Caroline

CHAPTER TEN

Miss Withers has diverted me. The selfsame one I spoke of several chapters back. Much time has intruded, of course, between the afternoon that Caroline reminded me of the lady's then imminent visit and the chapters I have written since. That which takes but an hour to read takes several weeks to write. Words joggle for attention-are dismissed or used. Some inch their way on to the paper, but are then expunged, though cunningly they lie in wait to re-emerge. I find them akin to unattractive girls whose mothers push them forward for attention under the guise of “attractive” or “desirable,” which they are not. I mean both words and girls. Better that I should write in French. It is a mellow language with a mellow sound. Amour sounds more “attractive” than does “love.” Levres are softer than are lips. Tetons pout, whereas breasts do not.

Miss Withers' tetons pouted most desirably, as did her scrumptious bottom. Caroline chose well. Females with pear-shaped derrieres were never to our taste. The shelf that meets the spine slopes far too quickly down; cheeks do not rear when such a conformation is produced by careless Nature.

“What an arse she has! You must use the word in writing of her,” Caroline said after the lady's departure. It was true. The word bulb came into my mind, for such her bottom is in noun and verbal form-pure white and firm, yet slightly yielding to the finger's touch. Delicious to caress, I do confess. Delighting as she does in such, my love would have me say so-hence I do.

It was perhaps our most daring experiment-Miss Withers being thirty-two and virgin. A country virgin with a houris figure, one that should be but rarely clothed as such but always lightly veiled. For hours we caressed her. Thrice I spouted in her nether hole. She may marry, so she said. It seemed the decent thing to do. At her age, I should add. With younger maidens it is otherwise. It is known that with a sprouting of fine hairs about their cunnies and a mounding of their tits they are likely at the least to be caressed and fingered and will slowly, if not quickly yield. The quiet of houses and the sonorous hours-slow passing of the Sundays, and the days of rain when the devil finds for hands good work to do-all add to this.

In country houses such as one desires to enter and where the atmosphere is civilised, though merry underneath, there is accord on this. When a girl is fretsome in the long slow hours of Autumn or on Summer days, she will frequently toy with herself and make herself to come. Such is observed by inference-her ripeness known, her drawers examined for the tell-tale flecks of dried desire. She may then be “taken up” and put to trials, or broken-in, as the old saying is. Better her sire should put his cock to her than some brash youth who may boast of his conquest. There is lewdness here, and yet much sweetness, too. A mother who permits her daughters to be spermed occasionally will be the happier for it, as will the girls, whose amourous cuddles are the warmer for the shaftings they receive.

A girl may be brought to it in several ways. First-and most obviously-by the birch, the tawse, or cane, for then-though her cries be clamourous at first-it is known that she is being “seen to” and that her honey pot has begun to open to the intruding knob whose spoutings she receives. After a birching-though she thinks herself forlorn and lost-the ever-thicker sprouting of curls around her nest will receive the admiration of a tongue, legs held apart the while she bounces up and down in wonder and then finally succumbs to spill her honey.

For several weeks she may be discreetly “taken up” to receive such attentions until her clitty has become as responsive as her bottom to the birch and the two sensations have conjoined in her to bring about a pleasure that she never knew before. It may then be that by such wiles as young females use, she will endeavour to attract more attention by indulging in some “naughtiness” or other that will call for the removal of her drawers and the application of the disciplinary instrument to which she has become most used. Thereupon she is considered cock-ready and, with her well-heated and springy cheeks held apart, will receive her first slow corking until the prick is deep within her fundament and much lewd pleasure is obtained. She has been spouted in and will not cease to want it more, becoming petulant if she is not attended to-in general, on my observations, once a week at least.

As to the second course of action, it may be that impatience obtains on the male side and that the girl affects a ticklishness or will not be attended to with birch or tawse or cane lest she is held. And well she may be. There are often older sisters who delight in seeing such a one receive that which they once more readily surrendered to, though such case is rare. An aunt may take the girl in hand and, having birched her, tickled up her cunny, felt her bottomhole, will soon induce her to drop her drawers the more when the parental birch appears and, by example, lead her on until her first receiving of the prick leaves her desirous for the next occasion.

