Erotic Classics II

by Various Authors

  I rose up, pushed and rolled her against the bed, my hand still up her clothes. “Oh! don’t, don’t now,—you are a great gentleman they say, and ought to think of a poor girl’s ruin,—oh! if it was found out I should be ruined.” “It won’t darling.” I had got my fingers well over the whole slit. “Pray don’t,—well I’ll kiss you,—there.” “Feel it.” “Will you let me get up if I do?” “Yes.” “There then,” and she felt me.

  “Oh! I must fuck you.” “Oh! pray don’t,—oh! let me go now, and I’ll let you another day,—I will indeed sir,—oh! you hurt,—don’t push your fingers like that.” “Kiss me my darling.” “You shan’t.” “There there.” Another struggle. “Oh! I can’t—be—bear it.” Her arse began to twist again, her head sank on my shoulder, her thighs opened; then with a start, “Oh! my God it’s lightning (it began to thunder and lighten badly),—oh! I’m so frightened,—oh! don’t,—another day,—it’s wicked when it’s lightning so,—oh! God almighty will strike us dead if you are so wicked,—oh! let me go into the dark,—oh! don’t,—I can’t—be—bear it.” Her arse was shaking with my groping and frigging.

  “Now don’t be a fool,—damned if I don’t murder you if you are not quiet!” “Oh! oh!” I had got her somehow on to the bed, she was helpless; with fear, liquor, and cunt-heat. I threw myself on to her. A feel between thighs reeking with sweat, with her cunt in a lather, with the sweat dropping in great drops from my face, with sweat running down my belly on to my prick and my balls; I shoved. One loud “aha!” and my prick-tip was up against her womb-door. A mighty straight thrust; and the virginity was gone at that one effort.

  Right up there with but a shove or two as far as I recollect, and without trouble, my sperm spouted directly my tool rubbed through the wet, warm cunt-muscles. Then I came to my senses; where was I? has she let me, or had I forced her violently.

  She laid quietly under me with closed eyes and open mouth, panting; I was upon her, up her, pressing heavily upon her rather than holding her; then thrusting my hands under her fat bottom I recommenced thrusting and fucking. She lay still, in the enjoyment of a lubricated cunt, distended by a stiff, hot prick. Soon she was sensitive to my movements, her cunt constricted, a visible pleasure overtook her, her frame began to quiver, and the soft murmurs of spermatic effusion came from her lips. She spent. On I went driving as if I meant to send my prick into her womb, fell into a half dreaminess, and became conscious of a great wetness on my ballocks; it was her discharge more than mine, the most copious I recollect, excepting from one woman. Then I dropped off on her side. She lay still as death, the thunder rolled over us unheeded by her in the delirious excitement and delight of her first fuck.

  She turned on her side slightly, her thighs and backside were naked, she hid her face, and shuddered at the thunder unheeding her nakedness, then buried her face in a pillow, and so we both dozed for a minute or two. Her backside was still naked, when I looked at her in all ways as she lay, and saw traces of sperm on her thighs and chemise. A little lay on the bed, but no trace of red, no signs of a bloody rupture of a virgin cunt. My shirt and drawers were spermed, but had not a trace of blood. The light fell full on her backside, I could see lightish brown hair in the crack of the parting of her buttocks; a smear of shit on her chemise. Her flesh was beautifully white. She had on nice white stockings, and the flashy garters; she dad a tolerable quantity of hair on her quim on the belly side. I sat at the side of the bed, got off boots, trousers, and drawers; then laying down gently inserted my longest finger and delicately began rubbing her clitoris which I could see protruding of a fine crimson color. Then she moved; she was not asleep, but dazed by the fuck, fear of the lightning, the excitement, the heat, and the fumes of the wine combined.

  She stared at me, pulled down her clothes, and tears began to run down her cheeks. What a lot of women I have had cry at such times “Don’t cry my darling.” She turned on to her face, and hid it. For a quarter of an hour, I talked, but she did not answer. I told her she had spent, that I knew she had had pleasure. Then I pushed my fingers up her cunt; still she did not speak, but let me do just what I liked, keeping her eyes shut. So soon as my rammer was up to the mark, up her it went fucking, and again I felt it’s stem well wetted. She was a regular streaming spunker.

