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- Herausgeber: Erotic eBooks
- Kategorie: Erotik
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2011
"Maudie" is a classic Victorian erotic novel, published in 1909. It contains graphic sexual descriptions and themes.
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Maudie
Anonymous
Chapter I
The mansion of Maudie
An awakening in a whore’s bedroom is, as a rule, cheerless.
One is vague as to one’s whereabouts, as a rule sore on the John Thomas, and a general feeling of having made a bloody fool of oneself is most often mixed with a wonder whose pyjamas you’ve got on and whether you’ve got the clap or possibly worse.
Charles Vernon St Just Osmond, fifth off the succession to the earldom of Osmond, very much a ‘younger son’, with a good deal less money even than most younger sons, turned over twice, flicked his eyes at the sunlight dribbling through the blinds, bit a tongue which felt like leather, sniffed a distinct aroma of whisky, and wondered where the hell he was, why he had done it and whom he had done it on.
He raised himself on one elbow, and looked. Then he was pleased. He had obviously not made a very drunken error. The good lady who lay by his side, in a charming silk pyjama suit with a deep Venetian lace collar, was not only pretty, but interesting. Her chestnut hair flowed over her shoulders. Her arms, bare from just above the elbows, were deliciously rounded, and her very delicate little hands were heavily be-ringed. This, Osmond (or, as we shall call him Charlie) concluded, was no ordinary tart, and the question of finance smote him suddenly. He had a vague recollection of friends and the Empire and the Continental, and he knew that he couldn’t have much on him. He was just slipping out of bed to look through his pockets when she woke up and put a soft arm round his neck.
‘Remember what you came here for last night and what you didn’t do, darling,’ she cooed.
Charlie had forgotten that. He must have been very drunk he thought to himself, and as he sat up in bed his head whirled in confirmation. The girl pulled him gently down and kissed him softly and lovingly.
‘Naughty boy to have been so drunk last night,’ she purred. ‘Think of me, full of lust, ready to do anything, and you went to sleep like a log. I suppose you don’t remember how you got undressed?’
Charlie admitted that he didn’t.
‘Well, I didn’t take your clothes off, but my maid did, and put you into your pyjamas. She’s out of the common pretty yet with two women by you, you couldn’t summon up a flicker of a stand. You’ve got to make up for it now, my lazy darling.’
Her little hand slipped over his stomach, undid the knot of his pyjama trousers, and played delicately with a very limp and lethargic phallus. Her other hand reached up behind her and touched a bell. Charlie sank back, dreamily anticipating some further surprise.
Almost immediately a very smart and pretty girl, dressed in a sort of comic-opera maid’s costume, came in without knocking.
‘This gentleman isn’t well,’ said Charlie’s hostess; ‘bring the usual remedies.’
‘The usual remedies’ arrived very swiftly, and a tired and dejected Charlie noted, with a relieved glance, tea, coffee, tiny caviar sandwiches, delicately cut toast, almost smokingly hot little rolls, and more severe comforts in the shape of half-bottles of champagne, and several brands of liqueurs and brandy. On a separate tray were all sorts of fruit.
‘If you are very hungry, darling,’ said the little fairy of the bed, ‘you can have anything you like in the way of a serious breakfast, but my advice is, play about with these little things now, and when we are up and bathed and so on, we’ll have a proper meal in the garden by the river; it’s a beautiful morning, and the lilies are lovely.’
‘River, garden, lilies’–every evidence of wealth–Charlie began to wonder what he had struck, and to think more nervously than ever of his waistcoat pockets.
The pretty maid slipped a soft, rounded arm under Charlie’s back, and raised him gently. She sat on the bed by his knee, the trays by her side on a table, and began to feed him like a baby. Charlie’s delightful bedfellow lay back in amorous abandon.
‘Nothing for me just yet, Elsie,’ she said, smiling.
Charlie didn’t quite know which way to look–both girls were so delicious. The maid’s left hand lay, whether by accident or design, right on his cock, as she handed him drinks and sandwiches with her right. She had crossed her knees as she sat, and her lovely calves showed right up to the garter.
