I used to vastly like to change the way of doing it. For instance, sometimes when plugged from behind, one of my favourite positions, would unhorse my cavalier, turn round quickly, give a kiss to my rosy conqueror, wet with my spendings, and escape to the other end of the room, I would place myself in an easy chair, my legs upraised, and my pussey quite open, while I gave it a provoking twitching movement. My lover was hardly in me again, when by a fresh whim I would draw it out, make him sit on a chair, get on his knees, my back turned towards him, and taking his courser, plunging in my body to the very hilt, let his burning jet finish our sweet operation.
My dear Minet, as I generally called the splendid instrument of my joy, had become my passion, the object of real worship. I was never tired of admiring its thickness, its stiffness, and its length, all equally marvellous. I would dandle it, suck it, pump at it, caress it in a thousand different ways, and rub it between my titties, holding it there by pressing them with both my hands, Often when captive in this voluptuous passage, it would throw out its dew.
My lover returned all my caresses with interest. My pussey was his god, his idol. He assured me that no woman had ever possessed a more perfect one. He would open it, and frig it in every conceivable way. His greatest delight was to apply his lips thereto, and extract, so to speak, the quintessence of voluptuousness, by titillations of the tongue, that almost drove me mad. (Continued on page 211)
KITTYS DREAM
On her couch, one summer's day,
Beauteous, youthful Kitty lay;
Venus saw her from above,
Smiling Venus, Queen of Love;
Amaz'd at each celestial grace,
Her polish'd limbs, her blooming face -
"Come here, my boy," she said, "and see
"One you might have took for me."
Roguish Cupid, laughing, cries,
"O give me leave to quit the skies,
"And make that heav'nly maiden prove,
"The various mysteries of love:
"The close embrace, the juicy kiss,
"The raging, melting, dying bliss."
Venus consented: "Go, my boy,
"Make her know the height of joy."
Away the archer and his train,
Sport along th' ethereal plain.
Now around the sleeping fair
Thousand Cupids fill the air;
In her bosom some inspire
Tender wishes, fond desire;
Some in balmy kisses sip
Nectar from her glowing lip;
Her each heaving snowy breast,
Some with wanton ardour press'd;
Twining round her slender waist,
Some with eager joy embrac'd;
Whilst, at random, others rove
Through the fragrant groves of love.
Whilst thus the God his revels keeps,
Kitty, happy virgin, sleeps:
A pleasing dream her soul employs,
Rich with imaginary joys.
She thinks Sir Charles, upon his knees,
Beseeching her to give him ease;
That she, disdainful, looks awhile;
At length, with a complying smile,
His fears dispelling, lets him see
She burns with love as well as he:
That, folded in his eager arms,
He boldy rifles all her charms,
Whilst she returns the warm embrace,
Breast to breast, and face to face.
Sighing she wakes: "Ah! love," she cries,
"How vast must be thy real joys!
"When thus divinely great they seem,
"Tho' but imagin'd in a dream?"
Scarcely this reflection o'er,
A footman thunders at the door;
Kitty, disordered, leaves her couch,
And Betty tells the Knight's approach.
He enters with becoming grace,
Blushes overspread her face;
In a soft, persuasive strain,
He begs her to relieve his pain.
Nothing she says; but from her eyes
He learns that nothing she denies.
Encourag'd thence, her lips, her breast, He tries, and wanders o'er the rest:
The glowing maid, no longer coy,
Gives an unbounded loose to joy;
Around him folds her snowy arms,
At once bestowing all her charms:
And now this happy couple prove
All the substantial sweets of love;
Till hast'ning to Love's destin'd goal,
True as the needle to the pole,
Raging and stung with keen desire,
In amorous swoonings they expire.
While thousand Cupids laughing by,
Assist their blissful ecstasy.
Loosen'd from his fond embrace,
"My dream," she cries, "is come to pass."
"And did my charmer dream of this?"
Sir Charles replies, and takes a kiss:
"Henceforth whene'er you dream, my dear,
"Let me be your interpreter."
THE BREECHES, OR ST. THOMAS-A-BECKET'S RELIC
Father Girard was a celebrated preacher in one of the most noted cities of France; a man of ready elocution, handsome person, and a lively eye, which was generally roving among the female part of his audience. As he was one day preaching and searching after hearts instead of God, and striving by wanton ogles to make proselytes to love instead of religion, he happened to fix his eyes on a beautiful young lady named Agatha, wife to a physician called Bernard, and was immediately enamoured with her. The lady was so very devout, that she had her eye constantly fixed on those of the preacher; but notwithstanding the zeal of her devotion, she could not help perceiving that he was handsome, and secretly wished Mons.
Bernard, her husband, was not less agreeable. When the sermon was ended, Agatha addressed Father Girard to give her confession, who was not a little pleased at hearing so favourable an opportunity to discover his passion. Girard, seated in the confessional chair, heard a short detail of her own sins; but then she began a long account of those of her husband — age, neglect, inability, and lastly jealousy, were reckoned up as cardinal vices. The father confessor, with an amorous grin, replied: Jealousy, madam, is a passion which can scarce be avoided by that happy person who possesses so divine a creature as yourself. Agatha smiled, and, thinking it time to return to some female friends, who were waiting for her, desired absolution. The confessor sighed, and leering on her with another languishing look: My fair daughter, cries he, who can free her who is bound himself? I am captivated with the irresistible power of your beauty, and, without your assistance, can neither absolve myself nor you. Agatha was young, and not well versed in such intrigues; yet by assistance of a good natural apprehension, she was not at a loss to unravel the meaning of these words; she had besides, to quicken her wit, been strictly guarded, and not over well used by Dr.
Bernard; therefore she had not many scruples of conscience; but soon let Father Girard perceive, that she was not so dull as to mistake his meaning, nor was of so nice a virtue as to be displeased at his declaration, and to find, notwithstanding the sanctity of his character, he was made of flesh and blood. The business of the absolution was entirely forgot; Girard began to be very amorous, and openly professed his passion, and the lady undertook to find some method to have another interview. After some consideration she acquainted him she was often troubled with fits, and that all the medicines her husband could administer, procured her no ease: therefore, said she, the next time he is sent for into the country I'll feign myself ill of those fits, and send for you to bring with you some relic for my relief. I suppose, Father, you'll not refuse my summons, and my confident maid shall conduct you to my chamber. Girard applauded her wit, embraced her with some rapture, and then they parted.