Anonymous: Randiana, or excitable tales.

Drawing back my foreskin until my best friend's top nut stood out like a glistening globe, quivering with excitement, I cautiously approached her, for I would have it understood, gentle reader, that tyros in cohabitation should always be cool when engaged in this particular style of sport.

'Straddle your knees slightly, my sweet one,' I whispered.

'For God's sake hasten, Mr. Clinton, this delay is killing me.'

Drawing back once more to allow the candlelight to play on the spot, so that I could not miss my mark, I thrust forward, and got the tip well placed for the final rush, but Julia anticipated me by suddenly squatting backwards, and for the moment I thought my bollocks and all had gone in.

Then commenced one of the most memorable fucks in my life's long record, and certainly one of the most pleasurable.

Every time I felt the inclination to spend I purposely stayed myself on the threshold of bliss in order to prolong.

At last, after Julia had saturated me three times, and was beginning to get pumped out, I brought all my forces to the charge, and giving several decisive lunges, which meant mischief, I fairly bathed her womb in boiling sperm, and the way that solid queen-like cunt closed on my prick, and held it as though we twain were one flesh, convinced me that the estate of Oatlands would in less than a year been fete, and the joy bells of the old village steeple would ring out to tell of a birth at the Manor House.

In the meantime, what had been going on in my own bedroom?

It had fallen out precisely as I had predicted.

Hannah had sneaked upstairs, and had slid into my bed, and De Vaux, without speaking, had fucked her with the dash and genuine passion born of a three years' forlorn hope.

Nor did he discover his mistake even after it was all over, for having in his ecstasy shagged her twice in ten minutes, he allowed her to escape, merely whispering in her ear that he hoped she had enjoyed it.

Hannah, on the contrary, had found out the imposture the moment she got De Vaux's prick in her. She had never felt but two, the coachman's and mine, and De Vaux's, although long and sinewy, was no match for either of ours in point of build; still it was better than not being fucked at all, and as De Vaux's ardent imagination was riding Mrs. Leveson, the servant got all the benefit, and not only prudently preserved her incognito, but lifted her brawny arse in such rare style that De Vaux was more than satisfied.

In the morning I went in to see him before proceeding downstairs; he shook hands with me cordially.

'Did she disappoint you?' I asked, with feigned innocence.

'My dear Clinton, she's a perfect angel, and you're a trump.'

Leveson came back the next day, and I never got another chance of landing Mrs. Leveson, who had fallen enceinte by me, and presented her husband with a son and heir nine months to the day.

De Vaux fondly imagines the kid must be his, and I am quite willing that he should continue to think so, but every time Leveson compares dates he thinks of his night's stay at Hull, shakes his head, and mutters that 'it's damned extraordinary', yet he wouldn't consider it at all extraordinary if he knew as much as we do, reader. What do you think?

The 'gamahuching' process should only be employed as a preliminary and never should be permitted to go to the extent of more than starting the tap. No woman living is able to withstand a moist and well-trained tongue. Even those in whom desire has long been dead have been known to shriek for the relief only an erect penis can afford.

Jack Wilton, the greatest essayist on cunt in an analytical form who ever lived, goes further, and even says-'a judicious tongue can galvanise into life a female corpse'.

This, of course, I do not admit, but there is a well-authenticated instance of a Somersetshire farmer's wife, who had fallen into a trance and was believed by all her neighbours to be dead, being recalled to life simply through the husband giving her fanny one last loving lick.

It is astonishing how prevalent the habit of gamahuching has become in England, and I would, while touching on it, maintain that there is nothing unnatural in it.

A tongue, soft and fleshy, fits in the vagina as though made for it, and though it can only titillate the clitoris, it serves the useful office of a vant-courier to the prick. The proof, if proof were wanting, that there is a distinct physical sympathy between the latter and the tongue, is that in the case of syphilis the tongue is affected almost as soon as the penis shows signs of having made a mistake. The proof again of its being natural to animal life is the fact that if one carefully observes the collection in the zoo it will be seen that when the beasts are in dalliance with one another the male invariably licks over the vagina of the female before proceeding to business.

This is my own observation, but if my readers doubt the statement, a run up to Regent's Park and a few hours in front of the cages will generally corroborate it.

I think to watch a man 'gamahuching' a woman is more exciting than to see her being absolutely poked.

I remember staying on one occasion at a hotel in Paddington where a very pretty chambermaid showed me my room. I had not extinguished my candle more than five minutes before I heard a woman's voice in the next room'Are you going to sit up reading all night?'

I couldn't for the life of me understand this, and thought the wall must be very thin, but it arose from the fact that some distance up the oaken partition there was a hole, caused through a good sized knot in the wood falling out, and although this hole had a coat hanging in front of it, I very speedily discovered it. It did not take me very long to remove the coat, and I saw the welcome light gleam through. Then, standing on a chair, I applied my eye to the hole, and saw a man leisurely undressing, and a ladylike woman, about thirty, with a splendid head of hair, lying quietly in bed awaiting him.

Now, I thought, there is going to be some fun, when a slight knock at my own door caused me to get down and open it.

'A telegram came for you two hours ago, sir, and they forgot to give it to you at the desk.'

'One moment, my girl,' I said, hastily slipping on my trousers and lighting my candle. The chambermaid was on the point of bolting. 'Don't go, my girl,' I said, 'there may be an answer to this; wait until I read it, and listen'-then, lowering my voice to a significant whisper — 'if you want to see a sight that will interest and amuse you, get on that chair and peep through the hole.'

'I daren't, sir, I should lose my situation if anyone were to know I was in a gentleman's bedroom.'

'I'll swear I won't harm you,' I said, and I really didn't intend to, for although the girl was a perfect little beauty, only sixteen and a half, I had done a long railway journey that day, and felt knocked up.

The girl hesitated for a moment, but as sincerity was prominent in the tones of my voice, and she was burning with curiosity to see what was going on, she quietly stepped into the room, and I helped her on to the chair.

'Stay,' I whispered. 'The candle must be extinguished, or they may see you, if they have put theirs out.'

So saying I placed the room in darkness, and there was the light streaming through the hole. Mary, for such the soubrette called herself, immediately peeped.

For at least ten seconds she never stirred, then, getting another chair, I placed it by the side of Mary's and stood on it, with one arm around her waist.

What was going on in the next room I could only guess by the palpitation of Mary's heart. At last I said, 'May I peep, my dear?'

'Oh sir, wait a moment, I never saw such a thing in my life, do wait a moment.'