Memoirs of a young Rakehell

CHAPTER FIVE

The Feast day of the chateau's patron saint was at hand. It was the occasion for a major celebration, which was to be preceded by the confession of all members of the household.

Both my aunt and mother had decided to go to confession, and the others intended to follow their example.

I had succeeded in feigning illness, and had kept to my room since the previous evening in order to avoid arousing anyone's suspicions. The Capuchin friar had arrived and had dinner with us. Coffee had been served in the garden, and after Kate had finished clearing the table, I found myself alone. Since time was weighing heavy on my hands, I wandered into the library, where I chanced upon a hidden door that I had never noticed before. It gave on to a dark and narrow concealed staircase which was lighted only by a small circular window at the end of the upstairs corridor.

The staircase led to the chapel, and from behind the locked door, which was rusted from long years of disuse, drifted the voice of the friar. He was telling my mother that he would hear her confession on the following day in the same place.

The confessional was set against a wooden partition, through which every word could be distinctly heard. So it seemed to me that here would be an ideal vantage point from which to eavesdrop.

I was of the opinion that this stairway must have been installed in years past by some jealous lord desirous of listening to his wife's confessions.

The next day, after my morning coffee, the bailiff's wife came in to clean up my room.

I've already mentioned that she was pregnant, and I carefully studied the enormous contour of her belly, and the unusual size of her nipples which bounced to and fro beneath her light blouse.

She was a pleasant looking woman with pretty features. Until the bailiff had put her in the family way she had been one of the chateau's maids.

I had already seen women's breasts in pictures and on statues, but never in the flesh.

The bailiff's wife was in a great hurry. She had buttoned only one of her blouse buttons. When she leaned over to straighten my bed, this solitary button came undone, and I saw her entire bosom, for the V-necked jacket she was wearing was very low-cut.

I sprang to my feet: "Madam, you're going to be cold!"

And pretending to help her rebutton her dress, I untied the ribbon holding it on her shoulders. As I did, the two nipples seemed actually to leap out of their hiding place, and I sensed their bulk and firmness.

The buttons on each breast stood out: they were red and surrounded by a large brownish halo.

Her titties were as firm as a pair of buttocks' cheeks, and as I fondled them I could have sworn they were a pretty girl's behind.

The woman was so taken aback that I had time, before she recovered her wits, to kiss her nipples at leisure.

She smelled of sweat, but in a way that excited me. It was that odor di femina which, as I was later to learn, emanates from a woman's body and, according to the individual, provokes either desire or disgust.

"Oh, ooh! What are you thinking of?…No…That's not right…! I'm a married woman… Not for anything in the world."

These were her words as I steered her toward the bed. I had opened my dressing gown and lifted my nightshirt, revealing my member in a state of hyper-excitement.

"Let me alone. I'm pregnant. Oh, Lord God, if anyone should see us!"

She was still resisting, but less forcefully. As a matter of fact her gaze was fixed steadily on my sexual parts. She was supporting herself against the bed onto which I was trying to force her.

"You're hurting me!"

"My dear woman, no one can see or hear you."

She was by now sitting on the edge of the bed. I was still pushing. She lay back and closed her eyes.

My state of excitement was beyond all bounds. I lifted her dress, her petticoat, and saw a pair of thighs which fired my enthusiasm even more than had the peasant girls'. Between the closed thighs I caught sight of a small tangle of chestnut-colored hairs, among which the crack was concealed.

I dropped to my knees, seized her thighs, let my hands roam caressingly, laid my cheeks upon them and covered them with kisses. My lips advanced from the thighs to her mound of Venus, where the smell of urine only added fuel to my excitement.

I lifted her skirt even higher and looked with astonishment at the enormous bulk of her belly, upon which the navel was raised instead of in a hollow as was Berthe's.

I licked her belly button. She lay motionless, her breasts flopping down on either side. I lifted one of her legs and placed it on the bed. Her cunt came into view. At first I was frightened by the two thick and puffy reddish-brown lips.

