I was going to my club when I met this fair creature, and having eaten nothing since breakfast, my stomach reminded me. I said I felt hungry. 'So am I, they did not ask me to stop and dine.' Meat at an unknown baudy house was out of the question, so I sent for Bath buns, the only thing I could for the moment think of as likely to be good, and for more sherry tho the bottle wasn't finished. I determined to ply her with wine hoping to make her speak about herself. We stuffed ourselves with buns, she took more sherry, which perhaps added a little heat to her already hot lusting quim, but it never made her communicative about herself. We went on talking about fucking, she making few replies, but laughing and reprimanding me. 'What do you laugh for if you are offended?'—'I can't help it.' Nothing is really more pleasing, more stimulating to modest women, than to have a man talk baudy to them.
Her petticoats now covered her legs, for she had again become as modest as she was before her quim had tasted my stretcher, but I could just see shapely calves and little feet. The street thickish and greasy, was on her boot soles, but caused no splashes. I love to see a woman sitting by a fire, with petticoats so far up that the flesh of the thighs just shows, and I pulled them up so. Whenever I did she said she must go, but sat down when I told her that she must then go by herself. Some modest women I have found, dislike much going out of a baudy house alone. She hoped no one had seen her come into the house, and if ever I saw her anywhere again, that I'd take no notice of her. I promised, but she must meet me again. She started. 'Oh never - never - never - oh! my God! don't ask me - never now.' She seemed horrified at the suggestion. Who and what was she? Fucked she'd certainly been before, but whether wife, widow, mistress or neither I couldn't say (and never could). I am sure she wasn't a gay lady. Perhaps she was married and coquettish, and the offer of the watch had tempted her, just as her cunt was hot and longed for a male, which conjunction made her come to my arms. That is all quite probable, for a randy cunt weakens a woman's moral force. But women are inscrutable in their ways and lusts.
Then I put my hands on her breasts, a beautiful white pair. I could see their upper half, but with modesty still lingering (and certainly she was modest spite of her yielding to me). She tried to hide them; it was instinct, habit and not sham. But praising their beauty rapturously as I did, and in my excited, lustful admiration of her, she yielded, and quietly I handled the firm globes, and felt the little bush in her armpits, (which smelt as lovely as the rest of her body) talking baudily all the time. Then I tickled her there, which seemed to win her to me more. Tickling increases the lust of some women, when once their voluptuous thoughts have begun, and the randy thrills are attacking their cunts. Then I sucked one pretty small nipple, which I saw had never nourished an infant, and told her so. Thus our loving familiarity increased, she gradually surrendering to all my wishes, silent, and seemingly reflecting.
As I spoke about suckling, 'Has she had a child?' passed through my brain. I had been excited before to notice her belly, so dropped on my knees again, and kissed her thighs, and lifting her clothes, saw her smooth white belly without a sign or mark of childbirth on it. I don't think she knew what I was up to. Then kissing, and sniffing the aroma, from that warm nest, stiffened my pego, and as I got up I showed it to her. She laughed.
Sitting down by her side again, I pulled my shirt well up to let my prick be visible, tho now drooping a bit, and felt her lovely cunt. The fire blazed, the room got hot, the food, the wine, my kissing, my fingering her love trap, and baudy talk during an hour which had run away, had stirred her passions. I praised her cunt, its beauty and sweet odour, and a desire to gamahuche arose in me, for hers was not the cunt of a gay woman, and I wondered if a tongue had ever given pleasure there. So I talked of the pleasure of that lingual exercise and asked her to let me. She refused - it was dirty talk - she wouldn't. The more she refused, the more I longed to gamahuche her, begged, prayed, insisted, extolling the pleasures it gave as higher far than those from fucking; kissing and groping her all the time, till at length with my ballocks in her hand, she listened quietly and ceased saying, 'No - I won't let you.'
