Chapter II

False names. • Mrs. M***l**d. • Baudy tales. • Naked by a trick. • My smooth flesh. • The child's mother. • The hairy bum furrow. • I leave G**n*b*e. • Who was she. • At the town of N*v*s. • Spy holes. • Marital frolics under the bed clothes. • Husband and chambermaid. • Chambermaid and self. • The brooch. • Conflicting emotions, desire, and disgust. • Suzanne's complaisance. • I leave N*v*s. • At Paris. • The Bal Masque. • Gabrielle and Violette. • Baudy exercises and groupings. • An orgy to exhaustion. • To London.

After her luncheon she left her child down stairs, and came into my room. “When should I leave G**n*b*e?” she asked. “Just before you do.” “Which road are you going?” “Towards Paris — and your road?” “Not to Paris.” “Your name is not M***l**d, but you have entered it so in the hotel-book.” She laughed and coloured up. “No, and yours isn't — * * * *” “True, we don't want to know each other's name, but they were entered from our passports at the frontier, what if the police find we have changed them?” (Passport regulations were very severe then.) “Directly you have got your letter I will leave, I won't cause a suspicion of you, and if we ever meet elsewhere we will be utter strangers to each other.” This seemed to satisfy an anxiety she showed in a conversation much longer than this. I had begun kissing and hugging, she was cool to me, and without reply resisted my lifting her petticoats, but she mollified as we talked. Standing up at first, we were soon sitting on the edge of my bed, my finger on her cunt, and arm round her waist. It was a clear, brilliant, January day, but cold and frosty. “Let us do it.” “No, I've run a dreadful risk.” “Risk it again.” “I'm frightened.” “Feel me,” and out my prick came. She laid hold of it. “Let us.” “My little boy is alone.” “Never mind, let us — I must see your lovely thighs.” “A-h-a, leave off, take your hand away.” “Get on the bed then, love.” She got on. I threw up her clothes, and kissed her belly and motte. Had she come to be fucked, I wonder. — I can't say. Women are so cunning; but her cunt had just been washed, the hair was moist and not with piddle. Pulling aside the lips, I fingered it and lightly tickled her clitoris, I was standing by the bed side, she laying along it, so that was all I could do with my tongue. Her thighs and belly looked lovely on a beautiful white chemise with work round the bottom. The winter sun shot a brilliant ray right on to her cunt as she lay — it was that which seduced me into the lingual incitement. — Then I laid my head on her thighs, contemplated her charms, and smoothing her belly said, “How many children have you had? You have no marks of child-birth.” “Oh! pull down that blind, I don't like being exposed so.” “My darling you can stand any amount of exposure, your thighs and belly are lovely.” But she pushed down her clothes, I pushed them up again, she down. — Then rapidly for fear of refusal, I got on to her and fucked right off. Curiosity seized me whilst lying on her, and I repeated the question. She laughed, and the laugh jerked my prick out of her. — She got up and washed her cunt. — I repeated my question. “You don't know where to look,” said she laughing. “Let's sleep together to-night.” She shook her head, locked the door between our rooms, and went down stairs.

She walked about the town with her boy; I met her, bowed, and passed on. I barely noticed her at the table d'hote. I ordered a fire in my room, more lights, wine, and cakes, and went there about 8 o'clock (it was dark at about five) and waited till I heard her and the boy's door closed. Then I knocked — no response — louder and louder I knocked. “Don't,” said she, speaking thro the door. “Come.” “No.” I gave a violent bang, and the door opened. “Don't make that noise, the boy will hear. I'll come when he's asleep,” — and she came.

We sat by the fire drinking champagne, put inquisitive questions to each other and fenced replies. — “You won't find out anything more,” said she laughing. “Well it's stupid, I'd better not, nor you of me.” Then I began kissing, talked baudily, told story after story. “Good gracious, I never hear such things,” she kept remarking. “Hasn't your husband told you such things?” “Never, he never uses such words.” “Not cunt?” “No, never.” “Not fuck?” “Never.” “You've heard them.” “Of course I have.” Then on I went in my lewedest strain, charmed with such a listener.

