I told her that she need not disturb herself, for I should not stay long, and kept looking with cock already stiffening into her face, then at her arms, then at the bottom of her belly, and in my mind’s eye seeing the dark hair down there. I had planned conversation, but forgot what to say, through thinking of her nakedness and sexual charms; and stood staring at her till she turned her eyes away confused, and colored up.
I continued to be embarrassed, and so lost recollection of all I had intended to say and do, that I was actually going away. I asked one or two stupid questions: if letters had come, if anyone had been, and so on; all the time thinking that I was looking through her clothes at her naked charms. I was in a sort of a trance of bawdiness which muddled me; when noticing the ale-glass I asked, “What are you drinking?” “Fourpenny ale sir.” That reply broke the spell, my senses returned, I thought of an excuse for stopping. “Give me a glass,—I’m thirsty.” “That’s the last of it sir.” “Can’t you get some?” “The pot-boy brought that,—it’s Sunday, and the public is not always open.” I looked at my watch. “It’s not church-time yet, send someone to fetch some,—I’m so thirsty, and hot, and so tired,”—and I sat down. “I’m alone.” “Is not your husband here?” “No, no one.” “Do you mind fetching me some?” “If you don’t mind waiting sir.” “No.” I gave her money. “How much?” “Oh! fill the jug,—not with fourpenny,—with the best ale,—ask them to draw it mild, and get me two bottles of ginger-beer.” In a few minutes she was back,—I had given her a five shilling piece. “You may keep the change.” “Thank you sir,” said she quite touched and delighted. I always gave the change to girls whom I wanted to poke.
In her absence I went all over the house that was not locked up, even to the privy and coal-cellar, had satisfied myself that she was alone, and was getting quite myself again when she came back.
“Have a glass.” “Thank you sir.” “So you are Jenny’s sister,—Jane’s her name I think.” Yes it was. “Aren’t you afraid to be in the house of a night?” No she was not. “Sit down.” “Thank you sir,”—but she stood. “So you are an upholstress,—sit down,”—and after a little pressure down she sat. We took ale together, and no doubt I spoke with all that kindness which a man shows towards a woman whom he desires to poke, I have heard women say that I have a winning, persuasive manner.
Gradually the conversation became about herself. “You’ve two children,—why not more?” “Oh! quite enough for poor people.” “Well you see I can’t get any.” “Poor people are sure to have lots.” “Two is not a lot,—how manage to stop at two?” “Oh! it’s all chance.” “Is not another coming?” She was getting flushed and excited. “Lord no, I hope not.” “Don’t you know?” “I don’t.” “Yes you do,—how old is your last?” “Four years.” “If I were your husband I’d have a dozen.” “Well you say you haven’t any yet sir,” said she. “No I can’t get any.” “Ah! if we had your money!—but with we poor people is different,—it’s hard enough to fill the bellies of two.” “And so you won’t have your belly filled with another little one,—won’t you, eh!”
“Oh! Lord,” said she laughing spite of herself, “you are plain-spoken.” I was in the vein now, did not say an improper word, but gave bawdy hints, smutty suggestions about the dullness of sleeping alone, of the results of wives being away from husbands, etc., till her eyes twinkled, and she laughed much. I had now broken down the barrier, had brought myself to her level, and she as every other woman would have done, took advantage of it, and began to return my chaffing and banter, every woman feels instinctively that when a man is chaffing her (be it ever so decently veiled), about fucking, that she may safely return it: both are at once on a common level. A washerwoman would banter a prince, if the subject was cunt, without the prince being offended. To talk of fucking with a woman is to remove all social distinctions, and I had done it without uttering at first a smutty word.
Jenny’s sister went on chaffing, and drank ale freely. “Oh! I dare say, but why don’t you have children?” “I can’t get any I tell you, but I try.” “Not much at home,” said she, “from all I have heard.” “No I try out as well, and get none,—I’m a safe man.” Then I found she knew a lot about me and my affairs; She had actually worked at my house on some curtains, had seen me once, and knew my voice, though for the moment she had not recollected my face with my hat on when I entered the door that afternoon. But I had never seen her at my house to my knowledge, though if I had I was not likely to have noticed a common upholstress.
