10 comments/ 51565 views/ 5 favorites Journal of a Proper Young Lady By: Jen24 I recently bought an old, slightly damaged vanity box from a market stall in Portobello Road. When I got it home, I was delighted to find that it had a false bottom and that concealed within it was a smallish leatherbound notebook. Upon opening the notebook, and breathing in its exciting, musty scent, my joy at my good fortune was greatly increased. I discovered that the book was filled with the small, meticulous handwriting of a young lady. Her writings therein comprised a diary which she dated to the early part of the nineteenth century. Reading the diary further increased my excitement and I was struck by the extraordinary nature my find. I have transcribed the initial entry for your delectation and will eagerly do so for later entries should this first meet with a favourable response. I cannot vouch for the authenticity of the diary, neither can I hazard a guess as to the exact time and place of its composition but I hope you find it as diverting and as titillating as I did, notwithstanding the lack of scholarly exertion on my part. Wherever possible, that is where it is not confusing to do otherwise, I have stuck to the spelling and grammar of the original. Any errors are most likely my own errors of transcription and not those of the author. Enjoy and let me know if you would like to read further... **************************** The Twentieth of July in the Year of Our Lord 181– Since I have never yet kept a Journal, I do not know quite what I should write nor quite where I should begin. I suppose since I am the only one who shall read it then I can write whatsoever pleases me best. One uses a Journal to what end? To clarify one's Thoughts, to record one's most secret Imaginings for one's own, personal Posterity. I can write, if I so desire, of the last time I frigged myself, and the way that it felt and the fact that my Nipples are hardening as I write this and the familiar gentle, creeping warmth is now upon my Cunny. I am no Harlot and I am yet Chaste and have not known a Man, but that does not change or eschew my longings and my desires – and I believe that it is my right Hand and the middle Finger thereof which has preserved my most precious of Treasures. I am of my Nature something of a Strumpet and my Thoughts do often tend towards Lasciviousness. It takes but a little, a Sonnet of Lord Byron's or an Ode of Ovid's or of Mr Donne's to direct my Thought netherwards. Once, to my Amusement, when I was cleaning my Father's Chamber I lighted upon a creased and folded Paper, which I took into my Possession and read. It was an Erotick Tale of Lord and Lady Such-and-such entitled 'Her Ladyship Insisted' and professed to be 'The True and Accurate Account of the Shocking Mores of the Aristocracy'. It was full of Cocks hard as Iron and Cunts wet and spread and ready. It also treated with heaving Tits and Men's Seed spilt wantonly upon them and hither and thither. The Lady was the Hostess to such an Orgy that would leave even the Court of Nero agog. One Passage struck me particularly and I often think upon it when I am frigging Myself. It concerns a debauched Game whereby Lord Such-and-such is blindfolded by his insatiable Wife and all the Ladies lie back, legs all akimbo and Drawers dispensed with and beg that he lick their several Cunts in turn and by these means alone identify she that is his Lady Wife. Should he fail in this allotted Task then he is to be deemed no Husband to her, because says the Author, a Man should know intimately his Wife's Cunt and its Taste and Texture or he has obviously not ministered to her Needs and is therefore no Husband unto her. I was intrigued by this principally because it had never occurred to me that Ladies and Gentlemen might engage in such carnal Acts as this. The Lord or Duke – One is left with the Impression that the Author had only a faint Impression of the illustrious Rank of which he wrote – is handed from Lady to Lady who hold his Face against their Parts unmentionable and gasp with Delight as his Tongue probes their Lips and laps at their aromatick Flowers (as the Author in a Fit of Poesy calls their Cunts). They plead with him not to desist as his Beard bristles against their Arses and he nibbles and pulls at their tented Buds, but our Hero must quest on, moving from aromatick Flower to aromatick Flower like to that fastidious Fellow the Honeybee and supping on the Nectar to be had therein. At last, after he has sampled all of the Ladies' Cunts he arrives at his Decision whereby he announces that his Lady was the last Woman he tasted and, doffing his Blindfold, he sees immediately that he was Right. His Guerdon is to fuck her in any way of his choosing and he elects to take her from Behind. She obliges by raising her naked Arse in the Air and while she is upon her Hands and Knees he furiously fucks her. In spite of the obvious and breathy Deficiency in the Writing, I found my own Cunt to be moist and my Breathing heavy after my reading of this singular Competition. I replaced the Paper beneath my Father's Bed and hastened back into my own Chamber. I was inspired to examine my own 'aromatick Flower' in order to compare it to the poetickal Descriptions of our ardent Author and also to satisfy myself as to its fragrant – or 'odoriferous' as the Author at one point declares the Cunt of one of the Ladies in a frenzy of his Fancy – Quality and to try whether its Nectar was as sweet as that descried by the Lord in the Story. I was flushed and worked up like to a Bacchanal, surfeited on Eroticks. I propped up my Mirror against a pile of my Books and was for a Moment struck by my own Ingenuity. It was, however, but a Moment as I thought again of the Athletick Tongue of Lord Such-and-such and the Ecstasies his Ministrations induced in the Ladies. I hastily removed my Skirts and my Chemise together with my Undergarments and crouched naked before the Mirror. I was flushed and in such a frenzied State of Arousal that I scarcely knew who or where I was. I began to Cup my Tits and Tug at my Teats, the way that Lady Such-and-such had done at the Commencement of the Story as she prepared to rub herself off. I felt my Nipples harden under the Influence of my Attentions. It was then, naked with my Hands at my Breasts that I started at a Noise from whence I could not determine. I was suddenly afrighted that I would be discovered in my naughty Enterprise and that my Reputation heretofore Inviolate would sustain such a Stain or a Blot upon it such as could not or would not be expunged, and I was suddenly wretched and ashamed. I rushed to my feet and to the door to my Chamber and held myself against it for a short Time. I waited a while and found no other Sound to be forthcoming. I stood in my Birthday Suit and still feeling Randy, the Fear and the Shame had done little but to further excite me and I wanted more than Ever to lark and to climax. I hastily found the wooden Wedge I use to stop the Door and pushed it hard beneath it, the Door by good Fortune opened inward. Having thus secured myself from the possibility of Discovery I addressed myself to the Business in hand, which is to say the Business of my Hand. I returned to the Mirror, kneeling again before it, like a concupiscent supplicant, and breathed deeply, feeling as if my Belly were all inflamed. Again I pulled on my Paps and felt the Itch in my Cunny grow beyond Measure. I dragged my Hands down across my Body, across the Curve of my Tummy and to my matted Fur which I stroked and gently intwined in my Fingers, my Breath quickening as I did so at the Thought of my own Wickedness. I angled the Mirror slightly and then spread my Legs apart and there before me was my own Belle Chose. I pulled its lips apart and contemplated it. I was overcome with a sense of piteous and profound Bathos. My beautiful Thing was not especially beautiful, I thought quite dispassionately, but was rather pink and puffy and ungainly and seemed a glutton gorged upon the very thought of itself and its Sexuality. My Nakedness and the feel of the cool Air upon it was nonetheless exciting and the Image of Lord Such-and-such's face held against the Pudenda of the manifold Ladies at the Orgy of which I had lately read was enough to rekindle my Urge to make myself a Frigstress. I traced my Slit with one of my Fingers, feeling how wet and warm I was down there. I remembered how the Author of the 'True and Accurate Account' had recounted the Ladies' most especial pleasure at the Lord's attention to their 'tented Buds'. By the Mercy of the Fates, and because our Esteemed Author proved himself to be something of a pretty Anatomist, I knew this to be at the Apex of my Cunt. I was most anxious to sample for myself the gratification that could be afforded by its stimulation. I scrutinised myself more closely in the Mirror, pulling myself wider open as I did so. Atop the folds of pink, puffy Skin I thought I saw it and, holding my Cunt open with two fingers of one hand, began to massage it with the other. It felt very, very good and I almost forgot to breathe as I rubbed slowly around it. I observed a hard little Nub emerging from the Tent. I lay a Finger directly upon it and it was so Sensitive to my