Mrs Grainger's Gift 2

By Ritchie Moore

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This work is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It may contain depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.
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Mrs Grainger’s Gift – Part 2

Friday 8^th May

He wakened early, before anyone could come to the unlocked door and catch him naked. He dithered for a time before running to the bathroom for a pee and maybe a wash, and was pleasantly surprised to see a nice biggish towel there. He took it to his room and waited till another girl, the one called Amanda, a tall seventeen-year-old, came to call him to breakfast and deliver his dry smock. It seemed smaller somehow, and he was a little more circumspect in the way he sat and moved. After breakfast he set about exploring again; evidently Mrs G had no tasks for him as yet.

This time he found a plan of the building, dated two years before, on a wall of a corridor and was able to work out where he was. The large building occupied the centre of the plan and was surrounded by green shapes, evidently the lawn and garden, including a maze. A wall came down practically in the middle to divide the property in two, one half slightly bigger than the other. To the east was his half, to the west the school; and there were smaller plans around the periphery labelled with the numbers of the storeys. The ground floor was actually the second storey, with the drawing room and so forth; the cellars, underground at the front of the building, included the kitchen, and led out onto the back lawn, which was quite extensive. That ground floor had another wing which was evidently Mrs Grainger’s private apartments, accessible by the door which he found locked, understandably. Stairs led up to his floor, and beyond that to the roof, which he decided to explore right then.

He passed rooms that belonged to the servant girls, some of whom were at home busy with sewing and other tasks. They looked up at him as he passed their open doors and smiled, some of them with a salacious twinkle in their eyes, evidently thinking of his exposure. He smiled self-consciously and passed on, peeking into a doorless lavatory (unoccupied, which disappointed him ridiculously), finally coming to the little stair that led him to the roof. This was flat, mostly, with a few sloping roof-peaks here and there in no seeming order. Those were tiled, whereas the flat sections seemed to be of flagstones with parts covered in pitch. The sun was shining again, and the stones and the pitch felt warm to his bare feet. He wondered idly when on earth he was to get his new clothes, and whether he would get a complete outfit, with underclothes and stockings and shoes.

He spent some time wandering over the roof, looking up at the pseudo-Gothic turrets in the corners, postponing looking into them for another day (he tried a door, but it was locked), and finally coming to a parapet that looked down on the other half of the garden. This must be outside the girls’ school, he thought, so he was actually standing on the roof of the school. He could see no stairs, however, and decided it was totally separate from his side of the house. Perhaps, he thought to himself, I could come up here to be by myself, safe and undisturbed. Bring a book, maybe lie in the sun. Undisturbed. Then he suddenly thought it must be getting on towards lunch time, and quickly made his way downstairs again just in time to be informed it was being put out.

In the afternoon he lay on his bed with a book he’d brought with him, Kipling’s Stalky and Co., and drowsing, wondering what special duties he was supposed to be performing, and fell asleep entirely. He was wakened by a hand on his shoulder and a girl’s voice saying “Matthew! Sleepyhead! Up you get! The tailor’s here!” He sat upright and blushed as he realised his smock had ridden up his body during his nap and exposed his behind. Pulling it into a modest position, he followed the smirking girl downstairs, breathing hard.

It was four o’clock by the grandfather clock in the hall as he was shown into the drawing room. Two girls were waiting to serve tea to Mrs G and the tailor, who produced the new clothes with a flourish. Mrs Grainger looked at them and said “Yes, well how do they look on him?”

Mr Jackson told Matthew to hoist up his smock, and the boy in terror took the hem to raise it an inch or two. The tailor sighed and held the trousers for the boy to put his feet into, then hauled them up his waist. He then removed the smock entirely. Matthew was now bare to the waist, and his thin cotton trousers left little (but enough!) to the imagination. Time to try on the vest. On it went, the girls following every move, and Matthew feeling very self-conscious; then the shirt, and le tout ensemble was pronounced very acceptable. Mrs Grainger asked the tailor to tuck the shirt in, and Matthew realised his buttons would be undone, but he couldn’t move as the man did just that, unbuttoning the fly and tucking the shirt into the trousers. He displayed the final effect to Mrs Grainger (and the girls), and she accepted the costume. But to Matthew’s horror she added “Can I see the trousers again over here?”

“Certainly, madam,” said the tailor, unbuttoning them again and sliding them down his legs and easing them off his feet. Now Matthew was trembling in front of the little gathering with a near bare bottom and a nearly sheer shirt as his mistress fingered the material and conferred with the tailor, and as the girls eyed him with pleased expressions. “Pour tea, girls!” commanded Mrs G, and they sprang to action and justified their presence.

“That’s fine, Mr Jackson. The right material, the right thickness. Now about the shirt….” Matthew nearly fainted at the thought that she might ask for its removal, but she only beckoned him over and looked at the weave closely, lifting the tail (O God) to feel it between her fingers. Of course in so doing she revealed his bare arse to the girls, only a few feet away, who made no secret of their interest. He was flinching under their gaze when it all got worse.

“Yes, the vest, please.”

Matthew in panic blurted out “No!” and Mrs Grainger rapped out “What! Are you going to disobey me?”

He moaned “No, madam, b-but— please, you can’t—”

She frowned and waved her hand at the tailor, who smiled grimly as he pulled (quite gently, not to hurt the cloth) the shirt over Matthew’s head, inevitably raising his arms for a moment and revealing his nakedness. As soon as his arms were free he covered his genitals and closed his eyes in an agony of shame. Jackson mercifully gave him the shirt to hold, and he used it to cover himself, while his mistress examined the vest and pronounced it very good. The girls meanwhile were quite openly ogling his body, his buttocks being in plain view now, and were delighted when their mistress told them to accompany Matthew upstairs and put his new clothes away. He was therefore joined by two girls eager to see more of him. As they turned away Mrs Grainger told them to each take a garment. One had the trousers, so the other reached for the shirt. Matthew turned a desperate look at his new mistress but she waved them away and sipped her tea. There he was, going upstairs naked but for a short vest, with two girls who naughtily took his arms in theirs, so that he wasn’t covered, climbing the stairs writhing in shame. Of course they met another two girls on the way, who looked at him and burst out laughing. “God,” said one. “he’s got a nice one!” and they laughed coarsely. In his room they put his trousers on a hanger, and the shirt too, then looked at him, now desperately hiding his strong erection. One went right up to him and seized the hem of his vest. “No, please!” he stammered, knowing what would happen, but the vest was pulled up and over his head, and his hands had to follow. The other girl took the garment and pulled it down his back, forcing his hands behind, and her knuckles pressed his buttocks as her colleague looked her fill at his rampant prick. “Yes, it is a nice one,” she said. “Let’s have the vest to put away.” It was placed in a drawer and they left, giggling.

