Jonathan Richardson

Confessions Of An English Traveler

Prologue

Looking back over my Life-it has not been a long one and I like to think I am still in my prime-I find it hard to say just when the thought of leaving England first arose in my mind. I only know that when I acquired new lodgings for the third time in two years my restlessness had become acute and could not have been cured.

The new lodgings were neither better nor worse than the ones I had occupied for several months previously. But I had grown morose from looking at the same faces and the same rows of brick-walled houses week after week, and moving about had become a necessity for me. If anything had been needed to add fuel to my discontent, the episode which I have just related had supplied it, and only a drastic break with the past remained as a means of improving my lot.

I had very nearly paid for my recklessness with my life and what had I gained from an encounter behind drawn blinds in the small hours that differed from a hundred others I had enjoyed in recent months? What had I gained that I could look back on as different, as wildly exciting?

True, no two women are alike. But when you have explored all of the possibilities resident in the delectable sex in a city such as London, when you have endured needless bickerings and the striking of bargains in disreputable taverns and poverty-blighted streets your thoughts turn to what might be accomplished in a happier climate under brighter skies.

I had spent most of the morning unpacking. There was an eight-foot-high book cabinet which could be swung out from the wall far enough to flood the shelves with sunlight from the window opposite and I could read the title of each book as I set it down.

Most of the books it would have been unwise to place in the hands of the very young. But few men of learning and wide experience would have thought my collection in any way outrageous, for I have a preference for classic volumes which have stood the test of time, and survived the unjustified attacks so often made upon great literature of a bold and candid nature by narrow-minded Servants of the Crown.

As I placed the books, one by one, on the cabinet's two upper shelves I paused to admire the fine gold-and-leather binding of JUSTINE, and found myself idly flipping a dozen or more pages I had memorized almost line for line.

What a hypocrite De Sade had been, pretending to be morally outraged by practices in which he had himself so frequently indulged that his last years had been spent on a mat of straw in a stone-walled asylum, for offenses which Napoleon had refused to condone, despite the presentation copy which the author had made bold to send him. Yet what a superb intellect the man had possessed, how marvellously he had illuminated the darkest recesses of the human mind!

I had closed JUSTINE with a snap and was chuckling, for the hundredth time, over a passage in Petronius, in which two dissolute wights, fleeing for their lives, take refuge in Roman Bath, and observe there a man whose organ was so huge that his body seemed like a tiny, dangling appendage attached to it-I was chuckling, as I say, over what is perhaps the most amusing passage in the whole of Roman literature when I heard a gentle tapping at the door.

It wasn't the first time that my new landlady had announced her presence in that way. But it was barely eight o'clock and the thought crossed my mind that only a matter of some importance would have brought her to my door at so early an hour.

I walked to the door and opened it and she slipped quickly into the room.

“This letter just came,” she said, extending an envelope bearing a small black postal stamp in its upper right hand corner, and looking at me almost guiltily, as if half-suspecting that I would be somewhat puzzled by her promptness in delivering a letter that might not be of the least importance.

Bless the hearts of all new landladies, and bless them again for the curious interest which they display toward every newcomer to the field of combat most dear to their hearts. They take it for granted that no man-be he young or old, or hobbling about on crutches-will find himself incapable of a truly prodigious performance when the shades are drawn and he is given a proper degree of encouragement.

I, for one, have never needed encouragement in that respect. But if women were not so amiably disposed for the most part when a newcomer arrives on the field of battle even the boldest of us might experience qualms and hesitate to exhibit a corresponding degree of audacity.

It is so false, so completely contrary to what I have myself observed all of my life to believe that women must invariably be coaxed and flattered and pursued with tireless persistence to yield to a man intent on seduction! No more than a knowing and ardent glance is needed to break down all of their defenses. Whatever remains after that is pretense solely, and one can shatter pretense as though it were a feather. And if there are a few women who are capable of remaining icily contemptuous and unyielding, one can be sure they are not women a man of parts would choose as a partner in bed-chamber delights.

“I was expecting this letter,” I said, to put her at her ease. “It was kind of you to bring it to me the instant it arrived.”

For a moment she just stood looking at me, as if she did not quite know what to say in reply. She could not have been more than twenty-five and was quite possibly three or four years younger. She had beautiful hair, a dark, silky brown and it descended to her shoulders. But what I liked most about her were her sturdy legs, ample bosom and fresh complexion, which gave her the look of a country girl, wholesome and unspoiled.

Her bodice was loosened and her chemise was parted just above the twin mounds of her breasts. But though I could not see more than the upper part of their swelling curvature I was almost sure that the nipples would be rosy-pink and would stiffen the instant I touched them.

The first move is always crucial, for there are women who prefer a quick thrust bosomward by an impetuously exploring hand, and others the tit-illation of a hand somewhat more audacious moving quickly upwards from knee to thigh to the enchanted circle itself.

The elaborate and voluptuous variations which follow success may take many forms. But that does not diminish the importance of the first bold move in paving the way for a complete conquest.

I decided to be less bold than I might have been if I had been entirely sure that she had tapped on my door with only one thought in mind-to find out if the new lodger was amorously inclined. Perhaps she had delivered the letter solely out of kindness, and I was not so base as to repay an act of kindness with lovemaking, inflamed by bawdy thoughts, that might come as a rude shock to her.

If I had put my hand immediately beneath her clothes and refused to remove it a struggle might have ensued. But at least-if I had proceeded thus quickly to intimacies which would have resolved all doubt-I would have known where I stood and the chances were high that I would have been conducted, by moans of pleasure and many grateful sighs, into a garden of delight, ringed around with the loveliest of flowering plants.

Still-I decided for once to shun all rudeness and a too abrupt attempt to find out if her inclinations were as I had pictured them, if only because she had looked at me so trustingly when I had taken the letter from her hand.

“Won't you sit down for a moment?” I said, drawing a chair toward her, and removing from it three books which I found myself wishing she could have read.

“It seems a pity,” I went on earnestly, “that so much work should be required of you when an older woman, with her youth already spent, would not find housekeeping tasks half as burdensome. Such tasks make the young and gay of heart feel that they are being cheated of happiness, and rightly so. Could not your father afford to employ a housekeeper, to assist you at least? With five lodgers-”

She sat down and shook her head, a look of sadness coming into her eyes.

“My father is quite poor,” she said. “Did you not know that? It is true we own this house. But it is heavily mortgaged and he has been out of work for several months.”

I drew close to her and let my hand rest lightly on her shoulder, feeling that the time for boldness had come.

“I am sorry,” I said. “I thought that your father was a man of considerable wealth.”

She looked at me quickly, then dropped her eyes and for a moment we were both silent. Then a blush crept over her face, startling me.

I thought at first that it was just my sudden closeness that brought a flush to her cheeks, the unexpected touch of my hand. Then I realized that my engine had begun to stiffen and I could not control its rising-a rising she could hardly have failed to notice.

A wave of mad desire swept over me and my hand left her shoulder and went exploring beneath her chemise, cupping her right breast very firmly for an instant and then quickly releasing it.

To my astonishment she said not a word, but sat perfectly still, as if she had anticipated the swift descent of my hand and neither resented nor took pleasure in it.

Having gone so far I saw no reason to desist and lowering my head began passionately to kiss her neck and shoulders, while my hand descended for the second time, and took firm hold of her breast. This time I squeezed it, and ran my forefinger back and forth across her nipple to see if it had hardened. Seemingly it had, but only slightly, and the stiffening could have been caused by nothing more than the friction of my digital massage.

It was strange and disappointing, for all this time she had said not a word. Had I started in the wrong way and could it be that she resented the fact that I had not immediately raised her dress and exposed more fully the beautifully shaped limbs whose country girl sturdiness I had so much admired? Had she been secretly hoping that I would explore their whiteness as well, and that my hand would travel swiftly up her thighs until it came to rest on a moist and hairy mound? Had she been anticipating just such a caress?

She still had said not a word, and my libidinous-ness had now become so fierce that I could no longer continue with the fondling of her breasts and the mere planting of kisses on her shoulders as I sought to arouse in her a responsiveness that she seemed totally to lack.

“You are very beautiful, my dear,” I whispered and would have waited a few seconds longer if she had not remained as stonily impassive as a mannequin beneath the administrations of a dressmaker whose only concern is the proper fitting of clothes on a form that is the opposite of alive.

She spoke then, for the first time. “What you are doing is silly,” she said. “If you must have me, the sofa is the best place for it.”

Amazed and no longer able to contain myself-my instrument was as stiff as a board-I turned her around and rained kisses all over her face and throat. Then I took her by the arm, guided her to the sofa and pushed her back upon it.

When I started to raise her dress she gripped my wrist tightly and I thought for a moment she was intent on forcing me to desist before my hand traveled to her cleft or I straightway mounted her. But no-her intention was quite otherwise. She guided my hand upwards until my fingers became entwined in Venushair, and assisted me as well by pulling up her dress until none of her charms remained hidden, from her ankles to her opened thighs.

What happened then was accomplished more quickly than I could have wished, but I was beside myself with desire for her and could no longer exercise restraint.

I mounted her without first exploring the circle of delight and we were so quickly entwined that when the violence of our movements increased we reached a climax simultaneously and she relaxed with a long-drawn sigh.

She did not move again until I arose without looking at her-just why I could not have said-and walked across the room to the washstand to apply lavage to my now limp member. I heard her stirring on the sofa, but did not turn until she said: “I must go now. Father will be wondering why I have remained so long in your room when I came only to deliver a letter.”

She was sitting up when I swung about to face her, her clothes completely rearranged and a look,in her eyes that astonished me. I can only describe it as coldly calculating.

Before I could reply she went on quickly: “I have not attempted to hide anything from you. My father, as I have said, is desperately poor and the rent which he receives from the rooms he has been forced to let out barely pays for what is taken from us in taxes. Do you think-I know that you are a gentlemen of modest means-that two crowns would be too much to ask for the pleasure I have just afforded you?”

I saw then that she was holding out her hand- actually extending it toward me-as if in anticipation of a bounty she seemed convinced would be forthcoming.

Cursing myself for a fool, and making no attempt to hide the rage that had come upon me, I unlocked my writing desk, removed the two crowns from an upper drawer, and placed them on her palm, closing her fingers tightly over them.

“Here, my girl,” I said. “I am far from convinced that your father would go to the poorhouse if your lodgers were less generous. But I have never failed to pay a debt of this nature, for I am a man of conscience, and you did indeed render me some pleasure.”

I expected that she would leap up, and depart in sullen anger, for what I had said was more than insulting. But to my great surprise she merely smiled amiably, arose and walked out of the room without a backward glance, closing the door firmly behind her.

For five full minutes I paced the floor, with steadily mounting bitterness. I had made the mistake of thinking that, however amorously inclined she may have been, there was no trace of whorish-ness in her nature and her initial silence and blushing response to my restrained attempts at seduction had strengthened my belief in her innocence. The wanton way she had behaved on the sofa had not dispelled that belief, for I had assumed that she had been carried away by the passion my less restrained love-making had aroused in her and had pursued her pleasure, as I had mine, with no thought of commercial gain.

It was another reason, surely, for wishing to put London forever behind me-for three or four years, at the very least. I had had my fill of London women, successful as most of my conquests had been. All too often when you thought them generous to a fault, responsive to your every whim, tender and yielding, they turned out to be either whores at heart, or capable of limitless cruelty. Even whores can bestow upon a man an infinite variety of pleasures and for their many kindnesses I was profoundly grateful. I would have that clearly understood. I adore all women and would rather die in the embrace of a strumpet with no kindness in her nature than live in a world without women.

But must London forever keep a man from traveling a wider road to paradise, must the whims of English women alone concern him night and day, and inflict, for all the rapture that they bestow, a corresponding degree of torment?

I have often thought that the fog which has enshrouded London so many months in every year of which we have knowledge-was there ever a time when London was bathed in continuous sunlight? — has laid a curse upon all lovemaking, making it secretive and much too furtive, despite everything that has been written and said to the contrary.

The wide world beckoned, where kisses were more freely bestowed than anywhere in Europe and a man was not required to walk a tightrope between desire and satiety.

I thought of the women who live in cages in the larger cities of the South American continent and paint their faces blue, red and yellow. How strange and fascinating it must be to stop before such a cage on a street of prostitutes and look into the amorous eyes of women so exotic in aspect? Why should rouge alone be used by English women who pursue the same profession in a less inventive way?

Variety and change-what was to prevent me from taking full advantage of my modest but by no means niggardly income to enlarge my knowledge of how the most ancient of games is played, where all of our English rules are laughed to scorn?

And why should they not be laughed to scorn, when it is only when one ceases to kneel in fear before the pleasure-destroying scepter of a knavish fool in a land where Fog is King that one is free to be driven wild by the many delights of the dark and rejoice in the strength and persistence of that most untiring instrument of pleasure that has been given many names, but none that I like better than the Jolly Playfellow. In England it is often the opposite of jolly when it is inserted in a wench who lives in fear and trembling, dreading every knock on the door and as often as not holding out her hand for a crown or a farthing when the play is ended, precisely as my late visitor had done.

Pay and be gone is as often the rule as the exception, and nothing can make a fine upstanding member shrink more quickly and refuse to rise again than the impatience or scorn of a cruelly calculating woman, submitting with feigned pleasure to embraces she would prefer to have quickly ended.

I suddenly remembered the letter I had taken from the greedy-fingered hand of my early morning visitor, before closing that same hand over the two silver coins which were the price of her hire, and crossed the room to the desktop on which it was lying.

I picked it up and tore it open, after first noting that it was postmarked five weeks previously. How long, I wondered, does a letter customarily take to cross the Atlantic in a fast clipper ship? Surely I should have known, and yet I did not, despite the many times I had stood on a London dock waving goodbye to friends bound for America, and how often my eyes had strayed over the arrival and departure listings of just such ships in London newspapers.

It proved that I was not quite the man of the world I prided myself on being, for to possess knowledge of such matters is taken as an indication that one is accustomed to traveling widely, by both land and sea, and in drawing room conversation nothing more immediately stamps a man as wise in the ways of the world than to have such information at his fingertips.

The letter was briefer than I had thought it might be. But it left me in no doubt as to the cordiality of the welcome I would receive if I joined an old and trusted friend in the West Indies, in a business venture we had discussed at some length before his departure from England.

To many Englishmen the West Indies conjure up a vision of lepers and cathedral bells, and gaunt, famine-starved men and women, pitifully in need of the many “blessings of civilization” which Europeans take for granted, although I have seen just as much wretched poverty in the streets of London.

To me those sun-bright islands conjured up a quite different vision. It was of large-breasted women, gaily attired and balancing market baskets on their heads and fording many a stream with their skirts raised above their knees, even pausing to remove all of their clothes in the noonday heat to bathe completely naked and let male passersby contemplate the joy of having them until their loins ached and their members grew as rigid as battering rams.

As I stood reading my friend's letter for the third time I could picture myself already on shipboard, as I knew I soon should be, with the salt sea air in my nostrils, and with the unmourned London skyline dissolving in the fog.

The following curious document was found attached to the original manuscript of Jonathan Richardson's diary.

Episode One

I shall try to write in bold, short sentences. Many of my contemporaries write in long, involved-and to me, rather boring-sentences. I shall try to avoid this practice.

I shall begin with me unlacing my breeches, preparatory to mounting the comely wench who lay on my bed, skirts raised and with dawn just breaking outside the window to give sufficient light to enable me to see the most delectable part of her.

Then it was that I remembered the book.

What book? my reader will ask, so I shall endeavor to explain fully.

The book contained confessions. My uncle had given it to me a few days before when he'd departed on his third trip to the West Indies. I was to deliver it to a certain Thomas Matthews, Esquire, whose address my uncle had laboriously transcribed for me.

I had read two chapters of these confessions this morning early and the result was that here I was in this wench's chamber, ridding myself of my breeches, my eyes loving her blonde thatch of hair nestled and enticing me from beneath her luscious creamwhite thighs.

Poor Uncle, I thought. If only he knew what a bad example he has set for me. Had I not read the first two chapters of those bawdy confessions I'd not be here in this place so early in the morning, but those chapters excited me outrageously.

Had it not been for the confessions I would have waited at least until noon, Uncle.

“What do you smile about, my love?”

The words came from the red lips of my little friend who lay waiting my manhood, her blonde forest of pubic hair glowing like sunburst between her widely spread legs.

I looked down. My tool stood erect, ready for female entrance-a vibrant, husky machine of a young, healthy Englishman, a loyal subject of the Crown.

“Why do you stare at my precious commodity, my dear?” I asked. “Surely you have seen a man's rigidity before?”

She laughed in her throaty, prostitute voice. “Ah, I have seen far, far too many, perhaps?” Her blue eyes glowed with mirth and desire. “Some, though have been so flabby, so wrinkled-well, one would hardly think of them as tools, m'lord.”

“Would you label mine flabby and wrinkled?” I challenged.

She leaned from bed. I felt her sweet hot lips brush the tip of my bayonet. A fleeting, loving gesture-warm, clasping lips, a hand lightly brushing my left buttock before falling and she lying there, eyes loving my burgeoning erection.

“Ah, sometimes I think I have seen too many,” she murmured in repetition. “Yours is so smooth, so polished and-oh, quite, quite large. When you chisel with it do the splinters fly?”

I laughed softly. “Well spoken, wench. Life is full of surprises. I would wager that you could match wits with a Lady in Waiting to Her Majesty, what?”

“If I were such a Lady the good Queen would empty a full chamber pot over my errant head,” my lovely companion said, laughing. She then began to squirm on the bed, a look of savage impatience coming into her eyes as she held out her soft arms to me.

“I am only a toy of pleasure, m'lord. But, when your staff goes into me, its delectable penetration will make me forget I am of the other side, will it not?”

“I shall try, m'angel,” I promised.

“Come, sweet lover, and pierce me. I am a whore at heart, born to the prong of a man-and enjoy each sticking. Oh, my god, m'lord-”

Her hand now lay on my organ, holding it even more protruding, but it had taken a life of its own, and would leap ahead of me into her like a little man, booted and spurred and riding red-coated to the baying hounds-riding in haste and avid with desire.

I ascended the bed. I positioned my eager body between her upraised, spread out legs. My blade ached to penetrate the hairy nether walls, to lance itself into her vulva in deep eagerness.

Her deep breathing boosted and let fall her full breasts, dark of nipple and with said button standing upward, begging for my sucking lips. With a wild cry of sheer happiness, she steered my lance into her hair-rimmed and hungry cleft.

No need was there to part her nether lips with my fingers, to dampen with her own fluids the sides of those lips. Now did I need to bare her clitoris, preparatory to laying my pulsing knob against its damp curvature to bring its secretions and loveliness to trembling culmination.

So adroit were her womanly accomplishments that I was instantly within her feeling my bulb storm the very portals of her womb, for I am long of penis and big around-in fact, I am proud of my largeness, but any man would have that right were he so equipped as I.

Thus I rode her with a suddenness, my knob deep within her warmth, her nether lips grabbing my shaft and releasing it as she gasped in pure joy, eyes closed and lips open to show her shiny, even white teeth.

Bliss was scrawled on her lovely face. “The best position in the world a woman can assume,” she said gaspingly. “To your rocks, m'lord, to your balls, m'lord! Feed me all your cock, m'lord. Ah, you break against the gate of my womb and I come, m'lord.

“My god, I bathe your plunging shaft with my whiteness. How grabs my lips, m'lord? Am I not a whore worthy of her hire, and then more than that?”

I didn't answer. The reason was simple. My head was buried against her left high breasts, her sweet nipple playing in my damp, trembling mouth.

My laving mouth pulled her nipple far out, her hips working in unison against mine as my sword entered and rose, her cunt hanging tightly to it in sexual loveliness. I now abandoned her nipple and sought instead her rosebud mouth, finding it in damp beauty, and my tongue penetrated her mouth, washing and loving her tongue, which met mine in sweet and hot duel of love.

With my mouth loving every crevice of her mouth, with my prick moving up and down and her grasping it, pulling it-why, a wine cask could not have been more securely stoppered!

But a wine cask does not jerk and go limp and jerk again in convulsive spasms, and neither do wine casks lash furiously about as her hips and body were now doing.

For one long moment, when my knob hung only in her damp tight cunt, I had a wild desire to withdraw from her and pierce her in the anus, fucking her as did the male homosexuals, one on the other with the top one having his knob in the other's asshole.

Then her hips came slashing up, grabbing my cock and pulling it deep inside her and, as my knob stormed the gate of her womb, her hips twisted this way, then that, and then twisted back, and my prick tingled with savage, inhuman delight.

I closed my eyes, mouth still on hers. We fucked then, fucked thoroughly, fucked happily, fucked deeply-and we didn't care if we were in love or not, and we were not in love, of course.

We just were two happy humans, one fucking the other, the other fucking the one-and I felt my rocks sink back and up, my semen trembling in them to launch itself soon in this hot, hugging cunt.

And she, feeling the stiffness grow, good young whore that she was, sensed I was ready to breed her, and she began to thrash with renewed violence-a violence so great I thought, for one moment, she would topple from her bed to the floor, taking me down crashingly with her.

I rode her, grasping her rounded, firm buttocks, my fingers braced in her spreading crack, my thumbs resting on her asshole. The violence of her increased as her ovaries broke into roaring climax.

I felt her white expression hit my prick, my cock loving each stroke into her dampness. Her legs, soft and yielding, circled my buttocks, pulling my cock down even deeper into her womanhood.

I felt sucked into her. I was the son, the heir, trying desperately and foolishly to climb back into the only security I'd ever known-the red warm-ness of the womb.

She was the mother, the producer of man, and she wanted me again in her damp womb, nestled and circled and secure.

Yes, she was like the sea-the eternal mother of men. And her saw, her personality, her lunging, grabbing hips, was a vortex, sucking me down, down, down-and then my testicles, rising to the occasion, spewed into her my semen, white and moist and much.

I went in great, gulping spasms. I stopped going, and then I started again; she milked my prick, pulling and massaging like the milkmaid stripping the last of the milk from a patient cow.

I was on trial. My manhood was on trial. I punched and grabbed, my fingers now deep in her crack, my thumbs unconsciously entering her lunging, opening and closing asshole.

“I come, I come,” I muttered, my ears roaring, the world a dark place slashed by naked, jagged lightning. Thus did my manhood leave my rocks, finding sweet haven in her vagina.

Finally, we began to quiet, our hips settling down, then quitting. And she smiled up at me, teeth flashing.

“We fuck good together. Perhaps I am with child. I shall not rebel, for the child came from a good father.”

“I thank you,” I said, my cock going limp, her warmness receding, my penis pulling back, expended.

“We should fuck again,” she said. “I am just a whore but I know a master cocksman when he has his tool between my hips. There are tricks I can teach you, m'lord.”

“Such as what?” She challenged me. I knew some tricks, too.

