An Indecent Correspondence (AlluringEnigma x Dane Stalling)

[AlluringEnigma]

My Dear Sinner,


I write this letter under assumption that you’ve landed far away from London without harm befalling you. I shan’t imagine otherwise, as too many maids would have their poor hearts broken by a tragedy occurring to you or your more relevant parts, shall we say. Of course, I have also found that scoundrels are rarely ever harmed, perhaps due to some ironic notion from God.

I imagine it hasn’t taken long for your presence in the savage southern continent to be felt. The image of your dashing figure atop the helm of a rowboat, crossing onto the mainland several inches before your ship even touched beachhead is quite the humorous one to my mind. I shan’t say you were missed, for the only thing more incorrigible than a man’s bedside manner is his ego, but the estate has felt rather, shall we say, quiet without you.

Now, I can’t imagine how you would’ve enjoyed much in the way of lewd adventure while aboard some leaking frigate, but I’m sure you have more than a few stories to share nonetheless. Perhaps the Captain’s daughter, as she seemed like a sweet thing yearning to be corrupted by your touch. Yet, whatever they were, I shall wish to hear of them in all their detail.

As I sit here writing this letter to you, surrounded by the loud boorishness of Father’s guests, a thought comes to mind. Without you here in London, the title of most debauched falls upon me, as far as I can tell. I also find it fairly safe to assume that your lascivious tendencies earn you the same title in that distant land that you now preside in. Tell me, are the women there of any compare to those of the Orient? I can’t imagine that being true, but I would defer to your firsthand experience in this case.

I must remark that I have a propensity to indulge myself further into the depraved depths of sinful passion since you left. Without your ever-insatiable appetite, it seems like the acts I commit must be that of deeper sin for the same level of gratification as before. Why, just this last week, my indulgent self-satisfaction only satiated my desire after some rather impolite obscenities escaped my mouth. Father was in a dizzy, but he lacks the conviction to attempt to disrupt my lechery anymore. Instead, he always seems to have the same forlorn look upon his face. I suppose, however, that if he wanted me to be a proper lady, he should have never slipped me wine as a babe. I now suspect that this is the root cause of my improper tendencies, and that I am without fault for my natural being.

I must say that I’ve rambled about myself quite a bit in this particular letter. I have always found letters to be a rather one-sided affair, despite the insistence of others. I could tell you about my affair with the maid, the one with blonde tresses down to her shapely backside that you seemed to adore, but I’d rather simply leave you a reason to write me back. I find little point in telling you about all my affairs only for you to leave me in the dark of your own.

So, despite the brevity of this letter, I shall leave you wanting more, like any proper maiden should. I implore you to write back posthaste to break the dreary silence your voyage has left behind.

With desire and perhaps a dash of love,


Elizabeth Cromwell


P.S - I have included a picture taken recently at father’s behest. Personally, I found the attire too restricting, but he insisted that it was “elegant”. Perhaps you can use it to form some sort of wall of conquests while away, just ensure that I hold the first spot.

 

[Dane Stalling]

My Dearest Elizabeth,

I have indeed landed on my own dark continent, though I think you would find it uncommon hot and bright. Your fantasies of my landing at Durban “best limb forward” generated a chorus of guffaws at the Regatta Club, though I did not disclose your name. I have no doubt that you would enjoy a measure of notoriety among the lads, but I am reluctant to show all my cards so soon upon disembarking, and you, dear, are my ace of spades.

You have forgotten, perhaps, that my fame in this port is only for being the heir to the dreary Greenacre Trade Co. My reputation for debauchery I credit you with, since I was for all who knew me a wide-eyed innocent when first you marked me. And such I shall let my reputation stand here, for you know that the prettiest daughters are hidden away from reckless dandies, and flaunted nearly into the laps of seeming respectable gentlemen of a certain station. And you also know what adventures I can bestow upon any pretty daughter that finds her way into my lap.

Why must you torment me with memories of my long and almost fruitless voyage? I kept nearly as chaste as a Franciscan, though not for lack of effort. You tease when you remind me of the captain’s daughter, because you remember as well as I do, the captain’s son. I saw the blood rise to your cheeks when he boarded, even then casting jealous eyes at crew and passengers alike. He kept his sister Amelia under such close watchfulness that I was unable to make any advance into her affections. And certainly that was how it seemed to each casual eye.

It happened that he was so jealous that he put her in a curtained bunk right at the back of his cabin while he occupied a hammock strung across the very doorway. And this was his great error for, much to my delight, I found myself sharing a bulkhead with the dark haired beauty, separated from her by a mere inch thick plank of mahogany. I know that you will laugh when you hear that I sprang off to the carpenter to borrow an auger of the largest diameter I could lay hands on. And you will laugh the more when you know that auger was but the width of my pointing finger. You will have divined my plan, of course, your mind being of the same bent as mine, but no matter how I tried, I could not make a hole of a size to allow my member access into her sleeping-chamber without considerable chafing and discomfort. I had no plan yet on the use of such an opening, but desire is the greenhouse of inventiveness and my desire grew desperate and consequently my invention bloomed.

Presently, and with some quiet labour, I made three holes near where I divined her head would lie when she was abed, with her pretty ears ready to listen to night time whispers.

I set my plan to motion the first night after I drilled the holes. I waited for her to bid her brother a good-night, then listened for her breathing, and I had guessed true—her head was just next to my talking holes. She sang a whispered song to calm herself for sleeping. I spoke halt and confusing first, to create a fiction that I spoke in my sleep. I praised her cheeks and her ankles and the dimples on the backs of her fingers. I wondered in my sleep-talking what her lips would taste like, how the young bloom of her breasts would crush under the attentions of my hands. Her singing stopped, and I could hear her breath catch, and hold. “I wonder if she knows the ecstasy of wandering hands?” I said, plain this time. I heard her turn away then, and I ceased my speaking until the next evening for fear of her raising an alarm.

