Mrs Grainger's Gift 6

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 G Part 6

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Saturday 23^rd May

A letter and a volleyball game, sex in a cottage and on the roof.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       SUMMERTON MANOR

23/5/1925

My dear Maude –

It’s been some time since I wrote you, for which I apologise. Since our meeting at the beginning of the month quite a lot has happened. Young Matthew Raven is settling in. As I anticipated, he has reacted to events in exactly the way I imagined. His blush (as I said I think) is indeed delightful. I gave the girls to understand that a boy would be joining us, and they should make him welcome, but that they were also free to get him into embarrassing situations -- always possible in a house with no locks or lavatory doors. They have taken advantage of this, and seem grateful for the opportunities – which is exactly his function, to be a toy for them and keep them contented with their lot. Young Jennie (do you remember her) is just fifteen, and I manoeuvred the boy into bathing, and her into helping the process, along with another girl, Amelia, who’s 16 and I believe had never seen a naked boy before. Jennie thanked me afterwards. There has I think been something of a contest among the girls to devise embarrassments for the boy. Those that I myself have instigated, such as rendering him naked in the midst of a garden party, have been looked on with gratitude by the girls present (and entertained my guests and their girls, as well). Abigail, my head girl, has been most useful in engineering some situations, and the staff at the school likewise. The students I believe have been pleasantly diverted by opportunities to see the boy naked, in their drawing class for instance, and Miss Cramond, the games mistress, told me she was very satisfied with having him in the gymnastics class, showing him off to the girls – who usually have quite a hard time with her.

I’ve also added a girl to the company, a Catherine Hammond, who’s also 15, and I’m thinking of doing something with them both (as a pair I mean). The two of them have hardly met of course, mostly at meal times, and I don’t know how they’ll get on. For the moment it’s amusing to tease them (or shame them) in similar ways and see which succumbs more easily. I’ve had her stripped and measured for clothes by Mr Jackson and his dreadful son, who is just 16 and so eager to get his hands on a naked girl – and Matthew has been seen by most of the girls – with his own measuring I arranged a few girls to see him entirely naked. It’s that sort of activity that makes every day a new challenge and a new experience. The boy also reacted in a most satisfactory way when Deirdre Miller and her girl Charlotte came to tea. He was wearing a very short smock which had shrunk in the wet and showed more than a hint of his behind – and very nearly revealed his penis. He endeavoured to hide of course and I sent him out for a walk with Charlotte, hoping for some revelation. Evidently she managed to see his naked buttocks, but it remained for me to show them how well he suited his new clothes – and how well he looked stark naked. He showed them the most delightful erection, and young Charlotte (who’s only 14 after all) was very pleased. He was totally scarlet, and the girls serving tea (Amanda and Phyllis, whom you saw when you were here) were giggling – more satisfaction for the bullied servants, you see – so it was very successful. Charlotte was bold enough to measure the length of his penis, and the contact caused him to come. Very amusing.

The next step is a trip to town, where they know me and allow my eccentricities, and I’ll probably show off both the young people, though at different times. I think that’ll be as successful as it was before with the Crawford girl – I was most disappointed when she ran away, but she was useful in giving me ideas for the present situation.

– Next month I plan to host a dinner party for kindred spirits. I don’t know that you should attend, since I feel you and the boy should preserve some distance. My guest list so far includes Sir Graeme Childers the M.P. – I suppose your husband knows him – and George Whiston, who is a much-travelled raconteur, besides some nice young people whom I wish to introduce to the life of moral hedonism. I’ll send you a full report later. Before you ask, your friend Lord Patrick won’t be coming. I know you had a good time with him last time (naughty you), but he told me he’s not coming to any more dinners for a while. He was annoyed by the Cohen girl’s accident, but then he didn’t like her to start with, of course. (I’m not going to go into his and your odd fascination with Jews. You might as well go on about your cousins in Perthshire!) – He also fell out with Samson McElwyn, you may remember, over the British Fascists, or Fascisti, or whatever. Samson won’t be back either, which is a pity for he has as you doubtless saw a host of funny stories about our betters. I don’t know about the P of W, either.

Old Bryden is really getting beyond things. I often forget he’s in the house. I’d let him go but it isn’t really worth it – he’s no trouble after all and he is another person who amuses the girls and makes them forget for a moment their position and conditions. Besides, he has his rooms rent-free and a little annuity from Henry’s father, though what he spends it on I can’t imagine, unless it’s gramophone records and gin. I’m thinking of letting him have one of the cottages when it comes free, and then I can really forget all about him.

Love to yourself and everyone.

Lydia

P.S. Be sure to convey Matthew’s love to his people, and tell them he’s pleasantly settling down.

*    *    *    *

“Catherine,” said Abigail that morning, “Mrs G is having some guests today, teachers from the boys schools. Be on your best behaviour.”

“Yes, of course,” said Catherine, “I’m always trying to do that and obey, follow orders—”

“All right then. Put your nice clothes on and be ready to serve tea at ten.”

Catherine was pleased to be able to wear her proper clothes again—the robe was fine but she was constantly reminded of her nakedness underneath. In her room she got her clothes out from the wardrobe and shed her gown, looking at herself in the tall mirror on the door. She eyed her body critically, thinking that her breasts could indeed be larger, but she knew her waist was trim and her legs were shapely. She looked at her pubis, shaved and bare, and memory of that shameful episode made her cheeks redden. “But,” she said in a murmur to herself, “Matthew said I was beautiful. Dear Matthew! And all the time it’s him that’s beautiful. Oh, his body, his smile, his … his cock, yes, yes!” She couldn’t help herself; her hand went to her vulva and found the clitoris. In a minute she was writhing on her bed, flushing in ecstasy, mouthing the dear name over and over.

She washed carefully and then dressed, admiring herself again in the mirror. She combed her hair and put on her shoes, and stood up straight. Surely Mrs G would like the way she looked? She’d just have to serve tea and be polite to the guests, whoever they were.

She got to the kitchen and found Mrs Ponsonby busy preparing the tea. “I’m putting the tea things into the dumbwaiter,” she said. “You go and be ready to convoy them to the drawing room. That’s where Mrs G and the two masters are having tea. Later we’ll make a big batch for the boys.”

“Oh! The boys are here too? Where are they?”

“Outside of course! They’re not getting in here! All right,” she said reluctantly, “you look fine. Off you go to the dumbwaiter upstairs. You’ll serve tea, and then leave them to their conversation. Mrs G will ring to have you take the things away; and then you can have lunch.”

When she wheeled the trolley into the drawing room she found her employer seated in conversation with two men, one in his twenties and the other at least twenty years older. No notice was taken of her at all besides Mrs G indicating she should pour the tea. She served the guests and Mrs G and was dismissed with a wave of the hand. Now she was at leisure, so she sat down in the kitchen and tried to strike up a conversation with the cook, who from her faint accent was Scots. Mrs Ponsonby however was rather taciturn, and rather encouraged the girl to talk, about herself, naturally, she wanted to hear about her history. Catherine was well into her tale when the bell summoned her to return for the trolley, and she lost no time in hastening to the drawing room, reflecting that at least this time she wasn’t being asked to undress or do something embarrassing.

Again absolutely no notice was taken of her, and Mrs G indicated with another wave that the trolley be removed. Out it went and the contents deposited in the dumbwaiter, and then Catherine went down again to have a bite of lunch. She looked for Matthew, but he didn’t appear, and she reasoned he had gone for another lesson. After the meal she was asked to return for one thirty to serve tea again, but for now she was free, and decided to take a look at the library that had been mentioned.

