A Proper Education

Chapter Two: Immodesty

Immodest dress is a vice particular to women - especially young women. Young ladies should be properly warned of the dangers of this behaviour.

Once a week, Peter and the Lost Boys were banned from the small bay on the south side of the island. They thought this was too often, but Wendy disagreed. Bathing once a week was the absolute minimum. So Peter dubbed it 'Mother's Time' and herded the boys elsewhere for the afternoon.

Thus secluded, Wendy stood on the rocky beach. The sun beamed overhead and the water was warm on her toes. A lovely afternoon for a bath.

Captain Hook had decided to take a stroll through the island. He told himself it had nothing to do with the red-marked skin and girlish whimpers of pain that had made frequent appearances in his dreams these past three nights. Certainly not.

Though the day was warm, it was cool under the trees. He wandered somewhat, no destination in mind. He had heard Pan and his feral pack of boys crashing northwards, so went the other way. He had no desire to deal with them today.

An insect landed on his cheek and he slapped at it. The sound brought him instantly back to that night. His hand against her arse. Her cries. The way she had pleaded and begged so prettily. How lovely she had looked with tears running down her cheeks. He could live in those sights and sounds and feelings for an eternity or two.

In the distance, he heard water and gulls. Feeling somewhat hot under his collar, he followed the sound. A few splashes to his face would do him well.

Just before he stepped out of the trees onto the beach, his eyes caught on a flash of white.

Wendy. She was the only one on the island who wore white.

He stopped and ducked behind a tree, peering through the branches.

She stood, barefoot, up to her ankles in the water. Her white nightgown swayed around her knees. She pulled a makeshift comb through her hair.

Hook could barely believe his luck. Then she set the comb down and reached for the hem of the nightgown. Her fingers closed around the lace at the bottom and he held his breath. She began to pull it up, first over her drawers, then showing him the small over her back, her slender waist. Then her bare back—she was too young to need any chest support, dear lord—shoulder blades shifting as she pulled it over her head.

She tossed the garment aside. It fluttered to the ground, but Hook's eyes stayed on her. He silently prayed that she would turn, if even slightly.

Then she appeared to rethink the crumpled nightgown and bent over—turning her torso, bless all that was holy—to pick up the nightgown again.

Her chest had hardly any curve to it, still nearly completely flat. Her nipples were perked in the cool sea breeze. Hook's hand clenched around empty air. Oh, to hold them, to pinch and twist with his fingers, his mouth. To leave red marks on that skin with his beard.

He was so preoccupied that he nearly missed it when she began to untie her drawers. Her nightgown lay neatly folded on a large stone beside her and her fingers fiddled with the laces. She pulled them loose and—with no thought to who may be watching with rapt attention—pushed them down her legs, behind poking back as she bent over.

If he had been half-hard musing about her chest, seeing her completely nude now had him almost painfully erect. She stepped out of her drawers and folded and laid them on her folded nightgown.

Hook caught a brief sight of a small, sparsely-haired patch between her legs before she began to wade into the water.

Once she was up to her waist, she ducked down to wet her hair. When she came up, she was facing the shore. Even from the distance, Hook saw a droplet of water run over her collarbone, down her chest, and drop down into the water from her nipple. He nearly groaned and was undoing the laces of his breeches before he knew what he was doing.