She sang again as she entered her bed the next evening, but stopped soon after the heavy curtain had fallen to cover her sleeping quarters. “Don’t stop singing,” I said, very bold, for I thought she should start and retreat if I addressed her so. “Who are you?” she said, instead, to my surprise and delight. “John Thomas,” I said, and I nearly laughed aloud for I imagined your face upon reading of it, for I intended always to tell you all.

She was a bold girl and she continued as follows: “Mr. Thomas, I heard you say shocking things in your sleep yesterday evening, though I don’t suppose a person in the embrace of slumber can be held guilty for dreamy utterances.”

I responded: “Oh, miss, please accept my apologies, I suffer from deliriums some nights as I sleep and I only need someone to talk plain with me as though I am awake, and the delirium goes away after a time. But you need not trouble yourself for a stranger’s malady. I will endeavour to suffer in silence henceforth.”

“Sir, but if I could ease your suffering, it would be a christian charity and a balm to the afflicted. Please, I will help in my small way if you will allow it."

“I would be grateful,” I said, “but you must not disagree with me when I speak so, for I become distressed in my delirium and may do myself an injury."

I was, as you can imagine, dear Elizabeth, tremendously excited and it seemed my brain worked at a feverish pace. She responded with little hesitation.

"I will be your talking companion when the fit comes upon you," she said with firm conviction, "And I will agree diligently with your insensate ramblings because I would feel saddened to cause you any harm."

I assured her of my gratitude and pretended after a time to sleep. Presently I began to mumble and speak, finally along lecherous lines. "My knob is swollen, sweet. Pray touch it as is your longing. My pillar, my silky manhood stands stiff for you, sweet. Take hold, say you want to take hold, sweet. Wrap your dimpled fingers around my solemn pulsing pego."

I paused to hear her breathing, for you know a woman's breathing that betrays lust is music to me.

"Tell me how you want to take hold of it, sweet."

I waited to see if she would remember the quaint little trap I had set her. It seemed an age before she replied, quietly.

"I would take hold of it and feel the life in it."

Truly, Elizabeth, this simple phrase had my member hard as it ever was upon your lips or thrust deep in your quim, and tipped with slippery drops. Alas that you were not there to quench my flesh thirst.

"Would you kiss it for my pleasure, sweet? Would you stroke it to make me smile?"

I heard her longing then, when she said, "I would. I will."

I marked her in the dining-room the next morning, looking around at each man's face in the room in turn, trying to discern some sign of recognition. I was careful, of course, to keep my eyes on my eggs as her gaze lingered, then passed me by. I wondered that she did not ask the mate for a passenger manifest, but her brother’s suspicions must have been exceedingly unpleasant, and I guessed that she did not wish to arouse them.

The next evening I addressed her as soon as she climbed into her bed. “Miss, I hope I said nothing shocking last evening. I have brought some cotton to stuff my mouth to keep from offending you.”

“Don’t do that,” she said, very quickly, “I heard nothing unpleasant.”

“Very well then,” I replied, “I wish you a peaceful sleep.”

That night and the following nights, I rambled along every lustful path I could think of- did she play with her nether moist petals? What did it feel like? I described one of our various encounters with a luxury of detail. You will remember the time—your maid watched through the keyhole and we gave her a show to keep her fingers dancing for a month.

Well, Amelia’s fingers danced, and I was there listening, encouraging, when she crested for the first time in her young life. Her rapture was such that she cried out most appealingly, and drew the attention of her brother. She made the excuse that a nightmare had overtaken her. He made to fetch the ship’s doctor, but she succeeded in dissuading him at last.

After that, she muffled her cries as I whispered stories in her ear, the fiction of my delirium all but abandoned.

So you can imagine that when I landed at Durban, my blood steamed with lust and the manner of the quenching of that fire I shall leave to another missive, since I wish to complete this one ahead of the departure of a fast steamer later this afternoon.

As for the women here, there is a wealth of color and beauty among them, Chinese, Indian, shy Malay girls, ebony Africans, white women as fair as you, and fairer. The pedantic mores of the place make it illegal in some sectors, and taboo in all to woo across the lines of race. I had thought myself incapable of being aroused by any but white women with pink bits, however, I find my tastes broadening and I wish to sample thoroughly every flavor and color in this bright, hot city.

You are right that I did adore your maid, her blonde tresses, and her shapely backside. I would read such news of your dalliances with one hand under my reading desk. I shall have to take care not to spoil your letter. Ink runs when dampened.

I’ve a rude gesture for your proper maiden. I’d not waste ink on such a drab. Beachheads are poorer sport than maidenheads, I’d say, but give me a filthy-minded scandal of a girl any hour of the day and I’ll find use for her head to make a harlot blush. I except the fine ladies of the Silver Cross Tavern in Whitehall. I have never known any one of them to blush at any lecherous suggestion, and don’t expect I ever shall. Remember me to Liesl specially if you should happen to meet again. She stole my wallet, and it was worth every last copper.

So until we meet again in scandal, I remain...

Sometime Yours,

Tom Greenacre

P.S. I have put your photograph safe between the leaves of my late mother’s book of saints. None will assail you there, and I feel sure that your portrait among the chaste dullards will make better humans of each of them. Please find enclosed a photograph made upon my landing. I think it makes me look a dreadful bore, but at the very moment the flash-powder ignited I was thinking of sliding a gift between your lips.

 

[AlluringEnigma]

My Dear Greenacre,


I must say that awaiting an epistle from you is agonizing. My mind seems to understand the great distance between us, but my heart seems to believe that some otherworldly power will expedite the process of delivery for my own sake. Nonetheless, upon receiving your letter, a demure smile crept across my lips as I uttered the saga of your self-inflicted torment.
I must first, for the sake of my curiosity, inquire as to how you intend to keep your debauchery a secret after deflowering more than a few exquisite flowers. Perhaps the word of natives could be accepted by many as the mad and outrageous ravings of a primitive mind, but I find it hard to believe for an instant that several, well-regarded women with plump lips and lily white skin will be ignored when they recount the same story of Tom Greenacre’s insatiable lust. Then again, correct me if I’m mistaken, but you always seemed to have further success when reputable gentlemen scowled at your presence. Perhaps the reputation titillates the porcelain dolls you so enjoy, adding a taboo factor to the “talents” you offer.

