Gustav Schlling - Memoirs of a Baron

“You really think so? And what if she had something in mind, herself?”

“Oh, no, she is too old for that. She looks as if she has at least half a century behind her.”

“If I wait any longer, you are going to try to become funny. Ask the lady to enter.”

It was the old woman who worked for my Marquise.

This is going to be an invitation, I thought to myself.

“Dear sir, not too long ago you were so friendly as to give me permission to visit you. And here I am.”

“I am overjoyed…”

I was very surprised, not overjoyed at all. Was she serious? I could hardly suppress a smile.

But she was dead serious! She sat down on my bed and she was as loving and tender as a German girl of sixteen. She finally laid herself down on top of me, kissed me, went with her hand under the blanket and suddenly grabbed my prick.

“Oh, the charming, pretty boy! How beautiful he is!”

Her eyes shone with passion.

For better or worse, it is different, I thought. I got up, bolted the door and carried her to the sofa.

My servant had definitely not been wrong about her age. I was quite surprised that her thighs were so round and firm. Her love bush had suffered from the years, but I am equally as sure that it had weathered many a storm and survived many a flooding. The entrance to the temple was exceedingly roomy and many a pilgrimage had worn down the steps. It almost looked like a small valley.

Surely not much of a charm, but a promise is a promise. I took up my position and discharged my honor as well as I possibly could. It really became something of a sport to find out how many positions we could take up, and it was amusing to see the contortions she went through in order to fan the fire of my passions. And at that, I must admit, she succeeded.

When I finally emptied my nectar into her I had the distinct impression that she became furious. She knew how to squeeze my rod, and it came out of that battle severely bruised.

My dear young reader, it is definitely not a blessing for your body when fate directs you to the altar of an elderly woman. You lose without even gaining the smallest compensation. On the contrary, it is twice as hard on you with one fifty-year-old matron as it is with three twenty-year-old females. The former is no longer capable of surrounding her body with that certain voluptuous atmosphere out of which your own body gathers its renewed strength and vigor. You are the only one who supplies that atmosphere, and the elderly woman draws from it and warms herself on your passion and fire; your spent passion makes her temporarily stronger, but it weakens you. One might compare an older woman with a sponge: she soaks in and swells up, but does not give out anything.

And, if you want to be convinced, look around you. Look at those young men who have married elderly women. You can see for yourself how weak and miserable those wretched young bucks are. On the other hand, many an old rake who has a young girl for a wife is still vigorous and happy and, I would almost say, full of youth. That is because his strength and vigor increase through the embraces with a young and lusty woman, and he himself finds his youth again.

“Would you please do me a tremendous favor, my dearest Baron,” asked my Marquise one night, with an innocent smile on her tender face.

“Your merest wish is my command.”

“As you know, we are going to have supper with the Duchess tomorrow. You would do me a personal favor if you would be as nice and attentive as possible to her.”

“And if I be permitted, may I take the liberty of asking you why?”

(She smiled): “Have you been blind? Didn't you notice that she is terribly in love with you? She has complained to me about your coldness.”

“Only, my dear Marquise, because I have the good fortune of knowing you, and knowing you so well.”

“A Frenchman thinks differently about such things; he bestows favors upon every lady.”

“The Germans, to the contrary, would call that philandering.”

“But you are in France now, and the Duchess is one of my best friends and, therefore, I would consider it a personal favor if you would show some intense interest in her… let's say for one month. And I hope that then you will return to these arms, the ones that now embrace you so firmly.”

“And, what will her opinion of me be when I suddenly break off our relationship.”

“Oh, she will call you mean and dastardly, and she will swear a holy oath that you must be a true Frenchman from both your father's and your mother's side of the family.”

“I prefer to stay with you.”

“No, my dear Baron, I have assured the Duchess that she was uppermost in your thoughts, that, however, the inborn shyness for women which is so typical of you Germans has prevented you from declaring your undying love for her. And I also promised her…”

“I am losing too much, oh beautiful Marquise.”

“If that is true then your return to me should be of so much more value to both of us.”

I had to promise her.

The Duchess was in every respect a very charming and beautiful woman: young and flowering, well-fed, and her eyes were full of passionate fire.

During supper I sat at her side. Her dress was incredibly voluptuous. Her milky globes veritably foamed right out of the top of her daring gown. I recited every single one of my compliments and watched closely as to the effect of them upon her countenance. At about the same time, and as if entirely by accident, I pushed with my knee against her thigh while I turned toward her. She squeezed back softly and a deep red blush covered her face. Thereupon I caressed her well-formed thigh with my hand, found a little opening in her skirt, pulled up her underskirt and proceeded to rub the velvety skin on her inner thigh. I would have loved to explore Venus' temple itself, but it was very difficult to do without attracting the attention of the others.

There were many people at the dinner party, and after dinner we played a game of cards. A heavyset abbot was the bank, and the Duchess proposed that she, the Marquise and I would play a game. When we sat down she fanned herself and complained about the unbearable temperature. The Marquise nodded at me almost imperceptibly, and I gallantly proposed to escort the Duchess to a cooler room where she could get some fresh air. She accepted my proposal eagerly. We sat down upon a sofa. After a few exploratory hand kisses, I threw my arms around her neck, kissed her rosebud lips, and toyed with the immense globes.

“That is not very conducive to cooling off, my dear Baron!”

I therefore laid her down and slipped my hand under her skirt. The fountain in her love copse was foaming to the brim and the Duchess licked her lips when my fingers touched the entrance. Her breathing became labored and her eyes were sparkling with desire.

I made myself comfortable and put my prick at the entrance of her temple of passion. She had become so passionate and swollen that I had to employ a little force in order to achieve entry. She received her favorite guest with a voluptuous cooing and jumped for joy under me at such a fantastic speed that she emptied the cup of passion ere I had a chance to do much of anything. It seemed as if she was about to lose all self-control; her breasts looked like stormy waves.

She kept on groaning and moaning, and she lifted the altar of Venus higher and higher. She became wilder and was veritably thrashing. When I spent, a stream tore forth from her fountain and the entire copse was drenched in flood waves.

Satisfied and happy, we returned to the party, and it was not till two o'clock that we parted.