The fair tea maker
“Surely everyone is aware of the divine pleasures which attend a wintry fireside; candles at four o’clock, warm hearthrugs, tea, a fair tea-maker, shutters closed, curtains flowing in ample draperies to the floor, whilst the wind and rain are raging audibly without.”
This is the writing of Thomas de Quincey in his ‘Confessions of an Opium Eater.’ Words which speak to us of comfort and security in a cold, dark winter. Summer may be hot and languid with its delights but the pleasures of an open hearth, a hearty fire, a comfortable room and tea poured by a ‘fair tea-maker’ are equally, if not more, attractive.
The author imagines a painter to save himself the trouble of too much verbal description, “Paint me, then, a room seventeen feet by twelve, and not more than seven and a half feet high.” He imagines it a library. “Make it populous with books, and, furthermore, paint me a good fire, and furniture plain and modest, befitting the unpretending cottage of a scholar. And near the fire paint me a tea-table, and (as it is clear that no creature can come to see one on such a stormy night) place only two cups and saucers on the tea-tray.”
He explains that no one else can come through the winter’s night to his white cottage; a cottage he sets it in a valley eighteen miles from any town; a valley two miles long and three quarters of a mile in width surrounded by mountains some three to four thousand feet high. He is cut off from other human contact apart from his sole companion. He subtly develops her features as he focuses, very English like on his tea which he sees as a refined stimulant and the favourite beverage of the intellectual, “I usually drink tea from eight o’clock at night to four o’clock in the morning. And as it is very unpleasant to make tea or to pour it out for oneself, paint me a lovely young woman sitting at the table. Paint her arms like Aurora’s and her smiles like Hebe’s.”
The picture is enticing. A man, an intellectual no doubt, cut off from the world with just a fair companion. Perhaps because of his time, de Quincey does not develop the possibilities but we are left with the enticing image of his fair companion, a lovely young woman, who sits with him at the tea table, a table plain and modest, perhaps such as Gustav Stickley might have wrought of plain sawn oak, and pours his tea. Is her hair long but neatly held, is her dress white or blue—it is surely long—are her fingers slender and her smile sweet?
Does the picture become, perhaps, a little more enticing as we focus on the image? Do we need the long dress—white or blue—does her hair need to be neatly held? It is the warmth and intimacy of the cottage and the fireside which speaks and the lovely young woman. Imagine it is yourself, comfortably seated there by the fire. Not in the casual so-called comfortable clothes of our age but the formal suiting of an older time, neck-tie or cravat, it matters not, but you are well attired in this unpretending cottage; you are seated by the fireside; outside it may well be snow, or black frost, or wind so strong that, “you may lean your back against it like a post.” A Canadian winter or a Russian but bring to your ear just a little sound outside of cold wind to make the inside, and a fire warmed inside at that, a place of security, comfort and pleasure.
Do we then dispense with the young woman’s clothing, the fireside is, after all, warm enough for that, do we not think this lack will add to our feelings of comfort and pleasure? Do we ask her to dispense with her clothing; will the observation of the careful disrobing in the warm glow of the fire add to our repose?
How then shall we visualise her? The author writes too sparsely. Is her hair fair or dark? Is it titian maybe? Is she tall, are her eyes blue? Is her bosom full, her hips wide and what of her intimate parts? Do we need more detail of those—careful words of a descriptive nature? What do we need to know to finish this picture of winter comfort? Does it need some speculation as to the cause of the happy scene? Let us think then.
Dr. Angorus Mutluyorsun shook the snow from his long riding cloak. It had been hard going across the pass. Not easy at the best of times but with the coming of winter verging on the treacherous but he had promised himself the pleasure of winter at Nareemburg accompanied by a particular and lovely young woman and he was not one to break his promises: certainly least of all those to himself. Hard going for a man driving a carriage. He should, of course, have brought servants. Their lack would result in the bother of seeing to the horses through the long winter but his desire had been clear and uncluttered. A winter at Nareemburg completely alone with Silene.
Silene, just the name brought numerous emotions to the surface of his mind. Lust of course, how could it not be so? But other tenderer emotions striving for dominance. It had been a bitter blow when she had married ________, a bitter blow after his own long suit. It had been icy daggers to him to imagine them together in the flower strewn wedding bed on that first night of their so unwelcome nuptials; it had pierced him to the heart to even think of that man untying the bows that had held her so pretty dress together and worst of all the deflowering of his so fair Silene by the unworthy _______. He had cried in anguish at the thought of her alone in bed with that man, the man who had bested him in the search for her hand. Could he not see in every waking moment her white limbs opening to receive that man, her lips seeking his, her hand seeking... the imagery too awful to contemplate but yet there in his mind. And to think of that man’s lance taking a tilt at her maidenhead; the stabbing push and the eventual piercing—the pain and then the pleasure which he and not _______ should have been the perpetrator. The pain was his, a dagger through his heart.
Even on that black night, the darkest blackest night for him, a plan had begun to form. A stratagem slowly refined and polished over the hot, slow days of the summertime, a time when he had to endure observing Silene and her new husband walking in the shade, her parasol held high as her lovely tinkling laughter came to him at his window.
It had, in the event, all been so easy, a little trick and Silene had been in his carriage. A small, alleged restorative offered for her to drink but containing a draught of an opiate from the renowned chemist, Herr Gut____, a clatter through the narrow streets and out into the clear countryside and the long road to Nareemburg. Was he a fool to have despatched that message? So unnecessary. Would it not have been better if Silene had seemingly disappeared into thin air. But he had not wanted the putative husband merely to worry, to suffer the anguish of not knowing what had happened to his dear, dear young wife. No, it was far better that he should know the truth. How he would rail when he read the note and discover the intention but not know the place. _________ knew nothing of Nareemburg, did not know of the unpretending cottage, could search all through the cruel winter but would not find Silene and by then it would be too late—far too late. The deed would be done; more than done; done many, many times.
Inside his fur coat, carefully wrapped in silk was the phial; prepared so carefully by Herr Gut_______; Essencia, no less, but with a tincture of something more. Silene would be pliable: Silene would wish to be pliable; it would not be freely given but given it would be! Already the draught was at work. He had paused outside the town, on the long empty road as the horses had stamped and snorted and between Silene’s pretty lips he had poured just a little of the laced Essencia. In her sleep she had drunk the sweetness. The conflict between loyalty and desire, between duty and passion, between love and lust would have begun.
The excitement of the ride, the icy road, the climbs and the passes, the several near mishaps and then the straight road across the valley floor with the snow swirling. At last the cottage in view in a sea of white. Silene had known none of this, had slept the sleep of the young and good, all wrapped in furs within the coach. The deep snow had been difficult on the lonely road, almost too deep to pass. He had left it late, very late. Such a terrible risk that he might have lost dear Silene, buried with him within the coach in drifts of snow. Frozen together until the spring thaw. But a prize so great, winter alone with Silene and that cursed ______ unable to reach Silene, even if her accursed could discover their whereabouts—which he could not!
