CHAPTER V
Lewis was thoroughly businesslike with me. He was to keep me comfortably and well, and give me all the pocket money in reason. When the next play was produced, I was to draw a good salary in addition. Then I was to have a couple of rooms elsewhere, so that no one should know of our liaison.
Time jogged on comfortably. Lewis was rather exigent, but he did me very well. He was an amusing companion, versed to the finger tips in every art of vice. I was an apt pupil. It was always assumed when guests arrived that I was also a guest-the daughter of an old friend, who is to be a big success on the stage.
One week Lewis was summoned hastily to Paris and I was very much alone. I was a great deal tempted to go out and chance meeting Annesley or Walker Bird, but thought it better to renew these acquaintances when I was playing a part.
They were dull days, partly taken up by singing lessons, but I began to yearn for a man of some kind. I had even thought of the page boy in that category.
On the seventh day it was particularly lonely, the housekeeper was away for the day and night and Lewis was still in Paris.
I undressed and lay in bed reading a book which seemed rather dull. I rang the bell for the maid to bring me a whiskey and soda.
"Come in!" I cried in answer to a knock, and not bothering to turn my head. I heard the door open, light footsteps and then-goodness gracious, there was the page boy!
There he stood, scarcely concealing a smile at my nakedness, and said: "Well, Madame," with a cheeky grin.
"How dare you come!" I ejaculated.
"There is no one else in, you remember, you gave Thomson the evening off."
Then did I remember and blushed all over as I recollected what very much exposed charms the little imp was gazing at. I bundled him off to get the whiskey and things and got myself covered in bed.
He was soon back and took an unnecessarily long time about the business of putting a tumbler by the bedside, etc.
I suppose it was my loneliness that made me do it out for lack of anything else to talk about, I began to question him about his life. He had been in some Godless places it appeared. Gardener's boy in a smart tart's country house, at least I gathered she was a tart from his naive confession that she had a lot of husbands, and while he was talking I suddenly perceived that the cheeky little wretch was sitting on edge of the bed and feeling my toes through the bedclothes. I pretended not to notice it.
He was just fifteen he told me, and when I asked it he had ever had a sweetheart, he straightway gave the maid Thomson away and named her. In fact, I got out of him, by the time he had summoned up courage to advance his hand to my knee, that he was in the habit of sleeping with her.
It's no use disguising the fact any longer- from the moment the boy touched my foot and I saw he was a very pretty boy, I had determined to gratify my lust with him.
Never before had it occurred to me that a little boy could be so nice; I had never been anxious for such a trial but that night the idea obsessed me. I meant, however, to leave it to him to make the first attempt.
He began awkwardly enough by saying that he had seen me on the stage in London-which was an obvious lie, as I had never played in London-and that I looked lovely.
Of course, I asked him if I didn't look nicer off, and he looked me straight in the face and answered: "Yes!"
I had laid my bare arm over the coverlet then, and he had taken my fingers in his. He was a pretty boy and his tight fitting livery showed his figure off to advantage.
I found it impossible to get him to make the necessary overtures, and had to do something myself. I led him to talk of the girls he had kissed and banteringly told him that I did not believe he knew how to kiss-that, of course, meant that he kissed me and that action at once removed the barrier between mistress and servant which had hitherto separated us. I had my arm over his neck and kept him down on me after he had kissed me.
"And what do you do to Thomson when you sleep with her?" I asked.
He had the assurance to answer: "What you and master do."
I slid my other hand between his legs and felt, as I said: "I don't believe you are old enough!" but there was something pretty stiff inside his little trousers, I can tell you.
Well, the upshot of the thing was that the boy pushed his hand underneath the bedclothes, pulled up my nightdress and felt my naked pussy. I stood it for a minute and then thrust him from the bed and told him to undress.
"Undress yourself and show me what you did to Thomson," I commanded with lust, and spending like a fountain.
He obeyed quickly enough. He wanted to jump into bed as soon as he was naked, but I wouldn't allow that; I made him stand up to be looked at. He was beautifully formed and had the dearest little thing growing bolt upright from a very young undergrowth of fern. I told him to drink a glass of whiskey, and then flung the clothes from me and lay open-legged for the onslaught.
It was a tiny member that he put into my sweating cunt, but he employed it manfully and I realized Thompson, the maid, had no mean substitute for a man when she took that precocious little child into her bed.
He was so small that I hardly felt his little penis against the sides of my pussy, but I came after four or five strokes, and then fell to thinking as I lay in a delicious state of lassitude of the other pricks that had entered me.
I was nineteen and it wasn't quite a year since I had first gone wrong, but I had had a fair selection. First, George Reynolds with a long thin sinewy member. I was only judging from the feel of it, for I had been too shy that first night to properly examine it. But I remember he was a quick and frequent spender.
Then Walker Bird's chubby little tool, that took a great deal of agitation before his blase majesty would be persuaded to pour out its balm.
Mr. Annesley was of the long and slim order, and curiously shaped-bent the wrong way. The four men I had had at Mrs. Clarence's place, that made seven. The artist, eight. Mr. Edgar with his clean shaven stomach, the poet with his truly gigantic member, ten. Then on tour before I began living with Jean, was Restall of course, the boy at Oxford, the fat brewer at Manchester, the Scotch whiskey merchant at Glasgow, and the comedian at Edinburgh (with, of course, the waiter there) that brought the list up to sixteen.
Then Jean, most hallowed of memories, even though he had been a blackguard to me-Lewis and now this little chit of a page boy. I decided to count him and the baffled comedian at half each, and so brought the number up to twenty; what a record for a little girl of my age; the daughter of a reverend parson, too!
Well, in the midst of my sweet recollection of the penises enjoyed in the past, I was brought to a proper consciousness of the work in hand by the plunges of my little lover. "I'm going to spend," he piped into my ear and that he did with delightful spasms and ecstatic exclamations of joy. What he put into me was no Niagara but I must say I enjoyed it very much.
I made him wait on me, go downstairs stark naked as he was, to fetch hot water. I lay open-legged on the cork mat by the washstand while he washed my parts.
Then I made him sit in the armchair, naked as he was, while I lay on the bed, as we talked. It was amusing to watch his shrunken member give sudden starts of animation as I made the conversation more indelicate.
Of course to make him naughty again, I questioned him about the former times he had done this, and really the little rascal had had an uncommonly festive time for his age and knew quite a lot. He wanted to make love to me, tell me he worshipped me, but I let him know that I was making use of him as a servant.