We walked home quickly, my little terrier Spot moving close behind us, and sniffing at each of us, as though he smelt something very nice. Lucia laughed when she noticed it, and said he was a very sensible little dog.
When we got home she took him into her room with her, and I believe Spot had a very good time of it. At least, I know that on another occasion when he was in my room, he came whilst, I was changing my drawers and licked my cunnie in the most pleasant manner, a thing he had never offered to do before. Lucia knew a thing or two.
When I went downstairs I found Mrs. Warmart talking in a most animated manner to Lucia, so animated, indeed, that I could not but think she had been having a good glass or two.
Ah, here the darling comes,' she said, as I entered the room. 'We were just saying, Miss Susan, that you are old enough, and big enough, to be showing your beauties to the world. For what's the good of a girl made like you hiding herself in the woods. You are getting old enough to be thinking of a handsome young lover.'
'I dare say,' said the talkative old lady, winking at Lucia, 'Miss Susan often wakes in the morning and wonders where the brave young fellow is, who she dreamt was abed with her.'
'Not she!' said Lucia. 'You never knew such a girl, Martha! I don't believe she ever thinks of a lover at all! She certainly does not dream of one. Beetles and butterflies and old bits of stone are more her way'
'Ah, well!' replied Martha. 'Miss Susan may have a butterfly yet for a lover, and I'll be bound she will find he has a good pair of stones with him.'
Lucia burst out laughing.
'Aye, and she will like feeling and examining them too, won't she, Martha?'
'In course she will, the darling! But look at the pretty innocent! She don't know from Adam what we are talking about!'
'Well, I don't,' said I, 'and what is more I don't want to. I detest the idea of lovers and should never have thought of such a creature, but for Lucia's chat.'
Ah, well, dearie!' said Martha. 'Believe me, woman's comfort and blessing lies in a man, and just as a man ain't perfect without his woman, so is a woman wanting until she has her man, to fit like into her.'
Lucia clapped her hands.
'That is it exactly,' she cried, 'just like one of your beloved flowers, Susan, when the male part fits exactly into the female.'
'I don't understand you,' said I, bewildered. 'How can a man fit into me?'
'Oh,' said Martha. 'Miss Lucia can tell you, Miss Susan dear, and most girls of your age would know it too, without going to bed with a man.'
'The idea!' cried I.
'Well, when you are married, won't you have your husband in bed with you?' said Martha, laughing.
'I'll never be married!'
'Fiddle-sticks!' cried Martha. 'It would be a sin for you not to be married. You'll never know pleasure without, and I can tell ye, young ladies,' said she, sinking her voice to a whisper, 'that until a girl marries a man she don't know what pleasure means. I've known girls, young ladies, quite afeared the day of the first night they were going to sleep with their husbands, frightened to go to bed, thinking something dreadful was going to happen, and next morning die of laughing at their odd fears, and long for night to come, so as they might have some more fun.'
Old Penwick's bell rang and put a stop to Martha's chat, and I turned to Lucia and said, 'Really, Lucia, you must tell me all about men and wives, and teach me, because I feel like a fool when you and Martha go on so. I don't understand one atom, though perhaps,' I continued, as a bright thought struck me, 'men tickle their wives as you tickled me this afternoon, and that is what Martha meant?'
'I tell you what, Susan darling,' she replied, 'I won't tell you now, but I'll come to you after you have gone to bed, for I don't want to chat on matters it would be difficult to drop, if that old lady came in suddenly atop of us. I think she has had a little too much to drink, and is merry; another time she might speak quite another kind of talk. But come upstairs. I want you to try on my stays, for positively you must leave off wearing such barbarous ones as yours, and we must go to Worcester tomorrow, and see what the shops there can produce, and if we can't get what I fancy there, I must write to London for some to be sent down for you to fit on. Such lovely bubbies as these,' said she, laying her two hands on my breasts, 'must not be squashed flat and displaced, but be left free to rise and fall.'
So upstairs we trotted to my room. The first thing Lucia saw on entering was my wet drawers spread out on the bed.
'Good gracious, Susan! Why did you leave those things there?'
'Why? What harm if I did?'
'Because if old Mother Warmart should have happened to see them, her suspicions would at once have been roused, and goodness only knows what she would have thought-very likely that you had been had by a man.'
'Well, Lucia dear, I am sorry; but indeed I never thought there was any reason to hide anything I did. I know you meant no harm, and I am sure I did not, when we had the tickling match.'
'My dear, let me tell you that, although all the world does what we did, and a good deal more too, yet, just as our cunnies are covered up from sight, so are the deeds done by them. So we will put your drawers away. They are nearly dry, and if they stain at all, it will be very slightly. Martha will not guess the truth.'
As she spoke she took up the garment, and held it out in front of her to examine its state of humidity.
'Oh Lord, what drawers! Why, they are only cut up behind. You ought to have them cut up to the waistband in front too, Susan.'
'Why?'
'Because how on earth could your lover feel you if you had things like this on? Instead of finding a nice charming bush, and a hot little twat ready and eager for his hand and probing finger, this wretched calico would be in his way! And how on earth could you manage an alfresco poke if you wore these drawers?'
'Well, considering I would die sooner than let a man touch me there, I don't see it makes any difference. I am afraid I am extremely ignorant; but I don't know what an alfresco poke means, Lucia!'
Ah, well, you'll learn, and soon too! I'll take care of that. But now off with your dress and petticoats. I want to see how my stays will fit you.'
So saying, she commenced, with her usual agility, to undo her dress, and before I had got mine half unhooked, she was standing before me in her chemise and drawers only.
'There!' she cried, standing in front of me. 'Look, Susan. Do you see how free my breasts are? Nothing to compress them. Each in its own little nest. They don't require support, for they are as firm as rocks, and hard as marble. Feel them!'
I did. Strange to say I had never seen a girl's bosom naked before. I had no girl-companions, and the only youthful bosom I had ever seen bare was my own. I was immensely moved at the sight of the glowing bosom before me, so white and so beautiful! I put my hand first on one and then on the other of the exquisite globes, and felt a great pleasure thrill through me as I pressed them. Though not literally 'hard as marble', they were decidedly extremely firm and elastic, and their shapes were perfect. Lucia was right to consider her bubbies lovely, for they were.
'Kiss them, darling,' said she.
I did so with pleasure. It seemed to me as though some new revelation were opening up to me, for I never should have imagined there could have been anything so delightful in a girl's bosom, had I been asked about it, before Lucia exposed hers to me.
'Now, come! Quick! Off with that dress, you dreadful old slow coach!' she cried to me. 'Here, let me help you.'
In a moment she had me in the same state as herself. I saw at once the hideousness of my stays, which were much too high and much too rigid and which fitted neither breast, waist nor hips. Lucia quickly had them unlaced, and opening the top of my chemise, which she complained of as being too high in the neck, she slipped it off me so that it fell to the ground, and except for my drawers I was naked before her.
'Oh, the little beauties!' she exclaimed. 'Oh, the charming, charming little bubbies! How nice, how firm! Why, Susan, I declare I should never have thought you had such perfections. Those beastly, disgraceful stays must be burnt, you must never put them on again.
'Bubbies like these,' she continued, pressing them in her hand alternately, causing me to feel my cunnie tickling, all on fire again, 'are not meant to be shut up in a box, but put under a glass case, so that they may be seen, and their full beauty appreciated. What lovely, lovely, little rosebuds. Like tiny coral marbles, topping little mountains of snow. I must kiss and nibble them.'
And down went her lips first onto one, and then onto the other, whilst her naughty hand again sought the cunnie she had taught to tickle at her touch. Impatiently she tried to find the division of my drawers, and at last did so, but so far back that she could not get at what she sought after.
'What beastly drawers!' she cried. 'But I won't be baffled!'
She ran to the dressing table, took a pair of scissors and, before I knew what she was at, she had the point through the calico, and had ripped it down.