Around the cottage a maelstrom of snow had swirled as he had lifted Silene gently from the coach and laid her within on the brass bed. Beautiful things, both Silene and the linen sheets upon the bed. It was the only bed in the cottage. That was in keeping with what he intended. She would not sleep alone.
He had stood looking down at Silene, at her fair features at rest in sleep, before tending, as a man must, to the welfare of the horses. The rubbing down and settling in the stables. A good feed at the end of a hard day. Beasts content to find themselves dry and warm together inside a familiar stable. Horses are herd animals—they like to be with other horses. He had lit a fire in his library.
“ Dr. Mutluyorsun!” Her voice sleepy and soft. “Where, why?”
Let us move closer, let us hear his thoughts, the thoughts of the scholar obsessed with a woman. He has brought her to his lonely and, now, snowbound cottage. He has ensured all is well for the comfort of two persons. The logs are piled high, there is food and fine wine and a comfortable bed.
It was easy. Silene so trusting; so readily accepting my explanation with equanimity; that we had been unable to reach her husband, the way blocked, though we had tried another way, and another without success and had sought shelter, driven further and further from the town by the so dark clouds and approaching snow until reaching my scholarly retreat from the world; the weather terrible; she had clearly been fatigued, had slept and had missed the terrors of the journey; a blessing; was she recovered?
So sweet, so innocent and trusting; so beautiful; so desirable, her bosom rising and falling with her breath.
“Drink this; it is a restorative, dear Silene. Essencia no less. I am so sorry we are trapped here.”
A terrible lie. I was quite overcome with delight at how we found ourselves.
She drank. A little more colour to her cheeks. A little further down the journey I had chosen for her. Her mind a little less her own, a little more pliable.
“Where are we, dear Dr. Mutluyorsun?”
The joy in the word ‘dear.’ But I knew she regarded me with affection: it was, I knew, something of a sisterly affection rather than an amorous desire. It had not been what I had wanted.
A hand offered and Silene rose from the bed.
“It is only an unpretentious cottage, small but comfortable. Not at all the grand house but the only way open lead to here. The snow was terrible. It would not have been wise to have stayed on the road.”
Silene clapped her hands at the sight of my small library and stood by the fire looking around. Its heat permeating the room and adding dancing light to the candles I had already placed there.
It was comfortable, warm and intimate, a pleasant place to be, with the sound of the wind outside and the cold snow swirling around the walls. It had the necessaries for comfort and the heat of the fire. “Tea?” I ventured.
“May I?”
A man is not averse to having his tea brought by a woman, most especially one as young and pretty as Silene. I settled back in my chair, picking up the book I had left beside it when last at my cottage. Beyond the room Silene would be finding just how small the cottage was and that there was merely the one bed. How would she take that discovery? I hardly read a page. It seemed to me the calming effect of the draught coupled with her equanimity would not produce either anxiety or even anger. She would be unsuspecting how carefully I had planned her abduction. Planned it from this very chair and fireside.
The faintest rattle of tea things and there was Silene still in her long blue dress. It could not be anything else. There were no clothes for a woman in the white cottage and, given the manner of her departure, she had brought no luggage. It was all as I wished.
So pleasant to sit by my fire with this lovely young woman, seated at the tea table, a table plain and modest, pouring the fragrant amber liquid into two delicate cups and saucers set on the tea-tray. They were blue, her dress was blue, there was harmony.
“I looked out but did not venture beyond the door. It is very cold and the snow is deepening.”
I acknowledged her statement. “It will not stop. It will pile against the east wall and I shall need to dig a path to the stables. You must not go out into the snow but must stay safe and warm. I have plentiful wood, all cut and dry. You shall not be cold.”
Silene’s fair hair was still tied securely. I would have it free and cascading before many days had passed. Her eyes were sparkling and liquid. I did not think it was from crying, rather from the effects of the Essencia and the potion it contained.
“Perhaps in a few days…”
“Weeks. The winter is upon us.”
“But, Dr Muluyorsun, there is only one bed!”
She had appreciated we were trapped for the winter. The one bed was most certainly by design. “It is most unfortunate,” I said, “it is a very small cottage. Perhaps I should…” I made the suggestion, that I should, sleep in the stable with the horses… I let my words drift off. I knew what she would say.
“I would not hear of it, dear Dr. Mutluyorsun, we must make the best of things.”
My fair tea maker poured again, I relished the fragrance and the sight of Silene.
It was not that night, nor the next that I so much as touched Silene. Of course there was desire, I might well call it lust for that is what it was, but I had the whole winter before me. Rescue would not come. How could it? __________ knew nothing of Nareemburg. And the potion within the Tokai would take a little time to have its effect. Already it had soothed her but it would do rather more as the days passed affecting both her mind and her body.
It might be wondered how we slept in that one bed together without touching. How I, a man, was able to restrain my natural inclinations and not lie atop the unclothed woman. How could she be other than unclothed? She had no night attire, indeed no other attire but her blue dress. I certainly had provided nothing else!
I placed a bolster down the middle of the bed, pulled up the heavy covers and wished Silene a good night. She looked so fair, so desirable standing the other side of that bed as I blew out the single candle. As its wick reddened and then darkened I heard the rustle of a blue dress falling from her to the floor. I too disrobed and knew, as I stood for a moment in the darkness, there, the other side of the bed, stood Silene as naked as I.
Would she know, would she realise in the black night, how hard my staff was as I stood there? It was not yet the time for the culmination of my so careful planning, not the time at all, but it was a further step down the path. To be naked with Silene in the very same room even if we were not to touch, not yet to copulate, was more than a joy to me.
I heard movement, the sounds of bedclothes being drawn back and of a person getting into the bed. On my side I did the same and lay there with my pego pushing at the sheets. How I wanted to roll over that bolster but it was not yet the time. I would not take my pleasure in any forceful way: I would be invited.
The comfort of the small cottage was exceptional. Small indeed but with all the necessities, the provision for two persons more than adequate. And there was tea at four.
On the third day Silene expressed a desire to see the horses. I remonstrated at the coldness of the yard twixt cottage and stables, how the snow had fallen knee deep or more but she would have none of it. Wrapped in furs she followed me out into the icy air. The snow was falling and landing on her hair but she paid it no mind. Her thought was for the horses and their wellbeing. The pleasure on her face at the practical comfort of the stabling. The stone walls keeping the cold wind from the animals, the plentiful hay and the obvious contentment of the beasts. They stood in their stalls big and strong, their coats well brushed—I had not neglected my duties. It was a happy sight, the beasts content in their own company. The warm smell of the animals not unpleasant, certainly not to a horseman like myself or, indeed Silene. I had seen her ride.
As happens with the brute animals: and, it has to be said, to men, the penis of the male horse extended as it stood there. Massive of course with testes to match. The movement was not missed by Silene and whilst she made no mention I could see, by her frequent glances at the engorged member, she was not unaffected by it and its so obvious association with the procreative act of man and woman.
