My Secret Life (31 page)

“What a lovely smell your cunt has,” said I putting the fingers just withdrawn from her thighs up to my nose. I have always noticed that nothing helps to make a woman more randy than that action; it seems to overwhelm them with modest confusion; I have always done that instinctively to a woman whom I was trying. “Oh! what a man, oh! let me pick up my cap.” Just then I noticed her hair was short, and remarked it. She was annoyed, her vanity hurt, it turned her thoughts entirely. “Yes,” she said. “I had a fever two years ago, — but it’s growing again.” “Well it has grown enough on your cunt dear, — did it fall off there?” “Oh! what a man! — oh! now what a shame!” My hand was on her thighs again, and I managed another’s minute frig, and kept her close to me.

The heat had become excessive. What with struggling, and the excitement, sweat was on both our faces. Her thighs by her crack were as wet as if she had pissed them, her backside again to wriggle with pleasure, which I knew I was giving her; but again with a violent effort she freed herself from me, and as I put my hand to my nose she violently pulled it away. The sherry was upsetting her wisdom.

“There is the sovereign,” said I as she stood looking at me, “that will help you.” “Don’t want it.” Seeing where her pocket-hole was I pushed it into it. “Oh! what a lucky sovereign, to lay so close to your cunt Jenny,” — and pushing my hand into her pocket I touched the bottom of her belly through the linen. Again a struggle, a repulse, then she put her hand into her pocket. “You’re feeling your cunt Jenny,” said I. “O — oh!” said she taking it out quickly, “I was feeling for the money, — I wont have it.”

Then I kissed her till the sweat ran off my face on to hers. “Oh! my goodness,” said she as it grew darker, “it’s going to thunder again.” “Have another glass.” “No it’s gone into my head already.” But she took a gulp of mine. “Let’s fuck you Jenny dear.” “What?” “Fuck.” “Shan’t.” “Oh! you know what I mean.” “No I don’t, but it’s something bad if it’s from you.” I pulled out my prick, and tried to push her on the sofa. She got away, and then with my prick out I chased her round the table. “Leave off,” said she, “a joke’s a joke, but this is going too far.” She was getting lewed, and was staring at my prick which showed above the table as I chased her. Quick as me she managed to keep just on the side of it opposite to me.

“I’ll swear I wont touch you again if you will sit down.” “I won’t trust you, — you’ve been swearing all the afternoon.” “So help me God I will,” said I, and meant it. “Well then not when you are like that.” I pushed my prick inside my trowsers, and then she sat down. What a long time this takes to tell, what repetition! but there are not many incidents I recollect more clearly.

Then I took out ten sovereigns, all bright, new ones, laid them on the table, and then the brooch. “Do you like that Jenny?” “Yes.” “It is for you if you will let me, and those ten sovereigns also.” “You are a bad man,” said the girl, “and would make me forget myself and be ruined, and without caring a bit,” — and she began rocking her head about, and rolling her body as she sat beside me, and looking at the money. “Who will know? — you won’t tell your young man, — I shan’t tell my wife, — let me.” “I shan’t, — never, — never, — never, — never, if it was fifty pounds,” said she almost furiously. “He wont find it out.” “Yes he would.” “Nonsense, — half the servants do it, yet marry,” — and then I told her of some I had had who had married. “No,
—
no,
—
no,” she kept repeating, almost bawling it out, as I told her Mary So-and-So who married a butler, and Sarah So-and-So who married my greengrocer, though I’d fucked them over and over again. “No, — no,” looking at the money; then suddenly she took up the brooch, and laid it down again.

Before running round the table after her, I had thrown off my coat and waistcoat. “It’s so hot, I’ve a good mind to take off my trowsers,” I had said; but I had another motive. She seemed weaker, and was so, for gradually she had got inflamed and lewed by heat, the electrical condition of the atmosphere, the titillation of my finger on her seat of pleasure, and the sight of my stiff penis. She had I expect got to that weak, yielding, voluptuous condition of mind and body, when a woman knows she is wrong, yet cannot make up her mind to resist. Just then it came into my mind to tickle her; and then followed a scene which is one of the most amusing in my reminiscences.

She shrieked, and wriggled down on to the floor. I tried to mount her there. She kicked, fought, so that though once my prick touched her cunt-wig, I could not keep on the saddle. She forgot all propriety in her fuddled excitement, and whilst screeching from my tickling, repeated incoherently baudy words as I uttered them. “Let me fuck you.” “You shan’t fuck me.” “Let’s put it just to your cunt.” “You shan‘t, — you’re a blackguard, — oh! don’t, — leave me alone, — well I will feel it, if you’ll let me get up, — oh! — he! hi! hi! — for God’s sake don’t tickle, — hi! — I shall go mad, — you shan‘t, — oh! don’t, — oh! if you don’t leave off.” “I shall, — I must.” “Oh! pray, — you shall if you leave off tickling then, — oh! don’t pray, — oh! I shall piddle myself, — he! he!” She was rolling on the floor, her thighs exposed, sometimes backside, sometimes belly upwards with all its trimmings visible. “Oh! it’s your fault,” and as she spoke actually piddle began to issue. I had my hand on her thigh, and felt and saw it.

