Anonymous - Voluptuous Confessions Of A French Lady Of Fashion

"How do you call this style of fucking?" said I. "You have not touched the poor little cunt that has had nothing this time."

"It's called… but never mind, well call it mignonner. That's a pretty word, isn't it? and goes well with rnimtte."

"Well darling, mignonne me again, I begin to like it. Ah! I can feel your nice prick reviving; treat kindly this ARSE you love so much… Don't go away yet, I beg of you. I want your spendings once more."

As I rattled out all these little bawdy words, that I knew electrified my lover, I loosened the tightness of my buttocks gradually, so as to leave him full liberty of action.

I began to feel again the advance symptoms of that double pleasure I had just felt, my lover was not yet quite ready, I seemed to feel him get weak, I told him not to leave me, and we rose again with infinite care to our first posture.

"Now, my darling," said I, "don't move. I'll do it all myself!"

I began to wriggle my rump carefully backwards and forwards. My lover, on his knees, as still as a statue, was passionately contemplating this libidinous sight. He could see, as he told me afterwards, his arrow, held as though in a vice, appear almost entirely, and then be completely lost to view in its harrow quiver.

After a few minutes of this delicious fun, my lover had recovered his pristine vigour. I could tell that by the growing thickness and stiffness of the member that bound our bodies together. I soon felt him shiver; broken utterances issued from his lips. I let him know that I was ready, and a fresh jet of spunk caused us both to swoon away with joy.My well-beloved F. was right. I grew to like it! How many times has he not said with his soft voice, as he leans over me: "Where will you have it?"

And how often have I not pointed to my bottom, with my finger, and answered: "There!"