Coming down from the high hills north of Santa Barbara recently, to read, among other things, Crossroads of Ecstasy, I was struck by that continual interplay which persists in man, between the country and the town (or city), between nature and civilization. Riding backwoods roads, desolate for miles upon miles, reaching summits from which one could not see a single being, let alone a dwelling, for the whole gamut of his view; touching the clear springs of mountain waters and living awhile among what is naturally rugged and endlessly explorative in a non-artificial way, I was struck at how fall-short words-even gestures-were; how deliriously simple all that was going on outside proclaimed itself silently-except for cricket calls or animal barks now and then-to be; how, if there were words, outside of what was spoken in the social exchange of conversation, the mind seemed to cry out for poems, and small ones at that, Japanese haiku, or some little scuffle of syllables equal to the rill of a stream in the ear. "In the mountains, there you feel free," T.S. Eliot wrote in The Wasteland; and we have seen a whole generation of rucksack writers, of the Northwest and Japan, publishing what they have brought back from the mountain experience. It is an ecstasy of sorts, the ecstasy of simply recognizing that all is, and, strangely enough, is not; an ecstasy of time passing between the banks of itself and into the eternal ocean of the mind six thousand feet above sea level. A meditative ecstasy, the space wherein all objects and beings appear to be in their place, in part adhering to Being's continual flow, in part, less consciously, being carried along by it.
There are of course other kinds of ecstasy, just as there are other dispositions toward the saintly life. Crossroads of Ecstasy is not, in this respect, entitled in a vacuum. Compared with the simple loftiness of mountain heights, the interplay of the characters and their stories in this book-an interplay of tales which is a microcosmic reflection of an orgiastic desire for group annihilation-might seem barbaric. Actually, what we are given is a world de-natured save for the rugged gestures and actions of human beings themselves, a world localized and concentrated-fixiatingly so-upon the erogenous, in much the same way that the novice en route to the discovery of the way would be beating his head, so to speak, against the Tao until the Tao, again so to speak, breaks in. The key to nature lies in its ability immediately to create the most convincing set of illusions of sublimity, next to, of course, the laugh which lifts us from the seat of our earth and makes us fly for a moment above society, like a turn-of-the-century balloon. Without such surroundings, however, the human being's propulsion toward the "end of desire"-which is the goal of all religious teachings-continues nonetheless. Yes, even at the seemingly sophisticated or pretentiously masked and cultured level of la ronde erotomanique.
Crossroads of Ecstasy is written somewhat like a thesis fronting the wild interplays of bodies and souls caught in the eternally denaturalized frenzies of the flesh. Every single character in the work seems bent upon excruciating his or her way to divinity-face up or face down, the position is ultimately of little consequence: it is the "getting there" that is important. Our anonymous author is, in this, eminently conscious of his themes; and throughout the wild sprees of the bodies, there is as well a continual philosophical as-sult on the imagination. For example, (I) Her entire being seemed stretched towards an unknown point in the sky and she truly resembled one of those symbolic personages of the Faith, of Sanctity, or of Ecstasy. or, (2) For the first time in my life, pain appeared to me like the crowning of joy and martyrdom like the height of beatitude. or, (3) The danger you are making me run excites me to a point difficult to imagine-the orgasm is close to death and criminal actions make me discharge more rapidly....
The quotations above are either thought or spoken by one of the leading characters in the 'play.' That the points of view are neither particularly masculine nor particularly feminine, is obvious; though it should be said that throughout the work most of such references are to the women involved, the imaginative articulation of whose pain provides the dramatic content of the work.
What is given here is a sort of detached wilderness longing for divinity via the routes of sexuality, as pleasure and pain continually are seen to meet at that unspeakable point which for the characters involved is Being itself, worthy of every abomination, of every holocaust on the senses, of every torture and humiliation; in fact, it is entirely (in their minds) by means of such offices of darkness that divinity may be attained.
We are of course here dealing with a world which has already accepted the dull thud of the world's boredom as the first step to saintliness; but which, rather than take the route of religious sages in the more orthodox, or even more radically meditative way, is propelled to self-annihilation along the routes of a physical impatience which is continually being fed by whatever is artificial and civilized. Its detachment, its ability to witness its own anguish, instead of driving it to a creative life outside the body, drives it to seek a solution for anguish by goading it through the physical disasters in the hope of attaining desire's emptiness. But the goad itself is desire, and each succeeding yearning for martyrdom is desire pronounced capitally. In other words, their very consciousness is their excuse for extended consciousness; and their extended consciousness turns back upon itself, like the animal eating its own tail. Such is the circle of the book, a meaningful desecration of the religious glyph; itself religious in that it tries the unknowable point and leaves us excited and therefore human. That is all that one can hope from words of this world.
Along the way, however, we can see the clear markings of this temple dedicated to the profane. Actually, what lies behind Crossroads of Ecstasy is a mad romanticism coupled with a tradition of Drama that refers back to the central-most act of torture and humiliation in Western culture; I am speaking of the Crucifixion. It might be said, in fact, that every character in this work desires most of all to re-enact the Crucifixion; though, of course, the act would not be intended to save the World (that is, the other) as much as it would be to save the Self-again, an inversion of the Christian concept no less than was the hell which Dante reached at the bottom of the Inferno, an inverted and abominable Devil with three heads in the act of cannibalism, a necessary stage upon the way up the mountain to the stars.
-Rudolph Conway, Ph.D. Los Angeles, March 1968
* * *
PART ONE
-PROLOGUE
THE ORGY
The four orgiasts, with their pet who had been trained for the worst vices, were assembled, completely naked, in the secret boudoir of the widow-queen, the absolute ruler of the kingdom.
The dazzling mirrors endlessly multiplied the three alcoves with their sheets marked by ancient monograms, their heavy and sumptuous carpets, the purple draperies, and the lamps with their gold and silver reflections.
The four orgiasts looked at one another excitedly, their senses inflamed with desire, their breathing heavy, their bodies agitated.
The queen-Fanchette to her friends-understood that even at that moment, when they were all-her partners and herself-being led by their animal sexuality to the same inferior rank, she remained the guide and the organizer of their pleasures.
Now, once again, at least at the beginning of the bacchanalia, it was up to her to order the disposition of the carnal figures, to determine the progression of the embraces.
Even if later the commotion of their lasciviousness would oblige the queen to humiliate herself like the most humble of slaves, at the beginning, the guests expected the first erotic decisions, the initiation of the night of debauchery, to come from her.
The queen, with the face of an angel and the body of a nymph, contemplated her accomplices for the night:
Dominique, the youngest member of the Academy of Fine Arts, a dark and powerful male like an athlete, whose cock was stiff like a primitive bludgeon; Lucienne, the beautiful prostitute whom the mistress of the kingdom had taken as a lover and initiator of Sapphic and flagellate pleasures; and finally, Thierry, her favorite fucker, an Apollo with bronzed muscles and long, powerful legs between which his sexual parts appeared like an enormous fleshy purse, a stem of scales weighed down by two tiny trays balanced by sperm.
Behind them was Riki, the Saint Bernard with his arched rod, an animal trained for all the secret orgies.
The queen had already given herself successively and separately to her present companions, but it was the first time that she had brought them together for an amorous party.
However, as she hoped to combine all the ecstasies that she had already savored in the arms of each of them, and as she knew her limited temperament-her capacities reduced to only one, two, at the maximum three discharges a day-she refused to waste her energy in insufficiently concentrated or perverted couplings.
She wanted all her fibers to burst with beatitude at each of her ultimate climaxes and she knew that in order to attain such sexual heights, she would have to use her friends in the most efficacious and obscene ways.
"You will take me in the ass," she said to Thierry, who smiled with satisfaction at the realization that his supreme protectress had begun by calling him.
He bowed his head as a sign of approbation and took a step toward his hostess, who turned around slightly before bending over to present her well-rounded posterior, rosy and soft like an infant's cheeks, separated by a furrow rouged for the occasion, which in turn extended into the beginning of her cunt, bordered on two sides by its silky hair.
The fucker with the Apollonian body pressed himself against the queen's rump, then with his powerful and tender arms he grasped her waist while he adjusted his member in front of the proffered anus.
Then he released the queen's haunch and, with his free right hand, placed his cock in the dorsal opening.
He was beginning to push in his rod when Her Majesty cried:
"Oh! Your cock-you always hurt me at first!"
"Do you want me to wet my penis with vaseline?" asked Thierry tenderly.
"No, no, not today," replied the young woman. "Today I want you to tear my ass mercilessly ... go on ... continue without mercy ... ouch!"
She couldn't prevent a cry of pain, while the male instrument pressed in upon the roughness of her anus and made room for itself deep in her posterior, where he stopped to permit his victim to regain her breath.
She continued to tremble a few minutes longer, but the expression of beatitude which spread out over her face contradicted her cries, or rather offered them a different significance altogether.
"Oh, it's marvelous," she said with a bright smile. "I think I'll never tire of your cock, my dear Thierry."
Then, turning her head towards her other companions, she hesitated a second, comparing her intimate wishes with the human and immediate possibilities of satisfaction, reflecting on the various combinations which were available to her.
"I would like you, Dominique," she said to the sculptor, "to suck my cunt as you did so well the last time. But you do so many things in a truly marvelous way, worthy of the artist that you are. You also flagellate in a divine manner. Now, I am going to use Riki, my dog, for the sexual sucking and you, Dominique, for the fustigation ... for truly a seance of lasciviousness without a good beating is like a meal without wine. And today I want to glut myself with love...."
The sculptor bowed respectfully before moving toward the table where he seized one of the riding-whips which lay next to several other instruments of torture and came back to the queen.
She had already signaled to Riki and the dog had approached her parted thighs and pushed his abrasive tongue into his mistress' hole, a hole which didn't take long to become even wetter.
The woman who reigned over the lives and deaths of millions of subjects began to pant under the assault of Thierry's cock and Riki's buccal appendage.
Dominique, armed with his punitive instrument, soon rejoined the group to participate in their pleasures by beating the queen on the bust, shoulders and breasts, with a force filled with a secret and precise knowledge.
Only Lucienne, the prostitute, remained in her place, a little withdrawn, certain that she would soon be used.
She was not wrong.
If Fanchette-her queen and partner in Sapphic debauches-was too intoxicated with pleasure to be able to utilize and even to think of her, her other accomplices could not leave so beautiful a girl out of their games, since they were not experiencing the same satisfaction as their queen.
Thierry at least had his cock occupied by his hostess' posterior, but Dominique, the sculptor, had only his hands busy, while none of his erotic parts was experiencing the passions of the senses.
Thus, it was he who was the first to call Lucienne to ask her to join the dramatic action.
"I would like you to fuck me in the ass, pretty girl," he said.
The courtesan was not very surprised by this request. Her lover had confided to her that the artist was not only interested in women but also in men and that his ass was even more passionate than his cock.
The woman had already played the role of the male many times with males who took the place of women: she went to the night table, opened a drawer and took out one of the godemiches from among the collection of artificial cocks of the most varied sizes. Then she tied it around her waist, letting the leather member dangle above her vagina like the strange face of a black sorcerer.
But at the moment, the lovers did not care about esthetic comparisons, for they were preoccupied by carnal, practical, and ethnical ecstasies.
Without any trouble, Lucienne separated the sculptor's buttocks and penetrated his anus with her godemiche; the artist's shivers were already becoming lost in the voluptuous hubbub of the royal boudoir.
While he was being buggered by the prostitute, Dominique did not stop beating the queen, who cried, swore, and screamed like the lowest of creatures.
However, even the progression of erotic desires soon prevented the queen from being content with the beating of her beautiful nipples with their glazed tips.
"Beat me lower, on the stomach, on my cunt, especially on my clitoris! Ah, I am very sensitive to blows on my cunt!"
But the sculptor could not reach this region because of Riki, the dog, who was working his active tongue over this fiery part of the young woman.
Thus she could only chase away the animal to have the whip, whose blows would give her an infinitely stronger pleasure.
"Go away, dirty animal ... you are sucking me too lazily today ... you aren't giving me the usual pleasure. Go away! As for you, Thierry, my wonderful, favorite fucker, don't go to sleep in my ass. Don't think that because you possessed my rump without vaseline today, you must pursue your activity in so banal a rhythm. Change your method of attack, vary your blows, possess me from top to bottom, not only from bottom to top. As for you, my dear Dominique, you are a true master of fustigation. You alone today are living up to my hopes; you alone are meeting my expectations. You are the guide and the leader of my ecstasy...."
The flagellation gave the queen the essential lubricity.
Holding her cunt to receive the attacks of the whip, she almost gave way under the pleasure, forgetting everything which was not this ineffable and demented happiness.
"Go on, my love," she cried, "you touch me better than a hundred thousand cocks, you tear me, you crumble me, you make each portion of my flesh beam with happiness, you wear me out in the most marvelous way possible, you are my master and my king. Here, on my clitoris, beat my mound of Venus, don't let any part of my cunt escape you, no hair on my pussy-every bit of my sexual parts, which are sensitive in an unbelievable way and connected to my nerves, transmits the current of your violence that goes through me with a thousand volts, electrifies me-"
Then, the queen, who felt the approach of the supreme delirium, asked the sculptor to vary the regions of punishment, to beat her on the legs and on her breasts before coming back to her pussy with a new brutality, so much more extraordinary in that he was returning to a part that had been abandoned for a few moments.
The queen tried to hold back, to accumulate the maximum sensual combinations, positions and sensations in the embraces which preceded her discharge.
But these sensations had already reached an unsurpassable intensity!
With the scream of a wounded animal, she abandoned herself to the lascivious release unleashed in her body which threw her exhausted to the shore of passion.
After having known the supreme spasm, the queen fell into a state of lassitude as extreme as her sexual madness. She was disgusted by every erotic touch with a violence at least equal to the violence of her former desire.
Having come, she released herself from Thierry's embrace, who remained there with his stiff cock out. She threw off Dominique, her flagellator, then let herself fall back on one of the couches, where she remained as if unconscious.
"You can continue your pleasures, my little doves," she said, out of breath. "However, don't worry about me, the spectacle of your orgy won't take long to put me back in action and bring me back to you. While you are waiting, pursue your adorable games and savor the same joys as those you just gave me."
The sculptor moved first to set up a new posture for the group capable of augmenting his desires.
While he continued to have his rump possessed by Lucienne's godemiche, he busied himself with his stiff cock which was unemployed and unsatiated.
Seeing Riki, the dog, he cried:
"For a long time I have wanted to be sucked by this animal whose talents our dear queen has so often praised."
But the animal only obeyed his mistress and she had to command her quadruped to exercise on the artist the activity that he had executed so perfectly on the woman.
Was Riki bisexual, inclined towards both sexes, like all the occupants of the boudoir?
How can one know the secrets of the animal soul?
Somehow, he didn't take long to grasp the rod with an intelligence in his movements which made it seem as though the animal had done nothing else in his whole life.
Keeping his muzzle half open and baring his monstrous fangs as if about to attack the column of flesh before him, Riki's tongue snaked out and curled around the member.
Dominique began to scream with pleasure:
"Oh! What fantastic joy! It's unbelievable ... I have never felt such delight! God alone knows how many times I have been sucked by men and women, by the most refined pimps and the most expert whores, but never, never ever have I known such plea sure! This isn't a human animal I have here, it's a divine one! Oh, this buccal appendage is truly heavenly, invented by the protectors of love."
While he cried out his happiness with so much enthusiasm, his two companions, Lucienne and Thierry, came together to give each other in their turn a pleasure of the same intensity.
The second, the queen's fucker, had never sodomized the beautiful prostitute's rump, which was still free while she worked on the sculptor's back with her godemiche.
She too was curious to be cleaved by the beautiful cock-one of the most splendid in the kingdom, affirmed the queen, who, in the greatest secrecy and travesty, had tried many of them.
The wishes of the two sexual combatants coincided with each other in the hope of an equal ecstasy.
It was natural for them to come together.
Who proposed the coupling to the other? What difference does it make?
Lucienne soon received Thierry's powerful and free member, which demonstrated that his fame for natural violence and erotic talents was not unfounded.
Prey to a brutal attack of hysteria, the prostitute began to scream:
"Oh, your cock, my handsome Thierry! I have had rods in my ass, but never one so extraordinary ... it transports me to seventh heaven! Go on, my dear, only withdraw to be able to go deeper into me ... you are the fucker of all fuckers! I understand why only a queen is worthy of using you! Oh, this day will be marked in my memory forever! I feel like I'm going to come ... and if I haven't so far, it's because I want to feel your formidable cock much longer...." But it was the sculptor who discharged before his companions.
Riki, the dog, was more perfectly trained than his partner expected. Soon the artist was writhing about under his expert caresses. In his ecstasy, Dominique lost consciousness of the fact that Riki was a dog.
He was so overcome by the numerous caresses that it was impossible to express his sensations in words, and he simply cried and moaned, while his jumps threw him even more on Lucienne's false cock, which she continued to mechanically push all the way into his anus.
Soon the unholy trio were transported by their consummate bliss, and the room was filled with the sounds of their rapture. Lucienne was thoroughly enjoying her role of male ravisher, and she began to increase her thrusts.
Dominique could only babble expressions which resembled onomatopoeia much more than they did words:
"Oh, my balls, my balls, never, never ... heaven, heaven...."
Then, with a brief cry, of terror and of beatitude, he collapsed sideways, at the same time escaping Lucienne's godemiche and Riki's tongue. His body jerked and twisted in agony as his ecstasy spent itself in solitary convulsions, accompanied by gasps.
From then on, lying on a heavy carpet as deep as the alcove in which the queen was resting at the moment, Dominique could only content himself with the role of spectator in the pleasures of those who remained. There were three left of the orgiasts who had not discharged, if you count the dog, in addition to Thierry, the faggot won over by the queen, and Lucienne, the prostitute.
The latter was, however, a little abashed after being abandoned by the sculptor whom she had beaten with her leather instrument, but especially against whom she had been leaning while the erotic intoxication led Thierry to the edge of unconsciousness.
Dominique's fall had even made her trip, which disturbed the enthusiasm of the "duo" by upsetting her partner's rhythm.
But it wasn't long before the lovers came together again and began to embrace in a new position.
Suddenly Lucienne cried out as she undid the hooks of the artificial instrument which was tied around her waist:
"Oh, this terrible godemiche, it's bothering me now that it has no more utility...."
In ridding herself of the false cock, she freed her pussy, which had scrupulously been kept in good condition, a true masterpiece of massages and of hygiene.
Riki, the great dog-connoisseur, but also an animal capable of distinguishing between exhausted bodies and those consumed by lust, went up to the woman's pussy and began to lick her just as he had already licked the queen.
In spite of her perversity, Lucienne had never before been sucked by an animal.
At first she tried to chase the intruder away, but the aroused animal was foraging with such precision and such skill that the prostitute uttered a cry of delight.
Prisoner of this new sensation, Lucienne gave herself up to the transports of delight which were sweeping through her body in great convulsive waves of glorious ecstasy.
From then on, the queen and the sculptor who were watching the union could no longer distinguish between the prostitute's cries of ecstasy that were provoked by Thierry's cock and those which were caused by the lingual activity of the dog.
It was not long before the courtesan came in a whirlwind of spasmodic movements and obscene cries.
Thierry did not let go of his partner but, holding her waist tightly, he continued to agitate himself in the gaping posterior until he also knew the supreme deliverance, expressed by an enormous burst of come which squirted from his rod to fill and then overflow his companion's anus.
Then the two lovers left and dropped on the nearest bed.
While the orgiasts who had been the last to come remained plunged in the beatitude of post-orgasmic bliss, the queen, who had been the first to experience the final pleasure, was just waking up from her lethargy.
Going over to Riki, she touched his neck tenderly and murmured:
"Poor dear, you're the only one who hasn't discharged! Come on, I will make your come burst forth ... I will stimulate you...."
And, sitting down beside him, she grasped the dog in her delicate hand and began to give him a taste of the same exquisite pleasure she had undergone moments before.
The animal gave out a sound of satisfaction, then responded to the queen's caresses with sharp thrusts.
Then the queen used her free left hand to masturbate herself while speaking to her three partners:
"I feel that my desire, stimulated by the sight of your embraces, was aroused today more quickly than usual....
"But since it is not yet sufficiently awakened, I propose that you stimulate it with erotic stories. Looking at the four of us, I have an idea: I see you all brought together in this perverse and unusual bacchanal, which really represents the end of a sexual revolution in each of us.
"Chance, instead of placing us at the beginning of our individual erotic progressions, has brought us together now, at the final point of this progression.
"Like some modern novelist, disdainful of classical chronology, destiny has offered us a kind of prologue which is really the conclusion of our adventure, the completion of the personal history of the debauched creatures we have become.
"Now that we recognize this, let us abandon this end and discover how we arrived at this point, these strange autonomous appetites...."
The queen's companions were all intelligent and quickly understood the most complex or esoteric words.
They had no difficulty whatsoever in grasping the queen's thought and they applauded the proposition that was destined to reveal some spicy stories that were bound to reawaken their sleeping appetites and lead them to new pleasures.
It only remained to decide who would begin the series of sexual confessions.
It was the sculptor who volunteered to tell about his erotic life first.
PART TWO
-DOMINIQUE'S STORY
CHAPTER ONE
LOVE EVERYWHERE
I don't know why I was always attracted to sculpturing.
Perhaps it is because I had an art teacher at school who discovered some talent in me and invited me to her home several times to show me her works and give me some private lessons.
She was a truly perverted creature.
At 40, still beautiful, she asked me to undress completely under the pretext of making some sketches of my body, but after a while she abandoned her paper and charcoal, separated her legs, and began to masturbate her enormous cunt with one hand and then with both hands furiously.
While she was shivering and moaning with the most powerful of eroto-maniacal pleasures, she encouraged me to embrace-not her cunt, for she never would have permitted me to touch it-but an artistic career.
I can still see her just as she was. Still pretty, with her auburn hair, her bright eyes, severe but sweet mouth, full breasts-unveiled by her half-opened blouse and her skirt folded over her stomach-her well-separated legs, her adorably hairy cunt-with its pretty grayish red lips-which she probed with her passionate, knowing fingers, while she continued her stories of cocks, pussies, and esthetic styles:
"In many men, the excitation of the sexual act stimulates the imagination, especially the erotic imagination.
"This cerebral stimulation of fucking has been utilized by certain writers to bring back their exhausted inspiration. In the present climate of eroticism, a great percentage of men suffer from sexual dissatisfaction; it is evident that the artist, who is more sensitive and delicate than the average man, can find big discharges repugnant; often timid, with no opportunity to fuck, but consumed with desire, he can metabolize his unused sperm in artistic productions.
"Work, then, for him will be the equivalent of the desired possessions; he prepares his canvas like a couch on which he is going to take his pleasure, and seized by a creative spell, he truly has his pleasure.
"This flight into creation also permits the artist to escape neurosis or to control it in a good way; when he satisfies his sexuality wisely and commonly without desires, his imagination that is not boosted by dissatisfaction can lack this supplement of flight necessary to inspiration.
"If the great artists had not been forced by a physical or moral disgrace to stifle their real sexual desires they would, perhaps, never have produced.
"Toulouse-Lautrec wrote: 'If my legs had been a little longer, I would never have done a painting."
"Loti, dwarf and unsatisfied fucker, also admitted that he would gladly have exchanged all his writings for a few more inches; in refusing them to him, Providence permitted him to become a great writer instead of a great lover.
"Auguste Renoir painted a type of corpulent and pulpy woman who inspired him. To a visitor who was surprised by the communicative sensuality of his nudes, Renoir responded: 'I paint with my cock.' This emphasized in a startling manner the plasticity and the strength of decanted eroticism.
"Women painters, who are little inspired by the eroticism of their cunts, have drawn fewer nudes and from their work emanates a spark that is more maternal than vaginal.
