Containing the Adventures of Miss Lais Lovecock,

written by herself

and what happened at Miss Twigs Academy and Afterwards.

Dialogues between a Jew and a Christian,

a whimsical entertainment lately performed in Dukes Place.






A Pukka Swiver






Printed for the Bibliophilists




I was born in the village of D——, in the country of L——, and (like most others) had but one mother, but cannot exactly answer for the number of fathers, as my poor innocent mother had more than once aspersions thrown on her character. One said she was seen, while my nominal father was from home, to go in her nightgown to the barn, where had a few minutes before our man, John Cods, been gone. A servant maid spread abroad that once passing her room she heard a whispering, and, knowing her master to be out, could not resist peeping through the keyhole, where she saw the footman, Samuel, kissing the alabaster bubbies of my mother, purposely exposed for his hot and lascivious embraces. But the latter tale may have been raised by jealousy, as probably the maid feared her Samuel sought pleasure in other arms than hers.

With respect to my name, I suppose it to have descended as the names Sadler and Smith are supposed to have done—from certain aptness in these branches: and as Cockbum and Hitchcock must at some time have made themselves conspicuous in Venus' ecstatic encounters, so will my expressive name. But, my kind readers, I suppose there has been a lover among my female ancestors for that dear, that noble, that lovely engine of man—his Cock.

As there was nothing particularly occurred in the younger part of my life, I shall pass on to the time when I first went to Miss Twig's Academy, merely remarking that in disposition I was lively, obstinate, and full of every mischief I could manage to get into. As one winter's evening my father, mother, and myself were sitting round the fire, my mother suddenly broke silence as follows— "My dear Lais, your father and I have been thinking that it is time you should go to school, and we think, as Miss Sophy Frigger and your cousin, Lucy Rosecunt, go to Miss Twig's it will be company for you, and no doubt, my dear, you will be happy there."

"Ah, mamma, mayn't I stay at home one more half-year?"

"No, my dear, you are now thirteen, and really you must lose no time, and with such kind companions you'll find yourself at home, and quite comfortable, no doubt."

I quite differed with my mother in opinion, but thought it was useless to say more, and therefore sat myself down in fearful expectation of the day when I was first to make my respects to Miss Twig, not knowing and little imagining what blissful scenes I was there to be made acquainted with.

I prepared immediately, and by the time of my departure was well supplied with frocks, petticoats, shifts, and all the ornamental to set off (as the wicked fellows will have it) my lovely blooming person.

In order that the matter might be talked over, Miss Sophy and Miss Lucy were asked to tea, when my mother said, in conversation with Sophy, "I think I shall get you to take Lais to school with you when you return. Do you think she will like it?"

"Oh yes, ma'am," she answered, with a significant look at Lucy which I did not then understand. "I have no doubt she will, and I shall be happy to introduce her to my lovely playmates."

After a little desultory conversation about the number of scholars and other things, my mother said, "Well, my dears, there is a room up stairs you can go and romp in, I dare say you don't like to be stuck to your chairs." We accordingly adjourned, and did not want subjects for consideration (as girls of our age seldom do,) one of which was my intended visit to Miss Twig's establishment.

"My dear Lais," said Lucy, "you will like our school so, we have such fun. There is a boys' school only a few doors from us, with only a garden fence and a wall between us, and the wicked rascals get from school and bring us letters, and garters, and kisses and all sorts of things, but this is only to a few of us elder girls. I know Sophy and myself can get you to be one of us. Sophy has a tall, stout Hercules, called Longcock, I have a favourite called Thickprick, and Amelia Shoveitin fancies a black-haired, rosy-cheeked Adonis, called by his school-fellows Spunky Tom, because he boasted he could bring as much again as any of them, and when you get there you must pick out one for your Quixote."

After a good deal of conversation of this kind, which my readers must be informed was not the first time we had talked on those subjects, we began romping and throwing each other down. While I was stooping to tie up my shoestring, Sophy pulled up my petticoats and gave me a smack on the bottom, for which I got Lucy to help me to have my revenge, upon which she took hold of her arms, when lifted up her petticoats, and (oh God, what a charming round little bum displayed itself) laying her across my knee, gave it her most soundly, so that her charming backside was completely rouged, additionally set off by the curly black hair of her cunt, peeping out between her snow-white thighs.

Lucy was turned up in her turn, when we took it into our heads we would see into her cunt and there we were scrutinizing and pulling about the rosy-lips, not even her little clitty escaped our admiring gaze—when she pulled down Sophy, embraced her with ecstatic delight, and, not imagining what made her little cunt and thighs so wet, I said, "You little devil, you've piddled over me. I'll pay you off!" so turning her round, I smacked her little chubby arse till my arm ached again. Alas, the dearest friends must part, and even so we found it, for just after we had frolicked away as above related, a coach was sent for my two charming companions, who both living the same way, departed together.

I could not sleep that night for thinking of the delightful vision the sweet girls had placed before my eyes, drawing in my fevered imagination the image of the dear fellow I should like to pick out for my friend.

The day came, and off we started in a post-chaise for Miss Twig's establishment, rather more serious than when we last met, for it's natural to feel somewhat of grief at leaving dear friends, although we be on the road to dearer.

When we arrived Miss Twig greeted us very politely, and I thought her eyes glistened with delight when she first fixed them on me. I was rather embonpoint— my bubbies were large and firm, my arms round and beautifully white, and my buttocks as plump and enticing as any birch disciplinarian could desire; indeed I natter myself I was quite a seducing figure, cocked across her ladyship's knee.

As I was introduced by Miss Sophy, Miss Twig appointed that we should sleep altogether. Besides ourselves, in the same room there were my friend Lady Rosecunt, Amelia Shoveitin, and another sweet girl named Emily Longslit. The governess slept with the younger girls in another room to prevent them from making a noise, but we were left by ourselves.

About the fourth night after my arrival I was awoke from a delicious dream, when I found my bedfellow's finger exploring the dark recess of my maiden cunny. I said, "Why, Sophy, what are you at? Why did you wake me?"

"Why, my dear, I did not think myself safe without knowing what gender you were, and I supposed I should find it out here," putting her hand upon my burning slit. "And are you sure I could not ravish you? I think you had better feel and be certain."

Understanding her, I immediately put my hand between her thighs—and, good heavens! how the lips of her little cunt were working in an out; and could they have spoken, I am sure they would have said, "Oh, how cruel!—why do you not give us what we want?—that great restorer, balmy Prick!"

Miss Twig I found to be of good disposition, but rather fond of the twig; so much so that she never used any other punishment, and indeed with the magic birch she would transform the lily to the carnation. Let her but operate for a few minutes, the girls' little cunts would display the "blushing beauties of the full-blown rose."

She used some times to flog us in the schoolroom, but more frequently in a kind of library, with one door going out of the schoolroom, which was opposite to another glass inner door. I once committed some slight offence (which I do not now exactly remember,) but was ushered into this sanctum sanctorum, when she immediately told me to take off my frock, petticoats, and shift, and without further preliminary, with one leg upon a high stool, cocked me across her legs, and so placed me that my luxuriant neither cheeks were directly opposite the glass door, where with a fine green birch she laid on most unmercifully, and seemed to delight in my writhings and kickings, throwing up my round fleshy thighs, then spreading my legs, showing to her lustful view Nature's lovely chink. But in time she tired of her sweet exercise, and ordered me to dress and be a good girl in future.

I did so, and returned into the schoolroom, but after a short time discovered that in my struggles I had left my garters in the library, and immediately returned to find them, guess, kind reader, what I saw?

Why—Miss Twig lying with one leg on a sofa, the other on a low stool; her gown unpinned and torn from her swelling breasts—her bottom turned up, exposing a pair of finely-turned alabaster thighs well contrasted with her black-haired cunt, and the fine rise of her polished belly ending in that magic aisle, her navel—while with her fair hand she was guiding the footman, Richard's tremendous rosy-headed machine to its own sweet harbour of rest, her salacious slit—while he was sucking the nipples of her milky bubbies till the blue meandering veins seemed ready to burst.

I have no doubt but that my fair base had been exposed to his lewd gaze from the glass door, and that it had formed a charming prelude to the hot encounter they had in anticipation.

I immediately retreated, for they were too much engaged to notice me, and fearing further punishment should I tell, kept it secret. But ever after I could not help looking at Richard with eyes of love, and now and then casting a lustful glance at his well-filled and fitted breeches. You may be sure, my dear readers, that this exposure did not pass unheeded by me, for immediately I thought I might be able to get behind the said glass door when any of my playmates might have the misfortune to fall under Miss Twig's rising lust and falling birch.

One Saturday afternoon, about a quarter of an hour before we had finished our dancing lesson with Shaketarse, Miss Twig entered the room, dressed in a sky blue silk frock, with a fresh-plucked nosegay placed in the valley of love's rising hillocks, which were half exposed, she had on flesh-collared silk stockings and black kid-shoes, tied as sandals.

With a wicked glance at Mr. Shaketarse, she said, "Can you let me have Miss Plumparse? I have a word to say to her."

"Certainly, madame, if you wish it, another lady can stand up in her place."

Poor Polly Plumparse guessed the fatal secret, as she had been threatened in the morning. After having her bottom well flogged, she returned a few minutes before our lessons were over. I imagined something was going forward from the look of Miss Twig to Mr. Shaketarse, and immediately ran to see if I could get behind the glass door, in which I succeeded, for they were too eager, and consequently forgot to shut the outer door. The following was the conversation:—

"You look quite ravishing today, my dear Miss Twig, so rosy and so good natured."

"Why, Mr. Shaketarse, I have had a little exertion, and perhaps that has given me an extra colour."

"No doubt you have, but perhaps it is the reflection from the girl's rosy bottom that has caught your cheeks."

"For shame, sir! But I assure you I am sometimes obliged to chastise them, and when I do I don't spare them, I wish you could only see me."

"I wish I could, indeed, my dear Eliza," and he sat himself on the sofa on which she was half sitting and half reclining, at the same time putting her hand on his breeches where he was growing quite large, continuing the conversation thus, "And sweet Lizzy, what a lovely nosegay! allow me to smell it," and he put his hand down and kissed her throbbing breasts, unpinning the front and sucking their vermilion tips —"And pray, Lizzy, what do you call those little red flowers! I prefer them."

