I. Augustus to Lady Maude
Wight, 2 June
My dear Maude, You may be sure that I did not intend to write to you so soon after your departure for Lake Garda. Yet I need your advice and counsel in a matter of great delicacy. Indeed, I do not exaggerate when I tell you that it is a choice upon which depends all my future happiness. If a man may not consult his nearest and dearest female cousin on such occasions, where is he to look for assistance? I am tempted to believe that my life was changed utterly last night, soon after nine o'clock. Dr. Raspail would tell you, of course, that such mental impulses on my behalf go only to prove my condition of neurasthenia. I cannot help these opinions on the part of others. Let me tell you first of the event and then beg your assistance. I went last night to the recital rooms to hear Poland's greatest son-the mane of splendid hair and the fingers so white and thin-perform a double prodigy. We were to burn in the romantic grandeur of Brahms's “Variations and Fugue on a Theme of Handel,” having first had our spirits soothed by the elegaic cadences of my beloved Robert Schumann's “Etudes Symphoniques.” There is something so intimate and sensual about a recital of this sort on a warm summer evening. One sits among red plush and gilding, the Steinway polished to a liquid gloss of honey, the keys smooth to touch and sounding with such cool precision. One's gaze caresses the bare neck and frail shoulder blades of a fine young woman in a low-cut dress. The bone so slender and the skin so sleek with humid air. There one observes a girl of sixteen, sitting meek and demure as a nun in the spell of the music, the sweep of her nut-brown hair like the veil of a novice framing a face of pale oval beauty, her loveliness lit by the steady gaze of hazel eyes.
Yet there is nothing more sensuous than the fine piano itself, its scents of velvet and wood, the fragrance of its polish, the pure white felt of its hammers. If ever there was a magic enchantment which put to sleep the court and castle, it was such clear and elegant music as this. So I thought to myself as a silence fell upon the beauty of women and the men in their formal dress and decorations. Then the spell was cast in the plaintive descending chords which are the prelude to the “Etudes Symphoniques.” I was so absorbed in thoughts of Schumann, the great romantic angel who died in the madhouse, his soul torn between the sublime inner music of paradise and the torment of the devil's fugues, that I could not have told you if there was a woman within a hundred yards of me. My eye came to rest on her the first time and I scarcely noticed anything about her.
She was eighteen, I suppose, and she had straight blond hair which was put up into a coquettish little bun on the top of her head. It was worn rather as a little girl might, giving an appearance which is both prim and yet somehow provoking. We were sitting at opposite ends of a crescent-shaped row of seats. It was not surprising, then, that my eye should rest upon her from time to time. Again the plaintive elegiac chords; their harmonies extended as suggestively as only the great Schumann could do. Without being at first aware of it, I was looking at her again. You will laugh at me, my dearest Maude. I know you will. And yet I beg you to try and understand. She was no ravishing beauty. I cannot tell you what it was in her race which drew my gaze back to her so often that, at last, I felt she and every other person in the recital room must have observed the oddity of my conduct. No, my beloved cousin, it was not the face of a great beauty. Does that matter? Petrarch, they say, only saw his earthly goddess Laura De Sade on a single occasion. And yet, the greatest of all love poets devoted the rest of his life to her praise. It was not beauty alone which moved such a man to worship. What would you say if you could see my own goddess of the recital, who looked bored by Schumann at the end of the second etude? It is a rather wan and sulky little face. The eyes are a darkish hazel. The nose is somewhat long and pointed and the chin too narrow to permit of that oval beauty which is so much admired by purists. Yet still my gaze returned to her as the mournful sweetness of Schumann broke out at last into the grand leaping chords of the final variation. In her plain black dress and red shoes with tall heels to increase her apparent height, one had a good idea of her figure. She has a slim and almost fragile young body, made for youthful pleasure rather than the full maturity of womanhood. How can one imagine such a body at forty or fifty? I, at any rate, fail to. So there I sat, as the divine Petrarch of the sonnets must have done on a similar occasion. Alas, I am no writer of verses. My less worthy pursuit was to find out whatever I could about the girl who had held so much of my attention for fully half an hour.
As you will guess, I had gone to the recital as one of Lady Anna's party. Does that not make my conduct the more extraordinary? I might have paid court easily enough to one of my own female companions. Did I wish for proud pale-skinned beauty at twenty-five?
How easily I could have given attention to a dozen or such a kind. Was my preference for tall graceful beauty-the oval beauty of a face framed by the veil of brown hair? A dozen more waited to be wooed at sixteen years old! It would not do. Despite all that conscience and decorum could urge, I was unable to draw my thought away from the object of my curiosity. I will tell you, my dear, how far gone I was before the Schumann variations were over. I already began to indulge in flights of fancy, assuming that I had won the heart-or at least the attention-of the sulky little minx with her pert little bun of blond hair. I imagined what I would say to her-the conversations we would hold between us-though I had never heard her voice. I pictured us together in places I am sure she has never seen and upon which her eyes would open with wonder. There we were on that terrace just below San Miniato, which overlooks all the beauty of Florence and the Arno.
Or else we walked through the gardens of the Prado in the warmth of a Spanish autumn and, later, smelt the eucalyptus and pine in the avenues of the Escorial. We ate in the most elegant restaurants of the Via Veneto-or Florian's in the Piazza San Marco at Venice. And then again we dined in the workers' cafes of the Porte de La Chapelle or by candlelight under the arcading of the Place des Vosges. Florence and Rome, Paris and Madrid, Venice and the Escorial were closer then than my companions. You see how far gone I was, my dear friend? You must not, however, believe that I fell suddenly in love with the girl-all at a thunderclap. Interest became preoccupation-and preoccupation became obsession before the evening was done. As Guenevere is made to say in her defence, it was as if one should Slip slowly down some path worn smooth and even, Down to a cool sea on a summer day… It does not convince you, my dear Maude. Does it? I cannot excuse-I cannot defend-I can scarcely explain my new infatuation. Yet I am infatuated. You must believe that. By the time that the interval in the recital came, and our party withdrew to take the air for ten minutes on the terrace, I could not banish her from my mind. “Whoe'er she be! That not-impossible she!” As we strolled under the round globes of the lamps on their ornate wrought-iron pillars, the gowns of the women were pale and luminous. It was a time between lamplight and twilight.
What a fool I made of myself in conversation, dear Maude. I was possessed, you see, by the thought that once the recital was over the girl and I would go our separate ways. I should never know who she was and never, never be able to identify her. You see the state I was in-and still am-ma chere amie? So I said airily that I had seen a girl across the recital room, whom I could swear I knew and yet could not think of her name. I invited each of my companions to supply it, if she might. Miss Prince looked blank and Lady Bab stared at me as if I must have been mad. As for Lord Significance, he would not deign to take the cigar from his mouth. What could I want with so common a girl as the one they heard me speak of? It was Miss Prince who took pity on me at last and said she believed my goddess to be a counter-girl somewhere-a Julie Something. It was enough! With that I would track her to the ends of time and space. She was Julie!
Julie! The name rang in my mind. My heart bounded as if I already clasped her in my arms. As we walked back into the buzz of talk, the recital room warm and filling with the devotees of Brahms, I tried to check my feelings. A gentleman does not entertain such grand passions for a shopgirl. It can lead only to disagreeable consequences. Is that not the truth, my darling cousin? My new love would either spurn me with the laughter of a street Arab or else her mean little eyes would measure the depth of my purse and calculate what could be emptied from it. Am I not right, my dearest Maude? I am.
You know it. And yet I did not care. Oh, I might make a fool of myself and be bitterly miserable when the bizarre romance was ended. I did not care. Our greatest anxiety is for the loss of a chance which will never come again. As the clear, crisp piano notes sounded the twirls and twiddles of the motif which begins the Handel Variations, I dreaded the loss of the unknown nymph as greatly as if it were to be the death of the person who had been dearest to me until an hour before. I watched her sit down again, Maude, and I wondered as anyone might what a girl of such common stock was doing at a recital of this kind. I believe she was there only to assist her companion or employer. It was an elderly and palsied woman who sat by her side.
Now do not scold me, my dearest, for I know you will think me a fool. Help me, in the name of that friendship and love between us since our cradles rocked side by side in the same rhythm! I must know her! I must find her! I must have her! You are too wise to believe that a man of noble birth can only be content with women of his own class. He needs from time to time the stronger, more common appetite which drives him to a sturdy blonde like the vulgar shopgirl, Maggie, or else to a plump maiden like Miss Nicoll with her halo of curls. My case is much the worse, for my desire leaves no choice.
It must be Julie. I write because you know the girls of this resort so well and have made them objects of your affectionate and amorous study! If anyone can tell me who she be and where she comes from, it must be you. As the grand, swinging chords of the final variation concluded the recital and the applause burst upon one's eardrums, I knew that I must write to you this very minute. I send the letter express. I would bring it myself, did I not fear to lose all sight of my slim, sullen Julie! Your loving cousin, Augustus Anonymous Augustus and Lady Maude II. Lady Maude to Augustus Lago di Garda, 5 June My own Augustus, What a goose you are! A goose, of course, to lose your heart to such a little minx as Julie and a greater one not to know the prize specimen upon whom you have picked. One really does not know whether to laugh you out of your romantic stupidity or to grieve that you have grown to such age and not learnt to control your temper more firmly.
Though I am but a month your elder, I feel as if the wisdom of centuries belonged to me when I hear you talk as you do. The blonde with the prim little bun and the sulky little face-a hard and mean little face, I have always thought it-who is she? When you told me she was called Julie and that her services were required merely to companion an old and infirm woman-who is the dowager Lady Stacker, by the way-I knew at once. Oh, my poor Augustus, you have set your choice upon a common shopgirl indeed! She who sits upon the stool behind the counter in a bookseller's shop which is little better than that of a marchand des joumaux. I shall be surprised if you do not go and ask her to measure you out an ounce of pipe tobacco. Not find her again? How could you fail? You may stand at the shop window hour after hour, if you choose, and gaze your fill upon Julie. Believe me, I know the plain black dress and the little red shoes with their high heels to give extra inches to her height. Would you like to see her more fully revealed for your adoration? Go there one day when Julie is attired less formally, in blouse and the tight denim fit of working-drawers, as she lifts and carries boxes of new books among the shelves. See the slender legs and slim young hips tightly outlined as if the lewd little bitch were naked! Consider the softer but still pert cheeks of Julie's bottom! Look closely at the sulky little teaser, my dear Gussie. Then tell me if Julie is the type of goddess for whom Petrarch swore an eternal and Platonic love! If you doubt me still, enter and buy a book of any kind. Hand her the money and listen to her voice as she counts it into the till or thanks you-if she has the grace for thanks. Tell me then if the little slut's common whining tone is the true accent of Laura de Sade!
Villain, be sure thou prove my love a whore! That is what you would say, would you not, to these words of mine? But you are not the Moor of Venice, man cher ami, nor shall I be Iago to betray you. Least of all is a painted young minx like Julie to be taken for Desdemona. She is one of Mr. Bowler's working-girls. Though he may not yet have got his hand into Julie's knickers, she will prove no vestal virgin. Let us have done, my dear, with the willful amours you pretend to with such creatures. Jacqueline Grant, the toast of every soldier, was to be your great love, was she not? And, next day, the saddler's window-dresser was to be the next lady of the manor! It will not do, Gussie! By all means enjoy such heroines for what they are but put aside these foolish romantick notions. I know too well what pleasures may be indulged with such specimens of my own sex. In the arbours of Lesbos I have tasted them often. But shopgirls and trollops are not to be the objects of such feelings as you cherish for Julie. And there let it end. Really, my dear! I was about to write to you of the delights of Lago di Garda when your letter came. I am so put out that my account must wait until after lunch. Till then, I am Your own loving Maude Anonymous Augustus and Lady Maude III. Lady Maude to Augustus Lago di Garda, 5 June p.m. My dear Augustus, Having disposed of the disagreeable matter of that little “tart" Julie this morning-the letter went by the Desenzano steamer just before lunch-I now settle down to write of pleasanter things. I shall have some fun here with the golden-skinned cat-eyed Miss Jones whom Mr. Bowler has brought to guard his fashion salon, and with the Scandinavian nymph Marit, on whom the said Jones is told to “keep an eye.” More of Marit and Miss Jones in a moment-the naked truth, dear Gussie. But first a word about this most drowsy summer lake. “Airs, languid airs, abound.” You should have come with us, you know. We have no neurasthenia here. I write this while sitting in the shade of the pergola, which is quite overgrown with purple wisteria. It forms a walk along the edge of the gardens furthest from the terrace of the Villa Lola. Small wonder if half the royalty and nobility of Europe seems to fill Gardone this season. From where I sit, one has an Olympian view ten miles across smooth water to the lemon groves above little Malcesine. To the south, through a pale mist of heat, one sees the flat Lombardy plain, running east to Verona and Venice. And there is the promontory of Sirmione with its clustered cypress trees, the “olive-silvery Sirmio,” where sweet Catullus loved and sang. Look north, and you see the lake narrow between sharp peaks of Alpine hills near the little frontier port of Riva. In this warm weather the pine trees shed their needles, so that one walks down the zig zag path to the little town through a private garden sweet with the heavy resinous perfume of these conifers. You will guess, at once, that this private domain belongs to the illustrious poet, our neighbour, a man of exotic tastes in his dealings with the young ladies who attend him! He makes us free of it, allowing us a delicious walk down to the shore of the placid lake. What a place this is to take one's pleasures, my dear Augustus! How voluptuous here are the pale limbs which tremble with desire on richest velvet! How white a young girl's shoulders or flanks when laid bare under this brilliant sun! In secret groves, the beauty of mature womanhood shudders under the lascivious caress of her pitiless lovers. Girlhood at fifteen cries with alarm as the first surge of passion overwhelms her Mormorvan con voci roche e lente la fontane invisible tra i pini His immortal lines anticipate the pleasures to be enjoyed, where the perfume of roses fills the air of closed gardens.
The hidden fountains murmur among the trees and the sun stabs at the lovers, a dagger bright as diamonds through the branches. This place will do for me, my dear cousin. While our famous neighbour meditates his next stanzas and Mr. Bowler stays a while at the Hotel Rialto in Venice, I am mistress here. Knowing my nature as you do, you may imagine whether or not it suits me to have the lynx-eyed Miss Jones at twenty and the nymph Marit at fifteen as my playthings.
I will tell you at once that some rascal in the past has constructed a secret spy-hole in either wall of my own boudoir which enables the occupant to watch whatever passes in the other two bedrooms. Add to all this the delights of the Villa Lola and its gardens. At night one walks on this terrace and sees the lights twinkle across the water from Malcesine and Bardolino. The air is laden with scents of thyme and eucalyptus, ancient as Catullus himself. One hears the distant beat of the steamer's paddles, the cicadas among the olive trees, and the drifting music of mandolins from a cafe in the little town below us. Enough of such things, my dear Augustus. You can find the details of geography in Herr Baedeker's guides. It is beauty of another sort, the knowing eyes and seductive limbs, that has made the Villa Lola memorable to me.
Yesterday afternoon, when the heat of the day began to dwindle and the sky above the lake turned a deeper blue, I took my parasol and made an excursion into our little lakeside town. It is a place constructed entirely for the pleasures of the elegant and the discerning. To either side of the pink-paved promenade, the shore at the foot of the hills extends in castellated villas with green walled gardens or cream-coloured palazzi whose waterfront windows peep out among the hanging purple of wisteria and vines. A fine crimson bougainvillea climbs to the very eaves of the Hotel Savoy. With my footman at a little distance behind me I watched the green water rock in a gentle swell as the afternoon steamer churned out from the jetty and headed north to the narrower and more mountainous end of the Lago di Garda. The street which lies behind the palms and cafes of the promenade is no mere jumble of greengrocers and coffee shops. It is the haunt of the beau monde, where the couturiers of the Via Roma or the Rue de Rivoli offer their creations next to windows displaying the finest work of the jeweller and goldsmith, which the Place Vendome could scarcely rival. Like so many temples to the goddess of beauty, these boutiques line either side of the street. If you doubt the standing of Mr. Bowler in such matters, you need only see the splendid emporium which he has taken for the summer in order to display so many velvet gowns and silken dresses. In our society, my dear Augustus, he is despised as a mere shopkeeper or a man of trade. Here he is the arbiter of style and the confidant of nobility. Many a countess or a duchess will wait her turn for half an hour of his advice in the matter of her wardrobe. In England, the squire's lady or the wives of the bourgeoisie would speak of him as “Bowler” or “the tailor,” and never pay his bill. Here in the summer society of Garda, where beauty is more than rank, he is known and addressed as “Milor.” By the same token, our neighbour the sublime poet is “Signore” to all the world.
Am I not fortunate, dear Gussie, to have “Milor” and “Signore” as my two protectors and providers in this delightful resort? So I stood in the peach-yellow sunlight of the Italian afternoon and admired Mr. Bowler's summer premises. Behind the plate-glass windows, the waxy limbs of slim mannequins stood like the figures of an entablature, motionless in morning-gowns or driving-costumes, riding breeches and promenade-dresses, silken tea-gowns or evening satin worn tight and sleek over hips and seat. You may be sure it was not the wax slaves with their innocent eyes and parted lips which had drawn a group of well-dressed gentlemen to admire the display of fashion. Among their cold polished limbs stood another figure whose warm gold skin pulsed a little with the flow of blood and the tremor of passion. It was no other than Miss Jones! It is greatly to your disadvantage, Augustus, that you have never met Miss Jones. I assure you she would soon cure you of your pale mewling attachment to the little strumpet who has had the impudence to seduce your affections at present. They call her Carissima here. How shall I describe Miss Jones to you? She is a randy little wriggler of twenty years old or so. Her figure is neat and its golden skin gives her the look of a Mediterranean or perhaps Egyptian lineage. Though she is English by speech and birth, a serpent of old Nile was perhaps her grandmother. In the tight-lidded slant of her almond eyes, in the long slope of her brown and sharp young nose, there is a hint of passion and perversity. One of her little vanities is to vary the style of her coiffure according to the fashion of her age. At fifteen years old, Miss Jones's dark hair was close-cropped. By seventeen, as if she had passed from being a working-girl to a model of sophistication, it was worn long and put up into an elegant beehive dome on the crown of her head. A year or two more and she preferred it sleek but shorter, brushed back from the tall slope of her forehead and rounded at her nape, for all the world like a randy young temple priestess of Rameses himself. Now her taste has changed again. Her crowning glory is a short upward-brushed crop of lightly curled hair. You may be sure that it was not merely the art of the young coiffeuse which had attracted the attention of these gentlemen in the warm boulevard. Miss Jones was busy among the mute immobile effigies which displayed the creations of Paris and Rome. It was not a labour to be performed in flowing hems and starched petticoats. By no means. This aforesaid “randy little wriggler” had chosen to display herself in a costume which must have stiffened the manhood of every gentleman who passed by. She wore a white blouse which fitted a little too tight for decency. One cannot deny, of course, that it told the world of her pert little breasts, nipples erect from the friction of cotton, and a slim straight back which came down to a narrow waist. You see no great harm in that, Augustus, do you? Many a schoolgirl wears such a blouse. But few beauties of the fourth or fifth forms would dare show themselves dressed from the waist down in Miss Jones's style. The little minx had availed herself of a pair of riding-jeans, which fitted tight as on the hips and thighs of a heroine riding the range!
Indeed, I swear that Miss Jones was deliberately taunting her admirers by wearing pants which were a size too small for her. You may imagine the sight she presented. In England there would have been a complaint to the magistracy and a stop put to such scandalous display.
Happily, we have stronger constitutions here. Some of those who now admired her yearned only for a chance to browse with their lips upon the delicate moulding of her bare brown neck, uncovered by the upward brushing of her dark curls, or to murmur and kiss the neat whorls of her ears with their little pearls at each lobe. The rest stared at her lower limbs and groaned with adoration. In the tight fit of denim, her legs and thighs appeared trim and quite slender, her hips lithe and perfectly rounded. Her warm gold body has the qualities of neatness and energy, a reward which any man might covet. Miss Jones's bottom was perfectly outlined by the tight seat of the denim. Its cheeks are deliciously round, yet taut and resilient, never fat.
Moreover, the pronounced upward branching of her thighs from the knees had a charmingly lewd effect. When she bends or kneels forward, the warm swellings of Miss Jones's buttocks are widely and deeply parted in a most suggestive manner. It will not surprise you, then, that those who now admired her licked their lips and sighed with adoration, each gentleman feeling that the front of his trousers had grown uncomfortably tight. There was one lad, no more than sixteen, who appeared to be carrying in his trouser pocket the head of a very large hammer. Miss Jones stared out across the sunlit promenade, the feline beauty of her almond eyes under their tight lids unmoved by the staring desire of the onlookers. Yet she was not unaware of their helpless longing. She moved about her tasks, walking with a tight little swagger to exaggerate the rounding and twitching of her bum-cheeks, as if mocking those who yearned and moaned. I crossed over to a cafe, just opposite, and ordered tea, so that I might witness the conclusion of this drama without myself being the subject of attention. One by one the men dispersed, having tried in vain to engage Miss Jones's interest by promises of every kind of reward if only she would make them lords of her bed. It was the lad with the hammer in his pocket who remained at last. By this time, the sun was slanting lower above the western hill and shooting with gold the wavelets of the lake. The girl, with a little brush, was brushing up the nap of the felt on the floor where the wax models stood. With the nimbleness of her fine-boned hands she worked energetically, driving the brush round in tight circles. What a view she offered as she worked away vigorously on all fours for the next twenty minutes!
Her head with its dark upswept curls was bowed over the task, allowing only a glimpse of her warm gold features, the sharp young nose or the almond eyes. As she toiled on hands and knees, her back was slim and straight, her waist hollowed downwards a little. The lad at the glass watched open-mouthed and wide-eyed from behind her. In such a posture, the pants-denim was tight and smooth as a skin over the deliciously rounded cheeks of Miss Jones's bottom. Better still, the shape of her figure is such that she appeared to be offering them deliberately parted-a rear access between her legs-to the lad who gazed upon her. The hammerhead in his trouser pocket seemed larger than at first and the industrious boy was evidently trying to polish it a little, as I judged. Throwing discretion to the winds, he moved forward and stood over the minx, as if anxious that she should see his interest in her. A pale dark-haired girl appeared in the shadows of the emporium and said something which attracted Miss Jones's attention. But Miss Jones, randy little piece that she is, merely glanced at the lad and then turned a malicious smile upon the other girl. Unnerved for a moment by the second girl's appearance, the lad withdrew, only to return a moment later to the object of his silent adoration. I saw the pale dark-haired girl, a solemn little spy, reappear and speak to Miss Jones again. I swear I could read the words on her lips. “It's that man, Car'-he's watching you again!” Miss Jones finished her task and stood up. She walked away to where the other girl was standing. If you have any further doubts as to her moral character, lay them to rest. With her back to the lad, Miss Jones bent over tightly, as if offering a final derisive view of what he loved so much, and looked round at the same time to see what effect her display had upon him! The sight of her backside's trim round cheeks presented in so vulgar a manner made him tremble as if in a mild seizure. He turned a moment later, thoughtful and subdued. I was intrigued to see that the hammerhead had vanished as by the wave of a magician's wand. With a malicious light in the catlike beauty of her face and a giggle on her lips, Miss Jones drew back into the shadows. When the randy young bitch returned to the Villa Lola, I had been there some time and was dressing for dinner. Hearing sounds of her in the next bedroom, I could not resist making use of the convenient peep-hole which a previous master had installed. It was not mere voyeurism on my part, Gussie. I had already watched Miss Jones display herself to her admirers in a manner which had clearly given her a secret satisfaction, however much she appeared to scorn their attention. Now I longed to see what the true effect of it would be upon the little wriggler herself. Making not a sound, I sat on a chair, removed the little round shutter, and applied my eye to the aperture. Miss Jones was standing before the long mirror, admiring herself. The dark slanting eyes with their tight heavy lids were motionless, the tall brow, sharp nose and fine-boned features made a study in immobility and composure. She seemed to hesitate and I wondered if she might restrain her triumph until she received a visit from the man to whose pleasure Mr. Bowler has assigned her. Can you not guess, my dear cousin? It is “Signore,” the sublime poet of Patria and Amore-our neighbour- whose needs Miss Jones serves. Yet he has many calls on his time and might not have had the leisure to ride her round love's steeplechase last night. So it proved to be.
Without drawing her gaze from the contemplation of her own mirrored beauty, she adjusted the three glasses of the dressing-table this way and that. I did not at first understand the purpose of what she was doing. However, Miss Jones undid her working-pants and pushed them down, stepping out of the tangle of cloth which lay about her ankles.
She also unbuttoned her blouse and shrugged it off so that it fell to the dark richness of the Persian carpet. At last she was naked, like a randy little gold-skinned odalisque or a lewd almond-eyed temple dancer. Then she turned and walked across the room with that tight lascivious little swagger of her trim hips which is her most characteristic movement, I began to understand why she had altered the angles of the triple mirrors on the dressing-table. As she walked, the randy little piece could watch herself reflected from front and rear, thanks to the triple mirror in one corner and a finely framed costume mirror that stood against the opposite wall. She made her way to the long Regency sofa with its thickly padded crimson velvet and its ornamental scroll at one end. It was on this that all the mirrors had been trained. As she lay there, on whichever side, she could see her light gold beauty reflected from the front and the back simultaneously. She stretched out naked on the soft crimson velvet, the upper half of her body turned over a little on her front and one knee drawn up slightly, which gave a delightfully saucy distortion to the perfect shape of her bottom-cheeks. Posing like this, she was the boudoir beauty-lascivious and perverse-of which Romantic Europe has dreamt this past century! There is, to be sure, a perversity in the manner in which Cara Jones uses her body, the lewd postures which she so instinctively adopts. Yet her true perversity is in her cunning young mind. By the aid of the mirrors, she was now using the sight of her own body to excite herself! As she saw the slim upward branching of her Levantine-coloured thighs, her straight slender back and narrow waist, the smooth tan of her trim bottom-cheeks, she began to caress herself gently. At first it was no more than a gentle self-stroking of those parts which are agreeable to stroke-the flanks and belly, a little firming of her nipples between finger and thumb. But the sight of her doing this to herself was as if she had been spying on a pair of lesbian lovers. Unable to resist, Miss Jones slid a hand down and intruded her fingers between her thighs. She manualised with the slow expertise of one who has had ample practice-and expert tuition!-in the art. I have always thought it of the utmost importance that a slave-girl of whatever age should be obliged to self-love regularly and should be taught to do so with skill. It relieves those troublesome feminine tensions and leads to more ready obedience of one's own commands. So, like a lewd little harem wanton, Miss Jones performed upon herself now. Yet I cannot too strongly insist that her pleasure was ten times the greater for being able to see herself do it. She is entirely self-sufficient for she loves no one as intensely as herself. I watched her enjoy the most ecstatic bliss of honeymoon romance with no other person near her. She brought herself off twice, shuddering and groaning, before the time when the maid knocked at her door to announce that dinner was to be served in half an hour. The nimble fingers seemed to heed no warning. They parted the trim gold buttocks, stroked and tickled her between them. They plagued the slippery pussy again and again, tickling the little clitoris until Miss Jones shuddered and groaned with the delicious torment of it. They milked her sly cunt until she threshed and squirmed her thighs on the fine sofa. Once she tried, without success, to spank herself. How eagerly I would have done that to her, for the little bitch made me late for dinner!
Your loving cousin, Maude
IV. Augustus to Lady Maude
Wight, 8 June
My dear Maude, Your two letters arrived together by this morning's post. I do assure you, dearest cousin, that you would never write as you do were you ever to fall truly in love. Such is my case. To you the girl upon whom all my hope is fixed appears no more than a shopkeeper's hireling. How mistaken you are, for you do not know her as I do. She does not haunt your waking dreams as she does mine. Not an hour of the day passes but I see in that mind's eye the slim elfin figure with her blond hair and moody little face-and I breathe the name of Julie. I do not doubt, my dearest, that you would take my family's part against me.
Would you not revert to the topic of my neurasthenia and suggest that I am not fit to control my life in such matters? As soon as your letters arrived, I went into town to search out my beloved image-to whom I had never addressed a single word. How my heart sprang up as I saw her at her work, just as you promised. With far more decency and devotion than the Italian lad in your letter, I gazed through the glass upon the beauty which is all the world to me. She was modestly attired in black dress and coquettish little red shoes. Yet as she stood behind the counter that fine blond hair was spread loose like a veil upon her shoulders. All the primness and knowing-ness of her previous appearance was changed to simple innocence by this alteration. What is the worst one can say of Julie? She has, perhaps, an indifferent and unsmiling air for her customers. Yet I must be more to her than they. There is a hint of sulkiness in the weaker lines of mouth and chin. The nose is perhaps rather sharp and prominent-but is that not the case with your golden-skinned Miss Jones? So you see, Maude, I am not unaware of her blemishes. To me she is beautiful despite them. I stood there and adored her at a distance until I dared do so no longer. I am loath to attract attention to myself and my feelings for this girl. As the patrons of the shop kept her busy, it was impossible for me to enter and engage her in conversation. How then was I to advance my cause? I walked away and took luncheon alone at the Grand Hotel. When it was over, I returned and walked past that window, which is to me almost the gate of paradise. Julie sat on a stool behind the counter, her head bowed as she read one of the books and the fine gold of her hair spilling loose round her face. You see? She is a young person of attainments.
She reads books. How many “shopgirls,” as you term them, indulge in such distractions? Yet still there were too many people in the room to permit me access to her. What then? I must wait until the time came for her to leave. Perhaps I would waylay her. Fall on my knees!
Beg a moment of her attention! But what if she should be escorted from the premises by some duenna? What if a young man who already aspired to remove Julie's knickers for her had a prior claim? The thought overcame me with misery. How could I, with my tormented sensibilities, set up in competition with a hobbledehoy whose brawny lust was to be vented upon this delicious creature? I withdrew and refreshed myself by a glass of Vichy water at the cafe next door. Much of the day was passed in this fashion until the premises closed their door to the public. I had great hopes. Julie would emerge in a moment and, so far as I could see, there was neither duenna nor hobbledehoy lying in wait for her. Still she did not appear. Then, a moment later, I saw her in the shop itself. Though the doors were closed, her day's work had by no means ended. Now she reappeared to stock the shelves with more books after the sales of the previous hours. You may be sure she did not risk ruin to her black dress and red shoes by wearing them as she carried the boxes and the piles of books. Julie was more conveniently dressed in the white blouse and the tight denim breeches of her working-costume. Do you suppose, Maude, that my admiration was blighted by seeing her in such utilitarian garb? Quite the reverse, I assure you! There is nothing like tight denim for revealing such figures as hers. Julie must be eighteen or nineteen years old and yet her legs and thighs are almost as slender as a child's. She has the flat curve of the belly and the backward jut of the hips which would be more common in a nymph of fourteen, scarcely on the threshold of womanhood. Combined with the way she wore her golden blond hair loose upon her shoulder blades this gives the air of a girl-child to her appearance. How could you doubt her charming innocence, my dear Maude? She turned to contemplate the depleted shelves, the jeans-denim tight and smooth over her slim fragile-looking thighs, though drawn into little sheaves of creases behind her knees. Petite and narrow-hipped though she is, there is almost an impudent little fatness to the cheeks of Julie's bottom!
