“There were entertainments we had heard.” My uncle coughs again. Some nervousness possesses him.
“You had both heard? Will you take liqueurs? Susan!”
Her smile is gentle but her voice sounds sharp. We, in a tent within a tent, are as intruders to her realm. A girl enters, bears a tray. The hem of a chemise wafts round her hips, shortened for revelation. Her bottom naked gleams, her stockings black. In serving she presents her cleft, the cheeks inrolling on her secrecy. Her tuft, well furred, is clipped triangular. The lips peep a little, pouting, as she walks. I will have her with my tongue before the day folds dark into the trees. Her face pleases, neither common nor patrician.
In the full forest of her hair…
“You may leave, Susan. The gentleman may follow in a moment. Be sure your breath is sweetened and your thighs perfumed. Do you take to her?”
The question seemingly is addressed to my uncle.
“If such be, yes.” He appears to flounder-confuses thoughts with words and words with thoughts.
“Take then your drink and follow her. There is an alcove to the rear where you may pleasure her or she may pleasure you. One never knows upon such matters, does one?”
“Very well. Ah, yes.”
Cast somewhat in confusion, he departs. There is a whiplash to her voice beneath the velvet. I evidently am desired, or shall know about the matter soon enough.
“He has had you? Had you yet?”
In speaking she rises, seats herself beside me on an ottoman, which takes some creaking pleasure from her bottom's bulge.
“Are you ever so direct?” My smile, received, amuses. Her eyebrows arch.
“I will not have girls forced to it-save by myself. Are you for training or for wilful pleasures?”
“Which of those two is Susan, then?”
My question, facing question, makes her laugh. The sound is pleasing, tinkles, silvery.
“She is at the midway of her fate-will serve him well enough though slightly stiff of thighs, will jerk her bottom petulant and sob a little. Had I known more about you as a pair I might have had your tongue flick-tease her first. Men, however, are artful in their ways. He might have entered you without your willing. Such trios ever please the lustful. Has he mounted you?”
“Not he. You may fill my glass again-if you will fill my glass again. You appear to have acquaintance with him and yet not. Do you screen your intent or are you ever open on such matters?”
“We fence with questions, do we not? Lie back a little that I might taste your mouth. How sultry, small, and succulent your lips!”
“Is this your way of training?”
“I would have you, yes. You knew that I would have you from the moment of the meeting of your eyes. Birds fly behind your eyes, flirt with the world, are gone. Here, let me take your glass. Fill your mouth and pass the liquor then within my own. Does that not please?”
“How would you train me? Perhaps I have been trained. Ah! Oh, your finger intrudes! Why do you put it there first?”
“More questions and less knowings, Laura! Draw your skirt up more. Ah, minx, you wear no drawers! You are come upon expectancy. How you wriggle on my finger! Is it nice there, ever nice? What a pity I did not train you first myself.”
“What a pity, yes, but there would have been no allowing of it. You do not have withal the wherewithal, the whatnot.”
“Cock. Say cock!”
“. I will not. Oh, it is naughty. Ooooh, how far up your finger goes!”
“Tight still, are you not, between your cheeks, but well reamed there-I have the feeling of it. So many come to me who have been little probed, known yet the seeking of the knob but wilted from its entry, squalled and squealed.”
“Do you whip them?” My voice is thick. We lounge along the ottoman, the glass discarded, sticky both of lips, and belly bared to belly now.
“Say 'cock' first and I will tell you.”
“Cock.” I giggle, hide my face. I would be perverse with her, play wanton to her needs. Our tongues intrude, upon each other's dance and flick. She seeks my corsage to unbutton, I then hers. Our nipples, displayed to each other's burr, quickly stiffen, jellied points of fire. “Tell me, tell quick, oh, tell me now!”
“Ofttimes they are spurred with whip or strap, are brought to leap, display their cunnies. The proud surrender not easily, and yet they must. I treat not common girls. They for the most part offer their bottoms for a sovereign and their quims for half of that. Better by far to take one who will sob, declare her declarations of despair, be made submissive, brought to lick.”
“The cunny of their mistress first? Oh, how divine! You make my bottom wriggle more-I beg you work your finger more!”
“Desiring of darkness you were first brought to it, I vow. Or at dusk taken, behind curtains drawn. Your legs strained, you sought to retract, could not, and thus urged back a little, felt the prick's full inward plunge, expanding to receive, and sucked him dry. Did you thereafter cry, fall forward faint, the smears of sperm warm on your nether cheeks, need to be shushed, drawn up, your skirt descended?”
“Mama said that I ever looked immaculate in my immaculacy. Ah, but he bubbled, strove and strained, in-forced, enforced his penis to my plum. So I to Perdition came. Think you wrong of me?”
“Were you bold thereafter? Did you offer?”
“No.” Another giggle. I am clutched to her. Subtle our thighs move and our pussies meet. Liquid to liquid urge the silent lips. My clitoris sweet tingles, sharp to hers.
“Speak. You may speak, Laura.”
“Ever modest I moved, Amelia. Do you not remember? Were you not hidden in the shadows of the leaves, questing by moonlight along the roofs rim to peer within my room? The strap was ever-present, broad and thick. I counted of it near five inches width, the leather creased, striated. Offering came not in question. True, there came a time, an evening close upon mid-summer's call, when I removed my drawers, awaited kisses, the cupping of his palm to my nest, heel of hand rubbing to my hairs, my slit at pillage. Oh! I have not even told my own thoughts this!”
“We are upon confession, are we not? Continue.”
“Desire is pale. I felt a pallor at my eyes. Knees flexed, I flicked a finger at my nest. Thus was I come upon, all disarrayed, fell back upon my bed and moaned my cry.”
“Speak, little devil, speak more clearly. You are panting. I can scarce hear you. Did he come armed? Armed for the combat you desired?”
“I know not if I dream it. Do I dream it? He came with penis at full stand, his balls displayed above his trouser's gap. Seizing my hair, he drew me up, hot cock against my belly pressed, for a long moment we stood thus. Aeons passed-I heard the curtains stir, the voices of the workers in the fields. A milk-pail rattled and then all was still. Gently he cupped my cunny, felt it pulse, and swore to its allure. The lips he said would suck along his prick, draw out his sperm in shoots of white desire. I fainted at the words…”
“You lie! I know you now to lie!”
“I wished it so. Does that not make it true? Ever the worlds of true and not-true merge, are drawn within, coagulate and re-emerge, claiming inheritance to Now. Time is a burden on us all.”
“Be quiet, child-make not much of death nor Time lest ere thy day thou reap an evil thing. Have you not read Swinburne in his musings? Finger-teased or twiddled, yes, perhaps, but ever you were turned about, your cheeks put up to him and boldly parted. Ever modest you moved? I have no doubt of it. I had a cousin such, most sensual in bed, yet looked a nun, her mouth pursed primly as a chorister's. It becomes some so to be. Those who are brought to me for training and conversion are quite other. They are pursed of lips both above and below and yet must learn to take the squirtings in their dells, their tight rosettes, their mewing mouths. Came he never in your mouth?”
“But once, obedient, I took it-yes-his penis to my lips. Shadowed, his balls hung down beneath. I marvelled at their majesty and weight. Being kneeling, I took chance to fondle them and heard his groanings far and faint above. Then, my head being pressed most fervently, I drew in more or more drew in-one says such as one will. He quivered in the velvet of my mouth, was taut with veins and urgent to expel. I please you, do I please you now? Is my recital apt, well phrased and orchestrated to your whims?”