Mrs Grainger's Gift 28

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

XXVIII

Sunday 9th August (continued)

“Now!” The cheerful director smiled and rubbed his hands. “Perhaps we can have another washing scene. People never tire of such revealing moments. And this time perhaps we should endeavour to deliberately hide the attractive areas of the nude, and I mean,” he said with a knowing look at his fellow voyeurs, “the backside, the breasts, and that beautiful fica.” They laughed at the obscenity. “No,” he continued, this time looking at Catherine, “I don’t mean we will cheat the anxious viewer, he will see what he wants, but not immediately. It is a truism that a half-shielded, or merely suggested, naked person is likely to be more arousing – a lot of the time – than the full naked nudity, if you follow my meaning.”

“Yes, sir,” said Amadeo, “and so you intend to have Gloriana nearly revealed, but not quite? A shot of her front, her trunk, with a hint of her delightful breasts, just the very bottom of their curves, and then the belly, allowing the eye to travel down to just the veriest tip of her slit, without actually showing anything.”

“Ha! Yes, father,” said Marco with an enthusiastic smile. “And remember that that very shot, as just a still, a separate photograph, would have its own followers, and its own sale.”

“Exactly so. And with a wash, you see how the hand that holds the wash cloth can hide the vulva very easily as it brushes back and forth, and obviously will bring new blushes to the face – the next shot – and an obvious excitement in the bather. Yes, Catherine,” he said with a smirk, “it’s a very titillating scene. And remember the hands themselves, that are going to smear the lather over the body, so covering the breasts and hiding them from the lecherous eyes of the viewers. So we’ll set it up out here I think while the sun is with us. Piero, fetch the bath, you know the one. Fabrizio, Angelo, get started on bringing water – warm water, I mean, the bath will be here by the time you return. Get Speranza to help. Now, Marco and Amadeo, you will have the pleasure of bathing the beauty.”

Catherine saw with a sigh the libidinous sparkle in the boys’ eyes as they fell to discussing how the scene was to be managed. Evidently the shooting would be quite prolonged, and parts would be stitched together later, to make several films, it seemed. And certainly those partial shots of her belly (oh God!) and bum too, she was sure, would be separated out to be printed as artistic postcards for sale in the back streets of … where? Lisbon? Hamburg? Or even New York. God help her.

As it turned out, she was bathed four separate times, the camera catching many different angles of that attractive nubile body. The last time was rather different in that the boys were naked, stripping before her to show off their phallic proportions, then seizing her naked limbs to twine with theirs as they smoothed the lather over her smooth skin.

She had wondered in a guilty way about the bodies of the boys, especially that of Amadeo, and the first sight of their endowments was a thrill, she had to admit. Marco was a good deal more mature in that his penis was bigger and swung like a weapon between his thighs, while Amadeo, as she’d guessed (and hoped!) was more reasonable somehow, and seemed to be only three inches long at rest. But then they both grew their pricks longer as they grappled with her nudity, and there they were about equal. Catherine had to admire their organs as they stuck out from their bodies, and managed to (accidentally of course) find her hands touching them. Marco was rather nonchalant about that, but Amadeo looked her in the eye with an amused cheekiness and muttered “Yes, Catherine, go ahead!”, which increased her blush. By this time her whole body had to be one crimson humiliation, and the situation was not helped by the presence and audible comments of the others standing by. Finally of course Morelli had all three of them in a sexual tangle, their cocks and cunt all flagrantly displayed for the titillation of the European viewers, and the boys erupted in showy orgasm while she shuddered in her own sexual euphoria. Morelli was ecstatic.

“O Dio! Magnifico! Splendido! Ah, Gloriana, that is the best one yet! This will certainly seal your position as a truly delightful erotic actress, and I foresee a great outcry of enthusiasm for more, more, more! There will be, believe me, there will be loud (but discreet) calls asking when the next wonderfully revealing film featuring this new young desirable woman – no, girl, she is just a girl as yet – when (they will ask excitedly) when will we see another erotic adventure? Ah, Gloriana! I tell you seriously, you already outshine some of the greatest sirens, vamps, and models of the past. I don’t suppose you’ll have heard of them, just believe me, and believe my boys here, who have been talking about you a very great deal. You are not only beautiful, you are gifted. And indeed being able to record for a grateful posterity those fine limbs, those beckoning breasts, that grazioso culo, the fine arse that asks to be patted and stroked – and spanked, haha! as well! – that bella fica – the beautiful cunt that seems to smile as it invites the eyes – all that is a gift in itself for which I thank – and the boys thank – Signora Grainger. Here, boys, open that other bottle and we will toast our Gloriana and the lady who has made this possible.”

The boys, who had by now donned dressing gowns and looked quite proper, broke into smiles, and joined Morelli in drinking the healths, then offered a large glass to the nude artiste, who drank it down in a mixture of pride and disbelief. The three young men who had set up the scene cleared all away, keeping their eyes on the nude Gloriana, and presented themselves again as willing to participate in any way for this important endeavour.

“Certainly, boys! Here, you see those tunics and chlamydes over there. Well, when we have another source of water we’ll have you clad in ancient Greek mode pouring water over our Gloriana, her head, her back, et cetera, dry her, and apply oil.” They grinned and looked at each other in anticipation of more bawdy frolics. In the end Catherine was attended to by eight bathers, including Amadeo and Marco, naturally, who looked quite authentic in their robes, which didn’t do too much to hide their bodies, and extremely little to hide their erections. Water was poured over her head, over her back, her bare legs, her bare bum, her very bare cunny, and the camera focussed on the drops clinging to that delightfully bare skin. Then she was all so carefully dried, the lens this time following the cloths, all eight of them, as they alternately covered and uncovered, hid and revealed, her skin, with its young tan, its folds and curves and crevices. Then the oil; smeared gently and thrillingly over, all over, that nubile masterpiece, her entire body – all of the boys, all of their hands, sixteen of them, passing with gloating and lascivious intent over every square inch. The camera followed the hands, and cut from time to time to close-ups of her face as she was becoming aroused, till finally she was brought to climax, and she closed her eyes and screamed – silently – her ecstatic transport. The last shot was of her glistening figure posing in the sunlight, watching the boys depart, smiling to herself and conscious of her sexuality.

Morelli had taken several shots of the whole thing, to edit afterwards, and told the star that this could naturally be but a prelude to another erotic episode. He then took some shots of Amadeo (and others) hidden behind an olive tree, as peeping voyeurs, who could frig themselves as they watched her, all to be combined and edited, presumably into some full-length titillation.

After an interval for the obligatory glass of wine and a calming cigarette, Morelli looked at the girl thoughtfully. and his eyebrows went up as an idea occurred to him.

“Gloriana! I want you to tell me if you feel the need to go to the toilet.”

“What? Oh God, you want … “

“Yes, you have guessed it. I want to film you doing your caca, so you will have to let me know in good time.” He turned to Marco and Amadeo, who were getting dressed again.

“Making a film of a shit is titillating enough, but more so when she is spied upon. Also she can be deliberately viewed up close by lascivious youths as she drops her turds, that is, she knows she is being watched – and then they are right beside her encouraging her in her efforts to stool….”

