embarrassment fades.
You are shocked that he should employ such methods on his young slave girl? You forget that Milord is a ruler of nations. You truly blame his antic with whipcord and cheroot? Yet when his armies slaughter ten thousand imperial subjects in battle, you will praise him for a great victory.
Perhaps there are other moralists who would persuade you to leave the ways of the libertine. You may take your choice here. What of the learned Dr. Jacobus, that master of moral science? You might watch his antics through these private windows here. See, this is one which looks into the tiled toilet suite.
This time it is Noreen, on hands and knees, who plies the cloth and bucket. No one denies that this nineteen- year-old strumpet is a suitable object of disciplinary zeal. See her straight, strong back and bold, young breasts in the clinging singlet. Observe the impudence in her strong, pale features and brown eyes, in the flick of her dark fringe as the straight hair brushes her collar. Observe the pale-blue jeans cloth, drum skin-tight, over firm, muscled thighs and the sturdy statuesque cheeks of Noreen's bottom!
Dr. Jacobus observes her too. He watches her at her task. Noreen shakes her level fringe clear and stares back at him with contempt. She squirms in the grip of the two valets as they place her on her belly over another fixed stool on the tiled floor, securing her so that Noreen too is conveniently and tightly strapped on all fours over the apparatus.
Now Jacobus is no imperialist tyrant. He believes in the virtues of discipline and purity. Noreen shakes back her dark hair and cranes 'round at him. Jacobus squats, admiring how the tight jeans seat moulds the firm, big cheeks of Noreen's arse. He undoes her belt and lowers the jeans. Now he can tighten extra straps 'round her thighs. His long, learned nose approaches the dividing cleft of the pale, sturdy mounds of Noreen's buttocks.
'Ever had a punishment enema before, Noreen?' the sage inquires. 'No? You'll get one every day from now on until your manners improve. Two quarts. Three, if your insolence persists.'
He takes a penis-shaped nozzle, soaps it, and threads it deep into Noreen's behind. A tube runs up from it to the stand above, the stand as yet empty. Noreen's impudence falters, for her ordeal has the dread of the unknown.
Dr. Jacobus leaves her for a moment, during which Noreen squirms her head desperately to see the apparatus of punishment. He returns with a large, two-quart glass jar, made for this purpose. Grinning at her, he makes Noreen look into its contents. Leavings of the Arab boys' tosspots and the guards' spittoons, no doubt, with other copious contributions from Tania, Maggie, and Julie. Making Noreen watch, he adds the contents of the liquid soap bottle at the hand basin.
'One quart, Noreen, to begin with. Then the birch for ten minutes. Then the second quart. Then the birch again. The nozzle to remain in place for quite half an hour.'
At nineteen years old, Noreen is a quite tall and strongly made girl. Yet the straps are stout enough to render this vain. Jacobus places the jar on the stand, attaching the rubber tube with a clamp upon it. He pauses, having leisure to kneel and fondle his culprit. Under the pretext of adjustment, he buggers Noreen with the nozzle while his other hand tickles her love-pouch.
'Now you shall be punished, Noreen,' he says at last, 'with a bellyache to drive the insolence from you!'
He releases the clamp and the noxious flood surges down the tube and up Noreen's bottom, into her tripes. She cries out in dismay, and laments her aching guts. Jacobus grins with moral gratification. Seizing the triple-switched prison birch, he thrashes the back of her knees and up the rear of her strong, young thighs. Despite the tube running out from between them, he can birch the pale sturdy cheeks of Noreen's bottom with great vigour. He raises a weal with every swish, continuing until the two mounds of Noreen's arse are birched raw. Then the clamp is removed a second time and Noreen screams even before the effect of the surging flood makes itself felt. Groaning under the labour pains of her double arse-load, she endures a second prison birching.
Noreen, a strapping young wench of nineteen, is strong enough to eject the nozzle by arse contractions before the time is up. With what results! Maddened by the birching, she emits a fountain gush from her rear, soaking her seat, her legs, and the floor around her. As she lies forward on her belly over the stool, thrashed and exhausted, the fruit of Jacobus' zeal peeps rudely out from Noreen's behind! In his triumph, he thrashes dementedly with the birch until the proofs of his victory lie in a lewd curve down Noreen's bottom-cheeks. How the moralist clutches himself at this! The thick and juicy salvos of his passion add a further adornment to the state of Noreen's backside.
