Memoirs of Fanny Hill: A New and Genuine Edition from the Original Text (London, 1749) — John Shaqi
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
Her sturdy stallion had now unbuttoned, and produced naked, stiff and
erect, that wonderful machine, which I had never seen before, and
which, for the interest my own seat of pleasure began to take furiously
in it, I stared at with all the eyes I had: however, my senses were too
much flurried, too much concentered in that now burning spot of mine,
to observe anything more than in general the make and turn of that
instrument; from which the instinct of nature, yet more than all I had
heard of it, now strongly informed me, I was to expect that supreme
pleasure which she had placed in the meeting of those parts so
admirably fitted for each other.
Long, however, the young spark did not remain before giving it two or
three shakes, by way of brandishing it, he threw himself upon her, and
his back being now towards me, I could only take his being ingulphed
for granted, by the directions he moved in, and the impossibility of
missing so staring a mark; and now the bed shook, the curtains rattled
so that I could scarce hear the sighs and murmurs, the heaves and
pantings that accompanied the action, from the beginning to the end;
the sound and sight of which thrilled to the very soul of me, and made
every vein of my body circulate liquid fires: the emotion grew so
violent that it almost intercepted my respiration.
Prepared then, and disposed as I was by the discourse of my companions,
and Phœbe’s minute detail of everything, no wonder that such a sight
gave the last dying blow to my native innocence.
Whilst they were in the heat of the action, guided by nature only, I
stole my hand up my petticoats, and with fingers on fire, seized and
yet more inflamed that center of all my senses: my heart palpitated, as
if it would force its way through my bosom: I breathed with pain; I
twisted my thighs, squeezed and compressed the lips of that virgin
slit, and following mechanically the example of Phœbe’s manual
operation on it, as far as I could find admission, brought on at last
the critical ecstasy, the melting flow, into which nature, spent with
excess of pleasure, dissolves and dies away.
After which, my senses recovered coolness enough to observe the rest of
the transaction between this happy pair.
The young fellow had just dismounted, when the old lady immediately
sprung up, with all the vigour of youth, derived, no doubt, from her
late refreshment; and making him sit down, began in her turn to kiss
him, to pat and pinch his cheeks, and play with his hair: all which he
received with an air of indifference and coolness that showed him to be
much altered from what he was when he first went on to the breach.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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