"Oh, you audacious rascal! now you have got your hand up my petticoats, have done, you tickle so."

"Then do have pity and unclose the prisoner, and I'll not tickle with my finger any longer."

"That I will if you promise he shan't frighten me," and she unbuttoned his flap, when out burst his proud-swelling engine.

"Oh, my dear fellow, I must kiss him!" she exclaimed, and then put his pretty purple head between her ruby lips and gave it a hearty smack.

"And I in return must pay my adoration to the goddess of my affection," said he, then laid her long on the sofa, at the same time pulling up the veil of so many charms. He knelt down, and spreading wide her lovely thighs, pushed his head right between them, and with his tongue tickled the pouting lips of her lascivious gap.

"Dome, you must not be so long at your prayers. I cannot stand it," said she.

He immediately rose, and with her hand guided his prick to her mossy cunt, saying, "Come, old gentleman, do your duty like a man. And there they were, she wriggling her backside mad with delight, and he doing his best to pin her to the sofa, ejaculating and talking bawdy between each thrust.

"Oh!" said she, "you wicked devil! you grow larger every time, you'll split me, you will. But I'll cool your courage. Oh, oh, I'm coming! make haste my dear fellow, push it in, cod and all!—oh, oh!"

And there she lay, every nerve stretched and ready to break, when he gave one more home thrust and fell upon her almost lifeless. But when he removed his foaming prick, out burst a flood of delicious cream from her overflowing but not satiated cunt. When they had recovered from their ecstatic trance, she, went to a little cupboard and brought a bottle of champagne and a couple of glasses, with some cake.

"Here, my sweet hero, here's something to recruit your courage."

"Oh, indeed," he said in a playful manner, "I do not need it for that, but I shall have no objection to a glass, come here, my dear, sit upon my knee, and we will enjoy it together," and with his breeches down immediately tucked up her coats and sat her upon his knee, with his naked staff rubbing against her polished thighs, then taking two or three glasses, he said, "My dear girl, having seen a few of your charms, I wish for one sight of them more, let me unpin your gown. Can the softness of that silk for a moment vie with the polish of your sweet belly, or the rising grace of your stays—with Nature's beauties corresponding?"

"Oh, my dear fellow, I can refuse you nothing, do what you like with me."

He then stripped her of the blue silk, unlaced her stays and in a few minutes not one of her ravishing charms were hid. Oh gods! with what admiration he dwelt upon her various beauties! first the sweet rise of her belly, then the dark beauties of her thigh lips and not contented with these, he turned round and imprinted his fervent kisses on the charming cheeks of her backside.

These preliminaries finished, he said. "Lizzy, I don't think you'll have any objection to a pas de deux: will you like a vis-à-vis or a des-a-vis?"

"Oh, des-a-vis?"

And in an instant he put his noble champion in the road of love's sweet pleasures. When they had repeated this four times, Mr. Shaketarse (as any other reasonable man would have done) buttoned up his breeches and after taking a cup of tea with Miss Twig, wished her good afternoon. But I should say that long before that I had left my hiding place, as I thought it of little use staying when he had buttoned up his breeches and she had laid down her petticoats.

You may suppose, my dear readers, with such enchanting scenes as these, that I did not feel school very irksome. But in the adventures I have hitherto related I was only a spectator. I have now to relate those in which I took part. I had frequently remarked that my cousin, Lucy Rosecunt, very often visited the Temple of Cloacina, which I afterward found had been by her turned into the Temple of Venus, and many were the capricious games carried on there. One day, after she had been out a few minutes, not thinking I followed her, there was the little slut working Thickprick's machine till its size really became ravishing, and he, a wicked rascal, had his hand up her petticoats tickling her little clitty till her eyes were ready to start from her head with delight.

I directly retreated, but she sang out "Never mind, my dear, come in; Thickprick, I'm sure, will have no objection—ain't he a fine fellow?" and pulled forward his standing yard for my admiring gaze.

I returned immediately and sat myself down on his other knee, when his ready hands pulled up my coats, and said, "Why you have got a little cock too," taking hold of my already willing clitty. "hold up your petticoats, Lucy, and let me see," and in a moment they were tossed over my head and the dear fellow examined with delight Nature's lovely cavern, and in her turn hers were turned up, when, Oh God, what a lovely little cunt displayed itself.

Imagine, dear readers, a little vermilion slit surrounded by curly auburn hair. But we did not stay here. Lucy, looking down on his manly tarsa, seemed to say, "I do so much wish I might have that treasure in my cabinet of curiosities;" and he was not unwilling to obey the summons, and in order to do it I sat on the seat with my legs stretched out, and she was sitting or rather reclining slantingly upon me with her head between my panting bubbies, so that below he had a fair mark, and above I flatter myself a sweet prospect.

Sweet girl, how she did wriggle her little arse to every thrust of his machine. Indeed, at last I could not resist, and out came a flood of sweet liquor from my maiden cunny, so that her motions might be free we both oiled her, both before and behind.

We had been some time there, though not so long as I have been in relating it, and thinking it best to part, Thickprick went home to school, and I heard afterward had his backside well warmed for playing truant, and we fortunately sneaked into school unobserved. From about a fortnight from this time, Miss Twig having had a relation die, was obliged to leave home on one Saturday night and remain till the Monday following, and we were in consequence left in charge of the teacher, but she, poor erring mortal, had somehow got in love with a young man that lived a few miles off, who frequently met us when we were out walking on the half-holidays, and thinking this a favourable opportunity to enjoy his very pleasant company, trotted to Panton cot, leaving strict orders with the maid to see us in bed and asleep.

Amelia Shoveitin finding the weak state of the enemy called a council of war when she proposed that by some means we should let our sparks know that we were devotedly theirs. But the question was how we should let them know; and suppose we could, she was puzzled to know, how we should get them into the house.

The first question we soon put at rest, for Emily Longslit informed us that our hero, Bob Rogerwell, had said that, as it was a holiday, he could steal away and come and see her (but what else I assure you, kind readers, I cannot tell, because she did not tell us.)

Upon the second question there were various plans proposed. At last Sophy Frigger thought of an admirable one, to which we all agreed. It was this—A girl that was ill in health had had some cake in a good-sized basket, and we thought about eleven o'clock, when all was quiet, that with a string affixed to each handle we might easily draw the dear fellows up, and with window open it was equally easy drawn up for them to come in.

Our plans were accordingly made known by Emily to Rogerwell, and he said they could drop themselves down when all were asleep from their bedroom windows, and thus wait on our ladyships.

How did our hearts beat when we undressed and shut our eyes, presenting to sleep, that the maid might not by any means observe our manners. The long-wished-for time at length arrived, and with the least possible noise we pulled up our gentlemen in the following order (first however locking our door to prevent surprisal)—First came Spunky Tom, who after giving Amelia a long drawn kiss, helped to introduce Dickey Longcock, who next made his appearance; then came Thickprick, whose thermometer was already at feverheat, and the quicksilver was likely very soon to boil over his manly tube; then followed Ambassador Rogerwell, and last (not least) our own dear Billy Fuckington.

When, my readers, was a play so well cast? and the dresses, our night-caps, so appropriate? Mahomet would have sworn it was his Paradise. We spoke not much, but our language, far more sweet, alone consisted of amorous glances, melting sighs, enticing manners, and wanton wriggles.

In one part of the room was Sophy, her nightgown tucked up, with one leg resting on the shoulders of Strongcock and the other laying negligently over the end of the bed, presenting a fair mark for his rising staff.

In another part you might see Thickprick had entered the rosy cunt of Lucy by her wanton wriggles and the soft ejaculations, "Oh, oh, my sweet fellow, I'm coming." And with her sweet pretty legs twining round his back, extracting love's spermy liquid.

In the opposite part another was presented. There was Emily, completely in buff, cocked across the knees of Rogerwell, while he was fast running his hand over her sweet posterior then imprinting fervent kisses on her bewitching cheeks, at the same time insinuating his hand into the inmost recesses of her hairy cunt.

Then in another corner you might see Amelia working Spunky Tom's noble instrument, ravished with its increasing size; while he was blowing Love's fierce fire, alternately handling, sucking, kissing, and squeezing into every imaginable shape her milky bubbies. And, alas! must I relate the lascivious glances, wanton dalliances, the lascivious touches, the lewd toyings, and the enchanting bliss that I myself felt? Surrounded with pleasure, and rapturously embraced by my dear Fuckington, with his rosy-head pintle pushing its resistless way between my thighs as I sat upon his knee, how could I resist? No, I could not; and with one gentle push he laid me on the bed, then tenderly spreading my thighs, prepared to pluck my virgin rose.

When he pushed his noble battering ram against Love's maiden breach, how can I describe my feelings? What sweet titillations ran through all my veins! I cried out, "Be gentle, my love."

"I will, I will," depend upon it," he replied; then laying himself upon me, with his finger opened maiden cunny to preface a passage for his rampant hero.

It was with difficulty he could gain any ground, and poor fellow fearing lest he should hurt me, at first he rode gently and then got into a trot, and was on the eve of a gallop when I exclaimed, "My dear Bill, do take care; you are so large I can never take it in." But poor bleeding cunny; but once in, he could not help pursuing his conquest and discharged a flood of warm spunk to heal the wound he had just made.

As I was the only ravished maid of the evening my lovely companions would have it I should treat them with wine and cakes, and was very near being installed at so cheap a rate; but, however my dear Bill very „ gallantly undertook to settle that part of the business, and on the following evening he arrived at the same time as on the previous, bringing with him four bottles of champagne, cakes, and fruit.

We again revelled in every pleasure of love—again might have been seen each wanton attitude, each love inspiring posture, each lascivious motion, and the same exclamations of expiring bliss, the bawdy dialogues to promote Love's encounters might heard as on the preceding evening. After thus enjoying ourselves in Love's sweet pastime, we thought a glass or two of champagne might be agreeable, and so Fuckington uncorked the bottles and put them, with the cakes and fruit, on some boxes piled up for the purpose, while each hero, stark naked, sat round on the edge of the beds with his fair little slut, also in nature's own lovely dress, on his knee, pouring out or handing to her the sparkling nectar, and between each luscious draught quaffing for greater sweets from the exposed beauties of his devoted mistress, and again each rosy-headed pintle stood and each craving cunt gaped, and each were again attempted to be satisfied.

