The must of old linen and wood pulp soothed his heightened senses.  It stilled the tingle of anticipation in the pit of his stomach.  Frobisher would be waiting for him, the lecherous crook.  Thick with a stale odour of pipe tobacco, it fired memories of their battles of wits, a long time ago.

The gothic styled vaulted ceilings still carried the soot of centuries.  Once a chapel, this vast space had a gravitas and presence that would be all the more impressive if he could see the rest of it.  Racks of shelves surrounded him, half eaten by woodworm stuffed full of randomly assorted ephemera.  Diffused through glass panes not washed in years, cast rays of sunlight that lit specks of dust in the air. 

The last second-hand bookshop of Liston Grove, he wondered how much longer it could hold out against the tide of gentrification.  He would visit again after Frobisher sold up and consigned himself to the dustbin of history.  It would make a fine bistro or bar, maybe an art gallery.

For now, it remained a bibliographer’s paradise.  He paused to survey a first edition highly prized by collectors.  The place looked empty; it would be easy to sneak it into his jacket pocket.

“It is a beauty isn’t it?”

The cracked lofty tones of Frobisher compelled him to put the book back onto the shelf.

“Yes, a rarity indeed.”

“It’s been a long time, you must be nearly forty.”

He snorted, the daft old coot.  He had not neglected himself as some might.  He thought he looked younger yet alone forty.

Shaking his head, “I’m thirty-two and you must be beyond pension age by now.”

Frobisher ignored him and lit his pipe.

Unshaven for a few days, skinny and gaunt, Frobisher took deep drafts on the mouthpiece as the flame rose up and down.  Shabbily dressed, his crumpled shirt looked grey, either because it should be or because of the accumulated dirt of handling too many old books.  He watched as Frobisher sent plumes of blue-grey smoke twisting up to the high ceiling.  Waving the mouthpiece at him, he out stared with his dead brown eyes.

“So, you are here for the book?”

The book, a book amongst the thousands around him, amidst hundreds of books that had not moved for decades, he stood here today for that book.

“I am, The Cremorne?”

Frobisher was too busy sucking on his pipe to reply and nodded to acknowledge him.  A dense fog of sweetly scented smoke lofted to the ceiling.

“You have the money?”  The incongruence of his upper-class tone did not suit such a subject.  Frobisher never talked about money; either he had pots of it, or none.  People like him would describe money as gauche, the bastard.

“I do, cash as requested.”

He nodded, “Good.”  He took another draw from his pipe.

“Hello?”

Brightly pitched to his rear, it caught him off guard.  With a scrape of his shoes on the York stones, he turned towards the voice.

A comely smile, a burst of youth amidst the antiquarian forced a look of surprise.

“Hello.”

“Don’t mind him,” she offered, “You’ll get no sense from him after lunch and the need for his pipe.”

“I never had any sense out of him in all the times I’ve come here.  I live in hope that one day I might.  Haven’t I Frobisher?”

She giggled and made her way towards him.  Raven-haired sharply cut into a bob, the glimmer from her punctured nostril caught the sunlight.  A black lace flapper dress did much to hide her figure.  Her dark eyes looked kindly enough, alive and curious as she came a little closer.  White cotton gloves, probably pristine at the start of the day, looked grimy at the fingertips. 

Her fresh face shone in the sunlight, it struck him they were similar ages, maybe a little younger.  Only a few feet away, she paused, close enough to hear a whisper, distant enough to remain enigmatic and impersonal. 

Frobisher cleared his throat, “He’s here for the book.  You want to deal with it ‘Melda?”

She looked in the direction of Frobisher and nodded cordially.

Her painted lips curled to a smile, “So, you are our more esoteric collector.  I wondered who you might be.”

That silky unhurried tone betrayed her high-class origins and no doubt, her expensive education.  Her eyes did not waver from his as her inquisitive look awaited an answer.

“I am indeed.”  He paused to assert himself effectively.  Procuring something this unusual, he wanted to avoid giving the perception of being an upmarket onanist.  “When I heard that you had it, I had to have it for my collection.”

“Of course,” She picked each finger from her gloves to remove them and thrust one bare hand forwards, “I’m Esmerelda; you can call me ‘Melda, everyone does.”

Gently, he shook it, “I’m Harry, Harry Coulter.”

“A pleasure to meet you Harry Coulter.”  Her voice low seemed to purr with a hint of delight; the portents to conclude business professionally relaxed him.

