Julia was to bend over alongside one line of the corner railings, her face pressed to the other. It was simple for her to push her nose and lips through the gap a little and, indeed, to reach through with her hands in order to fondle their pricks. At the same time, the boys could walk round to the side of her as she bent, manualising her tits, cunt, and backside. In ten minutes more, one of the boys had taken down Julia's jeans and panties. With one hand he milked her cunt gently, the forefinger of his other hand up her arse. Another boy had worked his hand up inside her singlet to fondle her adolescent bubbies. Julia's healthy young cunt lubricated plentifully and she squirmed her hips in grateful ecstasy. She took the prick or an innocent young boy in her palm and stroked its limpness as if it had been a pet bird. When the young cock raised its head a little and stood proudly, Julia drew it to her mouth, rounded her lips, and began to suck gently up and down the pale shaft. Natasha, desperate to masturbate and relieve her erotic itch, was too bashful to do so openly. Yet she let the boys coax her to the railings and even went so far as to reach through and fondle a young penis. She did it wonderingly, for it was almost the first of these fabulous beasts that our little explorer had seen in reality. Despite the torment between her legs, our demure blonde could not quite bring herself to do what was necessary. Happily, the young ruffians decided the matter for both girls. Natasha's wrists-and Julia's-were suddenly held firm on the outside of the bars. Pulling the two girls forward by their arms, the boys looped a rough noose round each young neck. In a moment more, Julia and Natasha were bending side by side, mouths at the bars of their improvised prison, their bodies in easy grip of the lads who walked round to one side. The muddy pallor of Julia's bottom and thighs was already bare. Now it was the young blonde's navy-blue skirt which came down, followed by Natasha's cotton briefs. Julia, of course, was used to sucking the pricks of the boys in the town and continued to give the lad a good time with her agile tongue. But what of our prim little blonde? Natasha stared aghast when the youthful erection presented its knob insolently to her lips. Twisting her head vainly, she mewed her refusal through pressed lips. But one of the other boys reached through and began to manualise the desperately itching little clitoris and vaginal lips. A heavy odour of boudoir soap rose from the bare legs and hips of the two girls in the warm day. Despite her elfin slimness, one lad wished to touch up Natasha's bare arse and legs with the smouldering tip of a stick in order to make her obey. The others were wiser than he. Already she was giving out whimpering gasps of relief at the fondling and her little cunt shed its first pearly tears of lubrication into the boy's hand.
“Suck the prick, Natasha,” he said gently as he fondled her. “In ten years time or less you'll be a bride- and your husband will certainly make you do it. You might just as well learn the art of it now!” Natasha gave a little whine of refusal. The boy drew his hand away. “In that case, Natasha, you must not expect the caresses of others.” She gave a cry of despair as the virulent erotic itch now reasserted its power, unappeased. In vain she tried to rub her cunt-lips between her legs. “Suck the prick, Natasha, if you want me to fondle you,” said the boy with a laugh. Natasha turned her head to the bars, the blue eyes and sulky young face so self-pitying under the blond fringe. The lad who presented his erection to her lips took the chignon of her soft hair and held her steady. As if obliged to avoid suffocation, Natasha opened her mouth and allowed the youthful penis to enter. The other boy returned his hand between her legs. He felt Natasha shudder with gratitude as the masturbation was resumed. Throughout the long summer afternoon, Julia and Natasha remained bending. Each boy who waited his turn to be sucked frigged his pupil, while his predecessor was tantalised by the loving lips and tongue. A girl who takes the spurts of male sperm down her throat is said in Berlin to “drink a toast to Cupid” or “to drink Cupid's milk.” So the gentle voices of that warm day charted the girls' progress in debauchery. “Suck the prick again, Julia…
Natasha, drink another toast to Cupid… Wait for a moment, Julia. I must smack your bottom for you, you little whore!… Natasha! Drink another toast to Cupid!… No cheating, Julia! Swallow down your pride!… I had not the heart, dear Jack, to interrupt young love's innocent frolics! Between them, Julia and Natasha must have consumed almost a pint of Cupid's nourishment that afternoon. They returned and dined upon more orthodox victuals. When it was almost time to send them to bed, I ordered them instead to the fateful room with the convenient marble demonstration-table. Perhaps by now they were too weary even to protest at the removal of skirt and jeans, as well as their white stretched briefs. Yet it was not I, Jack, who attended them now. They were bathed with most orthodox warm water and soap, washed from toe to top and elegantly perfumed, by the hands of Sonja and Petra. There was no severity, you understand, only the most loving attention. They were like sisters together, rather than mistress and slave. From the next room I heard Sonja's gentle tones.
“Turn over on your tummy now, Natasha! Relax the cheeks of your bottom properly, my little pet!” And then the washing and the towelling continued, followed by the perfume spray. Presently the voice resumed, more humourously. “What thick fleece between your legs, Julia! Open your thighs a little wider. We must trim some of that away. Lie still, my dear! No, I shall not shave it all away. But you must have it trimmed a little. Like this. You see? What was there to make such a fuss about?” You will draw your own conclusions, Jack, when I assure you that this “bathing session” lasted quite as long as the morning toilet had done. I will not weary you with the many unnecessary strokings and partings inflicted on our two young pupils by my own pair of bitches! I will only add this. Natasha and Julia occupy two single beds in the same room. The next morning, the maid reported to me a curious fact. (She is an old family servant and utterly to be trusted.) One of the beds had not been slept in. The sheets of the other were much disordered and bore upon them the sort of blemishes which she had never been accustomed to find except when passionate young married couples had been our guests. As for the rest, I have now had Julia and Natasha on the marble table every morning for a week and my routine never varies. The doors of all other such rooms are locked against them and the key is in my pocket. Their protests and struggles grow less each day. I swear they are learning the gratification of their own wetness on the sponge and of the soapy finger which enforces the performance of certain acts. Despite her high-school education, Julia has the tastes of a whore, and Natasha may be trained the same way. They will not, of course, become whores-unless slavery to one master under captivity be such! But only think, Jack, of what I said at the beginning. Had I begged them to take down their knickers and let me fiddle with them, to have sex-fun with them, as they say… Imagine! Parents, teachers, police would have vied with one another to destroy me. But I talk only of cleanliness and decency, of manners and discipline. What is the result? Each morning the girls wallow in the grossest lewdness on the marble table. Their arseholes are opened on the soapy finger and the gloved hands receive the tribute. They are sponged over in their own fountain-water and then perfumed so heavily that a French brothel would wince at its power. They are left powdered with an irritant that drives them to masturbation on the table as soon as I leave the room.
And yet I am spoken of as a martinet, a lady of irreproachable moral strictness and personal severity. Parents, teachers, and police are my greatest admirers. Profit by my example, dearest Jack, for in it lies your only true safety and pleasure! I almost persuade myself that I really am a moralist-and no libertine, after all! Your loving Dolly.