My Secret Life

I knew she would be up to lay the cloth, waited in the parlour till she did, keeping my prick in hand, and trembling with anxiety. When she had laid it, “Now”, said I, “look here.” “No, — no,-no, — Missus may be home,-pray think of me.” But a stiff prick close to a randy woman is a great persuader. “Come dear, come”, and I pulled her. Again she was down on the sofa, again that divine belly was under me, again as I opened the lips of her cunt my prick dwindled to nothing. “Hush! there's Mistress' step, — there is the front-gate slamming. “Get up, — get up, oh! let me get up.” Upstairs I rushed to my own sitting-room as I heard a knock at the door, and had only time to but-ton up my disgraced doodle before I heard the woman tramping upstairs to our bed-room above. How I loathed her!

Half-an-hour after that I sat down to dinner, having composed myself. Mary brought up the dishes. The instant I saw her my cock stiffened, it kept stiff all the evening, I could not sleep for it, was tempted to fuck, or frig myself, but did neither, feeling sure I should have Mary, and would not spend a drop of my sperm till I did. “What does she think of me? — will she believe I am a man ? — will she let me again ? — when shall I get the chance? — what enervated me so at the critical moment?—oh! my God if she lets me, and I am seized so again, what shall I do then? — and so on ran my thoughts. I lay planning how to get her the whole night, and awakened haggard and unrefreshed in the morning.

Then I reflected less nervously. “My finger has been up her cunt”, I thought, “no pain, no recoil,-how quiet she laid, — then she has been fucked before, — then what must she think of me?” and so on ran my thoughts till I was in an agony of disgrace. My haggard look was noticed. I was worried, and should not be home to dinner. “Why?” That was my business. Well then she would spend the afternoon with Mrs. ***,-would I fetch her? Yes at half-past ten o'clock. She wanted to come home earlier. Then she might come by herself. Well then she would wait for me till half-past ten.

Chapter XX

The next day. • On the door-mat • On the sofa. • On her belly. • Eight hours fucking. • At a brothel. • An afternoon's amusement.

Instead of being late I went home about two P.M., just after luncheon time. “Is Mary alone, or not?” I thought, and had arranged for that. I waited in a cab, told a boy to take a letter to No. **, but not to give it unless the lady was at home; if she were not, to bring it back to me, and he should have a shilling when he returned to me. If asked, he was to say he had been told to leave it, but not to say by whom. The letter was properly addressed, but inside was a sheet of blank paper only. Back he came with the letter,-the lady was out.

Even then I was not sure, so drove up and down two or three times in front of my house, to see if I could discover any signs of Mary not being alone, and then I dismissed the cab. My prick had been standing on and off all day, I was in a fearful state of nervous erotic excitement. When I thought of her beautiful belly my prick nearly lifted me off the seat, the next minute I had fears of being taken as I had been the day previously. Would she let me now? — would she be in the mood?-would she not laugh at me, instead of putting her arms around my neck, and her eyes fill with tears? My heart beat audibly with these tumultuous thoughts as I knocked at the door. To my horror I felt my prick shrinking as I stood on the landing feeling it through my trowsers pocket.

Mary opened the door, surprise in her eyes, and a slight look of fear. “You sir!” “Is your Mistress in?” “No sir.” To step inside, close the door, place my arms round her, and kiss her rapturously was the work of an instant. She kissed me, and I her for a minute, and glory to God my prick was like a rod of hot iron standing up against my belly, and throbbing to emit its juices up the dear girl's cunt, against which its poor little tip not twenty-four hours before had dangled and rubbed so uselessly.

A stoop, a struggle. “Adun now—Master, — you shant,-oh! you musn't”, and again I was upright, my lips on her sweet lips, my finger on her clitoris, her face scarlet with modesty, her eyes closed. What woman can long withstand that irritating, voluptuous., restless movement, of the male finger on her cunt? Soft words now, “Oh! don't”, as I stooped down to lift her petticoats, and she pushed them over my hand. Another slight struggle, again our lips meet, again my finger rubs the smooth clitoris, now her hand grasps a hot prick, and with her lips to mine she stands with her back up against the wall of the passage close to the street-door on the door-mat. So we stand kissing and feeling, I don't know how long, for who can count time in such delights.