Then I covered my face with my hands for shame, but he was so kind and gentle that I soon got so accustomed to the situation that I suffered him to remove my hands and fasten his mouth to mine in a passionate kiss. As he did so I felt something pushing between my thighs. It entered my curls there and touched the naked lips beneath. I felt my face grow hot with shame and lay perfectly passive.
He must have been in bed with me two hours before he ventured so far. He had his reward, for a soft desire began to grow in my brain, the blood centred on my loins and I longed for the connection which was so imminent. I returned him a kiss as passionate as he gave; it was the signal for which he had been waiting. I felt a pressure on the virgin membrane, not hard enough, however, to be painful. The pressure slackened and then pushed again and again.
By this time I was wanton with desire and not only returned the passionate kisses, but I wound my arms around him. Then came the fateful thrust, tearing away the obstruction and reaching to the very depths of my loins. I gave a cry of mingled bliss and agony, which I could not help repeating at each of the three deep thrusts that followed. Then all was still and an effusion like balm filled my sheath in the place of the organ that had so disturbed it. A delightful languor stole over my frame and I went to sleep in my husband’s arms.
In less than six months circumstances compelled me to deceive him. After we had been married awhile our position required us to go a great deal in company. Card playing was very fashionable and the stakes got higher and higher. One night the luck ran terribly against me; I proposed for the party to double.
My husband had gone on a journey a few days before and had left a large sum of money in my charge. It was nearly all his fortune. A portion of this money I now staked, thinking that the luck could not possibly go against me again, but it did. I was rendered desperate. Again I proposed to double – it would take all I had left if I lost.
The ladies who were playing withdrew; the gentlemen were too polite to do so. The cards went against me. I felt myself turn dreadfully pale. The French ambassador, Count Henri, who was sitting beside me, was disposed to conceal my terrible embarrassment. He was a handsome man, but, unlike my husband, he was very stalwart. His manners were very engaging He kept up a stream of small talk till the others had dispersed to other parts of the room, then he offered to bring me on the morrow the amount I had lost.
I turned as crimson as I had before been pale. I knew the price of such assistance. I made him no reply, my look dropped to the floor and I begged him to leave me, which he politely did. All next day I was nearly distracted; I hoped Count Henri would not come. My cheeks would burn as on the evening before and the blood all rush back to my heart.
At three o’clock he came; the valet showed him into the parlour, closed the door and retired. Count Henri must have known he was expected, for I was elegantly dressed in blue silk and my shoulders were set off with heavy lace. I was so weak from agitation that I could not rise from the sofa to greet him.
‘May I have the happiness,’ he said, ‘of being your confidant?’ as he seated himself beside me, holding in one hand a well-filled purse and dropping the other around my waist. I could not reject the purse. If I kept the purse I could not ask him to remove his arm. I was giddy with contending emotions.
‘For God’s sake, spare me,’ I murmured. My head dropped, he caught it to his heart – I had fainted away.
When I again became conscious I was lying on my back upon the sofa in the arms of the Count, the lace on my bosom was parted, my heavy skirts were all turned up from my naked thighs and he was in the very ecstasy of filling my sheath with sperm.
It was this exquisite sensation which had restored me to consciousness, but I was too late to join in the ecstasy. His shaft became limber and small and I was left hopelessly in the lurch. Then I beseeched him to go as it was no time or place for this.
‘Will you receive me in your bedroom tonight?’ asked the Count, kissing my bare bosoms.
He had so excited my passions that I no longer hesitated. The front door will be unfastened all night,’ I replied, ‘and my room is directly over this.’
Then he allowed me to rise. I adjusted my disordered dress as quickly as possible, but I was not quick enough. The valet opened the door to bring in the card of a visitor. He saw enough to put me in his power.
After the Count had gone I found the purse in my bosom, it contained more than I had lost, but my thoughts were not of money. My lips had tasted the forbidden fruit; I was no longer the same woman; my excitement had culminated in lascivious desire. I could hardly wait for night to come.
