Anonymous - The simple tale of Susan Aked

'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.