Caroline

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“Miriam is resting,” Caroline advised me as soon as I entered the house.

I have heard it said that the people of Japan communicate as much by facial expression as they do by words. If so, they are not alone in that. When two are close, such as Caroline and I, the words are but the surface things; the undertow is in the eyes. The current is felt and tested- known.

“Well-what did you find out?” she asked me then, and grinned. Adelaide then joined us. Collusion was our friend. I described my visit. Adelaide gazed at us both and whispered, “Then she lied-I thought she did.”

“You story-you drank in each word!” joked Caroline to her, but then took on a serious mien. “She described it far too well,” she said.

“Precisely, dear. She wrote it in her mind, then spoke the words. No doubt she has not been fucked for twenty years. Maybe a little less,” I conceded with a grin.

“What is to do with her-the poor, poor thing?”

Caroline turned to my sister as she spoke. Their eyes communicated well enough, as do those of the “mysterious East.”

“Yes, I think so-if he is willing,” Adelaide laughed, though not a further word had then been said.

“What are you two beautiful terrors at?” I asked, as men do when they wish to give pretence of not having understood the occasional transparencies of women.

“We shall see to her. Make yourself ready. It was the table I did not believe,” said Caroline. She caught me off balance for a moment and was pleased. “She does not have a large table in a drawing room, you oaf. When she was buggered. You remember that? I know, because I visited her once, quite briefly.”

“Oh, yes!” Damnation, though, I had missed that point, so engrossed had I been with the vision of her bottom rearing up. My own suspicions had sparked at Carrie's final tale and the too neat ending to the thing. Then I had coursed back through her narrative and wondered at the lack of fire that Miriam had shown when she was freed. Not only that. She had come a shade too quickly to “rude words” that otherwise she would have been too modest to express.

“She is waiting for something to happen now,” said Adelaide and moved her fingers upwards to her gown, unbuttoning her corsage as she spoke. Her nipples showed. She flicked them with her fingers. “Oh, I feel like it,” she said. Her eyes were bold. She flung her arms around me, kissed me.

“Wait,” said Caroline, “we have to prepare her first. Give us ten minutes, darling, then come up.”

I have known for long that there are certain strange conditions of the mind that must be appeased. All have their foibles, much as they would hide them from Society. I recall a chap-an artist of considerable merit-who one day in confiding mood leaned across a table where we sat and said in hollow, nervous tone to me that he had a letch to be pissed upon by women.

“Am I strange?” he asked, and looked most fearful that I might say yes.

“Good heavens, Bertie, no,” I said as much as if he had told me that he read The Morning Post and not The Times. I opined (thought not in truth at all) that I knew several men who entertained the same desire, and that nothing curious was found in it at all. The poor chap looked relieved.

“It's the warm splashing and the way they spurt it down on you,” he said, “I love a woman splashing on my cock.”

He said nothing about fucking, so I did not speak of that I have heard tell of some who birch their daughters and their wives and leave them writhing on their beds- not having attended to them afterwards at all. Such curiosities, I suppose, could fill a book of moderate proportions-and I myself have as many flaws as others do, if flaws they be counted as. In our games heretofore, Caroline or Adelaide, or Caroline's Mama, had bound me sometimes and made me kneel to them.

It is a curious feeling to be tied when one is in safe hands. I have little doubt, after such experiences when I was made to sniff at drawers and such, was held in darkness underneath a drooped-down skirt, bent on my knees-I have little doubt, I say, that the very germ of submissiveness lies in us all and waits to be encouraged. There is a sense of obedience that humbles one and at the same time enthralls the very soul.

“It is a fact,” says Caroline to me sometimes, “that young girls may be made to do all sorts of naughty things by an admixture of authority and persuasiveness. Both youths and girls entertain, however dimly, the desire to be made to yield and to do that which they would not otherwise do. In the very doing is the naughtiness. It is a subtle thing and yet it almost always works. A girl who is openly lewd would not be sported with for long. Resistance is desired by he who bares her bottom first. As for herself, she counterpoints it with such grains of submissiveness as seem appropriate and required.”

