Mrs Grainger's Gift 19

By Ritchie Moore

Send your feedback to puericil@hotmail.com

(I'll forward it to the author)

Copyright 2016 by Ritchie Moore, all rights reserved

* * * * *
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.
* * * * *



===============PART XIX
 
Wednesday 24th June
 
Funny books, and a serious spank; tender hands on a tender arse
 
 
 
Matthew and De Groot spent the morning looking at some coloured illustrations of embarrassing events, and the little Dutchman explained the background of some of them.
 
“These are quite valuable prints, Matthew, being done by some eminent artists – but these aren’t usually mentioned, because of their erotic nature. And these are in really excellent condition. I fancy that a Grainger acquired them right at the start, on publication day, and laid them by like this carefully. They look like new, don’t they? The lines are fresh, and the colours are bright. Now this, this set of, how many? Oh, well, these are all by Thomas Rowlandson, a famous English artist of the later eighteenth century, into Regency times actually. Round about 1756 to 1827 if I remember correctly.
 
“Look now; these have some artistic merit to them, they’re not just obscene scrawls. Here’s The future Lady Hamilton posing as Hygeia, goddess of health, at Dr James Graham's Temple of Aesculapius. You’ll have heard perhaps of her, she became the mistress of your hero Lord Nelson. But before that she married Sir William Hamilton, who used to stage-manage a series of ‘Attitudes’ drawn from classical models (he was quite an expert at Roman pottery and so forth), but earlier she had been posing like this caricature shows, mainly nude, at this quack doctor’s health clinic. After Nelson’s death, at Trafalgar, she went to seed, I think you can say, and died in debt on the continent in 1815, ten years after her great love. She was only fifty I think. Ah me! But here she is in her careless youth, immortalised by Rowlandson.
 
 “What’s next? The Prostitute Observed, and the date is 1808. Another, hah! Couple Having Sex on a Wheeled Stool, if you can imagine it. The Country Squire's New Mount, with a poem, you see the pun here; The Farmer and the Milkmaid, Lesbian Lovers in a Wood, The Rightful Lover Leaves the Wings, good heavens, there’s a lot of them. The Adulterers Discovered, The Clergyman Quenched, The-Toss-Off, with another poem. The Negro Footman and the Milkmaid. The Peep Show. Solitary Diversion, and The Astronomer Distracted, where he’s looking through his telescope at the heavens, while his pretty young wife is being very friendly with a visitor in the room behind him. TheTamborine; Sexual Habits, nuns bare from the waist; The Harem, from a Sequence of Caricatures Depicting the Sexual Practices of the English Aristocracy, and another from the series, The Sultan, where one of the naked houris has a grasp of his erection. My goodness, quite a gallery! And remember these are the productions of a respectable artist! But these are the items that don’t turn up in the auction rooms too often.
 
“Well now, perhaps we may look at some others upstairs, hm? To change the menu, as it were.”
 
 
 
The little Dutchman lifted a book bound in old brown leather and peered at the spine. His eyes brightened and he smiled as if meeting an old friend.
 
“Hudibras!” he exclaimed. “I might have guessed we’d find this classic here. The Graingers had a remarkable lot of books, quite apart from the curiosa downstairs. Now this is a rather good book, though it’s not excessively valuable. This is an edition of a famous satirical poem written in disdain of the Roundheads, Puritans, and general overly serious folks who fought with the cavaliers, the royalists, in the middle of the seventeenth century. See, the title is Hudibras, who is a knight on the parliamentary side, who goes around having ludicrous adventures, with his squire, and it’s inspired, as you might guess, by Don Quixote. You’ve read that, Cervantes’ great work, have you?”
 
“Oh yes, sir, but I think it was abridged for children. So this imitates it, right? It’s a poem, you say?”
 
“Yes, Matthew, written in a style one might see in a dramatic or epic poem – not your classical unrhymed pentameters, as in Milton, mind you; this is couplets in iambic tetrameter, one short; it may have been invented by the author for all I know. Samuel Butler, his name was. His ‘Hudibrastic’ verse was very popular at the time, and inspired lots of imitations.”
 
“Isn’t that the same one, no it can’t be, who wrote that nice travel book Alps and Sanctuaries we saw last time?”
 
“No, Matthew, just another of the same name. This one was a real anti-parliamentarian. He pokes fun at all these risible antics of risible people – it’s supposed to be about real people, you understand – the knight’s superb self-composure, and his squire’s stupid reliance on his religion at the expense of logic. Butler pours his flattery on thickly, praising the behaviour and thinking of his heroes. This is a real anti-heroic poem. Better in some ways than Pope’s Rape of the Lock, to my mind. This edition,” he hefted the tome in his hands, “is a good one, a later one, from the early nineteenth century, with lots of erudite notes by Zachary Grey. Yes, it needs notes. There’s many local references, and allusions to events and personalities of the time, so one needs explanations. If you’re interested, put it aside, take it downstairs. It’s quite a good book, you know. Ah, the descriptions of Hudibras’s gifts, and prowess! He far outshines – though it’s a quibble – that ‘very model of a modern major general’ you get in Gilbert. The Pirates of Penzance, do you know it?”
 
“Oh yes!” said the boy, “I see exactly what you mean. All right, I’ll read it later.”
 
First though he leafed through it, and read out from the early pages
 
“Beside, ’t is known he could speak Greek
As naturally as pigs squeak;
That Latin was no more difficile
Than to a blackbird 't is to whistle.”
 
He smiled at the little bookman. “That’s pretty good. I like his rhymes! Yes, I’ll enjoy this I think. Later.”
 
…………………………………………………………………………………………….
 
For some reason that evening the chosen girls were all juniors, of about thirteen perhaps, with a sixteen-year old in charge, whose hand was somehow harder or tougher than usual, and even before she’d finished with him he was nearly crying. The remainder, twenty-five girls who one would expect to be a bit ineffectual in the spanking business, seemed to want to outdo their leader, and each other, in the viciousness of their attacks. In spite of his pain, or maybe because of it, his erection was as hard and upright as any would wish, and the girls were not loath to give it a few final strokes. None of them had ignored his arse, none had taken pity on him, as previous dorms had done, and so it was an unusually tormented boy who made it back to the house.
 
 
 
Catherine roused herself from her bed to adjust her menstrual cloth, and shrank as a tap came to that unlockable door. “W-who is it?” she quavered, frantically looking for cover.
 
“It’s only me,” came Matthew’s voice, and she laughed and called “Come in!”
 
He entered, paused at seeing her, then came up to the bed.
 
“What do you mean,” she said, resuming her task, ‘Only me?’
 
He gazed at her with a contented smile. He was pleased to be allowed to witness this very intimate moment, and eyed her nakedness with what he knew was a proprietorial air. She looked up at him to smile in her turn, but quickly said “Oh my God, I forgot! You’ve had another spanking, love, oh I am sorry! Just wait. No, take off your trousers, lie down and show me those nice rounds of yours. Your wonderful bum.”
 
He laughed at her expression, and lost no time in disrobing. He took everything off this time, to lie spread-eagled on her bed, and she caught her breath to once more see his buttocks all red and raw. She almost wept to see the punishment he’d brought on himself by refusing to hurt her. As he’d put himself to the rack that time at the dinner-party, the same thing! How could she ever pay him back for all he’d done for her, suffered for her? And oh God, she just knew it wasn’t over yet! Tears started to her eyes as she reached for the magic ointment, and she put her hands to those sweet globes with a sob. Gently she smoothed the cream on his red skin, admiring for the umpteenth time the shape of his behind and the supple firmness of the arse. She rubbed the unguent on and rubbed it in, caressing him with strokes that didn’t try to hide their erotic arousal. He meantime was lying there in what seemed a dream, murmuring something she couldn’t catch, until her hand pushed through between his legs to his perineum, which she stroked and stroked again quite deliberately, seeming to dare him to move.
 
He jerked up and turned over, displaying his dear cock erect and nodding at her, while he looked up at her with a red face and panted her name. She smiled fondly and put her hands to his prick to bring him to the crest. “Oh God! Catherine, Catherine!” he cried, and spurted his seed up in the air, clenching his fists and opening his eyes wide to stare into hers with pride, saluting her with his manhood and submitting to her ministrations with grateful glee.
 
“My, quite a display!”
 
Catherine turned in shock to see Abigail peering in the open door. “Huh! Don’t let me disturb you. Just clean up after you, mind!”
 
With that the detestable girl went away, leaving the pair stunned, for a few minutes. Then Matthew sat up and started to dress, saying that at least she hadn’t interrupted the frig, for which they should be grateful.
 