Randy as I was I burst out laughing; and she managed to get up, began to push in her neckerchief which I had torn out of the front of her dress, and arranged her hair.

“Oh! look at me, — if any one came, what a state I am in,” said she looking in the glass, and there she stood her breast heaving, her eyes swollen, her mouth open, and breathing as if she had just run a mile, but attempting nothing, saying nothing further, awaiting my attack. What randy, pleasurable excitement she must have been in, though unconscious of it, whilst only thinking of how to prevent my fucking her against her will.

“You began piddling.” “Didn’t.” “I felt the piddle on my hand.” She made no reply, but passed on, and wiped her face. When I said more she merely tossed her head. “Don’t be a fool Jenny, — let us, — you want it as bad as me.” Then I rattled out my whole baudy vocabulary, “prick,” “cunt,” “fuck,” “spunk,” “pleasure,” “belly to belly,” “my balls over your arse,” “let my stiff prick stretch your cunt,” — everything which could excite a woman; to all of which she merely said, “Oho! — oh!” and tossed her head, and never took her staring eyes off me, nor ceased swabbing up her perspiring face, and at the same time looking at my throbbing, rigid cunt-stretcher.

Finding she took to yelling, and even hitting me, I desisted a moment. “Where is the book I sent you last night?” I had till then forgotten it. That opened her mouth. “Have not had a book.” “I saw the boy give it you, and you open it.” “He didn’t.” “He did.” “I burnt it, — a nasty thing, — I would not let my sister see it.” An angry feeling came over me for the moment, for I thought it probable, and should have had difficulty in replacing it. Then came an inspiration to help me, — a man always gets somehow on the right track to get into a woman if he has opportunity. Nature wills it. The woman was made to be fucked, and the sooner for them, the better for them.

“You have not burnt it, — I’ll bet it’s in your bedroom, — in your box.” “It isn’t.” “I’ll swear it’s there, — you have been reading it all night, — I’ll go up and see.” She started as if electrified into life as I made for the door. She got there before me, and stood before me. “You shan’t go, — you’ve no business up there, — I’ve burnt it, — it’s not there.” “It’s in the kitchen then.” “No, I’ve burnt it,” he went on rapidly and confusedly. “I’ll go and see,” said I pulling her from the door, she screeching out, “No you shan’t go up, — that you shan’t, — you’ve no business there.” Then I pulled up her clothes to her belly, she got them down, but still she kept her back to the door. I kept pulling her till her cap was off again, and felt sure she was getting weaker and weaker.

Then she turned round suddenly, opened the door, and ran up the stairs rapidly like a lapwing, I after her. Once she turned round, “You shan’t come up,” said she, and tried to push me back; and then again on she went, I following. I stumbled, that gave her a few steps ahead; I sprang up three stairs at a time, recovered the lost distance, and just as she got into the bed-room, and slammed the door to, I put my foot in it, — it hurt me much. “Damn it, how you hurt my foot, — I will come in,” — and pushing the door my strength prevailed; the door flew open, I saw her running round the bed, and there on the very pillow of the unmade bed lay
Fanny Hill
, open at one of the pictures. I threw myself across the bed, and clutched the book. She then stood motionless, panting and staring at me, she had clutched at it, and failed just as I caught it. She would have got it, but for having to go round the bed.

I laughed. “Have you not had a treat Jenny dear!” Her face was a picture of confusion. I was stretched half across the bed, and now went right across. Then to escape me she ran away, and had nearly reached the door when throwing myself over the bed again I grasped her petticoats under her arse, and managed to pull her back. “Damned if I don’t fuck you,” said I, “by God I’ll shove my prick up your cunt if I’m hanged for it,” — and pushing a hand up behind I clasped her naked buttocks. She turned round, I pulled her petticoats clean up, she yelling, struggling, panting, imploring. I dropped on my knees, kissed her belly, and buried my nose between her thighs. The petticoats dropped over my head, her belly kept bumping up against my nose and lips, which were covered with her cunt-moisture.