Then gently I led her to the bed, and tho she still refused it she did not resist me, was passive in my hands, and seemed ashamed and looked away, and not at me whilst she yielded and I placed her on the bed. Next minute I was kneeling on the floor, her thighs laying over my arms were wide apart, my hands clasping her lovely buttocks, her sacred sexual gap, that temple of Venus and love was open wide, and covered by my mouth which revelled in it. I opened my lips wide, so that I could cover the whole of the soft crimson surface of that entrance to her body, for I felt madly in love with her, was beauty struck and cunt struck as well, and delighted with the idea of giving her pleasure. I licked, then sucked, then licked again; from bum hole to her curly covered mons my tongue played lasciviously, I licked her thighs. I licked her navel, intoxicated with her sweetness, then plunged my tongue as far up her cunt as it could reach, and loved the taste, revelled in its odour, and in the sweet salinity of its exudations which lust now caused to issue. Then my tongue settled to the little clitoris, and on it and around it licked, till with a jerk of her belly she asked me to leave off. But holding her thighs firmly, I played my tongue with the agility of a serpent, and in a few seconds more, with a gentle heave up of her sweet cunt, with a shudder of her belly and a murmur of pleasure, she spent.
I arose, her thighs dropped down, the cunt ridges slightly closed, but ridges, motte, and all their curly fringe were soaked with my saliva, whilst opalescent moisture issuing from the furrow between the tips, shewed she'd enjoyed the lingual that I'd given her. Then pushing her on the bed, feeling her lubricious avenue, frigging her quietly so as to reanimate her passions, and rouse again the lustful heat of her cunt, making her feel my pego and talking my baudiest, for several minutes I lay, whilst she quite silent submitted to all, fatigued with pleasure, yet getting slowly lewed in body again under my titillations. She must have been like me on heat that day. Then when she drew her cunt back with a voluptuous sigh, I knew she would take it up her, and again fucked her. Ah! with what delirium of sexual enjoyment, for I loved her.
It was approaching nine o'clock, she dressed in silence, whilst for a time I tried to induce her to meet me again, but uselessly. Whilst listening to my advice again about telling how she found the watch, she put her hand in her pocket, took something out, put her other hand to it, and then with a start as if she had forgotten what she was about, put it back into her pocket. Then it came suddenly to my mind that early in the evening she put something into her pocket rapidly, and turned away from me as she did so. 'You were going to put your wedding ring on,' said I. 'I wasn't - I have no ring,' and she looked confused. 'Let me feel in your pocket,' and I tried to do so. 'You shan't - you've no right,' she shrieked out, and I desisted. Then we joked once more about marriage, as to which, or whether either of us was married, and there it ended.
We left together. Before doing so I put my head up her petticoats, gave her cunt a parting kiss, and should have liked to have bitten her clitoris off and swallowed it, so madly did I feel in love with her. She had plenty of money (none from me). I put her into a cab, and neither listened to the address she gave - nor followed her - as I had given my word - much as I longed to do so, and have never seen her since. She said it wasn't likely that I ever should, but not why (many a day since I've thought of and longed for her, and she is one of my most delicious reminiscences).
The watch had my sister's initials and the maker's name on it. I told my sister I had lost it and gave her a new watch. Alice was worth a dozen watches I still think.
She was of an uncommon type of beauty, had light chestnut hair which crimped naturally, blue eyes with heavy eye brows, and long eye lashes. She had beautiful teeth, a small mouth, was well grown, well formed, was neither stout nor thin, and in brief was in that perfect condition, which a healthy woman of about two and twenty years arrives at, after a year's fucking. Her cunt was small, youthful and pretty. Neit
her nipple nor belly showed signs of childbirth, yet she'd been fucked before I had her.
[This narrative is almost word for word as I wrote it within a few days after I had possessed this lady. I was so delighted with the adventure that I could think of nothing else for some days, and walked over the same ground in the vain hope of meeting her again. Writing the narrative gave me the utmost delight, as I recalled each form and feature of the beauty, each voluptuous act, almost each sensuous word I uttered, acts and words I am sure both enjoyed. Who and what was she?]
-oOo-
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Eroticon 4
'Don't you know what an electric massage machine is?'
'Of course I do. They use them for facials.'
'Facials! You don't know the half. Wait...'
The machine began to hum and the next instant Hester had passed the rubber cup over one of my breasts and right onto the nipple. That bubbling, vibrating cup was awakening sensations quite remote from those of mere physical refreshment. I sat up, and pushed the tantalising device away.
'Be still will you? Lie back down,' said Hester, as the cup slowly but surely crept downward...
Here are the lovers, rakes and whores from the classics of erotica: the innocent but naturally sensual Bella of The Autobiography of a Flea; the wild and wanton Victorian lady known as Eveline, and of course the mysterious philanderer Walter, author of the notorious confession My Secret Life.
-oOo-
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