Anonymous

Tableaux Vivants

PREFACE

How will you have your little jewel treated to-day, Duchess? Shall I simply make the tip of my agile tongue frisk about this fresh clitoris perfumed with violet water? Do you wish me to take it between my lips, where I shall roll it like a crisp almond made by a confectioner a la mode? I will make it feel the shuddering touch of my teeth ready to devour this sensitive flesh. Or would you prefer this libertine tongue to entirely enter your slit? Will you hold open the red lips yourself, and whilst my finger is gently rubbing the button of love, it will seek a rose-drop at the bottom of the chalice?”

“None of these,” my mistress said to me. “Simply recite your poem on our Mother Eve, and relate to me your old amours.”

I am a poet, you see, my dear lady reader. I am also a man without prejudices. You will see this equally, very soon. I am called Richard de la Brulaye. Twenty-eight years old, rich, a handsome cavalier, a sharp blade and one who knows his way about, ready to love many women and caress all those whom I do not love and who are good-looking.

At your service and always ready-I close this parenthesis.

Seated at the feet of my Duchess, my head on her knees, I commenced the chant which she had desired to hear.

THE GLAND OR OUR MOTHER EVE

It is said that the Spirit of Evil in ancient time appeared to our Mother Eve in the form of a serpent.

Do not believe it. Satan never chooses to take any other form than the human one, because it is under this form he can do most ill. He presented himself, then, to our mother under the form of a beautiful young man.

That which he presented to her was not an apple, it was a gland.

Eve found this fruit of love polished, sweet, and shining. Beyond this, it seemed enormous to her. And she judged it superior in every respect to that of Adam, who was too fond of sleeping in the grass, and whose virile embellishments were always a little dirty.

Satan perceived without any trouble the impression which he had produced on this naive soul. Accordingly he abused it.

He raised the gland to Eve's face and said to her, “Kiss it.”

She did so, and her lips, guided by nature, proved so skilful that the juice sprang from it.

Then she recognised that this precious object had no less flavour than charm. This, with her usual ingenuousness, she unhesitatingly confessed to her seducer, who said to her, “Wait a little.”

It would not be worth while being the Devil if one had not diabolical vigour.

Satan threw our mother down on the greensward and did her in the grocer fashion.

He turned her over and did her in the greyhound fashion.

He begged her to lie on him, and this time she did him in the street-boy manner.

After which, not being yet satisfied, he turned her over for the second time and did her a la Grecque.

In her backside, Madame, if it do not displease you, as at Sodom. Eve cried out a little, but found it good.

Thus she had tasted the gland in all manners, and sucked up with her every mouth the divine liquor which issues from it.

As this history is difficult to relate to children, they tell them that this gland was an apple.

It was nevertheless a gland.

My Duchess listened to me, laughing.

“That is an amusing fancy,” she said to me. “Now, let us go on to your good stories. I wish to enjoy through my ears until to-morrow.”

She made me sit in front of her; I had my two hands under her petticoats. The Duchess held between her rosy fingers the hero of the little poem which I had just recited, His Highness My Gland, in an exalted attitude.

I commenced about ten o'clock in the evening the tales you are going to read. Day broke whilst I was still speaking.

But listen!

IT ISN'T NECESSARY TO KISS THE MOTHER

Ladies, I tell you truthfully, clitorsation is a means of enjoyment more efficacious than agreeable. I am firmly of opinion that it was invented to triumph over the resistance of nature. The first person who tickled a clitoris was an unfortunate futterer.

There are disinherited creatures to whom heaven has refused the gift of pleasure. The warmest kisses, the liveliest embraces, cannot give warmth to these living lumps of marble; the finger is the last resource; no woman can resist a learned forefinger.

But those to whom this operation is necessary enjoy in the same manner as they give birth. In their pangs the lover's fingers rake into their gulf, seeking the rebellious clitoris, touching it, pressing it, furiously rubbing it. And she, “You — you are flaying me!”

And she writhes in a nervous paroxysm. The pleasure tears her like the lightning rends the cloud; it is no more lasting than the lightning.

There are clitorises, on the contrary, which you need but graze to give them life. Clitorisation is truly a touchstone; and if the mare quivers under the first touches of the finger which caresses her, use discretion and art. If she has never been touched before-

Ah! It is a delicate operation tickling a virgin. There, experience is everything. You tickle at a venture. A sigh, a start, ought to warn you that the crisis is near. Sometimes the ingenue shrinks away: “You go-you go too fast!”

A man of wit, who was also a great libertine, was accustomed to say, “God has done me the favour to give me slow fingers!”

Lightness alone does not suffice; you must in addition touch exactly. The clitoris flees, you have to seize it. You have probably never clitorised any of your mistresses without her having said to you in the course of the work, “It isn't there.”

How clumsy men are! Women know much better how to take hold of it. This is what justifies Lesbos.

Still, even when two women render to each other the eminent service of tickling one another, the business is not perfect. The most accomplished tribade sometimes touches on one side.

One is best clitorised by oneself only.

“It is not there!” said Valentine to me. The scene of our rendezvous was, to say the least of it, strange. It was a barred window, onto the sill of which Valentine had climbed. And I had hoisted myself up as well as I could to the top of a large stone. I had passed my hand through the iron bars. Needless to say it was night.

Not the slightest means of exchanging a kiss. Nothing but this sterile titillation which I could not even apply with a sure finger.

Thus I could not awaken even a symptom of pleasure in Valentine. However, she returned my caresses. Stretching her hand through the bars in her turn, she followed the lessons which I had taught her, with a playful movement. The result was prompt. My semen fell on the ground. “This is what they call plucking a goose,” said I to Valentine.

And yet to think that it only depended upon myself to enter this house, to find in it an opportunity of holding this pretty girl quite naked in my arms, of warming this living statue! Yes- but it would be necessary to kiss her mother.

One always has to kiss the mother! It is a hard necessity. Although Madame de Meissiat was well into her fifties, she was still all aflame-true Greekfire, which, once fastened to anything, never ceases biting and cannot be extinguished. She had sworn that she would possess me, that she would hold me buried in the ocean of her aged flesh. And Valentine knew it!

But this night, having in vain waited for any pleasure from my clumsy touchings through the iron bars, not having felt anything, and hoping everything from a long kiss and a real embrace taken without constraint, she said to me, “Richard, it would cost you very little to make yourself amiable to my mother!”

The next day, at two o'clock in the afternoon, I yielded.

I arrived at the Castel de Meissiat, rang, and asked for Madame. The servant who introduced me met me with a smile. I threw her on a table while crossing the kitchen, I pulled up her clothes, I tickled her. This was to whet my appetite.

I had carefully instructed Valentine to be in the corridor which led to her mother's room. I joined her there, embraced her; in short, threw myself on my knees in front of her. My head slipped under her petticoats; I kissed her stomach, her thighs. This was to give me courage.

As to what took place afterwards in the boudoir of Madame de Meissiat, O black mystery! The old woman was waiting for me, lying along an easy chair. Still warmed by the charms of her daughter, I had no wish to let my ardour freeze again in the presence of her mother. I seized this fifty-year-old bitch without saying a word. Only, to avoid kissing her, I pierced her in the greyhound fashion. “What a man!” said she. “He is a thunderbolt!”

An immense backside, fat and flabby, stuck itself up before my eyes. I believed myself to be rubbing against rancid lard; I seemed to penetrate into a sea of sticky water, and I pushed long, long, for nothing rubbed against me, nothing clasped me; I swam in the wide sea. My amorous trot gave vent to frightful yells. O the lubricous old she-devil! I left her half-dead with her stinking pleasures.

I passed into Valentine's chamber. The dear girl purified me herself, in her own wash-hand basin, from the maternal work.

I quickly stripped off all her clothes. Not only in our nocturnal meetings at the barred window had I never penetrated the charms of this pretty child, I had never even seen them. The temple appeared to me, and the god at the bottom of the sanctuary. This little, unknown god had a pretty face. And what a breath! I inhaled it deeply.

Valentine was not a virgin. Her cousin had taken her maidenhead without her having experienced anything but pain. “It is because he was too old!” she said. I placed her on the edge of the bed, I, who was young. The introduction was painful; she bore it bravely.

“Do you feel anything?”

“No.”

“What! The movements which I make in your stomach, the blows which I give you, cause you no pleasure?”

“No-not yet-but go on!”

I went on, truly, I went on! I waited for the first contraction of the whole body, the rapid jolt of her croup, a sigh, or even only a respiration shorter and more hasty, the divine preludes at last announcing that the loved woman is not insensible to the caresses of her lover. Nothing!

This body which I held pressed under mine seemed to me nevertheless made for love. Valentine was a brunette, graceful and slender. Little titties, but delicate, and full backside. A coynte burning, tight. The mouth lascivious, the eyes brilliant.

All these were but delusive appearances. My mouth wandered from her mouth to her breast, my fingers from her clitoris to her anus, and I polished and thrust! Nothing!

My strength, however, failed me, and my virility left me in a jet of flame. I seized Valentine, and, holding her lying on my knee, I commenced to clitorise her furiously. Her clitoris was so small and so fugitive that I could scarcely hold it between my fingers. I chafed it with all my force. She complained, she cried out; but she enjoyed at last with a nervous crisis.

Deceiving and icy girl, I quitted her, never to see her more. I went away humiliated, in despair at not having been able to triumph over this rebellious nature. Never, never will I again play my part of having to kiss the mother.

GOOSEFLESH

She was simple in everything, simple as a child. She said at every turn, “I am simplicity itself.”

This simple person was in truth doubly a wanton. I will only designate her by her Christian name, Pauline. Perhaps you will guess the name of her husband. He is a man very high in office.

I loved her. One morning I received an anonymous letter, which warned me that my chaste mistress was making love to Baptiste, her footman. I believed it, for I knew her capable of sleeping with every man on earth and seeking for lovers on the moon itself. This was why I received her a little coldly when she called on me the next day. I should willingly have closed the door against her, but she entered-simply.

She was enveloped in a long fur mantle, which she threw over an easy chair; she did the same with her hat, and came to sit at my side on an easy chair, with an innocent and at the same time deliberate air-quite simply.

“Good morning, dear,” she said to me. “I wished to come and spend a day, a whole delightful day with you. Simple as I am, I could not resist it.”

“Your simplicity is then already satiated with the ingenuity of your valet Baptiste?” I asked her, looking her straight in the eyes.

“Baptiste?” said she. “I have no longer a valet of that name-and if I had, what do you mean?”

Her hands at the same time commenced wandering. And I! O the cowardice of a man who feels the sting of pleasure-mine followed her example.

“Parbleu!” I said to my faithless one, “your dress is very heavy.”

“I will take it off,” she replied-simply.

Simple in all things, she always wore plain chemises of linen like a boarding-school girl. It gave her outwardly a most piquant feel of chilliness; she had not taken time to warm herself before the fire, she was all gooseflesh. This reddened flesh made me feel pity for her. She perceived it well enough, the hussy, and came to seat herself with her naked backside on my knees, her face turned towards the hearth. And all so simply!

Ah! but this wife of a high functionary understood well enough how to take off a gentleman's trousers quickly! Holding in her hand the object of her envy, Pauline-simply-passed it under her, and wished to plant it in her.

The sword did not enter the sheath so easily. What an astonishing sheath! It opened itself the first time that one penetrated it, but resisted the second. The pleasure swelled it, and placed a bourrelet at the entrance. It was necessary then to thrust, to force one's way in. The swelling even further increased. You would have said that it was a tumefied wound whose sides contracted themselves at the surgeon's touch. It was a sensation at once cruel and delicious. The noble strumpet writhed, cried out, frothed. Ah! it was a fine work!

She was both tall and plump; she completely covered and enveloped her man. When I had penetrated into her womb after great efforts and some complaints, she began to show off her talents. Rolling and pitching, movements in front and behind, what manoeuvres! Suddenly she drew away from me. My lady feared above all things having a child. Allowing herself to slip down to my knees, she quickly swallowed what had just encoynted her. My semen spirted forth between her lips. Wiping them with her hair, which had become loosened, “May not one do anything to her lover, although one is simple?” she said to me.

