THE DAY'S EVENTS HAD WORN ME to a frazzle. My one desire was to rest. When I awoke the next morning, I was lying on my back, a position which usually gives me an erection. Shortly thereafter I heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Wanting to play a joke on the bailiff's wife, I lifted my nightshirt, threw the blankets off me, and pretended to be asleep.
But instead of the bailiff's wife, it was her sister-in-law, a woman of thirty-five or so, the age when a woman is at the height of sensuality.
In her younger days she had been a housemaid. Having married an elderly butler who managed to amass a neat pile of savings, she presently lived with her husband and three children (a son and two daughters of ten, eleven and thirteen, respectively) in her brother the bailiff's quarters.
Madame Muller was neither ugly nor beautiful. She was tall, had a strikingly good figure, a dark complexion and her hair, like her eyes, was pitch black. She seemed intelligent, and fully worthy of a bout with my John Thomas.
And you could bet your last penny that she'd seen more than one such animal in her lifetime. So, I reasoned, why not let her see mine as well. I lay there motionless.
Madame Muller set the coffee on the night stand. Then seeing John Thomas standing stiffly at attention, she had a moment's hesitation. But she was a resolute woman, free from all false modesty. She spent several seconds gazing at me with apparent pleasure. Then she coughed discreetly to awaken me, and as I stretched my limbs in such a way as to give my prick an even more insolent air, she approached the bed, looked down for a second, then pulled the covers up and said: "Your coffee, Master Roger."
I opened my eyes, wished her good morning, and complimented her on how well she was looking, etc. Then I suddenly jumped out of the bed, seized her and assured her that she was the most beautiful woman in the whole chateau.
She resisted weakly; slipping my hand beneath her skirts, I discovered a very hairy mound. Then I drove my finger into her cunt. As is the case with all sensual women, hers was dry, but my finger-work soon remedied that. Her clitoris was extremely hard.
"But what's come over you? Stop that! What would my husband say if he knew!"
"Mr. Muller's in the chapel."
"Yes. I know. He does nothing but pray all day long.
But stop that now, you're hurting me. My sister-in-law might come in. She's waiting for me. That's enough now! I'll come back tonight. My husband's leaving today for two or three days in the country. But now we're liable to be interrupted... "
And with that she took her leave. That evening, after having eaten a hearty dinner, I took some wine, ham and dessert back with me to my room. The chateau was soon asleep. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Madame Muller came in. My heart was beating like a triphammer. I embraced her, and gave her a French kiss, which she returned. I undressed quickly and showed her my prick in a most presentable condition.
"Don't get so excited," she warned, "or we'll waken the whole house and set the tongues to wagging."
She bolted the door. I fastened her mound in a tight grip, and found it slightly swollen, and her clitoris extremely hard. I stripped her down to her petticoat, and lifted it high. Seeing her dressed you'd have taken her for thin, but she wasn't in the least. In fact if anything she was on the fleshy side. Her dark pubic hair, I noticed, climbed all the way up to her navel.
She must just have washed, for her Lady Jane was odorless. Then I stripped her completely and was amazed to find how firm her breasts were. They were only moderately large, and her nipples were set in a small field of light brown hair.
Lifting her breasts, I saw that she also had some short, fine black hairs underneath. Her armpits were likewise covered with hair as thick as a man's.
What surprised me most as I examined her more closely, were her well raised buttocks, whose cheeks were set close together. Along her backbone ran a fine line of black hair, from top to bottom. The sight of all this healthy fleece caused John Thomas to harden even more.
I ripped off my nightshirt and straddled the lovely creature, whose rhythmic movements set my pickle slapping back and forth against her belly.
We were in such a position that we could clearly see ourselves in the mirror. I led her toward the bed, where she sat down and said: "I know you want to see all of me." She raised her legs and displayed her hairy cunt right up to her pot hole. I immediately set to tonguing her, and lingered at the task for quite some time. Her lips began to swell. When I went to insert my tool, she laughed and said: "Not like that. Get on the bed."
I asked her to please use the familiar "thou" form with me, and to allow me to do the same with her.
)
Guillaume Apollinaire's account of a 15-year-old budding libertine's summer on the farm, where he congresses with maids, servants, passersby, an aunt and finally a sister, while outside the manor peasants go for creatures of the four-legged variety, is a classic unparalleled in its content, brevity and wit. Apollinaire ranks among the most renowned French poets, dying of the Spanish flu after suffering grave injury in WWI. He's said to have been the curator of forbidden works at the Bibliothèque Nationale, studying intently the classics of 19th Century Erotica before trying his own hand at the material, and this book was among the very first titles Olympia published.
