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.
'The mistress who under normal circumstances undertakes to accompany young ladies on these expeditions into town, Mademoiselle Bernard, is currently indisposed, so I'm relying on you girls to act with the decorum expected of your class, and to conduct yourselves with the grace and bearing necessary in order to bring credit to yourselves and your school.
'Please instruct the driver as to the places of learning you wish to visit. He will drive you to them and wait outside each one until you feel you've absorbed enough, at which time he will return you to the Academy in time for supper. You will have taken tea-an English custom, I believe-at one of the hotels in the centre of town. May I recommend l'Hotel Royale in the Rue Fontaine. Now all that remains is for me to wish you both bon voyage.'
With that she made a small gesture of dismissal and turned her attention to the papers on her desk.
Justine and I curtsied politely and left the room. Once outside the door and on our way to our classroom for a lesson in Geography, which I always found tedious in the extreme, we looked at each other and grinned conspiratorially.
'How kind of Madame to allow us an afternoon on the town,' I said, a wicked gleam in my eye.
'And just at the right time,' agreed Justine. 'My boyfriend is in town at the moment, spending part of his annual leave. He's a Professor of Humanities at the Sorbonne in Paris. I received a letter from him the other day outlining his plans, where he pleaded with me to try and meet him for an hour or two during his visit.
'The dear boy obviously misses me dreadfully. Maybe I could arrange it so that I just happened to be walking past his hotel when I discovered a pressing need for some light refreshment. I believe the hotel where he's staying, l'Hotel Candide, has a reputation for baking the best pastries in town, and utterly delicious they are, too-as light as swansdown and filled with fresh fruit and cream.
'Wait! He happened to mention that he would be accompanied by a friend from Paris-Maurice DeClerc, a Professor of Fine Art. Rosie, your luck's in! Maybe you, too, could discover a similar need for coffee and
