“I loved cunt, but also she who had it; I like the woman I fucked and not simply the cunt I fucked, and therein is a great difference.” Excerpt From: “My Secret Life – Vol I to III November 1888.”
**
The small cellar was lit only by a flickering oil lamp and the room danced with a cast of shadows as our little game began. Standing in a circle of light, I felt my heart pound and breath quicken as he indicated the device he wanted me to use. Even though I had been in this position many times since, it still felt like it was the first as I stepped forward to lay my person over the leather padded trestle as he moved around me to fasten each leather strap until I was bound in place by hand and foot.
My husband stood at my defenceless rear and flipped up my petticoat and skirts before undoing the buttons, stays and flaps of my exposed bloomers. His ardour and amusement at my predicament was obvious as the cool air on my now exposed bottom made me gasp out loud even though the season had turned to the warmth of spring.
He surveyed the feast before him with a wandering eye. “It shall forever be a delight no matter how many times I do such a thing!” He smiled as I glanced back at him through the dishevelled veil of my unbound rustic hair. He gave me an affectionate pat on my upthrust rump for good measure. “It would be most remiss of me if I do not take advantage of the opportunity, dearest wife.”
To be strapped in place over one of his little contraptions had me at a significant disadvantage and no doubt his imagination was already dreaming of the liberties he would take with my person be they fair or foul. The very nerve of the man to tease me this way as I squirmed waiting for whatever it was he was going to do to me.
Pulling at each strap that bound my wrists, I parlayed his amused barb. “That is easy enough for you to say, Thomas. Are you all talk and nothing else this day? Prove to me that it is not so. Is that cock of yours not ready yet?” That my puss was wet and open belied my false bravado in this little game we played to enrich the experience. “Do you not intend to mount me and sate your thirst?”
By now my bloomers were spread wide and the expanse of my large backside spilled free from its confines. Thomas was such a devoted lover of my arse that his lust became more and more intense with each contraption he came up with. It was never greater than when he had my backside at his mercy and his engorged prick appeared to have a mind of its own as he pushed it up into my puss or dark hole.
Thomas had already unbuttoned and removed his shirt as he came to stand in front of me as I lifted my head to him. He then began to undo his belt and the front of his trousers where he slipped his hand inside and pulled out his thing which had already awoken from its slumber as it hung down from his crotch.
My husband is not a small man and I watched with much fascination as his cock lengthened until it was fully grown and waxed this way and that in front of my flushed face. Its bloated head leered at me serpent like as its venom dripped wetly from its one beady eye. Hypnotised, I stared at it and as he presented it to my face my lips parted to grant him access so I could suck and lick him to our hearts content.
“To think you found such a deed repugnant once upon a time,” he mused as he watched me take half of him between my stretched lips. I could smell his excitement as he held me firm with his hands in my hair. The head was as round as an apple and as ripe as a plum as I felt his largesse at the back of my throat and I eased my head back so I could taste him on my tongue.
Above the soft hiss of the lamp, the only sound that could be heard in the moment was that of my efforts and the satisfied grunts of his reaction. He tasted bitter and as time ticked by the rhythm of sucking his cock had me like a mewling quim as I wondered if he would end our game this way.
Before circumstance got the better of him, he withdrew from my mouth with his wet cock glistening in the low light and picked up the rolled sponge with the attached length of string to help remove it from my puss after we were done.
Kneeling between my spread legs, he pushed a finger slowly in and out of my slot that made me raise my head back and close my eyes at the sudden penetration. I was already wet and he slipped inside with ease as he worked me up into a tizzy. The absolute cad knew me so well as I jerked my hips this way and that against his wooden contraption.
“Do not play games with me so, Thomas,” I gasped as each shiver was greater than the last. “My puss is quite ready!”
He withdrew the invading digit and slapped me smartly on each cheek making me squeak with alarm. “So it appears.” He smiled. “Prepare yourself, Harriet. For I intend to give your hole a jolly good fucking this day!” He carefully inserted the sponge as far as it would go leaving the string to hang down below my cunt which was awash with my juice.
Mounting me, Thomas pressed his cock against the lips of my puss and pushed firmly inside as I yelped and stamped my feet at the size of him. Like I had confessed, my husband is not a small man as his girth opened me up wide and handsome. He gave another shove and then another, with each inch of him disappearing up me, much to our delight.
