Mrs Grainger's Gift 17

By Ritchie Moore

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

Part XVII

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Saturday 20th June

Two visitors for Lydia, and more exposure for Catherine

Mrs G caught him on his way to the library. “Well, Matthew,” she said with an arch sort of smile, “I think you’ll admit to a certain feeling of pleasure in being beaten on the bare behind by a girl’s hand – eh? Admit it!”

He looked down and swallowed. “Madam, I … I couldn’t help….”

“Oh yes, boy, you had an erection. Dulcie told me at length. You were stimulated by the spanking. Yes, in time we’ll teach you how to mix your pleasure and your pain – finding pain in pleasure,” she said with a brightening of her eyes, “and pleasure in your pain. Oh yes.”

He looked at her abjectly. “Madam, you – you’re not going to do this again to me? I couldn’t—”

“Yes, of course you can,” she snapped. “One can get used to anything. It has to be done … scientifically, that’s all. Oh my goodness, boy, you may (you will) come to enjoy it, to look forward to each session, where a different dormitory slaps your bottom every night.” He stared in terror.

“Every night?” His voice was a near scream. “But you can’t—”

“Of course I can,” she said coldly. “The girls will take turns, one dormitory after another, chosen by throws of dice. What could be fairer?”

“But madam, please,” he pleaded with a sob, “I can’t bear it, it’s … it’s….”

“It’s unbearable, but you did bear it, and bear it you will each time. A new set of girls’ hands on your bare bum,” she smirked, “and I warrant some will just be content to ply you with their fingers, feeling how soft your skin is, and how firm your buttocks. That should arouse you if anything does. And the rest, well, they’ll want to slap you, some mildly, some hard, till your nether cheeks are at least as red as your upper cheeks, as you blush before the opposite sex – blush nakedly before a throng of girls who are only too keen to gawk at your penis, which will be erect throughout the performance….”

He suddenly dropped to his knees. “Please, please, madam,” he faltered, “not … not every night, please –.”

“All right,” she said suddenly. “Not every night.” He drew a breath in relief. “Just every two or three. Now go.”

Catherine poked her head in to say good morning, and he unburdened himself to her.

“So you see that I’ll be beaten two or three times a week, by a different set of girls each time…. I don’t know how I’ll be able to endure it. My … bum won’t have time to recover before it’s assailed again….”

“Oh Matthew,” she said tearfully, “and it’s all because of me! You disobeyed Mrs G—”

“But Catherine, love,” he said rapidly, taking her hands, “I couldn’t do that to you. But then that fat cook took over and beat you anyway…. Oh God, this place! I wish I’d never come here—”

“No, Matthew,” she said, squeezing his hands, “I’m glad I came here, because I found you. I cry for your pain and your shame, as I cry for mine, but I cherish the times we’re together, and I treasure the knowledge that you’re here, and you love me. Don’t you?”

He stood up. “For God’s sake, Catherine, you don’t ask, do you? I do, I love you, every piece of you – Christ, I’ve seen and felt and kissed you all over, and that’s just the outside of you! Inside that beautiful body is a wonderful person, kind and considerate, who deserves to be happy…. Oh, Catherine, I want to make you happy….”

She smiled through her tears and kissed him. “You do, my darling boy,” she said, “you do.”

He looked after her as she left for her tasks, and smiled himself. “Yes, Catherine,” he murmured, “and you, my lovely love, make me happy too. All right, back to the books.”

Ten minutes later she was back, being sent by Abigail, who wanted her handy just in case. “Isn’t Mr de Groot here today?”

“No, Catherine, he probably has other things to do, some research he said. He consults catalogues and reference books. He should be back on Monday though. In the meantime you can help me.”

“Right then, just tell me what to do.” She soon had the system, and the work went ahead without much bother, save for an outraged sigh or incredulous laugh every so often, for some time.

*******

“Mrs G., there’s a young man come to see you.”

She glanced up from her magazine and pursed her lips. “Who is he, Grace?”

“He says his name is Francis Masterman, and he was here before at the —”

“Oh, yes, that’s all right. Show him in.” She laid her cigarette in the ashtray and tossed the magazine into a corner of the couch, thinking rapidly of ways to turn this opportunity to advantage.

Francis was shown in and shook Lydia’s hand, explaining that he apologised for arriving out of the blue, but he happened to be in the area on his way to Heighsham on an errand for Dr Craven, the Rector, and thought he’d call to pay his respects. “That’s fine, Francis,” she said, “it’s nice of you. I should thank you again for participating last time. Sit down and tell me all about yourself. We didn’t really manage to talk much last time. I’ll ring for tea. You will have tea, won’t you?”

He smiled thanks and sat down. “Maybe I should give you a potted history of my life,” he said. “Well, I’m seventeen past – last March. I was born in 1908 in Devon. My family are middle class, I expect, ‘trade’ I’m afraid, but I went to a good prep school and now I’m nearly finished at St Mark’s.” Just then Grace appeared to be told about tea and cakes, and he continued his account of what he considered a very humdrum life.

Grace reappeared with Amanda and the tea trolley, and set about providing a snack for the guest, who was wondering where that other girl was they’d been shown last time. He didn’t like to ask, however, and just ogled the pretty maids who produced plates of biscuits for him. They in turn gave him admiring looks, assessing his build and possible strength in bed. “Pour the tea, Grace,” said Lydia, “and then leave us. Tell Miss James she can come by when she pleases.”

Ten minutes later Grace was back to say that Miss James was there with some things she wanted to show madam, and madam said “Why not show her in? It won’t take long. Excuse me, Francis.”

“That’s all right,” he said, sipping his tea. “Carry on, Mrs G.”

Miss James entered bearing a case that she deposited on a nearby table and was introduced to Masterman, who again remarked on the youth and attractiveness of Mrs Grainger’s staff. “I’ve brought along several things, Mrs G,” she said, with a glance at the boy, “and you can perhaps tell me what you want.”

“Fine,” said Mrs Grainger, “just lay them out there and we can discuss them.”

“All right,” said Miss James, with another glance at the boy, who was looking over with curiosity. “Here I have several varieties of diaphragm, and a few different caps. That’s to deal with contraception.” Francis’s eyes widened and his interest grew. “Then there are a couple of pads of different design, and a few sponges, to deal with menstrual flow.” She looked at Francis again, and a slight flush came to her cheeks. “I also brought along a few extra devices just to complete the set, so to speak – anal plugs, for instance. Most of them manufactured by Alexander Horton’s company. I can tell you about them, though obviously it’s better to demonstrate. And besides, these things should really be fitted to the person.”