We went on chaffing, looking in each other’s faces, each knowing we were talking about fucking. “Well Mrs.———playing at mother and father’s a delicious amusement, is it not?” “I don’t know.” “If you don’t know we’d better try,—I’d give five pounds to be your husband for an hour,—and five pounds would buy you anew dress.” “It would buy me three,” said she without noticing the other part of my remark. “Three?” “Yes three,—I can’t afford more than thirty shillings for a best dress.” “Really!—such a beautiful creature as you ought to have plenty of dress, for I have rarely seen a more lovely woman, and so well grown,—I’ll bet you have fine limbs.” She was flattered, the praise upset her, her eyes tinkled. Yes she might have done better she knew, but it was to be. I went close to her, caught and kissed her. She made not too strong a resistance, but got away. “That’s going a little too far.” “That’s the beginning of a game at mother and father, and you are going to have the three dresses.” She laughed in a funny way. “I don’t want to be a mother anymore, so I don’t want any games.” But she seemed to me to look as if she did.
What did she get for stopping at the house? Five shillings a week, and her supper and breakfast,—that was an object. “Five shillings?—why my kiss was worth that,—let me give you another, and I’ll give you ten shillings for the two.” “You don’t mean that,” said she with a low laugh. “On my soul yes,—but you must give me a kiss as well.” She shook her head. “It’s going too far,” said she. “There it is, I’ll trust you,—you won’t take it without letting me.” She was then sitting. I put the half sovereign into her hand. “Thank you sir,” said she softly. I kissed her rapturously, she let me kiss half-a-dozen times, and whilst doing I so took hold of her hand, and pressed it as if by accident against my cock. She a married woman knew the hard line her hand pressed against, for she moved her hand away. “Now your promise,—kiss me.” “I didn’t promise.” “You took the money.” “There then,” said she giving me a kiss, and jumping up sharply, “we are going too far,—we really are now,—we don’t either of us know what we are about I think.” “I don’t think I do,” said I, “for though I never saw you before, I’ve never been so struck with a woman in my life, I’d give ten pounds to be in bed with you an hour.”
I had been putting my cock straight in my trousers, feeling and squeezing my balls whenever I saw her looking at me. I fancied she kept looking askant at that part of my person. She was getting red in face, hot, and confused in manner. Just then I observed a bed pillow on the sofa, she had I guessed been laying down after dinner. “Why here is a pillow,—you’ve been on the sofa with your husband,—you have been playing at mother and father here.” She burst out into laughter. “Why I’ve not seen him for a week.” “Then you’ve been tickling by yourself.” “Tickling?” (it was said quite innocently.) “Yes between your legs.” “Oh! really now you are a going too far sir,” said she jumping up again, “you speak too freely,—I don’t like it.” Then she laughed, and said, “Well—this—really is,—oh!”
“Not at all,—you are lovely, exquisite, delicious,—if you’ve really not seen your husband for a week, let me,—who will know?—we are in the house alone,—let us,”—and standing close to her I put my arms round her, but I felt afraid of going too far.
“You must not talk like that.” “Oh! nonsense,—I’ll give you six pounds.” “Oh! no, you don’t mean what you say,—it’s wild talk.” I
took out my purse, and putting six pounds on the table in gold, just as I had done to her sister the ten pounds; there said I, “That is yours,”—and pulled out my prick. She got up, and ran to the other side of the room as if I had pulled out a pistol. “You’re talking too plain sir,—it’s going too far,—if you expose yourself like that I’ll go to the street-door.” I’m at a loss to know why I pitched upon six pounds, I had intended ten, but cannot tell why I offered that particular sum. I have often thought since, of what made me take that economical figure.
“Sit down.” “I won’t if you expose yourself,—it’s not gentlemanlike.” I put my cock into my trousers, then kissed her again, resistance was not so strong. “Now sir don’t.” “Sit down my darling,”—and getting her to the sofa we went on talking. “How foolish,—who would know,—why not delight me,—why not take the money.” “No.” “Do now.” “No.” “Won’t you?” “Of course not,—no,—no.” “Well kiss me.” “There then.” “Do let me dear.” “I won’t,—I won’t,—I shan’t,—there.”