Catherine laughed wryly and had to agree. “I hope, love,” she said, “that you got the satisfaction I wanted to give you, that I was getting too. Maybe we can agree to make this a regular part of the evening? Oh, I know it’s awful to expect your punishment so often, but maybe I can assuage it with ointment and a wank, do you think?”
 
He grinned. “We can always try,” he said. “Even when I haven’t been spanked!”
 
 
 
Mrs Grainger withdrew her eye from her favourite spyhole and smiled in her own way at the result of her plans. These children were so amusing! And what else might she embroil them in?         
 
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------                                                                                    
 
Thursday 25th June
 
Another swim, another exposure
 
“You’ll not be spanked today, Matthew,” said Mrs G, “because I want your bottom to settle down for the concert. All right?” She walked off and the boy wondered what difference that might make – maybe she wanted him to be fit and not achy because he was to be lifting scenery and things. Yes, that must be it. Thank God!
 
He looked up at her approach a little later. What did she have in mind now?
 
“Well now, Matthew, it’s another day at helping the school. Miss Davenant has suggested you go—”
 
“Oh no, please, madam, please! I know what she wants, she wants to humiliate me again. That suit turned transparent! It was awful!”
 
 
 
“Yes, Matthew, the girls were indeed in awe of the revelation. That was very interesting, actually. The cloth was specially made in Belgium. But now the charm has worn off, it’s maybe silly to use it, Unless—”
 
 
 
He eyed her fearfully.
 
 
 
“Yes, indeed. You’ll wear your new suit, until such time as it’s redundant. The Academy girls will have heard about it from the last lot, so they’ll be keeping their eyes open. The town girls also – all those girls watching you like hawks! You on the other hand will know before you start just how mortified you’re going to be. But I enjoin you to behave normally, and obey every command Miss Davenant gives you. Whatever it is.”
 
 
 
“I understand, madam” he muttered in a broken voice. “I know how it’s going to end. In utter shame for me. Oh, madam!” He looked into her amused eyes with a desperate frown. “Why do you do these things to me? Why—”
 
 
 
“Don’t be absurd. You know perfectly well, I arrange for my girls, and anyone else, to see your naked body, encourage them to touch you, to excite you to erection, to bring you to orgasmic climax. And why? To amuse them, to amuse me, and to remind you who and what you are.
 
 
 
“But isn’t there another side to this? You are being masturbated by girls, led to your sensual pleasure by other hands, the hands of young girls of your own age mostly, more able to make you hot than your own hands. You get your own pleasure out of this. So don’t complain. There are other methods, and you may discover one day that all is not gratifying your teenage lust. But anyway, you’re going off to Miss Davenant at one. She still has the costume, so don’t worry. All right?”
 
 
 
Off she went with a grim smile on her beautiful face, and his shoulders slumped. How would he get through the afternoon?
 
 
 
*  *  *  *  
 
He was sent to the second changing room, where he put his clothes in the locker and then looked, naked, for the costume. He couldn’t see it, but headed unthinkingly to the showers anyway, which was where the town girls found him moments later, to admire how he washed his cringing limbs, and he had to walk through their midst to look again for the costume. They surrounded him and gleefully eyed his naked back, while he was upset at not finding his cover, such as it was. One of the Academy girls poked her grinning head in the door to say “You’ve to hurry up to the pool, Matthew! That’s where your costume is.”
 
 
 
So he crept, blushing, through the crowd to where Miss Davenant waited impatiently. He
 
was disconcerted to see quite a few others there, sitting on the spectators’ benches, all women and girls, it seemed, who gave the sight of the naked boy a rousing reception. He put on the inadequate suit and was told again what was to happen: exercises, general swim, dives, strokes. So he was to be put through the same torment as before, save that he knew from the start what was happening, and so was very conscious of his nude body in the see-through costume, after his dives, drawing the attention of all the eyes, not just of the swimmers but those other spectators, invited, perhaps, just for this, and certainly allowed in to gawk. Millie let him discard the suit halfway through, and the girls got him to dive and show the strokes once more, in total nudity, Millie pointing out how it was much easier to understand the muscle action when the body was bare. They were handling him again, and he couldn’t control his body – he began to convulse, and they got him to the side so that he could climb out, shaking, and turn to face them as he felt his penis throb. Two of them seized him by the waist and bum, and he jerked in orgasm before them all, then they left him, and he endured the cheers from his appreciative audience.
 
 
 
Then he was sitting dejected on a bench, trying to recover, and knowing that the next sixty minutes were going to be just as hotly embarrassing. But oh, the unavoidable pleasure of ejaculating in front of all those bright-eyed girls, held by two of them, their hands on his bare waist and his bare arse! Yes, all right! He enjoyed that, the feeling surpassed his poor attempts at solitary toss-offs. For God’s sake, though! I’m still embarrassed as hell! Can I get through another hour? Surely he would – he had to. But look – more women and girls were arriving! Yes, the word having spread, so he had got a large audience for his discomfiture.
 
 
 
=====================================================================
 
Friday 26th June
 
Concert – dress rehearsal; Catherine at St Vincent’s
 
Abigail reminded the staff at breakfast that today was the dress rehearsal of the concert. Matthew looked at her anxiously, and she smiled sweetly at him, saying “Tomorrow is the public concert, but today it’s the rehearsal. All the Academy girls will be practising their pieces, and it’ll wind up with a run-through of the programme, starting just after tea. The audience of course will just be us, the rest of the girls, and a contingent from Mrs London’s lot.”
 
Matthew at once thought of Alice, the girl he’d met at the camp, the one he’d fucked twice, and glanced quickly at Catherine, who was draining her cup and getting up to go somewhere. Abigail said to her that she should stick to her room for the time being; the mistress might have something for her. Catherine nodded and left, with a gay smile to her innamorato.
 
“You, Matthew, can make yourself useful by fetching and carrying, moving things, seeing to props, for instance, costumes, and the music.”
 
“But I can’t do music,” he said in surprise, “I can’t play a note!”
 
She sighed and said “Surely you’re mechanically minded enough to wind up a gramophone, hm? Anyway, we’ll find things for you to do. Tomorrow will be easier, you’ll know what you’re doing by then. A dress rehearsal is to find mistakes, and correct them. Look here, I have the programme all written out. So far, anyway. We can always change the order, or even miss things out. We’ll be timing it, too.”
 
They spent the next little while examining the list of acts, which included songs, dances, a little play, recitations, instrumental solos, and a patriotic finale featuring everyone, performing “Rule Britannia”. Matthew thought it should be an enjoyable concert to see, and didn’t notice the amused looks passed between Abigail and the other girls.
 
                                                                       *  *  *
 
Catherine was sent for shortly after, and Mrs G eyed her with approval. “Catherine! You look presentable and fit. You’ve had your period, haven’t you? It’s all over, is it? Excellent. I did say that another visit to St Vincent’s would be appropriate, and I’ve decided that we can just fit one in before end of term.” Catherine’s face crumpled and she began mouthing protests, but Lydia continued on inexorably. “Today we’re having the dress rehearsal (so-called) of our concert, and you needn’t be there. So I’ve decided that you can manage to go back to the school to help them out as a model.”
 
Tears started to the girl’s eyes. “Please, madam, please, I couldn’t stand it! It was horrible last time, and I …”
 
She was interrupted. “I’ve been on the phone to Mr Bradley, who is just as keen as I am to pursue this new arrangement. Rawlins will take you to the school in about ten minutes. On arrival you’ll present yourself to Mr Bradley, who will tell you what is required. You’ll be there all day.” The girl’s eyes bulged, and she began to stammer something, but Mrs G smiled coldly and went on. “Yes, all day. You’ll be given lunch, of course, a chance to take a lavatory break, which may diminish the possibility of showing how girls urinate to a class of boys—” (and Catherine blushed) “— and some more classes in the afternoon; and anything else that Mr Bradley thinks suitable. I gather he’ll be asking some of his boys what they might do with you. It should be very interesting for them. Of course,” she said with a hint of menace, “you will do as you are told. You will accede to all their demands.” Catherine gulped and nodded. “I want you to dress specially, and I’m sending Amanda up with you to help you. Off you go.”
 
