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Birch in the Boudoir

POSTSCRIPT

With this last charming note, the correspondence between our two young friends comes to a conclusion. Yet their frolics were not quite over, as I may testify, because I have been their companion these past few weeks at Ramallah, preparing the letters for publication.

Many mysteries were revealed, not least the truth about that delightful old rogue, Uncle Brandon. The frisky old fellow was alive and well when Charles heard of his death and was summoned to Gray's Inn. In truth, it was the old man's bank balance rather than his health which was on the wane. He had withdrawn abroad to Arabian climes, where he consoled himself with a seraglio of bare beauties. In his desperation, he saw how easily a penny might be turned by supplying his wealthy Arab neighbours with English girls who would cost them dear at auction. In Greystones, he discerned an unending source of supply.

Miss Martinet was most accommodating in the matter, for old Uncle Brandon had given her a fuck or two which still tickled the rim of her cunt a year later. Maggie and Noreen, Jackie and Mandy, Tania and Shawn, were but a few of the young ladies from Greystones who were judged worthy of release on condition of taking up employment with ladies or gentlemen who were just en route for the Middle East.

The enterprise prospered until there was that certain difficulty with Noreen. Thereafter, both Charles and Miss Martinet were obliged to follow rather hastily in the footsteps of Uncle Brandon. By the happiest touch, it was the cadaverous old brief of Gray's Inn, Silas Raven, who was apprehended for impropriety. To his great good fortune, he had been at Eton with the Attorney General and recollected vividly how the Attorney General at thirteen was a devil for sucking the prick of every other boy in the school, including several members of the present cabinet. The prosecution was hushed up for fear of what old Silas might divulge. I thus came safe to the Pasha of Ramallah and was kindly installed in a favoured suite with windows into the other rooms.

Let me confess that, like Lizzie, Charlie, and the Pasha, I am a libertine. Our own pleasures and those of our companions form our rule of life. Yet compared with the moralists who infest this place, we are innocents indeed.

The young English Milord is a builder of empire, his place in the House of Peers awaiting him. He deals severely with warm-skinned beauties like Jennifer Khan or Nabyla Justo, over whom he will one day rule. Do you recall his frolic with Connie, the Chinese maiden, during Pasha Ibrahim's carriage exercise? It will not surprise you to learn that I glimpsed this young aristocrat, through one of my secret windows, exercise his skill upon the delectable Miss Carol Jolly. At twenty-years-old, she has the trim figure and sharp features of a lynx-eyed temple dancer. That warm, gold tan might be Grecian or Arabian, with sloping brow and nose, a short crop of lightly curled dark hair brushed upward. How slender the gold neck and the neat whorls of ears bare for kissing!

Her straight, slender back and neat breasts rise from a narrow waist. From her knees a pair of slim and outward-branching thighs rise to her trim but agile hips. When she bends or kneels forward, the tautly but lasciviously rounded cheeks of Miss Jolly's bottom are wantonly and deeply separated by her trim thighs' outward slope.

They tell me she first caught Milord's attention when he was a mere pupil who chanced to see her brushing a carpet on all fours - or was it polishing a harness-room floor? He was then only Master Henry, not Milord. Now, as I watched them, he had her at his absolute disposal. He liked to see Miss Jolly's trim figure in close-fitting singlet and even tighter riding jeans.

Sitting in his chair, he made her to kneel before him. The golden-skinned line of brow and nose, the meek mouth and chin, the tight-lidded almond eyes, were bowed to his trouser front. Raising her hips from her heels, going on all fours to give better suck, Miss Jolly's tongue ran over the penis knob and then took it in her mouth.

Her cheeks hollowed inward a little as she sucked eagerly upon his erection. The tight-lidded almond eyes and the high arch of her brows added their own appeal to the smooth Levantine gold of her complexion. He made Miss Jolly suck the penis for some while, before leading her to a low, padded stool fastened to the floor. Over this heavy support, he made her kneel on all fours, strapping her down upon it securely by her waist and wrists. From the rear, one admired the tight jeans, as they moulded the lasciviously rounded and delectably parted cheeks of Miss Jolly's bottom. Gently he pulled these pants down and her singlet up, fondling the neat, pale-gold cherry-topped breasts.

