caresses preface caresses chapter 1 caresses chapter 2 caresses  chapter 3 caresses chapter 4 caresses chapter 5 caresses chapter 6 caresses chapter 7 caresses chapter 8 caresses chapter caresses chapter 10 caresses chapter 11 caresses chapter 12 caresses chapter 13 caresses chapter 14 caresses chapter 15 caresses chapter 16 caresses chapter 17 caresses chapter 18 caresses chapter 19 caresses chapter 20 caresses chapter 21 caresses chapter 22 caresses chapter 23 caresses chapter 24 caresses chapter 25 caresses chapter 26

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caresses intimate memoirs of Jaqueline de R


The Intimate Memoirs of Jaqueline de R


At the moment of our separation Francois and I felt terribly lonely at the prospect of being without Amaranthe; but that same night we consoled each other with a passionate game of love, performed, as of old, by only the two of us.

For a solid month we had scandalously ignored Latin and Greek grammar, and we now set out to remedy this oversight. In between lessons my teacher admired my velvet soft buttocks, covering them with kisses under the eyes of my stern forebears in their black ebony frames.

Quite frequently we make sure that the door to our study is locked; I then undress and offer myself completely naked to the loving caresses of my darling Francois.

His hands know to find the most sensitive spots instantly; the tickling gives me goose pimples and makes my entire body shudder. But I let him, because these are the precious preparations which excite me to the point where I am willing to do anything.

I must admit that Francois knows how to bring variations to our game. He follows the soft curves of my body with quick kisses, till he reaches the blonde hairs of my armpit. He nuzzles me and licks till the hair is wet and matted. It seems that the smell of that particular spot excites him most of all, because whenever he reaches that point, Francinet bulges so dangerously that I always expect him to burst out of his prison.

Finally Francois proceeds towards my breasts and takes his time to suck and nibble the rosy tips. While he is licking the one, he twirls the other between thumb and index finger. When he finally begins to put little love bites on them, I am so greatly excited that I cannot hold back little cries of joy and pleasure.

When I have reached that point, Francois falls down upon his knees and manipulates a breast with each hand. His tongue slides down from my navel into the golden fleece and hungrily he begins to suck the lips, searching for the little erect bud of my love nest. My back arches and I push my fleece toward his face, holding the back of his head, afraid that he might change his mind and pull back before I have reached complete enjoyment.

Daily we grow more bold with our game of love. Our desire grows and grows and finally we have reached the point where we give ourselves completely to the game of love, forgetting our lessons altogether. We do not care any longer about knowledge, we have become one being.

One day, Francois fell asleep in my arms for the first time. He was utterly exhausted. I, too, was very tired, but I fought off my sleep because I was so happy to be close to my lover and I felt that I had to watch over him while he slept...

But when he woke up, we started all over again. It is like wrestling, brutal and loving at the same time. We do not utter a single sound. And suddenly we experience the greatest and deepest joy just by being so close together, even before we have possessed one another.

But now I quickly put an end to it. I take Francinet in my mouth and we both fall back upon the sofa, exhausted. We are asleep almost immediately. It is marvelous. Our bodies are closely intertwined, and when we wake up, we are still in the same position... our lips close together.

But, we must beware. Despite the closed and locked doors, we could have been caught during our sleep. And then, who could have doubted that there existed a tender bond between the tutor and his high-born pupil? Ooh, silly conventions!

That night, when we went down for dinner, we received very bad news. The father of my dear Francois was dying, and he had expressed the wish to see his son once more before he left this vale of tears.

For me it was nothing short of a catastrophe! Francois had to leave very early the next morning and we barely had time to say our farewells, and exchange a few quick caresses and kisses.

I was never to see my dear teacher again! His father died before Francois arrived, and then he had to undertake several voyages to settle all the various matters of inheritance.

A month later he took a ship which sailed for San Domingo where he remained for over two years. His father had owned many plantations on the island and Francois who was the oldest son, and now head of the family, had to take over the business enterprises.

During these few years he put on weight, lost his hair and gained a respectable position in his community. Soon he became well-known. Later, when I lived in Paris, I heard that he had returned to Bordeaux and married my cousin Amaranthe.

This is how fate separated us. Aside from a very short and unexpected meeting our paths were destined never to cross again. I must here take a leap into the future, before I come back to my story. I was happy to hear that Francois and Amaranthe were a perfect love match and that they had many healthy children. I became caught in a whirlpool of adventures in which gallantry and love were always the main factors.

The teacher had retired with one of his pupils into a secure and small place. But the other pupil—me—wanted to explore all the possibilities derived from his teaching, and I was determined to get all the joys I could out of life and high living!

That is life! An inescapable fate rules over it and no power in the world can change the path of life which has been cut out for a person. I could make endless deductions, but this is not a philosophy book. It is a mere diary which might never be read. Before I take up the thread of my own story, and write down what happened after Francois and I became separated, I must report that my poor Francois died under the guillotine during the revolution. Amaranthe died of a broken heart soon thereafter, and the surviving children fled to the islands where they were taken in by one of their grandfather's brothers who had never wanted to leave San Domingo