Molly and Giles. • A country ale-house. • Pender’s history. • How her virginity was taken. • Whiteteeth’s ailment. • Molly in the loft. • Interrupted. Molly tailed.

I fucked Whiteteeth in the meadow one night again. We selected a field further off, which led to another bit of luck. She had left me, and I was stepping quietly, so that if met, no one might suppose we had been together; when I heard on the other side of a hedge, movements, and the voices of a male and female. They sat down within a few feet of where I was. I only heard imperfectly, and tell as well as I could gather what was said.

“I can’t stay”, said she, “mother will be after me, -she don’t know I am out of the yard.” A kiss, — many kisses, — a scuffle,–“be quiet”, — then all was a mumble. Then “I won’t, — I won’t, — never again, — you shant.” “Hush!” said he, “suppose some one is near.” “Do let’s feel it, -let’s do it”, said the male, “do it once, do it twice, it’s all the same once done.” I kept as quiet as death.

“No” (here something I could not catch), — “no, — it warn’t no pleasure to me, — I’ve been crying ever since, — you won’t marry me after all I dare say, though I let you do it.” “So help me God I will, I’ll marry you.” He swore quite loudly. “Hish !” “Mother won’t let us, she hates you.” The female whimpered, then was mumbling, kissing, soothing, quietness, then all of a sudden, “Oh ! you’re hurting me with your fingers.” “Hish !— hish !-be quiet!” Then I could hear nothing;—then, “No, I’ll be getting in a mess like Bess.” Said the man half angrily, “She were a fool, she needn’t a had a child; I knows a mother who can stop any gal having a child.” “Now don’t, — oh ! it hurts, — no, — oh !—hoe !” The voices sank; kisses came a slight rustling, and all was quiet.

Then I heard broken words from both, but in a subdued voice “I’ll never let you no more”, said the female, “you go that way.” Kiss, kiss, and the cut off, the female towards the gate I had entered the field by, he across the fields. She piddled, and waited till he had gone. Dodging her I moved after her, and saw her enter the farm-yard, but could not identify her. It must be Molly I was sure, no other female at that time was likely to enter there. Why Molly has been fucked !

Next day I asked nursemaid about Molly. “Oh ! that’s why you go to the farm so often”, said she laughing jealously. “She’s a good girl, her mother looks after her sharp.”

I had most difficulty in getting Pender. She would not go into the privy again. I fucked her once or so in the barn, but at railroad pace; both anxious, the fuck barely worth having. “I’ll go to mother’s next Sunday”, said she. If P go to the Red Lion on Saturday night, I’ll be outside in the lane.” We met in the lane, but I could only get a feel, and arrange about Sunday. “I’ll go to mother’s at *** (the market-town), if the day be fine; P. won’t come, he don’t like mother, or he’ll only come in the evening.”

On Sunday I rode to the town, passing Pender on the road in her Sunday finery, went to a lane where was an ale-house and bakery below, a baudy house above, and took a room (Fred told me of the place years before). Pender went to her mother’s, and so soon as people were in church came to the appointed corner. I kept well ahead of her, entered the house, and after hesitating at the door in she came after me.

“How could you be such a fool as to walk about outside like that?” said I angrily, for I had feared she would not enter. “I was frightened”, she replied, “and oh ! I must get back to mother’s by dinner-time at one, when the Publics and the bake-houses open.”

It was a delicious day, and beats in my recollection many others of fevered enjoyment. Little by little I stropped a tall, fine, stout, healthy, country woman, a regular spanker; with white flesh, firm, soft satiny and smelling like new milk. She was bashful without affection, ashamed to expose her charms, yet proud to do so to me. She was clad in snow-white coarse linen, neat and clean from her boots to her head. What enjoyment we had! how we spent ! I fucked her three times before the dinner-hour, my prick or my finger was in her cunt for an hour and a half.

At half-past twelve off she went; in less than two hours back she came. She had said that a friend of hers was ill, and she had promised to sit with her (a woman cocking is never at loss for a lie). It was raining. The umbrella helped to hide her, but she was nervous about being seen. I had dinner at the house, the woman cooked well; the keepers were really small traders who did not mind their rooms being used for love-making, and had none of the dirty tricks of a Lon-don baudy house keeper. He fetched me a bottle of good sherry. I got as lewd as could be, and to her astonishment turned her face against the bed, threw up her clothes and had her with my belly against her rump. I shall never forget the comicality of that fuck, her protesting against it, and her wonderment at such an attitude. The novelty upset her.

I don’t recollect much more what I did, but it was an afternoon of baudy teaching on my part, of confidences on hers; it was the first time we had a chat together on general matters. Speaking of her husband she said, “Why you have done it as much almost as he has done since we have been married.” “What in a year?” “Yes, we were married several weeks afore he did it at all, so I told mother, and that’s why he don’t like her.”

