Gustav Schlling - Memoirs of a Baron

I must admit that the exceedingly large, red, and now swollen, lips afforded a very strange sight. I finally decided to put my prick into her. It was sweltering and hot inside that grotto, and I had barely entered it when the lady started to pant and coo.

“Does it give you pleasure, dearest lady?”

“Oh… yes… YES!”

“Shall we remain in this position? I am sure there is no other way in which I could penetrate as deeply as I do now.”

“Aaaah… qui-ck-er! Ooh! I… can't… oh… my…”

I pressed her flanks together with both hands and penetrated so deeply that even my pouch of passion was covered by the lips of her shame. I forced her to spread her thighs even more and became incredibly excited whenever those hot lips threatened to engulf my seed container.

“I need it… now… quicker… please!”

Finally, after some quick and jolting thrusts, she took deep drafts from the cup of passion.

I did not have to think up any form of petting and necking, because she took care of all that, her hands fluttered all over my body, causing pleasurable sensations as long as I kept my eyes closed. I tried to remain as calm as possible, since it was evident that the widow obtained unspeakable pleasures from her ministrations to me.

As soon as my shaft started rising — she had been kissing and caressing it while uttering low moans and whispering sweet nothings to it — the woman threw herself on top of me and took my breath away with her feverish kisses.

She guided my amour into her grotto and moved frantically on top of me, so fast that it was as if she had to be somewhere in a hurry. She panted and had a coughing fit, and suddenly the dam of her passion juices burst wide open. Spasming wildly, she flooded me with her moisture. She collapsed, totally exhausted, on top of me.

Meanwhile I had begun to warm up to the proceedings and since I assumed that the poor woman would have to spend many a lonely night ere she might have another chance at it, I had decided to make it truly worth her while. That's why I put her on her back and mounted the throne of love again. With a low, muted rattle deep in her throat she clenched me between her bony arms. I made her cross her legs over my back and worked with both hands on the cleft between her buttocks. Then I really started a battle royal!

“Are you satisfied with me, my charming lady?”

“Oh, more than that… this is the most beautiful night of my entire life.”

Her voice quavered when she told me this and the knowledge of it made me feel a little better. At least I had brought pleasure to the rather empty life of this good woman.

I kept quiet when my life juices finally started to flow, because I wanted to enjoy the warmth of her grotto. But as soon as she noticed my balsam squirting into her, she started to buck and ride, pulling me so close to her that I started to feel very uncomfortable. Her unlimited source bathed me in her passion juices and my prick received a bath as copious as it had been given the first time.

I feel truly sorry for a woman like her, who is forced to live out her days being consumed by the flames of her own frustrated passions.

I rested a little bit and then decided that it was about time to take my leave from her.

“Oh please, dear Baron, not yet. Allow me the pleasure of watching you slumber in my arms.”

I was fortunate in finding a plausible excuse, because I could not possibly have remained in bed with her without having to hurt her feelings. But my love accepted my explanation and I did not have to stay.

“But please, let us do it once more!” she pleaded. And she heaped compliments and kisses upon me.

But I still did not feel in the mood to mount that saddle again.

She kept pleading and I could not bring up the courage to deny her. I tried the best I could. I strained my imagination, thought about a thousand different things to inspire my flagging passion. To no avail; my rod barely moved. But she had noticed the little twitching and that was all the encouragement she needed. As before, she flung herself upon me and started to grind with delirious passion. And as before, her passion juices bathed my shaft, causing it to swell, and I made her change positions and managed to satisfy her completely.

I thereupon left her, never to return.

That was one affair which backfired; I was sore for several days and really could not remember one single moment of pleasure.

These were some of the more memorable affairs during my student days, though by no means the only ones. It would become very boring if I had to describe in detail every one of my amorous exploits, including the ones that might have been and could have been. Whoever keeps looking will ultimately find what he is looking for. It worked for me every time, and I have always been singularly successful. The only time I was not constantly on the look-out was during my affair with Madame Flamman.

I now invite my readers to accompany me on my various voyages and see for themselves how I behaved and what I did. I reiterate again that I will make no excuses for my behavior and leave if up to you, dear reader, to draw your own conclusions and judge for yourself.

I was ready to go and my tried and true friend Balthasar had packed all the necessary luggage when something happened which kept me for a few days in the town where I had studied.

I went for a stroll through one of the parks, deep in thought, when my attention was drawn to four ladies who were also walking there. I was especially enthralled by one of them. She had a beautiful figure and her demeanor was majestic. An angelic face looked at me from under her hat. I turned into a small gravel path, planning to walk around and follow the ladies, or even better yet, I would cross the grass and have them walk toward me! It did not work out that way. The ladies had turned around and were about to leave the park. I veritably ran after them, but they had already hired a coach and I saw them drive away. I was very sad that my little ruse had not worked and I walked toward the other gate. Could it be true? There was the coach! It stopped in front of the hotel and I saw my lady love get off. I made some discreet inquiries and found out that she was a countess from Holland.

Would I dare? Yes!

“I am about to leave town in the next few days,” I told the hotel clerk, “and all my belongings are ready to be shipped and my home is empty. I would like to have a nice room here for a few days.”

“We would be delighted,” was the answer and I had my manservant bring some of my luggage to the hotel.

I was very lucky. A small room, not too far away from that of the countess, was empty.

Now I had to find a way to meet her and talk to her. I devised a plan and immediately set out to execute it. I selected a new and good-looking riding habit, went across the street into a coffeehouse and waited till about nine o'clock. I then jauntily scaled the stairs, humming a song, and I opened — as if by mistake — the door to the room of my countess. I was startled, embarrassed!..

The countess was reclining on a couch and her lady-in-waiting was reading to her.

I walked over and kissed her hand.

“A thousand pardons, my dearest lady, my unforgivable haste… did not pay attention… took the wrong door… it was my misfortune to interrupt you in such a terribly rude manner…”

“Who are you, sir?”

“I am…” et cetera.

“Would you care to sit down?”

“Milady, propriety… to be near so much charm may make it very difficult for me not to forget my good manners…”

“It is very difficult for me to speak German…”

“Madame, at your behest, I will be very happy to speak French.”