'Good God, Rose,' he cried, 'why, you shoot it out like a man! Your drawers are dripping, and it's running down into your stockings. What a hot little cat. If you spend like this for a wisp of tongue in your mouth, what will you do for six inches of cock up your thing?' I escaped from him in confusion, only to repeat the scene the next time we came together. On this occasion he was ready for me, and as soon as he observed the signal of distress, thrust his hand between my thighs…
All I could say, and that very faintly was, 'What are you doing?' 'Trying to increase your pleasure. Also to feel this little twat discharging.' He tickled my fanny, and the convulsion was more intense than before.
George brought his hand forth covered with my emission, and after looking at it coolly wiped it on my drawers.
'Heavens, what a grind you'll make!' he said, and forthwith took out his cock and tried to poke me. I had courage enough to refuse. So great was his power over me that I could not dance with him without spending. More than once I have had to stop breathless, and clinging to him whisper, 'For goodness' sake, George, hold me tight or I shall fall.
I'm doing it again.' There I clung, almost fainting from the acuteness of the ejaculation, while my spunk dribbled down my thighs.
Despite my resolution, I recognise now that he never would have married me (although some fine night I should assuredly have been fucked) but for the fact that I had a good deal of money, and that is what I fancy finally decided my noble to tie himself up. Not that marriage made a bit of difference to him, the wretch. He was one of those lustful, passionate, hell-fire scamps, of whom it is said they spare no man in their wrath and no woman in their lust.
I proved this to my sorrow on my wedding night. Scarcely had I got into bed than he fairly rushed me, like a bull. My nightdress was snatched off, and whereas I had expected a tender preliminarily scene of delightful cuddling with a gradual approach to the main performance, George pulled my thighs open and drove his prick into my slender cunt without taking breath. He hurt me horribly, of course, but what did he care for my young flesh! All he wanted was to tear through my maidenhead as quickly as possible, and the more I screamed under my breath and begged for mercy, the more pleased he was. It is no exaggeration to say he regularly ripped me open, and certainly the blood flowed freely from my wounds. Without dismounting he twice poured in a torrent of lava, and then gloated over the way he had made me bleed and chaffed me when I bewailed my torn cunt. I reproached him strongly, sobbed, and vowed I would go back to my parents, for this was not at all like the pleasure I had expected. But I did not know the sort of husband I had got.
'You'll find out, my girl,' said he, 'you've got to do as I like. I'll teach you to threaten me. Turn over and show me your arse.' I refused to move, and he flung me over at once, pulled my bottom open, and began to probe the tight little hole with a finger, at the same time stiffening up his cock again by rubbing it on the back of my thighs. Horrified at the obscenity of the act, I protested loudly, but little knew what was coming.
'You don't like my finger there, eh? What'll you say, then, when you feel this in it?' beating my arse with his prick.
'Never, never!' I shouted, 'I'll scream for help.' My earlier threats were all fudge, but I really began to be alarmed now. He banged my head down on the pillow, and informed me if I did he would tie and gag me; that he was master, and I'd find he'd do as he liked. With that he began thrusting in his prick, and despite all my resistance, for after all I didn't cry out too loudly, I was soundly buggered. After that I was too exhausted to resist any more, and he fucked away, without my taking the slightest pleasure from it, till I pretty well fainted. Next day I was too sore to move and besought him with tears to give me time to recover. Having triumphed at all points, George could afford to be generous, and for the remainder of our honeymoon treated me more tenderly, and allowed me to have a share of my legitimate pleasure by fucking me more lightly. He made up for this, as I ascertained afterwards, by amusing himself with one of the barmaids at the hotel. I dare say her quim was more used to such assaults than my virgin twat. Oh, he was an awful ram! I never could keep a servant, for either he frightened them away by wanting to roger them or, if they gave in, got them in the family way. Yet I was desperately fond of the wretch, and curiously enough, rather proud of the way he used to fuck every woman who crossed his path.
After all I did not fare so badly as some of them. Not long after we returned from our honeymoon I ran against an intimate friend of mine, Lucy by name. Of course I had to stand a good deal of chaff from her, and she wormed out of me how George had treated me the first night.
'Oh, that's nothing,' she blurted out in a knowing way, and then seemed to recollect herself. A thought struck me.
'How do you know? Has George ever fucked you?' Poor Lucy fell into confusion, quite unable to answer, so I pressed my guess home.
'You needn't deny it: I can see from your face that he has,' I said with a smile.
Lucy, somewhat reassured, confessed. 'Well, as you don't seem to mind, I admit he has, but I am not the only one by a long way, you know.
There are a good many others who can pretty well imagine what your bridal night was.' 'Yes, I knew when I married him what his reputation was, but, like a fool, thought he would stick to me and give up his promiscuous fucking, but I don't now hug myself in that belief. I should hardly have thought, though, Lucy, you would be one to be knocked off your perch so easily. Tell me all about it, and I will forgive you.' Lucy I may say was well about twenty, and a good-looking girl of nice figure. The last time I saw her she was the mother of five or six children, and had a belly on her like a camel's hump. So she began.
CHAPTER 4
I was very spoony on George, and had some hopes he would marry me, but you have been luckier than we rest of us, my dear, and got your grummet from him without risk. He used to kiss me and mess me about pretty well as he liked, and I must say I didn't object. Well, at last it came about that we made up a camping party during we summer.
There were six of us girls, all rather good-looking and jolly titters-trust Master George and his friends for picking out tasty pieces-and four fellows, all of a kidney, but none of them such desperadoes as George.
It was a put-up job, though we didn't know it, and their intention was to let no one of us return with our maidenheads. We were all friendly together, some stuck on one or other of we boys, and several of us in particular on George. Of course there were ample opportunities for mugging and hugging, and that didn't make our youthful blood flow the more serenely. I suppose George thought the time had come to attempt my virtue, for one day, I don't exactly know how he managed it, it came to pass the rest had gone off, and only he and I were left in camp. He suggested a bathe in the river, and I innocently retired to our tent and undressed. I was reduced to my chemise, when in, if you please, the ruffian stalked with only his bathing singlet on, and little enough there was, even of that. He might just as well have been completely naked, for his prick and knackers showed up in sharp relief. All the scamps affected this style in order to excite our feelings, and though we scarcely liked it we hadn't had the courage to object to their indecency. I gave a slight shriek and told him to go away. Not a bit. He laughed and said, 'Why so bashful, Lucy? A little cuddling won't hurt you.' He caught hold of me, kissed me lecherously, causing a thrill to run down my spine and depriving me almost of the power of moving, put one hand in my bosom and the other on my bottom, and felt me all over. All the while his mouth was glued to mine and his tongue was playing inside, so that I hadn't breath to protest. I could feel his prick-by the way, Rose, excuse these vulgarities, but I am using the terms he employed. 'Yes, his usual term of endearment to me is "fat-arse" or "split-arse little fucker".' Then you are used to them and we may talk without reserve. I could feel his prick surging and thickening until I thought a regular mast was pressing against me, and that didn't make me any cooler, you can bet. When he finally got his hand into my cunt and began to tickle it I knew what he would be at, and with a last effort broke away and crouched in the corner of the tent. 'Go away, George,' I said: 'you are horribly rude. I won't be treated so. You know you have no right to take such liberties with an innocent girl.' He chuckled, approached nearer, and coolly pulled off his one scanty covering. His cock sprang out, erect and fiery, looking to my excited imagination a foot long and as thick as my wrist, I swear, Rose.' 'It isn't so big as that.' No, but think of my feelings at the moment. He gaily shook it at me, and asked me what I thought of it-wasn't it a beauty.