CHAPTER SEVEN
'How long have I been asleep?' is the first question I ask the Count, as he enters my room.
'Thirty-six hours,' he says, 'or at least so says Ivan, for I have slept just as long myself. My dear Monsieur Dormeuil, I wished you to become acquainted with the strange sensations and visions caused by hashish!'
This explained the fanciful dreams I had had. I remained a few days longer with the Count and then returned to Paris to resume my old habits.
I reached my apartment at ten o'clock and surprised Jean in conversation with a chambermaid living in the neighbourhood. I was able to approach them without being heard. She was just showing the boob how to do it.
'Great Idiot! Wait until I rub that tool of yours,' said she, and began rubbing his prick and shaking it, too. 'Take my titties, John dear. Not that way, you hurt me. There, that's it. Now tickle the nipples. You see, you begin to grow stiffer. Put your hand under my skirt- there-feel my leg. Wait, you are too rough; you hurt me with your big fingers; now there, what do you feel? Is it wet? Now put your finger in-not there, you are too far down. How stupid you are. I tell you, that is my arsehole.
Ah, now you are stiff as a Grenadier. Now is the time-what are you doing-that is the right place, but you are hurting me; take your hand away and you will see.'
She takes his prick and puts it between her thighs. 'There-shove, John-not so hard- don't you see you keep slipping. There it isnow push. Easy at first-wait, I will get it in myself!' And at last she gets it into her cunt.
The amorous combat commences and lasts for some time. Several times she is about to spend but the idiot allowed his prick to slip out.
Evidently it is his first experience and that is why she displays so much patience. Finally he spends, and I hear him say to her, 'I did not feel anything much, did you?'
'Yes, I did, it was ever so good; you are a ninny. Do you want to have another one?'
But I thought that another one would be too long, so I began to cough and called Jean as loudly as I could. I heard a rustle of skirts and then Jean appeared, as red as a poppy.
He was very glad to see me back and for that matter, I was not sorry to be at home again.
I soon pay my respects to my terrible neighbour and am delighted with my reception as I found her quite improved in manner. She has changed her style of dressing her hair and looks much younger. She wears a close fitting dress which displays her still slender form to advantage.
Our conversation becomes quite animated. She asks me a thousand questions.
I next go to our restaurant and next to Mademoiselle Hortense whose little cunt I explore of course, since it is part of my Thursday program.
My correspondence is scant and uninteresting. I go to see Madame X, but I do not return there in the evening, for I feel the effects of the days spent at Poissy.
The next morning I receive a letter from the Count announcing his intention to start for Russia. Wanda desires him to take the trip, so he will go. He sends his compliments to me.
This departure grieves me; I have really taken a liking to this peculiar individual, and for some days I feel out of sorts. I spend a great deal of my time in the company of Madame Benoit and find her decidedly more interesting than formerly.
Two weeks have elapsed; I only go to see Madame X- at intervals, and I have not purchased any more gloves. I lie in bed and think of the past, and have day dreams. I no longer have the same love for women. I do not feel the same regard of gratifying my passions. Another fortnight passes away and brings me tidings from the Count.
I am more and more in Madame Benoit's company and… shall I acknowledge it? I have made a proposition of marriage to her.
Who would have thought that one day I would be a husband and Madame Benoit my wife?
Now and then I kiss the lips of my betrothed and I dare not attempt a liberty, but tomorrow night I shall have the plump body of my wife entwined in my arms in this bed or hers, whichever she may like better.
The wedding takes place as arranged. It is midnight, and all the guests have retired. The women have kissed the bride and whispered to their hearts' content.
Naturally, Madame Dormeuil blushes lightly every time she meets my eyes, which becomes her very much. I take her on my knees and try to assist her to take off her waist. She will not allow that.
'Stop! I beg of you,' she exclaims.
I take a kiss, then another, a third… a great many. However at last I find myself in my own room. She would not grant me the conjugal bed tonight. She denied me so charmingly that I could not insist. I go to bed feeling cross and out of humour. Several times during the night I feel like forcing the other door that separates the cruel one from me. But I am afraid of the noise and the scandal.
We spend the next day in the suburbs of Paris. The weather is so beautiful that we decided to go to the country. My wife is quite lively and eats and drinks with appetite.
We return at nine o'clock and as I take off her shoes, I take the liberty of examining the commencement of round, well turned leg. Madame Dormeuil will not shut the door in my face tonight! We have a lengthy discussion on that point, but she will do her duty as a wife. She says that I am to be forbidden the sight of her disrobing, so I am banished temporarily to my own apartment. Twice have I gone to the door but have not been admitted. At last I am able to turn the knob. The lamp on the table is turned very low and the room is so dark that I can scarcely distinguish the bed, the curtains of which are drawn.
It does not take me long to undress, then I slip in between the sheets where a slight warmth alone betrays her presence. I wait a few minutes, but my wife does not show any intention of beginning a conversation.
'Dearest!' I venture to say then: 'Gertrude! Gertrude!'
Perhaps she is asleep, and I touch her gently on the back. At the contact of my finger she doubles herself up and draws close to the wall, but I become bolder and in my title of husband, put my arm about her waist, and draw her to me. I forcibly turn her face to mine and impress a burning kiss upon her lips.
I feel her big bosoms and press them close to me; I turn her quickly in my arms, but she begs me to let her sleep. It appears so ridiculous to her to have me in her bed, she has become so accustomed to consider me as a friend, as a brother, and so on. As she speaks, she hides her head in my bosom. I cannot stand it any longer. Little by little I have raised her chemise.
I pass my hand over her legs, her large bottom, and press it gently. Then I suddenly thrust one leg between her thighs, explore her legs, the knees, then further up. As I feel the luxuriant hair against my leg, I grasp her pouting pussy, then again I feel her bosoms. They fill my hands, firm yet so soft. Now my hand descends to her great cunt. What a beauty she has! Surely she must feel my prick; it is like a great club against her body.
'Anatole, I beg of you, not tonight, tomorrow night if you like!'
'No, my darling, tonight, now!' I say passionately and I succeed but not without some difficulty in getting between her legs; then I immediately try to place my tool at the entrance of her big pussy. On pressing a little, I enter with ease. I give a vigorous shove and I am there! I begin to rub softly and put one hand under her bottom. It does not take her long to respond.
'Anatole, kiss me,' she murmurs. Presently I kiss her again, her tongue responds to mine and her arse moves, keeping time as I enter and leave the little grotto of love. I kiss her voluptuous bosom and I move still faster.
'Anatole, how good it is. Not so fast! Ah! Ah! Ah! A little faster now.
Faster!! It is so delightful. Ah-h-h-h!!'
And now her big bosom goes like a steam engine and she squeezes my tool and plays with my balls. I take good care not to stop her. She is coming! I feel it-there it is!
'Anatole, I am coming, my darling! Oh, I love you, my husband, my darling!' and her great bottom falls heavily on my hands. We spend once, then spend again, and I am still ready to spend the third time.
After three successive assaults, we go to sleep in each other's arms, but before closing my eyes I calculate how many years my wife had to remain without having relations with a man and admit that fate is indeed hard on a woman.
The next day, when I look at Madame Dormeuil I remember my reflection of the night before and I give her a hearty kiss without telling her why. Things go on pretty much the same after the first night, but without any struggle on her part.
I had been happy in my new existence for a month, when I received a letter from Count Alexis.
