The first edition of THE LOVES OF VIOLETTE, was published in Lisbon by the publishing house Antonio da Boa-Vista, in 1870, as the posthumous work of "A Masked Celebrity", edited in Brussels by Brancart, in 1883, but as being under the date of 1870.
The reprint in Paris by Clos Bruneau under the seal of La Gargouille, published in 1923, contained the very first bibliographic notice about this classic. Its writer, who signed himself "Sylvestre Bonnard" (Louis Perceau), after having mentioned the many books falsely attributed to Alexander Dumas (father), and to Theopile Gautier, plus those to Madame de Boissiron, suggested that after Leon Deffoux, Violette was actually written by a Countess de Maunoury who had also created "The Colonel's Cousins", (falsely credite to Guy de Maupassant). This so-called Countess, a friend of Theodore Hannon and of George Sand (and further identified as the widow of a French naval officer), was 28 years old in 1870. She had offered "Violette" to the editor Jules Gay, who had refused it was then accepted by Brancart in 1883, thanks to the recommendation of Theodore Hannon.
FOREWORD
It seems to me that I've spent thousands of years upon this earth, passing on my spiritual essence through a chain of human beings, before coming to be numbered as a citizen of Mars, where I now reside. On earth I was called Christian.
"Is he happy," those who mourn me on the earth ask, "to have left this vale of tears?"
Well, not at all. I am bored here despite the indisputable superiority of the planet which I am now exploring. I have fits of spleen which make me cast a look every now and again into the past; and because of those retrospective thoughts, I find myself today with pen in hand, trying to set down on paper the happy memories of my past.
I must admit to my future readers that I was, during my terrestrial incarnation, a great sinner. So, among those ghosts which my memoirs will evoke with the greatest consolation will be the silhouettes of many now dead beauties.
But she who today revives my most ecstatic memories amid this perfumed air which I now inhale on Mars was known on earth by the euphonious name of Violette. Beside her, I tasted the joys of that paradise which Mahomet promised to his faithful disciples; when she died, I deeply regretted her passing. For long years, no one has known who she really was, hidden under that lovely pseudonym. So I can freely write her story, the history of our loves-she had none other!
Now, a word of caution which prudence compels me to put at the preface of this book, before confiding it to the cares of an amorous zephyr who will place it on the desk of a intrepid editor-this story is not intended for young girls.
Prudish, timid readers, who fear to call a pussy a pussy, go no further-I do not write for you!
Let only those who have understood, who have loved, who have practiced the sweet science we call Voluptuousness, follow me through the pages ahead!
An adorable child
I was thirty when I first met Violette.
I lived on the fourth floor of a rather beautiful old house on the Rue de Rivoli, above me being the rooms of domestics and young workers employed by the dress shop whose salon was on the ground floor, under the imposing marble columns which fronted this sumptuous old edifice.
At that period of my life, I had a liaison with a very beautiful and aristocratic mistress, whose skin was as deliciously white as Theophile Gautier achieves in his famous enamels, and whose tresses were as magnificent as those which Aeschylus attributes to Elektra. But having become much too plump before reaching a mature age and furious over her precocious obesity, not knowing how to cure this unhappy malady, she took out her spite on all who approached her. The result was that our relations were rare and I could not manage to induce her to share my room or to take one next to mine. I had chosen my own chamber because of its view out on the Tuileries, since I was already beginning my career as a painter, and there was no more exciting inspiration for me than to dip my brush in vivid color as I stared out on that dark expanse of verdure formed by the old trees of the garden. In the summer, pigeons cooed in the tall branches; then with twilight, all was motionless and still.
At ten o'clock, the gates and shutters were closed, and the moon cast its silvery rays on those great trees. Often, as the moon rose, a slight breeze stirred the rustling leaves, which seemed to waken, to breathe, to take life. And then little by little, one after another, the windows darkened, the silhouette of the Palace was dimmed by darkness, standing out in vague, black shape against the nocturnal blue of the sky.
One heard only the distant sound of a carriage's wheels along the cobbled boulevard, and gradually all was silent, like a sleeping giant. I used to stand for hours before my window staring out at the dark chateau.
Of what was I dreaming?
I really did not know. Perhaps of those things one dreams of at thirty: love, the women one has seen, and, most-likely, the women yet to be encountered.
For let us admit that the most potent charms are possessed by those beauties one has not yet met!
There are men, disinherited by nature, on whose hearts the sun has forgotten to cast its joyous rays; they live in a twilight, achieving, as if it were the joyless and mechanical duty of a citizen, the supreme happiness of life through a momentary paroxysm of exaltation of all the senses-that sharp explosion of passion which would kill a giant if it were to last a minute instead of five seconds.
Such people do not create children; they merely reproduce, they belong to the swarming anthill of humanity which builds its dwelling bit by bit, which hoards its provisions for the winter and which replies to God when God asks them:
Happy in this world are those who seek futilely to define what they have done, and content themselves by answering God's query with an exultant:
"I have loved!"
I was in a dreamy reverie that has neither horizon nor boundaries and which mixes heaven with earth; I had just started at the sound of the nearby church bells, tolling out the hour of two, when I seemed to hear a knock at my door. I thought I was hearing things, so I listened carefully, and the knock was repeated, louder this time. Wondering who could want to visit me at such an hour, I opened the door.
A young girl, almost a child, slipped through the narrow opening I had cautiously yielded, and gasped, "Oh, hide me, sir, I beg of you!"
I put my finger to my lips, then closed and locked my door as quietly as I could; putting an arm round her waist and following the path of faint light from my bedroom, I led her there. By the glow of the two candles I had lighted, I could see what bird had escaped from her cage and flown to me by fate's decree.
She was an adorable child of hardly fifteen, slim and supple as a reed, although with a distinctively formed, delicious figure.
Without having tried to caress her breast, quite by chance, as I had led her to this place of refuge, my hand had pressed against her there, and felt the surging swell of that adorable love globe. A shiver ran through me just to touch her accidentally. For there are women endowed by mysterious nature who have that fascinating gift of wakening a man's prick just by looking at him or brushing against him.
"Oh, I'm so afraid!" she murmured.
"Truly?"
"Oh, yes! How lucky I was you hadn't yet gone to bed."
"Who frightened you so."
"Monsieur Beruchet."
"And who is he?"
"The husband of the dressmaker for whom I work downstairs."
"What did monsieur Beruchet do to you? Tell me."
"But, you'll keep me here all night, won't you?"
"As long as you wish. I'm not accustomed to turning lovely girls out of my room."
"Oh, I'm still only a little girl, not a lovely girl."
"Come now," I twitted her, my eyes fixing her bosom through her half open chemise, and now I was really sure she was not at all a little girl as she wanted me to think.
"Tomorrow, at dawn, I'll leave," she murmured.
"Where will you go?"
"To my sister."
"Where does she live?"
"At Number 4, Rue Chaptal. She has two rooms; she'll let me have one. Her place is between the first and second floors."
"What does she do?"
"She works for the shops, and Monsieur Ernest helps her."
"Is she older than you."
"Yes, by two years. Her name is Marguerite."
"Ah, I see. And what's your name, lovely one."
"Violette."
"It seems that your family loves the names of flowers."
"Yes, Mama adored them."
"Is she dead."
"Yes, sir."
"And what was her name."
"Rose."
"Yes, decidedly, flowers were fashionable in your family. And your father."
"Oh, he lives well."
"What does he do?"
"He's a doorman at a hotel, and his name is Rou-chat. He was wounded in the war."
"I've been questioning you as at a police station, and I still don't know why this Monsieur Beruchet frightened you."
"Because he always wants to kiss me."
"Only that? Bah!"
"He chases me through all the halls and I never dare go out into the back of the shop without a light, for he's sure to be lying in wait."
"And it displeases you that he wants to kiss you?"
"Oh, yes, a lot!"
"Why?"
"Because he's ugly, because it seems to me he doesn't want to content himself just with kissing me.
"What else does he want to do."
"I don't know."
I stared at her to see if she was playing a joke on me, but her air of perfect innocence was too real. I hazarded:
"But finally, then, he must have done something else besides try to kiss you."
"Y-yes."
"And what was that?"
"He.. . he went up ahead of me to my room, and when I lay down-at least I presumed it was he-he tried to open my door."
"Didn't he speak?"
"No, but during the day, he'd said to me, 'Don't lock your door tonight, my little one, the way you did last night, for I've something important to tell you."
"But, you locked your door just the same."
"My gracious yes-more than ever."
"And he came?"
"He came, he turned the knob every which way, he gently knocked, then louder. He called to me, 'It's I, open the door now, it's I, little Violette.' You understand I didn't answer, for I was trembling with fear in my bed. The more the said it was he, the more he called me his little Violette, the more I I pulled the covers over my head. Finally after about half an hour, he went away grumbling. And today, all day long, he sulked, so I thought I was already three-quarters undressed as you see me now, when I thought of pushing the bolt across the door. You see, my lock had been taken away during the day, and without a bolt, it wouldn't close at all. I heard someone coming down the hall, and I knew it must be me. So, without wasting a second, I ran out and knocked at your door-oh, it was an inspiration!"
And the lovely child flung her arms round my neck.
"Then I don't frighten you."
"Oh no!"
"And if I wanted to kiss you, you wouldn't run away?"
"Just try and see," she whispered, and then pressed her sweet fresh humid mouth to mine. Despite myself, I put one hand behind her head and held her thus a few moment with my lips fused to hers, while with the tip of my tongue I caressed her teeth. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back, saying, "Oh, how nice those kisses are!"
"You've never had that kind before?" I asked.
"Oh, never," she murmured, her pink tongue gliding over her burning rosy lips. "Do people usually kiss like that?"
"People whom one loves, yes."
"Then you love me?"
"If I don't yet love you, I certainly feel disposed to do so."
"And so do I."
"So much the better."
"And what does one do when one loves."
"One kisses as we've just done."
"And is that all."
"Yes."
"That's funny, because I seem to feel other desires, as if that kiss, nice as it was, were only the beginning of love."
"What do you feel?"
"It's impossible to say.. . a languor throughout all my body, a happiness such as I've sometimes had in a dream."
"And when you wake up after having had such happiness in a dream, what do you feel?"
"I-I was broken, exhausted."
"And you've only felt that in dreams?"
"Yes, till just now, when you kissed me."
"So I'm the first man who's ever kissed you?"
"like that, yes; my father often kissed me, but it wasn't the same thing."
"Then you're a virgin?"
"Virgin? What does that mean?" There was no mockery in her tone. And I had pity-or rather, respect for that innocence which abandoned itself so trustingly to me. It seemed to me it would be a crime to take from her furtively and like a thief that sweet treasure of nature of which she was ignorant and which one losses forever in the first giving.
"Now let's talk sense, my child," I said releasing my embrace of her quivering body.
"Ah, you aren't going to send me away, are you?"
"No, I'm too happy to have you here. Now listen, this is what we're going to do. We'll go look for your clothes."
"Very well. Where shall I go?"
"We shall both go to your room. Monsieur Beru-chet probably isn't there, for there, you've just heard the church bells strike three o'clock."
"What shall we do in my room?"
"We shall take what belongs to you, and then I'll take you with your little package of things to a room I have in town, from where you'll write Monsieur Beruchet a letter which I shall dictate to you. All right?"
"Ah yes, I'll do whatever you want."
What adorable confidence of innocence and youth! Yes, the dear child, she would have done whatever I wanted, at the very moment I asked, I knew. So went up to her room, and put all her things into a laundry bag. She finished dressing, we went downstairs to the dark street, and, since there was no carriage in sight, we linked arms and, joyous as two school children, walked to the Rue Saint-Augustin to find the attractive chamber where I sometimes spent my days-or rather, my nights of debauchery.
An hour later, I went back to my quarters without having in any way advanced my affair with the delicious Violette.
One beautiful naked breast
The room that I rented at the Rue-Saint-Augustin was not a furnished hotel room at all, but rather a a room which I myself had furnished, in view of its usage, with all the delicacies, that the most elegant sweetheart could have asked for.
It was carpeted in Nacarat velvet and there was a similar drapery along the ceiling; the curtains of the windows and the drapes of the bed were in the same tint of velvet and all of this was enchanced by bands of old-gold-hued satin. A mirror reflecting from the foot of the bed corresponded with the mirror placed between the two windows, and thus both, facing opposite each other, infinitely multiplied the scenes they registered.
A similar mirror had been placed on the mantelpiece, along whose sides there were little statuettes by Pradier, that gifted artist whose flair for sensuality could have made the statue of Virtue herself provocative.
A door, similarly covered with the same kind of
Nacarat velvet, opened into a luxurious bathroom with a ceiling light fixture. It was decorated with cretonne, and it was heated from the same fireplace of the room adjacent to it. There was a sunken bathtub, and a thick bearskin, glossy black, to make the dainty little feet standing on it seem whiter still.
A lovely little chambermaid was commissioned for the sole task of keeping that room clean, and of helping the charming ladies who would use it; her room was on the same floor. She was under orders never to waken the lady who should be asleep in the room.
Violette and I entered without turning on the lights, and I lit a lovely kerosene lamp made of Bohemian rose glass. Then I turned my back so as to give the charming girl sufficient time to go to bed, finally I kissed her on both eyes, wished her a good night, and as I just said, went back to my quarters.
In spite of the emotions of her escape from the rogue who had doubtless whished to take the flower of her maidenhood, Violette got into bed with the grace of a lovely little kitten. She said good night to me with a delicious yawn, and I was quite sure that by the time I had reached the street, she had fallen fast asleep without even wondering where she was.
I was not, however, so peacefully disposed, I admit I had felt that delicious bosom under my hand, that warm moist mouth which had clung to mine, that yawning chemise down which my eye had penetrated very boldly and very deeply; all these things kept me awake with a certain shuddering lustfulness which I could not entirely control.
My readers will ask no explanation of me, and will surely guess why I went no farther with Violette that night. Women readers who may be more curious or else less familiar with certain stipulations in a gentleman's code, would probably ask why I had not been bolder.
I must tell you at once that it was not the fact desire was lacking in me, not in the least. But I have already said that Violette was scarcely fifteen, and of such an innocence, that it would be a veritable crime to make love to her without her wishing to give me the gift of her delicious virgin body. I feel it necessary to explain here that I have a nature which delights in savoring all the delicacies of love, all the voluptuous nuances of pleasure. In my opinion, innocence is a flower which one must allow to grow as long as possible upon its slender stem, and pluck only gradually leaf by leaf.
