From Blushes 33. You'll really have to join the dots in your imagination on this one, as there's no text.
Sunday, 25 February 2018
From Uniform Girls 54. Quite the soap opera — maybe a new storyline for the Archers…
Behind the rectory is a small walled garden with a locked gate. To the left of the gate is a young maple tree whose yellow and orange tints indicate it is autumn. The wall and the locked gate mean that none of the windows in the 1930s building can be overlooked. But if one could look into that central ground floor window on this particular autumn afternoon one would see:
A quite small room unfurnished except for a couple of upright wooden chairs, with its single door half-open. And in the centre of the room a girl standing in full chorister rig. White surplice over ankle-length bright scarlet cassock. The girl’s head is uncovered to show corn-blonde curls cut short. The curls frame a pretty face which at this moment has a thoughtful expression.
She steps towards the window for a quick look out. Reassured perhaps that no one is out there she goes back to the centre of the room and her hands now go to the hem of the thigh-length surplice. Lifting it… up over her blonde head.
The girl’s name is Joanna Milway and she is 17. She has done this once before, two days ago. So she knows what is involved now. If of course things proceed exactly as they did on Monday. Monday’s happening did proceed pretty much as she had been led to expect by another girl, Chloe Stevens, who apparently has been doing it on a regular basis. Joanna questioned Chloe carefully, once she had got it out of her. And Joanna’s own first time was what Chloe had said. Even so it had naturally been very scary. The first time. And this time, the second, it is still scary, Joanna’s heart is definitely thumping. Well naturally.
Naturally. If you’re not used to this sort of thing. Taking your clothes off. For Mr Elsway. The Reverend Elsway. The vicar in other words. Taking everything off. While he watches through that half-open door.
Take everything off and then go in there in the next room… And let him spank your bare bottom.
It had been a surprise, of course. Finding out. Chloe naturally wasn’t telling anyone and it was only that chance thing she happened to let slip out, followed by her embarrassed laugh, which Joanna had picked up. And then, as Chloe became more embarrassed, pressed her harder. Joanna could be very alert, quick on little nuances. And also becoming aware, at 17 now, that things were not always what they seemed. There were certainly secrets in the village and she knew some already. Chloe and Mr Elsway was a new one. And when Chloe finally admitted what she let the vicar do, a very exciting one of course.
Who would have thought it of Mr Elsway! Although Joanna had caught him looking at her own legs. Her knees. When he came to tea and Joanna was sitting across from him on the settee. The last time Joanna had let her skirt slide up a little, to give him a bit more view, a bit of inside thigh and Mr Elsway had definitely looked — and perhaps gone a little red in the face.
But still, having Chloe take all her clothes off, that was something else. Her chorister’s outfit. It seemed Chloe had to put her robes on for this little ceremony, if you could call it that. Mr Elsway wanted Chloe in her choirgirl outfit. And then wanted it removed. Everything off. Chloe’s tits bare, and her pussy too. And especially of course her nicely-rounded bottom. That was the centre of Mr Elsway’s attentions. Was it the only item of his attention? Had he touched Chloe’s pussy for instance? Joanna had asked her that. Chloe had said no but had flushed. So maybe he did…?
He hadn’t touched Joanna’s pussy though, that first time. It was just her bottom.
Chloe was 17, the same as Joanna. A nice-looking brunette and shapely already, as Joanna was. Both filling out nicely. And of course they were both in the choir. They were the only girls of that age. Wearing those rather glam robes that their mothers lovingly made. These glam robes that Joanna now, this Wednesday afternoon, was removing.
She has the surplice and cassock off now. Underneath is what Joanna wore last time. What Mr Elsway wants. It is not very much. A pair of ordinary navy schoolgirl knickers. Nothing fancy, not the glam ones that Joanna will sometimes wear. And white knee-socks with her flat black shoes. And here again Joanna will for choice wear something more grown-up and glamorous than knee-socks. That is, nylons and a suspender-belt which she is aware many men and boys find distinctly more interesting than knee-socks. But they are not Mr Elsway’s choice for a bare bottom spanking. And that is it. Nothing else. No vest or slip. And no bra. So that Joanna’s nice-shaped tits which are already good-sized were bare under the cassock when she came round to the rectory. And now are quite bare.
She puts the cassock on top of the surplice on the chair and then stands up straight. Not looking through into the next room. But conscious of his eyes of course. Standing straight and facing the door. Letting him see her now nude tits. Which Joanna is of the opinion are better than Chloe’s, although of course Chloe’s are nice too. And now… it is the knickers. Slide them down. It is scary doing this. Joanna’s heart bumping. At the thought of being quite nude. And then being over Mr Elsway’s lap.
Chloe’s first time was a year ago, when she missed a choir practice. That was what she said. Mr Elsway went on a bit, and said he might kick her out of the choir. Though of course that was a rather empty threat in fact as the choir was small already, with few suitable candidates in Lesser Downfield and the surrounding hamlets. But that was what Mr Elsway said. That was the threat. But then he went on to indicate a possible lesser punishment. Which was spanking Chloe’s bottom. It would have to be strictly confidential of course. Of course!
Anyway Chloe was persuaded to accept this punishment. Which that first time did not involve taking her knickers down. Was Chloe being stupid to allow it, knowing that Mr Elsway wouldn’t really want to kick her out of the choir? Not really. Because the next time Mr Elsway wanted to spank her bottom, which was quite soon afterwards, Chloe said no, she didn’t think so. And also she wondered if she might want to tell her mother about the first time, even though she had agreed not to tell a soul. But now she might. But on the other hand if Mr Elsway might like to consider supplementing her pocket money… Which was barely sufficient for her needs…
Yes that was how it started. Mr Elsway had decided he could add a supplement. In exchange for the pleasure of spanking Chloe’s bottom. On the bare now. Regular visits to the rectory for this purpose. With Chloe in her full choirgirl rig and underneath those prim schoolgirl knickers and white knee-socks which he was to specify for Joanna. Chloe stripping down to the nude while he watched from the adjacent room. Just like Joanna. But sometimes for variety perhaps Mr Elsway doesn’t want all Chloe’s clothes off. Sometimes he does it with her still wearing the choirgirl outfit. Just taking her knickers down.
