Venus in India

‘Broadford looked at me and grinned and said: “Would you like to know for certain, Stone?”

‘And I said, “Yes.”

‘ “Well,” says he, “the most certain way is to poke her yourself, for you might not believe me if I told you that I was in bed with her up to five o’clock this morning!”

‘ “I don’t believe you, you beggar!” said I, “you are laughing at me.”

‘ “All right!” says he, “have you five hundred rupees to lose on a bet?”

‘ “Well!” I hesitated; five hundred is a large sum and the subject was not worth it.

‘Seeing me hesitate, he said, “Well, would you give five hundred rupees to have Mrs Searle yourself, Jack?”

‘ “Yes,” said I, plump as could be.

‘ “Then come along with me,” said Broadford.

‘Well, we went to my hotel, and there Broadford made me write a cheque, and get five one-hundred-rupee notes from the native banker, new and crisp, in exchange. Then he made me write a letter addressed to Mrs Searle, in which I asked her might I come and take dinner with her on such and such a day? naming the day. I was more than half afraid the fellow was humbugging me, but he pulled out a case from his pocket, and showed me a lovely photo in it of a stark-naked lady, cunt and all complete, and, says he, “Mrs Searle gives one of these to each of her lovers, and she gave me this this morning; see, her name, date and the number of times I had her last night!” Well, I looked at the photo, and sure enough there was no mistaking it was the lady I had just seen, besides which I remembered having seen photos of her taken in the plains.

‘By God! sir! the sight of such lovely charms settled my hash. I told Broadford that he would have to bear the brunt if anything went wrong. He swore all would be right, and after I had signed my name to the note to Mrs Searle, he added his initials and “WTBF?”

‘ “What does that mean?” I asked.

‘ “ ‘Will there be fuck?’ of course!” Well, this done, I put the five good crisp notes in the letter, and we went to the post office, registered it, and then I began to think I had been made a fool of. But it was all right. The day afterwards I got a registered letter. It was from Mrs Searle. In it were my five notes. She said she was very sorry but that she did not think she could have the pleasure of my company at dinner for another ten days, would I write again in about a week’s time, if that would suit me, and she would be sure not to disappoint me. I rushed off, found Broadford, and nearly had a fit of apoplexy from excitement. By his advice I waited some eight days, then sent another letter, and again enclosed the notes, and I added after my own signature, WTBF? Next came a letter by hand. It said, “My dear Jack,” this time. It invited me to dine the next evening at eight and ended with “Matilda Searle. TWBF.”’

‘And did you go?’

