"No!"
"But surely, men would wish to..."
"She is a virgin, sir -- everywhere."
"But it is so perfect, so small and tight, such a pretty fawn colouration and so wrinkled. Might I just -- with a finger."
"No, sir, you may not!"
Such a strange boundary. Being exposed to men but not touched -- not touched by the men but she was soon encouraged to touch herself. Touch her wet sex, tickle her standing and so revealed clitoris, hold it for the men to see and then insert her fingers into herself and make sticky, sloshing sounds for their pleasure as she pulled them in and out.
"You half win your bet, you know. I am up as I am sure you are but whether... whether I can come is quite another matter."
"Go on try. Get it out sir!"
It was a conversation Sal was not part of. She saw Mr. Grant fumble at his fly and extract an erect penis and begin to wank it. It was much the oldest penis she had ever seen. She wondered what it had done in its time. The wanking was enthusiastic and no doubt pleasurable but not yet reaching a successful conclusion. Perhaps if she let him slide it into her that would help, but that would not be a good idea. She was just as her neighbour had said a virgin, a penis had not slid into her and she was unprotected. Sal imagined even the semen of an old man like Mr. Grant, perhaps octogenarian, was still fertile. She felt having her own fingers in herself was some sort of wise precaution, a contraception!
"I... it is not coming. Please, would you also... show me. It may assist. I have certainly not had a stand like this in years."
The request was not to her but her neighbour. Sal was certainly showing how girls masturbated. A very visual demonstration. A second erection was brought out into the open, a second erection which she already knew, looming over her and aimed at her body.
Sal was being used and knew it. A sex object, a masturbatory aid, a visual stimulation to men. And the fact of the masturbating penises above her added to her excitement. A just so inappropriate image came to her of all the men in her photography class gathered around her, penises exposed and erect, whilst they photographed her fingering herself with her fingers in her quim and at her nipples. All the men demonstrating their appreciation of her nakedness. On the table, spread out she would be on a level with the penises, whichever way she turned there they would be, hard and pointing. It was not quite like that with the desk -- there were only two of them.
"Show me!"
And her neighbour did as his superior requested. From his penis issued dollops of semen raining down upon her nipples. He was certainly showing! The older gentleman was clearly trying to emulate. It seemed a shame to Sal if he was unable to make it, given the efforts her neighbour had made on his behalf.
"Please Mr. Grant, come on my tummy
Perhaps it was that request, the naked woman requesting ejaculation, perhaps it was the sight of semen being expelled and then running down her breasts or, maybe, it was simply the culmination of a whole variety of things but there was indeed a gasp and a cry of triumph from Mr. Grant.
"Oh, yes, oh, yes -- I really am going to..." And he did. It was not spectacular: quite the opposite but, as his fingers moved his old, very wrinkled foreskin at speed, from his knob issued white liquid. Not a lot, but it dripped down upon Sal's stomach all the same. Her neighbour had won his wager.
Sal had not thought she could be more exposed: but she was wrong. Lewdly spread on a desk had certainly been an exposure but being ushered from Mr. Grant's office and back down the corridor naked and with semen so obviously running down her breasts and stomach -- semen, from its locations upon her body, clearly placed there by different men, was a quite different sort of exposure. An exposure that revealed to anyone just what had been done to her. That there was no one in the corridor was not something Sal could know until she was once more in the safety of her neighbour's room. She was invited to 'tidy herself' and then be taken home.
Sal had not been chauffeured before -- still less in a Jaguar. Mr. Grant had put his car at her disposal. She was conscious of eyes in the mirror of the car all the way back out of town. Mr. Grant's chauffeur observing her in just a corduroy jacket.
Sal had come out without a key -- or anything -- there was no point being dropped at the front of her house. The front door was barred to her and the front side gate locked. The Jaguar dropped her at the start of the green lane just up from the bus stop where she had caught the bus that morning. Sal again with her sandals and her camera -- and the corduroy jacket. She had walked that way before in that coat but with her neighbour. Now she walked it alone, all the time fearing someone, particularly someone she knew might appear. It was fear only. She walked in the sunshine alone.
Such a relief to open her garden door, step through it and close it behind her. A wall now between her and the outside world.
Sal sat in her armchair. On the side table pictures of her late parents, another of her grandparents and another of her brother in Australia. Sal was so not being the girl she had been brought up to be, not recently. What had triggered this arousal, this change, in her? The answer was clear: seeing her neighbour naked from her balcony through the wisteria. She was still a virgin but hardly a prim and proper one. Prim and proper virgins did not walk around naked, did not submit to men ejaculating over their naked bodies. Prim and proper virgins did not masturbate and come whilst men watched. She had done more than be exposed on the photography club's table: she had been aroused and her arousal had been so strong.
Once again, her fingers went to her sex, her so abused sex. Not abused by men but by her own fingers making her come again, and again, and again. She put one thigh over each arm of the chair and worked herself. In her mind the recollection of her neighbour and Mr Grant standing over her, looking at her, using what they saw for their own sexual gratification. She imagined Mr. Soames there too, and Paul and the black lad all with penises extended and pointing at her. Every man jack of them being exercised. Her legs so apart, her sex so exposed -- and vulnerable. Her virgin and fertile sex. The delicious thought of her neighbour laying a small white napkin, hot, wet and steaming like you get after meals in some restaurants, over her sex to protect it. The sudden touch of such wet heat from the towel to her standing clitoris a pleasure as above and all around it the semen began to spurt from all those penises onto her and onto the towel.
Prim, proper, quiet, shy Sal came again there in her armchair with thoughts of a most salacious nature. |It was all so unlike her: yet across the room on another armchair, casually discarded, was her neighbour's corduroy jacket, a very real and present reminder of her day's escapade. It would be there for several days; her neighbour had told her he would not be returning for a whole week. A business trip abroad took him away.
The question was, quite how should Sal return the jacket? On the face of it a simple matter, she needed merely to hand it over. Her indecision was not about whether to parcel it up, perhaps in brown paper and string, or to return it as it was. There was no need to wash it or have it dry cleaned, as it was as pristine as when she had first put it on. It did not even need pressing. It was more the question of whether to be wearing it or not and what to have underneath. Sal was rather minded to feel the excitement again, the fairly safe excitement, admittedly of just of going around via the back gate of her house and into her neighbour's garden otherwise naked and taking it off and returning it whilst he stood there. He might touch her, might explore her nakedness, tell her to stand still whilst he inspected her. It was something she thought about as the days passed. She even put the jacket on again over her naked body, even looked at some of her special photographs whilst wearing it.
