“What can I do with my little girl?” said she as I shut the door, “I'm so frightened I wish I hadn't seen you.” —The child was laid on the sofa after whining and crying, and being sat on the pot to piddle, and the next minute was sound asleep. — “When is the tea coming?” — “Presently, but my darling let us enjoy ourselves.” — No she wouldn't, but her eyes said she would, and there was a little struggle. — No, she'd take nothing but her bonnet off, — that done, again tea was asked for. — No, she wouldn't get on the bed — was afraid.
After more persuasion and now open talk of fucking — and the shame it was she'd 'been left unfucked for some months. — “What will become of me if I get in the family way?” — Out I pulled my prick. “Well feel it, and let me feel you, and that is all I'll ask you.” — She, leaning against the bed saying “no — no” — I'm in front of her, we handled prick and cunt. — “I shall spend in your hand.” — “Oh don't” she sighed as her bum wriggled under the titillation of her cunt. — “No — I won't then — I dare not” — whilst saying that, I pushed, half lifted her on to the bed — her resistance was gone and she half helped herself up.
Next minute I was by her side, I unbraced and pushed my trowsers down, then showed her a glorious erection. — “Feel it love, that's going up your lovely cunt.” — She stretched out her hand rapidly and grasped it. Taking it out of her hand I threw up her clothes, saw large white thighs, a widespread dark-haired motte, threw myself upon her, and the next second my prick was in a soft glowing sheath, lubricated already by its own lust — up to my balls. “Hharr” murmured she as the stiff shaft struck her womb, and her eyes closed in voluptuous enjoyment. She moved her thighs well up to get every bit of my gristle into her, our tongues met, and ere I, hot as I was, had approached my crisis, — “Ah — ah — ah” — she staccatoed, whilst a tight grip of her cunt and the rapid oscillation of her soft bum told me she'd spent. A deluge of her own seemed to have filled her cunt, which loosened round my tool as cunts do after their spend, whilst I was still ramming it with steam engine energy.
Her quietness and relaxed vagina annoyed me. I don't like a woman to spend so quickly, nor to lose that exquisite cuntal grip which dies away with her spend. I love the heavenly crisis to arrive with hers, so ceased fucking and withdrew my tool. — “You've spent dear, why didn't you wait for me?” — “Oh! couldn't.” — “Feel my prick, it's wet.” Readily she grasped it, and I laid by her side and began frigging her. — “You'll spend again.” — “Yes, and soon. — Aha — yes, — ah — ah — put it in again.” On to her I turned, up went my shaft into her lubricious quim, the rest had prolonged my pleasure, her chastity had left her hot and ready, and as my pulsating prick jetted out its thick hot spunk into her, she clasped me and spent again, our mouths glued together yet sighing and murmuring our heavenly pleasure, till exhausted I lay quiet on her soft full belly.
She was certainly slightly overcome with sherry, and now with the soft and satisfied feeling which comes to man and woman after fucking. — “Oh! I'm so sleepy, it's the wine” — quoth she opening her eyes as I raised my self partially up — still pressing my belly to hers, keeping my prick in the hot lubricious cunt. But my shrinking injector drew outwards, a torrent of spendings following it from her inundated sheath, I fell off on her side, she turned her face to mine, and laying so we talked, or rather I did, and in a few minutes was irritating the red button of her clitoris, now soft and glutinous, and more pleasant to finger even than before.
Then she roused herself suddenly. — “Oh let me get up and wash or I shall be with child — I felt it just as you came.” — “Nonsense.” — “I'm sure I am, don't hold me” — and she struggled up. — “If you are with child, washing won't stop it now, but I'm sure it's non-sense.” — Passing my hand over the whole surface first I let her rise and wash, and got up to see her doing it. There she sat over the basin slopping her cunt and looking at her child asleep on the sofa. — “Piddle” — said I as she was getting up, and handed her the pot. — “Oho” said she as if quite disconcerted with my politeness, but she accepted it and pissed copiously. — “That's the sherry and lemonade. Wash it well.” — “I have well.” “Wash it again and then I'll lick your cunt.” — “Oho — what a man,” said she.
