that, while Julia Denton in her imprisoning chair raged at me for performing such an outrageous and dastardly act upon a helpless female.
The masochistic brunette showed herself to be really a consummate actress as she looked back over her shoulder, her eyes very large and wide with feigned terror, her magnificent bosom heaving wildly, and twisting this way and that in a manner that emphasized the mouthwatering curves of her voluptuous young body. At last the dress fell in a tattered pile at her ankles, leaving her in her chemise and stays and two petticoats. Putting down the shears, I squatted down and dragged the petticoats off to both young women’s frantic protestations. Next came the stays, and now Molly Bashe was reduced to her chemise, which was quite long and went down to her knees and thus hid the elegant lace-trimmed, beribboned white batiste drawers which clung about her bottom and tasty plump loins.
“Oh for God’s sake, Mr. Jack,” she cried, “you’re certainly not going to undress me all n-n-naked in front of my friend? In the name of decency, don’t let her see this-I implore you, Mr. Jack!”
Into her voice there was exactly the right inflection of quivering fear and shame, but I told myself that her somewhat elderly fiance Arthur was a decided idiot not to have penetrated the affectatious mask which his betrothed assumed. If he had been more direct with her and treated her the way a doting father might have done a mischievous daughter-which is to say, administered a sound smacking-she would not have come here this afternoon in search of erotic assuagement in view of the expected drouth which would be hers when she became the bride of the India-bound milksop. And I told myself, since I felt charitably inclined (and who would not, with such a harem awaiting my own happiness within the weeks ahead?), that I would see to it that this Arthur of hers should not leave England without first being fully informed as to the really lascivious nature of his bride-to-be. I should hate to think of the excitably nervous and exquisite Molly Bashe having to toss and turn unrequited on her nuptial bed out there in darkest India, where one puts up mosquito netting and takes care not to step into one’s boots without first shaking them out. So primitive a clime deserved a pagan honeymoon, but from what my willing brunette victim had already told me in secret confidence, she would spend a very dreary time in that exotic outpost of the British Empire. Yes, I told, myself, I would pay Arthur a little visit in a day or two and acquaint him as man to man with the proclivities of Lady Betty’s only daughter… but of course without slandering her reputation, for I may be lecherous but am no cad!
Now it is said that if one casts one’s bread upon the waters, it comes back a thousandfold. And so, having already decided on this kindly deed worthy of a good Samaritan-oh, this ineffectual Arthur of hers would one day be intensely grateful to me when he lay between the sheets with this quivering morsel of pulchritude! — I advanced to claim my own reward for my good deed. There would not, you see, be time to wait for this bread to return to me with all that interest, for the luscious loaf itself would be in far-off India and never more within my appreciative clutches.
There was no need to use the shears on the chemise, for the shoulder straps unbuttoned quite simply, and so I stationed myself behind the delicious captive and began to unfasten the right strap.
“Ohhh no, in the name of humanity!” Julia Denton cried shrilly from her chair, “this is unworthy of a gentleman, it’s monstrous, it’s atrocious!”
“Pray spare me your dissertation on morality, Miss Denton,” I coolly observed as I completed the unfastening of that first strap, and Molly Bashe uttered a wild little squeal and wriggled forward as she felt it drop and expose one magnificent naked tittie, pouting coral bud and all!
I could not help but notice that Julia Denton, for all her indignation, had not been able to resist the temptation of peeping at her dear friend who found herself in so beleaguered a situation. I remarked only: “For the time being, at any rate, Miss Denton, I do not lay claim to being a gentleman, and if you had been paying attention a little while ago, you would have understood perfectly well why. I pray you, therefore, content yourself with watching, because the lesson will be most salutary to you both, and perhaps remind you that men are not to be flouted with impunity.”
And with this, stepping to the left of my appetizing young brunette captive, I unfastened the buttons of the left strap, and the garment slithered down her body, not without reluctance because of its rather snug cling to her mouthwatering person, till it rested at her ankles in a frothy pile.
“Ohhhh! How can you, Mr. Jack?” Julia Denton cried out again, struggling against the perfidious arms of the chair which held her prisoner, “Cover her up, do cover her up, it is scandalous!”