I gazed through the bookshop window, enraptured by such views of her. How I adored the veil of golden blond hair which sweeps from her high crown to her shoulders! What beauty I saw in the slope of her hazel eyes, seeming all the darker for a touch of the mascara brush to their lashes. Julie, too, has a tall sloping forehead and such a sharp, rather crude young nose. Yet if there is an ugliness in any of this, it is of the kind which provokes rather than repels. She is petite, I suppose. Indeed, only her habit of choosing shoes with spiked heels makes one overlook this. With all her imperfections, I adore her. I find no fault in her at all when I observe that the cheeks of Julie's backside are such fatly rounded little globes. How I longed to feel them smacked and fondled under my hands. Just then, she bent to pick up a box of books and presented her buttocks as neatly and tautly rounded, as deeply separated as any admirer could wish. I will not weary you, my dear Maude, but I stood there a full hour in contemplation, under the pretext of waiting for some companion with whom I had made a rendezvous. Indeed, it was more man an hour before Julie emerged, locked the door behind her, and set off homeward, still in her blouse and denim pants stretched smooth on her lower limbs. How was I to accost her? Upon what pretext could I begin a conversation which was to lead to passionate romance? Of course, I dared not lose sight of her and therefore began to walk in the same direction at a discreet distance behind her, trying to think of the mot juste while my heart seemed ready to burst within me.
Do not think that I complain, dearest cousin. To walk behind Julie forever was a torment of exquisite delight. Slim and lithe, for all her lack of height, she moves with long and easy strides, the sweep of her golden blond hair rising and falling a little upon her shoulders with the motion of her steps. To see her tightly clad thighs, so slim and agile, moving in this youthful manner makes one long for her. Her buttocks are high and pert, lasciviously displayed under the pale blue of the denim seat. I may tell you from mere observation that Julie's panties are scandalously brief and tight.
Indeed, all those who have watched her at work in the bookshop while she wears the tight jeans-denim can vouch for this. The tight seat shows the outline of Julie's knickers, which are nothing more than a twist of thin cotton between her legs and a narrow rear triangle, which does little more than cover the cleavage of her hind cheeks.
So I followed the object of my desire, up the long slope of the streets and across the Queen's own square, along the upper toad, past the park and towards the new bridge. Once or twice I thought she seemed to glance round slightly, as if suspecting that she had an admirer in tow. Yet for the life of me, my dear, I could not think how to approach her. There is, you understand, a considerable gulf between our social ranks. How hard it is for one of my rank to be accepted by a girl in her situation. She had crossed by the park lane and was walking along by the shops, when inspiration came to me. I felt in my pocket and found a gold sovereign. Holding this firmly in my hand, I strode forward, determined to overtake her. Almost gasping with apprehension, I drew level and flourished the coin. “I beg your pardon,” I said, hearing the tremor in my own voice, “I believe you have dropped this!” Was I not cunning, dear cousin? Had I not found the ideal pretext? It might cost me a pound and yet I had purchased a rare opportunity. Julie stopped and turned to me. Yes there is sulkiness in that mouth and chin, a certain hardness in the hazel eyes and the wide cheekbones. The young face may be a little pale and wan, the nose somewhat crude. But she is adorable. “Oh, yes,” she said, taking the coin and allowing me to feel her warm hand, “I think I must have done.” Her voice! Dearest Maude, I have heard her voice for the first time. To be sure it is a little flat and common. Its tone suggests that Julie may whine with displeasure when the mood takes her. Yet I love her for what she is, Maudie, and not for what a pattern-maker would require. She slipped the coin into her pocket and turned to flounce on her way. “I hope,” said I, “that we may be better acquainted in a while. You were at the recital the other evening, I believe, and I should value your opinion as to the performance.” “As to that,” she said, “I have no opinion. I went only as a companion.” “In that case,” I murmured, “it would give me the greatest pleasure to escort you there on some other occasion.”
She did not, I confess, seize upon the invitation at once.
“We'll see,” said Julie with an impatient toss of her fine blond mane, “Perhaps you may escort me. For the moment, though, you'd best leave off following me as you have been doing the past half-hour. Even if I shouldn't mind it and shouldn't call a policeman, my friend-my boyfriend that is-won't stand for it. A hefty fellow, he is.”
With that, the little minx went on her way. Discouraged? You think me discouraged, Maude? Never, I promise you! I have spoken to my idol, the object of my adoration. I will not be denied. I cannot be denied, having come so far. I know who she is and where she may be found. I have touched her hand and heard her voice. I have seen the shape of her pretty bottom-cheeks and the line of the scandalous little panties which she wears. I shall triumph, Maude. Believe me, I shall triumph. If I should be denied now-if I do not triumph-I have no idea how I can endure it. To tell you the truth, my thoughts about Julie since seeing her close and hearing her voice have become a little unworthy of the great Petrarchian love to which I aspired a few nights ago. I think more and more of Julie with her knickers down.
Julie with her slim and childishly fragile thighs spread wide. Julie with her mouth rounded upon my stiffness. Julie arse-upwards, cheekily inviting my attentions over the sofa cushions. Julie shuddering and whimpering as the pulse of passion is released deep in her belly.
I daresay all those men who view her behind the counter or at her chores have similar thoughts to mine. Yet none feels the effect of them as deeply as I. Oh yes, I am in love, dear Maude. My case is worse than it was to begin with. Quite incurable. Your own devoted Augustus Anonymous Augustus and Lady Maude V. Lady Maude to Augustus Lago di Garda, 11 June Augustus, dear!
How could you? How can you be so lacking in self-respect, in prudence, in loyalty to your family and your class? Do you forget who you are that you demean yourself before such a base creature as this Julie? Once and for all, my cousin, she is a tart, a common shopgirl, almost a whore I suspect. If not for your own sake, then for ours, think of what you are doing! She is not worth a single outpouring of seed from such a man as yourself. And I must say, Gussie, that were I more closely your kin than I am, my concern would be to bring proceedings before the Commissioners in Lunacy to have you protected from your own follies. Next you will be telling us that you wish to marry the little slut! A fine thing indeed to find such a face at the far end of-the dining-table or upon the pillow beside you in your own bedroom. I really think, my love, that Dr. Raspail has proved a disaster in the matter of your neurasthenia. Will you not reconsider, Augustus my dear? Will you not, after all, leave England and come to us here in Italy for the season? The light and air would do you good.
The Italian way of dealing with such problems of the heart as yours would at once put many matters into perspective for you. If you will not consent to that, then, I beg you, let my own friends make arrangements for your entertainment at home. I do not expect you to live like an anchorite. Of course you must have young women to occupy your attention. Indeed, your present malaise gives you an appetite for the strong meat of shopgirls and trollops. So be it. They shall be provided until you have had your fill of them and are prepared to return to the rarer and finer delicacies offered by young girls of our own class. You are at present in a dangerous state, mon ami, where you really may ask the whining and sullen Julie to be your wife. And if you do not attempt that, I fear you may be guilty of some act which may cause her to scream for a policeman. Oh, have no fear. There will be no legal action. The police do not come quite as cheap as they once did. On the other hand, there are few of them who would not be content to ignore Julie's protests and walk away with your sovereigns chinking in their pockets. Yet the scandal may spread just the same.
What is it you want, Gussie? Only ask and it shall be provided.
Do you yearn for a coltish young blonde with the features of her pale oval face as hard and crude as Julie's? Must she have sturdy hips, shortish thighs, and full bottom-cheeks? Why, you shall have that creature in your bed this very week! Do you prefer a strapping young wench with lank dark hair and fringe, firm pale features, straight back, trim thighs, bottom cheeks sturdy and broadened? Only say what you would have! Would you like a pair of sisters on the threshold of their teens-daughters of good middle-class family? Then you may have brown-eyed and brown-haired Joanne of the rather weighty hips and seat, partnered by her cadette, Claire, of the trim little figure, cropped hair, and gymnastic ability. If it is none of these, only whisper your secret longings and they shall be provided for. Do you secretly long to see Joanne and Claire head-to-tail on your bed in their passion? Would you embed your manly stiffness deep between the puppy-fat cheeks of Joanne's bottom? You have only to ask, dear Gus, and you shall enjoy thrills enough to make you forget the very existence of the wretched little tart, Julie.
Best of all, you should come to us in Italy. I promise you there is entertainment enough! Since I last wrote, matters have developed most amusingly here. Not only do we have Carissima Jones at our disposal but the nymph Marit, a Scandinavian student of fifteen who has been put under Mr. Bowler's tutelage for a month or two while she learns the language and customs of Italy. I assure you, dear cousin, that Marit will offer you all the charms of Julie with the added thrill of a young girl whose body and mind have not yet reached the full growth of womanhood, so that you may train her in the way you would have her develop. You do not believe me? Very well. Imagine yourself in this resort, somewhere near the pink paving of the promenade and the palm trees stirring in the breeze. The youth of the town and the young students gather there in noisy groups. Among them you would find Marit and some other girl who takes language lessons at the summer academy. One sight of Marit would make you forget the little tart by whom you have been ensnared! To be sure you shall have her dressed in the same blouse and tight denim of your idol. What would you see? A pretty little creature, charmingly indifferent to the authority of her elders and betters, Marit has those firm and pert little features which match the lightly sun-browned silkiness of her fair skin. The tilt of her nose and the tight little chin are as charming as her blue eyes and the light brown waves of lustrous hair which are worn loose and trimmed just where they lie upon her shoulders. You might see her in some cheeky little summer cap, sitting at a cafe table with the others, smoking a forbidden cigarette, and you would long only for her. Mark's figure is just of the sort you prefer. Indeed she likes to show it in the tightest jeans-denim of beachwear. Her legs and thighs are still narrow and straight, quite as slender as those which you admire through the bookshop window! Her hips are lean as those of any fourth-form schoolgirl and Marit's bottom-cheeks are still slim and tightly rounded. You have only to join us here, dear Gussie, and this nymph of Norway shall be yours with all her adolescent promise. You hesitate! Perhaps Marit at fifteen is not ready for such things as you envisage? You would be quite wrong in that, my dear, and I will prove you so with the evidence of my own eyes. Marit has the certain knowing hardness about her which betrays her knowledge of men, though I do not think she has experienced much even with boys of her own age. You would alter that for her, would you not? How do I know all this? Last night there occurred the most amusing incident of all. The Signore with his bold eyes and waxed moustache paid us a call after dinner to share coffee and liqueurs and to inquire most charmingly after our well-being during Mr. Bowler's short absence in Venice. At a late hour, he took his leave and was shown from the room by Miss Jones. Mark had long since been despatched to her room so that we might talk of things freely in her absence. The Signore is most intrigued by the Scandinavian surname Aas, which he feels sure must be derived from a vulgarity of some sort! Ten minutes after he had left my company, I went upstairs to my own room and was soon aware of a murmuring which came from beyond the wall. Our randy young Miss Jones was not alone in her bedroom! You may be sure that I lost no time in drawing up a chair and applying my eye to the spy-hole in the wall. One does not hear very much, for the walls are conveniently thick and I do not suppose that Miss Jones or the Signore who was with her now thought that anything of their activities could be overheard. To my astonishment, Miss Jones was dressed as if for her work the other afternoon, in tight pants and blouse. Indeed she was now performing the very chores which had attracted the attention of several gentlemen to the shop window. The Signore sat in a chair behind her, one hand playing with his waxed moustache while he watched her. He was for all the world like the young man whose trouser front had bulged with such a load while he watched Miss Jones at work on all fours!
With the small round brush she was now stirring up the pile of the bedroom carpet, the crop of her brushed curls lowered and her almond eyes flashing their occasional challenge at the man who sat behind her. As she worked her way back towards him, Miss Jones's slim and upward branching thighs offered a lewd and enticing prospect to her master. Her rear cheeks so round and trim, so suggestively separated, swelled and writhed. The route between the rear of her legs lay tantalisingly open. By hollowing her waist downwards, the randy little piece was trying to offer herself still more brazenly for his attention. As soon as she was close to his chair, the Signore put his hand down and began to fondle the cheeks of Miss Jones's backside in the tight denim. She stopped at once, waiting on hands and knees with her head still bowed a little, as if to discover what his pleasure might be. It will not surprise you to learn that the Signore began to undo her at the waist and to work the denim, with Miss Jones's panties inside, well down over her taut young hips and trim thighs. A moment more and her pants were round her knees as she knelt at his disposal. The great man slipped his fingers between her warm gold thighs from the rear. With gentle stroking and squeezing he roused her, for all the world as if he were milking some compliant female creature in his stable! If Miss Jones felt the indignity of such a situation, she showed no sign of this. She braced herself on hands and knees, her head lowered as if she were trying to look back between her legs at what he was doing to her. Her slim Levantine thighs writhed together in the most exquisite of Cupid's torments and the cheeks of her backside seemed to tense and relax in a furtive tell-tale rhythm. From time to time the Signore drew his hand away, causing her a gasp of deprivation, and administered a ringing smack on the coppery smoothness of Miss Jones's bottom, that forced a squeal of alarm from her. Then she moaned and quivered gratefully as the hand resumed its former labours between her thighs. You may be sure that he was not going to bring her to a conclusion so easily, Augustus. Any man who had possession of this lascivious little piece would want to make it a long session with her. He was merely working her up to a point at which she would never regain her equanimity without first having a climax. He told her to remain on all fours and I guessed at once that there was to be some kind of bedroom sport.
Getting up from his chair, the Signore went over to the table and took a fine mauve candle from its silver-gilt holder. In a moment more, he stooped over the girl as she knelt on hands and knees. To be sure, she was more than ready for something of the kind. With a little careful insertion of the candle-base between the rear of her legs, he found a most convenient holder for it-a holder which received the round mauve wax with grateful tremors and sudden gasps of pent-up excitement! The ornamental wick protruded back between the rear of the slim gold thighs in a most provoking manner. Somewhat to my alarm, the Signore struck a match and applied it to the wick. It burnt with a small and perfect flame. I hoped he did not intend it to burn down until it scorched randy young Miss Jones ou vous savez, as the saying is! You may be sure, though, he is too much of a gentleman for that.
The proletarian zeal whose torches found their way between the thighs of certain aristocratic beauties in '92 is foreign to him. Who can tell what preliminaries a pair of lovers may adopt to excite them to greater prodigies in their coupling? Miss Jones waited on all fours while the Signore with his moustache finely waxed and his eyes staring, went down on all fours behind her. A spot of hot wax fell on her bare thigh and she gave a sudden start, for which he chided her.
The rules of the game must be observed. Presently he clapped his hands sharply to make the sound of a starting-pistol. In his own bedroom, this cavaliere would have fired off a pistol in earnest but he was more prudent as a guest at the Villa Lola. When the signal was given, Miss Jones scampered forward on hands and knees, the little flame of the candle fluttering like a flag. Grinning madly, the Signore set off in pursuit. He did not, it is true, use his utmost energy for he wished to prolong the fun a little. The object of the sport was to blow out, snuff out, or snap out the life of the little flame whose candle was sunk so firmly in the girl's love-nest. At first he tried to blow in sharp gusts of breath but the randy young minx merely twisted her arse this way and that to frustrate him.
Foiled in this, the Signore took from his pocket a pair of snuffers and tried to smother the flame by pinching it out. He was not successful, though he once pinched the flesh high up on the rear of the girl's thigh, which caused an amazing shriek. The Signore told her, somewhat ungratefully, to shut her noise. As the sublime artist scampered after his beauty, lured on by squirming thighs and writhing hips, there was nearly a catastrophe to put paid to the Villa Lola and all its occupants. Our randy young odalisque was greatly excited by the sport and by the promise of what was going to be done to her at its conclusion. This, combined with the agreeable presence of the candle base in her pussy had made her lubricate copiously. Her energetic movements made her feel the candle more exquisitely than ever and her natural feminine slipperiness had spread even down the inner surfaces of her trim thighs. I swear it was this state of her excitement which now caused the candle to shoot backwards from between young Miss Jones's legs as she scampered forwards. Like a splendid jeu d'artifice it sped out from beneath her thighs and described a surprising arc across the bedroom, the Same still fluttering at the wick. It fell quite six feet away and was at once in danger of setting on fire the silk cover of the bed. The Signore, galantuomo that he is, ignored this mere threat to life when there were more important matters to be decided. It was Miss Jones with a charming little scream who sprang across to the bed and began to beat out the infant flames with the back of a hairbrush. At no point had it been agreed that the rules of the game were suspended. The Signore snatched a silk cord from the curtain and, as the object of his lust knelt over the scene of the little conflagration, he ran the cord round her wrists and tied her by it to the bedpost. There she knelt, or rather knelt over, the edge of the bed, her hands tied and able only to look round at him with a sudden fright in the slant of her enigmatic almond eyes. How busy he was with her now! He knelt down behind the lewd young shopgirl, just like a dog who sniffs a bitch. He kissed the coppery smoothness of her bottom-cheeks, her trim young thighs, and even between her legs, much to the cost of his immaculately waxed whiskers. He gave her a hearty smack on the bottom and then another. This excited him so much that he continued until Miss Jones wailed plaintively to know if she was to be spanked or ravished. “A little spanking, Car',” he murmured, “A smack or two to make you lively! Do you want to go home, Car? Have you had enough, Carissima Jones?” With that he unbuttoned and mounted her. I do not suppose such lust can ever be a matter for true elegance, nor was it in this present case. He rode her in and out for several minutes, then withdrew, smacked her bottom a little, and rode her again.
“Untie my hands, then,” she murmured in her charming Celtic lilt.
The Signore merely chortled at the suggestion and gave another sharp smack on her coppery-toned bottom-cheeks as if to reprimand such sauciness. Miss Jones gave a little squeal, whether of discomfort or excitement, who can say? Perhaps it was a little of both.
Whatever the cause, it goaded the Signore to mount her with the resolve of a born rider astride the saddle. Taking her between the rear of her thighs, he was thus able to give his hands full freedom of fondling her breasts and belly, while his hairy loins tickled and prickled her young backside. There is, alas, no scale of enthusiasm in these matters by whose Fahrenheit or Centigrade one may measure the thrill of desire. Yet our almond-eyed beauty writhed and whimpered in a manner which made such exact measurement unnecessary.
The Signore feasted his lips on the delicate whorls of her ears and the fine moulding of her neck. He bit her lightly on the shoulders and his fingernails raked the smooth gold flanks of her trim thighs. She, in turn, twisted her face round and the tight-lidded slant of her dark eyes begged kisses for her greedy lips. A series of sharp rising cries announced the approach of her climax while the Signore discharged his own passion into her loins with grunts and gasps far removed from the exquisite colour of his famous verses. They lay entwined on the dark blue-and-crimson of the Persian carpet, writhing and panting together a little in the moment of their supreme satisfaction. Presently there was another sharp smack on her bottom to prepare the randy little piece for an encore. Just then I heard a sound in the corridor. Opening my door as softly as I might, I peeped through the crack and took young Marit entirely by surprise. What do you suppose? She had stripped to her white blouse and her denim drawers-which was not unusual at that hour of night. She was also kneeling at Miss Jones's keyhole, which was charmingly lewd! You may guess the sequel. Her features were hidden somewhat by the light brown tresses which lapped about her collar. Yet as she sat upon her heels and viewed the scene in the bedroom, Marit's slim young hand was thrust within the waist of her pants at the front. Her fingers were moving with a most lascivious knowingness between her slender thighs.
Though I could not quite see her face for the silken waves of hair falling about her features, I was certain of her mood all the same, if only from the manner in which her glossy young hair trembled and the gasps which issued from her! Do not condemn her too easily, Augustus. Desire is strong at fourteen or fifteen and yet the proper conduct of society requires that its yearnings must be repressed by its elders. How else, then, is Marit to relieve her feelings? I know that she spends much of the day at cafe tables with girls and boys of her own age. Yet I cannot believe that she has ever so much as had her hand inside a boy's pants to feel his budding manhood. Nor, I think, has a boy ever had his own hand in her knickers to fondle the warmth between her thighs or the cool little orbs of Marit's bottom-cheeks. So the little minx worked herself harder and harder, until at last the spasm came upon her. She shuddered as if with horror and yet surely the pleasure was exquisite. Indeed, she was so overcome that she sank down and lay upon the tiles, hugging her knees to her breasts and her fingers busy in her panties all over again! What momentous events are passing in the Villa Lola, dear cousin! What stories I may have to tell you by the time that I despatch my next letter to England! Your own loving Maude Anonymous Augustus and Lady Maude VI. Augustus to Lady Maude Wight, 14 June, afternoon My dearest Maude, I received your letter with its charming and most amusing anecdote of Miss Jones. Yet I fear, my dear cousin, that I am hardly a good audience for such tales just now. To tell you the truth, I do not know whether to rejoice or despair. I have devoted my time to finding out all that I can about Julie, where she lives and what time she may be seen in the street or at her work in the bookshop. To what purpose is all this? I have discovered that she has a lover with whom she shares her rooms. I had feared this and was quite sure that it must be a hulking fellow in whose company I had seen her from time to time. I was wrong. She has a lover but, believe me, it is another girl! You see my predicament? I do not know whether that makes my situation better or worse. Is a woman a more dangerous rival for me than a man? I cannot tell and do not know how to begin finding out.
The girl, like so many common sluts here, is one of Mr. Bowler's young whores. You may see her and a number of others busying themselves as you pass the doors of one of his shops. This creature is named Sian and I daresay you know her. She has a mop of lightly waved reddish hair and a white-skinned look. Her eyes are a light blue, her cheekbones slanting and her chin rather weak with a painted little bud of a mouth. She is not particularly tall and her look is of a slack and sluttish girl. I am no purist in such matters, however. Were it not for my rivalry with the girl-my aversion, needless to say-I would allow that Sian has that characteristic Celtic beauty of pale skin, reddish hair which always seems to make skin even whiter, and blue eyes which sometimes look dark from the manner in which she applies the mascara brush to their lashes. Her figure at twenty years old is at that desirable stage of rounding softly but without showing the degree of plumpness which will one day mar her outline. Under a snug singlet one sees the resilience of her cherry-topped breasts.
When Sian bends over in her cotton working-pants of pale grey-blue, she tightens them skin-smooth over thighs that are still trim and bottom cheeks which are still tautly rounded with the elasticity of youth. I had watched her in this posture a day or two before, the cotton so tight at the seat that one easily saw the ridge which mapped the outline of Sian's knickers. Do not think I am blind, then, to her attractions. Yet there is no torture I would shrink from imposing as a punishment for her seduction of Julie's innocence. I swear I have seen Sian wearing a wedding-ring. If she has regular exercise on the staff of a husband or boyfriend, what excuse is there for her depravity with another girl? It is not the helpless inclination of a born lesbian but a matter of calculated lechery. What right has she to enjoy the pleasures of Julie's bed when my own passion burns unrequited? I will not give up the pursuit of my beloved-rest assured of that. I have rented a common lodging across the street from her own, the better to lay siege. Its upper window commands a view into all her rooms, so that I may survey the object of my desires as well as the machinations of my rival. Before you cry alarm at my obsession and write to Dr. Raspail about my condition, let me inform you that all my suspicions have proved well founded, as I saw for myself last night. Would you credit it? Thinking this room of mine unoccupied, the two girls did not so much as draw a curtain over any window. I saw all that passed as clearly as if then in the best box at the theatre and they performing on the stage a dozen feet from me!
But first you may be sure I had not missed the opportunity of taking many a view of Julie during the day, while she sat on her stool behind the shop counter in her plain black dress and coquettish little red shoes. I watched her as, having changed into the working pants of tight denim, she lifted the books and filled the shelves again. At a discreet distance, I followed her through the streets on her route to the rooms where Sian waited. How I adored the spread of her fine golden-blond hair on her shoulders as it rose and fell a little with the rhythm of her agile steps! How my eyes caressed her slender thighs in the skin-tightness of smooth faded denim which creased across their backs and behind her knees at each movement. Though she is, I hear, nineteen years old, Julie's thighs have the endearingly fragile look of a little girl's. My desires grew harder as I watched in the tight denim seat the lewd little movements, while she walked, of the saucy little cheeks of Julie's bottom! When we came to the narrow street, I hurried up to my window and sat there discreetly behind the curtain. Every room opposite was open to my view-bedroom and kitchen, even toilet and bathroom-so little did they imagine themselves to be observed and so little, perhaps, did they care. Sian was watching for her girlfriend's arrival. I saw the image of her face and the short tresses of red hair shaped about her head and lying here and there on her forehead. In anticipation of the passion and seduction to come, she had darkened the lashes of her blue eyes with the mascara brush and painted red the sensuous little bud of her lips. With her pert young nose and the slight weakness of her chin, she appears the most blatant sensualist. They met at the door of the sitting-room and at once slid their arms about each other in a writhing and smoothing embrace. Each of them seemed to be trying to stifle the other with the pressure of mouth upon mouth. Sian, the tendrils of dark red hair lying over her brow, was quite shamelessly unbuttoning Julie's blouse with all the moist eagerness of frustrated passion. In a moment more her hands had firmed up those pert little breasts which I vow ought only to be accessible to my own adoring hands. I was so vexed, Maude! So very vexed that I cannot describe my state of mind with any lucidity. It pains me even to recall my feelings then.
They led one another off, with arms twined lewdly round waists and heads resting together, pausing to kiss and nuzzle at every few steps. The door from the bathroom to the toilet opened and Julie went in, undoing her pants in preparation. At least, I thought, the door would be shut and she would be separated from Sian for a few minutes.
Perhaps I would contrive some scheme for getting the slut with the mop of red hair into my power by then. I was so enraged, my dearest, that I trembled afterwards at the images which had occurred to me. Yet I cannot say I regretted what I would have done to Sian if fate had delivered her to me in some harem from which no scandal ever emerges.
How I hated her painted little mouth and her round chin, the slant of her cheekbones and the way she mascara'd the lashes of her wide blue eyes. I raged at the mop of red hair trimmed short where it just lapped over her collar, its stray plumes falling on her brow. I would have handed the leather strangling-strap to my major-domo and ordered him to do his worst to Sian. Vain dreams, indeed, and yet most agreeable to me in my jealous fury-and surely justified by what I saw.
The door of the toilet did not close. Sian and Julie both entered.
Julie sat on the pedestal with her knickers round her ankles and released her flood on the porcelain. All the time, Sian hung over her and browsed with lips on lips. Julie sat a little longer while her friend busied round her. Then I saw that my treasure was winding her golden blond hair into a strand, holding it forward from the crown.
With Sian's aid she once more pinned it into that delightful little top-knot which gives her the look of such a saucy little madam of a child! Even before Julie rose from the pedestal, Sian knelt before her and removed the panties and denim which were round her ankles. To my fury she seemed to be telling Julie, in a sly and sluttish manner, that she would need to wear nothing of that kind again this evening and that indeed she might not be permitted to. I wonder, Maude. Do you suppose it could be contrived for the sharp bodkin point to enter Sian's belly button at such a snail's pace that she might live a whole day and night upon it? I cannot wish for less that that! I watched them return kisses again. Now it was Sian who undid her pants and sat upon the pedestal. I tell you, Maude, I nearly swooned with horror when I saw how she had led my girl astray.
For now it was Julie who hovered over Sian, lips to lips, while the redhead pressed the pale softness of her hips and bottom on the seat and then let loose such a flood upon the porcelain. Is the world mad? Has decency deserted the entire female sex? Like a pair of dirty little schoolgirls, Sian and Julie fondled and played in this inauspicious bridal suite. That was but the start. Sian stood up and removed her own pants from the tangle round her ankles. Naked from the waist down, arms about one another, they slunk from there into the bedroom. You may well believe that the boudoir of such a pair was a place of extreme disorder and that the cover of the bed itself was littered with the brushes and patch-boxes, the rouge and mascara, by which beauty is applied to certain female features. Among this debris, down they lay. Each pulled the other's blouse up to bring their breasts into play, nipples teasing nipples into hardness while I watched them. Then it seemed that Sian coaxed Julie to mount astride her thigh by cocking a leg over and to have a ride. My view was of Julie's saucy little bottom-cheeks and the rear of her thighs as she did this. How she squirmed! How her seductive little bum-cheeks clenched and writhed, her thighs squeezing upon Sian's in order to excite the sensitive folds of her vaginal flesh. I saw that Julie's passion rose easily and this made me lament all the more that she was not spending it upon me. Her hands were clenched into fists and she ground her teeth with frenzy. She clenched her thighs upon Sian's with such vicious energy that you might have thought she was trying to crush to death her ticklish little clitoris. What was I to do? Alas, I was doomed to be merely the spectator of a pleasure enjoyed at my expense. Julie had been easily seduced. She now turned about so that she knelt astride Sian's face, indeed almost squatted on Sian's lips, while she bowed her own face so that she could employ it between the other girl's open legs. In this manner they made love for the next half hour. First it was with fingers, diddling one another quickly up and down the pleasure slit, working a finger in and then quickly in-and-out. Next it was kissing and tongue-flicking of the other girl's love-button. During this, Sian moaned with happiness all the time and twice screamed out at the intensity of her arousal. Presently to my horror, I saw Julie move a little and kiss Sian upon the cheeks of her bottom. What was to be the end of this? I had not expected to see Julie climax first for though she may appear a sullen little thing, her moodiness did not seem to be of that kind which sometimes cloaks the sensual nature of a woman. And yet it was Julie who orgasmed first. She jigged her hips and her thighs-so slim and fragile- shuddered with the overmastering thrill of the release. She cried out the names of Sian, of her loutish boyfriend, and of several other partners with whom she has enjoyed a rub and a squeeze in the past. Sian, unable to wait longer for her own release, slipped a hand down and completed her own pleasure without any assistance from Julie. With her eyes closed and the tendrils of her red hair lying over her forehead, she began to gasp and tense herself until this randy trim-thighed little shopgirl came off with shudders and murmurs of passionate gratitude to her own fingers. Those who tell you, Maude, that jealousy is like the torture of the rack do not at all exaggerate. The cruelty of it is in the way it pulls a man in opposite directions so that he is no longer master of his feelings. At one moment I saw Julie in the arms of another and could have wept for the loss I felt. Then, with no effort on my part, I felt only a savage anger towards the girl for whom I longed. It was as if, since I could not have her, I wished to see her tortured and abused. Then this feeling too would pass and I was once again desolate in the hopeless state of my exile from her joys.
