Maggie's bottom seemed to thrust back at the driver as if she wished to stick it right into his face with its cheeks pulled hard apart, and her pink cunt peeping back from between her thighs. It took her almost half an hour to draw the little carriage to the top. Jewkes's whip caught her repeatedly across her buttocks and round her flanks.
Soon the weals were adorned by telltale smudges as if red berries had been squashed here and there on Maggie's arse-cheeks. Each time she bent a knee forward, the parting of her legs showed her driver a delicious peep of cunt. Each thrust of her hips drew her buttocks apart and showed him Maggie's arsehole. The air rang with the smacks of the whip across her smooth bare buttocks. Maggie screamed in her frenzy and her tight little post-horn sounded some extremely vulgar carriage-notes. Indeed, she did things while strapped over the bar which quite disqualified her as a future lady of the manor! The state of Mag's thighs and backside by the time she stumbled to the top of Horsewhip Hill-as we must surely call it-would require some great painter of sunsets to depict. Though they had reached the destination, the driver was not quite satisfied with Maggie. He stopped the carriage and applied its brakes. Then, while the young shopgirl was still strapped arse-upwards over the bar, he whipped-and whipped-and whipped-the short lash across her bottom. Not until her knees bent and her head drooped as if in tribute to him was he satisfied at last with the state of Maggie's bare backside. You need have no fears for the consequences, my lady. We shall not, of course, permit Mag to return to her former way of life. Already her abduction is planned and we are examining her carefully to see if she might not make a gift for our friend in Arabia! It is far and away the most prudent means of ridding ourselves of the young tart. As for Lord Augustus, you may rest assured that the scenes which he witnessed have done nothing but good. He did not know that I had him “in my sights” all the time. However, I am pleased to tell your ladyship that this was so. Whatever his initial indignation or alarm at seeing Mag stripped and harnessed, this soon gave way to open-mouthed astonishment. Before long, mat astonishment turned to fascination!
With my own eyes, I saw him follow the carriage-outing at a discreet distance. Indeed, he carried a little spy-glass, which he trained eagerly upon Maggie at every propitious moment. It was afterwards rumoured among the servants-with what truth I cannot say-that a certain young lord paid a visit to Maggie in the room where she was later confined. The stable-lads swear it as being overheard by them.
Under threat of what he would have done to her, the young gentleman obliged Maggie to kneel before his chair. Her tawny fair hair was once again tied back in its short ponytail so that he might see her face.
Mag was obliged to unbutton him, suck the fine erection lovingly, and consume the ample squirtings of warm gruel which he poured over her tongue. Who can say? Yet one hopes it is true. A hard-faced young slut like Maggie needs such training in submission. Moreover, it shows hopeful signs of your cousin attaining the age of wisdom. The carriage-outing taught him a lesson for which the world of quality will thank us. In the event of a proposed mesalliance between a gentleman and a shopgirl, far the best answer is to let him see her with her knickers down being dealt with as befits her kind. However much he may lament what happened to Maggie-though one hopes he secretly enjoyed watching her get it!-he cannot take a wife who has been stripped and whipped by the gamekeeper, and who has squeezed stable-boys' pricks between her thighs and bum-cheeks! If, in this letter, I have used phrases which are coarse or offensive to your ladyship's dignity, I trust you will overlook the style of one untutored in finer language. I assure you my heart is at your ladyship's service and express my warmest thanks for that elevation to the bench of justices which Lord Rupert assures me is soon to be my part! I have the honour to be Your ladyship's obliged humble servant, H. Bowler Anonymous Augustus and Lady Maude XIX. Lady Maude to Mr. Bowler Villa Lola, 24 July My dear Friend, Words cannot express my gratitude and relief upon the receipt of your letter this morning. We, the family and loved ones of Lord A, are now doubly beholden to you for this second act of moral rescue. Do not imagine for one moment that our recognition of your generosity will be delayed until my own return to England. You know that in October a certain Royal Personage is to visit my uncle en route to the launching of HMS “Unsinkable.” If it please you, HRH shall spend the night previous to the event as your own guest at Bowler Hall. My uncle and I are one in thinking it high time that a man of your character and abilities should be made known to the most influential circles.
My delight in the downfall of Maggie the shopgirl is unbounded. I hope that what was done to her is known to all those gentlemen who admired her at her chores- and that the hardened young slut knows that they have heard the news. One hopes that they will pause in the future and confront her brazen young face with smiles of vindictive amusement, reminding her of the spectacle she offered on Horsewhip Hill! It will curb her insolence a little. As you say, she must soon be shipped off where she will do no more harm. However, a little amusement at her expense on behalf of the gentlemen she slighted would not come amiss. I cannot, of course, offer you such dramatic news of Gardone as that which you sent me from England. In a week or so I propose to close up the Villa Lola and take ship from Venice for Alexandria. I have had the most pressing invitation from our friend Pasha Ahmed who now leaves Cairo for his country “estate.” He is most grateful to have Julie and Sian in his possession, while his enthusiasm for the young nymph Marit is quite touching! The Signore and I had a little amusement with Miss Jones a few evenings ago. I shall take her-the randy little piece!-as my personal maid on my journey to the Levant. That being so, our neighbour naturally wished to have some fun with her in the days and nights which remain.
