My Mother. – You've reassured me on this point, Father. But my husband also makes me assume certain positions I'm ashamed of. Lately I had to get down naked on all fours while he watched me from behind. Each time he gives me a cane and makes me parade naked around the room, shouting orders at me as though he were commanding a military drill: 'Forward, March!' or 'Halt!' or 'By the right flank, March!', 'By the left flank, March!'
The Confessor. – This should not be; but if it is only by obedience that you submit to it, you are not committing a sin.
My Mother. – Ah, I have something else weighing on my heart, but I'm ashamed to speak of it.
The Confessor. – There is no sin too great to be absolved, my daughter. Unburden your conscience.
My Mother. – My husband is forever wanting to take me from behind, and he acts so that I come close to fainting with shame. Lately I feel him putting his finger, covered with ointment, in my ... in my ... anus. I try to get up, he reassures me, but nevertheless I feel him inserting his member. At first it hurt, but, why I don't know, after a little while I enjoyed it, and when he'd finished I had the same sensation as if he'd gone in the natural way. (The rest was spoken in such hushed tones that I couldn't make it out.)
The Confessor. – This is indeed a sin. Send your husband to me for confession.
The rest of her confession was boring. Shortly thereafter, my aunt took her place in the confessional, and I heard the pleasant sound of her voice. From what I could hear, she was admitting having often missed confession. But you could have bowled me over with a feather when she added, in low, halting tones, that although she had never before felt any carnal desires, she had been moved to passion upon seeing her young nephew in his bath, and had libidinously touched his body, but fortunately had been able to dominate these wicked desires. Except once when her nephew was sleeping: the blanket had slipped off the bed, leaving his sexual parts exposed. She had stood there looking at him for a long time, and had even taken his member in her mouth. She spoke with difficulty, as though the words were sticking in her throat. I experienced an extraordinary surge of emotion.
The Confessor. – Haven't you ever sinned with men, or haven't you ever polluted yourself alone?
My Aunt. – I am still a virgin, at least as far as men are concerned. I've often looked at myself in the mirror, and caressed my private parts with my hand. Once... (she hesitated).
The Confessor. – Courage, my child, conceal nothing from your confessor.
My Aunt. – Once my sister said to me: 'Our maid uses an exorbitant number of candles. She's certainly reading novels in bed, and one of these nights she's going to set the house on fire. You sleep near her, you want to be careful!' That very evening, seeing a light in Kate's room, here's what I did. I'd left the door open, and noiselessly entered her room. She was sitting on the floor, her back half-turned towards me, leaning forward in the direction of the bed. In front of her was a chair on which a mirror was placed, and on the left and right of the mirror two candles were burning. Kate was in a nightgown, and I clearly saw in the mirror that she was holding something long and white which she was manipulating back and forth between her well-spread thighs. She was sighing deeply and trembling all over. Suddenly I heard her cry out: 'Oh! oh! oh! it feels so good!' She bowed her head, closed her eyes and seemed completely out of this world. Then I moved. She sprang to her feet and I saw that she was holding an almost concealed candle in her hand. Whereupon she explained to me that she was doing this in memory of her lover who had been drafted into the army. I expressed amazement that one could do such a thing, but she begged me not to tell anyone. I left, but this performance had made such an impression on me that from then on, my Father, I couldn't help trying the same thing, which, alas! I've often repeated since. Yes, I've fallen low, Father. I've often lifted my nightgown and, following Kate's example, given myself up to these sinful pleasures.
The reader can easily guess, in the light of my aunt's and mother's revelations, what Kate's confession consisted of. But I learned besides that she was more and more desirous of having a man, and that her friendship with Berthe was growing by leaps and bounds. They often slept together, and frequently compared their buttocks in the mirror, after having mutually examined each other's bodies.
The maids' confessions were all simple. They'd let the hired men fuck them, but their tales were stripped of all adornment. And they had never allowed the men to enter the room in which they all slept together naked. But during the military maneuvers their precautions proved to be in vain. A whole regiment had passed through the neighborhood. Thus all the girls, and even one who was pretty well along in years, were obliged to take them on, even from behind, which last, moreover, seemed to the maids a mortal sin. When the friar asked them if they had never masturbated alone or with a girl friend, they replied: "Who'd want to stick her hand in such a smelly cunt?"
But they didn't consider it sinful to watch each other shit or piss, or to have used chickens, pigeons or geese to make them come.