“Ahhh, so deep. So hard. So nice!” I whined as he bottomed out and let the whole length of his dick stew inside me for a time. Buried as he was, I could feel the head somewhere in my belly which still felt tight despite giving birth to my children. Thomas had both hands fixed onto my quivering arse and was pulling both cheeks apart to reveal not only his submerged member but the winking of the orifice above.
He laid himself over me with his face in my loose hair and let us experience the joy of our guttural union. Pressing his advantage in my defenceless cunt, he rammed his long cock deep within and at the end of each upthrust stroke he let it dally there for a time that shook me to the very marrow. To have my dripping puss fucked so was a delight that satisfied me completely in both mind and body.
The use of language added so much to the enjoyment of the games we played, I found. Our words to each other fired the blood just as much as doing the deed itself as he pushed and pulled with increased vigour and the slap of flesh upon flesh echoed around the cellar.
Thomas was fully erect by this point and his relentless pounding of my stretched sex made the back legs of the wooden trestle rise an inch or two from the floor as he reached under and grabbed a sizeable tit in hand. The far country was near and I closed my eyes waiting for its sweet kiss to wash over me like a warm summer breeze as I let free with my excitement.
With a last wanton assault, he thrust hard with both hands painfully pressed into the abundant flesh of my arse and spewed his thick spunk up my hole to be caught by the inserted contraceptive.
From out of the dreamlike state of my thorough poking, I slowly recovered as Thomas released me from each leather strap and gathered me into his warm embrace before kissing me long and deep with passion. Once we had both dressed, I found myself ruminating about these past few months and how our lives had changed so much for the better.
It all began in the middle of December as I recall and the snow had been all around...
*
The winter of 1892 had set in and with it a chill wind that withered the soul as the population went about its business with the landscape turning a frosty white. London wore its status as the capital hidden beneath a blanket of snow through which its architecture poked and countless chimneys belched smoke to the high heavens.
Though a neverending trudge, the people were in a festive mood and were preparing to make merry as the big day approached. The city was a huddled mass of humanity all making the best of their situation as they took advantage of the many bedecked shops and street vendors. Commerce and barter were the order of the day and all made up what was commonly known as the “the Great Smoke” to those that lived within its long shadow.
It had gone six in the evening as my husband and I settled in with curtains closed and the log fire smouldering away nicely. The room was lit by several oil lamps as we sat content after our meal now that the children were settled in bed and the house finally at peace.
But I sensed something different as I watched him whilst picking at my stitching and threading a loop or two. Thomas seemed elsewhere deep in his own thoughts as he read his newspaper after our evening meal.
His demeanour had changed these past few days which was quite out of character for him. He was a studious man. Fair and in no way fickle, with an agreeable manner which had attracted me to him in the first place. We had been married three years past August and two children had come along in short order, with both born hale, hearty and healthy, much to our relief.
“Is something amiss, Thomas?” I asked as I looped another stitch to the cloth I was embroidering as part of a communal effort for the local church under the supervision of Mrs Potts who conveniently lived four doors along at number 16 Old Cotters Lane. The lady had sadly been widowed just over a year ago when she had lost her spouse to the rat pox as it swept through the city. “You seem absentminded and not your usual self lately. Is it your employ?”
Thomas worked in the city near to Whitechapel where most of the independent insurance and commerce was undertaken within the financial square mile. It was a gainful position and the rewards of which bestowed upon us a decent comfortable life.
Thomas appeared surprised at my question as if I had caught him in the sweet jar. “No,” he reassured me as he fussed in his chair. “Think nothing of it. Pay me no heed.”
Keeping my counsel, I could see that he was in two minds about something.
“You can talk to me about anything, husband,” I said quietly as I pretended to concentrate on my cross-stitching. “Remember when you told me there should be no secrets between man and wife?”
There was a moment of silence as I looked up to find him staring at me. It seemed so long ago when we had first met at a local church fete and he had bucked up the courage to ask to mark my card for the next dance – then for the next and each one after that. Once I had shown an interest, he had been as keen as mustard despite his bashful and awkward nature!
He considered my words and slowly folded his newspaper.
“Do you ever think about us?” he said carefully. “In what we have?”
Confused, I shook my head at his question. “I fear you have lost me, Thomas.”
He continued on. “Between us as man and wife.”
Putting the embroidery to one side, I shook my head again but remained silent even as each thought gave rise to another. Was he not happy with our lot and had some issue with our marriage?
