Erotic Classics II

by Various Authors

  That over, she rose and said, “You will come to me again, won’t you? I will always do that to you, and anything else you like.” I gave her a shilling and promised, but never felt so sick and disgusted with a woman before. Everything about the woman was repulsive. I have since met four or five woman with very large cunt-holes, but hers was the largest. I am perfectly certain I could have put my fist up it. I avoided the street for some months, which was a great loss to me, for I often used to go through it, to gloat on the charms of the women as they lolled out of the windows. When I thought of my prick being sucked, it used to disgust me awfully, and it was many years before I knew what pleasure it was to a man, at times; but it never has been done to me again, in the manner that woman did it.

  Then I saw the woman in taking whose virtue I lost my own,—Charlotte.

  Our cook married. A new cook and housemaid came, the latter a pretty dark-eyed girl of about eighteen years of age, named Mary. Directly I set eyes upon her I liked her, and thought I would try to get her. My clap and cheap pokes, had not made me much in love with gay women; whose free-and-easy ways somewhat shocked my timidity. Some time had elapsed since I had had any others, and my mind naturally reverted to the nice pokes I had had with servants. My chances were fewer than ever. One of my sisters was now frequently at home, Tom no longer needed a servant to be with him, and the housemaid was less frequently away from the kitchen. But I felt myself more a man, my good fortunes made me feel more sure of success, more prompt and determined in attack.

  At first I watched her closely and thought I must have seen her before. A resemblance struck me, and I remarked to my mother, “How like that girl is to Charlotte, who lived with us.” “She is her sister,” said she. I was startled, for a feeling came over me that I ought not to try her.

  But it brought my liaison with Charlotte vividly to my recollection. The first meeting, the glimpse of her cunt as she got down from the cart, my first grope, our first poke, were now constantly before me; and I longed with all my heart to have her again, though I knew it was hopeless.

  Gradually my mind centered itself on Mary, and as I saw the resemblance to her sister, I used to wonder how far the resemblance extended. Whether her haunches were as large, her thighs as round, her cunt so made, fringed, and dark, and so on; until I desired to have her, as much for her resemblance to Charlotte, as for herself. Yet I had fear and reluctance to make advances, because she was Charlotte’s sister.

  Meanwhile I was chaste, was in good health and wanted a woman awfully. Then I had a wet dream; dreamed I had Charlotte in my arms, that she ran away and left me with Mary, who pulled up her clothes, and invited me to fuck her. Before I could get in to her, I awakened, found that I was on my back and was spending on my nightgown.

  I had heard much of these dreams, had had one partially, and now had experienced a complete one. It threw me into a state of irritation, but seemed to fix the hidden charms of Mary strongly in my imagination. Desire so carried me away, that from gently rubbing and titillating myself, I passed to frigging a discharge, whilst thinking of Mary’s cunt.

  In the morning I had the enervation I have always since felt after these dreams, and my usual disgust at having frigged myself; a feeling which was not allayed when I looked at my nightshirt. I had a dread of letting it be seen, but left things as they were. Mary and the cook made my bed, and must have seen it. Servants see funny things on beds often. I wonder what they say, and what they think about it. It can’t be easy for a young woman to see sheets, and nightgowns, spunk-stained; without its effecting her imagination bawdily, and paving the way for somebody to stain sheets and linen with herself.

  I gave up all idea of attacking Mary, but “cock and cunt will try to get together.” There is no use in resisting it. So again with no fixed intention, but simply from pleasure for the time being, and impelled by desire (all my silk handkerchiefs were gone and I was again without money), and by opportunity, I got to courting, and we soon kissed. I had pressed her belly against mine, got my hand on to the calf of her leg, and was on the high road to the snatch at her cunt, which my experience now told me was the right thing to do, when all came to an end.

  I went daily to the W——Office returning about half-past four. One day when about half-a-mile from home, a lady in black silk and with a dark veil approached me; but as if she had made a mistake, when close to me, turned on one side and passed on. I looked back and saw she was standing still, then on she went, and so did I, and had nearly forgotten her, when I heard quick footsteps in the rear, and someone saying, “Mister Walter, don’t you know me?” I turned round, stopped and tried to see who it was, but the veil prevented it. She hesitated an instant, then lifted it, and I saw Charlotte.

  With flushed face, bright eyes and a gentle smile, she looked exquisite. My heart beat tumultuously, my love returned in an instant. I put my arm round her, and regardless of the publicity of the place, gave a kiss. There was it is true scarcely anyone about, but she as well as me when I had done it, saw the impropriety. “Don’t, for God’s sake,” said she, “what will people think?” “Let us walk,” said I, and pulling her arm through mine, on we went; I looking into her face all the way, noticing how much the time which had passed had improved her, and overwhelming her with questions. I felt overjoyed, as if again I should possess her, and old times had returned. She for a few minutes seemed to give way to similar elation. Just then I saw a gentleman named Courtauld approaching, he was our next-door neighbour. We nodded as we passed, but the incident altered the current of our thoughts. I led her down a turning where there were scarcely any people, and saying, “I am so glad old Courtauld did not see me, for his brother lives just by us, and his old servant is often there and knows me.” She relapsed into silence. I went on chatting of the happy times we had had, and the pleasures we had tasted together. She remarked, “Oh! pray don’t talk of that any more, recollect I am married, let me say what I have come to say, and then I must go.”