She didn’t quite know what to expect, since Matthew had seemed quite guarded in talking about it, but she admired the look of the room, surrounded by old books, which her uncle had always called the best furniture. The books however gave her pause. It wasn’t long before she opened one to find naughty pictures, and she slammed it shut, with a flush to her cheek. But the next one was even worse. Good heavens, she thought, no wonder Matthew was a bit quiet about this! What sort of library is this? She opened book after book, and found illustrations of racy scenes, and a few in English whose text was suggestive in the extreme. She was suddenly conscious of her crotch and put her hand down to feel it. Then she gave in to her arousal and began to rub herself through her knickers. More and more briskly, more and more excitedly she made her fingers go, till she had to pull down her knickers and apply eager fingers to her naked vulva, to find the clitoris and tease the little bud to full engagement. Her breath came panting, her eyes fluttered, she began to moan, and what she uttered was the name of the boy. “Ma—Matthew! Matthew! Oh God, Matthew, I want you! Touch me, hold me, fuck me!” She subsided into a mewling wail, and sat down abruptly on the floor. In a minute she recovered her breath and her composure, and put herself in order. By the time she got back to the kitchen she looked as meek and prim as any could wish.

Mrs Ponsonby had a large Brown Betty teapot ready, and beside it a large urn that had to hold gallons. “Are the boys going to drink all that?” she asked with a smile, “Goodness, and it’s another hot day.”

“It’s been made to be drunk,” said the cook shortly. “Now just a moment till it’s in the pot … and the other one too … yes, there we are. Off you go.”

“But where am I going?” she asked in bewilderment.

“Why, the lawn on the south side, of course! Didn’t the girl tell you? You’ll see them gathered there, all of them, though they’re not playing croquet this time. Be off.”

Catherine managed the unwieldy trolley down the stone-flagged passage and out onto a slate patio. The sun shone on her and immediately she started sweating. She hoped she’d be able to find some shade as she manoeuvred the trolley round the house to the croquet lawn, now bereft of hoops, to find what seemed a vast crowd of young people strolling about and standing in groups, chatting. They all seemed to be boys of her own age or so. Someone spied the tea-trolley and made a dash for it, soon followed by many more. Catherine was kept busy handing out the tea, all the time in the blistering sunlight, and she soon felt that her blouse was damp all over. There was a lull in demand, and she saw that two groups of boys were taking off their blazers and shoes, and then their trousers, which astonished her. That was where the disrobing stopped, though; they all wore football-style shorts, and it was soon clear that there was to be a game of some sort. This turned out to be a cross between badminton, with a net strung high between two teams, and tennis, with a ball aimed at the other side by hands alone.

For a while she watched, then a young boy of about twelve came up and asked for a cup of tea. She asked him about the game, and he was eager to fill her in. “It’s our own variety of volley ball, miss,” he replied politely. “We’re from St Mark’s, you know? And we’ve been coming to Mrs Grainger’s for about five years I suppose, we have a nice outing and play games, and sometimes we play against her team. But not this time for some reason. The others are from St Vincent’s, they’re our rivals.” He went on to explain the rules, which were rather sparse; mostly, she gathered, one had to ground the ball in the other court by any means possible, and interfere with the other team as much as one could. It was not as rough as football or rugby, since the players rarely came in contact, but when they did, and collided in mid-air, it looked quite brutal to the girl.

“You see,” said her informant, “when you’re going for the ball, the other one pushes you away.”

“But is that allowed?”

“Oh yes, there’s not many rules about fouls,” said the boy proudly. “You can cheat too, but you’re not supposed to. There was one match,” he said with an impish grin and a sidelong look at Catherine, “when a fellow on the other side was getting too good so our lot got at him by pulling down his shorts.” She looked at him. “It happens accidentally of course too.” He gave her an innocent smile.

All at once the expected collision happened, and one of the boys fell to the grass with a cry. An older boy walked over somewhat carelessly and got him up on his feet and over to the side. “What’ll we do now?” yelled some of the crowd. “Get a substitute of course! Here, what about you? You seem interested!” She couldn’t believe they were talking to her. “Yes, you, miss! What’s your name?” The speaker was the young man in his twenties she had seen before, evidently one of the masters who accompanied the boys.

“B-but, I don’t know–”

“Yes, she will,” said a malicious voice behind her. It was Abigail of course, pursuing her cruel persecution. “She’s just dying to try it out, aren’t you, dear?” She looked significantly at Catherine, who nodded weakly.

“Oh good! Right boys, she’s on your team. Now –“

“But Mr Dawson,” said one, “she isn’t dressed for it!”

“No,” interjected Abigail, “but that’s easily sorted.” She went up to the petrified victim and quickly removed her blouse. The poor girl’s nipples showed through the thin material of her shift, which was actually soaking already with sweat from the sun. Catherine whimpered softly as Abigail went to the side of her skirt and undid the fastening, but didn’t move, only clenching her hands at the side. Down came the skirt, to admiring sounds from the surrounding boys, and her short panties were revealed. “Now!” said Abigail, “just her shoes … and she’s ready for it! Blow your whistle!”

Mr Dawson, with an appreciative look at the girl’s scant clothing, whistled and the game began again. Catherine, who was by nature and build a very agile girl, accomplished herself well for a while. The game was fast and hot, and she was soon sweating profusely. The boys were crowding round, and as she leapt to send the ball up over the net she could hear shouts of approval. As the other side seized the ball, she had time to draw breath and look down at herself. She nearly died when she saw what the boys were cheering about. The two pieces of clothing that she wore, her shift and her underpants, were soaked through, and mostly transparent. Every part of her must be on display. She moaned and made a move to cover herself, but somehow Abigail appeared at her elbow and yelled at her to carry on. She was near fainting to know the spectacle she was presenting to this horde of boys, let alone the opposing team. Nevertheless she threw herself back into the fray, egged on by the bravos of Abigail, blushing all over, she felt. What was worse, she knew she was dripping moisture from her excited vagina, which was turning her moist panties into a sopping wet transparency.

Then the unthinkable happened. As she leapt up in the air to send the ball over the net, one of the other team had his hands out to stop her, and they caught the waistband of her brief knickers; in jumping up, his hands stopped her panties, and they slid down her legs and off her feet. The game didn’t stop of course. Abigail yelled “Go on!” and the boys cheered her as she strove to hide in the middle of the team. Under Abigail’s prompting (more accurately, threat), she carried on, leaping to score, and displaying her bare wet vulva to them all. She was scarlet with shame by the time the young master, somewhat reluctantly, finally blew his whistle to end the game, which Catherine’s team had won comfortably. “Three cheers for Catherine!” called Abigail, and began the process by getting behind her and hoisting her up by the armpits, so taking her hands away from her crotch. The boys got the idea, and joined in the fun. Soon she was lifted up onto their shoulders, her shift rucked up beyond her waist and her nakedness on full display, and carted around the lawn to the applause of the rest of the crowd of boys. When they finally let her go she scampered over to where her clothes lay by the trolley, and climbed into them, not noticing that she’d forgotten her underwear. Looking down at the ground, she wheeled the tea wagon away, and held back her sobs till she reached the semi-sanctuary of her room. She didn’t go down for tea, but lay quietly on her bed, her eyes closed, reliving every horrid moment of the afternoon. She cursed Abigail roundly, using every filthy word she knew, and tried (ultimately with success) to obliterate the experience by thinking of the dear boy she admired and maybe loved. How was his day going?

Later Abigail came by with her underwear, and congratulated her on a fine display. “The boys want to come back, Catherine,” she said, “and they’ll want to see you again. So I told them yes, and Mr Dawson, the nice young teacher, is going to arrange it. They’re all looking forward to it. That other teacher, Mr Grimond, from St Vincent’s, the other school, you remember? He suggested we visit there, so I’ll be talking to Mr Bradley, the Head, about that.” With those ominous words she left, and Catherine put her head in her hands and shuddered as she wondered what was in store for her next time.