She smiled up at me. I was on elbows, leaning less hard on her nipples, which had become softer, passion being expended.

“You have entered up the-well, the rectum?”

“One of my favorite methods,” I said. “The anus-ah, let's be blunt and call it the asshole, huh? — has much muscles.”

“I have a very developed asshole, m'lord. I could fairly pull your sword from out of its sheath, I promise.”

“I must rest for a moment, then we shall try that method.”

The madam-a floozy bitch with dyed red hair-stuck her head in the door. “You have an old client awaiting in the other bedroom, my whore,” she told my bought woman. “I shall tend to him.”

The red ugly head disappeared? the door closed softly. “Leave my money on the table,” the little girl said. “Now, I must tend to my other client. Then I shall come to you, m'lord, for a delightful hour of anal penetration, to cite it politely.”

“I shall be recharged by then,” I assured.

“I must rise, m'lord, and you are heavy on me. And I cannot rise, you know, with you still on me, and I have another request to make that I hope does not anger you, m'lord.”

“Another request, lady?” I asked, puzzled.

“Yes. I cannot rise with you having both your thumbs impaling my asshole, you know.”

I realized, for the first time, where my thumbs were buried. I laughed. She laughed. I removed my thumbs from her asshole and my body from off her breasts.

She clambered from the bed, whiteness rimming her cunt. She squatted over a washbasin, splashed a bit of water upward, and then wiped, her hair glistening brilliantly under the water's protective coat.

“Soon I shall return for what you know what, m'lord.”

“I shall wait.”

“I want the coins on the table when I return, or there shall be no anal penetration. One must eat and pay, you know.”

“My coins shall be there,” I assured.

She bent then, breasts sagging, and her lips brushed the tip of my limp, sunken penis. “Little darling, I shall make you rise again.”

Then she was gone, naked, her back to me, buttocks rising, falling, and I saw her asshole occasionally. She went through a door to another room, and the last I saw of her, at that time, was the flashing of her full hips.

My semen rested within those sweet hips. It lay along her vagina, close to the door of her womb, and was it mingled, even now, in reproduction with her discharges, abundant and hot?

Absently, I raised my right thumb. I noticed it was brown. It smelled of her body, her sexual apparatus. I thought of my cocksman uncle, and pride swelled me, for had my uncle seen me fucking he would have exclaimed, “Well done, well done, nephew. I have taught you well, have I not?”

Unconsciously, I began licking my thumb.

And I loved what I licked….

The Second Episode

I have an acquaintance who is a published author of romances. He is an insufferable bore. He arrives unannounced at all hours. This particular day he arrived at eleven something in the morning, just as I was donning my clothes.

“Why do you sleep so late?” he asked.

“Because I want to,” I replied, pulling on hose.

“Were you sleeping with a woman last night?”

I looked sharply at him. How had he guessed the truth? Only by pure coincidence, I realized, and then I realized, also, that perhaps, at long last, I was getting the reputation of being a cocksman. My dead father-and my beloved uncle in the West Indies-had great and strong reputations throughout London as superb cocksmen.

“Why should I-an unmarried man-be in bed with a woman?” I asked innocently. “Men and women sleep together only after marriage, you know.”

He laughed uproariously, head thrown back. “That element exists only in my stupid-but well-paying-novels, you know.” I stood up and I caught him admiring my dangling long penis.

Was that jealousy lurking in his slitted eyes? I am very proud, of course, of my penis, for when erected it is a huge tool, even if I do in all modesty make such a statement myself.

I am not alone in saying my erection is very long-extra long-and very huge-extra huge, in fact. Various women, whores and respectable, can point to the same truth, and have done so to me on more than one occasion.

“How many women have you now delved that enormous thing into?” the writer asked, completely without modesty-a trait, they tell me, of authors.

But one must have patience with idiots and authors, I have been told. “I do not keep a stud book.”

“Speaking of books, I understand you are writing a book?”

How had he heard of this? I knew, instantly. While in bed with my head maid-a buxom, tight-cunted female-I had inadvertently, in the height of sexual passion, admitted I did some writing in my spare time.

She, in turn, had passed this on to this author's maid, for servants never keep secrets (are they supposed to?) and know what is happening in a house long before the master knows… in many cases.

“Yes, I dabble at scribbling.”

“You should have a solid strong plot and good characterization,” and my friend was off on a tirade about writing, something each author loves to talk about-the only thing one will talk about, in fact.

I did not tell him that my writing was not a book but a series of episodes, the most interesting that had happened to me in my twenty-eight years on this earth.

And let's face it, gentle reader-the most interesting things that happen to a cocksman-or an ordinary man-are concerned with the female sex, unless one is a 'man's man' similar to the crumbling animals parading as men who hang around Soho and Charing Cross.

And I would judge that the most interesting points in the life of a human female would be when impaled on the tip of a man's penis, rigid and round and sliding slowly into the warm depths of her vagina to storm the very gates of her fluid secreting womb, are they not?

“You appear tired,” my friend finally said, having finished a twenty-three minute lecture on the art of creative writing.

I chuckled inwardly but did not relate to him what had happened last night, and my blood went cold again with fear-for who cares to face a loaded horse pistol-and death-over no more than a woman's buttocks, plunging downward and then rising to massage to jetting expression a man's hard bayonet.

“I slept well last night, thank you.”

Finally, the bore left. I sipped my tea, thinking of Lady Haversock's creamy buttocks, my hands curved and grasping under them, my forefingers playing in her anus.

My erection grew, for I have a powerful imagination. I summoned my head maid to my bedroom and she came willingly, for she is truly a lover of the cock-the more penis she gets, the more she wants.

I shall not bore my reader with stupid details. I shall state only that she came purring into my arms, her nipples already hard beneath her starched uniform, and her hips moved in and back, pushing against my cock and driving my testicles to demanding the use of her wide and strong hips.

When I untied her belt, her uniform fell open and, lo and behold, she wore nothing under it but herself, huge of breast, dark and protruding of nipple, her navel clean and sweet as Eve's goblet. And below her lovely navel was the flat top line of her very dense black pubic hair for she was very hirsute, her anus being ringed with long silky hair, an odd thing for invariably assholes carry short, broken, stubby stiff hair.

While I had divested her of clothing, she had done the same to me and now she gripped my sword, sliding the foreskin back and forth, her soft hand loving my bulb, playing with my pee-hole.

We were kissing stronger now. I knew this was an error but passion holds me swiftly and twists me into a supple servant not to my thoughts but to my testicles. One should not kiss and make love to a hireling such as a maid, you know.

One should fuck one's maids-or other household female help-without compunction, for they are of the low caste, you know, and expect only fucking from their master-not kisses and playing with breasts, as I now foolishly did to this big-breasted, cock-hungry English wench.

A cocksman-what an uncouth word-should save his love making and kisses for the genteel, the lovely, the pure-such as Lady Haversock, small and dainty and with sugar sweetness of manner, not for a torrid house-wench.

Again, I remembered Her Ladyship's wide but solid buttocks, white and dainty, with their huge forest of dark pubic hair hiding her sweet small cunt that had not produced an heir for Lord Haversock, much as he publicly declared he wished his wife with child.

Again, I remembered the horse pistol. I heard its explosion again, cutting hard the London fog. At that moment I must have shuddered for my maid murmured, “Darling, are you cold? You shivered. Or does the lust for my thighs burn my Master's soul, making him rough and ready for our sweet secret session of love?”

I stand five eleven in stocking feet and she but a mere five two or three, but she somehow leaped upward, my cock in her hand and, as she came down, I jabbed her momentarily in her thatch.

I felt the soft, damp edges of her vulva, and then her cunt had slid past and she stood on all fours. I put my arm around her naked waist and naked we two walked to my huge bed.

As we walked, I glanced back. The full mirror showed us clearly-my narrow buttocks, her womanly buttocks. Her buttocks lifted, fell, danced, pivoted with each mincing step.

Watching, I ran my hand behind her and my thumb, separating her buttocks, found her warm full anus, tickling it with my nail. She grabbed me harder, not realizing I watched her ass wriggle and attempt to have my thumb inserted in her asshole.

“M'lord-”

“Yes, m'bitch?”

“Does m'lord wish to fuck me in the asshole?”

Foul mouthed whore! Low lived, without education, culture-and then I remembered last night on top of naked Lady Haversock, my prick in her to the testicles, and her Ladyship panting, “Fuck me harder, my love! Deeper, deeper, into my cunt-oh, give me all your cock, my sweet.

“And when we get done this way, drive it up my ass. Put that big knob in my asshole. I want to feel your cock slide in and out of my rectum, my sweet, my long-cocked love!”

Lady Haversock's panting made this maid's most fluent cursing seem like a Sunday school session….

“Do you want it first up your ass?” I asked, realizing that I, under passion's panting lash, talked as foul of mouth as did this prick-starved wench.

“Yes, up the asshole, for it tickles so good around the hairs, m'lord. But you must keep a finger in my cunt and stroke my Little Gentleman and anger him so much he spits whiteness back at you, for the purpose of getting fucked is to have an orgasm, you know.”

She broke from me and ran around my bed, which is placed in the middle of my big room in my huge apartment-for my father left me this apartment house, and its income is good each month.

“Grab me, darling,” she panted.

I ran after her, cock extended. It was a game we played. I knew full well what she wanted. She circled the huge bed twice before I caught her. I did not catch her in normal fashion, by the shoulders or waist.

I captured her in our own special way. I ran with thumb up and forefinger extended. My forefinger ran between her thighs. I crooked it and caught it in her already flowing cunt.

Simultaneously, my thumb lanced ahead. It broke through the crack of her buttocks. I felt her asshole and then my thumb was deep in her anus. I held her the way the Italians hold their pichoco balls, a thumb in one hole, a forefinger in the other.

“Woe unto me,” she cried happily.

She tried to move ahead. I held her sternly. Her bare feet slipped on the heavy and thick Madras carpet. I pulled her toward the bed. Her buttocks came with mock unwillingness.

Bodily, I swung her naked loveliness onto the bed on all fours, her delectable rump sticking upward, crack gaping open, my thumb surrounded by her long anal hair Within seconds, I was between her spread legs, my prick pushing against the bottom of her crack.

She had her head on her folded arms. I saw her cunt, sweet and small, nestled enticingly in the curly hair, and for a moment I pushed my rigid tool against it, parting it until only my knob rested in her damp vagina, her cunt's lips closing and opening around my bulb.

“M'lord?”

“Yes, wench?”

“I wish to lave your thumb with my tongue, m'lord?”

“Which thumb?” I teased.

“The one now in my asshole, m'lord.”

She loved her own excrement. I must admit, in all fairness, that her anal discharge smelled better than most; indeed, during passion's high dizzy heights I myself had sampled it, and found it to my liking.

“Do you want my thumb to quit your asshole?” I further teased.

“Yes, but you must replace it with your cock, m'lord. And use no lubricant or grease from the drawer of your bedstand, m'lord. I love the pain of your huge member tearing into my asshole, m'lord.”

“I prefer lubricant, wench,” I said, for sometimes it hurt my cock when I went into her-or some other asshole-in dry state, and for some days thereafter my prick has ached.

She wriggled her full buttocks in impatience, her voice coarse with lust. “Your prick, first, m'lord-deep in my asshole, please. And then your thumb between my legs, with my neck crooked so my tongue-”

She gasped in savage pleasure, for I'd suddenly without warning removed my thumb. I saw it brown and rather sloppy as it went between her legs. Immediately, her fair back bunched, the spinal column standing out, as she contorted to get my thumb within range of her wide damp tongue.

I felt her tongue lave my thumb. I felt her excrement leave my thumb. I heard her swallow happily, her larynx working. She actually purred, but not smoothly like a mother cat; her purr was broken, jagged and contained much bliss.

With my free hand, I obtained the open jar of lamb's grease in the drawer. First, I laved her asshole with it, smoothing the white cream over the brown ring, then, with my forefinger, I introduced the liquid into her asshole, spreading it around inside her anal ring.

She gasped around my thumb, now being sucked by her fair lips. I then greased my prod thoroughly, putting an especially heavy coat over my knob, and she moaned around my thumb, begging me to begin our foul proceedings.

“Stick me deep, m'lord. Give me all your cock, m'sweet. Drive your prick deep into my asshole, m'love!”

I caught myself, suddenly remembering the two coaches, four horses plunging through last night's fog, and the horse pistol-for had not Lady Haversock, supposedly cultured, supposed civilized, uttered the same banal entreaties, only begging me to put my dong deeper into her cunt, not her asshole?

Thoroughly greased, I placed my knob directly over her anus, covering it completely. My blood sang. Her asshole was very, very tight. Even after an all-night session with some bitch when she crawled into my bed the next morning her tight asshole always drew me to quick and complete ejaculation.

Now let us pause for a moment, gentle reader. Let me attempt to paint a verbal picture of this scene.

Outside the fair sun of England shines after a night of dense fog, stifling and cold. It streams through the high windows of my bedroom. In its bright light I look at the ass below me, my prick lying in its wide crack directly over the anus laced with long hair.

There are some even in these enlightened times who claim that anal intercourse is obscene and contrary to God's will. These idiots, fanatic with false religion, contend that each intercourse should be with one intent, and one only: to bring a child into his stupid world.

And they point out in fanatic wrath that asshole intercourse could not produce a child under any circumstances. And they further add that only those legally wedded in the church should be allowed, in God's eyes, to have intercourse, one with the other.

Were this latter true, there'd be little sexual intercourse in the world-at least in Fair England. I dare say that for each time the average man has sex with his wife he has ten times that much sex with strange women or concubines or mistresses.

Thus I stood on my knees, poised, cock ramrod stiff, ready to lance these fair buttocks. Soon my prick, sliding in this pleading anus, would spread those buttocks even wider, my testicles settling hard against her hairy cunt, directly below her asshole, of course.

But was I not forgetting some essential? Oh, yes, I was-and her choking voice reminded me, coming dim and hollow from under and beneath her spread thighs.

“Your finger, m'lord. Deep in my cunt, m'lord, playing with my clitoris-Oh, I have an orgasm, darling. Please, drive it into my ass, for your cock running along the bottom of my rectum also teases my vagina and womb.

“Oh, again I flow to your finger, m'love!”

I fear I rush my reader, therefore I shall for a moment digress on the finer points of anal injection-called by the uncouth Americans, god damn their bones, as cornholing-and how the word cornholing was derived I don't know, nor do I care to know from the ignorant Americans.

But there I was, poised behind these lovely wide buttocks, one finger in a flowing bowl of womanhood, the other hand around my penis, holding it stiffer yet to drive it deep in her opening and closing asshole that even now brushed and loved my knob, begging me to push my shaft to my rocks in her, deep and comforting.

Yes, dear reader, let us digress for a moment?

Episode Number Three

Let us for a moment, dear reader, discuss what the rude Americans call cornholing, for although I hate to admit anything the Americans do is correct nevertheless the word cornholing somehow adequately describes the procedure we English cocks-men call 'anal injection.'

First, let me analyze the thought of this day, here in this year of 1642 in England. Sir Frances Drake-God bless him-broke the back of Spain on the sea in 1588, thus throwing open the liberation of the West Indies to Her Majesty's fleet and British colonization.

Then the Good Queen Bess, God bless her virgin(?) soul, led us to higher heights, and now we face the bastard king, Charles First, son of a dog that he is.

During Bess, we lived strictly… on the surface, but underneath was much of what the church-goers such as Charles First call 'evilness,' for anything a churchman cannot understand he labels 'evil.'

Many good Englishmen-such as my ailing uncle — are leaving the Homeland, seeking the colonies- mostly going to what is known as the West Indies, for these islands are, in the main, ours now that we have routed the idol-worshiping, murdering, robbing Spaniards.

Our religious fanatics are going to what is called North America. That is good. England is then shut of them, as the peasants say. They can there make life miserable for the redskins, and God bless the latter.

For the fanatics are against anything that is enjoyable, and frown the most, of course, on illegal intercourse, which to me-and my sick uncle- seems utterly without rhyme or reason, for what indoor sport is more enjoyable than the act of sexual intercourse?

This bastardly Charles First is rotten to the core. (Were he to read these words to the Tower I would go, so I must keep this diary-if such it can be called! — secret until after my passing, at least.)

This evil man-Christian, he calls himself! — pirated my uncle's estate, one member in the king-bought and king-controlled government merely pointing a finger at my uncle and accusing him of heresy and out-of-wedlock sexual experiences, and thus my uncle's estate passed to the Crown… and his accuser who spoke falsely, knowing that his fabrication would bring to him my uncle's wealth.

All a friend of this low King need to do is whisper in the King's ear that so-and-so is immoral and so-and-so has lost his holdings without access to court or a jury of his peers, as we were guaranteed centuries ago by the Magna Carta.

Indeed, my kind cocksman uncle was left with merely enough to get to the West Indies and there support himself for a year and no more. Thus he left the book of confessions behind him-which I today sold for a nice sum-and this I shall soon dispatch by special packet to my beloved uncle.

But I have drifted afar from where I stood on my knees, my cock lying hard against the first maid's fair asshole. I shall take my reader back to the present. Were this maid to have access to somebody who had access to the bastardly Charles First, and were she to tell His Majesty of our fucking-claiming, of course, that I raped her! — my estate, such as it is, would be confiscated by the Crown, and I'd be lucky to escape the Tower, where are a few of my good young friends today, sentenced for life in solitary confinement for a crime that, under Queen Bess, would have been of no consequence, at all!

And this maid begged me to put my organ in her anus, to prod and push and lance it forward until it rode high and pushing in her colon, my rocks bouncing as I fucked against her cunt, wherein was already the index finger of my right hand, stroking and loving her Little Man.

Now she had another orgasm, her full buttocks shivering with sexual delight. I heard a low, happy moaning break her lips. At that moment, too, her asshole opened due to her passion-and into it my cock moved, sliding in its greasy bed, with her anus, trained and willing, opening and closing, trying to pull my prick in her to my very bag!

I felt warmth surround my penis. A great happiness speared me. My left hand gripped her hip, rounded and smooth, and my strong body went back and forth, a crink in my back as I bent over her back, my penis going in and out of her grasping and releasing anus.

I looked down. I felt pride. A lovely ass lay even with my cock. My organ rocked in, out; now brown streaked it, for she evidently was filled with excrement, having not yet done her daily chore.

I felt my bulb push through a heaviness. That would be the main body of her excrement, snug in her colon. I watched my penis come out, out, out-and still out… it seemed to come out for some minutes. Finally, only my knob hung to her anus, and the strong cheek muscles there twisted my bulb, massaging it and loving it before, once again, my penis moved in, in, in, and still in, and again my hand, anchored in her cunt, felt the roughness of my sac, covered with hair and small in this, my great hour of human achievement!

Oh, how we fucked! She gasped and I felt wind break around my prick; her sweet fart wafted upward, perfume in my straining nostrils My organ pushed down hard on the base of her colon. Thus I massaged her vulva and womb, for the womb and vulva lies close to the colon, as anybody who knows the least bit about a woman's anatomy knows.

How her asshole's strong lips pulled my penis, and how her ovaries discharged again and again! Whiteness ran down the insides of her full thighs, and my hand was completely white and sticky.

I felt passion rise in me, my testicles growing ready to launch my semen into her colon, and then she cried, “M'lord, m'lord! Your cock, sir, in my cunt-and hurry, for I feel another coming!”

Frankly, I was tired of her anus, for I am the type who tires soon of one sexual position, for I find in variety a spicy diet. Therefore I quickly withdrew from her top orifice and as hurriedly transfer to her lower opening, noticing in the removal and entrance that delicious brown markings, watery and perfume-filled, streaked my manly lance.

Then, my sword was in her to its hilt, my testicles dancing now on thin air. But she, as usual, reached back and, with fond fingers, began gently massaging my stone, as was her delightful habit.

Some women-even experienced whores-cannot massage a man's boulders correctly; they are too rough, even though they try to be gentle. A man's testicles are very, very touchy. This maid, though, knew how to love them, her fingers fairy whisps against my sac.

“Women were made to please men,” she murmured, delirious with happiness.

I thought, I wish more women realized that fact. What a more happy world we would have.

“No woman can be in a happier position than the one I am in,” she then whispered, talking to herself in her sexual delirium.

I thought of Lady Haversock, usually reserved, very cold and aloof, in a similar position last night, my penis-. Then I remembered the stages lurching through the fog, the one behind catching the one in front, and I had been in the one in front, and behind me-

I deliberately shoved such thoughts from my brain, concentrating on the ample buttocks pitching and falling, my penis buried to the sac in the mass of long, smooth hair.

Needless to say, this maid was a good whore. Why shouldn't she be? She'd been a mere sixteen when she'd come to serve my uncle, who had initiated her into the simple joys of sex the first day she entered his gracious employment.

The second day after her coming I, a mere youth, stabbed her four times in one hour, for sex had lanced and darted through both our young bodies.

Whenever she failed to flow, our family doctor eased her in abortion, but one time-when I was a mere twenty-four-my uncle and I toured to India and were gone a year. When we returned, we found her close to birth of child.

She confessed willingly that neither my uncle or I were the father, for time's passage made this event an absolute surety; the parish priest had bedded her and impregnated her.

In due time, her child-a boy-was delivered. The priest, true to his profession, took the child, his son, and placed him in an orphanage of his faith, the priest later boasting, in his cups, that his son was the only child in the orphanage who was not the offspring of a priest and a nun, a minor point but one which seemingly brought much ironic laughter to this chosen son of God.

This maid stood high now in church ranks, having lain with the bishop but a year ago, his fat holiness riding her huge breasts, his penis buried unchurchlike deep in her pulling, jerking cunt.

Later she reported that the bishop had even a smaller cock than had the priest, whom she related had a very small penis.

Thus we fucked, she and I, for the hundredth time-if not more? — and my merry prick made merry sound in her merry cunt, the lips of her opening trying at all times, to pull my wand from me, roots and all. And then, when the pulling drove me into seventh bliss', the friction stopped and my cock, lancing ahead, stormed the door between vagina and womb, my knob being bent against such resistance.

“I miss your sweet uncle,” she panted.

I took a strong inward stroke, her vulva going in and out around my pointed plunger. “And what do you miss about him?” I teased.

“His huge cock, naturally. Oh, you massage good that time, darling. Your knob-it is so huge-how it pulls inside of me. Yes, I miss the fair prick of your cocksman uncle.”

She had long boasted that of the many pricks that had lanced her that of my uncle was the most educated. She openly admitted my prick was the largest she'd ever taken, but that I lacked the suave cocksman technique of my West India bound uncle.

“Will not my prick suffice?” I asked.

A motherly concern entered her sweet voice. “I did not say that to offend you, m'lord. You are a cocksman supreme, although as I have stated you are not the expert that your uncle is, but in time- and with much practice and intelligent application — I do believe you shall rise to your uncle's great ability, m'lord. Oh, I come again, huh?

