To get at her I took to calling frequently on my friends, and often saw Catherine, and tipped and kissed her whenever she opened the door. If sure that no one was near, I whispered smutty double entendres to set her thinking about cock and cunt, and rubbed my belly up against hers when I caught and kissed her. At length I got her to take a walk with me one Sunday night. Then being near gardens, at a quiet place I put my hands up her clothes, felt her thighs, but missed her cunt. She ran off home, I after her, but without catching her, and thinking from her manner that I had made a muddle of it.

A day after, I called at the house in the afternoon, a time the family would usually be out, taking some Devonshire cream with me as a present to the lady, but really as an excuse for calling. “Out, — are they? — this must be kept in the cool, or it will soon turn sour.” “Give it me, sir,” said Catherine. “No, I'll give it to the cook myself.” “She's out,” said Kit. Here was an unexpected chance.

“I'll write a line to Mrs. * * *,” said I, stepping in, and I began a note. The girl waited. When I had written it, I asked if Miss Lucy (a daughter) was in a hurry to get married (she was engaged). Kitty didn't know. “What do they marry for, Kitty?” “To be husband and wife,” said she. “But what do they go to bed together for.” She didn't know. “Yes you do.” “Oh! don't bother.” I had begun kissing, and had got her to kiss me. “They kiss, Kit, like this, and feel each other all over, and then — what do they do then?” “I don't know. “I'll tell you.” “Don't want to know.” “Well I won't tell, — sit down.” I pulled her on to the sofa, for she had got familiar, — a woman soon does if you talk smut. We sat and chatted till my randiness made me reckless. “I'll tell you what they do when they are married, and in bed.” “I won't hear.” “You shall, — they fuck.” I had her by the waist, and she could not escape me. She made a very slight attempt to do so, but I held her tightly whilst I let out my baudy talk.

What else I said exactly God only knows, but it was all about newly married couples. “He pulls up her night-gown, feels her cunt, rubs his prick against her thigh, puts it in her cunt, etc.” Kit kept saying, “I won't hear, — I won't hear,” put both hands up to her ears, but did not move away from me. I pulled out my prick red hot, “That's what he shoves up her cunt, — and oh! God, don't they have pleasure, — let's put this up your cunt, Kit.”

“Now don't,” said she, starting up, but not moving away. I pulled her down to a sitting posture again, and with a dash got my hand up her clothes. She cried out, and put both hands down (they all do that) on to her thighs on my hand, wriggled to get away and for some minutes struggled, and cried. “It's a shame, — you shan't.” “Let's fuck.” “I won't now, — I won't, — oh! dear,” — but I exhausted her. She was half sitting, half leaning on me with fingers pinched tightly between her thighs, so that I could not get a good feel of her cunt; but my forefinger was well between its lips and on her clitoris titillating, and making her randy. She seriously, now begging me to leave her alone, I swearing I would fuck her, give her pleasure, promising bonnets, clothes, money, and everything else, and uttering all the voluptuous words my imagination could muster.

Nature helped me. She could hear no longer the friction on her clitoris, her voice fell to a whining tone, she breathed short, “Oh! — do — now — leave off — do,” she whined out in broken utterances. “Kiss me,” said I, “and I will.” She put her mouth to me, and kissed me excitedly. I held her head to mine, shoved my tongue in her mouth and frigged harder. With a sigh and a sob, “Oh! I c — hant — b — hear it,” her thighs opened. “Oh!” she howled loudly and sharply as my finger slipped on to the prick-hole entrance. But now quite overcome with voluptuous sensations, she was nearly spending. I pressed her back on the sofa, pulling up her clothes. “Oh! don't,” she said faintly. I pulled up her legs on to the sofa. “Oh! don't,” but with excitement and lewedness she made no further resistance. I covered her rapidly, and with one strong lunge buried my prick up her, fucked her for a minute, and spouted a deluge of hot spunk into her cunt. Just as I finished I heard her sighs of pleasure, and felt her sympathetic bum-movements.

Under the excitement of fresh cunt, I kept up Catherine a long time, laying on her, kissing, endearing, and enjoying her. At length it began to shrink, I put my fingers down to feel between our coupled genitals, and cunningly I looked at them to see if there were signs of a virginity, — there were none. “Let me get up, — oh! do.” I got off her quickly, she pulled her clothes down, and sat up, I by the side of her. Both were quite quiet, I quite surprized with the quickness and ease with which I had won her person.

“Wasn't it nice? — didn't you like it?” “No,” said she, “it was a shame,” and she was going away, but I caught hold of her. “Let's do it again.” “No, no, — oh! let me go,” she cried, but she let my hands go up her clothes. I felt the sperm all over her thighs, as I thrust my hand up between them. “I must go,” said she; but fiercely pushing her down without her struggling, I was soon up her, and again we fucked. She took my prick up her with the greatest pleasure. Thought I as I pulled out, she had had more than one prick there, I felt sure of that.

Nothing is so delicious as the intimacy established between man and woman by a fuck. When once he has moistened a woman's cunt with his sperm, they seem to have known each other for years. You may know a woman socially, closely; live under the same roof for years with her, know her habits, when she eats, drinks, sleeps, and piddles, and she may know as much about you; but if you are caught looking up her petticoats as she goes upstairs, there will be a row; and a hint about the make, shape, etc., of any part of her body between her ankles and armpits, must not be referred to. You really know nothing about her that is vital, and you and she are virtually strangers. A quarter of an hour before I could not feel Kitty's knee without a struggle, now I lay smoothing her backside with my hands, wriggling my shrinking prick in her, talking soft baudiness, and she lay listening to it, kissing me in return, her arse as quiet as if it were a lump of lead.

There is an end of all things. “Oh! if the cook should come back,” said she, “she's no business out, and won't be long.” “Damn the cook, — isn't feeling nice?” “Yes, — but let me get up.” “Feel how my prick's in you, and I'll get off.” She felt it. “You've got black stockings,” said I, noticing them for the first time, as I once did with Mabel years ago. “Yes, — don't you like them?” “No.” On the narrow sofa I could not lay by her side, so I dropped outwards, and off of her, but lewd still I put my hand on her cunt just as my prick came out of it. It was gruelly, but there was no blood. “Wash,” said I. “I'm going,” — and she left.

I wished to see her cunt when she had come back, I had not even had a glimpse of it. She let me feel it, still wet from the washing. I saw her thighs, her motte, but the crack she kept her thighs closed on. Then re-turning to the sofa, kissing, and feeling her cunt, the time passed. We talked about the family, but talked much more about fucking, that eternal subject, until I had twiddled her quim into a fever. Then tonguing her, “Let's do it again,” said I. “Let me go and see to the kitchen-fire first,” said she.

This took place in the dining-room. She wasn't gone long. When she came up she was a little coy. “No not again,” — as she stood with her bum against the dining-table, with my hands round her thighs. “No, no, the cook may come in at any moment.” But I put my hands round her bum, and lifted her up with some effort suddenly on to the table. I have done so with other women. She fell back on it. I looked at her thighs, and in a jiffy my prick was into her. I saw the dear girl's face as she spent. “You will think of this as you lay the cloth for dinner,” said I still holding her thighs over my arms, my prick still up her. The bell rang. “Oh! good gracious, it's cook.” Out came my prick. “Oh! how do I look? — will she notice anything? — is my hair all right behind?” She was all right, and down-stairs she ran to let the cook in.