*

It was to be a memorable day for Matthew. On Saturday, they had said, there was to be a visit from the boys of St Mark’s and St Vincent’s, but he was excused attendance because he received word he should turn up for another French class, and he went along in the afternoon to the school porch, in dread of what they might do to him. What else could they do to him, anyway? But the pretty teacher met him at the door and led him outside, down a path, winding up at a little cottage some hundreds of yards away. He admired the little building, which turned out to be her living quarters. Inside he found a cosy little room completely lined with books but for a wall bearing some modern-looking pictures. There were only two girls waiting, sitting on a large couch the width of a double bed strewn with cushions. They were 17-year-old cousins, it turned out, pretty brunettes who were in her advanced conversation class. “But I don’t—” Matthew began. “It’s all right, chéri,” the teacher reassured him. “We don’t need to talk French. Or much English perhaps.”

While he was working out what she could have in mind she produced a bottle of wine and glasses. “We can just have a little fun, no? Do you drink wine, Matthieu?”

He looked at her in amazement. “N-no, I’ve never had any, Miss.”

She beamed at him and poured a generous glass. “Here, try this. It’s an excellent vintage. And please, we should be friends. Call me Justine, please.”

He sipped the glass and shook his head at the taste. “It tastes funny,” he said. “But I’m not used to it.”

“C’est vrai, mon enfant. Keep sipping it like that. You’ll come to like it.”

She poured glasses for herself and the students, and they held them up and toasted him. “Mathieu! Santé!”

“Thank you, girls, … Justine. It’s a nice name.”

The others looked at each other and burst out laughing. “What have I said?”

“It’s all right, Matthew,” said one of the cousins. “I’m Carole, by the way. This is Lorna. As in Doone.” He nodded in recognition of Blackmore’s heroine. “It’s just that the name Justine has interesting associations in French literature.”

Lorna broke in, “Matthew, it’s the name of the heroine of a story by the Marquis de Sade. Have you heard of him?”

Matthew looked taken aback. “Didn’t he write some … awful books and was put in gaol by Napoleon?”

“That’s right,” said the teacher. “I bear the name of a notorious lady whose adventures, or misadventures, are well-known in certain circles. The subtitle of her book is Les malheurs de la vertu, ‘the misfortunes of virtue’. It’s a sad story because she survives all kinds of terrible abuses only to be killed by lightning at the end.”

Matthew looked at her in astonishment. “Maybe I should read it,” he began timidly, “but—”

“I’m not sure if there’s a translation in English that hasn’t been expurgated. But you’re too young, aren’t you?”

“I’m fifteen,” he said boldly, the wine having loosened his shyness. Justine hastened to fill his glass, and they all drank, their merry eyes on the handsome young boy. The teacher ruffled his hair, and said “You’re a really sweet boy, Mathieu. Let me kiss you.” She leaned forward to kiss his lips, and he automatically returned the pressure.

“Come, aren’t you hot in that shirt? Aren’t those trousers too restricting? Too tight? Why don’t you take them off and be comfortable?”

Matthew nodded. “They are a bit tight, I’ve always said so. Maybe I can….”

“Do that. Look, Carol and Lorna will help you.” He looked a little fuzzily at the cousins and they gently unbuttoned his fly to draw off the tight trousers. “That’s better, isn’t it? Now have some more wine.”

“Thank you, miss. I mean, merci, Justine.” They all laughed and settled onto the couch and its cushions.

After another glass Matthew felt in very fine form, and very affectionate towards his new-found friends. He lay on the couch, his head in Carole’s lap, his bare feet in Lorna’s hands, being massaged tenderly, while Justine sat on the floor by his side stroking his knees and his thigh. She reached up and took his hand, and guided it to her breast. He felt the swelling curve and caressed it, a smile on his lips. Then she stood up and his hand followed her body, resting on her thigh, which he found was as bare as his own. His hand went up and up to her waist, finding no underwear, and he felt his own genitals stirring. Slowly Justine bent to push his shirt up to his chest, and Carole undid the buttons and eased it off his body, quickly removing the vest as well. His arms were now above his head, his whole naked body displayed before them, and they drank in the sight, making admiring comments in French, which they undoubtedly considered the only language for the purpose of sexual approval. He had the beginning of an erection, which increased as Carole started teasing his nipples. Lorna slipped from the foot of the couch to come behind her cousin, and Justine lay down in her turn beside the boy, putting her arm across his body to caress his flat belly and wander down to his pubic hair. His hand meanwhile went to her body and found itself pushing up her dress to show her own nudity: well-formed breasts, another trim waist and flat abdomen, and another shaved groin. He raised himself on his elbow and looked at her with wonder in his eyes, and she took his penis, now standing up proudly, to stroke it and rub the foreskin up and down. He turned to face her, and found her placing his erection between her thighs. He instinctively pushed his body towards her and entered her fully. She pulled him over on top of her and opened her thighs, and they lay thus for a moment until she began a rhythmic motion with her hips, and he found himself moving within the tight lips of her vulva. He knew he was fucking a desirable woman, he knew she wanted him in her cunt, he knew— .

He lost himself in the amazing moment. Masturbation was nothing like this. He felt an increasing need within himself that demanded release, as he looked down on the eager face of Justine. Her mouth was open, her eyes blazing into his, her arms were round him and feeling his arse to drive him in, and he suddenly came with a force that nearly rendered him unconscious. He felt his seed emptying into her, and she looked up at him and smiled, lifting her mouth. He kissed her, of course, and felt her tongue seeking his. He didn’t know if she had come too, but he hoped she’d shared his orgasm. After a while he withdrew his limp penis and lay back on the cushions, muttering “My God! My God!”

Justine regarded him fondly and smiled, delighted with the young boy’s performance. She knew beyond a doubt that that was his first time, and felt proud to have been the one to take his virginity. He’d always remember her, she knew, and she’d remember him for a long time too. Meanwhile, the two students had been eyeing the ongoings with parted lips and smiling eyes, holding their arms round each other and fondling the breasts, smoothing the hand over the crotch, feeling the pubic mound under the thin material of the dress. They turned to each other and kissed on the mouth, and then looked over at the exhausted boy. “Shall we?” Carol asked, looking at her cousin. Lorna pursed her lips as if in thought before saying “Yes! Why not? You or me?” “You first,” said Carol generously, and laughed as the other seventeen-year-old slipped off her dress and moved down to Matthew and began stroking his hair. It wasn’t long before she was tracing the lines of his neck and shoulders with a finger, then passing her hand down his arm. Matthew made a pleased noise and opened his eyes to see the girl smiling down on him, then bending to kiss his lips, and his mouth, with questing tongue, looking straight into his eyes. The other two were beside them on the couch, the older woman caressing the younger, who had now shed her clothes and was lying back with shut eyes accepting the sensual homage with a dreamy smile on her lips. Lorna moved her hands over Matthew’s nakedness, and caressed his whole body, his chest and his side and his back, when he shifted towards her. She ran her fingers over his backside and stroked the cheeks , making him quiver. She smiled as she saw he was becoming aroused again. So soon! But then he was fifteen and full of juice. It didn’t take long before he had another full erection, and she began to frig him gently. Then as she felt the organ begin to throb she thrust herself on top of him and guided the penis into her vagina. He looked up at her in a sort of daze as she rode him, and moved his pelvis up to her. The others looked at the action with sympathetic grins, their arms entwined and their bodies shining with sweat. Lorna leaned down to kiss the boy and moaned as she came. Soon he joined her in moaning, and as they both shuddered in orgasm the teacher and her pupil joined them in a great hug, the naked bodies in one glorious glistening heap of limbs.

