“I want it! I want it! I want it!” she said softly, her eyes wide. “Rape me through the ass! And the more I cry that it hurts, the more I'll be saying that I love you!”
It's really more than painful for me to relate the following scene in detail. In fact, I cannot. It makes me ashamed of myself. I did not have the first instinct for the vice that Mauricette wanted me to satisfy. I've had to beat women that wanted to be beaten, but that's nothing, nothing at all after the memory of those terrible five minutes…
In short, when I “raped” Mauricette, I felt through my flesh more than I had ever understood in my mind how much both pleasure and pain were necessary to delight her senses. I remembered the last of her secrets, or rather her temptations and, as I would have stroked a woman who loved to be caressed, I crushed the lips of that virginity that so loved to be bitten. I crushed them between my fingers, slowly, unceasingly, and probably more cruelly than Teresa had bitten them, for after a few moments of an equally extraordinary endurance and sexual excitement, Mauricette burst out sobbing. I will never forget that moment as long as I live.
And it was nothing but an instant. Immediately, her body bleeding, but nevertheless turning towards me to hold me, she said, she cried, her mouth against mine, between twenty kisses:
“Oh, I'm sorry! I'm sorry I cried! I'm… but will you shut up! I'm the one that's ashamed! Ah! You tortured me so well! It was good! I came as if I were dying! And then… I don't know why… I started crying like a baby…! It's just that… It's just that…”
She sobbed and sucked in her breath until I thought that she was suffocating; then she burst out crying again, held me with all her might and with admiration in her voice she found this sentence to express her love:
“No one ever hurt me as much as you did!”
XII
Thirty hours had passed since the preceding scene. Teresa and her girls had spent the night in a suburb at a relative's house, a woman who was also partially whore herself and who, for that reason, was the more impressed with them. However, I already knew that after a fairly long and heated discussion in which all four of them took part that Teresa had capitulated to Mauricette. I even knew the terms of the surrender. As Mauricette had foreseen, Teresa had finally cried, “I'd rather suck than sell your cherry, my child! I'd rather open my mouth beneath it than have to offer my hand at one side. And it won't prevent a thing, your adventure. I'll just glue it up again. You give the real one and later we'll sell the false. That way everyone will be happy.”
This sort of gift is the kind that generally proves expensive to the receiver. All moralists are in agreement on this point: when a young man lets a mother give him the cherry which sue had hoped to sell, he owes a pretty good present to the girl, a gift of equal importance to the mother, and thanks to God.
If the girl has two sisters it's even more amusing and even more expensive. Good luck, tripled like that, is enough to ruin a student inside of six weeks.
But, although many young men whose tiny fortunes have thus been dissipated retain the bitter feeling of haying been duped, there are just as many who are quite willing to squander their largess freely on those uncalculating courtesans who give everything, risk everything, seem to await nothing from us, but on the other hand spend on us some new tenderness every day. Ah! The tact with which they often receive that which they have not expected; the way in which they sometimes increase their gratitude as if to turn ours away; the manner in which they modify only their surprise in the face of our gifts; the supreme sensibility which I sometimes wonder if they really owe us.
The appointment had been fixed, not at my place now, but at Teresa's, where the installation of her goods had just been completed. I crossed the stair landing to her door at ten o'clock in the evening.
Mother and daughters all received me completely nude, a fact which surprised me less than it embarrassed me.
Can you think of a more pitiful situation than that of a young man shut into a room with four women to each of whom he has said, “I love you” and whom, therefore, he cannot greet with a respectful and distant deference for the very reason that by their nudity they have invited more personal attentions?
When I had kissed all four of them, adding on the side a few pats and caresses such as Christian morality disapproves of but of the type which nude women generally greet rather warmly, Teresa took Mauricette by the shoulders and before both the assemblage and any other question asked me, “Did this kid really suck your prick without puking? Did you really come in her mouth? And she really swallowed it? She could never do it before, you must be a magician.”
“No. As a matter of fact, it was easier with her than with your highness, madame.”
Mauricette was thrilled by this response, and Teresa, hands on hips, still good-naturedly, spoke again.
“So! Is that the kind of answer I should get? I who have sucked three thousand men in my time?”
“But not that one,” said Lili. “You're the only one in the family who doesn't know what his come tastes like. Even Ricette knows! Even she's sucked him before you have! That's terrific!”
“And you want to take this child's cherry!” continued Teresa.
“Some child!” said Lili. “If I had as many hairs on my cunt as she has between her buttocks…”
“Shut up! White of a bidet! Losing a cherry is a serious thing. Look at Charlotte. See if she feels like laughing.”
And Charlotte, who had been barely able to keep back her tears before, had thrown herself on the sofa and was crying her head off. I took the opportunity to rejoin her and say a few affectionate words. She was so pitiful… But Teresa interrupted me.
“Let her alone! You don't know Charlotte. When she has finished crying she'll feel like beating off, and when she's finished coming, she'll feel like crying again. It's like that around here from morning to night. I sometimes think she discharges tears and cries out come. But wait! Wait! There! What did I tell you?”
And, as a matter of fact, Charlotte was wiping her eyes dry with her left hand while her right was already busy between her legs. As her mother spoke she opened her eyes, saw ours fixed on her, and said, getting up, “Oh! If you're all going to watch me…”
She slid her hand into a dresser drawer and took out two dildoes which she then inserted, one after the other, into front and back. Then, lying once more on the sofa, but with her thighs spread far apart this time, she started the work of her finger again and said with a sad smile, “Is it more interesting now?”
We left her alone. Teresa again took Mauricette by the shoulders and arranged and straightened her hair as if she were offering her to some new customer. Then she repeated:
“You want to take this fourteen year-old's cherry!”
“Yes. We swore it between us, she and I. We have dispensation from the archbishop.”
“But what will you agree to swear to between you and I, if I give her to you?”
“I don't know, what?”
“You won't give this kid a kid, will you? She discharges like a dike breaking, you know, and that always takes easily. So watch yourself. I'll have my face right between and if you give her so much as a drop of come, you'll get something else from me.”
“Don't do that. I'll be good.”
“So where will you wind up at?”
“Ah, decisions…”
“My mouth? It's a good time.”
“Ah!” cried Mauricette. “I knew it! It's because your prick will be all red with my blood! That's what she wants! I told him you wouldn't want to lose a drop! That you'd stick your tongue in it! That you'd wind up with your mouth full of blood and come!”
“Huh? Do you think she's really old enough to lose her cherry?” said Teresa simply.
“Oh! Yes, yes, I'm old enough!” repeated the girl. “Mama, let me say something to him just for him alone.”
To be sure that she was speaking in secret, Mauricette took me into another room and closed the door. You
