Erotic Classics II

by Various Authors

  Now, it is chilly enough in the cold weather to make one’s skin rather want clothing, so I picked up Mabel, laid her on the bed, and, getting in myself, pulled up the bed clothes, well to our chins, and there we lay cuddled together. Mabel had again got hold of my prick, which she was working in such a way that I knew I must spend immediately if she did not leave off.

  “Wait! Mabel, you will really make me spend all over you.’

  “I shall like that!” she cried. “I should like to see what a man’s spend is like.”

  “Very well,” said I, laughing, “then see.”

  I threw down the bedclothes and almost at the same moment let fly a torrent of spend which I could restrain no longer. Mabel shrieked, for the first jet struck her full in the face, the second under the chin, the third splashed against her bubbies, and the remaining jets played on to her belly, and finally to her bush, as I took care so to hold her hand as to give her the benefit of every drop.

  “Oh! That was nice!” cried Mabel. “What a lot! How creamy it is! only thicker! but you must have quite emptied your balls!”

  “Oh no! There’s lots in them Mabel, and when, in a minute or so, I fuck you, they will go on making more for you.”

  I wiped the streaming lovely body of my bedfellow, as I spoke, and expecting to find a rather obstinate maidenhead, I thought it wise to begin with her as soon now as possible, so that by the time I next spent, she would have had a good fuck. .

  Judge of my surprise, on taking my position between her open thighs to meet with absolutely no resistance! There was not only not the ghost of a maidenhead, but it was evident to me, that the cunt I was in had been most thoroughly well opened. If Mabel had been already fucked, who had done it? I made no remarks, however, for I was too much amused, and delighted with her expressions of delight and pleasure. Like Fanny and Amy, her cunt was a perfect fountain, easily made to play by the movements of my prick within it, and Mabel made me laugh with her continuous, “There I go again!” but when I came to the short digs, and in my turn inundated her lovely little cunt with a sea of spend, Mabel clutched me with all her force to her convulsed and quivering body, and exclaimed, “Oh! how much better a real prick is than a cucumber!” The cat was out of the bag! A cucumber!

  The first fuck over, Mabel told me amidst her rapid kisses and never-ending caresses that Sugdaya had taught her how pleasant a sensation could be produced by a three-quarter ripe banana, with its peel half removed. From a small banana she had progressed to one of larger size, always to the detriment of her maidenhead, until one day, seeing a very nice smooth cucumber, the straightness and size of which struck her as being peculiarly adapted for her experiments, she picked it, went indoors and finished off with a vegetable what, but for that, would have been decided by my prick of flesh! Mabel was a lascivious little girl, a grand poke. Like Lizzie Wilson her mission in life is to fuck. The dear reader will not be surprised to hear that she joined that select number of fair women, who, nominally “kept” by wealthy lovers take delight in relieving the pains of numerous adorers, in which alike the winding path of intrigue, and the voluptuous pleasures to be gathered like flowers along their shaded ways. If Mabel’s present ties were legitimate she would be the Duchess of. To her was the glory of having the first to give palpable proof of the ecstasies of fucking to no less a personage than one of the Royal Princes.

  Neither Fanny nor Amy showed any ill will toward Mabel on account of our mutual participation in the sacrifice, and up to the last night of their stay in Fackabad, these amiable girls were poked by me, sometimes in company, sometimes singly, but always in company unless “illness” prevented.

  In March of the following year, just twelve months after I had taken Fanny’s maidenhead, the girls went home to England, the Colonel having retired from the service.

  Our parting was extremely painful. We made exchanges of locks of hair from our respective bushes, and, so eager were the girls for mementos of mine that it was months before my prick grew out of a forest as thick, or rather as long as it was when first I pressed it against that of Lizzie Wilson at Nowshera.

  THE END

  About the Author

  Beyond his authorship of the erotic novel Venus in India, nothing is known about the life of Charles Devereaux.

  A Night in a Moorish Harem

  Lord George Herbert

  CONTENTS

  Chapter I—Abdallah Pasha’s Seraglio

  Chapter II—The Spanish Lady’s Story

  Chapter III—The Grecian Lady’s Story

  Chapter IV—The Moorish Lady’s Story

  Chapter V—The Italian Lady’s Story

  Chapter VI—The Circassian Lady’s Story

  Chapter VII—The Portuguese Lady’s Story

  Chapter VIII—The Persian Lady’s Story

  Chapter IX—The Captain’s First Story

  Chapter X—The Captain’s Second Story

  Chapter XI—The Captain’s Third Story

  Chapter XII—The Captain’s Fourth Story

  Chapter XIII—The Arabian Lady’s Story

  Chapter XIV—The French Lady’s Story

  Conclusion

  About the Author

  Chapter I

  Abdallah Pasha’s Seraglio

  Her British Majesty’s ship Antler, of which I was in command, lay becalmed one afternoon off the coast of Morocco. I did not allow the steam to be raised for I knew the evening breeze would soon make toward the land.

  Retiring to my cabin I threw myself upon the sofa. I could not sleep for my thoughts kept wandering back to me beautiful women of London and the favours which some of them had granted me when last onshore.

