I shall never forget with what delight I began to and fro friction, that oscillation of my arse, that searching of my tool, met by the gentle heaves of her soft belly. Our tongues now met, her bashfulness was gone, lubricious felt her cunt as it yielded to my thrusts, “Ahaa, my love, my prick's up your cunt, isn't it nice?” “Ah — y — hess — ahaa” — quicker moved my prick now stimulated by her pleasure, — now I gave frantic pushes, as my prick got almost painfully turgid — her backside heaved to me, her thighs moved up round mine, as she felt the approaching voluptuous delirium of her senses “Are you coming love?” — “Y — hes — aher.” — Her belly is quivering, her thighs clip mine, my prick settles at her womb, our backsides, bellies, and thighs, quiver together in our spasms of delight, we clasp each other tighter, her hand grips on my naked backside, my bursting prick shoots forth hot spunk with pulsating throbs into her cunt, which tight-ens, grinds, and sucks it with combined sensations of muscilaginous injection floods it, and the soft spendings come out from every pore of its lovely surface to mix with mine. Then again we die away in each other's arms in blissful, voluptuous silence. Ah! what a death to die, if death would come in such a shape.

I felt that I should like to lie within her for ever, but after short repose, whilst our wet lips were still meeting, she got off rapidly and washed away the evidences of our love. She piddled, and had not before done so, and now, our intimacy was complete, by fucking, feeling, cunt washing, and piddling before me. The joy of sexual partnership is only complete when modesty is gone. — Modesty! — a convention. There is none naturally either in man or woman, but the sham has its charm, for it gives the pleasures of destroying it, and yielding it.

Excepting in early manhood when my sperm reservoirs seemed always full, the second fuck tranquillized me, but my recuperative power always with a nice fresh woman, or one whose sweet body I much liked, enabled me to separate the soft lips of her belly cleft with a rigid pego, a third time within the hour, and then I needed longer rest. This vital power of fucking thrice in sixty minutes I still have (and have now, eight years later). The second combat I find usually tranquillizes the lady, the fucking fatigues a woman less than a man. — Alice — the name she gave me — seemed now quiet and thoughtful, as she sat by my side by the fire. I put her cloak over her, coals on the fire, got two more candles from the baud, took more sherry and gave Alice more. I had still strong desire for the beautiful creature, still had that sense of fullness in my balls, that redness, heat, and lustful voluptuous irritation in my gland; which foretold more fucking soon.

She took the watch off the mantel-piece after sitting silent for a time, looked at it attentively, and then at the fire. I guessed her thoughts. Said she, “What can I tell about getting it?” — I have advised several of her sex what lies to tell under similar difficulties, and nearly always the same lie. The watch taken in a case, had been returned to my hands in a little wash-leather bag. Reminding the maker of that, he found the case, and I just then wanting a leather watch bag, put the one into my pocket. — “Put the watch into this, then lay it in the mud, say you saw the handle shining and picked it up.” — “That's what I have been thinking,” she rejoined. “But if they don't believe me?” — “Stick to it and they will.” — with a sigh, — “I can't say any-thing else, but must keep it a few days first. — I'm frightened tho.” “Name a spot where you found it.” — “I will.” — “Your husband will be glad you've got a watch” (trying to catch her). She smiled, and said she wished she had never seen it. — “But I have, and there's no help for it, now I must go.” — “No dear, not till we've done it again.” — She shook her head. I wish I knew what passed thro her mind just then, but feel sure that the desire for another cunt plugging detained her, tho she wanted to be off. The risk, the baudiness, the treat of the afternoon, the newness of the prick, affected her. In for a penny in for a pound perhaps. So we talked on, trying to entrap each other into telling who and what we were, but in both cases unsuccessfully.

I was going to my club when I met this fair crea- ture, and having eaten nothing since breakfast, my stomach reminded me. I said I felt hungry. — “So am I, they did not ask me to stop and dine.” — Meat at an unknown baudy house was out of the question, so I sent for Bath buns, the only thing I could for the moment think of as likely to be good, and for more sherry tho the bottle wasn't finished. I determined to ply her with wine hoping to make her speak about herself. We stuffed ourselves with buns, she took more sherry, which perhaps added a little heat to her already hot lusting quim, but it never made her communicative about herself. We went on talking about fucking, she making few replies, but laughing and reprimanding me. — “What do you laugh for if you are offended?” — “I can't help it.” — Nothing is really more pleasing, more stimulating to modest women, than to have a man talk baudy to them.

Her petticoats now covered her legs, for she had again become as modest as she was before her quim had tasted my stretcher, but I could just see her shapely calves and little feet. The street mud, thickish and greasy, was on her boot soles, but had caused no splashes. I love to see a woman sitting by a fire, with petticoats so far up that the flesh of the thighs just shows, and I pulled them up so. Whenever I did she said she must go, but sat down when I told her that she must then go by herself. Some modest women I have found, dislike much going out of a baudy house alone. She hoped no one had seen her come into the house, and if ever I saw her anywhere again, that I'd take no notice of her. I promised, but she must meet me again. She started. — “Oh never — never — never, — oh! my God! don't ask me — never now.” — She seemed horrified at the suggestion. Who and what was she? Fucked she'd certainly been before, but whether wife, widow, mistress or neither I couldn't say (and never could). I am sure she wasn't a gay lady. Perhaps she was married and coquettish, and the offer of the watch had tempted her, just as her cunt was hot and longed for a male, which conjunction made her come to my arms. That is all quite probable, for a randy cunt weakens a woman's moral force. But women are inscrutable in their ways and lusts.

Then I put my hands on her breasts, a beautiful white pair. I could see their upper half, but with modesty still lingering (and certainly she was modest spite of her yielding to me). She tried to hide them; it was instinct, habit, and not sham. But praising their beauty rapturously as I did, and in my excited, lustful admiration of her, she yielded, and quietly I handled the firm globes, and felt the little bush in her armpits, (which smelt as lovely as the rest of her body) talking baudily all the time. Then I tickled her there, which seemed to win her to me more. Tickling increases the lust of some women, when once their voluptuous thoughts have begun, and the randy thrills are attacking their cunts. — Then I sucked one pretty small nipple, which I saw had never nourished an infant, and told her so. Thus our loving familiarity increased, she gradually surrendering to all my wishes, silent, and seemingly reflecting.

As I spoke about suckling, — “Has she had a child?” — passed through my brain. I had been too excited before to notice her belly, so dropped on my knees again, and kissed her thighs, and lifting her clothes, saw her smooth white belly without a sign or mark of childbirth on it. I don't think she knew what I was up to. Then kissing, and sniffing the aroma from that warm nest, stiffened my pego, and as I got up I showed it to her. She laughed.

Sitting down by her side again, I pulled my shirt well up to let my prick be visible, tho now drooping a bit, and felt her lovely cunt. The fire blazed, the room got hot, the food, the wine, my kissing, my fingering her love trap, and baudy talk during an hour which had run away, had stirred her passions. I praised her cunt, its beauty and sweet odour, and a desire to gamahuche arose in me, for hers was not the cunt of a gay woman, and I wondered if a tongue had ever given pleasure there. So I talked of the pleasure of that lingual exercise and asked her to let me. She refused