For the instant that cooled me, but seeing she had boots on (she had slippers on the day of our fornication), I remarked it, saying I couldn't help looking at her tiny feet. — “Yes, boots, don't you like boots?” — and she pushed her feet out, and slightly raised her dress to show them, and I saw silk stockings of a different color. — I put myself on the sofa at once. “I will look at your stockings.” — “You shan't.” — “I will” and lifted her dress a little. “There then, now that will do.” — But catching her round the waist to hold her, I put my hands on to her cunt, and kept it there groping and poking with my fingers, whilst she in a sham modest way, said it was disgraceful. — “Let me.” — “I won't — oh, take care of my bonnet.” — “Take it off — now let me, — I want to see that lovely cunt of yours, and I used the coarsest Italian words to express my wants. I had been studying those words. — “Oh, said she, laughing — “for shame, a Facchino couldn't say worse words. — Leave off — I must go — Oh-o-o,” — She opened her thighs to my feel, and in a minute afterwards — “Lock the door then.”

In an instant I had locked it. She put her bonnet on the table, and came into my bed-room. — I placed her on the side of the bed, and taking her thighs over my arms — after opening her split with my fingers, for a momentary glance at the red entrance, to the red lane, fucked her as I stood, watching her face, whilst she watched mine, in our blissful throes. — When I uncunted — “Give me some water quickly,” said she. — Then I put a basin with water on the floor. She washed her cunt, and came into the sitting-room, after carefully emptying the basin, and replacing it with its ewer. — I saw now clearly, that it was not the first time she had been tailed at an hotel, so careful was she to avoid leaving evidence of her amours.

I hadn't been out of her cunt five minutes before she was off. — “My carriage is waiting. I must go” — giving me a kiss — “I shall expect you to dinner, and come at six, and wait if you like,” said she with a laugh. I saw her to her carriage. At six o'clock, I was at her house, was let into her bedroom, fucked her, and brought her poorliness on. — “Oh,” said she, “I'm three days before my time.” — “Wash and leave me as fast as you can, I must ring for my maid.”

There was a small dinner party of ladies and gentle-men — and a very pleasant evening we had. The Marchesa seemed dull. I could think of nothing but the incidents of the day, and was glad to leave with my friend, and went to his rooms where we sat smoking till an early hour in the morning. Our conversation was much about the Marchesa, and I heard that she was thought to be fond of variety in males, but that nothing had been proved against her, and no public scandal. — That her husband was much away and kept a mistress, and that the Marchesa took great fancies to bachelor strangers when visiting R**e.

I was glad her courses were on, knowing it might stop her advances for two or three days, and then perhaps I might get the maid. An irritation set up in my urethra, which for the moment I thought was clap; but it was caused by contact with the mentrual discharge. I have experienced similar irritation, after having had women in a similar state. The effect was to make me furiously randy, and to lust for the maid with an almost maddening desire. But how was I to get her? — I only knew her Christian name — and she couldn't read or write.

I called next morning (only with the object of getting to the maid) with a bouquet for the Marchesa, and said I would give it to her maid. Alone with her a minute, I begged her to give me five minutes talk, and said I was mad, was dying to have her again, and I promised much. She told me the luncheon time of the servants, and if I would then go to the top of the house, and open a door which she indicated, she would come to me there. I did, and found it was a large bedroom in the roof. — She came and told me in a few hurried words, that she, being married to the Valet, had a bed-room there, all other servants had rooms on the Marchesa's floors (two floors over part only of a big Palace not their own). Whilst her husband was away, she some-times slept in a room near the Marchesa — but she would if she could, be that night where we at that moment were —. My best way would be to get to her room and wait till she came. — She would leave the door open. If she couldn't come to sleep there, she would go up, and tell me. How long I might have to wait she didn't know. Certainly until the Marchesa dismissed her for the night. On no account was I to have a light. If I saw anyone about, I had better go down the stairs and come up again. — The staircase, it must be mentioned, was not the great staircase of the Palace.

I didn't much like that — her husband might return — and I did not fancy a stiletto in me for the sake of poking this woman, much as I lusted for her. — I asked her to sleep out with me at a house, but she wouldn't. — I tried to fuck her then and there, and got a feel of her hot quim, but she resisted much, and implored me so to leave off, for that she must get back to the servants' luncheon, that I desisted, and got back to my hotel, where I passed the afternoon resolving in my mind the risks and pleasures of getting into her; and altho she said her husband could not possibly re-turn, I determined not to go to her bedroom.

But at about ten o'clock, when digestion had done its work, and the heat of good food had got into my prick, I thought about her so much, that dressing my-self plainly, and putting on a cloak, for the night was cold, I found myself, tho rather in fear, at her room door. — It opened, and to my joy there she was. — She had been there expecting me a full hour. Then we risked all. She had, like me I expect, been thinking of fucking all day. The sperm was seething in my ballocks — her cunt was like a hot stew-pan, with voluptuous expectations, and randy exudations, and before we had been in bed together five minutes, my spunk was running out of her wet cunt copiously on to the towel I had placed beneath her handsome buttocks. — I never enjoyed a woman more, and she in her pleasure ecstasy bit at my neck when spending. I don't recollect any other woman having done exactly that, tho they have caught my tongue in their teeth.

“Let me wash, pray do.” — But I refused, and clipped her arse tightly, pressing her belly close to mine, wriggling my prick as I love to do up a cunt which is full of sperm; for it prolongs the voluptuous sensations in the tip, and keeps delicious baudy ideas alive. My prick seems then to bathe, and float almost in a mixture of oil and ivory together. — But she begged me much, and uncunted me quickly, spite of my endeavours to prevent her. “Why, cara mia, you don't with your husband I'm sure.” — “Yes I do if he does it inside, but he nearly always spends outside,” — said she quite coolly, as she washed. — “Let me look at your cunt now, then.” “Bene, eccola,” said she, opening her thighs when she had got into bed again.

I brought her to the side of the bed, and with a miserable oil lamp which scarcely gave any light, saw her beauties; and a very sweet, fine woman of Italian type, she was. Her cunt was unspeakably handsome, with dark crisp hair in moderate quantity round it, and curling but a little way up the mons above the upper edge of the split, and with scarcely a sign of hair in the space between cunt and bumhole. — I kissed it, and the lovely thighs, and praised it much. Her bum was large, but not heavy, and she had the sweetest shaped arms. Her breasts were full, firm, and elastic. I kissed her all over in delight, and she was much gratified with my praise. Then into bed I got with her, cuddling close, kissing and talking, with my finger in or on her cunt, till we fucked again. Again she washed her cunt carefully.

But neither of us could sleep. Somehow the fear of being surprized by her husband haunted me, and she, I know spite of her assurance that he could not possibly return, felt the same. If we dozed, it was only for a few minutes at a time, and then we lay talking. Her mistress was not well — what was the matter, I asked. — Her monthlies were on. (How little she dreamed that I knew that.) She suffered severely at those times. — She didn't know what her mistress did for love, when her husband was away so much. “Perhaps she has a lover, who knows?” Her husband was also away quite as much, and she had to bear it. “But you get a sweetheart to kiss you.” — “Never by the Holy Mother of God.” — I was the first who had made her forget her marriage vows, and perhaps she would be punished by being with child. The Marchesa would have no servants about her who had children, and she should be dismissed if such ill luck befell her.