Sometimes a rosebud takes a week to open. Besides, I love pleasure without remorse; now, there lived in this glorious city of Paris, which had so ably defended itself against the enemy of the year 1792, a veteran, whose white hairs I did not wish to sully.
This worthy man perhaps did not seem to me to be capable of hanging himself over a misfortune which might happen to his daughter, but no doubt he had a greater tenderness for the younger one; perhaps he had made projects concerning her, perhaps he was even planning a marriage. I certainly did not wish to disorganize all that. Besides, my philosophy is that if one has patience enough to wait, everything will eventually arrange itself to the satisfaction of all concerned.
This philosophy, and my impressions of Violette kept me awake until dawn. At last exhausted by fatigue, I fell asleep for about an hour or two, and woke up at eight. I dressed quickly. I knew that that Violette must be accustomed to get up early when she had worked for Monsieur Beruchet, .so I told my servant that I probably would not be back for lunch, I got into a carriage, and five minutes later I was at Rue Saint-Augustin.
I ran up the stairs, my heart pounding, as it had done in the days of my very first love affair. I put my key into the lock as quietly as possible. The door opened and I could see at once that everything was in the state in which I had left it. Not only was Violette not awake, but she was reposing exactly in the position in which I had left her; however, she had seemed to throw off the cover, and since her chemise was still yawning, I saw that she had one beautiful naked breast fully exposed to my excited gaze. There was nothing in the world more charming than that naked bubbie, or than that head fallen back and covered with a luxurious flow of silky hair.. . she resembled a painting by Giorgione.
Her bosom was marvelously white and adorably rounded. Though she was a brunette, quite unusually the nipple of that sweet titties of hers was a bright red, almost like a strawberry. I gently leaned over and grazed it with my lips. I saw a rippling shiver along her milky skin and that adorable tittie bud stiffened. I decided to wait until she had opened her eyes.
It was not surprising that she was still asleep, for not a single glow of light from the sun outside filtered into the room; if she were awakened, she might even think that it was the same hour of the morning that she had taken to this my bed. I sat down beside her and took her hand in mine.
By the light of the little antique kerosene lamp placed on the night table, I regarded her. She was small but beautifully made, perhaps a little short.
Her nails were pink, but the forefinger nail was spoiled by having worn a thimble in her work as a seamstress. Whether it was time for her to wake up or whether the pressure of my hand on hers accomplished it, at any rate, her eyelids fluttered open and she uttered a cry of joy:
"Oh, you're here! How happy I am. If I hadn't seen you now, I should have thought I had a dream. But then you didn't leave me all night?"
"But yes I did," I smilingly replied, "I left you for four or five hours, but I have come back hoping to be in time to be the first one you would see when you would open your lovely eyes."
"And how long have you been Jiere?" she asked.
"About half an hour."
"You ought to have awakened me."
"Never in the world."
"You didn't even kiss me," she said with a charming reproachfulness to her tone.
"Oh, but I did you were sleeping with one breast bare, and I kissed the darling little bud."
"Which one?"
"The left one," I told her.
She drew down the covers with a charming innocence, lifted her head and then bent toward her own breast trying to touch that nipple with her own lips!
"Oh, how annoying," she exclaimed, "I can't even kiss it back."
"And why would you want to do that?"
"So I might put my lips where yours were," and she tried again. Then, with a charming shrug of her shoulders, she said, "Impossible. Well, you kissed it for yourself a little while ago, kiss it now for me."
"Cover yourself," I told her.
She lay back down, I leaned over, took her nipple between my lips, then rubbed the tip of my tongue over it.
She uttered a little cry of pleasure: "Oh, how good it is!"
"As good as yesterday's kiss?"
"Oh, yesterday's kiss was too long ago, I don't remember it anymore."
"Would you like to try it again?"
"You know very well yes, since you told me that that was the way people kiss people one loves."
"But I don't yet know if I love you," I teasingly replied.
"But I am very sure that I love you. Well, don't kiss me then if you don't want to, but I am going to kiss you." And, just as the night before, she pressed her lips to mine, but this time she darted her darling little pink tongue against my teeth.
If I had wanted to leaver her, I could not have done so, her arms clung to me so tenaciously. Our breaths commingled. Finally she sank back, her eyes upturned and very humid and wide, her lips trembling as she murmured, "How I love you!"
That kiss had maddened me; I put my arms around her, lifted her slightly out of her bed, and drew her bed, to my bosom, while my mouth feasted on her soft throat, then her lips, then her cheek, and then down to her lovely breast.
"Oh, what are you doing to me? I feel as if I am going to die!" she panted.
Those words restores my self-control. I did not want to take her by surprise and thus cast away all my happiness. "My dear child," I said, "I've already started a bath running for you and I'll carry you to the bath in my arms."
"Oh," she said with a sigh, "How nice it is to be in your arms!"
I tested the bath water, and it was almost to the desired warmth. I set her down into the tub with her chemise on, and I poured into the water half a flacon of cologne water. I said to her:
"You will find every kind of soap and every size of sponge there. Now bathe yourself while I light the fire so that you won't be cold when you come out."
I went to light the fire in the fireplace, and I stretched out in front of it the black bearskin.
The porters had brought back my linen in a mahogany box where it was still warm. I placed it on a chair near the bathroom. There was a bathrobe and a few cotton towels in readiness for her. Then I drew up an armchair, with a white cushion, and I placed in front of the armchair two little Turkish slippers of red velvet embroidered with gold.
Fifteen minutes later my darling little bather e-merged from the tub, and, with dainty little steps, and a sweet, saucy expression on her charming face, she approached the fire. She squatted down at my feet, in front of it. I could see that certain parts of the bathrobe clung to her body, which she had apparently not thoroughly toweled dry. And through the fine batiste of the bathrobe, I could perceive the tone of her naked skin. She looked around her with curiosity:
"My God, how lovely it is. Am I going to live here?"
"Yes, if you wish, but we have to have someone else's approval for that."
"Whose."
"Your father's."
"My father's? But he would be very happy to know that I had a lovely room, and time enough to study."
"To study what?" I asked her, with curiosity.
"Oh, that's true, I must tell you that," she said.
"Tell me, my child, you must tell me everything." I squatted down and she lifted her head and our lips met.
"It happened that one day someone game a ticket to a play," she explained me. I nodded. "It was for the theater of Porte-Saint-Martin. They were playing Anthony, by Alexander Dumas."
"An immoral play, which little girls ought never to go to watch. But so?"
"I don't agree. It moved me a great deal, and from that day on I told my sister and Monsieur Ernest that I wanted to be an actress. So he and my sister talked about it, and my sister said that if I had even the slightest vocation, it would be better than being a seamstress. Monsieur said that he could help push my career forward in his newspaper, The Theatrical Gazette."
"Well, that would be marvelous for you, I should think," I chuckled.
She went on: "Madame Beruchet was told that I'd stay at my sister's and that I wouldn't come back until the next morning. After the play, we went back to my sister's and I began to recite some of the scenes which I had memorized, and to make gestures like this!"
She flung out her arms, and in so doing, Violette opened her batiste bathrobe, and without suspecting what delicious treasures of love she was showing to my delighted eyes. I took her in my arms, and lured her down across my knees, where she cuddled as if in a nest. She looked up at me with her delicious little moue.
"Well, Monsieur Ernest says, that if I have made up my mind-and it would take two or three years before I could really make my debut-Papa would have to approve it all. Then my sister asked how I would live those two or three years, and Monsieur Ernest replied that I was lovely and that a lovely girl never had to worry about how she lived."
I stroked her cheek and kissed her forehead. She went on: "The next day, he wrote to Papa. And Papa wrote back that my sister and I were two poor orphans thrown into the world without any other support than an old man of sixty-seven who might be carried off at any moment. So he wished us his blessing and hoped that God would watch over us. He said: 'Do whatever you wish and make sure that your old soldier father will not have to blush because of his children.'
"You kept that letter?"
"Yes."
"Where is it?"
"In the pocket of one of my dresses. So I-thought of you. I said to myself. 'Since he is an artist, he must have connections with theatrical directors.' I always wanted to go to see you, but them I didn't dare. I always said to myself, it would be tomorrow. But when Monsieur Beruchet did what he did, things were resolved. You see, it was Providence."
"Yes, my child. I'm beginning to believe as much!'
"So you will do everything you can so that I may have a chance to play in comedy."
"All I can," I smilingly agreed.
"Oh, how nice you are!" Violette, without concerning herself about what she was revealing of her body in the movement, flung her arms around my neck, and this time, I freely admit I was dazzled. My hand slid down that lovely back which arched under my touched, and it stopped only when it had no farther to go. I discovered a soft silky thatch as the boundary of that lovely voyage that my hand had taken. At the contact of my hand, the lovely girl's body stiffened, her head fell back, her lips parted to expose her beautiful white teeth, and between them her vibrant tongue.
Her eyes seemed dimmed with a supreme languor, and her hair fell like a cascade of pure black jet. Yet my finger had scarcely touched that sacred spot.. . my hand had caressed the length of her supple back and then glided over her naked bottom, and some voluptuous instinct had directed my forefinger below her bottom and into the dainty niche of her virgin pussy.
Delirious with passion, responding to her cries of joy with my own, I carried her to the bed, and knelt before her, and there as she lay abandoned, her thighs parted, my lips replaced my hand. My lips felt that supreme ecstasy of union with an amorous and humid virgin cunthole which quivered as much as did my lips.. . it was a true fusion of emotion and of passion. I began, in a word, to gamahuche her. From that moment on, all she did was utter inarticulate cries which ended in one of those long, long spasms which seems to expel the very soul.
I lifted her onto my knee, watched her regain her senses. She opened her eyes, made an effort to sit up straight, then murmured:
"Oh, my God, how good it is! Can we do it again?" Suddenly, she started and stared at me fixedly: "I've just had an idea."
"What?"
"Is what I've just done bad?"
I sat beside her on the bed, asked if anyone had ever talked seriously to her, to which she replied that her father, when she was little, had done so when he wanted to scold her, but she added that she seemed to understand whatever I might tell her.
I thereupon explained that a woman at birth received from the Creator the same rights as a man: those of following her natural instincts. Now, a man begins through the family; he has a wife, then children; several families group together into a tribe; five or six tribes gather to create society. In society, certain laws are needed. If women were the stronger, their will would be imposed on the world today; but since men are the stronger, they become dominators, the women slaves. One of the laws imposed on young girls is chastity; one of the laws imposed on women is fidelity.
Men, dictating laws to women, reserve for themselves the right to satisfy their passions without reflecting that they can give free rein to them only by forcing women to fail in the obligations imposed on them. These women, forgetting their own well-being, give men happiness; men in return bring them shame.
"That's a great injustice," said Violette, who had her arms round my neck and was watching me intently.
"Indeed it is. So, certain women revolted and said to themselves: 'What does society offer me in exchange for its imposed slavery? Marriage with a man I shan't probably really love, who will take me when I'm eighteen, confiscate me to his profit and make me unhappy all my life? I'd much rather stay outside society, remain free to follow my whims and love whom I please, I shall be a woman of nature, not society. Now, from the view point of society, what we just did was wrong; from the view point of nature, it was the satisfaction of your desires. Do you understand."
"Perfectly."
"Well, think about it all day, and this evening you'll tell me what kind of woman you want to be." I then rang for the chambermaid, while Violette lay in bed with the covers up to her neck. "Madame Leonie," I said, "you'll take the greatest care of Mademoiselle, get her food from Chevet, her pastry from Hulien. There's Bordeaux wine in the cupboard and three hundred francs in the little bowl in the hallway. Next, you'll call a dressmaker and have her make Mademoiselle two simple but excellent dresses of the best quality. You'll give orders to a shop for lingerie and have a selection of hats selected to match the dresses."
Then, kissing Violette, I gave her a farewell till the evening.. .
In the evening, I came back about nine; she ran to me, flung her arms round my neck, and avowed, "I thought about it."
"All day?"
"No, just five minutes. And I'd rather be the woman of nature."
"Then you won't go back to Monsieur Beruchet."
"Oh, no!"
"What about to your sister's?"
She didn't reply, so I added:
"Is something inconvenient about that?"
"I'm afraid Monsieur Ernest won't like it. He's a young men who comes to see her. He's a journalist. And once, when Madame Beruchet sent me on an errand and I had just time to drop in and kiss my sister and wish her well, Monsieur Ernest was there and he got very cross. He went into the other room with Marguerite and locked himself up there. One day I had to stay there, because Madame Beruchet had told me to wait for an answer, and that put both of then in bad humor."
"Well, then we'll talk about it no more, and you shall be a woman of nature," I said as I kissed her and, gently stripping her naked, laid her on the bed and began to gamahuche her, while one finger tickled the dainty virgin rosebud of her bum hole, till she swooned with pleasure.
I'll
"I want to strip you little by little'
Dear child, it was truly nature and an adorable one that spoke in her. I had in my library a collection of fine books, and she had read all day long. She had chosen "Valentine." I told her it was a masterpiece, and she said he wasn't aware of that, but it had made her cry a lot.
I then had Madame Leonie prepare tea for us, which Violette avowed she had never before drunk. Leonie set up a little table, with a Turkish cloth, and two fine porcelain cups and a Japanese sugar-bowl. Cream was kept in a little metal pot, and Leonie brought us the tea prepared in the tea maker and boiling water in a silver bowl. I asked Violette if she needed Leonie to undress her, to which the dear child replied:
"I have only my dressing gown and chemise on."
"So we sent Leonie away, and I locked the door after she left. Then Violette said to me:
"So you'll stay?"
"If you permit."
"All night long."
"All night long."
"Oh, what happiness! Then we're going to go to bed together like two good friends?"
"Exactly. Have you ever slept with good friends before?"
"At boarding school, when I was very little, not since, except once or twice when I slept with my sister."
"What did you do when you slept with her?" I said good night, I kissed her, and we went to sleep."
"That's all."
"Why, yes."
"And if we went to bed together, do you think that would be all?"
"I don't know, but it seems to me, it wouldn't. "
"Then what do you think we'd do?"
"Perhaps what you did this morning," she said, her arms circling my neck. I took her in my arms, seated her on my lap; I poured her out a cup of tea, dropped a little sugar into it, added a few drops of cream, then made her drink it. She made a little sign with her head to indicate she wasn't enthusiastic about it, said, "I'd rather have pure warm milk, coming out of the cow's udders."