The dawn of the rising moon brought its sorrows for (as my readers must know) the Passion-flower lives in its prime beauties for a short space, and even so we found it, for we were obliged to part with our dear fellows.

Miss Twig returned at the time appointed, bringing with her a cousin, sturdy and well formed for a delicious stroke, and a sweet, rosy, mellow girl, with each prominent part as ripe and soft as the blooming peach, who had long been a very intimate friend of her's.

While Mr. Shaketarse, one afternoon, soon after their arrival, was waltzing with me, to show me the steps, I felt something in his breeches grow larger and larger especially when our thighs came in contact, till I could perceive his unmanageable member being so pent up much pained him. Have you never felt, kind reader, the same delicious pain when clasping the girl of your heart round her delicious waist, with the half of her panting gloves full in your view?

On observing these amatory signs, I thought they very likely arose from thoughts of coming joy, and (as will appear) I was quite correct in my conjectures.

I retreated as before to my hiding place after the lesson was finished, expecting to see the same delicious scenes I before saw repeated; but I was agreeably disappointed, for there was not only the two former actors in the luxurious scene, but they were joined by Miss Twig's cousin and the young lady before mentioned.

Miss Twig's cousin was also a birch fancier, and nothing pleased him better than to have his backside well tickled by some fair hand behind, while before he was avenging the affront on one of the same sex.

I had not long been behind the door before a luscious scene indeed presented itself. Shaketarse, on entering the room, bowed to the company and kissed the hand of Miss Twig, who was dressed superbly this afternoon. She had on a very short frock, which left her sweet little ankles and up to the graceful curve of her calf exposed, for imagination to picture to itself what might be her hidden beauties from those which were seen. After a little desultory conversation, it was thus the lecherous scene began: While Miss Twig and Mr. Shaketarse were kissing and toying, the young lady, her friend, suddenly exclaimed, "You wicked devil, what's that large thing you've put into my hand? Miss Twig, as you're used to it, will you tickle his bottom for me?"

"Oh, that I will, and Shaketarse shall help me; he shall smart for his impudence; I won't suffer any such doings in my house;" and she directly brought from a cupboard the fine green ticklers, the very sight of which would make every cock in Christendom stand.

"I'll hold him down on this sofa," said the young lady, "while you lay it on with all your might, for he's an old offender and is always behaving rude to me." She then ordered him to take off his coat and waistcoat and with her own hands, loosing his braces, took down his breeches, leering on the noble prick that burst out as she did it. She then laid on the sofa, pulling him on her, directing his pin to her vice, the better to hold him.

Thus situated she directed Miss Twig, who was standing over them with the rod, to begin, her coats being turned up by Shaketarse behind her, directing as well as he could his rousing pintle to her lecherous gap, "do hit him harder!" exclaimed the young lady—"do, my dear Twig, and keep down that wagging arse of his; he'll come, he will, and I shan't be ready."

"Oh," she replied, "I'm quite ashamed of that long thing! I'll teach him how to put such a modest young lady to the blush by bringing out his nasty thing!" and giving some well-laid strokes, made him work at a most furious rate.

At last his fair companion in the trance exclaimed, "Oh, oh!" shut her eyes, and lost her senses in the ecstatic bliss centred in that one spot, her lovely cunt, soon followed by her champion; and Miss Twig, quite exhausted with whipping and quite tickled with fucking, soon mixed her boiling seed with that of Shaketarse in Love's boiling cauldron, and sunk upon a chair that stood close by.

What could this be but a prelude? Was it in the power of man tasting such sweet enjoyment not to wish the repetition of them once, twice, and yet a third time? I had not been idle, for the luscious scene had so fired me that (taking up my coats) I frigged myself with my finger till I obtained an emission. When I opened my eyes (as my readers must know on such occasions you are apt to shut them,) I saw they were preparing for a second encounter.

Shaketarse was unlacing Miss Twig's stays, and her cousin was equally handy in pulling off gown, petticoats, and every rag that veiled the ripe and blooming beauties of the young lady. When she was completely stripped, Miss Twig playfully said, "Miss, I was sorry to see you wriggle your bum so very lewdly, I cannot horse, and I must apply the rod to her."

Cousin, nothing loth, laid on his back and pulled her down on his purple headed pintle, reversing the position they were before in; while Miss Twig also stark naked stood over her, first tickling her raised cheeks, as she knelt on the sofa, with the pips of the birch, then applying them harder and faster, whilst between her own straddling legs was Shaketarse, with his tongue tickling her luscious clitty.

Oh, how sweetly did the young lady ride St. George. Keeping time to the strokes laid on her plump little arse: while her companion (already flayed) every time it touched the sofa, elastically sprung from it with the pain it occasioned him.

"Oh," in lustful rage exclaimed the young lady, "hit harder, harder, or else I shall never bring down this stubborn thing; it is up to my very vitals; oh, oh, I spend," and she sunk in a sweet death on her partner, who was well pleased to receive such a soft load.

Shaketarse had so tickled Miss Twig that not being able any longer to contain herself, she sank on the floor pulling him after her, applied his red hot match to her touch-hole, and sent forth a flood of creamy juice that completely powdered her curly wig and made it look like a bush after a snow storm.

In a short time after, Miss Twig's Academy was broken up: for Amelia Shoveitin and Spunky Tom, and Lucy and Thickprick, had so many private conversations together, that both Lucy and Amelia were seen waddling about with big bellies, produced by the generative organs of their gallants. This could not long be kept a secret, and it finally was spread among the whole of the parents, who one after another took their daughters from such a "sink of iniquity."

Not long after my mother died of typhus fever which was caught by my father, who would not allow any one else to attend on her; at length he also died, leaving me alone in the world, but mistress of a comfortable, snug fortune.

As I was between nineteen and twenty, this loss was not so severe to me as it would have been had I been younger. After paying every respect to the obsequies of my parents, my grief gradually abated, from the lovely scenes and pleasant companions with which I was soon surrounded.

The servants, who had grown up with my father and mother, I presently discharged, and chose in their place a dashing young footman and coachman, and three maid-servants ripe for every fun and fancy: one Betsy Suckprick, a fine maid-girl, waited on me especially, the other two were engaged as cook and housemaid. Having now made myself complete mistress, and having none to control me, every thing appeared in lustre and formed to please.

At the end of the garden there was a spacious room in which was a beautiful bath, that during the lifetime of my father and my mother had remained unused; but I had it immediately cleared out, and the room completely furnished with sofas, mirrors, and indeed everything that could contribute to the pleasure of the salacious scenes there to be enacted.

Thus far being domiciled, I soon managed to recommence my acquaintance with my old school-fellows, Sophie Frigger and Lucy Rosecunt, who (as I believe I have said before) did not live far from me; but, alas, their old sparks could not join us, nor indeed could mine, for the whole trio by this time were dispersed to the four quarters of the globe: however we had each picked up one to supply their places.

They told me the way they met with theirs was this.

As they were, one sultry summer's evening, walking in a thick wood near Lucy's house, in the midst of which ran a refreshing stream completely surrounded by high and low shrubbies, they suddenly came upon this secluded spot, where they met with the beauties of nature in all variety, for they presently espied two fine robust young men bathing themselves in the transparent stream, now floating on their backs, now swimming on their bellies.

Lucy, pointing, exclaimed, "Sophy, don't you see?"

And she replied, "Don't make a noise—here's a fine large tree—it will hide us nicely, and we shall be able to see all."

But after looking some time they saw the pretty fellows whispering, and they immediately swam to a part where they were hid from our ladies' ardent gaze by thick low brushwood; and expecting they would soon re-appear, they continued behind the tree. But the sparks had seen part of their dresses and imagined they were watching, so resolved to find out whether it was so or not, left the water, and came cautiously behind our two pretty dears, who were so occupied in straining their eyes to find out where they had gone that they heard not their footsteps on the green sward till each was clasped round the waist and carried almost lifeless to a lovely secluded spot on the bank of the stream.

Here the heroes disdained taking advantage of their present helpless condition, but began rallying them on their curiosity. One said, "Well, my dears, which do you admire most—floating on the back and showing our front beauties, or swimming and showing the back settlements?"

The other, laughing, said, "I dare say the ladies have no particular objection to either, only let it be in turn."

"Oh, we have not seen anything to admire," answered the girls, giggling.

"I am sorry for it," replied one of the young men; but now you may, my dear," bringing his erected prick full in her view.

And the other spark said, "If you saw nothing I'd like to introduce something for you to feel and admire," at the same time taking her hand to caress his noble machine.

Things could not continue long thus, and in a few minutes they were extended on the grass, enjoying in rural manner the pinnacle of earthly bliss. As they were returning home, the young sparks disclosed their names and habitations, and discovered those of our little misses, appointing to meet them on a future evening in the same delightful spot.

I met with my new spark in a different way. There was a house directly opposite to mine in which lived my former fuckster. One summer's evening I determined to wash myself from head to foot, and being very warm I enjoyed it exceedingly, but did not apprehend that I was overlooked; for taking the precaution to see there were no lights in the house opposite, I concluded there was no one to see me, so (it being very sultry) threw up the window and began to prepare myself for my ablution, and in a few minutes stood in nature's own sweet dress.

He had taken the precaution to hide his light, whereby he could the more distinctly observe my different motions. He saw me curling with my fingers the jet-black hair of my morsel. However he was not contented with seeing only, for he re-dressed himself, and getting a high ladder, placed it under my window, so that he could just reach to get in; and as it was in the country, nobody passed to see it.

He jumped in, and so astonished me that I cried out "rape! murder! robbers." But nobody came to my assistance, of which I was afterward glad, for I presently recognized him as my opposite neighbour, whom I had often met when out walking.

"My dear, don't be frightened," he said. "I won't rob you of anything; I've only come to beg."

"What do you want," I replied, "at this unseasonable hour?"

"Cannot you guess?—and yet you have it in your hand—I hope to present to me." I was then hiding my mossy chink with my hand.