Later he was to realise that he had fucked all three of them, and they had kissed him as they dressed him and sent him on his way, a little tired (no wonder!) and a little amazed. Had it been a dream? He asked himself the same question when he woke up later that night. Had he really done that? And was it a sort of betrayal of his love for Catherine? But she hadn’t said anything yet, and besides how could he think about fucking her?

He dressed and went downstairs and out. It was past supper time, and the garden was deserted; no-one was around to admire the full moon. He looked up at the orb and took a deep breath. The place was beautiful in its own queer way, and he was almost at peace. But then reality came swooping back, and he turned indoors. Instead of going back to bed he turned to go up the top stairs to the roof, and there paced about for a while in an unaccountable restlessness. Suddenly he heard an odd noise and a footfall. Quietly he edged round a corner of one of the roof peaks to see who the intruder to his sanctuary was, and was startled to see in the bright moonlight the Latin teacher, Miss Huxton, in a close embrace with Eithne, the girl from her class. She was kissing the girl on the lips and fondling her breast, while the young girl’s hands roved over the teacher’s body. Each was dressed very simply, Eithne in a nightgown and her teacher in a short shift, and neither seemed to have any underclothing. Matthew didn’t dare move or make a sound; he didn’t want to embarrass them, and so remained where he was during their lovemaking.

Eithne removed her gown, then her mentor’s, and they embraced again, the girl kissing Elizabeth’s breasts, while she ran her hands over her pupil’s bare skin. They sank to the ground, where a thick blanket lay ready, and Miss Huxton muttered endearments in Greek, straight out of Sappho, Matthew imagined, while Eithne moved down to the groin and began to give tongue. This was the first time he had ever seen this done, and watched in fascination, wondering whether he would ever be able to do that to anyone, let alone Catherine. There was no doubt about it, it certainly had the desired effect – the teacher moaned and writhed, her hands stroking through Eithne’s hair, and her eyes were closed in ecstasy. Matthew had a hard-on himself by this time and his penis was cruelly restricted within his tight trousers. He gritted his teeth and wondered about backing away, taking advantage of the pair’s obvious unawareness of anything besides themselves. Before he could make up his mind the women had reversed their roles, and Eithne was spread-eagled on the blanket while Miss Huxton caressed her vulva. The pair were naked at night but seemed to be mindless of the cool air, in fact their bodies shone with sweat, and they hugged one another in a sort of desperation.

“When can we see each other?” asked Eithne.

“God knows, my dear,” replied Elizabeth. “It’s difficult. That damned Simpson woman watches you like a mother hen and a hawk, and we can’t do it during the week. But actually there’s a cottage going empty, the man who was in there died last month, and so I’ve asked Mrs Grainger if I might have it. I told her I need the room, it’s true anyway. That cubicle at school is ridiculous. If I get it, then we can meet there, but again it’s getting you out of Simpson’s clutches. For now though….”

“For now, dearest Elizabeth, I’m glad for what we have. Oh, my love, I’ve wanted this for so long! And you wanted me! We should be happy. We’ve each found our love, a lover to love us, lips to be kissed (both high and low)” – she giggled, and snuggled into her teacher’s arms – “breasts to kiss and tickle, and that other small part that’s the centre of joy. Oh, I love you, I love having you, I love you having me. Elizabeth….” She drew the name out, relishing each syllable, then hugged her teacher again. The pair of them rocked back and forth on the blanket, and Matthew decided finally to withdraw.

He eased himself back the way he had come, and was nearly turning behind a roof peak to escape entirely when he stubbed his toe and gave a quiet squeal. Immediately he was conscious of a hurried conversation and the pursuit of an angry naked teacher. He nursed his bruised toe as she came up to him, saying “Who is it? Who’s spying?....Oh God, it’s you! Matthew, how could you?”

“I’m sorry,” he stammered, “I was here and heard something, and looked and there you were, I didn’t want to embarrass you so I kept quiet…. I’m sorry, I really am. Please forgive me, and ask Eithne to forgive me as well.”

She looked at him seriously, then shrugged and said “Come along, Matthew. You might as well join us. I’ve been meaning to talk to you anyway.”

They went back to the blanket, where Eithne had regained her nightgown and was sitting covered in blushes. Matthew went straight up to her and held out his hand. “Eithne,” he said, “I’m sorry for eavesdropping. Forgive me, please. And mostly, I want you to know I don’t despise you for loving Miss Huxton. As I told her, I’m in love myself.”

The girl looked up and timidly took his hand. “I forgive you,” she said, “and thank you for understanding. It isn’t easy….” Elizabeth had put her shift back on, and they were now all decent. Matthew looked from one to the other and made up his mind.

“Ladies—” he started. The two broke into laughter.

“Oh Matthew,” chuckled the teacher, “I think we have to be on better terms than that now.”

He blushed and said “Sorry, of course. Eithne, Elizabeth: I want to tell you about Mr Bryden, the butler over at the house. Do you know him?” They looked ignorance. “Well, he’s become a friend of mine, and I go and visit him in his rooms here. I’ve introduced him to my … friend Catherine, who joined the staff on a sort of loan a little while ago, and we enjoy a cup of tea and consultation every now and again. He’s really a sympathetic person, who understands Mrs Grainger’s nature, and it’s been very comforting to talk to him. If you’re looking for a ready listener, he’s it. I’d like you to meet him. Please say you will.”

Eithne looked at her lover, then looked at him. “If he’s as nice as you say, Matthew, then by all means. Listen, it’s been hell holding myself in all this time, and the very act of talking to you about our problems makes them easier to bear I think. So maybe talking to Mr Bryden will be good. I’ve never heard of him, but you must have, Elizabeth? You’ve been here longer than me.”

The older woman shrugged and said “The name is familiar, but I’ve never met him. I do seem to have noticed an old fellow who was a bit unsteady on his pins shuffling about in the distance, so I suppose that was him. But anyway, Matthew, thank you. I told you, love,” she said, turning to the girl, “that Matthew understood, and we weren’t quite alone. Well, maybe we’ll make more friends, with Mr Bryden and Matthew’s girl. What about that?”

Eithne gave her a radiant smile and turned it on Matthew. “Thank you,” she murmured. “And thank you again. But listen, we have to get back.”

“How did you get here?” he asked.

“There’s a sort of secret staircase,” said Elizabeth, “which is hard to find even if you’re looking for it. It leads up here from one of the boxrooms, and it comes out over here,” indicating a square structure unconnected to anything he could see. “Anyway, we have to get back, and Eithne has to sneak into the dorm again. Wish us luck.” She kissed him in farewell, and after a second so did the young girl, and they opened a hitherto hidden door and were gone.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Sunday 24^th May

School party at St Vincent’s

“I have decided,” said Mrs Grainger in a tone that brooked no protest, “that beginning tomorrow we’ll have you bathed every night until further notice,” Matthew closed his eyes and trembled. It was no good complaining. She’d made up her mind. A bath a week was bad enough, but every night, to be handled (however gently) by two randy girls only too eager to put their hands on his arse and his foreskin – every night! He looked at the floor and muttered “Yes, madam. I understand.” She regarded him with amusement. He was accepting his lot, but excitingly he had not yet become inured to his shame at being displayed naked to the opposite sex, let alone handled intimately. Oh, she was enjoying his stay! She dismissed him and got back to her letters. She had several arrangements to make regarding their holidays in Provence and the management of the estate in her absence.

