My Secret Life

The mistress said “No,” looked at the maid, and they held a conversation in a low tone. Then she said they had no private rooms, but there was one I might have till the house was closed. I accepted it, and we went up a narrow staircase to a bedroom. There the servant, “We don't let rooms, but this is it, five shillings — will you please pay first, Sir?” — I gave it her, the liquor was brought up, but Sarah wouldn't stop when she saw the bed. — “I shan't then — your agoin' on too far — yer don't know what yer doing.” — Down stairs she went, and I was alone with the plump one. — “I'll take her some gin,” said she, and pouring out half a tumbler, down she went returning alone, Sarah wouldn't come. “We'd best perhaps go down agin,” said Polly thought-fully.

After seemingly a minute's reflexion, again she said, “Perhaps I'd better go.” — “Nonsense, what did you come up here for?” — saying that I locked the door, closed on Polly, pushed her against the bed, and assaulted her privates. She'd so egged me on to baudy chaff and smutty suggestions, that I'd felt sure of having her, but as my hand touched her thighs she resisted, pushed down her clothes, pushed me away stoutly, laughing as if half pleased tho refusing, and squalling loudly. — “You shan't — don't now — a joke's a joke — I won't — I'm married.” — “You're not — where's your ring?” — “Pawned.” — “I will fuck you. “You shan't” and she scuffled as much as virtuous servants have done whom I've assailed similarly. I was so annoyed at my hindrance, felt so spiteful, that leaving off I angrily said, “You're not married, your linen's dirty, that's why you won't let me.” I didn't mean it, but savagely wanted to offend her, to say something to annoy, and that came impromptu. I said much of the same sort, but all in the same strain.

“Dirty? Me dirty? Cleaner than you, I'll swear. Dirty! I'd wash my shift to rags rather than be dirty. — You have cheek. — Show me your shirt — look.” — Saying that she turned up her petticoats to her garters, and I saw the stockings and all she had on was as white as could be, tho her ankle jackboots were muddy. — “Your cunt's dirty then.” — “You lie, it ain't.” “Let's put this up it,” — pulling out my prick. — “Shan't.” — But she looked at my cunt prodder which was in splendid force. She was lewed before, now leweder still and she laughed. I closed on her again, got my fingers on the soft slit with but trifling hindrance, and frigged away at it. — “Now don't — oh don't.” Voluptuous sensations were conquering for me. — What woman can refuse a prick when the man's fingers have been in full possession of her cunt a minute? “Feel my prick.” — She slid her hand down to it after twice saying, “Shan't” and in another minute it was up her cunt, as she lay at the bedside on to which I pushed and lifted her. Quiet, absorbed in carnal pleasure, the delicious crisis came on, and dissolved us, spending into immobility and silence.

Quietly she lay as holding up her thighs, nestling my pego into her, we looked into each other's eyes in silence, enjoying the carnal junction. Fucking is in its essential always the same, the idealities are everything, therein lays the charm of variety. I felt singular de-light in fucking this common woman whom I'd only seen half an hour. — It takes longer to tell than to act.

— Who might be married or single, or of any occupation, and whose cunt I'd not even seen. Relinquishing one thigh I pushed her petticoats up, and looking down saw a dark fully haired motte, the hair mingling with mine, and put a finger on to the clitoris — “Isn't fucking lovely?” — “Isn't it?” replied she.

Catching hold of her thigh again, I squeezed my belly well against hers, feeling my pego to be dwindling. “Has your friend been fucked?” “Dunno, but she has got a lover.” — “Where's your husband?” — “God knows, on the tramp I suppose.” — “You are married.”

— She nodded. “Who fucks you now?” — “No one.”

— “What a story.” — She laughed, and it squeezed my cock out of her. Then we washed in the same basin, there was no towel, so shirt and chemise did duty.

Afterwards — “Show me your cunt.” — “All right, I'm clean, — look,” — pulling her clothes up to her motte, she let me see, saying how clean her linen was. I saw a cunt fat lipped, and full fledged. “No, I ain't had a child,” said she, noticing my investigatings. — Another letch came on. “I'd give you ten shillings to see your friend's cunt, and she ten to show it.” — She seemed surprized. — “Will you? Don't think she will.” — “Try to get her upstairs.” — “I will, but she's a stupid, don't say you've done it to me.” — Saying that, she put on her bonnet and went downstairs.