Anonymous - Caroline

“How badly you will think of me,” she sobbed, but I- a little wiser then-sensed that odd mixture of mutiny and surrender that brings so many girls to yield to the insurgent sperm, the throbbing rod of flesh to which their satiny globes must yield.

“You minx-you enjoyed it.” I chided her tenderly. She laughed despite herself and allowed me to bear her back and urge myself between her stockinged legs.

“I suppose you did it with Caroline while you were watching,” she rejoined.

“You enjoyed it,” I repeated, determined to be the victor.

“Perhaps I did.” A low gasp from her. By then my cock was already slipping upwards into the oily, silky recesses of her cunny whose walls gripped my cock spongily as if they had never received one before. “It feels rude,” she said, “but lovely once it's right up and you get u… u… used to it… Oh, Harry!”

Our tongues were licking out their love-game once again. We had been left alone to our pleasure by the Somners and by Caroline. There were dreams, desires, we did not speak of even in the bout. The best are always hidden in the mind and are as condiments to fleshly bliss. “That which cannot be spoken of, or is expressed only in broken, tattered words, is always the best of it,” so Caroline has truly said. The images form, are tenuous as silk scarves in the breeze, are butterflies, will not be caught nor rendered into words, for words are frozen things, are but the coinage of desire and may be freely interchanged, whereas desires are convoluted and will not uncoil to trap themselves within an alphabet.

“The only dictionary of love is in the eyes. The lonely and uncared for pick at cobwebs in the night, and cobwebs have no pages. Such a nonsense are my words, and yet you'll find them true.”

The words were Adelaide's, long after we had entered into this strange life.

Miss Withers has diverted me. The selfsame one I spoke of several chapters back. Much time has intruded, of course, between the afternoon that Caroline reminded me of the lady's then imminent visit and the chapters I have written since. That which takes but an hour to read takes several weeks to write. Words joggle for attention-are dismissed or used. Some inch their way on to the paper, but are then expunged, though cunningly they lie in wait to re-emerge. I find them akin to unattractive girls whose mothers push them forward for attention under the guise of “attractive” or “desirable,” which they are not. I mean both words and girls. Better that I should write in French. It is a mellow language with a mellow sound. Amour sounds more “attractive” than does “love.” Levres are softer than are lips. Tetons pout, whereas breasts do not.

Miss Withers' tetons pouted most desirably, as did her scrumptious bottom. Caroline chose well. Females with pear-shaped derrieres were never to our taste. The shelf that meets the spine slopes far too quickly down; cheeks do not rear when such a conformation is produced by careless Nature.

“What an arse she has! You must use the word in writing of her,” Caroline said after the lady's departure. It was true. The word bulb came into my mind, for such her bottom is in noun and verbal form-pure white and firm, yet slightly yielding to the finger's touch. Delicious to caress, I do confess. Delighting as she does in such, my love would have me say so-hence I do.

It was perhaps our most daring experiment-Miss Withers being thirty-two and virgin. A country virgin with a houris figure, one that should be but rarely clothed as such but always lightly veiled. For hours we caressed her. Thrice I spouted in her nether hole. She may marry, so she said. It seemed the decent thing to do. At her age, I should add. With younger maidens it is otherwise. It is known that with a sprouting of fine hairs about their cunnies and a mounding of their tits they are likely at the least to be caressed and fingered and will slowly, if not quickly yield. The quiet of houses and the sonorous hours-slow passing of the Sundays, and the days of rain when the devil finds for hands good work to do-all add to this.

In country houses such as one desires to enter and where the atmosphere is civilised, though merry underneath, there is accord on this. When a girl is fretsome in the long slow hours of Autumn or on Summer days, she will frequently toy with herself and make herself to come. Such is observed by inference-her ripeness known, her drawers examined for the tell-tale flecks of dried desire. She may then be “taken up” and put to trials, or broken-in, as the old saying is. Better her sire should put his cock to her than some brash youth who may boast of his conquest. There is lewdness here, and yet much sweetness, too. A mother who permits her daughters to be spermed occasionally will be the happier for it, as will the girls, whose amourous cuddles are the warmer for the shaftings they receive.

A girl may be brought to it in several ways. First-and most obviously-by the birch, the tawse, or cane, for then-though her cries be clamourous at first-it is known that she is being “seen to” and that her honey pot has begun to open to the intruding knob whose spoutings she receives. After a birching-though she thinks herself forlorn and lost-the ever-thicker sprouting of curls around her nest will receive the admiration of a tongue, legs held apart the while she bounces up and down in wonder and then finally succumbs to spill her honey.

For several weeks she may be discreetly “taken up” to receive such attentions until her clitty has become as responsive as her bottom to the birch and the two sensations have conjoined in her to bring about a pleasure that she never knew before. It may then be that by such wiles as young females use, she will endeavour to attract more attention by indulging in some “naughtiness” or other that will call for the removal of her drawers and the application of the disciplinary instrument to which she has become most used. Thereupon she is considered cock-ready and, with her well-heated and springy cheeks held apart, will receive her first slow corking until the prick is deep within her fundament and much lewd pleasure is obtained. She has been spouted in and will not cease to want it more, becoming petulant if she is not attended to-in general, on my observations, once a week at least.

As to the second course of action, it may be that impatience obtains on the male side and that the girl affects a ticklishness or will not be attended to with birch or tawse or cane lest she is held. And well she may be. There are often older sisters who delight in seeing such a one receive that which they once more readily surrendered to, though such case is rare. An aunt may take the girl in hand and, having birched her, tickled up her cunny, felt her bottomhole, will soon induce her to drop her drawers the more when the parental birch appears and, by example, lead her on until her first receiving of the prick leaves her desirous for the next occasion.

Some girls sob and sob while being corked at first, while others whimper, snuffle, hide their burning faces in a pillow, their bottom cheeks first held apart by strong, broad thumbs that take no heed of, “Nooo, please don't!” Such exclamations are soon muffled, anyway. The insurgent stroking of the long, thick cock excites. The balls slap underneath their cunnies, tickle there, and help to bring surrender soon enough. “I am c… c… coming in you, love!” The magic words are heard, and she receives. The long, thick gobs of sperm are sucked within. In breathless whispers. she is praised; her bottom squeezes out the last, warm drops, “and all the world a solemn stillness holds,” silk bulb of bottom to his belly pressed, the tickings, pulsings, all enjoyed until the cork's extracted and she flops and lies in rich and trembling wonderment.