Dolly E Morton is a resident of Anchorage. Lookup the home address, phone numbers, email address for this person. Long Banned Classic Now in Ebook! The Memoirs of Dolly Morton was unavailable to U.S. Readers until the 1960s, and has only infrequently been reprinted since. It is the story of an innocent young girl who discovers and experiences the extremes of sexuality when she visits the pre-Civil War South. Although she succumbs to the sensuality she finds there, and the strong.
Anonymous
The memoirs of Dolly Morton
INTRODUCTION
How I made the acquaintance of Dolly Morton, with a faithful account of the circumstances under which she felt impelled to tell me the story of her life.
In the summer of the year 1866, shortly after the conclusion of the civil war between the North and South in America, I was in New York, to which city I had gone for the purpose of taking my passage in a Cunard Steamer to Liverpool on my way back home to one of the midland counties of England after a shooting and fishing trip in the province of Nova Scotia.
My age at that period was thirty years, I stood six feet in my socks and I was strong and healthy, my disposition was adventurous; I was fond of women and rather reckless in my pursuit of them; so, during my stay in New York, I went about the city very much at night, seeing many queer sights and also various strange phases of life in the tenement houses.
However, I do not intend to relate my experiences in the slums of New York City.
One afternoon, about five o’clock, I had strolled into Central Park, where I seated myself on a bench under the shade of a tree to smoke r, cigar. It was a beautiful day in August; the sun, sloping to the west, was shining brightly in a cloudless sky; a light breeze was blowing, tempering the heat and making the leaves of the trees rustle with a soothing sound, and I leant lazily back in my seat, looking at the trim and often pretty nursemaids of various nationalities in charge of the smartly-dressed American children. Then my eyes turned upon a lady who was sitting on the adjoining bench, reading a book.
She apparently was twenty-five years of age, a very pretty little woman with, as far as I could see, a shapely, well-rounded figure. Her hair was a light golden brown and was coiled in a big chignon at the back of her head-it was the day of chignons and crinolines. She was neatly gloved and handsomely but quietly dressed, everything she wore being in good taste, from the little hat on her head to the neat boots on her small, well-shaped feet, which peeped from under the hem of her wide skirt.
I stared at her harder than was polite, thinking that she was quite the type of a pretty American lady of the upper class. After a moment or two she became conscious of my fixed gaze, and, raising her eyes from her book, she looked steadily at me for a short time. Then, apparently satisfied with my appearance, a bright smile came to her face and she shot a saucy glance at me, at the same time making a motion with her hand inviting me to come and sit beside her.
I was rather astonished, as I had not thought from her appearance that she was one of the demi-monde; but I was quite willing to have a chat with her-and also to poke her, if her conversation pleased me as much as her looks.
Rising from my seat, I went over to her, and she at once drew aside her voluminous skirts so as to make room for me on the bench beside her. I seated myself and we began to talk.
She spoke grammatically and in an educated manner, and, though she had the American accent, her voice was low and musical-(I do not dislike the American accent when I hear it on the lips of a pretty woman)-and she certainly was a pretty woman. Her eyes were large, clear and blue, her complexion was extremely good, her teeth were white and regular, her nose was well-shaped and she had a small mouth with red lips.
She had plenty to say for herself, chatting away merrily and using quaint expressions that made me laugh. I took quite a fancy to the lively little woman, so I made up my mind to see her home and spend the night with her.
She had at once noticed by my accent that I was an Englishman, and she informed me that she never before had spoken to a man of my nationality. After we had chatted for some time, I asked her to dine with me. She seemed pleased at my invitation, and at once accepted it so we strolled quietly out of the park to a restaurant where I ordered a good dinner with champagne.
When the meal was over and I had smoked a cigar, I took my companion, who told me that her name was Dolly, to a theatre. At the end of the performance I engaged a hack as the conveyance is called in New York, and drove the woman to her home, which was in the suburbs, about three miles from the theatre. Since it was a bright, moonlit night, I was able to see that the house was a pretty little one-storied building with a creeper-covered veranda standing in a small garden surrounded by iron railings.
The door was opened by a neatly-dressed quadroon woman who ushered us into the drawing room; then, after drawing the curtains and turning up the gas jets in the gasalier, she went away.