“How I cream your prick, m'lord!”

By now my lance sliding in her vagina had assumed a sound of happy suction, her cunt lips grabbing and releasing, a merry unison between us as we fornicated, my hands hard on her waist, fingers digging her smooth flesh.

“May I break wind, m'lord?”

“Why do you expel so much gas when being taken?”

“I do not know. I do know though that I come from a line of loud farting people. I remember lying in the single room in which we seventeen family members lived and hearing my mother fart loud and often in the cold dawn as my father mounted her.

“Then later, when my older brother mounted my big sister, sister too broke wind often and heavily. My aunts-all fourteen of them-were reported to be heavy wind breakers when receiving sexual attention.”

“Then breaking wind apparently runs in your family?”

I caught myself, for I had lowered myself down to her stupidity-and what ignorant conversation this was, indeed.

“There is an old adage saying that a horse that farts much is a very good horse. If that be the case, then I must be indeed superb among maids, m'love?”

Before I could answer, she broke wind with whamming loudness. I felt the breeze tickle and move my pubic hair. And then, to worsen matters, she laughed and only a man who has fucked a woman while she has given rise to laughter can understand what the laugh does to his prick, if said prick at that moment is deep in said cunt.

For when we laugh the belly muscles jump and sing. And this, of course, closed the cunt and, in the closing, the cunt apparently wants to rid itself of the cock within it, and a number of times-when my females have broken wind-the laugh afterwards has pushed my prick openly from their vulvas!

The same happened now. I felt my prick being forced out by the belly muscles contracting and expanding. I clutched her hips, wondering if she would spit me from her vagina.

And then, the idea occurred to me. It was such a simple proposition I wondered why I'd not thought of it before.

The idea was this, and it was quickly executed. I simply, rapidly and thoroughly, rammed my right thumb deep in her open asshole.

And what did she do? Just what I expected. She gasped in surprise, laughter cut short by surprise. She sagged ahead, her asshole closing around my thumb, and I had her then, for my prick sank deep to the balls again in her oozing cunt.

Her consternation was so great she unconsciously tweaked my testicles rather hard, and sexual pain shot through me for a grand moment, making my cock even longer and more rigid.

“You will be good?” I said.

Her solemn voice said, “I shall laugh no more, m'lord. Where did you learn such a nefarious trick? From some lady of high blood you have recently impaled?”

“No, the idea came up Adam's spur, m'maid. No longer shall you buck me off like a charger dumping old King Arthur. Shall I now withdraw my thumb from your sweet anus?”

“No, not at this moment. I am hot from this fucking position-or should I have said this position in fucking?”

“You wish the scissors?”

“I wish your cock in my lips, m'lord. I wish your white discharge in my throat. I tremble close to pregnancy again, I do believe. One jolt from your roaring balls and again I would be with child, I fear.”

“That is not possible. You are either pregnant or not pregnant. My cock wearies of your cunt, too. Say the word and we will make the change, m'maid.”

“Let us fuck for a while longer in this gracious position. I pray to the pope I did not harm your testicles by too much force?”

“My testicles live. And soon they will launch my whiteness into your soft body, and oh-the moment is close!”

I had made no understatement. My rocks had pulled high upward, ready at a moment to toss my whiteness into her vagina. I felt the great tingling in my buttocks, pulling my trembling flesh close to the bone-a sure sign that I was soon to ejaculate.

“All right,” she said hurriedly. “Make the shift, m'lord-at this moment, m'love- My mouth-is ready-”

How can I describe what then followed? We had done this many times; we were experts. It happened in one moment. One second my penis was in her vagina. The next, it was deep in her damp hot mouth.

And where was I? I lay atop her breasts, her belly, and her thighs were spread, my head between the white dampness of her hips, and my hungry tongue was deep in her, a ladle now that pulled from her wet whiteness her sweet honey!

She squirmed with pure delight, her red lips pulling and twisting on my prick. She was a superb sucker. She knew every nuance, every phase, of sucking. And why should she not have known? Had not my expert uncle taught her, his huge long penis piercing her white throat?

To those who have not been initiated into sucking-or being sucked-well, they miss something vital in the sexual duel, I feel sure. And then again, how can I vouch-or even guess-at that which would please another person?

Each of us, of course, has our own tastes. I shall view the matter of sucking and being sucked, then, from a personal viewpoint.

I shall tackle first the matter of being sucked. My uncle once said, in a high moment, “My nephew, there is one thing England needs that the French have, and the French have this in abundance and English frowns on those and the habit.”

“And what does France have that England doesn't, uncle?”

“I shall be blunt. I shall say one word that the King-goddamn his limp prick! — apparently has never uttered, the God loving liar. To many the word is crude. They cover their ears while they relish its short abruptness, but I shall not digress.”

“You digress now,” I had pointed out. “What is the word, fair uncle?”

His round lips formed, “Cocksuckers.”

“You say England needs these?”

“England has a scarcity of cocksuckers compared with France, where even the most devoted housewife will suck you-a stranger-to high ejaculation for a mere franc or two.”

“Why hasn't our strong nation many of the lip, uncle?”

My uncle frowned. “I believe it is because the English are anal injection lovers. To be blunt again: English love the asshole more than the mouth where sex is concerned.”

My good uncle it was who taught this buxom maid how to suck. He worked hours with her, his penis running in and out of her red lips. There is much more to the art of sucking than having the rigidity in one's mouth, you must know. Sucking of the high degree requires a good teacher and much application and study.

My uncle had been the efficient instructor. The little maid applied herself diligently and studied hard.

Now my penis tingled and danced to her application.

The Fourth Episode

“Each novel must contain a moral,” my writer friend insists.

“Mine contains none,” I said.

“Then you are not writing a novel in the true sense of the word,” my didactic friend stubbornly maintained.

I wisely presented no argument to the contrary, but I do know this-I find delight in putting down these few reminiscences, some good and some bad, a moral. Nonetheless, I delight indulging in this form of writing.

Many Englishmen-and other nationalities — would label this bit of writing as 'obscene, filthy, dirty, and a disgrace to man's intelligence,' and I would find it hard put to understand why they applied these labels, for is it not from the womb- and a woman's cunt-that we all come?

Or do we all step from our fathers' ears, full-grown and complete, like Pantagruel did from the ear of Gargantua-or was it the other way around, not that it matters one whit?

And did the semen which created all of us in that warm, damp womb not come from the testicles of man? And did not the woman who bore us receive this man's penis in delight, her hips working in mad happiness as the father of us all applied his penis to her vulva?

And did not both secrete fluids-heavenly fluids — that when joined made the first cell of us, as the men of medicine are beginning to think?

So, then, what can be foul, obscene, filthy (and the other bad adjectives!) about writing about sexual intercourse?

If beauty is in the eye of the beholder, as some wit has written, then must not obscenity be in the same eye?

But enough of digression. Perhaps this work may not have a moral but then perhaps it is educational? Perhaps it helps some young man-or woman-to achieve a sexual balance in his or her life, something very necessary and primary in the art of living?

Now let us return to me and the buxom maid in the six and nine position there on that bed. She was beneath me, you will remember, and my hips went up and down, driving and pulling my prick in her mouth, and she employed all the technique my uncle-and I, too-had taught her about sucking.

If the reader doubts there must be technique employed in sucking then I ask him to do only one thing-procure a long banana and drive it in and out of his mouth, imitating a prick sliding in and out between his teeth.

Have him put lip pressure on the banana. He will discover, to his surprise, that his jaws are terribly strong, for the jaw muscles are the most powerful in the human body, I have read. And, at the same time, he will discover that his lips are not a bit powerful.

In fact, lips are weak. As the experimenter skins the banana back and forth, he will find that, although he tries to apply much power from his lips, his lips in reality have very, very little crushing ability.

Thus a good sucker must develop lip muscles in order to massage a penis, must he not?

These muscles can be developed only through scientific application. My uncle prepared-or had manufactured-a long black cock made of rather hard rubber, looking precisely like a huge penis, and on this the maid practiced day after day, sucking and pulling with her lips, being careful not to bite into the rubber-for one of the prime requisites of good sucking is to never, never, touch the penis with your teeth.

Unbeknown to the King and his Christians, we have in London at this writing houses of sucking where one may be relieved by either a male or female mouth. Were one of these professional mouths to merely nibble a penis the owner of that mouth would therewith be immediately propelled into the ranks of the unemployed, of which London seemingly has thousands.

According to my uncle, the little maid learned to suck immediately, and my Uncle said in his jovial way that she was born with 'sucking talent.'

My uncle should know. He personally taught three of the king's cabinet and four of the queen's ladies-in-waiting the art of professional sucking.

Where had he learned this?

My uncle-in his heyday-reportedly was one of the best suckers extant, not only in England but also including the continent and, of course, France, where sucking is indeed a profession.

My uncle once disclosed, while in his cups, that he sucked five times the king that preceded this idol-worshiping fat-assed sonofabitch that now has his lardy buttocks on the throne. My uncle reported this king as being very short of penis and with a semen that tasted very, very bitter.

But let us return to the neophyte with the banana riding back and forth in his mouth. This learner will soon realize that the mouth is not very deep and that even a short banana, when inserted into the full depth of the mouth, will cause him to gag when it touches the far back reaches of his throat, just above his tonsils.

What then does the tyro do to avoid gagging, for if he chokes he instinctively closes his mouth, and as his mouth closes naturally his teeth bite his client's penis-and this, as stated, is strictly against sucking ethics.

The answer is simplicity itself: He must master breathing techniques. When the penis' knob is deep in his throat, he must stop breathing or he will, as stated, have a tendency to gag, if not to vomit.

And if the sucker vomits, naturally he bites what is in his mouth-and this, of course, violates all sucking ethics, one might say to coin a phrase.

Therefore the breath must be held when the penis is in to its utmost length. Besides holding his breath, the sucker must, at the same moment, manipulate the penis with his lips, just as the little maid now was doing to my rigid prick.

We have now attended to the matter of proper breathing and proper lip manipulation. Now let us turn our attention to the tongue of the receiver.

The tongue is very important in sucking, but not as important as the lips, one must admit. Naturally, when the penis enters, the tongue lies below the organ, the penis sliding back and forth over the tongue. What use, then, has the tongue?

For one thing, the tongue massages the penis, just as the sexy maid's warm and broad tongue massaged my sword. The maid is an expert with her tongue, and I shall, for the benefit of those who wish to learn to suck properly and successfully, outline briefly her tongue procedure.

As my penis slides into her throat, she doubles her tongue under it, thereby making a small bump which, in turn, pushes my penis up hard against her palate, therefore putting much pressure on my plunging prick.

My cock now is deep in her throat. Accordingly, she holds her breath until, once again, my prick is on her tongue, close to the tongue's tip. Although she wisely does not breathe during deepest penetration, her tongue nonetheless does not shirk its trained and capable duties.

Her tongue pushes hard upward. I feel my cock constricted beautifully between her tongue and palate. Has any of my male readers ever masturbated?

What a foolish question! Even my uncle, cocksman as he is, sometimes masturbates in high glee, even if a woman-and her cunt-is handy.

My uncle points out that an anus is the tightest orifice on a human, with the mouth being second, a cunt being third.

“It is indeed ironic,” he many times has stated in his dry manner, “that the hole the Creator created for man to use the most is also the largest and loosest on the human female body.

“That is,” he added slyly, “if there is indeed a Creator. Frankly, I don't know but our good King says there is, so there must be!”

He broke into guffaws. “And I don't give a continental shit if there is or there isn't,” he roared.

My uncle maintains that the human hand wrapped around a human penis is the best for bringing that male to a fast climax. His arguments in favor of masturbation are simple and elementary, like my uncle himself.

“The hand can contract much tighter than a mouth, asshole or cunt, to state it in the vulgar. The hand can be manipulated and can bend the cock whichever direction it wishes, something only the mouth can do and which the asshole or cunt can't begin to perform.

“The depth of stroke of the hand can be adjusted to fit the condition and size of the penis being stroked, also. And the hand can be just as warm-if not warmer-than a cunt.

“To me, assholes have never felt warm. I guess that is because of the excrement-much of which is liquid-which hangs close to the anal ring and which the penis meets immediately upon entrance.

“Cunts, to me, seem warmer than anuses, although many times they are much sloppier, especially after the owner of the cunt has had two or three-or more-orgasms.

“The tightness of the anal ring keeps the excrement inside the colon. I would judge the anus has some very strong muscles although I daresay those muscles are not as strong as jaw muscles.

“Allow me to state a simple fact, please?”

My uncle said that during masturbation the masturbator's imagination was given free rein. “Actually, I have lain on bitches, fucking them either in asshole, cunt or mouth, and imagined I was astraddle some other cunt. Indeed, one time I was doing it to a girl named Mabel and imagining I rode Esther, and so strong was my imagination that when my moment of ejaculation came I grunted, 'Esther, what a good fuck you are, Esther my love!' ”

My uncle related that Mabel became very incensed. “And I hardly knew the chippie, nephew. I had just met her once before, when she and her husband came to a party of mine.

“Once a man does it to a woman, the woman unconsciously-or consciously-thinks that henceforth she has some sort of hold on the man. That is why so many men go to whorehouses to blow off steam.

“Whores don't follow a customer down the street. Their job is to please men through various sexual maneuvers. When the proceedings are over the prostitute is paid and she apparently doesn't even know the man again.

“But to get back to various forms of intercourse, nephew….”

I was brought back to earth by the little maid gently nibbling my knob. She spoke around my bulb, her words naturally muffled.

“Sire, your prick is growing soft. Sire, m'lord, you do not fuck my mouth with your usual abandonment. Are you growing tired of my lips, m'darling master?”

Actually, I was rather weary of her. As stated, I soon tire of a cunt, and I was tired of her, using her only when no other hairy spot was available, as like today.

I was at the point of telling her I was tired of all three portals-cunt, anus and mouth-but caught my words in time, for an irate woman has been known to severely bite a man's cock-for a woman, on being rejected, becomes what she is, a mere animal.

To even the most unenlightened reader it must be easily apparent that my uncle does not hate women… he detests them, and I fear that I, perhaps trodding in his sex-filled footsteps, am becoming to be an adherent of the same cult, much to my apparent dislike.

To me a woman is becoming a vehicle only to propagate the race-something which I have no desire to do-and afford man pleasure sexually, and perhaps we could add that some make good housekeepers, although such a woman is indeed a rarity.

Most women, in truth, do not learn how to fuck, thereby not even using the only hold they have over a man. Most just lie on their backs, legs open and up, as the man plies his sword. They make not a wriggle or movement to aid him who pays their bills. Indeed, most of them do nothing but gasp and break wind while undertaking the penis.

As for mouths, most would immediately feel anger if a man asked them to suck him, which goes back to my uncle's theory that fucking in the cunt comes naturally to a human female, they will after some persuasion take the penis rectally-but few will take the cock in the mouth, as my little maid was doing, and as her lips, tongue, jaws and other muscles now pulled on my prick.

I mentioned, I do believe, that my face was between her legs, my mouth ladling whiteness from her vagina, did I not? Well, there is much to learn in lapping, also.

My uncle taught me how to lap. I spent hours before a mirror making my tongue twist into a sort of a spoon-like ladle with which I could sweep the sweet, white cum from the pulsating cunt.

Sometimes get on your hands and knees and watch your dog lap water. Notice how his red tongue makes itself into a spoon wherein he laps the water to transfer to his gullet.

One would gain no information watching his cat lap milk for the cat has corrugated points on his tongue and, when he laps, the milk stays behind these corrugations and is thus transported to the feline mouth.

It is very difficult to train the muscles of the tongue to twist the tongue into a spoon-like affair. I practiced many, many hours, I can assure you.

Also, the tongue must go sidewise into the cunt, for usually the tongue is too broad to enter crosswise. A lapper may twist his head, his nose facing a thigh, or he may learn to twist his tongue until it stands on edge and therefore easily enters the moist, damp cunt.

Once the tongue is safely inside the cunt, the owner of the tongue can then place his head in normal position-in other words, he can then face the female's bare feet.

Now arises another problem for the lapper. Some women love to roll their buttocks high and present their cunt in such a position that the man's tongue goes directly down into it.

Many put a pillow under their buttocks to attain this desired angle of their hips. Thus when a man's head comes down his nose is buried in the female's anus, and some females, possibly because their passion loosens their bowels, might fart loudly and damply, thus spraying the man's face-and nostrils-with a spattering of brown.

I do not object to the breaking wind, for some females have very sweet farts-in fact, I do believe that the fart of any female-yes, any — is always much sweeter in smell than the fart of even the sweetest-farting male.

This fact, of course, cannot be proved, and shall have to go down as personal preference, nothing more. But each time the male head goes down, the male tongue going like a prick into the female cunt, the male's nose must, of course, pierce the female asshole below him.

To me it seems strange indeed that some men- either while sucking a man or tonguing a woman-become ill when sniffing an asshole, for as stated I find the anus perfume very enticing.

These men, I understand, like the taste of semen or ovary secretions, and to fully enjoy these they wear cotton pads in their nostrils and breathe through their mouths, which indeed must be a difficult task when they skin their mouths up and down a rigid penis.

I can easily understand how the nostrils could be plugged when such men ladle a female because their mouths are not full, as they are when the mouths caress a knobby prick.

When ladling a cunt, a man can breathe around his tongue, of course. Personally, I believe similar to my good uncle who says, “If I didn't enjoy farts and shit in my face and nose I'd not be over a woman's cunt with my mouth. I would quit ladling and sucking entirely.”

I have discovered, through long practical application, that some female ovaries secrete much sweeter cum than other ovaries. I do not know why this is. Some claim it is because the woman with sweet cum eats sweeter and less seasoned food, and I have found merit in this theory, strange and unnatural as it may seem, for I have found the cum of Italian women rather bitter, and these women eat many highly-spiced foods.

I have never ladled a Spanish woman. A male friend of mine has 'eaten' a few Spanish females and he reports each had very bitter cum. He once ladled a woman visiting in Spain and her cum, he said, was bitter as gall.

He later made discreet inquiries and learned that this woman-the one with cum like gall-came from Mexico, which is a poor, priest-ridden country south of the bastardly colonies of English religious fanatics, which I have mentioned previously and hope I do not mention again, for the very words on my tongue make my belly sick.

My friend later learned that the ignorant, superstitious Mexicans ate food more spicy than that of Madrid and Lisbon, if such food is possible. He also reported these women poor suckers.

I do not know about the latter. I ladled a few Italian women, as stated, but, as also stated, I have never ladled Spanish or Mexican, and frankly I do not care to, for I accept my friend's judgment implicitly.

The tongue also comes into another use, one which I employed frequently now as I fucked by tongue my little maid. My tongue would dart from her cunt, store her cum in my mouth, and then sweep downward, cleaning her open, straining asshole, and each time I did this her hips wriggled harder, for the anus muscles are indeed coated with sensitive nerves.

Each time I did this my tongue naturally gathered a bit of brown, which I gladly mixed with her cum. This indeed makes a very tasty mixture and I firmly advise a male to try this concoction.

I am one of the persons who love to swish cum in my mouth, thus gaining the utmost in flavor from the female ejaculation, if females can be said to ejaculate. Some ladlers, I am told, swallow the cum immediately.

I can see how such hasty swallowing could be possible if a man rode a female that had orgasm after orgasm, as did my little maid who is definitely nymphomaniacal and could fuck naturally or lap and suck for twenty four hours a day, not taking time out even for substance or liquids.

Again, I felt her mouth tighten on my cock. Again, she nibbled my cock slightly, bringing me back to the present.

Again, her muffled words. “M'lord?”

“Yes?” Also muffled.

“Your cock, m'lord, grows softer. Am I suddenly lacking in sucking ability, m'lord?”

“No, m'maid, no. Your tongue is strong. Your lips are pulling happily. It is in my person, m'love.”

“You think, perhaps, of another cunt?”

Anger rimmed her words. I realized I had become lost in speculation and revery, and behind my thoughts lurked the tragedy of last night-the two coaches roaring, the one gaining and overtaking the other, and Lord Haversock, pistol in hand… and what happened after that….

And Lord Haversock owned a part of the bastardly King's ear, too….

“No other cunt, m'love, “I hastily assured.

“But you-”

I suddenly feigned anger, as one does when confronted by an irate inferior. Thus I ran my right thumb hurriedly into her asshole which, at that moment, happened to be gaping conveniently open.

“Hush such talk, bitch, and suck. You know I love only you, wench. Use your tongue, female!”

Her lips immediately tightened around my shaft, which I sank to my balls in her mouth. Her sweet tongue licked out, lapped my testicles, and a million little imps of happiness thrilled my flesh, driving me into harder fucking, her lips and tongue and entire mouth happily fucking me.

Oh, how she could suck, the big-breasted whore!

Episode Number Five

Whenever I change sexual positions on a woman my orgasm becomes somewhat delayed. I then have to labor and gain my former high peak which eventually leads to my ejaculation.

Thus I was slightly delayed while the maid gave me the sucking process. Besides my thoughts wandered, as stated. I realized I was still worried about the Lady Haversock affair.

I had been an idiot-an unmitigated fool-to succumb to the beautiful lady's sexual lures and I had been even a greater fool for bedding the fair brute in her own environs, for the sexual transaction had taken place in My Lady's own bedroom.

I was not afraid of her husband in the physical sense of the word. Although he was a big man, he was twenty odd years older than I, who was also as tall but thinner and more wiry, for youth was on my side.

It was the bastardly king I feared, for Lord Haversock-so rumor held-was at this moment his majesty's (the two words are not worthy of capitals!) closest confidant.

But perhaps by now-or within a few days-Lord Haversock would be fallen from the king's favor? And yet another point entered my consideration, and it was this: Rumor held that Lord Haversock was indeed a proud man. Were he to confide to the king of the disloyalty of his wife the king would undoubtedly, while in his cups, tip the secret to other court hangers-on, and Lord Haversock would indeed become a laughing stock, cuckold husband that he had been.

I could do nothing but keep my ear to the ground, my running shoes close at hand, and abide my time-although even now, as my penis slid in and out of that delectably red female mouth, my nerves were raw and I cursed my prick for betraying me, but what man is not betrayed by his erect penis?

I smelled the sweet haunting perfume of a young asshole and plaint cunt whose pubic hairs, long and silky, were now white with female secretions. My head was hugged by two soft female thighs. Below my ladling tongue lovely female hips rose and fell in sexual manipulations.

A sudden sexual urge struck the maid's hips, driving my nose deeper in her anus as her hips rose, her heels digging the bed. My tongue at that moment happened to be deep inside her vagina, a red spoon searching for her delicious cum.

My tongue didn't search long for a gush of whiteness surged from her, filling my tongue's spoon rapidly. My tongue retreated from her lunging, sucking vagina.