Catherine shivered. What more could he devise?

Amadeo laughed. “Oho! That will be amusing. Mind you, Signor Luigi, I see a difficulty maybe in ensuring that her actions are visible to all – if she’s on a lavatory seat, most of her, most of the actual process, is unseen. We don’t see the turds, we don’t necessarily understand what she’s doing. Maybe she has to be set against some support for the buttocks which is open enough to see her arse and her shitting. Like a fence, for instance – she can put her arms along the top and lean back, sticking her arse out a little, to allow the shit to leave her cleanly. She’ll either be nude to do this, or she can arrange her clothes suitably.”

“Yes!” chimed in Marco. “Another set-up could be a balcony or balustrade on a veranda – during a ball, per esempio, she has to shit so retreats and shits over the balustrade, but a boy pursues her to engage in conversation, while she is actually shitting in front of him. The camera angles would need careful adjustment of course. But obviously the scene, like all of these things, can be shot several times from various angles and pieced together later. Another shot that has to be carefully arranged (through glass, I suppose) is that of her arse, seen through a toilet seat, as she shits. Or just al fresco as before, but we don’t want to spoil the camera!”

“A variation on that,” said Amadeo, “is where she is urgently in need of a shit and there is no toilet near, so she hurriedly lowers her drawers and sits on an ornamental urn in the corner of the room, using it as a chamber pot, concealing her action with her voluminous gown and petticoat. The viewer will know what she’s doing, but the boy who comes up to her and talks to her, maybe asking her for a dance, he has no idea, while she is practically overcome with shame to be talking to him and shitting, with the possibility of him hearing a fart, or noticing the smell.”

“Which he will do, I hope, at some point, and she is publicly shamed. Yes,” said Morelli, “there are several interesting possibilities. We will however have to … ration ourselves. We can’t expect Gloriana to be able to shit to order! Maybe this morning and afternoon, tomorrow morning? We’ll see.”

“But you can always administer some laxative, no?” suggested Amadeo helpfully. Catherine sighed in hopelessness. She would be shitting in public, in front of those randy boys, in front of the servants, the daughters, everyone! Several times, for God’s sake!

She began to tremble. And the day was hardly begun!

“Ah, but what’s the time? Hmm, perhaps a little lunch now. Then a rest, and then we will get on with the next episode of our chronicle. Let’s go in.”

She was awakened from a troubled sleep by the sheets that covered her bare limbs being pulled gently off by a grinning Amadeo, who stared at her hungrily, or so it seemed to the sensitive girl, who didn’t bother to try to hide herself. What was the use? And oh God, didn’t she get a little frisson of a thrill as she showed her breasts and her vulva to the salacious eyes of a boy little older than she? A boy she had admired dressed, a boy she had admired naked, fascinated by his prick at rest and up in majestic erection. A boy she had wanted – no, for goodness’ sake! Yes, yes, a boy she had wanted to embrace her own nudity – and he had – and what else would he do?

“Get up, Catherine! We will recommence our labours. But they aren’t labours really, for us at least. We are enjoying the sight of your body, we are admiring your performance, we are very pleased and proud too to know that we are capturing your beauty for the world to see, for men – and women too – to savour, to desire! Here is a dressing gown to wear. Do you want to wash! Or use the lavatory?”

Oh God there it was. She examined her inward feelings and shook her head. Then she thought that might be a mistake, she was only putting off the inevitable, for she would need a pee and a shit at some point, wouldn’t she? She hesitated too long, though, and Amadeo took her hand to lead her to the studio, where she was arrayed in a variety of costumes, mostly rather revealing, and a succession of poses, some alluring, some coy, some outraged, some horridly embarrassed. The boys mostly helped her in and out of her clothes, not disguising their bawdy pleasure at the task, and sometimes acted as companions in the photographs, either as smart gentlemen with a doxy on the arm, or a saucy voyeur peeping over a transom at a girl undressing (or totally nude), she being by turns indignant, horrified, blushing in utter mortification, and perkily blatant in her acceptance of the situation. But her real feelings she put on hold, trying to act as well as she could, stifling her awkwardness until she was told to act as if she were ashamed, and then oh God she didn’t need to act; it all came rushing back, her exposure to the lechery of all those young men, and the blush she knew covered most of her bare body.

* * *

At the front gate the girls surrounded Matthew to bid him goodbye in their own fashion, which involved kissing, of course, and mighty kisses they were too, pressing lips on lips and tickling with the tongue, all the while moaning in distress at this parting of the ways, realising that they’d never embrace him again. He held them willingly in his arms and tried not to react too strongly to the hands of the rude females who wanted one last caress of his bum, or a cheeky fingering of his crotch.

Then it was truly farewell, and he strode off down the rocky apology for a footpath, down to the start of the trees, and the castle was lost to view. He began to whistle a tune, strangely (or maybe not to strangely) relieved to be away finally from that very queer establishment.

After five or six minutes he was under the cover of the trees, and recognising (he thought) the bush he had tried to hide behind that morning doing his Number Two, and he smiled with a shiver at the memory. It was all behind him now. Though God knew what he’d tell Mrs G, who’d certainly want to know how the visit went. Cross that bridge when we come to it, he thought. Sufficient—

His thoughts were interrupted by catching sight of the servant boys Aimeric and Denys, who were sitting by the road looking bored, but brightened up at seeing him approach.

“Allo!” cried Denys. “We ’ave been waiting for you. May we walk with you for a little while?”

He couldn’t very well object, though he remembered the conversation with Bertin and flushed charmingly. They rose and walked on either side, making small conversation in two languages about the scenery, for some time, and then stopped. They were well under the trees, and gestured him away farther into the greenery. He went, rather puzzled, without much thought, and stopped in shock at the idea that struck him. Denys turned to him and smiled.

“Oh, Mathieu!” he breathed, “please allow us to take farewell of you in a worshipping way. You are one of the most beautiful boys we have ever seen. We have been thinking about you ever since we saw you, and certainly ever since maître Bertin let us make sex with you.”

He stared at them dumbly.

“But yes,” murmured Aimeric shyly, “we have both longed for you. Please, Mathieu, please let us love you. Love you properly, before we say adieu.”

He looked down at the ground and trembled, conscious of his rebel prick telling him of its existence, and its desires, and its hopes.

What did Bertin say? he thought, not to be ashamed of enjoying sex, this kind of – worship, did he say? Oh God, do I really have that effect on them?

He raised his eyes to meet theirs, gazing from one to the other and licking his lips.

“Boys … Aimeric, Denys, I … I’m flattered that you want to … make love to me. I admit that I -think you are beautiful too. You are,” he added, as he saw them flush at the compliment. “And I … I admit too that I … oh God, I admit I’ve been thinking about you and what you did and what it would be like again, and Christ I do want to do it! There, I admit it, as I did to Bertin, the old bastard! He told me you wanted me! I was afraid but … I still …want it….”

He dropped his eyes again. And drew a deep breath when Aimeric stepped towards him and put his fingers to the buttons on his shirt. Then he looked into the older boy’s eyes with an attempt at calm and allowed him to remove the shirt, without speaking more.

