— quicker.” — Her belly heaved, her rump, jogged Iuickly with tremulous fucking motion, that irresistable )scillation when the spend is coming — and she spent.
— “There, you've made me, let me now go,” and she let go my pego.
But now, my lust roused by the play of my finger on the slit which was moistened with its juices, my pego stood full stiff and ruby-tipped again. I threw down the clothes and shewed it her triumphant, and barely was her pleasure over than I got between her thighs and -overed her, and lay with prick buried deep in the lubricious avenue. Tho stiff I restrained myself and lay within her, talking of fucking, ever and anon moving my prick gently, now this way now that way, searching her cunt with it to keep it rigid — for I was in no hurry.. “Your cunt's quite soft with spendings. — Does my prick feel nice. — Do you like it pushed hard up?” and so on. — “Aha — yes, you'll make me do it again soon, aha — aha — yes — yes, it's nice — oh, go on, do it.” — She held me to her like a vice, raising her thighs to engulf my prick, to get all up her, and let her cunt rise to my thrusts. Then clutching her solid buttocks, luickly I rammed my pego up and down, till my sperm filled her as she spent, and then we lay in soft repose.
— “What's the time? if I don't get there by twelve o'clock I can't see him.” “It's not ten I'm sure.” “But I must go to my brother's first.” — I held her fast, my prick still in its warm lodging and asked more questions. — “Who — where — what for — when?”
— all about him and their name, their occupation. But she was as close as an oyster. — “I believe Bob's in prison.” “Ho! — he ain't — get along — oh do.” — Backwards she drew her bum, my prick slipped out of her buttery cunt, she jumped out of bed and put on her chemise. My remark seemed to upset her, for she kept looking at me in a queer manner.
“You've not washed your cunt.” “Ah, no.” She washed it and in a great hurry dressed. “You've been gay.” — “Me? never.” “Why is Bob so far off?” “I won't tell, it's no business of yours. — No — I won't tell you where I live, no nor my name. — No, I won't meet you again — Oh, I did say just now I'd turn gay but I didn't mean it — of course I didn't.” — “You wanted fucking.” — “So would you if you hadn't had it for three weeks.” “You frig yourself.” — “Why in course I does, who wouldn't? — Oh, leave me alone.”
— I felt her cunt and thrust my finger up it, and made her feel my prick. — “Bob's in prison.” She stared for a minute. “He isn't.” — “He is.” — “He isn't.” — I persisted and she got angry so I dropped the subject Whilst feeling her quim for the last time — she was then dressed and standing up — again I said, “He's in prison.” — “He's in a hospital.” — “Well, but in a prison.” — “Well, it isn't any business of yours if he is, and he's no right to be.” — “Then he is in prison.” — “He isn't now I won't answer any more.” — “Kiss me.”
— She did. — “Feel my prick.” — “Show it us then.” I produced it, she felt it eagerly all over, pulled the prepuce back, burst out laughing and went down stairs saying, “The door isn't locked, is it?” — Next instant she disappeared. I got to shooting after luncheon, and told a thundering lie as the reason for missing the train.
I've not made up my mind about this woman's status. Had she ever been a harlot, or simply fucked on the sly, as so many of the lower classes have been before marriage? Was she living with a man or married? That the man she was going to see was in prison I am sure. — Was it money which got her, or was it lust? — She admitted that when I accosted her she wanted fucking, her struggles when I wanted to feel her cunt were not like a harlot's, nor was her talk. — It must have been money, and want of fucking together which made her yield to me. — She was a fully grown splendid woman, with white solid flesh, had an arm as big as a man's but feminine in shape, with much dark hair in her armpits. — She'd unusually thick, wide black eye-brows, and her eyes were dark and very soft in expression. — I never had a woman who enjoyed her fucking more. She said she was twenty-four, — I wrote all about her early the next morning before I went out shooting. Gold offered to women when their cunts tingle will get most of them.
[The following no doubt was reserved for a chapter on cunts.] - Met last night a little girl whom I guessed fifteen, as she was. I took her to a baudy house, put her naked, and found she'd an extraordinary development of nymphae. She'd scarcely any hair on her crack, and the nymphae hung out from the lips nearly the entire length of them, quite an inch and a half, — I never saw such a cunt before, tho I've seen some large developments of nymphae, and notably in a harlot named Betsy with prominent eyes. This was long ago.
She was handsomely clad in black silk, was plump and well made, and I lusted for her till I saw these protuberant flappers, when desire left me. Nevertheless I determined to fuck her, and by frigging got my pego stiff, then easily up her cunt. But immediately it shrunk out when looking down, I saw it surrounded by these large red excrescences. Trial after trial I made uselessly, then asked her to suck my prick. Into her mouth she took it without hesitation, remarking that she much liked sucking pricks. I was astounded, for she wasn't much over fifteen and had only been gay a month she said, but had all the unhesitating baudiness of a harlot forty years old, tho she complied with and did all in a girlish way.
Her big nymphae however quite upset me, and my pego refused to rise. I was sitting as she operated so tried another attitude, by laying on my back and she kneeling over me, gamahuching. But the nymphae looked that way uglier than ever, tho her nice little smooth buttocks looked most inviting. As I smoothed her bum and fingered her bum hole, my prick rose up all at once, and I said just as the whim struck me, and without thinking, without any idea of, or desire for her complying. “I'll give you another half sovereign to let me bugger you.” — “Very well,” — she replied at once, and nimbly got off me asking. “How will you do it?”
— “Have you ever been buggered?” said I astonished.
— “Not often, and you ought to give me a sovereign for that, for it hurts.” “Why do you do it then?” — “It's nice afterwards sometimes.” — I thought she must be joking or chaffing me, but she wasn't.
I hesitated, but was now under the dominion of a letch, was utterly unreflecting, and moreover was carried away now in a degree by curiosity which had arisen. I turned her towards me kneeling low and stood at her back. — “Wet it well with your spittle,” said she knowingly. I did, and my pego which has revolted before on similar occasions stood stiffly, and glided easily right up her. — “Ohooo — it hurts,” said she. At that my prick dwindled, and I withdrew with a feeling of disgust at myself and at her, which I really cannot describe. The doings of this girl seemed like a dream to me. I washed my pego and sat down, she after feeling her bum hole carefully did the same, and we talked, she with the seeming frankness of a child — without any sense of shame or modesty whatever — spoke about all erotic possibilities with the infinite knowledge of the oldest harlot.
What she told about herself was in its essence what is already written. — To suck, fuck, frig or bugger, she seemed to like being buggered, I gathered. — Then she told that a gentleman who'd kept her a year, had paid for rooms for her at * * * * but she had to keep herself now. Would I call at her rooms? I paid her and promised but without any such intention. — Then she piddled and in doing so let an easy sounding fart. — “Oh! That's your fault thro doing that to me.” — She seemed then a little ashamed, the only sign of shame I'd seen in her.