The bewildered girl found Amanda in her room laying out her costume. “The socks and shoes you’ve got on will do,” she said, “but take off that skirt, and your knickers, and put this one on.” It turned out to be the miniature skirt that only came down an inch or two below her crotch, and Catherine gulped as she saw what Mrs Grainger had in mind. “Camisole, yes, that’s short enough not to show, but no blouse. That’s it. And to take care of a draught, Mrs G recommends this.” Amanda produced a large shawl of coloured silk which did indeed seem warm, and presumably would keep the wind away. “That’s it, that’s all she wants. Now off you go.” Catherine went down and out to the car, and Rawlins opened a door for her with a flourish. “We’ll be a while getting there, you know,” he said. “If you haven’t got a book like Mrs G does, you may as well just snooze. I’ll wake you when we’re there.” He got into the front and drove off. She settled back and tried to calm her heart, which was beating fast at the thought of being dressed like this in a school full of randy boys. She was sure Mr Bradley had some more revealing tasks for her, to amuse his lascivious teenagers. Her mind turned over dreadful possibilities until she mercifully fell asleep.
 
“Here we are then. Wakey wakey, Catherine!” She opened her eyes and realised where she was, and the weight of what undoubtedly lay before her crashed down on her. She got out and thanked Rawlins, who smiled and doffed his hat. “Let me tell you, miss,” he said, “now that Mrs G isn’t here, that you’re a very nice young lady, and I wish you well.” She stammered another thank you, and he drove off. She entered the main building through the pseudo-Gothic door and went to the office where she’d retrieved her clothes a few days before. Mr Quarles was there behind a desk armed with a large typewriter, and was busy banging out some very long letter, or maybe writing a book. When he saw her he rose and said “Ah yes, miss. Mr Bradley is expecting you. Do you remember the way?” “Oh I think so,” she said. “Up the stairs and along a bit.” “That’s right. You’ll be fine.” He smiled at her, and she smiled back. She forgot for a moment why she was there, but again reality came back to hit her. Up the stairs she went and along to the study, and knocked.
 
“Ah, Catherine, my dear!” Bradley’s toothsome smile seemed even more sinister today. “We’re glad to see you. Sit down, sit down! Put that delightful shawl over here. The boys have been told about you,” he leered coyly, “and they’re all agog to meet you.” She was suddenly conscious of the thin fabric of her camisole, and knew her breasts were detectable. “We have the whole day ahead of us. I have planned some different activities today—” she caught her breath in relief , but he continued, “as well as those we had three days ago.” Her heart sank. This was going to be even worse. “Let me outline what is to happen.” His eyes fell to her crotch, and his unbearable smile broadened. “Yes,” he muttered. “I see Mrs Grainger has taken our conversation seriously. The gates of paradise are open, as the King of Sardinia said. Hm! Well….” He drew his gaze from her groin reluctantly, and the girl blushed as she realised her exposure in that position. She hurriedly put her hands in her lap and tried to concentrate on what he was saying. “Now then! To begin with, a complete tour of the school. I know young Laidlaw took you on a little tour last time, but this time it’ll be quite complete. You may be asked to participate. Then we’ll have you in art class.” She clenched her teeth and took a deep breath, looking at the floor. Bradley continued on, smiling at her discomposure.
 
“Then we’ll have lunch. That is to say, you’ll have lunch with the boys, in the main dining hall, at the high table. Then to the football field, for a little exhibition; then to the sexual education room for a while.” She panted and thought about arguing but knew it was useless. “Then I thought you could join in the physical jerks in the gymnasium, though I’m rather inclined to say that should be outside. It’s a particularly fine day, don’t you think? Then we’ll see what other diversions we can produce. That’s the plan, all right? You understand what’s to happen?”
 
She nodded in a hopeless sort of way and he beamed. “Well now! I’ve asked a couple of prefects to squire you round.” He pressed the bell on his desk. “Their names are Watson and Briggs, but you can call them Hugh and Robert. They’re both sixteen years old, very nice chaps, in their last term at St Vincent’s. One is on the rugby team, the other in our First Eleven. Ah, that’ll be them.” A knock on the door, and two rather handsome boys appeared, to smile at Catherine and say hello. Were it not for her dread of what the day might bring she would have been happy to meet such nice friendly boys, but as it was she greeted them timidly and reserved judgement. They took her off and began showing her the classes in action, as David had done before. She noticed an extraordinary quietness and order to the classes, and it was as if they were holding themselves in, all the boys being quite amazingly obedient and attentive. When they looked at her they seemed interested in her, and seemed to want to smile, but didn’t dare draw their notice from their teacher. She got the impression, in fact, that were terrified of misbehaving, and wondered whether this was a legacy of the horrific bare whippings she had witnessed that time.
 
This time they went to the swimming pool, and she felt her heart beating faster as she recalled what David had said (and that randy young Daniel had confirmed at the dinner), and it turned out to be true. The prefects escorted her into a building echoing with shouts and led her to a balcony, from which she had a good view of the entire pool. About twenty boys of fifteen or so were swimming laps, up and down, encouraged by a stentorian trainer who shouted at them through a small megaphone. He paid no attention to the visitors’ presence, but one of the naked boys did, and faltered in his stroke. He was reprimanded, and made to swim the lap again. He was red by this time and tried to argue, but soon subsided and grimly swam his lap, while the others continued, trying not to look at the girl. She for her part was flushed at the sight of twenty naked boys, twenty penises, twenty bare bums, and she sympathised with them, being put on as a show for the visitor, but couldn’t tear her eyes away from the young bodies, and had to acknowledge her erotic interest. Her body was betraying her again, though, and she felt a response in her cunny as she gazed at them.
 
They came down to a lower balcony and stood about ten feet above the pool as the boys came out and were told to line up. They looked up at the threesome and practically as one they blushed and grew swiftly tumescent. As she looked down at them they presented erections that seemed to salute her, and she stared at them fascinated. But then she realised where their eyes were focussed, and her own blush grew. She swiftly turned round, knowing that they could now see her bare behind under that miniature skirt, and muttered to the boys that they should go. With knowing smiles they nodded and took her down to the pool level where she was able to look at the nude boys close up. She kept her blush as she asked her escorts what was to happen next, and they said with broad smiles that she was invited to join the class.
 
She stared at them and the teacher in disbelief. “But I’m not dressed—” “Nor are they, girl,” said the swim coach. “So take off your clothes and hop in. We can have a race, actually.” “Yes,” said Hugh. “Mr Bradley suggested this, probably on the advice of Mrs Grainger.” He looked at her as if he knew her vulnerable position, and with a moan she began to undress. The naked boys made no attempt to hide their arousal, and that helped to increase hers. She felt the tingle in her vulva as she took off her camisole and finally stood naked before them. “Right!” said the coach. “Line up at the side of the pool. At the count of three, dive in and swim as fast as you can to the other end, touch the tile and come back. I’ll be timing you. One! Two! Three!”
 
She had no idea how Bradley knew (or why he assumed) that she could swim; unless of course Mrs G had informed him when they were planning her torments. In she leapt amid all those boys and somehow forgot her (and their) condition, till she came back to be hauled out by Hugh and Robert. After a few more turns the teacher let her go, and got his team to dry her off with two or three smallish towels. She stood in their midst, wearing nothing but a blush from (she imagined) head to toe, as they busied themselves about her body, making pleased sounds and catching her eye. Finally she was dressed and they led her out again and continued the tour, winding up at a glass door labelled ‘Surgery’, which intrigued her.
 
“Here we are,” said Hugh, “we’ll take in this class. We’re early, but still….” He opened the door to reveal half a dozen boys sitting on chairs, listening to a teacher who was expounding some procedure. He stopped to welcome the trio and told them to sit on the other side of the room, facing the boys. Catherine did so gingerly, knowing that if she wasn’t careful she’d show her knickerless state to the others, and tried to concentrate on what the teacher was saying. “Anyway, that’s what happens. So now we’re going to put this into practice. Parsons and Bentley, up and strip, and you others take the measuring tapes.” Catherine watched in amazement as two of the boys reluctantly rose and began to take their clothes off. Two others got tapes from a drawer and handed them out. The two naked boys hid their genitals, their faces fiery, and avoided looking at Catherine, who couldn’t help admiring their bodies, though she herself was flushing with embarrassment. The pair were stood facing each other in front of the others and told to raise their hands to the side, so exposing their genitals, which twitched in restlessness before the eyes of the girl. The other boys set about measuring the naked bodies and calling out the dimensions to the teacher, who wrote them down on the blackboard on the wall. Then Catherine was astounded to be told to come forth and repeat the exercise. “It’s good you got here early, miss,” said the teacher. “Your presence may be just what we need.” She frowned in puzzlement but he didn’t elaborate.
 
She was handed a tape and told to measure the length of the arms and legs – the outside from hip to ankle, and the inside from the groin. Her face was as red as that of the boy she was working on. When she put her hand to his groin his penis twitched and began to tumesce, and when she went to measure the other inseam it suddenly poked out at her, and the boy gave a moan of shame. “While you’re there, Catherine, measure the penis, please,” said the teacher. “Flaccid it was three and a half inches. What is it now?”
 