“The book is this way Mr. Coulter, please follow me.”

Her feet hit the bare iron steps with confidence; he followed her lead and clung to the rail of the steep spiral staircase.  A mezzanine, unknown to him and constructed years ago, opened out as he completed the final steps.  Filled with the woody perfume of Frobisher’s tobacco, he surveyed several antique desks covered with green baize.  Illuminated by softly lit brass lamps, each desk had a glass case on them.  Antique framed in rich dark wood, the pristine glass shone with the reflection from the incandescent bulb.  Many of them were empty.

Harry followed as she walked slowly towards the back of the mezzanine, each step bounced slightly on the bare wooden floorboards, “Here, this is it.”

Turning the tiny brass key, the well-oiled lock clicked.  Esmeralda lifted the lid and gently extracted the book.

“It is leather bound, anilined with an aquamarine dye of the period.  The binding is original and lettered in gilt.  Whilst there is a little patina in the leather, this book has clearly not seen the light of day for a very long time, if at all.  It runs to the full two hundred and ninety-six pages.  Its paper is the finest quality made with linen and all the signature bindings are intact.  There is a damask lining to finish the front and back covers.  Printed using metal lithography in a mid-nineteenth century serif typeface, each page is unmarked and unblemished.”

Harry found himself staring at the book for a moment.  He pondered what made this book so special other than its reputation, would its contents really prove to be so infamous.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

I did not anticipate that today would be the day that threw all the pieces of the kaleidoscope into flux.  Strong looking and handsome, my body quivered at our first encounter.  If I am to be a vessel of their vices and perversions, I would gladly volunteer to lie with him.  I witnessed him pour scorn onto one unfortunate fellow; a hapless gentlemen who I thought always deserved it.

His verbal flagellation sent ripples of pleasure into my fragile body.  I could barely suppress myself at the thought he would do that to me or better still, thrash my rump until I was helpless with unearthly desires.

So overcome with the need to ravish him, he proved to be a dreadful distraction.  I felt compelled to do something; I cannot hold so much as a single thought in his presence.  I feel so hot and unnecessary that I want to run to my chambers, draw up my petticoats to deal with the intemperateness myself.  I will close my eyes, imagine his ardour upon me, and touch myself.  I will submit to the unnatural taboo of self-pleasure.  I will admonish my body’s unholy needs until I cannot conjure a single flicker of pleasure from my enfeebled body.

The Cremorne, Chapter IX.

 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

He looked at Esmerelda, her expression distant and almost reverential as she held the book.  Her features softened as she looked at him.  Feeling like he should prompt her, he paused and looked helplessly into her soulful eyes.

In the silence, something seemed to stir her into life, “Ascertaining its origins, there was only one edition and a limited production run of one hundred books.  This is not your run-of-the-mill Victorian pulp-fiction.  If I did not hold it in my hands, I would not believe this book existed.  To describe its contents as salacious would be an insult.”

“You’ve read it?”

Vacantly, she nodded her head, “Plagiarism, splicing and splitting these kinds of publications was commonplace at the time.  This book is unsullied, and the text is complete.  Even in this age of the internet, you will not find its contents anywhere else except between its covers.  Most Victorian erotica is badly written and repetitive, this is not.”

Her sense of lucidity faded for a moment, this time he felt compelled to prompt her, “I see, and how did you come across it?”

Frobisher only confirmed the scantest details over the phone as if Harry was too much trouble.  He was not forthcoming at all with its provenance.

She demurred to the question and looked away, “I will include a letter of provenance to our records here.  Its source will remain my secret.  I am sure you will understand.  Since I took ownership of this place, I brought with me new avenues of supply.  Frobisher is the last of his kind; I keep him here for fear I might scare away his regular customers.  They pay well for their simple demands and Frobisher serves them well too.  Your unusual request was my kind of challenge.”

Taken aback a little as her words sank in, he looked directly at her, “You own this place?”

She looked surprised at the lilt of incredulity in his voice, “Yes, I do.  Frobisher was in a mind to sell, I paid a fair price.  I’ve made my money from books all my life and this place has fantastic potential.  I was cataloguing the stock when you arrived.”

Harry demurred, “Of course, your credentials are not in doubt; this book is an impossible find. I am very impressed.”

He felt certain she was throwing good money after bad and she still had much to learn too.  However, the conviction in her voice made him drop the matter.