Do I deceive you still? You would be a moralist but hot of a kind like Dr. Jacobus? Then surely you must join the Schoolmaster, who represents virtue in all its severity. Nor will you object to his subject: the chastisement of a young wife for adultery and wilful promiscuity. Be a moralist and yet condone such crimes of hers as these? Impossible. This time, therefore, you shall see a moralist to whom only we poor libertines could object.
Observe the view through the next private window. You see? The culprit is Lesley, an emancipated suburban wife, twenty-eight years old. Nor is the Schoolmaster averse to a public exercise of virtuous vengeance. An entire gathering of moral disciplinarians is assembled to watch as guests of the Pasha.
But first peep through the spy-hole beyond. Before the public chastisement, Lesley is in a room with two of the Schoolmaster's minions, hung like true Arab stallions. This urchin-cropped Venus deserted her husband's penis, as Jacobus once remarked, and must therefore be punished by the tools of others.
Lesley is bare from the waist down, and her cunt is threaded by Saleh's agile prick. He kisses her long, parted fringe of fair hair and her aloof blue eyes, as he does so. He reminds her of the harem penalty for any future infidelity: Nabyla's sharp little knife pruning away the love-lips and clitoris until there is nothing left for her to play with. Simultaneously, Karim fondles the full, pale moons of Lesley's bottom, firmed out by her two babies. The sodomy begins. He makes Lesley milk him with rhythmic contractions of her anus as his tool plunges into her behind. He murmurs in her ear the while, describing the penalty traditionally exacted in this part too for any betrayal of her duty to her master's bed. They must hold her naked and bending while a baby cucumber is oiled then boldly inserted up Lesley's backside until her wickedly distended anus closes over it and it disappears. Her fate is to be caught between the discomfort of it within her and the anguish of its expulsion. Yet expel it she must, held on her belly over the divan, in a long and tormenting parody of birth.
Saleh continued to harry her cunt while Karim sodomises her. When both are done, she is taken at once through the door, beyond which the guests await her. Be sure she is naked from the singlet hem at her waist to her bare feet. A tall stool is bolted to the floor. Over this they bend her forward tightly. Her wrists, waist, and ankles are strapped firmly down, with a final strap pinioning her legs together just above the knees. Soon the voices of the moralists begin.
A pair of well-dressed older women pause as they pass behind the bending young adulteress. Their shrivelled lips purse censoriously at the sight of the love juice still slippery on her firm, white thighs. Their eyes gleam with outrage and delight as they observe the tell-tale yellowed smear of grease between the pale cheeks of Lesley's bottom. Their voices are raised for her to hear and their smiles meet her eyes vindictively.
'The state of her thighs! And see between her buttocks! The wanton young slut has even seduced the loyal guards by offering herself as a young matron of Sodom! These emancipated young wives with their educated ways- they have no shame! Married seven or eight years, you say, Pasha? A child-birth or two? Disgraceful! How one would like to see her truly flogged for such promiscuity!'
Lesley turns the high crown of her short-cut, fair hair, her startled eyes searching those of the two venerable lady moralists. Their smiles are full of wicked promise. The one who speaks lays a richly ringed hand on the firm, young maturity of one of Lesley's bottom-cheeks.
'Permit me, Pasha. My coachman who waits outside has a fine, thin switch of supple whalebone cased in leather. The most recalcitrant of my carriage-ponies is brought to obedience by half a dozen strokes across the rump. In the ordinary course of events, its use on a young wife of twenty-eight would hardly be prudent. Such tales she might tell! Happily, Lesley's complaints will not be heard! Moreover, its use is surely justified on a young woman who abandons home and duty for adulterous passion? See how that mature young bottom of hers is so conveniently presented for prolonged and expert chastisement. With those two seat-cheeks to work upon, one would take Lesley far beyond the frontier of what the world at large calls punishment!'
The Pasha of Ramallah inclines his head in a gracious gesture of assent. Lesley's bare seat and hips squirm vainly in her straps, her buttocks and upper thighs on doubt crawling with a fearful and unendurable anticipation. The blue eyes under the fair, little-boy fringe grow frantic with apprehension. Her sulky mouth is open in a little gasp of alarm. To the satisfaction of the moralists, her arrogant features are now animated by fright. The elderly woman continues to discourse to her host on matters of discipline.
'If I may be so bold, Pasha, a damp wad of cotton, held in place by a strap as a gag, might be judged prudent.
