Sadopaideia E-Book

anonymous

• Herausgeber: Erotic eBooks
• Kategorie: Erotik
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2012

Beschreibung

Cecil Pendergast is a young undergraduate at Oxford, where he receives an unexpected education at the expert hands of irresistible women with a taste for discipline.
Cecil has been selected by Muriel Harcourt and her maid as the third dimension in their relationship, and Muriel likes to beat Cecil's backside with a bamboo cane. Before long, a new master emerges, and Cecil finally asserts his dominance. He punishes Muriel, her maid and Muriel's two nieces in turn. Through disciplinary scenes, he wages a war of retribution via stinging pleasure and mutual consent.

"Sadopaideia" is a classic Victorian erotic novel, published in 1907. It contains graphic sexual descriptions and themes.

Leseprobe

Sadopaideia

Being the experiences of Cecil Prendergast, undergraduate of the University of Oxford, shewing how he was led through the pleaseant paths of masochism

Sadopaideia 1907AnonymousThis ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy.First edition 2010 Text and images are in public domain or Creative Commons

Chapter I THE INTERRUPTED BOSTON

I first met Mrs. Harcourt at my College Ball, my last term at Oxford. She had come up for “Commem” to chaperon the cousin of one of my chums. Only the blessed ceremony of marriage gave her this right, for she was still well under thirty. I learnt from Harry that she was a widow, having married an elderly and somewhat used-up brewer who most considerately died quite soon after marriage, having, I have every reason to believe, decidedly shortened his life by vain, though praiseworthy, attempts to satisfy his wife’s insatiable appetite.

She was a little woman, beautifully made, with magnificent red-brown hair, the fairest possible skin, a bust that was abundant without being aggressively large, a neat waist with splendidly curved hips, and in a ball dress-discreetly yet alluringly cut-she fired my passion at once.

Harry was very epris with his cousin and so was only too glad for me to take Mrs. Harcourt off his hands. We danced one or two dances together. She had the most delightful trick in the Boston of getting her left leg in between mine now and then. At first I thought it was an accident, but it happened so repeatedly that I began to suspect, and my old man began to suggest that more might be intended. At last I felt what seemed a deliberate pressure of her thigh against my left trouser. John Thomas responded at once, and I, looking down at my partner, caught her eye. There was no mistaking the expression. She gave a little self-conscious laugh and suggested that we should sit out the rest of the dance. Now I had helped to superintend the sitting-out arrangement and knew where the cosiest nooks were to be found. After one or two unsuccessful attempts, when we were driven back by varying coughs or the sight of couples already installed (in one case a glimpse of white drawers showed that one couple had come to quite a good understanding), I succeeded in finding an unoccupied Chesterfield in a very quiet corner of the Cloisters. Here we ensconced ourselves, and without further delay I slipped my arm round my partner’s back, along the top of the couch, and, bending down, kissed the bare white shoulder.

“You silly boy,” she murmured.

“Why silly?” said I, putting my other arm round her in front so that my hand rested on her left breast.

She turned towards me to answer, but before she could speak my lips met hers in a long kiss.

“That’s why,” she said, with a smile, when I drew back.

“Kisses were meant for lips, it’s silly to waste them on shoulders.”

I needed no further invitation. I pressed her close in my arms and, finding her lips slightly parted, ventured to explore them just a little with my tongue. To my great joy and delight her tongue met mine. My hand naturally was not idle; I stroked and squeezed her breast, outside her frock first, and then tried to slip it inside, but she would not allow that.

“You’ll tumble me too much,” she murmured as she gently pushed it away. “I can’t have my frock rumpled, people would notice. Take that naughty hand away.”

As I didn’t obey, she took it herself and placed it with a dainty little pat on my own leg above the knee. “There it can’t do any harm,” she added with an adorable smile. She was going to take her own hand away, but I held it tight. I drew her still closer to me and kissed her again and again, my tongue this time boldly caressing her own. She gave a little sigh and let herself sink quite freely into my arms. By this time the old proverb that “a standing prick has no conscience” proved its truth. My right hand released hers and I took her in my arms, my right arm this time encircling her below the waist, with the hand clasping the left cheek of her bottom.

Modern dresses do not allow of much underclothing and I could distinctly feel the edge of her drawers through the soft silk of her frock.

