Since you know so much, tell me what the directrices and mistresses arc like who spend their dirty little lives working in a bordello of boarding students.”
“Lesbians?”
“You should see them,” said Mauricette with a charming irony. “And since they knew all about my mother you can guess how they treated me.”
“The beasts! They abused your innocence? They forced you to drink the poison of vice?”
“Forced me? They perverted me!” Mauricette was getting warmed up. “Four times they surprised me fingering my little friends!”
“Ah! So it was…”
“They hid in the garden, in the dormitory, ill the corridors, outside the windows of the rooms, always trying to spy! There's nothing as vicious as a boarding school mistress!”
“Did they pay for it?”
“A bad point. And yet… The things we showed them without wanting to! Some really wonderful combinations, things they would never have been alone! But finally I became a close friend of one of the older girls. She gave me ten lessons in Saphism the likes of which you only hear about.”
“Which means?”
“The art of using the tongue delicately, at exactly the right spot, without skinning the end of it just anywhere. That was what I learned best by the time I left the boarding school; much better than I ever learned biblical history or geography. But my great friend and I sought out all the corners of the school, and on the one hundred and twenty-fifth time we were surprised by Mademoiselle Paule.”
“Who in turn perverted you fifteen minutes later?”
“Yes. In her room, under her skirt. With pants that had buttons everywhere. And a pretty little pussy she had, the bitch! The hairs, the skin, the snatch, the lips, everything was wonderful. I liked to do it with her much more than with my friend. Can you top a mistress for viciousness?”
“Terrible. And you haven't told me all…”
“No. I forgot something. Do you know, she didn't even know how to use her tongue? I had to show her.”
Here, Mauricette was overcome with such hilarious laughter that she fell over backwards almost to the foot of the bed, and so gracefully did she do it that I began to be in a hurry to end the interval. I was regrettably more interested in her present than her past.
Finally, it was my turn to leave the room and go to the toilet. I must have stayed there longer than was prudent, for when I re-entered the room, Mauricette, already dressed, was putting on her slippers.
“You're leaving?” I said, slightly annoyed.
“Not entirely. There's a little lock of me that's staying. And besides, I'm not going far; just there, behind the door. I suppose you don't remember promising to let me go at four o'clock?”
“In the morning!”
“In the evening, unfortunately!” she said in my arms.
Instead of fleeing, she had come to be kissed with a confidence that restored mine. Finally, however, she disengaged herself with a start and I could no longer keep her in my room, nor even join her on the landing. She had found her own door partly open, slipped in, and disappeared.
II
A half hour later, her mother came in, and at first glance I could see that my little farce was already getting complicated: mother was much more beautiful than daughter. Now what was her name again? Oh yes, Teresa.
In any case, she had a-wrap thrown around her lithe and supple figure that scarcely covered it. I offered her a chair but she refused, sat down on the edge of my bed, and said point-blank, “Was it you that cornholed my daughter this afternoon?”
This is the sort of question I always find rather distasteful; I never have liked interviews of this kind. I made some sort of vague depreciating gesture intended to signify absolutely nothing, but she said, “No, no. Don't protest. She told me all about it. I would have scratched your eyes out if you'd broken her cherry, but you only went as far as I let her go… What are you blushing for?”
“Because you're beautiful.'“
“What do you know about that?”
“Enough.”
I too was getting to the point as quickly us possible. The premature departure of Mauricette had left me even more ardent than had her arrival, and, besides, with women I would rather, much rather, spend my time in demonstration than conversation.
I didn't give Teresa time to say whatever it was she had prepared, feeling that to change the direction of a touchy scene is the only way to improve it. And I'd managed to turn my corner without even slowing down. Even though she was still in a stronger position than I, she had lost her breath for a moment and she closed her thighs with a smile. She knew where we were heading before I made a move, but I could see that my sudden change of tack had not hurt my chances any. In fact, our little exchange of gestures placed us on a new level of familiarity.
“So what do you want me to show you? What I have between my legs?”
“Your heart!” I replied.
“And you think it's down there?”
“Yes.”
“Try to find it.”
She gave a low laugh. She knew that the research would not be easy. My hand wandered blindly in an impenetrable forest of hair, and I lost my way several times. The wool grew everywhere, from the top of her thighs to the base of her stomach. I began to get even hotter when Teresa, too adroit to make me look maladroit, lifted her wrap and her slip, either to console me or to distract me or perhaps to give me a second prize as encouragement.
A magnificent body, long and full, lean and brown, fell into my arms, and two ripe, full, but scarcely maternal and never pendulous breasts pressed against my chest. Two burning thighs clasped me and when I tried to…
“No. Not that. You can screw me later.”
“Why later?”
“So we can finish up there.”
She was revenging herself. It was her turn to change the direction we were taking, but she did it so skillfully that in refusing what I wanted she seemed to be according me an even greater favor.
In my silence she sensed that it was her body now that was master of the situation, and in a new tone that simultaneously questioned and offered me nothing at all, she said, “Do you want my mouth or my ass?”
“I want all of you.”
“You're not going to get my come. I don't have a drop left. They've given me too much to do since this morning.”
“Who?”
“My daughters.”
She noticed me pale. I saw Mauricette again, completely nude and saying, “I'll give you mother.” I no longer knew exactly what I felt An hour before, I had thought that Mauricette was to be the heroine of my adventure, but now her mother inflamed my senses ten times more. And she knew it even better than I. She lay on my desire, sure of her power over me and, caressing my distracted flesh with her hair and stomach, had the audacity to say, “Would you like Mauricette again? I know she's got a crush on you. She fingers herself thinking about you, and I know that you like her. Do you want me to go get her? I'll hold her behind open for you.”
“No.”