She wouldn’t let him help himself, but he couldn’t keep his hands idle. One toyed with her breasts, his fingers within her bodice dwelling lustfully on the swelling globes. The other hand his bedfellow had captured and it, too, was occupied. She had thrown the bedclothes aside, pulled her pyjama trousers down a little, and had Charlie’s hand pressed gently on her clitoris.
Charlie ate and drank, and in a moment or two all lassitude had left him. His cock was rampant and erect, and his eyes wandered lasciviously and eagerly from one wickedly smiling face to the other.
The pretty maid gave him a long, hard-breathed kiss, which nearly set him on fire, before she left. As the door closed behind her, the other girl kissed him savagely on the neck.
‘Take my things off,’ she said, jerkily, to Charlie.
It was the work of a moment, and she was exposed in all her naked loveliness.
To his surprise, Charlie noticed that her mons Veneris carried no hair whatever; it was perfectly shaved, and as his fingers strayed downwards, he felt no trace of any stubble even as he inclined his head and kissed it, he felt conscious that his chin, though he had had a late shave overnight, was far the rougher.
Charlie knew a bit; he hadn’t knocked about town for nothing, and he was accustomed to pictures of the female form divine in which the hair was as conspicuously absent as the clothing, but he had never run across it in real life, and curiously, it opened up a new vista of thought to him.
He kissed the shorn vagina and tasted some strangely sweet effluvia, which contrasted attractively with the caviar and the Georges Goulet.
Charlie, hardly able to contain himself, was just turning to fuck her in the age-old Adam and Eve way when her little hand, strong with passion, pushed him back.
‘Lie quiet, darling,’ she said, ‘I’m going to be jockey,’ and delicately she knelt astride him. ‘Do you want it very much, sweetheart?’ she cooed, as her fingers toyed with the luxuriant hairs of his bush.
‘Want it, my God! I can’t hold it–be quick.’
She parted the dainty red lips of her cunt with her diamond-flashing fingers and with just a movement of her wrist guided Charlie’s member in; then she sank softly down on him till her bare breasts caressed his, and their lips became as one reciprocating engine of love and lust.
It was a convulsive grappling of two naked bodies, a passionate mingling of flesh, a communion of kisses–and a good deal more a communion of souls than those two young people quite realised at that time. Charlie really thought it was the best fuck he had ever had, and yet he didn’t even know the girl’s name or anything at all about her.
Somehow, though, he felt they had an affinity. As her legs twined over his bottom, and her strong, young arms grappled him to her with loving vigour, he felt somehow that he had never known the time when that red, hot, little tongue had not darted over his.
He did not quite know when he actually finished. He had half fainted; the girl’s grip was loosened too; he seemed to be swimming in mid-air in a red mist. The most delicious fatigue possessed him. When he came to, she was still on to of him, but wide-awake and alert.
‘Where are we?’ he hesitated. ‘I expect I owe all sorts of apologies.’
‘You don’t remember the motor drive?’
‘No.’
‘Well, you’re near Staines, and you’ll learn all about thing when you feel a bit better. Try a little more caviar; it’s extra fine, straight from a grand-duke friend of mine. You couldn’t buy it in a shop.’
‘Grand dukes–oh, Lord!’ thought Charlie, ‘what will she expect?’
She jumped up and went to a curtained door. ‘The bathroom’s here, dear,’ she said; ‘you can have it in moment,’ and she was gone.
Charlie Osmond finished a glass of champagne, got hastily out of bed, and examined his pockets. One pound, fourteen and seven pence was the net–obviously useless.
He had done this sort of thing before, and subsequently paid, but there was something about this girl that made him uneasy. She was very much out of the ordinary.
He had some more champagne, and listened apprehensively to the splashing in the bathroom.
We have to go through this book with Charlie Osmond, so our readers may just as well know a little about him.
A gentleman by birth, he had most of the right instincts and perversions. He had left Eton for the usual reason, and he regretted it. He did not want to bugger other boys, but some did, and he somehow hated to be out of the fashion. Unfortunately, he was found out.
At Oxford his career had been meteoric. He could not go to a very good college, owing to his school troubles, and his ‘good allowance made him a star at–(we will suppress the name). He did many things he should not have done and his final exploit of sowing the word CUNT in mustard and cress in the grass of the front quad, which came up under the astonished eyes of the dean’s daughter, led to his final exit. His defence–that he had meant the word as a moral admonition to those of the varsity who had leanings towards malpractices in the sodomitical line–was not accepted, and he went.
