Mrs Grainger's Gift 8

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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Thursday 28th May

Doctor’s visit.

“This is the doctor’s day,” announced Abigail at breakfast. “The usual arrangements. Be ready for your call.”

Catherine was curious as to what was expected of her, and asked Jennie about it. “Oh,” Jennie sighed, “it’s the staff (at least the young ones), and the top class from the academy, are medically examined every six months by Dr Braithwaite, the school physician. He’s an older man of 45 or so, and his assistant, Miss James, will be 22. He’s a bit gruff but she’s quite nice. They give you an enema –”

“They what?”

“Yes, so’s you’re clean for your examination, of course. So then you’re given a smock like a hospital gown while you’re waiting. Then you’re taken one by one and strip off the gown for the exam; and after that you sit down and wait till everyone’s been done.”

“But aren’t you naked?”

“Oh yes, but it’s not too cold, and I suppose too it’s a bit embarrassing, if you’re not used to it. But it’s all right really. Oh, but you do get to put your gown on after, you’re not expected to sit around naked! You’ll be in your dressing gown I expect. Then you just sit and wait and maybe make rude remarks about people, and then the doctor gives us all a talk on health and hygiene. It’s always the same and it’s quite boring.”

“You mean you’re all there together, looking at the next girl on the stage being examined?”

“Yes. The pupils are done first, alphabetically – they’re the most important part, and the staff are there as it’s convenient to do us all together. It’s our turn this time, last time it was the girls at the Academy, the servants I mean, like Harriet and Wilma – have you met them yet? There’ll be about thirty or forty girls from the academy, I suppose, that’s about the average.”

“And when it’s your turn, the previous ones are there looking at you?”

“Heavens, I forgot you were modest. Yes, Catherine, they’re all there, looking at you, seated round about the examination table. Hey, I expect you’ll be last, since they take us in chronological order.”

She suddenly had a heart-stopping thought. The one immediately before her would have to be Matthew! She stopped listening as she dithered as to what she should do – tell him what to expect? Or save him hours of anxiety and let him find out at the time? It’d be better if he didn’t have to worry, she thought, and so let it slide. Jennie was continuing. “Oh, and a time or two they brought in some of the other staff to hear the lecture, though God knows what they made of it. The stable boys, the gardener’s two helpers. They sat through it like a church sermon, looking utterly bored.”

“And it’s ever so boring? What does he say?”

“Oh, it’s all about washing, making sure we don’t get nits, cleaning in the bathroom, cleanliness in the kitchen, when preparing food, and so on and on. Nobody really listens. The doctor, I may say, is very good, he knows his stuff, and is a real help to Mrs G at the school. He doesn’t have a very good manner, though.”

“What about this call, then?”

“Well, you’ll be called to get your enema, roughly I suppose in the order of the examination. I mean by time.”

“Chronologically?”

“Yes, that’s it. We’ll be doing that this morning sometime. It takes a while to get through the eighteen of us, spaced out I mean, with time to have a shite afterwards. After lunch we’ll all gather in the main hall of the school to be doled out our gowns and sit down to wait our turn. So we’re called into the examination room, next door, one at a time, as I said. It’s nothing to worry about.” As she went off to her tasks in the kitchen Catherine had a twinge of anxiety on Matthew’s behalf. She just knew this would be uncomfortable for him, being examined in front of about fifty girls! – but there was nothing anyone could do about it.

Lydia caught Matthew at a loose end in the garden that morning, “Matthew, when we were discussing your bath, you said you didn’t like the girls seeing you naked.” He looked at her and wondered what she had in mind. “And I replied that most of them had already seen you naked.” He was perplexed. “Well it occurred to me that there are quite a few other girls who haven’t even seen you clothed, let alone naked.”

“Madam, I—”

“Yes, so I’ve decided to offer the chance of helping you to the other girls next door.”

“What?” he screamed, “please, madam, why … why are you—”

She looked at him with grim amusement. “Actually,” she said in a musing way, “there’s no reason why some of the Academy girls shouldn’t get the chance as well. Yes, I’ll think about that.” She left him there and he looked after her, gasping, his eyes pricking with tears. There was no end to her ingenuity in devising ways to bring him anguished embarrassment. He sat down and put his head in his hands. Sooner or later he was going to rebel, or go under.

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Matthew hadn’t spared a thought for what he assumed was a minor quiz about his health and a sounding of his chest, and went off to his scheduled class at the academy. This time it was Miss Briggs’ lesson on geography, and the time passed pleasantly learning all about Greece. Then he was buttonholed by a student who told him the doctor was looking for him, and he was sent down to the office where he joined a short line of older girls who stood dispiritedly without conversation. One by one they were called in, every five minutes or so, and left about ten minutes later without looking at anyone, there being several minutes of overlap. When it came Matthew’s turn he entered the little room to see a raised padded table and a weighing machine, and a lavatory bowl in the corner. The previous examinee, a girl of about seventeen, was dressing, putting on her knickers, and scowled at him resentfully. A young woman in her early twenties greeted him with a short smile, saying “You’re Matthew Raven, then? We’ve heard a lot about you. Please take your clothes off and stand over here.”

He was a little dismayed at this, and wanted to wait till the other girl had left, but the nurse frowned and repeated the order. He dawdled over removing his shirt and vest till the girl had gone, then removed his trousers without demur and stood where she indicated. She made some notation on a list and then told him to stand against the wall to measure his height. Next he was weighed, and more notes were taken. Then she told him to get up on the table. She made him pose on his hands and knees, and the next thing he knew she was putting her hands on his behind and applying a lubricant to the anus. Startled, he looked round, to see her hoisting a long tube with a nozzle on the end, which she also lubricated, then with a smile said “Please look ahead, and relax. I’m going to insert this in your rectum. It shouldn’t hurt, but if you have any discomfort, let me know.”

As if in a dream he looked ahead at the wall and tried to relax. Then he flinched as he felt the nozzle at his anal sphincter, and deliberately let himself go easy. The nozzle gently pushed in, and stopped after a while. Then he felt the rush of liquid into his bowel. It was as strange a sensation as when the first aid class had given him one, and he thought his belly was swelling, but again it stopped and he felt the burden as if his bowels were full to bursting. Then the door opened and another girl came in. He felt his sphincter automatically contract with surprise and shame, and the nurse looked at the newcomer with a frown.

“I’m sorry, Miss James, I’m late—oh!” She looked at the spectacle before her and blushed.

“What’s your name?” asked the nurse.

“Agatha, miss, Agatha Middleton.” She continued to stare at the naked boy with the enema tube in his backside, and shifted about uncomfortably. Matthew shut his eyes in desperation and clenched his fists, but he couldn’t move of course.

“Well,” said the nurse, “now you’re here, you might as well stay. Stand over there and take your clothes off.”

