Aphrodizzia

ELEVEN

A personal invitation from Lord Frederick to the reader Permit me, sir, to add a word to the letters which our good friend Professor J- has laid before you. By now, you will have read them all, sharing the high-spirited japes of dear old Jack on the Sussex coast, or the wanton humours of Dolly on the shores of her Berlinese lake. As you see, the world agrees that our two friends are figures of the strictest morality and the most proper conduct. Were you to doubt this for a moment, you need only apply for testimonials to the Reverend Dr. Thwackum, the Dowager Baroness Loosely, and the Honourable Colonel Randolph Hart of the Blues. If you would accept my own pledge on behalf of our friends, then you might add the word of a member of the House of Lords, a Peer of the Realm, and the heir to the Earldom of Chiltern Hundred. But you are, I am sure, a companionable fellow and a man of the world. With this in mind, I have a request to make of you on behalf of our friends-or perhaps I should say an invitation to deliver. From time to time, Jack and Dolly are my guests on my own spacious plantation, where behind well-guarded fences I cultivate certain flowers of beauty which would make your mouth water at the first glimpse of them. But when my dear friends come to pay me a visit, it necessarily means that their own lovely blooms are untended-or if you prefer, their frisky young fillies lack a rider in the saddle and a touch of the whip to their charming rumps. How much better if a reliable fellow-such as yourself-were able to supply the need while Jack and Dolly are otherwise occupied! You will, I trust, not be offended, if we regard you as a lively fellow with a wicked sense of fun and a nose for the best kind of female horse-flesh. If you have followed our adventures thus far and relished the sport, then you will scarcely turn away from this invitation. In short, we ask you to take Jack's place as lord and master of the harem for as long as it pleases you. Your journey will be safe and easy-for it is accomplished on the wings of imagination. Moreover, I tell you in confidence that you are greatly honoured. Few visitors are ever permitted here, and there are not ten men in the whole world whom Jack would entrust his pleasure-palace to during his absence. Imagine all the fancies you might indulge as master of several dozen lovely slave-girls: To them, your slightest wish becomes an absolute command. You consent to take Jack's place for a night? My congratulations on the wisdom of your choice! Let us travel together, so that I may be your guide as you indulge those rare delights which our friend Jack enjoys upon every day and night of the week. As we talk, the familiar features of the room in which you read these pages will fade from your mind. You need have no fear, everything will be in order on your return-the handsome rosewood cabinets, the rows of leather volumes on the shelves, the buhl clock and the Aubusson carpets. But now another room takes shape before your eyes, no less agreeable than your own study. The dark wood of the chairs, table, and armoire is carved with a Spanish or Moorish design. From the white courtyard outside, one hears the sound of a fountain splashing upon the patterned marble.

Such craftsmanship in the carving-some of it fine as lacework! Do you notice the change of climate, the warm and languorous air? Even in the late afternoon one feels a summer drowsiness. Perhaps you already detect the odours of spice and the clear tang of a gentle sea?

Possibly you will care to stroll down to the beach and view such adolescent nymphs as Katharine, Claudia, or Elke at their frolics. Do not forget that these girls belong absolutely to you as the master, and you will require whatever pleasure you wish from them. May I draw your attention to the two Swedish girls, the trim and noble blondes of sixteen or seventeen? Take a closer look at Helena. How could a man resist those pert neat features, the proud tilt of that pretty chin, the blue-green eyes, and the high-boned beauty? Jack is not greatly admiring of flowing skirts and garments which conceal a girl's figure. See how Helena is made to dress. A very short black jacket with a white singlet underneath and a pair of tight beach-trousers in dazzling white denim. If, like Jack, you enjoy taking a few unobtrusive photographs of such teenage nymphs, what a subject you have here! The pale blond hair with its fringe and its well-shaped silken sweep that just covers her collar makes an admirable setting for the young dignity of her face. The tight white jeans with a shiny black belt at the waist, perfectly shape the agile thighs of this slim, suntanned blonde. Look at her now. Holding her shoes in one hand she goes barefoot to the edge of the gentle tide and bends to rinse her fingers. Ah, your camera is ready! What a portrait this will be. As she bends tightly, the short sweep of the pale blond hair falls gently about her face. With feet a little apart and knees tucked forward, the straining white denim of the jeans-seat presents the nymph-cheeks of Helena's bottom. They appear tightly rounded and suggestively separated. As she walks up the beach again towards us, pretend to take a view of the open sea. Now you have the young dignity of her face in the aperture, the pale fringe, the firm features lightly suntanned. Can you resist a few clicks of the shutter? No? My congratulations again. She will not realise yet that you are taking these photographs of her as a souvenir of your adventure. She and the other blonde are now tracing their names in the wet sand with their forefingers-attempted copperplate, no doubt!