“Hmm,” said her employer. “Then perhaps we should find a model to serve to demonstrate. Wait a moment.” She looked at Francis, who was trying to drink his tea without displaying any tremble, though inwardly he was feeling a little excited. Surely Mrs Grainger wasn’t thinking…! “Yes,” she said judiciously. “Go and get hold of the Hammond girl. I’m sure she’s free right now. She’s in the library I believe.” Miss James nodded and left, and Mrs G turned to her guest and apologised for taking up his time.

“Just enjoy your tea, Francis, and have another teacake perhaps. This really won’t take long.”

“No, Mrs G,” he responded eagerly, “I don’t mind at all. If I can help, in fact….”

She looked at him with amusement. “Actually, you may be useful,” she said. “We’ll see.”

Miss James brought Catherine in, and the girl stood there in puzzlement, twisting her hands a little anxiously, with a flush she acquired when she recognised Francis as one of the boys at the skirt fitting. Her employer looked her over; she was wearing a summer frock from Mason’s, and ankle socks and shoes, and looked absurdly young.

“Catherine, I’m going to ask you to model today, to help Miss James demonstrate the application of some medical devices. All right?”

Catherine nodded, saying with something of a quaver “Yes, madam, certainly,” as if she were allowed to say no!

“Right. So you’d better take off your frock to start with. And your shoes and socks, you might as well.” Catherine went pale and then flushed, seeing another embarrassment coming. She shot a glance at the boy and slowly unbuttoned the neck of her frock. She drew it over her head and stood in her underwear, her flush deepening. Francis drank his tea and settled back to enjoy the diversion.

Miss James came over to the girl and eyed her critically. She was wearing a camisole that came down to her crotch and knickers, and the nurse nodded and said “Right, Catherine, is it? Take your knickers off, we have to get at your pelvis.” The girl blushed furiously but had to comply, and she was just stepping out of the garment when Grace reappeared.

She looked at the spectacle without surprise and bobbed her head, saying “Madam, there’s another young man come to see you, to deliver some documents, he says.”

“Ah yes,” said Mrs G, “I know. Why don’t you send him in?” Grace smiled rather grimly and left, while Catherine, pulling down her camisole to below her crotch with both hands, was beginning to shake, looking anywhere but at the young guest, who was shifting in his seat, trying to get comfortable with an erection.

Grace showed in the latest visitor, a boy of about sixteen, announced as Jeremy Crowther, who stopped in surprise at the scene that met him – a girl his own age standing mostly nude in the middle of the room, blushing and hiding her nakedness, the chatelaine sitting at ease with another boy at tea, and a young woman standing by a table littered with odd-looking objects.

“Mr Crowther! Jeremy! Come in, I’ll deal with those documents soon. While you’re here you might as well give your opinions on this demonstration. Young Francis here will do the same. So please sit down, won’t you?” The boy sat down in some wonderment and couldn’t keep his eyes off the young girl trying to hide her naked crotch. God, he thought, she hasn’t any pubic hair! What’s going on? He nursed a venerable-looking briefcase on his lap and was thankful for the cover it gave to his penis, trying to rise at the sight before him.

Mrs Grainger told the woman to start, and she brought out a small rubber cup. “This,” she said, “is a cap designed to fit over the mouth of the cervix, the ‘neck’ of the womb. It is simply inserted and removed. May I demonstrate?”

“Certainly, certainly,” said Mrs G, “but I think Catherine should be lying down, don’t you think?”

“Yes, madam,” Miss James said, “though they can be inserted standing up. Let’s see.”

She looked at the two boys and said “You two gentlemen, please shift that divan over there, put it over here where we can all see it.” The boys quickly rose and did as they were asked, placing the couch six feet away. “Now, Catherine, please lie down there, and spread your legs a little.” The girl slowly sat down and looked despairingly at Mrs G, then lay back and closed her eyes, her blush suffusing her cheeks and her lips trembling.

Mrs G looked at her and said “I do think it would be better if her hips were raised a little, don’t you? Boys, why don’t you do that, using that cushion there?” They looked at her in some astonishment, and Francis was first to recover, having seen his hostess’s methods. “Surely,” he said, getting up. “Jeremy?” The other reluctantly laid aside his protective briefcase, rose and went over to get the cushion, and the pair of them on either side of the couch put their hands to her behind and lifted up her hips, nudging the cushion underneath her. Her eyes flew open as she felt them raise her up and she looked up at them in a sort of fright, they looking down at her in what she saw as bawdy satisfaction. “Now, Miss James, continue,” said Mrs G, pleased with the proceedings so far. “Boys, why don’t you stay where you are? You’ll see everything much better.” They agreed happily, and Miss James went on with her display.

“As I said, this little device is a cap to prevent sperm entering the cervix, the mouth of the womb. It’s inserted thus.” Pushing the camisole up to the girl’s navel, she took the little rubber contraption and put her fingers to Catherine’s vulva, spreading the lips and pushing the cap into the vagina. The girl’s eyes opened in shock, and she looked up to meet the interested stares of the boys, and blushed a bit deeper. Miss James put her hand back to retrieve the cap and held it up. “See? It’s easy to insert, easy to withdraw.”

She looked at Mrs G, who nodded, and then at the teenagers, saying “Why don’t you try it?”

Francis looked her with a grin. “Certainly,” he said, “I’ll try.” He took the cap from her and put his other fingers to the girl’s labia, parting them carefully, and she looked up at him beseechingly, shaking her head. He grinned lasciviously at her and pushed the cap inside her. She moaned and twisted, and he looked down at her clinically. “I’m going to take it out now, Catherine,” he said, and inserted his warm hand again into her moist cavity. He quickly withdrew it with the little cap and smiled. “Yes, miss, it’s easy to take it out. Perhaps Jeremy would like to try?”

The other boy blushed and took the device from Francis. “Let’s see,” he said, and put his tongue between his lips, concentrating on the girl’s vulva. God, he said to himself, they’re letting me put my fingers in her cunt! What next! He carefully put his fingers where the other girl had, and gently parted the labia, which were beginning to look quite red and puffy somehow. In his fingers went to push the little rubber item deeper. Catherine was starting to moan, but her eyes were closed tight and the lashes betrayed the hint of tears. “All right, now to retrieve it!” It wasn’t long before he got hold of the little object and held it up in triumph. “You’re right, miss, it’s very easy.”

Miss James smiled thinly and took the cap from him. “Another item,” she said, “is a vaginal diaphragm. This is really what we call a pessary,” she explained to the boys, “whose main function again is to prevent sperm getting into the uterus. I have a couple here of slightly varied design. Perhaps you could each try to insert one? Mrs G?”

