"Your first taste of ordeal by a glowing cheroot, Noreen? Ah, those strapping, nineteen-year-old bottom-cheeks of yours! How many men have admired them in tight denim, as you worked on all fours at your polishing! Did you reward their admiration by a flick of your dark fringe and a cold stare? Then how those gentlemen would love to be in my place now!"
There came the dry squeak of leather strained in vain.
"An ardent caress on the crown of your left-hand arse-cheek to begin, Noreen! Ah, does that make your toes curl? You would burst our eardrums were it not for the wadding! A moment to draw the Havana to brightness. Now we can rouge you as daringly as we like on your arse-cheeks, Noreen, since they are not the ones you display to the world!"
The feline mewing made his next remark inaudible. Then we heard his voice once more.
"A moment to brush away the grey blemish of ash, Noreen! And now the ardent red touched to your pale bottom-cheek once more… Ah, what a soprano aria you would sing if you could, Noreen!… So deep a blush already… Do you try to turn the other cheek in order to spare this one? So desperate already, Noreen, to feel the vital glow on the other side? Have no fear, its turn shall come. First, let us tap the ash and draw. A little more touching-up on this cheek first. We must rouge it quite outrageously!"
His words were lost to us for a moment. Then he said presently, "Dare we highlight the dark valley between the snow hills, Noreen? Let us be bold! The red glow marks our trace along that rear valley's lower slope. I hear a zephyr blow rudely, do I not? Such high notes, Noreen. An encore is imperative! Now we ascend the second bottom-hill, as yet so pale… Those stout, leather straps will not break, Noreen. Resign yourself to that! A fall of powdered grey and now the touch of ardent cherry red. Such is the penalty of violence, Noreen! After this you shall be my obedient cabin-girl!"
So it proved, showing the power of scolding over a trollop!
Tomorrow we sight land, they say. Every hour brings closer
Your own adoring Charlie
LETTER 11
My dearest Lizzie,
As a postscript to my epistle written on board ship, I send this briefest of notes to tell you that I am now safely arrived on the continent which holds within it your own sweet self! How long it will be before I see you again, I dare not say. It may be many weeks or, by a happy chance, I may overtake this very letter with the wings of adoration! It depends much on the disposal of my "cargo" and the state of my late Uncle Brandon's affairs here.
I will, however, regale you a moment with the events of the last night of our voyage. The inspector, who has now quite deserted his post in England for some more lucrative employment here among the traders, continued in his role of master of ceremonies. He devised what he promised would be a Rabelesian banquet for our final dinner: the best food, the finest vintages, and a bevy of nude damsels to attend to our every desire! You may well believe that not one of his invitations was declined! The result was both inexpressibly randy and yet comic at the same time.
We entered the main saloon with its silks and cut glass. I vow, Lizzie, I experienced a combination of sensations unknown to me before: a stiffening penis and a desire to roar with laughter. Separately, these are common enough. Together, they must be rare indeed.
Ahead of me was the banquet table at which the inspector, the Captain, and I were to sit. It consisted of a light, wooden surface, some six feet long and two feet across, and a hole cut in the middle through which the lighting column rose. What is so curious, then, you ask? The table was supported at either end, not by legs but on the backs of two figures kneeling on all fours. Well, you say, such carvings are not unusual. Ah, but these were not carved figures. The nude flesh of Maggie and Noreen was more succulently moulded! The stools over which they were strapped supported them in turn and the tabletop was secured by a harness 'round their waists and shoulders. A man who sat on one side would have Maggie's blond head protruding on his left-hand side, from under the table end, and the pale spread of Noreen's strapping young hips on his right. Those who sat opposite would have Noreen's face and Maggie's rump either side of their chairs!
The lighting was more ingenious still. Our good inspector had had cause to arrest three loudmouthed street girls, some fourteen years old, for their noisy conduct. He had carefully ensured that they should be among our cargo in order that he might have some stock to drive to market.
Mandy, Tracy, and Sal (as Sally preferred to be known) stood naked upon the central platform of the table and provided our candelabra. Their wrists were joined in the leather cuffs above. It was Sal who provided the light for me and to whom I gave the most attention. What a pint-sized little strumpet she was at thirteen or fourteen! Imagine a broad, high boned face with rouge on the cheeks. Picture the snub little nose and the dark, defiant eyes. Add to it a collar-length crop of fair, tousled, wavy hair. In her figure, she was not tall, even for her age. Unlike the elegance of Tracy's skirts, Sal's costume for roaming the streets included the tight denim of her working trousers. Picture the two as they must have been-almost like boy and girl!-the firm tomboy thighs and the fat little cheeks of Sal's bottom rolling as she walked, filling the tight jeans cloth so heavily!
Now, like her two young friends, she posed naked on the pedestal. Like them, too, she had an ingenious dildo threaded in her cunt, curving out in the front to become a triple candle holder with its three tall flames twelve inches or so from her belly. At the rear, an identical candelabrum had been firmly inserted between the fat little cheeks of her arse!
Vanessa and the other girls attended as our charming naked waitresses. As we awaited the first course, the inspector told us humorously of his arrest of the three street girls. How they had gone through the quiet middle-class thoroughfares, Sal bawling her war song: "I go out on Saturday night, and I look for a fucking fight!" How she had insolently begged for a cigarette-"Got any fags?"-and how she had surrendered to the riff-raff melting pot of society. Having apprehended the three young strumpets, he was struck at once by the thought of being a partner in Uncle Brandon's business rather than a mere assistant.
Six waitresses entered, almost staggering under the weight of the huge salver, whose cover still hid from us our banquet. The splendid piece was loaded onto the table and the cover removed. Can you guess, my sweet?
It was twenty-five-year-old Jackie, the promiscuous young slut with her bell of blond hair, impudent blue eyes, sullen jaw, and fattish hips. Have no fear, she was not the meal itself, merely the delectable platter. Upon her breasts were arranged the hors d'oeuvres, so that her nipples appeared as the cherries atop them, for she was entirely naked. Jackie's sluttish young body was to provide all the plate and glass we required. We took wine by pouring it into her mouth and she turned her blond head obediently to the imbiber and gave him the draught from her mouth into his, nicely mulled.
Our fingers worked eagerly on the salad of the hors d'oeuvres, the slightly acid tingling of the salad dressing causing Jackie's nipples to stiffen remarkably. Finger bowls were not needed: glancing down at the firm, pale insolence of Noreen's face, I had only to hold my fingers to her mouth and command her tongue to do the work. There were some very firm bananas in the fruit bowl and you will believe I could resist taking one in my other hand. Maggie's blond hair, as well as her crude, pale features, were reflected for me in a mirror. As I coaxed the banana into Mag's young cunt, she was as eager as I. Then her tongue washed the Captain's fingers lovingly.