Touch that I gasped and drew away. I sat trembling before the Mirror awhile, before resolving again to assay it. This time I moistened my Finger in my slippery 'Cyprian Cave' – to borrow the highly ornamental Term from the Author of the Story – and then touched it again. Again I gasped and again was forced to pull away. My Finger was yet too Abrasive for my Purpose. I determinedly wet my thumb on my Cunt and then brought it up to my Nose and inhaled my own Aroma. My Pas-Belle-Mais-Rose-et-Gonflé-et-Étrange-Chose was, I noted, neither aromatick nor odoriferous but smelt decidedly unexotick and somewhat acrid. I put my Thumb into my Mouth to sample my 'Sweet Nectar' and discovered that it tasted as it smelt, and I was puzzled as to Lord Such-and-such's insatiable Appetite for it. Either, I decided, the Ladies from whom he supped were more exquisitely Flavoursome than I or the Lord had an outlandish Taste. I was too lusty to give much time to this consideration, however, and I rolled my Tongue around my Thumb and then put it to its Proper use, namely as the Minister to my newly-found Clitoris. This time I made an Effort not to jerk away and held my Thumb upon my Nub as I arched my middle Finger up and into my hot, damp hole. I began to rub myself slowly and felt myself twitch uncontrollably. My Self-Comfort became ever more urgent and I violently rotated my Thumb, pulling my Clitoris hither and thither as I flexed and unflexed my middle Finger inside my Cunny. I closed my eyes and rocked my Hips backward and forward, dragging my entire Crutch across my Hand, my Thumb still firm upon my Bud as if fixed there. I was transported, given entirely to the Sensations generated by my ardent frigging. I moved my left Hand to my Tit and pinched hard on my Nipple as I sat astride my right Hand and rode it hard. My Cunt was becoming ever more slippery and wet and I could feel some great sensation, my first Orgasm, drawing ever nearer. The Itch was more pronounced than ever I had felt it and I hungered after Satisfaction and Deliverance. I renewed my Efforts, bucking and rubbing and pinching and pulling with great abandon until at last I stood upon the Brink of the Precipice. Slowly, luxuriantly I toppled from it and I suppose I can best describe the Feeling as Relief upon Relief like the Tide against the shore, or like descending into one of the curative hot Springs at Bath. My Climax built again and was again relieved, and I came to myself, shivering and gasping. Feeling a little dazed, I dressed myself and replaced Mirror and Books, before unblocking the Door and walking unsteadily down the stairs to be discovered reading innocently in the Library some Hours afterward. This was not the first Time I had frigged myself, but it was the best I had hitherto managed. And now, having awaked my Lust once more, I shall endeavour to recreate it. Journal of a Proper Young Lady Ch. 02 My publication of the first part of this singular and beguiling diary (in the ‘Toys and Masturbation’ category) has provoked an overwhelmingly positive response, and I am very grateful for your kind words and encouragement, which have exculpated my effort in transcription a thousand times over. Thus, I readily acquiesce to those who have implored me to continue serialising the journal of our Proper Young Lady. I have now laboriously copied out the second and third entries, the first of which professes to have been written a month or so after the first. Of course, I share in the scepticism expressed by a number of readers as to the provenance of the text and as to whether such a person as this feisty young lady could ever have existed, but, without definitive and compelling evidence to the contrary, I choose to believe that she lived and breathed and committed the secretest parts of her life to paper. To believe otherwise would, it seems to me, be to will the world to be a less interesting and a less charming place. The Twenty-Second of August in the Year of Our Lord, 181– I was again To-day feeling lusty, and so took up once more this my passing naughty Journal. Having now read again of those privy Matters which I hitherto recorded, I was suddenly cognisant of the Appearance which I shall present to History should these Writings survive me and fall into the Hands of some other Person. While I confess me that, when thus I bethought, I felt something of a Thrill at my Wickedness and its Discovery, I was a little Anxious that I had but poorly commended Myself unto You – if I may so fancifully make myself the Author of a Reader. You have been, then, a Witness to my sinful Appetancy and to my paddling with damned Fingers in my own most secret Parts. I will make this my second Entry here an Apology for myself and my seeming Heinousness. I am a Woman of marriageable Years and of good Rank. My Father, whose House I have kept since the Death of my Mother five Years since, is a Man of quality and, while not as rich as he was, has adequate Means, and will adequately furnish my Dowry when it suits me to marry. I am pretty enough and witty enough to husband me, and await only the right Gentleman. Those potential Suitors I have heretofore encountered have been exceedingly tedious. My Father is not pressing me to wed and, as for myself, I have no sense of Urgency whatever, so I am content to wait and to let dullness seek out its like and so pass me by. I love to read and among my favourite Poets are Mr Wordsworth, Mr Shelley and, of course, Mr Shakespeare, whose Sonnets I greatly admire. Latterly, I have been enamoured of the Novels of Miss Austen – I find her books to be most pleasing and droll. I can play the Pianoforte, though not well, and have a little French. I record all this because I am conscious that from my first Writings here that I have appeared nothing but a great Succubus, glutted on my own Wantonness. I should like it if I appeared to you to be something more than the Vagina and Clitoris and Dug and Teat and Thumb and Finger to which I think I reduced Myself – by an unwitting Process of Synecdoche – at our first Meeting. You must surely also stand amazed at the baseness of the Language with which I described these Parts of myself. I implore you to be not so reproving. For since these are Parts unmentionable in Society, secret and shameful as that Beast which Pasiphäe bore, then you should balk at the very Notion that I should dare to speak of them at all, and have but little Regard for the Terms with which I chose to describe them. I borrowed from the Rich and Tapestried Vocabulary of the Author of the True Tale of the Aristocracy, which was by turn randy and ridiculous. The Terminology therein was, for the most Part, entirely inapposite. Though I find the word Cunt to be a vile Word and a wretched Word, it suited at all Points to my lascivious Feeling at the Time. Consider that we Women do not have the Language to discuss our nether Parts, and because we have not the Words it seems that we own not our Bodies. ‘Cunt’ and ‘Cock Pit’ and ‘Gravy Maker’ and ‘Quim’ and ‘Notch’ and ‘Frizzle’ and such other manifold Terms that are used to denote our Vaginas, are Words such as Men may use but are not meet for our Femininity. Further, I have heard my Female Acquaintances discuss their intimate Parts using a Lexis that is uniformly silly and ungainly. They talk coyly of their ‘Conies’ or their ‘Daisies’ or their ‘Belly Dingles’. I once overheard a Woman speak in hushed tones to her Friend of how the thought of a certain young Gentleman made her ‘Tirly-whirly’ tingle. Of the few Words for ‘Cunt’ that make me neither laugh nor retch none quite seems to fit my Need. Honeypot is an inexact description since I have discovered that my secretion (or Gravy as it is vulgarly known) tastes not sweet, and so too is Half Moon (my Pudendum does not resembles the Moon) and Muff and Twat are I think Terms quite unerotick. I realise that in expressing Myself with so lewd a Word as Cunt and exhibiting such Desires as are but hardly conceived of in Society, I something have unsexed Myself, presenting like a Man or a Tribade. I feel not Remorse for this Appearance, if it means that I am something more than a Cock Alley for Men’s Pleasures or a Womb in which their Seed may be deposited. With so many several preposterous and disgusting Words for Ladies’ Genitals, I hope you understand when I choose to call my Cunt my Cunt. I take Comfort from the Knowledge that the Wife of Bath, that estimable Pilgrim of Mr Chaucer’s, does Likewise. My Opinions on these privy Matters have been greatly influenced by the Fact that I discovered further Writings around my Father’s Chamber. These inspired in me a Sense of revulsion at the deplorable vassalage of Women to Men, towards whose masculine Lusts they (the Writings) were directed. There were but few Episodes which piqued my Interest and None that inspired my Wanton Frolicks. The Authors, every One of whom was worse even than the Author of that first Story I found, seemed not concerned with the Pleasure of the Ladies of whom they treated. These Ladies were instead the mere Instruments of the Men, who, it seemed, were content to use them only as an elaborate Means of frigging their Cocks. The Ladies, in their turn, were thankful to have their Hands and Mouths