We had seven days before Camille would return, in those days I more than fulfilled my word to the girl, bought dresses, a ring, brooch, umbrella, parasol, in fact I don't know what I did not give, and must have paid fifty pounds; we dined out, went to theatres, ate, drank, and fucked like blazes.
French women when they have given themselves up to a man, do so with all their heart and soul. One day as luncheon began to operate on her, she nothing loth, she strong, healthy, and with passions roused, feeding daily in a way she had been unaccustomed to, yielded freely to my wishes. I placed her on the bed-side, threw up her chemise, kissed the dark crisp hair of her motte; her thighs separated, her limbs went up, and I saw the adorable vermillion gap, the ragged tear my penis had made. It was a small cunt for so fine a woman. What enticed, and incited me I don't know, I never shall know why dozens of women I have had I never have done it to, but I was taken with the feeling now. I looked, fingered, tittillated, kissed it, out went my tongue; it played lightly over the clitoris, then baudy frenzy seized me, and I licked and sucked her cunt. She wriggled, scarce knowing what I was about, when pushing my head away she cried out, “oh! mon Dieu, ah ! quelle bete ! aho l”
I had never done it willingly but to Martha, now the letch seized me furiously, every day afterwards I had my mouth to her, and when I was so fucked out, that I could come no more, would lay and lick her till she was worn out too with spending.
We had indeed no other amusement than fucking, talking about it, eating, drinking, and sleeping, which was to us all the charm of a honey-moon. I think I see her now, making my cock stiff under my direction, her amusement at pulling the prepuce up and down was great, I almost feel her bum now as she used to sit on my knee, looking at the pictures in the baudy book; we used to talk it over until we went to bed, and eased our passions, what fun when we did not mind washing each other's privates, as we did.
We used to lay on the bed with my head between her thighs, licking her quim, she playing with my prick, but I never put my pege into her mouth, nor did she ever do more than kiss it.
On the day but one before Camille returned, we went to bed, had a fuck, then a second, her cunt felt funny, and I found her courses had come on, or as she called them, her periods. There was an end of my fun, nor was I sorry. Not having left her day or night, nor been to my lodgings, nor to my mother's, I was fucked out, and so was she, — so that her reds came on most opportunely.
Next day we were duller, there was nothing in her to make her a companion when not in amorous amusements. She became tiresome, and annoyed me by putting on her things one after the other, all day long, and asking me, how she looked in them, if she did not look better than Madame. Then how to tell her mistress she had got the things? what to do, if her mistress refused to let her wear them? how was I to see her again? At length we resolved to tell rousing lies about everything, — my behaviour was in fact most absurd.
The following day, a letter came to say Camille would be home that night. I took away my trunk and clothes, went to my virtuous lodgings; it was a relief to be away from cunt for twenty-four hours, and I could not bear a woman with her courses on.
Chapter III
Camille at home. • Her little game. • My greenness. • The house in O. . d. n street. • The glove shop. • Louise fatigues me. • Fred on the scent. • A cigar shop. • Three into one. • A clap. • Serious reflexions. • The sisters disappear.
A day or two recruited me, I wrote to Camille who met me in the street, she had sent the girl to the theatre with a friend, so I went indoors with her. “Have you done it to her?” was the first question, as if she did not know, I told her all. She questioned me with strong interest. I gave her the fifty pounds. Then she asked me if Louise had told me where she came from, and other questions, which I saw were put to see, if Louise had told about their relationship. As we talked I looked at her, comparing her with Louise, and saw the likeness stronger than ever. “Why stare so?” she asked. When she had heard of all our bum frolics she gave a sigh and said, “Well, if I had not brought her to London, she would have gone to Paris with A... . (mentioning some French name), and have had it done to her there, — so it comes to the same thing.”
Then suddenly, “Are you never going to have me again?” “No”, I had promised Louise. She looked amorously fascinating. “She won't know it, I have never had it since I left.” She was half reclining on the sofa, by intention or chance her legs raised up on the sofa, one flat, the other foot on its heel, exposing the recumbent limbs from foot to knee. “Do now”, said she. “No”, but I moved from the chair to the end of the sofa, and began stroking her leg with my hand.
She lifted the clothes just above the knee. I saw the large thigh nearly up to her quim, my hand involuntarily slipped higher, and began smoothing the flesh just above the garter. “Do it now”, said she falling right on to her back.
I thought of Louise, of my promise; I knew the look of both their cunts, — of Camille's the best, — desired to see, to compare it. I had been feeling Louise's cunt eight days, now thought I should like to feel Camille's to feel the difference, I knew her cunt was looser, and more hairy, her bum and thighs bigger, yet was I right in my comparison? my cock got uneasy, I helped it to rise in my trowsers by giving it a push outside.
“I won't have her”, I thought, “but there is no harm in feeling”, and began playing with the hair of her motte. “Your hair is longer than Louise's.” She laughed, “Do it, baisez-moi”, said she.
My fingers touched the slippery cunt, it was irresistible, the next instant they were groping and feeling. “Your bum is bigger than Louise's”, I said. She laughed again.
Sitting where I was, and playing at stink-finger, my position was inconvenient. “Come up closer”, said she. Then I sat by her hips, on the sofa-edge, she lifted her clothes right up: there was the quim, the jet-black bush, the fine round thighs, my cock was restive, my hands wandering, she unbuttoned my trowsers, gave my prick a squeeze, sending up the blood and completed my randiness. “Louise won't know, you shall kiss me”, and she raised herself to throw her arm over my shoulder. Like a young virgin who says, “no, no”, whilst she yields, I kept repeating “no, no”. The thighs had opened, I was pulling open the lips and trying to see the red inside; and still saying “no”, slid on to her, on to it, up it, and spent before I well knew what I was about. “Oh ! you are so quick”, said she. “you have spoiled me, I was just coming.”
She did not mean to be spoiled, trying her most baudy endearments, she held me tight, caressed me, as a French woman knows how, — better than any other. Forgetting Louise, my mind fell into its baudy dreams, I fucked her again, and then she let me get up.
And then to business. “What are you going to do for the girl?” she asked. “Nothing, I have given her money and things worth about a hundred pounds, and have paid you, when I have her again I shall give her money.” “You promised to do something more, if not what will become of her?” I did then recollect, that she had made me promise, but had attached no definite ideas to it.