Throwing the scissors down, she clasped me round the waist with her left arm, and again attacked my bosom with her lips, whilst her hand, having no obstacle to oppose it, took possession of my fleshy motte and throbbing cunnie; She was altogether too delicious for me to wish to oppose her. With the palm of her hand she pressed the rising, elastic cushion above the deep line, whilst her middle finger slipped in up to its knuckle, and was completely buried in my rapidly moistening cunnie.
'How nice! What a sweet, sweet little cunt! How velvety and soft inside; how quickly it responds to my touch. Oh! What would not Charlie give to get his prick into such a lovely shrine of love.' She rambled on, moving her finger up and down, occasionally withdrawing it to seek another more ticklesome spot between my cunnie's lips, near the top, and then pushing it in deep, in and out, until I felt ready to die with the pleasure she caused me. At last she felt a convulsive little throb, which told her that I was very nearly come. She clasped me to her bosom, her breasts against mine, swerving her body a little from side to side, so that her bubbies swept on mine, backwards and forwards, her nipples catching on mine, and tickling them immensely, whilst with her lips open and sucking my mouth, I felt her moist tongue darting in and out between my teeth.
All this takes longer to write than it did to act. I felt myself growing faint with exquisite languor. I could see nothing. One vast pleasure seemed to embrace me on every side. I was all on fire, and suddenly, with almost a pang of voluptuousness, I spent all over Lucia's hand and wrist. Keeping her finger still gently moving, and gently pressing my motte, she drew back her head, looked at me and said: 'Now, Susan, was not that a nice one?'
'Indeed it was,' I said, feeling almost unable to speak from excess of emotion.
'Well, a man would give you fifty times as much pleasure with his hand, and a thousand times more with his prick!'
Then she suddenly left me, ran for my towel, wiped her hand and then commenced to wipe me gently between my thighs.
'Ah, what a pearl of a cunnie!' she cried. 'What a lovely bush and what a lot of silky hair you have here, darling! What a splendid motte! A regular cushion for love to repose upon! So elastic, yet so soft! Gods! Why am I not a man now that I might enjoy all these beauties?'
'I almost wish you were, Lucia darling,' I said, laughing, 'for I am getting most particularly curious to know what new bliss there can be in store for me. But really! Do you know, I believe you are making me lose every particle of modesty I ever possessed?'
And I laughed again.
Ah, Susanna mia! Modesty is the shift which covers the cunts of us girls; a useful garment enough when we go abroad into society, and one which no wise woman would care to be without, but in intimate friendship like ours, it becomes useless, nay, like those wretched drawers of yours, and those abominable stays, all absolute bars to freedom and ease. I would not offend against modesty in public, but with you, or my lovers, I think it is a thing to be put off, and I like to be a natural woman on such occasions, naked as the ungloved hand. Ah, happy thought! Let us strip altogether now, and have a good look at the shapes beneficent nature has given us!'
She threw away the towel, and slid first one shoulder, gleaming like polished marble, then the other out of her shift, unbuttoned her drawers and let them fall to the ground, whisked off her garters, pulled off her stockings, and in less time than you could count to ten, dear reader, there was Lucia as naked as she was born, and as beautiful in her nudity as Venus fresh risen from the sea.
I, as usual, was slow. In every step I was hesitating. A struggle between consciousness and innocence seemed to occur every time I was asked to take a pace forward on the road to the fulfillment of the sacrifices to love, though I am bound to say that the struggle became weaker and weaker as every forward bound brought with it new and more exquisite enjoyment.
But Lucia could not tolerate slowness; she came and added her nimble assistance, and in a moment I was, like her, in a state of perfect nature. A kind of bastard shame, however, took possession of me. Not even before Martha had I been accustomed to be so completely naked as I now was, and instinctively I put one hand over my motte, whilst with the other hand and arm I attempted to hide my bosom. I felt myself blush, too, under the keen gaze of Lucia's beaming eyes.
'Oh, the charming, charming Venus de Medici!' she cried, clapping her hands. 'Don't stir from that position, Susan dear, you are lovely, lovely. I want to walk round and observe and admire you from all points of view. Don't stir. Just lift your hand a little bit off your motte! That's it. Ah! I can see in you what that Venus was not permitted by her sculptor to show; the sweetest little cunnie retreating between voluptuous thighs, and shaded by the most silky-haired nest I have ever seen,'
And so she chattered on, walking round and round me, putting me into various attitudes and claiming, in what sounded like the language of exaggeration, at all the perfect beauties she saw in me. According to her I had the very finest shape she had ever seen; the glossiest, whitest, smoothest skin, without a spot, a girl could possibly have; a bosom for a god to revel in; thighs to clasp a Lazarus with and bring him straight back to life; whilst my cunnie was an object so perfect to outward appearance that Venus herself would have envied me. All this time I was taking equal stock of her, and of her beauties. Ah, reader! Would that I had the pen of a poet, that I could do Lucia justice. I only half listened to her ravings about myself, so absorbed was I in gazing on her. Every movement was a verse of poetry, and every charm a blaze of beauty.
My room was lighted by one high window, and on one side of this window was the press in which I hung my clothes. It had a broad door, and that door was a large mirror, fully six feet high. I was a girl of nature. Had I ever bathed near this mirror I should have often seen myself naked reflected in it, but as a matter of fact, it never struck me that it was worthwhile to take the trouble to walk from the corner of my room, where my bath was always placed for me, to look at my naked charms in this glass. I used it occasionally when I dressed with extra care to go to church, or to go into Worcester, or to Malvern, but I was not much given to admire myself in any glass.
I had no idea that I was beautiful, and I did not care for my face. But Lucia, who was very artistic in her taste and no mean hand with brush and pencil, at once saw an opportunity for a pretty picture. She drew the curtains of the window so as to form only a broad chink, through which light enough would shine to illumine any object near the window, but not so much as to cause any powerful reflections from the walls, and then placed herself and me, side by side opposite the mirror. I was delighted. I had never seen anything so perfectly lovely as we looked in that glass. Two naked nymphs with the most graceful forms, glowing with life, showing all that makes beauty most bewitching; rosy cheeks, cherry lips, glistening eyes, necks and arms, thighs of polished marble, breasts looking each a little askance tipped with rosy nipples, skins as pure as snow but lighted with the faintest rosy tints, as of light reflected from a dying sunset sky, and forms which shone out against the dark background, sharp, yet soft lined, and clear as the light of day. Oh, what a mistake artists make in failing to ornament the soft, rising triangle beneath the curve of their beauties' bellies, with the dark curling hair that Nature has provided, surely to enhance the lovely slope which leads to the entrance of the Temple of Love. The contrast afforded by this dark, bushy little hill, and the surrounding white plain of the belly, or the snowiness of the round, voluptuous thighs is really exquisite. And why do painters and sculptors neglect the soft, inturning folds, which form that deep, quiet-looking line, that retreats into the depths between the thighs, half hidden by the curling locks, but plain in nature, and to deprive woman of which would take from her her very essence? They don't do it to men. I have seen statues and pictures in which all that a man has, prick, balls, bush, are represented with striking fidelity, if partly idealised: why then should it be indecent to picture woman's most powerful charm? It cannot surely be said that what men most prize in her is too ugly to be drawn or moulded. Lucia was wild over her lovely picture, as she called it. She put herself and me into various attitudes and admired, as indeed did I, all that the faithful glass reflected. I could not help noticing, however, that her form showed greater maturity than mine, but she told me that there were few girls of my age who could compare with me in that quality, and that in a very short time, some few months, my shoulders and hips and limbs would be as round as hers.
'As for your bosom, Susan, I would not wish to see it one atom more developed. I should like you to keep these exquisite little bubbies just as they are. Let them grow just a trifle firmer perhaps, but not one atom larger. See! A man's head could hardly completely cover one. They have just sufficient prominence to fulfil the law of beauty, and they look so imploringly at one as though to say “Please squeeze me! Please kiss me!” Your motte I should like to see just a trifle more plump. Another quarter of an inch rise would do it no harm, and be more agreeable for a man to feel when he drives home the last inch, or squeezes in the last line after the short digs.'