Her employer, who had been looking at the spectacle with a pleased expression, waved her hand and said “Of course! Mind you, I would like to see them lubricated first, and the vagina too, come to that.”

“Good idea, Mrs G. Look, boys, here’s a jar of petrolatum. We must lubricate these before inserting them, it’s only kind to the girl. And to be doubly sure, we lubricate the vulva too. Francis, perhaps you could try this?” She looked at the boy, who was trying to avoid showing his erection, and gave him the jar. He got a liberal amount on his fingers and bent over Catherine’s body, his eyes on the vulva, then put his hand out to smear the jelly over her labia, then into her vagina. Catherine shivered and made protesting noises behind her closed lips, while her nether lips were made slick.

Francis’s fingers were in her now, moving about the walls of her vagina, and inevitably coming against her clitoris time and again. She couldn’t help herself, but opened her mouth to give a loud groan, and her eyes opened to stare up at the boy as he smiled at her and deliberately rubbed her most sensitive spot. She moaned “Ah, aah, o God! O God!” as she came, her hips heaving, her body writhing. The boy stood back and admired his work, then casually picked up the rubber diaphragm and smeared it with the jelly before slowly inserting it into the open vagina. Catherine lay exhausted and silent, and endured the insertion and removal with no reaction save a long sigh. Mrs Grainger looked at this with a satisfied smile and congratulated Francis on his deftness.

Miss James gave Francis a towel to clean his fingers and turned to Jeremy. “Do you want to practise now?”

He drew his eyes from the young girl’s body to say “What? Oh yes, yes, of course.” He got the jelly on his fingers and with a blush of his own began to smooth it over the slit, then into the mouth of the vagina, then deeper – he was quite lost in the sensation, and scarcely realised the effect he was having on the girl. Mrs Grainger was interested to see Catherine reluctantly coming to orgasm yet again, and the boy’s trousers tenting with a very obvious erection. Francis too was aroused, and she smiled to herself. How readily excited these boys were! Predictable. Young Masterman knew what was up pretty soon, and the randy boy was only too eager to take sexual advantage of a biddable girl. Young Crowther, now, was mesmerised by the whole affair, and was wondering how to react in this extraordinary situation. I’ll wager (she thought) that he’s desperate to get by himself to relieve that erection! But we’re not finished yet! She rang for more tea and settled back to enjoy the presentation.

Catherine’s second orgasm was just as long as the first, and she was looking exhausted when her quivering ceased. Miss James took the diaphragms and laid them aside, producing two pads that she explained were designed to prevent the menstrual flow from escaping to damage the underwear. The boys took turns in applying them and remarked upon the efficiency of the designs. They were then asked to try inserting a sponge, which Miss James told them was an old and time-honoured solution to the problem. Catherine by this time was nearly insensible and just lay supine, bathed in blushes.

“Now, gentlemen,” said Miss James, as she replaced the second sponge on the table, “I’ve got a couple of items here designed to be used in her behind.” They looked rather shocked, and she explained.

“You’ll see, boys, that all sorts of objects can be inserted into the various nooks and crannies of the human body, and it behoves us to be careful about that. When we put those items into Catherine’s vagina, they were still retrievable, they didn’t get lost, for the vagina is enclosed, so to speak. But the rectum, you see, is different, it has in a sense no end, it just goes on into the bowel. So what we put into the anus has to be retrievable, or made so, like this anal plug.” She held it up. “You’ll see it’s just a tapered tube with a bulb in the middle, and a flat end. That’s the end that stays outside, gripped by the sphincter muscles. It’s used medically to prevent leakage of faeces from the bowel, what they call incontinence. These however are specially designed to enhance the pleasure of intercourse. Mr Horton is rather pleased with these latest models, madam. Let me demonstrate. And we’ll have to lubricate her anus first of course. It isn’t self-lubricating, so we help it along. Otherwise one might damage the bowel, and it might be painful . So, Francis, perhaps you can do that?”

He reached eagerly for the jelly, and his blushing companion said “But we’ll have to turn her over, won’t we? To get at her….”

“Her anus, yes,” said the nurse briskly. “It’s probably better, more accessible, that way. All right, you and I can do that. Take that side.” She put her hands to Catherine’s side and the boy did the same. Together they turned the hapless girl over and put their hands under her belly to raise her hips, she shivering and giving little moans of protest. The boy meanwhile was growing redder, and his erection was patent in his trousers, but he seemed to have stopped bothering about trying to hide it, guessing correctly that in the present company it was not seen as shocking.

Francis had the lubricant on his fingers and eagerly put his hand out to Catherine’s backside. At the touch of his hand she started and gave a quiet yelp, but squeezed her eyes shut and firmed her lips, her head bowed in submission. Mrs Grainger had an expression of great satisfaction, and nodded to Francis, who grinned back at her in a kind of conspiratorial way and smeared the gel over Catherine’s anus quite liberally, poking a little into the orifice and regarding his handiwork with a pleased look. Miss James held out her hand to stop him and passed him the towel, looking at Jeremy, who took the jelly and covered his own fingers, then approached the girl with a concentrated expression. His touch was gentler and more experimental, for this was his first try at lubricating an arsehole, anybody’s arsehole, and he thought to himself that he’d probably never again have a chance of doing this. So he took his time, anointing the anus and its environs and pushing his finger inside, exploring the rectum and wriggling the invasive finger to produce more moans from Catherine, who was nearly fainting with the shame of her degradation. Then Jeremy stopped and reached for the towel. Miss James stopped him and said “No. Jeremy, wait. You can try inserting this.”

She handed him a little metal tube and repeated what she’d said before about its insertion. Jeremy lubricated the plug well and carefully pushed it into the poor girl’s backside, then stood back to admire the result. Now he cleaned off his hands and looked at Francis, who said “I suppose I can remove it?” “Oh yes,” said Miss James, “you’ll see how easy it is.” He did so without difficulty, and the nurse took time to describe the therapeutic use of the plug, incidentally pointing out the emotional and hedonistic results of its usage, and of other similar devices. “You may not realise it,” she said, “but there’s many a couple please themselves with pushing items into the anus. As I said, one has to be careful. It can’t be too long, for instance. One has to refrain from damaging the wall of the bowel. But the sensation is worth it. In some people’s opinion,” she added hastily. “Again, though, if you wear the plug to prevent incontinence, you may grow used to it and find pleasure in its presence in your anus. Of course, it’s static, it doesn’t move, it’s just there. But then you’ll know yourselves there can be a certain enjoyment in the ejection of faeces.” Jeremy looked puzzled. “I mean, Jeremy, you like the sensation when you’re moving your bowels, … having a shit.” He stared at her with big eyes and went red. “Well, it’s something like that. An object in the anus, that can be removed at will; it gives a certain feeling of pleasure. I don’t pretend that this girl has enjoyed it, but many do, I assure you.” Jeremy looked amazed and subsided.

