Letters from a Friend in Paris- Letter-3

The friend in Paris is Harry. Harry Hargrove, photographer. Young, beautiful women come to Harry’s studio to have their portrait taken, but while there, one thing leads to another, and randy Harry’s life becomes one big Parisian orgy. Before internet porn, before porn videos, before porn movies, people lusting for raunchy, X-rated entertainment read pornographic books and magazines. Victorian and Edwardian England had its own adult entertainment industry – countless erotic novels were put out by shady publishers, some books were printed by the authors themselves, and most of the writers were anonymous. Many of these 19th-century books are surprisingly kinky, and some of them may be quite offensive to modern-day readers – in more ways than one. The anonymously written ”Letters from a Friend in Paris” was first published in 1874. This novel is a great example of Victorian erotica.

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LETTER 3

After the scene last described I passed a very restless night, in which I studiously avoided any sort of pressure on my unruly organ. Next morning I was in a sad state of burning desire. I sat before the fire, finishing the picture of Tom for Louisa and then she came, looking more beautiful than ever, with a certain languid air, which made me suppose that she too had passed a restless night after our exciting work yesterday morning and my detailed de***********ions of the delights the sexes could give each other.

When she had laid aside her bonnet and shawl, I clasped her in my arms, and gave her a most loving and long embrace, which she warmly returned. I pushed my tongue into her sweet mouth, and said, ‘Oh, return me the favour.’

She darted her dear little tongue in immediately, and I sucked it deliciously, pressing her loving bosom with one hand, while the other wandered over the wide expanse of her glorious and marble-like buttocks, pressing my body against hers, so that she could feel the stiff projection that was throbbing in my trousers. She smiled as I handed her to her seat, and I could see that her eyes glanced down to my unruly member, bulging out as if he would burst the bonds of cloth that confined him.

I begged her to sit with her feet on the fender, and to lift her dress up on her lap, so that I could see their beautiful shape, while I shaded off and finished Tom’s photograph.

These preliminaries had put her completely at her ease, and while I continued at work on the picture I led her on to fuller confessions than she had made the day before. I found, as I more than half-suspected, that her nunnery practice had been carried very far, especially in the pleasures of friction with other girls. She confessed that my conversation and de***********ions of the previous day had occupied herself and two bedroom companions nearly all night, hence the languid air I had observed.

I was curious to hear how she had luxuriously improved upon the de***********ions and sketches I had given her.

Of her two bedroom companions, one was Marguerite, a fine-grown, voluptuous, large-breasted, comely girl of se*****en, of very hot passions. The other, Emma, was a delicate little fair-haired beauty of nearly si***en, well-developed for her age. These three bedfellows had taught each other all they knew or could invent, and that had been carried very far. I soon found that, in fact, the sly puss who the day before had put on such an air of ignorance and surprise, was, in reality, a great deal more knowing than I gave her credit for. She confessed, however, that it was such a pleasure to hear a man descanting on the subject that, although bashfulness withheld her confidence at that moment, she felt how delightful it would be to tell me everything and have no concealments between us.

I thanked the dear girl for her confiding trust in me, which she should never regret. She then described how they had practised last night a new idea I had given her. After they were all undressed and quite naked, she had laid Marguerite on her back, then kneeling on the bed straddled her and, bringing her lovely aperture right before her face, she pressed the stiff, rosy button of Marguerite’s nipple into the opening as much as she could, twisting her body deliciously on the hard, swelling bosom, while Emma rubbed Louisa’s clitoris with one hand, and with the other frigged herself, reclining on the bed so as to introduce the forefinger of each hand into their arseholes, increasing their enjoyments in what was to them a noble manner, so that they spent more deliciously than ever.

They had repeated this, each to the other, until, quite exhausted, they sank to sleep. It must have been great fun could one but have seen them.

In telling me all this Louisa had often to beat about the bush for expressions to explain their actions and their means of carrying them out.