As she pondered some of the problems that might arise, she fell to wondering how Matthew and Catherine (she kept on thinking of them as a pair, somehow) would adapt to the new environment. And seeing the big city, too! Paris was having an exposition of decorative arts, and it would surely be a hive of activity. She would write to Raoul and ask his advice. Perhaps he could arrange to lease that pleasant apartment they’d had before. This time though they wouldn’t be alone. How much difference would that make? To avoid any embarrassing contretemps it might be advantageous to put the others in another apartment close by. And she would send the others on to Vaulx after a few days to have Raoul to herself. Yes, that would do. In Paris, now; she’d ask Raoul if he had any interesting suggestions about what to do with the orphans. Could they take them to one of those raffish night clubs that abounded? Her money would certainly gain them entrance, and once there, the management might be interested in seeing some embarrassing action. Oh yes (she smiled), there’s lots could happen there. There was always some nudity in the Café de Vénus, for instance, and total nudity could easily be arranged…. She settled to her task and dismissed the children from her mind.

*

The hired bus idled outside the front door, and the driver touched his cap to Mrs Grainger. “All aboard, madam!” She smiled graciously and went on board, followed by the crowd of academy girls. Abigail marshalled the staff, and brought up the rear. Matthew was seated on the left side of the bus on the aisle, as luck had it, next to Celeste, a fifteen-year-old who’d seen him undressed in the French class, who looked at him with what seemed a lascivious expression and insinuated her right arm behind his back. He felt uncomfortable but didn’t want to draw attention, so sat stiffly and looked away out the window. Conversation was muted, under the roar of the engine, and mostly the girls were content to gaze out at the passing scenery. Mrs G, sitting at the front with Abigail, read a book and ignored everyone. Catherine spoke from time to time to Jennie her companion, who seemed to be chattering on about the coming visit.

Matthew was lulled into a doze, but woke with a start to feel Celeste’s hand at the waist of his trousers. He shifted uneasily and looked at her, and she smiled innocently at him. He swallowed and muttered “What are you doing?” She said nothing but inserted her hand in the waist and pushed down till her fingers reached his body. He started but said nothing. She sent her hand questing in his trousers to find his thigh, and proceeded to stroke and tickle him. He fidgeted and bit his lip, and she, encouraged by his reaction, thrust her hand down to reach his behind, tracing the cleft of his buttocks with a gentle finger. “Please, Celeste,” he mumbled, “not here! You can’t—” She gave him a beatific smile as her finger poked down to get to his anus. He jerked forward, inadvertently giving her more room to manoeuvre, and her fingers spread over his bum and squeezed the cheeks. He was beginning to pant in anxiety, and looked across the aisle at the girls sitting opposite, who were looking at the activity with grins on their faces. Celeste saw that she wouldn’t be interrupted, and boldly put her left hand to Matthew’s crotch. He flinched, and the incipient flush that had started to his face grew. Then the girl deliberately began to unbutton his fly.

Instinctively he put his hand over hers to stop, but she shook him off and continued till his fly was completely undone. Fighting off his hands that tried to protect him, she insinuated her eager fingers into his trousers to find his penis which had become pleasingly hard. His flush became a deep blush, and he had to sit, not wanting any commotion, while Celeste fingered his erect cock and drew it out of his trousers. He threw his head back in anguish and glanced over at the other girls, who were eyeing his erection and licking their lips.

Celeste delicately stroked his erect organ, which twitched in answer, and Matthew groaned as he saw what the girl intended. Her other hand was at his anus, and he shifted forward in his seat to be comfortable, but the action gave her room to place a finger directly on his sphincter and push a little into his opening. He squirmed as he was attacked at both places, and his penis began to throb. He looked at Celeste in panic and stammered “N-no, not here, please!” The heartless minx merely grinned devilishly and continued to excite him, regarded with envy by the girls across the way, till he burst out in an ejaculation that drew a gasp of pleasure from the girls and a moan from the boy. One of the other girls came across and produced a handkerchief, which she used to wipe his spent tool clean. Nodding to his astonished face, she returned to her seat and giggled with her friend. With a satisfied smirk Celeste retreated to her side of the seat and allowed him to do up his buttons. He leaned back on the headrest and closed his eyes. He hoped the heat in his cheeks would fade before the coach arrived.

It was not long before they drew up at an imposing building with a carved motto over the door: Honore et virtute ad vitam paror, which Mrs G translated for them as “By honour and virtue I am being prepared for life”, and she smiled at a secret joke. Everyone piled out, Mrs Grainger last, by which time Abigail had marshalled everyone into two tidy groups. Mrs G looked them over and nodded. Just then the large front door swung open and a middle-aged man with a reddish beard came out to beam at them all in fatherly fashion and welcome them to St Vincent’s School for Boys (he said it with capital letters) and introduce his head prefect, a tallish youth with liquid brown eyes that travelled up and down the figures of the girls, while the two adults shook hands and made the appropriate comments.

“David here will squire your party around,” said the headmaster, flapping his gown, “while you and I have tea. Then,” he looked knowingly at his guest, “we will observe the penalties we spoke of, and latterly you’ll see a gymnastic exhibition, with one or two surprises.” He grinned suddenly, showing brilliant teeth, and Mrs Grainger looked at him with a sardonic smile. “Thank you, Mr Bradley. I’m looking forward to that. David, how do you do? This is Abigail, my chief helper. She’ll introduce the others. Now, Mr B, let’s have that cup of tea.”

The two of them moved off, and David smiled at Abigail and said “How d’you do, Abigail? Please tell me who everybody is.” She grimaced and said “I won’t remember all of their names. The Academy is a bit separate from the main house, but here’s our head girl, Dulcie Jennings, she can help you.”

She gestured towards an attractive auburn-haired girl who smiled at him and said “Hello, David. I think the easiest thing is for everyone to introduce herself. I’m Dulcie, it’s really short for Dulcinea—” “Del Toboso!” said the well-read boy. “Straight out of Don Quixote. And it means ‘Sweetness,’ right?” The girl blushed and said “Yes. I’m the head girl, Form Five. And now the others will tell you about themselves.”

The crowd named themselves and their forms, and he held up his hands and cried “I’ll never remember all those. But what about you other girls?” He looked at the servants, who were dressed differently, and Abigail introduced them, ending with Matthew, “our latest addition to the staff.” David looked him up and down and grinned in comradely fashion. “Fine! Now come with me, and I’ll pilot you round the school. The chaps have been warned there’ll be observers, and we wanted you to see a normal school day. We can compare notes afterwards. All right?” “Yes,” said Abigail, “that sounds good. You go ahead, lead the party, and we’ll bring up the rear.”

Off they went, Dulcie accompanying David as he told them something of the history of the school, and laughed when he explained about the motto. “It goes Ad vitam paror, ‘I’m being prepared for life’, in the singular. At first the governors wanted it in the plural, ‘paramur’, till someone pointed out that it was a bit ambiguous.” As they passed classrooms he quietly opened the doors to let them peek in and hear some of the instruction. The teachers took no notice of them whatever, except when one, displeased with the remarks of one of his pupils, said “Ransome, that’s enough. I’m going to report you to the Head, and our visitors will be diverted at the result.” He looked up at the girls in the door, and sneered, while the boy looked puzzled. Abigail smiled to herself, for she was well prepared for the visit. Matthew couldn’t understand what it all meant.

*

Bradley poured another cup. “When I was a boy,” he said in grim reminiscence, “boys were flogged with birches, on the bare posterior again, and not infrequently the buttocks were a mass of blood by the time the master had spent his energies. I happened to go to a minor public school where punishment was swift but judicious. Discipline was kept, and fairly administered. Other places I know of that made a great deal of punishment but dealt it out so indiscriminately that it was meaningless. And some masters regrettably made no great secret of the fact that they enjoyed the application of the birch so much that they went out of their way to find excuses for administering it. What I am really saying, dear lady, is that I am completely in favour of a widespread use of the birch, but it has to be, so to speak, legal and rational. What do you use, and how? Where on the body, I mean?”