Her pregnancy gave me a chance to revel in that sight. Her lips were spread and when I darted a glance inside I discovered a real butcher's stall of moist red meat.

Near the top of the lips was the peepee hole, crowned by a small grain of flesh which my anatomical research had informed me was called the clitoris.

The upper part of her slit was lost in the hair covering her overly fleshy mound of Venus. The lips were almost hairless, and the skin between the thighs was damp and red from sweat.

All in all it was not a very appetizing picture, but I appreciated it nevertheless because the woman was very clean. I could not help inserting my tongue into her crevice and licking it hastily before moving to the clitoris, which hardened under my passionate tonguing.

I soon tired of this sport, and since the crevice was by now well moistened, I replaced my tongue with my finger. Then I laid hold of her nipples, taking the tips in my mouth and sucking them by turns. I kept my index on the clitoris, which grew harder and larger until it had assumed the proportions of my little finger or thereabouts.

But at that point the woman came to her senses and began to whimper, but without however leaving the position into which I had forced her. I felt slightly sorry for her, but I was too worked up to really care. I talked to her cajolingly, trying to comfort her, and ended up by promising to stand as godfather for the child she was expecting.

I went over and, taking some money from the drawer, handed it to her. She had by then got herself decent again. So I lifted my nightshirt, but felt somewhat ashamed to find myself naked again in front of a woman, especially one who was married and pregnant.

I took her moist hand and placed it on my member. The touch was exquisite.

She squeezed, gently at first, then more firmly. I had grasped her nipples, which held a strange fascination for me.

I kissed her on the mouth, and she readily gave me her lips.

My whole being was attuned to pleasure. I placed myself between her thighs, but she exclaimed:

"Not on top of me. It hurts too much. I can't do it the front way any more."

She got off the bed, turned round and bent over with her face on the bed. She said nothing else, but my instinct supplied me with the solution of the enigma. I remembered once having seen two dogs going at it that way. Following Medor's example, I lifted Diana's skirt.

For Diana was her name.

Her buttocks hove into sight, buttocks such as I had never even dreamed existed. Berthe's may have been pleasing, but it was really nothing next to this. My two cheeks put together wouldn't have made even one of this extraordinary rump, whose flesh, surprisingly enough, was not at all flabby. Like all breasts and handsome buttocks, hers were a gleaming white.

In the slit were some blond hairs, and the crack itself was like a chasm dividing her superb cheeks.

Below the colossal buttocks, between the thighs, lay the fat juicy cunt, in which my probing finger burrowed.

I placed my chest against the woman's bare buttocks and with my arms tried to encircle her elusive belly, which hung down like some stately globe.

I caressed her cheeks, then rubbed my member against them. But my curiosity was not yet satisfied. I spread her cheeks and inspected her arse-hole. Like her navel, it was elevated and though brown, was very clean.

I started to insert my finger, but she gave such a start that I was afraid I had hurt her, so I didn't press the point. I placed my burning prick in her cunt; it was like a knife cutting into a mound of butter. Then I bestirred myself like a cock on a hot griddle, bouncing my belly against her elastic behind.

I was like one possessed. I was no longer conscious of what I was doing, but I reached the voluptuous climax, and for the first time in my life shot my sperm into a woman's cunt.

After the discharge I wanted to stay for a while in that agreeable position, but the bailiff's wife turned round and chastely arranged her clothes. While she was rebuttoning her sleeveless jacket, I heard the sound of something dripping: it was my sperm running from her cunt onto the floor. She smeared it underfoot, and dried her thighs on her skirt.

When she saw me standing in front of her, with my red, moist prick partly erect, she smiled, took out her handkerchief and meticulously dried it.

"Get dressed, now, Master Roger," she said. "I've got to leave. But for the love of God," she added, blushing, "don't let anyone hear about what happened just now or I'll never forgive you."

We embraced, exchanged kisses, and she departed, leaving me lost in such a flood of new sensations that I almost forgot that confession had doubtless already begun.