Chapter 2
A first peep at my young mistresses-Laura and Ruth at play-The rocking-horses and its love-saddle-Pretty Laura with her panties down-Bare thighs astride polished leatherLaura's nude hips squirming in ecstasy-Bottom-smacking to spur her on-A girl's pleasure at seventeen-Ruth takes her turn-Soft sixteen in the harness of love-Loving fingers and the spanking-strap-Sian, my redheaded maid-How I trained her to ride love's wooden stallion!-Sian with her legs wide and bottom-cheeks spread apart.
You may be sure that when I tip-toed out to the marble-paved hall, it was curiosity and not suspicion which led me. To tell the truth I had decided to wait until Laura and Ruth were safe in bed before ringing for my red-headed servant Sian. I was of a mind to put her to certain tests which my reading had just suggested to me.
I stood in the hallway and looked up at the graceful curve of the stairs above. What do you suppose I saw? Laura and Ruth moving softly to the attic floor.
Now, there was nothing unusual in this-except that their bedrooms were on the floor below. Moreover, though it is natural for a young woman to change into her night attire at this hour, my two Chelsea wards had exchanged their dinner gowns for their riding-costumes. All this was very strange and brought to mind Laura's question. Would I give them a ridinglesson before they went to bed?
You may guess at some of the thoughts which now went through my head. John Fortescue, my cousin, had been little more than a stranger to me. Now I began to have some very singular ideas of the manner in which he conducted his establishment at Coombe these last few years.
A gentleman does not choose to be a spy upon the young ladies in his care. All the same, I would not be made a fool of in my own house and I resolved to discover what was happening in that spacious attic room. If it was innocent amusement, there was no harm in my peeping upon it. If it was something else, then the sooner I discovered, the better it must be.
The house had been built in the 1740s. At such a date the attic windows were small enough and needed the assistance of skylights and interior panes. There were two attic rooms of this size, separated by the landing between them, whose roof was almost a sheet of glass skylight. In order that the rooms might have the benefit of this, an interior window in the landing wall on each side looked into the attic apartments.
When I reached the attic landing and stood there soundlessly, the place was in darkness. All the light was in the old playroom where I had first set eyes upon Laura and Ruth that afternoon. I ventured to the interior window which looked from the darkened landing into the gaslit room with its comfortable old sofas and its pair of rocking-horses.
Was I relieved or disappointed to find that nothing appeared to be amiss? I should be a liar if I did not confess to a first pang of regret. I realized then that I had hoped to catch Laura and Ruth in some hanky panky. Heathers had asked me if I whipped on such occasions. It occurred to me that one cannot whip without a certain amount of unbuttoning and undressing. And where might that not lead me with my two charming pupils?
Even as I watched Laura walking across the room to the cupboard, it seemed to me that the front of my trousers had grown uncomfortably tight. The rounded sweep of her silky golden-brown page-boy hair swung to and fro across her shoulder-blades. She has that lithe and firm young figure of a seventeen-year-old which is alluringly shown in the tight blue denim of her riding-jeans. My pulse beat faster at the trim young thighs and the agile rounding of Lauras bottom-cheeks, so high and taut in their youthful elasticity.
This delightful girl crossed the room, stopping only to stroke the painted smooth flanks of the wooden rocking-horse with an affection which seemed curiously bestowed on an inanimate creature. As she bowed her head demurely, the golden brown waves of her tresses fell from their central parting on either side of her pretty face. It almost seemed as if Laura struggled against her natural shame and modesty. All the time, however, the luscious and tautly rounded buttocks of this seventeen-year-old nymph moved lasciviously under the tight denim of her riding-pants.
Laura went to a cupboard on the far side of the room and returned to the rocking-horse with a leather saddle. I was puzzled at first. Whoever heard of strapping a saddle on a toy horse? Yet when I looked more closely, I saw that the saddle was not quite of the usual shape. It had a slight projection rising up from it and a ridge which ran down its length. I guessed the reason, of course, for such a shape. Often in India I heard tales of Nabyla Justo, Daxa Patel, Jennifer Khan, and other favorites of Captain DeVane being made to ride the masturbating saddle for the amusement of their masters. Yet this was my first sight of theingenious contrivance.