I rose up, pushed and rolled her against the bed, my hand still up her clothes. “Oh! don‘t, don’t now, — you are a great gentleman they say, and ought to think of a poor girl’s ruin, — oh! if it was found out I should be ruined.” “It won’t darling,” I had got my fingers well over the whole slit. “Pray don’t, — well I’ll kiss you, — there.” “Feel it” “Will you let me get up if I do?” “Yes.” “There then,” and she felt me. “Oh! I must fuck you.” “Oh! pray don‘t,
—
oh! let me go now, and I’ll let you another day, — I will indeed sir, — oh! you hurt, — don’t push your fingers like that.” “Kiss me my darling.” “You shan’t.” “Then there.” Another struggle. “Oh! I can’t — be — bear it.” Her arse began to twist again, her head sank on my shoulder, her thighs opened; then with a start, “Oh! my God it’s lightning (it began to thunder and lightning badly),
—
oh! I’m so frightened,
—
oh! don’t,
—
another day, — it’s wicked when it’s lightning so, — oh! God almighty will strike us dead if you are so wicked, — oh! let me go into the dark, — oh! don’t, — I can’t be — bear it.” Her arse was shaking with my groping and frigging.

“Now don’t be a fool, — damned if I don’t murder you if you are not quiet!” “Oh! oh!” I had got her somehow on to the bed, she was helpless; with fear, liquor, and cunt-heat. I threw myself on to her. A feel between thighs reeking with sweat, with her cunt in a lather, with the sweat dropping in great drops from my face, with sweat running down my belly on to my prick and my balls; I shoved. One loud “aha!” and my prick-tip was up against her womb-door. A mighty straight thrust; and the virginity was gone at that one effort.

Right up there with but a shove or two as far as I recollect, and without trouble, my sperm spouted directly my tool rubbed through the wet, warm cunt-muscles. Then I came to my senses; where was I? had she let me, or had I forced her violently?

She laid quietly under me with closed eyes and open mouth, panting; I was upon her, up her, pressing heavily upon her rather than holding her; then thrusting my hands under her fat bum I recommenced thrusting and fucking. She lay still, in the enjoyment of a lubricated cunt, distended by a stiff, hot prick. Soon she was sensitive to my moments, her cunt constricted, a visible pleasure overtook her, her frame began to quiver, and the soft murmurs of spermatic effusion came from her lips. She spent. On I went driving as if I meant to send my prick into her womb, fell into a half dreaminess, and became conscious of a great wetness on my ballocks; it was her discharge more than mine, the most copious I recollect, excepting from one woman. Then I dropped off on her side. She lay still as death, the thunder rolled over us unheeded by her in the delirious excitement and delight of her first fuck.

She turned on her side slightly, her thighs and backside were naked, she hid her face, and shuddered at the thunder unheeding her nakedness, then buried her face in a pillow, and so we both dozed for a minute or two. Her backside was still naked, when I looked at her in all ways as she lay, and saw traces of sperm on her thighs and chemise. A little lay on the bed, but no trace of red, no signs of a bloody rupture of a virgin cunt. My shirt and drawers were spermed, but had not a trace of blood. The light fell full on her backside, I could see lightish brown hair in the crack of the parting of her buttocks; a smear of shit on her chemise. Her flesh was beautifully white. She had on nice white stockings, and the flashy garters; she had a tolerable quantity of hair on her quim on the belly side. I sat at the side of the bed, got off boots, trowsers, and drawers; then laying down gently inserted my longest finger and delicately began rubbing her clitoris which I could see protruding of a fine crimson color. Then she moved; she was not asleep, but dazed by the fuck, fear of the lightning, the excitement, the heat, and the fumes of the wine combined.

She stared at me, pulled down her clothes, and tears began to run down her cheeks. What a lot of women I have had cry at such times! “Don’t cry my darling.” She turned on to her face, and hid it. For a quarter of an hour, I talked, but she did not answer. I told her she had spent, that I knew she had had pleasure. Then I pushed my fingers up her cunt; still she did not speak, but let me do just what I liked, keeping her eyes shut. So soon as my rammer was up to the mark, up her it went fucking, and again I felt its stem well wetted. She was a regular streaming spunker.

After that, “I am going downstairs,” said she. “I’ll come.” “No don’t.” “You only want to piddle.” “Yes,” said she faintly. “Piddle here, — what will it matter?” “I can’t.” “I’ll go out if you won’t bolt the door.” “It’s no good bolting the door, — you have ruined me.” I went outside, closed the door, and heard the rattle in the pot. When I re-entered she was sitting at the side of the bed crying quietly; she did nothing but look at me, but without speaking. “Arrange yourself in case any one comes to the door.” “No one will come.” “The milkman?” “He will put it down inside the porch.” She sat down the picture of despair. Never had I felt more lewed, I was mad that day with lewedness. “Let’s feel your cunt,” said I, “I have spent in it three times.” “I don’t care what you do, you may do what you like, — it’s of no consequence.” I felt up her cunt, she hung her head over my shoulders whilst I paddled my fingers in the wet. “Don’t hurt me,” said she. “I have not hurt you.” “Yes you have.” “Let’s look.” That roused her. “Oh! no, — no, — no, — you shan’t.” “Wash your cunt.” I fetched the sherry, but she had not washed her cunt. “You should wash it out.” “Oh? — oh!” said she. “If I should be with child I shall never be married.”