"Even Rosa Bonheur, an active streetwalker, was above all an animal-painter.
"In the last few years there has been research on the manner in which the artist's abnormal sexuality is able to influence his work.
"Saint Agathe or Saint Sebastian, painters with too much refinement, would be able to reveal their sadistic tendencies.
"With Rouault, who delighted in pictorial afflictions, it is believed that there is a latent masochism provoked by an unfortunate childhood.
"According to Freud, Leonardo da Vinci's childhood memory of a vulture that half opened his mouth with his wing, signified sexual passivity. More conclusively, when he was about 20, he was believed to be a homosexual and was strongly suspected of it thereafter. His sexual ambiguity had permeated his art; several of his women's faces are somewhat masculine; his Bacchus or his Saint Joan have, on the contrary, much femininity.
"Several months ago a distinguished psychoanalyst wrote in a psychiatric review that Van Gogh's homosexuality could be suspected by his complaisance in depicting chairs that are empty or half-occupied. Pipes, symbols of cocks, would belay the sexual counterpart of these seats."
My school mistress continued in this way until suddenly she began to writhe, transforming sentences into broken words:
"Oh, yes ... you should dedicate yourself to the arts. It is only those people gifted with the sense of harmonious proportions who know how to get aroused, fuck, discharge. Oh, yes, I can't go on ... oh, your cock, your pretty prick ... I'm coming ... oh, little boy, the lines of your body have brought me deliverance...."
And with a terrible leap, she fell backwards, leaving me stunned and intoxicated by marvelous desires....
* * *
You can understand why, with such a teacher, I was pushed towards the Art School.
A childhood sweetheart, a certain Minna, had made fun of me, lighting the fires in me without wanting to extinguish them and had left me cruelly.
My parents, rich merchants of whom I was the only child, allowed themselves to be persuaded and agreed to send me to the big city.
It was there that I quickly lost my virginity.
How?
Perhaps you would like me to tell you.
I crossed the street and entered a bar, the "Pam-Pam." There were very few people inside.
I found myself in a smoke-filled room garnished with somber wainscot and multicolored lettering everywhere, even to indicate the telephone booth. I sat down on a bench along the wall and ordered a drink. I lit a cigarette and went back to daydreaming.
"So, my pet, another one let you down?"
I turned around. A woman had sat down next to me and was smiling at me.
She was a big blonde with a pleasant face. She had a long lace cloak over her shoulders and she was playing with a fan.
I did not answer. The woman continued:
"In the end, we are still the most faithful of all: we never propose the impossible, but the very little that we promise, we do. And there are times when this very little is a lot."
Perhaps she was right.
But I hardly wanted to discuss philosophy that evening.
Seeing that profound reflections brought no results, the girl tried something else:
"My name is Minna," she said, moving closer to me, "do you like that name?"
I stuttered: "I knew someone at Biem who was also called . .
"Oh, it surely wasn't me. I have never been there. And anyway, just between us, my real name is Marguerite. But since I have been in this profession, I have called myself Minna. That sounds German ... don't you think so?"
I smiled without answering.
Encouraged, the girl put her arm around my neck, slid her foot between mine, and, seizing my hand under the table, moved it towards her legs.
The hem of her skirt was tucked up and I felt the smooth surface of her stockings.
My fingers climbed slowly, knocked up against her garters, then finally reached the nude, warm, satiny skin of Marguerite-Minna's thighs. She was still smiling.
"You know," she whispered, "I could be very nice to you if you want...."
Her voice had a common accent, but was not vulgar and seemed to be filled with an unexpected calmness and sweetness. Briskly, desire invaded me and I wanted to go to the very end of this night's sadness.
"So? You really don't want to spend a few moments with me?" continued Minna. "It would be better than mulling over your memories...."
"All right, I'll follow you."
We went out quickly. It was still raining and the street was deserted. Next to the pub, the light coming from the hotel doorway was reflected, yellow and blinking, on the wet sidewalk.
"Here's where I live," said Minna.
The room was less sad than I would have expected and than I would have wished.
The room actually did not have the dismal anonymity which I had so often heard about. Clean curtains, some flowers, a painting ... it was enough.
Minna sat down on the edge of the bed, having been careful to carelessly raise her skirt just enough to uncover a suggestion of white skin.
I took a step toward her.
The girl got up.
With a brusque movement, I put my arm around her waist, drew her against me, and kissed her tenderly.
I was surprised to find that her kiss did not-have the bitter taste I had expected, but a sort of sweet and consoling freshness.
"I am a little like you," said Minna, "holidays give me the blues. We are both going to forget that...."
Then all my hesitations vanished. I took Minna in my arms again. She leaned against me softly and I felt the firmness of the body that was offered to me with a frightening precision.
I groped around her round hips, found the zipper of her skirt, and quickly undid it.
The garment slid silently to the ground.
I touched her sex. I was so moved that I had to make an effort to control myself and to keep from coming.
A cunt-which that provincial girl had never permitted me to see and which my schoolmistress had only let me admire, but never touch-was finally being offered to my impatient fingers.
I had the feeling of avenging myself on the whole world and of grasping the very incarnation of womanhood reduced to its unique and total expression.
My companion groaned:
"You're hurting me, my dear ... be more gentle ... women prefer it . .
I released her and let her lie more comfortably on her bed to receive me.
But before penetrating her, I demanded the right to look at her hairy pussy one more time-a pretty slit surrounded by a silky down, a cunt worthy of my virginity.
Then, I tried to make her come. But you know how clumsy young men can be!
However, Minna was skillful enough for both of us!
She seized my cock, moistened it with her hand, wet her own crevice, and then pushed my tool into her opened flesh.
I felt as though I was penetrating Paradise.
The flesh that was embracing my cock seemed like celestial clouds to me. I was in seventh heaven!
And the most marvelous thing was the way in which I could enter and go out as I wished. As the vagina accepted me and pushed me out, my heart filled with shivers of anguish and beatitude.
The woman moaned and laughed.
She was also happy with our activity.
"You have a pretty rod, my love," she said between two breaths.
"You like this?" I asked.
"Yes, I like it," she answered. "And believe that I am sincere ... I often get little clients like you, but they are not so well gifted in their cocks like you. You fuck well, you know...."
I believed her, not only because she seemed to believe what she said, but also, no doubt, because my whole being needed to believe her.
She proved the pleasure she was experiencing when she said:
"After this, I'll permit you another one, free of charge."
Soon we both came.
I came first, with a discreet and modest moan, she immediately after me, excited to the utmost by my burst of come which drove into the walls of her cunt with juvenile strength.
Minna kept her word.
We washed ourselves in her bathroom, then she asked me to lie down to be "eaten."
She revealed the savors of this kind of love-making with an unbelievable, incomparable skill, which left me with an exquisite memory.
Then, when she judged I was stiff enough, she came astride me and possessed me that way. It was marvelous. After the second discharge, we parted.
Several months later, during my vacation, I had another adventure that allowed me to make new discoveries.
Believe me, one should never give up. Something can happen to you that seems disagreeable at first and that soon becomes very pleasant.
I was still studying Fine Arts. Seriously, but not disdaining the nice things in life or pleasures of love because of it.
One night, when I went home for dinner to my parents' house, my father said:
"I just received a letter from our cousins, the D 's. Their son is getting married and they invited us to the wedding which will take place on the eighth of July. You know that I have to go to B for a radical-socialist meeting and that your mother will be accompanying me. Therefore, you will go to the wedding alone to represent us."
I had never seen these distant cousins. I only knew that they lived in a pretty little town in Brittany, cold in its austerity, and that they were not noted-he was a lawyer-for their jolly natures. That is what, to me, was scarcely tempting.
But my father added:
"Only I warn you! There you will have to watch yourself. Our cousins are sticklers to their principles. Have no delusions! It is nothing like the Latin Quarter! Weigh each of your words and your gestures! Don't embarrass us with our cousins."
What could I do but accept the dreary task! I agreed to go, complaining and cursing all the while.
At the beginning of July, my mother and father left for B .
As for me, I left the evening of the seventh and took the train, bringing the dinner jacket, white shirt, and shiny shoes that my mother had prepared.
I arrived at the house early in the morning and everything was upside down because of the preparations for the ceremonies.
I hurried to freshen up and change my clothes.
The solicitor, in his black suit and white tie, had scarcely had time to thank me for coming when his wife said:
"We are so sorry that your parents could not come, but as for you, you arrived at precisely the right moment. We are one Man of Honor short. If you would be good enough to replace him, I will introduce you to the charming young girl to whom you will give your arm."
Since I was going from penitence to penitence, I had no doubts about what awaited me. My cousin, the solicitor's wife, introduced me to "the charming young girl." Oh, certainly, she was neither ugly nor old. On the contrary, she was young, with a face that could have been rather pretty. But not a grain of powder! Not a touch of rouge! Hair pulled back like a little girl in school! Finally, a dress of a ridiculous red color and an old-fashioned cut which, in spite of the heat, covered her stiffly up to her neck. To top it all off, her name was Marie, a name which I detest because it tries to evoke virginity.
However, out of politeness, I thought I should say a few words to her:
"Are you from here, mademoiselle?" I asked.
"No, sir!" she answered, lowering her eyes.
"From Auvergne?"
"Yes, sir."
"Relative of the D 's?"
"No, sir."
"Related to the bride?"
"Yes, sir."
Yes, sir! No, sir! That's all she knew how to say, and always lowering her eyes as if it would have been a sin to' look into a boy's face. In short, in her ridiculous dress, she was a little red goose!
I resigned myself to my fate and lost interest in my partner.
The bride: nothing tomention. The church: not any better. A lunch with the family awaited us then at the Golden Lion, the city's big hotel.
It began in a lugubrious fashion and I was becoming more and more bored. My cousin on the right was an idiot who talked endlessly.
I turned to the other side and asked Marie:
"Are you enjoying yourself?"
"Yes, sir!" she answered impassively.
Her attitude and her answer made me laugh. I pushed Marie's knee with mine. She did not recoil. I leaned softly. She sat still and it was with our two legs pressed against each other this way that we finished the meal.
In a neighboring parlor, then, there was a little dance.
I danced with the bride, then, coming back to my partner, instead of asking her to dance, I said:
"It's so warm it's hard to breathe in here anymore. Would you like to get some air?"
"Yes, sir!" she said.
I led her to the garden which was behind the hotel and, slipping my arm under hers, I asked:
"It doesn't bother you if I hold you like this?"
"No, sir."
Yes, sir! No, sir! This Marie was beginning to anger me with her affected responses.
So, with one of those audacious acts common to youth, I decided to try an experiment: just how far could I go without getting another response?
Quickly, I stopped beneath the shelter of a huge tree and cried:
"And what if I were to kiss you, to place my mouth on yours, what would you say then?"
This time she was more verbose and replied:
"I would say: if it pleases you, sir, I would like it. I have been asked to be agreeable to my partner and not to displease him in any way."
In a flash I lost the memory of my wise resolutions.
Not only did I put my arms around her waist, press her lips, which were warm and soft, touch her breasts, which were round and firm under her dress; but I also led her towards the service door of the hotel.
On the pretext that my partner needed to rest, I ordered a room as fast as possible.
The bellboy took us up to the second floor. Marie followed me quietly, holding my hand.
As soon as the door was locked I ordered:
"Quick, undress!"
To which she responded with her eternal:
"Yes, sir."
Then, as if it was quite natural, she began to unzip her dress and so quickly, so skillfully, that I did not have to help her. Everything fell to the floor.
I had expected to see modest, provincial, very decent lingerie. Not at all!
The bra, the panties, the slip, everything had an enticing allure, for all the world Parisian, which surprised me. But I was already in no condition to make any reflections about my discovery. While I was removing my clothes at random, Marie removed the final veil and stood before me completely naked.
Well, completely naked, she was adorable! Perfectly proportioned, well-formed breasts, curvy shape, tiny, rounded ass, and shapely legs! Who could have dreamed that such marvels were hidden under the outmoded dress of the little red goose?
And then since she had let her hair loose, her face had suddenly taken-or retaken-its true youthful beauty. I seized her in my arms and covered her body with kisses. She allowed it, serious at first and as if insensitive, and soon laughing, shivering, clucking under my caresses.
"And now, to bed!" I ordered.
That was her last "yes, sir!"
For scarcely had we stretched out side by side, scarcely had I embraced her, when Marie, chaste Marie, revealed herself to be a very expert harlot. Oh, no, it was not a novice who was sucking my cock!
My astounding mistress, resting her head on the pillow, observed me with malicious eyes. Suddenly, she burst out laughing:
"Well," she said, "you could say that you amused me with your nice gentleman's manners!"
"And you," I replied, "with your hypocritical airs!"
We both had to explain ourselves. I repeated the orders my parents had given me and Marie in her turn confessed:
"I have been in Paris for two years. In the studios of Montparnasse, I am known as Mi-mi and, as you noticed, I am not too cold for my age.
"Only, when I was invited to the wedding-I am the groom's niece and he hasn't seen me in a long time-I thought it would be good to pretend to be a little timid and virginal schoolgirl so as not to scare anyone, especially my partner."
"Oh, you little hussy!"
"But I can make another confession," she added with an amused smile.
"Don't be embarrassed," I replied.
"Very well, it is that I only like to make love from behind."
I was perplexed.
She paid no attention to my dumbfounded expression and continued in the most natural voice-but among these models nothing is more simple than eroticism-to explain that she did not appreciate possession from the front, in sex, but, on the contrary, she adored discharges in her ass.
I had never put my cock into a woman's ass. But I had heard so many dirty stories about this type of coupling that everything was pushing me towards my initiation: the situation and the girl who was shameless and desirable at the same time.
I was not to regret it.
She had the most exquisite rump in the world, a plump posterior made up of two buttocks as of two enormous rose petals of some strange and exotic orchid, half-opened on a diaphanous corolla of an indescribable softness.
I kissed her back, then her shoulders and down to her derriere, then, when she confessed in a sigh that she was already terribly excited, I brought my rod into action.
Minna had already told me that my tool was superior to others and that it was gifted with an astonishing strength.
My companion cried under my penetration and asked me to stop.
I complied with her wish and waited for her to allow me to begin my education again.
This did not take long for with this young creature vice always took precedence over pain.
Moreover, she had been widened enough-in this area-in the past to be able to stand much larger cocks than mine, but she always needed to readjust herself to the attack after several weeks of anal inactivity.
Soon I was able to immerse myself totally in my partner's behind.
That pretty girl was very inclined towards everything that concerned the ass, for not only did she love to practice getting fucked in the rear, but talking about it plunged her completely into a dorsal atmosphere.
"Tell me, my dear," she said, "you like my ass, don't you?"
I did not contradict her.
"You love fucking me there, don't you, you little bastard, it doesn't disgust you," she continued. "You adore it ... oh, you men, you're all the same, pigs, sodomizers, that's what you are ... nothing delights you more than to penetrate a woman's dirty and forbidden places...."
Her voice was pleasant, her derriere firm, her body tiny.
I came in that rear with great pleasure.
And after having been sucked by my adorable companion, I began again in the same fashion.
Only the third time did she permit me to take her in the normal way, on the condition that I would withdraw at the moment of deliverance, and that I would come outside of her, between her thighs.
I obeyed her in every way and she declared that she was amply satisfied.
We saw each other again and she introduced me to some of her friends who became my mistresses.
But it was another woman, a Polish girl, who initiated me into the most refined and powerful pleasures....
CHAPTER TWO
THE BEAUTIFUL MASOCHIST
At the time, I had already acquired a certain fame as a sculptor.
My father had died and left me a nice inheritance. I didn't have to worry about anything and I led a life of pleasures and distractions.
I left on a vacation in central Europe. It was there that I met that remarkable creature.
She was like the very incarnation of this earth, at once languid and savage, sweet and intoxicating....
Masha could not have been born in any other country.
Fifty thousand acres of untilled land, crossed by a river so still that it looked rather like a long pool, with no other houses but a police barracks with four policemen and an inn. It was in this solitary inn-The Tokay-that I had come to rest for a few days after the passionate life I had been leading.
In the spring and the autumn, when the migratory birds come to fly around in innumerable small squadrons above the swamps, the inn appears to be invaded by fighter planes, but then it was the heart of summer.
Except for the tourists who arrived in buses to savor the chicken paprika to the sounds of a Gypsy orchestra and to send postcards, The Tokay was only frequented by the shepherds who came to refresh their parched throats.
The nights had that biblical peacefulness that I had only known in the West Indies.
No passersby, no fire, no noise other than the occasional plaintive bleating of a lamb.
Thus I went away every night, across the plain right in front of me, until the inn, with its whitewashed walls was no more than a very small bright spot under the moonlight.
And I would come back slowly, almost immediately throwing away the cigarette I had just lit mechanically, happy to breathe that wonderfully pure air, more delicious to my palate than the best wine.
Upon returning to the inn, before going up to my room, I would often stop on the porch, stretch out on the wood bench, incapable of tearing myself away from the nocturnal charm of that desert.
I was there, all alone, one night when there was no moon, when suddenly the concert of frogs stopped in the river.
I looked towards the old bridge with its heavy arches; a dark form was crossing it slowly....
It was not a policeman, these men only go out on horseback; nor a shepherd, whose step would have been more rapid; no, it was someone like me out walking, but I had not seen anyone at dinner and it was unreasonable to think that a tourist had arrived at the inn during the night.
Now the silhouette became clearer, tall and thin, going down the road that led to the bridge.
It moved without making a sound.
Before the house, it stopped an instant, then entered the little fence.
It was a woman, in pajamas, and bare feet. Then I understood why I had not heard her steps.
There she was a few feet from me, unaware of my presence.
She stretched out as I had done and pulled open her blouse; her arms, her chest shone weakly in the pale light of the stars.
I would have liked to have admired her cunt as well....
Suddenly there was a strong breeze.
The woman uttered a long sigh that lifted the double globes of her breasts.
It was then that I sneezed unluckily.
The woman stood up, covered her torso and went by me without looking at me.
Good-bye beauty, good-bye pussy!
The next day, from the maid with the crafty eyes who cleaned my room, I learned that the stranger was a Russian or Polish princess who had lived there for a month, but no one ever saw her, for she was served all her meals in her room.
"She only goes out at night?" I asked.
"Sometimes very early in the morning; but when she comes back," added the girl with a sly smile, "you are still in bed."
The distractions were too rare for this stranger not to intrigue me.
The next day, I went out at dawn. In vain. I was not to see her cunt that day.
The nocturnal walker did not appear.
But two days later, when the sun had not yet risen, I heard a sharp clapping on the road which protected the inn's surroundings.
It was a sound that was familiar to me. I jumped out of bed. A czikos-as they call the keeper of the Puszta's horses-was there with two animals, astride one of them, holding the other by the reins.
Then the princess came out.
She was dressed in a sweater and Tyrolean pants, her knees naked, boots of fawn-colored leather.
I would have preferred her naked, her cunt and buttocks laid bare, but even this way she was exciting.
The czikos had jumped down and was holding the stirrup for her, but she disdained his help and jumped on the horse, lifting herself up by her wrists.
With a blow of her riding whip she threw her animal into a gallop.
The czikos did not accompany her.
He tied his steed to the door and entered the inn where a pitcher of wine, already served, awaited him.
I had not anticipated any riding excursions on this trip.
So it was in long pants, tied to my ankles with string, that I threw myself on the czikos' horse and took off in pursuit of the unknown horsewoman.
She had brought her horse to a trot, after a good mile-long run, and only then did she notice that there was another rider wandering about the plain.
She turned and left at top speed.
I did too, of course.
The scent of cunt attracted me from the distance.
This insane chase lasted a very long time.
We only stopped to let our weary horses catch their breath, but the princess had succeeded in staying three or four yards ahead. She was unquestionably a strong and fearless rider.
I only thought of catching up with her and she of fleeing from me. Neither of us had noticed that the sky had grown dark.
Our sexes had forgotten nature.
Suddenly the storm, which comes over the Puszta as quickly as over the sea, pounced on us. It began with a flash of lightning that lit up the plain for miles around-with the flocks of horses, of oxen, lambs, all the animals pressed up against one another to resist the furious wind-then large, thick drops began to fall and soon became a cold deluge that ran down my body like sweat.
I shivered and thought of the woman who must have been experiencing the same apprehension.
She had dismounted and was leaning against her animal's side which sheltered her a little from the wind. I walked over to her with difficulty.
"Are you satisfied?" she said in German.
She had raised her head and, in the incessant lightning, her black eyes were burning with rage. Her wet hair fell to her shoulders. The dripping sweater softened the hard chest that I had seen in the night.
My rod pressed against the material of my pants.
"Why did you run?" I answered, panting. "I'm not a bandit."
"Well!" she said suddenly, noticing my bad German, "a Frenchman! I'm no longer surprised that you run after women."
This time she had spoken in my native tongue. Very correctly with a light roll of her R's. A blow of thunder, more violent than those we had heard up to then, made my horse tremble.
The princess' horse, held less firmly, ran away. I started to go after him.
"Let him go," she said, holding me back. "He'll come back by himself."
In fact, after several leaps, the animal made his way at a walking pace toward us and came over to press himself up against his riding companion.
The woman stroked his neck and shoulders, passed her long hand over his nostrils, spoke to him softly with words that I recognized to be Russian.
"How many languages do you speak?" I asked.
"We can't stay here," she said, without answering my question. "Come. We will leave on foot, holding our animals by the reins." My come was palpitating in my balls, ready to spurt forth.
The woman headed for a cabin made of dried mud, coated with limestone, scarcely high enough for our horses. This shepherd's hut had no other opening than a low door protected by a hedge of reeds. It was empty. We went in after having tied our horses. All I could think about was fucking and sodomizing her.
A couch of reeds-the shepherd's bed-and two oak stools were all the hut contained, along with the traces of a stone furnace.
It was in this parlor that I introduced myself to the princess.
"My name is Masha," she answered simply. "Russian?"
"My parents were Russian before the war. I am Polish."
One hour, more perhaps, slipped away. I discovered sheep's milk cheese, soft and firm at the same time, and a full bottle of a drink which I tasted prudently.
I would have preferred that my partner uncover her cunt, but while waiting:
"It's barak," I said. "It's worthy of your vodka."
Barak is a sweet and fruity brandy that the Hungarian peasant makes with fish.
Masha took the bottle in her hands, brought it to her lips and, not wiping the mouth, began to drink.
For the first time, she smiled:
"As I know several languages, I see that you know the alcohol of all the countries."
"I appreciate what is best in each of them."
"For a Frenchman," she retorted, "what is best in any country is the women. No matter who they are," she added with scorn.
She was right, for there is nothing better on earth than a cunt or an ass.
I shrugged my shoulders.
"It's true," I said. "What can you do? In nature there are males and females and it is instinctive for the former to pursue the latter." My frankness seemed to please her.
"It's about time!" she said. "Here at least is a man who does not swear at the end of a quarter hour that I am the only woman in the world whom he could love. All the same, aren't you going to rape me?"
I would have thrown myself on her pussy to suck her.
"I don't know anything about it."
"Pass me the cheese."
"It's rancid."
"I don't care, I'm dying of hunger."
I would have preferred to pass her my cock, but her desires still remained orders.
Nothing incites confidences like a lunch. Masha soon knew all about me, my profession, my tastes, and I learned that she was not a princess, but the widow of an Austrian count who had died in the war.
The storm had passed. A heavy steam that smelled of the stable rose from the whole prairie.
We had gradually emptied the bottle of barak and Masha was laughing now at the least little thing. Suddenly she said:
"I hate wet clothes. My word, since you already saw my breasts the other night...." She removed her sweater, rung it out. A stream of water fell on me.
Her breasts made me think of her cunt.
"Well!" I said, laughing. "I wasn't wet enough already!"
In my pants, my cock dripped a bit of come.
She laughed as well. She was so close to me that I could not resist and pressed my lips to her naked back.
