Venus in India. Charles Devereaux

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СКАЧАТЬ I said, pressing her in my arms and kissing the ruby lips which had just spoken so coarsely, albeit truly and pointedly. ‘I have been well trained! I had good lessons in my boyhood, and I have always tried to practise them as often as possible!’

      ‘Ah!’ she said, ‘I thought so! You do the heel and toe better than any man I’ve ever had, and I’ve had, I dare say, many more men than you’ve had women!’

      Frank and how!

      ‘What do you mean by heel and toe, my pet?’

      ‘Oh! Don’t you know? You do it at any rate! and splendidly! Heel and toe is to begin each stroke at the very beginning and end it at the very end. Just give me one long stroke now!’ I did so. I withdrew until my prick was all but out of her panting cunnie, and then gently but firmly drove it home, as far and as deep as I could, and then I rested again on her belly.

      ‘There,’ she cried, ‘that’s it! You almost pull it out, but not quite, and never stop short in your thrusts, but send your prick home, with a sharp rap of your balls against my bottom! That’s what’s good!’

      And she appeared to smack her lips involuntarily.

      At length I withdrew and my fairest nymph at once commenced a most minute examination of that part of me and its appendages which had pleased her so much. Everything was, according to her, absolutely perfect, and if I were to believe her there had not passed under her observation so noble and handsome a prick, and such beautiful well-balanced balls as I had. That she was the mistress of my balls especially pleased her! She said they were so big! She was sure they must be full of spend, and she intended, she told me, to empty them before she would consent to my leaving Nowshera!

      This first sacrifice simply whetted our appetites, and still more inflamed with the minute examination of one another’s charms, we fell to again, and writhed in the delicious agonies of another amorous combat! It was about two o’clock before I left her, and we had not been at any time more than ten minutes ‘out of action’. The more I had of this exquisite creature, the more I longed to have her. I was fresh, young, strong, vigorous, and it was nearly two months (a long time for me) since I had last indulged in the delights of Cyprian pleasures. No wonder my Venus was pleased with me, and called my performance a perfect feast.

      They say that love destroys appetite for food. Perhaps it does when it is love unrequited, but I give you my word, dear reader, that I was ravenous for my tiffin after my morning’s work. I was really glad to get something to eat. What with the heat of the combat we had been through and the parching effect of the terrible hot winds blowing, I was dried up, as far as my mouth was concerned, though far from being so as regards the proceeds of my balls. I never felt so fit for woman as I did that day, and I never probably have had so much fucking with so little loss of physical force. Doubtless my steady married life with its regular hours, regular meals and regular, never excessive, sacrifices on the altar of Venus had much to do with the steady power I felt so strong in me, but over and above that was the fact of my new lady love being extraordinarily beautiful and voluptuously lascivious, and the erotic excitement raised in me, was, of course, great in proportion to the cause which gave birth to it. In spite of my hunger for food, I would certainly have remained with her on that most congenial of beds and have revelled on in her joyous arms and filled her with more of the quintessence of my manly vigour, but she told me she always slept in the afternoon, was hungry herself, and wanted my force to be expended between her lovely thighs that night for the solace of her liveliest of cunts!

      Whilst the khansama was laying the table, I saw a note addressed to me leaning against the wall, on the mantelpiece (for in northern India the winters are sharp enough to render a fire not only pleasant but sometimes quite necessary), and taking it and opening it, wondering who the writer could be as I was perfectly unknown in this part of the world, I found it to be from my young officer friend who had quit Nowshera that morning. It ran thus:

      Dear Devereaux — In the room next to yours is one of the loveliest of women and best of pokes! Verbum sap.!

      Yours, J. C.

      PS — Don’t offer her any rupees or you will offend her mortally, but if you are inclined to have her, and I think you will be on seeing her, just tell her so and you won’t have to ask twice.

      Ah! Dear young chap, now I understand why you were so reticent this morning and did not like to tell me that I had a lady for my next-door neighbour! Well! Poor girl! I am afraid that you must be put down as one of the ‘irregulars’, although it is a shame to think ill of one who has given me the first few hours of real delight since I left home!

      These thoughts naturally brought my beloved little wife into my recollection and I was somewhat staggered to feel I should so completely have forgotten her and my marital vows! But I was altogether too full of desire. Desire only just whetted and crying for more! More! I was in fact half mad with what some call lust and others love and, wife or no wife, nothing short of death would, or should, prevent my fucking that heavenly girl again and again until I really could not raise a stand. I longed for evening. I burnt for night. I ate my tiffin like a ravenous tiger, hungry for food, but thirsting for the sweet savour of the blood of a victim I knew to be within easy reach. Tiffin put away, I lit a cheroot, and began wandering round and round my room, glancing impatiently at the door which closed the communication between it and that of my supposedly now sleeping Venus, and like a Wellington I wished and prayed — not for night and Blücher but for night and her awakening! Suddenly it struck me as very funny that were some catastrophe to separate this girl and me, neither of us would be able to say who the other was! We had not exchanged names. My young friend the officer who signed his initials J. C. had not told me. I did not even know his name though he knew mine, probably from seeing it painted on my baggage. Of a surety, this lovely Venus must have a history, and I resolved to try and get her to give me her version of it, from which no doubt I could make out what was true and what was invention — for that she would tell me the exact truth I hardly expected. Oh! when would she awake?

      Should I go and peep and see? By Jupiter, I would –

      Throwing away the fresh cheroot I had lighted, I crept, in my stockinged feet, to her chick, and pulled it slightly open, and there on the bed, fast asleep, I saw my lovely enslaver. She had simply put on a petticoat and was lying on her back with her hands clasped under her shapely head, her arms bent in a charming position, opened out, showing the little growth of hair under the armpit, hair the same in tint, but not so rich in colour, as that magnificent bush I had moistened so liberally, aided by her own offerings, this morning; her bosom, with its two priceless breasts, so beautifully placed, so round, polished and firm, indeed her entire body down to her slender waist, was altogether nude! One knee, that next to me, was bent, the small graceful foot planted on the bedclothes, each gem of a toe straight and separated from its neighbour in a way that would have charmed the most fastidious sculptor that ever lived, whilst the other leg, bare from the groin downwards, was extended at full length, the lovely foot which terminated it resting against the edge of the bed, so that her thighs, those lovely voluptuous and maddening thighs, were parted! Gods! could I remain outside while so much beauty was freely displayed and I could feast my burning eyes upon it whilst its lovely owner slept?.

      I went gently and noiselessly in, and passing round to the other side of the bed, so that my shadow might not fall on that exquisite form and hide the light, already softened by the chick, from it, I gazed in silent rapture on the beautiful girl who had made me enjoy the bliss of the Mohammedan’s heaven in her voluptuous embraces that forenoon. How lovely was her sleep! Who, looking on that face so pure in all its lines, so innocent in all its expressions, could imagine that in that soul there burned the fire of an unquenchable Cytherian furnace? Who, looking on those matchless breasts, could imagine that lovers innumerable had pressed them with lascivious hand or lip, and been supported by them when СКАЧАТЬ