Again he was naked, and again had nothing to cover himself – being warned not to put on his new clothes till the morrow; he’d be told when. But now it was teatime, and he was hungry. And of course one of the girls walked in with the skimpy smock. “I’m to dress you,” she announced, and proffered the garment so that he could insert his arms in the sleeves. She could then put the hem over his head and draw it down over his body, getting a good eyeful in the meantime, he knew. “Come to tea,” she said happily, and he followed her down silently and mechanically drank his tea, not able to look them in the eyes. One thing he took comfort from: his erection was hidden quite nicely by the smock, except that it poked out the material.

He was informed as he finished that Mrs G wanted to see him in the drawing room, and when he got there he found her in conversation with a young girl of seventeen or so, introduced as her niece, Hilary, a budding artist.

“Matthew would make a fine model, wouldn’t he?”

“Oh yes,” the girl replied. “When can we start?”

“Why, right now. Come here, Matthew, and let Hilary draw you.”

She got out pencils and paper, scratched her chin and said “First, a simple standing portrait.” This went well for quarter of an hour, after which she said “He’ll be tired, perhaps, so let’s seat him here.” She put him on the couch and arranged his limbs, one leg bent at the knee. This portrait took a bit longer, and Matthew was uneasy about how revealing it was, with his short tunic surely showing too much thigh? Then he was given a break, and the two women looked at the sketches while he drew a deep breath. A message was brought by the head servant Abigail that made Mrs Grainger leave them for a bit, saying she’d send in tea, and sternly giving the injunction that Matthew do exactly as Hilary said. When she had gone the girl looked at him with a gleam in her eyes and actually rubbed her hands in anticipation. Matthew looked at her in anxiety that was all too prophetic.

“Right! Matthew, you’re a fine subject, you know that? You have a nice body. And it’s a shame to hide it behind that absurd smock.” Ignoring his squeal of protest, she stripped the garment from his body and threw it aside. “Now! Let’s see how we can arrange you….” He tried to hide his crotch and was startled to hear her say “Yes! That’s good! Stay just like that!” She proceeded to sketch him in that agonising pose, and got, as she thought, his blushes down beautifully. Next she posed him nude in several positions, capturing his buttocks, his anus, and drawing with fond detail the erection of his manhood. He was blushing from head to foot, and she was greatly amused at this. He of course was telling himself that he had to submit to this indignity for his family’s sake. Yet he did think to himself that if they heard about these humiliations they themselves would be humiliated. When the girls brought in the tea trolley he was standing with arms outstretched, legs apart, head thrown back, in what she called the da Vinci pose, and she was sketching like mad. The girls looked at the scene with grins, and Hilary said to them, “Don’t you think he’s magnificent? Look at the lines of his body, the waist, the thighs, his cock – isn’t it marvellous?” They gave exclamations of agreement, while he was feeling weak at the knees and conscious of the total engorgement of his penis before these randy girls. She continued drawing for what seemed an eternity as the girls stared with lecherous amusement at his nakedness and he was positive his blush had deepened, if that were possible. “All right, Matthew, you can go,” she eventually said, and he snatched up the smock, which though short was at least some cover, and dashed out the door, hearing gales of laughter behind him.

After supper, where again he avoided everyone’s eyes, he was told to see Mrs G, who looked him over and asked when he last had a bath. “Just a day or so ago, madam, when I got here.”

“Ah well, maybe you should have another one.”

“Do I have to use the big one upstairs – it doesn’t have a lock—”

“None of them do!” she snapped. “Are you complaining about it? I have decreed that there be no way of shutting out people from entering any room in the house, except for the private wing of course. What if there were an emergency of any kind? Indeed, some of the water-closets have no doors at all! No, you can use that one you had before. It’s close to your room, isn’t it?”

“Yes, madam,” he said, in defeat.

“Fine, off to your room and get ready. I’ll tell Jennie to run the bath.” He felt a bit bothered by this, somehow, but went up to his room and looked in his mirror. Why were all these things happening to him? He had finally got the impression that Mrs G was playing with him, deliberately showing him off to the servants, and enjoying vicariously their glee in his humiliation. He sighed fearfully and went along to the bathroom where the fifteen-year-old Jennie was running water into the bath. Steam rose, and she turned and smiled at him with what looked like anticipation in her eyes. “There you are, Matthew. In you get.”

He stared at her in dismay, and caught at the hem of his too short smock. Did she expect him to undress in front of her? She grinned and left, leaving the door open. He hurriedly closed it , yanked off the smock, and stepped in. Taking the soap, he lathered his chest and belly, and sat down to wash off the soap.

Mrs Grainger came in, saying “Ah there you are.” He of course was embarrassed, and crouched down in the water. She looked down at him and said “You do wash thoroughly, don’t you? Your bottom [he flushed], the small of your back? I know it’s difficult to reach. Yes,” and with a slight smile she went out, leaving the door open.

Matthew looked anxiously at the open door and decided to finish in a hurry. He got soap on his feet and legs, and cleaned them off, and was just thinking of stepping out when Jennie came in. He flinched and retreated, then watched in horror as she grabbed the soap and lathered up.

“Come, Matthew,” she said, “I’m to make sure your back gets a scrub. Turn round.”

He gave a slight moan and swivelled his body round.

“No, you’ll have to stand up.” So he did, blushing yet once more as the girl soaped his back, knowing she had an excellent close view of his arse. But then she made him quail when she said “The mistress says you probably don’t wash your bottom or anything else down there, so—“ and she lathered the cheeks of his arse. He squirmed under her touch, and squirmed more as she put her soapy fingers in his cleft, saying “Bend forward.” Unable to protest, he did so and she was able to access his anus. Gently she rubbed her fingers over the sensitive hole and he nearly swooned with shame. She was muttering to herself quietly, “A boy’s bum! God, a boy’s bum!” Then oh God she went further and soaped his perineum. “Turn round!” Mechanically he did so, his hands all this time over his genitals, but she pulled them away and brought the soap from his seam forward to his testicles, and he shuddered. She gently took his penis in her soft hands and soaped it up and down, saying “It’s a fine thing you’ve got there, Matthew, but it has to be cleaned properly. Mistress told me about making sure that I clean behind your foreskin.”

The boy was nearly mad with shame and (it must be admitted) excitement, and his penis was growing stiff. Jennie pulled the foreskin back and soaped the glans, taking great care and loitering over the process, murmuring to herself, “I never thought I’d ever do this, wash a boy’s cock! I’m grateful to the mistress for giving me this chance!”

Just then in came Amelia, smiling to herself, to say Mrs G wanted Jennie, and she could take over. Matthew was of course aghast at this development. Reluctantly Jennie gave up her hold on his prick , dried off, and left. The other girl now had her turn, wasting no time on his shoulder blades but soaping his arse once more, fingering his anus, drawing her finger along his perineum and lathering his ballocks. Her careful ministrations took quite a while, and she was just starting on the shaft of his penis, now fully erect, when Jennie came back to gaze at the sight – he standing there with hands thrown out to balance, and not being able to prevent moving his pelvis to her strokes , though babbling “Please, miss, Amelia, please, don’t….” Jennie joined in the action and put out a hand to fondle his scrotum, and inevitably he gave a great cry of release as he spasmed in ejaculation. The girls watched in fascination as the white jet spurted from his penis, and laughed in delight. The boy was near unconscious with shame, and stood there till the ejaculation was spent. Jennie scooped up water to wash his penis, and they helped him out, grabbing the towel to dry him off. Then they led him to his room and returned his meagre smock, telling him they admired his endowments (“You have a great cock, Matthew!”) and left saying they’d have something to tell the others. He lay in his bed, his cheeks still burning, reliving the day’s humiliations. What else could happen to him?

