“So!” said this one, seeing me as yet relaxed. “It hasn't begun yet. What are we going to do?”
“Three things. Come here to me. You can guess them by yourself.”
Teresa helped her a little, letting her, as if by accident, see the state of excitement she was in. Lili cried joyously, “Oh! Is all that for me?”
“And then? What haven't you had today, little fart?”
“A prick in the ass… But I hardly dare ask for that.”
“I think we might lend it to you, if you return it. And after that; what will you do for us?”
“The hand inside!”
Nimbly and more serpent-like than ever, Lili slid across her mother's body and stuck her face between her thighs. Her little head disappeared in the long black hair where my hand had several times lost its way. Teresa, always so supple, twisted the top half of her body towards me, resting on one shoulder, and held me tight.
She wanted to talk and I had to listen. She said the following things, murmuring them ardently but evenly, punctuating them with little smiles:
“Sssst! Listen. I'm calm now; you can believe me. There's my vice, and my happiness. I went into my bordello, picked the little whore I wanted. You can call her whore, like Charlotte. I'm the only one you can't call whore.
“And what a whore! She's not even my lesbian. She hasn't made me come, she's just licking the come that I made for you. Yesterday it was the same thing but with a different whore. I discharged in Charlotte's mouth for your prick! Your prick! Your prick! And you didn't even understand, you virgin!”
Very clever, that last word! She knew that I was not listening to her, that Lili had amused me and that I was still thinking of her; and with one word she caught once more at my straying attention, exasperating me for the third time with that word “virgin.” That done, she closed my mouth for me, redoubled the violence of her language, and began to tremble slightly between murmurs.
“There was never a mother who gave so much milk to her daughters as I have given come to mine. This one is ten years old and she's still sucking me. But not my teats. You can have my teats to warm your hands or caress your balls, or hold your prick. If there was any milk in them you could have that too, but not her. Look at her sacking! Like a kitten under the mother cat's stomach! She's only ten years old. How many more years do you think I'll be able to have her tongue in my ass? Charlotte has been sucking my come for twenty years now and she still hasn't been weaned.”
“Do you think there was ever a more infamous mother than you?” I whispered.
“Say that some more. That excites me. Makes me flow. The more you say that, the more Lili will have to drink.”
“Are you going to come, bitch?”
“No. She's licking what you left from before. I was flooded. She hasn't even finished yet! So, I'm so bad a mother as all that? Are you sure? There are so many others!”
“The other have at least the excuse of giving themselves to the vices of men; but the incestuous scenes that you've been showing me here…”
“I'm worse than a whore, I know.”
“A hundred times worse! You're frightening, you're so bad! You're worse than the whores, the lesbians, the procuresses, even the customers at the bordellos.”
Here, Lili raised her head and, without having heard anything of our whispers, said, “What's going on up here, mama? The more I suck the more flows out.”
“That's enough!” said Teresa, pulling herself together with an effort. “Do something else. Go rub some soap in your behind. Clean it out and come sit down underneath him.”
Heaven never gave me the temperament to be a spectator. Besides, Teresa had held me in a state of excitement for a long time and I was happy for that reason to be given a chance to work it off. I'll admit it even to those moralists whom I shall never hope to change and who will reproach me again for the following scene: I was happy to be given a chance to finish.
But, as she had once already, little miss Lili committed another outrage to all modesty when she came “to sit down beneath him” as her mother had said, so I made her change her position. Besides, I was getting tired of lying down.
Without overworking my imagination, I stood the girl on a stool next to the bed with her body leaning' forward. Unfortunately, in real stories like this one the positions are always more simple than in novels.
“Hold steady now!” said Teresa. “You look like a little violet vendor standing on her basket so she can be cornholed in the shithouse of a bistro.”
“And to look like a little princess, how do you have to be cornholed?” asked Lili.
However she behaved herself like a good child and became serious again at the proper time.
Turning her head to the side where her mother could not see her face, she looked at me over her shoulder with a kind expression in her eyes and a little barely pursed shape to her lips that seemed to say, “I can't say anything to you because mama is here.” I returned a glance which replied that we understood each other; but I incorporated the same mystery into it, for the smaller the little girl, the greater are her secrets.
Our silent dialogue was interrupted as quickly as it takes to tell it by Teresa who could no longer hide her excitement. She shot me a smile in which I thought I saw ferocity lurking just beneath the surface, a smile with the teeth rather more than with the lips. She said into my ear, “You can prostitute my daughter of ten and it's nothing! What makes me hot is to take your prick out of her and… Listen! Listen!”
She lie down on the bed in the middle. “Your tongue, Lili,” she cried. “Lick my hole. Make it good and wet. Spread the hair out. Now, take his prick, my child! Stick it into me yourself. And tell me what you call a little girl who would help cornhole her mother. Tell me.”
Lili found two answers. She whispered the first to me in a breath:
“It's the daughter of a whore.'“
Then out loud to Teresa:
“It's easy to see that she would he a little girl that was made from an asshole!”
The first answer amused me so much that I forgot my role and missed my entrance despite the care with which Lili had prepared it.
I don't think Teresa heard either the first or the second. And since she had her back turned, she didn't see the smile that darted across my face. But she spoke in such a way that my desire to laugh soon vanished. She spewed and vomited her words. She became really terrible. In front of a little girl — “a bit of a whore” undoubtedly, but with a sense of humor and a sense of propriety — in front of a child too young to understand the delirium of the senses, it seemed to me that this flood of obscenities was utterly senseless. But Teresa wallowed in it. She was trying to surpass even what she had said in front of Charlotte, as if the fraility of the childhood of her youngest daughter excited her even more.
Lili, attentive, not in the least intimidated, but silent nevertheless, then proceeded to her last task.
Her tiny hand was small enough to fit completely into the none too large sex of Teresa. Once inside, the adroit member opened it little by little, groped, seemed to flutter, and seized firmly across the membrane the penis that could not escape it.
I do not hesitate, at this point, to admit that until that hour I had never accepted the gratifications of a woman's hand. It seems to me ridiculous and undesirable, but the exercise that Lili performed was of the utmost finesse in conception and execution. I was speechless in admiration.
I wished that Teresa had been as silent as I! But she never once ceased crying, “Ah! What a whore this child! What a drawer of come! Ah! Turn around, my child, so I can fondle your ass, my little bitch!” and a hundred other things of like nature. It dazed me so that I was frowning like a-preacher. When an acrobat does his speciality the orchestra stops playing, and in the same way this supreme trick of Lili's merited a little silence. Incest itself was only another stimulus to Teresa's pleasure. I would have passed it up for just that reason.
However, to take a beautiful woman in the way that brings to the surface her greatest ardor, and to feel down at the bottom of her entrails a tiny hand, soft but firm, that takes you, that grips you, that feels you, that caresses you… Truly, if you have never had such an experience, believe me that it is superfluous to attempt to add a moral conception such as incest to so intense a physical sensation. It is sufficient in itself when one knows how to regulate one's desires, moderate one's passions, and live content with a little that is at the same time a great deal.
