My Secret Life (39 page)

I wished the cook at the Devil for causing me to lose two nice servants, and immediately told my wife what I had heard about her.

She turned up into a high state of moral indignation, and had the cook up, and told her what James had said, I was asked to be present. Cook was fattish but had a pleasant face, was under forty — and I have fucked many a less tempting bit of flesh. — Never did a woman turn so red as she did. She was almost speechless, then almost choked, denied it, and dared the villain to say so to her face. I called him up. My wife said she could not have such investigations before her — yet she stayed. James repeated that he had been “very familiar” with her. — Cook howled, shed tears, and said he lied. He retorted that the kitchen maid knew it. The kitchen maid was called up and questioned in a most delicate way. — She first denied knowing anything about it, but catechised by James, said that the cook and he had certainly been to the top of the house together at times when missus was out. She didn’t know why, it wasn’t her business to spy her fellow servants, and so on. And then said that the housemaid who slept with Lucy knew more than she did about Lucy and James. A regular shindy ensued among the servants, and it ended in the whole lot being discharged, excepting the lady’s maid. Altho by no means sure that the footman had not accused the cook out of spite, I felt sure that he had got into Lucy under promise of marriage.

At the end of a week the poor girl came crying to us, and imploring that nothing should be said to prevent her getting a place. Then I found out her lodgings and went really and truly to comfort her. It was about ten o’clock in the morning. “Three pair front,” said the landlady, not looking very pleasantly at me, and directly I had gone, as I heard afterwards, said “I ain’t a going to have any of them games here. You take yourself off if swells like him visit yer.” — So as I really was much interested in the girl, and had determined to help her, I arranged for her to meet me at Charing Cross that afternoon. I declare I had no intention of trying to have her, tho I had felt a desire for her. But I meant to try to get her married to my man. That was my vague notion.

She was a little late, and as I could not well talk with her in the street, I took her to the Cafe de P
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e and ordered a little dinner in a private room. — She had had very bad food since she had left my house, and this nice dinner delighted her. Like all women of her class she refused it at first, was nervous, said she could not eat before gentlefolks, and was most uncomfortable, but it gradually wore off as the food warmed and the wine cheered her. Her lovely eyes began to sparkle and her tears dried up. Then cheered myself, a sudden throb of desire went through me. She has had it up her cunt, has been spent in, has clasped a man in her arms, has felt his prick. — I wonder if she has a pretty cunt, much hair on it, and a group of cognate thoughts came on and my prick was standing, and was within a couple of yards of that cunt. Did my lust communicate itself to her by subtle magnetic influence? how can that be known? But I became silent for the moment, and so did she, staring intently and, as I thought afterwards, voluptuously at me.

The dinner was not long about. Whilst eating I told her that I meant to help her out of her difficulties. “How?” she asked. Well I must feel my way, try if I could get James to marry her, or send her home, or get her a place, or a doctor if she wanted one. But I must know more than I did, must feel sure I was on the right path, she must tell me the truth, or I could do nothing. — This was varied by talk about myself and household, and I heard much that had taken place, and what had been said, during my absence; for this girl had become our servant just after I went abroad. The talk however always got back to the subject of her faux pas with James, and there was an undercurrent of lewedness, for it all referred to cock and cunt; tho not a word of smut had I used, as we sat eating so close together, with my legs touching hers under the table.

The dinner was removed, but wine left, it was only sherry. Unnoticed I bolted the door, and down I made her sit with me on the sofa. “Now, Lucy,” said I, “let us talk quite seriously about you and your belly; before I can do you any service, you must tell me the truth. Has James done it to you or not?” — After long hesitation she said slowly, “No.” “And you’re not with child?” “No.” She did not look me in the face and became quite cast down. “He has never put it up you?” said I, revelling in the idea of evoking voluptuous recollections in the girl. “No sir,” “Then if that be so, I don’t see what use I can be to you. I was going, had you been fucked, and had you been with child, to have helped you to get rid of it, or to have sent you to your parents, till you were confined, or to some where else, and to pay for it all, for I much pity you. But now all you have to do is to get another place, which you are sure to do in time, so give me a kiss for my good intentions.” I watched her closely as I said fucked, and saw her blush and wince, with a sense of modesty, and I felt a delicious lust creep through me when uttering the lewed words, and calling to her mind sexual pleasure.