Miss James continued, putting her fingers to Catherine’s sphincter, “The reason for this is that the anus, the opening of the rectum, contains many sensitive nerve endings.” She stroked it gently and Catherine made a desperate mewing sound. “In the male, there is also the fact that anal stimulation has its effect upon the prostate gland, which also contains sensitive nerve endings, so masturbation of the anus by various methods increases sexual pleasure. In the case of women, it indirectly stimulates the clitoral legs, and the cervix, the mouth of the womb. In addition, since the muscles of the anus contract during orgasm, the presence of an object holding the sphincter open can strengthen the sensation of the contractions, and so intensify the orgasm. Actually I believe it’s not uncommon for a male to achieve orgasm through anal-prostate stimulation alone. And of course one can be stimulated by a finger entering the anus. Or,” she added somewhat sardonically, “a penis; hence the attraction of sodomy.” Jeremy looked at her with large eyes, and the more sophisticated (and experienced) Francis smiled and nodded.

The tea had arrived by this time, and Mrs Grainger suggested a pause for refreshment, and did the boys wish to wash their hands? The ambiguous invitation was not lost on them, and they accepted with alacrity. Their hostess ushered them through to her own bathroom in her own quarters, and left them to it, smiling to herself in expectation. The room they were in was a large and airy one with bright curtains and a definite feminine look to it, while the rest of the house they had seen was quite nondescript. Francis took first turn in the pink bathroom next door, full of frills and mirrors, and came out looking relieved though with a light sweat. Jeremy went in and quickly washed his hands before tearing open his fly and giving release to his pent-up reaction to the girl’s nudity.

When he came out he saw the other grinning at him. He coloured and asked “What? What’s the matter?”

“You know, Jeremy old thing, I bet you were wanking in there, same as me.”

The other blushed and said with a bit of a stammer, “W-well, if you did, too, you can’t tease me. I just had to, the girl being bare and her bum and her … vagina ….”

“I know, I know. But let’s get back. Something tells me we’re not finished.”

Back in the morning room they sat down to tea, Miss James had packed away the objects they had been using and arranged some others on the table, and stood in front of a curtain to the side deep in conversation with her employer, who looked at the returning boys with a sardonic sort of smile. Catherine knelt on the divan and felt a couple of tears crawl down her cheeks. For the umpteenth time she wondered what sort of pleasure Mrs G could get from witnessing her humiliation, and then how it was that she herself could still be blushingly embarrassed after all this time. And why, oh why did she have these feelings of excitement as well, that in a paradoxical way she found some pleasure in the sensations? Pleasure! No, surely, it was just her physical reaction, her automatic reflex or something, and not her inner self. She sighed, and Mrs G looked over at her and said sharply “You may lie on your back again, Catherine.” The girl wearily turned over and lay with her hands by her sides, inert in her misery. The boys meanwhile drank their tea, each having their own reactions to the extraordinary situation. Their erections, Mrs G noted, had subsided.

Miss James looked a question at her employer, who said “Right now, Susan, what else have you got there?” The nurse said “Only a dildo or two, ma’am. I suggest you see them employed in the vagina, though obviously they can enter the anus as well.” Mrs G nodded, the boys looked astonished, and Catherine heaved another tremulous sigh. The “few minutes” of the demonstration – for what purpose? – was a long long time of sexual abuse. When would it end?

“Well now,” said Miss James, “perhaps you boys haven’t seen this sort of thing before. I should explain about them, if you don’t mind, madam?”

“Oh no,” said her employer cheerfully, lighting a cigarette, “go ahead.”

“All right. Now see this,” she said, picking up a short instrument that looked like a toy snake, “this is a dildo. The word comes I think from ‘dilly-dally’, which means I suppose to waste time, or act foolishly? Who knows. Anyway, it’s used to titillate the vagina, being a substitute, obviously, for the penis.” She handed it to Jeremy, who looked at it in wonderment, and then at her inquiringly. “It’s inserted in the vagina, this end first,” said the nurse, with an expression indicating some exasperation, “and then manipulated, being thrust in and out, to simulate a sexual encounter. Mr Masterman, see this.” She gave another to Francis, who examined it carefully, measuring its length and pursing his lips, looking at Catherine’s vulva displayed before them.

“Yes, why don’t you try it?” asked the nurse, with a glance at Mrs Grainger, who nodded at her as if to say Carry on, that’s exactly what I want.

“All right,” he said, “I don’t suppose we need to lubricate it, hmm? Her c… vagina is still oiled up.”

“No,” said Jeremy, “I really think we should, just to be sure we don’t cause any discomfort.”

“Good thinking, Jeremy,” said the nurse. “Do it, both of you.” They applied the lubricant to the instruments, and Francis put his hand on Catherine’s hip as he lined up the dildo with her vulva and slowly pressed it home. She gasped and opened her eyes to look at him directly. He smiled rather wolfishly and drew the toy out a little. With a half glance at Mrs Grainger he began to work the dildo in and out of the vagina, and soon it was having its effect. Catherine was becoming excited; she began to pant and shift her body, her lips opened to mouth a moan, and her gaze went round the room, at Miss James, the two boys, and the implacable figure of Mrs Grainger, who was smiling broadly and nodding in cruel approval of the scene. Then the girl came with a little groan and lay limp.

“Goodness,” said Jeremy, “she came again! How does that work?”

“If you mean the action of the dildo, Jeremy,” said the nurse, “it acts just like a penis, only of course it’s different in its consistency, it’s a bit harder than flesh, no matter how hard the erection is. It can of course go on for a lot longer than a poor human erection, and it never fails. Which is why it’s a favourite plaything with women. Oh yes,” she added, seeing his look of disbelief, “you may not realise it at your young age, but many women pleasure themselves in the absence of the opposite sex, just as men do. Come, boy, be honest: how often do you masturbate?” He looked horrified and blushed furiously. “Ah well, I apologise for embarrassing you. But you see the usefulness of such a device. There’s other objects men can use. Now try yours. You’ll notice it’s made of rubber, with little bumps all over it. This is (supposedly) to increase the pleasurable friction in the vagina, although I don’t know if that’s true. I haven’t tried it myself. Now go ahead.”

