In the history of erotic literature there at least two distinct styles. One is subtle and suggestive, full of gentle seduction and languorous heroines, pastel colors and silken textures. The other belongs to Rabelais and the Marquis de Sade. Its tone is often sardonic and political, its heroes are sexual ogres, and even some of its girls give as good as they get. To such a kind does School for Scandal belong.
Lord Frederick, the rather naive narrator, discovers that the real world of upper class sexuality is a free-for-all which would make the denizens of a brothel blush. Indeed, Mr. Snook and Mr. Bowler can do the most outrageous things to the girls in their care without a murmur of reproach. They are pillars of law and respectability. It is their duty to take down the panties of delinquent young women and chastise them, or mortify in more overtly sexual ways. Are two girls found making love together? Then they must expiate their "crime" by repeating the performance on the dinner-table in front of their master and his guests. Morality requires that they learn such a lesson in shame. Is a rebellious young woman to be birched? Duty requires that, when she is stripped, her master's fingers shall carry out a minute inspection of the areas of her body to be dealt with.
If books like School for Scandal are unpopular with the authorities, it is not merely because they have an erotic content. They also blow the whistle on what those authorities themselves are up to. Despite its prudery, the Victorian age actually paid its magistrates and others to see that the panties of delinquent girls were taken down so that the whippings or enemas or other "mortifications" might be carried out. Indeed in Chapter Six of the book, legal authority is carefully quoted to sanction this. The details of the offending girl's penalty are entirely at the "discretion" of the worthy justice in whose charge she is.
Lord Frederick, encountering this, wakes up at last. All his life as he seduced, spanked, or otherwise enjoyed his girls, he thought he was a libertine. Now he realises that if only he had been a magistrate, judge, or reformer of moral delinquents, he could have done exactly the same things and been a pillar of law and order for doing them.
Fiction may exaggerate but there was an essential truth in this. For instance, there was a well-known "chastising service" which operated in England at the end of last century. It advertised in the press-including the Church Times. Its premises included a suburban villa, in Oakfield Road, Clifton and a townhouse at 10, Porchester Gardens, near London's Hyde Park. It collected the girls and returned them after a few days or weeks, in which they had been regularly undressed and chastised, naken from the waist down.
The chastisers did not pay for their pleasures. On the contrary, they charged for doing it and the families or employers of the girls paid them for doing it. There was an extra fee for girls over twenty. The normal rate was three guineas a whipping-twice the weekly income of the average wage-earner. Mrs. Walter Smith who ran the service made a fortune from it. Despite the high prices, chastisers could hardly keep pace with the public demand for their services. There was never the least doubt that they thoroughly enjoyed their chosen calling in the special punishment-rooms with tables and straps. Best of all, the local press spoke of their "most estimable" moral characters.
Perhaps, then, School for Scandal is not quite as far-fetched as it might seem in the (literally) whacky world of Victorian discipline. Even its randy, public-spirited heroes echo a certain realism. Mr. Bowler, with his bevy of strapping young trollops, as he calls them, is a manic disciplinarian whose kinky exploits would nowadays cost a petro-dollar fortune in a brothel. Yet he is admired for his moral fervour as a magistrate, rewarded with a knighthood by a grateful nation. The grotesque old justice, Mr. Snook, is a study in aged impotence which owes something to Sade's Jerome. Unable to satisfy himself in the usual ways Mr. Snook sets upon his girls with squirts and syringes, showing an enthusiasm for their bodily functions which is both senile and childish. To some degree, at least, he might serve as an Hogarthean warning on the final rewards of debauchery.
It seems appropriate in such a story that the girls are not the helpless sylph-like creatures of erotic romance. They are sturdy warm-blooded young women, well able to endure most of their masters' attentions. One of them twice does grievous bodily harm to poor old Snook, a calamity unthinkable in pure erotic fantasy. These buxom wenches yell and kick, curse and fart, in a manner which perhaps the Elizabethans would have understood more readily than the Victorians. They are healthy and even aggressive female animals.
Yet the scandal in School for Scandal is political as well as sexual. The public moralists are actually having the time of their lives and being well rewarded for it. As Lord Frederick remarks, however, they are esteemed by their tenants and the leaders of the nation. They are the enemies of revolution and Red republicanism, as one of them puts it. The fact that they enjoy teaching discipline and obedience to delinquent girls by such bizarre methods shows them for what they are. The backbone of England with an unswerving allegiance to some very special Victorian values.
F.M. LePays
A PRIVATE LETTER from Lord Frederick C to the reader of this first memoir
I wish that you could sit in the chair I occupy now as I scribble these few words, a little preface to the three volumes of my adventures. It would convince you that truth may often be stranger than fictionand yet be truth none the less.
It is late evening, a few hours after dinner, and my chair is not the substantial leather kind of study or drawing-room. It is, rather, the easy basketwork of bedroom furnishing, for I write in the most sumptuous boudoir of this fine house. My two young female companions-I shall summon one or two others presently-are engaged in turning back the counterpane and setting the mirrors of the dressing-table so that the occupants of the bed may see themselves reflected. The stories of these two girls, Kim and Susan, are no less remarkable than my own. Though they are slaves and I their master, I would not for the world treat them otherwise than with amorous passion. Every little randiness they feel is indulged and encouraged.
Kim has just turned down the counterpane. Her thick dark hair is put up in a coquettish bun, its fringe combed forward and a few charming tendrils straying round her slim neck. At nineteen, she has a lithe and agile figure, the intensity of her dark eyes and her full lips giving her an air of brooding fair-skinned sensuality. She is still in brief tight-fitting underwear. But now there is a snap of the elastic waist-band as Kims panties come down and she steps out of them.
In a moment Kim will ask my leave to come and put herself face-down over my knee. She is a warm-tempered girl and-likes to be well roused before we adjourn to the bed. How easily she responds with sighs and wrigglings to the first caress of my fingers, inserted through the rear of her thighs. In so convenient a posture, you may be sure that Kim will be spanked a little too. She has been caned and even whipped on other occasions so a smacking is a small price for the increased excitement she will presently enjoy.
And what of proud Susan, a disdainful young puss at twenty-five years old? Her pert face, blue eyes, and crop of brown hair are matched by firm branching thighs and mature young bottom-cheeks. Already she is pulling off her long boots and tight riding-trousers. After her first reluctance was overcome, Sue became accustomed to playing with other girls in her masters presence. She and Kim approach at the moment, lips nuzzling, nipples touching lightly, fingers seeking one another's pubic bush and the opening of the legs where the little clitoris stands guard.
When I am ready, they will position themselves-Susan on her back, her knees hugged up to offer the spread of hips and love nest-Kim bottom-upwards over the pillows. I have only to touch the bell and summon what other assistants to our pleasure I desire. Shall it be Sandra, a fifth-form tomboy with lank brown hair and adoring blue eyes? Perhaps a younger and lewder girl is required. Linda, a soft and sensuous little blonde, pressing her short mane of fair hair to her lips and sniggering at the fun. Or shall it be her classmate Valerie, a slim and freckled gamine with a shock of auburn hair and a giggling awkwardness? These and twenty others are mine to choose from. Judith, a nymph of sixteen. Noreen, a strapping young trollop of twenty-one. Tania at eighteen with her short curls and buxom rear. Claire at twenty with her thin pale figure, her pudding-basin cup of red hair and the vicious slant of her blue-green eyes betraying her for the immoraliste that she is. ... Have no fear, I shall not attempt a history of these girls in the present volume, for there are others you must meet first.
And yet, you wonder, can such things be? Believe me, the proof of it is before my eyes at the moment.
All the same, you are right to doubt. Not every girl is ready to accept such a destiny. Some would even deny that beauty must have her master. There are, you see, two female sexes and a man may be hard put to it to choose which is which. Those of whom I speak are only one class. Let me explain it to you before our adventure begins.
A year or two ago you might have strolled through a fashionable street where a famous saddler had his premises. Being a man who-likes to admire girls of a certain sort, it is probable that you would have paused at the window of his premises to take a view. Laying out the saddles and leatherwear you might have seen a young blonde called Maggie whom many a fancier woujd prefer to have in harness herself.
Imagine her. About twenty years old, the fair-skinned oval of her face with its hard young features framed by the veil of straight blonde hair which lay loose on her shoulders. For such work, where voluminous skirts would be too clumsy, they dress her in snug white singlet and the tight denim of riding-pants. You might thus observe the young tart's figure at will. I know you would find her a robust young creature with a slight stockiness in her trim legs and firmly rounded bottom-cheeks. Standing in a slack-hipped and sluttish manner, Maggies very posture reveals her moral character.
Dressed in such a manner, you might suppose the girl would act with special modesty to avoid giving offence to those who saw her. Far from it. She would, as if by calculation, turn her back to the public view and place the saddles by bending over as tight as could be. The denim was pulled smooth on her stocky young thighs as her head went down and the blonde hair spilled forward. The cheeks of Maggie's bottom were deliberately offered, not only fuller and broader but lewdly separated. Between her legs, one might even glimpse the swell of vaginal flesh in skin-tight cotton.
A shopgirl of this kind, lacking all sophistication, shows the manners of the back streets. Yet Maggies warm young blood and the sluttisliness of her attitude suggested something more. You might have observed her on hands and knees, pretending to mop the tiling round the saddles while offering her young thighs and butt fully spread under thin denim to the men who stood and watched her. Yet more. You shall later hear how the young bitch would lift her hips high as she knelt, touching her head to the floor, pretending to look for a pin or a stud. Concealed only by the thin, splittingly tight seat of the denim Maggie's rear cheeks and thighs were stretched lewdly in a manner which the most passionate wench might blush at on her honeymoon night.
Think to yourself whether you have not often seen such girls in your travels. It is of their kind that I write now. Have you not often wondered what private fate befalls them-what secret bondage in which they are used as they deserve?
Perhaps you did, indeed, cast eyes upon this coltish young blonde with her hard young features and the Celtic lilt of her voice. She was last seen publicly at twenty-two years old in a working costume of red sleeveless blouse and white jean yachting trousers. like many a slum girl, Mag's hard and insolent features were matched by a certain fattening of her seat and thighs. Only a little, however, and not too much. It was at that point that she disappeared from the public view.
You shall hear all in a future account. Were you one of Maggies admirers-and do you wonder what became of her? She was taken protesting rudely to a place her master had prepared for her, and from which there was no return. This is the truth which one only sees when probing beyond the public view.
It has been my chance to see Maggie naked but for leather collar and wrist-cuffs, her anklets and waist-belt, a strap round each pale thigh. Maggie on her back, knees bent up and being held wide open by the attendants while her masters penis-bone enters the damp and velvety warm cunt. Then Maggie's bottom-upwards over the cushions, anus stretched extremely round the base of a thick masculine root. Maggie kneeling afterwards with the lank blonde hair long as a little girl's, defiant at first but at last taking the penis in her mouth and playing tunes on it with her tongue. After a night of passion, Maggie's bottom-cheeks bearing oyster colored bruises and thin empurpled weals. Maggie obliged to have sex with Noreen, then Ange, then Pat, the pair of girls lying head-to-tail for the fun on the table round which the dinner guests sit. Maggie sold at last to a certain plantation-owner, harnessed naked and bending between the shafts of his little garden-carriage. Smack goes the whip across Maggie's bottom and round go the wheels!
Not every girl is apt for such usage and yet there is something-is there not?-which tells a man by instinct when the case is right. You have a wife, a daughter, and a petite amie whom you keep somewhere in St. John's Wood or Bayswater, perhaps. You could not imagine that any of them might be trained to such a life as Maggie now lives. Perhaps the truth would surprise you, or perhaps you may be right. Yet as you go about your business, consider the girls whom you see and encounter. Do you not meet one or two every day about whom you have a different feeling? Would these beauties truly prefer death to the sweet bondage of erotic slavery? Would they resist a master's amorous tyranny even if it meant a throat-slitting or the strangling-collar?
Some of them would, perhaps. It is not of such excellent moral creatures that I write. There is also another species, a beauty which needs a master and too seldom gets one. To such girls there is nothing more vexing than to have a man who always insists on acting as they wish and seeking their preferences tiresomely. If you understand that, then you will know that what I tell you is the truth.
Now, if you please I will leave you to peruse this first volume. Kim wishes to place herself naked over my knee and I cannot deny her longer. She stands there-dark eyes so intense-already squeezing her agile thighs together furtively, unable to wait....
CHAPTER ONE
My return to England from Indian serviceA title without the means to support it-A lonely dinner in Pall Mall-My unexpected visitor-News of an astonishing inheritance-Master of Coombe-My first sight of the house and its fine estate-Sian, the Welsh maidservant-J am bequeathed two young ladies of the riding-school-The beauty of Laura and Ruth-The excitement of possessing such young nymphs!
My story begins on an evening late in summer. The time is not more than two years ago and the place, of course, is London. I had just returned to England with my regiment after several years of Indian service, divided between garrison duties at Meerut and the pleasures of the season at the Viceregal Palace in Calcutta.
Seeing that I hold both military rank and a noble title, you may imagine that I had come home to a rich inheritance. I fear this was far from the truth. On the evening in question I had gone to dine alone at my club. I intended, you see, to ponder on my predicament. I wondered whether I should not sell out of my regiment and seek a fortune elsewhereor perhaps exchange with some luckier fellow in a regiment bound from Gravesend to Bombay. Soldiering in India may thin a man's blood, but it comes a sight cheaper than in England.
You wonder how a young lord with a title can have been so wretchedly provided for? The answer is simple to those who know the English law.
My grandfather, the third earl, held both the title and the estates. But the wealth was not, as they say, "entailed." In other words, the title would go to his eldest son but he might leave the property to whomsoever he chose. And so he did. My father married against the old fellow's wishes and was cut off without a shilling, though he inherited the earldom. The house at Coombe and all that went with it was willed to his younger brother, my uncle. Upon his death, the estate went to my cousin John Fortescue, a dozen years my junior.
I was almost a stranger to my uncle and my cousin. I had last heard that John Fortescue was in the pink of health and about to marry the daughter of a Somerset squire. A few more months and there would be the first of his children to inherit when the time came. That I should ever regain the family acres appeared a vain dream.
Believe me, I would not weary you with these details of my misfortunes, were it not that they relate directly to what follows.
Imagine me, if you will, riding through the lamplit dusk of a London evening, in a hired four-wheeler, to my club. I had a life membership there and so could eat cheaper than at Romano's or the Cafe Royal. It was gone eight o'clock when I arrived at the handsome balustraded portico which overlooks Pall Mall, and the hour for dinner was almost past.
Because the story which I tell you is true, it would be indiscreet of me to name that famous club. You will recognise it soon enough. Did you never walk down Pall Mall, past the Duke of York's steps, with the statue of the grand old warrior himself and a prospect of the trees in St. James Park? Not a stones throw from there stood the fine pillared club-house, portraits of our great generals and admirals glimpsed through its library windows.
I ate alone in the long dining-room upstairs, hearing the gossip of the summer all about me. The season was over by now and most of the fellows gone north to the grouse moors or to fish for salmon. The roast beef was plain fodder to a man used to Indian curry, but the claret was decent enough. When the meal was done, I took my brandy and soda into the library with its fine Corinthian columns and leather bindings in breakfront cases. I had done no more than sit in a leather chair and sip at my glass, when old Rogers-who had been servant there in my grandfather's time-touched me gently on the shoulder.
"Sir James Ramsbury of Lincolns-Inn asks to see you, my lord. On the most pressing business, Sir James assures me."
I could not imagine what business the family lawyer might have with me at such a time of night. If the matter was "pressing," I had best see what he said. The club, of course, is open to members only. Sir James would have been blackballed a dozen times over had his name been put up for it. However, there is a visitors' drawing-room upstairs, overlooking the park, where callers may be received.
Glass in hand, I went up the marble curve of the broad Regency staircase. What the deuce could the old curmudgeon want? Ten to one he had some complaint about my debts and was here to remonstrate with me on my rate of expenditure. What business had the miserable old devil to come preaching to a fellow in his club after dinner? Such was my mood as I entered the visitors' drawing-room with its Egyptian settees in yellow damask. I was brave enough now to deal firmly with Sir James Ramsbury
Q.C.
He was standing with his back to the elegant arch of the Georgian window whose little balcony looks towards Carlton Terrace and the park trees. I saw at once that he had come upon an errand quite different to the one I had in mind. There was no frock-coat nor stock. He was dressed in traveling clothes and had the air of the railroad terminus about him. One could smell soot at several yards distance.
"My dear Sir James!" I said, as if the sight of him filled me with unaccountable pleasure, "To what do I owe the honor of this visit? Will you take a glass of wine?"
He waved the suggestion aside and advanced upon me with hangdog look.
"My lord," he said quietly, as if he feared to be overheard, "I called upon you at your rooms half an hour ago. Your servant informed me that I should find you here. My lord, you are the Master of Coombe."
He was in error, of course, but his air of lean and slippered pantaloon was enough to suggest that senility had laid fast upon him.
"No, sir," I said gently, settling him back in a chair, "I hold the family title. My cousin young Fortescue is the Master of Coombe-and has been so for several years past. He will marry in a few weeks and his son will be master after him."
That seemed to put the position as neatly as any attorney could wish. But Sir James drew a red silk handkerchief from his tweed jacket and blew a trumpet blast upon his nose. Then he looked up at me and his rheumy old eyes seemed to water with strong feeling.
"You have not heard, my lord," he murmured, "I did not know where you were to be found-where a wire might be sent. Young Mr. Fortescue was thrown by the bay gelding at the Manor Farm gate. It was last night, as he was riding home from the town. Dr. Gift did all that he could. I was sent for this morning. Mr. Fortescue expired shortly after lunch. He left no will, unfortunately. I repeatedly urged upon him the wisdom of drawing one up but he had decided to wait until the eve of his marriage next month. My lord, for the past six hours you-as his nearest living relative-have been Master of Coombe.
Believe me, I did not wish John Fortescue dead. Yet what a hypocrite I should be now to lay claim to a madness of grief for a man I scarcely knew. Even as I regretted his passing, I could not but be aware that young Fortescue's death had solved the very problems which had brought me to such a desperate state. A month more and he would have married. A year longer and there would have been a son to succeed him. As it was, I stood next in line. The house and estate of Coombe, with all the revenues and responsibilities, had passed to me. Confident in the span of life remaining to him, Fortescue had not bothered to will it otherwise.
Perhaps his conscience had nagged him. Perhaps he wished, in the event of having no son of his own, that the property should pass back to me. I would possess it then as I should have done if my own father had not been disinherited.
Until I went to take possession of my inheritance, a week or so later, I had visited Coombe only oncein my childhood. How little its beauty had impressed me then! As the train bore me between wooded hills to the ancient city a few miles from the house, I tried to recall that visit long ago.
An open carriage waited at the station. We drove out of town, past handsome terraces, built when the Regent was prince and Wellington the conqueror of Europe. The village of Coombe lay at a little distance in an idyllic landscape of lush fields and wooded hills. There are several other fine houses there and the road passed along the valley between high walls of pale stone overhung with blue and purple flowers. Higher still towered the shade of beech and elm, the woods rolling away on either side.
Was there ever so picturesque a place? Within the old walled churchyard rose the square lichened tower of the medieval church, from whose top the beacon fires had been sighted after Waterloo, the Armada, and Agincourt. A great yew tree spread its branches almost to the height of the tower itself.
Presently the road grew wider. Ahead of us, at the top of a little vale, rose the main front of Coombe itself. It was built of a sandy stone with tall chimneys and long sash windows set in a regular sequence. A pediment and pilasters in the style of the eighteenth century decorated its facade. Yet it was a gentleman's dwelling rather than a great house. like the village it was a place of dovecots and dairies, a retreat where a fellow might take his ease undisturbed.
The carriage entered the gravelled courtyard before the house. At the centre of this space a marble nymph lay in the fountain basin while the water played delicately over her naked form. Beyond the balustrades the gardens stretched down the little valley to an ornamental bridge over the stream which closed the view.
From the gravelled forecourt to the handsome portico, a short flight of broad stone steps led me to my inheritance. On either side, the servants bowed or curtsied, according to their sex. Now, I would not boast of my new-found affluence nor lead you to suppose that the place was grander than I found it. Yet there was Heathers the butler, Wild man, the head groom, and half a dozen women from housekeeper to scullery maid.
It was, you see, an ample establishment but in no way ostentatious. I would by no means be the greatest man in the country. Yet in the wooded valley which led from Coombe to the crescents and terraces of the little city, I was to be master. What more could a man ask for than to be lord of such a little kingdom, a happy valley of this kind?
The stable-block with its clock-tower in the Pal-ladian manner stood behind the house. Beyond it lay a mile of ornamental gardens with charmingly-built follies and ornamental lakes, thickly wooded on either slope. The house itself, apart from the kitchens and servants' quarters, consisted of a fine open hall paved in black and white marble with square but well-proportioned rooms opening from it at three levels.
It was the venerable Heathers, butler at Coombe for thirty years past, who guided me through the library with its Chippendale cases and the master's study furnished in leather and masculine comfort. Tomorrow it would be Wild man's turn to introduce me to the splendours of the stable and the gardens.
I was surprised to find that three of the elegant bedrooms on the upper floor had been prepared and, indeed, seemed to be in occupancy. That the servants' sleeping quarters should be in use I could well understand. But what need had young Fortescue, a solitary bachelor, to use three bedrooms at once?
We returned to the ground floor, where Heathers opened the fine double doors which displayed dining-room and music-salon, the table of the former set with the finest silver and cut-glass on linen of the first quality. I was about to mention the curious matter of the bedrooms, when Heathers anticipated me.
"Would you wish to see the young ladies now, my lord?"
I promise you I had not the least idea what he meant.
"Which young ladies might those be?"
Despite his straight-faced manner, becoming to a senior butler, I saw his old blue eyes twinkle a little.
"Why, sir, the ladies from Chelsea. Those from the military school that have no one else in the country just now to care for them. They were young Mr. Fortescue's special charity, sir. He had two or three of the young ladies from Chelsea here all the time, to teach and train them."
"What did he teach them?"
I asked the question with the air of a man testing the jungle path for a concealed elephant-pit. Nothing whatever had been said-or even known-in Lincolns-Inn about John Fortescue's young ladies.
"What did he teach them?" I repeated the question, finding Heathers so coy in answering.
"Ridinglessons, sir." He struggled to retain his composure and yef his lips moved in the beginnings of a smile.
"Ridinglessons?"
"Indeed, sir," he said bowing his head a little, "Exactly."
I looked about the marble-paved hall where the fine old Tompion case-clock was ticking the afternoon away in its stately fashion.
"Well," said I, shrugging at the problem, "then I had better see them."
"Follow me, sir, if you please," said the old butler.
And with that this improbable guide, this senile Fidus Achates, led me into the strangest adventure which ever befell so lucky a fellow as I! Listen-and you shall hear it all.
I followed him up the curve of the graceful freestanding staircase to the very top, where there was a floor above the main bedrooms. The windows were a little lower and looked out on the main balustrade of the house, giving a clear view of the Coombe woods in full green leaf against a smoke-gray backdrop of thunder-cloud.
Heathers opened a door and I stepped into a large playroom, whose ceiling sloped on one side with the fall of the roof. The room was furnished with a rather worn carpet, cushioned chairs and sofas, which seemed to have been exiled here when they had served their time in the drawing-room and library below. A pair of dappled rocking-horses stood in the sunlight at the far end of the room.
"Miss Laura," said Heathers, "She is the elder of the ladies. Seventeen years old. And Miss Ruth is sixteen."
I had expected little girls, children of ten or twelve and, I confess, was quite disconcerted at first by what I saw before me. Laura and Ruth sat, one in a chair and one on the sofa, wearing their riding clothes and turning over the pages of the Tatler or the Illustrated London News with an air of great lan-guour and boredom.
I would have you share my adventure to the full and will therefore tell you at once of the view which these two presented as they swung their legs and sighed with tedium.
Laura was a slim and pretty girl. Indeed, she is one of the prettiest girls I have ever seen. There is such a mischievous combination of coquetry and innocence in her softly shaped face with its high cheekbones and blue eyes. Her lightly-waved hair is of the silkiest light golden brown. She wears it a long page-boy style so that its rounded cut swings lightly upon her shoulder-blades as she walks. As she curled up in the chair the tight denim of Lauras riding-pants showed how flat and taut were her belly and loins, how trim her teenage thighs. The tight jeans-seat shaped the apple-firm cheeks of Laura s bottom so lithe and mobile.
If one were to criticise Laura, it would not be for her manners. She is eager to please and at the first command her mouth opens in a rather dimpling smile to show her pretty teeth. She has, however, a tendency to powder and paint. You might catch the blue shadow on her eyelid or the dash of rouge upon her cheekbone. Yet that is a small price to pay for Lauras natural prettiness.
Every man probably-likes a contrast in the women at his disposal. In that respect, Ruth was very far from disappointing me. With the softness of her figure and her short crop of fair curls there is an engaging innocence about Ruth. She has an attractively solemn young face with such very wide brown eyes! She heightens this wide-eyed appeal with just a touch of mascara and there is a hint of naughtiness perhaps in that sweet, pert little tilt of the nose.
Her figure is softer and fuller than Lauras, yet her legs are trim and her belly flat. She was wearing the tight caramel-toned jeans of her riding-costume and a singlet of tight black cotton. In consequence of my dealings with these Chelsea girls, I have seen much of Ruth in the past year or so. I must concede, then, that she is at the peak of her physical charms just now. Indeed, with her rather petite stature the fullness of Ruth's bottom is a little brdader than her otherwise trim young body might warrant. The fatness of it in five or ten years is not to be thought of!
I am, you see, discerning in my judgment of beauty! Yet I promise you that if you were walking behind Ruth in the street, your gaze would be caught and held by the womanly roll of her rear cheeks in the smooth tightness of caramel-colored jodphurs.
Ruth has been at my disposal for a year and I have not tired of her in the least. Those other girls from Chelsea, Jacqui with the lank blonde tresses or Diane, another little mignon, have come and gone. Yet Laura and Ruth, in their contrasting ways, have been my favorite and constant companions.
Yet when I first set eyes upon them in that spacious attic room, I could do no more than stop and stare like a fool. The two girls rose at once with the respect due to their master. Laura looked so willing and smiling, Ruth seemed charmingly self-conscious and reserved. I nodded to them and said to Heathers that I would make their acquaintance later on. As for the ridinglessons, they had best be left to the groom.
We went back down the stairs so that the old butler might show me the usual offices of the house. There was the game room, a larder where pheasant and other birds were hung for ripeness. Beyond it lay the gun-room with its air of oil and polished wood. Further still the saddle-room, fragrant with the scent of wax and warm leather. Heathers paused on the threshold of this little den, its rows of leather straps hanging down from their rails and the fine sleek saddles mounted on wooden blocks to hold their shape.
"Do you whip, sir?" he asked softly.
I promise you that, innocent as I then was in such matters, I did not at first understand him.
"I beg your pardon?"
He looked at me closely.
"Most gentlemen whip, sir. When there are such pupils as Miss Laura and Miss Ruth, or housemaids like Mandy and Kim, most gentlemen find it necessary to whip from time to time."
"Then," I said, "I shall probably find it necessary too."
My reply was unpremeditated and came instinctively to me. It seemed to please the old man.
"Mr. Fortescue whipped, sir. The young gentleman always did it after dinner in the evenings, sir. He used this very room."
I surveyed the polished leather with more respect. So John Fortescue whipped, did he? And gave riding lessons to his Chelsea girls? There was more to being Master of Coombe than I had supposed. I promised myself that I would try to be worthy of the honor, and of the example which John Fortescue had left me.
Though I had expected nothing of the kind which Heathers now revealed to me, I was not entirely innocent in the ways of the world. I had put thoughts of marriage from me, for what girl of sense would have a man as poor as I-and one condemned to spend much of his life on Indian service? I had sought my consolation with those girls whom I could easily afford. One of them had accompanied me as a servant to Coombe.
If you were to see Sian, my young Welsh maid, what would you think of her? She has that casual easy-going look of a girl seen in a shop window or behind its counter. For all that, I imagine you would like to feel her under your hands.
Sian is a soft young thing of twenty, not tall or grand but with a certain sluttish sensuality. Her pale red tresses hang lightly waved upon her shoulders. Her fair-skinned face has a rather weak chin with a sulky little bud of a mouth. She paints her lips red to excite me by making herself more of, a tart and her blue eyes seem darker for she paints the rims and lashes black.
Sian s panties and bodice are worn tight to reveal her figure. She is soft rather than fat but has a way of standing slack-hipped or bending lewdly that emphasises the vulgarity of her appearance. Believe me, I do not decry these qualities. A man should have a varied appetite and there is room in loves banquet for a sluttish red-haired shopgirl of Sian's type. So there is for a more demure beauty like Laura, or a soft and bashful creature like young Ruth.
Do not believe those old roues who tell you that women are all the same when they surrender to a man in bed. The fools who spread such tales are worn out and disillusioned. I can assure you that I have found a delightful variety in the girls who are now collected here as my little harem. I may choose the hard adolescent sluttisliness of Michele or else the proud young beauty of Miss Susan. And if those fail to sharpen my desire then I may take my pick of half a dozen others.
But I must not let my thoughts run ahead of my story. On that first evening I sat down to dinner at the head of the polished oak table. There was, of course, no mistress of the house to take her place at the far end but Laura and Ruth sat demurely on either side. They wore plain brown dresses with lace collars and cuffs which, I suppose, must be the uniform of the Chelsea military school.
I talked gently to them, questioning on the education which they had received and telling them something of my Indian service. They listened politely and with great attention. When the meal was over, pretty Laura with her high-boned beauty and the long page-style of her golden-brown hair, came up to me.
"My lord," she said softly, "will you give us a ridinglesson this evening?
I laughed at so absurd a request.
"This evening? Why, my child, look through the window! It has been dark for half an hour. I should not dream of riding here myself at such an hour, let alone risk accident to so charming a pair of pupils."
I did not say that if John Fortescue was in the habit of galloping over the country in the dark, it was small wonder he had killed himself. Yet that was the thought in my mind. The two girls looked at me, and then looked at one another with very significant glances. They had the air of pity which one shows towards fools who cannot help themselves.
I did not understand as yet the cause of their expressions. The next few hours were to enlighten me, once for all. I was content for the moment to take my brandy and soda in the library, leaving the girls to prepare for bed. My cousin John Fortescue had a well-appointed library with many a curious volume. I took up one or two volumes of incandescent stories and was soon lost in the adventures of Dolly Morton or Captain DeVane. I cannot tell you whether I was reading of a saucy little wife like Jacqueline Grant with a man's cork in her rear bung-hole as well as the front-or Jane Truman bottom-upwards for a spanking. Whatever it was had engrossed me so much that I lost track of time.
I pulled myself together with the realisation that I had not touched my brandy and soda for the past half-hour, and that a curious sound was coming from somewhere above me in the house.
I closed the book, laid it on the leather sofa, and went soft-footed into the hall to listen.
CHAPTER TWO
A first peep at my young mistresses-Laura and Ruth at play-The rocking-horses and its love-saddle-Pretty Laura with her panties down-Bare thighs astride polished leatherLaura's nude hips squirming in ecstasy-Bottom-smacking to spur her on-A girl's pleasure at seventeen-Ruth takes her turn-Soft sixteen in the harness of love-Loving fingers and the spanking-strap-Sian, my redheaded maid-How I trained her to ride love's wooden stallion!-Sian with her legs wide and bottom-cheeks spread apart.
You may be sure that when I tip-toed out to the marble-paved hall, it was curiosity and not suspicion which led me. To tell the truth I had decided to wait until Laura and Ruth were safe in bed before ringing for my red-headed servant Sian. I was of a mind to put her to certain tests which my reading had just suggested to me.
I stood in the hallway and looked up at the graceful curve of the stairs above. What do you suppose I saw? Laura and Ruth moving softly to the attic floor.
Now, there was nothing unusual in this-except that their bedrooms were on the floor below. Moreover, though it is natural for a young woman to change into her night attire at this hour, my two Chelsea wards had exchanged their dinner gowns for their riding-costumes. All this was very strange and brought to mind Laura's question. Would I give them a ridinglesson before they went to bed?
You may guess at some of the thoughts which now went through my head. John Fortescue, my cousin, had been little more than a stranger to me. Now I began to have some very singular ideas of the manner in which he conducted his establishment at Coombe these last few years.
A gentleman does not choose to be a spy upon the young ladies in his care. All the same, I would not be made a fool of in my own house and I resolved to discover what was happening in that spacious attic room. If it was innocent amusement, there was no harm in my peeping upon it. If it was something else, then the sooner I discovered, the better it must be.
The house had been built in the 1740s. At such a date the attic windows were small enough and needed the assistance of skylights and interior panes. There were two attic rooms of this size, separated by the landing between them, whose roof was almost a sheet of glass skylight. In order that the rooms might have the benefit of this, an interior window in the landing wall on each side looked into the attic apartments.
When I reached the attic landing and stood there soundlessly, the place was in darkness. All the light was in the old playroom where I had first set eyes upon Laura and Ruth that afternoon. I ventured to the interior window which looked from the darkened landing into the gaslit room with its comfortable old sofas and its pair of rocking-horses.
Was I relieved or disappointed to find that nothing appeared to be amiss? I should be a liar if I did not confess to a first pang of regret. I realized then that I had hoped to catch Laura and Ruth in some hanky panky. Heathers had asked me if I whipped on such occasions. It occurred to me that one cannot whip without a certain amount of unbuttoning and undressing. And where might that not lead me with my two charming pupils?
Even as I watched Laura walking across the room to the cupboard, it seemed to me that the front of my trousers had grown uncomfortably tight. The rounded sweep of her silky golden-brown page-boy hair swung to and fro across her shoulder-blades. She has that lithe and firm young figure of a seventeen-year-old which is alluringly shown in the tight blue denim of her riding-jeans. My pulse beat faster at the trim young thighs and the agile rounding of Lauras bottom-cheeks, so high and taut in their youthful elasticity.
This delightful girl crossed the room, stopping only to stroke the painted smooth flanks of the wooden rocking-horse with an affection which seemed curiously bestowed on an inanimate creature. As she bowed her head demurely, the golden brown waves of her tresses fell from their central parting on either side of her pretty face. It almost seemed as if Laura struggled against her natural shame and modesty. All the time, however, the luscious and tautly rounded buttocks of this seventeen-year-old nymph moved lasciviously under the tight denim of her riding-pants.
Laura went to a cupboard on the far side of the room and returned to the rocking-horse with a leather saddle. I was puzzled at first. Whoever heard of strapping a saddle on a toy horse? Yet when I looked more closely, I saw that the saddle was not quite of the usual shape. It had a slight projection rising up from it and a ridge which ran down its length. I guessed the reason, of course, for such a shape. Often in India I heard tales of Nabyla Justo, Daxa Patel, Jennifer Khan, and other favorites of Captain DeVane being made to ride the masturbating saddle for the amusement of their masters. Yet this was my first sight of theingenious contrivance.
Laura stripped herself to a sleeveless blouse above the waist, ready for the warm work which lay ahead. She undid the riding-jeans, the golden-brown hair cascading round her face again as she pulled them off. Her panties came next and soon I was able to admire Lauras naked charms from her waist to her heels.
I confess freely that those tight slim thighs of a girl of seventeen please me greatly. Lauras bottom-cheeks had the same taut elasticity, though with the first signs of a womanly roundness. Her belly was flat and delightfully ornamented by the little curls of golden fleece at the opening of her legs.
I have since seen Ruth, Jacqui, Diane, and several other girls ride theingenious saddle. Yet I shall never forget how my heart jumped when Laura first cocked her leg wide astride it and settled down. At first she sat upright, content to gasp with a woman's natural expectation as she felt the protrusion enter between the lips of her pudenda a little. I listened intently and presently heard the first slipperiness which assured me that Laura was lubricating nicely in her excitement, milking the love dew from her Venus-cleft on to the leather thumb between her legs.