Denys was regarding him with steadfast eyes that roamed over his torso with a quiet sort of tension, that flickered in emotion as Aimeric grasped Matthew’s bare shoulders as if to reassure him everything was all right. Next, the trousers, unbuttoned and freed from the waist, at which Denys stepped forward, and the pair of them pulled the garment down to the knees. Matthew’s underpants were loose to begin with, and followed the trousers quickly. He stood thus in a rather ridiculous stance, looking at them in a shamefaced sort of way, as they merely gazed at his loins with serious faces, Then swiftly his sandals and socks were off, and his trousers and pants, and he stood totally naked before them, to feel like flaunting himself to their bright eyes.

It was Denys’s turn to put his hands to the shoulders and draw his hands down the arms to the thighs, then down those fine bare legs to the dainty feet. Aimeric came round to his back to trace his spine, then the rounds of his arse, then the thighs. He gave a sort of a groaning exclamation then as if to say he couldn’t bear it any longer and clasped the young boy’s body round the chest, while simultaneously Denys raised his hands between their bodies to stroke the gluteal muscles, and induce a tremor in the boy’s loins and in his breast. His breathing grew short, and he felt his heart rate increase in a so far mild excitement.

Then the older pair simultaneously broke from him and began shedding their own clothes. Again Matthew had to admire their beautiful bodies, and he had to tell them so once more. “Ai-ai-Aimeric,” he stammered, “D-Denys, you know that you are beautiful, I needn’t tell you. And I’m glad you find me nice-looking too. I—”

“ Nice-looking!” Aimeric stared at him. “No. Mathieu, that is not sufficient. You are not only ‘nice-looking’. You are … oh, mon Dieu, mon bel, tu es … I cannot express it. Nor, je t’assure, can poor Denys ’ere.”

Denys leaped to second the encomium. “I do not think there is an English expression for it, your … loveliness, no, your fine perfection. Ah, Mathieu, it is as Aimeric says.   The … extent, the quantity, of your beauty, is impossible to express in our bald languages. Look, my friend, la belle langue française is the ideal language for this sort of thing, expressing love, extolling beauty. And I am – we are not bad at our language, in style or vocabulary. But ’ere words fail us. We’re agreed it seems that we cannot tell you ’ow utterly attractive we find you, ’ow we are speechless in our admiration.”

“But let that be,” said Aimeric, putting a tender hand to Matthew’s burning cheek, “and let us say what we can with our ’ands and our lips and our limbs. Come, lie down on the soft ground and let us kiss you.”

He knelt before them, then lay back on the grass and looked up at his worshippers. “Yes,” he said, “show me.”

* * *

She looked up to see Morelli gesturing to Domenico, who had an armful of coloured shawls, saying” Come now, let us make another film – we did the Dance of Salome before, my Gloriana, but this time we can ensure that it is even more sensuous, more exciting, and as for music, I have instructed Gabriela and Violetta, they are just sixteen, but very talented girls, so I’ve instructed them to perform an oriental medley. See, Gabriela plays the mandolin, and Violetta the flute. They will play constantly till the seven veils are dropped. It was rather unsatisfactory to use that record. So, you remember how it was last time. All right, I will direct you from here, while Marco operates the camera. First we must dress you in your veils. Amadeo, I’m sure you will be pleased to dress our star, yes?” The teenager nodded with lecherous enthusiasm.

“You others, there are costumes over here for you. The houri is going to dance for the pleasure of a crowd of Arab merchants, who will applaud and throw money – there’s a pot of it over there. Just a handful of coins each will do. Yes? Tutto bene. Preparati.”

As it happened Catherine had to do her unveiling three times, allowing the camera to be shifted for other views, so that she was rather tired by the time she posed in utter nudity, the camera focussing on her open vulva, for the last time and the crowd of servants threw their money (sous, of course) with appreciation.

“Fine!” cried Morelli. “Now, how long do we have the sun for?”

“I’m sure we have about three hours or so, at least,” said Marco. “Time for a full half dozen pictures, yes?”

Amadeo, with a wide grin, suggested that they might try the idea of their beautiful star shitting herself or just defecating in a vaso da notte. Catherine hid her face in her hands at the chorus of approval that greeted this suggestion, and didn’t see the gleeful look on Fabrizio’s face when told to fetch the laxatives. He came back with six, he proudly stated, and asked his indulgent master if he might have the honour and pleasure of administering one himself, which puzzled the girl till she realised with a tremble and a flush that the laxative was in the form of a suppository, and the lascivious young man would be able (would be required) to insert it into her rectum. It’ll be the same as that awful time at Fauré’s, won’t it? But oh God Morelli is going to film it, isn’t he?

Of course he was. But this was only a prelude (a separate bawdy vignette) to the main feature, which was a thrilling episode in what Morelli said could turn out to be a long erotic series, rather like “The Perils of Pauline”, only with the interesting points in the story “not various dangerous experiences of the unfortunate heroine, but bawdy ones, where she is stripped in public, where she is caught pissing in a fountain, say, or (as here) shitting herself in a public place. No-one has tried this before, as far as I know,” said Morelli smugly. “This will make me more famous, I am sure. This will have the following of such long and exciting series as “Judex”, you know that? Anyway, the idea is, as we said before, that the camera catches you lifting your skirts to allow the defecation, and perching on the balustrade to do this, and your inamorato pursues you to ask for a dance. The previous scene can be shot later, easily enough. And the witnessing of the event, by a boy on the ground, can be done also.”

“And papa,” joined in Marco, “we have the cleaning of her arse too?”

“But naturally,” said his father simply. “The whole will be very arousing I think. Well? Here we go.”

The first adventure took a half hour to put together, with improvisations and inspired modifications by the eager actors, leaving Catherine with a permanent (surely) blush. By this time her secret parts were very familiar to the whole company, who nonetheless seemingly couldn’t get enough of her, and welcomed each display with grins and satisfied sighs. And then she somehow managed to lose her clothes when dancing on stage; and then in the middle of the dance floor; and then….

And suddenly it was supper time, and bed time, and she was filmed at her night’s toilet, having been prepared by an enthralled Domenico with yet another suppository, undressing, washing, pissing, shitting, donning a nightgown, and into bed with a peaceful smile on her face. Morelli kissed her and thanked her for her co-operation (Hah! Could she refuse?), and the boys did the same, Amadeo in particular being assiduous in making her comfortable. He of course had seen her attraction to him, and resolved to take more advantage of it the next day. Sleep claimed her exhausted body, and she hardly had time to wonder how Matthew had spent the day before her drowsy eyes were fast shut and her dreams could come.

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Aimeric knelt down and put gentle hands to the youngster’s body, reminding him of the worship given him by Gregory Mayne all those months ago. He closed his eyes and let Aimeric’s hands go where they wanted to. Then shortly another pair joined them when Denys began to stroke the calves and then the thighs. Aimeric was at the chest by now, tickling the nipples, and murmuring at the resultant indrawing of the abdomen. Matthew had a firm erection by this time, and when he opened his eyes he saw the others were also erect. He hadn’t seen them thus the last time, but now he realised they were both about six-odd inches long, and about as fat round as his own erect penis. He had thought Denys would be larger, and had feared the threatened entry by that formidable organ, but he saw that the young man was no monster, and conceivably he wouldn’t be hard to bear….