‘Oh! What a question! Of course I did. By God, sir! I was simply bursting. Even now I can hardly tell my story with any degree of quiet! Well, I went; I was received by her in an awfully pretty little drawing room, most beautifully furnished and bristling with knick-knacks, mirrors, pictures and everything that can make a room handsome and elegant. The floor was covered with carpet into which one’s feet sank as one walked on it. Mrs Searle was sitting reading when I arrived, and as soon as the bearer had gone out of the room she came and took my hand, shook it, and then kissed me! I was so excited; I felt such a sense of false shame, that at first I was like a stuck pig! But she quickly put me at my ease, sat on the sofa, made me sit next to her, jammed her knee against mine and, whilst asking me where, how and when I had known Lord Henry Broadford, showed off her splendid shoulders and magnificent bosom. I had been awfully randy on my way there, I had been randy all the days I had been waiting for her, but I was so knocked over by the elegance I saw on my first arrival that I declare, if the truth were told, I felt inclined to run away. But little by little, as I got to see the woman I was going to have, as I began to hear her talk as if we were quite old chums, and at her touch — the contact of her hand on mine, to say nothing of the kisses which from time to time she gave me — I began to pluck up courage. So by way of showing her I was no fool but expected something, I offered to put my hand on her bosom, and take hold of one of her glorious bubbies, of which I saw nearly half over her dress. But she laughed and said it was not time for that yet, that when we had dined, and I had had my smoke, we would go to bed, where I should find her all I could wish for, and where I should have the fullest liberty, so long as I did not exceed the bounds which every honest man observed who had a woman. Well! I kissed her and begged her pardon. I had a rosebud in my buttonhole, and she took it out and said, “See, I place your rose where you shall be!” and she put it between her bubbies and said, “there it is, a rose among the lilies, but that is all of you I can allow at present to be there.” Well, sir! we had a splendid dinner. In spite of my impatience I did justice to a rattling good feed, and afterwards she made me smoke a cigar, and when it was nearly done she said she would go and undress, and that when I heard a little bell ring, I was to go to her bedroom which she had already pointed out to me. Soon I heard the bell and I went. Oh! I was delighted! By God, sir! I have had many fine women, but I never saw one who was a patch on Mrs Searle when undressed. She had on a quite transparent kind of nightgown, which covered her from neck to heels. It had no sleeves, and her arms were something splendid. Her bubbies looked more enticing covered with this transparent stuff, than when I saw them bare. Her nipples looked like strawberries, red and luscious. I would have been able to see her cunt, but all the whole of the way, from her chin to her feet, there was a broad rose-coloured ribbon, which fell exactly over it, so that I could only see the fringe of hair on either side where it passed over her bush. I declare, Devereaux, I cannot describe the night I had with her, for it would drive you wild and you would be trying to slip into that woman at the dak bungalow, and it would never do, you being, as you say, a married man, but I never — never — never had such a glorious fucking in my life. It is true I was five years younger than I am now, and as I keep a pretty little piece of brown meat, and have my regular greens twice a week, I might not be able to do as good a turn now, as I did then, but I had that woman eight solid times, sir, seven times before I went to sleep, and once in the morning. She said herself that she did not expect it of me at first sight, as she said I was too fat, and fat men were bad pokes as a rule. When I went away after breakfast she gave me a case like the one Broadford had shown me, and told me not to open it until I got home, and she told me she relied on me not to show it to anyone, unless I thought them a fit fellow for her to have. I’ll show it to you now! Ha! Bearer! Kitmutgar! koi, hai!’ and the excited major shouted to the servants, one of whom came. By his orders the major’s bearer brought a little writing dispatch-box, and from this he took a small case, some six inches by four in size, and then, giving me a nudge, he walked to the anteroom of the mess, which was deserted, and showed me a very well-executed photo of a perfectly naked woman. On the back of the photo was written: From M. Searle to Jack Stone — 15 June 1875 — 8.

‘Now!’ said the major, ‘any time you would like to have that woman, you drop me a line and I will give you the necessary introduction.’

I thanked him heartily, but I must say I did not feel tempted to give five hundred rupees for the favours of any woman, just then, and mentally I made comparisons between my Lizzie and Mrs Searle which were not favourable to the latter, though, according to the photo, she was certainly a fine woman.

Then, after smoking another cigar, and drinking a couple more pegs and talking Mrs Searle and fuck generally, I left to go home, and I looked forward to returning to Lizzie and getting rid of some of the hot blood which was running in a desperately excited manner through my throbbing veins, for the little major’s conversation had been the reverse of cooling.

It was very nearly midnight when I reached the bungalow and there was not a light in the place. The stars had shown in the road fairly well, but the verandah and rooms, on my side at least, were pitch dark. I imagined that Lizzie must have grown tired of waiting up for me and taken the opportunity of getting a good sleep before I came home, since it was highly likely that, after a good mess dinner and quantities of generous wine, I would be rather lively and keen and put her into that condition too.

Full of this idea, and determined if possible to give her a surprise sweet-awakening by getting into her whilst she slept, I stole on tiptoe towards my room, to undress there and then join her in her ‘naked bed’. But as I crossed the verandah something white gleamed on one side and, on looking, I saw it was Lizzie, sitting in my easy chair, apparently, from her position, asleep. I stole up behind her and bending over her I kissed her soft cheek, at the same time stealing my hand into her glorious bosom, and caressing her warm, swelling, elastic bubbies, which always gave me such delight to feel. Oh! What nice things good bubbies are to feel!