Just then I noticed one of her garters was hanging down by her foot. “Your garter’s undone,” said I. I stooped forwards, and took it up. “Give it me.” I kissed it. “No,—it’s been so near where I want to go, —I shall keep it till I’ve been there.” “You will keep it a long time then.”
She drank more ale, it was sweet and strong, and I went on talking. Thought I, “She must want it if she has not seen her husband for a week.” Where did she garter.—below or above knee? “Let me feel?” I felt outside, then pinched the leg, then higher up. She began looking me full in the face, and laughing at my smutty insinuations. I pulled her back on the sofa, kissed her, and let her rise up again. I repeated the pull and the kiss more than once, and then as she was rising up and saying, “Now don’t pull me about like that,” I put her hand on my prick which I had slipped out again. “Oh!”—and she let it go. Quick as lightning I slipped a hand up her clothes to her cunt. “Let me now,—there’s a darling.” “I shan’t.” “Do.” “I shan’t.” She repulsed my hand, but did not get away from me. I thought from the way she looked at me, and the quiet manner in which she pushed away my hand, that she was hot with lust, and could scarcely refuse me. I pulled her to me, and got my finger on her clitoris. “Do let me feel your cunt, and fuck,—put my prick in there,—let us,—do darling,” said I twiddling like mad, and rattling out a volume of bawdiness.
She bore it all for a minute quietly, wriggling and saying, “I shan’t,—I won’t,—no, now take your hand away.” Then with a sudden impulse she pushed me off, got up, and sat down further from me on the sofa. “Oh! now be quiet,—let me think a minute,—I don’t know whether I’m on my heels or my head.” She picked up something which had fallen at her feet, as she had doubled herself down when my finger was stimulating her randiness.
Then catching her by her waist I pulled her back on to the sofa, and threw myself on her. “You shan’t” were the last words I recollect her uttering; as I threw up her clothes and felt the wet gash. My prick the next instant was buried in it, and we were fucking.
“Don’t,—oh.—take it out,—do,—oh!—oh!—ohoe!” she murmured. She had fetched me, and pump; pump, pump, pump, went my spunk up her. Then delicious oblivion. As I came to myself I found her arse still moving. “Oh! do” she murmured. She was besides herself, with desire to spend.
But my prick instead of obeying me as it usually did on such exciting occasions, refused, and shrinking left her cunt, to my intense vexation. “I haven’t done it,” said she softly, and with disappointment as her bum ceased its labors, and my tool lay dropping outside her quim.
We spoke no more, but I lay trying to squeeze it up again. To stiffen it I felt up and round her, rubbed the tip on her spermy nymphoe, she made gentle efforts to second me, but it was of no use, so I rolled off. She sat up, and after looking at me for a minute with eyes filled with bawdiness, began like all women, to feel if her hair was all right. “Were you just coming my dear?” She made no reply.
She had not taken any care to arrange her dress, it had dragged up behind her bum, and the petticoats were up to her knees, the leg which had lost its garter was half naked. Taking her round the waist I put my hand on to her cunt, and titillated the clitoris. She let me go on, and continued feeling about her hair. Then looking me full in the face, looking as if she were ready to spend, she pushed me away. “Don’t,—don’t,—I don’t like it done that way.” “You can do it that way yourself, can’t you?” “Of course I can.” “I shall soon fuck again.” “Oh! I dare say,” and she walked to the looking-glass, then went to the window, and looked out into the garden without paying any heed to my exciting remarks. I sat on the sofa feeling my cock, and trying to stiffen it, but it was useless; so I tried to interest her in something else, feeling annoyed, though I had nothing to be ashamed of.
Chapter XXIII
“Why don’t you take the money?” said I. “You really mean it?” “Of course.” She took it up. “It’s a real God-send,—it comes just in time,—who’d have thought it?” said she as if to herself. “I must put it where it can’t be found, and take it home tomorrow.” She went to the door. “Aren’t you going?” “No I’m going to do it again soon.” “But you’re not.” “But I am.” Without reply she went upstairs. I had meant to have ready a stiff-stander, when she came back, but changed my mind, and followed her. She was nearly at the top when hearing me she waited, and said, “What do you want?”