She smiled thinly and answered, “We use a switch, which is mild enough with one stroke, and if need be we’ve given up to a dozen. Sometimes on the palm, but that inhibits the use of the hand, preventing drawing or writing. \So it’s the bottom mostly. In our gym class the girls wear a short dress with no knickers.” His eyes lit up. “Hence the girls can be switched on the bare bottom very easily. Otherwise of course one merely raises the dress and punishes through the knickers, which should be stretched tight over the buttocks.”

Bradley licked his lips and nodded. “Yes,” he said, “that would do very well. A switch. Yes, and I have lately taken to the cane. The results are different of course. And I’ve discovered a different instrument demands a different technique – the stance, the direction and force of the blows.”

She looked at him with a question. “Tell me, Mr Bradley, have you ever had any accidents in the process? I mean—”

“Ah, dear lady, I understand you perfectly well. Not to put too fine a point upon it, and we might as well be candid, there have been one or two. I imagine you ask because your girls have … soiled themselves under the shock and pain of the punishment, yes? Well, it doesn’t happen too often, thank God! But a couple of months ago a boy whom I find quite troublesome, or maybe I should just call annoying, was being beaten when he lost control of his bladder and urinated all over the block. His classmates, who don’t seem to like him much, because he’s too sensitive, I think, they were nearly wetting themselves, to put it crudely, at his discomfiture. And I have seen it before, yes, even to the point of a loosening of the bowels.”

“Really!” Mrs Grainger looked interested. “He … defecated, then? That would stop the punishment of course!”

“Yes,” he said with a wry snort, “it did prevent it continuing! So the rest of his punishment consisted of cleaning up the obscene mess. But it doesn’t happen too often, thank goodness.”

Mrs Grainger looked into space, seeing in her mind’s eye a scarlet youth shitting himself in pain and terror, and she smiled. “I should tell you,” she said, “that some of the girls have indeed peed themselves,” she fluttered her lashes at her vulgarism, “when they’ve been punished. And like your boy, they’ve been made to clean it up, to the jeers of the rest of the class. Ridicule from one’s peers is very effective. And then they’ll wash out their soiled knickers of course.” He nodded and smiled. My, he thought, but this woman is just as pruriently cruel as I am! We must collaborate.

                                                                       *

“We’ll not go to the swimming lesson,” David said with a suggestive wink, “because we swim naked, of course.” Dulcie blushed and said “Oh. Of course. We don’t, because we use the public baths in town.” Matthew could see she was imagining the scene of an entire boys’ class swimming naked, but David’s next words puzzled him for a while. “So you won’t see them. Naked, I mean. But don’t worry, you’ll see everything else.” His grin was more like a leer, and Catherine looked at him with a faint distaste. Somehow or other she found him rather obnoxious, and wished they were out of there.

                                                                       *

Mr Bradley stirred his tea. “What you were saying about corporal punishment, Mrs Grainger, was very apt. I know there are those who decry any kind of discipline, but they are thankfully very thin on the ground. I foresee, mind you, that their lobby might grow more vociferous, and even gain a measure of acceptance. Some future government might outlaw the spanking of children, and even the whipping of criminals, as the army has not that long ago, but I’ll wager the authority of the schoolmaster will be upheld. For one thing,” he laid his finger beside his nose, “our legislators pretty much all come from good schools who value a caning. They know the worth of it, they’ve been there themselves, they know the immeasurable psychological results of a whipping. Oh yes, corporal punishment will be with us for quite a while yet.”

Mrs Grainger smiled and selected a biscuit. “There is however another means of punishment,” she said, “and we employ it at the Academy quite frequently. I mean, humiliation.”

“Ah yes!” he answered, “I was coming to that. Our canings are on the bare bottom, which is fairly usual I believe, and in a boys’ school, let’s be frank, the sight of a boy’s buttocks is no great rarity. They swim naked, they shower naked after a game. There may well be a measure of excitement to it, being beaten I mean, on a sensitive place like the behind – perhaps you know what I mean – but apart from the feeling of ridiculousness, there’s no great shame for the boy being caned in front of boys. Now however,” he looked at her intently, “we happen to have other witnesses.”

She looked at him with humour. “Yes, Mr Bradley,” she said, “and I may as well tell you that my girls are very ready to appreciate the sight.”

“Yes, I thought so. And so I’ve arranged some things today to amuse and, we hope too, admonish. I think you’ll be pleased.” She sipped her tea and nodded at him. The visit was going well, and she was already planning how she could reciprocate when the boys visited the Academy.

“Do you smoke, Mrs Grainger? Will you take a cigarette?”

“Why thank you, Mr Bradley, I do as it happens. I know it’s a shockingly modern thing to do, for a woman at least, but then I tend to think if it’s good enough for the likes of George Sand, it’s good enough for me!” Bradley laughed. She accepted a cigarette from the box he offered, and he lit it before taking one himself.

She continued, “By the bye, I know you won’t take it amiss – I feel I may be perfectly frank with you, yes? – but I’ve been curious for some time about the results of cooping boys up together. Let me tell you to begin with that when girls are segregated they seem to become more liable to indulge in what one may call idolisation, for want of a better word. I’ve heard the term ‘pash’ – short for ‘passion’, of course. I deprecate the practice myself, since I feel that one’s emotional drive should be directed at the opposite sex, but then at a school, or a university college, even, devoted to one sex only, such problems, if problems they are, must arise very frequently.”

“I see what you mean, madam, and I may as well confess that in this school, as at several others, it is by no means unknown for a boy to discover an attraction to another. The solution of course is a stoical eschewing of the situation, I mean a deliberate turning aside from that path. Apart from everything else, it is the duty of every boy to become a man with a family; so his sexual energies (let’s be frank, as you say) must be directed at a girl. If there’s none around, as here, he must simply restrain himself. He learns to have self-control, as every manly man does. And if he does not – well, we have the deplorable occasion of … sexual misdemeanour, with some form of … mutual masturbation. This I do not tolerate; though I know of at least two schools of note where it is not encouraged, oh no! but ignored, thrust under the carpet, unacknowledged. If we do that, they say, it’ll go away. What rubbish! It doesn’t disappear, it grows, like an insidious weed, to choke the other proper flowers of decency. My intolerance is demonstrated by public chastisement for one or two offences of no great gravity, and of course expulsion when the offender shows intransigence and … is caught in flagrante delicto, in an unacceptable position, I should say situation, with another boy, perhaps a young firster, as we say, whom he has seduced!” He bristled and shook his head. “So the more the minds of the young are directed at the opposite sex the better, the normal feelings are fostered, and in time the natural instincts to unite with that sex are indulged. And, dear lady, if this means that an emphasis is placed on the attractiveness of the other sex, with attention paid to its desirable differences – you must know what I mean – then so be it. I myself take a rather unconventional attitude to the interest boys show in girls. I don’t believe in an impossible purity of mind; I do believe in taking notice of their absorption, let us say, in finding out the clinical details of the female gender, their eagerness to look at pictures many call rude or obscene – but I allow them the freedom to enquire. It is, to my mind, altogether natural that a boy wants to see a naked girl, is curious about her body, and will seize any chance to enlighten his ignorance. In fact here I’ve instituted special lessons in comparative anatomy!”

Mrs Grainger smiled. “Mr Bradley, I find you a kindred spirit, and I’m pleased to see a similar sort of realism in you. I find it very refreshing. All too often we get a … what shall I call it? A prurient sort of reticence, an inverse Puritanism, maybe, that denies the realities of life and sweeps it under the carpet, as you say. Listen: it’s just occurred to me. I’d like to see your lesson plans, your scripts, the curriculum for the anatomy lessons. I’m sure I could use them, or adapt them, for the Academy. And one other thing,” she said, with a sardonic smile, “I think we could help each other in this. We’ll talk again. I want to come back to discuss things, and perhaps bring someone who can help.”

