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Confessions
of an
English Maid

by

Jessie.

London

1937


CHAPTER 1
During the course of the years in which I have been more or less closely
associated with other prostitutes I have frequently listened to
explanations as to just what this one or that owed her degradation; the
particular villainy to which she attributed her advent into a life of
shame. The usual story is one of seduction by a lover under the
inevitable extenuating circumstance of "before I really knew
anything," with the occasional variation, "he put something in my
drink, and when I came too..." or, "he was stronger than I was and I
couldn't do anything." In these glib stories, in which none but the
inconsequential details vary, the man is always to blame and the girl is
never a willing accomplice. She is always, by artifice, force or
deception, and subsequent abandonment, the victim of some man's
depravity.
I confess that I have listened to these tales and even witnessed a few
tears of self-pity, with a certain amount of scepticism. In thinking back
over my own life I can find nothing which would serve as a valid
excuse to shift upon somebody else the responsibility of my own
condition, nor can I in justice accuse any man of having instigated my
moral degradation, although the number of those who have taken
advantage of my voluntary delinquency is legion. True, were I to
hypocritically search for some contributing factor with which to justify
myself in my own mind or in the minds of others, I might place some
blame upon the environment under which I was raised as a c***d, yet, a
conscientious analysis of my subsequent life leads me to no other
conclusion than that had these conditions been entirely normal I
would still, just as water seeks its level, have drifted into a life
analogous to that in which you find me.
I do not believe that character is made by environment or training. I
am something of a fatalist and it is my conviction that the seeds of
goodness or badness, kindness or malevolence, virtue or viciousness,
are implanted in the soul right from the beginning, and while some
slight modifications either for better or for worse may be possible
under varying circumstances, the net result will not be greatly
changed.
In my c***dhood days I knew two brothers, sons of affluent parents
highly respected in the community. These two boys were raised under
the most favourable home and moral environment possible to imagine.
The elder, always the personification of honour and circumspection,
occupies a position of trust high in the affairs of the nation. The
younger c***d of the same parents, raised under exactly the same
conditions and influences, early in life manifested all the
characteristics of an irresponsible nature and is today being sought for
his participation in a robbery which culminated in murder. I know of
other such instances.
I was seduced by no man, but I managed to get rid of my maidenhead
before I was twelve years old. By the time I was f******n I had been
fucked by a dozen young fellows and several older men. I wasn't
infatuated or deceived or coerced. I let them fuck me because it felt
nice, because I liked it, and even the fact that shillings and even larger
sums of money could be easily and pleasantly acquired didn't play
any very important part in my complacency.
I was eight and Rene, my foster brother, ten when mutual curiosity
about each other's little sexual attributes first began to take the form
of c***d efforts to unravel Nature's mysteries. These efforts, which at
first did not pass much beyond the observational stage, with an
occasional touching and fingering, were inspired more by curiosity
than sexual promptings; nevertheless, we sensed more elements of
forbidden fruit and exercised considerable caution in hiding ourselves
when the impulse was upon us to gratify our curiosity.
Under the roof of our home was an attic which was used as a sort of
storeroom for discarded furniture and other odds and ends. Rene and I
converted it into a species of playhouse.

Access to this attic was gained by a steep and narrow stairway
enclosed between dark walls, and our parents rarely climbed these
stairs, and would have given us ample warning by their footsteps had it
occurred to them to do so; we felt reasonably secure, and always
repaired to this obscure hideaway when the mood to do something
naughty was upon us.
Mamma Agnes was not my real mother. My own mother had died
when I was four years old. With the practical philosophy of a widower
left with a small c***d on his hands, Papa lost no time in acquiring a
new wife, and in less than six months I had a mamma and a stepbrother
two years older than myself.
I lay neither censure nor praise at the feet of Mamma Agnes. She was
kind to me in an indifferent way and I believe she cared as much for
me as she did for her own c***d, Rene. She was simply not the maternal
type, and though she accepted the material obligations which our
presence represented uncomplainingly and kept us clean and well fed,
there existed an almost complete absence of anything in the nature of
moral or spiritual upbringing. We were punished occasionally, but
only when our misbehaviour constituted an annoyance to others.
For two years Rene and I slept in the same bed. When I was about six I
remember hearing Papa tell Mamma Agnes that we were too big to be
sleeping together. Mamma Agnes made some protest which I didn't
understand, but the next night a bed was arranged for Rene in another
room and thereafter we slept apart. I missed feeling Rene's warm little
body close to mine in the night and wanted to know why we were not
to sleep together anymore. Mamma Agnes made an evasive
explanation. "It isn't nice for boys and girls to sleep together," was the
tactless reply which only served to kindle the restless fires of curiosity.
During the next year or two some light, still of an obscure nature, was
thrown on the subject by other c***dren who were not adverse to
sharing their knowledge with us.

I was not supposed to see Rene's dickey, and he likewise was not
supposed to see my cunny. This was the sum and substance, apparently,
of the incomprehensive order of things which had abruptly terminated
our bed fellowship. And immediately we both began to feel the itch to
see what we were not supposed to see, and to which we had paid but
scant attention when the opportunity had been freely at hand and unforbidden.
The juvenile soul thirsts for knowledge-of a certain kind. What was
the real basis of all this sly mystery about little boys' dickies and little
girls' cunnies? "A boy puts his dickey in a girl's cunny," said one. "That's
the way you get babies, only you can't have a baby until you're
married." "When you rub your cunny it gives you a nice feeling," said
another.
In the security of our attic hideaway Rene and I diligently sought the
answer to the mystery. The erstwhile playroom was converted into a
juvenile brothel. We dragged an ancient mattress from behind an
accumulation of wrecked furniture and laid it out on the floor. I
straddled out on this mattress with my legs apart while Rene looked
and fingered until his curiosity was temporarily satisfied and I was
compensated by being permitted to look at and squeeze his little
dickey. It was a source of never-ending wonder to watch it go through
its erotic evolutions, expanding, swelling, hardening, until it projected
stiffly and rigidly forward. I tried to see whether, by holding it tightly
in my fist, I could prevent it from getting big, but in my grasp it seemed
to grow even faster, easily displacing my clenched fingers and causing
me curious, shivery sensations.
Time and time again we tried to effect actual copulation, but there was
something amiss, and the failure puzzled us. The playing, looking and
fingering were pleasant, but there was something lacking, something
sweet, something elusive which we sensed was close at hand but which
still eluded us.

