To a man in the condition in which Brandon then was, this sight would have aroused all his sexual passions; uttering an exclamation of joy, he tore open his trousers, and there sprang out, ready for the fray, his huge member rearing aloft at the end of the big, straight hard column of muscle the round red gland which had hunted love through so many soft, damp, velvety caverns, and though exhausted by the chase, was ever ready to begin again after a short rest. At that moment the lady opened her eyes, and the first thing she caught sight of was the big machine prepared to impale her. Now if Mrs. Sinclair had, as she was at first inclined to do, consented to having a little “flutter” with Brandon, she would have been extremely pleased with the fine proportions of the member that was to give her the pleasure she anticipated. But, however much a woman may like that amusement which a novelist has defined as being “the best game for two,” she always makes her preliminary consent a sine qua non, and has a very decided objection to being forced. This is not unnatural, for if we received a man as a guest, and gave him a good dinner, and all that he could desire before he went away, we should certainly feel aggrieved if he came back in the night and tried to effect a burglarious entrance.
Mrs. Sinclair therefore did what any woman would have done under similar circumstances — she gave a little gasping cry, and tried to get up, but as Brandon was then kneeling between her legs, and just in the act of lowering his dart to the level of her love nest, she could not, of course, rise.
The painter had his eyes fixed on the haven for which he lusted, and was not aware until he felt her move that she had returned to consciousness. He at once realized that he had spoiled all chance of “having” her by her own free consent, and that the only thing to be done was to rape her. He instantly threw himself upon her, and by his sheer weight pinned her down to the seat. With his right hand he tried to cover her mouth and so prevent her screams, whilst with his left he grasped hold of his yard and endeavoured to direct it into her slit.
This was no easy matter, for she wriggled her buttocks about so furiously that it was impossible for him to effect an entrance. She struggled with all her might, and bit Brandon's hand till the blood came, but, fortunately for him his weight pressed nearly all the wind out of the little woman, and the loudest scream she could give was not heard amidst the rattle and din of the train that was flying at sixty miles an hour.
Mad with lust, he kept driving his powerful tool against her, bruising her thighs, the lips of her coynte, and her perineum, and once or twice as she squirmed about, the big head of Brandon's member came very near inserting itself in a hole that was certainly never intended to receive it.
Worn out and exhausted by her struggles, she at last lay panting and motionless, and Brandon took advantage of that, and slipping his right hand down, he opened the lips of her love-cleft with his left hand, whilst with the right he directed the head of his member in the way it should go, and lodged it in her.
As soon as she felt this, she gave a start that nearly dislodged him, and began another series of frantic wrigglings, one of which had the very reverse effect to what was intended, for as she arched up her buttocks that she might better be able to twist sideways and get rid of the intruder, Brandon gave a powerful downward lunge, and as the head of his tool was already within her lips, the double force sent two thirds of his big column into her vulva.
She knew then that he had won the game, and woman-like, burst into a flood of tears.
This would have disconcerted Brandon at any other time, but as the old proverb says, “a standing cock has no conscience,” and his only reply to her tears was to grasp one of her buttocks with each hand, and give a drive which sent his member up to the very hilt in her coynte. He had only just done so when his excitement, and the time he had lost in getting in produced their effect, and he poured into her vagina the warm flood which she would have been so glad to receive and mingle with her own love fountain, if the tool which was shooting the warm jets into her had come as a friend and not as an enemy.
A few seconds later and that enemy hung limp and diminished to a third of its size, and the two pink lips — now indeed bright red, partly from indignation and partly from friction — had closed against the robber the Paradise into which he would have liked to intrude again.
Brandon slipped off her, and hastily buttoned up his “fly,” keeping an eyes on the lady meanwhile to see that she did not jump up and make a dash for the “alarm,” but she was two broken-down, weak, and, ashamed for any act of that sort. She could only cover her face with her hands and sob hysterically.
Brandon, now that the excitement was over, was very much ashamed of himself. He felt that he had not only deprived himself of any chance of ever winning her love, but he had by committing a crime upon her, put himself at her mercy, and that it was in her power to send him to the hulks. Even if she did not, and was willing to forgive him, he knew that he had acted like a blackguard and felt little inclined to forgive himself, and as he looked down on the pretty, little woman lying there with her clothing still disarranged, he felt very much inclined to pick up the little revolver still lying on the floor, and shoot himself.
She continued to sob convulsively, and Brandon after arranging her dress, and covering up the traces of his misdeed, knelt down on the floor by her side and tried to comfort her, for like most men, he was not proof against a pretty woman's tears.
“Go away!” she sobbed through her fingers. “You are a bad, wicked man, and I hate you! What would my husband think if he knew it? He would kill me, and you too.”
“Yes, I know I am an awful scoundrel,” said Brandon apologetically, “but you will forgive me, darling, will you not? It was not my fault; but you looked so beautiful as you lay in my arms that I could not resist the temptation. It was very wrong of me I own, but I was carried away by my love. It was your fault too, you know,” he continued. “What man could be alone with the prettiest and most lovable woman in the world and not burn to possess her? It was not possible that I should not love you. Here!” he cried as he picked up the little revolver from the ground and held it towards her. “Punish me as I deserve. Death from your sweet hand would be delightful, and I should die with your memory in my heart.”
Few women are not open to flattery and Brandon's admiration was so evidently genuine that Mrs. Sinclair-for that was the lady's name-was touched. She began to reflect that though she had been cruelly wronged, the harm was not so very great after all. She was a married woman, and it was not the first time that a man's tool had visited her pretty little pouting coynte, and she had not therefore the loss of her virginity to deplore.
Besides, there were two other reasons which helped to make her inclined to pardon her ravisher. In the first place her conscience told her that she had rather encouraged Brandon, and that she had been on the point of freely giving him that which he had so roughly taken. Moreover she was of an ardent and amorous temperament, and though she loved her husband dearly, he was in delicate health and but rarely performed the act of love, and when he did, he was but poorly furnished, and his tool which was thin and short, had never penetrated to the bottom of her vagina. Her coynte still tingled from the friction occasioned by Brandon's long and vigorous shoves, and was considerably stretched by the huge engine that had so ruthlessly buried its whole length in her, but now the painful burning sensation caused by the forcible intromission had passed away, she felt a kind of pride and satisfaction to think that she had been able to accommodate in her little slit a huge tool which would have satisfied the most exacting and lustful.