'I am beginning to understand,' said I, 'but Lucia, now you have the opportunity, and no one is near, tell me all about a man, and what it is he does to one. What are short digs?'
'I'll sleep with you tonight, my pet,' she said, kissing me, 'but I shall have so much to tell that I won't spoil the fun by beginning now. Besides, when once I get on that topic I shall get so wild, I know that nothing but my copious and repeated spending will relieve me, or you either,' said she, archly laughing and stroking my cunnie most delightfully. 'Now,' she added, 'come, dress, and put on my stays, and I'll put on yours, and we will go and exhibit ourselves to Mrs. Warmart.'
Lucia made me put on her stays and dress and she herself put on mine. We were much of the same height and build, only, as I have said before, she was everywhere a little fuller, more rounded, so to say, than I. Both she and I were surprised to find that her dress was not in the least too full in the bosom for me, and it was not simply the stays which made the fit apparently correct, for my own bubbies quite filled up the bags in them; in fact, had they been made for me, her stays could not have fitted better. But it was different with her when she put on mine. Her poor, darling, lovely bubbies were simply squashed out flat, and yet she could hardly get my dress to fasten over her bosom.
'Oh,' she cried, 'the brutal instrument of torture! I will wear it for a few minutes just to show Martha, but no longer. After that, Susan, my dear, we will change again. I wonder how you could have endured such a strait-jacket as this, or how on earth your bubbies ever came to be so sweetly round and pointed as they really are. Mine are crushed!' Then, looking me over, she exclaimed at the beauty of my figure, which was now shown off, she said, to perfection, and had a chance of appearing at last as it should. We ran downstairs to Martha, who, busy at some household work, looked up and mistook me for Lucia.
Lucia was delighted.
'Ah! Susan, I told you so. Now look, Mrs. Warmart, I am not going to let Susan wear those abominable stays any longer. I know I have a good figure, yet just look at me! Did you ever see such a lout of a girl as I look! Positively you would never think I had any breasts at all, and I declare I hardly thought Susan had any either. Yet see! Just feel the lovely little ducks! Firm, round, elastic; such a pair of pretty doves with little rosy bills! It is downright shameful to crush them in such a wooden box of a corset as this. I know my breast is actually hurt under it.'
'Well, you see, miss, it was all her ma's wish. She never liked Miss Susan to look grown up and developed,'
'But why? Why on earth? Anyone could see that she must be quite ripe. Look at her hips.'
Ah, well! She had a good reason, my dear young lady.'
'Perhaps she had, and perhaps she had as good a reason why poor Susan should be condemned to wear drawers which must be exceedingly incommodious at certain times, to say the least of it!'
'Well, yes, miss. There was the same reason for that too. I hardly like to say before Miss Susan, because she is innocent like. Yet she ought to know to be on her guard.'
'Well, Martha, since Susan is quite old enough to know what is what, you might tell us the grand reason.'
'Well, miss, when Master Charlie Althair lived at The Broads, people said that there were not two greater pests than him and Jack Cocklade, who lived in Leigh. I do believe Master Charlie got credit for doing more than he did, but all the people complained that no sooner did their daughters get fledged than either he or Jack would be into them, and that ripe maidenheads could not be found, high or low! What Master Charlie did not pluck, Jack did. No one ever brought an affiliation case against Master Charlie, but Jack is known to be father of ever so many love children. Poor Miss Mary Essex was raped by one or other of 'em in her own father's field, not half a mile from home. I believe that it was Jack who did it, but there was a great noise a little time after when she and Master Charlie were caught hard at it by Mr Essex in one of his barns. They were caught in the very act, and it was that which caused Mrs. Althair, who had no idea until then what a lively lad he was, to go away from The Broads. I believe she had to pay up handsomely for that little spree of her son's, and being a very strict and straight lady, she could not face the people after her disgrace, as she called it. Jack, indeed, got imprisoned for his share, because Miss Mary Essex confessed he had had her before Master Charlie and against her will; but Master Charlie was let off pretty easy because she had to admit that she did love being had by him. This happened some five or six years ago, and poor Mrs. Aked got such a shock she wouldn't let Miss Susan out by herself, nor allow her to have her drawers divided at all. But poor Miss Susan complained she could not do her jobs easy when she had to unbutton her drawers behind, so she had them cut as you find them now.'
I saw that Lucia was shaking with internal laughter, and I felt beetroot-red with shame. But more and more I understood what was said about Charlie Althair and Jack Cocklade, and why my drawers were so made as to cover my cunnie completely when not partly loosened.
'Well, Martha,' said Lucia, 'I think Susan can defend herself in future. So anyhow I am going to take it on myself to drive her to Worcester tomorrow to look for a decent pair of stays, and as she is so uncomfortable in her drawers, we will cut them up in front and make them as they should be.'
'I'm much afraid you can't go to Worcester tomorrow, my dear young lady, because the horse has gone to be shod, and won't be back till tomorrow afternoon. Bill Coachman is going to Hereford to see his wife's mother, and said he would not be here till tomorrow evening, but the brougham will be ready for you the next day after.'
'Well, so be it. We can wait a day. Come, Susan. Now for goodness' sake let me have my stays again!'
So off we trotted upstairs once more. I admired myself in the glass until Lucia had taken off her dress, and then, with a sigh, I yielded her own, and once more clad myself in my old habiliments.
Agreeably to her promise Lucia came to my bedroom after Martha and the servants had gone to bed. She sprang into my bed and clasped me in her arms and kissed me repeatedly and said, 'Oh, Susan, we will have such a night of it. I'll tell you all you want to know, and I will show you more, and I will prove to you that it is downright folly to lose years of youth, which can be so well turned to profit by using the charms and senses nature has given you. But let me put my hand between your legs, darling. Ah, that is it. Now I'll just slip my finger in this delicious little cunt. You do the same to me!'
Ah! Now am I not nice and hot and soft inside?'
'Indeed you are, Lucia, like velvet warmed before the fire.'
'And so are you, darling; but now we won't have any tickling yet. Now I will tell you about men.'
'Oh, do! I am dying with curiosity, Lucia.'
'Well now, just here,' said she, pressing her thumb on a spot above my cunnie, 'a man's thing grows out from him. That thing is called his prick, or his yard, or his tool, or his Johnnie, or half a hundred other names. When it is not standing, it is about two and a half or three inches long, all small and soft and flabby and wrinkled, but when it stands it is seven or eight inches long, as big round as my wrist, and hard as iron. A most formidable weapon to thrust into the poor little belly of a girl!'
'But what makes it stand, Lucia?' I asked, breathless with unaccountable emotion, and feeling a strange shiver pass through me at the notion of such a monstrous thing being thrust into my belly.
'Oh, there are physical reasons for that which I won't go into now, but the actual cause of its standing is desire. When a man thinks of a girl and wants to have her, up goes his prick; it lifts itself with pride and power, and becomes just like a bar of iron covered from end to end with a thick, soft, velvety skin. If you were to take a good hold of one in that condition you could move your hand up and down, without the skin slipping from under your fingers, just like you can move the skin of a cat on its body!'
'Really? How curious!'
'Yes, well, there it stands. But it is not exactly round. It is slightly broader than it is deep, so to say, and it has the most curious-looking head imaginable. It is something like a cherry at the end, and in the tip is a little hole, out of which comes the dangerous stuff which makes the little babies!'
'Oh, my!'
'Well, the head is shaped there like a bell. It is bluish purple round the lower rim, which rim forms a regular shoulder. You can slip the moveable skin right off the head and behind the shoulder, and there it will stay, unless it is forcibly put back again. Underneath the nose, as I will take it, of the prick, the moveable skin is fastened, not far behind the point, and when the stand or stiffness is gone out of the prick this fastening pulls the cap over its head again!'
'How very curious! How convenient!'
'Well, now. Under the prick, nearly as far back, but not quite, as the place where it springs from, is a very curious, very wrinkled bag, in which the balls are-balls something like small eggs, and far nicer both to feel and see. I dearly love feeling a man's balls, and does not he like it too? They feel slippery and hard, but you must take care not to squeeze them tight, as it hurts a man very much; but gently handling them, lifting them up with the tips of the fingers, and gently rolling them about in their bag, is most pleasing to every man, and if his prick has gone down, such treatment will quickly bring it back grand and stiff and big and ready for work again.'