The girl’s eyes widened and she stuttered “N-now? B-but--”

“Yes now, don’t waste time.” The young nurse turned to Matthew and eased the nozzle out of him and helped him down from the table. The girl’s blushes equalled Matthew’s as she reluctantly took off her dress and knickers, to stand next to the lavatory pan with a hand over her crotch. He was guided over to the lavatory and placed on the seat, and Agatha looked at him beside her with another blush. “Now just let it all go,” said the nurse brightly, and turned to Agatha to take her measurements. The girl stood against the wall and looked at Matthew on the lavatory seat, and her blush intensified. He meanwhile was waiting till his nervous sphincter released his bloated bowel contents, and after a minute his wish was answered by a cascade of faeces and water. Miss James told the girl to mount the table, which she did with an even deeper blush, as she displayed her naked arse and vulva to the boy on the toilet. Miss James cleaned the nozzle and took up the lubricant, saying to Matthew “Finished? Wipe yourself nicely and dress.” Matthew did so in a daze, looking at the erotic sight before him, as Miss James applied the lubricant to Agatha’s anus, and feeling the beginning of a hardening penis. As he was drawing on his trousers the nurse was inserting the nozzle into Agatha’s rectum, and he found this incredibly rousing. The girl looked round just as he achieved a full erection, and squirmed at the sight. Miss James chided her and told Matthew brusquely to go. He sidled out the door, not daring to prolong the incident by asking questions. When he got to his room though he tore off his clothes and set about deliberately bringing himself to full orgasm, going over in his mind all that had happened and reliving the shame of being seen like that and shitting, by a girl. A girl. It was a bit worse than his experience with Liza. He found himself wishing he’d been allowed to watch the result. Somehow it wasn’t the same as when he’d seen dear Catherine having a shit. Catherine! She must have suffered the same indignity. He wondered where she was and whether he could condole with her about this latest humiliation.

As Agatha was starting to expel the enema solution from her bowels Mrs Grainger walked in. “Oh, there you are, madam,” said Miss James. “We’re just finishing here.” Agatha looked up at them and blushed to be shiting before them.

“Don’t mind us, Agatha,” said Miss James, “just clean yourself when you’re finished and get dressed. You’ll see the doctor this afternoon.” She turned to her employer. “Are there any special arrangements?”

“There are, as a matter of fact. It won’t entirely be in date order that they’re examined. I want the boy to be looked at last, Matthew Raven. The girl who precedes him, Catherine Hammond, is to be kept on the stage after her examination so that the pair of them can be used by Dr Braithwaite as specimens for his lecture. I’m also anxious that as many of the ancillary workers as possible get to hear the talk, so I’m having the stableboys and gardener’s workers, and a few others, come as well towards the end of the examinations as such. About a dozen or so. There’ll be plenty of room in that hall. Is that clear?”

“Admirably,” said the young aide. “Goodbye, Agatha. It wasn’t so bad, was it?” The girl shook her head, mouthed a goodbye and left. “I’ll let the doctor know, Mrs Grainger. I’m sure all will go smoothly.”

In the afternoon Matthew was told to wear his smock, for the full examination later. He turned up at the appointed hour in the main entrance to the school to find the rest of the staff, some sitting looking bored wearing what looked like hospital gowns, and some still putting them on. The half-dressed girls looked at him and yelped, but had to continue. Catherine however was dressed in her robe, and Abigail, in her usual brown dress, seemed to be managing things as always, together with the pretty young nurse. From time to time a new name was called, and the girl was escorted through the door at the back of the hall. Matthew tried to speak to Catherine but she looked at him as if fearful, and began to say his name, but Abigail for some reason of her own glared and stopped any conversation. At length Catherine was called, and went through the door after a sort of pleading look at Matthew, a blush suffusing her cheeks. Abigail sat down and took up a magazine from a chair. Miss James looked at her watch and went out the door to the front porch, seemingly to enjoy a cigarette. Matthew was fretting at not knowing what was going on, and suddenly asked Abigail to explain things.

“Well,” she said, throwing down the magazine and flashing him a hypocritical smile, “they’re all being examined, Catherine last, right now, and then it’ll be your turn. After that there’s a short talk by Dr Braithwaite about health and so on. Of course they’re all in there, all the girls.”

“Wait a minute,” he said in alarm, “you mean I’m to be examined in front of all those girls? But—”

“Yes, you poor boy,” she grinned at him, “they’ll all be looking at you.”

He paled, and stood up in a panic. “But I’ll be naked! Oh God, not again!”

“Oh yes,” she said, “naked. And then you’ll be the subject of the talk. Perhaps the doctor will talk about masturbation--”

“What? Oh God, what….”

“Or maybe something about circumcision--”

“But I’m not--”

“Oh, I know, we can all see that. But you never know, the girls might appreciate knowing what it’s all about. Phimosis, or venereal disease – oh, there’s lots he can talk about, all to do with you, and your genitals. I’m looking forward to it, but I bet you’re not, now that you know!”

He sat down again, and closed his eyes. How could he bear this? Catherine was being examined right then, and he guessed she was uncomfortable at her audience, even though they were all girls. And he would be examined in front of them all, which was maybe what she’d tried to warn him about; and in front of Catherine. That wasn’t so bad, somehow. Maybe her presence would lessen his embarrassment. Abigail broke into his thoughts to shatter his peace.

“By the way, don’t be surprised, but there’s a fair number of boys in there, from the stables and so on, the gardener’s boys, the mechanic apprentices, the cook’s helper, to hear the talk….” She looked at him and waited for his reaction.

“But—Wait, surely not, you haven’t invited them to see Catherine! How could you--”

“Oh, it wasn’t me,” said Abigail cheerfully, “it was Mrs G, she thought they would enjoy the doctor’s talk, and they came in early, just before we called Catherine. So I’m afraid she’s being examined, naked, in front of a lot of boys her age and younger, who’ll benefit, I’m sure, from the show.”

Matthew clenched his teeth and turned on her. “God in heaven, Abigail! You and that bitch are so … so … cruel, I don’t know what to call you, or her! I can’t….” His eyes filled with tears as he realised there was absolutely nothing he could do.

Then Miss James appeared and peeked in the other door. “Yes,” she said, “they’re ready for you, master Raven. In you go and take off your smock at the door.”

He entered a fair-sized room with a little stage at one end. All the lights were on to illuminate it, and showed Catherine, naked, sitting with head down on a couch, her eyes closed, her cheeks crimson with blushes. By her stood a grey-haired man in a white coat, looking impatiently at him. “Matthew Raven! Come in, get undressed, and get up here.” He took off his one covering and looked around at what seemed a large assembly of girls, sitting in their hospital gowns, looking at him expectantly, some with broad grins. To one side of the stage were seated a dozen or so boys, some with red faces and some with grins to match those of the girls. Matthew guessed that they had been gawking at Catherine’s exposure, and heaved an angry sigh. But why was she still there? The door opened behind him and Abigail came in, along with Miss James, to sit down nearby beside Mrs Grainger, who occupied a comfortable-looking chair in the back.

“Come on, boy! Up here to be examined!” the doctor barked, his face darkening. Matthew dropped the smock on a vacant chair and made his way through the throng to the stage, and stepped up into the light. The doctor produced a notebook and began taking notes as he interrogated Matthew about his health, past illnesses, injuries, allergies, and anxieties, while the naked boy stood on display. He hadn’t bothered to attempt to cover himself, for he knew it was a hopeless cause, and tried merely to forget how exposed he was (as if he could) and willed himself to show no reaction to the murmurs of the audience. Braithwaite began to sound his chest and back, felt his pulse, took a blood pressure measurement, looked in his eyes, his ears, his mouth, and finally turned his attention to the groin. He made Matthew stand astride, lifted the testicles and weighed them in his hand, and this elicited a buzz of amusement, not only from the girls. “Cough, boy!” Matthew obliged, and Braithwaite made more annotations. Next he turned his attention to the penis itself, and slid the foreskin back. The audience liked this, and sighed in a pleased way, while Matthew felt the beginnings of arousal and fervently wished he might remain quiescent. The doctor was examining the penis intently, and the girls at the front, only six feet away, were all eyes as he worked the foreskin and squeezed the exposed glans to see the urethral meatus. Matthew was half erect when the doctor let go and turned him around. “Spread the legs! More! Bend over!” Matthew was facing to one side, towards a third of the crowd, and his blushes grew as he met their eyes, including those of the Middleton girl, whose face was a combination of red embarrassment and amused curiosity. The girls behind him got an excellent view of his arse as the doctor spread the buttock cheeks to look at the anus, checking for the inflamed haemorrhoids Matthew had denied having, and they giggled quietly as he put on a rubber glove and applied petroleum jelly to the opening, then inserted a finger. Matthew jerked in response but had to let Braithwaite explore his colon, feeling him find the prostate gland. When it was massaged his erection grew, and as he heard the oohs and aahs of the girls he could not prevent coming to a full erection.