When finally the house was still I unfastened the front door, retired to my room, undressed and was standing in my chemise with my nightgown in my hand ready to put on when the door of my room opened and Alex, the valet, stood before me with his finger on his lips. He was a fine looking youth of seventeen, a Hungarian of a reduced family, who acted half in the capacity of secretary and half in that of valet for my husband. I could not help giving a faint scream, while I concealed my person as well as possible with the nightgown I held in my hands.
‘My lady,’ said he, ‘I know all, but I shall be discreet. I only ask you to give me the sweetest proof of your confidence.’
There was no help for it. With a murmured ‘For shame,’ I sprang into bed and hid under the bedclothes. He quickly undressed and followed me. My object was to dismiss him before the Count came; I therefore suffered him to make rapid progress. He took me in his arms and kissed my lips and breasts and, as he raised my chemise, our naked thighs met. He was much more agitated than myself. I had been anticipating a paramour all the afternoon and he could not have known what reception would be accorded him. He could hardly guide his shaft to the lips that welcomed it.
As for myself, I began where I had left off with the Count. My sheath with wanton greediness devoured every inch that entered it and at the very first thrust I melted with an adulterous rapture never felt in my husband’s embrace. Just at that moment I heard the front door softly open and shut. I pushed Alex away with force that drew his stiff shaft completely out of me.
‘Gather up your clothes quickly and get into the closet,’ I said. Madly eager as he must have been to finish, he hurried with his clothes into the closet as the Count entered.
The Count came up and kissed me. I pretended to be asleep. He undressed hastily, and, getting into bed, took me in his arms. But I delayed his progress as much as possible. I made him tell me everything that had been said about my losses at cards. I used every artifice to keep him at bay until his efforts should arouse my passions.
Then he mounted me and his stalwart shaft distended and penetrated me so much deeper than that of young Alex that it was more exquisite than before. Again the wild, adulterous thrill penetrated every part of my body. I fairly groaned with ecstasy. At that moment the front door loudly opened. It must be my husband unexpectedly returning.
‘Good heavens, Count!’ I cried, ‘under the bed with you.’ He pulled his great stiff shaft out of me with a curse of disappointment that he could not finish and scrambled under the bed, dragging his clothes after him.
My husband came in all beaming with delight that he had been able to return so soon. I received him with much demonstration. ‘How it flushes your cheeks to see me,’ he said.
When he had undressed and come to bed I returned his caresses with so much ardour that he soon entered where Alex and the Count had so hastily withdrawn. I felt pleasant, but feigned much more rapture than I felt.
To console the Count I dropped one of my hands down alongside the bed, which he was so polite as to kiss, and, as my husband’s face was buried in my neck, while he was making rapid thrusts I kissed my other hand to Alex, who was peeping through the closet door. Then I gave a motion to my loins which sent my husband spending and repeated it till I had extracted from him the most copious gushes. It was too soon for me to melt with another thrill; my object was to fix him for a sound sleep, but the b
almy sperm was so grateful to my hot sheath after the two fierce preceding encounters that I felt rewarded for my troubles.
He soon fell sound asleep. Then I motioned for the Count to go. With his clothes in one hand and his stiff shaft in the other he glided out. Soon after, we heard the front door shut and the disconsolate Alex cautiously came forth. With his clothes under his arm and both hands holding his rigid shaft, he too disappeared.
RANDIANA
OR
EXCITABLE TALES BEING THE EXPERIENCE OF AN EROTIC PHILOSOPHER*
A FIRST EXPERIENCE
Those of my readers who peruse the following pages and expect to find a pretty tale of surpassing interest, embellished with all the spice which fiction can suggest and a clever pen supply, will be egregiously mistaken, and had better close the volume at once. I am a plain matter of fact man, and relate only that which is strictly true, so that no matter how singular some of my statements may appear to those who have never passed through a similar experience, the avouchment that it is a compendium of pure fact may serve to increase the zest with which I hope it may be read.