He pinioned her ankles and strapped her slim, tawny thighs together just above the knees. Then, bowing down, he adjusted his mouth to the rearward pout of the love-purse at her thighs. He kissed the warm, coppery smoothness of her upper legs and then began to run his tongue pitilessly in her young vaginal slit. A randy young piece like Miss Jolly could not hope to conceal her feelings at this. The beautiful Turkoman mask of her face faltered in expressions of swooning ecstasy. From time to time, his lips browsed on the velveteen yellow-brown of the small of her back, on the coppery satin of her buttocks. Presently he pressed apart the smooth, copper-toned ovals of her bottom-cheeks. For ten minutes more, he moulded long, exploratory kisses to Carol Jolly's anus. Her dark, almond eyes widened and wandered in astonishment. Yet our randy little wriggler arched her waist down and opened her arse-crack more fully for this unusual attention!

The sequel was not in doubt, even before he unscrewed a jar of vaseline and spread a blob of it upon her tight, dark bum-button. Yet he was no barbarian who would put her to the sacrifice at once. Smiling at her knowingly, he first kissed her slanted, odalisque eyes, her high brow, her sharp young nose, her neat ears, and the nape of her neck, laid bare by her upward-brushed curls. But now he was resolute, determined to brook no refusal. Her mouth quivered as the hammerhead of his passion knocked for admission at the tight, inward dimple between her buttocks. She gave a gasp, then a short, hollow cry. Milord's mouth was set tight as he pressed, and the veins of his forehead swelled a little as he forced Miss Jolly's arse, obliging her to strain to accommodate his bulk. Kissing her ear and whispering to her encouragingly in his smiling way, he now threaded deeper. She gave a little fluttering call of dismay at the deepness of his penetration. Then he was embedded to the hilt between the pale Arabian-gold cheeks of Carol Jolly's bottom! One could understand the alarm in her eyes when one saw how hard her arse-hole was stretched 'round the base of his stout phallus.

He began to sodomise Miss Jolly gently at first, smiling in his triumph at her timorous backward almond-eyed glances. There was misgiving in the feline ellipse of her dark eyes, in conflict with a certain morbid excitement at the sensations he was provoking inside her. Presently, she bowed her crop of dark ringlets and hollowed her waist down to open her behind more fully and take him deeper. Then the lascivious young piece began to copulate with her arse, moving her hips to match her lover's rhythm.

Was it pure randiness? I think it may have been! Yet she perhaps wished also to spur him on to completion before soreness overtook whatever thrills she was now having. So Milord, teeth set in passion's fit, pumped his lust deep and true into Miss Jolly's trimly rounded backside.

You think I have deceived you? You think he is a mere libertine like the rest of us? Not a moralist at all? You are quite mistaken. In a moment you will see Milord Henry worthy of imperial greatness.

Now, in a cooler mood, he sees how such a golden-skimmed temptress deserves retribution for seducing a young proconsul from his duty. He takes a two-foot cord whip, with wooden handle, and goes to release a long-held flow of dinner water. Milord and his kind have strong appetites. Returning, the whipcord well soaked, he teases Miss Carol Jolly by drawing it lightly across her pale-gold buttocks, which tighten with instinctive fear at the wet menacing caress! He calls her a randy little piece, again, and a lascivious little wriggler. Are these not high crimes against imperial morality? Do they not merit a whipping? Observe her, moreover! See how lewdly she kneels over the stool! The taut and saucy roundness of Miss Jolly's bottom-cheeks, well parted by her branching thighs and hollowed waist, is cause alone for the whip.

With a crack-smack! the wet whipcord snakes across the cheeks of her bare backside. The tight-lidded almond eyes grow wide, and Miss Carol Jolly screams at the naked anguish of the bottom-flogging. How bitterly she must rue having opened her arse so fully for copulation and now, being tightly strapped, unable to tense its cheeks together! Whip!... Whip! Whip-smack!...Crack-smack!... Whip-crack-smack! Her shrill cries are matched by the raised weals and ruby trickles upon her behind. A dozen strokes and the overture is scarcely complete. A dozen more and only the first act of the drama has passed. Then a variation: can he resist a well-aimed crack-shot or two between Miss Jolly's buttocks, the whipcord seeking out her most intimate arse anatomy? It seems he cannot!