Steadily I fed Silene the potion. How could she not accept my offer of Essencia? How could she know what its sweet ambrosia also contained—the potion! Its result was clear as she stood with the horses, it was clear in the way she moved when safely back in the warmth of the cottage, the very movement of her limbs revealing discomposure. I could tell by the flush to her cheeks just what an effect it was having and, on the third night in the bed, I knew she was succumbing. Perhaps it was simply she was missing _________ though the thought was daggers to me, but I believed it something more. Something very much the outcome of a steady consumption of the potion.
Each of the three nights I had lain beside dear Silene with my pego extended. Each night I had thought of release by hand—yes, self-pollution—but had resisted despite the knowledge of the increasing store of the mucilage so needing to be released. Seemingly on the fourth night dear Silene was beyond such qualms. I felt just the slightest movement in the bed but knew. Knew what her fingers were doing. And could she hide her gasps and sighs? Not at the conclusion! Even so, I resisted.
She was subdued in the morning when she came from the bedchamber. As always I had risen before her and had gone from the cottage to tend to the horses. Each morning I had awoken to the sight of Silene sleeping on her pillow. Sometimes with her bare shoulder above the sheets, her hair cascading across the pillow. She did not see me leave the bedchamber. Silene did not see me rise with pego extended from desire and morning need.
That morning she seemed distracted. There was colour in her face but also a seeming remoteness as if her mind was not engaged with the present.
“I am unwell,” she finally said, sometime after our midday repast.
I stood, rising from my accustomed chair in the library, registering my concern.
“Dear Silene, I am so sorry. Is there anything…” I paused, her face was flushed and it was clear she wished to say something.
“It is the green sickness.”
I expressed concern. I suggested I understood.
“It is something I have had before but since my marriage to _______...”
I tried not to show my abhorrence at the thought, indeed the very idea ________ had been able to alleviate and cure the sickness for a time.
“I thought it was over but these last few days...” she said, “it has come on worse than ever before. Last night...” She did not go on.
I waited patiently and then made my suggestion.
I proposed to Silene a bath, filled with sweet herbs. Lavender, fennel, rosemary and yarrow. I would prepare it in front of the fire and leave her alone with it. It would sooth her skin, perhaps sooth her, it was difficult to find appropriate words, her feminine feelings. She was grateful, said how much she thought it would relieve her symptoms of—and she was more specific—the female hysteria.
A metal bath placed in front of the fire, the tea table removed and slowly filled by me from a kettle. Journey after journey I made from the stove to the library, a laborious task but one I was happy to undertake until there was plentiful steaming water. I strew the waters with the dried herbs, the rising scent of perfumed steam a joy to the senses. I withdrew, leaving Silene alone and an injunction to call me should further hot water be required It should not be imagined a married woman would regard it as at all seemly to invite a man, not her husband, into her chamber whilst bathing but the laced Essentia had upset the usual boundaries of social intercourse and propriety. Had affected her mind, leaving it open to my suggestion.
A delight to be called. I was quite beside myself at seeing Silene naked in her bath, her bosom covered by an arm but nonetheless naked. Her skin rose coloured with the heat. A careful pouring of further boiling water, a covert glance at her knees and thighs. Almost, but almost I could see the end object of my desire: the close path, the mossy path, to the secret entrance to dear Silene’s body.
“Perhaps,” I offered, “a glass of the Essencia whilst you bathe.”
A beautiful smile of assent, and a further draught of the potion. It would not help with the green sickness. Far from it. Her body must now be in a continual state of distress, a wonderfully pliability, a breaking down of the usual conventions and a desperate need for... a man.
“Is the bath soothing, dear Silene?”
“Wonderfully soothing, your kindness to me is overwhelming. I feel so safe here with you whilst the winds howl and the snow blows outside. I looked out this morning on a sea of white. It is dreadful is it not? How high are those mountains that surround?”
“Three, perhaps four thousand feet up into the sky, they encircle the valley. It is a lonely place.”
“But warm. You make it so warm and comfortable.”
“Yes,” again I poured water from the kettle. Her skin had such a rosy glow. I could not resist touching. I touched just her bare shoulder with my fingers. Her skin was both wet and warm to the touch. A casual gesture, but calculated.
Silene shivered. “Oh, Dr. Mutluyorsun, the bath is wonderful but I fear I am no better. My very skin has a heightened sensitivity. This terrible womanly hysteria is upon me. If only my husband was here.” She lowered her eyes. “He would help... somewhat.”
Somewhat? The thought of ________ together with Silene engaged in the carnal act abhorrent to me but what was this qualification—somewhat? I was intrigued and hopeful. Did this mean he did not satisfy her?
“I cannot help myself, my.... It builds. I am so sorry.” Silene was apologetic, her eyes upturned towards me as I stood over her.
“You see? This terrible hysteria, this female hysteria, the need for...”
Despite the rose colour from the water she still blushed. Such a pretty appearance from the young girl.
“I have the need for...” she paused, “you do understand, my parts to be rubbed. A friend of mine has just the same difficulty, the same sickness, and she does not yet have a husband. I am fortunate. She has asked me about my husband and how he relieves and banishes the sickness and I have told her all. She was most attentive and asked for the most intimate of details.”
“The young lady in question?”
“My close friend, Aesthetia Moselroyde, you know her?”
I inclined my head. I did indeed know the young lady. She was unmarried.
“She visits Dr. Tron_________”
“Ah,” I said, “I am familiar with the good doctor. We dine together not infrequently.”
“He was recommended to Aesthetia’s mother and she took her daughter for the treatment.”
Silene paused as if unwilling to go on.
“And the treatment?”
Silene looked down into the bath. “He...” there was a pause before she went on, “undertook a pelvic massage of my friend to the point of hysterical paroxysm. Aesthetia found the relief of her symptoms most beneficial.”
She looked up at me expecting some words.
I knew it all. I had seen the instruments, I had seen the leather couch and the straps. I had watched several treatments. It had been most invigorating to observe.
Dr. Tron_______ did not mind his close confrères and bosom friends observing him at work. There was a screen behind which one or two could sit in silence and observe through an aperture.
Pleasant to observe a woman of one’s acquaintance disrobing fully, observing the roundness of her bosom and fullness of her private hair. Quite remarkable to watch her climb onto the couch and settle herself and open her legs revealing her ready familiarity with Dr. Tron________’s methods.
The contrast of Dr Tron_______, smiling reassuringly as he stood there in his formal clothing, his cravat perfect and his long coat well brushed, and the exposed woman was striking. I had wondered if his pego was as extended as my own at the sight of the naked lady? Perhaps long experience of dealing with female hysteria had lessened the animal excitement I felt. It came to me why Dr. Tron________ had handed me a glass flask before seating me with the injunction to remain still and quiet. It was for the mucilage! I brought my pego out into the open behind the screen, not feet from the exposed entrance to the woman’s body.
