Erotic Classics II

by Various Authors

  Though I had had such lots of women, and had heard of most things, yet simple, straightforward fucking had engrossed me, I rarely had out-of-the-way lusts and letches, and I never thought to ask if her friend buggered or sucked her, or if she sucked him, or what little amusements they were up to. At all events she must have satisfied him some way, for he had known her she said some years. A man was likely to stick to Louisa, for she was a magnificent piece of flesh, from her neck to her ankles.

  So I believed Louisa, and felt interested in her belly beginning to swell, but did not want the young one, or the troubles of paternity, or to get her into trouble; besides I had no affection for her, though I liked fucking her better and better.

  Louisa then was away ill; I saw her again when her womb was cleared out, and we took to fucking as usual. One day in bawdy vagaries we had been posturing, and she straddled across my face, bringing her cunt right on to my mouth, and my nose to her bum, she had been asking me if I ever kissed Sarah in any way but the straight one. She began kissing my pego as she lay on the top of me, I kissed her buttocks, but took no hint, if any were intended. She was very heavy, and I noticed for the first time a strongish odour from her cunt which annoyed me; afterwards I used often to fancy she had a strong smell about her quim, and was fool enough to tell her so, which offended her? but we made it up.

  After a little time she began asking me if I had not forgotten Sarah,—did I love her as much?—did I long to have her again?—did she (Louisa) not give me as much pleasure as Sarah? I had then got over my desolation a little, and only thought of Sarah and her exquisite form with a sigh, was annoyed that she had not written to me, and I began to confess to myself, that for fucking, Sarah was not to be compared with Louisa. Then I began to wonder at my having been so infatuated, and let it out to Louisa one night. She said she wished I would keep her,—three pounds a week, and she would make it do, and so on; and I began to think seriously about the matter, for the expenses at the bawdy house were nearly that amount; and although my delicate senses had began to revolt at the strong smell of Louisa, yet her voluptuousness was enticing, and was making me actually constant to her. I had quite left off my Mulatto, Brighton Bessie, and one or two others of my queens.

  Louisa was again taken ill,—the consequence of her miscarriage, and of the measures taken to bring that on I was told. She got worse and worse, and was in great danger; she never wrote to me, but often to Hannah, and her letters which I saw always referred to me affectionately; above all she wanted to know what ladies I had at J—s Street. Hannah winking at me used to say, “I’d like to know where you put it away now,—it’s put somewhere.” I had taken no women to that house; but laughing said I was chaste. Hannah did not believe that, so I said I frigged myself. “You don’t spill it about in that way,” said she, “let me feel it,”—and she put her hand outside my clothes on to my tool. “Oho!—oho!—oho!” said she, for I stiffened. Then she brought me her accounts to cast up, and when it was done, “I shall take a nap,” said she, “you go now, for I expect Mrs.———and a strange lady” (I had looked in casually that morning),—and getting on to the bed she laid down showing her legs liberally, and looking at me all the time. “Good bye,” I said, and left; but have thought since that Hannah wanted me to have her. She never before or since looked at me in that way, nor behaved with such freedom when we were alone.

  Her bed was as I have I think already told, in the front parlour in J—s Street, and in an alcove, as many beds are in French hotels and houses; and when the curtains were drawn across it, the bed was entirely hidden.

  And then when without a woman at my command, and with a frequent need for one, another piece of luck befell me. The way had been paved for it before Louisa was so ill.

  Chapter XVI

  I knew an elderly couple who were childless, and lived in a nice little house in the suburbs with, a long garden in front, and one at the back as well; they were in comfortable but moderate circumstances, and kept two servants only. Every year they went to the seaside, taking one servant with them, and leaving the other at home to look after the house; and usually someone to take charge of it with her. This year they asked if I would when I passed the house (as I frequently did) call in, and see if all was going properly, for the housemaid left in charge was young, and her sister, a married woman, usually only stopped the night with her, leaving early each morning for work in which she was daily engaged. She was an upholstress.