On its way out, my tongue moved by design across her clitoris, her most touchy point. This brush maneuver brought further violent pitching of her hips, her cunt closing down around my retreating tongue. At that moment, too, she broke wind, her sexual passion being so great that, momentarily, she had lost control of her anus muscles.

I swallowed her cum, the nicest tasting of all, perhaps, that my tonsils have seen slide past. Her lips pulled hard on my cock, and I felt my knob strike her back palate, her tongue massaging and loving. And, with a sudden heave of my hips, my trusty testicles launched my manly semen thunderingly into her throat.

Her tongue doubled, hastily pushing my prick back more into her mouth, for she wanted my cum on her tongue, not her tonsils, for she wanted to savor what her lips, tongue and jaws had worked so long-and patiently-to produce.

Accordingly, I aided her by lifting my hips, only my knob remaining between her lips. Lust grabbing her, she broke wind again-a long, keening fart, and while this happened, her strong lips twisted and sucked my bulb as my semen jetted into her damp, waiting mouth.

How can one describe the bliss of a male ejaculation? Does our English language hold sufficient adjectives to permit complete description?

I doubt this. One at this time is not on the earth. A man floats among red, howling clouds, if clouds can be said to howl! He tumbles between heaven and earth, living mostly in the former for a brief temporary period-a time of blinding happiness, of trembling loins and swishing prick.

I was the one who broke wind this time-a long, soughing sound of relief and happiness, dim in the blur of my pounding ears. I felt my testicles fairly leap in my sac. I felt the masculine semen jet down my tube and out my penis. And I felt the tongue pulling, the lips tugging, the mouth begging for more and more-and still more! — of my semen!

Oh, how I loaded down that lovely, delectable mouth! Oh, how the lips skinned my knob, the tongue darting across my pee-hole, then out to lave my trusty, delivering rocks!

My very thighs trembled over her. I felt her nose gouging my asshole, for she wanted all my cock now that my semen had, at long last, stopped flowing, and she took me to my rocks, her lips and tongue twisting and milking my stones of every drop of my life-giving whiteness.

My tongue ladled her vagina, filling my mouth; this time, though, I did not swallow her honey-cum, for we still had our little love-game to play when finally we would sit side by side, buttock against buttock, on the rim of my bed.

I heard her gasp something indistinguishable, for my cock-although fading fast-still filled her mouth. Slowly, my head rose from her thighs, my long tongue the last to leave her person. I then raised my hips. My cock was limber now, for she'd sucked-yeah-, milked! — the last bit of white from its tube.

I pulled my penis from her by sheer effort, her lips trying to claim it for all time, but finally my knob left her lips, which gave it a damp kiss as it departed.

Her tongue then shot up and laved my anus as I made my dismount from her head, my mouth filled with her cum, her jaws filled with my semen. We sat now on the edge of my huge bed, arms around each other.

She was soft and she smelled soft, and mixed with this perfume was the lovely aroma of her cunt, asshole and fleshy thighs and of my damp prick and completely cleaned asshole.

She said, around my semen, “That was a good fuck, m'lord. We fuck good together, m'lord, in each of the three ways, do we not?

I said, around her cum, “You have a delectable cunt, m'maid. You know how to use your hips, also.”

She tried to laugh but couldn't, due to her mouthful. We looked steadily at each other. Her blue eyes held a merriment that bespoke of good health and complete honesty. Looking back now I realize she was, perhaps, the only honest woman I've ever met, and there are times when I miss her very much, and not because of her fucking ability, either.

My arm went around her. Her arms, soft and possessive, went around my neck, and then one dropped and found my penis, now small and anything but rigid. Her one arm pulled down my head and her other pulled upward on my cock, and dismay tugged me momentarily.

For she wanted to again put our bodies together in one of the three forms of sexual connection. She never, never got enough of a man's cock, be that cock mine or my uncle's.

“She is stupid to everything but sex,” my uncle had described her, “and because she is with little brains she is honest, for to be dishonest requires intelligence.”

“She is completely woman. She knows that a woman is on earth only to keep a man's clothes and house clean and to keep his testicles depleted. I would judge that Eve was just as ignorant.

“For did not stupid Eve fall in love with a snake? And what cunt today, even the most ignorant and most stupid, would be dumb enough to want a snake to fuck her?”

Now she and I moved our lips closer, our cheeks bulging with the other's life-making fluids. We would once again unite our fluids by a reverse process. I would have her cum. She had my semen.

And these fluids would be intermingled in her mouth and mine, not in her vagina as nature undoubtedly intended….

Our lips met. She had a small mouth, as stated. Her lips parted beneath mine, her tongue snaking out to part my teeth and bless my mouth, all the while making scooping motions as she cleaned her cum from my mouth.

It was, as usual, a mix-up of tongues-but a very sweet mix-up until, at last, I had my tongue's ladle filled with my own semen. The bitterness of my semen is not hard to describe, for I shall compare its taste to that of her cum, which is not a difficult task and needs not too many adjectives!

Her cum, as stated, was sugar-sweet, coating my tongue with candy. My semen, on the other hand, smelled and tasted rank, bitter and cutting to my tongue, and I have had homosexual males tell me, in confidential moments, that never has one yet met a male human with the sugary cum of a human female!

How would the cum of Lady Haversock taste? I thought, It'll be sweeter than this cum, if possible, and my thoughts returned to the foggy night as I pulled on my boots and she pulled on her gown, both of us preparing our bodies and faces to meet the stupid scrutiny of a stupid public.

Now I shall tell you of my fucking of the beautiful Lady Haversock, who was at least twenty years the junior of her big lord, and who had apparently married the stupid lord because of his importance in the king's court and his rather wide possessions, although Lord Haversock was by no means a rich man.

At this time, the lord and his lady had been married some eight months and although the lord had boasted while drinking that soon her belly would sag with his get, such was not the case.

The lady's belly was creamy-white and small, and I should know-for did I not, more than once, lay my mannish weight upon said belly, her milk-big breasts supporting my weight as though the nipples had springs beneath them, for the breasts sagged and gave not an iota as I settled on them.

They'd had reason to give, too, for my entire weight was on those darknipped mounds, my hands cupping the lady's fair full buttocks as I plied my cock to her small, tight cunt.

But I get ahead of my story. The lady and I had danced previous to our fucking, and nothing more — but the true cocksman knows when a female is in heat, for while dancing they lift slightly-oh, ever so slightly! — in the hips, thus discovering whether or not their escort possesses an erection.

And I erected the moment the fair Lady Haversock moved into my encircling arms, that night before at the soiree given by Lord and Lady Much-more. And with a few paces, I felt the lady's good hips move ahead slightly, testing out my cock's rigidity, and my heart leaped with the magic of the chase-the chase that brings the female finally on her back naked, the naked male's prick storming the portal of her sweet, hungry cunt.

We danced for some moments, my penis growing stiffer, her hips still making very soft jabs upward, for we were, you must remember, in grand company-and in such company even the roughest barmaid would needs act with ladylike precision, as was moving Lady Haversock now.

I decided I would attack bluntly for the brief previous conversations she and I had had led me to believe her a woman of few words, although her small twenty-odd year-old body bespoke of good grooming. So I whispered, “When, my Lady?”

“Tomorrow night he is not home. He will be gone all night. At my house, then, at eleven, my Lord?”

“At eleven.”

Thus was our date of love made and thus was it followed. She awaited me in her chambers, which I thought at first hers, but later learned was the bedroom of both her and her husband.

Our preliminaries were few. Quickly she extinguished all candles and we undressed and embraced and undressed more and had other embraces before my penis, at long last, penetrated her sweet cunt.

How shall I describe her sweet young body? I have mentioned her breasts, very huge for such a small woman, and shall pass only fleeting more attention to them, except to say they were created for human lips to suck-either the lips of a man or a child.

And suck them I did, my hands cupping her bare buttocks, lifting her slightly so that my prick, long and round and bone-hard, pressed against her slender belly, and with she squirming upward, seeking to rise high enough to settle her cunt over my cock… and slide down it, with us both standing erect.

Her body heat amazed me. Surely Lord Haversock didn't sleep soundly all night with this curvaceous bunch of flesh inert in his arms? Surely sometime during the night he erected, rolled his slumber-drenched wife mumbling on her back, and penetrated her and brought her instantly awake, his penis throbbing in her cunt?

“You are very ambitious,” I murmured around her right nipple, wondering if ambitious were the correct word.

“The sonofabitch!” she said. “I come to you a virgin, just as I came to that cocksucker!”

Her rough words amazed me. I had thought no harshness could come from that small red mouth, which only goes to show that even though I'd gained a reputation in London social circles as a cocksman, I was in reality still rather uncouth and unlettered in women and my fine art.

I shifted my mouth to her rising left nipple, tonguing it and massaging it, and I murmured, “A virgin, m'love?”

“I said virgin, and I mean it; my veil is still intact, through all these months of marriage. His lord doesn't fuck normally, you know-he-oh, must I tell you, m'love?”

My lips stretched her nipple slightly as they left. My head rose and found her dewbud mouth, her nipples punching my chest like steel buttons.

“You need not tell,” I consoled, my fingers opening her crack, my right forefinger searching through her hair for her anus.

“I shall tell. He is not a man, the bastard. He is a ghoul, fit company for our cocksucking king-for he doesn't put it in the proper place, the bastard. He stabs me in two places, m'love.”

She hesitated, said, “He goes in my asshole or in my mouth. And he makes me suck his filthy penis.”

All was clear now. My way lay ahead.

Our tongues met in damp, sugary dueling, mine now pushing, hers now prodding. Finally our mouths broke. Arms around each naked other we walked to her bed, her soft full thigh hard against my thigh, her right hand holding my prick out ahead like a blade to clear the way.

Was I about ready to break a maidenhood veil? I could hardly believe so, for surely a woman this age could not have a maidenhead? Surely, even if the membrane had not been broken by a man's rigidity, it needs must be parted through the use of a finger in masturbation, for women also rid themselves of driving sex through physical manipulation, you know.

We now stopped, our lips again holding, her knees against her bed, and slowly I pushed her back, she slowly going onto her back. I went down with her, and when she lay flat, my lips left hers, and I gazed down at her naked length, my testicles rocking in my sac in happiness.

My eyes had become accustomed to the gloom. Her naked white body stood out against the bed, her pubic hair so high it leveled at her naval. I had guessed her hirsute for when my fingers had found her asshole I had discovered it ringed by thick hair. Indeed, a few of the hairs, despite her cleanliness, held a few tiny round goblets, rather hard, that could have been nothing but excrement, for apparently she'd not washed or papered after having a recent bowel movement.

But such points, to a professional cocksman, are minor, as any reader if he does not know, will guess. That the cunt is placed too close to the asshole has long been a complaint voiced in private by other cocksmen, not to mention husbands and lovers cuckolding those husbands.

I lifted her gently by the ankles. She weighed little for she was small, although superbly constructed. I went between her legs and moved her ass onto the bed and there I was on my knees, my knob probing her crack for her delicious box, and with her looking down her belly by holding her breasts apart, her eyes on my prick.

“Oh, what a big one,” she murmured.

I had no reply. My throat was clogged. Had I spoken my words would have been twisted and muffled.

My heart hammered steadily. Slight sweat coated my muscles. My asshole opened and closed, so great was my sexual desire.

“My goddamned husband-He has such a small cock-Oh, your knob, pressing my cunt, opening it-You will be careful when you break my maidenhead, my love?”

Maidenhead? Hell, she had no maidenhead! Her claim to having such was a sham. Surely she didn't think me so ignorant I'd not know my knob met a maidenhead, although I must admit that hers was only the second I ever shattered.

For she did, indeed, possess such a dear veil!

My Sixth Episode

I would like to pass on to my young readers, males who aspire to some degree of cocksmanship, how to properly break a maidenhead but, of course, this is an impossibility, for one does not become an expert after only two incidents, as we all know.

Nonetheless, I shall reveal what steps I took to break the veil of this married woman with the perverted husband. Actually, now that I look back on the scene, she was the one who, in all reality, shattered her own veil, for she took my stiff prick in both hands and slowly but surely introduced my knob into her cunt's sweet damp lips.

This required some stretching, panting, pushing and pulling, for as I have already said my prick, when hard, has a rather large knob, as many women would happily attest if so demanded.

And her cunt, as I have said, was very small, having a virginal texture about it, and Lord Haversock, obscene and lax, really missed something when he had not taken the time-and effort-to consummate his marriage.

I bent my back, poised over her like a dog sexing a melon, only I did no pumping, as the dog would do. I merely abided my time, my testicles taut and ready in my hairy sac, while My Lady moved my knob up and down her cunt, lubricating it with the fluid that had already flown from her nether lips, making her long pubic hair white and creamy.

I had both hands splayed under her delectable buttocks. Usually small women, experience has shown me, have flabby buttocks, but this little beauty was an exception to the rule. Her plump virginal buttocks were solid as could be, and my fingers hugged her crack, opening her asshole and driving her to new and higher passion, if such were a possibility, which I seriously doubt.

She breathed very deeply and rapidly, magnificent breasts pitching and heaving. Her flat belly rose and fell. She raised her head on her pillow so she could see over her nipples.

Thus she watched my cock, held in her two small hands. Her hips twisted as though pleading for my prick-and knob-to become smaller so she could thus accommodate me without this extra labor, for plainly she lusted for my big penis in her, rocking in to my testicles.

“You will put a baby in me, m'lord?”

“If you so want, m'lady.”

“I want to become a mother. For one thing, I am too small-having a child will stretch me, will it not?”

“Yes, I would judge so.”

How could I tell her about Lady Milton who had eight children and a cunt so long a man almost had to tie a rope around his middle so that if he toppled in he could be pulled out?

Or Baroness Twogood, who had three miscarriages-and no children-and how her cunt apparently ran from navel to asshole and how I wondered what kept her intestines from toppling out?

“Try to put yourself in me, m'love,” she said, panting slightly.

“I shall leave that to you, darling. I do not wish to hurt you… ever.” You tell them lies and when you lie you lie big. They might not believe all of the lie but the bigger the lie the more they believe, of course.

So I darling them and dear them and honey them and they blush and coo even as my prick slides into their vaginas, which, after all, are the goals a cocksman sets out to reach, are they not?

“I believe… I'm ready, honey,” she whispered. Gingerly, gently, I introduced my knob harder against her cunt-lips. White teeth gritted, she closed her eyes, her buttocks rising up to meet my downward push.

“You take full command,” she whispered.

Accordingly, my right hand moved from her buttock to encircle my cock. Her small hands left my prick. They were hot as her cunt. I steadily pushed my hips forward.

My cock threatened to bend. My hand held it straight. I tried to play my knob up and down in her cunt. I could not do this. Half my knob was in her. It expanded her and fit so tightly up-and-down movement was impossible.

I could do but two things: either quit or drive ahead, although I knew her pain was extreme for she'd dropped her head back on her pillow and lay with closed eyes, mouth tight and eyelashes lying on her rounded white cheeks.

She was indeed a thing of beauty. I had a wild pounding heart. Blood hammered my veins, pounded through arteries. I couldn't imagine ever putting my cock into such a beautiful female before.

I had a sudden idea. My left hand left the cleft of her buttocks, reached out, caught the extra pillow. I then lifted her and put the pillow under her buttocks, thereby raising the plane of her cunt.

Now my cock drove straight down. She spread her legs wider, evidently hoping thereby to open her cunt more; nonetheless, she could spread her opening no more. My prick still lay with half the knob in her.

The thought came that I should have lubricated her and my prick thoroughly before attempting this entrance, but I realized it was too late now. If I took my knob from her she might decide to quit this affair. I have made that mistake in my life of cocksmanship. Bodily contact means much. Sometimes when bodily contact is missing the urge suddenly abandons a woman.

Therefore I had to blunder through or perhaps lose all, and what cocksman wishes to lose the great chance of breaking a maidenhead-something many men never, never accomplish in their long lives of moving from one cunt to the other.

Her breathing sounded harsh and deep and expectant. In a silent way she implored me to enter her and make her a woman, as the romantic novelists label breaking a maiden's veil.

Frankly, I could have roughly entered, forcing my cock in, but this I did not wish to do, for to have done so would have pained her and made her angry-and I wanted to pierce this small cunt time and time again.

I planned party after party with this delectable little female with her almost impenetrable vagina. Therefore I entered the cunt slowly, wriggling my cock, threading my bulb through her cunt's hairy lips-and finally my knocker was inside her cunt's lips, and the rest of my long round prick could easily enter, for once the knob is in the hardest part has been accomplished.

I felt my cock's tip push against something closing the door to her vagina. My heart sang with happiness. Fine sweat coated my sac. She had told me truth! My knob pushed against her tight virginal membrane!

She breathed, “The first cock to enter my cunt,” and she smiled without opening her eyes. Hers was a contented smile, the smile of a woman who soon will get a man's cock to his balls.

She was also getting under wild passion's wild sway. Never when normal would she utter the words cock and cunt. Passion was revealing her true evil nature. No woman in the world can curse and talk as filthy as the parson's wife.

My bulb pushed her membrane. Evidently this pained for her lips went tight and bloodless as she murmured, “Break the fucking thing, m'love. What kind of a cunt am I, anyway? Here I have the number of years I have and I still have my fucking maidenhead. Break the shit out of it, m'love!”

This I did not do, at this time, and the reason was simple: I wanted to feel a strong hard maidenhead on the end of my cock, a thing few men in life accomplish.

For most females, when receiving the cock for the first time, strangely show no maidenheads, which may seem odd to the amateur cocksman but to an old tried and seasoned prick this is not an oddity.

The veil is usually punctured with fingers or bananas or something entering the vagina in lieu of a prick. The usual excuse is that the membrane of virginity was broken 'while I was out on a horseback ride,' which is one of the baldest lies a female can concoct, but the human female seldom, if ever, tells the truth, even to a husband who has paid all her bills and kept her in idleness and comfort all her years.

Evidently Lady Haversock apparently had done no horseback riding. The irony of this struck me for soon her ladyship would be 'ridden,' my hard cock sliding in and out of her white-rimmed cunt.

But first, I must break this maidenhead. Great joy was in me, surging through my flesh. I was being handed one of the greatest opportunities a man can ever attain. And then, what was the sound I had heard?

Was the bedroom door slowly but surely being opened? My prick in her cunt to behind my knob, my bulb pushing against her delectable maidenhead, I looked back over my right shoulder, and what I saw made my cock suddenly wilt and my heart jump with fear.

For there, horse pistol in hand, stood the heavy set middle-aged Lord Haversock, his eyes slitted as he attempted to probe the darkness.

All that saved me from being slaughtered on the spot was the fact that the stupid lord could not see well in the intense gloom of the room, his eyes not yet accustomed to picking out and seeing objects clearly… something my eyes could do.

“Who's in here with my wife?” the lord rasped.

His words bounced from wall to wall. His startled wife opened her mouth to scream; my flat hand came down, stifling her possible yell. Within a second, I was on my feet, moving swiftly and silently as I scooped my clothes from a chair, many feverish thoughts running through my head.

Lord Haversock was supposed to be away from his bed for at least one night, yet here he stood with pistol in hand. Why had he returned? Or, had he ever departed? Had he laid a trap for me?

Had he suspected somebody would sneak in to have sex with his lovely young wife? I had come in under dark to the lady's window, the trees hiding me in the night.

Had a servant seen me sling a leg over his wife's window? And had that same servant somehow contacted Lord Haversock and so informed him?

“I daresay, who is in this room?” his lordship thundered.

Already, I had slipped through a side door into another room, hoping I'd not forgotten a bit of clothing. Dismay surged through me, mingling with fear. I packed no sidearm. I had been on the verge of shattering a maidenhead, a great honor. I had not broken that maiden's veil.

I had been false to the cocksman's code. This falseness consisted of two elements: I had not consummated my sex session and I had stupidly allowed myself to be caught in a married female's bed by the said female's irate spouse.

I slid up a window. Naked, I dropped to the ground. My bare feet were in a flower bed. I looked about. I saw nobody. I made a dash for the heavier darkness of the trees some thirty feet distant.

Then rang out the female voice. “He goes this way, m'lord. And the sonofabitch is naked, m'lord. Come, come, come-with your pistol!

I come, Mattie, I come!”

Luck favored me. The housemaid-or whoever yelled-had no arm. I tore naked for the brush. My stage and driver were on a far street, awaiting my return. I dressed as I ran.

I discovered I had left my bottom underwear in my lady's room. Well, it held no identification, so that was just as well. I realized I heard no shot. Evidently Lord Haversock had not killed his wife. He had the right to kill her for her deceit, too.

When I came to my carriage I was walking and breathing normally. I climbed into the box and called up, “Home, John,” and my man said, “With pleasure, m'lord,” and the carriage rattled off, my four gray steeds making clattering hoof-sounds on the ancient stone road.

My head was now clear. I did some constructive thinking. I had nothing to fear unless m'lady got frightened and revealed my identity to her husband. He then had the right-under this stupid king-to shoot me on sight, even with my back turned to him.

He could challenge me to a duel, too.

Suddenly my driver called down, “M'lord, another carriage approaches from the rear and comes in very, very fast.”

I parted the window curtain. Fog had swooped down, as it does in London, without a moment's notice. You couldn't see your hand in front of your face.

“How do you know another carriage comes? You cannot see like the cat, can you?”

“No, but I hear good. And this is Charing Cross Lane and many carriages have been robbed here by hard driving bandits in coaches, m'lord.”

He was right. Periodicals lately reported many robberies here on Charing Cross Lane. “Use the whip,” I ordered.

This he did, my coach lurching ahead.

Thus began a chase, coach after coach, which was and still is about the most illogical and senseless thing in which I have ever been ensnared, for I really thought the wildly approaching coach was really driven by bandits who would force my stage to the curb and mount it, much as pirates lash their marauding ship to the merchant ship and swarm aboard the enemy, cutlasses in teeth and long blades working.

Let me set the stage for my readers. The hour was slightly after midnight. London's fog lay in big patches. At this hour few honest citizens were on the streets. They were home in bed, windows and doors barred.

And through these patches of fog thundered my hansom, an ornate coach, probably one stolen from a rich man, thundering behind and, to my surprise, gaining steadily, for my horses were fresh and oats-fed and very, very fast.

“More whip,” I hollered up.

“The steeds have no more, m'lord!”

I looked out the back window. We were now in deep fog. Instantly, we were out of fog. All was clear-the narrow street, cobblestoned and rough, the houses, leaning this way and that, the weirdness of the whole thing-and my coach, lurching in its speed, steel-rimmed wheels whamming stone.

And the other coach, driver lashing his plunging chargers, gaining, steadily gaining, and I remembered the naked fair Lady Haversock, my knob only in her cunt.

With sinking heart, I realized I'd not broken her maidenhead. I vowed, then and there, I'd someday break her veil, my bulb coming out with her membrane draped over it.

The reader will remember I wrote that I finally broke the good woman's maidenhead, but that was another time.

