“Don’t you?” “No, mother keeps me.” “What is your father?” “Got none, he’s dead three months back,—mother works, and keeps us.—she is a charwoman, and goes out on odd jobs.” “Don’t you work?” “Not now,” said she in a confused way, “mother does not want me to, I takes care of the others.” “What others?” “The young ones.” “How many?” “Two,—one’s a boy, and one’s a gal.” “How old?” “Sister’s about six, and brother’s nearly eight,—but what do you ask me all this for?” “Only for amusement,—then you are in mourning for your father?” “Yes, it’s shabby, ain’t it?—I wish I could have nice clothes, I’ve got nice boots,—ain’t they?”—cocking up one leg, “a lady gived ’em me when father died,—they are my best.”
“Are you often in the Strand?” “When I gets out I likes walking in it, and looking at the shops,—I do if mother’s out for the day.” “Does she know you are out?” The girl who had been lying on her back with her head full towards me, turned on her side, and giggling said in a sort of confidential way, “Bless you no,—she’d beat me if she knew,—when she be out I locks them up, and takes the key, and then I goes back to them,—I’ve got the key in my pocket, and shall be home before mother,—she is out for the whole day.”
“Do the children know you’re out?” “No, I says to them, ‘You be quiet now, I’m going to the yard.’” “What’s the yard?” said I not reflecting. The girl thought a minute, chuckled, turned her head, and was silent, she was actually blushing. “What’s the yard?” Suddenly it struck me, “Going to the privy?” She burst out laughing. “Yes that’s it, I say I’m going to the privy, and then I comes out with her, and they can’t get out, so they are all right, and we go back together if she’s with me; if she ain’t I go back by myself,—there,”—and she stopped satisfied with her explanation. “They may set fire to themselves,” said I. “There ain’t no fire after we have had breakfast, I puts it out, and lights it at night if mother wants hot water.”
“What do you do with yourself all day?” “I washed both of them, I gives them food if we’ve got any, then washes the floor and everything, and then washes myself, then I looks out of the winer.” “Wash yourself.” “Yes I washes from head to foot allus.” “Have you a tub?” “No we’ve only got a pail and a bowl, but I’m beautiful clean,—mother tells everyone I’m the beautifullest clean gal a mother ever had,—I wash everything, mother’s too tired. Sometimes we all go out and walk, but that’s at night; sometime I lays abed nearly all day.”
She was beautifully clean in her flesh, her linen was clean, its color awful; but what could be expected from a pail, a bowl, and one room to dry things in. “You can’t always be washing.” “No, I do all the mending and making,—look how my finger is pricked,” said she showing it.
I had been smoothing and feeling her all over, her unwashed cunt had come in for its share of my attentions, I had been twiddling it till outside it was dry. Recurring to the never-failing, and always charming theme, I got close to her, kissed her, my fingers sought the innermost recesses of her tight little orifice. “Don’t you like fucking?—does it give you pleasure?” “It never gived me much pleasure that I know on,” she replied. “But you don’t dislike it?” “Not if they don’t hurt me.” “Do they ever?” “One or two have, if they push hard,—but I shan’t say no more,—there.”
There was a frankness, openness, and freshness about this girl which delighted me. Question after question I put, and would be answered; if evaded I put it in another shape, but she seemed willing mostly to reply. I put into her little head things she had never dreamed of, and all the time kept rubbing her clitoris, probing her little quim, distending it, tickling it, and exciting her till she wriggled her little fat bum.
“Do I hurt you?” “Oh! no,”—“let me then,”—“oh! don’t sir,—I wish you would not.” “Did you never enjoy the prick up you?—never enjoy a fuck! —you shall enjoy it with me.” “Don’t now,” said she turning herself round as I frigged on. “Feel my prick dear.” She did not need a second invitation. “Is it not stiff?” “Yes, and big.” “Yes,—yes,—but oh! don’t sir,—take away your hand,—ah!” I talked on, frigging and tickling, my prick throbbing, but restraining myself, for instinct told me she was about to enjoy a pleasure she had never enjoyed yet. All at once she relinquished my prick, a slight heaving of her belly, and her eyes closed, then I knew she was ready to discharge.