She shivered lightly, moved away and looked at me.
An idea, a fantasy, a desire perhaps, had just been born in her; but this desire, I could soon see, was not for me.
"Would you see," she said softly, "if anyone is around."
I went out.
All around us, as far as I could see, there wasn't a living thing. Even the flocks had flown away.
"At least the horses are there."
"They are waiting patiently for us."
"Untie mine, please. Leave just the bridle."
I was in the midst of obeying her when she appeared in the threshold of the hut entirely naked, her cunt well uncovered.
I scarcely had the time to perceive her svelte body with its long legs. In a leap, she had jumped on her horse and was galloping across the prairie.
The riding of that female centaur, intoxicated with space as much as with alcohol, was an enchanting vision that I will never forget.
The animal and the woman, manes in the wind, seemed to be one creature, who fucked herself, winged, carried away in the same Dionysiacal burst.
With my lusty appetite, I found that this marvelous spectacle was too brief.
Masha returned. With her long hands, she pushed back her hair behind her neck. Dew-drops fell from the double nest of her underarms.
Passing her right leg over her horse's head, which disclosed the dark hair that surrounded her pussy, she prepared to jump, but I was there and took her into my arms.
I carried her this way into the cabin, without bothering to tie her horse.
Nothing in the terrestrial globe existed any longer than the two of us, my cock and her cunt.
This is what I told her, leaning on her sweating body, whose vaginal lips had retained the powerful odor of the animal they had embraced a moment ago.
"Yes," she said, in a languid voice, "we are alone. I hate the world, women who are jealous of me, men who covet my fortune as much as my cunt, in Varsovie, in Vienna, in Budapest, everywhere ... they are the ones I escaped from to come here to this desert ... you are not like them, I believe and I hope. Take me, take me quickly, fuck me...."
I leaned over her and separated her legs to expose her sculptured opening to the light.
I will never forget the beautiful Polish woman's cunt: it was lightly rounded and raised like a shiny and castrated masculine member, but its slit was narrow and unblemished, as if drawn with a ruler.
The skin was soft and velvety, like a woman's delicate hand and I wanted to bend over her to cover it with kisses.
It was the first truly intimate movement that I had made towards Masha.
Then, losing my head completely, I threw myself on her and separated her legs in order to penetrate her.
Her pussy was silky and receptive.
Entering this marvelous place gave me a sensation that was diaphanous and precise, brutal and languorous, like the country and the woman.
Soon we found ourselves head to head, mouth to mouth, cheek to cheek.
I began to enter her with a powerfully enraged member.
She responded to my assaults, while her expression that became more and more passionate proved that she was moving up the slope of physical exaltation.
Suddenly, gritting her teeth, she cried to me:
"Beat me, I beg you, slap me, show me that you are a real man and that you can beat a creature of the weaker sex. That way you will make me come better in a deeper way...."
She seemed so determined and her request corresponded so well to my most secret desire that, without hesitating, I lifted my hand to give her a resounding blow.
Masha accepted it with a smile filled with joy:
"That's marvelous ... you are a true flagellator, my dear ... you were made to punish and beat ... finally I have found a real man who makes up for all the cowards I have met throughout the world ... go on, darling, and I shall bless you forever...."
My action had procured me as wonderful a feeling as it had given her, for that brutal gesture had made unknown cords vibrate in my flesh.
Without hesitation, I slapped my mistress a second time, then, encouraged by her and all the while fucking her with my cock that had become enlarged with excitation, I continued to beat her.
Masha cried with pain and happiness.
From her lips poured lewd moans and cries of pain.
Suddenly, she shouted:
"I'm coming, my tormentor, my master, and I abandon myself to you, my lord, my God."
My own passion was already at its highest point.
Her last words got the better of my control and, overflowing, my rod relieved itself in several very concentrated jets of sperm that inundated the beautiful Polish woman's vagina.
We remained plunged in the post-amorous beatitude for a long time. But the first excess had not exhausted our desires. Far from it!
We were too delighted with the pleasures tasted together to be able to remain idle for long and our caresses soon made us eager for new embraces.
Masha was a passionate and wicked creature.
She was capable of the most repugnant actions, but she gave such passion, such ardor to them that she ennobled them and trans formed them into expressions that were mystical, sacred, religious.
Nothing was ugly or obscene with her.
My companion was like that incarnation of nature and her most shameless behavior became normal, necessary, just.
She sucked my cock and my balls with an explosive, overpowering, conquering joy.
She looked like she was wallowing between my thighs, on my rod and my balls, that she sucked and bit with a frenzied enthusiasm.
Then, when she saw that I was sufficiently aroused, she shouted:
"I want you to fuck me, my love ... you must punish me with all your might ... you must flagellate me even without a reason, simply to show me that you are a man and that I am your obedient and resigned slave."
She spoke with such determination and she awakened so many new desires of which I had been unaware for so long that she appeared like some strange nymph of the forests sent by some god of eroticism to reveal new vices to me.
I replied to her propositions by nodding my head.
She ran out of the cabin, still naked, went to look for the riding whip that was near the saddle, and came back immediately to offer the instrument of punishment to me.
"I deserve to be punished with this object of supplication, my love...."
Then she turned her back to me in a position of submission and defiance.
Her behavior filled me with an inexhaustible abhorrence which, mingled with my erotic rage, made me lift my hand armed with the whip and beat her with an unbelievable force.
Masha was bent over with pain while the terrifying moan of a wounded animal sprang from her lips. Softening, I tried to run to her to take her in my arms, but she held me back with an expression of anger.
"Don't come near me, you dirty brute ... I have no need for your pity. Do your duty as my torturer and beat me ... it is like that that you will be able to achieve your wonderful pleasure."
I understood then that this wicked creature wanted my cruelty as much as I wanted to inflict it upon her.
I began the punishment again, therefore, with renewed vigor.
She cried with satisfied lust and with pain, all the while encouraging me to continue my fustigation.
Masha directed my actions with a demoniacal knowledge, for she ordered me to reach the desired places, at the same time as she was prey to the most sincere disorder of the senses. The woman showed me thus that her excruciating sensations did not prevent her from dividing herself in two so as to better direct our strange union.
Then she turned around again to present the anterior part of her body, after having offered me her back, begging me and demanding at the same time to beat her breasts-oh, those beautiful tits that trembled under each of my blows-on the abdomen, on her cunt, and on her legs.
She gave me the impression of being under a shower and shivering under the powerful and invigorating shock of the water, which inundated every bit of her flesh.
Suddenly, as if the violence of my beating was no longer enough for her, she separated her thighs and the lips of her vagina and began to masturbate with a demented rage, a delirium that is understandable if you realize that at the same time she was savoring the joys of flagellation.
After a certain point, she stopped crying as if she had exhausted all her tears and could only sigh, moan, and pant heavily. Her entire being seemed stretched towards an unknown point in the sky and she truly resembled one of those symbolic personages of the Faith, of Sanctity, or of Ecstasy.
Suddenly, she opened her mouth, got up on the tips of her toes and uttered a terrifying cry, one of the most monstrous howls I have ever heard, a noise that seemed to spout from her belly, from the depths of her vagina and her buttocks, from that unknown and invincible erotic foyer that must be between the cunt and the ass, a bestial and celestial yelp, the most pure expression of sexuality that a woman ever uttered in front of me.
And she fell back, murmuring:
"Oh, I am coming, I am coming, my love."
How long did we stay there?
It would be impossible to say. Then we left in silence.
At night, we met again and she asked me to take her in the ass, to possess her anus while flagellating her. It was as original and as marvelous as during the earlier embraces.
Then, she revealed the joys experienced by the victim to me, for she proposed to beat me in my turn.
Masha proved to be an extraordinary flagellator. She beat me with a merciless rage-as if she wanted to avenge herself for my earlier cruelty-and she made me come several times during the night by beating me.
I also knew the violent beatitude of discharging during the most frightful suffering and from then on I have been convinced that nothing surpasses this type of pleasure.
But several years later, I had an adventure that was even more unusual, which revealed an even more passionate world of lasciviousness and eroticism to me.
CHAPTER THREE
SEXUAL EXTRAVAGANCE
I was taking a walk with a female companion, a young painter whose name was Sophie.
This pretty creature, a naturist and a libertine, was, like my art teacher, an authentic exhibitionist, but she at least followed through on her sensual impulses, for she was also a screwer of the first order.
Exhibitionism is very frequent in painting. An art collection, for many, especially in an austere and mature age, is a visual harem. Formerly this exhibitionism was suggested more subtly: Madame de Pompadour, painted by Auentin-Latour, intending to reawaken the vacillating cock of her royal lover, limited herself to separating her moist thighs and removing her shoes.
In certain recent expositions, contemporary exhibitionism reaches the representation of the bare cock and cunt.
Exhibitionism is even more frequent with the sculptor; he alone of all the artists works in three dimensions ... like a lover. With the direct contact of material and shapes, he is more tempted to reproduce the sexual object that excites him; the first prehistoric statues are the female representations of sexual characteristics and even monstrously outlined genitals.
In contemporary art, Maillot's sleepers irresistibly suggest the offering to the male. Rodin manifested a persistent priapism all through his very full amorous life; the rough outlines of his famous Balzac in his dressing gown evoke the offering of the rod of which the sculptor was so prodigious in spite of his patriarchal appearance.
But enough theory. Let's go. back to the walk with the beautiful naturist bitch, Sophie.
A rustic inn along the water appeared admirably situated to receive our patronage.
A waitress brought us the refreshments we ordered. She was a beautiful Russian girl whose shiny hair was like a flame and who inspired a great desire to fuck. She went with the country with so much harmony that her presence seemed quite natural; something would have been missing if she had not been there with her cunt that was sensed more than seen. Full haunches, free and rhythmic step, arms naked and of a startling whiteness, her neck slender and long like that of a Greek statue, this girl seemed to personify lust, the spurting of sperm.
She lifted her head suddenly and ran toward the entrance of the inn where a tramp had stopped:
"On your way, man," she said. "The owner doesn't want to see any vagabonds here."
The man pretended not to hear and stood still, but also-surely-very much aroused.
He was leaning his elbows on a little railing that separated the tables from the road and was contemplating the countryside that was offered to his view with obvious satisfaction. He looked extraordinarily like part of the decor. He was filled with that intense poetry that emanated from all of nature and, breathing with joy, with a watchful eye, a listening heart, and a stiff cock, he gave that impression of gentleness and ease of someone who lives freely, who does not submit to any constraint, and who is not expected anywhere. "Didn't you hear me?" the girl repeated. "My beautiful child, isn't the road for everyone? And if it pleases me to look at you...."
"If you are hungry or thirsty, I could...."
"I am neither hungry nor thirsty," said the man. "Aren't there any other sensations in life? Can't a man have another kind of hunger beside that of bread and another kind of thirst than that of wine? I just had a good nap in a barn in which I was offered hospitality and the farmer gave me a cup of coffee, some bread, and some butter. What more do I need? All that I ask now is to be able to transform into reality the beautiful dreams that I had in that barn which smelled of dried hay."
"What did you dream?"
She was acting naive, the little whore. "That some beautiful young girls were putting their cool arms that smelled so good around my neck...."
But no doubt the owner of the inn felt that his beautiful waitress was taking too long with the overly aroused tramp. With a signal that was tender and authoritative at the same time, he made her come inside the inn saying:
"I don't want you to spend any time with riffraff like that."
The tramp left, but instead of going on his way, he took a path that led toward the river, walking slowly, perhaps pursuing his dreams of fucking in the barn....
When Sophie and I left the inn, we did as the tramp had done and took one of the paths which led to the edge of the lake, for the countryside was so pretty that we couldn't stand the thought of leaving yet.
Having discovered a little well-shaded cove, we settled down to try to profit as best we could from the present situation, and we spent some time chatting, lounging, and necking a little.
The minutes slipped by, sweetly, rapidly, agreeably, without giving the impression of lasting a long time....
Suddenly my companion said:
"How delicious it would be to plunge in."
"Why deprive yourself?"
I had not finished my sentence when the bather had already started to undress. Her clothes slid and fell around her like the petals of a rose. In a second, the young woman arose in her gracious and tender nudity. Then she executed a skillful dive and swam away.
I looked after her, amused, preferring myself the pleasures of idleness to the exploits of my sportive friend, letting myself drift into that kind of awake dreaming which, surrounded by the beautiful May countryside, is one of the most exquisite sensations available.
How long did I remain there? It would be impossible to say.
Seeing that my friend had still not returned, I decided to go look for her. I discovered her quite far away, in a clearing.
Sophie was naked ... in the arms of the tramp!
He had not had to remove either the bra or the panties of the beautiful creature to kiss her on the bust and caress her cunt with a mastery in which talent was joined with passion.
It was easy to see that the man had been deprived of women for a long time, for he was caressing his adorable companion and handling her most intimate parts with the ferocity of an enraged animal.
As for Sophie, she seemed to be taking as much pleasure in it as her partner, for having been loved by blase and softened city men for a long time, she must have experienced a great joy in changing to this kind of lover and in abandoning herself to the vigorous embrace of that savage, that beast of the forests.
She had unbuttoned the stranger's pants and had seized his cock, stupefied and happy at the same time because of the monstrous dimensions of a truly abnormal member which even a horse could have exhibited without shame. The tramp seemed to have been designed by nature in proportion to the very woods he had rejoined. His genital construction appeared to justify his existence as a vagabond, free from society.
I was not unaware that Sophie had a sexual nature of the first order but at the moment she was demonstrating that she could augment her sinful capacities even more according to the possibilities of her lover, to the point of bringing them to an unsuspected degree.
She was responding to the vaginal caresses of the man with an extraordinary force, gritting her teeth and murmuring obscenities to him, almost making love with him before abandoning herself:
"Tell me, my savage," she whispered, "my cunt pleases you doesn't it? Admit that it excites you, dirty brute ... you must not have had such a windfall in a very long time ... you must not have had the chance to touch such a pussy very often ... all washed and perfumed with the best products in the world ... so tell me, you're going to fuck me passionately, aren't you? You're going to show that you are worthy of the gift which has fallen from heaven and you are going to fuck me as much as possible...."
The tramp was literally slobbering over the girl and answered her in the same way, as much by pleasure as by the desire to satisfy her, who, without it, might have let him fall and left him:
"Oh, yes, you are going to be fucked like you have never been. It's true that I haven't done it in a long time. I think, too, that I have never known a whore as well built as you and I promise myself the wonders of your embrace. In addition, you only have to look at my cock ... many people, men, who have seen me have told me that they have never seen one like it ... so answer, is it true that my rod is of a good caliber?"
"Oh, yes," replied Sophie. "Truly, from the point of view of size and length, you are divinely endowed. You will tear me apart ... I'm almost coming just at the idea of the ravages that your monstrous stick will make in my pussy. Oh, you'll kill me ... enough talk, come ... fuck me...."
The tramp wanted his companion to lie down in the grass but she refused to lend herself to this stratagem and demanded that he possess her standing up and leaning against her. The whore pleased him too much for him to disobey her and he accepted to satisfy her caprice, provided that he could take her.
Therefore, he lifted the woman's leg with his left hand to expose her vagina, covered with its blonde hair, to the light, then with his right hand he placed his rod at the entrance that was already moist with the juices of desire. He was so excited that he had to start all over again twice before slipping the tip of his prick into the slobbering pussy. But as soon as he had begun to penetrate her, she screamed with pain.
"Oh, your cock is too big for me! You have a true horse's prick! I have never been cleaved by such a tool ... but go on, don't stop! Tear me! I have the feeling that you are giving me a second deflowering ... you are going to mutilate my pussy ... it will no longer be good for anything ... but who cares, I wanted someone to fuck me so well one time that this possession would exempt me from all others ... that I would no longer need to be fucked, that someone could burn forever the desires of a whore that consume me . .
Soon the male cock penetrated her sex right up to the tip and only the balls remained outside the inflamed hole, leaning against the edge of her abdomen.
The two lovers stopped for a few minutes to catch their breath. Then, once Sophie had accustomed herself to the dimensions of the member which had seemed insurmountable to her, she began to move against her lover so as to make him move more quickly.
But the tramp, who was still holding back for fear of wounding his mistress, didn't ask anything else than to screw the pretty creature. Bending his legs, he threw himself violently against the woman's abdomen, which formed a wall of marvelous flesh from which spurted lightning flashes of voluptuousness whose shocks made the vagabond tremble with ecstasy in his turn. He was too excited to be able to hold back for long the orgasm that was rising from his pelvis to his skull.
Obsessed by the sensual violence, the male was no longer anything but a beast, tortured and panting, a sensual fire on which Sophie was tossing the oil of her obscene exclamations. Words without bonds rose from her lips, but her words contained an expressive power much greater than the most refined phrases:
"Fuck, you bastard! Screw! Oh, your cock ... you are digging me, impaling me ... my cunt is bursting ... oh, happiness! My poor cunt is swooning!"
Suddenly the man uttered a kind of moan of a wild beast, followed by two brief cries. His come spurted from his cock and after having filled his mistress' vagina, he fell on the green grass, staining it with several scarcely visible gray spots.
Struck by the sperm after having been knocked by the man's sex, Sophie must have felt waves of sensual pleasure bursting in her flesh and transforming themselves into a shower of fireworks. She grew still, hypnotized by what had happened to her, then in her turn uttered a cry before falling against her partner's body.
The two lovers remained thus, like two trees crushed or bent by age, one against the other, and each preventing the other from falling. Then, gently, they slid to the ground, where they remained entwined and blissful, impregnated by the extraordinary pleasure they had just experienced.
Soon they came to themselves and the words they exchanged, carried by an echo, reached my ears:
"That was marvelous!" said Sophie.
"I also found it wonderful," answered the tramp.
"Too bad it's always so brief," remarked the woman. "I wish it could have lasted for centuries and centuries."
He shrugged his shoulders.
"You're right, but unfortunately the greatest joys always pass too quickly in this life . .
"You know that I have the true temperament of a nymphomaniac ... I can start again immediately...."
"You're lucky ... it seems that there are women who are capable of fucking without interruption. No sooner have they come when they are already excited again, ready to take it again."
"I'm like that," she admitted seductively, rubbing herself up against him like a cat.
The tramp smiled and tenderly caressed Sophie's beautiful hair.
"Don't worry," he murmured finally, "I too am inclined towards it and you won't have to wait long for me to screw you again...." He made a movement to get up.
"Where are you going?" she demanded, surprised. "Don't you like it here by my side?"
"Yes," he replied a little disturbed. "But you know ... : I'd like to take care of my little needs. After love I believe everyone wants to go and piss...."
"Ah!" she exclaimed strangely, while a bizarre light entered her eyes. "Wait...." And she seized his hand to hold him back. "I would like to ask you something. You will surely be surprised, but so much the worse. Your way of possessing me awakened a perversity in me that I thought was asleep, that I no longer dared to practice. My most terrible wish is that you take care of your needs on me...."
"What!" he cried, irritated, but scarcely allowing any surprise to show in his face at the woman's unexpected request.
"Yes, I want you to piss on me," she continued. "A man's sperm only touches my vagina, while I am dying to be sprinkled everywhere, on my whole body, on every fiber of my erogenous flesh. At the moment of the supreme spasm, my entire flesh demands to be reached, touched, moistened, bathed by the male secretions...."
"Have you often been inundated by the urine of your lovers?" asked the tramp.
"To tell the truth, rarely," replied Sophie, panting with anguish and passion. "Two or three times ... but I swear to you that when they accepted to offer me this pleasure, my partners overwhelmed me beyond every wish, and left me indelible memories."
"Your friend, the boy who accompanied you, has he done it to you?"
"No, you know, my love, that it's not something you can just ask of anyone ... I asked you because you inspire confidence in me, because you seem made for it-a vagabond, an inhabitant of the forests, a primitive man, a savage with an enormous, animal-like cock ... I think you must be truly gifted for such an act, for all the scarcely imaginable animal things...."
The man was silent for a few seconds, seeming to hesitate between various unknown, contrary desires. Finally he smiled, or rather sneered without gaiety, with a kind of hatred: "If you wish," he said, "I'll urinate on you...."
He got up.
"To tell the truth, such a gesture doesn't displease me a bit ... I even like it ... I too have often had the desire to express my contempt for society by spitting on it, or rather by spitting on one of its most authentic representatives ... and who can better represent our rotten civilization than one of those beautiful and independent creatures for whom everything in the world that is most refined seems to have been made and who enjoys the results and efforts of all the technology and the beauties of human ingenuity. Let me tell you that if I became a tramp, a vagabond, a savage, it is through anarchism, through disgust for society and a civilization which you embody better than anyone else . .
The man had stood up while he was speaking and exhibited his cock, which, while it remained soft after his discharge, still retained a monstrous and frightening appearance.
"But before pissing on you," he said in front of his companion, who was still at his feet in a position of amorous imploring and of perverse despair, "before pissing on you, then, you must permit me to do something that means much more to me and which I have wanted to do for much longer: to spit on you!"
"Why, of course, my darling!" exclaimed Sophie, who seemed to have fallen to the lowest degree of vice and of weakness, "spit on me, cover me with all your swallowing!"
Then he executed his threats by accomplishing the act he desired.
He sought the young woman's face-who was holding it up to him-and threw an enormous yellowish expectoration, the color of the tobacco he had chewed for so many years, right in her face. It slid down the beautiful creature and then fell on the grass like sperm.
Sophie seemed delighted with this treatment. "Yes, go on, my love ... rid yourself on me of all your saliva, vomit all your contempt on me, throw up your phlegm on me. I regret that you aren't a little more disgusted by my behavior and that you didn't throw up your whole lunch on me. I would have liked you to have been heartsick and relieved yourself on me...."
The tramp contemplated the beautiful slut with an expression of hatred and love, an expression that we have seen so often on the faces of perverted people, then he brought up all the saliva that had accumulated in his throat and spit at his wicked companion's face.
At the height of pleasure, she looked like she was at the supreme moment, crying:
"Oh, it's marvelous how your spitting fulfills me as much as your sperm, how my face is as erogenous as my sex! Oh, yes, you excite me and you overwhelm me! I have the feeling you are making love to me ... but, my darling, don't make the rest of my body languish any longer. Occupy yourself with it, satisfy it, give it happiness, too, by urinating on it. I want you to cover me with it, for every bit of my flesh to enjoy being sprayed with your urine. Come, my dear, relieve yourself on me...."
The tramp stood up, separated his legs, pointed his disgusting member at Sophie and began to wet her with his smelly, yellowish spray. She reveled on the grass as if under a shower of pleasant water and moved constantly in order to place new sections of her body under the obscene waterfall. She seemed to be taking an invigorating bath-and perhaps she was right to behave like that if you recall that in ancient pharmacopoeia urine was considered to be a medicine of great efficacy.
The tramp relieved himself a long time, as if he had been holding a great quantity of liquid in his vessels. At the end, prey to a true delirium of the senses, Sophie shivered and panted, close to an orgasm.
But scarcely had he finished when the tramp changed his behavior completely and, losing his contemptuous, hateful attitude, he fell on his knees in front of his partner whom he began to cover with kisses, to lick and to suck everywhere, as if he was trying to take back with his lips all the secretions he had just eliminated on her.
His companion abandoned herself to his movements of tenderness, as she had a few moments earlier to his urine, with the same blissful and exalted expression.
"I love you," she said. "Everything you do enchants me and amazes me. As soon as I knew that I was made for you, that you alone were worthy of my love...."
While kissing her on the cunt, on her splendid breasts, on the abdomen, the tramp murmured:
"I have always dreamed of a woman like you ... I never believed that such a creature could exist ... you seem to have arisen from the forests to fulfill me, my little dove...." The vagabond's tongue had touched the girl's sex and he separated her lips to forage there.
Between two sucks, he whispered:
"I would like to eat your pussy ... I regret that it isn't richer in substances and secretions Do you know what I would like? For you to piss also, not to wet me, but so that you could constantly fill your hole and that way offer me a long drink between the lips of your cunt."
