THE ALTAR OF VENUS: The Making of a Victorian Rake

by AnonYMous

  On the opposite side of the room into which I was peering and not more than eight feet distant was a bed, and lying across this bed, entirely naked, except for her hose and high heeled little slippers, was Marigold. She lay with half her body extended across the bed, her legs down over the side, her feet resting on the floor. Kneeling between them with his mouth pressed to her cunt was the Swede. One of his hands was under her bottom and the other was busily engaged in tuning up his undersized and half erected cock. It appeared to be about the size of a child of eight or nine. Marigold was laughing hysterically and at intervals her legs flew up as though actuated by springs released by the man's tongue. He was going after it with all the vim and relish of a hungry youngster tackling a piece of custard pie. As he progressed, the movement of his hand on his own diminutive member became more rapid. From time to time Marigold glanced covertly upward toward the transom quite aware, apparently, of the fact that unseen spectators on the other side were enjoying the unique exhibition.

  I ceded my post of observation to Josephine. She watched a moment and her hand closed over mine.

  "Quick! They're finishing!" she whispered sibilantly, and moved to one side. Again I applied my eye and was just in time to see the conclusion of the spectacle. Marigold was not laughing now. There was a strained, set expression on her face and in her wide staring eyes.

  She half sat up, her hands were now clasped about the fellow's head and she seemed to be trying to effect a closer contact.

  The Swede's hand was moving so rapidly they could scarcely follow it. A convulsive shudder passed over Marigold's body. She released his head from her grasp and sank back on the bed. As she did so, she put one of her feet against his shoulder and violently pushed him away from her. He fell over backward on the floor, his undersized cock rapidly lost its slight erection and curled limply down on his stomach. The show was over.

  I climbed down from the table, lifted Josephine down, and without a word we repaired quickly to her room. I was in a veritable frenzy of lust and had hardly gotten my cock into her before the semen was flowing.

  The result of this episode was to set me thinking along new lines an I questioned Josephine rather extensively about "Frenching" as the lingual bocal stimulation of the sexual organs is vulgarly called. There were establishments known as "French" houses where this particular kind of service was specialized in almost exclusively.

  I revolved the subject over in my mind. Here was a new tid-bit on which to speculate. The idea intrigued, and at the same time repelled me. The feminine genital organs had never seemed to me as being of an unclean or repulsive nature. To the contrary, I had always experienced a keep pleasure in touching, fondling and caressing them. But the idea of placing my mouth where other men had placed their cocks was highly distasteful to me! Had it not been for this detail I would have looked on the practice with relish.

  Josephine would have submitted to me, if for no other reason than to enable me to satisfy my curiosity but I could not overlook the fact that she was in daily contact with other men, and this dampened my enthusiasm. As to being "Frenched" myself by one of these girls, that was a different matter. And the more I thought of it, the more clearly I was able to imagine the delightful sensations which would accrue through having one's spermatic fluid sucked out by a woman's warm mouth. And I made up my mind that at some not distant date I was going to visit one of those naughty "French" houses.

  My relations with Josephine had been of nearly a year's duration, when one evening at the dinner table my father announced his intention of spending a few weeks with his brother in the country. While discussing the projected vacation, he casually remarked that, were it not for interrupting my schooling he would have considered taking me with him. Ordinarily the prospect of any kind of a journey would have my instant enthusiasm, but even as my lips parted to make the plea, it occurred to me that such a trip would interfere with a certain project I had in contemplation, namely, a visit to one of those "French" houses, which I was even then saving up money to finance. And so, hastily revising the words I had been on the point of uttering, I murmured something to the effect that it would indeed be inconvenient to absent myself from my school at this particular time. This indiscreet remark attracted my father's attention. He looked at me speculatively for a moment, and said: "Yes, I believe I'll take you along with me. You've been studying too hard lately. I believe you need a rest, too."