and Bosoms and Cunts and Arses thus exploited. This pleased me not, but brought me at length to a Condition of Disgust which I rashly manifested by leaving one of the Stories (a Tale of a Lady who to satisfy her Lusts turns Common Bawd) where my Father might see that he was discovered. The Collection then quickly vanished and my Father looked ashamed, though mentioned the Matter not, and I remained discreet and silent. Amongst the Papers I found some crude, immoral Drawings depicting Men and Women in various Acts of Carnality. The greater Part of their Number shewed old Men slavering over nubile Women. These pretty Chickens grinned inanely as they spread their Thighs, exposing themselves to the swollen Cocks of the doughty Fornicators. The Sketches and Prints seemed to me to be repugnant, a Fantasy of young Maids dreamed only by aged Gentlemen. A Fantasy evidently shared, though this Knowledge appals me quite, by my lonely Father. There was, however, one Picture which I found that suited my Tastes. I extracted it from the Collection and have it here beside me. It shews a grand Chamber, at the Centre of which there is a Bed, its Sheets all ruffled and displaced. Lying upon this Bed is a young Gentleman and his youthful Mistress. The Lady is naked save for her Stockings and Blouse, the latter of which Garments is open, exposing her Breasts. The Man is likewise denuded, excepting his Shirt. He sits bestride the Lady and his Cock is upright and rests at her Bust. She holds her Tits together, encasing the Gentleman’s Instrument within her Cleavage. The Drawing, while hurried and imprecise, manages to suggest Movement, and it seems that we have come upon the wanton Couple while the Gentleman is at the Apex of a Thrust with his Hips, which has forced his Prego up towards the Lady’s benign, smiling Face. The Lady’s Legs are apart and the Gentleman’s right Hand is between them, his Index Finger delicately tracing her Gap. Looking at this drawing again now, my thought turns again to that Part of myself that Heaven appointed the Centre of my lascivious Hunger and Desire, namely my Cunt. I imagine myself in the Position of the Lady in the Picture. A lusty Lord straddles me, and I relish the feel of his hot, hard Machine between my Breasts. I imagine him thrusting up between them, the purple Head of his Cock, shaped like an inverted Heart, now resting against my Throat, now nuzzled between my fleshy Globes. I can almost feel his Hand betwixt my Thighs and his Fingers delicately exploring the Folds of my Flesh. I try to form a mental Conception of the ensuing Events, begotten of this pregnant Image. How the amorous Gentleman would place his Engine against my Lips, and how I would lick his Tip and take it into my Mouth and roll my Tongue around the Head of it. He would moan his Pleasure and I reach up between his Legs with one of my Hands and toy with his manly Purse wherein all of Mankind was once stowed. One or two of his Fingers would be inside me now, tearing at my Maidenhead while his Thumb massaged my Bud, the Seat of all my Pleasure. My other Hand, the one not engaged in cupping and fondling his Balls, would grasp his Shaft and I would be scarcely able to reach around the fearsome Thing. Then I would work the Skin back and Forth and Lick and Suck upon the Top, and feel its Heat and firmness in my Hand and in my Mouth. Next, he would gently motion that I should desist, by moving his Cock away from me and kissing me hard on my Mouth. He would proceed to kiss down my Neck and my Breast. Slowly, slowly, tenderly kissing my Tits, his Tongue wresting with them, feeling them harden and stand up against him. His hand would be rubbing my Thigh all the While. Now, he would begin kissing down my Belly, and I would twitch and gasp at the touch of his Lips. He would come at last to the Part of me that most earnestly desired his Touch. He would dally lightly with the fringe of light-brown curls that adorned my soft, narrow Chink, before parting my engorged lower Lips with his Fingers and hungrily tasting of my forbidden Fruit. He would be lapping at me furiously as I writhed against his Face, now and then lightly pulling and mauling at my Bud with his jaws and Teeth and just as I would be on the verge of surrendering to the Sensations of Pleasure and Abandon he induced in me, he would desist and stand over my opened legs with his Cock in his Hand and he would wordlessly guide it towards my Hole, helping his Nimrod to hunt out its dearest Pleasure. I fervently hope he will be kind and respectful of the fact that I am but an inexperienced Maid who has never before been violated by so formidable an Enemy as that bare Bodkin belonging to a Man. I fret now that he will not, that his Lusts will not allow such Mercy, and he will hurt me and my quietus unmake. I had my Left Hand between my Legs as I scribbled down the preceding Passage, and was rubbing myself, but I have now lost the Impetus to pursue my Pleasure and have removed my Hand from its sinful Occupation. I have just read over my Writing and realise that now, perforce, I have made myself an Harlot and a Fellatrix and a good many other unspeakable Things. I must note ruefully, that this Entry has not turned out to be as much of an Apology as I intended it to be, and that I have again vitiated Myself by succumbing to my iniquitous Desires. I hereby resolve to consign this Witness to my self-Defilement and to my Lust to the Fire forthwith. My Resolve calls to my mind the command that Virgil’s great Traitor issues to the Great Lady whose Heart he holds captive – Desine meque tuis incendere teque querelis, Italianam non sponte sequor. Which is interpreted thus – “cease setting yourself on fire, and me as well, with your Lamentations, it is not for selfish Reasons that I must seek out Italy.” Like the Queen of Carthage, I must cease setting Myself aflame. This Journal is as Tinder to my Lusts and the Fuel that stokes my burning nether-Furnace-Mouth and is the chiefest Cause of my inflamed Passion. With the damned thing consigned to Ashes, I would surely be less given to my Sporting myself like a dissolute Amaryllis in the Shade. The Cremation of my Naughty Diary must wait, however, for now I see out of my Window a Carriage approaching on the Drive-way. It is Kitty – she has seen me and is waving at me with her Handkerchief so enthusiastically that she is in Danger of falling from the Cab. I will wave and smile back, and conceal from her my Vexation. What a tiresome Thing she is! she is as frivolous and silly a Girl as could be conceived of, and she somehow contrives to be always in my Company. I am cursed to endure her for what sins I know not. I have been too harsh; she is after all a well-meaning Creature, if irksome, and while her Conversation is as garrulous and flighty as it is tedious, there is not a malicious Thought in her Head, and while she wants for Brains, she is extreamly Beautiful – a Complexion of Alabaster, Lips as Red as the reddest Rose – et cetaera and whatever other epithets and similes might be dreamed up to describe the perfections in our Sex. She is younger than me and I do confess a little Jealousy, but I suppose she is pleasant enough, after her own Fashion. I only wish that she had not come To-day. She is stepping now from the Carriage and making her way to the Front Door. We have no Servants now, so I shall have to answer it Myself. What a terrific bore! *************** The Thirteenth of September &c I regret that the Burning of my Journal and the Immolation of my Wantonness, must be further postponed. I need now some place to settle my Thoughts, which are dissipated and falling everywhere, and also to render sensible those events which have so lately befallen me. I hope too, God willing, to assuage my terrible Guilt. On that inauspicious Afternoon, that same Day when last I wrote here, I received Kitty in my Bedroom, here where I write. My Father was using the Library to catch up on his Correspondence and had expressly asked not to be disturbed, and so I brought her up here. After we had exchanged initial pleasantries, and she had bestowed upon me a Dozen or so effusions of her Pleasure at seeing me again, and of how very Well I was looking, and how long it had been since last we met. I demurred and agreed and smiled graciously as often as was Essential. I then offered my Guest some Tea, though it seemed extravagant to do so, since we are a little pressed for Money at this time – One of Father’s Debtors has been a little tardy in repaying him his Loan. Kitty happily took me up on my Offer and I was thus required to go down to the Kitchen to fetch the Infusion up to her, together with the China and other Accoutrements. To her Credit, Kitty offered to assist me, but I refused, not wanting to spend any more Time in her Company than was Necessary, and also not desirous of subjecting her to any unnecessary Exertion. It took me quite a long Time to prepare the Tea – the Stove had cooled somewhat, and so the Water was extreamly Reluctant to warm up. When, at last, I had the Infusion in the hot Water in the Tea Pot, I set everything on a Tray and slowly, carefully climbed the Stairs and made my Way along the Landing, and back to my Chamber. My Door was slightly ajar and I was