Next morning, haggard, jaded, worn out, the bilious attack got the credit of it, I laid abed all the morning, and went out late. When at business I fell asleep, unable to work, came home at about the same time as on the previous day with no idea of chance favouring me, but it did. Mary was alone, and we fucked as hard as we could. She laid the cloth and dinner-things my sperm dripping from her cunt. I had just spent up her as the street-doorbell rang, buttoned up my trousers, turned on my side on the sofa, and shammed sleep. “Is your Master home?” “Yes Mamm, he seems quite ill.” “Where is he?” “On the sofa, fast asleep I think Mamm.” Again the bilious attack had all the credit of it. I had pulled down the blinds which covered the window through which the room could be partly seen from the landing outside. Five minutes after I was sitting at dinner with the smell of Mary’s cunt on my fingers, my prick sticking to my shirt, for I had never washed it, nor piddled since it had left Mary’s body.
Luck helped me for a day or two. The illness of a relative took the other person interested in this out of the house at unusual times, and Mary and I did all we could in an hour or two. It was more exciting now than ever to see a woman bolt downstairs directly she had been fucked, to cook potatoes, or to eject me from her cunt, and leave the fuck undone, because there was a ring at the bell. It was old times come again, but with greater risk, more serious consequences if found out, yet with greater zest and enjoyment.
Then luck ceased, the house was never left, and all I could get was a stray kiss, and a slight feel of her quim. But oh! the delight of that rapid feel round the warm, smooth bum and thighs, and the push up between the warm, moist cunt-lips when I got it.
Then came her holiday. We went to a bawdy house in E—t—r Street. She had a large paper parcel in her hand when I met her. “What’s that?” “Cherries,—I know you are fond of them, so bought some.”
What a jolly afternoon we spent. Although I had had her many times, she had not willingly let me see her person, I had had glimpses, and no more now. In a trice she had stripped to her chemise, I to my shirt. What lovely breasts, what splendid limbs, what thighs and arse-globes. In an instant I was on the bed with her. After a fuck we fell fast asleep, she had done so similarly at my house on the sofa, and on the floor. She always did after a spend. I never met such a woman in that respect. As regularly as she copulated she went to sleep after, and said she could not help it. When awakened she asked for cherries, and we lay and dallied, and ate cherries at intervals. There was now no reticence, all her charms were open to my sight and touch. “Why did you not let me at home Mary?” “My linen warnt clean,” I remember that well. “How many times did we fuck that first day.” “Don’t you know? I’ve been trying to recollect, and can’t,” she replied laughing.
She was a lovely woman, had firm, smooth, creamy flesh, was as plump as a sucking-pig, a fat cunt of my favorite style then, and the loveliest coloured hair on it I ever saw; but it was ample, both inside and outside, I had experience enough to know that even then, though its grip of the prick was heavenly. Her form and figure was if anything, what may be called thick, the ankles and wrists were thick, but neither feet or hands were large, her breasts and bum were faultless. Take her all in all she was a superb creature, and had such a complexion!
I sent for wine and biscuits, for we got thirsty and hungry, and then amidst amorous dalliance we chatted. She astonished me not a little about her career. I was always curious with a woman whom I had poked, and till I had heard something about her was not satisfied. Whether lies or truth I always got a history of some sort out of a woman of Mary’s class, and usually got the main facts truly. I have tested them. But not so with gay women, they mostly lie heavily.
“Master (she always addressed me so in country fashion and dialect), you know.” “I?” “Yes.” “No.” “You do.” “What nonsense.” “Ain’t she told you?” “No.” “Why she knows all about me, she caught me crying one day, spoke kindly, it made me open my heart, and I told her all!—yet she has never told you?” “Never, and if you have told her anything about yourself that you had better have kept to yourself, you will regret it.” “I fear I shall.” Then little by little, amidst tears and caresses, she told me her history, and again did on future days, and I saw her letters, rings, jewelry, silks, and other proofs, I knew the town she lived in, know some of the people in it whom she mentioned, and was satisfied with the truth of every part of her story. One gentleman she named was to have married one of my sisters,—how strange!
Chapter XXI
The daughter of a small inn-keeper at the town of B—t—n, she was at a public hall. A young gentleman danced with her, afterwards paid attentions to her, and induced her to run off with him. “Oh! I was just as bad as him, poor fellow! When he got me into the room I felt sure what he was after, knew it was wrong, knew he would want me, and that I should let him. I wanted to let him do it, to be all to him, I did not want it done to me for myself, not that I recollect, I dare say I might, but don’t recollect that; but I wanted him to do with me what he liked, anything he liked, anything he wanted to do me. I would have let him do anything that would make him happy, and seem as if I belonged to him entirely, and he to me forever.”
“And he did it?” “Yes. I stopped out all night and next day, and then went home frightened. I was father’s favorite, he had been hunting for me like mad all over the town, and letting people know I was not at home. He hit me,—there was such a row!—my sister spat at me, and called me a whore. I never slept all night, and hadn’t slept the night before, what with his a pulling me about and doing it, and my fear of being found out. I was ill, and father kept me locked up in my room a week, because I would not tell him where I had been and with who. I said I had been to an aunt’s, he went to her, and found I had fibbed. At length he let me out, because he wanted me to attend to his business, and the first man I saw in the bar was my dear boy,—I nearly fainted.”—These were as nearly as possible her own words describing her seduction, they are so unlike the confessions I have had from other women, that the very words sank deep into my mind.