'And what are his balls for, Lucia?' said I.
'Oh! His balls hold the stuff he spends when he fucks us, darling. A white, creamy looking stuff, like milk only thicker, which spouts out in jets. I have seen Charlie Althair spout it three feet high.'
'Charlie Althair!' I exclaimed.
'Yes, darling. Charlie was my first love, and it was he who took my maidenhead. He is a grand fellow everywhere, and no girl could have him in her bed without going half mad over him. He is able to give extraordinary pleasure, and I ought to know, for I have had plenty of experience.'
'Then there is a difference between men that way, Lucia?'
'Oh, there is indeed! Sometimes one gets hold of a fellow, well made in every respect, but an indifferent bed-fellow, not simply because he does not, or cannot give one enough, but because he does not know how to do it properly.'
And how should it be done properly, Lucia?'
'I'll tell you, darling. Oh, if I only were a man! If only instead of this cunt I had a rattling, fine, big, long prick, as stiff as a poker, and a well furnished pair of balls hanging to it, I would show you, my Susan! I would show you what a real, good, unmistakeable fuck is! I am just the one who knows how it should be done, to be well done.'
Ah, Lucia; but as you have no prick, and no balls, can't you tell me all the same? I am dying to know.'
Ah, my sweet Susan is growing randy! I know she is. I think a little bit of a spend would do her good! I tell you what,' she said, her voice growing thick and hurried, as though emotion were choking her, 'I will show you how a man gets onto you, and how he moves, and I will make you spend a dozen times, for, darling, I must either spend myself or burst!'
So saying, she pulled my chemise above my bubbies, and rolled it on my neck, and pulling up her own, and holding its end under her chin and on her bosom, she got between my knees.
'Open your thighs wide, darling, my darling!' she cried in a most excited manner. 'Open your thighs! Draw up your knees! That is it. Oh, my! A kingdom to have a prick now!' She sank onto my belly. She put one hand under my hips to raise them. The other she put round my neck. Her bubbies coincided with mine, and I could feel their hard little nipples pressing into my breasts, whilst mine, equally hard, met her harder and more elastic globes. She pressed her bushy motte to mine, lifted me a little with her hand, and brought the two hot lips of her burning cunnie onto mine. Then she sank her hips. The top of her cunt touched the bottom of mine, and then with a pressing upward sweep, she brought her cunnie all over mine from end to end of the slit. Down she swept again! Then up, then down, until I thrilled through and through with extraordinary and untold pleasure. I felt her grasp growing tighter and tighter, as her breathing became more and more hurried. Her breasts crushed mine, and they seemed to swell and become harder. Then, when she had come to the end of one of her long upward sweeps, she suddenly spent all over my motte. I could feel the hair there inundated. At the same moment she received my offering full on her cunnie as she swept down mine. This excited her immensely, and she redoubled her efforts to make the spasms come again. I clasped her to me. I returned the rain of furnace-like kisses she showered all over my face. I felt wild. Again and again we spent all over one another's cunts and bushes, I can't tell how many times, until at length drenched, breathless and tired, Lucia lay heavily on me, and for a moment we were motionless. Then, lifting her head, she kissed me in the most loving manner.
'My little darling! My own sweetest, darling Susan! how did you like that?'
'Oh, Lucia, it was heavenly! Do it again, darling!' I cried, clasping her between my thighs, and pressing my glowing cunt to hers.
'Not just yet, dearest! No, Susan, I have come at least fifteen times, and you are wet as a drowned rat! Indeed so am I, you naughty little girl! How you do spend!'
'You taught me,' said I.
'Ah, yes! You are a darling and splendid pupil, my Susan, and a perfect mine of these pearls!' said she, pointing to a drop depending from her bush which, when it dropped onto my thigh as she got off me, felt cold.
'Now,' she continued, 'Come, get up! We must ablutionise.'
We both got out of bed. Lucia dropped her chemise and stood naked and beautiful before me. I did the same. She again exclaimed at what she called the extraordinary gracefulness of my figure, and again wished she was a man.
We washed one another's cunnies, and then, naked as we were, again got into bed, and with arms round one another's waists, and thighs locked in thighs, we pressed our bosoms together, and Lucia continued her instructions.
'Well, Susanna mia, that little bit of initiation was a nice interlude, and imperfect as it was, it has shown you at least how you will have to lie when you are had, a la Adam and Eve, by a man, for you must not imagine for a moment that a man has only one way of fucking a girl. There are heaps of ways, all more or less nice, but to my simple mind the Adam and Eve is the best of all, because it is the most natural and the most perfect.'
'But, Lucia darling,' said I, 'I have not a notion of what you mean by “Adam and Eve” as compared with other ways. You said you would tell me how a man should well do it with a girl, so as to be perfect in his action.'
'Oh, my modest little mouse! Now, Susan, say “fuck”.'
'I was not quite sure of the term, Lucia dearest. I did not mean to be over-particular. Well, tell me exactly how a man should fuck a girl, so as to give her the most complete pleasure. For my part, not knowing what it is like, I should imagine that the mere sensation of having so big a thing as you say a man's prick is, inside one's cunt, would be rather disagreeable than otherwise. Why, even you, who have, you tell me, been fucked, have quite a tight little cunt. How on earth can such a small, narrow slit like this take in a thing as thick as one's wrist? I can hardly believe it or, if I do believe it, I can hardly fancy its being pleasant.'
Lucia listened to me with a smiling face. She kissed me, and put her hand on my motte, slipping her finger up to her knuckles into my still throbbing cunnie.
'Yes, my Susan. Our cunts are, luckily for us and our lovers, small and tight. If they were not, neither they nor we would have half the pleasure we do. I say we, because it won't be long now before you know what a delicious, deliriously rapturous and excessively delightful thing it is to be well and often fucked. Oh dear, why have I not a prick? How easy it would be to show you, darling; far more easy than to explain!'
'Oh, Lucia do go on! Tell me, girl you keep me actually on thorns of expectation!'
Lucia laughed, passed her finger deliciously two or three times up and down my cunnie, then took it out, and grasped my left breast in her hand, pressing it gently, as though she loved doing so.
'Well, Susan, here it goes. Now I'll do my best to describe what a man should do to give you the acme of pleasure. First of all he should put his prick into your hand. It is a most thrilling thing to feel; oh, it is delightful when you feel it from end to end. Its hardness like iron; its soft velvety skin, its soft cushion-like head and its shifting hood; his grand balls in their wrinkled, silky, soft bag; and the thick, rough bush out of which this galaxy of manly charms grows, all form objects of delight to the hand that knows how to caress them, and to the cunt which expects so soon to feel their powerful action. Whilst your hand is enjoying itself, and giving your lover the greatest delight also, his hand will be stirring up the very depths of pleasure in you. By the way, before I forget it, let me warn you, when handling a man's prick in this way, do not caress its head too much. It is sensitive, and too much rubbing produces spasms which are very delicious for him, but destructive of your pleasure, for you might make it too excited, and cause him to be too ready to spend. The longer a man takes during the fuck, the greater your pleasure for he does not spend over and over again during a fuck, but once only. That done, he is done too, for the time. So confine your caresses to the shaft of his prick, to his balls, his groin, and his bush, but leave the head of his prick alone, if you are wise. Whilst you are thus caressing him, he will be kissing you. He will be squeezing your dear little bubbies. He will be toying with your tongue with the tip of his. Presently his mouth will kiss you along your neck, until it reaches your bosom. He will kiss your breast with rapture, and nibble each little, hard rosebud. Whilst sending you wild in this manner, his hand will glide over your smooth body and seek your motte; you will feel his hand press between your thighs. Then he will stroke your cunnie so'-she did it to me-'and he will gently press the lips of your cunt together and tickle your clitoris, this little kind of tongue, a veritable imitation of his own prick, but much smaller; then he will slip his big middle finger deep into your cunnie, and tickle you here.' She slipped hers in and found the narrow, tight inner entrance, which she set on fire immediately with her caressing, making me involuntarily spend.