Watching her handle the book, he had not appreciated her beauty until now.  Her features were lean and striking.  She possessed an air of attractiveness only possible with generations of good breeding.  Her bare arms were slender and he pondered the shape of her body beneath her shapeless dress.  Slim from her broad shoulders down, only the fullness of her breasts could hold a dress like that without revealing a single curve.

He watched her work with interest such was the tenderness of her actions.  Placing the book on the baize, she locked the case and put the key back into a pocket.  She pulled on a drawer and took from it a small yet sturdy treasury box.  Delicately placing the book into the box, her slim fingers elegantly worked the tissue paper on top of it until she felt ready to push down the lid.

“Now to business, I understand are paying in cash?”

Opening his soft leather satchel, Harry produced a brown manila envelope.  It bulged with four bundles of used banknotes each tied with a new rubber band.  He placed it onto the baize; he felt it would be crass to place it into her hands.

“Eight thousand pounds.”

Esmerelda smiled and looked him directly in the eyes, “Thank you Mr. Coulter, here is your book, a letter of provenance and a receipt.”

It slid into his soft leather satchel easily and he clicked the fastener shut, “Thank you.  It was a pleasure to meet you.”

Holding out his hand, she graciously shook it and stared determinedly, “Indeed it was.  Please, let me show you out and do come back soon.  You will not recognise the place in a few weeks.  If you have any more challenging requests, ask for me when you call.”

The door closed behind him as he stepped out onto the pavement.  The smell of the place clung to his jacket in the temperate breeze.  Early summer sunshine provided the warmth to bask in the moment.  Light-footed with elation, the satchel did not weigh on him as he walked. 

Whilst meeting Esmerelda was a pleasant surprise, he had no qualms regarding what he had done.  As an equitable exchange, he congratulated himself for making it a simple transaction.  His anonymous buyer keen to obtain this book would be back in the country soon.  Harry would get his money back ten-fold in cash, no tax to pay.

He felt so confident; he wanted to spend some of the proceeds now.  There was a good bar close by and a few glasses of wine would only enrich his sense of happiness.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“She came to my room in such a state that I knew little of the fulmination she would bestow on me.  Innocent in such worldly affairs, her gentle hand upon my breast made me so petrified that my protests counted for little.  She carried such an uncaring countenance as she watched me struggle.  My panicked limbs felt leaden with weight, and secret bonds held me unable to move.  Such was my alarm that her hand covered by mouth and stifled my hearty pleas.  My Governess, a witness to this act did not protest either; her strong grasp of my ankles parted my lower limbs and yielded them to their service.  Wretched with my need to appeal, I had nothing left other than my tearful eyes as she pulled at my undergarments.

My Governess told her that I am betrothed and unsullied by any man, yet I relented when she touched me there and became sodden with animal lusts.  I never thought that she would let the Matron do such a monstrous thing.  As her unkindly fingers drew closer, my mind stopped its protest as unnatural curiosities mastered my body.  She pierced me and I cried out at the violation of my maidenhead.  Her unprompted crass words told my Governess of a warmth that seeped forth readily from my quim.  Stilled by this strange covetous desire for more, Matron overwhelmed my innocence and I could not breathe without making a welcoming noise.”

The Cremorne, Chapter I.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Incendiary for the era, a very realistic illustration completed the scene.  A virgin intact and betrothed restrained on her bed, corrupted by two women keen to educate her in the vices of dominant lesbian sexuality.

He fought with his eagerness to read more.  Sipping on his glass of wine, his loins felt tight and in such a public place, he chose to place the book back in its box. 

People came and went from the bar, it had a luxurious air, and so did the clientele.  Set off a main thoroughfare of this busy city, Harry ventured into its alleyways and back in time.  He sat in the quiet courtyard garden surrounded by ancient wisteria in full bloom. 

His sense of elation was no short-lived affair; the text brought forth a sense of tempestuousness that he struggled to suppress.  Its alchemy created a familiar need that he knew well.  He damned himself for his fickleness when it came to the fairer sex.  Recently made single, he considered his options.  Masturbation was too easy and unsatisfying, and it had been several days since he succumbed.  Emboldened by his reaction to Esmerelda, maybe he should go back there to wine her, dine her, and get something carnal in return.