Her indifference to tea didn't astonish me; I've always noticed that in this Chinese brew there's an aristocratic savor not always appreciated by the plebeians.
I told her that tomorrow morning, she would have warm milk. Then we fell silent, while she smiled at me, and finally said:
"Don't you know what I wish?"
"No."
"I'd like to be wise."
"And why, for heaven's sake?"
"To understand what I don't understand."
"Such as?"
"Oh, so many things. like for instance, you asked me if I were a virgin."
"Yes."
"And I said I didn't know and you laughed."
"True."
"So what does being a virgin mean."
"Never having been caressed by a man."
"Then I'm not one today."
"Why do you say that?"
"It seems to me you caressed me this morning."
"There are caresses and caresses, dear child; what I did to you this morning was, though very nice, hardly what would remove your virginity."
"Then what are the kind that remove it?"
"I first have to explain to you what virginity is."
"I want you to."
"It's difficult."
"Oh, you're so smart, you can!"
"Virginity is the physical and moral state in which a young girl like you exists who has never had a lover."
"But what does having a lover mean."
"Doing with a man the act by which the human race is perpetuated."
"And we haven't done that."
"No."
"Then you're not my lover."
"I'm still only your suitor, so to speak."
"And when will you be my lover."
"At as distant a time from now as possible."
"Would it be so disagreeable to you to be my lover?"
"Quite the contrary-it would be what I most desire in all the world!"
"Oh my God, how annoying this is! I don't understand it at all!" she pouted.
"To be a woman's lover, my beautiful little Violette, is the letter Z in the alphabet of pleasure. Well, now, there are twenty-five letters to learn before that, and the letter A is a kiss on the hand.'"
"What you did to me this morning, what letter is that, then?"
"I must admit it's quite close to Z and that I skipped quite a few consonants and vowels to arrive at it."
"And now you're making fun of me!"
"I swear I'm not. You see, my dear angel, I want to make this charming alphabet of love last as long as possible, for each letter is a caress, and each caress a joy. I want to strip you little by little of your garments of moral innocence, just as I'll remove your physical garments one by one. What a pleasure! If you were dressed, each garment I took off would let me see something unknown and charmingly exciting-your neck, your shoulders, your bosom, and then eventually all the lovely rest of you. like a brute, I bypassed all those delicacies, so my eyes devoured your chaste nakedness!"
"Was I wrong in letting you?"
"No, I love you too much, I desire you too much, to adhere to these cold calculations."
I untied the belt, slipped off her dressing gown; she was on my knees in only her chemise.
"Do you know what virginity is?" I asked, losing all self-control. "Well, I'll tell you, closer to me than you are now, your lips on mine." I drew her to my bosom, and her arms were round my neck, panting with desire.
"Do you feel my hand."
"Yes," she said, shivering. "And my finger, too."
"Yes, yes.. . "
"Well, I'm touching what's called virginity. I touch that hymeneal membrane which must be broken so a woman can become a mother. Once it's broken, the virgin is deflowered, the woman begins to exist. And what I wish is by outward caresses to keep you virgin as long as I can-now do you understand?"
The moment my finger had touched her, Violette responded to me only by caresses and cries interspersed with soft gentle plaints. Soon she stiffened, squeezed me tightly enough to strangle me, stammering endless, unintelligible words, then suddenly her arms fell to her sides, a sigh escaped her, her head fell back and she remained motionless, as inert as if she were dead. I tore off her chemise, removed my clothes swiftly down to my undershirt, and bore her naked to the bed, holding her against me. Then she regained her senses; her body stretched under mine, my mouth on hers, I breathing in her life and she mine.
"Oh, I'm dying," she murmured.
"You dying! It would be as if I said I were dying! No, on the contrary, we're beginning to live." And I covered her with kisses, and at each kiss she started as if under a bite. Then in her turn she began to bite me with little love-snarls; each time our lips met, there were silences of total ecstasy.
Suddenly she uttered a cry of astonishment and seized with both hands the unknown object which had caused her surprise, and then as if a veil had been removed from her eyes, she gasped:
"Now I understand-it's with this-oh, it won't ever be possible!"
Oh, the feel of her soft little hands on my aching prick!
"Violette, my love," I cried, "I'm no longer master of myself, you're driving me mad!"
I raised myself on my elbows.
"No," she murmured, "don't leave me, if you love me, don't be afraid of hurting me. I want you to."
Then she slid under me, wrapping her arms round me, her supple young satiny thighs enclasping me, pushing her softly downed cunt against my bold, throbbing prick.
"I want you to," she repeated, "I want you to." And suddenly she uttered a cry; ah, all my fine projects had vanished into thin air. In learning what virginity was, sweet Violette had lost hers. My prick head had shattered the virgin seal to her dainty cunt. I stopped when I heard that cry.
"Oh, no, no," she panted, "go on.. .go on.. .you hurt me, but if you didn't hurt me, I'd not be to happy! I need to suffer, go on.. . do it.. . don't stop.. . oh, go on, my Christian, me beloved, my friend.. . oh, it's maddening! Ohh, it's a fire, it's killing me.. . I'm dying-oh take my soul-take it-ahh-"
How wise Mohammed was in understanding the dream all men must be lulled with, when he told his disciples they would revel in a paradise of lust, endlessly replenished. For how could the chastity of angels compare with the provocative wantonry of the hour is?
We spent an insensate night, full of tears and mad joys, avid passions, and only at dawn did we fall asleep in each other's arms.
"Ah," she said when she wakened, holding me tightly in her arms, "now I hope I'm not a virgin any more!"
The Lesbian religion
The pain she had had in losing her cherry wasn't really bad, but she was annoyed that voluptuous ecstasy hadn't taken over when I'd fucked her. I told her before going out to take a douche and to apply between the soft inner lips of her pussy a sponge no bigger than a walnut, soaked in a concoction of guava-water.
I had to explain to her the difference between the labia majora and the labia minora, a charming task for a professor and with the aid of a mirror, her good will and supple loins, I demonstrated the lesson on her lovely naked body.
In her innocence, Violette had never thought of looking at her naked self. During our night together, she had conceived some vague notions about the ways children were made; but there was still a vast world of learning of which she was totally unaware. I began by explaining the general goal of nature, which is the reproduction of the species. It was in that unique aim that the Creator had put into the union of both sexes supreme joy and that this joy inspired a man to master the planets and draw certainty of triumph over death. Then I went into details to explain the usage of each organ. I began with the clitoris, that seat of pleasure in a young girl, and which, in her case, was hardly yet developed. From there, I discussed the two sets of pussy lips, that double envelope of love's sanctuary. Then the hymeneal seal which shuts off the vaginal pathway that one day becomes the maternal route.
I told her that if that membrane hadn't been broken in her sweet cunny, she could have felt with her own finger the little orifice through which emerges her monthly menses. I told her how the matrix filled its role in the generative process, and that apart from that cradle of birth, a woman had two ovaries attached to the uterus by two tubes, and that these ovaries contained globules in which were fecundated the invisible organisms locked up in a man's seminal fluid, which are known as Zoo-spermatozoa.
I put a pencil in her hand and helped her sketch the way a fetus closed in an egg is developed by its direct contact with the placenta. Then I extended the lecture to plants and animals, showing her how the wind could carry pollen from the stamen of the flower to the pistils of another, and that bees and butterflies proceeded in the messenger work of love.
She devoured my words, and I left her in a reverie that she had yet so much to learn beyond her innocence. I'd resolved to make of her a charming distraction, but not an obstacle to my ordinary work. My studies at the School of Medicine and my work at various museums as a painter in search of thematic ideas were scheduled for the days, so I could perfectly reconcile them with my nocturnal visits to the Rue St.-Augustin
The same evening I returned, to find my tea prepared, the table set with cream and cakes, in my absence. Violette had made herself mistress of the household. So we had only to tell Leonie we didn't need her, to be alone.
I had, the night before, left her an outlined letter to be sent to Monsieur Beruchet, she had written it out and sent it, so we didn't have to worry that her disappearance would lead to annoying investigations.
Curiosity had seized her, she had stripped naked, lit the candles and contemplated herself. As she'd never seen any other women, she didn't know whether she was really attractive or not. Then she decided to read, but the book led to conjectures which she could not resolve; it was Mademoiselle de Maupin by Theophile Gauthier.
You will recall that this novel had the heroine dressed as a cavalier pursuing a young girl and ended with an ambiguous scene between the two, and explanation of which was possible only if one were acquainted with antique civilization, and this scene preoccupied Violette the most of all.
I explained to her that, as in plants or animals, there were hermaphrodites which reunited both sexes, especially in the animal world. Particularly in the female, this reunion manifested itself through the appearance of a prolongation of the clitoris. I told her the Greeks, who had adored form and beauty, had conceived the notion of creating a beauty that was not in nature. So, their myth went, the son of Mercury and Venus had been seen bathing in a fountain by the nymph Salmacis, who had prayed the gods to reunite her body to her lover's. They heard her prayer, united both, and the result was a creature of both sexes, being able to satisfy both sexes in carnal ways. I promised to take her to tue museum to show her the Hermaphrodite of Farneze who, lying on a couch, combined the beauties of both male and female. But I explained that this perfect distinction of both sexes did not exist in nature, although most always women with longer clitoridal structure experience a keen attraction for women. Then I told her of the history of Sappho, founder of that religion which though initiated more than 170 years before Christ, counts today so many disciples in our own era.
There were, I said, two Sapphos. One from Eresas; one from Mytylene; one a courtesan, the other a priestess; one of perfect beauty, the other mediocre. The cult of Greeks for beauty was so great that they struck medals to the courtesan of Eresas, as for a queen.
But the Sappho of Mytylene had come to nubile age without loving or being loved, and she resolved to form a league against men, as did the ancient Amazons; yet this league was more complete in that once a year, the Amazons allowed their husbands to visit them, whereas Sappho's disciples swore to drive men away forever and have only women as lovers.
"But," Violette naively asked, "what could these women do between themselves?"
"Mutually, what I did to you yesterday with my finger and the day before with my mouth. Moreover, the name by which they are known indicates the action they perform; they are called Tribadists, from a verb which means, to rub."
And I added, "Sappho invented, besides, an instrument made from the pith of the gum tree which had the sexual appearance of a male organ.
The scandal caused by Sappho was so great that Venus decided it was time to stop it, since the Lesbian religion had left her own altars deserted in many isles of Greece. Now, there was a handsome boatman named Phon who took people from one river bank to the other at the port of Mytylene. Venus disguised herself as an old beggarwoman and asked him to give her free passage; in his sympathy, he did so. When he reached the opposite river bank, he found that she was in truth the goddess of beauty. Her appearance, in natural form, made his sexual organ harden so violently that it would have been ingratitude not to reward him. So Venus exhaled her breath, which formed a cloud to hide them both. After an hour, the cloud disappeared, and Phon was alone, but Venus had given him a perfumed oil which he had only to rub on himself to attract all women. He used it, and one day as Sappho came near him by chance, she fell in love with him in a kind of frenzy. But he disdained her; that was divine vengeance. Seeing that he remained cold and she could not renew the miracle of Salmacis, she went to Leucade to throw herself from the cliff; the legend was that unhappy lovers who thus leaped might be cured if they regained the edge of the bank. If they drowned, then of course, they were cured forever."
"And you say such women exist?"
"Yes, my dear Violette."
"Oh wait-I've just remembered something." She came to sit on my knees. "Now one day at Madame Beruchet's," she went on, "a handsome carriage drawn by two horses and a Negro liveryman, brought a great lady to Madame Beruchet who was known as Madame the Countess. Whatever she bought, she always wanted to have me with her to try them on. At first, she hadn't paid me any more attention than the others, but little by little, whatever came from my hands was the finest. Yes, to the point that the others had only to say I'd sewn these things-even if I hadn't-and she'd take them with her eyes closed."
"Go on, dear."
"Well, four days ago-you see, I hadn't thought of it till now-there was an order to be delivered to her, so she sent her carriage to get me, saying she wanted me and nobody else. I went there, she was alone in a little boudoir with embroidered satin draperies all over, and vases and bowls full of flowers and birds. The maid was sent off, and when we were alone, she told me I had to try on everything, because she didn't know it would fit otherwise. I told her I was a head shorter than she, but she insisted and began to undress me.
"I let her do it, rather ashamed, and as she took off my dress and my corset, she cried, 'Oh, what a lovely neck! Ah, what beautiful shoulders! Those darling little breasts! And she kissed me all over the parts she'd named, then put her hands there too. Then she said I had to try on the panties. There were two pairs, in batiste with lace hems; she took off mine, lifted my chemise up and exclaimed over my satiny skin, saying that one day I'd have to take a bath with her, and she would rub me with almond paste and I'd be white as ermine, except that I would have a darling little black tail there-and she touched my spot, where you do, Christian-like the animal itself, and I jumped back. 'Fierce little wretch, what's the matter?' she asked me, 'do I frighten you? '
Then she took hold of me and kissed me; but seeing me blush and tremble, she didn't dare go any father, so, handing me the panties, told me to try them on. Naturally, they were too wide and big for me, but I let her put her hand between my thighs to pull them up. For a minute her hand rubbed me so gently there that I thought it was she who was trembling. Then she hugged and kissed me and touched me all over and said she was sure the panties would fit just fine. Then she dressed me herself, caressing me just as she had when she'd undressed me, and told me, 'I warn you that on Sunday you'll spend all day with me, we'll take a bath together, dine together and then go to the theater. Make yourself beautiful, I'll pick you up at two in the afternoon.' "
"But, Violette," I exclaimed, "tomorrow's Sunday."
"I know, so she won't find me at the shop."
"Why didn't you tell me this earlier?"
"Because so much has happened to me in three days I didn't think of the countess. Won't she be fooled!" and Violette clapped her hands with glee.
I had an idea, and asked her if she were afraid to have a woman pay court to her, to which she asked what there was to fear. Then I remarked I would find it amusing to see how another woman flirted with one of her own sex.
"As if you haven't seen it already, you libertine," she twitted me playfully.
"Oh no. I've seen girls do exercises with one another for money as a spectacle, but that's artificial. Do you know her address, this countess of yours?"
"No, since I didn't look at the street or number of the house when the carriage brought me there."
"You'll make another conquest. We'll forget her then," I said. "Aren't you jealous?"
"Of a woman? Why? She'll always leave you before your desires are fulfilled, so you'll welcome to me all the more eagerly."