Picture to yourself a group of twenty happy, carefree youngsters of
both sexes, ages ranging from eight to twelve, their strident little
voices ringing out in careless abandon as they pursue their innocent
amusements, converting a refuse-strewn lot into an enchanted
fairyland. Even the bloated loafers and derelicts of the street who cast
a casual glance at the little innocents must not fail to feel a twinge of
sentimentality.
London Bridge is falling down,
Falling down, falling down,
London Bridge is falling down,
My fair lay-dee.
But, hark! There is more to the song. The shriller masculine voices take
the ascendancy, and little girls are heard only in a confusion of
laughter and giggling.
Madge and Jerry are having a suck,
Having a suck, having a suck,
Madge and Jerry are having a suck,
My fair lay-dee.
After the suck they'll have a fuck,
Oh, what luck, oh, what luck,
After the suck, they'll have a fuck,
My fair lay-dee.
Out of a house whose open windows are in close proximity to the
merrymakers bursts an old Irish woman, brandishing a broom, her
wrinkled face suffused with rage.
"Git out o'here ye narsty little spalpeens or I'll swab yer dirty, stinkin'
mouths fer ye, blarsted little imps o'Satan!" she screams as twenty pair
of feet fly in twenty different directions under the menace of the
broom in the hands of the scandalized old beldam.

When I was about eleven, Pap's earning capacity was so reduced by
drunkenness that Mamma Agnes was obliged to take in a boarder. The
best room of the house, the one which had formerly served as a parlour,
was converted to the purpose and rented to a Mr. Peters.
Mr. Peters, a watchmaker by occupation, was a gentleman of forty-five
or thereabouts who radiated jollity and good nature and who
professed a great love for c***dren. He took an immediate fancy to me
and soon pennies and farthings began coming my way in an
abundance I had never before known. Mr. Peters constantly called on
me to run trifling errands for him, a package of fags, a penny paper, a
bottle of ale, and these small services were invariably rewarded with
some fulsome compliment, an affectionate pat on the cheek and a coin
of modest denomination.
As our friendship progressed, his amiable affection took the form of
playful caresses, squeezings, and pettings. This did not trouble me and I
was observant enough to note that the affectionate overtures were
more pronounced and subsequently more remunerative when we were
alone. So I was soon watching for opportunities to be near him when no
one else was around, especially when Mamma Agnes was out with her
shopping basket.
On such occasions he took me in his lap and as his hands roved
ceaselessly over my body he filled my ears with a running fire of
pleasant flattery. My legs seemed to be the principal objects of his
admiration and as he pinched and squeezed them playfully to
emphasize his words, his good-natured, florid face would become still
more florid and little beads of perspiration would appear on his
forehead.
One day Mr. Peters surprised me with the following observation:
"Well, bless me, if our little Jessie isn't getting prettier and prettier
every day. Such legs... such legs. Do you know," he continued, as he
passed his hands appraisingly down over my hips and thighs, "I have a
suspicion that you aren't really a girl at all. Girls don't have such fine
legs as these. I'll bet you're a boy instead of a girl."
"Boys don't wear dresses or have long hair," I exclaimed.
"A-a-a-h!" he answered, with a knowing look, shaking his finger
sceptically in my face, "that could be just to fool people! A boy could
wear dresses and let his hair grow long. Yes..." he mused abstractedly,
"the more I think about it, the more I believe you're really a boy
dressed in girl's clothes.
"I am so a girl!" I protested indignantly.
"I've had my suspicions for a long time," he continued, ignoring my
protestations. "Tell you what," he added confidentially, "I'll lay you a
shilling you're really a boy!"
"Very well!" I exclaimed, excitedly. "You can ask Mamma Agnes!"
"Oh, no!" he objected hastily. "She's not here now and besides she
might be on your side and say you're a girl anyway."
"Well, who are you going to ask?"
"Hum-m-m-m-m," he murmured, pausing in thoughtful meditation.
"There ought to be some way we could settle the bet without asking
anybody."
I waited expectantly.
"Ha! I've got it!" he exclaimed, as a happy solution of the perplexing
problem suddenly occurred to him. "But remember now, if I win you
must pay me the next shilling you get! I've got mine right here now to
pay you if I lose!" And he fished a shiny new shilling from his pocket
and displayed it before my eyes.
"Yes, yes!" I answered eagerly. "I'll pay you if I lose! The very next
shilling I get! How are you going to tell?"
"Why, that's easy," he replied. "Funny we didn't think of it at first. Boys
have a... ah... a little sort of dangle between their legs... right there... and
girls haven't any. Now all you have to do is just unfasten your panties
and we'll take a peek. And remember, if you've got a dangle, like I
think you have, you must pay me the next shilling you get. I'll trust you
for it!"
Although I was momentarily confounded by this bizarre but quite
obvious method of resolving the question, my eagerness to prove the
injustice of his accusation, coupled with the prospect of so easily
gaining a shilling, outweighed any small scruples I may have felt
about exposing my cunny to him, and without a word I raised my short
dress, unfastened my panties and pulled them down low enough to
reveal the deciding factor between femininity and masculinity.
Somewhat to my surprise Mr. Peters' doubts were not immediately
dispelled. His flushed face took on a deeper hue and he seemed to be
having some difficulty in speaking. He suggested that I remove my
panties entirely so he could see better and when this was done it was
necessary for him to make a most thorough inspection before he was
finally convinced that I didn't have a dangle hidden between my
thighs.
After quite a lengthy examination, during which he seemed almost on
the point of suffocation as his fingers lingered about my cunny,
pressing, feeling, exploring, he sighed deeply and reluctantly
conceded his defeat, confessing himself in error. My sex was
vindicated, established and proved beyond any reasonable question
and his repentant sorrow at having doubted it resulted in an extra
shilling in addition to the one originally posted.
When Rene came home I jubilantly displayed the two pieces of silver,
explained their origin and told him how Mr. Peters had even thought I

