My dearest Lizzie,
How differently must we think of my Uncle Brandon after my adventures today! You might easily believe he had owned Grey-stones-Miss Martinet and the girls included-and that it was a private seraglio with Miss M. as a duenna!
After breakfast my hostess led me across the sunlit lawns to the brick stable with its white cupola and clock. 'We have two groups of girls at Greystones,' she said proudly, 'first, the more refined young ladies who are taught sewing or embroidery, and second, the young women trained to be stable-girls.'
'Oh, aye,' says I to myself, 'buxom young trollops well made for vigorous riding and saddle work!'
'Before you proceed to deal with our young ladies,' went on Miss M., 'you must first prove yourself with these saucy Amazons. That was always your uncle's rule.'
'Was it, by Jove!' I said. 'Then I shall strive to be worthy of it!'
To speak well of Uncle Brandon is to win Miss M.'s heart. Do you suppose, my sweet, that she had such a lech for the old fellow as to supply him with young fillies to ride at Greystones?
'I shall put two young women in your charge at first-Maggie and Noreen,' said she. 'They need nothing less than a man's absolute authority. For that reason, your dear departed uncle wished you to aid our good works.'
I smiled at the old fellow's singular notion of good works. A moment more and we entered the main stable door, viewing a well-kept interior of red tiling, white-painted rails, and neatly piled straw. Miss Martinet pointed out Maggie and Noreen to me, marking the beginning of my remarkable acquaintance with them.
I will not burden you with more than the briefest description of the two girls. Maggie was to prove a casual and careless young slut compared with the staring insolence of Noreen. What shall I say of Maggie? Her golden-blond hair hung straight and loose to her shoulders and was parted on her forehead in a long fringe. She was twenty-three years old, I learnt, the pale oval of her face marked by features which were firm and perhaps a little crude. Yet you would admire her blue-green eyes and the lashes which she darkens so skilfully. Maggie is a bewitching combination of the brazen slut and the innocent child. She is firmly built, though not tall. Her lack of height gives her a coltish, almost stocky appearance. Yet her thighs are taut and her hips firmly covered without being fat. Her breasts are softly hung and Maggie's bottom-cheeks have the trim maturity of womanhood. Though she wears no wedding ring, I'll wager that Maggie's cunt has been well ridden.
Noreen, by contrast, has an impudent stare and a resentful manner. This pleases me, rather, for it will offer ample pretext for discipline! Noreen is a trollop of nineteen with no claim to refinement. Would you picture her to yourself? You may do so easily. Imagine quite a tall, firmly made girl, her dark-brown hair worn straight and lank to the level of her collar and cut in a level fringe on her forehead. Add to this a set of strong, fair-skinned features and brown eyes of lazy malevolence. Men who like a well-made filly to strap between the shafts of love's chariot would stiffen at the sight of Noreen in her tight working pants and singlet. Firm young breasts and straight back are damply outlined by clinging blue cotton. Now observe her from the waist down: her belly is quite flat, her pubic mound a gentle swell. Her thighs are taut and lightly muscled, as if from work or exercise. Noreen's bottom is certainly quite big-cheeked but without any surplus fat.
'Deal firmly with them, Mr. Charles!' said Miss Martinet softly. 'Be worthy of your Uncle Brandon! Remember, you are absolute master here. Not a word shall be heard against you from these girls!'
There were two grooms and several stable-boys to assist me in my task, which seemed to be no more than doing as I liked with the two girls! A room had been set apart for me at one end of the stable, and it was well appointed with a humidor of cigars and a decanter of fluid which looked, smelt, and tasted like the finest old malt! From this point of vantage, I settled down to watch Maggie through the open door.
The young blonde was laying out the saddle harness for inspection by the grooms. In doing this she was also in the public view. On that side the stable wall is the boundary of the Greystones estates, the windows looking out onto the road, though securely set in stone and not to be opened. Men and women who stroll past can watch Maggie at work.
Perhaps it was this which made Maggie such an exhibitionist. First she found a black wig in a cupboard and fitted it over her own blond hair. It was not an improvement, though she paraded in it, her jaw slack and her tongue running on her lips. Taking it off at length, she ducked her head and shook it to and fro vigorously, her blond hair flying then settling at last into place.