Proudly our nymph inscribes Sweden, and then with careful elegance Helena follows it. Imagine the opportunity given to a conscientious lensman as the lithe young blonde bends to this task!

Ah, I see you cannot resist a shot or two of the way that this childish game softens the proud young beauty of her face. Of course you will want several studies of her trim thighs in the tight white jeans, tense and firm as she stoops. And the hardened young mounds of Helena's buttocks, so provokingly parted as she writes in the sand, are offered more lewdly-though innocently- than the most easy going burlesque show would permit. Sooner or later the girls will realise that you are taking photographs of them-as Katharine and Claudia did with Jack. But do you not find a certain exquisite satisfaction in their discovery? See Helena and her girlfriend as they glance round at your camera and then whisper uneasily together. No wonder if a slight warm blush and a look of apprehension cloud the self-confidence of Helena's face. As she and her friend walk away with many a nervous backward glance, she is recalling the views she presented to your lens and, in her confusion, knows that there is nothing she can do now to remedy the situation. I have taken some trouble to introduce you to Helena. You wonder why? Jack and I would be greatly obliged if you would command her on your bed tonight. She is young and fresh, Jack says, and he believes it would give you great satisfaction to break her in, demanding every pleasure which our young blonde's body has to offer. Of course, we would not confine your amusement to one girl in a harem of fifty or sixty! That would be a true failure of a gentleman's hospitality. In such a place as this, the master's silken divan is never less than eight or nine feet long and quite six feet wide. On retiring, he is never accompanied by less than three or four girls who sprawl on the divan with him. Have no fear then. You shall not only be provided with such a nymph as this but also with an elfin creature of pert beauty and a strapping young trollop for your stronger tastes. Should these prove insufficient, a ready supply awaits you of mischievous schoolgirls, demure debutantes, softly passionate young wives, and warm-skinned beauties from Arabia or the Orient. First let us partake of some refreshment. Jack will never combine dinner with his amorous pursuits, for he maintains that one excitement spoils the other and begets a habit of indigestion. Here, then, in the colonnaded courtyard where the fountain plays, the table is spread with fine linen, silver, and cut-glass. As if by invisible hands, the most succulent hors d'oeuvres, the choicest dishes, and the most enticing fruits are set before you. All these are washed down by bottles of the finest vintage-claret, burgundy, and hock-all selected to tease your palate without cloying your mind. When dinner is done, it is time for you to retire to the ease of the adjoining room, there to enjoy a leisurely Havana and a glass of malt whisky. The lamps are lit now as you take your ease in a comfortable leather chair among the carved Spanish furniture. The glass, the decanter, and the humidor are on a little table beside you. Now you must meet the three girls who wait here to attend your least desire. As custom requires, the young blonde, Helena, kneels on a cushion before you, her eyes demurely lowered and her head bowed a little as she waits. She is still in the white jeans and short black jacket. When the time to undress her arrives, you would naturally wish to do that with your own hands.

And who is the charming little “waitress” who must keep your glass filled and your cigar glowing? Though she is a blonde also, she is a year or two younger than Helena. It is Natasha with her prettily severe coiffure of fringe and saucy chignon of fair hair. As you think of the acts you will make her perform, is there not something rather amusing about the pouting sulkiness of that young face? Once again, you will prefer to undress her with your own hands, no doubt. That is why Natasha still wears her formal uniform of green jumper, white blouse, striped tie and navy blue skirt with white ankle-socks.

As this prim little blonde fills your glass, can you resist stroking her fair-skinned face, kissing the prettily uncovered ear, or even running your hand up her slim young thighs under the skirt, testing their pale smoothness and feeling the firm young bottom-cheeks or warm pussy through the stretched white cotton of Natasha's schoolgirl knickers? However extreme the fantasies which Natasha awakens in your mind, all of them are possible here. The oldest of the three girls attending you is Noreen. Jack thought that after the daintiness of Natasha and the nymphlike elegance of Helena, the appeal of a strapping young trollop at nineteen years old would make an amusing contrast. Noreen's invariable costume here is the snug-fitting singlet which shows her breasts and strong young back, the tight jeans of faded blue denim. You need no introduction to the firm fair-skinned features, the defiant brown eyes, the collar length of dark lank hair and its level fringe. You now see for yourself the well formed thighs of a working-girl in the tight denim, the robust young hips, the broad but firmly-rounded cheeks of Noreen's bottom in the skin-tight denim. To ensure Noreen's obedience, you may very well need a whip, and one will be provided. Jack has also instructed that the two leather cuffs on her wrists are to be linked closely together in front of her. Her task is to operate the fan which stirs the air in the room. To do this we have contrived it that she must stand by the arm of your chair with her back to you, and must bend a little forward to reach the handle which she rums. Do you like the view with the seat of her jeans presented to you in this manner? As you sip your whisky, do you smile to yourself, your eyes roving over the sturdy mounds of Noreen's buttocks in the smooth-stretched jeans?

