When I awakened the sun-light struggling through the red curtains cast
a pink tint over every thing. We had slept eight hours, were laying rump
to rump, naked and touching, for after much fucking, the fondest lovers
turn their arses to each other. What a sight she was as she lay on one
side, as sound asleep as a top, there had been but a sheet over us, that
was off, and she was naked. She had a pretty foot, the leg was perfect,
thighs and bum thinner than Camille's back-side, and thighs taken on
fullness at later age, or after one or two years good fucking which
serves quite as well; her breasts were superb, firmer and handsomer than
Camille's. On one side I saw the black crisp hair which shaded her seat
of pleasure; on the other I could, by putting my head on the bed, just
see the dark hair creeping between her bum-cheeks, her flesh had the
slightly brown tint common to French women; on the bed lay rounds of
spunk mixed with blood, a smear of it was on her thigh on the bum-side.
My prick rose again to stiffness at the sight, I wanted to piss
violently, but could scarcely accomplish it. I looked at my shirt tail.
Spunk and blood were thick on it, I found under the bed her chemise; on
it profusely were the bloody seminal marks of her virginity. I felt a
pain in my prick, and found the foreskin a little raw. I had paid for
hurting her by hurting myself; but what did that matter; I was the first
that had been up that cunt, had torn it open, my spunk was in her then,
the bloody indications were all around me. I awakened her.
She looked at me, then conscious that she was naked, clawed up the
sheet; in a minute I was close to her. She went across to her own room
to piddle, then into bed again she got, and in spite of her I put it
into her. I felt the cunt tightening, looked at her: her manner was
different, I felt her clasping me, she was doing it involuntarily,
her breath came quickly, she was spending as my spunk came, her first
pleasure with me; all before had been pain,--I knew that.
Then was more fucking, then she made coffee, we had eggs, bread and
butter, again to bed, and more fucking. We went without luncheon,
spending the entire day in bed, feeling, kissing, cuddling, fucking,
and sleeping. We were both worn out, and perhaps might not have got up,
excepting that I had to dress, to go downstairs, and then felt hungry,
so we both dressed, went to the same place as the day previously, had
a jolly good dinner as fast as we could and directly it was over went
back. I kept my finger on her cunt when in the cab, both going and
coming; the instant we returned we went to bed (it had not been made),
and fucked, and fucked, and fucked, and then slept a dozen hours without
awaking. A lovely time it was.
Next day I was used up, I never could accomplish the wonderful fucking
bouts I have heard men brag about, but dare say in those thirty hours
I had fucked her twelve times. She was very tired with it, and was so
sore; I was also sore, my prick had slightly bled, the foreskin
was torn, and through that fucking bout my prepuce was easier ever
afterwards, I could pull it down better than I could before I had torn
open her virginity.
The difference between the ways of a woman and man towards each other
after they have fucked is wonderful. On a previous night a woman may
have refused his kisses, and his embraces, and revolted at his hands
touching her quim. He although longing for her, eager to join his body
to hers, may have been timid, cautious in his language, hesitating in
action, and until passion got full sway, might as soon of thought of
putting out his doodle, and attempting to force it up her, as of
trying it on his aunt. But what a change a night has made: they sit
at breakfast he with satisfaction on his face as he looks at her and
thinks, that her most secret parts have not been strangers to him, has
felt between her thighs, the lips hitherto untouched by man, has been up
her cunt, and spent inside it the essence of his blood. "She has given
me pleasure, I have given her pleasure." She looks at him wondering how
she came to allow it, how she forgot her resolves, there need be no more
disguise, nor hindrance in the way of their pleasures, of the pleasures
she first tasted with him; all that she has been taught to hold most
sacred from man he has seen, felt, kissed, pierced, violated, and wetted
The virginity she prided herself on he has destroyed, she no longer
shuns him, but is ready to comply with all his wishes, hopes he will
compel her soon to yield again. This is the work of a few hours, and as
she sits drinking her coffee opposite to him she thinks with him, what a
change has taken place.
That was my state of mind with Louise. I had had virgins before without
pride in having them, they came in my way, but never had I sought them.
Two certainly had never been breached before, but it gave me no pride
nor special gratification. This woman I had thought and thought about
for months, coveted and paid for the sole pleasure of piercing her
hymen. I had now the delight of experience, of leaving my sperm where
man had never left it before. This girl of sufficient age, growth and
form, I had bored with difficulty and pain, to her and myself, she
had bled, I had bled, I had torn up her cuntal diaphram, had given her
sexual pleasure, had revelled in her body. Shirt, and chemise, spunk
and blood slobbered lay there. I was rested, she was fresh, and I sat
at breakfast with as much complacency and jollity as a man could; yet
beyond fucking, I felt that I did not care one damn about her, and even
felt sorry. I cannot explain why I felt that, but recollect it.