There are libertines who will tell you that a lover gets a secret pleasure in watching his wife or his mistress in the arms of another woman. If it were a man, he would fly into a rage, reaching either for his pistol or for a writ of criminal conversation. Yet to see a woman maul and masturbate her is a mere jest to him, according to such stories. A woman is no threat to his supremacy over his beloved.
Indeed she shall be made to submit to him as well in a manner which requires no pistols or lawyers' writs. Do not believe it, my dear cousin. These are the jibes of worn-out old roues with no power left to please any woman. To see Sian and Julie toiling at one another was the keenest punishment of desire which I could ever have imagined.
They lay head to tail on the bed, closely inspecting and fondling the spread of each other's thighs and buttocks. The most intense spasms of their mutual desire seemed to be past. Now they were content to stroke and fondle more gently. Despite the wedding-ring on her finger, Sian has trim young thighs and firmly agile bottom-cheeks.
Julie licked her fingers and began to draw wet patterns on the white skin of Sian's trim young buttocks and down her thighs. Now the redhead returned the service to the slim young blonde. They wetted and drooled over each other in the lewdest possible manner until their unwholesome conduct excited stronger passions and they began to pry and insert their fingers, each watching what she was doing to the other at a few inches distance in order to inflame her own lewdness.
I cannot envisage what means may be used to drive these two girls apart and to speed Julie into my arms. I do assure you, Maude, they now began to play upon the bed like the most lascivious little kittens. There was not one nook or cranny of either girl's body which was not lingeringly probed and caressed by the tongue of the other little slut! You see where despair born of jealousy had brought me? I now began to think of Julie as a slut! I will leave you to imagine what I wished for Sian when I knew how deeply she had undermined the purity of my passion! Were it in my power, I would order a display behind the plate glass of the shop which should have the crowds a-gape! Sian with her mop of red hair, her white-skinned lasciviousness and blue eyes, a rope round her neck and her feet dancing on air a full hour! A steel bodkin-tip tickling her bare belly-button and beginning to demand entrance! Have no fear, Maude. It is not yet within my power- but it shall one day be! I shall not be called to account for it. Our friend, the Lord Chief Justice, will be my security! Dr. Raspail shall plead my neurasthenia. Have I not been provoked beyond the endurance of a man in perfect health, let alone one in my questionable condition? Despair overcame my curiosity and I turned from the window. Presently I knew that it would be impressible for me to endure another moment in the rooms I had hired to keep my observation upon the pair. Taking up my hat, I went down the stairs and shut the door. Above the little street, I now saw the light shining from the uncurtained window of the room in which the two girls lay, naked and writhing in each other's arms. Upon my arrival home, I threw myself down in a chair and brooded upon my tragedy. Why it was, I cannot say, yet I thought suddenly of those reformatory institutions where young women and girls are taught discipline by methods familiar to us all. I had once browsed through some pages of the House of Correction memoirs and was tolerably well-informed as to the scenes enacted in such places. In my mind I saw a girl of twenty with a firm and round young figure. She was pale-skinned and her mop of red hair fell this way and that. It was Sian. She was hoisted astride the padded vaulting-horse and stretched forward so that she lay along it while she straddled. They strapped her down and made her secure. A brute of a fellow, the very one for such a task, took up the cord whip. He lashed the bare cheeks of Sian's bottom until they were a mass of weals and the blood ran down to the backs of her knees. Thus I imagined, and thus I wished the future should be for our lewd young redhead. And then, Maude, a curious thing happened. Without exercising the least direction over my imagination, I found that the girl whom I pictured over the flogging-horse, screaming and writhing under the whip, was not Sian any longer. It was Julie whom my subconscious mind now presented on the stage of my imagination. The significance of this is more than I dare ponder. I know it is not a subject to be raised with the good Dr.
Raspail. What am I to deduce from it? I thought only a little longer and saw that, of course, I should lose my reason unless I took measures in good time. I have neither the means nor the leisure to have a shopgirl like Sian thrown into a reformatory for three or four years. I must act at once, or at the first propitious moment. I know there are rough fellows of a kind who may be bribed to assist one in these affairs. Two might hold her while I tightened the cord. Surely Julie would not refuse me after that? I paced up and down laying my plan. Then, past two in the morning, I could endure the uncertainty no more, for I was distracted at the thought of what Sian might be doing to Julie. I went back at dead of night to my hired room. Until daybreak I stared from the window into the brightly lit bedroom opposite. The two girls were sleeping, naked and head to tail.
Presently they stirred and it was now Julie who first began to open the redhead's thighs with her fingers and to part Sian's bottom-cheeks. I will not tolerate it, Maude. I will be denied no longer. At the first opportunity I shall be avenged upon the young whore Sian! Augustus Anonymous Augustus and Lady Maude VII. Lady Maude to Mr. Bowler Garda, 17 June, p.m. Hotel Rialto, Venezia, per corriere espresso My dear Friend, I send this brief message by the most expeditious route and beg your assistance or advice. Matters concerning my cousin, Lord A, with which I lately acquainted you, have now assumed a much graver complexion. There is a girl by the name of Sian, employed in a menial capacity by one of your enterprises. Lord A believes she is a rival for the blond slut in whom he has so unwisely interested himself. With his nerves in their tender state, he vows to kill the other creature-the redhead Sian-by dramatic methods. Sensible people do not care, of course, if it pleases a nobleman to put to death a young bitch of her sort. But Lord A's neurasthenia has made his actions unpredictable. I do not think he would do the thing at all discreetly. In feet, I am almost sure he would make a public example of her. The police have always obliged in other matters but I do not think family influence and money could quieten the scandal if Lord A were to pinion Sian and hang her with a rope round her neck and keep her dancing on air half an hour. Too many gentlemen would want to “spectate” to hush it up. Now, my dear friend-I beg you-do think what may be done. The affair between the girls is certainly sapphic on the part of the wretched little Julie as well. You know how such girls may be quietly removed to other places- done away with, in the sense of being spirited away to some establishment where they will remain permanently. Can you not help us now? I will promise you a certain reward, in the gift of my father, that you have long coveted. There is a contract to be put out in the matter of equipping two mounted regiments who are ordered for viceregal duty in Calcutta. No man could furnish their horses so well as yourself. I am sure you take my meaning. I send this message by express, in the hands of a fellow whom I have trusted before.
However, as one cannot be too careful in a matter of such delicacy, I have avoided “naming names”-even your own. And I sign myself only as your loyal and trusting friend. M.
Augustus and Lady Maude
VIII. Mr. Bowler to R. L. Esq.
Hotel Rialto, Venice Tuesday a.m., 18 June In strictest confidence The enclosed letter is from a lady of the first rank who stands high in my personal esteem. You will see at once, from the past services you have rendered me, the extent of the difficulty. I believe you will understand the nature of the means required to overcome it. I have marked on the enclosed street-map of the city the house where the two delinquents are to be found. In the light of certain favours you have enjoyed from me in the past-and which shall be repeated in the future-I call upon your assistance.
You will need two of my stable-grooms, men who are not easily unnerved by squeals and imprecations. I suggest Withers and Platt.
They will, however, want a gentleman of your standing to manage the affair. I suggest you let them have fun with both girls for an hour or two before the abduction. They cannot then tell tales without implicating themselves. Once the “packages” are securely “wrapped,” you may take them a mile or so and deliver them to my agent Jasper B- – in the London Road for shipment overseas. He will know what to do and will arrange their transportation. When you next visit the Bond Street branch of the City and Counties Bank, you will find 200 guineas has been placed to your account. You may also depend upon a certain subcontract in respect of leather for stable-whips.
Withers has already assisted in the removal of Janet Bond, who threatened scandal after a few liberties with her person. I will write no more here, except to say that the first 200 guineas will be matched by the same sum again, from the family of the young gentleman, so soon as the two impediments have been removed. You see what will be done for you by those who hold your abilities in such esteem!
IX. Lady Maude to Augustus
Lago di Garda, 19 June My dear Augustus, I need not tell you with what care and concern I read your last letter. I scanned it through while lying upon the chaise-longue after breakfast, the coffee and oranges scarcely consumed. The events you described in those pages put me quite in a passion. I broke all the sticks of my fan, with which one wafts the cooler air from the open window. What am I to say, my beloved?
You have grown to such an age and learnt so little-unless it be to endure a crise des nerfs at every setback. I beg that you will listen to me while there is still time. Neurasthenia is not the worst that may afflict a young gentleman of tender sensibilities in such a position as your own. Far worse is the storm of social scandal and ruin whose dark clouds I already see gathering about your head.
You cannot-you must not-go on with these romantic absurdities involving common shopgirls and vulgar young trollops with whom you can have nothing in kind. You saw Julie and Sian having sex together in the lewdest manner. What else did you imagine of such hussies? Did you imagine that they would spend a quiet evening reading aloud the verses of Lord Tennyson or Mr. Longfellow to one another? Did you suppose they would crochet or embroider with eyes meekly cast down upon the hoops with which they worked? I trust you have learnt better, Augustus. We have waited quite five years to see you become decently attached to a young lady of your own class and condition. We have thus far waited in vain. The disorder of your venereal passions is, it appears to me, nothing short of pathological. I should imagine that there must be a term in medicine to describe your obsession with these common sluts. And if there is not such a term-then there ought to be.
An Augustinian malaise. Now let me advise you, as a woman and as one of your own rank in society. You may enjoy such sluts as Julie, of course you may. That is every gentleman's privilege. But not as you might do. You must do it without this desperate infatuation and, if possible, invoke an air of moral probity. The art of social morality in England is simplicity itself. You may do whatever you choose to the girls and young women of the lower orders, provided you talk all the time about decency and respectability. If you wished only to enjoy a ride between Julie's legs, to fondle those saucy little bottom-curves of hers-above all to whip them soundly-you might do so with impunity. I will go further. You may do so to your heart's content and earn nothing but praise and reward from the justices and the clergy, even from your own wife and family. What is true morality, Gussie? It is certainly not the feeble mooning over sights seen through bedroom windows, nor this wish to exalt a randy little slut like Julie as the future Lady of Coombe. Nothing but scandal and disgrace attends such indiscretions. True morality is the removal of such a lewd little minx from her present corruption of such gentlemen as yourself to a penitentiary institution where she may serve three or four years under discipline. Ah, I hear you wail like a little boy that your toy would be taken from you by such methods! What a silly thing you are! Girls like Julie, in such reformatories, are always at the disposal of a gentleman of your rank who wishes to play the moralist with them. Present yourself at the gate and the gaoler will doff his cap to bow you through. I do not say that you ought not to chink a little silver in his hand. He is a most worthy fellow, deserving whatever recognition of a financial kind you might care to bestow upon him. Believe me, my dear, it never comes amiss to spend a few guineas wisely. By such means trade will flourish and the respectability of society may be preserved without noise or scandal.
I can assure you, upon the authority of my father and brothers who constitute a whole bench of magistrates, that there is a simple remedy when you wish to have your way with Julie or any other girl of her class. She has only to be removed to penitentiary training for three or four years and, as a magistrate yourself, you would find her constantly available to you. Examination and wholesome chastisement are the reasons given for taking down the knickers of such young wenches. You think she could never be guilty of an offence which would ensure her detention during a few years of your own pleasure?
How wrong you are! Our good friends will convict her summarily of insulting behaviour-an insolent glance from Julie would suffice!-or threatening attitudes. No sooner would I make a request than the matters might be arranged. Now, Gussie, when the law of England can arrange such affairs of the heart for you, why must you continue to play at Tristan and Isolde with a grotesque young slut of Julie's sort? You and I, my dearest, have grown up closer than brother and sister in our affections. You must know, then, that I would not deceive you for the world. Can you believe that what I tell you now is part of some plot which finds me in league with the questionable Dr.
Raspail? Even should you think so, I can prove my bona fides in a moment. Do, I beg you, have a word with our friend Lord Rupert N- -. You shall be a magistrate yourself next month if you murmur your desire to him. You may then spend every day or night of the week with a girl of Julie's kind behind the locked door of the reformatory discipline-room. I beg you will look at certain private records which Lord Rupert will show you in confidence at my request. Or else inquire of old Justice Snook and Master Miles. You will find what fun may be had with such girls as Julie in pursuit of law and decency. A certain price must be paid but most men would yearn for the chance to pay it. Having had some fun, you must exercise the bamboo cane upon the bare bottoms of fifteen-year-old reformatory tomboys like Michele Page, and Elaine, with Pauline her big sister, a plump slut of eighteen with a round face, blue eyes, and a coquettish chignon of fair hair. I assure you most would envy you the chance to have such a pair strapped on all fours over a couple of blocks, side by side.
Would you not at least try the experiment of caning them soundly across their bare bottoms with the bamboo and then giving each sister a taste of the leather dog-whip? Faced with Elaine and Pauline over the blocks, no one will inquire what you may do to them first! No complaints are listened to from such delinquents. I can assure that no other magistrate nor even the Lord Chancellor himself would regret it if you had fun with two such bare-bottomed sisters, enjoying their tightness upon your manhood. A chastiser who has been seduced by the sight of such a pair of culprits will afterwards skin their backsides closely with his whip. You see? The world would not expect you to be other than a man from the waist down. There is no prying into such trivial lapses, for which the sight of Pauline's plump bare buttocks or Elaine's tomboy bottom-cheeks must be held to blame. Even the fact that you vaselined young Elaine would be no crime. Best of all, such moral discipline with bamboo and lash is not only sanctioned by the law in such places. It is rewarded by public esteem. The stricter the method- the more severe the chastisement of Julie or Pauline- the higher will be your reputation as a pillar of social order and probity. Can you be better employed than in dealing with such girls?
Now, tell me true, my dear, does not Julie belong to this class of delinquent? Might you not ease yourself of your present torment by having her confined in such a place and made available for whatever treatment you wished her to undergo at your hands? Far from being reproached by the world-as you will be if you continue with your present infatuation-you might earn the reward of virtue and esteem.
You will perhaps think me harsh and without finer sentiments in the matter. I beg you, though, to consider this. You desire Julie, do you not? Yet you have no present hope of attaining your goal. With equal longing, you wish to be esteemed in society as befits your rank. Yet your present conduct augurs ill for this and seems doomed to end with scandal and disgrace. The state of your nerves grows daily more hectic, for your letters show it. How better to attain your desires and avoid calamity than by the methods I have described to you? If it is apprehension which holds you back from having Julie detained in this manner, let me reassure you. No one in England has ever sunk in moral reputation by using the whip under such circumstances. Our greatest schools have thrived by its employment.
There is scarcely a man or woman of merit in England who would not wish Julie to be subject to the authority of the lash and the reformatory. By following the course I recommend, you would cast off the uncertainty of youth-in the eyes of society-and establish yourself as a man of consequence. Do, my dearest cousin, take this advice to heart. Only give the word and all shall be done for you so that you may have Julie however and whenever you choose. Your loving friend, Maude Anonymous Augustus and Lady Maude X. Augustus to Lady Maude Wight, 21 June, a.m. My dear Maude, How little you know me, after all, if you believe that I could consent to have the object of my affections dealt with in the manner you describe. It is not in the discipline-room of a reformatory among whips and straps that I wish to adore my bride-to-be. You tell me that Julie is not fit to be the lady of my estates. Surely it is your suggestion which would make her unfit. At present, nothing stands against my desires but her own lack of inclination. Yet how could I bring as my bride a girl who had been thrashed in a reformatory?
I have been obliged to take certain of the drops which Dr.
Raspail prescribed in order to maintain my equanimity under these trying circumstances. Your letter brought me no peace of mind. I dare not even imagine the scenes which you delineate respecting the two sisters. I daresay I should find such occasions an object of curiosity. But if you imagine that I could envisage them with Julie as the heroine, you mistake my character more than I had ever thought possible. I can write no more at present. I am so overwrought.
Your loving cousin, Augustus P.S. I have read, on your instructions, the pages which recount Elaine's ordeal. Is it possible to attend the reformatory as a spectator only? Can one obtain an introduction to the master?
XI. Lady Maude to Augustus
Lago di Garda, 25 June
My dearest Cousin, Only the postscript to your letter lightened somewhat the apprehension which I have long felt on your behalf. Lord Rupert will furnish you with all the necessary introductions you require and will esteem it a pleasure to do so. There are public disciplines attended by the justices which you might witness. Yet when the door is locked upon certain scenes, it is only the chastiser who is present with the girls. I am sure you will understand why! Your failing perhaps is one of moral resolve. Cannot you see what may be done in the name of moral discipline? We have had a charming example here in the past few days and, indeed, it is I who have helped to bring it about. Were you to join us here, you would find that I am now spoken of as the strictest duenna who ever watched over the girls of the Villa Lola.
And yet, I assure you, I have never enjoyed myself half so much in my life as I do now with Miss Jones and Marit Aas. By your outrage at the lewd little romps of Julie and Sian it is evident that you have much to learn about the amusements in which the female sex may indulge when there is no man present. I am as devoted to mankind as anyone could be, and yet I confess to a certain satisfaction which may be had in dealing with womankind. In short, I have long wanted to see young Marit's panties as her only covering, solely for the pleasure of stripping them from her. Were I a fool, which I trust is not the case, I had by now attempted a romantic seduction of our fifteen-year-old Scandinavian nymph. And what would have been the result? Outrage and scandal! The end of a pleasant summer by this warm Italian lake. What then was I to do? It was evident that I must become a moralist of the kind only found among the higher orders of English female society. Marit herself gave enough pretext for that.
She is not quite an immoraliste and yet her conduct is a little questionable. In her singlet, saucy little cap, and tight denim pants on her slender thighs and tightly rounded rear cheeks, she parades each day in the town. With her soft young face and the waves of her brown tresses lapping silkily over her collar, she is to be seen sitting at cafe tables with other girls and boys, smoking a cigarette with the studied manners of a little coquette. It is also evident that Marit plays with herself between the legs, furtively enough in the privacy of her own bed. Put all these things together and does she not call for the strictest moral supervision? I summoned her to my presence, with all Mr. Bowler's authority to support me. Marit will be a real beauty at seventeen or eighteen with her firmly rounded chin, wide and charming smile, her short pert nose and light blue eyes. How she blushed now when I spoke to her of her delinquencies, ending with the worst. “Stand up, Marit, and turn about so that I may see you. Such pretty legs for a girl of your age, in those tight denim pants! I'm sure your bridegroom will find them to be graceful and elegant when he undresses you on your honeymoon night! Narrow hips and tight young bottom-cheeks, Marit! Not quite a proper grown woman yet, perhaps! All the same, your backside begins to show a woman's shape!
Even in your wedding-dress, I'm sure those rear cheeks will still be taut and agile!” The velvety smoothness of Marit's lightly suntanned face coloured up a little at these compliments but she blushed far more deeply at my next words. “I think you like to make love to yourself, don't you, Marit? When did you last do it?”
Imagine the blushings, the stutterings of protest now! “Don't pretend to misunderstand, Marit. When did you last play with yourself?” Believe me, Gussie, I was the master inquisitor of our Nordic nymph. There was such shame-faced hesitation, a few gulps and whimpers. But I would tolerate no prevarication. To my delight Marit confessed to doing it twice the day before, once in the bathroom during the afternoon and then in bed at night! I shook my head, as if my heart were heavy with sorrow at the news. “I am more distressed, more disappointed in you, than I can say, Marit! So, if I did my duty as I should, it would be to send you home at once to your unhappy parents with a full explanation of your conduct. A girl so predisposed to these things is a moral danger to herself and to those with whom she associates. You know, I imagine, to what I refer.”
There is something so exquisite, Gussie, about true repentance.
Marit's knees pressed the carpet before my chair as she begged for anything-anything!-rather than the disgrace which now threatened her.
I was not easily moved, you may be sure. We had tears and weepings from her before I was softened a little. A fool would have gone too far. Not I. With great seriousness I explained that her moral welfare was my sole consideration. Against my better judgment, she might stay at the Villa Lola. There was, however, to be a condition.
Anything, Marit assured me. Anything! Very well, I explained. In order to maintain moral vigilance over this frail adolescent conscience, Marit was to be inspected twice a day for evidence of immoral conduct. In order to spare her blushes it would be done anonymously. There was a convenient hatchway between two rooms in the cellar. She would bend through it and the hatch would be lowered until it was locked in place, just touching the small of her back.
Marit would not be able to straighten up or free herself until the hatch was unlocked. We should be able to strip off her denim skirt or pants, pull Marit's knickers right down and fiddle with her all morning or all night if we wished to. Best of all, this was to be done in the name of the strictest moral supervision. A duenna of less imagination than I, would have fallen upon the girl at the first opportunity. I was struck by a more poetic notion. Miss Jones should carry out the examinations of Marit each morning and evening. I had no doubt that a randy and depraved young bitch of Miss Jones's sort would have an effect upon Marit. I should soon have two girls in a lewd and lascivious state rather than one. So it was that yesterday morning, Marit went slowly down the steps to the lower rooms. She hesitated long before the hatchway but then bent forward through it, the washed blue denim tight on her slender thighs and the tight little rounds of her bottom-cheeks. The hatch was lowered into place and locked. You may be sure I spied from a comer where I could see both sides, the silken waves of Marit's collar-length hair falling about her face in the most charming disorder. Miss Jones appeared cautiously, walking with the usual tight little swagger of her hips, the warm gold of her face with its almond eyes and sharp nose appearing like a Turkomean mask. She studied the slim little figure presented to her from the waist down and then very slowly undid Marit's denim. Even this caused the victim to squirm a little with apprehension. The young mistress pulled the drawers down until they were a puddle of denim round the girl's ankles. Marit's thin graceful thighs looked almost frail and yet one had not the least regret at what she was about to undergo. Marit's panties were no more than a pair of tight briefs in white cotton. For the moment she was made to wear them. Miss Jones began her inspection. Her slim nimble fingers entered between the rear of Marit's bare thighs and closed upon the little pouch of secret flesh moulded by the tight cotton gusset of her panties. How the younger nymph flinched and squirmed at the delicious forbidden touch of Miss Jones's fingers. But Miss Jones makes love to herself regularly and so has the skill of a devil when she takes other girls in hand. A demure young debutante of sixteen like Tracey was heard to scream with the sharpness of the pleasure when the pale ovals of her bottom cheeks and her pussy flesh came under the handling of our randy little temple dancer! Marit gasped and whimpered, tossed and twisted her head, squirmed her slim bare thighs as if trying to press the excitement back into her womb.
The thick and pearly dew of her passion began to gather and, in no time at all, Marit's knickers clung between her legs. Miss Jones, randy little minx that she is, was aware that the feel of the cotton pants in this state would make Marit even more exquisitely aware of her own arousal. Only when the fifteen-year-old pupil had been fully roused did Miss Jones pull the panties right down. How narrow were the trim young hips she now revealed, while Marit's slim bottom-cheeks seemed hardly on the threshold of womanhood. Now the agile fingers of the older girl moved in the most remorseless rhythm, rubbing and squeezing, stroking and tickling. You may imagine how Marit squirmed and gasped, for all the world as if in true distress, whose sounds are often hard to distinguish from the cries of pleasure.
She knew not whose fingers were working the magic spell upon her, which added to the charm of the situation. Yet, as one watched, it was evident after ten more minutes that the pattern of her movements changed. She ceased to tighten herself or resist. Opening her slim young thighs wider, she accepted Miss Jones's caresses, even showing how she yearned for them. Marit's lips parted, she breathed deeply, and her eyes closed gently and flutteringly in a dream of love.
Presently Miss Jones knelt behind her and applied her open mouth between Marit's slender thighs, whose inner surfaces shone wet with the youngster's slippery dew. There are as many secret lusts as there are human beings. Miss Jones has a perverse relish in tasting other girls during their excitement. She brought Marit off with sly dartings of her tongue and constant lipping and kissing of the roused and moistened folds of puss-flesh. Marit cried out softly, her legs trembling visibly and her tight young arse-cheeks squirming.
Holding her firmly after the climax, Miss Jones parted Marit's trim little buttocks and began to caress or tickle her between them.
My own future plans for Miss Aas involve a degree of unusual pleasures and I was pleased to see that Miss Jones had begun to sensitise her in the forbidden valley already! Our Scandinavian nymph squirmed and whined in protest for the next half hour. But the little beauty had her buttocks tickled and her bottom-crack caressed pitilessly. In a few weeks more we shall have awakened all her erotic responses in that sensitive area. By the time that Miss Jones finished with her, it was an hour before lunch. The hatch was unlocked and raised. Marit rather forlornly pulled up her knickers and denim. Presently she retired with eyes downcast. Do not lament for her, my dear. I was able to observe her through the spy-hole between our rooms. Marit dropped her pants again, lay down on her bed, and played with herself between her legs until it was necessary to knock on the door and remind her that lunch was ready. She will be a changed girl by the time she leaves here. And yet, Gussie, who will dare to deny that I have acted in the most moral fashion? Do you now begin to understand? Your own adoring Maude Anonymous Augustus and Lady Maude XII. Augustus to Lady Maude Wight, 28 June My dear Maude, In answer to your question-I do not understand and am not sure that I wish to. The designs you have upon that unfortunate pupil Marit are so different from my own inclination towards Julie that I see no point of comparison between our feelings. I have decided that I will approach my idol-in the shop if necessary-and make all plain to her. I was wrong to suppose that she would at once love me for myself. Yet I am rich and perhaps she does not realise that. If I were able to arrange a marriage on that basis-if she were even to marry me for money-my devotion would be such that I feel sure love would grow between us. I shall wait a further week. If I am unable to attain my object by any other means, I will then put the case to her in these terms. Surely, if I offer such treasure, she will at least consent to hear me. I do not ask for the approval of my family. What can they or you know of my feelings in such a case? Write to me, my dearest, and tell me that we shall love each other as always. However, do not attempt to dissuade me. Your ever laving Augustus Anonymous Augustus and Lady Maude XIII. Lady Maude to Mr. Bowler Villa Lola, 1 July My dear Friend, I enclose the latest letter from Lord A., hoping it may reach you before your departure from Venice. He is mad! Stark mad! Can anyone doubt that this latest infatuation has brought brain fever upon him? Marry him? Julie? A little whore who sits impudently on her little bottom, atop a counter-stool in a bookshop? Of course she will.
For his money. She will rob him and leave him. In the name of friendship, I beg you to take the most ruthless measures to put an end to this tragi-comedy. At once and with no holding back! Otherwise I foresee the worst. He will strangle the girl Sian-about which I do not care. He will then marry the little whore Julie. I care about that more than I can express. Act quickly and with resolve, dear friend. You shall name your reward. M.
XIV. Augustus to Lady Maude
Chez Dr. Raspail, 8 July
My dearest Maude, I am the most tormented creature the world has ever known.
For the past two days I have lain under the ministrations of Dr.
Raspail and only now feel my nerves in a sufficient state of recovery to write these lines. Julie is gone. Sian is gone. I do not mean that they are dead. They have been spirited away before my very eyes.
I do not know what I shall do or how I shall survive in these next few days. I went to the usual rooms which I have rented in the house across the street, in order that I might observe what passed between the two girls. It was just at sunset and the lights soon came on in their uncurtained windows which showed me everything that passed.
Julie had returned home to find Sian waiting and they had retired together to the bedroom. Neither of them had yet undressed but stood looking at one another across the bed in their singlets and tight denim-pants. Yet they had not had time to do more than caress one another with their eyes when there came a knock at the street door. It was of a kind which permits no prevarication. Even before the girls could answer it the door was opened, for all the world as if one of the four intruders had a key to it. There were four of them, Maude, all well-built and dangerous-looking brutes, though they wore masks across their eyes as if it were carnival in Venice. I knew at once that some villainy was intended towards the one girl. Of course, I cared nothing about what might be done to Sian and, indeed, would have welcomed seeing her ravished first and then given the coup de grace. Yet I could not be indifferent to the peril in which Julie now stood. I went to the door of my room, intending to go down the stairs into the street and raise the alarm. To my astonishment, however, the door had been locked or otherwise secured by some person on the outside. It seemed that I was a prisoner, helpless to do more than watch the events which unfolded in the room opposite. I went to the window, of course, threw it open and shouted, “Help! Help! Ho, there! Murder!” and similar imprecations. The street remained dead. It seemed that all the other buildings were now empty, as if someone had arranged that it should be so. You might have sworn that the inhabitants, all of them Mr. Bowler's tenants I believe, had been well rewarded to spend the night drinking at his expense in a nearby tavern. One of the men chose Julie, threw her on the bed, tightened a strap round her wrists and fastened them to the metal rail. Perhaps it was only Sian whom they wished to deal with. At least, for the moment, they left Julie alone, squirming and mewling on the bed, a gag of some sort thrust in her mouth to subdue her shrillness. I would be a hypocrite, Maude, if I did not confess privately that I enjoyed seeing Sian get her desserts. The men were going to abduct her, of that there was little doubt. Sian was destined for sale to some harem-owner or connoisseur. It was not, of course, necessary for the men to do to her the things which they now inflicted. All the same, it would have been hard for them to resist the temptation. Anyone who has passed Mr. Bowler's premises and chanced to see this redheaded dollymop would have envied the men the fun they had with her. You have only to look at Sian, the short and straying plumes of her red hair over her forehead and on her collar, the sensual blue eyes, the slope of her cheekbones, the weak chin and the painted little mouth. If that does not reveal her character sufficiently, observe her dressed in white blouse and the tight fawn cotton of working-pants. She is not particularly tall and, though she must be twenty years old, her thighs are slim and the cheeks of her bottom trim and agile. When she is at her work, watch her bend to some task or other. How lewdly she does it, her legs astride a little, her rude little bottom rounded right out with its cheeks parted under the tight seat of her denim, for all the world as if she wished to display herself to the passing world like the most shameless and depraved young whore. Without more ado, three of the masked bravoes marched Sian into the other room where the man who was their leader sat in judgment on her. “Stand in front of me, Sian. Let me look at you. Are you truly such a warm-blooded young slut that no girl is safe in the same bed as you? In that case you must be taken somewhere where you can exercise your talents under supervision. Ah, I think you guess that you have had your last experience of being at liberty. Do you know what a price a girl of your trim figure and fair skin will fetch at auction-in the Arabian trade, where harem girls are bought and sold-” While he was talking to her, Sian's blue eyes with their darkened lashes growing wider in disbelief, one of the other men brought in a heavy step-ladder. “I do believe,” said the leader of the group, “you have one of the prettiest faces I have seen on a working-girl, Sian. I like the saucy way you keep your red hair short and curling over your collar. Turn round, Sian, and let me look at you from behind. A pair of round and firm young bottom-cheeks, Sian!