It seems that your time abroad, particularly on the churning waves of the Atlantic, seem to have dulled your ingenuity. While I must profess that a faux-affliction is quite the way to entice a virtuous and kind soul such as the daughter of your Captain, I find the first approach of yours quite boorish. I will allow that your charm is quite considerable, hence why I’ve always been enraptured by you, but I doubt that even you could pull off such a feat. What child of the world would be tempted by a protruding member lacking both friendly face and appealing figure? Of course, I imagine my presence would have been welcome aboard such a dreary place, not only for my unparalleled company, but also for my feminine wile. Why, I imagine that the young minx’s room would have been filled with moans, both those of her own volition and of her brother’s.

I apologize, as I find myself drifting into the fantasies of what could have been, and my place is here, ruining the prospective young men of London with a taste of true depravity. I will admit that the brightest part of your letter was certainly the addendum. I’m certain the irony of my placement among the saints of yore is not lost on the good Lord, and I imagine it must have brightened his day at least a little bit to see my face amongst such renowned company.

Your account of the fling during your voyage was quite gripping, and it would be remiss of me to not mention that my fingers were occupied during the whole of its recount. I think it would be rather rude not to indulge your unappeasable curiosity and ardor, so I think I shall recount the fleeting amour I shared with the lovely girl.

If your memory still serves you as well as I remember, you will no doubt recount her blushing at our sordid flings. Some of my fonder memories are opening the door bare as the day of my birth, and watching her visage flush red at the sight of my sin. I was never quite sure if you had indeed advanced past a lingering gaze with her, but I am quite convinced if you had, that your job could be described as an abject failure.

Now, while I profess that dashing lads always seem to catch my eye with more frequency, there is a sort of “beyond the pale” appeal to well-proportioned maidens that meet my gaze. As you know, I adore the chase. I’d much rather seduce and initiate a lass who blushes at the mere mention of even the most banal acts than a professional of the Silver Cross. Kelsey was the embodiment of that type of girl, a child at the table amongst adults. I will point out that I use the word “girl” as referring to her past, as I don’t believe anyone would mistake her for such anymore.

Now, I’ve always taken a more gradual approach than you, as I believe my tongue is not quite as silver as yours, nor have I left the place where my reputation runs rampant. So, to begin with, I reassigned Kelsey as my personal handmaiden, quite the painful decision as I adored my last maid who was so enamored with our shows. Nonetheless, this was a necessity.

Being a modern-minded individual, I thought back to the scientific consensus, or at least the amount I’m aware of, and concluded that the best approach would be likening a sexual desire for females to servitude. As we both know, the lower classes are more inclined to serve their betters, as Herbert Spencer so beautifully stated. So, in essence, I wished to inscribe in Kelsey’s brain the notion that sex was as common and necessary as the dusting of shelves.

Simply explaining this to the lovely auricomous specimen would forever instill doubt in her mind, so I decided that I would have to start slow. On the first day of her new duties I called her into my bedchamber.

“Yes Miss?” she asked with that sincerity of tone I so adore in prospective conquests, her words sung in a melodic innocence that had originally tantalized my interest.
“Why, it’s time for my daily bath Kelsey. Did Emma not inform you of this upon orientation?” Emma, of course was the name of my previous maid with the inquisitive eye. She hadn’t informed Kelsey of this duty, as I had never used a maid to assist me in such a manner.
The reply came as I expected, of course. “No Miss, it must ‘ave slipped ‘er mind. I apologize profusely. What shall I do?” she inquired, and at that point, I knew my plan would proceed without major incident.

In this particular case, I decided that feigned modesty would be the best way to lure her in, as if we were both sharing in our mutual embarrassment. With a coy bat of my lashes and slight raise of pitch I implored “Well, my dear, it would require me to undress before you, but I must admit that I find the prospect of exposing myself to be quite daunting, especially to someone whom maintains their modesty all the while”

Now, I was quite unsure if she had understood every word of my address, but it was clear she got the message. With great trepidation, she began to drop the maid’s outfit that accented her curves so delightfully. In turn, I disrobed with a similar, feigned trepidation, as if my heaving bosom attracting her eye was something to be ashamed of.
Now, this pattern continued for the first week, and each time Kelsey got more relaxed around her own bare form. She was quite the delicacy, as you remember, and her piercing blue eyes were always a welcome sight in the later hours of the evening.

By the second week, I decided that her comfortability around me could be transformed into a sexual promiscuousness. With a tone laden of innocence and abashed shame, I began to describe a terrible scene to my darling maid. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever been subjected to the emptiness of a room such as this in the middle of the night?” I asked, Kelsey softly shaking her head as her tender hands ran the sponge along my midriff. “Well, ever since my dearest Tom left me, I find that even the slightest creak leaves me in tatters. I, well I’m ashamed to ask, but would you spend your nights here? At least until my own mind settles itself?”

I apologize for invoking your name, but I’m quite sure you would have approved of the cause it went towards. Her response was rather timid, as if the idea thrilled her in some way “W-why yes Miss. It’d be my pleasur- I mean honor. Apologies, I sometimes speak without considering my words”.

As we both entered the sprawling bed of mine, clad only in the sheerest of nightgowns, I knew I had her hooked. For the first hour, I simply observed the girl, my vision in the darkest of evenings culminated from long nights amongst your company. She continued to steal the occasional longing glance my way, quickly followed by a shameful look the opposite way. It was clear that an hour of bathing each night, with her hands running along my most intimate parts, had peaked her curiosity.

