Erotic Classics II

by Various Authors

  A long pause. I scarcely knew why, and then my hand went still lower, till it touched her ankles, still kissing her, and bending her with me (oh! how well I recollect it), then my right hand went quite slowly up her clothes to her knees, and there I stopped, frightened at my advances. Opening her eyes she gently repulsed me, and murmured, “Oh! Master,—Master,—what are you doing,—pray don’t.” Her eyes were filled with soft passion, her resistance physically would not have moved a butterfly, but morally she affected me. I became conscious of what I was driving on to un-premeditatingly.

  I desisted, removed my hand, but passion now controlled me. I kissed again. “Let me feel, oh! let me dear feel you,” bending her forward with me, I replaced my hand. “Oh! Master pray don’t,—think what you are doing,—of who I am,” said she lovingly. “Oh! I won’t,” said she sharply,—but too late, my fingers were on her clitoris, I had begun that gentle twiddling which always ends in fucking. “Oh!—no,—oh!— pray.” Voluptuousness had overcome her, her mouth was glued to mine, her eyes fixed on mine; gently they closed, then opened, always looking into mine. Her breathing was short, she was past thought, she was mine. Gently pressing her back on the sofa, she raised her limbs, I lifted her clothes, and tearing open my trousers threw myself on her. My fingers for an instant touched her cunt, a rapid probe, and then my prick! My God! it was not standing, not a bit of swell or stiffness was in it, it was as a sucked gooseberry, a mere bit of dwindling, flexible, skinny gristle, a piece of loose, flabby flesh, and nothing more.

  I had been occasionally, but rarely suddenly unequal to love’s duty as already told, had gone home with gay women, my prick standing as I entered their houses, then suddenly it had shrunk, something about them having upset me. Occasionally it was a sudden fear of the ladies’ fever, or something looked less inviting when their petticoats were off, than I had imagined when drapery hid their charms, or else the fear that my prick would be thought small. At other times I could not account for it at all. I told my doctor of it. He said that it was nervousness, but the knowledge that I had once been so affected, affected me often afterwards when I went indoors with girls. “Shall I be able to fuck?” I used to think, I who had already fucked two hundred women. But so it was, a fear of inability brought on inability. The power often returned to me a few minutes afterwards, yet sometimes not for hours.

  There was nothing to account for it now, I had more or less abstained for weeks, there lay one of the choicest female forms ever presented to man’s eyes, a dark-brown crispy-haired cunt with a tiny bit of pink clitoris showing between a large pair of thighs like ivory, and a sweet face above turned on one side with eyes closed, and blushing a yielding up to me. And I liked the woman, felt mad for her, yet as my prick rubbed against her pleasure-pit, it became useless. I got up, looked at her as she lay motionless with thighs extended, stood almost frantic, frigged my prick, probed her, and again threw myself on her as I stiffened; but no sooner had my prick touched her beautiful cunt, than as if bewitched, it shrunk from entering it, I could not even thumb it up.

  I broke into a sweat. “My God what will she think of me?” I dreaded to get off, and look her in the face, feeling so ashamed, I kissed her taking her head in my hands, again got off, kissed all round her cunt, and smelt its inciting aroma, asked her to be still, said I should be all right directly. So time wore on, she never moving excepting to push her clothes down as I rose and exposed her, nor opening her eyes, nor uttering a word. “My God what is the matter with me, I don’t know but I can’t,” I said at last. Then she put quite down her clothes, and sitting up on the sofa gave me a kiss, said, “I must go, and see about laying the things for dinner,” and off she went.

  I did not stop her, but was glad when she left the room, being so ashamed that I could not look at her. It was a relief not to have to speak, to excuse, to explain. I was reeking with sweat from exertion and nervous anxiety sat thinking and frigging, felt sensation of pleasure without stiffness, and only stiffened after half-an-hour’s rubbing. With prick out and in hand, downstairs then I went, she was boiling potatoes.

  “Mary come up, come, I am all right,—let me.” She would not. “I can’t Master, I can’t,—what will Missus think if she finds nothing ready?” Nor could I induce her. I incited her by talk, she kept on ejaculating “oh!” to my bawdy remarks, and blushing like a rose; but I could get no more. “If Missus comes home, and sees you through the area, what will she say?—Pray go up Master.” Yielding under the fear of being surprised, at length up I went to the parlour.