After that he used to go and drink at the bar, her father talked with him, not knowing he was the man who had broached his daughter. She was watched till life was unbearable, her sister worried her (she had no mother), neighbours who had thought well of her began to sneer, a country swain who liked her was saucy to her, one or two swells in the neighbourhood who had been accustomed to see her about, and admired her beauty, were now free in their behaviour. One took liberties with her, and in the public-house began asking her smutty questions. Weary with all this, liking the man whose sperm had wetted her virgin cunt, perhaps longing to have more (although she always declared to me that she had no recollection of that desire affecting her), one night she ran away to London with him.
They lived in London nine months. Then came grief. He was the son of a West-India planter who had sent him to London to pass as barrister. His father’s agents found out the connection with Mary, and wrote to the father that he was spending his money, but not advancing his career. His father objected, then threatened, and then his allowance was stopped. They lived on what they had, until penniless. He wrote that he was going to marry Mary, and his father replied that if he did he need never return and might starve. He was a gentleman, and could not get his living, he tried but failed. Then the father wrote, requesting him to return, and saying he would provide for Mary. Misery stared them in the face, and he consented to go home.
His father remitted money. The first thing he did was to take all Mary’s jewelry and clothes out of pawn, and then to arrange for her to live. He promised to come back, and marry her, and some sort of such promise was made by his father’s agents. He begged her to go home, but she would not. Then he put her to lodge with a small middle-class woman whom he bribed to give Mary a character as a servant, for he declared he would remain, and ruin himself for ever, if she neither would go home, nor go to service. Mary
remained there a couple of months, dressing plainly, and only going to see him in his lodgings at night, or to meet him at places where it would not be known. Then he went to India. Repeated threats of his father, and his want of money would let him stay no longer.
The father arranged that Mary should be paid fifteen shillings a week, and they paid it for some time. She wanted to write to her lover, but had mislaid his address, the agents said that their instructions were to stop the weekly payment if she corresponded with him; but he wrote to her, she replied, and then their payments ceased. Her lover then sent her money; but his father found that out, and kept him penniless. She was in London now alone, knowing not a person, again he sent her trifling sums, but begged her to go out to service, or she would become a gay woman (I have seen his letters). She used to go out, sit down on a green close by, and cry all day. One day a middle-aged woman accosted her, she told a little of her grief to her, it was something to tell her grief, even to a stranger. The woman told some plausible story, and she went to see her (I had the address). There the woman asked to see her partly undressed, and told her that with such legs and breasts she might have silk dresses and jewelry galore, in fact incited her to be a gay woman. True to her lover, she did as he advised. The female with whom she lived gave her a character as a servant, and with that she came into our house.
The way in which the old bawd got to see her legs was amusing, I often thought of it; not knowing a bawd’s dodges then. She asked her if she wanted to piddle, took her to a bed room, and as in sitting down she showed a little leg, the woman broke out into ecstasies, and asked her to show more. Much flattered she did, and then came the old woman’s suggestions.
“From the time he left you till the other day, had you never been poked?” “Never, by all that is good.—I would not have injured him,—I was shocked when the old woman told me about getting money by my legs. I hoped he would come back, and always thought he would. But he never answers my letters now, although some money came for me the other day, and I know it must be from him, although the writing is not his; even when you threw me on the sofa that day, I thought I was wronging him for a moment, till I forgot everything but you.
“But oh! I have had a weary life since he left, father I hear has failed, what sister’s doing I don’t know,—sister I heard tells everybody it was all my fault, and that the old man never held up his head after I ran away,—perhaps it’s true,” said she with a flood of tears, “but I was a good gal to him, till my poor Alfred took me away.”
I have never before or since heard anything more simple or touching than that girl’s tale, as told me in the bawdy house. I could almost swear that every word was true. We stopped at the house till time for Mary to leave. I had paid for the rooms two or three times over, being still inexperienced. When we came out we were famished, having eaten nothing but cherries and biscuits nearly all day. I bought buns, and we ate in the cab, I feeling her cunt at intervals, and once making a fruitless attempt at a fuck. The smell of her cunt on my fingers at that time I dare say gave a relish to the buns, for I liked her. She went in first, ten minutes afterwards I did. What a look we gave each other as she opened the door! Old times again, and this time as charming as those in every particular.
For some time afterwards it was impossible to have her, for we never were alone, our only chance of exchanging whispers or a kiss was on the stairs, or when the other woman went to the privy. In those few minutes we used to stand whispering, kissing and feeling each other. Then at table I used to feel her legs with my toes, putting my feet out of my slippers as she put things on the breakfast or dinner-table, and looking the other woman in the face all the time. This was so pleasant to me, that I came down in the morning without socks, saying the weather was so hot, and when I could get the naked toe up just to touch her thigh, my prick would stand at the instant. But this was poor pleasure, and I resolved on a course which I had actually to write to tell her of, so little opportunity had I of conversing with her for the time.