There is, however, an entr'acte in the drama - be sure the drama it will resume presently - in order to make the punishment last longer. Our devotee lights his cheroot and takes his leisure. He kneels behind his pretty culprit, who turns her brimming almond eyes upon him. Milord draws the Havana to cherry brightness. He shows her this and thereby causes unprecedented panic in the features of the lynx-eyed young beauty. For so absolute an imperialist, there is a suggestive association between the cherry tip of a glowing cheroot and the bare, coppery cheeks of Carol Jolly's bottom! To be sure, not all imperialists regard the matter in this light. To some, the sacrifice of Havana is unthinkable. Does not Mr. Kipling tell us that a woman is only a woman but a good cigar is a smoke? Heedless of such advice, Milord's arm steadies her 'round the waist. He touches the shimmering glow to the pale, Arabian-gold smoothness of one of Carol Jolly's bottom-cheeks, touching and stroking lightly. He answers her protests with promises to colour up her seat-cheeks and cause her backside to blush so deeply that it will be a week before the 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. My English maid, Nerissa Gray, shall ply the smelling salts."

The Schoolmaster settles down to watch. He summons a nymph of thirteen, with solemn blue eyes and fair tresses, to sit on his naked manhood as he watches. As she slips off her schoolgirl skirt and pants, he remarks that Rachel's bottom already resembles that of a real young lady. To ensure her excitement at the scene before them, his hand moves between her thighs.

"Is that nice, my pet?" he murmurs, "is it? Ah, I think it is! Watch them whip her for adultery! Ah, is that nice just there? Move your bottom a little so that the stiffness lies between its cheeks. Is that better? Yes? Watch the punishment, my sweet. Ah, did that hot wet splash startle you? I fear I must deluge you there in a moment! Blame the young adulteress for that! The sight of those firm bottom-moons of hers, striped and squirming under the leather pony-switch! No tears, now. Try to come while you watch, my pet...."

Do you begin to doubt the purity of our Schoolmaster's moral resolve? Still, you cannot deny that of the well-dressed older woman, as a pause occurs in Lesley's whipping.

"Reason suggests, Pasha, that Lesley will be a more submissive slave-wife if she bears indelibly the print of her master's ownership. These two little discs - without which I never travel - are no larger than coins. Yet they have such ingeniously variable lettering. See, now I make them assume your name and hers. They will heat to white without melting. And notice how conveniently Lesley bends just now! Tradition dictates the inward edges of her buttocks as the rational place for her slavery to be marked. Concealed when she stands upright. Visible for inspection when she bends. Her absolute submission will be easier to her after this. She will even grow proud to bear the sign of your conquest. Even though it be secret from others, a backward glance at her mirror will cause her to stop and admire. You would consent, sir? It shall be my privilege to supervise the proceeding."

You think such morality - or libertinage - is rare? I assure you that is not so. Consider Lesley's husband and lovers. To the world they may deplore loudly and angrily her abduction and sale into slavery. Yet, if given the chance, would not each of them bribe the guards handsomely for a long farewell keyhole peep at her in her present ordeal? She being lost to them anyway, would they not gaze in stiffening admiration at the artful tapestry of the leather switch across the pale moons of Lesley's bottom?

Remember, too, what they may have endured from her self-possessed arrogance and wilful promiscuity. Would they not, as a result, choose this final keyhole peep rather than a last tender interview and soft embrace?

What the young wife now undergoes is, by tradition, the revenge of a betrayed husband. Imagine him, the keyhole spy, watching the bellows blow the brazier coals. The young wife's long trim thighs, strapped tightly together, and the pale firm cheeks of her backside as she bends, are presented to his gaze. The straight fair hair of her urchin-crop is turned. How changed are the aloof blue eyes, the fair-skinned features, the sulky mouth, as she stares in a fascination of horror at the brazier coals and the small, lettered discs! Ten long minutes pass before the elderly guardian of young wives' morals is satisfied with the rose-red brilliance of the discs. During this time, the strapped thighs tense and shift compulsively. The witnesses admire the taut maturity of this emancipated housewife's backside, shaped by love, marriage and child-rearing. Yet its cheeks squirm uncontrollably, as if seated bare on the most tormenting prickle of horsehair. Lesley pleads her case with all the woeful urgency of a twelve-year-old schoolgirl ordered by her teacher to the whipping room.

Be assured that the wronged bridegroom at the keyhole would not intervene if he could. Such is conjugal morality! Indeed, he is obliged to unbutton himself for comfort, caring not who sees. The elderly woman's fur-clad arm goes 'round Lesley's waist to steady the subject. Her maid plies the smelling salts. Every moral gentleman in the room is driven to seek comfort for his excitement. With her other hand, the elderly woman chooses the smooth, yellowed ivory skin on the left-hand slope of Lesley's bottom-crack. She presses down the heated disc and holds it steady during several seconds of wadded frenzy.