"But what about another man?"
"That's another thing," I said gravely, "if I found you deceiving me with another man, I'd kill you."
"Good." She giggled, "I was beginning to be afraid you didn't love me anymore."
"I, not love you? You'll see!" Happily the proof of my love was easy to give; I took her in my arms, bore her to the bed. In a twinkling of an eye, we were naked together. I'd forgotten till then to draw the shade which covered the mirror; I let go of the cord, and the mirror reflected the light of the two candelabra.
Violette exclaimed joyously: "Oh, it's charming, we can see ourselves."
"As much as you want."
"I bet I'll watch to the very end!"
"I bet you don't," I boasted. I kissed her mouth, then my lips slowly descended to her dainty cunny.
"Ah," she giggled, "with your head down there, you can't see."
"By the by," I whispered, "how does this darling spot feel now?"
"Oh, not too bad.. .when I walk, a bit of pain, but not too much."
"I told you to moisten the inner lips of your sweet slit with a sponge big as a walnut soaked in guava-water, didn't I?"
"I did it, and it helped."
"Good. But I'll finish our cure." I took the little bowl of milk used with our tea and sipped from it to her astonishment. Than I put my mouth to her dainty cunt and in a kiss I spurted in a jet. She squealed:
"Oh, what are you doing?"
I gave her another spurting kiss.
"Oooh, how good it is-so warm, it penetrates right to my heart," she gasped. "You didn't do that before to me.. . oh, you'll teach me lots of lovely things, won't you?"
My mouth was empty, so I altered the exercise.
"Ahh, that," she purred, "that's another thing, you already did that to me, I recognize it.. . ohh, it's even better than the other day.. . ohh, your tongue.. . where are you putting it to give me such pleasure. My God.. .my God-ahh, I'm going to die! No.. . I won't let myself go, I'll fight it.. . I.. . I'll-ohh-I-I've lost; dearly beloved, my eyes close, I see nothing.. . my soul's leaving me.. . I'm dying."
It's only for lovers that all nights differ-but for the average reader, it might be a repetition, so we shall draw the curtain here. Suffice it to say that I fucked her soundly before we fell asleep, and she had progressed greatly in her course of sexual knowledge during the night.
The next day, about two, there was a knock at my door and Leonie informed me that the Countess of Mainfroy was calling. I'd a presentiment, she would. I told Leonie to admit her, and, going to the dining room, I myself led the Countess into my bedroom, which was also a workroom.
She seemed a bit embarrassed at first, accepted an armchair, and then lifted her veil. She was a superb beauty of twenty-eight, tall, with magnificent ringleted hair, as was then fashionable, which fell to her shoulders. Her eyebrows, eyelashes and eyes, were the color of jet, her nose straight, her lips red as coral, her chin firmly sculptured, and her bosom and hips were well made but did not have the ripeness I might have inferred from her stature. Seeing that I waited for some explanation, she at last remarked, "Sir, you may find this visit strange, but you alone can give me the help I need." I told her. "I'd be only too happy to be of service to you."
"Sir," she went on, "at the lingerie shop on the ground floor of the place where you live, there was a young girl named Violette. She disappeared three days ago. When I asked her young friends and the mistress of the shop, they all told me they didn't know. But when I spoke to the man and told him I had interest enough in the child to have the police search for her, he told me he believed that if I came to you, you could help me. I hope you'll tell me where she is."
"I've no motive for keeping her in hidden captivity," I replied, "though perhaps I did wrong in hiding her from her boss, who had devised a lock to her door that would let him enter when it suited him. At two in the morning, that sweet child sought refuge from him, I gave it to her-that's what happened."
"What, she's here?"
"Here, no, Madame. But happily I have a bachelor's apartment, where I took her."
"You'd give me the address?"
"With the greatest pleasure. Violette has often spoken of you."
"She spoke to you about me?"
"Yes, Madame. She told me how good you were to her, and in this hour when she needs so much protection, I'd hardly deprive her of it."
I scribbled down the address at the Rue Saint-Augustin, and signed the note with my name. The Countess, asking my pardon for her query, then wanted to know when I would see her. I replied it would not be till tonight.
"Won't she have gone out this afternoon?"
"I'm sure if you go there now, Madame, you'll find her reading Mademoiselle de Maupin."
"Did you make her read that book?"
"Oh, no. She reads what she wants to."
"I've an errand to run at the Rue de la Paix, then I'll go to her."
I bowed to her, led her to the stairway. Then I ran to the balcony and saw her carriage follow the Rue de Rivoli and turn at the Place Vendome. I put on my hat, ran down the stairs and soon was at the Rue Saint-Augustin.
I had my key, let myself in, and saw Violette on a kind of chaise lounge, wearing only her dressing gown, her book posed on her knees, and playing distractedly with one of her rosy nipples which emerged like a ripe strawberry from amid the thick black tresses of her lovely glossy hair. Hardly had I installed myself in my hiding place-the cupboard in the bathroom-than there was a knock at the door. Violette was about to ring for Leonie when she recalled that Leonie wasn't there; so she went to the door and asked who was there.
"I, your friend.. . the Countess. I come with Christian's authorization and have a note from him," was the answer.
Violette opened the door, and the first thing the Countess did was to close it at once.
"You're alone?" she demanded.
"Yes, my maid's at the dressmaker."
"Good, because I sent away my carriage, being sure of finding you here. Will you give me an hour or two?"
"Willingly."
"Are you happy to see me."
"Very much."
"You little ingrate!" During this time, the Countess had removed her hat and veil, her cape, and remained in a magnificent black satin dress buttoned top and bottom with rose coral buttons, which matched a pair of button-like earrings.
"Ingrate?" Violette echoed. "Why do you call me that?"
"To give yourself in trust to a young man instead of coming to me."
"I knew neither your name nor your address. Do you remember that you were to come find me at the shop today at two?"
"And I went there, but the bird had flown from its nest. Truly, she changed cages advantageously, and I compliment you on this."
"You think it's nice here?" Violette asked.
"Ravishing. When these artist set about decorating an apartment, they have exquisite taste." Then, approaching Violette, she murmured, "Ah, now, dear little one, you know I haven't kissed you yet?"
She cupped Violette's cheeks and kissed her ardently on the mouth; my sweet girl made an involuntary movement to recoil, but the Countess held her tight. "See now, how lovely your charming head is against my black satin dress?" And she led her to the mirror between the two windows; the blonde hair of the Countess fell on Violette's face, mingling with her black tresses.
"I wish I might have been blonde," said Violette, "because I find blondes lovelier than brunettes."
"You sweet! But I'm only a half-blonde, really," the Countess retorted. "You see my black eyes and eyebrows."
"But you're superbly beautiful," Violette said naively.
"Flatterer," the countess murmured, sitting down on the chaise lounge and drawing Violette onto her knees. "But I'll tire you."
"Never. How warm it is here, little one."
"You're buttoned up as for winter."
"That's true, and I'm stifling. If I were sure no one would come, I'd take my cape off.. . "
"No one will come."
"Good." Quickly, she removed the cape, then opened all her dress, unfastened the four or five hooks of her corset, drew it off and flung it on a chair, then breathed in deeply, wearing now only a peignoir of batiste and her black satin dress which she rebuttoned.
"And you, dear, aren't you too warm in your cashmere gown?"
"Oh, no. See how light it is." Violette in her turn untied her gown and appeared in her little batiste chemise, her bare feet thrust into velvet slippers. The two globes of her bosom stood out superbly against the thin material.
"Oh, the little sorceress," the Countess exclaimed, "she's scarcely fifteen and she has more breast than I." She slid her hand into the bodice of the chemise as she spoke. "Oh, how marvelous, the tip rosy as you'd find on a blonde girl. Oh, dear little one, let me kiss this sweet little rosebud, which makes such contrast with my eyes and eyebrows and my blonde hair."
Violette glanced about, as if I were there and she were seeking my permission. But meanwhile the Countess' lips cling to her tittie bud, and she bit it with the edges of her fine white teeth, while Violette wriggled.
"See the little hussy, not yet out in the world and yet she's ready to taste pleasure," the Countess purred. "Now the other one, so it won't be jealous." She cupped the other tittie and sucked and bit it lovingly.
"Ah, Madame, what are you doing to me?"
"Caressing you, dear love. Didn't you see from the very first day that I was in love with you?"
"Can a woman be amorous of another?" Violette asked with a saintly air of innocence.
"Little ninny, that's the best way," said the Countess. "Oh, this annoying dress-may I loosen it, dear?"
"As you wish, Madame the Countess."
"Don't call me that respectful title," the Countess exclaimed, removing her dress so imperiously that two or three buttons popped off.
"Then what am I to call you?"
"Odette, that's my battle name," the Countess teased. Wearing only her batiste peignoir, she moved to the chaise lounge on which Violette remained, only to find the girl rising. "What' this, you little rebel, are you defending yourself, by chance?"
"Against whom."
"Me."
"Why should I? You won't hurt me, will you?"
"Quite the contrary, dear. No, I want to give you pleasure, but you must let me take charge of you."
"But, Madame the Countess-"
"Odette-just Odette, I told you."
"But, finally, when you will be-"
"Use the thee and thou for intimacy, sweet, not the harsh formal you."
"When you will be-oh, I'll never dare!"
The Countess merged her mouth on Violette's, darting in her tongue. "Thou, thou, I said," she repeated. "Aren't we good friends, sweeting?"
"But I'm only a girl from a poor family and you're a great lady!"
"What must this great lady do to have you pardon her for being a Countess, you proud little wretch? Now, here I am at your knees-are you satisfied?"
Indeed, she was on her knees before the seated Violette, and she was lifting the latter's chemise to see and touch those secret charms which the trying on of the panties at her house had initially revealed to her discerning eyes. As she lofted the batiste, her eyes fixed along the pathway made. "Oh, what a treasure.. . such round thighs, such a smooth sweet belly! Out of what marble are you sculptured, my dear Hebe, Pharos of Carrara? And that dainty black nook-spread your legs, naughty one, and let me kiss it."
She put her head under the chemise. "Mmmmm, how good it smells-you little coquette, do you use Portugal water?"
"Yes, that's the scent Christian prefers."
"Christian? Who's that?"
"My lover."
"What-you've had a lover, and he's had you."
"Yes."
"Your virginity's gone, then."
"It has."
"When."
"Two days ago."
"Oh," she uttered a cry of rage, "Oh, you little fool, to give your maidenhead to a man."
"To whom did you want me to give it, then?"
"To me--to me who would have paid you anything you wished.. . ah, I'll never pardon you, never!" She seized her corset and with the other hand, her dress, as if to clothe herself.
"And he tore you pitilessly, dare to tell me that he gave you pleasure," she went on.
"But he did."
"You lie!"
"A pleasure such as I'd never dreamed of!"
"You lie!"
"I thought I'd go mad with joy."
"Be silent!"
"What does it matter to you?"
"You ask that? But that's the joy he stole from me. I, who thought you innocent, who wanted to initiated you little by little into all the sweet mysteries of love. I, who each day would have invented a new pleasure for you! He soiled you with his lust. That harsh hairy skin of his, was it nice to touch, then?"
"My Christian has the skin of a woman."
"Ah, I was wrong to come to struggle against his power. Goodbye!"
Furiously, she hooked up her corset as Violette calmly watched, and then asked: "Where you are going?"
"What's there here for me now? Nothing. You've a lover! Oh, I suspected as much, the way you defended yourself against me!"
She hastily buttoned her dress. "Another lost illusion," she added with a deep sigh. "How unfortunate we are, we other women who want to maintain dignity and pride in our sex. I was promising myself so much happiness with you, you wicked child. Oh, my heart's breaking. I must weep or I shall go mad!"
She fell on a chair and began to sob. These tears and sobs were so rare in her that Violette rose, and without thinking of putting back on her dressing gown, went half nude in her chemise to kneel before the Countess.
"Don't cry, so, Madame the Countess," she said.
"Still Madame the Countess."
"All right, Odette, then.. . you're unjust."
"Why?"
"Could I know you loved me."
"That thou loved me," the Countess impatiently corrected, tapping her foot on the floor. "That thou loved me?"
"Then you didn't see it when you came to my house?"
"How could I, I was so innocent."
"But you're not now, are you?"
"I'm less innocent," Violette laughingly agreed.
The Countess hugged herself with her arms:
"And she mocks my grief-ah, it's all over. I shall pardon you but I shall never forget. Come, no weakness, you won't ever see me again. Farewell!"
She opened the door and ran down the stairs. Violette closed the door and turned to see me on the threshold of the bathroom; she uttered a cry of surprise, I burst out laughing, and she flung herself into my arms.
"How happy I am that I was good," she said.
"Didn't it cost you a good deal?"
"Not too much. But there was a moment when she kissed my little titties-oh, a flame ran through my body."
"So much so," I murmured, "that right now I needn't be violent to you, for you're already roused." I took her in my arms and sat her down in the chaise lounge exactly as she had been with the Countess, then I knelt down. "You said it was the scent I loved-may I inhale it?"
"Oh, yes," Violette panted, spreading her thighs to me, "do please, beloved!"
Then she murmured after a silence more eloquent than any words, "Ohh, she was saying you didn't give me pleasure."
I caught my breath, after all this sweet gamahuching of her dainty snatch.
"You see," I told her, "just as she had her battle name, so she had her fighting attire on. She slowly took off her corset and dress, and it wouldn't have been long before I could have seen her in even less than that simple costume."
"Which doubtless would have pleased you, libertine that you are."
"I'll admit that the sight of your two bodies together would have made charming contrast."
"Which you will never see, sir."
"Who knows."
"She's gone."
"Bah, she'll return."
"You didn't see how furious she was, though."
"I'll bet you before tomorrow morning you get a letter."
"Am I to accept it."
"Yes, providing you give it to me."
"We'll always do things together."
"You promise."
"Word of honor."
Just then, there was a knock at the door, and Leonie, at Violette's order to enter, came in with a letter, saying that the Negro servant with the lady brought it to her. Leonie added, "He said it was to be given to you only when you were alone."
"You know such suggestions are useless, Madame Leonie, as I've nothing to hide from Monsieur Christian."
"Very well, Miss, but here's the letter anyway. " Leonie handed it to her, then went out.
"I see she didn't wait till tomorrow to write," I remarked.
"You're a prophet, darling!"
She came to sit down on my knees, we opened the letter from the Countess and read it together.