‘Ah! is that you, Charlie, dear! I must have been half asleep,’ she said.

‘Yes! darling!’ I said softly, still pressing the delightful globes in my hand, one after the other, and kissing the sweet mouth turned up towards me.

Lizzie seemed to enjoy my caresses, for she merely returned my kisses and patted my face lightly with her hand. I found that although she was still dressed, her clothes were loose on her, and that I could pass my hand between the band and her waist, and her beautiful skin felt so soft, so satiny, so smooth, it delighted me as though I had never felt it before. From her bosom I descended until I reached the pretty plain of her lovely belly and here I let my roving hand wander from side to side as it gradually crept lower and lower until it reached the upper fringe of the glorious bush which so splendidly adorned her domelike motte, and then I threaded my way through this pathless forest until I reached the spot where the infold formed the precious and voluptuous deep line of her delicious cunt. I passed my middle finger in the groove, just tipping the awakened and slippery little clitoris, until I reached the entrance to the rich depths I sought for.

Lizzie said nothing; my left hand, which was over the bosom, felt the breast rise a little more tumultuously, and my arm bore a slightly increased strain as she leaned her head back upon it, but that was all. It was so dreamy, so exquisite, that I stood in that position, caressing the warm moist cunt, kissing the cherry lips with little caresses of mine, as if I were a dove billing its mate.

Suddenly a change seemed to come over me. I was no longer in India; it was no longer Lizzie whose charms I was master of, but my own beloved little beautiful wife. I remembered how, on the third night of our blissful and heavenly honeymoon, she had preceded me to bed; how it was the month of July, and the night was warm and balmy, the scent of the blossoming lime trees filling the air with its sweet aroma. I had given my Louie ten minutes to undress and perform those necessary little acts to make her comfortable for the night, which no young married woman likes to do in the presence of her husband, and then I had gone up to follow her into the bed, my beautiful heaven, in which I expected to find her, a luscious feast for my still ardent and excited and quite uncloyed desire. But when I went to the room she was still dressed. She was seated at the open window, reclining back into her chair. There were no candles. The stars were shining brightly but softly; the heavy masses of foliage on the trees loomed dark against the skies, and there was silence outside, except the occasional rustling of the leaves as the amorous zephyrs kissed the heads of the trees they loved, and the poetry of the moment filled me with a degree of tenderness and love I had not experienced in a similar manner since Louie and I had been made one at God’s holy altar. Like Lizzie, she had only half turned to accept my kisses, with a little question as to whether it was me — as though it could be anyone else! — as I had glided my happy hand into her so lately virgin bosom, and caressed the swelling globes which it had so delighted me on my wedding night to find did exist in truth and reality, beautiful, round, firm, polished, elastic and rose-crowned; for Louie had been so jealous of those exquisite beauties, that even when I had seen her dressed for the evening, in her low-necked gown, not one line of the lovely hemispheres did she show, and I had to imagine beauties to exist where my fancy painted them; and I had prayed I might find she really had sweet bubbies; for alas! how often is man deceived in his expectations as to the physique of his beloved bride. Neither of us spoke; we were too happy; and over her beautiful bosom my wanton hand had descended, until, finding her waistband loosened, it had explored the sweet pastures of silvery belly and crossed the rough surface of the mount of Venus; as my finger pressed in Cupid’s furrow, the lovely little clitoris, ever on the watch, had sprung up to salute it with a moist and eager kiss; a thrill, which I could feel, passed over my Louie’s form, and as she felt the strong middle finger bury itself in the hot depths of her velvety cunt, she had pressed my face to her burning cheeks, and murmured, ‘My man! Oh! my beloved man!’

Full of overflowing sentiment, which this entrancing quiet and this voluptuous scene of love and passion had inspired me with, I quite forgot where I was, and whom I was caressing. I kissed Lizzie rapturously and I murmured in a voice which must have quivered with deep emotion, ‘Oh! my darling! my own, own, darling.’