“Oh, really?” he asked. “One of your staff, or a pupil, perhaps?”

“No, she’s a servant, actually, and – let me be plain – she has to do my bidding. I do believe your Games master will remember her.”

“Oh, I say! Yes,” he added, an interested light in his eyes. “Grimond was telling me of a girl who volunteered to play volleyball with our boys, and … it was most exciting for them. Yes! So you’ll bring her?” He looked at her with a pleased expression which had a strong element of lust.

“Yes,” she said, “that’s the one. I think she’ll be rather useful. She’s here now, but we won’t single her out. Next time.”

“Next time,” he repeated, and licked his lips.

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

The tour of the school didn’t take too long, and David led them out onto a broad lawn where trestle tables were set up, laden with jugs of lemonade and plates of biscuits. They partook of the goodies, and David, who had been deep in an evidently pleasant conversation with Dulcie, excused himself and came over to Matthew.

“What’s it like, being the only boy over at Mrs Grainger’s Academy?”

“Well,” said Matthew, “I’m not a pupil, I’m just visiting staff, you might say. But I’ve attended a few classes.” As he said it he coloured faintly, remembering his humiliations. David eyed him curiously.

“All the same,” he said playfully, “you come in contact with the girls…?”

“Yes,” said Matthew, going red. “I—”

“Come on, Matt! Admit it! You ogle them, don’t you? You’ve got opportunities to see them undressed, maybe? You—”

“Please,” said Matthew, “I’m … I can’t talk about it. It’s—”

“Embarrassing?” David looked amused. “Don’t tell me. Let me guess. You’re the one that’s been ogled. Yes! By golly, of course you are. It’ll be hard to keep yourself private like that.” He looked into Matthew’s flushed face, and sipped his lemonade. “I know something of Lady G’s reputation,” he said, “and I’ll bet she’s giving you a fine old time. But I’m remembering my cousin was over there just the other day and he told me about a girl who was made to play volleyball nearly naked. Do you know about that? Who was she?” Matthew frowned, a dreadful thought entering his head. He had heard there had been a visit of some kind the day before, when he was initiated – seduced – by Justine, but he hadn’t enquired about it, being too preoccupied with his own situation.

“I don’t know,” he said shortly. “You’d need to ask Abigail, the head servant.” “Oh, I will then, thanks!” And off he went to find his informant. Matthew looked on in dismay as Abigail took David up to Catherine and spoke to her, at which she immediately blushed. He knew it was true, then, and his heart went out to her. She must have been ashamed to tell him of her exposure. An angry frown came to his face as he ground his teeth impotently. God, how could they go on like this? There seemed to be no escape for either of them.

Just then a whistle blew, and David hurried to rally the crowd and lead them into the main building, up a stair into a room of some size, that quickly filled with the guests. In the middle of the floor was a little table covered with leather padding, with some sort of receptacle beside it containing what looked like canes. My God, thought Matthew with a start, surely they’re not going to show –? The crowd chattered excitedly as they took seats, and Matthew managed to grab a chair beside Catherine, who was looking pale now, and glanced up at him with appeal in her eyes. He seized her hand and pressed it, murmuring “It’s all right, Catherine, please put it behind you.” She opened her lips but before she could reply the head entered with a party of what must be prefects.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, surveying the room with a curious expression of pride and disdain, “I hope this exhibition will be a salutary lesson. A lesson,” he continued, “for all parties, especially perhaps for our guests today. Mrs Grainger and I agreed on this, and my prefects were consulted and gave it their nihil obstat.” He smiled as he used the phrase. “During this last week several boys have incurred punishment. Eight boys have disobeyed me or their teachers in some way or other, the behaviours being of such seriousness as to merit serious punishment, which involves a whipping with the cane on the bare posterior.” The girls gasped, and there were a few muffled giggles. Bradley looked round the room, catching the eye of Mrs Grainger, and nodded to her.

“However, today we are going to try an experiment. In order to increase the humiliation of the punishment, in the presence of so many young ladies, the offenders today will be caned totally nude.” The girls gasped again, and Matthew glanced at Catherine, who had acquired another flush to her cheeks. “The other boys have a separate punishment. Bring on the first one,” Mr Bradley ordered.

One of the prefects opened a door at the other end of the room and ushered in a scared-looking boy of fourteen or so, naked and trembling, hiding his crotch with his hands and blushing profusely as he was led through the girls to the punishment block. The prefect made him kneel with his hands stretched out in front, his bum up in the air, and stood back. The headmaster took a cane from the receptacle and swished it through the air. The young boy shut his eyes and braced himself. Bradley laid the tip of the cane against the buttocks as if to measure the target, then suddenly raised the cane and brought it down. Whack! The boy gave a muffled squeal, but didn’t open his lips. Whack! Bradley was getting into his stride. Whack! Now the boy gave a sort of sobbing grunt and opened his eyes as if to say to the intent crowd Look at this barbarity! Catherine’s hand clasped that of Matthew as the last three blows were delivered. The prefect hauled the tearful boy upright, showing his stiff genitals to the audience, who buzzed in reaction to what they’d seen. Then the boy was led out the other door by a second prefect, the girls looking at his striped bottom then at one another with wonder and amusement.

Bradley flexed the cane and nodded to the prefect, who ushered in a tall gangly boy who came in looking apprehensive, and as soon as he saw the assembly of girls, tried to bolt back. The prefect seized him and dragged him through the crowd, and his exposure brought a blush to his cheeks and a stiffness to his penis. He was forced down, and Bradley seemed to grin fiendishly as he wielded the cane. Whack! The boy bit his lips and shuddered. Whack! He began to writhe. Whack! A sob escaped him. Whack! He opened his mouth to yell. Whack! He screamed in agony, and tears poured down his cheek. Whack! The sixth blow landed just underneath the boy’s anus, and he seemed to faint, but shook the tears from his eyes as he was hauled upright and led out the other door.

As the punishments proceeded Matthew looked round at the gathering. The girls with few exceptions (Dulcie and Catherine, and a couple of others) seemed rapt in witnessing the painful humiliation of the boys. Their eyes were bright, their lips were parted, the tongue out to lick the lips, and their breathing seemed short. Some of their fixation must be on the boys’ nudity, he thought, remembering how the girls had been eager to see his own, but some of it was also fascination with the cruel beatings, which left angry stripes on the buttocks of the offenders. As for the boys, he was sure they felt as embarrassed as he had been (and still was) at being ogled nude by so many girls, and it must increase the pain of the brutal strokes.

The last boy was Ransome, who had earned his punishment only a couple of hours before. He was a shapely boy about Matthew’s height, probably the same age, and he walked slowly through the crowd, his hands shielding his genitals, for a few yards, before the prefect hissed something at him and he reluctantly put his hands on his head. The randy girls gave an excited cry as his erect penis was bared, and he went violently red in an instant. He was pushed through the gawking girls, and one of them dared to put out a hand on his behind, making him flinch and pause, which encouraged another to put her hand to his scrotum. He stopped and gasped, looking up at the prefect and down at the Head. Neither of them made any move or comment. He moved forward slowly, the girls on either side daring to touch him all over – his back, his bum, his balls, his throbbing penis. He was nearly at the whipping block when he suddenly stopped again and moved his loins back, but the prefect pushed him with a grim smile and he thrust his genitals forward, opening his clenched lips to give a groan as he spasmed in orgasm and jets of come spurted from his abused penis. All watched fascinated as he ejaculated, his face bright with blushes and his naked body shining with sweat. Then his head drooped, and he was pushed again down to where Bradley waited patiently, swishing the cane.

