Eroticon 3 Read online

  'Why Bill! What do you call that?'

  'That's what we sailors call making a splice, miss - when it's done.'

  'Do you ever think of being spliced yourself, Bill?'

  'Sometimes, but sailors ought never to be properly spliced up, miss. There ought to be a slippery hitch somewhere. They're awfully true when spliced, but the gals ain't. They can't stand the long absences.'

  'Can you make a slippery hitch, Bill?'

  He laughed. We both laughed. I looked into his eyes. He returned my gaze. I put my hand on his thigh. He slipped his left arm round my waist. He had dropped the rope now. We sat quiet a moment. The only sound we could hear was the low gurgling of the placid sea under the boat's bows and sides, as she lay idly rolling on the gentle swell.

  'We are quite alone here, Bill - not a boat anywhere.'

  He had white canvas trousers on, turned up to his knees. My hand stole along until it was suddenly arrested by something hard and solid between his legs which lay along the inside of his left thigh. I lifted my face up close to his. Instantly he kissed me on the mouth.

  'Oh, Bill! Oh, you bad boy!'

  He seized me tightly in his arms. He covered me with kisses. He pressed my bosom with his great sailor hand. I closed my eyes and suffered all. 'Make me a slippery hitch, Bill dear!'

  He pressed me again tighter than ever. My fingers pressed his limb. It seemed tremendously thick and stiff.

  'Ten months! Only think, Bill, how bad you must feel!'

  His hand was already on my leg. As I spoke it moved further up. I opened my legs and let it pass. Meanwhile I deliberately unbuttoned his canvas flap.

  'I want to look at it, Bill!'

  'So you shall, my dear. It's a whopper!'

  A moment later, a huge naked limb stiffly erect and throbbing with eagerness for enjoyment was in my grasp. His hand had already taken possession of the centre of my desires. His fingers maddened me. Without more ado, I pulled the big member into the warm daylight. It was a beauty! White and red, with a large soft top and hard sides - very long and awfully stiff. We rolled about together in this position as the boat answered to the undulations of the sea. It could not last so, however, and so it came to pass that I slipped, cushion and all, off the seat. Bill and I found ourselves on the floor-boards of the skiff with the cushion under us. I still retained my hold of his limb. He reached out and secured another cushion which be placed under my loins. Then he tilted me back. He pulled up my clothes. I am afraid I helped him. He took one look at my exposed legs at my white belly. I saw for a second his big truncheon menacing me within a few inches of my thighs. Then he threw himself upon me. I was quite as eager as he was. I helped him to his pleasure. The lewd business was about to begin - the curtain was up - the actor and the actress were on the stage.

  'Oh! Oh! Bill - you hurt! Oh! Oh! You're right into me! You're too big! You're - Oh! - Oh! -Oh! My goodness, Bill!'

  Nothing stopped him. The young fellow had had a long fast. I was getting the full benefit of his abstention. He pushed his great tool into me to his balls. He never spoke, but he set his teeth together. He worked up and down, thrusting at me like a battering ram. In less time than it takes to relate he sank on my chest. I felt a sudden gush of hot seed. I knew that his pleasure had reached the climax. He lay discharging, until a flood of thick sperm deluged my interior. My own pleasure was supreme. He gave me no rest. Instead of withdrawing, he recommenced. A few thrusts, aided by the natural elasticity of my vagina, restored him to all his virility. He commenced another course. Oh, the impatient fellow! How he worked me!

  'Oh! Bill, dear Bill! Go slowly - do it gently, Bill! Oh, oh! You'll know the bottom of the boat out! Oh, my goodness! Oh!'

  'Boat be damned!' was the polite rejoinder.

  At last he got up. He adjusted his clothes. He wiped his smoking member. I raised myself on my cushions. I dipped my handkerchief into the cool sea-water and sopped up all I could of the tremendous overflow I had received. I made the best toilette possible under the circumstances.

  'We can sail back easy. The wind is almost dead fair. Then we can sit together. Do you feel jolly now, my dear love?'

  There was something that touched me beyond simple lust in this young fellow. There was an innate tenderness towards 'his gal,' to which they say sailors are particularly prone, just as one makes a pet of a dog.

  I have heard of sailors at Portsmouth newly discharged from their ships and envious of married men who had found a ready-made progeny on their return, seeking to emulate them by hiring babies to carry up and down the Yard. I can quite believe it.