One of them had once let a dog lick her love lips. When asked if she had let him screw her, she answered:
"I would have been only too glad to, but he wasn't big enough."
I took every possible precaution to escape being seen as I returned to my room.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SHORTLY AFTER I HAD RETURNED to my room, my aunt and mother came in to announce that my father was coming to pay us a visit. They also told me that Berthe was not feeling well, and had been put to bed. They added that she was not seriously ill, and would soon be better, but that it would be preferable for me not to go to see her.
The announcement aroused my curiosity, and in two shakes of a lamb's tail I'd decided what I should do. I knew that my aunt and mother were to spend the afternoon in the village with the friar, visiting a poor sick lady, and that Kate was going with them to take a basket of clothes for her.
While the ladies were conversing, I studied them attentively and saw them in a completely new light as a result of the confessions I had overheard.
The dark clothing they were wearing acted as a foil to their appearance, accentuating my mother's blossoming countenance and my aunt's tightly laced figure.
Each was as desirable as the other: one, whose virginitywas as yet unsoiled by masculine contact, holding out the promise of undreamed-of voluptuousness; the other, whose exciting maturity and conjugal experience with an imaginative husband had led her through a maze of sensual caprices.
I was washing as they came in, and explained that I had tried to go to bed, for in reality my pretended illness was beginning to bore me considerably.
My aunt, who had never seen either my room or the library, wandered into the latter. My mother hurried off to the kitchen to supervise the preparations for lunch.
Being alone with my aunt, who now seemed doubly desirable to me, excited me no end. But I was still feeling the effects of my session with the bailiff's wife, and I realized full well that I would easily compromise my plans by being over-hasty.
Margaret, after having inspected the library, had approached the table and was standing there looking at what was on it.
She could well have made some interesting discoveries. The volume "O" of the encyclopedia was lying on the table with a book-mark stuck in the page dealing with onanism. I had penciled a question mark in the margin beside it.
I heard her close the book, and then the Atlas of Anatomy, over certain of whose plates she had lingered for quite some time.
So I was not surprised, upon entering the library, to find her cheeks a burning red.
I pretended not to notice her embarrassment, and said to her in a quiet voice: "You, too, must get bored sometimes, auntie dear. The priest who lived here before had quite a collection of interesting books dealing with the problems of human life. Why don't you take some with you to your room?"
I took two and slipped them into her pocket: Marriage Unveiled and Love and Marriage. When she affected reluctance, I added:
"Naturally, this is between you, and me and the lamp-post; we're not children any longer, are we, auntie?" And I suddenly seized her and gave her an emphatic kiss.
She had her hair arranged in a pretty chignon, and the nape of her neck was extraordinarily lovely. Pretty chignons and necks have always had a tremendous effect on me, and the series of resounding kisses that I planted on my aunt's neck intoxicated me completely.
But Margaret was still under the sway of her recent confession. She pushed me away, but not harshly, and after darting a final glance in the direction of my room, she left, carrying the books in her pocket.
In the course of the afternoon I heard the friar and the ladies leave for the village. I decided to go and find Berthe and ask her what had prompted her to feign illness to get out of confession.
But such was not the case. She was in bed and really appeared to be sick. My visit cheered her up enormously however.
My blackguardism was not long in awakening. But when I tried to reach under the covers to touch her, she turned away and said: "No, Roger, I had my period the day before yesterday."
"Ah, your menstruas," I said, "so you're no longer a little girl, but a woman now. And do you know that I've also become a man, Berthe," I added proudly. And unbuttoning my trousers I showed her my pubic hair and the bared head of my penis. "And I've done it too, you know. Though I can't tell you with whom."
"You've done it," she queried, "done what?"
So I explained coitus to my attentive sister. "And do you know what," I concluded, "Mama and Papa do it too all the time."
"Not really! How disgusting!"
But since her tone implied exactly the opposite, I added:
"Disgusting? Why were two sexes created then, Berthe? You've no idea how good it feels, much better than when you do it alone."
"Yes, I always did enjoy it more when Kate did it to me than when I did it myself. The day before yesterday, oh, really! I thought I was in heaven! Then Kate said to me: 'Now that you've come, Berthe, watch out, you'll be having your period soon.' That very day I had a stomach-ache, and all of a sudden something wet ran down my thighs. When I saw it was blood I was frightened half out of my wits. Kate burst out laughing and went to find Mama, who came and looked at me. 'Get yourself to bed now, my Berthe,' she said, 'you'll be having these every month from now on for three or four days. When you stop bleeding you should change your nightgown, and be sure not to wash yourself before the bleeding's stopped. By the way, you shan't be wearing little-girl dresses any more' I'm going to begin wearing long dresses like Mama and auntie," Berthe concluded proudly.
