by AnonYMous
ELEVEN
A personal invitation from Lord Frederick to the reader Permit me, sir, to add a word to the letters which our good friend Professor J- has laid before you. By now, you will have read them all, sharing the high-spirited japes of dear old Jack on the Sussex coast, or the wanton humours of Dolly on the shores of her Berlinese lake. As you see, the world agrees that our two friends are figures of the strictest morality and the most proper conduct. Were you to doubt this for a moment, you need only apply for testimonials to the Reverend Dr. Thwackum, the Dowager Baroness Loosely, and the Honourable Colonel Randolph Hart of the Blues. If you would accept my own pledge on behalf of our friends, then you might add the word of a member of the House of Lords, a Peer of the Realm, and the heir to the Earldom of Chiltern Hundred. But you are, I am sure, a companionable fellow and a man of the world. With this in mind, I have a request to make of you on behalf of our friends-or perhaps I should say an invitation to deliver. From time to time, Jack and Dolly are my guests on my own spacious plantation, where behind well-guarded fences I cultivate certain flowers of beauty which would make your mouth water at the first glimpse of them. But when my dear friends come to pay me a visit, it necessarily means that their own lovely blooms are untended-or if you prefer, their frisky young fillies lack a rider in the saddle and a touch of the whip to their charming rumps. How much better if a reliable fellow-such as yourself-were able to supply the need while Jack and Dolly are otherwise occupied! You will, I trust, not be offended, if we regard you as a lively fellow with a wicked sense of fun and a nose for the best kind of female horse-flesh. If you have followed our adventures thus far and relished the sport, then you will scarcely turn away from this invitation. In short, we ask you to take Jack's place as lord and master of the harem for as long as it pleases you. Your journey will be safe and easy-for it is accomplished on the wings of imagination. Moreover, I tell you in confidence that you are greatly honoured. Few visitors are ever permitted here, and there are not ten men in the whole world whom Jack would entrust his pleasure-palace to during his absence. Imagine all the fancies you might indulge as master of several dozen lovely slave-girls: To them, your slightest wish becomes an absolute command. You consent to take Jack's place for a night? My congratulations on the wisdom of your choice! Let us travel together, so that I may be your guide as you indulge those rare delights which our friend Jack enjoys upon every day and night of the week. As we talk, the familiar features of the room in which you read these pages will fade from your mind. You need have no fear, everything will be in order on your return-the handsome rosewood cabinets, the rows of leather volumes on the shelves, the buhl clock and the Aubusson carpets. But now another room takes shape before your eyes, no less agreeable than your own study. The dark wood of the chairs, table, and armoire is carved with a Spanish or Moorish design. From the white courtyard outside, one hears the sound of a fountain splashing upon the patterned marble.
Such craftsmanship in the carving-some of it fine as lacework! Do you notice the change of climate, the warm and languorous air? Even in the late afternoon one feels a summer drowsiness. Perhaps you already detect the odours of spice and the clear tang of a gentle sea?
Possibly you will care to stroll down to the beach and view such adolescent nymphs as Katharine, Claudia, or Elke at their frolics. Do not forget that these girls belong absolutely to you as the master, and you will require whatever pleasure you wish from them. May I draw your attention to the two Swedish girls, the trim and noble blondes of sixteen or seventeen? Take a closer look at Helena. How could a man resist those pert neat features, the proud tilt of that pretty chin, the blue-green eyes, and the high-boned beauty? Jack is not greatly admiring of flowing skirts and garments which conceal a girl's figure. See how Helena is made to dress. A very short black jacket with a white singlet underneath and a pair of tight beach-trousers in dazzling white denim. If, like Jack, you enjoy taking a few unobtrusive photographs of such teenage nymphs, what a subject you have here! The pale blond hair with its fringe and its well-shaped silken sweep that just covers her collar makes an admirable setting for the young dignity of her face. The tight white jeans with a shiny black belt at the waist, perfectly shape the agile thighs of this slim, suntanned blonde. Look at her now. Holding her shoes in one hand she goes barefoot to the edge of the gentle tide and bends to rinse her fingers. Ah, your camera is ready! What a portrait this will be. As she bends tightly, the short sweep of the pale blond hair falls gently about her face. With feet a little apart and knees tucked forward, the straining white denim of the jeans-seat presents the nymph-cheeks of Helena's bottom. They appear tightly rounded and suggestively separated. As she walks up the beach again towards us, pretend to take a view of the open sea. Now you have the young dignity of her face in the aperture, the pale fringe, the firm features lightly suntanned. Can you resist a few clicks of the shutter? No? My congratulations again. She will not realise yet that you are taking these photographs of her as a souvenir of your adventure. She and the other blonde are now tracing their names in the wet sand with their forefingers-attempted copperplate, no doubt!