I ceased to frig, her eyes opened, her thighs which had closed opened again. I joined my body to hers, and we were one, I fucked,—we fucked now, for the little lass in a minute or two was dissolving in pleasure whilst I was pissing my sperm up her, groaning as the tightness of her little cunt squeezed my sensitive prick. If Kitty was not a harlot before, she was from that minute she had her spend with me.
She laid quite quiet till nature dissolved our fleshy union by uncunting me, then I laid by her side, she on her back, her thighs wide open, her eyes closed.
“Don’t it give you pleasure?” After repeating that half-a-dozen times she said, “I don’t know.” “Yes you do,—did you spend?” “I don’t know what a girl’s spending is,” said she. “Did my prick give you pleasure,—tell me Kitty?” At length she said yes, and she had never had pleasure with men before. (Two years afterwards she repeated that the first pleasure she ever had with a man was with me.) “Wash yourself.” “I’ll wash when I go home.” “Wash now you little beast.” “What does it matter to you?” “Wash you little devil.” She washed carefully, and whilst doing so, “Piddle,” said I. “I can’t abear to piddle before a man,—what a funny man you are.” “Piddle my dear,” and the little dear piddled.
Wiping herself dry she stopped in the middle of the operation and asked, “Why wouldn’t you have the other gal?” “What do you want me to have her for?” “She’s very poor.” “What do you do with your money?” “Buy things to eat,—mother’s very poor, we often ain’t got enough to eat.” “Then you get a little money by being gay.” “I ain’t gay I tell you.” “Well your friend is I suppose, and gets money.” “No she doesn’t,—she isn’t gay either,—no man ain’t ever done it to her, she’s such a foule,—but she would a come in today with you, she said she would, and she were just a comin’ when you sent her off,—she promised me, she’d let yer if you wanted,—but she is a foule though.”
“I don’t believe that.” “It’s God’s truth though, she ain’t, she says she ain’t; she knows what men want gals for, but she’s never let anyone,—I know she ain’t, she is frightened.” “Have you looked at her cunt?” “Often,” said Kitty. “And she’s looked at yours?” “Of course she has,—she lives over us I tell you, I go up to her, and she comes down to me when mother’s out,—I wash her.” “You seem fond of washing.” “I likes things clean.” I thought for an instant, “It may be true, I should like to see her cunt if she’s never been poked,—what object has this little lass in pressing this so?” Then said I, “Tell me the truth, and I’ll give you another shilling,—don’t lie,—I shall soon tell whether you’re lying or not,” and getting up, “here is three and six (I had it on the mantle-piece), here’s a shilling for her, and there is another. If you answer truly, I’ll see you again; but I’ll never see you again if I find you are making up lies,—come here.” And I sat down.
She came forward, I pulled her between my naked legs, her naked thighs met mine, her little cunt was close to my prick, I put my hand round her fat little bum, and looked her in the face, pressing her belly close to mine.
“What do you want me to have her for?” “Only cos she’s so poor,—why she only gets sixpence a day,—she works at sack-making,—oh! isn’t it hard!—and her hands if you seed ’em, are hard and brown, stained with the string, and what the works with,—mother wants me to work at them at home, but I won’t—I tells her I’d run away first,—she is so little she can’t carry the sacks home as other gals do; so a strong young woman who works at sacks
carries them home for her, and charges her two-pence for it,—they carries them home on the top of their heads; but she is too little, she is.” (At that time women worked at sack-making, and carried them home on their heads.)