What was he thinking? He shut his eyes again and tried to be calm trying to control a thudding heart, and slowly moved onto his side, allowing one to stroke his thighs and his taut belly, and the other to caress the rounds of his behind, which he did with little sighs of delight.

In a minute one set of hands was delicately investigating the undersides of the arse and playfully touching ever so gently the anus, and Matthew’s sphincter was squeezing closed in response, while the other hands were on the pubic hair and the shaft of the hard-on, and Matthew began to shiver.

A gentle hand turned him over onto his front, and the voice of Denys said rather haltingly “Mathieu … open your legs, please.”

The boy drew in a breath and complied, then felt a hand under him to raise his body a little, and he was on his knees, looking at Aimeric in front of him, the eyes wide and fixed on his with excitement and expectation; and the lips parted in a grin that seemed to say “Yes! I’ll make love to you too!”

Behind him Denys seized his hips and carefully pushed his noble erection between Matthew’s thighs, and the boy closed his legs to embrace the intruder. He realised that the prick had been well lubricated, though he hadn’t noticed when, and then the penis began to move.

It was a marked contrast to that previous time when his behind had been violated in rough circumstances, for now the erection was operated slowly and almost shyly, moving forward and back in a nearly apologetic motion, and Denys was breathing quite calmly, trying to reassure the nervous Englishman that this was not a punishment but an act of love, an act of worship.

The motion increased gradually, and the breathing of both parties grew short as the excitement increased till Denys cried “O Dieu!” and ejaculated between those beautiful thighs, ejaculated till he groaned and leaned forward to kiss the boy’s body. Matthew had almost come himself, but somehow managed in spite of everything to merely moisten the prick with pre-come, and shivered in grateful pleasure for the restrained attack.

Denys rose, and went around the kneeling boy to stand beside Aimeric, and smile at his friend. “Ah, Aimeric, my brave one! You must love him some more. Mathieu!” He knelt and looked into the boy’s eyes. “Thank you. As I said before, loving you is an experience that … excels most others. Thank you for allowing me to do that. Aimeric now is also eager to kiss you and … make you come. I think you want that, do you not?”

Matthew nodded silently, not trusting himself to speak. Aimeric looked at him as he took a jar of what had to be that ubiquitous Vaseline and smeared his erection liberally. Then with a smile he came round to Matthew’s rear and did the same to the backside, the anus, going inside the rectum to lubricate the passage and tickle, probably deliberately, the waiting prostate. Matthew’s penis twitched, and the boys laughed, then Aimeric took hold of Matthew’s hips and the anointed head of his erection was at the entrance to the arse. For a moment the young man seemed to hold his breath, and Matthew almost flinched at the thought of the penetration, and then the glans was gently nudging the anus, and he was automatically contracting it. Only for a second however, and he himself took a deep breath and deliberately relaxed the sphincter. Aimeric made a pleased sound and ever so slowly pushed the lubricated glans into Matthew’s behind, just a fraction of an inch. The boy panted “It’s all right, Aimeric! Really! C’est bon!” – and the older boy answered “Yes, my friend, my love, my jewel!” as he pushed again just a little deeper.

It took a minute or two of gentle pressure to finally lodge that penis in the bowel, and bring the root and pubic hair to a momentary rest up against Matthew’s arse. Then a slight withdrawal, and Matthew opened wide eyes at the sensation, rather like shitting a turd, but oh, how different! Then in again, and halfway out, then in again…. Gradually Aimeric ncreased the speed of his motion, and Matthew felt himself strangely stimulated – he found an odd sort of fulfilment, maybe, or a pleasant reversal of the satisfaction of a shit coupled with the shit itself – he didn’t know what to call it – but there was an extraordinary heightening of his sensual mood, to a fever-pitch in fact, till he found himself gasping “Yes! Yes! Aimeric, oh, oh God! I –” and he felt the young man ejaculate within him. Aimeric himself gave a moan of delight, and Matthew raised his head to see Denys grinning encouragingly at him as he came copiously, and gave a short scream of ecstasy.

Aimeric eased his member out of Matthew’s anus, and they lay for a bit panting. Then simultaneously they looked at each other and smiled.

“I don’t know what to say,” whispered Matthew, “but that was a … an amazing experience. Thank you.”

Aimeric nodded and in his turn thanked the beautiful boy for allowing him to make love to him. Denys sat and grinned at them both, then said “Yes, it was marvellous to see. But we ’ave to go on. Come, let us dress. Mathieu must be off to ’is estate, and we ’ave our own duties to perform.”

Matthew rose and dressed in silence. Then he embraced Denys and Aimeric, planting shy kisses on their ready lips, blushing as he did so, and turned to leave. They looked after him, and together breathed “Adieu.”

“Adieu,” said Matthew. “Adieu, mes amis. For ever, maybe. I won’t forget you.” He set off down the road again, moving rather stiffly to begin with, and didn’t look back.

Aimeric looked at Denys. “My God, Denys!” he exclaimed. “I have seduced a virgin. But the feel of him! That beautiful arse! He was – is – magnificent. And if it is farewell for ever, at least we have the memories, do we not?”

*         *          *

When he got back to the estate he carefully informed his mistress about the reasons for his lateness, or some of them, and she was amused. “I must say,” she said, “he sounds an interesting character. It’s a pity we’ll be away soon. But maybe I’ll call on him before we leave.”

Later that night Matthew indulged himself in a long orgy of masturbation, going over in his head all the erotic details of his stay, and finally got to sleep with his last thoughts being some anxiety over what the morrow would bring, with his visit to the sadistic Morelli. But wait, he’d see dear Catherine at least!

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Monday 10th August

An immodest proposal; Jeremy comes to Vaulx

“Well, Matthew! It is good to see you again. Catherine is off for a little while, being looked after by the boys, Marco and Amadeo.” Matthew’s face twisted as he wondered what obscene trial his beloved was going through. He knew it was like that, why else were they here?

“But for now, I have you to consider. You might as well disrobe as we talk. You remember what happened last time. Now! There is another genre of picture which can be quite … lucrative. This is not really to do with the erotic cinema, as I spoke of it earlier. You may find participation in these quite … unpleasant. No matter, I assure you people pay well for such stuff, and between ourselves the money will come in useful. To subsidise, if you will, the more purely artistic productions.”

Matthew looked at him with a troubled frown as he took of his shoes. “But … signor Morelli, what’s going to be unpleasant?”

The cinéaste smiled and spread his hands. “These pictures, the motion pictures and stills, will feature humiliation—”

“But I’ve been humiliated, by God! So what’s the difference?”

“What do you say to being subjected to what appears to be a whipping? Not really, mind you, I have no wish to damage that fine smooth skin of yours. But it will seem so. Of course a beating with the bare hand, on the bare culo, would do. Yes. And then led about on a chain, like a dog.”