Jilted husbands and lovers at their keyholes are true moralists now. Each clutches his stiffness ecstatically. The discs return to the coals for the task is only half completed. Our moral voyeurs are beside themselves with expectation. Mouths open and eyes wide, they await the turning of the other cheek for the rest of Lesley's arse markings, signing the seal of slavery.

To be sure there are libertines present. Yet how innocent they are by contrast. Arab boys, fourteen or fifteen years old, crouch in every shadow and corner of the room. As the whip is fetched, and Lesley twists her urchin-crop frantically, each lad directs her forlorn blue eyes to the stiffness in his hand. Whispering randily, each one urges Lesley to turn her behind a little more in his direction so that he may have a more exciting view of it under the lash. It is the strong sap of youth, not moral humbug, which stirs such excitement in these Arab boys.

You would rather be a libertine than join cause with moralists of this kind? My felicitations on your choice! What awaits you then?

Be sure there will follow an auction of such beauties as you have seen. Linda and Valerie, Vanessa and Elaine, Noreen and Maggie, Nabyla and Connie, Patrizia and Lesley. All shall appear on the dais and go under the hammer. Lord of the world of fancy, you may purchase as you choose. Yours, too, the choice of pleasures which you may enjoy in the harem of your dreams with these chosen beauties. Perhaps you will be more ingenious still. Shall your palace of love contain several pleasure domes, each filled with young odalisques expert in some skill or to be submitted to some caprice of yours?

Will there be one where Linda and Francesca greet you with parted lips and agile tongues? Is there a second, where Linda and Valerie offer you the warm avenue of pleasure between their legs? Can there be a third, in which two sturdy young women, like Maggie and Noreen, bend to offer their behinds for your entry? Must Elaine and Lesley languish in a fourth, bending for discipline? Perhaps you will be content to mingle demands among your girls. Perhaps you will demand a single favourite pleasure from them all.

As the auction begins, which fair damsels shall be your choice? Before you stand the two most youthful each in her school blouse and tie with short, pleated skirt. Such a pleasing contrast. Linda, the softly shaped little blonde, with pale face and sly green eyes. Observe her press the short blond mane to her mouth and snigger with the furtiveness only possible in a minx of fourteen. Her classmate, Valerie, is the slim, freckled gamine with a bob of auburn hair and lively blue eyes. She has the pretty giggling manner of her age.

What an academy of love you might set up with such pupils! Yet surely Linda and Valerie, as a pair of pretty third formers, may enjoy tuition together on your bed! Thus your own hands remove their skirts, their warm schoolgirl knickers and blouses. Gently you will fondle the young breasts, your kisses browsing on each pair of lips in turn. When your hand slips between their legs and masturbates each soft furry little creature, you will find different reactions. Linda, the sly sensuous little blonde, will be greedy for this. Valerie, the slim freckled gamine, with her auburn bob and freckles, is more nervous and tense. As you bring ecstasy between Valerie's slim thighs, there may be sobs and tears at sensations beyond her control. But she will learn to subdue this.

Linda, your soft sensuous little blonde, will snigger at the sight of your penis, unlike Valerie, who looks so apprehensive. You may judge from this that Linda, at fourteen, is ready to suck the prick, and this you will require. Must Valerie follow the example, hesitantly? The decision is yours. As Linda's blond head bows, sucking your staff of life, will you require her to complete her submission in this manner? Or will you choose some other way? The world is evenly divided in its opinion of the ripeness of two such girl-cherries for plucking. Yet no two are alike. So perhaps, after Valerie sucks, Linda turns on her back.

How seductive she looks in her school uniform, lying on her side on the bed, the blond mane pressed knowingly to her lips! Again, as you lie behind her, you will undo the short, pleated skirt and lower it. Her plump young seat-cheeks are tightly shaped by the white web-cotton of her schoolgirl knickers. You ease down these pants and admire your fourteen-year-old Venus. The plump, pearly little moons of Linda's bottom are at your disposal to lodge your stiffness between or to press deeper.

Or will you play the pedagogue, displeased with a pair of sniggering and giggling young madams? You are the school tyrant to whom the gamine with auburn bob and blue eyes appears, carrying a note. It requests the birch-rod across the slim, bare cheeks of Valerie Bishop's bottom. Or the pale pearly cheeks of Linda Jennings' bottom. You have them side by side, two raised and bare seats presented over the sofa back. I shall not be surprised to learn that eighteen strokes of the birch sufficed you for Valerie, but, in Linda's case, three dozen with a bamboo was scarcely enough!

