Anonymous - Birch in the boudoir

Judi locked the wheel into place as Tania lay arse-upwards.

"Twelve strokes for your wantonness, Tania!"

The blond mistress kept her waiting for several minutes. Even during this time, Tania never ceased to ride the dildo or to fill Shawn's mouth with her tonguing and kissing.

At last it came, an amorous whipping whose agonising strokes served only to drive the "victim" into further and more desperate loving. However bruised or swollen Tania's bottom might be, however appalling the menace of further strokes, it was only what Judi called it: the sharp sauce of a greater pleasure.

You may imagine, Charlie, that I sat there immobile and watched until Judi sank to her knees, conquered by Connie's busy tongue. The fulfilment of the mistress brought respite at last to the two miscreants.

It seemed that the curtain was about to be rang down on this first scene of a harem "comedy." Yet Nabyla had been sent on an errand and I was compelled to wait for her return before leaving my place. That being so, I was privileged not only to see the drama itself but also the epilogue.

Tania and Shawn were released. They left with their arms about one another, cooing or sobbing gently together like a pair of doves. Each bottom, Tania's broad and pale, Shawn's taut and brown, bore the prints of the leather switch. Judi followed them to the bedroom, where the three would pass a night of passion together.

What of poor Connie, I wondered? She dressed herself in a pair of tight, denim knickers from waist to knee-such as Tania wore-and a short, blue tunic opening at her waist. Her task was to put the room to rights. Sitting on her heels, she began to collect the debris from the floor. What a charming picture she made! Connie's rather flat features and slanting eyes are set in a face of heart-shaped delicacy. Like so many girls of her Asiatic beauty, she can assume a beautiful impassivity or a devil mask of laughter with equal ease. Her figure, like her face, has a slim, fine-boned appearance.

As Connie worked, I saw a tall, fair-whiskered English Milord of twenty-five pass the open door. I imagined him to be one of the Pasha's privileged guests. He stopped and surveyed Connie from her slim thighs and tautly rounded bum-cheeks to her slim shoulders, on which the black hair with its silver clips fell in a fine curtain. He watched her from this way and that, as if photographing upon his mind the images of her kneeling, stretching, bending. It was 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

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?