You're going to be whipped presently-those are the orders given us. It will help you to know that we have no power to spare you that punishment, even if we wished to. Go to the step-ladder and bend over it with your arms stretching down on the far side. The men will make you do it anyway, if you prefer to be forced.” The windows on both sides of the narrow lane were wide open in the warm midsummer night, so that I listened to him as if he spoke in the very room where I languished then. Two of the other men seized Sian and hauled the young redhead across to the heavy step-ladder. It was low enough for them to bend her forward tightly over its structure, so that the little platform at the top supported her young belly and her arms were drawn at full stretch down the far side. They pinioned her wrists to these supports and left her in this position. Sian was bending over the ladder much as one sees her when she stoops to some workaday chore. The short mop of her reddish hair fell in a disorder of lightly waved tresses. The beige denim of her working-jeans was tight on her slim thighs, hips and buttocks. How very trim and how very tightly rounded were the nubile cheeks of Sian's bottom! They undid the denim and pulled off her working-pants, while she mewed and squirmed vainly against the wooden steps of the ladder which held her. Sian's knickers were no more than the snug cotton briefs which one sees through the tight jeans-seat whenever Sian bends over to her shop-work. Being prudent though, they ran Sian's briefs under the tap, made a wad of them and packed her mouth with the dampened cotton to quell her shrillness. I could neither defend nor excuse the amusement they now had with her. And yet, Maude, words cannot describe the satisfaction I felt at seeing what they now did to her. She had designed an evening of pleasure with Julie at my expense-and now these fine fellows were going to make her pay the price! The first man stood behind Sian as she bent over the step-ladder, her wrists tied to prevent her straightening up, while the structure itself ensured that she could not twist or squirm out of range. He manualised her between the legs until, I swear, one could hear her slipperiness. You need have no pity for Sian. Even in her present predicament she lubricated as soon as a man's fingers stroked her! This hulking fellow unbuttoned himself with a contented sigh and eased a prodigious member between her slim legs from the rear. Sian needed no encouragement, despite the promise of the discipline which was later to be inflicted on her. To see the way she strained back with her hips, spread her thighs and rode up and down the shaft, you would have thought that the masked ruffian was Apollo and Casanova all in one. I promise you, Maude, that had you been able to see the way Sian bowed her mop of red hair, the manner in which she seemed almost to “do the splits” to accommodate her lover more deeply, you would see her for what she is.
He spared her nothing, nor did she ask him to. He took a jar of vaseline and spread it between the tightly rounded cheeks of Sian's bottom, as if it were the most natural caress in the world. I have no doubt that his employer had warned him of the dangers if Sian appeared on the slave-block with her white belly swollen up! For that reason, he adjusted the head of his ram to the tight dark bud between her rear cheeks and spent his passion deep in Sian's backside. I do assure you, my dear cousin, that I cared nothing for what harm or discomfort she might suffer from this. Indeed, my only fear was that Sian might escape harm and discomfort. When I thought of her lewdness with Julie, how she had been the seducer of the young nymph into the paths of Lesbos, I thought nothing too severe for her. During half an hour the wooden step-ladder creaked rhythmically under the thrusts of the ravisher, while Sian wriggled and writhed, moaned and shuddered, so that one scarcely knew whether she suffered torture or ecstasy!
At last the heavily built fellow who pressed upon her gave her a smack on the bare flank of her hip to prepare her for his spending.
Raking her thighs with his nails, he butted and jigged, pumping his copious flood into Sian's trim-cheeked young bottom. Do you suppose, Maude, that the young whore really believed he would spare her the whip because he had just enjoyed himself so much with her? It certainly seemed that Sian was under some such delusion. She still bent naked over the step-ladder, for the straps obliged her to. But now she turned her collar length of red tresses and looked back at the man with a doe-eyed expression of soft admiration at what he had done to her. The tendrils of the red hair brushed her brow, the blue eyes with their darkened lashes seemed wider still with desire, and the painted young mouth was parted lightly over the wad which filled it.
As if to excite him a little more, Sian moaned and whimpered, squirming against the wooden steps of the ladder and performing a lewdly enticing dance with her pert little bottom. I was glad-so very glad-to see that he was not deceived by this. Though he grinned at her, his amusement was of the vindictive kind. In his hand he held a length of whip-cord. It formed a loop as he held the two ends in his fist and so it dangled about two feet in length from his hand.
Sian was mewing urgently through her gag, no doubt reproaching her lover for so soon forgetting the intimate conjunction of her thighs with his manhood, her backside and his tool, which they had just enjoyed. The fellow paused, not out of reluctance but in order to tie several knots in the whip-cord so that she might feel the lashing with exceptional force where they hit her. It was the leader of the men, who had so far sat in his chair and watched Sian's adventure, who spoke to her next. “Bend right over the ladder, Sian! Tighter still! Your lover wants to whip you now. The tighter you bend and the better you behave, the sooner the thrashing will be over. I'm sure you're frightened, Sian. You're going to be hurt and, with a girl of your sort, the mere threat of that makes you squirm with fear. Very well, if you want a hard time, Sian, we are the men to give it you.”
Without further ado, he got up and went across to the step-ladder. He stood wide astride, forced Sian's head down between his legs and clamped his thighs on her neck. Then, as she bent so tightly over the ladder, he gripped her bare waist with his hands to hold her still for the flogger. The man with the whip-cord ran it under the tap so that it would hit harder by being wet. He teased the frantic young redhead by dangling the wet cord against her firm white buttocks-and even between them-making her heart swell with terror at the cold wet lash. When Sian tried to compress her bum-cheeks together, the other men who held her down were easily able to draw them apart. “You have such a pretty young bottom, Sian!” he said to her quietly. “No wonder the men who passed Mr. Bowler's window like to see you bending over to your work!” The man who had made love to her was less amiable now, hard and pitiless in his cruel desire.
The young bitch needs the whip!” he said savagely. “She shall learn obedience more easily with the cheeks of her arse well-skinned!”
He swung the whip-cord high and brought it down hard across the trim and tightly, rounded cheeks of Sian's bottom. Though they had gagged her, one knew that the strenuous sound trapped in her throat had the force of a scream. It would not, I suppose, be prudent to discuss my reactions to this scene with Dr. Raspail. And yet, Maude, I now began to learn a little about myself. I had thought beforehand that when the whipping began, I should be quite unmanned. I would be appalled at the cruelty, even to Sian, and would long for it to stop.
Perhaps it is a measure of the vindictiveness which I feel towards her that I experienced no such doubts! How urgently Sian tried to writhe her neat young hips and squirm her thighs! Fortunately the man who was holding her kept her hips straight so that Sian's backside faced her chastiser properly. The whip-cord smacked hard across her trim bare buttocks again, and then again. “You get a hundred strokes, Sian!” said the man who held her. “A loop of whipcord is only a little girl's punishment, so you must have plenty of it.” To judge from the shriek which Sian tried to emit at this promise, she did not consider it a little girl's punishment at all! With a sound of whip!… whip!… whip!… the man who thrashed her gave Sian twelve stinging cuts in quick succession round the tops of her thighs. Her knees bent under her and if she had not been supported by the ladder over which she lay, the young redhead would have collapsed on to the floor. “Give the young tart's backside a taste of the whip,” said the man who held her. “We must see Sian with one or two pretty trickles of red running down to the backs of her knees!” If the art of discipline is to have a girl like Sian trembling and mewing even before the whipping has properly begun, these two men were masters of the art. Though Sian twisted the mop of her red hair wildly, she was almost swooning with terror. The man whose sperm was still in her backside as evidence of his enjoyment of her now gave her the hundred strokes with the loop of whipcord. The one who held her rightly over the ladder spoke quietly to her, while Sian's screams were reduced to an urgent mewing by the wad in her mouth. “Such a fuss, Sian! Anyone might think it was the first time a girl of your kind had been whipped for her naughtiness!… You'll have your bare bottom thrashed often in the place you're going to, Sian… Sometimes as a punishment but quite often just for the enjoyment of the man who does it to you!… You must learn to give him a good time while he does it to you! Turn your face and look round at him while he whips you!… Lie over the sofa with your thighs open a little and the cheeks of your bottom parted to show him what he likes to see! You're a randy little bitch at most times, Sian. Anyone who passes the saddler's window can see that! You must learn to act like one under the lash!” The wet cord cracked like a ringmaster's whip across the tensing and twisting cheeks of Sian's bottom. She was now screaming into her wad with little respite, except when the man who held her was obliged to revive her with a smelling bottle to her nostrils. The young redhead's buttocks were a mass of loops and curlicues of the whip printed in raised and angry red. The man who held her pressed Sian's bottom-cheeks apart and encouraged his comrade. “Skin the little tart between her bum-cheeks! She needs a little whip to soften her insolence!” The other fellow needed no further encouragement to whip Sian intimately. You may be sure they taught this randy little shopgirl a lesson she was not likely to forget in a hurry. It was only during the most intense moments of the discipline that I realised the profoundly exciting effect this act of justice had upon me, Maude. It was such as is only proper in a physiological romance, not in a letter written by a gentleman to a young lady of rank. Yet it made any remorse for what was happening to Sian quite hypocritical and, indeed, absurd. They whipped and whipped her, until at last she lay limp and drooping over the step-ladder. Several red trickles ran down Sian's bottom-cheeks and the backs of her thighs. Though they unfastened her, it was only to gag her securely and strap her wrists behind her back as she stood at the centre of the room. One of the others brought in a large and stoutly made sack whose texture permitted air to penetrate. Sian's ankles were now pinioned as well. They lifted her, doubled her up, and deposited Sian arse-upwards in the sack. Then they tied its neck with stout cord and left her to mew and wriggle in vain. Next they brought Julie in from the other room. She still wore her white blouse and tight jeans-denim. Only then, Maude, was I fully aware of my ambivalent state of mind. I longed to possess Julie and yet I now saw the impossibility. A secret voice in my mind assured me that ever since I had seen her naked with Sian, I must have known that it was impossible. I guessed that Julie would be trussed up in a sack, as Sian already was. There would be a short journey to a private jetty, Julie gagged and her wrists strapped behind her to prevent any scandal. Two weeks in the locked cabin of a private yacht would bring her to an auction block, under the eyes of those who are connoisseurs of slave-girl beauty. When Julie and Sian were sold, the gates of their new master's Arabian palace would close upon them and would never open again. It almost seems to me, Maude, that I accepted the hopelessness of the case in order to enjoy what was done to Julie now. Can such things be? Perhaps it was a safety-valve within the mind's system which prevented me going stark mad with grief. I now began to see how greatly the men must be enjoying themselves with Julie and began to understand the matter from their point of view. The pert little blonde had put her hair up in its coquettish top-knot, just like a little girl going to a dancing class. Yet her rather sham young nose, the high but narrow arching of her brows and her darkened lashes made her such a sullen little miss! They made Julie bend forward, right over the step-ladder, her arms at full stretch down the far side and her wrists strapped to the supports. Another strap bound her ankles together to one of the wooden steps. On reflection I cannot truly blame the men for some of the things they did to her when I consider what a sight she presented. Julie wears her working-jeans tight and smooth as a skin, except where they form little sheaves of creases behind her knees and across the rear of her thighs. Without a blush she will present this tight-seated rear view to the public gaze when she stands with her back to the shop window. Under the smooth denim-seat she presents to the world an outline of what she wears underneath, next to her skin. The world sees that Julie's scandalous little panties are worse than no panties at all! They are worn like this to provoke rather than to conceal! You may be sure such garments tell one a good deal about her lascivious young nature and her wish to flaunt herself. So, my dear Maude, you will see that Julie herself was largely to blame for the effect which her appearance had on her captors as they made her bend forward tightly over the step-ladder.
“You dirty little bitch, Julie!” said one of them, smiling at the tight-cheeked seat of her jeans-denim and then turning to his companions, “Look at the tart's little backside! I think she's asking for it now, aren't you, Ju'?” Whether or not she was, Julie got it anyway! They undid her at the waist and removed both her working-denim and little briefs. There was some amusement about the skimpy panties that Julie wore and a suggestion was made that old Mr.
Justice Snook might like to add them to that extensive collection of knickers in his desk, all taken from girls chastised by the venerable gentleman. My own attention was now given to Julie herself, for she was naked from the waist down. With the flat belly and backward jut of the hips more proper in a girl of thirteen, Julie has pale thighs which seem scarcely thicker than a man's upper arm. There is a provoking little fatness or softness to her rear cheeks, which are still those of a much younger girl. “A sound thrashing with a reformatory cane is what you need, Ju',” said the leader of the men.
“Anyone who sees you walking through the streets or bending to your work must think that. Before you get it, there's something I must examine. Can you guess what it is, Julie? Ah, yes! I think you can!”
Easing his fingers between the rear of her slim and tensing cheeks he took Julie's soft and intimate puss-flesh in his fingers, running his thumb lightly over the pink folds of flesh while the girl flinched and shivered with extreme sensitivity. “Ah, someone has been playing with you this evening, haven't they, Ju'? Was it Sian? Or have you been making love to yourself on the sly?” Julie uttered a mewling and squalling resentment at this slur upon her maiden virtue. I conclude from everything I saw that Julie masturbates a good deal. Even the tight denim-pants rubbing between her legs all day must keep her constantly aroused. Small wonder that her hands are always touching herself in that area! Even when the man was merely fingering her to examine the state she was in, Julie could hardly control herself. She writhed her legs upon him and began to utter those hard and greedy little cries of a young female animal on heat.
At this he smiled again, drawing his hand from her. “We mustn't get you into bad habits, Julie! For the next fortnight, until you reach your destination, you must have your wrist-cuffs linked to a leather collar round your neck out of temptation's reach!” Julie gave another ill-natured squeal at this. But now the man was flexing in his hands a long and extremely supple bamboo cane. “You're asking to be flogged with the bamboo aren't you, Ju'? Bending over like that with those saucy little bottom-cheeks so lewdly parted!”
He touched the cane across her trim and well-spread buttocks, while Julie writhed hard against the wooden steps of the ladder. At first I thought she was squirming in panic. But then, Maude, I saw that she was squeezing herself hard and lasciviously between her slender thighs. The randy little bitch was trying to finish off what the man's fingers had begun! To think that I might have chosen such a girl as lady of the manor! The only place for Julie is as the slave of the most lecherous tyrant. Yet the scene I now witnessed was shrill and raw enough to tear my nerves this way and that so that I trembled fit to drop. The man touched the cane lightly across the tensing and rounding cheeks of Julie's bottom. He thrashed once and made her gasp with the searing smart. He aimed low across her fat little bottom-cheeks and brought the cane down with a report like a pistol-shot. Julie screamed and bucked frantically against the ladder and the restraints. “Now you get twelve low across your bottom, Julie, where it really hurts!” said the chastiser softly. The very air whooped with the thrash!… thrash!… thrash!… of the cane. Julie shrieked and writhed with good reason. Her pert little bottom bore some splendid raised weals of bamboo. Three of them had interlaced so cruelly that the first ruby droplet welled up and trickled down the back of her slender thigh. The other men congratulated the chastiser on this evidence of his skill. “Lay into the little bitch!” said one of them. “She's needed it for a long time! Teach her a lesson in manners!” You may be sure he did! At one moment her screams were so shrill that one of the other men held Julie's head and pressed his hand over her mouth. It must have been a rare sensual experience for this fellow to have his hand over her mouth-one finger between her lips-as the cane whipped and whipped across Julie's bottom-cheeks, raising thin blueberry weals and then thrashing these till wine-red trickled. As Julie tried to force her screams through the covering hand, her tongue constantly licked and wetted his fingers as if in some lewd caress. They took her punishment far beyond anything which a reformatory would permit. At length, her head drooped. The fine-spun golden-blond hair broke from its little top-knot into a spreading veil. Half swooning under the bottom-punishment of the bamboo, Julie drooled through the fingers of the man who held his hand over her mouth. Even this, I believe, was done deliberately by the little minx to seduce him, for he made her take it back again. Indeed, now that the caning was over, Julie lay bottom-upwards over the ladder in the most abandoned manner. Her pert little bottom cheeks were in a sorry state and she writhed piteously.
And yet, Maude, this writhing was sly and passionate self-love. As she lay strapped over the ladder Julie's slender thighs squeezed herself to climax, finishing what the man's fingers had begun. She did it quite shamelessly in front of them, ending with those short hard cries which have only one cause. They did not bother to pull Julie's pants up. Where she was going, she would not need them. Another sack was brought. A gag was slipped into her mouth. Her wrists were pinioned behind her and her ankles bound. Now it was Julie who was tumbled in, arse-upwards, and the neck of the sack tied securely with a leather thong. A few minutes later the lights in the rooms went out and the four men emerged into the street. The two brawniest carried a sack each on their backs. Passers-by noticed only wrigglings and muffled mewings from the sacks, as if the two ruffians were disposing of unwanted kittens. The sacks were lowered into the luggage boot of the closed van. The lid was closed on the mewlings and squirmings and the van drove off. When I recovered my wits I found the door of my lodging had been unlocked as mysteriously as it was first fastened. Only upon my arrival home did my nerves give way at last. I was alternately distraught over the loss of Julie and then intrigued at the thought of being the harem master of two such girls.
The older women of the palace should prune Sian's randiness a little.
And how I would love to have Julie bottom-upwards over such a step-ladder! Yet I dare not breathe these thoughts to Dr. Raspail…
Your loving but prostrate cousin Augustus Anonymous Augustus and Lady Maude XV. Lady Maude to Augustus Lago di Garda, 11 July My dearest Augustus, Your letter this morning, with its account of the magical “disappearance” of Julie and Sian in the two sacks, lightened my heart a good deal. Of course you must feel “put out,” as they say, that your little bitch Julie has been made off with in such a manner.
All the same, the thought that the young whore Sian's bottom-cheeks are to be regularly whipped and salted by a stern master must give you some consolation. The hope which I draw from your letter is in the sensible attitude you show towards what has happened to Julie. Now do not pretend with me, Gussie, for I know you too well! Once they had Julie's skimpy little panties down, did you not enjoy watching some of the things they did to her? Of course you are dismayed at losing her.
But since you had lost her anyway, I believe it excited you a good deal to see her tanned and enjoyed by the men. In all this philosophy of yours towards her, I see you about to emerge as the man of sense and reason. Do let us hope so. Mr. Bowler paid us a brief visit here the other day on his way back to England. You know he has hired a grouse moor for the shooting in August-land in Kinross belonging to the Dowager Lady Lockie. In order to have everything prepared for his guests on the Glorious Twelfth when the first birds are slaughtered, it was necessary for him to return. I shall expect good reports of you from him. In your new frame of mind, I am sure you will want to hear of an amusing little adventure which occurred as Mr. Bowler was passing through. It relates to our little nymph Marit, the Scandinavian girl-student, who seems lovelier every day. I do not deceive myself in this at all. Though she is only fifteen as yet, Marit will be a calm and perfect beauty in a few years more. Her lightly suntanned face has the smoothest, the most velvety peachlike softness you could imagine. I see such perfection of shape as well, rather the form of a shield or a heart. Her nose is so pretty and short, her mouth full and beautiful but with the most elegant lips. You never saw blue eyes so open and steady, nor such silken tresses of brown hair worn just over her collar. I have maintained my system of requiring Marit to bend through the hatch for inspection each morning and evening. Even if it were not strictly necessary in the interests of morality, how could one resist the chance to pull down Marit's silky knickers and survey her narrow adolescent thighs, her slim hips and the almost elfin trimness of her bottom-cheeks? Sometimes I prefer that Miss Jones should carry out the investigation and sometimes I reserve Marit's charms for my own fondling and stroking. During the few days of Mr. Bowler's presence at the Villa Lola, I saw no reason to alter this arrangement.
I had mentioned something of it to him but, of course, he acted like a man of honour and respectability. Such dealings with Marit, he assured me, were women's work. As a worthy landowner or magistrate in England, as a most successful man of commerce, he entirely approved such moral supervision of our Norwegian beauty but it would be unseemly for him to take part in it. Matters remained like this until the evening before his departure. It was after dinner, at about nine o'clock, with the last rippling light of day fading from the lake, when young Marit bent herself as usual through the hatchway and its partition was lowered upon her back. The weather was so balmy, the eucalyptus and thyme so fragrant, that I had decided to take a stroll along the garden path under the pergola which enjoys a view across the lake towards Malcesine. A million fireflies danced in the warm twilight of the Gardonese, while the cicadas rasped among the flowers and shrubs.
I had deputed Miss Jones to deal with Marit. You may be sure that our almond-eyed young wriggler was only too glad of the chance to fondle another girl's nest instead of being always busy with her own!
Having walked almost out of sight, I became aware of Mr. Bowler's voice for he was talking to Miss Jones, having intercepted her before she reached the house. I moved closer and heard him inform her that no inspection of Marit need be carried out that evening. As master of the Villa Lola, and as Miss Jones's employer, his decision was absolute.
Miss Jones went off to play with herself somewhere nearby, for she gets a perverse thrill from doing it where the lads of the town may spy upon her and yearn in vain to supplant her busy fingers with something of their own! I thought that, since Mr. Bowler had decided to spare Marit her examination for that night, I had best go back and release the girl from her vigil at the hatchway. I had just reached the two windows, looking into the rooms on either side of the hatch, when I saw that Mr. Bowler had got there first. The rooms are almost at the level of cellars. Yet as the ground slopes away towards the lake, there are windows on one side, set high in their walls but only at the level of one's knees if one stands in the garden. Because of this and the darkness, it never occurred to Mr. Bowler that anyone might be looking upon him just then. Unlike you, Gussie, I had no idea in advance of watching our friend secretly. Indeed, I was about to tap at the window to draw his attention when I saw Mr. Bowler walk up behind Marit and fondle the tight denim-seat on her trim buttocks with undisguised affection. Before you censure him, dear cousin, consider the situation in which Mr. Bowler found himself. He was to leave for England by express train the next morning and whatever he did now would never be rumoured against him. Marit herself would never be able to say who the man was standing behind her, for the hatch was locked across her back and there was no way in which she could see.
In other words, Mr. Bowler might do whatever he wished, secure in the knowledge that he would be safe from the law, from scandal and even from the possibility of accusation by the nymph herself. All that must have counted as a strong persuasive. Then consider the temptation which Marit herself presented, though it was an innocent one on her part. The tight pants of washed pale blue denim shaped those narrow and almost fragile-looking thighs delectably. The rightly rounded elfin cheeks of Marit's bottom were parted by her posture and the rear way between her thighs was easily accessible. To undo her at the waist and take her pants down would be the work of a moment. Mr.
Bowler smiled to himself. He went back and bolted the door on the inside to prevent interruptions. Very gently he undid her and pulled the denim pants down and off. With her slim-legged look and narrow hips, the briefest panties were enough to cover Marit's most important areas. Mr. Bowler pulled them down and made her step out of them. He tucked them in his pocket and I believe they are destined for that formidable collection kept by Joshua Snook, our worthy neighbour and a most venerable justice of the bench. If so, Marit's knickers may prove to be the most diminutive of many pairs in his desk. Perhaps they will suggest her shape and character to the old gentleman as the larger cotton briefs remind him of his whipping of the fuller-cheeked bottoms of Pauline Cox or Kim Roberts at nineteen or twenty. Now Mr. Bowler paused to inspect the charms before him. His hands examined the young nymph's slim bare legs, for Marit's thighs are hardly thicker than the upper arm of a well-built coal-heaver or labouring man. Mr. Bowler's hand smoothed reassuringly up and down her agile flanks, then fondled the resilient young cheeks of Marit's bottom. He seemed almost content with her, but not quite. A brief stroking between her legs caused him to “tut-tut” and shake his head at the evident lascivious-ness of which she had been found guilty. There was nothing for it now but the severest reprimand. Indeed, how could this worthy justice, this pillar of England's moral establishment do other than what he did? Mr. Bowler went to fetch the school spanking-strap. This device is cut from supple leather, being about two inches broad and eighteen inches long, divided into three flat tails at one end. Marit, of course, could see nothing of what he was doing, yet she must have guessed by the long pause that something of the sort lay in store for her. As she waited I shifted my position a little so that I looked through the next window which showed me her face and the upper part of her body through the hatchway. She is a beauty, Augustus! A real Venus in the making! I make no apology for descanting again on the calm loveliness of the smooth young face, the pretty little nose and that most delightful mouth with its fine young teeth. She twisted her head a little as Mr. Bowler felt her teasingly between her slender thighs and the brown tresses fell this way and that about her collar. Yet beauty at fifteen needs a regular spanking! So our friend-worthy gentleman that he is!-swung the heavy strap to and fro a little as he contemplated the bending nymph in all her nude desirability. Then he raised the tawse and smacked it down with passionate force upon the slim little cheeks of Mark's pretty bottom. Frantically the girl jammed one knee into the back of the other to contain the naked smart of leather across her bare buttocks.
A man of weaker character would have been deterred by the girl's wild cry at the scorching pain of the leather, or by the writhing of her slender legs. Not Mr. Bowler! He aimed the strap six times across her writhing thighs and hurt her so that now Marit screamed under the discipline. To spank her legs with the leather strap was not part of the punishment itself but merely the means used to make her keep still while the sentence was carried out. The strap now whacked and smacked across the demure young cheeks of the Norwegian girl's arse.
Marit squirmed and writhed over the shelf of the hatch like a pretty fish caught helplessly in a net. No blame, nor even the least reproach would ever attach to Mr. Bowler for what he did. For that reason he was exceptionally severe, his mouth tight and his eyes shining as he raised and thrashed the strap down with all his strength. Pretty Marit veiled as if her rump and belly were being impaled on a red-hot spit. One could see that her young bottom and thighs would appear superbly bruised the next day, in a manner almost unknown outside the English disciplinary system. With all his skill, born of experience as reformatory and penitentiary disciplinarian, Mr.
Bowler laid into the pretty little teaser! He paused presently and laid the strap down. It was time to examine his handiwork. His fingers tested the scarlet flush which covered Marit's buttocks and the upper part of her legs. How she thrust her hips out and eased her thighs apart a little for his fondling! See what a lascivious nature the little charmer has! She offered herself to his intimate fingering and seemed as if she would egg him on to do more. Here was the most interesting problem about her behaviour, Cussie. Marit had now been soundly smacked with the strap and was about to get some more.
Was she trying to divert Mr. Bowler to other things by offering the sweet little love-nest between her legs and even the tight little dimple of her arse for his consideration? Or had the tanning truly overcome all Marit's sense of shame and reserve, so that she was ready for anything which her chastiser wished to do to her? That question was not yet to be decided. Mr. Bowler stood back, smiled to himself, and raised the strap again. Though Marit's rear cheeks were already the colour of a pair of skinned tomatoes, he thrashed and thrashed and thrashed again with the wicked strap. How many bare-bottomed strokes would a strict teacher want to inflict upon Marit in the course of a classroom discipline? Would it be twenty, or forty, or fifty? I believe one must expect the number to be high because she is such a little charmer, so calmly beautiful, and yet so indifferent to her elders and betters. Whatever the number might be, I assure you that Mr. Bowler went far beyond it now! Not that I blame him, for one really wished to see Marit taught a lesson in obedience.
Beauty at fifteen, knowing herself to be beautiful, can often be a tiresome little creature and needs an experience of this sort to bring her to heel. I thought he would never have done with her! In the intervals of the tanning there was such gulping and sobbing from Marit, such brimming eyes and moues of self-pity. Then Mr. Bowler swung the strap again and her pretty mouth opened to its widest, most distended shape, Marit shrilled at the things which were being done to her. The strapping had caused her flushed rear cheeks to look somewhat swollen and indeed the outline of the strap appeared printed on them, sometimes across and sometimes slanting. But what was worse for the little charmer was when Mr. Bowler deliberately allowed the tails of the strap to curl between her slim legs, or in between the rounded little cheeks of Marit's adolescent bottom. I fear that he made her endure a few dozen of these intimate flickings before he was satisfied with the state of his girl-pupil. And then, Gussie, came the strangest part of all this. Mr. Bowler went out and came back with a collection of hat-boxes and other impedimenta from which he produced a complete outfit of new clothes for the girl. Nor would he permit her to be attended by a maid, for Mr. Bowler dressed her himself. While she bent through the hatch, he drew stockings up her legs and secured them with garters. Her crimson and swollen buttocks were now covered by French silk panties. Skirts and petticoat followed. Last of all the most charming little boots completed the picture. He summoned Miss Jones to finish off the toilette by adjusting the upper clothes.
By ten o'clock, Marit had overcome her tears and was dressed in the most coquettish little sailor-girl costume that ever a Princess of Wales aspired to. Yet all this was to a purpose. For now that she had been dressed so finely, Mr. Bowler proposed to take her visiting, and set off to pay a call upon the Signore, our most illustrious neighbour. It was a test of Marit's ladylike qualities and the determining of whether she was still a child at heart or already a woman. The difference, Gussie, is simple but significant. When a girl-child has been smacked with the strap as Marit had just been, she blemishes the best society by forlorn little whimperings and whining for several hours afterwards. If she is a young woman, she does her best to conceal the discomfort of her burning and strap-swollen bum-cheeks under an appearance of demure compliance with every command. So Marit was taken as a guest to the Signore's villa, where she acquitted herself as a young woman of fifteen. I understand that they were extremely exacting with her. Marit was required, as a matter of politeness, to sit bolt upright on a hard little chair with a coffee-cup in her hand and to answer with extreme politeness when spoken to by her elders. The Signore was quite bowled over by the little coquette-as who could fail to be? He asked a hundred questions about her, where she came from, who her family might be, whether she would be missed if some arrangement was made for the winter months to prevent her return to the cold northern climate. He required a recital of all the bad habits which she might have acquired upon her arrival at adolescence and all the disciplines she had received even as a very little girl. In short, his fascination with Marit was unqualified, though I hear that the girl herself went into a state of the most charming blushes at some of his inquiries and could not manage to utter a word in reply. In order that their private interrogation of her should not be overheard by the servants, they dismissed the two maids and required Marit herself to be their waitress. As she moved among them, skirts rustling and the silken stockinged legs whispering together, they continued to discuss her.
Perhaps it was the embarrassment of this, or the need to bathe her smarting bottom with cool water, or even a more mundane feminine consideration which then prompted Marit to withdraw to the tiled lavabo for a few minutes. Yet she had scarcely closed the bolt upon her solitude and begun to unhook her skirt when a door in the side-wall opened and the Signore with two of his bravoes entered.
