I was pleased, but it made me want to fuck her more than ever. — “Well, take your bonnet off.” — “For a little time, but I won't let you.” — A kiss and cuddle on the ample sofa, followed. — “Let's feel each other a bit, and stop, I will look at it first. — Oh! what a lovely little cunt!” — and I kissed it again and again. — Then I felt her, and she felt me, our tongues met, distilling their liquids, and we were both sighing with the languid pleasure our hands gave us. “I shall spend in your hand.” — “No, don't.” — “In your cunt then.” — “Oh, no. — I'm coming Walter,” — for she knew my name — I left off, not meaning her to come. The gentle wriggling of her backside and belly ceased, her thighs were quiet, we relinquished each other's genitals and looked lewedly at each other, she with petticoats half up her thighs, I with prick vertical. — “Let's do it, and I'll pull it out when my spunk's coming.” — “Be sure you do, if I get in the family way you know I'm done for.” — She got on the bed as nimbly as she could, for her cunt was craving for a stretch, was hot and moist with desire for the male.

The pause let our juices subside, but soon the pleasurable friction of prick and cunt roused them again. — “I'm coming love, are you?” “Aha — yes — aha — don't do it in me. — Aha.” — “No — aha.” — “I'm spend — ing!” — At the crisis we both forgot. She clasped me to her, her cunt constricted and held my prick with that peculiar, grinding grip which a cunt gives when spending, whilst my prick, with short wriggling thrusts, shot out my spunk into its proper place.

“Get out and wash quickly,” said I, ere pleasure was well over or my prick done spending. Getting off her, I put down the basin, poured out the water, and soon saw the pearly lumpy, stringy sperm, which ought to have been still comforting her cunt, at the bottom of the basin. She looking as I did, rubbing her cunt with a towel, and hoping it was all out. — “That's the stuff which comes out of a man's thing?” — “You've seen it before?” — “Never.” — “More was on your thigh five weeks ago.” — “But it was all on my chemise when I looked.” She took up the basin, and looked curiously at my semen. — “I hope it's all out, you didn't keep your promise.” — “I couldn't, your cunt gripped my prick into you so. — You should have jerked my prick out when you found I was spending.” — Madeline had certainly not had then enough experience to know to a second when a man is going to spend; I dare say she does by this time.

We talked, with passions appeased. “No, not again” — but frigging recommenced and altered her mind. — I called out for the servant and told her to bring a French letter, a bit of sponge, and a piece of thread. — All were brought, and the maid laughed. I gave Made-line the experience of a prick covered with sheep's gut, but neither of us liked it. So I pulled it off, and we fucked till consummation approached, and then put it on. We did the same with the sponge. I tied it by the thread, and pushed it up her cunt a little way, she further, and my prick pushed it right up — and so we fucked on to the pleasurable discharge. When I drew out the sponge holding my sperm, and she had washed her cunt out again, we agreed that our pleasure was much destroyed, both by the gut and the absorbent zoophyte — Madeline learnt something that night. I won-der if she has applied that knowledge since.

Fucking creates such a tie between man and woman, that, altho she said she wouldn't ever meet me again, added, “I'd better not, had I?” and altho I agreed not to ask her, yet I did a few days after by letter. — She came and was on heat — I knew it by her looks and manner, and told her she was lewed. She laughed and, colouring up, said she did not feel as if she'd like me. — This time, not wishing to injure her, I took a nice little round sponge, and my sperm spat into that absorbent, but we half fucked before I put it up. I got her to dine that night, and we were both in fine condition. Her parents were told there was late work (the usual mil-liner's excuse) and I gave her a sound ballocking. Her poorliness she expected on every hour, and such was the state of lewedness which our heated genitals got in-to that, at the last fuck, we did without sponge, for I couldn't that time spend with the sponge in her. — When my pleasure was coming on, and my glans touched the sponge, so intensely sensitive was I that it stopped me spending. — When I did, I pulled my prick out nearly to the tip and spent thus, she washed directly and took no harm.

That night we parted for good, and I made her take ten pounds — I was to see her again some time after-wards as it happened.

I incline to think, now that a few years have passed since this intrigue, that Madeline came to the second dinner with me, intending to let me have her. — Her little struggles and resistance may either have been shams or timidity at the last moment, when I was getting to victory. Was it annoyance at the loss of her lover, a desire for a change of life, a speculation of be-coming my mistress, or even my wife — or lust? — Lust does not influence women usually so much before they lose their virginity as it does men (unless so hot cunted as but few are). It influences women more afterwards, when they know the delights of a cunt plugged by a prick. Curiosity is powerful with them, and numbers fall under a mistaken notion of their own powers of resistance. “I did not mean to let him do it, tho I didn't mind his larking or feeling me,” said Maria ***** once to me. Many have said the same when I have closely questioned them. — That's it. — The idea of feeling and being felt by the man, the sensuous de-light increased because forbidden, — of having a little baudy chat about sleeping together, and so on, is permissible. — Even the hurried feel, the glance askant at the stiff prick, is charming, and all very well. But they don't reckon the consequence of the chance of his getting his fingers on to their clitorises and their not being able to get them away. — A five minutes' good frig, whilst a woman is kissed, and lewed suggestions whispered by the man, settle most women. That is my experience. Half ready to spend, lewed images in their mind, curiosity at work, they almost helplessly let the man do his will. — “Open thighs — enter prick — exit hymen. — All is over, my love. Swab up the blood stained sperm from your cunt, and prepare for the next ramming. You are a woman now, in for a penny in for a pound. The gates of pleasure are opened, let the promenaders walk in.”

Indeed that was the sum of Madeline's confession to me when we talked about the affair. She didn't think I'd dare to try to do what I did. “Why did you come again?” — “I don't know really, I wanted to come and didn't want, I like dining with you. I wondered what you'd do.” — “You didn't think I'd be quiet and respectful.” — “No — I don't know really, but thought you might put your hands up my clothes, that I really did.” — “And show you my prick?” “Well, I did.” — “Now you were lewed and came to be fucked.” “That I declare before Heaven I didn't, for I'd made up my mind if you did what you did before that I'd run out of the house.” She didn't know her own strength of resistance, and they are nearly all alike. Nature has made them so. — Prick is potential. — Altho a woman cares less about seeing or feeling a prick than a man does a cunt, (for females have seen pricks all their lives, it's incidental to their sex as nurse, and they see them from their infancy), yet a stiff stander shown at the moment when the fingers have raised lust thro the clitoris, is an invincible persuader. “Open sesame,” and the female opens. — It is her destiny.