Nor will your collection be complete without a demure older houri. Before you on the auction dais appear warm-skinned beauties of eighteen or twenty: Patrizia, Jennifer, Connie, and Nabyla. Connie, with her high-boned Chinese beauty and her long sheen of black hair with silver clips, is a study in submissive loveliness. Connie's knickers are tight, black silk on saffron-smooth skin, as she lies obediently upon the bed. How those loving slanted eyes beseech you as she unbuttons and releases your sex, asking demurely to be allowed to suck it! You cannot refuse. Connie slips down her pants and plays with herself as she does so, moistening the way between her legs for your next pleasure. Then, as she turns, will you birch the delicate saffron cheeks of Connie's Chinese bottom or allow her to part those cheeks with her own hands to offer you yet another form of enjoyment - or will you do both?

Can you resist Miss Jennifer Khan, the Asian beauty? Such high-boned cheeks, smouldering almond eyes, pretty tangle of black hair lying between her shoulders? As you undress her on the bed, Jennifer's knickers are tight-stretched briefs of white cotton-web. How they contrast with the tawny stockiness of her bare thighs! You tongue-flick the Asian beauty's nipples to erection. Your tool threads into her cunt while she responds like a wild-cat. Perhaps you would be prudent to strap her wrists to the bed-rail for her passion knows no limits! Then turn her over and fondle the proud, olive-skinned cheeks of Jennifer Khan's bottom! Though her finger bears a betrothal ring, you may be sure she is virgin in almost every respect. You cannot endure to miss a single enjoyment? Then press apart those tawny-skinned seat-mounds and press until the very root of your penis is gripped exquisitely by Jennifer Khan's arse-hole! Does her high and fiery temper boil over in disobedience at this? At nineteen, she should know better. Later on, she is kneeling with head touching the pillowing. Do you choose to employ the snakeskin pony-lash across her bottom to an extent undreamt of in reformatory or school? That is your privilege, if you wish, and your pleasure, if you choose.

Here we touch again on that most profound topic of "Birch in the Boudoir," for there is no other which shows so clearly the difference between, a moralist and a libertine. Can you resist purchasing a reformatory tomboy of fourteen like Elaine, as she is led on to the dais? She is defiant and impudent-is not that what you want? The fair hair, combed from its central parting to lie loose upon her shoulders, frames the broad oval of her face. Narrow eyes and thin mouth complete the picture of snub-nosed insolence. Consider her in school blouse and tie, pleated, grey skirt worn scandalously short to bare her robust young thighs.

Among your other attractions, would you not like Elaine upon your bed, her wrists duly strapped to the rail? A moralist would be as eager as you, but would pretend he found no pleasure in it. You ignore her curses as you stoop over and fondle those bare white thighs, sturdy and adolescent, below the hem of her skirt. Quietly you lay a bamboo to soak in mustard oil, where she can see it. You detach and lower the little skirt. Elaine Cox's schoolgirl knickers are the only type possible under so short a skirt: briefs of white, stretched cotton. You ease them down over her robust young hips. Such strong young thighs, the fair hair at the loins, the pouch well fleeced. Yet you may wonder how many a lucky lad of her own age has discovered such things before! As you change sides, lying down behind her, she tosses her fair hair and cranes 'round with all the snub-nosed impudence of her kind. Your face level with her hips, you pull the blouse tail high and fondle the full, pale cheeks of your fourteen-year-old tomboy's bottom. A virginity to be had here? Is it taken while Elaine protests with hollowed mouth and constricted cries? Yet here we have no moralising, only a call to love's arms. "You've a strong young bottom, Elaine. Any pasha would start early with you!"

When the cane is taken from the mustard oil, if that is your choice, there is no cant about discipline. It will be done only because you enjoy it. Indeed, it will be in the small hours of the morning for you will have been occupied with her in other ways and your tool will scarcely have left her behind before midnight.

Once more, you will cane Elaine Cox's tomboy bottom with a severity unknown to any school. Yet her teachers would all be libertines enough to envy you. Elaine may be a strapping youngster for fourteen years old. Once again, however, the criterion is not her fitness for such discipline but your desire to give it. You may reprieve her after half a dozen strokes, or continue until Blame's buttocks are a willow pattern of swelling weals. Still you are not satisfied? The cane lashes down across the fattish surfaces of Elaine's bottom-cheeks as if across ripe fruit. But let us have no cant about moral discipline, for the penis standing stiff and bare at your loins will contradict you!