“Oh, you darling,” I murmured as I kissed her. By my taking her close to me, she naturally had to move the hand which had gently held mine. It slid up my leg and at last met John Thomas, for whom my thin evening-dress trousers proved an altogether inadequate disguise. She gave a little gasp and then her fingers convulsively encircled him and she squeezed him fondly.

That was enough for me, my hand slid down her frock and up again, but this time inside. It found a beautifully moulded leg ensheathed in silk, dainty lace, the smooth skin of her thigh, and at last soft curls and the most delightfully pouting lips possible to imagine. My mouth remained glued to hers, her hand grasped my eager weapon, and I was just about to slip down between her knees and consummate my delight when the lips that I was fondling pouted and contracted, and I felt my hand and fingers soaked with her love, and I realised that her imagination had proved too much for her, and that while I was still unsatisfied, she had reached at least a certain height of bliss.

She pulled herself together at once, and just as I was unbuttoning my trousers she stopped me. “No, not here,” she said. “It’s too dangerous, and besides, it would be much too hurried and uncomfortable. Come and see me in Town, there’s a darling boy. Now we must go back and dance. This naughty fellow,” she added, playfully patting my trousers, “must wait.” She then got up, arranged her dress, and, giving me a lovely kiss with her tongue, led the way back to the ballroom. I followed, but do the best I might, John Thomas took his revenge on me by weeping with disappointment, which made me extremely sticky and uncomfortable, and but for Mrs. Harcourt’s invitation to see her in Town, my evening would have been spoilt.

Chapter II AN AFTERNOON CALL

I “went down” next day, and on arrival in Town I lost no time in calling on Mrs. Harcourt at her little house in South Molton Street. When I rang at the door, it was opened by a very neat though not particularly pretty maid, as I thought. She had, however, quite an alluring little figure and a perky naughtiness in her face which is perhaps more fascinating even than mere beauty.

“Is Mrs. Harcourt at home?”

“I will see, sir, will you come this way. What name shall I say?” She showed me into a delightful little morning-room, very tastefully furnished, and disappeared. She did not keep me waiting long, but returned and said:

“Will you come this way, sir? Madame is in her boudoir. Shall I take your hat and stick?”

She took them from me and turned to hang the hat on the stand. The pegs were rather high, and in reaching up she showed the delightful line of her breast and hips and just a glimpse of a white petticoat underneath the skirt.

“Is it too high for you? Let me help,” I said.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, smiling up at me.

I took the hat over her shoulder and hung it up. She was between me and the hat-stand and could not move until I did. I lowered my arm and drew her towards me. She looked up at me with a provoking smile. I bent down and kissed her lips, while my hand fondled the delightfully plump breast.

“You mustn’t,” she murmured. “What would mistress say, if she knew?”

“But she won’t know,” I answered as my hand went further down to the bottom, which her tight skirt made very apparent.

“She will if I tell her,” she smiled. “You naughty boy,” and she playfully patted my trouser leg as she passed me.

“Which, of course, you won’t,” I said lightly, as I followed her. She laughed rather maliciously I thought, though I didn’t pay much attention at the time. I had reason later, though, to remember it.

We went upstairs and I was shown into a lovely room where a log fire was burning, although it was no colder than most June days in this country. There was a splendid deep low couch, or rather divan, for it had no back, facing the fire, covered with cushions, which took my eye at once, and I mentally promised myself what should happen on it. My expectations fell far short of the reality, as will be seen. Mrs. Harcourt was sitting on a low chair near the couch. She was in a delightfully fitting tea-gown, cut fairly low at the neck, with very loose sleeves. It clung to her figure as she rose to greet me, and being made of chiffon with a foundation of pink silk, it gave one the idea at first that she was practically naked.

“Bring up tea please, Juliette,” she said to the maid, who disappeared.

“So you have found your way here,” she said, coming towards me with outstretched hand.

The room was heavily scented with perfume, which I learnt came from burning pastilles, and she herself always used a mixture of sandalwood and attar of roses. As she approached me her perfume intoxicated me, and without saying a word I clasped her in my arms and pressed long hot kisses on her lips. To my intense delight I found she had no corsets on, and her supple body bent close to mine, so that I could feel every line of it. My hands slipped down and grasped the cheeks of her bottom as I pressed her stomach close against my trousers.