Some girls sob and sob while being corked at first, while others whimper, snuffle, hide their burning faces in a pillow, their bottom cheeks first held apart by strong, broad thumbs that take no heed of, “Nooo, please don't!” Such exclamations are soon muffled, anyway. The insurgent stroking of the long, thick cock excites. The balls slap underneath their cunnies, tickle there, and help to bring surrender soon enough. “I am c… c… coming in you, love!” The magic words are heard, and she receives. The long, thick gobs of sperm are sucked within. In breathless whispers. she is praised; her bottom squeezes out the last, warm drops, “and all the world a solemn stillness holds,” silk bulb of bottom to his belly pressed, the tickings, pulsings, all enjoyed until the cork's extracted and she flops and lies in rich and trembling wonderment.

There are girls who rebel completely and must be handled in a sterner vein which is to say that, being over-proud and haughty, they must needs be stabled, like fillies, and the tip of a long whip brought to scour their bottoms. As a rule, such girls are tall and thus gain haughtiness. They have the finest legs that show the poising of the bottom at its best, but frequently are cold of temperament and thus are difficult to bring on heat. If a single whipping does not suffice, they may be brought to tipple and thus, hopefully, will be more eager for the fray, but often then prove fractious, as if they were guarding the treasure of the realm between their bottom cheeks or where their furry nests are clenched too tight.

Those whom life has not favoured to share in such experiences may think a cruelty obtains, but it does not. If a girl has not been put to trials, she will suffer the more for it in her marriage bed and may be put off amourous delights for life. She must be “trodden”-such is the philosophy, and one more open and more frank than other canting habits of Society. A girl will be merrier, too, for having taken cock and will know herself to have arrived and to be more free. Once she has imbibed the manly juice by both her apertures, she is not put upon nor treated like a wanton thing. Indeed, she is spoiled and feted all the more, and may thereafter put herself to such as she alone will choose, though never refusing the first prick that she enjoyed, and indeed for the first few weeks of her new life will expect to receive it daily if she can and will be taught all sorts of little tricks while remaining “under cover” of the birch which she accepts she must receive.

Little is said of this. No lewd words are exchanged. It» is known that she is “coming on” or “coming out.”

Her eyes obtain a softer look. She fiddles often with her dress and knows not where to put her hands; her buttocks have a heavier swing. Well-creamed as they now are, she feels the weight of them the more and feels their parting as she never did before. As to her cunny, once the pouting lips have parted to the well-knobbed tool, it is said that her garden has been watered, that her curls will grow the more, as often curiously seems to be the case, though Caroline would have it this is but a coincidence and will occur in any case when girls are at their puberty.

Miss Withers, though… The gloss of Time is not upon the evening yet, alas. Good memories should mature as does good wine before it is unbottled. Certainly, Miss Withers had begun to mature superbly well. She had those firm and marbled breasts, that arrogant posterior on which the male mind often dwells. Timidity dwelt in her, though, as well. Our conversation over dinner was not only well-laundered but stiffly starched to boot. I saw no future in the enterprise, thought it unfruitful at the least and left them to converse while I took to my port in the seclusion of my study. “As I suggested that you should before she came,” says Caroline who will not have me claim a move of tactics such as this.

Below, I heard their voices soft and hushed. Miss Withers was to marry-was afeared of it. To undress before a male was horror to her. My heart sank. I pondered on near ghosts of recent past: girls laughing on the lawns when skirts were upped, and those who shrieked and whom the summerhouses quick enfolded behind doors. Their muffled cries still linger on the air beneath the coarse complaining of the crows.

An hour passed and I took up post close to the door. I was minded to regard the thing a farce, and then heard Caroline say, “Girls are birched for it, my dear. Were you not birched?”-“No, I was not. Mama forbade it. Oh!” came. from Miss Withers who most evidently had never talked this way before.

Thus and thus the words passed, I can only add-for Caroline is very good at leading on.-“Oh, no!” was uttered by Miss Withers, and from Caroline a firm, quiet “Yes. You like the feel of it, I know you do.”

I descended, peered over the banisters. That which I prayed to see I saw. Miss Withers lay full length on our chaise longue. My love knelt by her side and licked the nipples which she had exposed. The glory of those tits- how firm they were! Miss Withers legs showed shapely, strong, up to her garters. And beyond. Beyond I glimpsed the fulsome gleam of flesh, the swellings where her garters bit. Her head, in a dismay of self-indulgence, moved from side to side, yet not uneagerly she allowed her thighs to spread until, with dress upswept by Caroline's deft hands, I saw the shadowed plumpness of her motte.