Let your gaze follow the stout seam of the denim seat as it is drawn deep and tight between her hind-cheeks and under her legs. See how it appears to part the lips of her cunt. Can you resist a word or two to curb her rebellion? “Such a strapping young bottom, Noreen! I believe that your arse-s the only thing about you that interests your master. Does that bring the anger to those brown eyes, Noreen? Come, now! Did you really think he admired you as a young beauty or a fine lady? You are but a backside and a pair of thighs to men of his rank, Noreen! Even a man who never saw your face but only had this rear view of you bending would know how to treat you. You bottom needs the whip, Noreen. Any man can tell that by looking at your rear. If you forget that tonight, Noreen, I shall leave a little note of complaint about you for my friend to find. And, believe me, Noreen, I will make him a present of the longest Havana I can find.” There may be fury in her brown eyes and defiance in her fair-skinned features, but you have taught her to keep them in check. It is customary before retiring to bed for a guest to be allowed a glimpse at some of the girls in the harem and the men who enjoy them. The carved panels on either side of this room are secret doors. In the arm of your chair you will find a row of concealed bell-pushes. By touching one you will cause a door to swing open and reveal to you the curious or amorous scene in the little closet beyond. I tell you, in confidence, such sights are often a great inspiration to one's own activities on taking three or four girls to bed for the night. Are you inclined to press one or two? Can you resist? You see, the first slides back. There you have a perfect view of Claudia and her harem guardian. He has the girl on her back, her wrists strapped to the top corners of the bed. She has had her pants taken off and he has made her draw her knees up to her chin, thus displaying her pubic lips fully. Dry soap flakes have powdered her cunt-fleece and slit. Now he is tickling her up with a tantalising little shaving-brush. No water is needed. As Claudia's cropped brown locks thresh side to side in her blissful torment, her cunt lubricates so copiously that she works up her own lather. A moment more and he kneels astride, a quivering erection pressing its bloated head into her taut elastic vagina. Leaving him to ride Claudia, press the next button and see Elke astride an ingenious rocking-horse. She is bare from the waist down and one observes how a leather phallus rises from the saddle to enter her cunt. Elke lies forward, hugging the horses neck. The fringed crop of her hair is bowed and the petulant little mouth gasping for breath as she rocks to and fro in ecstasy.

Her thighs grip the wooden flanks for very life. This time a guardian stands over her, a slim leather switch in his hand. One cannot help being pleased that he is such a hard task-master! Smack! goes the switch across the ripe young cheeks of Elke Mahne's bottom to drive her on. The Austrian girl's buttocks are already black and blue from such discipline. Yet Elke Mahne's riding-lesson will continue for many hours yet. Indeed, this sixteen-year-old sensualist would not stop it even if she could. Jack has acquired girls from every corner of the land. The next little room shows a soft beauty of nineteen. There is a knowing prettiness in Tania's rather olive-skinned face with its deep set blue eyes and light dimples. The short crop of brown curls clusters charmingly over her forehead. She is bending obediently forward over a table, soft young breasts sheathed in clinging wool.

From the rear, the usual riding-jeans are stretched tight over broadened and softly fattened buttocks, a deeply defined cleavage between them. This time the guardian takes down the jeans with the panties inside them. He dips his finger in a jar and teases the way between her rear cheeks with its length. A brief exertion, a cry of alarm from the girl and then, behold, Tania's young arsehole stretched perilously round the lucky penis-shaft which impales her. You may be sure that not all dramas are so intense for the stage must offer comedy as well as pathos. You have time to press one more button, for the night is young. Surely the last vision is one for mirth of a kind?

Would you care to know something of the young woman with whom the two men are romping? Jack never thought of her as a great beauty but rather as a charming and amusing means of diverting himself. Janet, as you see, is a rather stocky young brunette, twenty years old. You must allow she has a certain prettiness in her soft freckled face and brown eyes. Indeed one might almost say there is a saucy quality to the way her dark hair is cut in a Roman helmet-shape round her head with its length piled in little top-knot and held in place by a tortoiseshell comb. You agree? You find a certain appeal in the soft prettiness, the light freckles and the timidity of Janet's brown eyes?