Memories of that awful birthday party came to his mind. “All right,” he said wryly, “I could bear that. Then—”

“Then,” said Morelli, approaching him to gaze into his eyes, his own bright and lecherous, “then you are urinated upon.”

Matthew blinked. “What?”

“Yes,” said Morelli, “a final sort of degradation. You are to be pissed on, by boys and also girls (separately, I mean), and not just that, defecated upon as well.”

“What! Pissed and shat on, for God’s sake! How – how can you—”

“Easily,” said the other mildly. “The camera focuses on you, bound and immobile; looking up pleadingly; then a shot of a penis urinating, then the piscia falling on your head. Then another penis, and so on. I don’t think I’ll ask you to receive it in your mouth though.”

“What!” he screamed. “You were thinking –”

“Yes, but I decided not to. Perhaps we can do that with Gloriana.”

“Christ!” A dreadful vision came to him. “Wait, for God’s sake, people don’t do that, you can’t—“

“But yes, Matthew,” said Morelli, gesturing again. “I assure you there is a definite variety of sexual acts which feature such things. I believe the term in English is a ‘golden shower’. A poetical phrase, yes? The divine Marquis deals with this. You have perhaps read some of the writings of the Marquis de Sade? Anyway, these are some of the more outré practices indulged in by certain libertines. There is the technique of restraining the genitals, where a chain is put upon your testicles, where you are excited close to orgasm, but denied release.” He looked at the boy as an expression of understanding crossed his face. “This has happened to you?”

Matthew nodded, though he thanked his stars the chain hadn’t come into his teasing. “Is this what they call sadism, and masochism? Why do people do this?”

Morelli grinned and threw his hands in the air. “Who knows? I personally think it … not sinful, not cruel even, but merely … tasteless. Aesthetically wanting. But,” he approached the boy again, gazing directly into his fearful eyes, “there is a large market out there just gasping for such stuff. Delighting in the obscene degradation of a naked boy, or girl!”

He let his hand wander down the bared body of his victim, who flinched.

“So our audience – a different audience – is there, waiting for our films and photographs! My own actors here will be amused as well to participate. But that is for later.” He patted the boy on his thigh. “For now, a few simple portraits, I think, in various guises. I have quite a large collection of costumes, so we’ll have a sailor boy, a drummer boy, a dancer, et cetera, all with a little bit of naughtiness – a bare bottom, a hint of your penis behind stretched cloth, and so forth, and then graduating to clear revelation of your secret parts! Right! To work!”

Matthew shuddered and prepared to be made bawdily ridiculous.

The next hour was spent in a multitude of poses, some just standing before the camera, some in suggestive attitudes, and mostly showing off his beautiful body, or at least a desirable part of it. As Morelli was photographing a rear view of a trouserless drummer-boy, with Matthew told to peek behind him in a saucy way, the artist exclaimed “Ah, Matthew! Those buttocks of yours are so firm and tight, and a good size, too, so … boyish! Yes, I guarantee your audience will water at the mouth to see them and imagine the joy of touching them. Indeed, perhaps that’s the best part of you. Your penis and testicles are attractive too, yes, but your boyish bum gets the prize. I’ll take a lot more of them.”

So it proved, and Morelli took him in a succession of costumes and accoutrements, displaying his behind from various angles, sometimes straight on, sometimes half-hidden, sometimes pushed out provocatively, to show his firm buttocks full in the face of the voyeur, and also to reveal a lot of the time that spot in their centre on which the eye must focus.

Finally Morelli took a rest, and allowed his subject to don a dressing gown (after photographing the process of putting it on).

“Rest a while,” he said compassionately, “sit down, drink a glass of wine. Have a cigarette. We have a lot more to do. As for the near future, we could think about The Boyhood of Tarzan, with the boy being naked of course. Apes wear no clothes! And what about Mowgli, the waif of The Jungle Book? Wolves wear no clothes, either!

“Come to that, there should be no call for these boys to wear clothes at all, until they come in contact with civilisation. When Tarzan meets the girl from Baltimore, is he dressed? Ha! A pretty apparition!”

“No, sir,” said Matthew, “he takes ornaments and rings and a breech-cloth from the natives, so that he’ll be a real man, not an ape.”

“Oh indeed? Pity. I suppose morality dictated it. Ah well.” He frowned. “No, wait! Until then, up to the age of twenty, perhaps? He’s naked! Yes!”

Matthew sighed wearily. Morelli was determined, and single-minded too, and the boy could see no escape from the erotic camera for some time to come.

“Of course,” said the Italian throwing his hands in the air, “we have no apes here, and no negroes either. There are wolves, I believe, but not tame enough. No, I regret, we can’t do that. On the other hand, we can do a solitary boy who goes naked habitually, and comes upon a party of young girls. That is a possibility.” Matthew groaned.

“Oh, but there is another theme I’ve just thought of. What about Adonis? The beautiful boy beloved of Venus? We do have boars around here! Yes, I think The Death of Adonis would be a fine little film.”

Matthew crinkled his eyes. “Wait a bit,” he said, “wasn’t he killed by a boar? Yes. And Venus was heartbroken. She—”

“Exactly, my boy! Supposedly gored in the groin.” He grinned playfully at Matthew, who was shaking his head in distaste. “I think we could do that very easily. Shot of boy – naked of course – shot of boar, of boy, concentrating on his groin – your groin – then the boar charging, then a tussle of some kind and the boar dashes off leaving the wounded boy behind, to be bewailed by Venus. It requires some working out, but basically it could be done. Your pubis would be covered in blood, to be kissed by the goddess. Who could be Gloriana of course, though she should really be older. There is a woman I know … who will probably be pleased to be photographed lying with you, yes. and rest assured, your beautiful body would in fact seem to be torn and bloody. The art of make-up can bring the most gruesome of accidents to life, if you follow me. We’ll have to manage the boar of course.”

Matthew looked askance and shivered, imagining what accidents could occur even in a well-managed scene.

The heartless Italian lit a cigarette and continued. “Yes, Matthew, I am very pleased with you. You are the perfect subject. You are the perfect companion-piece to our magnificent Gloriana. And having you both available for my camera is a splendid gift for which I thank signora Grainger. – I understand that you are in a sense on loan to the signora, from a friend, yes? And you’ll be returning there in a short while. But I hope that an arrangement might be made to prolong your stay, for I am sincerely sure that you could have as popular a career as your friend. Yes, I’ll be suggesting that to her. I am not joking, my boy; you could be a star on your own, with your own following, your own band of admirers, your fans, as the Americans say, for you have the potential, Just because of your looks.”

Matthew fidgeted and was uncomfortable with the complements, and looked at his host with a faint flush.

“Yes, Matthew,” Morelli continued, “I am perfectly serious. You’ve proved you can act; which is more than many ‘actors’ can do, believe me! But even without that talent, you have the face and figure of a minor Greek god. Adonis perhaps, as I mentioned, or Hadrian’s favourite, Antinous maybe, the beautiful beloved of Alexander. Or Narcissus – with your appearance, your body, alone, you could conquer the hearts of a multitude. And I mean,” he added with a delighted smile, “a multitude of women, and a multitude of men. And let me tell you also, you yourself would find it lucrative, such a career. Don’t think for a moment that I would exploit you; you would have a legal contract, guaranteeing a percentage of the proceeds of your pictures. What do you think?”