The stable lads began to play with her. 'Want a good gallop, Mag?' they called, as they seized her. 'Take your pants right down, then!' She replied to them banteringly in a voice which was surprisingly soft and lilting. She tried to escape by climbing over the harness rail. Her legs were too short arid the boys caught her as she was astride it. One gripped her wrists and pulled her down so that she was lying forward along it as she straddled.
All this was done in play, Lizzie. Yet you may imagine the faces of the men who were passing by and who now pressed close to the windows to observe these proceedings. Because Maggie lay forward, astride the rail, the men outside the window could stare at the weight of the soft young breasts hanging like delectable fruit in her tight, blue singlet. The wooden rail showed her pouched love-lips through the straining tightness of her denim trousers. Taut but maturely filled out, the firm cheeks of Maggie's backside faced these spectators. There was such wrestling between her and the stable-lads! One of them stole a kiss from her lips, another smacked her arse playfully several times through the tight, thin denim.
In the end it was Maggie who freed herself. Then, chewing insolently upon some sweetmeat in her mouth, she went to the stable-boy who was her favourite and took him by the hand. Now, it seemed, she was ready to pay any price for true love. She led the youth behind a screen which stood conveniently at one end of the stable. I heard the undoing of her waist and the whisper of Maggie's knickers being pushed down to her knees and then to her ankles.
'Lie down and let me play with it first, you wicked boy,' she said teasingly in her soft Celtic lilt. 'None of the schoolgirls can do it as well as I, can they?'
'Head to tail, Mag!' he gasped, 'please! Let us lie head to tail!'
'Ah!' whispered Maggie, 'you rascal! If I do that you will make me take it in my mouth!' '
'Do it, Mag!' gasped the lad again, 'do it all the same!'
His long sigh of contentment suggested that the coltish young blonde, with her curtains of light golden hair, had obeyed him in this matter.
'I must kiss you between the thighs, Maggie!' he murmured, 'while my fingers stiffen those strawberry nipples on your white breasts. Was that nice when I kissed you there, Mag? Ah, how that makes you shudder-the tip of my tongue running in the love-slit between your thighs. Lie still, Maggie, and let me do it again. What a soft little cry! Anyone would think I had put you to the torture!'
I listened in stupefaction, my dearest Lizzie. Was this the way in which our English reformatories were run, I asked myself? Small wonder that such young whores as Maggie took their sentence with equanimity.
'Now your backside, Maggie!' sighed her adorer. 'Did you see how the men admired you through the window each time they had a view from the rear as you bent over in your tight riding jeans? What would they like to do to you, Mag, if they had you as a slave girl? Suck softly, Maggie! Run your tongue about the cherry top! Now let me press your pale seat-cheeks apart and admire what lies between. Ah, yes, Maggie! If you were my slave girl, I should be pitiless in threading my shaft into that tight, dark hole as well. That frightens you a little? The thought of it makes you stiffen? To tell you the truth, Mag, the thought of it makes me stiffen too!'
So the lover's aria continued behind the stable screen. As I listened, I looked out across the green, ' sloping lawn towards the hedge which marked the steep fall of the cliff to the waves. It was the only side on which Greystones might seem unprotected. Yet no young damsel had ever been hardy enough to attempt a descent by that route. Nor, of course, had any randy swain ever managed to climb up by that way to woo his beloved in her reformatory bed! As I looked across the lawns and saw the pier and bandstand of Pinebourne glittering in the sun beyond, I could not help wondering what the respectable burghers of the town would feel if they knew the truth of the reformatory regime of which their lawmakers were so proud.
Just then the grooms returned. Maggie, who had not nearly completed her chores, was sentenced to be chastised for her dilatoriness. When the first groom came to tell me that Maggie was made ready to be caned for idleness, I could hardly find an answer! Imagine how eagerly the men who had watched at the window while she worked at the harness display would have taken this opportunity! I could scarcely believe that it was my own voice saying, 'Ah… yes… indeed. To be sure. Perhaps, though, on this first occasion, you would be good enough to deal