He tentatively laid the tip of the instrument to Catherine’s vulva again, and she gave another moan, murmuring “No, please, no, not again!” Jeremy looked at Mrs Grainger, who gestured at him to proceed, and he slowly pushed the dildo in a little. Then as Francis had done he pushed it in and pulled it out, and as he repeated the action again and again he saw the girl’s flushes increase, her fists clench and her buttocks tighten, her brow sweat, her belly heave and her breath come short till she groaned again, “Oh, oh! God, oh God, aaah! Aaah!”

Her orgasm seemed to be even more strong and enveloping, and then she relaxed in what looked like a faint. Jeremy pulled out the dildo and laid it on the table. “God!” he muttered. “She really came. A fourth time! She really came. I never imagined….”

“Thank you very much, Jeremy, Francis, that was really good of you to participate,” said their hostess. “Susan, please take the girl off to bed now, and you can come back for your materials. That was very useful.” Miss James nodded and raised Catherine from the divan. With some difficulty she put the socks on, then looked despairingly at Mrs G, who said “Of course! Boys, please help to dress her.”

They jumped to assist, glad to be handling the naked girl again, and evidently enjoyed touching her bare skin as they hauled up her panties, pulled down her camisole, and buttoned up her frock. Then they had her shoes on, and she was ready to go. Catherine bore all this in silence, looking at the floor, then was led away by the nurse. The boys returned to their seats, and looked at Mrs Grainger, who returned their gaze directly. Francis cleared his throat. “Well, Mrs G,” he said, “that was … very interesting, very educational actually, and thank you for allowing me to take part. But I really must be going. Thanks for the tea. I really enjoyed that,” he went on, looking at her a little humorously, “and it was a bit unexpected! So thank you again. Excuse me now. Jeremy, good to meet you. You’ve got business to transact, I know!” He shook hands with the other boy, bowed to Mrs Grainger, and left, her farewells ringing in his ears with a hope of his return sometime.

She looked at Jeremy, who was sitting trying to hide an erection, and wondered why he was still stimulated. This would be his first such experience, of course. At sixteen or so he hadn’t had much chance to see a naked girl, let alone feel her quim, let alone work with a dildo to make her come so magnificently. “Well, Jeremy,” she said, “thank you for your participation. But let’s get on with a look at those papers, hmm?”

The boy seemed to shake himself out of a trance and looked at her. “Oh, yes,” he said. “Yes, madam. Er, um, here they … are.” His eyes retained a faraway look as he reached in the briefcase he had brought in.

He cleared his throat and tried to hide his erection, and his hostess looked away for a moment to hide a smile. “Right!” she said, “let’s get on with it.”

***

“Well, Jeremy, you dealt with those documents, hey?”

The boy looked at his employer and nodded. “We got all that done, sir, it didn’t take long.” He suddenly blushed.

Barry looked at him and said “What’s wrong? There was a problem of some kind?”

Jeremy took a deep breath. “Mr Barry, sir, I – I have to tell someone….” He looked up at the old man, his blush deepening.

“Well, what is it? Jeremy, my dear boy, you know you can tell me anything. I’m really in loco parentis, you know, and like a priest at the confessional. What’s troubling you?”

“I’ll tell you, sir, but please don’t be angry at me. I was obeying our client.”

The other’s eyebrows went up, and he nodded. “Right, tell me the worst. Mrs Grainger … is Mrs Grainger.”

“Well, sir, as soon as I went in I saw this extraordinary scene ….”

He laid out the picture for the old lawyer, who nodded and said “Well?”

Jeremy sighed. “The nurse produced these medical devices, and showed us how to use them, with the girl as a subject, a model, a guinea pig.”

“So?”

“Well sir, they were for use in the … privates. Can I please be … graphic?”

Barry frowned and said guardedly “Please do.”

“Well sir,” said the boy licking his lips, “the girl lay on the couch, and we … raised her body by putting a cushion under her … bum. Then the nurse produced a little cap that was supposed to go into the … vagina, to stop sperm entering the uterus. And then a bigger thing, a diaphragm….”

The other narrowed his eyes. “Yes, lad, I know about such things. What happened?”

“We, the other boy and I, were invited to … insert these into the girl’s vagina. We were given some ointment to lubricate her and the devices, so we each … oiled her vagina, putting our fingers in and touching her so that she … came. Twice.”

Barry drew a breath and nodded. “And? Anything else?”

“Well sir, the woman brought out some pads and sponges to absorb menstrual fluids….” Barry’s eyebrows rose again. “And then we had tea. Oh no, we put in the anal plugs, she called them.”

Barry looked over his glasses at his assistant, who was now very red indeed, and twitching in his chair, conscious of his penis trying to rise. “So we … we lubricated her bum, her … anus, and put this contraption into her … hole … and th-then we had tea.”

Barry cocked his head and made a wry face. “Am I to understand there was more to come after your refreshment?”

“Yes, sir,” said the boy. “She showed us a couple of things to simulate intercourse. Dildoes.”

“Dildoes,” said his employer. “Dildoes. And, don’t tell me, you were expected to use these on the poor girl?”

The shamefaced assistant nodded. “We, we oiled them up to make it comfortable for her, I insisted on that, and then we put them into her cu— … vulva, and worked them in and out like a penis.” He looked away. “Sir, I … I didn’t really know what I was doing. It was like a dream, and I just went along with it, letting it happen. But by gosh sir, she came again, and again! She had four orgasms, sir, I never saw anything like it!” He stammered, “Of c-course, s-sir, I’ve never done anything like that before. I—”

“Good God, boy!” said the old man, “I should hope not, at your age! Besides, what would your mother say? But listen, Jeremy, Jeremy! What was the reaction of the girl?”

Jeremy frowned sadly. “She was blushing the whole time, being touched so … intimately by two strange boys! She had to lie there and let us do it. Listen sir, I think Mrs Grainger made her do it, and the fact that we two boys were there was a lucky chance for her to show her … her power over the girl. Does that make sense?”

“Jeremy, dear lad, it does make perfect sense. But to start with, don’t chastise yourself for taking part in Mrs Grainger’s entertainment. You were part of it too, you know.” The boy looked at him as if to say “What?!” “Yes, lad, believe me, I’m sure she was laughing up her sleeve at the pair of you, reacting in a predictable boy’s way to the opportunity of intimately handling a naked girl. She probably eyed your trousers to see your … reaction.” Jeremy gasped.

“But as for her, the girl, now, how old was she?”

“About my age, sir, or a bit younger. Fifteen, maybe?”

“Hmm. Pretty?”

“Oh yes, sir, she was quite beautiful actually.” His eyes stared into space, seeing again her nude body, its form, its proportions, its desirability….