I was born some fifty years ago in the little town of H—, about seven miles from the sea, and was educated at the grammar school, an old foundation institute, almost as old as the town itself.
Up to the age of fifteen I had remained in perfect ignorance of all those little matters which careful parents are so anxious to conceal from their children, nor, indeed, should I then have had my mind enlarged had it not been for the playful instincts of my mother’s housemaid, Emma, a strapping but comely wench of nineteen, who, confined to the house all the week, and only allowed out for a few hours on Sunday, could find no vent for those passionate impulses which a well-fed full-blooded girl of her years is bound to be subject to occasionally, and more especially after the menstrual period.
It was, I remember well, at one of these times that I was called early by my mother one morning and told to go and wake Emma up, as she had overslept herself, and the impression produced on me as barefooted and in my night shirt I stepped into the girl’s room and caught her changing the linen bandage she had been wearing round her fanny was electrical.
‘Good gracious, Emma,’ said I, ‘what is the matter? you will bleed to death,’ and in my anxiety to be of assistance I tried to get hold of the rag where the dark crimson flood had saturated it worst.
In my anxiety and hurry my finger slipped in, rag and all, and my alarm was so great that had it not been for Emma laughing I believe I should have rushed down stairs and woke up the house.
‘Don’t you be a little fool, Master Jimmy,’ said Emma, ‘but come up tonight when your father and mother are both gone to bed, and I’ll show you how it all occurred. I see you’re quite ready to take a lesson,’ added she, grinning, for my natural instinct had supervened on my first panic, and my night shirt was standing out as though a good old-fashioned tent pole were underneath.
I had been frequently chaffed at school about the size of my penis, which was unnaturally large for a boy of my years, but I have since found that it was an hereditary gift in our family, my father and younger brothers all boasting pricks of enormous build.
I turned reluctantly to leave the bedroom, but found it impossible to analyse my feelings, which were tumultuous and strange.
I had caught sight of a fairy little bush of hair on the bottom of Emma’s belly, and it perplexed me exceedingly.
Impelled by an impulse I could not then comprehend, but which is understandable enough now, I threw myself into Emma’s arms, and kissed her with fond ardour, my hand resting on two milk white globes, which just peeped above the edge of her chemise, when I heard my mother’s voice.
‘James, what are you doing up there?’
‘Nothing, mamma; I was only waking Emma up,’ and I came down stairs hurriedly, with my boy’s brain on fire, and longing for the night, which might, I thought, make plain to me all this mystery.
That day at school appeared a dream, and the time hung heavily, I went mechanically through my lessons, but seemed dazed and thoughtful; indeed so much so that I was the subject of general remark.
One of the boys, Thompson, the dull boy of the class, who was nearly fifteen, came to me after school was over, and enquired what was the matter.
I suddenly resolved to ask Thompson. ‘Can you tell me,’ said I, ‘the difference between a boy and a girl?’
This was too much for Thompson, who began to split with uncontrollable laughter.
‘Good God, Clinton,’ said he (he swore horribly), ‘what a question, but I forgot you have only one sister, and she’s in long clothes.’
‘Well,’ replied I, ‘but what has that to do with it?’
‘Why, everything,’ said Thompson, ‘if you’d been brought up among girls you’d have seen all they’ve got, and then you’d be as wise as other boys. Look here,’ suddenly said he, stopping and taking out a piece of slate pencil, ‘you see this,’ and he drew a very good imitation of a man’s prick upon his slate, ‘do you know what that is?’
‘Of course I do,’ said I, ‘haven’t I got one.’
‘I hope so,’ replied Thompson, with a smartness I hadn’t up to that time conceived him to possess.
‘Well, now look at this,’ and he drew what appeared to me at the time to be a lengthy slit, ‘do you know what that is?’
After what I had seen in the morning I could form a shrewd guess, but I feigned complete ignorance to draw Thompson out.