  I knew the servant whose name was Jane. She had been with the family some months. I often dined at the house; and once or twice when she had opened the garden-gate (always locked at nightfall), to let me out, I had kissed her, and tipped her shillings. She was a shortish, fat-bummed wench. Not long before this time I gave her bum such a hard pinch one night, that she cried out. A day or two afterwards I said, “Was it not black and blue?” “I don’t know.” “Let me see.” “It’s like your impertance,” she replied.

  After that I used to ask her when I got the chance, to let me see if the finger marks were there, at which she would blush a little, and turn away her head, but nothing further had come of the liberty.

  When I called at the house I had no intention about the girl, as far as I can recollect. She opened the door, and heard my errand and questions. Yes all was right. Did her sister come and sleep there? Yes. Was she there now? No, she would not be there till nearly dark. I stepped inside, for then I thought of larking with her. “I am tired, and will rest a little,” and stepped into the parlour, sat down on a sofa, began questioning her about a lot of trifles, and in doing so thought of the pinch I had given her bum, and my cock began to tingle. Then I thought she was alone in the house. “Oh! if she would let me fuck her!—has she been broached?—she is nice and plump.” Curiosity increased my lust, and unpremeditatingly I began the approaches for the attack, though I only meant a little amatory chaffing.

  “Is it black and blue yet Jenny?” She did not for the instant seem to recollect, for she asked me innocently enough, “What sir?” “Your bum where I pinched it.” She laughed, checked herself, coloured up, and said, “Oh! don’t begin that nonsense sir.” I went on chaffing. “How I should like to have pinched it under your clothes,—but no I would sooner kiss it than pinch it.” “Oh! if you’re a going on like that I’ll go to the kitchen.” I stood before the door, and stopped her going out. “Now give me a kiss.” I caught and kissed her, then gave a lot, and got a return from her. “I won’t—Lor there then,—what a one you are,”—and so on. “Well Jenny one kiss, and you may afterwards kiss whenever you want you know.” And so she seemed to think, for I got her to sit down on the sofa, and we gossiped and kissed at intervals, till my cock got unruly. “What a fat bum you have,” said I. Then she attempted to rise, I pulled her back, we went on gossiping, and kissing at intervals. She got quite interested in my talk as I sat with one arm round her waist, and another on her thigh, outside her clothes of course.

  So for a while; but I was approaching another stage, was getting randy, and reckless. “Lord how I’d like to be in bed with you, to feel that fat bum of yours, to feel your c—u—n—t,” spelling it, “to f—u—-c—k it I’d give a five-pound note,” said I all in a burst, and stooping, got my hand up her clothes on to her thigh. She gave a howl. “Oh! I say now,—what a shame!—oh! you beast.” I shoved her back on the sofa upsetting her, got my lips on her thighs, and kissed them. Then she escaped me, and breathing hard, stood up looking at me after her struggle. “Oh! I wouldn’t have believed it,” said she panting with the exertion. What a lot of women I have heard say, they would not have believed it, when I first made a snatch at their privates. I suppose they say what they mean.

  Begging her pardon, “I could not help it,” I said, “you are so pretty and nice,—I’d give ten pounds to be in bed with you an hour.” “Well I’m sure.” “Think what it is not to have a woman you like.” “Well I’m sure sir, you are a married man,—you’ve got a pa
rtner, and ought to know better,—Missus would not have asked you to call if she’d a know’d you,—she thinks there’s no gent like you,—what would she say if I tell her?” “But you won’t my dear.” “She thinks you a perfect gentleman, and most unlucky,” the girl went on to say, “and she is sorry for you too.”

  “Oh! she does not know all, but you’ve heard, have you Jenny?” I tried to make her sit on the sofa again, and promising that I would not forget myself any more she did so. We kissed and made it up, and talking I soon relapsed into bawdiness.

