If Great Authors Wrote Porn #04

Now the darker girl leaned over the bed, thus presenting her large ass prominently, with the lips of her pussy visible between her legs. Marie knelt and spread the legs well apart so that her tongue could do its office in the wet depths of that pussy. I could see Dan beginning to squirm on the other bed and well knew the cause as my own cock was now throbbing.

The girls separated and each approached one of us. My blonde girl dropped to her knees and began undoing my trouser buttons. Immediately that she did so, my cock popped out ready for action. Without losing time she greedily sucked it into her mouth and began working up and down. This girl was clearly experienced in all that we in America had wisely called the French approach. As she worked on me, twisting her tongue around the sensitive tip of my dick, then drawing it deep into her mouth, I glanced at the other bed to see my friend Dan receiving the same treatment.

Now my pants were completely removed and then my shirt was also. The girl returned her mouth to my cock, and then the other girl approached me, dropped to her knees and began alternating strokes on my wet organ. Dan, however, was not left alone. Marie shifted slightly so her ass was presented to him and he was easily able to stroke his dick up and down in the crack thereof as she worked on my cock.

Soon the situation was reversed, as the two of them sucked Dan's cock and I found my cock comfortably moving up and down between the cheeks of Celeste's ass. This pretty game went on for some time, as now I caressed tits while Dan stroked asses, again Dan rubbed pussies as I received lips, then my cock was stroked by four hands while Dan squeezed boobs. After a while, I could feel my climax building and knew that Dan was close to his.

Then each of us pulled our girl into our lap, letting her push her wet pussy down on our upright shafts. I could only concentrate on what Marie was doing to me. Now she wiggled beautifully, working up and down slowly as she rotated her hips. Now she pressed deep, and I pulled her ass close to mine and probed as far into her as I could. Now she teasingly pulled up to the very tip of my cock, hovered there for a second and then greedily received it all back into her pussy. I climbed to the very peak of excitement, and then grabbing her ass pulled her down on my shaft as I expelled all my juice into her.

I lay back exhausted, and by sounds from the other bed concluded that Dan was doing the same. Having had our full satisfaction of our first night in France, we dressed and returned to the quay, where the same boatman cast us knowing looks as he took us back to the Quaker City.

These remarkable travels continued, one destination succeeding another and each more satisfying to our eyes, more remarkable to our ears, and more stimulating to our cocks. We visited Versailles, and the young ladies in period costumes, with their boobs spilling out of the second story of their gowns, served us well. Seeing Dan and I trailing behind the group, they motioned us into a room which was shut off with a velvet rope. Here we were allowed to observe magnificent decorations not shown to the general public.

The ceiling of this room was covered with the most magnificent paintings and sculptural decorations, all covered in gilt and depicting scenes of debauchery among the gods of Olympus. I had ample time to study it to my satisfaction, since I threw my head back to observe it while the well endowed hostess was giving me a tit job down below. Swiftly dropping my pants, she proceeded to surround my cock with those luscious melons, so unlike any found in any garden patch in my native Hannibal. As my dick slid up and down in that softness, I contemplated the work of the old masters above me and the work of this young mistress down below. I do believe it was one of the most satisfying times I have spent in any company.

This artistic afternoon ended with Dan and I demonstrating to the young ladies the outstanding relief work done my American artists, principally how they depicted the glorious American bird on a couple of gold coins. It is rare that we run into ladies so young and beautiful who have such a truly transcendent appreciation of the finer elements of art.

In Italy we had the opportunity to observe the famous painting of the Last Supper. It is painted on the dilapidated wall of a little chapel in a small Italian village. There were a dozen artists in the room, copying the masterpiece. I could not help noticing how superior the copies were to the original. Yet people stand entranced and exclaim, "Oh, wonderful!" "Such expression!" "Such grace!" "Such delicacy!" thus apostrophizing wonders and beauties which had faded out of the picture and gone a hundred years before they were born.

To my amazement, even my honest friend Dan seemed to fall under the mysterious spell of the Old Masters. There he was, in front of the painting exclaiming, "What beauty!" "What grace!" and all the rest. I was about to leave in sorrow when I realized that Dan was not looking at the painting at all, but at a pair of smiling Italian girls who dimpled prettily at his compliments. Now this was something like! Here was expression and delicacy, unmarred by the dust of ages and flaking paint.

As a result of Dan's giving them the eye, these two girls approached us directly. In fact I promptly found myself backed against the wall while one of these beauties ran her hand over my crotch. "Cazzo,"she murmured in a soft voice, and then added, "figa".