“Jeremy: let me be candid with you, and tell you a little of what I know about this client of ours. She is our client, and the family has been in our charge for a hundred and twenty years. Naturally we act on her behalf and argue her case, if there is one. But mark me, lad, you mustn’t run away with the idea that we have to agree with everything the client says, or does. We may not knowingly abet illegal acts, which is why in certain cases we can insist on not knowing, not being informed. But in this case no laws were broken, as far as I can see, and it could be argued that the girl acquiesced in her humiliation. However, Mrs Grainger has acted in a questionable way before, and I think you should know about her.”

Jeremy listened as the old man related some of what he knew or had guessed concerning the incumbent of Summerton Manor, and his eyes grew big. When Barry paused in his recital the boy asked “But sir, that poor girl, Catherine her name is –”

“Catherine? Hmm.”

“I wonder if she’s made to do other shameful things. Shouldn’t someone try to get her away from there?”

The old man’s eyes twinkled. “I see you are interested in her, hmm? I’m not surprised, Jeremy, handling a naked girl your own age so intimately will make for intense interest, I’m sure. But I see your point. As far as I know there’s nothing to stop her leaving except the situation at the orphanage. Oh yes, she’s an orphan. I know who she is. A letter of arrangement was sent under our aegis to this place up north, and it seems quite above board. The point is, she could leave, but where would she go? A lone girl that age without protection – which Mrs Grainger does provide, you realise – she’d be at terrible risk. Look, Jeremy, you’re old enough to know what can happen to a girl in a big city, say.”

He looked sadly at his boss. “Yes, sir, I know, I can imagine. She’d be only too easy prey for someone recruiting for a brothel.”

“Precisely. So for the moment at least she must remain there, humiliations and all. I’ll try and monitor the situation, though. Does that ease your mind?”

Jeremy smiled. “Yes, sir, it does. Thank you. And now you’d better take a look at these papers I brought back.”

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

20 June 1925

Dear Mr Bryden:

This is in answer to your letter of the 10^th June about Catherine’s uncle’s death and her subsequent stay in the orphanage. The facts are these. Mr Sutton died on the 8^th of February last year at his home in Crovingdon, Surrey. It was a Friday, and Catherine and I had gone to town for some house supplies, books etc. When we returned about 4 p.m. we found Mr Sutton lying in the kitchen of the farmhouse, unconscious. An ambulance was called and he was taken to hospital, but died shortly after admittance. The cause was a form of heart failure, which was surprising in that he had never complained of any bother in that regard. However on being notified of his death his solicitor, Jonas Bigby of Croydon, came to read us his will, which left several bequests of money to the servants, to me, and to Catherine, specifying that if she were under age, as she turned out to be, then the lawyer as executor should administer the estate until her majority. It sounded all right, but in the event it was a terrible thing because there were, it seems, many debts, and in fact there was hardly any money left to pay the bequests. So Catherine was sent off to Mrs Grove’s orphanage away up north, and I never expected to see or hear of her again.

I enclose a copy of the will, which I found in Mr Sutton’s desk shortly after, clearing out my own possessions before my departure that March. I’ve also written down addresses of various people who may be able to tell you more. The farm itself was sold very quickly, in July I believe, to an absentee owner, a writer in London, and is presently being managed on his behalf by the other gentleman mentioned on the list, a Mr Chester.

I hope this helps. Please give the dear girl my love and tell her I often think of her, playing her piano or laughing up on Dolly, her pony. I can write no more, please forgive me, but my heart is too full.

Yours sincerely

(Miss) Mary Gray

====================================================================-

Sunday 21^st June

Tea at the cottage, a bath with the boys

When Matthew got to Elizabeth’s cottage he found Eithne boiling a kettle and Elizabeth searching in a cupboard, evidently for buns and things. They greeted him with smiles and let him help with setting the table, apologising for the Spartan bareness of the boards and milk in a big jug, not a dainty little one.

“I suppose I should get a little more proper,” said his hostess, “but I’m not expecting the Prince of Wales. And those I invite,” she looked round at them both, “are dear friends who will be pleased with the informality.”

Matthew grinned. “Yes, Elizabeth, that’s it. And I’m pleased you consider me a dear friend.”

“Oh. I do,” she said, looking serious. “You really have no idea how much this means to me. To me personally, and, I’m sure, to Eithne as well. Can I speak for you, love?”

The girl smiled and said “Don’t be silly, Elizabeth. Aren’t we of one mind in most things? Actually, Matthew,” she turned to him, “it’s amazing how we seem to think alike, to anticipate what the other is saying, to finish each other’s sentences. And it is true, that knowing you, and through you dear Catherine, and Mr Bryden too – we – I – well, it’s just so reassuring, maybe, giving me confidence, letting me stand a bit straighter somehow. I can’t get over it, actually,” she added, her smile growing wider, “just how amazing it is all of a sudden. I found a lover; then I found a sympathetic ear. Then I found he had a lovely girl friend, and a senior mentor, shall I call him? I’m not alone.”

“It’s nice to hear that,” said Matthew. “And please let me add that I mirror you exactly. I found a girl to love, who seems to love me back, and I found the ear of an older wiser man who served up sympathy and tea-cake. And latterly, you pair, two gorgeously beautiful intelligent people who help to assuage the dreadful things that go on in this … place.”

They nodded soberly, and knew what he meant. “Anyhow,’ said Elizabeth, “let’s not get too maudlin! How do you like your tea?”

Eithne was persuaded to tell something of her background, and how she got her Celtic name. “It’s the name of the mother of Saint Columba,” she said, “besides quite a few mythological characters. At least, shall I say, their historic reality is a bit doubtful. Early Irish history is a bit unsettled. I mean, traditional stories, folklore really. But it’s quite fascinating, and it gives poems like those of Yeats a lot of meaning. Still, it was my mother who liked the name without knowing what it meant or even how to pronounce it. She thought it was phonetic, like ‘Eth-nie’, derived from Greek maybe, the word ethnos, meaning ‘multitude, nation, people’, et cetera….”

“Which derives,” said the teacher pedantically, “from the word ethos, whence our word ethic, meaning custom, the idea being that the ethnos all followed the same ethos.”

Her pupil looked humorously at her and said “However that may be, mother was wrong. It’s pronounced ‘ainya’ as you know, and the spelling is Irish, which is why it’s misleading. But there it was in The Four Feathers, and mother liked it. She was a bit upset when her priest, who was a real Irishman – his first language, in fact, was Irish – told her the proper way to say it. She still calls me ‘Eth-nie’ when she’s annoyed with me.”

“I don’t know where I found it,” said Matthew, “I looked it up in some book or other. I must say I was surprised myself. But I did think it was beautiful.”