What then of her figure? When Jack first saw her near the beach, she was dressed as she is now. Then, however, she was pushing a perambulator with a charming infant lying in it. The fact that a girl does not wear a wedding ring does not, alas, prevent the dropping of a cub! Perhaps it was this which gave her that slight shimmer of seductive plumpness. Imagine how our friend's eyes started as they made their first acquaintance with this pretty “pram-pusher,” as nursemaids are now called. She was dressed in that short brown jacket which scarcely reached her hips. From the waist down her covering was only skin-tight brown fleshing of the thinnest wool! Poor Jack found himself walking behind her on a long hill as she laboured upward, pushing the infants carriage. As she leant forward over the handle, straining on the steep pavement like a young mare between the shafts, her stocky young thighs pressing forward on the hill, our poor friend goggled at the sight. Under the tight seat of the brown trousers, he was presented with a rolling and shimmering rhythm of the vulgarly fattened cheeks of Janet's soft arse! Though she was obliged to lean forward in her labours on the hill, it appeared to Jack as if the girl was deliberately sticking her full-cheeked backside into his face. No doubt our soft and lightly freckled plaything would have been dismayed to realise the view she innocently presented. To make matters worse, Janet's knickers were rather brief and had lavishly frilled leg-holes. It seemed as if she had worn them in bed to excite her partner and had then put on the dark brown trousers over them. The shape of Janet's panties appeared through the tight trousers-cloth as two curving ridges, arching high and brief over each plump cheek of her bottom. For fifteen minutes on the long hill, the fattened young cheeks of Miss Janet's bottom writhed and shimmered a few feet ahead of our poor friend as he walked behind her. She had a certain radiance in her present condition and yet she was no beauty. Why, then, was Jack so provoked by her? To be sure, he timed every ascent of that hill so that he found himself walking just behind her and enduring Janet's broad and well-filled rear view. Imagine her indignation at realising his fascination! It was fortunate for our friend that he was able to use his influence in the matter.

Unwillingly, the abducted girl wrote a letter to say that she had run off with a newfound lover. Under such circumstances she passed into Jack's ownership and was brought here. Before you take your three girls to the luxurious sleeping quarters appointed for you, I hope you will consent to watch the little comedy being played out in the last of the rooms. The two scamps who have taken her in there are quite without scruple and capable of anything. You may depend upon them to teach Janet a lesson or two. You see that they choose the low leather-topped stool which is bolted to the floor. How our plump young chicken tries to twist and squirm as they press her down on all fours and attach her. Not surprisingly, her dark hair with its pretty top-knot twists round and they are confronted by the alarmed brown eyes and great apprehension in her soft prettiness. With eager hands they detach the tight brown trousers. One of them strips down her panties, pocketing Miss Janet's knickers as a souvenir. Straps round her ankles, thighs, waist, and wrists hold her to the apparatus.

The first man slips his hand between the back of her thighs. He finds the soft-haired cunt. Though Janet quivers and tries to pull away, he holds the furry little creature, stroking and calming it. As Jack describes it, a young bitch who has just whelped on the sly is most unlikely to have a true aversion for such fondling. The tears of shame which Janet seemed about to shed do not fall. Instead she allows her cunt to weep copiously into the man's hand. A courgette, an amusing little vegetable, six inches long and smoothly round in proportion, is introduced. Despite herself, Janet's hips begin to move. She is such a timid, wide-eyed innocent-but still she cannot get enough of this sort of thing. To keep her on the qui vive, the man stops short of Janet's climax, in order that she may come off the boil. Now she would almost weep to have the baby cucumber replaced but they will leave her to cool for half an hour. All the same, she need not be without occupation. The other man pulls the hem of the brown jerkin well up above the pale sheen of the girl's plump hips.

Janet turns suddenly, such frightened prettiness in the soft young face and eyes. The dark fringe of the helmet-shaped cut is parted on her forehead, which adds to this impression of timidity. The two men are studying the pale fattened cheeks of Janet's bottom and the tight dark hole between. They confer and begin to tease the girl.

Janet is frantic at their proposal, trying vainly to break free from the stool. Now the second man takes the nursling cucumber. Its narrower end presses between the pale plumpness of Janet's buttocks, demanding entrance at her postern gate. In a fright, she tightens against it. The other man intervenes, holding the broad leather of the punishment strap. With savage energy and visible enjoyment, he brings the school strap down across the pale quivering cheeks of Janet Bond's bottom. Again and again the strokes ring out, accompanied by the girl's wild shrillness. Bright crimson paths cross her backside, this way and that, before he lays down the leather. Now the rounded tip demands entrance again. There is a brief tightening against it, a thrust, a cry and then a forlorn yielding. Smilingly the man with the strap holds Janet's hips still and knowingly chides her for such a fuss about such a little thing. His companion works the impertinent vegetable in and out, keeping Janet's anus well stretched about its rim. In the discomfort or excitement of this, the girl gives tense little gasps and holds herself almost rigidly over the stool, as if in fear that the least movement against her ravisher will cause havoc in her bottom. So the well-greased vegetable sodomises Miss Janet.

