refinements of young cannibal women; she puts mustard on the end of her finger when she's beating herself off and then… Oh! Madame! You think that her cherry is blushing out of shame? No, it is only onanism that makes it red like that. Please do not touch the cherry, miss. You will make it all hot. Look closely, ladies and gentlemen, but please do not touch. And now listen, everyone, as the program of the evening will be announced.
“At the end of the show you will see the solemn taking of Mauricette's cherry before the honorable assemblage. The young savage will present herself dog fashion… That shocks you miss? Young ladies who like to be cornholed think very highly of this position. She will therefore present herself dog fashion over her mother's face and between two excited sisters, who will, in their turn, sob, finger themselves, kiss, cry… And that is nothing, ladies and gentlemen. We will begin the program with another complete number, a completely new performance that the celebrated Mauricette perfected only yesterday and that she will give before the public for the first time this evening!”
“She'll suck?” cried Lili, clapping her hands. “Oh! For Ricette that's even more wonderful than losing her cherry!”
“Yes, ladies and gentlemen, our advertisement told the truth. For the first time publicly the young savage girl will suck a man. And what is more, instead of letting him come in mid-air, she will permit him to discharge in her mouth; and instead of spitting out the come like you do (a vicious habit, miss), the celebrated Mauricette will swallow everything while licking her lips with a gracious smile! We thank you for your attention.”
“There is a girl born into a circus family,” said Teresa proudly.
No doubt. But she was also the only one of the three who had had enough formal education to be able to give to her pitch the proper amount of buffoonery.
Quickly, Ricette whispered something in my ear. I replied, “Yes, if you wish.” Then, out loud, spontaneously, in front of her sisters and I, she made a sort of public apology.
“A few minutes ago I was nasty to you, mama. I ask your forgiveness and to show I mean it, I want him to fuck you the first.”
“Me?” said Teresa.
“Yes. You on top of me, as later we'll do it the other way around. And then he can finish in my mouth, so that I'll have both your come and his at the some time.”
“What a love, this kid of mine!” cried Teresa, clasping her in her arms. “See!” she said to me. “Don't I know her better than you?”
XIII
Lili couldn't believe her ears.
“What an evening! Ricette sucking! Mama fucking! And the taking of a cherry at the end of it! You couldn't do more to entertain the King of England!”
“And is that so rare? That 'mama fucking'?” asked Teresa gayly.
“I guess so!” said the imp. “You didn't even fuck to make me!”
The reply was true, prompt, and spoken in Lili's droll little voice, but the excess of laughter that greeted it was out of all proportion to its value. Charlotte, who had been weeping for over an hour, was racked by spasms of laughter interspersed with groans, as if she suffered more from her hilarity than from her melancholy. Teresa was gasping and clung onto her to keep from falling. “Hold me up, Charlotte!” Ricette herself… Laughter is contagious, and Ricette burst out into shrieks last of all. Only Lili remained to laugh in moderation at her crack. And I began to think that one day she would be the most thoughtful and intelligent of the four.
Ricette, ex-schoolgirl for whom arithmetic held no more secrets, began to figure, and by the science of numbers brought us back once more to serious considerations.
“Mama gets cornholed about three times a day on an average. That makes eleven hundred times a year.”
“And something over?” said Charlotte.
“And the dildoes!” said Lili.
“And the nights like last Christmas when she did it eighteen times.”
“I said, on an average eleven hundred times a year. She began when she was eight; she's thirty-six now. I figured it all out. That makes more than thirty thousand cornholings.”
“Thirty thousand!” they chorused.
“And she fucks about once a year, more or less.”
“Oh! I haven't fucked more than thirty times in my whole life!” declared Teresa. “When was the last time that I did it, Charlotte? Was it last summer in June? Ah! Believe me,” said she turning towards me, “I'm almost as virgin as Ricette! Charlotte is like me too. The only one who fucks around here is Lili.”
“Mama, mama, mama!” cried Ricette impatiently. “When are we going to start?”
The consent that she obtained stopped neither her thoughts nor her words. She seemed concerned. She didn't lie down. Forgetting arithmetic to attack a curious problem of erotology, she looked seriously at her mother and said, “Can we…? I don't mean that I think that my program is impossible… It isn't easy to suck a woman who is being cornholed; but under a woman who's being fucked… above all if she's losing her cherry… Your tongue will never touch my snatch.”
“I've never done it,” said Charlotte. “But then we do so little screwing here…”
“I've done it!” said Lili.
“Oh, you! You're dislocated in more places than one!”
Teresa took her time, like a teacher searching for a formula easily accessible to the mind of an adolescent, and finally replied slowly, “How many times have I told you that positions are the affair of women and not of men or lesbians. In the position that we're going to take up it will be up to the woman underneath to get in the right place. However, if the woman being taken will bother to hump her back a little bit there should be no trouble for the tongue underneath.”
“You can believe that I'll be all that I advertised when it comes to that!”
“Okay! Okay! But first watch how I do it and then you can imitate me when your turn comes.”
The obscenity with which Teresa usually accompanied the opening of her rump dog-fashion was something with which I was already familiar. Dog-fashion is not quite enough to say here, I feel. Like a bear would be more descriptive. From the rear she was nothing but hair. However, since she had very well formed buttocks and nicely shaped thighs, you couldn't really reproach her even mentally for being more heavily furred than other women and, such was the impudence of her position, you would rather have thought that she imposed her esthetic on you.
Despite the fact that my sexual exercises are ordinarily as reserved and conservative as my language, my moral scruples do not go so far as to prevent me from fucking a mother on top of her daughter and then deflowering the same daughter on top of her mother. I have only done it once, but I would gladly take the opportunity should it be presented to me again. I am speaking now to the young women who are holding this book and I would like to say, in the words of Mauricette, “I am not trying to shock you, miss. If your mother is thirty years old, if she is pretty, if you love her enough to do for her the things you would do for your little girlfriends, you will understand the following scene. And if you are not grateful for what she has always given you, if you have never used your tongue to send shivers of pleasure through the flesh that suffered so that you might come into this world, then blush at your own actions and not at those you are about to read of here.”
I therefore accepted Teresa on top of Mauricette and even under her. And the roles she played seemed to me neither superfluous nor disagreeable. However, two roles that I would have eliminated had I been writing this scene into a novel were those of Charlotte and Lili. They were of no use whatsoever; Charlotte only bothered me by her display of emotions, Lili by her giggles, and both of them by their gabbing, their curiosity, their advice, or simply their presence. I wished them to hell for a good fifteen minutes.
However, let us forget that for the moment and review the situation:
Ricette was lying on her back. Teresa was lying head to foot with Ricette, her cunt over the latter's face and open to me in the position I have so recently described.