She sat up a little and answered ecstatically:
"I will do everything you want. Actually, I too want to urinate. Also, after the happiness you gave me, I need to piss, to take care of my little and my big needs, everything ... I no longer know where we are even and for how long we have been here...."
Then she was still so as to concentrate better before throwing a brief jet of urine which touched her lover's lips. He leaned over the vagina and absorbed the piss to the last drop, then licked the surrounding flesh, with an avid tongue. This brought Sophie's excitation to its peak, as she moved hysterically under the new caresses of her companion.
It wasn't long before he ordered:
"Go on, now, throw me a new spurt and fill your pussy again with this intoxicating liquid, more delicious than the most marvelous wines or aperitifs I have ever tasted." She obeyed and gave him a new mouthful of urine which he lapped up with great manifestations of happiness and then sucked the flesh dry, licking and biting the woman with a passion that brought her to the highest peak of sensual pleasure.
The two lovers continued this way a long time, she emitting little streams of piss, like one of those artesian fountains which children and passersby come to appease their thirst, he absorbing these secretions with a more and more obvious joy, plunging his mouth more and more deeply into her pussy to extract a more and more secret content.
Once, in response to a new demand from the tramp for a drink, she replied:
"I'll try my best, but I don't have anymore. You swallowed the whole contents of my abdomen...."
"Oh, no," he protested without hiding his disappointment, "you must still have some in the bottom of your pelvis. I'll look for it and surely find some . .
Then, pushing his head even deeper into his mistress' enlarged sex, he began to explore the most distant regions of her pussy, biting it, to extract the last little drops of secretion that she could give.
Trembling and crying out, prey to an uncontrollable passion, as if she had been tortured by thousands of obscene and disgusting demons, Sophie soon came for the second time.
But the two did not remain inactive for long, for during this whole seance, the tramp was already sufficiently excited to exhibit an enormous member. He was ready for new attacks.
Sophie did not need to rest, for her temperament pushed her on to reawaken rapidly, to the great despair of her usual lovers.
But this time, she had found a partner worthy of her sensual demands, capable of assuaging her repeated desires.
"Oh, your beautiful cock," she said, seizing the still rod. "It is wonderful, divine! I hope you will permit me to profit from it again and won't reserve it for another of your conquests."
"My prick is only destined to serve you," replied the tramp. "It is dying to have you. You only have to separate your legs to receive it."
"Let's change the place of attack!" cried the young woman. "My vagina has enjoyed the attentions of your rod and your mouth sufficiently. My rear would also like to taste the pleasures of love."
"I wasn't aware of your anal possibilities," said her partner. "Are you as sensitive in the back as in the front?"
"Oh, yes, I told you that my whole body is erogenous and the smallest piece of my flesh shivers from an amorous caress. Now, up until now, you have only occupied yourself with my anterior parts, completely forgetting my posterior parts which are dying to participate in this party."
"You're right, I scarcely touched your back or your ass. But it isn't completely my fault. Your face, your mouth, your breasts, and especially your pussy have completely bewitched me and made me forget the rest. Now, turn around, my love, and show me the nice curves that you have kept hidden from me until now, so I can tease them a little before I attack them."
With exclamations of pleasure and gratitude, Sophie turned over on the grass, her face to the ground, her ass in the air.
The tramp began to kiss the woman with his skillful tongue along her vertebral column until he reached her buttocks with their adorable curves. Encouraged by the shivers and the cries of his companion, he stopped there so as to better savor and lick them, then he slid his buccal appendage in the slit of her posterior and explored it with an obvious delight.
"Oh, you are sucking my ass in a divine manner," whispered Sophie, trembling. "I have never been licked so well there. If you didn't already have so many other talents, I would only ask for your caresses in my posterior ... oh, go on, I have the feeling that you could make me come just by licking my anus...."
The man continued his activity for some time, but his own excitation was augmented and at a very high point, he finally protested:
"Oh, dirty bitch, you only think of yourself, and you forget my desires. My cock, neglected at the moment, would also like to enjoy itself...."
Called to her duty, Sophie exclaimed:
"I am truly a badly brought up creature and I deserve as punishment to be deprived forever of what pleases me most in the world, your cock. But you are sweet, my dear; you will pardon me and possess me in the ass...."
The man didn't have to be asked a second time and placed himself behind the woman, who sat up a little and then placed herself on all fours like a dog, holding her posterior up to the male's stiff prick.
He separated her buttocks with his hands and adjusted his cock at the opening which she had moistened at the start. When he started to penetrate her, his mistress cried with pain and begged him to advance gently until she had accustomed herself to him. Moderating his passion, the tramp finally completely entered her and lodged his monstrous member.
The young creature soon manifested her joy at the brutal assaults of her companion:
"Oh, my ass," she moaned. "It is intoxicated by this windfall. It has never been pierced by such a rod. It is truly a love arrow. My buttocks are going to die from the hole you are enlarging in an indescribable way. You are sticking it into my rear like a pen goes into the ink bottle, but what you are extracting is not ink, but blood. Oh, you are hurting me. You must have made me bleed when you were striking me mercilessly like the waves torment the rocks."
Love was making the young whore poetic.
The words tumbled from her constantly and were put together in so curious a fashion that they provoked images, certainly much more unexpected because of their source than their contents.
The man pressed his companion's haunches and rode her in silence, his jaws set, his eyes burning, hypnotized by a vision which seemed to surge from far away, beyond the present.
From time to time, a moan escaped his lips, a kind of barbaric and inhuman call which disappeared without leaving a trace and resembled a stifled confession.
Suddenly, Sophie started to fart.
Her posterior, submitted to the rude test forgot all restraint and liberated itself of its fullness.
With each of the vagabond's blows came a burning and pestilential gas which, instead of embarrassing the woman, seemed, on the contrary, to fill her with pride and profound joy.
As if she had feared that her act might pass unnoticed, she stressed it with obscene and excited questions:
"So, my love, do you hear my farts? Do you love them? They're even making you a little more excited, to judge from the behavior of your cock. It is getting bigger and bigger. It's going to make me explode. The more I fart, the more your rod enlarges."
The tramp, a little more silent than usual, continued to beat the woman's back with his enlarged member, without uttering a single word, as if he did not hear his partner's vulgarity, as if his work excited him more than anything that was happening around him, as if his mistress' words had awakened such powerful sensations in him that they robbed him of all powers of expression, all ability to respond.
He resembled a robot, fucking his companion in a mechanical way, while Sophie was a veritable volcano of life, of sounds, of ideas, and of new wishes.
"Because of your attacks, you have given me the desire to shit," she said suddenly.
"Oh, no," he protested. "I don't want that...."
"Why?" she asked. "How could my excretions bother you or disgust you? You know quite well that between lovers nothing is shocking...."
"It's not that," he replied, "but this act of love, everything that is concerned with scatological vices makes me crazy, literally demented ... so, be quiet ... let me bugger you until we come together ... but we won't go any further, for you will unleash criminal instincts in me that I have been trying to stifle and dominate for a long time."
But, in spite of the tramp's attitude, Sophie, preoccupied only with her lascivious demands, persisted:
"But, my dear, why does my desire to shit on your cock frighten you so? It would please me so much. Don't you think your prick would be happy to swim in it?"
"Yes, my love," replied the tramp, panting, "but you don't know me ... you don't know why I became a vagrant ... you know nothing about me, neither my name nor where I come from. You must believe that I am a madman and that certain types of unusual love can push me to murder. I have already killed one girl who had the same perverse desires as you and who loved to revel in excrements...."
"But I can't hold out, my love!" cried Sophie. "I can't control myself...."
Preceded by several farts, a little stream of shit burst from the beautiful creature and covered the tramp's cock, then soiled his thighs. This made the two orgiasts almost insane and, for reasons that were contrary and harmonious at the same time, they were each overcome by a savage joy that had been unknown until then:
"Oh, I did it all over your rod," she said with an expression of exaltation that made her pretty face grin. "Now, will you let me continue until I come?"
"Yes, my pet," replied the vagabond, who had also undergone a strange transformation. "Not only will I permit you to soil me with your fecal matter, but I beg you to do it ... and not only on my cock, but everywhere, on my whole body, wherever you wish...." Sophie was trembling with happiness, as if all of paradise had opened before her.
"Really? Then let's separate. Pull your cock out of me so we can change positions." Her partner followed her orders and removed his cock, which was soiled with the beautiful whore's excrement. Then, as he panted, seized by a mad impulse, he lay down on the grass, presenting his face to Sophie. She crouched down over her lover, who reached up with his hands and drew her close to him, waiting expectantly.
Sophie tried.
But nothing happened.
Too excited or already partly emptied, the girl appeared incapable at first of unburdening herself on the tramp. She struggled, but all she could extract from her enlarged hole were a few meager farts.
Then the tramp, who seemed to have experience in these strange situations, got up and licked his partner vigorously, parting her dorsal slit with his hands. His activity had the desired effect, for Sophie soon covered the tramp with dung.
He was quite happy to lick her body, every place that had been touched by the scabrous substances, and then stretched out on the grass to receive the rest of it where he could. Overwhelmed with pleasure, he uttered little obscene laughs as his enlarged cock reached a stupefying size.
Sophie was also at the height of happiness.
Without stopping to look at the ravages done to her companion, she panted and whined as if she had been possessed by the tramp's member. Suddenly, at the peak of her erotic delirium, she separated her thighs and started to masturbate, throwing her head back in ecstasy.
Quickly, she uttered a long sigh while her half-closed eyes and quivering nostrils expressed with an unbelievable intensity all the happiness that she was experiencing, then she let herself fall on the ground and murmured:
"I came ... I came...."
The tramp, who had until then remained on the ground, got up and contemplated the slut with a look filled with desire and passion:
"Now that you have been satisfied, I hope you will permit me to come in the same way...."
"Oh, yes, my love," replied Sophie. "I am yours ... do what you wish with me...."
Then her companion placed himself on the pretty girl as she had placed herself on him and returned the pleasure she had given him, at the same time shouting and crying out with glee.
Sophie squirmed and struggled beneath the man, without trying to escape.
The man then began to stimulate his cock, which had reached an even larger size, and soon discharged on his mistress' forehead, eyes, and lips, after which Sophie licked her lover's come from his body too. Then the two sated lovers ran and threw themselves in the river and cleaned their bodies, thus making every trace of their perversities disappear. Finally, Sophie seemed to remember my existence and explained to the tramp that she had to leave him to rejoin me.
The two kissed and parted, determined to leave to chance alone the problem of bringing them together again, to be free, preoccupied above all with the safeguarding of their independence.
I hastened to go back to the place where my friend had left me, resolving to hide my role of "voyeur" which circumstances had permitted me to play.
I heard her step, half-opening my eyes as if after a long nap. At that precise instant, I saw her come up to me. She was laughing. "I was gone quite awhile, wasn't I?" Stretching out on the grass so as to let the water evaporate before putting on her clothes again, she continued:
"And the tramp? Did you see him again?"
"No. Did you?"
"Yes, I saw him," she said with a strange expression.
"How strange you make that sound!"
"Listen," she said, "you must forget what I am going to tell you as soon as we get back in the car, but it will amuse me to tell you...."
And, seeming to be speaking for herself, as if she was enjoying prolonging the memory of what had happened, the young woman, still stretched out naked in the grass, recited: "After my swim, I wanted to rest. Seeing that no one was around, I went to stretch out on the grass and warm myself in the sun when I saw our tramp surging up from behind a clump of trees with his dreamy expression. I did not try to escape and remained still. I saw the tramp approach me, join his hands as if he was praying, then fall on his knees, murmuring:
"'Why, it's true! She is alive! And her pussy is a real pussy!'
"'Of course I'm alive,' I said laughing. 'Did you take me for a ghost?'
"'How beautiful you are!' said the man. 'You are more beautiful than my most beautiful dreams!'
"Then I remembered what he had said a while ago. Anyway, his eyes were so brilliant that it would have been impossible not to understand that he was asking neither for charity nor a bit of bread, nor a glass of wine, but my sex ... and I thought that it would be marvelous to be able to give this poor man the gift he desired so passionately."
"And then?" I asked of the nude bather. "Then ... I gave him what he wanted: my pussy."
"That was really a marvelous gift. Was he worthy of it?" I asked.
Smiling, my companion answered:
"More worthy than many of those who do not beg . .
When we left a half hour later, we passed the beggar on the road.
He was no longer a plain tramp. He resembled a legendary hero who had just received an offering from his distant princess that he had so ardently desired for so long. My companion did not turn around, but an amused smile played on her lips and I wondered if the pleasures of her bath had not been a simple pretext for finding the strange tramp who had desired the Russian servant....
Then, incapable of holding back, I slammed on the brakes and stopped the car:
"That's enough, dear Sophie," I said. "You have lied to me enough. I saw everything that you did with your tramp. And I propose that you begin the same thing again with me!"
Surprised at first, she finally admitted it and accepted my proposition.
The woods that stretched along the river accepted us like a solicitous madam charged with the keeping of our secret.
Sophie took off her clothes while I did the same, then she threw herself on my cock and sucked it-not to make it stiff, for it was already huge-but to immediately satisfy the need she had to suck a man's cock.
Soon the grass received our excited bodies.
But we had forgotten that the car, left along the road, could give away our presence. It told the vagabond that his beloved and her friend were near, which permitted him to come over and surprise us.
But Sophie and I were happy to greet him and to pursue our orgy in his company. We fucked, we whipped each other, we made the come, the urine, and the excrement spurt from each other until late that night.
But I am too tired to continue, my pretty queen, my beautiful whore, my superb faggot ... I see that my recitation has excited you enough, to judge from the stiff cock and the two cunts-opened and dripping a white substance-that you are showing me. It's your turn to relate your most exciting memories.
PART THREE
-LUCIENNE'S STORY
CHAPTER ONE
THE COURTESAN'S FIRST ADVENTURES
The beautiful prostitute began the story of her erotic life:
The daughter of a cowherd, born in P , a little mountain village, I was raised with Ida, the child of one of my uncles who died in the war. It was she who introduced me to the abyss of love into which I quickly threw myself with my whole body and especially with my abdomen, my vagina, and my ass.
Ida already knew many boys and would sometimes go and hide with one or another of them in a little garden near our house, without forgetting to ask me beforehand to be on the lookout and warn her by a call or signal if some intruder arrived.
One afternoon, she went with a young blond man who had come from the capital several days earlier. She left me behind the garden fence.
After awhile I abandoned my watch and took several steps toward the door, then, thinking better of it, I went back on the path Ida and her young man had just taken.
They weren't there. Just in ease, I walked further. A little crossroad went off to the left of the arbor, winding among the azalea bushes. I moved quietly, almost on the tips of my toes, without even really knowing what I was looking for.
I stopped short when I saw them through a clump of trees.
They were seated on a bench facing me and were covering their legs and bodies with an old raincoat. The boy was kissing Ida's mouth without even moving away. I could only see their faces, Ida's legs that were a little separated, and the man's that were together.
The coat's empty sleeves were swinging mockingly.
Barely breathing, I watched that interminable kiss. They were hardly moving their faces. I realized finally that their hidden hands must also be caressing each other. Ida pressed her knees but did not leave her adversary's lips.
He parted her legs. The raincoat jolted.
Underneath, a strange battle was taking place. I didn't dare to move. One step on the gravel would have made them jump. The anxiety to see what was going on gave me the strength to control my fear. Quickly, the boy left Ida's mouth and snuggled against her neck. She kissed his forehead, removed his left arm and pushed him from her chest.
He was panting softly, his eyes closed.
I felt the blood rushing to my head. The boy was shivering. His feet were scraping on the gravel and he hid his face. Ida caressed his forehead, his eyes, his nose.
Then she uttered a weak cry.
This time the garment that was covering them fell away and permitted me to see the couple's real activities that had been concealed until then.
The boy had slipped the bit of flesh that came from between his legs into my sister's pussy and now he was continuing to push it in and take it out in a strange coming and going motion. This was making the young girl unrecognizable for she was writhing and shaking with a kind of total madness.
My first desire was to throw myself at the two people, to pull Ida from the hands of the brutal adolescent. But a more precise inspiration held me in place and stopped me from intervening. An incomprehensible dizziness composed of desire and lust made me understand that my sister had wanted to place herself in this animal state and that she was finding happiness in doing it.
So I looked at the young people who were penetrating each other with an obvious joy. What fascinated me most was that masculine appendage which simultaneously disgusted me and attracted me with a strong, inexplicable force.
Suddenly, my sister let out a more powerful cry and her body relaxed completely as she murmured:
"You made me come."
Her partner did not answer and continued to knock her with redoubled strength. Suddenly he became still and then collapsed on the girl's body.
"I finished too," he said.
Several minutes later, he took out his member and permitted me to see that the tip of his sex was dripping some strange substance, like mucus, which had already filled Ida's vagina.
Frightened, I ran away.
* * *
The scene which I had accidentally witnessed had filled me with such anguish and such intoxication that it was impossible to confide in anyone-and especially my sister-that I had seen those shameful goings on.
But several weeks later, I had the chance to experience in my turn, in my body, the power of the male appendage. This scene is imprinted on my mind in so powerful a manner that I have the feeling again, at this very moment, that I am assisting in its unraveling....
I stretched out on my stomach in the short, yellow grass, mingled with thistles, and crawled up to the edge of a steep cliff. Then the wind took hold of me, raising my little skirt, penetrating my blouse violently and freezing my breasts. My long hair blinded me.
The rising tide was licking the chalky wall fifty yards below.
How had they gotten there?
Even after having spent years on the plateau of the dune, one would hardly know the underground passage. And to go down the wall of the cliff was impossible even with ropes.
Yet, two boys were there, skillfully crouched on the rocks, two boys dressed in short pants which hid their stiff appendages and thick blue sweaters with the collars rolled up around their necks.
I bit my lips.
They were the same height and resembled each other strangely. One was looking for crabs, the other seemed to be watching the sea patiently.
But they would have been able to penetrate me as the stranger had penetrated Ida's hole.
I seized a pebble and, standing firmly on my left leg, I threw it at them. The stone hit a hard rock, split apart, and fell in a thousand pieces around the twins.
They raised their heads in the same movement and looked at me without calling me names. I would have liked the whole cliff to fall down on them.
The two boys spoke to each other without my being able to hear them and, abandoning their fishing, they crept along the ragged trail that I had thought I was the only one to know about. Ten minutes later they were on the plateau.
Frightened, I ran to the blackberry bushes, panting, my vagina all sweaty. My heart was beating fast, pumping little streams of warm blood into my sex. I ran even faster when I heard the two boys behind me and tried to go across the field. The thickets scratched my legs. In a leap I jumped over a little ditch.
"Go to the right, Dennis!" cried one of the boys.
He was going to cut me off.
I slowed down, hoping to embarrass them at one of those habitual places for lovers and take back the lead, but a hand seized my arm. I freed myself with a good kick. This sudden release surprised me and I fell down on my stomach, on my vagina.
In an instant, they were on me, turning me over on my back, holding my arms. I tried to get up, but two hands held my thighs, pressing me to the ground. I closed my eyes, pressed my lips together and, gathering my saliva, spit. But I missed them and they laughed.
Their red faces, excited by the run, leaned over me.
"Well, it's the cowherd's daughter."
"Let me go!"
In the fall, my skirt had been raised, uncovering my naked legs, my naked abdomen. I tried to push away their hands and at the same time, in my rage, there was something heavy and violent that made me burn.
"Why did you throw a rock?"
"This tunnel, this sand is mine. I forbid you...."
One of the boys let go of one of my arms and I profited by hitting him with all my might.
"Let me, Paul."
The other moved away and I received on my abdomen, on my sex, the weight of a knee that made me part my legs involuntarily.
They held my arms with their hands.
"We don't want to hurt you. Don't move anymore and listen: this tunnel is for anyone. We use it just like you."
The knee was hurting the lips of my vagina. My arms held back, I could not push my adversary away. The other one had gotten up. Suddenly I understood with shame that he was looking at my naked legs, my uncovered pussy.
"Bastards!" I cried.
Why had I insulted them?
No doubt because I was disappointed at being so easily abandoned, when Ida's friend had profited by her position to penetrate her, possess her and make her cry with pain.
One of the boys, Paul, immediately understood my state. "But you're not going to let her get away like that, idiot," he said knowingly. "Don't you see what she wants?"
He threw himself on me.
But when, several minutes earlier, I would have given myself joyously to his desires, now that he had just revealed my wishes at the top of his voice, he was detestable to me. I started to struggle under the weight of his body, but the boy was much too strong for me and he had no difficulty separating my legs and adjusting his appendage against my vagina.
His attack made me cry with pain. But my suffering did not stop his actions, for he started to push his member in again and took it out according to the rhythm of his animal desires. Gradually, however, my pain ceased and gave way to the desire which had seized me from the first contact with my assailants. Now I was no longer protesting. On the contrary, incapable of hiding the happiness my companion's attack was giving me, I began to shiver with pleasure.
"Ah, you see, she likes it!" shouted Paul to his friend, who had remained standing and was contemplating us with fascination.
Suddenly, my lover uttered a weak cry and became still on my body as a stream of his gelatinous material spurted from his appendage.
"Well, you came," remarked Dennis. "Get up, I want to take your place."
Several minutes later, the second adolescent substituted himself in my flesh. I let myself be possessed, intoxicated by my actions, prey to an unbelievable dizziness in all my senses.
Dennis was more gentle, sweeter, and more tender than Paul, and the pleasure he offered me was much more intoxicating. I approached a more and more extraordinary pleasure and suddenly my passion reached its peak and broke, leading me to a marvelous and desperate fall.
Then I understood, as in a dream, that my lover had just experienced the same sensation, for he let himself fall on me, while his cock emptied itself of its dirty gray-green substance.
When the two twins left me, I was a little frightened by the act they had committed.
* * *
That night in bed, I confessed what had just happened to me to Ida. In the moonlight, she stared at me while strange lights went on in her eyes.
"You made love?" she asked in an excited voice.
"Yes."
"Did you like it?"
"Very much."
Ida's burning hand seized me by the haunches and drew me toward the center of the bed. I was so close to my foster sister that she could hear the beating of my heart was boiling with warm and violent blood.
Our apple dessert and the drinks we had had were on our breaths and I sought my companion's intoxicating mouth while fearing it. I closed my eyes and guessed that Ida, raising herself on her elbow, was turning off the light. The night enveloped us and we were alike in that instant, unaware of one another, watching each other, seeking each other, slowly being enticed by the perfume of our unknown bodies.
The silence also concealed us.
I could not understand Ida's heavy and often shrill voice without difficulty. In my growing torpor I forgot what I knew about my sister and only heard a beautiful heavy body breathing beside mine. It seemed to me even that her light breathing, which beat my face, was already giving birth to a strange obsession in me, which made me press myself against Ida and which, if I did not restrain myself, would throw me trembling and submissive against my companion's breast.
She, less ignorant, heard with surprise the murmur of desire in me almost sing, ready to burst.
Would we dare?
Paralyzed, I waited for the pressure of her hand, the shock of her knee to pull me out of my deceitful immobility, unlock the thing I was still ignorant of but wanted more and more passionately. How long the waiting lasted and that painful desire resolved itself in incoherent and stupid dreams!
I held my breath when Ida's hand rested softly on my leg, seemingly without intentions, like a simple, friendly gesture.
I didn't tremble or move, but through the material of my nightgown, I guessed (without daring to touch them) that my hardened breasts were cold like the day when a boy saw them and caressed them with his eyes.
Then, with an unconscious movement, which was aided by the alcohol I had had at dinner, I placed my hand on Ida's round haunch.
The soft skin palpitated under my paralyzed fingers.
Ida drew closer to me with a long creeping movement. Our burning cheeks touched, then Ida's moist lips slid behind my ear, making me stiff with anguish.