  Bill set to work. In two minutes the mast was stepped; in two more the sail was hoisted and set, and the sheet, as he called it, hauled aft. The skiff sailed along merrily - too quickly I thought, as I sat on the cushioned floor of the boat with my head on the thigh of the young sailor who held the tiller. My restless fingers would not remain quiet. They sought their playfellow. Bill opened his flap. I pulled out his stiffening limb.

  'Oh, Bill! What a big one! Do you feel any better now?'

  'Why, yes, my lovely dear one, of course I do, and I'm damned grateful to you for the chance, miss. But I wish - that I do - we were not going to part so soon. I should like to have you all night.'

  'Oh, Bill! A pretty thing you'd make of me by morning!'

  His limb rose again under the skilful touches of my nimble fingers. As I sat, my face was just on a level with his erect weapon. He held the tiller in one hand; with the other he caressed my neck and bosom. I bent forward. I examined minutely his splendid limb from end to end. I put my hand under and felt his testicles. I tickled him lusciously. I put the tip of the broad nut to my lips. I kissed it. I opened them - it entered. I sucked it. I rolled my hot tongue round the red head.

  'Oh! Oh! Little lass! You are driving me mad, don't ye know! Stop a moment. Here, come stern on. I'll arrange all in the twinkling of a handspike. Now sit down between my legs. So! Oh, my God!'

  He pulled me backwards. He had already raised my clothes. My buttocks were exposed to his salacious view. I settled myself down upon his thighs. I felt his thing pressing in between my pliant globes. The big knob was jammed between them. I put down my right hand. I placed his weapon between the moist lips of my little slit. I pressed down.

  'Oh! Damn my eyes and limbs! My bowsprit's run you aboard, missy! It's right into you up to the gammoning! Oh, isn't it lovely?'

  He seized me round the hips. He pushed home. With my left hand, I tickled his testicles. His big limb stretched me tremendously. I enjoyed it all the same. I shared his transports. I was mad with lust. I jogged up and down. My spasms came all too soon. I ceased moving. I could only moan now. Bill took up the movements. He pushed with fury.

  'Oh, Bill! You'll upset the boat!'

  'Upset the soup, you mean? There it goes! Enough for all hands!'

  Truly the vigour of this active young sailor was tremendous. He had been ten months, remember, without copulation. His excitement, doubtless his enjoyment, was proportionate to the length of his abstinence. I was really glad when the boat's keel touched land.

  A Gallery of Nudes

  Casilda had sunk into a reverie. She even ignored her tepid little drink, and sat bemused, staring into space. I mentioned half a dozen restaurants by name; and pushed the evening paper, with the list of cinemas, in front of her eyes. But they were fixed, vacantly, on a point past my right shoulder, and when at last she spoke, I could barely catch the words, they were uttered so softly, under her breath.

  'Yes, I do, too - I know what I'd like. It's over there in the corner. Daddy, buy me that.'

  I followed her gaze the length of the bar. At the other end, facing towards us with an evidently keen interest in Casilda, sat a hulking, swarthy young dago in a flamboyant brown suit, with vastly padded shoulders and an air of almost insolent admiration. Casilda, I am sorry to say, was giving him very much the same look in return.

  'You can't mean that seriously,' I exclaimed - as a
statement of fact, not a question. For one thing, he sported the sort of moustache that might have been drawn with an eyebrow-pencil an inch below his nostrils.

  Casilda merely nodded, but as an affirmative gesture it was all too definite. Any doubt in my mind was pure wishful thinking.

  'I thought you said you didn't go in for gigolos,' I protested.

  The girl gave a snort of mirth. 'Nor do I,' she agreed. 'But I can have this one for free, I assure you - if you'll let me. And you could watch,' she added in the same quiet tone, scarcely above a whisper. 'Wouldn't that excite you?' Her face was set, almost sullen.

  There was silence between us for a moment. I needed time to think, to ponder this startling proposition. Without a word I paid the bill, kissed her cheek and walked out, bowing stiffly to the baffled foreigner, who hastily returned my salute with joyful bewilderment.

  Was he any less puzzled on the back seat of the car, after an unceremonious introduction as 'My toreador,' while we drove towards Chelsea, with Casilda, happy and tense, nestling against my shoulder, her hand on my knee? He had a smattering of English - enough to gargle polite assent when Casilda asked him if this was his first visit to London, but her next question - 'Have you ever been kidnapped before?' - virtually drew a blank.

