My father would say, “A female is like unto a garden, chosen for one's private pleasures. One does not allow another to come in and pick the flowers.”
I sometimes (feebly) quoted that to Caroline or Adelaide.-“Huh! Him!” my sister would laugh. Caroline would declare: “That rogue! Mark how he speaks of pleasure-only his. Were you as selfish, then I would not marry you.”
I never had a reply to that, alas.
“Don't try to make one up,” they both would laugh. The logic of the female is as twisted wire that will not be unravelled. There is talk of suffragism now-the vote for women. Heaven knows what may become of us. These are the last years of the golden age perhaps, and should be cherished. There may be no more Myrtles then-perish the thought.
But pardon me, I have not introduced her yet. Myrtle Davington-Haines was just nineteen and her sister Norma two years younger. They were sent to us for “dedication of their altars to desire”: a scrumptious phrase, I thought, and one to cherish.
Lord and Lady Somner first received them. (This was nigh on twenty years ago.) I and my sister and my Caroline were ready to depart and take up our abode again in Adelaide's own house, this intelligence disturbing Myrtle and Norma who knew nothing of the purpose to which they had been sent except to say it was a “holiday.” Our ages being closer to their own, they were happier to depart with us, a shyness on them like a cloud that we endeavoured to disperse with merriment.
I took a fancy to them both. Myrtle was dark, her hair half down her back, and in straight fashion that I rather like. It comes most sleekly to the touch and may be gripped (not to be cruel) when a girl is mounted from the rear. Indeed, she may then be handled like a nervous colt and made to keep her shoulders still. Her tits were high and round and pumpkin firm. They mounded nicely through her dress. Her hips were slim but promised fullness at the rear. She matched my height; I have a fondness, too, for that. Her thighs were silky-always warm within. Her waist could almost be encompassed by my hands and this, as always, added prominence to her tight bottom.
Norma was smaller. Quite the schoolgirl look. Her bottom was the chubbiest-had the same firm and silky feel that peaches have. In time she would grow plump, but at that age was perfect for the sport. Her nipples were the sharpest I have ever known and tickled ones chest deliriously when she was being fucked.
“The first day is a day of rest. We shall explore the possibilities, resistances, acceptances-all that,” said Caroline and shooed me off once we had gained the house and felt its glowing warmth anew.
“Yes,” said Myrtle; “Yes,” said Norma, too. They knew not of what she spoke, of course, and were bemused by a manner more mature than were her years.
I took myself to the garden with a book and flirted with a maid who had just arrived. The girls took to a bedroom as they always do upon arrival. An hour passed-I ventured in again, took coffee and liqueurs with them when they descended to the drawing room. All were attired in their chemises, stockings, shoes. Myrtle and Norma blushed and hid their legs. We were served without a flutter from the maid who had been primed in every possible way (much as a glowing pistol is) by Lord and Lady Somner first. She received an extra ten pounds annually for her discretion-in the end became a “lady,” married well, and now trains girls herself in Kensington. Such good fortune does the Wheel of Life bring sometimes to the more percipient.
The conversation in the drawing room was quite sedate. We spoke of hobbies and pursuits, collecting dried flowers, shells, the like. Embroidery and petite point came into it as well. The sisters, though a little nervous, settled more, though ever conscious of a showing of their legs, the snow-mounds of their titties half revealed.
“And then there is exercising,” Caroline said suddenly as more liqueurs were drunk. The intention, as I saw, was to make the visitors tipsy, but no more than that. It is considered by some unsportsmanlike-but when the devil drives… And we were young, besides.
“That is to say croquet and tennis and such?” asked Myrtle.
“No, my dear. I mean the exercising of the female form in ways more bountiful. There are postures to be learned. You have been taught a leetle, I believe?”
Norma giggled at that and covered up her mouth. Myrtle compressed her lips-looked all too prim.
“Well, as to that…” she began, but had no further words to say. Adelaide refilled her glass. She hiccuped a trifle and sat very still. Perhaps her bottom moved a little at the thought. If not, I then I imagined that it did. I thought how tight that her bottom would be, and that of Norma, too.
“Yes, as to that…” Caroline replied in pensive tone. Then she clapped her hands and said, “Come-we will go upstairs again.”
They are to be birched, I thought. I licked my lips, but dared not follow up. And soon enough squeals came, and cries. I did not hear the swishing of the birch, but a more subtle sound that has greater menace to it.
“Nee-aargh! Oh no!” screamed Myrtle loudly. As I learned later, she was put over first, her bottom bared, and Norma made to watch the striping of her sister's wriggling orb. I thought the house would split asunder with their cries, then finally all was still and silence reigned. I adjusted my expression as best as I could. My stalk was up and thrusting through my trouser cloth.
Caroline descended and sat on my lap. “What is to do?” I asked. Her bottom wriggled warmly on my cock.
“I have caned them. They are resting. Easy does it, dear. Tilly (the maid, that is) will take them up refreshments in due course. Myrtle is difficult, I fear. She has not had her cunny or her bottom tapped as yet. She may have to be held at first, I think. A pity of it, but you will not mind?”
“If you do not.” I drew her mouth to mine.
She giggled up against my lips-a tickly feel. “I like to see it going in-you know I do. I want to see her rosy bottomhole gripped round your cock, as Adelaide's has been. I have a whim to bind her tightly. It may prove a blessing to her in the end.”
It was so. I would rather skip the hours that followed, and yet waiting is a part of it. I did not see the sisters until suppertime. Three quite light stingers with the cane were given both before they were brought down. Each wore a pair of white and spotless drawers, white stockings and white shoes. A filmy peignoir, only veiled their breasts, but showed the nipples, brown-tinged, underneath, the milky bobbing of their lovesome pairs. Each wore a leather collar round her neck to which a silver chain was linked. They came in blushing, wriggling just a little, thighs a-glow above their stocking tops. Caroline led Myrtle and my sister brought in Norma on her chain. Their arms were bound down to their sides with a broad strap.
“Sit! You will be fed. What babies you both are,” said Caroline, and spoons of soup were brought up to their lips. Myrtle refused hers first, but then was made to sup. Norma made a slightly sucking noise and flushed the more for it. I, sitting opposite at table, took great care not to look at them too much. I ate as slowly as they had to do, and all was still. Their mouths were wiped. Then, sitting still, they watched while Caroline and Adelaide both ate. They had a look of apprehension in their eyes I did not cherish.
“Dearest, come-I need you for this part,” said Caroline finally. The chairs scraped back. I made to help the sisters rise, wanting of course to feel their charming forms, but that was not allowed. Into the drawing room I went and waited. Then they were brought in and seated both before me on hard chairs, upright. The collar chains extended halfway down their backs and were fastened to a wooden strut below. They could not rise. I wondered at their awkward postures then.