To watch the demure slim figure of Laura riding the phallic saddle was to see a pretty pagan queen astride her stallion. Her neck was arched back, the rounded page-boy cut of golden hair brushing her shoulder-blades. Her eyes were closed in a dream of bliss and her pretty teeth fretted at her lower lip in the excitement. Lauras slim and agile thighs gripped the smooth wooden flanks of her mount in a desperate, pulsing rhythm as she struggled to bring herself to orgasm. And all this time, sixteen-year-old Ruth with her solemn young face and cropped curls looked on in astonishment.
"Ahh! ... Ahhhh! ... Ah-ah-ah!" Lauras whimpering sighs broke the silence of the room, the jerk of her bare hips in the saddle urging the rocking-horse forward and back, forward and back. ... Presently all decorum was overcome. Laura threw herself forward, hugging the wooden neck of the horse and lying along its back so that she might feel the rude leather phallus more deeply. As she jigged and pumped herself upon the polished erection, her hips were thrust back almost over the wooden rump of her mount. With her thighs stretched wide she showed a rear glimpse of the projection entering her in its lewd rhythm. The lithe young cheeks of Lauras bottom were also pulled hard apart by the thrust of her hips. With the long page-boy cut of her golden tresses and her high-boned prettiness, she looked a perfect picture. Between her spread rear cheeks I could even see the dark dimple of Lauras arsehole, so appealingly tight and vulnerable.
I do not think that Laura attained her climax, even after twenty minutes of lascivious riding. Instead she lay limp, moist, and panting astride her mount. Then it seemed that she forced herself to surrender her own pleasure to that of her friend. Easing herself from the saddle, Laura went to Ruth and took the other girl into her arms.
Ruth was by far the more shy and reluctant of the pair. It needed Laura to kiss the quivering lips and fluttering eyelids, to stroke the short crop of fair curls and murmur reassurance into those startled ears. like one or two of the other Chelsea girls, Ruth wore tight caramel riding-jeans or jodphurs and a black singlet with a belt round her waist. The softer fullness of Ruth's bottom-cheeks and hips made an intriguing contrast to Lauras slim beauty.
It was Laura now who was undoing Ruth's riding-trousers and Ruth who was frying to back away. I was so often to have a rear view of Ruth's botton, its soft young cheeks rolling and rounding as she climbed the slopes of the Alpine gardens in one corner of this estate. Yet now I was all agog for my first glimpse of her with her pants down. Behold, the caramel riding-jeans fell. Only Ruth's panties concealed her now, the filmy panties caught up by the dampness of her body between her legs and in her rear cleft.
Soon they were gone. Lauras hand was soothing Ruth between the legs, consoling her whimpered protests as one hushes an awkward child. As I watched, I saw Ruths softer thighs and ass-cheeks begin to move in a tightening and contracting rhythm upon the fingers busy between her legs. She kissed Laura back quite as hard as the slim pretty girl had kissed her in the first place. Without resistance, Ruth allowed herself to be led to the rocking-horse and mounted astride its saddle.
"Lie forward, Ruth," said Laura quietly, "Put your arms round the horse's neck. Open yourself nice and wide, my love."
Ruth obeyed. It was charming to see how she lay with her halo of fair curls, her face turned aside as if to let Laura admire her wide brown eyes and the sweet pertness of her nose and chin. Now the older girl stroked the soft pale shimmer of Ruth's bottomflesh and thighs. Laura's hand slipped between the stretched legs from the rear, stroking and fondling as she coaxed Ruth to ride gently. Forward and back ... forward and back ... forward and back...
I daresay you will tut-tut at me for a Peeping Tom. Ask yourself, however, would you easily have drawn your eyes from such a charming spectacle had you innocently chanced upon it? If so, you are a man of harder temper than I.
At the best of times, Ruth has such a solemn yet soft young face. Now she bowed her halo of cropped fair curls to hide her eyes and opened herself more fully to Laura's wicked fingers. Sixteen-year-old Ruth pushed her hips up an inch from the saddle showing the leather wet with her slippery love-dew. Yet she made this movement in order that Laura might intrude her fingers in the younger girl's cunt-slit and into its very grotto.
Had you heard the excited, yet frightened litle cry which Ruth now uttered as her passion began to overwhelm her, I swear she would quite have melted your heart. She is a young woman with a child's timidity. Yet what alarmed her most was not the threat of Laura's gentle lasciviousness but the wildness of her own desires as she was masturbated pitilessly by the slim and pretty girl who stooped over her.
"Oh, Laura!" she cried imploringly, "Laura! Help me! Help me!"
For all the world you would have thought that Ruth was crying out to be rescued from some demon ravisher. Yet all the lusty movements and the passionate heat which inflamed the nether lips between her thighs had been of her own devising.
Why should she cry for help in this manner?
In the first place, as she turned her pretty curls and looked back with such wide brown eyes and frightened pallor, Ruth was dismayed by the turmoil within her heart and between her open legs. Lauras finger was now well up the younger girl's hole and Ruth beat and squeezed the wooden horse between her thighs as if her life depended on it.
And yet her despairing cry had another cause. Ruth was well roused but she was still a novice in the art of masturbation. She was in that fearful predicament for a girl of her age, when she longs to come but cannot. Many a bride has suffered such a fate, even in the arms of the most loving husband. The slight color in Ruth's solemn young face, her parted lips and eyes fluttering open, no less than the slippery movements of her spread thighs on the leather saddle, assured me that she was in the greatest state of arousal. Strung on the rack of desire which stretched her nerves without mercy, she writhed in vain for the bliss of release.
What lay ahead of her if she should fail? Sobs of frustration as she dismounted from the rocking-horse, the hot itch of longing still a torment between her thighs. And then the long sleepless night, Ruth roused but unfulfilled. Ah, my friend, how you would have pitied her in her present state!
What, then, of Laura? That slim and pretty creature with her high-boned prcttiness appeared so demure that a lewd thought had never crossed her mind. Yet she had a true woman's instinct. Murmuring in Ruth's ear, she slowed the desperate jigging of the soft pale hips and made her lie still a moment. Laura herself went to the cupboard and presently returned with a thin leather strap, eighteen inches long and several inches broad, split into flat tails at its end. It was nothing but a school spanking-strap.
Was she cruel to Ruth? You will not think so, when you hear the sequel. She took the belt from Ruth's riding-trousers and used it to fasten her down on the wooden horse by her waist, so that the soft young beauty straddled it and hugged its neck. Taking the strap she smacked it hard across the plump cheeks of Ruth's bottom with a crack that made me wince. Ruth gave a gasp and then a wild cry as the pain sank deep. The rocking horse plunged and reared under her wild squirming. But the strap caught the ass-cheeks of the softly-shaped sixteen-year-old again and again. Across those delicious rear mounds it raised broad paths of bright crimson. I was intrigued, never having witnessed such an act before, by a physiological curiosity. Laura thrashed hard so that the welts appeared across Ruth's backside almost at once. At the same time a bruise-colored patch seemed to rise to the surface of the skin and then sink from sight again.
You would have thought, seeing this, that Ruths young bottom would have been a mess of bruises next day. Yet, as I was to learn, she had not a trace. The darkness of the bruise came and went like a pulse-beat, though the redness of the weal did not fade for several hours.
However, I assure you that Laura's scheme was to bring Ruth pleasure rather than pain. After ten or fifteen minutes of the spanking-strap and wild cries from the charming victim with her cropped halo of curls, Laura put down the strap. She knelt behind Ruth, where the soft young thighs were spread wide by the wooden mount and applied her mouth to the rear of the feminine slit. When Laura, Ruth, and
Jacqui worked together, still comparative strangers, I wonder if they ever imagined being obliged to have sex with one another in this or any other manner. And if they did imagine it, were they revolted at the idea or secretly excited?
I saw Lauras tongue now diddling to and from in Ruth's light-haired cunt-slit. I heard Ruth's choking cries of pleasure. Nor did Laura neglect her own desires. While she mouthed Ruth between the legs, spreading the love-juice with her tongue over the secret places of the girl's thighs, Laura knelt astraddle, one hand between her own legs.
You guess the secret? Unlike Ruth, Laura was a consummate masturbator and now timed her own climax to match that of her pretty partner. The dewy lubrication which she milked from Ruth was visible upon her lips and all round her mouth. In her zeal to be a dirty girl, Lauras tongue gave a quick lick up and down between Ruths ass-cheeks. Then she pushed her lips and tongue between the younger girl's legs, rubbing herself with firm skill at the same time.
The moment was upon them. Crying out Laura's name as if dying in ecstasy, Ruth reached the pinnacle of joy and then her shrillness fell to quiet sobs of relief. Laura came with a gasp and a long shuddering. They lay quietly together for a long while, Ruth sprawled limp astride her nursery mount, Laura curled beside her with her auburn hair pillowed against Ruth's bare hip. It was fully half an hour before they stirred from their trance. Neither girl bothered to put on her riding-trousers and panties. They made a charming sight, bare legged and hipped, as they twined their arms about one another and walked slowly down to the bedroom which they shared.
I saw no more, but I wager that neither allowed the other much sleep for the rest of the night. Indeed, unless I am greatly mistaken, only one of the two beds would bear the imprint of a sleeper by next morning. Yet I should not be surprised to hear that the other was in state of disorder which would do credit to a honeymoon couple!
Imagine yourself for a moment in the dilemma I now confronted. Let me speak frankly. I was greatly roused and stiffened by what I had just seen. At the first opportunity I would employ the rocking-horse to give the girls a ridinglesson of the kind which Ruth had just enjoyed. Yet prudence suggested that it was not the moment to begin such experiments that night. I knew too little of their sleeping arrangements, whether perhaps some stable-boy or even Heathers the butler might break in upon my private romps.-
There was no other female in the house just then. Except, of course for Sian, my warm and red-haired maid, twenty years old!
Being a man of experience yourself, you will understand that I had had much to do with such a wench. Yet you know as well as I that a man does not pretend to romance and eternal passion with a young strumpet in her situation. Perhaps I should have subdued my excitement a day or two longer. However, I was much taken by the thought of giving Sian a ride upon the wooden steed! On leaving London, I had had to make a choice between Sian and her workmates, Anne and Janet. Having preferred her before the other two, she should now reward me by affording a little entertainment.
Resolved upon this, I went quietly to the room next to my own where Sian would sleep. The light was still on and I guessed she had not yet gone to bed. There was a private door between the masters room and that of the maid, a device installed by John Fortescue for his own convenience.
Sian had undressed to her short bodice and tight drawers of blue cotton which fitted her smoothly from waist to mid-thigh. I pushed open the door a little and was able to watch her for a moment before she detected my silent presence.
Sian stood thoughtfully, her light red tresses waved loose on her shoulders, the slope of her cheekbones and weak young chin just visible at this angle. She had that slack-hipped way of standing, one ass-cheek high and the other low, which marked her for the young whore that she is. I saw that she was folding her dress, spread out on the floor. After standing there and looking a moment longer, she stooped to pull the hem of it straight and then knelt on all fours to attend to it.
Suppose you chanced to be passing a milliner's and saw such a trim red-haired filly in such a pose. Could you resist a chance to pat and stroke her? I walked into the room and told her to finish her task, bending to it while I admired her young thighs and hips in their tight cotton pants. I teased my red-haired Welsh pony as I fondled her through the tight warm cotton. As she bent to her work, my hand entered between her legs from the rear and I felt the heat of soft pubic flesh through the thin fabric.
"In the mood for a little saddle-exercise tonight, Sian?"
"I must finish," she pulled away a little, "I must finish what I have to do."
I guessed what that was, for the heat and slight moisture between her thighs betrayed her.
"You like to play with yourself, don't you, Sian? I cannot permit that tonight. This time you must share your pleasure with the saddle."
She looked at me, not understanding all that I meant. My hand stroked over the soft young buttocks.
"How's your butt, Sian? Quite recovered from its adventures last week? You're not a little girl any longer, my pet. Your bottom-hole can open wide enough to offer an exit. From now on it must be an entrance as well...."
Sian was startled at all this. Yet she is an easy and randy girl whose curiosity about the saddle soon overcame her prudence. I led her quietly to the room where Laura and Ruth had performed their sports and where the saddle was soon strapped on the wooden mounts again. Then I took Sian over my knee, for even at twenty she is not too big for this. I undid her pants and pulled them down, laying bare her trim pale legs and the soft rounds of her rear cheeks.
She lay there, quietly as a little girl waiting to be spanked. My fingers entered between the rear of her thighs again. A few strokes of their tips brought warm lubrication to her flesh.
"You like to masturbate, Sian, don't you? I can see you've been up to those tricks already this evening! Now, get up, got to the rocking horse and straddle it!"
Sian obeyed, though she kept her head lowered, as if ashamed of what she longed to do. The light waves of her red tresses fell in charming confusion about her vulgar young face.
Cautiously she eased herself astride the saddle, my hands guiding her. There was a shrill gasppartly shock and partly excitement-as the leather diddler entered her cunt a little.
"Lie forward, Sian! Arms round the horse's neck! Spread those legs and ass-cheeks! Push your backside out a little more!"
And there she was, straddling the smooth wooden horse as lewdly as either Ruth or Laura. With the red tresses still in delightful disorder round her face as she lay there, Sian was squeezing and tensing on the horse, her breath breaking from her in irregular gasps. I went to the cupboard again and examined John Fortescue's treasures. What revelations they now offered of his secret pleasures at Coombe! There was a row of pony-tails, the hair being in a variety of colors which matched the hair of two legged fillies rather than the four-legged kind! I chose one which was the shade of Sian's. There was also aningenious instrument of control, a martinet. It consisted of a thick handle and twenty or thirty thin tails of leather hanging from it, each no thicker than a stout bootlace. A jar of vaseline into which cologne perfume had been mixed was the third item of which I possessed myself.
"Lie still for a moment, Sian!" I said firmly, though this command was easier for me to give than for the girl to obey in her present state of excitement. "We must make a proper pony-girl of you."
"Oh, its lovely!" she cooed, squeezing and riding the cunning leather thumb.
I examined the pony-tail. There was a rounded butt, intended for insertion into the girl's bottom, from which the hair ran up, under a waist-belt, and then formed a tall and graceful curve over the charming buttocks. I loaded my finger with the perfumed vaseline and smeared it thickly on Sian's anus. She tensed in apprehension but I was not to be deterred.
"You must have the butt of the tail in your butt-hole, Sian. I'm sure you'll enjoy that too when the ride reaches its climax!"
Sian offered no resistance as I pressed the butt of the tail into place, then drew the woven strand up between her buttocks and under the leather belt at the rear of her waist. It made the most charming plume and cascade, spreading over the pale rounding of the redhead's soft bottom.
The leather thumb of the saddle between her legs, Sian was now goaded to excitement by having her anus stretched on the vaselined butt of the tail. But she was also tickled and teased by the soft hairs of the tail which lay over her buttocks, between them, and even tantalised the rear of her pussy flesh between her spread thighs.
How many admirers who had seen Sian at shop-work or washing the steps of a Portman Square mission would have enjoyed seeing her now! Sian rode as if her life depended on it, at once the jockey and the pony herself. Her bare thighs clamped the wooden flanks and her hips urged the rocking horse onward-and-back, onward-and-back, onward-and-back. Sian's orgasm must not come too quickly, for that would spoil our fun. I stopped and steadied the wooden horse after about ten minutes during which the tail of hair swept to and from across Sian's ass as she rode. Cruel as any tyrant, I now laid the tail aside and withdrew the leather thumb which had brought her to such a pitch between her legs.
A moment more and the saddle was gone. Sian was lying like any other girl astride a rocking-horse. What dismay this caused!
"Ride hard and finish yourself off quickly, Sian!"
"I c-c-can't! Oh, I can't!" she wailed.
For answer, I picked up the martinet.
"A filly sometimes needs a taste of the whip across her rump, Sian. I shall be cruel in order to be kind."
Gently I laid the thin tails across her backside to let her feel the thrill of cold leather. Sian tried desperately to clench her buttocks together. Her thighs and butt being so spread as she straddled the horse, she thought herself fearfully open to the havoc of the martinet. To prevent her avoiding the treatment she needed, I fastened her wrists to the wooden forelegs and strapped her down at the waist. I was aware that pleasure or pain might cause her to yell loudly enough to wake the house. Looking round I saw the web cotton of Lauras briefs lying on the floor. When folded, they made little more than a handkerchief. There was something both lewd and yet provoking in making one girl wear another's panties in this fashion.
"In your mouth, Sian," I said gently. She obeyed with unease.
Now the Welsh beauty's gallop began. I whipped hard across the full soft pallor of Sian's bottom-cheeks. At every stroke the martinet produced red streaks of angry fire. Most fell upon her buttocks. A few of the little thongs curled between her ass-cheeks and even streaked the inner surfaces of her thighs. Yet Sian rode like a champion, her hips pumping and legs tensing.
"Did you like that, Sian? A flick of the whip-tails across your backside. ... Ah, that one caught you between your ass-cheeks, Sian! That makes you ride harder! ... We must drive you to the pinnacle of pleasure, I think. ... Now, the whip across your backside. ... Between your buttocks. ... Across your thighs. ... Between your legs. ... Bottom-cheeks. ... Bottom-cheeks. ... In your rear crack. ... Between the legs. ... Back of the thighs. ... Thighs again. ... Bottom-crack. ... Bottom-cheeks. ... Bottom-cheeks. ... Bottom-crack. ... In your crack again, Sian. ... Bottom-cheeks. ... Crack. ... Bottom. ... Bottom. ... Bottom...."
To those who were not present, the ordeal may sound worse than it was. Many a little girl of ten or twelve is chastised by the martinet. In France, the practice is universal. At last I laid down the tailed whip and regarded my panting filly, her bonds removed. I closely examined Sian's crack, the forbidden valley between her buttocks. Though she flinched at my finger's touch there, it was as much modesty as tenderness.
Now I came to the last act of the drama. Pulling off my trousers, I mounted pillion on the rocking-horse behind my perspiring girl. How gratefully Sian raised her hips, spread her thighs wider still and then sank down with my stiffness embedded in the velvety sheath which lay so moist between her legs.
Now we began to ride together. Sian arched her hips and threw her head back. The red tresses swept to and fro across her collar as she panted and whimpered with longing for the moment of her pleasure which had been so long delayed. .
With my hands on her flanks, I guided her through the gallop, driving her on with thrusts of my manhood which went deep enough to touch the very nerve of her womb, provoking those cries which are part fear and part abandon to ecstasy. At last she began a series of short, rising cries, for all the world as if the truncheon-handle of the martinet were being forced up Sian's butt or some other torment being applied by the hangman. So close is the association of pleasure and punishment, desire and pain. Yet, as anyone might guess, this breathless aria was the signal of her coming climax. It proved the final spur to my own release. While the first spasms possessed her, I felt my own passion boil and threaten to spill into her womb withincalculable results. I had no wish to swell Sian's belly for her, having other plans to occupy her days and nights. I drew from her, causing a softly forlorn wail of bereavement on the girl's part. The sperm jetted in long and passionate bursts, forming its arcs of spawn across Sian's softly-rounded bottom-cheeks and running down between them.
"She lay exhausted by her ordeal, head pillowed on the mane of the rocking-horse. Yet as if in tribute to my outpouring, she reached back and put her finger-tips to her buttocks, examining the state she was in and finding herself wet with sperm. She drew her hand away and I was seized by a wicked caprice.
"Lick your fingers, Sian," I said.
And Sian licked them obediently.
I slept that night in the profoundest content. Next day I woke in the spacious bedroom, which is traditionally occupied by the Master of Coombe. I was in the mood now for whatever randy adventures lay ahead of me.
CHAPTER THREE
A prospect of Coombe-Distance lends enchantment to the view-Master Miles and his reformatory for wayward girls-His harem of adolescent beauty-Schoolgirl nymphs and tomboys-Our visit to Mr. Bowler, the man of property-Tracey, delectable nymph of sixteen-Pat and Ange, the two young wenches attending her-Having fun with Tracey on the massage-table-Girls' oiled fingers between her bare thighs-Tracey's nipples stiffened up-Loving lips and sly tongues-Caresses and bottom-smacks-How lovely Tracey looks as she has her naked orgasm while her master watches-Pat and Ange permitted a brief Lesbian embrace under their master's gaze meet the famous Mr. Bowler.
After my frolics of the previous night with Sian, you will readily believe that I rose next morning in excellent spirits. Breakfast at Coombe is of the good old English style, not the Frenchified triviality which hardly whets a mans appetite. The polished sideboard was set with silver chafing-dishes in which mutton chops, broiled mackerel, kidneys and sausages were kept piping hot. There was a good choice of muffins, toast, butter and marmalade. Being a gentleman's house, no servants wait upon us at breakfast. Each newcomer helps himself from the sideboard and carries the dishes to his place. Only in the vulgar households of the parvenus do maidservants attend at breakfast. Their proper business is to be making the beds and sweeping the upper rooms.
I opened the Times and the Morning Post-a gentlemen does not attempt conversation at such an hour-and furtively watched my two charming wards, Laura and Ruth. One so pretty, the other so solemn, I could hardly credit that they were the same girls who had been driven so lewd by the rocking-horse and saddle a few hours ago.
Breakfast was scarcely over when Heathers came up to me with a note on a silver tray. I opened it and was vastly intrigued by the invitation. Mr. Bowler, the saddler, and Master Miles of the reformatory were the two other notables of Coombe village. They and I were the three justices who sat upon the bench and dealt with the petty crimes of the neighborhood. These two gentlemen begged the honor of presenting me their compliments and of waiting upon me at my earliest convenience.
Vastly intriguing! Yet I, as a new arrival, might also choose to visit them first. I had never seen the inside of a girls' reformatory and was much provoked by the prospect. Mr. Bowler's estate was adjacent to that institution and so I decided to ride over this very morning and quench my curiosity.
In half an hour I was riding out across the grounds of Coombe towards the Shaplock road on which their properties lay. I do not mean to boast but I was monstrously proud of the house and grounds I now owned. At a little distance from my drawing-room terrace lay the stable-block built in the same classical style with its cupola and gilded weather-vane. My grounds lay along the pleasant secluded valley and up the wooded slopes to either hand. Nowhere could these gardens be overlooked by strangers. The grounds had been laid out in the eighteenth century with lawns and paths, wooded groves and secret bowers. A stream gushed down the valley forming an ornamental cascade which filled the lake near the house itself. The cascade might have been copied from a romantic view of Salvator Rosa. Here the hand of the eighteenth century had built a pretty grotto. Close by, in the taste of the age, there stood by the lake a fine Grecian folly, the Temple of the Winds.
I rode out at the side-gate of the park on to the narrow country road which links the villages of Coombe and Shaplock, a distance of about a dozen miles. My route lay between little streams and undulating fields, the hedgerows bright with primrose and harebell, even in the late summer. I went a good English mile before I saw Master Miless domain. Let me describe it.
This reformatory institution for the correction of wayward girls and young women was solidly built of golden ashlar stone. It had a collegiate look, being composed of various courtyards in which gardens were laid out. The harems of the Orient are built on the same principle, their windows inward-looking, so thatthe pleasures of the master with his slave-girls are concealed from public view. In the case of the reformatory, the outward windows were narrow and securely barred. The only entrance was through a deep archway with locked gates at either end and the door to the porters room concealed within it. Enclosing the buildings and grounds, hiding even the gates from the road, was a stone wall quite thirty feet high with a rolled-top. Neither the most agile nymph nor the most determined young woman would ever scale it. Impudent tomboys of fifteen and proud beauties of twenty-five were equally prisoners of their masters will.
This outer wall was pierced by a single arched gate of studded panels, securely locked. On the outer side hung a bell-pull. I tugged it, heard the jangle of the clapper and the footsteps of the porter. At the sight of me and the sound of my name the crook-backed fellow doffed his cap, bowed his head, and almost tore the hairs of his forelock from his head. A stable-lad took my horse and I was escorted through the entrance arch into the first courtyard.
The neatly painted windows looked inwards upon this charming secret garden, their frames embowered by red gilly-blossom and flowery climbing stock whose fragrance filled the warm air. A group of girls in striped ties, white blouses, and navy-blue skirts of their school uniform stood close by. The porter called the eldest of them, a broad-hipped lass with lively blue eyes and lank brown hair to her shoulders. This fifteen-year-old skipped forward at once, pulling up a wayward white knee-sock as she did so.
"Sandra Williams! Get to your master. Tell him that Lord Frederick is here! Pull your knee-sock straight first!"
This well-behaved fifth-form tomboy bent down to adjust the top of the white sock just below her knee. The porter flipped up the back of her skirt. Sandra's panties were revealed as being briefs of white cotton web. They fitted tightly, shaping her hips and the round healthy cheeks of her behind. Before she could straighten up, the fellow spat on his hand and administered a sizzling smack on Sandra Williams's fifteen-year-old bottom. She jumped up, gasping at the smart and bit at her lip to hold back a cry. Then she ran off on her errand, one cheek of her knicker-seat wet and the bottom-shape underneath red with a throbbing sting.
Presently a door opened and Master Miles himself appeared. He had been engaged in some vigorous labor for I saw him rolling down his shirtsleeves and pulling on his jacket. James Miles was a man of fifty or so, in the prime of physical condition. He boasted a barrel chest, a short but powerful figure, and fine mutton-chop whiskers which added to his air of authority. There was a certain roughness in his manner which might have caused remark in Park lane or the Place Vendome. However, in the countryside of England, were prize-fighting and cock-matches take precedence over manners and witty compliments, such bluff honesty is a mark of the best people. For my part, if the price of admission to his female reformatory was to tolerate his earthy talk, I would tolerate it and be glad.
"How d'ye do, sir? How d'ye do?" gasped the master, seizing my hand and pumping it. Then he recollected the difference in our social ranks. "How d'ye do, my lord!"
I returned the honours as best I could. In no time at all the fine old fellow was guiding me through his little domain, showing off his harem of thirty or forty girls and rattling off a list of polite conversational topics. We had the weather, the crops, the sad loss of John Fortesque, the iniquities of government meddling in local affairs, the monstrous amount taken from a man in rates and taxes.
But most of all Master Miles loved to show off his treasures. After talking of the decline of discipline and the lack of manners among the young, two national calamities, he asked:
"Do you whip, my lord?"
It was the identical question which my butler had put to me the afternoon before. If I were to retain the confidence of Master Miles, there was but one answer.
"As often as may be required," I said smoothly. Had I not, after all, applied the martinet to the bare cheeks of Sian's butt the previous night? My reader may be the judge.
Master Miles grinned at me. I could do no wrong, being a man after his own heart. We walked through the courtyards and he drew my attention first to the group of genteel girls in their school uniforms. Sandra I had already met.
"See there, sir!" said the master, "Was ever man so plagued by two fourth-form hussies as this pair? Pray, my lord, regard 'em!"
I looked at them. Linda was a pale and sensuous little blonde who wore her fair hair in short mane on her lapel. By contrast Valerie appeared a gamine figure with slender legs, slim buttocks, a shock of auburn hair, blue eyes and faint freckles. At the sight of a man, Linda sniggered and Valerie giggled as they whispered of penis and pleasure. These two little Messalinas at fourteen were a match for any of their kind.
I swear it was deliberate, as we passed, that Linda stood upon the raised path and stooped with her back to me, as if to tie her shoelace. I had a full view of the soft translucent pallor of her thighs, bare above her knee-socks. Her white briefs of elasticated cotton moulded the soft pussy-flesh between her legs. In the warm weather, the seat of her panties had ridden up at one side, laying bare much of one smooth pale cheek of Linda's young bottom! The little tart! The little prick-teaser! Such were the thoughts running through my head. Was I mistaken? Surely not.
Several fifteen-year-olds had been put to labor, many of them with the look of slum-girls about them. I made passing acquaintance with lewd Mich-ele, a lithe and energetic youngster whose veil of brown hair was combed aslant her forehead in a style of calculated seduction. The master also pointed out his favorite object of discipline-Elaine Cox, an adolescent tomboy in white singlet and working-trousers of smooth gray-blue, which fitted tight over her robust young hips and thighs. Tossing back the lank fair hair which framed the broad and impudent oval of her face, she bent to her task of lifting flower-bulbs from the earth for winter storage.
"Elaine Cox, a dirty little scrubber!" said Master Miles, pointing out this insolent youngster, "Just like her big sister!"
The tight-strained trouser-seat as she bent presented the full and broadened cheeks of Elaine Cox's fifth-form bottom, suggestively fattened in this posture. Any true disciplinarian would have felt his penis harden at this rear view of her. Nor would he have been content with the reformatory cane used so regularly on the bare buttocks of Michele-let alone Elaine! With this "dirty little scrubber," as Miles called her, firmly strapped down-and he confronted by the vulgar tomboy cheeks of Elaine Cox's fifteen-year-old bottom-the temptation to use a pony-lash of woven snakeskin might prove irresistible!
The secrets of the girls' reformatory must be revealed in a later volume of these memoirs. There is no space here to tell of so many nymphs and tomboys. How the master coveted her when Elaine Cox was thirteen and he first saw her walking home from school. How she was consigned to the reformatory at fourteen and her insolence rewarded by a year of bare-bottomed whip-discipline. How she was acquired by a villain who took her to a remote house beyond the Danube. How he had Elaine Cox strapped bare-bottomed over a trestle in a sinister room, from which he alone emerged. Her insolence had provoked him to the ultimate severities.
"Mr. Bowler would esteem it an honor to make your acquaintance at once, my lord," said Master Miles, breaking in upon my admiration of Elaine's tomboy backside. "If you have leisure, I could take you to him now. You are quite sure that you whip, my lord?"
"Invariably," I assured him, "Without question."
I soon learnt that in such places as this, the pretext of laying bare female beauty for moral discipline unlocked a treasure-house of sensual enjoyments for man and maid alike. Such stalwart fellows as Master Miles were paid handsomely by the government for undressing teenage girls and putting them to uses which would have cost a princes ransom in many a brothel.
"Abolish the whip," said the master confidentially, "and we shall go the way of France. Red republicanism, sir! Mark my words! The army would mutiny and the schools turn to bedlam. Empire itself would fall. When I have a young scrubber like Elaine Cox or even Michele, with her panties
"The present editor of Lord Frederiek Cyr's memoirs, trusts that he may publish a seeond volume on this topic, House of Correction, to be had of the Bibliophile Society, 13 Rue du Faubourg de Montmartre, Paris 9e. down, you may be sure I make 'em feel their position most acutely!"
"Not a government minister nor a single bishop in the House of Lords would dispute it, sir," I said, "The number of girls under your discipline and the long hours of day and night you devote to their training deserve a greater reward. You may be sure I shall mention the matter in your favor to my friend Lord Fawn who holds a preferment at the Home Office."
The good old fellow beamed at me.
"The blessings of Mrs. Miles and the little ones shall be yours, my lord," he murmured, taking my hand in a manly grasp, "Now, let us pay our respects to Mr. Bowler. He longs to make your acquaintance."
You shall hear more of Mr. Bowler presently. He was no more village saddler but a man of wealth and reputation, supplier of horse-furniture to the ceremonial detachments of our mounted regiments. In St. James's and Oxford, Bath and Harrogate, Windsor and Brighton, his shops also supplied harness and whips to gentlemen riders and the "pretty horsebreakers" of Rotten Row. His considerable estate was adjacent to Master Miles's reformatory.
The master led me into his quarters and through a private door in the high wall, so that we came out before the fine new dwelling of Bowler Park. Deci-mus Burton had a hand in its creation for it was a masterpiece of Venetian style, with the glass domes of conservatories and hot-houses adjoining it. As we approached it, Master Miles whispered to me.
"Mr. Bowler has something of a taste for strapping young wenches of nineteen or twenty. Sometimes he puts them to shopwork and sometimes they serve him here. He chooses girls whom the justices have sentenced to Bridewell for four or five years. He being a magistrate himself, the girls may serve their time as his maids. They are kept safe and secure as in any lock-up. There are three young trollops under his roof now. Noreen, Angela and Patricia. Noreen is twenty-one. Pat and Ange are a little less. Mr. Bowler is a tyrannical but loving guardian to them. Even after a year, if you were to examine them, you would find that their backsides know the taste of leather. They respond very quickly to a caress between their legs. Their lips and tongues have an aptitude for licking and sucking. Their bottom-holes appear rather more elastic than would be accounted for by a girl's natural functions."
"And do they not protest at such things?" I asked, laughing at such outlandish frolics.
Master Miles laid his finger to his nose.
"They may protest to the local bench of justices, if they choose."
"Who sits upon it?"
"Why," said the grinning old fellow, "I do. And Mr. Bowler himself is the other. The late Mr. Fortescue's place is taken by you."
Here was a delightful state of affairs. I should be a liar if I pretended that a growing sense of excitement did not swell within me at the fun which was now promised.
"Moreover," said Master Miles, "Mr. Bowler has just acquired a fourth girl of different kind. Tracey is the most beautiful and willowly nymph of sixteen with blonde hair so long and silken!"
There was a knowingness in the old fellows eyes as he glanced sidelong with these words. To tell you the truth, Master Miles acted for all the world as if he might be as much the master of this estate as Mr. Bowler himself. I was not, then, surprised when he led me round by the side of the house towards one of the fine conservatories under a wide glass dome. Its tiled floor was neatly set with terra cotta vases from which there grew young date-palms and rubber-plants, orchids and pink oleander.
"See, my lord," he said presently, "Is she not a beauty?"
He was looking through the glass and until I drew level with him I imagined he must be talking of some plant or other. But then, in a space like a jungle clearing at the centre of the hot-house, I saw a most delightful scene.
There were three young women. Two of them, though stripped to bodices and tight cotton pants, would win no prizes for beauty. They were Pat and Ange, working-girls of nineteen or twenty. Ange was a soft and even plump young slut whose tight blue cotton pants from waist to knees revealed rather heavy thighs and fattish butt-cheeks. She had a round face, though straight featured, blue eyes and dark hair which had been razor-cut as short as a boy's.
One saw at once that Ange was a cautious and apprehensive girl. Not so Pat. She showed a lewdness and vivacity quite lacking in the other. Her figure was firmer and trimmer, though with the robust look of a working lass. Her golden hair was closely waved and shaped to her head, trimmed short well above her shoulders. It was the slant of her dark hazel eyes which conveyed the hint of Pat's promiscuity. Her face also had something of that resolute hardened look which suggests determination in the pursuit of Lust. They were both Mr. Bowler's shopgirls.
What were these two young whores, Pat and Ange, doing? The answer was Tracey, who approached the table at that very moment. I looked at this delicious sixteen-year-old and felt my heart would stop. How to describe her? She had a slinky seductive beauty and yet a look of dignity. Her fair-skinned face was finely modeled and her blue eyes looked steadily in front as she walked. Her hair was of the heavy silken kind and a golden blonde in color. She wore it loose in a slanting sweep across her forehead so that it hung to her shoulder-blades. How she will make your mouth water as you hear more of her!
Yet it was not her face but her figure which would have drawn the gaze of most men. She was naked just then and, surely, her fair-skinned loveliness would have roused the envy of Venus herself. Tracey is not thin but she is tall, graceful and trimly proportioned. Her shoulders have an elegant feminine slope and her breasts rise with a youthful resilience, bobbing as she moves. Her belly is flat and her back has just the right inward curve which causes a delectable swelling out at the hips.
As the crown of her lower beauty, Tracey has a soft golden triangle of hair at the base of her young belly. Her legs have that fine branching slimness, long and elegant, which is the mark of the true nymph. Nor would you scorn to watch Tracey from the rear as she walks away. There is that lithe and sensuous sway of the hips, the rhythm of the grown woman felt naturally by this sixteen-year-old. The rear of her legs is no less fluted and graceful than the front. How fine her narrow waist and the swell of her young hips! And who could scorn the demure yet full curved ovals of Tracey s bottom-cheeks.
My heart jumped again as I realized what we were about to witness. It was no less than the exciting scene of Diana at the bath-enacted in modern guise!
