She refused what I wanted and avoided me, but it was impossible for her altogether to escape me. Risking everything, emboldened by impunity with Charlotte, I used to clutch her knees, and put my head up her clothes, kissing and smelling her motte, I began to love the smell of it. She used to dislodge me, and neither made a noise, nor uttered a word in doing so—indeed she rarely spoke at any time. But it is difficult for a woman who has been f****d by a man to refuse him again; I watched my opportunities, my conversation broken as it was, and rarely but for a minute at a time, was one repetition of lustful wants and prayers; I used to pull my prick out, beg her to see and feel it. At length she did, saying, "May God forgive me for my weakness." That day I f****d her again standing in the ki