She swallowed and looked at the blushing boy, who shut his eyes in desperate embarrassment. Catherine put her hand to the underside of the erection and felt it throb in response. Putting the end of the tape to the junction of the shaft and his pubis, she held it to the revealed glans and stammered “S-seven inches exactly.”
 
“Thank you. Now the other one. Bentley, stand straight.”
 
She repeated her intimate measures on the red-faced boy, who was already stiff by this time, and his organ reacted to present a full erection as soon as her warm fist got to his groin. She went on to put the tape to his penis, and read out in wonderment “Eight inches! Oh!” The others tittered at her reaction, and she looked at the teacher as if to say “What now?” She soon found out.
 
“Right boys,” said the teacher, “get dressed. You, Catherine, stand here in front of the class, hands up in the air.” She did so in some wonderment, but knew with a tremor in her belly that it would be yet another exposure. “Garner, Morris, you can prepare her.” She gave a little scream as two boys came up with lewd smiles and undid the catch on her skirt, then took it down to the floor and off her feet. The others looked at her bared pubis and grinned. Then the two lifted her camisole up and over her hands, and she was totally naked before them. Two others were given tapes and set about measuring her. It was rather like the awful experience she suffered at the hands of the tailor’s lecherous son, and she knew Mrs G had to have a hand in this, but it was worse this time – she had an audience for this, six randy teenagers drinking in her details at their leisure. They measured her height, the breadth of her shoulders, the breadth of her bosom, nipple to nipple, the diameter of her waist, the breadth of her hips, the length of her legs, outside and inseam, and inevitably the length of her slit and the measure of her anus through to the vulva.
 
She stood there sweating in her shame, saying to herself that they couldn’t do much more, but the teacher told her to get up on a little table and perch on all fours. Another of the boys was delegated to lubricate her anus, and she flushed violently as the youth smeared her sphincter and made sure the interior of the rectum got a good oiling. “Right,” said the teacher briskly, “Smith, Westaway, get the enema ready there.” She quailed but could do nothing to prevent the invasion of her bowels. Once more, she compared it to her previous experience, and once more it was a lot worse. Then, it had been administered by a deft and sympathetic nurse; now it was a crowd of lascivious boys, who observed the operation, and inserted the nozzle into her arse, with grins and comments that the teacher made no effort to prevent. And then she was let down from the table and placed on a commode in the corner, where she sat blushing under their gaze and finally shat a satisfying amount of faeces. As she cleaned herself the teacher thanked her and invited Parsons and Bentley to dress her again, and she was soon on her way, she with downcast eyes and hot cheeks, the two escorts telling her that was very educative and enjoyable. She didn’t listen to them and maintained an abashed silence till they finally wound up at the artroom door.
 
“Here we are, Catherine,” said Hugh, “here’s your art class. Mr Drysdale was very keen on having you back. He said you were an excellent subject.”
 
“Yes,” said Robert with a grin, “he was extolling your curves and planes, and how drawable you are. So good luck.”
 
They knocked and were welcomed by the teacher, who looked even more tired today. “Are you coming back to take her to lunch?” he asked. “Oh yes,” said Robert, “we’ll be back at noon to collect her.” “Right,” said Drysdale, and dismissed them. He looked at the girl and said merely “There’s the bench. Sit for a minute.” She sat and drew a deep breath. Then the door opened and the class breezed in chattering rather quietly. Again she was struck by the good behaviour of the boys and wondered at the reason.
 
Drysdale waited till they were settled, and then addressed them. “Boys, this is Catherine, who is to be a life model today. If you’ve seen the drawings that were made a few days ago you know what to expect. Today though I thought I’d ring a change or two. You’ll have ten minutes per pose, and fifteen for the last one. Right. Catherine, up here.” She went to the little platform and stood irresolute, wondering what to do, but glad to be dressed. Drysdale came up to pose her in a sort of confrontational attitude, with hands up in the air and her loins thrust forward. The boys looked at the spectacle and grinned, and Catherine began to blush as she realised they could see up her skirt. Ten excruciating minutes went by, then another pose – of course a revealing one. This time she was bending down, legs spread and hands touching the ground, plainly showing her privates to an increasingly interested crowd. Mr Drysdale then said “You’ll notice the skirt doesn’t do much, does it? But notice the effect without it.” He quickly undid the little catch and removed her covering, and the class proceeded to draw her naked but for a camisole, which hardly covered her pubis and allowed her excited nipples to show through the thin fabric. Then of course that too was removed to a buzz of approval and she finally posed for a blushing quarter of an hour while the boys grinned and made meticulous sketches of her pubis and behind.
 
Then the bell rang to end the class, and she was allowed down. The boys filed out, giving her salacious leers as they passed her, and Drysdale said “I’m off. Those two will be along shortly. Thank you for modelling,” and disappeared. She went to the bench with her clothes and picked up her camisole as Hugh and Robert bustled in. She hurriedly dressed in front of them, and they took her arms and sped her along the corridor to a stair that led down to an open space giving on a large dining room rapidly filling with boys, and she was led through the middle of the crowd to a little stair up to a stage, where the “high table” was set for the prefects. As she got to the top she heard an astonished whisper from the boys beneath her, and swallowed unhappily, knowing she was revealing herself again, but resignedly allowed herself to be seated in the middle of the row of chairs facing the hall. She saw David at one end of the table, and he waved at her politely and made some comment to the boy on his right, whose face broke into a grin, and he glanced along at her in amusement.
 
The meal passed off without incident, and she rather enjoyed the conversation among the prefects, but from time to time she looked out at the gathering to see dozens of pleased faces, and she knew they were all trying to see up her skirt. She pressed her legs together and tried to forget her condition, but when she did she found her thighs would be apart and her nervous pubis was visible to the lucky boys out there. At length the meal was over, and the prefects rose to leave, going first. Catherine was then in the midst of a line going through the centre of the hall between rows of juniors. She felt very exposed as she came down the stairs, but she was shielded by the boy in front, and relaxed. All of a sudden however she felt something tug at her skirt – it seemed to catch on some piece of the step behind her – and before she could stop her movement she had got to the floor and the skimpy skirt had been torn off.
 
She stopped suddenly and clasped her hands to her mons, but the boy in front had gone on several paces and left her unhidden from the seated boys, who looked at her sudden exposure with amused surprise; the boy behind kept going, and she was pushed forward and decided she’d better keep moving and not draw attention by standing still at the front of the audience. She stumbled along after the boys and the one behind said “I’ll cover your arse, Catherine! Keep going!” So she walked through the gawking teenagers and once outside collapsed on a bench and squealed “Please. Boys! Can’t someone get my skirt?” David came to her rescue, going back in and retrieving the errant garment which had snagged, he said, on a rough corner of the steps. They watched as she drew it on and fastened the catch, and by the time the rest came out she was decent. The audience, however, gave her gloating smirks as they passed her, and her head drooped wearily. She knew what the topic of conversation was going to be in the dorms that night. First, though, she was due at the football field.
 
When they got there she found a large crowd assembled who looked at her with pleasure on their faces as if they were expecting her, and her alone. Hugh waved a hand at them and confirmed it. “They’re all waiting for you, Catherine! We’re going to have a couple of races, it’ll only be a half hour or so, All right? Mr Bradley said that your mistress, Mrs Grainger, had suggested this.” Catherine looked at his anxiously. If Mrs G had suggested it, it had to end badly for her; but she couldn’t get out of it. “The boys will be timed as to how fast they can go from one end of the pitch to the other, carrying you.”
 
“What?” she cried, “I’m a burden for them, to slow them down?”
 
“The difference will be that each will have his own way of carrying you, it’s up to him. All right. I think though that you should take off your shoes and socks, it’ll be easier.” She did so and laid them at the side of the pitch, then was led to one end where a line of boys waited clad in football shorts.
 
The instructor, Charles Montgomery, was a handsome 31-year-old who looked at her approvingly and said “Right, Catherine! Stand here, please. This is going to be the spot where the race starts every time. I’ve eight boys here to time, and the first is Prior.” A youth stepped forward. “Get ready, Prior, you’ll pick her up, any way you please, on the whistle, run to the end, and run back, to this line. David Laidlaw will time you. Catherine, don’t be alarmed when he picks you up. He’s been warned not to hurt you. All right. Ready?” The boy stood behind her, and the whistle blew.
 
