Thursday Morning

I awoke, bemused. There was an unfamiliar but pleasant ache in my balls. Last night I'd had real sex, with Liz of all people. I had actually shafted her, no — fucking is what Liz had called it. Now there was a smell of hot buttered toast in the air, and that little collarmaid was at the side of my bed again.

My collarmaid. It was coming back. We had slept side by side again, and now there she was, dressed in her maid's uniform and kneeling by my side as if she belonged there. "Anne?"

"Good morning, Sir," she replied. She met my gaze and as she smiled into my face the room lit up as if someone had pulled back the curtains. Wow. Where had that been hidden? "Would you like some breakfast, Sir?"

Suddenly, I would. The smell was revealed to be coming from a tray, with hot porridge, cream, and a boiled egg, alongside the toast. This could not be a coincidence. How did she discover my favourite breakfast things and get them assembled with such perfect timing?

I jumped out to use the toilet, forgetting to be worried about her presence. As I tried to shake off that last drop, the one that always goes down your pyjama leg, it was perturbing to notice that she had slipped over to kneel facing me, from only a foot away.

"Please let me do that, Sir" she asked, and before I could work out what she had in mind, she leaned forward to replace my hand with hers, and somehow licked the end of my penis.

"Gah! What are you... ?" I spluttered, and pulled away from her, shocked by the wet warm sensation on the end of my tool.

"Just what every good collar should, Sir," she explained as if butter would not melt in her mouth. I stared, flabbergasted and ready to defend myself against further attacks, but she made no more advances.

Shaking my head in wonder, I hopped back into bed with a couple of pillows behind me. "Just get on with the breakfast," I instructed.

It was pretty good. There is something so spoilt about having breakfast in bed, especially with someone running around, setting it up and getting anything I needed for me. Now that I had got over the shock, I was almost regretting that I had stopped her so abruptly, and memories of what it had felt like yesterday were creeping back to me. It did not hurt that that her little navy blue skirt was too short to cover her stocking tops even when she was standing straight, and of course keeping me fed involved a lot of running about and bending over. Fifteen minutes later I was feeling fuller, and actually pretty happy.

It was weird having this thing at my beck and call, but perhaps I was getting used to it. I mean, for the next couple of days I could do anything to this girl, right? Suddenly both bold and curious, I leaned forward to look at her.

"Take your blouse off."

She looked up in surprise, but then came over eagerly enough to kneel next to my bed and start on her buttons.

"No, stand up so I can see properly."

"Yes, Sir." She got up quickly and had the top off in no time, to display a lacy white brassiere. "This as well, Sir?" I could see no reason why not, so I nodded, and it followed the blouse.

They were really sweet. Not enormous, but the shape seemed perfect, the size just right, and the nipples were so pink it somehow emphasised their nakedness. I watched in amazement as the little wrinkled nubbins swelled and extended in front of my eyes. It must be what happened when they escaped the constriction of that brassiere.

"You really don't mind doing this?"

"Oh, no, Sir," she answered shyly. "I am so pleased you wanted to ask. I know you don't want to use me for sex, and I suppose you are used to inspecting much prettier girls than me, but it is still nice to be looked at."

I chuckled. "You must be joking. I have never 'inspected' anyone, as you put it, before. Don't you know that you are the first girl I have ever seen without clothes on?"

"Sir! I had no idea." She paused, as if gathering her courage. "Then would you like to see the rest of me, Sir?"

It seemed churlish to disappoint her, so I nodded. Quickly, without fuss, her skirt, petticoat and panties joined the folded pile on the chair. "Stockings, Sir?"

I shook my head. Somehow, the suspender and stocking get up seemed to frame the sweet little patch of brown fluff between her legs so nicely. By now my hard-on was making a nuisance of itself, and I reached under the blankets to release it from my pyjamas.

"Oh, Sir, would you let me do that?" Her face was so eager, indeed hopeful. How could I not nod again? I lifted the covers and her hands reached for my penis. Oh, what the hell, I thought, threw off the covers and slid down the bed to lie flat on my back. I closed my eyes, and let her slim fingers explore my shaft with such gentle strokes. There was no difficulty in recognising the touch of her soft lips, even though my eyes were shut. I said nothing but just reached out run my hand over her naked back and shoulder as she set to work.

This morning was different from yesterday. Last time had the feeling of something done from the textbook, doing it the way it had been taught. This time, I could tell she was on a voyage of discovery. Her hands stroked the skin up and down my shaft as she shifted it this way and that, testing its resilience, and her fingers were feeling my scrotum as if trying to get the measure of what was inside. Rather than trying to take the whole thing in her mouth, she was just licking the head and kissing it, running the soft inside of her lips over it; exploring with her mouth. I remembered her words from yesterday. If this is what it took, she could practice as much as she liked, although I could hardly believe it could get better.

