But my fingers were between the cunt-lips, twiddling and rubbing. “Don't cry, — you'll let me I know, — who will know but we?” I fetched a tumbler of champagne from the sitting-room, and she took it like a draught of water. Up went my hand again, and with fingers rubbing her clitoris we talked and kissed side by side. Then turning myself more towards her, up went my other hand round her big bum, which felt as hard, and smooth, and cold as marble.

This went on a long time. She began gradually to yield when she felt the effects of titillation. She then grasped my fiery doodle. Then frigging her harder, her head dropped over my shoulder, and I got my fin-gers under the clitoris, and there to the hole. “Oh! (a start) you are scratching me, — you're hurting me there.”

Taking away my hand. “Come here, — don't be foolish,” said I, “let us do it, — you will enjoy it, — come,” — and I pulled her. Her big form left the bed, and slowly she came with me to the sofa. “Sit down, — there, dear, — kiss me, — put up your legs, there's a darling.” Slowly, but with much pushing and begging there at last she lay, and the instant she was down I threw her petticoats up, and myself on to her.

I saw the great limbs white as snow. A dark hairy mass up in her thigh-tops. “Oh! don't hurt.” “Non-sense I don't.” “You do indeed, — oh!” My hands are roving, my arse oscillating, I'm up a cunt, — all is over, — she is fucked.

“Did you have pleasure (I always asked that if I had doubt, — answer me, — did you? — do say, — what nonsense to hold your tongue, tell me.” “Yes I did, after you had done hurting me.” “Did I really hurt you?” “Yes.” “Impossible.” You did.” What a sham, I thought to myself, a woman always is, — a Grenadier has fucked her twice, yet she says my prick hurts her.

I turned off on my side, the sofa being large enough. We had done the trick, and the recklessness of the woman who has tasted the pleasure, and feels the man's spunk in her quim, had come over her. The champagne added its softening influence. She pulled her dress half-down, we laid and talked. I felt her quim. “Don't.” “What is it?” “I'm sore.” “Why, you are bleeding.” “You've hurt me. Out stood my prick, then rose upright again in a moment. Her blood on my finger and her pain gave me a voluptuous shiver. My trowsers were in my way. I tore them off, and stood by her side. “Let me see your cunt.” She resisted, but I saw her big thighs closed, and the dark-haired ornamentation. Then getting between her thighs kneeling, I pulled open the lips from which blood-stained sperm was oozing; then I dropped on to her, and again drove my prick up her. A glorious hick it seemed as I clutched her huge, firm buttocks, and felt her grasping me round my arse. All women, and even girls without any instruction put their arms round the men who are tailing them, the first time they feel the other's arms. Then we got up, she confused, I joyous and filled with curious baudiness. “Wash, — won't you?” “You go then.” I did, but back I went soon. She had just sluiced it. “You are not bleeding.” “I am a little.” “You are poorly.” “I am not.”

I brought her back into the sitting-room. We drank more wine, she got fuddled, not drunk, or frisky, or noisy, but dull, stupid, and obedient. We fucked again and again, and stayed at the baudy house, drinking and amusing ourselves till nine at night. How that big woman enjoyed the prick up her! And the opening of her cunt opened her heart and mouth to me as well.

Chapter IX

The big servant's history. • The soldier at the railway station. • Courting. • In the village lane. • On the grass. • At the pot-house. • Broached partially. • Inspection of her privates refused. • Lewed abandonment. • Her first spend. • A night with her. • Her form. • Sudden effects of a looking-glass. • The baud solicits her. • Sexual force and enjoyment. • She gets a situation. • We cease meeting. • The butcher's wife. • An accidental meeting. • She was Sarah by name.

This was her history. As she came up from the country to us, her box was missing at the station. A big soldier seeing she was a stranger made some enquiries for her, saw her into a cab, invited her to have a glass of gin, which she took, and told him the place she was coming to. The next night he showed himself there, he made love to her, wrote to her, met her on Sunday nights, and at other times when allowed to go out. He offered to marry her, and she had written to her sister to tell her about it all.

On the notable Sunday night, he took her to a tavern, and they had gin and beer till she was fuddled. She knew partially what she was doing, and thought it unwise to go up the lane in the dark with him; yet spite of herself she did. He would marry her that day month, then they would sleep together. He cuddled and kissed her, then began to take liberties. She resisted. Then if she would not let him, she might go home by herself, — why not let him? when soon they would be one in holy matrimony, — and so on. She felt as if she could not struggle. He tried to get into her upright against some railings. Then asking her to lay down on the grass, and she refusing, he pulled her down, and got on to her. She struggled and cried, but felt so frightened, that he seems to have had his way. For all that, he did not, she thought, broach her; he pushed and hurt her, and must have spent outside, she could not be at all certain about that. Steps were heard, they got up, she was crying. Her clothes were, she knew, dirty (though it was dry and fine,) her bonnet was bent. She was frightened to go home; he said she must get brushed up, and took her to some low tavern to do so. Terrified at what had been done, and about losing her place and character, she scarcely knew what she did. She had more gin, went into a bed-room with him to wash and brush, and then he persuaded her that now he had done it once, he might as well do it twice. Then he fucked her on the bed. Now the man had turned out to be (there was no possible mistake about his identity) a married man — a sergeant — with two or three children.

“Are you sure he got right into you?” “Quite when on the bed, but I scarcely know what he did or said in the lane, — a little fuddles me, — yes I did bleed, for it was on my smock when I got home, and he did hurt me very much.”

I wanted to see her cunt, for her blood-stains made me wonder, and the rather hard pushing I had had, though only for a second or two, set me thinking. I felt her cunt, she winced, — it hurt her. An almost imperceptible stain was on my finger. “You are poorly.” “I'm not really, — I was so last week.” “Let me see your cunt.” I coaxed, caressed, tried to pull her thighs open. It was useless. She was much stronger than me, and when she laid hold of my wrist to free herself from my rovings, she removed it easily. Force could do nothing, — she was what had been said of her, as strong as a horse.

So again I got savage. I had conquered by my anger two hours before, and now took to damning and cursing her mock modesty. Then she began again to whimper. “Oh! you do frighten me, — you do 'bust' out so, — I'm quite afeared, — it's not nice to have your thing looked at.” “You damned fool, I've fucked it, — I dare say your soldier looked at it.” “He didn't, — he didn't, — not that I know of.” By abusing I got her consent. Pulling open her thighs I saw her quim. Had she been gay, she would have taken care to turn her bum from the light; but she laid her arm across her eyes, as if to hide from herself, the sight of a man investigating her love-trap.

There was the ragged jugged-edged slit of a recent virginity, and near the clitoris the jagging seemed fresh, raw, and signs of blood just showing on it. I touched it, she winced, and nipped my hand with her great thighs, which set me damning again. Again they opened, I probed deep with my fingers up her cunt. There was no stain from the profundity, and the blood came from the front. I looked till my cock stood, and then fucked her again.