  I knew she would be up to lay the cloth, waited in the parlour till she did, keeping my prick in hand, and trembling with anxiety. When she had laid it, “Now,” said I, “look here.” “No,—no,—no,—Missus may be home,—pray think of me.” But a stiff prick close to a randy woman is a great persuader. “Come dear, come,” and I pulled her. Again she was down on the sofa, again that divine belly was under me, again as I opened the lips of her cunt my prick dwindled to nothing. “Hush! there’s Mistress’ step,—there is the front-gate slamming. Get up,—get up, oh! let me get up.” Upstairs I rushed to my own sitting room as I heard a knock at the door, and had only time to button up my disgraced doodle before I heard the woman tramping upstairs to our bed room above. How I loathed her!

  Half-an-hour after that I sat down to dinner, having composed myself. Mary brought up the dishes. The instant I saw her my cock stiffened, it kept stiff all the evening, I could not sleep for it, was tempted to fuck, or frig myself, but did neither, feeling sure I should have Mary, and would not spend a drop of my sperm till I did. “What does she think of me?—will she believe I am a man?—will she let me again?—when shall I get the chance?—what enervated me so at the critical moment?—oh! my God if she lets me, and I am seized so again, what shall I do then?”—and so on ran my thoughts. I lay planning how to get her the whole night, and awakened haggard and unrefreshed in the morning.

  Then I reflected less nervously. “My finger has been up her cunt,” I thought, “no pain, no recoil,—how quiet she laid,—then she has been fucked before,—then what must she think of me?” and so on ran my thoughts till I was in an agony of disgrace. My haggard look was noticed. I was worried, and should not be home to dinner. “Why?” That was my business. Well then she would spend the afternoon with Mrs. ————would I fetch her? Yes at half-past ten o’clock. She wanted to come home earlier. Then she might come by herself. Well then she would wait for me till half-past ten.

  Chapter XX

  Instead of being late I went home about two p.m., just after luncheon time. “Is Mary alone, or not?” I thought, and had arranged for that. I waited in a cab, told a boy to take a letter to No.—but not to give it unless the lady was at home; if she were not, to bring it back to me, and he should have a shilling when he returned to me. If asked, he was to say he had been told to leave it, but not to say by whom. The letter was properly addressed, but inside was a sheet of blank paper only. Back he came with the letter,—the lady was out.

  Even then I was not sure, so drove up and down two or three times in front of my house, to see if I could discover any signs of Mary not being alone, and then I dismissed the cab. My prick had been standing on and off all day, I was in a fearful state of nervous erotic excitement. When I thought of her beautiful belly my prick nearly lifted me off the seat, the next minute I had fears of being taken as I had been the day previously. Would she let me now?—would she be in the mood?—would she not laugh at me, instead of putting her arms around my neck, and her eyes fill with tears? My heart beat audibly with these tumultuous thoughts as I knocked at the door. To my horror I felt my prick shrinking as I stood on the landing feeling it through my trousers pocket.

  Mary opened the door, surprise in her eyes, and a slight look of fear. “You sir!” “Is your Mistress in?” “No sir.” To step inside, close the door, place my arms round her, and kiss her rapturously was the work of an instant. She kissed me, and I
her for a minute, and glory to God my prick was like a rod of hot iron standing up against my belly, and throbbing to emit its juices up the dear girl’s cunt, against which its poor little tip not twenty-four hours before had dangled and rubbed so uselessly.

  A stoop, a struggle. “Adun now—Master,—you shan’t,—oh! you musn’t,” and again I was upright, my lips on her sweet lips, my finger on her clitoris, her face scarlet with modesty, her eyes closed. What woman can long withstand that irritating, voluptuous, restless movement, of the male finger on her cunt? Soft words now, “Oh! don’t,” as I stooped down to lift her petticoats, and she pushed them over my hand. Another slight struggle, again our lips meet, again my finger rubs the smooth clitoris, now her hand grasps a hot prick, and with her lips to mine she stands with her back up against the wall of the passage close to the street-door on the door-mat. So we stand kissing and feeling, I don’t know how long, for who can count time in such delights.