He was turned around again, and saw Catherine sitting up looking at him. Her eyes met his and he saw her pity for him. He sent a message of his own, trying to say with his gaze “It’s all right, Catherine. Hang on, we’ll get through this.” She understood, and smiled sadly.

Braithwaite took her arm and pulled her up to stand facing Matthew. He now noticed that she was in some state of arousal, for her dear cunny was open and pink, and her entire mound was damp. Where she had been sitting there remained a large spot of her moisture, and she had evidently been brought to that state by her intimate exam in front of those boys. She saw him looking at her crotch and the blush she had deepened.

“Well now,” said Braithwaite, “here we have two excellent specimens of youth. I understand they’re both fifteen. You can tell by the boy’s pubic hair that he has reached puberty, at least; and you know yourselves that hair grows around the genitals, though in this girl’s case,” he turned her around so that all could see, “her pubic mound is shaved and the vulva is apparent.” Catherine panted and gave a shiver. “Wait a moment, I beg your pardon, boys, I should have explained the anatomical niceties.” He turned her so that she directly faced the boys, who were peering at her lustily from only a few feet away. “This,” he said, pointing, “is the vulva, this cleft that you see, now open to show the girl’s vagina. That word means ‘sheath’ in Latin, and the idea is that it is here that the male is meant to sheath his sword, that is his penis, here.” He turned to pull on Matthew’s penis, now rock hard. ‘Vulva’, by the way, means ‘womb’ or ‘covering’ in Latin, being I suppose the outer visible part of that whole system. The other word is of course ‘uterus’. I know,” he said with a wry look at the boys, “that you call the vulva by another name,” – at which they shuffled their feet and looked at the floor – “which we won’t use here, although it is an ancient one too. You may be interested, girls,” he turned to his other audience, “to know that the penis here,” and he gave Matthew’s organ another rub, “is so called from the Latin, again, where the word means ‘tail’. Yes, it’s amusing, is it not? As for his testicles, here,” giving them a tender massage, “the Latin word at the base of that is testis, meaning ‘witness’, as in ‘to testify’. These little balls are looked on as witnesses to the virility, the manliness, of the person. As for the pubic hair, though,” he seized a tuft and Matthew winced, “it’s interesting that it never grows very long, and in fact is shed after a few months. This is to help in keeping the genital area clean, which we’ll come to. Before we go on, are there any questions?”

The two of them stood on the little platform looking off into space as if to distance themselves from the whole horrid business. Their faces were suffused with blushes, their sexes on plain display to be talked about and pointed at and made fun of. They fervently hoped no-one would think of an embarrassing question, and the whole process could be ended, to let them go to their rooms and hide. But it was not to be.

One of the academy girls raised her hand. “Can you tell us about circumcision?” The others giggled, and Matthew cringed again. He was sure she’d been primed by Abigail, and what other awful questions had she prepared?

“Certainly,” said Braithwaite. He turned to Catherine and told her to sit down, for she could not contribute much. He turned back to Matthew and indicated the erect penis. “This,” he said, “is the foreskin.” He pulled the skin back and forward, and Matthew feared he might come in front of them all. “It protects the head of the penis, when it’s at rest, but retracts to allow sexual intercourse. It can however lead to infection if not looked after. It is therefore a standard practice among several nations of the world to remove it, to ‘cut round’ it, which is what ‘circumcision’ means. It’s an article of faith, in fact, with Jews and Muslims and others. The operation is quite a minor one and doesn’t entail much suffering, though an adult would prefer to have a general anaesthetic like ether. Boys undergo this in Judaism eight days after birth. Others do it just at puberty I believe, it’s part of the entry into manhood, like the Bar Mitzvah or Christian Confirmation, and originally Abraham’s son Ishmael was circumcised at thirteen. There’s a special word for those trained in carrying it out, in Hebrew, mohel. Of course it may have no religious reason, for it’s regularly done in the case of phimosis. This is where the foreskin – also called the ‘prepuce’, by the way – is constrained, or too tight so that it can’t retract easily. Apart from everything else, it could be quite painful for the poor boy to get an erection or try intercourse. So in those cases it’s purely therapeutic. It is also one of the methods recommended by Dr Kellogg, in the United States, to combat masturbation. – We don’t have time to go into that however.” Matthew heaved a sigh of relief at that. “But here,” he pulled Matthew about again, “as you see, this young man has everything God gave him.” He held the testicles and presented the whole handful of balls and erect penis to the girl, who looked at the offering with a smile. “Does that answer your question, miss?” he asked with an arch sort of smirk. “Oh yes, doctor,” she replied, “thank you.”

Braithwaite yanked Catherine upright and stood her again in front of the fascinated boys, saying “You may not be aware of it, but it’s possible to circumcise a girl too, and it’s rather common in Asia to cut the clitoris. This.” He opened up Catherine’s vulva to elicit the head of her clitoris, at which the poor girl gave a little squeal and writhed at its exposure. Braithwaite fingered the little button and she began to moan. Matthew couldn’t believe the doctor would bring her to orgasm before this crowd, but he stopped before too long. That didn’t prevent her from making mewling noises in her shame, and she shut her eyes to avoid the stares of the boys. “Clitoridectomy is another of Dr Kellogg’s suggestions for dealing with female masturbation, which I’m sure you know about. I have no recommendation to make on the subject.” Braithwaite gave his audience a searching look, and some of the girls looked very uncomfortable at his insinuation; then he turned to Matthew and made sure all could see the two hapless specimens. He glanced round at his attentive audience who were hanging on his every word, which was unusual, for mostly he’d noticed they’d yawn or just look puzzled. This time however he held their interest, for obvious reasons. “You will notice, girls,” said the doctor, “I beg your pardon, boys too, that the two sexes have different ways of indicating that they are sexually aroused. Here is the boy, with an evident erection; there are other subtler signs, of course. He sweats, his nipples get tender, he gets shortness of breath, and his heart rate increases dramatically. The girl, on the other hand, is not so obviously affected. She has a flush to her cheeks, which of course may spread further over her body; she has these minor effects, but the more obvious of the evidences are the strong erection of the nipples, and a flow of blood to breasts and the genitals. Her vulva will enlarge and become more pink – see the labia, the lips, also called the nymphae, here—“ (he held them apart with his gloved fingers) – “– and may also visibly open, as you see, in readiness to receive the expected penis. The organ changes colour, and on occasion can become bluish or purple; this is from the rush of blood there.