I very willingly gave her the bill of indemnity which she demanded for what she had done. But now that my desires were assuaged, my anger returned, and I began afresh to think about M. Baptiste. Pauline, however, remaining squatted on my knees, played with my sword, stiff enough a short time ago, but now nothing but a flexible reed.

“Richard, what is the name of this?” she said to me.

I did not reply.

“Its name! Tell me its true name!” she repeated, kissing it.

“It is a prickle,” I answered her harshly; “don't you know that?”

“A prickle, a prickle,” she repeated. “And that?”

At the same time she raised herself and placed my hand between her thighs, already quivering at the idea of a fresh conflict.

“That,” I cried, “is a hospital! It is a brothel, a public place. It is a vessel without a bottom, an abyss! It is the puddle in which M. Baptiste wallows! Strumpet, prostituted to your servants! Infamous harlot!”

I stopped myself, for I saw Pauline's eyes full of tears. She let herself fall again to my knees.

“Well, yes!” she said to me. “It was in the country. I admit it, simply. That night-I was alone-a storm was brewing-I felt in every part of me this storm burning-and little Baptiste was in the antechamber! But I have turned him away since.”

“Enough!” I cried to her.

I snatched up my cane, I struck her. Pauline ran round the room, she fell on the sofa, her face against the wall. I dragged her away, I tore off her shift, bared her loins and buttocks, and redoubled my blows. My cane left long red marks on this lascivious flesh, which I was torturing and yet which I adored. Pauline bit the sofa cushion to stifle her cries, and her whole body writhed itself into such lustful postures that my anger was speedily changed to another kind of intoxication. I flung my cane away- Ah! if you wish to make yourself stiff, flog your mistress!

“Pauline,” said I to this admirable little whore whilst raking her from behind, “forgive me, and let us mount to heaven.”

“Ah! Ah! I forgive you-simply,” murmured Pauline.

This coynte without its like, already so greatly heated by our first engagement, swelled and puffed itself out to such a degree at the second that my member only came out by a terrible effort, and with a noise like a cork drawn from the neck of a champagne bottle.

A HUSBAND FROM AFRICA

I saw Madame de Rochemure for the first time in a third person's house. This expression, “third person's house,” indicates a place in which we can do none of those things which should be without a witness-and these things are ordinarily the most delectable. My eyes at first sight took in the whole of Madame de Rochemure's adorable daintiness, and devoured her shoulders, which showed bare under a lace neckerchief.

Fine shoulders, plump and satiny. I said to myself, “Is this appetising flesh firm?” Perhaps not. But it had a look of tempting youthfulness.

Although about thirty years of age, Madame de Rochemure had something infantile in her face, a little round nose giving her an innocent air, rosy cheeks, chestnut hair, and a moist mouth. In addition, she was tall, and had a plumpness full of promise. I overheard her say to her neighbour, who was complimenting her on her good health, “I have been much stouter.”

“What remains of this stoutness would satisfy me well enough,” I thought.

She divined my thought and blushed.

I took the first opportunity of presenting myself at her house, and applied myself to obtain her better acquaintance. I found her a great preacher of morals and a severe parader of virtue, pitiless with respect to the faults of other women. One day she said to me, “Do you know, I have never had a lover!”

“Morbleu! I shall then be the first!” I cried. She drew herself up haughtily, and with an angry air. I threw myself at her knees to implore pardon, and did not rise until I had obtained it from her mouth.

“What!” she said to me, with a winning smile, “you have embraced me. Is it really I who have suffered myself to do this? I, who-” She stopped short. Her voice suddenly failed her like that of a person who is gagged by surprise. However, I can assure you that it was not on her mouth that I had put my hand.

As she always wore this happily designed lace neckerchief-a veil so commodious, and which opened so easily-her two breasts found themselves beneath my lips. They were such as I had imagined, less solid than fresh; but the flesh was delicate, and the buds melted under my kiss. One bit into her shoulders as into a ripe peach. I seated myself on a stool, and drew her on me. To be brief, I threaded her. She was not narrow, but neither was she large. It was a lovely retreat into which I entered without obstacle; a moisture reigned there comparable to summer rain, sweet and warm. I tucked up her clothes even to her waist, and as we were in front of a mirror my eyes gathered in the reverse of her beauties. Above the calf and the finely curved thigh were two cheeks which undulated like two white waves, two ample buttocks, abundant and velvety.

“Oh!” she murmured, “what an adventure! Who would have thought it? It is horrible!”

She bore the stroke of my sword without making a movement, and contented herself with pressing the weight of her flesh against me. I was compelled to penetrate her by my own movements, and to manage the matter according to my fancy, drawing her to me and pushing her away with both hands. The mirror reflected this voluptuous exercise.

“Oh!” she said to me, “don't look!”

She did not enjoy, she seemed solely and entirely taken up with an infinite tenderness, which had its source in her heart and which spread itself through all her veins. As she prayed me not to give her a child, I withdrew at the supreme instant; she advanced her hand with much graciousness and finished me quite cleverly between her fingers.

Ran-plan! Ran-plan-plan! What was that? The tread of the Colonel, which resembled the regular tap of a drum. I had forgotten to say that M. de Rochemure was the Colonel of the heroic 232d Regiment. Madame de Rochemure had scarcely time to wipe her fingers with her handkerchief, I to readjust my dress. The Colonel entered the vestibule of the house, and passing his head through the half-open door of the boudoir, saw us both honestly seated in the corner of the hearth.

“Good evening, Count,” he cried to me. “The sun is about to retire. I am going to do like the sun. Good evening, dearest.”

“Good evening, Gustave.”

Upon which the Colonel went up to his room.

The Colonel's wife came like a great white fowl to perch herself on my knees. The time passed sweetly between us, you may rest assured. She asked me if I despised her for having yielded so easily. I replied that I hoped very speedily to again give her a new proof of esteem.

All of a sudden the Colonel opened his window.

“Marie!” he cried from the upstairs landing.

She sprang at a bound from my knees to the window of the boudoir. I followed her.

“Is the Count still there?” asked the Colonel.

“Yes, my dear.”

“Yes, Colonel.”

“Sacre bleu! Do you know, we are having very fine weather!”

“Superb weather, my dear.”

“Angelic weather, Colonel.”

“Do not-do not fatigue yourself, my dear.”

Why had she interrupted herself at the commencement of her speech? It was because, standing behind her, and seeing her leaning on her elbows on the edge of the window sill and presenting to me her behind, I had dared-

“You are right,” said the Colonel. “After all, there is nothing so refreshing as a good night passed in bed.”

I had dared to lift up her clothes. I sought to pass under this beautiful half-moon of white flesh to accomplish the purpose of my reanimated desires.

But what! Was I dreaming?

Madame de Rochemure, reaching her hand behind her and grasping the enemy, directed it by another route.

“Good night, Marie,” said the Colonel. “Good night, Count.”

“Good night, my dear.”

“Good night, Colonel.”

He reclosed his window.

“Really,” whispered I to my fair Queen of Sodomy, “do you wish-”

She did not answer, but all the while was guiding me. The road was open enough, for I entered this temple without any more trouble than the other. The hand of Madame de Rochemure, teacher of morals, preacher of virtue- this hand, so able to express the will of the astonishing creature without having recourse to speech, seized mine and made it pass in front. I obeyed this mute order with all the agility which my fingers were capable of. Then her dainty backside put itself in motion, first with little strokes, then with great rapidity. And I, perforating the fair one to the very entrails, clitorised her in all conscience. This time she fairly writhed under the pleasure; she seized my other hand and placed it over her mouth to stifle the cries which escaped her. As this kind of pleasure is sterile in its nature, I did not take the pains to spill my semen on the ground.

“Parbleu!” said I. “I had forgotten that your husband had served in Africa. It is he who has taught you this.”

“Yes,” she whispered, “it is very wrong, but I do not care a bit about it any other way.”

THE ADULTERY IN THE WEDDING DRESS

It was in the midst of a ball given by M. de Saint-Cherin, her father, after an intoxicating valse to the dying strains of the orchestra, that Suzanne drew me out of the reception room into a boudoir, and from thence to her room, the door of which she closed and bolted. Then, throwing her arms around my neck, she abruptly glued her lips to mine.

“They want to marry me to that Marquis de Berg-op-Zoom whom I detest, and it is thee whom I love.”

“That booby! At least he will not have thy first kiss!”

“Indeed he will not! Ah, Richard! if you were a millionaire!”

“Because I am poor it is all the more reason for you to give me a little of Berg of Zoom's goods. Another kiss.”

“Two kisses.”

“You love me?”

“I love you.”

“And if I were to ask you to be mine-mine entirely-before being his?”

“Ah! What are you doing, Richard?”

With one hand I was opening her corsage, with the other I was raising the folds of gauze in which she was enveloped. This beautiful body was still quite moist from the heat of dancing. An odour of essence of violets, mingled with I know not what subtle and fallow perfume from her skin, floated in the room. A globule of sweat rolled like a warm dewdrop between the two breasts of the young girl, another drop pearled on her thigh. My fingers were swallowed up in a dense thicket, a veritable fur. I clitorised her.

Even yet, when I think how beautiful she was, with her enormous wealth of black hair twisted a la diable, with her eyes equally black, burning and languishing, her chiselled features, her mouth slightly full in contour and of a vivid scarlet, I believe myself still at the commencement of my dream. Suzanne had a slight moustache on her upper lip, the true moustache of a young lad. Nay, she was almost as hairy as a man. But she had the hand of a duchess and the foot of a fairy.

I fell on my knees before her, and slipped under her raised petticoats, which sank over me, burying me beneath its folds. My mouth encountered a clitoris of greater length and magnitude than the majority of women possess. I commenced pressing my lips to it with an almost furious avidity.

I am always indignant when I think that there are unhappy Boeotians who have never caressed their mistresses in this manner, and yet flatter themselves that they know them.

It is the kiss alone which penetrates into the intimacy of a woman and goes to her very heart. The member is blind, the lips and the tongue, on the contrary, are subtle and sure.

There are coyntes (why shrink from the word?) which have a fallow scent; others, again, have the savour of raspberries.

Suzanne's head drooped on my shoulder as she ejaculated. Excuse me if I tell you that I then drew forth my sword, and that her two hands closed round it. “Show me what I should do,” she murmured.

Her dress of rose-coloured tulle was quite inundated.

Meanwhile the ball was approaching its close. Suzanne had to return to the ballroom. I wiped her dress. Pointing to a wardrobe, she said to me, “Conceal yourself there until my return.”

I obeyed. This wardrobe which I entered breathed forth an enervating odour. In it were hanging the dresses which Suzanne had taken off. I set myself to reflect on my double happiness. I was not going to marry Suzanne, and I was going to have entire possession of her.

I had not to wait very long before Suzanne re-entered, attended by her chambermaid. I ensconced myself in my hiding-place between a blue silk petticoat and a lace mantle, drawing the folds of the petticoat over my face, and leaving only a peephole for one of my eyes.

“Make haste!” Suzanne was saying, as she entered. “Quick, Julie, I am in a hurry to get to sleep to-night.”

She unclasped her corsage herself. Her dress fell.

“Mademoiselle,” said Julie, “will not have her hair done up to-night?”

“No; only take out these flowers.”

The petticoat followed the dress to the ground.

“What a hurry Mademoiselle is in! Was Mademoiselle amused to-night?”

“Yes, yes. Don't chatter, Julie.”

“Does Mademoiselle require the chamber pot?”

Suzanne glanced towards the wardrobe and smiled, hesitated, smiled again, and sat herself astride the night-chair.

Her maid came behind her and drew off her chemise to replace it with her nightdress. Suzanne quickly relieved herself, naked as Mother Eve.

“A napkin, Julie; a napkin!” she cried.

Julie handed her a napkin. Suzanne took it, and saying she would get into bed herself, dismissed the girl, and bolted the door.

Then I came out from the wardrobe. I covered this burning and golden flesh with millions of kisses. Everything in this unknown country was new to me. No! I shall never forget the black and silken line of hair which escaped from the valley lying 'twixt her two admirable buttocks. The dear girl was so well disposed naturally to love and pleasure that she was not astonished when I glided my tongue along this dainty passage.