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Saturday 9^th May

A pee and a wash in the bathroom without a lock, and he was ready for breakfast. The girls who had seen his nudity grinned at him familiarly, which caused a blush, but didn’t refer to it, which he was grateful for. They told him a new girl was coming today, called Catherine, who was evidently his age. He was told to be nice to her and make her welcome, and he promised to do that. It was another fine day for late spring, and so he went out into the garden, coming eventually to the brick wall where he was pissing when the girl saw him. He shivered at the memory; just then the same girl poked her head over the wall and saw him in that short shift, and yelled “Oohoo! Are you going to pee again? Show me your mickey!” He gulped and fled, wondering where the young girl got such a vocabulary. He came to a gate in the wall and wandered through it. Realising he might be in the part of the grounds containing the school, he was a bit circumspect. Suppose he met that awful girl? Going cautiously he came to a pool in the garden and wished he could bathe. But of course it was too public, and with his luck someone would be sure to see him. He went on for a bit, then paused as he heard a cry behind him, and he turned to see something floating in the water. It looked like a child had fallen in, and he rushed back and dived in to save it. But it was just a big doll, and the girl who dropped it was grateful but apologetic. Meanwhile of course he’d forgotten that damned smock got transparent when wet. She seized his hand and pulled him along with her to where there were four more young girls, and told them he saved her dolly. They crowded round him as he realised his body was visible under the wet cloth, and he flushed and started to cover himself, but they seized his hands and took him farther into the garden, where a small company of what look like twelve-year olds was gathered. He was shown to about twenty gawking girls, who looked at him with grinning wonder, and he blushed under their scrutiny. At last he broke free and made to return to the gate, but they pursued him, one reaching out to stop him and touching his arse. She shouted “His bum! His bum!”, and they all piled after her, trying to touch him. He in panic couldn’t find the gate, but did find a trellis against the wall and desperately tried to climb it, as they reached him and put their hands under his smock to feel his arse, trying to get round to touch his penis. He managed to break away again and climbed up, feeling something rip behind him before he made it over the wall, and breathlessly got back to the house, where he tried to sidle unseen upstairs to his room. Of course he was spotted by one of the maids, Christina, who looked at him and burst out laughing, saying “What happened to you? You’re wet, and you’ve torn your smock. Mistress will not be pleased about that.” He saw it would have to be mended, and she looked at his dismay and said “All right, Matthew, you’re a sweet boy, so I’ll sew it up for you. You’ll have to give it to me of course!” With a sigh he turned his back and took it off over his head and gave it to her. Then, flushing again under her amused eyes, he covered himself and went to sneak upstairs. To do this he had to cross the hall, and halfway there he heard voices. He dashed across to the morning room, which was thankfully empty, and heard footsteps approaching. He looked about for cover, and eventually went in a dither to the French window, thinking he might manage to escape notice in the garden again, but there was no time – they were at the door, and he slid behind the floor-length curtain. He heard the voices of Mrs G and someone else she addressed as Catherine – God, it was the new girl –how long would they be there?

Lydia Grainger looked at Catherine and admired her pretty figure. The girl had nice golden-brown hair cut roughly at the nape of her neck and grey-brown eyes that looked at the mistress with humility.

“Now, child, let’s look at you. Properly. Take that dreadful dress off.” Catherine registered shock, and Mrs Grainger tutted with impatience. “Come, don’t dally, I want to examine you.” Matthew heard the sounds of cloth dropping to the floor, and imagined what was going on.

“Now then, your limbs look nice, but about the rest of you – take off that ugly chemise. Now, don’t answer me back, take it off! That’s better. You know, if you disobey, you’ll have to be punished. Do you see this? This is for your backside if you defy me. So, let’s see you. Hmm, your breasts are quite nice, though they could be much bigger. At fifteen, you should be better developed. Take off your knickers. Now!”

Matthew heard a muffled sob from the girl, and a “Yes!” of satisfaction from Mrs Grainger. “Your waist, yes, and your pubis – not much hair there. Perhaps we should go the whole hog and shave your mount of Venus. You know what that is? It’s this private part, here.” She was evidently touching the girl’s … thing, and Matthew heard a yelp. He stood there in astonishment, and began to be aroused by their presence, he being a few feet away and naked as the day he was born. The sun shone in the glass of the window, hot on his bare skin, which had now dried. The mistress was interrupted by Jennie, who entered to tell her a package had arrived for her, and the messenger wanted to talk about something. She wearily sighed and said to Catherine “Stay here, don’t move. I’ll be back in a moment.”

She went off, and the girl exclaimed “God, what am I to do?” She came over to the window and stared out, and Matthew could see she was naked but for her shoes. She turned and saw him, standing erect, and opened her mouth to scream. He seized her and covered her mouth, whispering “Please don’t cry out, or we’ll both be punished.” She struggled in fright, conscious of their nakedness and his erection touching her skin, but said nothing. “Please,” he whispered, “please don’t let on that I’m here.” Footsteps approached, and she ran back to where she had stood.

“Oh why are you blushing, child? Being naked? Being examined? Let me look at you again.” Matthew heard an indrawn breath, and a muted squeal, then Mrs G saying “Your vulva is attractive, and the labia well-formed. Are you a virgin? Wait, I can see the hymen is broken. Well, is it natural or not? Confess, have you been with a man, did he enter you down there? Did he fuck you?”

The boy was astounded at this, and sympathised with the poor girl when she sobbed “No, no, madam, I’m a –” then, as if remembering the boy’s presence, she whispered “I’m a virgin. My hymen broke two years ago or so when I was riding a horse on my uncle’s farm.” “Hmm,” said her mistress, “I suppose that could be true. Still. Swear to me – say No one has ever fucked me.” The girl swallowed, and with a glance at the French windows she quavered “No one has ever fucked me.”

“All right, now let me see your bum. Turn round and bend over, spreading your legs. That’s it. When did you last go to the bathroom? I mean move your bowels?” She stammered a reply Matthew couldn’t hear, probably muttered, being conscious of him listening to this intimate interrogation. “Let’s see your vulva again. Go and stand at the window there.” She made the sound of an exclamation. “Go,” insisted the tyrant, “I want to see you in full sunlight.”

Catherine went reluctantly to the window knowing she was coming into his view, turning round to face Mrs G and seeing him and his erection as she did so. “You’re blushing again! Oh, do you play with yourself often?” Catherine winced, and so did the silent spy.

“Well, do you?” “Not very often,” she said, looking sideways again.

“Another thing, you have begun to menstruate, haven’t you? When did you begin?”