The room, which had folding doors at one end, was prettily furnished; there was nothing in the least suggestive about it, everything being in good style. The floor was covered with a handsome Oriental carpet, the curtains were velvet; there were some good engravings on the walls, and there was a cabinet containing some choice specimens of old china.
My companion told me to sit down and make myself comfortable; then, begging me to excuse her for a moment or two, she passed through the folding doors into the adjoining apartment, which I saw was a bedroom. In a short time she returned, dressed in a white wrapper trimmed with blue ribbons; she had taken off her boots and put on dainty little French slippers, and her hair was flowing loose over her shoulders nearly down to her waist.
She looked so fetching that I at once took her on my knees and gave her a kiss on the lips, which she returned, at the same time inserting the tip of her tongue in my mouth. Then I put my hand up her clothes, finding that she had nothing on under the wrapper but a fine, lace-trimmed chemise and her black silk stockings, which were fastened high above the knees with scarlet satin garters, so I was able to feel her whole body with perfect ease.
She was plump as a partridge; there was not a single angle about her figure, and her skin was as smooth as satin. Her bubbies were rather small, but they were as round as apples, quite firm and tipped with tiny, erect, pink nipples. She had a very good bottom with plump firm cheeks, and the hair on the Mons Veneris was silky to the touch.
She gave me a brandy and soda, and we chatted while I smoked a cigar. Then we went into the bedroom, where everything was exquisitely clean and sweet. In a short time we were between the sheets. My breast was on her bosom, my mouth was on her lips, my amatory organ was up to the roots in her den of love, my hands were grasping the cheeks of her bottom and I was riding her vigorously, while she was sighing, squeaking and bucking up under my powerful digs.
My member was big, her fissure was small and wonderfully tight; moreover she was a good mount, so I enjoyed the flutter very much, especially as I had not had a woman for a month.
But I had knocked all the breath out of the little woman, and, when all was over, she lay panting in my arms. However, when she had recovered her wind, she said with a little laugh: My gracious! You are very big and very strong. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a vigorous embrace in all my life. You seemed to go right through me. But I like it.
I laughed, making no remark, but lying quietly resting, still holding her in my arms and stroking her cool velvety skin till I was ready for action again. Then, making her kneel on all fours outside the bed, I poked her from behind, en leverette again making her wince and squeak and wriggle her bottom. We then got between the sheets again, and I made her lie on her side with her back turned towards me while I lay behind her with my belly and thighs pressed against the cool, plump cheeks of her bottom and with my half-stiff tool resting in the cleft of her thighs. In this position we fell asleep.
I slept soundly, not waking once till half-past eight o’clock next morning. Sitting up in the bed, I looked at my companion, who was still fast asleep, lying on her back with her long hair streaming over the pillow and her arms stretched above her head. She looked quite young and very pretty and there was a faint pink tint on her round cheeks.
I gently pulled the bed-clothes down to her feet and rolled up her night dress to her chin without waking her. Then I took a good look at her naked charms. And they were worth looking at. Her skin was as white as milk and without a blemish; she really was very well-made, and perfectly proportioned.- Her little bubbies stood out from her bosom in high relief; her plump, well-rounded thighs were shapely; she had good legs; her ankles were slender; her belly was without a wrinkle-she evidently had never had a child-and her rose-bed was shaded with fine, curly, golden hair.
My pintle was as stiff as a poker, so I woke her by gently tickling the edge of her grotto with my forefinger. She looked smilingly up in my face, her big blue eyes twinkling with fun, saying:
So you have prepared me for the morning sacrifice. Well, I am ready to receive the stroke.
She then stretched out her legs and in a few seconds I had given her a strong morning poke, which pleased me more than the ones I had had overnight, for, while I was working at her, the little woman had bucked up more briskly and had wriggled her bottom in the spasm even more lasciviously than on the two other occasions. She really seemed to like the digging I gave her, and I don’t think she had pretended to be voluptuously excited merely to please me.
Presently we began to chat on various subjects, her conversation showing that she took an intelligent interest in the affairs of the day. Our talk eventually turned to what was at that period a burning topic, the late civil war, and I asked her which side had had her sympathies.
I am a Northern woman, she replied, so I was always for the Union, and am exceedingly glad that the Southerners were beaten and the slaves set free. Slavery was a horrible thing and a disgrace to the country.
