longer and more slender than the average boy’s at this age, it stood out firmly from between his legs with a gentle upward curve, an effect of lightness and aspiration that was almost Gothic in its rigid springing line, and formed a harmonious and crowning adjunct to the entire architecture of his body. The bulb itself, now round, distended and with the fraenum tautly stretched, was in perfect proportion to the smooth shaft bearing it aloft, with no hint of a common or clublike coarseness; the exquisite double line of the twin lobes swept with the firmness of drapery up from the snugly fitting collar studded with the tiny sensitive spiculae of sensation to the sturdy arch of the cleft, where it culminated in a dainty urethral eye shaped like a perfect tear; the colour of the bulb itself, a very fine and uniform rose, melted into the paler pink of the fine preputial skin which, now reversed, covered the faintly ridged neck with its soft and almost transparent veil. It was an instrument made rather to receive pleasure than to give it, –the kind that women no sooner see than they wish to take it in their mouths rather than their wombs, to suck it for its own pleasure rather than feel it stirring in them for their own.
Now, under the accustomed ministrations of his fingers, the whole shaft was quivering slightly throughout its length, testifying to the exquisite sensations the tender underside of the fraenum was receiving, and giving an impression of almost conscious enjoyment; the testicles, drawn up tautly beneath the member itself, were clasped in his left hand which was kneading them in time with the luxurious rhythmic stroke of the right hand ... Seen thus, he presented a picture full of the most effete and wayward charm: the warm lamplight seemed to make still more touching this splendid self-indulgence of a boy whose languid beauty was immeasurably enhanced by his shameless concentration on the act of pleasure.
Richard was at an age when the orgasm comes promptly at call; in less than a minute his member had discharged copiously in his hand.
He sat quietly for a few minutes, relishing the pleasure he had given himself, and recalling the image of Miss Marwood’s kisses which he had so naively called up to excite himself; then he remembered that she was not simply a beautiful woman, but a governess. And all at once this word ’governess’ distracted him with its suggestion of authority, even of despotism, and his thoughts wandered again.
At school he had had a little friend, fresh from home. Like all small boys, they had sucked and fingered each other’s genitals at every opportunity; but in the intervals of this fascinating practice his friend had told fearful stories of his own nursery governess, of her strictness, her savage and instant punishment of the delightful practice of masturbation. These stories of the birch and riding-whip had troubled Richard greatly. Instinctively he feared all women – and since then, governesses most of all.
Well, and now he had a governess himself! What would he do if she tried to treat him in the same way? But no; that was out of the question. His friend, the little boy at school, had been scarcely eleven years old. He, Richard, was over fourteen: he was no longer a baby.
He tried once again to read, but found he could not. He closed the book, walked up and down, and then went to the window and tried to look out into the dark rain-washed street through the lozenges of particoloured glass-first through an orange one, then a blue, then a red. Through each piece of glass the world outside wore a different aspect.
But this game soon wearied him. He went back into the darkness of his corner, yawned, and looked at the old grandfather clock whose pendulum marked the passage of time with its heavy and monotonous tick. She had said she would return in an hour. But what time was it when she had come? He did not know. All he knew was that he was awaiting the sight of her again in a fever of longing. As he began thinking of her face, her figure, her eyes, the touch of her hand, the force of his attraction was inevitably channelled into the slow renewed tumescence of his flesh, and after a while his hand strayed downwards once more to the opening of his trousers ...
At the very moment of his second ejaculation he heard the front door open and the sound of footsteps ringing in the hall outside, and the clear vibrant voice of Harriet Marwood giving orders to the cabman about her luggage. –Ah, he had just achieved his orgasm in time! He adjusted his clothing swiftly, then went to the door, opened it a few inches and peered out. He had a radiant vision of his governess as she stood in the brightly lit hall, dressed in a long green mackintosh-cape, wet and shining, her beautiful face glowing like a flower within the closely-fitting shirred hood. Then, to his astonishment, the voice of his father was heard, and he closed the door again quietly.
“Ah, you are more than prompt, Miss Marwood!” cried the man of business. “I remembered I had not shown you your room, and I have waited to do you this courtesy. A thousand pardons for my forgetfulness! Yes, hang up your cape here. What a sensible garment you have chosen for our beastly climate! So smart, so practical... This way, up this way please. And now I’ll leave you with the boy, eh? Do with him as you see fit, he is entirely your charge, you are quite at home.”
“Thank you, sir. At what time shall I have dinner served?”
“Hmm – mm. Dinner, – oh yes, dinner. My word, you must arrange with Cook to have dinner whenever you wish. I never dine at home, you know. And I lunch in the City nearly every day. Ah, business, business! Never at home,” he exclaimed, waving his hands. “Always on the go!”
He disappeared. And Harriet Marwood understood, from the fact of his having waited for her return, how anxious her employer was to delegate his paternal responsibility, and saw that she herself was in effect absolute mistress of this house which she had just entered.
CHAPTER THREE
It was half an hour before Harriet descended to the library, where Richard had been awaiting her in all the throes of trepidation and uncertainty. On seeing her he became still more disturbed. She, quite at her ease, approached and tapped him lightly under the chin.
“Well,” she said, “what have you been doing since I left?”
He blushed and tried to reply, but an access of shyness strangled his voice. He was silent.
“Come, are you dumb?” No, miss ...”
“Well?”
“I – I did nothing at all.”
“Nothing at all! But that is unheard of. One must do something.”
The last words were accompanied by a gaze of such penetration that he shivered, his eyes involuntarily falling to the region of his genitals for assurance that there were no traces of his indulgence. Harriet’s shrewd gaze followed his.
“Come now,” she said, with a faint note of mockery in her clear, pleasant voice, “tell me what you have been doing. Begin at the beginning.”
She sat down, smoothing out her skirt, and taking his hands in hers she drew him close to her.
“I read – a little,” he said. “But...”
“But what?”
“I couldn’t read – very much ... Then I – I looked out of the window.”
“A praiseworthy occupation. And after that?”
He was deeply disturbed: the touch of the young woman’s soft hands, the contact of her knees distracted him without his knowing why.
“After that,” he mumbled, “I – I did nothing at all...”
“Perfect,” said Harriet. “You spend your time well. But you know all that is going to be changed from now on, don’t you? We shall begin our studies tomorrow, and you will work hard. Where is your room?”
He led her upstairs to it. It was only a few steps from her own. She cast a look of disapproval at the slight untidiness she saw there. “What is that jacket doing on the bed?” she said, pointing. “Hang it up at once.” He obeyed. As he opened his closet she saw his short nightgown hanging on the back of the door, and stepping forward she took it from its hook. “You will not need this any longer,” she announced. “From now on you will sleep without nightclothes.”
“Yes, miss,” he murmured.