  There was an inflection in his tones and an understanding in those steely blue eyes which caused me to lower my head, and I interposed no further objections to accompanying him.

  My uncle went in for scientific farming, was quite prosperous and had a fine home in which were to be found all the modern comforts and conveniences possible in a rural community. A week after the conversation above referred to had transpired found us on the night train, and early the next day we reached the small station where a carriage drawn by two powerful horses was waiting to convey us to the farm a few kilometers distant. And shortly thereafter we were at our destination.

  I was in no humor to greatly appreciate the beauties of nature in full bloom, but as I glanced around and observed the stately elms, the well-kept gardens, beautiful vines and flowers which surrounded a long rambling, comfortable house, with green fields and azure tinted hills in the distance, my spirits rose somewhat, and I consoled myself with the reflection that even here the necessary ingredients of an amorous adventure of some kind might be found. For my uncle's farm provided a livelihood for several families, which lived on the premises in little houses and cottages and which almost constituted in themselves a small community.

  One afternoon, tired of reading, I was discontentedly wandering to and fro among the various barns and granaries on the place when I suddenly and unexpectedly came face to face with a young person of whose presence on the farm I had not previously been aware. This young person was a pretty, rustic damsel of thirteen or fourteen. Recovering quickly from my momentary surprise, I bowed gracefully, wishing her a pleasant afternoon. She responded civilly, edged past me, and went on about her business – whatever it was.

  Discreet inquiry revealed the fact that she was the daughter of a widow in who had charge of the butter and cheese making department, and that the two of them lived in one of the tiny cottages nearby. Immediately the situation took on a rosier hue and with the great optimism I began to speculate on the possibilities. It will be gathered from this that I was lacking neither in self assurance nor vanity. My experience with girls had been such as to support the idea that my attentions not only were welcome but expected. Consequently, it was with considerable surprise I found that this country damsel did not respond immediately to my advances. Indeed, her attitude bordered on the disdainful. Though I managed to meet her at frequent intervals, adopting my most polished airs in my efforts to engage her in amiable conversation, she regarded me in the most expressionless way, briefly answering such questions as I propounded in futile attempts to hold her attention – and proceeded on her way. This was for me a new experience. It exasperated me, and incidentally, shocked my sense of fitness of things, that this calico gowned, bare legged country girl was not impressed by my city airs and sophistication. However, aside from being pretty, she possessed a pair of bubbies of dimensions truly amazing in a female of her years, whose contours, blooming floridly and visibly under the scant clothing, fairly mesmerized me. So I redoubled my efforts. But, alas, my most persistent and assiduous attentions failed to evoke a spark of interest, and finally, I abandoned the siege in disgust.

  Again I took recourse to the library as a means of diversion, and it was while rummaging through the well stocked shelves that I encountered a book with a French title which attracted my attention. I withdrew it from among its companions and idly thumbed the pages. They were uncut, but the chapter titles in the index fed my interest. I took the volume out to my hammock and with a penknife cut the pages. The title of this book was Mademoiselle du Maupin. How it happened to be in the library of my p
uritanical and religious minded uncle I will never know but it was certainly due to some accident, and beyond doubt he never so much as suspected the presence of this masterpiece of lurid literature in his staid and respectable collection of books.