“There are few who do not moan when the cock is first put to them,” said I.

“That, too, is true, but in that moment reality obtains. When her bottom cheeks are first sprung apart or her thighs are opened, a sense of apprehension seizes her. Then it is that the coaxing words are needed and should come forth. You like it most, though, when I aid you, do you not?”

Indeed I do. Many a girl there has been in the past years whose lips have bubbled under Caroline's while I came slowly down on her and put my cock up to her notch. They jerk. They always jerk. But if the bottom cheeks are clasped and lifted slightly, then the rod slips in, the knees bent up a little as they try to twist. Those who are plugged thus are invariably quiescent when they have been spermed. Some will jitter for long moments until the moisture of their cunnies allows the prick to groove right in.

“There-that was nice. Was it not nice?” I have off-times heard Caroline laugh while she-lying naked beside the pair of us and I seeping out my last pearls in the clinging grotto-has continued pecking lightly at a girl's soft mouth. Sometimes they will whisper “Yes;” sometimes will hide a burning face in her warm shoulder while I move her bottom gently back and forth to feel her honey-pot suck still upon my dwindling prick.

Sweet are the games we play. A girl is never rushed upon and may stay several days with us before she is brought to doff her drawers for the first time. “How pretty you look when you are coming,” Caroline or Adelaide will say afterwards, and cause the girl to blush, but even so she takes the compliment and is finally sent away cock-ready, as we say.

“It is a form of schooling,” Caroline will say with much self-satisfaction in her voice. Her lips come together as she forms the words, and look adorable, as she well knows, yet will deny it with a very pretty laugh.

My cogitations and my recollections are always such when a female lies in waiting on the bed. I went to my study and there doffed all but my shirt. My pego stood in readiness. Would Miriam struggle and be held? Would there be ructions-cries of real alarm?

Entering the bedroom, I found all three naked to their stockings on the bed. My two dear ones had undressed with some despatch. Adelaide was licking at Miriam's brown nipples while Caroline laved kisses on her mouth.

The thighs of Miriam looked delicious-plumper than I thought them. Odd it is that when women are undressed much springs forth that otherwise is unobserved. Many a female have I thought to have small breasts, because no promising prominences appeared beneath her dress, yet in the peeling of their coverings they seem to swell up like balloons that have awaited air.

Her bush was abundant and I saw it clear since Adelaide held the woman's legs apart.

“She is ready to be fucked,” said Caroline, I slooping up on to the bed and kneeling-cock upraised-across the legs of Miriam.

“No, no!” moaned Miriam.

I knew there was no time to lose and couched myself upon her, bringing up my swollen crest to rub for a moment into her warm curls. Her legs kicked mightily, were strong. Her ankles banged against my own, her wet, stark nipples poking in my shirt.

“She will be a good fuck. Caroline, you hold her wrists-Adelaide-get off the bed and hold her,” said I. I chose my words. I do not often use that Anglo-Saxon one.

“Oho, my God! What do you do to me!”

Her face was uppermost to mine, mouth wet from Caroline's, eyes were open wide. Her tits were swollen from caressing hands. Her vulva twitched; the rolled lips felt my knob. She bucked her hips, almost unsaddling me. I growled at that; I knew my part to play and pinched her nose twixt thumb and finger, causing her to rush her breath into my mouth. I gave her then the first inch of my rod within and felt her squeeze upon it, then relax. I cupped her arse and drew the cheeks apart. Another inch, another-then I rammed it in and held her more securely down, feeling her juices tingle on my knob, her breath a hurricane around my lips. Her knees worked, but she ceased to kick so much.