Catherine’s blush intensified, and she looked to the side, to where Matthew was standing, with a blush of his own, with a sort of appeal in her eyes. She looked down and said in a low trembling voice, “I began when I was twelve, madam, three years ago.”

“And are they difficult? Do you have cramps? Do you have much of a flow?”

“No, madam, it’s … it’s not much, they’re all right. I just get an ache … sometimes.”

“And when are you due?”

Catherine swallowed and looked at Matthew again as she quavered “They should come about three weeks into the month, about the twentieth or so I expect.”

She licked her lips and seemed to sigh, and Matthew could see she was sweating in the sun. Embarrassed to death, he thought, to know I’m here to listen and see her nudity…. “Raise your arms above your head, elevate your breasts. Yes, quite pretty.” Matthew drew in a silent breath as he looked at her and admired her smallish breasts, which he had the mad idea of cupping in his hands. Catherine looked at him and saw his admiration, and her blush intensified.

“I can see your nipples are erect,” Mrs Grainger continued, “and I do believe you’re a bit moist down there. You’re excited, aren’t you? I wonder why? I have to tell you, Catherine, that there’s a young boy your age in the house. I may as well warn you that punishment for breaking my rules will not only involve being spanked with the paddle, but also a measure of humiliation – I might let him see you naked.”

The girl choked back a sound that could be a laugh, looked off to the side (straight at Matthew’s hard-on) and said “Please madam, anything but that.”

“Off to your room now. Leave those awful clothes behind, I’ll give you others. Come along.”

“But madam, I’m—I’m naked!”

“What of it? Who’s to see you but the servants?” They left, and Matthew was free to negotiate the stairs stark naked.

Bless the girl, he thought, she hadn’t betrayed him, though it had to have been excruciating for her to know he was there listening while her body was examined and Mrs Grainger asked those awful questions, and even made her say Fuck, which she can’t be used to. He could see Mrs G’s method now – a mixture of physical threat and psychological pressure, to keep the girl, and probably all her staff, under control. That probably went for those dreadful schoolgirls too. No wonder they broke out like that every so often. The memory of his pursuit that morning brought his erection back, and he shielded it from any witnesses as he ascended the stairs, praying of course he saw no one.

He reached his landing with no trouble and passed the bathroom, but doubled back when he had an overwhelming urge to urinate. In he went and stood over the lavatory, and within a second was peeing into the bowl. He looked up to see another of the girls, Norah, standing in the door looking at his performance with a grin. Not able to stop, he had to continue to pee and show her his penis.

“Yes, Matthew, they said your cock was nice looking. So it is. You must be pleased.”

He shook off and covered himself, blushing again, and burst out, “They’re talking about me downstairs, aren’t they? They—”

“Oh yes, of course. Most of us have seen you naked now, and they admire your cock, we discuss how big it is and so forth. How big is it? When it’s standing, I mean?”

He couldn’t believe he was having this conversation with a girl he scarcely knew. “Please, let me pass,” he said, “I want to get to my room –”

“— And hide? Why are you all naked? Where’s your smock? You haven’t lost it somehow?! God, the mistress will have your hide. Listen, Matthew. You may think we’re giving you a hard time, but giving you a red face is just the start – you do blush jolly nicely, you know. But she also can be quite mean with her punishments. She can be really sweet and kind, but she brooks no disobedience. We girls have learned to live with that, and even to anticipate her wishes. It’d be as well for you to do the same.”

He explained about the smock and how Christina was going to repair it, and she looked a bit doubtful, warning him that if Mrs G found out somehow, he’ll get hell one way or another. “Let me tell you, Matthew,” she said, “Mrs G seems to be able to find out what we’re all up to. I sometimes think she’s clairvoyant or listens at the doors all the time, or maybe there’s one of us is a spy that tattles to her. There’s no … privacy in the house, you’ll have noticed. No doors on the shitholes either. You’re embarrassed to be seen on the pot, well we’ll be embarrassed too, when it happens, and it surely will. Tit for tat. But we can’t do anything about it. Anyway, be consoled: we all admire your body, and most of us seem to fancy you. Are you a virgin, by the way?”

Matthew got red again and muttered “Yes, as it happens.” Norah smiled and said lecherously, “But not for long, eh? There’s half a dozen juicy girls who’d like to warm your bed! I might think about it myself.”

He looked at her in confusion. “You mean some of the girls would like …”

“Yes, you silly goose! They want to fuck you. Or be fucked. I know three at least who are not virgins, and they could probably show you some techniques! Anyway, now you know. We’re all very pleased that madam sent for you.” With a gay smile, she left, and he got to his room and paced about, wondering how long it would be before the girl came with his smock. It was time for lunch, and he was expected downstairs. He hadn’t been told he might wear his new clothes, so he had to have his smock.

At last Christina came with his smock, saying she hoped the repair wouldn’t be noticed, but unfortunately the garment had shrunk a bit after being wet, and she was afraid it wouldn’t fit him. He heard this in horror, and asked her to turn her back while he put it on. He turned his back, anyway, so he didn’t see her looking at him with pleasure. He was aghast and a bit panicked when he found that the short smock, which was barely adequate before, was now even shorter – it didn’t cover his buttocks completely, and nearly showed the tip of his penis. Christina looked at him and said he could hide his prick pretty well, but he’d better not get an erection. It was time for lunch, and he followed her down to the meal, and tried to appear normal, but the girls seemed to know what was up. They asked him to reach up to a shelf to fetch down some box, and crowded round as he exposed himself. Turning, he couldn’t help but get an erection when he saw those eyes and those grins. Oho! They laughed and applauded when the smock was raised by the penis and the head peeped out – he was blushing like fury and tried to give the box to one of them, but she said wickedly “No, bring it through here,” and he had to carry the box through the crowd, showing his arousal, to another shelf. He covered himself again and swallowed, saying “Have you had your fun? I’m going upstairs.”

But there was a bell, and when Jennie answered it she came back to tell Matthew that he was supposed to present himself in the drawing room. He couldn’t imagine how he could face Mrs G like this, she’d know something happened, but he had to, so dreading the encounter he went into the room and stood with his hands joined in front of his groin. Mrs G looked at him quizzically then introduced her guests, a distant cousin from America, Deirdre Miller, and her daughter Charlotte, a pert young girl of thirteen or fourteen, who looked at him and smiled to herself as she realised his problem. “He’s a fine young man, isn’t he?| said Mrs Grainger. “Boy, rather, he’s only fifteen, but well made. Stand straight, Matthew. Hands by your side.”

He straightened his back, hoping the inadequate smock covered him. If he should get another erection! “Turn round.” He swallowed and turned his back, sure that they could see the beginning of his arse cheeks. An exclamation from the girl told him something was amiss.

“All right, Matthew,” said Mrs Grainger, “that’ll do. He cuts a fine figure, I’ll tell you, in the new clothes he got yesterday. You’ll have to show them to us, Matthew. For now—Why don’t you go with Charlotte and play a while? Out in the garden. Off you go, and Matthew, play nicely with Charlotte. She can choose a game for you.”