The six strokes Ransome received left their marks on his pale behind, and he, exhausted with crying, was pushed through the second door, while the headmaster thanked his prefects and addressed the assembly. “I hope the demonstration has been effective in showing how punishments are delivered here, and in most, I dare say, of the private schools in England. The additional humiliation of nakedness does, I’m sure, increase the punishment, and the presence of the opposite sex does this immeasurably. I thank Mrs Grainger and you girls for your attendance at this experiment, which will help in the formulation of future punishment methods. Thank you.”

The audience broke into applause, and filed out, Matthew keeping hold of Catherine’s hand. The girls chattered excitedly, and David was grinning as he marshalled the crowd. “You’ve got ten minutes or so,” he said, “before we go to the gym. Toilet facilities are over there. Does anyone want more lemonade?” Some of the girls made for the toilets, while the rest shrugged and declined refreshment. When all were ready, David led them to a large gymnasium, evidently newly built, with wall bars and horses and all kinds of exercise equipment. David was quite proud of the place. The girls were seated round the perimeter on three sides, Mrs Grainger in one corner. Matthew sat next to Catherine, not caring whether anyone remarked on their closeness. She had a flush on her cheeks as if reliving the last boy’s humiliation, and kept her eyes on the floor. Matthew held his peace, but he knew they’d have to talk about things soon.

David stood at one end of the room and held up his hands for quiet. The buzz of conversation died down and he looked around at the crowd of girls. “Girls, you’re going to see an exhibition of physical exercises and demonstrations of the use of the equipment you see – the horse, the rings, and so forth. In most of the exercises there will be one or two boys undergoing punishment – not quite as serious as the others you saw, but serious enough to merit an imposition of the same humiliation.” He sat down and nodded to a lanky boy in gym shoes and shorts, who led out his team onto the floor. They lined up behind the horse and began leaping over it in fine style, and the girls clapped. Their eyes were of course on the naked torsos and the buttocks outlined behind the thin cloth of their shorts. The next team came out, and the girls gasped when they saw among them three boys dressed only in socks and shoes. As soon as they came under scrutiny by the crowd, all three attained erections, which increased the gasps and brought on some giggles. The boys went over the horse, parting their legs, to stand at attention on the mat, and the naked boys trembled as they stood before all those female eyes. They went off to more applause, the naked ones with bowed heads and flaming cheeks.

Another set came on to use the rings strung from the ceiling, to hang and turn somersaults, and most of them were very agile. The two naked boys among them leapt up to grasp the rings and hung there for a moment, their penises jutting out and their eyes closed in embarrassment, before raising their feet and turning their bodies up and over, before returning to the mats to stand erect.

So it went for the next half hour. The boys hung on the wall bars before jumping down to the mat, walked along the balance beam, worked their way along the parallel bars, and did a succession of headstands and cartwheels, in all of which naked boys with some prominent erections featured, culminating in several pyramids, one with ten naked boys displaying ten erect penises to the applause of the crowd.

Before entering the bus Mrs Grainger thanked Mr Bradley and David, and said she was sure the girls had enjoyed it, and taken the lessons to heart. A return visit was definitely to be arranged soon before the end of term, and they shook hands on the agreement, Mrs G saying somewhat archly “I’m sure we can arrange something similar in regard to salutary punishment.” Mr Bradley raised his eyebrows and smiled in sinister fashion as he nodded and watched her enter the bus. Once again Matthew was seated on the aisle on the right side next to a girl of his own age who looked at him with a question in her eyes. He was puzzled as to what she wanted, but hoped she would keep her hands to herself, Once the bus rattled off and conversation buzzed around them, she looked sideways at him and demurely laid her left hand on his right. He looked at her anxiously, and his anxiety grew as she lifted his hand and brought it over to her lap. He tried to pull away, but she brought her right hand over to imprison his, and push it between her legs. He swallowed and muttered “For God’s sake, what are you doing? She smiled, showing pretty teeth, and merely held him there with one hand while with the other she raised her skirt.

She wore the brown uniform they all wore, which came down almost to the knees, and when she pulled it up she revealed a pair of plain knickers. His hand was forced to her waistband, and made to push them down to her knees, and he nearly died at seeing her pubic mound laid bare, with a fleece of dark curls obscuring her vulva to a great extent. She guided him to her slit and pushed his hand up and down, making him rub her till she was making little sounds that fortunately were masked by the bus noise and chatter. Matthew didn’t want to make a scene, and gazed desperately at the girl, who relentlessly, using her hands, made his fingers enter her cunny to find her eager clitoris. She quivered with arousement and began to actually groan and shift in her seat. Matthew himself had now acquired an erection, and it strained the front of his thin trousers. He tried to hide this with his left hand, but to his horror the girl from over the way was looking at this performance with a delighted grin, and rose to come over as if to chat. She leaned in and quickly undid his fly buttons. He gave a moan of his own, as she fought off his hand to insert her own into his trousers and pull out his member. Her companion came over to watch, and his erection grew as it was stroked to excitement. The first girl, his seat companion, was writhing in orgasm and he was being wanked at the same time. He noticed a head pushed over the seat behind, and another two from that in front. He suddenly came with force and semen spurted out, to the acclaim of his audience, and he closed his eyes in shame. His seatmate settled down with a pleased sigh and released his hand, and he hurriedly tucked his limp organ back, looking up at the merry eyes of the other girls, who laughed and went back to their seats. He put back his head and closed his eyes. It was no wonder the girls had acted in so randy a manner, with people like Mrs Grainger and her staff in charge of their development. He wished he had managed to sit beside Catherine. She wouldn’t have pulled him off, or made him masturbate her, not in public anyway. In private, now – that was something else. He drifted off into an erotic reverie till the bus halted and they got out, home again. Home! He suddenly thought of his previous placid life as a footman, and gave an anguished sob. Where would his humiliation end?

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

“Mr Bryden, I’ve met two nice people, and I want them to meet you.”

The butler looked at him askance. “Oh? And do they want to meet me?”

“Yes, I told them about you and how friendly you were, sympathetic….” He looked at Bryden hopefully.

“Well, why not?” said the old man a little churlishly, “I’ve got nothing better to do. Bring ’em on, the more the merrier. I’ll need to get some more scones in I suppose.”

“Oh no, Mr Bryden, please don’t go to any trouble! I don’t want to impose on you.”

“That’s all right, lad,” said the old man with a smile, “I don’t mind really. When will you be bringing them?”

“I’ve got to arrange it,” said Matthew, “but don’t worry, I’ll give you warning. They’re really nice, one’s a teacher next door, and one’s a pupil.”

Bryden looked thoughtful. “Teacher and pupil, eh? And why do you think we should meet?”

Matthew hesitated but finally said “Because you’re so sympathetic to us, you feel for us in our troubles, and the treatment we’re getting.”

“And what treatment are they getting?” Matthew didn’t know whether to explain about their affair, and blushed a bit. The astute old man narrowed his eyes and looked keenly at the boy. “I think I know what you don’t want to tell me,” he said at last. “How old are they?”

Matthew thought. “Miss Huxton, the Latin teacher, is about twenty-four, I think. Eithne the pupil is sixteen, I’m sure.”

“Are they nice-looking?”

“Yes, I suppose. All right, they’re both very good-looking.”

Bryden smiled. “They’re a couple, aren’t they?”

Matthew was dismayed. “Please don’t think badly of them, they really love one another. Mr Bryden—”

The old man shook his head and his smile grew wider. “Matthew, Matthew!” he said. “I of all people understand that kind of love. I’ll be very pleased to meet them. Maybe we can discuss strategy.”

(The End)