I glanced back at the coach. My heart sank. It had indeed speedy steeds, for it had gained much between the last two patches of fog-free periods.

I wished, devoutly, I had a side-arm but, of course, wishes did not supply this, and I hurled forward, disarmed and slightly fearsome.

For who, in my helpless position, wouldn't be afraid?

Episode Number Seven

As I have said, the whole affair bespoke of insanity. Fog coiled upward. Stages plunged through this fog. My driver drove as though our lives depended on the speed of our chargers, which we both thought at that time was the truth. And behind us roared the second stage, driver standing as he plied his lash over the steam, plunging backs and rumps of his four horses.

I glanced back in a clearing. My heart went to my boots. The cab behind belonged to Lord Haversock. The gaudy crest on its front told me that. My god, had he recognized me, a cuckolding cocksman, in the dark?

I remembered his lordship standing in the dark doorway, his huge pistol in his hands. I looked about for some instrument to use to defend myself and of course found only my fists.

How terribly fate had and was treating me. I had behaved like a gentleman from first to last in m'lady's boudoir. The lady had been entirely willing-nay, she'd demanded my prick! It takes two willing persons to fuck, you know-and her hips had wriggled with sexual hunger.

Her husband did not deserve such a beautiful young wife. He had gone up her rectum, had he not, and not into her vagina? And she'd begged me to implant a life in her womb.

Lord Haversock, the sonofabitch, was the villain, not I. I had been merely trying to right a terrible wrong.

Thus my feverish mind, working through fear and doubt, built up its case-and then it occurred to me that his lordship possibly had not recognized me, as I had feared.

Evidently he'd found no man in the bedroom of his terrified wife. Somewhere in the night he'd heard a carriage thundering out and he'd ran to his hansom, which evidently had stood ready for emergency-horses and with driver.

And he had then had his driver follow this cab, thinking it the strange hansom.

All this was conjecture, of course, but later, as this sordid recital will show, this conjecture proved correct. But let us return to the present, with my driver lashing my horses for speed… and more speed.

And behind me another driver lashed his steeds, and his steeds were faster than mine, for they were overhauling my carriage rather rapidly. Fear struck me momentarily. Lord Haversock's teams plainly might run over my hansom, with me in it, of course!

I cried for my driver to pull in, for further running was a mere waste of carriage and horseflesh, for plainly we were caught but my man, lashing and swearing, evidently did not hear me and my rig thundered on, horses' steel shod hoofs striking sparks from the cobblestones.

Now came fog and again clear air and the carriage of Lord Haversock was now abreast of mine, his driver inching it over to lock hubs with my rig.

Were we to lock hubs, his heavier hansom would send mine toppling-and inside might be my corpse when people came to inspect the ruins. “Stop, stop!” I screamed. My driver again apparently did not hear, but my horses themselves now took a turn in this stupid midnight game of carriage chase carriage, for my off lead horse suddenly reared, neighing wildly, the other three following suit.

My hansom snapped to a bone-crushing halt just as the hind axle of Lord Haversock's carriage smashed in toward the front hub of mine, ready to send me and mine toppling. But his wheel missed because my carriage skidded to a halt, and there we were with my teams rearing and farting and balking, and the carriage of his lordship skidding also to a stop, blocking the street ahead.

I had only one thing left: try to bluff through, pistol or no pistol. I alighted. I called up to my driver. “Do you have a weapon?”

“Only my whip, m'lord.”

“Use it if it is necessary.”

“I use nothing,” the bastard cried, and leaped from the box, leaving the lines dragging. He wheeled and ran into the gloom, the coward-and I was alone, facing Lord Haversock's pistol.

I glanced about hurriedly. Not a fagon, not a loose cobblestone-nothing I could get my hands on. I unbuckled my belt, then noticed my man's whip lying three feet distance.

I snapped my belt buckled again, scooped up the whip, sent its lash trailing behind me, and stood ready for the assault as Lord Haversock, pistol still in hand, came from his coach and advanced toward me, crouched over and with beady eyes probing me.

Then he stopped ten feet away, pistol still level, and called my name, and I gave him recognition, too.

“M'lord, what is this?” he asked.

“I don't know. I heard your carriage roaring through fog. I feared bandits and robbers so I ordered my man to whip up my horses but your steeds are the fleetest I have ever witnessed outside of the thoroughbreds that run at Epson Downs, my friend.”

He peered at me, then asked, “Where is your driver now?”

“He fled, the coward. And when he ran, he ran out of my employment, also. I'll shoot him if he comes back… had I a pistol, which I have not, for I am without arms, m'lord.”

“Where have you been and where do you come from, m'lord.”

I hesitated, for where I had been and from whence I came definitely were out of his business, but then I thought it best to be open and candid, for his question was put for a good reason.

“I have been visiting my brother on Landing Arch Lane. We played whist until late-too late, in fact.”

“I see,” he said carefully. “And because of robbers you whipped up your teams. You ran from no more than possible thieves, I would be led to understand?”

“You understand correctly, Lord Haversock. Now may I ask a question of your personage, m'lord.”

“Certainly, m'lord.”

“Who do you seek and evidently you seek him or her with a pistol to kill some particular person.”

He seemed suddenly aware that he held the pistol. He put it quickly under his broad Indian silk sash of bright red. My heart settled down and a few tons of lead left my shoulders.

He made a tough, hard figure, outlined there by flickering kerosene street lamps. I knew he had made quite a war figure in India where he spent some years for the Crown. Perhaps it was in that faraway land that he acquired a taste for assholes over cunts?

“I have made a great error, m'lord.” He bowed from the waist. “I shall make no effort to explain. Were I to explain my movements I would violate the trust of one near and dear to me.” His words, although apparently casually spoken, still held a stern vein of steel. “I merely bid you goodnight.”

“Goodnight, my lord,” I said, also bowing.

He turned sharply then, as a soldier on close drill, and he stalked to his cab, halting just outside the door held open by his whip. “You saw no other cab-or rider-while we merrily chased the hell out of each other?”

I saw an opening. “Indeed I did,” I fabricated.

He shot his question at me. “Where was this? And was it a cab or a gentleman on horseback?”

“It was at the intersection of this street and Willowbrook, which should be about six blocks behind us. The man was on horse. He rode fast. He seemed to be fleeing from something or somebody.”

His heavy brows rose. I could imagine him naked behind his wife's fair buttocks, his cock in her asshole, his big hands gripping her small waist just above her hips as he delivered his semen into her rectum.

My prick started to erect. Would there be any way to sneak back and again plant my knob in the fair cunt of the lovely Lady Haversock? Discretion told me that was impossible, but my erection still lingered.

“What makes you think he was in flight?” Lord Haversock asked.

“He rode with all speed possible. And he was buttoning his shirt as he passed in front of my carriage. He seemed to be dressing in the saddle, if such a thing were possible.”

“Ah, so I see, m'lord. By now he would be far gone, would he not?”

“He would indeed be, Lord Haversock. Evidently he is the man you look for. May I ask why, at this hour of the morning, you seek him?”

“You may ask and be damned, but I won't answer!”

And then his lordship stepped hard into his carriage and the driver rolled his rig away, leaving me standing in the street with my whip still in hand, my teams breathing heavily behind me, my heart again steady and my mind already running ahead to the question: How and where would I again bed down the fair Lady Haversock and claim her maidenhead?

I would somehow get in contact with her soon. Or would she send for me? Time would tell. I climbed to the box of my hansom, realizing that I had a very fierce erection.

My cock called for a cunt around it, hairy and soft and warm, my testicles resting against a fair female asshole. I drove hurriedly home. I aroused my groom who took my sweaty horses.

“Where is your driver, m'lord?”

“I don't know. He ran away. Bandits attacked us in Charing Cross Lane.”

“You escaped unhurt, m'lord?”

“Yes, but no thanks to my driver. If he comes back tell him that if he stays I will kill him.”

“That I shall, m'lord. He deserves death for deserting his master. But I fear you'll not see him again on these premises.”

I stalked to the house, my erection pushing against my trousers, the lust for a female pounding me. I stopped within the door, one hand inside my trousers fondling my penis.

It had been a foul night for a cocksman. I had had my bulb pushing against a maidenhead and had been cheated of breaking the veil, in addition to almost being shot and killed.

But my uncle had said there would be such days. He also had encountered such tragedies, as he joyfully and jokingly called them.

But the fair Lady Haversock still lived, I guessed, and that was what counted, for she as a person didn't count but she, as a cunt, did definitely amount to something to me.

But she was in her estate and I was here in the dark holding my prick, and my big bed was empty. Or was it?

I hurried to my bedroom. I stopped just inside the door, sniffing the air. I have my uncle's nose for cunt, but this room held none. I rang the bell.

Soon the little maid arrived carrying a taper, her long white nightgown hiding her curves and splendid buttocks.

“You rang, m'lord.”

“Yes, I desire a woman for my bed.”

She looked at me over the flickering candle, completely awake now. “This is unusual, m'lord, that you return at this hour of the night-no, morning-and your penis is in need of a hair collar.”

“Watch your tongue, bitch!” Once you put your manhood in them, they think they own a part of you. The best thing is to always remain the master and never give them an inch for they will then take the proverbial mile. “Where is the new girl-the one who came two days ago to work in my kitchen.”

“She is indisposed, m'lord, with the flowings.”

“And my cook?”

I suddenly wanted my cook. She's a big woman with huge full breasts and rather wide buttocks. Her cunt is rather large, though, but she is comfortable for I like to hit them hard at times and her ass, solid and big, could take the hard punishment of my hips, smashing down and rising as I neared my climax.

“The cook is not on premises, m'lord. She had a day of rest today-or rather, yesterday, now-and will report in this coming forenoon, m'lord, and by that time your erection will have fallen, is not that the truth?”

“Where is Grace?” Grace is my pantry girl. I took her only when I was hard in need, I could have taken this winsome lass before me, you know, but I wanted to play hard to compromise, for some reason.

“Grace had yesterday free, too-and she is with the cook.”

There were no more women on the estate. I said, “Come along then, whore, and take my cock,” and I put an arm around her waist, feeling her firmness under the loose nightgown.

“You take me as last resort,” she said poutingly. “I do not have to bed with you, m'lord.”

My hand was over her crack. I pulled up her gown with my other hand. Then I faced her and cupped her fair buttocks and pulled up on them, spreading her crack to allow my right forefinger to draw a ring around her asshole.

She trembled under passion. I felt her nipples grow suddenly hard, a sure sign she needed-and begged-for the cock.

Her left arm went around my neck. She rose on bare tiptoes to my lips, and I noticed, then, that her right hand had my trousers open. My erected prick stuck out. Carefully, she skinned back and forth my foreskin, tantalizing my cock, making my testicles ready and willing.

“Oh, what a lovely prick,” she murmured.

We broke our lips then and began the happy march to my bed, my forefinger deep in her anus, which is what she liked. I bent my forefinger, doubling it in the ring of her asshole, and she hammered my chest with joy as I sank on my back on the bed for her to undress me.

Oh and ah, the simple joys of simple fucking, my loves!

I now create Episode Eight

Each person-male or female-seeks his highest enjoyment while in the act of copulation, therefore some males love to puncture the assholes and mouths of other males-a point our bastardly king frowns on for the public but enjoys himself in private, so rumor says.

Sometimes two females go into the six and nine, their tongues seeking the cunts or assholes of the other, and thus they roll and have orgasms and break wind, locked in obscenity-to use the word of our bastardly queen, who is worse in ignorance than our bastardly king, if such is possible.

I have related how the little maid and I cavort in bed, mentioning that we first went at each other in normal fashion with me on top in the saddle and with her lying on her back, legs reared and spread with me inside her tender thighs, my huge penis lancing in and out of her happy vagina.

I have recorded-in my feeble way-how I would get behind her as she knelt naked on all fours, and how my prick would enter either her anus or vagina, said choice depending upon our whims of the moment and the nearness of our jar of lubricant, for her asshole is very, very tight as I have stated.

(For cunt and asshole lubricant a cocksman should employ the best brand of South African or Scottish sheep grease. The most satisfactory penis lubricant comes from the rendering of the fat of a fat sheep's fat tail.)

Then, if passion and circumstances demanded, she and I would go into the lesbian position, the six and the nine, with my cock sliding in and out of her sweet red-lipped mouth and my tongue ladling her dulcet cum from her throbbing cunt.

But we both like variety and this morning she mounted me as I lay naked on my bed, my penis jabbing upward at the customary angle, and with her also in the nude-and she is, indeed, a lovely prick-raising vision while undressed, as I have already tried to describe in my limited command of English, my native tongue.

“I don't want it that way,” I said.

She looked at me. She had my cock in both her hands and was going down on it slowly, wriggling it back and forth as it entered her hot vagina. Now she stopped, leg muscles tight, my knob just inside her hairy cunt's strong lips.

“May I ask why?” she asked.

I explained that my testicles seemingly were in haste to cast out my first semen and I wanted her in normal fashion until my rocks had drained for the first time, for having her-or any other woman in normal position on her back-always made me have an orgasm faster.

There is still no manner or method that beats what some cocksmen call 'the old fashion way.'

A saucy smile showed on her red lips. Dim candlelight outlined her beautiful body-the thick hair of her head, her strong profile, the sturdy little chin, and then the breasts, hard and big, nipples strong and brown.

Yes, and her smooth little belly and the widening hips, now spread over my hips, she on her feet with her ass coming down, my cock already to the knob in her womanhood.

“I shall bargain with you, m'lord.”

“Yes? And the terms?”

Her terms were simple and delightful. I would have her first on her back in normal man-woman fashion and when my testicles had spoken she could then mount me. “For being on top gives me such a masterful feeling,” she informed.

I gave this brief consideration. I had all morning ahead with nothing to do but consort with her or some other household wench, which was indeed a delightful prospect, for what man does not like to lie around all morning and fuck for a while, rest for a while, and then again have his penis seek a mouth, cunt or asshole until it works up to another orgasm?

Needless to say, I accepted her terms. She immediately quit her crouch over me, my prick falling from her cunt. As she went to the floor her lovely lips flashed down and she gave my erection a fleeting kiss, her tongue wiping swiftly across my pee-hole.

She then went on her back. I got between her legs on my knees. I took hold of each well-formed ankle, she watching over her parted breasts, holding her vee open by her hands.

I reared her lovely legs high, spreading them as they went up. I saw her anus, lovely and hairy, and then her cunt, small and sweet in its nest of thick hair, a small rim of white around it for she had already had a slight orgasm while running my knob back and forth in her cunt.

My heart thrilled at the loveliness of her naked cunt, there beneath me. Her eyes were narrowed and dreamy as though already she enjoyed my cock, and her rear lifted slightly as though pleading for my prick to enter more rapidly.

My cock jutted upward. Fierce sexual longings surged through me, making my asshole tighten. I had been cheated out of having a wild and full orgasm in the lovely hips of Lady Haversock. My sexual desire then had been suddenly blunted.

Now my desires were double ordinary. My cock came down, my right hand now wrapped around it, and my knob probed her hair, pushed against her asshole, for I loved to tease her.

I saw her lips tighten as my prick pushed her anus. I put more pressure on my cock, my bulb in her asshole. I wanted to tease her for experience had taught me that when she was slightly angry she would take it out on my cock with better hip action and a tighter cunt that fairly milked my semen from my penis.

I closed my eyes, smiling inwardly. My knob began to pry her dry asshole apart. I now had my bulb in her anus. Suddenly she farted so loudly she almost blew my prick free of her hole.

“Beans,” she said, “and something else, m'lord.”

“Yes, and what is that?”

“You promised to put your big tool up my cunt and not my asshole. I cannot have a good orgasm being cornholed, you know, and I want a good big blast when I come.”

Cornholed! The filthiness of the American word made me almost shudder. Those god-damned filthy American religious fanatics. They would be the only ones filthy enough to think of such a filthy word!

How much better would be the word sodomy! ”I thought we agreed on your asshole,” I said, still teasing.

She said, “God damn it, I won't stand for it. You said you'd fuck me in my cunt and not my asshole and I'm holding you to your word. Either you put that in my vagina or I'm leaving this bed.”

Anger also hit me. I held her hips savagely. I drove my cock suddenly into her asshole until my balls hit her buttocks. She screamed in pain, and I caught her long nails rising to claw, my hands grabbing her hard around her small wrists. Meanwhile, my cock went in and out of her rectum, bringing out some excrement, sloppy and yellow colored, for a lubricant.

“My God,” she gasped, “but that is good, m'lord. Fuck me in the ass and put your finger in my cunt and tickle my little man until he goes wild with joy. Lord, you sure fill my asshole, m'lord.”

Suddenly, after a dozen licks at her asshole, I without warning jerked my cock from her anus. I launched forward and her cunt opened and took my prick, excrement and all, until my testicles hammered against her opened asshole as she curled her rear end upward until I drove directly down on her, my cock going in completely, which was indeed a thrilling event.

She gasped loudly in happy surprise. “Fuck me, m'lord, fuck me! Put your big hose in my cunt to my belly, m'lord. Oh, god, what fuckings we have — Much better than me and any of your male help-”

She clamped her mouth shut. Due to her passion she'd said too much. She turned inquiring eyes on me. “My passion betrayed me, m'lord.”

I laughed, hips going up, then down. Her cunt's lips opened and closed around my ascending and descending shaft. A great feeling of bliss came over me, my damp and warm cock bringing happiness to me.

“Ah ha,” I said. “You fuck the others, too? I thought you reserved your ass only for your master, my fair bitch!”

“Master, it is not my fault. They catch me when you are not around and they rape me!”

She lied, of course. All young men aspiring to be cocksmen should never, never forget that while men lie occasionally, women lie continuously. They should never set the slightest stock by what a female says.

“And you rape easily, I take it.” To me it was all a joke. To me she was nothing but another fuck, although a good fuck…. She had enough ass and teats to supply many men and she lacked no tightness in mouth, asshole or cunt, as already stated.

“No, I fight them, m'lord.”

“Your heels, I notice, are round in the back,” I still teased, thrilling to the warmth of her vagina, for my cock went to its far end and hit the bottom, as we cocksmen say.

“My lord-Oh, my god, here I come, m'lord. Oh, my very asshole is bouncing, I do declare. What if I have another baby-one by you, this time?”

“We shall blame it on your priest friend,” I said. “By the way, how is he in bed?”

She answered in stupid straight country simplicity. “He doesn't have as much cock as you have. He cannot hit the end of me like you can. I would much rather fuck his superior, though-the bishop-”

Her cunt was well lubricated now. I felt her whiteness on my pubic hairs and my balls were damp. We had assumed our beat rhythm now. My cock made a sucking sound and it went in and out of her grabbing cunt.

It was, indeed, a very pleasant sound.

“But the bishop. What a huge belly he has,” I said.

“I wish I had a pillow under my ass. There is about one half an inch of your prick I cannot take because my cunt is too low.”

I took my right hand from her left buttock. My forefinger had been up her rectum an inch. I noticed excrement on my finger. It rubbed off on the white pillowcase as I brought the pillow under her buttocks.

She dug her heels in and lifted herself; then, once again, her legs went up, her knees bent over my laboring buttocks. I realized that my penis now went completely into her with not an iota of it outside.

To get your entire cock in a cunt one must have the cunt sticking up at almost a one-hundred-and-eighty degree angle, the opening right under the cocksman.

Sometimes, young cocksman, fuck a woman- any woman-and watch your cock in a mirror. When the woman lies with her heels digging into the bed and knees bent, you have a good inch-or maybe two inches-of unused prick that does not enter the cunt due to the curvature of the female buttocks.

If the woman has a wide strong ass as my cock has a man could try and try but still a good two inches of his cock will fail to enter.

Now put one pillow under the buttocks of the female. Then watch your cock go into her in the mirror. With her buttocks pointing more upward, you get a good extra inch of prick.

But you will also notice that a good bit of your cock is not in her, even as you make your deepest downward stroke. And, if you are a conscientious cocksman, or desire to become an efficient cocksman, this fact will dismay you slightly, of course.

For a good cocksman is like a good artisan. Both strive to please their customer and their art. But to each problem there must be a solution. Were they not the world would not have progressed to the high intelligence man has today. And this problem of the cocksman can be solved very easily.

All he needs do is add another pillow under the buttocks of his customer or loved one. This pillow lifts the female ass much higher and presents the cocksman higher in the air, suspended over his customer, his cock going into her so completely he can many times feel his sac and testicles push against her anus.

The cocksman now has all his penis in his woman. He is content for he has done his job-at least, as far as penis insertion is concerned-to the best of his ability.

The female is now happy, too. She is proud of being able to absorb the cocksman to his last inch. She, stupid thing, prides herself on being a woman, whatever that means!

But I shall not bore my reader with too much educational value. My uncle has said many times that the human mind can absorb just so many facts within a given time and then tires and seeks recreation.

You will remember that I needed sex very badly when finally I connected with the maid. I still smarted from not being able to break the maidenhead of the lovely Lady Haversock.

The naked irony of the situation was appalling. I had had one good chance to have sex with this lovely untouched bride. Fate had intervened in evil suddenness.

The whole thing rang with the falseness of a cheap melodrama, but still all elements were true. Did Lord Haversock suspect his lovely wife of being untrue?

That could not be so. If Lady Haversock had had sexual intercourse with other suitors then would she not be quitted of her maidenhead? Surely all English cocksmen do not fuck solely up the anus?

But common sense told me that I'd have another chance with the lovely lady later on. She would want my cock again. I long ago learned that women desire the cock even more than the male desires to give them the cock.

My uncle taught me this fact. He said, “Nephew, the female will act as though the act would be repulsive but once you get her in the right position — well, she will gladly and happily part.

“Position is ninety-nine percent of the game. A man can't make contacts that lead to a favorable position unless that cocksman circulates about where there are many women.

“Flatter them all, young, old, stupid, intelligent, handsome, ugly-and it will pay off. Remember that the ugly usually do it much sooner and better than the lovely.

“This is because men pay little or no attention to an ugly woman and she therefore has all her desires and whiteness bottled up and ready for instant release.

“Some of the best ass I've had-if I may be vulgar and use the word ass- has come from homely women.”

I closed my eyes, my prick sliding up and down in my maid. I realized that Lady Haversock would gladly give me another chance. I saw a mental picture. I saw Lady Haversock, stark naked, on hands and knees, taking the fat Lord Haversock's cock in her anus.

She was beautiful even in imagination, my Lady Haversock. She knelt in boredom, plainly tolerating her husband's prick in her asshole. A bored look was on her beautiful face.

Suddenly I became aware of a high keening sound breaking from the clenched lips of my sexual partner. This grew and her hips increased speed in unison to the loudness of her cry.

Then her cry broke into happy words. “I come, m'lord, I come. Oh, how I am flowing! I am breaking inside, m'lord. Come with me, come with me-

Her hips fairly tried to pull my penis out, roots and all. I grabbed her plump hard buttocks with even firmer grip, both forefingers in her asshole to impale her and hold her steady while my cock poured my semen into her wet, white cunt.