  After that, “I am going downstairs,” said she. “I’ll come.” “No don’t.” “You only want to piddle.” “Yes,” said she faintly. “Piddle here,—what will it matter?” “I can’t.” “I’ll go out if you won’t bolt the door.” “It’s no good bolting the door,—you have ruined me.” I went outside, closed the door, and heard the rattle in the pot. When I re-entered she was sitting at the side of the bed crying quietly; she did nothing but look at me, but without speaking. “Arrange yourself in case anyone comes to the door.” “No one will come.” “The milkman?” “He will put it down inside the porch.” She sat down the picture of despair. Never had I felt more lewd, I was mad that day with lewdness. “Let’s feel your cunt,” said I. “I have spent in it three times.” “I don’t care what you do, you may do what you like,—it’s of no consequence.” I felt up her cunt, she hung her head over my shoulders whilst I paddled my fingers in the wet. “Don’t hurt me,” said she. “I have not hurt you.”

  “Yes you have.” “Let’s look.” That roused her. “Oh! no,—no,—no,—you shan’t.” “Wash your cunt” I fetched the sherry, but she had not washed her cunt. “You should wash it out.” “Oh?—oh!” said she, “if I should be with child I shall never be married.”

  She drank more sherry, and promised to wash. Then I went downstairs, fetched up the broach and the ten sovereigns, and gave them to her. “How shall I say I got it?” “Does he know how much you have saved?” “Yes.” “Is it a year’s wages?” “Yes,”—and she began to cry again. “What shall I say about the broach?” “That you bought it,—let’s lay down and talk.” She yielded instantly, I threw up her clothes, she pushed them down. Then I lay feeling her quim, and got out her bubbies, she submitted, laying with her eyes closed, till my rubbing on her clitoris made her sigh. Then up her, I felt her wetting my prick-stem, and shot my sperm into her at that intimation of her pleasure.

  It was about seven o’clock, I had been nearly five hours at my amusements, and was tired; but had that day an irrepressible prick. It began to stiffen almost directly it left her cunt. I went down with her to tea, there I pulled her on to my lap, and we began to look at Fanny Hill. I could not get a word out of her, but she looked intently at the pictures. I explained their salacity. “Hold the book dear, and turn over as I tell you.” Then I put my fingers on her cunt again. How sensitive she was. “Let’s come upstairs.” “No,” said she, reluctantly, but up we went, and fucked again. Then she groaned, “Oh! pray leave off,—I’m almost dead,—I shall have one of my fainting fits.” “Lay still darling, I shall come soon,”—but it was twenty minutes hard grinding before my sperm rose.

  Then she laid motionless and white through nervous exhaustion, excitement, and loss of her spermatic liquid, which I kept fetching and fetching in my long grinding. She told me afterwards that she could not tell how often she spent. I had never been randier or stronger, nor enjoyed the first of a woman more.

  She was a most extraordinary girl. After the first fuck she was like a well-broken horse; she obeyed me in everything, blushed, was modest, humbled, indifferent, conquered, submissive; but I could get no conversation out of her excepting what I have narrated. She cried every ten minutes, and looked at me. After each fuck she laid with her eyes closed, and mouth open, and turned on her side directly, putting her hand over her quim, and pulling her clothes just over her buttocks. Then after I had recovered and began to talk, a tear would roll down her cheek.

  About nine o’clock she said. “Do go, my sister will be here,—and the bed wants making.” At the door I put her against the wall and rubbed as well as I could my flabby cock between her cunt-lips. She made no resistance. “We’ll
fuck again tomorrow Jenny.” “I’ll never let you again,” said she, “for you shan’t come in,”—and she shut the door on me with a slam.

