Venus in India. Charles Devereaux
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into her glorious bosom, and caressing her warm, swelling, elastic bubbies, which always gave me such delight to feel. Oh! What nice things good bubbies are to feel!
‘Ah! is that you, Charlie, dear! I must have been half asleep,’ she said.
‘Yes! darling!’ I said softly, still pressing the delightful globes in my hand, one after the other, and kissing the sweet mouth turned up towards me.
Lizzie seemed to enjoy my caresses, for she merely returned my kisses and patted my face lightly with her hand. I found that although she was still dressed, her clothes were loose on her, and that I could pass my hand between the band and her waist, and her beautiful skin felt so soft, so satiny, so smooth, it delighted me as though I had never felt it before. From her bosom I descended until I reached the pretty plain of her lovely belly and here I let my roving hand wander from side to side as it gradually crept lower and lower until it reached the upper fringe of the glorious bush which so splendidly adorned her domelike motte, and then I threaded my way through this pathless forest until I reached the spot where the infold formed the precious and voluptuous deep line of her delicious cunt. I passed my middle finger in the groove, just tipping the awakened and slippery little clitoris, until I reached the entrance to the rich depths I sought for.
Lizzie said nothing; my left hand, which was over the bosom, felt the breast rise a little more tumultuously, and my arm bore a slightly increased strain as she leaned her head back upon it, but that was all. It was so dreamy, so exquisite, that I stood in that position, caressing the warm moist cunt, kissing the cherry lips with little caresses of mine, as if I were a dove billing its mate.
Suddenly a change seemed to come over me. I was no longer in India; it was no longer Lizzie whose charms I was master of, but my own beloved little beautiful wife. I remembered how, on the third night of our blissful and heavenly honeymoon, she had preceded me to bed; how it was the month of July, and the night was warm and balmy, the scent of the blossoming lime trees filling the air with its sweet aroma. I had given my Louie ten minutes to undress and perform those necessary little acts to make her comfortable for the night, which no young married woman likes to do in the presence of her husband, and then I had gone up to follow her into the bed, my beautiful heaven, in which I expected to find her, a luscious feast for my still ardent and excited and quite uncloyed desire. But when I went to the room she was still dressed. She was seated at the open window, reclining back into her chair. There were no candles. The stars were shining brightly but softly; the heavy masses of foliage on the trees loomed dark against the skies, and there was silence outside, except the occasional rustling of the leaves as the amorous zephyrs kissed the heads of the trees they loved, and the poetry of the moment filled me with a degree of tenderness and love I had not experienced in a similar manner since Louie and I had been made one at God’s holy altar. Like Lizzie, she had only half turned to accept my kisses, with a little question as to whether it was me — as though it could be anyone else! — as I had glided my happy hand into her so lately virgin bosom, and caressed the swelling globes which it had so delighted me on my wedding night to find did exist in truth and reality, beautiful, round, firm, polished, elastic and rose-crowned; for Louie had been so jealous of those exquisite beauties, that even when I had seen her dressed for the evening, in her low-necked gown, not one line of the lovely hemispheres did she show, and I had to imagine beauties to exist where my fancy painted them; and I had prayed I might find she really had sweet bubbies; for alas! how often is man deceived in his expectations as to the physique of his beloved bride. Neither of us spoke; we were too happy; and over her beautiful bosom my wanton hand had descended, until, finding her waistband loosened, it had explored the sweet pastures of silvery belly and crossed the rough surface of the mount of Venus; as my finger pressed in Cupid’s furrow, the lovely little clitoris, ever on the watch, had sprung up to salute it with a moist and eager kiss; a thrill, which I could feel, passed over my Louie’s form, and as she felt the strong middle finger bury itself in the hot depths of her velvety cunt, she had pressed my face to her burning cheeks, and murmured, ‘My man! Oh! my beloved man!’
Full of overflowing sentiment, which this entrancing quiet and this voluptuous scene of love and passion had inspired me with, I quite forgot where I was, and whom I was caressing. I kissed Lizzie rapturously and I murmured in a voice which must have quivered with deep emotion, ‘Oh! my darling! my own, own, darling.’
Lizzie started. She disengaged my hands and, standing up, she exclaimed in a voice which sounded strange to me, so different was it from her ordinary tone, ‘Charlie! Charlie! Don’t speak to me like that! Don’t! there’s a good fellow!’
‘Oh! Lizzie! what have I done?’ I said in alarm.
‘Oh! you must not speak to me like that! You know you don’t love me, Charlie dear. You don’t love me like you do your wife, and if you did it would only make me unhappy. Oh! Charlie! the one thing which would take away the only pleasure I have in life, would be to know that some man really and truly loved me. I could not leave my husband and live with him, and I must have a man as often as I can. You don’t understand. When a woman has led the life I have she can’t steady down unless some illness puts an end to all feeling of desire in her. She must go on as she is till death, or at least till decay of all her bodily powers. Confess now, it was not Lizzie Wilson you were speaking to but your wife!’
‘Well, Lizzie, dearest!’ I said, quite thunderstruck with her vehemence and her outcry against love, ‘I won’t tell you a lie. I did for the moment forget where I was. It was this way — but sit down darling — and I will tell you truly.’ She did so, and still standing over her, and again possessing myself of the sweet charms between her thighs, to which she admitted me full rights as a true friend but not as an earnest and passionate lover, I told her about the scene of which I have given my readers a faint notion, as regards the delicious commingling of the adoration of the heart and the worship of the senses.
When I had finished Lizzie heaved a prodigious sigh and said: ‘Charlie! Take my advice and don’t be too long sending home for that true wife of yours! She will keep you from harm out here, and it is not right, it would be a cruel shame to condemn her to pass the life of a nun whilst you are amusing yourself in India, fucking to your heart’s content women who do not deserve such delight. For, mark my words, you are not the kind of man to go without women, nor will you find a station where there are not women, pretty and fine, who will not leave you alone — they will be as eager to have you as you will be to have them. Yes! believe me, if ever a man was formed to strike a woman’s fancy it is you. Send for your wife, for otherwise some mischief will be brewed, and you may be made to repent that you left her at home.’
These words, spoken with great earnestness, struck me very forcibly. It seemed also so like Satan rebuking sin that I could hardly help feeling amused. After a pause of a second or two, during which I gently stroked the sweet cunt under my hand, I said: ‘All right, Lizzie! I believe you are quite right! I will send for my wife as soon as you advise, but come in, there’s a darling, and let us enjoy the fleeting hour. It seems like ages since I last had my prick in this sweetest, softest, juiciest little cunt of yours!’
To this she replied, ‘Searle has been here tonight.’
My goodness! All my blood ran cold. I felt now as if my Louie, in answer to my prayer to come to bed, so that I might enjoy her loveliness, told me, ‘Too late, my dear, So and So has just been fucking me and I’m not inclined for any more!’
‘Searle!’ I exclaimed, snatching my hand away from under her clothes. ‘Searle! Oh! Lizzie! and did you let him have you?’
‘I did not say that he had me, Charlie, so you need not get into a fit of jealousy, you silly boy! No! If there is one man in the world to whom I would forever say no, it is Searle; but he was here all the same.’
I breathed. Somehow Lizzie had grown dear to me, she had been so nice, such a splendid fuck, and so tender towards me in spite of her disclaimer of love.
‘What did he want, Lizzie?’
‘What you say you do now, Charlie! But oh! we had such a row! I declare it has given me quite a headache! Oh! Searle! you … cursed beast!’
‘And what did he do or say Lizzie! Tell me!’