Laura stripped herself to a sleeveless blouse above the waist, ready for the warm work which lay ahead. She undid the riding-jeans, the golden-brown hair cascading round her face again as she pulled them off. Her panties came next and soon I was able to admire Lauras naked charms from her waist to her heels.
I confess freely that those tight slim thighs of a girl of seventeen please me greatly. Lauras bottom-cheeks had the same taut elasticity, though with the first signs of a womanly roundness. Her belly was flat and delightfully ornamented by the little curls of golden fleece at the opening of her legs.
I have since seen Ruth, Jacqui, Diane, and several other girls ride theingenious saddle. Yet I shall never forget how my heart jumped when Laura first cocked her leg wide astride it and settled down. At first she sat upright, content to gasp with a woman's natural expectation as she felt the protrusion enter between the lips of her pudenda a little. I listened intently and presently heard the first slipperiness which assured me that Laura was lubricating nicely in her excitement, milking the love dew from her Venus-cleft on to the leather thumb between her legs.
To watch the demure slim figure of Laura riding the phallic saddle was to see a pretty pagan queen astride her stallion. Her neck was arched back, the rounded page-boy cut of golden hair brushing her shoulder-blades. Her eyes were closed in a dream of bliss and her pretty teeth fretted at her lower lip in the excitement. Lauras slim and agile thighs gripped the smooth wooden flanks of her mount in a desperate, pulsing rhythm as she struggled to bring herself to orgasm. And all this time, sixteen-year-old Ruth with her solemn young face and cropped curls looked on in astonishment.
"Ahh! ... Ahhhh! ... Ah-ah-ah!" Lauras whimpering sighs broke the silence of the room, the jerk of her bare hips in the saddle urging the rocking-horse forward and back, forward and back. ... Presently all decorum was overcome. Laura threw herself forward, hugging the wooden neck of the horse and lying along its back so that she might feel the rude leather phallus more deeply. As she jigged and pumped herself upon the polished erection, her hips were thrust back almost over the wooden rump of her mount. With her thighs stretched wide she showed a rear glimpse of the projection entering her in its lewd rhythm. The lithe young cheeks of Lauras bottom were also pulled hard apart by the thrust of her hips. With the long page-boy cut of her golden tresses and her high-boned prettiness, she looked a perfect picture. Between her spread rear cheeks I could even see the dark dimple of Lauras arsehole, so appealingly tight and vulnerable.
I do not think that Laura attained her climax, even after twenty minutes of lascivious riding. Instead she lay limp, moist, and panting astride her mount. Then it seemed that she forced herself to surrender her own pleasure to that of her friend. Easing herself from the saddle, Laura went to Ruth and took the other girl into her arms.
Ruth was by far the more shy and reluctant of the pair. It needed Laura to kiss the quivering lips and fluttering eyelids, to stroke the short crop of fair curls and murmur reassurance into those startled ears. like one or two of the other Chelsea girls, Ruth wore tight caramel riding-jeans or jodphurs and a black singlet with a belt round her waist. The softer fullness of Ruth's bottom-cheeks and hips made an intriguing contrast to Lauras slim beauty.
It was Laura now who was undoing Ruth's riding-trousers and Ruth who was frying to back away. I was so often to have a rear view of Ruth's botton, its soft young cheeks rolling and rounding as she climbed the slopes of the Alpine gardens in one corner of this estate. Yet now I was all agog for my first glimpse of her with her pants down. Behold, the caramel riding-jeans fell. Only Ruth's panties concealed her now, the filmy panties caught up by the dampness of her body between her legs and in her rear cleft.
Soon they were gone. Lauras hand was soothing Ruth between the legs, consoling her whimpered protests as one hushes an awkward child. As I watched, I saw Ruths softer thighs and ass-cheeks begin to move in a tightening and contracting rhythm upon the fingers busy between her legs. She kissed Laura back quite as hard as the slim pretty girl had kissed her in the first place. Without resistance, Ruth allowed herself to be led to the rocking-horse and mounted astride its saddle.
"Lie forward, Ruth," said Laura quietly, "Put your arms round the horse's neck. Open yourself nice and wide, my love."