Her skin has the warm gold tan which reminds one so easily of the Hellenic or Egyptian that she will suit me admirably in Cairo. The slant of her almond eyes with the high arch of their brows, the long slope of her brow and nose will all add to her Eastern excitement.
Miss Jones is a born exhibitionist, a lewd little minx who delights to provoke the boys of the town by showing herself provokingly to them when the poor young fellows cannot find relief by getting their hands on her. You need only recall the sight she presented when, as one of your girls here, she displayed herself in the boutique behind the protection of the glass. The Signore assured me that the young bitch had taken to performing another remarkable antic. She would walk slyly through his gardens at night to a place where tall iron railings fence the grounds impenetrably from the surrounding olive groves. Miss Jones was as safe as a beautiful cat in her cage from the rough hands of the lads who spied upon her from outside. Then, said the Signore, the young teaser would stretch out almost naked on the grass and perform languorous self-caresses while the youth of Gardone watched helplessly and shuddered with longing from beyond the iron railings. By no means could they scale this formidable barrier and deal with her as she richly deserves. Miss Jones would lie facing them, secure behind the railings and beyond their reach. While the passionate Italian youths sighed and yearned, she would caress her own copper-toned nudity, almond eyes watching them with a mocking randiness. She showed them pussy and stroked the little creature's fur most lasciviously. She turned and heard them groan with frustrated desire at the round coppery cheeks of Miss Jones's bottom. Would it not serve her right to be taught a lesson by these amorous ragazzi whom she has tormented for so long? The Signore vowed that it would, and set about laying his plans. How I regret, my dear friend, that you were not here the other night to witness the ingenuity of our sublime poet. It was an hour or so after dinner when the little adventure began. That night, like every other during this summer, was warm and balmy by the lakeside, the air heavy with scent, thyme and eucalyptus in the gardens of the villas. The dark spears of the cypress trees against a flush of pale starlight, the moon rippling upon the lake, suggested a scene from pagan antiquity. We lay in wait to see what would happen. Miss Jones slipped out of the Villa Lola and into the gardens of the Signore himself. In the moonlight she seemed like a randy little temple dancer with her sharp young nose, slightly receding chin and the slope of her forehead. Yet she wears her dark brown curls in a short and upward-brushed crop to remind one of her back-street origins The young bitch was most provokingly dressed-or undressed!-in nothing but a breast-halter and tight silk knickers which encased her from waist to mid-thigh with their translucent veil. With her slim straight back, pert young breasts, slender branching thighs and perfectly rounded bottom-cheeks she deserved to be sacrificed to the lusts of the local boys. I need not remind you of the rear view of Miss Jones walking! With her legs which are not very long and her waist which is long in proportion, she bustles along in a tight and lascivious little swagger of her bum-cheeks. In a moment more she came to the place where the iron railings fence off the end of the Signore's private gardens from the olive groves beyond sloping down to the shore of the lake. Among the trees one dimly made out the movements of the young men. Just within the railings was a mossy patch, nature's couch upon which Miss Jones might extend herself. The lads pressed their loins against the iron bars, squirming and sighing, yet they could not reach her. Miss Jones lay tantalisingly just beyond the range of the longest arm thrust through the bars. So the pantomime began. With the slant of her almond eyes and the high pencilled brows over them, the young bitch undid herself, first shedding the breast-halter and then the tight silk-knickers. Like a randy little odalisque she lay down naked on the soft bed of moss, propped on her elbow as she faced the sighing boys with stony hostility. Slowly she began to caress her trim pale-gold thighs, drawing her fingers up presently to fondle the dark patch of hair at the base of her belly. Then the fingers eased their way between her thighs and Miss Jones began to stroke herself languorously along her feminine slit. It was remarkable how she did this without allowing the pleasure she must have felt to show in the catlike Turkomean mask of her face. Presently she turned over and rested her head on one arm while she used the other hand to continue playing with herself. Now she made her coppery bottom-cheeks into a pair of smooth round globes, deeply and suggestively separated, to tease the lads to madness. Can you imagine the effect on such unfortunate young men, my friend? I feel sure you have often observed men passing your premises while Miss Jones on all fours brushes up the carpet. If the sight of her tightly rounded rear cheeks in jeans-denim can have such an effect on them, imagine how these ragazzi must have felt on seeing her in her present lascivious state! These poor young fellows seemed doomed to groan and clutch their loins in vain. Just then, however, a shadow moved behind the bushes. Two figures, cloaked black and masked like something out of an opera-tragedy, darted from the foliage, even before the golden-skinned little odalisque was aware of their presence. One of them clipped a silver bangle round her ankle.