'You quick little darling!' she exclaimed. 'How you do spend! Won't you just like being fucked? Well, now I must not use you up in that way. Keep your spend for when we will have another bout of rub-cunnie. Now, Susan,' she continued, again taking possession of my glowing bubbies, 'you can feel, even from my poor little feminine hand, how very sensitive your cunt is all about the entrance. It is sensitive all along its whole depth, but the sensitive portion par excellence is about the entrance. The difference between a good fucker and an indifferent one, is in the fact that the really good fucker knows this and does his best to produce the most ecstatic pleasure in you by cultivating this extra sensitivity of the cunnie. Imagine your man now with his two knees between yours. He leans over, but not upon you. He supports himself on his elbow. You take his prick, and plant its head justly and neatly between the lips of your cunnie. Then you put your arms round his waist and, with a little pressure on his part, in goes his prick, quite over the shoulder of its head. Its hood slips back, and you feel the sweet thing filling the outer vestibule of your cunt. Then he draws back until he is almost out, and smoothly and gently pushes in again. This time, with an indescribable thrill, you feel that big head force its way sweetly past the inner, narrow entrance. That thrill is worth a fortune, it is so delicious. Then he draws back until he is almost out; with more decided sweeps he thrusts his powerful swelling prick in, passes the narrows, and buries it half-way in your throbbing and beating cunnie. These movements he continues, always drawing almost out, always gaining, by gentle but smoothly repeated thrusts, ground in your cunt. Presently, and all too quickly, you feel his pendant balls touch you beneath your cunnie. Then they beat more firmly against you, and last of all his belly, which has been touching yours all along, presses yours; his hairy motte mingles its brush with yours; your cushion feels his, and his last thrust brings your bodies into the most intimate and close contact. Now the real delight begins. Every stroke, every thrust he gives, is from head to heel of his prick. He gives you long, smooth, deliberate thrusts; every line of those long seven or eight inches tells upon you. You come, you spend, time after time, yet not a drop goes outside. His prick, so to say, closes your cunnie tightly, and your spend only makes its movements more easy inside you. As your pleasure increases, so does his. Presently his agonies of delight begin. All his nerves seem concentrated in the head of his prick, until his sensations are so vivid as almost to take his senses away. Then begin the all too short, as time is concerned, short digs. He shortens his strokes but quickens them, banging his balls against you with great force. Then suddenly he spends, pouring out the fullest riches of his manly strength. You feel it flowing fast into you, like a torrent, like a powerful artery shooting its blood into you. He presses you as though he would crush you into pulp. He forces his prick in, even further than you would think possible. Your downy motte is flattened by his, and all Heaven and its Glories seem open to you! It is over. You have been fucked, and well fucked. Then comes a delightful interval of repose. He lets his body lie all along yours, and he kisses you and pets you and calls you all the pretty things he thinks of. His manly bosom rests on your heaving bubbies, your cunnie, if it has the nutcrackers, tightens and loosens on his prick, giving him further delight. Your motte throbs against his, until you become conscious that his prick does not fill you quite so much as it did, and you feel it gradually slipping out. Your lover gets from between your thighs, and lies on his side, clasping you with his arms, and locking his thighs with yours, as mine do now. The fuck is at an end, and cannot be repeated until his prick stands again.'
'What are the nutcrackers, Lucia?' said I gasping for breath. My heart was in my throat with the emotion her description had raised.
'The nutcrackers, darling,' said she, 'are when your cunnie grasps his prick, as it were, like this,' she continued, taking my wrist in her hand, and clasping it at intervals of time with her forefinger and thumb. 'It must be the muscles about the narrow entrance that do it, for my lovers always tell me that they feel the tightening of my cunt about two inches up from their balls, and only there.'
'I say, Lucia!'
'What, darling?'
'Do you know by what geographical expression our cunts ought to be called?'
'No. What do you mean?' said Lucia, laughing.
'Why, the Red Sea to be sure! Just inside the lips should be the Gulf of Aden, where it is pretty wide; the narrows should be the Bab-el-Mandeb Straits; and the rest the Red Sea.'
'Capital, darling! I'll tell Gladys, who will laugh, I know. Now,' she continued, stroking my cunnie in a lively manner, 'now, open your thighs again, my own sweetest darling, dear Susan, and let me have you again.'
Nothing loth I did so, and soon Lucia was thrilling both herself and me with the pleasure her up and down strokes gave to each of us. At last she made me so tremendously excited that I could lie quiet no longer. I clasped her to my belly with all my might, and as, her cunnie swept down over mine, I gave a vigorous push up with mine. The result was delicious. Both Lucia and I gave vent to a little cry of pleasure, for it so happened that her stiff little clitoris had just reached mine, and my push up made these delicate, charmingly sensitive, little organs penetrate, slightly indeed, but still penetrate, our respective cunnies. The immediate consequence was copious spendings on either side. Lucia kissed me frantically, gave up the sweeping movement, and pushed her cunt straight at mine. Our clitorises rubbed in a most ravishing manner, as we writhed and thrust, and thrust and writhed, and spent time after time, until fairly exhausted, the perspiration standing in little pearls on our foreheads, we relaxed our hold on one another, and Lucia, resuming her place by my side, lay panting, but quiet. At length she said, 'How Nature does teach, Susan!' 'Yes, dear,' said I, still struggling for breath, 'but how?' 'But how?' she cried. 'Listen to her. “But how?” Why, what made you give such a delicious buck, darling? It had not entered my head to tell you. I never did it with any girl, myself, and would not have believed it could been of any use had it been proposed. What made you do it?' 'Do you mean why did I push up?' 'Yes, why did you buck, as pushing up is called?' 'Buck rhymes with fuck, does it not, Lucia?' 'Of course, and cunt with hunt, prick with lick, balls with halls, bush with push, and so on, but what has that to do with your bucking, Susan?'
'I can't tell you, darling,' said I, kissing her, 'I only know I could not lie quiet any longer, and so I gave a buck up, like a horse does when his rider spurs him too much.'
'Well, Susan! I can only say that if ever a girl was created for the purpose of fucking, you are she. You seem to take to it like a babe does to its mother's breast. Ah! I do envy the fellows who will have you. I know right well they will think your cunt Heaven.' 'I don't know, Lucia! They may not like it at all.' 'Oh, won't they? A man likes a girl to show that he gives her pleasure. They don't like buck-jumping horses, but they do love a good bucking girl, and you do it as if you had been trained to it.' 'Well, no one trained me, Lucia, as you know, for I did not imagine any pleasure, such as you have given me, was ever to be extracted from my cunnie. But do you buck when a man is fucking you?'
'Oh yes, but there is an art in it.'
'How?'
'Well, you see, the object of bucking is to get in the very last quarter-inch of the fellow's prick, which would probably remain outside if you did not buck; to get a good strain onto his balls; to get a good squeeze together of your two mottes. All that adds to the pleasure for both of you. The time to buck is when you feel his balls begin to touch you, then begin a gentle upward stroke, or perhaps a kind of circular stroke, ending with a good bump against his motte. If you begin too soon, you hurry his stroke, a thing to be avoided because you make him spend too soon; the buck should, as I say, be so scientifically done as to complete the entire swallowing up of his prick in your cunnie!'
'I see. Now tell me, Lucia, if I have learnt the lesson right. When a man fucks you, he ought to get his prick in little by little?'
'Just so!'
'Then, after he has once got it in the whole way, he should draw it all but out, and then with one long sweeping stroke, bring it in right up to his balls?'
'Right up to his motte, darling, for his balls touch you first.'
Ah, yes, right up to his motte. Then he should go on so, until he begins to feel that he can no longer withhold his spend, and then he is to fuck like fury.'
'Just so-like fury,' repeated Lucia, laughing and kissing me.
'Well then! Should I buck like fury too?'