My companion had to seize my hand and bring it slowly to her sex. I let her do it, awaiting my own seduction which I guessed was close. I did not help my partner at all. She let go of my wrist and calmly began to caress my burning pussy.
I almost cried.
A warm pain caught fire in my vagina. I bit my lips, turning my head without disturbing Ida. My tears began to fall as the first real sign of my abandon.
Her hand worked on my clitoris insistently, imprinting its rhythm on me. I let the joy invade me, welcoming the brisk warmth which was taking possession of my body.
The heavy pounding of my head hurt me.
I hid my face in Ida's fragrant neck, bit that joyous and heavy flesh through her nightgown until it intoxicated me and made me insane.
I opened my eyes. A red veil filled with flashes of lightning separated me from the night. Several seconds later, too excited to go even higher, I held back my pleasure. Then conquered, lost, alone in the world, detached from Ida, I moaned with pleasure and lost consciousness with an image of a cock in front of me filled with come....
CHAPTER TWO
WHORE!
My sister soon left us to go with a rich and elegant man who was in reality nothing but a common pimp who had come to our region to look for "fresh flesh." Ida soon wrote to announce that she had become a prostitute, but that she preferred her actual life to the miserable existence she had led in our city. For now, at least, she could go out and amuse herself while earning a living in a pleasant enough way, having always been inclined towards love.
My sister finished her letter by advising me to come and join her. Two weeks later, I was with her in the big city, ready to join the long line of "beauties of the night." Protected by Ida, I was able to do without a regular pimp and even allowed myself a "sweetheart."
One evening, I was walking down the steps of the hotel which-in addition to several prostitutes-also housed our ordinary customers, when a young man, a student whom I had already noticed in the house, stopped me with some witty words and made me laugh.
My new friend's name was Rene. We went out together two or three times with honorable intentions.
The profession of a streetwalker, like all professions, often makes the one who practices it very sad, for it winds up resembling a prison, without any means of escape. One evening, I came home with a terrible case of the blues. Everything was frightening me: life, men, myself. I needed to feel a warm presence near me, to speak to someone, to a friend who was not from my "milieu."
There was no light coming from Rene's room. I went in anyway. He was smoking, leaning against the window. I saw the red tip of his cigarette moving toward me. "I can't stand it any longer," I said. "Have pity."
He carried me to the bed, kissing my eyes tenderly, then stretched out beside me. We remained thus a long time, embracing, mouth to mouth.
I wasn't afraid any longer. Very close to me was a man's chest, a large chest. In my back, I felt the hard muscles of a forearm. I put out my hand and unbuttoned the top of his shirt and slid my hand over his skin for which I felt an inexplicable hunger. I caressed his muscles as they contracted. Rene seized my wrist, took my hand and brought it to his lips.
He undressed me slowly in the dark, gropingly: my shoes, my stockings . ... My heart was pounding. Then he pulled my blouse up and I felt my breasts naked against him.
Rene had also undressed himself silently.
When I moved against him, it was like the peak of happiness. Never had I felt such agonizing intoxication with anyone. A dull pain tortured my pelvis, my vagina, my anus, and I felt I lacked the courage to go on.
Rene remained immobile. He caressed my back as one pets an animal. I felt him unbuttoning my skirt and I lifted myself a little.
How could he know the mysterious secrets of my clothes so well, from the smallest hook to the clasp on my garter belt?
We slid under the covers clumsily in our haste.
The windows were vibrating with the passing of the wagons on the quay. In the next room, a man was moving a chair.
I would have given anything for the noise to stop, for there to be nothing but our two burning bodies in the sad and groaning bed. I caressed Rene's chest with my fingers. His naked chest had no roughness other than its two hard nipples.
He kissed my neck and my shoulder, a little separated from me, as if he was afraid of approaching and frightening that vagina that was still new to him, afraid of answering the call that came from it.
After my shoulder, his lips moved over my arm, then my leg. I had thrown my head back and could no longer see Rene, who was hidden under the covers. I saw only a bit of the sky through the window, a rectangular piece covered with stars, scanned at regular intervals by the white paintbrush of a lighthouse beam.
My heart was no longer pounding.
A great metamorphosis was taking place in me, so profoundly that the tears were pouring from my eyes and I couldn't hold them back. Rene had placed his head on me as if to listen to this metamorphosis, to anticipate it with great tenderness. He was not moving and I had to take his head in my hands and press it to me even harder and make it move. But I couldn't stand that other caress, lower, in my vagina.
Seizing his head, I brought Rene up to the pillow, kissed his wet lips which had the same taste that Ida did some nights. He pressed me to him and I felt what was going to wound me, a man's cock ready to love me.
Very softly I told him to come, not to be afraid, since I was the one who was afraid of learning what I did not know. Rene slid on top of me as I separated my arms and turned my head. It was I who murmured, "There, it's in," to hide my subdued sadness, the regret and the immense joy that I was experiencing with the slow gliding of a man's cock into my vagina.
We passed an unbelievable night during which he revealed that my anus was as erotic as my cunt, for he possessed me in the rear with a skill and an enthusiasm that tore cries of delirious passion from me.
Oh, what a lover Rene was, a true diviner of my ass, the person who discovered all the treasures that one can derive from my buttocks.
Besides, that boy was an extraordinary fucker-his balls were loaded with come-and not with just any sperm, but with a thick and delicious sperm with which he filled my anus many times before dawn.
* * *
Rene became my lover, the man with whom I shared my earnings.
Until Amedeo, a friend of Rene's, entered my life.
It was at T that my lover introduced me to his friend. As he had to leave the next day for a visit to his parents, my lover entrusted me to his friend, asking him to entertain me and to even take me out. during his absence.
Amedeo invited me on a midnight boat ride which I accepted casually.
My new friend-of Italian origin-was a young tall blond with large shoulders and a calm, almost timid air about him. He was not talkative and let me carry on the conversation, scarcely answering with a few monosyllables. The boat was in the middle of the sea before he agreed to say a few words to me. He used a poetic voice, which suited him badly:
"You see," he said, "it's still dark. In less than ten minutes, the sea will become luminous and it will seem as though the morning is coming from the water, not from the sky."
He put down the oars, got on his knees on the bow and watched the horizon, waiting for the dawn.
"Why did you stop rowing?" I asked.
"Because I didn't want to take you at night.
I prefer to see the traces of pleasure on girls' faces when I fuck them."
I summoned all my strength to answer in the same tone:
"Do you intend to take me?" I asked peacefully.
"Look, my little one, try not to say such stupid things. Do you imagine that I set up this beautiful scene to leave you in Rene's hands? Spare me your silliness, will you?" Then, with enthusiasm:
"There it is, the sea is changing color. First it will change for the worst, become quite milky, then it will be clear."
He looked at his watch.
"In ten minutes, my poor Lucienne, you will go in there," he observed in a sad voice.
A silence.
"And think that at almost the same moment, your lover will be in the midst of fucking another girl, buggering her, perhaps."
He shook with an acid laugh.
I found my voice:
"My dear Amedeo, you are really too stupid. So you imagined that all you had to do was carry me off on a boat for me to give myself to you. But you are dreaming, my friend, you have quite an imagination."
The Italian smiled and did not answer. He left the bow, approached me very slowly, grasped me under my arms and, with great tenderness, with almost maternal care, threw me in the water.
Then he leaned overboard.
"I have the feeling," he said in a tender voice, "that you don't know how to swim, my poor Lucienne."
I was sinking. My head was under the water, my heavy hair was falling in wet locks around my forehead, I was swallowing salt and no longer breathing. I forgot heroism and begged Amedeo to save me. He helped me get back in the boat.
As soon as I was in I became silent.
Curled up on my seat, I threw hateful looks at my torturer.
"Now," said Amedeo, "you will begin by taking off your blouse."
And, cutting any protestations short, he continued:
"Yes, yes, Lucienne, I always act like this. I don't like girls to undress all alone: I always order them to do as I wish."
He forced me to remove my blouse. Then he considered my skirt.
"You will lift it, quite simply," he explained, "but you must not keep anything on under it."
I felt I was earning a point in telling him that, of course, I was not wearing anything under my skirt, that it had been like this since I had come to T and my movements would be very free because of it.
In these strange circumstances we made love. I lost what little of my head that was left so completely that it would be difficult for me to relate my first ecstasies. I noted, however, that Amedeo, in the ultimate of bizarre behavior, carefully folded his pants at the very moment he was making me stretch out on the bottom of the boat, my back harshly resting against the ropes, a rolled-up sail, and the planks.
As to the rest, I remember very little that happened: I had the feeling that the man was giving me extreme joys and was in me a long time. I also remember that the sky had changed colors several times. It passed from milky white to the most fragile mauve.
An orange cluster appeared in the east and spread out over the whole sky. "When the blue comes," I thought, "I will take my pleasure; I will come."
At that moment, the sky became blue, a transparent blue. Everything was peaceful and it was like the first morning of the world. I had the strength to hold back the cry that I wanted to utter.
It seemed to me that my lower half had become detached from my body and that it had become an inert thing, half dead, and that I was enjoying counting the rough blows that the other body, that of the man, was dealing me. "This time," I thought, "I would be impolite to deny that I took my pleasure." The two sexes in which so much violence had been liberated rejoined the great silence of the sea and of the morning. The little boat, charged with that naked flesh, drifted along the surface of the immobile water. The sun, in tracing its great invisible circle over the sky, made Amedeo's shadow pass over my woman's body and then my shadow in its turn pass over the man's body.
That meant that it was the afternoon.
A current and several eddies carried the boat toward the shore and the shock of the bow on the sand awakened our two enchanted bodies.
"God," I cried, "I'm completely naked!"
I jumped onto the deserted beach.
Amedeo followed me.
He saw that we had just come onto the extreme tip of that beach of B where he had invited me to take our boat ride. And it was there that Amedeo asked me very quietly if I would punish him and flagellate him for having violated me.
I told him that he had given me much pleasure and that, far from desiring to avenge myself, I only wished to repay him for his sexual kindnesses.
"Then beat me." he said paradoxically. "Whip me."
Certain that he would be satisfied, he had brought a whip with him and he quickly offered it to me. Then, stripping completely, he turned around to present himself to my beating.
I beat him until he bled and I even made him come this way, for the second time.
But his behavior during the whole scene had excited me so much, that, seized by a sudden passion, I threw myself against him and begged him to inflict the same kind of punishment on me.
Amedeo practiced flagellation in two ways: as the victim, but also as the punisher. Thus he agreed to fulfill my request and threw himself into the new sexual game with pleasure.
He beat me with a talent and a cruelty that made me discharge in an indescribable way. Then we dressed again and decided to go home.
As soon as we were in the boat, Amedeo admitted that his friend, Rene, had asked him to take his place with me in the future, since his old lover was to return to his native city where he was going to marry a good woman and lead a peaceful and cozy life from then on.
A little angered by Rene's abandonment, I finally forgot him in the arms of Amedeo, who was a splendid lover, richer in erotic possibilities than my preceding companion and who was, moreover, to reveal all the perverse dimensions of my body to me.
CHAPTER THREE
THE WANTON PATHS
One day, a young man from a good family, a certain Claude B , fell in love with me and decided to take me away from my trade. He didn't have to argue for long to convince me to follow him for I too was already tired of a career that only called for my cunt and my ass, leaving all the other parts of my body and my heart unemployed.
Therefore, I quit my profession-and Amedeo had to go back to Italy-to give myself to one man alone, Claude, who became my lover, almost my husband. We lived happily enough for more than three years. It was during a trip to Morocco-where my companion was supposed to go on business-that my peaceful existence came to an end.
I met two men there, Roberto and Ahmed, whom I had already met in the capital and who owned several whorehouses scattered throughout France and even throughout the French Empire. During the course of a very friendly conversation in a cafe situated right in front of their brothel, they asked me to come and work for them.
Roberto was a handsome Italian who resembled Amedeo a little. Everything about him-his offer to return to my trade as well as his appearance-tempted me very much, but the memory of everything that my dear Claude had given me during the past years held me back and made me refuse the keepers' propositions.
When I returned to the hotel, I hadn't forgotten the Italian and the Arab who had made the cords of sensuality vibrate in me with a perversity that had been silent for so long. My habitual companion appeared tasteless and dull to me then, his words uninteresting, his kindness insignificant.
Claude saw my nervousness and remarked about it. At the height of irritation, incapable of holding back, I took a vase that was on a pedestal and threw it against the floor where it broke into a thousand pieces. Then, with an exclamation of anger, motivated by incomprehensible feelings, I ran out of the house. As soon as I was in the street, my steps led me to the house of Roberto and Ahmed.
But I soon became aware that Claude-who, stupefied by my behavior, had, however, taken his hat and cane, for he never forgot the conventions-was following me.
In front of the brothel, I came upon its patrons, the Italian and the Arab who, rapidly told of my flight, brought me into one of the rooms, a large room occupied by two or three men who were more or less asleep, resting there after the day's orgiastic excesses. I peeked through the door and saw my lover, Claude, talking to Ahmed, who was saying:
"Come in, in any case. My friends and myself will do everything in our power to help you."
Claude was very awkward because of his hat with its turned up edges and his very pretty cane with its ivory knob. Ahmed relieved him of them and invited him to take a seat in one of the armchairs in the parlor.
"You understand," added the Arab, "that I cannot give you more light. A few people participated in a surprise party last night in this apartment. They are resting and I wouldn't want to awaken them."
The Frenchman looked at the man with a vague expression. He seemed very helpless, leaning against a chair. Although he was tall, he looked like a child and Ahmed saw that he was no longer even capable of saying what he wanted. He helped him:
"And now, dear sir, may I ask you what you desire exactly?"
"I desire my mistress," said Claude stupidly.
"I am sure, sir, that I would also desire her if I knew her," Ahmed answered politely.
The joke, in spite of its amiable aspects, did not please him enormously. Claude tried to explain.
"You must understand," he said, "I know that you have nothing to do with this business, but my mistress is here. I must get her back."
Ahmed, who was beginning to tire, smiled.
Claude was truly very tired; he made a mundane movement to return the smile.
"But this is ridiculous," he said immediately. "Here we are smiling at each other stupidly when I came to look for my mistress."
"That's true," agreed Ahmed, "but I don't think that your friend is here. I only invite Moroccans, I swear to you. At any rate I would like to convince you. The young girls-there are no more than ten-are sleeping on the next floor. Let's go gather them together and you will be able to examine them at your leisure."
Claude tried to protest. He didn't find it agreeable to go up to the girls' rooms, even to look for his mistress. But Ahmed was already climbing the stairs and the Frenchman was on his heels.
The darkness of the rooms didn't prevent the girls from seeing the two men enter. They let out several loud cries. Most of them weren't angry because of this masculine expedition into their domain, believing it was a libertine game, and began to run in all directions pretending to hide their nudity.
"Good God," thought Claude, "what if the directors of my company saw me playing the satyr here in the midst of these young scatterbrains!" This little farce failed to distract him from his torment. "It's a good thing," he added to himself, "I left my hat and cane downstairs. The ridiculous thing would be perfect then."
And he suffered violently.
In the meantime, on the floor below, I was in the midst of a fight that might seem good or bad according to the feelings that my audience might have.
My entrance into the bedroom had awakened its inhabitants.
All kinds of hands tried to grasp this unexpected occasion. One of the hands was very long, a little cold, and more skillful than the others. I seized it, placed it in a ray of light that was coming from the fan-light, and recognized Roberto's hand.
"Oh," I cried, "you! At least you will protect me."
"Oh, don't be afraid, I am your friend, you know that."
He got up and, dressed only in his white pants, left the room, leading me into another part of the apartment-a sort of rotunda, bizarrely fortified with windows of multicolored glass, like a stained-glass window.
"This is terrible!" I gasped. "The man who supports me is here."
Roberto reassured me. No, I should not reveal myself to my lover. He turned his beautiful loyal expression towards me.
"Lucienne, you have confidence in me, don't you?"
"Yes," I said with resolution.
Unfortunately, while he was speaking, the Italian was constantly putting his hands into the opening of my blouse. I compared Claude, the virtuous, to Roberto, the pimp. Nevertheless, the romantic soul that I had controlled for so long found nobility in this sacrifice.
And my resolution didn't prevent me from defending myself with all my strength against the fop's enterprises. I would succumb perhaps, but I would make him pay for his victory.
He moved his hands with great skill over my breasts, then over my cunt. My nipples became erect and I tried to blame it on the cold. The excuse was inept, since the room was stifling.
"Is it good?" asked Roberto, who was not an egotist.
I answered him through tears. I had to give in to the evidence. "Yes, it's good."
By moving over my chest for two minutes, those cold and pale hands had annulled my convictions and reduced them to the ridiculous. I felt I had been cast adrift, all my ropes cut, vulnerable to all perils.
And certainly, my heart did not share the emotions of my body. "But then," I thought, "my sin is even greater. If I was brought to this man at least by some feeling, my pleasure would have some excuse. But he disgusts me and yet I can't help wishing his caress will last." And, suddenly seeing myself with horror: "I'm nothing but a filthy tramp," I thought.
I made an effort and pushed Roberto away.
He responded with a long silent laugh and this laugh renewed my torment. I thought I had been tactless in my handling of the situation or that my breasts gave rise to mockery. My pain increased. Everywhere I turned I met a new misery.
"Why are you laughing?" I asked bitterly. "Because of Claude."
"Claude?"
"Well, he must be having a good time up there. He isn't coming down too quickly."
This idea made me jealous, an emotion which Roberto utilized fully to his advantage. He left my chest for my legs.
I pressed my thighs, but my virtue was escaping from me irrevocably, just as a piece of ice does between one's fingers.
By chance, we heard a noise on the stairs.
"Listen!" said Roberto. "They are coming down. Don't move."
Claude's voice was very near. Ahmed was answering him. The two men were talking in the hall.
Those moments seemed endless to me.
Finally the front door opened and I uttered a great sigh of relief. Roberto placed his hand on my thigh, on my vagina, and I defended myself with my nails. The door closed quietly, then there was no more noise in the sleeping house. I imagined my protector, all alone on the sidewalk, alone and helpless with his cane and his hat, and I felt sad.
Yes, I loved Claude and this experience, even though it was cruel, had permitted me to feel the force of that sweet love.
"You don't even know what you want!" exclaimed Roberto angrily. "You leave your lover to come here, and now you want to leave me to go back to him."
The Italian was right.
I separated my thighs and let the man penetrate me with his big prick. My cunt had not been touched by any other cock than Claude's for a long time. My sex breathed in Roberto's member like a burst of fresh air, at the height of happiness, blooming, coming back to life. Then I abandoned myself to the Italian's cock, to his balls, to his fucking, and he didn't take long to burst against my revitalized pussy.
At last I had been fucked as I wanted to be, in a room that smelled of sperm, in a bed impregnated with the sweat of coupling bodies, by a man endowed with a cock made for the pleasure of cunts.
Then Ahmed came in and possessed me in the rear with his huge cock that was slightly curved inwards, like a Moroccan dagger. He also filled me with pleasure and made the farts and shit spout from my ass that was glutted with lust.
Then other men and even women rode me with their real sexual parts or with godemiches.
I had become a whore again.
Passively, I slipped over to the keeper again who opened his door warmly and discreetly. There I again tasted the corrupting seduction of the irresponsibility and the docility among the Africans, whose black charms, and spicy smells were greatly appreciated, and the blonde whores of whom young men dream.
I took my place again among the women on public auction, going down in that soft and dull monotony of the "house," where men follow each other, anonymously and almost without faces, exhausting myself with my untiring complaisance, the boredom and the nostalgia which seized me at times.
And when the work had been too tiring, I would escape and run to the sea which was rolling its white fringes up along the pier to the foot of the lighthouse with its fiery crown.
I showed as much enthusiasm for pleasure as before, and without preferences, without distaste, I brought the same attentive cares to satisfy my clients ... but, as the house mistress would say, looking at me out of the corner of her eye, with a suspicious tone of voice, "She doesn't have her heart in her work."
Did I miss that charming Claude?
"She is neglecting herself," Ahmed or Roberto would grumble sometimes, and I had to excuse myself often in front of clients who were unhappy with the inexplicable coldness of which I proved myself capable, I who was always so frenzied in pleasure. This coldness earned me the reproaches of disappointed lovers, the bitter recriminations of my patrons.
It was not that I had become entirely insensitive to passion. On the contrary, I still knew strange and terrible ardor, but I could no longer find them at will and indistinctly with all the partners that the discipline of the "house" assigned me.
I had indescribable languor and indescribable desires.
My eyes would often become clouded with a nostalgic sadness which irritated my companion of the moment, furious at feeling me suddenly become so indifferent, so distant, or else I would take refuge in sullen dreams from which I would awaken sometimes with a bitter sensuality which would puzzle and sometimes shock my stupefied partner.
During the day especially, when the "Kham-sin," the harassing and exhausting wind, would blow over Africa, I would experience the desire to flee towards the infinite horizon, out of reach, towards a less mediocre and less sordid existence than our miserable terrestrial life.
Finally, I had had enough of my cunt, which had become a stranger to me again, like a distinct part of my body and I left the house of Ahmed and Roberto. Anyway, the two men let me go, for they saw that I was tired out and had the blues and knew that in such a condition, no girl could work or be useful to them ... I didn't want to practice the trade of a prostitute with that mechanical regularity, but make love according to my desire, to my momentary inspirations.
But this "trade" was inscribed in my flesh and no one or nothing could pull me away from it.
I brought my unchastity into all the places on the earth.
I traveled a lot, certainly, and made many happy in the cities in which I stayed. There were incontestably gloomy and troubled years then and I can easily lose myself in them when I start to tell about them.
Despondent, disappointed in my desire to lead a normal life, I had let myself fall right into the underworld of prostitution with a single blow. When my energy abandoned me, I knew terrible crises of discouragement that gave me the desire to end it all.
Where could I have better and more certainly killed myself than in the whorehouse where my vigorous temperament did not even leave me the resource of dangerous and meditative idleness? That is where I returned to look for the listless and corrupting peace that I needed after having experienced all the pleasures and all the pains of the cunt and the ass.
No abyss was too low or too deep for me and I had to defile forever all my hopes of redemption, destroy the desire that I had had to be a wife and mother, sink myself into an abasement that would be so total and so tyrannical that I would no longer be able to keep the illusion that I would ever get away.
I could have had the role of a great courtesan in some capital that would have quickly become excited by my beauty; but an unconscious taste for destruction drew me to the brothels, to a series of cocks, just as it pushes certain men towards strange adventures instead of suicide.
I even worked in a little house in Senegal. The matron, astonished by the new tenant who was offering herself, did not insist upon knowing my name. She chose a name for me, obvious and ridiculous, and without hesitating led me to her enchanted clients whose cocks were already stiff.
The talents I had already developed in orgies performed wonders among those little middle-class Africans, those garrisoned officers, those traveling businessmen who came to seek hasty and dubious pleasures in the brothel. Not only did I bring them the charm of novelty and a certain degree of beauty that my excesses had not yet been able to alter; I introduced the suggestions of a much more corrupt and more refined life than they had ever dreamed of in their dull provincial debauches.
The intoxication of the little suppers among the rich, the skillful and complicated games in which the lascivious members of the capital excel, the art of positions were in poor harmony with the routine of the "house," but they were all the more enjoyed by the visitors who were unaccustomed to such things, and there was no other talk in the little city than about me and my "way of fucking."
The torpor of fatigue finally brought me the relief I had needed.
The richness of my temperament permitted me to respond to the enthusiasm of numerous clients without tiring, and, as I possessed that generous and delicate manner of contenting everyone, each man could believe himself distinguished by a particular favor and be very proud of it. A few of them proposed marriage, others wanted to take me away from the public house to keep me for their cock alone, assuring me honest pay, but I refused their offers with a laugh.