“You kiss that also!” she said to me.

A single night made her learned and expert in every manner. Ah! The good times which were in store for Berg-op-Zoom!

Eight days afterwards they were married. In the morning, just before the ceremony, Suzanne wrote to me, “Come! Julie is cognisant this time. She will let you in by the garden. I want you to kiss me in my wedding dress.”

I went. The maid was waiting for me. “Julie, my girl,” I said to her, “you can make your fortune as sure as I shall make the first child of the Marquis de Berg-op-Zoom, your new master. Take this, and be silent.”

Julie took my purse with many thanks.

However, the wedding carriages were rolling up to the door of the house. Suzanne made one bound from her brand-new vehicle to her room. That very morning she had added another bolt to the door.

We couldn't wait long enough even to go as far as the bed. The first chair received us both. This is, perhaps, the most favourable position for prolonging the pleasure.

Destruction to the wedding dress! I tucked up my rider's clothes, crushing in a heap the immaculate petticoats and the mystic veil. Suzanne wore on her brow the flower symbolical of virginity. Never did orange blossoms receive such injury. All at once the voice of Berg-op-Zoom resounded through the house, “Suzanne, my dear Suzanne!”

“Don't believe that I will ever give this booby caresses like thine!” said Suzanne to me. As she spoke her lips were clinging to my mouth. The adorable girl, my glorious pupil, had never thrown so much art into the sacred act. She raised herself and let herself alternately descend upon me. My member penetrated into her stomach to its very hilt, came out, and again re-entered.

Presently, feeling that the orgasm was gaining on us in spite of ourselves, she remained immobile, closely pressed against me, encoynted to her very heart. I slipped a finger between her two dusky and satiny cheeks whence escaped this bouquet of black silk which was one of her most piquant charms. I buried this finger with transport; I could have wished to touch her entrails.

Our mouths remained glued together, our tongues mingled.

At this moment Berg-op-Zoom thought it proper to knock at the door. “Suzanne, open to me, my dear Suzanne.”

She had without doubt slightly lost her head, for she replied aloud, “There is nothing left to open!”

The fact is, every part of her was filled. I could not prevent myself from laughing, and the movement which this stifled laugh caused throughout my body achieved our pleasure.

Berg-op-Zoom went growling across the passage. The poor man! His need was done!

He had his first child nine months after, less a week; just two hundred and sixty days after the ball, the happy finish to which I have described.

ON THE SEAT OF A CLOSE-STOOL, OR THE CAPRICES OF NATURE

Madame Celeste de Congey having sent me an invitation to a banquet which she was giving for some friends, I went without any pressing.

I found her beautifully attired in a very low-cut dress. Two lovely globes half peeping from her corsage caused the dowagers to raise their eyebrows. Matters were made much worse by Celeste happening to burst into a fit of laughter whilst drinking. The glass of sherry would not go down. The fair one coughed; in the effort caused by this confounded cough, her left bosom burst its barrier and sprang from its prison.

She replaced it leisurely, showing no concern, all the while examining from the corner of her eye the effect which the sight of her charms had produced on the male portion of her guests.

She noticed-the rogue-that the person most disturbed was myself.

O nature, nature! Capricious in thy designs, thou hast placed the heart nigh to the stomach; hence the emotion of the one precipitates the course of the other. Thus it happened with me. Towards the close of the evening I was obliged to “seek fortune,” and slipping down the length of a sombre corridor, I discovered a dark closet which appeared to me to be a wardrobe. It was pervaded by the odour of jasmine, usual in these retreats. I entered, and groping about encountered a night-chair. Necessity has no law.

Suddenly, just as I was finishing my business, the sound of a light footfall and the froufrou of silk made themselves heard in the passage. Someone pushed open the door and came in. I did not stir.

The lady-for it was one-knew well where the night-chair was placed. She took her measures accordingly, and approaching backwards where I was seated, raised her petticoats, which enveloped me like a dark cloud. And two buttocks of full rondeur and plumpness, satiny in sheen, and grateful in warmth, sank down on me, deeming themselves gracing a different throne.

“Ah! Rescue! Horror! What is it? A man!”

The unfortunate part was that whilst all this was passing she had begun to make water. A burning flood inundated my thighs.

“Help! A man!”

“Madame, in the name of heaven, do not cry out!”

“A man!”

As though she needed to hear my voice to know that it was with a man she had committed herself. An unmistakeable sign told her that plainly enough. The mark of my sex agitated itself beneath her.

“Sir!”

She was pissing all the while.

My arms encircled this magnificent backside, my two hands were crossed on her rebounding stomach.

“Sir, sir, who are you?”

“I am your neighbour at table.”

And my hand-

“Sir! Here-and doing what you are doing!”

“It is you who are doing-I have finished.”

And a certain pendulum forced its way under the noble and puissant postface of the lady.

“Here!” she repeated. “You are a pig! You smell abominably. Pouah, sir. Insolent! Would you presume? He is entering! Fie! But it is disgusting. Ah, ah!”

She ejaculated, she pissed. How delightful and how atrocious!

“It was you, Richard! It was you!” she said to me. “On a night-chair. I never dare look you in the face again. However can we withdraw from this place now?”

“It is indispensable, my dear, that you raise yourself first, and allow me-”

“To wipe yourself. Pouah! Hold, there is in the corner a jug of clean water. As for myself, I will go to my room and cleanse myself in the wash-hand basin.”

“But it is I who received everything!”

The fact is that this dear Celeste had put me, by making water over me, in such a state that it was impossible for me to return to the drawing room.

I should say that this wardrobe was Madame de Congey's back dressing room, and that it communicated with her chamber. I rejoined the fair one there, after having plunged myself into the water jug. She helped me to strip off all my clothes, which we put in front of the hearth to dry, whilst we recommenced our joyance.

Thus began my amours with Celeste de Congey.

THE STRAWBERRY

You have slept enough, pretty one. The sky is clear, the morning air fresh, the birds chirping amid the budding foliage; put on your white dress, dearest, and let us take a trip to the wood!”

Laurette gladly consented; we took the train, got out at Sevres station, and climbed up to the forest.

Arrived under its shade, certain of being alone and unnoticed, we rested ourselves for a while. Laurette offered me her mouth. I took one kiss, two kisses, ten kisses. But she seemed preoccupied. Following her glance, I perceived a sparkling stream which trickled through the herbage and formed a small natural basin surrounded by great clumps of daisies. I comprehended my mistress's longing, and drew her towards the spring. She paddled in the water. I wanted to sprinkle her all over with it.

Afterwards we plunged deep into the wood. At the side of the path I saw some eglantines in flower. I said to my pet, “Laurette, look at these eglantines. If I were a poet I should compare them to the nipples of your breast.”

“Oh!” said she, “they are not so rosy.”

“Indeed they are.”

“I wager they are not.”

My faith, I opened her corsage and compared them. It was I who was in the right.

A little later, Laurette saw some strawberries. She went into the midst of the brambles to pick them, and when she had got her hands full, ate them delightedly. I appealed for my share of the feast; she invited me to take it from her mouth.

Our lips chased each other, and mingled, besmeared with this ruddy and perfumed juice. However, this game could not but lead us to another. Laurette began to roll the whites of her eyes. I speedily divined this language. “Ah, well,” I murmured softly to her, “lie down, then, on the grass.”

When she had lain down, I raised her dress and her white petticoats. She said not a word, did not budge, and held her two thighs tightly pressed together. I commenced tapping on her firm and full stomach, saying,

“Toe, toe! Open, my lady.”

Laurette's two thighs opened themselves sweetly.

“Good morning, the other little mouth,” I said. “Ah, Laurette! If we were to make it also eat strawberries?”

“Put one in, then, with the tip of your finger,” she sighed, “and let us try.”

“Not so silly!” I cried. “It is with the tip of my tongue that I shall put it in.”

I did as I had said. I pushed the strawberry in with the tip of my tongue. Laurette, swooning, said to me, “Push! push again. Ah, Richard! Ah! How amusing! What a merry way of eating strawberries!”

Such were my amours then. I was twenty years old. My heart still rejoices at the remembrance of these simple pleasures and this happy day. O truth! O nature!

HELP FOR THE WIDOWS

It was in the town of Moulins. Imagine a sombre habitation at the bottom of a court, a double-bedded room fit for a commercial traveller and his dog, and communicating by a wooden bridge with another part of the building, which was let privately and which did not make part of the hotel. For the scene takes place in an hotel. My friend Calprenede and I arrived at Moulins; someone pointed out to us the Golden Cock. We went there without hesitation. Not a room, nothing but this paltry little hole; it happened to be a feast day in the town. We were bound to put up with our cockloft, and you are going to see whether we had any reason in the end to be dissatisfied.

Securely installed, we set ourselves to make the acquaintance of the inhabitants. The bridge appeared to our astounded eyes; it was divided in the middle by a barrier. Night was falling. Calprenede, perceiving a light on the other side, and curious to know whether it did not burn in the chamber of some fair one, shook the obstacle, which gave way. We went forward, screened by the darkness, and through an open window the following dialogue reached our ears.

“Still on the wash-hand basin, Julie! Are you quite sure that cold water is a good thing to calm the inquietude from which you suffer?”

“I have tried warm water also, sister.”

“I do not know if that is any better.”

“Ah, Nanine!”

“Julie, in truth, what the good God has done in depriving us of our husbands is to have muzzled nature.”

“I agree with you. I have some terrible things to tell you about this. I am wiping myself, and coming back close to you.”

“Julie, since it is you who govern this house, you ought to give me old napkins; new ones scrub me too much. I have become so sensitive there.”

“I feel ticklings night and day. My blood troubles me. I have flushes-”

“I have insupportable palpitations of the heart.”

“Let us go to the church to say our evening prayer, Nanine.”

“Alas, Julie, we have need to pray.”

The light was extinguished. The two sisters doubtless were going out. Calprenede and I looked at each other.

“By what means can we take this pair of turtledoves without males?”

“How seize this ready-made opportunity in the nick of time?”

As we thought for a moment, Calprenede cried, “I have a dildo in my bag.”

In these great crises of despair one understands half a word, Calprenede went and fetched the providential instrument. We approached the half-open window, and leaping through, found ourselves in the room. A cabinet stretched along one side. The famous wash-hand basin was in the middle. A candle was burning in the room; at the further end was an alcove. As I went to place the dildo on the bed, Calprenede stopped me by a very natural reflection.

“If we act thus,” he said to me, “the two poor widows, finding this noble article on their bed, will ask one another who put it there. They will conclude that someone has been in here; they will seek for the visitor, and if we hide ourselves in the cabinet they will easily discover us. Then there will be cries, and an uproar. Everyone will rush in, and we shall be taken to the guardhouse-”

“Where we shall have no other recourse than to make love to the sentry!”

“This isn't the game we must play.”

And we thought afresh.

But two lads of imagination are never at the last shift. The result of our meditation was that the best thing to do would be to go out, after having made a neat parcel of the dildo inside an honest-looking envelope, join our two widows at the neighbouring church, and when they quitted it, present them with the parcel by the hand of the first street lad we could find. Then get in front of them, hurry back, mend up our bridge carefully so as to leave no trace of our passage, get into the cabinet, conceal ourselves underneath a mountain of dirty linen which we saw there, and wait.

We set off for the church. As we walked along the idea struck us to inform ourselves from the neighbours, as adroitly as possible, of the station in life of the two widows. The worst of it was that we had not seen them. If they should be too homely! If they were more than forty years old!

A sovereign placed in the hand of a grocer's boy did the business. The smart lad informed us grinningly that the two ladies were very well conducted persons, widows, the one of an officer, the other of a receiver of taxes; both with scanty fortunes, but virtuous, irreproachable, and very good-looking. The elder was scarcely more than thirty years of age.

“Only,” said the sugar-weighing lad, “she is a little lame.”

“Did you hear?” I whispered to Calprenede, “one of them is lame. We shall recognise them now!”