Catherine didn’t know what to expect, and couldn’t help giving a little scream as Prior gathered her up in his arms and set off. Her neck lay across one arm, and her knees across the other, and she knew with awful certainty that her skirt exposed her. If he looked down he’d see her crotch quite easily, and those at the sides of the pitch might well be as lucky. She couldn’t move of course, and had to bear it as best she could, shutting her eyes and hoping she didn’t show too much. Prior got to the end of the pitch and turned round, shifting her into a more comfortable position, for him. He looked down at her and went red, for he’d just seen how naked she was. Nevertheless he had to carry on, and ran as fast as he could back to the line, where he put her down and held a hand in front of his shorts. “Next, Dawkins!” This was a good-looking seventeen-year-old, she thought, who stood behind her, but then changed his mind to stand in front of her. Montgomery looked at him an nodded. “Ready?” He blew the whistle and David started his stopwatch, and Dawkins seized Catherine and laid her over his shoulder, her head dangling behind him, and he sprinted for the other end. Catherine could hear yells of jubilation from the crowd, and she realised with a shiver of anguish that in that position her bum had to be displayed to everyone. Dawkins took her back to the starting line and put her down, and she looked round at the crowd, who were staring at her in ribald amusement. She blushed and smoothed down her skirt, but it was too late of course. Then the third boy got ready.
 
This time she was raised in a fireman’s lift, across his shoulders, which turned out to be more comfortable and less bumpy than previously, but she knew her bare backside was being shown to all behind the boy. The next boy looked at her critically to size up how he could carry her, and made the extraordinary suggestion that she ride astride his shoulders. The whistle blew and he ducked his head between her legs, and they were off. His arms held her legs, and she was at a loss what to do with her arms; she couldn’t hang on to him too easily, she’d choke him, so she tried to cradle his head and hope she didn’t put him off his stride. But then on the way back she felt herself slipping backwards, and she couldn’t get him to stop to rearrange herself. He ploughed on regardless, ignoring her yell, and she wound up hanging down his back, only supported by his arms, and – the focus of all eyes as her little skirt rode up to her waist.
 
At the start line she tried to make some kind of protest, but it was in vain, and she sighed and stood waiting for the next boy, called Carson, who tried the one shoulder lift again. But she cried out in horror as his hands went up her legs to her waist and he threw her over his shoulder, thus baring her bum from the word go. The crowd was roaring again, and she tried to put her hands back to repair the damage, but that was a mistake. Somehow she managed to disengage the catch on her skirt, and she felt it slipping. At the other end she struggled till he put her down to take a better grip, but before she could say a word he’d grabbed her again, not noticing, or not caring, that the apology for a skirt had gone to the ground. The return journey was another nightmare of delighted roars from the assembly, and when she was deposited she covered her cunny with a shriek and looked around for help. None was forthcoming, and the predicament was compounded by the whistle being blown and her body, naked from the waist, being seized by the sixth boy, and borne in the first position, in front of him, who kept looking down at her groin and not making too much headway. At the other end she looked for her skirt but couldn’t see it, and so had to bear another naked journey back.
 
Catherine was rather frantic at the loss of her skirt, and guessed that it was deliberately being hidden from her so that she could be exposed to the boys. The seventh boy stood behind her and at the whistle thrust his head between her legs, grabbing them with his hands and so repeating the fourth position. Her belly and pubis were revealed for all to see and enjoy, and this proved so popular that the eighth boy did the same.
 
As he put her down she covered herself and stammered “P-please, boys! Where’s my skirt? I can’t go about like this!”
 
“I don’t know, Catherine,” said Montgomery, grinning at her. “The boys like it. Just listen to them!” It was true, they were cheering her performance, and she shuddered.
 
“Well, sir,” said David, “I think we’re done here. Time’s getting on. Robert, Hugh, will you take her to Mr Walters now?”
 
“Yes,” said the teacher, “she’s due there any minute.”
 
“But no,” she quavered, “I’m naked! What—”
 
“No,” he said, “you won’t need any clothes in the sex class, so that’s not a problem. And while you’re there we’ll maybe find the skirt. Someone’s taken it for a joke.”
 
“A joke!” she screamed quietly, “a joke! But how am I to get back—”
 
“The boys will escort you,” said Montgomery patiently. “Off you go.”
 
She had no recourse but to go with the grinning boys, through the ranks of the other boys, who made their feelings known all too plainly. Her hands covered her shaven delta, but her pretty bum was bare, and drew appreciative comments as she made her way to the school building. Robert and Hugh made sure to walk at her side, so as not to obscure the delightful view for their lascivious schoolfellows.  
 
“My God, Catherine,” said Robert, “you have the deepest blush I’ve ever seen. It’s all over you – I bet you’re blushing all the way down there. And I don’t know what on earth you’re complaining about. You’re going to be showing your privates to three separate classes today, so where’s the trouble? Don’t tell me you don’t like boys looking at you.”
 
She quavered, “I know, it’s supposed to be nice if boys look at me and like me, but … oh God! Looking at my …”
 
“Cunt?” suggested Hugh.
 
She stared at him and gave a sort of laugh. “Yes, why don’t we say that? Be honest? I’m ashamed when boys see my cunt. And my arse too. My tits. Just as you’re ashamed when girls see your arse and your cock and balls. There.”
 
The boys laughed. “All right, Catherine,” said Robert, “a good answer I suppose. But why are we having these spectacles, anyway? Did you really volunteer? ’Cause if you did you can’t start regretting it now. And—”
 
“I didn’t volunteer, for Christ’s sake!” burst out Catherine. “Mrs Grainger makes me do it. And I, I can’t stand it, it’s hell putting up with all the ogling and the leers, and, oh God, the hands!” She stopped and drew a ragged breath.
 
The other two looked at her with interest. “So you really are an innocent virgin, forced to bear all this indignity?” said Hugh. “I can see that it has to be hell for you, right enough. Still,” he shrugged, “from our point of view it’s bloody interesting and exciting. We don’t get much chance at inspecting a cunt at our leisure, after all. And,” he added with a leer, “your cunt is very pretty. Isn’t it, Robert?”
 
“Of course,” his friend replied. “As cunts go. But I do admit I haven’t really had a chance to see many either. So I thank old Daddy Bradley for arranging this.”
 
Just then a young boy of fourteen or so ran up to gasp “I say, I found this. It must be yours.” He held out her skirt, and with a cry of thanks Catherine swiftly donned it and hoped the catch would keep this time. The boy meanwhile gazed at what she revealed with a gleam in his eye, and Robert said “That’s all, Cuthbertson, thank you for saving the day. Now go and keep the image in your head till you get a chance to wank yourself silly tonight.” The boy coloured and ran off. “Well,” said Hugh, “maybe he did and maybe he didn’t. ‘Find’ it, I mean. But you’ve got it now, and you’re decent. All right, Mr Walters’ room is just along here.”
 
“Right, boys, leave her here,” said the teacher. “How did it go at the races?”
 
“Oh,” said Robert, “it was a great success. We’ll be doing it again next time she’s here.”
 
Catherine gritted her teeth and said nothing, but looked daggers at the boys as they left. The teacher looked her over and gave some instructions to a boy who left quickly. “All right, now, Catherine, I’ve sent young Jackson for that shawl you brought, to cover you in between times – we don’t want goose pimples, do we? Well, just wait till the rest of the class gets here, then you can undress.” She sank on to the bench and breathed deeply, trying to steel herself against the ordeal to come. “So, Catherine,” said Walters cheerfully, “are you ready for another session? It’ll be the same sort of thing as last time to begin with. I must say,” he went on, “you’re an excellent subject. Your breasts aren’t offensively large, I mean they don’t repel as many over-endowed females do. Personally, I mean! My ideal nude is quite modestly equipped, if you’ll forgive the pun!” He laughed, while she swallowed and nodded agreeably. “Yes, your genitals are very well formed, and easy of access. As I said before, the fact that your pubes are shaved clean make everything more visible, and the boys like that…. What’s the matter?” He looked at her flushed face.
 
“It’s just that …I’m not used to talking about, to hearing folk talk about, my … privates….”
 
He nodded. “I suppose. You’ll get used to it in time, I’m sure, since you’ll be back in the autumn, won’t you?” Her flush grew, and she nodded hopelessly. Jackson arrived within minutes, and Walters nodded at her. “Why don’t you undress completely now, and wrap that thing round you, then you can just discard it when we start? It’ll be some minutes yet.” She sighed and followed his suggestion. The half dozen boys who were already there stared at her wolfishly (she thought) and her blush came back. Snug in her wrap, she hugged herself and brooded, while Walters busied himself with his coloured illustration of the female physiology, and produced another which he draped over another easel, this time a large depiction of the female genitalia, which the boys sniggered at, and Catherine looked at with distaste.
 