So that was how it started with Chloe. And Joanna wondered why Mr Elsway hadn’t tried it on with her. She had also missed choir practice now and then but had only got a mild reprimand. No threats of being thrown out, and then the suggestion that she might like to offer her bottom up for Mr Elsway’s attentions. Joanna could only think it was because her family was middle-class, whereas Chloe’s father was just a farm worker. Maybe Mr Elsway thought if he got found out he could handle the Stevenses but Joanna’s parents would kick up a stink. Maybe he would very much like to try it with herself. Those times he sneaked a look up her skirt when he came to tea! But he was too scared.
But he needn’t be. She wouldn’t mind the same. Taking her clothes off. And having her bare bottom spanked. Imagining it caused hot little shivers down Joanna’s spine. And between her legs too. Hot pulsations. In bed she slips her hand down there. Into her hot, wet split… No, she wouldn’t mind it at all. She wouldn’t mind a bit more pocket money too. And she certainly wouldn’t tell. Could Mr Elsway afford paying two girls?
It seemed he could. When she went to him. Feeling those shivers of excitement, but able to put on a reasonably confident demeanour. For one thing, Joanna knew Mr Elsway didn’t earn anything like as much as her father, her mother had said vicars’ pay was a pittance. Like Chloe’s father’s pay of course. So Joanna was able to seem in control. As she said she had a question to ask. Which was why had Mr Elsway let her off when she missed choir? Whereas poor Chloe got her bottom spanked.
Her bare bottom, Joanna added, to show she was fully in command of the facts.
Mr Elsway became most embarrassed. Red in the face. Sort of stammering it out: he didn’t know what Joanna was talking about. Etcetera. Anyway they finally got round to it. As Joanna, keeping her cool, said she wasn’t going to tell. That Mr Elsway was paying Chloe to let him do it. And furthermore that if he liked she wouldn’t mind the same. The same as Chloe. If Mr Elsway could afford it.
And it seemed he could. Yes. With the cards on the table Mr Elsway became more confident. As it seemed now that Joanna wasn’t planning to shop him. And not only that but here was delectable Joanna offering him the possibility of her own bottom! An amazing turn of fortune in fact! If he could afford it. Well maybe he couldn’t really afford it. Clergymen’s pay was a pittance. But the Reverend Sydney Elsway couldn’t resist. This unbelievable temptation.
No doubt it was scary. Well Joanna’s parents were a whole different kettle of fish from Chloe’s. Could she be trusted? But Joanna now knew about Chloe, there was nothing he could do about that. So… why try to resist this fantastic temptation. Joanna’s marvellous bottom!
He made her repeat that she wouldn’t tell. And, his voice gruff with emotion, he pointed out Joanna had come to him and made the offer.
Joanna smirked. ‘But no one would believe that.’
Sydney Elsway squirmed. He knew he was putting himself at the mercy of this delicious 17-year-old. It was madness! He should resist. And desist with Chloe. And maybe somehow… it would all never have got started. But…
Joanna was still smirking. And sticking out those delicious young boobs. Which he was sure were bigger than Chloe’s. He had to see them nude. And her pussy! And of course her bottom. Her cheeky bum which wiggled in an artless way when she walked in a tight skirt. No, unfortunately there was no way he could resist.
Keeping his voice as calm as possible Sydney Elsway suggested the next afternoon. Joanna in her chorister outfit of course.
‘What about underneath?’ Joanna asked demurely.
Mr Elsway, with a little hesitation, spelled it out. Why not? What he really went for. The navy schoolgirl knickers. The white knee-socks. And nothing else. No slip or vest. No bra.
Joanna has everything off now. Except the white socks and the shoes of course. He likes you finally in the knee-socks and shoes, but nothing else. Otherwise nude. Nude tits trembling firmly at each step as now Joanna steps to the door. Into the other room. Where Mr Elsway has been waiting. Watching.
Mr Elsway is a bit red in the face. Has he got an erection? He had one last time, when he got Joanna over his lap. Joanna knows about erections. There is Robert Inley for one. Robert is Joanna’s own age and she fools around with him a bit in a flirty way. On a couple of occasions she has been persuaded to touch his erection and give it a fondle. And then taken her hand away, saying she mustn’t. Leaving Robert a lot more desperate than before of course.
Yes Robert, and there is also Mr Cullings. Mr Cullings who lives next door to Joanna. Mr Cullings is Joanna’s little secret. A secret that no-one knows about, including Chloe, although of course Joanna now knows Chloe’s secret. Mr Cullings is rather desperate for Joanna too. Mr Cullings with his big stiff erection. Which he loves Joanna to stroke.
But this is not Mr Cullings or of course Robert, who doesn’t know a whole lot yet. This is Joanna’s new secret. Mr Elsway. Who had a definite erection the last time he got her nude body over his lap. So probably this time?
He says what he said before. What Chloe said he says to her before he starts. She hasn’t been trying properly, not paying attention, at the last choir practice. That sort of guff. To set the scene as it were. So she has got to be dealt with. Standing before him Joanna says a meek, ‘Yes Mr Elsway.’ As she wonders about that erection in his trousers.
He has been standing close to the door but has now gone to sit on the chair. An upright wooden one like in the other room. ‘Right then,’ he says. ‘Come on. Come here you naughty girl.’
His eyes of course riveted on Joanna’s body. Those slightly trembly tits. The medium brown bush. Her pussy bush. As now she steps forward. His hands taking hold of her arm and then it is her bottom. Pulling her down. Across his thighs. His lap… yes, she can feel it. His hand fondlingly at Joanna’s bottom as he gets her just so. While underneath there is that stiff thing. Like Robert’s. Like Mr Cullings’s. As big as Mr Cullings’s? She won’t really know… unless Mr Elsway gets it out. Wants her hand on it. And he doesn’t want any of that. So Chloe says. It is just the spanking. Your bottom.