might have a dangle tucked up inside my cunny. My account of the
incident seemed to make him restive and a few minutes later he
suggested that we go up to the attic to play.
The truth was that Mr. Peters' insistent feeling and fingering had left
me with an odd sort of itching in my cunny. It felt excessively moist and
hot, and I agreed to Rene's suggestion with alacrity. We slipped
upstairs and, following our usual routine, I took off my panties and lay
down on my back on the old mattress with my knees up and widely
apart while Rene nudged and punched at me with his stiff little pintle.
His erratic movements frequently brought the tip against the upper
part of my cunny and each time it pressed or rubbed against a certain
spot I felt an agreeable tremor. To capture this elusive sweetness I
reached down and, taking his dickey in my fingers, I held it against the
sensitive spot. There was a little bump of flesh there which swelled and
twitched and instinctively I rubbed the end of his dickey against it.
The pleasant feeling again permeated the whole lower part of my
body, sending such a delicious radiation surging through my nerves
that I trembled violently. The sensation culminated with a sudden
burst of delight which caused me to moan and gasp in ecstasy. I had
experienced my first real orgasm.
I had always loved and admired my foster brother Rene. He was
handsomer than most boys. He had beautiful dark brown curly hair
and his skin was white and smooth. When he effected my first orgasm
something was awakened in me which changed the affection to
complete adoration. I do not think I have ever loved anyone more, or
even as much as I loved Rene.
I gave him one of the shillings I had won so easily, and as I continued to
expiate on Mr. Peters' supreme ignorance, he threw me a pitying look
and exclaimed:
"Are you balmy? He knew you were a girl! He just wanted to get to
look at your cunny."
The light dawned on me, but the two shillings dimmed any feeling of
chagrin, and even a hazy thought of future exploitation half-formed
itself in my mind. I had long since sensed the fact that Mr. Peters'
interest in me was rather more than casual. If he had given me the two
shillings just to look at my cunny, maybe he might want to look at it
again sometime.
There was probably something in my eyes which betrayed this
expectation to Mr. Peters, for when I again had an opportunity to slip
into his room, he arose hastily and snapped the catch on the door.
Returning to his chair he drew me between his knees and as I stood
there he passed his hands caressingly down over my body from my
armpits to my knees, and when they ascended they were under my
dress instead of outside. He stroked my bare thighs above the tops of
my stockings and all the while a ceaseless flow of words fell from his
lips as though with this he sought to distract my attention from the
movement of his hands.
"Well, well, well, who's here but pretty little Jessie, come to cheer up
poor old lonely Peters. My sweet little cabbage. She's lonely, too.
Mamma Agnes is gone and Jessie's all alone in the big house... isn't she...
?" He paused, waiting for my nodded confirmation. "Well, well, well.
We'll have a nice little chat in here all by ourselves."
His hands had worked up inside the loose legs of my panties and his
fingers were squeezing the cheeks of my bottom.
"Such a pretty, clever little girl... such legs... '
He withdrew his hands after a final affectionate squeeze and raised
them to the elastic band which sustained my panties about my waist,
and in a moment I felt them being slipped down over my hips.
I waited expectantly.

When the panties were down and hanging loosely about my knees, Mr.
Peters put an arm around me, drew me closer, and the next instant his
hand was cupped over my cunny. This manoeuvre surprised me
somewhat, for I supposed he intended to look at it again. But no,
something different was going to happen. The hand pressed over my
cunny began to move with a gentle grinding motion, and almost at
once those delicious feelings which the tip of Rene's dickey had
previously evoked began again. Involuntarily, I glanced toward Mr.
Peters' lap. Along the inside length of his trouser leg was an enormous
swelling.
As I fixed my astonished gaze on it I could see the cloth jerking under
the spasmodic expansions and contractions underneath. But the
rapidly increasing intensity of the pleasurable sensations which were
now tingling through my body under Mr. Peters' manipulations soon
caused me to forget everything else. As the climax approached my
knees began to tremble and when it reached its zenith, releasing those
indescribably delicious thrills to go shooting through my body, I
swayed dizzily. Mr. Peters was still talking, but I no longer knew what
he was saying.
When Rene came home I had another shilling to show him. He listened
attentively to my account of just what had happened and wanted me
to show him exactly what Mr. Peters had done to me. I took off my
panties and placed his hand in the same position in which Mr. Peters
had held his. Although the contact of Rene's soft little hand was much
more agreeable than Mr. Peters' hard and calloused palm, my sexual
orgasm, probably exhausted by the thorough masturbating I had
undergone, refused to respond to Rene's efforts.
However, his own emotions were aroused by the pantomime and,
yielding to his command, I lay down on the mattress and let him
straddle me while he nuzzled and poked at my cunny with his little
cock. I took it in my fingers to press it against the spot which was most
responsive to its touch and it was while holding it thus that Rene's
movements suddenly became more precipitate.

"Squeeze it tight!" he gasped.
I turned my eyes toward his face. It was strained and tense and his
breath was short and panting. Something of his emotion infected me
and prompted quite by instinct, I clutched his stiff little dickey tighter
and began to work it with my fingers. It was no longer even in contact
with my cunny but sliding in and out of my clenched fist.
His legs stiffened rigidly and his movements, except for a final
convulsive shudder, ceased. At the same instant I sensed the presence
of some warm, moist substance in my hand. I looked at it wonderingly
and found my palm and fingers sticky with a milky, viscid fluid.
One night, a week or so later, Rene and I were alone in the house. Papa
rarely came in before midnight and was generally so tipsy that
Mamma Agnes would have to put him to bed. On this occasion she had
gone to visit a sick friend and did not expect to return until quite late.
Mr. Peters had heard something of this and had whispered to me that I
should not go to bed until he returned as he was sure he would want
me to go on an errand for him.
He came in about nine o'clock and after confirming Mamma Agnes'
absence, sent me to the corner to get a paper with instructions to bring
it to his room when I came back. I had already communicated to Rene
my suspicion that Mr. Peters would "do something" to me when I took
the paper into his room, and Rene was going to peek through the
keyhole. It even occurred to me to take off my panties before going in.
My juvenile intuition was quite correct and Mr. Peters masturbated me
again while I stood between his knees holding my dress up and my
foster brother Rene crouched outside the door watching through the
keyhole.
Poor Mr. Peters. He never attempted to do anything except play with
me in this fashion and whether it was in his mind to venture further as
my sexual instincts unfolded will never be known, for one day, less
than three months after his first tentative overture, he was knocked
down by an omnibus and carried to a hospital where he died without
ever regaining consciousness. I cried heartily when it was known that
we would never see him again and his simple effects were packed up
for removal. In my estimation he was a kindly and generous soul who
had been the fount of many blessings.
A short time after Mr. Peters' departure, a neighbourhood scandal was
bruited about among the residents of the vicinity. Down the street, in
the big house on the corner, lived a retired sea captain and his rather
large family. They were rated as well-to-do and employed a
maidservant, a cute little thing whose trim, silk-clad legs, black
uniform and lace-edged apron I had always secretly envied.
Among the younger c***dren of his household was a boy named
Leonard and a girl named Maisie. Leonard was about the same age as
Rene, but was undersized and wore glasses which gave his wizened
countenance a peculiarly owlish aspect. Maisie was very pretty. She
was two years younger than I. Both these c***dren were precocious. It
was said that Maisie would show her cunny to any boy who wanted to
see it and Leonard bragged that he fucked the maidservant whenever
he felt like it. There was some doubt as to the veracity of this, but the
doubt was dispelled abruptly when the maidservant suddenly
disappeared and the older c***dren of the household whispered into
the ears of their special confidants that she had been summarily
dismissed after having been caught in the very act of sucking
Leonard's dickey while supposed to be supervising his bath.
"She had it right in her mouth when Mamma caught her!" they
whispered impressively.
Rene pressed Leonard for details when the opportunity later
presented itself, and listened to an entirely frank exposition of the
affair, which he then communicated to me.