Then the class came in, and for some reason the subdued behaviour was not in evidence, as though the meal had loosened their inhibitions. On the other hand, she wondered whether her exposure at the lunch had signalled open season on her, and she shivered a little. “All right, Catherine! Undress, and up here!” She dropped the shawl and strode bravely up to the dais and faced the boys, seemingly of twelve or so, and she wondered how they could be legally told all about sex, and shown a naked girl, and (oh God) expected to touch her. They all looked at her and grinned as if awarded a present, as indeed they were. She was sure none had been lucky enough to see a girl of her age absolutely naked, and their eyes were starting out of their heads. She looked discreetly at what she could see of their trousers, and was sure that they (all? certainly some) were straining their underpants with automatic erections.
 
Walters started his talk, simplifying his remarks to cater for their innocence, though he needn’t have bothered of course. None had been lucky enough, so far, but they surely were quite informed in a schoolyard sort of way about the various bits that girls hide, and were ready to be further educated. Then the teacher was showing them the breasts and the nipples, and directing their attention to her nude pubis. Again he carefully exhibited the outer and inner labia, the vagina, the urethra, the clitoris, pointing to his coloured picture, which showed these items from a different perspective. Then he got them to come up two at a time, and not singly, perhaps acknowledging that it halved the time and stress on the subject. Thus she lasted the whole period without becoming too excited – though it was a struggle. Walters dismissed the class early, for which she thanked her stars, and she wrapped herself in her shawl and sat down.
 
Then she looked at the teacher and asked “Sir, I think I should find your lavatory before the lesson starts.”
 
He looked at her with raised eyebrows and said only “Yes, good idea. You’ve got time today. It’s along to your left out there.” She hurried out and followed his directions to find a doorless room which was evidently the lavatory, with several cubicles and a urinal along one wall. She reasoned that there was no obvious necessity for a door in an all-boys school, but it was a bit anxious-making. Still, this was the place, so she entered and sat down in a cubicle. It wasn’t long before she started to pee, just as a number of boys came in and began to pee themselves at the urinal.
 
“Hey!” yelled one, “did you see that girl at High Table? Honest to God, she wasn’t wearing any knickers!”
 
“So what did you see, Micky?”
 
“I saw her cunt, really I did! I could look straight up her skirt, and she’d no knickers! And,” he crowed, “she was bare as a baby down there! No hair! I saw her twat plain as day!”
 
“So did I,” another chimed in, “and it wasn’t anything to talk about. Just a slit, we all know that. But—” He was interrupted by a fart that Catherine couldn’t prevent, and he stopped to say “Who’s in there? Tim, is that you? I wondered where you’d got to.” Another boy walked in and opened his fly. “Tim! You’re here! So who’s that?” He was answered by another fart from the hidden occupant, and the boys, for some reason curious and suspicious, crowded round the door of the cubicle.
 
Micky seized the door and shook it. “Who’s in there?”
 
“Why on earth do you want to know, you silly cunt?” asked another, evidently Tim himself, who was still pissing.
 
“I don’t know,” said Micky, “I just have to somehow.” He pulled roughly at the door and it suddenly gave and flew open and back to reveal a crimson girl – girl!— on the seat, shielding herself and looking hopelessly at a shawl on the floor. Catherine gave another fart, at which they all guffawed, and then she felt herself starting to shit. God, no, she thought, I can’t shit in front of them! And I had a shit with the enema! But it has to be the last of it, brought on by the fright. Her mind went back to the time Matthew saw her with the diarrhoea, but this was worse. He was polite, thoughtful, even though he was obviously aroused. These boys were also aroused, as their erections showed all too plainly; but they were not by any means gentlemen. They made comments about her, while she shut her eyes and just hoped they’d go away, but it was not to be of course.
 
They saw she’d finished and egged her on to wipe herself, then snatched up the shawl and stepped back. “No!” she shrieked, “please, give me that! It’s all I have to … to cover me! Please! I have to get to Mr Walters’ room—”
 
“Oh, of course! You’re the tart that’s showing herself off.”
 
“Didn’t I say I saw her showing her cunt in Hall? Well now she can show us a bit closer. Come out.”
 
She knew they’d keep at her till she did, so she stood up and shielded her breasts and cunny in the way she was gradually getting very used to, and stepped out. “Please, boys,” she said in a tremor, “please give it back.”
 
“Not until you show us what you’ve got. And why the hell are you so modest all of a sudden? You’re going to display your charms in Mr Walters’ class, aren’t you? Well, show us right here, and then you can go.” Her blush intensified as she dropped her hands to let them see her, and she looked at them with a hopeless expression. Their ages were around fourteen, she thought, and their eyes were round and admiring as they drank in her nudity. They stared at her for several minutes, then the ringleader threw the shawl at her and said roughly “All right, now you can fuck off.” Scarcely believing she was being let go so soon, she wrapped the shawl around her quivering body and dashed out the doorway, hurrying back to the room just as the bell rang. Mr Walters looked at her curiously but said nothing.
 
From her perch on the dais she looked out at the room and tried to be bold and unaffected by the libidinous stares of about thirty boys, some of whom she recognised from the art class, among them Ransome, who caught her eye and blushed, remembering again his anguished exposure at the punishment session. She managed to smile at him somehow, and he ducked his head and looked at his desk. The boys seemed to be all of her own age, and evidently relished ogling a naked contemporary, especially a pretty one like her; she saw grins on their faces, themselves flushed as they took her in, and their trousers restraining erections. Then the class was called to order and the embarrassing lecture began.
 
When Walters’ talk was finished came the time for them to come up to examine her, but instead of allowing her to be stroked into orgasm he called an interval halfway to her excitement and went on (it seemed) to digress. “This,” he said, holding up what looked like the skin of a sausage, “is a condom.” The class gave a shocked gasp. “Yes, boys, this is the shield that a man uses when copulating to ensure that no semen escapes into the woman’s body – unless of course they wish for an impregnation!” They were looking at it with some doubtful expressions, and the teacher said “Believe me, this does work, ninety-nine per cent of the time at least! But maybe a demonstration will suffice. I imagine Catherine might be interested too. Ransome!” The boy looked up. “Come out here, please.” In some wonderment he came to the front and looked at Catherine’s nudity with a blush. “Before you handle her, you lascivious boy, I’m asking you to strip.”
 
He looked incredulously at Walters, and his fellows hooted and slapped their desks in glee. He caught Catherine’s eye, and looked an appeal at Walters, who gestured to him to undress. Slowly he took off his blazer and trousers, his shirt and (reluctantly) his underpants, to show the class and the naked girl a penis beginning to stiffen. “Right, Ransome,” exclaimed Walters, “that’s what we’re after – an erection. Why don’t we see if Catherine can manage it? Here.” He handed the amazed girl the condom and told her to put it on. She looked at in bewilderment, and Walters said “Oh for heaven’s sake, girl, put the end over the head of his penis, the glans, then roll it down the shaft.”
 
She gulped and held out the device to fit over the head of the erection, but had some trouble, and she had to grip the shaft with one hand and push the condom down with the other, smoothing it over the head and down the warm shaft. Her blushes were exceeded by the boy’s, who had to stand and quiver while she moved her hands all over his erection. She expected him to come to orgasm, but while she could feel his member throb under her hands the boy seemed to control himself. His classmates, however, who seemed to hold him in derision, were enjoying every minute of the spectacle and being very vocal about it, and Walters told them to calm down.
 
“Turn round, Ransome, show the class.” As he did so, Catherine saw his pale behind bore the marks of a recent whipping, and she felt a gush of sympathy. “Now boys,” Walters continued, “see: the penis is enclosed in the membrane, which is designed to collect the semen in the end there,” he pointed, “so that it doesn’t enter the vagina. I don’t see why we shouldn’t demonstrate.” Catherine stared at him wildly and made desperate noises, but the teacher smiled and said “Relax, girl! I’m not going to let him actually copulate with you, per vaginam! He could, I’m sure, and he’d like to, I’m positive, but you are a virgin, I guarantee, and you’ll remain so – what they call,” he turned to the class, “virgo intacta, an untouched maiden. Her hymen is broken, but not from intercourse. Anyway, there are other ways of making love than vaginal penetration. Consider: all you need is an opening, or something like an opening, such as a fold of skin, for the penis to be inserted in, and that could include the thighs, the armpit, the mouth—” The class made retching noises, and he laughed. “Another,” he continued cheerfully, is per anum, by way of the anus. Turn round, Catherine.” She trembled as she obeyed. Surely he’s not going to let the boy fuck me in the bum! I know it’ll hurt!
 
