I started to howl bloody murder, while Berthe almost split her sides laughing.

My fanny was stinging, but my state of excitement was even greater than before.

When I was younger, then or thereabouts, my mother had often hoisted me between her thighs after I'd done something or other I shouldn't have, lowered my trousers and spanked the devil out of me. But I remember that after the first sting of pain had subsided, a feeling of sensual pleasure had lingered with me the rest of the day.

When Kate noticed that my prick was once again respectable, she broke out laughing. "Goodness gracious, what a big handle!" She took it in her hand, squeezed it, then uncovered it. That was just too much. I grabbed Kate's breasts; she pretended to resist. So I slipped my hand beneath her skirt. She wasn't wearing panties. I seized her apricot. She tried to draw away, but I held her by her love hair, encircled her buttocks with my left arm, dropped to my knees, and drove the thumb of my right hand into her warm box, maneuvering it back and forth.

Kate lost possession of herself and fell back onto the bed. I lifted her dress and laid bare her cunt. Her hair was red, not as thick as I would have imagined from what Berthe had told me, but fairly long and moist with sweat.

Her skin was as white as milk, and soft as silk. Her white thighs were well rounded, and she was wearing pretty black stockings in which a pair of firm round calves were enclosed.

I threw myself upon her, forced my prick between her thighs until it eased gently into her cunt. But I drew it out again almost immediately. I was in an extremely poor position, with nothing to brace my feet against.

But by now Kate was hot and bothered. She jumped up, pushed me into a chair near the bed, and threw herself on top of me. Before I had time to say Jack Robinson, my member was imprisoned in her cunt.

I felt her long hair against my belly. She held my shoulders and was rocking back and forth. At each stroke her large lips touched my balls. She took off her muslin jumper, and told me to play with her boobies, because "it feels so good," she said.

Her nipples were naturally more developed than Berthe's, and harder though much smaller than those of the bailiff's wife. Her breasts were as white as her thighs and belly, and were tipped by two red points, surrounded by a yellow crown on which there were a few tiny hairs.

Kate was very excited, and was approaching the climax. So violent were her movements that my prick had twice slipped out of her cunt, and she had hurt me in putting it back in, though she seemed to be getting her share of pleasure from the operation.

I was lagging behind her, whereas she, in pleasure-filled tones, was exulting: "Now… now… no… it's coming… ah! ah! God A'mighty! How good your prick feels!" And with that she came, and there was an increased flow of her love juice. At the tail end of her climax, the sensitive chambermaid bit my shoulder.

Feeling her boiling ejaculation, I realized that my own climax was not far off.

Kate had quickly regained control of herself.

"Roger, your tail's becoming hotter and hotter; you're on the point of discharging." And she stood up abruptly, seized my sperm-covered member in her right hand and began to stroke it violently, saying: "Otherwise I might become pregnant."

I'd also risen to my feet. Kate pulled me toward her with her right arm; I tongued her nipples. I must have spread my legs. Standing there naked as the day I was born in front of the two attentive girls, my belly was seized by a fit of convulsions. Suddenly my sperm went flying.

Berthe watched the ejaculation intently, and gazed curiously at the white liquid which had fallen on to the bed.

While I was discharging, Kate had tickled my buttocks and encouraged me with: "There now, my Roger, how nicely you're coming, that's it, that's it!"

My orgasm was beyond all description.

I fell back onto the chair. Kate was acting as if nothing had happened. She was arranging everything; she wiped my prick with her handkerchief, rebuttoned her blouse, picked up her basket and, in her customary gay voice said: "God be praised that things turned out as they did. Now let's all be good children. You, Berthe, remain quiet and get some rest. And you, Roger, return to your room."

She left, and I went down to my room, after having got dressed again and kissed Berthe good-bye.

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE DAY'S EVENTS HAD WORN ME to a frazzle. My one desire was to rest. When I awoke the next morning, I was lying on my back, a position which usually gives me an erection. Shortly thereafter I heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Wanting to play a joke on the bailiff's wife, I lifted my nightshirt, threw the blankets off me, and pretended to be asleep.

But instead of the bailiff's wife, it was her sister-in-law, a woman of thirty-five or so, the age when a woman is at the height of sensuality.

In her younger days she had been a housemaid. Having married an elderly butler who managed to amass a neat pile of savings, she presently lived with her husband and three children (a son and two daughters of ten, eleven and thirteen, respectively) in her brother the bailiff's quarters.

Madame Muller was neither ugly nor beautiful. She was tall, had a strikingly good figure, a dark complexion and her hair, like her eyes, was pitch black. She seemed intelligent, and fully worthy of a bout with my John Thomas.

And you could bet your last penny that she'd seen more than one such animal in her lifetime. So, I reasoned, why not let her see mine as well. I lay there motionless.

Madame Muller set the coffee on the night stand. Then seeing John Thomas standing stiffly at attention, she had a moment's hesitation. But she was a resolute woman, free from all false modesty. She spent several seconds gazing at me with apparent pleasure. Then she coughed discreetly to awaken me, and as I stretched my limbs in such a way as to give my prick an even more insolent air, she approached the bed, looked down for a second, then pulled the covers up and said: "Your coffee, Master Roger."

I opened my eyes, wished her good morning, and complimented her on how well she was looking, etc. Then I suddenly jumped out of the bed, seized her and assured her that she was the most beautiful woman in the whole chateau.

She resisted weakly; slipping my hand beneath her skirts, I discovered a very hairy mound. Then I drove my finger into her cunt. As is the case with all sensual women, hers was dry, but my finger-work soon remedied that. Her clitoris was extremely hard.

"But what's come over you? Stop that! What would my husband say if he knew!"

"Mr. Muller's in the chapel."

"Yes. I know. He does nothing but pray all day long.

But stop that now, you're hurting me. My sister-in-law might come in. She's waiting for me. That's enough now! I'll come back tonight. My husband's leaving today for two or three days in the country. But now we're liable to be interrupted… "

And with that she took her leave. That evening, after having eaten a hearty dinner, I took some wine, ham and dessert back with me to my room. The chateau was soon asleep. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Madame Muller came in. My heart was beating like a triphammer. I embraced her, and gave her a French kiss, which she returned. I undressed quickly and showed her my prick in a most presentable condition.

"Don't get so excited," she warned, "or we'll waken the whole house and set the tongues to wagging."

She bolted the door. I fastened her mound in a tight grip, and found it slightly swollen, and her clitoris extremely hard. I stripped her down to her petticoat, and lifted it high. Seeing her dressed you'd have taken her for thin, but she wasn't in the least. In fact if anything she was on the fleshy side. Her dark pubic hair, I noticed, climbed all the way up to her navel.