With the consternation growing in her pert young face, there occurs one of those incidents which are both alarming and yet irresistibly comic. The man who plies the fledgling cucumber between the girl's plump well-spread buttocks becomes more vigorous. Having admired the cameos of her labouring like a young mare between the shafts as she pushed the pram, and now having her presented in this posture, it is understandable that he should wish to exercise Janet Bond's arsehole vigorously. Then, in a moment of distraction, he goes too far.

Pressing up hard, he loses touch with the courgette, which passes entirely into her guts, Janet's anus closing over it. Here, as they say, is a pretty kettle of fish! How to extract it? The fatter rounded end, over which the tight hole has closed, is the larger and more difficult to expel. Yet it must come first. Twenty-year-old Janet is frantic, as you may tell from the dismay in her brown eyes, the flared nostrils of her pretty nose, and her mouth open in a wild gasp.

The two villains who are having fun with her look quite taken aback for a moment. But soon they are exchanging smiles and seem hardly able to control their mirth. The predicament in which Janet finds herself is entirely her problem, for she is a slave-girl. No surgeon is on hand to perform an act of assistance. If the courgette is truly irremovable, there is only one thing left for Miss Janet. One rather imagines that these two fellows would enjoy doing it. Yet as we sit and watch the farce, do you not think the men envisage Jack's displeasure at returning and finding that Janet has had to make her exit? Already, you see, they are urging her to expel the intruder. She will not do so, of course, without an ordeal. Indeed, it may be impossible for her. Is it the monstrous discomfort which prevents her or merely a tensing of her body at the thought of performing such an act in front-of them? The men are implacable. They order her to give birth to the insolent object. Do you see Janet's young belly tensing, her rump thrust out hard and her rear muscle swelling a little like a bud? All to no avail. One of the men laughs at her and turns to the other. “The young prude needs a little stimulation, I think.” Could one disagree? Yet what has he in mind? He picks up a three-foot length of sash-cord and takes the two ends in his hand. The loop of heavy cord dangling from his grip now makes an improvised lash. His mouth in a thin cruel line, he brings it down in a vicious stroke across the plump pale cheeks of poor Janet's bottom.

His companion takes another length and they thrash from opposite sides with alternate strokes. Laughingly the two men order her not to keep them waiting. Janet's buttocks are soon emblazoned with loops and curlicues of whipcord. Here and there a rosy trickle wanders from the end of a stripe. The minutes pass and still the two men are implacable. A moment to ply Janet with smelling salts, then the measured whipping again. Under the pretty top-knot of dark hair, her brown eyes wide with consternation meet the men's smiles. They run the cord through their fingers to let her see it. “Don't keep us waiting, Janet. Still so bashful? Very well!” Janet's belly is tense, her hips straining as she is whipped. The green cucumber tip peeps out, is withdrawn, then surges out and falls to the ground.

Maddened by the whips, Janet yields all. But as she lies over the stool, running with the sweat of labour, her eyes avoid the men's smiles. Her plump buttocks are bright crimson. The smiles grow broader, for a fugitive rudeness swells through the rear loophole to lie in a limp curve down one fattened cheek of Janet Bond's bottom.

After this tragi-comedy, you may well decide to escort your three girls to the sumptuous boudoir with its capacious bed. In the warmth of this climate we sleep upon the silk covers rather than under them.

Do you approve of the room with its pink-shaded brass lamps, its panels of silk and carved wood? I scarcely think you will need more inspiration. Should you do so, you will find some racy volumes on the shelf by the bed. You may read of the lovely Eveline or the rascal Captain DeVane. There is Colonel Spanker who fustigates Julie or the learned gentleman, before an audience, first applies vaseline and penis, then a whip, to proud Lesley Hollingsworth's bare bottom-cheeks. Or you may read of a cheeky imp like Sally Fenton sucking the prick, and a lover's stiffness stretching Tania Nicoll's arsehole. Let the choice be yours, if make it you must. Yet what need will you have of books and learning when you watch your three shapely companions undressing? See, there is Natasha, slipping off her navy-blue skirt and the white stretched briefs of high school knickers. Noreen strips with many a contemptuous flick of her dark fringe and lank hair. When her clothes come off, she is quite naked except for the restraint of strapping on her pale statuesque body.