Lizzie started. She disengaged my hands and, standing up, she exclaimed in a voice which sounded strange to me, so different was it from her ordinary tone, ‘Charlie! Charlie! Don’t speak to me like that! Don’t! there’s a good fellow!’

‘Oh! Lizzie! what have I done?’ I said in alarm.

‘Oh! you must not speak to me like that! You know you don’t love me, Charlie dear. You don’t love me like you do your wife, and if you did it would only make me unhappy. Oh! Charlie! the one thing which would take away the only pleasure I have in life, would be to know that some man really and truly loved me. I could not leave my husband and live with him, and I must have a man as often as I can. You don’t understand. When a woman has led the life I have she can’t steady down unless some illness puts an end to all feeling of desire in her. She must go on as she is till death, or at least till decay of all her bodily powers. Confess now, it was not Lizzie Wilson you were speaking to but your wife!’

‘Well, Lizzie, dearest!’ I said, quite thunderstruck with her vehemence and her outcry against love, ‘I won’t tell you a lie. I did for the moment forget where I was. It was this way — but sit down darling — and I will tell you truly.’ She did so, and still standing over her, and again possessing myself of the sweet charms between her thighs, to which she admitted me full rights as a true friend but not as an earnest and passionate lover, I told her about the scene of which I have given my readers a faint notion, as regards the delicious commingling of the adoration of the heart and the worship of the senses.

When I had finished Lizzie heaved a prodigious sigh and said: ‘Charlie! Take my advice and don’t be too long sending home for that true wife of yours! She will keep you from harm out here, and it is not right, it would be a cruel shame to condemn her to pass the life of a nun whilst you are amusing yourself in India, fucking to your heart’s content women who do not deserve such delight. For, mark my words, you are not the kind of man to go without women, nor will you find a station where there are not women, pretty and fine, who will not leave you alone — they will be as eager to have you as you will be to have them. Yes! believe me, if ever a man was formed to strike a woman’s fancy it is you. Send for your wife, for otherwise some mischief will be brewed, and you may be made to repent that you left her at home.’

These words, spoken with great earnestness, struck me very forcibly. It seemed also so like Satan rebuking sin that I could hardly help feeling amused. After a pause of a second or two, during which I gently stroked the sweet cunt under my hand, I said: ‘All right, Lizzie! I believe you are quite right! I will send for my wife as soon as you advise, but come in, there’s a darling, and let us enjoy the fleeting hour. It seems like ages since I last had my prick in this sweetest, softest, juiciest little cunt of yours!’

To this she replied, ‘Searle has been here tonight.’

My goodness! All my blood ran cold. I felt now as if my Louie, in answer to my prayer to come to bed, so that I might enjoy her loveliness, told me, ‘Too late, my dear, So and So has just been fucking me and I’m not inclined for any more!’

‘Searle!’ I exclaimed, snatching my hand away from under her clothes. ‘Searle! Oh! Lizzie! and did you let him have you?’

‘I did not say that he had me, Charlie, so you need not get into a fit of jealousy, you silly boy! No! If there is one man in the world to whom I would forever say no, it is Searle; but he was here all the same.’

I breathed. Somehow Lizzie had grown dear to me, she had been so nice, such a splendid fuck, and so tender towards me in spite of her disclaimer of love.

‘What did he want, Lizzie?’

‘What you say you do now, Charlie! But oh! we had such a row! I declare it has given me quite a headache! Oh! Searle! you … cursed beast!’

‘And what did he do or say Lizzie! Tell me!’

‘Well, you had hardly got across the road before Searle, who had apparently been watching for you to go, sneaked on to the verandah around the corner, and asked if I had got his note. Now I had received a note from him which I had kept to myself, and which I had not shown you, dear, for I did not want to make you jealous; a fine production it is, too, and a very useful one for me, I can tell you. I think he must have been either drunk or mad when he wrote it, for he could not have written a more damning piece of evidence against himself if he had tried to do it in his sober senses. Oh! Mrs Searle would give a cartful of her rupees to have it, for she could then get the divorce she longs for. Plenty of good fellows are ready to marry her if she could get divorced, and I know she has often said she would be glad to give up her present life; but Searle knows this, and his only revenge against her is to behave so prudently as not to give her any chance. If ever he has a woman it is so on the sly that no one knows it. Well, he has written down in black and white that he has had me — and since Mrs Searle left him, too. Let’s light a candle and I’ll show you the letter!’