Our old-fashioned house was one of a row with a narrow frontage, and four stories high, had a long narrow garden, and a privy about thirty feet from the back-door, hidden by some evergreens, the common mode of building in London at that time. On the first floor was my own little sitting room and a drawing room, and above two bed rooms, the back one serving as a dressing room for me, above those a servant’s attic. With one servant only we helped ourselves a good deal as may be supposed. One bath sufficed, one of us took it first, the other using the same water, it was a not very big flat tub. I usually took it first, then went downstairs, and read till breakfast-time, and so got my five or ten minutes opportunity. But she began to take her bath irregularly, or not at all, and came down at times so quickly after me, that I was cautious, and so the opportunities with Mary were lost. She was probably suspicious, but I never knew.
The scullery or back kitchen-door led up to the garden by a little flight of steps, and in the summer it was always wide open. Anything let fall out of the back-window would fall just in the doorway. This gave me the means of signaling. It was arranged that if Mary heard a penny drop on to the stones by the door, she was at once to go up quietly to the parlour, the ground-floor room as said, was divided by folding doors, in the front was the dining table and the auspicious sofa, in the back a small table where we breakfasted.
One morning dressed I waited till the woman stepped into the bath, and then looking out of the window, dropped a penny. It fell just where Mary stood cleaning my boots. Then downstairs I cut, and there was Mary in the parlour waiting. She resisted me, but she wanted it as badly as I did, and sticking her back against the partition close to the door, so that we could catch the first sound of anyone coming downstairs, we fucked. My God what a rapid fuck it was, but what enjoyment! it was the old trick again of but a very few years before in mother’s house. Mother still lived there.
This we did several mornings, then I lost even that opportunity, after being nearly caught in the act, and with prick throbbing to let out its sperm, I had barely time to subside into a chair, and take up a newspaper. That so scared Mary that she would not come up again when I dropped a penny out of the window.
Then she asked to go out to buy some things, which being granted, again we spent a jolly hour or so at the bawdy house in E—t—r Street. That night I sat her on my prick, and did her in the cab, I never did so to her but once. I put her up to asking to go to the post-office with a letter, it was at about five minutes’ walk from our house. Close by was a lane leading to large vegetable market-gardens, and there we took our pleasure, and were nearly caught at it by a man passing by. I went home first, and when the door was opened was answered, “The girl has gone to the post-office, she must have gone somewhere else, for she has been a long time.” Then in came Mary. “Where have you been such a long time? Your Mistress says you have been half an hour.” She got a scolding, and the Mistress went up to bed. I told Mary to come into the garden, it was a dark night and cloudy, and half-way down the garden I put into her, up against the wall, then she went in, and upstairs to bed. I followed soon, and said, “What keeps that girl up so? I have been walking in the garden, and she has only just gone upstairs.” “She ought to have come up directly I did,” said the other. I locked all the doors of the house at night, and was the last up.
Several other risky incidents occurred in a few weeks, and then from some suspicion I imagine, I never got a chance of having her. When I came down to break-fast the girl was rang for to go upstairs, going out was refused her, she was told in the middle of the day, “If you have any letter to post, go out now, you can’t go out this evening.” The Mistress seemed to stay a shorter time even in the privy than usual, and often on some pretext sent the girl upstairs or somewhere just before she went to the poopery. I was evidently suspected.
One day she did not. No sooner had she gone out of the back-door than I called up Mary. “Let’s do it.” “I will.” “I
don’t care if she does catch us,” said I furiously, “lean forward, look out into the garden, I will do it dog-fashion.” There was a lowish-backed easy-chair which I usually sat in by the breakfast-table, up against which I pushed it. Anyone stooping over it, and looking could just see through the window the head of anyone coming away from the privy. My impetuousity prevailed, I threw up her clothes over her backside, and plugging her cunt, was soon in ecstasies, Mary in a funk, submitting, and with me looking whilst we fucked, out of the window for her Mistress’ head, which as I have said, we could not fail to see. But our pleasure came on, and in our joint delight we only thought of the lubricity of our position. “Look out darling.” “Yes—I am.” “Oh!—a—h!—are.” “You’re loo—k—look—ing?” “Yes—oh!—ah I—be—qu—quick,—ah!—a—h!” I had spent, my belly was still squeezed up against her bum, my prick still up her, my hands rubbing her flesh, when I heard a footstep at the back-door. To pull out my prick, drop my dressing-gown over it, let fall the clothes over Mary’s posteriors was the work of an instant. Rushing towards the door I met her Mistress just as she entered it. Passing her I rushed out towards the privy saying, as if ready to shit myself, “What a time you have been there. I thought you were going to stay there all day.” It had been raining, the ground was wet, and just inside the back-door she had paused to wipe her feet on the mat. Had she not done so she would have caught us in the posture, for we had both spent, and lost all consciousness for the minute, I was dreaming leaning over Mary when I heard the feet rubbing on the doormat.
Erotic Classics II Page 114