'No, because, unless you kept exact time, you might throw him off his stroke. The best way, then, is to raise your hips as much as possible, and, so to say, give him your cunt more freely than ever. When you feel him spending, clasp your thighs round him. Press him to your bubbies and belly, bite and kiss him, and let him feel that you are as much in heaven as he is.'
'Ah, I see!'
'There is another thing you might do which is not bad. When you feel him spending, shake him well, by alternately and quickly drawing up each foot and thrusting it out straight again. Get onto me and I will show you how, darling!'
I got between Lucia's thighs and pressed my cunnie to hers. I could not resist giving her some strokes with mine, so our mutual fury recommenced, but the roles were altered. At first Lucia responded to my thrusts by vigorous pushes; at last she held me tight, so that our cunts exactly covered one another, and our clitorises were side by side, and then, drawing up one knee, she suddenly straightened it again, at the same time drawing up the other and again straightening it. This she continued until we were simply smothered with spend. It was exquisite, for our cunts seemed to open and swallow one another, our clitorises rubbed against one another and when we left off, we found it impossible to lie in such a wet bed. We got up, washed our cunnies, mottes and thighs, and then we walked, naked as we were, to her room, where we got into her cool, clean, dry bed, leaving mine to dry as best it could. Then Lucia said, 'Susan, darling! There is only one serious drawback to fucking, and that is its extreme danger!'
'Danger?' I echoed. 'What danger, Lucia?'
'Babies!' she said.
'Babies!'
'Yes, babies! You see, darling, when a man spends in us, he shoots into us enough stuff to make thousands of babies if, like fishes, we were capable of producing thousands of eggs at one time.'
'Eggs! Lucia! What are you talking of?'
'Facts, Susan! Solid, sober facts, of which I must tell you too, and which you must remember, and be well on your guard always.'
'Oh, Lucia!' I cried. 'Is that really true? Don't humbug me, darling! If there is one thing I have longed to know about, it is how babies are born. I, of course, could not be so entirely ignorant, but that I knew that a baby proceeds from its mother. The Bible tells us that much. I guessed, too, that something mysterious happened between husband and wife whereby a baby was manufactured, but I had really no idea of fucking! I had no idea that my cunnie was anything more than an accident of nature. The truth is that since you have taught me these exquisite pleasures, the real facts have begun to dawn upon me; but even now I am ignorant of why fucking should produce babies, and you astonish me still more by speaking of eggs! Are women hens, then? When do they lay eggs? Tell me! I am dying to know, if only from a scientific point of view. Tell me, darling!' and I kissed Lucia again and again, as if to coax her to tell me a secret she was really quite as anxious to impart to me as I was to hear it; only, in my eagerness, I forgot that one who had been so free from all restraint, both of action and word, with me would not be like my mother, who used to tell me I was too young to understand whenever I approached her as to this thorny, or perhaps I might more appropriately say this 'prickly' subject of creation.
Lucia laughed at my eagerness.
Ah, Susan!' she cried, clasping me in her arms, and kissing me so kindly. 'I can see that it is more from a desire to learn the matter as a science, than to know how to protect your sweet little belly from swelling, that you are so eager about it. Well, darling; though my most particular desire is to teach you how to defend yourself from the deadly effects of an unprotected fuck, however nice it may be at the time, yet, as you wish it, I will give you the history of your womb and ovaries, of what they produce; and of the spend of a man, and what it produces, scientifically, as a doctor, for I know the subject well, having often and often talked it over with doctors, fucking friends and lovers of mine. Don't interrupt me more than you can help, and I will tell you exactly, point by point, what the process is. You know already in theory, and soon, I hope, will know it also by practice, what fucking is-that sweetest, most ravishing of all delights. Fucking is only a means to an end. The real end, in nature, is procreation. Fucking causes the male to part with his fertilising spend. It is wrong to call it “seed,” for the seed is really in the woman, not in the man. The man fertilises it, just as your bees and insects fertilise flowers by shaking the pollen onto the stamens. In every flower there is a cunt, darling.'
'A cunt!' I cried.
'Yes, dearest, a regular, sweet-smelling, beautiful cunt. But most plants have hermaphrodite flowers-i.e., blossoms which contain both the male and the female organs of reproduction. Of these plants, some, however, have male flowers and female flowers quite separate from one another. The bees and other insects go from flower to flower. They accidentally gather pollen from one, and carry it to another. Some of the pollen shakes off them onto the stamens of the second flower, the impregnation takes place-the flower, — the pretty cunt withers and the petals fall off, but the seed swells, ripens and in time is fit for sowing again.'
'But surely a girl's cunt does not wither like that, Lucia?'
'No, darling,' she said, laughing and stroking mine with her slender fingers.'
'Our cunts don't wither, but they certainly are not improved by child bearing. They lose their freshness, and when you consider how much, how greatly they must be expanded by a child, however small, being forced into the world through them, you can imagine such a thing happening as permanent enlargement. But any increase in size-i.e., diameter- materially affects the pleasure of subsequent fucks, and I know that men complain of this enlargement of their wives' cunts. Some get bigger than others; but undoubtedly the best fucks are given by cunts which have never granted the passage of a child into the world. However, I am digressing.'
'Oh, not at all, Lucia! This is most interesting. To think that a rose, for instance, is only another form of a cunt! Oh, fancy talking of a nosegay as a bunch of cunts!'
And I laughed.
'Just so! It is quite true, Susan, and when a gentleman gives you a moss-rose, it is a very direct allusion to your cunt, darling. The flower is the cunt, the moss the bush which grows about it. So if you wore a moss-rose in your bosom, and gave it to a gentleman who is up to sniff, he will at once remember the sweet little mossy cunt, which lies so snug and warm between your lovely thighs.'
'Ah, that is the language of flowers. I see it. Now I know why a moss-rose means love.'
'Just so. Because a woman surrenders her cunt as the gift of love to the man she loves. But we are far from our point, Susan. Let us return to our subject. Men have a pair of balls, as you now know. From these balls proceeds, by a roundabout road, the so-called seed, which, deposited in our cunts, produces babies. But we girls, too, have a pair of balls.'
'Balls! Girls have balls, Lucia?'
'Yes, darling, but inside, deep, somewhere near the backbone. These balls are called ovaries. Once a month a ripe girl has a flow of blood, as it were. It is at this time she is producing eggs.'
'Eggs!'
'Yes, eggs, that are very small indeed, not bigger than a pin's head, but real eggs all the same. There is a tube leading from each ovary to the top of the womb, and down these tubes the eggs travel. It is still a question whether the eggs reach the womb fertilised, or whether they are fertilised in the womb, but that is a question for science to unravel. Our question is, how to prevent them being fertilised? Well, now listen. The womb is an organ about the size of a medium pear. It is pear-shaped. Its broadest part is highest, the stalk end, as it were, which enters our cunts, or vaginas, as doctors call them, at the top. Here there is a small hole in the communication between the womb and the cunt. This hole is very tightly closed, but tight as it is, it can allow the spermatozoids to pass, and there are little filaments, like hairs, extremely small indeed, lining this hole, which continually work, sucking up all they can get to come from the cunt. Well, a man's spend literally swarms with spermatozoids. Hush! I'll tell you what they are, but give me time. They are little microscopic objects, something like tadpoles in shape, having a head and a long tail. They swim, and dart and wriggle about. When a man spends in us, he shoots hundreds of thousands in, which at once dart about in a perfect lake of our spend, corked up in our cunts by the man's big prick. Of course, if the mouth of the womb be left unprotected, all the little reptiles have to do is to walk up the hole and get into the womb, helped by the cilix, which I have spoken of as like little hairs. Even if they don't do it at once, they, or some of them, will remain clinging to the lining of our cunts, and in time they will make for the mouth of the womb and get in. Then somewhere or other, they will meet with our egg, if one is ready. They stick their heads into it, and the mischief is done. The egg is fertilised, and in nine months' time the result will be a fat baby.'