The hand has done its fondling. For the moment at least. As the spanking commences. It stings alright. She gasps out. Little involuntary yelps as the hard hand hits her soft flesh. Oh yes it really hurts. And there is that thing under her belly. Sort of jerking about. Maybe Mr Elsway is going to come.
Joanna know about men coming. From Biology Class. The male orgasm. The erect penis shooting out all those sperms. To fertilise the female. Shooting it up in a woman’s pussy. Or a girl’s of course when she is old enough. Joanna is certainly old enough at 17, and Robert Inley would like to do it to her. And Mr Cullings of course. Yes definitely Mr Cullings. He has recently made serious attempts to persuade her in fact. He said it is good for a girl to start, at 17. Good for her hormones. But Joanna is not going to, she doesn’t want to get pregnant. Her tummy filling out, a baby growing inside her. Oh God!
Yes Joanna knows about the male orgasm, and not just from Biology Class. There is Mr Cullings. He has come when she has been on his sofa with him. With his wife out of course. He has come when she has had that big thing in her hand. The stalk of it in her fist, big enough that her fingers won’t go right round it. His white stuff spurting out.
But like this with Mr Elsway you can’t really tell. Only that it is certainly jerking around under her. As Mr Elsway whacks his hand in.
Joanna’s bottom is jerking about too. Writhing and rolling. Because it really hurts! She is writhing and jerking but Mr Elsway has her held firm in his left hand. Round Joanna’s back and gripping her upper arm. It really hurts but it is really exciting too. It was really exciting thinking about it, imagining it. Like last night in bed with her fingers in her pussy. Imagining it and bringing herself off. But this is even more exciting. The real thing. Being nude over Mr Elsway’s lap with his hand whacking her bare bum. Even though it really hurts. Really stings.
Maybe Joanna will come? Just by being over Mr Elsway’s lap like this. Being spanked. Is it possible? Without fingers in her pussy?
Perhaps she would have. But in fact Mr Elsway does it. Even though Chloe said he never did it to her. Never touched her pussy. In fact after Mr Elsway has been whacking Joanna’s bum for some time, he does it. He stops whacking… and his hand goes between her legs. To her hot pussy. Which is already all wet. His fingers go in, and find her clit. And begin working at it. And in no time flat Joanna is coming. Shuddering and groaning. Her hips working frenziedly against his fingers.
Afterwards Joanna sees Chloe. Chloe won’t admit it at first but finally Joanna gets it out of her. Mr Elsway does bring Chloe off when he has her over his lap. Quite frequently, Chloe now admits. His hand in her pussy after he has been whacking her for a bit.
‘We should ask for more if he does that as well,’ Joanna says. But they don’t. For one thing maybe Mr Elsway can’t afford any more. And of course Joanna doesn’t really mind. Even though after that first time she primly told Mr Elsway, ‘You shouldn’t have done that.’ No she doesn’t really mind it. And nor probably does Chloe.
Joanna begins going to Mr Elsway twice a week to have her bottom spanked. Mostly with everything off, except the socks and shoes, but sometimes wearing her choirgirl outfit and just her knickers taken down. To have her bottom spanked. And usually at the termination his hand in her pussy. Bringing her off.
Yes twice weekly visits. At the same time there are other developments. There are still those sessions with Mr Cullings next door. Mr Cullings who wants more than he is getting, which is getting his hand up Joanna’s skirt at her pussy. And having her handle his own organ and sometimes bring him off. He wants more than this. More specifically he wants to fuck Joanna. And she doesn’t want it. Well she might like to try it but is too scared. So when Mr Cullings keeps on at her she says why doesn’t he try Chloe.
Joanna says she thinks maybe Chloe is doing it already. Joanna doesn’t really think this — although Chloe might be. Chloe says she isn’t, but then she isn’t always particularly truthful. About letting Mr Elsway bring her off for instance. So Joanna tells Mr Cullings he should try Chloe. The thought of Mr Cullings doing it to Chloe is quite exciting. She tells Mr Cullings that if Chloe doesn’t want to cooperate he should say he knows about Mr Elsway and he will tell her parents.
So Mr Cullings does this. George Cullings very much likes the idea of fucking Chloe, who of course is a very attractive 17-year-old. And being the daughter of a mere farm worker, well, probably she is doing it already. Especially with this business about the vicar. So he sees Chloe and puts the screws on her. And as she is only the daughter of a farm worker he can be more positive than with the daughter of his fellow-middle-class neighbour. More forceful. So that although Chloe doesn’t want to, he does it anyway. Screws her.
He does it a couple of times. And then Chloe panics. She thinks she is pregnant and tells her mother. Who tells her father. In fact Chloe isn’t pregnant at all. Partly out of relief perhaps that his daughter isn’t pregnant, Chloe’s dad gives her a belting. Takes his broad leather belt to Chloe’s bottom. Up in her room with Chloe spread face-down over her bed. With her skirt off and her knickers down.
Partly as a result of the belting, in the emotional aftermath, Chloe tearfully tells her mother everything. About Mr Elsway and also about Joanna’s involvement. Joanna’s involvement with the vicar and also that it was Joanna who told Mr Cullings so that he could put the screws on her.
And then Chloe tells Joanna she has told her mother. In fact Mrs Stevens has decided there is not a lot she can do about it all. She could presumably shop Mr Elsway but he is the vicar. And she could go and see Joanna’s mother but she decides not to do this either. Chloe has of course already been told she is not to let Mr Cullings screw her any more, and presumably he won’t pressurise her now because Chloe’s mum could tell his wife.
