He had her wear her blazer and her shortest skirt, no underwear. He had her sit at the table in a quiet corner of the library. He sat opposite. The book, a fat volume, lay before her. “Open it where it’s marked,” he told her. She opened it. The illustration showed an open vulva, semen flowing out. She blushed. She dared not look at him.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” he said. “But not as pretty as yours.”

Her blush deepened.

“Read,” he said.

Her eyes skimmed the text.

Bella was a beauty—just fourteen—a perfect figure, and although so young, her soft bosom was already budding into those proportions which delight the other sex. Her face was charming in its frankness; her breath sweet as the perfumes of Arabia, and, as I have always said, her skin as soft as velvet.

“Aloud, please,” he said.

She skimmed further.

“‘You don’t know how I love you,’” she read, her voice a trembling whisper.

“Touch yourself while you read,” he told her.

Her right-hand stole beneath her dress. The smooth skin of her inner thigh. The damp of her petals.

“Read and touch,” he whispered.

“The ... the ... ah ... the girl opened her thighs as he did so, and the next instant his hand covered the delicate pink lips of her pretty slit.”

Her fingertip pressed between the lips, encountering the moisture of her cunt. She shivered and clenched her thighs, trapping her hand.

“Read,” he commanded. “Reach and touch.”

She read and touched. “For the next ten minutes the pair remained almost motionless, their lips joined and their breathing alone marking the sensations which were overpowering them with the intoxication of wantonness. Charlie felt a delicate object, which stiffened beneath his nimble fingers, and assumed a prominence of which he had no experience.”

Her fingers encountered the erect clitoris. She gasped.

“Read and touch,” he said.

The words came out between breathless gasps. “Presently Bella closed her eyes, and throwing back her head, shuddered slightly, while her frame became supple and languid, and she suffered her ... her ... her...”

“Touch and come,” he said.

“I ca-ca-can’t,” she protested.

“You can. Do it. Come.”

She obeyed.

Back at her apartment he showed her the little movie he’d made, his camera having been beneath the table. He touched her while they watched. When she came in the movie she came to his touches.