"Come on, Berthe, let's do it, " and drawing her close, I hugged her.
"You must be careful not to hurt my breasts," Berthe said. "I'm very sensitive now."
But she offered no protest when I opened her night-gown to see her little breasts, which were just beginning to blossom.
They were a pair of gently sloping hillocks, which reminded me of Psyche's or Hebe's. But they already had the classical form, and were firm, culminating in two little rose-colored sweetmeats.
I whispered reassuring words to her and she willingly let me fondle her and even suck her titties. In fact she was becoming excited.
After a few unconvincing protests, she let me see her Lady Jane, but only after she had rolled up her blood-stained nightdress.
She already had more hair than I. A little watery blood was trickling along her thighs; it was certainly not the most appetizing sight in the world, but I was too excited to care.
She was holding her thighs tightly together, but my probing finger soon found her clitoris. Under the pressure of my hand, her thighs began to spread.
Finally I was able to get my finger into her cunt, but not very far, for she drew back. I pressed against her hymen, in the middle of which there was already a little hole. Berthe gave a short cry of pain, and tightened up again. By now worked up to a high pitch of excitement, I undressed hastily, lifted my shirt and climbed on top of my sister with the intention of forcing my member, which was hard as a rock, into her cunt. Berthe protested weakly, began to cry, then gave a sharp cry of pain, when I went well into her vagina. But her short-lived pain soon appeared to melt into a feeling of sensual pleasure. Her cheeks were hot, her pretty eyes shone bright, her lips were slightly parted. She clasped me in her arms and began to respond to my movements.
Before I had finished, nectar had started to flow from her cunt. Her eyes, half-closed, were fluttering nervously. She cried out, but her cries were of pleasure. "Roger, ah! oh! Ro–oger. I ... I ... aah!" She was completely beside herself with pleasure. I had just plucked my sister's cherry.
Because of my morning's session with the bailiff's wife, and because of my excitation, I had not yet come. But seeing my sister's sensual delight, I became even more excited and stepped up the rhythm of my movements. But suddenly I felt something warm in Berthe's cunt. I withdrew, and a dark red mass of sperm mixed with the blood caused by the piercing of the maidenhead and the menstruation flowed out.
We were both frightened. My member was covered with blood, which stuck to my balls and hair.
But imagine our fright when we heard a voice behind us saying: "My, my my! What a pleasant conversation the young ones are having." Kate was standing beside us.
She had forgotten something and had been sent back to fetch it. So absorbed had we been in what we were doing that we had not heard her climb the stairs, but apparently she'd been watching us for some time from the hallway, and had then opened the door quietly and tiptoed into the room during Berthe's voluptuous orgasm.
Her roguish face reflected the excited state into which the sight and sound of our play had worked her. Berthe and I were so taken aback that for half a minute we did not even think to arrange our disorderly clothes. Kate had ample time to observe Berthe's serious bleeding, as well as the decline and fall of my tool, which my fright had caused to unstiffen.
"When you do such things, at least have the foresight to shut the door," and she went over and shot the bolt.
"Berthe, your mother forgot to tell you not to do it during your periods. But," she laughed, "I know how it is, that's just when you most want to.
"Now put a dry cloth between your legs and stay in bed like a good girl. But be sure not to put your shirt in the dirty clothes' basket, Roger, unless you've also started having periods."
And looking, I saw that my shirt was spotted with blood. Kate poured some water into a hand basin and approached me.
"Luckily it comes out easily," she said. "Get up, Roger, and let me wash you."
I stood up in front of her so she could wash my shirt in the basin. She lifted my shirt-tail high, exposing me again to the view of the two girls.
She washed my shirt, poking fun at me as she did so, then said seriously:
"Come here now," and washed the blood off me with a sponge.
At this contact, my tool slowly began to rear its sleepy head. "Oh, you wicked little prick, going into Berthe's cunt like that!" and she gave it a few saucy slaps with the palm of her hand. Suddenly she grabbed me, forced me to my knees, and spanked me as hard as she could.
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.
MEMOIRS OF A YOUNG RAKEHELL: The Famed French Poet's Sexual Confessions Page 4