up as before.

"No, not that way this time, we will try a new pleasure; I want to
taste and swallow the very essence of your being."

Reversing herself upside down by my side, and taking my stiff machine
in her mouth, began to suck and roll her tongue round its head, in the
most delicious manner. At the same time she pressed her mount against
my face, as a challenge for me to reciprocate her attentions to my
prick. Words were not required. I knew instinctively what I ought to
do, so my fingers parted the lips of her luscious Cunt, and my tongue
was at once busy about La Rose d'Amour, the little spot where the
slightest titillations of a tongue will arouse even in the coldest
temperament the most ardent sensations of desire, and at once dispel
any ideas of resistance to the due course of pleasure.

It is the real touch-hole, which once fired, lets off all the pent up
sources of voluptuousness; let the chilly virgin be but once assaulted
there by finger or tongue, and she is lost; Shame--Prudence--every
thought, save of utter abandonment--all vanish as the conquering hero
pursues his advantage;--and it is the same with a boy who for the first
time finds pintle between the lips of an ardent girl who is all-a-fire
to enjoy his youthful virility.

Each one abandons every charm to the other; desire to do courses hotly
through their veins, each seems anxious to devour the other; so it was
with us, she flooded my mouth at the same instant as I felt my very
life melting away and spurting down her eager throat.

Not a drop of the creamy emission escaped me; I was sucking her life,
her soul, and wanted more each moment. This game lasted a considerable
time. After each spend, our lips still kept possession of the organ of
love, sucking and playing our tongues in the most lascivious way we
could imagine to prolong and bring on the exotic spasms again and again.

Exhausted at length, we settled ourselves to sleep, with a mutual kiss
and thanks for the delicious pleasures afforded.

Beautiful dreams haunted my sleeping hours and still more inflamed my
now thoroughly awakened manhood. Recently I had read the mythological
tale of the three goddesses, Juno, Venus and Minerva appealing to the
shepherd Paris for the prize of the golden apple; as drapery was very
rare in those Pagan days, no doubt they stood before him in all the
glories of their matchless beauty.

Visions of my glorious golden haired Mamma, Auntie Gertie, and Mary,