A pang jolted through him when he saw her, barelegged up to the thighs in a tight fitting skirt.  Elegantly attired in a coutured jacket; he watched her full lips suck on a straw.  Wearing a wide brimmed hat, it cast a shadow over her features as she read from a book of her own. 

Watching her only a few feet away, a bold idea struck him and he summoned a waiter.

This savage expectation felt as exciting as opening a surprise present.  The waiter appeared, placed the drink onto her table, uttered a few words, and walked away.  His heart leapt with anticipation, the moment slowed as he watched her avidly.  She looked in his direction, raised the glass, and beckoned him over.

She complimented him on his approach, old-fashioned, but effective.  A handsome man such as himself had no need for such tricks; he rebuffed her with humility. 

Her demeanour verged on aloof coolness as he returned a compliment regarding her beauty.  To make conversation, she asked what he did for a living and it was clear that they moved in similar worlds just different circles.  She revealed little about herself and he concluded she was away from home seeking adventure to spice up a mundane life.

As a slightly older woman, he found her leonine features attractive.  Her feline cheekbones dimpled to a smile as he interspersed one complement after another into the conversation.  The cache of diamonds on her ring finger did nothing to stall him.

Under the spell of more alcohol, the ebb and flow of their discourse became more tactile and risqué.  This felt too easy as he suggested getting something to eat.  Time veered towards early evening, an invitation to dinner would provoke her intent. 

Eschewing the need for food, she leant forward and removed her sunglasses.  Jade green eyes brimmed with want as the harbinger of her purpose.  Her proposition on any other day would shock him to the core.  He considered himself worldly, he knew of this kind of behaviour yet he did not expect to encounter it here.  His body surged in a way he did not recognise and its power quickly overwhelmed his concerns.  The profound need to copulate simply evaporated any sense of squeamishness.  Fully erect in his trousers, she groped him under the table and a single eyebrow signalled her pleasure.

Loosening the top button of her jacket, she leant forward to reveal her breasts cupped in black lace.  She let him leer at them as she spelled out his role in a whispered timbre.  Animal urges burst from him as her words no longer played nice.  She was direct and coarse, there was no ambiguity, and his demented mind seized on every word.  She looked into his eyes; their hypnotic quality completely mesmerised him.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Forgetting the shadowy figure that observed them was easy, he had been silent throughout.  The overwhelming need for sexual gratification overrode any awkwardness.  In the bar, those words explained that she fucked men in front of her husband because he was incapable of satisfying her.  If this was their arrangement, it felt perfectly reasonable to Harry.  He wanted her body for his own sexual release, nothing more, and nothing less.  The idea of an audience only provoked the ire of his libido to a new combustible maximum.

Their naked bodies grazed against each other with a determined rhythm, they moved symbiotically in a mechanical need for release.  There was no elegance, they exhausted that hours ago.  Beyond the windows of the thirty-fifth floor, it was dark now and they writhed together in congress for the third time. 

Harry felt insatiable and strong; her body hewn from all that was best of womankind spurred him on.  Her deep-cupped breasts flared from her body like her hips, she moved robustly more than a match for his strength. 

Twice, he released a copious flood of sperm into her willing vagina.  Twice, she called her husband over to clean it out.  Twice, he impassively watched her distinguished looking spouse do his duty whilst his wife revived Harry’s semi-flaccid penis.

Above him, Harry watched her expression of helplessness and sensed her panic.  He enjoyed its juxtaposition to earlier when she stripped him naked and threw him to the bed.  Now, he sensed her vulnerability as her fevered body laboured above him.  Propelled by her toned flanks, her body rose and fell.  In a fitful tempo, their bodies collided as hurried groans punctured the air.  Snug and buried deep in her hot muscular pocket, he watched her swollen labial lips tight around him as she rose. 

He gathered her up into a lotus position and thwarted her fevered breaths with long passionate kisses.  The folds of her womanly body pressed urgently to his athletic frame.  All her erogenous zones seemed over-sensitive and Harry exploited them.  He explored and nibbled at her lips, neck, ears, and shoulders. 

Harry squeezed at her full breasts and she purred into his mouth whilst he toyed with her hardened nipples.  She ground harder against him as her frantic arms clenched at his body desperate for leverage.  She steered herself upon him and impaled herself fully.  Tightening around his captured meat, she struggled to keep going.