“Percentage?”

“Why, yes. You realise the proceeds of the sale, or hire, of the pictures would be divided between the participatory parties. A certain percentage to Signora Grainger, of course, and as for your real employer, the English friend, well it would be easier I think to buy you outright from her, take over, shall we say, your employment contract….”

“Buy me!”

“Yes, in a sense. And you would be better off, I guarantee. You yourself would have a fixed percentage of the proceeds, maybe three to five per cent. It may not sound like much,” he added, seeing a frown on Matthew’s face, “but it will mount up! For I see, I do see, a future for your body, let alone your acting, that is magnificent. You are just as good a subject, and have just as much promise, as Gloriana.”

He left the room, and Matthew went out the other door to the garden to drag thoughtfully on a cigarette. The realisation came to him that if Morelli really did this, he and Catherine could be together. Yes, by God! We’ll be making pictures for money, and I won’t be at Crossley’s, and she’ll be near me all the time! Oh, Jesus! This is just the sort of thing I wanted! Together with Catherine, surely seeing her most days! We could even live together – I bet Morelli would let us!

He sobered. But … but it involves these naked pictures…. Catherine wouldn’t like it. In spite of all she’s been through, she’s still really a shy modest girl who hates boys seeing her … cunt. I can’t ask her to agree to a life of all that, even for security’s sake, can I? But oh, otherwise we’ll be sent apart, away from each other, in due time! It has to be like that! Oh God, what a choice!

Morelli was full of ideas for pictures of Matthew by himself: stills of his behind, his perineum, his crotch, his penis, his erection, his ejaculation, his profile with drooping penis, his profile with erect cock, and also a few with other people present, showing a hand reaching out for his balls, hands of an unseen girl round his waist, hands gripping his cock, etc etc etc. Besides all that, stills could easily be snipped out of the movies Morelli was making – Matthew pissing in a field, Matthew wanking in a glade, Matthew shitting under a bush – all of which could also have an observer or two. “Note,” he said, “that some of these can be in silhouette only, dark against the sun, and some with you partly clothed. To make some variety!”

The staff joined in the proceedings with some enthusiasm. Matthew lost count of the number of times the girls – children and servants – were asked (or pleaded) to stroke his body, clutch at his bare waist, playfully tickle his penis, which didn’t get much chance to detumesce for an hour at a time. He was instructed to tell the director when he needed to defecate, which occasioned the bush (cheekily gloated over from hiding by half a dozen girls), and after a while advantage was taken of his straining erection to masturbate again to the admiration and amusement of the opposite sex. After that naturally he had to recover, which coincided with a luncheon, at which he endured comments he was beginning to understand, and his blushes seemed permanent.

“I have an excellent idea,” said Morelli, “for an amusing little film that will feature you and maybe Gloriana as well, certainly some of the children and servants also. It will be about a boy who goes to the public toilet to do a shit, and he finds there is no paper there to clean himself. So he tries various things, and ultimately he has to leave the toilet to find paper, which is when he is seen by the girls, and pursued. Yes! It will be very funny.”

Matthew raised his shoulders and shivered. Yes, it’d be very funny, for the onlooker anyway.

“And also,” Morelli continued flashing his teeth at the anxious boy, “we can have you taking a bath when you are interrupted. By a fire alarm, for instance, and you have to be outside, you have to leave, or you are forcibly taken, outside to the street. There you are shown naked to the people. And there are other ideas….”

                                                           *          *          *

In the early afternoon Catherine arrived in the garden dressed in a simple shift, escorted by the two teenagers, who looked very pleased with themselves, and Matthew knew with a surge of anger why. She smiled at him and somehow let it be known that she was all right, though he sensed a feeling of forced endurance about her. As soon as Morelli spied her his face brightened and he poured her a glass of wine, then studied her as she sipped it, and smiled in an anticipatory way.

“I do believe,” he said, ‘that now will be a good time to have you together in a sexual pose. Marco was suggesting that we illustrate some positions of making love, like those in Aretino. Do you know about him?”

The children looked at him with unease and then exchanged a glance that said What the hell now?!

“There are … oh, I can’t remember how many, but these are famous illustrations to an erotic book of the sixteenth century. Yes, of course, there are sixteen of them. I have a copy indoors, we can find it very quickly, and you’ll see that it is easy to duplicate these attitudes.

“Aretino was quite an interesting artist. No, I’m misleading you. He wrote erotic sonnets to accompany these pictures I speak of, actually drawn by Romano and engraved by Raimondi. He was a very fascinating writer, a satirist of the first rank, a fantastic, grotesque stylist to recall Rabelais, though Jacob Burckhardt, in his Die Cultur der Renaissance in Italien, calls his career one of beggary and extortion.” He guffawed. “He blackmailed the princes of Europe. Everyone feared his pen. But the Aretino-Romano drawings are exceptional. You’ll see, yes. Marco was very taken with them. The title is Sonnetti lussuriosi, which means ‘Lustful, or Wanton, Sonnets’. Aretino has these good little poems deriving from the action of the characters in the drawings. Oh, that would be very interesting to do! I do not think anyone else has attempted it. They are too timid! We need to be bold ….”

He went off into another diatribe about the pusillanimous artists of the time (and the past), but interrupted himself to exclaim “Ah yes! And there are the delicious illustrations of Paul Avril.”

Marco nodded enthusiastically.” Yes, papa! There are many more than sixteen. We’ll have to have them over again, for a week!”

Catherine bit her lip and looked askance at Matthew, who closed his eyes and shook his head. What else could he expect?

The next hour was taken up by an arousing sequence of poses modelled after an old and evidently precious book produced by Marco and immediately welcomed by Amadeo, who read the sonnets attached to the pictures with aplomb and sniggering delight.

He turned to pair and said “It is not easy to render this in English. Signor Morelli will have to just put you in the position.”

The director smacked his hands together and said “Right! You, Matthew, lie on the couch… yes, like that, splaying your legs. Now Gloriana ! You sit over him, carefully positioning your body so that his cazzo is directly under your fica. Let me see. Marco, Amadeo, help.” Between the three of them they managed to create a tableau of a couple of lovers just about to join in what Morelli called the riding position. “Now I don’t want you to enter her, Matthew, the organs have to be visible. Restrain yourself, I realise it will be difficult, no? Fine. Hold that position.”

After a pause to stretch the limbs he had another position all mapped out.

“Lie down, Gloriana,” he said, “and raise your left leg. Matthew, hold that leg over your right shoulder. Now turn a little so that we can all see the organs. Hold your prick with your left hand, and guide it to the cunt. Marco, adjust – yes, like that. Hold it!”

“It’s called ‘Alcibiades and Glycera’,” said Amadeo conversationally. “It’s meant to represent the Greek hero, statesman, as a youth in the embrace of a courtesan – her name means ‘Sweet’ in Greek.”