Slowly but surely the boiling pressure was building inside me and although I would have liked to try and string out the gorgeous sensations, I hardly knew how to. I tapped her shoulder to warn her, but I was not surprised when she looked sideways at me and shook her head around my penis, before sucking it right into the roof of her mouth. I closed my eyes and just let go.

It was strange how different it felt from last night, with Liz. Better? It was difficult to say. Certainly it was amazing. But almost as amazing as the feeling of satisfaction and release as I pumped into her cute little mouth, was watching her afterwards. Still on her knees, she straightened up and swilled the little packet of liquid around her mouth, as if trying to memorise the full flavour and texture. Open mouthed, I stared at the satisfied expression on face.

"Thank you so much, Sir. I was so disappointed to think that you were not going to try me out."

Gah! What can you do with someone who thinks like that?

My Mother was not usually an early riser, and I was surprised to see her at the breakfast table, almost as if she was waiting to see me.

"Good morning James."

"Morning, Mother," I replied, hopefully not sounding as guarded as I felt. She waited until I had a fresh cup of tea in front of me, before addressing me further. I was still stuffed from Annie's handiwork upstairs, so it was easy to ignore the devilled kidneys laid out on the silver platter in front of us.

"James, I realise that we both got carried away yesterday. Possibly some of what I said was unfair, and I would like you to know that your Father and I decided not to make that call to Ellis and Baker." She paused, waiting to see my response.

Well, she was not actually apologising, but it was as close as I had ever heard her come to backing down before. I had been pretty sure they would not block my trust fund but it was a major concession to lift the threat just like that.

"Thank you, I suppose." I shrugged. I could not quite think of what to say next. Despite the amazing session of fellatio I had just endured, I was determined not to admit that the collar was in any way a good thing. All right, I may have been having second thoughts about returning it, but I did not have to make up my mind yet, and anyway, I was certainly not going to tell her that. So, what could she be she looking for in return? "Presumably you want me to turn up at that Ball."

"What do you think, James?"

All right, if I stepped outside my own point of view, I could see that it would be pretty disastrous to cut the Ball. My Mother and Mrs Jones had spent the last six months planning it, my Father had already paid for it, and most of polite society in Cricklewood was looking forward to it. She had pulled back from the nuclear option of cancelling the Trust Fund, so I supposed I could do the equivalent.

"Just don't expect me to wear anything concocted by that pack of donkeys at Grieves and Robertson." She ignored my frown, and reached out to touch my shoulder before I could avoid it.

"How about if you go to my dressmaker to get something that suits? Mrs. Haversham has been known to condescend to outfitting a gentleman before, and she has that individual touch. I suspect you two will get on famously. And, eccentric though she is, I trust her judgment. If you can get her to approve of your choice I will pay for it, whatever the cost."

Eccentric? Despite myself I was intrigued. After all I would have to wear something. Perhaps this woman might even let me sort out something decent? I nodded, slowly.

"Excellent. I will make you an appointment for this afternoon."

I still had not got used to being a Prefect, and seeing other kids scurry out of my way as I walked down the corridors. But what was stranger was the girls.

Yes, I understood that I was now of age, marriageable if you like. But it was as if I had glitter dust sprinkled over my hair. Every girl seemed to be aware of me as I walked past. All the younger ones stared, and if I actually looked back, giggled and huddled with their friends. Just out of mischief I winked at one and in front of my eyes she turned beetroot and rushed off, suddenly late for something. Even the other female Prefects acknowledged me now. It was not just the ones I knew from my dance class — they were fair enough. But these were the smart set; fashionable young women with ambitious tastes. I was pretty sure they did not even know I existed. Why were they smiling and nodding to me in passing, as if I was an old acquaintance, when I could not even think of their names?

The second lesson was Dancing. Being as awkward as I was around females, you would have thought that this would be my least favourite pastime. But oddly, I got a real kick out of it. It was great to engage in physical exercise that required enough skill to be pretty challenging, and then to discover that I was at least comparatively good at it. To a man, the other chaps were fugitives from the playing fields. Well, so was I, but at least I had better co-ordination than a five-legged spider, so it was not difficult to shine in comparison. And the girls were not actively hostile. One or two of them actually seemed to choose to dance with me from preference, particularly if Montmerancy and Bertram (the least unattractive males in the class) had already been allocated. The girls kept their distance of course, but I had always hoped it was out of politeness rather than actual revulsion.

But today, the careful politeness was replaced by something else. We were setting up to do some classic Latin, Samba and then Rumba, but there was some sort of contretemps about who was going to partner me. I missed the subtle undercurrents, but the two who lost out looked really annoyed, and did not bother hiding it.

Sophie, who had won, smiled sweetly at me, and as Mr. Moxley started the music I led her off. Now, those of you who are used to dancing a Samba with someone who actually liked them and knew what it was about, will laugh at my surprise. It took me the first eight bars to get used to the new way she nudged her hips against mine, and another dozen to catch up with the sashaying sway she put into her backbone. Above all, there was the way she was looking up at me, as if fascinated by something in my eyes.