“Yes, madam,” said Matthew with a gulp and turned to the French window, of course (he knew) showing more of his bum. He couldn’t understand why the cousin didn’t object. But he opened the glass door and allowed the young girl to exit first. Mrs Grainger looked over at him and repeated her injunction, adding “Do whatever Charlotte suggests.” He swallowed and replied “Yes, madam, of course,” and went out.

Charlotte was waiting for him. “Well,” she said, “what shall we play?” She was eying his barely clad body, and he began to perspire. How could he keep up his frail composure?

“Let’s just take a walk for now,” she said and walked away over the lawn. He followed, noticing that a quick movement of his legs made the hem of the shrunken smock rise an inch or so, and (oh God) the tip of his penis peeped out. He moved as delicately as he could, and joined her at an arbour. They could hear the murmur of a stream, and she made for it, and exclaimed in delight when she found it. Promptly she sat down on a mossy stone nearby and told him imperiously to kneel down. He did so, wondering what game she’d decided on. “Take off my shoes.” He obeyed, unbuckling them and laying them aside. “Take off my stockings.”

“What?!” he gasped. “I said, take off my stockings. I can’t wade with them on.”

“But miss, I—“

”Go ahead, you ninny.”

He sighed and put his hands to her feet. “M-Miss Charlotte, you— you’ll have to …to lift your dress….”

“Oh goodness, of course.”

She pulled the hem up about six inches, looking at him a little roguishly. Heavens, he thought, she really wants me to put my hands up her legs? He began to feel the dangerous arousal and pulled his smock down a little.She drew her dress up further, all the while looking at him with a smile, a real coquette – at fourteen? With a swallow Matthew put his hands up to her thighs, as she pulled the dress even further, till he could see the tops of her stockings and a glimpse of white skin. Breathing hard, he took hold of the top of her left stocking and pulled it down and off, laying it beside her shoes. He looked at her, now with one excitingly bared leg, and put his hands up (oh God, close to her groin!) to take hold of her other stocking – she obligingly opened her legs a little so he could reach easily. Once her legs were naked, she rose and approached the stream, still holding her dress high. He definitely felt the tremor of arousal now.

“Well, come, let’s paddle!” He rose and joined her as she frisked about, but he was anxious not to get his smock wet again, and kept his distance. “Come on, Matthew! Enjoy it! Don’t be afraid of getting wet! In this heat you’ll soon be dry!” She raised her dress a little more and he had a glimpse of bare thigh – even the roundness of a buttock. She saw him staring at her and laughed. “Ooh! Did you see I’m not wearing any underclothes, no drawers? It’s freedom, Matthew! And you aren’t wearing anything underneath that thing, are you?” “No, miss,” he answered weakly. What was she trying to do to him? “No, for I can see your bum!” she laughed and stepped out and thought about drying her legs and feet. “Will I just use my dress, or stockings? No…” She looked over and a devilish expression came on her pretty face. “I think that smock of yours might suffice. Give it to me.”

He flushed and stammered “B-but miss, Charlotte, I—I can’t—“

“Can’t? Didn’t Mrs Grainger tell you to do as I asked?”

“Y-yes miss, but—For God’s sake, I’ll be naked.” “And you don’t want me to see you naked,” said the fourteen year old. “No miss,” he said miserably, “please don’t make me.”

She looked at him with an impish grin. “All right, but come here.” She sat on the rock and splayed her legs, and he caught his breath as her dress rose higher Did he really see the top of her thighs, with a hint of her—

“Now, turn around so that I can reach the back of your smock.” He did so in trepidation, and gave a yelp as he felt her take the hem and pull it towards her, to use to dry herself. He had to sit awkwardly between her legs as she patted herself dry, showing his bare backside all the time.

When she finished, she pushed him up and lay down on the mossy ground, then looked up at him, who was valiantly trying to conceal his hard-on. ”Now, Matthew, the massage! I’m sure you know how to do it.” Incredulous that she was inviting an intimate touching, he shyly put his hands on her knee. “That’s it! Stroke me nicely. Yes, that’s it, just like that.”

He moved his hands as gently as he could down her legs to her feet, up again, and further up till he reached where he had been before. He knew he was really roused by this time, and his penis was peeping out from his smock, but he carried on as in a dream, and saw that she wasn’t looking at him, but up at the sky. His fingers reached the hem of her dress and (oh Christ!) she raised it again. His trembling hands stroked her groin and as she smiled she gave a pleased sigh. This was his first close sight of a girl’s private parts, and he couldn’t believe what was happening. He boldly ran his fingers over the mound of her pubis, stroking her wisp of pubic hair, and put their tips to the slit of her vulva.

“Yes Matthew!” He didn’t know what to do next – this was his first such experience, but he found himself inserting his fingers into the warm vulva, which seemed to have opened up to invite him in—and he moved his fingers about the moist cavity to find a little nub whose touching made the girl quiver. It wasn’t long before she shuddered and moaned “Yes! Yes! Oh…! Ohh….” She fell silent, and breathed deeply. After a minute she smiled and said quietly, “Thank you, Matthew.” He drew back in amazement. What were they doing? Her mother would kill him for feeling up her daughter, and Mrs G would too, for injuring her guest. And only fourteen, too?

“How old are you, Charlotte?” he asked.

She lay looking up at the sky and murmured dreamily, “Fourteen. Well, nearly.”

Matthew was dismayed at how young she was, but couldn’t help wondering where she got her precocious attitude to nudity and sex. He didn’t have much time to reflect however before she rose and pulled down her dress, saying “Your turn. I’m going to massage you. Down you get, on your front.” He complied in some terror, which intensified when she put her warm hands on the back of his right knee. Christ, she was going to feel him, his backside— She stroked up the leg till she reached the cheek, then swiftly drew the material up to reveal his bottom in all its glory. He flinched, and cried out when she, with a muttered “Hell! Let’s have everything,” pulled the smock over his head and cast it aside. He smothered a squeal of “Please, miss!” as she proceeded to go from his left knee up to his cheeks, which she smoothed her hands over, pushing his legs aside to get to his cleft and his anus.

“Goodness, Matthew, this is nice. I like your bum, and your bumhole!” He of course was sweating in shame, but silent, till she spoke again. “Right! Over we go. Turn over!” He nearly screamed but got up on his knees and in panic tucked his engorged organ between his legs, then turned his body round, and looked her in the eye. “Oho,” she laughed, “so you don’t want to show me?” With a moue of disappointment, and then a roguish smile, she put her fingers to the nipples on his bare chest, and began to to tickle him. He squirmed and gasped, feeling his penis react, and wondered how he could contain it behind his thighs, then cried out as she grinned and put her hand down to play with his sparse pubic hair. “Please, Charlotte! Please, I can’t bear it!” “Oh well,” she said with a laugh, “I’ll maybe get another chance. Let’s go. Up you get.”