A foolhardiness it would have been to have disturbed them then. Two females at play are a lovesome thing to see. That Caroline knew I watched, I did not doubt for, having teased her well-furred cunny, then she turned Miss Withers on her hip and thus exposed her naked bottom to my view. Ah, what a globe-a globous globe indeed and deeply cleft and brown-tinged at the furrow's roll.

“Let me attend on you; be not ashamed, for there is no one else to see,” said Caroline with arch hypocrisy. Bearing in mind that Miss Withers then lay pressed into the back of the seat with her face all but hidden, she presented a royal feast to the lips and tongue of my beloved who commenced to assail the lady's most intimate orifices with abandon.

Miss Withers squealed, she moaned-she even giggled once: a wondrous sound to hear. Sometimes she pressed away and said, “Oh no, oh no!” as if disclaiming her own sins, but the insistence of my love won through. Her tongue teased everywhere. Miss Withers quivered, clenched her fists in ecstasy. The well-laved grotto of her slit was mine to see, as was her rosy orifice. She arched her back, clutched at the wall, then rolled upon her back, lay limp. One stockinged leg slumped to the floor, and thus her honeypot was fully opened to the bees of love: an awful simile, I do confess.

There is a decided awkwardness in mounting a female on such a couch, but therewith an extra sense of lewdness, too. Desire had carried me forward even before my conscious mind took note of my moving feet. Miss Withers had flung her arm across her eyes and so unwittingly had blinded herself to my approach. She heard though, at the last footfall, she heard. A squeal escaped her. She would have sprung up had Caroline not deftly pressed her down, smothered her mouth with hers and I already taking up my posture in between her most impressive legs.

“nah! he must not! Oh, heavens! Save me!” uttered she. Her fallen foot kicked soundly, caught me on the arm, then flopped again, for Caroline had pressed her thigh and held it still.

“A good poke, darling-that is what she needs,” breathed Caroline. A higher shriek greeted her words. I had the deuce of it to hold Miss Withers still the while my knob (most awkwardly) approached her curly-clustered dell. It touched. Ah, magic of that moment ever on when one assails an untried honeypot! I pushed one leg up and exposed the more her pouting cleft, fell on her full and sucked the swollen tips of her fine tits the while I eased John Thomas in.

“Stop him! Stop him!” she bucked again. My knob slipped out again and all seemed lost.

“I'll hold her legs, my pet. Now get it in again!” from Caroline.

“No-woh! You beasts, your horrors, no! Oh, don't!”

Ah, what a further struggling then ensued! Her hips churned this way, that-her pubic bush was brushed most maddenly against my knob as were the sleek lips of her cunt. What devil took me then I do not know. I brusquely motioned Caroline to stand and spun Miss Withers over by sheer force until she lay upon her belly, kicking still. Her hands clawed at the cushions, clutched them tight.

I began to smack her bottom then. She screeched at each descending stroke of my broad palm that made her pale cheeks redden.

“Save me, oh Caroline, oh save me, please!” Miss Withers squealed. I brought one knee to bear upon her back and smacked her harder on her wobbling cheeks. Her shrill cries filled the drawing room. I did not care. I meant to have the woman, luscious as she was and yet untried still, SMACK! SMACK! and SMACK! again, and then by innate cunning I let her go and stepped from her, my penis thrusting up beneath my shirt.

“We must let her be; she will not learn,” I said with due solemnity. Miss Withers drawers were on the floor. I kicked them carefully aside so that they fell beyond her sight in rising, as she did, her face tear-streaked, her hair awry, for half the pins had fallen out from it-a face that was a battlefield of love, as then I thought of it, and where my colours soon would fly.

“The poor, dear thing,” was said by Caroline. She sat beside the sobbing, rising woman then and placed an arm about her shoulders as if comforting.

“I want to go home!” Miss Withers sobbed.