  “To say to me?” said I. “Pray don’t misunderstand me, I thought you would excuse it,” said she getting confused, “besides it is my duty, and of course knowing what I do about you, I was so afraid of something.” “What do you mean?” “Well if I had known where she was going to I would have made mother stop it, now I come at once to ask you not to hurt her.” I proposed going into a small half-country ale-house close by, but she refused saying, that if seen to do so, and it became known to her husband, it might cause much harm. “Oh! no,” said she in a hurry again, “I must go, I must get back, I came to ask you not to hurt her, promise you won’t for my sake.” All this time I was in a fog. “Who—who,—what do you mean?” said I. “Oh you know,—Mary, I mean Mary, she is my favorite sister, pray don’t harm her.” The whole affair was clear to me at once. “It that what you came about?” I asked disappointed. “Yes, I have been coming for a fortnight, but could not make up my mind; her last letter made me determine at any risk to do so, and now dear, promise me not to hurt her, and I will go.”

  I was annoyed and wounded in vanity, for I had almost brought myself to think she had come for the pleasure of meeting me. I had no intention of quitting her so soon, felt as if I could not, so chaffed her, “What do you mean by hurting her?” “Don’t talk nonsense, you know what I mean.” “Another case of cock and cunt coming together.” “If you talk like that, you insult me, and I did not think you would.” “Well, I love you and would not like to hurt your feelings, what you really mean is, that I am not to try to do it to her.” “Why of course, don’t ruin her, that is what I mean.”

  We had walked without any intention on my part to the outskirts of our village, where the pew-opener’s house was in which Charlotte and I had spent many an hour in love’s frolics. The house was in sight, the hope of again having her came to my mind. In her excitement, which was as great if not greater than mine, she had not noticed where we were, until quite at the angle. The pew-opener was at the do
or, gave me a nod, and thinking it possible I might be coming in I suppose, left the door ajar. “Come in,” said I. “Never! oh! no, you have brought me here purposely.” I saw there would be difficulty. “Here is that old Courtauld’s house-maid, damn her,” said I. “Where,—where,—which way?” said she looking in alarm in all directions, but unable to see clearly through her veil. “There,—there,” “just step inside the door till she has past.” She stepped in quickly, the next instant I half pulled, half hustled her through the little door into the bed room, slammed the door, locked it, and stood still, half afraid of my own boldness. She went to the window and began to peer through the blinds to see the old housemaid.

  “I can’t see her,” said she, “she must have passed, tell me which way she went, and let me go.” “Not yet. What do you want about Mary?” “Promise for my sake, you won’t try to ruin her.” “Well, let us have a longer talk, how do you know I want to do so?” “I know you do.” “Sit down.” “I cannot.” “Then I won’t promise, why should I?” “Oh! don’t be a blackguard, don’t oh! don’t,—you shan’t have her, I will take care,” and then she burst out crying.

  I loved her so that I felt I would do anything to please her; but wanted her so much, that I could be cruel enough to do or say anything to have her again. Desire was the stronger. The sofa, the bed, the room, her beauty, all made me feel savage with lust, so I temporized. “I am so excited,” said I, “I scarcely know what to say, what to do, tell me more, what you know, what you want, for all this stems so strange to me,—sit down.” “No.” “Sit down only while you tell me.” “No.” But I laid hold of her and pushed her on to the sofa, and there I held her, and after beseeching her to be quiet and kiss me, she did so. Then she sat for a minute, drying her tears, and began her tale and her request.

  “Mary is my favourite sister, she lived with us for a year after I married, but mother wanted her and she went home. She grew tired of being at home, went to service, did not like it and went home again; again grew weary; and to my astonishment, the last time I went to see the old people, found she had gone to live with your mother. I was frightened for her sake, for I love her dearly.” “Why frightened?” I asked. “Why frightened? don’t I know you, do you think I have forgotten all?” “I never thought of doing her harm.” “Perhaps not,” she replied, “but I would not trust my sister near you, if she had the least liking for you, or you for her.” I protested I was indifferent to her. “Why kiss her and squeeze her so?” I began denying it, and she stopped me saying vehemently, “Now don’t tell stories, you never did to me, I know all, I know you do, you mean her harm, or if you don’t, harm will come of it. Look, here is her letter,” and she put it into my hands. To my astonishment I found Mary had told her sister all, mixed with warm encomiums of me. I was shut up, and could only say I meant no harm. “Perhaps! but harm must come of it. It nearly brought me to ruin, for I would have done anything, lived anyhow to keep near you; but I have escaped it. Poor Mary may not, for you are older now and may do more harm! she is a different temper from me, and in despair will go wrong altogether; so I pray you if you loved me, not to injure her for my sake. If she came to harm, I should break my heart,” and she broke again into tears, getting up at the same time to go.

