Here Glady's narrative must suffer a break. The following account she had on pieces of paper which she had typed herself, and wrote. She said she was too modest to allow me to dictate from my written account. I certainly blush myself when I correct the proofs»
Glady's words inflamed me. Ever since I had had the pretty girl as an amanuensis, I had known she was delightful to look at, and more than once I had caught myself regarding her with a feeling which had certainly something more than mere friendship and admiration in it. At last I had to come to the conclusion that I wanted her, but I dared make no attempt till she herself confessed through her story that she had before been enjoyed by a woman.
I made the getting of a drink a pretext to leave my chair, I poured out stiff glasses of whiskey and soda for both of us, and in handing Gladys hers, allowed my hand to stray over her soft shoulder, we were working, as usual, at night, and Gladys still wore her theatre gown, an extremely decollettee confection, that is to say she retained its bodice, but the skirt she had taken off, and sat in her petticoat, a pretty silk thing of dark red color which allowed her legs to be visible almost to the knee; her lace silk stockings were so very open-worked that the little threads seemed traced with a pen on her gleaming white flesh. She was very desirable to look, at and that must be my excuse.
“I don't marvel at the woman, Gladys,” I whispered in her little pink ear.
Then I kissed her just below the ear, and let my free hand wander over her neck down to where the bosom began to swell out of her corsage. She bent her head forward and bit my fingers softly.
We were both nervous, such an affair between us had never been mentioned, perhaps even thought of on her part, and for quite five minutes I remained kissing her cheek softly while she fondled my hand with her lips. Then, emboldened by the mad passion within me, I slipped to my knees, and ran my hand underneath her dress, up, up to her knees, and on, boldly on, to the bare flesh above her stocking, and at last to the opening between her drawers which gave me free ingress to her delicious front door of lust. Her legs were wide apart, and the lips of her vagina seemed red hot. I could feel her kisses covering my neck while my finger penetrated that sweet grotto.
Suddenly she jumped up. “Blanche, darling,” she panted, “Come to the photograph studio.
The photograph studio in my house is a large room (only a few yards from the boudoir where I as a rule dictate this thrilling romance) which we are in the habit of using for taking naked pictures of each one of us.
I followed Gladys and closed the door behind us. In almost less time than it takes to write it, she had freed herself from the underclothes and lay naked, entrancing, voluptuous, on the great couch. All my nervousness was gone in an instant, and my undressing was almost as speedy.
Then I buried my head between her thighs.
I seemed to remain there for hours, although the dear girl told me afterwards that it could not have been more than ten minutes before she freed herself. I could not see her face, but her image was clear in my eyes, and each thrill of her thighs, that told me of enjoyment she extracted from my act, urged my tongue to more passionate embraces. At last she pushed my head from between her legs, my face was covered with love juice. She seized my head between her hands, I had not till then known how strong she was, and kissed the spend from it.
“Now!” she cried, when the last kiss was ended, “it is my turn!”
I lay back on the sofa, opening my legs to their widest extent, and she gently licked. Her tongue seemed like a javelin charged with the electricity of lust. It darted round my clitoris, softly swept the little space between that excrescence and my gaping cunt, and stabbed strongly into me. I seemed to experience nothing but one long, voluptuous spend. When at last she left me, I lay back exhausted.
We were too tired for more of that vigorous sensuality, but for an hour or more we sprawled on the couch in each other's arms, and our lips were very seldom apart.
We got back to work on the immortal memoir very late next morning. Gladys said no word of our overnight frolic, simply giving me a type-written copy of the rest of her rape story, which you shall have directly. I had already sent down, by my maid, my notes of our little affair in the photograph boudoir.
Here is the rest of Gladys' tale.
“The two men did not suffer me to stay long in the arms of the woman. I was forcibly removed and the second man stretched me on the rug- In three strokes he possessed me, but kept his place and worked hard until he came again. I was dripping with spend when at last he left me, but he was no sooner off, than my first ravisher took his place, fucked me heartily, and deluged my sore and tired vagina with more love juice.
I lay panting on the floor while he wiped his dripping cock on the long hair of the woman, rather a pretty little trick, I thought, and wondered what was likely to befall me next, when there came a ring at the bell. I was about to jump up, but was held down at once, you can imagine that I had very little strength of resistance, and had the mortification of seeing two more men, strangers to me of course, come into the room where I lay naked on the floor. One was a tall, splendidly made young fellow; the other an elderly man. Both were in evening dress. Both seemed to take my presence there rather as a matter of fact, and kissed the woman as if nothing unusual was in the wind. In fact I was rather neglected, for the young man began stroking the woman's legs and suddenly took on a fury of passion, flung up her chemise, stretched her on the bed, and was into her in a tick. It was a short and wanton fuck.
My turn however came next, and I fell to the lot of the old man, who did not even take the trouble to remove any of his clothes; but fucked me rather laboriously, though apparently with a great deal of satisfaction to himself. When at last he did spend, he announced the fact with some pride, and received the plaudits of the rest. As soon as he was off me the woman bent down and examined my thighs: “It's true,” she cried, “my congratulations, Sir Richard,” and she fell to licking the sticky stuff from my legs. “It's not often I get a chance of even tasting any of your spend,” she said, as some sort of explanation of her wanton act.
Then commenced an orgy. The young man mounted me; Sir Richard screwed himself into the woman, and I was scandalized to see, by means of the mirror, that the other two proceeded to get into the young man and Sir Richard “per annus” as the classics have it. The weight up on me was considerable, but, whether it was the performance going on in his back door, or whether he really was very much inflamed by my charms the young man fucked me beautifully, and, tired as I was, I enjoyed it. We three were finished long before Sir Richard's party, and the entertainment concluded with my squatting above the woman's mouth, so that she employed her tongue in my arse hole, while Sir Richard licked my cunt, what time I took the young man's prick in my mouth, at the same time that he was being buggered by the last remaining man. It was somewhat of an elaborate set piece.”
“I should think it was indeed,” was my comment, when I had read this amazing confession.