Let me put no limit on your choice as the beauties parade before you. Maggie and Noreen, Tania and Julie, whichever you choose shall be added to your ideal harem. Yet would you show the superiority of the libertine over the moralist? Then take Lesley and show how she may be subdued through passion rather than vindictiveness.

A man who owns such a seraglio will make several of his favourites slave-wives. Lesley is surely eligible. See her on your bed, naked but for the tight, black straps at wrists, waist, ankles, collar, and 'round the middle of each thigh. The penalties for refusal ensure her compliance in acts which are to prove as much her pleasure-it is to be hoped!-as yours. Can you resist including in the celebration the thirteen-year-old nymph with such solemn blue eyes and fair hair? Two such haughtily solemn faces. One pair of thighs still so slim and resilient, the belly so flat; the other mature thighs, firm but proud, the belly a little rounded. Turn them over. Compare the backside of the boyishly cropped Venus of twenty-eight and her blue-eyed daughter of thirteen. The graceful slimness of the woman-child seat-cheeks and the proud bottom-moons of the mature young wife!

While nimble fingers play between her legs, Lesley will soon learn to enjoy those sessions, when she bows her urchin-crop and sucks the stiff penis presented to her lips, The pumping of your warm passionate gruel, which caused her to retch at first, she will learn to swallow by repeated lessons. You fear, however, that Lesley, having been content with a variety of pricks in her cunt before, will never be happy with yours alone? Have no fear! Yours is the only one, and she will adore it all the more for that!

Sometimes you will stir in the night and find that the young wife lies on her side with her back to you. Move gently down the bed till your eyes are level with her seat and the rear opening of her thighs. Observe the rear of her vaginal purse as it pouts back and you will find it exuding pearly droplets. Lesley is masturbating furtively, despite your own use of her cunt, despite the yellowed grease smears between her bottom-cheeks, where you sodomised this young wife as well. Under the aloof exterior - the clear blue eyes, dismissive snootiness, and boyish fringe - Lesley yearns for love.

You will sodomise Lesley, of course. Perhaps it will be more frequent than the more orthodox pleasure, for it risks no swollen belly. Having carried two infants already, a third would be a disaster. Pleasure apart, Lesley cannot have a baby in her bottom!

Press the pale moons apart and study Lesley's anus. Unlike her captors, you will use it with care. There will be excitement for her, a furtive and morbid thrill perhaps. Yet, as science will tell you, you need only be persistent and seductive for Lesley to become an addict of this pleasure. You will know the moment of your conquest. The blue eyes under the little-boy fringe will look back imploringly at you over her shoulder as she arches her proud, young wifely seat towards you. She will beg you to be gentle. Make no mistake, Lesley is now asking for it!

Meantime, you may consign her each morning to a few Arab boys expert in dildo manipulation. Eagerly, these lads confront Lesley, bottom-upwards over the pillow. At your command, they ease the vaselined knob into Lesley's behind. Expert and gentle, they move the phallus in and out for half an hour, compelling her experience of it. Her short cries of discomfort and alarm will grow fewer as the days pass, and her sighs more gentle. If she suffers at all, it is a much milder way. After each session, human nature being incorrigible, the tribute of three young tools has spangled the pale moons of Lesley's bottom with copious jets of sperm.

What of "Birch in the Boudoir"? I cannot promise you that it will be to her great enjoyment. The ways of the harem are so different. Imagine, for example, the scene after Lesley's honeymoon night as your slave-wife. She lies naked, sleeping in exhaustion, face down over the divan. Traces of love juice shine between her trim thighs. Vaseline smears gleam between her firm, pale buttocks, evidence that you have buggered Lesley vigorously. One bamboo lies splintered on the floor. Another is discarded on the bed. The cane prints across Lesley's bottom-cheeks show that you have tanned her with these switches.

Nabyla enters and looks upon the scene. Is she dismayed? Is she outraged? No, the fine Arabian beauty looks only with envy upon the boyishly-cropped English wife. What passion her master must have for her to go to such lengths! Ah, this was truly a night of love in which he spared her nothing!

So be it. Now you shall assemble your harem: Lesley, Noreen, Maggie, Nabyla, Elaine, Connie- whichever you will. You must decide in each case which form of pleasure-or all pleasures-you will employ each odalisque in. Where you begin and where you end must be your decision. For my part, I will intrude no longer upon the delights which await you. Charlie and Lizzie take their leave of Ramallah, and I go with them.

THE END