She would not let me take voluptuous liberties, whilst this conversation went on. No she would leave if I did. So leaving off, I began quietly love making, kissing, and cunt feeling. “Come to bed, love, we can talk just as well there, let me look at your thighs as you sit, let me undress you.” — She objected but yielded. I helped her and took off garters and stockings, charmed with the disclosures of her flesh. She carried her clothes into her room; I went with her. “Bring your night-gown in-to my room. It's so cold here.” “No, you go and I'll put it on here.” But I carried it into my room, she following me. “Let me put it on you.” “No I won't.” She took it from me, pulled her arms out of her chemise, which she held up for the second with her teeth, opened the night-dress, raised it over her head, and as she did so, let the chemise drop to her feet; just then I snatched the night-gown out of her hands, and she stood as naked as she was born. “Oh, what a shame,” said she very sharply, and put her hand over her cunt as if to hide it, “give it me now.” — I dropped on my knees, buried my lips in the hair of her cunt, kissing it, and clasping her round her smooth buttocks.

Her struggles were slight. “Now let me put it on, I'm cold.” I rose and holding her close to me, looked at her beauties as well as I could in that position. Then she insisted so strongly, that I let her put on her night-gown. She pardoned me, I undressed, we both sat before the fire and again recommenced billing and cooing. She let me expose her thighs. “Let me see your lovely bum.” “No.” “Do.” — “No.” But coaxed, she at last consented, and stood up modestly with her bum to the fire, whilst I looked at it, felt, and kissed it. — “Look,” said I, with a sudden impulse of lust, which made me desire to show myself; and stripping off my night-shirt, I stood naked with prick stiff in front of her. “Feel me dear, do feel me,” and I placed her hand on my thigh. — In a modest way she felt my flesh all down my thigh, and then up one side. Said she, “What lovely flesh, — You're just like a woman.” “Many other women have said so.” Into bed we got — and without more dalliance — my burning prick went in her hot, soft, cunt. We fucked, we spent, and lay coupled together long. “Feel my flesh and talk now, love.” She ran both hands over me. “It is just like a woman's — I thought — men were always hairy.” I uncunted, turned on my back, and she felt my belly and breasts. “It's like a woman's, it's lovely,” again she said. I wondered who and what she was, that she should lay lasciviously enfolded in my arms. “Am I smoother than other men?” “I've only felt my husband and you — and gracious Heaven — what risk I am running.” “When were you fucked last?” “Oh, months ago.” She had seen a few men partly naked, working — and some fishermen and labourers, they were all hairy, she said.

In an hour we talked ourselves into lewedness again, and she let me see her form and beauties, but did not then open her thighs. Again we fucked and slept, she awakened, went and listened at her boy's door, pissed in her room, and got into bed with me — I had a night lamp — and we passed a voluptuous but restless night, which left us weak when the morning came; and in one of our burning, lewed caresses, she said she had never had a child, that the boy was her step-child, and had never known his real mother. That is the utmost about herself I learnt at any time.

For two days she would not let me have her in the day time, but an hour after the table d'hote she was in her room, put her child, whom she had tired out by walking, to bed, then got into bed with me, and we fucked all night. I was in first-rate condition, and it was a sort of honeymoon to us both, but specially to her. My smooth flesh seemed to excite her wonderfully, and on the last night she kissed me all over. The last time I had her it took me half an hour to get an emission, stopping from time to time at the work, but never taking my prick out. She who had her pleasure quickly, with short sighs and clasping me very tightly to her, and had been fetched oftener by my unremitting ramming, groaned, “Oh, do leave off.” “I'm coming in a minute love,” — and I went on violently at the rate of two shoves a second, finishing the fuck almost with pain, and with a sore prick. At daylight we were a hollow eyed, fucked out couple.