Anonymous - Eveline

The evening was Thursday. I dressed for dinner. I had my cue. Lord Endover had accepted our invitation. Lady L condescended to preside. It was an infinite relief to me. No doubt she had her reasons. I made myself agreeable. I knew very well how to conduct myself on such occasions. I played my part. Papa said I was perfection. Lady L drank only water. She had also a part to play. She revenged herself afterwards. After the guests had departed, I met the treacherous Sippett carrying up a basket. That night Lady L-had a warning. Papa and I were roused to go to her at three o'clock.

"I do not conceal from you, Sir Edward, that it is serious-very serious. These cases are always difficult and complicated. We must have change and strict attention. Take her to the seaside. Eastbourne is the place of all others for Lady L. I can promise nothing-very serious-very! You have all my sympathy-but-there we are! All we can do is to ward off another attack. Eastbourne-as soon as possible-very serious-Eastbourne-yes! Decidedly-Eastbourne. Good day-good day, Sir Edward-Eastbourne."

"Poor papa! I do pity you so much! You who love London; but it appears necessary. We ought to follow Dr. Proctor's advice."

"Yes, my darling Eveline, your mother will have to go away at once. It is very necessary-very desirable on many accounts. And Percy will arrive in two or three days. You will go with your mother. I will send Ferguson down to engage rooms. I will follow."

"A German gentleman to see you, miss. I can't read the name, but he's evidently a nobleman by the coronet on the card."

"I see. It is Count Blunderstein. Show him into my study-and please open the piano, Mr. Ferguson."

Count Blunderstein was my music-master. He was a celebrity in London society and in great request at concerts and musical receptions. It was considered quite a favor if he consented to give a young lady a few lessons at as many guineas. He had made no difficulty in my case, however. He seemed to my mind rather to jump at the chance. Possibly he caught a roguish glance in my eye when I asked him.

The Count-as he loved to be called-was short and fat. It was marvelous to see his hands fly over the keys. No doubt he was a talented musician. I was much mistaken if he was not a very sensual personage also. He was good-looking, but his small expressive eyes- his large nose-his thick red lips, all told tales. I have found that most musicians are sensualists.

This was his second visit. John had admitted him on the first occasion. I took care John should be out of the way now.

At first the German had taken me for possessing a very ordinary schoolgirl knowledge of music. I gradually undeceived him. Before he left he had expressed his great pleasure-his satisfaction to find I was so well advanced. I am a good pianist. I let him see it. He was delighted.

"It is so goot for each de young ladies dat are proficious. Der odders dat are behind zey gif to me much pain. I will now blay to you a piece of my own dat you may see der fingerin'."

"That is very fine, Count. Is it your own composition?"

"Ja, mein liebe Fratilein, I did make him in Germany."

"Where I suppose they made you, Count?"

He laughed until his eyes ran over and the tears stood on his plump cheeks. Then he subsided into little chuckles of delight at the conceit.

"Did you observe mein fingerin', Fratilein?"

"Yes, I like your fingerin' very much. Do you think you could make me clever with my fingers also?"

He laughed again-this time more softly.

Why should he have laughed? It was a very simple question- perhaps he noted a certain wicked look of encouragement in my glance as I turned my head.

"I tink so indeed. Blay dis morceau to me for der see."

He put his warm hand on mine as I played. He mechanically worked my fingers upon the keys. I thought he applied more pressure than was necessary. He stopped the playing. He still held my hand. Why did he also squeeze it?

"You can finger beautiful-I am sure."

It was now my turn to laugh. I blushed also. He looked radiant with pleasure.

"I will now blay you someting of Chopin."

We changed places. He sat himself on the music stool. I sat close beside him "for der fingerin'." My right hand was on the edge of my chair close-very close-to the Count's stool. His fat figure quite covered the round seat. He commenced a delicious piece of Chopin's.

"I will now see if you can mark der discords."

He continued to play. Suddenly I put my hand on his leg with a gentle tap.

"That was one!"

I never knew so many imperfect chords in Chopin's music. I marked each in the same way. Then he stopped. My hand stopped also. It lay on his thigh. He picked it up in his. He conveyed it to his thick lips.

"Such a beautiful hand must neffer be spoil mit blaying on der piano."

"I must take up some other instrument then, I suppose, Count?"

He replaced my hand upon his thigh without replying. He recommenced playing. The tips of my fingers marked the time.

"Please to go on-you know well to mark der time."

"That is a delicious morceau. What instrument would you suggest for me to play on, Count?"

My hand made a bold movement round his left thigh. His execution became more and more faulty. My hand advanced again. He appeared to favor the movement by pressing towards me. I felt something like a German sausage which throbbed. It extended some way down his leg. The Count made several rapid cadences, which were overloaded with accidentals and flourishes. I pressed my hand down. I rubbed it along the thing in his trousers. I was right. He possessed what I expected. I am seldom wrong.

"Vateffer instrument you choose, mein liebe Fraulein, to blay on, take care it will not blay on you!"

The Count chuckled at his own joke. He had no modest scruples. Once assured of my intention, he expended. He withdrew his left hand from the keyboard. He took charge of mine, moving it about over his trousers. He continued a wonderful performance with the treble. I contrived to insert one finger between the buttons. I dragged at it. It gave way. I worked my finger further in. I could feel his warm shirt. He made no difficulties, but with the greatest sang-froid he unbuttoned the impediment to my investigation and pushed my willing hand inside. I pulled aside the shirt with equal effrontery and laid hold of the thing I sought. It was stiff and hot. I clasped it firmly while the German continued his performance.

"Ach! Mein Gott! Dat ist der instrument to blay mit!"

He put down his hand again without ceasing to produce rapid passages with the other. He let fly the rest of the buttons. He swung the stool rather more round towards me. He half rose. He released a stout limb which I grasped anew at his suggestion. He sat down again.

I took a good look at it. It was as white and delicate as a lady's arm. Such a size-broad and rather flat! The head, completely covered with the foreskin, was entirely hidden. It was beautifully soft and warm. I felt the loose skin moving over the muscular portion beneath.

"You blay on him like dis!"

He held my hand on his own. He pressed it back upon the member and uncovered the red nut. Then he drew my hand up again. My cheeks burned-my lips parted-I became dreadfully excited. Seizing the Count's idea, I worked my little fist up and down.

"Ach! Mein Gott! I haf lost mein chord!"

He stopped playing. He regarded his limb as I continued the lewd exercise. He held back his shirt and trousers with one hand, so I might get a better hold on it. No sense of modesty or shame seemed to daunt him. My audacity equaled his. I turned it about in every direction to examine it. I pulled out his testicles. They were large. He was evidently proud of them. I pulled down the loose skin again. I made the nut pop out all shining and purple.