He sat forward in his chair. “Not how we are materially or emotionally but the...” He paused for a moment. “...Physical.”
“Physical?”
I was more confused than ever.
He nodded. He seemed agitated and his face was slightly flushed in the half light. He had obviously given much thought to such things and decided to speak about what was bothering him. He got out of his chair and knelt at my feet as he took my hands in his.
“Harriet, if you are willing, I think we should have more sex.”
*
Surprised at this turn of events, I sat listening intently to what he had to say. Thomas seemed quite happy whenever we came together, though the act was quite perfunctory, I must admit and I put that more down to our faith and strict upbringing more than anything else.
Not that I had had the odd idle thought when we were coupling but it had been a mere flight of fancy on my part as he finished on top of me, followed by a brief kiss as I went to the wash bowl to clean myself and remove the sponge to dispose of.
Thrice a week seemed more than enough and Thomas appeared satisfied with our situation, especially as I had caught quite early on in our marriage with our first child, followed a year later by our second. During both events I was taken quite ill with it all and the idea of sex was the last thing on my mind, which is why we resorted to using the sponge. Sheath or abstinence from now on.
“Our sex?” I asked him. “Why do you talk of such things, Thomas?”
He sighed at my question. “We should be more open about such matters, Harriet. Lest we become set in our ways and fall into routine. All I am saying is that we should be more imaginative in our...” He hesitated for a moment then said quietly, “...Fucking.”
To say I was taken aback was the understatement of the age. I had heard the word of course but I never thought my own husband would speak of it between us. Such language I imagined was common place amongst the populace and much spoken about in the drinking taverns and ale houses along the Thames but it was never ever a thing I came across in these parts.
“You shouldn’t say such things, Thomas.” I frowned. “It is gutter talk.”
“It is only a word, Harriet,” he countered. “It wouldn’t be used in polite company but only in the right circumstances between consenting adults. Should we not speak truthfully of such things if they are matters of the heart?”
Thomas got up and went to his desk where he took out what appeared to be a small well-thumbed pamphlet and handed it to me. There was a title on the front page and it read: “Medical Vulgarity for the Discerning Mind by a Mister J. Tootle of Pudsey.”
“Here,” he said as he returned to his chair. “Educate yourself about the ways most men and women converse behind closed doors. We are both consenting adults Harriet and we should shed our inherent inhibitions and old ways if we are to make the most of our marriage.”
“Where ever did you find such a thing?”
He picked up the poker and gave the crackling fire a poke. “In a book sellers up Old Bone Lane way,” he replied. “I was just idly browsing when I came across it. No printing date on it but it appears well read. Quite the oddity all told and I confess it gave me an idea or three.”
“But we have a medical book already in the bookcase.”
“Not like this one.” He smiled. “It is a brief read and quite the missive.”
“So we are here now because of this?” I asked him.
“In a way,” he admitted. “But I have been thinking on such things for a time now.”
Hesitantly, I turned to the first page and noted that each word or phrase had the medical terminology listed first and next to it the most popular slang or vulgar interpretation. I looked at my husband who seemed both amused and concerned at my reaction.
“Right now I have papers from work to go over and should retire to the study. Wait until the ‘morrow to read it in private,” he offered. “What motivates me in this matter will become clearer when the children are in nursery and you have time alone.”
He got to his feet as I put the paper to one side. “I only ask that you keep an open mind about such things, dearest. Though I would think no less of you if you find yourself uncomfortable with things.”
“Thomas...”
He placed a kiss on the top of my head.
“Tomorrow is a new day so let us leave the old one in the past.”
And with that he went to his study.
*
The household woke as usual around seven with Thomas away to his work by eight and the children taken to the nursery by ten.
Settling personal matters, having morning tea with friends at our local eatery and doing chores helped the time pass even though my mind was elsewhere. As was routine, our evening meal was prepared at four and ready to be served at six for when my husband returned.
Once done, the children were taken upstairs and after a little play were tucked up in bed as Thomas and I returned to the main drawing room to discuss events of the day as we settled in for the night.
Our conversation was agreeable and we made small talk for a time but I felt an uneasy tension between us as we sat in our fireside chairs. For as long as I had known him, Thomas, bless him, wore his character like an open book and I could read his mood and manner with a practised eye like any good wife should. The man must have spent his day highly strung wondering what fate awaited him when he returned back home!
