He removed his coat, his waistcoat and his breeches. He placed all on a chair by the inner door. Then he came to me; his white shirt sticking out it front.
"Let me look at it, John. I want to see Robin!"
He raised his shirt. He exposed his huge limb naked to my gaze, stiff and ready, red-topped and distended already with the sense of the pleasure to come. His belly was covered with short curly black hair. I took his thing in my hand and rubbed it softly up and down. Our lips met in a moist kiss.
"What a lovely thing you have, John! But it is much too big."
His delight was intense. He was ready for anything. I kissed his limb. I put my tongue to the top of the purple knob and tickled it. I opened my moist lips and sucked it. The faint taste and smell were delightful to me.
John fairly snorted with lustful longing. I was equally impatient.
"Won't it be nice, John? You shall do it to me at your ease this time."
"Yes, miss, we'll do it properly this time. Only look at my tool!"
I thought I had never seen such a thing. It was so stiff that the head bent almost on his navel. He pressed me back against the bed. He played with my breasts. I played with his "tool," as he called it. I threw open my peignoir. He raised my chemise, and looked on my naked body.
"How lovely you are, Miss Eveline!"
John bent forward, his hot kisses covered me. He descended. I felt him licking the center button of my orbit. It was shockingly voluptuous.
"Oh, John! Oh, that's lovely."
I raised myself on to the soft bed. I lay across it. John opened my thighs and stood between. I put his big limb against the moist lips of my slit. I guided it in. In a second it went right up me. I felt it stretching open my vagina. It was dreadfully hard and throbbed with spasmodic pulsations as it entered gradually to its utmost length. Soon I engulfed him completely.
"Go gently-very gently, my dear John, you are so big. Oh, goodness, how you push!"
He thrust more carefully. My sensations rose to the boiling point. Now I wanted more abandon from the boy. I clutched right and left at the bedclothes-and then at his buttocks, raking them raw with my nails. Still he did it slowly, working deliciously up and down.
"Oh, John, dear John, it's nice, so nice now! You may push now- push! Oh! Oh! My goodness! Push me hard, John-I'm coming- John!"
The man could only breathe hard and gasp in the intensity of his pleasure. He had never had such a chance, a real young lady was such a treat to the sensual fellow that he was beside himself with passion. I told him I adored his tool. He needed no incentive, but drove up and down my little belly in an ecstasy.
I delighted to watch him; to feel the big, strong tool throbbing inside my parts. My spasms came again and again while he was having me-wave after wave.
"Oh, miss! I shall have to come directly! I'm coming now-there- there-oh!"
John gave me a convulsive clutch; he pushed in his limb to the balls. I buried my face in the pillow to prevent my sighs from being audible as he discharged. He inundated me with a torrent of hot sperm. I threw open my legs to receive it, wishing I could taste it as well. It entered my womb in gushes. He withdrew with reluctance; he dragged out his big limb, red and smoking. I wiped it for him, kissed it, tasted my own juices on it. Then I rushed to my toilet and neglected no precaution.
We sat together on the little sofa. John was never tired of feeling my legs, my buttocks, and my slit. His fingers roved everywhere and his limb very soon showed evidence of his returning virility. I stooped down, played with it and sucked it, taking it deep within my mouth, feeling it swell against my lips, and it very soon stood again fiercely erect. We neither of us spoke, but I motioned him towards the bed. I laid myself upon it and put a pillow under my buttocks. John laid himself upon my naked body. I guided his huge thing into me and took it in up to his delicious balls. He lay a long time in me, doing it slowly. Then he decided it was time to attempt something different. Withdrawing his limb from my belly, the boy lay down beside me and drew me to him and made as if to work himself under me. Instinctively, lasciviously, I understood what he would have me do. Straddling his body with knees bent and splayed, I positioned his bulbous nut directly beneath me and then impaled myself upon it, squatting low until I had it all within me, then riding it, up and down as though upon a horse. He began to buck against my weight, but to little avail. I controlled all movement. Soon he had spent in a gush of seed that sent me into the seventh heaven.
I handed the man his clothes; he dressed silently and rapidly. I watched a moment at the open door. Only the ticking of the hall clock. I waited till it struck three, and then, while the vibrations were still in the air, I closed my door upon him. I enjoyed a sweet unbroken sleep till past nine o'clock.
Chapter 7
I have already told you I am beautiful. I am dearly fond of the beautiful in art. What can be the difference then between the beautiful in the glass and the beauty in the picture? Rely upon it, every woman is certain to know the exact measure of her good looks-if she possesses any. She is sure to be reminded of her defects. Her inner consciousness will, whatever may be her natural vanity, infallibly lead her to a correct appreciation of her charms. She may think she can impose on others by her beauty. It is only by the flattery, or the honest opinions she obtains, that her vanity is touched, that comparisons are made. When she goes home and in privacy she sees, she knows the naked truth for better, or, for worse.
When a man tells me he thinks me the most beautiful girl in the world, I know he is talking nonsense. When he simply and obviously admires me for my comeliness, I may believe him. If he goes further, if he ventures to speak of love to me, I know I have excited his desires. I can see it in his eyes. It is evident in the parted lips, the ardent, furtive, searching glances with which I feel he is striving to pierce the thin veils in which modesty-save the mark-robes the nude form of woman. He is gloating secretly on all his fancy pictures hidden beneath. He is forming his ideas on the subject of my nudity- of the extent of my fabricated personality. Poor man, if he could only look in reality below, he would find there was nothing there but Nature unadorned. In fancy, he gives his ideal full swing. He sees me as his lust would have me. He sees the perfect bust-the panting bosom which no fashionable corset could improve-the waist and ample haunch-the buttocks which no dressmaker ever pads with wretched cotton wool. The man, after all, is only a society satyr. His lust, subject as it must be to the decencies of ordinary life, lifts him, for the nonce, from the commonplace, knockabout men of average intelligence, into a being which interests me. In fancy he beholds me stripped-at his mercy-small mercy I should receive at his hands! He rages in private. He snorts like a stallion over a young mare. I have no contempt for this poor creature. Shall I confess the truth?
I feel intensely for him. That confession does not prevent me from displaying to him such attractions as my beauty-my knowledge of mankind-enable me to excite him with. His agony of lust is to me a selfish gratification. It is joy to me to watch his hardly concealed emotion. I know him. I treat him simply as he would me. I am, in his shortsighted view, too innocent and too young-altogether too inexperienced-to understand anything connected with the realities of sensual instincts. He does not scruple to let loose, for my benefit, his lust of the flesh. It has extended to my flesh. He figures to himself, in his licentiousness, all the delights he would enjoy in my possession. In his bestial concupiscence he revels in the ideal enjoyment of my innocent young charms.