about to turn and make inelegant, unladylike use of my Posterior to open it fully, when some movement on my Bed caught my Eye. Kitty was lying there, on her Front. I could see only her Head and Shoulders, and Arms enfolded beneath her. I wondered if she might be sleeping, and, if not, how she came to be in such a singular Position. I had left her seated in the Chair by the Window. Perhaps she was Ill, I thought. And then, of a Sudden, I saw it. My Journal – this exceeding naughty Tome in which now I write – was cradled in her Arms. I was mortified. My Heart battered against its Prison-house and I ceased my Breathing with a sharp, stunted little Gasp of Air. I wonder now that I did not drop the Tray. Certes, I was not aware that I was holding it. All my Thoughts were directed at my Stupidity at not stowing the shameful Thing away, and my Mind was all sicklied o’er by my acute, compleat Embarrassment at its Discovery. No Course of Action suggested itself to me and so I stood I know not how long in the Hallway. Kitty looked up, and it seemed to me that her Eyes were red, polluted by Tears. Was my Wickedness and my Ruin so distressing to her? I drew back from the Gap in the Door, and the traitorous Tea Cups chinked against their Saucers. “Lizzie, is that you?” she called softly. “No,” I replied, flustered, “I mean ‘Yes’. I was about to call to you to open the Door.” “Why didn’t you just push it?” she asked, getting up to let me in. “I don’t know, is it open then?” Maybe, I thought, she will have replaced the Journal and will have Discretion enough to let the Revelation of my Sins go unmentioned, and we will have an inconsequential Talk and the whole sorry Episode will be forgotten. When I entered the room, past Kitty’s small Frame and solemn Countenance, my faint Hope was dashed – the Journal lay still upon the Bed, and no Attempt had been made to replace it. Kitty followed my Gaze and briefly met my Eyes before turning her own to the Floor. I set the Tray down upon my Desk, and then turned to face her. I opened my Mouth to speak but found no Words. The Silence was lengthy and awkward on my Part, dolorous on hers. At last, she spoke: “Do you really think me tiresome and flighty and silly?” she inquired with tremulous Voice, and quivering Lip. So that was the cause of her Distress! It was my harshness towards her that had prompted her Tears, and not my wicked Actions. In truth, I had forgotten that I had written such injurious Words about her. “No!” I said warmly, “I wrote such unkind, spiteful Things only out of Vexation with myself and my sinful Appetites. Really, it was nought to do with you, except, perhaps, that your Purity and your Beauty proved a Counterpoint to my Iniquity, and my Ugliness.” “You are not ugly, you are Fair,” she said abashed, casting her Eyes downward, her Cheeks flushed. “Compared with you, my Fairness, as you term it, must perforce be uglified. My ‘Fairness’ is the perfectest Foil to your Beauties, which shall like a star in the darkest night, stick fiery off indeed.” “In faith, you are much Mistaken, Lizzie,” she said with profound Seriousness, “it is I whose Features suffer when compared with yours. Throughout all the County,” said she grandly, defiantly, “your good Parts are considered more exquisite than mine.” “You’ve heard it said?” I asked with Amusement. “Is our Fairness really so widely considered and compared by our Neighbours and by People of Taste?” “Well, no,” she replied, a little crestfallen, “if the Truth be known, I have not heard anything at all said upon the Matter, nor have I any Evidence of it, but I know it to be true that you are fairer than I am. And cleverer. And less tedious.” “Can you ever forgive me for my unjust Words, Kitty? If it can be any Consolation you must know that I intend to destroy my Journal and you will be the last Person to read it. My hasty, fallacious Words about you – which do not represent my true Estimation of so good a Friend – Words that were so horridly expressed – shall not survive the Hour.” “Of course I forgive you,” she said, suddenly breaking into a delicate Smile, exhibiting only generous Feeling. “It is a great shame, though, to burn such a pleasurable Book as your Journal has proved ... In fact, if you had come upon me but a few Minutes sooner, then you would have witnessed me with my Hand between my Thighs.” She paused, looking at me anxiously for my Response. I was struck dumb by her Forwardness, managing only a faint Laugh. She stared at me, a curious Look about her Eyes. “You must show me how to frig myself as you do,” she said coyly, with an embarrassed little Smile. Journal of a Proper Young Lady Ch. 02 At that Moment I experienced the first awful Sensation of Danger. It was not now merely Embarrassment and Dismay at having my secret Desires laid bare, nor concern for my Reputation, but was an apprehension of some potent, terrible Force that would overtake me and destroy me. Maybe it is only Hindsight that speaks thus – knowing what I know now, feeling as I feel. Maybe I did not see anything in her shy, delicate look that seemed perilous, nor heard anything in her Speech but a kind of innocent Bawdiness, or mere Banter. But when I remember her Aspect as she artlessly asked me to show her how to make herself a Frigstress, it seems to me that I did recognise the Threat, which was presented not by her, nor by her coquettish Proposition, but in my Hunger – in my Belly and in my Loins. I stood stupefied before her, my Bosom heaving and a confused yearning, derived from my Cunny, spreading up through me. I had aroused my Lust, the sleeping Kraken within me, with looking upon the Picture and with my imaginative Foray into the World shewn therein, and had not sated it. The Beast had not died and was, thus, desirous of what could soonest requite it. I must not make my Lustiness my Excuse, however, nor suggest that it had overthrown my Reason. To do so seems an abrogation of my own Responsibility for my Actions, which Responsibility was Entire and Compleat throughout the Misadventure I am about to relate; if my Desires were Animal, and if they possessed me quite, then, perforce, I was no longer a Creature of Reason, and therefore could not be culpable, before God or Man, of whatever bestial Action they led me to take. I say again that this was far from the Truth, and that at all Points the Seat of my Reason was unthreatened by my Wantonness. All this is Prevarication, because I would not write what I must. Onward, onward – all I write now will be to the Purpose, however ruinous and painful it might be. The Girl, then, stood looking at me and I knew not what to say or do. I noticed how extraordinarily pretty she was, and how her Cheeks seemed a little redder than they had been. She did not seem to know how to proceed with our singular Conversation either. “Britomartis is my favourite Knight in The Faerie Queene,” she offered earnestly, her Eyes fresh and clear from her earlier weeping, and she stared at me with such a strange Inquisitiveness as demanded (or seemed to demand) a Response. I replied that I thought Britomart a most admirable Lady and a worthy and ingenious Invention of Mr Spenser’s. From which Retort she drew considerable Pleasure, and in the Flush of her Excitement she ran to me and embraced me. She held me firmly, hands cupped on my Shoulder Blades, pulling her Breasts up against mine. I was startled by this, and confusedly returned the Embrace. When it seemed that a proper Interlude had passed I attempted to withdraw from her, but she hugged me still tighter to her. Her Hands strayed down to my Waist and she nuzzled her Head against my Neck. Her Nipples were hard against my soft Flesh, pressing into me through our Cloaths. “I love you, Lizzie,” she whispered. “I love you too, Kitty,” I replied tentatively. “I have always loved you. Always.” She released me, and I pulled away from her. “We have known each other but two Years,” I said, gently chiding her, “‘always’ is too long to have loved someone you have known so short a time.” “Even so, I shall not unsay it. You must know I loved you before I knew you. I expected you. I loved the idea of you. So beauteous, so clever, so kind.” She smiled a queer little smile. I did not know how to respond to such flattery and was again stupefied before her. “Elizabeth!” called my Father from the Foot of the Stairs. “Did my Eyes deceive me or is young Catherine Fairchild now in the House? If she is, then you must know that I have finished the Business I was conducting in the Library, so the two of you may move where you may converse in greater Comfort.” “She is here Father, you are not mistaken,” I replied. “Shall we move Downstairs?” I inquired of my Companion. “I ... I ought to go,” she said, “I promised Mama that I would be Home before Dusk.” “God speed you,” I said. “Will I see you again soon?” “Certainly.” She hesitated. “You must come to my House. Next Week. Friday. For Elevenses?” She clasped her Hands together tightly and looked at me with such Anxiety that I could not but acquiesce. She looked overjoyed and then turned from me, about to depart. She hesitated and swung back around to face me. She reached down, and took my Hand in hers, and brought it up to her Lips. She kissed it delicately, and