  I had not, up to this time, ever gotten my hands on any book of a really pornographic nature. The family doctor book, with its chapters on procreation, childbirth, and kindred subjects was a far throw from the book I at the moment had before my eyes. Many times since I have tried to obtain a copy in English, but such as I have found invariably turned out to be revised or "expurgated" editions. In the certainly it would never have been missed, I could have appropriated this copy if I had had my wits about me at the time. The story revolves around a young French girl who, thrown upon her own resources, adopts a masculine disguise as a protection against the vicissitudes of life to which an unprotected girl would be exposed. She is involved in many erotic situations, which culminate in another young girl falling in love with her, unaware of her true sex. This girl, frantic at her apparent failure to win du Maupin's love, enters her room at night and in a last despairing effort to seduce the object of her infatuation, exposes her nude body. This, and many other emotional episodes, in the last of which two females come to a satisfactory understanding, surrendering themselves to each other in a sexual embrace of mysterious nature, were so vivid in their rendition that I was soon in a state of erotic frenzy. Before I had concluded many chapters I arose from the hammock, sought the seclusion of my room, and lay down on the bed to continue the story. Soon I was obliged to unfasten the front of my trousers for comfort. Shortly there after I was holding the book in one hand and masturbating myself with the other. The necessity of being at the dinner table interrupted me before I had finished the soty, and tucking the book under the mattress of the bed, I went downstairs. Later, pleading a headache as an excuse for early retirement, I returned to my room. Before I turned out the light for the night I had read the book from cover to cover. And incidentally had jacked myself off three times.

  This orgy of masturbation, instead of calming my nerves seemed to have just the contrary effect, and throwing discretion to the winds, I resolved to force an issue with the dairy woman's daughter. I had dealt with girls before whose real, or simulated objections to intimate relations had been vanquished by bold and forceful methods and, though this girl's attitude toward me was rather at variance with anything previously experienced, I decided to adopt a course involving more action and less talk with her. Maybe that was what the sly little minx was waiting for.

  Through more or less clandestine observation, I had learned something of her habits and knew that at about four o'clock each afternoon she made the round of the barns and stables to gather up eggs which the hens, allowed to run at large, deposited in obscure nooks and corners. In one of the stables there was a loft in which a reserve supply of loose hay was stored. I had seen her going up the stairs to this loft and it was in this ideally situated and "furnished" retreat I planned to waylay her.

  And so, pulses beating in optimistic anticipation of carnal intimacies with her, I waited the opportune moment and when she entered the building that afternoon I was close at her heels. As I reached the door she was ascending the narrow stairway, and I slipped quietly up behind her. On reaching the top of the landing I saw her in the other extremity of the loft gathering up eggs from a nest in the side of a pike of hay. As I approached her she glanced at me but there was no expression of alarm in her face. She continued to pick up eggs which she placed carefully in a basket. Falling back on the old tried out and proven system, I wasted no words this time in idle conversation. Putting my arm around her waist, I sat down on the fragrant hay, and pulled her down upon my lap. She uttered not a single word, nor made the slightest movement of resistance, but simply laid passively in my arms. I pressed my lips to hers, and though she did not return the caress, neither did she try to avoid it.

  I had expected something in the way of a mild resistance at least, but things were going smoother than I had anticipated. Delighted at the facility with which the long deferred conquest was being realized, and lulled into a false sense of security by her seeming complacency, I relaxed my grip on her, and without further perambulations put one hand up under her dress and inside the loose panties she had on.

  Barely had I sensed the contact of silky hair and the moist flesh of her cunt against my fingers when she galvanized into action, the little wild cat sprang from my lap and dealt me a slap on the side of my head so terrific that my ears buzzed for an hour after. And, before I could recover my wits and get to my feet, she was off like a flash, and flying downstairs.

  This misadventure brought disagreeable consequences. The candid girl told my aunt that I had done something "nasty" to her. From my aunt the accusation was transmitted to my uncle and thence to my father, bringing down on my shamed head such a lecture as I never before had been obliged to listen to. Lying like a trooper, I denied the allegations, maintaing that I had done nothing except kiss her under tempting provocation. But she was called in for a more specific explanation as to just what it was "nasty" that I had done to her. And to my exceeding mortification, she convincingly maintained that I had put a finger in "that place" between her legs. Specific enough! I was in disgrace for the rest of our stay. When the visit came to an end, and we were on the eve of departure, I heaved a thankful sigh of relief. As far as I was concerned, the vacation had been, with the exception of a few pleasant hours spent in the company of Mademoiselle du Maupin, a complete, and perfect failure, and I could hardly wait to get back to the city and Josephine.