By delicate manoeuvring he managed to dress himself again, and they continued their walk, he hoping he could settle down before they returned. The precocious child (as he thought of her, though only two years or so his junior) kept up a stream of inconsequential chatter, and it wasn’t long before his breathing and his tumescence returned to normal. Yet he was amazed at how she put the episode behind her. As for him, he couldn’t put it out of his mind, and it played over in his head for the remainder of their stroll. They wandered back to the house, and Lydia Grainger asked whether they’d enjoyed themselves. “Oh yes, Auntie G.,” said Charlotte brazenly, “we had ever such a nice walk, didn’t we, Matthew?” He confirmed it, and the ladies seemed satisfied.

“I’ll ring for some tea, would you like that? And Matthew, that’s all for now. Come back in half an hour or so, and bring your new clothes with you.” “Yes madam,” he replied, and went out, conscious again of his nearly bare backside. On the way up to his room, though, he remembered with a twinge of unease that he was supposed to take his new clothes with him, and not wear them. How – did she mean – oh God, no, she couldn’t intend –!

He sat in his room quivering with anxiety, his legs trembling as he imagined what might be in store. Time went by quite quickly before Jennie popped her head in to say “Mistress wants you and your suit, in the drawing room, now.” He hurriedly grabbed the vest, the shirt, and the trousers, and went downstairs in dread. When he entered the room, tea was nearly finished, and two of the girls were tidying up.

“Ah Matthew, there you are,” said Mrs Grainger affably. “Come over and let’s look at you again.” He approached the group at the tea trolley and stood flinching a little under the gaze of the two older women and three girls. As usual, the hostess spoke about him in the third person, almost as if he wasn’t there. “Yes, a fine body on him, you agree, don’t you? It deserves to be set off by fine clothes. That ridiculous smock he has on doesn’t suit him, but he had to have something no matter how inadequate. We burned his old clothes of course, they wouldn’t do at all. So I ordered up some finer garments from my friend Mr Jackson, you remember him, perhaps, a vest, a shirt, and trousers. Give them to Mrs Miller.”

He walked over to her, and laid the clothes in her lap. Being so close to the guests made him nervous again – his “inadequate” smock was no real cover. The two girls with the tea service were of course eying him in ill-concealed glee. Mrs Miller passed the vest to her daughter, and fingered the lawn of the shirt. “Yes, Lydia, this seems very good, very fine.” She passed it to her daughter in turn, who held it up to the light. “Yes, mother,” she said, “it’s so sheer, it’s practically transparent.” “And these trousers,” said her mother, “are of excellent cotton. They seem rather thin, and even quite narrow—are you sure they fit him, Lydia?”

“Why not see for yourself?” Matthew swallowed, and his breath became a pant. Surely she couldn’t mean this? But of course she did. “Matthew, stand over there where we can all see you, and take off your smock.”

For a moment he thought of running away, but knew he had no chance of escape. He managed to stammer out “M-Madam, I can’t—Please—“ but quailed at a hiss of breath. Before the eyes of the two women, pert young Charlotte and the two serving girls, he drew off his one garment and stood trembling and naked but for the poor cloth in his hands, held in front of his privates. “Phyllis! Amanda! Do your part. Take the smock away and put on the vest.”

They moved with alacrity, stealing his one cover and putting his arms into the vest, then pulling it down his body and standing back. “Stand up straight, boy!” commanded Mrs Grainger, “hands by your sides.” It was no good, he had an erection in front of them all, his penis jutting out at right angles to his sweating body, and they examining him minutely. “Right, now the shirt.” It went on nicely, but his standing cock poked it out in front. The trousers remained, and the girls lifted his feet one after the other into the legs. Phyllis drew them up to his waist and tucked in the shirt over his erection, he wincing in red confusion. Amanda followed up by doing up the buttons, moving her hands naturally over the bulge of his cock. “There now, Deirdre,” said Mrs Grainger proudly, “you see how they fit? Isn’t he a fine figure? Don’t the clothes set him off magnificently?”

“Yes, Lydia, I do see. I appreciate the fineness of the lawn, it’s practically sheer, as you said, Charlotte.”

“Yes, mother, you’re right. You can see his belly button!” She gave a giggle. “And the trousers—“

“Yes,” her mother said. “Lydia, I thought they might be too tight for the poor fellow but you’ve squeezed him in there quite adequately. Of course, there’s his, ahem—”

“I suppose you mean where his erection pushes out the material. That’s really no problem. All right, girls, you can remove them now.”

Matthew couldn’t believe they were doing it again – the girls were on him to unbutton his trousers and take them off his legs, which felt like rubber now. Off came the shirt, and lastly the vest, and he stood squirming before them, naked and erect. “Stand up straight, boy! Put your hands behind your head. Yes,” said Mrs Grainger, “a fine-looking boy, even when he’s naked. Don’t you think, Deirdre?”

“Yes indeed,” said the woman, “every inch of him.”

Their hostess looked across at the daughter with something of a sly smile. “Charlotte? What do you think of him?”

She looked at him, not hiding her wanton interest in his penis, now nearly purple with its blood, and murmured ambiguously “Yes, Aunt Lydia. A fine-looking boy. Especially when he’s naked. Every inch of him.” They gazed at him with satisfaction, the young girls with bawdy amusement, silently laughing at his unbelievably crimson embarrassment, he near faint with shame. His ordeal was not over however. Charlotte was looking at him thoughtfully, then glanced sideways at her mother, then at Lydia. “I wonder…” she said, They looked at her with indulgent smiles. “I wonder… how many inches?”

He moaned as Lydia flashed him a warning stare and replied “Oh Charlotte, dear, there’s only one way to find out.”

The adults watched in amusement as the precocious girl beckoned to the boy, who had to approach, quaking, within arm’s length, then suffer her hand that stroked the length of his penis, and the hand that cupped his balls. “Goodness,” she said, “it’s growing more!”

The others laughed, and Phyllis said “Madam, if you like I’ve got a measuring tape right here.”

“Excellent, Phyllis!” cried Mrs G. “Bring it here to Miss Miller.”

The bawdy child took the tape and set about putting it to the blushing boy’s erection, measuring from the base of the organ at his pubis to the sensitive tip and then from the tip to the end of the underside where it met his scrotum. “There’s a difference,” she said judiciously, “but the main length is – let me check it again – yes, it’s six and three quarter inches.”

She put her hand back to the quivering organ, and Matthew had to mumble “Please, miss! Charlotte, I’m going … look, please don’t—”

His mistress suddenly signalled to Jessica, who understood and passed a napkin to Charlotte, who continued to fondle his penis till it began to throb under her fingers, and she looked up at him as he squirmed and said “For God’s sake, Charlotte—”, then arched his body as his orgasm started. She hastened to collect the sperm in the napkin, and when it was over she looked at him and said “Bravo, Matthew! That was fine. I knew it would be. I knew you wouldn’t escape.”

She looked at the two grownups, who were stifling laughter at the scene, and Mrs Grainger said “You handled that – ha! – very well, my dear. Matthew, stand straight. Girls, clear the tea things.” Everything was treated as absolutely normal, and he couldn’t believe what had happened.