  The quarrelsome life I led with the oldish woman at home was I knew well understood by the old couple. “I lead a miserable life,” said I. “Oh! yes I know all about it,” said the girl “Master and Missus often talk about you,—but you’re very gay, ain’t you?” Then I told this girl a lot. “Think my dear what it is not even to sleep with a woman for two months,—for two months we have never slept together,—I’ve never seen her undressed,—never touched her flesh,—you know what people marry for,—I want a woman,—you know what I mean don’t you,—every night what am I to do?—I love laying belly to belly naked with a nice woman, and taking my pleasure with her,—so of course I can’t keep from having other women at times,—you don’t know what an awful thing it is to have a stiff prick, and not a nice woman to relieve it.” She gave me a push, got up, and made for the door at the word prick. Again I stopped her. She had sat staring at me with her mouth wide open, without saying a word, all the time I had been telling the bawdy narrative of domestic trouble, as if she were quite stupefied by my plain language until she suddenly jumped up, and made for the door without saying a word.

  I was as quick as she, caught her, put my back against the door, and would not let her go, but could not get her to look me in the face, I had so upset her. There we stood, I begging her to sit down, and promising not to talk so again, she saying, “Now let me go,—let me out.” “No,—sit down.” “No.” But in about a quarter of an hour she did, and then again I told her of my trouble, avoided all straightforward allusion to my wanting other women, but hinted it enough. She got interested, and asked me no end of questions. “Lord why don’t you separate,—if I quarrel with my husband so, I’m sure I will,—I tell my young man so.” “Oh! you have a sweetheart.” Yes she had,—a grocer’s shopman,—he lived at Brighton, came up third class to see her every fortnight, starting early, and going back late. She was flattered by my enquiries, told me all about him and herself, their intention to get married in a year; and I sat and listened with one hand outside her clothes on her thigh, and thinking how I could best manage to get into her.

  “He goes with women,” said I to make her jealous. “He don’t I’m sure,—if he did, and I found it out, I’d tear his eyes out, and break off with him, though he says Brighton is a dreadful place for them hussies.” She got quite excited at the idea. “When he comes up, you and he enjoy yourselves,—his hands have been where mine have tonight.” “No he hasn’t,—if he dared I’d—now I don’t like this talk,—you said you wouldn’t,—leave me alone,—you keep breaking your word.” Another little scuffle, a kiss, and a promise. “Why should you not enjoy yourselves?—who would know anything about it but yourselves,—it’s so delicious to feel yourselves naked in each other’s arms, your bellies close together.” “Get away now,”—and she tried to get up. I got my hand up her clothes, pulled her on to the sofa, and holding her down with one hand, pressed myself sideways on her, and kissed her, pulling out my prick with the other.

  Then she cried out so loudly that I was alarmed, for the window at the back was open. “Hush,—be quiet,—there,—I’ve touched your cunt.” I pulled one of her hands on to my prick. “Oh! for shame Jenny you touched my prick.” Again she got up, and made for the door; so did I, and stood there with my back to it, and my poker out in front of me. “Come and open the door my dear, and you will run against this.” She turned her head away, and would not look. “Why don’t you come on?—if you run up against it, it won’t hurt you,—it’s soft though it’s stiff.” “I’ll write to my Mistress tonight,” said she, and turned away. “Do my pet,—tell her how stiff it was, and the old lady will want to see it when she comes back.” “It’s disgraceful.” “No my dear, it’s to be proud of,—why you’re looking at it I can see.”

  Then she turned quite away. “That’s right dear,—now I can see where I pinched your bum,—it was not far from your little quim,—oh! if that could talk, it would ask to be introduced to this,—it’s hot, isn’t it Jenny?” I said, this and a lot more. She had walked to the back-window, and stood looking into the garden whilst I rattled on. “You’re laughing Jenny.” “It’s a story,” said she, “I’m insulted,”—and turned round with a stern face. I shook my tooleywagger. “How ill-tempered you look,—come and feel this, and you’ll be sweet-tempered at once.” She turned round to the window again.

  “I will write my Missus,—that I will.” “Do dear.”

