The next morning, I followed the girls into one of the classrooms. I heard my stomach rumble as I sat down.
Odile and Marcelline, the two other new girls, were both smiling with satisfaction after a grand breakfast.
Everyone, refreshed from the summer break, was excited about the new year. They seemed glad to see one another and seemed to look forward to the activities that were in store for them. The weariness of the long hours of study and the annoyance from spending so much time in close proximity to other students that is such a natural part of a school's atmosphere had not set in yet.
Finally, a young woman dressed in a severe grey smock came in.
I surmised her to be our teacher.
She was thin, with a boyish frame. She had fine blonde hair that she kept tightly twisted in a bun. On her face, which was rather pretty, she wore a timid smile. At once, I took her for one of those young women who has just started her career and is unsure of her influence on students. She was also probably shy in her private life, and I later knew her to find interactions with people a rather painful affair, where she often said little and spoke only when invited to.
Her name was Mlle Clery and taught science, geometry, and other scientific disciplines.
'Good morning, girls,' she said.
Her voice was but a whisper, and I doubt anyone who wasn't watching her, as I was, realised she had spoken through the hubbub of the chatter and laughter that filled the room.
'Girls!' came the imperious voice of Juliette.
Everybody sat down, and the noise ceased instantly.
Mlle Clery gave Juliette a thankful smile.
'Good morning, girls,' she repeated.
'Good morning, Mlle Clery,' the room chanted.
The lesson now began in earnest.
I did my best to understand what the teacher was saying, now realising that I had been so poorly instructed in scientific disciplines, having Mr Clement insisted upon the classics throughout his tenure as my tutor, that I couldn't follow any of it.
I was determined to learn and to improve myself at the institute, but I soon began to doodle on my slate.
I then heard a giggle from my left.
It was Odile, one of the new girls. She had been spying on my drawings and found my depiction of our teacher, which I had drawn in a state of great nakedness, quite amusing.
'Are you hungry?' Odile whispered.
I nodded.
She then produced a little packed wrapped with paper from the folds of her dress.
'I've saved this for you,' she whispered again.
Making sure that she was not being observed, she handed it to me.
I unwrapped it under my desk. Inside was a little scone filled with jam.
There is no better way to make a fast friend than by feeding them when hungry, and Odile and I surely became very close very quickly, after that day.
We often strolled aimlessly through the courtyard or through the park that lay behind the edifice that was to become our home until the following June, when the lessons would be halted for the summer break.
Odile was vivacious, filled with a great appetite for life. She was eager to get to know me, as I was to know her.
She asked me to tell her everything about my past, which I did freely, not fearing any judgment from her.
She was always showed great interest in my life and my private thoughts, which is the true mark of a friend.
In turn, I demonstrated equal curiosity about her.
Odile was born in Auvergne. While she spoke French without any inflection, the result of very strict education, when she spoke with me, which she did freely and in a friendly manner, she often slipped into her native tongue, which I found both humorous and also hard to decipher.
Although her family had traditionally been land barons, her grandfather had purchased the concession over various mines. They prospected for anthracite, silver, and other metals. Even though these mines had been already exploited and the promise of new seams never eventuated, Odile's grandfather believed that metallurgy was the future of France: no more houses made of timber and bricks, but more durable steel! This was his vision.
He therefore expanded the foundries that he already possessed and imported other ores to produce nails, beams, rods, and any other artifacts that might be required. He also established relationships with engineers across France to find new uses for his products.
He was a personal acquaintance to Mr Haussmann, and, during the Empire, the family was well known at Court.
Odile's father inherited a very lucrative business, and, by that time, all the fields where cattle used to roam had been divested so that more mines could be acquired, and the foundry could be expanded to cater for the great demand that had been created.
Odile was the last of five daughters. Her mother had not been able to produce a male heir, so Odile's sisters were promised and married to notable families. The first lived in Paris. She built railroads. The second lived in Germany and was remorselessly busy making muskets to be used in Alsace. The third was in Brazil, where she built ships with her husband's metal. Finally, the fourth had just been married to a wool magnate. This had caused great controversy at home, for sheep was not made of metal. But, having discovered that these beasts made more money than all the family mines, the family relented and agreed to the unions.
Odile's father seemed so contented with having married off his oldest daughters to such lucrative business, and the husbands that came with them, that had no immediate designs on Odile.
Odile, however, had plans of her own.
Because the was the youngest, and all the attention was on the other four sisters, Odile was often left undisturbed. She was free to explore.
She often accompanied her father in his travels to the mines or his visits to the foundry. She had no interest in the business, but, maybe due to the influence of older, more experienced sisters, was curious about the workers.
'You see, Eloise,' Odile would say, 'as far as I remember, I've always known that a woman's happiness comes from a man's body.'
And yet, despite that knowledge, Odile, just like me was slow to put her thoughts into practice.
