little
smile played
on her lips as they entered the town.
“Well,
Matthew, here we are! See you shortly. Leave your clothes in the
dressing room,
you know the way, shower, and come up to the poolside. ’Bye!”
The
girls were in the dressing room before him, and were already in their
swimming
costumes to look at him expectantly as if to invite him to perform. But
they
did expect him, and invite him, to perform, didn’t they? He looked at
them as
they sat on the benches, and swallowed in nervousness. God
give me strength! First, undress!
He
took off his clothes and laid them garment by garment on one of the
benches,
close to a shapely blonde girl in a frilly blue costume who gazed up at
him
with a complacent smugness that irritated him, but he suppressed his
tongue,
being in no position of strength, and proceeded to the shower, visible
to all
as he stood under the spray and soaped off what dirt had accumulated
since he
last bathed. He came out and wondered about a towel, but shrugged. He’d
soon be
wet again. And using it as concealment was no use. Still, he covered
his
genitals with shaking hands and walked past the giggling girls out and
up to
the pool. He wasn’t surprised to see a sizeable audience sitting on the
seats
round the pool, for that was the way he’d left it, all those months
ago, and he
had no doubt Millie Davenant had alerted those interested about what
was to
happen. He was greeted with a loud welcome from the girls and their
friends,
and the session got off to a good start as the blushing nude led the
swimmers
in revealing warm-up exercises which persuaded his penis to wake up and
come to
a slightly extended position promising to erect any moment. That didn’t
happen
right away, though.
It
was very much like the last time, and the girls were just as bawdy and
the
audience just as coarse in the comments they made. Matthew did his
dives and
his strokes, and endured the touch of tentative fingers feeling his
muscles –
ah there it was, the point of no return, and he erected quite violently
in the
face of a fifteen-year-old siren who squealed and immediately set out
to
investigate this new muscle. He tore away and got to the side where he
looked
up at the sardonic eyes of Millie Davenant, who offered her hands to
lift him
out. The action was assisted by the siren and a friend who pushed his
arse up
out of the water. Another came to help Davenant, and he was finally out
staring
at the tiers of watchers. The girl pursued him out and grasped him
round the
waist with one hand while the other started to fondle his arse, then
crept down
to his perineum, and no! That was the straw that pushed him over the
edge to a
great display of orgasmic fervour. The girls watched fascinated till he
was
spent, and the teacher told him to sit down to recuperate. Owing to the
particular circumstances, it wasn’t that long before Davenant stood
over him to
wink and say “Matthew, I see you’re in good shape again!”
He
blushed some more and shifted, but saw no point in trying to cover
himself. He
expected some more salacious taunting but the period’s end came swiftly
and the
disappointed teenagers went off scowling. “Cheer up girls!” cried the
teacher,
“he’s still here! He’ll be with us again, don’t worry!” – At which
Matthew
could but groan, for he saw another term’s worth of humiliation looming.
The
next hour was just as bad and just as amusing for the girls and the
extra
friends who came to enjoy the fun, obviously not swimmers, but vastly
interested in the proceedings, who gave him a rousing ovation when he
finally
spasmed in orgasm in front of them. Shortly after he was in the showers
again,
this time attended to by a throng of girls only a little older than he,
and it
was no wonder (although worthy of applause) that he rose again and
delivered,
albeit less copiously.
Davenant
was dressed and impatient by then and merely yanked him out and into
the car.
“But M-Miss D-Davenant, I’m naked! For fuck’s sake!”
She
laughed and sent a fourteen-year-old for his clothes, but didn’t let
him put
them on, and in fact kept them by her so that he couldn’t even use them
to
hide. So he was driven back to Summerton nude and trembling, another
object of
scorn and outrage and admiration from the citizens, and released to the
tender
mercies of Abigail, who thanked Millie for taking care of him. “That’s
all
right,” she laughed, “any old time! We’ll arrange something when Lydia
comes
home! But for the nonce, there’s another art class to consider!”
Matthew
fled to his room and tried to calm his nerves, but he was still jittery
at
tea-time. That night he spoke with Catherine about her session at the
high
school, and wearily concluded that whether Mrs G was here or not, he’d
be doing
that too. And a lot of other things.
=====================================================================
Thursday
3rd September
Another
dance class; “stimulation” at the Academy – and Catherine gets hair
treatment
“This
morning, Matthew,” said Abigail with a wide smile on her face, “we have
another
class – a dance class.”
He
looked at her and gulped. Again! And he just knew it would be worse.