Ruth obeyed. It was charming to see how she lay with her halo of fair curls, her face turned aside as if to let Laura admire her wide brown eyes and the sweet pertness of her nose and chin. Now the older girl stroked the soft pale shimmer of Ruth's bottomflesh and thighs. Laura's hand slipped between the stretched legs from the rear, stroking and fondling as she coaxed Ruth to ride gently. Forward and back ... forward and back ... forward and back...
I daresay you will tut-tut at me for a Peeping Tom. Ask yourself, however, would you easily have drawn your eyes from such a charming spectacle had you innocently chanced upon it? If so, you are a man of harder temper than I.
At the best of times, Ruth has such a solemn yet soft young face. Now she bowed her halo of cropped fair curls to hide her eyes and opened herself more fully to Laura's wicked fingers. Sixteen-year-old Ruth pushed her hips up an inch from the saddle showing the leather wet with her slippery love-dew. Yet she made this movement in order that Laura might intrude her fingers in the younger girl's cunt-slit and into its very grotto.
Had you heard the excited, yet frightened litle cry which Ruth now uttered as her passion began to overwhelm her, I swear she would quite have melted your heart. She is a young woman with a child's timidity. Yet what alarmed her most was not the threat of Laura's gentle lasciviousness but the wildness of her own desires as she was masturbated pitilessly by the slim and pretty girl who stooped over her.
"Oh, Laura!" she cried imploringly, "Laura! Help me! Help me!"
For all the world you would have thought that Ruth was crying out to be rescued from some demon ravisher. Yet all the lusty movements and the passionate heat which inflamed the nether lips between her thighs had been of her own devising.
Why should she cry for help in this manner?
In the first place, as she turned her pretty curls and looked back with such wide brown eyes and frightened pallor, Ruth was dismayed by the turmoil within her heart and between her open legs. Lauras finger was now well up the younger girl's hole and Ruth beat and squeezed the wooden horse between her thighs as if her life depended on it.
And yet her despairing cry had another cause. Ruth was well roused but she was still a novice in the art of masturbation. She was in that fearful predicament for a girl of her age, when she longs to come but cannot. Many a bride has suffered such a fate, even in the arms of the most loving husband. The slight color in Ruth's solemn young face, her parted lips and eyes fluttering open, no less than the slippery movements of her spread thighs on the leather saddle, assured me that she was in the greatest state of arousal. Strung on the rack of desire which stretched her nerves without mercy, she writhed in vain for the bliss of release.
What lay ahead of her if she should fail? Sobs of frustration as she dismounted from the rocking-horse, the hot itch of longing still a torment between her thighs. And then the long sleepless night, Ruth roused but unfulfilled. Ah, my friend, how you would have pitied her in her present state!
What, then, of Laura? That slim and pretty creature with her high-boned prcttiness appeared so demure that a lewd thought had never crossed her mind. Yet she had a true woman's instinct. Murmuring in Ruth's ear, she slowed the desperate jigging of the soft pale hips and made her lie still a moment. Laura herself went to the cupboard and presently returned with a thin leather strap, eighteen inches long and several inches broad, split into flat tails at its end. It was nothing but a school spanking-strap.
Was she cruel to Ruth? You will not think so, when you hear the sequel. She took the belt from Ruth's riding-trousers and used it to fasten her down on the wooden horse by her waist, so that the soft young beauty straddled it and hugged its neck. Taking the strap she smacked it hard across the plump cheeks of Ruth's bottom with a crack that made me wince. Ruth gave a gasp and then a wild cry as the pain sank deep. The rocking horse plunged and reared under her wild squirming. But the strap caught the ass-cheeks of the softly-shaped sixteen-year-old again and again. Across those delicious rear mounds it raised broad paths of bright crimson. I was intrigued, never having witnessed such an act before, by a physiological curiosity. Laura thrashed hard so that the welts appeared across Ruth's backside almost at once. At the same time a bruise-colored patch seemed to rise to the surface of the skin and then sink from sight again.
You would have thought, seeing this, that Ruths young bottom would have been a mess of bruises next day. Yet, as I was to learn, she had not a trace. The darkness of the bruise came and went like a pulse-beat, though the redness of the weal did not fade for several hours.