“Of course, of course,” said Caroline, but no one moved. Her moistened nipples gleamed, her thighs were bared. Her eyes were closed; she sobbed a little more and let her head fall on to my love's shoulder. “Poor, spanked, naughty girl,” soothed Caroline and lifted up Miss Withers' face. Unconscionably their lips merged into one another's and thus stayed. I fell beside her on the other side and swept my hand up in between her thighs-felt no resistance, tickled up her motte.

“What are you doing?”-then a moan from her. Her head sank back. More luscious kisses were exchanged.

“Pleasuring you, my pet-what else?” purred Caroline.

“Shouldn't-you shouldn't-naughty things-no don't!” her cunny nipped my finger as I slipped it in-felt delicious oiliness, the warmth, the welcoming of silken walls.

I spread her legs the more-knew not a kick from her.

“Put up her legs-she'll do it with you now,” from Caroline.

I did not hasten at the task. We were as people moving in a dream. Heavy her legs felt as I lifted them until she lay supine and Caroline bent to her mouth again.

“Prepare her properly-pull up her dress the more,” I said. A masterful approach was plainly needed.

“It is time for bed, my love,” said Caroline more plainly and motioned with her head for me to go. There came a moan from Miss Withers, but she did not stir. My cock was rampant. I could near have spilled upon her thighs.

“Of course,” I said and betook myself upstairs back to the study where I quick undressed and waited in concealment, belly all a-swim with lust, my cock distended, rampant up my belly thrust.

There came then shufflings from below and murmurs, protestations, whispers from my wife. Laggard the footsteps came, but still they came. I heard a smack or two and knew that Caroline was chiding her for sloth. “Don't want to”-“Yes, you do,” was heard. Plainly Miss Withers had reverted in her years. She put up her behaviour as a young girl might. They passed the study, and I peeped, and saw her glorious bottom bared and cupped upon my wife's warm palm.

I must truncate my tale. I bear too much on detail here perhaps and stir impatience. Naked I found them both, enclasped between the sheets. Miss Withers gave a cry and hid her face. I slid within the bed and sandwiched her between our vibrant forms, my prick hard-pressed against her bottoms bliss. Caroline's arms were clasped about her waist. I pushed the sheet down to reveal their forms, the vaselike curving of their hips, the jellied jiggling of their wondrous tits whose nipple kissed together as they hugged.

“How lovely she is! May we not keep you?” teased Caroline to her and rolled her on her back.

“Please, no, do not!” Miss Withers quavered, but her eyes were dull and hid the fires within.

“Open her legs the more and get between,” husked Caroline.

Miss Withers, gasped, she bucked, she would have closed her thighs. Her swollen gourds were underneath my chest. Her nipples burned to me, her belly wriggled, slithered all in vain. My knob probed her cuntlips and slid in.

“We shall have to birch her in the morning, dearest; what a naughty girl!”

I could not answer. God, how tight she was! I slid my palms beneath her bottom's lustrous orb and cupped the cheeks. Her fists beat on my back, her mouth avoided mine-she gasped and moaned. I gripped her wrists, thrust them above her head. A rippling of my loins-my cock was sheathed, our bellies close together and her tits a-rolling under me. She bucked still, moaned her moans; I held her thus, reached for my love's warm bottom, fondled it. Our voluptuous victim sobbed and bit the pillow twixt her teeth, my kisses raining on her velvet cheek.

“Oh no, no, no!” her cries went on.

“Come darling, give it to him-work your cunt upon his prick,” soothed Caroline and nipped Miss Withers' ear, then rolled her tongue within and licked her neck, her own warm bottom jiggling to my thumb.

The tears rolled slowly from Miss Withers' eyes and yet I felt the eager clenching of her cunny on my cock as in and out it surged. Her bottom rolled a little to my palms. I found her rosebud, worked my finger in, making her breath hiss out, her back to arch.

“Kiss me! Sperm her while you kiss me-oh, don't wait!” gasped Caroline.

I then was at my peak already, grazed my pubic hairs upon Miss Withers, and with a momentous moan lauded her cunny with my spermy flood, pulsed on, pulsed on, and spat my liquid treasures deep within, my tongue and Caroline's together as I did in rapturous abandon at our toil. Sinking, I held Miss Withers, would not let her stir until the last thick, pearly drops had entered in. She quivered, flushed and bit the pillow more. Her belly shimmered once and then she came, spurt upon spurt upon my well-sheathed tool. I felt her wetness and the sparkling there around my encased knob. My finger worked up deep within her bottomhole and then slipped out.

