My Secret Life

“You mustn't here,” were her last words, as if she thought there was impiety in the act I contemplated. But the struggle was over, both meant fucking, modesty and fears were conquered as I mounted her, clutched her solid haunches and plunged my prick up her and very soon, too soon, sighing our pleasure we spent. Her cunt was overflowing with my libation and her contribution, whilst silent and coupled we lay on the Turkey carpet of the robing room — a glorious fuck it was.

I lay on her in blissful silence clasping the sides of her smooth cool buttocks. — “I'm a feared that he'll come back,” murmured she uncunting me. “He can't, the door is locked.” We got up and her petticoats falling hid the charms which I'd never even seen at all. — We talked quietly, and she eyed the sovereigns. — Fucking opens a woman's mouth as well as her cunt. The sexton's duty was not to leave the church, but he often did and locked her mother in on Saturdays, and went away to drink. — He was a toper. The Rector never came there on Saturdays, it was cleaning up day. “He writes his sermons then — I'm told.” — Much more talk was of the same sort mixed with baudy suggestions. — “Then you like fucking, don't you?” — “Oh, not at all,” said she smiling. — “Hush — he's knocking at the entrance.” — “It's nothing, let him wait, say you didn't hear him.”

Looking full in each other's eyes and sitting, touching each other, I knew that the libation must have been wetting her thighs, and the idea of that began to stiffen me. I'd never seen her cunt, for as I pulled up her petticoats I rolled on to her. “Let's look at it, and we'll fuck again.” — “Oh no — he'll be back — tell me the time.” — I looked at my watch and told. — “Oh, he won't be back yet if he's gone for a booze, but I can't — I can't wash here.” — “There is water in the pail.” — “I shan't — I can't — no — I won't.” A long resistance more baudy talk and the incitement of a stiff prick again. “Oh — oh — now, if he comes back.” — A struggle, but I fingered her gluey orifice, and in a few minutes had her laying on her back on the table, fucking her, my hands, holding up her fat thighs, every now and then glancing down at my tool as it worked up and down in her well haired split, and so again we con-summated. — “He'll sure be back soon — oh — do go — what will he think of your being here so long?” — I kissed her and departed through the Rector's door to the churchyard. I gave her a parting kiss. — “Your cunt's wet.” “It's not dry, go along,” said she laughing. Delighted with my afternoon's amusement, I lingered near the church and walked round the churchyard, which was at that point some feet below the level of the Rector's room; no one could have looked at our tricks through the windows. I met the sexton soon after at the entrance porch, he was groggy and talkative. Then he knocked hard at the door with a stick, then rang a bell. I stopped, the woman opened it. How she opened her eyes when she saw me. I winked at her over the sexton's shoulders, and left. — It was the sex-ton's daughter I heard later on. — She also was a Mary she told me. What a lot of Marys I've tailed. — How fine and firm and fuckable are these country wenches, what juicy cunts.