Miss Mabel Ch. 03

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Lodger falls in love with landlady's daughter.
1.7k words
4.53
26.3k
3

Part 3 of the 6 part series

Updated 09/22/2022
Created 06/04/2013
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Note. This story is a direct continuation from Miss Mabel parts 1 and 2. The setting is North London in 1858. Whilst I hope it can stand alone, it might be more enjoyable for the reader to read the earlier parts first. My thanks to Creativetalent for editorial help, and to Michchick98 for her help with basic text formatting.

Miss Mabel. Part 3. The Megrims

An older colleague of mine in Leicestershire, Frank Dennis; a man with much experience of women, told me many things when I was a youth, just starting out in life, and enjoying my first sexual escapades. One thing he told me that I have subsequently found amply confirmed, was that once a woman has shed her clothes and engages in intimacies, she will do so again and again as long as she retains her affection for the man in her life.

This was so with Miss Mabel, but more than fleeting opportunities were very hard to come by. Again and again, she would come into the room where I was working or reading, sit on my lap with her arms about my neck and kiss me deeply. I would reciprocate the kisses, with great enjoyment, for, to me, the moisture, warmth and sensitivity of lips and tongue replicate the sensations of other, more secret and less accessible areas. I would slip my hand up her skirts, to the division of her pantalettes (which were nothing more than two tubes of frilled and embroidered linen, held up with a drawstring) and caress what she called her "little quimmie", finding the delicious lips, and the entrance to the tunnel beyond. Then I would direct my caresses at the source of all these delicious sensations, the little pink bud, which I taught her to call her "little man in a boat". After a couple of minutes of this, some noise, a footfall, or a voice calling, would make her leap to her feet and walk out of the room; leaving us, I guess, equally frustrated and eager for a more lengthy encounter. This was to take time, but in the meanwhile, events moved forward in an entirely unexpected way.

Ever since I was a child, I have suffered from occasional attacks of the megrims -- blinding headaches accompanied by nausea, jagged flashing lights before my eyes, and an inability to bear light. When an attack is at its height, any movement of my head gives me almost unendurable pain, and all I can do is lie in a dark room and hope to die. until it gradually fades away.

One midweek day I was at the bank when the megrims hit. It was a hot, sultry June day, with rain not far away, and I was working through the early morning on a complicated transaction to buy dyestuffs from Germany for a large hosiery manufactury in Nottingham. The problem was to avoid paying three separate customs dues between Leipzig and Antwerp, and I was casting around for solutions. As I worked I could feel the tension grow in the back of my neck, and a band tightening painfully around my head, and I knew that an attack was coming. I worked on, trying to get the paperwork for the proposal finished whilst I was still capable, but at mid-morning, the chief clerk came over to my desk, looked at me carefully, and said:

"You had better go home Cowell, for all the good it would do for you to remain here. I'd better send the boy out to hail a cab for you."

He was right. Whilst he sent the boy for a cab, I wrote a brief note to give to my landlady when I got home, for I knew that by then I should be in no condition to explain.

The Hansom cab took me quickly to my lodgings. Blinded by the light I staggered up the steps, thrust the note into the hands of the girl, and tottered the few steps to sit on the stairs. A minute or two later, willing hands led me to my darkened bedroom, and I collapsed onto the bed.

I must have slept for several hours, and woke with the nausea somewhat abated, but the headache still intense. I forced myself to undress and put on my nightshirt. I have often noticed before in similar attacks, that these headaches were accompanied by a throbbing stiffening of my virile member (vulgarly my prick). This is the torture of Tantalus, since I could not relieve it without moving my head and driving red-hot spikes of pain through my forehead. As I lay there, giving way to unaccustomed self-pity, Miss Mabel slid into the room.

"Oh, Mr Cowell, your poor head," She said softly. "I have been down to the pharmacist and got you some headache powders. Come, try to take one, and sip some water. And here's a fresh wet cloth for your forehead."

She unwrapped the powder and folded the paper into a little trough. I opened my mouth and put out my tongue; the powder slid onto my tongue and caked my dry mouth as I tried to swallow. She trickled water into my mouth, and I managed to get the powder down. I felt exhausted by the labour. Mabel crept out of the room, promising to return later. Time passed -- I have no way of guessing how much as I lay, drowsing intermittently - and she returned.