Thrice Miriam spurted to me while I pumped her love-some nest, her belly rolling silky under mine. I held her nose until the joust was done and I had creamed her fig most ardently. Our gaspings filled the air, then we collapsed. I did not linger on her, though-withdrew the steaming cork and let her lie in panting disarray. My knob oozed pearls around her stocking top and then I slip from off the bed. She moaned. The tendon showed upon her neck, her forehead sheened with moisture from the bout.

“Let me go!” she whined, but Adelaide still held her legs apart.

“She should be birched,” said Caroline, her hands still grasping Miriam's wrists.

“Later,”. I said, “then I will bugger her. She needs a stiff prick up her arse as well.”

“I hate you-hooo!” whined Miriam, but I was gone. At least, I was beyond the door. My balls were drained; so strongly had she sucked.

“Now wrap her tightly up,” said Caroline. A squeal, a smack, then all was quiet. We had judged the woman rightly, so it seemed. Her pleasure was-and is-in being forced. Her own cries are as music to her ears, regretful as I am of such a cliche from my pen. Her dreams were being honoured at the least, I thought. I dressed again, descended to the lower floor, then Caroline and Adelaide came down.

“Did you like doing it with her? I wish sometimes I were a man,” said Adelaide.

“We judged her rightly.” Caroline said. She echoed word for word my thoughts.

“I will tie her now. We should have done it at the first,” my sister said, and went to get a length of rope.

“Impatience!” Caroline called after her and laughed. Then her expression changed and she came to me and sat upon my lap. “I am your true love still?” she asked. Before I could reply with words, she added, “You liked to have your prick up her-I know you did. I saw it on your face.”

“I did,” I said. She pouted and I kissed her lips, for none are sweeter or more kissable. I knew it partly for pretence in her, yet in all women is a fear of losing their protectors to another.

“She is younger than me. By two years, anyway,” Caroline said. Her warm bottom raised itself from off my lap. She walked to the window with her back to me.

“Indeed, and she has a lovely arse,” I said. I watched her shoulders slump and smiled within. My Caroline, who has held so many girls while I was corking them, was at her game of “Let's pretend it's real.”

“I suppose you think she has a nice house-but you did notice,” she said, but did not turn.

“Grander than ours, as well you know, and with a larger acreage. I shall have to visit her frequently of course. Unless you say me nay,” I said and rose and put my arms around her from behind.

“Oho, the love birds,” came the voice of Adelaide. “Poor me, I have all the work to do,” she laughed and swung the coil of rope she held, then was outsweeping, going to the stairs.

“I shall birch her even harder now,” said Caroline. Her hair brushed softly back against my nose.

“Poor Adelaide does not deserve the birch, but if you must…” I joked. At that she turned in my embrace.

“You fool-you know well whom I meant. Is she really nice to do?”

“She has a tightly-clenching cunny, love-but that is all she has. Her mind is vacuous, is trapped in a small room where someone birched and rode her once. She wishes to repeat it ever on. What a small menu will she offer any man.” I coiled my fingers in her hair, our bodies close. A big sigh came from her.

“I know. I want you to kiss me all the time while you have it up her bottom. Say you will.”

“I do not need to have it up her bottom when I might have yours, my love.”

“You promise me?”

“Of course I do. The thrill will be from your lips and from nowhere else.”

“I have bound her wrists. She did not struggle,” said my sister, coming in again, then gazed on us with an enquiring look.

“What were you talking about?” she asked.

“He does not love me,” said Caroline.

I dragged her down on the floor at that. “Tickle her,” I said to Adelaide. Shrieks came from Caroline, and in a moment all our limbs were coiled, their dresses up around their waists. I played with both their quims, my mouth to Caroline's. How oily were the lips of both their slits!

“Don't come in her tonight-then you can do it to us both. That will be her greater punishment,” said Adelaide. Then Caroline pushed at me and sat up. Her pins had fallen out, her hair was down.

“Oh, I've already told him that,” she said, put fallen hairpins in her mouth and grinned at me.