Chapter Two

Beneath the Secret Cloak of Night

       Young Edward’s night was an agony of titillation.

       His sensitive mind, thrilled with his strange meeting with the impossibly commanding young Miss Violetta, still vibrated in confused delight. She knew what he had done! he told himself again and again, wonderingly. She understood it all—everything, each dirty fact, every self-indulgent sensual outrage that the secret masturbator had never before dared admit to another. Yet now he had confessed the sweet shame with his own lips beneath her calm dark eyes: hemasturbated, helplessly, compulsively, eagerly, and she knew exactly what that entailed. Why, even as she had tried to spank the naughty boy who lay red-faced across her silken white lap, he had simply ejaculated all over her like a barnyard animal, and she had watched his gasping struggles with an icily superior judicial aloofness. Oh, the wicked delight of it all!

       His poor belly, growling for its food, still gurgled copiously full with the gouts of his own disobedient sperm that he had been required to slurp up from the desirable white flesh of his governess. Ah, the endless discharge across those forbidden ivory thighs! How he had soiled her, completely without remorse! One corner of his mind had known that surely there must be consequences, while the entire rest of his brutish physical body sang that nothing mattered, nothing but the heady joy of taking his climax upon the cool, softly rounded flesh of the silkiest, most alluring pillars of living marble he had ever imagined. And when the poor shuddering boy at last was done, how strangelyright it had been to slurp and slobber and snort in the gooped-over mess, to cleanse those mockingly prim young limbs with his whimperingly worshipful mouth.

       And his nostrils, restlessly dilated, still seemed to breathe nothing but the salty-sweet fishy reek of that fierce young woman’s sex. Yes, for as the enslaved boy, kneeling, could only suck obediently at the clingy strings of semen with which he had befouled her sacrosanct form, she herself had been masturbating! She who taught right and wrong, she who stood for purity and moral cleanliness, she who in her righteous anger punished the shamed boy for his wickedness—why, in the midst of it all, she had been touching herself,down there. Ah, the raspy wet sound of the wondrously hairy vagina in which her tapering fingertips had sported, hidden by the prim folds of her forbidding midnight skirts but oh-so obviously known! And the smell—oh, the secret, intoxicating scent of the sodden pink flesh that she had rubbed and rubbed and rubbed so close beneath his watering mouth, purposefully, almost challengingly!

       His body, wickedly naked as the regal dark-haired lady had so smirkingly ordered, still fluttered tremulously in its guilty, helpless arousal. Poor Edward always had been a sensitive, impressionable boy. Certain things—inexplicably, to his comparatively unworldly mind—could send the strangest quivers rippling to the very depths of his flesh. The swish of a long hem revealing the sudden flash of petticoat against the vertical leather sweep of an elegant many-buttoned boot—  The glimpse of a soft fuzzy nape beneath a glowing pile of lustrous hair—  The pale gleam of the delicate skin of a girl’s inner wrist projecting beyond the laced flare of a prim feminine cuff—  The quick enigmatic quirk of red lips or a chance sidelong glance as some very proper young lady clacked down the cobblestones—  Ah, how these minor, apparently innocuous stimuli could set his raging soul aflame!

       Yet to sleep in the nude had always been unthinkable, something too shocking even to imagine. Even if he could have done so without being discovered—which he never could have—it would have meant, after all, the constant sight of his own genitals, no longer safely hidden but visible