With a performance Oscar Wilde himself couldn’t coax out, I feigned a sudden waking. With surprising agility and hands a little too eager for pure virgin, Kelsey was next to me amongst the covers. Her doting eyes and warm figure that was now pressed up against me was perhaps one of the more thrilling things I have ever felt, as she softly doted “What’s wrong, are you OK Miss?”
Continuing my deceit, I softly replied “Yes my dear Kelsey, it’s just the fear of loneliness riling up within me. With Tom gone, I haven’t felt the warm caress of a lover in some time. Apologies, I’m sure you don’t want to hear this.”

Once more, I apologize for the use of your name, though I’m sure the exciting tale is worth the sullying of your reputation. With her best attempt at sexual confidence, her fingers slowly made their way down my stomach, her melodic tone now teasing my ear as she spoke “I could take care of that as well Miss”

My recount of her advances is slightly biased, as her delivery was far more clumsy than this text implies, but I am biased by her more recent advances in prowess. You would hardly believe the things she does since your departure. Anyways, with as meek of a tone as I can manage, which I admit is not all that extreme, I softly answered “Yes, don’t stop, please”
I find it remiss to mention that her first night was rather amateur. I continued to feign my own inexperience, as I had no intention of initiating a one-time affair, and soon she had explored every nook of my body with her wandering fingers. While you were simply teasing the young maiden aboard your ship, I was turning Kelsey into a further hedonist every night, though she had no brother nearby to protect her from my perversion.

As I write this letter, she lays across the room on my bed, shooting me libidinous glances while I try to finish this correspondence. It’s quite distracting, but I can’t imagine there’s many sights better than hemp running along her toned skin.

So, I shall wrap this missive up and return to the pleasant distraction of my disciple. While she no longer holds my bed every night, she is quite the distraction between flings. I should very much like to hear if you’ve sampled the local populace yet, or simply partaken in rich brats. Either way, I imagine you’ve not been idle in such an exotic place. I fear my sendoff will never be quite as witty as yours, but I shall try my best anyway.


Forever exposed in your thoughts,


Elizabeth Cromwell


P.S - I enclosed a photograph of the lovely Kelsey (She's the one on the left, if the color of the hair wasn't obvious enough), unfortunately with much of her beauty confined by an unseemly uniform. I do think, however, that you shall take my word for it when I say that her assets are far more special than the photograph reveals. Do with it what you will.

 

[Dane Stalling]

My Dearest Elizabeth,

You are correct in thinking that I could have made use of your wiles on the voyage. We'd have made short work of my neighbouring cabin, you and I, but one must use ingenuity when one lacks ideal resources.

I did manage to keep both of my itching hands on your letter as I read your account of Kelsey's introduction into your bed, but I was in a state of such desire as I completed it that I called on a pretty that you will meet in these pages. We made a riot that will not be soon forgotten among the household staff, but I have every confidence that unless my lady friend speaks of it herself, none will hear of it.

There have been a number of developments that have made these last weeks notable. Most are only business transactions and local political manoeuvring and I would not bore you with their recounting except that some lascivious interest has come of them which I will spin out for you presently.

A principle of trade is to buy cheap and sell dear, as you know, of course. And any good trader seeks value where none else see it. I only mention the idea because my father is blind to a resource that I have come to value very much, and that is the acquisition of information. In particular, the information that flows freely through channels that he has ignored heretofore.

The native servants on the estate, contrary to your guess, possess a network of facts that is both very accurate and extremely fast. I have been quick to promise substantial rewards among the household staff--and some of the servants in neighboring estates-- for both the delivery of news from surrounding holdings and for discretion from our own. As I am aware of none of my peers that possess similar views on the flow of information, I feel confident that I have, as they attempted to teach me in my business lectures, a monopoly on informal communications between the servants of European estates in the city. Using this method I have compiled a tantalizing list of female prospects, their estates, and sometimes their habits.

As for the cultivation of my reputation, I have a small story for you that will illustrate my stratagem. Last week I was struck with a phrase repeated often by the lads at the Club when speaking of a stuck door or an overtight bolt. “Tight as Moll Poulsen’s knees,” they said, and seemed to share forlorn grins upon using the phrase. I was acquainted with a girl so named before I shipped off to England to learn business at the university and dissipation between your thighs. I was a better scholar of the latter, though the former soaked a small part of my brain, much as I tried to prevent it.

Moll was of no account then, a coltish girl, all knees and elbows, her teeth too large for her blond head, and dominated by a pair of grey protestant parents. So she was, from the time her breasts began to grow, covered from ankle to neck in drab dresses that made her a paradox of angles and shapelessness.

I was myself barely more than a schoolboy in shorts and long socks, more interested in fishing and cricket than the mystery of where her long legs met. We climbed trees together and chased rabbits as playmates, and nothing more. So to hear her name spoken thus was surprising, for I had every expectation that she should be long absent from the minds of the local dandies.

I discerned by the work of my careful listeners that her family attended the Scandinavian Lutheran Church, and so I made a plan to attend the next Sunday, wearing my best, and with your book of saints under my arm to keep me company. I reflected during the sermon that were you to confess, you would taint the confessor and find, maybe, a lively romp in a cloistered garden. But confession is not a fashionable doctrine among the Lutherans so you would needs resort to subtler methods. I also reflected that Scandinavians must have the cold of their homelands in their bones because they kept both windows and doors tight shut though the morning was hot enough to melt their horses into glue during the proceedings. Indeed I perspired a great deal, but it seemed so with all who attended.

Now we come to Moll. She sat in the third row next to her parents and I sat across the aisle and one pew behind so as to be able to observe her without her marking me. Her hair, which had been tangled with twigs from exploring a hedge when last I saw her was glossy gold and full, though covered with a stringed bonnet. I could not see her face in the bonnet, but I did see what my friends had also seen. She kept her knees tight together. But I marked something that my friends had not. She made a rhythmical rocking so slow that none but the most observant would make note of it. Indeed it would have escaped my notice if she were not my sole reason for attendance. It put me in mind of the evening you and I were at the opera and I whispered every delicious thing I would do to you after the last note. You rocked thus that evening.

