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his racquet before he left.

The Watson girls were preparing for a ball. To be held at the manor belonging to one Lord Fairfax, a rich and noble man of many acquaintances. The girls were very excited, indeed! “Oh!” snapped Charlotte, the youngest; “this petticoat is filled with creases! I cannot possibly wear such a silly thing. It is too frumpy! Isabelle, give me one of yours.” Isabella, the eldest and wisest of the girls at twenty-two-years-of-age, sighed, and politely asked, “Do not you have others you can wear? You are much larger than I am: my frocks should not fit you.” “Oh nonsense! I will make them fit,” she said. And with that, Charlotte took up one the dresses lain on the bed and squeezed her full figure into it. As expected, it was very ill-fitting, and one had the impression that she could barely breathe it was squeezing her corset so tight. It was of finest green silk, however, and she wore it with grace. “This will do perfectly!” she said. Skipping forwards in time, as authors are wont to do, the girls alighted the carriage that would take them to the nearby manor. This was a few years before very wide crinolines become popular, dearest reader, so all four girls fitted in the carriage with relative ease, their silken petticoats shining in the dim light. They looked fabulous; how could any man resist the temptations they offered? Charlotte fidgeted awkwardly with her heaving bosom, buffeted up by the tight corset and dress, and said, “I wonder if my bosoms look alluring enough in this frock.” “If they allure any more they will pop out and poke out your dancing partner’s eye!” remarked Catherine, causing a giggle from Ginevra but a caustic stare from Charlotte (though she was happy her breasts were on show as much as she dared bare). Soon enough, it was time for dancing and rejoicing. The girls danced many times with many fellows, many of whom were astonishingly handsome; and quickly became quite heated and perverse. Charlotte, in particular, could not think of anything other than taking off all the army fellows’ uniforms and dancing amongst them gleefully. She sat down and crossed her legs. A fellow whom she had danced with, and who was exceptionally charming and good-looking, came and sat next to her. “Miss Watson,” he said, out of breath, “you dance very well for a girl of your age.” “I have had much experience in that subject, Lieutenant,” she replied. “You cannot be more than seventeen!” he cried in disbelief. “I am eighteen, sir. I feel it is the best age to be for a girl who dances.” “Indeed,” nodded Lt Burry (for that was his name), “you have much beauty, and you wear it well” (motioning to her dress). “Oh, yes, it is my sister’s, Isabella – although I just call her Isabelle, over there, dancing with that navy chap.” “She is beautiful, also. Your parents must be very happy to have such handsome daughters. Although, I think, of all of them


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, you are the finest.” “Oh, you jest,” Charlotte laughed, her complexion reddening. “I am the most well-fed, certainly, but I do not have as fine teeth as Isabelle, nor do I have as well-defined features as Catherine, and of all of them I am the palest.” She said these things whilst looking into his eyes with that sort-of knowing gaze that two lusty people often have, and she was (I think unconsciously) stroking the pearl beads of her necklace. Lt Burry was a bawdy fellow, and recognised these lusty signals immediately. The consequences were obvious, and wholly appreciated. “You are not the palest now, for I fear my compliments have embarrassed you,” he said, moving his hand to her knee, “but I often feel that milky skin, pearl necklaces and a heaving bosom (such as yours) are symbolic of desires outside of the dance floor.” He smiled lustfully. “Oh, Lt Burry, do not speak so!” she said. I wonder if he has a big cock, she thought. “Should you like to take a walk out? The grounds are the finest in the county, and it is ever so stuffy in here,” he said. Charlotte smiled wickedly. “I should love to,” she said, and they promptly left the building. “It is such a beautiful night,” she said, feeling the cool summer air, as they strolled the moonlit gardens; “the moon has basked everything in a white glow.” She examined the flowers under a nearby tree. “And other things, too,” said the Lt. “Your face is positively more pale, and milkier than I have seen it this evening; although it is still radiant, and makes a good juxtaposition with your strawberry lips.” “You are too kind, Lt,” she said. “But tell me this: why did you remove your lovely pearl necklace?” “Well,” she said, bawdily, “I had hoped that you would soon give me another.” “Ah!” said he, happily, “some milky liquid or other, you should like? I should like to see it shine in the moonlight on your creamy neck and velvet lips.” “I am sure that you would,” Charlotte said, licking her lips seductively. The Lt moved a hand to one of her breasts and squeezed it gently, and then kissed her fervently. He kissed very well, their tongues lashing together, and with just enough suction to feel good. They continued in this manner for awhile till Charlotte allowed him to slowly lower her to the dry grass, and rest her head upon a large root of the tree. He pulled the shoulder-parts of her dress down, revealing her tight black bodice. Although he was very anxious to see these two glorious globes, he undid the bodice with care and precision, kissing her all the while. He looked at his prize: two very large breasts, as white as the rest of her, with two pink nipples, half erect. He took them in his hands and squeezed and played with them as he began kissing her once more. He moved his head down and kissed and sucked on Charlotte’s nipples, alternately, making