You may be sure that her skirts and panties were soon removed without any effort on her own part and that she was in a moment lying on the marble table which ran along the wall. The Signore was not taken aback by the red strap-prints on her smarting buttocks, indeed they seemed only to inflame his own passion for her. He was a most solicitous adorer. His fine waxed moustache tickled her between her slim Nordic thighs while his lips browsed on the humid mossy folds of her young cunt. He gave her just a thrill-and something of a fright!-with his knob, not going too far in. Her slim thighs almost had to “do the splits” to accommodate him thus far. To have given Marit a baby so early in her life would have been inexcusable, yet it was necessary for her to feel the flood of passion inside her. The entrance between the young nymph's buttocks was so tight that only a very daredevil would have attempted it. Yet the Signore is a hero sans pareil! It required half an hour of his teasing pillow-talk, a little vaseline, smelling salts, and the most extreme yielding on the girl's part to accomplish this. He was a loving tyrant to her in this final act, for he guessed that there could be little pleasure for her.
At last he murmured gently, preparing her for the finale. “Keep your bottom quite still, mia bella! You shall have it now!” The brown tresses swept her collar as she turned her face in some alarm. There was no ecstasy for her on the first occasion, only a slight grimace of revulsion at the feeling of warm slipperiness squirting deep in her young bottom. I may tell you that young Marit's private diary, now in my possession, confirms all this. She was disgusted at the sensation and yet secretly flattered that it had been done to her by a man famous even in the schoolbooks of Scandinavia. You see, dear Gussie, the charming paradox of pleasure. Such a girl may admire or even love the man, while hating the submission she must make. Had it been other than the seed of a sublime poet which she carried in her young backside as she walked back to the Villa Lola with such cautious demure steps and her head modestly lowered, I daresay the entry in her private diary would have been greatly different. Mr. Bowler might tell you of a case which furnishes an instructive contrast When he returns, ask him to show you his photographs of Elke Mahne, a sixteen-year-old Austrian pupil. She is a girl of medium height with straight brown hair cut short at her collar, an insolently pouting mouth, a heart-shaped face with high cheekbones which form a setting for her sly hazel eyes. Elke had been lesbianised at her school in Vienna and taught other tricks by boys in the woods of Linz. You might see her lying on a beach in black woollen singlet and pants of tight faded denim, shouting and groaning in the arms of one young fellow after another. To the scandalised English families she turned the pert high-boned face with its bell-shape of light brown hair. She also showed the seat of her tight denim-pants which was softly filled.
At sixteen years old Elke Mahne's bottom-cheeks had a slight seductive fatness to them which had not yet turned to flabbiness. The Signore had her at his disposal but, you may be sure, a young slut like Elke has no taste for sublime verses. She was less innocent, more promiscuous and rebellious than Marit. Yet the perfect artist intercepted her and commanded his valet to prepare the scene, behind the bolted door of the tiled space. It was necessary to strap her wrists to a pipe as she lay on the ceramic floor. Her denim pants were removed and with his own hands the Signore took down Elke Mahne's knickers. He spread vaseline between the buttocks of his ill-natured Austrian girl and used her just as he used Marit. In the light of her inexcusable promiscuity, most English moralists would applaud the fact that she was made to provide for the Signore's pleasure without tasting any herself. Elke gasped and cursed, she whined and grizzled, as he stretched her round the rim of his stiffness and entered her backside. Because she was indifferent to the finer things and could not appreciate his poetic reputation, she did not behave with Marit's decorum. When he pumped his gruel into Elke Mahne's sixteen-year-old bottom, she made a sound of disgust in her throat and wailed that the squirting of the warm spawn in her young rear made her feel sick with revulsion. You see the paradox, my dear Gussie? Elke Mahne retched at the outpouring, loathing the man. Marit lies and receives it with reluctance-yet thrills at knowing that the man who does it to her is a marvel in nature! When one thinks of it, after all, the greatest passion in the world may end as the meagre and brief outpouring of a substance which, if it does not cause one to avert the eyes, at least has no sublime attractiveness. For all that, life must come to an end without its aid. Hence the importance of poetry and the sublime poet of the Signore's type. It is the poetic dimension which makes palatable the continuation of our species. All honour to Petrarch, then. Would we admire him more for having splattered the thighs of his fair idol with a substance inferior to a spoonful of gruel? And is not Marit right, after all? Must we not honour the Signore for the feelings which his words planted in her heart rather than for the squirting which he left in her trim little bottom?
So it seems to me. But the story is not quite at an end. Marit was to be at the disposal of the Signore last night and Mr. Bowler was then to leave us. It seems that he had already made certain arrangements for her. One day the world will know what they are. At present, her family is informed that Marit's education is to be extended by an excursion of a few months in the Near East! I think you guess my meaning, do you not? Shortly before Mr. Bowler left here, a carriage arrived at the door with a pair of the most strapping brutes as coachmen. I heard raised voices from Marit's room, the girl herself shrill above the others. Then there was silence. Down the stairs came the two strapping fellows with Mr. Bowler following. One of them had a sack over his shoulder, its contents mewling and wriggling with vain energy. I do believe you might have recognised the fellow who carried it! At the door, Mr. Bowler watched them put the sack in the boot of the vehicle and lock the lid. He did not, I think, realise that I was standing in the vestibule where I could see and hear him. “See that you deliver her quickly to Pasha Ahmed,” he said to one of the two coachmen. “Believe me, the reward he will give you may be enough to set up the pair of you for life. Leave the straps and the gag in place until you have her safely on the ship at Livorno. The diplomatic passports from the Signore will ensure that you have no difficulty with the Italian officials. Moreover, the captain of the customs post has been well paid to prevent trouble.”
With that he nodded and the carriage drove off. It will not altogether surprise you, dear cousin, to learn that I have seen nothing of Marit since that moment! I do not complain, of course, for I greatly enjoy imagining what lies in store for the young beauty at her destination! I eel quite certain that she will soon be made to acquaint herself in the most intimate manner with Julie and Sian. A little compulsion will work wonders in overcoming any false reticence.
Mr. Bowler meantime travels towards England. I look forward so much to hearing from him that your own health and moral equilibrium are quite restored. If you should feel the need of a mentor and guide in certain matters, dear Gussie, you may depend upon him. He is devoted to our family and its welfare-as he ought to be when you consider what has been done for him. A magistrate and soon to be a Member of Parliament! Yet he is a man of great good-nature and works for mere love. If then you should feel any more “strange inclinations” towards sluts and tarts of the shopgirl kind, I beg you will seek his advice. He will cure you of mooning romance for the young whores by methods more agreeable-and a sight cheaper-than those of Dr. Raspail! I may take a short trip to the Levant myself, ere long. If so, my love, you shall hear every detail from your adoring cousin, Maude Anonymous Augustus and Lady Maude XVI. Augustus to Lady Maude Wight, 12 July a.m. My Dearest, I have emerged triumphant from all the ordeals and trials of the past week or two. When Julie was abducted under my very gaze, I was half distracted for at least forty-eight hours and my nerves in a state which I hesitate to describe. Nothing would console me then. Yet now I see it was all for the best and am glad that Julie as well as Sian has been taken to a place where she may receive her reward! I see that you were right after all. The little bitch was merely leading me on to make a fool of myself. She would have left me disgraced as well as penniless. I regret only, my dear, that I did not heed your advice from the first. Perhaps it surprises you to see me write in this way. The careless impetuous boy, you say to yourself. How can he have undergone a change of heart so rapidly? The answer is simple, my dear Maude. I know that I never really loved Julie. It was an intense but passing infatuation, as you supposed. I know it the more certainly because now I have fallen truly in love for the first time in my life.
Who is she? Who is to be your very own cousin by marriage? Listen and congratulate me on my choice. She is no easy trollop but a girl who returns hard and disdainful looks to a man's adoration. I am sure she must be a pattern of virtue, to judge by her reactions. Her name is Maggie and she has the most adorable flaxen hair which she wears loose to her shoulders, like a little girl, although she must be twenty-two or twenty-three-years old. Under the fringe of her hair, there is a hard and resolute look to her blue eyes and the fair-skinned oval of her face. I know you will approve my choice when I tell you that she is one of the Bowler girls. I do not mean by that to say that she is a member of our friend's immediate family but rather that she is employed by him in his emporia, which must surely be a guarantee of her respectability. I can scarcely calculate how many happy hours I have spent watching Maggie at her toils as she lays out the polished saddles and horse furniture in an elegant display. For such a task she is naturally accoutred in the close denim fit of riding-jeans, which enables one to admire her somewhat stocky thighs and slightly broadened bum-cheeks. The soft lilt of her voice is a match for her coltish figure and though I grant you she appears a little more vulgarly attired than a fine lady might, this is only the result of Mag's occupation. I beg you, dear Maude. Write and tell me that you approve my choice. You shall see Maggie yourself as soon as you return to England. I know you will soon adore her as I do.
Though I have not yet had the chance of an intimate conversation with her to plead my case, I am in no doubt. My ardour will surely carry the day. Be sure that when I am successful, you shall be the first to hear of it. Your happiest of cousins, Augustus 120 Anonymous Augustus and Lady Maude XVII. Lady Maude to Mr. Bowler Lago di Garda, 14 July By Express My dear Friend, I write to you in great urgency and some distress, begging you to be of service to me in the crisis which threatens all our happiness. The subject of my concern is that unfortunate young man, my cousin. When his attachment to that little tart Julie was broken off, I quite hoped that Lord Augustus was cured of infatuations with grisettes of their kind. Alas! How I was mistaken! I have received from him this morning a letter which makes plain that the wretched little Julie has been replaced in his affections by a sturdy young wench, a blonde by the name of Maggie or “Mag.” I would not, even so, trespass on your time and charity if the matter ended there. No, my friend, this time it is true love and marriage is talked of. He must be stopped at all costs! His letter informs me, moreover, that Maggie is one of your own work-girls. It is for that reason that I now beg your assistance. The method of rescue to be employed must be left to your own excellent judgment and natural ingenuity. It would not do to dismiss the girl from her employment, for then she will fall straight into his hands. Means must be found to eradicate his infatuation and that will be more easily accomplished while she remains in your absolute power. I cannot tell you how much I regret imposing on you in this affair. I only hope that you will believe me when I assure you that whatever efforts are possible on behalf of our family shall not go unrewarded. What it is in my own power to do for you, I shall of course do. If it would amuse you to be visitor and trustee of the Greystones Reformatory for young women-offering many curious opportunities to a man of disciplinary zeal-I will speak to the board of guardians at once. My uncle, you know, holds supreme power there. If it would please you to be returned as Member of Parliament for the county, I can assure you of the Tory nomination at the next election, as a matter of family gratitude.
My uncle would consider it a privilege to present you at court and make you known to that royal duke who is so close a friend of his.
He has sufficient influence at the Horse Guards to ensure that, for the future, the Commissariat Department shall equip our mounted regiments with no saddles but those from your own emporia. All this and more shall be done for you, my dear friend, if I have the power of breath left in me. And yet I know you well enough to realise that you are not a man motivated by reward in such things. We have cause enough already to be grateful to you. Therefore it is to your affection and sense of duty that I appeal. If you can, help me to save my cousin from this insolent trollop who now makes her designs upon him. I put it to you plainly as that. Whatever assistance you may require shall be provided. If you need “evidence” of a crime in order to put Maggie in a prison cell, my steward will provide it. If you wish her committed to a reformatory, my uncle has the power. I leave the details to your own good sense, assuring you that for such assistance and for future tokens of our gratitude, you may rely upon those who truly love my imprudent cousin. So, my dear friend, I take my leave of you for the moment, confident that you are the man to save us all. Your true friend Maude, Lady Anonymous Augustus and Lady Maude XVIII. Mr. Bowler to Lady Maude Bowler Hall, 20 July My Lady, Mr.
Bowler with his humble duty to your ladyship presents his best respects and begs to inform you of how matters now stand with regard to Lord Augustus. Immediately upon receipt of your ladyship's letter, I began an investigation into the alarming circumstances of Lord Augustus's new infatuation. Alas, it was too true. All was as he proclaimed it in his letter to you. I can assure you that I felt as concerned for the young gentleman as your ladyship must have been.
Indeed, I was no less resolved than you to save such a noble youth from the fate which threatened him. At first I hoped that we were mistaken as to his earnestness over the slut Maggie, whom I have employed since she was sixteen. This freak of his lordship's which drives him to romantic infatuation with shopgirls and housemaids is a most distressing development. Yet even among such types, he could not have chose worse. Maggie is already twenty-two years old. There is a hardness in the pale oval of her face and blue eyes. Indeed her features-the nose and the chin-are a little crude in their prominence.
The fringe of her lank blond hair does little to soften this, nor does the straight curtain of it which she wears loose to her shoulders.
If you could see Maggie at her chores in the tight fit of working-jeans and singlet, you would find her an impudent bitch in the manner of her display. She is quite well-built but she lacks some length in her legs and this gives her a rather stocky appearance. I grant you there is a firmness and nicely muscled quality to her body-her breasts are well-moulded, her hips a little broad but not flabby, a suitably feminine weight and rondeur in the curves of Maggie's bottom-cheeks. Such then is the shopgirl Venus upon whom the young gentleman had pinned his hopes of bliss. I only wish your ladyship could have seen Maggie-the hardened young slut!-at work. It was a sight which drew your cousin's mute admiration day after day.
Maggie is one of several girls in my service, like Ange and Alison, Pat and Jacqueline, who are made to clean and arrange the premises. Like them on such occasions, you would never see Maggie dressed otherwise than in her pale blue pants of tight cotton and a working-blouse or singlet. Like Miss Jones, she may be admired through the plate-glass as she dusts and polishes. You may be sure, by the way, that Maggie eggs on those who pause to admire her by a mixture of vulgar provocation and hard-faced contempt. Imagine the effect upon poor Lord Augustus! He arrived just as the young blonde was on all fours, polishing the waxed floor where the saddles are set out for display. Our friend was brought to a halt by the sight of the broad and firm cheeks of Maggie's arse so fully displayed in the tight jeans-seat. For several minutes he admired the view longingly as she backed towards him while her cloth worked vigorously on the surface.
Not only the blond saddle-dresser's backside but even a suggestion of soft pussy-flesh between the rear of her thighs was shown by the snug fit of the cotton pants. In no time at all, your cousin was in love with the young whore! I assure your ladyship that I witnessed this for myself. When Maggie stood up and went to dust the window-glass, he stared at her in an agony of desire. How did she reward him? With the lank blond hair and fringe framing the pale oval of her face, she stared through him as if he did not exist! I was outraged on his behalf. You hardened little slut, Mag, I thought! You shall suffer for this! Does such a girl think herself too fine or too beautiful to yield to the inspection of a young gentleman? The crude firmness of her nose and chin, the coldness of her blue-eyed stare would soon give the lie to that. Ah, you think that perhaps Maggie is a virtuous girl, her sensibility too delicate to endure the rough gaze of a man? That is still more ridiculous. No, Mag enjoyed leading on her dupes by taunting them with a view of what she would then deny them. Having returned Augustus's admiration with a stare of such contempt, Maggie turned and knelt with her back to him.
She knew what she was doing, believe me, and was well aware of the effect it would have on the poor young gentleman. She sat on her heels for a moment and then-an old trick of hers-pretended that there was dust under one of the saddles on the floor. To look at this she lifted her hips from her heels and went down on her forearms until her head was lying on the floor. Imagine the view she offered to Augustus and to the world at large! With her head down and her rump high, the tight denim seat offered Maggie's spread-cheeked rear view to the young admirer. Her full broad buttocks were drawn hard apart and her pussy's softness moulded by the cloth between her legs. Maggie wears panties under the tight denim and the outline of them was as clear as if she had been without any other clothing. To see her then, you would have thought that the young blond shopgirl was bracing herself to fart in derision at Augustus with enough force to shatter the plate glass.
The effect on him was pitiful to see, for he seemed to stagger and tremble with desire. The only consolation was that the other gentlemen who passed by and saw Maggie in this lewd posture were visibly moved to more vindictive thoughts! Indeed, the lewd young bitch seemed to invite the worst they could do to her by offering herself to the world this way. I confess I had such thoughts myself. Even before receiving your ladyship's letter I was determined to have Maggie strapped bare-bottomed over a stable bench or a trestle and make her taste the keen cuts of leather across her sturdy rump.
For the time being I was too preoccupied by matters of business to give the young whore my attention. Indeed, a further week passed by.
In that time, the weather growing warmer, Maggie was put into a summer working-costume. She wore a sleeveless scarlet blouse, the tawny blond hair spread loose on her back. Her tight denim pants were now of yachting white and seemed to emphasise the stockiness of her thighs as well as giving a fatter look to the cheeks of Maggie's twenty-three-year-old bottom. How the poor young gentleman admired Mag at her work as she knelt and bent. It is hard to speak of such matters with the delicacy one might prefer. Had Lord Augustus merely wished to ease his stiffness with the hard-faced young bitch, I would have urged him on. Indeed I would have had Maggie held down and stripped for him to do so. He might have rogered her soundly between the legs and then an ample spending of seed up Maggie's arse would have avoided showing another of her tribe into the world. I am sure the Celtic lilt of Mag's voice would have broken into squeals and cries. Whether of excitement or anguish I cannot say! Then your ladyship's letter arrived and I was outraged by the wickedness of this common strumpet. Maggie had done no less than ensnare a young gentleman of good family. By provoking him and despising him at the same time, she had Lord Augustus almost at her mercy in the toils of infatuation. Knowing me as you do, your ladyship will believe that I had no wish beyond serving your interest and that of those who are near and dear to you. How should I cure the young lord of his romantic delusion? And how should I make Maggie taste such retribution as she would never forget? I thought for several hours and so devised a scheme to accomplish both these things simultaneously. It was only necessary for Lord Augustus to see the girl for what she is!
Did we not cure the young gentleman of his lamentable obsession with the little bitch Julie? Why, then, should we despair of effecting the same remedy with a bold young wench like Maggie? I had invited Lord Augustus to inspect the new plantation which I have laid out upon my estate. It extends along the higher ground of Snow Hill and consists of timber which grows quick and may be felled easy. An acquaintance in the War Office assures me that when there is next a European conflict, a fortune may be made out of wood for ammunition boxes. This will answer ideally and the first planting should be ready in good time for any future hostilities. On the morning in question, I left a message for his lordship at the house, informing him that my gamekeeper, Jewkes, had found evidence of poachers on the estate. In consequence, I had ridden out ahead to the plantation but had left instructions for a mount to be saddled up and waiting as soon as his lordship reached the mounting-block. I will now tell you what it was that Lord Augustus saw in the stable-yard yesterday morning. An hour or so earlier, those who had watched Maggie at her shopwork would have seen her summoned from it and led to a waiting vehicle which transported her to the estate on my orders. The young blonde was dressed as usual in the blouse and tight denim of her working costume. At first she thought the grooms were having a romp with her when they set her down in my stable-yard and seized her by the arms. Young Mag likes a rough and tumble with the boys and has even engaged in such sports with a young shopman before the eyes of the entire world. On this occasion, however, the grooms tussled with her until they had her standing between the shafts of a little garden carriage with her back to the driver's seat. The vehicle is little more than a toy. It occupies the driver alone and is designed to be pulled by a single two-legged filly. Imagine the fun which might be had if the rump between the shafts belonged to Jane Truman, or Tracey Hope. To accomplish this, two stout wooden bars have been riveted across the shafts, so that the girl standing with her back to the driver may be made to bend forward over the first bar-which supports her belly-while her wrists and leather collar are attached to rings set in the forward bar! Do you now begin to see what it was that I had in mind for our young blonde-our young pony-girl, as I might call her? My head groom is the most reliable fellow and he times these matters to perfection. The other two men naturally whispered into Maggie's ears the truth of the ordeal that she was about to suffer. Her lank fair hair flew as she twisted and squirmed in their arms. Those stocky young thighs writhed and her broad young hips surged. Fortunately they were easily able to twist her arms up behind her back, which forced her to bend forward to ease the racking ache.
Two stable-boys ran forward. The first of them slipped a broad harness strap round Maggie's waist-under her blouse and next to the bare skin. With this he fastened her very tightly on the rear bar across the shafts, obliging the stocky young blonde to bend over whether she wanted to or not. The second lad took each of her arms in turn and tightened the leather cuffs of the forward bar round her wrists. Mag was now in the posture which drew the attention of so many gentlemen to her as she laid out the polished saddles. Bending over with the curtains of lank flaxen hair hanging down, Maggie in her tightened jeans-denim presented the firm short length of her thighs and a pair of tautly rounded but fattened young buttocks. I must now confess my deceit, for which I trust your ladyship will forgive me. I had not gone ahead to the plantation but was watching the scene from a window overlooking the yard and opposite to that where Lord Augustus peeped. I could just see his outline behind the glass, a countenance so pale and anxious as he watched Maggie's predicament.
My accomplice in all this was Jewkes the gamekeeper. In his youth he was the hangman's apprentice and deputed for a year to flog naughty young ladies whom the magistrates had sentenced. He, it was, who was to be Maggie's driver. Though the firm features of her fair-skinned face are bold and a little crude, despite the softening of her blond fringe, it was evident that the young stable-lads were very stimulated by her. Even if she is twenty-three-years old and somewhat their elder, one could see that they wanted to do all manner of things inside Maggie's knickers. The grooms withdrew and left the two boys to prepare her. One of the lads drew the collar-length of Mag's blond hair into a pony-tail, so that her face could be seen, and fastened it like this with a black velvet bow. At the same time he whispered in her ear, grinning with pleasure at the randy promises of what would be done to her. The other lad undid her pants at the waist and drew them off with Maggie's knickers inside so that she was now bare from waist to heels as she bent over the two bars. Her underpants were no more than cotton briefs. The lad held up the young blonde's knickers in front of her face and teased her a little.
“A filly must have a proper bridle to complete her harness, Mag!”
You may imagine how she tried to twist her face away. But they wadded the cotton into her mouth, still warm from its contact with her hips and seat, her loins and cunt. It was secured by the leather bit between her teeth which was fastened firmly by laces tied at her nape.
Still it seemed that Maggie was getting off too lightly. One of the boys knelt behind her as she bent over the bars and eased open her robust pale thighs a little to smile upon the sight of the girl's warm and humid cunt-flesh. The other young spark pressed apart the firmly broadened pallor of Maggie's bottom-cheeks and grinned at what he saw between them. In all this they had a purpose. There is a certain pod which any young lady in the countryside dreads feeling in contact with her bare skin. She knows that the sharp little hairs of its seeds are impregnated with a maddening and virulent sting which will make her want to scratch and squirm without respite for several hours to come.
It is the plant known in the tropics as pica-pica but referred to in England by the more homely term of cow-itch! Brushed against a bare flank or bosom it creates a tormenting itch but applied to more intimate and sensitive areas of the female body its effects are unspeakable! At the sight of a well-filled pod in the hand of one boy, Maggie mewed violently through her wad and tried desperately to twist her hips aside. The boy grinned. “A good rub with this between your legs, Mag, to make you frisky!” Fortunately she had been very firmly strapped down and was unable to struggle much. The other boy held her round the legs to keep her steady. His partner coaxed the warm cunt-flesh back a little and then rubbed it gently with the virulent itch plant. Though Maggie strained and squirmed at once under the torture of the irritation, he took a second pod and rubbed her again between the legs. “And now some attention to your bottom, Maggie!” he said, teasing her to the point of desperation. There were two more pods. The first he rubbed thoroughly into the darker valley between Maggie's buttocks. As for the last, he poked its contents up her rear until it disappeared from sight and left her quite frantic. Nor was that all, for they were determined to turn the stocky young blonde into the most proper pony-girl. One of them produced a false ponytail of blond hair which was a match for Maggie's flaxen gold. At one end it was gathered into a thumb-sized leather butt. Ignoring any attempt at lubrication and the young woman's wadded shrillness, the lad inserted the leather butt firmly into Maggie's backside. The twist of hair was drawn tightly up between her rear cheeks, under the leather waist strap in the small of her back, and then rose in a graceful plume of a tail so that its ends swept to and fro across the top of her curved buttocks as she writhed. Now, my lady, picture the scene when Gamekeeper Jewkes entered the yard to drive his blond filly! Maggie was twisting her hips, squirming her thighs together, dancing and kicking as if she meant to overturn the equipage then and there. It is the kind of disobedience which no driver can permit from a filly, whether she be equine or human!
Jewkes flexed the long slim leather of the switch that he carried in his hands. “Bend right forward, Maggie, and keep perfectly still!” He did not know, of course, what the frolicsome lads had done to her. Personally, I was delighted to hear Mag given a command she could not possibly obey. “Keep your bottom still, you young slattern!” Maggie mewed desperately through the wad in her mouth but she could no more control her maddened squirming than she could fly. Her pale broadened hips twisted side to side and the blond ponytail rising from her bum-hole brushed to and fro across the bare spread of the young working-girl's backside. Jewkes's expression did not change. He walked across and stood just behind her, watching the writhings of the girl's stocky thighs and broadened hips. He took the plume of the false ponytail and tucked it under her waist-strap out of the way. Measuring the cold leather switch across her flinching buttocks, he gave the young blonde a long minute to imagine the agony of naked leather-discipline which she was about to feel across her bare rump. The stones of the yard sang to the smack of the whip across the pale sturdiness of Maggie's bottom-cheeks. A frenzied cry was just audible through the wad in her mouth and the short tail of her own blond hair swept to and fro across the back of her collar.
Jewkes thrashed her with the carefully measured strokes of a judicial whipping, impersonal and without pity for the hard-faced young blonde.
Maggie's firm and stocky young thighs squirmed together harder and faster, for all the world as if she sought relief by bringing herself to completion. “Keep your arse still, Maggie, you young bitch!” He found the most sensitive areas, high up on the backs of her thighs and low on the softer undercurve of Maggie's full buttocks. With great precision he raised six blueberry weals which interlaced cruelly. “I'll have obedience from you, Maggie, you young tart!” he said, almost laughing at her. “Keep that backside still!” He made the leather whip flash down again and again, so that it kissed Maggie's bottom-cheeks with streaks of agony. He even whipped her across the backs of her knees and then gave her a dozen stingers round her thighs. “Now your bottom, Maggie,” he said quietly, “Let's see how much more you can take before you decide to obey me and keep absolutely still!” What a contest it promised to be. I have no doubt that Jewkes must have seen Maggie at her work, bending lewdly in tight denim, or polishing on all fours with the jeans-seat taut and smooth over her sturdy young buttocks. I daresay most men who paused to admire such a view would have been implacable with her now. And so he was. He whipped and whipped with all the strength of his arm. At last Maggie's knees bent under her, though the straps held her over the bars. Her lank blond hair broke from its ponytail and fell about her face, as her head hung down. In tribute to the power of his discipline, the young window-dresser swooned arse-upwards over the bar. What a price many of her casual admirers would have paid for a keepsake portrait of her as she now appeared!
The gamekeeper withdrew and left the stable-lads to prepare her once more. Half a dozen of the boys came out. One of them held the little bottle to her nostrils. Each of the others, in turn, presented his unbuttoned stiffness either in the area of her thighs or her backside. The young blonde was unmuzzled and revived to the virulence of the pica-pica itch. In the most plaintive accents of her lilting young voice, Mag begged them for the soothing balm which was in their gift. She whimpered to have each little sausage-like prick in its turn either placed between her legs or bum-cheeks. With the threatened return of the gamekeeper, there was no time to penetrate properly. Instead three of them took turns. Each of them placed his hot young gristle between Maggie's bare legs and she worked the inner surfaces of her smooth pale thighs upon it, asking only for his squirted balm to soothe her itch. These vigorous lads soaked her in grand style, though they had a fine reward. Maggie was so frantic to be eased that she gave each boy a splendid time, giving each one more fun than they would even taste on their honeymoon nights. The remaining three lads supplied her elsewhere. This time each young sausage was laid between the cheeks of Maggie's bottom. How the young blonde squirmed and tensed her broadened bum-cheeks upon them. She was even more desperate for them to spend than the lads themselves. Maggie is a hard-faced young bitch and yet she can give a man some fun when she puts her mind to it. I watched her employ every trick in the armoury of the most perverse young whore to coax this second triple spending from the boys. In this she succeeded. By the time they left her, Mag's rear view was amply splattered, from the curves of her arse-cheeks down to the middle of her thighs. I had been so engaged by this amusing spectacle that I had quite forgotten Lord Augustus at his window. He stood there now, mouth agape and eyes wide in astonishment at what he had seen. If ever a man were turned to stone by the glance of the Gorgon, it was he. Before he could gather his wits, however, the gamekeeper-my own man Jewkes-reappeared.
You may be sure Jewkes smiled to himself when he saw the state in which Mag now presented herself. “I'm glad to find you feeling randy, Maggie,” he said taunting her. “Does the thought of being harnessed and driven excite you so much that you must even seduce the stable-boys? Such fine stripes across your bottom and legs as well! I daresay some men would be lenient with you, seeing that you must have been whipped already. I view the matter differently. To see such weals across your buttocks is bound to put some very cruel ideas in to my head…” And so he drove his filly between the shafts of the little carriage, sitting on the driver's perch behind her and watching the young blonde's stumbling and labouring over the bar. The short leather tail of the pony-lash was most convenient and he made her feel it more times than one could count. As the young woman's stocky thighs strained to pull forward the load behind her, her buttocks rounded and contorted in a thrusting and swaying rhythm which fascinated him.
Best of all was the last mile which lay up the steep path of Snow Hill itself. The young blonde's broadened hips and backside shone in a pale gloss of her own sweat. She gasped for breath and writhed over the bar with the most demented energy. Best of all, the steep incline exaggerated her movements. Her thighs squirmed together in an almost masturbating tightness, while her bare hips surged and swayed.
Maggie's bottom seemed to thrust back at the driver as if she wished to stick it right into his face with its cheeks pulled hard apart, and her pink cunt peeping back from between her thighs. It took her almost half an hour to draw the little carriage to the top. Jewkes's whip caught her repeatedly across her buttocks and round her flanks.