The shop which we had entered exactly faced the church. The evening service was finishing. “Look!” said Calprenede to me, “here are our sweethearts!”

Another sovereign decided the grocer's lad to act as our messenger, and to be silent as the grave. We handed him the parcel, which, in addition to the piece de resistance, contained a letter. As for us, we took to our heels, reentered our apartment, leapt over and mended our bridge, burrowed into the cabinet, and lay down flat on our stomachs underneath the dirty linen. The two sisters came in.

“What have you got in that parcel, Nanine?”

“I don't know, sister.”

And Nanine crossed by the cabinet to go and shut the window and the Venetian blinds.

We remained without moving, breathless. Julie broke open the parcel, and uttered a loud cry. Nanine ran to her.

“A member!”

“The member of a man.”

“It is a joke which someone wishes to play on us.”

“The insolent!”

“There is a letter, Nanine.”

“Let us read it: 'A present from two compassionate travellers to two affecting unfortunates.' ”

“Julie, we must throw it out of the window.”

“Are you mad, Nanine? Someone would pick it up, and then-”

“Let us throw it on the fire.”

“It is caoutchouc; it would not burn.”

“Caoutchouc?”

“Stop, Nanine! you are dying to look at it. Oh, a look costs nothing. The best revenge we could take against the wicked person who sent us this tool is never to show that we have received it.”

“And to keep it?”

“It is still less embarrassing to keep it than to destroy it.”

“Let us see. How funny it is!”

“Are all the Venetians shut?”

“Yes, yes. With the two-the two balls!”

“It's very big!”

“Brr-it is shocking to look at. We ought to throw it in the privy.”

“Stupid! They would find it when they emptied the closet.”

“But, in short, if you keep it, what are you going to do with it, Julie?”

“To lend it you, Nanine, to avoid your having to make use of your fingers. This morning I caught you at it!”

“It is true; I couldn't hold any longer. But there, do you believe that one could do oneself with this joujou alone?”

“Doubtless. But what is this riband for? I follow it-for instance, I could pass it round my waist, fasten the object to me, and then-”

“Then?”

“Don't be such a simpleton! Don't you understand that if I put it there the tool would stand out quite straight in front of me, and that I could then make love to you like a man?”

“How horrible! You would not dare, nor I either.”

“I should not have much trouble to decide. Lift up your petticoats a little, Nanine, that I may see how well it can march!”

“You are pulling up my skirts-Julie-but she puts the belt round me. Just see! I don't want anyone to see me stark naked! You don't think of trying this disgusting plaything, I should think! Stop that! Stop that!”

“There, it's fastened on. How funny! Do you know that you're quite plump and fresh? What stout thighs.”

“Oh, I don't look a bit like a man.”

“You could, however, play the role of a man. Nanine, let us try a little.”

“If you were not my elder sister I believe I should box your ears for the proposition you are making to me.”

“Box my ears! Leave that alone! I am more anxious to embrace you, I- Hold!”

“Fie, fie! she is pulling up her dress also, she rubs the lips of her- You disgust me! You, I say- She unlaces me! Julie! But she is quite on fire! Your husband Gustave was right when he said you had a temperament. Poor Gustave. But you see our petticoats tumble down again!”

“Let us be in our shifts!”

Julie started off and bolted all the doors, including that of the cabinet in which I was hidden in company with Calprenede.

“Good!” I said to him.

“I have my diamond ring to cut the glass at the right moment-when they are ejaculating,” said he.

The door of the cabinet was glazed, as it happened, and shaded with a muslin curtain. We could not hold out any longer. We raised ourselves and glued our eyes to this transparent curtain.

In their shifts, both of them! The grocer's boy was quite right in saying they were well made. They resembled each other greatly-little, plump, round, and firm, both of them. In their shifts, did I say? It is true, but pulled up to their waists! Julie went to open the curtains of the alcove.

“Julie, Julie!” cried Nanine to her, “you will be the cavalier.”

“Oh, not at all!” said Julie. “It is too big for thee, Nanine. As for me, I have had my little Lily. I am larger since my confinement. You must try it on me. Come-”

“Ah! I shall never dare.”

“Stupid! I place myself on the edge of the bed. Hold! In this posture. Come, then-shall I have to go and fetch you?”

“Alas, Julie! Eh, well! My faith, so much the worse, you are right. I am coming!”

“Embrace me first. Oh! Don't be afraid-on the mouth. It is the illusion which we are seeking! Thou art a man. Thou art my husband, Gustave. On the mouth! Put it-put it into me!”

“Ah! frivolous!”

“Ai'e! Ai'e! You are ripping me open. Stop-I boasted too much of being wide!”

“How is it to be done, Julie? If it can't enter?”

“As thy husband Onesime did thee-he didn't enter thee all at once, he caressed thee with his fingers-he perhaps did thee with his tongue.”

“I cannot, however, lick thee, Julie!”

“Only suck the nipples of my breast.”

“What a perverted being you are, my sister.”

“La, la! If you would for a moment with your finger-I pray you-La, la! Good-thanks- I feel that I-that I am moistened. Put in the instrument! Ai'e! It is entering, embrace me again. Ai'e! Ai'e! What an enormous head! There!”

“I thrust, I thrust! So much the worse!”

“You-you are ventilating me! It is-it is at the bottom. Ah!”

“My turn! My turn, Julie!”

“I cannot! I cannot! I am bruised. Wait a bit!”

“No, no! I am burning. Hold! I am fastening the belt round you. Take my place, I will take yours. Quick, quick! I am dying.”

“Eh, well! So be it. On the edge of the bed, in your turn. Open yourself well-that's it. What a pretty little pussy, wanton! Ah! if I were really a man I would lick thee, my little sister.”

“Tickle me only, Julie. Julie! Nothing but your finger. You are making me enjoy-heaven!”

“I place the tool, I thrust!”

“Oh! What pain! What torture! I weep! I renounce!”

“Stretch yourself more-you will cry out with joy now!”

“Ah! I feel it-Julie-hola!”

“Bravo! Bravo! The head has passed-it is all going in!”

“Kiss me, lick me-Lord! Go! Another stroke! My God! My God!”

Calprenede made his diamond play on one of the panes of the door, and gently pushed back the bolt.

The two sisters were stretched on the bed, side by side, spent, exhausted.

“Ah, Julie!”

“Ah, Nanine!”

“These games are nothing to those of nature, my sister.”

“Confess, Nanine, that if we held clasped in our arms at this moment a handsome lad we should commit the sin.”

“Madame,” said Calprenede, advancing, “I do not know if we are handsome lads-”

“Help! Men! Robbers!”

“Ladies,” I cried, speaking in my turn, “if you cry out you will lose yourselves.”

“Without counting,” said Calprenede, “that we shall relate the history of this caoutchouc member-”

“Which Madame still has fastened in front of her,” continued I, pointing with my finger to the dildo passed round Julie's waist, and which she furtively concealed.

We were accommodated without too much trouble. The choice between these two lovers fallen from heaven belonged of right to the ladies. Julie chose Calprenede. I fell to the lot of Nanine. And as there was but one bed, each of the two couples witnessed the exploits of the other.

Calprenede threaded Julie at the bedside, and I Nanine on the edge of this couch so long bedewed with the tears of the two widows, witness of their regrets and of their solitary enjoyments.

“Sir,” said Nanine to me, “I pray you, do not make me pregnant.”

“Monster,”, cried Julie to Calprenede, “don't get me with child!”

“Then, Madame,” I said to Nanine, “lend me the succour of your hand.”

“Finish me with thy white paw!” cried Calprenede to Julie.

They did not need to be implored; they both clasped our members in their hands; and the same cry of joy escaped them both when they saw the divine liquor escape:

“Nanine!”

“Julie!”

A CHAPTER ON DANGEROUS LIASONS

The Countess Laurence was always tastefully got up and stylish in toilette, and certainly she had need of being so. Little, unnoticeable in the world, not for those whose looks know how to pierce petticoats and veils of every nature and who divine a projecting backside and robust flanks, her shoulders were spare and meagre, and her arms and throat almost lank.

But she had two great charms-a skin, sweet, velvety, warm as that of a peach exposed to the sun on an espalier, and a look always swimming with a sort of ecstacy strangely lascivious.

Nevertheless her ordinary attitude said quite the contrary to her eyes. She walked arrogantly, spoke with a haughty nonchalance, and treated men like black-a-moors. Who ever dared to raise an envious look to the Countess Laurence? She was well known to adore the Count, her husband, and to despise the rest of men.

However, connoisseurs said: Everything with this young Baucis would be to choose one's moment judiciously. This is what I thought from the beginning.

One summer day the thought struck me to go and pay a visit to Laurence. She was alone in a little room that opened onto the garden. I saw her from the distance, half lying on a sofa.

She raised herself painfully when I was introduced.

“Is it you?” she said to me. “Ah! you come just in time to close the Venetian blinds. This sun is broiling me.”

I shut the blinds, and returning, sat myself down close to Laurence.

“And Robert?” I asked her.

Robert was the Count, her husband.

She gave a slight shudder, which ran through her entire body, and closed her eyes.

“Robert is away,” she said. “Did you not know?”

I knew it well, it was that which had brought me. You know them, these solid virtues, these model spouses to whom the caresses of their husbands are their daily bread. Terrible famishings when their lord and master is away!

Impromptu enjoyments are the best. The work when one is fully dressed is delicious, because it is consummated just at the moment when one needs it. The desire is in full force, the action is prompt as the thunderbolt. “My love, we have but a minute-”. The phrase finishes itself in a kiss. The fair one throws her arms round your neck, you lay her on a sofa, you raise her clothes, and-

Modern manners, middle-class prudery, and the fear of rheumatism which threatens our feeble temperaments have stripped a great deal of the charm from this warm and lively affair. Nowadays, women wear breeches; sometimes even, these breeches are of flannel. Is there a man worthy of the name who could do the deed in these breeches? One drags them off in the best way one can. The best thing is to yield to one's indignation and throw them in the fire if it be winter. Women do justice to this ignorance.

The Countess Laurence thought she owed it to her rank to be breeched. I unbreeched her very quickly. She did not protest the least in the world. Not a gesture, not a word, not a murmur; and whilst I surveyed all her mysteries, she held her head averted on the sofa, her mouth half open, her teeth shut.

It was then that I came to know her sweet and warm skin. The sweep of her knee was not very pure, but what luscious thighs. This backside, of an abundance astonishing in so small a person, rolled under my hand. And the Countess Laurence was all the time mute as an image.

I placed my mute in position, I penetrated into her stomach. As for being narrow, it was not. But never had I felt a coynte so boiling. One would have thought oneself entering into warm froth.

“Ah, dear,” I said to her, seated by her side after this first engagement, “dear, you would have died of longing!”

I thought that the thing being done she would at last have unclosed her mouth, but no. She reanimated me ably with her hands, a little thin, a little long, all the time silent. When she saw me ready to furnish a second course, she raised herself, signed to me to follow her, conducted me herself almost to the door of the house, and showed me by the side of this door a pavilion into which I sprang, instead of putting my foot in the street.

An instant after, she rejoined me in this room, which was furnished with a bed. Laurence embraced me, all the time mute, undressed herself, all the time impassive.

No, she was not an antique statue. For instance, her breasts were as abundant as her backside, and by no means gave the idea of being two marble cups, but floated a little below her thin shoulders.

“Ah!” she said, in coming to present to me these over-rich charms, “here I am not afraid of speaking up. You can tell me your silly sayings — ” And in a lower tone of voice she added, “We can even in doing it-”

“Pronounce,” I said to her, “choose between those which please you the most.”

“Oh!” she murmured. “I dare not say it. I dearly love to-to be whipped!”

Charming desire! I satisfied her at once. I set myself to whip Laurence with the back of my hand. Her croup was soon reddened. She became excited, panted, foamed under this barbarous game. I saw her clitorising herself furiously whilst I struck. Her enjoyment was rapid.

“Again! Again!” she cried.