But, I said, from all the accounts one hears, it seems that the Negroes in the South were better off before the war as slaves than they are now as free people.
Oh, but they are free now, and that is the great point. No doubt things are bad at present, but they will improve in time.
I thought that, as a rule, the slaves were well-treated by their owners.
So they were in many cases, she replied, but there was no security for them; there was always the chance of their being sold to strange people; and then wives were separated from their husbands, and children from their parents. Besides, there were many owners who treated their slaves badly-working them hard, feeding them scantily and whipping them cruelly for the least offense. Then again, slaves had no rights of any sort. The girls and women, if light colored and pretty, were not allowed to be virtuous, even if they wished to be. They were obliged to give themselves up to the embraces of their masters, and, if a woman dared to object, she was severely whipped.
Oh, surely you must be mistaken, I observed. No, I am not. I know what I am talking about, for I lived in a slave state before the war, and I had special opportunities for finding out all about slavery and the distressing things connected with it.
Memorias De Dolly Morton Pdf Gratis
Was it a common thing for women to be whipped? I asked.
Yes; I do not suppose that there was a single plantation in the whole of the South where the female slaves were not whipped. Of course, on some plantations there was more whipping than on others. And what made the thing more horrid was the fact that the whippings were always inflicted by men, and very often in the most public way.
On what part of the body were the slave women whipped; and what instruments of punishment were used? I inquired.
Sometimes they were whipped on the back, but most frequently on the bottom; the instruments used were various; there was the hickory switch, the strap and the paddle.
What is the paddle?
It is a round flat piece of wood fixed to a long handle, and it was always used on the bottom.
It does not draw blood, but each stroke raises a blister on the skin and bruises the flesh. The hickory switch, if used with any degree of force, will cut the skin and draw blood. There was another terrible instrument of punishment called ’the cowhide,’ but it was very seldom used on women.
You seem to know all about whipping. Now tell me how it was you came to be living in a slave state, said I.
I was helping to run a station on the ’underground railroad’; but I suppose you don’t know what an ’underground station’ is.
No, I do not, what is it?
’Underground railroad stations’ were houses in which the abolitionists used to conceal the runaway slaves. There were a number of these ’stations’ in various parts of the South, and the runaway was forwarded secretly by night from one ’station’ to another, till he or she finally got to a free state. It was dangerous work, because assisting a slave to escape was against the laws of the South, and to do so was considered a very great crime. Any man or woman caught at such work was sure of getting a long term of imprisonment with hard labor in the State’s prison. Besides, everyone’s hand was against the abolitionist; not only the slave-owners, but also the ordinary white people who did not own a single slave, and it often happened that abolitionists were lynched. They were tarred and feathered, or ridden on a rail or made to suffer in some other way by bands of lawless men.
Did you ever get into trouble while you were at the ’underground station?’ I asked.
Yes I did. I got into bitter trouble, and went through dreadful sufferings. In fact, what happened to me changed the whole course of my life and was the cause of my being what I am now. Oh, how I hate the Southerners! The cruel wretches! she exclaimed fiercely, her eyes flashing, her bosom heaving and her cheeks reddening.
I was surprised at her sudden outburst of anger, and it at once struck me that the little woman had a story. I was curious to hear it, so I said: I should very much like to hear what happened to you in the South. Will you tell me?
After a moment’s hesitation, she replied: I have never told my story to a man yet; but I will tell it to you, as you are an Englishman and I think you have a sympathetic nature. The story is a very long one, and there is not time to tell it to you now, but if you will come here tonight at seven o’clock and dine quietly with me, I will give you a full account of my life.
I replied that I should be delighted to dine with her and that it would give me great pleasure to hear her story.
Just then there was a knock at the door and the quadroon woman, neatly dressed and wearing a smart cap on her head, came into the room with tea and buttered toast on a tray, which she placed on a table beside the bed.
My companion sat up, saying to the quadroon: Mary, give me my wrapper.
The woman handed her mistress the garment, which she threw over her shoulders. Then turning to me, Dolly said with a smile: Mary was a slave for twenty-five years, and if you’d like to ask her any questions about her life she will answer you truthfully. She is not shy. Are you, Mary?
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