Anonymous - Caroline

“Well-what did you find out?” she asked me then, and grinned. Adelaide then joined us. Collusion was our friend. I described my visit. Adelaide gazed at us both and whispered, “Then she lied-I thought she did.”

“You story-you drank in each word!” joked Caroline to her, but then took on a serious mien. “She described it far too well,” she said.

“Precisely, dear. She wrote it in her mind, then spoke the words. No doubt she has not been fucked for twenty years. Maybe a little less,” I conceded with a grin.

“What is to do with her-the poor, poor thing?”

Caroline turned to my sister as she spoke. Their eyes communicated well enough, as do those of the “mysterious East.”

“Yes, I think so-if he is willing,” Adelaide laughed, though not a further word had then been said.

“What are you two beautiful terrors at?” I asked, as men do when they wish to give pretence of not having understood the occasional transparencies of women.

“We shall see to her. Make yourself ready. It was the table I did not believe,” said Caroline. She caught me off balance for a moment and was pleased. “She does not have a large table in a drawing room, you oaf. When she was buggered. You remember that? I know, because I visited her once, quite briefly.”

“Oh, yes!” Damnation, though, I had missed that point, so engrossed had I been with the vision of her bottom rearing up. My own suspicions had sparked at Carrie's final tale and the too neat ending to the thing. Then I had coursed back through her narrative and wondered at the lack of fire that Miriam had shown when she was freed. Not only that. She had come a shade too quickly to “rude words” that otherwise she would have been too modest to express.

“She is waiting for something to happen now,” said Adelaide and moved her fingers upwards to her gown, unbuttoning her corsage as she spoke. Her nipples showed. She flicked them with her fingers. “Oh, I feel like it,” she said. Her eyes were bold. She flung her arms around me, kissed me.

“Wait,” said Caroline, “we have to prepare her first. Give us ten minutes, darling, then come up.”

I have known for long that there are certain strange conditions of the mind that must be appeased. All have their foibles, much as they would hide them from Society. I recall a chap-an artist of considerable merit-who one day in confiding mood leaned across a table where we sat and said in hollow, nervous tone to me that he had a letch to be pissed upon by women.

“Am I strange?” he asked, and looked most fearful that I might say yes.

“Good heavens, Bertie, no,” I said as much as if he had told me that he read The Morning Post and not The Times. I opined (thought not in truth at all) that I knew several men who entertained the same desire, and that nothing curious was found in it at all. The poor chap looked relieved.

“It's the warm splashing and the way they spurt it down on you,” he said, “I love a woman splashing on my cock.”

He said nothing about fucking, so I did not speak of that I have heard tell of some who birch their daughters and their wives and leave them writhing on their beds- not having attended to them afterwards at all. Such curiosities, I suppose, could fill a book of moderate proportions-and I myself have as many flaws as others do, if flaws they be counted as. In our games heretofore, Caroline or Adelaide, or Caroline's Mama, had bound me sometimes and made me kneel to them.

It is a curious feeling to be tied when one is in safe hands. I have little doubt, after such experiences when I was made to sniff at drawers and such, was held in darkness underneath a drooped-down skirt, bent on my knees-I have little doubt, I say, that the very germ of submissiveness lies in us all and waits to be encouraged. There is a sense of obedience that humbles one and at the same time enthralls the very soul.

“It is a fact,” says Caroline to me sometimes, “that young girls may be made to do all sorts of naughty things by an admixture of authority and persuasiveness. Both youths and girls entertain, however dimly, the desire to be made to yield and to do that which they would not otherwise do. In the very doing is the naughtiness. It is a subtle thing and yet it almost always works. A girl who is openly lewd would not be sported with for long. Resistance is desired by he who bares her bottom first. As for herself, she counterpoints it with such grains of submissiveness as seem appropriate and required.”

“There are few who do not moan when the cock is first put to them,” said I.

“That, too, is true, but in that moment reality obtains. When her bottom cheeks are first sprung apart or her thighs are opened, a sense of apprehension seizes her. Then it is that the coaxing words are needed and should come forth. You like it most, though, when I aid you, do you not?”

Indeed I do. Many a girl there has been in the past years whose lips have bubbled under Caroline's while I came slowly down on her and put my cock up to her notch. They jerk. They always jerk. But if the bottom cheeks are clasped and lifted slightly, then the rod slips in, the knees bent up a little as they try to twist. Those who are plugged thus are invariably quiescent when they have been spermed. Some will jitter for long moments until the moisture of their cunnies allows the prick to groove right in.

“There-that was nice. Was it not nice?” I have off-times heard Caroline laugh while she-lying naked beside the pair of us and I seeping out my last pearls in the clinging grotto-has continued pecking lightly at a girl's soft mouth. Sometimes they will whisper “Yes;” sometimes will hide a burning face in her warm shoulder while I move her bottom gently back and forth to feel her honey-pot suck still upon my dwindling prick.

Sweet are the games we play. A girl is never rushed upon and may stay several days with us before she is brought to doff her drawers for the first time. “How pretty you look when you are coming,” Caroline or Adelaide will say afterwards, and cause the girl to blush, but even so she takes the compliment and is finally sent away cock-ready, as we say.

“It is a form of schooling,” Caroline will say with much self-satisfaction in her voice. Her lips come together as she forms the words, and look adorable, as she well knows, yet will deny it with a very pretty laugh.

My cogitations and my recollections are always such when a female lies in waiting on the bed. I went to my study and there doffed all but my shirt. My pego stood in readiness. Would Miriam struggle and be held? Would there be ructions-cries of real alarm?

Entering the bedroom, I found all three naked to their stockings on the bed. My two dear ones had undressed with some despatch. Adelaide was licking at Miriam's brown nipples while Caroline laved kisses on her mouth.

The thighs of Miriam looked delicious-plumper than I thought them. Odd it is that when women are undressed much springs forth that otherwise is unobserved. Many a female have I thought to have small breasts, because no promising prominences appeared beneath her dress, yet in the peeling of their coverings they seem to swell up like balloons that have awaited air.

Her bush was abundant and I saw it clear since Adelaide held the woman's legs apart.

“She is ready to be fucked,” said Caroline, I slooping up on to the bed and kneeling-cock upraised-across the legs of Miriam.

“No, no!” moaned Miriam.

I knew there was no time to lose and couched myself upon her, bringing up my swollen crest to rub for a moment into her warm curls. Her legs kicked mightily, were strong. Her ankles banged against my own, her wet, stark nipples poking in my shirt.

“She will be a good fuck. Caroline, you hold her wrists-Adelaide-get off the bed and hold her,” said I. I chose my words. I do not often use that Anglo-Saxon one.