then, without Deliberation or Warning, she firmly guided it down to below her Belly, holding it against Herself for a Moment. She let it go and then hurried from the Room. “See you next Week, Lizzie!” she called as she departed. “I’ll send my Carriage for you.” I was confounded. Reason and Lust both contended which was the mightier within me. Kitty loved me. At least, she said she loved me. She meant, surely, that she loved me as a Sister, or as a chaste Girl loves her bosom Companion? No! Not so – for she loved me as a Sister, or a Friend, who had placed my Hand up against her Cunt. Her Love was perilous, deep and Sinful, no doubt awakened, or spurred on by the wickedness contained here in my Journal. I decided to find some Excuse not to go to meet her. I would not let my Curiosity, or the heaving, searing Temptation that was tearing at my Soul call me to her. To do Otherwise was Folly. And yet. I spent the remainder of the Week caught between Excitement and Horror, whenever I thought of Kitty’s unspoken Proposition. I did not send to Kitty to cancel our Appointment. I reasoned that I should not send her an abrupt note, or a Message by someone else, but should arrive for Elevenses and gently put aside any offers of anything beside Tea and Scones, whatsoever those offers might be. I would be decorous and gracious, and would quell whatever flaming Appetites I had inadvertently awakened in the Girl. This is what I told myself. But when the appointed Friday arrived, I felt as queasy, and as trepidatious, and as thrilled as if I had not made such a sensible Resolve, as if the Naughtiness that ensued were already a fait accompli will I, or nill I. Kitty’s Carriage arrived for me and I climbed into it, like Phaethon mounting his father’s Car, or, rather, like a lost Soul beckoned onto Charon’s boat. My Heart was pounding, and I felt hot and flustered. Nothing would happen, I told myself. We would eat, drink and exchange Pleasantries, nothing more. I would leave as Virtuous as I arrived. I did not sound very convincing. Three Quarters of an Hour later, we had arrived. Kitty had heard our Approach and was standing on the Steps leading up to her front Door. She waved at me deliriously, and then rushed up to hug me, as I stepped out of the Carriage. “I was so afraid that you wouldn’t come!” she gushed. As she held me, I could feel her Body trembling. “I’ve been looking forward to it.” To my Ears, my Voice sounded odd, strangled, not my own. “Come!” she said. “We’ll not go in the House. It is such a beautiful Day, it would be a shame ... I’ve had the Servants set up Elevenses for us in the Gazebo.” She took me by the Hand, and I followed mutely through the immaculate Grounds of her House, which were ordered and neat, after the style of Capability Brown. It was indeed a beautiful Day, the sort of Day that inspires Midsummer Madness, the sort of Heat that makes one feel unreserved, Continental. These are the Days when Things Change. When we are not quite ourselves and enterprises of great Pitch and Moment their Currents turn awry ... Everything of any Consequence, everything historic and meaningful, has happened to me on such Days as this was. Balmy and tranquil and indolent, yet you could almost here some Cupid, or some Robin Goodfellow, laughing boyishly amongst the Trees. We came at length to the Gazebo, surrounded by well-kept Hedges, out of Sight of the main House. It felt as though we two were alone in all the World. “I had them make Lemonade and Cucumber Sandwiches,” Kitty told me, “it seemed too hot for anything else. I hope that that’s to your liking?” She looked at me anxiously. She really was a pretty, sweet little Thing, I thought languidly. I nodded my assent. She grinned. “Good!” she said exuberantly. We sat and ate in amicable Silence, punctuated occasionally by bursts of Conversation and pleasant Prattle about how Lady Someone was to host a Ball and Lord Someone-Else was engaged to be married. I began to think that my Sensation of Danger had been entirely unfounded. The gentle Breeze caused the Leaves to rustle against the Windows, and they cast slow, lazy Shadows on the Walls and on Kitty’s Face as she delicately ate and drank and laughed. They fell too on her Dress, which was an exquisite, lightly embroidered Gown of pale blue Silk. It was Fine and thus Transparent with a décolletage that exposed the uppermost part of her Cleavage and I could clearly see her Short Stay, and her Shift, likewise pale blue, beneath it. Beneath her Bust there was a simple Brooch to give the Gown shape. My Eyes dwelt rather too long upon the leafy Silhouettes upon her Bosom, and when I looked up, back to her Eyes, she looked away abashed. We had finished with the Sandwiches and Lemonade, and had moved to the Couch, when Kitty suddenly sat forward and said: “It is so very extreamly hot in here! Lizzie, would you mind if I took off my Dress?” Before I had had time to form a reply, she had risen to her Feet and had unclasped her brooch, letting the flimsy dress fall to the Floor. The Fear and the Excitement and the Danger were suddenly upon me again as she bent down slowly to pick it up, allowing me full view of the Curves of her Hindquarters. Next, she unfastened her Petticoats and removed them, and I could see the smooth, white perfection of her Thighs, her Shift hanging loosely midway between her Knee and her Waist. Her Short Stay was fastened over the top of the Shift, forcing her little Bosom, upward. She turned her attention to this next, but her dainty Fingers seemed to founder upon the interwoven straps. “Wretched Thing!” she exclaimed. “Lizzie would you mind helping me?” Was it a Ruse? Some politick Scheme to draw me closer to her? I knew not, but, at that Moment, on that Day with its Promise of Change and of momentous Happenings, with Danger hanging dreamily in the Air, and Puck hiding, smiling in the leafy Glade, it never really occurred to me that I could do other but assist in the uncovering of the fair Flesh of my Friend. I approached her, and set about freeing her Bosom from the straits of the Stay. She greeted my ministrations with a sharp intake of Breath. My Fingers worked nimbly at the Knots, pressing occasionally between her Breasts. I was soon finished, and she shrugged the Garment off. Her Tits, though now able to move freely within her Chemise, remained defiantly Staunch and Upright. We stood, Face to Face (almost Bosom to Bosom we were so near each other) and, for what seemed a long while, we neither of us spoke a Word. Then Kitty said: “You are making me feel embarrassed to be in such a state of undress, while you remain so primly attired. You should remove your Dress too. It’s very liberating.” It was very close in the Gazebo, and my Reservations and Sensibilities had all evaporated in the languorous Heat. I did as she asked. I undressed myself slowly, becoming the Image of the nearly-naked Girl before me. “Isn’t that better?” she said excitedly. I agreed that it was cooler. I had moved a little further back from her, affrighted by her wildness and her exhilaration. I sat back down upon the Sofa, pressing my Knees together, and knotting my Arms across my Bosom. She sank down into a Chair opposite. “You are very Beautiful Lizzie,” she said, and I noticed that she had allowed her Shift to ride up her leg a little further as she had sat down. I thanked her for the Compliment, and could not wrest my Gaze from her inner Thighs; her Legs were slightly apart, and I could see plainly the upper Part of her Legs, which curved up towards her Womanly Parts, which were separated from my Sight only by the lightest, most flimsy piece of Fabric. My unwonted Attention to the Nether Regions of her Body, cannot have escaped the Notice of Kitty, who proceeded casually to stretch up her Arms and further part her Legs almost putting the secretest Part of herself on full view. This display was extreamly provocative and raised in me unprecedented Feelings of Lust and Desire. If the Chemise were to raise itself but two or three Inches more, then ... Still I looked intently upon the forbidden Parts of my Friend, I was not conscious of the Chair upon which she sat, nor of the Gazebo, Capability Brown-style landscape, nor even of Kitty’s other excellent Parts. The tantalising prospect of the appearance on full display of her Cunt consumed my full Attention. I could scarcely Breathe for anticipation of the Moment of its revelation, and dared not blink lest I missed it. For her part, Kitty was playing the Game most excellently. She was a consummate Performer: now raising the Level of the Hem a little; now letting it Fall; now parting her Thighs a little; now closing them together. All the while she chattered on about trivialities, knowing that she held me in thrall to her, knowing why she could never meet my Eye, which was fixed on the drama of her Legs. She slid a little further down into her seat, and her Shift rose a full Inch. So little now stood between me and my Object. I had become so compleatly, so peculiarly desirous of seeing Kitty’s Cunny that it required all my Restraint not to reach out and lift her Chemise up and force her Legs apart to achieve my End. She could, I am sure, see in me this Frenzy, this Desperation. She adjusted