Soon the weals were adorned by telltale smudges as if red berries had been squashed here and there on Maggie's arse-cheeks. Each time she bent a knee forward, the parting of her legs showed her driver a delicious peep of cunt. Each thrust of her hips drew her buttocks apart and showed him Maggie's arsehole. The air rang with the smacks of the whip across her smooth bare buttocks. Maggie screamed in her frenzy and her tight little post-horn sounded some extremely vulgar carriage-notes. Indeed, she did things while strapped over the bar which quite disqualified her as a future lady of the manor! The state of Mag's thighs and backside by the time she stumbled to the top of Horsewhip Hill-as we must surely call it-would require some great painter of sunsets to depict. Though they had reached the destination, the driver was not quite satisfied with Maggie. He stopped the carriage and applied its brakes. Then, while the young shopgirl was still strapped arse-upwards over the bar, he whipped-and whipped-and whipped-the short lash across her bottom. Not until her knees bent and her head drooped as if in tribute to him was he satisfied at last with the state of Maggie's bare backside. You need have no fears for the consequences, my lady. We shall not, of course, permit Mag to return to her former way of life. Already her abduction is planned and we are examining her carefully to see if she might not make a gift for our friend in Arabia! It is far and away the most prudent means of ridding ourselves of the young tart. As for Lord Augustus, you may rest assured that the scenes which he witnessed have done nothing but good. He did not know that I had him “in my sights” all the time. However, I am pleased to tell your ladyship that this was so. Whatever his initial indignation or alarm at seeing Mag stripped and harnessed, this soon gave way to open-mouthed astonishment. Before long, mat astonishment turned to fascination!
With my own eyes, I saw him follow the carriage-outing at a discreet distance. Indeed, he carried a little spy-glass, which he trained eagerly upon Maggie at every propitious moment. It was afterwards rumoured among the servants-with what truth I cannot say-that a certain young lord paid a visit to Maggie in the room where she was later confined. The stable-lads swear it as being overheard by them.
Under threat of what he would have done to her, the young gentleman obliged Maggie to kneel before his chair. Her tawny fair hair was once again tied back in its short ponytail so that he might see her face.
Mag was obliged to unbutton him, suck the fine erection lovingly, and consume the ample squirtings of warm gruel which he poured over her tongue. Who can say? Yet one hopes it is true. A hard-faced young slut like Maggie needs such training in submission. Moreover, it shows hopeful signs of your cousin attaining the age of wisdom. The carriage-outing taught him a lesson for which the world of quality will thank us. In the event of a proposed mesalliance between a gentleman and a shopgirl, far the best answer is to let him see her with her knickers down being dealt with as befits her kind. However much he may lament what happened to Maggie-though one hopes he secretly enjoyed watching her get it!-he cannot take a wife who has been stripped and whipped by the gamekeeper, and who has squeezed stable-boys' pricks between her thighs and bum-cheeks! If, in this letter, I have used phrases which are coarse or offensive to your ladyship's dignity, I trust you will overlook the style of one untutored in finer language. I assure you my heart is at your ladyship's service and express my warmest thanks for that elevation to the bench of justices which Lord Rupert assures me is soon to be my part! I have the honour to be Your ladyship's obliged humble servant, H. Bowler Anonymous Augustus and Lady Maude XIX. Lady Maude to Mr. Bowler Villa Lola, 24 July My dear Friend, Words cannot express my gratitude and relief upon the receipt of your letter this morning. We, the family and loved ones of Lord A, are now doubly beholden to you for this second act of moral rescue. Do not imagine for one moment that our recognition of your generosity will be delayed until my own return to England. You know that in October a certain Royal Personage is to visit my uncle en route to the launching of HMS “Unsinkable.” If it please you, HRH shall spend the night previous to the event as your own guest at Bowler Hall. My uncle and I are one in thinking it high time that a man of your character and abilities should be made known to the most influential circles.
My delight in the downfall of Maggie the shopgirl is unbounded. I hope that what was done to her is known to all those gentlemen who admired her at her chores- and that the hardened young slut knows that they have heard the news. One hopes that they will pause in the future and confront her brazen young face with smiles of vindictive amusement, reminding her of the spectacle she offered on Horsewhip Hill! It will curb her insolence a little. As you say, she must soon be shipped off where she will do no more harm. However, a little amusement at her expense on behalf of the gentlemen she slighted would not come amiss. I cannot, of course, offer you such dramatic news of Gardone as that which you sent me from England. In a week or so I propose to close up the Villa Lola and take ship from Venice for Alexandria. I have had the most pressing invitation from our friend Pasha Ahmed who now leaves Cairo for his country “estate.” He is most grateful to have Julie and Sian in his possession, while his enthusiasm for the young nymph Marit is quite touching! The Signore and I had a little amusement with Miss Jones a few evenings ago. I shall take her-the randy little piece!-as my personal maid on my journey to the Levant. That being so, our neighbour naturally wished to have some fun with her in the days and nights which remain.
Her skin has the warm gold tan which reminds one so easily of the Hellenic or Egyptian that she will suit me admirably in Cairo. The slant of her almond eyes with the high arch of their brows, the long slope of her brow and nose will all add to her Eastern excitement.
Miss Jones is a born exhibitionist, a lewd little minx who delights to provoke the boys of the town by showing herself provokingly to them when the poor young fellows cannot find relief by getting their hands on her. You need only recall the sight she presented when, as one of your girls here, she displayed herself in the boutique behind the protection of the glass. The Signore assured me that the young bitch had taken to performing another remarkable antic. She would walk slyly through his gardens at night to a place where tall iron railings fence the grounds impenetrably from the surrounding olive groves. Miss Jones was as safe as a beautiful cat in her cage from the rough hands of the lads who spied upon her from outside. Then, said the Signore, the young teaser would stretch out almost naked on the grass and perform languorous self-caresses while the youth of Gardone watched helplessly and shuddered with longing from beyond the iron railings. By no means could they scale this formidable barrier and deal with her as she richly deserves. Miss Jones would lie facing them, secure behind the railings and beyond their reach. While the passionate Italian youths sighed and yearned, she would caress her own copper-toned nudity, almond eyes watching them with a mocking randiness. She showed them pussy and stroked the little creature's fur most lasciviously. She turned and heard them groan with frustrated desire at the round coppery cheeks of Miss Jones's bottom. Would it not serve her right to be taught a lesson by these amorous ragazzi whom she has tormented for so long? The Signore vowed that it would, and set about laying his plans. How I regret, my dear friend, that you were not here the other night to witness the ingenuity of our sublime poet. It was an hour or so after dinner when the little adventure began. That night, like every other during this summer, was warm and balmy by the lakeside, the air heavy with scent, thyme and eucalyptus in the gardens of the villas. The dark spears of the cypress trees against a flush of pale starlight, the moon rippling upon the lake, suggested a scene from pagan antiquity. We lay in wait to see what would happen. Miss Jones slipped out of the Villa Lola and into the gardens of the Signore himself. In the moonlight she seemed like a randy little temple dancer with her sharp young nose, slightly receding chin and the slope of her forehead. Yet she wears her dark brown curls in a short and upward-brushed crop to remind one of her back-street origins The young bitch was most provokingly dressed-or undressed!-in nothing but a breast-halter and tight silk knickers which encased her from waist to mid-thigh with their translucent veil. With her slim straight back, pert young breasts, slender branching thighs and perfectly rounded bottom-cheeks she deserved to be sacrificed to the lusts of the local boys. I need not remind you of the rear view of Miss Jones walking! With her legs which are not very long and her waist which is long in proportion, she bustles along in a tight and lascivious little swagger of her bum-cheeks. In a moment more she came to the place where the iron railings fence off the end of the Signore's private gardens from the olive groves beyond sloping down to the shore of the lake. Among the trees one dimly made out the movements of the young men. Just within the railings was a mossy patch, nature's couch upon which Miss Jones might extend herself. The lads pressed their loins against the iron bars, squirming and sighing, yet they could not reach her. Miss Jones lay tantalisingly just beyond the range of the longest arm thrust through the bars. So the pantomime began. With the slant of her almond eyes and the high pencilled brows over them, the young bitch undid herself, first shedding the breast-halter and then the tight silk-knickers. Like a randy little odalisque she lay down naked on the soft bed of moss, propped on her elbow as she faced the sighing boys with stony hostility. Slowly she began to caress her trim pale-gold thighs, drawing her fingers up presently to fondle the dark patch of hair at the base of her belly. Then the fingers eased their way between her thighs and Miss Jones began to stroke herself languorously along her feminine slit. It was remarkable how she did this without allowing the pleasure she must have felt to show in the catlike Turkomean mask of her face. Presently she turned over and rested her head on one arm while she used the other hand to continue playing with herself. Now she made her coppery bottom-cheeks into a pair of smooth round globes, deeply and suggestively separated, to tease the lads to madness. Can you imagine the effect on such unfortunate young men, my friend? I feel sure you have often observed men passing your premises while Miss Jones on all fours brushes up the carpet. If the sight of her tightly rounded rear cheeks in jeans-denim can have such an effect on them, imagine how these ragazzi must have felt on seeing her in her present lascivious state! These poor young fellows seemed doomed to groan and clutch their loins in vain. Just then, however, a shadow moved behind the bushes. Two figures, cloaked black and masked like something out of an opera-tragedy, darted from the foliage, even before the golden-skinned little odalisque was aware of their presence. One of them clipped a silver bangle round her ankle.
Though our randy Miss Jones tried to draw away, the second figure had already taken the light steel chain lying round the bangle, and clipped it to the railings. The youths in the olive grove stared in wild surmise at the opportunity which was now offered to them. It was true that they could not get through the railings and throw themselves upon this randy young piece-goodness knows what damage they might have done to her in their present state of enthusiasm! Yet now she was chained by the ankle to the railings and a most amusing tug-of-war seemed about to take place. The two mysterious figures vanished as quickly as they had come. Would it surprise you altogether, my friend to learn that I played Leporella to the Signore's Don Giovanni?
For all that, he must take credit for the devising of the little jape.
At once we, who had been the principal actors so far, were content to withdraw to the royal box-behind a eucalyptus tree-and give our applause to the drama. The light of challenge, as well as alarm, shone in the almond eyes of Miss Jones. She snatched at a tree-trunk to hold herself, while the ragazzi began hauling on the chain which was round her ankle. She must have been apprehensive at what they might devise once she was in range of their hands, yet there was still an enigmatic slyness in the slant of her eyes under the high arch of her pencilled brows. In such a contest as this, there could be only one outcome. The superior power and the frantic eagerness of the Italian youths soon succeeded in towing this sly young grisette of yours over the mossy space by means of the chain attached to her ankle. Presently she was within reach of twenty-four willing hands which were thrust through the bars of the railings and which pulled her close up against the iron rails. What would they do to her now? One by one this group of a dozen lusty fellows unbuttoned and Miss Jones was menaced by a positive artillery of hard and veined erections. Yet they could not get through the railings and, however they held her, it would be almost impossible to penetrate her at the front or the rear. At first they were content to gather round and touch her through the bars, stroking her slim pale gold thighs, fondling her trim young breasts, handling the satiny flesh of her coppery round bottom-cheeks. To make her as randy as possible, and therefore more inclined to obey their commands, they emptied olive oil into their palms and began to massage her thickly with it. One lad preferred her breasts and performed prodigies of erecting her nipples, tweaking them a little and making her gasp with excitement.
He oiled the sensuous hollows under her arms, her neck and shoulders.
Other ragazzi oiled her legs, several of them working on her at the same time. They did not need to open her thighs by strength for Miss Jones was only too eager to spread them herself, though she made a show of pretending that she only did so under duress. They took turns to masturbate her with their oiled fingers, for it was only to be expected that several of them wanted to do this to her. The randy young wriggler was soon writhing so hard on the verge of her first climax that they had to hold her down for fear she might roll away across the earth. Yet while they did so, there was yet another lad who gave his attention to oiling her bottom. It was not surprising that he should have chosen this aspect of Miss Jones's anatomy, for he was the same boy whom I had seen adoring her at her work several weeks earlier. His labour of love was undertaken with prolonged and amorous attention. He murmured to her all the time, trying to compliment her on the trim beauty of her copper-toned arse and hips.
He did not know the English word for prettiness, yet he knew that the French would have said “Jolie!” and so he complimented her in the nearest Anglo-Saxon term. “Jolly!” he gasped, “Jolly!…
Bottom-smack, now! Bottom-smack now, Jolly!” Suiting the action to the word, he reached right through the railings to give himself room and brought his hand down with a sharp smack on her sleekly oiled backside He spanked her quite hard and the smacks rang out across the lush warm gardens with their fragrance of southern blossoms. He made her gasp and writhe, while she still squirmed with excitement at what the other boys' fingers were doing between her legs. One had only to look at the expressions on the faces of these admirers to know that they were going to make this session last all night! Some of them were a little more furtive than others and could not quite bring themselves to thrust their manhood between the railings for her attention. They played a jig on their pipes in the shadows but could not resist allowing the melodious flow to fall in thick jets upon her belly and flanks, her breasts and thighs, until she was in a pretty state. Others were just able to extend between the bars so that she could hold the last two inches of the muzzle between her satiny gold thighs. She squeezed and rolled the stiff gristle on the inner surfaces of her thighs until, one after another, they poured out a lusty libation. Several of the rest found an answer by drawing her face to the bars, pinching her nose lightly to open her mouth and making Miss Jones suck them to exhaustion. I dare not even compute how many young spendings she must have swallowed down in the hours which followed! The admirer of young Miss Jones's posterior charms was indefatigable in his attentions to her. “Jolly!” he whispered to her, “Something up your bottom!” One knows very well what he would like to have put up her bottom! Alas, the thickness of the railings and the shape of the human anatomy made this impossible.
However, he had picked up a rather large china egg from the chicken coop and now dipped this in olive oil. I was watching the young minx then. Her dark almond eyes widened in surprise and her prim young mouth extended in a yell. That lad had been as good as his word. The china egg, with implacable pressure from his thumb, had vanished up her bottom and her anus had closed over it. The expression of alarm which broke the catlike mask of her beauty was not merely a reflection of the slight discomfort as she was stretched to accommodate the object. Miss Jones, like the rest of us, must have been frantic at the thought that she might not be able to expel the china egg without the aid of a physician. However, that was a matter which could be considered later when the night's fun was over and even the girl herself seemed to accept the danger philosophically enough for the moment. The young sprig who had done it to her was just able to extend his stiffness far enough between the railings to lay it between her bum-cheeks and oblige her to bring him off by squeezings and squirmings. I must say that I was relieved that they were unable to penetrate Miss Jones. So much passion was poured out before dawn lit the eastern sky above Malcesine and the cool lake that I cannot imagine she would have proved infertile. Who knows, in another year she might have been dandling a little jolly-girl upon her knee?
They bathed her with water from the water-trough in the olive grove and then began to oil her all over again. The adorer of her seat of beauty touched his lips to her coppery-smooth rear cheeks and urged the return of the china egg. He settled down to watch this prodigy and was greatly excited when, with some little difficulty, the randy wriggler restored it. “Jolly!” he gasped, “Bottom-smack!…
Bottom-smack now!” It was almost the whole extent of his English vocabulary and yet it seemed to cover most of the situations in which he was required to use the language. Yet I should not personally care to find myself in Italy with no greater fund of words than: “Bellissima!… Sculacciata… Sculacciata alfistante!” All the other young fellows seemed to find the idea greatly amusing, however.
The admirer made a little birch for Miss Jones by tying several apple switches at one end to form a handle. They held her kneeling over for him so that he could thrust his arm right through the railings and get some force into the strokes. As they fondled her arse and thighs, they echoed his broken English. “Jolly! Jolly!… Bottom-smack, now!… Bottom-smack now, Jolly!” One must remember that he had been really tantalised by her display behind the plate glass and that, by any standard, he was entitled to certain poetic revenge upon her for her taunting of him that afternoon. I would not, at any price, have intervened to save the randy little piece from that which she was now going to get. Though the Signore had had some fun with her himself, he was thoroughly enjoying the sight of what the ragazzi were now doing to her. The boy with the rod thrashed the birch down across the trim round cheeks of her pale gold bottom. There were frantic shrieks and squirmings, which only served to stiffen the young men and prolong the fun. She was soundly birched and then loved all over again, which occupied another hour or two. In their hot passion, they spared her nothing, either of pleasure or the rod. As the first light of dawn paled the thin cloud over Venice or Trieste, their voices still warned her teasingly to prepare for more tanning.
“Jolly!… Bottom-smack now, Jolly!” And then there rose the measured whip!… whip!… whip! of the birch across her backside, overlaid by the young bitch's wild shrillness.- It was the most exquisitely humorous display for those who know Miss Jones and her true disposition. I hope also that it has taught the young flirt a lesson. You need not feel in the least sorry for her, though she must have felt a little sore by the time that the boys withdrew and allowed her to unclip her ankle from the iron railing. That day we saw little of her, for she slept through the morning and into the afternoon. In the evening, however, she went out at twilight, before the wicked lads had made their way to the olive grove to watch her play with herself. She approached the fatal stretch of railing and stared at it with the impassive look of her almond eyes, the sharp young nose and the tall brow. Presently she undressed, even taking off her knickers and her breast-halter. To our surprise she tore these undergarments a little to make it seem that they had been wrenched from her in a struggle. Scattering the clothes about, she then lay down right against the railings. I need not tell you how my curiosity was whetted! She lay on her side with her back to the railings, placing several bangles and lengths of stout cord on the ground beside her. With her deft young fingers she tied her ankles firmly to one of the railings. She linked two bangles by another cord and closed one of the ornaments round her left wrist. The other bangle was still open. Yet she did not hesitate to place her right wrist in this and snap it shut by the pressure of her body. She had thus trussed herself up with her feet tied to the railings and her wrists securely linked together so that she could not free herself. Her only other adornment was a light slave-chain round her waist. Where it ran across the inward curve of sandy-gold skin, in the small of her back, she had an ornate name-disc. Yet this device, which hung suggestively just above the smooth and coppery swell of her bottom-cheeks, was picked out in a single word. JOLLY She settled down at once, her fingers playing between her legs, her arse curving at the railings, and squirmed with excitement as she awaited the arrival of her admirers. It will not surprise you, then, that I intend this little piece to be my servant on the journey to Ahmed Pasha! Indeed, I think I shall make him a present of her when the time comes. I leave in a few days and shall return here in the autumn before making my way back to England. Who knows what adventures I may have to relate to you, dear friend, when we are both safely back at our own firesides in Wight or Sulia? Your own adventures by then, of course, will be as colourful as mine. It is not the distance travelled but the skill in seeking out pleasure which makes for the best narration. For the moment, then, ave atque vale!
Let it soon turn to vale atque ave! Your sincere and grateful friend, Maude, Lady J- Anonymous Augustus and Lady Maude XX. Mr. Bowler to Lady Maude Sulia 28 July My Lady, Mr. Bowler once again presents his humble duty to your ladyship and takes this opportunity of wishing your ladyship a bon voyage to the Levant.
In hopes that this letter may reach your ladyship at Gardone before departure, or may perhaps be forwarded, Mr. Bowler seeks only to assure you that all is well with your family and estate at Coombe.
The lower ponds have been drained and cleaned, the iris beds are cut down, and Fox Woods have been shot over, in accordance with your ladyship's instructions. The magistrates had before them last week a hoity-toity miss of nineteen with wide brown eyes and such a coquettish bun of dark hair. What a painted little face it was. Last Saturday afternoon she was mounted over the block. I wish you could have seen her walk toward it in her tight pants, her slim and agile thighs moving easily, Kim Roberts's buttocks so tautly rounded, swinging and swaying widely with the energy of the walk and the tilt of her black tall-heeled shoes. We had her strapped over the block for the entire afternoon. Old Mr. Snook stripped her and Kim Roberts's knickers have now joined those of so many other past loves in the desk of his study! Setting mirth aside, we then thrashed her repeatedly with bamboo and pony-lash, making it the severest of judicial punishments which she will remember every day of her life. I myself caned the lithe bare cheeks of Kim Roberts's bottom with exceptional severity, obliging her to scream from start to finish.
Moral justice rules inflexibly here, as always. Kim's young backside is a dramatic landscape of bruises and empurpled weals. She is to be under moral discipline for two years. I have already obliged her to kneel before my chair and learn to perform the services which she owes to a gentleman of my standing. Thus your ladyship may rest assured that all is well and England remains in good hands. Maggie has been disposed of, to a certain gentleman of our acquaintance in a land where the possession of such a girl as a slave is a wholesome custom supported by law. I felt it advisable to give Maggie a hard time on the night before her departure, employing her from dusk until dawn.
Her journey was made with two trusted escorts in a closed carriage and a private steam-yacht. To prevent unseemly incidents, Maggie's wrists were strapped behind her, her ankles were pinioned, and the usual wad was fastened in her mouth to quieten her. She is now safely in the possession of her new master who has already made her submit to certain pleasures of his own devising. Her absence obliged me to seek another young slut for my premises. I have found a provoking, well-built girl, who goes by the name of Noreen. She is quite tall, strongly made and has a resentful air which I hope will lead her into trouble before long! Such words as trollop, whore, slut, and young tart, might almost have been devised deliberately to apply to Noreen.
She merits every one of them. I must now retire to the next room where our fifteen-year-old delinquent, Michele, will require my attention. Do be sure to remind the Signore of certain hard pruning which an Arab midwife might effect between Miss Aas's legs, thus removing all temptation to solitary vice. One cannot too strongly recommend such aids to morality and our own pleasure alike. With the compliments of your ladyship's obliged humble servant, H.
XXI. Lady Maude to Mr. Bowler
Cairo, 31 August My dear Friend, I write at once upon my return to Shepherds Hotel to record the munificent hospitality of our mutual acquaintance Ahmed Pasha. I promise you that we shall have no more trouble with Julie or Maggie, nor for that matter with Sian and Miss Jones-or even our young Marit!
The palace in which our friend holds his harem of more than a hundred girls is quite three days' journey from here and is visited only by his most discreet friends. It is a building which encloses the most sumptuous rooms, elegant courtyards, and gardens of the finest fragrance. Yet while it is luxurious as any palace, no fortress could be more secure. Best of all, the law of the land entitles him to be absolute master of all the girls within his walls. If Sian or Julie were to escape-though the thing is fortunately impossible-they would be regarded as common criminals and every soldier in the command of the provincial governor would be duty-bound to hunt them down. On their return, no limit would be imposed on his displeasure. He may even despatch pretty Miss Aas, swinging her from a beam with a rope round her neck while her bare feet flutter like trapped white birds.
Have we not found a perfect master for those degraded young sluts like Julie and Maggie who dared to prey upon my poor cousin's weakness? I have not the space here to tell you of all that passed. Yet I must write to assure you that I had the opportunity to see for myself that the girls whom we have presented to him are being well looked after. The slim-thighed Scandinavian nymph Marit is being trained to give him pleasure of every kind. No privacy of any sort is permitted her, for her secret places must be constantly at the disposal of Massoumeh, the Persian beauty who has her under training.
I still hold to my opinion that Marit with her calm young beauty and brown tresses will grow up to be a young woman of great loveliness.
Yet her life here cannot be what it might have become as a bride of some Norwegian bourgeois. Each morning the older women take her into the tiled and luxurious-bath-house. They pull Marit's knickers down to her knees and draw the hem of her singlet up, for they choose to give all their attention to these parts of her. She lies on the leather settee and one of the women holds her wrists firmly while another masturbates Miss Aas with skilful fingers in a love lesson which lasts for an hour or more. In such places a girl of fifteen must expect to be conditioned to the pleasures of such arousal and the release of orgasm repeated several times in a morning. They have done this with such care that Marit will often slink away to her own bed and spend the whole of the following afternoon playing with herself.
When I last saw her, they had taken her into the more perverse realms of a slave-girl's duties. She had been made to lie on her belly over the cushions. An elderly Arab crone had soaped her finger and inserted it to the knuckle between Marit's buttocks. By frequent references to the whip, they obliged Marit to exercise her backside on the intruding finger, tightening herself upon it rhythmically, milking it as she must soon use the guile of her young bottom to draw from the pasha the venom which would otherwise rob him of sleep. In a few weeks, the man's reality will replace a woman's finger! Sian and Julie are often separated, in order that the young redhead may partner our blond “pony-girl” Maggie as a servant for the Pasha Ahmed's banquets. It will not surprise you to learn that they both act as naked waitresses for the men who assemble in the fine dining hall with its Moorish keyhole arches and the incense rising from the brazier coals. Their sole adornments are tight black straps round waists and thighs, leather cuffs at wrists and ankles, as well as a leather collar. A man who wishes to fasten them in his favourite position has only to give the word. You may be sure that the broad young cheeks of Maggie's bottom collect an ample share of red smack-prints as she passes the chairs of the guests. Sian's trim young buttocks are often smudged by the ash of a fine cheroot. Last night I saw the tendrils of her red-haired mop in disarray and her blue eyes brimming. Alas, some devil had left an angry red streak on Sian's bottom with the glowing tip of his weed! A guest will often use Maggie or Sian as his mattress or pillow for the night. Sian will lie on her back, her legs splayed. A man has only to lie between them and he may pillow his head on the young redhead's belly, her sensitive little cunt always at his finger's touch. There is one elderly and worthy fellow who loves to sleep like this. At the same time, Maggie with her blond hair in a short pony-tail, must lie on her side with her back to him. She is quite naked, her seat must be at the level of his eyes and curved out to within a few inches of his race. With a rear view of her love-nest between her stocky young thighs, his lips are busy with the young blonde all night. His kisses browse on the broad sturdiness of Maggie's bottom-cheeks, between them, and upon the soft humid folds of her cunt. All this time he enjoys Sian's bare belly as his pillow!
Both Julie and Miss Jones are occupied in teaching younger girls the customs of the harem. They lie on the table before the pupils and have all those things done to them which little girls must learn for the pleasure of their master. A man as rich as Ahmed Pasha does not confine himself to Arabian beauties alone. Among his collection are two or three dozen English girls but, I fear, some have been brought here much against their will. One night, to entertain us after dinner, he clapped his hands and summoned a harem dancer. It was only when he mentioned that her name was Sarah that I guessed the truth about her. She was indeed an English girl of eighteen or nineteen and it was exquisite to see such a little madam in so amusing a predicament. Imagine us taking our coffee and sherbet in the fine ornate hall with its pillars and arches, the chessboard marble of its floor and the torches flaming in their iron brackets. There appeared this lithe young creature with a shock of short blond hair, her blue eyes as well as the rest of her features looking painted as a doll's!
She was dressed in pale-blue Turkish pantaloons and breast-halter with crimson dancing boots. The Turkish trousers were translucent, not only showing the brief knickers which Sarah wore underneath but also revealing the lithe energy of her movements, her trim thighs and her buttocks which were so taut and agile. Yet what struck one most about Sarah was her absurdly self-regarding resentment of her situation. Fortunately the vizier with the whip stood by and so we were not denied the pleasure of seeing her dance. He cracked the leather thong once and through the Turkish pants we saw the firm young cheeks of Sarah's pretty bottom tighten together with fear at the sound. The music of flute and tambourine came from the shadows of the arcading. We saw Sarah's arms twine above her as her feet glided across the marble and her hips began their sinuous and suggestive rhythm. I will be honest with you, my dear friend. Such a self-important little minx with her painted face and flouncing manners can be tortured to the limit by the cruel vizier before I will intercede for her. With the worst possible grace she writhed and twined in her dance, performing immediately in front of her master's chair. The sulky little charmer arched her lithe young belly out towards him and let her head hang back, legs splayed and arms writhing. Straightening up again, she began to turn with sly little wrigglings of her trim hips. With his own hands he undid her Turkish trousers and stripped down her panties. She danced with her bum to him. Slowly, at his command, the agile beauty bent over, until he had a splendid view of the trim and pretty cheek of Sarah's nubile bottom.
He made her squirm her young arse at him, for all the world like a girl riding a randy saddle. Then the vizier withdrew and gave a signal that the rest of us should follow. It was time for the pasha to be alone with his young dancing-girl. I confess that curiosity made me linger where one of the doors was open an inch. No suspicion attached to me for I do not suppose they thought an English lady capable of such deceit! I could not see everything, for the trim young blonde bent over in my direction and with her seat and thighs to the pasha. I could tell by the sudden grimaces of pleasure or hating that he found more than one avenue of delight open to him. As is the custom in this part of the world, when a girl exists for her master's pleasure and not for the breeding of children, it seemed that he enjoyed a ride between her legs-which had Sarah groaning and bending tighter to feel more of him- but discharged his seed on the hot infertile soil of her backside, which caused her to bite her lip desperately to check her exclamations of rebellion. I do not tell this story without purpose. Sarah was prepared to make trouble for him because he used her in a fashion which may be unorthodox in England but is common in Arabia. That night I found a message from her on my pillow. She urged me to inform the world of her unwilling captivity and to aid her escape. Knowing me as you do, dear friend, you are aware that I have an inflexible morality in social matters. I stop at nothing to uphold moral order. Yet, in the country where I was a guest, that moral order made this young wriggler the slave of Ahmed Pasha. To steal her from him, by the laws of the land, was no better than stealing his finest horse or his most costly silver plate. You will see at once that there was but one course which conscience allowed me to follow. I inquired of the vizier what punishment would be visited upon a girl guilty of such domestic treason. He smiled and spoke of bare-bottom whipping followed by the placing of a certain mark of ownership on the inward slopes of her bottom-cheeks. When Sarah stood upright, it would be concealed. When she was made to bend over, there would be no doubt to whom she belonged. Delighted to hear that they knew how to deal with her, I at once took the traitorous note to Ahmed Pasha. I confess, however, that my own delight was somewhat exceeded by that of the vizier himself. Can you not guess why? He it was who would have the enjoyable task of commanding the penalties and the thought of doing such things to the young blonde made him hardly able to keep his hands out of his trousers. As a supporter of justice and the need to punish delinquency however it may arise, I had hoped to be a spectator when Sarah was strapped down astride the bench on all fours. Alas, this was not to be. Such things are done very privately, in order to prevent scandal and tales being told. It is the custom for the vizier to be alone with the girl and to partake of certain preliminary enjoyments as his reward. I was permitted-as a student of such jurisprudence- to view the scene before the door was closed upon Sarah and her passionate disciplinarian. To see this lithe and agile girl of eighteen or nineteen strapped down on all fours astride the bench, was a story in itself. The shock of blond hair and the painted young face made such a self-pitying ensemble. She wore her breast-halter, but from the strap round her waist to the strap which pinioned her bare legs just above the knees, she was quite naked. From the back of her waist to the back of her knees, she was at the disposal of the sadistic vizier. I was not able to witness the sequel, not indeed to hold any conversation of the normal kind with Sarah. The gag was already in place and so there was wildness in her blue eyes with their mascara'd lashes. Yet there lay upon the floor a trailing whip which would have brought the most disobedient filly to correction after half a dozen strokes. And in the glow of the brazier coals two little marking discs were heating, each the size of a small coin. I returned Sarah's frenzy with a smile and advised her to learn obedience and gratitude to her master for the tribute of sperm he paid her, when he might have preferred many another harem-girl. With that I nodded to the vizier and urged him to chastise the little whore soundly. I observe respect for social morality-in whichever society I happen to be. In England we do not permit a man to keep slaves. In Arabia a man may be an outcast who drinks alcohol or eats pork. Ahmed Pasha, as our guest in England, would no more dream of dynamiting a pork butcher's shop or a distillery than I would rob him of a slave-girl in his own land. What would become of the world if each country tried to overthrow the laws of the rest? None would triumph. Chaos and anarchy must overwhelm us all, He did not deal with her as harshly as he might. He might hang Sarah for her crime, if he chose. It is his right. Enough of that. I dream now of autumn in the Villa Lola and our calm Italian lake. I shall rest a few weeks and then return to England. There is a delightful Italian tomboy of eighteen whom I wish to explore, rather short but firm-figured, dark in hair and complexion. You shall hear of her seductions and of every stroke of the cane given across the broad olive-skinned cheeks of Patrizia Luisi's bottom! Until I salute you from la Bella Italia, I am your true friend, M-J- Anonymous Augustus and Lady Maude XXII. Augustus to Lady Maude Wight, 4 September My beloved Cousin, As soon as it was rumoured to me that you had returned to Cairo from your little voyage in Arabia Deserta, I took up my pen to write and tell you of the new event which has quite transformed my life.