  Chapter XIX

  When I got home I looked at my linen; never had it been in such a mess after female embraces. I had taken no care about it, it was be-spunked in an unusual degree, and lots of thinnish stains were on the tail which made me think that one or both of us must have spent copiously. Then I recollected that Jenny’s cunt seemed very wet to me when I felt it after I had spermatized her. There were no signs of blood, and taking stock of the sensations I had experienced, “Jenny has had it before,” I said to myself. Then came a fear that her discharge was from a clap, but I dismissed that from my mind. I had only once had the clap from a woman not gay.

  So I washed the tail of my shirt, laid it under my arse to dry, gave it a natural stain of piss, and went to bed reflecting and wondering who had first penetrated Jenny’s privates.

  A day or two afterwards I went to see her and shammed a knock. She opened the door. “Oh!” she exclaimed as I entered, “now you shan’t,—you shan’t again.” “I shan’t what my dear?” “I know why you came here,—but you shan’t.” “I want a chat,—-don’t be foolish,—come here,—I won’t do anything,—I don’t want anything,—but come here.”

  I got her into the parlour, and on to the sofa, then talked, then got bawdy. “Do just let me feel your thighs,—what harm can it do when I have been between them.” “No.” “Just a feel,—there I won’t put my finger further,—oh! Jenny you like my finger,—be quiet dear,—just let me feel it.” Half an hour after she had said, “Now you shan’t,” my prick was in her. No woman can refuse the cock which has once stretched her cunt, she is at its mercy. We spent another afternoon in talking and fucking, and she partly in crying and bemoaning her evil deeds.

  I had not only opened her cunt, but opened her heart and mouth at the same time. She was the funniest, frankest little woman I ever knew. She told me all her past life, her future expectations, asked my advice, deplored her wickedness to her young man, and all in an hour. She spoke the same incessantly afterwards. In a fortnight I knew everything about her from her birth, and about all her family; it was as if for the first time in her life she had had a confident.

  “What shall I do with your money?” “Put it with the rest.” “But he knows what I’ve got,—we always tell each other.” “Keep it to get a good stock of clothes before you are married.” “But he knows all about my clothes.” “Put it in a little at a time, or don’t tell him till you are married; then say you kept him in ignorance for a pleasant surprise, or tell him nothing at all about it,—you will have more than that.” “I don’t want your money, I fear it will bring me harm.”

  “Well give it back to me Jenny.” But Jenny did not seem to see the advantage of that; so she kept it, and had more besides in time.

  “What will become of me and poor John?—he’d die if he knew how ill I behave to him,—now don’t,—you do upset a body so a talking, and putting your fingers there,—oh! leave me alone,—no no more.” “Once more dear,—how hot your little cunt is,—it’s longing for a prick.” “Oh I take care of my cap, you will tear it,—I’ll take it off.” “What a fat backside you’ve got Jenny,—how wet your cunt is,—shove, shove, fuck,—where is my prick Jenny now?” But Jenny became speechless always after three cock-shoves, and began moistening the intruder with all her cunt-power.

  After fucking she was tranquil for a time; sperm seemed to soothe her, but then she had funks. “Oh I dear what have you made me do? oh! if I am in the family way!—oh! if he finds it out, he won’t marry me! and he is such a good young man, and so fond of me,—o—o—-ho—ho!—I’ve behaved very bad to him,—and I didn’t mean,—oho!—it’s all your fault, oho! —I didn’t know what I was about,—I never do when it lightens,—oho! Do you think he will find it out when we are married?” she would ask in her calmer moments, after she had cried herself out. This scene occurred every day I fucked her for a time, then less frequently.

  I tried to comfort her, told facts, and many inventions of my own, of how I had had women, who afterwards married and whose husbands had never known that they had been broached.

  “Is it true really!—oh! do tell me the truth,—if he finds it out I will drown myself, I’m sure he will,—it’s all your fault,—you must be a bad man to take advantage of a poor girl in the house alone.” “But if you’re not in the family way, he can’t find out until you are married, and then it will be too late. You won’t tell him, and your cunt can’t speak.” “Oh! sir you do say such funny things.”