I fucked with great hardness, my flesh smacking her plump bottom. She cried for me to implant her with child, but all women do that in moments of extreme passion.

My testicles pulled up hard in my sac, which was now very small. I felt great forces grouping in my belly. They roared forward, and became burning sex, and they in turn triggered my testicles-and my semen moved through its mysterious tubes to jet from the hole of my penis.

Oh, how we fucked! She took and grabbed and released; my fingers held her buttocks steady as I poured into her shot after shot, she taking each capsule in happy delirium.

The world faded away. No two other persons- not even Lady Haversock-existed. We were the world's only occupants. We fucked as Adam and Eve are reported to have fucked, all alone in the world.

Ah, the joys of sex, the happiness of fucking. When a man and woman couples their joy is complete. They reach to high heights, even though strangers, for as my uncle said, “Strangers many times fuck better than people in love whatever in love means.

“Each is new to the other. There are no memories of old hates and quarrels between them. Strangers fuck for the sheer joy of fucking.”

Now my good uncle's words rang in my roaring ears. I wondered, suddenly, how he did in the West Indies, and I knew that chances were better than even odds that, at this moment, he had his cocksman cock in some cunt, the owner either mulatto, black or white-for my uncle paid no attention to skin color.

Then all became lost in a whirling, smashing void as my cock unloaded all my surging, pulsating manhood into the eager, grasping cunt of this household bitch!

Why waste such glory in thought?

Episode Number Nine

I believe I have mislead my reader by labeling this book The Scandalous Confession of an English Traveler.

My readers will look forward to an Englishman traveling around the world indulging in various forms of international sex, but I meant that this Englishman travelled from bed to bed and not abroad.

But I shall not worry about this point. If this book is confiscated and the king gets it in his hands and gets his hands on me then I will indeed be a Traveler-the rope and public hanging.

Even in its so-called civilized state, the world is full of uncertainties. “The only thing certain is uncertainty,” my good uncle has many times stated. “Prepare for the worst and hope for the best.”

I feel sure that these sayings were not original with my uncle. He evidently borrowed them from some book, for he always had his nose in a tome when not with some female.

Nevertheless, these are two good adages for a cocksman. A cocksman, to be blunt, has one foot in proper society and the other foot in the caldron of the devil, so as to speak.

He presents a suave, smiling, almost immature, face to society, for to gain his points-the breasts and cunts of females-he must travel inside society, merely going out into the pale when indulging in what our bastardly king would label fornication.

Many of my young readers aspiring to be cocksmen undoubtedly are in the low financial scale. Let this lack of funds not deter you. You have but two assets, to be blunt.

Your first asset is your penis. Let us talk in man-to-man cocksman terms, please. Your future depends much on your penis. And to be a successful cocksman you had best have a long penis-at least ten inches or over-and a big penis-its circumference great enough to amply fill most cunts.

I admit, here and now, that there are some cunts no penis-I repeat, no penis-can ever hope to fill And during my years of cocksmanship I have discovered that the smaller in stature the female the greater size her cunt.

At first, I couldn't believe this. I had, at sixteen, delivered the cock to Baroness Von Henning, the rich German, who had heard of the size of my prick and had deliberately chosen me to fuck her that particular night.

Now the Baroness is a small, dainty woman. When she undressed me I lay on her huge round bed and awaited her to quit her clothes and as she discarded these I admired her firm and small and well-breasted body, my young prick protruding upward at the proper angle, my foreskin peeled back over my pulsating knob as I gently fingered my cock in anticipation of this penetration.

The Baroness stood in front of her huge tall mirror, plainly teasing me by making me wait, but I was wise to her and raised no complaint. Her bare back was to me, and a lovely back it was, indeed.

Her small shoulders were square. (She stood four feet eleven.) Her waist was so tiny-oh, how small it was! And then her hips spread out, womanly but not big, the crack of her ass tiny and closed tightly, for she evidently didn't want me to admire her asshole, although I could slightly discern her pubic hair.

Then, she turned. I remember gasping. My god, my lord, what a beauty, what a walking, talking doll, what a lovely bit of God's own handiwork!

Naturally my first glance fell on her hips and lower structure, the first part of a woman that a cocksman admires, for here lies her cunt and anus and the female parts he seeks.

Her blonde pubic hair was a deep mass of loveliness, diamond shaped between her curvaceously rounded-but small-thighs.

Finally my gaze ran up her belly, which was flat and without wrinkles, and became riveted on her breasts, which I shall find hard to describe but shall attempt to do so, nonetheless.

For her size, she had the breasts of a much larger woman. Her nipples jutted upward and, to my surprise, they were not brown but a light rose color, the first of that color I had ever seen. In fact, I've seen no true rose-petal pink in nipples since that date!

I then looked at her face. When at the dance but an hour before her small face with its finely-chiseled features had been smiling and congenial. Now, facing the passion of sex, it was twisted, eyes narrowed, red lipped mouth tight… a typical overbearing Hessian visage.

I almost withdrew at that moment, but caught myself in time for my eyes again fell on that great mass of high pubic hair. I guessed that a small, delightful cunt lay buried beneath that thick bunch of coils; in fact, my prick became even longer and, I swear, even more hard, although it was concrete hard at the moment before.

“I like the top position,” the Baroness said, advancing on bare and silent small feet, those big delectable breasts moving up and down with each short, mincing step.

I'd expected that. My uncle had told me that the Hessian females he had penetrated all had wanted to ride him-not him ride them-except one, for the German always wants the top position in his crude, coarse and rasping ignorance. Nonetheless, her cunt was what counted, not the prestige of one race over the other, so accordingly I put my legs together as she mounted me.

What a beautiful picture she made, indeed! Her cream-colored skin, glistening in the dim lamplight, and her rose-tinted nipples, bobbing as she daintily stepped over me to face me, my prick in her two small hands.

I closed my eyes as she broke her knees and lowered her luscious hips down. Soon my stiff prick would be buried in her pubic forest. My knob would penetrate the dense mass of hair. It would find the lips of a small, damp cunt.

My very intestines trembled with sexual lust. My muscles were damp, fine sweat covering my skin. My blood quickened as I felt her steer my knob through her fine pubic hair.

The hairs tickled my bulb. I writhed hips in expectation. I opened my eyes briefly.

She was crouched, her knees bent, her splendid body slowly coming down on my prick, which she still held in both hands-hands so tiny that, placed end to end, they didn't begin to cover my cock, I am proud to relate.

I closed my eyes. Soon my cock would feel the outlines of her cunt. Why did she hold my prick in both hands? The reason was simple. Her cunt was so small, so tiny, so wee, she'd have to carefully manipulate my stiff organ so it could enter her without hurting her?

Suddenly, to my surprise, her buttocks landed down on my hips. What had happened? Had she suddenly come down and missed my cock which had slid to the front and now pushed up her belly and was not warm and tight in her cunt?

Then, again to my surprise, I felt a little warmth around my penis. Her hands had left my prick. They were now placed on my belly. Then I realized she had slid down my cock and my prick was now deep in her-to the roots. And her cunt was so huge I hadn't felt its sides as she'd absorbed my long and round penis!

Hurriedly, I opened my eyes. My surmise was correct. All of my prick was in her cunt. She rested her asshole on my testicles. Every iota of penis I owned now lay between her lovely thighs!

Eyes closed, she began rising and falling on my penis, her dimpled knees bending and lifting. To my dismay, my cock felt no rubbing from her cunt's lips; indeed, my cock felt little heat, it was in such a huge cavity.

My penis felt a little dampness, but this was natural vagina juice the whiteness that comes to a woman's pubic hairs even without her having an orgasm.

Then the Baroness said, “I come, darling, I come!”

I put my hands on her flanks. I drove her down over my prick, like a farmer hanging a ham on a big nail, and she wriggled this way, then that, as she had her orgasm, and finally she opened her eyes. She smiled then-a girlish, tiny smile.

“I needed a good fucking. My husband would rather twirl his Hessian mustache than fuck me. I am very tight, am I not?”

“Very, very tight,” I lied.

“You have a bigger prick-much bigger-than the Baron, but he fills me completely, too. Come now, let me just silently, thoroughly, fuck you, my good boy.”

Again her ass slid up and down my cock. Again, I realized how big her opening was, for it was sloppier now with her rush of cum.

I cite these facts merely to warn young cocksmen that most women-small women, that is-are big of cunt, as a general rule. Surely the cocksman, no matter how young or immature, must have heard the old cocksman adage that, Big woman, big cunt. Little woman, all cunt.

As the reader has undoubtedly already noticed, the good little Lady Haversock was an exception to the rule of little woman, all cunt, for the reader will remember that I had difficulty getting my knob in her, her cunt was so small.

My penis itched to break her maidenhead, as stated. I prayed that no other penis would beat me to her veil. I would make another move toward her as soon as it was safe.

Now I must relate that I had all the above thoughts while behind the wide bottom of Duchess Jon Barron, whom I have long serviced and whom I go to when all other avenues of sex are closed, for she is not the world's best piece of ass, as the vulgar call sexual intercourse.

For one thing, her bottom is very, very wide. Lying on her is like lying on a soft, heavy-nippled, high breasted mattress, your penis in a damp part — although I must admit the duchess, although the mother of six young children, still has a small cunt-much smaller-than the Hessian Baroness Von Henning.

I was on my knees, my cock lying in the duchess' wide crack, her with her head on her folded arms, her right hand back and her fingers tickling my testicles, which tingle in happiness.

“You seem listless today,” the good housewife said. “Are you working too late, my lover?”

“What do you mean by that?” I asked, sensing what lay ahead-and sensing correctly, as her next words proved, for the common person has confusion between the role of a cocksman and the duties of a pimp.

“Do not some women pay you for your services, my love?” she asked in stupid, blundering big simplicity.

I withdrew my cock from its resting place between her crack. I said, “You confuse me with a pimp, duchess, and that I cannot allow.”

“Wait a minute!” Alarm tinged her hurried words. “I didn't mean to insult you. I spoke out of goodness, and sometimes goodness begats stupidity, as it did in this case!

“For Christ's sweet sake, lover, replace your prick lying in my crack, and we will then decide on whether you use my ass-I mean, anus-or my vagina, sweetheart.

“God, my love, do not deprive me of your prick, for my husband-the fat sonofabitch-only fucks me once a year and each time implants me with child, something you do not do.”

So I wasn't man enough to impregnate that wide big ass before me? Did she also question my manhood? We had fucked only at the wrong time-before her egg came down-or she'd been pregnant from my semen a long, long time ago, would she have not?

I did not lay my penis again in her crack, which now gaped open because, to lure me on, she had reached back with both hands, grabbed her buttocks, and had parted her crack until her asshole was strained, the cunt below it small and white rimmed with a bit of her own excretions.

“A pimp goes on the streets and solicits customers for a whore or two he has under his control,” I said. “A cocksman is one who does it for sheer pleasure it brings him and his woman and no money is involved.”

What a liar I am! Of course, no woman dare insult me by offering me money after or before our sexual intercourse but each Christmas from 'unknown admirers' come enough in checks and outright money to keep me a year if I live frugally.

“I'm so sorry, my love. Now, it is your choice, darling. Which will you take?” She pulled her buttocks even wider, her blue-rimmed asshole directly on the level with my stiff knob. “Asshole or cunt, darling?”

She almost pleaded. Hurriedly, I thought back to our last mating. I had not whammed against her huge ass for almost three weeks. I knew she had no other consort. This was not vanity on my part but rather good judgment on hers, for her husband didn't suspect me a bit, she stated, while he was supremely jealous of some men some years my senior.

According to her, her husband thought me just a harmless-and rather stupid-youth, which is just what she and I wanted him to think.

I debated her question. I gave some time to contemplating her anus. Her asshole gaped open, beckoning to my prick, or so it seemed, and her cunt was hidden, snug and secure in its undergrowth.

“Which, darling?” she pleaded.

I had gone into both openings more times than I could remember. Each Christmas she sent me at least five hundred pounds-for I recognized her handwriting on the package although wisely she signed no Christmas greeting inside.

I suddenly wanted to please her. She was a bubbling, blundering old battle-ax, discontent at home-indeed, I judged the only enjoyment she received in life was when she was squealing and puffing and fucking under my cock.

I knew she preferred to have it in her vagina than in her rectum, for she told me a number of times she felt little response when my penis boomed in and out of her asshole.

Was her asshole tighter than her cunt? No, I decided the cunt-despite spewing out so many young British citizens-was more constrictive than her anus, so I said merely, “Cunt.”

Her back instantly sagged, throwing her buttocks higher. “Oh, goody, darling,” she said, and her hand had my cock, steering it toward her cunt, now in view because of the new high position of her buttocks.

I hunched down, driving my prick up at an angle. I felt the warm lips of her cunt, which had opened to receive my bulb. She moved my prick's end up and down her cunt walls, dampening it, and then she murmured, “Forward, my darling, and drive it in my ass to your lovely balls, my love.”

She had trouble getting my bulb into her cunt. Think of that, dear reader! She the mother of many, and me with a prick not as big as some of my cocksman contemporaries, and she honestly had difficulty parting her hairy cunt enough to accommodate the big end of my penis!

A cocksman's life, naturally, has many thrilling moments but the most thrilling, I do believe in all honesty, is when he finds a cunt that is difficult to enter, for the honor is then two fold, indeed.

First he thinks that he is indeed heavily hung, as the uncouth pimps and whores on Soho Street state it. And each man in the world-be he black, yellow or white-has to be proud of one particular point at least, or he is not worthy of the title MAN.

Some are proud of their abilities to amass millions. Others are proud of their children and hope and work to see them grow into better and bigger persons than their father.

(This latter type of person usually is himself a failure in the world. Because he is a failure he expects much-if not too much-of his offspring to make up for his own lackings.

(This is very destructive both to the child and father involved. Such fathers, my uncle says, are to be avoided as you would avoid all stupid people, for who has learned or gained for his purse from stupidity?)

A bricklayer, to be worth his salt, is proud of his ability to lay a straight line of brick, just as a blacksmith is proud of his ability to properly shoe a stallion.

Thus a cocksman, to be worthy of that name, must indeed be proud of his penis, for that is his stock in trade. Women will not remember him by his good looks-if he has such-but by the length of his prick, the circumference of his penis, and his ability to maneuver that penis in their mouths, cunts or assholes and, in some cases, the pricks imprisoned between their big breasts for, strangely, some women love to fuck between the teats-but I shall deal with that episode later, dear young cocksman.

Now we shall go back to the big-butted baroness with her many children and her small cunt. Remember she had had, with difficulty, inserted my knob into her cunt, and there we were with her ass poised over my penis, crack wide, and her hand sliding down my shaft to rest lightly on my testicles, snug and big in my sac.

“Give it to me, darling! No, not slowly-make me yelp with sweet pain, honey! Drive that beautiful big thing into my ass-boom, just like that. Make me bleed, darling, bleed!”

Some women love to mix love and pain, finding happiness in each, and the baroness was of this type. Each time we connected she cried for me to bring blood, either to her asshole or cunt. Each time, as now, I hit her hard, and never once did I ever see a trace of blood!

Accordingly, I gathered my loins under me and launched my prick up and forward, entering her vagina with a roughness that pulled in her cunt's lips, which clung to my penis for about five inches before snapping back into place and then taking up their fucking-rhythm, opening and closing and pulling on my shaft, for the baroness indeed had wonderful strong cunt-ability.

“Oh, my good jumping Jesus,” she said huskily. “Christ, my lord, why don't I have you for a fucking companion, all the time?” I made no answer, of course, as my hips launched back and forth, my cock now white as it slid in and out of hair that was so long it almost hid my testicles on my instroke.

“Holy shit,” the baroness said. “I've already gone! Why are you so cruel to me, my darling?”

“Cruel?”

“You should fuck your big mama more often.” Coyness entered her voice. “Christmas is soon at hand, you know.”

I had both hands on her big behind, palms down as I pushed away and then pulled myself toward her, my prick loving her tight cunt.

“Christmas is for children,” I said.

She laughed throatily. Have you ever had your cock in a female-either asshole or vagina-when she laughs?

Laughs originate low in the bowels. When a female laughs her asshole contracts and her cunt opens. If you have it in her vagina her muscles, in pushing out, can push even the stiffest prick from the tightest cunt, you know.

If your cock is in her anus when laughter strikes her, her anus can contract so sudden and so hard it can damage even the stiffest prick. But now my prick, being in her cunt, was almost forced out, and only by sheer upward pressure did I maintain my seat in the saddle.

“We are both at heart no more than children, my lord,” she said.

“Children do not do what we are doing,” I pointed out.

She laughed so long and loud this time that only my big knob remained in her cunt when finally she was finished.

“What is so comical?” I asked, driving my cock in deep again.

“My oldest daughter is ten. She was in her bedroom the other day. I covertly glanced in. She had the neighbor boy of thirteen with her. Both were stark naked. My daughter was on her hands and knees, as I am now. The boy had a good six inches of prick and almost all of it was in my daughter's ass.”

“Top or bottom?”

“Top, in the asshole.”

“What did you do?”

I drove into her, my belly smacking her wide buttocks. Her cunt pulled my cock this way, then that, and she didn't answer for some time, for evidently her bliss was too overwhelming she couldn't speak.

Her cunt made a sweet slopping sound as it sucked my penis and finally I repeated my question.

“Oh, I did nothing.”

“Your daughter-at that tender age-getting it in the rectum, and you did nothing?”

“Why should I interfere? Sooner or later she'd get it from some man maybe not as conscientious and intelligent as the neighbor boy. And why should I have hollered?

“No female ever got pregnant taking it up the rectum, you know!”

My Tenth Episode

My uncle once had intercourse with a female contortionist, he jovially once related. He had long watched contortionists at shire-fairs and other doings, and the desire had risen to copulate with one-female, of course, he had dryly added, for my uncle is not much of a homosexual, although he will penetrate another man if so inclined and the other man is available.

“I paid her to do it with me,” he said. “Only time I ever paid a woman in my life, I do believe. Well, she finally consented, but she acted as though she were reluctant.

“She was a lovely little thing. She did her act in a big circus. You'd know the name of the circus if I mentioned it but I won't mention it because it makes no difference to my story, if a story it can be called.”

According to my uncle, both he and the young contortionist were naked, which is the proper garb-or lack of garb-for a sexual session, for clothing just interferes and there is no sensation as nice as bare belly smacking bare belly-or hips pounding a pair of sleek full buttocks.

“She checked her cunt and asshole before we connected,” my uncle said. “She braced herself on both arms. Then I'll be hangdamned if suddenly didn't pivot on her arms and her head was under her butt looking up.

“She licked her asshole carefully. What her tongue found made her happy for she swallowed once and chuckled and mentioned that she wiped too hard the last time and she didn't have much of what she called lunch.

“Jesus Christ almighty, can you imagine calling balls of dried shit by the name of lunch?

And my good uncle-from whom I received a letter today-roared with laughter, for at heart he is a very jovial man. (He is now located in Kingston, Jamaica, on King Street 5794, to be exact.)

“Well, she finally had her asshole cleaned to her pleasure. She then turned her attention to her cunt. She had a small cunt although a person would think that she must have stretched it a lot in a day's work.

“She doubled her tongue into a pencil and bingo-up her red cunt it went. I saw her cunt's lips close and open around her tongue. I knew then she would be a good one because few women can open and close their cunts, you know.

“I don't know what the hell ails most women. I think they're damned stupid. The only thing they got to hold a man is between their legs. And do you think they for one moment educate their cunts?

“The smart ones do, of course. They roll things between their cunt's lips-lead pencils, small rolling pins, and the like. That way they develop strong muscles. When a man climbs on a woman that's trained herself to fuck he's lucky if he can escape without having his cock pulled off, you bet you!”

My uncle-who digressed much-was off on another favorite discussion, but I brought him back to the present, and once again his eyes glistened as he remembered the lovely female contortionist.

“She could pull on her tongue with her cunt. Well, she cleans her cunt good, licking the lips well-and by God, she opened each lip, one at a time, so she could lick its red side. She had the sweetest little box I've ever put Old Faithful into.”

(Old Faithful was my uncle's nickname for his penis, of course. He continuously described each female as the best piece of cock I ever had.. He says there is much cunt in Kingston. He wants me to go there and start an all male whorehouse with him.)

“Well, finally she uncoils, but she's still on her arms, palms on the bed, her legs straight out, her ass about two feet above the bed, pointing down of course.

“I just stand there and gawk, my cock as long as a pole and as hard as my head, and she swings back and forth, using her arms for poles, and then she says, “Get under me on your back.”

I was so surprised I asked why. She grimaced and said I was stupid and that she wanted to fuck me, of course. “Didn't you come here to get fucked? What did you pay good money for, simpleton?”

“I don't like to be called such names,” I said, “and I paid you to fuck me, stupid.”

“Then get under me on your back. Here, let me kiss you first, huh?”

“I puckered up my lips but damned if she didn't kiss my cock instead, even taking my bulb into her mouth as her tongue ran over my pee-hole, driving me into a cold sweat.

“Her lips were just as strong as her cunt's lips, for she really twisted my big peter when she released it with her mouth. I knew then we'd get along good. She'd be a hell of a strong sucker, and when a good cocksucking woman gets my cock in her mouth-”

My uncle started digressing again; again, I got him back on the right track. “Well, I get on that bed, see. I lay on my back. I point my feet toward her. She told me to put both feet close together. I did that. She then told me to slide under her, which I did.

“Holy smoke, my cock just tickled her asshole. She had schemed things that close, the vixen. She's still swinging back and forth, remember, using her arms for legs.

“Each time her crack goes ahead she trails my cock over her asshole and cunt. She then swings back and my prick still drags over her two essentials, and I've got a real leadpipe hard on and it's aching to land somewhere in her rectum or vagina, believe you me!”

I asked my uncle if he were telling me a fib. He looked wounded and dug into a drawer of his dresser and came out with a drawing of a lovely woman, naked and big of breast, balanced on both arms, palms flat as she swung back and forth like a swing.

“That's her,” my uncle said, “and look at what she wrote below, you doubting bastard.”

My good uncle calls me vile names but this is only because he loves me, his only nephew. He and my father were very, very close brothers. What was written below was so obscene I would not mention it here but it was signed to my uncle by Willie.

“Willie's a man's name,” I pointed out.

“You poor simpleton asshole,” my uncle said. “Her name was Wilhemina, and short is Willie, ignorant.”

I said, “Quit calling me vile names and go on, please.”

“Where was I? Oh, yes-”

Willie had asked my uncle whether he wanted his penis in her rectum or vagina, and my uncle had said rectum. “But there's no oil or grease around, “he said, “and your asshole is dry-”

“Please do not talk dirty,” Willie had corrected. “Please do not refer to my anus as an asshole, my good man.”