“Tell me,” he said almost conversationally, “when did you last have a bowel movement?” She gasped and the class snickered. “I mean,” he translated, “did you shit today?”
 
They laughed outright, and she stuttered through her blushes, “Ju-just this m-morning. Half an hour ago,” she corrected herself.
 
“That’s all right then. No impediment,” he grinned to himself, “straight up. All right, bend down.” She shut her eyes and obeyed, and he put his hand on the cheeks of her behind, parting them to reveal her anus. “This is the anus,” he said didactically, “which you probably call her arsehole.” The boys laughed loudly. “Now you can use this to make love to your girl, and no conception can ensue, for obvious reasons. However, the rectum isn’t the natural orifice for a penis to enter, and will resist at first. Hence it really should be well lubricated first. While I’m at it, I should advise you to lubricate the vagina also. It’s kinder to the girl. Well, Ransome, you can show us, I think. Here’s some petroleum jelly. I want you to lubricate her arsehole, making entry easier. Don’t be shy. Poke your fingers in, spread the jelly.”
 
The blushing boy did as he was told and inserted a finger into her slick rectum, pushing in and out, and she remembered young Crowther bringing her to orgasm. She kept a tight rein on her feelings, but it was difficult, and when she was turned round again to look directly at Ransome she saw his own face was crimson, and his penis was even stiffer, if possible. “Catherine,” said Walters, “smooth the condom again. It has to be totally in place.” With a sympathetic glance at the boy, she put her hands to his erection to make sure the material was skin tight, and he whimpered and said “God, please—”
 
“Silence, boy! The condom has to be in place correctly, otherwise it’s useless. Now, let’s just imagine how things go. Turn sideways, so that all may see what’s happening. Grasp her by the waist. Catherine, bend down. Right. Put your penis at her hole, and show your chaps here how it can be done. See, boys – he nudges the head at her anus, pushes – yes – pushes gently – hold still, girl. Relax your sphincter. He pushes inside – let it go in an inch or so – that’s right. In and out –”
 
 Ransome was panting now, as was she, and she knew she’d soon reach that crest. The class meanwhile were agog at this demonstration, and calling out encouragement. “Go on, Shitless! Go on! Push, push!” The boy seemed to be blinking back tears as he heard the catcalls of his fellows, but his hands tightened on her body, and he thrust deeper into her bowel, going faster as he approached ecstasy, then he was mouthing “Catherine, Catherine! Oh God!” – as he reached his own orgasm. Walters however pulled him back and turned him towards the class, who looked interestedly as he spasmed into ejaculation, his semen collecting at the end of the condom. Then he stood there panting in the aftermath, and the boys broke into applause.
 
 “Well done, Ransome!” said Walters. “You’ll know what you’re doing when it comes to the real thing. As will you, Catherine! Now note, boys, that the use of a condom will ensure no semen escapes. Take it off, boy! It can then be discarded. Put it in the sink over there. It can of course be washed and used again, but I wouldn’t recommend it. Now its use is perhaps superfluous, unnecessary, if you’re using the arsehole,” he said patting her there (at which she quivered and blushed anew), “since if semen gets into the rectum there’ll be no consequences. But there’s another good reason for donning one of these, and I admit it’s the only official one, and that’s to prevent disease. I’ll be going over such things next time, but for now just accept that using a condom stops the transmission of several gruesome ailments that can actually kill you. You’ve heard of the German composer Franz Schubert? Well, he died at thirty-one from venereal disease. Right, Ransome, get dressed. Who was next to examine? Ah, Lockhart, right, come forward.”
 
The intimate examination continued, and again Catherine found herself building to climax. She had almost come when Ransome was sodomising her, and now she was being brought to orgasm again. As the last boy pushed his fingers into her, she stopped trying to control herself and realised she wanted to go over the top, but he stopped just before she got there.
 
She gave a silent scream of frustration, and clenched her fists, just as Walters said “That’s all, isn’t it?” “Oh no, sir,” a boy yelled, “poor Hansom, er, Ransome hasn’t had a chance to feel her up!” Walters laughed. “Of course. Sorry, Ransome. Come up here.” The boy stood in front of Catherine and looked at her, his blush returning, and put tentative fingers to her tingling breasts, which immediately gained hard nipples, which he stroked with curious attention. Then to her shaven pubis, and a tender caress of her slit, then a shy insertion of a finger. He was very gentle in his discovery of her secret parts, and rubbed the clitoris with a look of wonder on his face, then looked her in the eyes as he pursued it and she held his gaze as she blushed all over and came.
 
She spasmed and spasmed, seemingly for several minutes, and the boys stared in shocked amusement, Ransome looking at her with something like adoration, and he pulled out his fingers to stand transfixed. Then the bell rang, and Walters left the room. The boys followed him, giving saucy looks to the red-faced model, and last out was Ransome. He looked at her shamefaced and said “Catherine, I’m sorry we had to do that. But let me tell you, you’re a beautiful girl. I loved drawing you last time. Listen, can I kiss you?” She looked at him in some wonder, then broke into a smile. “Yes, Ransome. Hey, what’s your first name?” “It’s Nicholas” he said, stepping up to her and putting out his hands timidly to hold her bare shoulders. He looked into her eyes as their mouths met, then closed his eyes in what seemed bliss. He’d never lost his blush, and she put her hand up and stroked his cheek. “Nicholas!” she said, “you’re a fine dear boy. That was a rather strange way to be introduced,” and she smiled ruefully, “but I’m glad it was you.” He blushed a bit more and went out. She picked up her wrap and put it round her, idly wondering about the gymnastics Mr Bradley had mentioned. Then Walters came in, followed by another class of randy teenagers, and she sighed and put down the shawl.
 
The next hour passed in the usual fashion, except that the condom was introduced . This time the boy was a tall youth with freckles, who annoyed Walters by being very slow in gaining an erection. He was told to masturbate himself to stiffness, at least, but finally the teacher impatiently said to Catherine “It’s up to you, girl. Stroke him till he’s up.” Catherine swallowed and put her hands to his flaccid organ. She rubbed the shaft till it gained a measure of tumescence, then went on faster till he suddenly perked up into a full erection. He meanwhile was blushing and making protesting noises, and gave a little squeal when she pulled the condom over the penis. The boy, named Helston, was a lot more eager to assault her than Nicholas had been, and started to push into her rectum with a lewd grin, but jerked back, and Walters swore with aggravation as he saw the boy ejaculating prematurely, which intrigued the audience but was evidently very unsatisfactory. Walters decided there was no time to get another specimen, so in something of a huff he dismissed the class early. As they straggled out, she summoned up her courage to ask “Please, Mr Walters, how … how could you ask him, them, to do that?” He looked at her with a “don’t be ridiculous” expression. “Would you rather he fucked you in the vagina?” he asked crudely. “The arse is always safer, as long as one’s careful.” She grimaced and tears came to her eyes. “Yes, yes!” she said, “but why let me be fucked at all?” His face lost all expression and he said brusquely “Get dressed. You’re due at the gym.”
 
Hugh and Robert turned up to escort her to the gymnasium, which was packed with boys, who gave a roar of welcome when she appeared. She quailed as she realised that they were on the lookout for another chance of her exposure, but she had to continue on to where a couple more seniors stood in the middle of the floor. She looked up to see the rings where the naked boys had performed that time, and a hot flush came to her cheeks as she saw what might be in store. One of the boys removed her wrap, and the audience buzzed at the sight of her bare legs and microscopic skirt, which invited a randy imagination to roam. Then she shrieked as the two of them lifted her up and told her to grasp the rings. She did so without thinking, then they released her and she was suspended in front of them all, her skirt trying to reveal her cunny and her bum, and the boys yelled in glee.
 
“Go! Go!” they shouted and she didn’t know what to do. She refused to perform tricks for them – and she knew if she turned up and over on the rings she’s surely show her privates – and looked down at the two boys, who were gazing straight up her skirt with salacious grins. With a muttered “Shit!” she let go of the rings and fell to the floor, bracing herself against the shock, but was caught by the boys, their hands grabbing her bared thighs as her skirt went up. They rapidly removed her shoes and socks, then carried her over to the balance beam, a thin stretch of polished wood just wide enough for a naked foot. “Here, Catherine,” they instructed her, “you’re to walk along this, balancing nicely, and back. What could be simpler?” She stared them in the face. “And if I don’t, what then?” – though as soon as she said it she knew with a sickening feeling what the answer would be. She clambered up onto the beam, and performed the easy walk without trouble. Then “We’ll catch you, don’t worry! Let yourself go!” She did that, and she was caught in their arms. “Again!” They hoisted her up, and she wondered how much skin she had showed – why was it so attractive? But then she felt a hand at the catch of her skirt, and she was suddenly naked from the waist.
 