  This went on for weeks. “Oh! it’s my time, and it’s not come on.” Then with joy, “Oh! I’m all right, but you can’t do anything today,—oh! if my Mistress should find out, or if my sister should come home and catch you here,—oh! if the next-door neighbours should see you come here so often, and tell my Mistress.” One or another of these fears was always upon her, but did not prevent our fucking. At that time Sarah was away, and Louisa Fisher still ill, so Jenny had all my essence; and later on as much as Louisa and Sarah spared me. As to my home, I had pretty well done with fucking there.

  Jenny’s cunt was well-haired, and had rather large inner lips; not so large as I have seen in many women, but larger than I liked. Her tube was easy. What a fight I had when first I saw it. “I won’t be pulled about like that,—no it’s shameful.” “I dare say your John has seen it.” That always sent her off howling, and when she had subsided she let me do as I liked. “It’s a nasty thing to pull me about like that.” But it came soon to the old world-wide habit: a feel and a look before the entry. The same woman who won’t let you see the bottom of her belly at first, will hold her cunt open for your inspection in a month. It is breaking in a woman to bawdiness which is the happiness of the honeymoon, not the hard burst through a bit of gristle.

  It had weighted on my mind ever since I had had her, and about three weeks afterwards I told her my doubts of her then being a virgin. She swore that no man had even put his hands on it till I did. “Am I different from other woman?” She was indignant at the doubt, and honestly and truly I believe. A schoolfellow used to look at her quim, she at her schoolfellow’s, she always thought hers was the most open of the two, she always could put her finger up easily, “but you did hurt me through, though I did not bleed. My sister says she did bleed a little when she first had her husband,”—and Jenny now described her sister’s first night, and her sister’s form, and rather wetted my lust for her sister.

  I came to the conclusion that she was born loose at her inlet, or had broken through the cover when quite young, and that no prick had rubbed her but mine; but her organ was a peculiar one in its habit of distilling its liquids.

  I have told how my shirt was stained at first, and soon found that Jenny was one of those women who spend rapidly, frequently, and copiously. I have met I think two like her in my career, to the time I correct this.

  On the second day’s poking I noticed this and became fully aware of it afterwards. When I put my prick up her, and began my movements; a shiver and a sigh escaped her almost directly, her bum gave a heave, a discharge came from her, and if I pulled my prick out then, it was perfectly wet. It used in fact to run out a little, and if pushing one hand well under her arse (which was not so easy, for she had a fine backside), I felt the root of my prick, or rather the end of the stem, I could feel her moisture running down one of her bum-cheeks, or between them. That over by the time I spent we usually discharged simultaneously. Her voluptuousness was greater when we spent together, than on her preliminary discharge. She said she could not account for it, but that a delicious sensation crept over her the moment the prick entered; that her cunt tightened and seemed to wet itself copiously; that her spend at the climax was longer, more thrilling, voluptuous, satisfying, and exhausting; that when our spunks had mingled her whole body was satisfied; but that her first spend seemed
only to confine its pleasure to her cunt. It is difficult to describe these sensations.

  I frigged her several times, and got a copious discharge from her, thin, milky, and barely sticky, yet it left a strong stain on linen. She was astonished when I told her of her peculiarity. Perhaps she wondered what her poor John would think of it. I can’t say I altogether admired her wetness; I took a dislike to a tall thin girl who was much of the same sort as Jenny, but that girl was quite slippy-cunted, though not with the whites. This was since.

  (Another woman who had this sensitive and sensuous [for it was both] organization, was the sister of an intimate friend, and whom I have fucked since the above was written. I don’t know that I shall say anything more about the lady, so tell of her cuntal peculiarity here. She was plump, fair-faced, had a fine complexion, and in face strongly resembled the queen. She was to be married.)

  When her young man came to town, and Jenny went out with him, the girl upbraided herself. When I next saw her after his visit she felt herself a deceiving wretch, and cried. Now would I please desist, and not make her sin any more. But the persuasion was too great, the recollection of her pleasure too strong, and never did I go away without having plugged her.