My Secret Life

It was a delicious day, and beats in my recollection many others of fevered enjoyment. Little by little I stropped a tall, fine, stout, healthy, country woman, a regular spanker; with white flesh, firm, soft satiny and smelling like new milk. She was bashful without affection, ashamed to expose her charms, yet proud to do so to me. She was clad in snow-white coarse linen, neat and clean from her boots to her head. What enjoyment we had! how we spent ! I fucked her three times before the dinner-hour, my prick or my finger was in her cunt for an hour and a half.

At half-past twelve off she went; in less than two hours back she came. She had said that a friend of hers was ill, and she had promised to sit with her (a woman cocking is never at loss for a lie). It was raining. The umbrella helped to hide her, but she was nervous about being seen. I had dinner at the house, the woman cooked well; the keepers were really small traders who did not mind their rooms being used for love-making, and had none of the dirty tricks of a Lon-don baudy house keeper. He fetched me a bottle of good sherry. I got as lewd as could be, and to her astonishment turned her face against the bed, threw up her clothes and had her with my belly against her rump. I shall never forget the comicality of that fuck, her protesting against it, and her wonderment at such an attitude. The novelty upset her.

I don't recollect much more what I did, but it was an afternoon of baudy teaching on my part, of confidences on hers; it was the first time we had a chat together on general matters. Speaking of her husband she said, “Why you have done it as much almost as he has done since we have been married.” “What in a year?” “Yes, we were married several weeks afore he did it at all, so I told mother, and that's why he don't like her.”

She was warmed with wine, we were on the bed cuddling, my fingers at work on her clitoris, we were enjoying each other's nakedness. I pressed her to tell me more, and now narrate briefly what I heard of her first fuck, her grievances and troubles.

“After I spoke to mother, mother said to him, 'You don't want a wife much Mr. Pender, I think.' 'Why of course I do, I should not have married had I not.' 'Well it don't seem like it', said mother. Then Pender said, 'You mind your own business mother, or you'll make it hot for your daughter', and with that he went out, and slammed the door. Mother did not like to say any more, for fear he would ill-treat me. Soon after he said, 'What have you been saying to your mother?' 'Nothing', I answered. He looked queer, and still he did not do anything to me for some time.'

“When I was in bed I used to lay and cry, he'd say, 'What are you crying about woman?' but I never told. After that one night he took my hand, put it on his thing and said, 'Feel that lass.' Then he felt all round me you know', said Mrs. P. laughing, 'and he had never done that before, — and with no more ado he got atop and said, 'Not don't be a fool', and then he did it, — and that's all”, said Mrs. Pender describing her first marital poke, — the real beginning of her married life, — as she laid side by side by me, with my prick in her hand.

I was curious, — a man always is in such matters. “Did it hurt you? — did he get up you quick?” “I'm sure it was pretty quick, I cried out, and it hurt. I was all in a tremble; then he said, 'Well you were all right and tight five minutes ago.' I bled a lot.”

“Perhaps your old sweetheart had done it before?” “He never laid hand on me, but to kiss me.” “Nor any one ?” “Oh! yes, they have tried all round I think”, said she laughing, “you have, — so has the squire, and lots of 'em, you can't help that, — if a girl's taken unawares a man can get his hand on her thighs, but he won't get more; and I always slapped their heads, and there was an end of it.” I recollect certainly her slap-ping at mine hard enough.

Then she relieved her mind. “He's not a bad man, he don't get drunk, and we don't quarrel ; but I don't care for him, and never did.” “Ah ! you lost your young man, and thought you would be fucked by some one.” “I did not think at all about it, but in a sort of spiteful fit, when he asked me to marry him, I said yes. I didn't think about his not doing it to me much, till a woman asked me how I liked it, and how often he did it; but I told her he did it a lot. Then I talked, and found men did it often to their wives, and he does not do it to me once in three weeks. So I fretted.” “What do you do?” said I. She laughed, I gave her clitoris a rub. “That's what you do?” “Yes”, said she. “Do you often want fucking?” “Every day”, said Mrs. Pender frankly and openly. “Did you want it the day I had you by the hay-stack?” “I just did.” Then she added that her husband knew she frigged herself, and usually said to her when she intimated that she should like him up her, “Oh! do it yourself, if your cunt's so hot, I'm tired.”