
Well, I promised myself that the next time I found Connie Blunt alone, I should ask her to give me the details of her initiation. Perchance she had lost her maidenhead to someone prior to her marriage for that short time. But knowing her voluptuous beauty and how passionately warm-blooded she was, I felt I could ascribe her husband’s death to the shattering risk he must have felt when his swollen organ reached for the first time the portals of Connie Blunt’s dainty mons veneris. And-if he truly had been the one to press through her virgin seal-feel his organ clamped by the tight, moist walls of her exciting channel.
Yes, it would be at least a fortnight before I could confront Connie with my memories of her first fucking, which Alice had so ingeniously arranged. And a week lay ahead of me until Fannie and Alice would return from a trip which the latter had made to visit an elderly aunt in Nottingham.
But I confess the prospect of sublimating my passions in the way that Onan did was not very enticing, not after all these thrilling adventures which I had enjoyed in my newly created Snuggery, and with which doubtless you are familiar, having read the first book of my memoirs.