  “Come to the parlour, come.” “No, no,—oh I pray.” I edged her along, one hand still up her petticoats, she trying to push them down. “No I won’t,—there now.” “Do Mary dear,—let’s do it,—I’m a man,—let’s do it,—look, look how my prick throbs for you,—it will spend.” Removing my hand from her cunt, I seized hold of both her hands with mine, and began gently dragging her along the passage to the parlour, she leaning back gently resisting, I leaning back tugging her, my prick red-tipped, stiff, and throbbing standing out in its randy glory between us.

  I got her into the parlour, a flood of sunshine struck full on us from the back window as we did so (windows both back and front in the long room). There she seemed half unconscious. Kind of heart, pitying, liking me, her splendid healthy physique, her fully-developed passions, passions of which she had tasted the full pleasure, but which had been for a long time ungratified, were roused to intensity by the feel of my prick, by my groping her cunt, by the excitement of the position; all had relaxed her nervous system, and absorbed her in voluptuousness. What did she think? Did she think at all?—did she ever know? How can I recollect what I thought in that maddening moment of fierce desire to have her? I grasped her round the waist, and pushed her to the sofa. No resistance, not a word was said. My arse knocked hard against the table, and hurt me. She is down on the sofa, her petticoats up, I see the creamy flesh, large round thighs, the dark hair on her cunt for a second, I am on her, up her, a slight sob as my prick goes up with the thrust of a giant, and we are spending in each other’s embraces, mouth to mouth, belly to belly, prick to cunt, ballocks to bum-cheeks, almost the instant I had covered her, and grasped her smooth fat buttocks. I have no sense of time, all is oblivion and Elysium at the same time.

  Our sighs of pleasure are over, there is no uncunt-ing, no stopping; but with rigid prick still up to its roots in her cunt, on again we go fucking in earnest. Now is the higher pleasure. The first was a maddening desire for each other, a fuck finished before it was begun. Now we are fucking with soft pleasure, and the thoughts of the greater pleasure to come, of my spunk to spurt, of her juices to ooze to meet it, in a cunt already flooded. I recollect smoothing her hair back from her forehead as I fucked, of kissing and meeting her tongue with mine, and spending with rapture, then waking from a doze, and finding her half asleep, I on the top of her, my cock still up her. My trousers not let down had ridden up, and were cutting me tightly under my balls with a painful sensation, and all this was on a narrowish sofa, a modern cheap bit of furniture unlike the grand big one in mother’s house, on which many a servant had had her cunt basted by me.

  She lay with her beautiful head on one side, with eyes closed, with her long hair falling loose, and her cap tumbled off. As I lay I loosened my braces, and little by little took the strain off my testicles, and my balls fell down into their natural position. I put my hand down to feel how my prick lay, the sperm was oozing out all round it. I wanted to see her quim, and pulled out, then putting my hands against the sofa-squab, I pushed myself gently up, rose on to my knees between her thighs, and looking down saw the sperm between her cunt-lips.

  She opened her eyes, pushing gently down her clothes; but the glance had been enough. With prick still stiffish down I fell on her, and was up her again in the twinkling of an eye, lodging my prick in preparation for another fuck.

  Now all is clear, our lust assuaged. “I’ve fucked you,—I’m a man you see,” I cried triumphantly. She closed her eyes, my prick came out, I pushed it back, again out, again up, and so on for a time. A long business was fucking now, long friction, no result, then a long rest, our genitals joined, their hairs glued together, yet no fear of a failure. My machine went on ramming, moans of pleasure at length came from her, her hands clasped me tightly, and with a heave and cry of “Oh! my darling,” she again spent with me, my prick aching with its labour of love.

  Then I dozed an instant on her, she seemed asleep, I was squeezed uncomfortably next the wall, my prick satisfied with its duty, at the first movement left her cunt. I moved her to get off, my trousers had dropped to my knees, entangled my legs, and I gently fell on to the floor, catching at her outer thigh, and pulling it off the sofa as I did so to break my tumble. Up she sat dazed, her petticoats above her knees, I at her feet, looking intently where her closing thighs hid the seat of our pleasures from me.