The good doctor rolled up his sleeves and applied a vegetable oil to the woman’s parts poured thick and glutinous. That in itself caused a spasm. A clear indication of the green sickness. The leather couch raised her feminine parts up towards the doctor. He massaged, starting very gently and then with increasing vigour. I could clearly see he had one or two fingers actually inside her cunny and the heel of the hand pressing against what he called ‘the Klitoris.’
The woman on the couch—I would be more specific but for the embarrassment it might cause to her husband, Col. T_______ who, at the time of the treatment I observed, had been away from her for some months with his lancers on orders from the Duke—did not simply recline and accept the treatment but moaned and sighed, tossed and turned and kept dislodging the good doctor. It was clear he found this tiresome and used the leather straps and buckles attached to the coach to restrain her movement.
This did not result in any lessening of her violent movement or her vocal ejaculations and nor did it lessen, one jot, my own fascination with the scene. Indeed to see Col. T______’s thirty year or so old wife quite uncontrolled, her hips thrusting, yet so restrained by leather strapping and buckles was a matter of great pleasure to me. To see the woman, her naked body running with perspiration and clearly experiencing several outpourings of the full hysteria did not at all stop the pleasurable manipulation of my organ, indeed I found it necessary to reach for the flask Dr. Tron______ had so kindly provided.
I sat quietly as the doctor’s hand was withdrawn and the woman lay still, panting with her recent exertions. She was no less exposed as the doctor had not yet released the straps. It was clear Frau T_______ had experienced a sudden and dramatic relief from the hysteria. Nonetheless she made a further appointment, ‘in the event of its return.’
The lady having dressed and departed, Dr. Tron______ came behind the screen. He nodded to me and picked up the flask and swirled its contents, “That is good,” he said, “all appears very well. An ample spend. You found the treatment diverting?” A smile, “I can, of course, discern your satisfaction!”
I assured him I had and that I was not averse to watching further treatments. I asked about the instruments. He explained that Frau T______ had not yet had need of them but that some of his patients needed an internal massage to a greater depth than his fingers could reach. The instruments, or at least some, clearly designed for that very role. Some were quite substantial.
Another time I watched a young girl brought for her first treatment. It was the very Aesthetia Moselroyde who was friendly with my dear Silene. Her age as well as her timidity was most stimulating. I had been feeling jaded from an excess of wine the night before. Observing the treatment proved most restorative.
The good doctor was reassuring but insistent that her clothing must be removed entirely. Her resistance to the command was quite captivating. I leant forward in my chair watching through the aperture. She would not have undressed, still less been naked, in the presence of a man before. There stood the good doctor, so neatly attired, smiling and encouraging. I wondered how it would be for her on the night of future nuptials. How she might react to the sight of her new husband, perhaps a gallant young officer, naked before her and with his manly spear extended. I could quite imagine her swooning away, falling like a leaf to the carpet.
Eventually, and the mother had to be called to be quite firm with the young lady, Aesthetia was seated completely naked upon the leather couch. Ensuring she lay back and removed her hands from her womanly attributes took further time. Perhaps he was becoming impatient but the good doctor strapped the young girl down, strapping her with thighs spread permitting me a fine view of her sparse golden hairs and fresh and virginal quim. Naturally my pego was extended, naturally I was exercising it and despite the obscuring nature of Dr. Tron_____’s trousers I could see his pego was no less firm, albeit sheathed, than my own.
Such a vision to see the doctor’s hands begin the treatment and the young girl react to the unaccustomed touch of another’s hands. I did not think for Aesthetia the fingers would be inserted. She was so clearly a virgin. The movements of her body increased as did her sighs. It was clear the doctor was effecting his beneficial treatment. It was, perhaps unfortunate, though not to myself or the good doctor, that a particularly forceful action of his hand upon the girl’s exposed pudenda caused his other hand to dislodge the white cloth covering the instruments. Her eyes rested upon the various wooden and metal instruments for the efficacious treatment of the female hysteria, she undoubtedly saw those of an exceptionally substantial nature and with their purpose so obvious. Her eyes widened and with a small sigh her whole body went limp. She had indeed swooned just as I had imagined when presented with the natural form of her putative husband to be.
Dr. Tron________ seemed quite unperturbed. Perhaps fainting was not an unusual thing for his young female patients whilst undergoing treatment. The weakness of the female is often shown in her readiness to swoon. I expected Dr. Tron________ to reach for a vial of smelling salts but his actions were quite different and most pleasing to me. He beckoned me forward and placing the white cloth over the young girl’s eyes and invited me to touch.
Any qualms I might have entertained at having my pego exposed whilst manful to Dr. Tron________ were easily overcome at the prospect of touching young Aesthetia Moselroyde—her bubbies, her white skin and her intimate parts. The more overcome when Dr. Gut______ released his own member from its confinement.
“Do not penetrate, we must not have the hymen damaged. Her mother was insistent the treatment should not involve insertion…”
“She knows of such treatment?”
The doctor raised a large wooden instrument of polished mahogany, its shape obvious and its knob end bulbous “I use this with Frau Moselroyde. But, we must be quick before the girl awakes. She will not see. Her stomach—but be quick. She is exquisite is she not?”
What I needed to be quick about was perfectly clear. The good doctor was already exercising his pego in the way I had been exercising behind the screen, his eyes feasting lasciviously upon the young girl he had so recently been treating. I stood one side of the leather couch and the doctor the other, between us the young girl unmoving. To have climbed onto the couch and taken the young girl would have been utter bliss. She was strapped, exposed and made so ready by the good doctor but that act was forbidden and expedition was required. The doctor brought this forcibly to my attention by spending himself. Clearly the work he had undertaken upon the girl had already had considerable effect upon him. His pego must have been extended and excited throughout. From his knob a profusion of mucilage rained down upon the young virgin’s smooth and so flat stomach. My own followed even before his had ended, pouring down upon her stomach next to his even into her sparse curls and the dimpled recess where she had once been joined to Frau Moselroyde.
It was a most satisfactory spend but the good doctor and I were unable to savour it together as no sooner had the last drop fallen than there was a moan from the young girl.
“Dr. Tron________ I fear I fainted and all is white light.”
I retreated behind the screen and the doctor pulled the cloth from her eyes. Her smile was delightful.
“I fear I fainted.”
“It is quite usual, of no matter, are you ready for the treatment to continue?”
Her eyes sought out the instruments but the doctor covered them with his cloth.
“They are not for you. Close your eyes, relax and I shall continue.”
A further pouring of vegetable oil and the doctor reapplied himself. Wonderful to see how the young girl reacted and to see her pelvic massage progress and reach the necessary hysterical paroxysm. All this was achieved with the good doctor’s pego still exposed but below the level of the couch and invisible to the patient. It remained remarkably firm throughout the further treatment despite the clear evidence of recent spendings remaining upon the girl’s stomach. The spend of two men, both the doctor and myself. Quite wonderful to see, the way her stomach moved as she strained against the strapping in her reaction to his touch, the palpitations within as her body responded. To see the mucilage being disturbed, the not inconsiderable amount of mucilage, running this way and that across her skin as she moved was very pleasing.
