taking his courser, plunging in my body to the very hilt, let his burning jet finish our sweet operation.
My dear Minet, as I generally called the splendid instrument of my joy, had become my passion, the object of real worship. I was never tired of admiring its thickness, its stiffness, and its length, all equally marvellous. I would dandle it, suck it, pump at it, caress it in a thousand different ways, and rub it between my titties, holding it there by pressing them with both my hands, Often when captive in this voluptuous passage, it would throw out its dew.
My lover returned all my caresses with interest. My pussey was his god, his idol. He assured me that no woman had ever possessed a more perfect one. He would open it, and frig it in every conceivable way. His greatest delight was to apply his lips thereto, and extract, so to speak, the quintessence of voluptuousness, by titillations of the tongue, that almost drove me mad. (Continued on page 211)
KITTYS DREAM
On her couch, one summer's day,
Beauteous, youthful Kitty lay;
Venus saw her from above,
Smiling Venus, Queen of Love;
Amaz'd at each celestial grace,
Her polish'd limbs, her blooming face -
'Come here, my boy,' she said, 'and see
'One you might have took for me.'
Roguish Cupid, laughing, cries,
'O give me leave to quit the skies,
'And make that heav'nly maiden prove,
'The various mysteries of love:
'The close embrace, the juicy kiss,
'The raging, melting, dying bliss.'
Venus consented: 'Go, my boy,
'Make her know the height of joy.'
Away the archer and his train,
Sport along th' ethereal plain.
Now around the sleeping fair
Thousand Cupids fill the air;
In her bosom some inspire
Tender wishes, fond desire;
Some in balmy kisses sip
Nectar from her glowing lip;
Her each heaving snowy breast,
Some with wanton ardour press'd;
Twining round her slender waist,
Some with eager joy embrac'd;
Whilst, at random, others rove
Through the fragrant groves of love.
Whilst thus the God his revels keeps,
Kitty, happy virgin, sleeps:
A pleasing dream her soul employs,
Rich with imaginary joys.
She thinks Sir Charles, upon his knees,
Beseeching her to give him ease;
That she, disdainful, looks awhile;
At length, with a complying smile,
His fears dispelling, lets him see
She burns with love as well as he:
That, folded in his eager arms,
He boldy rifles all her charms,
Whilst she returns the warm embrace,
Breast to breast, and face to face.
Sighing she wakes: 'Ah! love,' she cries,
'How vast must be thy real joys!
'When thus divinely great they seem,
'Tho' but imagin'd in a dream?'
Scarcely this reflection o'er,
A footman thunders at the door;
Kitty, disordered, leaves her couch,
And Betty tells the Knight's approach.
He enters with becoming grace,
Blushes overspread her face;
In a soft, persuasive strain,
He begs her to relieve his pain.
Nothing she says; but from her eyes
He learns that nothing she denies.
Encourag'd thence, her lips, her breast, He tries, and wanders o'er the rest:
The glowing maid, no longer coy,
Gives an unbounded loose to joy;
Around him folds her snowy arms,
At once bestowing all her charms:
And now this happy couple prove
All the substantial sweets of love;
Till hast'ning to Love's destin'd goal,
True as the needle to the pole,
Raging and stung with keen desire,
In amorous swoonings they expire.
While thousand Cupids laughing by,
Assist their blissful ecstasy.
Loosen'd from his fond embrace,
'My dream,' she cries, 'is come to pass.'
'And did my charmer dream of this?'
Sir Charles replies, and takes a kiss:
'Henceforth whene'er you dream, my dear,
'Let me be your interpreter.'
THE BREECHES, OR ST. THOMAS-A-BECKET'S RELIC
Father Girard was a celebrated preacher in one of the most noted cities of France; a man of ready elocution, handsome person, and a lively eye, which was generally roving among the female part of his audience. As he was
