it did, Daisy rolled on her hip away from me, so presenting the cleft peach of her bottom. Whether such was intended as an offering or an expression of dismay that I was actually presenting myself to her, I do not know.
My hands dragged her nightgown high up, baring her swollen titties which I cupped fervently in my palms.
'Ooooh!', she uttered, her head bowed so that my kisses rained on the back of her neck.
The engorged crest of my cock was by then pressed upwards between the springy half-moons of her delightful derriere. It moved a fraction, excited to the uttermost by her exuding warmth, and then suddenly as a bullet is ejected from the barrel of a gun-so the first strings and pellets of my sperm released themselves, firing a hot stream of lava that spattered her bulbing cheeks and caused her to wriggle tightly against me, thus impelling further jets that spread a fine bubbling cream everywhere.
'Pa-PA! Naught-eee!', she whimpered, head bowed still when I wanted most to assuage my further desires upon her lips. My loins jerked as of some volition other than my own. Two further streams of sperm followed, and then the main pulsing was done. For long moments while I held her thus, all but captive with her tits in my hands, the ticking globs and drops continued to emerge until her bottom was veritably lathered. Then I quivered, stiffened my legs, and lay still. Small rivulets of come dribbled down from her pert cheeks to fall between the backs of her thighs and the fronts of my own, so closely did we remain interlocked.
A silence followed-a silence such as would wish to repel any words that I might utter. Any such as might have come from me would have been of the utmost folly. Half shamefacedly, I relinquished her swollen bubbies and-feeling much like an intrusive tramp in my disarray-rose from the bed and adjusted my trousers while Daisy remained as I had left her.
'Sleep well', I said. No words ever sounded so abysmally doltish. Bending, I drew the bedclothes from under her-not without difficulty for she lay heavily-and covered her. 'Goodnight, my pet', I said, echoing my former stupidity of utterance.
A much muffled 'Goo-night' came from her. I tiptoed to the door, feeling like one who has stolen the fruits of heaven, as indeed I had. To my vast relief, Celia was dozing when I joined her in bed. Now and again she moved her bottom, but otherwise lay still. I have never known her do that before. I rested for a while on my back, staring with glazed eyes at the dim white ceiling. I had all but ravaged my dear, sweet pet-or had she been accomplice to my sins? The silence of the house was like a pall over me. Ridiculous thoughts ran through my mind like panic- driven sheep.
Should I return and apologise to Daisy? Despite my previous fondlings of her, how would our eyes meet in the morning-and what dare one say? Would she arise confused, and I much fallen in her estimation? I tore at that thought as one who tries to escapee from a cell with bare fingers. At one moment I thought of the silky, firm bliss of her jutting young bottom and that she had not squealed and protested when I inserted my digit therein; at another I thought of the sense of remorse that would surely flood her soul. I, who had lectured her on being naughty, had now seemingly shed my disguise and stood before her as a lusting beast who has turned a merely amourous game- one of tender loving, as I had blithely told myself until then-into something of far more lewd and coarse intent. There was no doubt that Daisy had herself ventured willingly to the very cliff-edge of desire, yet it was I who had indicated the path.
Thus did I castigate myself, and it was long before I slept. Then, with the coming of a new day-and as is so often the case with the ever-hopeful mind-I told myself that all would soon be forgotten, that the waves of Time would wash over the beach of Life, as it were. Daisy would act as if nothing had passed, and I would do the same. I would kiss her still occasionally-and pray why not? I might even fondle her titties again, if she were minded to let me. Thus, and so ludicrously, did my thoughts again begin to run in all directions. I was as a man who has long wanted to do a certain thing and believes he has dissected it thoroughly and to his complete satisfaction. Then, upon taking the final step towards the fruition of his aim, he falters, becomes confused, knows not his own mind, and is caught between returning and venturing on.
I have this day been thus, and have received from Daisy only wan smiles and a few, broken words. At one moment, upon the first floor landing I endeavoured to approach her and to comfort any fears she might have. Before I could reach her, however, she turned into her room and locked her door. I have become lowly in her eyes, I fear, yet Time will heal all, and of that I am sure. She is unbreached still. May the Lord be thanked for that. Perhaps after all (for my hopes rise ever on) I have taught her the ways of men and have thus provided her with a better lesson than in truth I meant to do.
Richard's Day-Book
I am home again after three fearsome days. Mama does not care, for she asked me nothing about it. Amy was most inquisitive. I said that the family had merely taken a liking to me and that I had had a most jolly time riding and shooting.
This afternoon I overheard an altercation between Amy and Mama. The very husband of the principal lady who so ill-treated me may occasionally act as Amy's chaperone, Mama said.-'But I don't like him', Amy complained, to which Mama replied very coolly that she had previously understood otherwise and that the company of a real man and a thorough gentleman at that (I believe she intended that remark slightingly against Papa) would do Amy a world of good and help to introduce her into Society. From such as Amy replied, she sounded half mollified and half not. I bet that chap is up to no good with her if he is anything like his 'good lady'.
She was anything but good to me. My thing is sore from all the times they made me do it-but not with them. Always in that horrid bottle, or in a thing they put over my prick like a sheathe. At times I felt very strange as if I did not know who I was. They said I am not very good at doing it, but I think I am. I was not even fed well until I was about to leave. I suppose they did not want me to complain to Mama about that, but I can say nothing to her. It would mean I would have to use words she does not like now, or so I feel.
I am to obey every woman, they said, but I do not intend to. Upon my return, I was only allowed to tell Mama that they wished me to return again. Indeed, they instructed me and said it will be the worse for me if I do not. Mama merely cut me off and said that of course I must do as I am asked. It is a stinker. They played with my cock all the time, and sometimes they twisted my balls. They said things I didn't understand, like I have to 'get the scent' of them. I believe they mean their knickers. What a disgusting way to behave! I never thought a woman could frighten me like that.
'All this serves you right', they said, but they did not say for what. They cannot know I was naughty with Mama for she would never have told them. She is too quiet and self-possessed now to do that. The knob of my prick is all red. Amy said I look 'weak', and I should jolly well think that I do. I heard a man in the house sometimes. It must be the same one that she was talking about to Mama, though I have only guessed that. We do not know many other people.
If I do have to go back there, I think I will run away to sea.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Stephen Brindley-Marshall's Day-Book
Maurice is a fine chap. I do not think our little 'Club' would exist without his meritorious efforts in seeking out and finding the occasional young lady for 'correction and treatment'. I keep a Minutes Book of all such events, but since it is the property of the members generally, it is often returned to me after long intervals and somewhat dog- eared.
I am told, by way of flattery which I am sure is intended to encourage me to make my memoirs of each pleasant session as detailed as possible, that I write exceedingly well. This I rather doubt, though I am happy to accommodate all who wish to revive memories of each occasion. For safety's sake, lest the minute book be lost-or worse, filched and destroyed by some irate and insensitive wife-I am now keeping a copy hereof, and thus am able to make an extra record of the initiation of one Amy Mansfield.
How the deuce he got hold of her (in every sense) I do not know. She is obviously a girl of excellent background, though with all the discretion whereby he ennobles his character he would say nothing of that, insisting that she must otherwise remain anonymous.
We met, as usual, in what we are pleased to call our Committee Room on the second floor of The Boar's