But who am I to think such thoughts? My husband probably knew me better than I knew myself all things considered. I tend to fret and dilly-dally more than I should and as Thomas would point out, nothing was of such import at the end of the day. “What will be will be!” was his argument to every situation and who was I to argue?
Thomas was most often right than wrong I found. But this little game of truth or dare that he had set in motion was about to end and I would be the one who ended it.
“Thomas,” I said suddenly. “Dearest, you look quite perturbed. Would you like me to suck your cock for you to help ease your constitution?”
*
His reaction was most amusing!
Do not think of me as a shrinking violet but as the words slipped easily from my lips I was all a tizzy inside and felt quite faint. From top to bottom, I am sure I was as red as rhubarb as Thomas stared at me all agog.
Thomas appeared visibly relieved. “So you read the pamphlet?”
Indeed I had. “This morning after I had returned from dropping the children at the nursery,” I replied. “A most interesting vacation. I found it short and to the point. All I had to consider was how to approach the matter with you later.”
He laughed. “Do you find such talk acceptable?”
There was a growing frisson between us that made the very air taut with expectation. To be sat here in my high-buttoned blouse and skirts was a silent torment as I awaited his next move.
I nodded.
“There are devils abroad to be more concerned about,” I reasoned. “That you want to fuck me more is not one of them.”
He got to his feet and walked to the door where he turned the key. He returned to stand in front of me and began to undo the front of his stays. “Wife,” he whispered, “I doubt I am going to refuse such a tempting offer.”
I sat watching as he tugged his garment open to let his thing drop forth where it swung to and fro as it began to unwind as if from a deep sleep. In the three years or so of our marriage it was something I had glimpsed on occasion before we retired to bed even when the heat was upon us. To think our coupling had been so basic in nature and I had simply considered it a wife’s duty as God intended even when we were just married. There is no fool like a chaste fool.
The expectant rise of his cock from languid benign to an upstanding pike was quite the thing to witness as it throbbed its impatience in front of my face. Made of mere flesh, it sat leering at me as I lent forward to smell its essence.
As I edged closer, a single teardrop glistened in the firelight as I knew he wanted me to taste it for the first time. My mouth felt suddenly dry as I slowly stuck out my tongue and captured his thick dew. The first experience of it was not disagreeable at all but the act itself was much more significant as Thomas involuntarily jerked forward suddenly making the swollen head press against my lips.
Glancing up, I found him staring down rapt as I opened my mouth and let him push more of himself inside my moist embrace. Drawing breath, the urge to suck on his cock had me overwhelmed with the vapours as I shivered at each wave of pleasure that swept over me.
My first cock in the mouth. One to savour. One to remember. One to never forget.
Closing my eyes, I sucked him for a time, letting my husband lead the way as he moved his sex slowly in and out. I was so consumed by my emotions that I did not realise he had stopped and reluctantly withdrew to stand there waving his long-shank around like the sword it was.
“Remove your clothes, Harriet,” he said suddenly.
Misunderstanding, I shook my head. “Here?”
He nodded.
Had the man lost all wit and reason?
“Now?”
He laughed at the look of horror on my face. “Is it not within my right as head of the house to look upon and admire the beauty of my spouse?”
“But Thomas!”
Hidden beneath a nightgown was one thing. It was quite the other to reveal my abundance no matter the circumstance. That I was still recovering from my second child and still bore the signs of feeding with a bosom that refused every effort to return to its normal size was more than enough reason I felt. I was well aware that most men preferred the larger tit on a woman but it did not matter a tuppence ha'penny when one was dealing with a fretful babe or two to feed.
But Thomas was determined in his desire to see me in a new light and who am I to go against my husband as he exercised his conjugal rights to my person.
Kneeling, I fiddled with the buttons on the front of my blouse with unladylike haste. Once undone, I freed my cuffs and shook the garment off as my modesty threatened to overflow from my laced-up corset all the while under the lascivious attention of my husband.
Suddenly shy and awkward, I crossed an arm across my chest and undid my ties with the other as I tried to keep at least a smidgen of decorum even as I revealed more of my flesh. But it was of little use, for each voluptuous tit sprang free like an unruly child wanting to be played with.
“Wife...” muttered Thomas, suddenly gripping his bloated cock as if he was about to throttle the poor thing like a farmyard chicken fit for the Sunday roast.
“Do you want to see them?” I whispered.
“More than anything, dear heart.”
