IRONWOOD 


IRONWOOD. The bleak picture of young James' future was transformed overnight 
when he found himself in a choice position at Ironwood, a strict finishing 
school where young women were rigorously trained to become accomplished Ladies 
of Pleasure. James would find that he would have to meet many challenges in 
taming the bevy of young beauties in his charge, but no test would be as great 
as the one he faced in mastering Cora Blasingdale, the imperious Mistress of 
Ironwood.


Excerpt from Ironwood

Cora's voice rang out in its clear, imperious tone. The curt command summoned 
forth a striking apparition: a pretty, dark-haired lass of no more than twenty, 
clad in the seductive uniform of an Ironwood girl, appeared, as if by magic, in 
the doorway. I watched in silence as the willowy girl made her stately way 
toward us, self-composed, her demeanor that of a young acolyte in procession; 
gliding with head bowed, eyes downcast.

The slender girl came to within a few feet of us and stopped to stand before us, 
head tilted submissively forward, eyes riveted on the floor, hands held loosely 
at her sides. There was something fascinating about this young woman who could 
present herself to us with such detachment, with that almost Oriental serenity 
so characteritic of a well-trained Ironwood girl. And I knew, that like the 
obedient servant she was, she would stand there and wait, deferential, ready to 
be called upon to serve in any manner whatsoever.

The girl's shiny black hair, long and straight, had been pulled back and 
gathered up in a neat chignon. She wore the evening uniform of an Ironwood girl: 
a tunic jacket of pale burgundy that snugly tapered her lithe form, a matching 
pleated wool skirt, thigh-high stockings of a soft violet hue, and high-heeled, 
open-strapped sandals.

"Raise your head, Miss," Cora urged softly.
The eyes that met mine seemed large and dark, and unseeing. They gazed blankly 
from that placid countenance with its smooth brow and handsome features. 
Sensuously lined and shadowed, they were eyes that seemed to regard the world 
with a bored indifference from under those long silky lashes. They held a jaded 
quality that I found surprising in one so young. 
As she stood before us, self-contained, placid, I let my eyes drink in the 
delightful picture she presented, visually caressing those thin shoulders; the 
reedy lithe body with its slender but well-shaped thighs, straight narrow hips; 
slim legs with a subtle taper, long smoothened contours encased in shimmering 
violet of her silky nylons.

"Vanessa, you remember Master James?" Cora began dryly. There was the merest nod 
of acknowledgment.
"He wishes to see a bit of display," the Mistress of Ironwood continued in her 
clipped, business-like manner. There was a pause. And then, in a low voice that 
was quietly understated, yet unmistakenly meant to be obeyed: "Get undressed."
I glanced up at the girl's face, curious to see her reaction. But the 
expressionless lines of her set face never wavered; the dark eyes remained 
vacant and unseeing, fixed on some distant point. Like some lovely automaton she 
seemed to take a few seconds to take in the words, and then there was a slight 
nod. The girl moved slowly, as in a dream, taking the single step that would 
bring her to a place right in front of my chair, reaching up behind her head to 
remove a single clip from her hair. With a casual toss of her head, she flung 
free a brilliant mane of fine black hair sending it cascading down to halo her 
slim shoulders.

Immediately, a slim hand went to the O-ring set at the collar of the tunic; 
narrow fingers closed on the tab and rode the zipper slowly down the front of 
the jacket, opening the tunic in a steadily-widening vee which exposed first the 
girl's lovely neck and the high ridges of her collarbone, then the creamy smooth 
contours of her lithe chest and finally, as the jacket parted even further, a 
most appealing pair of firm young breasts: each slightly uptilted mound crowned 
with a fawn-colored nub embedded in a disk of crinkled flesh.

Even though her face betrayed no emotion, baring her maidenly breasts to our 
devouring eyes, must have moved the girl because I was certain that the sensate 
tips had begun to stir immediately upon their exposure to the air. There was a 
subtle expansion, the brash nipples unfolding as the puckered aureoles grew into 
prominence before our very eyes. As she leaned over to peel back the jacket, her 
small pendants dangled appealingly under her bowed torso, elongating to the 
pointed nipples that swelled as they hung heavily. The hardening tips by now had 
darkened to a rich coffee hue, burnished with the first unmistakable blush of 
sexual arousal.

Twisting her shoulders free of the jacket, young Vanessa straightened, and let 
her arms fall down behind her so that the sagging jacket slid down her extended 
arms to crumple to the carpeted floor in a soft heap. With that characteristic 
indifference to exposing herself, Vanessa paused to stand before us, nude to the 
hips, yet quite unabashed. I admired the way she lifted her chin and squared her 
shoulders, hands loosely at her sides, prepared to let us fully appreciate those 
pert breasts -- their hardened tips fully erected now, peeking out like tiny 
stems.

She held the pose for a long moment, waiting, and only after her Mistress' nod 
did she proceed, reaching around behind her to find the clasp of the brief skirt 
she wore. Leaning forward with a girlish wiggle she tugged at the sides of the 
sagging garment to assist its descent, till gravity took over and it too 
collapsed to ring her ankles in a crumpled heap. Vanessa pawed the carpet, 
lifting each foot in turn, stepping gracefully out of the puddle of soft wool, 
reaching down to free her heels of the fallen skirt, and nudging it toward the 
discarded jacket with a sandal's pointed toe.

When she straightened up this time, a twinge of electric excitement shot through 
me. A familiar stirring pwered up from my loins. My palms were tingling, and 
there was a fiery ache of intense longing which grew in the pit of my stomach as 
I beheld that exciting sight of young Vanessa bare breasted, stripped down to a 
pair of low slung panties that banded her narrow hips. She still retained her 
high heels and tinted stockings -- those long shimmering nylons with the 
embroidered topbands of wide elasticized lace which ended three quarters of the 
way up her choice young thighs leaving exposed those last few inches of 
succulent silken thighflesh.

My eyes traveled down her sleek clean lines of her nude torso, banded by those 
narrow briefs. The low-riding underpants were made mostly of open mesh, a 
delicate webbing of organdy lace on either side of a wedge of thin satin which 
molded the gentle mound of a modest pubis tucked between the girl's closely set 
legs. The dark shadow of pubic fleece was quite evident through the sheer 
tight-fitted panties.

With the same graceful, trance-like movements, Vanessa held her upper body erect 
while she crooked one leg to bring a foot up in back. With her vacant eyes still 
fixed in front of her, she reached back to feel for the shoe and slip it off. I 
watched her remove the other shoe the same way, poised like a ballerina, 
delicately balanced on one stockinged foot.

Next, she moved closer to me and lifted her left foot to place her nyloned toes 
on the very edge of my chair. I watched her fingers pluck and twist the 
stockings topband, forming a little roll of it and using flattened palms to rub 
the nylon down her leg. My eyes followed its clinging progress, entranced as she 
slowly bared those subtle feminine contours.

Her long black hair fell around her face which was just inches from mine as, 
bending low, she glanced sideways at me and, for the first time, allowed just a 
trace of a smile to crease her fine thin lips. Then, her eyes fixed on mine, she 
reached a hand out to steady herself on the arm of the chair while she pulled 
the clinging nylon off her toes.



  
Ironwood