Stout black leather bonds form wrist-cuffs and anklets, collar and waist-belt. With this defiant and strongly built girl of nineteen, such precautions may be necessary. Order these two assistants to the bed.. Noreen in her straps. Natasha bare from the waist down, wearing her striped tie, white blouse, and green jumper with blue piping, as if this may provoke you more strongly. Let your slim and suntanned Swedish blonde, Helena, shrug off her black jacket. Now stand behind her, kiss the pretty ears and charming neck as you brush back the short silky fall of hair. Feel her pert sixteen-year-old bubbies as you pull up her white singlet and ease it off over her head. “Play with those little nipples, Helena. Keep them nice and stiff. You must learn to excite yourself, my pet.” She obeys uncertainly, though it is quite evident that she has been playing with herself in various ways since she was twelve or thirteen. Kiss the silken sweep of her pale hair and look over her shoulder at her mirrored face. Does your manhood not stiffen a little at the sight of the proud high-boned young beauty under the blond fringe? Undo the leather belt at her waist and kneel down behind her as you draw the tight white jeans down her slim, suntanned thighs. Her panties are inside them and come off as well. Will you take the example of Janet's admirers and tuck Helena Thelen's knickers in your pocket as a trophy of the chase? You cause Helena a little confusion now as you kiss the backs of her light-tanned silken thighs. Do your lips feel one or two sweet little tendrils of cunt-hair emerging from the rear of her tightly-pressed legs? A little higher and you kiss the smooth, cool ovals of Helena's arse-cheeks. You make her turn and browse over her taut young belly and mossy loins with your kisses. “Now lie on the bed Helena. At once! With Noreen and Natasha. A show of reluctance, Helena? Must you have a taste of the whip first? That's better. Don't hold your hand behind you when you walk, Helena. Show how your backside moves.” Having unbuttoned yourself and undressed, you follow your young inamorata. On the way, however, you take the short leather lash of the dog-whip from the drawer and lay it by the pillow where the three girls can see it. Natasha knows her job, of course. The pert little blonde with the chignon and charming fringe is to devote her lips and fingers to your prick all night. When not sheathed in your young nymph's cunt-or in Helena's bottom-your member will receive this prim young penis-teaser's constant attention.

Do not be deceived by her juvenile pretensions. Natasha is a completely depraved little immoraliste. Noreen on the other hand is best employed lying on her back to offer her bare belly as your arm-rest, or lying face down to let you use the broad pale cheeks of her arse as your pillow. Ordering Helena to turn on to her back and hug her knees up to her chin, you are able to lie and view the spread of her underside from a few inches. Tickle her light-haired pussy-flesh until she gives a shudder, a gasp, and lets the first droplets of desire form there. Meanwhile your little imp, Natasha, will not leave your prick alone. Like a greedy little girl with a new toy, she fingers it, kisses its knob lightly, gives it a quick and apprehensive suck, then wipes her wetness off it on her n soft blonde chignon. You part Helena's thighs, draw yourself up, and impale her. With woman's instinct, her legs clasp you, heels drumming on your back. Noreen lies face down across the top of the bed, like a bolster.

Helena's head rests on the small of Noreen's back. Your own head is level with Noreen's broad young backside. When you look up you are confronted by a rear view of Natasha kneeling with thighs apart, just in range of your lips and tongue. Her blonde tail dangles as she looks back at you through the arch of her legs. The hem of the green jumper with its blue piping comes down only to the top of her hips. You are deliciously held in Helena's cunt, riding easily. Can you resist a kiss on Natasha's slim thighs? Kisses on the silken thatch of her young love-nest follow this while you ride strongly in and out between Helena's trim suntanned legs. A quick flicker with your tongue brings you the tastes of Natasha's randiness. You draw the green jumper of her uniform up, well clear of the little blonde's hips, as you continue to ravish your Swedish nymph. Now your lips browse on the cool elfin pallor of Natasha's fourteen-year-old bottom-cheeks. The saucy chignon of her fair hair brushes to and fro across the back of her collar as she gasps with the tension of arousal. “Natasha, my pet! Turn your head round. Let me watch your face while I enjoy you.”

As she obeys you, the sulky primness of her expression has now changed into wonderment at the sensations provoked by your lips and tongue. Do your exertions in Helena's cunt require a moment's pause? Then you may pillow your head on the pale mounds of Noreen's buttocks as this sturdy wench lies face-down for a bolster. As in Natasha's case, you may choose to make Noreen turn her head so that you can enjoy the prospect of those firm and fair-skinned features, the insolent brown eyes under the level fringe of dark brown hair.