  I pulled her back and kissed her tears away. “Charlotte, we cannot meet and part like this, I love you still, I have never ceased to love and think of you, oh! let me.” I could say no more, for in my eyes then there was a sanctity about a married woman which stilled my tongue. “Oh! let me,” was all I could say.

  She understood what I wanted, and replied, “I am married and cannot, let me go.” At my entreaties she kissed me freely, yet all the time struggled to get up.

  I thought to myself, “You have had her. She loves you still. Think of the pleasure you have had with her. Here she is in your power, and cannot escape without a riot, which she will fear.” Kissing her fiercely, stifling her voice with my mouth, “I must, I will have you again,” I pulled her violently back on the sofa, and had my hand on her thighs in an instant.

  “Oh! don’t, for the love of God, think I am married, don’t make me afraid of myself; oh! take care, you crush my bonnet, what shall I do, how shall I get home?” Holding her tight, I dragged the bonnet off her head, and recommenced. We made such a noise, that the old pew-opener knocked at the door and asked if anything was the matter.

  “By God,” said I, “either I will have you, or you shan’t go out of this house this night,” and so I struggled on through tears and entreaties, threats, kissings and promises, till with broken voice her head sunk back, her struggles ceased, her legs opened, my hand slipped over her smooth thighs, and nestled in the warm moist slit it had so often toyed with in time gone by. It is nigh fifteen years since that delicious afternoon, but I recollect my sensations as I touched her cunt, as well as if it had been but yesterday.

  Resistance had ceased, for a moment in silent enjoyment I laid with my fingers in their warm lodging, then too impatient to get to the bed, or take the full luxury of my fortune, I arranged her on the sofa as well as its size permitted, with her petticoats up in a heap, and with my trousers half unbuttoned, flung myself upon her, and entered the smooth channel in which I first had spent my virginity. Frantic with excitement, the pleasure came on ere I was in full up her. She, excited and loving, clutched me tightly in her arms, whilst her cunt and belly moved sympathetically. In too short a time we spent together.

  My position was a fatiguing one, I was half on, half off the sofa; hers was but little less so, yet as long as our privates would keep together, we kept them so. I poured out my love to her, and joyed to hear from her that she loved me still. But our position could not last forever; gradually I slipped off. My prolonged embrace, my sensuous imagination, and my love for her had told so upon me; that I was already contemplating the pleasure of another poke, a desire to see her charms came over me, I went on to my knees and had a glimpse between the open thighs, of the half open cunt, from which a love-drop was rolling. She pushed down her clothes, and sat up, looking at me, and blushing like the most modest of maidens.

  It is extraordinary what objection so many women have to a man’s looking closely at their cunts. A woman will stand naked, lay naked on her belly, or bum, stand with one leg on a chair, kneel with one leg on the bed, be looked at frontways, backways, sideways, and be pleased with the admiration. You may lay and kiss the outside, put your fingers up and probe it, rub your knuckles into it, tickle or frig it; but directly you want to pull the lips open, to see the hole which lays hidden by the hairy outer lips, to see where your prick is longing to hide its head; they object, put their thighs together, say, “No, it is not to be looked at.” Or if angrily pressed, reluctantly half yield, throw themselves down, so as to put their back to the light, lifting one leg so as to hide the light, and using every maneuver to prevent you looking closely at it; and if you desire to look when it’s laden with the efforts of your love, they will struggle to prevent you. Gay or modest, it is the same among the English; although a gay lady will yield to please her friend. With the French the objection is less, a French gay woman will pull open her cunt with her own hands, and let you pull open her arse-hole if you can and like it. I have known a few women of other nations and even of my own as free and easy, but the rule is as I say. This cannot be modesty. I rather imagine it results from a fear that some discharge will show itself, and sicken the man’s appetite.

  Up jumped Charlotte, and went into the adjoining room. I heard her splashing away a long time at her cunt, and went to her. I had no desire to wash away from my person, anything which had come from hers. She pushed me back. I had a glimpse of her, naked to her waist, washing something. She said, “My linen is in such a mess I have been obliged to wash it.” She had found much spunk upon it, and washed it for fear of being found out. She put a petticoat over her neck to hide her charms, the chemise was so wet that it was almost impossible for her to put
it on, and she did not know what to do.

  “Good God, you will catch your death of cold.” I rang the bell and gave it to the old woman to dry. “Now,” said I, “you cannot go, it is of no use, I must have you again, and will see all your charms, I had you first, I have had you again, and again I will have you; don’t be foolish, all harm is done.”

  Crying, entreating and saying she was married, I got her on to the bed, and stripping myself was soon folded in her arms. My prick was ready, she had struggled hard, now saw it was useless, and lay in all her beauty before me, her head on the pillow and her eyes closed, leaving me to work my will.