Proudly our nymph inscribes Sweden, and then with careful elegance Helena follows it. Imagine the opportunity given to a conscientious lensman as the lithe young blonde bends to this task!
Ah, I see you cannot resist a shot or two of the way that this childish game softens the proud young beauty of her face. Of course you will want several studies of her trim thighs in the tight white jeans, tense and firm as she stoops. And the hardened young mounds of Helena's buttocks, so provokingly parted as she writes in the sand, are offered more lewdly-though innocently- than the most easy going burlesque show would permit. Sooner or later the girls will realise that you are taking photographs of them-as Katharine and Claudia did with Jack. But do you not find a certain exquisite satisfaction in their discovery? See Helena and her girlfriend as they glance round at your camera and then whisper uneasily together. No wonder if a slight warm blush and a look of apprehension cloud the self-confidence of Helena's face. As she and her friend walk away with many a nervous backward glance, she is recalling the views she presented to your lens and, in her confusion, knows that there is nothing she can do now to remedy the situation. I have taken some trouble to introduce you to Helena. You wonder why? Jack and I would be greatly obliged if you would command her on your bed tonight. She is young and fresh, Jack says, and he believes it would give you great satisfaction to break her in, demanding every pleasure which our young blonde's body has to offer. Of course, we would not confine your amusement to one girl in a harem of fifty or sixty! That would be a true failure of a gentleman's hospitality. In such a place as this, the master's silken divan is never less than eight or nine feet long and quite six feet wide. On retiring, he is never accompanied by less than three or four girls who sprawl on the divan with him. Have no fear then. You shall not only be provided with such a nymph as this but also with an elfin creature of pert beauty and a strapping young trollop for your stronger tastes. Should these prove insufficient, a ready supply awaits you of mischievous schoolgirls, demure debutantes, softly passionate young wives, and warm-skinned beauties from Arabia or the Orient. First let us partake of some refreshment. Jack will never combine dinner with his amorous pursuits, for he maintains that one excitement spoils the other and begets a habit of indigestion. Here, then, in the colonnaded courtyard where the fountain plays, the table is spread with fine linen, silver, and cut-glass. As if by invisible hands, the most succulent hors d'oeuvres, the choicest dishes, and the most enticing fruits are set before you. All these are washed down by bottles of the finest vintage-claret, burgundy, and hock-all selected to tease your palate without cloying your mind. When dinner is done, it is time for you to retire to the ease of the adjoining room, there to enjoy a leisurely Havana and a glass of malt whisky. The lamps are lit now as you take your ease in a comfortable leather chair among the carved Spanish furniture. The glass, the decanter, and the humidor are on a little tab
le beside you. Now you must meet the three girls who wait here to attend your least desire. As custom requires, the young blonde, Helena, kneels on a cushion before you, her eyes demurely lowered and her head bowed a little as she waits. She is still in the white jeans and short black jacket. When the time to undress her arrives, you would naturally wish to do that with your own hands.
