way to the long Regency sofa with its thickly padded crimson velvet and its ornamental scroll at one end. It was on this that all the mirrors had been trained. As she lay there, on whichever side, she could see her light gold beauty reflected from the front and the back simultaneously. She stretched out naked on the soft crimson velvet, the upper half of her body turned over a little on her front and one knee drawn up slightly, which gave a delightfully saucy distortion to the perfect shape of her bottom-cheeks. Posing like this, she was the boudoir beauty-lascivious and perverse-of which Romantic Europe has dreamt this past century! There is, to be sure, a perversity in the manner in which Cara Jones uses her body, the lewd postures which she so instinctively adopts. Yet her true perversity is in her cunning young mind. By the aid of the mirrors, she was now using the sight of her own body to excite herself! As she saw the slim upward branching of her Levantine-coloured thighs, her straight slender back and narrow waist, the smooth tan of her trim bottom-cheeks, she began to caress herself gently. At first it was no more than a gentle self-stroking of those parts which are agreeable to stroke-the flanks and belly, a little firming of her nipples between finger and thumb. But the sight of her doing this to herself was as if she had been spying on a pair of lesbian lovers. Unable to resist, Miss Jones slid a hand down and intruded her fingers between her thighs. She manualised with the slow expertise of one who has had ample practice-and expert tuition!-in the art. I have always thought it of the utmost importance that a slave-girl of whatever age should be obliged to self-love regularly and should be taught to do so with skill. It relieves those troublesome feminine tensions and leads to more ready obedience of one's own commands. So, like a lewd little harem wanton, Miss Jones performed upon herself now. Yet I cannot too strongly insist that her pleasure was ten times the greater for being able to see herself do it. She is entirely self-sufficient for she loves no one as intensely as herself. I watched her enjoy the most ecstatic bliss of honeymoon romance with no other person near her. She brought herself off twice, shuddering and groaning, before the time when the maid knocked at her door to announce that dinner was to be served in half an hour. The nimble fingers seemed to heed no warning. They parted the trim gold buttocks, stroked and tickled her between them. They plagued the slippery pussy again and again, tickling the little clitoris until Miss Jones shuddered and groaned with the delicious torment of it. They milked her sly cunt until she threshed and squirmed her thighs on the fine sofa. Once she tried, without success, to spank herself. How eagerly I would have done that to her, for the little bitch made me late for dinner!
Your loving cousin, Maude
IV. Augustus to Lady Maude
Wight, 8 June
My dear Maude, Your two letters arrived together by this morning's post. I do assure you, dearest cousin, that you would never write as you do were you ever to fall truly in love. Such is my case. To you the girl upon whom all my hope is fixed appears no more than a shopkeeper's hireling. How mistaken you are, for you do not know her as I do. She does not haunt your waking dreams as she does mine. Not an hour of the day passes but I see in that mind's eye the slim elfin figure with her blond hair and moody little face-and I breathe the name of Julie. I do not doubt, my dearest, that you would take my family's part against me.
Would you not revert to the topic of my neurasthenia and suggest that I am not fit to control my life in such matters? As soon as your letters arrived, I went into town to search out my beloved image-to whom I had never addressed a single word. How my heart sprang up as I saw her at her work, just as you promised. With far more decency and devotion than the Italian lad in your letter, I gazed through the glass upon the beauty which is all the world to me. She was modestly attired in black dress and coquettish little red shoes. Yet as she stood behind the counter that fine blond hair was spread loose like a veil upon her shoulders. All the primness and knowing-ness of her previous appearance was changed to simple innocence by this alteration. What is the worst one can say of Julie? She has, perhaps, an indifferent and unsmiling air for her customers. Yet I must be more to her than they. There is a hint of sulkiness in the weaker lines of mouth and chin. The nose is perhaps rather sharp and prominent-but is that not the case with your golden-skinned Miss Jones? So you see, Maude, I am not unaware of her blemishes. To me she is beautiful despite them. I stood there and adored her at a distance until I dared do so no longer. I am loath to attract attention to myself and my feelings for this girl. As the patrons of the shop kept her busy, it was impossible for me to enter and engage her in conversation. How then was I to advance my cause? I walked away and took luncheon alone at the Grand Hotel. When it was over, I returned and walked past that window, which is to me almost the gate of paradise. Julie sat on a stool behind the counter, her head bowed as she read one of the books and the fine gold of her hair spilling loose round her face. You see? She is a young person of attainments.