With a gathering of courage, I dropped my defence and let him feast upon my flesh that hung ripe from my chest like a pair of bellwethers. The tone had shifted and I felt a sense of feminine pride at his ardent admiration. Now I knew why such things could lead a man to ruin and damnation if he wasn’t mindful of his character.
I held each tit up for him.
“Do you like them, Thomas?”
“More than words can say,” he breathed breathlessly. “They are quite magnificent, Harriet. Now stand up and take off the rest of your skirts.”
Hand on heart, I would have done anything for him there and then as I got to my feet and undid the belt around my waist, letting the last vestiges of my old life fall to my feet and leaving me as naked as the day I was born.
*
Thomas stared at my expectant puss in silence.
That my mons throbbed and tingled so at his intimate inspection was an unexpected delight that warmed the very soul and marrow. My husband reached forward and laid his fingers lightly on my pit that was sparsely covered in a fine cusp of hair.
My puss had many names. Some I had heard of. Most I had not. One such was a cunt. Like fuck, cunt was a slang word that had been around in the Anglo-Saxon verbiage for many a year. Peculiar callings such as twat, pussy, honey pot, fanny, cock-hole and minge were bandied about in the darker corners of society.
“What do you call it?” he asked.
“My puss,” I admitted, feeling the blush deepen on my cheeks.
He nodded. “Puss is well met. Though I am quite partial to calling your puss a fanny.” He thought within reason. “Fanny has such a nice ring to it. It sounds more ribald than anything else I think.” He knelt up and pretended to be serious. “Ahem ahem,” he blustered. “Would the Lady of the House be so magnanimous as to let the Head of the House put his stiff cock inside her sweet fanny if he asks most kindly?”
Tittering behind an invisible fan, I granted his request. “After a word, my puss has no issue with being called a fanny and you are quite welcome to stick your big prig up it until it can go no further. The only requirement is that your balls are full and your ambition mighty!”
He laughed at my turn of phrase. “Then forthwith it shall forever be known as Harriet’s fanny!”
Kissing him on the tip of his nose, I felt the time for business was at hand.
“Husband, I am cursed with a terrible itch down there,” I mumbled as the need to be dealt with began to rise, My sexuality spoke to my inner self and would no longer be denied. “Are you going to satisfy the emptiness I feel with that thing between your legs?”
Thomas laid me down before the log fire and spread my legs apart as he knelt between them. His reasoning was adrift in his cups as he placed the length of his penis on my Venus mound where he gently rocked it to and fro.
“Tell me what you want, wife,” he breathed as he reached forward with both hands and hefted each tit so that he could bend forward and suck on each stiff nipple like a babe in arms.
Propriety was no longer mute and the laws of reason no longer mattered as Thomas presented his prick to my weeping puss and held it there.
Gasping, I lifted my hips to him and cocked each short stockinged leg in the air. “Put it in, Thomas!” I urged as my spine arced and sex waited. “Push it up my fanny and use me like a dog with his bitch!”
Somewhere in my delirium I heard him grunt and then the wonder of it moaned aloud like rolling thunder sweeping across a far moor as my husband began to fuck us both to heaven and kingdom come until our passion had passed and the embers had turned to ash.
*
Epilogue
Outside in the garden, the morning rain fell in a constant drizzle as I stood alone next to the window, my mind a cavalcade of tumbling thoughts and emotions. Last evening still burned bright in the memory, and the supine ache of it deep in the pit of my belly was a testament to how vigorous Thomas had fucked me.
My husband was a different man to me now. No longer the reserved individual I thought I had known but something more – at least from my perspective. That I willingly let him use me at his discretion still shocked me these few hours after. It was as if I had stepped through a door into a much wider world that bore its own rules and permissions that would leave me sore for days.
What if he wanted more of me this evening as well?
Was I up to it in both body and spirit?
There had been no dimming of the lights. No hiding of the flesh. We saw each other for what we are as he fell upon me and I accepted his obvious lust. As we sat across from each other eating breakfast no words were needed because the look of love was more than enough.
Though his last words as he departed for work were somewhat cryptic in nature.
“Dearest Harriet,” he whispered before kissing me on the cheek as our children ran around the kitchen table playing. “You have made me the happiest man alive and the drudge of the coming day matters not a wit. Remember, dreams only come true if you believe in them.”
Whatever were those dreams?
The passing of time answers all questions in the end.
*
The End of Part 1.
Next: Part 2 “A Collection of Cocks”