“Can she put her finger up her cunt?” “I shan’t tell you all that,” said she turning nasty. “Is her cunt as open as yours?” “No it ain’t.” “Then she can’t get her finger up.” “Oh! you are a rum cove, you are,” said she breaking away from me, “I never seed the like of you. I must go,—tell me what time it is.” “Half-past four.” “I’ll go,—I give the children something to eat about this time.” “Come here, or I won’t give you the shillings.” We resumed our positions. “Are you sure she has never had a man?” “Never, she’s such a foule,—she says she’d like to, and she’d like the money, and yet she won’t,—she is such a foule.” “How long have you done it?” “Only since we have lived this side of the water, after father died.” “How many men have you had?” “I shan’t say,—I don’t recollect,—it arn’t no business of yourn,—you don’t like me.” “Yes I like you, but I won’t tell,—no it isn’t a dozen,—I shan’t say who first did it,—I shan’t then,—it isn’t a dozen,—yes I am quite sure, I don’t think it’s ten, but it may be about that, I think it’s eight,—they didn’t all do it to me, no they didn’t,—one on ’em only put his hands up my clothes, and went off in a minute; another pulled up my clothes, and looked at me, and then he—” She stopped, and I could not get her to say what, so promised her another shilling. “I don’t know what he did.” “Frig himself?” “I don’t know what you call it,—yes he did that,” said the girl bursting into a roar of laughter when I showed her the operation. “I looked at him, and he went away without speaking,—he only gave me half-a-crown; but an old gentleman one day gave me a gold bit of ten shillings.” She began counting on her fingers. I thought she was reckoning her gains, she was a long time at it, doing it over and over again; at length, “It’s seven,” said she. “What?” “Gentlemen,—you make eight.”
“Your little friend is too young,” said I. “She is fourteen, but shorter than me.” “Has she any hair on her cunt?” “You can just see some coming, and it’s black.” “She is dirty.” “No she ain’t, but she was till she knew me,—she can’t help her clothes being dirty, but she mends ’em,—how I wish I had nice clothes like the gals about at night, and like gentlefolks!” said Kitty in a sort of ecstasy, and then tossed up half-a-crown, and caught it.
I began to long for the other girl, and told her she might bring her the next day, that she should have three and sixpence, and her friend the same, and more if I did it. Kitty went off agreeing to meet me with her if their mothers were out, but if not, the day after, all depended on their mothers’ absence. She would listen to the church-clock, and as it struck three she would leave; it was only by listening that she knew the time. She would put by a penny for the bridge-toll; generally she went round by Westminster bridge to avoid paying the penny. Then we left. Her little friend I found was loitering close by. They went into a pastry-cook’s, and I watched them both eating together as they went along towards Waterloo bridge, Kitt and Pol.
Chapter IV
On the appointed day I saw Kitty but alone, she followed me to the house, and soon by my pego her sweet little cunt was distended. I had her all the afternoon, and tailed her to the extent of my powers. The girl was delighted, her eyes sparkled with lewdness. Was fucking nice? “Oh! yes, yes,” she replied, it was nicer than she thought, nicer than gals told her it would be. This was after I had called her at our meeting a little humbug, for not bringing her friend. The excuse was that Pol’s mother was at home. I did not believe it, but was so content with her sweet little form, the ease with which I handled her, the enticing look of the cunt, its tightness, and her pleasant, frank manners, that I forgot all about the other little one, till going away, then said, “Mind you bring your friend, and I’ll give you five shillings, but you know you won’t, you little storyteller.” “I will,—I shall,—I’ll make her come,—she wants, but she is such a foule,—and she’s frightened of her mother.”
Another blazing hot day. The two were looking in at the pastry-cook’s, the taller with her arm round the neck of the other. I watched them for a minute, Kit often looked around anxiously, and seeing me, moved off quickly towards the street. I followed on the opposite side of the way, then stopped. The small one stood with her back against a wall, Kitty was gesticulating. I went on passing without noticing them. As I passed I heard, “You are a foule,—you’re a liar,—you said you would.” “I shan’t then.” Turning the corner I looked back. There they still were standing as on the first day I saw them. Thought I, “She can’t persuade the little one,” so walked on to W—l—n Street, to the Lyceum portico, and back again in a fever of expectancy. As I got near the house they both turned the corner, so in I went and waited till both girls appeared, and soon heard two pairs of feet after me on the same staircase, two young voices whispering, the Mistress following us all.
“Why five shillings?” “You have two young ladies today, double price you know sir.” I did not know, for it was the first time I had had two women together in a house. Excited and anxious I had got to fucking-heat in anticipation of a small unprobed cunt, paid the money, and there was I with the two little ones face to face, two young cunts at my disposal, a novelty, and a charming one. The woman closed the door, casting a queer look at the girls and me. I locked it.
