I took out her breasts, showing how Horak had played with them.
She asked: “Well, anything else?” I again whispered into her ear: “I saw you take this thing in your mouth.” Still holding me tightly in her arms, she asked: “And do you know what that is called?”
Mr. Horak came closer to us. She winked at him as she again asked me. Anxious to show that I was not innocent, I answered: “Yes, Mrs. Rhinelander.” “Come, my dear girl; tell me what it is?” I snuggled close to her, refusing to tell. I could see that my teasing manner excited her. She reached over, took Mr. Horak's shaft-which was again stiff and straight-and, as I watched closely, she stroked its head and said: “Now, won't you tell?” When I remained silent, she put my hand on his shaft-to which I did not object-and slowly worked the foreskin back and forth, smiling up at him at the same time. His knees began to quiver. Mrs. Rhinelander now pushed my head down until my mouth was close to the throbbing engine. I could not resist. Taking it in my mouth, I began to suck on it. I could feel the pulsations. It was so long that I could only get a quarter of its length into my mouth. I was sucking and licking it when Mrs. Rhinelander said to him: “Don't 'squirt'; I want some too!” She now put me down off her lap and at once buried his sword in her scabbard. Then, turning to me, she said: “Now, do you know what this is called?” “Poking!” I cried. Mr. Horak reached under my dress and began playing with my 'kitten,' putting one finger after the other. My legs shook with pleasure. I seemed to be burning up. In this manner, we all three 'went off' together. Having finished, Mr. Horak, buttoning his trousers, remarked: “The child is an artist.”
Mrs. Rhinelander smilingly said: “I saw that at once. She is a little wench, a natural whore!” She asked me: “Have you been poked yet?” I naturally denied it, but she insisted: “I don't believe you. Don't lie. How often have you done it?” But I insisted: “Never! I have only seen it done at home.” Mrs. Rhinelander and I then went upstairs, while Mr. Horak remained in the cellar. She seemed now like a partner, and I was very proud of this community of interest with a grown-up woman. This was something different from Anna and Mizzie and the rest. I thought of Ferdl having poked her up in the garret; since he had often poked me too, it seemed as if there were a bond between us. As we got upstairs, I confessed that I had not told her the truth before. This I owned up to the fact that I had been poked before. She wanted to know all about it: how often, with whom, etc. I replied: “Possibly ten times or more.” Then I played my trump card and said: “With several boys-one of them Ferdl, the big boy, Anna's brother; you know him!” She denied it, but I kept on saying: “You surely remember him, he helped you carry the wash to the attic.” She said: “Oh yes, I remember him now.” Leaning close to her, I whispered: “You know, he told me all about it!”
She cut me short saying: “Shut your mouth!” That settled that. A few days later I saw Mr. Horak going into the cellar. I called “hello” to him. Spying me, and making sure that no one was in sight, he called to me: “Come along to the cellar.” I was all too glad to go.
As we reached the dark passageway, he turned and, catching my head, pressed my face to the front of his trousers. I immediately put my hand into his pants and took out his shaft, which I held in both hands, rubbing it gently. He remarked: “How nicely you do that.”
After such praise, I tried to please him. I reached into his pants and began to play with his eggs, while with the other hand I continually rubbed his foreskin back and forth. “Take it in your mouth!” he begged. I refused. I don't know why, but I wanted to do it somewhere else. “I will give you another gulden if you will take it in your mouth,” he said. But I still declined, saying to him: “Do it to me like you did to Mrs. Rhinelander!” In great astonishment, he said: “You want me to poke you?” I nodded.
He then said: “But, child, you are too small!” I kept on playing with his shaft, rubbing my mound against it and trying to put it inside me, all the while saying: “I am not too small. I can poke!”
“But you haven't any hair on you!” “That makes no difference. I want to get poked!” “Have you ever done it?” I nodded. He said: “How often?” I said: “Several times.”
He lifted me up and held me astride his hips, the same as one would carry a child, supporting me with one hand while I put my arms around his neck. With his other hand, he lifted my clothes and opened my slit with his fingers. Then he started the ascent. I could feel the head of his immense organ going into me. I jumped up and down, trying to help him invade me. However, I was too small to receive him. After trying for some time, he put me down, saying: “No! It won't go like this!” I noticed how red his shaft had become from rubbing against my body. He sat down on a small keg and rolled a smaller one in front of him. Then he turned to me and drew me to him, with my back touching him, as I stood on the small keg. This pleased me greatly, for I thought that he was going to invade me from behind as Robert had done in bed. But, instead, he ordered me to bend forward. I did so, bracing my elbows on another keg, my little bottom raised high in the air. I turned my head and saw him wetting his shaft with saliva. He said that this would make it go in easier. Then, raising my dress, he got up, leaned over me and started boring into the cleft between my buttocks. I was very much frightened at this turn of affairs. I wanted to scream, but he quieted me, saying: “If it hurts, tell me.” He then pushed further. What's more in addition to thrusting his tool into my bottom, he pushed his finger into my grotto. “Does it hurt?” he asked. Although it did hurt a little, the wonderful sensation which tickled both orifices was so delightful that I answered: “No!” He then bored a little deeper and again asked if it hurt me. I replied in the negative. He now pushed further, until I feared that the mammoth machine must be all the way into me. (He told me, later, that he had been able to get only about half of it in.) At first I was disgusted to think of receiving a poke in this manner, but, as he worked on, I became calmer. The fear of being hurt disappeared and the tingling sensation felt so good that I began to moan with pleasure. He then withdrew, anxiously asking whether he had hurt me. This was an unpleasant interruption to a wonderful sensation, and I stretched up too, saying: “No, no! It doesn't hurt…! Please leave it in and keep on.”
He now put it in again and I whispered: “just keep it there-there-oh! That feels so good!” He was very gentle about it, and kept playing with my grotto all the time. Finally he was in to the hilt. I could not help thinking of the ragged boy who poked me in the bushes and who was the one to get my maidenhead; of the soldier who tried so hard but could not succeed; of Robert, who had got part way in, and of Mr. Eckhard, who had gone a bit further. The thoughts made me so excited that I was almost beside myself. To feel my lover's lance better, I several times pinched my cheeks together tightly, greatly affecting Mr. Horak. He leaned forward, clutching me to him, working violently and whispering: “You darling! That's right-pinch some more-you sweet little whore-you must let me poke you thoroughly every day!-I'll meet you right here tomorrow and every day!”
“Every day?” I asked. “Yes, every damned day, you darling little whore! Every day I want to poke you!” This conversation wrought me up to a still greater pitch of excitement. “You want to poke me every day? But that will be impossible! Don't you think so?”