“The classical names in all these delicious pictures,” said Marco, as they disengaged themselves blushing mightily, “the use of real people and goddesses and so on, is to give a … veneer of respectability to an otherwise plainly bawdy picture.”

“But for all that, the book was banned. Actually the originals were destroyed by order of the pope, and so was the edition with the sonnets of Aretino, I believe.” Morelli rubbed his hands.

“What next? Pick one, Marco.”

“Number Three, papa. ‘Ovid and Corinna’.”

“Yes,” agreed Morelli, “a good one, where you kneel between her legs and direct the prick to the cunt. Yes. Boys, there’s the engraving. Help him get in position.”

When they were arranged Matthew looked down at his lover and took a deep breath. He held his penis just at her cunny, and trembled to think of actually entering her, oh how he wished …. Morelli yelled “Now!” and took his picture, one of several, as he’d decided, and Matthew saw an indescribable look in Catherine’s eyes that might have meant anything, even “Fuck me now!” By this time Matthew was beginning to pant, and feeling the sensitive head of the penis touching – yes, touching, oh God – that pretty cunt, he gasped and gazed down at her eyes that seemed to be saying something … then he yelled “Ah, God!” and collapsed on her, conscious that his erection hadn’t entered that open vulva, open to the world, hadn’t slipped in but merely slid up on that sweating abdomen to be trapped on her belly between their bodies, and then as he stared down at her and felt their blushes blending he came, spasming his seed and seeing her eyes widen…. Then he smiled and bent his head to kiss her.

Morelli was ecstatic. He cried “O Dio! Matthew, that is magnificent! Ah, it is fortunate the camera was still running. That is a great little episode, yes! Don’t you think so, boys?”

They did indeed, and had another drink for all in celebration, letting the actors have time to recuperate. Sixteen year old Fabrizio was very ready to obey Morelli’s instruction to wash the ejaculate off Gloriana’s body, which he did slowly and lovingly, drying the skin and passing a hand over it tenderly and what might have been reverence. Morelli’s eldest daughter, Lucia (a dark-haired siren, or so she seemed), fifteen, perhaps, was commissioned to wash Matthew. Of course inevitably his penis stirred and answered the call, and the director was smiling as he planned the next exposure. There were plenty more pictures to take.

                                               *          *          *

“Yes, madam,” said the boy, “I’ve got all your papers here. I understand there’s some question of time – I mean you want to get this done in a hurry so we’re not waiting till you return to England.”

“Yes,” said Mrs Grainger languidly, “we’ll get it over and done with. There’s no real anxiety about it, it’s just that Mr Barry has been importuning me to settle things for a long time now, heavens, nearly fifteen years! So let’s get it out of the way.” She said this quite carelessly, but couldn’t help feeling a curious sense of urgency in the matter. A frown crossed her face and her lips twisted. “Now then! Kindly read me the relevant paragraphs, missing out all that verbiage about soundness of mind et cetera. Besides, that proviso seems dubious anyway. A lot of the people I know are far from being sound, and as for me, my opinion is biased. But come, the legacies.”

Jeremy held the stiff paper in his hands and said “Mrs Grainger, then, I’ll just read the names and amounts, right?”

“Exactly.” She sat back and listened attentively.

“Well then, we have Roger Wilson, gardener, fifty pounds.”

Mrs G. nodded, saying only “Yes, and remember to include the instruction about letters of good character to them all. Go on.”

He continued reading a list of names and sums, and Lydia nodded, sometimes pursing her lips as if to suggest changes, but desisted. The boy came to the end of the long list and paused for breath. “Now, madam,” he said, “that covers all of the staff until recently. I understand from Mr Barry that there’s one or two others to be added.”

He looked enquiringly at his client, who nodded thoughtfully. “I might as well,” she said, “make allowance for the boy and girl who came some weeks ago. You’ve met one of them, Catherine Hammond.” Jeremy’s cheeks suddenly suffused with a blush. “Oh, you remember her, do you? Yes. I expect you do. Perhaps you think about her a lot.” He looked at her desperately. She shrugged and stopped toying with him. “The other one is called Matthew Raven. As in the ballad of the three ravens. His home address is in Essex, the property of Crossley the M.P. – you’ll have it somewhere. As to the sum involved, that depends on what remains. Of the liquid cash I mean. Oh, they can have fifty pounds each, I should think. The estate as such is to be sold, this property too, and the others, the Florence villa, Tigh nan Daimh, the proceeds divided, and the Academy can shift for itself. The library there is to be sold at auction, and Sotheby should be informed.

“Yes, the residue. Five thousand pounds to be invested in a fund to supply prizes and bursaries for students – if, that is, the Academy is preserved. We must think of everything. Your firm will of course administer the fund, so I’ll leave the choice of another school, and the choice of beneficiaries, to you.

“Right, got that? Fine. You have a list of charities, have you not? Let’s hear it.” The boy read out a number of names and amounts, and Mrs Grainger nodded. “Yes, that sounds fine. Though with the passage of time, and we hope it’s a long one, such bequests will probably not amount to much. I know inflation sets in, and shares can fall, all sorts of things. You can tell Barry that I’ll revise it, I promise, every year or two. That should satisfy him.

“So, Jeremy, tell me: what’s your opinion on the best destination for the remainder of the family fortune, such as it is? There is a bit left, after all.”

He gasped and stammered, “Oh m-madam, I can’t rightly –”

“Of course you can, boy! Your opinion is as good as anyone’s, I should think!”

“Madam,” he said hesitantly, “I can probably give you advice, but it’s obviously up to you to accept it or not. I just don’t think it’s worthwhile, it’s not productive, if you aren’t going to take me seriously.” He looked at her straight, and she returned his gaze with an expression of sardonic amusement.

“Jeremy,” she said at last, “feel free to express yourself, and believe me when I say I shall listen very carefully to what you want to say to me. Go ahead. I shan’t take it amiss.”

Jeremy swallowed nervously and began with a stammer. “M- Mrs Grainger, you could easily increase your bequests to your staff, couldn’t you? Mr Bryden, your butler, has been in your service for a long time. He—”

“Yes, yes,” she interrupted rather irritably, “I see what you mean, but he already has a nice little annuity from my husband. That should suffice. Besides, by the time the will is read, he’ll be long gone, I should think. I should hope!”

He blinked and persevered. “Then there’s the cook, Mrs Ponsonby, isn’t it? You’ve given her three hundred pounds. But she’s surely given you good service, running the kitchens and so on. I think—”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” she said, “we can give her five hundred. All right? And we might as well give Bryden the same. Does that satisfy you?”

“Well, yes, madam, but—”

“What now?” she queried, narrowing her eyes.

“M- madam, I, I’ve met Catherine Hammond, you know, and I felt very … keenly for her, what she was put through. I know I joined in the fun, but I also know that you were using me as another witness to her humiliation, a boy she’d never met before, putting his fingers into her … into her, her body—”

“Jeremy,” said the lady with amusement, “use the anatomical term. It’s the vulva.”