‘Why that’s a woman’s cunt, you simpleton,’ observed my schoolmate, ‘and if you ever see a chance of getting hold of one, grab it my boy, and don’t be long before you fill it with what God Almighty has given you,’ and he ran away and left me.
I was more astonished than ever. I had lived fifteen years in the world and had learnt more since six o’clock that morning than all the preceding time.
The reader may depend that although I had to go to bed tolerably early, I kept awake until I heard my father and mother safely in their room.
My mother always made it a special point to come and see that I had not thrown the clothes off, as I was a restless sleeper, and on this occasion I impatiently awaited the usual scrutiny.
After carefully tucking me up I watched her final departure with beating heart, and heard her say to my father, as the door closed—
‘He was covered to-night; last evening he was a perfect sight, his prick standing up as stiff and straight as yours ever did in your life – and such a size, too; I can’t imagine where my boys get them from. You are no pigmy, dear, it is true, but I’m sure my brothers as boys were –’ and I lost the rest of the sentence as the door closed, Now, thought I, is about the right moment, and I slid softly out of bed, and across the landing to the staircase, which was to lead me to heaven.
How often since then have I likened that happy staircase to the ladder which Jacob dreamed of. I’ve always considered that dream an allegory, Jacob’s angels must have worn petticoats, or some Eastern equivalent, and the patriarch doubtless moistened the sands of Bethel thinking about it in his sleep.
I ASCERTAIN THE MEANING OF ‘REAL JAM’
Her bedroom door I reached without any mishap, and found her safely ensconced in bed, but with the candle still burning.
‘Come here, dear,’ said she, throwing back the clothes, and for the first time in my life I saw a perfectly naked woman. She had purposely left off her chemise, and was stretched there, a repast for the Gods.
I do not know that with all my experience of paphian delicacies since, have I ever viewed any skin more closely resembling the soft peach bloom which is the acmé of cutaneous beauty.
Her plump breasts stood out as though chiselled by some cunning sculptor, but my eyes were not enchained by them, they wandered lower to that spot which to me was such a curious problem, and I said, ‘May I look?’
She laughed, and opening her legs, answered me without saying a word.
I examined it closely, and was more and m
ore puzzled.
Her menses had passed, and she had carefully washed away the stains.
‘Put your finger in,’ said she, ‘it won’t bite you; but haven’t you really, Master Jimmy, ever seen one of those things before.’
I assured her that I had not.
‘Then, in that case,’ said Emma, ‘I shall have some virgin spoil to-night,’ and passing her hand under my night shirt, she took hold of my prick with a quick movement that surprised me, and although it was proudly erect, and seemed ready to burst, she worked it up and down between her thumb and forefinger till I was fairly maddened.
‘Oh! for God’s sake,’ murmured I, ‘don’t do that, I shall die.’
‘Not yet awhile, my darling,’ said she, taking hold of me, and lifting me, for she was a girl of enormous muscular power, on to the top of her. ‘Not until I have eased my own pain and yours too.’
Emma called passion pain, and I have since proved her to be in some sort a philosopher. I have carefully analysed that terrible feeling which immediately precedes the act of emission, and find pain the only proper word to express it.
I struggled with her at first, for in my innocence I scarcely knew what to make of her rapid action, but I had not long to remain in doubt.
Holding my prick in her left hand, and gently easing back the prepuce, which had long since broken its ligature, though through no self-indulgence on my part, she brought it within the lips of her orifice, and then with a quick jerk which I have since thought was almost professional, I found myself burried to the extreme hilt in a sea of bliss.
I instinctively found myself moving up and down with the regular see-saw motion that friction will unconsciously compel, but I need not have moved, for Emma could have managed the whole business herself.
The movement of her hips and her hands, which firmly grasped the cheeks of my fat young arse, soon produced the desired result, and in my ecstasy I nearly fainted.
Fifty Shades of Victorian Desire Page 18