From behind a palm tree, Mr. Bowler stepped forward and joined his girls. I guessed it was he-a fine stout man of forty-five with darkly gleaming eyes and a vigorous black moustache. Though a little balding, he was powerfully built and his every movement suggested energy and passion. Small wonder he had need of so many girls to supply him-or that he preferred strapping young whores like Pat and Ange.
"Lie on the table, Tracy!" he said, waiting for her to put one knee demurely up and then smacking her delicious bottom hard. Tracey caught her breath at the sting of his hand on the luscious oval of her bare ass-cheek. She scrambled quickly on top to the massage-table brushing back the slant of golden hair from her face with the edge of her hand. Sitting with her bare legs curled up like a graceful river-nymph on a rock, this sixteen-year-old beauty awaited her masters command.
"Lie down on your side, Tracey. Pat and Ange must oil and perfume you, ready for your visit to my study after lunch."
Tracey obeyed him, like a good little girl seeking to please her teacher. It was Pat, with her hard young features and the randy slant in her hazel eyes, who prepared the young nymph while Ange with her softer figure and razor-trimmed hair supplied the jars of oil and cream. At twenty years old Pat appeared a lewd young slut who, though not married, had served many a lusty young penis. She lowered the close-moulded crop of her blonde hair and kissed Tracey on the lips, easing them apart by the pressure of her mouth until she could flutter her tongue against that of the sixteen-year-old beauty.
Pat drew away, dipped her fingers in the scented oil and then touched her lips to Traceys again.
"Lie still, Trace', my love," she said gently. Playing the game of tongues with her victim, Pat worked her oiled fingers over the taut young breasts, teasing the nipples till they stood stiff and inflamed with desire. As the hand traveled lower, Tracey's flat young belly seemed to yearn towards it, begging to be caressed by the older girl whose tongue played in her mouth. I could not help feeling that Pat was a wicked young bitch who deserved some hard riding by her master.
Now the oiled fingers touched Tracey's pubic fleece, easing their way between the lithe young thighs. Though muffled by the tongue in her mouth, Tracey cried out in anticipation. Pat's fingers played and twiddled the sensitive young clitoris. How our sixteen-year-old nymph writhed in the anguish of unfulfilled desire!
"Lie still, Tracey!" said Mr. Bowler sharply, "Quite still! You must learn to control these feelings until the proper time!"
The advice was given in vain. Now Pat's lewd fingers began to caress the whole of that amorous itch, which made the younger girl's flesh creep and shudder deliciously, all the way from the cringing little clitoris.
The elegant young thighs squirmed and squeezed on the loving fingers. Tracey broke from the kiss, showering the older girl's face and neck with the passionate touch of her own lips.
"Oh, Pat!" she gasped, "Do it harder, my darling! Spare me nothing! Make me do it with you!"
If Mr. Bowler intended to cure Tracey of wanting boy-friends, he was going the right way about it! Pats fingers were moving in a firm but gentle rhythm between the graceful thighs, manualising the soft pussy-flesh, rubbing and squeezing, rubbing and squeezing, rubbing and squeezing....
Tracey s elegant young legs quivered and her agile hips jigged eagerly, like a little girl unable to wait for a treat, her hands seeking Pats panties, as if to jack off the young woman herself through the thin cotton.
"That's enough!" said Mr. Bowler presently and Pat withdrew her fingers at her master's command. "Attend to Tracey from behind."
Tracey raised her head and swept aside the slanting veil of golden hair with a sob of bereavement. Mr. Bowler looked at her tight-lipped.
"Present your backside, Tracey! You must be clean and perfumed in every detail when you appear before me after lunch!"
What! I thought. Was she to appear before him in his capacity as a justice? And how could that require this clean and perfumed state of Tracey s ass-hole? If there was a law of England requiring such hygiene in court practice, I was eager to learn of it!
Pat got down from the table, walked around it, and clambered up at the other side, kneeling behind Tracey. Mr. Bowler was clearly anxious that Tracey should not ease her longing by playing with herself between the legs. When she came to him in a little while, he intended that she should be mad with longing for the penis. Therefore her wrists were strapped together in front of her by wrist-cuffs and these, in turn, were fastened to a leather collar round her neck by a short length of light chain.
Pat caressed the graceful bow of the young girl's thighs as they branched up from her knees to her hips. Gently she kissed each of the elegant nymph-cheeks of Tracey's shapely backside. Then she parted them and examined her pupil's crack.
"Your bottom, Miss Tracey..." said Mr. Bowler sharply, "Present it properly!"
Doubt and foreboding clouded the blue eyes and the quiet beauty of the young face. Then, reluctantly, Tracey arched her hips backwards a little. With richly scented cream, Pat's fingers explored and caressed that dark forbidden rear valley. Though Tracey still seemed to mourn the loss of immediate pleasure between her legs, the stroking fingers between her buttocks had a calming and soothing effect.
"You'll learn to enjoy such toilet-sessions, Tracey, my girl!" said her master gently, "You like what Pat is doing to you now, don't you?"
It was too much to expect that Tracey should reply to this inquiry. The pride of her straight and finely-cut profile was a proof of her disposition. She lowered her face a little, as if to conceal it within the lustruous sweep of her golden-blonde hair. Pat dipped her finger in the perfumed cream a last time. On this occasion, however, she inserted the finger carefully up Tracey's butt-to the very knuckle. Tracey tensed and tried to pull away, but Pat and Ange held her.
"Lie still, Tracey," said her master, "You'll sit on Pat's finger like that for ten minutes every morning in future."
At last they helped Tracey to dress in a riding coatee and tight jodpuhrs. She was put in charge of two older women who were to keep her from spoiling herself by masturbation, ensuring that she was desperate to relieve her sexual frustration when Mr. Bowler summoned her to his study after lunch.
There was a curious sequel to this. Pat took Ange by the hand and led her to the massage-table. Each girl took her panties off and they lay facing each other in short bodices. Pat was the more randy and the more dominant. Her lips sought the other girl's mouth and soft face, kissing the boy-cut hair as well. She parted Ange's thighs and began to give the plumper nineteen-year-old a good frig. Though the victim cried out in vain protest, Pat also insisted on keeping a finger up Ange's arsehole during the process.
As she lubricated Pat's fingers with her cunt-dew, Ange's breathless writhing proclaimed that pleasure had overtaken modesty. Now it was Ange who, less skillfully, masturbated Pat at the same time. There is something about Pat which tells one that she is an experienced masturbatrix. No wonder, then, that she so controlled her spasm as to mingle her own sharp animal cries of achievement with those of plump-bottomed Ange.
And yet I have not told you of the most singular detail in all this. Perhaps you think that I alone spied upon Pat and Ange, somehow secreting myself among the palms of the conservatory? By no means. The truth is that while Patricia Prick-Sucker and Angela Fat-Arse writhed naked together, Mr. Bowler stood over them, solemnly observing every little-tickle and caress.
As soon as Pat and Ange had come on each other's fingers, their master turned and walked from the conservatory into the fragrant summer garden. He saw Master Miles and I, greeting us as calmly as if he had just come from reading the financial news in the Times.
"My lord," he said, seizing my hand in a double grip and shaking it as if I were a man of his rank rather than my own, "This is a great pleasure! A great honor to my house! I was engaged with three of my young strumpets and hope you will excuse my absence!"
Nor for a moment did he suppose I should be shocked by this. Was there some great signal, unobserved by myself, which passed between Master Miles and Mr. Bowler? I swear there must have been. From the first, it seems, Mr. Bowler knew that I "whipped," as Miles and Heathers termed it. That being the case, I must be in the habit of taking down the panties of fourteen-year-old schoolgirls and arrogant young women of twenty-eight or thirty, as if all in a days work. While their panties were down, I did all manner of other things to them as well.
So, it seems, my new friends thought. I could not bring myself to confess that they overestimated my prowess as yet. What did it matter? For the future, I promised myself, I should strive to be worthy of their high opinion of me.
Before you demur let me recall who these two gentlemen were that held me in such regard. Both are regarded as pillars of the moral order in their neighborhood. They sit upon the bench, in future with my presence too, and administer justice. Mr. Bowler is a man of the greatest prosperity who has increased the wealth of the nation and earned its gratitude. Do we blame him because he gives employment to worthless young sluts and whips them into a sense of obedience? Say, rather, it is a scandal his knighthood has been so long delayed. (Have no fear. Lord Fawn assures me he has seen the next patronage list with Bowler's name on it.) And Master Miles? What more devoted public servant could you find? He has, indeed, been honoured and well rewarded by the government he serves. Can you begrudge it? His days and nights are given to the moral correction of young scrubbers, as he says, like Elaine Cox and Sally Fenton. Midnight comes before the cane drops from his wearied hand and Sally pulls her panties up.
Say what you like in criticism of me. But never say, unless in jest, that my companions are other than the most respected men of the age. Upon such as they, England's social order and her political tranquillity depend.
CHAPTER FOUR
A trip to town-Mr. Bowler's emporium and its female attractions-Noreen, a strapping young trollop-Her scorn for gentlemen admiring her tightly-clad thighs and backsideA dreadful incident!-Noreen assaults an elderly fancier-Joshua Snook, Esquire, of Snook's Hall-The problem of Noreen's disobedience-Mr. Bowler promises to have Noreen broken-in-Whip and harness are prepared-Noreen strapped bare-bottomed over a yoke-bar-Her resistance-Noreen driven all day round the yoke-circle-Leather-lash and whipcord-Noreen's sturdy bottom-cheeks skinned and salted.
I saw Mr. Bowler often enough on the hunting field or at the justices' sessions, where he was a stern moralist in dealing with poachers, vagabonds, and all who threatened social propriety. If he devoted his private discipline to such vulgar sluts or tarts as Pat or Ange-and Noreen whom I had yet to see-then the world marveled at his devotion to moral improvement. As for Tracey, it was village opinion that the girl could not be placed in better hands for the next five or six years. Perhaps, from time to time, Mr. Bowler's penis might stiffen a little and slip from his trousers-as if having a mind of its own. Perhaps it would then chance to slip between the girl's legs or widen Tracey's arsehole or find its way into her mouth. Was not that incontrovertible proof that she was a seducing young whore, who could even endanger Mr. Bowlers invincible morality? And was that not ample reason for a little bare-bottom discipline?
My own days were occupied with settling matters to do with the estate at Coombe. Yet I enjoyed cameos of Laura and Ruth like two soft, loving creatures together. And I rode Sian hard. However, this was soon overshadowed by the most dreadful outrage.
As soon as my leisure allowed, I resolved to ride into town and take a view of the saddlers which had brought so much wealth to Mr. Bowler. The day was mild and balmy, the long decline of summer giving a sleepy and languorous air to the handsome terraces of gentlemen's houses and the busy streets with their shop-windows bright with goods.
I found Mr. Bowler's emporium soon enough and was not much surprised to find several well-dressed gentlemen admiring the polished saddles and harnesses, the whips and brasses, which were offered as his stock in trade. I dismounted, gave a boy sixpence to hold my horse, and then saw that something beyond the fine leatherwork was causing these gentlemen to lick their lips and gaze passionately at what they saw.
Often enough, Mr. Bowler put one of his girls to work in the shop at some menial task. Noreen was the cause of the present excitement among the gentlemen who stood agog. You would not, I assure you, think her the finest of ladies or the greatest of beauties. Her lank dark hair, trimmed at her collar, framed a fair-skinned face whose brown eyes and resolute features had an impudent and disdainful air. Yet Noreen, at twenty-one years old, is a strapping young wench with a strong appeal for men who like girls of that kind.
She was dressed, as befitted a stable-girl, in singlet and denim riding-trousers. The clinging cotton of the pale blue singlet showed a young back that was strong and straight, breasts that were firm and well controlled, a belly still flat and well-muscled. She wore a broad leather waist-belt which drew the faded blue of her riding-jeans smooth and taut over her lower figure. Though Noreen was a strongly-built girl she was not the least flabby. Her sturdy legs were still trim at the thighs, her hips taut yet robust. Noreen's bottom-cheeks were quite full and also broad but without a pinch of surplus fat.
I soon saw what it was that held the voyeurs entranced. Where the glossy leather had been laid out, Noreen was polishing the floor with wax and cloth. She knelt, sitting on her heels, with her back to them. Head bowed, the lank dark hair and level fringe moving with the energy of her polishing, Noreen was a young tart whom any man would like to have harnessed bare-hipped between his shafts. She was aware of the men behind her. Once or twice she flicked back the length of hair and, with jaw set strongly, tried to dismiss them with a glance of contempt from her brown eyes. They remained unmoved. How lovingly they gazed upon the straight young back and trim breasts shaped by the singlet! As the girl sat upright on her heels, the jeans tightened smooth as drumskin over the spread of her broadened buttocks. The stout central seam of the seat was strained deep and tight into Noreen's rear crack, then under her legs. The young bitch offered a most suggestive view, Noreen's butt-halves being shaped as clearly as if she had been naked and appearing so lewdly separated.
To thread her way between the saddles and har--. ness, Noreen was obliged to back towards her admirers on hands and knees, polishing vigorously as she did so. As she lifted her hips from her heels and presented herself on all fours, the watching gentlemen uttered a gasp that was clearly audible to all around. The collar-length of lank dark hair fell around the girl's firm young face with its wide-spaced points to the cheek-bones. From the rear, the smooth jeans-seat was drawn taut over the statuesque mounds of Noreen's buttocks. With hips broadened she presented herself as a big-bottomed girl in this posture. The central seam of the jeans-seat which divided Noreen's butt-cheeks so deeply, also seemed to part the very lips of her cunt where it was drawn under her legs. The soft pussy-flesh was clearly visible as a tell-tale bulge in the tight denim.
The men positioned themselves to enjoy the fullest view of Noreen's strapping young bottom-cheeks and thighs as she backed towards them. There was one old fellow, with white hair and apple cheeks, whom I did not then recognise. Yet he was Mr. Joshua Snook of Snook's Hall, a libertine in his day but now rather, decayed. He had wealth, however, and was able to command certain pleasures from the girls of his village.
Mr. Snook entered the shop and stood just behind Noreen as she labored. Aware of his presence, the young wench stopped her work. She remained motionless on hands and knees, as if waiting for him to go away. But old Mr. Snook merely raised his foot and touched the toe of his boot between Noreen's buttocks, letting her feel it there. It seemed he knew the girl's name.
"I believe it is your backside that interests me most of all, Noreen," said he, "I must have you bending with your pants down. You'll reach back and part your buttocks with your hands so that I may have a good long look into your crack...."
Noreen's brown eyes slanted angrily at him, as she shook her fringe and flicked back the spilling hair. Two spots of fury glowed on the points of her wide cheek-bones. She sat back sharply on her heels and in doing so caught old Snook off his balance!
He went down heavily amid the harness and saddles, though without doing himself much injury. Noreen scrambled to her feet and began to defend herself. Happily, two of the shop porters held her and strapped her wrists behind her back. In full view of the other watching gentleman, the young tart had criminally assaulted a gentleman of property!
Old Snook and Mr. Bowler had long been cronies. Yet Mr. Bowler now swore that he had tolerated Noreen's insolence too long. She had been sentenced to several years detention by the magistrate (Master Miles). As an alternative to imprisonment, she was allowed to live under supervision by another magistrate (Mr. Bowler). From the age of sixteen until it pleased them to order her release, Noreen was the virtual slave-girl of the saddler.
The smiles among Mr. Bowler's employees showed that Noreen was in great trouble. Soon the strapping young wench would have cause to kick and scream, dance and fart. Noreen was merely told that she would be kept under lock and key for a few days, doomed to suffer retribution. However, I received the warmest invitation from Mr. Bowler. On Thursday following, Noreen was to be broken in, once for all. Would I care to attend the ceremony?
Curiosity, if it be a vice, is the strongest fault in me. I rode over first thing after breakfast to find the preparations under way. To see a strapping young trollop like Noreen broken in to obedience was a deeply exciting prospect, though I was a little apprehensive that something might be done to her which would cause a scandal. I need not have worried. Master Miles, Mr. Bowler and I were the three justices for the neighborhood. Much good might it do Noreen to complain to us! From now on, the young bitch was to be kept as safe in Mr. Bowlers establishment as any of the reformatory girls. Twenty-one-year-old Noreen might be as resentful and insolent as she chose. There would be no danger of the young tart telling tales of what was done to her or making trouble for us.
I arrived in Mr. Bowler's comfortable and sunlit parlor just before eleven to find that glasses of madeira and slices of spiced seed-cake had been set out on the sideboard for three of us. Mr. Bowler himself was one, I was the second, and old Joshua Snook the third. Master Miles was unable to attend. His attention was given that morning to Sally Fenton, a cheeky fair-haired imp of fourteen. The youngster's impudence and the masters sense of public duty required him to spend a few hours with his bambocnn his hand and Sally Fenton bare-bottomed oveif his study sofa. I
It was proper that old Mr. Snook should witness Noreen's ordeal for her assault upon him. Yet, having promised to conceal nothing of my adventures from you, I am obliged to warn you of the old gentleman and his ways.
Joshua Snook had been a prodigious libertine in his day, master of Snook's Hall and every girl in the parish. Now he had passed three-score-and-ten by a little margin. The stiffness and vigor of his lust was hardly more than memory. This great hunter of cunny and butt was reduced to mumbling at the prey he could not bite, as the poet has it. Yet his lips and fingers mumbled over two or three girls every week. He liked nothing better than to have a girl with her legs open for his attentions to her pussy-flesh. Or else, in the case of a broad-bottomed girl like Noreen, it was her backside which excited him most. He must have her buttocks held apart so that he might peer eagerly into Noreen's crack. Her anus charmed him like the Koh-i-Noor diamond.
Unable to employ the instrument with which nature had endowed him, old Mr. Snook liked to put girls to the test with squirts and probes, syringes and douches. Those who understood the reason for this found his crapulous tastes a matter of amusement rather than censure. Mr. Snook would take one or two girls into the tiled room with its table conveniently placed for them to lie over, stools to support them bending, kneeling or straddling. For an hour or two he would be happy as a child with new toys. To see them make love head-to-tail was his favorite excitement. Then, how his eyes would twinkle to see a hard-faced young blonde, such as Pat, release the warm golden flood between her legs. How he would smile as the effect of his syringing caused a certain rudeness to peep out between Sally Fenton's bottom-cheeks, bringing dismay and apprehension even to the face of such pretty impudence.
Mr. Bowler greeted us heartily, handing out wine and cake.
"You are not pressed for time, gentlemen? I trust not. A buxom young filly like Noreen must be thoroughly broken in. Presently she will be stripped and harnessed over the yoke-bar in the stable-yard so that she may be driven. Yet when such a rebellious young wench is to be brought to obedience, she must be under the whip for the entire day. And every day after until she learns her lesson."
"There will be time for inspecting her, though?" asked Mr. Snook anxiously, "There will be time for that?"
"More than enough, sir!" said Mr. Bowler proudly, and old Snook gave a little smile of satisfaction.
As we sipped our wine I had a view through the window across the terrace with its roses and ornamental urns. Just beyond lay the stables and I caught a glimpse of Noreen in the company of two grooms. She was dressed in the same light blue singlet land working-trousers as on the day of Her crime against Mr. Snook. Yet she had not learnt her lesson. The young tart was struggling and wrestling against the two grooms who led her to the yoke-bar in the yard. Noreen twisted her legs and lunged against them with her strong young hips, contesting every inch of the way! She bowed her shoulders against their hold and the lank dark hair flew this way and that as she twisted her head, trying to bite their hands as they gripped her. I should be a hypocrite to deny the excitement I felt at what I was about to see. Noreen with her firm young features, the fury slanting in her brown eyes, showed only hatred and defiance. Anger still glowed on the points of her cheek-bones. As she struggled against the grooms one could not but admire the thighs so robust yet trim, the young hips that were broad yet agile, the big-cheeked firmness of Noreen's bottom.
Most contests between a master and his girl-pupil are soon decided in favor of authority. A teacher with a cane would print obedience on the bare cheeks of Linda or Valerie's fourteen-year-old bottom in half-an-hour or less. Even a tomboy of fifteen like Michele would soon learn her lesson after a taste of whipcord across her bare buttocks. Noreen, however, was a strong young woman of twenty-one with a burning resentment. Her backside and legs were sturdy enough to take formidable discipline. She would defy and resist to the uttermost. She would be bare-legged and bare-bottomed, obliged to show what lay between her thighs and between her buttocks. Noreen's master would be pitiless in meeting her challenge. Can you wonder that my excitement grew at the prospect of such implacable fate as her continued struggled ensured her?
"They will be ready for us now," said Mr. Bowler presently, his voice betraying an excitement even greater than my own.
We walked out together across the terrace in the warm sunlight of the late morning. Under the archway we found our way into the stable-yard where the drama was to take place. At the centre of the paved yard was a short iron pillar, about three feet high, like a capstan for mooring ships. Threaded through it at the top and securely bolted down was a pair of yoke-bars. Each wooden bar was at least a foot thick. They branched closely out from the post projecting from the capstan like the hands of a clock. At their outer ends they were about three feet apart. The object was to have Noreen bending over the first one, which supported her belly, while her wrists and leather collar were strapped to the forward one. Thus she was held down by the harness, bending right over and presenting herself to be driven round and round as she turned the bar.
With the aid of two stable-boys, the grooms had bent the struggling rebel, though Noreen was still fully dressed. They had buckled the straps on the forward bar round her wrists. A leather collar was attached to this same bar by a short chain. Despite the twisting of Noreen's head they had slipped the collar round her neck and were buckling it at her nape. What a sight she presented! There was fury in the slant of her brown eyes and fair-skinned features under the level fringe of dark hair. Yet the grooms now had her bending tightly forward over the rear bar in a posture which brought a sparkle to old Mr. Snook's eyes. The seat of the denim looked tight enough to split as it moulded the statuesque mounds of Noreen's broadened buttocks. Once again, the stout seam of the seat was drawn tight and deep into Noreen's crack, between her sturdy young ass-cheeks. From there it was strained under her legs, parting the soft lips of her pubic flesh. As when she bent to her labors in the saddler's shop, Noreen's panties were shown in outline under the tight seat of the denim. The briefs of stretched cotton were the only kind that could be worn with working-jeans.
The grooms held her head, pinched her nostrils, and slipped a rubber "bit" between Noreen's teeth. This was an inch thickness of black rubber, wedged into place and held by laces which were tied at the back of her head. The object was to protect her teeth as she ground them in the frenzy, as well as to subdue her shrillness in the open air.
They undid the broad waist-belt which she used to hold her working-jeans in place. A stout harness strap was tightened round her bare skin, pinioning her firmly on the rear yoke-bar. Noreen could twist her hips and squirm her backside a little, she could even kick out at us, but that was the sum of her powers to resist. Yet, as she flicked back the collar-length of lank dark hair, the face she turned upon her master was suffused with furious resentment.
"Tell me," said old Mr. Snook to his host, "has the young tart been permitted certain leave of absence as yet? I hope not, for she will feel her predicament more acutely if she has been refused."
Mr. Bowler smiled.
"In tribute to you, sir, Noreen has been refused all such indulgence today. Rest assured, Noreen is well able to perform any such act which you may demand. If she fails to, it will be disobedience and not inability. We shall know how to cure that."
Old Mr. Snook met the defiance in Noreen's eyes with a grin of delight and expectation at these words. For all the resolute tilt of defiance in her young chin, the delinquents eyes showed their first uncertainty. The rising pressure between her legs and the unease of Noreen's bottom had served to remind her of the humiliation which could be exacted by Mr. Snook.
One of the grooms held her legs to prevent kicking. The other undid the jeans and pulled them off. Noreen's panties-the white cotton of stretched briefs-came as well. Mr. Snook darted forward and picked up these fallen panties. Among the consolations of old age, he was in the habit of collecting such items as his souvenirs d'antan. Noreen's panties would be his first acquisition from her. The old gentleman liked them best when they had the appearance of being well-worn. He boasted several pairs culled from Shirley Ross, Jacqueline Grant, and a dozen more delinquent young women of the reformatory. Jane Mitchener's schoolgirl panties lay in his drawer and so did several pairs of Sally Fen-ton's. What memories must have risen in his mind as he pored over them in his study at night.
Naked but for the pale blue singlet, which ended at her waist, Noreen presented herself to us over the yoke-bar. Though strongly built, she is pale-skinned. What smoothness in the young tart's firm thighs and bare hips! The cheeks of Noreen's bottom swelled full and broad as she awaited her discipline.
At a word from Mr. Bowler, the grooms strapped the girl's ankles together, so that Mr. Snook might fulfil his ambition. He went forward and sat on a little chair just behind the bending girl. Though she tensed and tried to squirm, his hands parted her full pale buttocks and he gazed, smiling, into the butt-valley of Noreen's crack. We heard her gasp and curse inarticulately through the rubber wedge in her mouth. He fiddled between Noreen's ass-cheeks for some time, chuckling as he did so.
"You fat-arsed young tart, Noreen! Did you think yourself too grand to show what nature has given you? Don't try to clench those cheeks together, miss! Now, your rear loophole, Noreen! Ah, does that make you quiver? I must spend a morning or two with you so that we can make such a tight little dimple perform a trick or two...."
So he went on. With her buttocks pulled hard apart, the young woman had no choice but to submit to his attentions. As his fingers began to pry at her anus, Noreen's butt retorted rudely which sent old Mr. Snook into a fit of laughter and delight. At last it was our host who drew him gently away from the object of his adoration, for old Snook would have played and grinned all day.
"We must go and inspect the stable-whips," he said quietly, "I should like to leave Noreen with the grooms and apprentices for ten minutes."
And so we did. Yet this was merely a pretext, Mr. Bowler having decided upon his whip before we entered the saddle-room. It was a handsome instrument with a bound-handle, yard-long switch of tapering leather. At its base, the switch was thick as a thumb. Yet it dwindled to a pencil-point tip and a trailing lash of six inches.
We returned after ten minutes and found Noreen still strapped bending, her bottom as yet unstriped by leather. However, I was able to fondle her a little before her ankles were unstrapped. The soft and brown-haired flesh between her legs was now wet with arousal from the grooms attention. Yet they did not dare to risk giving her a pumped-up belly for nine months. The signs of their withdrawal appeared in arcs and half-dried trickles of passion over the pale cheeks of Noreen's bottom and down the backs of her thighs.
Noreen twisted her bare legs and squirmed pro-testingly at our investigation of the state she was in. Yet as Mr. Snook pulled the girls ass-cheeks hard apart again, we saw the moist gleam of saddle-soap where it had been used to lubricate Noreen's butt-hole. The reason for this lubrication lay on the ground close by. It was a candle, about the thickness of a broom-handle and with a rounded tip where the wick appeared. The state of this tip, as well as one or two muddy blemishes further down was proof that Noreen had been made to have the full length of it up her behind.
Mr. Snook picked it up and held it for the girl to see, causing anger and confusion to mingle in Noreen's brown eyes. He stroked back the dark fall of hair from her face.
"Was it a tight fit, Noreen? Did you like the feel of a little butt-exercise for a change? I'm sure your master will make use of such a fine broad-bottomed candle-holder at his next banquet!"
These pleasantries ended. The grooms freed Noreen's athletic legs from the ankle strap, so that she could be driven round and round as she pushed the yoke-bar. For his part, Mr. Bowler touched the cold leather of the switch across the young woman's bare flank and smiled at the impudent resolve in her brown eyes and firm features.
"This is how rebellious fillies are broken in, Noreen. We harness them to the bar and drive them with the whip. Did you think your thrashing would be quickly over? Ah, no, Noreen! You must bear hour after hour of discipline before you are unfastened. Those big rear cheeks of yours may be skinned long before that, but the whip will still drive you. I shall make you smart appallingly from now until this evening-longer if necessary. Your bottom and even your legs shall feel the naked anguish of the whip for the rest of the day. If you still choose to defy me, you shall be brought back here tomorrow morning-and every morning until I am satisfied by your submission. I mean to break you in, Noreen, as my pony-girl. You shall have regular obedience-training. Swell those big ass-cheeks out towards us and drive the yoke-bar round its circle!"
There was a pause, during which one could just hear the light but audible excitement in the breathing of the onlookers. The girl flicked aside her fringe and her brown eyes met Mr. Bowlers with loathing and contempt. I did not then know the entire reason. It seems that while we were fetching the whip the grooms, on Mr. Bowlers order had "milked" Noreen. That is to say, one of them had slipped his fingers into the rear parting of her strong young thighs and manualised Noreen systematically to climax. This was done to make the twenty-one-year-old shopgirl "get it out of her system." In other words, they wished to prevent the danger of Noreen, in her frenzy, trying to masturbate by squeezing her thighs on her clitoris and vaginal lips in order to distract herself from such ferocity of the thrasing and the cuts, of the whip.
They had made Noreen come twice, finishing her quickly so that the punishement need not be delayed. Nor was it. Mr. Bowler now raised the thin black riding-switch and brought it flashing down across the pale cheeks of Noreen's bottom. The stones of the yard sang with the impact. Such naked anguish seemed to paralyse her a moment. Then a frantic cry burst through her rubber bit as her hips surged and twisted.
"Noreen, you young whore!" laughed Mr. Bowler, "Drive the bar round!"
Before she could even contain the smart, let alone obey him, he cracked the rippling switch across the lower softness of her pale buttocks. Noreen's bottom-flesh jumped and quivered as she emitted another shrill cry. I chided her with a smile as she writhed.
"Keep your back straight, Noreen! Your bottom facing your driver!"
Was it deliberate disobedience that prevented her from driving the yoke forward, or was she immobilised by the searching anguish? Noreen twisted her strong young legs together, tensing her rear cheeks desperately, her hind crack pressed to a thin tight line. Two long plum-colored weals embossed her butt-mounds. Mr. Bowler touched the cold leather lightly across her squirming ass-cheeks, letting Noreen feel him measure the next cut. He thrashed hard and in her torment she turned on her hip, offering her flank. Mr. Bowler gave her two purple weals on hip and thigh before the girl turned her backside to the lash once more. He gave her a savage stroke aslant her ass-cheeks and we heard capitulation in Noreen's cry. The young woman's surging bottom was in a fine state with several red imprints of the switch and one raised and darker welt across its centre.
Noreen's bare legs strained with a sudden effort. Her head went down and her bottom faced up a little more as she pushed with all her strength. The yoke-bar creaked and moved. At last Mr. Bowler had overcome her first resistance. With her head and shoulders down a she strove forward, Noreen presented us with little more than a big girl's bottom and a pair of strong, active legs.
Mr. Bowler measured the strokes now. The stones of the stable yard rang to a rhythmic whip! ... whip! ... whip! Often the leather switch caught her with such excruciating accuracy that the smart stopped her in mid-step. Yet the next smack of the whip drove her on. A wicked stroke lashed her across the already raised welt and raised a punctuation line of ruby droplets-and Noreen screamed for the first time.
Sometimes Mr. Bowler would let the girl complete a circle of the yard with a single stroke of the whip. Sometimes he gave her a whip-smack at every step. But not for a moment was Noreen safe from the threat of the whip. Small wonder if there was dismay in her eyes. Every nook and cranny of the yard showed her a stable-lad with his stiffness in his hand, pumping excitedly as he watched her ordeal. With a strapping young bottom like Noreen's over the bar, there was not a groom or a stable-boy who would have taken pity on her.
There was no hypocrisy about this punishment. Mr. Bowler and the rest of us assured Noreen that we greatly enjoyed doing it. That short lash at the whip's end curled round and raised plum colored streaks on the pale flank of her hip. Several times after a sizzling whip-smack across her bottom, Noreen retorted before she could check herself. This seemed to add to the excitement and amusement of her admirers-the stable-boys as much as Mr. Snook!
Mr. Bowler mopped his brow, breathless from his untiring devotion to the young woman's moral improvement. He went into the stable to pour himself a glass of lemon barley and perhaps to make Tracey ease his stiffness a little.
While he was gone, a stable-lad ran out from his concealment, the front of his pants bulging as if a size too tight for him. In his hand the little devil had a brown pod of pica-pica, the cowitch plant. As country people know, its sharp little hairs embed themselves easily in the flesh and set up a virulent itching which drives the victim quite mad with its torment for an hour or two. No wonder, then, that the boy wore gloves. Noreen tensed her thighs against him but the cunning young spark got his hand between. He gave the warm folds of the young woman's cunt a long and vigorous rub with the pica-pica before he ran off again. Though Noreen had been made to come before the whip was used to break her in, the tantalising itch between her legs now drove her frantic.
Mr. Bowler returned to find Noreen butt-upwards over the bar, squeezing and rubbing her thighs desperately on the teasing itch which made her cunt prickle and crawl with nervous torment. Her firm young legs were thrust out at a slope behind her, her ankles twined and knees jammed hard together. Gasping, she tried to rub her love-lips between her thighs. The pale and sturdy mounds of Noreen's buttocks contracted together in a quick and urgent rhythm.
Mr. Bowler smiled at her, delighted to see that Noreen had been made to masturbate in front of us.
"Bring yourself off quickly, Noreen! And get those strapping young butt-cheeks over the bar so that we can whip you properly while you do it! We'll add half an hour to your discipline!"
He lashed her seat and the backs of her thighs as she lay squirming in helpless excitement and smarting desperation. The quivering leather smacked down in ear-splitting strokes on her bare flesh. It flashed across Noreen's bottom ... the backs of her thighs ... thighs ... bottom ... bottom ... bottom ... thighs ... thighs ... the backs of her knees ... bottom ... the backs of her knees again ... a line of ruby dots welled across Noreen's bottom-cheeks ... her thighs again ... another cut across her bottom and Noreen yelled wildly as she squeezed herself ... the backs of her thighs . . .her thighs again ... low across Noreen's bottom, drawing a tiny trickle of red ... her thighs ... a sizzling whip-smack across the full-cheeked swell of Noreen's bottom ... Noreen farted as the sturdy cheeks of her young bottom surged and writhed ... another ringing smack of the leather switch across the strapping young cheeks of Noreen's bottom ... again unable to contain the savage smart, Noreen farted and squirmed butt-upwards over the bar. . .
Mr. Bowler did no more than his duty. With the broad bare cheeks of Noreen's bottom presented over the bar and a whip in his own hand, any magistrate would have been pitiless with her. Noreen came presently with a gasping and shivering, to the delight of Mr. Bowler who wanted her to "get it out of her system," so that proper discipline could resume. Mr. Snook was almost jumping up and down with excitement for the rudeness we had heard from Noreen assured him that she was in an urgent plight. Mr. Bowler striped her with the whip twice more. As he touched the switch across her buttocks, taking aim, Noreen's bottom paid its rudest tribute to the slim polished leather and Mr. Snook quivered in a senile spasm. Mr. Bowler smiled.
"I'm going to hand you over to two young stable-lads with whipcord for an hour, Noreen. They were scolded yesterday for excessive whipping of a four-legged filly. I'll leave you alone with them!"
The two young drivers had all the lust of youth and pent-up desire. Each used a doubled length of whipcord, thrashing Noreen eagerly as they drove her round. They drew her hair back into a collar-length pony-tail to watch her face more easily. In her fury, Noreen tried to kick out at these two young masters. They rewarded her well, dodging the assault nimbly and thrashing Noreen's legs with their whipcord while she danced and twisted under the strokes. The imprints of the cord showed from the backs of her thighs, just under her bottom-swell, down to her knees and calves.
How those gentlemen who had so admired the full-cheeked view of Noreen's bottom in working-trousers would have liked to see her now! The insolence they had suffered from the broad-hipped young wench would have ensured they took no pity on her in such a predicament. Our two stable-lads followed behind her as she strove to push the yoke-bar. Whip-cracks echoed across the yard as they slowly embroidered Noreen's bottom-cheeks with the flashing energy of their whips. Noreen shrieked into her gag, yet whether it was anguish or abuse I could not tell. The collar-length pony-tail of dark hair flew this way and that as she twisted her head, bucking and writhing over the bar. A score of red droplets rose from the cord-pattern, where the whips had cut her backside, and trickled down her full rear cheeks.