However, I assure you that Laura's scheme was to bring Ruth pleasure rather than pain. After ten or fifteen minutes of the spanking-strap and wild cries from the charming victim with her cropped halo of curls, Laura put down the strap. She knelt behind Ruth, where the soft young thighs were spread wide by the wooden mount and applied her mouth to the rear of the feminine slit. When Laura, Ruth, and
Jacqui worked together, still comparative strangers, I wonder if they ever imagined being obliged to have sex with one another in this or any other manner. And if they did imagine it, were they revolted at the idea or secretly excited?
I saw Lauras tongue now diddling to and from in Ruth's light-haired cunt-slit. I heard Ruth's choking cries of pleasure. Nor did Laura neglect her own desires. While she mouthed Ruth between the legs, spreading the love-juice with her tongue over the secret places of the girl's thighs, Laura knelt astraddle, one hand between her own legs.
You guess the secret? Unlike Ruth, Laura was a consummate masturbator and now timed her own climax to match that of her pretty partner. The dewy lubrication which she milked from Ruth was visible upon her lips and all round her mouth. In her zeal to be a dirty girl, Lauras tongue gave a quick lick up and down between Ruths ass-cheeks. Then she pushed her lips and tongue between the younger girl's legs, rubbing herself with firm skill at the same time.
The moment was upon them. Crying out Laura's name as if dying in ecstasy, Ruth reached the pinnacle of joy and then her shrillness fell to quiet sobs of relief. Laura came with a gasp and a long shuddering. They lay quietly together for a long while, Ruth sprawled limp astride her nursery mount, Laura curled beside her with her auburn hair pillowed against Ruth's bare hip. It was fully half an hour before they stirred from their trance. Neither girl bothered to put on her riding-trousers and panties. They made a charming sight, bare legged and hipped, as they twined their arms about one another and walked slowly down to the bedroom which they shared.
I saw no more, but I wager that neither allowed the other much sleep for the rest of the night. Indeed, unless I am greatly mistaken, only one of the two beds would bear the imprint of a sleeper by next morning. Yet I should not be surprised to hear that the other was in state of disorder which would do credit to a honeymoon couple!
Imagine yourself for a moment in the dilemma I now confronted. Let me speak frankly. I was greatly roused and stiffened by what I had just seen. At the first opportunity I would employ the rocking-horse to give the girls a ridinglesson of the kind which Ruth had just enjoyed. Yet prudence suggested that it was not the moment to begin such experiments that night. I knew too little of their sleeping arrangements, whether perhaps some stable-boy or even Heathers the butler might break in upon my private romps.-
There was no other female in the house just then. Except, of course for Sian, my warm and red-haired maid, twenty years old!
Being a man of experience yourself, you will understand that I had had much to do with such a wench. Yet you know as well as I that a man does not pretend to romance and eternal passion with a young strumpet in her situation. Perhaps I should have subdued my excitement a day or two longer. However, I was much taken by the thought of giving Sian a ride upon the wooden steed! On leaving London, I had had to make a choice between Sian and her workmates, Anne and Janet. Having preferred her before the other two, she should now reward me by affording a little entertainment.
Resolved upon this, I went quietly to the room next to my own where Sian would sleep. The light was still on and I guessed she had not yet gone to bed. There was a private door between the masters room and that of the maid, a device installed by John Fortescue for his own convenience.
Sian had undressed to her short bodice and tight drawers of blue cotton which fitted her smoothly from waist to mid-thigh. I pushed open the door a little and was able to watch her for a moment before she detected my silent presence.
Sian stood thoughtfully, her light red tresses waved loose on her shoulders, the slope of her cheekbones and weak young chin just visible at this angle. She had that slack-hipped way of standing, one ass-cheek high and the other low, which marked her for the young whore that she is. I saw that she was folding her dress, spread out on the floor. After standing there and looking a moment longer, she stooped to pull the hem of it straight and then knelt on all fours to attend to it.
Suppose you chanced to be passing a milliner's and saw such a trim red-haired filly in such a pose. Could you resist a chance to pat and stroke her? I walked into the room and told her to finish her task, bending to it while I admired her young thighs and hips in their tight cotton pants. I teased my red-haired Welsh pony as I fondled her through the tight warm cotton. As she bent to her work, my hand entered between her legs from the rear and I felt the heat of soft pubic flesh through the thin fabric.
"In the mood for a little saddle-exercise tonight, Sian?"