Joanna doesn’t know her mother isn’t going to be told. Actually she isn’t all that scared. She could always portray herself as the innocent party. Although she would certainly rather her mother didn’t know. But there is also the other thing Chloe has told Joanna, under persuasion. The belting from her father. That is extremely exciting. Joanna insists on all the details. And then.
She goes to see Chloe’s dad. Mr Stevens. Phoning him, first of all to arrange a time when neither Chloe nor her mum will be around. Jim Stevens can guess what it is about because Chloe’s story of Joanna’s involvement has been relayed to him. Although of course he cannot guess what Joanna is going to propose. He suggests Saturday morning, when Chloe and her mum will be out shopping.
It is intensely exciting! More exciting almost than that first visit to Mr Elsway. Joanna isn’t wearing her choirgirl outfit of course, she has on her normal weekend attire of skirt and blouse. Bare legs with high heel shoes. And no knickers! No knickers is of course exciting. Going to see Mr Stevens wearing no knickers. No knickers and… that belt!
Chloe said it really, really hurt! As if it was cutting her in two!
Mr Stevens has conducted Joanna into the living room. Joanna has been here before, to see Chloe. It is small and a bit dingy but then of course the Stevenses are poor, aren’t they? Mr Stevens himself is quite big and brawny, no doubt a lot stronger than either Mr Elsway or Mr Cullings. Thinking of him wielding a cane is enough to make you have kittens.
He is standing by the fireplace, waiting to hear what she has to say. Joanna clears her throat. Conscious that she is shaking. With fear? Or excitement? Conscious of the fact that she has no knickers on.
She leads off. She is awfully sorry. About Chloe and all that. She didn’t really mean for Mr Cullings to go and see Chloe. Joanna makes a face. ‘Of course he has been making me do things…’
‘Anyway I really am sorry. And I really don’t want my parents told. So I thought… if you wanted to… you could give me the same as Chloe. That belt…’
As Mr Stevens takes in this probably quite startling suggestion, Joanna adds in a little-girl voice, ‘I haven’t got any knickers on. I took them off. To show th…that I was really ready to take it.’
`No knickers…?’ Mr Stevens says in a croaky voice.
Joanna shakes her head. She lifts her skirt up. High enough to show her pussy. Her brown bush. Then lets the skirt drop again. She steps towards Chloe’s dad. Has he got an erection?
As Joanna moves closer he repeats it. ‘No knickers?’ And reaches for her arm, to pull her closer still. Then, in range now, his other hand slides up her skirt. Up one bare thigh. Her flank. And then onto Joanna’s bare bottom. Her front is against him and she can feel the buckle of his big belt. And also below it Mr Stevens’s big stiff penis. Yes he has got an erection.
She squirms away just a bit, not enough to dislodge his hand on her bare bottom but to allow her own hand to slide in. To feel that belt buckle… and then down. Grasping his stiff organ through his trousers. Just briefly. Sliding her hand away again she mouths, ‘Of course I do…don’t really want that belt…’
But Joanna does get it. A couple of whacks with it. Mr Stevens says she deserves it. That is after he has had her over his lap and whacked her bare bottom with his hand. And also had his hand in between her legs.
He also says that if he isn’t going to tell her parents she is going to need more. She’s going to have to come round again. More of that belt? Which really does make you think you’re going out into orbit.
No, there’s no more of the belt. There’s some more spanking of Joanna’s bare bottom. And then there is something else. Mr Stevens says, ‘what you need, Joanna, is a bit of what our Chloe got from that Mr Cullings…’
Story from Janus 56 by Richard Manton
The romance of Leon and his two young mistresses ran the full course of the Cirque Eden’s summer season at Cabourg, in the last days of the belle époque. Against a sea that was millpond-smooth, the white caps of the tents rose among the trees of the Parc des Princes. Throughout the well-kept streets of the fashionable resort the gaudy posters were filled by trumpets and horses, bare-legged girls and Bengal tigers.
All day the summer tide lay glittering and languid beyond the sands. At dusk the coloured lamps of the promenade and the windows of the Grand Hotel shimmered and flickered like Aladdin’s treasure on the whispering water. From the white steam-yachts anchored in a line, a beat of music and the laughter of dinner parties carried to the esplanade, where the wives of brokers and lawyers paraded in dresses of butterfly elegance.
At night the Parc des Princes belonged to the Cirque Eden. Leon, assistant to Madame Solange the ringmistress, was master of many trades. He was Tonton the children’s favourite clown, in his pointed hat and baggy pants. In jerkin and breeches, he was also a trainer of horses and their bareback riders, a master of properties, and wire-walker.
Of his exact relationship with his 17-year-old bareback rider Louise, much was suggested but very little known. Neither she nor Leon had a history. Louise might be a lost princess or a petty thief. To the fashionable world, a circus-girl was no better than a thief. To the common people of the town, she was a princess in her short tunic and black silk pants, straddling, standing or kneeling on the speeding horse.
Louise was no fashion-plate but a warm-blooded girl with an appealing sauciness that would make a soubrette at the Chatelet or the Vaudeville sigh with envy. She had a rounded firm-chinned face with a pert little nose. Her blue eyes, their lashes darkened by mascara, could go wide with teasing mischief or playful shock. She wore no elegant coiffure but swept her dark hair back flat and straight from her wide forehead, trimming it short at her nape and cutting it clear of her devilishly pretty ears and neck.
She was not as tall as the most elegant showgirl should be. Though not too plump, there was still a hint of adolescent softness in her white-skinned figure. Combined with the cheeky roundness of her eyes, it made her the sort of girl with whom a man might take innocent liberties, perhaps a hug from behind with hands upon her breasts or a pat or two on the soft young cheeks of Louise’s bottom when such encouragement was really superfluous.
To her admirers among the audience, Louise was a breath of bare and perfumed flesh moving in the warm air. Her knickers of thin black silk with lace hem did not quite reach her thighs nor quite uncover the soft adolescent whiteness of her buttocks. A girl of such sensuality was to some a fancy-dress doll and to others an angel from another world.