The liaison with the maidservant had been started several months
previously by the versatile little maid herself. Each night, on tucking
him into bed, she had been in the habit of putting her hand under the
covers to see whether he had a hard-on. Inasmuch as such was almost
invariably the case, and the condition not being favourable in her
opinion to sound sleep, her remedy was to reduce the rigidity by means
of a hand massage to make it "lie down and go to sleep."
One night she told Leonard that her efforts to make him sleepy were
having a contrary effect on her and that she couldn't go to sleep for
hours after having put him to sleep. There was a way both could have
their sleeplessness cured. She would slip into his room later that night
after everybody was in bed and explain it to him. She squeezed his
dickey to make sure it was in its usual state of erection but refrained
from taking the customary measures to make it lie down.
When all was quiet in the household she slipped into his room like a
little ghost in her white nightgown, threw the covers back and lay
down by him. Taking his dickey in one hand she worked it until it was
in its maximum state of rigidity. With the other she guided his fingers
between her legs and with various motions and whispered instructions
showed him how to reciprocate the message.
"Her cunny has hair all around it, just like a grown-up person,"
confided Leonard.
After a while she stopped the rubbing and told him to get on top of her.
When he was in the proper position she started his dickey in the right
direction and, poppo! It went inside, just like that.
At this juncture in the recital, Rene interrupted to clear up a confusing
point. Had Leonard's dickey gone clear in, or had it just sort of rubbed
along her cunny?
Emphatically, it had gone in, entirely and completely, not a bit stayed
outside. He was sure and specific on this point. It was dark that time,
but they had done it subsequently in the daytime when he could even
look down and see it while it was going in and out, and it absolutely
went clear in.
The story of Leonard's relation with the maidservant progressed from
frigging to fucking and finally to the last act, in which the unexpected
entry of his mother into the bathroom while he was enjoying, and not
for the first time, the delights of being sucked off by the versatile maid
had brought an end to the fun.
Now the maid was gone and he was obliged to massage his dickey for
himself at night in order to make it lie down and go to sleep.
The sucking part was rather incomprehensible to Rene and me. We
were still rank novices in the arts of love and had much to learn. It was
a cause of preoccupation to us that we hadn't been able to
approximate anything like the success Leonard and the maidservant
had achieved. Rene's dickey simply couldn't find its way in. We knew
in theory that it should, and we had both peered and looked and
fingered in an effort to find a hole big enough. There didn't seem to be
any, or if there was, it was closed up very tightly.
With the candidness of youth Rene confided the difficulty to Leonard
and Leonard promptly offered to show him how to do it. I never
objected to anything Rene proposed, and submitted myself obediently
to the demonstration. Leonard knew no more about maidenheads than
Rene but he had the confidence which comes with experience and
when I took off my panties and lay down on the mattress he placed
himself between my knees and got his dickey which, despite his
slighter stature, was fully as big as Rene's, against my cunny. He gave a
lunge, and a shriek escaped my lips which, had there been anyone else
in the house at the time, would have brought an investigation. His
dickey had gone in all right, but the sensation I experienced was far
from being conducive to further experimentation. After the first shriek
of pain I began to cry, the tears rolled down my cheeks and I struggled
to release myself.

Panic-stricken at the unexpected results, Leonard jerked away from
me and his dickey came out stained with a reddish fluid and a few
drops trickled down the inside of my thighs. Leonard was so frightened
that he fled from the scene, leaving Rene and me alone.
The pain was only momentary and as it died away I stopped crying,
but gazed with fright at the spots of blood which stained the white
flesh between my thighs. Rene dabbed at them nervously with his
handkerchief, and when no more appeared some of our assurance
returned, but I was aggrieved because of the stab of pain I had suffered.
When I stood up a feeling of soreness in my sexual parts was very
pronounced. Fortunately, Mamma Agnes made no embarrassing
inquiries when she found me in bed at an hour much earlier than my
accustomed one, and by the following day the soreness had mostly
passed away.
Thus I lost my maidenhead with pleasure neither to myself nor to my
violator.
Having my hymen punched out in so disagreeable a manner without
knowing exactly what had happened except that it was something
decidedly unpleasant resulted in a reluctance on my part to lend
myself to further exploitations which lasted for some weeks and might
have endured longer had not my emotions been stimulated anew by a
curious incident.
While rummaging through a pile of trash, old newspapers and
discarded magazines which had been swept out of a long-vacant
house nearby, Rene found a little green-covered book which, on being
opened, disclosed to his startled eyes a picture which confirmed the
basic theory of love. It was a rather neatly executed sketch showing a
beautiful young lady reclining upon a grassy mound under a tree. Her
dresses were drawn up, she had no panties on, and above the edge of
her disordered and half-open bodice peeped a pair of bubbies of most
astonishing proportions.

