The Sisters Lovett appeared principally in Paris, and their costumes were-well-Parisian. Little Hony was going to make her debut very, very, very indeed.
Lady Tittle chose a plain black silk, very low in the neck, and very high in the upwards part. It was very close cut in the waist, but Hony could go into a 15 1/2 corset.
With the dress were delightful adjuncts of layers of frilled petticoats and the daintiest of drawers, very short, so that the open-work silk stockings had to be almost as long as tights.
Lady Tittle left the girl alone to dress. She had a mind to investigate this ship on her own. Madge had been imperiously summoned by Miss Jepps to help make her even more fascinating.
Hony undressed stark naked. She was very cute for her age, and she quite understood that she was completely in the power of these pirates. There was little also that she did not understand about the relations of the sexes. If she was going to be seduced, which she strongly suspected might be possible, she was determined that her lingerie should be faultless. Her little head was chock-a-block with naughty thoughts as she looked at her reflection in the long cheval glass.
It was a pretty sight. A young Lady Godiva one might have called her-for Hony could sit on her fair, naturally curly hair, which fell over her shoulders like a shower of golden rain, swelling, it seemed, lasciviously over her semi-matured breasts. She was a twentieth-century Danae, and Jupiter could not have resisted her.
A feint golden down curled between her thighs, and there was a little fluff underneath each of her beautifully-rounded arms.
She frankly admired herself and was posturing a little before the glass, stretching her arms above her head, curving her back, altering the position of her legs, now standing with them tight together to see if any aperture showed between the thighs-and it didn't; Hony's legs were singularly perfect-now standing with them well apart, muscles taut, pleased to see how the sinews rose under the milk-white flesh.
She went right up to the glass, and kissed the reflection of her own lips, thrilling with the recollection of that lass in the motor launch. She was rubbing her little stomach against the glass, pinching the cheeks of her bottom to see if they were firm, when the door opened suddenly and another girl stepped quickly into the room.
Hony jumped away from the glass with a scream, and instinctively clasped her hands over her most precious possession. Then she laughed.
It was only her flapper friend, Carrie Francks, a little Cuban beauty whom she had casually met in the Waldorf Astoria before they left New York.
Carrie was being sent to Paris to complete her education. She was not a pure Cuban, as there was a lot of Yankee blood on her father's side, but she had great, lustrous Spanish eyes, which gleamed as they fixed on the naked apparition of Hony. At the hotel, Lady Tittle having run down to Newport for the night, Hony and Carrie had shared a bed for company's sake-well… to continue.
Carrie was very dark and very slight Her figure was really too slim to be good, but there was a feline grace in it which was very tempting. Her face lacked good features, but her very full red lips, her glorious eyes, and her abundance of raven hair made up for any defects. She was a striking contrast to the pink and white beauty of golden-haired Hony.
'My, but you do look a peach,' she exclaimed. 'Kiss me.'
And she didn't wait; she bundled Hony into her arms and smothered her with kisses. She kissed her mouth, her eyes, her ears, her glinting hair and, descending lower, ran her tongue over each delicious little breast in turn. Hony shivered with delight and wrapped her little arms round the other girl's shoulders; it was evident that she was not unused to this class of pastime, and when Carrie's right hand slipped down to the little downy mount between her thighs and a deft finger was inserted into her moist little cunt, she wriggled with joy and cooed with delight.
'Come to the bed, dear,' the dark girl whispered. 'I must kiss it.'
Hony was on her back in a moment and stretched wide apart her deliciously-moulded legs; the other buried her face between them, gripped her little sweetheart almost savagely round the legs, and-well, her tongue wasn't idle. Hony's lovely face took on a beatific expression, which made her look far too angelic for the occupation she was engaged in. Her little fingers smoothed Carrie's raven locks and her legs, folded across her lover's shoulders, twitched convulsively with joy. It was obvious that Carrie was no mean performer. The sucking noise made by her tongue proclaimed the fact that little Hony was spending copiously. Presently she pushed Carrie's head aside.
'Stop, dearie,' she gasped. 'Stop, and turn round; you know what I mean.'
Carrie slipped off the bed, stood up, and pulled her skirts up to her waist. She wore lovely underclothes-her parents were very wealthy Cuban people-and as she climbed on top of Hony the bewildering mass of frou-frou was a pretty sight. It was a soixante-neuf which ought to have been immortalised by a painter.
Carrie's firm bottom peeped, a little brown in colour, between the slit in her drawers; her legs were perhaps a little on the thin side, but delicately shaped; her ankle was very tiny and her instep very high.
Hony's white arms gleamed against the black cloth of Game's tailor-made costume. Her dainty legs, rose-tinted at knees and toes, were once more round Carrie's neck, but this time she was doing her share of the work. Only half of her lovely face was visible between Carrie's thighs, and her glorious golden hair was thrown back in abandon over Carrie's befrilled Parisian drawers.
The two girls writhed in an ecstasy of lust, and a knock at the door passed unheeded, nor was the turning of a handle and the entrance of a man noticed by the engrossed minettes.
It was the young man. He came softly into the cabin and stood regarding the spectacle.
'I've paid a good many pounds to see this done in Paris before now,' he reflected, 'and yet never a prettier couple little devils!'
The young man was immaculately dressed in a slight variation of ordinary evening dress. The colour of the suit was of dark blue, with a black velvet semi-collar. The coat was cut very tight in the waist and very full in the tails. The trousers fitted perfectly over slim, but well-formed, legs. Across his breast he wore a sash, obviously belonging to some foreign order, and from a ribbon round his neck hung a glittering star. On the lapel of his coat several other orders were fixed, all of barbaric nature in design. His auburn hair was parted exactly in the centre, from the middle of the forehead to the nape of the neck. Over his arm hung a dark-blue overcoat, and in his hand was a semi-nautical, semi-military peaked cap, heavily gold braided.
In fact, he looked like a glorified Seymour Hicks.
After a moment's pause, feasting his eyes on the lust-feast before him, he walked up to the bed and smacked Carrie lightly on the bottom. Thinking that it was Hony, the girl did not stir; only her bottom moved lasciviously. But Hony lifted her eyes-and beheld the man.
With a scream she pulled Carrie's mass of frou-frou over her face, and Carrie, startled, looked up.
'Well,' said the young man, 'you wicked children, what do you think I am going to do to you? I am master here, you know. Come, get up.'
Very shamefully the two got up and sat on the edge of the bed, Hony hastily pulling the quilt round her naked body.
'I must apologise,' he said, 'but there was no answer to my knock and I had to see that the portholes were closed; the sea is rising. I must thank the elements for giving me the opportunity of witnessing so delightful a sight.'
Carrie stood up, suddenly pulling herself together.
You ought to be ashamed of yourself,' she said. 'If you are a gentleman, leave the cabin at once.'