By the allowable fiction that she might be Leon’s daughter, she shared his caravan. There was no family relationship between them. He had acquired her, somehow, a year or two before. The circumstances remained a mystery.
Stripped of her costume’s glamour, Louise had an awkward beauty peculiar to her age. To glance at her when she was standing in the shadows of the tent, after her performance, was to see that her face could easily grow tense and self-conscious. Despite the glamour of her costume, she was not yet sure of her place in the unexplored adult world. Moreover, she atoned for her moments of spangles and applause by hours of scrubbing and grooming the white horse, Fleur-de-Lys.
Every morning she worked in the stables in blue cotton riding-pants and short jacket. Her attitude was an endearing mixture of the adolescent female ruffian with dark brown hair slick and cropped, and the dutiful daughter attending to the tasks set by her elders.
But no man ever adored a daughter as Leon did, watching Louise groom the white horse. She worked the brush with loving energy on the thick mane and tail of the gentle animal. At 17, her saucy round-eyed provocation gave her a look of self-assurance that she felt only with her trainer. Even her figure betrayed her inexperience. The slight adolescent plumpness of her white-skinned breasts and buttocks showed the charming awkwardness of a teenage goose not yet become a feminine swan. It was as well that Leon had disciplined her strictly and kept a firm hand upon his protégée.
With the innocence of her age, the girl assumed postures and attitudes incompatible with proper womanly dignity. Was it for this very clumsiness that the good-natured clown treasured her? She straddled her shapely legs in a most unbecoming posture as she braced her young strength against the mare’s bulk. Dressed for the ring, she bent unselfconsciously in the thin silk of the black panties whose lace hem did not quite cover the lower inch or two of Louise’s pearly backside in such a posture. Leon watched her for a moment with eyes which made wistful caresses upon her flanks and thighs, her backside and her loins. He was tense and thoughtful, as if recalling certain scenes of private correction which had been necessary in his education of the girl.
To the discriminating audience there was a heightened sensuality in the contrast of her costumes. Louise was, by turns, the roughly-clad stable-girl and the silken princess on her steed. No man but Leon was permitted to touch her. He would give a light and teasing pat on the sleek bare pallor of her thighs between the tops of her black stockings and the lace hem of her knickers, or he would stroke her neck and Louise would rub her face against the knuckles of his hand. When she stooped to her labours he would caress her thinly-clad hips or impart a lover’s smack to Louise’s softly full and rounded backside.
The other circus folk could only imagine the scene in the caravan when the light burnt beyond midnight. They smiled at the thought of Louise lying, or bending, or kneeling before Leon’s chair. They imagined the light and breathless parting of her lips or the opening of the gates of love’s desire to admit her master to a pleasure palace beyond description.
Every day before the season began, Leon was alone with his pupil for an hour in the big top. Here he put Louise and Fleur-de-Lys through their paces. With a girl of her kind, false modesty was not necessary. The girl wore her green bodice and the black silk stockings that made her bare thighs above their tops seem dazzlingly white. But the black silk knickers of her costume were not to be squandered by hours of practice riding. Instead, she wore a pair of tight-fitting white briefs, Louise’s everyday covering under her skirt. On Leon’s instructions, before mounting the white horse, she drew the seat of these briefs up on either side. The cotton was gathered in the central crack while the sleek white shimmer of Louise’s bottom-cheeks themselves appeared bare. The spectacle added to the trainer’s enjoyment and the contact of Louise’s bare buttocks with the warm steed heightened her own thrill.
Louise and Fleur-de-Lys flew round the ring with its resinous sawdust and animal scents, under the pale light of the canvas roof. Leon drew his long thin-lashed whip through his fingers. The rhythmic crack of the fine leather scarcely touched or even caressed Fleur-de-Lys. As if the mere sound of it spoke a language, the pure white horse obeyed, cantering or prancing. Between Leon and the girl with her teenage softness of breasts and rump quivering a little at each stride, there was a more mysterious understanding. The slight muscular tensings and spasms of her stockinged calves and bare thighs astride her mount gave her a look of animal exertion. Her firm chin tilted, her lips parted, and her blue mascara’d eyes went saucily wide. The plump resilience of Louise’s bottom made a sensuous smack on her mount as her hips rose and fell.
Leon’s aim with the thin black lash was deft and controlled. From time to time he landed it smartly across the white shimmer of Louise’s rear cheeks so that it drew a gasp from her and left a printed curlicue upon the pale adolescent buttocks. It was meant to sting her hard, and so it did. But it was always done in such a way that it seemed an extension of the exhilaration she enjoyed while she hugged the animal power between her legs. Sometimes Louise gave a soft cry and the quivering cheeks of her young backside clenched quickly with the smart. But when she jumped down from the horse at the end of the rehearsal, she always ran to the clown and wriggled wantonly into his arms. Indeed, after she displayed this tapestry of his affection on her behind, the light in the caravan would burn almost until dawn.
Whatever obedience he taught this teasing creature, she learnt it through the time-honoured method. But on days when there was no performance of the circus, she earned a preliminary reward. He would give her a kiss on the cheek and a flat fondling smack on her well-warmed bottom.
‘Put on your black silk panties, you little vamp! It’s dinner at the Ritz!’
‘Really?’ Louise walked away, flirting her backside at him and looking at him round-eyed over her shoulder. ‘In a hat with a feather and black silk knickers?’
Leon smiled. Their ‘Ritz’ was a brasserie in the Vieux Port.
It was here one evening, when the ramshackle buildings rose like stranded vessels, that they encountered Felicia.
The name suggested all that was chic and elegant but the reality was quite opposite. Felicia was a petite dark-skinned beauty, round and skittish in her way as Louise, her origin a colonial island or an eastern paradise. The dark copper-skinned warmth of her high-boned cheeks was matched by odalisque eyes and a striking profile. Her eyes, though slanting a little in the manner of her race, were wide and proud. Her dark hair was simply worn, in a series of pretty plaits that fell about her shoulder like a bead-curtain. Felicia appeared a charming little creature, simply dressed in black and a thin gold loop hanging from each earlobe.