He was sent off, taking the new clothes with him, and ordered to put them away till tomorrow. In his daze he neglected to take the inadequate smock with him, and climbed the stairs naked to his room. He lay down on his bed and felt like crying. God, how could he bear this? For Christ’s sake, he hadn’t been here a week, and he was to spend a month in this sexual prison? Still, there wasn’t much more that they could do to him, was there? At length fatigue after all that tension overcame him, and he slept.

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

When he awoke it was much later. He had missed supper, and his growling stomach made him wonder about searching for a bite in the pantry downstairs. He couldn’t wear his suit, but there was the bathroom towel. He ventured along to the bathroom and found a towel which was only big enough to go round his middle, with some spare to tie in a knot. This would have to do. He crept downstairs, knowing that the others must be in bed by now, but being circumspect anyway. He reached the pantry with no trouble, and by the faint light of a skylight was able to find milk and a piece of cheese. Not daring to stay down much further, he wolfed the cheese and swallowed the milk hurriedly and made to return to the safe sanctuary of his room. Going by the back stairs this time he approached from a different direction, and found himself behind a dim figure walking rather stealthily along, then turning into the open door of the bathroom. He came up to the door just as it was closing, but hearing the sound of footsteps he hurriedly, without thinking, slipped in and stood against it. The steps retreated, and he sighed with relief. Then he realised the other person was there, and vaguely made out a figure on the lavatory seat.

“Oh,” he said, “I’m sorry—“ He was interrupted by a loud fart and the sound of faeces falling into the bowl. He heard a sort of sob and a familiar voice said “No privacy even here. For God’s sake, go away!” A series of farts followed, and she continued (for it was Catherine) “O God, I can’t help it. She gave me something to drink and now I have to shite every couple of hours. Put on the light, why don’t you? It’s the boy, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he said, “I’m Matthew Raven.” He switched on the light to reveal Catherine on the seat, naked, covering her breasts with her left hand and holding her belly with her right. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I wish there was something I could do—“

She farted again, and a crimson blush overcame her face, going down to the hollow of her breasts. He couldn’t help but look at her, reminding himself of the interview and her naked presence, and conscious of his penis pushing out the towel in an erection. “Catherine,” he said shyly, “thank you for not giving me away today. It must have been a shock to see me, naked, too, and to have to show yourself to me like that. Listen, we should have a long talk—“

A cascade of farts came again, and she blushed heavier than ever. ”Please don’t be embarrassed—”

“What?! How can I not be, when you’re here, a boy, looking at me naked, listening to my farts, and hearing me shite?” She was near tears.

“No,” he said, “I’m sorry, I’ll go. My room is just along the corridor. Please, when you’ve finished, come there. We should talk about things. Will you?”

“All right. If I ever do. Thank you.”

He left, and returned to his room with a strangely light heart. Somehow he knew he had an ally.

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

There was tap on the door, and a nervous murmur, “Matthew? Are you there?”

He went to the door and opened it slightly. “Catherine!”

“Yes, I—I want to talk to you, but… I’m … naked.”

“Oh,” he said, “yes. Well, here’s a towel.” He took it off and passed it out to her, and quickly retreated to the bed and got under the sheet. She came in shyly with the towel covering her breasts and thighs. He reflected that it was more erotic in its way than full nudity. She came forward and shivered, looking ashamed and scared.

“Oh,” she said, with something of a wry laugh, “I know you saw me naked, but I—“

“No, Catherine, I understand. I’m hiding from you too. What—Can I ask, I know you’re embarrassed, but what happened to you in there?”

She reddened and sat down on the bed. He realised that the short towel didn’t cover her thighs properly, and looked away. She didn’t notice, but looked down and said, “Well, I know you heard Mrs G’s questions,” reddening further, “and so I might as well tell you, she asked about my… bowel movements.”

“Yes,” he said, getting rather red himself.

“Well, I told her I hadn’t had a … movement for a few days, and she gave me a drink to help it on, she said.”

Matthew licked his lips nervously and said, “And it was too strong, and made you—“

“Yes,” she answered, looking at him directly with a deeper flush, “I had to—to shite, let’s be plain about it, very soon, and then an hour or so later, shite again. I went to bed, but had to get up in a hurry to use the chamber pot, and after that I knew it would happen again. I took the chamber to the bathroom – oh God, it’s still there – and had to sit down again as soon as I got there. Then you found me. God, it’s more embarrassing than you seeing me naked.”

“I know,” said Matthew, “I really do, I’ve been caught that way myself. And they saw me peeing too,” he added, trying to make her feel better. She shifted her body slightly and he saw her upper thigh and even her pubic groove. He tore his eyes away, flushing himself, and saw she had realised her exposure. She blushed and tried to rearrange the towel but it totally disengaged and left her nude. She covered herself with her hands and took the obvious way out by pulling back the sheet (showing his body, and erection) and sliding in beside him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, swallowing nervously, “but this is better, a better cover.” Matthew trembled as he felt her naked body next to his, and he knew his hard-on had grown. But he said reassuringly, “It’s all right, Catherine, I promise it’ll be fine. I’ll try—“

“Thank you, Matthew,” she interrupted, “for listening to me. Do you know what this house is like?”

“Listen, Catherine, I’ll tell you all my adventures this past week, and maybe you’ll see what you’ve stumbled into.” He proceeded to relate (with a few editorial omissions) his experiences of the last four days, and she matched blush for blush at the recital.

Then she said, “It was something like that, Matthew, with me. I’m also on loan, from a rather poorly run orphanage up north. I was a maid there, an orphan myself originally, and Mrs Grainger came to visit the warden. I served the tea, and she took a fancy to me, she said. She asked the warden if she could borrow me for a while, and it was agreed. Mrs Grove impressed on me that if I didn’t behave and obey, carry out all duties without complaint, then I could expect punishment when I came back, although she gave Mrs Grainger absolute freedom to punish me in any way she liked. And so I came here—oh no!”

She threw back the cover, and got up, looking desperately about, not bothering to hide herself. “God, what … where—“ she muttered and searched under the bed. She brought out a chamber pot that Matthew hadn’t known was there, and sat down on it just in time for a fart and a spatter of faeces. She looked up at him, her blush even greater, to say “Oh Matthew, don’t look at me. This is—“

“I know,” he said, “it’s more shameful. And I admit it arouses me, to see you … shite. But maybe we can – look, it’s a sort of dirty bond between us – Look, what did you say about that laxative?”

She looked up at him and tried to answer calmly, ignoring her position. “I think Mrs Grainger gave me too much of that potion, not by accident, but deliberately, as a sort of cruel joke to make me see my place. Oh—” She farted again, and remembered where she was. Her face crumpled and tears came to her eyes.

Matthew gazed at her sympathetically, but couldn’t help reacting to the erotic sight. A pretty girl, absolutely nude, was sitting on a chamber pot in his room, blushing at her position. He admitted to himself that he enjoyed the titillation, and looked at her as she sat with head bowed, waiting for her bowels to stop their spasms. He admired her hair, roughly cut as it was, brownish gold, and the set of her body; narrow hips and a nice little bum, to fit on to that rather small chamber pot. All of a sudden he wanted to touch her, to touch her breasts with their erect nipples, to pass his hands over her bum, to feel her slit and finger her … cunt. The coarse word came to him with a jolt, and he felt himself flush at his thoughts.

