long as I feel like coming, I'll know how I want it.”
“And now?”
“Well… I'll suck you later.”
“Cow that you are! I didn't ask you… You asked me, and now…”
I didn't have time to finish what I was saying. Teresa had just made me enter h r body according to her taste, and in a voice trembling and warm she said, “You'll have it, my mouth, you'll have it soon enough. I want to suck your prick, lap it, have my mouth full of your come, but there are some things that you can't do until I tell you. When I say, 'Piss your come into my mouth!' you'll do it. Ah! You don't think that I get as excited as Charlotte, but I do when you've got your dick in my ass! You thought she was crazy because she asked you to… But I'm not crazy am I? I'm hot but I know what I'm saying. Listen: I too want you to…”
“Shut up with that stuff!”
I want it too. I swear to you on my mother's grave that you can do it to me. I know that you never do it, but I don't want it to disgust you. Oh! I'm going to come. I'm fingering myself, you're cornholing me, I'll tell you everything… I just started to do it again with Charlotte.”
Started to do what again? I dared not try to understand. She continued, getting more and more excited with every word.
“An hour ago, just after you finished corn-holing me, I went back into my place, found Charlotte with her sisters, look her into another room and said, 'Do you want his come? I've got some in my ass.”
“Shut up! Don't tell me!”
“Screw you! I'll say it anyway. I stuck my ass on her face and shit your come into her mouth and she drank it all! It's the same asshole that's got your prick now. There's muscle there, can you feel it? It's the same one where your Charlotte stuck her tongue trying to find the last drop of come that…”
“Teresa! If you don't shut up I'll strangle you! I've never wanted a woman as much as I want you, but you're saying things that will make you as disgusting to me as you are beautiful!”
“You're getting harder,” she said.
“And I'm ashamed of it! I could get harder yet with the negress in the whorehouse you just mentioned and I wouldn't be half as horrified at her as I am at you.”
At this she remained motionless and trembling on me, for she was on top of me and the suppleness of her body enabled her to take me wherever she wanted to.
And then, holding up at the same time her coming as well as mine, she said triumphantly, “At last! You've finally realized that I'm not your whore!”
“You're worse!”
“Worse! You said it! I'm worse, but I'm something else. A whore is someone who submits to I he vices of men, but I give them mine. I teach them new ones, give them the tastes I have.”
“You'll never, never get me to like that!”
“Ha! Ha! But look what you're doing! You never wanted to do anything but fuck and look at you! You've cornholed me four times because I wanted it. Does that make me your whore? Tell me! Am I your whore?'“
“If you say another word…”
“Listen to me!” she said viciously. “Revile me! Spit on me! Do anything you want, but I defy you to lose your hard-on!”
She held me with all her strength, menacing with her teeth what she couldn't with her hands, and I was still in her, still held the same there as I was by her two hands.
I should have been able to… But how difficult it is to explain to others a scene so passionate as that, a scene they've never lived themselves! Men know everything else and yet don't even know the first thing about the science of love. I therefore split my readers into two groups: the ones who will have already criticized me for having beaten Teresa a dozen times on the shoulder…
I struck a woman! Fie! Those persons nave never really been loved who don't know how much pleasure a woman in love can find in being struck by her man, the pleasure they take in suffering from the same hand that caresses them, from the same arms that hold them. On the other hand, my other group of readers have not yet understood why, if I had already beaten this woman, I hesitated to throw her this time out of my bed. It's that… that it would have really done her some harm.
No, but don't you understand that a dozen blows to the shoulder actually give more pleasure than pain? But that if, when struggling with a loved one, you catch her in a position where you would be forced to take her by the skin of her flanks or the flesh of her breasts, the man who would have beaten her before would no longer attempt it?
Even so, however, I felt like killing that woman lying on my sex. And naturally that doesn't mean that I ever ceased to find her beautiful.
She shouted, but so close to my mouth that our lips almost touched. “So, I'm the only one that doesn't have the right to any vices? You know, when I was eight years old I lost my cherry in my behind and everywhere else, and for twenty-eight years I have been passing my days and nights satisfying the vices of others. And now you want me to act like a Christian wife who screws every Saturday night in her dirty slip and prays to St. Joseph to give her a son and only washes her ass every eight days for fear that her come will drip away?
“So I've got some vices, so what? I even think I've got them all and that maybe I've invented a couple. It comes in handy when you're a whore.”
Since I made no protest at this last word, she assumed a ferocious expression. The whole thing was really quite remarkable since we were still united by our flesh, and not only could I not escape, as Teresa had defied me to do, I could not even fail her.
A sudden smile crossed her face and transformed the whole situation. That woman had her own way, there was no doubt about it. It pleased her to continue with a softer expression and a more tender voice:
“Is it a vice to be happy every time you corn-hole me?”
“Yes.”
“So much the better. I admitted to you that I've seen a lot of women cornholed. It always seemed rather ordinary. Tell me that it's a horrible vice and it will excite me.”
“Slut!”
“Is it a vice for me to finger myself when I'm thirty-six years old? Then write an article stigmatizing young girls for resorting to onanism and above all their mothers… a mother like me who lifts up her skirt between the dessert and the' liqueur and says to her three daughters, 'Shut your traps for a while. I want to beat myself off!'“
“As long as you don't call Charlotte to…”
“Wait. And is a mother vicious that lets her daughters finger themselves in front of her?
When it is she herself who has fingered them the first time to take the stiffness out of their cunts when they were seven? When she has shown them with her own hand how a woman heats herself off like you take the hand of a schoolgirl to show her how to write?”
“If that were all you did!”
“Isn't that enough? Then is it a vice to have prostituted my three daughters, little confessor? Tell me while you're cornholing me. (She was getting more and more excited.) My mother cried when I lost the cherry in my behind, but I beat myself off when I sold Charlotte, and I got more of a kick out of coming than out of receiving the money. Understand? I don't give a damn about money. It's enough of a vice for me to have given my daughters. I stuck all three of them on their first pricks and yet…”
She never finished her sentence, but she continued to speak and to hold me in her grip. I was going crazy. I have never been in such a position, and I kept saying to myself, “Oh! Can't I even tell when I love and when I hate?” For the more relentlessly Teresa tried to vilify herself, the more beautiful she wanted to be, and was, with all her body.
She thrust her face closer to mine and let a smile once more light it up.
“Oh no you don't! You're not getting out of that ass yet! And you're not going to come either. I feel more like coming than that prick of yours docs and I'm holding myself in. You can do the same thing until I've finished talking.”
“You're beautiful,” I said. “There's nothing you can say, and the more you speak the more…”
“The more I speak the hotter I get,” she said. “Look at my whore's knockers and see if the ends aren't stiff.