"For shame, Mr. Longstaff," I peevishly replied. "And what would you do with it?"

"Do with it?" he answered. I'd kiss it till it spent."

Clasping me round the waist, he bore me to the bed, and there laid me and extended my thighs with rapture —kissed and titillated my gap. And now I tell you, kind reader, that we did not part till morning dawn. No rosy-face Phoebus was witness to parts of our Elysium games. He pleaded hard with me for a future treat, and I as readily granted it.

Soon after my bath was completely finished and furnished, I met with my lovely friends, Lucy and Sophy, and appointed them to bring their sparks with them on a certain afternoon to consecrate the Sweet Retreat and in the meantime apprised my hero of our intention, that he might meet them.

The afternoon arrived. I ordered Betsy into my toilette full three hours before the time of meeting, that she might arrange my hair and set off my charms in their most bewitching form. Many were the gowns, shifts and petticoats brought forward and rejected, but I at last pitched on a very low sky-blue frock as my favourite of today.

I was ready for my visitors about a quarter of an hour before they arrived, and on their arrival, as it could not be long after their hour of dining, I invited them to take a glass of champagne. Three of these glasses of this delectable liquor soon made us quite merry, and we all seemed ready for anything that might heighten the pleasures of the coming evening.

Matters being in this state, I proposed a walk in the garden, and somehow or other we in time found ourselves in the cooling precincts of the Bath, and at length entered within its enchanting walls.

Mr. Stroker, Lucy's chevalier, thought that the ladies would find it very refreshing to take a bath this afternoon; and so thought the ladies but they could not think of it unless the gentlemen would promise not to look The gentlemen promised, and, as might be expected, broke their promise.

In a few minutes we were promiscuously in the bath enjoying its cooling sweetness, ourselves in Love's own sweet fever, Stroker was pointing to Lucy an opposite mirror, where might be seen in full display her naked beauties, while she (attempting to blush) leered upon his manly form and members thereunto appertaining; while Sophy and her spark. Mr. Bullstones, twining in amorous folds, were reflected on the radiant surface of the flood in which they gambolled; and I and my gentleman amused ourselves in every variety of salacious posture that lust could devise, till—tired of this passive pastime—we rose from the bath like dripping Naids; and after being wiped dry by our attentive gentlemen, we repaid them for their trouble by leading them to the sofas, and there exposing our curly charms to their bashful gaze and titillating touch, till each flaming sword was sheathed in its lovely scabbard.

Oh, the amorous sighs, the convulsive exclamations, and the bawdy dialogues that might be heard! And the luscious charms, the wanton wriggle, and the die-away grasp that might be seen in every part, I shall never forget! And the latter all reflected by the surrounding mirrors.

It was indeed a luxurious scene!

So pleased was my spark with his afternoon's entertainment that he wrote me a letter expressive of his gratified feelings, which, kind reader, I shall here present you. It was as follows—

My Charming Lady,

I have been so impressed with the bewitching charms of that sweet Love-inspiring spot to which you introduced me yesterday, that having then no time to spare, I cannot now omit the opportunity of communicating my warm opinion in its praise. I shall never forget with what faithfulness those mirrors reflected your enchanting beauties.

I can now imagine I see the rounded neck swelling gradually into the strawberry breast, and these again descending to the taper waist, and that gradually expanding to the polished surface of your sweet white belly, and that again tapering off to that spot of all spots, your bushy morsel, well set on two alabaster pillars, round, firm and elastic to the enamoured touch.

Again I recollect with rapture the representation in the said mirrors of the boundings and unboundings of your lovely buttocks on the elastic sofas, surrounding the ample spreading of your thigh—how pretty were the pouting coral lips, shining in their bushy curls. There did I see at one enraptured view the auburn moss surrounding your friend Lucy's cascade of milky stream—the more busy charms of Sophy's pleasure ground, with the same succeeding streams running through it, and (though last not least) your own sweet wood, with its mountain torrents, where the unknowing traveller might be easily lost.

While I write I find the subject, my dear Lais, has its effect, and were you here I think I should forget all description, all rhetorical flowers, in finding your own sweet flower and sucking from it dewy sweets. Indeed, as it is, I must speedily conclude, or I shall blot out what I have already penned, not with my tears, but with my spunk.

In longing hope of another such afternoon—of again enjoying such an Elysium, allow me to subscribe myself.—

Yours most wishingly,



I was well pleased with the letter, and wrote an answer appointing another interview in the same heavenly retreat; and as perhaps my kind readers may feel curious to know in what strain I answered him, I here transcribe it.

My dear Tom,

I was glad to hear by your letter that you were so much gratified with my cool retreat. My dear fellow, I assure you the sweet turn or two we spent together in it has endeared it not a little to me and I had sights to me equally ravishing with those you have so elegantly described. Did I not view with rapture, dear Tom, your machine, first gently rise from its pendant state, then swelling to a prodigious size, gradually uncap itself and show its purple head, while its hairy appendages swaggered below, proud of their formidable size. Did I not feel its velvet tip insinuating itself between my close-pressed thighs and longing to be blest?

But I have other pleasures in store. A green birch, in all its verdant beauties, will wait for your noble posterior on the morrow in our pleasure glade. Or, if perchance that target does not totally strike your fancy, I can but offer my own pillows that you so gallantly enjoyed before for whatever rod, birch or otherwise, you might see fit to lay thereupon.

I repeat, my dear Tom, on the morrow, and do beseech you to arrange your very long Longstaff presence, if you will forgive me the humour for this once.

Yours again and again,

L. Lovecock

After this transcribing, I was again so completely pleased that I did hastily enscribe others, to assemble unto the Love-inspiring bath-place for multiple amours all the pleasingly set-up personages who had formed the cast for the devirginizing of the mixed-sexes pool.

Naturally the first note was for my dear sweet gentle Sophy, pleading that the dear Miss Frigger would indeed arrange for their own accompaniment. "Perhaps that remarkably endowed Mr. Rogerwell ...?" I did suggest to her.

Then, after but a moment's rest to find a replenishment for my now empty saucer of champagne, I took pen in hand to contact the delightful if naturally daring, Miss Lucy Rosecunt. I knew, naturally, that the incredibly vigorous Mr. Bullstones would equally naturally happen to appear on the scene in time for our continued dalliance amidst the soothing waters of the passion bath and the so provocative Birch teasers.

So finishing my writing, I did then indeed see to it that the fresh Birch-feathers would be ready for the morrow's ecstatic rendezvous.

My Tom did arrive first, though he had but grasped me tightly in his arms and the lengthening rigidness begun pushing from his magnificent crotch against my dear trembling thighs when, interrupting what would have undoubtedly been the merging of my entire young lifetime, did Miss Rosecunt intrude upon us.

She giggled as she fluttered through the door, followed in close pursuit by Mr. Bullstones who was trying to adjust the front of his breeches to hide some —no doubt to him unsightly—bulge.

In short order Miss Frigger and the remarkably endowed Mr. Rogerwell joined our happy group and we moved without further delay to the passion bath and the waiting birches. We were so passionately inclined by this time that we paired off without ado and sought our separate but together passions without regard for the others present. Fortunately, my own dear Tom Longstaff's insinuating member had not totally receded from the point of Miss Rosecunt's intrusion, so he claimed me all to his own without hardly a moment's pause, pouring into my waiting slit the sauces of paradise in such quantities as to almost make me swoon from delight.

After the first encounter, Lucy pulled from off the shelf one of the birches, neatly tied with a light blue ribbon, saying, "Why, my dear Lais, what is this here for?"

"Oh," she replied, "I shall presently show you. I and Longstaff mean to whip yours and Sophy's little bottom till we take all the wriggle out of them and I think the sooner we begin the better, so, Mr. Rogerwell, you just fix her on your ten-penny; and you, Mr. Bull-stones, pin Sophy in the same way."

They followed my directions, and I and Longstaff each took a rod in hand, ready to operate on their polished arses. At each renewed twitch of the birch they renewed their wanton struggles, both embraced by the arms and fixed on the pricks of their heroes, they could not release themselves, but each effort fixed them more firmly on their neddies, till by the exertion the luxurious moment came, and streams of spunk were running from their bumping cunts. Longstaff then threw down the birch and attacked me in the same way (standing,) at each thrust smacking (as he termed it,) the soft cheeks of my round little bum.

On recovering from our ecstatic trance, we determined to see what spirit we might extract from a bottle or two of champagne, and to increase our hilarity, while each damsel sat on her gentle man's knee, I ordered Betsy to strip naked and give us a pas seul, which she did without hesitation, and I can assure you her well-made limbs turning in each lustful attitude of the dance, with her coal-black crow's-nest peeping out as she turned nimbly on her toe, was no mean sight, in fact, the gentlemen were so well pleased with her that they thought she might further add to their lustful emotion.

One proposed that she should tickle his ballast-bags while in the delightful act, a second should kneel with her plump backside full in his view, and a third that she should hold up with her hands, expose to his wanton gaze the inmost beauties of her mossy grot.

Each libidinous fancy was complied with, and each wanton posture tried, till we were so completely exhausted that we found it impossible to continue any longer our amorous sports, and therefore dispersed.

But poor Betsy, who had comparatively only been passive in the business, found herself so worked up that I suspected she had applied to the footman to do a little job for her, for when they had gone I directly retired to bed to recruit myself, and on passing a large store closet, where I kept my fruit, I heard a low kind of murmur, when looking through a small window in the door, found her lying her length on my store of golden pippins, with her petticoats up, inviting her gentleman by the exposure of her hidden charms, and he preparing for action.

With difficulty he brought out an immense rosy-headed machine, that stood so stiff and was so large that he could hardly guide it to its nest—Hercules, I think could hardly, show a better.

It revived the lustful fire within, and I envied Betsy her treat or teat, whichever you like, kind reader, and I hoped at some future time to take in draughts of delight from the same copious fountain, in order to attain which I planned the following scheme.

That Betsy might not be jealous, and perhaps on that account leave me, I waited an opportunity for the accomplishment of my wishes, which soon occurred. About a week after the meeting in the bath, that is above described, Betsy asked for a holiday, and when she had gone I feigned illness, and went into my bedroom with strict orders that I should not be disturbed. After remaining there for a short time, I rang for my dinner, and while it was preparing, laid myself in a most inviting attitude on a sofa.