Pretty and provoking, this late-teenaged child of untamed nature had worked at sweated labour in a small cafe, patronised by the circus folk. Then her parents had been sent to prison for a theft they could not deny. The cafe proprietor dismissed the daughter of the criminal class. Felicia was destitute. She would beg until she had a few sous. Then she would walk to buy or scavenge scraps from the covered market.
This dark-skinned beauty was sitting on the quay, a picture of dejection.
‘And your parents?’ asked Leon, when she told him of her lost employment.
‘I don’t know where they are now,’ she said despondently. ‘I haven’t seen them since the flics took them away.’
‘So where do you live?’
Felicia turned her beautiful dark eyes upon him.
‘Here, on the pavement. Yesterday the concierge took away the key to the room in the Rue de l’Ocean.’
Leon pitied her but he was also agreeably excited at being her only hope.
‘And how do you manage to eat?’
‘I have had no food today,’ she said, raising the slant of her proud dark eyes. ‘Perhaps I shall have none tomorrow.’
‘You shall eat with us tonight.’
His sympathy was instinctive. Yet it was tinged by the exciting possibility of being the protector — even the possessor — of a dark colonial Venus. They walked to the brasserie with Felicia as a guest at their modest feast.
Afterwards, Leon’s good nature could not leave her on the streets.
‘Where will you sleep tonight?’
Felicia shook her head. A tear began to gather in one dark and lovely eye. Misery robbed her of speech. He spoke gently to her.
‘If you promise not to take up too much room, we shall find space for you.’
Felicia looked doubtfully at Louise. But the saucer-eyed charmer, who sat next to her, hugged the bronze-skinned beauty with all the love of her closest sister.
‘So long as you can be friends,’ Leon said.
Louise hugged Felicia more tightly.
‘We’ll be such friends!’ she whispered.
‘And as long as my pretty little kittens don’t scratch,’ Leon added with a smile.
For a few days, he and the two girls lived in that exaggerated courtesy which infects people thrown together in such a manner. A curtain divided the caravan at night. On one side lay the trainer of horses. On the other, snuggled up in a bed designed for only one, lay Louise and Felicia.
Felicia, dark-eyed and wondering, watched Louise on Fleur-de-Lys at the morning rehearsals. A few days later, Leon was in an imperious mood. The hoop was held up and Louise sprang through it, safely again astride the back of the obedient horse. She posed and turned upon its smooth pale hide. Then lying forward, she hugged its neck, the light catching the short cut of her hair swept sleekly back from her white brow. The hem of her briefs had been tugged up as usual, so that her shimmering buttocks were the more pale in the limelight. Her thighs moved and her backside rose and fell, as if she loved the animal warmth between her legs in her most abandoned manner.
Leon cracked the thin black whip hard, so that it landed across the cheeks of Louise’s bottom with a cruelty he had never before shown her. The girl cried out in shock. But he, in his horse-taming costume, was determined to train her rigorously. He brought the lash across her young backside again and again. By the time that Louise got down, there were tears in her saucy round eyes. She stood back, as if in fear of him.
‘You were slovenly!’ he shouted at her. ‘You were late at every jump.’
A few nights later, thoroughly ashamed of himself, he parted the curtain and entered the half of the caravan where the two girls slept. Taking Louise by the hand, he led her to his own quarters. Felicia, lying wide-eyed in the dark, saw nothing. But she heard clearly even the softest sound they made.
Leon loved Louise, his cheeky adolescent girl. There was no doubt of that. He loved her as a princess in her showgirl stockings and black lace panties. He loved her as an awkward stable-maid. He adored her now, in her white nudity which was the only night attire Louise had ever possessed.
He was systematic in his adoration. First he took her lips with his own and trilled his tongue, tasting the cleanness of her youth and beauty. He kissed her, until she shuddered and moaned for Felicia to hear. He stroked and kissed the cool pallor of her swelling curves. He caressed and tickled her until she shivered convulsively and sighed.
Another hour of night passed before he was ready for her, as gently as always.
Long before this, Felicia responded to the soft sounds beyond the dividing curtain and began to run her hands over her own copper-brown thighs and dark-haired loins. Yet perhaps the shrill mewing which proceeded from her was the more indicative of her intense and excruciating release.
From that time, Leon treated Louise with great tenderness. Night after night, Felicia lay alone and listened to her, just the other side of the curtain. When her mouth was not stopped by the pillow, the teenager would cry her lover’s name. When he had finished with her, he would stroke Louise’s bottom or thighs gently and send her back to the other bed. There she must curl up, her pale body naked and cool from its exposure by contrast with Felicia’s dark-skinned nudity warm under the blankets.
Leon wondered what the effect on the two girls might be as they lay together naked after he had spent. His bed was so narrow that it was impossible to avoid a constant touching of bare flesh. As Louise turned away, Felicia’s leg must still brush against her thighs. Or else their breasts would tickle together with accidental arousing. Or the pale softness of Louise’s bottom-cheeks would curve into the harder and dark-haired warmth of Felicia’s loins.
Consumed by curiosity, Leon spied through the curtain. He had heard the bed-springs moving softly. There was light enough to make out the shape of the girls under the sheet. Felicia lay on top of Louise. There was squirming and gasping, sharp breaths and a hissing release of tension between the teeth. Poor Leon had not the least doubt that his girls were making love to each other. He drew back and knew that he did not mind in the least. Had another man seduced Louise, Leon would have fought him to the death. But to see her with a woman was not at all the same. Indeed, it excited him. He devised schemes to induce them to do it willingly in his presence.
His mistake was evident next night when he had Louise behind the curtain. He could feel, let alone see, the evidence of Felicia’s jealousy. It was in places not always concealed by the black silk panties, which were far too small to cover completely the adolescent plumpness of Louise’s bottom-cheeks and hips. They had been fighting. Felicia used her cunning to hurt Louise where it was unlikely to show. From feminine pride, they fought with only gasps and hisses.
