Undressing. • Silk stockings and garters. • The attack. • Foiled on the outside. • A battery. • A breech. • A tough virginity. • Triumphant. • Sanguinary proofs. • The second entry. • My foreskin. • Twenty-four hours fucking. • Gamahuching. • Six days pleasure. • Camille returns.

“The bonnet will be home”, said I, “let us go.” “Allons, allons”, so off we went. It was dusk when we got in the cab. “I am to put on the stockings if I give you a pair, and to feel”, I said. “No man has, c'est trop fort, you ask too much; you may put on garters below the knee.” “Why not above?” “Oh! quite different”, said she, “in the fields no girl minds putting her garter on before all the world below knee; but above, sh! that is disgrace.” Such is fashion, I have seen an Italian market-woman stoop forward and piss whilst talking to a man (a neighbouring stall-keeper) : she saw no harm. An English woman would burst first; yet if the Italian had put his hand rudely up her legs, that man might have been stabbed by the woman. Louise saw no indecency up to the knees, but above was a disgrace. “Put your boots up”, I said, up they went. “I may put garter to there?” said I feeling.outside. “Yes.” I shoved my hand up her petticoats on to her thighs, they closed, and down went the legs: a squeal, a struggle, but on her thighs I kept it until I got to the house.

We let ourselves in, the bonnet had not come, Louise opened the window to look out for it, although it was dark. A ring came, it was the bonnet; down she rushed for it. “Bring lights, bring lights”, said she taking one in her hand herself, the bonnet in the other; and rushing into Camille's room where there were large glasses; she put on the bonnet, clapped her hands for joy, and kissed me saying, I was so good. She put on her gloves, and collar, turning round to me each time, and asking how she looked. “Let me sleep with you, and I will buy you a dress to-morrow morning”, said I. “Impossible, impossible, was I not going now”, said she thoughtfully on a sudden. “No”, I meant to sleep there; and as I had fetched a valise, I pulled out my things, took off my boots, put on a dressing-gown. “There”, said I, “I shall sleep here till Camille comes home.” “There will be a row then, and what will I do? Madame Boileau (the old woman upstairs) must know, and will tell Madame”, and she looked hard at me.

Then she was attracted by my dressing-gown which was showy, but soon began looking at herself again, and took off all her finery with a sigh. “I am so hot and thirsty”, said she. It was not wonderful, for she had fed twice heavily, and been champagning off and on for hours, her hands were burning, heat was throughout her frame. “Let's have some more champagne”, said I, and opened a bottle; I pulled my trowsers off, — it was so hot, — being then in dressing-gown, drawers, and slippers, I made up my mind to force her, if I could do it no other way. Then my eye caught sight of a white muslin wrapper which Camille wore, it was tied down the front with blue bows.

“Put on Madame's wrapper, if you are hot, you will look handsomer than she does.” She went into Camille's room, bolted herself in, and came out looking splendid, and had only on beneath the wrapper, her coarse chemise, which I could see (as indeed I knew before) just reached below her knees. My heart palpitated, I was in my dressing-gown, she with but the thinnest garments on.

The champagne was before us, we were on the sofa, my arm was round her waist; through the thin folds of her light dress I could feel her firm haunches and well-moulded body; I talked baudy, squeezed her to me, pressed her thighs with one hand, and put the other down her bosom. Every now and then there was a scuffle, a cry, and forgiveness; then resistance grew fainter, another glass of champagne, and her head dropped on my shoulder, subdued by amourousness, and when I asked her to let me sleep with her, she only said, “Oh! I dare not. I must not.” I slipped my hand up to her thighs, she put her hand down stopping its progress. “If I could only get her into the bed-room, and on to the bed”, I thought and went to Camille's room, the candles were still burning. “Would you like silk stockings? here they are.” “Is it so?” said she bounding up. I held them up before her. “Let me put them on.” “The garters above knee, mind.” “Yes, yes”, said she impatiently, “Give them me”.