Consequently, while my friends saw prudish abstinence in her demeanour, I saw barely contained lust. Her forehead was dewed with perspiration and the hair at her temples was dampened, I saw, not just from the overpowering warmth of the air, but also from the heat of some as yet undiscovered desire. Naturally I contrived to remember myself to her parents after the service as I knew they would recall me as a harmless boy and occasional playmate to their daughter. What I was surprised to discover was that every awkwardness, every defect in her proportion, every spot on her skin had been smoothed over with a most fetching and delicious femininity.

Her mother seized upon me immediately, remembering the wealth and supposed good name of my family, and suggested herself that I take Moll for an afternoon stroll along the beach side promenade. In any other situation I would have dug in the heels at such a suggestion on a sweltering day, but I knew that chances for entry into her affections would abound on such an outing, so I agreed, and after luncheon I set out with Moll on a walk along the docks. Now it happened that we passed my father's ice making factory as we strolled, and, not one to miss an opportunity, I suggested that we take a tour of the premises, not least because of the pervasive discomfort of the day. As it happened, there were unforeseen advantages.

It would seem at first that an ice factory would be the ideal destination on a hellish day, but remember that our clothes were already in various stages of dampness from long hours of baking in the weather, so while we initially relished the cool of the storage warehouse, very soon it became uncomfortably chilly. Moll's summer church dress, modest as it was, was no match for the frigid atmospheres of the factory, and she soon found herself in the difficult position of having to decide whether to ask me to cut our tour short or to find solace in the closest source of heat, namely your own Tom Greenacre.

With Moll chattering her teeth and clinging to my arm, all but pressing her breast against me, I took my time, though truth be told, I was nearly as much in a state of discomfort as she, though perhaps I had her advantage in finding the heat of her hands a double warmth.

I have often observed that a woman who is recently escaped from an awkward youth into beauty still has the behaviours and thinking of the homely girl she has recently ceased to be. In this, Moll was an eminent example. She had no idea of her beauty, of its effect on men in general, and me in particular. It was in this refreshing state of affairs that an unguarded honesty broke out between us. We stood between walls made of great blocks of ice and she clung to me, careless of the intimate contact of our bodies. While I confessed I found her form appealing, she confessed her desire to break free of her life, to do rash and irresponsible things.

"I don't have a care if I get caught," she said, shivering charmingly into my chest, "I can't stop thinking of fleeing into some adventure or other, far from the oversight of my parents."

"I have an idea, then," I said, because I could see that this was an opportunity I should seize upon without delay. "Come to Greenacre estate to-night when it is dark. There is a stair at the back of the manse that leads to the balcony outside my rooms. We can speak freely there of any adventure you can imagine."

"Oh, would you?" she said. I can tell, given your seduction of the most exquisite Kelsey, that you know my feelings at that very moment. What thrill is like it? Nothing that I can express in written words. Yet I feel that you understand my mind in this, as we are predators, you and I, though I am undecided on who is the more ruthless. You, I am inclined to believe, though the proof is yet lacking.

I cannot guess what you would have done given this state of affairs, but I will report as faithfully as possible for your enjoyment, the recall of that evening.

I gave the watch boy a crown and I instructed him to apprehend the girl as a thief when she appeared at my stairs, for I doubted not that she would make every effort to fulfil her adventure once I had encouraged the action. And, it happened thus. She was apprehended as she stole along the edges of the garden and brought directly to me. I waited at my writing desk, and I observed the whole affair as it happened. The watch boy had her arm in a firm grip as he dragged her before me and I looked up at her as though this were a common occurrence.

"What is it, Sipho," I said, putting my fountain pen in its case. "Another thief?"

"Yes, Baas," he said, "She made a plan to steal your diamonds, Baas. She got a bag for carrying them away."

Of course, this was the fiction we had agreed upon and Sipho produced a canvas sack just then, one with the crest of my family imprinted on it. He shook the sack a few times and threw it on the floor in front of me.

"She a thief, Baas. I'll call the constables."

"Thank you, Sipho," I said, "But leave me with her for a time and I will see if I can find what further plans she has. Perhaps this is but the first of many trespasses. Let the constables sleep a little while yet."

"Yes Baas." Sipho scowled at her and left, his outrage clear. It was a pity he could not read, for he would have made a fine actor in the theatre. I noted this and wondered briefly how to get a tutor for the boy. He was a bright one, and a promising future befitted him.

"Moll," I said once the boy was gone. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

I did not know if she would protest innocence, burst into tears, or flee immediately, but what she said next surprised me.

"I'd have stolen your diamonds, Tom, if your infernal boy hadn't happened by at just the time I was most vulnerable."

I must say that her reply gave me pause, but I detected that she was joining the fiction Sipho and I had devised. I wondered at her ambitions for the evening, for I had my own, of course, and did not desire to be thwarted.

"My diamonds?" I said, in as doubtful a voice as I could muster, "And you were to spirit them away in this sack as Sipho has charged?

She snorted then in disgust as though I had insulted her in some way. "I'd have swallowed your diamonds and carried them safe to the assayer's office two days hence in the morning with the aid of a bottle of castor oil and a sieve.

You know that I am not easily shocked, dear Elizabeth, but you will be amused to know that my face blanched at this last. I did research in the next days along the lines of Moll's odd fiction and it proved to be a common, if distateful, method of diamond theft in the mines of Kimberley and Cullinan. That she should invoke the story so quickly and under a sort of duress left me with a renewed impression of her thwarted desires. I answered quick, as I knew the initiatve lay with me at this juncture.

"I cannot trust the confessions of a thief," I said, warming to the situation, "and I am certain that even your confession is a wide path to a false conclusion. I believe that you were not en route to commit the theft when Sipho apprehended you, but that you have already acquired my jewels, secreted them in some devious fashion, and were, in fact, in the process of withdrawing with the stones when you came to his attention."

