Anonymous - Pearl

They all came and I was married one fine May morning out of compliment to my name. After the ceremony the clergyman asked permission to have the first kiss on my cunny, which I granted him in the vestry.

We went for our wedding tour to the Isle of Wight for a month during which time my husband was satisfied he had got me with a child. He then gave me permission to have as much outside fucking as I wanted.

I told him I should wait until we got home as I was longing for a taste of Mr. T's noble tool and also for my dear father's prick.

My husband was pleased with my determination and engaged Mr. T as librarian, and in that capacity he remained until the lamented decease of Mr. Sinclair at the age of ninety, who left me with one daughter nine years old, and all his money.

As soon after his death as was decent I married Mr. S— whom I found to be one of the best husbands.

Susey often pays us a visit and brings young girls with her to please Mr. T who has a penchant for the unfledged cunny, and often has a game of blindman's buff with the naked children, and a romp with my little Agnes when she is naked. The little darling is now twelve years old and very proud of being able to make "her new papa's cocky get big," as she says, by rubbing her little cunny against its head.

Mr. T anticipates the pleasure of taking her maidenhead when she is fourteen. I tell him that it is too early and that he ought to wait until she is fifteen, but he is so impatient that I fear he will have his own way.

So good reader, both lady and gentleman, farewell!

And may you never want a fuck,

Nor yet a prick or cunt to suck.

finis.

ACROSTIC — MADRIGAL.

C ome love and dwell with me

U nder the greenwood tree,

N o one can happy be,

T han I shall be if bless'd with thee!

P laced near your mossy grot,

R ises a rustic cot.

I would bear thee to that spot,

C ool when the sun is hot;

K ind fair one, linger not!

F lowers bloom their brightest there!

U nknown fragrance fills the air!

C ome, sweet Chloe, grant the prayer,

K neeling I make to thee!

ACROSTIC — THE MARTYR.

F inn as a rock the noble martyr stood,

U nbending as a rod of tempered steel;

C almly he sees the touch ignite the wood,

K nowing the agony he soon must feel.

M ighty the influence which makes the body

Y ield prompt obedience to the power of will!

C onscious of being right, this is the motto,

U pon his banner writ in words of light.

N o other motive can supply the power,

T o cheer the martyr in his dying hour!

D ying because he would maintain the right,

E ver should rule in place of boastful might!

A nd so the martyr's name shall never die,

R ound the whole world the stirring tale shall fly.

P eoples unborn his noble name shall learn,

A nd his example make their bosoms burn;

P atriots shall hail him as a brother true,

A nd write his history for all to view!

THE DISAGREEABLE PASSENGER.

A Yorkshire excursion train the other day contained a rather morose-looking individual, who being offered the newspaper, grumpily replied: "I don't read!"

"Will you take a cigar then?" asked another passenger.

"I don't smoke!"

Presently a third offered him his flask.

"I don't drink!

This happened in a carriage with open compartments, so a clergyman who had overheard it all and thinking that perhaps a little intellectual conversation would be more to his taste, leaned over the back of the seat and said: "Would you like to step over here with us, there is only myself, wife and daughter?"

"I don't fuck!" was all he got for his kind intention. And we need not say that he was both disgusted and chagrined as the laughter of the others pealed through the carriage.

A QUESTION OF LUNACY.

A lady the other day, wishing to get an imbecile son into an asylum, consulted a doctor about a certificate and he naturally enquired as to the actions of the alleged lunatic.

Lady — I must tell you that lately at Christmas he would get up at night and eat all the mince-pie in the pantry.

Doctor — That is only gluttony.

Lady — There's something awfully shocking to tell: The other day he threw the servant down the stairs and fucked her!

Doctor — Mere depravity, that's, all. Now allow me to explain the difference to you, Madame! If you had told me that your son had eaten the servant and fucked the mince-pies there could have been no doubt about the necessity of confining him in an asylum.

THE SULTAN'S REVERIE.

An Extract from the Pleasures of Cruelty.

This brings to my mind, says Lucidora, a tale I have heard of the late Sultan, who, being middle aged and worn out with the amorous exertions in the well-filled seraglio, determines to seek some fresh excitement; everything seems so insipid and blasй to him.

At first he is at a loss how to amuse himself, but one day, discussing with his chief eunuch the arrangements and routine of the harem, a circumstance which never gave him a thought before suddenly gives him an idea that he may get both satisfaction and excitement from cunt, viz., that when he came to the throne (he was a nephew of the previous Commander of the Faithful), he left the Sultana Valide unmolested, who in the lifetime of his predecessor had intrigued in every possible manner to set aside his succession in favour of her own son contrary to the usual Osmanif custom. Since which time the baffled Sultana, a beautiful lady of about thirty, had peevishly shown her hatred of him by keeping the strictest seclusion, only walking by herself quite unattended in the most secluded part of the extensive gardens of the seraglio,

The Sultan had heard of the once famous beauty of this proud lady and was assured by the Chief of Eunuchs that she was still surpassingly lovely and was suspected of indulging in every variety of voluptuousness with the ladies of her suite in private.

sultan. — "At what hour does she generally take her walk in the garden?"

chief of eunuchs. — "About seven in the morning, your Majesty; she is an early riser and first goes to the Mosque then walks in the garden for an hour or more or sits under the trees reading some exciting French work, but retires as soon as the eunuch gardeners disturb her."

sultan. — "Well, good; keep the gardeners from that part of the garden tomorrow. I will have a private interview with her Majesty."

chief of eunuchs. — "Her Majesty would feel insulted to be addressed in the garden even by the Sultan. Consider, Sire, her late position, and what deference would she expect even from your Majesty yourself."

sultan. — "By the beard of the prophet! I'll bring her to her senses without even telling her who I am. She has never seen me. It will afford infinite satisfaction to witness her haughty, proud indignation, at a stranger's intrusion on her privacy. But leave me to consider her dignity, all I want is that you keep out all intruders, and be sure to awaken me early enough in the morning."

Next day, at an early hour, the Sultan is ready for his anticipated excitement. It is a lovely morning in early spring; and he thoroughly enjoys the invigorating, soft sea-breeze which rustles the leaves of the trees over his head.

Seating himself on the grass behind an Oleander thicket, close to a pretty little lake, so as to command a long vista of one of the principal walks, he gives himself up to a reverie of his chibouque. "Ah, to think I never thought of her before, the beautiful haughty. Oh, Allah, what a fine revenge for all she did against me. What a delicious time of day. How curious that although I can scarcely get my poor cock to rise at the prettiest of my odalisques, one always awakes in the morning with a standing pego. What is the cause of it? Perhaps it indicates the proper time of day for voluptuous indulgence. Ah, yes! That must be so for I always notice how I am, especially if I have indulged in too much Frankish brandy overnight. That's our only stimulant. Ah, Allah! why did the prophet forbid us the glorious wine? Spirits were not known then or he would have put a veto on that also. Women, women, nothing but women for good believers! What a man that prophet must have been and after all nothing else for us in heaven! Shall we not be exhausted or cloyed with pleasure there? Ha! Ha! Ha! Of course I'm a true Musselman, but it takes a big faith to believe all that, or about Isa either. Religion is a manufactured article in all countries, a monopoly not to be interfered with lightly; but no one will know the mystery until after death. How true the saying of Solomon: 'That the only real good is to enjoy your life and thank God for it.' There is but one God, whoever is his prophet; we were never intended to make ourselves miserable.