I hope you’ll be proud of me. I’ve spent the time until we can meet again researching the amatory arts. All to your benefit, I assure you. Or, perhaps, more accurately, to our benefit because I’ll share every heated moment with you and enjoy your sighs and groans of pleasure.
You’ll hardly believe how I began my studies. I found exotic literature in X’s bedroom – a journal filled with the most salacious material imaginable. I’d gone there in the company of one of the maids to inspect some water damage near a window after a recent downpour. As I bent to inspect the floorboard, I caught sight of some paper sticking out from under the carpet beneath the bed. Thinking it something I should inspect alone, I dismissed the maid, removed the publication, and took it to my own room for study.
I never imagined anyone wrote such prose. In fact, I never imagined anyone indulged in such fantasies, for I can only credit some of the stories as that – creations of an overheated imagination. Young girls eager to couple with the first gentleman who came along, sex in groups of three or four, a lady endowed with a wondrously large clitoris. Am I to believe such things are true?
True or not, the tales had the effect on me that the authors intended – to excite my lust. I thought back on the kisses we shared and how they aroused me. What fun it would be to read these pages aloud to you and watch your reaction. How much more wonderful to act the fantasies out. I could play your milkmaid and you my lusty blacksmith’s helper. We could explore each other’s bodies as if for the first time. I’d express such surprise at the rise of your member. I’d beg your permission to touch it, which you’d grant most willingly.
Forgive me, my dearest, but I find myself giggling into my fingers. Such wicked thoughts. How much worse to pick up my pen and put them to paper. I know about that part of a man’s body, of course, but I’ve never given my full attention to the male member, at least not with the devotion I’d like to give yours. I wonder at its size and shape and how it would feel in my hand. Instead of a quick tumble in the darkness, bodies obscured by coverlets, my studies would occur in the full light of day. I’d observe how it thickens and swell. I’d search for the most sensitive spots and watch your reaction to my touch there. Or, and my skin heats to the roots of my hair to even think this, I’d like to kiss you in all of those places.
Would you enjoy that, sweet Richard? Would you even allow it? If so, obtain a private place for our next tryst. Make it a secret location where no one will interrupt us for a long spell – enough for me to learn every inch of your beloved anatomy. Enough for your curious milkmaid to watch her lad’s cock spill his seed into her hand and then to coax it to erection again for more amorous play.
Can we do all that? Can you create a time and space for shared ecstasy? Return this note with assurances that my most passionate imaginings can become reality. I’ll scarcely breathe awaiting your reply.
Your most arduous admirer,
My darling girl,
Your latest letter nearly unmanned me as I read your fantasies regarding my rod. He responds to the mere sight of your handwriting on an envelope now, with each letter more eagerly. In fact, he spends all his time in a state of near readiness. If he doesn’t have you soon, the two of us will go mad with unsatisfied lust.
Yes, you may kiss him. You may consider him your toy to play with in any way that amuses you. I’ll tie a ribbon around him so that you can unwrap him like a gift. Once you’ve taken possession of my erection, I hope you’ll explore it to your heart’s content. I’ll do my best to contain my lust so that you can imspect my length and breadth at leisure. You have me utterly at your mercy.
Oh, my love…the mere thought of your lips…it’s more than I can bear. But did you know, my darling, that I can kiss you as intimately as you will me? There’s even a term for the caress, gamahucherie. An awkward word for such a passionate enterprise – an enterprise that I hope will render you quite unconscious with delight. I’ll feel the warmth of your thighs on my ears as I place my mouth on your pussy and let my tongue dive between the folds to seek your pearl. Once I’ve found the seat of your desire, I’ll tease it until you beg for release. I won’t spare you, though. I’ll make you wait until I’ve satisfied myself you can’t endure more and must spend or perish. Your final cries as you reach the pinnacle will serve as my reward.
Name a time and place where we can act out these dreams, my precious. Pity poor Priapus. He suffers day and night, and my hand no longer provides any sort of relief. Nothing will give him ease until he’s buried himself in your hot pussy.
Until then, I remain your ardent lover-to-be,
Great news! I’ve not only found the perfect place for our first erotic encounter but I’ve secured it for our use. How I accomplished this feat is in itself a titillating story, and I trust that you’ll enjoy it for its own sake.
I believe you’ve made the acquaintance of my sister and her husband, the Cheswicks. They have a large estate named Bramley near Milford-on-Tyne. It is from thence this letter comes to you as I’ve gone up for a short visit to honor our mother’s upcoming birthday.
I was coming back from a walk in the woods yesterday in the late afternoon. In rushing to get back to the house to dress for dinner, I almost missed the sounds coming from the gardener’s cottage as I went by in my haste. Luckily, one particular cry caught my ear, and its meaning registered. No less than a throaty expression of lust in a young woman’s voice. Of course, I stopped to determine from which direction it had come and discovered the source to be the very cottage I stood beside.
Well, my dearest, your letters have made me such a shameless creature, I had to see what mischief had produced that sound, so I crept up to the window and peered inside. I’d hardly needed to exercise such caution because the couple in question – the gardener and a woman in a maid’s uniform – were so thoroughly engaged in the marital act that they would have scarcely noticed me had I tapped on the pane.
Some playful deity seemed to have arranged the scene so that I could get a full view of their coitus and not simply the pair entwined with the man on top and working his hips to pump into her. No, she lay on her back on a table, her skirts pushed upward and her drawers removed to expose her sex. He hadn’t undressed any more than his mate but had simply opened his pants and pushed them down around his ankles. In this position and at exactly the right angle for my observing, I could clearly make out the appearance of his rod as he slid it in and out of her body.
I needn’t tell you, I’m sure, that as I watched, I could only imagine that I was that fortunate female and it was your beloved cock pushing so forcefully into my chamber. All the excitement of reading your letters came back to me with a rush as I pictured my back against those boards as you pleasured me so completely that I made the same lustful noises that woman did. My sex responded, becoming hot and wet in anticipation. (I must admit with some chagrin that it has again simply from describing these events to you.)
They continued in that way for several minutes. All the while, the woman went on moaning and gasping, tossing her head from side to side in her rapture.
“Yes,” she screamed as she approached her peak. “Don’t stop. Don’t…stop!”
At that, her body went rigid as a tremor coursed through her. She’d spent, and I envied her, wishing from the bottom of my soul that I had been she and you the man with your rod inside me. Soon, my dearest. I promise.
Though she had climaxed, he continued his thrusts, now faster and more desperate than before. The woman cried out to him to pull out, that she dared not conceive his child. At the last moment, he complied, removing his cock and grasping it in his fist. It had turned a bright crimson color, and soon it erupted in a spray of semen that fell in copious measure on her belly and her skirts.
Knowing that they’d recover their full faculties in a moment and might find me at the window, I hurried away. Only later did I realize that they’d given me the solution to our problem.
This morning, I confronted the gardener and told him everything I’d seen in sufficient detail to convince him that I hadn’t made the story up. The poor fellow nearly wept at the news, assuming, as he did, that I would tell my sister all and have him promptly sacked. In exchange for my silence, he promised me the use of his cottage at whatever time I might need it. For full measure, he offered to stand as sentry and warn me with a signal if someone were to approach. I let him stew a bit more until he vowed as well that he’d arrange for his paramour, the maid, to have his rooms made tidy and comfortable for us.
Now, I need only to contrive some business that requires your presence at Bramley, and we’ll be free to savor in the flesh all the delights we’ve shared in our correspondence. I’ll write again when I’ve accomplished that. Have patience a bit longer, and we’ll have our hearts’, and our bodies’, truest desires.
Yours most ardently,
Copyright Alice Gaines