I recommenced to whip her, she recommenced clitorising herself. Spent, palpitating, she went and threw herself on the bed. I was not slow in following her; but, seeing her inert and bruised, I no longer hoped for anything from her, when, gliding on me, and enveloping me with her folds like a serpent, she took my dart between her breasts and commenced to rub it.

Briefly, she did me between her titties, the chaste Countess.

We did it afterwards in the greyhound fashion; we exhausted every posture. At last it was necessary to leave each other. In embracing Laurence a last time, I said to her, “You can count on my discretion, my dear.”

“Oh,” she replied, “I rely on myself taking the necessary steps to assure it.”

I left. I did not give a thought to this traitorous speech. Two days after, the Count returned. The morning after his return, I received the following note:

“You have abused a friendship of ten years to do me the last outrage. Neither the virtue nor the reproaches of the Countess have recalled you to yourself. The fear of the evil gossip of society alone prevents me from demanding satisfaction.”

Laurence had, in fact, taken the best means of assuring herself of my discretion by having me shown to the door. She had doubtless said that I had tried to violate her.

MOUNTED IN SILVER, OR THE LEUCADIAN LEAP

Blanche de Beauvoir to the Marquise de la Galissiere.

MADAME,

“I saw you yesterday at the Italian Opera. I love you.”

The Marquise de la Galissiere to Mademoiselle Blanche de Beauvoir.

“Mademoiselle,

“I received a strange letter from you yesterday. It is certainly a mystery. Explain yourself.”

Blanche to the Marquise.

“If you ask me to explain myself it is because you have understood me with half a word. Ah well, yes! I love you, I desire you; my eyes eagerly devoured you the day before yesterday. Are you above the prejudice which rejects the sweetest and most solid of pleasures? The sweetest because it is forbidden fruit, the most solid because it is the only one durable. Is it true that you have slept with the Princess Edwige? I am as apt as she.”

The Marquise to Blanche.

“Are you silent as the grave?”

Blanche to the Marquise.

“Silent as the grave, burning as flame.”

The Marquise to Blanche.

“When I used to visit the Princess Edwige I found with her a handsome cavalier to put the finish to our interview when we were tired of chatting together. With three, the time slips along more sweetly.”

Blanche to the Marquise.

“I will do what is necessary to extinguish the fire I have kindled. I will procure this handsome cavalier, Marquise of my heart. Till tomorrow.”

The Marquise to Blanche.

“But he must not show himself until we call him.”

“You see,” said Blanche, who had sent for me, after she had related her story, “she has still some shame. My dear, do you know, this is my only ambition! To gamahuche a lady of fashion!”

Excuse me, fair reader, the handsome cavalier which this madcap Blanche was going to offer to the Marquise was your humble servant.

I found Blanche at her toilette, and I can tell you that it was one of great nicety, in which I aided her to the best of my ability. It was I who covered her with essences, and with poudre a la marechale. You know that she is a fine girl, white, fair, and rounded in form. The two of us were together, I making some drops of eau de Portugal roll down her golden-haired mount, she receiving this libation with a feverish impatience. I wanted to take some liberties. She stopped me.

“Let us both preserve our strength,” she said to me.

The waiting-maid entered, carrying a sealed parcel addressed to Blanche. We eagerly opened it. The packet contained a superb dildo in a silver case bearing Royal arms, with this inscription engraved, “Edwige to her angel.”

Whilst we were admiring this curious article, a carriage stopped in front of the house. Blanche bustled me into a room adjoining her boudoir.

“I will introduce thee when it is time,” she cried.

“Eh, morbleu! why not at once?” and I started shaking the door, but she had firmly bolted it. I tried to peep through the key-hole-I could see nothing; but I heard.

I heard whisperings, kisses, the duckings of amorous hens, a froufrou of dresses slipping to the ground, light boots thrown to a distance, then a silence.

“Stark naked, stark naked!” cried Blanche. “Ah! I hold thee, Marquise!”

“Call me whore!” said the great lady.

“Oh, the pretty bibi!”

“Ah! the lovely coynte!”

The sofa groaned. Then there were sighs, furious yells. Suddenly there was an interruption caused by Blanche, who coughed, spat, and choked.

“Dear angel,” said the Marquise, “what is it then? One of my hairs in thy throat?”

“One has never seen such long ones! Ah, here it is!”

And the sighs began again.

“My love,” cried the Marquise, “the man, is he here?”

The door opened. What a spectacle!

Blanche, naked as a savage queen, led me forward. I saw her accomplice stretched on the sofa, in the same costume of nature, her body marked all over with kisses and bitings, her thighs widely opened, her flanks agitated with convulsive thrillings, her head thrown back on the cushions, and her face covered with a handkerchief.

“Blanche,” she murmured, “I can do no more; let him come.”

Parbleu! I came. These abundant thighs and the black bush half-opened, all this transported me with a sacred fury. I sprang on the sofa, I encoynted the fair one. At the first stroke which she returned me, the handkerchief fell.

“My cousin la Galissiere!”

“My cousin de la Brulaye!”

“Ah! so much the worse! I–I am feeling it!”

“I dis-I discharge!”

The spasm had seized us both like a flash of lightning, and spared us the embarrassment of so strange a meeting.

“Then you have kissed me, my cousin.”

“Then I have futtered you, my cousin.”

Blanche fairly writhed with laughter.

“They are relations!” she cried. “They are relations!”

However, the Marquise, in a languishing voice, asked Blanche where the Princess's dildo was. Blanche brought forward the monster in triumph, and at a sign from her accomplice, fastened it round her loins; then she wanted to put it into the Marquise.

But she was not amused with games so simple! She made Blanche lie on the sofa, and straddled across her resolutely. The enormous dildo did not enter without making her groan; but it did enter at last. The Marquise then, addressing herself to me, said, “My cousin, take what remains for you.”

That which remained for me was her backside.

I accommodated myself to it, as you may well imagine. The entrails into which I was going to penetrate were those of my own family! As I presented myself a little brusquely, my cousin stopped me by a well-applied blow of her satin crupper.

“Do you only know how to commit sodomy?” she said to me. “Ah, Richard! the skill is not to push to the very end. There is at the entrance a muscle, a ring which closes-”

“Yes, the sphincter,” I replied.

“And it is the pressure of this which will give you pleasure! It is this which will make you feel delicious contractions. Do not thrust right in, don't thrust right in!”

“Ah!” cried Blanche, “what a woman! How she knows everything!”

Who would have told me that I should receive lessons in Socraticism from my cousin la Galissiere! I obeyed her instructions-I placed myself just within the sphincter. She caused me to feel these divine contractions!

“Do you see? This is the kiss of the backside!” she said to me.

THE PEARL-GREY STOCKING AND THE RED STAR

The fair Lamperiere was a widow with clear eyes, very rich, and with a form as opulent as her purse. Perhaps she was not in every point as perfect as the Venus of Aries, to whom her flatterers compared her. One could even find something a little heavy, a clumsiness in the chiselling of her figure, and her shoulders exposed a skin tolerably thick and too close. As a set off, nature had given her a leg!

And at the end of this leg an alert foot. She was ordinarily shod in hose of pearl-grey silk with rose-coloured slippers. Is there a voluptuary who does not know that a pearl-grey stocking is the utmost expression of pleasure?

At the moment at which I present her to you, the fair Lamperiere is very much engaged, for I am seated in an armchair, in front of and quite close to her; I hold her in my embrace, and am even passing a hand under her petticoat! '

Although one belongs to the best society, one is not the less sensitive, and the tickling, from which she could not defend herself, greatly incommoded the fair Lamperiere.

“Am I dreaming?” she said to me. “What! this is the second time you have seen me alone! You have no esteem for me!”

“I should like to esteem you three times running without drawing breath,” I replied, not knowing what I was saying. “Besides, it is the fault of your pearl-grey stockings.”

My hand did not quit its post, and the following dialogue took place between the fair Lamperiere and myself.

She- This pearl-grey stocking is not a reason.

I- It gives you a celestial leg. God is my witness that at first I only wished to touch your ankle. But, on my faith-

She- Ah! you are crushing my knee!

I- No, it is not your knee. It is higher where I am caressing. What a skin! Of rose-coloured satin, like your slippers.

She- Yes, yes! I am well enough content with my skin. If you continue, I shall call out.

I- Ah, the dainty little navel!

She- I shall call my maid.

I- I have paid her!

She-You have paid my maid! Monster! Will you let me be!

I- Good! You can't guard every place at once! If you defend the front, I attack the behind!

She-You are a man without delicacy. Who do you take me for, sir?

I- For myself!

She- I am an honest woman, and since the death of M. de Lamperiere no man has ever- It is an abomination, a rape, a murder!

I–I beg of you, open your dress a little, instead of calling me all these things without reason. Give me this lovely breast. Truly, one could say that it is too firm!

She- Ah, well, yes! But you must leave the rest alone. Hold, here it is. I have even the complaisance to draw it from its prison for you!

I- The nipple is the colour of chocolate. I am going to eat it!

She-No, no. Brr-that gives me a shiver.

I- Now, offer me your mouth.

She- My mouth! Ah, well. Ah! you are making me swoon! No, I don't wish-no, I will not unclose my thighs. Your hand shall not pass. You are doing wrong. What nails! But you are stripping me quite naked! At least will it please you to lower my dress?

I- Certainly, certainly! Why shouldn't I close the curtains as well! I love much better to look at what I am holding. Gods! these pearl-grey stockings! You have a finely nurtured form, my dear. I am going to bite you to pieces. Do you see this black muff?

She- Three fingers are too much. Two only! Ah! rub more gently! What a man! Great God! I–I!

I- You have ejaculated, you're content. What shall we do now? Do you wish that with my tongue in the mouth of this pretty pussy-“

She- As for that, to-day, no! No, no, no, no! You have left me no time to make my toilette.

I- This need not trouble you! I love the taste of the fruit. But why do you draw away thus, my sweet?

She- Nothing-a pain which-

I- At the bottom of your stomach! A little colic. You draw back again, you wish me to do so!

She-Yes, I wish you. Above all, I am opposed to what you proposed to me.

I- Minette? Oh, oh! You don't pardon me for not having made a declaration to you in regular form!

She- My regulars! Who has told you? My regulars! No, no, not yet. If my calculations are right, they will not be until to-morrow.

I-The devil, if I thought of that. But what are you looking at, then, in the fold of your chemise?

She-It is nothing! It is nothing! I was sure of it!

I-We will say, then, that your regulars do not commence until to-morrow, even although you had them now, my dear!

She- You say that. At the bottom you are like all men. Women are more amorous in these vile moments, but you do not profit by it. It disgusts you!

I- Wait a bit! Let me look! Just here, in the crease of your thigh, is a little red trace!

She- Horrible! Loose me! Go! Come back in three days. Leave me!

I- Bah! Struggle as much as you like, I hold you. Rather take off your dress. Take it off, will you? Quite naked with your grey stockings, on which the little red drops will fall; that will be charming!

She- Ah, Richard! If I believed you were sincere, I would do what you wish.

I- Regard the proof of my sincerity. Is it stiff enough? I am all on fire!

She- What! you would put it like that-in the blood!

I–I can tell you that I am not going to leave you even your chemise on.

She- But- What are you doing? I have nothing on but my stockings! Truly, I am ashamed.

I- Where shall we go to do our pretty little game?

She- In the next room there is a bed.

I- There is a couch of red silk-and red goes well with you. There, come in front of the mirror. You will see this great thing which is so stiff enter into your pussy and come out again.

She- What an idea! I like it well.

I- Hold, place yourself on your knees. I come in from behind. See, the mirror reflects your stomach, your breasts, and this brown hair! Your buttocks are like marble.

She-heave me the pleasure of putting it in! It enters. To-day, I am big. It is the blood which is coming, and which makes the passage humid; but ordinarily-

I- Do you see, it goes, it comes-I slip out. I re-enter quite sweetly-I go to the bottom. Hurrah for the blood! Hurrah for the blood! A red star on the grey hose! I am going to tickle you.

She- Richard, Richard! not such shocking words. Tickle strongly!

I- The blood! Flic, Flac! How I am dabbling!

She- I want to embrace you. I cannot. Hold, I will embrace you in the mirror. Ah! I-enjoy- thou also! He is flooding me!