"I must finish," she pulled away a little, "I must finish what I have to do."
I guessed what that was, for the heat and slight moisture between her thighs betrayed her.
"You like to play with yourself, don't you, Sian? I cannot permit that tonight. This time you must share your pleasure with the saddle."
She looked at me, not understanding all that I meant. My hand stroked over the soft young buttocks.
"How's your butt, Sian? Quite recovered from its adventures last week? You're not a little girl any longer, my pet. Your bottom-hole can open wide enough to offer an exit. From now on it must be an entrance as well...."
Sian was startled at all this. Yet she is an easy and randy girl whose curiosity about the saddle soon overcame her prudence. I led her quietly to the room where Laura and Ruth had performed their sports and where the saddle was soon strapped on the wooden mounts again. Then I took Sian over my knee, for even at twenty she is not too big for this. I undid her pants and pulled them down, laying bare her trim pale legs and the soft rounds of her rear cheeks.
She lay there, quietly as a little girl waiting to be spanked. My fingers entered between the rear of her thighs again. A few strokes of their tips brought warm lubrication to her flesh.
"You like to masturbate, Sian, don't you? I can see you've been up to those tricks already this evening! Now, get up, got to the rocking horse and straddle it!"
Sian obeyed, though she kept her head lowered, as if ashamed of what she longed to do. The light waves of her red tresses fell in charming confusion about her vulgar young face.
Cautiously she eased herself astride the saddle, my hands guiding her. There was a shrill gasppartly shock and partly excitement-as the leather diddler entered her cunt a little.
"Lie forward, Sian! Arms round the horse's neck! Spread those legs and ass-cheeks! Push your backside out a little more!"
And there she was, straddling the smooth wooden horse as lewdly as either Ruth or Laura. With the red tresses still in delightful disorder round her face as she lay there, Sian was squeezing and tensing on the horse, her breath breaking from her in irregular gasps. I went to the cupboard again and examined John Fortescue's treasures. What revelations they now offered of his secret pleasures at Coombe! There was a row of pony-tails, the hair being in a variety of colors which matched the hair of two legged fillies rather than the four-legged kind! I chose one which was the shade of Sian's. There was also aningenious instrument of control, a martinet. It consisted of a thick handle and twenty or thirty thin tails of leather hanging from it, each no thicker than a stout bootlace. A jar of vaseline into which cologne perfume had been mixed was the third item of which I possessed myself.
"Lie still for a moment, Sian!" I said firmly, though this command was easier for me to give than for the girl to obey in her present state of excitement. "We must make a proper pony-girl of you."
"Oh, its lovely!" she cooed, squeezing and riding the cunning leather thumb.
I examined the pony-tail. There was a rounded butt, intended for insertion into the girl's bottom, from which the hair ran up, under a waist-belt, and then formed a tall and graceful curve over the charming buttocks. I loaded my finger with the perfumed vaseline and smeared it thickly on Sian's anus. She tensed in apprehension but I was not to be deterred.
"You must have the butt of the tail in your butt-hole, Sian. I'm sure you'll enjoy that too when the ride reaches its climax!"
Sian offered no resistance as I pressed the butt of the tail into place, then drew the woven strand up between her buttocks and under the leather belt at the rear of her waist. It made the most charming plume and cascade, spreading over the pale rounding of the redhead's soft bottom.
The leather thumb of the saddle between her legs, Sian was now goaded to excitement by having her anus stretched on the vaselined butt of the tail. But she was also tickled and teased by the soft hairs of the tail which lay over her buttocks, between them, and even tantalised the rear of her pussy flesh between her spread thighs.
How many admirers who had seen Sian at shop-work or washing the steps of a Portman Square mission would have enjoyed seeing her now! Sian rode as if her life depended on it, at once the jockey and the pony herself. Her bare thighs clamped the wooden flanks and her hips urged the rocking horse onward-and-back, onward-and-back, onward-and-back. Sian's orgasm must not come too quickly, for that would spoil our fun. I stopped and steadied the wooden horse after about ten minutes during which the tail of hair swept to and from across Sian's ass as she rode. Cruel as any tyrant, I now laid the tail aside and withdrew the leather thumb which had brought her to such a pitch between her legs.
