Arabella

I am not-as I trust shall become clear-a woman given to bawdy talk or mere faithless, wanton ways. I have never indulged in the loose and immoral speech which nowadays cloaks so many novels. I find such productions crude and tasteless, lacking entirely in finesse and given to unlikely descriptions of equally unlikely behaviour by characters who are no more than cardboard people.

Even so, I am not a prude. Prudery is for those who fear the consequences of their own desires, however errant such desires may be. Neither will I countenance hypocrisy. There are always to be found a number of mealy-mouthed and self-inflated persons who would suppress all references to the most satisfying of physical pleasures. It is not my intention to do so here, but neither will I proclaim that they should be widely copied unless such art and sophistication is brought to them as I have been fortunate enough to be able to engender.

For I must make no bones about the fact that the comforts of wealth have provided often enough the wherewithal for many of my amorous luxuries. I call them that since they appertain to such voluptuous aspects of good living as the less well-to-do must mainly do without.

I am told by some that this view is false. All views to some are false. One can do no more or less than hold to one's own. I have known some quite pretty and adorable girls of the working classes. I have known, too, some doughty young males from the same milieu who could be counted upon to dispense with the normal crudities of their behaviour when in the presence of ladies. Removed temporarily from their drab surroundings and mean streets and brought into an atmosphere of luxury, their amorous abilities improved vastly, though ever requiring tuition.

But I must not delay my narrative too long by philosophising and shall commence-with the many secret diary entries I have made throughout my life-beginning when I was seventeen. It was the year 1882-that selfsame year when our dear Queen gave Epping Forest to the nation and the British Fleet bombarded Alexandria. I was proud to note such events in my early years, but as wisdom grew and the world progressed even more, so I devoted my immediate recollections to more personal events.

In the midsummer of that year, I was staying for a long weekend at the country house of one of my uncles. I needed not therefore to be accompanied by a chaperone, for my aunt played that role, or would have done had she been more alert to what was afoot all about her. The dear lady lived in dreamland, however, and this perhaps was all to the good insofar as it concerned my immediate education. The world is made up for the most part of fools and knaves, as the second Duke of Buckingham remarked. He was a writer indeed upon whose pleasantries I would have much cause to ponder in those next few days for it was he who first coined another phrase which was to become commonplace among those who neither knew nor cared about its source: “Ay, now the plot thickens very much upon us.” This-for those whose learning would extend as does my own-occurs in the third act of his play, The Rehearsal.

Among my cousins was one Elaine. Six years my senior, she possessed my own medium height. Her ankles and calves were slender, her thighs well-fleshed as befits a woman. Her development otherwise tended to the “bold,” as we called it, for she more than amply fulfilled her dresses in respect of her breasts and bottom. Her eyes were large and her lips of medium size but slumbrous-a delicious peach of a mouth to kiss, as I was to discover. Infinitely more knowing then than I, she was to teach me much.

I should say that in the grander houses of the time, two distinct types of weekend parties were held. The most general was that at which up to sixty or even seventy people might be invited-invariably during the shooting season. On the whole I found these boring. There were too many people to encounter about the house at odd hours-and sometimes to embarrass one.

The other type of party was arranged only in more knowing circles. The guests were fewer and more selectively chosen. Discretion was total, for all knew that the merest buzz of scandal beyond the porticos of the mansion would eventually ruin other such occasions. Within this understanding, certain delicious licence was permitted and orgies were not unknown. I am speaking of gatherings, of course, of no more than a score of guests, including the host and hostess.

Perhaps I should say also that these were country gentry whose morals had altered not a wit from those of their immediate forebears. They preserved their traditions. If a young woman was to be “trodden,” it was accepted that she should be. She was expected to return the virile salute of the lusty penis with the same passion that it was accorded her. Many a fair bottom have I seen wriggling for the first time on a manly piston while murmurs of encouragement spurred its flushed possessor on.

Often if a girl were shy, she would be coaxed and fondled by several of the ladies into receiving her injection. Flushed cheeks and snowy breasts were exposed- an apparently burning anguish showing in the eyes as her skirts were raised-all such were salt to the occasion. Girls too bold in their ways provided little sport for an expectant assembly, and such as might have been were given sufficient hints in private to bring them to struggle and sob with great realism while they were laid open-legged upon a dining room table or a waiting divan, there to receive their first dosage of ardent sperm.