Presently the lads paused, whispering and grinning together. They went forward and adjusted the front bar of the yoke, to which her wrist-cuffs and collar were attached, so that her head and shoulders were pulled lower and she bent more tightly still over the rear bar. As they drew her shoulders down, her buttocks began to swell and broaden still more. This extreme posture made Noreen thrust her hips and buttocks back harder, as well as bending her knees forward a little. For all her defiance, they made her show a complete rear view by bending her in this manner. Her big taut buttocks were pulled hard apart, the crack between them lay open, as if Noreen was offering it seductively to the lads.
Noreen's crack was now at the disposal of her two implacable young disciplinarians. At its centre, her tight and dark rear dimple offered a suggestive bulls-eye. As their sturdy young pony-girl strained forward again, the lads set up a slow but regular rhythm of whip-smacks. The wicked cord of the lash often curled and clung to the statuesque curves of Noreen's buttocks. Yet sometimes it was aimed with more severe intent. With lightning speed, the whipcord flashed between Noreen's bottom-cheeks in the most intimate of punishments.
There was another pause. The two young sparks decided they must train their filly over the hurdles. This was done by stretching several lengths of rope, about two feet above the ground. The ropes ran from the capstan of the yoke-bar and were tied fast to the walls of the stable-yard where tethering hooks had been set. As Noreen went forward, harnessed bending over the bar, she was obliged to overcome the obstacles of the ropes stretched across her path. They came just at the level of mid-thigh.
To "jump the hurdles" Noreen must cock one leg high and wide, buttocks parted and thighs open a she straddled. Then she must open herself again to draw the other leg after. One did not need the wisdom of Merlin to see what the boys aimed at!
At this moment, Mr. Bowler himself chose to lend support to his stable-boys. He handed each of them one of the tapering leather switches with its twelve-inch tail of lash. Noreen came to the first rope "hurdle" which touched her across the front of her thighs. She flicked back the short tail of her hair and the brown eyes under level fringe looked in dismay at Mr. Bowler. As a criminal under discipline, Noreen knew what would happen if she opened her legs wide and offered her buttocks spread!
"Obey your drivers, Noreen!" said Mr. Bowler with a smile, "Will you refuse the jump? Truly so? Very well. Some men might take pity on the state of your bottom. Here it will only inspire severity!"
The lads began to thrash the twenty-one-year-old shopgirl with the rippling leather of their switches. Noreen's bottom-cheeks, broadened and fattened by her posture, jumped like smacked jelly under the strokes. Jamming one knee into the back of the other to contain the smart, her toes curled with the intensity of the torment. Though the rubber "bit" between her teeth muffled her fury, she shrieked at her young drivers. Legs twisting and hips squirming, Noreen writhed under the whips but still refused the "hurdle." Even now, her resentment was stronger than her pain!
One of the lads, always slipping off to smoke cigarettes with Sally Fenton on the sly, took a gasper and lit it. Then he fitted it into a long slim fruit cane, like a giant's slender blow-pipe. Noreen was unable to see quite what he was doing. The lad grinned at us. Standing out of range of the young woman's legs, he reached forward. He touched the hot firefly glow between the young tart's broad and well-spread buttocks. Every sinew, from those of the stable-boys to that of old Mr. Snook stiffened still harder at this. The elderly admirer of the young woman's behind was delighted to see Noreen's crack caressed by glowing thrills. Those pale, most intimate inward slopes of her hind cheeks were touched up with a tickle here and then another there. Noreen shrieked and cocked her bare leg over the first rope, thighs and buttocks parted wide. A dozen times as she took the "jumps," the whip smacked between her open legs. A dozen times more, the flashing leather smartened the crack between Noreen's ass-cheeks.
By now the two lads had to unbutton their trousers to give their stiffness more room. They made Noreen take all the rope "hurdles" twice more. In the frenzy of her ordeal, the sturdy young trollop bit right through the inch of india-rubber fixed between her teeth. At last Noreen lay butt-upwards over the bar, knees buckling, the singlet hem pulled well up above her bare pale hips.
Though there was a pause, Noreen was not yet broken in, to Mr. Bowler's entire satisfaction. The smelling-bottle to her nostrils revived her drooping spirits. A lad tore paper from a roll, soaped it, and mopped over her wet thighs and the few muddy blemishes with which Noreen's bottom was still smudged. Having finished, he made a wad of the soaped tissue and disposed of it by poking it in Noreen's rear until it vanished from sight.
To make the smart of the whip blaze anew, they took the jar of salted fat and spread the contents over her whipped buttocks and thighs, till she gasped and squirmed. The mounds of Noreen's buttocks shone bright crimson and sleak with the grease. Mr. Bowler invited Mr. Snook and I to take tea in the stable-room while he recouped his strength.
"I'll come back in half an hour and deal with you myself for the rest of the afternoon, Noreen," he said to the squirming culprit, "I'm not at all satisfied with you yet!"
From the window I could just see Noreen with the two stable-boys who had given her the whip. They whispered a command in her ear and showed her the glowing gasper, which made Noreen clench her shining, blazing buttocks in fright.
The first boy held her head, adjusting his penis-knob to her mouth. Noreen's lips closed over the stiffness of his prick, her tongue working on the boy who had whipped her so soundly. The second lad walked round behind the bending shopgirl. He took her first between the legs and then stretched Noreen's anus on his lusty young tool. With his hardened penis up her bottom, even the coarse hair round his tool made Noreen wince as it touched her raw and salted ass-cheeks.
The young devils spared her nothing. In a moment they changed places. Noreen's butt was amazingly stretched on the tool she had sucked. To her lips, the second boy presented a gorged erection which bore certain lamentable proofs of its recent probing in Noreen's backside. Can one wonder that she pressed her lips tight and turned her head away? Yet they showed her the gasper whose tip sparkled and glowed. The lad slowly menaced Noreen's bottom with it once, between the cheeks. With a frantic cry at the ardent touch, the young rebel opened her mouth and sucked the penis presented to her lips, licking from it the tell-tale traces with which she had unwittingly blemished it.
The lad who stood behind her rode her young cunt with the energy of a demon. Yet he was wise enough to withdraw before pumping up her belly. His hammerhead stretched open Noreen's anus. He enjoyed the exquisite tightness for ten more minutes.
"Now the sperm in your backside!" he gasped, "Bend right over, Noreen, you young scrubber! Take it deep in your ass."
At the same time the other lad pumped his sperm over her tongue and held her head close, so that Noreen was obliged to swallow all the warm gruel which spurted from his young penis. Neither of the stable-boys released her after this. The tightness of Noreen's arsehole stiffened the boy behind her again and the thought of making her swallow a second helping revived the lad whom she sucked. So one of them gave her another squirting of thick and urgent passion, right up Noreen's bottom, while the other flooded her tongue and her throat for a second time. They withdrew at last and left her for Mr. Bowler's attentions.
The fact that the strapping young cheeks of Noreen's bottom had been so finely skinned did not soften her master. He drove this sturdy wench round and round upon the yoke-bar with singing smacks of the leather whip across her backside. It was dusk when the grooms undid her straps. Noreen's thrashed legs trembled and she sank to the tiles of the stable-yard at her master's feet.
Next morning he summoned her and demanded obedience to the most extreme commands. Thrashing had not cured Noreen of her anger and resentment, for one does not change character so easily. Yet she dared not invited a second "breaking in" over the yoke-bar. So, swallowing her fury and sullenness, she performed every act commanded of her.
A few weeks later, Noreen was put under the personal supervision of old Mr. Snook himself at Snook's Hall, the fine manor house of a village some twenty miles distant. I was to be his guest there many times and well recall my first visit.
I half expected to hear gossip among the locals, whispers of old Joshua Snook as a libertine and senile debauchee. Instead, I heard only the singing of his praises. He was the backbone of Old England, enemy to radicals and revolutionists, the defender of the Crown and the law against red socialism and anarchy. His preoccupation with enforcing cleanliness and discipline upon little sluts like Sally Fenton or Jane Mitchener, as well as big girls of Noreen's kind, was warmly approved. The villagers regarded it as nothing short of a scandal that he had not been rewarded with a peerage or, at least, a baronetcy.
So each morning, during her stay, Noreen was brought by his servants to the white-tiled room. Tense and yet not daring to resist, she removed her denim skirt or working-jeans. Noreen's panties came down and, clad only in her short cotton singlet, she was made to lie face down over the rubber cushions on the marble table. For safety's sake, her wrists were strapped to the comers at one end, her ankles pinioned together at the other.
For an hour or more, Mr. Snook would busy himself, alone with the girl. There was much patting and parting of those sturdy young buttocks, so full and pale. Pressing them apart, the old gentleman made his amorous inspection of Noreen's crack. His lips printed kisses on Noreen's bare bottom-cheeks and thighs. He obliged her to perform most rudely and lewdly as she lay over that table. All this his villagers and tenants knew.
Do you suppose they reviled him for it? How innocent you are! They swore that Noreen was a young trollop, a whore, a slut, a fat-arsed bitch who amply deserved the cruellest punishment that the magistrates could devise. And they swore that Mr. Snook was a fine gentleman of the old school who would let nothing stand in the way of treating her as she deserved.
You may imagine that I thought much of this as I drove back to Coombe where Laura, Ruth, and Sian awaited my attentions!
CHAPTER FIVE
My life at Coombe with Laura and Ruth-Reflections on the neighborhood-The danger of a village lad's lust swelling Laura's belly-resolve to cure Laura and Ruth of wanting boy-friends-How my two girls sought love in each others arms-Laura and Ruth head-to-tail-Mouths between each other's legs-I reprimand them gently for their excesses-Bare-bottomed smacking for Laura and Ruth followed by the consolations of the penis-Our love-triangle
You will understand that what I saw in Mr. Bowlers stable-yard revealed to me a world I had scarcely guessed at. Under English law a young scrubber like Noreen may easily be got into trouble by the magistrates and be sentenced to a period of detention. Yet they may, at their discretion, permit her to be employed in an approved establishment rather than a prison-though she is imprisoned there. It is the case in cities with the so-called Industrial Schools. In rural areas, one magistrate may put her to work for another, which might cause murmurs in the city but not in the countryside where there is such a close understanding between the gentry of the bench! Best of all, the magistrates may at any time "re-impose" her sentence which has the effect of doubling the length of time she is in the power of her master.
I confess that I much preferred my own situation with Laura and Ruth-as well as my sluttish Welsh maid, young Sian of the red hair. Yet a strapping young whore like Noreen has her attractions for a man. Perhaps it is only the challenge she presents and the need to whip her into obedience. I had much enjoyed seeing her broken-in. Though shocked at first by Noreen's screams under the whip, I had soon found them invigorating.
My own time was spent among the fine classical apartments of Coombe, as well as on the open terraces with their lawns and fountains. Did I have any unease about my two charming girls? Only that they would perhaps yield to some furtive randiness and get their bellies pumped up by a village yokel or one of the grooms.
Mr. Bowler had trained Noreen with his whip and so cured her of wanting boy-friends. I resolved to seek other ways. Laura was so pretty and Ruth so solemnly appealing that I was sure they would attract followers, even suitors for their hands in marriage. Far better that I should encourage them to seek love with one another and, at the appropriate moment, lend my own manhood to procure them relief!
It was so easy to spy on them that I was reluctantly obliged to conclude my cousin John Fortescue had been a consummate voyeur. My second bedroom adjoined theirs and I discovered a square mirror which was no less than a concealed window-two feet square-giving a clear view of all that happened on their beds. Another such window was built in the wall of their bathroom and one in the toilet. This last curiosity was explained when I found a little chair and an empty snuff-tin. The snuff was the very brand preferred by Mr. Snook who had apparently spent happy hours watching Laura and Ruth at their daily rituals. I did not begrudge the lewd old fellow such enjoyments as remained to him but I could not bring myself to spy upon the two girls there.
The bedroom was another matter. It was always Laura with the high-boned prettiness of her face and the page-boy sweep of auburn hair who undressed first at night. She never put on a nightgown but allowed the lithe grace of her young body to be naked. Young Ruth with her softer plumper curves and crop of fair curls was always more bashful and blushed just the slightest. As I watched them undress I ceased fondling the belly fleece and the firm sluttish cheeks of Sian's bottom and made her kneel before me. To make her suck while I watched the charming pair on the bed seemed to me an admirable way to pass a few hours of night.
Ruth was attired in jodhpur riding-trousers whose caramel colored cotton was smooth and taut over her innocent young thighs and soft bottom-cheeks. She undid the black waist-belt, pulled down her pants and drew her black singlet off over her head. Yet even now there was a reserve of modesty which made Ruth keep her panties on and also her white breast-halter.
Not wishing to frighten the younger girl, Laura came over to her and gently kissed Ruth on the lips, stroking the halo of fair curls with one hand. Seventeen-year-old Laura then took Ruth by the hand and led her tenderly towards the bed with all the care that might be shown to a virgin bride on her honeymoon night.
They lay down together, arms twined about one another, Laura's slimmer beauty quite naked, Ruth still in her breast-halter and briefs. Ruth responded to the kisses with which Laura teased and tickled her lips, yet she lay with her arms beside her as if prepared only to receive but not to give such caresses.
Pretty Laura shook back her auburn hair. Taking Ruth's hand she drew it over her own body, touching nipples, fondling the apple-firm cheeks of Lauras butt, caressing her legs, and finally being drawn between her slim thighs. While she kissed the sixteen-year-old girl, Laura used Ruth's fingers to masturbate herself on. I watched with great interest to see the outcome, wondering if Ruth with her soft and solemn beauty would revolt at the first feeling of love-juice on her hand. But Ruth's better nature prevailed. She could hear from Laura's sighs and loving murmurs how badly the slim and pretty girl needed this relief. Delightful child that she is, Ruth could not bear to cause her friend distress.
So, when Laura drew her own hand away, Ruth continued to masturbate her, still a little inexperienced but quickly learning the art by feeling Laura's tremors of excitement and hearing the other girl's moans of desires.
"Let me take your panties off and do it to you as well, Ruth," whispered Laura, "I promise you'll like it very much."
But still Ruth demurred with a nervous shake of her short crop of clustering curls. Laura knew better than to startle her prey by stripping Ruth against her will. Instead she began to fondle the soft full cheeks of Ruth's young bottom through the tight cotton web of her panties. Ruth accepted this soothing yet amorous caress. Slowly, Laura stroked the slight declivity in the seat of the tight cotton, where the two globes curved in to meet, her fingers lightly following the line of Ruth's crack. A moment more and, as I could see from the shivers and shudders of nervous excitement in Ruth's body, she had touched the rear of the soft pussy-flesh through the cotton web.
A stillness now seized the younger girl, her soft hips and thighs tense as she waited to see what it would be like. Laura could feel the soft swell of cunt-flesh in the elasticated cotton of Ruth's panties. She held it so gently in her hand for a while as if comforting a frightened bird. Very slowly, Lauras fingers began to move, playing lightly on the tight cotton gusset. Ruth let out a gasp of breath long held in. Her arms went round Laura and she clung tightly to her like a drowning child being rescued.
Laura, murmuring reassurance in her friend's ear, began to masturbate Ruth in her panties. Ruth sought Lauras mouth with her own, taking and receiving tongue, moaning and whimpering with love for the other girl.
Having a rear view of Ruth, I could see her soft butt-cheeks tightening and slackening rhythmically with the pleasure. She was also beginning to come a little-her lubrication had made her panties quite wet between the legs. That being so, she would be far more comfortable with them off. Laura eased them down and drew them off over Ruth's ankles. This time, Ruth made not the least protest. Indeed, she lifted her hips and then drew her feet clear of the briefs, one by one, to aid Ruth in undressing her. All this time she continued clinging to Laura and giving tongue until the tastes of each girl's mouth ran in the other's.
Laura is such a polite and smiling youngster that you would scarcely credit what a wicked little minx she can be in her pleasures. Yet the little bitch Laura was now in heat and nothing would restrain her. Playing between Ruth's legs, feeling the wet pussyfleece and the hot flesh bare under her fingers, Laura turned turtle, so that she lay head-to-tail with Ruth, each girl's face level with the lower belly of the other. Embracing Ruth's hips, Laura now began to lick and tongue-tickle the itching little clitoris, then to work her tongue between the vaginal lips. Ruth gave a frightened little scream at the intensity of the thrill but Laura held her firm. The long page-boy cut of her auburn hair spilt over Ruth's bare thighs and belly as she sucked her. At the same time, Laura's fingers took the soft plump cheeks of Ruth's bottom and pulled them apart. Ruth's fat little bottom has charms all its own and these were now put to the test. While Laura's tongue drove her wild between the legs, the older girl's fingers roused the sensitivity of Ruth's arsehole!
Imagine Ruth in this state, presented with Laura's slimmer hips and delectable thighs. She was still timid, to be sure. At first she could do no more than brush her lips over Laura's bare legs and flat young belly in grateful but uncertain kisses. At last, plucking up all her courage, Ruth gave a quick pouting kiss to Laura's clitoris. Laura shuddered and sobbed with gratitude. Ruth found that clitoris taste was not so repugnant as she had been made to believe. She kissed again, and then again, until it seemed that she found enjoyment for herself in what she was doing to Laura.
Each girl had in her nostrils the faint mineral odor of the other's arousal. Yet nature has decreed that what might be deplored if it filled the air at a polite dinner-table may be greatly exciting when both women are sexually roused. How else should a woman tolerate the scent of her own arousal with a man? So it was that Ruth became more adventurous and more demanding. They were equal partners now and there was nothing which either would hesitate to do to the other in the cause of sexual enjoyment.
A little while longer and they drew their legs up so that they presented their spread thighs and butt cheeks to each others mouths in an upward squat. They sucked cunt for quite half an hour, pausing only to delay the crisis of joy and make their arousal last as long as possible. In these intervals there was leg-licking and bottom-kissing. At first Ruth turned her crop of fair curls, her brown eyes and solemn young face a study in dismay at what Laura was doing to her. Laura had not only kissed the plump little cheeks of Ruth's backside but had pouted her lips between and kissed the forbidden anus itself. Yet even in this Ruth soon proved her equal and the hint of Lauras bottom was on her lips themselves.
I will not deny the effect of such delightful wrig-glings and sighings upon me. Sian was required, to kneel, to take my stiffness in her mouth and play her tongue upon it as I watched Laura and Ruth. Yet Sian is a common and sluttish girl with her fair sullen face, a type one might see many a window display to a passing stranger. Laura and Ruth offered something beyond that!
Such being the case, I resolved upon my plan. As the two charming doves billed and cooed upon the bed, I went quietly out and found the door of the room. As Master of Coombe I have a key for every lock. Sian, by the way, is a girl who masturbates every night in bed so it was quite safe to leave her to her own devices.
Opening the door softly, I entered without startling either of my little pigeons. They were so absorbed with each other as they began to suck again, filling the air with plaintive sighs and whimpers, that a bombardment of artillery would scarcely have disturbed them. In any case, I imagine they thought themselves quite safe from discovery behind their locked door. I was able to stand and watch them for a full minute before they realized that anything was amiss.
Each girl was getting close to the point of coming and that might easily spoil the game. I walked across the silent carpet and gave each a well-nigh simultaneous smack on the bottom.
"Stop that at once, you wicked girls!"
Oh, what a hypocrite I was, for I had no wish that they should stop such a charming display! However, what do you suppose they did? At first their bodies went rigid with dismay at having been caught in their secret vice. Yet Laura was almost too far gone to stop. Though I held her by the wrists, the pretty girl began to squeeze and writhe her bare thighs on her clitoris, as if frantic to bring herself off before she must answer for her crime.
"I shall deal with such conduct at once," I said, trying not to let the stiffness of my erection show through my trousers. "Is this how you treat my cousin Fortescue's charity towards you?"
"But it was Mr. Fortescue...." Ruth began, looking so sorry for herself.
"That will do, Ruth!" I said severely. You see, I had a very good idea now of exactly what it was that young Fortescue had been up to with his girls.
I refused to allow them to dress yet, even warning Ruth not to pull her panties up.
"I must first satisfy myself as to the lewd and immoral consequences of your act."
There was a most convenient easy-chair with a long seat. By reclining well back in it I was able to put both girls face-down over my knees, side by side. Ruth's solemn innocence and Laura's high-boned prettiness looked round at me as their heads drooped towards the floor on one side. Over my knees I confronted two arses, Ruth's fat little bottom and Lauras slimmer cheeks. Their bare legs and thighs stretched out to the other side, Laura's slender and graceful, Ruth's pale and fuller.
I made my inspection, my fingers first examining Laura between her thighs.
"I think you must have been masturbating for at least an hour, Laura. Why, how wet you are! Have you come yet? No? That is just as well. Slim and pretty girls are often the most immoral. We must see to it that your wickedness does not get you into trouble with a boy-friend. Perhaps if we make you bring yourself off every morning it will cool your blood for the rest of the day. Now I must part your bottom-cheeks, Laura. Ah, as I suspected! You like having your arsehole tickled, don't you, Laura? Well, at least you can do as you please with your bottom and not risk a swollen belly. ... And now Ruth. Such a solemn young face and yet I can feel that you like to masturbate just as much as Laura does. Come now, Ruth, no bashfulness about it! I stroke you a little with my fingers and you quiver already! Now I must inspect you between those fat little bottom-cheeks, Ruth. I think you've been doing something to yourself there as well...."
I informed them that I would spank each of them as they lay over my knees and then put them to bed. In their present state of arousal I was well aware that the smacking of my hand on their bare bottoms was likely to heat their desire rather than cool it. This suited my purposes to perfection.
I fondled Ruth's plump young buttocks for a moment and then-gave a hard and ringing smack upon them. I swear that this stung my hand as much as it did Ruth's backside. Yet the feel of her cool soft ass against my hand was so exciting that the girls must have felt my prick stir as they lay over my lap.
I spanked Ruth for ten minutes until her ass-cheeks were blushing deeply and writhing like a belly-dancer's. She cried out a good deal for I did sting her, I know. Yet it was the kind of sting which, as the Bard has it, resembles the lover's pinch, "which hurts and is desired."
Laura's turn came next. Being such a pretty girl you may be sure that she was spanked even harder. To be sure Laura gasped and squirmed her bottom. To prevent struggles I had made her lie with her hands folded under her and this occasioned a curious phenomena. While I was smacking Lauras bottom and enjoying the feel of its slim graceful cheeks under my hand, I became aware that her fingers were moving. At first I thought she might be trying to free her hands in order to struggle. I was soon proved wrong. The little bitch, the auburn-haired beauty, was plucking open my trouser buttons, drawing out my penis, and pumping it in her delicate hand to excite me while I spanked her! I swear that Ruth would have been incapable of such a thing.
The spanking stopped and Laura revealed to Ruth the sight of my manhood, stiff as pikestaff and with its red knob well swollen.
"Please," murmured Laura, writhing over my legs, "Punish us as Mr. Fortescue used to."
What could I do but agree? The word "punishment," you see, gave all the moral authority needed for what followed. They led me to the bed, where Laura knelt charmingly and drew off my pants. I stretched out upon it. Ruth lay across the bed so that her body was at right angles to me and I felt her crop of curls pillowed on my thighs as she gazed from a few inches at my prick and the weight of my balls. Her fingers began to play and, as I stiffened, I felt the delicious warm moistness of Ruth's mouth enclose my erection.
What of Laura? She arranged herself, lying higher up the bed than I. While Ruth sucked me, I was offered Laura's young belly and the opening of her thighs. Embracing her round the hips, I saluted her with warm passion, my lips browsing on such sleek and cool flesh. From time to time there was a change as she turned over and offered her rear to me. Then my lips brushed the slim bare cheeks of Laura's bottom. I fear she even felt the lingering sensation of my kisses between them.
How was this to end? It was Laura who sat astride my loins and took the upright penis deep between her legs. She rode like a beautiful "horse-breaker" in the saddle, throwing the page-boy cut of her auburn hair this way and that in her ecstasy. In order that Ruth should not be left out of the fun, she lay on her back, knees pulled up and the spread of thighs and backside offered to my kisses. So it was that while Laura's cunt rode exquisitely on my stiffness, I brought Ruth to her climax by pouting lips and darting tongue. What was best of all, our three crises came at almost the same moment-an achievement which stiffened me again rapidly and enabled me to give pretty Laura a second rogering almost at once. This time she lay with her back to me. I made use of her between her legs, then stretched Laura's arsehole and spent in her bottom, while she kissed and sucked Ruth to a second orgasm.
Such then had been John Fortescue's punishments! Small wonder if he effected little moral improvement in the case of his two riding-pupils! Yet I could not help reflecting on the contrast between life at Coombe and the different aspect of affairs on Mr. Bowler's estate. Do not mistake me. I had relished seeing Noreen broken in and my prick had been embarrassingly stiff throughout. Yet at Coombe the girls enjoyed themselves freely and eagerly. There was no talk of insolence and the need to break them in. In consequence, I received pleasures from Laura and Ruth which they gave freely and with a zest which Mr. Bowler would never expect from his shopgirls.
I am no prude and do not set myself up to judge such men as he nor Master Miles. Yet, believe me, I envy them nothing. To bugger Noreen, if I may take an extreme example, was always to make it an ordeal for her and to enforce her humiliation. She is a trollop and I daresay deserves it. Yet I had performed the same act with Laura amid mutual desire and passion, causing us both extreme pleasure. She was not humbled by it but gently and gratefully affectionate. So it was to be with Ruth when I enjoyed her young backside in a little while.
I mention this because I must now record an incident involving Mr. Bowler and his two girls Pat and Ange. They too had been driven to mutual affection. Yet what happened to them, as compared with the fate of Laura and Ruth, will show you clearly the different manner of doing things on the two estates. I do not apologise for chronicling the ordeals of Pat and Ange-or of Noreen either. We have a duty to speak of men and women as they are and not only as they ought to be.
CHAPTER SIX
The universal problem of Lesbian passion where many girls are slaves of one man-My plan for Laura, Ruth, and Sian-I witness a Lesbian scandal at Mr. Bowler's-Pat and Ange caught in the washroom-Hands in each other's panties-Patricia and Angela brought before the dinner guests-The table cleared and the two amorous strumpets made to lie upon it-Naked passion for the diversion of the guests-Writhings and sighings-Fingers between each girl's legs and a tool for each backside-Smacked bottoms for Pat and Ange-A sequel to the breaking-in of Noreen-Obedience demanded of her as a dinner waitress-Dildo-rides and butt exercise-Noreen's discipline-training and obedience tests-Pat and Ange provided for my night's enjoyment!
It will always be the case that where several girls supply the pleasures of one man they will begin to sigh and "sock" with frustration. After a while they will turn to each other, finding in their Lesbian masturbation a comfort too rarely provided by their master. A man may deplore this or accept it. In the case of Laura and Ruth (soon joined by Jacquie), as well as Sian, I accepted it with delight. What better than to have girls who kept themselves roused and therefore ready to serve me? It is, I believe, a curiosity of human conduct that a man will rage at his wife's copulation with another man and yet be excited at the thought of seeing her make love with another woman.
I mention this as an illustration of my first doubts about Mr. Bowlers predilections. I did not for a moment suspect the severity of his moral resolve or the fine example he set to the neighborhood by assisting to flog or hang all who came before the judgment seat. I merely happened to be visiting him when a scandal was revealed between Pat and Ange-and I could not help reflecting on the difference in our two attitudes to such things.
It was the old story. Pat and Ange are a pair of buxom young wenches of a vulgar kind. Neither is a beauty and yet both have a suggestive randiness about them. A man would not keep them long but some lusty fun might be had with them for a while. As we were at dinner, Mr. Bowlers servant entered. Pat and Ange had been spied upon. They were locked into the washroom, standing in a close embrace, each with a hand thrust down under the others belt and into her panties. Mr. Bowler glowed with rage. For myself I would not have left a single spoonful of Windsor soup to interfere. Pat and Ange might work each other to delirium and, as their master, I would not prevent it. I might request that they share my embraces-but would not restrain them further.
Mr. Bowler saw matters differently. He got up from the table, begging pardon from myself, Master Miles, and Mr. Snook who were his guests. In company with the servant, he went to the spy-hole through which the horrid crime might be viewed. Leaning against the inner wall in their breathless embrace were Pat and Ange. Pat with the randy slant of her dark hazel eyes, her hard young face, and the short, moulded cut of blonde hair, was clearly the instigator. Yet it had taken little to overcome the resistance of Ange with her soft face, blue eyes and the boyish razor-cut of her dark hair.
By this time the two neglected girls had their pants round their knees, each embracing the other with one arm and worked her energetically with the other hand. Mr. Bowler entered through another door in the wall of the tiled space, catching them in their misdeed. The two startled girls of twenty and nineteen had hardly time to stop rubbing and squeezing each others vaginal flesh, let alone pull their pants up.
Mr. Bowler ordered the dining table to be cleared, dinner now being over, and the two girls to be brought before us as we took coffee and brandy there and puffed upon our cigars. So the court of moral justice was convened in order to consider the penalty the two young tarts had earned.
So the two delinquents-Pat twenty years old and Ange nineteen-were brought into the room where we sat round the large polished table. Both young trollops had an abashed or self-conscious air, having been caught in the middle of their mutual stimulation. Yet such modesty now seemed laughable in such a pair of sluts.
Mr. Bowler suggested at once that we, as the bench of magistrates, should quickly sentence them to have their bare bottoms cut to ribbons by a riding-whip while we watched. I confess it is a fault in me, but my morality is not strict enough to impose such exciting punishments on girls for things which I secretly wish them to do. I argued for clemency, while plump young Ange quivered and hard-faced Pat looked at me with a knowing and randy glance. It was agreed in the end that each girl must have a mere spanking from the magistrates in person but that, to teach them a lesson, they must perform their private lesson publicly on the table in front of us.
It was my first experience of summary justice as administered in the English countryside and I foresaw all sorts of enjoyments in store. Mr. Bowler was very adept at shaming girls into virtue by this public display of secret vices. He had made Noreen and Pat have sex on the table in front of him and had forced Noreen and Ange to make love in this way several times. Yet for Pat and Ange to have sex together without his consent was nothing short of a "crime."
He made Ange strip off her pants and stand in her singlet. With her soft chin and the razor-cut crop her face assumed an air of panic. Yet she obeyed, showing the soft plumpness of her white bottom-cheeks and thighs which had lured so many gentlemen to stare at the saddlers emporium. Pat watched the undressing and I saw a slyly excited slant of her dark hazel eyes as she observed Ange unveil a shimmering pallor of belly flesh and pubic bush.
"On the table, Ange, you fat-arsed bitch!"
She put her knee up, pulled, and clambered up with a seductive spreading of thighs and fattening of ass-cheeks.
Now it was Pat's turn to strip off her pants, which she did quickly and without the least protest. Not waiting for any further instruction, she smoothed the slight waves of her golden blonde coiffure, shaped close to her head and trimmed above her collar, then came forward and clambered on to the table. For all their more vulgar qualities, Pat and Ange were well matched to have sex together in front of their master. Pat had the hard features, the trimly robust figure, and the randy look in her dark hazel eyes. Ange with her softer face and figure, the hesitation in her blue eyes, her hair trimmed like a felons, made an ideally submissive but reluctant victim.
"Lie on your sides," said Mr. Bowler sharply, "Pull your singlets high enough to bare your breasts. Lie close enough for your nipples to touch. Now, since you were so eager to make love, let's see you do it properly before you get a taste of the strap across your two bottoms!"
Ange was dumbstruck at the command but Pat took the initiative almost at once. She kissed the nineteen-year-old's lips, eyes, and neck, her hands running easily over the softness of the thighs and the fattish cheeks of Ange's bottom which, tightly clad in denim, had drawn so many admiring glances from passers-by. Then Pat's fingers went between the front of Ange's legs and began to stroke and squeeze, stroke and squeeze, stroke and squeeze, just as she had done to Tracey under Mr. Bowler's orders.
Angie gave a sob of longing and submission. Pat raised one of her own knees a little and opened the way for Ange to fondle her at the same time. Soon the two shopgirls were making love, the justices leaning forward a little in their seats to watch minutely, and Mr. Bowler giving commands to the two girls.
"Patricia! Use one hand to tweak Angela's nipples and stiffen them. ... Angela! Lick Pat's breasts for her. Tease her nipples with your tongue and teeth!. ... Take your hand from between Angie's thighs, Pat, and show us the state of your fingers. Ah, yes! You're moistening nicely, Angela, are you not?. ... Now, let's see you do it properly to each other. ... Give each other a good time while you've got the chance!"
I watched the quiver and shimmer of Ange's plump white hips, the sinuous writhing of Pat's firm thighs. We were the magistrates for the village of Coombe and its estates. Were we now in legal session or was this merely private justice by Mr. Bowler? As Ange's fat young buttocks swelled and contorted rhythmically a few inches in front of me on the table, I hardly dared to ask the question.
"Rub your clitoris on Pat's fingers, Angela!" said Mr. Bowler peremptorily, "Do it better than that! Must we smack your bottom to make you perform? Ah, the inner surfaces of your thighs begin to wet at last!. ... Now, my precious pair of sluts! Arch those backsides out a little to the gentlemen behind you! Open yourselves more fully and show us what you're doing to each other!"
So they did. Indeed, lewd and randy Pat drew her knees up a little and almost thrust her butt into Mr. Snook's face while Ange continued to fondle her between the legs. Mr. Snook in turn stroked the firm cheeks of Pat's working-girl backside. He rolled one finger in the butter-dish and, having lubricated it, inserted it to the knuckle in Pat's arsehole. You may judge her randiness from the way in which, while being masturbated between her legs, Pat also moved her butt lovingly upon the finger, as much for Mr. Snook's pleasure as her own.
On my own side of the table, the magistrates were attending to the rump of Angela Fatarse. They played between the plump cheeks of Ange's bottom with every implement that came to hand, tickling her up with the little brush for sweeping the table, then putting a touch of mustard to her rear dimple to make her ride more vigorously. Then Mr. Bowler commanded the two delinquent girls to stop their mutual caressing. Each was now to make love to herself.
"Fingers between your thighs, Pat! Lift your upper leg a little and show us! You like to love yourself, don't you? Does it make you close your eyes and gasp for breath?. ... Play with yourself properly, Ange!. ... Better than that!. ... Show us what you like to do best!. ... A smack on your bottom will wake you up!"
For half-an-hour, twenty-year-old Pat and nineteen-year-old Ange diddled themselves in this manner. Their lips were parted as they breathed more rapidly. Their eyes closed, fluttered open briefly, then closed again in dreamy enjoyment of their solitary pleasure. At last Mr. Bowler gave an order to the servants. To each girl's astonishment, her wrists were seized and fastened high, to a leather collar round her neck. Mr. Bowler took up his strap, broad and thin, twelve inches and split into three tails at the end.
"You first, Angela! Turn on your belly! Fifty smarting kisses of leather across those fat white bottom-cheeks!"
The spanking-stap was the severest known to any school. Many a teacher would have loved to use his skill with it upon the plump bare buttocks of nineteen-year-old Angie! Two footmen held her down by the shoulders, another held her feet to prevent the young tart kicking out at her chastiser. Mr. Bowler raised the tawse and brought it down with a smack that forced a shriek from Ange and caused her plump bottom-flesh to jump and quiver with the impact.
Do you doubt that Mr. Bowler was motivated by the highest legal and moral duty? Let me direct you, then, to the work of that eminent judge, Sir James
Fitzjames Stephen, on Criminal Law. Such indecency as Pat and Ange had committed upon each other may be punished by whipping and "in addition to the sentence of whipping ... a certified reformatory ... for not less than two and not more than five years." Mr. Bowler was therefore merely carrying out the due process of law.
Ange twisted the close crop of her dark hair, her blue eyes dismayed and her mouth wide. Smack! went the strap across the writhing fatness of her rear cheeks again. In her frenzy she let out a wild yell and her feet broke free from the servant holding them. like a swimmer doing the American crawl, her legs kicked and squirmed. Mr. Bowler tamed this by thrashing her hard with the strap across her plump thighs. Angie squealed and twisted but soon a dozen imprints of the strap blazed across the backs of her legs from her knees to the softness just below her rear cheeks. When her little revolt had been subdued and her ankles were pinioned, Mr. Bowler went back to the start and began her fifty smacks with the strap all over again.