“But there's still no oil or grease,” my uncle said.

“We can solve that. Just lie still, sir.”

What did Willie intend to do? My uncle's unspoken question was soon answered for Willie's buttocks dipped low suddenly. Her cunt opened and took my uncle's knob and twisted it.

“When she let my cock go it was all white on the knob. She swung her ass ahead and when her anus was over my prick down it came. I didn't enter her rectum. She kept her asshole tightly closed, but she did deposit the white goo from her cunt around her asshole's edges.”

My face must have expressed doubt for he said, “You don't believe, huh? Well, why go on, then?”

“I believe you,” I hastily assured.

He looked at me with his searching, haunting eyes-the eyes women said were those of a lost male, a little boy, that they instinctively wanted to mother.

Finally he said, 'There isn't much more to tell. I'll go on with it just to finish, if nothing else. Well, she swung back and forth on her arms, my cock moving white goo from her cunt to her asshole. Finally her asshole was good and sloppy. I then entered her rather easily.

“She fucked me. I didn't fuck her. She went up and down on my cock, raising her body by her arms, letting her body fall-and never once did her buttocks touch my belly, so close was her precision.

“When she went up, she twisted her buttocks. That was easy to do, you know, with her ass floating free in air. She rose to the top of my knob, twisted again, then settled, sliding down my cock like it was a maypole, or something.

“She twisted all the time, this way, then that- and my cock was a living, hammering thing. Her bowels were full. Shit came down my cock and ran into my hair and I felt some trickle down across my asshole, but I paid the stink and brown no attention, because I was really getting fucked for the first time-really fucked.

“Man alive, she could pull it out of man's balls. When I finally shot my wad-which wasn't long afterwards-I filled her with my goo up to her belly button, so believe me folks!”

My uncle then related that the contortionist had him sex her in her natural opening, lubricating this with brown from her rectum.

“My prick fell down after I had an orgasm in her rectum, of course. You can read about men who have a hard on all the time and can go from cunt to rectum and then to mouth and discharge in each opening, but don't believe that because that's shit — pure, unmitigated shit, no more.

“I'm as good a prickhound as any but after each time I get a soft on, and I defy you to show me a man who doesn't.

“Yeah, my prick's limber, of course, but that don't make any difference. Her cunt comes down and so help me I know you won't believe this but her cunt lips seem to reach down-this is the gospel truth, nephew-and they grab my cock and suck it right up into her cunt!”

“I know you'll say that's an impossibility. I know you have grounds for saying that, but on my word of honor it's true-her cunt's lips just pulled my soft penis right up into her vagina.”

My uncle related that he lay back with his eyes closed and just allowed her to do all the work. “God, it was good. Those cunt lips massaged my cock like a man does when he runs his prick between his palms, rolling it like. I just let myself drift.

“Within minutes, I had another erection again. My testicles lusted to shoot my wad into her vagina. Her buttocks went up and down with even, sure strokes. She had confidence in her ability.

“Then do you know what happened?”

My uncle was a great one for what he called suspense. “What happened?” I asked.

“Well, with my cock still in her box she swings her head around and licks my balls and looks back at me, my cock between us, and she says, “Am I a tight fit, young man?”

“You sure are,” I said, “and you sure know how to do it, lady.”

She looked up at my cock opening her cunt, about half my prick in her. She eyes my cock and her cunt carefully. “You give me a good fill but you haven't the prick my good old papa had.

“Papa's thing filled my pussy to overbreaking. I had a hard time taking his cock. Poor old man, he fell off the high wire three years ago next month. Well, what say we continue, huh, youngster?”

“I mumbled something and her buttocks rose and fell again, her cunt skinning my prick. I kept my eyes closed. Suddenly it seemed to me that my cock was in an even tighter place.

“I opened my eyes. To my surprise she was sucking me off. She still stood on both hands but she'd twisted her butt up now and her mouth was around my penis, and how that female could suck!”

My uncle smiled. He relit his pipe. He said a pipe helped in seductions. “Women think a man who smokes a pipe is the silent, strong personality type. Women like to be bossed. They don't like a man who they can order around. I don't like a pipe. Women do.”

My uncle then returned to his sexual adventure with the female contortionist. He said that she was good at sucking; indeed, one of the best he'd met in his years as a cocksman.

He was sure that a woman made a better sucker than a man, but I got him off that point.

The females denier now pointed toward my uncle. Her crack, he reported, was but inches away. He put his hand out and gently felt of her anus. “It was so clean it shined like a black hunk of leather with a hole in it. First thing I knew my tongue was washing her asshole.”

Evidently the female liked her anus tongue-bathed for my uncle reported that she moved her anus back closer to his head so he could get a better swipe at her asshole and cunt, and I report in the vulgar language my uncle employed.

“She stood on her hands with her body at a forty-five degree angle, her butt jutting out to meet my tongue. She wasn't good licking. The reason was simple. She'd tongue-cleaned herself before we started, remember.

“She'd left nothing for my tongue, the vixen, but I used my tongue just the same, now and then catching a bit of good taste-and then she farted and the fart was very oily and I had something then to use my tongue on, nephew. She was a real one, that girl.”

I shall cut this tale short. Many persons- especially churchgoers-will call the preceding obscene and then go to bed and practice licking with the head choir girl. Therefore I shall add but a few words to finish my uncle's story.

His tongue cleaned the female anus and vagina, cleaning the anus first and going to the vagina second. And then, once again the contortionist did something that surprised him.

But let us tell it in his words, as closely as I remember them. “I had my tongue just a little bit in her cunt, and it sure tasted sweet because I could reach in just far enough to tickle her clitoris and make her have a couple of orgasms. She was an easy one to bring to an orgasm.”

“One reason a woman's little man is so close to the surface is that most men have such short pricks that if the clitoris was further back the man's cock couldn't reach it.

“If that were so the woman undoubtedly wouldn't get enough steam to have an orgasm, you know. Some men, I understand, have very small around and short penises. You and I were lucky, nephew. God smiled on us in regards to the size of our tools.”

I stifled a yawn, I remember. My uncle was growing rather boring. He recited facts about a female's body that were old straw to me.

“A woman can make herself have an orgasm even easier than a man can masturbate,” my uncle continued. “When she feels the urge for a man and there's none around she can take her forefinger and rub her clitoris just a little and she has her orgasm.

“She doesn't need insert much finger, either — just a little bit, for her clitoris is close to the surface, you know.”

This time I couldn't hold back my yawn. “I know,” I said. “I once saw a drawing.”

My uncle looked at me sharply. “You're not interested. I cited the case of the contortionist and me to warn you of what might lay ahead if you persist in following in my steps.

“I didn't relate it to be obscene. I related the event to forewarn you, because when a person has been forewarned he is also forearmed.”

“That's an old, old saw,” I said.

The Eleventh Episode Follows

Let us now briefly attempt to rationalize a man with the sex act. In other words, why do some men desire a certain woman sexually and the other man has definitely no desire to copulate with her?

Let us deal in realities. Let us take the case of Lady Haversock and myself.

Lord Haversock was definitely a little bit twisted mentally in regards to sex and the sex act for you will remember he had taken his wife through her anus and had completely neglected her small vulva and its tight little membrane called by the uncouth as a 'maidenhead.'

We cannot blame this lack of interest in the proper female orifice on the Lord's age for he definitely was not old but rather in middle age and was a virile, strong man who apparently had strong sexual urges, judging from his red-veined face and bull-like manner.

One cannot say, also, that the good Lord had found his wife's anus tighter than her normal sexual orifice, for one must remember he'd never tried out the latter-and his wife still possessed her maidenhead in proof.

One can only mark down the good Lord as being rather 'queer' when it came to the sex act, and we must dismiss him at this point and look at his small, tight-cunted wife with her super mammary glands, small waist and lovely blue eyes, not to mention red cupid-bowed lips that my prick yearned desperately to enter.

For, as stated, she had a very, very tiny mouth.

Her mouth, to me at least, seemed made for sucking a penis… preferably my penis. Her lovely buttocks, lifting and falling as she walked away from me, was what my uncle called 'eating pussy,' and I am sure my readers know full well what my cocksman uncle meant.

But although the anus and mouth of Lady Haversock presented a challenge her vulva-small and dainty with membrane-presented the greater challenge. My cock lusted to break that maidenhead, to state the obvious in the vulgar.

I found that Lady Haversock was continuously in my mind, awake and sleeping. I could only close my eyes and see her small white body with its challenging high breasts, her small waist and hairy crotch.

Oh, lord, how fate had doublecrossed me! There I had been, my cock's tip dancing across her virginal veil, and I had had to flee through the night, leaving the maidenhead unbroken behind me.

And I, an aspiring cocksman, had had only one other maidenhead in my life! I tried to content myself on breaking one, for some cocksmen-my uncle related-had no chance to break even one.

“You were indeed lucky,” my uncle had said, upon my telling him that, at long last, my prick had met a virginal veil… and had shattered it forever!

I cursed myself for being a bare-rumped idiot. Why had I not lunged ahead, even though my person had been in danger, and broken the fair wife's tight and taut membrane?

Thus I cursed myself during my waking hours. I, of course, continued seductions, for they are to me the core of existence-my existence, at least, for without a woman's flesh wrapped around a man's rigid penis what has life to offer?

Once while behind a wide-bottomed duchess, my penis deep in her vagina, I called, inadvertently, the given name of Lady Haversock, a fact which made my consort's female opening suddenly wince and forget to open and close around my shaft, puncturing upward in the lady's cunt in what she labeled 'fucking dog fashion,' for she was a Frenchwoman and the French, including the women, are always filthy of tongue, the bastards.

“What did you call me?” she demanded.

I knelt with immobile hips. I looked down at her wide ass below me. I saw her crack, opened wide, for her ass was far back, thereby placing my penis directly under her for with me beneath her I could deliver every inch of my cock into her sloppy vagina.

She was, to put it in the vernacular, 'very poor fucking.' I was having sex with her for two reasons. First, she wanted to fuck and what type of cocksman would I have been to rebuff her, to tell her I'd not fuck her?

Secondly, her husband was high in French politics. I was then seeking a post with the English ambassador in Paris and her husband, on her recommendation, could have got me the position.

(Incidentally, she didn't help me a bit and I never got the position.)

“I called you Jeanette,” I said.

“Oh… Are my ears bad? I thought you called me by another name. I'm sorry, my love.”

And she moved her huge buttocks even further back, and we began fucking again. She tried to open and close her cunt around my shaft but she had weak cunt muscles, for apparently she'd not exercised these muscles in order to properly copulate.

I cannot understand why all women-married or unmarried-do not exercise their vagina muscles so they have complete control of them and can open and close their female openings at will.

I do believe that many a husband has sought and obtained a divorce because of the poor fucking abilities of his wife. When a cunt is new to a man-and the fool imagines he's in love-the cunt is sweet and rosy but after some use when the husband-or lover-tires of the cunt, then the man realizes that he does all the work, the woman just lying with legs up and receiving and enjoying without a bit of work toward the ultimate orgasms.

For is the average woman so stupid that she imagines she can hold a husband by her housekeeping and cooking and chatter which she considers brilliant but to her husband is boring and the rantings of a stupid goose?

The only way a woman can hold a man-unless he also is a hidebound idiot-is through her cunt. And if her cunt is not educated-if she doesn't have pride enough to train her vulva's muscles-said husband then wanders on to some other bed wherein lies a female that has devoted her life to learning how to fuck, a woman that realizes men want but one thing of her-a good bit of sexual intercourse!

But I am like my uncle: I digress. As I said, the big French female was a poor piece of penis, which was rather odd for most Frenchwomen I have had sex with were rather warm and good in bed.

The Norwegians are the cold women, along with Swedes and Danes, but strangely I have found Finnish women to be very loving, warm and excellent in bed-a fact which stands not to reason for Finland is colder in climate than any of the three Scandinavian countries.

But variety is still the spice of the program and what is one man's meat is still another man's poison and soon the big-bottomed woman and I fucked in merry abandon, my stiff penis sliding back and forth in her cute and white-sloppy cunt, her grunts and groans resembling those of a fat sow being ridden by a boar with his long corkscrew penis.

I clutched her rounded and full waist, my arms pushing me back and pulling me in. She broke wind with vile loudness, the hot air pushing against my heaving belly and, like all French farts, hers was not sweet but stunk to high heaven, and why French females have such terrible stinking farts I do not know, unless the farts are a direct result of the rotten meat they eat-for no true Frenchman would think of eating a piece of beef or mutton until maggots are crawling over it.

“Excuse, Please,” she panted.

“Your apology is accepted.”

She doubled her head under her and her buttocks rose and a good two inches of my cock failed to enter due to this rise. I therefore spread her heavy legs out wider and thus elevated her cunt. I leaned back and looked at my cock to see if all were in her, for she was so big and loose and wet a man had the sensation of fucking a damp pile of dough, no more.

Because her hips were spread her asshole showed clearly. It had short, bristly hair like a hog's. I looked at it from all angles, she of course not seeing my scrutiny for her gross body was between my head and hers.

I had a brief thought: should I remove my penis from her motionless and dead cunt and put it in her asshole?

I knew my penis was damp enough to enter her anus without my pushing hard, for her anus fairly gaped open-big and long as Lady Haversock's little cunt, if not longer.

No, I'd not transfer my penis. What would be the use? She'd be just as loose in asshole as in cunt. I'd stay where I was. Finally I'd have an orgasm if my hips didn't play out first, and my hips were aching slightly.

Her grunting had changed to a deep keening sound now. I noticed that her asshole went in and out as her voice changed tones, or was I wrong? I am sure I was right although my reader will have a hard time, I feel sure, synchronizing the pitch of voice with the motions of a female anus!

My hips were beginning to get even more weary. I had been behind her for quite a while, my penis shooting up into her cunt. She's had orgasm after orgasm, which added to the sloppiness of her vagina.

In fact, she'd immediately orgasmed the moment my prick, on entering, had scraped across her clitoris. That had been the first-but definitely not the last-time she had broken wind. For the moment my knob hit her little man her asshole parted and a torrid and stinking fart belched forth.

Now again her ovaries spoke, sending whiteness tumbling down my prick. My pubic hair was all matted and stiff from her cunt's natural syrup and the cum of her orgasms.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, Pierre! Put it into me to your balls, my Pierro!” Suddenly she clamped one broad hand over her wide mouth. “My Jesus, you're not Pierre! That's one mistake for both of us, n'est-ce pas?”

“Fuck,” I said, trying not to sound bored. We again began fucking in earnest, my penis making a soggy sound as it entered her cunt, hesitated, and then came out, only my knob hanging in her thick vulva's lips before my penis again rose to again penetrate the bottomless well of her hips.

The terrible thought came to me that perhaps, because of her looseness and bigness, I could not be led to an orgasm. This scared me slightly. I would fail as a cocksman if I failed to orgasm!

What would be my salvation? I found the answer immediately. I would imagine I was behind the curvaceous buttocks of my Lady Haversock, my penis having broken the maidenhead and spearing high upward to meet the end of her vagina, where begins the uterus.

Fuck hard, I told myself. Fuck Lady Haversock. Think fuck, fuck, fuck-with Lady Haversock! I closed my eyes. I have a strong imagination. The big French ass in front of me became the smooth beautiful buttocks of the lovely Lady Haversock.

No longer did my erection wobble and become lost in fat, sloppy discharges, and a cunt without walls and no traction. My prick was deep in my Lady, her cunt's lips hanging, pulling, giving my cock a tingle, a loving, that soon would bring my testicles to full and complete discharge!

I forgot my tired hips. I forgot all but Lady Haversock. My thighs pounded against the massive ass of the Frenchwoman. Again she broke wind-long and singing and with great heat against my belly-but this time her fart was the sweet fart of my beloved lady.

I hammered the big ass with all my strength, a renewed sexual fever tearing my arteries, hammering my pounding veins, my cock big and round and long and hard, sliding in, hammering up again-and I heard the French sow cry again and again as her ovaries did their womanly duty. Then, I had my expression. I pulled the big buttocks back. They rode my belly. My stroke shortened. I fucked the big ass with short, jarring jolts. A million small imps tickled my testicles, which shot my semen into my tubes.

I felt the world recede. I fucked Lady Haversock! Lady Haversock small but well formed ass took my cock entirely! The membrane of her maidenhead was draped over my testicles for my prick had pierced her virginal veil directly in the middle and, as we had fucked, the membrane had slid down my cock to now he, red and bloody, over my sack.

Thus I shot my semen into this big ass. My white manhood jetted from my pee-hole. I grabbed the big waist, pulled back the enormous hips-I jabbed shorter, harder, my hips not aching now.

I discharged and, thinking I had depleted myself, I still discharged more, so great was my imagination. Finally, I had no more. The big buttocks fairly sat on my belly. I opened my eyes.

The fair buttocks of Lady Haversock did not meet my eyes. I saw huge, rounded, and rather flabby buttocks. The asshole my eyes fell on was not the rounded small anus of Lady Haversock.

This anus was huge, ringed not with fleecy hair but with pig-stubbles, gaping open, rimmed with brown for her farting had moved excrement from her bowels, I noticed with sinking belly.

My cock came out from the cunt. No lips grabbed my fading prick, blessed it with jerkings. I have never taken my cock from a pail of warm lard, of course, but I do believe doing so would feel much as when I took my penis from the French bitch.

“Darling, how you can fuck,” a throaty voice said.

Definitely not the dulcet, low voice of my lady.

“Now will you fuck me in the ass?” the vulgar French whore asked. “I've never had a cock as big as yours up my rectum.”

I stiffened with anger. This French bitch took me, an English, for granted, for she spoke to me as a mistress speaks to a balky servant. Then a sudden thought hit me.

None had paid directly to date but this bitch would pay and I said, 'That will be five hundred francs extra.”

“What are five hundred to me? Put it up my asshole, Englishman.”

Episode Number Twelve

I recited Episode Eleven not to sexually stimulate any weak-minded reader but to merely show the reader two things: to portray to the aspiring cocksman the pitfalls that a cocksman might encounter and to show my rising and finally overwhelming desire to break the virginal veil of Lady Haversock.

Indeed, I fell in love with the lovely lady, and no cocksman should ever-yes, ever! — allow himself to degenerate to the point where he falls in love with a victim or intended victim.

Only males with great sexual drives should undertake the profession of cocksmanship… if a profession it can be called. Some males are more heavily sexed than others. Why this is, I don't know. Let us take a look at my uncle.

“I had my first sexual encounter when I was a mere five years old,” my uncle wrote in his famous biography of his cocksmanship.

My uncle wrote that his first sexual duel occurred with a young maid in his father's household. Again I quote from his rather lengthy but always interesting tome.

“I learned to read at an early age,” my good uncle wrote. “I had an overwhelming desire to read and practiced sounding words each time I had an opportunity.

“This particular day I was alone in my room reciting the alphabet for I had a hard time realizing that r always followed q for it seemed logical to me that q should be followed by u for each word in the English language that holds a q finds the q always followed by a u.

“The young maid entered. She bowed and bade me good day and then began clearing the floor of my books and colors, for I was then as untidy as I am to this very day. She got on her hands and knees to dig things from under my bed. Her dress shot up as she knelt.

“She wore no underthings. I saw her asshole clearly and my hands became damp as I made them into small fists.

“My blood boiled suddenly. Before I know what was happening my little cock-it was only about four inches long, then-was pushing upward. I wanted to fuck her, then and there-and, of course, the desire came from sheer instinct, for each man at birth is given the rudiments of fucking.

“His job is to take what comes instinctively and add his knowledge to it and become an expert at wielding his cock, something few men take the effort to learn.

“Either that or they're too stupid to learn how to fuck properly and pull everything out of a woman's ovaries. But that is belaboring a point and I shall return to across the many years and my first view of a woman's ass, the most lovely sight a man can ever, ever witness.”

My uncle lit his pipe, which like all pipes continuously went out, and a mystical smile curved his lips under his mustache, for he'd grown a mustache in pure rebellion, saying “that growing a mustache is about the only thing a man can do that a woman can't, and some females have a good start in invading a territory that should be solely for the human male!”

“The maid had herself halfway under my bed, her ass pointing straight upward at me. I remember seeing her asshole and thinking how round and brown it was and I saw something white in her hair but I didn't know what that was, of course.

“Later on, when I got older, she told me one night, snuggled in my arms in my bed, that my sire had also penetrated her that day-indeed, he'd been at that time fucking her for some months, having gone to bed with her the day she arrived or she'd not have had her job.

“And jobs, at that time, were very scarce in England, as history will reveal.”

My uncle related that he wasn't aware of dropping his trousers and underthings, his eyes riveted on the maid's buttocks. Now let him tell the story in his own words as best I can remember, for we depart from his book and record conversations.

“I don't remember getting on my knees behind her but there I was with my little cock in her crack. She didn't back out from under the bed. She just said, 'You little devil, what do you want?'

“Actually, I didn't know what to say. I didn't know just what I wanted, of course. I'd acted only on instinct. Now that I had my penis pressing against her asshole what was I to do.”

My uncle said he blushingly took his penis from the girl's crack and walked to his desk and sat down, a mere puzzled child of a long five years. The maid then back out from under the bed, got to her feet, and looked at his penis, still erect and ready.

“How old are you?” she asked. My uncle told her his age. She shook her head as though in disbelief. “You're big for your age in two ways,” she said. “In body size and cock size. Have you ever fucked before?”

My uncle asked her what fuck meant. She laughed and went to the door and locked it and came back and lay on the bed, pulling her dress up around her waist and spreading her thigh legs wide and raising them high.

“I'll show you what fuck means,” she said. “Come on the bed. No, keep your pants off, little boy. There, get behind my ass-that's right, like that. Now go to your knees. And remember to keep a hard-on, darling.”

My uncle related that the first time his penis touched a woman's pubic hair his heart almost leaped from his small chest. I must state here and now that I did not then believe my uncle's story and still do not believe it for I think it impossible that a boy no more than five could fuck a grown woman… or any female, for that matter.

“She reached down and took my penis in her hand. She began skinning my small foreskin back and forth over my little knob and she said something I'll never forget.”

She told my uncle never to become circumcised because a woman liked feeling a man's knob slide in and out of its foreskin while his cock was in her vagina. Of course, she wasted her time. My uncle didn't know what circumcised meant and the word vagina was completely beyond his comprehension.

He promised her faithfully he'd not become circumcised, and he had difficulty pronouncing the word. She helped him in the pronunciation, all the time skinning back my cock, as my uncle called it.

“She raped me, not I her,” my uncle loved to boast. “The first thing I knew, my little cock was in her cunt. Of course, her cunt was very big for a prick my size, and looking back I realize she had a small cunt, for she stayed with my family until I was about twenty, and I guess I fucked her more than any other woman I've put my blade to.