He said nothing. Perhaps, like young animals, the two girls fought in play or earnest to work off their natural frustration.
It was Madame Solange’s suggestion that Felicia should replace Leon as the hand with the whip during Louise’s evening performance. With her hair in a score of pretty little braids, like the woven tails of a lash, there was a suggestion of the barbaric and the perverse in the dark-skinned girl’s command of Louise the captive rider. Madame Solange chose for her a little jacket and black leather trousers of a Spanish equestrian kind, worn tight as drumskin on the tautly rounded curves of Felicia’s backside and thighs.
The innovation was a great success. Fashionable society from the resorts of Deauville and Trouville, even a painter or two of la vie de boheme, graced the ranks of the audience. It was alluringly suggestive to see Louise riding astride her mount, blue eyes round as saucers in their seductive teasing, the nude pearl of her thighs, the provocative jump and quiver of her soft rear cheeks in the tightness of translucent black knickers, while the beautiful and barbarous little mistress cracked the cruel whip. The audience would gasp with dismay, spiced by excitement, each time the black thong smacked across the thinly-clad adolescent plumpness of Louise’s bottom.
But all this was in play. As if by some complicity the two girls gave full vent to their jealousy only in bed. Why so secret? Felicia feared she might be turned out. To Louise it was a matter of pride. She must fight unaided to retain her place.
This continued for several weeks. Then, one morning, there was a row in the tent. Leon heard Madame Solange’s anger and the muttered replies from Felicia.
The ringmistress swung round as he entered. ‘This thieving slut of yours has the impudence to steal my best riding-switch! The one with the pearl stock that Monsieur Le Commandant presented to me at the Cirque d’Hiver!’
‘No!’ said Felicia. It was the sulkiness of a little girl caught in the act.
‘Three days ago it vanished. This morning Anton found the pawn-shop ticket in her costume clothes. We fetched the switch from there, not half an hour ago, pledged by your dear little Felicia for six francs! The little bitch learnt this from her parents! She deserves the police!’
‘Perhaps a really good hiding,’ said Anton the juggler hopefully. ‘That’s what the police give a young rascal-girl like her. We might as well save them the trouble.’
Madame Solange turned to Leon again. ‘Will you do it, or must I get the tent-master for her?’
‘Not I,’ Leon said, turning away indifferently. ‘Fleur-de-Lys must be shoed before tonight. Let the tent-master thrash her.’
Felicia had been looking at him with something like contempt in the slant of her gaze, caring nothing for his whip. As he walked off, her dark eyes seemed to implore him desperately to be the one who punished her — and then they filled with panic as he left her to the others. They were obliged to hold her until the tent-master came.
‘Now you shall feel leather, my girl!’ said Madame Solange vindictively. ‘Burning hotter than the tightest pants you can imagine!’
‘Give her a really good hiding with her knickers down!’ cried a woman in the crowd. The tent was filling with circus folk and idlers from the streets. Felicia was stripped from the waist down. There were murmurs of admiration for the smooth warm copper-tones of her trim little thighs and hips, the taut and demure rounds of her tawny buttocks. She was hauled astride a trestle and made to lie along it. Willing hands held her arms and legs, others crooked an elbow round her waist or grasped her wrists or ankles. Felicia twisted her face round, the defiance of the noble female savage fading in alarm from the dark ellipse of her eyes.
As an act of poetic justice the burly tent-master used the recovered riding-switch, which was long and supple. He thrashed the bare beauty of the young odalisque until his muscular arm ached too much to continue. The maidenly olive-skinned swell of Felicia’s bottom-cheeks bore ample evidence of it. When she was hoarse from yelling, Solange allowed her only a moment’s pause. Then the ringmistress took the riding-switch from the tent-master. She too thrashed the dusky Venus across rear cheeks already smartingly chastised.
It was only then that someone asked Anton how he knew the pawn-shop ticket for the stolen riding-switch would be found among Felicia’s costume clothes. He explained that a note was left in his caravan. Unfortunately it was unsigned but clearly the work of a believer in justice.
Leon shrugged at this news. Yet he noticed in the days after Felicia had the whip that the muffled struggles between the two girls in bed seemed to cease. When the tent-master and the ringmistress had finished with her, the copper-skinned beauty returned to the caravan and was heard to weep softly for the greater part of the afternoon. She threw herself down over the bed, and lamented with good reason the sorry state of her backside and the rear of her thighs. It was out of the question for her to appear in the show that night. For the future, Leon was master of horse when Louise rode bare-legged on Fleur-de-Lys. Felicia was reduced to menial employment.
The good-natured Leon still had not the heart to turn the dark-skinned girl on to the streets. At the best, she must prostitute herself and at the worst she would starve. His own situation was not at all the life he had imagined with two beautiful girls at once. For a week he slept alone behind the curtain. Then came the climax of the bewildered clown’s domestic drama.
Performances at the Cirque Eden concluded with a melodrama to bring the audience to its feet. It was adventure from the Wild West! At its climax a savage tribe of warriors — mounted and on foot — poured into the ring, trying to bring down the girl from her horse and lead her off to rape and slavery. The excitement was intense and the spectacle well-rehearsed. A degree of danger was inevitable but Fleur-de-Lys was used to the whoops and gunshots of the savage tribe.
On this fateful evening, no one noticed that there was one more Indian than usual. Without the least warning, a female warrior on foot dashed in front of the white horse, firing a blank from a pistol almost in the animal’s nostrils. The mare reared up. Louise, for all her practice, slid from the horse’s back and fell before the hooves of her pursuers.
Cries of dismay rose from the audience. Leon saw the motionless form of Louise lying upon the sawdust. Why did he not go to her? Perhaps he could not bear to look. Perhaps he was seized with fury on her behalf.