He made it hurt, as such a discipline should, and the hind quarters of Miss Angela Fatarse were swollen and crimson by the spanking strap long before the fifty smacks had been completed. We were having such fun with this young working-girl of Mr. Bowler's, ready hands holding her down at thighs and waist, that we scarcely had time to look at the other. Yet I glanced aside and saw Pat, also lying on her belly with her wrists secured to her collar. The hard-faced young bitch was squeezing herself between her thighs in a most unambiguous fashion. That rhythmic contraction and slackening of her thighs and buttocks was capable of only one explanation! Pat had been aroused by the fingering on the table and was now masturbating quite openly again. Why did she do so? Was it merely the need to finish off what had been begun? Did the vicious little whore get a secret thrill from seeing Ange spanked with a strap? Or was Pat getting excited by what lay in store for her presently?
For the moment it was Ange who occupied us. There were leather smacks and bottom-wobble, crimson cheeks and writhing hips. Mr. Bowler tanned her pitilessly, as the law requires. Yet her shrillest cries came when the tails of the strap curled in between her legs, or even between the surging and writhing cheeks of Ange's bottom. Even when she had her fifty smacks, no one interfered. Being a plump and plain girl, the short razor-cut of hair adding to that plainness, Ange has the look of a sturdy country bumpkin whose finer sensibilities need not be considered. She had the strap again till her buttocks were so smarting and throbbing that I swear Ange would have screamed at the lightest hand-smack or pinch. The virtue of the strap, of course, is that such punishment can be definitely prolonged while leaving only a deep ass-blush which fades in an hour or two, after which the spanking can be repeated all over again!
At length it was over. Ange was left on her belly, gulping and tearful as she loudly lamented the state of her spanked bottom! Randy young Pat needed no commands. Yet I confess, though I had often noted the lascivious look in her hard features and the slant of her dark hazel eyes, I was quite taken aback by the young whore's conduct now. Pat did not merely lie on her belly over the table. She knelt upright, moving her knees a little apart. Then she bent forward from the waist, not on hand and knees but lowering her head until the short cut of her blonde hair was pillowed on the surface of the table itself. The lascivious young bitch was egging us on to extremes which we had not thought of! With head low and hips high, even her knees parted, Pat offered her firm robust young bottom-cheeks rounded and parted, her thighs open a little. I think she had parted her legs and knelt astride in order to look back at us through that living arch.
You may in some future volume read of Pat stripped and helpless in the hands of a pitiless master. Do not sigh for her. It is the fate she invites and, perhaps, enjoys. Having seen her on this first evening, I would never intervene to spare her from cruelty. If I saw her fastened in such a position for a purpose-her master's emblem to be branded between Pat's bottom-cheeks or Pat's anus to be stretched on a cucumber-dildo-I would not save her. She cannot be insensible to suffering and yet, of all Mr. Bowler's wenches, Pat is the young female criminal whose manner challenges a man to inflict anguish upon her.
While she was held in her chosen posture, we clustered behind her and had a good look at her most intimate details. Pat's cunt is light-haired and moistens easily, which is a further tribute to her randy nature. Her ass-cheeks looked hard and strong in this pose. As for Pat's arsehole, when closely peered at, it exhibits a slight but evident tensing of excitement.
She offered herself quite blatantly, even opening her legs a little wider and looking back at us through them as we examined her. She is quite shameless and deserves all that is done to her. Then we stood back and Mr. Bowler picked up the strap. He began to thrash Pat's backside and legs without mercy. You may be sure that he hurt her and that she gave short and vigorous cries at each stroke. Yet Pat's cries sound as much of anger or challenge as of pain, brief and guttural as they seem. I was reminded of her as a healthy young female animal in her spasm, when a male has mounted her. Towards the end, you would have been hard put to it to distinguish her crescendo of sharp and urgent cries as being those of punishment rather than orgasm.
And yet, I promise you, Pat was tanned all right! Mr. Bowler strapped her firm young butt-cheeks with his tawse, smacking this way and that until Pat's buttocks glowed a dangerous red. Then he vowed that Pat was offering her anus lewdly and, as a revenge, he began the thrashing all over again. Several times he aimed the strap low, so that its tails flicked agonisingly between her legs and caught her love-lips. Pat shrieked at this but made no other protest. Sometimes he aimed the strap so that its tails gave their searing flick between Pat's bottom-cheeks!
But let me tell you a singular thing. I have seen a number of girls thrashed but none like this. Where others would have burst into floods of tears, like Ange, Pat merely gave a short guttural cry and challenged her master to do his worst. So, you may easily believe, I shall have much more to tell of this young bitch in future volumes! Indeed, I learnt that they made her have sex with Noreen on this very table the next morning.
It may be that you doubt, even now, the legality of Mr. Bowler's powers as magistrate to thrash Ange and Pat in this way. So did I. Indeed, I murmured my unease to Master Miles. He it was who acquainted me first with the provision of the English law as set down by the learned Judge Stephen, in his comments on "the punishment of whipping." He tells us that "the number of strokes and the instrument to be used are left to the discretion of the person by whom the whipping is inflicted." This, writes the learned judge, "must still be the practice." Mr. Bowler only did to his working-girls, who drew such attention to his saddlery, what every justice in England may do to such young whores when needs be!
I will only add here that I was to spend the night as Mr. Bowler's guest and that I went up to bed an hour or two later. The room was already lit. Angela and Patricia stood naked on either side of the bed awaiting my pleasure. Their bottom-cheeks had by now faded in color from crimson to lily-pallor. Ange the fat-arsed bumpkin, looked very apprehensive. Pat's hard young face invited me to do my worse.
I will not weary you with many details for I have much else to tell you about Mr. Bowler's establishment. I gave Ange a quick frig between the legs with my forefinger and a cunt-ride to console her for the strap. It was Pat whom I truly wished to put to the test. And so I did.
While Ange lay to one side, playing with herself as if she hoped I could not see, I rode between the legs of the vicious young blonde. Not wishing to be the recipient of a paternity summons, however, I withdrew before spending and made her turn over on her belly. She did this with the usual knowing slant of her hazel eyes and the sardonic smile on her lips.
"You must submit your bottom, Pat," I said, and the look in her eyes did not falter. I took the stick of soap, conveniently round, spat on it and gave it to Pat leisurely up her bottom, sensing she would enjoy it more in that manner. Then kneeling astride her hips I demanded entrance to her rear portal with the head of my ram and gained it at a thrust. As I sodomised twenty-year-old Pat, she twisted the short cut of her blonde hair on the pillow, trying to look back at me all the time and provoke me by the lewd challenge in her wicked eyes.
"You like a man in your bottom, Pat?"
"Yes," I saw the sardonic line of her mouth form a smile and she butted her hips up and down to egg me on.
"The men who admire you at your work, Pat, those firm young bottom-cheeks in tight denim! Do you see the stiffness in their trousers? Do you like that too?"
"Yes," gasped the young slut, "Yes I do!"
Pat may be a hard-faced common slut but she can excite a man beyond measure. My sperm burst twice in her backside without my prick withdrawing-and in such quantities that Pat had to scramble from the bed and attend to it quickly when I at last uncorked her bottom!
Yet I must report another matter which occurred next day on my visit to Mr. Bowler. I had wondered, as who should not, what had become of Noreen after the young tart was broken in by her master's whip. I had always found it hard to believe that such an insolent and sturdy girl could have her disposition altered by any amount of lashing. It would teach her to curb her impudence and obey orders, in case she should be lashed again, but Noreen's character was too strong to be overturned. I confess that this pleased me, for there would be ample excuse to have her under correction again.
I must tell you then that she was called upon after dinner-at about nine in the evening-to attend us in Mr. Bowler's private study where we took our coffee and brandy. Master Miles and Mr. Snook, as well as Mr. Bowler, were there, so that we were four in all. We were attended by the three older girls and by Pat stood by my deep leather chair and Noreen was detailed to provide Mr. Snook's comforts. She was dressed in the costume he preferred, being a snug white singlet and the tight riding-jeans of pale blue denim drawn tighter still by the broad leather belt at her waist.
As he took coffee, Mr. Snook required his well-built girl to stand at the very arm of his chair, turn her back, and stoop forward a little with her hands on her knees. As Noreen obeyed, the collar length of her lank dark hair fell forward a little, partly obscuring the features of her firm fair-skinned face and her brown eyes.
Mr. Snook sipped coffee and talked. Yet with one hand he stroked the smooth and skin-tight denim of the jeans as Noreen presented her broad-cheeked seat to him. Noreen's butt was no more than twelve inches from the end of Mr. Snooks sharp and purple-veined nose as he admired the seat of her pants in this posture. The briefs she wore underneath were outlined by a clear ridge through the denim, the hem of their seat arching up suggestively high and tight over each strapping cheek of Noreen's bottom.
Because the denim was so tight it was not only Noreen's buttocks but the crack between them which was offered, the two halves of her butt lightly parted. Though she had been taught obedience over the yoke-bar, there was a flinching and a tightening of her chin as Mr. Snooks finger lay between her rear cheeks, teasing Noreen's crack. Then his fingers traveled down a little to squeeze gently the soft bulge of cunt-flesh in the denim.
"Bend right over, Noreen!" he said suddenly and sharply, "Spread those rear cheeks, you young whore! Show me a big-bottomed view!"
The points of her cheekbones colored with indignation but she obeyed him. Noreen's humiliation was beginning, as it did after dinner every evening. Mr. Snook examined and stroked the seat of her jeans more intently, broad female buttocks, sturdy and inviting in this posture, swelling out just as he liked them. For a while he was entirely content to fondle the robust young cheeks of Noreen's backside through the tight denim seat of the jeans. Then his commands became peremptory.
"Round out those strapping ass-cheeks, Noreen, and sound your post-horn for us."
Even a bold-faced young tart of Noreen's kind looked dismayed by a command so unseemly. Still bending, she raised her eyes to Mr. Bowler's as if begging a reprieve from such rudeness.
"Must I send for the whip, Noreen?" Mr. Bowler asked.
So it was that with the jeans denim tight over her broad and swelling buttocks as she bent, Noreen sounded the rudest note of which any young strumpet was capable. Mr. Snook fondled her behind even more enthusiastically in his senile glee.
"Again, if you please, Noreen!"
Frantically she protested her inability and Mr. Snook agreed that this twenty-one-year old should have a moment to recoup her powers. Then he made her repeat the vulgarity from her rear blow-hole until Noreen's insolence was well punished. At every upward glance of her brown eyes as she shook clear the level fringe of dark hair, Noreen met the smiles and laughter of the men at her as they witnessed her enforced rudeness.
"Noreen," said Mr. Snook presently, "Slip your jeans and panties down and bend over bare-bottomed."
Reluctantly and still bending, Noreen undid the stout leather belt at her waist and drew down the denim pants. She stepped out of them. Noreen's panties were the briefs of white stretched cotton suitable for wear under such working-trousers. She pulled these down as well and bent naked from the singlet hem at her waist down to her feet.
Noreen's panties had a special value for Mr. Snook, who took them and tucked the still warm cotton web into his pocket. He now boasted a prize collection of such underpants culled from girls and young women who passed through his hands. The desk in which they lay was a treasure house of happy memories. Noreen's briefs were by no means the first specimen for he had now almost a dozen pairs of the young woman's plain cotton panties. Some had been stripped from her while she lay waiting over the whipping stool. Several more were those which Noreen had taken off in the toilet while the old man was present. Much of their attraction to this lewd old fellow was in the hard wear which Noreen had given them for several days. They were among a hundred pairs over which the old fellow mused happily each night. Some came from ingenues of fourteen or so, the schoolgirl panties of Sally Fenton or Michele Page, others from women of twenty-five or thirty, including several pairs of blonde Maggie's plain white panties, which he had watched her take off in the toilet while he flexed his cane.
Now he was able to admire the smooth and full-cheeked pallor of Noreen's bare bottom as she bent over before him. Mr. Snook beckoned the servants and gave his orders. Two rubber penises were brought, each a stout specimen imitating a fine erection. One was strapped firmly in place on the left arm of the leather chair and the other on the right. The left-hand phallus rose upright but at a slight forward angle. Mr. Snook smiled.
"Stand up, Noreen. Straddle the arm of the chair and face me. Now, lower yourself until the rubber phallus enters your loins. Ah, it makes you gasp a little! Is that excitement or alarm? A little of each, I suspect! Now support yourself on your hands and ride the penis, Noreen! Keep your face to me so that I may see how you like it. ... No hesitation, Noreen! You won't like it if the footmen have to reprimand you!"
So, for the diversion of all those present, Noreen began to ride her strong young hips up and down, the length of the rubber entering and emerging between her legs at each thrust. For all her rebelliousness and impudence, I can assure you she enjoyed this. I daresay she would have preferred it in private with the young ruffian of her choice, but that was another matter. After about ten minutes, her movements as she shafted herself became much quicker but more erratic. Then her hair fell forward, she bowed her face, and her hips moved with a slow and grinding intensity as if trying to squeeze out the last drop of passion in her loins. There was a perceptible shudder through her firm pale thighs and flanks. Noreen had been made to come in front of us.
Mr. Snook instructed the footmen to raise Noreen from the phallus which she straddled and which impaled her. She was now led to the other arm of the chair and held with her back to it. The phallus here was of similarly stout proportions. It projected almost horizontally forward from the chair-arm at a slight upward angle. Noreen struggled and gasped as they bent her over again, guessing what lay in store. But Mr. Snook murmured to her the extreme penalties of disobedience and the struggling stopped. Noreen shook clear her lank dark hair and twisted her face round, dreading what was to be done to her and, curiously, desperate to see what was happening. Mr. Snook met her eyes with a wicked smile and showed her the jar of vaseline as he unscrewed it. The footmen were only too eager for a pretext to fondle the bare cheeks of Noreen's backside. They held her buttocks apart while Mr. Snook vaselined Noreen's anus thoroughly. Noreen was sixteen the first time this was done to her by her master so that it was not quite the outrage it might seem.
The footmen backed the bending and unwilling young woman towards the instrument of ravishing. Mr. Snook in his chair had a view at twelve inches of the rubber knob pressing imperiously between Noreen's ass-cheeks. The footmen guided her hips, pressing her back remorselessly until Noreen gave a sharp cry. The rubber knob had widened and opened her arsehole, its length now sliding into her. A hilt ensured that even my misadventure not more than eight inches of the stout dildo could enter Noreen's backside. A chain round her waist and extending to the rear ensured, at the other extreme, that the girl could not draw the entire length from her, two inches always remaining in Noreen's ass.
"Now we must make you do half an hour of such exercise, Noreen!" said old Mr. Snook, grinning fit to bust.
She bent with wrists tethered and ankles pinioned, obliged to perform his wishes or endure a touching-up from the glow of his cheroot. Slowly her hips moved, taking the length of it into her, then drawing it out. Mr. Snook, watching her rear view closely was not satisfied.
"Do it much faster than that, Noreen! In and out to the tick of the clock. The inward thrust with every tick of the second-hand. In-out, in-out, in-out...."
And so they made her for half an hour. Mr. Snook with such a close view could not take his eyes off her. The big firm cheeks of Noreen's bottom surged towards him, drew away, then surged again as the rubber shaft vanished up her behind. Noreen's anus was no more than a hard-stretched rim round the intruding phallus. Several times the footmen cured her hesitancy by pressing her right back so that the full eight inches entered. A half choked sound of alarm escaped the girl's throat as if she had felt the knob all the way to her belly-button.
I grew increasingly uneasy to see the way in which my fellow magistrates revenged themselves upon an insolent young trollop who, they would ensure, was never allowed to tell tales against them. There could be but one conclusion to such a performance. The rubber dildo had two balls, each the size of a grapefruit. Into these went a noisome mixture. The spendings of a dozen stable-boys were mingled with the warm flood of Pat and Ange, a golden quart. A cupful of liquid soap was added and a libation which a daring groom coaxed from a stud bull. Each globe was swollen to the size of a football, it seemed. Yet Mr. Snook, his covetous eyes on Noreen's bottom and the impaling dildo between its cheeks, pumped the entire contents of the huge balls into Noreen's backside, until the footmen had to support her in her ordeal.
To be sure, it was an astonishing sight for the load had even made her belly swell a little as if Noreen might whelp in a few months more. What could they do with her now? Here was a pretty picked that Mr. Snook's unsavory tastes had brought about! They could not keep her in Mr. Bowler's study for if Noreen backfired now it would be the ruination of the place.
They took the young tart into the stable-yard, where many a filly lifts her tail and lets fly. She was bent over the iron post and we watched from a distance. A moment more and Noreen's anus squirted high the contents of her rear in a pulsing jet like a fountain of the most ornamental kind. And still Mr. Snook was not satisfied, for aged impotence never can be. We left him with the strapping wench and a syringe whose barrel would hold a quart or two. By next day the young woman was limp and blown as if she had been in labor all night.
Mr. Snook's demands on Noreen were not always so elaborate. Sometimes he required only that, at dinner, she should bend over the table next to his place, bare from the singlet hem at her waist down to her feet. It was his custom to use her as an ornamental vase. When eating cherries or olives, he would pop the stones up Noreen's bottom. The inconvenience was not severe but it was uncomfortable enough for Noreen to shift her ass-cheeks and earn a smack on them to make her keep still.
After dinner as we lit our cigars and talked round the table, it was Mr. Snook who smudged Noreen's bottom-cheeks with falls of gray ash. When the well-licked butt of the weed was dead, that too disappeared from sight between the broad buttocks of his favorite slave-girl and her tight rear hole closed over it. The meal done, he would rinse his fingers in the bowl provided, with a little soap, using the paper tissue. Soon the wet and soap-glistening wad would mop the gray ash-powder from the swelling pallor of Noreen's ass-cheeks as she bent reluctantly. Then that wad itself was poked by the old man's finger into the same place. Noreen's discomfiture would often last all night before she was permitted to retire.
At other times, Mr. Snook liked to use her as living candelabra. Noreen, naked but for the singlet pulled up above her waist, lay face-down along the dining-table, hips and backside raised by a round leather cushion. The base of the tall candle was gently inserted in her anus and held by a strap running between her rear cheeks. The wick was lit and for several hours it illuminated the dark room. A quick tensing of Noreen's buttocks as the melted wax dripped on them and stung her lightly added much to the old man's enjoyment. There was, he showed us, a further advantage. By making her lie with her hands folded under her loins, Noreen could be instructed to play with herself while we sat round the table. This was commanded on every occasion of the kind, so that we watched the fingers moving in the rear opening of her thighs.
When the dinner and the festivities were over, Noreen was sent to the room where she slept. It was agreed that she should be placed face-down on the bed, pillows under her belly, her wrists attached to the frame on either side by cuffs of soft leather. She was not permitted to wear more than the short white singlet in which she had been escorted there.
Even lying on the bed, the girl was not safe from Mr. Snooks intrusions. Often he would come there silently and stand over the sleeper, for a light was always left on. The lank dark hair fell about the girl's firm young profile on the bolster. To make her available during the night, the hem of the singlet at the rear had been pulled well up above her hips so that Noreen's bottom was properly bare and the rear route to her cunt open. With a short snakeskin lash in his hand, Mr. Snook would lick his lips and sigh as he admired the swelling full-cheeked pallor of Noreen's backside.
His caresses on that smooth and cool-cheeked rear soon startled her from sleep. With no one to spy upon his senile lewdness, the elderly justice would perch beside her on the bed. His lips browsed in long kisses over the curves of Noreen's buttocks.
"Ah, your bottom, Noreen!" he would murmur, "How it keeps me from sleep! Those splendid rear cheeks. ... And between them, your crack, Noreen!. ... Does it truly alarm you to feel a kiss there?"
Pressing the cheeks apart, the old loon touched his lips to the warmer and more humid smoothness of the inner slopes. He did not scruple in his crapulous passion to mould kisses to Noreen's anus, pouting at it repeatedly like a honeymoon bridegroom.
"Ah, your arsehole, Noreen! I shall find employment for it in the months to come! Why, I have hardly begun with you yet...."
Then she shivered as his lips touched her cunt but Mr. Snook had not come to visit her for an exchange of pleasantries. The grooms were called. Sometimes it was to hoist Noreen astraddle so that she bent with buttocks widely parted. Using the short snakeskin, Mr. Snook demonstrated one crack-shot after another, as if revenging himself upon Noreen for the way in which her vulgar sluttishness mocked his aged impotence. He vowed that even Noreen's boy-friend, furious though he was at losing the girl, would have bribed the grooms for a glimpse at her when Mr. Snook's lash had embroidered her between her rear cheeks.
Though he dealt with many girls, I assure you that the drawers of the old gentleman's desk bore a number of labels which testify to this single obsession. You might read there: NOREEN'S BOTTOM ... NOREEN'S OBEDIENCE-TRAINING ... NOREEN'S KNICKERS ... NOREEN'S PUNISHMENTS ... NOREEN'S BACKSIDE WHIPPED ... NOREEN BIRCHED ... NOREEN'S ARSEHOLE ... NOREEN ... NOREEN ... NOREEN. . .
From time to time he put the girl to an "obedience test" in front of the rest of us. The tiled room was then equipped with stools and tables, strange saddles mounted on blocks, and devices protruding through holes in the wall. Noreen was naked but for the leather collar and the cuffs which held her wrists close to it at the front. To fail he obedience test by refusing a command given was to incur a night over a stool in a soundproof room. I dare not reveal what passed there but my memory recalls images of Mr. Snook happily pumping a small pair of bellows, the nozzle between Noreen's buttocks, or introducing monstrous devices to her cunt and butt.
Why was the old fellow not seized by the police and thrown into Newgate? Good-natured reader that you are, how little you understand about our country's laws! Mr. Snook was magistrate in his village and, as such, the police were subject to his command there. Why, then, did the attorney-general not swear out an affadavit to have him prosecuted before the lord chief justice? In the first place, Noreen was never permitted to make complaints. Had she done so, why, Snook and the attorney-general were boys together at Eton College. In such monastic establishments lads are apt to get up one another's backs. Snook could tell you the name of every smaller boy who was buggered or made to suck prick by that spark of seventeen who is now attorney-general! And what of the lord chief justice? England's ruling class is not extensive and it will not surprise you to learn that the justice is Snook's own cousin. Indeed, they had their first girl together-a common trollop of Noreen's kind-one in her cunt and the other up her behind. You may be sure there will be no proceedings against Mr. Snook with such stories as he might tell. Suppose, with Noreen over the block, her bottom well-whipped, he should go further. He might take a leather thong, draw it round her throat and slowly strangle her. Would they prosecute him for murder? To put Noreen to death would be a verdict of natural causes. The government of a country is not permitted to fall because a young trollop has met an early end. Indeed, such great men as the attorney and the justice would assure you that a young tart like Noreen was a burden to the men who pay rates and taxes. The man who hangs Noreen may be sure of their approval, provided he does it discreetly.
So Mr. Snook and his cronies put her to an obedience-test, knowing that they might do their worst with impunity. The old mans voice gave commands as they sat in their leather chairs and enjoyed the spectacle.
"Noreen! Take the glass on the table. Drink stable-boys' cock milk, Noreen!. ... Noreen! Astride the masturbating-saddle and show us how you like to do it!. ... Noreen! Bend over and take the rubber diddler up your behind, Noreen!. ... Ride it hard. ... Match the tick of the clock!. ... Noreen! Drink another pint of lads'milk!. ... Noreen! Lie butt-upwards over the thrashing stool for the grooms' bamboo!. ... What splendid bamboo weals!. ... Noreen! Be rude with your backside to amuse the men who cane you!. ... Noreen! Another drink of boys' milk!. ... Noreen! Over the thrashing stool again! The whip this time, Noreen!. ... Ah! What a rude bottom under the lash, Noreen!. ... Do you see the gasper poking through the wall-hole? Turn your back to it and bend. ... Snuff it out between your ass-cheeks, No-reen!....
On and on it went. Mr. Snook's face assumed a ghastly grin of excitement as he put the strapping young wench through her paces. After a few days, of course, she was well recovered from such severity. Then, as Mr. Bowler's guest, one would stir in the darkest hours of night, aware that the light in Noreen's room was burning and that the old man was leaning over her as she lay on her belly over the pillows, the singlet pulled well up from her hips.
"Don't tense the cheeks of your bottom, Noreen!
My lips must find them cool and smooth. ... Such broad pale curves!. ... So full and firm. ... I think you like to be a defiant young slut, Noreen. Don't you? I think you like the punishments we make you endure!. ... Now your bottom again, Noreen!. ... Ah, Noreen! Noreen...."
CHAPTER SEVEN
My misgivings about Mr. Snook and his companions-I resolve to keep a distance between us-Mr. Bowler seeks to make me amends-I receive a delightful present-Tracey, the nymph of sixteen-Mr. Bowler invites me to chastise her in his place-I am to return her thrashed and pleasured-Tracey begs for this, anxious to avoid Mr. Bowler's vengeance-I agree out of charity-We retire to the bedroom first-The beauty of Tracey stripped naked-My hour of pleasure between her elegant thighs-Tracey revives me with her lips-The demure charms of her bottom-Af last we withdraw to the stables-I carry out my stern duty on her-My first reluctance turns to secret enjoyment-An evening of remorse-I plan to remove Tracey and the other girls to Coombe.
Believe me, it was only little by little that I discovered the true nature of Mr. Snook and his companions. There was nothing to be done, for severity with such young hussies was sanctioned by the law. As magistrates they were esteemed the most respectable gentlemen in the neighborhood and the severest of moralists. Yet I had no need of their company with Laura and Ruth, Sian and Jacquie, available to me. Jacquie, with her lank blonde hair and fringe, her wide blue eyes and shapely sixteen-year-old figure, had arrived as companion to my two other girls from Chelsea.
I had no wish to offend, nor start a quarrel. With the attorney general and a the lord chief justice on their side, Messrs. Snook, Bowler and Miles were bound to be victorious. Instead, I kept my distance, remaining at Coombe though behaving in a civil manner.
So matters went on for a few weeks. Then my man, Heathers, came to me one morning to announce the arrival of a visitor, escorted to Coombe by two of Mr. Bowler's servants. Those servants had instructions to wait and then to take their charge back again as soon as the business was completed.
I promise you that I had not the least idea what I should expect. However, on entering the parlor I saw Tracey, exquisitely dressed in the tight white riding-costume of smooth trousers and short coatee. Those long elegant legs and thighs were at perfection in the wake of her sixteenth birthday. Her hips were round and graceful, trim and yet with the cheeks of her behind well shaped. Above all was the calm, straight-featured profile, the steady blue eyes, and that silken veil of blonde hair which she combed from her left-hand parting, aslant her forehead, swept back to lie in romantic disorder upon her shoulder-blades.
But why was she here? Tracey came forward and with calm resolve explained the situation to me. She had displeased Mr. Bowler who, as usual, reached for his whip. Then he had a more original thought. In order to curry favor with me, I should be the one who brought Tracey under discipline. So he had sent her to Coombe in order that the girl might plead with me to be punished. If she failed, he promised her a far worse fate, Tracey would be wickedly broken-in over the yoke-bar as Noreen had been. She must return with the oval nymph-cheeks of her young bottom well marked, and with every sign of having been used in the routes of pleasure which her body offered.
I could scarcely keep my hands off Tracey at the thought of all the things I should have to do to her in order to fulfill this bargain. At the same time, I would be doing her a favor. The cruelty of breaking-in would be spared her. If not, I could imagine what the stable-boys would do to her! Not to mention old Mr. Snook, who would make Tracey Hope fart and writhe her bare buttocks under his lash.
"I would rather be dealt with by you, my lord," said Tracey with her young dignity, "I know what I should suffer from Mr. Bowler and Mr. Snook."
It was at her request, then, that I led her away to my study.
It was, you will admit, a most unusual situation but a provoking one. To save Tracey from the horrors of the yoke-bar, I must make gentle love between her legs and, at Mr. Bowlers invitation, between the demure cheeks of her sixteen-year-old bottom. I should be a hypocrite to pretend that the thought did not greatly excite me! Having had fun with Tracey, I would then be obliged to take her to the stables, where the whips were kept. In order to escape worse discipline, she must return to Bowler Park with her charming buttocks amply bruised and adorned with some intriguing welts. Her master was insistent upon this.
I wonder what you would have done? For the future, I decided that I would use every effort to get Tracey out of the clutches of a strict moralist like Mr. Bowler and have her under my own more easy-going care. I wondered if money would tempt him to part with her. She would be whipped less and often allowed to go without others forms of punishment. I would not insist upon giving her enemas and obliging her to perform the most menial functions before me. Alas, this goes to show I cannot match the high moral standards set by Mr. Bowler, nor the enthusiasm for cleanliness and decency which I am sure drives Mr. Snook to such extremes.
I sat down in one of the leather chairs in the study.
"Walk up and down, Tracey," I said gently, "Let me see how you move your legs and hips."
She obeyed me and I gazed enraptured. As this graceful nymph moved, her firm young breasts stirred charmingly under the thin covering of light wool. Tracey has an easy, gliding step, well demonstrated in the skin tightness of denim riding-pants. Her slim legs branch nicely outward from the knees, her thighs forming that characteristic feminine bow which ends with the lithe rounding of her hips. She turned her back and walked away across the room, causing my penis to stiffen a little more at the sight. Though her legs have a slender elegance natural to her build, Tracey's bottom-cheeks are erotically rounded and, when she bends, she presents quite a full seat, though her buttocks are taut and quite deeply separated in that posture.
"Lie on the sofa, Tracey," I said gently, "Take your riding-pants and coatee off first."
My luscious young nymph obeyed. She shrugged off the coatee-also taking off her white tall-heeled boots-and then undid the tight white riding-jeans. She took them off to reveal fair-skinned legs, smooth as silk, whose narrow thighs were still endowed with a very feminine shape. As soon as she lay on the sofa, I stood over her, sliding my hands under her woolen singlet to fondle her breasts. Then I began to peel down the stretched cotton of her briefs. Her hand touched mine.
"I must keep my underpants for Mr. Snook," she said, blushing a moment, "He wishes me to wear them a little before he takes them."
"Never fear," I growled, "Mr. Snook shall have them! But they must come off for an hour or two!"
What an old reprobate he is-though you will seek in vain for such an opinion among his own tenants or the present government! I drew Tracey's panties off while she raised her hips to assist me. Presently her singlet came off too and she lay naked. I began to kiss her breasts, erecting their young nipples with my tongue. My lips touched her belly, a firm marble surface, kissing even her patch of golden fleece. I gave her clitoris a quick tongue-tickle, making Tracey gasp and clench her hands into fists with the thrill of it. Her silken veil of blonde hair spilt across my loins as she unbuttoned me and drew the sleepy penis from its lair, kissing its knob with light and hesitant poutings.
I turned my head and caught her eye with a smile.
"You don't get off that lightly, Tracey! Take it in your mouth properly. A man-likes to see a young girl beautiful as you sucking him. Do it better than that, Tracey! Right in! Use your tongue! Surely your boyfriends used to make you do it to them?"
Unlike Mr. Bowler, however, I did not take pleasure without giving some in return. As Tracey lay on her side, facing me, I kissed the length of her slim thighs, my tongue on their inner surfaces too, tasting the mineral tang with which she had splashed them. I slid my tongue along her vaginal slit and she jerked as if a hornet had stung her there. Turning her a little, I caressed with my kisses the firm young ovals of Tracey's bottom-cheeks, pressing them apart for a good look into her crack. It was an impish desire to shock rather than lewdness of Mr. Snook's kind which impelled me now. I kissed the inward slopes of her bottom-crack and finally moulded my kiss to Tracey Hope's anus. She tensed herself quickly and I smiled.
"Still so shy about that tight little dimple, Tracey? Even the most beautiful girl has one! I'm sure Mr. Bowler will try to sell you to a man who will make good use of it. A girl as tall and graceful as you are must expect such admiration."
This gave her pause for thought, during which I turned her gently on her back, drew her knees up and held them apart. My erection entered Tracey between the legs with great ease, for she was already lubricating with excitement. I kissed her gently.
"It's not your first time, is it, Tracey? Some lucky boy must have found his way here while you were still a year or two younger. Who taught you to move your hips so easily with your lover, Tracey? I could almost believe it is a gift you have by instinct. You like the penis, I think. Your motion betrays you!"
With such gentle humor we rode together, giving no thought to the cruel ritual which must be undertaken before the girl returned to Bowler Park. Tracey's cunt had that delightful elasticity which one finds in tall and elegant girls of her age. The virgin obstacles had been cleared away and yet there was no sign of slackness which sometimes spoils a woman there after too much exercise. I did not ask her if she masturbated, for I knew the question would embarrass her more than usual. I was quite sure, as it happened, that Tracey masturbated but that she did so furtively in the belief that no one knew. Yet to feel her extreme reaction when her clitoris was touched was the surest reply to such an inquiry!
Presently I felt that the time to spend was arriving. Indeed, it was Tracey herself who first gave the signal. The heavy silken sweep of her golden blonde hair threshed from side to side as she drew breath sharply and worried her lower lip with her teeth. The forlorn and urgent cries of her orgasm began as I bit her lightly on the shoulders and breasts in play, driving her on, while my own spending boiled up and began pulsing in strong jets into her womb.
She gave a little sob of protest as I withdrew slowly from between her legs, at once bowing her head and kissing the limp phallus which had spent its all in her service. A moment more and the kissing became sucking. Indeed the sight of her beauty performing that service, Miss Tracey sucking the prick, stiffened me again. Presently the prick stood rampant and positively must find its mark. Yet we both felt instinctively that a second spending in her cunt would be to run a very great risk of undesirable results.
It was Tracey who, turning comfortably on her side with her back to me, looking over her shoulder with the slant of the blonde hair falling aside, solved the problem.
"You must do it in my bottom,'" she said simply.
I parted the oval nymph-cheeks and admired her between them.
"You're very tight there, Tracey. I shall make you a little uncomfortable."
"But you will excite me too," she said, "I shall be able to bear being a little uncomfortable if I am excited."
I could not have imagined this tall and willowy sixteen-year-old girl with the firm pride which showed in the tilt of her nose and chin, making such a suggestion. Yet it was Tracey who asked for the vaseline and, having prepared herself, lay there on her side, rounding out her graceful young bottom towards me, reaching back and parting its cheeks with her own hands. What a contrast this was to the vindictive way of doing such things under Mr. Bowler's roof.
"Once I begin, there will be no sparing you, Tracey," I said quietly, "If I hurt you a little, even if you should cry out to me to stop, I shall have to continue until I pump the sperm into your charming backside."
"I want it," said Tracey demurely. Tracey had had one or two boy-friends before she came into Mr. Bowler's possession but neither they nor her master himself had been adventurous enough to put her to this intimate ordeal. I slipped my fingers between her parted buttocks, paddling them in the lubricated rear valley of Tracey's crack to make her a little more roused in that area. Indeed I made her wait for it a while as I fondled the lithe grace of her bare thighs and the young Venus-cheeks of Tracey's backside. At last I let her feel my erection lying between her buttocks, hot and hard in Tracey's crack. I felt her tight young anus swell a little against my knob, as if straining to admit me, and then I was deliciously gripped in her butt.
For Tracey at sixteen it was perhaps an ordeal and, indeed, I found some excitement in the thought that I was going to make it last a long time. I did not break-in girls for Mr. Bowler's purposes, yet in the warm study on the leather sofa I chose to break-in Tracey to the use of her beautiful tight arsehole by a man. My wish, however, was to condition her to such excitement.
The young bitch certainly tried to give me a good time by her wrigglings and squeezings. Yet I think she was tense and a trifle sensitive before I finished. I paused occasionally to fondle her buttocks, for her rear view is charming. When she bends or thrusts out her rump, her rear cheeks swell firm and round, yet they are also clearly and quite widely separated in a manner which is most lewd and suggestive. No man who passed Mr. Bowler's emporium and saw Tracey bending in tight riding-jeans would ever forget the sight.
