from the time she first went to bed with her husband. The facts however are against this theory. It is so comparatively rare for a baby to appear so punctually that when one does keep such excellent time, the husband gets clapped on the back, as if he must be a splendid performer, a perfect stallion, a grand bull, whereas, if the truth were known, his wife is rather a lazy young person, who prefers lying on the sofa to going out for a walk! By and by, you will, when in society, have opportunities of observing the truth of what I say- viz- that the active young wives who walk are much longer free from pregnancy than those who do not walk, and that the worst thing a girl who wishes to become a mother can do, is to be active on her feet, or on horseback! Consequently, girls who, like myself, have no right husbands, but dozens of ardent, strong-backed lovers, can't do better than take plenty of exercise, either on foot or on horseback, as it is an additional safeguard from having a swelling and inconvenient belly!'
I listened quietly to those words of wisdom, and I strongly recommend my dear girl readers to mark them too, and to put in practice the sound advice of my dear cousin Lucia. For, however delightful fucking may be, there are people who could not stand in the light of day if the results are to be an increase of the population, and you, dear unmarried girls, are of that number.
Having at length arrived in a field of several acres' extent, with high hedges all round and trees dotted here and there, Lucia said she thought we might rest under one of the trees, and she would show me her sketches. She chose a spot some distance from the path, and the moment she produced her water-colour drawings from the pocket of her sketch-block, I saw why she had gone so far from where any chance passer-by might see her pretty pictures, or hear our conversation!
My breath was almost taken away when the first she put into my hand represented a fine and handsome young man, perfectly naked!
Everything was there! The picture was perfect! It was beautifully done, and was a portrait. I could recognise the features of the handsome, manly face of my cousin Charlie Althair; but I did not scan those features so eagerly as I did certain others, half-way between his chin and his feet. For there I saw most beautifully delineated the charms, the charms, which affect a woman most powerfully. The moment Lucia had chosen to represent, was when Charlie was not in that state in which his lady-loves most liked to find him; in other words, he was in a state of complete repose. Lucia had drawn his bush perfectly, and out of the lower portion of it grew that sweet, sweet chubby prick, reposing on a pair of well rounded, tightly closed-up balls. I could see at once that it was an exact representation, though I had never seen the real object of which I had the portrait before me. I felt my cheeks crimson, and my stays grew so tight on my bosom that I felt like choking.
Lucia said nothing. She very quietly watched my increasing agitation until I turned my burning eyes on her face.
'Well, Susan! That is Charlie Althair, in puris naturalibus! What do you think of him?'
'Oh, Lucia! And did you do this yourself?'
'Yes, dear. But it was difficult enough to get Charlie as quiet as that,' and she laid the point of her pretty finger on his prick. 'That article, when I am near, is generally in this condition,' and she slid another sketch over the first one in my hands.
'Oh! My!' On gazing on this second work of undoubted art and skill I could not resist giving vent to a cry of admiration and wonder. For there, in all its glorious might, power and beauty, was what I presumed was the same prick, but erect, grand, swollen, big and certainly as still as if carved out of living flesh-coloured marble. Its curious, wonderful-looking head was uncovered, and for the first time I quite understood the vivid description Lucia had given me of this beautiful member the night before. How I studied it! How my cunt burnt and throbbed at the sight! I could feel my breasts swell, their nipples grow hard and my clitoris stand. I was forced to put my hand between my thighs, and Lucia, delighted, gently pushed me on my back, and looking carefully round to be sure no uncalled-for intruder was near, she quickly slipped her hand under my petticoats, found my beating cunnie, and gently insinuated a spend-provoking, but most grateful finger deep between its burning lips.