You were right about Julie. Of course you were. Even in the case of Maggie, my own reactions to certain spectacles in which she was involved assured me that she could not, at all, be the future partner of my life. And yet, my dear, you are mistaken in the most important truth of all. Though neither Julie nor Maggie was worthy of the honour I proposed, there are girls of their humble origins who are more than equal to it. The story of Cinderella and her prince is no mere fable to me. Could I ever find such a treasure? I have done so at last. Her name is Noreen and she is in our friend Bowler's employ. I daresay you will not at once acquiesce in my choice, dear Maude. Yet only give the matter a little time and I am quite sure that Noreen will find a place in your heart as she has done in my own.
With what expectancy I await your return, my dearest, in a few weeks more. Then you shall see for yourself and congratulate me upon the future bliss which lies within my grasp. Your loving cousin, Augustus Anonymous Augustus and Lady Maude XXIII. Lady Maude to Mr. Bowler Gardone, 11 September My dear Friend, However unethical it may be, I enclose a copy of the last letter which I received in Cairo from Lord Augustus. You will see at once why I have cancelled my plans for a warm Italian autumn by the lakes and am returning to England. I am determined that his moral education should be put in hand at once. He must learn the obligations and pleasures which are proper to a gentleman-and those which are not. I wish it were possible to make him see the truth. In his privileged position he may have whatever fun he likes with such young whores as Julie, Maggie, or his latest inamorata, it is the purpose for which such girls exist in our society. As a member of the governing class, he could have them consigned to reformatory or penitentiary, if their resistance proves obstinate, and there enjoy them under threat of the lash. No man of sense in church or state opposes the whipping of such creatures. Indeed, there is talk of a KGB for Mr. James Miles.
But to “spoon” with such wenches, as he does-to talk of them as his brides-to-be!-is beyond all endurance. Is he so hardened in vice and republicanism mat he cannot see the consequences of his wickedness? There is but one remedy, my dear friend. We must teach him how to enjoy pleasure as he should. Only let him enjoy the fun that may be had with such creatures when they have no option but to obey him. It will whet his appetite as this feeble cow-eyed adoration never could. From now on, his life of idle pleasure must cease. He shall attend the reformatory and penitentiary as a magistrate and gentleman should. There he shall see these sluts dealt with and enjoyed by the only method which they understand. Did our forefathers struggle to make our country great, merely in order that its fabric should be worm-eaten by the amorous freaks of a neurasthenic boy?
Enough of this neurasthenia into the bargain! A little education in the cruder and coarser attributes of such girls as these will work wonders. Let him see them spurred by the lash to every vulgarity of which their bodies are capable, it will prove a wholesome corrective to this talk of Plato and Petrarch. I must teach him to appreciate girls of his own class and to see these other wenches for what they are. I readily admit that they offer a man strong pleasures of a certain variety. But the thought of my cousin wedded to a strumpet dressed in virgin white quite revolts me. An end, then, to milk-sop romance and neurasthenia. My uncle tells me that Dr.
Raspail's last bill had to be read to be believed. It will not be paid, of course, for many a month and I do not doubt that he had overcharged in expectation of such a delay. Give me the cure of Lord Augustus's nerves, my friend. I will effect it in short order and at very little cost. We shall make a proper gentleman of him these next few months. There, I feel much better for saying my say. I have asked my father to put off my presentation at court until the spring in order to devote myself to my cousin's cure. I look forward with keen anticipation to the next few months, convinced that we shall have some exquisite moments of delight with the troupe of young sluts at our disposal. A bientot, my friend! My thoughts turn towards England and the pleasures of duty! Your true friend, Maude, Lady
As soon as all our friends had returned to England, the summer correspondence between them ceased. Yet one who is the friend of them all-the editor of these few chapters-must end the story for them. Lady Maude was as good as her word and came straight home upon hearing that her imprudent cousin Lord Augustus had involved himself in yet another dangerous infatuation. She did not at once take action but hung back a little as if hoping that the crisis might pass of its own accord. Even at that time she was much concerned that those who loved Lord A. should lead him towards a true understanding of the duties which he owed to society-and which were not in the least incompatible with the pleasures he sought. Where pleasure rather than a permanent alliance was intended, her ladyship would never have interfered. Her own brothers had often indulged in such affairs without ever incurring more than her smile. At that moment one of them was riding a pretty blonde of twenty with cropped hair and fringe, a firm suntanned little face and blue eyes. Her lithe and suntanned limbs adorned his couch, the curves of Jane Truman's bottom-cheeks or breasts filled his hands. Lady Maude was no prude and never dreamt of interfering. It was evident at a glance that her brother would never have married a little wriggler of this sort. Lady Maude is among our most respectable and respected younger peeresses. To a lingering affection for her own sex she soon added a fortunate marriage to Lord Rupert N-. He is somewhat her elder and a power in the land. Lady Maude has always had a strong taste for proper morals. No one could be more zealous in advocating the chastisement of young women who stray from the path of decency or propriety. Lord Rupert indulges his beloved in this matter of stripping insolent servant girls and promiscuous young wives who must learn their lesson under the whip.
Every gaoler and beadle in the county takes his commands from her ladyship. Were you to suggest that the twinkle in Lady Maude's eye betokens some lewd or perverse pleasure, you would be regarded with incredulity and contempt. Her respectability is armed cap-a-pie against all such reproaches. Several times her ladyship has been able to save her cousin from the consequences into which his impetuous feelings might have brought him. In this she remembered the example of her friend Mr. Bowler. Alas, even the unmasking of Julie and Maggie had not taught Lord Augustus to behave with more caution.
Scarcely a month after her return from Carda, her ladyship called at a temple of fashion in one of the smartest streets, not a stone's throw from the elegant showroom of her friend the saddler. She observed several gentlemen gazing entranced at the long window where saddles and bridles were set out. With some unease, she observed mat her cousin was one of this group. Lady Maude moved unobtrusively to see what might be the object of such adoration. A well-built girl of nineteen was dusting and polishing the floor where the saddles were arranged. Noreen was the girl, quite tall and strongly made. Her lank dark hair was worn loose, cut short at the level of her collar and trimmed in a straight fringe. She had firm fair-skinned features, the points of her cheekbones were wide set and there was a most self-assured insolence in her brown eyes. As was customary in such a place, Noreen wore a simple riding costume well-suited to a girl of her type. The close fit of her white singlet followed the lines of a strong and supple young back, the movement of her firm young breasts was seen easily through the cotton. Noreen wore a broad leather belt which pulled the faded blue-denim of her riding-jeans smooth and taut over her robust young hips and thighs. Though a strapping young wench, she was well-made rather than plump and it was perhaps this which had made Lord Augustus and the other gentlemen look with such longing upon her. At that moment, the girl had knelt down and was sitting on her heels with her back to her admirers as she vigorously polished the floor between the rows of saddles. Noreen worked with her jaw set resolutely and the collar-length of her lank dark hair falling forward a little round her face as she bowed her head to her task. As she leant forward, the smooth denim of the jeans was tight and smooth as skin over the fuller and broader shape of Noreen's bottom-cheeks and thighs. It was understandable that this area of Noreen's arse and thighs should draw the most eager attention of the men who watched her. Yet as Lady Maude spied upon her cousin, it was clear that another romance of the kind which Maggie had inspired was in the making. That an insolent young scrubber like Noreen should be permitted to cause such catastrophe to the social order filled her ladyship with indignation. Presently, in order to stretch and reach between the saddles with her polishing cloth, Noreen had to lift her hips from her heels and go forward on all fours. As she did so, the men drew breath sharply at the provoking rear view which she now offered brazenly to the world. The pale blue-denim was drawn smooth and taut as drumskin over the broadened mounds of Noreen's buttocks. In this posture, Noreen's backside at nineteen years old was big-cheeked but with little hint of flabbiness.
Best of all the stout central seam of the jeans-seat was drawn deep and tight between Noreen's bottom-cheeks, parting those rear hemispheres in a most suggestive manner! The stout seam was also strained tightly under her legs where it seemed to part the very lips of her cunt whose soft flesh was moulded for the admiration of the men by the clinging denim. With her head bowed and the dark hair falling forward, Noreen backed on all fours towards her admirers, working the cloth hard on the floor. Even Lady Maude could sense the ardent images of longing which fired their brains as they licked their lips and smiled secretly to themselves. All of them imagined Noreen positioned thus but with her denim and knickers removed, harness straps holding her down to prevent reprisals by so sturdy a girl. One might be content with thoughts of his stiffness entering between her legs, of the bamboo and the birch rod across her broadened buttocks.
Another, more demanding, must feel the tightness of Noreen's anus implacably stretched on his erection-then whipcord and the snakeskin lash across the bare cheeks of Noreen's bottom. Another would imagine perversities in the tiled bathroom, Noreen secured bottom-upwards over a pedestal. Next to the squirt, the soap-bottle, the china bowl, and rolled paper, would lie the cane and the lash. So powerful and implacable were the ordeals which they wished to impose upon her in these dreams that they seemed to be communicated to the girl herself!
As if sensing the presence of these onlookers for the first time, Noreen stopped polishing. Immobile on all fours, she looked back under her shoulder. What she saw of the men caused her to sit back on her heels, two spots of anger glowing at the wide points of her cheekbones. Flicking the lank dark hair clear of her face, she stared round at her admirers. There was defiance in the line of her jaw and mouth, contempt in the slanting glance of her brown eyes. She turned her head away and sat still until the men had moved on. Lady Maude could think of nothing but the danger which a strapping young trollop like Noreen presented to a well-born gentleman of Augustus's sensibilities. She promised herself that such a temptation must be removed and that Augustus must be cured of his incipient infatuation in the most direct manner. It was simple enough to suggest to Lord Rupert and to Mr. Bowler, a fellow magistrate, that Noreen was guilty of indecent and scandalous conduct in the public view. These two gentlemen had a very clear idea of their duty. They were only too willing to convene a closed session of the justices at Bowler Hall, where they were joined upon the bench by old Mr. Snook who could be counted upon to deal out exemplary punishment to a strapping young trollop of Noreen's kind. Noreen was brought before them that evening in her blue-denim skirt and white blouse. Even if they never saw her again, the three gentlemen were very excited at the thought of the fate they had in store for her. Behind thick walls and barred windows her proud young breasts and tautly muscled thighs would be at the disposal of the gaoler and his assistants. The pale sturdiness of Noreen's bottom-cheeks would be constantly menaced by the prison cane and the birch. There was fury in her brown eyes and the points of her broad cheekbones glowed with anger when they assured her that the case would be decided against her. Indeed, when the sentence was pronounced by Mr. Snook-looking up to grin knowingly at Noreen from time to time-the warders held her by either arm and her wrists were strapped behind her back as a precaution. They condemned her to eighteen months of penitentiary training, at which she shook her lank dark hair and composed her fair-skinned features into a mask of indifference under her level fringe. Then Noreen gave a sudden look of fright as Mr. Snook added, “The girl to be severely whipped by order of the court one month after the beginning of her sentence. Also to receive such further chastisements as may be desirable in the opinion of the gaoler during the remainder of her training.” When Lord Augustus heard of this, he behaved in the most deplorable fashion.
Finding out a local attorney, he employed the man to see if the verdict could not be overturned, even at the cost of bringing the matter before the Lord Chancellor himself! Here was a pretty pickle and no mistake! Fortunately, the attorney was old Silas Grabham, a tenant of Mr. Snook. Though it cost a little, he was soon persuaded to impede his client's case and ensure that no appeal was forwarded for eight more months, by which time it must be invalid.
In the meantime, Lord Augustus himself was appointed a Justice of the Peace. You may be sure that his brother-in-law Lord Rupert and his friend Mr. Bowler took excellent care that he was not chosen to hear such cases as Noreen's. However, on Lady Maude's advice, it was arranged that he and the rest of us should be present to see Noreen receive her judicial whipping. Nothing was said to him of what would happen and the young man thought merely that we were to make a tour of inspection round the gaoler's premises. One Saturday night, which is sacred here to sports of all kinds, was the time appointed for Noreen to receive her chastisement: However, it was an hour or more earlier when Mr. Bowler arrived with his valet to exercise his right of examining the culprit. A door was opened on to the dimly lit room where Noreen lay sleeping. She had been positioned face-down on the bed with no sheet or blanket covering her, soft leather cuffs attaching her wrists to the frame of the bed on either side as a measure of precaution. Noreen's head was turned aside on the pillow, the light showing her firm young profile, eyes closed and lips parted gently in slumber, while the lank collar-length of her dark hair lay round her white neck and jaw-line. The guardians had undressed her completely, except for her short white singlet. Yet even the singlet hem had been pulled high so that Noreen's arse and hips, her thighs and flanks, were completely bare. The turnkeys had wedged two pillows under her loins, to emphasise the spread of her strong young thighs and to give a fuller and broader swell to the firm cheeks of Noreen's bottom. Without waking her, Mr. Bowler sat gently on the edge of the bed at the level of her hips. He bowed his head and examined the area of Noreen's anatomy which interested him. The hem of her white singlet had been pulled right up to the small of her back at the rear. In the faint light he was able to admire the pale nudity of Noreen's seat and thighs. So he studied the swelling cheeks of Noreen's backside, keenly and closely. The line of his mouth was hard and his eyes unsmiling, as befitted a magistrate. He showed no softening nor affection towards the nineteen-year-old girl. Such sentiments were improper for a disciplinarian moralist. Her body was admirably relaxed as she lay sleeping. Mr. Bowler pondered on the sensitive hollows at the backs of her knees, a blue vein showing here and there. He lingered over the rear of her young thighs, so robust yet trim. All this time Noreen lay with her firm young profile on the pillow, the lank dark hair across her face, unaware of the man's intimate prying as she slept. Her thighs had relaxed in slumber and she had parted them a little so that the folds of her sex were visible from the rear. Mr. Bowler inspected her so closely with his eyes that she might almost have felt his breath on her feminine slit.
A healthy and well-built working-girl of nineteen gives rein to her sensual fancies in sleep. In the warmth of the summer night Mr. Bowler was able to enjoy the faint mineral scent of her arousal between Noreen's thighs. He spent quite fifteen or twenty minutes musing on the rear view of her open legs and the lightly moistened state between them. Next he turned to the full and broadened swell of Noreen's pale bottom-cheeks, which he had condemned to the lash. His mouth grew tighter still and his eyes more intense with disciplinary severity.
His gaze mapped Noreen's bare backside. While the girl continued to sleep, unaware of his sadistic contemplation, he brooded on her smooth rear cheeks with tyrannical longing for at least half an hour. His thoughts turned to the objects on the table, designed to subject her behind to certain indignities of the toilet as she lay over the pillows. Such ordeals must often accompany the caning of her bottom by the turnkeys who visited her at night and inflicted summary discipline. Those who saw the array of objects on the table could guess why Noreen was made to lie bottom-upwards over the rubber pillows. They knew quite well what the gaoler would make her do as she lay there. Indeed, a bamboo cane and a loop of whipcord had been placed by the toilet articles to enforce her obedience. Mr.
Bowler inspected more closely the broad curving pallor of Noreen's bottom-cheeks. They were slacker in sleep. The pillows packed under her loins also raised and filled out the swell of her seat, causing the two rear mounds to part lightly but suggestively. Thin-lipped and vindictive he gazed from a few inches into the cleavage where Noreen's buttocks curved in together. So close did he sigh over her backside that his breath gently warmed the two cool globes of her behind. He settled down to enjoy this view of Noreen's sturdy young arse at little more than kissing distance. The night was warm and heavy. It excited him to breathe the humid and intimate girl-scent emanating from between the cheeks of Noreen's bottom. With disciplinary relish his eyes lingered on the dark tight little vortex of Noreen's anus. How different was his expression from the meek adoration of Lord Augustus! Mr. Bowler longed to have Noreen at his disposal in a harem like that of Ahmed Pasha. The sight of Noreen's arsehole and bum-cheeks, her thighs and what lay between them, made him dream of extreme and exemplary punishments for her insolence and defiance. He longed to rid society of her malign influence. As he inspected her robust and vulgar rump, he dreamt of penalties which less resolute moralists call torture. Bowler Pasha imagined himself concluding all this by tightening the sinister leather collar round her throat, slowly and inexorably. He was not dismayed at his desires, for such were the images which Noreen inspired in this worthy magistrate.
He stroked her lightly along the inward cleavage of her bum-cheeks. Noreen woke with a start and tightened herself instinctively against his intruding fingers. Mr. Bowler smiled.
“Lie still while I inspect you, Noreen!” he said sharply. “Don't clench yourself! The bench of justices condemned you to a prison whipping. You'll be getting it tonight! Ah, that makes you tense your buttocks with fright, doesn't it, Noreen? The pony-lash across your bare bottom-cheeks will smart like red-hot wire! But first we must make you wait an hour or two for it, just to make sure you're really in the mood!” He began to examine her robust bare thighs with his hands and, when Noreen tried to twist away from him, he pinioned her legs firmly by a strap just above her knees. “In a while, you'll hear the gaoler cracking the whip to test it,” he said teasingly.
“It's a sound that will make those strapping young bottom-cheeks tingle with fear, Noreen! He badly wants to acquaint himself with your bare backside and teach you a lesson in obedience. You'll get your punishment in the soundproof vault late at night I'm sure you can guess why!” He coaxed the warm folds of Noreen's cunt back through the rear of her legs, his fingers playing with her lightly as she panted and squirmed in a futile resistance. “I must slide my other hand under your bare belly, Noreen. Excellent! I can feel the first flutter of panic there. I promise you that the cheeks of your bottom will itch with fright before you receive the first kiss of the snakeskin lash across them!” He stroked the soft folds of her cunt, holding it gently in his fingers, as if he might be comforting a nestling bird. Noreen bowed her face, allowing the short length of her lank dark hair to fall about her features, as if to hide herself from him and deny him the pleasure of watching her reactions. She gasped through clenched teeth at the indignity of his masturbation of her.
The line of her young chin was still firm and resolute in her defiance of him. “Calm yourself, Noreen! It is your bottom that interests me most of all tonight!” Flicking back her hair, she watched in dismay as he chose the jar of vaseline. One heard the light sound of a gentleman unbuttoning himself. For some time, Mr. Bowler had secretly wanted to show Noreen his prick, to make her stare at it in dismay while he described the manner in which she would get it. One does not spy upon a gentleman in his private enjoyment of a young bitch like Noreen. Yet some most suggestive words and glimpses merit consideration. Mr. Bowler's obsession with the girl's broad-cheeked backside left no doubt that it was where he wished to pay the tribute of his loins. One applauds his moral prudence for there was no danger of giving Noreen a baby there. Thus the parish was saved the expense-and the girl avoided the shame-of a swollen belly and a brat to feed. The marriage of December and May is sometimes frowned upon by ignorant persons. Noreen was nineteen. The erection which Mr.
Bowler, smiling, showed her rose from the grey-haired bush of a man in his fifties. But his magisterial balls were swollen big and tight with a prodigious load of sperm, thus defeating the objection. Those unfamiliar with the art of discipline may complain that all the pleasure was to be Mr. Bowler's. Noreen must lie there and receive the spending in her arse with no reward or enjoyment. Yet justice often employs deplorable means for laudable purposes. To cut off a man's head or to disembowel him was prescribed by our law as punishment for treason. To hang a woman or to whip a girl has been a cornerstone of jurisprudence. The Romans made a faithless young wife wear a massive radish up her bottom. How lewd these things would be-how barbaric!-unless sanctioned by law. How trivial, by comparison, was the ordeal which Magistrate Bowler inflicted upon Noreen to curb her insolence! “Another rubber pillow under your belly, Noreen, to swell your bare bottom out even fuller! Excellent! Why, you offer your young buttocks parted as shamelessly as any bride on her honeymoon night!” Held by the straps, Noreen was obliged to lie bottom-upwards over the pillows and present her anus to the magistrate. The amount she must receive in her arse would not be determined by what she could take but by what Mr. Bowler needed to spend. The brown eyes under her level fringe slanted fury at him and the points of her broad cheekbones glowed with anger! The springs of the divan creaked as Mr. Bowler ignored this and sat down level with her waist and racing her feet. He tightened his left arm over her waist to steady her and bowed his gaze. The pale swelling globes of Noreen's behind deserved his attention. He settled down for a long browsing and kissing upon them. Leather strained noisily as Noreen pulled at her wrist-cuffs and gasped her detestation of what was being done to her. Mr. Bowler paused from time to time and smilingly wagged his stiffness in her face. “It makes your buttocks tighten to see the size of the knob, Noreen! Can this truly be your first time?”
Those whose ears were pressed to the door heard the unscrewing of the vaseline jar. Noreen exclaimed in anger and refusal. One heard a slipperiness being smeared between her rear cheeks. When the springs creaked again, there was a suggestion of Mr. Bowler kneeling astride and much talk of the hammerhead knocking for admission at the tight rear entrance. One caught the whisper of Noreen's dark hair threshing from side to side as she squirmed and gasped her refusal. “No! I won't! I won't! Oh, no-o-o-o-o!” The shrillness of the last syllable told its own story of the drama. Noreen, frantic not to have it, was getting it just the same. Mr. Bowler gasped a tribute to the tightness of the rear dimple which passed so thrillingly over his knob and Noreen gave a cry of panic as she felt him press in to the very hilt. Through clenched teeth once more, she panted out her contempt and revulsion for him. But Mr. Bowler was able to enjoy himself at will. For half an hour the springs moved in a steady rhythm. Then they moved faster and with more vigour. Mr. Bowler breathed hard, like a champion winning a race. His fleshy muzzle became a load in Noreen's backside of which the girl desperately needed to ease herself. When his climax came, the tightness of her nineteen-year-old bum on his shaft was exquisite. He shot jet after jet of thick passion into the depths of Noreen's bottom, as a sound of repugnance rose from her throat. Tearing paper from the roll, he mopped a final splash or two of his passion from Noreen's bottom-cheeks and wiped the guilty vaseline smears from between them. Decency forbade that the compromising paper should be found in the folds of Noreen's sheets by a female guardian. Making a convenient wad, he therefore thumbed it firmly into Noreen's behind. Yet he could not resist leaving the last corner protruding like a little flag. It added a suggestive rudeness to Noreen's rear view which would greatly increase the enthusiasm of the magistrates who watched her punished that night. An hour later the turnkeys came for her. Noreen's knickers and riding-jeans were pulled up. Then three of these stalwart fellows escorted her to the vault, where the county magistrates and their ladies were waiting eagerly to see justice done. A strapping young trollop of Noreen's kind is always punished to the limit on these occasions. It is therefore prudent to inflict the discipline at dead of night in one of the soundproof and subterranean vaults. The guests, including Lord Augustus, were assembled there. Gaslight flared on the whitewashed walls of the stone-flagged room. Two hurdles of heavy timber, their top bars padded with leather, were bolted to the floor, parallel to each other and a few feet apart, restraining straps riveted to their structure. An array of whips lay on a nearby table. It was about half an hour before midnight when a door opened and we glimpsed Noreen in her white singlet and working-denim. She was struggling with a wild energy in the grip of the three turnkeys who were propelling her to the place of punishment. How desperately Noreen fought and panted to break free! How violently she braced her strong young legs against the flagstones, contesting every inch of the way! There was still anger in the slant of her brown eyes. Her mouth and chin remained tight with defiance. The collar-length of her lank dark hair fell about her face as she bowed her shoulders and twisted her arms against the grip of the men. The washed jeans-denim strained taut over the sturdy mounds of Noreen's bum-cheeks as she squirmed her hips and cursed her captors, lunging with her haunches to drive the men from her. At nineteen years old, Noreen is a strongly built girl but fortunately the three men were more than a match for her. They made her bend forward over the first of the hurdles, both structures being built of solid timbers, heavy and substantial enough to support her easily. Being bolted to the floor and equipped with stout straps, they also held her very securely. While they bent her over the first hurdle, the men drew her arms out at full stretch in front of her and fastened them down by the wrist-cuffs on the further hurdle. This bar on which her wrists were pinioned could be raised or lowered. By lowering it, the gaoler would be able to make Noreen bend over very tightly indeed. It was only to be expected that he would want to do that so that the girl offered a more sexually suggestive target for the whip. It was important that he should feel randy while punishing Noreen for that would ensure she was whipped soundly. The hurdle which supported her belly had a harness strap quite three inches broad. They tightened this round her bare waist to hold her firmly down. Bending over like this, Noreen was made to present a most provoking and full-cheeked rear view. The faded washed-out jeans-denim was excitingly tight and smooth over the broadened mounds of her buttocks. The sight which she offered would have made any man a disciplinarian 1 She flicked back the dark spilling hair, and the slant of her brown eyes under her level fringe shone with hatred for the three men. One man smiled, standing behind her. His hands began to feel and fondle her rear cheeks through the skin-tight jeans-seat.
Noreen panted and twisted, trying in vain to evade his stroking. He chuckled as he felt her through the smooth denim. “Did you never have men feeling you like this at your work, Noreen? You'll get plenty of it here, I promise you! I must just feel between the back of your legs. Ah, yes! A nice soft swell of pussy-flesh in your pants! Now the cheeks of your strapping young bottom, Noreen! You're wearing panties underneath, aren't you, Noreen? I can just feel the outline of some tight-fitting briefs. Did you think the justices might let you wear your cotton briefs while you were whipped, Noreen? Why, mat would spoil the fun for them! You'll have your panties taken down, never fear. You must feel the snakeskin lash on your bare bottom!” The men left her with the flutter of panic in her young belly growing to real fright. The gaoler made her wait for half an hour in this torment of suspense. Then he arrived and chose two whips from the table. One was a leather switch about four feet long, slim and wickedly supple.
The other was the woven snakeskin of the short pony-lash. Without speaking to her, he undid Noreen's riding-jeans at the waist. She twisted her legs, gasping and struggling to prevent him stripping her, but he wrenched the denim down and off. Soon Noreen's knickers also lay in an untidy tangle round her ankles. The gaoler studied the broad-cheeked pallor of Noreen's bottom as she bent over the hurdles.
He smiled as he glimpsed her sex at the rear of her thighs. Then he spoke to her. “Later on I'll make you bend over even tighter, Noreen. I want you to look as big-bottomed as possible when I whip you. There's no need for pretence here. I shall very much enjoy thrashing you. I'll bend you tighter presently so that you show much more between the backs of your legs. And I'll want your bottom-cheeks stretched hard apart so that I can see everything between them while I whip you, Noreen!” While he was talking to her, two stable-lads slipped into the vault. They hid by the buttresses, having a rear view of Noreen, so that the girl saw them every time she twisted her head round. The younger lad was still shy. He stood facing the wall, watching Noreen over his shoulder. His hands were clasped in his lap and he seemed to be holding some trinket which he polished vigorously.
The older boy unbuttoned proudly and directed Noreen's gaze to the fine stiffness which he held in his hand. The insolence in her brown eyes gave way to dismay as he showed it to her so openly. He wanted Noreen to know that he was greatly excited by her bare rear view and that he was eagerly looking forward to seeing the shopgirl's backside dance to the tune of the whip! The gaoler flexed the supple length of his leather switch. “Now get arse-upwards over the hurdle, Noreen, you young tart! Get right over it! Properly! To enforce this, he lowered the forward hurdle bar to which her wrists were strapped, making the nineteen-year-old girl bend over more tightly. This caused the robust pale mounds of Noreen's buttocks to be pulled apart a little more. There were smiles of amusement from the onlookers as they glimpsed the little flag of paper peeping out between Noreen's bum-cheeks. The two stable-lads pumped their stiffnesses still harder with excitement at this. These young scamps would greatly have enjoyed making Noreen submit to various indignities of the toilet and hoped that they would soon have the chance. The remarks of the worthy magistrates who watched left Noreen in no doubt that we had seen the vulgar sight she offered! Was it anger or humiliation which caused the glow at the points of her broad cheekbones? She sometimes wears her lank dark hair in a collar-length pony-tail and the gaoler now gathered it back in this style and slipped a rubber band round it to hold it. One could now see the slant of resentment in her brown eyes and the defiant resolve in the line of her chin and firm young features. “The justices must see your face while you're being thrashed, Noreen,” the gaoler said. “They like to see how you're taking it. All the men and women here approve of a really pitiless whipping given to a young trollop like you with such a strapping young bottom!” The handle of the four-foot leather switch was thick as his thumb but the whip tapered to a point that was fine as a pencil tip. Smiling, he touched the back of Noreen's thigh, high up, with the quiveringly fine bobble-tip of the whip. We smiled as well to see how she flinched from the cold menace of the leather.
For a little while longer he teased the nineteen-year-old wench, stroking the whip gently down each bare flank of her hips. When Noreen bends or kneels forward on all fours at her work, her hips have that natural feminine slope which broadens downwards to the top of her legs. As he caressed her with the leather switch one could hear the light sounds of her legs smoothing together in panic and the heavier breathing of her fright. Then, as if a signal had been given, we knew the punishment was about to begin. All smiles faded and each mouth was tightened in severity. The gaoler's voice was hard and humourless. “You fat-arsed young tart, Noreen! Fifty strokes of the whip across your bare bottom-cheeks to begin with! Bend right over and keep your backside facing the magistrates!” Without waiting for her response, he raised the quivering switch high behind his shoulder. Light flashed from the polished leather as he brought it down with ear-stunning force across the pale fattened cheeks of Noreen's backside. To our delight, Noreen's gasp of anguish at the impact rose to a wild cry as the torment swelled to a climax over several seconds. At the moment when the ferocity of the first whip-smack reached its fullest, the gaoler brought the whip down again across the squirming cheeks of Noreen's bottom in a still more vicious stroke. Though she was a strong and broad-hipped girl, the searching intensity of the redoubled smart paralysed Noreen in sound and movement! Her hands were clenched into fists, her leg-muscles tightened as with cramp, and she was up on her toes with the exquisite white fire of the lash. Far from allowing her a respite, the gaoler touched the switch lightly, aiming across the lower and fatter swell of the young saddle-dresser's buttocks. He knew how sensitive that softer fullness of Noreen's backside would be. With savage accuracy he made that pallid fatness jump under the whip's impact.