"Never had sperm in your backside before, Tracey?" I murmured, kissing her ear, "You'll feel it in a minute. No wonder Mr. Bowler dreams of selling you to one of the harems of Arabia! The pashas would never use you in any way but this. ... Now. ... Hold your bottom quite still, Tracey Hope! ... Ah, the feel of the passion squirting makes you wriggle a little! ... Now you get the thick gruel, warm and slippery. ... Ah, that beautiful young bottom, Tracey! ... It would be a shame if it were not enjoyed by men of such tastes. ... Tracey, darling. ... Ah, you randy young bitch. ... We must see that you adorn the bed of a pasha!..."
So, passionate and humorous, I spent in Tracey s charming rear all that I had left.
A more sombre mood descended upon us. Unless Tracey returned to Bowler Park soundly thrashed, a cruel punishment awaited her there. So it was that she, as well as I, yearned for bruises and weals on these same oval bottom-cheeks. I had never thrashed a girl in earnest and would not have done so now, but Tracey begged me to for fear of what Mr. Bowler would do.
"You must take me to the stables where the others cannot hear me," Tracey said nervously, "For I know I shall scream."
So it was that with Tracey's graceful thighs and elegant buttocks moving alluringly in tight riding-jeans, we walked down to the stables together. The fact that we had just made love in so elaborate a manner calmed her a little. Presently I let her walk on a moment under some pretext, in truth to watch her from behind, the easy gliding steps of her long legs and the slight swelling and swaying of her hips. I knew that I was going to enjoy thrashing Tracey Hope's bottom.
She undressed, without any command, when we got there. Standing only in her short singlet, she bent forward over the harness rail while I tethered her wrists and strapped her down on the wooden bar at her waist. I guessed she would dance and kick, however hard she tried not to and, for that reason, I drew a soft leather strap tight round her thighs at their base. I did not attempt to stifle her cries. Love-making and the vaselining of her anus had, in any case, now left Tracey's panties in a parlous state, however exciting their well-worn signs would be for Mr. Snook as a souvenir of this tall and graceful sixteen-year-old nymph.
The sight of said tall and graceful sixteen-year-old girl bending over for bare-bottom discipline began to stiffen me yet again. I chose a riding-switch--wickedly long and slim!-made of supple leather. It is not permitted in reformatories to use such a whip on the bare buttocks of a girl of sixteen and is not usual in private punishment. Yet exceptions are made where the attractions of the nymph, a sixteen-year-old like Judith Terry might be quoted, are such as to affect the chastiser profoundly. It was Tracey's downfall perhaps to have such beauty of figure and face.
She showed great courage, urging me to bruise and weal her well, so that she would not have to endure a "breaking-in" from her master and the grooms. With great excitement, I measured the supple switch across her bare buttocks, raised it and brought it thrashing down. Hard as she tried to check her outbursts, Tracey soon screamed. The art of thrashing such a girl is to time each stroke just as the swelling torment of its predecessor reaches a climax. And so I did. I must have given more than three dozen smarting lashes across the demure oval beauty of Tracey's sixteen-year-old bottom-cheeks. In the manner of a prison disciplinarian, I timed them so that the anguish grew with every impact.
Tracey's elegant thighs and graceful hips writhed, her bottom cheeks arched and rounded, like a young honeymoon bride trying to entice her boy-friend to their marriage-bed. The switch marked her with weals which were thin but well-raised and crimson.
I gave it to her harder still, the stable echoing to the sharp whip! smack! whip! of leather on her bare-bottomed smoothness. Several times I tested her with a cut across the backs of those nymph-like thighs, which made Tracey very wild and shrill. Her buttocks were well-patterned by the thin weals, the flank of her right hip streaked red from the flick of the little cord tail which curved round and caught her there.
I altered my angle so that now the switch fell short and the whipcord flicked between her buttocks causing havoc in Tracey's crack!
The girl was well-nigh swooning by the time I was satisfied with her. When I unfastened her, Tracey sank to her knees, weeping her thanks to me. As she knelt, her buttocks so bruised and wealed, Tracey began to unbutton me, drawing out my stiffness, sucking and swallowing the venom to show her gratitude.
Some days later I was in company with Master Miles and spoke of my service to the girl to save her from Mr. Bowler and the grooms.
"You are mistaken, my lord," said the old fellow, puzzled, "I was there when Tracey asked permission to visit you, entirely of her own accord. I assure you, there was no question of punishment. ... Mr. Bowler always attends to such matters himself. Always."
The scales fell from my eyes! Tracey had conceived a passion for me and had made up such a story in order to indulge it. Mr. Bowler had merely accorded her permission to visit me and enjoy the improving effects of Laura's conversation! She would endure the whip in order to enjoy the penis! Mr. Miles shook his head. He remembered stories of girls so in love with a man that they wished for the whip as well, in order to taste the full range of what he would do to them if he could.
More than ever, I wished to become possessor and protector of those girls under Mr. Bowlers roof. Imagine the fun I should have with Tracey, for my taste did not greatly run to trollops like Pat and Ange. Yet for their own sakes they would be better with me.
Accordingly, I made a suggestion to Mr. Bowler one day. He spends every winter in a warm clime with girls enough to please him. For a sum of money, I would be the magistrate who housed those left here during his absence. He might name his price. I thought, you see, that once having got them, I might easily defy him to remove them from me!
We were out riding at the time. Mr. Bowler turned the suggestion aside with a reference to "irregular procedures." And yet I could tell that the thought of it had gone deep with him!
CHAPTER EIGHT
An invitation from Mr. Bowler-Noreen's continued acts of defiance against her elderly admirer, Mr. Joshua Snook-Her assault upon him during Mr. Snook's naked examination of Noreen's backside and thighs-The need to inflict exemplary discipline on the young trollop-Mr. Bowler decrees a touching-up on the bare cheeks of Noreen's bottom-Strapping her down-A fine Havana puffed to cherry-red-Agonising kisses on Noreen's bare backside-Noreen's obedience to her masters enforced-Her punishment-lesson made to last all afternoon-The excitement of the guests.
My encounter with Tracey led to an uneasy rapprochement between the worthy Mr. Bowler and myself. I daresay nothing would have come of this, had I not received a message from Bowler Hall a few weeks later, requesting my attendance as a matter of urgency.
I arrived and found Mr. Bowler and Master Miles wearing expressions of gloom which suggested nothing less than the death of the monarch or some national calamity.
"Mr. Snook," said Bowler, "is in a dangerous state. It will be a week before he leaves his bed."
I assumed the old reprobate had succumbed to some malady but Master Miles assured me otherwise.
"Why, sir, it was that young whore Noreen. The old gentleman had merely obliged her to strip off her panties in the tiled room and bend for his examination. He commanded her to lie forward a little and do for him what a turnkey may require of her. She refused. He endeavoured to force compliance by inserting the nozzle of a syringe as law allows! Noreen kicked out wildly and knocked him clean across the room. It is a miracle no bones were broken. Noreen must be taught a lesson now, my lord. No mistake!"
Strange it was but true! Noreen had deliberately tempted her master to punish her cruelly. She must have known what the consequences of her violent act would be. Surely, then, the young tart was inviting us to do our worst. Here was a battle of wills! I could not think of what to suggest but Mr. Bowler took the cigar from his mouth, tapped off the ash and held up the bright red glow of the tip in a significant gesture.
"A touching-up," he said, "On Noreen's bare bottom!"
Though I guessed what he had in mind, I could not quite envisage how he would seek vengeanace on her for Mr. Snook's new injury. Miles also smiled at us, drew deeply on his cigar and brightened the tip to a shimmering and sparkling cherry-red.
"We must make it last all afternoon," he said, "She must feel it!"
Mr. Bowler nodded, as we imagined Noreen's bare backside!
"To be sure, master. And we shall invite several gentlemen who have admired Noreen at her work in my emporium. The very gentlemen whom she has looked at with such contempt as they view her bending to her work in tight denim. They must be revenged upon her pride!"
They begged me to witness the event, which was to be held on the following Monday when Mr. Snook would be recovered. I had some doubts at what they meant to do to Noreen but I could not deny that she deserved severe discipline for the injury she tried to inflict on her elderly admirer. To tell the truth, the association of Mr. Bowlers red-hot cigar-tip and the pale full-cheeked swell of Noreen's bare bottom also made my sinew stiffen a little! So it was that I and Master Miles, as well as Mr. Snook and Noreen's admirers who had seen her at her shop-work, were witnesses of the judicial discipline inflicted in a well-built cellar of Mr. Bowler's mansion. The scene was arranged so that each of us sat back in an individual box, as at a theatre, able to enjoy the company of a girl, while we watched Noreen endure the revenge of her master. I was accompanied by my maid. I saw that beauty at fourteen was also much in demand. Master Miles's Sally and Jane had also been provided for two of our guests.
While we were at lunch, Noreen was taken down to the subterranean vault with its thick walls and flagstones. No doubt she wrestled against the grooms who held her but they soon stripped off her denim skirt and Noreen's panties. The apparatus on which she was strapped consisted of a three-foot length of ladder fastened at a slope to a wide stone platform. Noreen's bare legs were pinioned and strapped, facing the ladder, so that the front of her thighs pressed hard on its rungs. She lay at an angle of forty-five degrees up to her waist. Then she was drawn forward, bending over tightly so that her breasts and belly lay on the stone platform. Her arms were pulled out at full stretch and held by leather wrist-cuffs to steel rings set in the stone.
To ensure that no chance cries were overheard by curious passers-by, the cotton briefs were folded into a convenient wad-as was usually the case with Noreen's panties at such times-to muffle her. Strict orders were given that, despite the temptation she offered in this position, Noreen was not to have her bottom whipped nor even spanked. Not a whip, cane, nor birch was to be seen in that sinister apartment that afternoon. They pinioned her with a strap at her ankles, another round her bare thighs just above her knees. A waist-strap, a leather collar, straps at wrists and forearms also held her fast. They added an extra strap round her upper thighs and another just above her waist. This strongly built twenty-one-year-old girl lay over the apparatus, bending well forward so that her hips were spread and the swell of her bottom-cheeks was full and broad.
The grooms who had endured Noreen's contempt and insolence were even more enthusiastic than the guests to see her given the promised "touching-up." She was naked but for her straps when they tantalised her bare backside with their fingers and murmured in her ear.
"You big-bottomed young tart, Noreen!. ... Beginning to feel worked up now?. ... Butterflies in your tummy?. ... An hour to wait, Noreen. ... Then the richest Havana glow. ... Your bare bottom, Noreen!. ... They'll teach you a lesson, you young scrubberl. ... You get a whole afternoon of it, Noreen!. ... You'll be a changed girl after this. ... Bottom-cheeks red as beetroot. ... Too sore even to wear your panties, Noreen. ... Every man watching will have a lance stiff as a poker with excitement...."
The robust pale cheeks of Noreen's backside tightened with panic but the intrusive fingers played between them and under her legs for half an hour more. Then they left her to await the arrival of Mr. Bowler and his guests.
So much is heresay. Yet before I describe what followed-the evidence of my own eyes-I must utter a friendly warning. Mr. Bowler's revenge upon Noreen is not a spectacle for sensitive souls and I beg all such to leave these pages unread. Indeed, his conduct marked the final break between us. Yet those of my readers who are so strongly roused by Noreen as to wish her taken to the limit of punishment and beyond will be well rewarded. The young Amazon shopgirl deserves it without doubt and, being so strongly built, was well able to take extreme retribution. To hurt Noreen was Mr. Bowler's intention. But was not that Noreen's wish for Mr. Snook? And Mr. Snook, you recall, was a justice of the peace. Noreen is a common trollop.
So we took our places, the justices and those gentlemen whose admiration Noreen had once scorned. As Sian knelt before me, I watched Mr. Bowler walk forward to where Noreen lay bending on the apparatus, securely strapped down by more leather bonds than ever. He puffed contentedly upon his fine long Havana. She flicked back her lank dark hair and twisted her face round in alarm to see what he would do. Yet there was still insolence in the slant of the brown eyes under her level fringe. Her jaw was impudently firm.
What a drama this was! Noreen was no innocent victim. She had deliberately lashed out at Mr. Snook, knowing that the severest penalties would be inflicted for such a criminal assault. She had almost asked to be punished, defying her master by the assault and challenging him to subdue her. Or was it that her fury at the humiliation demanded of her overcame her prudence? Mr. Bowler left her in no doubt that he truly enjoyed inflicting justice on her in the present way.
He circled his left arm over Noreen's waist, as if to hold her absolutely still. The area of his interest was limited by the broad strap round her bare waist and the lower strap which pinioned her thighs above her knees and held them firmly to the frame of the ladder. He lowered his head, making a close and lip-licking inspection of the pale sturdy cheeks of Noreen's bottom in a manner which would have seemed lewd had he not been a disciplinarian. His twenty-one-year-old culprit shook back her dark hair and tried desperately to see what was happening behind her.
Mr. Bowler smiled and stroked the full pale curve of Noreen's buttocks, teasing her a little and playing on her panic.
"You can't take your eyes off the glowing chee-root-tip, Noreen. Can you? I shall begin to give those bare bottom-cheeks of yours a touching-up in a few minutes more. A strong young woman of your kind can take it for a whole afternoon. I'm sure there will be many tales told of this among your admirers."
To make this ordeal on Noreen's bottom last all afternoon was more than the hangman of Hungary or Turkey would have dared with a female prisoner. Yet English justice was more resolute. Mr. Bowler
So many tales of this incident have been circulated in such romances as Birch in the Boudoir that the editor had decided to give the original occurence in externa. The world may see that it was not inflicted by the ogres of the harem but by the magistrates and gentlemen of an English county. slipped a finger between her legs and coaxed the pussy-flesh back a little for the guests to see. Next, for several minutes, his fingers fiddled lewdly in the crack between Noreen's buttocks-but it was all in the cause of discipline and law. Then he drew her rear cheeks hard apart with his fingertips.
"The gentlemen who will watch your ordeal, Noreen, are those you treated with contempt when they admired you at your work. We shall reward them for their journey here. First a glimpse of your cunt, now between those bottom-cheeks, Noreen. Such a tight little bud!"
One of the middle-aged visitors laughed at the sight.
"It was worth enduring Noreen's contempt for this-to see her without jeans or panties. Her cunt is charming, for so vulgar a girl. And if she were mine, Noreen's backside would also be kept busy as she lay over the pillows at night."
One of the others addressed her.
"You must learn to accept such compliments more gracefully, Noreen. Next time a man admires the seat of your jeans as you bend to your labors, show him what he wants to see. How absurd for a strapping tart like you, Noreen, to pretend lady-like modesty!"
They came forward. There was much fondling and stroking of the rosy cunt-flesh and many a playful but lusty smack on Noreen's bare bottom. Then each took his place, secluded from the view of the others. One old fellow had young Jane with him, obliging the girl to kneel and take his stiffness in her mouth while he watched. Another exacted the same service from cheeky young Sally.
The straps held Noreen quite still, her lower half pinioned to the short ladder, her upper body drawn forward over the flat surface so that her pale buttocks seemed to swell out full and broad under the waist-belt as she bent. Mr. Bowler drew at his Havana and tapped ash from the rosy tip.
"Quite still, Noreen," he murmured, "Quite still."
He began with the left-hand cheek of Noreen's bottom, the glowing tip kissing the pale buttock-swell quickly and lightly. The lank dark hair flew as she tossed her head wildly and a trapped mewing was heard. Her strong young body was tense as if on a rack and the wooden frame creaked at the frantic pulling on its straps. Yet, with his left arm still over her waist, Mr. Bowler continued to touch up the same bare cheek of Noreen's butt with the cherry brightness, in light and circling caresses. For a full minute the wildness continued and then he paused.
"Some more in ten minutes, Noreen," he said softly, "Watch the hands of the clock in front of you."
Yet while she waited, his hand began to fondle and play with his young Amazon until she scarcely knew if she was there for pleasure or punishment. She squirmed her backside. Her bare thighs tightened on the fingers between them, though the left-hand cheek of Noreen's bottom bore the bright red and smarting traces of the cheroot's caress. As soon as the ten minutes were over, the rubbing and squeezing between her legs ceased. Mr. Bowler again clamped his arm over her waist and studied the swell of Noreen's broadened young bottom-cheeks. He drew deeply on his Havana. Then he returned to the same bare cheek of the young window-dresser's butt, the glowing tip tracing a smarting lacework upon its curve.
Noreen strained frantically but vainly at the straps holding her. She was a strong girl, to be sure, but she was no match for such broad leather, tightly buckled. As the sparkling glow stroked the pale cheek of Noreen's bottom, a gray fall of ash powdered her thigh. Mr. Bowler held her very firmly as she shrilled into her wad. The cherry glow touched Noreen's bottom-cheek as he chided her.
"Keep your bottom quite still, Noreen! You must have several more sessions on this cheek before we turn to the other! I'm sure you would love to break the prison straps and show your violence, Noreen. Have no fear, they will hold you down. Is the discipline more than you can bear on your naked buttocks, Noreen? I shall make you bear it anyway. Every man watching would like to bring blushes to such a pale rear cheek! Besides, our visitors are enjoying the sight so much that it would be quite impossible to expect them to show leniency. A moment's pause, Noreen, while we draw the Havana to brightness again. And now an extra minute on the same rear cheek! Did that make your toes curl, Noreen? I think it did!"
He moved the sparkling tip in a light stippling motion and Noreen's wild shrillness almost penetrated the wadded cotton. Not one of the onlookers suggested a reprieve for this broad bottomed working-girl. It seemed that the sight of Noreen's bare bottom under such discipline stiffened the resolve of every man who watched her. When she twisted her face round frantically, each man eagerly directed her eyes to the hardness of his handful. In .such a state, it was unreasonable to expect leniency from them.
There was another pause for ten minutes or so. This time it was the groom who was told to work
Noreen between the legs with his fingers. The eager onlookers saw that the full-cheeked pallor on the left-hand side of Noreen's butt was mapped by an arabesque of bright scarlet trails. To their excitement, Mr. Bowler returned to the same cheek again, smiling knowingly at Noreen, whose desperation now showed in her brown eyes under her level fringe.
"I shall rouge one bottom-cheek quite outrageously, Noreen, before I turn to the other. Your butt, Noreen! Keep it quite still! Ah, the touch of the cheroot makes you jump! Now that sparkling tip strokes over the full swell of your ass-cheek, Noreen! Now along that ticklish crease that divides your buttock and thigh! Ah, you really felt that, Noreen! I shall stroke it again! And again! What shrillness, Noreen! You would burst our ear drums without your wadding! See what splendid erections your admirers have now! Does it not excite you to put men in that state by presenting yourself like this? Those strapping young cheeks of your bare bottom, Noreen, and the red-hot cheroot glow! What thoughts they inspire! Two of your admirers ask that you should be denied an interval this time. ... The touching up to continue without a respite! I confess I should enjoy that myself, Noreen! Your bottom in its present state tempts me irresistibly to take you to the limit-and beyond it! Another caress over that same bottom-cheek, Noreen! What pleasure our guests will give their ladies tonight!"
Her buttocks tensed frantically under the punishing caress, one cheek still pale, the other crimson. In her frenzy Noreen's bottom retorted rudely, as if urging her plight. Mr. Bowler was well used to this when he had such a trollop under extreme judicial discipline. Noreen, having offered vulgarity to the onlookers accidentally was soon doing so deliberately, maddened by touching-up. Mr. Bowler began on the second bottom-cheek, still so pale.
"Such rudeness from your backside, Noreen! Have no fear, it will not interrupt the discipline. What, another retort! Believe me, Noreen, you excite your admirers powerfully when the punishment drives you to that! A fat-arsed young trollop of your kind is more exciting when she is not lady-like! Even the stable-boys work their young tools harder when they hear what the touching-up makes you do! An encore, if you please, Noreen!"
The glow was brighter than a firefly now as he touched it to the bare pale swell of Noreen's bottom-cheek on the other side.
"Over the crown of your rear cheek, Noreen. Down the curve and along that crease just above your thigh. Ah, that made you jump, I think. You hate that, Noreen, don't you? Very well, you shall have it again. ... And now the smelling-bottle. Over the cheek and down the cheek. ... A moments respite while we brush away gray ash from your pale bottom. ... And now a long session, Noreen. Oh, that makes another rude zephyr blow! Are you truly frantic yet, Noreen? I think so! Very well, we shall not allow you an interlude this time. ... The state of your bottom-cheeks, Noreen! Even your boy-friend would stiffen to see you smarting so!"
It was four o'clock before he had finished with the two strapping young cheeks of Noreen's bottom to his own satisfaction. There was another interval during which the girl was manualised a little by the groom. Did she truly think her discipline was over? Her straps were not unfastened and in a few minutes more Mr. Bowler approached her again a Fine corona sparkling.
"Between the cheeks of your bottom, Noreen! Our guests are adamant that your insolence towards them requires it!"
The grooms adjusted the apparatus so that the young woman's head and shoulders went down and her hips rose high. Her buttocks were spread until Noreen's crack was fully revealed to the eyes of her admirers. Cheeky young Sally was on her knees now before her elderly admirer. He had the light waves of her fair-haired bob between his hands while obliging her to ease his stiffness. And what of pretty Jane? She was bending before an old man's chair, her beautiful teeth set apprehensively on her lower lip. Her sweep of dark hair lay forward and her brown eyes under the slant of her short fringe were full of apprehension. The firm fair-skinned features of her young face were tense. Small wonder. The taut resilience of the youngster's bare ass-cheeks were presented to the elderly justice. He was a man of irreproachable public repute, however, and twice Lord Mayor. The spending he left in Jane Mitchener's bottom was therefore a rare honor for the girl.
Mr. Bowler busied himself eagerly between Noreen's buttocks while the onlookers relieved their feelings with the fourth-form girls. He must positively touch-up Noreen's crack!
"I shall map a dozen rosy tracks along the lower slopes of that rear valley, Noreen. Now you shall feel the route of the first. What, another blast from that most vulgar volcano? Even before we begin? And another? Does it truly give you such a thrill, Noreen? Now you must feel the first stroke, the ardent kiss of the weed!. That drives you out of your mind, does it not? "Now you shaft have ten seconds of it right between your rear cheeks to discipline that vulgarity of yours between the two glowing mounds! You fat-arsed young wench, Noreen! This shall cure your insolence. ... Ten seconds shall seem a lifetime to you. One ... two ... three ... You big-bottomed young trollop, Noreen!. ... Four ... five ... six. ... We shall reward your sluttish impudence well!. ... Seven, eight. ... Don't try to squirm your fat backside, Noreen, you young tart!. ... Eight, nine. ... After this you will cut your throat rather than emit such vulgar retorts! Ah, that makes your scarlet bottom-mounds writhe cheek to cheek!"
To see a strapping and contemptuous young tart like Noreen given a lesson in manners is a most stimulating experience. I will confess that I admired it. I also admit that my maid Sian was obliged to kneel and ease me as I watched. Yet I could not but feel that a truly moral mania had overtaken Mr. Bowler. He had not, it is true, branded Noreen's bare bottom with the insignia of a felon, as one of England's ancient laws entitled him to do. Yet the quick smart of the cheroot on Noreen's bare bottom was a prison punishment. True the roses would fade from her rear cheeks but she had been put to a fierce ordeal that afternoon.
A stable-boy was summoned with the usual pot of heavily-salted kitchen fat. Alas, the lad had been standing in the shadows watching Noreen's butt touched up. The excitement had driven him to toss off three spendings into the pot. With this unusual mixture he now smeared the big glowing cheeks of Noreen's bottom. The salt fat and youthful sperm made the unbearable smart of the glowing cheroot blaze up with new intensity. Even a strong girl of
Noreen's kind was driven quite out of her mind by it. Had she not been so stoutly strapped down, I cannot imagine the consequences as he spread the salt fat eagerly on Noreen's blazing bottom!
My final view of her that afternoon was of Noreen still fastened over the apparatus, her lank dark hair flicked back and her resolute young face craning round at us, the chin defiant but the brown eyes' hatred tempered by dismay. Her legs though strong are trim and even when strapped together one can see a little light between her thighs. Her hips were nicely broadened and the robust cheeks of Noreen's bottom were red as sunset and shining with the salted grease. The lad who spread the heavily salted fat upon her tenderly smarting buttock-orbs was whispering in the young woman's ear.
"You'll spend the night strapped over like this, Noreen. Each time the clock strikes you get another smearing of salted fat to make your butt smart like fire!"
It was impossible, as I left, not to reflect on Mr. Bowler. He was much respected in the neighborhood, for which he sat as justice of the peace. His reputation as an upholder of law and decency was unrivalled. His worst enemies could not deny that he dealt with tarts, whores, strumpets, and trollops in the most exemplary manner. No one could deny that Noreen deserved a severe punishment. Nor could it be denied that the common law of England, never repealed, entitled a magistrate at his discretion to inflict far more than the touching-up which Noreen had received. A law may be changed, but, until it be, its meaning must remain. Noreen defied her master, challenging him to do his worst.
Do not suppose, then, that I meant to deny Mr.
Bowlers authority or to set people against him. He is a man of the morality upon which our empire rests. All the same, however, I began to doubt if he was quite the moralist for me. Indeed, I confess it, I thought more and more of means by which I could remove Noreen and the other girls from his charge. Mr. Bowler, fine strict moralist though he was, exhibited an unmistakable look of mania in his eye.
CHAPTER NINE
A curious date in the racing calendar-Mr. Bowler's pony-girl sports!-Pat and Ange, a pair of sturdy mounts-Linda and Valerie, their lewd little jockeys-The severity of the fair sex at fourteen-Pat and Ange whipped hard round the course-A second contest-Whips and bobtails-Fourth-form bottoms and pony-lashes-A pause for refreshment and amorous exercise-Noreen at my own disposal for the first time-Breasts and belly-Noreen bottom-upwards-My passionate hour with her-Raoul's race up Horsewhip Hill-Noreen bare-bottomed between the shafts-Straining thighs and writhing hips-A new girl in harness-Preffy Jane the youngest and most appealing-My wager with Mr. Bowler-I become master of his harem!
Spring in that delightful valley could not but turn a man's thoughts to the excitement of sport and the pleasures to be had in wood and field. Yet I assure you I had no idea of the extravagant spectacle my neighbours were preparing as the blossom gathered on the apple trees and the white hawthorn bushes rose ghostly among the hedgerows in the warmer dusk.
"My lord," said Mr. Bowler, after the first meeting of the justices in May, "It will soon be time for the spring races. Master Miles and I would be mighty obliged if you would honor us with your presence.
I shall provide the fillies and young mares this year. Master Miles will bring one or two jockey-girls and a mount or two in her first season."
I could only guess at the meaning of this-but guess I did. Not for the world would I have missed such a mighty diverting sport. Believe me, I had not until then thought of the amusement of harnessing such girls for riding or driving in the well-guarded privacy of our estates. Yet the idea is old as Themistocles whose carriage was pulled by a pair of naked ladies and, indeed, Marco Polo reports the practice in China long ago.
As was customary, my two neighbours treated me with great deference. Not only was I to be judge in all disputed results at this ingenious race meeting, I was also to have a choice of mounts or of "ponies" to be harnessed bending naked between the shafts of my little carriage. I understood that such strapping young wenches as Noreen, Pat, and Ange were to be the mounts while the youngest girls of the reformatory, Linda, Valerie, or Jane, were to act as jockeys.
The sports took place on a fine warm afternoon towards the end of May. We adjourned to Mr. Bowler's estate where he was host to Master Miles and I ate an excellent lunch. Game from his own woods was served in sauces of exquisite succulence, and followed by delicate water-ices and champagne. After coffee, brandy, and cigars, we walked out on to the terrace overlooking his park.
I was quite astonished at the elaborate preparations he had made. There on the secluded grassland a white-railed circuit had been laid out in miniature, about two hundred yards round. There were hurdles and obstacles ready. It was for all the world like a regimental gymkhana-or even Ascot or Epsom.
"Come, my lord," he said, smiling softly, "I promise you we shall have rare sport this afternoon!"
We walked down through the gardens and out into the home field where the course had been arranged. There were half a dozen of his most trusted grooms in attendance, fellows who were no less eager than ourselves to have bare-bottomed girls in harness.
I saw that two of the sturdy young mounts-Pat and Ange-were already there in the careful grip of the attendants. They were naked but for broad leather waist-belts and wrist cuffs. Each girl had her wrist-cuffs joined together in front of her by a light but strong steel chain some two feet in length.
"We must see our two sturdy fillies brought to the starting line and made ready," said Mr. Bowler smiling, "Are those fat bottom-cheeks beginning to itch a little with apprehension, Angela? And what about Patricia? Is your belly on edge at the thought of your butt being smartened up, Pat?"
They looked far too nervous to reply to these pleasantries. However, the grooms brought them to the start of the circuit and made them kneel on all fours side by side. A long metal rail lay on the ground where each girl knelt. A chain from this was clipped to the front of each waist-belt, stretched firm so that neither young woman could get up from her knees. The lower end of the chain slotted into a groove in the rail, enabling the girls to be driven round and round the circuit without respite.
It was understandable that the grooms were excited as they looked at the two naked and kneeling girls. Mr. Bowlers own shop-girl, Ange was the plumper and the more nervous of the pair. With her straight nose, rounder face and blue eyes, she was a perfect study in apprehension. Ange had forsaken her coiffure of dark razor-trimmed boy-cut hair for a short crop of fairer curls which added to the softness of her look. Her pale body gleamed in the sunlight, breasts full and hanging a little, thighs soft and Ange's ass-cheeks plump and full.
They prepared her first. Despite the twisting of her head, a rubber bit was wedged between her teeth and laced into position. A short pony-tail to match her hair was produced. Ange tensed her buttocks protestingly but a vaselined finger intruded between those two plump cheeks, making ready. A moment more and Ange's loophole was stretched round the butt of the tail as they inserted it up her bottom. The smooth-haired tail was drawn up under the waist-strap and then allowed to arch in a delightful plume over Ange's backside.
They had yet to make Ange truly responsive to her jockey-girl. This was done first by a strap round each thigh, the inner surface lined with wicked little needle-tips. So long as Angela behaved herself, there would be little discomfort. Yet a sharp smack on the surface of the strap, a knowing pressure on her inner thighs, would be a piercing reminder. Another strap was run taut from the front of her waist-belt, under her legs, tightly up between Ange's buttocks and fastened to the waist-belt's rear. Where it ran deep between the cheeks of Ange's nineteen-year-old bottom, the straps edges had a dozen more wicked needle-tips projecting an inch. The soft inward curves of the girl's bottom-crack were dented by the metal points but the white skin was not pierced. The first sign of disobedience would merit a tug on the strap and anguish so intense that it would take away the breath Ange needed to yell.
They turned to twenty-year-old Pat with her firmer but robust figure. There is a certain air about Pat which must have drawn many an eye to Mr. Bowler's premises. Her hard young features have a sexual boldness to them. There is a knowing slant to her dark hazel eyes which suggests that Pat-likes to be a wicked girl. One senses a certain forwardness even in the way her blonde hair is shaped back from her face, worn close to the head, and trimmed above her collar as if to show a long and graceful neck.
There was no resistance. Pat playfully licked the fingers of the groom who wedged the rubber bit between her teeth. When they had to vaseline Pat's anus for the butt of the pony-tail, she arched her hips back a little, parting her firm sturdy buttocks to make their task easier. All the same, she had to have the wicked straps with their needle-tips round each thigh. And, last of all, they made Pat wear the persuader-strap between the cheeks of her behind.
Ange and Pat were ready for their two jockeys. I had as yet no idea of the identity of these riders. Just then, Mr. Bowler opened the door of a summer-house nearby and the mystery was revealed. Two of Master Miles' younger pupils stood there-or rather posed there-in a state of amusing undress. I had seen them often before. Linda was the slyly sensuous little blonde with the mane of fair hair worn forward on her lapel, her soft pale thighs bared by the removal of her uniform skirt and by the briefness of the hugging schoolgirl panties which she wore. In the same state of undress was the slim gamine Valerie with her auburn crop, blue eyes, and light freckles. Her manner was nervous and giggling, as Linda's was sly and sniggering.
The two class-mates had been told to bend forward over a table side by side, which they did, supporting themselves on their elbows. Behind each stood a groom, his fingers between the bare thighs, manualising the fourth-form girls through the white elasticated cotton of their panties. Already the dampness was evident on Linda Jennings's pants.
In blouse, striped tie, and briefs, each jockey-girl was now led to her mount. Roused and eager, each longed to frig herself on the back of the older girl. In this state, both Linda and Valerie had that cruel lust which is the last taint of inexperience before the age of discretion. Linda sat astride Ange's bare back and Valerie astride Patricia's. It will not surprise you to learn that a little knob was set into the rear of each filly's waist-belt, on which the two schoolgirl jockeys could frig as they rode.
To ensure a keen race, Master Miles warned his two fourth-formers that she who lost would be whipped bare-bottomed as a reprisal. At this, a look of alarm clouded Valerie's face and even the sly gleam in Linda's blue eyes faltered.
What a charming sight they made as they waited for the command! The soft figure of Ange with her cropped curls and Linda the sensuous little blonde astride her back as the older girl waited on all fours. And there was Pat, the lewd young slut with the firm figure of a working-girl and hard features, Valerie already frigging herself a little on the bare back.
Mr. Bowler stood behind them. He stooped and had a close look at the plump cheeks of Ange's bottom and then at Pat's firmer buttocks. He raised his whip and cracked it for the start of a race which was to cover four circuits of the grass course-half a mile all told!
There was great jocularity among Mr. Bowler and his guests, for the sight of the girls was both very randy and yet comical. Since the two fillies moved on hands and knees over the grass, the pace was not rapid. We followed close, seeing nothing of Pat and Ange but two pairs of lumbering and contorting butt-cheeks and their rapid legs. Linda and Valerie leant forward, loving the leather between their legs, wetting their briefs with love's excitement and dewing the bare backs of the older girls with its slipperiness.
It was Linda who proved the more wicked rider. To gain an advantage, she gave a sharp smack on the needled strap round Angela's thigh. Ange gave an involuntary shudder and shrieked through the rubber bit in her mouth. Lust at fourteen knows no pity. Linda smacked again, on the same side, and then in great excitement on the other. The wicked little madam even gave a smart spank or two to prick the inner softness of Ange's thighs. We came up for a fuller view and saw the young pony-girl twisting her crop of curls frantically, mad with the spurring. Indeed, like any well-spurred filly, her thigh-flanks trickled a little red.
In later volumes you will read of Linda Jennings's bottom under the lash, her tears and pleading. Have no compunction at her ordeal. She proved now to be cruel and randy. Reaching under Ange's belly, she found the persuader-strap and began to give it hard tugs. This tension made Ange martyr her bottom-crack on the sharp needle-points already denting its soft smooth pallor. Again and again Linda tugged at the strap, all the time riding her cunt hard and excitedly on the girl's back. To see the state of Ange's crack after a few minutes was proof enough of young Miss Jennings's depravity!
Ange was maddened beyond endurance by the piercing reprimand in her sensitive rear valley. Desperately she tried to throw her sniggering jockey-girl by straightening her legs upward and thrusting her hips high. The chain prevented this but Ange managed to lift her hips until the pony-tail fell clear of her seat. Now it was Linda who called for assistance to the groom attending her. This fellow flexed a long slim switch of woven leather. He took aim wickedly and thrashed hard across the plump whiteness of Ange's bottom-cheeks. Ange shrieked and tried to push herself up from the rear, vainly tugging at the chain which held her to the circuit rail. Randy young Linda kept her seat on the older girl's back, sniggering at the fun they were having with her. She jerked the persuader-strap again and then again, putting Ange to a piercing ordeal between her fat butt-cheeks.