Between her thighs, half-lying, half-kneeling, with one of her silk clad
legs thrown over his hips, was a young boy. From his middle projected a
dickey which penetrated and was lost to sight for half its length in her
cunny, the protruding lips of which were plainly indicated just below a
profusion of curly black hair.
As soon as he recovered from the shock this picture caused him, Rene
streaked for home and excitedly signalled for me to follow him to the
attic. Breathlessly we gazed at the picture, then turned our attention to
the text which accompanied it. As we devoured the printed pages I
became aware of that moist, swollen, itchy feeling in my cunny. The
desire to experience anew the delicious sensations which Mr. Peters'
finger on several occasions, and the tip of Rene's dickey on others had
afforded me began to surge through me and grow more and more
insistent as we slowly digested the revelations contained in the
booklet and which were phrased quite within our powers of
comprehension.
The title which graced the story was: "The Passionate Governess, or
Hubert's First Fuck." Before that book finally left our possession we
had read it so many times either of us could have recited it word for
word by memory.
It was about a beautiful young governess in a wealthy home who
entered into amorous adventures with one of her charges, Hubert, a
boy of fifteen. After a number of tantalizing episodes, in one of which
she catches Hubert peeking through the keyhole and masturbating
himself while she is bathing, she decided to gratify his curiosity and
save him from the vice of masturbation by letting him have sexual
intercourse with her.
The scene chosen for the sweet lesson in love is a beautiful sylvan
glade reached by crossing a lake in a rowboat. As the pretty governess
sits in the prow of the boat with Hubert at the oars facing her, she
carelessly permits her skirts to become so elevated above her knees
that Hubert is afforded a delightful opportunity to peek between her
legs and get teasing glimpses of the charms only half concealed under
the frilly lace of her panties. Under the stimulation of this enticing
sight he is in a suitable condition for his initiation in the rites of love.
After exciting preliminaries in which passionate kisses, caresses and
fondling of each other's sexual parts are indulged in, and during which
Hubert's curiosity regarding the more intimate aspects of feminine
anatomy is completely satisfied, the real initiation takes place as
shown in the illustration, and Hubert learns that the delights
attendant to plunging his dickey into the mossy glen between a pretty
girl's legs are far superior to those he had formerly experienced in
masturbation.
It was a story with a moral, as you will have observed, intended to
discourage young people from practicing self-abuse.
When we had finished the last page I felt moist and sticky and it
seemed to me that my panties were wet. Rene's trousers were jutted out
in front in a way which showed what effect the story had had on him.
He looked at me, and I looked at him.
"Shall we?" he whispered.
"Yes!" I answered, all recollection of the pain I had suffered the last
time this attic had been used for purposes of fornication completely
obliterated.
While Rene was unfastening his trousers I kicked off my panties and
lay down on the soft mattress. My emotions had been greatly excited
by the vivid little story and the first touches of Rene's dickey against
the moist flesh of my cunny were indescribably sweet. For a few
moments I lay there languidly thrilling to the soft friction and pressure
as the tip of his dickey roved about over the sensitive area like a
person groping for a door in the dark. But suddenly I stiffened in alarm
for I distinctly felt the constriction which accompanied an actual
penetration and which brought back to my consciousness what had
happened before.
With muscles tensed in readiness to free myself with the first
indication of pain I held my breath and waited. But there was no pain.
To the contrary, the sensations I felt as Rene's dickey slipped further
into the tight little hole were more agreeable than anything I had yet
experienced.
I moaned, not with pain this time, but with delight, and the next
moment, actuated by those natural instincts which need no previous
experience nor teacher to guide, we were both frantically heaving our
bottoms up and down in an effort to taste without delay the supreme
delight of which the intoxicating thrills now tantalizing us were but
the forerunners.
It comes but once in a lifetime, that indescribable, celestial glow which
suffuses the souls and blends the bodies of lovers in unforgettable
rapture, the first perfect sexual union of two beings who feel toward
each other the tender passion of youth unmarred as yet by maturity's
grosser complexities, and I affirm that those who have not tasted the
fruit of love under these conditions have missed what is probably life's
sweetest experience.
Rene and I had finally succeeded in unlocking the door which had
hitherto obstructed our progress and with the unlocking the latent
germs of sensuousness, undoubtedly implanted in my very soul, sprang
rapidly to full bloom. My ardour exceeded his, and it was I who now
suggested and even begged frequent visits to the dusty attic where,
with my panties off and my dress up or entirely removed, I writhed and
suspired ecstatically in response to his vigorous thrusts. And; after a
delicious orgasm had rewarded our efforts, I sighed inwardly with
regret at the inevitable transformation his little cock underwent,
dropping slowly but surely downward, its virile rigidity degenerating
into a flaccid inertia which incapacitated it from further immediate
use.