Feverish breaths that hissed as their mouths pressed together, she clung to him as their bodies clattered.  Skidding against his pubic bone, she smeared her wet vulva against the hilt of his captured shaft.  Shallow snorts quickened, the heady scent of her perfume unlocked by their heated bodies provoked him to give her more.  The staccato seesaw of her body brought forth half-sobbed cries.  Her movements spiralled in ever diminishing circles until he demanded she came for him.  She climaxed wantonly at his command.  The tight seizure of her sex pulsed brutally around his trapped rod.

Nothing would dampen his ardour and no matter what she tried, nothing would overwhelm him.  He struggled to grasp at her body wet with exertion.  With demented energy, her hips ground her body coarsely onto his.  She weakened slowly before his eyes in her attempt to make him yield.  Looking into her heavy-lidded eyes, he shook his head to deny her pleas for his semen.  She convulsed hard again, pulsing tight waves of her muscles tried and failed to make him yield. 

She felt limp and he adjusted her malleable body easily.  He caught their distant reflection in the tall windows; this would be what her husband witnessed.  Fucking her in spoons, Harry gave him the best view in the house.  Holding his wife’s leg aloft, her husband could see how he breeched her fully. 

Slow, unhurried thrusts would give her husband an exhibition of fucking.  She hissed at him to watch and held out her arm.  With her thumb, she held her middle two fingers and raised her index and little finger – the sign of the horns.  Harry whispered into her ear and she cried out to tell her husband how masterly he fucked her.  Worst still, Harry found her clit, sensitive and hard.  He rubbed and fucked her until her muscles cramped in a furious climax.

Knowing her weakness, Harry exploited her multi-orgasmic body mercilessly with his fingers, mouth, and cock.  She tasted sublime, every gasp, groan, and convulsion its own reward.  Single-minded and saturated with euphoria, he embraced this newfound sense of liberty with abandon.

Throwing her onto her back, he took a kneeling position and savagely fucked her.  Tightly clutching her one leg held aloft, her rubbed her hard clit and enjoyed how she squirmed to his touch.  Her body shook and her beautiful face contorted in ecstasy.  Harry propelled himself relentlessly as her body lunged upwards. 

Through her hips to her shoulders, she arched her back and her gasps quietened.  He watched the tremors ripple through her body as the volume of her groans increased.  Gripping that leg tightly, he offered no escape as she flung her arms out and clenched at the sheets. 

Her torso rigid and her breasts stretched tight, she expelled it all in rush of violence.  Bearing down on him, Harry pressed on through the powerful undulating massage of his shaft.  He refused her need to untangle herself; he fucked her into another careening climax that made her flail loudly for mercy.

Not that he did, placing her down in a missionary position; he pawed her with his strong hands.  Sucking firmly on a long erect nipple, she lofted her legs into the air to give him everything between them.  Her calves rested on his shoulders and he curled her body by leaning forwards.  The angle offered no friction and he clattered into her with vigour. 

Groaning lustily, her words begged for more.  He obliged her fully as she dug her nails into his back.  Spurred like a thoroughbred, Harry cannoned into her with an anguished cry.  The frantic slapping of his balls against her well-fucked sex drew out more broken sobs for air.  Her climax echoed against the painted walls and for the first time, her profanity coloured the air.

Their lips pressed together, tongues lashed as air hissed.  He manhandled her roughly, spinning her onto her knees to take her from behind without mercy.  Skewering her hard, he silenced her pleading as he pushed his fingers into her mouth.  Willingly she sucked them, an act of imagery that only enlivened her.  Squeezing her sex tight around him, he sawed at that spot.  Her body writhed, her head reared up, she stuttered and exploded in shrieks to her maker.

Consumed by this extreme lust, Harry felt possessed and he followed his mind’s automatic responses.  Gathering her hair into a fist, he pulled her head up, and swatted her delicious womanly rump making her yelp.  She sealed her own fate sucking on his fingers; he used them to violate her arse with an alarmed squeal.  Knowing she was too far gone, Harry sniggered when she pleaded for it.  He made her shout it aloud again, there would be no ambiguity for her husband what she wanted and how much. 

Spitting loudly and copiously, Harry smeared it around her puckered hole.  Without any empathy, the blunt trauma of his thrust defeated the tight knot of muscle.  She shrieked as his repeated stout shoves impaled her fully. 

Snug around his whole length, he needed more purchase to counter the friction.  He crouched over her, held her firmly by her shoulders, and plundered her behind.  Every shove sent a deep pulse into his core.  The rush of its sensation surged through his muscles and made his loins seize.  A rich tension followed and flooded his engorged muscles; its addictive pleasure spurred him on. 