With rapid strokes, he whipped her again-again-and yet again-across that sensitive undercurve. Noreen screamed and writhed, her shrillness quickening the excitement of the watching justices. She twisted her face round, her brown eyes wider and her mouth distended in the wildness of her cries. It was only to be expected that the gaoler should want to make Noreen scream as the whip caught her backside. Her shrillness was a tribute to his art. As a disciplinarian he was also bound to enjoy whipping her-cruelly low across her buttocks with the leather switch. Indeed, he now aimed the quivering wand across the light flesh-crease dividing her buttocks and upper thighs. To hear a robust young wench like Noreen shriek as she did then is a rare experience. No wonder the gaoler whipped hard again across the rising weal he had just inflicted. The ladies of fashion smiled privately behind their fans as they watched all this. Each gentleman-magistrate now felt the front of his trousers growing uncomfortably tight and longed to unbutton such stiffness. The stable-lads were more fortunate, watching Noreen's short pony-tail of dark hair sweep her collar as she twisted her face round and yelled frantically for a respite. Concealed from their elders but close behind the bending girl, the lads met the frenzy in Noreen's brown eyes with open-mouthed delight. Each of them urged her to look at his fine handful which he pumped vigorously. “Turn your arse towards us properly, Noreen! Lets have a good look at those whip-marks on your bum-cheeks! He's given you some real beauties across your fat young arse, Noreen! I'd love to change places with him for half an hour!
He's cut your bottom twice with the riding-switch, Noreen!… Was it old Bowler who poked the paper up into your backside, Noreen? I bet it makes the old magistrates randy to see you like that! They enjoy making you look like a rude girl!… Open your legs and show us between them… Bend over tightly so that the whip cuts your bottom, Noreen! You'll be a pretty sight when they finish with you… I hope they leave you alone with us, Noreen!” The switch smacked peremptorily across Noreen's bottom. Her fattened young backside writhed and surged on the bar. One did not blame a gaoler's severity, seeing the sight the girl offered. Noreen's buttocks were interlaced by plum-coloured weals, which naturally made the gaoler want to be truly sadistic with her. When a well-built and insolent girl of nineteen like Noreen shows such brand-marks of the whip across her bare arse, no true moralist takes pity on her. The sight of the whip's weals across her bottom-cheeks show him how badly she needs to be corrected and the sight of Noreen's bum-cheeks in such a state would be bound to put certain cruel ideas into his mind. To have Noreen's bottom-cheeks smarting so untouchably from the whip and then to have the chance of thrashing her hard in such a responsive state would be an excitement for many men and even some women! One also excuses the gaoler's severity because Noreen, now arse-upwards over the hurdle-bar, was writhing her thrashed bottom in anguish, a twisting and surging which might almost have been an erotic dance. This display she offered would have been seductively lascivious even if performed before her bridegroom on her honeymoon night to entice him to bed.
Indeed, though her boyfriend was obliged to express indignation at the sentence of reformatory detention passed upon her, he would secretly have loved to see her arse bucking and squirming under the gaoler's whip. A young tart like Noreen is not of the kind to whom a man swears his life. Private information assures me that her boyfriend bribed the stable-boys for details of the whipping. He paid several guineas for photographs of the scene taken after the thrashing had been in progress for more than an hour. Several were of Noreen's defiant young face, the brown eyes under the level fringe of her dark hair brimming with tears and her mouth distended in a frantic scream. Others were full-plate camera studies of the bare cheeks of Noreen's bottom, tapestried by welts of the pony-whip and with a dozen wine-red trickles down them from her cuts. So roused was he that he had to use the stable-lads' remedy at once. Later he assured Mr. Bowler that he would make no more objection to the sentence of eighteen months which Noreen was to serve. Indeed, he made a private complaint against her so that she might be held for twelve months more! Such moral resolve is always rewarded here. The young man was apprenticed to a gaoler in another county, for it was thought better to part him from Noreen for good. Meanwhile, the gaoler who dealt with Noreen that night was unbearably tantalised by glimpses of her cunt and views between her bottom-cheeks as she writhed. He thrashed the supple riding-switch aslant her buttocks and saw her jam one knee into the back of the other as she tried desperately to contain the agony. The whip smacked her bum-cheeks again and the young whore actually dared to try and kick out at him with her strong bare legs! 'Punish her well for that, Mr. Gaoler!' said Mr. Bowler. 'See that you whip the young slut's legs as well as her backside!' So the flashing leather of the supple switch smacked savagely across the broad rounding cheeks of Noreen's bare bottom again… and again… a slash of the whip high up on the rear of her thighs..-. again… the whip across the backs of her knees… again… and again… the whip high across the rear of her thighs… across the backs of her knees again… and again… her thighs again… and again… a smack of the riding-switch across Noreen's bottom… across her thighs… thighs… thighs… bottom… Noreen screaming wildly… her dark lank hair breaking from its short pony-tail and flying this way and that… a cruel cut of the whip across the lower fatness of Noreen's bottom-cheeks… another across that fetter curve of her buttocks…
Noreen screaming and kicking madly with her bare legs… a cut with the whip aslant the surging mounds of Noreen's arse… another slanting cut… two ruby trickles down Noreen's thrashed buttocks and a score of wine-red smudges… Though Noreen is a sturdy young wench, it was not surprising that one of the stable-lads had to apply the smelling-salts to her nostrils from time to time. He did this with smiles and randy whispers to her. Though he had to pull up his cotton pants as he came forward, he directed Noreen's frantic gaze to the bulge at the front of his briefs, pressing her lips to the hardness and the wet patch on the material itself. The gaoler discarded the switch and chose the pony-lash with its short tail of woven snakeskin. Such alarm in Noreen's eyes as she saw over her shoulder what he was preparing to do to her! But his voice was firm and decided. “Bend right over, Noreen! Better than that! I want to see those strong young thighs filled out a little and those strapping young bottom-cheeks stretched hard for discipline! Show us a big-bottomed view, Noreen! Your complete rear view this time!”
She writhed in her straps, protesting and fearful in her anticipation. Fortunately the gaoler could enforce obedience by lowering the front hurdle-bar further. This made Noreen bend over until the level fringe of her dark hair almost brushed her knees. To ease the strain on her rear thigh-muscles, she was also obliged to stand astride a little. What a sight she offered! Noreen was looking back at an upside-down view of the vault behind her through the narrow arch of her own bare thighs! The justices and their ladies had an excellent view between her legs. Noreen also displayed that lewd little flag of paper which peeped from her bum in such a provocative manner. The gaoler smiled at this and murmured a command which made Noreen gasp with shock. He smiled again. “Very well, Noreen. Then the lash must pluck it out.” Noreen's sturdy buttocks tightened with instinctive terror at this. For the moment, her insolence and contempt towards him faltered. What followed was certainly not a ladylike display. Yet such things are permitted when dealing with a girl like Noreen in the complete privacy of reformatory discipline.
The gaoler laid his hand on the bare pallor of her hip-flank and made Noreen turn her broadened young backside more fully towards the onlookers. He pressed a rim of china high against the rear of her thighs. The stable lads' fists went like pistons and the magistrates were visibly excited at the lengths to which the gaoler would go with Noreen. The young ladies of fashion watched with exceptional eagerness, eyes sparkling in gleeful expectation. The gaoler stroked Noreen through the rear of her legs. He reminded her to show her insolent young face to the magistrates while she obeyed. There was indignation in the slant of her brown eyes but even this young strumpet almost blushed at what she was obliged to do. We watched her bare bottom intently as Noreen bent over tightly before us. She let out a long breath and her young belly tensed with effort. It seemed that Noreen swelled her bum-cheeks out more fully. The saucy little tail of paper moved. The tight tear dimple expanded, the little wad appeared. Noreen expelled it with great caution so that it emerged slowly and at last fell upon the porcelain. The gaoler placed it on the table, next to Noreen's knickers. I could scarcely believe that this trophy was also destined for the collection of senile old Justice Snook who treasures such mementoes of young women under discipline.
The usual rubber wedge between her teeth protected them in the frenzy of the final tanning. At the first crack of the pony-lash across her nineteen-year-old bottom the very stones of the vault sang.
The second stroke was aimed short so that the tip of the lash tickled her between her rear cheeks. How Noreen shrilled at the searing kiss of skinning leather between her sturdy young bottom-cheeks! The gaoler's eyes shone with anticipation and he caught her between them again with his next stroke. Then he aimed across the cheeks but the smart of the snakeskin was so atrocious that Noreen's bum retorted most rudely before she could contain herself. Mr. Snook smiled and caught the gaze of her wild eyes. That was deliberately done to halt the tanning, Mr. Turnkey! Teach the fat-bottomed trollop a lesson in manners, if you please!' The front of the gaoler's breeches bulged as if they had suddenly become too small for him. Noreen yelled a frantic protest as he let her feel the cool leather dangling between her rear globes while he took his aim. Six times the pony-lash kissed Noreen agonisingly between her bottom-cheeks, skinning her finely.
How wise are the new laws which confine the tanning of such girls to private reformatories. Noreen was punished in ways best not displayed to untutored eyes. The intensity of her screams thrilled the justices with strange exhilaration. In her frenzy Noreen tried to trap the streaking lash by clenching her rear cheeks upon it to detain it!
She released it at once with wild soprano shrillness. By clenching her bottom-cheeks on the speeding leather, Noreen skinned her arse-crack even more closely than the gaoler would have dared to do deliberately!
The snaking lash smacked across Noreen's bottom again… and again… two more wine-red droplets running down her rear cheeks… an ear-stunning impact of the pony-whip across the lower fatness of Noreen's bottom-cheeks… Noreen gulping and writhing over the hurdle-bar… perfectly positioned for more whip… the lash aimed between her rear cheeks again… across the cheeks… between the cheeks… between the cheeks across the cheeks… the vault ringing with Noreen's frenzy a moment's pause… “Get your bottom right over the bar, Noreen!” the gaoler said quietly. “I'm not nearly satisfied with the state of your backside yet.” He changed the pony-lash for the slim tapering switch of polished leather. Even during the pause Noreen could not control her writhing. Her strapping young bottom smarted too keenly and the panic was swelling in her belly. The gaoler eagerly watched the seductive rounding of her thrashed backside. A sadistic whip-stroke across the lower fatness of Noreen's bare buttocks ended the pause… another lashed the same soft undercurve… Noreen kicked and shrieked… the whip aslant her arse to tame her… another slanting cut… the whip across the rear of her thighs… a sizzling smack across the fullest curve of Noreen's bum-cheeks… two cuts high up across the rear of her thighs… ruby beads running down to the backs of her knees… the whip low across Noreen's bottom… again… red-petalled droplets on the flagstones… the state of Noreen's bottom stiffening every magistrate… the whip across her thighs… across her bum-cheeks… her backside again… across her thighs… her bottom… her thighs… an ear splitting whip-smack across Noreen's bottom… thighs… Noreen's bottom…
Noreen's bottom… Noreen's bottom… Even the eyes of the watching ladies sparkled with excitement when they saw that during the torment of the final thrashing Noreen's strong young teeth had bitten right through the thick rubber bit in her mouth! When it was over, the strapping young mounds of her bare backside were the colour of red fire. The two stable-boys had the enjoyable task of smearing the cheeks of Noreen's arse with heavily salted kitchen fat to prolong the scorching smart. Her nineteen-year-old buttocks blazed raw and sleek with grease and-it must be admitted-splashes and blobs of youthful lust trickled down Noreen's bottom-cheeks. In a day or two, Lady Maude confided to her close friends her great satisfaction at the effect this display of prison discipline had had upon Lord Augustus.
He now saw Noreen for what she was and at last understood what the proper conduct of society required of him. To adore the broad-cheeked swell of Noreen's arse in tight denim as she knelt to her labours, was one thing. But one does not select the future lady of the manor by the width of her hind-quarters! Lady Maude guessed-and in this she was right-that the sight of Noreen behaving with all her natural vulgarity under the gaoler's lash would cure her cousin's infatuation.
He had seen the young strumpet thrashed. He had heard Noreen fart under the whip. He had seen the saucy twist of paper protruding in a quite lascivious manner. After that he was safe. Noreen could never be his bride now-the lady of the manor. His lordship knew it.
All the magistrates of the county had witnessed Noreen farting under the gaoler's whip. Ladies of the manor never fart at all-or at least are never known to. Noreen had presented a lewd display between her strapping young bottom-cheeks. It may be allowed that ladies of the manor have bottom-cheeks but they certainly have nothing between them.
A true English lady endeavours not to have a bottom of any kind- in short not to exist below the waist. Worst of all, Noreen had been made to show her cunt to the justices of the county. A gentleman cannot take to wife a girl whose cunt-anatomy had been inspected by every person of quality in the county! In truth, Lord Augustus woke in the nick of time from his trance. He saw that Noreen was a fat-arsed young tart a strapping young trollop, a vulgar bitch, an insolent young whore-in short all those things which Lady Maude had vainly assured him of from the first. How clearly one sees, then, that our nation's system of justice and prison discipline-for all its occasional little faults-is the friend of order and decency in our established society. Noreen spent a night screaming under the whip.
How small a price to pay for preserving the good name and honest blood of one of our noblest families which she might otherwise have ruined!
Lord Augustus recovered his spirits with great speed and his progress has been heart-warming. He attended a reformatory and watched a cheeky little imp of fourteen, Sally Fenton, caned three times on her bare bottom in one afternoon. He might have intervened on her behalf but he never did. Several foreign girls were brought there for crimes committed in England. Among them was the young Austrian slut, Elke Mahne, with her high-boned face, sly hazel eyes, and short bell-shape of straight brown hair. The soft ripe cheeks of Elke Mahne's sixteen-year-old bottom in tight denim moved Lord Augustus as they should. Before she was tanned, he visited her room. Though I cannot swear that he ravished Elke, she looked very sorry for herself when the gaoler bent her over the hurdles. The vaseline on the table by her bed had certainly been used and the red prints of his lordship's cane were visible on the full young cheeks of Elke Mahne's bottom, even before the gaoler dealt with her. So ardently did his lordship wish to reform the girl that he went to her room a good two hours before each of her public disciplines. The prints of his bamboo across Elke Mahne's backside were much admired. All this was a marked improvement in the young gentleman but it was only a beginning.
Next a bride of eighteen was got for him, Lady Nerissa Gray, a charming girl of good family and education. It was not supposed that he would grow cold to the vulgar provocation of such working-girls as Julie or Maggie. Since he could not marry them, he might now enjoy them at will! The friends of this happy couple did all in their power to aid their life together and were gratified to see that marriage to an estimable young lady had brought Lord Augustus to his senses at last. He lost nothing by doing his duty as society demanded.
Lady Nerissa was his companion of bed and board. Her passion conceived quickly. In two years the line of descent in one of England's most noble families was secured by the birth of two vigorous male infants.
Yet his lordship was also able to enjoy the delights of proletarian beauty with greater success and public esteem than when he was a moody neurasthenic boy. He was appointed a justice, a trustee of reformatories for fallen female virtue. Girls whom he once courted in despair were now his to command. In these matters, Mr. Bowler strove to be his example and teacher. Noreen had sex regularly and exclusively from Mr. Bowler. It was fortunate that his thrice-weekly libations of sperm were squirted into Noreen's young backside upon hot infertile soil. Otherwise she might have left the reformatory with a squalling brood clutching at her apron-strings! With his strong and bawdy tastes, Mr. Bowler positively had to attend Noreen in a white-tiled toilet-suite. During his residence, she was never permitted such a visit except for the purposes of his pleasure.
Before the door closed upon Mr. Bowler and the girl, it was possible for Lord Augustus to glimpse nineteen-year-old Noreen fastened down, bending tightly over the marble table. The firmly broadened cheeks of the young window-dresser's bottom were clad skin-smooth in the washed-out denim of her working-jeans. Beside her on the table stood the china bowl and the vaseline, the liquid soap and the squirt, the bamboo cane and the rolled paper, the pony-lash and the spanking-strap-all those things necessary to magisterial satisfaction. Lady Maude was the first whose influence and moral example served to instruct the young gentleman in his social duties.
Not long after the amusing display which Noreen had afforded her social superiors, the reformatory at Coombe was the scene of a most edifying spectacle. Two elderly gentlewomen, the Misses Edgar and Swann, were in despair over the matter of their fifteen-year-old maid-of-all-work, Michele. By her insolence and disobedience, the girl had quite overturned the proper order of their household so that it was the servant who ruled the mistresses rather than the other way round. It was most fortunate that Lord Rupert heard something of the predicament in which the elderly spinsters found themselves. By his good offices, pert Michele was enrolled in the fifth-form of the reformatory institution at Coombe. None of this was known to young Lord Augustus at the time. Yet his cousin Maude, who now began to have hopes that his neurasthenia was in retreat, took him one afternoon to visit the master of that place. Michele was to be seen skulking with a crony or two in a corner smoking a cigarette on the sly. What a picture she made! At fifteen she is neither very tall nor large-built, yet her young body has a lithe and quite sturdy look.
Then, Michele has the sluttishly provoking air of a street girl and it is upon this that she trades! She stood before Lord Augustus, the silken sweep of her brown hair worn in a seductive slant across her forehead and trimmed short at her collar. Michele was not unaware that this style gave her ample opportunity for coquettish tossings of her head and flicking of the sleek veil of hair clear of her face! Her brown eyes appeared narrowed with a knowing mockery and a shifting dishonesty. The long slope of her cheekbones and the provoking tilt of her nose completed the portrait. Like most fifth-form girls, Michele thus had both womanly and childish qualities about her. One remarked how Michele's mouth was a little large and had the vulgar twist of adult whoredom, while her chin had such a youthful softness.
Though Lord Augustus was treated with every courtesy, as became his rank, you may be sure that Lady Maude and his other friends watched him anxiously m these encounters. It was noticed that his gaze wandered back repeatedly to the face and figure of Michele. Lady Maude slipped away and had a private word with the warden of that place. A moment later that officer-whose salary is, of course, paid by her ladyship's family-approached the young gentleman. He inquired if Lord Augustus would convey a great honour and assistance upon him by taking Michele under moral correction for a few hours. With what anxiety did his friends and well-wishers attend the young nobleman's response.
It seemed that diffidence wrestled with duty in his heart and was almost the victor. Then he looked a the sly seductive figure of Michele and his tongue ran upon his lips. In short, he accepted the invitation. A study was at once set aside for him, a mullion-windowed room of buttoned leather and polished mahogany which looked out upon the summer meadow of buttercups and white may. Michele was told to report herself there, which she did with a lewd and impudent grin, a flick back of the sweep of brown hair from her forehead. In her white singlet and the washed blue of tight denim she tapped at the door. Once he had her in the room, Lord Augustus was able to examine her lithe and agile young figure even before undressing her, for that was his privilege. Standing behind her, his hands curving round her body, he was able to feel the budding swell of Michele's breasts through the warm cotton of the singlet. His words to her, overheard by those who cared for him, told their own story. He exercised his right as moral guardian to draw the singlet up at the front and smooth his hand over her young belly. Then his fingers slid down into the front of her pants, Michele bucking and squirming as his lordship's fingers fondled her pubic fleece and parted the lips of her young puss. Presently, he sat down in a leather chair, obliged her to stand close with her back to him, and observed how the tight jeans-seat moulded the lithe round cheeks of Michele's bum. The sight must have provoked him greatly. “You lewd little bitch, Michele!” he gasped passionately. “You shall have your knickers off in a moment and learn a lesson or two in discipline before you leave this room!” Those who eavesdropped upon the encounter were vastly assured by this. At last Lord Augustus was talking in the accents of one of England's moral educators, it seemed certain that he was now safe from the snares which such young sluts of the lower orders are always preparing for innocent young fellows of his sort. He undid the waist of the denim pants himself and drew them down, making fifteen-year-old Michele stand there before him in her underwear for several minutes while he examined her with eyes and hands. He did not hurry himself, knowing that he might prolong the punishment session for as long as he pleased. Presently he was weary of feeling her arse and hips through the white cotton web. He pulled down Michele's fifth-form knickers and gazed eagerly upon the challenge to moral discipline which she now offered. To punish hastily or in anger is never to be recommended and Lord Augustus used the interval to become better acquainted with the culprit. He obliged Michele to kneel before him at his leather chair while he questioned her about past acts of furtive randiness with lads of her own kind. To confirm the extent to which she had tasted depravity, he commanded her to suck him, saying that he was sure she had done it often enough before for some young ruffian or other. It is a sad reflection of the prevailing cynicism in England's public life that many malcontents and radicals might accuse our noble young magistrate of making Michele suck upon his stiffened penis and work her tongue about its engorged knob merely for lewd satisfaction. How different is the truth-and how little understood by our moral and social inferiors! Repugnant though it was to him to see Michele suck and lick, the slant of silky brown hair falling like a veil upon the scene, Lord Augustus obliged himself to submit to the ordeal in order to test the extent of her criminality. The skill with which Michele sucked up and down the shaft of hardened gristle, holding only the base to prevent it going too far into her throat, offered him no consolation. The artful manner in which she worked her agile young tongue under his foreskin and round the vent of his penis moved him only to dismay. One heard this from his gasps. “You lewd little slut, Michele!… You randy little piece!… Oh, you shall be whipped for this-” Had he merely been a sensualist, he would have spilt his sperm over her tongue and down her throat. This was far from the case, for he restrained himself admirably and held back the torrent of passion.
Obliging her to stand up, he next had Michele lying on the sofa where he examined with great care the state of things between her legs.
Here, too, he was most thorough in testing her moral responses to the intrusion of a warm phallus. Indeed, he was more than justified by the result as he worked his stiffness in and out between her spread thighs. Who could doubt the moral response? We heard her, through teeth that clenched and ground with animal excitement, Michele groaning randily, “Fuck… Oh, fuck… Shit… Bollocks… Shit…
Fuck… Shit!” The moral niceness of Lord Augustus may be observed by the fact that he again restrained himself from spending.
Indeed, the consequences might have been graver, involving a swollen belly for Michele! Getting up from the leather sofa, he left Michele lying there and made her wait for what he was going to do to her. He had positioned her on her side, her back to the room, though she soon flicked aside the slant of brown hair and looked over her shoulder with sardonic lasciviousness in her crude young mouth and narrowed eyes. The white singlet ended at her waist, leaving her pale skin bare from that point down to her feet. She lay there looking like the most vulgar child of Venus. Her hind cheeks are trim and resilient as befits her youth, yet they fill to deliciously taut round globes when she touches her toes or thrusts her seat out. A woman's lines are emergent in that part of her figure. One cannot blame Lord Augustus for giving such long and loving attention to the bare rounded pallor of Michele's agile young bottom! With a truly randy young fifth-form girl there was no need to use threats or reprimand. An aristocratic finger dipped in vaseline-and he became Michele's teacher! The little vamp was instructed to turn over on her belly a moment and raise her trim young behind towards him. There were gasps and expressions of alarm from Michele at what he was doing to her young backside. But these were surely slanders to compromise him.
To be sure, the sofa creaked in a steady rhythm but that was the girl's restlessness. His lordship gasped with the exertion of instructing the young pupil. He was giving her a lesson in female anatomy, a most worthy endeavour. He remarked that the pussy-flesh between her legs was soft, that Michele's anus was thrillingly tight, and that no amount of sperm would engender an infant in her rear. But these are mere matters of scientific fact. Yet his words would be wilfully misconstrued by our country's enemies. The truth is shown by his moral resolve. After a dish of Earl Grey tea he made Michele bend over the study desk. For a moment she tried to argue and resist. The little slut even threatened to tell tales of the past hour's antics if he attempted to thrash her. Lord Augustus met the challenge easily. He informed her that she would be in no position to tell tales anywhere for the next five years. That was the term of reformatory life which he proposed to add to her stay in that place-as its trustee and as a magistrate-for the obvious lewdness and contempt for propriety which he had found in her this afternoon. When she was twenty, she might tell what tales she wished-if she could find anyone who would bother to listen. He allowed her one choice only. Michele might either bend over the desk of her own accord or be strapped down by two of the servants. She did as she was told and he drew the singlet hem up above her waist, until Michele's hips and backside were completely bare. He went to the cupboard and chose a prison bamboo which was wickedly long and supple. At the same time he took care to leave the study door ajar, for there was everything to be gained by letting the rest of us see what a severe moralist he could be. You may be sure that, as she lay forward on the broad desk, Michele had twisted her face round anxiously to watch him, the hair swept aside, the brown eyes and pale complexion a study in fright. One could see her roused little cunt between the rear of her firm young thighs, and the pale cheeks of the girl-pupil's bottom were presented in a womanly posture.
Lord Augustus teased her for five or ten minutes, touching the cane this way and that across her smooth young buttocks, as if taking his aim with great care. At last his jaw hardened and he slashed the cane down with vicious force across the bare cheeks of the schoolgirl bum. Michele leapt up from the desk with a screech and clapped her hands over her arse. Lord Augustus shook his head and beckoned two servants. These stalwart fellows seized the girl and held her over the desk with the power of their muscular arms. For the next half hour, Lord Augustus avenged the outrages which Michele had offered to propriety and decency in the brief period of her delinquent career. He measured each stroke of the cane with loving accuracy, made her wait for it, and then gave it with exemplary force. Michele writhed in frantic anticipation even before the bamboo whipped across her young backside. As the agony of the stroke blistered her smooth rear cheeks, she yelled with all the power of her healthy young lungs. He raised the finest bamboo weals across Michele's bare fifteen-year-old bottom that any of us could recall seeing that summer on any of the fifth-form girls. Twice he broke a cane across her young backside in his enthusiasm and once as he was bambooing the rear of her thighs.
What a rewarding change he produced-from the moral point of view-in this little hussy. The sleek and slanting coiffure of the little vamp was now a disordered spread of brown hair. The hard and narrowed brown eyes brimmed over, the crude young mouth howled and yelled. It is not customary in such places to go beyond thirty-six strokes of the cane given to such a girl, though one does not keep a count. Afterwards it was rumoured that Lord Augustus far exceeded this. Who could say? Several of the weals had bestowed a tiny red trickle down one cheek or other of Michele's young arse! However, one accepts such incidents with equanimity in the moral discipline of the reformatory. The afternoon's events proved that our faith in the young nobleman's potential to fulfil his role in society had been entirely justified. Indeed, he returned a fortnight later and employed the pony-lash upon the bare cheeks of Michele's pretty backside. His reward went for beyond the moral satisfaction felt by a man of noble birth in doing his duty. After these sessions with young Michele, it was observed that he always hurried home to Lady Nerissa. The delightful young couple were apt to retire to bed early and rise late on such occasions. It would be idle to speculate upon the cause. Yet the beautiful Nerissa radiates calm and satisfaction for days after her lord has done his duty on Michele and her kind. There is need of young blood in the affairs of the county. Mr. Bowler and Lord Rupert are still vigorous, but old Justice Snook is somewhat past his prime. After dinner he retires to his study and his memories. The drawers of his desk are crammed with drawers of a different kind, stripped from the young women whom he has had under discipline these many years. He will study a handful of skimpy and silken translucence, smiling at the images these panties recall, of a harem lash smacking across the agile young cheeks of Sarah Thome's bottom. Or else he chooses a pair of black briefs in cotton web, musing upon this example of young Madam Hollingsworth's knickers. There are the trophies of Maggie and Julie, Noreen and the others to awaken smiles on his senile old face. Leave the old gentleman with the memorabilia of an honoured past! Lord Augustus is the new man. His friends declare that he is never more content than when he spends two or three afternoons a week doing his duty of moral reformation. He knows every curve and crease of Michele's fifth-form backside or Elaine's tomboy bottom.
His duty done, he mounts his horse and rides home to the manor house. To see him is to know that all is well. England is in safe hands. With legs and backsides bare, Pauline and Elaine seek sisterly consolation in each other's arms! Their tears still flow a little.
Pauline bewails the whip-stripes across her fat young buttocks. As for the younger sister, Elaine's tomboy backside promises a fine panorama of bruises the next day. Is there a splash of male passion on Pauline's thigh? A vaseline smear between Elaine's sturdy adolescent bum-cheeks? The tone of public life will not be improved by dwelling on such matters. Lord Augustus rides on. How can one not admire the system which inspires such allegiance? He needs no pair of Sarah Thome's panties to browse upon tonight. The young lord glows with the exhilaration of moral accomplishment. Unlike old Justice Snook, he needs no mementoes in order to recall his days of vigour. Such things are the province of randy boys and old men. Let us not, however, pretend a sanctimonious ignorance in such matters. Lord Augustus is in fine form after a session in his official study with Pauline and Elaine. He can hardly contain himself until he is close enough to leap upon Lady Nerissa and roger that dear girl as if life itself depended on the release. And does it not depend upon it? Do not the lives and safety of us all, the hope of the county and the Tory party, depend upon Lord Augustus doing his marital duty with such enthusiasm?
The severest whipping on the young buttocks of Michele or Elke would be justified by the effect which the chastisement of adolescent beauty may have upon the young nobleman's amorous energies. Let him hurry home and beget a little Augustus to rule over us all in the future. So long as we remember our allegiance to the young gentleman and his successors, we and our own children shall come to no harm. Neither republicanism nor anarchy shall ever darken this fair land of ours.
The descendants of Lord Augustus shall stretch out to the crack of doom. When the day comes, you may be sure that his lordship's descendants will not begrudge one minute of their duty in reforming the manners of the daughters of the present gang of sluts and trollops who infest our towns and villages. That is our security for the future. We must not pry upon Lord Augustus and Lady Nerissa in their naked embraces. Yet as his lordship shoves his manhood into her, and thuds home with mighty thrusts of his loins, it would be a churlish fellow who did not charge a glass and wish him success. And if the salvo should hit the mark in her ladyship's womb, shall we not all raise our voices and give him a rousing 'three-times three?
As he is still young and with so many accomplishments yet before him, it would not be surprising if there were to be a sequel to the events of the present summer. Yet for the moment, the editor takes leave of the patient reader and-as manager of his own peepshow-here rings down the curtain upon the little drama of Augustus and his cousin, Lady Maude. finis