She covered herself, giving a scream that was lost in the bedlam from the packed audience. Her escorts yelled at her “Go! Walk!” and she had no recourse – she had to put her hands out to the sides to balance, and so could not hide her pubis. Her mind went back to the shameful exhibition of naked boys, and she told herself this was a retribution of sorts. She walked slowly along the beam and back, then as before allowed herself to fall into the eager arms of the boys. Surely that was that? But they put her through it several times before they took her to the wall bars and casually stripped off her skimpy camisole. She tried to cover her breasts, but they lifted her up and she had to take hold of the bars lest she fall. She was facing the wall of course, merely displaying her delightful bum to the raucous mob, but she knew she couldn’t stay there till help arrived – if it ever did, or was supposed to. This exhibition had been planned by the boys, with the tacit consent of a sadistic lecher, and she was trapped. There would be no let up. She was exposed to a multitude of bawdy teenagers, and would have to submit. Mrs G had known all about it and sent her into this anguish, knowing she would endure it for Matthew’s sake, let alone her own. Then she felt a blow on her behind. One of the nice young boys had slapped her, and he struck again, yelling above the crowd noise “Climb! Climb up the bars!” She gulped and did as she was bid.
 
She climbed as far as she could go, till she was about fifteen feet above the floor. Then a boy shouted “Turn!” and she swung herself over to hang facing the crowd, who were beside themselves at feasting their eyes on her breasts, elevated due to her position, and her quivering cunny. The boys fetched a mat and told her to raise her legs and jump down. She accomplished this easily enough, and the crowd applauded, relishing the suppleness of those bare limbs. She was made to repeat a couple of times, and by now she was sweating. Next she was invited to do a headstand, which was also easy enough, but she was told by a grinning teenager to separate her legs, so she was spreading her limbs to show her open cunny quite plainly, and the boys liked it so much that they made her repeat the movement several times close to the clamouring audience. She was getting tired by this time, and she begged the boys to stop, but they said they had one more thing for the audience – a lottery. She frowned in bewilderment, and they said she’d soon get it, oh yes.
 
Robert turned to his peers and held up his hands for quiet. “Purely at random,” he cried, “a dozen tickets have been handed out as you came in. Will the lucky boys please stand?” Twelve curious boys gradually got up. “Come down here, please, and get your prize.” They gathered round him, standing close to the nude girl, eying her lewdly. “What’s the prize?” asked one. Robert threw out a hand to Catherine. “She is.” The place burst into noise, and the girl put her head in her hands. “You can do anything within reason,” said Robert, “except fuck her. That’s off limits,” and stood back to enjoy the sight of a mass groping session. The lucky boys felt her breasts and tickled the erect nipples, pushed hands over her firm buttocks, and were so bold as to finger her bumhole, then even to enter it, and to smooth a palm over her smooth mount of Venus, to insert impertinent fingers into her vulva, and thrill her clitoris. Naturally the body couldn’t take this, and she came with a great cry, at which the audience went wild. Then she was left alone in the middle of the room, and the prefects ushered the glutted audience out. Robert and Hugh brought her clothes and stood by while she made herself decent.
 
“My, but that was something to see!” said Hugh. “The boys’ll be talking about this all through the holidays!” “Yes,” said Hugh, “and I understand from the Head that it’ll be repeated! You’re going to be the talk of the school, Catherine! Every month you’ll be here, posing, doing your sexual education, and maybe giving the boys an extra bonus….” “Stop it!” she shrieked, “I can’t stand it! I’ll not be able—” “Of course you will,” said Robert. “You’ll get used to it in time, boys’ fingers on your tits, in your arsehole and your cunt. I’m not so sure about us, though. We never get enough of it. And we won’t be here next term….” So saying, he grabbed her and pushed his own fingers into her tender vagina. She squealed and pulled away, but Hugh caught her and held her while his friend completed his exploration, then it was his turn, and he took more care, teasing her clitoris till all of a sudden she had another orgasm. She sat on the floor and finally shed the tears she’d been keeping back. How much more can I take? she thought. Next August, September, October – oh God!  
 
She dried her tears on the shawl and was escorted back to the Head’s office. He beamed at her, thanking her for her participation, and extended a heartfelt invitation to return in the autumn. She swallowed tiredly and nodded, and was taken out to the car. She tottered in without a word and promptly fell asleep, to be wakened by the driver, who looked at her caringly and said “Are you all right, miss? Can I do anything?” She smiled sadly and said “No, Mr Rawlins, it’s all right. I’m just tired. Goodnight.” He saluted and drove off, leaving her to pull herself upstairs, step out of her skimpy clothes, and fall into bed. It was very early, but she couldn’t keep her eyes open, and in spite of a parade of shame-making pictures in her mind she was soon in a profound slumber.
 
================================================================
 
For Matthew the day passed in a weary succession of fetchings and carryings, and he lay down in the afternoon to catch a quick nap, taking off his clothes first and giving himself a hasty wash to remove the sweat of his labours. He half expected to be interrupted at his ablutions, but everyone seemed otherwise busy. It must have been an hour later when he was shaken by a naked shoulder and told by a grinning Amanda that he’d better get up if he wanted tea. He sat up and gave a little yelp to see the sheets at the foot of the bed and his nakedness spread out for the ribald girl to see. “Oh Matthew,” she said, “when will you stop showing yourself like that?”
 
Quickly he covered himself and clenched his teeth. “All right,” he said, “you’ve had your fun. Again. Now fuck off and let me get dressed.”
 
“Oh, you rude thing!” she cried in mock outrage, “I’ll go. But I’ll see you tonight.” What on earth did she mean, he wondered, but soon dismissed it from his mind. At tea, which was a satisfying meal with sausages and scrambled eggs, he saw the girls eyeing him in amusement. It wasn’t till he was finished that he finally put two and two together and made a dreadful four. He was going to be dancing.
 
He trembled as he got up, and looked at them. They looked back, and Jennie laughed outright at his expression. “Don’t look like that, Matthew!” she cried, “you won’t be alone exactly. The girls in Miss Ford’s class have got a nice dance sequence worked out, with you in the middle, it seems. They’ll tell you all about it when we go over there. Are we all ready? Let’s go!”
 
Enid welcomed him with a salacious grin and told him he’d wear a special costume for his performance, and he was puzzled as he saw what it consisted of – seemingly several smallish sheets, and he knew he would be stripped of them in front of the entire school. Schools! He remembered the presence of a whole host of visitors from the other place, most of whom hadn’t had the erotic pleasure of seeing his nudity yet. He gritted his teeth and undressed slowly, looking anxiously at the door. He heard the chatter and giggles from the room next door, and imagined the girls talking about his nakedness and what was to happen. He’d just got down to his underpants when the door was thrust open and half a dozen girls came in to cheerfully tell him they were to help him get dressed. “We’re on in twenty minutes, Matthew! Where’s your costume?” Two of them grabbed his pants and pulled them down, and he tried to cover himself, but another two had picked up one of the sheets and quickly wrapped it round him. Several others were applied to his body, and then he was carted out to the wings. The performance on stage came to an end, and he was carried on and positioned behind an ornate screen. Music started, the curtains opened, and the dancers entered to flit about the stage. After a few minutes the music changed and the girls removed the screen to reveal him swathed in cotton. The audience gave a roar of approval, and continued to express its delight as the team moved about him and removed the veils one by one, till he stood there as naked as he was born.
 
The music changed again, and he knew he was supposed to dance solo. He drew a deep breath and started, with no particular plan in mind. He’d been told he was a natural dancer, and somehow he felt that might well be true, for his feet adapted to the rhythms of the music and his body interpreted the melody and the style. He had gained an erection at the start, which had earned a chorus of “Oohs!” from the audience, and it maintained itself pretty much throughout the dance, merely subsiding to a swollen excitement every so often and eliciting cries of encouragement from the enthralled audience. Then the music stopped, and the girls out there broke into wild applause. Those on stage surrounded him and the music started again – a brisk piece with an insistent beat. He looked around at the laughing crowd and squealed as they seized him and carried him forward to the very front of the stage, putting hands to his arse and pushing out his pelvis, presenting his erection to the audience, who continued to clap as he was fondled by the team till he came in a mighty rush of orgasm, and he was given a cheering standing ovation.
 


 


   
(End of File)