“She will also emit a watery substance – not the same as urination! – water, or moisture I might say, which is secreted by the vagina. This acts as a means of lubricant to the vagina, as an aid to intercourse, and it’s sometimes exceedingly copious as some of you may have discovered. Boys do this too to a slight extent, it’s called ‘pre-ejaculation fluid.’ I should add perhaps that a medical friend insists that it is in fact urine, whose production is stimulated by arousal, even when the bladder is empty. However, that’s just his opinion. So the signs of sexual excitement are erect nipples, wetness of the vulva, and expansion of the vaginal labia as blood flows to the region. The male response is not as complex, really. The mechanics seem so, but basically the blood engorges the penis, the testicles are drawn to the body,” indicating them with his forefinger, “and certain muscles are stimulated to elevate the organ as you see, to an angle which will help in penetration of the vagina, about sixty degrees from the body, I would say on average, though a right angle is often seen. This young man is nearly totally erect – I mean his penis is pointing nearly straight up. Turn and face the wall, boy.” Matthew mechanically did so, presenting a profile of his elevated organ.

“It is approximately…” said the doctor, producing a protractor, and lining it up with the penis, “… a very high 30 degree angle from his body. You see? That’s a little more than average. And of course the flow of blood to the organ usually increases its length as well. How big, how long, is your penis, boy, when it’s in a flaccid state?”

The audience tittered, and Matthew grimaced as he replied, “I don’t know—”

“What! You haven’t looked!” said the doctor, to an outright guffaw from the audience.

“It—it’s probably only two or three inches,” mumbled the scarlet subject.

“Well! See, girls, how much longer it is, and imagine perhaps how much the circumference has grown. It is now,” and he produced a foot rule, “a full … six and a half inches exactly. That is quite normal, even average – it can grow quite large. It may interest you to know that the average length of your vagina is only about four inches. It is easy to insert a finger. I did that with this girl as you saw, to examine her hymen.” Matthew nearly attacked the doctor at that, but Catherine gave him a warning glance and he merely clenched his hands into fists and set his teeth. “But that doesn’t mean that this boy could not safely penetrate a girl, for the vagina expands quite mightily to double its size, it’s actually quite elastic.

“Now, as for the healthy treatment of these organs, it is perhaps enough to insist on constant cleanliness, which is only sensible, is it not? The use of a bidet or other douche is to be recommended for you girls, for this whole area,” and here he passed his palm over Catherine’s bare mount of Venus, “is quite sensitive to infection if neglected. I might add however that the vaginal apparatus, shall we call it, actually cleanses itself, just as the unwanted ova are discharged in your menstrual flow. Still, one should always keep clean, and this goes for the anus as well,” he said, turning her round and fingering the spot, “carefully wiping the backside after defecation, or as you boys probably call it, Number Two.” His audience laughed loudly. “I may as well advise you, girls, that you should always wipe yourselves back from the anus, I mean towards the rear, like this.” He drew his hand under Catherine’s arse and she writhed as the boys laughed, though the girls seemed interested in the information. “This is because wiping forwards might carry bacteria from the anus to the vaginal area. As for the boy, and of course this applies to you boys there, he will be wise to clean his penis carefully, making sure there is no build-up of the sebaceous, or oily, material we call smegma. Do you clean your penis, boy?”

Matthew blinked and stuttered “Y-Yes, sir, I—”

“Very sensible. Smegma is found behind the foreskin here,” pointing to the tip of Matthew’s penis, “and must be washed frequently. That foreskin, as you see, is pretty fully drawn back. Usually as I said it covers the tip, or glans, of the organ,” he pulled it forward, ”but on full erection it’s (usually) drawn back thus.” He drew it back, and Matthew was sure he felt the beginning of a throb in the abused organ. “You’ll also see, girls, that the glans itself is so suffused with blood that it is practically purple.”

Matthew felt he couldn’t possibly blush any more, and surely all his blood was in his cheeks? Or in his poor penis? But the doctor continued with his exposition, pointing to the slit in the glans (pushing him to the front and inviting the closest girls to see the slit, “rather like the slit of your own vulvas, heh heh!”) that was the opening of the urethra. Eventually he wound down his lecture and nodded to Mrs Grainger, who thanked him and asked the audience to applaud an excellent and unusually informative talk. Matthew sat down on the chair and hung his head in his hands, and didn’t look up as a number of the girls passed him, admiring his nakedness, as they told him. Catherine—where was she? He looked over at the couch and felt a pang of pity and love for her, now lying with eyes closed, still with a deep blush on her pretty cheeks. Then he clenched his teeth as he saw the boys crowd round her. They were quickly rounded up however and herded out. The room emptied, Mrs Grainger sweeping out carelessly and the chatter of comment, some of it salacious, subsiding, as did his tumescence. He got up and went over to her, whispering “Catherine, it’s all over. It was terrible but it’s over….” She threw out her arms and grabbed him round the thighs – at which he reacted with another erection – and drew him to her to hug him and seek comfort. He submitted to the embrace, mentally thanking his stars to be so close to her with an erect penis pressing on her nude body. If she realised what was happening she gave no sign and didn’t stop holding him, her hands caressing his buttocks and her face buried in his chest. But he couldn’t stay that way very long, in fact he felt his penis begin to throb against her belly, and he was seized with panic that he’d reach orgasm and come over her body. Delicately he disengaged himself, with soothing words and gentle voice, and she opened her eyes and blushed again as she saw what she was doing. “Yes,” she murmured, “it is over—for a while. But it never seems to end.” He went out into the room and came back with her robe. She thanked him as she struggled into it, her limbs somehow tired and listless. She looked at him, still naked and tumescent, and without thinking in her exhausted state she said “God, but your cock is beautiful.”

Immediately she realised what she’d said, and blushed again, putting her hand to her mouth in dismay. While Matthew didn’t know whether to hide himself or try to be nonchalant. In the end he looked at her and said merely, “Thank you. But did I ever tell you yet that you are beautiful? I’ve thought so ever since I saw you in the morning room that time. And I’ve wanted to … kiss you ever so often….”

She rose from the couch and put her arms round him again. “Like this?” His arms automatically went round her, and she tightened her hold on his bare body, as their lips met.

The first kiss is always memorable in any relationship, and this was something of a revelation to them both; he for one felt his erection grow strong against her body, and continuing to explore her mouth with a naïve tongue he felt his penis strive to salute her in its own way. She felt his excitement and gloried in it, holding his back and rubbing her hands up and down it, reaching his bare buttocks, which she grasped triumphantly as if to force him into her. The tableau was held for a long sweet minute, and then by mutual consent they broke away. She smiled at him and left without a word. He found his own smock and went upstairs in a sort of wonder. It took him quite a while to relax, and he pondered whether he should get rid of his tension the manual way, but he finally quietened down and lay on his bed trying to get some rest. It was teatime but he had no appetite, and he debated going down and seeing Catherine. After a little while he thought he might as well, and maybe he shouldn’t try to avoid her, for she might be pleased to see him.

***

“Who’s to be the lucky girls tonight? Abigail, where’s your cards?” She smiled in an evil sort of way and said “It’s all arranged. None of you tonight – sorry to disappoint, but Mrs G had another idea. She’s asked a couple from next door to do it. She’s going to ring the changes. Don’t worry, you’ll all get the chance. But tonight it’s Mary and Sheila. They’re two girls on the staff next door, Matthew,” she explained to the flushed boy. “They volunteered to do it – I think they’re looking forward to it. So you’ll see them going on for nine tonight. All right?”

