Memoirs of Fanny Hill: A New and Genuine Edition from the Original Text (London, 1749)Cleland, John
General
Memoirs of Fanny Hill: A New and Genuine Edition from the Original Text (London, 1749)
Cleland, John
England -- Fiction; Erotic fiction; Prostitutes -- Fiction
disclosed my thighs, so that he could just touch the cloven inlet with
the tip of his instrument: but as he fatigued and toiled to get in, a
twist of my body, so as to receive it obliquely, not only thwarted his
admission, but giving a scream, as if he had pierced me to the heart, I
shook him off me, with such violence that he could not with all his
might to it, keep the saddle: vexed indeed at this he seemed, but not
in the style of displeasure with me for my skittishness; on the
contrary, I dare swear he held me the dearer, and hugged himself for
the difficulties that even hurt his instant pleasure. Fired, however,
now beyond all bearance of delay, he remounts, and begged of me to have
patience, stroking and soothing me to it by all the tenderest
endearments and protestations of what he would moreover do for me; at
which, feigning to be somewhat softened, and abating of the anger that
I had shewn at his hurting me so prodigiously, I suffered him to lay my
thighs aside, and make way for a new trial; but I watched the
directions and management of his point so well, that no sooner was the
orifice in the least open to it, but I gave such a timely jerk as
seemed to proceed not from the evasion of his entry, but from the pain
his efforts at it put me to: a circumstance too that I did not fail to
accompany with proper gestures, sighs and cries of complaint, of which,
“that he had hurt me... he killed me... I should die...,” were the most
frequent interjections. But now, after repeated attempts, in which he
had not made the least impression towards gaining his point, at least
for that time, the pleasure rose so fast upon him, that he could not
check or delay it, and in the vigour and fury which the approaches of
the height of it inspired him, he made one fierce-thrust, that had
almost put me by my guard, and lodged it so far that I could feel the
warm inspersion just within the exterior orifice, which I had the
cruelty not to let him finish there, but threw him out again, not
without a most piercing loud exclamation, as if the pain had put me
beyond all regard of being overheard. It was then easy to observe that
he was more satisfied, more highly pleased with the supposed motives of
his baulk of consummation, than he would have-been at the full
attainment of it. It was on this foot that I solved to myself all the
falsity I employed to procure him that blissful pleasure in it, which
most certainly he would not have tasted in the truth of things. Eased,
however, and relieved by one discharge, he now applied himself to
sooth, encourage, and to put me into humour and patience to bear his
next attempt, which he began to prepare and gather force for, from all
the incentives of the touch and sight which he could think of, by
examining every individual part of my whole body, which he declared his
satisfaction with, in raptures of applause, kisses universally
imprinted, and sparing no part of me, in all the eagerest wantonness of
feeling, seeing, and toying.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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