He flushed and said “Yes, all right. I f—fingered her v-vulva. I made her come, she was ashamed, and latterly I regretted it, but I’m just sixteen, and … I’m a virgin, Mrs Grainger, and, and I couldn’t help myself.”

She eyed him thoughtfully and said “Well, what’s your point?”

He looked at her squarely. “Madam, I think Catherine has been sadly abused, and I think you should make it up to her.”

He held her gaze, and she narrowed her eyes to stare at him closely. “Oh, you do, do you? Well, Jeremy, thank you for your opinion. I’ll sleep on it perhaps. We’ll talk further, tomorrow for sure.”

========

He took a turn round the garden and was just returning to the house when a young couple walked through the gate. He stopped in astonishment: it was the girl herself, hand in hand with a boy his age. She saw him and stopped abruptly, her cheeks covered in blushes. Her companion looked at her curiously, then at Jeremy. He came forward with a held-out hand, saying “Parlez-vous anglais?”

Jeremy laughed and took his hand. “Yes, hello. I’m Jeremy Crowther, Mrs Grainger’s lawyer’s clerk.”

Matthew introduced himself and turned to Catherine, who took Jeremy’s hand in hers and mouthed a greeting. Jeremy looked at her with a sad sort of smile and said “Catherine, isn’t it? How do you do? We weren’t introduced last time. Listen: I want to apologise unreservedly for what happened. Please forgive me.” Matthew heard this with perplexity, then put two and two together. This boy must have taken part in some humiliation, and he felt a glow of anger. But this Jeremy was apologising.

He looked at Catherine, who retained her blush as she said “Thank you, Jeremy. That means a lot.” She turned to Matthew to say “I’ll tell you later, Matthew, all right?” He nodded, and they talked in general for quite a while, telling their new acquaintance how they came to be in Provence. He was intrigued to find they were both orphans, and made up his mind to mention them to Mrs G when they next spoke. Jeremy for his part told them something of his own background, and what it was like being a clerk in a lawyer’s office. They were called in to supper, where he met the other two girls. They sized him up quickly and made themselves very agreeable, which amused Matthew greatly. He could easily see that they were flirting with the boy quite outrageously, and Mrs G was obviously amused also.

After the meal Mrs G took Jeremy into her little office and they talked there for a little. Matthew didn’t give a thought to what they discussed, but he was rather disquieted by what Jeremy had said, and asked Catherine about it.

“Oh Matthew,” she said, flushing, “it’s just that he and Francis Masterman, one of the St Mark’s boys, were encouraged to … examine me. In June, this was. Mrs G used me as a model to display … some personal things, devices.”

“And you didn’t tell me.” He looked at her seriously and waited.

“Oh really, Matthew, he’s apologised.” His gaze didn’t waver. “All right,” she said, her flush growing, “he and Francis were asked to put things into me, into the vagina, and my bum. Mrs G was delighted with the show. Young Masterman was as … lecherous as you like, but Jeremy, bless him, was blushing as much as I was. I’m sure he was sorry for me at the time. But Mrs G’s word is law. You know how it is. Anyway, I forgive him, and I want you to forgive him too.”

He bit his lip and drew a quavering breath. “Very well, Catherine,” he said, “I can hardly insist on striking him now. If I ever see Masterman though –! Not that I’m likely to. Unless,” he looked at her and frowned, “I stay at Summerton much longer, and St Mark’s come visiting again. But I really must go back to Mrs C sometime, after all, mustn’t I? Catherine, let me tell you, I want to be close to you for a long time. But there’s the rub, we always come up against it. As things are, and are likely to turn out, we’ll have to part sometime. In the meantime—”

“In the meantime, Matthew, we have each other, and we’ll make the most of that. Come,” she said, grabbing his hand “Come with me. There’s a little grotto I want to show you.”

When they got there he found a cool little cave with a floor of dense moss. Catherine stood in the middle and looked at him saucily. “Isn’t this perfect? Hidden away, peaceful and cosy. What can we do here?”

He smiled. “I can think of one thing….”

………………………………………

A bed had been set up in a spare room next to the kitchen, and Jeremy was ushered in by Mireio, who chattered away to him, pleased to find a French speaker. She wished him goodnight and he sat on the bed undoing his shirt, going over in his mind his conversation with his formidable hostess. He decided to sleep naked, it being a warm evening, and put out the light. Some moonlight shone in through a small window, by which he undressed and laid his clothes on a chair. He got between the cool sheets and relaxed.

He was glad to run into Catherine again. She was looking well, with something of a tan. Her friend Matthew was a nice-looking fellow who seemed friendly. Thinking of Catherine brought back that amazing time when he was invited to lubricate her vagina, and her arse – he felt his penis twitch into some tumescence, and put his hand down, wondering if he could safely masturbate in a strange bed. Just then the door quietly opened and a nightgowned figure glided in. “Jeremy,” said Jennie, “it’s me, and I’ve come to give you a goodnight kiss.”

He stared at her as she stepped out of her gown and quickly joined him in the bed. “I’m glad you’re naked already,” she murmured. “Can I kiss you?” She leaned into him and kissed him on the mouth, then put her arms round him, making pleased sounds as she felt his penis, still twitching in reminiscence.

He gasped and finally began to stammer, “Miss, Jennie, you can’t…”. but her hands were all over him, her nakedness pressed to his, and he reacted with an erection that brought an “Aah” of pleasure from the girl. He found himself putting his hands to her body, stroking her shoulders, her breasts, her belly, and (oh God) her loins, to find his fingers at the lips of her vulva. He knew how to give her pleasure, having had his lessons from Catherine, and as if in a dream he set about fondling her … yes, her cunt. She wants me there, she wants my fingers in, finding her clit – there, God! There!

His penis found itself at the spot and his moist hand thrust it in. She was making little moans by now, and moving her hips towards him. Then he was on top of her, looking down at her laughing eyes, and moving, moving, his prick going in and out, his backside heaving, the sheets tossed away and their bodies in one ecstatic tangle, her legs gripping his thighs, her hands gripping his arse, thrusting, thrusting, sweating, almost sobbing in pleasure, till he came inside her with a strange and powerful relief, pumping his seed into her willing vagina until he sank onto her bosom in an exhausted near-stupor.

She had come before him, and lay under him in a contented daze, with a smile on her lecherous lips. “Ah, Jeremy,” she murmured, “I knew you’d be good. As soon as I saw you, I wanted you. So thank you. You’re … tremendous.”

He swallowed and disengaged himself, extracting his tired penis from her grateful vulva. “I don’t know what to say,” he mumbled, sitting back. “How can I look at you tomorrow? What will Mrs Grainger say? Oh God—”

“Never you mind, Jeremy. Tomorrow we’ll be polite to each other and smile, and Mrs G won’t notice. And if she does, I do believe she’ll approve anyway. She’s whimsical about sex. As you may have seen. Anyway, thank you for the fuck. Were you a virgin, by the way? Oh God, you were! Well, thank you again. You do fuck nicely. Goodnight.” She kissed him and withdrew, and he lay for a long time in wonderment before falling into a deep and dreamless sleep.

[to be continued]

(End of File)