She sat down on the side of the bed, and let me put them on, putting one leg up after the other, pulled off her new boots and old stockings, I saw her thighs, but she never heeded, so anxious was she to get the silk stockings on. I had thrown off my dressing gown, and knelt in front of her as a boot-maker does in fitting on boots. I was so slow, that impatiently she said, “Give it me, give it me”, pulled it on herself, and then put on the boot. I sat down on the floor, lowering my head and looking. Her silks and boots engrossed her. My prick came out from under my shirt, stiff, standing, and pointing up to her; she never saw it, but got up directly one garter was on, contemplated one leg in the cheval-glass, laughed with delight, turned round, kissed me; then on went the other. As I put that gar-ter on, I kissed the thigh just above it, up she got, lifted her robe to see her legs, strutted up and down in front of the glass until tired of looking. Her fine limbs looked exquisite in the silks and boots.

I cuddled and kissed her, put my arm round her. “Do let me dear”, I said. I got my hand up her clothes and between her thighs, she crossed her legs without replying. “I will fuck you, I swear I will”, said I as I forced my hand still closer in. “Oh! oh!” she said, and nothing more. I pulled her backwards on the bed, my cock stiff, standing, was under her eyes, drew her lips close to mine kissing rapidly: my fingers rubbed the warm slit, her bum began to move uneasily, her breathing was short, her thighs unclosed, my finger slipped farther. “Oh I don't hurt me”, she said sharply. Pressing her backwards on the bed, I lifted her limbs, she was yielding, meant fucking. I ripped open at once the slight blue bows which fastened the muslin gown, threw up the chemise, saw the well-rounded limbs in silk, the bright red garters, the thighs above, the black hair of her cunt, rolled on to her, was between her thighs, my naked belly on hers, my prick touching the cunt-lips.

The accumulators of my ballocks must have been gorged with sperm. Off and on all day my prick had been on the stand, I had feared to touch it lest it should go off, nor had I put the girl's hand on to it; the last-hour my prick had been erect without subsiding. As my belly met hers a tremor shook my whole frame. “My God, shall I spend outside?” thought I; my prick like an iron rod touched the top of the wet slit and slid right down on its passage. Is she virgin? a sharp cry, “Oh I don't hurt me”, I felt an obstacle, pushed violently again and again, “oh! oh! don't”, and then throb, throb, throb, with each throb a jet of sperm shot out against the mouth of the orifice I had not penetrated, I lost my power in the contentment of a copious emission, and the pleasurable certainty, that no prick had yet been up the hole against which mine had been battering.

Next was fear lest she should get up, so rapid had the spend overtaken me, that I had not got my hands under her, they were on the side of her smooth haunch-es. To keep her under me until my powers returned, I slid one hand under her bum, the other under her waist, and squeezed her to me, then gently loosening my belly a little from hers I pushed again where my prick laid. With what delight I found it still stiff, with an obstacle in its front; I nestled gently in the spermy lips, the heat, the smoothness gave me a tittillation as if a spend was again not far off, and that I need not have feared my manhood. With pride and power I clasped her, feeling sure she was virgin. There she lay in all her beauty, submitting to my will, I enjoying my sense of power, wriggling gently for a minute, till my prick demanded its right of entry. I pushed, a sharp “oh!” a harder push, a louder cry, the obstacle was tight and hard indeed, I had never had such difficulty before; my lust grew fierce, her cry of pain gave me inexpressable pleasure, and saying I would not hurt, yet wishing to hurt her and glorying in it, I thrust with all the violence my buttocks could give, till my prick seemed to bleed, and pained me. “Oh! mon Dieu! ne faites pas ca, get away, you shan't,” she cried, “oh! o-o-oh!”. My prick moved forward, something which had tightened round, and clipped it gave way; suddenly it glided up her cunt, still tighter I clasped her, as she moved with pain beneath me, my balls were dangling on her bum, my sperm shooting against the neck of her womb, and I had finished the toughest virginity I ever had yet.