"Pff, what if I had?" she said, her cheeks pink with emotion.

I moved close to her and whispered in her ear, my cheek touching hers.

"Under that suspicion, I'd have to search you thoroughly," I said, "Extremely thoroughly."

Her knees were tight together during this exchange. I was keenly aware of every posture and shift of her body. Indeed, at this moment, my thigh was against hers. At my last utterance, her knees separated a little, an inch, maybe, but it was as though she had invited me to ravish her on the spot.

"I've no fear of your inspection," she said, though I felt her tremble.

I put my hand above her ankle then, slid it up, lifting her dress all the while. She fixed me with a most desirous gaze then and I warmed to the moment, and hardened too.

"Will you not deny the charge laid against you?" I said, lifting her dress over her head. Her underclothes showed her shape a little more, but not more than would be proper on a public beach.

"And lose the chance of an intimate inspection? There are things more precious to me than diamonds I'd like to press into secret places, Tom. I wonder if you can conjure my meaning with your imagination?" She spoke boldly, and pressed my hands against her body. "Don't waste time, Tom. Your dandy friends are useless for a woman with needs."

I searched her most thoroughly, a bedside lamp throwing light on her glistening quim as I slipped a finger in and tasted her, tart and heady.

"Deeper," she said then, "I've a hunger that will take solid food to satisfy."

I gave her something solid then, my lips against the pulse in her neck as I slid my length inside her. Then she showed me the advantages of her habit of pressing her knees together, for she had most muscular thighs that gripped me tight. I was merged with a ravenous beast, and my joy of it was evident. I pounded her across my bed, onto the floor, our fall broken only by a rich rug of India, and I spent with her as she sat astride my waist, her breasts swinging in the low light of my room.

That was the first night. I had weeks of voyage time and lust gathered in my jewels, and her lust was not the less, for she lived cloistered and guarded except in the hours of night. She makes use of my back stair most nights, though I have given her a key to the ice factory for use in her own future conquests.

I cannot claim her as a trophy, for I cannot say whether she caught me or I caught her, and to my mind it scarcely makes a difference, for we are slowly slaking each other's thirst I see her eye straying to fresh conquests though and I will find it entertaining to observe her when she snares her own first prey.

There's my tale for you, Elizabeth. Other than this adventure, it is all business--the native Zulus shaking their spears at the northern Shona tribe for some insult, and it all makes raids on our cargo trains more likely. My father is at a loss to solve any problem that does not involve making an appeasing deposit in a bank account, so this new trouble he will likely shuffle off on me, interrupting Moll's scientific attempt, no doubt, to find out if she can cause me to spend more than six times in a single day. I have not told her of your exploits along the same lines, so as not to discourage her.

So, until I taste your tongue again, I remain thirsty, and

Sometime Yours,

Tom Greenacre

P.S. The photograph of Kelsey I have placed in an oval frame on my writing desk. It was only on an impulse, but it amuses the staff to imagine that I have a fiance on whom they believe I cheat without shame, and it amuses me to know that she is yours, not mine. I have no photograph or portrait of Moll, though she has pressed her painted lips against the inside of the front cover of the book.

 

[AlluringEnigma]

Hello Tom,

I’m afraid that I’m not quite sure who the girl you refer to is, as I never quite spent as much time with our dear Elizabeth as you have. However, from the sounds of her, she seems like a bit of a waste of your time. I will remark that my reciting of your letter brought quite the smile to her face, at least I think it was a smile; her mouth was a bit occupied at the time.

As if wasn’t obvious, I’m not Elizabeth. She’s a bit tied up at the moment, so to speak, so I took the liberty of ensuring that you would receive a timely response. I believe that sloth is one of the seven deadly sins, and dear Elizabeth has already committed too many of them to add another to her list. Besides, you’ve spent much of your life around her, and I imagine that a new voice to talk to outside of that uncivilized hell must be appreciated.

So, let me formally introduce myself. I am the lovely handmaiden Kelsey. I presume that I was at least mentioned in passing at some point during her correspondence with you, however I’m unsure of the extent with which I was discussed, as your lovely pen pal is too occupied for me to ask. In fact, her muffled mewling is rather obnoxious, and I’m afraid I’ll have to take care of that before I continue writing.

Now that she’s been reminded of the sanctity of silence, I can continue. I’m sure that my words are far less ornate than your beau’s and my manner of speech far more direct than her winded soliloquy’s, but I don’t think that wholly matters. Elizabeth has taught me more than enough to make my penmanship above-average and my words meaningful.

I imagine, and I’ll be disappointed if not, that she has regaled you with the stories of my past innocence. Considering the amount of time between conception and reading of a parcel that travels all the way down to Africa, these could be recent developments for you. By the by, if she hasn’t mentioned the story of my corruption, so to speak, then perhaps she can fill you in when I deign to free her schedule up.
Nonetheless, suffice it to say that my initial relationship with our mutual friend was exploratory and passive. I had always wanted to explore the more deviant side of life, partially due to the whispers of your adventures around town, but I’d never had the means or wherewithal to do so. As a consequence, when I found myself being seduced by the lovely mistress of the estate, I complied like a passive sheep following a self-assured shepherd.

I do believe that Elizabeth was fairly overconfident at the time of her decision to have her way with me. I think she was operating under the assumption that my innocence was by choice, rather than by situation. However, blushing upon the discovery of the affairs of others is not a mark of innocence, but rather a mark of station. For someone as high above the world as Elizabeth, I would imagine it’d be hard to see the concerns of unemployment that so often shape the reactions of us at the bottom. None of that is a criticism of the dear girl, but rather an observation of her inability to understand those whom she thinks she has figured out.

I’m afraid that Elizabeth’s proclivity to ramble on has affected me, after all the time with her, so I apologize for my tangents and the like. Returning to the story at hand, I spent the first month of my time with Elizabeth learning from every dalliance she afforded me. Every night our adventures seemed to drift further and further away from the banal interactions of the insipid high-class courtships. I shall remark that the feeling of hemp abrading my skin was the least of my concern nightly.