herself a little and yielded me another Inch. So close. My Heart was pounding, and my Mouth felt dry in spite of all the Lemonade I had drunk. Then suddenly, ticingly Kitty sank and stretched simultaneously, and there before my Face, my hungry Eyes, appeared her Slit, prettier and neater than mine had looked when I examined myself in front of the Mirror and topped with voluptuous blonde-brown Curls, the same Hue as the Hair upon her Head. Until that Moment, it had never occurred to me that the Hair between Ladies’ Legs could be different from my own dark brown Fur. I gasped as I greedily drank in the Sight of her, like an insatiate gourmand. Wordlessly, she spread her Legs still further apart and I observed her Slit gap a little, displaying the moistness-pinkness-puffiness I had seen in my own Cunt’s Excitement. It seemed then as if the Gazebo was filled with a fusty and yet exciting Aroma. The Smell of Flesh and Fornication, of Woman marrying with Woman. That Odour made what happened next as Inevitable as it was Sinful. “Are you enjoying the View?” asked Kitty, her Voice dry and strained. I made no effort to disguise my overweening interest in her Sex, and nodded my Head. “Very much,” I managed to say through the throbbing, undulating Sensations, which were wracking my Body and my Mind. “I’m glad.” She sounded genuine. I managed to look up at her. Her face was red, and her Bosom seemed to be swelling with every Breath. Her Nipples were, I noticed, extremely prominent, hardened and attempting to punch Holes in the Fabric of her Chemise. My own Teats felt similarly rigid against my enfolded Arms. “Do you remember what I asked of you the Day I read your Journal?” she asked earnestly. I nodded. “To show me how properly to frig myself?” “Yes.” She smiled, moved her hand down betwixt her Legs and began to maul herself roughly with her palm. “Like this?” “No,” I said faintly, and then more deliberately: “No. Were I you, I would start with my Breasts. You need to work up to rubbing your Cunt. You need to make yourself ready.” Her cheeks reddened a little. “You called it my Cunt.” “What do you call it?” “I won’t tell you – it’s very silly.” “We can have no Secrets from one another now.” “Sometimes. Sometimes, I call it my Pussy Cat. I call it my Pussy.” I almost laughed at her daftness, but managed to catch my Laughter ere it escaped my Lips. “Kitty’s cute little Pussy ... would you like me to call it that?” “No – call it my Cunt. I like it when you’re vulgar.” She stood up when she said this, her Eyes fixed on mine, and pulled her Shift up over her Head. She was now compleatly naked. Her Hair, exquisitely curled, fell upon her Shoulders, which heaved with each rapid, lusty Breath, and drew my Eyes down, down to her Perfect Breasts. They were small and firm, and her dark Nipples stood out from them. Her Teats were hard, and there were Goosebumps on her Flesh though it was not cold in the Summer House. Her Belly was invitingly plump and rounded, and her Naval pretty and discrete in the Centre of it. I traced with my Eyes the trail of wiry Hair which led down from her Belly Button towards the Bush of Hair which surrounded her Cunt. She stood unmoving a while, allowing me to study her in her Nakedness, but there was no Serenity in her stillness: her Breath was uneven; her Breasts and Belly twitching and trembling and her Skin was reddening in patches. Her Skin-white-as-alabaster was becoming steadily more imperfect, breaking out in blotches of Colour, responding to her Heat and her Frenzy. The blemishes appeared hither and thither, now darkening her Left Tit, now transfiguring her Thigh. This is how I witnessed the Need of the Girl: her uncontrollable Lust was painting itself upon the Canvas of her Flesh. As I sat passive, observing this singular Phenomenon, Kitty gave an impatient, stifled little Gasp and sank back into her Chair. She splayed her Legs, showing me again her spectacular Cunny, a forbidden Fruit which now looked riper and pinker than before, its fusty aroma thick and almost tangible in the Air. “You say I should start with my Tits?” I nodded. “Like this?” She cupped her modest Breasts in the Palms of her Hands, and lifted them a little, before proceeding brusquely to shake them up and down. They juddered and jerked their protest. “No. Not like that,” I said. “Show me,” she commanded. I hesitated a Moment, then rose from the Couch and moved towards her, reaching out for her Breast. My Hand lightly brushed across the warm, spongy Flesh of her Left Tit, and then I withdrew my Touch, confused. My wantonness was pounding in my Ears, and I suddenly felt as if all Innocence was now denatured and polluted. Certes, I was aroused, enflamed. My Cunt was slick with the juices of my Passion, and my Teats were hard as Stones, and yet, and yet, some trick of the dappled Light upon the naked, trembling Girl (perhaps a Cloud passed in front of the Sun, I know not) gave me Pause. The native hue of my naughty Resolution, its currents almost – almost! – turned awry and I all but lost the name of Action. “Why do you procrastinate so?” asked the splayed, naked, impious Girl prostrate before me. I did not mention the trick of the light – the prick of my conscience – only stared blankly upon her. Then the Gazebo felt once again the full intensity of the Sun and the blind Boy-Archer giggled and whispered in my ear: “You two are so far steeped in the secretions of your Cunts, to return were as Tedious as to go o’er.” I smiled down upon her, and plunged in, embracing her, clutching her shoulders and pulling her uncovered Breasts up against mine, which were clad only in the flimsy fabric of my Shift. My stonehard Nipples pressed mercilessly into her supple young Dugs. I kissed her hungrily on the Mouth, like a Man would kiss, confidently, openmouthed, my Tongue forcing its way inside her. She gave a contented Moan as she opened her Lips to receive me. My Tongue ranged around inside her Mouth, wrestled briefly with hers before subduing it. As I withdrew from the Kiss, I bit lightly upon her lower Lip. Our Eyes met, and hers revealed her contented submission to me. My body is yours, she told me wordlessly, do what you will with it. I needed no further Invitation. Both my Hands grasped both her swollen, blotchy Dairies simultaneously and roughly kneaded them together, while I straddled her Waist, feeling the cool Air upon my opened, moistened Cunt as I lowered myself down upon her. I could feel the silken Hair that ornamented her adorable little Chink – her ‘Little Pussy’ as she sweetly called it – tickling at my nether Lips. I kissed her again, and this time she kissed back, our Tongues and our pubic Hair entwined, my Hands cupping her Breasts now, massaging them. I took her Teats gently between my index Fingers and my Thumbs and tugged upon them, lightly twisted them, squeezed them. Then pressed them harder, intending to hurt her just a little, to heighten the erotick Sensations to which I was subjecting her. She gasped, but protested not. Journal of a Proper Young Lady Ch. 02 I kissed her Cheek, then all around her Face, then began kissing and licking the Nape of her Neck, her Shoulders, between her Bosoms. Then, releasing her Nipples from betwixt my Fingers and Thumbs, I lowered myself to the ground, so that I was kneeling between her opened Thighs, and began to kiss her Globes. As I did so, I let my Hands wander over her Belly, and to Toy with her downy Nether Hair. I kissed her Left Tit, and then her Right, exploring her smooth, delicate Skin, tasting the Salt sweat that glistered upon her Bust. I began to suckle on her Right Teat, like a particularly rapacious Infant. As I did so, I rubbed her inner Thighs with my Hands. Up and down, up and down, but never quite reaching her Crux; her hot, damp little Cunt. I moved my Head and Mouth across to the opposite Nipple and at this one I nibbled a little, and rolled my Tongue around it. Kitty tried to speak, but could only utter whimpers, the inarticulate sounds of her pleasure. “... Please ... Please ...” she eventually managed. “Frig me. Teach me how to come!” I was not quite ready to oblige her, and instead intensified my ministrations to her Tits (with my Mouth) and Thighs, Belly, Haunches (with my Hands). She writhed and gasped and moaned, and spread her Legs still further apart. I clasped her Arse-Cheeks and licked and sucked viciously at her Tits. I moved my Hands round, back over her Belly, then down to the uppermost parts of her Thighs, before letting one of them, brush across her wet, twitching Womanhood. “Yes!” she exclaimed. I ceased my suckling at her Breasts briefly while I wetted the Fingers of my dominant hand in my Mouth, looking up into her Eyes as I did so. I then committed my Fingers to that part of my Friend where their attentions were most sincerely looked-for. I massaged her Mound with my moistened Hand, and her left Tit with the other. Her right Breast was once again the province of my Lips, Teeth and Tongue. I traced her Gap with my middle Finger, blindly feeling out her tented Bud. She was transported as I did so, and I could feel her Body wracked with the sublime Sensations I had so often experienced when I frigged myself alone. I stopped sucking at her Tit, leaving