  'Very pretty,' he assured us.

  'Isn't he, though?' Casilda murmured, hugging my arm. 'He's a matador, you know,' she insisted.

  'More like a picador, to judge by his looks,' I retorted. 'What are you going to do with this tough when you get him home?'

  'The best he can,' said Casilda.

  He chose whisky and accepted with alacrity an invitation from Casilda in French to be shown the house. I poured myself a big dollop of brandy, and settled down to read a couple of letters that the postman had brought. To this day I could not tell you what was in them. A few agonising minutes' wait was as much as I could bear.

  They were not next door. She had led him off to the spare room upstairs - which was very considerate of her. He was kneeling with his back to me as I entered, his face pressed against her navel. She sat, naked to the waist, on the high fourposter, with an arm around his bull neck, twisting his greasy curls. She took no notice of me whatsoever, and her conquest, oblivious of all else but the free gift of this magnificent body, did not even hear me come in. I lit the fire for them, and slipped into an easy chair nearby to contemplate the scene.

  He had evidently set about his business without a second's hesitation. The square, exaggeratedly masculine shoulders obscured her lower half from view, while his bent head was sunk in the hollow of her lap, and blindly, with both brown, hairy paws upstretched, he mauled, rather than fondled, Casilda's breasts. The way the fellow manhandled those sumptuous tits struck me as exceedingly rough and uncouth for a Latin lover: he plucked and tweaked and tugged at them, like some famished urchin snatching oranges from a tree. Nevertheless there was no sign of objection or complaint on her part; she kept her mouth shut tight and made not a sound, except for the fast, heavy breathing that shook her whole frame more violently from within, it seemed, than the harsh treatment to which this clumsy lout was subjecting her shapely face.

  She did not budge or flicker an eyelid. Yet if she, in rigid submission, might have withstood his bold assault indefinitely, it was clear that the hot-blooded Spaniard could brook no further delay. Muttering with impatience, the coarse creature sprang to his feet and started to tear the rest of her clothes off. She helped him then at once, promptly raising a docile backside to facilitate the complete removal of her rumpled dress and skintight panties, while she herself took off her fetching little suspender belt and stockings. As she leaned forward to do so, she suddenly, as I saw, undid his fly and I too had the same impulse of unrestrainable curiosity, though for a different reason. What intrigued me was not Don Juan's credentials, but the effect they would produce on her. By craning my neck I caught a glimpse of her face, which revealed an expression of such sad and obvious disappointment that I probably let out a delighted guffaw. He spun round on me like a tiger, with eyes blazing fury at my intrusion. But his beautiful big dark eyes did not interest me; his erection did. It was rather short; not small, exactly, but a funny, fat, stubby instrument - a replica of the cocky young masher himself. His spitting image, I thought. Thick, I'll grant you - exceptionally thick, and to all appearance hard as marble.

  Personally I am fairly large, even now, and though of course comparisons are odious, I could sympathise with Casilda for taking such a dim view of his singularly unimpressive member. Certainly this was not the doughty Toledo blade by which she had expected to be smitten to the quick. It was stiff enough to fit her sheath, and stout enough to fill it adequately, but surely not long enough to pierce her very heart, as she had hoped.

  In any case, this queer little blunderbuss was the last alarming weapon that our swashbuckling Spanish guest could brandish at me as he advanced in threatening fashion. I stood my ground, and watched him with some amusement.

  'Go away from here!' he shouted, pointing towards the door. 'Madame and I will be alone.'

  But Casilda rose up at that moment, like some vengeful goddess clad in the imposing plenitude of her pagan nudity, and summoned the hound to heel. She clung to the sleeve of his chocolate suit, restraining him. 'No, no!' she cried. 'Quiet, Carlos!' It was an order, rapped out sharply in the tone you would employ to subdue a ferocious mastiff, and she accompanied it with vehement shakes of the head, which he could not fail to understand. He hesitated, scowling in my direction, but she gripped him firmly by the convenient handle she found within reach and clamped her mouth on his, silencing his ugly splutters of rage. Barefoot, she was considerably the taller of the two, though no match for him in strength. He flung her back against the bed - but she held on to his penis firmly, so that he fell sprawling across her where she lay.

  'No, no!' she cried once more. 'Not like that - naked like me. 'Hurry - take all this stuff off, quick!'