From whichever impulse, he ran in pursuit of the assassin — and had not the least difficulty in catching her. Felicia made no effort to escape but reached the caravan first. By the time he threw open the door, she had stripped off the disguise of her Indian costume and every stitch of clothes. She was superb in bronze nudity, the slant of her dark eyes fired with triumph.
‘You shall do to me as you did to her!’ she hissed. ‘Now you no longer have her, you shall take me behind the curtain at night! I shall never again have to lie and listen to the pair of you!’
He looked at her, understanding too late the violence of feminine jealousy. But he could not endure her company. Leon went back slowly to the sawdust ring where Madame Solange and the others had gathered. He was absent for half an hour and then came back to the caravan alone.
He seemed undismayed to find Felicia still there in the lamplight, proud and naked as before. Without a word, she took his training-whip from the table and gave it to him. Turning, she lay naked on her stomach over the bed, her forehead resting on her arms as she waited to be flogged.
‘Take your revenge for what I have done,’ she said, ‘and then make me your girl. I will do all that Louise did for you. You shall use me in every way a man can use a woman. I shall warm your bed and work for you. I will be your slave.’
He stared at her as if he might be dreaming. At last he raised the short lash. With all his strength he thrashed her from the back of the waist to the back of her knees. He whipped her harder and more implacably than the tent-master had done, until the copper-toned mounds of Felicia’s bottom were zebra-striped. She swallowed almost every cry and uttered only muted sounds of anguish deep in her throat. Felicia writhed and contorted her round trim buttocks as if squirming in some passionate honeymoon embrace. She did not resist nor even seek to avoid the lashes of his vengeance.
When she had been chastised, Leon allowed nature to take its course. He finished and stood back looking at her on the bed. Just then, the door of the caravan opened. Felicia scrambled up, shaking with fear, as if she saw her own death. With a cry she sank to her knees and hid her face in her hands. In the lamplight stood Louise. Her face was pale and her eyes shocked. But she was no ghost, and Leon had known it before he returned to the caravan.
He spoke quietly to Felicia. ‘You cannot kill us so easily. You suppose we never fall from horses? You imagine our mounts are not trained to avoid trampling us? You think we do not know how to avoid their hooves? My poor little fool! When you confront us, you are in the presence of the immortals.’
At last they heard Felicia’s sobs. Only the misery of being ignored by him at night and fear of being sent away had driven her to a desperate act of jealousy. Leon’s anger had now gone and his kindness returned. He knew that he had been unwittingly cruel in showing no more than cool courtesy towards a warm-blooded odalisque. But it was only Louise, the injured party, who could pass judgment. She approached, raised Felicia, and embraced her. The girls cried a little in each other’s arms for the folly of hatred and jealousy. But Leon had the last word for Felicia.
‘Can you imagine,’ he murmured, joining the embrace, ‘that I should raise my whip over you, if Louise lay dead? You have learnt little of how men and women behave. There is more to love than a man’s pride between your legs!’
He left Louise to express their forgiveness. She kissed and petted Felicia, for all the world as if it were the warm-skinned beauty who had suffered the danger and injury. Leon, after the passionate whipping and ravishing, was now uncertain what to do.
Louise in her adolescent wisdom put the matter right.
‘You shall stay with us,’ she whispered, holding Felicia’s head to her breast and stroking her braided hair. ‘We shall love you and make you forget all the bad things that have happened.’
By a course of events quite unlike those he had imagined, Leon became possessor of both girls. Their only rivalry was to prove which of them loved him more. When there was temper or rudeness he, without partiality, spanked the bare bottom of Louise or Felicia with his strap or cane. This only drove them deeper into one another’s arms, and so back into his own.
Love and infatuation spring back from jealousy and obsessive hatred like a ball from a racquet. The sounds from the bed which the two girls shared were still short, breathless exclamations and soft cries as if of some ordeal. But the squirming under the sheet — and often with the sheet thrown clear to reveal the writhing of mutual desire — had a different cause.
Leon was their master, in public and in private. For both Louise and Felicia, the training in the ring became an extension of his passion. The dividing curtain was removed. If he drew one of them to his bed, he no longer hid her from the other. Often it was the pair of them with whom he enjoyed himself. Like a good master, he made an equal and scrupulous division of his substance between the two girls.
With Madame Solange and his friends, the two girls walking as meekly beside his caravan as slaves in the triumph of a conqueror’s procession, he travelled the fairgrounds of spring and summer. Why did Leon accept Felicia so easily after her attempt upon Louise’s life? The answer was one that he never revealed, not even to the girls themselves.
When Felicia was punished for the theft of the ringmistress’ riding-switch, Anton had been alerted by an unsigned note accusing the girl and describing where the stolen object might be found. By the unwritten law of the circus folk, her punishment was not in doubt. She would be stripped and soundly thrashed by her protector. A day or two later Anton had shown Leon the note. He recognised the handwriting from the little bills which the former barmaid of the Cafe du Vieux Port once presented to the customers.
Felicia accused and condemned herself, in the mistaken belief that it was Leon who would strip and chastise her. The heat for him which plagued her loins was so great that she never doubted her power to seduce him by the erotic witchcraft of her naked writhings while he was beating her. When he whipped her on that later occasion, the truth of this was proved. But what terror and dismay had appeared in her face the first time, when he recalled that Fleur-de-Lys had cast a shoe and handed Felicia over to a cold and vindictive thrashing by the tent-master.
At night, when the lights of the great tent were darkened and the arena was deserted, the three of them withdrew to the caravan and the key was turned in the lock. As the two girls undressed, Louise soft and white, Felicia lithe and tawny, Leon considered the events of the day. Occasionally he would lay the cane or the strap upon the bed. But always, even after the training which those objects suggested, he would take his two adoring circus-girls into a long and intimate embrace. Sometimes Madame Solange or the others would hear a sound in the night, intense and perhaps shrill. But they would turn over and go to sleep again with a smile. It was only Leon and his bareback girls.