I divested myself of my stays and left my gown so opened that he, Samuel, the footman, might just see the rise of my milky bubbies, and with one leg hanging over the edge of the sofa, shewing him the other nearly to my garter—and from thence, having taken off everything except a thin muslin frock, he might easily trace my growing beauties, even to my mouse-trap.

When he brought up my dinner he was going immediately to retire, but I said, "Samuel, to save you the trouble of going up and down stairs, I think you had better wait till I have done."

"Thank you, ma'am," he replied.

While he was not looking I took out a pin which opened my frock and exposed the whole of my breasts. I then went on with my dinner, pretending not to be aware of the circumstance, so on turning round they caught his eyes, and he positively seemed enchanted.

"Samuel, what are you looking at?" said I.

He simpered out, "I believe, ma'am, your frock is loose?

Oh, I see," I said, and then I very modestly covered them up, happy to see they had produced the effect I intended they should.

I then said, "Samuel, is that your first sight of such things?"

He laughed, and I added, "I am afraid not." looking wicked at him; "I think you have no objection to a kiss from a pretty girl," and I could see his breeches gradually tighten. I then ordered him to bring up the dessert, and while he went for it I laid myself along and pretended to have fallen asleep, with my legs raised on the sofa; my frock fell down, and left my knees naked.

He brought the desert up, and (as he thought me asleep) knelt softly down by the sofa, and looking up my coats saw to advantage my firm plump thighs leading to Love's shrubbery: but part of my frock intercepting the full view of my charms, he put his hand between my thighs to remove it, when (pretending to awake) I suddenly clapped my thighs together and caught his hand between them, as you may suppose greatly to his dismay.

"Why, what have you been at, Samuel?" I cried out.

"Indeed, ma'am, I could not help it; but seeing your legs on the sofa, I could not help looking."

"But Samuel, you seemed to have been feeling too."

I got hold of his hand between my thighs and carried it to my moistened gap. As I seemed not very much offended, he grew bolder.

I said "where did you learn those wicked tricks?" and, leering at him, continued, "I think I must forgive you."

Then losing all restraint, he leant over the sofa and kissed me vehemently, and while thus engaged I unbuttoned his flap, and out bounced a prodigy, fully, I do believe, eight inches long, and thick in proportion, with a fine rosy head, and its canal beneath ready to burst with germinating juice.

With what delight did I pull backward and forward the skin that covered its noble head, and played with its tremendous stones! But fearing if I dallied with it longer I should lose the precious draught, I laid on my back and presently introduced the stranger, but with some difficulty, for I soon found that his noble machine exceeded any that I had ever met with. Oh what a noble stroker! I was in heaven presently.

Thus, by sometimes sending Betsy out on errands, and at other times for pleasure, I had frequent opportunities of enjoying his cunt-stirring company.

About this time, a fair being held in the neighbourhood, I made up a party with Sophy and Lucy to visit it, expecting that we might very likely enjoy some sport.

It was a fine sunny morning, and off we started, just in the right humour for catching pleasure as it flies. We had not long been in the fair when we seemed to attract the notice of three young blades, whom we afterward learned had come over from the city of B—, which was but a little distance off.

While they were following us, Lucy's garter came unfastened and dropped on the grass, which one of them seized and presented, at the same time asking the favour to tie it on. She did not seem very much displeased, so he locked her arms in his, while his two companions (following so good an example) took our arms, when we marched to a part secluded from the fair folks, and partly hidden by trees, where the ceremony of tying on the garter was performed. We sat down on the grass with our gallants.

Lucy's directly said, "I'm sure, my dear, you must feel very uncomfortable without your garter, come, let me put it on."

"Well," replied Lucy, "I will if you promise not to go higher."

"To be sure not," he replied, "unless my hand slips."

And he immediately pulled up her coats for the purpose—but unfortunately his hand did slip, and he presently had his fingers working themselves in the soft rosy folds of her luxurious cunt. And our gallants, of course, wished to see if our garters were of the same colour, or whether they were tied in the same way, and in a few minutes we all three were extended on the grass with our lower mouths gaping, "to see what God would send us," and we presently sucked to our hearts' content three very pleasant lollypops, with two sugar balls attached to each.

After the repetition, of this twice or thrice, we made our way to an inn very near, where a good dinner was ordered by our gentlemen. After the cloth was removed, wine and dessert were brought in, and we were left to ourselves, when we were presently seated on the knees of our gentlemen with their hands under our coats playing with our hairy morsels, now opening the rosy lips, now curling the hair round their fingers, and now running their hands between our close-pressed thighs, while we were equally availing ourselves with their stiff rampant pricks.

After we had taken as much wine as we liked, the door being first locked, we laid ourselves on the carpet, and pulling our gentlemen over us, saved our blushes from the sight of their standing truncheons by hiding them in our gaps.

In the evening there was a public ball, when we each had the same partners we had had previously in Love's more delicious dance.

On our return in the evening they walked with us nearly to our homes and having learnt our residence, promised themselves the pleasure of another interview. I gave Betsy strict direction, should any other gallant be with me, not to admit him, but should there not be, I could see no harm in enjoying a fuck on the sly.









Wherein is detailed the curious experiment resorted to by a young Lady in order to make the hair grow at the bottom of her belly, with other Droll Matters and Quaint Conceits.

Philosophers have greatly differed in their opinions on the subject of Instinct. Some insist that there is not in human nature any power or propensity which can properly be called instinctive. The following strange occurrence, at the same time that it shows incontestably the invincible attachment of the fair sex for a young and athletic stallion, proves that there is an instinct in the pudendum muliebre at least, and likewise the great and sudden influence which early enjoyment produces upon the growth and complete development both of the notch and the breast.

In one of the western, counties of England lived a farmer, who had two sons and an only daughter, a sweet girl about fifteen years of age. This young lady's bottom was superlatively beautiful, both in size and form, and its capacity for moving so admirable as to make its possessor (as Shakespeare would describe her) in action like an angel, in apprehension like a Goddess—the ornament of the world—the paragon of animals.

Her bubbies were not yet fully formed; they were large enough for ornaments, but too small for use. Her mons veneris had began to swell, and made her little thing look like an opening rosebud.

Miss Wharton was in truth a most luxurious piece of incarnation, with personal attractions sufficient to constitute her the Goddess of Venery. She was naturally amorous and lascivious in the highest degree, and these impulses were called into action at a very early period. She was suffered (not very prudentially, perhaps) to sleep with the dairy-maid, a blowsy wench of twenty-five, to whom nature, besides giving a pair of delicious bubbies of enormous magnitude, had been more than commonly beautiful in an ample supply of crisp curling hair upon a ripe, plump, and pouting coal-black cunt. Betty was conscious that she possessed the charms of womanhood in perfection. Proud of her beauties, she sometimes displayed them ostentatiously to Miss Wharton by throwing off the bed-clothes in the morning and exhibiting herself stark naked, and exclaiming, "Oh, I long for a stroke!"

Upon one of these occasions, Miss Wharton exclaimed, "La, Betty, what a difference there is between you and me, I wish I was as hairy upon the belly as you are."

Betty at first took no notice of the observation, but the young lady often repeating the enquiries with earnestness of manner, Betty (who loved stroking to distraction) replied, the young gentlemen, which you can never be unless your thing is well covered with hair, for the other sex do not think we are ripe until we are well fledged. Now, if you wish it, I can put you in the way to have as fine a bush as I have."

Replied Miss Wharton: "But how is it to be effected? I am all curiosity."

"Why, miss," said Betty, "you must get up with me in the morning and let the calf suckle you."

"How is that to be?" replied miss.

"Why, miss, the calf will lick your notch and the bottom of your belly all over with his tongue, after which your thing will soon be covered with hair likewise."

Miss Wharton eagerly fell in with this proposal, and was desirous of being suckled the next morning, but her wishes could not be immediately gratified, and her patience was of necessity put to a trial, as Betty had a plan in view which required time to bring it to maturity.

She had a sweetheart, a young man, who (in the language of the country) kept her company. For this man she designed the honour and pleasure of taking Miss Wharton's maidenhead and initiating her into the mysteries of Venery. He was indeed a calf in intellect, but such a calf as has seldom been heard of—

A calf of wonderful parts,

In what most pleases ladies' hearts.

His member was of prodigious and almost incredible dimensions, and Betty's intentions were that the young lady should stand with her petticoats drawn over her head, so as to exclude sight, close to the petition of the calf-pen, which was in a shed retired from the dwelling-house, and free from observation.

To carry this plan into execution it was requisite that a board should be taken down, in such a position as to allow the young lady's notch and the supposed calf to come in contact. Betty took care to have all this properly done and all necessary arrangements made, making the appointment for the next morning before sunrise, and giving her sweetheart full instructions how he was to act the part of the calf in the drama.

Miss Wharton could not sleep for thinking of the droll operation she was to undergo, and met with every encouragement from Betty in order to stimulate her to go through the enterprise with a firm resolution. They rose between three and four, when no one in the house was stirring but themselves, and proceeded to the calf house.

No one will doubt but the calf was at his post—he must have been a stupid calf indeed to have forgotten such an appointment.

Betty commenced by tying Miss Wharton's petticoats over her head, and though the girl was not quite reconciled to this, Betty convinced her of its necessity, that the calf might not be frightened by a stranger. She then placed Miss Wharton close to the opening in the partition, with her belly and notch presented advantageously toward the calf. Betty told her to stand still, and on no account to move an inch from the spot on which she stood. Betty then proceeded to let out the calf, and at a preconcerted signal John came forward, knelt down, and began to lick Miss W's belly. Presently proceeding onward, he inserted his tongue between the lips of her little cleft, which opened as if by natural instinct. A tickling speedily ensued, which produced the most agreeable sensation.

Miss Wharton's breath became short, and she told Betty it was nice, at the same time wriggling like an eel.

"Stand still, my dear," said Betty, "don't interrupt the calf."

