“Come on now, Caroline-come on!”
“WOH-WOH!” she whimpered, but her stockinged thighs then strained against my own, her legs held straight, her ankles splayed. I drew her back. Her hands strained at the coverlet, then rested on the bed's rolled edge. The nutcracker action of her cunt worked rhythmically round my prick. “Oh-ho, Papa!” she moaned, but then was quiet and let me take possession of her dell until I creamed her thoroughly with long, thick spouts of come, and we fell forward with my pulsing prick embedded still.
“Was it nice?” I asked as she then bore my weight.
“Yeth,” she lisped, in concert with her mood.
“Did you really?” I asked. I referred to the young gardener, as well she knew. The question was unnecessary: as obsessive as dear Miriam is!
“Of course, I didn't-no. Oh, not with him!” she teased.
What foolish games we humans play!
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I am told that I write too much about myself, and this by Caroline who watches over my manuscript like a mother at a cot.
“If I write too much about you, my dear, people will say that you are lewd,” I joked.
“Let them say it to my face,” she replied.
“I only jested,” I called out, but she was gone. Her talent for showing disfavour that I know not to be real is still quite strong. Women do have a way of saying things that is totally unfair, and which is known to be, and yet makes one examine one's own soul. One comes up from all their accusations with a mite of truth so small as to be barely visible-yet it instills a sense of guilt in one.
Very well-I succumb. I have been pretending to myself, perhaps, that I shall later write another volume of Caroline and Adelaide, but the chore would overcome me. I shall find no publisher, in any case, and would not wish to seek one.
“What if you do not? It keeps you quiet,” is said. Affectionately, I think. At least I hope that to be true. I am blessed with a large member and a willing heart and have no talents other that I know of, or would boast to have.
The period of this particular and rather bizarre little tale was just prior to the memorable occasion-that which changed my very life-when I first entered their beds. Desiring to emulate her Mama in a piece of mischief, Caroline had contrived a plan which rested on an encounter with a lonely, seeking male-the which, for a girl as attractive as was she was by no means difficult. She accomplished this in a coffee house in the nearby market town where sipping her beverage, she was the subject of a number of admiring male eyes.
The owner of a pair of such amused her by venturing out and then immediately afterwards returning in as if he had just arrived. Begging her pardon, he asked if he might take a seat at her table and-this permission being granted-was soon engaging Caroline in conversation.
She affected shyness at first, but soon allowed herself to be seemingly carried away and tittered at his occasional, feeble jokes.
Thinking himself no doubt a lucky dog, the fellow fell to boasting of his adventures, the greater number of which Caroline discerned to be as transparent as he, but gave great appearance of believing. Having thus warmed himself up to her acquaintance, as he thought, he fell to more suggestive talk. Caroline, being an excellent actress, appeared to succumb to this until the conversation grew even more intimate as to their various follies. Giving the most skillful appearance of appearing secretly excited (the which I have seen her do on later occasions in my presence when we have been nurturing young ladies), and having accepted a brandy which appeared to add to her intrigued flutterings, Caroline responded to her would-be seducer by teasing out a tale of her own.
“I should not tell you this-indeed you will think me utterly immodest-but I too have attended private parties at which there was a certain naughtiness,” she said to his delight.
Having him thus hooked, she was able to convey more hesitations as to the nature of her imminent confession, this driving him quite frantic to hear all.
“Well, then, I will tell you, provided you promise to tell no one else,” said Caroline, and went on to engage herself in a description of a quite imaginary occasion at which a form of Postman's Knock was played. Not in the usual way, as she said, wherein a gentleman or lady is called out by the “Postman” to be kissed in the hall, and everyone thinking it the most jolly of fun, but a libertine variation which provided for the Postman's “Knock” to become something quite other.
'That is to say,” she went on-casting glances around lest anyone else might hear-“the Postman's real offering, as soon as a lady was called, was in the nature of a word that rhymes with 'Knock.' But oh, how rude you will think me, sir!”
“I say, go on, go on!” the fellow interjected with some agitation.
“I should not tell you-really I should not-but, oh, if you insist! Instead of placing himself simply in the hall, as is the custom with the ordinary game, the Postman was required to place himself outside the front door where, of course, there is a letterbox. The ladies meanwhile were closeted in a separate room so that they knew not who the Postman was from moment to moment. When a man was called, however-and this being done as usual by drawing them from a hat-she entered the hall and advanced towards the front door. And there, presenting himself in the most unusual way, was the hidden Postman presenting himself through the letterbox. The lady then had the choice of accepting his 'delivery' or not. If she liked what she saw, she would feel the offered instrument of his desire and then open the door to him.”
Naturally enough, the man's eyes glowed at the receipt of this intelligence. “I say! Do you mean he was actually putting his-er… I mean to say, through the letterbox?” he asked in breathless tones.
At that, Caroline appeared to become aware of the time or, if not, of her seeming indiscretion, for she rose and excused herself.
“Really, I have said too much. The brandy, I believe. I know not what you will think of me. I am not a loose girl, you know,” she averred, and made to bid him adieu.
“Pray let me escort you home,” was then said by he whom she had aroused. Demurring at this at first (though in pretence), Caroline finally acceded to his wish and allowed him to call a cab whereat, once ensconced, he plied her with more questions such as gave Caroline to even more clearly understand that he knew little enough of women whom he had earlier so boasted of.
“How naughty of me to have told you at all. I know not what came over me. Well, yes then, if you will-my sister too was there.”
“I say, did you both receive a package?” chuckled he and laid his hand upon her thigh.
“Really, sir, what a question to ask! I am sure you would have been too modest to play Postman.”
“I? Good heavens, no! Why, I recall one day in India…” he began and then launched into an even more unlikely tale than Caroline's, she seeing through it, but pretending fascinated interest. By then, however, they arrived at Adelaide's abode and he accompanied her to the front door, having by all sorts of lecherous hints given her to understand that he was a ladies' man of the highest repute.
“Is your dear sister in?” he asked as they approached the frontage.
“Why? Would you be as bold with her, sir, as you have with me? In such case you would have to present yourself to her as I've described. She liked the naughty game more than did I,” said Caroline whose warm thigh, yielding to his touch in the conveyance, had caused him an erection which she plainly saw a-prodding in his trousers.
“Oh, I say!” he uttered, quite taken aback by this bold proposal and gazing in some surmise at the brass letterbox.
“Have you not the heart for it? Certainly you appear to have the package,” Caroline averred and passed her hand across his trousers as she spoke.
“My goodness!” he exclaimed, being confronted by reality rather than such dreams as boastful men are wont to be possessed of. Enlivened the more by Caroline's daring touch, he passed his arm about her waist and prepared to kiss her in the porch.