And who is the charming little “waitress” who must keep your glass filled and your cigar glowing? Though she is a blonde also, she is a year or two younger than Helena. It is Natasha with her prettily severe coiffure of fringe and saucy chignon of fair hair. As you think of the acts you will make her perform, is there not something rather amusing about the pouting sulkiness of that young face? Once again, you will prefer to undress her with your own hands, no doubt. That is why Natasha still wears her formal uniform of green jumper, white blouse, striped tie and navy blue skirt with white ankle-socks.
As this prim little blonde fills your glass, can you resist stroking her fair-skinned face, kissing the prettily uncovered ear, or even running your hand up her slim young thighs under the skirt, testing their pale smoothness and feeling the firm young bottom-cheeks or warm pussy through the stretched white cotton of Natasha's schoolgirl knickers? However extreme the fantasies which Natasha awakens in your mind, all of them are possible here. The oldest of the three girls attending you is Noreen. Jack thought that after the daintiness of Natasha and the nymphlike elegance of Helena, the appeal of a strapping young trollop at nineteen years old would make an amusing contrast. Noreen's invariable costume here is the snug-fitting singlet which shows her breasts and strong young back, the tight jeans of faded blue denim. You need no introduction to the firm fair-skinned features, the defiant brown eyes, the collar length of dark lank hair and its level fringe. You now see for yourself the well formed thighs of a working-girl in the tight denim, the robust young hips, the broad but firmly-rounded cheeks of Noreen's bottom in the skin-tight denim. To ensure Noreen's obedience, you may very well need a whip, and one will be provided. Jack has also instructed that the two leather cuffs on her wrists are to be linked closely together in front of her. Her task is to operate the fan which stirs the air in the room. To do this we have contrived it that she must stand by the arm of your chair with her back to you, and must bend a little forward to reach the handle which she rums. Do you like the view with the seat of her jeans presented to you in this manner? As you sip your whisky, do you smile to yourself, your eyes roving over the sturdy mounds of Noreen's buttocks in the smooth-stretched jeans?
Let your gaze follow the stout seam of the denim seat as it is drawn deep and tight between her hind-cheeks and under her legs. See how it appears to part the lips of her cunt. Can you resist a word or two to curb her rebellion? “Such a strapping young bottom, Noreen! I believe that your arse-s the only thing about you that interests your master. Does that bring the anger to those brown eyes, Noreen? Come, now! Did you really think he admired you as a young beauty or a fine lady? You are but a backside and a pair of thighs to men of his rank, Noreen! Even a man who never saw your face but only had this rear view of you bending would know how to treat you. You bottom needs the whip, Noreen. Any man can tell that by looking at your rear. If you forget that tonight, Noreen, I shall leave a little note of complaint about you for my friend to find. And, believe me, Noreen, I will make him a present of the longest Havana I can find.” There may be fury in her brown eyes and defiance in her fair-skinned features, but you have taught her to keep them in check. It is customary before retiring to bed for a guest to be allowed a glimpse at some of the girls in the harem and the men who enjoy them. The carved panels on either side of this room are secret doors. In the arm of your chair you will find a row of concealed bell-pushes. By touching one you will cause a door to swing open and reveal to you the curious or amorous scene in the little closet beyond. I tell you, in confidence, such sights are often a great inspiration to one's own activities on taking three or four girls to bed for the night. Are you inclined to press one or two? Can you resist? You see, the first slides back. There you have a perfect view of Claudia and her harem guardian. He has the girl on her back, her wrists strapped to the top corners of the bed. She has had her pants taken off and he has made her draw her knees up to her chin, thus displaying her pubic lips fully. Dry soap flakes have powdered her cunt-fleece and slit. Now he is tickling her up with a tantalising little shaving-brush. No water is needed. As Claudia's cropped brown locks thresh side to side in her blissful torment, her cunt lubricates so copiously that she works up her own lather. A moment more and he kneels astride, a quivering erection pressing its bloated head into her taut elastic vagina. Leaving him to ride Claudia, press the next button and see Elke astride an ingenious rocking-horse. She is bare from the waist down and one observes how a leather phallus rises from the saddle to enter her cunt. Elke lies forward, hugging the horses neck. The fringed crop of her hair is bowed and the petulant little mouth gasping for breath as she rocks to and fro in ecstasy.