“A good girl-was she not?” purred Caroline. I had for once no words to say-rolled off Miss Withers and lay quiet, though felt a joy to have her fleshy hip to mine and placed my hand upon her thigh and soothed her quim, so juicy to my fingers then.

“Want to go home,” Miss Whithers whimpered, turned to Caroline again and let her bottom bulb against my leg.

“No,” Caroline said softly, held her tight.

Such women are not infrequent. Despite their cries, their kicks, they are eventually docile. There is a certain pleasure in docility, but it lasts not. Some girls, when taken up, act thus. Even the severest training will not somehow bring them on to clasp one's neck and heave their bottoms to one's will, to answer tongue with tongue. They know not how to kiss, or are not minded to. Their mouths are rubbery and soft, but have no fine responsiveness. Their eyes are dull, their fingers loosely clasp one's arms. The are obedient and yet not amourous.

Yet curiously they drive one on to try to overcome their laxity. I have heard this so from others, too, recalled their tales as I lay there, fingering Miss Withers' bottom lazily. “They are bovine; they take the cock and suck it dry, then lie there quiet, bemused, in some far cloud of their own making,” so one said, and added pensively, “They seem scarce to know what passed or what one has done with them. Their bellies ripple while they're being fucked, and yet they seldom come. One birches them the more and puts it in again. It does no good. Their arses are invariably ripe, and that's the waste of it. Some have the body of a goddess, yet are cold as marble. There's no teaching of them-not at all, dear boy.”

The fellow was right. Miss Withers was one such. To fail to yield such treasures lustfully I count as a dire sin. The deuce of it-their very laxity spurs on the cock to prove its point, yet all in vain. The champions colours are ignored by them. “I shall liven her up,” it is said of such by bold, brave souls, and yet they never do, they never do. Cocks limp, they sigh and take to port again, or douse a whisky and may even try the citadel once more to stir the flames where no fires burn. One tries again, again-and that's the oddity of it.

My cock stirred at such thoughts. I turned and pressed it up against her lustrous bum. She squirmed, cried out, was held between us. Prising her plump cheeks apart, I had my knob a-throbbing at her brown-rimmed ring, and gritting teeth a little, urged it up. Her head jerked back and bumped my forehead as she did. My arms met Caroline's around her waist.

“No-no-my god, no!” came Miss Withers' cry.

“Be quiet, you naughty girl,” from Caroline. Such teasing, though, has little more effect than does the prick itself. There is a deadness, surely, in their souls, and yet such females are penetrated all the more to try and make them flower. The challenge is for every male to meet. He cannot help himself, alas.

“Come-yield your bottom to me, woman!”

“Nooo!” she moaned and wriggled like a fish in our embrace. By then I was embedded a full inch in her tight, slowly-yielding anus that so hotly clenched itself around my pego with its stiff demand.

“Yes, dear, sink back on it. Take it right up you, sillikins,” breathed Caroline.

“Don't woh-woh-want to! Oh, such wickedness! How dare he put it up my… oooof!”

I rammed her suddenly. I wished to feel the sweet ballooning of her cheeks against my belly, fleshy, round and warm pulsating out its joy to take a cock. Her heels kicked to my shins; I had her though. The cork was in the bottleneck-my balls nudged underneath her sticky quim.

“Now let her be,” I grunted out to Caroline, shifted my posture, drew the woman up with me and brought her slowly on her knees, my prick still buried in her fundament. Caroline made to hold her neck. I uttered sternly, “No!” She caught my mood and smiled and then lay back, her legs spread wide, dark bush against pale skin, one knee up-bent and pressing to my thigh.

“Yes, darling, she needs a cock up her bottom,” whispered she.

“no-oooh!”

“Be quiet!” I thundered to Miss Withers who, at that let head and shoulders droop, her warm arse mounding tightly into me.

“I shall-I shall-I'll die of this!” she moaned.

“No young girl ever has, and nor shall you. Now, roll your bottom, woman, or I'll cane you-that I will!”

“Oooh-Hooo, you beast!” and yet her cry was soft. I felt the working of bumcheeks to my skin, the squeezing of her muscles deep within, and knew indeed how tight a cork feels in a bottleneck.

