The first time it raised its head was when my Master casually commented, as I peeled and chopped some vegetables for tea, that he was going fishing the next day. Fishing? My Master hadn't gone fishing for months.

"Really? That's good," I replied. "Who with?"

"With Clive, Pete and Barbara's kid." I dropped my peeling knife in the bowl. "He's been pestering Pete about it, apparently, but Pete knows nothing about fishing, and cares even less, so I said I'd take him out, show him the ropes. He's a nice kid. Bit quiet, maybe, but okay."

"Hmm," I said, returning to my chores.

The fishing trip came and went, and appeared to be a great success. Clive was apparently hooked, if I may use a pun, and keen to make it a regular event. Oh great... A couple more trips went by in the following week, and still the brat appeared not to have made any move in developing his plan. My first inkling that he had broached the subject with my Master came the evening before their next scheduled trip.

"Harriet," he said, "could you make sure you're wearing something nice tomorrow. I want to see you. You know what I mean." Yes I did know; he meant mini skirt with no panties, and braless in a tight to bursting blouse. I was forbidden to argue.

"Yes, Master."

And so, next day, I sat before the bedroom mirror applying lipstick and slipping on a pair of Charles Rennie Mackintosh earrings. Before me on the bed lay the outfit I had selected, such as it was. The mini skirt was bright red and obscenely short. My Master had bought it for me a couple of months before, and was so taken with it he made me wear it out of the shop. I knew from experience that it was so tight it rode up considerably and the bottom of my bum cheeks were quickly exposed. My blouse was plain white, and not very thick; my areolae would be clearly visible through the fabric. As I affixed the final button - revealing much of what there was of my meagre cleavage - I heard my Master's car enter the driveway, and he and Clive got out. Until now, Clive had gone straight home when they got back but, as I had anticipated, today he came into our house.

"Harriet," my Master called from the doorway. I took a deep breath, looked at my tarty reflection in the mirror, slipped on a pair of two inch heels and teetered downstairs.

"Hello," I said. "Good day?"

"Excellent thanks. Two trout. Here, these are for tea." He handed me two slimy fish, which I carried disdainfully through to the kitchen. "It's hot out there, though. I've brought Clive in for a glass of coke."

"So I see. Hello Clive. Go through to the living room. Make yourself comfortable. Coke coming up." My Master followed me into the kitchen.

"I've been speaking to Clive," he began.

"Yes?" I answered.

"Good kid. But very shy in company. Not much luck with the girls, it seems. He's too nervous with them."

"Common problem for young boys. They get over it," I replied, putting the fish on the top of the fridge and cleaning my hands under a running tap.

"Yes, guess so. His trouble is, I think, he isn't too sure about the female anatomy. He doesn't know what to expect, so it worries him. Scared of making a fool of himself."

"He's seen plenty of my anatomy," I reminded my Master.

"Exactly. That's what I was thinking." What was he thinking? Whatever it was, it wasn't what I meant. "Since he's already seen you, as you say, I thought you could help him with his education a bit."

"Like what?"

"Give him an anatomy lesson."

"You mean you want me to show my body off to a seventeen year old brat?" I exclaimed.

"Yes."

"No, I can't. It's... it's too demeaning."

"Harriet," he warned.

"I'm sorry, Master, but I just can't..." Althouogh I had been expecting this, the suddenness of it had caught me unawares.

"Harriet, take Clive his coke, please, and sit opposite him." My Master's voice had taken on its familiar steely edge, and I knew better than to argue. If I did, I would end up being spanked in front of the brat, and that would be simply too much.

"Yes Master." I gathered the drinks on a tray and carried them through to the living room. Clive was sitting in the chair, facing the settee. I set the tray on a table, moved it so that it wasn't obscuring his view, and sat on the settee, directly opposite the grinning boy. He had a look of malevolent triumph on his face: I told you, it said, I told you I would do it, and now I have. I returned his smug look with a glare of pure hatred. He was brazenly ogling me, looking at my nipples through the thin blouse, running his eyes up and down my body, staring at my legs and following them all the way from feet to hip.

"Your drink, Clive," I said and got up to hand it to him. As I sat back in the settee, I settled myself with my legs firmly together. My Master sat in a chair to the side of Clive and watched me. I caught his eye, and he cocked an eyebrow expectantly. I sighed.

I bent forward and reached for my own glass; as I sat back again, I parted my legs slightly. Not much, and I knew that Clive would see nothing but my upper thighs disappearing into a dark space. Gradually, I eased them further and further apart, as idle chitchat was bandied about, feigning indifference, until finally they were wide apart. I knew that the ogling kid would have a clear line of vision of my pussy. A delighted grin settled on his face, confirming my expectation.

I was exposing myself to a seventeen year old boy. My face reddened with the shame.

"Harriet, you look quite hot," my Master said. "Perhaps you should unbutton your blouse a bit."