Her thighs grip the wooden flanks for very life. This time a guardian stands over her, a slim leather switch in his hand. One cannot help being pleased that he is such a hard task-master! Smack! goes the switch across the ripe young cheeks of Elke Mahne's bottom to drive her on. The Austrian girl's buttocks are already black and blue from such discipline. Yet Elke Mahne's riding-lesson will continue for many hours yet. Indeed, this sixteen-year-old sensualist would not stop it even if she could. Jack has acquired girls from every corner of the land. The next little room shows a soft beauty of nineteen. There is a knowing prettiness in Tania's rather olive-skinned face with its deep set blue eyes and light dimples. The short crop of brown curls clusters charmingly over her forehead. She is bending obediently forward over a table, soft young breasts sheathed in clinging wool.
From the rear, the usual riding-jeans are stretched tight over broadened and softly fattened buttocks, a deeply defined cleavage between them. This time the guardian takes down the jeans with the panties inside them. He dips his finger in a jar and teases the way between her rear cheeks with its length. A brief exertion, a cry of alarm from the girl and then, behold, Tania's young arsehole stretched perilously round the lucky penis-shaft which impales her. You may be sure that not all dramas are so intense for the stage must offer comedy as well as pathos. You have time to press one more button, for the night is young. Surely the last vision is one for mirth of a kind?
Would you care to know something of the young woman with whom the two men are romping? Jack never thought of her as a great beauty but rather as a charming and amusing means of diverting himself. Janet, as you see, is a rather stocky young brunette, twenty years old. You must allow she has a certain prettiness in her soft freckled face and brown eyes. Indeed one might almost say there is a saucy quality to the way her dark hair is cut in a Roman helmet-shape round her head with its length piled in little top-knot and held in place by a tortoiseshell comb. You agree? You find a certain appeal in the soft prettiness, the light freckles and the timidity of Janet's brown eyes?
What then of her figure? When Jack first saw her near the beach, she was dressed as she is now. Then, however, she was pushing a perambulator with a charming infant lying in it. The fact that a girl does not wear a wedding ring does not, alas, prevent the dropping of a cub! Perhaps it was this which gave her that slight shimmer of seductive plumpness. Imagine how our friend's eyes started as they made their first acquaintance with this pretty “pram-pusher,” as nursemaids are now called. She was dressed in that short brown jacket which scarcely reached her hips. From the waist down her covering was only skin-tight brown fleshing of the thinnest wool! Poor Jack found himself walking behind her on a long hill as she laboured upward, pushing the infants carriage. As she leant forward over the handle, straining on the steep pavement like a young mare between the shafts, her stocky young thighs pressing forward on the hill, our poor friend goggled at the sight. Under the tight seat of the brown trousers, he was presented with a rolling a
nd shimmering rhythm of the vulgarly fattened cheeks of Janet's soft arse! Though she was obliged to lean forward in her labours on the hill, it appeared to Jack as if the girl was deliberately sticking her full-cheeked backside into his face. No doubt our soft and lightly freckled plaything would have been dismayed to realise the view she innocently presented. To make matters worse, Janet's knickers were rather brief and had lavishly frilled leg-holes. It seemed as if she had worn them in bed to excite her partner and had then put on the dark brown trousers over them. The shape of Janet's panties appeared through the tight trousers-cloth as two curving ridges, arching high and brief over each plump cheek of her bottom. For fifteen minutes on the long hill, the fattened young cheeks of Miss Janet's bottom writhed and shimmered a few feet ahead of our poor friend as he walked behind her. She had a certain radiance in her present condition and yet she was no beauty. Why, then, was Jack so provoked by her? To be sure, he timed every ascent of that hill so that he found himself walking just behind her and enduring Janet's broad and well-filled rear view. Imagine her indignation at realising his fascination! It was fortunate for our friend that he was able to use his influence in the matter.