She looked up, quietly saying “I’ve finished, I think. Listen, have you got … Is there anything I can use to … wipe myself?”

“Oh! Of course, you—you’ll need—hey, no, you can’t use the towel! Let me get some paper from the bathroom. I think I need a pee myself,” he added, again trying to make her feel not so alone in her predicament.

Covering himself with the towel, he got up and crept out the door, hoping the household was still asleep. In the bathroom, he discovered her chamber pot, and wondered about flushing it, but the noise at this hour (past midnight, surely) would be sure to cause some investigation. He grabbed some toilet paper and was at the door when a figure in a dressing gown came to confront him.

“Well,” said Abigail, “are you having a midnight shite? Is that your po? Your shite smells a bit ripe, I must say.”

“Let me pass, Abigail, I—“

“All right, all right.” She stood aside and he pushed past her, along to his room. She wondered why he’d left the chamber pot behind, and followed him, so was able to see into the room ere the door closed. She stopped with a surprised and gleeful expression, and opened the door again to make sure of what she’d glimpsed. Yes, there was Matthew with the toilet paper in his hand, and that new girl sitting totally naked on another chamber pot. What was going on? The two were looking at her with panic in their eyes and guilty flushes in their cheeks.

“Well, well!” she said. “A pretty picture. What are you doing?”

“Listen Abigail,” said Matthew, “it’s just that Catherine had to go suddenly and I had to get paper—“

“But what about the po in the bathroom? And why is she here?”

They explained as well as they could, and Abigail was maliciously amused. “All right,” she said, “it sounds like madam’s way, I must say. But … speaking of her, if she heard you were here naked with him Mrs G would probably punish you, wouldn’t she? So… if I don’t tell her—“

“God, no, Abigail! Please!”

“Well, I won’t, but only,” she spoke slowly and insinuatingly, “only if you pay a forfeit or two.”

The threat of blackmail made them shiver, and they looked at each other and agreed, having no idea of what might happen with Abigail, but knowing only too well that Mrs G’s punishment would be severe. “All right then. For now, let’s see. Up you get, Catherine, and get some paper from Matthew.” The girl rose slowly, shielding her breasts and pubis, blushing, and then holding a hand (the one across her chest) for the paper. “Now clean your arse.”

Catherine’s blush intensified as she applied the paper. Matthew averted his gaze, but Abigail would have none of that. She shook his arm, saying “Look at her, Matthew! Look at her, she’s wiping her arse. Isn’t it a sight? Well now—keep standing up—Matthew, it’s your turn now. Take off that towel. Right. Oho! You get an erection easily, don’t you? Now, put your left arm across her belly, to hold her—so. Now you, Catherine, bend forward and spread your legs a bit. Now! Matthew, finish cleaning her arse.”

The two of them couldn’t credit her malice, but had to obey, their cheeks aflame. “Oh Catherine,” said Abigail, “what’s it like when a boy wipes your bum for you? And do you feel his prick there, against your bare thigh? Answer! Repeat—“

“I … I enjoy it when a boy wipes my bum,” said Catherine in a low tremulous voice, “and … I can feel his … prick as it touches my bare thigh.” She finished with something like a sob.

“That’s exactly right. Now Matthew—“

He wheeled on her, letting go of the younger girl. “For God’s sake, Abigail! Why are you putting Catherine through this? Listen, I’m fair game, you can do what you like to me. But please leave Cath—“

“What! So gallant! Hey, Catherine, I think he likes you.” Her tone hardened. “Maybe he wants to fuck you.” They both gasped.

“Yes, I think I could tell Mrs G that you two were trying to have sex when I interrupted you. So that you’ll still be a virgin when she looks. And she’d look, believe me.” The others looked at her anxiously, having forgotten their nudity. “—But I won’t,” she continued, “as long as you two do one or two things for me. For now, why don’t you go and flush your po, Catherine, and get back to bed. Mistress will be giving you some clothes, or at least your robe I think, in the morning.”

Suddenly conscious of her nakedness, Catherine covered herself and blushing, ran to the door. She paused and turned to say “Matthew, thank you for helping me.” She turned and pushed the door open, showing her pretty backside.

Matthew’s erection returned, and he shielded himself as Abigail laughed, saying “Lord, Matthew, I’ve had a good look at your prick, why bother? Anyway, you’ll have to flush your po as well.” They heard the sounds of running water. “She’s done now. Off you go and flush yours. No, no towel, naked! My,” she said musingly, “what funny creatures boys are. They show their excitement so plainly. But it’s good to see a standing prick. And yours is very nice looking. Off you go.”

He took the chamber pot with her faeces out, with downcast eyes, and wearily did as he was asked. Back in his room, he looked at her with dislike and asked “Why are you doing this? Do you get enjoyment out of tormenting people? What—”

“Matthew,” she replied, “you can have no conception of the feeling of power you get when you can make folk do things that are quite beyond their nature, such as exposing themselves to others; it’s even more rewarding than punishing them physically. I learned that from Mrs Grainger this past five years, and I intend to go on with it. You and the girl are both only fifteen, and quite immature and naïve. She’s a virgin, and so are you, right?”

He looked at her and sighed. “Yes. I heard her talking to Mrs Grainger, who made her say, No one has ever fucked me.”

Abigail’s eyes grew round and she laughed. “Oh God, Matthew, I bet that gave you a start! But are you a virgin?”

“Yes, Abigail, I’ve never …”

“—Fucked a girl. I thought not. Well, I suppose you’ll still get a thrill out of looking at her naked quim though, eh?”

“To be honest I must admit, yes, I was imagining…”

“Ooh! You gave yourself away there, you randy young dog, you thought about fucking her, didn’t you?”

“For God’s sake, Abigail! Don’t drag Catherine down! I like her, I admit, yes, I couldn’t help imagining what it would be like to … feel her. All right, but—“

“It’s fine, Matthew,” said Abigail, tiring of playing with him. “Listen. Tomorrow you can sleep in, mistress says, and you can make your own breakfast in the kitchen. Cook is over at the school. After that, the day is yours. Evidently Mrs G is pleased with the way you’ve settled in and obeyed orders.” I bet, thought the boy, especially the embarrassing ones. “So you have the day to yourself, and I said I would look after you.” Oh no, he thought, this is where she starts her games again. “But of course, Matthew,” she said with a gleam in her eye, “I’ll be in charge. So, after your breakfast, what would you like to do?” He thought a bit and suggested the library. “Of course,” she said, “you read books. All right. Go to the library until I come to get you. I have other things to do till about lunch time. Then we’ll see.”

“Can I wear my new clothes?”

“Heavens no. You haven’t got your smock? Well, that towel will have to do. It’s not big but it covers your bum easily enough.” Once she left with a salacious wink, he crawled into bed. He tried to go over his feelings about Catherine, but sleep overcame him too soon.

(The End)