titty. These caresses were not without effect, for every now and again a shiver swept over her and made the tremulous flesh quiver.
The glorious obscenity of it all was faithfully reflected in the mirror, where at the same time I could see both Rose's taper fingers, covered with rings, toying with her great cunt, and her daughter's ivory bottom, with legs flung upwards, and the opening of the slit in the dim recess between. In this manner we heard.
CHAPTER 3
I was only a titter, not as old as Ethel here, when I fell madly in love with my husband. George was a handsome, rake-hellish devil whose reputation was common property. I knew very well he was a confirmed cunt- hunter, but like many another girl I was completely bowled over by his fascinations, and I would listen to no remonstrances or warnings.
In vain they told me I was too young to think of marrying. I was no innocent, despite my tender age, and I was persuaded I could hold my own in amorous conflict with a man. Still, I had some sense left in my noddle, for I wouldn't let my lover fuck me till he had married me. It was hard work to prevent him though, for his unguarded and lubricious caresses awoke a little demon in my quim to which, until then, I had been a stranger.
He used to squeeze my bubbies and bottom in the openest way, and rub his prick against my thighs and hands, so that I could not help feeling it-and, Lord! what a size it seemed, exaggerated by the folds of his clothes. More than once I left him so excited that I woke up in the middle of a wet dream, spending profusely. I fancied he was in my arms, ramming fast and furiously, and when I came to my senses I was bucking eagerly, and my quim drenched. His contact, even his presence, moved me so much that I was ready to spend if he touched me, and one day I did. He was mugging me in his usual fucksome style, and his hand touched my motte. Instantly, and without my having the slightest power to prevent it, the hidden springs burst, and a torrent flowed from my excited cranny. For the life of me I could not but give way to my feelings, and found myself openly and without the least attempt at concealment thrusting my belly backwards and forwards against him, just as many a time since I have responded to the throes of a lover's prick. He saw the effect, the brute, and took advantage of my helplessness to put his hand up my clothes.
'Good God, Rose,' he cried, 'why, you shoot it out like a man! Your drawers are dripping, and it's running down into your stockings. What a hot little cat. If you spend like this for a wisp of tongue in your mouth, what will you do for six inches of cock up your thing?' I escaped from him in confusion, only to repeat the scene the next time we came together. On this occasion he was ready for me, and as soon as he observed the signal of distress, thrust his hand between my thighs…
All I could say, and that very faintly was, 'What are you doing?' 'Trying to increase your pleasure. Also to feel this little twat discharging.' He tickled my fanny, and the convulsion was more intense than before.
George brought his hand forth covered with my emission, and after looking at it coolly wiped it on my drawers.
'Heavens, what a grind you'll make!' he said, and forthwith took out his cock and tried to poke me. I had courage enough to refuse. So great was his power over me that I could not dance with him without spending. More than once I have had to stop breathless, and clinging to him whisper, 'For goodness' sake, George, hold me tight or I shall fall.
I'm doing it again.' There I clung, almost fainting from the acuteness of the ejaculation, while my spunk dribbled down my thighs.
Despite my resolution, I recognise now that he never would have married me (although some fine night I should assuredly have been fucked) but for the fact that I had a good deal of money, and that is what I fancy finally decided my noble to tie himself up. Not that marriage made a bit of difference to him, the wretch. He was one of those lustful, passionate, hell-fire scamps, of whom it is said they spare no man in their wrath and no woman in their lust.
I proved this to my sorrow on my wedding night. Scarcely had I got into bed than he fairly rushed me, like a bull. My nightdress was snatched off, and whereas I had expected a tender preliminarily scene of delightful cuddling with a gradual approach to the main performance, George pulled my thighs open and drove his prick into my slender cunt without taking breath. He hurt me horribly, of course, but what did he care for my young flesh! All he wanted was to tear through my maidenhead as quickly as possible, and the more I screamed under my breath and begged for mercy, the more pleased he was. It is no exaggeration to say he regularly ripped me open, and certainly the blood flowed freely from my wounds. Without dismounting he twice poured in a torrent of lava, and then gloated over the way he had made me bleed and chaffed me when I bewailed my torn cunt. I reproached him strongly, sobbed, and vowed I would go back to my parents, for this was not at all like the pleasure I had expected. But I did not know the sort of husband I had got.
'You'll find out, my girl,' said he, 'you've got to do as I like. I'll teach you to threaten me. Turn over and show me your arse.' I refused to move, and he flung me over at once, pulled my bottom open, and began to probe the tight little hole with a finger, at the same time stiffening up his cock again by rubbing it on the back of my thighs. Horrified at the obscenity of the act, I protested loudly, but little knew what was coming.
'You don't like my finger there, eh? What'll you say, then, when you feel this in it?' beating my arse with his prick.
'Never, never!' I shouted, 'I'll scream for help.' My earlier threats were all fudge, but I really began to be alarmed now. He banged my head down on the pillow, and informed me if I did he would tie and gag me; that he was master, and I'd find he'd do as he liked. With that he began thrusting in his prick, and despite all my resistance, for after all I didn't cry out too loudly, I was soundly buggered. After that I was too exhausted to resist any more, and he fucked away, without my taking the slightest pleasure from it, till I pretty well fainted. Next day I was too sore to move and besought him with tears to give me time to recover. Having triumphed at all points, George could afford to be generous, and for the remainder of our honeymoon treated me more tenderly, and allowed me to have a share of my legitimate pleasure by fucking me more lightly. He made up for this, as I ascertained afterwards, by amusing himself with one of the barmaids at the hotel. I dare say her quim was more used to such assaults than my virgin twat. Oh, he was an awful ram! I never could keep a servant, for either he frightened them away by wanting to roger them or, if they gave in, got them in the family way. Yet I was desperately fond of the wretch, and curiously enough, rather proud of the way he used to fuck every woman who crossed his path.
After all I did not fare so badly as some of them. Not long after we returned from our honeymoon I ran against an intimate friend of mine, Lucy by name. Of course I had to stand a good deal of chaff from her, and she wormed out of me how George had treated me the first night.
'Oh, that's nothing,' she blurted out in a knowing way, and then seemed to recollect herself. A thought struck me.
'How do you know? Has George ever fucked you?' Poor Lucy fell into confusion, quite unable to answer, so I pressed my guess home.
'You needn't deny it: I can see from your face that he has,' I said with a smile.
Lucy, somewhat reassured, confessed. 'Well, as you don't seem to mind, I admit he has, but I am not the only one by a long way, you know.
There are a good many others who can pretty well imagine what your bridal night was.' 'Yes, I knew when I married him what his reputation was, but, like a fool, thought he would stick to me and give up his promiscuous fucking, but I don't now hug myself in that belief. I should hardly have thought, though, Lucy, you would be one to be knocked off your perch so easily. Tell me all about it, and I will forgive you.' Lucy I may say was well about twenty, and a good-looking girl of nice figure. The last time I saw her she was the mother of five or six children, and had a belly on her like a camel's hump. So she began.
CHAPTER 4