Whilst she thus imitated the movements, I held before me the delicious object her pleasant finger represented to me very palpably. Oh, let the day soon come when, instead of a girl's finger, this glorious prick might invade my longing cunt, and I might feel on my rounded haunches the weight of those splendid balls. I could have lain so for an indefinite time, but Lucia, always careful, said the place was too open, and that such exquisite sports were better deferred until we could safely indulge in them where, by no possibility, prying eyes might see us at play. Reluctantly I resumed my sitting position, and Lucia replaced my petticoats, but my faithful Spot came sniffing, and Lucia laughingly lifted my dress for him, saying that no doubt his tongue would be as clever as her finger. Good, dear Spot. The first male being that ever kissed my cunnie. How grateful to your loving mistress was your soft, hot tongue that afternoon! Picture after picture did Lucia show me, most of them illustrative of amorous couples indulging in the joy of erotic bliss. Drawn by the hand of one who fully sympathised with all she had delineated, and by a hand evidently possessing marvellous skill and dexterity, these pictures were really gems of art.
Nothing could more powerfully appeal to the passions than these lovely, living representations did, and had Lucia doubted my perfect willingness to embark on a career of Paphian exploits, she could not have possibly hit upon a better method for convincing a hesitating mind. My mind, however, required no further encouragement than it had already received from her words. These voluptuous actions, transferred in all their naked beauty to the papers I held in my hands, only tended to increase the eager desire I had to take my part in the most delicious and exhilarating of all pursuits. Again and again I looked them over, and begged for more and more, until Lucia wisely said that my colour was so like that of a peony, we must really continue our walk, until my cheeks had resumed the natural rosy tints which usually adorned them. So Spot was relieved of a duty, he had apparently relished, and one he had performed marvellously well, for though I had spent perfect floods the faithful dog had allowed none to run to waste.
'Oh, Lucia!' I said, as we continued our walk, 'when shall I be able to go with you to Sunninghill? For I am to go with you, darling, am I not? You would not leave me here to mope after you had gone?'
'Of course you shall come with me, darling Susan I!' she cried. 'But so much depends upon old Penwick. I think we must hurry the old gentleman up. We will go and see him in his office tomorrow when we go to Worcester.'
'And does Gladys know I am coming with you, darling, dearest Lucia?'
'Oh yes. But until she gets my letter, which I sent to post this morning, she won't know that our snug Nunnery is to have another lovely novice. We won't go to Sunninghill, Susan! We shall go to London, where I am badly wanted. Read this,' and she gave me a letter, evidently written by a lady from the character of the writing. It ran thus:
Dearest Lucia,
When are you coming back? When will you be able to leave our little country cousin, and return to the disconsolate swains who, poor fellows, we are obliged to tell that they cannot be accommodated because our loveliest girl is away? I hope you are not playing fox, and that all this while you are enjoying the pleasures of love with foxhunting squires, grave country curates, or handsome young farmers. What is Susan like? Has she any penchant for our naughty ways? Have you sounded her? Do you think, supposing she is pretty enough-and she should be, as she is of our same blood, a blood which has never produced an ugly child yet-she could be induced to give up her chance of a single husband for the certainty of a plurality of much more interesting and ever fresh lovers? To be plain, do you think she will fuck, if the chance be offered her of doing so without fear of evil consequences? Of course, unless she is naturally inclined to do so, I don't advocate her coming as a nun, and just now it would be awkward to have her as a guest, for never have I known so busy a season. Our guests are numerous, and not a bed unoccupied from one end of the week to the other. If those beds could speak they would tell us some pretty stories. I believe adultery is greatly on the increase, and some of our ladies have more than one lover apiece. Poor Annette and I are, however, really to be either greatly pitied or immensely envied. I don't know which, for sometimes I feel as if my back were broken, I get such a lot of it.
Not one single night for the last three weeks in bed alone, and a fresh man every night, not the same man twice in a week. It is the same with Annette.
My usual time will be next week, and there will be only Annette. So do, for goodness sake, come, if only to pay a flying visit, but come and relieve us for that week, otherwise I fear our disappointed lovers may fly to fields not so wholesome as ours. Bring your own dear little cunt to the rescue, and if possible bring Susan's also.
