"Old Cuntswigger was in extasies, he knelt down behind us, forced one finger up my arsehole, part of the same hand tickling my balls; his other hand was equally busy with Nora, postillioning her bottom in the most exciting way, with one digit, whilst the next one was inside her deliciously tight cunt, feeling how my prick was going on, and adding greatly to our enjoyment.
"This was too good to last long, we came together in tremendous gushes of sperm, which churned into whitish troth as our motions continued, oozing out on his fingers, which he took pleasure in licking one after the other, urging us not to stop but to go on again without resting to recover ourselves, but seeing I was rather Ragging after such an extraordinary bout, he ordered some one to freshen me up with a birch rod. That ended my dream, for the first cut was such a stinging whacker that I awoke with a start."
Spencer reads his Tale of of Vanessa.
"And quite as well," exclaimed Fuckatilla, "it was beginning to get painfully cruel. I like tender love best."
"So do I, that is exactly what I think, although a few skilful strokes of the twigs are delicious provocatives to sensual enjoyment, I don't like going to extremes," said Spencer.
"Now I vote for a bit of fun, then I will read you a tale called Vanessa, which I have got ready especially for this evening, and trust you may approve of its not too florid style, as I have tried to write it something in the style of 'Fanny Hill'."
"I shall call on Jack Turdey for a song first.
Mind, my boy, it is one of the newest out," said their host.
"You shall have, 'Under the Garden Wall,' I got it at a convivial a night or two ago," said Jack, clearing his throat, "here goes!"
I went to piss 'gainst a walnut tree,
Under the Garden Wall,
When I saw such a sight that startled me, Under the Garden Wall, At first it was dark, but I soon made out, Under the Garden Wall, A male and a female were there without doubt;
Under the Garden Wall,
I wasn't long guessing what they were about, Under the Garden Wall.
CHORUS: -
Under the garden wall, the fellow was young and tall;
The lady was fair beyond compare, she little suspected that I was there;
Her clothes were up, and her arse was bare!
Under the Garden Wall.
I saw she'd a pair of delightful thighs, Under the Garden Wall;
And he had a prick of enormous size,
Under the Garden Wall;
I heard her exclaim, "What a beauty, dear Jim!
Be quick you old ducky, and do put him in;
Go gently at first, or you'll split my young quim, Under the Garden Wall.
CHORUS: — Under,
I then heard a groan, and I then heard a grunt, Under the Garden Wall;
Said she, "How I love you to tickle my cunt, Under the Garden Wall;
The sight gave me palpitation of the heart, When I saw how she squirmed on his blooming dart, With excitement, when one of them let a loud fart, Under the Garden Wall.
CHORUS: — Under, amp;c.
My prick got stiff 'gainst the walnut tree, Under the Garden Wall;
And I found no inclination to pee,
Under the Garden Wall;
The sight gave me a peculiar shock,
I found myself rubbing my sensitive jock, They had real turtle, and I had the mock, Under the Garden Wall.
CHORUS: — Under,
"That's something like a song, can't you, Mr.
Bigcock, sing us another?" said the vivacious Nelly, who had joined heartily in the chorus.
"No, you little darling!" laughed their host,
"but I will just give you a new Aesthetic Nursery Rhyme, and then have Mr. Spencer's tale."
An Aesthetic young miss of Calcutta,
Set all the men's hearts in a flutter,
Her bubs were intense,
Her arse was immense,
And her cunt quite too utterly utter!
'Vanessa, the Story of a Milliner's Apprentice, or Memoirs of a Lady of Pleasure in London'."
INTRODUCTION
To the Reader,The subject of these pages is a very fashionable beauty in Kensington at the present time; long since, when I first made her acquaintance she promised to write out all the most interesting incidents in her life, and at last I have prevailed upon her to keep her word, and am thus enabled to make public a most interesting story of a real lady of pleasure, from the days of her youth and poverty up to the present time, when she is now one of the shining lights of the highest circle of the Demi-Monde.
THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER I
I was born in a workhouse, in the west of English, my poor mother giving up her last breath as she gave me life. An orphan from my birth, who never even knew who her father was.
Like the celebrated Cora Pearl, who lately married a rich nobleman in Paris, after having been the bright particular star amongst les files du monde of that great city; I also had a very common name, hers, I believe, was Emma Crutch, mine nothing more than Phoebe Smith, the same as my poor mother's.
Well, to go on with my story. I believe that as I got out of babyhood I grew so intelligent and pretty that I became a general pet amongst all the officials of the workhouse master, matron,
doctor, etc., everyone seemed to take an interest in little Phoebe, and thanks to natural quickness, my education was far better than usually the result of such surroundings, but you may guess I had many very curious adventures even in my earliest days of girlhood.
The matron often sent me messages to the rector and others in our village, as she knew it gave me pleasure to run out now and then.
Our rector was a nice old gentleman, nearly eighty years of age, and he would often ask me into his study, under pretence of examining me, to see how my education was going on. The old man really seemed to feel his feet a little during these visits, and generally gave me sixpence for a nice kiss before he would let me go. Of course I was always glad to go to the rectory, especially as Mrs. Wilson, the housekeeper, often gave me sweets and cakes in addition to the parson's sixpences.
At last I was upon quite familiar terms with him, and used frequently to sit on his knee and kiss him, as he called me a dear little pet, and very frequently his hands would go up under my clothes, till they felt my thighs and even something else, as he explained to me what a pity and shame it was that the guardians did not allow drawers, "You would look so pretty little Phoebe, properly dressed," he would say and go on all the while taking liberties which at the time my innocence did not see any harm in.
I was nearly ten years old, when one day, our matron told me that Mrs. Wilson at the rectory wanted me to help her for the afternoon, if I could be spared, "so you had better make yourself nice, and go at once, my dear," and I did not want telling twice.
The old parson was delighted to see me.
"Mrs. Wilson sent for my pet to spend the afternoon with me, as she is going out, and I have such a surprise for you, Phoebe," he said.
The housekeeper was soon gone, and I now believe it was a regular planned thing between them, as when he died he left her a house and two pounds a week for life.
Leaving my straw hat and cloak in Mrs. Wilson's room, he led me to the study, where he took me on his knee and almost stifled me with kisses.
"What do you think I have got for my pet?" he asked.
"Is that all you think of, Phoebe? Wouldn't you like to see yourself in fine clothes, eh?"