“Yes,”
she said, “you’re to go to Miss Ford’s dance room at ten. In about an
hour or
so. She’ll be doing ballet steps, and I have no idea how she can
accommodate
you, but there it is. The class really enjoyed you last time, and they
were all
talking about it. So, off you go and stretch your muscles, and prepare
for the
exhibition!” She gave a sort of cackle and strode off, looking very
pleased
with herself for arranging another shameful session, and the boy hung
his head
and clenched his fists in impotent despair.
“Hello,
Matthew!” Roberta Ford greeted him with a smile of real pleasure. “I’m
so glad
you’re back. We have a special ballet class today, and I know you
haven’t
learned any of the steps, but somehow I’m confident you’ll adapt very
easily.”
He
looked at the girls assembled before him, and saw they were only about
fourteen
or so. There were a few more than a dozen of them, and they were
staring at him
with anticipation. He was sure they had already heard of his qualities,
and
those who hadn’t seen him were obviously keen to witness what they’d
heard
about.
Miss
Ford clapped her hands. “Now, girls, this is Matthew, who is a good
dancer by
himself, but he’s part of the class for now.” He tightened his lips at
the
warning that later he’d be dancing solo.
“He
hasn’t got a leotard, yet.” The girls were all dressed in that
seemingly
skin-tight suit that showed off the lines of the body very well, and
even the
pubic mound, and if he tried he could make out (imagination?) the slit
of the
cunny. But he knew he’d be displaying a lot of his own body if he had
to wear
one. But—
“So
for the moment I suggest he just dances without it.” Christ! She meant—
“Yes,
Matthew, take off your clothes please.”
He
gave a sort of plaintive mewing sound as he looked at the class looking
at him,
and slowly took off his trousers. They stood around in breathless
silence, and
the teacher went off to a corner to wind up a gramophone. When she was
ready
she came back to nod encouragement at the stripping boy, who thought
there
wasn’t much use in trying to hide. He had acquired a blush though, and
looked
down at the floor.
“Right
now! Line up! Matthew, in the middle there I think. Stand by that bar
on the
wall, and take hold of it. It’s spelt b-a-r-r-e, by the way, the French
way –
most of our ballet terms are French, you may know. Right. Face left. My
left!
Now some simple exercises. Stand with your feet at a forty-five-degree
angle
for now. More or less. Audrey, don’t look so bewildered! Now then, rise up on your
toes and down
again. Up on your toes and down again. We’ll do it to music shortly.
Next time
I promise you live music, to piano. But records will do now. Up on your
toes
and down again.”
Matthew
was facing left, to see the lithe back of a girl he had seen in the
German
class, and admired the shape of her, the tightness of her arse, as she
(God,
yes) would be able to admire his when they reversed their positions.
Then the
instructor taught them what she called a plié,
where the knees were bent out and the free hand brought to the
neighbourhood of
the groin. They were taught the half bend, or demi-plié,
and the full bend, going down to a squat, throwing the
free hand out to the side. Then the teacher altered the placing of the
feet,
showing them five basic positions for ballet. “There used to be ten of
them,”
she said, “but we only use five. So now repeat those moves in first
position!”
Matthew was enjoying it, though he still felt very nervous, and
couldn’t help
thinking of the possible denouement of all this. Miss Ford walked down
the
line, correcting the pupils’ stances as necessary, pausing when she
came to
Matthew to say with a pleased grin that he was getting it as if he’d
been
attending class for ages. He couldn’t believe that, and thought she was
just
being encouraging.
They
faced the other way, and the girl he had been admiring had a view of
his bare
arse, and made pleased sounds. This time they were invited to put a
foot on the
barre and stretch. That meant a clear display of his genitals, and
while Miss
Ford was the only one able to see him properly Matthew felt awfully
exposed.
Then he realised the girl behind him had to be able to see his
testicles at
least. After a few similar exercises the gramophone was wound up and a
couple
of the girls asked to demonstrate their aptitude for the rest. This
meant they
gathered round in a semicircle, and he was immediately noticeable to
them all.
They drank in his nudity with amused expressions, which grew positively
blatant
when he was asked to do the same movements. So there he was, acquiring,
as he
knew he would, a good upstanding hard-on, to do his bends and gestures
and open
thighs and almost obscene showing off of his erection between those
parted
legs. All to music; and the class expressed their delight in the
performance
vocally, commenting on the fine movement of those muscles, and how it
was good
to see them so clearly on the bare body, while staring in glee at the
one he
blushed to display.
The
last five minutes were spent in another impromptu naked solo, this time
to
another modern-sounding piece of music, by a composer named Erik Satie,
whom
Matthew had heard them talk about in Paris, and the girls were rapt at
his
performance. His erection never diminished, and when he looked any of
them in
the eyes he could see they were all fascinated, spell-bound, by that
organ
bobbing as he moved.
