Erotic Classics II

by Various Authors

  “Church must be over,—Jenny has not come back.” “She won’t be back till nine o’clock, she is out with her young man.” “Oh! not at church?” “No I told you so because Mrs. W——-told her not to go out on Sunday;—but you won’t tell?” “Of course not my dear, I dare say Jenny and her young man have done what we have been doing.” “Lord sir, he is a most respectable young man, and far above her,—they are going to be married,—she is lucky, luckier than I am,—she’d knock his head off if he laid hand upon her improperly,—that she would, she! Lor bless you,”—and Mrs.———laughed with incredulity. I laughed also. “Ah! she looks a quiet young woman.” “So she is, and so is he,—his family is well off,”—and then she told me all that Jenny had told me.

  “I wish you would let me make the bed.” “I’m going to have you again.” “Oh! likely.” “I am.” “No you’re not,—please go.” “No.” “Then I shall go downstairs,” “Go my dear.” She took me at my word, her manner had quite changed, she had been laughing and chaffing, she had blushed, looked at me with fun and lust in her eyes, and at last with full open eyes one moment, followed by the half-dosed eye and languishing manner of a randy woman. Now she was quiet, almost sullen, and if she looked at me her eyes fell directly, the randiness had been taken out of her. “I must rouse it up well if I am to have her again,” said I, to myself as I lay thinking about her, and the delicious sight I had seen in that room, the sight I never dare disclose to her,—but how I longed to tell her.

  Up she came looking glum. “Are you not going?” “No.” “Let me make the bed then.” “Not until I have had you again.” “Then it will go unmade.” “That won’t matter to me.” “But it will to me,—what will my sister say if she sees the bed’s been laid upon like that?” “Perhaps she will think a man has been with you.” “Well you take it mighty cool,—I do hope you’re going.” “Not till I’ve had you.” “Now you are a talking nonsense,—you know you can’t do it,” said she with an incredulous look, and the tone of a woman who knew what a prick could do and what not. “Look at this,” I uncovered my prick which was nearly at a full-stand. She smiled when she saw it. “Nonsense I am ashamed.” “My dear I’m proud, and not ashamed,—come.” “I shan’t.” “Then here I’ll lay,”—and I fell back, and pulled balls and cod well out of my trousers.

  I had always a lust stirring tongue, fifty women have told me so. “You’d talk any women randy,” said a gay woman once to me. Brighton Bessie said, that in five minutes I could talk her into a lewd state. Others have given me similar compliments. I was not specially conscious of that power that I recollect, but instinctively used it when I had got over fits of modesty, which sometimes prevented my uttering even veiled allusions for a time.

  Mrs.———like Jenny was easily flattered. What lovely limbs she had I said; had she much hair on her cunt? my excitement had prevented me feeling or seeing it. “Come and let me feel,—let me look.” She colored and blushed, and at every lascivious remark, “Oh! I never,—no I never did,—oh!” Then she again went to the drawer where the money was, looked in it as if to make sure it was there, and locked the drawer now. “Mine’s bigger than your husband’s, isn’t it?” “Well if I ever heard such remarks.” “You said it was big when it was up you.” “Oh! you story.” “You did my dear, you said when you were just coming, ‘Oh! it’s big.’” “I didn’t.” “Yes you did, you know you did,—look how stiff it is now,—come.” “I won’t.”

  I moved off the bed, caught her, and pushed her against the side of the bed. “Let’s see your cunt.” “You shan’t.” “How foolish,—I’ve fucked it twice,—let me feel it, and you feel my cock,—let me look at it,—I’m sure it’s lovely.” She got on to the bed after a little resistance, took my pego in her fist, and I got my fingers in her crack. “A delicious fuck you are,”—then she let me pull up her clothes and look. “My God what a lovely cunt,—how deliciously you join your wet lips to mine,—how you move,—I shall never forget it to the last moment of my life,—oh! let me.” “I musn’t,—I would, but I’m frightened.” “How foolish,—it’s not an hour since my prick was in you,—what is the harm of doing it another time?” “Will you go then?” “Yes.” Gently Mrs.——— opened her thighs. Our backsides were soon at the short wriggles. “It’s big, isn’t it?” “Oh! don’t,” said she, “I shall spend.” My remark, tallying perhaps with something which was passing in her own mind fetched her, and me with her instantly.

  When it was over I would not go. “No I’ll do it again.” “That’s nonsense,” said she, “you know you can’t, even if you try, and you’re only making me anxious.” We laid side by side talking, for she liked the subject. I had a most buttock-stirring letch on me, and to her astonishment in about an hour I produced another stiff one. One persuasion is very much like another with the same woman; each time I had less difficulty, for she liked the poking. Dusk was coming on, she got lights, she fetched some liquor, and after the liquor I got her to lay on the sofa (for we then had gone downstairs), and on pretense of kissing her quim I got her to open her thighs wide, and saw in the twilight what I had seen before, large and ugly inner-lips. For all that I fucked her again, after frigging myself up gently to stiffness, and fucked as if it was the last bout with a woman I was ever going to have. Then I left at her earnest entreaties before her sister returned. I had been there six hours.

