"The state of her thighs! And see between her buttocks! The wanton young slut has even seduced the loyal guards by offering herself as a young matron of Sodom! These emancipated young wives with their educated ways-they have no shame! Married seven or eight years, you say, Pasha? A child-birth or two? Disgraceful! How one would like to see her truly flogged for such promiscuity!"
Lesley turns the high crown of her short-cut, fair hair, her startled eyes searching those of the two venerable lady moralists. Their smiles are full of wicked promise. The one who speaks lays a richly ringed hand on the firm, young maturity of one of Lesley's bottom-cheeks.
"Permit me, Pasha. My coachman who waits outside has a fine, thin switch of supple whalebone cased in leather. The most recalcitrant of my carriage-ponies is brought to obedience by half a dozen strokes across the rump. In the ordinary course of events, its use on a young wife of twenty-eight would hardly be prudent. Such tales she might tell! Happily, Lesley's complaints will not be heard! Moreover, its use is surely justified on a young woman who abandons home and duty for adulterous passion? See how that mature young bottom of hers is so conveniently presented for prolonged and expert chastisement. With those two seat-cheeks to work upon, one would take Lesley far beyond the frontier of what the world at large calls punishment!"
The Pasha of Ramallah inclines his head in a gracious gesture of assent. Lesley's bare seat and hips squirm vainly in her straps, her buttocks and upper thighs on doubt crawling with a fearful and unendurable anticipation. The blue eyes under the fair, little-boy fringe grow frantic with apprehension. Her sulky mouth is open in a little gasp of alarm. To the satisfaction of the moralists, her arrogant features are now animated by fright. The elderly woman continues to discourse to her host on matters of discipline.
"If I may be so bold, Pasha, a damp wad of cotton, held in place by a strap as a gag, might be judged prudent. My English maid, Nerissa Gray, shall ply the smelling salts."
The Schoolmaster settles down to watch. He summons a nymph of thirteen, with solemn blue eyes and fair tresses, to sit on his naked manhood as he watches. As she slips off her schoolgirl skirt and pants, he remarks that Rachel's bottom already resembles that of a real young lady. To ensure her excitement at the scene before them, his hand moves between her thighs. "Is that nice, my pet?" he murmurs, "is it? Ah, I think it is! Watch them whip her for adultery! Ah, is that nice just there? Move your bottom a little so that the stiffness lies between its cheeks. Is that better? Yes? Watch the punishment, my sweet. Ah, did that hot wet splash startle you? I fear I must deluge you there in a moment! Blame the young adulteress for that! The sight of those firm bottom-moons of hers, striped and squirming under the leather pony-switch! No tears, now. Try to come while you watch, my pet…"
Do you begin to doubt the purity of our Schoolmaster's moral resolve? Still, you cannot deny that of the well-dressed older woman, as a pause occurs in Lesley's whipping.
"Reason suggests, Pasha, that Lesley will be a more submissive slave-wife if she bears indelibly the print of her master's ownership. These two little discs-without which I never travel-are no larger than coins. Yet they have such ingeniously variable lettering. See, now I make them assume your name and hers. They will heat to white without melting. And notice how conveniently Lesley bends just now! Tradition dictates the inward edges of her buttocks as the rational place for her slavery to be marked. Concealed when she stands upright. Visible for inspection when she bends. Her absolute submission will be easier to her after this. She will even grow proud to bear the sign of your conquest. Even though it be secret from others, a backward glance at her mirror will cause her to stop and admire. You would consent, sir? It shall be my privilege to supervise the proceeding."
You think such morality-or libertinage-is rare? I assure you that is not so. Consider Lesley's husband and lovers. To the world they may deplore loudly and angrily her abduction and sale into slavery. Yet, if given the chance, would not each of them bribe the guards handsomely for a long farewell keyhole peep at her in her present ordeal? She being lost to them anyway, would they not gaze in stiffening admiration at the artful tapestry of the leather switch across the pale moons of Lesley's bottom? Remember, too, what they may have endured from her self-possessed arrogance and wilful promiscuity. Would they not, as a result, choose this final keyhole peep rather than a last tender interview and soft embrace?
What the young wife now undergoes is, by tradition, the revenge of a betrayed husband. Imagine him, the keyhole spy, watching the bellows blow the brazier coals. The young wife's long trim thighs, strapped tightly together, and the pale firm cheeks of her backside as she bends, are presented to his gaze. The straight fair hair of her urchin-crop is turned. How changed are the aloof blue eyes, the fair-skinned features, the sulky mouth, as she stares in a fascination of horror at the brazier coals and the small, lettered discs! Ten long minutes pass before the elderly guardian of young wives' morals is satisfied with the rose-red brilliance of the discs. During this time, the strapped thighs tense and shift compulsively. The witnesses admire the taut maturity of this emancipated housewife's backside, shaped by love, marriage and child-rearing. Yet its cheeks squirm uncontrollably, as if seated bare on the most tormenting prickle of horsehair. Lesley pleads her case with all the woeful urgency of a twelve-year-old schoolgirl ordered by her teacher to the whipping room.
Be assured that the wronged bridegroom at the keyhole would not intervene if he could. Such is conjugal morality! Indeed, he is obliged to unbutton himself for comfort, caring not who sees. The elderly woman's fur-clad arm goes 'round Lesley's waist to steady the subject. Her maid plies the smelling salts. Every moral gentleman in the room is driven to seek comfort for his excitement. With her other hand, the elderly woman chooses the smooth, yellowed ivory skin on the left-hand slope of Lesley's bottom-crack. She presses down the heated disc and holds it steady during several seconds of wadded frenzy.
Jilted husbands and lovers at their keyholes are true moralists now. Each clutches his stiffness ecstatically. The discs return to the coals for the task is only half completed. Our moral voyeurs are beside themselves with expectation. Mouths open and eyes wide, they await the turning of the other cheek for the rest of Lesley's arse markings, signing the seal of slavery.
To be sure there are libertines present. Yet how innocent they are by contrast. Arab boys, fourteen or fifteen years old, crouch in every shadow and corner of the room. As the whip is fetched, and Lesley twists her urchin-crop frantically, each lad directs her forlorn blue eyes to the stiffness in his hand. Whispering randily, each one urges Lesley to turn her behind a little more in his direction so that he may have a more exciting view of it under the lash. It is the strong sap of youth, not moral humbug, which stirs such excitement in these Arab boys.
You would rather be a libertine than join cause with moralists of this kind? My felicitations on your choice! What awaits you then?
Be sure there will follow an auction of such beauties as you have seen. Linda and Valerie, Vanessa and Elaine, Noreen and Maggie, Nabyla and Connie, Patrizia and Lesley. All shall appear on the dais and go under the hammer. Lord of the world of fancy, you may purchase as you choose. Yours, too, the choice of pleasures which you may enjoy in the harem of your dreams with these chosen beauties. Perhaps you will be more ingenious still. Shall your palace of love contain several pleasure domes, each filled with young odalisques expert in some skill or to be submitted to some caprice of yours?
Will there be one where Linda and Francesca greet you with parted lips and agile tongues? Is there a second, where Linda and Valerie offer you the warm avenue of pleasure between their legs? Can there be a third, in which two sturdy young women, like Maggie and Noreen, bend to offer their behinds for your entry? Must Elaine and Lesley languish in a fourth, bending for discipline? Perhaps you will be content to mingle demands among your girls. Perhaps you will demand a single favourite pleasure from them all.