He just looked at her in stupefaction. Different girls he didn’t know, touching his body, his genitals! “And of course,” added Abigail cruelly, “they should be told how to handle you.” “How to be gentle with your ballocks,” explained Jennie cheekily. “How to stroke your arse,” added Grace. He looked at them all as they chimed in with comments, and his flush deepened to a full-grown blush. “Gently pressing on your arsehole,” said Mabel with grin. “Putting a soapy finger in!” said Dorah. “And carefully pulling back your foreskin to get at the head of your cock,” contributed Amelia. He rose and cried “Please, girls! You know I hate this! Why do you taunt me like this? Why do you fall in with Mrs G’s plans to humiliate me?” They fell silent and looked at him, seemingly in dismay at his plain speaking. Abigail took charge. “It’s a game, Matthew,” she said cheerily, “just a game. Mrs G makes the rules, and the team play. You would do well to join in and enjoy it. Come, surely you get a thrill out of girls pulling on your prick?” He looked at her numbly. She was right in a sense, and he had to admit it. But still—! “All right,” he said in defeat. “So who is it tonight?” “Mary and Sheila,” repeated Abigail. “They’re … sixteen and fifteen respectively, if you want to know. Don’t worry, I’ll have a talk with them about procedure. They have to be told not to be too rough with you, after all!” He rose and left without another word, just as Catherine came in for tea, and he brushed past her with an agonised look to let her know he was in some trouble. But how much trouble could it be? All he had to do was submit.

Later that evening he called on the butler and was welcomed with tea and buns. In response to a question from Matthew the old man nodded his head. “I remember Mr Grainger well, young Raven, of course,” said the butler. “It was only ten years ago that he died. I was a boy here in his father’s time, and remember him as a young man growing up. The family is quite old, it’s been around in these parts since the Domesday Book. And latterly at least they’ve been quite powerful. In the eighteenth century, I know, they were slavers for a good while. A sugar plantation in Jamaica, I think. They made money selling boots to Napoleon, at least that’s the story, and—” he broke off to wheeze a laugh – “the joke was that they were all for the left feet! Hah! Old Boney was hopping mad I tell you! That’s a pun, hey!” He cackled for a minute, and Matthew smiled in response and didn’t believe a word of it. “Anyway, whether that’s true or not, they certainly sold arms to some folks, and had a hand in the opium trade too. Anything likely to bring in the money. Besides usury, that is. I’m convinced Dickens’s Scrooge was a portrait of Aaron Grainger, Mr G’s great grandfather, who was something of a rival to Mayer Rothschild. Henry’s father, Edward, got some honour from the king, or was it Victoria? Yes, and his father, Hereward, was honoured in some way by William IV. They never made it to the nobility of course. So anyway that’s how they got their wealth, and built this palace, and got the influence they have. For quite a lot of miles around, in town and country, I mean even outside this estate, which is several hundred acres, the Grainger word is not to be ignored, and folks defer to Mrs G as they did to her husband and his folks. He got away with a lot, let me tell you, and now so does she. Otherwise, she’d be arrested.” Matthew looked at him in wonderment. “Yes, and the Chief Constable is in her pocket, or she knows something about him he’d rather not come out.”

“Can you tell me about Mrs Grainger, Mr Bryden? She must have married very young, she can only be about thirty I think.”

“Oh yes, young ’un. She’s thirty-one last February. She was sixteen when she married him, her sixteenth birthday it was. She was a beautiful bride,” said Bryden, with a reminiscent smile on his face. “And let me tell you, it was quite a romance. She had been over visiting the year before, and caught the eye of Mr G, young Henry. And he caught her eye too, for he was a handsome fellow. All the family were, as you’ll see if you look at the portraits in the library. He was a lot older mind you, I say ‘young’ because his father Edward was old, about as old as I am now. Henry was … forty, or close to it. So there they were, forty and fifteen, and you’d think they weren’t suited, but however it came about, they married as soon as she turned sixteen. It wasn’t that they had to marry, he hadn’t knocked her up, she wasn’t pregnant, but … between you and me, lad,” he said in a secretive way, “he knew her, in the biblical sense, long before. She, I should tell you, is a bit of an aristocrat herself. Her maiden name was Delatourelle, which evidently means something like ‘from the turret’—”

“That sounds about right,” said Matthew.

“You know French?”

“Just a bit, I mean I taught myself—”

“All right, then you can see it’s a sort of 1066 name, isn’t it? Or maybe the Huguenots. I seem to remember a place in Canada called Latourelle. Anyway, they were evidently a junior branch of a titled French family that managed to survive the Revolution by being in England at the time. She had a bit of money of her own that she came into about a dozen years ago, but mostly it’s her husband’s. They have property all over the place, a shooting place in Scotland, and abroad too, a villa in Italy et cetera, and shares and whatnot. When he died she came into all that. And his father had died, too, in 1900, and he had a bit of that inheritance. The rest of the Grainger family, I should tell you, keep to themselves. In fact I think they look on this branch as a bit of a … a low lot, what shall I say? The black sheep side. They don’t communicate at all, they cut them off and so on.”

“Then Mrs G is quite alone? There’s no children, then?”

“Oh no, lad, they didn’t have children, which is maybe why she’s keen on having young folk about her. They weren’t married that long, actually, before he died. About five years. And then….” He fell silent, and Matthew looked at him speculatively. Now was perhaps not the best time to ask about that death. He thanked the old man for his tea and conversation, and withdrew.

*

Mary was a tallish girl of sixteen, and Sheila was six months younger, as they told Matthew that evening. They were quite open in telling him how the girls had been hearing about the boy next door, and hoping for a chance to see him. Some already had, of course, but Mary and Sheila had only hearsay to depend on. The girls had been discussing his body, and he was told in embarrassing detail what had been said. As they took off his clothes they were licking their lips in anticipation, and when he was finally bare they looked at him admiringly, holding his hands so that he couldn’t hide his attractions. He withstood their looks quite well, though his penis as always was threatening to answer the lewd examination it got, and when they led him into the bathroom he was almost proud of the way he maintained his calm. That didn’t last, of course. They stood him up in the middle of the tub and soaped his head, his eyes shut against the soap, and then lathered his face and neck, then his shoulders. He wondered if they would go right down before rinsing him, but they stopped at his belly before pouring water over him, and drying his face so that he could see what they were at.

That was of course his belly again, and the small of his back, and his buttocks, most lovingly pressed and caressed by four invasive hands, by twenty questing fingers. Once again his arsehole was admired and investigated and probed, and by this time his penis, with a mind of its own, was on the rise. The girls exclaimed over that, and began to treat his pelvic area. Sheila attended to his pubic hair, and Mary started on his testicles. Together they produced a fine erection, which again drew pleased comments. “Just wait till we tell the other girls about this, Matthew! Abigail promised us a sort of lottery to see who gets to finger you next. They’re all excited!” Then they gently but surely held his prick and teased it into a throb that they felt as a warning of impending action; they both held his organ as it spouted his sperm, jerking it until it spouted no more, and he cried out to them to stop.

“Oh yes,” said Mary, “the girls are going to love this! But now, let’s get you out and into bed. Come along.” Together they brought him (almost staggering) to his bed and turned down the sheet, and together eased him in. He lay there exhausted yet again and looked at them in silence.

Sheila stroked his hair and smiled at him. “We all think you’re marvellous, Matthew,” she said, “and we’re so pleased that Mrs G brought you to us. You’re the high point of the day, d’you know that? And there’s the knowledge that everyone has, there’s the chance of being the one to stroke you all over from head to toe and in between, and bring you to a climax. Now goodnight, pleasant dreams.”

The other put her hand to his still blushing cheek. “Dream about us if you like,” she said with a grin, “or all the other girls waiting for you. A wet dream maybe? Unless you’re all emptied out! Listen, we hope you stay with us for a very long time. Now goodnight.” They put out the light and closed the door, and he was left with his emotions.