However, instead of continuing further down into the depths of depravity while being led along by employer and lover, an unlikely catalyst appeared. You might be rather honored, or some variation on that word, to hear that your letter was the very catalyst that transformed me into something more than a passive participant.

Despite not being impressed by your newest plaything, or perhaps her newest plaything, I will admit that the story inspired me. A life of servitude does not invite bold actions, and hence I spent my relationship trying to avoid invoking any wrath from the audacious lady I was now in bed with. However, what occurred to me with your letter is that station does not preclude desire. A person born in the finest silk is just as lustful as the one born in rags.

So, the next night, I spent a considerable amount of energy studying the girl I had spent a month with. For, you see, people may talk as much as it pleases them, but the only true indicator of intent is action. So, instead of simply complying to the wishes of the rather demanding Elizabeth, I’m sure you remember how she can get at times, I instead started whispering commands to her. At first, at the onset of our night together, they were subtle. In fact, one could mistake them as suggestions.

Another thing I’ve learned, once again I apologize for the aside, is that those who truly want control are averse to even the thought of suggestion. The second I held sway with Elizabeth, who complied to my “requests” almost immediately, I knew she was not the totalitarian force she purported to be.

As the night matured, so did my plan. What once were suggestions, now slowly devolved into subtle commands. By the time Elizabeth and I were in a state of full undress, she was on her back, an alien position for her with our interactions. Besides her compliance, which titillated me to no end, I also noticed a difference in her interactions. When our sordid affair had first gone underway, she had the commanding presence and touch of an accomplished leader, not a soul would have mistaken her as anything but the leader. However, lying on her back with the soft syllables of pleasure now escaping her lips, her touch was tentative and hesitant. Each motion seemed to be asking for consent before fully committing; gone was the fearless bedroom general who had confidently ensnared her prey, replaced with an unsteady greenhorn who was awaiting proper direction.

I’m unsure if you have ever coaxed out this side of her, something tells me that someone as proficient as you has, but I’d love to hear about your methods, as I will be heavily involved in her next correspondence as you will soon learn more about. Returning to the story, I knew I had Elizabeth right where I wanted her. I have to admit that the feeling of dominating my employer was exhilarating. Besides the fact that her iron will was now reversed, it was a sort of triumph that the humble daughter of backcountry farmer had tamed one of the iron-willed nobles of London.

Feeling quite confident in my grip upon her, I immediately stopped the exchange between us, and stood up, towering over the bare and humbled mistress of the household. With the same edge in my voice that Elizabeth had demonstrated naught but the night before, I commanded “This was fun, and judging by your reaction, you agree. Now, since we both clearly understand what you want, I think it should be clear that I decide the state of our nightly affairs.” I paused for a second at the time, waiting for her response. Her assent was voiced by a meek nod of her head, a rather pathetic gesture that amused me to no end at the time. “Good. Tomorrow, after the sun has set, I expect to see you here, bare as the day of your birth, and kneeling at the front of the bed, awaiting me without motion. Understood?” Then, without waiting for a response, I walked away.

Now, I’m sure an intelligent and capable man such as yourself knows the inevitable conclusion of this tale, but I’ll recount it nonetheless, I’m sure you’ll reap some pleasure regardless. The next night, I waited a good while after the sun had set, to ensure that Elizabeth had followed instructions without fault, and then walked into the room. Sure enough, there she knelt, her porcelain legs red from her extended stay upon the ground, in fact, even her head was bowed, another gesture that amused me to no end.

With a joyous hop in my step, I acquired the same rope that had been entangled across my body mere days ago, and proceeded to wrap Elizabeth in it, my movements concise and my knots tight. Before long, she was helpless to my will, something that seemed to arouse her far more than any of her previous escapades that she had partaken in with me. I was now free to do with what I wanted to one of the more powerful women in London.

Let me tell you, Tom, that I took advantage of every moment. Her chambers would have been alight with cries of pain and pleasure had I not taken the liberty of using her lingerie to stifle those outbursts. If you could have seen her, I think you would have appreciated my work. Her skin, that lovely ivy-white that seems to cling to the upper class, was turned bright red by the end of the night. No part of Elizabeth was untouched, and when I finally removed the ropes and allowed her speech, she was naught but a gibbering mess kneeling before me.

Now, as I mentioned before, I’d like to participate in the next correspondence, and I’ve thought of something interesting for both myself and you, which will no doubt translate to enjoyment for our dear friend. I imagine that you will have missed access to your infatuation, and there’s no easy remedy for thousands of miles of land and water. However, I believe I can give you a hand in her private affairs, so to speak.

I’d like for you to detail exactly what you’d like done to your old flame. No doubt months away from her have conjured some lovely ideas in that twisted mind of yours, and I’d like to help exact them. I must stress that I’d like to hear your most inventive whims, not simply your banal desires. I’m certain that any girl, be it one from London or Africa, enjoys a good fling with Tom Greenacre. However, I’d like something that would make our dear Elizabeth squirm, something twisted in its conception, be it through a devious torture or game of skill.

Elizabeth, being the rather sporting girl, will love every moment of it. Of that, I have no doubt. But, in our brief interaction, I’d like to see just how inventive the mind of the infamous Tom Greenacre is. Who knows, maybe I’ll one day be able to afford the luxury of a vacation to Africa to further investigate. Until your next correspondence arrives, be assured that Elizabeth is in good hands.

A simple maid no more,

Kelsey Faith

 

[Dane Stalling]

My Esteemed Kelsey,

Your letter both surprised and delighted me, not least because I remember well the sounds of Elizabeth’s captivity, the mewling, the angry cursing into a cloth blocking her mouth. I never used her undergarments to muffle her cries, though the idea is full of merit and I applaud your resourcefulness. She is ever aroused by her own fragrance, and you must have had her in hysterics of desire by virtue of that simple expedient.