  “My sister will be here directly.” “You said she comes at dusk,—it won’t be dark for three hours.” “I wish you would go,—what will people say if they know you’re here?” “Don’t be uneasy,—they will know no more than they know of your doings with your young man.” “There is nothing to know about, but what is quite proper.”

  So we stood. She looking out of the window, and turning round from time to time. I standing by the door with my prick out; then I approached her quietly. “Feel it Jenny,—take pity on it.” “Oh! for God’s sake sir, what are you doing?” She turned and pushed me back, then retreated herself, keeping her face to the window as she stepped backwards. “Oh! there is Miss and Mrs. Brown walking in the next garden.” Sure enough there were two ladies there; they could have seen everything close to the window over the low wall which separated the gardens; and had they been looking, must have seen Jenny, me, and my prick. “Oh! if they have seen, they will tell my Missus, and she’ll tell my young man, and I shall be ruined,—oh!—oh!—oh!” said she sinking back into an arm-chair with a flood of tears,—half funk and shock, and perhaps randiness, causing it.

  I was alarmed. “Oh!” she sobbed, “if they saw you,—hoh!—ho!—and it was no fault of mine,—you’re a bad man,—oho! oho!” She sat with her hands to her face, her elbows on her knees. I dropped on my knees imploring her to be quiet, was sure no one had seen me, and tried to kiss her. The position was inviting, I slid my hands up her clothes between her thighs, she took no notice, was evidently in distress, not even conscious of the invasion. A bold push, and my fingers touched her cunt. I forgot all in the intensity of my enjoyment, at feeling my fingers on the edge of the soft, warm nick. No repulse I I looked up, she sank back in the chair, seemingly unconscious and deadly white.

  I withdrew my hand, then came a mental struggle; my first impulse was to get cold water, the next to look at her cunt. I went towards the door, turned round to look at her. Her calves were visible, I ran back, and lifted her clothes, so that I could just see her cunt-hair, gave her thighs a kiss, and then rushed downstairs, got water, and as I entered the room she was recovering. She knew nothing or next to nothing of what had occurred, nor that my fingers had touched her clitoris, though she had not actually fainted.

  “I wish I had some brandy,” she said, “I feel so weak.” “Is there any in the side-board?” “No.” “I’ll go and get a little.” A few hundred feet from the house down a side-door, was a public-house. As I was going, “You will let me in again?” I said. “If you promise not to touch me.” She looked so pale that I fetched brandy, but put the street-door key in my pocket as I went. “If she don’t let me in,” I thought, “she shan’t have the key,—and what will she tell her sister about that?” It was a key almost as big as a shovel; she never noticed that I had taken it away. She thought by her dodge that she had got rid of me, and told me so afterwards.

  I brought back the brandy and knocked. “Let me in.” “I won’t.” “Then you shan’t have the street-door k
ey.” This was spoken to each other through the closed door. A pause, then the door opened. “You are coming Jenny.” We went downstairs into the kitchen, she had brandy and water, and so had I. It was a hot day, the pump-water was deliriously cool, I made hers as strong as she would take it,—it was an instinct of mine. She got her colour back, and became talkative, we talked about her fainting, but she tried to avoid talking about it, and did not want me to refer to what had led to it. I did, and was delighted to think that it was owing to what is called “exposing my person.”

  “I don’t think the ladies saw it, so you need not have been so frightened Jenny,—but you saw it, did you not?” No reply. “I saw you looking at it.” “It’s a story.” “Why did you faint?” “I always feel faint if I am startled.” “What startled you?” “Nothing.” “You saw it, and you put your hand over it to hide it, and you touched it.” “It’s a story,—I wish you’d go.” “You ungrateful little devil, when I’ve just fetched you brandy.” “It’s through you that I felt ill.” “Why?” No reply. “Don’t be foolish,—it was for fear that the ladies should have seen my prick so near you,—now look at it,”—and I pulled it out, it was not stiff. “It was twice the size when you saw it,—feel it, and it will soon be bigger.”