You taugh me how
"Ungrateful child," the letter read, though I swore when I left you not to see or write you, my love for you is so strong I can't resist. Listen, I'm rich, a widow, and free. Unhappy with my husband, I swore after he died eternal hate to all men and I've kept my oath. If you want to love me, but love me exclusively, I shall forget you were spoiled by contact with a man. You said to me, you didn't know I loved you; well, my passion for you is so great I took you up on those words. You didn't know, if only you were still pure! But perfect happiness is not for this world, so I must accept whatever your and my unhappy destiny has made you.
"So then, if you wish to love me, if you'll agree to leave him and never see him again, I won't say, I'll give you this or that; I'll tell you that we'll live together and my house, carriage, servants, will all be yours. We shan't leave each other ever, you'll be my friend, sister, cherished child-more than all that, you'll be my adored mistress. But no sharing. I'd be too jealous, I'd die of it! So answer me in the name with which my letter is signed. I'll await your reply as a person in danger of dying awaits life.
Odette."
Violette and I stared at each other, then burst out laughing. "The devil if she doesn't come out boldly," I said.
"She's crazy."
"For you, to be sure. What will you do."
"I won't answer."
"Oh, but you will, at least so you won't have to reproach yourself over her death."
"Ha, Monsieur Christian, you want to see the Countess in less than her battle raiment, don't you?"
"You see she detests men."
"Yes, but you tell yourself you'll change all that."
"Listen, dear little Violette, if it annoys you-"
"No, but promise me one thing.. . that you'll never make complete love to her?"
"What do you call complete love?"
"I leave you the freedom of your eyes, hands, even your mouth-but the rest is mine."
"I swear it."
"On what?"
"On our love," I told her. "Now, then let's return to this letter. The situation she offers you is a fine one."
"I should leave you? Never. Maybe you'll drive me away, but I've come to you and you have the right to get rid of me-but to leaves you? No, I'd rather die."
"You must write her. Take your pen and I'll dictate."
"And if I make mistakes in spelling?"
"Leave them. Your spelling mistakes, why, she'd pay for them at a gold louis apiece!"
"Then if I make twenty-five errors, she'll pay twenty-five louis."
"Forget that silliness, now write.. . hm, let me think-ah, good. Here-
"Madame the Countess:
"I understand perfectly that an existence such as you offer me would be happiness incarnate, but I was too hasty and if it wasn't happiness I found the shadow of it at least in the arms of the man I love. I wouldn't leave him for any thing in the world. He might console himself, for it's said that all men are fickle, but I'd never console myself It hurts me to reply to you thus, you were so good to me that I love you with all my heart, and if there weren't a social distance between us, I'd like to be your friend. But I understand one doesn't want to make a friend of a woman whom one would willingly have made one's mistress. Anyway, whether I see you again or not, I shall retain in memory many sweet sensations, the loveliest I ever felt.. . the kiss you gave me on my breasts and the feeling of your breath when you put your mouth on my thighs. Remembering your kiss, I close my eyes and sigh; remembering the warmth of your breath, I swoon. I ought not to tell you this, for it's like a confession. But it's not to the beautiful countess that I say this, it's to my dear Odette."
I paused, then dictated a postscript:
"Your little Violette who has given you her heart, but who keeps her soul for you."
"No," Violette flung away the pen, "I won't write that. Because my heart and soul are you, you may not want them, but I can't take them back from you."
"Oh, dear love," I sighed as I took her in my arms and covered her with kisses. "Ah," I said, "I'd give all the countesses in the world for one of these lovely silky black hairs that stay in my mustache when I-" At this, she put a hand over my lips; I'd already noticed that, as is typical of nervous, high-strung natures, she let me do everything passionate to her.
I told her we'd send the letter to the countess; by messenger if she wanted a reply this evening. I would go out to dinner and be back by nine; if a letter came, she was to save it for me to read with her, and she promised she would not open it.
On the corner, I found a messenger and gave him the letter, asking him to bring back a reply if there was one. I was so curious myself to read such a reply that at a quarter of nine I was back at Violette's.
Sure enough, she handed me a letter.
"You can't say I'm late," I chuckled.
"Yes, but did you come early for me or the Countess?" she laughed. I put the letter back into my pocket, and she gasped, "What are you doing?"
"We'll read it tomorrow, just to prove to you I'm not concerned, and that I came for you, not for her."
She flung her arms about my neck, kissed me hard. "Do I kiss well, dear?"
"Superbly."
"You taught me how."
"Just as I taught you that the tongue isn't made just for speech."
"Mine, apart from our kisses, is used only for that, Christian."
"The Countess will teach you another use, believe me."
"Let's read the letter," she coaxed, and so we did. It read as follows:
"Dear Little Violette: l don't know if the letter I have from you is really yours or was dictated; but if it's yours, you're simply a little demon. Leaving you at three this afternoon, I swore I wouldn't write you. When I got your letter, I swore I wouldn't see you again, and I'd read the first half of it and still meant to keep my vow. But in the second part, you changed your style, you little serpent.. . now you talk of sensations you experienced, and at once the veil I drew over my own memories is lifted. I see you lying on the chaise longiie, I roll between my lips the sweet strawberry-like tidbit of your nipple which stiffens against my teeth-and my eyes blur. Oh, fool that I am, I have only to murmur your name and repeat it and I, too, swoon-Violette, flower ofingratitude and suffering, such as you are, I desire you.. . I want you.. . I love you.
No, it's not true, I detest you, I don't want to see you again, I shan't. I curse my hand at even writing all this. I curse the desire that led me to your apartment, I take the letter fallen from my fingers, and I read again the line where you mention the impression of my breath on your thighs. Ah, I see that silky black nook, that perfumed chalice, which I was breathing in and was going to touch with my lips and devour with my teeth, when a word from you. But I don't understand what you said to me, I don't remember it, I've no memory save in my eyes-God, oh, what beautiful thighs! God, what a sweet belly! What I haven't seen must be beautiful too-no, I don't want to, I'm mad, tomorrow I'll be pale enough to die, ugly enough to frighten people. You charming, cursed one.. . no, I shan't-Violette, your mouth, your titties-you-oh my God-ah, when will I see you again?
Your Odette, ashamed of herself, who hides her head I know not where."
"Now here's a passion I hadn't dreamed of," I said. "I must sketch you both at the supreme moment."
"Monsieur Christian!"
"Come, answer me-what are you going to do."
"You know very well you dictate, I only hold the pen."
"Very well," I told her, "write this." And here was the letter I had her write:
"Dear Odette:
Tomorrow at nine m the morning, Christian leaves me; it's the hour when I bathe. You offered to have me take a bath with you; I offer you taking one with me, though I really don't see what pleasure you'll have in it.
I haven't .he slightest idea what two women's love can be; you must teach me everything. I know nothing. I'm confused.
But with you, I'll learn quickly, for I love you.
Your Violette."
She sealed the letter, wrote the address and summoned Leonie, saying, "Have that taken by a messenger."
"This very evening," I insisted.
"Monsieur needn't worry," Leonie declared, "it will go at once," and she left the room, only to return a moment later. "Miss," she said, "the Negro chauffeur of Madame the Countess just came to see if there was any answer to his mistress's letter. Can I give him this one?"
"Yes, and quickly."
Leonie went out this time and did not return. "Your Countess is in a hurry," I remarked. "What am I to do tomorrow, darling?" Violette asked me.
"Whatever you wish, I leave you to your own inspirations."
"Very well," she murmured sweetly, "I'll give you more pleasure than ever before, till she comes."
And how she did-ah, what fucking and gamahuching we had that night of nights!
"Yes, yes, all you want"
The next morning, a few minutes before nine, Violette was in a perfumed bath and I was hiding in a closet forming one of the corners of the room so I would miss nothing visual or audible. Every trace of me had vanished; the draperies had been changed and cleaned with cologne water. At exactly nine o'clock, a carriage stopped outside. A moment later, the Countess entered, led in by Leonie who went out, closing the door behind her, and the Countess locked the door.
The bathroom was lighted with an antique kerosene lamp made of Bohemian rose glass; the opening at the ceiling had been closed off so that there would be no blending of daylight and artificial light, which creates such false nuances.
"Violette, Violette, where are you?" the Countess cried.
"Here, in the bathroom."
The Countess hurried to the room, and stood still on the threshold. Violette was just emerging from the tub, holding out her arms, a naked nymph.
"Oh, yes, yes," the Countess gasped, hurrying to her love. She wore a long black velvet blouse with a huge diamond button fixing it at the throat, and fastening at the waist with a Russian belt embroidered in gold, silver and cerise. She began by removing her pink silk stockings and her boots-which drew off like stockings-then she unbuttoned the diamond button, unfastened the belt, and slipped out of the blouse. Under it was a batiste peignoir garnished with Valenciennes lace at the throat and sleeves. She let it fall as she had the blouse, and she was naked.
The Countess was truly a magnificent creature, like Diana the Huntress; her bosom was small, her waist supple as a tree swaying to the wind, her belly was irreproachable and a forest of red hair grew over her cunt, like a surge of flame emerging from the crater of a volcano. She approached the tub, wanting to enter it. But Violette stopped her:
"Ah, let me see you first. You're beautiful enough for one to take time admiring you."
"Do you think so, dear heart?
"Oh, yes!"
"Look, then-oh, yes, let me feel your eyes burning me as mirrors do.. . see, everything belongs to you-my eyes, my mouth, my bosom."
"And that lovely bouquet of red flowers, too?" Violette teased as she pointed to the Countess's furry twat.
"Oh, yes, lover, that above all else!"
"What a lovely color-why isn't it the same as your hair?"
"Rather, why isn't my hair the color of my pussy? Why am I a woman who doesn't love men? Because I am a composite of contrast. Come, make a place for me, my dearest love. I long to feel your heart beating against mine!"
The tub was wide and had enough room for two; the Countess slid down beside Violette, and the transparent, crystal-like water permitted every thing to be seen in sweet and exciting carnal clarity. The Countess squirmed around Violette like an eel, passing her head under Violette's shoulder to bite her armpit, then merging her lips to my mistress' yielding mouth. "Ah," she murmured, "Now I have you, you wicked child, and you'll pay me back for what you made me suffer. First give me your mouth, your lips and tongue-oh, when I think that it was a man who was first to give you such kisses, who taught you how to give them back, I don't know what holds me back from strangling you!"
like a serpent that strikes, Odette thrust her mouth forward to apply stinging kiss on kiss, while one slim hand cupped one of Violette's titties; "Oh," she sighed, "what adorable, dear titties, how you've made me lose my head over you!" And she caressed them, her head falling back, her eyes half closed, her breath whistling between her teeth. "But speak to me then, delight of my soul," she murmured.
"Odette, dear Odette," Violette sighed.
"But listen to how she says that, the little wretch, the way she says good morning. Aren't you afraid your Christian will hear you? Wait, wait, and I'll make your voice climb the scale of passion, you naughty creature-" and her hand slid down from the girl's tittie to her lip, and lower still, where she paused just before touching Violette's cunthole, as if hesitating to profane that hallowed nook. "Do you feel my heart beating against yours?" she purred. "Ah, if it could only kiss yours as I kiss your mouth-if only it could-do you feel it?"
"Yes, ahh, yes," Violette murmured, as she began to feel the first stirrings of lust. "Oooh, it-it's your finger there.. .ag.. .against my p-pussy, isn't it?"
"You're so young, scarcely developed enough for me to feel the dear little love button which gives the flowering of life to nature.. . ah, yes, there is it, dear Violette!"
"Ohh, how delicate your finger is, how soft it is, how it makes me shiver hardly touching me," my sweetheart gasped.
"Do you want it faster, harder?"
"Oh, no, just like that, it's so lovely!"
"But what about you using your hands too, pet?"
"Ah, Odette, I told you-I-I don't know anything and you must teach me."
"Even how to come?"
"Ahh! ohh, no.. .t.. .that comes of itself.. .Odette.. . dear Odette.. .Od-"
The Countess silenced the rest of that sigh in a greedy, sucking kiss. "Good," she said at last, "it's not enough to speak a language, one must use the right accent too."
"I'm a good pupil," Violette replied, "I ask nothing better than to learn."
"Then get out of the tub, I can't put my head under the water, and I've two words to say to you to add aloud to what my finger's just said to you, pet.
"Yes, let's," Violette agreed, "there's a good fire and plenty of towels to dry ourselves."
"Come, I'll dry you, love." The Countess kissed her sweet young charge again as she rose from the tub, beautiful as her body emerged, dripping water, as Thetis and as proud. She thought she had deceived me and conquered. Violette, lifted up in her arms, glanced towards where I hid as if to say to me, "I'm doing this to please you and by your orders." All the curtains were drawn, and the room had only a fire going to light it.
Both beauties stood shivering beside the fireplace, but the Countess occupied herself only with Violette. I saw her dry each bodily treasure of my darling mistress; her hand stopped so that each part of Violette's nakedness had its share of flattering caresses. Her neck and arms, her back and shoulders, her throat and loins, all of these charms were attended to by a chronological order. As for the Countess herself, the warmth of her bare skin sufficed to dry her, for Violette remained passive, letting the Countess fondle her, but doing nothing in return.
And from time to time, Odette reproached her:
"But don't you find my throat lovely, why don't you kiss it? Don't you think my pussy hair is nice and soft for your fingers? I warn you I'm on fire, and that soon you must give me back what I give you, and must make me spend with your fingers and mouth."
"But, dear Odette," Violette replied, "you know very well I'm an ignorant little girl."
"Yes, but you were asking for nothing better than to learn! So, I'll show you."
The Countess led Violette to the bed so I could see them perfectly. She laid Violette across the mattress, knelt down on the black bearskin, gently spread the girl's thighs, stared a moment at that delicious little quim; then, her nostrils flaring and her lips curled back, teeth chattering like a panther about to spring on its prey, she merged her mouth to Violette's soft cunt.
This caress is usually the triumph of a woman who sets herself up as a man's rival; she must, with skill and agility, leave her sweetheart nothing to regret when she plays a role for which she was not made by nature. It appeared that in promising every carnal joy to Violette, the Countess had not overly boasted. Not without jealousy, I saw my dear little mistress roll, twist, cry out, pant, die, under that pitiless mouth which seemed to want to suck out her very soul. For an artist, the scene was exquisite. The Countess, kneeling with her bottom-cheeks pressed against her heels, followed with her body every movement of Violette's; so her loins moved with adorable squirmings, and desire made her shrived with sensual delight enough to be assured that in this activity she would lose nothing and might even gain greater delight than had my mistress actively participated.