CHAPTER 2
We now had plenty of time to be alone. There was no tenant for the
extra room and Mamma Agnes was working out, with the result that
we had several hours at our disposal between the time school was over
and the hour at which she returned.
One day while we were standing on the sidewalk in front of the house
Leonard appeared. Leonard, being entirely in Rene's confidence, had
been appraised of the new state of affairs. He had intimated that he
would like to try it again with me, which intimation I had listened to
with no great enthusiasm, not through chaste reluctance, but because
of the still lingering recollection of what had happened the first time.
I was still in ignorance of the exact physical facts and blamed him for
the pain I had suffered. After some desultory conversation the
enterprising Leonard suggested that the three of us proceed to the
attic and have a hoochy dance. If you are familiar with juvenile
parlance you may know that a hoochy dance is a simple but
interesting form of entertainment in which the participants take off
their clothes or "get naked" as they express it, and either with hands
joined or independently, will jump and cavort in a circle in a sort of
primitive dance.
The element of attraction in this otherwise inspired diversion being
that the boys can look at the girl's cunny and the girl can look at the
boys' dickies. "And..." continued Leonard, after contributing this
suggestion for a pleasant manner in which to pass the afternoon "...
afterwards, you can fuck Jessie and I'll look, and then I'll fuck her and
you can look."
As for me I was entirely agreeable to the first part of the program, and
open to acceptance on the latter. It was Rene who interposed the
logical objection that three of us weren't enough to properly stage a
hoochy dance and we set to speculating as to the possibility of getting
additional recruits. A hurried inventory of acceptable prospects only
brought to light that this one was not at home, that one was sick, and
another being "kept in" as a disciplinary measure, etc. It seemed there
was little hope of rounding out the party on short notice and as a last
recourse, Leonard rather apologetically suggested that maybe we'd be
satisfied with Maisie.
This was a thought. Maisie had never participated in any of our doings
because being younger than the rest of us we looked down upon her
from the vantage of our maturity and wisdom as being just a k**.
Nevertheless, Maisie had earned quite a reputation of her own and
Leonard made no secret of the fact that before his ideas had been
broadened by the vanished maidservant he had often diddled his little
sister. He looked on hopefully while Rene studied the suggestion.
"Can you find her?" queried Rene.
"Sure I can, if you'll wait for me!" responded Leonard.
"Well, all right, then. Hurry up!"
In less than five minutes Leonard was back with Maisie in tow. She was
a beautiful little thing and her eyes were shining with elation at the
idea of being permitted to participate in older c***dren's secrets.
"Now we're going to have a hoochy dance in our attic," explained
Rene, addressing her. "If we let you come, you won't tell, will you?"
"No, no! I won't tell, ever!" she exclaimed vehemently. "I'm not a
tattletale, am I, Lenny?" she added, turning to her brother for
corroboration.
"No, she won't tell. She knows bloody well we'll knock her block off if
she does!" responded Leonard with menacing emphasis.
Up to the attic we trooped and with much giggling and laughter
began to undress. True to the usual formula of feminine hypocrisy,
Maisie and I both made a great show of being concerned about the
boys seeing us before we were "ready" and chided them hysterically
for peeking while we were undressing.
This incitation had its natural effect upon the two boys and when we
finally faced them, every stitch of clothing removed from our white
little bodies, their cocks were standing out in stiff and rigid excitation.
We dragged the mattress to one side and, joining hands, began our
hoochy dance, which consisted of nothing more complicated than
swinging around in a circle and jumping up and down to the
accompaniment of some ribald verses which we repeated over and
over while the feminine eyes of the contiguity were fixed on jiggling
dickies which bounced up and down with the violent movements of
their owners, and the masculine ones on fat-lipped, hairless little
cunnies.
When we had finally exhausted our acrobatic and musical repertoire
we sat down, breathless, to rest and devise further exploits. Leonard
wanted to fuck me while Rene and Maisie looked on, and then have
the arrangement reversed with him and me the spectators while Rene
fucked Maisie.
I protested that it hurt with him and expressed a preference to do it
with Rene. My protest was partly actuated by something akin to
jealousy. Somehow, I didn't exactly relish the idea of Rene fucking
Maisie. But Rene intervened, and his word was law. It wouldn't hurt me
now if I did it with Leonard. I was used to it now.
And so, with Leonard crouched on one side and I on the other, both
watching with wide eyes, my foster brother Rene straddled Maisie's
naked body, got his cock into a crevice which fitted around it like a
tight little ring of flesh and, without a mishap or indication of
discomfort on her part, fucked her until he had an orgasm.
Maisie never stirred or made a sound. She just lay there quietly,
looking up into his face with her big, wondering eyes until he had
finished and then calmly wriggled out from under him, sat up and
murmured:
"Now it's our turn to watch!"
"Didn't it make you feel nice, Maisie?" I asked in some astonishment at
her placidity. "When Rene and I do it, T just tremble all over, it makes
me feel so good!"
"Sure, it makes me feel nice. I like to do it!" affirmed Maisie, but it was
apparent that she had not yet experienced a real orgasm, even though
Leonard had long since gotten her maidenhead out of the way.
With some inward misgivings I submitted to Leonard's ministrations
and, of course, quickly discovered that my fears were groundless, for
his dickey was in almost before I knew it, and this time without causing
me any pain. Not counting Leonard's previous attempt, this was the
first time I had been really fucked by any boy except Rene and,
despite my affection for him, the novelty of a new cock had its
emotional reaction and very quickly brought my quivering organism
to that delicious borderland wherein for a few seconds the senses
vibrate in ecstatic anticipation before definitely rendering their
delicious offering. Another wiggle or two served to precipitate the
ejaculation.
I was about twelve years old when what I have just related occurred. A
few days later, on the way home from school, a boy named Bryan
sidled up to me and rather timidly asked me if I would do it with him.
Bryan was a boy I would have described as nice. He was f******n or
fifteen, always dressed very neatly, had a pleasing personality and
agreeable features. To say that I was not surprised at the overture
would be an exaggeration, yet I was not displeased. If I had any doubts
as to precisely what he meant by "do it" with him, the doubt was
dispelled with one look into his flushed face and averted eyes and the
uneasy, furtive glances he cast about as though to assure himself that
there was no one else within hearing. Nevertheless, to delay an answer
until I could gather my confused thoughts, I murmured innocently:
"Do what with you?"
"Aw, you know what I mean, Jessie!"
"No, I don't!"
"Something nice... like you did with Lenny Connors!"
His reference to Leonard caused me a slight chill of apprehension, but
did not entirely prejudice me against him. He continued to coax, and I,
beginning to enjoy the thrill of being begged for something with such
humility, neither definitely denied nor promised my complacency.
"Where could we go to do it?" I asked evasively.
His answer to this revealed the fact that he was well informed
regarding my private life and affairs.
"Couldn't we go up to your attic before your mamma comes home?" he
suggested hopefully.
This was something Rene would have to be consulted on, so I evaded a
direct answer by saying I'd tell him the next day, and with that I
skipped off.
"Bryan wants to do it with me. Shall I let him?" I asked Rene.
"Bryan? Bryan who?"
"Bryan Thompson, that boy that lives over on Little Goose Neck Road."

Rene considered the matter for a moment and deciding apparently
that it was of insufficient importance to trouble his head over,
disclaimed responsibility with an indifferent shrug.
"Oh, I don't know. Do what you want. What do I care?"
"He knows about Leonard and me. I bet Maisie... '
"Gee! You better do it with him so he won't tell. I got to go now and see
a chap. Goodbye."
And so it came about that Bryan's name was added to my now growing
list of youthful paramours. He was bigger than Rene or Leonard, and
had something which neither of the other two possessed, a growth of
dark, crisp hair on his pubic regions. He hurt me a little, but he was
careful and despite the slightly painful distension I soon began to feel
the warm, sensuous tremors which precede orgasm. His slow, cautious
thrusts brought my organism to a, pitch of excitation such as I had not
yet experienced, and when the climax came I almost fainted with the
intensity of the ecstasy. Afterwards, he showed me where my
fingernails had actually cut into his flesh while I was hugging him in
the crisis. He was a very gentlemanly little fellow and thanked me in
the most courteous and serious manner imaginable for having let him
do it to me. In addition, he made me glow happily by telling me that I
had the prettiest legs of any girl he had ever seen. Bryan had the
makings of a real courtier.
Before long my popularity was spreading and new suitors for my
favours were appearing almost magically. Sometimes even boys and
young men I did not know accosted me in the streets, some humbly and
supplicatingly, and others quite impertinently.
Instead of being alarmed at this situation I took it as a flattering
indication of my popularity. And, inevitably, I discovered that the soft
nest between my legs, upon which a filmy growth of silky hair was
beginning to grow, could be made to hatch financial rewards as well as
genetic pleasures.
That some horrible fate did not overtake me as the result of my
complacency with utter strangers is only proof of the old, old theory
that guardian angels look after the safety of c***dren and fools,
sometimes, at least.
Once I made an appointment with a man to meet him at a certain
corner after dark, expecting to be taken to a room. He led me into an
alley of such sinister and abandoned aspects that I did indeed become
alarmed and refused to go any further. For a while he tried to persuade
me with flattering words and promises of generous compensation, but
the more he talked, the more uneasy I became, and finally, cursing me
viciously, he turned away and quickly disappeared.
One night a young man of genteel but delicate physical features
accosted me in terms so respectful and courteous that I listened to his
insinuations and consented to accompany him to his room which,
though far from pretentious, was neatly and comfortably furnished.
I had long since discovered that men's first thoughts were to see me
naked as quickly as possible; they seemed literally burning to gorge
their eyes with the spectacle of my nudity, so as soon as I was in the
privacy of a room I always undressed down to my hose and slippers
without waiting to be asked.
No sooner was the door closed behind us in this instance than I started
to take off my clothes. But the young man stopped me with a gesture.
"No, no!" he exclaimed, "don't undress!"
I paused uncertainly.
"I've got to take off my clothes... my panties anyway... don't you want to
see me naked?"