A moment more and the saddle was gone. Sian was lying like any other girl astride a rocking-horse. What dismay this caused!
"Ride hard and finish yourself off quickly, Sian!"
"I c-c-can't! Oh, I can't!" she wailed.
For answer, I picked up the martinet.
"A filly sometimes needs a taste of the whip across her rump, Sian. I shall be cruel in order to be kind."
Gently I laid the thin tails across her backside to let her feel the thrill of cold leather. Sian tried desperately to clench her buttocks together. Her thighs and butt being so spread as she straddled the horse, she thought herself fearfully open to the havoc of the martinet. To prevent her avoiding the treatment she needed, I fastened her wrists to the wooden forelegs and strapped her down at the waist. I was aware that pleasure or pain might cause her to yell loudly enough to wake the house. Looking round I saw the web cotton of Lauras briefs lying on the floor. When folded, they made little more than a handkerchief. There was something both lewd and yet provoking in making one girl wear another's panties in this fashion.
"In your mouth, Sian," I said gently. She obeyed with unease.
Now the Welsh beauty's gallop began. I whipped hard across the full soft pallor of Sian's bottom-cheeks. At every stroke the martinet produced red streaks of angry fire. Most fell upon her buttocks. A few of the little thongs curled between her ass-cheeks and even streaked the inner surfaces of her thighs. Yet Sian rode like a champion, her hips pumping and legs tensing.
"Did you like that, Sian? A flick of the whip-tails across your backside. ... Ah, that one caught you between your ass-cheeks, Sian! That makes you ride harder! ... We must drive you to the pinnacle of pleasure, I think. ... Now, the whip across your backside. ... Between your buttocks. ... Across your thighs. ... Between your legs. ... Bottom-cheeks. ... Bottom-cheeks. ... In your rear crack. ... Between the legs. ... Back of the thighs. ... Thighs again. ... Bottom-crack. ... Bottom-cheeks. ... Bottom-cheeks. ... Bottom-crack. ... In your crack again, Sian. ... Bottom-cheeks. ... Crack. ... Bottom. ... Bottom. ... Bottom...."
To those who were not present, the ordeal may sound worse than it was. Many a little girl of ten or twelve is chastised by the martinet. In France, the practice is universal. At last I laid down the tailed whip and regarded my panting filly, her bonds removed. I closely examined Sian's crack, the forbidden valley between her buttocks. Though she flinched at my finger's touch there, it was as much modesty as tenderness.
Now I came to the last act of the drama. Pulling off my trousers, I mounted pillion on the rocking-horse behind my perspiring girl. How gratefully Sian raised her hips, spread her thighs wider still and then sank down with my stiffness embedded in the velvety sheath which lay so moist between her legs.
Now we began to ride together. Sian arched her hips and threw her head back. The red tresses swept to and fro across her collar as she panted and whimpered with longing for the moment of her pleasure which had been so long delayed. .
With my hands on her flanks, I guided her through the gallop, driving her on with thrusts of my manhood which went deep enough to touch the very nerve of her womb, provoking those cries which are part fear and part abandon to ecstasy. At last she began a series of short, rising cries, for all the world as if the truncheon-handle of the martinet were being forced up Sian's butt or some other torment being applied by the hangman. So close is the association of pleasure and punishment, desire and pain. Yet, as anyone might guess, this breathless aria was the signal of her coming climax. It proved the final spur to my own release. While the first spasms possessed her, I felt my own passion boil and threaten to spill into her womb withincalculable results. I had no wish to swell Sian's belly for her, having other plans to occupy her days and nights. I drew from her, causing a softly forlorn wail of bereavement on the girl's part. The sperm jetted in long and passionate bursts, forming its arcs of spawn across Sian's softly-rounded bottom-cheeks and running down between them.
"She lay exhausted by her ordeal, head pillowed on the mane of the rocking-horse. Yet as if in tribute to my outpouring, she reached back and put her finger-tips to her buttocks, examining the state she was in and finding herself wet with sperm. She drew her hand away and I was seized by a wicked caprice.
"Lick your fingers, Sian," I said.
And Sian licked them obediently.
I slept that night in the profoundest content. Next day I woke in the spacious bedroom, which is traditionally occupied by the Master of Coombe. I was in the mood now for whatever randy adventures lay ahead of me.