It wasn't the words of her father, who always reminded her that the dirty men that emerged from the bowels of the earth pushing heavy carts or who were hammering away at the anvil were beneath her, that stopped her from pursuing her desires.
The problem was that these men were so afraid of being dismissed for daring to touch their employer's daughter, that Odile's glances at their address were generally ignored.
Like me, Odile was tutored at home, and it's seems generally accepted, at least based on my conversations with my fellow students at the institute, that these preceptors employed in private homes apply quite a lax discipline over their students.
Whether the pupil makes progress or not doesn't seem to overall concern them. In fact, parents seem to charge these people not with the education of the child, but with their general overseeing, like shepherds in charge of their flock. And, like shepherds, they open the stables in the morning, count the heads, play on their humble recorder under the shade of a beech tree while honeybees whirl and buzz around them, then call the animals at the end of the day, ensure none was lost, and lock them into the stables for the night.
This seems to be a tutor's job.
Trying not to break this inveterate tradition, Odile's tutor was also never concerned with her absences.
Odile often wandered out of town. She would linger near the yard outside the foundry, watching the workers walk about. She studied their work, how they carried the long beams or the bundles of metal rods. How they pushed the carts, or how they inspected a new delivery.
Each and every movement of their bodies fascinated her.
Like most girls who haven't had much experience of the world, she was shy, believing other people to be unfriendly. As her age advanced and her desires grew, she started smiling to these men. Listening to their chatting, she learned their identity, and she would also say hi to them, calling them by their Christian name. This surprised the men but wasn't enough to fill the distance that existed between them.
Above all, Odile like the bigger men. They filled her with such fear, nearing repulsion, but this sensation was so pleasurable to her that she would lie awake at night, trying to bring back to her mind the shape of an arm, or the size of a leg, or the posture of a torso.
And, as she thought of these images, a new sensation grew between her legs.
Odile finally took the courage to act upon her desires on the day of her eighteenth birthday. She bathed, perfumed herself, dressed in a fine but not too formal dress, and walked out of the house.
It was a sunny spring day. The air was fresh, cold enough to invigorate the body, but not too frosty to dull its sensations.
She arrived at the yard in time for the first shift.
The men walked in a line, their heads bent down, hands in their pockets, a cigarette in their mouths.
Odile felt like she was shopping for a new hat. Which one did she like?
She was quite taken by some tall and burly men, of a more mature age, but, finding them unapproachable and fearing that her body might be unequal to the task, she decided on a young man with a pleasant face, a slim physique, and a calm demeanour.
She had seen her sisters settle with their husbands. Odile had no intention to content herself with a single man. She thought that would be a foolish enterprise: some men were tall, some were petite, some loquacious, some more introverted, some were athletic, some had better conversation. She liked them all, and she wanted to sample each one, without prejudice or wish to find a favourite.
'Hello, sir?' she called out.
This was her hors d'oeuvres, the entrée that precedes a large meal. Once she had decided she was going to throw all caution to the wind and just do what she wanted to do, things became so easy.
The man turned towards her.
'Yes?' he asked, as the other men kept walking past him into the factory.
'Will you follow me?' Odile asked.
'He probably didn't know who I was,' Odile told me later. 'If he did, he probably would have laughed and kept walking, but I must have piqued his interest: my breasts were showing, made turgid by the tight corset, through the camisole; my lips were painted bright red; my cheeks enhanced with rouge to make me blush in anticipation for the upcoming pleasure.'
The man asked:
'What for?'
He didn't trust her.
'I've got no money,' he said.
'You don't need it.'
'Come on, miss,' he scoffed.
But Odile was serious. She stood up and took his hand.
'Just a few minutes,' she said.
She then began walking, and the man followed. She didn't even know where she was going: all her courage had been focused on asking the man to go with her, but she had no plan.
The factory rose in the middle of a large expanse that was covered by the fine dust of the chimneys and appeared burnt.
Odile looked around.
Not a hiding place in sight. Not a bush, or a little depression in the ground, or a stream.
So, she simply led him around the factory, away from the gates. There, against that tall brick wall, she began fumbling with his belt. She unhooked it and opened his pants.
Odile wanted to see it. She wanted to see the male genitals, not those shrunk, prepubescent appendages that sculptors carve on their creations. She wanted to feel the tender flesh that hardened under her fingers. She wanted to feel its warmth, size its girth and admire its length.
She gave him a rueful smile, like a seductress, or maybe an accomplice.
'Show me,' she said, but she couldn't wait for him to do anything.
Her hand had found what she was looking for.
Just the sensation of those parts under her fingers were making her head spin.
Odile dropped to her knees and stared at it for a moment. Then, without waiting any further, she put it in her mouth.
It wasn't even hard yet, but Odile didn't know yet how to arouse a man, how to pace the progression of his passion. She tasted the sweet and acrid taste of the man.
He gave a little gasp of surprise but allowed her to continue.