At last the helpless young filly went down properly on all fours again and scrambled forward, showing plenty of thigh-shimmer and bottom-wobble as she tried desperately to avoid further correction. But even though she was no great beauty, it was understandable that the groom wanted a little more enjoyment with the leather switch. His whip smacked, clean and crisp, on Ange's plump buttocks with every yard she moved. Something of the whip's impact was conveyed to jockey-girl Linda through the jumping and quivering of her mount. The sly little blonde was leaning forward, spread-thighed, squeezing her young cunt on Ange's bare back and enjoying every thrill of the anguished squirming in the body of her "pony." Though we watched at a distance as the race went on over sunlit grass, Ange's backside was already distinguished by twenty or thirty crimson welts.
What of Pat with Valerie on her, back? By whipping Ange without respite, they had driven her into the lead. The lash had increased her speed greatly, as well as quelling her rebellion. Ange could never have performed so well without this severity. Now it was Pat who lagged a little.
Yet what a difference there was between Mr. Bowlers two young working-wenches. Ange with her soft young face and crop of curls was all trembling and apprehension from the start. There was a randiness in the slant of Pat's hazel eyes and hard young features which was quite the reverse of this. Pat is one of nature's whores, ready for anything, and showed tell-tale signs of enjoying such a race with a younger girl on her back.
As for the jockey-girl herself, slim and nervous Valerie masturbated as eagerly as Linda but with a greater show of affection. Straddling and squeezing her tightly-clad cunt on the back of Pat's waist, Valerie lay forward, kissing the long elegant neck exposed by the short cut of blonde hair. She loved Pat with an ardour which was gentle and yet merciless. Her fingers wormed under the persuader-strap where it went between Pat's legs stroking the young woman's clitoris and nether lips as she labored forward. Twenty-year-old Pat began to dew the strap in her excitement, as Valerie had already done to her own panties in which she rode. The result was that Pat now moved more slowly than Ange, her firm thighs squirming luxuriously together and the taut working-girl cheeks of her behind writhing seductively. The groom who supervised her, smiled.
"You need a taste of the whip across your backside, Pat. Don't you?"
Unlike Ange, randy Pat looked up with an enigmatic glance, as if daring him to do his worst to her.
Though a vulgar young slut, her body was trimmer and harder than that of the curly headed Ange. Pat seemed to hollow her waist a little and thrust out her firm bare buttocks, as if challenging him to whip her. Though scarcely more than a bumpkin or trollop in her manners, Pat has a natural lewdness and the disposition of a masturbatrix. She began to squirm her thighs on the rubbing strap between them even as the groom thrashed Pat's bottom-cheeks mercilessly with his leather switch. Several times she stopped, knees together and shoulders lowered a little, offering her ass so that the man could thoroughly enjoy himself with the whip.
Long before the race was over, Pat's buttocks were a mass of bruises, raised weals, and red trickles from her cuts. The race was won by Linda, riding Ange. When the two jockey-girls dismounted, Ange and Pat were left on all fours. How could the grooms resist giving the two shopgirls a final thrashing? Ange screamed and struggled vainly, sprawling on her belly on the grass, drooping at last. Pat lowered her head and raised her rump, offering herself lewdly for chastisement, still masturbating on the strap between her legs. They thrashed her to bruising, then they thrashed the bruises themselves. When they finished, she was unfastened. Pat sat back on her heels before the man who had beaten her. Coaxing him to allow her a favor, she undid the front of his trousers, drew out the erection, and closed her mouth over it lovingly. She sucked him expertly and swallowed a copious spending.
Pat's lewdness was such that few of those who had admired her at work in white singlet, and riding-jeans with white canvas belt could ever have guessed it. I was later to see her lying naked on a table where the youngest of the stable-boys could see her through a grilled opening above. She seduced them by words and postures, writhing and gaspings, until each young lad took his flute in his hand and played energetically upon it. Unable to touch her, a score or two of them pumped their passions down upon her thighs and hips, butt and breasts. Pat lay there with quiet satisfaction, smiling and spreading the precious balm over herself with her hands, her thighs squeezing rhythmically together.
All moralists would agree that Pat was not fit to be allowed free in society. The only place for her was a situation of slavery, where she could give full vent to her longings without endangering the decencies of social order. Mr. Bowler was commended for having enforced this upon her.
The next event was a "bobtail" race. Linda and Valerie, who had had such fun in the first contest, were not to be put to the test. Their wrists were strapped together in front of them and the cuffs were anchored to the metal rails running round the grass circuit. The length of chain was light and long enough for the girls to race standing up. It was in that sense a simple running race with the girls obliged to follow the track of the rails, and being unable to use their hands for protection or resistance. The two fourth-form vamps waited in short blouses, striped ties, white knee-socks, and briefs of stretched white cotton.
"Take you panties down, Linda Jennings, you little minx!" laughed Mr. Bowler.
The young blonde cast an uncertain look at him. But she took the waistband and pulled her panties down, stepping out of them a little awkwardly. The pearly plump cheeks of Lindas young bottom, as well her pale bare thighs, now offered themselves, though she folded her hands instinctively over the slight covering of blonde fleece at the base of her marble smooth belly.
"And you, Valerie Bishop!" laughed Master Miles, "Get your panties off too!"
Valerie obeyed, though with much hesitation and a little blushing. Her bare legs were still very slim, her belly flat, and even her buttocks seemed slender by contrast with Linda's plump little moons.
Round each girl's waist they tightened a belt. From the rear of the belt hung a string, eight or ten inches long. On the string were threaded four little globes of red wax. They were the size of small apples, pierced at the centre for the string to run through. By knotting the string, the wax globes had been spaced out a little. When all was in place, Linda and Valerie stood with the globes on the string hanging down the line of their bottom-cracks from the rear of their waists. The competition was for the two girls to run a measured mile, which they would not do very quickly with their wrists strapped. Behind each girl would run her backer, a long-tailed lash in his hand. The object was to see which man could cut the greater number of wax "apples" from the string of his girl, using the whip, before the mile was completed. Each cut of the lash, whether successful or not, would be a painful reminder of their situation for Linda and Valerie.
Before the amusement began, one of the grooms came up to Mr. Bowler with a request. To my great astonishment, Pat had asked that she too might run in competition with the two younger girls. She was, it seemed, one of those rare girls who like attention and cannot have too much of it.
Not only was her request granted but Mr. Bowler asked me if I would care to follow Pat, as he would follow Linda and Master Miles would chase Valerie. You may be sure that I needed only one glance at twenty-year-old Pat in her singlet and white canvas belt-she was naked below the waist-before I agreed. Indeed it was Pat who raised the most charming objection when I took her behind the convenient canvas screen to inspect her. I kissed the long slant of her cheek bones, her slim neck, and stroked the sleek but short coiffure of her blonde hair.
"I should like to be your slave," she said awkwardly.
"I should torment you often," I said in jest, "Your backside, your legs, what lies between them...."
"I know," she said, her trim thighs squirming and lechery in the slant of her dark hazel eyes. Then she made her objection. Being an older girl, she had a better chance in the race than our fourth-formers. There must be a handicap imposed on her. Indeed, it was Pat who suggested it.
Round the course were a dozen obstacles, metal hoops about three feet high which each girl must bend and go under. As she stooped and went forward, her butt and thighs were spread, making her more vulnerable to the pursuer with his lash. Pat suggested that she should be made to go under twice the number of these, and that she should be made to wear an extra wax "apple" threaded on the string which hung down her butt.
So the race began. I was so occupied with my own runner that I had little time to watch the antics of my rivals with Linda and Valerie. Pat in front of me, a little awkwardly as if she might be sore between the legs from her previous ordeal. Though the young working-woman's buttocks had a slightly heavy and sluttish look, she ran with a certain athletic grace and natural strength. The string of wax apples rolled to and fro across her backside with the sway of her trim hips and the movements of her legs.
I gave Pat a hard time-deliberately, so that she might feel what it was to be a slave. I cracked the whip across the bare flank of her hip, leaving a sinuous vivid weal and hearing her gasp at the burn. Deliberately, again, I gave her three cuts across the backs of her trim bare thighs, so that she nearly fell to her knees. Yet though she gasped and twisted her thighs as she ran, there was no mistaking the heightened excitement which the ordeal inspired her. When we came to the first of the hoops, Pat bent over to make her way through. I could not help noticing that she lingered in this posture, her buttocks thrust out, their cheeks parted, and even the soft pussy flesh between her legs revealed for the stimulus of the whip.
My thoughts returned to the conversation I had had with Mr. Bowler a few weeks earlier. We had then spoken not merely of exchanging girls for a day or a night but of the possibility that I might purchase his little collection from him when he went abroad to his private island retreat.
Because Pat bent so conveniently, I soon plucked the wax globes from the string that hung down her butt. Yet she did not win the race. Indeed, she was the last to cross the finishing line for she had lingered to taste the sharp sauce of the whiplash. What it would be to possess such a girl, I thought. Not to mention Noreen and Ange, Tracey and Michele...."
The race ended and I saw the other two girls who had run it. What tears there were! The plump and pearly little moons of Linda Jennings's bottom were well whip-striped. Of the two girls, it was the slimmer cheeks of Valerie Bishop'ss backside which had been soundly chastised by her admirer. His sinuous whiplash had great fun with Valerie so that she crossed the line in a burst of shrill hysterics.
There was an interval after this, for the next event was a demonstration of carriage-driving. Mr. Bowler had several garden carriages, hardly more than toys, which could be pulled by a healthy young wench bending between the shafts while the driver's perch was occupied by one man or woman alone. He invited us to meet a man who was, till then, a stranger to me and who had been watching our antics from a distance. His name was Raoul and his origins Latin-American. He was a crony of Mr. Bowler's southern winters and a supplier of white slave-girls to private harems. From the first I found him a sinister and sadique character, not to be trusted with those girls over whom I held sway.
I had yet to learn the dark truth of Raoul's character and must reserve the revelation for a future volume of these memoirs. Yet I sensed something of it already. He it was, a few months later, who acquired Elaine Cox from the reformatory master and took her to a remote house beyond the Danube where he was free to inflict the final severities upon her. Even now there was a wicked gleam in his eyes as he watched the youngster shouting and striding in her uniform of white blouse and striped tie, the pleated gray skirt worn brazenly high to reveal her robust adolescent thighs. He viewed the impudent toss of her lank fair hair, combed from its central parting to lie loose upon her shoulders. He seemed to covet the slum-child insolence in the broad oval of her face with its snub-nose, thin mouth and the narrowed eyes that were dark with a fleck of green.
When she was put to work in white singlet and the tight smoothness of blue-gray working-trousers, he studied the slight heaviness of her thighs and Elaine Cox's fifteen-year-old bottom-cheeks with wicked lechery. As she bent to her task, Raoul always moved so that he enjoyed a full rear view of her, the fattened swell of Elaine Cox's fifth-form buttocks in this pose.
There were, he insisted, men of rare tastes and great wealth who would pay highly for the privilege of taking such a vulgar young pupil into one of those secret rooms from which only the man returns. Raoul was severely logical. Elaine Cox at present had the appeal of a rude and impudent fifth-form tomboy. In a matter of months-a year or two at most-she would be a drab with a squalling brood, her appeal gone and an expense to the nation. To prevent this-as indeed he did-Raoul proposed to take her to that remote house where such ultimate pleasures might be tasted. There was no danger of a scandal, he insisted. Trusted attendants must secure her on all fours upon a trestle in that sinster room and would withdraw before the entry of the man. Her open legs and the bare cheeks of Elaine Cox's tomboy bottom would offer excitements of a kind impossible under other circumstances. No clue would be given Elaine beforehand as to the fate in store. After a night of riot with her loins and backside, a final moment would be necessary, Raoul murmured. Then the guilty evidence would be tumbled through a hatchway to the rocks below where predators roamed for food. The man would come out alone and Elaine would be spoken of after that only by a few men, always with knowing smiles.
I afterwards believed that they wished to discuss this matter before continuing the sports. Mr. Bowler informed me that Noreen lay on a divan in the summer-house, waiting for her outing in the shafts of the little carriage which Raoul would drive. It would be in an hour's time. Until then she must be kept occupied and prepared. He proposed to send a pair of his roughest grooms to keep Noreen busy-unless, perhaps, I would care to have a little game with her myself.
Was this done merely to have me out of the way while they talked of Raoul's plan for his adolescent prey? Perhaps it was. I later discovered that Mr. Bowler and Master Miles, though they would not accompany Raoul and the girl, were greatly excited by the thought of what would happen to Elaine Cox. Though the sinister plot did not unfold for a while, neither of them sought to prevent it. Elaine's demise was already agreed upon.
Unaware of all this, I made my way to the summer-house. I will not deceive you. I still thought Noreen an insolent young wench, resentful and violent. She deserved a good whipping for many of her actions. I would not have intervened to prevent it. I must also confess that I had enjoyed seeing Noreen's bottom lashed. However, I now sought to prevent what the grooms would do to her if they were allowed to spend the hour before the carriage-outing. Protest was useless. Mr. Bowler and Master Miles had all the law on their side. If the justice chose to apprentice Elaine Cox to Raoul, who would take her abroad, the law approved it. As for Noreen, the law was plain in writing. It was entirely at Mr. Bowler's discretion how she should be whipped-between the carriage-shafts, if he pleased. I crossed the lawn, thinking of Noreen's cunt and her firm-cheeked bottom.
I entered the summer-house and found, as I expected, Noreen lying on the divan in her stable-costume of white singlet and tight pale-blue riding-jeans. They had attached her wrists to the divan-frame at its far corner so that she lay with her back to the door. The law permits and sometimes requires such bondage, when a culprit is whipped, to prevent unseemly incidents. As she heard the door open, Noreen shook back the short length of her dark hair and looked over her shoulder. Her chin was resolute. The brown eyes under the level fringe stared at me in contempt.
She watched as I sat on the divan just behind her. That broad leather waist-belt pulled the smooth jeans taut over her sturdy young hips and backside, the denim strained smooth over the full and firm mounds of Noreen's buttocks. Though she set her teeth, gasping and squirming a little, I fondled those rear cheeks in their thin denim to reassure her.
"You'll be bending bare-bottomed in harness between the shafts, Noreen. An hour to wait for it. Do you truly want to be left alone here for that hour to feel the cold dread as the time approaches? Would you rather have the two roughest grooms with you to do the things which have to be done before the tanning? A long outing on Horsewhip Hill, Noreen, with Raoul in the driving seat! Does that give you butterflies in the tummy? Yes, indeed, I think it does! Raoul means to skin these young broad young ass-cheeks with his lash, Noreen. Ah, that makes you tighten your buttocks in panic! Would you rather I called for the two grooms now, Noreen? No? I should like to have a little fun with you, in that case. A little between your legs and some between your bottom-cheeks...."
I drew my finger down the stout central seam of her jeans-seat, where it ran deep and taut between her rear cheeks, their fatness almost closing over it before it parted her cunt lips. Though I was saving Noreen from a worse fate, I admit I was going to enjoy myself greatly. No wonder they had fastened her wrists for she squirmed and the anger glowed at the points of her cheekbones as I undid her waist-belt. I drew down the jeans with Noreen's panties inside them. Yet I pulled them only to mid-thigh. One does not romanticise with girls like Noreen. I undressed only that part of her which was necessary for what I needed to do. Afterwards it would be easy enough to pull her pants up again and leave her as I had found her. Though she tensed and squirmed I had now laid bare those parts which interested me most. Her pale and sturdy body was nude from the back of her waist to a few inches above her knees. I used the belt from her riding-jeans to pinion her thighs. One arm pinning her round the waist, I began my inspection of her upper legs at the rear, the soft cunt-nest between, and the broad pale cheeks of Noreen's bottom.
Raoul had left his snakeskin lash on the floor beside the divan. I trailed the cold leather on her bare seat and saw Noreen's buttocks flinch at the menace.
"Those bare cheeks of your strapping young butt, Noreen! I'm sure Raoul has some wicked cuts in store for them...."
This time, when she squirmed, it was in panic at what lay in wait for her. I put the whip down and saw, in the mirror which reflected her face, the first desperation in her lazy brown eyes and the quiver of her firm chin with alarm.
"Settle down, Noreen! I'm sure Raoul wants you milked between your legs. We must help you to get that out of your system. It would never do for you to be aroused, even by accident, during discipline. No distractions from the whip, Noreen."
There were urgent struggles-or were they writhings of desire?-as my fingers went between the back of her thighs. I took Noreen's warm cunt-flesh and began to tantalise it with light stroking and squeezings. Despite her indignation and her attempts to twist to and fro, I felt her dewing the inner surfaces of her thighs with slippery balm.
"Every girl in a Hungarian prison has this, Noreen, before they give her the whip. We must make you come first. Then there will be no danger of secret thigh-squeezings to help you endure the lash. I think you were ready to play with yourself Noreen...."
And so she was! Her hair had been tied back in a collar-length pony-tail so that I saw more easily how she set her teeth and tightened her jaw in refusal, how she flicked her dark level fringe and the points of her cheek-bones reddened with greater indignation. Yet nature had its way in the end. Noreen came with a shudder of pleasure-or revulsion-biting back her cries.
I began again at once, manualising her to climax a second time-and then a third. At last Noreen's sexual vitality was quite exhausted for the day. Now she lay in the cold reality of anticipation, the chill hour of waiting for what Raoul would do to her.
I resumed in earnest my contemplation of her behind, stroking the cool pale mounds of Noreen's bottom. I parted them and felt her try to press them together.
"You hate this, don't you, Noreen? We must overcome your distaste. Think of the men who enjoyed watching you at work, that strapping rear view of yours outlined in tight denim! Not one of them would spare you now. They dream of you as a slave whose master trains your backside with whips and squirts, birch-rods and branding-irons. And they hope with all their hearts that the dream will become reality!"
Having myself admired such a prospect, I did not now disdain to kiss each cheek of Noreen's bottom and the rear opening of her thighs. I reached for a small tablet of perfumed soap. By holding Noreen's buttocks apart and dropping a goodly gob of saliva on the tight bud of her anus, I had only to apply the soap to lubricate her rear entrance.
I showed her, in the mirror, the state of my penis as I unbuttoned it, for it was hard and straight as a bone. I lay behind her and was still able to enjoy the reflection of Noreen's face in the glass. There was fury in her eyes and the line of her chin.
"Now I must hold those strapping ass-cheeks of yours apart, Noreen. Good. Now arch your backside out a little. ... Don't try defiance, Noreen. It won't suit. You're going to get it anyway. Why not learn to enjoy it?"
I confess I had to use a certain strength and energy before I could hold her in the way necessary-Noreen lying on her side with her back to me, her hips made to jut to the rear a little. My penis lay stiff between her buttocks, the length of Noreen's crack.
I touched the knob to her soaped anus, adjusting my aim while she gasped and swore.
"Lie quite still, Noreen, you fat-bottomed young trollop! Don't try tightening your arsehole, you young bitch! I've never had a prick so hard for you as now! Those strapping young bottom-cheeks, Noreen, pressing bare against me. Ah! Now! Now you shall have it, Noreen!"
My knob had been pressing for admittance at Noreen's arsehole for several minutes. Now it had its way. With the feeling of being engulfed by a tight elastic band round the foreskin, my knob forced the narrow entrance. Noreen lay desperately tense and still, not daring to move in her present impalement. A well-made girl of her kind requires no leniency, so I pushed firmly and felt the full length of my stiffness sink into her butt. I am sure her friend Pat would have yielded her backside to me without half such a fuss!
I had mastered Noreen completely now. The duration of the pleasure was to be at my choice, so was the moment of spending and where I should make her receive my tribute. With over half an hour until they came for her, I was in no hurry to end such exquisite pleasure as this. For several minutes I was content to lie with my erection deeply sheathed in Noreen's backside, not yet pumping her.
"Feel the shape of the penis, Noreen? Ah, I think the knob is deep enough in to touch you where you're sensitive! Have no fear, Noreen, we shall have no need to treat you like a fragile or delicate maiden. Those sturdy young bottom-cheeks show that you're well-made to be used like this ... Ready for some exercise now, Noreen? You'll feel the effects of this for the rest of the day. ... You'll lie awake tonight and feel as if it's still being done to you...."
I pulled the hem of her white singlet well above her hips at the rear, so that I could look down and watch what I was doing to her. Between the broad pallor of her buttocks, Noreen's anus was now stretched wide round the base of my stiffened manhood. I stroked a hand down each bare flank of her robust young hips, then held her by her hip-flanks to steady her.
"Ready for it now, Noreen?"
The mirror showed me the resentment of humiliation in her firm mouth and chin, the slant of her brown eyes under her level fringe. To bugger Noreen was to teach her a lesson in discipline just as much as when she had been whipped. In her present situation, the hard muzzle of the penis impaling her backside, she was completely at the disposal of the man who sodomised her. It was he alone who would choose how long or short a time the fun lasted. Noreen's bottom must take as much sperm as he wished to pump into it. The mingled apprehension and anger in Noreen's face was the expression of a girl hating what she would soon receive but going to get it anyway.
In a slow and easy rhythm I worked my prick to and fro in Noreen's butt, drawing half its length out and then pushing in to the hilt. I was glad that I had "milked" Noreen to exhaustion between her legs so that she was compelled to concentrate upon what was now being done to her backside. If I acquired her from Mr. Bowler, which I hoped would be the case, I intended that Noreen should be made to come between her legs every morning before the events of the day began.
I began to sodomise her a little more vigorously, the easy in-and-out rhythm quickening to in-out, in-out, in-out between the strapping young cheeks of Noreen's bottom. As she twisted her head side to side, lower lip held between her teeth, the collar length pony-tail of dark hair fell aside and I was able to kiss her neck and ears. My lips touched her lobes as I murmured.
"Am I making your bottom a little uncomfortable, Noreen? Ah, I see that I am! It makes you tighten your anus on the shaft, doesn't it? Such delicious squeezing, Noreen, my love! Ah, Noreen, you young whore! Who could resist using you like this after enjoying such exquisite tightness? Do you not begin to feel a certain unhealthy excitement in your behind, Noreen? Admit it to yourself, you young tart! I shall make you tingle and tickle in your entrails before I finish! Noreen, darling! I must fondle those firm young bottom-moons at the same time!"
I paused after a while, for fear of spending too soon, and lay still with my penis sheathed deep in her rear. There was time to stroke Noreen's pale bottom-cheeks and flanks.
"I must make this last a long time, Noreen. I fear you may feel the effects a little but it's best for your own sake to know the experience of being properly and thoroughly sodomised. If not, you would always wonder what it might have been like. ... Now, some more butt-exercise, Noreen...."
I began again and paused ten minutes later. Noreen's eyes now had a look of timidity and apprehension which would have astonished and gratified the men whom she dismissed with such insolence as they admired her bending or kneeling at her labors.
Once or twice she even demanded between clenched teeth that I should finish quickly what I was going to do to her. The hour was ten minutes from its end when I responded to this.
"You shall have it now, Noreen. Arch your backside towards me and keep quite still. Quite still! I promise you, Noreen, you'll carry a fine spending of sperm in your behind while you bend between the shafts of Raoul's carriage!"
Noreen twisted her face to me and caught her breath in alarm, as if she suddenly recalled the ordeal waiting for her. Perhaps she thought that I would beg for her to be excused it. I smiled at this.
"I shall enjoy watching you bare-bottomed between the shafts, Noreen! Did you think this hour of intimacy would make me pity you? You have much to learn! Having had such pleasure in this way, I shall want Raoul to be more severe with you than ever. I shall ask that the carriage be weighted more heavily so that you pull more slowly and have to be whipped harder for that!"
I began to exercise Noreen's ass with a rapid and vigorous rhythm. A monstrous flood of sperm gathered in my balls, ready to boil over. I longed to make Noreen take its powerful pistoning in her rear. I gasped my passion, my loins pounding her pale buttocks.
"It's going to come in a minute, Noreen! Other men might spend just inside your ass-hole-but I mean to make you take it deep in your butt!. ... Your bottom, Noreen! Hold it quite still!. ... Noreen, darling! A squirt of gruel to tickle you!. ... Noreen, you young whore! Tighten your arsehole on the prick!. ... Exquisite! Ah, Noreen! Noreen! Noreen, you fat-arsed young slut!. ... The thick squirting makes you flinch, Noreen?. ... Much more to come, Noreen! Do a little squeezing of your butt on the prick!. ... Now I shall flood you! Squirts of hot slipperiness and thick sperm. ... You big-bottomed young whore, Noreen!. ... Such a grimace, Noreen! Does the fell of the slippery juice in your backside repel you, Noreen?. ... Some more to come yet, Noreen!. ... Noreen! Ah, Noreen! What whip-skinned bottom-cheeks you shall have for this. ... Seducing a peer of the realm!"
We lay still for a moment, my passion spent. Then Noreen began to squirm with alarm for she felt my softened penis, which was still in her bottom, begin to harden again. I fondled her rear cheeks lasciviously to assist my urge. Then, with a gasp of rage from Noreen, I began to ride her again.
"You young tart, Noreen! Your own bottom is to blame for this...."
After another spending, the serpent grew limp and Noreen squeezed it cautiously from her behind. It lolled across her firm pale bottom-cheeks, the last spendings leaving a lewd snail-trail upon those rear orbs. In this state they brought her out later, bowing and twisting in the grip of the grooms as she wrestled against them. She was naked now but for the short singlet which left her hips and legs quite bare. Had the grooms had fun with her or was it the girl's own fault that Noreen's bottom-cheeks glowed with smack-prints upon which shone the splashes of sperm?
The little carriage had two bars across its shafts. One was at the front and the other a couple of feet behind. The grooms held Noreen so that the girl bent tightly forward over the rear bar as her wrists were strapped to the front one. The rear bar was equipped with a broad and thick harness strap, used to fasten Noreen down firmly by the waist until her belly was pressed hard on the support. Though she was a strong girl, the straps were more than a match for her. A leather collar was fastened round her neck and this was also secured to the front bar by a short length of chain.
The view which Raoul had from the drivers seat was, to say the least, stimulating. He was confronted by the spread of the girl's hips a she bent and more than a hint of brown-haired cunt between the rear opening of her thighs, her legs themselves looking strong but trim. The firm pale cheeks of Noreen's bottom, fattened and broadened as she bent over tightly, were a constant temptation to any driver to reach for his whip. Above her bare hips, Raoul could see the straight young back and resilient breast-swell outlined by the clinging cotton of the singlet. The firm and defiant look of Noreen's face was more easily seen when her dark hair was worn in its short pony-tail. As usual, they wedged the rubber bit between her teeth and laced it in position.
There was great excitement to see whether Noreen would be easily brought to obedience. For all the training and discipline, her essential character could not be changed, remaining defiant and impudent. Indeed, it was this continuing disobedience which made the possession of her so exciting to me.
Raoul's hand went forward, feeling between her legs, though Noreen squirmed and tightened herself, as if to deny him entrance.
"You young bitch, Noreen!" he said with a laugh, "You've been masturbated, haven't you?"
Then he looked at her pale-cheeked bottom, seeing the suspicious snail-trail of sperm and the wet soap in her crack. There was great mirth among all the onlookers at this and the fury rekindled in Noreen's brown eyes. Raoul picked up his whip with its short lash of woven snakeskin.
"One mile along the woodland path, Noreen, and a long pull up Horsewhip Hill. You'll need plenty of this," I heard the crack of his whip in the air, "If you want an extra taste for disobedience, you shall have it."
He gave her the order to pull forward. We all watched with great excitement to see what she would do. Noreen crossed her legs tightly, one knee pressing into the back of the other, as if bracing herself for a great ordeal. She tensed her buttocks, perhaps trying to harden them. Her teeth were clenched on the rubber bit and her strapped hands clenched too, into fists so hard that her fingernails must have cut her palms. We were all delighted by such defiance and moved round for a good view of Noreen's butt and the rear of her thighs. Raoul smiled.
"Very well, Noreen, you young scrubber!" he said quietly.
Crack! The whiplash snaked across Noreen's broad pale buttocks, making her whole body jerk with the anguish. Crack! ... Smack! ... Crack! Her hips were writhing after four strokes. What was the secret of the riddle? Was Noreen's humiliation so great that her anger overcame the pain? Did she feel that her reputation required her to put up a show of disobedience before submitting to Raoul's commands? She certainly never appeared to enjoy the whip. I think it was the humiliation she had undergone which made a strong and contemptuous girl like Noreen incur such anguish. Pride, for the moment, overcame suffering.
After a dozen strokes the whip cut her, low down on the heavy pallor of Noreen's buttocks, drawing three red trickles. She writhed with wilder energy, Noreen butt-upwards over the bar on which she was strapped by the waist. Raoul inflicted the punishment with great skill, always choosing those areas where the young woman would feel it most keenly, whether low across Noreen's bottom-cheeks or across the backs of her thighs. Now as she squirmed more wildly over the bar, her buttocks parted and the crack between them was fully glimpsed. To quell her rebellion once for all, Raoul flicked the whip at this point so that the lash went flashing into Noreen's crack, before she could clench her ass-cheeks to conceal it. The twenty-one-year-old girl yelled with all the power of her lungs. The grooms now came forward and parted her rear cheeks with their hands, offering the same target to Raoul without any means by which Noreen could deny it to him. Raoul smiled at her.
"Well, Noreen, you young bitch! Which is it to be?"
Further resistance was beyond her power to endure. Lying forward in her straps, Noreen's strong young legs began to strain, her feet pressing hard to move the garden-carriage forward. Every muscle in her bare thighs was mapped by the effort. Raoul took a school spanking-strap and gave her a sharp smack across her rump with it. I heard a creak of the axle and the carriage moved at last. It was a fine spectacle to see Noreen's young legs laboring and straining at each step, her broadened ass-cheeks rounding and squirming. As she moved, one saw glimpses of her coral-pink cunt between her legs at the back, while
Noreen's bottom-cheeks moved in a touching-and-parting rhythm.
She was well within Raoul's reach. Leaning forward in his seat, he slid a hand between the back of her legs, fondling Noreen's cunt to see if she would yield another orgasm. It seemed beyond her power. His fingers slipped between Noreen's broad buttocks, searching for the thin raised weal which the lash had inflicted.
"I think I hurt you there, Noreen, did I not?" he said, his fingers almost stroking the weal as if to sooth her, "You must expect that. So far as your behind is concerned, Noreen, it is your crack with its tight little anus which attracts me most...."
A spasm seized the girl's hips, though she did not cease her labors. We guessed that Raoul's finger had entered Noreen's butt. His conduct was strange, inexplicable. He would take the young woman into a room, strap her bending naked over a stool and torture Noreen from the last glow of dusk until the first flush of dawn. Yet now, as she ran, he slid his hand between her legs again, squeezing and fondling, masturbating Noreen all over again!
As the woodland path gave way to the steep incline of Horsewhip Hill, all this changed. Without the stimulus of whipcuts, Noreen would never have hauled the carriage and its driver up the slope. Even under the lash, she strained and stumbled, laboring urgently to obey. Raoul trailed the lash through his fingers and then began to be far more severe with her.
This was necessary in order to drive Noreen onwards. Yet on the slope, she also presented a far more seductive prospect. Her hips and backside rounded and surged with the energy of her struggles. Moreover, the incline caused her to thrust herself out further at the rear. It seemed as if Noreen was deliberately trying to stick her strapping young butt right into her driver's face! Of course, Noreen's rear cheeks were pulled hard apart by bending so tightly and laboring so hard in this posture on the hill, so that her crack was revealed all the way between her buttocks. Contrary to the truth, it seemed as if Noreen was asking for the whip by her seductive squirmings-and even offering her behind in the lewdest and most vulnerable position for it.
You may be sure that Raoul obliged her. The inward buttock slopes of Noreen's crack received one searing kiss after another from the snakeskin lash. The cunning whip sought out Noreen's crack, the pale globes of her bottom-cheeks, the backs of her thighs, and then her crack again. By the time the outing was over, they unfastened her from the carriage and allowed her to sink to her knees. Smiling intently, they watched Noreen writhe butt-upwards on the lawn, unable to endure the thought of sitting or walking until almost an hour had passed.
By this time, you may be sure, I felt that sport had turned into villainy. Though I had enjoyed myself greatly with Noreen, I was concerned that Raoul and even Mr. Bowler ought not to be trusted with Noreen and the other girls. My instinct, which later proved sound, assured me that one day there would be such a session of whip and penis which would end with a leather collar being tightened inexorably round Noreen's throat-or the point of sharpened steel being pressed slowly but irresistibly into Noreen's belly-button. While I thought of that, Raoul and Mr. Bowler were preparing a new carriage-pony for her outing.
If I tell you that they summoned pretty Jane, the youngest of Master Miles's girls, you will understand the extent of my misgivings. Pretty Jane-for despite her lank dark hair and fringe there is such an open appeal in her firm fair-skinned face and brown eyes-is a charming creature. Yet now they proceeded to strip and harness her. Off came her skirt and, of course, Jane Mitchener's schoolgirl panties. The taut resilience of her pale buttocks inspired vindictiveness rather than desire in them. The young cunt between her taut young thighs was an object of mere curiosity. Though Jane had not yet reached the age of discretion in such matters, these men made the decision for her.
Unlike Noreen, Jane was obedient from the start. This did not, of course, save her. The snakeskin lash smacked cruelly across the taut bare pallor of Jane Mitchener's bottom-cheeks from the first. Raoul made his fourth-form pupil run the full course, including the dreaded slope of Horsewhip Hill. No wonder if Jane's eyes were brimming, her mouth turned down forlornly and such a woeful expression on her face. The thin plum-colored weals of the whip patterned the young cheeks of Jane Mitchener's backside.
I resolved to confront Mr. Bowler with an offer which I felt sure he would accept. My chance came that evening after dinner. He summoned me to the study where pretty young Jane was his companion, still without her panties on. He made her bend and asked my admiration-as he parted her smarting buttocks-for the fine way the lash had skinned Jane Mitchener's bottom-crack. I agreed to this and then put my proposition as calmly as I could.
Mr. Bowler would soon be leaving for a six-months furlough in a warm climate. Upon the sunlit island he possessed, there was a harem of a hundred young women, drawn from every nation and type of beauty. What could he want with Noreen and her kind? He could not take them with him. I offered to take care of them in his absence.
"Pooh!" says he, "You may have 'em for all I care. They weary me already. If there was a way to indict Noreen so that she might be hanged for her offence as a public entertainment, I should sign the paper tonight!"
"I would not," said I, "take your right from you without some recompense."
"Recompense?" said Mr. Bowler loudly, "The young whores cost me nothing. Not a penny piece have I paid for Noreen nor Tracey this season. Still, my lord, if your conscience should bother you in the matter, a hundred pounds will make it smooth. For that, you may have all legal rights in the young sluts. They are to be under absolute custody of a justice for five more years-ten if you care to reimpose the penalty. You are a justice, my lord, so am I. We may transfer them between us to Coombe. The money you pay shall be the expense."
I was utterly taken aback, not having allowed for the manner in which the old fellow might weary of the girls in his power. To be sure he had many more in the place to which he was going. It will take another volume to describe the pleasures and the punishments reserved for Jacqueline Grant and Shirley Ross, or Claire Wicks and Tania Nicoll, or even Kim Roberts and Jane Truman.*
* To be had of the Private Bibliophiles, chez 13 Rue du Faubourg de Montmartre, Paris 9e
Be that as it may. I, who had been prepared to argue and even to threaten Mr. Bowler, now found my wish granted without a pause. As for the payment-if such it was-my new wealth enabled me to afford it fifty times over!
So it was that I came to the end of this first stage in my adventure. It was beyond belief and yet my new status as the owner of a harem was vindicated by the very laws of England which have been the bane of so many libertines! I have much more to tell, of Master Miless reformatory and, indeed, of that certain island paradise to which I, my friends, and our girls were destined.
Yet I would not take leave of you so abruptly after our first meeting. Perhaps you would be patient enough to hear a little of what lay in store for me in the years to come.
CHAPTER TEN
The consequences of my agreement with Mr. Bowler-My own harem and the pleasures offered me-An account of the present state of affairs at Coombe-Mr. Bowler and his new girls-The fate of Maggie, his young blonde of twenty-Maggie stripped and strapped-The diligent care of Master Miles for his reformatory nymphs and tomboys-The training of Michele-Mr. Snook and his bizarre lusts-Wintering in tropic climes-Stories of his extreme demands on female slaves-A young wife displayed-The uses and pleasures of her private parts demonstrated to his guests-The author of these memoirs retires to bed with two of his favorite girls-A promise to the reader that the tale shall be resumed in another volume-A timely farewell!