"No, no! Don't take off anything! I'll tell you what to do, don't do
anything except just what I tell you. You'll get your money."
"But... but what do you want me to do?"
"I'll show you. Just sit down and wait. I'll be back in a minute."
I sat down in the chair he indicated and he disappeared into an
adjoining room, closing the door behind him. I heard him moving
about, and five minutes later he appeared again, strip, stark naked. He
was rather thin, but his skin was white and clean. His cock, entirely
indifferent to the proximity of a feminine spectator, hung down inert
and listless.
Crossing the room he unlocked a cabinet and took from it a bundle of
thin, pliant switches. Selecting one of these he extended it toward me
and murmured in a voice which was both low and supplicating:
"Take this switch and whip me as hard as you can."
I gazed at him mute with stupefaction.
"Come!" he urged, putting the switch in my hand."
"You're joking!" I managed to exclaim.
"What do you want me to whip you for?"
"Oh, don't waste time asking questions! Do as I ask and you'll get your
money!"
I saw that he was in earnest and, thinking that I had to deal with a
crazy man whom it would be best to humour, dazedly got to my feet
clutching the switch which he had placed in my hand.

"Whip me as hard as you can!" he whispered huskily, indicating the
cheeks of his bottom with a gesture.
Fearfully, I drew back the slender birch and brought it forward against
his flesh with a smart thwack.
"Harder!" he said, "as hard as you can!"
I repeated the blow, with greater force.
"Keep on! Don't stop! Don't be afraid!"
In obedience to this exhortation I struck him several more blows in
succession.
"That's the way... only harder!" he exclaimed.
Again I drew the birch back and this time it fairly whistled through
the air as it rained stinging cuts over his thighs and buttocks. In its
wake livid crisscross lines began to appear on the white flesh. As I saw
these marks developing under my blows a curious sensation began
creeping up through my own body. A sort of fury took possession of me
and instead of feeling sorry for the pain I was inflicting I felt an urge to
increase his torment. My face was hot and my heart beat violently. I
clenched my teeth and put all the strength I possessed behind the
swishing birch.
He stood there rigidly, his eyes glassy, distended, an ecstatic
expression on his face. And then I noticed something else. His cock,
which had at first been hanging lifelessly down, was coming into a
slow erection. It was expanding in size and jerking convulsively at
short intervals and with each jerk it lifted itself upward a little higher.
I watched it with fascinated eyes and as it slowly assumed its
maximum of rigidity and erection the first shiver of something akin to
lewd voluptuousness kindled within me. I comprehended that in some

manner there was a relation between the whipping I was inflicting on
him and my own obscure, erotic reaction, and I tried to increase the
severity of my blows.
"Enough!" he gasped suddenly, and snatching the whip from me he
flung it across the room. "Now! Frig me quick!" And he seized my hand
and placed it upon his cock.
I was now in a state in which I would have welcomed a reciprocal
caress, even masturbation, but I dared not disobey him. Supporting his
testicles with one hand I pumped his cock frenziedly with the other
and before I had made a dozen passes his seminal fluid was spurting
from my fist in copious jets.
For this service, my first experience in the realms of abnormal sexual
practices, the young man presented me with ten shillings and I went
home marvelling, not only at his curious eccentricity, but at the
peculiar sensations I myself had experienced while occupied with the
weird business.
My moral status was now pretty well established in the
neighbourhood in which I had lived since infancy. The echoes from
shrewish tongues to the effect that "something should be done" had
reached my ears on more than one occasion. I had not been able to
conceal my occasional financial affluence from Mamma Agnes who
had taken note of mysteriously acquired bits of finery and articles of
personal adornment which could not be readily accounted for. Her
comments, at first veiled, became more cynical as time went on. Her
well-founded suspicions were justified when, returning one afternoon
at an hour much earlier than the usual one, she opened a door which
Rene and I, grown careless with respect to elementary precautions, had
left unlocked.
When we first saw her she was swaying tip-silly in the open door.
Tipsy, yes, but not too tipsy to realize the significance of the picture
which confronted her. I, my breasts still heaving under the stimulation
of an orgasm just effected, lying on the bed with my panties off and the
rest of my clothing in guilty disarray, and Rene, his pants unbuttoned
in front and his still rigid cock projecting therefrom as he reached for a
towel to wipe it off in the precise moment in which the movement of
the door attracted our attention.
There was a dull minute of silence; silence frozen and absolute except
for the imperturbable ticking of the small china clock on the dresser.
Raising her hands in front of her with the palms outward in a gesture of
renunciation, Mamma Agnes murmured thickly:
"I war-r-shh me hands of the pair of ye!"
And she closed the door upon us, leaving Rene and me to stare at each
other in blank dismay.
"Gee, Sis! Why didn't you latch the door?" exclaimed Rene when the
sound of her footsteps had died away.
"Why didn't you?" I countered weakly.
From this time on Mamma Agnes maintained a stony indifference
toward me, speaking only when unavoidable, and then with caustic
brevity.
One Saturday evening about a month later, as I was returning to the
house after having spent the afternoon with a girl friend, a young man
passed me in the street. His glance, as it appraisingly flitted over my
face and body, conveyed the message I had learned to recognize and in
a brief moment of passing I was able to observe that in addition to a
handsome appearance, he was more than commonly well-dressed. The
immaculate linen and modish cut of his clothes, together with an
expensive topcoat, suggested money, of which at that moment I had
none, and I had seen in a store that very day a pair of high-heeled
slippers of irresistible appeal.

