It was probably naive of me to think, though, that my travails with Clive were over. No, he was a scheming, manipulative, Macchiavellian little monster, and having had a tantalising glimpse, it was inevitable that he would now require to taste the flesh. I saw him a few times in the following days, and tried hard to avoid his lascivious stares, humiliated beyond words that this plain, hormone-ridden kid had been on his hands and knees in front of me staring at every inch of my naked body. Just pray to God, I thought, that he doesn't tell his friends, or I'll be the talk of the school playgrounds for the next year.

I knew something was afoot the night before my Master's latest fishing expedition with the homunculus, Clive. Again, I was directed to dress "nicely, viz, my slutty outfit. He couldn't be after second helpings surely?

"Master?" I implored him. "He can't want to see any more; he's seen every pore in my body. What does he want next, a speculum?" But my Master ignored my entreaties, and I resigned myself once more to a ritual humiliation at the hands of the little swine.

So it was no surprise when, on their return the next afternoon from their fishing outing, that Clive was ushered into the house once more.

"Another trout?" I said tartly, whipping it from my Master's outstretched hand and turning on my heels towards the kitchen. "Lovely."

"Any more of that, Harriet, and I'll put you over my knee and belt you with it." I stopped, fearful of overstepping the mark. My worst nightmare was to be spanked in front of that boy. As I had that previous afternoon, I fixed three cokes and set them on the tray. "Clive's back," my Master said. I bit my tongue, resisting the impulse to point out that this was stating the bleeding obvious.

"Yes, so I see. I've got some coke ready."

"He enjoyed himself the other day."

"I noticed. I'm pleased for him. Expect he enjoyed himself more later on that day."

"Well, that's the problem," my Master said. I stopped. What?

"What?" I asked.

"He didn't manage it later on. Had a raging hard-on by all accounts, but couldn't bring himself off."

"Poor boy," I consoled. "Unusual problem that, for a kid."

"Yes, very. Normally the opposite. Can't stop themselves firing after three seconds." He laughed. "He lacks imagination, he tells me."

"Lacks imagination?" I asked incredulously. This from the boy who had concocted a plan which had culminated in me exposing myself before him for fully an hour.

"Can't picture it properly afterwards. He needs a visual stimulus."

Men! Can't they use their imaginations? Is it too much to ask for them to fantasise, to close their eyes and conjure up a mental picture? No, they need a visual stimulus. I fumed.

"And?"

"And," my Master responded, "I want you to give him that visual stimulus." I shook all over as I took the words in.

"You want me," I exclaimed, "you want me to strip in front of a kid while he beats himself off?"

"Yes," said my Master, and walked out of the kitchen. "When you're ready," he called behind him as he entered the living room.

For fully five minutes I stood stock still in the kitchen, unable to believe what was being asked of me. Every time my Master imposes what I consider to be the ultimate humiliation he somehow manages to trump it. But this. This was beyond the pale.

"Harriet!"

My Master's voice. Okay, girl, steady, I thought. Better this than a spanking. Consoling myself with that notion, I picked up the tray and headed for the living room. Clive was sitting in the same chair, with the same triumphant and evil leer on his face he had had the time before. I greeted him icily and sat on the settee facing him. There was silence as we supped our cokes. Oh for God's sake, I thought, let's get this over with.

I stood up and unbuttoned my blouse. I was naked beneath it and as it slid from me my breasts were revealed once more to the loathsome boy. Not pausing, I unzipped my skirt and let it fall from me. Once more, I was completely naked, and I sat back down on the settee. I draped my arm casually over the back and lifted my left leg onto the seat, opening myself up for Clive to see.

"Okay Clive?"

I had expected he would become embarrassed at this point, but to give him credit he took it in his stride. Without a murmur, he unzipped his trousers and fumbled in his underpants. Out popped his cock, very, very hard, with a gleaming, violently purple head. I couldn't tell its length, hidden as it was by his clothing, but it seemed quite slender. Slowly, he began jacking himself off, his eyes never leaving my body, roaming up and down it, taking in my little breasts and trimmed pussy. He had a look of intense concentration, and he built himself into a steady rhythm. I was surprised how slow he took it. No wonder he couldn't come, I thought, doing it at that speed. It would take hours. With a start, I realised that was probably why he was doing it. The little swine.

This went on for some minutes, about a quarter of an hour probably, and even my Master was looking surprised by the boy's staying power. I was getting numb. The sight of him slowly wanking his little cock was hypnotic, and I found that I could barely take my eyes off it. My mind began to wander, and I realised with horror that once again, despite my humiliation at the situation I found myself in, I was getting turned on. The boy was a monster.

Finally, Clive broke off in frustration. "It isn't working," he said morosely. "I think it's because she's just sitting there. Do you think it would be possible if she did something? Could she play with herself or something?" He had an expression as innocent as a choirboy's, but I knew, I just knew, that he had planned this all along. I looked at my Master desperately.

"Harriet," he said, "you heard him."