“Tickle her cunny, Caroline.”

“My love!” Lithe as she is, my wife spun round her feet against the headboard of the bed, then serpent-like slid underneath Miss Withers till her mouth came under her moist quim.

“NEE-HEE!” Miss Withers squeaked. We had her then-prick up her bottom and a sleek tongue to her cunt. Then Caroline reached up and held her waist while I began to pump. Ah-how I pumped! Miss Withers' bottom smacked against my belly as I did. My prick was tightly-squeezed. Perhaps a pearl of come exuded from the tip, for she was lubricated soon enough, her fine arse made to swing between the pair of us, all three a-panting, moaning as we worked. I cupped Miss Withers' tits-her nipples stiff. They dangled on my palms like melons ripe, the skin so silky and so swollen up.

“Ah, she is taking it-the lovely. What a bottom she has!”

I could not help myself. My wife's tongue flicked beneath my balls. She had a mouthful of us both. I bent upon Miss Withers-kissed her neck, the reaches of her velvet cheek, but could not reach her mouth. I hated her for that, and yet she yielded then, permitted me to move her bottom back and forth.

“The darling-she is coming! Bugger her, my pet!” gargled my wife. Miss Withers' fingers twisted up the pillow tight. Her head drooped, lips apart. I seized her mouth at last. O wondrous passion of that kiss as then I came-her bottom screwing into me, her tongue a serpent round about my own. I pulsed, I jetted out my cannonade deep in her bum and felt her squirming joy, her warm saliva trickling in my mouth, and on and on the icy fire of it until I quivered in her and was spent.

I straightened up and held her thus. She wriggled just a little and was still. Then Caroline slid up from under her, affording me a very salty kiss.

“Oh, darling, you're still in her! Take it slowly out. The treasure that she is-I knew she would!”

Out came my stricken slug of flesh. It hesitated at the rim, was squeezed once more and then fell limp. Miss Withers had been conquered, so it seemed. She slumped and hid her face and closed her eyes. I felt the throbbing of her bottom in my balls, collapsed with a deep sigh upon my back and let my leg fall over hers.

“Oh, don't! I did not want to, but you made me,” so she moaned, and even Caroline then looked bemused. The would-be comfort of her hand was shaken off, and up Miss Withers sat, an ooze of come squeezed to the sheet, as afterwards I saw.

“You want to go home?” My wife's tone then was stiff. She rose and put her nightgown on. I slid my leg away, drew up the sheet. Miss Withers clambered out of bed. I regretted even then the departure of that globous bottom from my clasp.

“I will go home.” Her voice was soft. It spoke of raindrops rather than of flowers. The scent of sperm was all about the room. I thought it heady; she did not.

“I will see to a coach; your own has gone,” said Caroline. She drew a peignoir on and trotted out-the hostess to the last, salt-rimmed her lips. Miss Withers slowly gathered up her clothes. I was not there: a ghost from her dim past. I watched her dress. Her drawers were still downstairs, that pleased me at the least. She dressed with an untidiness that did not, though. I did not want her anymore; I did not want. Lacing her boots at last she went downstairs. The muffled voices-different now-came up to me. The front door slammed. I heard a coach depart. Then Caroline returned.

“A scandal will there be?” I asked.

“I have told her there will not-or she will be the loser of it, that I'd see to, mark my words. I told thus. She understands. But now embrace me-take my lips to yours.”

Naked again she came into my arms. We kissed and whispered sultrily and then were still. Home is a haven when it can be thus. I felt her nipples, twiddled them about.

“You liked it, though?” she asked and sighed.

“Not much.” I told the truth and yet in part I lied. The power of womanhood is such as lures one even in dismay. “At least, she'll not forget this night,” I said.

“And yet will place no value on it. What a fool! Her husband-to-be will turn to looser women. That I tried to warn her of.”

“It does not matter.”

“No. I know. There are such-dry as husks. They have no juice. I swear that when she came she did despise herself or thought it some strange accident.”

“It does not matter, dearest. How you tried!”

“I did; I know I did. I thought it best for her. She will not even twiddle her own cunny so she said. Oh god, what a drab place the world becomes with such as she.”

A sigh. The night grew warmer then. We lay together quietly, and we slept.