“Let me see… If I fucked her the last time when I was twenty and the first time when I was five we had about fifteen years of cocking each other, and then my father fucked her all this time, too, you know.

“She was always singing and joking and happy. My mother was always snapping and morose and ugly. I realize now that my father possibly never did it to my mother, for I was the last child she had.

“The maid was happy because she got all the cock she needed and then some, for every gardener we had did it to her too, I would believe. She also had sex with the policeman and others around there. She wasn't stingy. But to get back to my little penis in her vagina.

“Lord Jesus, her cunt was warm. I felt around in it with what penis I had and what I felt was damned good, nephew.”

I at this point erred and told my uncle I didn't believe him. He didn't get angry. He just chewed his cold pipe and looked at me with a levelness that made me wish I'd said nothing.

Finally he said, “Please forget the whole thing.”

I then begged him to continue but he wouldn't. After thinking it over I realized he might have been able to erect solidly at five years of age for I have read that some male babies are born with tiny erections. I was sure, though, he'd not had an ejaculation, and finally after some prompting weeks later I got him to continue.

“Well, there I was-a mere little boy-with my prick in the maid's cunt, and my bare ass shining, as the poet says. I remember I didn't know what to do after I was on her and in her.”

He lit his pipe, smiling at remembrance.

“She started me going up and down on her. She took my hips and pushed me back and pulled me ahead and I must have caught on for I began bouncing up and down on her. That made it feel better and warmer, if I remember correctly.

“She took my hands and put them under her buttocks. I hadn't known what to do with them. I was like a ham actor on stage for the first time-my hands bothered me. But with them under her ass I had them occupied.”

My uncle laughed.

“Christ Jesus, it must have been a comical affair. There I was curved over that big ass with my poor little cock in that mess of hair and my little hips going up and down.

“And my hands under that big ass. I remember getting my whole hand in her crack. She was fucking me right smart, being careful though to not take too long a swing with her hips so my poor little prick would tumble out.

“Well, her hips go down and her crack opens and when her buttocks come up again naturally her crack closes and there's my little right hand caught in her ass like it was in a vise.

“Christ, I even yelped in pain!”

The maid then asked him to stick his forefinger in her anus. My uncle asked why, in his childish innocence, and she said she was itchy just inside her anus ring.

“I had a hard time getting my forefinger into her asshole,” my uncle said. “No, it wasn't because her asshole was too tight for my finger. She had a good-sized asshole, but not a sloppy one.

“My little arm was too short. When she went down to open her asshole I had a hell of a hard job getting my arm down there and jabbing up, but finally my forefinger went up her anus.

“My god, she loved that. She groaned and writhed her hips and my cock slid out-hell, she seemed to throw it out, just like that! But I had my finger up her asshole which was warm and by god it closed around my finger and then released it and then she asked me to take my finger out of her.

“I did, and my finger was brown, of course. She asked to look at my finger so I held it up and liquid brown ran down my palm. She grabbed my finger and licked it like it was made of chocolate and then I saw why she'd asked me to ram my finger in her asshole.

“That seemed to strike a desire in her for more excrement. First thing I knew we were sitting up and she was trying to lick my asshole but of course she couldn't with me in that angle so she just threw me on the bed, ass up, and her nose went in my crack.

“She had a coarse tongue. My dog had licked my asshole a time or two when I was swimming naked but she had a smooth silky tongue. This female had a rough tongue, for some reason.

“I began to holler and she hit me on the buttock and made me quit, and there was no use my yelping because we were alone in the house-my parents and sisters and brothers being gone-and the rest of the servants at the far end loafing in their quarters because my parents weren't around to boss them.”

Soon, to my uncle's surprise, he began to like the maid's tongue, especially when she parted his buttocks wide and inserted her tongue-only the tip, of course-directly into his small rectum.

“I got so happy I broke wind and I guess I shit a little with it for her tongue sure got busy all of a sudden. I got on my hands and knees and bent my ass way back so my crack would open wider-like some cunts do when a man gets them dog-fashion-and her tongue really went into me, then and there.

“First time a female had ever tongue-cleaned my asshole. But not the last time, of course.”

My uncle related that he had his first orgasm with his sister Hattie, my oldest aunt who now was married to a Manchester banker-a staid, fat king-loving sonofabitch who must have really presented a terrible picture when naked, what with his pendulant gut and large breasts.

He never impregnated my aunt and rumor held that he sucked her and she sucked him. After twelve years of childless marriage my aunt went out and deliberately picked a man from the university to have sex with her so she could become a mother, which she did in the matter of time.

She picked an athlete and the child, now grown, had the athlete's brawny build… and also his bone-filled head. Nevertheless the banker accepted the child, knowing all the time the son was not his.

(My aunt got drunk one night while visiting my uncle and me and disclosed all this.)

She related that she was such a good 'sucker' that her husband would divorce her under no circumstances. She claimed she disliked sucking but within a few moments after saying this she had unbuttoned my fly and was 'going down' my prick as I sat on the settee with my uncle watching.

But to return to my uncle's first orgasm. “Hattie was fucking various boys and males around the neighborhood,” he related. “Well, one day I guess there was no outside male around so she fucked me.

“Yes, they call it incest today under this goddamned king who tries to climb every female he meets, but I was so sexually excited when I mounted my sister that the word incest had no meaning to me.

“Hattie wasted no time. I believe she knew both father and I were fucking the maid for she came to my room and told me she needed some ass and we were alone in the house.

“I'll skip details and go to the meat of the subject, said meat being Hattie-and pun intended, nephew. Let me add a point or two. I had just had three fast, hard sessions with the maid. I'd almost risen to the point of orgasm but just couldn't because I was just too young.

“But Hattie sucked me first. She dropped to her knees and took my prick in her mouth. Her head bobbed back and forth as she worked my cock into an erection.

“Even then she was an expert sucker. I learned later she learned how to suck from the coachman's wife who lived for only one thing: to have a cock in her mouth. And the cock could belong to anybody, just so it was between her lips with her tongue massaging.

“She pulled me to an erection very rapidly. She did two things to me that made my testicles-immature as they were-tingle with life. She played around my asshole all the time with her light fingers. And when she came down with my cock completely in her mouth her tongue came out and licked my balls.”

My good uncle reported that his sister was 'the best licker' he'd ever encountered because she had a very broad and very soft tongue.

“Her fingers around my asshole and her tongue worked in unison, odd as that seems. I mean that each time she laved my testicles she also played harder with the sensitive nerves of my asshole, for the anus has possibly the most sensitive nerves of the human body.

“When she'd worked me up to my best erection she took my cock from her mouth and led me to the bed where she lay on her back and I got between her legs in the normal Adam-Eve manner.

“She had a very, very tight cunt. She had trouble introducing my cock into her although of course my prick was very wet from her mouth, but finally my knob was in and I began fucking her and she began fucking me.

“She had a much smaller cunt than the maid had. Her cunt kept grabbing and pulling my little cock. Suddenly, all went black and roaring for me. I grabbed her buttocks so hard that her flesh held my finger marks for hours afterwards.

“I was having my first orgasm. I reeled across space, one might say, senseless and all nerves, and, at the same time, I shuddered as my testicles for the first time shot my semen into a cunt-even if the vagina into which I sprayed my seed was that of my sister.

“Sister and brother or daughter and father or son and mother can fuck just as good-if not better-than two persons who are not blood relations.

“A cunt is a cunt, nephew, even if its on a cow!”

My uncle roared at his crude, ancient joke.

The Thirteenth and Last, Episode

I received a message from Lady Haversock.

I was to come to one of the manor's rear doors after coming on foot through the wood behind the house-the trees through which I had fled after being caught by Lord Haversock in his wife's bedroom.

I did not go in my coach this time. I went on horseback to the north edge of the trees where I tied my trusty charger, hidden in a shadow, and I then progressed toward the manor on foot, carefully taking my time and stopping occasionally to cock my head and listen.

I heard nothing but the ever-present British wind dreamily soughing through the trees. I progressed carefully, though, but I was sure the lord of the manor was not at home, for discreet questioning of various individuals that afternoon had told me that for sure Lord Haversock had departed by boat for Normandy.

I was afraid that perhaps some errant servant of the manor, coming in late, might perchance glimpse me but then I realized that if the Lady Haversock went with me to Jamaica, it would make no difference if a servant saw me enter the manor, for she would be with me when she told her husband's attorneys of her plans for a divorce to wed me; such, dear readers, was my lovesick scrambled and completely idiotic thinking.

My prick strained my breeches. I had an enormous hard, even though I had introduced my semen into the cunt and mouth of the cook, after discharging also in her asshole.

To you young aspiring cocksmen, do not fear that use will deplete your testicles. Indeed, a muscle needs much use to grow strong; by such thinking, the same holds true for the testicles. The more they are employed the faster they create more semen, a point my uncle had disclosed to me but which I had forgotten in my love turmoil over the lovely Lady Haversock.

Also, young cocksman, do not think that love and sex are apart, for love-if there is such a thing-is merely the call of nature to propagate the species, and to propagate the human race the penis of the man must be deep and throbbing as it ejects the man's semen to mix with the orgasm of the female.

But I, immature and confused, at that moment, while sneaking through Nottingham Wood, was so ignorant of man and woman relationship that I, in my stupidity, confused love with sex and vice versa. Indeed, I had grandiose plans, as related, of fleeing halfway across the world with Lady Haversock after she'd legally become Mrs. Jonathan Richardson, of course.

If further evidence of my craziness is needed, I am sure the following episode in Lady Haversock's bedroom will convince the reader of my temporary insanity over a mere hair-covered cunt, something which from that date I have penetrated time and time again-so many times I have no idea how many! — and some times have entered with my cock almost sagging in boredom, sick and tired of hairy cunts, hairy anuses and grasping, sucking mouths!

Now the expanse of lawn lay before me, silvery in moonlight, but nothing moved on it, not even a dog barked, for Lady Haversock had assured me the hounds would be securely penned for my arrival, she having a handful of fierce mastiffs that she had, luckily, penned also for my first visit.

Had a mastiff or two jumped me when I had fled, I would not be here crossing this strip of lawn again, my heart pounding against my ribs and my mouth dry with fear of being detected.

But no warning shout rang out and I gained the rear door my Lady had designated. I flattened against it for a long moment, looking about; again, I heard or saw no danger.

Because of the late hour, the servants' quarters held no lights, nor did a light glow in the stables, nor was there a glimmer of Light in the house. Carefully, L turned the doorknob, remembering my Lady said that door would be unlatched.

The door opened readily and I slipped into a darkened long hall, the musty smell of age touching my nostrils. I silently advanced down the long hall and just as silently entered my Lady's room which showed a bit of candlelight below the door.

I entered a room smelling of faint perfume and a good heady cunt smell, for cocksmen can, I am sure, smell cunt faster and easier than non-cocks-man, and the good clean aroma of human cunt and human asshole lay on the tinted air.

Then, my heart fairly stopped.

Lady Haversock lay on her huge bed, the candlelight glistening on her cream-colored skin-and she lay stark naked!

How can I describe her naked loveliness? Again, I must strain my knowledge of my native tongue as I search for proper adjectives, but alas I know I shall find none, for such loveliness as the naked form of the tiny Lady Haversock begs forever for such parts of speech!

Let me tell you that she lay on her back in the position the female has when entertaining the prick of the male, for her legs were slightly parted to show the thick forest of her pubic hair. Evidently she had just urinated for I caught the delightful glimmer of slanting candlelight on beads of water clinging to a few stray hairs.

I do believe my nostrils trembled like those extended nostrils of the stud as he smells a mare in heat and his prick suddenly shoots out its long length to slap up and down like a huge drumstick against his eager belly.

I do remember that my erection threatened to push my trousers off my hips, and already my testicles had sought upward haven in my sac as they always did when close to ejecting semen.

She had judged her candles right for they were just strong enough to cast the shadows of her breasts, meanwhile ringing each high proud mound with a halo around each upjustting nipple.

Now she held out her arms. “Darling, darling,” she murmured and I, a lovesick fool, bent over her, put my arms around her nakedness, and crushed her, breasts and all, to my chest, my heart hammering in unison to her wildly beating heart-or so, it seemed to me, lovesick idiot I was!

I felt her tiny fingers on my fly. My cock flew out as she unbuttoned. We kissed in deep profundity. I felt her tiny hands surround my straining penis. Finally, our lips parted, slowly and damply.

“Darling, your clothes-Oh, I'm hungry for my love, my darling! Hurry, hurry, hurry-”

She in a hurry? Nobody could be more hurried than I! I had come without underthings, of course-time was the essence here, not propriety. And within a few seconds I stood naked with her lying on her side on the bed, her red lips occasionally shooting out to kiss my bony erection.

I wondered, idly, if she sucked, then discarded that thought, for lips as precious as hers did not indulge in such plebian maneuvers, I felt sure, but I still cherished the terrible thought, knowing that a mouth as small as hers, if properly applied in educated manner, could really and truly pull a man's cock into swift and complete orgasm.

But I was here for the maidenhead, and I gently asked if it were still intact, both of us lying prone now on our sides, our lips locking occasionally, her angel's breath lightly touching my cheeks. Her hands-both of them-were down and both held my prick, for my cock was too big for just one of her small hands, and this fact pushed pride deep into me.

When my prick hit her maidenhead, she'd be so full of cock-my cock-that she'd fuck in wild, hungry abandon, I swore to myself, hearing her whisper that her husband had not 'touched her' since our last incident, tragic as it had been…

Suddenly I stiffened, head cocked, listening-for I was sure that I'd heard a sound somewhere outside.

“What was that?” I whispered.

“I heard nothing, my love. Your ears deceive you.” Her soft right hand gently pulled my foreskin over my knob. “Darling, are we-?”

She slowly steered my knob toward her cunt. My knee lifted and came down between her thighs, which willingly spread, my other knee following suit-and there I was in man's most awkward-and most blessed! — position, my ass sticking up and my cock trailing down along her hairy mass, seeking the small damp opening it had so briefly penetrated the other time.

“Oh, my God, what a cock!”

Elation filled me at her compliment. I felt her nipples touch my chest. I had a moment of surprise. Her nipples were not as hard as they should be. I should have been warned then, should I have not, but such was my love for this woman that my head was completely gone!

My thighs trembled. My heart was wild in my ribs. I could hear it thud in my ears. My hips moved gently forward. I had to control myself. I wanted to bull ahead, my knob tearing into her vagina. With sheer will power I controlled my galloping desires.

For she was so precious to me, for would she not someday be my wife? Such was my idiotic thinking, reader! I, a cocksman, a man who needs the utmost flexibility of movement, was seriously thinking of marriage-the biggest anchor a man can achieve!

My prick again met the smallness of her cunt. Again, my cock couldn't enter. Again, I had the wild impulse of hastily slapping my hips ahead, forcing my knob into her cunt.

Again, I checked this. (Now I wish I'd have hit her so hard her asshole would have popped open!) I put my right hand down to open her cunt slightly, and my weight was completely on her now, covering her the way a bull covers a small heifer, and she reached and caught my hand, holding it from her cunt.

“Darling, let me do it,” she whispered, breath warm on my ear.

My hand came back, sunk under her buttocks, and I cupped her, my fingers lying in her crack, forefingers gently touching the hair around her small asshole, and I felt her hand skin back my foreskin, opening her cunt with her other hand as she jacked me into still harder and bigger and longer erection, if such were possible.

Every pore in my body screamed that I deliver my penis to my testicles in this soft, yielding female. I lay between soft thighs that rose upward, knees bent, her bare feet occasionally touching my sweaty back.

“In a moment-darling-” she said. “I'll dampen my edges-from inside-”

Her voice was cold, methodical. It suddenly sounded like the voice of a bored whore who has already sold her body twenty odd times during the day and finally adjusts her last customers cock just before midnight and her closing time.

Again, why didn't this lackadaisical tone warn me? Ah, the reader knows why, wise man-a fool in love and all that rot, you know!

She seemed a long time lubricating and opening her cunt, for I felt her fingers under my cock. I waited poised in man's most ridiculous position, trying to curb my impatience.

Candlelight showed her sweet face, her open red mouth, the white glistening teeth, the hair spilled over the pillow, the small earrings in her tiny ears. What a queen, what a doll, I had! Oh, how I would love her, cherish her-

Great impulses tore me. I would be the world's best husband which, in my present estimation, also is the world's biggest fool.

My head went down. My lips found hers. At first her lips seemed rather cold, lacking their old clinging lovingness, and then they became warm and curved to mine as our tongues met-just as my cock would meet her clitoris in a little while-in damp sweetness and loved and played.

“Oh, darling-And this every morning and night, too!”

My blood took on renewed energy at her words, for had she not admitted by her statement that she would become my bride? I thought of her husband for one distracting moment, remembering that he at this time was close to the bastardly king-indeed, some claimed he now held the king's ear.

Would the king-who had to consent to all divorces-consent to her divorcing his friend, Lord Haversock?

Then she said, “All right, darling, I'm ready.”

Gone were all thoughts of the bastardly king whose bastardly father had had such brass that he'd had a group of skilled authors rewrite the Bible. Gone was all precaution. Gone was all things-the world, the outside, the danger of my being here.

All that counted was that tiny cunt with its taut maidenhead that her small hand guided my cock toward in this red, happy moment. I felt my prick touch the sides of her cunt. For some reasons, the cunt's lips seemed very dry; indeed, they seemed covered by some sort of powder, my throbbing brain told me.

This dryness of cunt should have also warned me but of course it didn't, for I was in a delirious state of bliss that even an earthquake couldn't have shattered.

“Push, darling, push,” she breathed.

Her thighs spread out wider, thus to aid my prick in entrance. This spreading movement opened her cleft more. My forefingers played directly around her anus, and she shivered with happiness.

“Darling, put the cock to me, please, darling-”

She was becoming vulgar under the push of passion, a trait all women-even the most cultured and elite-seem to own. My hips arched, and my thighs Came slowly forward; slowly, carefully, my knob entered her cunt-and then came head on with the obstacle of her maidenhead.

My pee-hole flattened against the membrane. I pushed harder but failed to dent the veil, and I realized it was tougher than the first time, and it had offered much resistance then.

I pushed again, hard and sure, but the veil held, and it came to me that it was not of flesh but of some other material-but how can the stiff cock of a cocksman tell flesh from man-made material, especially at a moment of high burning tension such as this?

To my surprise, my stiff cock bent! I placed my right hand around its stiff middle to stiffen it and it came to me, then, that no maidenhead should be so strong a prick like mine, rigid as steel, could not break it!.

My uncle and other cocksmen had told me about breaking maidenheads and the reader should remember I had already shattered one, my cock sliding through the maidenhead with ease and bringing but a bit of blood trickling down to meet the girl's gaping asshole.

“Darling,” I breathed. “What in heaven's name-?”

“You can't-break it?”

“No, my cock-”

Suddenly her voice changed. “I'm sorry, you sonofabitch!” And then she screamed, “Rape, rape! Jonathon Richardson-he broke in my window-Husband, guards, he's raping me-”

I started to pull my cock out. Her cunt's lips held it securely. I fought to get to my feet, pulling dreadfully on my cock-which finally gave. Naked, I whirled, standing beside the bed-but they were too many, they came too fast, and I went down, fists and clubs slapping me.

Servants rushed in with bright candles. I was down with a big man sitting on me. My nose bled. I glimpsed that six toughs had jumped me.

They stood around with doubled fists and short clubs, and a sick feeling sagged my belly-but the sickness came from the way a woman I'd thought loved me had betrayed me.

I saw Lord Haversock standing with his wife, who now had a robe around her as she nestled happily in her husband's arms.

Her words came clearly. “I put a bit of Indian rubber up me, as you asked, darling. He never got to have sex with me. That alum you had me use-to make me smaller-

Everything became clear. She had lured me and duped me. Her maidenhead had been a small sheet of rubber placed across her vagina. The powdery feeling my knob had received from the walls of her cunt had been of powdered alum which my uncle said whores used to shrink their over-used cunts.

Somebody had lied to me. Lord Haversock had not taken a boat for Normandy. I had been duped, but why?

Suddenly, it hit me. She lured me here to catch me in her bed, for she and her husband wanted my property. Lord Haversock was financially down and my property, although not much was a big boost-as long as the king awarded it to Lord Haversock free, which the king did while I was jailed in Old Bailey.

I was not allowed at my trial, which was actually merely a formality, nothing more. I was sentenced to twenty years in the Tower. I was to be transferred by a giant Negro.

The Negro came. He bent to put chains on my ankles. I don't know yet whether he was lax in watchfulness or I was lucky for, as he bent, I skillfully and smashingly brought my knee upward, crashing it into his face and sending him sprawling.

Within moments, I had his pistol. Within another few moments, I was free again on London's dark streets. I hurried to my housing. I had some money hidden in the barn, for my wise uncle had told me to always have a good-sized nest egg set aside for flight which, he said, a cocksman many times had to take.

My servants were gone. The servants of Lord and Lady Haversock now inhabited property which had been mine from birth. Never again would I be on knees behind the comfortable buttocks of my cook pumping my manhood into either her hungry anus or vagina, her enormous breasts pendulant as she waited for me to later impale her between her breasts high big mounds.

Never again would the coachman's wife take my long and round prick in her mouth and suck and massage it to jetting happiness. Never again would the hot vagina of the little maid nurse my knob, pulling and tugging until my testicles filled her with my semen.

Now I was a fugitive from the King's Law, running and dodging, and I had to leave my native land. Where would I go but to my good uncle in Jamaica. I must hurry, hurry, hurry-

My gold found the captain I wanted-one bound for Kingston, Jamaica-and for three days I sat cramped in my own stinking excrement in the stinking hold of a ship, while three times the King's men searched for me. Finally, I felt the pitch beneath me and we were at sea, I bound for my uncle's domain in cocksdom, and my prick stiffened, even in my miserable quarters.

Time would aid me to forget my Lady Haversock. The sad experience with her possibly would turn out for the good, for never again would I fall in such stupid position with a female.

When the captain freed me we climbed on deck, he behind me up the ladder, and as we got near the top his hand, coming up and resting on the crack of my buttocks, halted me.

I felt his fingers love my buttocks, forefingers seeking my anus. And I heard him say, “There are no women on board, you know. We men must seek friendship and love in each other, you know.”

I laughed, happy to be free. “When there are no cunts, the men must substitute,” I said.

His forefinger punched my asshole through my heavy trousers. “You are a man of great intellect and understanding, Jonathan,” he said. “We climb now, n'est pas?”

“To your bed,” I said, and continued upward.

Content

Jonathan Richardson
Confessions Of An English Traveler

Prologue

Episode One

The Second Episode

Episode Number Three

The Fourth Episode

Episode Number Five

My Sixth Episode

Episode Number Seven

I now create Episode Eight

Episode Number Nine

My Tenth Episode

The Eleventh Episode Follows

Episode Number Twelve

The Thirteenth and Last, Episode