They would all be washing him, feeling his behind, his balls, his cock, persuading him to stand, making him come. All of them. How many servant girls were there? And oh God there’s the Academy girls! Christ, two hundred Academy girls! Oh no, please God, not that…. But there’s Catherine too. I wouldn’t mind if it was she. No, by golly I’d like it, I’d accept it from her, and I’d like to do the same. I’ve seen her naked, she’s kissed me naked, and … I’d like her to wash me and fondle my cock till I came. He had a smile on his face when he fell asleep.

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

Friday 29^th May

A bath at the stables, a sight at the school, a job for Matthew, and students get their prize

“Catherine,” said Mrs Grainger, “how often do you bathe?”

“Every week, madam,” said the girl. “I hope that’s all right.”

“Well, actually it’s the least satisfactory frequency, excluding anything less frequent, that is,” she added, curling her lip in distaste. “Every day is better, and in fact twice a day would be ideal. For these climes at least.”

Catherine looked astonished. “I don’t think I’m that dirty, madam--”

Mrs G broke in. “All I’m saying is that the oftener one bathes the more wholesome the body. Of course one can always mask one’s natural odour with perfume and so forth, but you don’t do that, do you?”

“No. Madam, I—”

“Well then. I suggest you bathe much oftener. You’ll smell sweeter all the time. Don’t you want to?”

Catherine blinked. “Yes, madam—”

“So I’m suggesting you increase your baths. In fact, have one today. And you can use the one in the stables along there.”

The girl frowned. “But it’s too—”

“That’s enough, Catherine. Do as you’re told. Haven’t you learned yet that I will not be argued with?” She made a moue of discontent. “Run along. You know where it is.”

“But I don’t, madam, I’ve never been there.”

Her mistress drew an exasperated sigh. “Then ask someone. In fact, I’ll send one of the boys to show you. Right then. Be at the door here in half an hour. Now be off.”

Catherine went to her room in some wonderment, and was still wondering when she went down later, to find Mrs G giving instructions to a boy of about fifteen, who looked her up and down and grinned, with a slight flush on his young face. “That’s all,” said Mrs G, and gestured for them to leave.. The boy chattered to Catherine as he led her some distance to the stables, where they passed several boys and men doing mysterious things with saddles and other gear. The boy (who had introduced himself as Will, fourteen and a half, polisher of brasses) led her to a room at the end of the building, where steam was escaping through the cracks in the door.

“Here you are, Catherine,” he said, “it’s all ready for you. You can hang your clothes up here,” indicating a number of pegs on the wall. She looked at him, and waited for him to leave her, but he just looked back at her, and waved his hand at the pegs.

She caught her breath and swallowed, stammering “Are – aren’t you going to leave? Will, please!” He grinned and said “But Mrs G wants me to help you.”

She blushed bright red, and said “M— Mrs Grainger said that you were to help me?” He nodded complacently. “So get undressed and we can get on with it.” She closed her eyes and felt like crying. Mrs G wanted it, so it had to be.

She undressed slowly and hung her garments on the pegs as if in a dream, watched by the boy, who was evidently enjoying every minute. Her mind flew to Matthew, who had to endure this exposure constantly. Naked, she stepped into the large tub and reached for a bar of soap. “It’s all right, Catherine,” said Will, “I’ve got it.” He soaped up his hands and put them on her shoulders, and she recoiled with a little scream. His grin increased as he rubbed his hands over her chest and delicately soaped her breasts, which she felt gain hardened nipples in an instant. The boy felt them and paused with a pleased grin on his face. Next, her arms, next, her sides, and then her belly, which heaved in and out at being handled even so gently. “Turn round, Catherine! We’re doing well!” Obediently she presented him with her back, and he proceeded to do the unreachable small of the back, tracing the spine, lingering over its base, then slowly caressing the buttocks. “God, Catherine, your arse is beautiful,” he said in reverent tones. “Let me stroke it a bit. There, and the crack is enticing! Let me see your hole.”

She jerked forward at his crudity, and he put inquisitive fingers to her sphincter, even pushing a finger in and out, at which she shuddered and gave a mewling sigh. “Please, Will,” she gasped, “please don’t do that!” “All right,” he said mildly, and soaped her perineum. “Turn around again, and let me see your … cunt.”

She turned in obedience and he treated her pubic area with some care, going round the vulva before daring to insert impertinent fingers into the nervous vagina. She was shaking by now and trying to stave off her excitement, but she felt it grow just as her blushes seemed to suffuse her face and entire torso.

Just then the door opened and she screamed in frightened shame as another boy of about sixteen came in, with an excited grin on his face. “How are you doing, Will?”

“Very well, Dick,” said the other. “Don’t you see, she’s nearly coming!”

“Can I help?”

Catherine wailed, “Oh God, no, please!” but in vain. The two applied themselves most willingly to her vagina and quickly rubbed her clitoris to erect throbbing heat. Her orgasm seemed to last for ever.

Afterwards Dick helped to dry her, lovingly going into every fold of her skin with the towel, then feeling her to ensure she was dry. She bore all this in silent shame, and dressed quickly to get away from their ribald eyes. They meanwhile were chatting away to her and telling her that she was a bloody good-looking girl.

“We missed seeing you at the doctor’s talk, somehow,” Dick said with regret, “though the others told us all about it. We’re glad that we were able to do this today. We’re looking forward to doing it again.”

Catherine gave a cry. “Please, boys, please leave me alone! You can’t do this again—”

“No, Catherine, Mrs G said you were to get baths quite regular, and we’ll be happy to help. There’s the other lads here too, they’ll be glad to do it. Some of them haven’t seen a girl naked, before. And you’re pretty as well. Your tits are just right, your arse is good and a nice size, and your cunt—”

“Please, Dick! Please, boys, don’t you see how I hate this?”

Will looked at her with a smile. “Yes, Catherine, but us boys are awful keen to wash you. Especially your cunt. We’re going to tell them all about it, and next time it’ll probably be another pair. Maybe Tom, he’s thirteen, and maybe Mickey, he’s only twelve. I bet he’s never seen a twat in his life. He wasn’t at the doc’s talk, and he’ll love to see you.” Catherine looked at them and bit her lip. She knew there was no avoiding it, and turned and left them grinning at each other.

Now she knew (roughly) how Matthew felt, being handled by the opposite sex till he came in orgasm, on a regular basis. She didn’t think she could ever get used to it though. Then a panicking thought came to her: Matthew would be sent back to the Crossleys, eventually, and his ill treatment would stop then. But she had no guarantee of ever being freed from this naked servitude. God in heaven! Could the torment last for years?

………………………………………….

Meanwhile, Matthew was investigating the naughty books in the library, but wearied of this after a while (as well as feeling a bit guilty), and to make a change he set about more exploration. He still hadn’t worked out how to get from the school to the roof.

He’d established what each side of the big building contained: on his side, mostly the public rooms, dining room, library, kitchen and so forth. On the other, classrooms and a few cubicles for the staff, besides the staff room proper, toilets, a sick bay, and the small gymnasium. The basement contained electrical and laundry facilities, and gave out onto the lawn, which served as a drying ground for linen. At a little distance were the stables and garage for two cars and two old-fashioned carriages. Further on he found the gardener’s cottage and work-sheds, with a greenhouse and cloches for vegetables. The entire area was ringed with little cottages for staff, most inhabited by teachers, some of whom drove cars (mostly cheap and modest), while one had a pony and trap outside.

He then decided to make a thorough examination of the attics and boxrooms, beginning with his side, the house. He hadn’t had time to do more than glance at them before, but now he thought he could take the time to do a proper search. Mrs G hadn’t specified what she wanted this week, so he felt justified in hiding (yes, hiding) in the upper rooms that nobody seemed to go near.