it glistening with her Sweat and my Saliva, and sat back upon my Haunches, my Face now but a Twelve-Inch from her Cunt. From that Foot’s distance, I fancied I could feel the Heat of her upon my Cheeks. Expectorating upon my Left Hand, I put it to the same Office (and the same Orifice) as my Right. I used my Elbows to prise Kitty’s Legs still further apart, and then used the Fingers of my Left Hand to separate a little the swollen Lips of her fiery nether-Mouth. She was now so wet-between-the-Legs that I had no further need to use my Spit as Lubricant for my Hand, but could wet my Fingers instead in the perfumed Juices of her Desire. How ludicrous have I become! “The perfumed Juices of her Desire.” I am snared quite in that same limed trap as that Creature who penned the “True Tale of the Aristocracy”. How I laugh’d at him, but now find I myself competing with him in the risible erotick extravagances of my Prose. He wrote of odoriferous Flowers, and I of perfumed Juices. O for shame! To ground myself once more, and to put to good use demotic Anglo-Saxon: Kitty’s Cunt was so wet that I had no need of spittle, and could lay my Hand direct upon her hard little Nub, which was now poking out from its Hood, without discomfiting her. As to the Smell of Kitty’s Cunt Juices: it was both musty and sharp, acrid and exciting. To call the Secretions of Kitty’s marvellous, unpicturesque little Cunt “perfumed” is to belie their true power. In short: Kitty’s Cunt reeked, but its Stink was one of a peculiar Potency, one that filled and enflamed my Nostrils, but did not repulse me, instead it was alluring, inviting, inviting me to Taste ... The Fingers of my Left Hand, then, held apart the Lips of Kitty’s Cunny, and the Thumb of my Right was now direct upon her Clitoris, massaging it, pulling it this way and that. I pinched her little Bud, between Finger and Thumb and gently fidgeted it around. Kitty’s Hips were now bucking to and fro, seemingly out of her Control, and little Squeals of Joy were escaping from her. Still the compelling stench of her secretions pulled my Face – and my Mouth – closer, closer until she must have been able to feel my Breath upon her puffy, distended Cuntlips. Then, allatonce, I left mauling her Clitoris and plunged my Head down, forcing my Lips up against her Cunny. I used my Hands to open her, so that I could get deeper, deeper inside her. I kissed her deeply, probing her with my Tongue. And how did Kitty’s Cunt taste, you ask? Tart, bitter, pungent, brusque, forbidden. It is an almost indescribable Taste, not wholly attributable to mere, mundane Flavours and Textures and Aromas, but with feelings of Lust and Intimacy and Prohibition. I imagine that Eve’s first Bite of the illicit Fruit, whose ingestion brought Death into the World, tasted so, and awaked such Feelings of Naughtiness commingled with Desire. I could feel Kitty writhe against me as I tongued her, her Body convulsing as she ground herself against my Face. I began to lap at her Slit, up and down, up and down. Licking and kissing her Bud, and then trailing my Tongue down almost to her Arsehole. I was gentle and rough by turns, responding to the movements of her Body and the quickening of her Breath. I plunged my Tongue inside her, as far as it would go and felt her twitching and clenching at it. She was close now. I slid my Hands up across her Belly and attacked her Clitoris with my Mouth. I rolled my Tongue around it, pulled at it with my Lips and then, slowly, determinedly, I began to nibble at it. This was enough. Kitty let out a Shout so loud that I thought it must have been heard up at the House, and her shook and convulsed so violently that my Head in its precarious position was in danger of being severed by her Thighs. I continued my oral and lingual assault upon her, not letting up despite the extreamly vehement response of her whole Body. Just as the twitching, wracking passion which had engulfed her began to subside, it rose up again, its intensity redoubled. This time I was forced – almost thrown – from my situation between her Legs, and sat back upon the Floor and watched as she came heaving and thrashing back to Earth. She lay at last gasping and shaking as if she would expire. And, then, with Tears in her Eyes she said: “O Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie ... Thank ... Thank you ... so much.” And she flung herself at me, kissing my Hair, Face, Cuntjuice-covered-Mouth. She hugged me tight, weeping, thanking me, protesting the enormity of her love for me. “Now, Lizzie, you must let me do something for you.” She smiled her embarrassed, adorable little smile. I was, needless to say, by this point feeling tremendously lusty, and thought her quid-pro-quo suggestion an excellent one: Tit-for-Tit; Quim-for-Quim. I nodded my acquiescence. “Would you like me to do ... what you did to me – for me?” “Very much,” I said, my Mouth dry with anticipation and from the expenditure of my Saliva upon her Body. “Right,” she said shrilly, her Voice a Betrayer of her Nervousness, “you must remove your Shift, you ought to be Naked.” I rose to my Feet, and shrugged off the loose-fitting Garment revealing to the warm Summer Air my Breasts, which were bigger, fuller than hers and less firm. My Teats were, compared with her delicate pink Teats, enormous and ungainly. I am slightly fatter around my Belly and my Thighs and, as I have already indicated, my Cunt is in every way more unruly and uncouth than hers. My complexion – red Blotches or no red Blotches – is inferior to hers. In short, what is perfect in Kitty, is slightly-less-than-perfect in me. My body is a distorted, uglified reflection of hers; or she is a rarefied version of me. My obvious deficiencies did not seem to matter to my Friend, who, Eyes aglow, said: “O Lizzie! You’re beautiful!” And she was so sincere that I almost wept. “Now – lie back upon the Sofa – and – and – make yourself ready. I hope I do this right. I hope I can make you feel what I ...” I followed her instruction, and sank back onto my Elbows upon the Couch. I parted my Knees, and though the Air was hot in the Summerhouse, it felt Cool upon the exposed folds of my Flesh. Without further ado nor Ceremony else, Kitty began clumsily, awkwardly to press her Lips against my Body. She kissed my Forehead, my Ears, my Throat, but what transfixed me most was the movement of her Breasts against my Skin. As she visited Kisses all over the upper section of my Body, her Bosom, dangling from her Chest, brushed around my lower Parts. Her Nipples dragged down over mine, and down over my Belly as Kitty moved her Head down towards my Breasts, remembering what Delights my attentions had given her. I lay compleatly passive as she shyly began to kiss my Tits (and one of her Nipples dallied with the Hair adorning my Mound). Her restrained, uncertain Mouth tickled me and tantalised me as she oh-so-gently parsed her Lips against my Nipple. I moaned, more to give the Girl encouragement than as a Symptom of my heightened Desire, and she set about more confidently licking and sucking at my Teat. “Not the Pussy ... not yet ... must make ready ...” she mumbled into my Bust. I stroked her Hair as she lapped and suckled and pulled Teat and supple flesh alike into her Mouth. She became, at length, so preoccupied with my Bust, that I became concerned that she would not ever address herself to sating the hot, urgent need betwixt my Legs, from whence I could already feel my leaking, freeflowing Desire. Gently, I lifted her Head from my Nipple, and guided it Netherwards. “I am ready,” I told her, “I have never wanted anything more than to feel you touch, frig, kiss, lick my Cunt. Please.” “And I have never desired anything more than to thrill and to pleasure you,” she replied. She began to kiss my inner Thighs and I spread them wider. Hovering uncertainly a Moment, she began, openmouthed, to kiss my hairy Mound. Noisily, smacking and slurping at my Cunt, Kitty, maladroit sexual neophyte, began to orchestrate my Climax. I decided not to tell her what felt best, nor show her where to find the seats of my Pleasure, but to let her gauchely find them out by accident. Whenever she chanced upon my Clitoris, which I am sure was now standing Sentinel at the tip of my Cunny, I wordlessly gasped my approval, and when she was too reticent or too rough, I remained tightlipped, reproving until she had corrected her treatment of my most delicately-feeling, secret Parts. In this way I trained the winsome ingénue in the art of kissing a Woman’s Cunt: An art with which I was but so lately acquainted, but for which I showed so natural an aptitude that I had attained mastery of it ere I had first wiped the stickiness from my Lips, or pulled the fine, fibrous Hairs from between my Teeth. When her fingers began to paddle and maul around my slit, as she lapped at my Bud, I yelped out Sounds of exaggerated Bliss to encourage her onwards, but when her Fingers began to probe inside me I pulled my Cunt away from her, fearing for my Maidenhead, though, in Truth, I sorely wanted to feel her Fingers arched deep inside me. Soundlessly, she accepted my Proscription and resumed furiously licking my Slit, Lips, Clitoris. I moved my Hands to my aching Teats, and began to tug at them