The nausea had gone, although the intensity of the headache was little reduced; but I had an idea of how all this pain could be turned to profit. Mabel was accustomed to my hands on her most private parts, and welcomed them there, but she had neither seen or touched mine, nor, if I was any judge, those of any other man. Now was the time. I folded back the bedclothes, exposing my erect prick and balls to her fascinated gaze. She reached out a hand to touch lightly. I lay still, not speaking or moving, but trying to smile at her through the pain. She got up her courage, and began to investigate.

I lay helpless, unable to speak, and using what energy I had to avoid grimacing with pain. Some divine intuition, without which the sexes would not mingle or the species continue, guided her hands, as she took my ball-sack in her left hand, and grasped my prick, gently but firmly in her right. She gently drew back the foreskin, allowing the head to spread. A thin ooze of stringy, clear liquid was forced up through the head of my cock as she began gently moving her hand up and down the shaft. The sensation was intense, and the excitement increased by the sure knowledge that she had never seen or felt an erect prick before. The mixture of a severe and blinding headache and the pleasure of the gentle friction on the head of my prick passing in and out of her soft palm was as acute a mixture of pain and pleasure as I have ever felt, and it was rapidly reaching a climax.

The pain in my head intensified as the sensation of impending spend ran through my body. It felt as if the seed was being dragged violently from the muscles of my backside, and I felt the thick spend force its way up my rampant prick and shoot in ropy gouts over Mabel's hands and onto my bare belly.

"Oh!" she cried, "What? Have I hurt you my darling Arthur? Oh, what can it be?"

My whole body relaxed into a feeling of glorious lethargy, the fruits of long weeks of abstinence. I lay back and let out a long sigh. For a moment my head throbbed so that I could not focus my mind sufficiently to talk.

"No, my darling, it is just the way I reach my pitch of pleasure. What you have so cleverly let out of me is the seed from which babies are made."

She snatched back her hand as if burned.

"What -- will I have a baby?" she demanded, anxiety written all over her pretty little face.

"No, no my dear. You would only have a baby if I spend my seed right inside the secret place where I put my finger".

She laughed out loud.

"Don't be silly Arthur dearest. How could that great thing go into my tiny quimmie? Why, you can scarcely get your finger in there." At that moment I saw with clarity the gulf set between the knowledge of the poor working girls I had consorted with at home, and a young woman of the middle class reared in a household of women. The village girls, brought up in a couple or rooms, sharing beds with sisters and brothers, and often sleeping in the same room as their parents, know long before the age of ten what men and women do together in bed.

They had heard it, seen it, and, all too often experienced it years before the age at which they could bear children. In any village, people knew of men who were brutish enough to prey on their children, and women who, in fear of further childbirth, through soul-destroying weariness, or merely from callous indifference; allowed their husbands to appease their lusts on their young daughters. Everyone knew it, but turned their faces away unless the evidence was forced before their eyes.

And here was the polar opposite; a young woman of twenty years of age, who had no idea of the connection between the physical pleasure of sex and the act of procreation. Even my sweetheart, Jessie, although she came from a respectable and comfortable home, was not as ignorant as this!

There was but one thing to say at this present, before I gratefully turned to sleep.

"My darling, do not worry, I shall explain and show it all to you when I can, but meanwhile trust me. I swear on all I believe in that I shall never again do anything against your will, or anything that can cause you harm."

"Arthur dear, you have never done anything against my will. Of course I trust you. I have proved that often enough by now, haven't I!"

With that she left the room, and I settled to sleep, a sticky pool of spend drying amid the hair on my belly.

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Horseman68Horseman68almost 7 years ago
Much Too Short.

But, very good.

TheOldRomanticTheOldRomanticabout 7 years ago
Is the Romance beginning at last?

It seems that Mabel does not know everything about sex, but that she is attracted to Arthur. Is the beginning of an authentic Romance?

5 * for you.

I apologize for my English (yet), is not my native language.

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