It was only after the hysterical paroxysm did the doctor tuck away his still dripping member and then, only after he had carefully wiped the young girl’s cunny with a white cloth, did he also wipe away the result of the doctor and my enthusiasm for her young virgin body. He returned the now re-clothed young lady to her mother.
“You were successful?” Frau Moselroyde’s loud voice carried even from the antechamber. I could imagine Aesttheia’s eyes downcast in embarrassment to the direct reference to the treatment of her condition—the green sickness that so afflicts young maidens.
I nodded to Silene, “I am familiar with the treatment of the green sickness. Dr. Tron_______ and I have discussed many medical matters. I take an interest in many, many aspects of the sciences. I have read extensively both works of the ancients and men of science. Upon these shelves you will find Observationes Clinicae and much of the Consilia Medica. The doctor has enlightened me upon practical matters, assisted in my thirst for knowledge. He is no less a man of interests and we have spent long hours into the night discussing philosophy and the modern citizen. Perhaps, I could attempt… I do not have the expertise of Dr. Tron________...”
“Oh Dr. Mutluyorsun, might you?” Silene stood all at once, rising Aphrodite like from the water. A vision of loveliness and, for me, desire.
“But of course, Silene, to be of any assistance, I am at your command... dry your body and prepare yourself upon the bed.”
Such a sight, such a joy for me to see Silene stretched out upon the bed, not hidden within but with her lovely body revealed awaiting my gentle ministrations. To know I was about to touch and stroke intimately put me in a state of rapture.
The contrast between myself perfectly attired and dear Silene as I sat beside her on the bed striking: myself seated and with Silene reclining in full repose.
“I shall be gentle but insistent, dear Silene, I shall attempt the full treatment. You wish that?”
“Yes, Dr. Mutluyoursun, please. I shall not baulk or withdraw from your hands, I do need this assistance very much indeed.”
Much as I wished to grasp, squeeze and fondle her delightful bubbies, indeed bite upon her extended nipples I resisted, the same as I resisted the urge to reveal by swollen and extended pego.
“Please, Silene, open your limbs.”
Such a parting. So symbolic. Her soft white limbs separating as they would, from now on, be doing for me every day, probably more than a single time, perhaps even thrice. A revealing of her soft fair fur disappearing down into her hidden depths. My hand reached and touched her white stomach. Such a gentle mounding and with that especial little depression where she was so sweetly once connected to her mother. My fingers toyed with the depression before sliding down to touch her curling hair.
She shivered and moved slightly from my touch.
“Dr. Mutluyorsun, I…”
I touched her face and her lips with my finger. “Quiet, dear Silene, your lips shall be sealed until I have completed your treatment. This is not easy for me. I need to concentrate. I have not performed the release of a woman’s hysteria before. Say nothing until the paroxysm. Close your eyes. Do not resist.”
The dear girl, so trusting did as she was bid. My hand stroked and I took pleasure in the reaction. Her shivering at the mere touch to her soft wool. They were the stronger as my finger pushed a little and touched the skin beneath and felt the rounding of her Mons Veneris, her Mount of Venus, the soft mounding of her pubis with such a charming little valley leading to her mossy grotto. There was no hurry, my finger slid, finding the valley as it had wanted to for two whole years. A year of fruitless courtship and a year of agonised pain as the engagement progressed to the marriage of my Silene and _________. No matter, now, that awful night when I had lain awake imagining, imagining the nuptials. The ravishment as I saw it of my Silene. It did not seem at all to me that ravishment was what I planned: quite the contrary, I saw it as only fitting and right that I should take possession of Silene. Full and entire possession.
The first touch of feminine wetness, my first intimacy with Silene’s sexual organ. How I hated the thought _______ had touched that first. Silene did not see, for her eyes were closed, my finger’s withdrawal and its raising to my lips or my gentle sucking and tasting. Such intimacy1
I applied myself, my fingers moving down into a pool of warm liquid. Silene had the green sickness in an advanced state. There was much leakage of fluid. An over-excitement, almost, more than might be expected from a young girl. It was, of course, the result of the phial and the laced Essentia affecting both body and mind.
I began the massage, gently at first as I had seen the good doctor undertake being careful at first to avoid any touching of ‘die Klitoris,’ a soothing two finger movement along the labia major enjoying not just the sensation and the rising scent of the woman but her moans and movements of her body occasioned by the massage. I slid my fingers closer and found them sliding on pure wetness. Such soft skin, so warm and wet. Such soft, down like, hair.
With just the tips of my fingers I entered her body. I could incline my head and see them within the marriage canal as I pushed them forward until they were fully lodged. What a delight for me. The pushing against them by Silene herself revealed just the hold the sickness had upon her. It was time to work her hard as I had seen the good doctor do with his treatment. I began rubbing with increasing vigour, my fingers remaining within her cunny but now the heel of the hand pressing against the ‘Klitoris.’
Oh, the paroxysm, oh, Silene’s cries and her eyes suddenly opening so wide, oh the way her body bucked and shuddered upon the bed but I held on with my fingers applying the pressure as I had learnt from Dr Gut_________. My treatment so clearly a success.
To see as I withdrew my hand, dear Silene, curling into a ball on the bed, her thighs shutting tightly and then rubbing alternately together as she moaned, her round white bottom with its twin globes turned towards me and, peeking from the crack the faintest of little fair curls. How I wanted to take her then. My desire so strong to thrust my pego between her thighs, under that bottom and enjoy my own paroxysm. And a woman fresh from her sexual release is so vulnerable, so weak. She would have been completely unable to resist.
I stood, my pego straining. Was it time? Surely dear Silene would understand my need? She must know the needs of men.
“Oh, Dr. Mutluyorsun, my husband has not had such a result!
I was astounded. It brought me up sharply. It prevented me laying lascivious hold upon her body. What!
“I have not reached such a height, such a paroxysm, with ________. His pego even inside me moving so fast, the fingers of his hands so fleetingly upon me and… and too soon it is withdrawn with its strength ended by… by the…”
I was excited, overjoyed, I was hearing what I wished so to hear. The inadequacies of ________. Learning that he spent too expeditiously and, it appeared from her words, he had not the sensibility to consider Silene’s needs and approach copulation slowly and tenderly. I vowed I should more than make up for his deficiencies.
“Release of his fluid, the mucilage.”
“Indeed, Dr. Mutluyorsun, just so.”
“I shall leave you now to rest, dear Silene. I am so pleased the treatment was a success.”
“Oh, yes indeed, I feel much restored. Perhaps I shall not need again…”
“The green sickness is not easily cured.”
“Alas, no, Dr. Mutluyorsun.”