For a minute she sat looking down speechless, and I repeated all I had said. She seemed to be struggling with herself, and at length raised her face to mine and kissed me. Then I kissed her passionately, and hugged her to me and kissed every part of her face, her ears, and eyes, and neck. — Her eyes filled with tears, she broke from me, buried her face in her hands, began crying violently, and saying that I was very kind. I tried to comfort her, putting my arm round her, kissing her, asking what it was all about, repeating, “Has he fucked you, has he? tell me, now tell me,” but getting no reply for some minutes. Then her tears subsided and she sobbed out, “I told you a story, I’m past two months with child by James.” And having made the confession she came to herself, kissed me whenever I asked her, and told me the history of her seduction (for that it was), whilst I cuddled her to me affectionately, making her sip sherry at times to comfort her, and keep her spirits up.

James had promised to marry her. One night he took her to the theatre, and then to have some drink in a house, and there he induced her to let him have her. Since then he had her repeatedly, and nearly always on the sofa in our dining room. For half an hour I questioned her and she told me all the detail, as if I were her confessor.

Then I repeated my promise. She was to consider what would be the best for her to do, but perhaps James would marry her. No he would not for she had written him, and he had not answered her letter. — I told her on no account was she ever to mention me to him, that she might be easy about money, for I would pay for all she needed, till she was out of her trouble. She said she didn’t want money, having by her two or three pounds. I gave her more saying, “That will prevent your fretting.” She was deeply grateful, and cried and kissed me again and again.

I can do her no harm thought I, for she is with child, and my prick swelled proudly. Voluptuous thrills passed through me as I thought of her cunt being within reach of my fingers, and I resolved to try for it. We finished the wine, she was heated. I again began talking about her love affair, and now in burning words of lust. My embraces, kisses, and lewed words excited her. Did he hurt her, when his prick first went up her cunt? Wasn’t it pleasure to her, doing it. “Kiss me, Lucy.” She kissed but did not answer. “How exquisite the sensations are just when the prick stiffens to its utmost when up the cunt, aren’t they?” “Oh don’t, sir, talk so,” she burst out. “Why not, love? You know.” Then my hand began moving about. “Have you much hair there, Lucy?” “I won’t tell you, now leave off.” “You garter above knee, don’t you?” “Yes, sir.” I pulled her further on the sofa, and still closer to me. “Let me feel.” “Oh, sir, you mustn’t now.” But pressing her closely to me, kissing her, telling her of my desire for her, in a few minutes my hand was on her thighs and roving up and down, then round her haunches as far as I could reach, it went over her smooth, sweet flesh; and then the fingers nestled between her notch, and when half hidden by the plump lips and the thick, silky hair which curled over my knuckles — there they rested — “I’m feeling your cunt, Lucy, I don’t hurt you, do I now?” She replied not, but our kisses met, and we laid in silent enjoyment. I am feeling her, she is being felt. The fingers of a man, even if motionless, on a woman’s cunt, inflame her.

Now I got burning with fierce desire, as my fingers played delicately with a well-developed clitoris. “Fucking is lovely, isn’t it dear Lucy, feel my prick, love.” Removing my hand from her cunt, I got out my prick, and placed her hand on it. Back went my hand between her thighs and recommenced its delicate fingering. “Open your thighs dear, and let me feel lower down.” “Oho,” she gasped, as they widened apart, and softly with a burrowing motion, two fingers buried themselves in her vagina.

“How wet your cunt is, love — you want a fuck.” Not a word she said, her breath seemed short, her eyes closed, she kissed me when ever I asked her, she was swooning with voluptuous feelings. “Let me do it, I want it so badly. You are so lovely and it can’t hurt you now, let me,” and I kissed her rapturously. “No,” she whispered but almost inaudibly, holding my prick still in her hand. I took no denial, gently pushed her back, lifted her legs up, without resistance mounted her, and the next instant my pego was sheathed in a most heavenly cunt. With deep drawn sighs, Lucy clasped me to her and we fucked. “It’s lovely, isn’t it, dear?” “A-ho, o-ho,” she whispered, and the next instant we were both spending in ecstasy.