I put my hand up Kitty’s clothes, the other girl, an ugly little imp in a bonnet as big as a coal-scuttle, and with boots which looked as if they were her mother’s, stood and stared with eyes wide open,—they were dark, and her hair nearly black. “Come here my dear.” “Come to him,” said Kitty. The girl drew near, I took her on my knee. “So you are the friend of Kitty, and we are going to play with each other naked, aren’t we?—I’m going to look at your cunt, and you are going to feel my cock.” She made no reply. “I’m going to look where your piddle comes out, aren’t I?” “No,” said the girl sullenly after reflecting a minute, and hanging her head on one side, “I shan’t.”
“Yes he is you foule,—oh! you are a foule,” burst out Kitty, “I wish I didn’t know you, you are such a foule,—she said she would sir, she knows all about it, she does, she knows what she has comed for, she does,—now don’t be a foule (in a threatening manner), I won’t speak to you agin, nor gi yer nothink (Kitty’s English was awful),—you may get yer belly filled, I won’t help fill it.” All this over and over again, in anger.
The girl looked at Kitty humbly. “Well I will then.” I put my hands up her petticoats on to a lean pair of thighs. “Take off your things.” “Yes take them off,” said Kitty helping her off with her bonnet, and to undress. “Are you going to take off yours Kitty?” said she. “Yes when you have,” and without more ado she stripped the girl to her chemise, and herself likewise. I took off all but my shirt and socks. It was a sweating hot day.
The girl was not very inviting, was heavy and lubberly, and looked as if she had not enough to eat; but there was in her a virgin cunt, so I was told, although even then a little skeptical about what a female told me on that point. My tooleywag was standing at the idea, I shook it before them, and calling both to me held them round their naked bums, and made them feel me. The pair of little fists anxiously feeling from the root of my balls to the tip of the piercer soon rendered me impatient for action. I was near the side of the bed facing the windows, and through the white blinds came the strong light of a summer’s afternoon. Lifting the fresh one from my knee I put her on her back on the bed, and lifted her scanty chemise. Close went her legs together, I opened them, she resisted, I grew angry, Kitty called her a foule. Coaxed and bullied at the same time she yielded, I pulled the legs wide open, and kneeling threw one over my shoulder, the other I pressed outwards, and with my other hand opened her cunt-lips wide; then she kicked her legs over me, and turning arse upwards got up. A little row
, again she yielded, again served me the same trick. I damned her for a bitch, and Kitty reviled her. “She is a fool Kitty,—show her what I want.” Kitty hesitated a moment, then throwing herself on to the bed opened her thighs, and pulled her cunt-lips apart. The young one gradually persuaded let me do for her what Kitty did for herself, after she had carefully studied Kitty’s quim for a minute.
I saw with speechless excitement the girl’s cunt, which seemed at first glance as if a prick had entered it; but looking more closely saw that the perforation was too small. I thrust gently my finger up it,—a cry,—a howl. “Don’t,—you’re a hurting,” and again the little devil was arse upwards on the bed. Again I coaxed, promised, lied, and Kitty bullied; again I saw the cunt, that it was not like cunts that had been fucked: the hairless lips, a little black tint just above the notch, a little hole. My eyesight failed me, the demon of desire said, “It’s fresh, it’s virgin,—bore it,—bung it,—plug it,—stretch it,—split it,—spunk in it,” and I laid hold of her thin backside mad with lust, kissing and sniffling at her cunt.
“Let’s lay on the bed, and all strip quite naked,—it’s so hot.” “Yes do,” said Kitty. She stripped the girl of her pea-soup coloured rag, and we both stripped. There we were in a minute all three naked, close together, with but little room, the girl in the middle. I pressed to her, put her hand round my prick, talked bawdy. Kitty said, “Now let him.” The girl said no. I put one leg over, and worked myself between her little thighs, partly holding myself up on my elbow and pattering bawdy which Kitty kept repeating. “It won’t hurt dear.” “No it won’t hurt,” said Kitty. “Just let me touch it with his prick.” Kitty in her anxiety slipped right off the bed, and getting herself up stood by the bedside repeating the bawdy words I uttered.
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