She vaguely understood, from having listed to her sisters' tales, what she was supposed to do. She began sucking that organ, which quickly grew to a size that her mouth couldn't contain.
Odile sucked on the tip. She caressed the man's thighs, feeling his firm buttocks, now lingering on that purse that hung so openly between a man's legs.
She sucked with such relish and eagerness that the man began panting loudly. He grunted or moaned, and Odile began to learn how the stroke of her tongue on the frenulum made him cry, how she could make him hold his breath if she went down deeper on his shaft.
And then it was all over. The warm liquid flooded into her mouth. It came in three squirts that hit the roof of her mouth and nearly made her gag.
In her haste, and maybe in her fear of her first time, she had rushed to give this stranger pleasure in this one-sided way. But she didn't mind. Odile thanked the man and, leaving him with his trousers wrapped around his ankles, briskly walked away filled with great joy.
That night Odile went home and masturbated. She was filled with excitement and desire. She felt she had accomplished something monumental, that her life had changed its course that day.
The following morning, she was back at the gate of the foundry.
The men walked in slowly, with heavy, begrudging steps. A smell of wet rags, stale wine, and sweat emerged from hat mass.
The man she had accosted the day before noticed her.
'Miss?' he said with a hopeful tone.
'Not today,' Odile said, gesturing vaguely for him to move along.
She was determined not to care for her conquests and was looking forward to her next one.
This time, she wanted to receive some satisfaction, as well as giving it. She saw another man, yet not the type she truly wanted, feeling this might be too rich a repast for her inexperienced constitution.
'You, how would you like me to put a smile on your face,' she said much more confidently that she had ever spoken to another man before.
This man gave her a look.
'Aren't you…' he began.
'I'm nobody, but if you don't like me, there's plenty for me to choose from,' Odile replied brazenly.
The man scratched the stubble on his cheek.
'Alright then,' he said.
This time, Odile had surveyed the area and had chosen a small shack, a remanent of the buildings that were scattered around the old foundry Odile's grandfather had knocked down to build the much more modern edifice that now existed. It had been used to store various wares, but now lay nearly empty. It smelled of water-soaked timber, coal, earth.
The man stared at the little, dirty space.
The roof had caved in in various spots, and the ground was muddy.
Odile lifted her skirts and bared her pussy towards the man.
'Come on,' she said.
He now smiled. The dirty room, the factory, the day of work ahead – everything was forgotten. He massaged his crotch.
'Show me what you got,' Odile said.
She was now rubbing her clit with gentle movements, almost to arouse the man more than herself.
He came close to her.
Odile could smell tobacco in his breath. She opened her legs further. She looked down: the man was holding a hard cock in his hand, waiting, but a few inches from her opening.
She stepped forward and, taking hold of his instrument, guided it towards her.
'I had played with various objects at home, hoping to simulate the feeling of a man between my legs,' Odile told me, 'so the passage had been made easy for this man. This was my first time with a man, and there was no resistance from my body, no pain, no red streak down my thigh, as I have heard recounted. He bent his knees, as he was taller than me, so that he could easily enter me, and he was in.'
Odile was no more the daughter of the wealthiest family in the region. The respect she had commanded all her life didn't matter anything to this man: he groped her, grabbing her ass, squeezing her breasts, as he did to the tarts he was used to. He kissed her, searching her tongue with his.
She seemed to light in his arms. He stood, his legs firmly planted on the ground, holding her so that she wouldn't slip or fall.
How this roughness increased her pleasure!
She could feel distinctly the man's dick inside her, going up and down her canal. And, as the passage was tightening with the incipient orgasm, that organ felt like it was growing to such degree inside her to leave no room and to create a perfect joint between the two bodies.
All that Odile could do was to let him have her. She wrapped her hands around his neck and closed her eyes, trying to distinguish and memorise all the sensations that she was now feeling.
Her body bounced up end down. Her breasts, now come out of the guard of her corset, also bobbed with each movement of their bodies.
The man sucked on them. He held one in his hand, squeezing it, watching the reaction on her face.
She then came with a scream and, struggling to collect her thoughts, begged him:
'You can't come inside me!'
It was as if he hadn't heard her. Instead, he made her bounce on his dick even harder, making his dick go all the way in until its base hit against her spread labia.
'Fuck!' he groaned and slid his dick out of her.
Odile took it in her hand.
'You did well,' she said, and, giving the man's dick a few strokes, made him come.
The rumour that the owner's daughter was willing to have intercourse with all the men at the factory spread quickly. One after the other, Odile had sex with many of them.
Soon, they even provided a little space inside the factory, a room that was clean and well furnished, for these congresses.
Odile had her eyes on one man. She didn't know his name. She didn't care. But in her mind, she called him Hercule, as he appeared stronger and taller than any other man, in a sort of preternatural way, that reminded her of the Greek demigod.