Your head lies conveniently close as you make a casual inspection, pressing her strong young thighs apart a little and viewing the coral pinkness of her cunt. Though a resentment bums in the eyes of this young trollop, your fingers will make free with her legs and backside. Fondle the firm and broadened mounds of her rump. Press them apart and let your finger explore the dark dimple of Noreen's arsehole. Looking back at you, the indignation in her face causes two red sparks of anger at the points of her broad cheekbones. You may quell this mute rebellion easily enough by reminding her of what already awaits such ill-mannered conduct. “Your first proper whipping tomorrow morning, Noreen, is it not? How wise of Lord Frederick to engage the services of a prison-officer who enjoys such work! Those strapping young bottom-cheeks of yours, Noreen. They will be in no state to grace the bedroom for several weeks afterwards.

Better make the most of tonight, Noreen. Your turn shall come after Helena!” The mere utterance of the Swedish girl's name starts you in motion again. Riding her expertly, you watch the blond nymph's head twist to and fro. In her breathless yearning she has closed her eyes, and her teeth fret impatiently at her lower lip. Because you are a gentleman-and not a cad-you do not wish to give her a swollen belly.

That being so you withdraw and turn her onto her belly, threading her cunt again from the rear. The demure oval cheeks of Helena Thelen's bottom now offer themselves so innocently to you. When the crisis comes, you need only withdraw from her cunt lay your tool in the warm valley between the two cool rear orbs and allow your geyser to spout while the shapely cheeks press upon you. Summon Claudia in her seductive costume of emerald green briefs and breast-halter. Instruct her to attend Helena with the flannel. A moment more and all three girls-as well as Claudia-are at your disposal. The night is yours to spend with them in any way you please. Do you choose to doze for an hour-or are you still too rampant for sleep? If you wish to be attended, you have only to give the word and Elke, Sonja, Petra, and a dozen more shall be added to the charming ensemble on the divan. But can you resist meeting the challenge which Noreen presents? A mere amateur could have his way with Claudia or Helena but it takes a true man to master Noreen. Her pale sturdy body will be naked except for the prudently arranged straps which are customary on the night before such an ordeal as hers. A black strap round her waist is matched by others equally stout and tight round her wrists, ankles, lower thighs and neck. Naturally, you will want to give your full attention to her in the hour or two before the agents of justice take her into the next room. Have no fear, by the way, an ingenious mirror will permit you to see all that happens in there. Noreen lies on her side, curving forward a little from the waist and facing away from you. The full pale cheeks of her backside, the opening of her thighs, and the spread of her hips is level with your face at a distance of twelve inches. Her hands are strapped together in front of her as a necessary precaution. She is no great beauty and no fine lady. A well-built young wench of her kind, however, still offers this rather vulgar stimulant of her arse and thighs. As you lie there on your back, admiring this full-cheeked view, young Natasha sprawls with her head on your loins. She has your prick in her hand, sucking it for a while, taking it out and kissing it, then closing her mouth over the erection again. After so many pretty nymphs and demure maidens, perhaps you feel the need for stronger tastes. “Noreen! Arch your hips further back and stick your bottom right out towards me.”

She obeys, perhaps reluctantly. Yet now you have that view which, when clad skin-tight in jeans, stopped so many admirers at the saddlery. Touch your lips to the backs of Noreen's firm nineteen-year-old thighs. Browse to your heart's content on their cool marble. “Lie still, Noreen. I'm sure a dozen country lads must have feasted here!” Allow your mouth to move gently to the opening of her legs at the rear. Do you feel her tighten against you?

You have only to order two of the footmen to hold Noreen while you muse kissingly on the soft fur of her vaginal lips. Then you travel on, over the well broadened and fully rounded cheeks of Noreen's bottom. Your lips salute her fifty times on each. To drive the last thoughts of modesty from her, you kiss the warmer smoother slope descending into Noreen's bottom-crack. And if you wish to hear her gasp with dismay, you mould a long exploratory kiss to Noreen's anus.

After this, you may settle down to enjoy the view again. Sonja is required to lie on the other side, facing Noreen, and to masturbate the young wench with her hand. Relax and enjoy half an hour of the sport seen at such close range. Watching at the rear opening of Noreen's thighs, you see Sonja's skilful fingers enter from the front.

Every stroke and probe, every squeeze and spending of the masturbation is enacted a few inches before you. Despite her anger and resentment, Noreen is not proof against this. Do you hear how her breath begins to come in long shuddering gasps? Note a tension of her legs, the faint rhythmic movements of her hips, the way that the cheeks of Noreen's arse keep time by their slight contracting and expanding. Can you resist adding to her confusion? Surely not.

