'“'My wriggling proved ineffectual. To distract myself, I began talking instead in an animated fashion, drawing attention to this church or that tower, without really knowing what I said. The Powell girls listened politely and added observations of their own, obviously quite unaware-or seemingly so-of my discomfort.
'“'The movement was now around my groin. Then I became aware that soft fingers were caressing the bulge at the front of my trousers, kneading and squeezing it until my cock was inflamed with longing. The strange nature of my position made my arousal even more exquisitely unbearable. Though it was obvious that either Rebecca or Suzanna was responsible, each girl showed an almost complete detachment from the business in hand. Rebecca was talking to her father, who was seated in front of us, and Suzanna was telling me something of the history of St Mark's church. Their expressions alone betokened complete innocence.
'“'So this state of affairs went on for some little while, and then the mysterious hand quickly unbuttoned me and took hold of my prick. I looked at one sister, and the other, and then back at the first again. They acknowledged my glances with a smile or a casual nod, as one would on momentarily catching a friend's eye. There was not the slightest suggestion that one of them-and I could not for the life of me tell which-was quietly playing with my cock beneath the rug.
'“'The situation was unspeakably erotic. I longed to pull back the rug, to take a sister in my arms-it didn't matter which, for they were both exquisitely beautiful-and plunge my burning cock into her there and then. This, however, would have been quite out of the question. At the very least, it would have horrified her parents, who were sitting only a few feet away. It might even have capsized the boat, and sent us all to Davy Jones's locker.
'“'So I simply sat there, seething with lust, while that expertly skilled hand worked up and down my cock with firm, discreet strokes. Light fingers fluttered elegantly against my blazing prepuce, and yet not a ripple of movement showed on the surface of the rug.
'“'Soon, inevitably, I spent-all over her hand, the rug and my trousers. I was powerless to stop it, even had I wanted to. My laboured breathing must have caught Mrs. Powell's ear, for she turned to glance at me for a moment. Through a whirl of bawdy feelings I was aware of Rebecca casually discussing plans for tomorrow's excursions with her father, while Suzanna was exchanging playful banter with her young brother, Tom, standing in the bow of the boat. For my part, I felt like subsiding into a heap.
'“'In time, but my mind still quite aflame, we returned to our moorings, close to the Powells' apartment. I had the presence of mind to quickly button myself as we gathered up the rug and stepped out of the boat. Thanks to the darkness and a discreet readjustment of my jacket I was, I think, successful in concealing the very obvious marks that were evident on the front of my white trousers.
'“'We spoke for some little time on the shore before our party broke up and I returned with the Powells to their home. Not a single sign did I detect from either of the sisters that they had been in any way involved in what had happened on the boat. And yet the bare fact of the matter was that one of them-a girl I had neither made overtures to, nor even spoken to much during the course of my stay with them-had quite unashamedly tossed me off earlier that evening, not merely under a rug, but under her very parents' noses.
'“'Their mother, I now think, might well have suspected that something was afoot. From that point on, at any rate, we spent quite a bit of time together, touring the many museums and antiquities of Venice. This culminated, as such things will, in a most enchanting afternoon spent at the Excelsior Hotel-it being quite out of the question that such adulteries could be carried out under her own roof. But that, of course, is another story. For the moment, I rather fear that the heavens are about to burst, and unless we can get back to our lodgings within a few minutes we will, I am afraid, be in for a drenching.'
'“'Well, Mariette, as you might imagine, Bertie's tale fired the collective imagination of the assembled gathering in no uncertain manner! Emboldened by the alcohol we had consumed and flushed with heroic fervour by Bertie's story, it was as much as we could do to keep our hands off each other until we met again that evening, after dinner, for a glorious romp in my chamber!
'“I might as well tell you that Cristabel and I have been meeting in private, for similar such entertainment, ever since. I will let you know when next I write how the affair progresses.
'“Meanwhile, take care of yourself at that school of yours in Switzerland and be good, and if you can't be good, be careful!
'“With very much love, Jamie.”'
Coughing slightly, Mariette refolded the letter and replaced it in the soft little nest from whence it came-inside her bodice, between her warm breasts-and the rest of us burst into a round of spontaneous applause, accompanied by assorted whistles and cat-calls from some of my bolder, less decorous classmates.
By now thoroughly enjoying myself-our little gathering had turned into quite a party, thanks to Mrs. Horwill and Mariette and their saucy stories-I was quite crestfallen when the door to the study swung open and there on the threshold, stood Mademoiselle Cartier and the unfortunate Jane. The tutor stood there open-mouthed, like a fish out of water, and was obviously totally taken aback by the almost tangible aura of jollity which assailed her.
Jane, on the other hand, was red-faced and obviously highly embarrassed at what she perceived, quite rightly, to be yet another example of her mother's habitual impropriety.
'Darling!' boomed Mrs. Horwill to her unfortunate daughter. 'How wonderful to see you, and looking so… so… healthy, too.' She could hardly have said 'attractive' or 'becoming' I thought, meanly, and giggled behind my hand.
'Come, I've been simply dying to see your room – and to meet your tutors, of course (this with a deferential but not entirely convincing nod in the direction of Mademoiselle Cartier, who was by now quite white in the face with shock.)
'As you can see, I've already made myself known to some of your young friends,' she informed her daughter, turning to we girls and giving us an enormous, conspiratorial wink, eliciting a veritable barrage of juvenile titters and giggles from our little group. 'Now then, show me the way if you please.'
With a flourish of peacock silk, trailing an aromatic cloud of expensive French cologne, Mrs. Horwill left the study. Her daughter Jane, blushing hotly and with eyes raised heavenwards, fiddled with an imaginary rosary and followed resignedly. Mademoiselle Cartier, ashen-faced, brought up the rear.
As the study door softly closed behind them, those of us that were left exchanged glances before collapsing into uproarious laughter, vowing to somehow engineer a further meeting with the delightfully entertaining Mrs. Horwill before she finally departed for England.
Some weeks before I'd joined Madame Dupont's Academy for Young Ladies, the esteemed principal had decided, working on the advice given by some of the college's governors, to allow us senior girls, in twos and threes, to visit the town from time to time in order to avail ourselves of some of the fine museums and galleries to be found there.
One sunny spring morning, shortly after I'd completed my toilet and consumed a hearty breakfast of crusty rolls with Morello cherry jam and a large, steaming cup of aromatic black coffee, I was called to Madame's study together with a fellow classmate, Justine.
'Mademoiselles D'Argosse et Villeneuve,' she said. 'I see by my diary that it is the turn of you both to visit the town. After lunch, I'll send my carriage to the front door of the Academy and the driver will wait for you there until 2.00 p.m., at which time I expect you to be correctly attired-don't be fooled by the weather; it's not as warm as it looks-and ready to embark on your trip.