I stepped into my library and sat before the fire. There was no lessening of the hardness of my pego. I brought it out into the firelight and sat looking at it. It was dripping with the mucilage. My excitement was considerable. Of course it was a fine specimen. I had always known that, but now I had the great pleasure of knowing ______’s was somewhat ineffectual. I stood feeling the heat of the fire upon it, a good feeling. I was tempted, of course, to manipulate and stroke. Indeed release the mucilage into the heat of the fire. The fire so mirroring the heat, the very furnace of my desire for Silene. To hear the drops hiss as they touched the glowing coals. A steady and lengthy hissing as the full content of my ballocks was emptied. The partially satisfying pleasure of manual release. I had not done such a thing since arriving at the cottage. I turned, it would not happen until dear Silene decided to release my fluid. It was for her to end my fast.
It was not until a little before four that I saw Silene again. She was charmingly dressed in but a sheet from the bed. “Dr. Mutluyorsun, I know not what to do. I fear I cannot wear my blue dress again, it has been my only garment for days now and it chafes my skin and feels soiled from excessive use. It cannot please you to see it so.”
Her delicacy of expression, her worry over what would look pleasing to me charmed me as did everything about Silene.
“I have nothing else, dear Silene, this is so a bachelor’s haunt. I am desolate. You can hardly wear male garments or…” I looked at her directly, “… a sheet. May I suggest, as the cottage is warm, is it not, you dispense with clothing. Be as Eve, you are hardly unseemly, your body does not offend me… no, not one jot. Do the horses in the stable offend me in their nakedness? Do the dogs and cats offend? Not one bit.”
“But they have their coat or their fur whereas I am so naked without clothing.” She let the sheet fall as if a demonstration. Perhaps it was the laced Essencia, perhaps the green sickness was taking hold once more.
Silene caught the glance of my eyes to her pubis, to the wonderful plump mound of her Mons Veneris and the revealed fur there.
She blushed, “Dr Mutluyorsun!”
I smiled. “It is but a small covering but an important one! No, Silene, you shall go naked. I wish it.”
She curtseyed in acquiescence. I think it was her wish also. The potion within the Essencia was strong. Dr. Gut________ had assured me it was for the green sickness. Not a cure, not at all, but quite the contrary, a potion to amplify the symptoms.
The pleasure, indeed, as I sat in my chair before the open hearth complete with a hearty fire. The room comfortable and populous with books. There before me a tea table, a table plain and modest, awaiting the arrival of tea. Upon the mantel the old clock chimed four times and, as if or possibly on cue, the door to the room opened with Silene entering bearing two cups and saucers on a tea-tray. My ‘fair tea-maker’ come to pour tea, that stimulating beverage, appearing not in a white or blue dress but unclothed, the fairness of her head echoed in the triangle between her thighs. Her skin as white as porcelain though her areolae were as brown as chestnuts. Her movement graceful and careful. She was conscious of my eyes upon her and the importance to me of the ritual of the pouring of the tea.
Outside I could hear the wind, was sure snow was falling once more, perhaps the two combining in a maelstrom of white. Yet within my white cottage all was still but for the crackling of the fire and the careful movement of Silene as she sat at the tea table with me. Her breasts slightly elongating as she leant forward to pour the tea. The beautiful amber beverage, such a refined stimulant and favourite beverage running in a stream into firstly my cup and then Silene’s. So pleasant to have one’s tea poured for one and by such a fair woman. Indeed by such a naked fair woman.
My fair tea maker, her arms like Aurora’s, goddess of dawn, her smiles like Hebe’s, goddess of youth and her breasts like Aphrodite’s, goddess of love. My sole companion whilst we were so cut off from other human contact. Silene might miss the gaiety of parties, the theatre, the opera and the laughter and quick conversation of her friends but I missed none of those and, least of all, the presence of her despised husband. The white cottage was such a place of security, comfort, quiet and anticipated pleasure.
The firelight cast a reddish glow to Silene’s alabaster skin, the whole of her being a delight to me. Would it be that night, the two of us abed, as I lay once more naked with her that my desire would finally be assuaged? Would more than simple slumber take place between the sheets? I looked at her closely as she poured again the tea.
In bed that night, as before, I had disrobed only after I had snuffed out the candle and, as I lay in the darkness, my pego so naturally extended at the close presence of a beautiful young woman, my Silene seemed anxious to talk. Lovely hearing her gentle voice above the moaning of the cold wind without our cottage. She talked of the green sickness, of her treatment at my hands, of Dr. Tron______’s treatment of her friend—what she knew of it. The talk was stimulating, stimulating to my lust. It is pleasant to have a young woman talk of such things in one’s bed. I resisted a great temptation to touch my pego.
“Do young men suffer the green sickness or merely young women?”
“Young women only, dear Silene. Dr. Tron_____ has explained it to me thus: young men, indeed older men, have very different physical arrangements compared to the female. It is exhibited in a greater physical strength and stamina, a more forthright and steady state of mind but a need also for an outlet for their manly emissions. An early marriage or, perhaps, the provision of an accommodating servant is often appropriate.”
“Oh, my husband, my poor husband, he must be awfully missing my body,” she stifled a sob, “what might he be doing without me?”
This was not a satisfactory direction for her thoughts. Her next words were much more to my liking. “But for you, a bachelor, it must be difficult.”
I felt it best to appear open, take her from thoughts of her husband, “Sometimes I engage in manual self-pollution…”
“Dr. Mutluyorsun! No! How dangerous.”
“I engage in venereal excitement by my own hand.”
“How awful. I cannot allow that. I must help.”
An excuse perhaps, a reason to reach across the bed? The green sickness or the potion so strong. I felt movement and then a feminine hand feeling for and alighting upon my pego. At last!
“But what is this! Dr. Mutluyorsun, what is this? It is, it so much larger than my husband’s.”
Her small hand held my pego in the darkness, her fingers running over it, examining its extent and hardness. I could feel it all as I lay there like one in a state of apoplexy. Small, delicate fingers clasped around the so turgid shaft, small fingers moving and feeling. An exploration where I felt every single squeeze or pressing of finger tips and followed their journeying in rapt attention. What I had so sought, had imagined was happening. All of a moment my dear Silene was freely engaging with my sexual organ. My happiness was extreme yet, yet, it was laced with an unexpected joy, a frisson of excitement so unexpected. Silene had revealed what I had not known, had not expected one jot, yes, ______’s penis was under sized, small, might I think, might I choose the word carefully—‘puny?’
“My husband, Dr. Mutluyorsun, he eases my feelings, my pent up hysteria somewhat, when he places his organ inside me but it is over all too quickly. It does not afford me the relief of your treatment. Your hands are slower and more persistent. Alas, his interest in my malaise ends with his emission.”
“Shall I… shall I treat you again with my hands? Do you need my further assistance?”
I had not discharged for the whole time we had resided at the cottage at Nareemburg. My twin fleshy spheres, my eggs within their wrinkled sack were swollen with mucilage unable to escape. My pego was so engorged in Silene’s hands, so ready to act as the conduit for my release.