Full of curiosity and rather astonished to find how the truth comes out, for I had certainly understood Lizzie to say that Searle had never had her, nor ever should have her by her permission, I went for my candle and lit it. Lizzie then took the precious letter out of her pocket and gave it to me to read.

It commenced with prayers and entreaties to let him come and have her whilst I was at mess. It said that he knew well that I did nothing all day and night but fuck her, that by this time she must be tired of me and at least that a little of her accustomed change of diet would be agreeable. From prayers, it went to using threats. Her husband’s regiment was at Peshawar, now with a newly appointed colonel who was death on adultery and fornication, and he had given out that the first time he found any of it going on amongst the married women of his regiment, he would set the penal laws on the subject in force and that he (Searle) had plenty of evidence which would put me (Devereaux) into prison and send her out of the country branded as an unchaste woman, a whore and an adulteress, and that unless she admitted him to her embraces he would help the colonel to make good his word. Then came more prayers and more earnest entreaties — then offers of a thousand rupees (twice what his own wife charged) — jewellery, anything, if she would but consent, and then in a postscript, he boasted that he had already fucked her, at Agra, on an occasion when, stunned by a fall from an overthrown gharry, she had been carried into his bungalow, and seeing who she was, and determined not to lose the precious opportunity, he had raped her in her unconscious state, and enjoyed the ‘wealth of her voluptuous cunt’ — he actually used these last words.

‘The intense blackguard,’ I exclaimed, moved to great wrath by the reading of this precious epistle.

‘You may say so, Charlie! But now hear what the brute did. At first he asked had I got his letter. I said yes. Then he asked me in a wheedling tone would I consent and let him have me. I said not for all the thousand rupees in India, that he was too loathsome a brute for me to touch with the end of a barge-pole, let alone take in my arms. Then he began to threaten me with our new colonel, saying that I could not get away from here now unless he, Searle, gave me an order for a gharry, that everything like a cart with wheels was engaged for the next ten days, and that long before that time was over the regiment would be on the march from Peshawar to Muttra, and that the colonel, finding me here instead of at Muttra, where he had ordered me to go, would be furious, and he, Searle, would take the opportunity then of telling him why I stopped at Nowshera, namely, to have three separate officers who stayed here, two on their way down country, and one on his way to join his battalion at Cherat, and he would tell who these officers were, and it would go hard on them, each of them would lose two thousand rupees or get two years’ imprisonment, and “then they will have good reason to curse you for being a damned little bitch, for why should you condemn them to these fines and punishment when by letting me have you for an hour or two you can prevent any harm arising, and I will keep my word if you don’t …” and he got more and more angry.

