sultan. — "Ha, ha! Cry away to Allah. You ought to be one of the Peris in the Prophet's Paradise. A wanton woman like you would be properly employed there. What's that instrument I see lying in the grass dropped from you just now? Tell me this instant what it is or I will murder you."
sultana. — "Oh, oh, mercy! It's only a French godemiche!"
sultan. — "A godemiche? What's that for? Speak up" (giving another furious kick).
sultana. — "Oh! Oh! We ladies use it to excite ourselves. Oh, if you only knew who I am!"
sultan. — "Indeed Madame. Tell me, pray, perhaps I may show you some respect."
sultana, hopefully. — "You little think, for I'm the Sultana Valide, it will be fearful for you if anyone should come and catch you."
sultan. — "Ha! Ha! You wish me to believe that, you wanton! Now tell me true, are you not one of the lower women of the palace?" (Kicking again, this time her belly, almost making her faint with the shock.)
sultana, shrieking. — "Oh! Oh! Mercy! I am indeed the Sultana. Oh! Mercy! Oh!" (as kicks follow in quick succession).
sultan. — "So you are really the Sultana and you wish me to believe that, do you?" (Taking advantage of her ceasing to struggle to tie her to a tree with her clothes still over her head, helpless as before.) "Now, you lying woman, I'll teach you to pass yourself off as the Sultana. Here" (placing the godemiche in her cunny) "I'll give you pleasure; tell me how you feel, if I do it nicely or not, or I'll murder you on the spot. Wait a little. I've got a better idea; you must do it yourself; feel my knife," said he again, pricking her bottom and making the blood to run freely. "Resist and I'll kill you; turn around!"
So he alters the fastening till she is extended full length on her back, still secured to the little tree. Then with his knife he cuts a hole through her clothes. She can just put in one hand and use the godemiche.
"That will do; work away at once! I'm going to make a nice little switch from this prickly shrub to keep you up to your work."
The poor Sultana, nearly dead with fright, does her best to obey. His rod of prickly shrubs cuts and scratches her hips and thighs, and sometimes the mount, drawing drops of blood at every stroke. She frantically works her instrument, presenting to his view, as he kneels close in front of her, a most luscious and voluptuous sight, for she is one of those rare women who are splendidly furnished with an enlarged clitoris and prominent pouting lips to her cunny, which are now plainly seen as they draw out and recede, clinging lasciviously to the working godemiche. Dropping the switch he amuses himself by pinching and nipping her clitoris and all around the gaping luscious mouth of her vermilion gap.
His touch seems to electrify her. She screams with delight: "Oh, oh, oh! You make me come! How hot I am! Good heavens! Allah! Allah!" and she spends with such profusion that it shoots all over his fingers as the godemiche is still worked by her nervous hands.
sultan. — "Now, withdraw that nasty thing and let me inspect your wanton crack; you're never a modest woman to have behaved as you have. Give me that godemiche, I'll put it in my pocket."
sultana. — "Oh, pity me! Let me go now. Do have mercy!"
sultan. — "You bitch of a dog, who are you? Now confess or you shall be more and more punished."
sultana. — "Oh! Oh! Mercy! I am indeed the Valide! If this was found out nothing would save me, for the Sultan is my enemy!"
sultan, laughing ironically. — "Ha! Ha! Ha! You think he would have you thrown into the Bosphorus in a sack, do you not? How many poor girls have you served so in your times?"
sultana. — "Oh, none! I was never cruel or jealous like some of the favourites."
sultan. — "Such lies convince me you are not what you pretend to be; now speak the truth will you? I might as well tell you I am the Padishah himself! Did he never have you? They say he's been a regular goat in the harem."
sultana. — "You won't believe me; oh, mercy! mercy! I've been a chaste woman all my life."
sultan, beginning to flog her again with the prickly twigs. — "Chaste, chaste, chaste — I should think so after what I have seen—" (giving scratching switches at every word).
The poor woman kicks about and writhes in agony. Her flesh is soon covered with blood which only seems to excite his fury the more. She screams wildly for mercy, sobbing for mercy: "Oh! Ah! Allah! Allah! Mercy, holy prophet! I shall die! Oh, finish me!"
His excitement is now at its highest. He throws himself upon her, exclaiming: "Holy Prophet, holy Prophet, that puts me in mind of your bottom-hole!" Throwing her legs over his shoulders, he first plunges his bursting instrument into her cunny, well to lubricate it, then presents the head to her dark brown fundus; he thrusts furiously and soon gains a partial insertion. "Oh! Oh! You'll split me!" she screams; "not there, not there, I never would allow the Sultan to do that. Oh, oh! Never. What shame! What filthiness!" she sighs as he pushes on and on, to complete possession, and he rests a little after his exertions, but the nervous nippings and contractions of the fundamental canal are too exciting. He spends a stream of his essence into her bowels which she involuntary meets with a slight heave of her bottom. Both of them exhausted, they remain quite still for some few minutes, affording him infinite pleasure, as he causes his dilated instrument to respond to the contracting pulsations of her anus.
sultan. — "Are you finished now, you wanton?" withdrawing from her body with a noise something like the drawing of a cork so tightly is the muscle of her bottom contracted around his still inflamed affair. "Ah, ha! how tightly you hold! Haven't you had enough? Ha! Ha! I'll take a love token from you, just to remember your pussey when I look at it." So saying, he cut off a good lock of the fine, long, black curly hair of her cunny. "I must have enough to make a bracelet for my wife, she will little think where it came from," he said, hacking away again and again, causing excruciating pain.
