some time before Connie realised that she was under observation. When she did so, there was nothing for it but to continue her work while shooting a glance of sudden apprehension at the man from time to time. Presently he went away. Later he came back. I can scarcely describe the sudden shock in Connie's eyes when she saw him standing there once more, watching her. But this time he entered the spacious, well-appointed room, closing the door after him, and locking it.
'Your master has given you to me for a night of pleasure, Connie,' he said, sitting on the divan. 'Come to me naked and kneel down before me.'
I truly believe that Nabyla left me there deliberately to witness what followed. Connie's knickers came down and her tunic off. This demure, submissive Asian beauty then knelt before her English lover. Without a word of command, she undid his trousers with her slim, quick fingers and drew out his penis. She touched her lips to it, ran her tongue 'round its knob, and, as it stiffened, took it in her mouth. The curtains of her black hair covered his thighs as she sucked. He made her suck for five or ten minutes, then restrained her briefly, then motioned her to start again.
Later she climbed meekly onto the divan, lay on her back with legs apart and feet raised, guiding him down and sheathing his quivering dart between her thighs. As he rode her, she softly taught him how to nip her with his teeth, to flick her breast buds with his tongue, to rake her flanks with his nails in the fury of desire. Later still, she turned over on her belly, offering the rear view of her trim, saffron-yellow figure, with the black, silken hair spread on the shoulder blades. Connie's bottom had those pale-yellow cheeks which are soft but neatly rounded. She had obviously been well trained in a slave girl's submission, for no word of command was needed even now. She reached back and pulled her buttocks apart, hiding her face bashfully in the pillow as she offered the tight dimple of her anus to the man's lust. He buggered Connie with such energy that she several times drew a sharp breath. He spent in her neat, young Chinese bottom and she thanked him charmingly.
Then she looked at him with great apprehension. She slid from the divan, walked across to the cupboard with a delicious little swagger of her bare hips, and produced a birch. Its three, yard-long switches were bound at the handle in the way that prison rods are. With eyes lowered, she took it back to him, presented it to him kneeling, and then bent herself forward over the back of a chair.
I could not guess what his response would be, for his tool now hung remarkably slack. First, he secured her wrists to the wooden legs. Then he took his place behind her and touched the long birch switches to the broad, well-separated cheeks of Connie's trim backside.
'If I were a judge, condemning you as a thieving shop girl, Connie,' he said coolly, 'I should order you eighteen strokes of the prison birch. I must not be too timid to carry out such acts for myself.'
The birch made a soft, lashing sound as it cut across the pale-yellow cheeks of Connie's bottom, its fine tips curling 'round to catch her flanks. Even now there was a softness in her cries, as if she knew that a respite was impossible and that to scream for it would be a sign of defiance. The familiar raised scratches of the birching, long and curling, soon traversed her buttocks. Two or three times the birch just missed its target and caught her high on the legs. When it was over, her lover set her free, and led her back to the divan.
Now Connie had her reward. He placed her gently on her back and rode into her cunt with renewed lust so searchingly that Connie cried out with a greater intensity of joy than when she cried in distress during her tanning. They fell asleep together after the climax like a devoted bride and groom.
At two in the morning, her lover woke her gently, stroking her face. He required his Asian bride-of-a-night to turn onto her belly. He then made love to Connie's bottom. Little more than an hour passed before he woke her once more, this time spreading her legs and taking his way between them. In the pale, star-lit flush preceding dawn, their sleep was broken once more.
'Your bottom again, Connie,' he murmured, as she stirred under his caresses. 'Hold the cheeks well apart and rest your belly on the pillow. Arch your rump out even farther…'
I can scarcely describe the many sequels, as I am exhausted by my vigil. You may protest at a young lady writing of such things, but it is the very truth, as witnessed by
Your own adoring Lizzie
LETTER 6
Darling Lizzie,
With what relief did I receive your letters at last and learn that all is well with you at Ramallah! You may be sure that I read with great amusement the frisky doings of Tania and Shawn, as well as the amorous ordeal of Connie! I fear, my sweet, that you may find the news of Greystones dull by contrast, for there is much to be done in a harem which would be imprudent here!
Nonetheless, these past few days have produced one or two diverting little incidents among the stable-girls who are my chief concern even now. It is almost as if Miss Martinet believes I may find greater pleasure in their randy company than among the refined young ladies of fourteen in her sewing class. Who can say but that she may be right?
Since I last wrote to you, two more young women have come under my care, though they are ten years different in age. Jacqueline, the elder, is truly a self-regarding slut of twenty-five. She pretends to education and refinement but is, I feel sure, a young trollop who cannot get her pants off fast enough if it suits her purpose! She is not quite in her first youth, though she presents a challenge to any man. Her straight, blond hair has been cut in a short bell shape with a fringe, the style of the reformatory from which she came. Such dismissive blue eyes, Lizzie, so pert a nose and such heavy sulkiness in the mouth and jaw! In singlet and working trousers, her figure is not overblown, though I wager she may run to fat in a few years more-certainly if her belly swells with a brat! Her breasts are bouncy, her legs quite long and still trim. If you see her in tight, working trousers from the front there is an outward curve of her belly which suggests she may already have dropped a brat on the sly! On the inner edge of her thighs, either side of her cunt, a fleshy bulge swells out the cloth. Tell me, Lizzie, is this not one of the first signs of fat? If you see her turn and bend in fawn riding tights, Jackie's bottom is seductively fattish but not yet too much so for me.
Under her disdainful manner, however, she is extremely wanton and eager.
My younger charge, Amanda Ticklepuss, known as Mandy, is fifteen years old. Yet she is quite tall and strongly built, with long, firm legs and sturdy hips which give her quite a broad and Amazonian arse. True to type, Mandy has a strong-featured face, softened by a pleasant, smiling manner and gentle waves of chestnut hair, which are combed loose to her shoulders-such a beautiful reddish tint.
After the randiness of many of the young bitches at Greystones, I was quite taken aback by Jackie's display of disdain and her pretence of injured virtue whenever one tipped her breast, stroked her thighs, or pinched her arse- cheeks lightly. I was almost deceived by this. Then, one morning, I was invited to attend Miss Martinet in order to discuss some manner of business. Silas Raven, the surly old brief, was coming down to Greystones-at our expense- to discuss some matter connected with my Uncle Brandon's will. I informed the grooms that I should not be visiting the stables that day, for I envisaged a prime lunch and a good blow-out.
As I waited with Miss M., a telegram arrived. There had been a most unfortunate incident in the gentlemen's lavatory at Victoria Station. The door of one of the cubicles had become wedged and two uniformed police constables had been summoned in the general alarm. When the door was freed by these two stalwarts, out tumbled Silas Raven and two young guardsmen in dishabille. The young soldiers were all for laying the constabulary senseless and making off. Silas Raven prevented the necessity. A few moments later, the entire party went its separate ways, the pockets of the two policemen chinking with sovereigns, and the zealous officers of the law saluting S. Raven, Esquire, as if he might be the Prince of Wales and Lord Rosebery all in one.
Yet after so disturbing an entree to the railway station, the respected counsel from Grays Inn was far too shaken to contemplate a journey that day. In consequence, Miss M. and I found ourselves at what is colloquially termed 'a loose end.'
It was a fine summer morning, the chestnut candles still upon the trees, and I thought it no hardship to stroll back to the stables and perhaps from there to the cliff walk and the sea. I made no great sign of my approach,