But now the friction of the tongue had sufficiently opened the mouth of Nature's most luscious spot and discovered to the sight a small protuberance resembling the tip of a tongue just peeing between the lips of her cunny. Betty considered that enough had been done to save appearances, and that it was now time to proceed to more serious business, as both parties were well prepared with instruments in tune and fit to join in concert; therefore John rose up, and she took his silent flute in her hand and placed its ruby head within the lips of Miss W's notch.

Unconscious as was the young lady of the real transaction, yet her private parts were perfectly sensible of feeling what was both agreeable and natural.

"Ah, Betty," cried she, "it is exquisite! I shall never forget it."

Betty now got behind her and stood firm against her backside that she might not wince, and when the calf found it time to make some violent thrust in order to effect a lodgement in the unexplored vagina, Betty bumped the young lady's bottom and made her buck up to meet the battering-ram.

This manoeuvre caused his engine to enter her covered way about four inches, and Miss Wharton, giving a violent scream, exclaimed "Oh, Betty, Betty, I'm split! Betty, Betty, Betty, the calf has got his nose into me!—Oh, my God, I'm torn to pieces!"

Betty conjured her by all means to be still. "Don't make a noise, miss; you will frighten the calf away, and the charm will be defeated."

She now wedged Miss Wharton as firm as possible against the partition, and, putting one hand in front, tickled her clitoris in such a manner that it made her straddle and cock her notch up to meet the thrust of the calf.

The pain, which had in some manner subsided, was succeeded by sensations to which the girl had till this moment been an utter stranger, and as the crisis approached, Miss cried out, "Oh, la, Betty, Betty, how the calf tickles! oh, la, how nice it feels!—oh, there is something into me!"

When the powerful engine darted into her the injection of boiling sperm, she tasted such sublimity of pleasure that her legs were deprived of such strength to support her, and she would have fallen fainting and breathless on the ground had not Betty caught the melting and spending girl in her arms. So firmly was John's machine wedged within her gap that when he withdrew it sounded like a well corked bottle.

Not many years ago, a gentleman expressing to Mrs. Montague, an intimate friend of Miss Wharton's, his doubts as to the truth of the story, and as to the possibility of a maidenhead being taken in such a position, Mrs. M., with that characteristic naivety to her sex, said, "I have enquired into the particulars and know the story to be true; for although the position was the most inconvenient, yet the length of John's article rendered the affair practicable: he had a yard like a donkey. It was proved for a wager at a public-house in our village, when he won twelve half-crowns which were placed lengthways, on the table, and he swept the whole twelve off with his pego, having a female friend to guide it: therefore (continued Mrs. Montague) if you measure the distance that twelve half-crowns will reach, it is demonstrated that John's glorious tool must have nearly, if not quite, eighteen inches."

The interview with the calf was productive of all the beneficial effects Betty had anticipated: Miss Wharton's bubbies swelled up and attained the full growth of womanhood, her notch was enlarged, and shaded with hair as black as jet; her buttocks became more plump, and as hard as stone; upon the whole she became, in every sense of the word, a complete Miss Allcunt.

It is not to be supposed that the suckling scene could again be repeated, but it increased the intimacy of Betty and Clara Wharton, as they continued to sleep together. Betty did not let the young lady remain long in ignorance of the cause which had produced so great a change in her person. Betty often invited the young lady into the farm-yard when the bull was turned in among the cows, that she might see the vigorous animal perform the act of generation.

On one occasion she took her in the green lane, where a donkey was mounting his female, and pointed out to her admiring eyes the tremendous size and length of his pego, at the same time informing her that the ass was the king of animals in this respect; for if one woman was speaking to another about her lover, and wished to praise his parts, the simile always resorted to on such occasions was that he is jackass-hung, thereby meaning that his operative appendages were more than commonly large.

Betty likewise quoted an old book to show what a keen insight the ancients had into the nature of things, because Ahola and Ahoulah, two very beautiful young ladies, would not submit to the common men, but sought after those of extraordinary powers—men who spent like horses.

Having said thus much concerning Betty and Miss Clara Wharton, it will easily be supposed what was the nature of their conversation when in bed; and as nothing is so delightful as the unrestrained intercourse of mutual friends, I shall favour my readers with one of the dialogues which took place between them.

Betty—Now, my dear, we are in bed together, let us talk upon the amusement of the morning. Were you not pleased?

Clara—Oh it was delightful, my dear Betty. I was quite charmed.

Betty—You have some idea of what Love means, but there are many secrets belonging to the male sex in which you are yet but a novice. I long to instruct you; let us throw off our shifts and be stark naked.

Clara—Well, then, I am obedient to your wishes— there am I as naked as you please.

Betty—It is a first proof of your obedience; give me a kiss—come, a hearty one.

Clara—There, I will give you fifty, if you desire it.

Betty—Ah, what a charming mouth!—what fine bubbies!—what a pretty round bum!

Clara—What (throwing off the clothes) did I not know you to be a woman, I should be afraid.

Betty—Ah, was I man, had I a pego.

Clara—Oh, Betty, how you squeeze my titties!— take your hand away, you put it to low—ah, you pinch my bum!—why do you look at me so earnestly?

Betty—Oh, what a delicious little cunny you have got, it is so tight, do let me kiss it.

Clara—La, Betty, how you talk! I see nothing in my person that exceeds your own, you grow quite impudent.

Betty—You must learn to be impudent too. I will instruct you, it is no matter what we say or do now that we are entirely by ourselves.

Clara—Well, you shall have it as you like, as you seem so good-natured.

Betty—Then embrace me, my dear girl. Oh, I wish I was a man for your sake, how I would roger you.

Clara—La, what are you doing in thus lying upon me, mouth to mouth, bosom belly to belly? Must I squeeze as you squeeze me?

Betty—Yes, my jewel, do me that favour, open your thighs, throw them round my hip, and let your little cunny rub against my cunt. There, that's right;

Clara—Ah, Betty, how you squeeze me—how hard you rub against me—you make me burn—put out the candle—do you think I would suffer any other to do this?

Betty—Miss, my dear miss, embrace me. Oh, 'tis glorious—oh, I spend—I die with pleasure.

Clara—Oh, Betty, you are too heavy. What silent?— have you lost your speech?

Betty—My dear, it is done—I have been your stallion—I have tasted joy inexpressible!

Clara—Ah, I'm all wet—whence comes this?

Betty—I did it, my dear, but what do you feel?

Clara—I feel no great pleasure. But do all women love in this manner?

Betty—All women, my dear.

Clara—I feel a kind of itching, but no pleasure I suppose, compared to what a man would give me.

Betty—You are right, my dear, the greatest pleasure a woman can have is to be stroked by a man.

Clara—I have heard the young ladies talk about it at school, but they seemed to speak more from imagination than experience, they used to say they wished they had it in them—the longed to be broached, etc. Pray what kind of a thing is that they so much want to be put into them? Have men got things like donkeys?

Betty—You have guessed right, my dear, they have a prick, when not inflamed with desire for us, it is small and long, but when preparing to operate upon us, swell to a surprising length, and such magnificent bulk, the first sight of which makes girls afraid. But to be plain with you, miss, you have already had a taste of this delicious instrument—did you not, when you were suckled, feel something in you?

Clara—Yes, something large, and it stretched me almost to pieces, and spouted a boiling liquid into me. What was it, Betty?

Betty—Why surely, my dear, you are now wise enough to know it could not be the calf's—it was a man's prick that injected mettle into you.

Clara—Ah, I understand you—you imposed upon me, but I forgive you for the pleasure I have received— I have felt the completest satisfaction.

Betty—By no means. You can form no idea how luxurious it is to have a man's naked body rub against your own, to have his tongue in your mouth, his belly upon her, his pego up to the hilt in your notch, and his hands pressing your buttocks to him with the ardour that he would if possible squeeze his whole into you.

Clara—It must be truly delightful! I suppose he would shove at me as you did.

Betty—Yes, my dear, but with much greater force. The bed will creak and the windows and the whole room will shake.

Clara—I long to hear more about this prick, as you call it. What is its size, Betty, in the generality of men?

Betty—About six or eight inches, some have eight or nine and even more than that, for the young man who suckled you had a prick as long as your arm and as thick as my wrist.

Clara—Oh, heavens, as long as my arm and as thick as my wrist! why it must kill a woman.

Betty—So simple girls think, but you see I have survived it. Yes, my dear, we are made of stretching stuff. It is only the maiden orifice that is tender, and when that is perforated there is plenty of room, even in girls of twelve or thirteen.

Clara—Let me satisfy my curiosity and view the part which has taken in such an enormous instrument.

Betty—You shall—do I lie right for your purpose?

Clara—Oh, la, how luscious it looks! I must give it a kiss. Oh, what an ample backside!

Betty—The sight of a naked woman affects even her own sex—how you bite!—you are lecherous—give me your hand.

Clara—Why what would you have me do with my hand?

Betty—Thrust your middle finger up as far as you can, and keep moving it backward and forward as quick as possible, while I tickle my clitoris—there, that's right—a little faster—ah, I come!—oh, oh, I spend in ecstatic rapture!

Clara—Ah, she opens her eyes. Well, Betty, I was afraid you were dead; see how wet you have made my hand.

Betty—Oh, my dear miss, you have made me spend most copiously! Finger-frigging produces great pleasure, and serves for a substitute when we can't get the right thing; but you can easily suppose that it does not impart the rapture we experience from a nervous pego when pouring forth its boiling sperm to meet our discharge.

Clara—You make me feel queer, Betty; cannot you do the same to me which I have done for you?

Betty—To be sure, my dear, and with the greatest joy: besides, it is but common charity, you have given me pleasure, therefore I must in return administer to your little cunt all the consolation in my power. I shall, however, proceed in a different manner with you, I shall not frig you with my finger, but play the part of both incubus and succubus.

Clara—I don't understand those words, Betty; where did you pick them up?

Betty—When I was in service, in a lodging house in Jesus Lane, Oxford, the scholars used to call a woman, who sucked there pegos until they spent, a succubus, and one who frigged another with her tongue an incubus. Now, I mean to suck your little clitoris, afterward frig your orifice with my tongue, till you dissolve in balmy rapture. Come now, lay your bottom on this pillow, that your slit may be properly elevated.

