become pregnant. The man would have, therefore, plenty to choose from for cornholing, and all asses that took pricks like ducks to water. But the front was strictly forbidden. They called that the women's side.
“Would you believe that by the time I was seven I never saw a woman make love other than by the rear and that I didn't even know what fucking was? Still I saw some real scenes! Mother and her sisters were all acrobats and double-jointed to boot, and each one of them could suck her own pussy if she wanted. But what they did most often was to bend themselves double and suck the balls of a man who was cornholing them. That was always worth a good fifty francs.”
With this she halted her story, though she had hardly begun it, took off her dressing gown and threw it on the bed. “I'm hot,” she said.
This time she wasn't wearing any slip and, so suddenly nude, she sat down defiantly on the end of the bed.
“You disgust me,” I said turning my eyes away. “Ha! Ha! Ha! But look! You're getting an erection like a horse!”
“Very clever. When you sit down completely nude on my bed, does that prove I like you?”
“There are some,” she said gayly, “who say, 'I love you' with a limp prick. But you, you hate me with a hard-on. That's much better for a woman.”
I reddened. Teresa's nudity was, in fact, irresistible to me, but I was ashamed that my physical state had made the speech that I had been mentally preparing for the last ten minutes at most impossible and at least ridiculous. And my annoyance was such that if she had decided to mock me an instant longer, I would have been unable to retain what I had to say.
But instead of making fun of my desire, she decided to exasperate it.
She locked her hands behind her head, leaving bare two black armpits, as much to show me that she wasn't going to attack me as to display her breasts to best advantage.
Then, with eyes half shut and in a low, sultry voice, she had an inspiration: she decided to mock herself-
“My knockers aren't any good. My nipples don't harden half as well as your cock,” she said.
“You don't know what you're saying! They're one of your best features.”
Seeing that I was already contradicting myself, she no longer needed to bother flattering herself, and she insisted, knowing well enough the attractiveness of her breasts to be sure that she was fighting on safe ground.
“They disgust you the least of anything about me then?” She was smiling Broadly. “Their odd shape, no doubt. Look how long and large they are. Neither apple nor pear, eh? And the ends! Do you think I could dye my hair blonde some time, and just leave these little black rosettes? These little licorice drops? These little negro-boy pick heads? Ha! Ha! Ha! Do you know why my knockers don't look like anyone else's? Because I had three kids. Even so, though, they're big and full and they're full because I didn't let the kids suck them. They got their milk from my ass…”
“Whore! Don't re — “
“Yes,” she said, interrupting me volubly, “they're whore's teats all right. And you've been sitting in front of them for fifteen minutes wanting to shoot your wad and you can't! You haven't gotten your prick between them yet, but you've been thinking about it. And the last time you came, when you had your prick in my behind, you were rubbing them with both hands, right? Did you feel them? Answer! Did you feel my whore's teats expanding?”
“Shut up! Get out of here! I don't want to see you any more! I can't forget what you did after that!”
I put my hand over my eyes so I couldn't see her any more and turned away from her on the bed. She leaped on me.
I expected it? No, it was exactly what I wasn't expecting. However, I never fooled myself either as to her desire or as to her vigor, and in a second I experienced both.
The surprise with which her leap caught me, my disadvantageous position, and above all the fear that I might hurt her all combined to put me out of the fight so quickly that I scarcely had time to discover what had happened.
“See how easy it is to violate a man?” smiled Teresa. “Whore!”
“Thanks.”
The “thanks” was another inspiration. The woman that I had seen (but I don't want to repeat here what I had so much trouble describing in the previous chapter)… This woman had the effrontery to sigh her “thanks” in a tone that also said, “You're not what I'd exactly cal a gallant gentleman.” And I was naive enough to blush, to cut short the injuries I was ready to hurl at her without realizing that she had suddenly reversed our roles.
In addition, after the sad little word that accused the slur made on her honor, Teresa continued in the same audacious voice. She seemed nervous, but she was smiling.
“You don't have to complain any more. You can fuck me. You can deflower me. You know what you call the cunt of a whore who is always cornholed and who hasn't had a prick from the front in three months? No? You call it a cherry, and you're in it now. Now don't tell me that I never fuck. Just remember that the night I raped you I did it with my pussy. Are you happy?”
She remained solidly joined to me, but immobile and refusing to allow me to move. A minute sufficed for her to see that she'd tamed me and that I wouldn't try to leave her flesh.
“What I did to Charlotte…”
“No! Don't speak of that now!”
“On the contrary! I'll speak of it now when you've got an erection. I was wrong to do all that just after you'd come for the seventh time and when you no longer felt like erecting.”
“You mean you think that if you propose that sort of thing now… But that's absurd! The more desirable you are to me the more revolting I'll find it that…”
“Take it easy. The best thing I ever did for my daughters was to make them like the whore's trade. Charlotte is as innocent as a saint. I had a whole nun's costume made for her once, wimple, rosary, and all, and everyone thought she was the real thing. I'll bet fifty men thought that they were cornholing a carmelite when they took her. So! You don't think it's something praiseworthy to have a daughter like that, to train her like a dog to make love with her rear and never to come unless her lover calls her slut? You think that I, the daughter of an acrobat, wouldn't have gotten along in the circus?”
“You're a monster of cleverness, but you've driven your daughter mad.”
“Mad because she wants to beat herself off front morning to night without hiding it? If she were reasonable she would be hiding it in some shit-house and wiping the come off her hairs with an old newspaper, eh? Shut up about that crap! She was excited last night and it was your fault. And as for what happened afterwards… What about it? She certainly said what she wanted often enough for someone to have done something about it I didn't make her do it, did I?”
“No, but…”
“And even if I'd raped her into doing it, it wouldn't have killed her would it? I'm raping you right now. I'm making you fuck me by force, and I don't hear you complaining.”
All during this scene, which seemed interminable to me, Teresa stayed on top of me and me in her. I was thinking of everything but answering her questions and, since I didn't say no to the last one, she suddenly leapt away from me with as quick a movement as the one to which I had succumbed. Then she retreated to the end of the room and laughed at my desire which she had changed into real heat without even beginning to satisfy it.
“Excuse me. I won't rape you any more!” she said.
This time I too jumped. Certain that I wasn't dealing with a weak woman, I twisted one arm behind her back and, feeling little scruple as she laughed, gave her a good dozen smacks with my fist on her left shoulder.
Afterwards, she looked at me and, in a voice joyous and youthful as well as breathless, said, “You're much nicer when you get vicious.”
And in the same gay voice she added:
“Does the gentleman like to beat his women? If the gentleman would like to slash my behind with a whip in order to get an erection, it's twenty francs more.”
I had let her see a great deal too much of my exasperated desire and she was speaking with the most