In any case, she was irate with me, you will doubtless understand, because I failed to allow her satisfaction one winter’s evening after a day of frustrated caresses. She was tied all that afternoon and night with my horse’s leather bridle, and how it creaked as she squirmed! A kitchen wench brought up her dinner, and was happy to play my silent flute in her mistress’s view as Elizabeth herself writhed helpless in the firelight. She cursed epics that night, for I spent my seed hot on her bound foot. I courteously serviced the wench for her pains, ten licks to her quim for every one to Elizabeth's and, after the good kitchen wench retired, a satisfied glow and smile on her face, I fell into slumber, my fingers barely brushing Elizabeth’s voracious altar of Venus. How she wetted my knuckles with her desire, but she could not bring herself to the apex with my sleepy fingers, and her cursing only brought smiles into my sleep.

She thought it a great discourtesy that I should leave her thus immobile and burning, but great was her joy when I woke her in the mid-night with my ploughshare making her furrow weep and thrill. Her cries of pleasure were likewise muffled, and when finally I released her tongue, her only words were of gratitude.

That winter I wrought delectable discourtesies on her body with horse crops and nettles, with tallow, with spurs, the flat of a kitchen spoon, with my carriage whip, each lash drawing forth cries and whimpers. She endured a devil’s tail woven of steer hide one night, unnaturally plunged into the recesses of her body and she shivers when I remind her of it with the circling of a finger around the place from whence it grew. Perhaps you will find she remembers it still if you let your fingers wander her southern regions. She welcomed every discomfort with eagerness, wail though she may in the shadow of her pain, she learned to earnestly long for my command to strip and lie still, for in the fullness of time she never failed to shudder and scream in her ecstasies.

So it is with no small measure of respect that I regard you for the eventual taming of your lady and my sometime lover. I remember your face, for you served us wine while we indulged each other. She had whispered to me to imagine tupping you before you entered, so I have taken you in my mind with you unknowing, and thanks to your captive lady. I wonder if you’ll more desire revenge for her impropriety, or for failing to invite you to our carousing. I’d have pulled your yellow hair. My hand fists as I write, thinking of what could have been, but was not. We broke the crystal and spilled the wine in the violence of our passion upon your leaving, for she knew you were in my mind as I thrust my manhood into her.

Now I come to your request. I have, with this letter, sent a parcel, the contents of which require some explanation. It may surprise you to learn that of the cardinal sins which you touched on in your letter, the woman you have bound up burns with three more of them in equal measure. Lust you already know, for you have tasted it yourself, and is it not a heady liquor? Our Elizabeth burns with envy, though, her pride is unparalleled, and her greed is insatiable. In the parcel are packages which contain objects for the breaking of your lady.

First, I have sent you some few fragile trifles- a pipe of mine with a bit of my tobacco, and a bottle of 4711 Echt Kölnisch Wasser, which I was accustomed to smooth into my hair when we dallied. I once saw her drop to her knees and swallow a man’s tallywhacker in an alley simply because she caught the same scent on him in passing. Use the fragrances cruelly. I know you will. You will find a suit of my clothing yet in the wardrobe of my former room. It came too late from the laundry to travel with me and I left instructions to store it there. I will leave its use to your devious imaginations.

It will be prudent to bind her before the next parcel is revealed to her. She will scratch out your eyes if you should forget.

I have used hemp on her, as she has used on you, as well as chains, articles of her clothing and mine, curtains, sheets, and all manner of other bonds as have proved convenient to my use. However, I think you will find her humiliation will be the more complete to use her own greed to bind her. Here is the essence of my plan; this is how to bind Elizabeth with greed.

Find a spool of some insignificant thread or string among the notions of the seamstress and secret it to Elizabeth's chamber. Tie one end of thread to the handle of her pearl mirror and the other to her wrist such that if she moves her arm in any fashion she will by her movement shatter the mirror. In like manner, tie her left hand to the Chinese vase on the pillar by the window by a similar thread. It contains the ashes of a chieftain of the Orient. It is a unique and priceless treasure. Tie her left foot to the bedpost with the long string of pearls under the false bottom of the drawer by her bed. There are few things that she treasures more. Finally, tie her right foot to the bell pull for the footman. If she rings for a servant, will he not come and find her thus immobilised by her own greed?

Second, you will find two gifts, one marked for you, wise Kelsey, and one for Elizabeth. When you deem the time right, open your gift. In yours you will find a diamond pendant, a gift from me to you. Wear it always in Elizabeth’s presence to make her burn, for her gift is also for her neck. Open her gift in her sight. You will find the rope from the neck of my guard boy’s dog. I purchased it from him for precisely the same price as the diamond you will wear. Oh, that I could see her eyes as the rope embraces her throat. She will, no doubt, be delighted to hear that the price of her jewelry will provide the means to teach my watch boy Sipho to read and write as well as his seven siblings and many dozens of his cousins.

I have little doubt that you will devise intricate and subtle tortures for our lady thus held captive. Here is a secret for your use. She indicated to me in confidence one morning as we lazed abed after a night of carnality that the persistent caress of the small mole just a finger’s breadth to the side of her sensitive button has the curious effect of both arousing her passion and forbidding the ecstatic crisis. No doubt I am to be reproached for betraying the intimate trust of so eminent a lady, but as you so carefully indicated, it is in service of her most particular pleasure that her trust is broken. A great many other things may be broken before she is satisfied completely.

Please pass my regards to my lovely and a piece of news. I have become married after a fashion, and I will reward news of the success of her tortures with the full account thereof. My lust for Elizabeth is undiminished by either time or distance. Be my hands in your lady’s bedchamber, Kelsey. I have full confidence in your abilities.

Bound with you in lascivious purpose, I am

Tom Greenacre

P.S. If you should find your way to Africa, the diamond twin to the one in your pendant is hung around my neck. I will give it you, if you ask me for it as we sit for tea in my estate.