‘I told him I would see him damned before I would let him touch me, and I dared him to report me, or you or the others, and I reminded him of what he had said in his letter, and how completely I would cover myself, and you, and others by it, and I advised him to go away quietly or I would call the khansama. That put him in as complete a passion as ever I saw a man. He rushed at me and swore he would have me. I put myself like a shot behind a chair. He stopped for a moment, unbuttoned his trousers, pulled out his prick, which was in a furious state, and then rushed at me again. I shouted for the khansama, but Searle did not mind. He seized me around the waist, and lifted me off the floor, and ran with me into my room, dashing the chick down as he lunged into it. But I was not going to be ravished without making the best defence I could. I got my ten nails well into his cheeks, and scrawned them down as hard as I could. I could see and feel the blood spurting. Searle yelled and cursed, swore and called me the most awful, dreadful names. I gave him as good a clawing as I could, but he got me down on the bed, pulled my petticoats up to his face, and lay on top of me with all his weight, trying to get his knees between mine. But I kept my thighs locked hard; although he pounded with his knees on my thighs, and nearly choked me with his hand on my throat, he could not get between them. I could feel the tip of his prick banging against my motte like a bar of iron, but he never once got it nearer my cunt than that. At last, finding that he could not manage to make me open my legs to him that way, he began to put his hand between my thighs, and to pinch me most frightfully. Oh! he gave me dreadful pinches. I am sure I am all black and blue, but his weight was off me now, I was able to scream; and I yelled. I called out murder! murder! help! help! as loud as I could, and at the same time I tried to get hold of his balls, so as to crush them if I could, but he managed to keep them out of my reach, whilst he pinched, scratched and beat my thighs as though he would tear them to pieces. But before my fast failing strength left me, help came. Two young civilians came in today from Peshawar, whilst you were dressing for the mess, and got a room on the other side of the bungalow. They at last heard my screams, and came running to see what was the matter. When Searle saw them he ordered them out of the room, saying that I was his wife, and that he had a right to treat me as he liked; but I tried to get out of his clutches, and I implored the young men to save me, and I said that Searle was not my husband and was trying to rape me. The young men then ordered him off my bed, and as he did not obey, one of them pulled him off. Then Searle went for him, for he was blind mad with rage and passion, but the young man was pretty cool, and he gave Searle a most dreadful blow in the face with his fist — oh! I was so delighted to hear it — it made him stagger and the blood spurt from his nose. But Searle seemed really like a lunatic. He rushed again at the young man, and hit him several nasty blows, so that the second one came to his friend’s assistance. I urged the two on and Searle got a thrashing, I can tell you! Still he would not quit. By this time the khansama, the principal coolies, your servant Soubratie and everyone belonging to the bungalow had come. I could not help continuing to scream. Everybody went for Searle, and at last he was turned out of the house yelling and fighting like a wild beast. Some soldiers came running off the road, and at first, seeing who Searle was, wanted to help him, but the young men told them what he had done, and apparently they don’t love Searle at the barracks, for these men joined in beating him, and upon my word I began to get frightened. I thought they would kill him between them all. Oh! the row was tremendous. Presently down came the picket from the barracks; the soldiers seeing them ran away. Searle was lying on the ground, a crowd around him; some men had torches alight, and the khansama had got a lantern, and you never saw such a group as they formed. The young men who had helped to save me from being ravished explained the whole matter to the NCO of the picket, and as Searle’s trousers were open, and his prick showing, though no longer stiff and standing, he understood the whole thing. Searle, though hardly able to breathe, wanted them to take the young men prisoner, but the NCO begged them to go away, and persuaded him to let himself be carried home, for he could not walk. Oh! Charlie! it made me so sick and ill! I don’t know how I have been able to tell you so much — my head is splitting, and I feel all pounded to death by that brute.’

I leave my readers to appreciate the state of anger and disgust towards Searle which this vivid narrative of poor Lizzie’s produced. Oh! I had come home hoping for such a sweet night of delightful fucking, but it was plain that that was out of the question, and indeed, all desire, other than for vengeance on Searle, had gone out of my head. Lizzie looked very ill, when I came to examine her by the light of the candle, and I begged her to go to bed.

‘Yes, dear!’ she said. ‘It is the best place for me, but oh! Charlie dear! I am afraid I cannot have you tonight! Poor boy! I am sure you came home expecting to have some grand fucking, and I am so grieved to disappoint you, but I feel too sick!’

‘You poor darling girl!’ I cried. ‘I had hoped, as you say, to have some more delicious fucks with you tonight, but of course it cannot come off now. Come to bed and let me help you to undress.’

She did as I asked her. I undressed her and was shocked to find the state she was in. Her throat was bruised a little but her poor thighs were one mass of contusions, all scored by the fingernails of the monster who had attacked her. I kissed them, ‘to make them well’, and poor Lizzie smiled faintly and kissed me, and then lay down and begged me to leave her alone. But hardly had she put her head on the pillow than she called out that she was going to be sick.