  CHAPTER 2

  Six weeks of enforced continence, unbroken except for the orgy of masturbation inspired by Gautier's erotic story, had added fuel to the fires of concupiscence which burned within me. My relations with Josephine had been of nearly a year's duration and throughout their course I had enjoyed sexual gratification on an average of once a week. It was in effect, almost as though I had been married for any length of time and I felt keenly the want of something she was in the kindly habit of providing me. So, as I enjoyed in imagination the love feast, which I knew would be accorded me on my return, my cock stiffened out in anticipation of the delights in store for it. I was adjusting my clothing, permitting it a more comfortable position in its expansion and as I did so an inspiration came over me which caused my heart to beat faster, and my cock to get still harder. Why not celebrate my return to the city by carrying out that ling deferred, but cherished project of paying a visit to one of those mysterious "French" establishments? What more fitting occasion to appease my curiosity along this line for once and all and at the same time execute a species of revenge on Fate, for the mortifying events recently transpired?

  I would do it! We reached home at noon, and I spent the rest of the day in preparation for the adventure, scarcely able to restrain my impatience for the night to come.

  Around nine o'clock that evening I slipped out of the house unobserved and set out on foot for the sporting district, and toward one of these houses I directed my steps. Exteriorly, it was no different in appearance from the many other houses of prostitution which lined the street but I had been definitely informed that it was a "French" house. Without permitting myself to hesitate I opened the door and ascended a long flight of steps which led to the upper floor. Here I found further progress barred by a locked door, but an electric button, conspicuously located, suggested the correct procedure, and I pressed it tentatively. A few moments later a small panel in the door slid back. A short interval elapsed during which I was evidently under scrutiny of some person behind the door, then it swung open and I found myself confronted by a buxom female who smiled expansively at me and invited me to enter.

  She led the way to a reception room and, as on the occasion of my initial visit to the place where Josephine was located, I found myself in the presence of a number of females in varying stages of nudity. For some reason, probably the fact that it was a Monday night, there were
few men present. My gaze swept over the assembly, and was returned expectantly by the females upon which it momentarily rested. Seemingly, several different nationalities were represented by the women present.

  I edged into the room and seated myself in a chair near the door, glancing uncertainly from face to face in search of which appealed to me. I was not overly sure of my ground. These girls did not appear greatly different from those where Josephine was, except that some of them were patently of foreign nationalities. In some vague, indefinite way I had expected women who did what these were reputed to do, to look different from others. I wondered uneasily whether maybe after all, I had been misinformed or had mistaken the address. As I glanced doubtfully from one to another of them, my eyes came to rest on a well proportioned dark complexioned damsel whose appearance was in some way suggestive of French nationality. Her plump thighs and legs stood out in seductive relief under the edge of a short pink camisole, so transparent that the profusion of jet black curls on her mons veneris wsa plainly visible. When she perceived that my attention was fixed on her, she came over, seated herself confidently on my knee and with her arm around my neck, murmured the customary formula:

  "Let's you and I go to a room, dearie!"

  Time was precious, there was no reason for delaying things and as I had already decided on her in my mind, I accepted the invitation, and she led me to her room. The dramatic moment gad arrived. Thrusting my hand in my pocket I extracted all the money I had in my possession, two pounds and a few shillings in excess. Surrendering the entire sum, I screwed up my courage and said in a low voice:

  "Will you do it for me the 'French' way?"

  "Sure, I'll 'French' you, dearie!"

  the surprise was over. But while it lasted a misfortune had overtaken me. Exactly as years previously on the threshold of being initiated by the golden haired Flora, embarrassment and nervousness vanquished virility at a critical moment, and I now sensed the calamitous fact that my cock was hanging down in inert and lifeless dejection. The perception of this disaster brought a flush to my cheeks, and I would gladly have retired had I been able to think of some pretext to cause my flight.