She was warmed with wine, we were on the bed cuddling, my fingers at work on her clitoris, we were enjoying each other’s nakedness. I pressed her to tell me more, and now narrate briefly what I heard of her first fuck, her grievances and troubles.

“After I spoke to mother, mother said to him, ‘You don’t want a wife much Mr. Pender, I think.”Why of course I do, I should not have married had I not.’ ‘Well it don’t seem like it’, said mother. Then Pender said, ‘You mind your own business mother, or you’ll make it hot for your daughter’, and with that he went out, and slammed the door. Mother did not like to say any more, for fear he would ill-treat me. Soon after he said, ‘What have you been saying to your mother?’ ‘Nothing’, I answered. He looked queer, and still he did not do anything to me for some time.’

“When I was in bed I used to lay and cry, he’d say, ‘What are you crying about woman?’ but I never told. After that one night he took my hand, put it on his thing and said, ‘Feel that lass.’ Then he felt all round me you know’, said Mrs. P. laughing, ‘and he had never done that before, — and with no more ado he got atop and said, ‘Not don’t be a fool’, and then he did it, — and that’s all”, said Mrs. Pender describing her first marital poke, — the real beginning of her married life, — as she laid side by side by me, with my prick in her hand.

I was curious, — a man always is in such matters. “Did it hurt you? — did he get up you quick?” “I’m sure it was pretty quick, I cried out, and it hurt. I was all in a tremble; then he said, ‘Well you were all right and tight five minutes ago.’ I bled a lot.”

“Perhaps your old sweetheart had done it before?” “He never laid hand on me, but to kiss me.” “Nor any one ?” “Oh! yes, they have tried all round I think”, said she laughing, “you have, — so has the squire, and lots of ’em, you can’t help that, — if a girl’s taken unawares a man can get his hand on her thighs, but he won’t get more; and I always slapped their heads, and there was an end of it.” I recollect certainly her slap-ping at mine hard enough.

Then she relieved her mind. “He’s not a bad man, he don’t get drunk, and we don’t quarrel ; but I don’t care for him, and never did.” “Ah ! you lost your young man, and thought you would be fucked by some one.” “I did not think at all about it, but in a sort of spiteful fit, when he asked me to marry him, I said yes. I didn’t think about his not doing it to me much, till a woman asked me how I liked it, and how often he did it; but I told her he did it a lot. Then I talked, and found men did it often to their wives, and he does not do it to me once in three weeks. So I fretted.” “What do you do?” said I. She laughed, I gave her clitoris a rub. “That’s what you do?” “Yes”, said she. “Do you often want fucking?” “Every day”, said Mrs. Pender frankly and openly. “Did you want it the day I had you by the hay-stack?” “I just did.” Then she added that her husband knew she frigged herself, and usually said to her when she intimated that she should like him up her, “Oh! do it yourself, if your cunt’s so hot, I’m tired.”

She had married a man much more than double her own age, who poked her once in three weeks; this healthy, well-fed woman of twenty-three who wanted a nightly roger, and could have spent half-a-dozen times daily with ease. She now had got me, liked me, was ready to do anything with me or for me as I found out, and was sorry for it.

At six o’clock she was obliged to leave. We were both fucked out, and parted regretting that a month must pass before she could venture to go to her mother’s again. I had left her enough to think about, for I fucked her in several attitudes. It gave me pleasure to teach her.

Next day Molly ran in my head, so I fished about to hook her. She had seemed to me so young, that I had taken but little notice of her; liking the fat-cunted, biggish-arsed females best. Now I noticed her being so plump and fresh, and wondered I had never noticed her previously. When I met her, I looked in her face thinking, “Innocent as you look, your cunt’s been wetted by a man.” I longed for her, but she was nearly always in the farm-yard, either with her mother or Pender, when not assisting up at the Hall; but when a man hunts a woman he is sure to get a chance, as will be seen I did.

Just after I had Pender on the Sunday, an annoying thing occurred to me. Whiteteeth worked in all parts of the parish, and she just now came to do something on my aunt’s grounds, — weeding I think. Catching her one day alone I took some liberty. She resisted sullenly, looked up, and nodding her head said, “You gave me a bad illness.” “What!” said I. “Did you not?” said she. I swore I had not; did she think me such a blackguard? — would she see my prick? “Then my damned old man’s given it me, and he swears I gave it him”, said she. She had a clap. I never had her afterwards, and was told that lots of men had had her. Fred told me soon afterwards, that he had, but that she had been quite steady since her marriage, he believed. I didn’t undeceive him.

When the farm-work was over Molly stood some-times at the lane-gate. Loitering about I saw a man named Giles there, who when he saw me moved off. I laid hold of her once or twice, kissed and made the usual approaches, at last got a hot fit of lust for her, and felt I would do anything to get her once. After two women with well-haired cunts I did nothing but picture to myself that she had a small cunt, and but little hair on it, like nursemaid’s, — and the idea excited me.