I- Sacre dieu!

She- Withdraw yourself, my darling.

I- I have the appearance of having steeped my member in the blood of all the enemies of France!

She- What are you looking for?

I-A napkin.

She- This blood is ugly to look at now that your passion is glutted. You have no longer anything but disgust!

I- Parbleu! I will prove that well enough to you immediately, when I am in a state. You shall replace me with your hand as soon as I have wiped myself. My dear, you kiss to distraction.

She- Ah! Richard! Richard! How I love thee! Come and seat yourself on this sofa. The napkin which you are looking for-this napkin ce sera ma bouche.

ON A THRONE

To be accosted in the evening by a duenna who hands you a letter, to be invited to enter a carriage and be conducted to a rendezvous, a bandage over your eyes, is what seldom comes to one; it is what happened to me one December night.

A light and perfumed hand raised my bandage; but the room into which I had been introduced was darkened. I felt in my arms a body fresher than morning roses, slightly clad in a cambric dressing gown. Kisses flew; the sacrifice was consummated in the obscurity on a satin couch.

When all was finished, my mysterious lover took me by the hand and conducted me to an apartment brilliantly lighted and sumptuously furnished. I saw plainly that I had to do with a very great lady; I believed myself in the tour de Nesle.

“I am the Princess de Schleis-Sondershausen-Loerrach,” she said to me. “I have the title of Most Serene Highness. The Prince, my husband, sends each year the fourth part of a deputy to the Diet, and three soldiers as his contingent to the great federal army. We have in all thirty-one thousand subjects. Our particular army is composed of ten superb men, and a general, two colonels, four captains, and eight lieutenants. When I pass it in review, I believe myself in a dream; for at last I am a Princess, and it is none the less true that I came into the world in a stable, and that I lost my maidenhead by the work of Jean-Pierre under a hazel tree.

“Mine are singular adventures. I will relate them to you some day. I think it is right first to present to you their heroine.”

“Good!” said I. “Your Highness forgets that I know her already to some small extent.”

“Because you have kissed me?” said she. “Oh! that is not sufficient. You shall know me entirely, I will not stand on ceremony. From head to foot, behold me!”

At the same time she let fall her wrapper, and showed herself naked before my eyes.

“You see,” she continued, “I am tall rather than little. Although when dressed I appear quite slim, I have always had as much embonpoint as is necessary, and I do not wish for more. My figure is slender, doubtless, but well proportioned; my throat is full-it pleases all connoisseurs, even gourmands are satisfied with it. I can certainly say that I have the freshest flesh in the world. Add to this, this skin perfectly white and sweet, and so cold, especially in the region of the loins. Touch it. Is there not a particular voluptuousness in cooling your hands on my buttocks?

“I am as supple as a snake. You know already that I embrace a man with rings of steel. The pleasure does not tire me at all. That I shall show you very shortly. Does my hair please you? Do you like its fiery shade? Put aside this pretty, golden moustache, which shadows my dainty jewel, and say if it is not the most delightful jewel in France. Germany has nothing better. You cannot open it without forcing it; it defends itself: it closes, it pinches, and, above all, it burns!

“Are you content with my face? My complexion is blonde, and you cannot decide whether my eyes are blue, for the shade does not remain, but changes according to the nature of the emotions which agitate me; it is varied, like the desires of my heart.

“The court poet, a daring man, whose looks do not fear to cast themselves to the edges of my petticoats, has made two madrigals on me to prove: first, that my eyebrows are like Diana's bow; secondly, that my ears are rosier than Venus's shell I agree with all that; but, above all, it is my mouth which they love. I well believe it. Kiss me, my friend. Have you ever felt lips so savoury? And the tongue? You shall know all that this tongue can do.

“I have said nothing yet about my hands. There are none swifter, or with a lighter touch; they pass, they glide, they run, they go everywhere. As for my feet, they are two treasures- inasmuch as the leg is shaped to a turn. Contemplate these thighs a little. Yes-yes-kiss them, bite them; they are worth the trouble. I turn round. Kneel before this sublime backside; greater than thou art have done so! I do not blush to say that it is through lending this to the august tastes of the Prince, my husband, that I have acquired my rank of Highness. The good Prince would swear that he obtained my first favours! The poor man! But I am warming in speaking about myself. Come!”

At the same time she struck three blows on a silver bell. Three maids of honour entered.

At a gesture from their noble mistress, two of them approached me and set themselves to the duty of undressing me. I left myself in their hands, confounded at so much honour which was being done me. The third fetched a golden basin and a large sponge, and commenced bathing the most secret charms of the Princess. They retired. The Princess then threw herself into my arms, and, both naked, we exchanged delicious caresses. I wished to crown these preludes. But she stopped me.

“What is the use of being a sovereign,” she said to me, “if one has to enjoy like a citizen!”

She struck again on the silver bell. All the end of the room rose up by enchantment like a curtain, and a stage appeared on which was a throne. The Princess mounted its steps with a majestic air, inviting me by a sign to follow her. An invisible and delicious music made itself heard, and from behind the stage appeared a troop of admirable damsels, slightly clad with a scarf rolled round their flanks, and dancing a voluptuous step. A well-shaped youth appeared, mounted the steps of the throne, knelt before his sovereign, and respectfully kissed her Mount of Venus. A young houri of fifteen years detached herself from the group of dancers and came to kiss my member. The Princess stretched herself on the throne.

“Zenaide,” she said, “put it into me!”

Zenaide, the beautiful slave Zenaide, took my dart between her fingers and introduced it into the august coynte.

The adolescent remained in front of us, immobile. What good could his presence serve? This is what I saw a moment afterwards. The Princess, having slipped under me, stretched her hand towards the stiff member of her young servitor, grasped it, and used it as a lever with which to hoist herself up and replace herself in position; but, holding in her hand this fine article, she never loosened it. As for me, whilst I w as moving my loins, I felt an agile tongue which slipped itself between my buttocks. The fair houri was postillioning me.

Meanwhile the dance continued. The bayaderes had stripped off their floating scarves; nothing now concealed from me the sight of their charms. Animated by this enchanting spectacle, and by the delicious attouchments administered to my behind, I furnished tw o courses to my Princess without either puffing or drawing out.

“I make you Aide-de-Camp to the Prince,” she said to me.

I served His Highness Monseigneur de Schleis-Sondershausen-Loerrach for three months, and his confidence in me was so great that he often gave me his wife the Princess to kiss, whilst he himself sodomised her. I hold from his munificence the Grand Cordon of Saint-Socrate, which is, as everybody knows, a noble order.

But one day the Prince wished to change the disposition of the group, and to make me take the Princess's place-that is to say, to put me in the middle!

I left him.

THE MORNINGS OF A COURTESAN

It was July and frightfully hot. The heat excited me. At ten o'clock in the morning I found myself at little Coralie's, just as she was coming out of the bath.

She was stretched on a settee (why not call it a fouteuse?) enveloped in a woollen wrapper and attended by her two chambermaids, Rosine and Nana, both in their shifts.

By the warmth of the kisses which I gave her on my entrance, Coralie comprehended that I was in a gallant humour.

“So!” she said to me, laughingly, “you come to ask charity!”

“Oh! Madame,” said Nana, who came to assure herself that her mistress spoke the truth, “Madame, it is rigid!”

“It is standing!” repeated Rosine.

I took two sovereigns from my pocket, and holding out one in each hand, I asked these two amiable girls to throw off their mistress's wrapper and to strip off their own shifts, requests which they did not refuse me.

They were both brunettes; Coralie, on the contrary, was a blonde, small enough, a little dumpy even, with breasts which resembled balls of ivory, well-developed flanks, full thighs, and corpulent legs, but whose ankles tapered off with perfect loves of feet, such as one never meets with but in Paris or Spain. As for her pretty, rosy backside, all the beau monde, masculine and even feminine, had pinched it, bitten it, slapped it. What a charming, smutty look Coralie had! Fie! The impudent pretty little face! What eyes for the damnation of all our souls! And what a mouth, made equally to love and to laugh in the face of the human race whilst devouring its money!

“Hold!” she said to me, throwing her foot up to my face, “kiss the instrument of thy pleasure; I am going to do thee between these two little feet!”

Well enough! But the bell sounded at the outer door.

Nana, in the costume of Mother Eve, ran to see who was the visitor, and returned aghast.

“Madame, it is the Duke. I have shown him into the boudoir.”

“My sweet friend,” said Coralie to me, raising herself, “allow me to go and earn fifty pounds.”

Drelin, drelin, drelin! It was Rosine's turn to receive the comer.

“It is another fifty pounds, sure enough,” cried Coralie, clapping her hands.

Drelin, drelin, drelin! This time the two girls ran to the door together.

“Madame, it is little Lousteau!”

“He is good for a hundred pounds,” said Coralie, “but by a bill payable when he comes of age. One must coin money in the best way one can when one deals with children. Ah, well! let all three of them wait! My girls, give me the lovely member of my friend!”

Rosine and Nana pulled down my trousers obediently. Coralie took and commenced to roll between her two feet what she rightly called my lovely member.

Are you not aware that the women of Corinth were renowned for their exquisite knowledge of the art of provoking with their feet the venereal orgasm of their Athenian or Boeotian lovers? Coralie's feet were as prettily shaped as they were agile. They seized my member between their two satiny soles.

She ordered her two maids of honour to range themselves on either side of her, one on the right, the other on the left, and commenced tickling one with each hand. Her two pretty little hands disappeared in the black pussies of the two girls. Her two feet glided, flew; turning themselves round my enflamed prickle, anon they scratched sweetly with their nails on the balls which contained the divine liquor, another while they adventured from the tip of my member even unto the passage of Sodomy.

All at once she stopped.

“Suppose I dismiss my three lovers,” she said.

“Madame,” said Nana, “shall I go and ask them separately to return in two hours?”

“What a fool you are!” cried Coralie, “If you want them to come back, rather tell them to go to the devil!”

This was done. As Nana re-entered the room after having fulfilled this delicate mission, she was able to see a white jet shooting into the air. It was my semen spouting.

“Madame!” cried this charming girl, with an air of consternation, “isn't this a good thing lost?”

“Yes,” said Rosine sententiously, “one ought not to waste the gifts of the good God, Madame.”

Coralie screamed with laughter.

“My children,” she cried, “will you restore our good friend to the state which pleasures you?”

Dear girls! Already they brought their charms into play, and extended their hands.

“Don't touch it!” cried Coralie. “It is by the eyes that we must reanimate our friend. Come, then, my girls! Come, then.”

At the same time she stretched herself along the sofa, her thighs open and slightly raised.

“Who loves me, kisses me!” she said.

Rosine and Nana darted forward together. Nana reached the goal first, and Coralie's bush disappeared under her libertine mouth. Rosine consoled herself as best she could by embracing her mistress, and sucking her titties; as for me, I clitorised and postillioned Nana's croup, which was close in front of my face. Cries, sighs, and impious imprecations announced that Coralie was ejaculating.

“Nana!” she cried, “see if it be standing yet!”

Nana assured herself of this by pushing a little backwards her croup, which encountered my member in a state like brass.

“Yes, Madame,” she sighed.

In the position in which she was, it was to Coralie's coynte she spoke. The frivolous thing heard to a marvel. Coralie made me sit in the middle of the sofa, and perched herself upon me. In this posture the pleasure is slow in coming, and the sugarplum-gulf does not close itself so tightly.

Following the orders of her mistress, Rosine came and knelt in front of us. The dear creature commenced to lick us both at the same time. A blow of the tongue to Coralie's clitoris, another blow at the root of my member. I drew it out, and she swallowed it up entirely. It re-entered Coralie's coynte, and I recommenced this charming game. Nana, on her knees behind Rosine, held her comrade's crupper tightly between her thighs and clitorised her.

The bell rang once, twice, three times. It was the three amourists who had been sent to the devil, and who were returning in search of Paradise.

“Yes, yes,” said Coralie, quite swooning, “after pleasure-business. I go to earn my two hundred pounds!”