He began by trying to clear the clutter of things he found piled helter-skelter – books, especially. He waded through the heaps of bric-à-brac and isolated as many of the books as he could, piled them neatly, then turned to the clothes. This proved to be rather long in dealing with, but in the end he had a respectable array of all kinds of boots and garments, most of which were at least decades old, if not a century or so. Little by little he separated the items into classes – kitchen ware, cutlery, children’s toys, from a baby’s rattle to a rocking horse, pictures, smaller items of furniture, china (tea-sets and ewers, chamber pots and decorative vases), and a rather large heap of miscellaneous stuff, some of which he couldn’t even identify.

He visited a doorless lavatory to take a shit, not being nervous this time about being observed or disturbed, then thought about washing up. His clean clothes did look a bit overused, and he did have some qualms about Mrs G seeing him like this, but recklessly decided to carry on, investigating the other rooms and cleaning the place up, at least getting things tidy. Dusting would be for another day. Eventually his rumbling belly brought him downstairs in time for lunch, and he tucked in to bread and butter and cheese and onions, washed down with lots of strong tea. He told the girls what he was up to when they asked, not having seen him for ages, and they expressed wonder at bothering about the rubbish. He was on his way back when he was summoned by Mrs Grainger, and went along in some trepidation.

She eyed his not-so-fresh appearance and said “Two things, Matthew. One, we spoke about the library next door, well I’ve decided to ask you to recatalogue it. That is, check the lists of what’s there, and add in notes on the books that aren’t listed. I believe you’ll enjoy that, hmm?”

“Oh yes, madam,” he said, “thank you. I’m sure I can do that.”

“Right,” she said. “Number Two, you’re not treating your nice clothes at all well, after Mr Jackson making them for you specially.”

She looked at him hard, and he coloured and said weakly, “I’m sorry, madam. Really I am. I didn’t think—”

“No,” she said. “They really could do with a wash. So take them, now, to the laundry and give them to Marion, do you know her? Do you know where the laundry is, anyhow?”

“Yes, madam,” he said, “but—”

“No buts, Matthew. Someone will point out Marion to you. She’s a tall girl, about 21 years old, with dark curly hair and light brown skin. She’s from Jamaica originally. Get her to wash the clothes and iron them quickly, and don’t come back until they’re done. Off with you.”

He opened his mouth but couldn’t say a word, and left her smiling after him. He found the laundry and Marion easily enough, she up to her elbows in a large sink, singing away to herself, and she smiled a hello. When she heard what he came for she laughed and said “Yes, that’s the missis, all right! Fine, so give me the clothes and come back in, oh, I don’t know, they take time, after all, to iron and everything. A half hour I should say, at least.” She held out her hand for his clothes, and he sighed and undressed, turning away as he handed her them. “Oh,” she said, “I don’t know what you can do, there’s nothing to wear here. And why wear anything? Lord, man, you look nice. I could eat you right up, yessir!” He was blushing before she said that, and he blushed more, wondering despairingly how he could hide for half an hour. “Away you go,” she said, “and let me get on with it. Go now.”

She shooed him out and he paused outside the door. He remembered there were a few spare rooms down here, and cast about to see where they were, but heard footsteps and in a panic he bolted into what he thought was a cupboard but turned out to be a large dumbwaiter or lift, which was evidently used for transporting the bed linen and other washables from the upper stories. He shut the door and leaned against it, trembling, listening to voices on the other side, which seemed to be talking about sending the contraption up to be loaded. He cringed to hear this, but was trapped, and had to stay there as the room rather jerkily moved up and up, to—what?

He found out soon enough. The lift stopped, and the door was flung open. A frowning face looked in, and the frown was replaced by an amazed grin. The girl who stood there stared at his body, only partially hidden by his hands, and he stared back in abject shame. Then she darted in and hauled him out, intending to ask him to explain himself, but he ran off down the corridor in terror, not knowing where he was going. He was on the top classroom floor, he recognised, and he remembered roughly how he’d got to the ground floor last time, but he was a bit confused by the turn of events and wasn’t sure of his route. The main thing was to keep going as fast as he could, and hope he’d make it before he was spotted. He remembered what had happened last time and shivered.

He passed an open lavatory so fast he’d hardly the time to notice its occupation, but there was a slight shriek and a girl’s voice saying “What? Who’s that?” He sped on heedless and came to the head of stairs. Good, this would lead to the next story, and then another, and then—. It was no good, the bell to end the class had begun to sound. Matthew panted and ran faster hoping to get some shelter away from the classrooms that surrounded him. Doors were opening, and he could only sprint past them, his head down, his arms pumping at his side, unable to conceal his erection which now stuck out from his loins, his breath becoming ragged and his eyes beginning to get wet.He heard shouts behind him but couldn’t react, just ran and ran, and then rounded a corner to find the corridor full of girls milling about. He couldn’t, daren’t, stop, but barged ahead through the mob which finally noticed him and got out of his way, to the side walls, so he was running through them, a gauntlet of staring laughing girls, to the next corner, where he had to come to a halt when the crowd was too thick. He covered himself and deliberately walked through their midst, and they again parted, though slightly, to give him room to move. However they came back to him and started to touch him. He yelped and stammered “Please, girls! Please let me past!” and some did, but the majority took advantage of his defencelessness and set about putting their hands to his body—his back, his bum, his shoulders, his belly—they surrounded him and disengaged his hands from his crotch, and proceeded to fondle his scrotum, his pubic hair, his cock, now achingly erect, and he could do nothing. The totality of his nakedness and the multitude of hands overwhelmed him and he felt tears starting. He tried again, “Please, girls, let me go!” and one girl who seemed to have some authority cried “All right, girls! Back! Let him walk through!” They obeyed, and he was about to start when she added “Put your hands behind your head, boy, and walk slowly so that everybody can get a good look at you.” He had to obey, for he knew he’d never get out otherwise. So he walked through their midst, his head high and his blushes brilliant, his penis erect before him, along the corridor to another stair. He went down, greeted by exclamations of delight and ribald comments by the host of girls who saw him approach, then went along another corridor packed with ogling eyes to the front door. There he stopped and drew it open, and the girls behind him gave a cheer.

He went out and circled round to the rear and entered the laundry by another door, by which time his erection had mostly subsided. Marion looked up and smiled at him. “Nearly there, master Matthew! Have you been out running?” He realised he was covered in sweat, and merely nodded. He waited a few moments till she’d finished ironing, then donned his vest, his shirt, and his now pristine trousers. “Thank you, Marion,” he said. “Thank you for your trouble.” “You’re welcome, man,” she said, “for you, any day!”

Back in the house, he sought out Mrs Grainger and presented himself for her approbation. She looked at him and said “Yes. All right. Tell me, what did you do while waiting?” He didn’t know how to answer her, and hesitated. “No matter,” she said, “I’ll probably be told.” She looked at him, probably noticing the sweat, and smirked. “Very well. Take note that if you dirty your clothes again, they’ll be washed like this, and till they’re ready you will be naked. Understood?” He swallowed and said weakly “Yes, madam, of course.”

“Now I suggest you use the few hours left this afternoon to looking over the library and finding the catalogue. If you have any questions, come and ask me. But don’t pester me. That will keep you till tea-time at least. Go now.” She walked off, and he made his way slowly to the library, telling himself he had to avoid the dust. And where was the catalogue?