What voluptuous, triumphant joy I had as, raising my self up partly, I looked at that lovely face. — My prick still buried up her. Then in tranquil enjoyment I lay kissing her, till my prick slipped out. How uncomfortable the sofa suddenly seemed to be. I have had scores of women on sofas, but how few sofas gave full comfort in copulating. That which we were on now was a miserably small one. I got up, so did she. “Wasn’t it lovely, Lucy?” “Did you bring me here to make me do that?” said she sorrowfully.

I swore that I had not, — that it was only the result of her beauty, — an accident — that I suddenly had lusted for her. She shook her head as if she doubted me.

“I wish I could wash,” said she. — I rang the bell, the chambermaid showed her a room. When she came back we had more wine. “I’m fuddled,” said she, but she wasn’t. “Never mind, I’ll see you home, but come with me, we have some hours before us, and we will go where we can be more comfortable, finish your wine.” In ten minutes I was in the room which I first entered with Sarah Mavis.

“It’s a bad house,” said she. “So they call it, my love, but it’s good to us, so why is it bad? Take off some of your things, and we will talk about your troubles lying down.” She was docile. Soon we were on the bed half undressed. — “Now don’t be foolish dear. Let me look at it. I’ve fucked it, what can be the harm in looking at it?” In half an hour I had seen all, and we fucked as often as we could, till it was time to go. I took her to within sight of her lodgings in a cab.

Lucy without place. — Fausse couches. — Goes
home.
—
James
leaves. —
A
confession. —
Lucy’s
marriage. —
My
wedding gift. —
An anonymous
letter. — James’
amourous exploits.
— The use of a dining-room table. — Camille again. — Erotic literature. — Erotic anticipations. — Camille’s opinion thereon. —
Ill.
— Memoirs
arranged.
— Frail
fair
ones. — My gratitude.

 

She could not get a situation, for her uncharitable brute of a mistress, always after giving her a good character, some how let out about this
faux pas,
so Lucy and I both agreed that she should get an abortion. — I told her to spare no money, and put her in the way of getting the thing done. She took other lodgings and got relieved (at her third month), and then went home to her parents. I gave her twenty pounds the day she left, and told her to write at any time to me at a club if she wanted any more; but never to mention me, or any thing about our connection, or her miscarriage, to any living soul as long as she lived, even if she married, or was dying. I never told her about the general turn out of servants in my house, or what James said he had done to the cook, thinking the less I said about those things the better.

I had got a new set of servants, for even the lady’s maid it was thought desirable to send off, but James remained for I could not get suited. I took a dislike to him for his brutality in not answering the girl’s letter; and taking no notice of her when out of place. So one morning, “James,” said I, “what has become of that poor Lucy, has she got a place? She has ceased coming here about her character.” He replied that he didn’t know. “Well, it’s no business of mine, but I have an impression that you have wronged her. Poor creature, and such a nice young woman. If it be really true that you seduced her by a promise of marriage, you will some day regret it, it will be on your conscience heavily. She would make a good wife to a man of your class, and a man even far above you. I never felt more for a poor creature, than I did when I saw her going away crying.” “How am I to keep a wife?” said he. “Set up a shop for her, or let her take in washing, and you can work as either indoor or outdoor servant, you are both strong and healthy.” “Where does she live?” “I don’t know, I can find out; but I know where her parents live in the country, and dare say she’s gone home.” I noticed all this time that James had ceased to deny having had her. Then impulsively I said, “Poor thing. I’d give fifty pounds to help her, and prevent her become a street walker, for that will be the end, if it be not already.” Then turning away I said sharply, “That will do, you will leave on Wednesday.” — “Are you suited, sir?” “No, but I won’t have you about me any longer.” The man retired — crest fallen — he had been, I know, flattering himself that I would after all still keep him on as my servant. He liked me I must add. On Wednesday he left.