Clara—I will do what ever you please, Betty, for my parts are all on fire at the thoughts of it.

Betty—Now, then, let me get my hand under your buttocks and put your legs over my shoulders whilst I lay upon my belly and operate.

Clara—Why, Betty, you seem to proceed quite scientifically.

Betty—Yes, my dear, experience makes perfect. A gentleman commoner of St. John's College has frigged me a hundred times in this manner, and made me spend in his mouth. He said it was a French fashion, and that they called it gamahuche.

Clara—Well, am I right now?

Betty—Yes, that will do. Now, mind, the moment I into your cunny, you begin rubbing your clitoris with your finger, and between us both you'll soon be brought to a crisis.

Clara—Oh, how nice it feels! you seem as if you would devour me. Oh, now I feel your tongue in my burning slit!—it gives me relief. There now, Betty, you give me real pleasure. Oh! oh! oh! oh! 'tis too much—I am out of breath. (Faints.)

Betty—Ah, she's happy now, but she will soon come to life, and live to die many such deaths.

Clara—Oh, Betty, I was quite overcome; you caused me to taste the most exquisite sensations.

Betty—Well, my dear, I am very happy; one good turn deserves another. Now let us return to the consideration of our darling pego. Beneath it, it has a purse or bag containing two balls, about the size of pigeon's eggs, one of which is larger than the other. They are the reservoir of that precious liquor called mettle, sperm, or spunk, which the man injects into the woman at the critical moment with such force as tickles her very soul.

Clara—Pray, Betty, does the man's thing produce any alteration in a girl besides enlarging her parts?

Betty—Yes, my dear, it is a common saying that Pego, at the same time that he stretches a girl's cunt, enlarges her understanding also. A girl, before she has been stroked, sees but the outside of things; for at our birth Nature places many of our susceptibilities in our cunts, where they remain in a dormant state until we are broached, and Pego drives them upward to our brains.

Clara—Do the men always broach us in one particular manner?

Betty—Yes, but there are many postures. The most common one is when the lovers lie belly to belly, as we have done tonight; and it is decidedly the best posture for a young man to show his vigour.

Clara—What other postures are there, Betty?

Betty—"Saint George" is a favourite posture, in which the man lies flat on his back, and the girl straddles across whilst he guides his tool into her gap. He then heaves and she rises up and down until she pumps up his balmy treasures. Sometimes she sits with her bottom toward his face, but more generally with her face toward his, at times leaning down and kissing him, then upright, whilst pego is battering her entrails and producing a most powerful sensation. This sport is often repeated whilst a man sits on a chair, but it is by no means so pleasant as on a bed.

Clara—This posture must be transporting; I should like to ride St. George very much upon a nice young man, oh, how I would wriggle my bottom. But tell me, Betty, some more particulars.

Betty—To enjoy a woman backward is with some a favourite pastime; it is thus performed: The girl stoops over a bed or table, and when she is on her belly her lover turns her petticoats and shift over her back, exposing her bare buttocks to his gaze; then telling her to stand her legs apart, he places himself between them and inserts his pego into her gap and works away at his pleasure, sometimes standing erect and patting and shaking her buttocks, at others lying down upon her back, his hands under to handle her bubbies. It is a method particularly adapted for the daytime, should a lady long for a stroke when she is full dressed, as it will not tumble her clothes.

Clara—Doubtless it must be charming, but I would rather see my lover's face. What is the next posture?

Betty—Oh, my dear, there would be no end to describing the various whims and caprices of the male sex on the occasions, they have their spoon-fashion, wheelbarrow-fashion, nursemaid-fashion; but after all I consider the old fashioned bread-and-butter fashion to be the best, because when a man is upon a woman he may turn and twist her in such a variety of ways to humour the titillation that all the postures in Aretin cannot beat it.

Clara—What do you mean by the postures in Aretin?

Betty—It is a book the Cambridge scholars used to show me, containing pictures of all the changes the sexes may ring whilst in the act of copulation? but in my opinion these variations of position are only resorted to by debauchees and voluptuarians when satiated with straight-forward stroking, and as the author of The Battle of Venus justly observes, they all return to the original and what appears to be the most natural mode of enjoyment again, as producing the greatest degree of pleasure.

Clara—And what sort of a book is The Battle of Venus?

Betty—A very pretty little treatise on the various modes of enjoyment, with interesting disquisitions on the best method of exciting and gratification. I have it now at the bottom of my box, bound up with the Mysteries of Venus, or a description of what generally passes on a wedding night. They were given me by a sizar of Trinity College; but as I know the practical part so well, these theoretical works are no longer of use to me, and are perfectly at your service if you will accept them.

Clara—Oh, my dear Betty, I shall be greatly obliged to you; I am sure I shall be highly delighted with them.

Betty—But you must be very careful never to let your father or mother see them. I have several more at my aunt's, carefully locked up, they were given to me by a young gowns man, who was about to enter holy orders and get married, he was afraid to keep them by him any longer. Whilst in service at Cambridge, I used frequently to have leave to go to Chesterton church on a Sunday afternoon; but instead of going there I used to meet this young gentleman at the lodging of Maria Farnham, in Wellington Row, Barnwell, where he used to stroke me, and make me read these books, and look at their pictures, in order to made me more lewd. He was a very nice young gentleman, and always paid me well. I only disliked one thing in him, which was that he always put a thin skin he called a condom over his pego before he stroked me, in order that he should not get me with child. He said as he was intended for the church, it made him more cautious; and the skin was so thin it did not at all diminish his pleasure. But as to myself, I had no fear of being with child because I was stroked so often, and by such a variety, and then I was mortified at being deprived of the exhilarating effect which the injection of boiling sperm would have produced had it come into me, instead of being confined with the "safeguard." I used to tell him that it was the heat of my cunt that brought it forth, and consequently I ought to reap the benefit of it: but all my pleas and arguments were useless; he was too timid, and would not stroke without a "protection."

Clara—Then you had rare fun while you lived at Cambridge?

Betty—Oh, yes; the majority of the people are supported by lodging such students as cannot be accommodated within the walls of the different colleges, and of course all the servant girls are seduced by these ravenous wolves. Some houses are built large and commodious on purpose to entertain more lodgers. I lived in one where no less than twenty gowns men kept, as the local phrase is, for they do not say, I lodge or I live at Mrs. Badsock's, or Mrs. Allcock's, but they say I keep at Mrs. Slowcock's or Mrs. Grosstranger, and it was not a little droll that there should be about a dozen respectable widows who kept boarding-houses of this description whose names unfortunately terminated in this word cock—a circumstance, you may be sure, which made some fun among the students, who often amused themselves in classifying these curious appellations and deducing their derivations. There was Mrs. Hitchcock, Mrs. Whitecock, and Mrs. Flatcock all lived in Christ Lane, Mrs. Longcock, Mrs. Pocock, and Mrs. Wilcock, in St Mary street, Mrs. Littlecock, Mrs. Shuttlecock, and Mrs. Smallcock, in the road which leads to Trampington Causeway. But to return to the house I lived in, where I said were entertained twenty students who all stroked me when opportunity offered —all times and seasons, and in all parts of the house. Sometimes when three have been breakfasting together, they have all stroked me one after another, only; making me go down for something between each bout to prevent suspicion. I have had four or five slip into my bedroom and on one occasion I took a bit of chalk and made a mark behind the kitchen door to see how many times I had it into me in the course of twenty-four hours, when it amounted to thirty, but that day my mistress was out, which gave more opportunity.

Clara—You certainly were a happy girl, I wonder you ever left so delightful a place.

Betty—Why, my dear, I ultimately turned out on the down, and was put into the Spinning house so often by the Proctors that I got tired of it; therefore I come over to my aunt in this part of the world, where I was not known, and got into service again.

Clara—Why, Betty, I could not have thought you had seen so much of the world. You said just now you had some more books, can you recollect the names of any of them?

Betty—Oh, yes, I can recollect the names of most of them, for I have read them so often I almost know their contents by heart. There was Fanny Hill, or the Life of a Woman of Pleasure, The Power of Mesmerism, Nunnery Tales, How to Raise Love, The Curtain Drawn Up, or the Education of Laura (translated from the French). The Adventures of Sir Henry Loveall, in England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales, Manon La Fouetteuse, or the Quintessence of Birch Discipline, The Spirit of Flagellation or the Memoirs of Mr. Hinton, a School-mistress— the Exhibition of Female Flagellation, The Romance of Chastisement; or revelations of the school and Bed Room, The youthful Adventurer, depicting the career of a young man among the fair sex, Domestic scenes or Every one to his Taste, the Romance of Lust; or, Early Experiences, The Boudoir; a Magazine of Erotic Tales, and Facetioe, Gamiani, or two nights of Excess, by A. de M., The Memoirs of a French Lady of Pleasure, The Story of a Dildoe, a charming and seductive tale, Tit-Bits, served up, seasoned and prepared for amatory Feasts, Injured Innocence, or the Rape of Sarah Woodcock, by Lord Baltimore— being the Secret History of that renowned seducer and violator, founded on facts, The Philosophical Theresea, founded on the Seduction of a Young Lady by a Jesuit and the Memoirs of a Courtesan who had an Imperforable Membrane, which prevented the most powerful men from broaching her, detailing the number of times her maidenhead was sold by the old Bawd she lived with, and describing the numerous whims, caprices, letches, and practices of the various Cullies who frequented her. These, my dear, as far as I can recollect, are the principal, with the exception of The Ladies' Academy, or the Dialogues of Meursius, which book appears to me to have been either the father or mother of all the rest. However, as I have taken such a fancy to you, I shall most likely give them all to you when I get married.

Clara—Well, Betty, all I can say is this; that if you do give them to me, I will make you a present of a wedding dress in return for them. Have they got any plates?