Finally, fatigue came upon them and Violette slid down onto the bearskin and she and Odette lay beside each other.
"Ah," Odette murmured, "now it's my turn, you owe me that." And she drew Violette to her, took the girl's hand and put it to her fiery red cuntthatch which contrasted so vividly with her blonde hair and black eyebrows.
But Violette had learned her lesson, and now executed it like a consummate actress. Doubtless the Countess had occasion to complain about the girl's awkwardness, for I heard her murmur. "But it's not there-your finger is too high up-there.. . there.. .no, lower down.. .don't you feel something stiffening? That's what you must touch.. .it's that tickling there which makes me spend-oh, you're doing that on purpose, you wicked little thing!"
"No, I assure you I'm not, I'm doing my best."
"But when you arrive there, why do you take your finger away...there, right now-"
"My finger slipped."
"Ohh, you burn me without putting out the fire," the Countess groaned as she writhed with insatiable lust.
"Listen, my beautiful lover," Violette proposed, "let's try it another way."
"How?"
"You get into bed, your head lying back towards the mirror, and I on my knees; I shall caress you with my mouth."
"Yes, yes, all you want!"
The Countess stood up with a bound, flung herself on her back on the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, legs straddled, body arched by the roundness of the bed. That was the moment I awaited, and I emerged from my hiding place.
"Am I all right this way?" Odette demanded with a delicious wriggle of her bottom-cheeks. "Good., then push aside my pussy hairs.. ,mmmm."
I followed Odette's instructions-she, lying as she was with head flung back and eyes fixed on the ceiling, did not espy me, in her dreamy reverie to be girl fucked.
"Is that right?" Violette asked.
"Yes.. .now, your mouth.. .and if you don't make me come, I'll strangle you!"
I had applied my mouth to the spot indicated and had no trouble encountering the object which Violette had been accusing of overlooking; it was, as I had guessed, much longer than in ordinary women; one would have regarded it as the nipple of a virgin tittie stiffened by suction; sol began by taking and rolling it gently between my lips.
The Countess uttered a sigh of sensuality:
"Ohh, that's it, if you continue that way, I-I believe.. .th.. .that you'll owe me nothing!"
I continued, drawing Violette to me and showing her what part she was to play in this menage a trois. But with me, Violette wasn't clumsy; she was the accomplice of pleasure, guessing the thousand caprices of voluptuousness. Where I was content to put my hand, she put her mouth and I felt with supreme joy that she was returning to me, save for the difference in form, the same caress I was giving the Countess, who continued to be more and more enthralled:
"Oh-how lovely it's going.. .ahh, you little liar who say she had to be taught, that's exactly right-not too fast.. . I want it to last forever.. .ahh.. .ohh.. .y.. . your tongue.. .ohh, how I feel it in me! You, you are.. .ohh.. .very adroit.. .ahh, your teeth now.. .oh, yes, yes, bite me sweetly.. .ahh-but oh it's heavenly!"
Had I been able to speak, I could have paid the same compliments to Violette, that darling child with instincts made especially for love. Her mouth and tongue accorded my swollen, aching prick the most enchanting of titillations. I admit that I took great delight in gamahuching the countess; never had I pressed my lips to a sweeter pussy-peach which my tongue gouged so deliciously. It was firm and young, as if she were sixteen not twenty eight; one saw that male brutality had only removed her hymen but not annihilated the way to more subtle pleasures.
I did not centralize my gamahuching on her tickler, that seat of pleasure in a young girl who frigs herself most often; a mature woman yearns for vaginal caressing too. My tongue descended from time to time into the warm rich depths which lead to the bottom of the matrix. Now my fingers replaced my lips on her tickler.
She was in a seventh heaven.
"Ohh, it's strange, I've never had such pleasure! Oh, I shan't let you finish unless you promise me to start all over again.. .you know I feel everything, that I can distinguish everything-your lips, your tongue-ohh, if you keep on that way, I shan't be able to hold back, you'll rob me of my self control.. . I'm .going to come.. .ah.. .ohh, I'm going to give down.. .oh, it's impossible that you're the one who's given me such pleasure.. .ohh, Violette, dear sweet adorable Violette . .ahhhh!"
Violette hadn't the slightest desire to reply.
"Violette, tell me it's you-oh, no there's too much sciences of a real woman in it, it's impossible it's you!"
She made an effort to rise, but both my hands on her chest fixed her to the bed; moreover, the extreme joy was seething in her twat, and I felt her pussy contract under my lips. I redoubled the movement of my tongue, I added to it the tickling of my moustache which I had not employed till then. She writhed, crying out, and then I felt that warm flood of cunny dew which seem to trickle out from the very depths of her cunny well and concentrate in the vagina. I sucked in her very soul!
I myself had waited for that moment to achieve my own pleasure, and now Violette slid, panting, to my feet. I hadn't the strength to thwart the movement which the Countess made in lifting her head to stare at the battlefield, and she then bounded out of bed.
"My word," I said to Violette, "I did all I could to make peace with the Countess, now you must sign the act." And I went back into the bathroom.
First I heard cries, then tears, then sighs; when I peeked out of the door, I saw that Violette had replaced me and was succeeding very nicely with Odette by emulating what I had done.
When she had finished, the Countess sighed, "Ah, I must say you are good. But earlier, it was divine," and she held out her hand to me; the peace pact was signed.
So the treaty we belligerents concluded was this:
1) That Violette would remain my absolute mistress.
2) That I would lend her to the Countess, but in my presence.
3) That I should take a woman's part whenever I wished with the Countess, but never a man's.
You recall Violette's reservations on the subject, I dare say. The treaty was written in triplicate and signed. I added a clause that if she and Violette should trick me, I should acquire for the same length of time as their infidelity had lasted, the same rights over Odette that I had over Violette.
The first infidelity
Violette had at first feared that my love for her might diminish because of this kind of sharing between us; I might from my point of view had the same fear, but this kind of menage a trois, that we agreed on had, quite the contrary, the effect of intensifying our pleasure by adding its spicy note of passion.
As we scrupulously held to the terms of the treaty, neither I nor Violette experienced any jealousy. But this did not hold true for Odette; whenever I became a man and fucked Violette, Violette had to bestow on Odette even more amorous caresses.
Since it was agreed that Odette should never girl fuck Violette unless I was there, I always had my mistress to myself all I wished, and so I never perceived that anything was lacking when the Countess wasn't there. As a painter, this life was both pleasure and study for me. Often, in the midst of caresses, I sprang out of bed and took my sketchbook and pencil; then, standing beyond my two models, I exhorted them to new ardors which furnished me with new poses and emphasized the lovely bodily contours of both women in new, exciting patterns. But amid all this, I did not forget that Violette felt herself called to the theater as a vocation.
I had made her learn Racine's "Iphigenia," Mo-liere's "False Angels," and Victor Hugo's "Marion Delorme," since I felt that in comic roles she had her greatest potential. The Countess, who had been brought up at the Convent of the Birds, had played comedy roles on holidays, which was usual with boarding-school pensioners. Her stature, her almost masculine voice gave her poses and her vivid diction a certain imposing color which made me take pleasure in having them perform together a scene from Racine. I then asked one of my friends for a letter of introduction to a dramatic teacher, he gave it to me and smilingly told me to warn Violette that she would probably have to defend herself against Monsieur X's bedroom manners.
I myself led Violette to this noted Monsieur X, gave him my friend's letter, had him listen to Violette act out three scenes, and his advice was that her aptitude led her to gay, not grave, roles. So he gave her "Cherubin" to learn. All went well for three weeks, but at the end of that time, Violette one evening flung her arms round my neck and said she didn't want to go back to her professor.
What my friend had warned me of had happened. During the first four or five lessons, the master had shown her all the respect he would for a sister. But little by little, under the pretext of getting her to learn how, to blend gesture with speech, he had put his hands on her and Violette had been forced to repulse caresses which were rather more from a lover than a dramatic teacher. She paid him for her lessons and did not go back. We tried to find another; he began like his predecessor, and finished the same way.
One day, at study time, she found him out, but he had told his maid to have her wait. She went into his office, and on his desk found a book opened in place of the Moliere play from which she was to recite. It was a licentious book with obscene drawings. Her gaze was drawn to the book, entitled "Therese, Philosopher." The title meant nothing to her, but the first drawing that she glanced at spoke far more eloquently. It might have been an accident that the book was there instead of the rightful play, but Violette didn't think so and refused to go back to him.
She was passionate but not vulgar. During the three years I knew her and during which time either the two of us, or the three, exhausted the repertory of all carnal caresses, not once did a filthy word ever emerge from her rosy mouth.
We paid off this second professor as we had the first, and then I resolved to find a woman dramatic coach. I consulted a great artist among my friends; who was allied to a girl with great talent who had played at the Odeon and the Porte Saint-Martin with success. They called her Florence. However, we fell from Chary bdis to Scylla, for Florence was one of the most ardent tribadists in all Paris. She had never wanted to marry and she had never been known to have a male lover. So the Countess, Violette and I decided to consult her.
I wasn't especially anxious to extend the circle of my sexual relations, knowing from experience the inconvenience of dividing love into too many portions. But I intended to do all I could to further my mistress's ambitions. I chatted a while with Odette, and learned that she knew Florence and admired her enormously. So I had Odette pose as an adorer, and then present Violette as a child in whom she was interested; but at the same time, to take a jealous attitude so that Florence would know enough to keep hands off. Florence had just creat the gamut of passion with which nature had endowed her.
Odette found no repugnance in the role she had to play and rented a box for a month at the theater where Florence was playing. She wore a man's costume well enough to deceive most people, and so, installing herself in her private box, lifting the green screen, remained hidden from the public and visible only to the actress on stage.
She was ravishing in that costume of a waistcoat of black velvet and satin, sea-green trousers, a buff-colored vest and cerise tie; little black moustaches to go with her black eyebrows, and Odette made a young dandy of about eighteen in the eyes of those who looked at her. An enormous bouquet from the shop of the most popular florist of the day, Madame Bargou, was on the chair beside her; at a given moment, she flung it at Florence's feet. An actress who receives for three or four consecutive evenings bouquets worth thirty or forty francs apiece ends by watching the box from which they are flung.
Florence glanced into the box and saw a charming young collegiate boy; she found "him" handsome and amusing, and said to herself, "What a pity, he's a man."
The next day and the day after that, the same floral enthusiasm and the same regret on Florence's part. On the fifth day, a note was enclosed in the bouquet. Florence saw it, but her indifference to the male sex made her decide to open it only when she returned to her own home. She had supped alone and sadly, and was staring dreamily at the fireplace when she recalled the note. She called her maid, "Mariette, there was a note in the bouquet this evening; give it to me."
The maid brought it on a porcelain plate; Florence opened and read it. But her indifference vanished at the first line-for this is how it read (thanks to my own dictating skill, needless to say):
"In truth, adorable Florence, I write to you with the red of shame on my forehead, but each human creature endures his or her share of fatality. Mine is to have met you and fallen in love with you, like one possessed. Pity me, I am obliged to admit to you that I am not what I seem, and to tell you: I love you like a madwoman. Now, mock me, scorn me, repulse me-whatever you do will be sweet since it comes from you-even slander. Odette."
When her eyes fell on the word "madwoman," Florence uttered a cry. "Mariette, Mariette," she called out to her maid, "It's a woman!"
"I suspected as much."
"Fool! Then why didn't you tell me so?"
"I was afraid I might be wrong."
"Ah," Florence murmured to herself, "How beautiful she must be!"
Then, after a moment of silence, she demanded aloud, "Where are the bouquets?"
"Madame knows very well that, thinking they came from a man, she ordered me to throw them out."
"But tonight's bouquet?"
"It's here."
"Give it to me."
Mariette brought it. Florence took it, regarded it with a fond smile: "Isn't it splendid?"
"No more so than the others."
"You think so?"
"Madame didn't look at them."
"Ah," Florence laughed, "I shan't be so ungrateful over this one. Help me undress, Mariette."
"Madame doesn't intend to keep it in her room?"
"And why not?"
"There are magnolias, tuberoses, lilacs, all flowers with strong perfume, which could give Madame a headache."
"There's no danger."
"I beg Madame to let me take it away."
"No, you shan't touch it."
"If Madame wants to asphyxiate herself with flowers," the maid began. Florence interrupted:
"Don't you think it would be better to die amid all these flowers than in three or four years of consumption, as I shall probably die?" And she gave two or three little dry coughs.
"If Madame dies in three or four years," the maid as she slid down the actress' dress, "it will be her own fault."
"How so?"
"I heard what the doctor said to Madame yesterday. I was in Madame's bathroom, emptying the water from her bidet, and sometimes one hears without listening."
"Well? So what did he say?"
"He said that it would be better for Madame to have two or three lovers than to do what she does all by herself."
Florence grimaced with disgust.
"I don't like men, she said, as she inhaled with a voluptuous shudder the Countess' bouquet.
"If Madame will sit down, I'll take off her stocking," Mariette proposed; her mistress sat down, without a word, her face buried in the flowers, and let herself be unshod,-hen her feet bathed in warm water into which her maid had poured a few drops of floral extract by Lubin, a noted perfumer of the epoch. In undressing at the theater, Florence had changed her chemise. Her maid now asked what scent she wished put into the bidet, and Florence replied, "The same. It was the one my poor Denise loved. Do you know I've been faithful to her for six months, Mariette?"
"Yes, at the expense of your health."
"Oh.. .I think of her.. .doing that .twith her finger-and when spend, I say in a low voice, Denise.. . Denise.. . "
"Will you say that tonight?"
"Shh!" Florence smiled, a finger to her mouth.
"You need me further, Madame?"
"No."
"If Madame is sick tomorrow, she will be just enough to admit it was not my fault," the maid said gravely.
"If I'm sick tomorrow, I shall be furious only at myself, that I promise. Good night, Mariette." Her maid went out with a smile such as one has who knows all her mistress's secrets.
Alone before her mirror at each side of which a candelabra burned, Florence waited till the sound of her maid's footsteps died away, then, on tiptoe, barefooted, she bolted the door of her bedroom. Then, returning to the mirror, she read the Countess' note again, kissed it, then put it on her dressing table and let down her hair. Next, untying the ribbon of her chemise, she kissed the garment and let it fall. She was a magnificent brunette with big blue eyes, shadowed circles always fatally under them-the mark of her malady. She had long hair that fell to her knees and veiled a somewhat meager figure but which retained admirable proportions.