“I… I do need some assistance, I... you appreciate, May I reveal, may I share a confidence. Something I have not mentioned, not even to my friend, Aesthetia. It was not as I had anticipated.”
There seemed a certain reticence on Silene’s part to go on, to explain what was not as she had anticipated. I was interested, not just the scholar’s interest in all things but a deeply personal interest. Was this some further failing on the part of _______?
It took coaxing but her undoubted arousal, perhaps, gave her a boldness the dear, sweet girl, would not normally have possessed. Finally she revealed all.
“His male member was not what I had expected,”
There was a pause and I replied, “I am not of course acquainted... I wonder, could you be more specific?”
“It is smaller, Dr. Mutluyorsun than I had been lead to believe and does not always maintain that... my friend’s words you understand, not my own, necessary stiffness.”
Silene paused and I waited, her hand resting upon and her fingers encircling my pego. What pleasure, and so added to by the further revelations about ______.
“Your pego, it is... Oh Dr. Mutluyorsun I cannot believe I am feeling... it is so...”
I arose from the bed, concerned there was a risk her clasping hand might cause a too early spasm in my pego. I did not want to display one of the, such joy to me to use the word, ‘many’ failings of ______.
From the still burning coals in the Library I relit the candle and returned. As I crossed the room the candle threw a shadow of myself upon the wall and ceiling. A shadow of a man with a distorted shape and enormous pego! I wished to see Silene not merely hear her words of revelation.
Re-entering the bedchamber I held my hand behind the candle sending the light forward rather than back onto myself leaving my body in darkness. But I needed not to be concerned. Dear Silene was facing away, her hair cascading across the pillow.
Placing the candle once more beside the bed I entered betwixt the sheets once more and as I did so she turned to me.
“Oh, Dr. Mutluyorsun, what shall I do? The Green Sickness is so upon me. It is terrible and persistent. It does not leave me. I wish not just for my husband but other men to lay upon me. It is so terrible what the Green Sickness does to a woman. You cannot know. I so wish for... oh, I cannot say!”
The rising colour as she said the words, revelations she would not ordinarily have made but her heightened feelings coming from the special potion she had been imbuing now permeating to the very ends of her body were loosening her almost maidenly restraint.
It was time. I spoke, “Would it be of assistance... would it be of interest if I was to display my own? It was a question carefully phrased and asked.
There was indecision, I could see it in her eyes, but Dr Gut___’s potion had seeped deep into her young body, had caused such a heightening of desire which she called hysteria, that I was confident the moment I had been seeking had arrived.
“I...” Her eyes looked down the bed to where my pego was hidden. “Is it firm?” She bit her lip. “Yes, yes, may I see?”
I had taken such pleasure in hearing of the husband’s failings. The delight in hearing myself was the larger, considerably the larger with a certain greater rigidity, indeed, a firmness her husband lacked. And now to be able to display to dear Silene was utter delight. My fingers grasped the bed clothing and pulled.
A cry of surprise from Silene. Wonderful to see her naked body in the candlelight and see my own beside her. My pego so extended there for her.
“It is... so different... so much more... magnificent!” What words from the dear, sweet girl.
I moved and knelt before her. Her fingers trailed, moulding the column of flesh before her. Silene’s delicate fingers there upon my pego unobscured within the sheets.
There was a strange fascination in her eyes bordering on obsession. It was as the apothecary had foretold. Her brain befuddled and confused by the potion I was feeding her, her very notions of propriety and correctness upset and askew.
I asked again, “Shall I… shall I treat you with my hands?”
It was the hesitation, a delicious hesitation before she replied. So small but so pregnant with meaning. I knew as clear as the morn that her desire was not for my hands and fingers. She wanted a substantial organ inside her, not mere fingers.
“It would be of some assistance but I fear insufficient...”
“You wish me to?”
Her eyes were all upon my pego, her hand reached and stroked, clasping it. Her fingers running up and down the shaft, encircling fingers that did not meet. For a moment I wondered if she might even seek to take it in her mouth.
She looked up at me, “My finger and thumb, they do not reach around! Oh, Dr. Mutluyorsun, I fear... yes, I want that, please.”
I moved from Silene, blew out the candle once more plunging the room into darkness, and rolled. I rolled across the bed, across the dividing bolster, a symbolic crossing of borders, a border which would no longer be, and all at once was atop Silene. Her thighs were already open, no doubt with a desperate need to be touched and her quim was awash. It was the matter of a moment to lodge myself within her. Not to my full extent but lodged nonetheless. I paused, would Silene reject my advance? Had I been too hasty?
“Dr. Mutluyorson! Oh, so big, yes, that is it!”
I acted on the now clear invitation, one easy flexing of my hips and my pego slid fully within the girl. It is not my experience that the mere entry of the penis within the vagina can bring on the paroxysm. I had not administered Dr. Tron______’s treatment, nor had Silene, I was sure, touched her own flesh within our bed. Yet the paroxysm came. The potency of the Essencia no doubt and her heightened desire. The shuddering, the shaking, the sighs and the moans. Dear Silene beneath me. Her breast to my breast and our organs joined.
The joy of that joining, the warmth and wetness and her paroxysm. Too much for me also. Not since my first spend when my father had brought that young servant girl for me to learn upon had I spent simply on entering a female. Pent up mucilage and desire all came pouring from me. It was a spend such as men dream upon. Long, copious and deeply pleasurable, coupled with the deep sense of rightness that I was now in possession of Silene. I was inside and depositing my possessions as I should!
Not a word of remorse from Silene. Just delight in her relief. Our second copulation was lengthy and our third, taken in the morning, made it abundantly clear that Silene’s body was now fully open to me. The bolster no longer separated, there was no boundary or border. I had what I had both desired and wished.
Contentment—ah yes, contentment. Is there more that a man can seek in this fleeting life? And I had so much more than that. Utter Contentment—nay, happiness! I possessed my books, my comfort, my so welcome tea at four, I had seclusion as the harsh wind blew whilst the snow mounted and, most of all I had Silene, yes, the animal pleasure of dear Silene. And animal pleasures it was indeed. The Essencia laced with a special sexual potion had its effect. It left the young girl in an almost continual state of need. The need for the caressing relief of hands and then desire for the manly organ. My manly organ, so much firmer and useful to her than the ‘puny’ appendage of _______.
The cottage was warm, there was no need for her body to be draped and it was not. I maintained my usual care in my appearance. My suiting immaculate, but for Silene it was an unaccustomed nudity. Naturally there were times and not just when I sought my repose at night or rose with morning need when my body was as revealed as her own. Even at that so welcome hour of four when my fair tea maker entered with the tea tray did I sometimes take tea with my naked skin reflecting the firelight. The pleasure of raising my cup to my lips as, with her hair untied and spread over me, Silene’s lips prepared to take a very different beverage from me. That delicate art of fellatio was learnt from me not her despised husband. Perhaps he had not thought, or not thought of such a thing or been content, the simpleton, with the quick animal bout of the coitus and so it was I who first encouraged the tentative lickings and suckings by dear Silene.
