the wall, although it was no longer possible to catch what they were saying. Still I tried, too aroused to stop and determined to get there.
My thoughts were a muddle, with a dozen different images now crowding in; Giles, Stephen, Violet and her mystery lover. Before long I’d sorted things out, creating a nice rude fantasy in which Giles and his Hawkubite friends robbed Stephen and then made me earn the money back by taking turns with me in front of him, only for my thoughts to be interrupted once more.
I could still hear Violet with her lover, but their words were now punctuated by urgent gasps, as much pain as pleasure and coming too far apart to be the result of hard thrusts into her sex, while his voice still sounded calm, but full of authority. Whatever he was doing to her it hurt, but it was getting her off too, and I could all too easily imagine the state she was in, maybe spread out in front of him, maybe bent over or on all fours as he tormented her.
She cried out again, louder, and an image came into my mind from an old music video, of somebody dripping molten wax onto their lover’s chest. It made sense, and I could now picture the scene next door; Violet naked, her back bowed as she pushed out her chest, her eyes fixed to the candle flame, her body jerking to the sting of the hot drops as they fell one by one onto her naked flesh. Her thighs would be open, exposing herself to him as he got ready to enter her.
As I began to rub again I remembered his words, his threat to deal with me too and I was immediately imagining myself side my side with Violet, our thighs spread, perhaps with our hands tied behind our backs, both vulnerable to his cock and to the steady drip of hot wax, or turned over, bottoms up, playing with ourselves as he tormented us, available for entry at any moment. With that thought I came.
MY HEAD FELT clear in the morning and, while I was a little embarrassed for my outrageous fantasy, I was sure I’d done the right thing with Giles Lancaster. Most likely it was because he was a public schoolboy, maybe it was just part of his personality, but he had a very odd attitude to women and was certainly not to be trusted. Stephen’s attitude was also a little peculiar, maybe for the same reason, but he was far more down to earth.
I was keen to see him as soon as possible, and sent him a text suggesting a lunchtime drink as soon as I was up and about. His reply came while I was in hall, queuing for breakfast, to say that he was rowing until eleven but would meet me at somewhere called The Boatman’s at noon. I had no idea where the place was, except presumably somewhere by the river, so went back to my room to consult my Handbook, arriving at the top of my stair just in time to meet Violet and her mysterious lover coming out of her room. For once they weren’t arguing or having a heated discussion, and I was much too curious to pay attention to the acute embarrassment on her face as she saw me.
‘Hi, Violet. Are you going to introduce me?’
‘Um … yes. This is Dr McLean.’
I knew they’d been talking about me from the snippet of conversation I’d caught the night before, and I couldn’t help but remember what he’d said, so that I was blushing slightly as he gave me a polite nod. He would have spoken, but Violet was already hurrying towards the stairs and, as I unlocked the door, I caught her voice, raised in agitation. Whatever was going on between them, she clearly didn’t want it to be common knowledge, which inevitably made me even more curious. He was also at least ten years older than her, maybe more like fifteen, and had been her tutor.
It was all very intriguing, and as I leafed through my Handbook I was promising myself that I’d find out more. The Boatman’s turned out to be on Jackdaw Lane, at least half-an-hour’s walk but through the meadows and along the river. Another, rather obvious, piece of Dad’s advice had been to make sure I didn’t let my social life