“And it is,” said Elizabeth, looking at her lover, “beautiful.”

The girl blushed suddenly and shrugged and said “Anyway, it means ‘fire’ in Irish. I used to wonder just how fiery I would turn out to be, when I grew up. I didn’t have a temper, for instance, and my mother was grateful for that, though she thought it unusual. Name fatality, you know. But then I hit puberty….”

She looked at Matthew and evidently was thinking whether to confide in him. Then she seemed to throw off her diffidence and said, with more of a blush, “I found I had my own inner fire, in my … loins. I was conscious of the heat of my body, the warmth of my skin, the hotness of the blood in my cheeks when my thoughts turned to … sex. I dealt with my desires in the only way I knew,” she went on, maintaining eye contact with the boy, who felt a flush of his own as she opened up to him. “And for a while that sufficed and tamped down the fires. It was when I finally met Elizabeth that they roared up to threaten to consume me. And then—”

“Then,” said her lover, “once she knew I desired her too, her flame was allowed to burn bright. And mingle with mine.” She blushed in her turn. “I hope you don’t mind, Matthew, hearing—”

“No, by God, no!” He stared at them, his eyes shining. “Thank you for telling me. I’m so glad you found a joy being together like that, and,” he chuckled, “it’s a wonderful metaphor. Your flame, mingling with Elizabeth’s. Oh, I wish you happiness, I really do!”

They smiled at him, and the girl continued to tell how she came to the school and began to find her scholastic strengths.

“I discovered a while ago I had something of a flair for languages,” she said with a modest blush. “I’m in Mlle Maury’s advanced conversation class, French being the easiest language, for one – it’s more accessible, you might say. I had a summer in Strasbourg a couple of years ago and polished it up. I’m pretty good at German too, which is just as well, for I can make a lot of the scholarly books that have been written on the classics —”

“Oh yes,” said Matthew, “Elizabeth said a lot of it was in German. So that’ll be good for you.”

She smiled. “Yes, and I’m looking forward to continuing to polish my French and German at university. And the classics, of course.”

Elizabeth said wryly, “You know what they say, that literature isn’t the same at all in translation. You must read everything in the original to get a full understanding.”

“That’s my trouble,” said Matthew, wry himself. “I have to rely on a translation. In English, I mean. I noticed in that book you lent me – I brought it with me, by the way, and thanks for lending it – I noticed the various ways of translating the poems, in prose or verse, and sometimes they differ alarmingly! I realise, mind you, that it’s bound to be different when you’re trying to put it into rhyme!”

“Exactly, Matthew! Listen, you remember that one of Catullus I quoted that time, that he took from Sappho?”

“Oh yes,” he said with a smile, “it’s great.”

“Well, if you can recall my own translation, quite literal, think about this, as put into rhyme by Ambrose Phillips—”

As she began to quote, she was joined by her lover, who looked into her eyes, smiling affectionately.

“Blest as th’ immortal gods is he,

The youth, who fondly sits by thee,

And hears and sees thee all the while

Softly speak, and sweetly smile.”

He beamed at them. “Oh, that’s terrific! And it does convey what Catullus says. But I bet there’s others that aren’t as good.”

“You’ve hit it, Matthew,” said the teacher. “Which is why it’s good to be able to follow, to appreciate, the original language. Although it’s also useful to know other languages, to compare translations in French, for instance. Let’s see.”

She rose and went to a shelf to get a book in faded blue cloth. Returning to her chair, she riffled through the pages. “This is translations from the Latin epigrams of Martial, who was a great social critic and moralist, we can say, in the first century A.D., died about 104. This is not a bad edition actually, in the Bohn’s Library like the Catullus I gave you, published 1860 but still good, giving versions in prose and then at least one in verse, which helps as you found, and also, or instead, an Italian version, if the poem is a bit racy for 1860.”

She smiled with something of a blush as she leafed through the book to find a couple of lines of Latin without English, and a rendering “by a fellow called Graglia, in Italian. The Latin is

Ut pueros emeret Labienus, vendidit hortus;
Nil nisi ficetum nunc Labienus habet.

“The Italian, now, instead of English, will alert the reader to a rude reference, and it’s ‘Labieno per comperar ragazzi, ha venduto gli orti; ora Labieno non ha altro che un ficajo.’ Well,” she pursed her lips, “he renders it pretty well. ‘Labienus, to buy boys, has sold his gardens; now he only has a fig tree.’”

Matthew frowned in puzzlement. “I see about the boys, I suppose they were going to be slaves he was going to use in a … sexual way? So what about the fig tree?”

“The boys might well be young prostitutes, actually. The fig tree, well, it’s probably a pun, Matthew, on the other meaning of ficus. Which is haemorrhoids. I suppose Bohn (who revised the edition) found the boys too suggestive, and the piles too … anal.” She looked at him and pursed her lips again. “Mind you, there’s always the rude gesture called the fico, where you put the thumb between the first and second fingers, like this,” She demonstrated, and held out her hand. “See, the thumb pokes out, and it’s supposed to resemble … the glans.”

Matthew’s eyebrows shot up. “You mean the tip of the … penis?” he asked in amazement.

“Exactly so,” she said. “It’s a very ancient sign, at least in Italy, I know. They call it “far la fiche”, and it really means the penis is in the vulva – see here, my fist is round the thumb.” She looked at the children in amusement. “Anyhow, be that as it may, in that Catullus book there you’ll have noticed the same thing, using another language to hide the meaning.”

She went over and picked it up, and it fell open at a page that made her smile naughtily.

“See, Matthew, here: his poem number ninety-four, ‘Against Mentula’. It goes ‘The flesh sins: certainly the flesh sins. That is as much as to say, The pot gathers garden stuff for the pot.’ Hmm. Well, if I remember rightly, the Latin runs

                                   Mentula moechatur. Moechatur Mentula? Certo.

                                     Hoc est quod dicunt: ipsa olera olla legit.

Yes, that’s ninety-four. I suppose I memorised it in my salacious youth because it was obscene.”

He stared at her. “It’s obscene? What—”

She looked with humour at him and her pupil, who herself was looking quizzical.

“Well, moechare means to commit adultery. The verb and derivatives crop up a lot in old theological treatises – the Church Fathers were very concerned with that sort of thing. The word mentula, now, is interesting. Cicero mentions it in his letters, says he doesn’t like it because it’s obscene. What it means,” she said with another naughty smile, “is ‘prick’.”

They both stared at her, and Eithne burst out laughing. “Oh, Elizabeth, you didn’t teach us that in class! What else haven’t you told us?”