  I called on Jenny next day. She was in a way. Her sister directly she had returned home said she must go and see her husband; and spite of Jenny’s entreaties not to leave her alone, had gone and never returned all night. Jenny could not make out the reason, but thought that she went away expecting to find her husband with a woman. She returned to sleep as usual on the Monday night with Jenny, I found subsequently.

  That day I went off without poking Jenny, and slunk away ashamed. I was done up with poking her sister. Jenny seemed astonished, but said nothing.

  Afterwards I got out of Jenny cautiously all I wanted to know about her sister. The result was, that finding on the next Sunday fortnight, Jenny was again going out with her young man, and the sister again would be left in the house, I went there. The woman’s astonishment was great, and I believe she was genuinely distressed at seeing me. I attacked her for a time fruitlessly, she would not move from the street-door. “Did you not swear when I let you do it the last time, you would never come near me again, and never tell anyone?” said she.

  I could not deny it, had great difficulty with her, and thought I never should succeed. For full an hour with her back against the wall of the passage did she stand, refusing to move. I pulled up her clothes, felt her cunt, knelt on the mat, got my head up her petticoats, my nose on her motte, my mouth on her thighs and cunt, my hand round her marbly buttocks, and held her kissing, sniffing, and groping my fingers between her bum-cheeks, and the red orifice which I wanted to plug. In her struggles to prevent me she once nearly fell, but she got away.

  But what woman who has been fucked by a man could withstand an hour’s persistent feeling, cunt-kissing, bawdy talk, and beseeching. I conquered, and fucked her on the sofa. She did not rush out to wash her cunt as she had done at our first meeting, there was no water near. I had her again and again. At each assault when the pleasure overtook her, she had the same mouth-sucking and arse-wagging. When our love-making was over, I gave her two pounds. I had offered it her before in the passage, but she had knocked it out of my hand. When she took it she said, “Ah! it’s an awful thing to be poor!” I shall tell of another woman who made the same excuse to herself for getting her lust satisfied, or yielding.

  That satisfied me, and I never had her again in the house. A letch for her came again about two months afterwards,—why? God only knows, for then at times I was having her sister, another woman, Louisa Fisher, and lastly Sarah Mavis. The old couple had returned, Jenny had a fellow-servant; I could only get a poke up her with difficulty on the Sundays, which her young man did not see her. I took her
to a bawdy house for an hour or so, then she went to church, and heard the text, because her Mistress always asked her what the text was when she went home. It was a supposition that she went to church on a Sunday.

  I knew where Jenny’s sister lived, and the place where she worked. It was now dark about six o’clock. I waylaid her on her way home on the high-road which was well lighted and full of people. I walked with her, but she prayed me not to do so, for her husband came partly the same road, and sometimes met her. What would happen if he met her with a swell walking by her side. I could not persuade her to go to a house. No,—she was not a loose woman, though she knew what she had done,—I had done her more harm than I had any idea of, already,—why injure her?

  The more she objected, the more I longed for her. At last under solemn promise that I would go away after, we turned up a short street leading into a lane by garden-grounds, and there up a fence I fucked her. Away she went, and I never saw her afterwards to speak to, though I have passed her without taking notice. I think that in that parting fuck I had all the pleasure, she none.

  Jenny’s Mistress had been taken ill at the seaside, and kept there a month longer than was intended. Owing to this my complete enjoyment of Jenny’s charms was prolonged, and to that I owed the second Sunday’s fucking of Jenny’s sister. Old Mr. W——- came up to London twice, and once nearly caught me in the house. I had written to say I had called at their home, and had never found their servant out. The lady wrote to thank me, and in writing to my mother, said how much obliged they were for my calling; but my wife said she thought the servant (Jenny) was a sly sort of minx, and wondered how they could be so foolish as to leave her in the house by herself.

  When they came to town I was for a time very intimate with them, which pleased them much. Jenny used to let me out at the garden-gate, and leave the gate unlocked. Instead of going away, I used to hide in the shrubs, Jenny would come back, close the street-door ajar, and a few minutes afterwards come out again very quietly. Then up against an ivy covered wall we poked, and she went indoors with wetted privates. Sometimes after waiting I had to go away unsatisfied, she not appearing, sometimes rain prevented us,—all of which was very annoying.

  Fucking her in fact became a matter of anxiety. She had to dodge her fellow-servant as well as her Master and Mistress, and we copulated in fear and trembling. In the midst of the work she has left me because of some scare; once she went off saying, “Oh! there is Missus’ bell ringing,—oh!”—and uncunting me, off she ran. One night we went on to the flower-beds between two large trees, and the next day the old gentleman remarked that some man had got over the wall into his garden, and he should tell the police. If there was moonlight we were done. One night latish she was sent to fetch some butter. I waited, and we fucked up against some palings. Unfortunately the butter was let fall out of the basket on to the gravel. We went back for more, but the shop was then shut, so she had to take home the dirty butter, and make the best story she could about it. On Sundays when at the bawdy house, the girl was awfully frightened lest she should be seen, and we used to walk there on opposite sides of the way, I going in first. Then we went away with similar precautions,—but I began to get very tired of this, having indeed had enough of her.

