Anonymous - Voluptuous Confessions Of A French Lady Of Fashion

As soon as he saw me, he threw himself upon me, clasped me in his arms and with violent passion exclaimed: "Darling angel, how I suffer!"

"And I?…"

We were once again between the double doors. Before I knew where I was, our mouths were glued together, my petticoats were up to my navel, his finger pushed itself into my burning slit, that opened beneath its pressure. My hand had seized the darling object.

What more can I say? In a second or two — a few movements of our hands took place — I swooned with joy, and drew away my hand, bathed all over with an abundance of the warm liquid.

Yet a few moments went by without our being able to meet, till at last a happy moment of liberty was granted to us.

A whole hour was ours.

Ah, how we profited by it! My lover came into my boudoir.

I rushed to receive him, and I devoured him with caresses.

"Let us do it quickly," we both exclaimed together, "let us enjoy to the utmost our secret happiness."

I tore myself from him, pulled up my clothes behind, and, getting onto the sofa on my knees, presented my bottom.

He put it in at once, and I very soon swooned beneath his copious discharge.

We then sat down, but my lover was not satisfied, and despite my fears I could not refuse. He went on his knees between my legs, then he made me stretch wide apart. I took his vigorous firebrand in my hand; it was already as hard as ever. I stroked it a second, then pushed it gradually into myself, while I savoured slowly the delightful pleasure.

When the arrow had completely disappeared in its quiver, F. leant over me, and lifting my two legs over his arms threw me backwards, and went to work so lustily that soon a second ejaculation became added to the first, with which I seemed to be already filled.

I do not intend to retrace day by day all our delicious interviews; I will limit myself to a description of the most striking facts of this adorable liaison, that I wished would last out my life! My lover know how to vary our pleasures without ever reaching satiety, he felt a singular pleasure in teaching the art of enjoyment and emission, and he found in me a most docile and willing pupil.

He taught me the names of everything, sometimes making me say them, but only in the whirl of passion; he used them himself in supreme moments of bliss, pretending and rightly too, that such a high spice should never be too much hacknied, or it would lose its flavour! As I write on, I forget myself in these sweet recollections, but what matter after all?

What cunning caresses! What lascivious postures did he not teach me! What whims, infantile play, and even prolonging on both sides! What refinements of pleasure did we not realise as soon as thought of! I made such progress, under such a good master, that often I surpassed him.

I used to vastly like to change the way of doing it. For instance, sometimes when plugged from behind, one of my favourite positions, would unhorse my cavalier, turn round quickly, give a kiss to my rosy conqueror, wet with my spendings, and escape to the other end of the room, I would place myself in an easy chair, my legs upraised, and my pussey quite open, while I gave it a provoking twitching movement. My lover was hardly in me again, when by a fresh whim I would draw it out, make him sit on a chair, get on his knees, my back turned towards him, and taking his courser, plunging in my body to the very hilt, let his burning jet finish our sweet operation.

My dear Minet, as I generally called the splendid instrument of my joy, had become my passion, the object of real worship. I was never tired of admiring its thickness, its stiffness, and its length, all equally marvellous. I would dandle it, suck it, pump at it, caress it in a thousand different ways, and rub it between my titties, holding it there by pressing them with both my hands, Often when captive in this voluptuous passage, it would throw out its dew.

My lover returned all my caresses with interest. My pussey was his god, his idol. He assured me that no woman had ever possessed a more perfect one. He would open it, and frig it in every conceivable way. His greatest delight was to apply his lips thereto, and extract, so to speak, the quintessence of voluptuousness, by titillations of the tongue, that almost drove me mad. (Continued on page 211)

I got so fond of this delicious method of procuring emission, that hardly one of our interviews took place without F. making me enjoy it.

I had alopted for this joy a favourite position. I would recline in a large easy chair that I had purposely placed in my boudoir, with my thighs open, and thrown over the arms of the piece of furniture; my lover, on his knees before me, did a delicious "minette," as he called this way of spending, and when I wriggled and twisted in the paroxysm of pleasure, pressing his head to my belly, gently pulling his hair and ears, and slapping his cheeks, he would drag himself from my grasp, plunge into my cunney, and, enlaced together as one, we spent, till we almost lost our reason.

Sometimes, I would kneel on the sofa, and receive his tonguing offering from behind, my lover glueing his face between the cheeks of my bottom, and finding the delicate spot that received him with joy.

One day, after a rather long separation, my dear F. was able to find me alone. Alas! a monthly obstacle rendered our usual pleasures impossible. I could see he was suffering and looking at my hand in a supplicating way. I was quite disposed to accord him this means of relief, when a mad idea crossed my brain! I remembered the last scene between my aunt and Monsieur B. in the "pavilion" of the park. The situation was identical, I wished to reproduce it in every detail and easily induced F. to honour me. I made him get up, placed him in the same position, and proceeded to do exactly the same as Bertha. I even succeeded, as I distilled the pleasure, to make my lover utter the same words as Monsieur B. He spurted out his dew afar, and I gathered the last few pearls in my handkerchief.

When he had done, I could not help laughing.

He asked me the cause of my merriment.

"Nothing," I answered thoughtlessly, "it reminded me of something,"

I saw his face change, and quickly guessed the mistake I had just made and what suspicions were gathering in the mind of my lover. Not wishing at any risk to cause him the least shade of vexation, I made him sit close to me, and sure of his discretion I told him all that had happened to me before marriage. The story amused him greatly; he made me enter into the most minute details… When I told him how I was led on to procure sweet pleasure for myself, he exclaimed: "Ah, darling! what would not I have given to see you FRIG your delicious little CUNT?"

He asked me a lot more questions about my solitary habits, and I went so far as to tell him that on the day of our interview at Madame D.s, I was so full of thought of him that I had done it that very evening.

"By Jove," he answered, "this is truly curious! Confidence in return for confidence, dear angel, to know that the same night and probably at the same hour, we were exchanging our souls in mutual spending!"

"What do you mean?"

"Listen. I went home, madly in love with you, I wanted you directly I had seen you. I could not yet believe that I should be happy enough to possess you, but all my efforts tended to that desired end. I went to bed and thought only of you! I was in a fearful state,… you can guess how!

I put out my light, and, conjuring up your image, covered your face with imaginary kisses. Then I did what you were doing, and the pleasure was so great that I am sure we emitted at one and the same time…"

"What! Can men frig themselves, as we do?"

"Certainly. Why should this natural means of relief be denied to them? What your pretty hand has just done for me, my ugly paw performed for my solitary gratification."