Mariette had explained, as we know, the cause of that meagerness, but what she had not explained, despite her knowledge of Florence's secrets, was the abundance of hair with which the front of Florence's body was covered. Indeed, this dark hair rose from her pussy to her chest, growing beneath her bosom; it covered the lower part of her belly and passed over her cunt to ascend up the groove separating her buttocks. She was proud of this incredible hirsuteness which seemed to make of her a being composed of both sexes; she perfumed and shampooed this hair with great care. What was unusual, however, was that her skin of a true brunette, like magnificent stone, had absolutely no bodily hair anywhere else but in this one extended and luxuriant growth!
Smiling at herself, she took a fine little brush and unsnarled all the rebellious mossy curls. Then she took the strongest-scented flowers from the bouquet, made a crown of them, placed it atop her head, and affixed tuberoses and jonquils all down her tresses; made f her cunt fur a garden of roses communicating with the extension up to her titties with violets from Parma. Then, all covered with flowers, enervated by the sharp perfumes which emanated from them, she lay down languorously on a kind of chaise lounge drawn up before her mirror, so she might see her nakedness.
Finally, her eyes half closed, legs stiffened, head fallen back and nostrils shuddering, one hand on a swelling tittie over which she spread all five fingers, she slid her other hand to the Mount of Venus; there her finger disappeared amid the roses and the thick curly tendrils of her cunt garden; and as she tickled her cunt, nervous shivering began to agitate her entire naked body. Involuntary movements, were synchronized to unintelligible words, stifled sighs; and then a groan of approach to spending; then plaints amid which one could hear-had one been present-not the name of Denise, but that of Odette. It was the first infidelity in six months she had committed to the memory of that beautiful Russian who had been her last sweetheart and girl fucking lover.
"Come, are you a woman or a flower?"
When she entered her mistress's room the next day, Mariette looked around vigilantly; she saw the chaise lounge, the rug strewn with flowers; Florence exhausted on her bed, asked for a bath. Mariette shook her head, murmuring: "Oh, Madame, Madame."
"Well, what is it?"
"When I think that the handsomest men and the loveliest women in Paris would go mad for you."
"Don't I deserve them."
"But of course you do!"
"Well, I'm like them-save that I go mad for myself, all by myself."
"Madame is incorrigible-but, only out of human respect, were I madame, I should have a lover."
"I can't endure men. Do you love them, Mariette?"
"Men, no. A man, yes."
"Men love us only by egoism, to show us off if we're beautiful, to be seen with us if we have talent. No, if I submitted to a man, he'd have to be so superior that I would have at least admiration if not love for me. Listen, my poor child, I lost my mother before I knew her; I was the daughter of a mathematician who brought me up to believe only in lines, squares and circles. He called God the great unity; he called the universe; the great whole; he called death the great problem. He died when I was fifteen, leaving me with neither fortune nor illusions. I became an actress and now to what purpose does my science serve me? To scorn, most of the time, the play I am presenting, to find in all the dramas I act in, historical blunders. Of what use is all my intellect?" She shook her head, resumed:
"To find in all dramas of the heart, faults of sentiment; to shrug my shoulders to the self-esteem of authors who come to read me their puerile efforts; most of my successes, I decry as encouragements of bad taste. When I began, I spoke with pure diction; it made no hit with my audiences, I sang when I talked-ah, then I was applauded. First, I composed my roles wisely and planned them, and people said, 'Yes, it's very good.' Then I made grandiose gestures, rolled my eyes, wept and the room shook with thunderous applause. Then men who pay me compliments do not praise in me the merits I really esteem; the women do not understand beauty as I understand it. God be praised, thanks to my defects and my qualities, I earn enough to need no one."
"But, Madame-"
"Wait! To owe something to a man and to say to him, 'Here you are, here's my body, take your pay'-no, I'd rather die!"
"But women, Madame?"
"I allow them only because I dominate them, because I am their man, their spouse, their master. But they're capricious, willful, and generally inferior and made to be submissive to a stronger being. But once you subjugate one, she cries out against your tyranny and betrays you. No, you see, Mariette, the ideal of domination is to be mistress of oneself, to do only what pleases you, to go only where you wish, to obey only your own will, to give no one the right to say to you, 'I want.' No one has the right with me. I am twenty-two. I'm a virgin like Hermione, Clorinda, Bradamante, and if ever I lose my virginity, I shall lose it to myself, both pleasure and pain; I don't want, when I die, to have a man say, That women belonged to me.' "
"That's Madame's taste, which cannot be gain said."
"Not my taste, but rather my philosophy."
"As for me," said the maid, "I know I'd be humiliated to die a virgin."
"That's a misfortune I'm sure won't happen to you. Come dress me now."
Florence languorously got out of bed, sat on the chase-longue near the mirror. She was not precisely a lovely woman; yet she was one of the rare talents like Dorval or Malibran, capable-though she had never felt love save in imagination-of portraying the wildest flights of imagine and emotion. She bathed, made her lunch of a cup of chocolate, reread the Countess' letter a dozen times, dined or consumed and two brook trout and some shrimp, then went to the theater.
The "handsome young man"-rather, the Countess-was in her box, with a huge bouquet on the chair beside her. In the fourth act, amid a very pathetic scene, the Countess flung her bouquet to the stage. Florence caught it, sought the note attached to it, and read it without taking time to go back to her dressing room. It was modeled in these terms:
"Have I obtained my pardon? My impatience is so great I come to seek my answer now. If you've pardoned me, put a flower from my bouquet in your hair. In that case, which will make the most amorous of lovers the happiest of women, I shall await you at the door of the artist in my own carriage, for I shall be permitted to hope that instead of supping alone at your house, you'd come eat a pheasant wing with me, at mine.
Odette."
Florence, hardly stopping to ponder, tore away a red camellia from the bouquet, put it into her hair, and returned to the stage. Odette rose and went to the edge of her box, and Florence found a way to blow her a kiss. Half an hour later, the carriage of the Countess, with shades lowered, was parked on the Rue de Bondy. Florence took time only to remove her makeup, pat her face with rice powder, put on a dress. She went out to the carriage; the Negro coachman opened the door for her, and she clambered in.
The Countess held out her arms to Florence, but knowing the latter's opinion on dignity, it was not surprising that the actress, with a rapid movement, took the Countess in hers, lifted her as a child, and laid her down across her lap, while bending her head to Odette's and merging mouths, her tongue sliding into Odette's mouth, while her hand unbuttoned the Countess's trousers and slid between her thighs.
"Surrender," she laughed.
"I surrender," said the Countess, "and I ask only one favor, that no one come to my aid, I want to die by your own sweet hand."
"Then die," said Florence with a sort of fury.
And, indeed, five minutes later, writhing in sweet cunt-agony, the Countess moaned, "Oh, dear Florence, how sweet it is to expire in your arms, I'm dying, I'm dying."
Her last sigh had just been emitted when the carriage stopped at the door. The two women clung together in a panting kiss; the Countess had a key to her apartment in her pocket. She opened the door and closed it behind them. The antechamber was lighted by a Chinese lantern; from there, escorting her new love, the actress entered the bedroom, lighted by a lamp of Bohemian rose glass; then Odette opened the door to a dining room, and there was a table all prepared.
"My dear love," she said, "with your permission, we'll serve each other. I'd thought to keep on my cavalier's costume to be your servant, but it might disturb our tete-a-tete. So I'll emerge in my attire of combat. There's the bathroom; it's complete enough to provide all your needs."
This bathroom, we know, was the one Odette had made Violette enter; a white marble table stood at one wall, on which were posed the finest perfumes by Guerlain, Laboullee and Dubuc. Five minutes later, Odette reappeared to join Florence. Save for pink silk stockings, blue velvet rosette garters and mules of the same material and hue, she was stark naked. Her apartment was heated by a thermostatic control from the basement furnace. "Forgive my costume," she laughed, "but I want to make a toilette which you will please and ask you what perfume you prefer."
"Am I allowed to choose?"
"Act here as in your own house."
"Well, I see there's Farina cologne water, what do you say to that?"
"I have no say, it's what you prefer."
Florence there upon poured a huge carafe of water into a charming Sevres porcelain bidet, expertly mixed it with a quarter of a flacon of the cologne; then kneeling near the bidet and taking a sponge from the marble table, said:
"I hope you'll allow me to perform your toilette. You were my servant a while ago, now it's my turn."
Odette, as she straddled the bidet and sat down on it, replied, "Well, what are you doing now?"
"I'm looking at you, my lovely mistress, and find you splendid."
"So much the better for you, since all this is yours."
"What marvelous hair! What teeth, and what a superb neck! Let me kiss the nipples of your beautiful titties. You'll find me hideous, I'm sure. I shouldn't dare undress in your presence-oh, what a satiny skin. I'll look like a Negress beside you-oh, that fiery red thatch of pussy hair-what a marvel!"
"Be still, you flatterer, and don't keep me waiting, if my pussy hair is the color of fire, it's because my pussy burns.. .extinguish it!"
Florence slid the sponge between Odette's thighs; she feeling the cool water and the gentle rubbing of the sponge, uttered a sensual little cry.
Florence now moved the sponge several times over the route traced from the back of the narrow valley of pleasure, then she dropped the sponge and began to rub it with her bare hand. The Countess leaned towards the skillful, amorous masseuse, her lips merged with Florence's, and circling her with her arms; then, rising suddenly and putting her hands on Florence's shoulders, she offered her moist perfumed cunt at the level of the actress's mouth.
Florence didn't even have time to say thanks! She glued her lips to that perfumed quim; then, crawling forward on her knees while Odette moved backwards, Florence pushed the Countess onto a low couch. Though Odette was not entirely used to taking a passive role in such girl fucking affairs, she comprehended that this nervous, slender brunette had a virility surpassing her own; she gave herself the second time with the same grace she had the first in the carriage.
For a few moments, their two bodies clung motionless together. In this kind of fucking, as we know, the sensations of the one who possesses are as keen as those of the one who receives. Florence was first to come to, rose on her knees and seemed to remain a moment in prayerful attitude before the still smoking altar on which she had sacrificed-Odette's fiery-red-haired cunthole.
She had no interest in a man's handsomeness, but she adored a woman's beauty; yet she feared her own kind of beauty might not please Odette. So, when Odette in turn came to and began to untie the belt of Florence's chemise, the latter began to tremble violently like a young girl whose virgin body is being bared for the first time to eyes other than her mother's. But the Countess too was in a hurry; an adorable perfume emerged from every fold of that chemise, and Odette exclaimed:
"Come, are you a woman or a flower? Oh, what sweet perfumes I inhale-ohh, how curious, how beautiful-" This, as she unveiled Florence's torso-
"Hair, no-it's silk-flowering and perfumed hair-what does it mean?"
And Odette began to bite with the edges of her teeth and with her lips the charming fleece which rose to the valley of Florence's titties and descended along the belly, narrowing there, only to widen at the thighs. Odette lowered the chemise, and in her turn knelt before this prodigy of nature; she put her nose and mouth to the fleece, as a bee dips into a rose. "Come, I'm vanquished, not only are you strangely beautiful, but lovelier than I," she exclaimed.
Then, circling her arms round Florence, she lifted her to her feet, and, mouth to mouth, she led the actress to the dining room. Both naked, they entered that luxurious room of mirrors and crystal chandeliers, which lustered their bodies enchantingly. They sat on cerise velvet cushions, and they shared champagne out of the same glass.
I'd split you apart"
First, there were little marks of attentiveness, as lovers show their mistresses at first liaison. A delicately sliced pheasant wing in lemon juice, Chateau d'Yquem wine poured out by a trembling hand into a crystal goblet; a truffle cooked in champagne; sugared peaches (after the purplish center left by a removed pit had been playfully cupped over a tittie bud!)-all this mingled with ardent kisses over arms and shoulders, then mouth to mouth. Finally they rose, Odette taking with her a gold thread basket of fruit like the goddess Pomona, while Florence, like a bacchante, held a silver cup full of sparkling champagne.
They approached the bed, set down basket and cup on a white marble night table. They stared at each other, as if asking, who shall begin.
"Ah," Odette murmured, "this time I must be the first." Doubtless this demand seemed just to the actress, for, without a word, she put her mouth to Odette's and lay down on her back and spread her thighs with eagerness.
Odette stared ecstatically at this strange body which had a man's virility and a woman's grace; she took a gold comb, studded with diamonds, which she had put in her hair through supper, and made of, it a diadem for this charming divinity, this mystic Isis who first among all goddesses, was worshipped under the charming name of Saunis. The diamonds and gold sparkled in that black fur in which the teeth of the comb were buried to the ends without yet touching the pink lips of the actress' secret cunt chalice. Then Odette knelt down, set Florence's thighs over her shoulders, parted that tufted fleece which hid the grotto of pleasure, and at last opened the lips, whose pink satiny tint contrasted vividly with the frame of black velvet of Florence's luxuriant pussy fur.
She uttered a cry of joy, fused her mouth to that tempting cunt, and began to nibble and suck at the clitoris which stiffened voluptuously and which for an instant she stroked with her tongue; wanting to make the caress deeper, she dug her tongue in deeply-then uttered an astonished cry: she found the hymen blocking her tongue's gouging route. She straightened quickly and lifted Florence up by the neck, panting:
"What does this mean?"
"But, dear Odette," Florence laughingly murmured, "just that I'm a virgin or a maiden, according to your definition of the words."
"Is there a difference?"
"An immense moral one, dear friend; a virgin is a girl whom no mouth has touched, no finger-not even her own; she is one who has never spent; the maiden is simply one who, despite her own touchings or a male's friggings-or a female's too, to be sure-has had strength enough to retain her hymen."
"Ah," Odette joyously cried, "then I've found a woman pure of a man's contact-oh, I dare hardly believe it, beautiful Florence."
"Believe it, for I shall have many reproaches to make you when you finish. Oh, you wicked one, I was beginning to feel the first titillations of pleasure.. . resume your place, dear Odette, and if something has the marvelous privilege of astonishing you, at least wait till you've finished making me love gush before you tell me."
"Just one more word?"
Florence slid a finger down to her clitoris and began to tickle it herself so as not to let the temperature of girl fucking cool the while:
"Speak," she said.
"Then, you are a maiden, but no longer virgin."
"No, since what I'm doing right now as I await your attentions, lazy one, suffices to deflower me."