My agreement with Mr. Bowler was all the better to him for the ease with which he might re-stock his own collection. As for myself, I now saw what advantages there were in being a man of justice and morality, the stern judge or the powerful magistrate. The truth is that so many things which the world will condemn as libertinage may be done in the serve of judicial discipline without a murmur of protest. Indeed, the rewards of a grateful administration tumbled upon Master Miles and his kind.
Did the master whip the bare buttocks of Sally and Jane? What then? He was a hero for doing so.
Why should he not enjoy his public duty? Did Mr. Bowler touch-up a young felon like Noreen? The law-abiding citizens applauded him. What a scandal it would be for Mr. Snook to be knocked down by her and the young bitch unpunished! The fact that these gentlemen had such young tarts under their own roofs and supervised every function of their bodies strictly was pure philanthropy. So long as Mr. Bowler gave such young sluts food and shelter in his own house, the nation was saved the expense and .its taxes might be lower than would otherwise be possible.
You will not, surely, complain because idle gossip talks of the masters stiff penis entering the thighs or butt of such girls? In the first place, the girls are criminals and ought not to be easily believed. Would you readily take the word of pretty Jane against the Lord Mayor? Could Noreen's complaint against Mr. Bowler be more than spite against the man who brought her to justice?
Suppose you did believe them. What then? Would you bring down the fabric of law and government in ruins because a gentleman has yielded to the seduction of some young slut-she having long ago surrendered decency in the arms of a young back-street ruffian? Would you not pity, rather than blame, the worthy gentleman who yields to her a moment under such extreme provocation?
You may easily see, then, that no revelation of mine would do the least damage to the characters of my worthy neighbours. Yet, I confess, since my arrival at Coombe I was like that personage of Monsieur Moliere who discovered that he had been speaking prose all his life without knowing it. I had been a worthy and moral gentleman without realising it. All my life, when I enjoyed the pleasures of such girls as came my way, I suspected that my fault was one of libertinage. It was not. My fault was in not being a pillar of law or government. What might be pure libertinage in others takes on quite another complexion as one ascends to that rank in society.
Let me then tell you something of the way in which I and my neighbours live as I draw this first volume of my memoirs towards its close. What would you find, were you to visit each of us this winter evening?
Master Miles, I may tell you, has a visiting judge as his guest, from the assize-court, not five miles distant. On these occasions, the discipline which is due will be carried out in the long whitewashed room with its flagstones and gas-lamps flaring on the walls. While the honourable judge looks on from his comfortable chair, the shirt-sleeved master takes his whip and confronts another pair of slovenly bare buttocks over the block. Half-an-hour of whip-strokes and wild shrillness leaves the cheeks of Pauline Cox's bottom in a state to stiffen the hangman himself.
There are others to deal with before the master and his guest devote themselves to the prize of the evening. Married randiness at twenty-five is presented in the petite figure of Jacqueline Grant with her pert features, narrow blue eyes, and the short crop of lightly-waved auburn hair. Strapped over the block on all fours, her buttocks are tightly rounded and clearly separated. Fifty strokes with a slim leather switch and the bare cheeks of Jacqueline Grant's bottom are a mass of thin weals and ruby trickles. Even then the young bitch is not unfastened until whipcord has smartened her backside and thighs a little.
Yet it is a lithe fifteen-year-old who claims the attention of master and judge alike. Michele now has a sturdy look to her, though she is neither very tall nor large built. She has a cheaply provoking look of the kind one might expect in a street girl. Her brown hair is worn in a slant across her forehead, combed back and trimmed short at her collar, causing her to flick it clear of her face in a sluttish manner. Her brown eyes appear narrow and shifting with thin brows. She has a mouth rather large and a chin almost childishly soft. With a flick of her hair, back from the long slope of her cheekbones she shows a nose that is tilted provokingly.
Clad in short bodice and tight cotton pants, one sees her arms lightly sunburnt and contrasting with the pallor of her face, which retains an almost childish softness. One observes her budding breasts are nicely peaked. Michele's pale bottom-cheeks are trim and resilient when she stands but they fill to deliciously taut globes when she bends. Her favorite stance is slack-hipped and sluttish.
You may be sure that the judge, diligent in administering the penalties of law on such a young scrubber, as Master Miles would term her, must acquaint himself with the adolescent delinquent. Taking her behind the screen he requires her to bend while his hand draws down Michele's panties. There is much mumbled conversation. Harsh reprimands. Sharp smacks on bare thighs and the taut adolescent smoothness of fifteen-year-old bottom-cheeks. A genial chuckle from the old fellow and a questioning sigh from the girl. Rhythmic creak of the stool over which she lies. Soft squirming of thighs at the comfort between them. Presently a pause and sounds of the youngster's alarm. A sudden withdrawal.
"I must spend on your young backside, Michele!"
A cry of desolation and a soft rhythmic spurting. At last the hardened little criminal comes out, followed by her admirer. Bare from waist to heels she presents a curious sight. She flicks back the slant of brown hair from her brazen young face. Yet the lithe bare cheeks of Michele's fifth-form behind appear red with smack-prints and splashed with her admirers passion.
No further delay is allowed. If ever a reformatory girl deserved punishment, it is she, for she did not even scruple to seduce an assize-court judge.
They oblige her to kneel on all fours over the block while she is strapped down at wrists, waist, and thighs. The hem of the singlet is drawn up at the back well clear of her hips, ensuring that the well-rounded cheeks of Michele's bottom are bare.
"Thirty-six strokes of the cane across your bare bottom, Michele Page! Call for the first one!"
"No!" Her wail is one of dismay, not defiance. "Oh, no!"
Smack! The bamboo cuts across her bare buttocks. There is a wild cry.
"One!. ... Two!. ... THREE!...."
The bamboo lands across and aslant her adolescent backside with wicked force.
The familiar shrillness of the reformatory fills the room, its walls ringing with the measured whip! whip! whip! of supple bamboo on the girl's bare buttocks and her master's reprimands.
"Keep your bottom still, Michele! Must I begin the caning again?"
"The young minx!" chuckles the judge, "She needs to feel a proper lash across her backside. I shall recommend that the law be amended in that particular!"
The drama goes through all its stages. Michele shrieks at them, calling them bastards and dirty old men who are enjoying giving her the cane. At this the judge laughs again.
"You young slut, Michele! Of course we're enjoying this! That impudent young backside of yours makes a perfect target for the cane! I'm sure your boy-friends would enjoy seeing your butt thrashed!"
Extra strokes fall across the backs of her agile young thighs to smarten her up. The tautly rounded cheeks of her bottom display a tapestry of bamboo prints. When, under such discipline, Michele Page's bottom farted and squirmed, it served only to broaden the smile on the judge's face.
"If you please, Master Miles! Begin the caning from the start. The first stroke of the three dozen! Tan Michele for impudence!"
Small wonder if Michele flicks back the slanting sweep of her brown hair and cranes round at them with wild dismay in her hard and impudent young face.
If the upholders of law have any regret as they put the youngster through her paces a second time, it is only that they have not the leisure to deal with her more thoroughly. But the block will soon be needed for the other delinquent girls and young women who make up the night's list. Cheeky yoUng Sally with her high-boned impish prettiness must be taken behind the screen by the honourable judge. With her fair tresses trimmed in a gently curled cut at her nape, she was a charming prospect. Her trim and lightly muscled young figure was gently sun-browned, giving her an additional appeal when undressed. As she bent and he took down her briefs, the judge was intrigued by the early womanhood in the shape of Sally Fenton's smooth young bottom-cheeks. He then stroked and fondled her in this area and between the legs until she hardly knew if she was coming or going. To be sure, she had falsified her age to gain easier treatment. As his hands examined her and his resolve hardened, he decided that a proper lash was the only implement suited to Sallys young buttocks.
It was a moments work to amend her age in the reformatory list. At a bound she became sixteen. While the master did this his honor the judge occupied himself with the pretty female imp bending before him. A spy would soon have observed a certain moist excitement between her legs and a gleam of vaseline between Sally Fenton's bottom-cheeks.
When she was securely over the block the pony-switch was brought, slim and tapering. For the next half hour they would give young Sally a lesson in discipline.
Thus you will see that law and morality in our country stands in no danger so long as it has such servants as Master Miles and such arbiters as Judge Honour. With such a cheeky fourth-form imp, there could be no question of leniency. Now that these men of law had corrected the matter of her age, she could be dealt with more rigorously than an older girl like Michele. No limit was set to the number of strokes. The lithe and prettily rounded cheeks of Sally Fenton's bottom were whipped ... and whipped ... and whipped.
It was not only Master Miles and the judiciary who chose to devote the evening to the tasks of law and morality. What of Mr. Bower? How has he passed the few hours which have flown by as you read these pages?
Those strapping young wenches whom he once owned are now safely under my roof. Noreen, Pat, and Ange are well employed here. I have no doubt that he dreams still of the firm pale swell of Noreen's broad young buttocks as she bent to receive his displeasure. How often had his whip played havoc with her strapping young bottom until Noreen farted, and danced, and shrieked! Yet this evening you would have found Mr. Bowler busy in his counting-house, building the prosperity of the nation. He was returned to the House of Commons in the late election by a clear majority of the tradespeople and respectable rate-payers of the city.
Do not fear that he had relinquished the duties of magistrate and disciplinarian. Though Noreen and her kind have passed into my care, you may be sure that other young trollops are now the recipients of his charity.
Suppose you had chanced by his emporium this afternoon. There you would have observed Maggie at work-a delinquent back-street blonde, now twenty-three years old. The lank flaxen hair, combed loose to her shoulders and fringed, frames the pale oval of a face calculated to appeal to Mr. Bowler's philanthropic urges. Maggie has those hard and rather crude features which stimulate him so easily. There is a sluttish indifference in her blue eyes. Do you recall her from my preliminary observations to these memoirs? With the slight shortness of legs there is a certain stockiness to her thighs, though her hips and butt are tightly moulded as well as a little broadened.
Mr. Bowler studies well the view which Mag displays to the world in her tight riding-pants and singlet. With her lilting voice he dreams of Maggie as his Welsh pony, so put to useful toil. You may be sure that by this evening he has found time to attend to her. Other men long to return to hearth and family but Mr. Bowler, lord of industry that he is, thinks only of the duties which an employer must carry out. Maggie at sixteen, when she was first apprenticed as his shopgirl, still had a fair-skinned innocence in her face, the curtains of her blonde hair giving her an almost child-like appeal. Mag at twenty-three is a hardened slut.
Observe her well. See her slack-hipped posture and her insolent chewing of some sweetmeat displayed to the passers-by. As she arranges the leather goods for display, the young wanton strips herself quite outrageously to a sleeveless blouse of red silk and jeans-trousers of yachting white. Lewdly provocative, she bends with her rump to the public view, her bottom fuller-cheeked, the shape of her panties clearly outlined through the tight denim seat of her white working-trousers.
Have no fear. Mr. Bowler forgoes the pleasures of society in order to detain Maggie at his emporium once a week and teach her a lesson in manners, which lasts all evening. Beyond the counting-house over which he presides there is a convenient stockroom of considerable size. Mr. Miles, as well as, I could swear that Mr. Bowler takes Maggie in there at seven of an evening and begrudges his time so little that it is often midnight before the door opens and he goes to his carriage.
A carriage of another sort is the means of Maggie's training. It is just the model between whose shafts Noreen labored on Horsewhip Hill. Here it is used, on metal rails which run round the stockroom, for transporting goods. The slatternly young blonde is made to bend over the cross-bars joining its shafts. Maggie's wrists and collar are attached to the front bar, her waist strapped to the rear. Her master allows her to wear her hair pinned back in a flat tail by a tortoiseshell comb so that it will not fall about her face. He himself undoes her at the waist, taking down the working-trousers and panties of the girl who bends so provokingly in harness between the shafts. Maggie's panties, the stretched briefs of cotton web, are to be added to Mr. Snook's collection.
You might suppose that in her discipline-harness, Maggie would at last mend her ways. Yet the young slut is too hardened for that. As Mr. Bowler stood before her, she gave him such a bold-faced look that she enticed his stiffness out of his trousers and into her mouth. It is pure witchcraft that puts him in this plight and as such it deserves vengeance. By the time that he broke the spell the young bitch had put upon him, his erection was of such size that he could not get it back into his breeches. Walking round the bending girl, standing behind her, he seemed to find his prick drawn between the bare pallor of her coltish thighs. Late, as if mesmerised, he looked down to see that the young whore was vaselined between her buttocks and that Maggie's ass-hole was stretched tight round the rim of his phallus as he sodomised her.
So you need have no reservations over the discipline which he inflicted on this hard-faced young blonde for, to be sure, he deserved the chance to revenge himself upon Mag for her seduction of him. When she writhed in her straps and smoothed her buttocks against his loins, it was desire to feel his sperm in her butt which moved her. No man who has seen her bending to her work could doubt it. Holding her broadened hips by the flanks, Mr. Bowler pumped his all into Maggies backside.
At last he came to himself and was adamant in the discipline she must receive. He had a blonde tail to match her pony-tail of hair. Inserting this is Maggie's anus by its butt, drawing it up under the waist belt, he let it fall in a fine cascading plume which just brushed her backside. To prevent Maggie forcing the leather butt from her butt, it was held by a tight strap running down between her buttocks, under her legs, and joining her waist belt at the front. To make her feel her situation more acutely, he fastened the rubber bit in her mouth.
Alas for Maggie the slut! There was a vindictive stable-boy who had watched her amorously but had been spurned by her. Now he took a loving vengeance. There is a plant known as pica-pica or cow-itch. Its tiny hair-like points enter the skin easily and set up a virulent itching which drives the victim quite frantic for several hours. This sportive boy had spread these wicked itch-needles on the strap where it ran under the girl's legs and between her buttocks. Worse still, he had put them on the butt of the pony-tail which was now inserted in Maggies arsehole.
Within a minute or two, this warm-blooded young blonde felt a maddening itch begin to crawl and prickle between her legs and in the crack between her buttocks. Even her anus was tormented by it. Mr. Bowler saw her thighs squirm and rub desperately together. It was in vain for she could not dislodge the strap. Her hips began to twist and surge. The bare pale cheeks of Maggie's bottom contorted and writhed like a filly in heat.
Unable to drive her in this state, he demanded absolute stillness. The command was impossible for her to obey. Mr. Bowler chose the long slim pony-switch. He smiled as she turned her hard young face.
'I'll have obedience from you, Maggie! You randy young whore!"
With all his strength he brought the switch across the robust pale mounds of Maggie's bottom at she writhed. Maggie screamed through the rubber in her mouth, unable to articulate the words which might have excused her disobedience. Allowing no pause, Mr. Bowler thrashed her backside and her upper thighs, laying aside the artificial pony-tail in order that the broadly rounded cheeks of Maggie's bottom might be fully presented to him.
The vulgar young strumpet could not, of course, obey him. Indeed, the combined torment of the itch and the atrocious naked smart of leather on her bare bottom made it impossible for her to keep still. Maggie was torn between the twin torment of the itch and the whip. Would there come a moment when even the pica-pica would yield to the agony of the thrashing?
He thrashed the young window-dresser's bottom until a mass of raised stripes reddened her rear cheeks. He whipped Maggie until she shed red droplets from her buttocks. His manhood standing stiff from his trousers, he whipped her backside and her thighs until at length her head dropped and her knees bent.
"You may depend upon it, Maggie," he murmured as he applied the smelling bottle, "I will have obedience from you, you young tart. I shall go to fetch the special coach-whip. Even the most rebellious filly is reduced to obedience after a dozen cuts across her hind cheeks. You shall taste it on your butt, Maggie!"
It will not surprise you to learn that the amorous stable-boy and several other lads had been eavesdropping and keyhole-peeping at Maggie during her discipline. Now they darted into the room while Mr. Bowler was away. One, with gloved hands, undid the strap between her legs and buttocks. He gave her a good rub under the legs and in her butt-crack with fresh pica-pica leaves. Under the strap, before replacing it, he attached a persuader-strap with its needle-tips projecting to dent the inward slopes of her rear cheeks and her inner thighs. The lad whose amorous fondling she had rejected drew his gasper cherry-red and touched the glowing tip to the bare cheek of Maggies bottom. Indeed, for several minutes he touched up her backside before Mr. Bowlers footsteps were heard. He brushed away the gray ash and smacked her bottom hard.
"You'll get a real thrill from the pony-whip with your bottom smartened already, Maggie! You'll be worth watching now!"
Tender from these attentions and martyred on the needle-tips, Maggie endured an obedience lesson from the lash which she would never forget. I am told that the wicked lad confessed to Mr. Bowler his desire for Maggie. The master allowed him a night with her in a bridal boudoir. So extreme were the demands for love made on her, that Maggie was not seen again for more than a week! Even then the tightness of riding-jeans for stable-work caused her some discomfort, and when she sat down she did so uneasily.
And what of Mr. Bowlers associate, Joshua Snook, Esquire of Snooks Hall? He is now promoted to be chairman of quarter sessions but is obliged to winter abroad on an island which his family has owned since the days of sugar plantations. His im-puissance finds relief among his secret harem by making white slave-women perform extreme acts to amuse his guests. I assure you they are absolutely his slaves on that island and no tales will be told. My story comes in confidence from Mr. Bowler.
Nothing would do last month but a young woman must lie on the courtyard table while the pleasures and functions of her body were displayed after dinner. Her tits occupied the first hour, kissing and sucking prick the next. By midnight the functions of her cunt and belly were amply shown. Then, at dead of night, the lewder uses and functions of her backside must be fully displayed.
He chose a matured Venus in her late twenties, well exercised in marriage bed and childbirth. She was a most unwilling slave, a cool contempt for her masters shown in her blue eyes and the firm fair-skinned features of her resentful young face. Her body was at that delightful stage where firm erotic maturity has not slackened into plumpness. Some of those who admired her trim legs and the firm pale moons of her backside found it a piquant contrast that this cold feminine creature should have her fair hair fringed and cut short almost like a boys.
On the morning of her ordeal, they informed Lesley that all requests to visit the tiled room and respond to the demands of nature would be refused. That night, whether she lay spread-legged or bottomupwards over the demonstration-table, she must be in a condition to perform any act demanded of her.
It was already dark, in the hour after dinner, when they led the proud young woman to the demonstration-table in the courtyard where the rows of seats overlooked it. A white singlet shaped her tautly-moulded breasts and straight young back. A pair of translucent honey-toned tights was all that covered her below the waist. Her wrists were strapped together before her and, in readiness for further restraint, she wore leather anklets, waistbelt and collar.
The blue eyes which surveyed the onlookers from under the parted fringe of her short-cut hair showed only disdain. Yet soon her self-assurance faltered as the lecturer embraced her from behind pulling up her singlet and manualising Lesleys tits till the nipples were hard and erect. It did not seem possible that such a haughty young woman would kneel and suck a native boys penis in front of this audience. Yet the demonstrator murmured in her ear. At the same time he drew the leather collar a little tighter, showing her how easily it might become Venus's coup de grace! She was also held while he tickled her belly button lightly with the steel tip of a skewer. To their delight, they saw Lesley kneel, her hands strapped behind her now, and suck the rampant piddler of the first native boy. She did it with a few retching sounds and a faint revulsion as the lad obliged her to swallow down his spending. Despite her submission, she tried to struggle, briefly and in panic, when she saw that he was only the first of six lads for whom she must perform this service.
With knees hugged to her breasts and her "underside" displayed to the audience, the young woman served as model for a discourse on vaginal anatomy.
Then she was detained in this alluring posture while two native girls masturbated her slowly, ignoring Lesley's cries of protest until they became sighs of longing. They made her come three times before leaving her. As their agile fingers procured one spasm after another, the instructor chided his subject in a quiet voice.
"Don't try to turn your face away, Lesley. Must I warn you again of what will happen if you resist? The guests will want to watch your face as you climax...."
When the women had finished, it was the turn of two of the native soldiers to exercise her cunt on their erections. They took turns with her, each driving into her belly with such skill and energy that Lesley squirmed, groaned, and cried out in the delight of this impalement. When the climax came, Lesley now shuddered and ground her teeth as if in a manic fit.
They allowed her five minutes or so to calm down after this, dressed again in her tights and singlet. Old Mr. Snook came forward and, at his request, the attendants made the young woman bend forward over the table. The firm moon-like pallor of Lesley's bottom-cheeks appeared through the veil of the translucent tights. Mr. Snook ran his hand over these rear curves and asked for reassurance that his young hen had not been permitted to lay that morning. They assured him that all was in order and that Lesley was in the condition he wished. Happy as a schoolboy, he went back to his place.
Yet it was the vigorous use of her cunt which had made Lesley more sensitive to the growing pressure between her legs. She murmured a forlorn request. Her guardians smiled and led her to one end of the marble table where they made her sit in a convenient hollow. Mr. Snook swore it was the most piquant sight, this arrogant and emancipated young woman with her urchin crop bowed, forlorn as a little girl before a reprimand. The sulky mouth and chin were so self-pitying! Those blue eyes under her parted fringe lost all their aloofness in her desperate appeal.
She sat in the hollow, clad only in singlet and the translucent tights, while two of the attendants held her firmly by her arms. Two others held her knees open so that the demonstrator could tickle the young wife's little fountain-hole mercilessly through the sleek transparent film of her tights. He teased the vaginal flesh, so roused and sensitive from its recent use. Tickled and squirming, Lesley fought a losing battle to retain her golden flood.
For ten minutes there was an intent silence as the tantalising finger mocked her with its insinuating caress. From time to time a gasp of pent up breath broke from her and there was a soft movement as the firm spread of Lesley's seat writhed on the marble of the hollow in which she sat. Then, with her high-crowned crop still bowed, she gave a quiet half-muffled cry. The guests smiled as they heard an unmistakable feminine hiss of the warm torrent escaping from between her legs. The mature urchin-cropped Venus sat in a pool of her own making.
Her captors held her in this predicament until the seat and flanks of her tights were thoroughly soaked, in accordance with old Mr. Snook's desire. Then they turned her over, so that she lay on her side with her back to the spectators, held in this position by strapping her waist to a steel ring set in the centre of the marble. So her arrogance and disdain were curbed, this sexually matured young woman presenting her wet seat and thighs like a chastened schoolgirl of ten or twelve.
There was a pause while the guests admired the rear view of her perversely severe crop of short fair hair. Their eyes followed the curve of her back in the short singlet. Between the singlet hem and the waistband of her tights there was a gap where a band of sleek white flesh showed bare and pale. The seat of the translucent tights shone wet and glossy, clinging flawlessly to the firm erotic contours of her proud young backside. Fitting so wet and close, they gave a fuller and fatter look to the smooth pale swell of Lesleys bottom-cheeks.
A servant entered with a sponge and a bowl containing an inch of perfume whose sweetness rose in the air. He mopped up the pool from the hollow, squeezing it into the bowl. By the time he finished, its contents were of questionable decency, however heavily perfumed. The young woman caught her breath and shook her little-boy fringe clear as she twisted her head round, hearing Mr. Snooks command. The servant grinned. Despite her squirmings, he sponged the bowls lewd contents over the seat-cheeks of Lesleys tights, then over her hip-flanks, thighs, and legs. Mr. Snook chuckled.
"Little girls who misbehave have to learn a lesson, Lesley!"
She hid her face, but her admirers gazed at the wet and fatter seat of Lesley's tights which she was obliged to present to them.
Presently, as if it were the stage of a theatre, a curtain was drawn across to conceal her from them for a moment. Even this was a subterfuge. A lad came forward, finger to his lips to warn the onlookers. Gently he lifted the curtain a little, so that the young woman lying with her back to it was unaware. They saw her buttocks tensing and slackening rhythmically in the wet tights. Her thighs squeezed and squirmed. The tips of her busy fingers appeared fleetingly in the rear opening of her legs. Believing they could not see her, Lesley was making love to herself.
Was she still so roused from earlier fingering that she needed to finish off what they had begun? Had she found some secret excitement at what they were doing to her? For several minutes, her admirers enjoyed the alluring spectacle. Then an older woman, the duenna of Mr. Snooks harem, came forward. With one hand she drew away the busy fingers. With the other she made the air ring at the heavy resonance of several hard smacks on the wet seat of Lesley's tights, forcing a gasp at the sting of it and a forlorn cry.
The attendants positioned Lesley bottom-upwards over the rubber cushions. They attached each wrist to a ring at the table-corners at one end, her ankles pinioned together at the other. Midnight struck. They peeled off her wet tights and pulled the hem of the singlet well up above her hips, laying bare the firm and full-mooned cheeks of Lesley's bottom. In the long hours which lay ahead, the mysteries and pleasures of her backside would be the subject of the demonstration.
Mr. Snook chose a squirt whose glass barrel was six inches long and as far round as his thumb. He filled it with green soap liquid from the hand-basin, then he eased the nozzle into the young woman's rear. Though Lesley twisted her boy-cropped head round frantically, the old man slid the full length of the glass squirt up her behind until only the black rubber bulb was visible as it nestled snug between her buttocks. She gasped at the cold depth of the intrusion, her rear cheeks tightening, her belly tense, and her knees wedged hard together. She turned her sulky fair-skinned face to the onlookers, her aloof blue eyes and little-boy fringe imploring them. But each of the men showed her a fine stiff tool, in his excitement at what was going to be done to her.
"Lesley has been refused permission to take down her panties for the usual reason today," said Mr. Snook with a smile, "Her bottom is a little uncomfortable now and therefore very responsive."
The young woman gasped as he pressed the rubber bulb, squirting a first jet of perfumed soap liquid into her bowels. Then he made Lesley cry out in panic as he pumped the rest of the liquid into her behind with a firm and vigorous rhythm. To the delight of the onlookers the young wife's hips and seat squirmed, she gritted her teeth, and her legs pulled vainly against their straps. Then she lay limp and unresisting as the empty squirt was withdrawn. To Mr. Snook's glee, the tip of the squirt bore certain blemishes with which Lesley had involuntarily adorned it. To her dismay, her master displayed these to his guests.
"I'm sure Lesley must be desperate now," he said smiling, "She will have ample excuse for misbehaving under the whip!"
Before they thrashed her, however, the young woman's behind had to receive a man's tribute. A powerfully-built soldier entered, his muzzle rising stiff against his belly. He was greatly excited by the erotic maturity of Lesleys pale bottom-cheeks, firmly filled out by sex and childbearing. Two women parted these rear cheeks firmly, showing the soldier how the smooth pale skin was tinted yellow-ivory where the two halves of her backside curved in to meet at the dark bud of Lesleys anus. One woman took a large blob of vaseline and smeared it thickly between the young wife's buttocks.
The soldier knelt astride her hips, his swollen knob knocking for admission at Lesley's anus. She gasped, squirmed and then gave a cry of submission. The soldier groaned in ecstasy at the tightness of the young woman's arsehole on his erection. Shaking back the parted fringe of her fair hair, Lesley turned her face, imploring him.
"Before we let our young hen lay, she must have the cock, Lesley!" said Mr. Snook smiling, "Ah, I think his erection is a little large! He stretches your bottom rather hard, does he? But you like the feel of a penis inside you, Lesley. ... Even in your bottom, I think!"
They made the young wife stick her butt out further, so that the soldier could ride her more vigorously. His driving loins slapped rhythmically against her bare buttocks, causing her entire body to jerk at each inward thrust. To Mr. Snook's delight it was evident that the alternate pumping and suction of the pistoning tool in her backside gave an added arousal to the unease of Lesley's behind. At last the soldier held her firmly with a hand on each of her hip-flanks. In a final buggering he released the thick and abundant jets of warm sperm into her bottom.
Lesley tightened herself quickly as he withdrew. But the first soldier's place was taken by another, eager to sodomise her, while four others waited to use the same route. She gave a cry of alarm but Mr. Snooks unwholesome passions were to be well satisfied. The second man's knob began to stretch the young woman's anus implacably, seeking admission.
Unable to check herself, Lesley retorted loudly as the man enlarged her arsehole's opening on the smooth rounded knob of his hardened penis. Mr. Snook cackled with delight. The young wretch who did this to her was powerfully excited by Lesleys feminine rudeness which he had just caused.
He came twice in her bottom before withdrawing and making way for the next admirer. Mr. Snook-the old reprobate!-chided Lesley all this time as she writhed butt-upwards over the rubber cushions.
"You complain that we deny your right to choose the man who mounts you, Lesley? Of course we do! Close you eyes, and the penis in your backside might belong just as well to your lover or a man you detest! Remember you are my slave now and I make the choice for you. Men with big balls to pump a thick and ample pressing of sperm into your backside. You pretend that revolts you? Absurd! When the men finish with you, when you timidly eject the sperm from your behind, do you discard the paper if you loathe the man but treasure it if he was your boyfriend?"
By such perverse philosophy, the old debauchee dismissed the protests and revulsion of this willful young woman.
Presently the table became an arena of punishment. Mr. Snook chose a long and flexible leather riding-switch, no thicker than his little finger and with a short cord lash at its end.
Before thrashing her, they added a strap to pinion Lesleys bare thighs and another to hold her waist. An extra rubber cushion, wedged under her loins, raised and broadened the swell of her pale buttocks, making them part slightly and seductively. Now the pale blobs and smears of vaseline, with which she had been lubricated could be seen by the onlookers between Lesleys bottom-cheeks. Tracks of sperm on those bare rear cheeks showed where a withdrawn penis had shed its last pearly drops of desire.
Mr. Snook, expert in such discipline, commanded an inch-thickness of india-rubber to be wedged and secured between Lesley's teeth, protecting them when she clenched hard in the frenzy of the thrashing. He fondled her bare bottom, whose cheeks had now been made to swell out proudly, like the rear of a Spartan soldier-girl. He touched the switch lightly across her bare seat and watched her backside squirm and her legs writhe in their straps at the menace of cold leather. He made her wait, the switch taking aim, spurring Lesley to panic by the teasing promise of retribution.
With his lips severely tight and eyes gleaming, Mr. Snook whipped Lesley's bottom hard and with cruel accuracy. He raised twenty or thirty thin plum-colored weals which rose as if embossed on the pale cheeks of her seat. To the men's delight, Lesley screamed at the atrocious smart of the first stroke, which was given with the calm yet pitiless force of a prison whipping. The rubber gag reduced her shrillness as the firm rounds of the young wife's backside writhed and surged under a the thrashing. But Mr. Snook proposed to take this mature urchin-cropped Venus far beyond the limits of punishment, into the sinister realm which lay beyond. Unlike a judicial whipping, this one would not end merely because the young woman's butt had had fifty strokes or even twice that number.
Between the lashes, Lesley writhed over the cushions, squirming in her straps. There was a dry rasp of restraining leather being pulled against. The firm pale cheeks of Lesleys bottom met and parted in their writhing with a slippery kissing sound caused by the thickly smeared vaseline between them.
He marked the young woman's bottom-cheeks with long thin weals, some of which fell aslant the backs of her trim thighs. Then he aimed the rippling-leather wand-so lithe and springy-aslant the bottom-marks themselves. The doubled torment drove Lesley into frantic twisting and surging. The dark wine-red droplets rose at every lashing and trickled down the crimson whipped cheeks of her behind.
A girl of fourteen like Jane Mitchener or Sally Fenton might not be subject to such severity. But a young woman who was twice their age was judged well able to endure it. As she twisted the high-crowned shape of her cropped hair, the desperation showed in Lesleys brimming blue eyes and her frantic state was reflected in that fair-skinned young face which had once been so moody and resentful.
She was whipped as young women are behind harem walls when no tales will be told of what is done there. From time to time a young native boy, clad only in tight loin-cloth was beckoned forward. He held smelling salts to the young woman's nostrils, reviving her drooping spirits. As he did so, he pushed his bulging loin-cloth against her lips or face, making her feel the stiffness of it, obliging her to inhale the sperm-odors and feel the dampness of his partial emission, provoked by having her in this bare-bottomed state. like the other lads watching he was greatly excited by the thrashing, Lesley's backside now a mass of ribbed weals from the riding-switch. He murmured randily into the young wife's ear, as if to assure her of his enjoyment of what was being done to her.
After each revival, the whipping continued. A dozen times the tail of the switch caught her exquisitely between the buttocks, skinning Lesleys crack. She was frantic by now, shrill and urgent, writhing and contorting her firm whipped buttocks. Even Mr. Snooks gray-haired appendage began to stand out stiff through his unbuttoned trousers. To see this cool disdainful young woman now writhing with bottom-cheeks whipped scarlet stirred him. He decreed a pause. Yet it was only to have Lesleys buttocks massaged with well-salted fat in the usual way. This made her thin raised weals smart like fire. Those firmly rounded cheeks of Lesleys bottom shone bright red and sleek with grease. With her butt-crack compressed to a thin tight line she struggled to contain herself.
"Now the whip again, Lesley!" smiled Mr. Snook, "Getting so desperate already? You should have had a tanning like this long ago!"
A savage whip-stroke drew a line of ruby dots aslant her butt. Lesleys buttocks surged in anguish. The tip of a little-girl rudeness peeped out from her behind before the young wife could draw it back again. Mr. Snook grinned. He whipped hard across her rear cheeks and thighs with the skill of the wickedest hangman. Lesley shrieked and twisted. like an emerging cheroot the rudeness reappeared. Smack! went the whip. As she writhed, the shape like a ripe banana slid and lay in a lewd curve down .one crimson whipped cheek of Lesley Hollingsworth's bottom. It bore the ample tribute with which the six soldiers had adorned it. Mr. Snook clutched himself desperately and added his own spending on that unlady-like symbol of her submission which she had presented to him!
The incident did not, of course, end the young woman's lesson in discipline. My informants tell me that Mr. Snook was firm on that point. If he allowed Lesley to end her well-deserved correction by such misconduct, she could mock at all law, morality, and justice. She therefore received a second helping of the switch and then a whipping with the snakeskin pony-lash across her bottom-cheeks and the backs of her thighs. I hear that during the rest of the discipline, the whip made Lesley misbehave twice more, stiffening the onlookers by the excitement of the long drama.
Believe me, I do not envy Mr. Snook and still regard him privately as a crapulous old loon. Yet we shall ignore him at our peril, for he stands high in moral reputation as one who upholds the established order. I have no doubt that, were she at liberty to do so, the young woman on whom he performed would mend her ways as the price of escaping his clutches. Is not that true moral reformation-and have we not Mr. Snook to thank for it? I see by the entry that he has sentenced her, in his capacity as chief magistrate and owner of the island, to five years detention under his supervision. The sentence also requires that she be whipped once a month on her bare buttocks. Any complaints she may prefer are to be heard, of course, by the chief magistrate himself, Joshua Snook, Esquire.
I have much still to tell you of my experiences and my own discoveries of the sexual delight awaiting those who become men of power in the realm. The story of Master Miles and his "House of Correction" prompts me to reach for my pen, revealing as it does the strange conduct of some of the highest in the land.
For the moment, however, I trust that you will excuse me and that we may part as friends. The counterpane is turned back and the bed is ready. Susan and Kim wait patiently enough to hear what my pleasure will be. Tomorrow night it will be Tracey and Jacquie, or Ruth and Laura. I may have a little encounter with randy Pat or plump Ange. Perhaps I shall fall asleep with Tracey's silken veil of golden hair across my thighs and my penis comfortably exhausted and reposing in her mouth. My pillow may prove to be the smooth pale cheeks of Noreen's bottom as she lies on her belly over the bed to provide such support. On one side, as I turn, Lauras flat young belly and charming fleece are presented to my kisses. On the other, I find the firm impudent cheeks of Pat's bottom thrust into my face, demanding attention. You will excuse me, then, if I retire now and attend to all such pleasures. You may be sure that their secrets will all be revealed to you before long. Until which time, the day of our next amicable meeting, the author of these memoirs bids you farewell.