I have already described the barn, step-ladder, and loft; the chickens sometimes flew up the ladder into the loft. I had seen Pender go up, and whisk them down. Looking about one afternoon (hay-making was again going on), no one seemed about, though Pender was in the dairy. I entered the barn from the brick yard side, just as Molly was going up the ladder, showing her legs innocently enough.

“What pretty legs”, I cried. The girl scuffled up as hard as she could to get out of sight, I after her. She was chasing some chickens, and was as red as a turkey-cock in the face. I caught hold of her, prick standing, heart beating, and kissed her. She resisted, I put my hand up her clothes, and in the struggle we both rolled on to a heap of loose hay; I had felt the flesh of her thighs. “Leave off”, said she, “or I’ll call mother.” Her mother was then ill in the farm-house.

“Don’t be a fool”, said I attempting it again. “Don’t you do such things sir,-I’ll call mother, it’s wrong of you” “If you do”, said I brutally, “I’ll tell your mother Giles fucked you in the field last week.”

Never shall I forget the look of the poor girl’s face. “Oh !—oh!” said she breathless, “you didn’t,-it’s a story, oh ! now pray, — oh ! it’s a shocking story, —I warn’t in the field.” “Don’t. — oh ! it hurts”, said I repeating other words which had been wandering through my brain ever since I heard them. “I heard you and the man say that.”

She began to cry, putting her head in her hands. “Let me do it, and I won’t tell,-no one will know, and you won’t tell Giles, that’s certain.” She ceased crying, and fixed her eyes on me wildly, I got my hand up her clothes, her thighs were closed, she kept pushing me away, “No,-no,-no.” Forgetting where I was, or that anyone might come up the ladder, I had my prick out, and with a struggle got my hand on her cunt. “You won’t tell, really now?” “Not if you let me.” A little more scuffling, and I had her down. She was quiet, and I was fucking with all the delight and energy which a fresh woman gives a man, when I heard “Molly, Molly” shouted out. With a violent start she un-cunted me, and I spent over her motte. “Where are you such a long time Molly?” “There is a hen up here”, said Molly who had started up, “and I think she has laid, but can’t find the egg.” And Molly disappeared down the ladder. “You’re wanted up in the Hall”, said the voice, — it was Pender’s;—their voices died away. How pleased Pender would have been had she known the condition of Molly’s motte !

Nothing is so irritating as spending outside a long coveted cunt, when another thrust or two would have left the sperm up it,-it is maddening. I could think of nothing but the girl; although I had barely felt, and had seen nothing of her charms, she seemed to me perfection. For a day or two I got no chance, so I wrote on a bit of paper, “You will get into a mess, unless you meet me to-night; I’ll be in the barn at eight o’clock; come in through the wicket”, — or something to that effect. It was intended to frighten her, for she avoided me. I pushed the note into her hands at the Hall.

I walked through the farm-yard, afterwards and saw her, she shook her head as I passed. I said rapidly, —Pender was in sight, — “You had better.” In the evening I hid myself in the loft, allowed the barn-doors to be closed, and should have had to stay all night there if some one had not undone one of the wickets; they fastened them outside.

I had been there a long time, it was dark. “I am in here till to-morrow morning”, I thought, and walked up and down barely restraining myself from frigging, such was my state of lust. It was possible that circumstances might prevent her from coming, and I had given up hope, when the wicket opened, It was she; she came up into the loft; I caught her in my arms.

“What do you want? — you ain’t a going to tell? -you ain’t heard anybody say anything?” said she. I could not see, but felt her tears, reassured her, told her I loved her: who would know but us two? “What harm have I done you?” said the poor girl, “Giles is going to marry me, that’s different, — oh ! don’t now.” I had pushed her on to some hay, threatening her one minute, coaxing her the next.

I was feeling her. My hand was roving over a plump little bum and belly, my finger entered a tight little split on which was a little crisp hair, my prick followed my finger, and on the new sweet hay, belly to belly, but not mouth to mouth (she would not kiss), my prick revelled in a cunt which seemed divine, and was soon drowned in a pond of its own making.

“Mother’s better, and has gone down the lane to Pender’s”, said she, “if she comes back she will wonder where I am, — let me go.” I would not, until I had again enjoyed her; and then the lass enjoyed me. She unclosed the wicket in the rick-yard which let me out. I got across a field into the lane, went past the farm-gates, and there stood Molly with her mother. “Good night”, said I to the mother, then passing Pender’s cottage, I went round, and up to the Hall.

I thought that having fucked Molly I should be contented; but the little cunt, the little hair, the small bum, made me want Molly again. I could not get her, she evidently did not wish for me; I had had her against her will, and so had her again afterwards. Perhaps only seemingly against her will, for though she resisted, and accused me of breaking my word, she had spent with me, and was to spend again, perhaps in spite of herself.

I cannot recollect the name of Molly’s swain, though I have tried hard, so call him Giles, — it is a bumpkin’s name.