Gynecocracy

Mademoiselle's movements as I did so became more and more vigorous, her hold of me grew tighter and tighter, and she pressed me still more closely. Feeling her foot heavily against my shoulders I continued to play with what I concluded was her raw flesh, to bite it gently with my teeth, and to lick it with my tongue, especially that little protuberance, as I soon discovered the transports which that gave her. To my wonder the aperture still grew larger and larger until I seemed actually to lose my face in it. It had wet me and appeared to cover me all over in it. I felt as if I was some distance inside her body and I grew furious with a strange excitement which increased with her own. Mademoiselle's throbs became more and more convulsive, indeed as violent as mine had been on the ottoman.

At last, centring herself upon my mouth, there came a series of violent spasmodic throbs lasting for some seconds then becoming gradually slower and slower, whilst there was jerked into my mouth a warm 40

sticky fluid tasting something like the white of an egg only a little bitter. I could hear Mademoiselle's exclamations although her garments partly smothered the sound. At last her efforts ceased, her grasp relaxed, and she seemed to repose as she let my head rest against one of her knees.

What an experience! There was no longer any need to describe to me how a man differed from a woman. How delightful that she should be so formed and possess an organ so receptive, so responsive, so capable of appreciating and returning the passions of my own, which, whether it was intended or not for the purpose, I longed to place inside hers. How exquisite would be the pleasure if our movements could take place simultaneously, and whilst I was inside her. I was overjoyed at the intimate knowledge of a woman to which I had been so agreeably introduced and wondered whether everyone had equal good fortune, feeling convinced that they could not otherwise obtain anything like a perfect acquaintance with her. I was overjoyed, too, that that woman in my case was Mademoiselle.

I burned to express my feelings in words, to implore her to permit me to carry out my idea of inserting in her the engine of mine which she had manipulated. I conceived the idea to be original and I thought its communication would be welcomed by her as an inspiration of genius.

Not knowing what to do with the liquid with which my mouth was filled and needing some fresh air and a relief from the constraint of my position, I endeavoured to rise; but Mademoiselle instantly clasped my head tightly between her knees and prevented me. A horse's strength is in his loins, a lion's in his jaws, an elephant's in his trunk and weight, an ox's in his neck, and a woman's is evidently in her thighs. I again tried to free myself only to receive a tighter and more prolonged and suffocating squeeze followed by a smart blow on my back from her heel, which almost knocked the wind out of me. A little chagrined and disappointed, I thought it wisest to give in, and resolved to await events, passing my time in contemplation of my delicious situation under a young lady's petticoats. To enhance my sense of it I recalled her lovely features and figure to my mind, picturing her to myself seated there. And then I remembered that I was in full possession of the secret of her most private charms. I gently rubbed my head against her, up and down the insides of her thighs. She relaxed her hold and her lascivious motions told me how this pleased her.

I revelled in the contact of her undergarments and in the warm atmosphere and pungent scent of the locality. I gloried in the discovery of what petticoats actually did conceal and I swallowed the liquid in my mouth with a voluptuous thrill.

Mademoiselle was evidently reading, and I had opportunity for moralizing. I began to wonder whether there was anything wicked in all this-whether it was impure? Was it adultery, fornication, or lasciviousness to be beneath a maid's legs, kissing them and gratifying her and myself by dalliance with my lips and tongue with her "mouth with a moustache," simply because that mouth was between her legs and usually hidden? The concealment was conventional as dress, founded on the decorum and decencies of life. Was it wicked to kiss the mouth of an Eastern woman because, when walking abroad, it was covered by a Sash-mak? Brushing aside the conventionalities in the shape of skirts and drawers gave a poignant relish to the embrace that seemed perfectly legitimate. So I hugged Mademoiselle closer and kissed her legs again.