He eventually found it, a scrappy-looking thick bundle of typing, wedged between two volumes of a three-volume set that called itself Index Librorum Prohibitorum, itself evidently a catalogue, or at least a booklist, of erotic books in a whole variety of languages. They were beautiful quarto volumes printed in red and black, but the previous owner, presumably Mr Grainger or his father perhaps, had written notes in them in nice clear neat handwriting, mostly to say that this volume under consideration was in the library too. Matthew understood that the majority of the books were about sex, of one sort or another, while the balance was made up of seemingly rare tomes of travel and anthropology. It struck him that those books he had seen in the upstairs attics were probably the “ordinary” books that had been withdrawn from the family library to make room for all these erotic things, and he resolved to catalogue them too. Who knew what treasures they contained? And cast aside just because they weren’t full of dirty stories. At the same time, he licked his lips in anticipation of more arousing discoveries as he went through all the hundreds of books that surrounded him.

He decided to start at the door, going round the room to his right, clockwise, checking the books on the bottom shelf, then he’d do the next shelf, and so on. He got paper and ink laid out on the big table to take notes, and picked out the very first book, a quite large folio in sturdy leather binding. He looked at the title page, which had the title in large red letters, and examined the catalogue. He soon realised that he was helped by the list being roughly in alphabetic order of title, which was better than by author, he thought, because it might be difficult to make out. He rapidly searched through all the books beginning with the first word, but couldn’t find it, so hauled the tome over to the table to transcribe the information. The next book was smaller but thicker – he counted 418 pages, for goodness sake. And the title was a long one, all in Latin: Gynæcologia Historico-Medica hoc est Congressus Muliebris Consideratio … et cetera, et cetera! Matthew got an idea of what it was about from the first word, but on looking it up in the three-volume booklist he was intrigued to find that the author, who called himself Pisanus Fraxi (which had to be an obscene pun of a sort), went into fascinating detail about the contents. His eyes roamed over Fraxi’s dry summary: Copulation prevented by the excessive size of the clitoris … Example of a girl being pregnant without losing her virginity … Instances of libidinous men, and of such who have performed the act a great number of times consecutively – he wondered about that; he himself had managed to masturbate three times in one glorious afternoon, and he was sure he’d fucked Justine and her students three times – but there had to be a limit! – Various ways in which the act of sodomy is committed by different peoples – he supposed they had various positions, but couldn’t imagine what they were – Bestiality with various animals of both sexes, with mermen [what!] and maids, with demons, and with statues….

Good heavens, he thought, the author, this Martin Schurig person, does go into the subject pretty comprehensively. And the Grainger who owned it thought so too, writing in the Fraxi book enthusiastic comments – About the best book on the large subject, for its time (1730), and still inexhaustibly interesting. Monckton Milnes thought highly of it. Who would that be? Evidently another collector of sexy books. Anyway, what next?

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At tea-time (with ham sandwiches and plumcake) he told the girls about his new job, and they were cautiously congratulatory. “So we won’t be seeing so much of you, will we?” pouted Amelia. “Well,” said Jennie, “there’s not much left to see!” This made them all roar with bawdy laughter, which puzzled Catherine as she came in, and when it was explained to her she blushed at Matthew’s embarrassment, and threw him a sympathetic glance. “Still,” said Jessica, “you’ll be having a fine time reading all those funny books. But they’re in various languages, you said?” “Yes,” he replied, “in French and Latin and so forth. I know I don’t speak all these languages, but mostly I just have to be able to recognise a title when I see it and mark it off in the catalogue. Then if it isn’t there, I just transcribe the title carefully and make another list.” “You’ll be at this a while then,” said Liza, “because there must be hundreds of books there. So you’ll be with us for quite a while yet.” Matthew nodded, happy that he would be around to care for Catherine, but then he remembered other things looming, like the end of term concert. Catherine on the other hand was overjoyed that her dear one wouldn’t be sent back very soon, and maybe they would be together when the entourage went on holiday to Provence.

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He was beginning to doze over a book when the door was yanked open and two girls he hadn’t seen before came in. He looked up in dread and they greeted him with grins. “Hello, Matthew!” said one. “I’m Augusta, and this is Leah. I’m fifteen and a half, like you, am I right? And Leah is thirteen and a half. We got good marks in our tests, and so we’re here for our reward. We’re going to bath you!” He stood up but didn’t bother to argue. He knew he wouldn’t win. Mrs G was determined to expose him to as many young girls as possible, and probably enjoy hearing them report on it. And they’d tell their classmates, of course. The pair advanced to him and took him by the arms. “The bath’s all ready,” said Augusta, “so all we need is you. Off with your shirt.” The other was busy undoing the cuff buttons, and Augusta undid those at his neck. Together the pulled the tails out of his trousers, and hoisted the shirt up over his head. He stood there in something like stupefaction, allowing two strange young girls to do this – how young? He looked at them again and saw their stated ages would be right, and bit his lip but didn’t say a word. One just a month or two, maybe, older than he, and the other even younger than precocious Charlotte, who would, he knew, have given a lot to have this chance. Leah seized his vest and drew it off, then looked gleefully at her companion, and together they began to undo the buttons on his fly.

At their touch his penis began to twitch, and by the time they had undone the buttons it was straining against the fabric. The girls grabbed the waist and slowly lowered his trousers to gradually reveal his erect member, at which they gazed in admiration. Augusta remarked, “It isn’t really as big as it could be, Leah, believe me, they’re sometimes quite prodigious. But this one is a nice size, about six inches or so, I think. What do you think of it?”

Her companion smiled and drew in her breath. “I didn’t know what to expect, but this is more than I imagined. I think it’s great.”

“There, Matthew!” said the other, “You’ve impressed her. She’s never seen an erect cock before. Isn’t it good to be part of a girl’s education?” She laughed and got his feet out of the legs. “Come! Bath time.” They took his hands and led him to the bathroom where he flinched to see another girl testing the water. “This is Nancy,” said Augusta, “she’s fourteen.”

The girl turned and looked at his erection and blushed. “The water’s fine,” she said, trying to recover, “it’s fine!” And he’s fine too, she would have liked to add. God, what a prize this was! “In he goes,” she said, trying for nonchalance. All three manhandled him into the tub, where he lay looking up in misery, cradling his genitals. Augusta took the soap and lathered up, while her fellow-students took a foot and raised his leg out of the water to be soaped.

Mrs Grainger peeped through the spyhole to watch the eager girls wash the reluctant boy all over. When they reached his buttocks, his erection, which had been subsiding a little, began to return, and when they put their questing fingers on his testicles and penis, he became as hard and upright as any could wish. The two, observed by the third, lovingly manipulated the organ, pulling the foreskin back to soap the glans, and then Nancy stroked his bum again and boldly poked a soapy finger into the rectum, pushing in and out as the others stroked his cock, till Matthew erupted in a grand ejaculation.

The two younger girls had acquired blushes of their own in the process, to match those of the tormented boy, who had hardly spoken a word throughout. Now he was towelled dry, the girls ensuring the dryness of every part of him by manual feel, which tempted his abused penis to move again; but soon he was placed naked in his bed and the trio gazed at him, pleased with their efforts. “Well, Matthew,” said Augusta, “we’ll be writing nice things about you for our teachers. We’re supposed to write an essay on what it was like, what we thought of you.”

“How big you were!” laughed Leah.

“And what we did to you,” murmured Nancy, getting her blush back. They wished him goodnight and left him to his thoughts, which were too tired to make sense. Tomorrow night, he knew, it would be another pair of young girls, then another, then another…. And a whole library of essays written about my cock….

Mrs Grainger had a smile as she walked quietly down to her rooms. She could hardly credit how successful her scheme was. And there was more to come, for both the boy and the girl.

part VIII sent 10 May 2015

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(The End)