She reads books. How many “shopgirls,” as you term them, indulge in such distractions? Yet still there were too many people in the room to permit me access to her. What then? I must wait until the time came for her to leave. Perhaps I would waylay her. Fall on my knees!
Beg a moment of her attention! But what if she should be escorted from the premises by some duenna? What if a young man who already aspired to remove Julie's knickers for her had a prior claim? The thought overcame me with misery. How could I, with my tormented sensibilities, set up in competition with a hobbledehoy whose brawny lust was to be vented upon this delicious creature? I withdrew and refreshed myself by a glass of Vichy water at the cafe next door. Much of the day was passed in this fashion until the premises closed their door to the public. I had great hopes. Julie would emerge in a moment and, so far as I could see, there was neither duenna nor hobbledehoy lying in wait for her. Still she did not appear. Then, a moment later, I saw her in the shop itself. Though the doors were closed, her day's work had by no means ended. Now she reappeared to stock the shelves with more books after the sales of the previous hours. You may be sure she did not risk ruin to her black dress and red shoes by wearing them as she carried the boxes and the piles of books. Julie was more conveniently dressed in the white blouse and the tight denim breeches of her working-costume. Do you suppose, Maude, that my admiration was blighted by seeing her in such utilitarian garb? Quite the reverse, I assure you! There is nothing like tight denim for revealing such figures as hers. Julie must be eighteen or nineteen years old and yet her legs and thighs are almost as slender as a child's. She has the flat curve of the belly and the backward jut of the hips which would be more common in a nymph of fourteen, scarcely on the threshold of womanhood. Combined with the way she wore her golden blond hair loose upon her shoulder blades this gives the air of a girl-child to her appearance. How could you doubt her charming innocence, my dear Maude? She turned to contemplate the depleted shelves, the jeans-denim tight and smooth over her slim fragile-looking thighs, though drawn into little sheaves of creases behind her knees. Petite and narrow-hipped though she is, there is almost an impudent little fatness to the cheeks of Julie's bottom!
I gazed through the bookshop window, enraptured by such views of her. How I adored the veil of golden blond hair which sweeps from her high crown to her shoulders! What beauty I saw in the slope of her hazel eyes, seeming all the darker for a touch of the mascara brush to their lashes. Julie, too, has a tall sloping forehead and such a sharp, rather crude young nose. Yet if there is an ugliness in any of this, it is of the kind which provokes rather than repels. She is petite, I suppose. Indeed, only her habit of choosing shoes with spiked heels makes one overlook this. With all her imperfections, I adore her. I find no fault in her at all when I observe that the cheeks of Julie's backside are such fatly rounded little globes. How I longed to feel them smacked and fondled under my hands. Just then, she bent to pick up a box of books and presented her buttocks as neatly and tautly rounded, as deeply separated as any admirer could wish. I will not weary you, my dear Maude, but I stood there a full hour in contemplation, under the pretext of waiting for some companion with whom I had made a rendezvous. Indeed, it was more man an hour before Julie emerged, locked the door behind her, and set off homeward, still in her blouse and denim pants stretched smooth on her lower limbs. How was I to accost her? Upon what pretext could I begin a conversation which was to lead to passionate romance? Of course, I dared not lose sight of her and therefore began to walk in the same direction at a discreet distance behind her, trying to think of the mot juste while my heart seemed ready to burst within me.
Do not think that I complain, dearest cousin. To walk behind Julie forever was a torment of exquisite delight. Slim and lithe, for all her lack of height, she moves with long and easy strides, the sweep of her golden blond hair rising and falling a little upon her shoulders with the motion of her steps. To see her tightly clad thighs, so slim and agile, moving in this youthful manner makes one long for her. Her buttocks are high and pert, lasciviously displayed under the pale blue of the denim seat. I may tell you from mere observation that Julie's panties are scandalously brief and tight.
Indeed, all those who have watched her at work in the bookshop while she wears the tight jeans-denim can vouch for this. The tight seat shows the outline of Julie's knickers, which are nothing more than a twist of thin
