Anonymous - The Oyster Volume V

'What exactly are you thinking of, my love?' I enquired, caressing the insides of her soft thighs.

'I want you to shave my pussey!' she whispered firmly in my ear.

Sir, I could hardly conceal my astonishment at this brazen suggestion! At first I was speechless but then I thought to myself how interesting a shaved mound would be and Helene's wispy dark pubic bush would be easy enough to remove.

'Your wish is my command,' I said with a smile, and within a few minutes I had organised a bowl of hot water, scissors, shaving cream and a safety razor. First, I just clipped her bush but then I spread the cream all over her pubic hair and carefully proceeded to shave the lot away! I shaved around her thick, red outer cunney lips until all that could be seen, clear and true, was her bald pussey. I handed Helene a small mirror and she squealed with delight as she took a good look.

After cleaning her up with a warm washcloth I rubbed a light oil over her now even more voluptuous cunt. By this time we were both feeling extremely randy and my cock stood up like a flagpole as Helene lay down and spread her legs invitingly. I needed no further encouragement and went down on her without pausing. I chewed and lapped at her cunney lips and let my tongue dart between them to find her erect little clitty. After rhythmically circling it with the tip of my tongue, I nibbled and sucked on the dear morsel and indeed she tasted even better than before. She spent passionately over my face before I withdrew and substituted my knob in place of my lips. Helene eagerly thrust up her hips as my cock slid into her sopping crack. She threw her legs over my back and heaved up and down in time with me as we commenced a most excellent fuck. Despite her own libations, her cunt was exquisitely tight, holding me in the sweetest vice imaginable, so much so in fact that I could feel my foreskin being drawn backwards and forwards with every shove.

But her juices were now flowing so freely, oiling her cunney walls so well that my further thrusts were made easier as my trusty tool buried itself within the luscious folds of her shaven slit.

'Harry, Harry!' she yelled. 'Now, my dear husband, fuck me hard! Push in, push in, there's a love. Oooh! How marvellous, how gorgeous, how you make me spend!'

I made one last lunge forward, my balls banging against her bum cheeks as with a hoarse cry of triumph I shot a stream of hot spunk into her pulsating pussey. I wriggled my shaft around inside her as the sperm continued to gush out of my prick in great jets as we writhed around together, enjoying this great fuck to the full.

On Sunday night we discovered a further bedroom delight and I do not believe it to be merely coincidental that it arose after Helene had taken part in a hard-hitting game of tennis with Mrs. Fitzcockie, the Northern Area champion.

Let me note here that neither of us were ignorant of the practice of masturbation but we had not imagined it to be part of our sexual relationship. Last Sunday evening proved how wrong we were!

Often, before and during a fuck, I would bring Helene to orgasm by playing with her clitty. Occasionally, I would bring her hand to play with her pussey but before now she was reluctant to do so. On this night, however, I simply asked her to finger-fuck herself and she took off as one obsessed! Whilst I was inserting my cock in her cunney from behind as she bent over the bed, she reached down and grabbed her clitty and manipulated it superbly. She soon reached a tremendous orgasm moments before I spunked my stream of juice into her cunt from between her bottom cheeks.

Since then she has been doing this whenever I ask her — and occasionally even when I don't — and she even finger-fucked herself in our carriage on the way to Sir Andrew Stuck's literary soiree in Bloomsbury the other evening.

Helene is a most stunning creature and it is a beautiful sight to see her writhing in ecstasy as she masturbates, her shaved pussey arching upwards as she approached her spend, her head thrust back and her tits straining against the thin material of a summer blouse.

Indeed, yesterday afternoon Mr. Colin Ramsay, the well-known photographer, came round to our house to take some portraits of Helene in the nude and she put on a special performance for the great man; and there is one shot (for Mr. Ramsay was so excited that he worked all night to be able to show us some sample proofs early this morning) of Helene, one hand caressing her nipples and the other fingering her cunney, that deserves publication in your esteemed journal.

I must add that after Mr. Ramsay left this morning Helene insisted that I join in the fun and toss myself off in front of her, an idea that had indeed crossed my mind. At first I was hesitant, not having wanked in front of anyone since our circle jerks in the third form at Nottsgrove. However, after swallowing a large whisky and soda, I pulled off my clothes and took my penis in my hand. My initial shyness prevented me from really letting go but then I gradually got into the swing of things and my hand sped faster and faster along my shaft until with a gasp I shot a stream of semen all over Helene's waiting titties and she rubbed in the white juice over her stalky strawberry-coloured nips.

Incidentally, my wife's tennis has much improved too and tomorrow afternoon she is playing in the London and Middlesex Championships at Hendon. Those knowledgeable in the game confidently expect her to reach the final rounds and if Helene plants her drives and volleys with as much grace and enthusiasm as she now shows in her fucking, I do believe that I will soon be the proud husband of an international player. So I have a great deal of which to be thankful to the game of lawn-tennis, which is why I have today donated two thousand pounds to the organisers of women's tennis so that more young ladies will be encouraged to take up this most edifying of all sports.

I believe that all patriotic men should follow my example for in conclusion I quote again from the lecture given by Professor Balls: The husband of an athletic girl may find his friends wondering why he does not sigh for the “foolish little thing” of other days. But in place of the fragile young flower, prone to swoon at every turn, we now have a growing number of well-built young women of amazing cheerfulness and vigour with a grip on life and upon themselves.' And indeed, if I may be so permitted to add, upon their husbands' cocks!

Yours faithfully,

Harry S. Wharton

Watford Lodge

Rondunn Road

Hampstead

London, N.W.

August, 1894

The Editor replies: My sincere congratulations to the gallant gentleman and his lady wife on discovering that all forms of fucking tend towards achieving the acme of felicity.

Captain John Gibson of Edinburgh, who happened to be in my office when your letter arrived, suggests there is a further avenue which you may care to follow, best expressed in the following verse:

There was a young lady of Glasgow,

And fondly her lover did ask: 'Oh,

Pray allow me a fuck,

But she said: 'No, my duck,

Though you may, if you please, up my bum go!'

Sir,

I am happy to share with readers of The Oyster the ecstatic experiences of some fine fucking I was recently privileged to enjoy on a railway journey to Bonnie Scotland.

As a demure (sic) young girl of just nineteen, normally I would have been chaperoned on the night sleeper to Edinburgh. But my mother's companion, Miss Harrow, had turned her ankle quite badly that very morning, after tripping up over Rex, our pet corgi, so to my great joy it was decided that I could travel alone as Cripps the butler would escort me to Kings Cross Station and I would be met at Waverley, Edinburgh by Colonel McGraw's personal carriage.