  Months had elapsed since then and months more would elapse before I could again hope to quench, in the lap of beauty, the hot desire which now coursed through my veins and distended my genitals.

  To divert my mind from thoughts at present so imperative I resolved to take a bath. Beneath the stern windows which lighted my cabin lay a boat, into which I got by sliding down a rope which held it to the ship. Then I undressed and plunged into the cool waves. After bathing I redressed, and, reclining in the boat, fell asleep. When I awoke it was dark and I was floating along near the shore. The ship was miles away.

  The rope which held the boat must have slipped when the breeze sprang up, and the people on the ship being busy getting underway had not noticed me. I had no oars and dared not use the sails for fear the Moorish vessels in sight would discover me. I drifted towards a large building which was the only one to be seen; it rose from the rocks near the water’s edge. The approach to the place on which it stood seemed to be from the land side, and all the windows which I could see were high above the ground.

  The keel of my boat soon grated on the sand and I hastened to pull it among the rocks for concealment, for it was quite possible I might be seized if discovered and sold into slavery. My plan was to wait for the land breeze just before dawn and escape to sea. At this moment I heard a whispered call from above. I looked up and saw two ladies looking down on me from the high windows above, and behind these two were gathered several others whom I could just see in the gloom.

  ‘We have been watching you,’ said the lady, ‘and will try to assist you. Wait where you are.’

  She spoke in French, which is the common medium of communication among the different nations inhabiting the shores of the Mediterranean, and which had become familiar to me. I now thought this isolated building was a seraglio and I resolved to trust the ladies, who would run even more risk than myself in case of discovery.

  After waiting some time, a rope of shawls was let down from the window and the same voice bid me climb. My discipline when a midshipman made this easy for me to do; I rose hand over hand and safely reached the window through which I was assisted by the ladies into the perfumed air of an elegant apartment richly furnished and elegantly lighted.

  My first du
ty was to kiss the fair hands which had aided me, and then I explained the accident which had brought me among them and the plan I had formed for escape before dawn. I then gave my name and rank.

  While doing this I had an opportunity to observe the ladies; there were nine of them and any one of them would have been remarked for her beauty. Each one of them differed from all the others in the style of her charms: some were large and some were small; some were slender and some plump, some blonde and some brunette, but all were bewitchingly beautiful. Each, too, was the most lovely type of a different nationality, for war and shipwrecks and piracy enable the Moorish Pashas to choose their darlings from under all the flags that float on the Mediterranean.

  A lady whom they called Inez and whom, therefore, I took to be a Spaniard, answered me by bidding me in the name of all of them the warmest welcome.

  ‘You are,’ she said, ‘in the seraglio of Abdallah, the Pasha of this district, who is not expected until tomorrow, and who will never be the wiser if his ladies seize so rare an opportunity to entertain a gentleman during his absence.’ She added, ‘We have no secrets or jealousy between ourselves,’ smiling very significantly.

  ‘That is very unusual,’ said I. ‘How can any of you know whether he has any secrets with the one he happens to be alone with?’

  ‘But one of us is never alone with him,’ said Inez. The blank look of consternation I had set them all laughing.

  They were brimful of mischief and were evidently bent on making the most of the unexpected company of a young man. Inez put her hand on my sleeve. ‘How wet you are,’ said she. ‘It will not be hospitable to allow you to keep on such wet clothes.’

  My clothes were perfectly dry, but the winks and smiles that the young ladies exchanged as they began to disrobe me led me cheerfully to submit while they proceeded to divest me of every article of clothing.

  When at length my shirt was suddenly jerked off they gave little affected screams and peeped through their fingers at my shaft; which by this time was of most towering dimensions. I had snatched a hearty kiss from one and all of them as they had gathered round to undress me.

  Inez now handed me a scarf which she had taken from her own fair shoulders. ‘We can none of us bear to leave you,’ she said, ‘but you can only kiss one at a time; please throw this to the lady you prefer.’

  Good heavens! Then it was true, that all of these beautiful women had been accustomed to be present when one of them was embraced.

  ‘Ladies,’ said I, ‘you are unfair. You have stripped me, but you keep those charms concealed which you offer to my preference. I am not sure now if you have any imperfections which you wish to keep covered.’

  The ladies looked at one another, blushed a little, then nodded and laughed, then began undressing. Velvet vests, skirts of lawn and silken trousers were rapidly flung to the floor. Lastly, as if at a given signal, every dainty chemise was stripped off and some of the most lovely forms that ever floated through a sculptor’s dream stood naked before me. Was I not myself dreaming, or had I in truth been suddenly transported amid the houses of the seventh heaven?

  For a while I stood entranced, gazing at the charming spectacle. ‘Ladies,’ said I at last, ‘it would be immodest in me to give preference when all are so ravishingly lovely. Please keep the scarf, fair Inez, and when I have paid a tribute to your fair charms, pass it yourself to another, till all have been gratified.’

  ‘Did he say all?’ cried a little brunette.

  ‘All indeed!’ cried the rest in chorus, bursting into laughter.