I slowed my steps and paused before a shop window. I was not
mistaken in my anticipations, for he was quickly at my side,
murmuring seductive blandishments in my ear.
Up to a certain point my knowledge of what transpired subsequently
is quite clear, but beyond that only incoherent and fragmentary
recollection remains.
There was a long ride in a cab which took us into a distant section of
the city unfamiliar to me, a luxurious residence into which we were
received by a uniformed domestic who bowed servility to each curt
order from the young man who accompanied me. I had made a
conquest this time which far outshone any previous adventure. All this
stands out vividly in my memory, together with the beautiful and
costly furnishings of the rooms to which I was conducted, the rich, red
wine I drank from a sparkling crystal goblet and which sent the blood
coursing through my veins, filling me with a delicious languor as I sat
naked on my companion's knees while his hands and lips caressed my
body, lips which tugged and sucked at the little nipples of my breasts
causing them to puff up excitedly and send delicious radiations
vibrating through me, soft, well-kept hands with delicate fingers
whose exquisite titillations between my yielding legs evoked other
delicious ecstasies.
Another goblet of ruby-red wine, two, maybe three, and the
recollection begins to dim, with only an occasional flash reacting upon
my memory; a bed, wonderfully soft and warm and yielding, silken
covers which caressed my naked body like the touch of feathers,
oblivion, and then a return to semi consciousness and an indifferent
realization of the fact that I was being fucked, another period of
darkness and again the awareness of a warm, throbbing cock stirring
inside my body.
And so on, throughout what seemed interminable hours, I alternated
between moments of lucidity and long periods of oblivion. Whether it
was one fuck which lasted all night, or a dozen repeated at intervals I
do not know. I had never been drunk before, and it was more like some
incoherent dream than a reality.
When I awoke I could not at first remember the circumstances which
accounted for my presence in such unfamiliar surroundings. I sat up
among the disordered coverings and looked about. I was alone. My
clothes were d****d over a settee where I had placed them on
disrobing the previous night. I was entirely naked and had a splitting
headache, the explanation of which was apparent in the form of empty
bottles and wine-stained goblets on a small tabouret near the bed.
As my glance roved about the room it encountered a clock sustained
in the uplifted arms of a porcelain shepherdess, and I saw with a start
that it was past the hour of eleven. I had never been absent from home
all night before.
In this moment there was a rap at the door and hardly had I time to
snatch a sheet up over my bubbles than it opened and a servant, the
same one who had admitted us the previous evening, entered, bearing
a tray with a pot of tea, some buttered toast and marmalade.
"The marster's horders, Miss, to serve you breakfast, and get a cab for
you when you're ready."
With the sheet still clutched over my breasts I watched him as he drew
up a small table which, pivoting on an iron base, swung directly over
my lap as I sat there in bed. After placing the tray on the table he
indicated a silver bell.
"You may ring that, Miss, after you're dressed, when you're ready to
go."
I sipped the tea and nibbled at the toast after he had gone, immersed
in uneasy meditations which the situation naturally inspired. When I
had eaten as much as I could with an appetite impaired by a throbbing
headache, I slipped out of bed and began to dress.

When I picked up my stocking I felt some lumpy article inside of it.
With the thought that a garter had gotten inside I ran my hand down
within the silken sheath but instead of a garter I retrieved a crumpled
five pound note. I smoothed it out and gazed at it incredulously. I had
never possessed that much money at one time in my entire life. And
yet, when I picked up the second stocking there was another note of
the same denomination in that one also.
Ten pounds! A veritable fortune.
I forgot both my headache and the uneasiness as to what the
consequences of my all-night absence might be. I hurried through my
dressing, tarried but a moment in the beautiful bathroom, and rang the
bell.
The domestic appeared immediately and led me downstairs and out to
the street where a cab, already summoned, was waiting. In answer to
the driver's query, I mentioned a corner a few blocks from where I
lived, and when we reached this destination I got out and walked the
rest of the way.
Mamma Agnes listened to my unconvincing story of having spent the
night in the home of a girl friend in frigid silence, except for an
observation to the effect that she only hoped the girl hadn't given me a
dose of clap or perhaps gotten me in a family way.
I was not discreet enough to hide the harvest of this adventure and my
sudden acquisition of riches, flaunted in the form of resplendent new
dresses, silk hose, modish slippers, a new hat and other articles of
adornment, in the face of envious and resentful females of the
neighbourhood, brought a reprisal.
Upon information gratuitously submitted by a committee of righteous
ladies I was taken into custody as a delinquent minor, and as a result of
the investigation which transpired, I was first subjected to a physical
examination of a most embarrassing nature, and then committed to a
reformatory for wayward girls, destined to remain there until I became
of age.

CHAPTER 3
Three drab and dreary years I passed in this institution, submerged in
an atmosphere of repression and humiliation which was fairly soul
suffocating.
My complete lack of adaptability to the manual work assigned to new
arrivals made me the special target of persecution by the female
warders. My delicate physique and small hands and tiny, pointed
fingers, so patently incapable of performing scullery work, laundering,
and floor scrubbing with any degree of efficiency seemed to kindle
their resentment.
Quick enough to show fight at first to these manifest injustices, I soon
learned that, right or wrong, I was always on the losing end and that
the slightest indication of insubordination brought punishment of a
heartbreaking nature to say nothing of the loss of certain prerogatives
and so called privileges which were greatly prized in this barren place
and which were accorded only to those who accepted their fate with
the proper show of humility and servility.
The first two or three months were a perfect nightmare of horror. Let
me make myself clear, the sufferings were more mental than physical,
for there was little or no actual physical brutality. Corporal
punishment, though authorized for incorrigibles, was rarely resorted to.
I do not think there were more than half a dozen whippings inflicted on
girls during the entire period I was in the institution. These whippings
though, when they were administered, were something not to be
forgotten.
In addition to the humiliation of being forced to lie face down across a
massive table with her panties removed, the blows inflicted on the
victim's naked bottom were of such severity as to cause her to shriek
with anguish. Five or six or seven times during my incarceration my
face blanched at the sound of those shrill cries, intermingled with the
dull slap, slap, s