Conveniently to hand on the table by the divan is the probe, the familiar tube which held your corona cigar. Dipped in the green liquid soap, you present its rounded end to Noreen's anus which tightens in dismay. Have no fear. You need only increase the pressure inexorably until continued resistance causes her more discomfort than yielding.

See how it enters easily at last, causing Noreen to stick her seat out even further to accommodate it. You may be sure, also, that the lubricating soap will stir up some most unladylike urges in the stripes of this sturdy young woman. With long but rapid strokes you give Noreen a diddling to match Sonja's caresses and squeezings between her legs. A footman holds a convenient mirror so that you may indulge that favourite quirk of watching the confusion in Noreen's face as you sodomise her with the tube. This pantomime lasts quite half an hour. Then you will be struck by another thought. What would it be like if your own penis, rather than tube, was in Noreen's arse? How would it feel to enjoy her there as she herself reaches the climax of her efforts on Sonja's fingers. The science of feeling, rather than mere randiness, may prompt you to this experiment.

For such a stout member as yours, more thorough lubrication is needed and you will therefore vaseline Noreen's anus properly. She may curse you and struggle a little-but numbers are on your side. Ah! A moment more and you are tightly gripped in Noreen's robust young backside. As you lie there, your eyes will meet in the mirror, fury and outrage in Noreen's, amusement and enjoyment in your own.

Rebellious though she may seem, you need pay no heed to oaths and expletives. Noreen's bottom has the same anatomy as that of any other young woman. Once you are securely inside her, she has no way of expelling you until you choose to take your leave. As you ride resolutely in and out, you may curb her insolence if you choose by reminding her of what lies in store an hour hence. The black leather thong of the whip and the warder who loves his work. At last, despite herself, Noreen begins that aria of rising cries which betokens her orgasm on Sonja's fingers. At all such times, the woman's natural response is to tighten her arsehole in the spasm of release. So Noreen does now. That exquisite compression is the trigger which fires your own fowling-piece. Your hot spurts of seed are safely spent deep in Noreen's bottom upon hot infertile soil. As you withdraw, Noreen's anus will go small and very tight, your own flaccid tool lolling across her pale bottom cheeks, leaving a dying snail-trail of your passion and an oily touch of vaseline. By now the footmen are at the door. The officer who is to punish Noreen for her previous misdeeds presents his compliments. He asks if it will be convenient to bundle Noreen into the next room and secure her kneeling over the block. You consent at once. Noreen is in a state of consternation, which is accounted for by more than the mere threat of the whip. Her thighs are pressed together and the cheeks of her bottom contract until the crack between them is no more than a thin compressed line. She had never imagined that she would be taken directly to the next room without an interlude of privacy after the night's amusements. She knows that the discipline over the block will last several hours and she begins to gasp and implore, assuring her that she cannot possibly wait so long. This will no doubt cause you to smile and assure her that such a predicament is her problem, not yours. The two footmen lead her at once to the block. Twenty or thirty amateurs of such dramas watch Noreen positioned in her straps.

Her tensings and sniffings of anticipation are almost overlooked at first. The guests notice instead the wetness of her love-juice between her thighs. They observe the yellowed smear of vaseline near Noreen's arsehole. One woman points out the snail-trail of male semen over one full pale cheek of Noreen's bottom, where the limp and sodomising prick lolled as it withdrew. The guard cracks his whip in the air and there is silence. You will sit, of course, in the leather chair at the secret window. Helena presents her naked beauty at one arm of the chair, Claudia at the other. Both are completely at your disposal as you watch Noreen's discipline. Young Natasha bends just in front of you, bare from the hem of her green jumper down to her feet. The drama in the next room belongs to another story. Indeed, you will guess at much of it. Thirty-six strokes across Noreen's bottom and thighs with the whip, then an interlude. Three dozen more and another interlude. So the morning passes. What caresses and kisses you bestow on your three young graces as you watch. At last Natasha seems to lower her hips towards your lap. Well-prepared she site plumb upon your fine shaft of an erection. The tightness is an exquisite, rending thrill, almost annihilating. You feel your head swim and your senses failing at the delicious anguish of nervous collapse. The scene fades from before your eyes and you wake, at last, in your own study with the book before you. Believe me, there is much more to be told as a sequel to this adventure. Yet you are a man of affairs and cannot devote your entire existence to matters of pleasure. That being the case, I will trespass on your patience no longer. In a little while I hope that our trusty scholar, Professor J-, will lay before you the strange tale of my own plantation and its captive beauties. When that happens, you shall learn far more of me than I have had the leisure to convey to you now. Until that time when our paths cross again, I bring you the heartiest greetings from Dolly and Jack. From the three of us and the girls whose adventures you have shared in, I bid you not adieu, dear friend, but au revoir. Frederick, Viscount A-,