The Italians are a wonderfully direct people. If we said "pasta," straightaway we got pasta. If we called for "vino," our glass was filled before the echoes died. And when a girl asks for "cazzo," she will surely get "cazzo" enough. Cazzo means cock, lots of it. Cazzo is the way it is spelled but the much more impressive pronunciation is caht-zo, which has the proper impact, I think. The Italians always speak better than they spell. I was gratified to have this chance of enlarging my vocabulary.

The English language is a marvelous tongue, capable of making such fine distinctions as between the lightning and the lightning bug. But it seems to suffer from a paucity of descriptions of the male organ. After we use the correct penis, we are left with cock or prick, the less impressive dick, or the childish willy. Therefore to add that wonderful Italian CAHT-zo to my word choices was heartwarming indeed. To find that the utterance of this word led to demonstrative use of it was even more warming.

Gently she pulled me through a curtained doorway, and shortly Dan and his girl followed us. Both of them quickly dropped their clothes and lay down on the blankets where were resting there. Spreading their legs, they repeated the word, "figa." Suddenly I grasped the significance of the sign we had seen on the streets, small boys thrusting their thumb between their fingers and crying "figa" at us. This was something like. Dan and I both plunged our ready cazzos into those figas and had a most lively exercise in the use of the Italian language.

Shortly after leaving Italy, we hove to in Constantinople, city on the Bosporus. Of course we had to take the sail to the Golden Horn along with the rest of our shipmates. The city is an imposing one, and has many monuments and adornments worthy of contemplation. It also has many beautiful women who like to take a sail in the middle of the day to cool themselves. They are all comely of countenance, and exceedingly neat and clean. They are very sociable, and will smile back when a stranger smiles at them. One of them, in particular, seemed more than willing to hold a little conversation with me. I could not talk anything but American, and this girl knew not a word, but we got along swimmingly.

Soon she pulled me down below decks, where she seemed to know her way very well. There was a little curtained alcove there that we entered. I was delighted to see a broad window, looking out on the water. I felt very much at home here due to my years on the Mississippi, which is about as wide as the Bosporus is here. The young lady reclined on the bed and with a look invited me to join her. Shortly I found that the attractions displayed here had provided me with a proper leadsman's pole to sound the depths of this body of water. As she reclined on the bed and spread her legs, I proceeded to cast it in the warm wet depths and sound them.

I pushed my pole down and heard in my mind the old leadsman's cry of "four and a half!" I wanted a better sounding than that, so I shoved it in some more until the cry was, "eight!" This was still not enough. In my youth I had adopted a pen name, and I was waiting for that. Deeper into the warm wet pussy I probed, and as she twisted her hips I was satisfied that the depth of "Mark Twa-a-a-a-i-i-i-n" had been reached. Going down to the second mark means clear water and good sailing so I came forward on the engines with full speed ahead. The pistons stroked and stroked and she was keeping right up with me. I sighted my destination with the glass and aimed straight for it. A heave of the engines and she was over the reef and into deep water as I shot my charge into the warm wet hole.

Many other ports, and many other delightful women followed. Taken by and large I think this sailing expedition was as jolly as anything I had ever tried. In every port we found women who were complaisant and welcoming. Dan and I and a few of the other younger passengers were never without opportunities to dip our wicks. I am afraid that Miss Mary and the other girl on the ship began to wonder why they were not more attended. However, soon enough we turned from foreign climes and set our head back to New York.

It was really worth a kingdom to be at sea again. It was a relief to drop all anxiety, all questions as to where we should go, what we should do, how many girls we could fuck, and how they should be rewarded. Making these big decisions is enough to wear a man out. Now as we promenaded the deck, and Miss Mary T. passed gently by, displaying that white bosom as she curtseyed, foreign climes and foreign cunts were forgotten.

As the bell rang in the evening, and the old folks retired to the chapel or the cardroom, I would saunter down the passage to her cabin and rap my triple knock. The door would open, and I would be left to decide what kind of romp her agile mind had contrived for the evening. One night it might be a long slow blow job, another night a quick jump on my cock, and sometimes we played at doggy style on the bunk. The long days passed in promenades and dominos, and the nights were for recovering from these adventures, and so we made our head across the Atlantic to New York again.

The excursion is ended and has passed to its place among the things that were. But its various scenes and manifold dalliances will linger pleasantly in our memories for years to come. We shall remember pussy on the lower decks; pleasant filles de joie fucking us in France; girls of Milan capturing our cazzos; ramming the beautiful women of Constantinople; and of course, as I find I have neglected to mention, wetting our cocks in the very shadow of the Pyramids. But now we are travelers of the world, come home again with stiff cocks ready for the delights of American femininity.