But I digress-a habit I must in these early stages of my memoirs avoid. It is of a late hour that I speak and I would not have wandered from my room on that Saturday night, so far past midnight, had the servant not forgotten to fill my bedside carafe of water.

Wine had made me thirsty. Believing all to be asleep, I opened my door quietly, padded in my nightdress along the corridors and began to descend the wide, curving staircase. At mid-point, however, I stopped. There was a light below. It shone from the dining room where the door stood half open. I heard voices-a faint laugh.

“No, Harold-not here!” I heard, and recognised the voice immediately. It was that of Mrs. Witherington-Carey whose husband had been newly summoned to his regiment. Of less than fully-matured years, she was about thirty-seven, as I fancied-a brunette of some distinct charm.

Crouching down behind the railings of the bannisters then, I saw her. There was it seemed a playful chase going on. A hand seized her arm as she made apparently to flee. Her long dark hair appeared already tousled. There then came into my view the owner of that hand. It was my uncle. His evening jacket, tie and collar had been cast off and his braces dangled from his waist. In a moment, with no more pretence of flight, his victim was seized and thrust back over the table.

“Harold, no-please!” she begged, though I noticed that in so pleading her hands gripped his arms in such a manner that she appeared not to be thrusting away.

“Sweet devil, it has been too long,” he replied. Bending over her so that her feet skittered on the carpet, her shoulders laid well back upon the polished surface of the table, he accorded her a kiss of such passion that I wondered in my naivety at their capacity for taking a breath, so long did their lips merge. Then, rising, he drew her up with him.

“As before, Helen-you must!”

In my comparative innocence, I did not then note the state of his breeches which in fact were thrust out alarmingly by the most monstrous protrusion.

“You hurt me!” came the lady's response, though I divined the words to be an invitation rather than a refusal, so coyly were they spoken. So also, apparently, thought my uncle for without further ado he spun her about and groped up her skirt at the same time.

I could scarcely believe my eyes. In every fleeting second I feared discovery by another guest wandering from their room, or worse the appearance of my aunt or one of my cousins. Fate was kind to me, however, for there came no interruption to the proceedings. Despite her fiercely protesting whispers, Helen's skirts were raised up high.

Ah, what a voluptuous spectacle presented itself! In the fashion of the times her stockings were richly patterned and of a dark blue shade. Sheathing the curving columns of her well-turned legs they rose to mid-thigh and there were ringed by broad garters. Above, the vista was even more enticing, for in affecting split drawers, as she had done that evening, the victim's posture showed in all their appealing nudity the two plump cheeks of her bottom which the broadly-separated halves of her garment exposed.

A last febrile attempt by her was made to rise. I know now of course that it was but a token movement. My uncle's hand had in any event fixed itself strongly upon the back of her neck while, with his other, he groped at his breeches.

Heavens! I confess that it was not the first time that I had seen the male organ, though the few I had glimpsed hitherto had been limp and soft. The upstanding girth and length of this one was beyond all my previous experience.

I judged its veined majesty a full nine inches in length and some five of circumference. The ruby head was full swollen, gleaming beneath the glittering light from the chandeliers. Full rigid, it menaced the deep crevice which presented itself so lewdly to him.

A muffled cry-quickly choked back as if by practise of discretion-sounded from her throat as the crest of my uncle's staff inserted itself within the inviting valley. The lady's hands clawed for a brief moment at the polished top and then her face sank sideways-fortunately in such a manner that she could in no wise raise her vision to mine, even had she been able to discern me up on the dark stairway.

“Too…too…too big, Harold!” she moaned.

A grunt came from her enamorata. Further fumbling ensued and then his breeches slid down his trunklike thighs, betraying to my gaze the sight of his large testicles in profile beneath his manly organ which had but nestled its head twixt her bottom cheeks.

“Nonsense, Helen, you have taken it before.”

His knees bent slightly and he seized her hips, relinquishing at last his grip upon her neck. A further moan came from her. The table trembled visibly, heavy as it was, the surface shimmering in the light.

“OH!” moaned she, though it seemed scarce a complaint but rather a petulant utterance of compliance.