"Oh! Ah! Ah! help! Oh, do have mercy! My God!" she sobs. "I shall never be able to take a bath; my assistants will see, it's all gone! Oh, oh, pity me!" she screams, but he cuts on, enjoying her screams and sobbings till the mouth of her crack looks like a chin unshaved for a fortnight.
"You lying woman, I've made a nice Sultana of your pussey for you, and now I'll really finish you off and let you go."
"Holy Prophet! be merciful! Oh, what more misery can you inflict?" sobbing and screaming.
sultan, stuffing a tuft of grass up her fundus. — "That will keep out the cold! Be a pity for a Sultana to catch cold!"
Her legs are wide open showing the red lips and clitoris of her pussey all smeared as they are with blood and sperm; then gathering several tufts of grass with the earth clinging to the roots he proceeds to pelt her cunny with them until one fairly sticks in the entrance. The poor woman is almost unconscious, moaning and sighing, incapable of any efforts to save herself.
With a brutal laugh he shoves his toe into her crack, saying: "Now the cold will keep out of there, tool" Then unloosening her clothes and allowing her to uncover her face he enjoys the spectacle of her tearful, pitiable looks as she sobs and moans in her exhausted state. "Ha, ha! a little water will revive you, you wanton Sultana. You'd better pick yourself up and go back to your apartment," said he, making water all over her and even into her gaping mouth.
She chokes, gasps and falls back in a lifeless swoon. This last indignity had finished her.
So leaving her to recover as best she could he retires from the scene.
A few days afterwards the Sultan requests an audience of the Sultana Valide, as he hears she has been indisposed, and when ushered into her apartment she receives him unveiled in consequence of his exalted rank as her sovereign.
the sultan, refusing to be seated. — "Madame, hearing you were ill I have brought you a present which I hope may restore your animation a little; especially if you use it vigorously as I have seen you do." And he places in her hands a casket of Morocco leather, ornamented with gold, which contains her godemiche. "If your Imperial Highness will look, you will see how I have improved it." (He had put a quantity of her own hair on the india-rubber to make the instrument look more natural.) "I have still enough left to make myself a keepsake," said he, inclining his head as he withdrew from her apartment. "Au revoir, I have repaid you for all your former kindnesses to me."
You may imagine the angry, furious looks of indignant hate which she cast at him as he looked steadily at her, enjoying her shame and confusion whilst giving his present.
HOW HE LOST HIS WHISKERS.
An Episode in the Life of Steve Broad.
You didn't know Steve Broad? More's the pity! A jollier, better-heard and manlier fellow never pissed against a wall.
He was my constant chum from the time we occupied some diggings in Camden Town. Till he went to Australia we were together.
The Siamese Twins, Castor and Pollux, were not more inseparable.
Old Jack Falstaff and Prince Henry and Poins loved each other because "their legs were both of a bigness."
Shall I whisper the secret or one of the secrets of our attachment? Our pricks were both of a length and our arse-holes the same gauge. Don't infer too much from that admission. It was not often that we fucked. There, I will tell you a story that will show you the sort of fellow he was.
Steve had a pal, Alf Nugent, and he and Alf had lived together as chums. Alf occasionally receiving a visit in his lodging from a pretty sister, Lettice, as they called her from Letty Nugent, a charming little blonde with oh! such shoulders; a mouth humid and peachlike and a pair of eyes that would entice the bark off a tree.
It was not long before Steve and Letty struck up an acquaintance. Steve could make love like a Romeo.
Letty was "willing" as Barkis, and the brother Alf was not one to spoil sport, so the three got on charmingly together. Alf often gave a pleasant little party. I was invited. Steve had made my acquaintance in the city, and took me there. I introduced a young girl Kitty Marshall, and Alf brought his inamorata, Nellie Grover. So that the six of us formed a pleasant little gathering and rare fun we had.
Let me sketch for you one of our social meetings after a recherche supper, prepared by the nimble hands of Letty Nugent, who turned out every article as palatable as Ruth Pinch's Steakpie.
The table was cleared of all but wines and fruits, the couches were drawn up to the fire and the six of us would go in for a little fun.
Steve would warble in his rich manly voice a polly song, such as:
There's a thing that bears a well-known name,