Jacky S - Suburban Souls, Book I

I explained to her again that although she was absolutely free in the eyes of the world and could get married tomorrow if she liked without a jealous word from me, when alone in tête-à-tête with me, she was to have no shame, and I intended to destroy in her all feelings of pudicity, by forcing her to do everything I wanted. I should teach her the pleasure of being humiliated and degraded by the man she loved, and she would gradually get to relish the idea of trampling on all laws of decency. The initial stage would produce a novel kind of peculiar pain and suffering that would heighten and prolong her sensual enjoyment, as the smarting hurt of my mischievous punishments would retard the moment of joy and these conflicting emotions plunge her finally into the wildest vortex of lubricity. She listened devoutly and said the idea pleased her greatly. I secretly resolved to make an expert whore of her. She should have no shame, and recoil from nothing a man's lechery could invent in the delirium of desire. I wanted-mad vision! — to fashion a harlot out of a virgin, and hand over to a husband a Messalina with a maidenhead. I knew that I could easily fashion her to my wishes.

Anybody can by hook or by crook get a girl to lie still and with the aid of a little force and fascination gradually establish complete connection, but molding a virgin to one's wishes seemed to me something new, and soothing to the last few fragments of my tattered conscience. I hankered to enjoy the winsome lassie and I would at that moment have cut off my hand sooner than have harmed her, or dishonored her. I thought, in my folly, that I was behaving honestly to her, and I took great credit to myself for my forbearance. How far was I right or wrong?

June 22, 1898.

I hesitate before beginning to narrate how I at last was able to press my Lilian's unveiled form in my arms, because I have to make an avowal, which I am sure will not be fully understood by many of my readers.

I loved Lilian with all the strength of my black soul. I cannot help if my brain is incapable of jealousy. I had given her my heart. I thought of nothing but her night and day, but I cared not what she did or to whom she granted her favors, as long as she proved her love for me. Worse than all, I wanted her to have other adorers. I would have placed her myself in the arms of many men, if she only came back to me afterwards. And the idea that her mother's lover pursued her with his lascivious obsessions; that he was perhaps her real father, caused me to love her more. Am I not sufficiently vile? And yet at the same time-supreme contradiction, that I cannot understand myself, unless it was the remembrance of my first Lilian-I respected her virginal film. I looked upon her as a sacred trust, as something I must not harm or violate. She was to me an idol to be worshipped, that I venerated too much to shatter or spoil. Once and for all, I must, since I have sworn to tell the truth, make a statement to which I shall not recur again.

Whenever I had an appointment with Lilian, I always took care to have had at least one emission, either the night before or, more frequently, in the morning, as our meetings were in the afternoon, so as to be sufficiently cool and not too excited, thus remaining master of my passions and preventing myself being tempted to rob her of her virgin's crown.

My sweet girl came at last quite punctually. She sat by me, close to me, and chatted. She told me that an employé in the offices of the Gare de l'Est had been frequently pestering her with his attentions. He wanted to marry her. He had seen her father, who had bluntly told him that his daughter had no dowry, and that he would not give her to any man unless the suitor could prove that he possessed at least a fortune of ten thousand pounds. The poor clerk had retired crestfallen. If the story was true, it only proved that Mr. Arvel did not want her to be married. I hinted as much to her, but she laughed the matter off and kissed me passionately, and I returned her caresses, devouring her face and neck. And now she gave me a great deal of trouble. I could not get her clothes off or pull up her skirts. She struggled against me. I was vexed, tired, and hot. It was not a loving encounter, but a wrestling bout, and to every one of my efforts she kept on repeating:

“You hurt me! Oh! You hurt me!”

At last, I persuaded her to consent to undress and get into bed with me. After a deal of haggling and on condition that I closed the window curtains, she gave way. I think she saw I was getting disgusted at her prolonged resistance.

She made me undress first, go to bed, and await her. I agreed and soon afterwards she slipped under the coverlet by my side. I went to take her in my arms, when she pulled the sheet between us so that my body should not touch hers, and giggled hysterically. But I soon clasped her in my arms, and, pulling up her chemise, enjoyed to the full the pleasure of feeling her flesh against my naked body.

I took her hand and put it on my member. She dragged her fingers away and turned her face from me. I asked her why she did so.

“Oh! I make such faces when I enjoy! You can't know how nervous I am!”

How did she know she was ugly in the moment of joy? Who had told her?

“You must take my thing in your hand, Lily!”

“No! No!” she exclaimed.

“But see, I touch you!” said I, as I deftly manipulated her little button.

“You hurt me!” she whined once more.

So I, out of temper, feeling inwardly that she was coquetting with me, grasped her round the waist, threw her light frame over on to her belly, and, pulling down the sheets and blankets, fully exposed her posteriors. Her bottom was round, well-shaped, and larger than one would have expected from such a slightly made creature.

“You won't do what I want, will you? Well, I'll make you. I'll slap you until you obey me!”

Then, without sparing her, I held her tightly with my right arm, and my left hand rained down a succession of smart slaps on her buttocks.

She struggled, shrieked, and kept on her eternal complaint:

“You hurt me!”

I spanked her with all my strength, paying no heed to her cries, and I should think she suffered nearly five minutes; a long period when being punished.

At last, my fingers aching, and being out of breath, I was about to desist, when she gave in and begged for mercy, putting out her hand to caress my private parts. She was more tractable now and I masturbated her until she gave down her elixir, but she still complained of the pain my exploring finger caused her.

Perhaps I did go a little too far. Perhaps I wanted to see if the hymen had been ruptured between November and June. But no, she was still virgo intacta.

She was very wet with all these maneuvers, which I could see and feel she enjoyed. I got on top of her, made her open her thighs, and put the head of my instrument just beyond the outer lips of her grotto, which, by the way, were very large and hairy, and inclined to be fat. I did not intend to follow up my advantage, but I enjoyed the feeling that the clasp of her lower mouth gave to the tip of my acorn.

When I got too far, or pushed forward as if to begin the work of penetration, she continued her parrot-cry:

“You hurt me!”

I rolled off her body, she turned on her side, and her bottom was against my dart, as I clasped her to me. I placed the bursting, swollen weapon between the robust hemispheres. She liked this. I imitated her eternal, plaintive: “You hurt me!”

I asked her if she was happy and whether she would like me to suck her now.

“I want you first!” she murmured.

So I, being rampant, in spite of my efforts to keep back the emission, started plunging and pushing as if I would sodomize her, and I am almost sure that the tip of my organ of virility was in her anus. She was very hairy, and unlike women in general, had a slight growth all round the little wrinkled hole of her beautiful bottom.