He told them both where he was going to despatch his essence.  Yelping uncontrollably, she begged him for it.  Those final indelicate thrusts made her wail loudly in climax again.  He roared in response to its intense strength as he yielded completely.  Impaling her to the hilt, he shot heavy lusty belts deep into her bowels; this one was hers to keep. 

His body did not slow immediately; he bucked helplessly as a slave to its power.  The deafening white noise of rushing blood eased and with it, he collapsed onto the bed.  Breathless and feeble, he savoured the docile warmth of being completely sated.  With an expression of happy contentment, she draped her body over his and congratulated him on a superlative fuck.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

To the sound of splashing tyres, Harry peered through the raindrop-speckled window.  The blurred lights of the street whizzed by as umbrellas jostled for space on the pavement.  Reclining into his seat, he made a mental note to himself.  Find an older woman to be his next squeeze. 

Adjusting his worn body a little, he took immense satisfaction cuckolding another man’s wife.  Boldly, he took a shower at their exquisite penthouse flat to wash the mess off him.  To prove she was the consummate slut, she joined him, used her velvet mouth to get him hard, and sucked out the last of his sperm.

Turning a corner, he recalled with vivid clarity how she looked up, wrapped her lips around his shaft, and swallowed it all.  He completed his evening by desecrating every hole.  She asked for his number eager for a repeat performance soon.  He gave it to her and said that he would be ready for her anytime.

He tipped the cab driver, a seldom occurrence, then again this had been an unusual day.  Often, he played games enjoying a furtive daydream.  He asked himself a ‘what would you do if’ question as he watched people walk by.  Now, he had done it and crossed the line.  Opening his flat door, he enjoyed being on the other side and he intended to stay there.

His flat felt cold and empty devoid of life and soul.  He remarked to himself that he made little effort in making this place a home.  Its stark painted walls carried no art; they were blank and colourless.  His living room did not have a single bookcase because he sold his collection to buy the flat.

Perhaps tomorrow, he might buy a few more things.  Things that appealed to him and made his flat look less like a provincial mid-price hotel.  He shuddered, he definitely would get round to it now.

Taking a drink of water, he felt weak and tired as pangs of hunger cramped his stomach.  On his way to go trinket shopping tomorrow, he would have a full English breakfast to make up for it.

Done with his ablutions, he stared at the satchel hanging on the corner of his bedroom door and wondered about its contents.  He wondered if he should read more of the book or take it to his safety deposit box.  The temptation conflicted with the need for practicality.  He wrestled with it for a moment.  So tired, he concluded that he could read it all in one sitting.  The book was too valuable to leave it here.

Flicking off the light, he pulled the soft duvet over his exhausted body.  His eyes felt heavy and his body light and warm.  Absently, half-asleep, his mind turned to the text he read; he would read more tomorrow.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The good Mrs Peabody for all her kindness is nothing but the worst kind of charlatan.  She is finely dressed, with a doting family and kindly husband.  She would attract nothing but the warmest of words according to her status as a righteous and upstanding woman of this parish.  How appearances can be deceiving when she lays with you and makes demands that no lady of the night would entertain. 

As skilled a cuckoldrix I have ever met and my knowledge is well varied.  At first, nothing I could do would salve her demands and I exerted myself greatly.  Her cunny constantly wet for my attention and she took me with great ease.  Demanding I made her my brood mare, I did not disappoint her and placed the spark of life into her belly many times.  She exhausted me with all the cunning of every lady of ill-repute combined.

Her husband is a silent passive creature, lurking in the shadows to witness this carnal festival.  He observed us as we made the beast with two backs in a frenzy only fit for the most base of animals. 

How she moaned when I breeched her with all the strength I could muster.  Oh, how I had my revenge.  I summoned up all of my strength and subsumed her.  She whimpered limp and lifeless at my command as I exercised my lusts upon her.  My last act of despoiling her, I placed my rod deep into her backside whilst she spat obscenities that drove the demons from our bodies.  She would not cease until I discharged myself into all of her beguiling orifices.

Satisfied with her pleasure, she insulted her meek husband by washing my body in an act of veneration.  I am to lie with her again soon; I will need to eat heartily to build up my strength.  I feel weak and a little sickly; she took all of my vitality for now.

The Cremorne, Chapter XIV