What a glorious life is that of a courtezan! She kisses, she enjoys, and she enriches herself. She has every joy at once.

THE GULP

Ours were sweet and honest amours. The sacrament alone was wanting. My little Lucette consoled herself by saying to me, “I am thy wife before God!” I was twenty years old, she seventeen. To us there was nothing but poetry in the world. We spoke of heaven and of the happiness of angels, and when we consummated our voluptuous sacrifice we called it mingling our souls.

Our pleasures were made up of such chaste caresses. In the evening, seated in front of the hearth, Lucette on my knees, how we chatted away! If my hands strayed underneath the petticoats of my mistress, she sighed, “Ah, the wicked man!” And throwing herself on my shoulder, drawing my head towards her, she drank me in with a long gaze of her eyes whilst I clitorised her. Then speedily the bed received us both, and was filled with plaints and murmurs.

If I wished to kiss high and low the pretty body of Lucette, she did not refuse; only, she put out the light. In the darkness she became more libertine, and yielded to me everything. But shame returned to her with daylight. And one morning there was a serious quarrel between us, because I had wished to place her quite naked in front of the mirror.

We had loved each other for a year, when Lucette's family, who lived in the provinces, suddenly recalled her. A short time afterwards I heard that she was married to a captain of dragoons.

Two years later, I was crossing the Tuileries gardens when a woman passed.

“What! Lucette, is it you?”

“Richard!”

“It is really you! What are you doing here? Ah! Lucette!”

“My husband is in garrison at Paris, and I could not but follow him.”

“Your husband! Hold your tongue, faithless, ungrateful one!” I said to her smiling. “So you have displaced me for this captain!”

“Why, yes! He married me!”

“He married you! What a fine word! Ah, well! You have done what I should have done had I been Lucette. But may I come to see you?”

“Do not think of coming to my house! My husband is jealous!”

“He will stick me with the point of his big sabre! Ah, Lucette! If I dare ask you to come to my house!”

“Mon Dieu!” said she, “there is scarcely any need to press me strongly! I want to have a chat with you, Richard.”

At this moment her beautiful eyes, always sweet and swimming with longing, lighted up. “There is,” I said to myself, “a fortunate hour chiming, which I will not let slip.” I took Lucette's arm in mine. We arrived at my rooms, laughing and tattling.

Lucette, the door once closed, gave me the most amorous, the warmest of kisses. I commenced thinking about the captain. Poor dragoon! I relieved his little wife of her hat and mantle, and made her sit on the sofa. Fresh kisses.

However, my hands began to wander all over her. What was my surprise to see her hand- her hand formerly so timid! — slide itself within my pantaloons, open them, and pull out that which you know well. And what! was I dreaming? She threw herself on this noble tool (I dare to assert it is noble) and kissed it. Lucette, Lucette, is it really you? What manner has this captain dealt with you?

I proceeded to draw away her dress. Her bosom was as pure, her shoulders as fresh and rounded as of yore. The remainder was proportionable. I murmured low, so low that she could scarcely have heard it: “May I take off your chemise?”

She burst out laughing, and the chemise fell.

My lips went in search of the chalice from which formerly I had not been permitted to drink except in the obscurity. O change! O mystery! O surprise of surprises!

“Tete-beche, then!” said Lucette to me.

Then she poised herself on me, her love-chalice on my mouth, whilst her rosy little mouth attached itself to this member which erstwhile she dared scarcely touch with the tips of her fingers. At the first stroke she thrust it in almost to the bottom of her throat. What an alert tongue! What learned lips! Lucette pumped with all her soul, passionately, furiously! with sighs! with stifled cries! with boundings of her loins! with enraged movements of her whole body! The enflamed liquor darted out: she drank it, she tasted its flavour with delight.

“I have not lost a drop!” she said to me. “Lucette,” stammered I, “is it your husband who has taught you to-”

“No! it is the little lieutenant,” she replied. “My husband kisses me-and that is no good at all to me.”

“Lucette, I will do the same as your husband.” But she did not listen to me: she had thrown herself at my knees, shaking and still continuously kissing my dart which hung down. What a strange passion! Her hands pressed my empty testicles, her tongue ranged round every part; all her strength, all her soul, were bent towards the sole glory of reanimating me. Of myself she no longer thought: I did not exist for her. In truth, she had no other thought than for it. It was my member.

Seeing that she could not succeed in stiffening it by these means, which did not please me so much as she, the astounding creature raised herself, and commenced to ride astraddle on me, pressing my rebellious tool between her dainty thighs, and rubbing it against the edges of her pretty coynte, which she herself looked upon as a saint not worth the trouble of feasting. Contrary to other women, she availed herself of natural ways and means as an excitant and an artifice to arrive at an end which nature ought to reprobate.

I speedily recovered my vigour under this treatment, and pressing Lucette against me, I threaded her so quickly and with such justness that she was penetrated to the very bottom before she had time to defend herself. But she was robust; she uncoynted herself resolutely, and letting herself sink again to my knees, once more seized my dart and gulped it down.

Gulp! Yes, that is the word for it. It was simply having a gulp! Whilst she was sucking me for the second time with the same frenzy, I had not the courage to withdraw myself from her devouring caresses.

“Nothing for me,” I said to myself, “everything for it. She does not even trouble herself to know if I am content, so long as it is on the stand and she has her mouth full!” I was jealous of my member.

THE CONVENTS A LA MODE

It was the Regency, then. No, it was the Empire only, the Low Empire, small epoch of little cynics to lying senses and a trembling heart. Strange epoch in which strange modes were introduced! One took one's daughter to church and one's mistress to the brothel.

This is what Therese de Charnac, whose slave and plaything I was at that time, said to me. She related to me that her dearest friend had been conducted last night to Saint-Vigor. She added, “It is the mode!”

She was tall, a brunette, moderately thin, this Therese, admirably made for wearing men's clothes. I gave her a suit of mine, and put on her trousers myself. En route for the Convent of Saint-Vigor, and whip up, coachy!

“Good!” murmured the nuns, on seeing her enter, “another tribade!”

“You hear them!” I said to Therese.

“They deceive themselves,” she said. “Tribade! Not yet!”

There reigned in this room, brilliantly lit up, a strong odour of iris mingled with perspiration, of musk and semen. Otherwise the place was furnished and hung with red velvet. Nothing could have been colder or more banal. Not even an erotic image on the walls. One would have said it was the boudoir of a notary.

The servant cried, “All ladies to the saloon!”

The ladies came in from all sides. One saw them enter by every door, in yellow dresses, red dresses, blue dresses. Corsages open even to the waist, and allowing the throat to be exposed and protrude itself, petticoats fastened by a single thread, ready to fall at any moment. Venus, obscene Venus, emerged quite naked from this wave of velvets, laces, and silks-naked, quite naked, absolutely stark naked.

Therese seated herself, trembling and confused in spite of her natural hardihood, at the end of a sofa. The cynical troop came wheeling round her.

“Good day, pretty lad.”

“Make your choice, my fine man.”

“See! I know who you are; I will lick thee, I will suck thee. Oh! we are accustomed to amuse the ladies of the Court!”

“Make your choice!” cried the servant.

“Come, my man,” said a stout girl who loved a joke, “you are just what I want. How much do I ask? A sovereign and ten inches! This gallant ought to be mounted as a horse!”

But a tall and strong ribald whore, who wore, why one knows not, a Swiss costume, with floating tresses, and who was called Gretchen, came and sat on Therese's knees, and passing her hand over the pantaloons of the fair one with a comical gravity, cried out, “It stands!” Then there were cries, shouts, laughter, and stamping of feet throughout the room.

“Gretchen, let him do thee in front of us!”

“In the greyhound style, in the greyhound style!”

“It stands! It stands!”

And the servant repeated, “Make your choice!” in a voice of thunder.

At a sign which I gave them, Gretchen the Swiss and one of her companions, who was called Ida, carried Mile, de Charnac away. I followed them. Therese murmured I know not what unintelligible protestations; I said to her, “It is the mode!”

In the room which we entered was a great bed entirely surrounded by looking-glasses. Gretchen set herself to the task of stripping off the trousers of her fair visitor, whose teeth chattered as if she had been led to the place of execution, notwithstanding that the fingers of the adroit Swiss were already tickling her.

Ida said to me, “Give us your little present.”

I placed four sovereigns on the mantlepiece. And as this girl was pressing round me, I showed her Therese entirely stripped of trousers and drawers.

“Everything for her!” I cried.

Speedily I beheld all three of them naked. The mirrors which surrounded the bed reflected these three interlaced bodies. The two prostitutes of the people held embraced between them the prostitute of the fashionable world. They placed her at the edge of the bed. Ida, kneeling in front of her and holding her two legs on her shoulders, conveyed the fire of her kisses to her anus. Her tongue wriggled in the path of sodomy.

Gretchen the Swiss was lying across the bed, and sucking Therese's breasts. Her mouth glided along and descended, lapping this brown skin. She opened with two fingers the gate, not of sodomy but of nature, and seized her clitoris between her lips. Therese cried out, writhed, and called to me.

“Enjoy, you little whore,” I said to her. “Enjoy till you burst, till you give up the ghost. Be licked! It is the mode!”

It was the fashion at Court at that time. They said that the Queen had a sacred troop of maids of honour whose most intimate and profound charms had no secrets for her. They said that, armed with a dildo, she had had the first fruits of them all. What remained was for the Dignitaries of the Empire.

All this Mile, de Charnac knew well.

“Haven't you a dildo here?” she sighed in a dying voice.

Gretchen sprang to a wardrobe, in which she opened a drawer. Dildoes-there were ten, there were twenty! The Swiss assured me that they were only used for the ladies of the Court. This made me say, “Have they the pox?”

But already the Swiss was armed with a magnificent article, which she had fastened to her waist, and darting on the bed, she threw down Mile, de Charnac panting under her.

These women of high rank have, as the saying goes, eyes bigger than their bellies. They must, then, have very big eyes? Doubtless. But it is also true that the artificial member of Gretchen the Swiss was enormous!

It entered nevertheless. Ida directed it with art. Gretchen thrust with measured movements.

“My friends, you are ripping me open-you are assassinating me! Ah, I am-I am quite full!”

We heard something like a cracking. Then she uttered a terrible cry.

“Do not complain,” I said to her, “it is the mode.”

Long after, very long after, until an advanced hour of the night were these games a la mode prolonged. The last stroke of the concluding part was the most piquant. In truth, they gave me the honour of taking part in it, in this manner.

Represent to yourself your servant stretched horizontally along the bed; Mile, de Charnac, or the prostitute of the fashionable world, was at the side, threaded by Gretchen after the fashion of beasts. Ida, squatted under her, licked her sweetly, and the great lady herself, throwing herself on me, sucked me with fury. Then raising herself, her eyes troubled, reeling, and giddy, “Dress me again, and let us go home,” she said to me.

When we were once more in the carriage, I began to contemplate her with admiration, as a person worthy of her rank by her luxury.

“Are you contented?” I asked her.

She raised her shoulders slightly, “Bah!” she said to me, “it is the mode!”

THE KNUCKLE OF MUTTON

“Go along,” said Cora, “you boast. If you saw there, before your eyes, a young lad, beautiful and fresh-complexioned, who would present to you his backside, you would be afraid and would be off as fast as your legs would take you.”

“Ah, my dear child,” I said to her, “certainly not. One should know a little about everything, and-”

“Bah!” replied Cora, laughing. “You love women too much.”

“That is, in truth, what I am going to prove to you immediately.”

When I had proved it to her, and her loins had felt the spasm of enjoyment: “You were boasting just now,” she said to me, “you were boasting. You have not so many vices, and, even for once, you could not be a paederast. But go along!”

In the course of an hour I had forgotten this little debate. Two days afterwards, Cora wrote asking me to breakfast the next morning with her and a little friend, “with whom I should arrange in a friendly way.” These were the terms of her letter.

The next morning I arrived at the time fixed. Breakfast was served in the boudoir hung with red satin. Cora presented me to her young friend, whom she called Hyacinthe.