The
class ended, and the girls applauded yet another interesting and
unusual
demonstration. Matthew donned his clothes and accepted a kiss from the
teacher,
who thanked him for being so cooperative and willing to try things. “We
definitely must do this again, Matthew,” she said, “for the older
girls. You
will, won’t you?”
He
swallowed and wondered how she could look at his obvious embarrassment
– a
scarlet face, a throbbing hard-on – and not know he was uncomfortable
(to say
the least!). But he muttered an “Oh, yes” with a heavy heart.
“I’m
calling it a ‘stimulation’. The idea is, Matthew, that you go over to
the
Academy and show yourself naked.” Abigail’s eyes twinkled in amusement.
Matthew
closed his own eyes and began to mutter protests, but the sadistic girl
continued. “Yes, of course naked. That’s your whole purpose, we both
know that.
Anyway, this is of my devising. I’ve told Mrs G about it but she hasn’t
written
back yet. She may not agree, who knows? But for now you will be going
over
there to display your naked charms and be played with by the lucky
girls. A lot
of them. As many as are interested. In the dining hall, once they’re
all
cleared up. I arranged it with that sweet girl Dulcie Whatever, and I
admit she
wasn’t too keen, but I mentioned Mrs G and she quickly gave in.
Frankly, I get
a great feeling, wielding this delegated power. Ah yes. So anyway,
you’ll go
there and do exactly as you’re bid.
Understand? Say yes.”
He
drew a sighing breath and muttered “Yes.”
“Right.
Off you go. You won’t be long I suppose. Then back to your dirty
books.” She
gave a disgusted snort. “Off.”
He
was met at the Academy door by a girl he didn’t recognise, but who
certainly
knew him, and blushed as she said greeting. “Come this way,” she said,
leading
him through a door he hadn’t noticed to a largish hall fitted with
tables,
evidently the dining room, with accommodation for all two hundred of
the
pupils. He was told to get up on a table in the centre, and handed a
drink
which turned out to be pleasantly flavoured with chocolate. He drank it
down,
thinking he’d be there for a while, and this would tide him over.
“What
else?” he asked.
“Wait,”
said the girl. “The rest will be coming.”
He
stood there for some minutes before girls began to trickle in, and
without ado
came up to him and started to strip him. They took off his clothes one
by one,
put them in a pile, and went on to take a seat at the far end of the
hall, and
look up at him in gleeful expectation.
The
next to come in approached him with grins, and he wondered what was
intended,
but of course as he might have guessed he was ordered to put his hands
behind
his head, and they put theirs to his genitals, one by one, and stroked
them
lovingly. Each gave the scrotum a caress, and stroked his penis, and
after half
a dozen such salutes the member was stiff. After a dozen, the penis was
pointing up, hard, and he was beginning to pant. The line of girls was
still
coming in the door, and he saw with anguish that the intent was that as
many of
the two hundred would handle him as possible before he reached the
point of
ejaculation, Some tweaked his penis a little roughly, some merely gave
it a
touch, and some avoided it entirely, whether from modesty or disgust,
or maybe
even pity. Others took their time to gloat and deliberately arouse him.
A few
proved how well they’d listened to their teachers by calling out the
name of
the organ in French or German. He had lost count, but when he looked up
he saw
the hall nearly filled, and his abused member was throbbing under the
hands of
the last crowd, giggling and blushing, reaching up to push his foreskin
up and
down, and tickle his ballocks.
Suddenly
the penis had had enough, and he braced himself to spout his seed in a
high arc
that brought a murmur of admiration from the assembly. The last few
girls
seized a towel and cleaned him up, and he bent over and startled them
and
himself by giving a loud fart. They giggled, and a couple brought a
large bowl
to the table. He looked at them in horror as they placed it behind him
and
stroked his belly. Another fart, and the laxative began to work.
He
sat down, as he thought they wanted, on the bowl, but the rim hurt his
thighs
and he was glad when two girls raised him up, thus making sure that the
process
of the ejection of his turds was plain to see. He blushed more than
before, it
was somehow more shame-making to be gazed at shitting, and he
remembered
Catherine on the chamber pot; Abigail must have remembered it too. Mrs
G would
have remembered the Calais business, besides, and maybe she’d told
Abigail. He
was soon done, and looked at the laughing faces with a plea for paper.
A girl
who had evidently been charged with the task brought forth a sponge to
wipe his
arse, which he endured with an increased blush.
Then
in no time he was dressed and thrust out into the evening, and drew a
deep
breath as he looked up at the sky. God!
What’ll she think of next? Aren’t they tired of me by now? He
went wearily
back to his room to lie down and sleep, maybe.
=====================================================================
(End of File)