“It would be more scandalous if I permitted her to go about so lasciviously in only her drawers, Miss Denton,” I whimsically retorted, “because one of my particular axioms is that a young lady is far more indecent when she is naked to the waist than when she is completely naked.”
Her mouth gaped at this piece of sophistry, but Molly Bashe continued to fling herself this way and that, her beautiful breasts jigging and bouncing in the most prick-hardening manner. The dimpled sculptuary of her bare white back, the elegant hollowing of that lovely spinal column, the soft shoulders and the intimate glimpse of the dark tufts of private hair growing in the soft niches of her armpits caused-I here unabashedly admit (and if there is a pun to be found in that adverb, it is purely spontaneous, believe me!)-my prick to experience an almost intolerable aching spasm. But now I had to do with the drawers, which were lace-trimmed and very flouncy about the legs, and went down to about midthigh. The elastic waistband was quite tight, and it resisted my initial attempt to drag the garment down in a single whisk, which would surely have been dramatically effective for the astounded Julia Denton. But at this point Molly Bashe lunged forward with a shriek, “No, no. I forbid you to, sir! You shan’t strip me naked, you just shan’t! Oh Julia, if ever you were my friend, I pray you not to look at my shame!”
I could detect on the lovely bare sides of my almost naked brunette captive a fine moist sheen, undeniably that of perspiration, and the delicate aromatic pungency of that same effluvium emanating from her armpits told me that Miss Molly Bashe was experiencing the most exquisitely lewd reactions to this little play-drama in which she proposed to be the terrified and abused and helpless victim. No, this perspiration-since she was so delicately bred, I could not demean her by referring to it as sweat-was not really that of agony, but rather that of anticipatory lust.
Capriciously, I decided to prolong the complete unveiling of this most convincing young actress, in order to impress her companion all the more. I therefore grasped with thumbs and forefingers at the sides the waistband of Miss Molly Bashe’s tight drawers, as if to drag them down, and at the same time she gave a wild cry of “Oh my God, please, Mr. Jack, please leave my drawers on, I’m begging you!” as if she were about to meet the impalement of a readied phallic weapon. But instead of relieving her of her drawers, I simply snapped the elastic so it stung her bare sides, and she squealed and wriggled in the most fascinating way while I moved off to one side and with mock sternness, decreed: “For the time being, and in order not to shock the maidenly modesty of your companion, Miss Bashe, you may retain your drawers. However, when you have had enough of the commencement of your chastisement, you will signify this to me by begging me to remove those drawers of your own free will, do you understand?”
“I would rather die, sir, than voice so indecent and shocking a plea!” the lovely brunette, her face flaming, passionately declared.
I had not exactly been blind to what this “victim” had thus far exposed to my admiring eyes, not in the least. She had large firm upstanding breasts with saucy little nipples and the most adorable areolae imaginable, which at once drew one’s vision toward the tidbits whose crinkly buds now palpitated with each panting breath of her naked bosom. Her fine white skin was quite patrician and, as I recalled from my one foray against it when she hadn’t been accompanied by her opulent mother, extremely sensitive and delightfully satisfying in showing up the marks of a good switching or smacking. Her navel too was a veritable oasis of delight, and for the imaginative male a most beguiling haven for the frictioning pleasure granted his prick; it was wide and shallow, and it seemed to suggest a boldly inviting orifice that would welcome such an instrument. It might be well used as a kind of amorous grindstone on which to whet the spearpoint of my weapon before I sheathed it into its proper place amid the thicket of mossy black curls which covered Miss Molly Bashe’s exquisite cunt.
There was a desk at the far end of my Snuggery, in whose drawers as well as in whose covered top I kept various artifices for the diversion of my sensual whims. I went to it now, and I was conscious of the feet that my prick was in a ferocious state of inflammation, so that each step I took made my ramrod thrust its battering ram of a head against the fly of my trousers. Even the fact that I had my robe over these conventional garments did not prevent its manifestation from being seen by these two pairs of maidenly eyes. Or, from the theoretical viewpoint, perhaps just one pair, since Miss Molly Bashe was decidedly no longer a virgin-the organ which now swelled so monstrously within my fly could bear witness to that fact!