The teacher grinned at her and said “There’s a whole vocabulary to look at once you’re on a bit. Quite a few of Martial’s epigrams, and Catullus’s poems, feature words which have to be rendered by obscenities in English, if you’re going to be at all accurate, getting the same force and meaning that’s in the Latin. But of course back in Bohn’s era you couldn’t even hint at such things. So see what our editor Walter Kelly does. He’s got a note here explaining his rather mysterious translation. Catullus uses Mentula as a nickname for a chap called Mamurra, saying he’s nothing but a big prick. Bohn can’t show it in English, but gets round that by telling us,” and she read, “ ‘Mahérault has happily rendered the meaning of the epigram in French, in which language there is an equivalent for Mentula, that is to say, a man’s name which is also a popular synonyme for what characterises the god Priapus.’ My, how delicate he is! What that is,” she turned to Matthew, “is an enormous phallus. Anyway, here’s what the French has: ‘Jean Chouard fornique; eh! Sans doute, c’est bien Jean Chouard. C’est ainsi qu’on peut dire que c’est la marmite qui cueille les choux.’”

She looked at Eithne. “Now, advanced French scholar, what’s that all about?”

Eithne bit her lip and said “Something like ‘Jean Chouard (that’s his name) fornicates; well, that’s really him, what he does (living up to his name, maybe?). So we can say The pot gathers cabbages.’ – Is that it?”

“That’ll do fine. It really means I suppose that the big prick acts as we might expect – that is, he ‘fornicates’, as you delicately put it. So anyway, Matthew, that just shows you how various translations, and other languages, can throw light on things.”

“But who’s this Jean Chouard?”

“That really is a real name, a possible name, in French. But it’s also, for some reason, a synonym for the penis. Don’t ask me why! The same thing happens in English, with the name John Thomas, who for the same inscrutable reason is an eponym for the penis. – So there you are, Eithne, something to look forward to, maybe, another incentive to apply yourself to your study of the ancients!”

Lydia was pleased to receive a telephone call from Millie Davenant, a twenty-five year old teacher at the high school in town, to catch up on news and share salacious gossip. She told her about Matthew’s latest escapades, and Millie exclaimed that it was a pity he couldn’t be shared with her girls.

“When your lot come over to the baths,” she said, the grin apparent in her voice, “why doesn’t he come too? He swims, does he? And remember, boys swim naked!”

“There is a little matter of propriety,” said Lydia sardonically, “but I do think no-one will make too much of a fuss. After all, I exhibited him last month at the opening—”

“Yes,” laughed her friend. “I heard about that. Sorry I missed it. Is he as well-hung as they say?”

“Well, Millie, he’s really just about average, I mean between exceedingly small and exceedingly big. ‘Six inches will do’, as the song says. And that’s what it is. I think actually it varies about an inch, more or less, depending on circumstances. But what you’re saying, about sharing him with your girls, is resonating with me. Why not? And I’ve just thought of a twist. I happen to have a nice bathing costume I got in Belgium a while ago. I’m pretty sure it will fit him. So he can wear that when he comes. I never did get one in Mason’s that time. So what about it? You may want to warn your lot, or let it come as a surprise – a rude surprise.”

Millie sniggered, and they arranged their plans.

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

When Catherine arrived at the bathhouse she found all prepared for her by Jessica, who gave her a pitying look and left, mentally thanking her stars that she wasn’t the one to be tormented like that. Almost immediately two boys came in the door and looked at her with grins. “Hello there! You’re Catherine, are you? We’ve been sent to help you take your bath.” She looked at them in despair and turned to start undressing.

The boys, though, wanted conversation. “I’m Jerry,” said a tall boy with freckles, “and this is Nick. We’re from the car shop. Have you been there, seen it? We look after the Daimler and the Renault, and sometimes the landau, it depends.” He grinned at her cheerfully. His companion, a shorter boy with lank fair hair, looked at her with expectation shining in his eyes. “We saw you at that medical thing,” he said with a lustful expression, “and we talked about it afterwards. We all thought you looked nice. Then we were told we could bath you, so we’ll be able to touch you and all. Mrs G is really good to us. She promised us a while ago that we’d get to do this, but the girl ran away before we could get her.” Catherine was puzzled, but went on with undressing. She wanted this horrible experience over as quickly as possible. Jerry kept on about her exposure. “Yes, Nick’s right, we were all fascinated by that show. We wondered what it’d be like to finger you, stick a finger in your thing, and then we’re told we can do it! The other two will be along shortly I expect.” He fell silent to watch her remove her knickers and stand totally nude in front of them. Their eyes went big and they came closer. They had been some distance away at the medical exam, but now she was within arm’s length, and touchable. Nick put out his hand to touch her breast, and she quivered. Then he put his palm against her nipple, and it immediately reacted. Jerry joined him, and together they fondled her breasts, remarking on their small beauty, marvelling at the hardness of the points. Then Jerry tried rubbing his hand over her belly, but Nick reminded him they were supposed to be bathing her, and reluctantly he helped manoeuvre her into the bath.

They were happily soaping her shoulders and gazing at her breasts when the two witnesses showed up to stand entranced by the sight. They made admiring remarks about her body, noting that her twat was bare naked, by Christ, and a fine thing it was! Then they were at her breasts, which tingled with arousal at the attentions of their four hands. Then her back, tracing her spine to her bottom, making her bend forward to apply themselves to the rounds of her arse – “God, your arse is beautiful! Look, Johnny! Have you seen an arse as nice as that?”

The younger boy laughed. “No, Eddie, not on a girl at least! Miss, Catherine, you’ve got a bloody good-looking bum, you have!”

The recipient of the compliments gritted her teeth and didn’t look at them. Then the others were tenderly washing her pelvis, her groins, her slit, her vulva, both with their hands at her most shameful spot, pushing soapy fingers into the cleft and dcliberately finding her clitoris to rub, rub, press and fondle, fondle, till she gave a tremulous sigh and writhed in sexual convulsion. The boys were fascinated, the witnesses saying they hoped they could get as far when it was their turn, Catherine closed her eyes and felt a tear trickle down her cheek. She suffered them to dry her weary body and dress her, and then they left her to her own devices with a thank you and a cheerioh!

She made her way back to the house and thought about going to the library, but instead merely dragged herself up to her room, where she lay on the bed and thought about crying some more. But somehow there were no tears left. After a while she slept, to dream (as she afterwards thought she recalled) about bathing by herself and being joined by Matthew, who threw off his clothes and lathered her all over with loving enthusiasm, washing her cunt over and over till she came. A wonderful dream, a beautiful dream….

(End of File)