The atmosphere in the brothel did not displease me. I enjoyed the indolence and the indifference, the professional loyalty and impartiality. I never spoke to my companions and when they were curious and asked me about my past, I invented stories that made them laugh until they cried and warded off their indiscretion.
I was loved by all, although because of me the most requested girls now knew long and humiliating leisure of their cunts and asses.
They weren't too strict with me because I was good company and voluntarily shared my earnings, and when towards dawn, the boredom and fatigue slid among the gray faces in the "parlor," I had no equal in reanimating the gaiety, shaking the sleepy guests and extracting the last services of the party.
But, again, an attack of the blues made me leave the house and the city even though they wanted me to stay.
I went to Europe again.
A man I liked made me leave Paris for Athens, where he introduced me into the best Greek society, into a select and very strict world from the point of view of their moral principles.
Perhaps I wouldn't have been revived by this type of existence if my protector had not been forced to leave the ancient city hurriedly one day, for fear of the courts which were going to demand an account for the checks he had written without sufficient funds.
The bum didn't even warn me that he was going and left me to tangle alone with his creditors, who quickly realized that the man had cheated me just as he had swindled them. I was exempted by sleeping with one or. two of them. But then I was lost and had no money.
Should I start my gallant career again?
I was no longer at an age when one can start a new life, and I lacked the necessary funds to make a distinguished courtesan out of myself.
Therefore, I accepted the proposition that a nice girl named Madeline made to live with her. My harsh friends would have blamed me for sharing a prostitute's apartment so unceremoniously, for it was common knowledge that the friendly Madeline had been making her living off her cunt for many years already. She was at an age and plumpness that is nonetheless pleasing to Orientals. She was loyal and hard working in her profession.
I conceded to this change of existence, just as I had always bent to whatever fate had imposed upon me. And as I did not detest anything as much as monotony and as I was beginning to tire of edifying conversations, I joyously brought my suitcases to Madeline's room.
The high price of lodgings did not allow the girl to have a more luxurious place. That room was both her studio and her private residence. By "studio," I mean to say the place where she practiced her sinful trade.
By agreeing to have a second bed installed next to the prostitute's bed, I had to resign myself to certain troublesome promiscuities that she could not avoid. Madeline used as much discretion as was possible, but she couldn't stop her clients from prolonging their raptures far into the night which, in view of the smallness of the room, naturally disturbed my sleep.
When I say "disturb," I mean that their amorous pleasures brought an agitation to my senses and that my chastity now appeared difficult to stand. My landlady's professional diligence often amused me and made me remember the time when I myself had been accustomed to overwhelming my passing clients with sensual pleasures. While pretending to be fast asleep, I didn't miss a single detail of that passionate match between the cunt and the rod.
At times, one of Madeline's bed-partners, dissatisfied or disappointed, started to look and see who occupied the second bed, and I would have a lot to do to defend myself against the troublesome assaults of his cock.
Little by little the atmosphere of that room acted on me like an anesthetic, like the odor of sperm. In spite of the disgust I had retained for my old trade, I politely accepted the homages of several gentlemen, thus returning to my roommate the licentious spectacles with which she had overwhelmed me.
So much for my good resolutions! The passion in my vagina and my ass reawakened all the more demanding since it had been contained for several months. To the great pleasure of my lovers, I rediscovered my virtuosity of former times, my insatiable caresses, my confused fantasies, my wild skill as an "eater."
Madeline, who practiced her art more calmly and with more professional order, was surprised and frightened by the excesses that took place in her little room.
"Control yourself, my dear," she said maternally. "Men don't demand that much...." But I, who thought of my own pleasure even more than that of my partners, did not listen to her wise advice, and brought my old frenzy back to life with the same ardor.
"Is this the same discreet woman, reserved in her manners and her speech and a little more prudish than I?" the good Madeline often asked herself, nonplussed by my sudden metamorphosis.
My technique revealed such varied and abundant resources that the placid Greek woman, who had limited herself to the rudiments of the skills throughout her career, marveled at my talent and wondered in what luxurious houses I had acquired them.
There was by now an incessant parade in the little room and the clientele which had increased ten times over, who began by sharing our two beds, soon demanded my services almost exclusively.
The huge Madeline, forgotten and neglected, was reduced most of the time to watching me. She felt neither humiliation nor displeasure, for she really did not like her profession, and a long existence of mechanical work had inspired a great desire for rest in her.
While I unleashed my excessive frenzy for the great joy of the Greeks who couldn't recognize the young woman dressed in black with an austere expression whom they had eyed in the streets without daring to approach, my companion would stretch out those big tired cocks in her untainted, solitary bed. We were putting our earnings together, sharing the good and the bad together, distributing the clients between us-those to whom the services of Madeline's cunt fell grumbled a little-and we lived peacefully together in our little room.
I demonstrated such endurance and good will in the exercise of my talents that my friend could soon content herself with a purely passive role in our association.
Madeline's charms seduced the connoisseurs less and less, especially since they had the exciting and perverse beauty of my cunt within arm's reach, and the wonderful woman thanked me and contented herself with bringing me the connoisseurs of professional and bought caresses.
The apartment became too small.
We had to take a servant. The prudent Madeline even envisioned the necessity of giving me an assistant so that I would not become overworked. She found it much more profitable and less tiring to administer the domestic economy of our association than to do the work herself. She dreamed of one day being able to get five or six beautiful girls trained in the arts of love together under the same roof and to manage their careers as an opulent and respected madam.
One day in Athens a young and beautiful female client asked my permission to suck my cunt, then to possess me with the help of a godemiche. This stranger was so pleased with my services that she revealed her true identity to me: she was the queen of . A great lover, gifted with a nature that we have all come to appreciate, she is inclined not only towards men and women but also animals.
She often came back to see me until the day when she said:
"Why do you live in this miserable room with your body open to the desires of the most impure individuals? Come to live in my country, at my court, where I will treat you as a sister, like my best friend."
I liked that young woman as much as she liked me. And that is how, thanks to her, I am with you today, my dear lovers, my adorable connoisseurs of erotic stories.
PART FOUR
-THIERRY'S CONFESSION
CHAPTER ONE
THE GIGOLO'S DEFLOWERING
As all eyes were on him, Thierry, the handsome Apollo, began in an embarrassed voice:
To tell the truth, if I have had many adventures, they seem banal to me in comparison to yours. I have been paid for fucking, for buggering, for offering my rear, but there is nothing in these actions that you do not already know, that you have not already seen or experienced.
Even my youth did not permit me to have a past filled with orgies capable of providing me with memories that would be erotic enough to really excite you.
But perhaps two or three facts deserve to be revealed.
I recall the way in which a young girl made me a man by taking my virginity. I was fifteen and spending my vacation at my aunt's house in S--, a pretty city on the seaside. One afternoon I fell asleep reading a book on the balcony outside my room on the third floor.
When I was awakened by a strong perfume, unusual for that place, my view was partly obstructed by the visor that protected me from the sun. I was trying to remove it so I could see what was going on around me when the sight of something made me suddenly stand still, fixed to the spot.
I had just noticed a girl who was stretched out a few feet away from me on the other side of the stone wall that separated my balcony from the neighboring terrace.
I closed my mouth diligently and began to examine the stranger. I couldn't decide how old she was: her head was completely hidden under a folded newspaper, but her body was hardly that of a twenty-year-old and her hips were wide. The girl was lying on her back, flat on the ground, protected by a blood red Turkish towel.
As her bikini was just as red, the beautiful creature looked cut in three distinct pieces, her long and nervous legs that made me think of a very young animal, her stomach that was a little swollen like Rubens' women, finally her shoulders whose extreme fragility made her legs and her whole lower half look powerful.
"My love!" the girl cried suddenly through the paper.
I jumped.
Of course it was impossible that the stranger was speaking to me or that she was already talking to me about her lover, and yet I did jump. A feminine voice responded to the red bikini from the next room. I realized my error and thought: "Am I stupid!"
Then I realized that I hadn't removed my visor yet. And could I get rid of it then without catching my pretty neighbor's attention? I would have to wait: my hat was half hiding me so that I could continue to observe the young girl's three morsels, "Bring me some perfume," the voice continued, addressing her invisible companion.
A few seconds later a very white, very young arm parted the curtains and held out a bottle.
"I'm completely naked," said the arm. "I can't come out."
The "bikini" took the bottle and, without moving from under the newspaper that covered her head, spilled several drops into her hand and then smeared it over her thighs and stomach. When she reached her breasts, her hands seemed to hesitate. They seemed gifted with an autonomous life and her body was moving under the perfumed caress with a very slow motion. Then she put down the bottle, lifted her arm and threw it behind her back, revealing a carefully shaved underarm. The red bra stretched out a little and I thought that she must have just unbuttoned it.
"God," I thought, "she is going to uncover her chest and I am still here!"
I held my breath and had the rare prudence to take off the visor, which I then carefully set up on the parapet. Then I decided that the headless stranger had no intention of removing her bra. She was happy just loosening it a little and caressing her breasts through the red material as they had no doubt been compressed for a long time. She busied herself with them in a manner of teasing affection, as if they were two little frisky animals.
It wasn't long before the red material slipped a few inches, revealing a band of skin that was much whiter, puffy, and so soft that I felt like fainting.
My position was becoming intolerable.
But my supplication was only beginning because she took off her bra completely to uncover her pretty chest for me: two indecent and impudent titties stood there staring at me with their red, silent, and inert tips.
Her breasts were splendid and firm, well developed and muscular, healthy-looking, good enough to eat.
Their mistress seemed to be unaware that anyone was observing them, completely preoccupied with reading her paper in which, no doubt, some thrilling article was fascinating her, for she had suddenly become very still as if paralyzed by some exciting event.
Then, mechanically, her left hand moved toward her panties, slid under the material and stopped right at the intersection of her thighs. Stupefied, I saw that she was beginning to move her wrist in a mechanical rhythm as if she was scratching her cunt.
But she was acting with such a hurried passion that I suddenly realized she was giving herself up to a much more serious and exciting action: she was masturbating.
The stranger soon proved that my guess had been correct when, suddenly troubled by the bikini which was restricting her movements, she slid it down over her thighs, then her legs, and then threw it carelessly at her feet.
As she had remained engrossed in her paper, I realized that she must be reading some popular story-half-emotional, half-sensual-that acted on her nerves and created an atmosphere that was absolutely necessary for her masturbation. She would not have been able to know that state of intoxicating sensuality which made her put all her strength into her actions without that story.
I profited by admiring her cunt, trying to fill my heart and my memory with the spectacle that was before me. The moment of surprise having passed, that flesh surrounded by down wound up looking banal: 'it was nothing but a red slit bordered by more or less coiled hairs.
But what made that part of her body exciting was not only the taboo with which it was loaded, but also the feverish activity that, thanks to her active finger, had made it the center of attention. I could clearly see the red tip, her clitoris, against which her finger was moving and hitting in a mechanical rhythm. No matter what, the spectacle was worth being seen and admired.
Suddenly I realized that my hand was also holding a pleasant object. At the height of my excitement my fingers had taken out my member and were stroking it a few steps away from the cunt that would have been able to satisfy it.
All of a sudden the stranger stopped moving while she continued to work on her cunt with an increasing violence, then she relaxed, calm, exhausted. At the same moment when she offered me the vision of her orgasm, my cock threw up several spurts of sperm over my balls and thighs.
The paper had fallen from my neighbor's hand as she lay on the floor as if unconscious. Suddenly she let out a cry. She had just discovered me in front of her, a spectator to her sensual abandon! She got up, a pretty brunette, Spanish looking, but with the green eyes of a cat which overwhelmed me perhaps more than the scene I had just witnessed-the eyes of a creature gifted with a fiery temperament.
"You ... you saw?" she asked in a suffocated murmur.
I just nodded my head. She put her hands over her eyes in a desperate pose.
"What shame ... I saw you sleeping when I came out, but the story captivated me so that I completely forgot you. What will you think of me?"
"It's not that serious ... I promise to forget the adorable spectacle that you offered me and not to tell anyone...."
At that moment, my aunt called me from the house.
"Thierry! Thierry!"
"I must explain," she said hurriedly. "Come to the Promontory Bar tonight at six o'clock," I replied, buttoning up my pants and going back to my room. "We will be able to talk about it freely."
I saw that she was smiling in the way of an answer.
* * *
She was very prompt for our date.
She told me that her name was Carmen and that she really didn't regret having let herself be caught by such a handsome boy as me. She might have fallen into the hands of a less pleasant "voyeur."
We left the bar to take a walk beneath the magnificent moonlight.
She talked. She said that she was a daughter of the sea and that she had been happy I had thought of this evening walk. She was going to take me to a creek known to her and the fishermen who had made it their haunt. But it was late enough so that the men would have already left their boats and the only one we had to worry about meeting was old Domingo, a Spaniard who was older than a Greco painting and who loved to tend his troop of goats in the pine woods that separated the little beach from the hinterland.
She added that old Domingo was kind. If he saw us it wouldn't be too serious. Not that Domingo was blind or stupid, but the sights he came upon were stored in his huge eyes in such a way that they never seemed to have to come up again.
Chatting casually, we left the pine woods and the odor of the sea became mingled with that of the resin. A beautiful night had come over the sands and it was so wonderful, so bright that it seemed to deny that nighttime had fallen. The morning would never come back from the long exile to which that moonlight had condemned it. The waves that came to die there were weak and peaceful, they seemed to come right at us from the ends of the horizon.
Carmen and I stopped at times so that the supernatural silence could surge over us like the little familiar waves that came over our feet. In five minutes I had forgotten everything that made up my own life. In that single night my mind and that thick block of memories that gave it its form dissolved like sugar in the rain. When the beautiful Spanish girl placed her hand gently on my neck, I was almost surprised.
Not that I had forgotten my companion's presence; it was that I had lost the memory of my own existence. The fresh, agile fingers on my neck suddenly brought me back to life.
From then on, I obeyed.
I allowed Carmen the joy of stretching out on the moist sand in that zone that separates the earth from the sea. I wanted to tell my friend that her dress would be soiled by the little waves that were coming up there but she asked me not to speak.
The girl leaned against me and folded her legs up under her. She watched the flowery material of her skirt which the sea was busily wetting and she smiled in silence.
"I want my body to be imprinted in the sand," she said again.
And she took off all the pieces of material-for it could no longer be called a skirt or a blouse, but only material that had once been her clothing-she seemed to tear those shreds of wet cloth from her body as if to expose her skin, another skin that would be softer and more fragile.
She stretched out on her back along my body which was naked also. I closed my eyes and thought that perhaps she was smiling at me. I felt that the young girl's cunt had borrowed the night's fragrances.
We made love as the waves broke at the height of our opened legs and quite naturally my rod obeyed the movements that the sea commanded so that the girl accepted the violent weight of my cock and the light caress of the waves at the same time into the black triangle of her pussy.
She wanted my cock to attack her more brutally and she said, "Sink into me, sink my body into the sand with your prick. I want the impression of my legs, of my ass, of my shoulders to succeed me."
I used all my passion to satisfy her at the same time as I thought of that strange twin that the girl wanted to leave in the earth. When she began to groan, it was at first in a little voice and it was only later, much later, perhaps, that I was able to understand that the mumbling of her orgasm was in the form of terrifying obscenities. I believe that the long sharp cry that could have been of distress or of happiness sprang from her clitoris.
No, I'm certain it was of happiness.
Carmen found her laugh again as she gathered her clothing, full of water and salt, from the sea. After she had covered herself as well as she could in the manner of a pauper in rags, she got on her knees and looked tenderly at the place where we had just made love. The untiring little waves had already undertaken their great work of destruction and it only took two minutes for "the girl" that she had wanted to inscribe in the ground to begin to collapse. A depression, scarcely noticeable, remained on the surface of the sand.
Carmen laughed again.
"My sand body," she said, "will be less durable than the great pyramids."
And in a less harsh voice:
"Well, if we come back here tomorrow morning, we won't know anymore on what point of the earth your cock gave me all those pleasures."
* * *
Carmen had a brother, Jose, and a cousin, Dolores. I became Jose's friend first, 'who loved Spanish dancing with castanet's, with wild pirouettes, and fast heel-tapping. Then I had the pleasure of knowing Dolores more intimately. She was the opposite of Carmen, for she was blonde and had black eyes. Even in love she was different from my first mistress, for she loved to be taken in the rear.
She only came when she was possessed that way. Then she would bite her lips until they bled and abandon herself with the screams of a wild animal.
But the most interesting adventure came the day of my departure, which was brought about suddenly by the death of one of my uncles, a very rich man. My aunt absolutely had to be present at the burial which obliged me to cut short my vacation with her. There fore, I had only one last night to amuse myself in the little city.
With whom was I going to spend the night? With Carmen or Dolores?
It made no difference, I decided. I would go with whichever one appeared first.
Through the window opposite my balcony a shadow was outlined in the semidarkness.
"I'll jump over the balustrade and go to the other side!" I thought.
This decision gave me courage.
There was no light in my neighbor's room. I went for ward.
"Carmen," I murmured very softly.
There was no answer. The rustling stopped and it was an admission. I would have to insist.
"Dolores," I said in a firmer voice.
And now my body was leaning over the next balcony. The wind was making river noises in the sequoia trees. I coughed and called Carmen. There was the same silence which unnerved me.
I jumped over the balustrade and approached the French window.
"Carmen, I'd like to see you, Carmen."
In the room there was the rustling of clothes and of silk. A woman, perhaps naked, was busy dressing. At that moment I had the most tender heart in the world. I lifted my hand.
Another hand which was white appeared in the small opening of the window. I took it. How soft it was as it led me into the room.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm awfully sorry, but I must go tomorrow and I must take leave of you."
"You" did not answer and who was "you"? To whose arm was that cold hand attached? To the pretty nervous and brown body of the Spanish girl called Carmen who had tried to have her pleasure inscribed in the sand? To the triumphant body of that girl called Dolores who was in the habit of having herself buggered?
The darkness in the room was thick.
If the girl persisted in her silence, I would not be able to guess from her responses. She made me sit down on the bed. I sat down and in my confusion moved my legs apart a little, and pulled off my pants in the manner of a well-trained pupil. I was surprised by a powerful, sweet perfume which came and went from right to left and I concluded that the woman was turning around me.
Hair grazed my face. A cheek rested an instant on my shoulder, a body pressed against mine softly. I waited for the woman to speak.
She did not.
I felt lips groping for mine and I submitted to a long, warm and moist kiss. When the mouth was withdrawing I discovered that I had begun to enjoy this mystery and I tried to take those lips again. But I was prevented from doing so.
My hand touched an ass and I stroked it. This act had a magical effect. Groans of pleasure responded to my fingers. I tried once again to decide if the body that was being offered to me was that of Carmen or of Dolores. I only learned that it was that of a woman being fucked and that love makes women cry with happiness. Soon I let my come spurt out in my turn.
Afterwards, I was tempted to go to sleep. It was a weakness for which my first mistress had often reproached me in bitter terms in the first days of our affair. Later, she accepted my lassitude.
I struggled against that impertinent sleep.
The woman who had taken her pleasure helped me to resist my torpor. She began her caresses again and her labors finally obtained their reward. The woman's perfume had been mingled with the odors that were rising from that enchanting body. I forgot my sleepiness.
I touched the stranger, but this time less excited after the discharge I had experienced. Suddenly I made a startling discovery: "the woman" had a male organ between her thighs. I uttered a cry:
"Why, it's a man!"
"Yes, it's a man," answered Jose's voice. "You made love to me."
He turned on the light and appeared to me in a strange fashion, made up as a creature of the weaker sex with false rubber breasts and a long wig.
I uttered exclamations of surprise and terror.
Jose did not allow himself to be disturbed by my attitude and explained in a natural voice that he was bisexual, that he was attracted to both sexes and that, as he was in love with me, he had profited by my unexpected entrance and had abandoned himself to my cock.
He asked me if I regretted my adventure.
Dumbfounded by the question, I found it impossible to answer. He concluded from this that I had liked it, which was actually true.
Then he threw himself at me and covered me with kisses. His voluptuous lips made me lose my head and convinced me that, down deep, the brother pleased me as much as his sister and his cousin. From then on everything became simple.
The boy had splendid buttocks that were somewhat like Dolores'. Excited, I fucked him in the same way as before, but this time with the lights on. The boy dressed as a woman excited me so much that I came immediately for the second time that night.
When he saw that I was exhausted and overwhelmed with the pleasure that he had just given me, Jose proposed to possess me in his turn. A little frightened, I answered that my anus was still untouched, for no male rod had possessed it yet' and that my ass seemed to me to be too tight for him to be able to try such a penetration. The Spaniard reassured me and explained that he did not have a large cock and that he would prepare me first before lodging himself completely in my derriere.
But his proposition had already excited me and my perverted nature was pushing me on to try this new experience.
Jose began by kissing and caressing my ass with his mouth and his tongue until he had enlarged me enough to be able to try to penetrate me with his cock. He advanced so prudently, even when my excitement had al ready reached its highest point, that my exclamations encouraged him to achieve his goal and penetrate me completely!
He yielded to my entreaties with joy.
Then he fucked me with a new vigor which made me cry with happiness and delight. When he shot his come into my anus, my excited cock emptied its contents for the third time that night.
CHAPTER TWO
THE FAITHFUL WOMAN
I had much success with creatures of both sexes, boys and girls who found me to their liking. But, as I have already told you, my adventures were mostly commonplace: fucking, sodomy, small orgies, but that's all.
The most original episode of my love life happened to me in the company of Madame de B , who was, moreover, to play a big role in my life by almost completely changing it the day she introduced me to our dear queen, who chose me as her lover, or her "private gigolo" as she calls me, not without a bit of irony and of condescension.
Monsieur de B was the owner of the company that had hired me as a secretary. One day he caught me in the midst of fucking one of his employees on the desk, lying on some files which we were using as pillows. Instead of firing me, he hired me as a confidential secretary, for he needed someone like me to take out the great female owners of American factories from whom he wanted to get orders, or the wives-as well as the secretaries-of the owners of rival firms whose secrets he wanted to learn. In my new position I performed several delicate missions with great tact. Monsieur de B was pleased enough with my services to augment my salary.
One evening we had an appointment to meet at a big restaurant to discuss business. When I got there I was called to the phone.
It was Monsieur de B who had to cancel our date since he was detained elsewhere. He informed me that his wife was going to be there.
He added with an ironic laugh:
"Listen carefully. You can take her out and amuse her, but don't use your charms to seduce her. If you do, watch out...."
I answered in the same tone of voice:
"You have my word that her virtue will be in your hands alone."
When I returned to the table I found Madame de B there, a splendid blonde with an opulent and white body, with coal-black eyes and sculptured legs, a veritable incarnation of lascivious temptation.
We introduced ourselves quickly and she told me that she knew all about my exploits as a seducer and a lover.
We dined together.
It wasn't long before we realized that we were strongly attracted to each other. We went to dance in a popular nightclub where she pressed up against me, pushing her thigh between my balls every time we turned. Naturally she turned me on very quickly and remarked about it with an amusing allusion.
She asked me to accompany her and in her car she told me that she had a separate apartment from her husband's where she received her own friends. When we arrived at their hotel, she invited me to go up to her room and I accepted with pleasure, telling her that she had nothing to fear in the way of my behavior since her virtue was in the hands of her husband.
My employer and his wife naturally lived in a luxurious apartment where everything was designed for pleasure and happiness. She offered me a drink. Then, looking into my eyes, told me that she had liked me from the first moment she had set eyes on me.
She went into the bedroom and sat down on the bed in one of the most exquisite positions of abandon I have ever witnessed. It was at that moment that I placed a kiss on the young woman's already opened lips. I must add that the night was beautiful and that the hoarse, mournful voice of a Negro singer was coming through the open window.
The fan was turning quietly in the thick air and moths were throwing themselves against the electric lights over the bed in which we were embracing.