as I wriggled my Hips and rubbed my Cunny around her Face. She followed it hungrily, refusing to desist from her appointed task of kissing and tonguing it, exciting it out of all measure. I felt now the familiar feeling building inside of my Belly, and at my Tits and in my Cunt. Swelling and swelling and filling me, consuming me, subduing my Thoughts, overcoming my Mind, my Self, my Soul. The room was swimming, tingling, singing, feeling out the rhythms of my quickening breath, and heightened, ebbing, flowing Sensations. And then it was upon me – Kitty’s Tongue upon my Clitoris, her Fingers at my Slit – the Petit Mort – the Little Death. For a moment, I was utterly annihilated, and then I came screaming back into the World with the Memory of an intense, paralysing Pleasure. My body still trembling from the potency of my Orgasm, I gently coerced Kitty up onto the Couch with me, and embraced her, my naked Skin against hers, and kissed her mouth, tasting myself upon her Lips and Tongue. “I want to hold you forever,” Kitty said, her Eyes awash with Tears, “I never want this Moment to end. Of course, the moment did end, and Kitty found to her cost and to my vitiation that she could not embrace me forever. I do not remember much of what followed that dangerous Afternoon, but we must have dressed again, and gone back to the House, and made our Goodbyes, and I must have got into Kitty’s Family’s Carriage and been delivered back here. When I stepped, muted, dazed, back into my Room, I knew that I had vowed to admit Kitty into my Chamber (and, as she intended, into my Bed) the following Week. I felt liberated, exuberant and drained. It was not until the morrow that the twin Sensations of Danger and Unease returned to infect my Thoughts. I knew what the flavour Forbidden Fruit in Eden must have been, and now I tasted the bitterness of its Consequences. I come now to my next – and final – meeting with Kitty. In the privacy of my Chamber we again succumbed to our sinful Appetites, taking again to the nefarious practises of Tribadism, and, then, I forsook and destroyed her. I will be brief in the telling of this lamentable section of this story, since I have rambled on long enough and avoided the most deplorable of my Sins for long enough. Kitty arrived, as appointed, while my Father was away on Business. I greeted her cordially at the Door, and shewed her immediately up to my Bedroom. The Moment, the Door was closed, she hugged me and passionately kissed me. I did not reciprocate her Passion, and my Kiss was but demure and polite. She pulled away from me and gave a quizzical, wounded look. “So cold, Lizzie ...” she awaited a response and, when she found none to be forthcoming, she said: “I was hoping you would welcome me with open Legs.” She broke into a broad Grin, which I couldn’t help but echo. “I’ve been dying to make that Joke almost since we parted last Week. I knew you’d find it funny.” She kissed me again and this time I matched my Tongue against hers, and returned her tight Embrace. In truth, though, the Lust was drained out of me. Away from the dappled light of the Gazebo, the blazing heat of the Sun and the Dryads in amongst the unlandscaped Trees, there was no titillating Danger, no Magic, no Desire. I scarcely noticed the flirtatious, almost scandalous cut of Kitty’s Dress, nor the rigidity of her Nipples as they pressed hard up against mine. The thought of her Lips – and her Lips upon my Cunt – did not excite in me the Passions I experienced in the abandon of the Summerhouse. She had not changed, but, here, in my familiar Room, I did not want her for anything but pleasant Companionship. Kitty, however, had other ideas. “Did you write about our Wickedness in your Journal?” she inquired. She gave no Weight to the word ‘Wickedness’, plainly showing me that she did not consider that our liaison was Wickedness at all. I told her that I had not written a Word in my Journal since she read it, but nor had I destroyed it as I had promised to do. She expressed a wish again to read it, and I did not refuse her. As she sat and read again of my self-exploration and mirror-witnessed frigging, I noticed her becoming agitated and flushed. Suddenly, she looked up at me, wildness suffusing her and said: “Let us fuck, Lizzie, let’s fuck each other again.” Before I had had a Chance to agree or no, she had flung her Cloaths off, and was naked before me. I felt a little of my old Wantonness stir within me. Enough Wantonness, at any rate, to allow me to submit to Kitty’s hurried undressing of me. When we were both clad only in our Birthday Suits, I suggested to Kitty that she lie upon the Bed and allow me to go to Work upon her. I hoped in this way, by attending to her Needs first, to awake my still-sleeping ardour and to thereby make the whole Enterprise a pleasurable one. While I was anxious and perturbed, I had not forgot the intensity of the Orgasm Kitty had given me, nor lost the inclination to try and recreate it. Kitty, however, shook her head emphatically. “Listen,” she said sagely, “I’ve been thinking. We needn’t go one after the other – I mean kiss each other’s Cunnies in turn – you licking and rubbing me, and then me kissing and stroking you – I think I have devised a way by which we can please each other at the same time. Simultaneous. Then we might – you know – at the same time. And it will be better, more intimate, more special.” “Show me.” I was uncertain, but prepared to let Kitty’s idea run its course. She lay upon the Floor at the Foot of the Bed upon her Side. “Right. If you sit down at my Feet.” I did so. “And ... and I lift my Leg up like this.” She lifted her left Leg up, and her Cunt – the same Cunt I had been so anxious to see in the Gazebo – accordingly winked at me. “Right. You shuffle forward. Closer. Closer.” Her uplifted Leg was trembling with the Exertion of remaining in its Position. “Put your right Leg underneath my Left ...” After I had done so, she lowered her Leg and heaved a sigh of relief. Next, she lifted my left Leg, and slid her right underneath it. My legs were now splayed apart, and entangled with hers. She angled herself slightly, and then shuffled her hips towards me and our Cunts touched each other. “It worked!” She exclaimed, delighted. The Curls which decorated my Mons, bristled against her more sedate, straighter Hair. I arched my Back, and our Nether mouths were suddenly kissing. Kitty smiled and began to rub herself against me. Slowly at first, but increasing in speed and ferocity with every Thrust and Rotation. I tried to Mirror her Movements, but found it to be exceedingly difficult. I will not lie and say that the Position was comfortable. Indeed, it was considerably more effort than it was worth. No matter how erotick it was to rub my Cunny against another Woman’s Cunny, the Gratification that was derived was outweighed by the Discomfort germane to the awkward positioning of our Bodies. Despite Kitty’s frenzied rubbing and gyrating, and my cumbersome Reciprocations, I derived but few intimations of Gratification and after several Minutes all that had been achieved by our unwieldy Location and Practises was the uncomfortable generation of Friction, and worsening Pins-and-Needles in my Left Thigh. “Kitty,” I said tentatively, “shall we stop doing this now?” “Oh thank God!” she said as she pulled away, “I thought you were enjoying it!” “And I thought you were – in truth, it was more uncomfortable than erotick. My left Leg is numb.” “And I have such a Cramp in my Toe!” She stood up to alleviate it. “Oh dear,” she added, crestfallen, “that was a compleat Failure. I’m sorry. One after the other is better.” “It was a nice Idea,” I said generously. Then, suddenly, I was struck by an Inspiration, or, rather, by a half-remembered Scenario from one of my Father’s disgusting, shameful Drawings. There had been an old Man licking a young Woman’s Cunt as she squatted over him, and she, in turn, was hunched over, sucking his Cock. “If a Man and a Woman can ...” I said aloud, “then why not a Woman and a Woman. Kitty, lie on the bed.” She did so, excitedly, unquestioningly. I clambered up beside her, and swung one of my Legs over her upturned Face. I lowered my Cunt onto her Mouth, and leaned down towards hers, as she began vigorously to lick me. I pulled her Legs upwards and outwards, and set about kissing and licking her inverted Cunny. This was better: already, I could feel Kitty’s body tensing and quickening as I hungrily devoured her, with the Blood rushing to my Head. For my Part, Kitty’s ministrations, clumsy as before, were providing unlooked for stimulation. Her inexact, luxuriant lapping at me as I sat upon her Face meant that, occasionally, her Tongue would accidentally stray into my Arsehole. While the idea of this repulsed me, the Sensation – of Shock and something more – overcame my impulse to upbraid her, or to adjust my Position to make recurrence less likely. I know not whether or no Kitty was aware of what she was doing to me when she licked my Arse, nor if she knew how pleasurable I was finding it, but she seemed to be doing it more and more often – including it in the habitual tripping of her Tongue up and down my Cunt. In short, she was licking me up and down from Arsehole to Clitoris.