  “Oh! my gracious!” said she starting up, and letting down one front-blind quite, and half of the other (there were two windows that side of the room). The brilliant sun had lowered, and came into the room in a flood of radiance from the back-window, and the room was light and bright throughout its long and narrow length. Although in a very wide street, the neighbours from the houses opposite could easily have seen right into our room, could have seen us on the sofa. Usually when sitting in the room at that hour of the day, we kept down the blind of the back-window to prevent this. Worse than that, the steps to the street-door were so close to, one front-window, that by stretching forward (very much it is true, but I had done it), anyone could see into the room, even on to half of the sofa on which Mary and I had been amusing ourselves. What an awful risk we had run.

  We looked at each other anxiously. “Oh!” said she, “if anyone saw us!” I looked through our blind. Every blind in the houses opposite was drawn down to shut out the sun. Then I sat by her side, did nothing but look at her for a time, so delighted and satisfied was I at having vindicated my manhood, until she rose to go. That aroused me, and I stopped her.

  “Let me go.” “No.” “If Mistress comes home—” “She won’t.” “She may.” “No,—I’ve fucked you,—you thought I was not a man, did you not?” “Do let me go.” “Come up again then.” “Well presently.” “You are going to wash your cunt.” “Hush Master.” “You shan’t go.” “Now let me.” “Kiss me then.” We kissed and kissed. Could I do it again? The idea of her moistened cunt inflamed me, I pulled her back, thrust my fingers on to her cunt spite of her resistance, and never shall I forget the feel of that and her thighs. “It’s dirty of you,” said Mary, and disengaged herself she rushed downstairs. I followed her into the back-kitchen, were she washed her quim in a wooden bowl, but did not dry it. I chaffed her, then we went into the front-kitchen, sat down, and looked at each other without speaking, like two amorous cats, she blushing, and turning down her eyes as if she guessed what was in my mind. At length I blurted out what was there, I always did it till much later in life, and I had grown wiser. “You’ve had it done to you before today.” “Oh!” said she starting up, then sitting down again, and bursting into tears, “Of course I have,—poor fellow,—poor fellow,—why did he leave me!”

  Embarrassed and sorry at such a consequence of my speech, I tried a few words of comfort. She dried up her tears, and began her household work. I followed her about, talking, kissing, and putting my hand up her clothes, until in due time we adjourned to the parlour, and then again I fucked her, this time on the hearth-rug, the sofa-squab under her head, the sofa was too small for comfor
t.

  Time was before us, all seemed delicious, the domesticity of the amorous amusements, the passion with which she returned my embraces, her modesty and enjoyment were all so like the days when I fucked my mother’s servants. The difference between her sensuous embraces and the matter of fact fucking at five shillings a head I had been so long accustomed to, overwhelmed me with gratification. We had tea. Then as I had had no dinner, and there was none for me, I ate bread and cheese, and opened a bottle of port-wine, and in an hour we fucked again, and again. At nine o’clock she had supper, and we fucked after it. She sat on my lap, I played with her cunt, she with my prick, and we kissed till our lips were sore. But nothing would induce her to let me see her limbs, nor do more than feel her cunt, and take my pleasure in it.

  From two in the afternoon till ten at night was I feeling her quim, kissing, and fucking. We were both exhausted. I got into bed intending to say I had come home ill, took a pill to open my bowels, and begged in a pot that night to keep up the sham (there was no closet in the house). As the street-doorbell rang I was in my nightshirt, standing by her side, trying to frig my prick up to standpoint. In bed I jumped, downstairs bolted she. In ten minutes it was, “Don’t make that noise, I have a bilious headache.” I never closed my eyes that night, could scarcely believe what had occurred, and tossed and tumbled, thinking of the pleasure I had had. Though we had been nearly eight hours doing nothing else, it seemed not an hour. How often I fucked her I don’t know, it seemed as if I was at least half of the eight hours up her cunt, which is absurd; but it was one of my greatest feats in the fucking line, the longest and most pleasureable.