Anonymous: The Autobiography of a Flea, Book 2

I deemed it best at this point to transfer my hiding place to Dame Lucille's tresses, whence I could espy the entire procedure with a panoramic view. At once I could perceive from the twitchings of the auburn haired matron's belly that she was responding to the sweet kisses which her husband pressed upon her furry groove. Her knees were still arched up, and her fair white thighs clamped tenaciously about his cheeks to hold him sweet captive to her bidding. Yet the muscles of those round full thighs shivered and spasmed in the most voluptuous manner, as did her buttocks – for of course he still plied his forefinger to and fro within the dainty rosette of her nether channel. Thus dually stimulated, she was in a veritable seventh heaven of anticipatory rapture, as was told also by her cooing little cries and whimpering gasps which made enchanting music in this humble bedchamber.

At last she could bear this Tantalus no longer. Swinging wide her knees, she entreated him dulcetly to enter her forthwith. Her husband did not need a second invitation. As he knelt up, I saw that his cock was formidably taut and bulging with renewed zeal to put her to the test. He looked down at the heaving turrets of her bosom, and his other hand cupped one of those luscious globes and kneaded lingeringly while he continued the gentle in and out movement of his delving forefinger. Next, this worthy winemaker crawled forward on his knees and, crouching adroitly, engaged just the tip of his swollen tool against the moist and palpitating lips of Dame Lucille's ardent slit. Thereupon he began to rub in circular fashion all around the mount of Venus, tantalizing his passionate wife almost to the point of frenzy. Her head began to roll back and forth on the pillow, her eyes were enormously dilated and glazed, and her nostrils flared and shrank like those of a mare in heat awaiting the pronging of the stallion.

I could not but applaud his preparations for so harmonious a copulatory encounter. And his entire preparations recalled to me that excellent maxim which should be part of the credo of every aspiring lover; when the beloved is passionately lusted for, the male should at once relieve his pent-up longings by a swift act, since once this is done nature endows him with great staying powers for the second and enchantingly prolonged bout. There are those men of little faith who, having ejaculated prematurely because they are undone by the beauties of their feminine partner, deplore their own failing and give up the battle, the more fools they! Let the true lover take heart from what I relate of what took place between Dame Lucille and her worthy lord and master, Jacques in this obscure village of Provence. Let him remember that, just as faint heart ne'er won fair lady, just so meek cock ne'er was granted true opportunity to show its prowess.

But these two did not need my somewhat sententious Flea's philosophy; it seemed already to have been inborn within their natures. Dame Lucille at last extended a soft white hand to take amorous hold of her husband's swollen shaft, which to my impartial gaze appeared to be fully as huge as at their first coition. For a moment or two, she tantalized herself by guiding its angrily reddened tip all over the soft crannies of her mount, so that every iota of those greedy, pink, plump lovelips might have their fulsome share. Then, with an eager gasp, as she squirmed her buttocks forward, she guided him in between the palpitating petals of her grotto, half raising her head from the pillow and staring at him with loving gaze as she entreated, “Ohh, m'amour, baise-moi le plus fort que tu peux!” I am certain that no spouse in all of Christendom ever heard more inflammatory appeal, for the luscious matron was, to translate for my readers once again, begging him to “fuck me as hard as you can.” He sank down slowly, cushioned upon her fair white belly, his chest mashing down the proud rondures of her panting bosom, and both her arms enclasped him round the waist and locked him to her, while her naked legs instantly clamped over his backside so that she might be well mounted for the ride to paradise which lay ahead.

Grasping her nape with his left hand, Jacques foraged under her buttocks with his other hand so that he might restore his forefinger to that tighter, more mysterious channel which he had already exacerbated in the prelude to their amour. Dame Lucille welcomed this restoration with a moan of delirious joy and fused her mouth to his. Then he began a slow and deliberate penetration of her tender parts, so leisurely, indeed, that one might think he was astride a slow mare ambling off on a long winding road which had no end. She matched his gait with a delicious cohesion, not hastening any more than he, but it was evident from the flexing of her muscles that she savored each long slow dig within her groove of pleasure. His finger probing between her buttocks matched this rhythm also, thus rousing the auburn haired matron to even greater bliss than she had tasted on their initial sally into the realm of Cythera. She began to babble incoherent words, her eyes shining with lust, and her fingers clawed at his lean, sinewy back, while her plump ivory thighs incessantly shifted over his backside so that every nook and cranny of her inner labyrinth might feel the goading, rasping gouge of his weapon.

I knew that both of them were in superb fettle for their dalliance, and I was certain also now that Dame Lucille would acquit herself as honorably in the winevat trampling out the grapes before the spectators as she now squeezed her husband's potent winemaker between her ivory thighs. So, wishing to broaden my comprehension of the amorous proclivities of her rival, Dame Margot, I reluctantly took my leave of this worthy couple and flew out through a crack in the windowpane to visit the cottage next door where Margot and her vaunted Guillaume were doubtless saying their own carnal beatitudes.

No sooner had I entered the cottage belonging to black haired, olive-skinned Dame Margot and her as yet unseen marital partner, Guillaume, than I found the two of them already lustily engaged in almost the same manner in which I had left Lucille and Jacques. There were, however, notable disparities in their manner of procedure as opposed to their good neighbors. To begin with, their bed was by no means so huge and ample, but much narrower and lower. It rose to about the height of mid-thigh. This, of course, had its tactical advantages, since if the two of them were swooning in each other's arms, they had only to shrink down easily and lo, they would find themselves sweetly couched to coitional repose.

Margot was indeed a comely wench, now that I could see her stark naked. She appeared to be perhaps an inch or two taller than auburn haired Lucille, but this height might well have been illusory – since I did not have them both there together to compare at the same moment – owing to the supple length of her gracefully contoured thighs and sinuously high set calves. Her breasts were closely spaced, beautifully conical, like two ripe, firm pears jutting out their dark coral tips to amorous lips and tongue, and her waist was as slim as that of a young girl's. I found a pleasurable contrast in the smooth, warm olive tinting of her skin as opposed to the ivory pallor of Lucille's. She lay on her left side, turned toward her mate, her left arm loosely embracing his shoulders, while her right hand occupied itself by caressing what at first sight struck me as being an even more able weapon than that which Jacques possessed. Her slit was not at all visible to me – I perched myself at the top of the headboard of the bed – because it was entirely shrouded by a forest of thick black curls which ran even along the perineum and toward the ambery groove which claved her impudently jouncy oval-shaped buttocks, as well as reaching nearly to her navel, which was wide and shallow and in itself a tempting niche for amorous dalliance.