Like a nurse to a frightened young boy about to get an injection, she said, “Now just relax,” and then smiling, “This will not hurt.”
Finally, she ran her little finger the full length, stopping at the end. Through the soft material, she could see the outline of a large ridge of skin that ran the circumference, and she teased this. The teasing and the rum combined to generate a deep baritone moan from the young man who took a very deep breath and looked first at her face and then at her nipples.
Wallis continued this teasing for five minutes. At the end of this time, she simply stood and pulled the two straps of the overalls off the young man’s shoulders. The top of the overalls collapsed to his waist, but the baby arm—now huge—stopped the overalls, like a shirt hanging on a nail, or, as she later explained, like a shirt attached to a branch of a young and virile dark sapling. With a little difficulty, she maneuvered the overalls to the floor. He stood there buck naked, the sapling erect. It was huge, black, and there was wetness at the end. She reveled in the size, and thought how she would feel pain. Pain that would excite her like no white man could ever excite her. Edwina, the perfect English lady, had been right—this was like nothing a white man could provide.
In the retelling to her giggling and gasping lady friends, Wallis would say,
“When you’re next at dinner with us, look at David’s arm from the wrist all the way to the elbow. David’s forearm is thinner and smaller than what I saw that day and what went inside me. And it was all the way inside me. It was huge and so, so hard. And that went all the way inside me—God knows where.”
Free from the constraints of the overalls, the young manhood was almost vertical, extending four inches past his navel.
“I could just barely get the head into my mouth,” she would boast.
“Not only was it very long, it was also very thick—the girth was amazing. I thought I would not be able to take it all, but I wanted as much as I could. I wanted to mix some pain with the pleasure.”
Already, she could taste some of the early cream: oily and deliciously salty.
“Lie on the floor on your back,” she commanded imperiously.
Once on the floor, she straddled him and lifting her skirt with her left hand, she used her right hand to guide herself onto him. In spite of being extremely wet, she had to descend very slowly and actually had to carefully control her breathing to help get the monster inside her. All the while, the young man lay passively on his back and occasionally emitting a moan. At her suggestion, he had closed his eyes. The rum was now starting to relax her and she felt a glorious glow as she lowered herself onto the black Adonis. Further and further she descended and as she did so, she got more and more excited.
For the benefit of both of them she had started to moan and then started animal grunting—the taciturn English lady was now a raw animal with crude desires and she wanted it all the way inside her. From the experience of hundreds of men she knew that a prim and proper lady suddenly reduced to crude animal noises was always the most powerful aphrodisiac—all the middle-class pretense was stripped away as she simply got fucked and fucked very hard from this young, crude animal. As expected, she could feel the young man hardening even more; he was now like a rock. She descended two-thirds of the way but could go no further—she had reached her limit and the sensation of him hitting her inner ceiling was incandescent in the pleasure it sent coursing through her body, and she loved the pain she felt. She had rarely experienced such pleasure. Best of all, she was in complete control. She did not have to be concerned about him completing too early, as she could feel his hardness was strong but there was no signs of pulsating that she knew were the telltale signs of an early completion approaching.
She rose an inch or two to stop him from hitting her limit—it was just too strong a sensation. For minutes she slowly moved up and down, riding the monster belonging to her play thing. And her juices were doing their job. She was still wearing the sun dress, and she had the glorious feeling of being like a real whore with her white dress draping over the young man’s dark black skin. Her sun dress was now sopping wet with her perspiration. She was drenched in her own perspiration and she loved the feeling. She felt young again.
Finally, she decided to reward herself with the ultimate prize, so she lowered herself so the head of his sapling started to again bang on her upper limits. All the time, she kept up a whore’s tirade, and this became louder and more intense as she felt herself starting to contract uncontrollably, and then wave after wave of pleasure. After this first massive climax, she waited for a moment. Her skin felt alive; she squeezed her nipples. But she wanted more. She wanted to feel him dump inside her and dump all that load of crude animal seed inside her.
Until she started squeezing her nipples, she had been riding him holding his two hands for balance. The young man’s hands were massive, and she had intertwined her fingers with his. The sight of her thin white fingers against the against the ebony fingers took her breath away, and she loved the vision of her wedding ring next to his black fingers; like the summer dress, it made her so excited to feel so terribly slutty. And his arms were so strong they did not move at all. She was in complete control.
She rose. She licked the end of him; he moaned.
Next, she put the brown cushion on the corner on the billiard table; she unbuttoned the two shoulder straps so the top of the sun dress now fell to her waist, exposing her small chest and the two hard pebbles. She pulled up her dress and sat on the cushion, her legs dangling over the side of the billiard table, six inches from the floor. She confessed that she would like to claim credit for this position, but, “alas, it was Edwina Mountbatten who told me of her adventures up in Harlem with black musicians in the Twenties.”
“Do it this way, please,” she said. “And I want it rough, please. Very rough, please.”
The young man rose and again slid inside her. She could just get her feet behind the leg of the billiard table, and in this way she was able to brace herself against the young man’s deeper and deeper thrusts. She wanted to take all of it so he was completely inside her. She did not care about the pain. She just wanted it all inside her.
“I have never experienced such a feeling—I thought something was going to rupture inside me,” she would later confess.
The young man’s thrusts were getting stronger and stronger and the sensations were so extreme that Wallis held her hands on each side of her head, as if wracked by a terrible migraine. The sensation was a combination of extreme pleasure mixed with a high degree of pain—pain that was almost, but not quite, too much to take.
With the young man as the active partner, the dynamics changed entirely—she was now the passive partner, out of control and being ravished, deeper and deeper by this exceptionally virile young man. In contrast to her middle-class persona, there was no need for tedious bullshit and clever words, just crude and rough and violent fucking. And she loved it. And the fucking was becoming more strident as she sensed he was getting close to completing again. She looked down and was shocked to see he was all the way inside her. At this sight and with the young man himself starting to pulsate, she had a climax the likes of which she had never had felt before.