The homecoming was as usual–nobody to meet him at the station but the chauffeur, and father in the gunroom.
Your son’s devotion to landscape gardening [ran the dean’s note] is undoubtedly commendable, but we must remind you that the grass in the front quadrangle at–has for five hundred years preserved its virginity, and the word inscribed makes not only a blemish on the grass, but conveys a reflection on the locality. We are only pleased that news of the incident has not found its way to the American papers. We are, etc.,Hy. CHARTERIS (Dean)
Charlie Osmond came to town with £300 a year, and a paternal kick up the arse. He could not live on £300 a year, and he didn’t try to. It cost him that in clothes and drink.
Well, it had gone on somehow for some time, but the end–Canada–or something worse–was near.
Yet he realised that he was really a very nice young man; everyone liked him, and he liked most people, but he hadn’t got a carriere, and he wanted one.
The divinity came back, and sat down on the bottom of the bed, lighting a cigarette.
We have got to know about her.
She was not a clergyman’s daughter.
Her father had prospered in the nitrate market, and, until the inevitable end, had prospered exceedingly, so his children were well brought up. Maudie Stevens went to school at Eltham, in Kent, and was ‘finished’–well ‘finished’–at a convent near Rouen.
She had her baby in a suburb of Paris, and her family gave her money and her conge. The money was luckily tied up, so that her father’s sensational end at the Old Bailey did not affect her financially.
She had a few hundred a year, a detestation of suburbia, and no morals.
She took the inevitable end quite calmly, and became a tart, pure et simple .
She was very popular, and–but we shall see.
Charlie’ Osmond started bluntly.
‘I don’t quite know,’ he blundered, ‘what you think of me?’ She laughed, and twisted her hair into a bewitching knot over her forehead.
‘Where I am, I don’t know,’ he went on. ‘Who you are, I don’t know; and I’ve no money to speak of. I feel a pig.’
‘I know you well enough, Charlie Osmond. I shouldn’t have picked you up, and brought you down here if I hadn’t wanted you–but I did . Now make yourself at home; get into the bathroom. You’ll find clean collars, and a new toothbrush and things, and we’ll have breakfast and talk. I haven’t exactly brought you here for nothing.’
Charlie felt considerably relieved when he found himself alone in the dainty bathroom.
Every imaginable sort of comfort was ready to hand, and he enjoyed a most elaborate scented bath. After the final cold douche, he put down a stiff ice-cold brandy and soda and was ready for anything the world might bring forth.
Maudie was dressed when he came back into the bedroom–dressed in a simple summer muslin, which made him remember with a shock that he had been in evening clothes the night before.
Maudie obviously divined his thought.
‘I expect you’ll find flannels to do you in the wardrobe,’ she said laughingly. ‘I keep several sizes.’
In a few minutes Charlie was a smart young man, in immaculate boating flannels, and as he followed his hostess through the pretty hall and across the lawn to where a breakfast table flashed its silver; glass and napery temptingly under the trees, he felt he’d like to stop here forever.
Another pretty maid, in white, and a page-boy, in white ducks, waited.
Charlie frankly made a pig of himself. A cool breeze flickering over the Thames had given him a raging appetite, and everything was so very nicely done, and the pretty eyes opposite his were so twinklingly alluring.
Chapter II
Maudie’s garden and studio
On a little slope, very green and fresh-looking, and completely shut off from the house by the trees, a number of really sensible-sized cushions were spread. Thither, after breakfast, Maudie led the way, and flopped, making no bones about showing her lovely legs right up to the knee. Openwork stockings are distracting enough at the best of times, but when it comes to the very finest of red silk, and the tiniest of little, red morocco shoes at the end of them matching exactly the scarlet sash encircling the wearer’ tapering waist, it takes a strong man to think of anything but the worst. Charlie flopped by her side, and took a kiss, whirl was only stopped by the page-boy’s judicious cough. He had the daily papers and cigarettes.
‘I’ll ring if I want anything,’ she said. ‘Now see that we’ll not disturbed.’
There was an el [...]
