absence. The Signore is most intrigued by the Scandinavian surname Aas, which he feels sure must be derived from a vulgarity of some sort! Ten minutes after he had left my company, I went upstairs to my own room and was soon aware of a murmuring which came from beyond the wall. Our randy young Miss Jones was not alone in her bedroom! You may be sure that I lost no time in drawing up a chair and applying my eye to the spy-hole in the wall. One does not hear very much, for the walls are conveniently thick and I do not suppose that Miss Jones or the Signore who was with her now thought that anything of their activities could be overheard. To my astonishment, Miss Jones was dressed as if for her work the other afternoon, in tight pants and blouse. Indeed she was now performing the very chores which had attracted the attention of several gentlemen to the shop window. The Signore sat in a chair behind her, one hand playing with his waxed moustache while he watched her. He was for all the world like the young man whose trouser front had bulged with such a load while he watched Miss Jones at work on all fours!
With the small round brush she was now stirring up the pile of the bedroom carpet, the crop of her brushed curls lowered and her almond eyes flashing their occasional challenge at the man who sat behind her. As she worked her way back towards him, Miss Jones's slim and upward branching thighs offered a lewd and enticing prospect to her master. Her rear cheeks so round and trim, so suggestively separated, swelled and writhed. The route between the rear of her legs lay tantalisingly open. By hollowing her waist downwards, the randy little piece was trying to offer herself still more brazenly for his attention. As soon as she was close to his chair, the Signore put his hand down and began to fondle the cheeks of Miss Jones's backside in the tight denim. She stopped at once, waiting on hands and knees with her head still bowed a little, as if to discover what his pleasure might be. It will not surprise you to learn that the Signore began to undo her at the waist and to work the denim, with Miss Jones's panties inside, well down over her taut young hips and trim thighs. A moment more and her pants were round her knees as she knelt at his disposal. The great man slipped his fingers between her warm gold thighs from the rear. With gentle stroking and squeezing he roused her, for all the world as if he were milking some compliant female creature in his stable! If Miss Jones felt the indignity of such a situation, she showed no sign of this. She braced herself on hands and knees, her head lowered as if she were trying to look back between her legs at what he was doing to her. Her slim Levantine thighs writhed together in the most exquisite of Cupid's torments and the cheeks of her backside seemed to tense and relax in a furtive tell-tale rhythm. From time to time the Signore drew his hand away, causing her a gasp of deprivation, and administered a ringing smack on the coppery smoothness of Miss Jones's bottom, that forced a squeal of alarm from her. Then she moaned and quivered gratefully as the hand resumed its former labours between her thighs. You may be sure that he was not going to bring her to a conclusion so easily, Augustus. Any man who had possession of this lascivious little piece would want to make it a long session with her. He was merely working her up to a point at which she would never regain her equanimity without first having a climax. He told her to remain on all fours and I guessed at once that there was to be some kind of bedroom sport.
Getting up from his chair, the Signore went over to the table and took a fine mauve candle from its silver-gilt holder. In a moment more, he stooped over the girl as she knelt on hands and knees. To be sure, she was more than ready for something of the kind. With a little careful insertion of the candle-base between the rear of her legs, he found a most convenient holder for it-a holder which received the round mauve wax with grateful tremors and sudden gasps of pent-up excitement! The ornamental wick protruded back between the rear of the slim gold thighs in a most provoking manner. Somewhat to my alarm, the Signore struck a match and applied it to the wick. It burnt with a small and perfect flame. I hoped he did not intend it to burn down until it scorched randy young Miss Jones ou vous savez, as the saying is! You may be sure, though, he is too much of a gentleman for that.
The proletarian zeal whose torches found their way between the thighs of certain aristocratic beauties in '92 is foreign to him. Who can tell what preliminaries a pair of lovers may adopt to excite them to greater prodigies in their coupling? Miss Jones waited on all fours while the Signore with his moustache finely waxed and his eyes staring, went down on all fours behind her. A spot of hot wax fell on her bare thigh and she gave a sudden start, for which he chided her.
The rules of the game must be observed. Presently he clapped his hands sharply to make the sound of a starting-pistol. In his own bedroom, this cavaliere would have fired off a pistol in earnest but he was more prudent as a guest at the Villa Lola. When the signal was given, Miss Jones scampered forward on hands and knees, the little flame of the candle fluttering like a flag. Grinning madly, the Signore set off in pursuit. He did not, it is true, use his utmost energy for he wished to prolong the fun a little. The object of the sport was to blow out, snuff out, or snap out the life of the little flame whose candle was sunk so firmly in the girl's love-nest. At first he tried to blow in sharp gusts of breath but the randy young minx merely twisted her arse this way and that to frustrate him.