  Hastily he obeyed her, stripping at full speed. He was as hairy as an ape. With a shock of surprise, I noticed that his shoulders were in fact immensely broad - no less broad than his natty suiting had made them out to be. Like Casilda herself, the brute looked better out of clothes. He was admirably built, I have to admit - as strong as an ox, evidently, and well shaped, with a deep chest and narrow hips, although too hirsute and too short of stature to qualify as an Adonis. But the general impression was of good, young male muscle beneath the thick coat of black fur which covered him like a rug from his neck to his ankles. It was only his genitals that were not up to much, by contrast, with the rest of his sturdy physique.

  Casilda eagerly scrutinised this classical virile type while he undressed. Reclining between the pair of carved, slender posts at the foot of the bed, where he had thrown her, for all the world like a goalkeeper alertly awaiting the next exultant forward rush, and with her eyes still riveted on him, it was then that she made the lewdest gesture I ever beheld in a lifetime of debauchery. Slowly, deliberately she stretched her long, lovely legs as far apart as she could spread them, doing the splits in that lolling position, so that we both - he and I - were confronted with a medical diagram of the vulva, highly coloured and fully extended, as in a textbook for students of gynaecology. Not content with this obtrusive exhibition of her secret flesh, she turned exposure into invitation by offering him the target of her parted lips which she held open with two fingers in an inverted V for victory - or vagina.

  For him it was an explorer's survey of the promised land, a preliminary viewing for his approval of the savoury dish that he had ordered. For me it was a blow across the face, a sudden, stinging shock of jealous horror. Until then my emotions had been mixed, uncertain, mostly dormant, as though by dint of will I had contrived to keep my feelings, if not under complete control, at least in abeyance. Curiosity and shameful, vicarious excitement had usurped my normal faculties, numbing the spirit of revolt in my brain like a narcotic. Now, realisation of the vile role that I had assumed, both as pimp
and cuckold, seeped over me, and a sweat of anguish broke out upon my brow. I was enveloped in some foul nightmare when I heard Casilda cry in the same urgent, raucous tone of imperative, intemperate desire:

  'Come on now, man - take me! Give it to me! I want you.'

  Before the words were out of her mouth he was inside her. He hurled himself forward into the open breach that was presented to him, as a battering ram of old must have crushed triumphantly through the weakened ramparts of an enemy citadel, vanquished and abandoned under siege. The impact winded her, and she uttered a loud gasp as the weight of the gorilla's vigorous onslaught knocked the breath from her body. His grappling hands dragged at her hips, pulling her half off the end of the bed, as he clambered upward, thrusting and jolting against her, jabbing and jerking, but at the same time holding her pelvis suspended in midair, as though to prevent the force of his attack from carrying her backwards, lest he should lose the prize he had seized or risk diminishing the violent contact of their private parts. I studied Casilda's face at this juncture, as she was lugged bolt upright into a sitting position by her arms, which were clasped behind his neck. She looked stunned, bereft, flabbergasted. Her eyes and mouth were as wide open as her legs, and fixed in a dazed expression. Rocked and pummelled amidships, she was beginning now to pant and strain in a wild attempt to draw the man down on top of her, so that she might herself enjoy the act in comfort, prone beneath his lunging bulk but solidly supported by the bed and able therefore to reply on even terms and keep her end up. He had gained the initiative; with his feet firmly planted on the door, he seemed solely concerned to take his pleasure of her surrendered sex without scruple for his amorous partner's physical need, but seeking only to press home his own advantage over an all too easy victim.

  My heart leaped for joy when I saw what was happening: this brash little dago was manhandling Casilda with the utmost rigour, he had roused her erotic instinct to fever pitch, he tupped her as savagely as a beast of the field - yet he could not satisfy her. He was using her merely as an object suited to his lustful purpose; but his very success in this selfish aim would prove a bitter blow to her - and she had asked for it. I was delighted to think that she was doomed to experience the direst disenchantment in my presence. Already I toyed with the idea of how I would upbraid her for this sordid and disgraceful display when it was over. If she was so wanton and so immoral as to hope that I might take the satyr's place, after he had finished with her, and carry on from where he left off, she would soon discover that she had made a big mistake. This was the end - I realised the fact with meridian clarity as I watched her lascivious antics in the arms of another man. I was through with Casilda Vandersluys for good and all. Directly after the fellow had gone, I would kick her out of the house. Or she could buzz off with him on her own if she liked - I didn't care.