Betty—Oh yes, a great many; some of them large and most beautifully collared. It will make your mouth water and your cunt swell to see them. There is Sir Henry deflowering Nancy Screwell, and again with Fanny in the garret, which exhibits his manly staff driving into her fringed gap in fine style; at the same time you have a most noble view of her plump round buttock. The riding St. George, too, which we talked about, is admirably delineated in the sofa scene, where Louisa has mounted Sir Henry. The whipping scene with Misses Griffiths, Jenkins, and the widow Trevallion—also that with Miss Athel and pupils—art particularly luscious. The same work also abounds in rural scenes, such as Flora Campbella stroked against a bending tree, Miss Graham against a style, and Mrs. Douglas on the grass; whilst the black stockings of Nelly, a country girl whom Sir Henry stroked in a hovel, luxurious thighs—

Clara—Enough! Betty, I can hear no more—I breathe short, and my notch stands stiff at the recital.

Betty—Well, my love, get upon my belly and rub it as hard as you can against my cunt, and in a few minutes you will obtain relief. Open the lips of your snatch, and I'll open mine, so that the most sensitive parts may come in contact. There, that will do, now work away as hard as you can.

Clara—Oh, my dear Betty, it feels very nice; I shall soon be easier; I like your squeezing and shaking my bottom so;—there, quicker!—oh, oh, I faint!—oh, oh!

Betty—Ah, she melts away! she has come before me. She'll be easy now, and sleep well, I hope must finish me with my finger, and roll her off on her back.

Clara—Ah, Betty, I breathe again; what are you about?

Betty—Why you spent before me; therefore I am frigging my clitoris till mine comes, to be sure. There you put your finger in blow and we'll both work.

Clara—Oh yes, I know all about it now.

Betty—Oh it's coming! Oh, my dear John, I wish I had your darling prick, Oh, heavens, I melt!—oh, oh! (Dies away.)

Clara—Now she's got her turn.

Betty—I thank you, my dear, for your assistance, and hope the time soon come when we shall leave this childish play, and be well and regularly operated upon by the reality.

Clara—I hope so too, Betty, how I long to be married! Are young men most vigorous, and likely to get girls with child?

Betty—Young men are most vigorous, but they want discretion; indeed they are often too vigorous, and spend too soon. Middle-aged men, vis: from thirty to fifty, are sufficiently vigorous and often more likely to get children than young men, who are apt to exhaust themselves and render their seed poor. Men of cold temperaments are frequently more vigorous than those of hot ones, because the latter have a perpetual temptation to coition, and perform the act so often that it enervates them; whilst the former, by only operating casually, or at stated intervals, retain their vigour and inject a greater quantity of seed into us, and that too of the best quality. It is said in Aristotle's masterpiece, that cold and hot natures cohabiting together are more likely to breed than those of the same temperaments, but of this I am no judge. I have always understood, however, that women who are very hot seldom breed.

Clara—How soon are women capable of having children?

Betty—Oh, that depends entirely upon circumstances. In our climate they are more backward than in hot countries. We are not susceptible of impregnation until we have our monthly courses, the appearance of which varies in different females: some have them as early as thirteen, others between fourteen and fifteen, and many not until they are nearly sixteen, or even later. I have also been informed that those women whose courses commence late have them longer, and do not leave off breeding so soon as they otherwise would. One more remark I have to make is that children who are seduced at nine or ten years of age, and are continually stroked for three or four years before they have their menses, seldom or ever breed, even if they should get married, and live regular.

In this manner these luxurious girls passed many a night, until Betty being got with child by her sweets heart (the calf), lost her place, and was obliged to marry. According to promise, she gave Miss Wharton all her books, and received in return a good rigging out, not forgetting a wedding smock, open before. It may be easily imagined that the lascivious Clara was highly delighted at the possession of such a library, and that she seldom went to bed without the voluptuxian cabinet under her pillow. There was also in the collection some French books, beautifully illustrated, which Betty had not mentioned—such as Anti Justine with 38 engravings, Caroline St. Hilaire with 4 engravings. Eleonore ou l'Heureuse Personne with 6 engravings. Portier des Charwreux with 27 engravings. Tableau des Moeurs with 12 engravings. Roman de mon Alcove with 62 engravings.

The intimacy between Betty and Miss Wharton now, in a great degree, ceased; for Betty, conscious of the treasure she possessed, chose (like most greedy wantons) to keep it to herself. She well knew that a young man with such a tremendous instrument might wish for variety when he had become a little satiated with herself, and that if encouraged by a lecherous young girl like Miss Wharton, might easily be led astray.

As for Miss Wharton, she continued to get stroked by all the single men in the neighbourhood, but remained dissatisfied because none of them had a machine like the calf, in fact she could never get John's noble pego out of her head, because she was always longing to have it in her tail, and was determined some time or other to try its full powers.

An opportunity for this purpose was at length contrived by Miss Wharton's particular friend, the before-mentioned Mrs. Montague. John had left his place as carter, and had become a day labourer and jobber.

Mrs. M. had employed him to mend the banks and hedges round her garden and orchard, and he was at work for her on the day she invited Miss Wharton to tea and spend the evening. After tea I sent Miss W. up into her bedroom and called John into the parlour, when she gave him a quarter of very old strong beer.

When he had drank it, she asked him to walk upstairs into her bedrooms as she wished to consult him about her geraniums, John followed, of course; but instead of the geraniums, he was introduced to Miss Wharton's Bower of Bliss.

"Well, John," said Clara, "I suppose you love stroking?"

"Ah, that I do, miss."

"Betty has a nice cunt, and you stroke it well, don't you, John?"

"Yes, indeed, she won't complain on that account, miss."

"But I suppose you would have no objection to bit of fresh cunt now and then?"

"No, indeed, miss."

"Do you think you should like to stroke me?"

"Ah, by goles, should I!" Miss Wharton observed that the very idea of it made his mouth water, and she saw his breeches well up ready to bursting.

"But, John, if I were to let you stroke me, do you think T could depend upon your keeping it a secret?"

"To be sure, miss."

"It is very wicked to kiss and tell, and if you were to let Betty know it, she would be jealous."

"Oh no, I'll never tell Betty or any body else, miss."

"I hope not, John; for if she was to know it, I am afraid she would get a razor, when you were asleep, and cut your cock off. What a shocking thing that would be!"

"Ah, that it would, miss, but you need not think I'd be such a fool."

"Well, then," said Clara. "Come here, John, I have heard of your fame, and I wish to prove it true."

So, without further ceremony, she unbuttoned his breeches and pulled out the engine at its utmost stretched of erection.

Mrs. Montague, though not accustomed to trifles, cried out, "Oh, my God, what a stretcher!" But Clara, being bent on her purpose, allowed no time for measuring dimensions, and without letting go his pego, she pulled him by it toward the bed, fell on her back, canted up her coats, and inserted the monster in her gap.

Mrs. Montague assisted, first of all in holding open the lips of Miss Wharton's cunt, next, fearing he might split her, she reached some oil of almonds from the toilette and lubricated the parts in contact; then knelt down behind him and tickled his balls, sometimes examining the shaft to see what progress it made. John meanwhile kept shoving away like a donkey, and Clara was tickling her clitoris to increase the heat, and exclaiming that she did not fear what men could do into her.

The widow Montague, seeing both parties willing, took up John's shirttail and gave him several very hard slaps with her hand on his buttocks by way of driving slap home, upon which Clara began to cry out.

"Ah," said Mrs. M., "it is too late to cry out now, for have it you must, every inch, before he rises."

Clara answered, "Oh, Mrs. Montague, the pain is all over—I now begin to feel the most exquisite pleasure— it seems as if it was driving my womb up to my bosom —oh, I am coming!—oh, what a torrent!—oh, heavens! oh, oh!" (Dies away.)

Mrs. Montague was highly delighted with this glorious exhibition, and when Miss Wharton came to herself she acknowledged that it was the most sublime stroke she had ever experienced. She said the torrent of sperm which John injected into her was beyond any thing she could have conceived, and she made him a present of a guinea for the pleasure he had given her.

"Well, then," said the widow Montague, "I think I ought now to have my turn, and I will give John a guinea too, the seeing him operate upon you has set my cunt all on fire, and I am sure nothing but his darling pego will lay the flame. Come, John, let me wipe your treasure with this napkin and play with it a minute or two, and I'll be bound it will soon be in a rampant condition."

John stood up, and the widow sat down to examine this superlative instrument; she would have put the head of it into her mouth, but it was too large. It was really a treat to behold her fair hand play with his rubicund priapus, and see how her bosom heaved and her breath shortened at the idea of the luxury she was about to enjoy. Mrs. Montague was a very beautiful woman, about thirty-five years of age, and most admirably formed, formed for Venery by nature as well as experience. She possessed that agreeable share of embonpoint which is advantageous to the figure of a female as she advances in life, and renders her far more tempting than if she were thin.

Her bubbies were particularly luscious, without being gross; her belly not wrinkled, or flabby with child-bearing, but tight as a drum; and her cunt had that nice prominent plumpness which painters and statuaries admire so much in female figure.

The hair of her cunt was particularly luxurious and though not black, it was quite dark enough to form a contrast to the whiteness of her thighs and belly, and last of all, her bum was a paragon of beauty and voluptuousness. There is much to admire in the beauty and delicacy of the thighs as exhibited in a well-known print called "Louisa," but Mrs. Montague's was more the full grown woman—more rich, more plump, more luscious.

Oh, ye gods it was a bum that Jews might kiss and infidels adore!

When she saw that John's tool was ready for action, she said, "Now, Clara to show you I am a true woman and no flincher, I will do what you may think rather bold—I will lay John on his back, impale myself on his pego, and triumphantly ride St. George. You must stand by and assist in the charming operation."

So John was laid on the bed with his staff standing champion bolt upright, the widow straddling over him, and Miss W. took hold of the machine and guided it into her longing gap.

"There now, John," said she, "you have nothing to do but to lay passive, and leave me to act the active part; I'll soon pump up the liquor of life, and cause your fountain of delight to bubble over. You, Clara, may amuse yourself in tickling his balls, and watching how his piston will work in the socket." So to work she went, and oh, what a rapture-giving sight it was for Miss W. to see the progress of so delightful an act—to see the agility with which the widow worked her beautiful bum! and the eagerness with which her greedy cunt sucked in the sinewy and foamy pintle! She soon brought matters to a crisis, and sunk upon John in a swoon. When she recovered they took John downstairs and gave him a drink, telling him he should often have work in her garden and stroke them both if he was prudent and kept his own council.