"Can one truly commit a sin in a climate where everything invites you to sensual pleasures?" Madame de B asked me as she drank the freshness from my mouth.
And in a broken voice:
"Does your theory, which I really didn't understand, also permit me to undress?" she asked when she became aware that my fingers were undoing the buttons of her blouse.
"Why of course, dear, all of this stems from my theory."
Under these conditions, Madame de B allowed me to admire her chest and the milky globes of her breasts seemed to be illuminated in the night like alabaster. She threw her blouse and her bra to her feet and, dressed only in her linen skirt with its Indian design, she threw herself on the floor as if to call a witness to the triumph of her body.
It's true that the danger was small. It was very dark, but I enjoyed the spectacle of that woman who had perhaps once been modest and whose blonde hair was falling around her tonight like liana.
The time passed. We stayed in the room. Madame de B was intoxicated without having had a drink. It was she who asked me to take off her skirt.
The roles were reversed. The one who had played the role of woman-chaser so often stopped doing so, or more precisely, he found himself in the presence of a prey that offered herself to him.
"You told me before that I have nothing to be afraid of," said the woman, laughing nervously, "since only my husband has the power to order you to attack. You might as well profit from it...."
That was quite true and I undid the zipper of her skirt, which came undone with a silky sound as if the young woman's blonde flesh itself had been torn apart. Madame de B------------had, out of modesty or caprice, pushed her hair over her face and I found myself lusting after a deformed body whose head might have been on backwards.
Around midnight I ceased caressing her still unsatisfied body.
"Madame, my theories up to now have been worthless."
Without a word, the woman lifted her torso towards me and imposed a long feverish kiss on my mouth.
"Madame, listen to me. I beg you to believe that my principles are worthless."
"My darling, put your hands on my chest. I am on fire. Have pity on me."
I placed my hands on the taut aureoles of her breasts and started again.
"We are on fire, darling, and we haven't the right to extinguish that fire without your husband's consent. That is why my doctrines are worthless. We have set a terrible mechanism into motion. We will not be able to escape from it."
"But my husband doesn't always come back," moaned Madame de B-. "Go to the balcony, my love; perhaps he is coming." Alone on the couch, she continued to writhe. I saw the high, white columns of her legs opening and closing constantly in the dark. No, I couldn't see anyone coming.
She brought her own hands to her breasts. I came back, determined to go ahead. The young woman retained a grain of lucidness. My eyes must have told her that I was going to violate our pact. She closed her legs in despair.
"Madame...."
"You know our contract. My fate is in my husband's hands," she answered in a broken voice. "We will not deceive him. You will not touch your sex to mine ... and if my cunt is burning to know your cock, it will be able to control itself ... For in exchange you are going to offer my body an infinitely greater pleasure than it has wanted to know for a long time. You are going to beat me. You are going to beat me until I pass out."
Then she pointed to the closet she wanted me to open. It was filled with instruments of torture, whips, riding crops, wood and steel cocks....
Madame de B-talked me into flagellating her while she stimulated her own pussy with a hysterical rage.
She came that way under my blows. Then she begged me to let her whip me to assuage my unleashed desires. I accepted her proposal and I was not to regret it. She made me come in a violent and demoniacal way. Then Monsieur de B came home and absolved me of my promise not to sleep with his wife.
That night we made an extraordinary patouze-all three of us: we fucked each other, buggered each other, and whipped one another. In a word, we made our come flow with an extraordinary lasciviousness.
Furthermore, it was Madame de B , invited to several of Your Majesty's intimate parties who introduced me to the queen and permitted me thus to become one of her lovers....
PART FIVE
-HER MAJESTY'S CONFESSION
CHAPTER ONE
THE RED-HAIRED COACHMAN
The beautiful queen of the kingdom rose and spoke:
To tell you the truth, your stories have excited me so much that I would prefer to begin making love again instead of telling you the episodes of ancient affairs. My clitoris and my ass are on fire and await you and your caresses, my dear friends. But I wouldn't want you to think that my intention is to hide myself from our obligations or that I am refusing to follow your example in telling some of my past debauches.
For today I am not a queen, but the worst of whores, or rather I am a queen as long as the idea of my rank excites you and permits you to treat me like the worst of whores. Thus, I will do as you and tell you some of my erotic adventures.
The first story that comes to my mind is, naturally, that of my deflowering. Raised among nuns until the age of 13, I was taken out of the noble convent, where the best habits were impressed upon me by my god mother, Caroline de R-, wife of the State Adviser, the Count de R-, but also a downright slut and prostitute, more interested in cocks than anything else in the world. This woman had come at the death of my uncle to take me to his home where I was going to stay until the revolution which was to put me on the throne.
The great woods and the plains brought no expression to my blue eyes. I was on my first voyage and I was bewildered, but my confusion did not make me come out of my silence.
During the first stop, Dame Caroline tried to extract a few coherent words from me. But to each question, I only responded with: "Yes, godmother," or, "No, godmother."
Tired of the struggle, Caroline stopped questioning me. She plunged herself into the complicated calculation of the wealth that was going to come to her.
When we reached a steep incline the stagecoach stopped. The nimble travelers, myself included got down and went down on foot to make the task easier for the horses. But Dame Caroline pretended to have lumbago in order to stay on the coach. On the plateau, the travelers who had descended already took their places again. I climbed down next to Dame Caroline, who watched me out of the corner of her eye but kept quiet. I continued my interior rumination.
We came to a halt at an inn. The fare was abundant and top-quality.
I demonstrated that my appetite was greater than my disposition. I was so occupied with stuffing myself, my chaperon had to repeat her question for me to hear her and answer.
"Tell me, Fanchette, what did you ask the tall red-haired coachman when you were walking next to him?"
I did not show any surprise that the good dame had observed me. I stopped struggling with a chicken leg and answered her with my mouth full.
"He ordered me to come to his room here tonight...."
"To do what?"
"He didn't tell me, godmother."
"What did you tell him?"
"That I would go, since it is necessary...."
"Necessary I" my interlocutor choked.
"Why yes, godmother! For he added that if I did not obey him, he would overturn the coach in a woods where there are wolves and that the wolves would eat us."
Faced with such ingenuity, Caroline could not find anything to say. She poured herself a drink, which she emptied immediately, then looked at me a long time.
No, I wasn't joking with her.
It was only after having done honor to the tart that Dame Caroline came back to the delicate subject.
"You will not go to see that man tonight...."
"Yes, godmother...."
"Don't worry, the wolves won't eat us...."
"If you say so, godmother."
Caroline excused herself from the table and held a secret but animated conversation with the servant. After hesitating, the girl responded to the bribe of a few pieces of silver.
"It will be the blue room, then, Madame," said the girl with an accomplice's smile.
The innkeeper passed out candles and actually did give the blue room to my godmother and me. Through an excess of precaution, Caroline had me sleep in her own bed. She smiled sweetly as she heard the noise of two boots being taken off in the next room.
Soon I heard nothing else.
For, no sooner had I undressed and gotten into bed when I fell asleep and slept like a baby. I was exhausted from the trip.
However, I was awakened in the middle of the night by unusual murmurs. Worried, I sat up in bed and listened, straining all my senses. There could be no doubt ... I hadn't been dreaming. No, it was neither the cry of a barn-owl nor the grating of a shutter.
It was a human cry.
A stifled, shaken cry which stopped only to start up again a few seconds later in a quickened rhythm. I was terrified. But what brought my anguish to its peak was that my chaperon was no longer under the covers.
Where could she be?
Terrorized, I didn't dare to call for help. But I listened carefully and distinguished without any doubt that the cry, rather the rale, was coming from the next room. And now there could be no mistake.
I recognized the voice ... it could be none other than that of Dame Caroline.
My good godmother, moaning like that in an unknown inn! How could I not remember the frightful stories that went around on long winter evenings about travelers who were killed during the night!
The cries were becoming more and more distinct and hurried. I had to act at once. Listening only to my courage, I got up and ran barefoot to the next room.
The connecting door was not closed. I went in. In the pale light of the moon I saw a confused mass moving rhythmically on the bed. Moving closer I recognized my godmother, apparently crushed under a powerful enemy.
Terrified, I screamed.
"Hold on, godmother! I'm coming to rescue you!"
And I pulled the bandit's feet with all my might. There was a great tumult and I recognized the aggressor to be the red-headed man. I also saw something bizarre and did not understand very well....
However, I didn't have time to recover. Caroline, suddenly brought back to life, jumped from under the covers and swore at me:
"Get out of here, bitch!"
A pair of slaps punctuated her order. Through my tears, I heard the man mutter:
"Shit, it was the old woman...."
I went back to bed and waited for my Aunt Caroline, who came back furious and who at my first request for an explanation told me to be quiet. Then she, in her turn, became silent.
Thus, I did not know how her affair with the man had finished. During the night I thought over my adventure and concluded that my godmother had not been assailed by the coachman to be wounded or beaten, but that, on the contrary, she herself had gone to submit to his strange treatment. Her maneuvers of the night before, the advice she had given me, her mysterious conversation with the servant, the fact that she had asked me to sleep in her bed ... all proved to me that the real secret of the affair was beyond me.
The next day one fact intrigued me even more: the rogue who had acted so poorly with my godmother, instead of running away, was waiting for us in front of the stagecoach as if he was completely innocent, as if he had completely forgotten his sinister behavior of the night before.
It is true that from time to time he looked embarrassed, but what was even stranger were the looks that Caroline threw him, amused and affectionate at the same time, and the words she murmured between her teeth:
"The big fool!"
During the day I realized that my companion did not hate him for his attitude of the night before. On the contrary, she seemed grateful to him. Then I realized that what had happened between them had not displeased my chaperon.
This discovery even explained why she had wanted to take my place in this individual's room. A boundless curiosity took hold of me and I felt frustrated by a strange rejoicing that suddenly seized my heart. What did I want from that brute, whose back I saw now while he drove the coach over the country roads?
I was convinced that the mystery of my desires would remain forever hidden from me. And yet, in the inn where we stopped and where we were greeted by the patron with every attention-he was a very handsome man, even according to my godmother, who started to shoot glances toward the keeper that were as fiery as the ones she had given the coachman-I was able, that same night, to obtain the key to the enigma.
I had awakened early in the evening to discover that Aunt Caroline had again left our common room where, this time, we occupied two twin beds.
"She must be with the coachman again," I thought, getting up, excited and frightened at the same time. Then I went to the corridor in which the coachman's room was located.
It was locked from the inside.
Too impatient and nervous to think, I knocked and the door opened on the man, dressed like me in a long nightgown.
"Is my godmother here?" I asked in a murmur.
"Why no," he said. "Once was enough."
And seeing that I was skeptical, he moved aside to let me come in and then closed the door.
"Anyway, we don't need your godmother," he added immediately with a smile. "That whore must surely be in the midst of being fucked by someone else-by the innkeeper, perhaps. He was certainly giving her the eye."
I did not understand all of the man's expressions, but a part of his explanation corresponded to my suppositions: my godmother was doing with the innkeeper what she had done with the coachman the night before, that type of activity that had brought moans of pain from her.
But what? That was the question!
I told the coachman about my perplexities and he burst out laughing.
"That's great! You don't know what 'fuck' means? Have you at least even seen a real cock?"
I told him no, and that having been brought up by the nuns, I was still ignorant of worldly things.
"Why, you are a true virgin," he said. "Then, for you, this thing has no name yet?"
And lifting the hem of his gown, he uncovered his shiny legs between which stood up an enormous piece of flesh like a monkey's tail or an intestine surrounded by much denser fur. The tumor on his abdomen disgusted and attracted me at the same time.
"No," I replied. "This is the first time I have ever seen that...."
"Then, what did the good sisters teach you? They would at least have had to teach you that boys have this and that this 'machine' gives girls pleasure. Because this is what your godmother came to get from me, and she took your place to be able to have it."
All of this showed me that the solution to the mystery was close and that I only had to insist to obtain it completely.
"And how does one know this pleasure?" I asked, more and more curious.
"By introducing my rod into the hole which you have between your legs," replied my instructor, coming over to me and pressing me against him. Then he tried to touch me between the thighs with his big hand.
"But that's dirty!" I cried. "Everyone knows it's indecent. That's just for...." The man laughed again.
"You are a true infant ... but your godmother doesn't agree with you. She knows that her pussy can give her more happiness than anything in the world."
My chaperon's name and the memory of the experience-an agreeable one, as my neighbor told me-that she had had the night before made me less shy. I stiffened, determined to let the coachman reveal what, at the bottom, my unsatisfied curiosity had made me come right to his room to ask about.
From my expression, he understood that his untimely movement would be accepted in a better way this time and he decided to try his luck again between my legs. His fingers went up between my thighs and their soft caress gave me a sensation of dizziness and extraordinary pleasure.
I controlled myself and overcame a moan that was rising in me. My voluptuous trembling proved that the man had not lied to me in promising unknown joys equal to those my godmother had sought from him.
Soon his index finger touched the most secret place on my body, that which the nuns, my teachers, had instructed me to hide with the greatest cares. The hand reached the parting of my pelvis and separated it gently, making me moan with fondness and desire.
The unmannerly coachman proved to be capable of an unexpected delicacy at that moment. Guessing that his behavior was attracting and repulsing me at the same time, he advanced carefully, guided by my reactions. But my warm temperature was already manifesting itself and was accepting the male's cajoleries with eagerness.
After having separated my vaginal lips, he started to caress the interior with a precision that made my cheeks burn. Overwhelmed by the sensations I was experiencing, I separated my legs and permitted the man to manipulate me better. He reached my little rosy knob, my clitoris, and thanks to that contact, gave me even more powerful pleasures. I heard myself panting, moaning, sighing, like my godmother had the night before. As if in a dream, the position taken by my chaperon and the man came back to me, a position which did not at all correspond to our posture, they having been lying down and we standing.
I decided to ask for an explanation of this state of affairs-but later, for now my whole being was occupied by the strange messages that he was creating in my pussy. He stared at me with a passionate expression and seemed to follow the expressions on my face that were helping him accomplish his work.
I leaned against my strange companion, who appeared to me like a torturer and a benefactor, for his actions were provoking a plea sure and a suffering in me that would have been inconceivable a few moments earlier.
Suddenly, I had the impression that an even more extraordinary wave of delights was rising from my vagina toward my legs. Then it embraced my whole body and drowned me in its splashing.
"I'm going to die, I'm going to die!" I cried with indescribable fear and joy.
I collapsed exhausted by this deliverance and destruction, and my partner murmured: "You are going to die of love, my little one, a beautiful death!"
I let myself fall unconscious on the man's couch, while he came and sat down next to me to caress me tenderly and place a delicate kiss on my cheeks from time to time.
Gradually coming to myself, I felt myself invaded by a gratitude as extraordinary for my neighbor as was the happiness he had just given me. Throwing myself against him, I kissed him everywhere, on the forehead, on the mouth, on the neck, on his hairy chest.
"Oh, my love!" I cried. "You have revealed inestimable delights to me ... it seems that I could never return the favor you gave me!"
"Yes, you can," replied the man without changing his expression, "and even right now ... you only have to caress my cock like I caressed your pussy."
His words filled me with as great an astonishment as his first explanations. I expressed my stupefaction in a loud voice and finally gave in to my partner's wishes, which seemed so little in exchange for what he had given me.
His appendage was enormous, full of blue and bloody veins, and attached to two bags covered with hair that began between his legs and continued almost over his whole abdomen. My fingers seized the stiff object and began to beat it very gently, then, to his satisfaction, with an increasing force. I soon realized that once again the man had told me the truth and that my maneuvers were giving him almost the same kind of pleasure as that which he had engendered in me by his movements.
Guided by my companion, I used my left hand to tease his bags-his "balls," as he had already taught me to call them-that he soon asked me to press vigorously. My activity filled him with a kind of rage whose violence would have made me run away if it had not recalled the delirium that had seized my whole being when he had caressed me. But when my exaltation had made me crumble with tenderness, his made him vulgar, almost bestial, and he began to call me the most obscene names and even to injure me while he made me beat him with redoubled strength.
And yet, even his vulgarity filled me with an inconceivable beatitude, as if this expression of masculine fury was an homage to my activity and as if it brought me new joys in return.
Suddenly, my partner uttered a cry, and grasping the edges of the bed with his fingers, he got up a little while his sex-his
"rod," or his "cock," as he called it-vomited several spurts of a nauseating material of a yellow-gray color similar to mucus, which filled my right hand and then trickled to the floor. I could not hold back an exclamation of disgust and I quickly drew back my hand as if it had been bitten by a snake.
The coachman had stretched out on the bed-like me, after my pleasure-and appeared completely detached from me. I profited by this respite to go and wash my fingers and take away every trace of the gelatinous material that had spurted from the male sex.
Coming back, I discovered him to be a little calmer. He even smiled at me and then said:
"Little slut, you have a good disposition for love."
These words filled me with pride and confidence. They revealed to me at that moment that during lovemaking, every lover takes as much pleasure in satisfying his partner as in his own.
I kissed my host and he answered my kisses with equally passionate kisses, for, as he was to admit much later that night, he had never been caressed by such a young and pretty girl as me.
We remained stretched out on the bed and the caresses we gave each other soon reanimated our senses. My companion slid his mouth from my lips to my neck, then to my chest, which he finally unveiled completely, tucking my nightgown up. Soon he took it off and rendered me completely naked, so as to give his lips and his fingers the means of satisfying my body, which he devoured and caressed with an obscene thirst. Then his head descended between my thighs. His tongue stopped on my slit, which had just felt the slightly rough frictions.
Oh, wonder of wonders! His tongue opened me with a moist insistence, with a pressure coated with saliva, a true steel hand in a velvet glove, a weapon of roses inserted at the same time as its petals to the very depths of my sex. I uttered a cry of pleasure and then lost myself in a dream of fire and ice, on whose shadows floated the image of my own abdomen, where my companion's deadly and delicious mouth was foraging in a measured rhythm.
He was licking me like an animal and transforming me into food that he was consuming with an intoxicating voracity. But the animal who was devouring me had some strange caprices. Stopping suddenly and by this cutting the thread of my pleasure, he seemed to reach a decision.
"Turn around ... let's lie head to tail so that you can suck me while I am sucking you. Come on, don't be selfish ... you'll see, you'll like it as much as my caresses."
How could I disobey my initiator?
Even if I wanted to disobey-which was, however, not the case-where would I find the strength to do so?
My companion seized me by the shoulders and even before permitting me to carry out the action he had demanded of me, he placed me in the desired position. While he was taking his position between my thighs again, over my cunt that was in a better position for his tongue, I found myself between his hairy legs, face to face with his member that was exciting and disgusting at the same time, covered with hair, trimmed with two enormous testicles, filled, no doubt, with the mucus that had spurted into my hand several minutes earlier.
"Come, suck me, lick me!" ordered my lord and master, who didn't even allow me the time to get used to this new perspective.
But while he was speaking, his tongue was touching my cunt and reawakening a new passion in me, a kind of amorous exultation which pushed beyond all the limits of decency. Just as up to then that enormous instrument had seemed to me to be the extreme frontier of my adventure, it now became the simple means of a new step, the way to reach a paradisiacal zone-ecstasy.
I seized the huge rod that was ugly and dirty between my delicate lips and then started to suck it greedily like an ice-cream cone, or better, like some choice, delicious food. That bit of flesh filled me with an original joy, much more, no doubt, because of the forbidden ideas that it engendered in me than because of its taste.
The huge cock put me in contact with hell and overwhelmed me by giving me indescribable pleasure. I sucked the cock, trying to extract everything it contained in its tiny hole and especially the last drops of dirty mucus that it had spurted forth several instants earlier.
During this time the coachman's tongue was opening my slit and foraging there with its harsh and delicate attacks which led me each time to the edge of unconsciousness. I had the impression that the rod-seen close up-was attacking not my mouth, but my cunt, and that my sucking had a determining influence on the power of his attacks on my clitoris.
My eyes almost pressed against the testicles that had become monstrous by the perspective. My mouth was completely occupied by the male cock; my face was far from my lover's face between my buttocks. My whole universe was overturned, reversed.
Moans, cries, oaths were mingled around me without permitting me to know if they were coming from my lips or my companion's lips. I was at the height of rapture.
The coachman's tongue was opening my sex more and more but the pain that he gave me offered such excitement at the same time that it melted into delirious pleasure. For the first time in my life, pain appeared to me like the crowning of joy and martyrdom like the height of beatitude. I no longer knew exactly what my mouth was expressing, but my whole being was shivering with that exultation that was close to the supreme joy I had known during the discharge caused by the coachman's fingers, this time in a more perverse manner, provoked by more unexpected and sinuous methods.
My intoxication pushed me on to bite the cock, to forget the testicles' ugliness and to kiss them, extending the zone of my actions over his whole abdomen and overwhelming my lover with a joy that was equal to mine, to judge from his obscene exclamations.
"You are a little whore...." he whispered. "You suck divinely ... anyone would think you had been sucking cocks all your life. You are driving me insane ... oh, I can't go on ... stop ... I don't want to come like this, in your throat ... I want to really fuck you, deflower you. If you empty all my come, you will prevent me from making you a woman...."
He finally fitted his movements to his words and prevented me from prolonging my caresses by seizing me and at the same time withdrawing his superbly arched tool from me.
Several instants later, we were in the most natural position again, lying on top of each other. We kissed then in the most ordinary way, mouth to mouth, too excited, however, to be able to stop caressing our most intimate sections and especially our sexes. Then the man told me to stretch out on my back and present my cunt to him, separating my legs as much as possible.
"What are you going to do?" I asked, a little frightened.
"I'm going to fuck you, little girl," he answered.
"But what have we been doing up to now if not 'fucking'?" I asked, a little astonished, alluding to all the sensations that he had awakened in my body.
"Up to now were only the 'hors-d'oeuvres,' the 'foreplay,' as it is called."
"And now, what will it be?"
"Now, we are going to have the main course."
"Will it be good?"
"Not at first, naive child," he said with a smile. "But then it will please you so much that you will do as your godmother, you will come to ask for it again, you will never be able to get enough of it. Especially with your nature. You have a wonderful career as a whore before you...."
After these final words, I could only submit to my companion's wishes and get the newly promised revelations from him.
The man got up a little and leaned on his elbows, then pressed himself against me. While he raised one of my legs with his left hand, he adjusted his rod against, my slit with his right hand. From then on, all my attention was concentrated on the work carried on by our two sexes, which occupied the center of the amorous scene.
In the beginning, his cock separated the lips of my pussy a little and slid inside the place that was already moistened by my companion's saliva and by my own substances, created by the man's skillful caresses.
That penetration made me moan with pleasure and gave me the hope for a coming joy that would be even greater. But the actions of the enormous member finally extracted a cry of pain from me.
"No, you're hurting me too much!" I cried. "Oh, stop!"
The coachman stopped and let me come to myself a little before speaking.
"I warned you that it would make you suffer a little in the beginning ... but you must have confidence in me. I will make you know such happiness that all the others will seem to fade in comparison."
He continued to talk this way until my pain ceased and gave way to the pleasure procured by the male cock, which still remained half-lodged in my cunt. The coachman saw immediately from my expression that my desire corresponded to his and that he could continue his progression into my pussy. He lifted himself again and began his aggressive work, opening my flesh a little more and extracting a new cry from me.
But this time my companion did not need to speak to me to persuade me to let him go on. My pain was matched by such pleasure, so mingled with the sensual beatitude, that, overwhelmed by these contradictory sensations, I could no longer express my precise wish. I could no longer do anything but cling to my partner and kiss him, crying out incoherent words of anger and of love, while with an extraordinary skill-stopping when he judged that my pain was becoming too strong or continuing when he considered me ready to stand it-my lover finally completely opened my sex and totally installed himself inside me.
We remained still, silent, filled with a great exaltation at the thought of the act we had just accomplished.