With that the thick shaft urged in and evidently sank some three inches within her puckered rosette, causing its recipient to screw up her eyes and bite her lower lip. I knew not then of course whether she was in agony or in the throes of sweet enjoyment. Her large bottom endeavoured to wriggle sideways, but was held.

“Ah, dear love, what a bottom, what warmth, what tightness! You are as fetching as you were ten years ago,” my uncle growled. His features strained and grew ever redder. A tall, bulky man, the power of his loins was all too evident to me-not to say also to Mrs. Witherington-Carey who received inch by inch his powerful prodder. For a moment she appeared to grit her teeth. Her eyes had a look of anguish that might also, as I even then surmised, cloak an uprising feeling of passion. A little cry from both and the shaft was fully embedded.

Patting her flanks and caressing her stockinged thighs, my uncle thus held her, savouring no doubt the plump rondeur of her nether cheeks against his belly. Her shoulders hunched, relaxed, and then she uttered a whimper.

“Part your legs, dearest-straddle them-hold well. Is it not delicious?”

Helen's eyes and lips opened simultaneously. She was as one entranced. A gentle movement of her hips sufficed then to show me the pleasure she was evidently sustaining. A soft humming sound issued from her throat.

“Do not move it for a moment, Harold. Kiss me. Ah, you beast!”

Her neck slewed round, her tongue distinctly protruded. Bending full over her as he then did, their lips met. Words that I could no longer distinguish came between their passionate kisses. That they were lewd I doubted not for her bottom began to move in little jerks back and forth.

It seemed impossible to me then, of course, that she could receive and contain it there, but I was to learn myself of the particular pleasure of this mode. Small puffing sounds were uttered by both as my uncle in turn began to work his penis steadily in her most secret orifice. The distinct sound of the brazen smacking and slapping of her bottom to his belly came to me. His shaft emerged a full three-quarters and then rammed in again, the motion being repeated on and on while the most fevered twisting of her hips occurred.

Their breaths came faster, his balls swinging steadily under the lower bulge of her derriere. Their moans of pleasure rose. Thrusting one hand down beneath her belly, his fingers searched and rubbed. Immediately her shoulders and head lifted the more. Her expression was one of ecstasy.

“C…C…Coming! AH! I am coming, Harold! Faster!” The table creaked. Some instinct told me that my uncle, too, was attaining the peak of his desire. A trembling of his legs became apparent. His hands clasped her hips more loosely. Rising up from over her, he hung his head back.

“H…H…Harold! Oh, fill me, yes! What floods!” Her bottom thrust to him aggressively, receiving all to the very root while-had I but known it-the rich juice from his balls was already impelling its leaping jets within the sucking tube of her bottom. Groaning, he made a last effort to eject the final spurts and then collapsed for a moment upon her back.

Thus they remained still save for slight twitchings of their loins while the last tinglings of bittersweet pleasure surged through them. Then at last-as if gathering himself-my uncle rose and withdrew the soaked shaft of love with a positively succulent sound, causing his victim to tighten her bottom cheeks and huddle into the table until he drew her up in turn.

Swivelling about in his arms, she afforded him a final kiss of some tenderness.

“How wicked you are to do it to me thus, Harold.”

“How wicked you are to let me,” he responded with a laugh. Continuing to hold her skirts up as he did, I could see the well-furred bush of her mount and the gathering limpness of his tool against which it was lovingly pressed. I dared stay no longer. At any moment they might, I feared, turn to the door. Discovery would present such a horror as I could not face. Gathering up the hem of my nightgown so that I would not trip over it, I tiptoed to the top of the stairs, all thoughts of my earlier thirst having vanished. Fully dizzy with what I had seen, I felt a curious, warming moisture between my thighs as I neared my door and was aware that my nipples had risen, teased by the cotton of my garment.

I had left my bedroom door on the latch, but saw now even in the gloom that it was ajar. Some errant draught had disturbed it, I thought, though my mind was really too distracted for such matters and my pulses were racing still. Pushing open the door I gave a little cry which I endeavoured as best as possible to suppress.

Lying upon my ruffled bed was a white-robed figure that stirred and rose up at my entrance.

It was my cousin, Elaine.