My Secret Life

The little one laid on the bed again sufficiently near for me to see all, and I put my finger up her fresh washed quim. The elder at length by mouth and tongue roused my prick to stiffness, and saying, — “There,” with a smile, threw herself on the bedside with open thighs. But my erection was temporary, the look of her poppy topped quim didn't please me, and it sub-sided. The little one laughed thereat and the elder resumed her gamahuching, whilst again I sat on the chair. But another whim came, and taking the little one's bum on my naked thigh, I again began frigging her. “I'll make you spend, when did you frig yourself last?” — “Yesterday morning, Sir.” — “Did you?” — “She just did,” said the elder, helping herself to gin again. — “I'll break that bottle if you take any more,” and relinquishing the little love crack, I got up and put the bottle on the mantel piece. — She laughed, and saying, “Gin always serves me out quick,” squatted on the pot. I stooped and took the cataract on my hand — that stiffened me, she laughed when she saw it. — “Fuck me now,” said she, laying hold of my tool.

But I wouldn't, and resumed frigging the little one who took the masturbation in voluptuous silence, till her thighs twitched a little. “Tell me when you're coming.” — She made no reply for a while, then — “It's a comin' — now, aha — aha,” she sighed, almost in-audibly, and from the tremulous motion of her little bum and thighs, the general quivering, and then quietness of her whole cuntal region, I knew she'd spent, but said as for some reason I usually do when a woman's frigged herself. “You haven't spent.” “I'll swear she have,” said the elder who'd been watching us.

I pushed her on the bed, put my finger up the little quim and found it more lubricious than it had been five minutes before. My prick stood like iron at that, and pulling her by her thighs to the beds edge, plunged it hard up her. — “Ohoo! fuck me,” cried the elder in disappointed tone. But the letch for the hairless cunt was on me, I rammed as violently as I could, longing to hit her womb portals — my prick seemed far stiffer than before. — “Ho! you hurts,” cried she. Harder than ever then I thrust, and felt my prick at each push banging hard against the bottom of her womb, I was delighted at hurting her. — “Hoo, — don't,” and she drew her bum a little back, a very little, for I held her like a vice and she was helpless. Bang went my pego still. “Oho — oho,” she cried out, my arsehole tight- ened with the ejaculating pleasure. I spent and was quiet just in time to see her sister finish frigging her-self, which she'd done, excited by the baudy amusements. Then I left much delighted, and many a time my prick stood afterwards when I thought of that foggy evening's adventure, and the skinny, hairless cunted little whore — one of the youngest I've fucked.

In a railway carriage in London on one morning in winter, as we approached * * * *, the passengers got out leaving me alone with a short well-dressed woman looking about thirty-five years. — She had been looking at me almost continuously for a quarter of an hour, which made me look at her — for she was good looking — and directly we were alone she spoke about the weather, and very shortly told me she was a dressmaker. On that a little conversation ensued, when she remarked that it was difficult for the girls to dress and make a living out of their wages, and if good looking they wouldn't; and she smiled significantly. I also smiled, and was inclined to believe that she was making advances on her own behalf, when she asked if I knew **** Street, and replying that I did, she told me the number of her shop, asking me to call and try on her gloves. She sold gentlemen's gloves and cravats — nothing more for gentlemen — for she was a dress-maker.

At once I set her down as a procuress, and questioned her closely. — Yes, she had some pretty girls working for her, she'd have none but pretty ones. “Come and buy a cravat or gloves,” — and I could see them. “What's the good of seeing and longing?” “Oh if you long, I'll see what I can do for you.” — Then I heard that they were all quite respectable, but girls would be flighty, and she shielded them from trouble. At once I saw all this was mere cant, that she got pretty girls to work for her, and if she got a chance, sold the pretty girls, and perhaps this journey in a railway carriage was her mode of introducing her business. — “I suppose you have some one older than you in the business.” — No, she hadn't. — “Have you got the ad-dress?” — I looked at the card on which I had written it. — “Yes.” “Will you come?” “Perhaps, and listen,” I put my mouth to her ear for I felt now on sure ground, “and perhaps I'll fuck you.” “Oh you vulgar fellow, this is my station,” — and quickly she got out, leering at me as she alighted.