  Jenny had lost all fear of being in the family way, and poked freely, but she never ceased bewailing her poor young man; though at length my tool had become to her a thing to be longed for. The young man had money left him, quitted his place, and Jenny left to be married. I heard of them for many years afterwards, they opened a shop, then a larger one, and so on, till at length he became (I found this quite recently) the mayor of the town,—if not it was someone of the same name, and in the same line of business. He was much respected, and Jenny his wife was equally so. They had no children up to the time when the old lady her former Mistress, died; and for aught I know they may still be living in the town of———.

  One night some time before she left her situation, we spoke of her sister. “She is in the family way again,” said she, “and in such a way about it, and so is he,—the night she left me to sleep by myself, she went home to her husband, because she suspected there was another woman there;—well that night she declared he did not let his stuff go outside,—he says he did,—they quarrel, he says it’s her fault, and she says it’s his.”

  Then it seemed evident to me that after the heavy fucking I gave her that day, that she feared being in the family way; so went home, and incited her man to fuck her, and enable her to say that the child was his, and of course it might have been, though it might have been mine.

  Finis Volume Three

  About the Author

  Although My Secret Life is attributed to “Walter”, nothing is known for certain about the author.

  Venus in India

  Charles Devereaux

  CONTENTS

  Volume I

  Volume II

  About the Author

  Volume I

  The war in Afghanistan appeared to be coming to a close when I received sudden orders to proceed, at once, from England to join the First Battalion of my regiment, which was then serving there. I had just been promoted Captain and had been married about eighteen months. It pained me more than I care to express to part with my wife and baby girl, but it was agreed that it would be better for all of us, if their coming to India were deferred until it were certain where my regiment would be quartered, on its return to the fertile plains of Hindustan, from the stones and rocks of barren Afghanistan. Besides, it was very hot, being the height of the hot weather, when only those who were absolutely forced to do so went to India, and it was a time of year particularly unsuitable for a delicate woman and a babe to travel in so burning a climate. It was also not quite certain whether my wife would join me in India, as I had the promise of a staff appointment at home, but before I could enter upon that I had of necessity to join my own battalion, because it was at the seat of war. Thus it was annoying to have to go, all the same, as it was clear that the war was over, and that I should be much too late to participate in any of its rewards or glories, though it was quite possible I might come in for much of the hardship and experience of the sojourn, for a wild, and not to say rough and inhospitable country is Afghanistan; besides which it was quite possible for an Afghan knife to put an end to me, and that I might fall a victim to a common murder instead of dying a glorious death on the battlefield.

  Altogether my prospects seemed by no means of a rosy color, but there was nothing for it but to submit and go, which I did with the best grace possible but with a very heavy heart.

  I will spare the readers the sad details of parting with my wife. I made no promise of fidelity, the idea seemed never to occur to her or to myself of there being any need for it, for although I had always been of that temperament so dear to Venus, and had enjoyed the pleasure of love with great good fortune before I married, yet I had, as I thought, quite steadied down into a proper married man, whose desires never wandered outside his own bed; for my passionate and loving spouse was ever ready to respond to my ardent caresses with caresses as ardent; and her charms, in their youthful beauty and freshness, had not only not palled upon me, but seemed to grow more and more powerfully attractive the more I reveled in their possession. For my dearest wife, gentle reader, was the life of passion; she was not one of those who coldly submit to their husbands’ caresses because it is their duty to do so, a duty however not to be done with pleasure or joyfully, but more as a species of penance! No! With her it was not, “Ah! no! let me sleep tonight, dear. I did it twice last night, and I really don’t think you can want it again. You should be more chaste, and not try me as if I were your toy and plaything. No! take your hand away! Do leave my nightdress alone! I declare it is quite indecent the way you are behaving!” and so forth, until, worn out with her husband’s pertinacity, she thinks the shortest way, after all, will be to let him have his way, and so grudgingly allows her cold slit to b
e uncovered, unwillingly opens her ungracious thighs, and lies a passionless log, insensible to her husband’s endeavors to strike a spark of pleasure from her icy charms. Ah! no! With my sweet Louie it was far different; caress replied to caress, embrace to embrace. Each sweet sacrifice became sweeter than the one before, because she fully appreciated all the joy and delight of it! It is almost impossible to have too much of such a woman, and Louie seemed to think it quite impossible to have too much of me! It was, “Once more my darling! Just one little more! I am sure it will do you good! and I should like it!” and it would be strange if the manly charm which filled her loving hand, were not once more raised in response to her caresses, and once again carrying rapturous delight to the deepest, richest depths of the trembling voluptuous charm, for the special benefit of which it was formed, a charm which was indeed the very temple of love.