When it was over, Vanessa was allowed into the trees for a weep, a gulping of final tears, and a release of bladder water. I was gratified that she preferred to complete the journey in the van without her pants on and sitting sideways on her hip.
So we came safe, in the arms of the law, to the prison ferry at Portsmouth. The young female delinquents were taken aboard. Before I started down the gangway, the two constables saluted me smartly, congratulated me again on the striping and bruising of Vanessa's bottom, and thanked me for my "great generosity" to them. The inspector came aboard as my escort.
It was now dark, yet I was surprised how gaily lit the prison ferry seemed to be. It had the size and look of an ocean-going steam-yacht. The inspector escorted me to a comfortable chair in the forward saloon and commanded a hock and seltzer for me from a warder who looked for all the world like a mess steward. I began to hope that my sentence might be served in such agreeable conditions. I asked the inspector the name of this prison hulk.
"Do you not know, sir?" said he, "it is the steam-yacht Brandon."
You being less of a duffer than I, Lizzie, will have guessed the truth ere now. My wily Uncle Brandon had seen just such a difficulty as mine and had laid his plans. Not only did he enjoy the Greystones girls but contrived to ship many of them to lands where harem beauties are bought on the auction block! Thus he had made his fortune and, with the cargo I now possessed, he put me in the way of making my own. As for the inspector, Uncle Brandon had bought him as a mere constable. The zealous officer had, many a time, acted as master of ceremonies on these occasions.
I vow, Lizzie, to tell the story of ray escape thus far exhausts me. Forgive me, my dearest, if I now take a fond leave of you and lay my head for the night on the pillow of a fugitive.
And so the morning comes and finds me refreshed again. I have husbanded my energies in order to tell you the most comical thing that ever happened to me. Whoever the fellow was who said that life at sea is worse than confinement in prison would eat his words if could see me now.
On our first day out, I cast an eye upon the girls to see which should divert me between the sheets during our voyage. I was rather taken with Julie, nineteen years old. Do you recall her? She it was who sucked old Silas Raven while he watched Vanessa do her naked dance in Miss Martinet's music room.
I chose a morning when she was ordered to don her singlet and working trousers for deck-washing. How well one could observe her now. Unlike Vanessa, a little girl with a woman's appeal, Julie is petite and slim-a woman in child's shape. With tall heels on her shoes, she is still diminutive. Her golden-blond hair is worn in a loose sweep from her high crown, lying on her back to the top of her shoulder blades. A somewhat sulky little face is marked by rather a crude nose and weak chin, hazel eyes with darkened lashes.
She is, to talk colloquially, what is known as a penis-teaser. The blue denim of the working trousers is worn tight and smooth as a skin. One views, as if she were naked, the slender thighs, which, even at their tops, are scarcely thicker than a man's upper arm. She has that taut belly and backward jut of hips which is characteristic of girl children rather than young women. Her breasts are small and her bottom, though its cheeks are quite slim and tightly rounded, has a soft, feminine fatness in proportion to her other curves.
Thus I watched her. To speak the truth, the tight denim trousers were not entirely smooth. The straining of the skin-tight denim caused sheaves of creases across the backs of her knees and, indeed, across the backs of her childishly slim upper thighs. The tight seam under her legs visibly parted her love-lips. I have read somewhere of girls who can frig themselves by the tightness of such clothes. Did Julie masturbate on the cord seam as she walked? When she bent over, her bottom-cheeks became two tight, distinct rounds with a deep and widely open arse-valley between. What a sight the denim trousers had not impeded the view!
Yet to what purpose was all this? Who would bed a sulky little penis-teaser for preference? I said as much to the inspector. He at once promised me that Julie should prove as eager to please me as if her life depended on it, but he would not tell me why or how. Believe this who may, says I to myself! Yet, in the course of the day, I caught many a flutter from the lashes of those dark, hazel eyes, and often a vacant, hopeful smile. How was this, I wondered?
Late that night, I rang the bell in my cabin for my brandy and soda. Instead of the steward, it was Julie who tiptoed in, darkened eyelashes fluttering. The sulky little face made a visible effort to be alluring. As I tossed back my brandy, she stood before me, squirming her tight-denimed thighs together-indeed frigging herself on the seam!-giving out imploring little sighs and whimpers. Next she perched on my knee, thighs still squirming, and led my hand under the gusset of her pants.
"Please!" It was a little girl's whimpering half-sob, demanding to be indulged.
"Get your pants off, then, Julie! Astride my thighs, facing me, as I sit here! That way you'll get the shaft nice and deep between your legs!"
How eagerly she stripped off her pants? Julie's knickers came next, and she gingerly lowered herself onto the erection. How she rode! As if her life indeed depended on winning this race! Jig! Jig! Jig! she went, rising and falling in the saddle like a true equestrienne. Her tongue was more active in my mouth than almost any other girl I have encountered. Nor was this a single bout. After the first pumping of my lust into Julie's cunt, we retired to the bed and there repeated the rogering of her love-pouch three times during the night in various postures.
I was not surprised when she appeared the next night, though a surprise was indeed in store. When I suggested a repetition, a cunt-ride on the prick, Julie gave a sulky little wail.
"We did that last night!"
Never before had I heard that such things were allowed on one night only. A moment more, however, and she was on her knees before me, unbuttoning my trousers. Though Julie's knickers came off, she would do nothing but suck the penis and swallow its tribute, which she did twice more during the night.
The third evening, she would do nothing but make love to herself for my diversion, her bare thighs wide open, knees bent, the nails of her slim fingers painted so that the effect of her masturbation was more dramatic.
On the fourth night, she again insisted on something new. How long could this continue? Turning her back to my chair, she bent over, and I admired the tight, denim seat moulding her taut, well-separated bum-cheeks and the open valley between. So that I might see her face better, I made her plait her hair and pin it in a top-knot. What a little madam she looked! Off came the pants and knickers. She bent with knees tucked a little forward and parted. The tight, slim cheeks of her bottom, her narrow hips, the dark anus-bud, seemed so fragile to look at. Prudently, I took a slim, glass pencil-squirt of liquid soap, inserted it in Julie's behind, and pressed the bulb, giving her half an hour of in-and-out with the slender rod.
"I fear I must stretch you hard now, Julie," I said, adjusting my stiffness to her. Then presently, "I think you like a man to bugger you, don't you, Julie? You know you're going to a harem master? The man who's bought you will give you plenty of this!"
Once again, the pleasure was repeated during the night.
The mystery grew deeper. Next night, Julie came to my cabin but resisted all my approaches. This was too much! I seized her wrist as I sat there and so drew her forcibly to kneel by my chair. Gently but deliberately, she twisted her head, set her pretty little teeth to my wrist, and bit me softly. As she did so, the dark hazel eyes looked up at me.
"I must be whipped for that!" she said quietly.
Before I could deny it, she had gone to the cupboard and come back with a single-cord whip, some two feet long. She handed it to me, took off her pants and knickers again, and bent over, her slim buttocks tightly and separately rounded. She had chosen to bend over a tall stool equipped with attaching-straps. In this posture too I required her mane of blond hair to be plaited and pinned in a top-knot that I might see her young face more easily. Seen from the rear, her thighs seemed almost fragile in their slenderness. The neat, demure cheeks of Julie's nineteen-year-old bottom were tightly rounded and well parted as a result of her petite shape. She had chosen to bend diagonally over the top of the stool-corner to corner-which seemed unusual. Yet what difference could it make, since the straps held her arms and legs so tightly?