'How wonderful! Lucia, you darling! You can't tell how glad, how delighted I am to learn this. Now I understand why what Martha calls love-children come into the world. I thought that only married women could have babies, yet I knew that some unmarried girls had some too, and I wondered how they got them, as they had no husbands. I can't tell you all the absurd ideas I used to have on this subject. I wish I had a book to read all about it in, with pictures, so that I might be sure I thoroughly understood it all. It would give me great delight. And to think of those marvellous tadpole things! I suppose, then, that the reason some women never have families must be either because their husband shoots no tadpoles into them, or they have no eggs ready?'
'Ah, Susan! That is a subject of which I am ignorant, and I don't think doctors even are agreed about it. But I can only tell you that I would never trust to luck, and go without protection from probable evil results, when I have a man. As to eggs not being ready, why, the worst is that these horrible little tadpoles only ask for a snug, warm, moist place to live in, and there they will remain alive; so that, as the egg is bound to come sooner or later in a healthy woman, the tadpole is equally bound to get at it. Say that one of my lovers was here now, and first fucked me, and then fucked you, first one each: it is now ten or twelve days since I had my monthlies-when did you last have yours?'
'Last week, darling.'
'Very well. You would almost certainly have a baby this day in nine months. I might escape but only if the tadpoles in me all perish from perhaps want of some ailment, which a man has, but I have not. But if a tadpole, one only, happened to live until I was next ill, I too should have a baby, a few days after yours. Oh, fucking is heavenly; but it is terribly dangerous when the wedding-ring does not make it the right thing in the eyes of the world.'
'But, Lucia,' I said, an uneasy feeling coming over me, making all the life seem to leave my hitherto hot little cunt, 'if fucking be so terribly dangerous, how is it you care to run such fearful risks? I should imagine that fear would take almost all the sense of pleasure away. I know I should think of nothing but the tadpoles. I don't think I will let any man fuck me, now I have heard what you have told me.'
'Oh dear, yes, you will, Susan,' cried Lucia, laughing. 'I am glad I have scared you so well, because you must always bear in mind what I have told you, that, unless you are fully protected, you can't have a more dangerous thing in you than a man's prick.'
'But how do you get this protection, Lucia?' I asked anxiously. 'And how have you escaped? To hear you, one would imagine that you do hardly anything else than fuck, and you appear to have a perfect armoury of pricks and balls at your disposal.'
'So I have, darling,' said Lucia, kissing me and reviving my crestfallen cunnie with her soothing hand. 'I should have to reckon all my lovers, and it would take more than the fingers on your two hands and the toes on your feet, and mine too, to be able to count all the darling pricks that have been up my cunnie, and as to the number of times they have given me the full delight, I really could not, at the moment, tell you, though I have all recorded at home, names, dates, numbers of fucks and all. But then I protected myself. It is extremely easy'
'But how? But how?' I cried.
'Well, all one has to do is to prevent the tadpoles from getting into our womb, and that can be easily done by means of a piece of sponge.'
'Sponge!'
'Yes, sponge! Look, I will show you, and she jumped out of bed, her lovely white nakedness shining in the light of the candles as she walked to her chest of drawers. She took a little ivory box off it and returned towards me.
How lovely she looked. Her elegant figure, her round, polished shoulders, her beautiful limbs, her broad, gracefully shaped hips, and the brilliant whiteness of her belly and thighs brought out vividly by the rich, dark, thick bush which covered her swelling motte, whilst her exquisite, rosy-tipped bubbies stood out firm, like those of a statue in marble; these all flashed on me, and were all enhanced by the natural elegance of her movements. Oh! I felt that were I a man, I should forget all about possible danger to her, and should desire of all things to clasp that lovely body to mine, and thrust my fervent, burning prick in, up to my balls, in the sweet little cunt I could see half hidden under the dark brown hair, in its snug retreat between her beautiful thighs. Should I then, when naked before a man equally naked, forget my danger in his manly beauty? Suppose, instead of being a girl, Lucia had been a handsome youth? Suppose, instead of that lovely, pouting little cunt before my eyes, I saw a pair of splendid balls, surmounted by a magnificent big, big, big prick, all stiff and standing, such as she had described, would I not be very likely to forget that all that splendour covered a deep danger? That those glorious pendants might originate irretrievable disaster, and that prick, so handsome, so alluring, so desire-compelling, might leave behind it unutterable woe, if I admitted it within my burning and randy little cunt. I felt grateful then to Lucia, that before any such terrible temptations to indulge my passions were likely to assail me, she had opened my eyes to the sense of danger, but I resolved to do as she said and to indulge myself, so soon as I found the lover, and so soon as I quite knew all about the protection, of which she had so eloquently praised the merits. These thoughts flashed through me in a much, much shorter time than it has taken me to jot them down, sweet girl-reader. Ah, dear girls, read these pages attentively, and profit by the experience you will gain. Then lie with your lover, then fuck with your lover, gain all the pleasures, and avoid all the dangers of fruitful, delicious love!
Lucia sat on the bed, and unscrewing the top of the ivory box, drew out of it a fat, little glass bottle, having a wide mouth securely fastened with a ground glass-stopper. Putting in her tapering finger, she fished up a little ivory bar, in the centre of which was fastened a rose-coloured silken thread. This she pulled out until it lifted up a sponge of very fine texture, about as big as a large walnut. The sponge was full of moisture, which she squeezed out into the bottle, and then she held it out to me.
'See!' she said. 'This sponge, Susan, is my shield and buckler! When I am going to fuck, I first put it into my cunnie, so,' doing it as she spoke, 'I push it in with my finger as far as I can, and my lover rams it home with his stiff prick When it is home it covers the mouth of my womb, and when my lover spends, it comes between my womb and his prick. No spend can possibly pass through it, and even if any did, the tadpoles would be all killed by the liquid with which this sponge is filled. It is a mixture of carbonised oil, glycerine and a little rose water to give it a pleasant smell. The carbonic acid, small though it be in quantity, is sufficient for the purpose, and no tadpole can stand its effects. Well, this little piece of ivory prevents the up-and-down movements of my lover's prick from rucking up the cord, and pushing it, too, up to the top of my cunnie; and after every fuck I make it the practice, not only to pull out the sponge, which of course brings out most of my lover's spend, and mine too with it, but I syringe my cunnie well with a mixture of the same lotion as was in the sponge and soft, warm water. Every atom of spend must thus be removed, and I can't possibly run any danger. The syringing if done soon enough, would do equally well; but then good-bye to the delicious, quiet lying with the sweet prick in me, because, my womb being unprotected, a tadpole might, even in that short time, get in! Also good-bye to alfresco fucks, in the green fields, or in the train, or in a drawing-room, or anywhere where it would be impossible to use a syringe; unless, indeed, my lover had any letters about him. But I don't like letters. I like a naked prick. I always fancy I feel the dead skin of the letter when my lovers use them.'
'What do you mean by letters, Lucia?'
'Oh! they are not real letters. I do not know why they are so called, Susan; but they are little coverings of skin, or thin india rubber, which men put on their pricks, and which either fit them tight, being elastic, or are tied close to their balls with little ribbons. Then, of course, not a drop of spend can get into me, because it is all caught by the letter.'
'But that seems very convenient.'
'Well, it is! but I prefer my sponge, which is quite as safe, and does not interpose itself between my lover's prick and the lining of my cunt.'
'And what is the syringe like, Lucia? Is it like those that gardeners use?'
'Bless you, no, girl! It is-but I have one! Ah, happy thought, I have some warm water here; we will syringe our cunts out now! Jump up, dear!'
I did so. Lucia put the basin on the floor, and getting a tumbler, she filled it with warm water. Then she got a long box, about eight inches long, by two wide, and two deep. Out of this she took a long, flexible tube, about eighteen inches long, with an ivory nozzle, and also, in the middle, a kind of large bellows swelling. To the ivory nozzle she fixed another slightly curved, but rigid tube, rounded at the end and pierced there with holes. This passed through a piece of polished ebony, or stiff leather, shaped like an oval, and big enough to quite cover a cunt, which indeed was the object of it. Seating herself over the basin, she put one end of the tube into the tumbler of water, whilst she passed the rigid end right up her cunnie, until the shield came over its lips: holding the shield tightly against her cunt, she began to squeeze the bulb in the centre of the flexible tube, and soon I saw that the water in the tumbler was diminishing rapidly in quantity.