“I’m coming to see what you do.” “You won’t.” “I will.” “I’ll come down and wait till you are gone.” “I’ll stop till your sister comes home.” “Do go down sir,” said she in a coaxing tone. “No.” She sat down on the top-stairs, I did the same a few stairs below her. Her knees were wide apart, my mind went to the afternoon when I had seen her naked. That glorious two hours. I stared in a voluptuous reverie, her cunt was as visible to me through her clothes, as if she were naked, and my cock began to swell. I stared on without uttering a word.
“What are you staring at?” said she at last, “go down, and I’ll be down in a minute.” “I’m looking at your cunt, it’s open slightly, I can see my spunk in it.” “Oh!” said she jumping up, “I never heard such a man in my life.” (She had the gold still in her hand.) “You have upset me so, I don’t know what I am about.” She then turned her bum round towards me, and I put my hand quickly up her clothes, as she went up the stairs. “Oh! you frighten me so I don’t know what I’m doing.” I followed her into the room, and she locked up the money in a bag that was in a drawer. Turning round she saw my prick out, and as stiff as ever. It was the recollection of what had taken place in that room on the Saturday week previous, which had rendered me capable again. I closed on her, kissing and inciting her, pulled her to the bed, and began feeling her. “I don’t like that done,—you know you can’t,—leave me alone,—go down,—oh! don’t.”
I coaxed her for a second. She got on to the bed, and opened her thighs wide like a well-trained fuckster to help me, I inserted my penis, and she met me with passion. I was not so rapid, the want of a spend was not now overpowering my senses; whilst she had had two hours bawdy talk, been fucked, but cheated of her pleasure, and been left at the critical moment, unsatisfied, with my spunk in her. She was dying for a spend, wanting it like a woman who has been for a week unsatisfied. Her cunt was hungry for prick, throbbing and tightening to pour out it’s amatory juices, her backside’s movements became quick and fierce. “Oh! it’s big,” she gasped whilst I was still sensible, “oh!—I’m—com—coming,”—and gluing her mouth to mine she spent copiously ere I’d well nigh began to feel the full urging of lust.
The constriction of her cunt, the delight of feeling her pleasure increased my stiffness. “Let me wash,—do.” “You won’t come on the bed again.” “Yes I will, but let me wash.” I clutched her like a vise. “NO I’m coming,—you’ll spend again.” My prick stiffer and stiffer drove with fury up a
gainst her womb. “Oh! don’t push so hard.” “Fuck my darling,—there,—the tip’s only in,—it’s in your spunk, and mine together.” “Oh! you hurt.” On I drove. Her backside’s play began, her lips were glued to mine, our tongues played against each other, and we spent together with ejaculations. “Oh!—don’t,—you hurt,—oh! oh!—I’m coming.” Then we lay palpitating, my prick throbbing and soaking, her cunt squeezing and sucking.
“Let me get up,—let me wash,—pray do.” I laid on her heavy, nestled my balls up to her arse, held her as long as I could; but uncunting me she got off the bed, and washed her cunt. I still lay playing with my prick. “You’ll have a child this day nine months my dear.” “Oh! my God don’t say so,—but I believe I shall.” “You are all right, I don’t get them you know.” “Have you never had any children!” “None at home.” “Oh! that’s nothing,—have you any out, for you are a gay man?”
I got up to piss, and saw my thick sperm in the basin. “You’ve washed it all out my dear,—you are safe.” She shook her head. “This is a strange business,” she remarked, “I scarce know where I am,—what I’m about,—it’s impossible,”—and she stood staring at me playing with my cock. Then she went to the drawer and looked at the money, as if she doubted its being there. “It’s a fact,” she said locking it up again, “are you not going down?” “No.” “I wish you would,—I want to be by myself.” “You want to piddle.” “You are a strange man,” and taking the pot she pissed. “You’d better empty all,” said I, “if your sister Jenny comes back and sees it, she will think your husband’s been doing it to you.” “She won’t think or know anything if she does see,” said Mrs. ———“Well I declare I’m a talking to you just like my husband,—I don’t seem to know whether I am on my head or my heels.”
Erotic Classics II Page 138
