Anonymous - A Man with a Maid IV

“Ohh, for God’s sake, sir, I cannot stand any more! Oh, will you have no humanity and take pity on a shamed and helpless girl and d-do what you must?” burst from the shuddering young houri.

“Why, to be sure I will, yet I would not have you ignorant of my intentions, seeing that you have so often during the course of this afternoon inveighed against me for my scurrilous motives,” I ironically retorted. “Come, Miss Denton, before I accept your delightfully gracious invitation, which I assure you I had not expected at our very first meeting, I wish you to explain to me what I am to do to you, so there can be no possible doubt between us.”

“Ohh, you horrid, cruel, heartless man,” she gasped in a low, chocking voice as she stared directly at me, her face crimson with her outraged modesty. “It was you who taught me to say such words, and now that I say them, you mock me and torture me all over again. Do your worst, you beast, but have done with it, for God’s sake! And I hope-indeed, sir, it is my only consolation in this terrible hour-that having done your worst, you will at least spare my poor friend Molly from your odious and indecent cravings!” Did I not say already that Miss Julia Denton was the most eloquent of female orators I had had the privilege of entertaining in my Snuggery? If not, then let me inscribe it here and now for all time, for she filled me with a boundless admiration in the way her high-flown and overly dramatized verbiage sought to conceal her truest, most vital feelings.

“I am afraid that answer will not do, Miss Denton,” was my reply to her. “You will either specifically instruct me in my conduct towards you now, or you will feel the birch between your legs until you are inclined to do so.”

And this at last decided the blushing, wriggling, naked brownette. Closing her eyes very tightly, taking a long, shuddering breath, she at last quavered, “You-you are to-to have me, sir. Oh, please do it and have it done with, for God’s dear sake!”

“Well, that is a little better, but not yet the answer I was seeking. Do you see what I have between my legs for you, Miss Denton?” Here I pointed to my swollen, agonized weapon, the lips of which puckered uncontrollably to tell me that whereas my brain might be delighted by this cat-and-mouse interchange, it very definitely was not of the same opinion but sought instant action.

She did not answer, but instead bowed her head, and a long shudder rippled through her body. The discolorations which the envelope cutter had left on those panting titties of hers was an exciting contrast to the pink-and-white smoothness of her naked skin. And she was decidedly sweating now under the duress of her long ordeal.

“I will try to make you answer, then,” I said softly, and I reached out both thumbs and forefingers and pinched her nipples, twisting them this way and that. Miss Julia Denton lunged forward with a shriek, and babbled, “EEOWW, OHH PLEASE DON’T SIR! I WILL TELL YOU, OH MY GOD, PLEASE LET GO OF MY BREASTS, YOU HAVE HURT ME THERE SO HORRIBLY, I’M GOING TO FAINT! BUT ONLY STOP!

“Speak, then, and be quick about it,” I demanded as I released the tension of my fingers.

“OHH AHH-OH MY GOD-PLEASE-OH, IT IS HORRIBLE OF YOU TO MAKE ME SAY ALL THIS-OH NO, DON’T PINCH THEM AGAIN-I WILL-only have mercy-PLEASE PUT-PUT YOUR TH-THING INTO MY SP-SPOT-AND-AND H-HAVE ME-OOHHH, I BEG YOU TO BE QUICK AND END MY SUFFERING, SIR!” she at last exhaled.

I would really be an unfeeling brute to pursue this line of questioning, I felt. I was sure that Miss Julia Denton had been chastely upreared and that the words she had used were daring enough, even at so critical a time as this when the alteration of her sweet girlhood stood at the crossroads of her destiny.

“Molly, if you will notice that little windlass over by the wall, do you go to it now and turn the lever directly to the left,” I instructed.

My half-naked voluptuous brunette accomplice eagerly nodded and ran over to the wall, her juicy round creamy titties jouncing in the most mouth-watering fashion. I confess that I felt at that moment like a pasha who has a veritable harem to wait upon him and cannot quite make up his mind upon impulse. But at the same time the joyous reminder leaped into my brain that I should have my beloved Alice as my consort soon enough, and with her sweet, obliging and voluptuously acquiescent Fanny as well as sister-in-law Marion and her red-haired maid Kay, to say nothing of Connie Blunt. Oh, that would be harem enough for the most virile and sanguine of men in the future, have no doubt about it!

I thought, too, of the game that Alexander the Great used to play with his concubines, and which he wittily named “Scheherazade.” It was an enchantingly imaginative sport, but it would require great fortitude as well as stamina on the part of the male. The ingredients were simplicity itself. A huge wide bed, a conquering overlord (myself, naturally!) and from five to a dozen seductive maidens, all either naked or arrayed in varying degrees of deshabille, such as these two charming captives. Let one be in just hose and pumps, like Miss Julia Denton at the moment. Still another, like Miss Molly Bashe, in drawers and hose and pumps. Another might be naked, except for furry mules about her dainty feet and perhaps silver anklets, whilst a fourth should come to me clad only in her shift and the thinnest possible pair of knickers under them and the sheerest, most clinging hose obtainable. And so on and on, ad infinitum .

And then I, the overlord, the pasha, the erotic emir, the sensual sultan should lie there with my head pillowed on my arms, master of all I surveyed, whilst these bringers of sweet delights, the harbingers of heavenly pastimes, should ply my naked body with caresses and ultimately mount me one by one and seek to draw forth my vital juices. And she who should be the winner in this tourney of Tantalus should receive a precious gift, while the others should all receive a smart birching to teach them to be more adept and clingingly amours the next time I, their lord and master, should summon them to my bower.

And if that was not a delightful fantasy, another even more esoteric and complex leaped into my febrile brain. Each member of my harem should be talented for one particular adeptness or charm. One girl should be, for instance, my calf-mistress, because of all those in my harem she possessed the most satiny, deliciously contoured, ripplingly muscled calves of all. Another should be my thigh-mistress; and still another my hand-mistress, because her hand was softest of all, the most gifted and talented in caressing and fondling my manhood to do valorous deeds. Still another should be my tittie-mistress, endowed with such amorous proclivities that she could kneel before me and cup those lovely gourds of satiny flesh against my cock and, moving back and forth over me, create the illusion that the satiny valley between those loveglobes was a kind of a sheath, a new vaginal chasm for my probing. Or again, she might rub one breast against the shaft and the head and the balls to whet my appetites to new heights of fancy and prowess.

My thigh-mistress should have gloriously versatile limbs the which to clench my prick with between their satiny columns or to rub against my cock to waken it to priapic performance; or still again, to wind around me to hold me to her so that my hands might fondle their backs and taste the warm, vibrant satin of their flexing columns.

I should naturally appoint a mouth-mistress, she whose soft, rosy lips could bite and nibble, suck and breathe all over me, but best of all, could absorb the head of my rutting ramrod deep into the sweet-nectared cavern and there draw forth my venom if it was this tribute to Venus which impelled me at the time.

There would even be a toe-mistress, who could tickle and fondle my prick and balls and with the most delicate of touches send waves of lust shivering through my entire body, no matter where her soft little toes glided. And of course a bottom-mistress who should be many things to me, from proffering the target for a birch or cane or my eager hand, to offering those satiny globes for the advent of my mighty scepter into the dainty little crevice between the divine rotundities.