Several instants later I had the strange sensation that a stream of water was flowing between my thighs. I sat up and saw that it was blood coming from my pussy and trickling softly along my legs. Discovering this purple stream also, the coachman spoke.
"One could say that you are a true virgin and not one of those women who play at virginity to excite the man. No, you really gave me the present of your maidenhead."
These words expressed with sincere passion gave me the presentiment of a new attack against my abdomen and made me shrivel up with fear. The coachman withdrew and came back with great ease in my opened body. But his assault continued to make me suffer and drew new moans from me. He kissed me and patted my face to console me and promised me great pleasures.
My lover did not lie to me this time either. Coming and going in my sex with his member, he finally enlarged me sufficiently for the pain to stop and be replaced by a more and more delightful pleasure which soon embraced my whole being.
Then my attitude changed. If until then I had feared his attacks, I now began to request them and demand them.
Oh, my lover was right! I loved being attacked by that enormous cock! Even the idea of its ugliness, added to the pleasures its movements gave me, augmented my excitement to a point that is difficult to imagine.
Unconsciously, I cried out my desires and these exclamations came back to me to be reverberated with a redoubled force in my heart. I utilized my companion's words to demand pleasures that he had taught me to name at the same time as he had made me know them.
"Fuck, fuck, my love ... screw, screw, don't stop ... penetrate my cunt all the way, it is yours! Tear it, set it on fire and make it bleed, break it with your cock ... don't have any pity for me...."
And he, his eyes wide, with a stream of saliva trickling down his chin, whispered:
"Oh, little fucker, you are a demon, a creature from hell ... I could never have dreamed that a virgin who knew nothing of love scarcely an hour ago could be transformed into this unleashed bacchante, this passionate whore, capable of demanding the male rod, better than the most wicked of prostitutes...." But suddenly, a hoarse cry spurted from his lips, a cry which no longer surprised me, for it was as familiar to me as its deep significance. I knew that at that very moment, his rod that was arched to its maximum size was going to release its jets of "come," as he named the strange mucus manufactured in his genital parts.
I was not wrong and received his liquid which, this time, entered my cunt and gave me such extraordinary sensations that it provoked a total upheaval in my whole being.
Incapable of holding back, I also knew, for the second time and in a deeper way, the physical pleasure that my lover had already revealed to me with his caressing fingers. With a terrible moan, I fell backwards while my intoxicated body fell into a kind of delicious sleep.
Then, stretched out on one another, we remained plunged in this beatitude that follows the erotic discharge and during which we savor the vapors of ecstasy that spread out over our sated bodies.
Only at dawn did I return to my room to which my godmother had not yet returned from her visit to the innkeeper. When she came back, one hour after me, she found me asleep, conquered by fatigue after the night's excesses.
CHAPTER TWO
THE WICKED PSYCHOANALYST
But I am not going to continue entertaining you with all the adventures, each more perverse than the one before, which happened to me after my deflowering.
Now I am in too much of a hurry for Thierry to put his cock into me and for Dominique to bugger me while Lucienne beats me. But all the same, I would like to tell you one of my more extraordinary experiences that happened to me when I was around 20.
I was waiting my turn. I had come without an appointment, attracted by a strange need which had suddenly turned into a pressing, imperious necessity. I had passed by Master V 's house two or three times. The black sign on which the hours for appointments were engraved in golden letters fascinated me.
That day, I had been unable to resist the attraction. I had climbed two stories, almost unconsciously, without stopping to catch my breath and without knocking on the door which, upon opening, I felt was going to bring me peace. I had heard so much talk about Professor V , master of modern psychiatry, at least so they said, although no one had ever seen his diplomas.
I had known obsessed men and women, maniacs, people with imaginary illnesses and I had seen some of them come back smiling, happy, and cured. What had Professor V----------done to them to end their illnesses? They knew nothing about it, themselves. They were unable to explain it, at any rate. They had not followed any treatment, had not taken any medicine. It was Doctor V 's irresistible power, the magnetic power of his eyes, the influence of his voice that cast a spell over them.
I was curious to see this man, to come close to him.
I had found his photo in an article. His face attracted me like light attracts moths. I had to go to him to find out ... even at the risk of burning myself.
In the parlor two people were ahead of me: a woman, pale, thin, dressed in black, playing endlessly with an embroidered handkerchief; and a man with long hair, loose pants, beating time with his fingers, marking rhythm with his foot and with his hand outlining musical notes, staves, scales in the air, on paper, on the walls, on the floor itself, and insolently trying to draw the same things on the other clients who were waiting.
I changed my place four times to avoid him.
I found these people very strange and thought that of the three, I was the most nor mal. "I don't make any strange movements," I thought. "I behave properly. I'm dressed correctly."
However, at the end of a moment of immobility, no longer restraining myself, I opened my handbag and took out several photos which I assembled or shuffled like playing cards. The proud face of a minister could be recognized on one of them, on another the enigmatic face of a Hindu prince or the portrait of a male movie star.
The sound of the door opening put a stop to my thoughts. I got up, walked forward, but it wasn't the "Great Master." It was a very young and pretty woman dressed as a nurse.
The woman in black got out of her chair and ran with nervous, jerky steps to the door from which she was being called.
A heavy silence followed this interlude.
The man was no longer tracing notes; I was no longer mixing my photos. I looked at myself in the mirror that was on the wall across from me. I was attractive, elegant, no doubt similar to many courtesans; one might have thought so from my demeanor, from the knowing attitude of several poses, from the way I threw my head back, rolled my hips, fluttered my eyelashes, or played with a glove. Naturally, I was there incognito.
The door opened again and the man left the same way as the woman had, beating a measure in three-part time.
I was alone, freed from the eyes that had been watching me. I grew bold and indulged myself to my heart's content in mimicking the gestures of great amorous tragedians, or of voluptuous, lascivious slaves. I prepared the scenic effects which I thought were going to seduce the "Great Master" and offer him to me to appease my vaginal passion. I finally made myself call the nurse, trying out the bearing of a majestic queen.
The door to the consultation room closed on me-a double padded door.
"Very well, madame, what do you have to tell me?" asked the professor with great affability. "Relax, don't be embarrassed with me. I am in the habit of hearing many confidences."
I no longer knew what to say.
The man who was speaking to me was very strange. His extreme gentleness combined with his exclusive authority, fascinated me, glued me to my chair. I couldn't stand anymore. I turned away. A mysterious fluid was emanating from his face which made me dizzy. Suddenly I saw him walking towards me, his arms outstretched. I felt his hands very close to me, touching me, his head touching mine.
"Very well! Dear madame, why have you come to see me? Speak or we will try some tests."
"Oh, it's useless," I uttered. "I am possessed again ... I'm going to explain my troubles. There are nights when I can't sleep, when I feel a warm fluid running through my veins that tortures me at times ... my entire being burns with an unquenchable ardor ... I consume myself with dreams, with visions, with insomnia ... I kiss the photographs of men whom I wish to be united with and whose pictures are all that I possess. What can I do, dear Master, to bring them to me?"
"Patience, madame, everything comes in time."
"And you yourself, Master. I have desired to reveal the beauty of my body to you and to make you fall in love with me."
"That's good. Tonight," he said with a smile, "come to my house at eight-thirty ... 5 G. Place...."
The doctor had me go into a somber room.
I threw myself on a bed, exhausted. My dress was unhooked, my slip was torn, one of my breasts slipped out. The doctor undressed me and touched me lewdly. He himself, dressed in a silk robe, was all red and appeared to be in some inhuman trance.
Then, taking me in his arms, he gave me a violent kiss, carried me naked into another room, and put me on a cold marble table. White linen and surgical instruments gave the room a clinical appearance.
Wild with passion, unconscious, I saw nothing.
"You know," the doctor said, "that I only make love to dead women. You will lose your life and afterward I will possess you. I am also abnormal and it is to attract beautiful and insane women like you that I disguise myself as a psychiatrist. I have had many and those whom I judged worthy of me sleep stretched out under this marble."
But at that moment, in that atmosphere, everything seemed conceivable to me, the most extreme delirium and the most elating annihilation.
"Do with me as you wish," I murmured. "Break me, execute me, kill me. But carry me to the terrible regions in which joy is mingled with peace and silence!"
The psychoanalyst looked at me with deep, probing eyes.
"So you want to be tortured and destroyed. You are not frightened by my threats like certain of my other victims. So much the better, for this way I can hurt you to my heart's content and take delight in some of those cruel and marvelous pleasures that not all my captives are willing to offer me. Before liquidating you we will spend several atrocious and beautiful moments together."
And, having said these words, he leaned over me and bit my right shoulder with such violence that he made me cry. A red mark like a flower appeared on the spot where he had imprinted his teeth.
"That's nothing, my love," murmured the psychoanalyst. "I will make you suffer much more in awhile. At the moment I am merely contenting myself with tasting your flesh before truly tearing into it."
I don't have to tell you that my pain excited me to the highest point.
Everyone who knows me knows that I am an inveterate flagellant and that brutality makes me come. Therefore, I responded to my torturer and encouraged him to pursue his actions, without worrying about my exclamations other than to let them augment his lust.
He seemed content with my words and admitted that his usual patients did not accept these supplications with so much grace. Then he began his sadistic maneuvers again. He started to bite me again as if he was tasting me. He grasped a part of my body in his teeth-my arm, my breast, my hip, or my cunt-and he squeezed it until he could extract its substance. Then he licked it.
He bit me this way all over my body-particularly on my tits, on my abdomen, on the lips of my vagina, and on my legs. But each time, his sharp teeth would take care to leave me before seizing new flesh. He marked me with blue or violet impressions, but never made any purple drops spurt from my skin. Master V had reserved this pleasure for later, when he would return to the same places.
"I love blood," he said. "But I love to savor a woman's skin like an hors d'oeuvre. Now you are going to offer me the 'piece de resistance.' "
Then he began his work again, but this time with an increased strength and his teeth tore me and made little streams of red liquid trickle out. This was not only more cruel than ordinary flagellation, but also deeper and more exciting. The psychoanalyst was not hurting me from afar, like the ordinary inquisitor who beats his victim with a whip or another object of supplication, but from very close ... with his own body. His actions sprang from him and were communicated directly to me without an intermediary.
He worked on me immediately as if he were penetrating me with his cock, but in a more violent way than a cock in a deflowered cunt, for he was tearing my body. In some way he was deflowering me again; he was attacking more than my virginity-several virginities on several places of my anatomy.
I was at the peak of exaltation and of pain. I had the impression that I was being possessed by a thousand cocks, on all the erogenous parts of my body. When his lips and teeth grabbed hold of my pussy to cut it, cover it with bloody wounds, transform it into a strange sore, my happiness reached the height of sensual insanity and led me to the most terrible orgasm I have ever known. At that moment I accepted the idea of death ecstatically, certain that I had experienced the greatest pleasure in a life that could no longer offer me such thrills.
But my surprises were only beginning.
My tormentor contemplated me several seconds, then said:
"You are truly delicious ... I will kill you, but not before having extracted all the charms that your body has to offer me. Now I would like to combine the pleasures that you can give me with other perversities that I usually enjoy separately."
Having uttered these words he rang a bell. Several instants later the door opened to admit a splendid Negro, naked as Adam, but as handsome as a veritable Apollo, with a young and intelligent head, huge shoulders, a big, well-proportioned body, splendid legs, and a very stiff cock surrounded by two sculptured testicles. The man resembled a work of art or an artificial statue more than he did a being of flesh and blood.
"Steve is my wonderful and dear servant ... I have called for you so that you can participate in a little party for three."
The Negro nodded with a smile and answered in a voice that had no accent.
"You know that I am always your very humble and faithful servant."
"Well, then, you know how much I like to watch my partner's suffering. Now, you are too handsome for me to inflict destructive pains on you. Therefore, I must possess you and come with you without at the same time knowing the violent joy of inflicting pain. That is why I thought you could torture this pretty girl while I take you in the ass. At the moment, I would like the pleasure of fucking and the sadistic pleasures of flagellation at the same time."
The Negro stared at me and he suddenly became serious, surprised, almost sad. I saw in his eyes the strange feeling that my presence and my appearance had given him. He had fallen in love at first sight! But his master's voice brought him back to reality and made a servile grin surge to his lips again.
"You, Steve, you will pull on her pussy-hairs while I fuck you in the ass...."
Then, without leaving him time to answer, the psychoanalyst pressed himself against his splendid rear which he opened and attacked passionately. The Negro set his jaw, while an expression of pain was imprinted on his face, his master's cock having penetrated him in too brutal a manner. His nostrils began to tremble, certainly because this type of attack was finally exciting him. Soon he began to pant and shake with physical pleasure.
When the professor ordered him again to busy himself with my cunt, Steve slowly came back to himself and looked at me again where I still lay stretched out on the operating table. Then I saw that my body was still making the same impression on him and was plunging him into a state of dizziness and of passionate dreaming.
I realized that in seeing me, the splendid Negro had experienced the same attraction I had felt for him the first moment he had entered the room. He would, no doubt, have liked to submit me to as bestial a treatment as that demanded by the psychoanalyst-perhaps different-but he would have preferred to be independent, to act with me according to his desires, instead of submitting himself to his "patron's" orders.
But the old habit of submission took precedence suddenly over his desires and forced him to give in one more time. And as he must have been accustomed to showing an acquiescent head at the most disagreeable moments and in enriching the disappointing states that his existence brought him within himself, he smiled to make his own situation pleasant, as well as his activity, and then leaned over my cunt. He seized some hairs from my bleeding pussy and pulled brutally.
I cried out with pleasure and pain, for the sensation was deep and burning, touching several cords of my body that were erotic or insensitive at the same time.
"You like that?" Master V asked, all the while fucking the Negro's ass.
"Yes," I murmured to Steve. "Go on!"
Quickly, through one of those amorous transfers that connoisseurs of lovemaking and of perversities know well, the servant had begun to please me more than his master. He made me forget the professor whom I had come to meet and possess and from then on he alone interested me.
Never had I had the hairs of my cunt pulled. It caused me to experience an unbearable but exciting pleasure. I had the impression that I was being wounded on the inside as usual.
Until then, the caresses of rods on my abdomen had only succeeded in giving me agreeable but cool shivers. Now they seemed to attack me with an unknown brutality. Each hair on my cunt was pulled with the cries and the moans of passion uttered by the Negro and the psychoanalyst, who had not stopped fucking during this time.
Soon Steve showed signs of obvious delirium, his senses exacerbated by his patron's cock, which he was receiving in his ass, and by the spectacle of my cunt whose trimmings he was pulling as he would the wings of a butterfly.
But the erotic madness needed new nourishment.
Master V seized a scalpel with a very sharp blade and held it out to the Negro saying:
"Now, slash this whore's body ... but not deeply. We must make her blood spurt, but not kill her yet. Anyway, she will like that ... she adores torture...."
The servant hesitated before carrying out the act demanded by the psychoanalyst, but finally, moved by his sensual rage, he leaned between my thighs and pricked me with his weapon.
I uttered a new cry of pain and passion.
"You like that?" he asked.
"Yes," I replied. "The danger you are making me run excites me to a point difficult to imagine. The orgasm is close to death and criminal actions make me discharge more rapidly...."
"Look at my cock," the beautiful Negro murmured, making unbelievable gashes in my cunt. "It is stiffer than ever from the pleasure that this work of a torturer is giving me...."
"Then don't be nervous!" I exclaimed. "Cut me into a thousand pieces if you must! As long as we empty ourselves of our desires...."
Steve continued to cut me with his scalpel to the great joy of everyone.
Suddenly, searching for fresh zones, he abandoned my cunt and started to work on the most erotic parts of my body, on my thighs, my tits, my shoulders, while my words not only encouraged him to continue his torture but indicated the places he should attack.
From Steve's eyes I could tell that he was falling in love with me more and more, with my body, my temperament, my behavior and my heart, which was constantly being revealed in the fragments of sentences that sprang from my lips. My pleasure did not resemble any of my past beatitudes and he pushed me towards the final orgasm through new ways, different from the old paths. My whole body was vibrating with previously unknown pleasures and alerted me to brand new needs that were being experienced for the first time in my life.
The Negro was wounding my shoulders with a fury and a ferocity that was overwhelming and the sudden presentiment of my deliverance made me cry out.
"Cut my clitoris, my love! Make it bleed, darling!"
Obeying my orders as he had obeyed those of his master, Steve pushed his scalpel into my mound of Venus. The intense pain engendered by this action and the sight of the stream of red liquid which was surging from my cunt provoked my orgasm.
I began to cry.
"I'm coming, my God, I'm coming ... you see, my cunt has been transformed into a cock and it is throwing out its sperm like a man! My come is red, but it is really wonderful come!"
My blood drenched Steve and made him look infinitely more ferocious and more beautiful than before.
The spectacle of my deliverance brought the psychoanalyst's excitement to its peak for he was screaming in an unrecognizable voice: "Oh, dirty whore, you are making me come! Your diabolical pussy is pressing my balls in my lover's ass! Oh, I am coming too!"
But as he wanted to gather all the most exacerbating visions at this moment he added to his partner:
"Kill this damned whore! Kill her! Stick the scalpel into her heart like a cock! Stab her so that she will give up her soul at the same time as her blood! It will be marvelous!" Steve raised the murder weapon to plunge it in my chest, but, looking into my eyes, he remained fixed, incapable of finishing the gesture. He liked me too much to be able to assassinate me.
But as I had just experienced a joy so rarely known, I was not at all afraid to die by the handsome athlete's hand; on the contrary, I wanted death like the crowning of an extraordinary pleasure. I smiled tenderly at Steve's hesitation and murmured:
"Do as your master tells you. Finish me like the animal that I am. Cut me with your terrible blade that is more painful and more exciting than the most marvelous of cocks...." Then the Negro gritted his teeth with an unexpected anger and his eyes burned as he snarled:
"I've had enough of that bastard who forces his dirty come into my ass and who only gives me orders that please him without ever worrying about whether or not they please me! You're not the one I'm going to kill, beautiful girl, for I still want you, but I will kill him like the swine that he is!"
And, quickly turning around before I even realized what he was going to do, he plunged the scalpel into the psychoanalyst's chest. And, with a moan that was scarcely different from the lusty moans that he had just uttered in relieving himself of his sperm, the professor fell dead on the floor.
This new spectacle excited me to an indescribable degree. That murdered man, his rod still dripping come mingled with blood, appeared to me as the most erotic symbol of sensual violence. The sight of him acted so powerfully on me that, in spite of my recent discharge, it excited me again, throwing me into the flames of a physical pyre.
Panting, I got up from the operating table and tremulously went over to the still-warm corpse. Then, seized by a demented vertigo, incapable of understanding what was making me act that way, I threw myself on the psychoanalyst and covered his bloody body with kisses.
My feverish lips, overcome by a crazed gluttony, no longer knew which place to kiss first: his chest from which the red substance continued to flow, his abdomen that was strangely clean in comparison with the rest of him, or his genital parts. I got down on all fours to lick the carmine liquid, excited beyond my capacity and thrilling to the incredible sensations. I lost all track of time and place, answering only primitive, pulsating beats of ecstasy that washed over me in waves of throbbing passion. My body gave in completely to the uncontrollable rhythms.
Did Steve love me more-or less-in that position than in the preceding postures? Did he see me as my erotic passion had changed me or was he unaware of my latest appearance, only keeping the image of the woman whom he had tortured before his eyes? What difference does it make!
He threw himself on me, seized my buttocks, and tore into me with his enormous black cock.
But at that moment my pleasure was such that the pain provoked by the monstrous prick in my ass hardly made me moan. I discovered to my mingled horror and amazement the sexual madness which hides inside every human being and which circumstances finally permitted me to satisfy.
However, Steve's activities in my rear were equal to my oral pleasure. His big, thick cock was parting me in order to reach the very end of my anus. He was moaning and howling.
"You like this, whore? Am I fucking you well? Did you come well?"
"Yes, fuck me ... you know very well that I am the worst of whores and that I adore this ... you are a fucker of the first order!"
But in reality, my lover's activity excited me less at that moment than the carrion's extraordinary taste. In this alternation of desires which constituted my lasciviousness, my passion for the Negro had just given way to a new passion for the professor-or what he had become-in the same way as a few moments earlier my attraction for the professor had been turned into a desire for the athletic Negro. The man who was taking me from behind interested me less than the psychoanalyst's bloody flesh impregnated with the odor of come.
My whole body was screaming with the sensations seething within me. The agonized mingling of the dead man's flesh and the fiery taste of his blood and come had released a new dimension of desire in my fevered mind which I somehow knew I could never completely satisfy. Every nerve in my system was alive and hot, ready to respond.
Suddenly, Steve started to scream behind me, shaking himself inside my ass.
He quickly gave me the proof of these affirmations and released several streams of come in my ass which flowed out and then ran down my thighs. This event and the sensation it gave me brought me back to myself a little.
However, my sadistic desire had not been sated. On the contrary, it was searching for new methods of satisfaction. Then, incapable of holding back, I turned toward the Negro who-happy and glutted-had withdrawn from my ass. I looked at him with an expression of rage and of cruelty.
"You are like a wild beast," he said, stuttering a little. "A beast soiled with sperm and shit."
Seized by an irresistible need, I grabbed the scalpel which was lying on the operating table and stabbed the handsome Negro in the abdomen. He uttered a cry and doubled over as blood spurted from his body like a fountain. I raised my arm again and stabbed him a second time in the chest. He rolled over onto the floor and died, almost immediately.
But when he was still alive, in the last agonizing seconds, he surely saw me throw myself on him, seeking on his blood-covered body, the release I knew I must somehow find, as I felt his blood and breath ebb from him.
Then, while I tore into him as my body shook with desire, I masturbated myself with my enraged hands and immediately reached a delirious orgasm. My discharge calmed me and permitted me to come to my senses.
I realized that my presence in that place was no longer necessary-but, on the contrary could only bring me ridiculous trouble-and I hurried to clean myself in the bathroom, put on my clothes, and ran away....
PART SIX
-EPILOGUE
CONCLUSION
The perverse queen smiled.
"But enough talk of the past. Let's occupy ourselves with the present. You, handsome Thierry, come take me in this cunt which has accepted so many cocks already. And you, Dominique, fuck me in the ass. Be ever ready to savor, the delights of new attacks. As for you, Lucienne, beat my corrupted and incorruptible body, punish me for my lack of restraint. This way I will be committing the sin and receiving the punishment at the same time!"
The gigolo, the sculptor, and the prostitute obeyed the queen's orders.
Soon the secret boudoir in the palace was filled with moans of pleasure.
But their own narrations had engendered these new desires. They had the feeling that they knew each other too well to be able to offer each other unexpected sensations.
Then the queen, whose senses were as stimulated as her companions' but who had means of satisfying them that her guests did not possess, exclaimed:
"You need new mistresses and new lovers!
You, Lucienne, call for my Chief of Protocol!"
The latter, a thin man with white hair, blue eyes, opaque like those of fish, quickly appeared dressed in his official embroidered costume that was covered with decorations. He bowed before the guests who were still coupling, without seeming to be surprised by their positions.
"Stay here, my dear baron," said the queen, "and send me the slaves bought from slave dealers and white slavers. First bring in three Negresses and three Chinese men. Naturally, the best looking ones you have...."
The old nobleman carried out the orders and brought the requested men and women into the room.
The creatures of the weaker sex were splendid: tall, thin, intelligent faces; pointed breasts; cunts shaved completely; long, elegant legs. The men, small and supple, had adorable delicate features as one can only find in the yellow races.
"Come here!" cried the queen, addressing her slaves. "Let each of you display your cock or your vagina so we can profit from them to our heart's content."
Then the queen seized one of the Negresses' hairless pussies in her mouth, while with her free hands she seized two cocks of small proportions but admirably sculptured like art objects., The two other Negro girls and the Chinese man who remained were reserved for Thierry, Dominique, and Lucienne.