  ‘Everyone,’ said I, ‘or I will perish in the attempt.’

  Inez was standing directly in front of me; she was about nineteen, and of that rarest type of Spanish beauty, partly derived from Flemish blood. Her eyes were sparkling brown, but her long hair was blonde. It was braided and coiled round the top of her head like a crown which added to her queenly appearance, for she was above the ordinary stature; her plump and well-rounded form harmonised with her height. Her complexion had the slight yellow tinge of rich cream, which was set off by the rosy nipples which tipped her full breasts and the still deeper rose of her lips and mouth.

  She happened to be standing on one of the silken cushions which, singly and in piles, were scattered about the room in profusion. It made her height just equal to my own. As soon as I had made the speech last recorded, I advanced and folded her in my embrace.

  Her soft arms were wound round me in response; and our lips met in a delicious and prolonged kiss, during which my shaft was imprisoned against her warm, smooth belly. Then she raised herself on tiptoe, which brought its crest amid the short, thick hair where the belly terminated. With one hand I guided my shaft to the entrance which welcomed it; with my other I held her plump buttocks toward me. Then she gradually settled on her feet again, and, as she did so, the entrance was slowly and delightfully effected in her moist, hot and swollen sheath. When she was finally on her feet again I could feel her throbbing womb resting on my shaft.

  The other ladies had gathered round us; their kisses rained on my neck and shoulders, and the presence of their bosoms and bellies was against my back and sides—indeed they so completely sustained Inez and myself that I seemed about to mingle my being with them all at once. I had stirred the womb of Inez with but a few thrusts—when the rosy cheeks became a deeper dye, her eyes swam, her lips parted and I felt a delicious baptism of moisture on my shaft.

  Then her head sank on my shoulder, the gathered sperm of months gushed from my crest so profusely that I seemed completely transferred with waves of rapture into the beautiful Spanish girl. Her sighs of pleasure were not only echoed by my own, but by those of all the ladies gathered around us in sympathy. They gently lowered us from this sustaining embrace to a pile of cushions. As they did so, with hardly any aid on our part, my diminished shaft was drawn out of Inez and, with it, some of my tributary sperm, which splashed on the floor.

  ‘It was too bad of you, Inez, to take more than you can keep,’ said one of the others. She said it in such a pitiful tone it convulsed us all with laughter. As for me, I now realised the rashness of the promise I had made them all, but they gaily joined hands round Inez and myself and began a circling dance, their round, white limbs and plump bosoms floating in the lamplight as they moved in cadence to a Moorish love song, in which they all joined. With my cheeks pillowed against the full breasts of Inez, I watched the charming circle, which was like a scene in fairy land. Bracelets and anklets of heavy fettered gold glittered on their arms and legs; rings, necklaces and earrings of diamonds and rubies, which they had in profusion, glistened at every movement.

  Each one had her hair elaborately dressed in the style peculiarly becoming to herself and there were no envious garments to conceal a single charm. I urged them to prolong the bewitching spectacle again and again, which they obligingly did. Then they gathered around me, reclining to rest on the cushions as near as they could get, in attitudes which were picturesque and voluptuous.

  When we were thus resting I frequently exchanged a kiss or caress with my fair companions, which I took care to do impartially. Then it occurred to me that I would like to hear from the lips of each the most interesting and voluptuous passage from their lives. Again these interesting ladies, after a little urging, consented, and Inez commenced.

  Chapter II

  The Spanish Lady’s Story

  We lived in Seville. When I attained the age of sixteen my parents promised me in marriage to a wealthy gentleman, whom I had seen but twice and did not admire. My love was already given to Carlos, a handsome young officer who had just been promoted to a lieutenant for bravery. He was elegantly formed, his hair and eyes were as dark as night and he could dance to perfection. But it was for his gentle, winning smile that I loved him. On the evening of the day that my parents had announced their determination to me, I had gone to be alone in the orange grove in the farthest part of our garden
, there to sorrow over my hard fate.

  In the midst of my grief I heard the voice of Carlos calling me. Could it be he who had been banished from the house and whom I never expected to see again? He sprang down from the garden wall, folded me in his embrace and covered my hair with kisses for I had hidden my blushing face on my bosom. Then we talked of our sad lot. Carlos was poor and it would be impossible to marry without the consent of my parents; we could only mingle our tears and regrets.

  He led me to a grassy bank concealed by the orange trees and rose bushes, and then he drew me on his lap and kissed my lips and cheeks and eyes. I did not chide him, for it must be our last meeting, but I did not return his kisses with passion. I had never felt a wanton desire in my life, much less not when I was so sad. His passionate kisses were no longer confined to my face but were showered on my neck, and at length my dress was parted and revealed my little breasts to his ardent lips. I felt startled and made an attempt to stop him in what considered an impropriety, but he did not stop there. I felt my skirts being raised with a mingled sensation of alarm and shame which caused me to try to prevent it, but it was impossible—I loved him too much to struggle against him and he was soon lying between my naked thighs.

  ‘Inez,’ he said, ‘if you love me, be my wife for these few moments before we part.’