'Are you pumping that water into your cunt, Lucia?' I asked.
'Yes, darling, and it fills it deliciously.'
'There!' she said, relaxing her pressure on the shield, upon which the water rushed out of her cunt into the basin with a splash, 'there! that was very refreshing! Come, and let me syringe you, darling!'
'But,' said I, 'perhaps that won't go up me, Lucia! Remember I have still my maidenhead! No lover has cleared that obstacle away in me, as yours have in you.'
'Oh, that won't matter. You would have to have a very, very fine maidenhead to prevent this passing, and, as a matter of fact, I have felt my finger go past it.'
She caught me round the waist, and put her middle finger up my cunt as she spoke, until her knuckles touched its lips.
'There! I can feel your maidenhead plainly, Susan. The tip of my finger is a good inch past it. Don't you feel me pressing at it?'
'I do,' said I.
After this I made no further objection. The tube gave me a delightful sensation as it passed up. I held the shield firmly pressed against me. Lucia renewed the water, and worked the syringe. It was delicious! The water quite filled me inside and I had a kind of foretaste of what it must feel like when one's cunt is filled by a fine, voluminous prick!
Having dried our mottes, Lucia put away her syringe and sponge, and then we returned to bed, but she asked me to let her have a good long look at my cunnie, which, she said, was such a perfect jewel she wished to examine it thoroughly. To be able to do this with ease, she asked me to lie down on my back, across the bed, so that my legs might hang down over the side. I did so. Then, she fell to admiring my feet, ankles, calves, knees and thighs, kissing them all, as her wanton eyes wandered to regions higher still. It was exquisite, all these warm and almost passionate kisses!
'Now, Susan, darling! Put one leg over each of my shoulders. Ah, that is it. Now I have this sweet little cunt of yours in full view! Lie still, darling, whilst I examine it to my entire satisfaction, in all its beautiful details!
I lay quiet as a mouse. I felt her arms encircle my thighs, and her hands approach my motte, the long, curling bush of which she stroked, and then her fingers, separating and parting the hairs which crossed the soft entrance to my cunnie. These delicate little touches gave me infinite pleasure. It seemed as though Lucia delighted in giving me fresh and fresher experience. Presently I felt her press her thumbs gently so as to open the top of my cunt.
'Oh! the sweet, sweet, little ruby clitoris!' she cried, 'Oh, Susan, you have such a pretty, pretty little tongue here. I really must kiss it!' and down went her hot lips onto my cunt.
I cried out, 'Ah! Lucia! Don't do that, darling. That is not nice.'
'Not nice!' cried she, raising her head. 'Do you mean, Susan dearest, that I hurt you; that my kisses there are unpleasant to you?'
'No, darling, but surely it is not a nice thing to put one's lips on such a part of the body as that.'
'Oh!' said she. 'Is that all? Now, darling, I like to do it to you, and I like it done to myself, and I strongly suspect when you have had a little more of it you will like it extremely. Just see if you don't!'
Down went her lascivious mouth onto my cunt again. Really and truly I had liked it there the moment I felt what the sensation was like. I had only cried out because I felt the small stock of modesty I had left repugnant to such an action. However, as Lucia said she liked doing it, I did not mind, and I lay still.
But only for a moment, for Lucia, having seized my stiff little clitoris between her lips, began to mouth it, and to touch it smartly with her tongue in so ravishing a manner that I could not help crying out with the excessive pleasure she gave me. I did not resist, but I could not lie still. I moved under her devouring mouth, driven half frantic with the powerful sensations of exquisite, almost painful delight she gave me. Lucia seemed prepared for this, for she followed all my movements with skill and patience. If I snatched her electrified prey from between her lips, she instantly seized it again whilst her fingers tickled my motte or groin, or gently plucked at my curling bush. Presently she left my clitoris and ran on the line of my cunt with the tip of her tongue. I felt her face press my motte, her hands smoothly passing over my belly until they reached my bubbies. They took possession of them; my nipples were sweetly squeezed between her fingers, whilst she felt my breasts and magnetised them with her caressing palms. Her cheeks felt so hot against my thighs that they seemed to burn them. But oh, how to express my astonished sensations when I distinctly felt her tongue, gathered as it were into a rod, penetrate deep within my cunnie's lips, and touch the exquisitely sensitive Straits of Bab-el-Mandeb.
'Lucia! Lucia! For God's sake, don't do it any more. You are killing me with pleasure. Oh, dear girl, if you don't take care! I'm going to spend! I'm go… ing to spend! To spend I tell you! Oh… h… h… h… h!' and I felt a flood leave me. It must have inundated Lucia's face, but she only continued her actions, until at last, having spent several times, I actually managed, by drawing my foot up and planting my toes on a delicious, elastic breast, to push her away.
Like a tigress bereft of her prey, Lucia rose, with fire flashing from her eyes, her cheeks red with passion, her bosom shining from the moist offerings I had ejected, and seizing me by the thighs she placed me full length on the bed, and then sprang on top of me. With her knees she opened mine and forcibly spread out my thighs, and then commenced a passionate, amorous combat, for which, in truth, I was nothing loth. Our cunts seemed to fit, and our clitorises clashed, seeming to penetrate deeper than they had yet done. Our mottes got drenched with our mutual spend. I twisted, I wriggled, I fought valiantly, and played my part to perfection, for I was maddened with the almost supernatural excess of voluptuous feelings this lovely burning Sappho inspired me with. At length, after a struggle prolonged until nature seemed to become exhausted, Lucia lay motionless but panting on my belly, until we had both somewhat recovered our lost breath. Then, still lying between my thighs, Lucia raised her head, and looked inexpressible love, and kissing me with rapture, gently rubbing her bubbies crossways with mine, she said, 'There, Susan! I have no more to teach you of the pleasure one girl can take with another. Some women even prefer such delights to those which man can give them. I don't share their opinions, but after you have learnt what it is to be well fucked you must tell me.'
'Oh, Lucia, I can't tell! Perhaps I may after all find a sweet cunt like yours better even than a fine prick.'
'Well! I don't think so,' said she, laughing. 'But it is getting late, my pet. Come, let us go to your room. Your bed is probably dry by now, and mine, look at it! Swamped!'
And so it was. We rose, washed our cunts and bushes and thighs once more, and went to my room. Our modest chemises once again disappeared from sight under our nightdresses, through which the little hills of our bosoms made themselves very apparent, and then we got into my bed, and locking one another in our arms we soon fell fast asleep.
I dare say my reader will say that it was wonderful how an innocent girl like myself could have been so quickly converted into a perfect Lesbian. But, dear reader, if of the male sex, do you remember how quickly you learnt to love when the fair woman who first taught you what your prick was for, took it and pressed it in the velvet palms of her hands? After that first powerful appeal to your passions, how long did ignorance prevail over knowledge? Did you remain shy and coy, or did you plunge at once into that delightful vortex of voluptuous passion? I know your reply; you need not answer. And you, oh, sweet girl, when your eager lover first passed a passionate hand under your petticoats and, seizing the lovely prey of your ardent little cunt, glided a tempting finger into its hot depths, did not that sweet cunt beg you to listen to his prayers, and having once been ravished of your modest maidenhead, and having felt the rapture of that stalwart prick, the soft pressure of those pleasant feeling balls, and the inexpressible poesy of the movements of the blissful fuck, tell me, did you hesitate to open your thighs a second, a third, nay, a thousandth time to your nasty lover? Ce nest que le premier pas qui coute, after that the progress is rapid. Once the spark has been set to the combustibles, the fire rages. So it was with me. Lucia had suddenly attacked me by the weakest side; without knowing or thinking I yielded, and my readers will see if I have ever had reason to regret commencing a course of pleasure which has made my life up to this time one continual feast, one endless song of happy delight.