Her desire had been strong, her fondlings and strokings both playful and earnest, when she had first bent her head and fondly, I like to think, kissed my knob. Such a pleasing mark of affection, a recognition of her desire and pleasure in my large pego.
“Oh, Dr Mutluyorsun, is it wrong to say how much I adore your pego, feeling it inside me, rubbing and easing my difficult feelings. I so want to shower it with kisses.”
“Dear Silene, please shower as you wish, but why not also take it within your rosy lips, absorb it into your body in a different way, suck upon it.”
“Oh, Dr Mutluyorsun, I…”
She applied kiss after kiss but then, ah yes, then!
Seeing her so pretty lips open and take me that very first time had been sheer joy. The wetness and the warmth, the mobility of tongue and lips. And she had drunk, that very first time, a very different Essencia!
The touch of her lips, the stroking of her tongue was something I enjoyed again and again, even, as I have written, by my fireside with my tea cup in hand.
Ah, Silene! The firelight then upon your too perfect body that very first time, the soft moundings and the curves. Your hair so spread and your hidden mouth so exquisite in its newfound suckings and strokings. I recall the tipping of my cup at my lips. Within my mouth the warmth of that refined, amber coloured stimulant: within the mouth of Silene all at once there was that very different beverage, equally warm but white and thick, that so feminine beverage which Silene was taking from its source. She did not pull away in the manner of a young girl, choke or splutter. Her gentle acceptance gave a refinement so in keeping with the scene. Me seated comfortably with tea cup in hand, the fire crackling in its grate, the order of the room and dear naked Silene kneeling and with hair so prettily spread across my thighs.
The scene so worthy of being painted. A portrait of myself seated in my library. The room so ordered, so perfect for a scholar such as myself. The painter catching the firelight on Silene’s exposed skin, her pose one of classical abandonment, her hair spread across my thighs and so clearly engaged in fellatio. Perhaps rather than me naked I would be formally dressed and with an expression of great contentment. Could my painter achieve that indication to the person admiring the picture that I was in the midst of the most perfect spend in the young woman’s mouth?
That first spend in Silene’s mouth. How I adored her for it. No expression of surprise—though she could but know what the outcome would be—no uncouth spitting out of the mucilage but just a gentle swallowing and a refined rising from her task with a smile to her face.
Pleasant to sit in front of the fire and talk with Silene as she poured more tea. My pego relaxed and perhaps seeping a little, Silene with her ever glow of female excitement and nipples extended. How charming it would be if, perhaps after we had dined, that we could have danced. Removed the tea table from the front of the fire and danced there. Naked, but of course naked, and with my pego extended! A dance of passion culminating at the fifth measure in copulation—the dance of love. But, alas, we had no string quartet or rough village troop of musicians to play for us. We had the virginals upon which Silene ventured some mornings but she could not, alas, play and dance at one and the same time.
The outcome of our sojourn in the white cottage and my repeated presence within dear Silene were unlikely to be other than her being with child. Our copulation had been too frequent, too intense, for any other result to be expected from the acts. The obvious womanly swelling began but with no reduction whatsoever in her appetite for the carnal act. Again and again my pego entered her smooth canal, again and again the mucilage was discharged.
At four o’clock the fair tea maker. Beautiful in her nakedness whilst I sat, on most days, perfectly suited with neat cravat as the stimulating golden liquid was poured into the two cups. Silene with the female swelling of impending motherhood and her growing breasts. Sometimes she would take my manly fluid from me as I sat there drinking tea. Such a pleasure to discharge into her waiting mouth knowing too she would want again to be pleasured between her legs when the time for nightly rest came to us.
So much carnal lust, so much coitus and fellation, so much… ah, did the cunnilingus before the fire so surprise dear Silene.
“Dr. Mutluyorsun—NO!” I can remember her shocked ejaculation even now. But I completed the act. Silene confided in me it was more efficacious even than Dr. Tron________’s treatment that I had applied and was quite scandalised when I suggested she tried it on her friend, Aesthetia Moselroyde.
Sufficient carnality for a man to last his lifetime. The laced Essencia gave no respite for Silene from her desire and I bathed and revelled in its lusty outpourings. Enough for a lifetime indeed.
Alas the seasons are as unstoppable as time itself and with the change in season came the thaw. I heard the dripping of water when I awoke one morning. Stood looking from shutters thrown open at the landscape and the blue sky, realising so clearly what it would mean. Within days the pass would be open. I turned from the window with heavy heart but firm pego and returned to my bed and sweet, dear Silene knowing she would open for me. My use, should I call it that, of Silene increased rather than decreased. At four I sat naked in the firelight and Silene did not simply drink tea. I held Silene tight after our nightly coitus knowing soon she would be lost to me.
Three days later I saw them coming. Black were their horses. I stood at the open shutters staring towards the pass and the tiny black moving specks that denoted riders. I was naked, my pego dripping from recent coitus with Silene. It would be my last. Within the bedchamber Silene lay looking as beautiful as ever, a flush on her cheeks whether from coitus or the obvious swelling from her child I did not know. Between her legs the so clear evidence of my recent spend. I kissed her tenderly but could not bring myself to tell her that her husband was riding closer and closer.
Flight, yes flight. My horse soon saddled. Snorting and excited at the thought of being out after long months cooped within its stable it pawed the ground. I mounted and rode. I rode hard for they, riding with the accursed ______, were near at hand.
All I had, all I was, I knew was thrown away for Silene with her arms as pale as the dawn and her smile so youthful, so innocent. I rode hard across the land but the riders were gaining on me; they had not halted at the white cottage, as I had hoped, but had carried on the chase. Their quarry in sight.
Never again the delight of Silene serving tea. Never again the delights of Silene, my one true love. But always ______ would know, would know what I had done and every time he looked at his first born would know this child was not his, would know that this son, I could not believe it was other, this boy who would inherit his name and title was not his but mine. And always Silene would look with motherly adoring eyes on that child of mine.
They were closing, closing with sabres raised but they would not take me. I would outwit the so loathed ________ yet. He of the puny pego.
The beautiful pastureland of Nareemburg, verdant and rich for the quiet cattle with their bells that would, within weeks, ring out in the warm spring air came to an abrupt end at the heights of Nareemburg. A dreadful abrupt ending of the land as it plummeted down and down hundreds of metres to the valley below. A fearsome edge between land and sky and it was towards that edge that I rode.
On I rode but they were gaining, their mounts the stronger, and before me the wide expanse of the high pain becoming shorter and shorter as I rode towards its ending. There was no let up in my race forward, no respite for my mount, foaming at the mouth and its eyes wide, as we went over the edge. Behind us, no doubt, the other riders pulling their careering horses to a halt aghast at the sight greeting them and the knowledge their quarry was lost.
Oh, the falling, the falling into space, down and down towards the far off valley floor, the horse kicking as it falls below, oh, the falling, the...