Hyacinthe was a tall girl, fair, plump, and with locks of the most beautiful Venetian red which it was possible to see. The idea immediately struck me that they were dyed, following the present fashion, which I liked well enough. Hyacinthe, who appeared to be eighteen years of age or more, had beautiful clear brown eyes, a great purity of feature, and a divine mouth. I asked her permission to kiss her. She gave it me without hesitation. A fresh breath perfumed me. Then Cora, bending to my ear, said to me, “You know that I am not jealous.”

We placed ourselves at table; the conversation grew warm. Cora caressed Hyacinthe, to whom she said, pointing to me with her finger, “Carry him my caresses.” The mouth of Hyacinthe came afresh to attach itself to mine. Our tongues mingled. I was ravished with so much grace, freshness, and naive abandonment.

“Hyacinthe, give me your breast to suck,” I said to her.

At that Cora went off into a great burst of laughter. Hyacinthe imitated her; the two sillies swooned. As for me, I said to them, “What is the matter?” This made them laugh the more.

However, we commenced to gulp down the champagne. Cora's eyes were covered with a film, those of Hyacinthe shone like two clear suns. I held her pressed against me. The hands of the fair child wandered, seeking for the proof of the emotion which she had caused in me. It was a marked advance which I felt bound to return.

I therefore passed a hand under her petticoats. What a skin! What well-modelled thighs! I mounted and-I came across a great villainous napkin.

“Ah, Hyacinthe! what a misfortune! You have your-”

“What do you want?” said Cora to me, laughing heartily. “It is not a good day. But I, Hyacinthe, I have not my affairs!”

And saying this, a glass of champagne in her hand, she threw herself on the sofa, her clothes flung up to her waist. Hyacinthe fell on her knees in front of her and kissed her stomach and Mount of Venus; and I, drawing Hyacinthe backwards, “What do the regulars matter? Is not a little pure blood which glides under the assault of an amorous member a condiment the more in the pleasure?”

Thus I said to Hyacinthe, who heard me through, whilst sweetly licking Cora's clitoris, who was commencing to enjoy. Suddenly she raised herself.

“You wish it!” she cried to me.

“Do I wish it!” I replied with ardour. “Regulars or not, I will thread Hyacinthe, and thee after her, and Hyacinthe again after thee!”

“My Lord,” said Cora, pleasantly, “thy will be done!”

She announced that she wished to direct the warm action which was going to open between the fair Hyacinthe and myself. She made Hyacinthe place herself on her knees on the sofa. I threw up the clothes of the young hetaera, and whilst she was taking off the napkin I kissed her pretty backside. Her croup appeared to me a little short, but of a perfect rondeur, with mellow flesh and velvety skin. However, the napkin fell.

“One, two, three-off!” cried Cora.

I advanced a quivering hand, and found-a prickle! An enormous prickle!

Cora, sunk back on the sofa, once more died with laughter.

“Go on, go on!” she cried to me. “Ah, you wished to feel at a pretty boy. But you would not dare. I said truly that you would not have the courage. Eh, well! Eh, well, but he is going-”

“I go in!” I cried.

“But,” said Cora, sitting up, “I want my share. Stop, my lovers, stop! Hyacinthe shall do me in front while you do him behind.”

“By all the devils, no!” I replied resolutely; “I take all! I want the knuckle of mutton!”

I entered without difficulty into the admirable backside of the fair and delicate Hyacinthe; I clasped with full hands his member, stronger than iron. What a strange sensation!

I had often sodomised woman, a man never. The pleasure is different. Is it prejudice which mingles with it? Is it the victory obtained over this ridiculous prejudice which makes this pleasure bitterer and more vehement? Yes or no, has nature given me the faculty of enjoying? She has made no distinction between sex or means!

Never had I pressed such mellow buttocks as those of this young lad. I penetrated into him even to his entrails, I moved my hands with fury, and his boiling semen flooded them. Cora clung to our side, drunk with desire, flushed, and uttering a thousand abusive epithets on us.

“Pigs! Infamous paederasts! Practitioners in sodomy! And I, shall I, then, enjoy nothing?”

Hyacinthe, spent, went to sit down on the sofa. Under his woman's dress, still raised to his waist, his shining thighs appeared. Ah! I was no less drunk than poor Cora, disinherited and stripped of pleasure! How seducing this young Hyacinthe was! When everything in him seemed so feminine, was it quite certain that he was a man? There was nothing, even to this member so great and so robust, even to this superb article, which did not show I know not what grace! I could not prevent myself from attaching my lips there.

But Cora threw herself on us like a lioness. It was but just to yield to the furies of the poor deprived girl.

“Kiss her, Hyacinthe,” I cried, “kiss her, then!”

The spectacle which they both gave me rendered me capable of a second combat. But this time I prayed my young friend to quit his woman's clothes. I had the courage of my crime.

Hyacinthe, naked, appeared to me like one of those beautiful adolescents of whom the ancient poets speak. The charming child, burning to please me, wished to procure me a new pleasure: he knelt down in front of me.

Ah! he was abler at this game than a woman! He has not known happiness, he who has not been sucked by a bardash!

EPILOGUE

I had said all.

My Duchess sprang up like a whirlwind. She threw herself on the edge of the bed.

“Thy stories have set me on fire. I cannot tell thee what I am thinking. I burn, come!”

As she threw up her clothes herself, her noble and dainty jewel appeared under its blonde wig between her widely spread thighs. It was not a long matter, but you may well imagine that it was warm. With three thrusts of the loins the ejaculation came.

The Duchess reseated herself in front of the fire, thoughtful, and with her head resting on her hands.

An instant after, I heard her sigh, “How I should like to see a dildo!”

I did not reply, but went straight to my coat, and drew thence the required article.

“That is one, then!” she cried.

She placed it on the mantelshelf in front of the clock; the mirror reflected the image of this marvellous instrument, which was of an enormous size; in this manner she saw double.

However, she undressed herself.

When she was perfectly naked, she took in her right hand the dildo, with her left she seized my member, which had regained its most glorious stiffness.

“Duchess of my heart,” I said to her, “the artificial one for the front, the natural one for the behind!”

“That is what I wish,” she replied.

The Duchess knelt on the sofa; the temple of Gomorrha opened itself before my eyes. My tongue first threaded this mysterious avenue, then I presented my member. I introduced at the same time the dildo in front.

“Ah!” she said, “you rend me in every part! These are cruel delights-the delights of hell!”

She enjoyed as one damned.

A plentiful ablution of cold water quenched the fire which devoured her after this terrible exercise. We entered the bed; she slept exhausted in my arms. The rays of the sun, which penetrated into the room in spite of the curtains and well-closed shutters, soon troubled the tranquillity of this reinvigorating slumber. Dreams enveloped my Duchess, and such dreams! “Blanche did it to the Marquise,” she said quite loudly, for her dreams recalled to her the remembrance of one of the stories which I had related to her. “Oh! the pigs! Blanche, you do it well-only a woman can lick another woman.”

Visions of Lesbos troubled the Duchess. She visibly desired to have experience of this unknown pleasure. I congratulated her on her awakening, and repeated to her what she had said in her dreams.

“You wish to be tribadised!” I said to her.

She defended herself but feebly.

“And besides, who would tribadise me?” she replied. “I do not know any friends who have these tastes.”

“We will seek!” said I, embracing her. “Let us seek and we shall find. Duchess of my soul, hast thou not first thy waiting-women?”

She struck her forehead. “I have Fanny!” she cried.

Fanny was one of her chambermaids, a mettlesome wanton, fresh as a wild cherry, who, having the sole charge of her mistress's toilet, did no menial work.

I cried, “Let us call Fanny!”

The Duchess rang.

“You will arrange the matter,” she said to me. Fanny entered.

“Good morning, saucy one,” I said to her. “How much a month do you earn by dressing your mistress?”

“One hundred francs, sir.”

“Should you like three hundred? Lift this covering, and kiss the golden-haired mount of the Duchess which is waiting for you!”

“Ah!” said Fanny. “I did that for much less to the Baroness de Mentroshdorff, whom I did not love, and I love Madame la Duchesse!”

She came forward, and was already at the side of the bed, when the Duchess spoke.

“Undress yourself, my little Fanny,” she said in a feeble voice.

And Fanny obeyed. She was a brunette, robust and firm as a country beauty, although as lascivious as a town slut. When she let fall her chemise, a black hillock appeared to our sight, covering a rosy coynte.

Meanwhile the Duchess was preparing herself. She opened her thighs and closed her eyes. Fanny flung herself on her like a vulture on its prey, and I heard the sound of two learned lips kissing and sucking, then a rippling of the tongue, sighs, and broken words. The Duchess was repeating her dream.

“How well she does it,” she said. “It is only a woman who can find the right place! Go on, my dear child, go on! It is not three hundred francs a month which I will give thee-it is five hundred! — five hundred! — five hundred! — ah! Little pig! Ah!”

This dainty Duchess had, on my word, discharged like a man. A pearly liquid shone in the curls of her bush. She draw Fanny to lie by her side; she fondled her breasts, and commenced to clitorise her silently.

“How appetising this Fanny is,” she said. “See, Richard, what firm titties and plump backside! If you wished to kiss her while she, with the dildo, would kiss me in her turn-”

No sooner said than done. Armed with the dildo, fastened round her flanks by a firm belt, Fanny threaded my Duchess. The wanton presented to me her two plump backsides which her mistress had just been praising. I passed under this beautiful bridge, I intended to futter Fanny in the greyhound fashion. I entered, I thrust. Aie! Heaven! what pleasure! The coynte of this chambermaid was like a rasp! This waiting-maid had that which Duchesses had not, that which I had vainly sought in Marquises-the casse-noisette. It tightened on me, it pinched me. And these pinches and this vice, acting as a furious suction pump on my surprised member, astonished me. I enjoyed, I discharged, I sank with all my weight on Fanny, who pressed herself on her mistress. With this movement the dildo was thrust forward and our Duchess pierced almost to the heart. She cried out, we cried out; furious yells filled the room. The Duchess wished to kiss Fanny with the dildo in her turn. She went, she thrust, she trotted, she galloped. Fanny asked for a little grace.

“No grace!” cried the Duchess.

And there were new cries, inarticulate plaints, supreme hiccoughs. Fanny fainted clean away.

Then the Duchess, one hand placed on the inert body which she had vanquished, the other arm flung round my neck, said to me, “Richard, I have found the means of reconciling the love which I have for thee with my curiosity for pleasure. Thanks to this dildo and to Fanny, I shall enjoy as much as I choose, and shall remain faithful. Thou shouldst be content with me!”

“Ravished, charmed, Duchess of my heart; but what has procured for thee all these means of enjoyment? Is it not the complaisance of a lover? He asks now for his recompense.”

“Speak,” said she.

Fanny revived. I commanded the Duchess to stretch herself on her. Their enflamed coyntes were thus joined together and embraced each other. As for myself, placed behind the Duchess, I penetrated alternately into one and the other. I quitted the needlecase of the servant to thread that of her mistress, and I polished thus for more than an hour, whilst they kissed one another furiously.

After which I asked my two enjoyers to finish the service with their mouths. They both knelt down in front of me, licking turn by turn the God Priapus! They pumped me alternately.

When the supreme moment came, they disputed between themselves for the last drops of the sacred liquor, and then mingled their lips, besmeared with my sperm!

Content

Anonymous
Tableaux Vivants

PREFACE

THE GLAND OR OUR MOTHER EVE

IT ISN'T NECESSARY TO KISS THE MOTHER

GOOSEFLESH

A HUSBAND FROM AFRICA

THE ADULTERY IN THE WEDDING DRESS

ON THE SEAT OF A CLOSE-STOOL, OR THE CAPRICES OF NATURE

THE STRAWBERRY

HELP FOR THE WIDOWS

A CHAPTER ON DANGEROUS LIASONS

MOUNTED IN SILVER, OR THE LEUCADIAN LEAP

THE PEARL-GREY STOCKING AND THE RED STAR

ON A THRONE

THE MORNINGS OF A COURTESAN

THE GULP

THE CONVENTS A LA MODE

THE KNUCKLE OF MUTTON

EPILOGUE