"Do men figure in this virginity of yours, Florence?"
"Not in the slightest; no man's eye has ever seen me, no man has ever touched me where I now touch myself."
"Oh," Odette cried, "that's all I wanted to know!" And she fell on Florence, pushed away her finger and ardently glued her mouth to that sweet cunt. Florence uttered a little cry; perhaps Odette's teeth had nipped that sensitive zone a bit too keenly, but at once Odette's tongue soothed the hurt, and assured itself that if Florence was technically not a virgin, she was at least as completely a maiden as any female could be.
Florence, on her part, learned two things: first, that even one's own gifted finger cannot possibly tickle a pussy to creamy come so deliciously as can an ardent mouth devouring you which has such varying agents of pleasure as sucking lips, biting teeth and tickling, delving tongue; secondly, that there was a vast difference between the Russian Denise and the Parisian Odette.
Her pleasure was announced by sobbing little cried of voluptuousness, which sounded like cries of pain, and she was nearly fainting when Odette resumed on her mouth the kisses which, till then, had been directed at that other amorous mouth-her cunthole.
"Now, ohh, now, it's my turn," Florence murmured in a dying voice, and she let herself slide to the foot of the bed in the pose of a wounded gladiator. The Countess resumed her place on the bed, and, wriggled towards Florence's face, just as the actress panted, "Ah, if a man had seen and heard what you've heard, I could never lift my head again." At that moment, Odette was so near her that her pussy-hair grazed the actress's tresses; the beautiful brunette trembled, her nostrils flared, she raised her head, opened her eyes, and her mouth was opposite that flaming bouquet of pussy which was Odette's red cunt fleece, the first sight of which had made her quim so frantically randy.
But as the first fury of her desires was appeased, she had more leisure to devote to giving joy now, she gently kissed that perfumed pussy mane, then parted the tendrils to appreciate it visually, more than but the sense of touch.
Odette had never borne a child, so the pussylips and her vaginal sheath were of perfect freshness, that charming rosy hue one calls "nymph's thigh." Florence yawned open with her fingers the larger lips and her eyes now falling on the basket of fruit, she reached for the smallest but most ripened peach and placed it on top of Odette's labia minora, partly covering it with the labia majora.
"Now, how sweetly that peach is framed," she murmured. "Would I had a painter's art, I'd paint that peach, not for itself, but for the frame. Now watch!" And with a paring knife, she delicately cut away the skin; then sliced the peach in two, took out the pit and put it back over Odette's inner cuntlips. "That half peach seems a part of yourself and gives you a new virginity," she jested. "I shall eat you; stop me when you feel my teeth, for I'm capable of devouring the fruit beneath the peach as well, my beauty!"
Still keeping the half of that peach pressed against Odette's cunthole, she fused her mouth to the rosy concavity formed by the removal of the pit, and with teeth and tongue began to gouge into that hollow, enjoying it drop by drop, while Odette with unspeakable bliss feel approach within her the demolishing instrument which was destroying the obstacle that put her cunt beyond reach of that delving tongue. At last the peach was gone, and Florence's tongue came into contact with Odette's cunt-citadel itself.
It was open, wanting nothing better than to receive the instruments; Florence looked at the basket again, and this time chose a banana; before Odette could suspect her plan, the actress slid the banana into her lover's quim, and, taking the emerging end between her teeth, suddenly dug forward so that the half of the fruit probed down along the vaginal canal, and then she began a kind of in and out maneuver just as in fucking a man achieves with his swollen prong. Odette uttered a cry of astonishment and pleasure:
"Ohh--have you become a man-take care-I'm going to detest you-ohh-ohhh, I detest you.. .I detest you.. .oh, how you make me spend.. .ahh.. . ohh how I love you.. .ohh-ahhhh!" And now it was her turn to swoon.
Florence, now at the foot of the bed, tried on herself the firm virtue of this tropical fruit.
Flinging aside the useless banana, she replaced the panting Countess along the length of the bed; straddled over her as she would have done a horse, and lowered her parted thighs down over Odette's face while her own mouth fixed to Odette's tingling pussy.
Then, like two rutting eels in the month of May, those naked bodies became one, titties flattening against bellies, thighs clamping round a flushed face, hands squeezing bare wriggling bottom-cheeks; for a long moment all words ceased, and one heard only hissing of joy, gasps and sighs, and then nothing-the arms and thighs sprawled, and each naked beauty, murmuring only the other's name, spent profusely.
This time, they took a long respite; one would have thought them two dead gymnasts; at last, one heard a single utterance escape their trembling lips: "Oh God!"
They came to. A few moments later, entwined panting, disheveled, eyes drowning un languor legs tottering, they slipped out of bed an went to lie down on a long wide settee.
"Oh, beautiful Florence, what joy you gave me.. who taught you how to eat a peach?"
"Nature did. Fruit are not always made to be eaten where they grow. Was this the first time you were so caressed?"
"Yes!"
"So much the better, then I found something new. And the banana."
"Oh, dearest, I thought I was going to die."
"Then it gave you more pleasure than my mouth?"
"Ah, that's another thing; it resembles more the pleasure a lover gives because a strange shape is introduced into the vagina. Ah, my dear, that's man's superiority over us, always."
"So you feel a man has a superiority?"
"Alas, yes, we light the flame, but do not extinguish it."
"While he?"
"He extinguishes. Happily art gives us the privilege which nature refuses."
"How is that?"
"By inventing dildos."
"Do such things exist?" Florence asked with curiosity. "You've never seen one."
"Never."
"You'd like to."
"Indeed I would."
"You know how a man is made."
"From statues, not otherwise. I've never seen a naked man."
"Then it's my turn to teach you something new."
"You have one?"
"No just one, but every type. Come, let's go see."
Odette led Florence into her bathroom, where, opening the double door of a mirrored cupboard, she drew out a case and two sets of holsters such as are used for pistols, then took them back to the settee.
"First let me show you the case," said Odette. "The jewel it encloses is not only historic but also a work of art. They attribute it to Benvenuto Cellini and it is indeed remarkable." So saying, she opened the red velvet case and showed Florence a remarkable work in ivory sculpture. It was the exact replica of a man's prick, the shaft and head being of life-like tint and format, but the testicles were made to remain in the wielder's hand, whether man or woman. It showed the finest sculptuary technique imaginable.
On the crinkliness of the skin which was phenomenally imitated and the curves of the testicles were sculptured on one side the fleur de lys of France and on the other, intertwined, the three crescents of Diane de Poitiers.
Doubtless this amazing jeweled replica had belonged to the widow of M. de Breze and the double mistress of Francis the First and Henry the Second.
Florence examined it with astonishment and curiosity, then admiration; with astonishment, for it was the first time she'd seen and touched such an object; with curiosity, because she did not know the mechanism's potential; and finally with admiration because, artist herself, she recognized it as a work of art.
At the base of this facsimile prick, at the place where the testicles begin, one could see some curls of hair sculptured with the greatest finesse. The jewel was hinged almost invisibly and showed, in opening, a mechanism as complicated as that of a watch. It gave an impulsion to a piston concealed inside which would shoot a soft liquid into the vagina through a natural little opening. This liquid whether milk or guava-water, or anything to resemble spunk, would of course approximate that passion-culminating substance.
Florence was somewhat astounded at the thickness of the object, double that of the banana she had tried on Odette, but Odette smiled and said, "I'll apply it and amaze you at how swiftly it disappears." She proceeded to imbed it in her cunt, and when Florence stared at it, she saw it was in Odette up to the testicles. "And you know, I'm not wide there either," Odette added. She let Florence put her hand on the dildo and move it as she had done with the banana; there was passion and bliss from it, but Odette stopped her: "Not till you fill it with warm milk," she admonished.
Then they turned to the contents of the holsters. One of these contained an ordinary rubber dildo. It was of ordinary size, perhaps five or six inches in length, with natural hair at its base, tinted flesh-colored. The system to eject liquid was simpler: one had only to squeeze the testicles.
But the next one made Florence utter a cry almost of fright: it was seven to eight inches in length, and from five to six in diameter. "Oh, that must be the one used on Pasiphae, whom served Zeus as a bull," cried, and Odette laughed heartily.
"It's from South America," she explained, "but see the marvelous workmanship."
It was made out of a sort of polished gum, and each hair was planted as in a wig. like the French dildo, a simple pressure of the testicles sufficed to eject liquid; only, it contained enough for five or six such spurts. "But," Florence kept repeating, as she continued to touch it, "it's a monster-no woman could take such a thing."
Odette silently smiled.
"Don't mock me," Florence said impatiently.
"I shan't, so listen well. If out of sangfroid, a woman wants to amuse herself with an organ of this size, of course it won't enter without effort. But after many caresses between two women, caresses in which a finger, a mouth, an ordinary dildo, play their roles, in the heat of passion the women who plays the lover excites and teases her who is the mistress to such point that she presents the tip of this dildo coated with cold cream against the sweet moist twitching pussylips of the other and pushes gently, the object will enter...and once inside carry passion to delirious heights!"
"Impossible!"
"You want to see?"
"On whom should I try it?"
"Me."
"I'd split you apart."
"Am I so split?" laughed Odette. "Then wait." She lit a spirit-lamp to warm cream in a little silver bowl. Then she prepared the biggest of the dildos, and after filling it with the liquid, took an elastic belt from the same holster. "Come here," she told Florence, her nostrils flaring with lust, "so I may make a man of you."
The countess fixed the belt on Florence, attaching the biggest dildo to her cunt; then she put into her hand the replica from Cellini's shop, prepared with warm cream; then, kissing the trembling Florence, she lay back on the bed and straddled her thighs.
"Do what I say, and as I say," she instructed.
"Have no fear-I'd tear you apart if you told me to," Florence panted.
"Your mouth," Odette sighed. And Florence, setting down the jewel of Diane de Poitiers, began to gamahuche Odette, knowing that this caress must precede all the brutal caresses that would follow. So Odette responded with all the repertory of Lesbian tenderness; Florence was her friend; her angel, her heart, her life, her soul; all the gamut of voluptuous sighs emerged from her trembling lips, till at last, panting, all she could gasp was, "Diane-Diane."
Florence understood; she stretched out her hand, picked up the royal jewel, slid it between Odette's cuntlips so there would be no interruption in the Countess's joy, and then she continued skillfully and with greater intensity. She studied how the jewel entered, then emerged; she saw it covered with a humid, sticky love dew from Odette's pulsing cunt, and she heard Odette's strident little cries.. . . Suddenly, Odette stiffened and called out, "The cream-the cream!"
Florence pressed the spring, and a long sobbing sigh announced that Odette had achieved that joy which only fucking can bring, since fucking is followed by appeasement. But Odette knew that behind that bliss, a greater one awaited only a word from her, and so, finally she panted:
"The giant-the giant!"
Florence, trembling violently, tugged out the jewel of Diane and flung it to the floor; as Odette's pussylips were wet with cream, she did not believe cold cream necessary. She therefore moved over Odette adroitly as might a man, introduced the head of the "Giant" between those dainty lips, and pushed vigorously. The Countess uttered a cry, stiffening against the pain as she moaned, "Go on.. go on., yes...more...ohh.. . .you're tearing me...push then...push-ahh-there it is!"
The Countess had been right; that last ordeal led her to the supreme paroxysm. Now, there were no more cries of joyous love, but bellowings of rage, amid which one could hear interspersed words:
"Your mouth-your tongue-take my titties-suck them-ahh, my God-how I'm spending.. .ohh-it's time...squeeze your thighs, squeeze them hard-now discharge., .oh, my beautifulGiant...again, oh, again!"
And each time the Countess said "Again," Florence sent in a jet which spurted into Odette's very entrails, till at last she begged for mercy.
Florence moved away, unfastened the belt and let it fall on the rug with its huge appendage. The Countess lay swooning on the bed, arms and thighs sprawled.
The actress was seized with dizziness; she filled the ivory jewel with more cream, lay down opposite the bed on the chaise lounge, opened her pussy, and, caressing her clitoris with a finger, used her other hand to press home the prickhead of that ivory dildo against her cherry. Soon she found that in this posture she lost a little of her strength; so she sought another. Taking two pillows from the settee, she leaned back on them when she felt sure of finding in her pleasure an auxiliary against pain; then she began to tickle with her right hand, while with her left she prevented the jeweled dildo from swaying. She harmonized the movements of her loins with the progression of the dildo's ins and outs, leaning back little by little, and then when she felt pleasure come closer, she abandoned herself, thrust hard, uttered a cry, thrust harder with a second cry, and as she forced the dildo home and resumed its now deeper ins and outs, she achieved spend, falling back and wriggling like an eel.
Odette, hearing her cries, sat up in bed and watched with astonishment. The proud young beauty had kept her word: she had done it to herself, and to herself alone had she sacrificed her hymen, which left its bloody trace on Odette's settee.
Violette and I spent three days and nights without seeing the Countess, and the fourth day she came to announce to us that Violette would start taking lessons from Florence the very next day. After a very jealous scene well played by Odette in Florence's apartment, the latter had given her word to Odette not to have an affair with Violette and to deal only with her dramatic talents.
The union of these two Lesbian disciples was celebrated, and Odette took keen pleasure in her new liaison, but without neglecting Violette, who continued a long while her theatrical studies under Florence, and made her stage debut with great success.
Our charming love life lasted several years, and then-
Ah, the rest is hard to write. I must end this tale of one of the loveliest episodes of my existence. But, since I began it, I must bring it to its close.
One evening, Odette, who was always eager to do a lot for Violette, forgot her pledge and took my darling to her own apartment for a reception. The girl caught cold and began to cough. She didn't take proper care of it, and became seriously ill, yet she seemed even more voluptuous, despite the doctor's remarks. She fell ill in winter, languished all summer, and, when fall began to tinge the leaves with mournful brown, we buried poor little Violette. She died in my arms, saying, "My Christian, I love you."
I had her tomb covered with a huge glass enclosure under which Odette and I planted a little garden of flowers, the ones that had given her her name, and we mourned her a long while. Then Florence's amours on one side, the current of daily life and its incidents on the other, slowly effaced the bitter memory of our final separation. I even forgot one day to go her grave on the anniversary of her death to pluck the little flowers whose roots partook of my mistress' substance. Odette, more faithful, sent me a letter with one word: "Ingrate!"
Now that this tale of our much too short love is indeed, I roll up my manuscript, bind it and.. . come what may.. .I place it on the desk of the intelligent editor who will be astute enough to give it to the world.
