Memoirs of Fanny Hill: A New and Genuine Edition from the Original Text (London, 1749)Cleland, John
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Memoirs of Fanny Hill: A New and Genuine Edition from the Original Text (London, 1749)
Cleland, John
England -- Fiction; Erotic fiction; Prostitutes -- Fiction
All my back parts, naked half way up, were now fully at his mercy: and
first, he stood at a convenient distance, delighting himself with a
gloating survey of the attitude I lay in, and of all the secret stores
I thus exposed to him in fair display. Then, springing eagerly towards
me, he covered all those naked parts with a fond profusion of kisses;
and now, taking hold of the rod, rather wantoned with me, in gentle
inflictions on those tender trembling masses of my flesh behind, than
in any way hurt them, till by degrees, he began to tingle them with
smarter lashes, so as to provoke a red colour into them, which I knew,
as well by the flagrant glow I felt there, as by his telling me, they
now emulated the native roses of my other cheeks. When he had thus
amused himself with admiring, and toying with them, he went on to
strike harder, and more hard, so that I needed all my patience not to
cry out, or complain at least. At last, he twigged me so smartly as to
fetch blood in more than one lash: at sight of which he flung down the
rod, flew to me, kissed away the starting drops, and sucking the wounds
eased a good deal of my pain. But now raising me on my knees, and
making me kneel with them straddling wide, that tender part of me,
naturally the province of pleasure, not of pain, came in for its share
of suffering: for now, eyeing it wistfully, he directed the rod so that
the sharp ends of the twigs lighted there, so sensibly, that I could
not help wincing, and writhing my limbs with smart; so that my
contortions of body must necessarily throw it into infinite variety of
postures and points of view, fit to feast the luxury of the eye. But
still I bore every thing without crying out: when presently giving me
another pause, he rushed, as it were, on that part whose lips, and
round about, had felt this cruelty, and by way of reparation, glued his
own to them; then he opened, shut, squeezed them, plucked softly the
overgrowing moss, and all this in a style of wild passionate rapture
and enthusiasm, that expressed excess of pleasure; till betaking
himself to the rod again, encouraged by my passiveness, and infuriated
with this strange taste of delight, he made my poor posteriors pay for
the ungovernableness of it; for now showing them no quarter, the
traitor cut me so, that I wanted but little of fainting away, when he
gave over. And yet I did not utter one groan, or angry expostulation;
but in my heart I resolved nothing so seriously, as never to expose
myself again to the like severities.
You may guess then in what a curious pickle those soft flesh-cushions
of mine were, all so red, raw, and in fine, terribly clawed off; but so
far from feeling any pleasure in it, that the recent smart made me pout
a little, and not with the greatest air of satisfaction receive the
compliments, and after-caresses of the author of my pain.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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