Foiled in this, the Signore took from his pocket a pair of snuffers and tried to smother the flame by pinching it out. He was not successful, though he once pinched the flesh high up on the rear of the girl's thigh, which caused an amazing shriek. The Signore told her, somewhat ungratefully, to shut her noise. As the sublime artist scampered after his beauty, lured on by squirming thighs and writhing hips, there was nearly a catastrophe to put paid to the Villa Lola and all its occupants. Our randy young odalisque was greatly excited by the sport and by the promise of what was going to be done to her at its conclusion. This, combined with the agreeable presence of the candle base in her pussy had made her lubricate copiously. Her energetic movements made her feel the candle more exquisitely than ever and her natural feminine slipperiness had spread even down the inner surfaces of her trim thighs. I swear it was this state of her excitement which now caused the candle to shoot backwards from between young Miss Jones's legs as she scampered forwards. Like a splendid jeu d'artifice it sped out from beneath her thighs and described a surprising arc across the bedroom, the Same still fluttering at the wick. It fell quite six feet away and was at once in danger of setting on fire the silk cover of the bed. The Signore, galantuomo that he is, ignored this mere threat to life when there were more important matters to be decided. It was Miss Jones with a charming little scream who sprang across to the bed and began to beat out the infant flames with the back of a hairbrush. At no point had it been agreed that the rules of the game were suspended. The Signore snatched a silk cord from the curtain and, as the object of his lust knelt over the scene of the little conflagration, he ran the cord round her wrists and tied her by it to the bedpost. There she knelt, or rather knelt over, the edge of the bed, her hands tied and able only to look round at him with a sudden fright in the slant of her enigmatic almond eyes. How busy he was with her now! He knelt down behind the lewd young shopgirl, just like a dog who sniffs a bitch. He kissed the coppery smoothness of her bottom-cheeks, her trim young thighs, and even between her legs, much to the cost of his immaculately waxed whiskers. He gave her a hearty smack on the bottom and then another. This excited him so much that he continued until Miss Jones wailed plaintively to know if she was to be spanked or ravished. “A little spanking, Car',” he murmured, “A smack or two to make you lively! Do you want to go home, Car? Have you had enough, Carissima Jones?” With that he unbuttoned and mounted her. I do not suppose such lust can ever be a matter for true elegance, nor was it in this present case. He rode her in and out for several minutes, then withdrew, smacked her bottom a little, and rode her again.
“Untie my hands, then,” she murmured in her charming Celtic lilt.
The Signore merely chortled at the suggestion and gave another sharp smack on her coppery-toned bottom- cheeks as if to reprimand such sauciness. Miss Jones gave a little squeal, whether of discomfort or excitement, who can say? Perhaps it was a little of both.
Whatever the cause, it goaded the Signore to mount her with the resolve of a born rider astride the saddle. Taking her between the rear of her thighs, he was thus able to give his hands full freedom of fondling her breasts and belly, while his hairy loins tickled and prickled her young backside. There is, alas, no scale of enthusiasm in these matters by whose Fahrenheit or Centigrade one may measure the thrill of desire. Yet our almond-eyed beauty writhed and whimpered in a manner which made such exact measurement unnecessary.
The Signore feasted his lips on the delicate whorls of her ears and the fine moulding of her neck. He bit her lightly on the shoulders and his fingernails raked the smooth gold flanks of her trim thighs. She, in turn, twisted her face round and the tight-lidded slant of her dark eyes begged kisses for her greedy lips. A series of sharp rising cries announced the approach of her climax while the Signore discharged his own passion into her loins with grunts and gasps far removed from the exquisite colour of his famous verses. They lay entwined on the dark blue-and-crimson of the Persian carpet, writhing and panting together a little in the moment of their supreme satisfaction. Presently there was another sharp smack on her bottom to prepare the randy little piece for an encore. Just then I heard a sound in the corridor. Opening my door as softly as I might, I peeped through the crack and took young Marit entirely by surprise. What do you suppose? She had stripped to her white blouse and her denim drawers-which was not unusual at that hour of night. She was also kneeling at Miss Jones's keyhole, which was charmingly lewd! You