“You rough impetuous bear,” she smiled at me. “Wait till the tea comes up.” And she disengaged herself from me, playfully slapping, as she did so, John Thomas, who was naturally quite ready by this time for anything. “Oh, already,” she said as she felt his condition. “I told this naughty fellow at Oxford that he would have to be patient, and he must learn to obey.”

Tea appeared most daintily served, and on the tray I noticed a delicate Bohemian-glass liqueur carafe and two liqueur glasses.

“Do you know Crème de Cacao,” said Mrs. Harcourt. “It’s rather nice.”

She poured out tea and then filled each liqueur glass half full of the dark liqueur and poured cream on top. “A votre sante,” she said, touching my glass with hers. Our fingers met and a thrill ran right through me. I drank the liqueur off at a gulp and leant towards her.

“You greedy thing,” she laughed. “That’s not the way to drink it. No, no, wait till we’ve had tea.”

As I tried to get her in my arms: “Naughty boys must not be impatient,” slapping John Thomas again and somewhat harder this time.

I sat back on the couch and drank tea rather gloomily, Mrs. Harcourt watching me teasingly. At last she put her cup down and, reaching for her cigarette box, took one herself and offered me one, and leant back in her chair looking at me with a smile.

“It’s a shame to tantalise him so, isn’t it?” she said at last. I did not answer, but jumped up and threw my arms round her, kneeling in front of her, and covered her face and neck with kisses. She tossed her cigarette into the grate and undid the silk tie of her gown. It fell back and showed all she had on was a dainty chemise of the finest lawn and a petticoat. My right hand immediately sought her left breast, and pulling it out I kissed and sucked the dainty nipple, which responded at once to my caress, stiffening most delightfully. My left hand then reached down to the hem of her petticoat and began to raise it.

I felt her right arm round my waist and her left hand began to unbutton my fly from the top. Before she had time to undo the last button John Thomas leapt forth ready and eager, but she slapped it and pushed it in again and undid the last button and fumbled for my balls and gently drew them out. I drew back a little from her and lifted her petticoat right up, disclosing the daintiest of black silk openwork stockings with pale green satin garters, and above them filmy lawn drawers with beautiful lace and insertion, through which the fair satin skin of her thighs gleamed most provokingly. At the top there appeared just between the opening of the drawers the most fascinating brown curls imaginable.

I feasted my eyes on this lovely sight, undoing my braces and slipping my trousers down. Her hand immediately left my balls and began to fondle my bottom, stroking and pinching the cheeks while she murmured, “You darling boy, oh, what a lovely bottom.”

I was eager to be in her, but the brown curls fascinated me so much that I could not resist the temptation to stoop down and kiss them. I was rather shy of doing this, as I had never done it before, and though I knew it was usual with tarts, I was not sure if it would be welcome here. Judge of my surprise, then, when I felt Mrs. Harcourt’s hand on my head gently pressing it down and heard her saying, “How did you guess I wanted that?”

She opened her legs wider, disclosing the most adorable pussy, with pouting lips just slightly opening and showing the bright coral inner lips, which seemed to ask for my kisses. I buried my head in the soft curls, and with eager tongue explored every part of her mossy grot. She squirmed and wriggled with pleasure, opening her legs quite wide and twisting them round me. I followed all her movements, backing away on my knees as she slipped off the chair, until at last, when she drenched my lips with love, she slipped on the hearth rug. Then, as I could scarcely reach her with my tongue in that position, and didn’t wish to lose a drop of the maddening juice, I disengaged my legs from hers and knelt down to one side so that my head could dive right between her legs. This naturally presented my naked bottom and thighs to her gaze.

“You rude naughty boy,” she said, smacking me gently, “to show me this bare bottom. I’m shocked at you.”

Her hands again fondled my balls and bottom, and I had all I could do to prevent John Thomas from showing conclusively what he had in store for her.

I had no intention of wasting good material, however, and was just about to change my position so that I could arrive at the desired summit of joy when I felt her trying to pull my right leg towards her. I let myself go and she eventually succeeded in lifting it right over, so that I was straddling right across her, and we were in the position I knew quite well from photographs, known as sixty-nine.

My heart beat high. Was it possible I was to experience this supreme pleasure of which I had heard so much? I buried my head between her thighs, my tongue redoubled its efforts, searching out every corner and nook it could find, and just as it was rewarded by another flow of warm life I felt round my own weapon, not the fondling of her hand, but something softer, more clinging, and then unmist [...]