LE CHEVALIER—For a charming girl, Eugénie . . . for the most adorable creature I have ever laid eyes on. (He kisses her; his hands rove over her charms.) Oh God! what fresh, what sweet attractions! . . . enchanting! . . .
DOLMANCÉ—Less prattle, Chevalier, let’s act instead; I’ll direct the scene, ’tis my right; the object here is to exhibit to Eugénie the mechanics of an ejaculation; but, since it should be difficult for her to observe such a phenomenon in cold blood, the four of us are going to group ourselves close together. You, Madame, will frig your friend, I’ll be responsible for the Chevalier. When ’tis a question of a man’s pollution, he would infinitely prefer to entrust the business to another man, not to a woman. As a man knows what suits himself, so he knows how to manage for another. . . . Well, off we go. Positions! (They arrange themselves.)
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—Are we not too close?
DOLMANCÉ, who has already got his hands upon the Chevalier—Impossible to be too close, Madame; we must have your friend’s face and breast inundated by the proofs of your brother’s virility; let him aim at her nose, as the saying goes. Master of the pump, I’ll direct the stream in such wise she’ll be covered quite absolutely. Meanwhile, frig her in every lubricious part of her body; Eugénie, give all of your imagination up to dwelling upon libertinage’s ultimate extravagances; think that you are about to see its most splendid mysteries operated before your very eyes; cast away every restraint, spurn every one: never was modesty a virtue. Had Nature desired some part of our body to be hidden, she would have seen to the matter herself; but she created us naked; hence, she wishes that we go naked, and all contrary practice thoroughly outrages her laws. Children, who do not yet have any notion of pleasure and consequently of the necessity to render it more keen by modesty, exhibit all of themselves. One also sometimes meets with a yet stranger curiosity: there are countries where, although modesty of manners is not to be encountered, modesty of dress is in usage. In Tahiti, girls are clothed, and when one demands it, they strip. . . .
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—What I love about Dolmancé is that he wastes not a moment; all the while he discourses, observe how he acts, look how approvingly he inspects my brother’s superb ass, how voluptuously he frigs the young man’s handsome prick. . . . Come, Eugénie, let’s not tarry. There’s the pump’s nozzle in the air; it won’t be long before we’re flooded.
EUGÉNIE—Oh, dearest friend, what a monstrous member! . . . I can scarcely get my hand around it! . . . Dear God, are they all as big as this?
DOLMANCÉ—Eugénie, you know that mine is much inferior in size; such engines are redoubtable for a youngster; you are fully aware one such as this could not without danger perforate you.
EUGÉNIE, already being frigged by Madame de Saint-Ange— I’d brave anything to enjoy it!
DOLMANCÉ—And you would be right: a girl ought never be terrified by such a thing; Nature lends a helping hand, and the torrents of pleasure wherewith she overwhelms you soon compensate the slight inconveniences that precede them. I have seen girls younger than you sustain still more massy pricks: with courage and patience life’s greatest obstacles are surmounted. ’Tis madness to think one must have a child deflowered by only very small pricks. I hold the contrary view, that a virgin should be delivered unto none but the vastest engines to be had, in order that, the hymeneal ligaments sooner burst, pleasure’s sensations can more promptly occur in her. To be sure, once launched on this diet, she will have much to do to quit it for another less piquant, more meager; but if she is wealthy, lovely, and youthful, she’ll find as many of this size as she can wish. Let her keep her wits about her: should something mediocre be offered her, and should she nevertheless have the desire to make use of it, let her put it in her ass.
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—Indeed, and to be still happier, let her employ the greater and the lesser at once; let the voluptuous jars wherewith she will agitate him who encunts her serve to precipitate the ecstasy of the other who buggers, and, drowned in the fuck of the two, let her loose her own as she dies of pleasure.
DOLMANCÉ—(It should be pointed out that the pollutions continue throughout all of the dialogue.) It seems to me two or three more pricks should figure in the picture you describe, Madame; this woman of yours ought to have, don’t you think, a prick in her mouth and another in each hand?
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—She might have some clapped under her armpits and a few in her hair, if it were possible she ought to have thirty ranged round her; under such circumstances, one must have, touch, devour nothing but pricks, be inundated by them all, at the same instant one discharges oneself. Ah, Dolmancé! libertine that you are, I defy you to equal me in these delicious combats of luxury. . . . On this head, I’ve done all that it is possible to do.
EUGÉNIE, continuously frigged by her friend, as is the Chevalier by Dolmancé—Oh, my sweet! . . . I grow dizzy! . . . Why, I too could procure myself such pleasures! . . . I could give myself . . . to a perfect army of men! . . . Ah, what delight! . . . How you frig me, dearest one . . . you are the very goddess of pleasure . . . and how this wondrous prick does swell . . . how its majestic head enlarges and grows red! . . .
DOLMANCÉ—He’s not far from the denouement.
LE CHEVALIER—Eugénie . . . sister . . . approach. . . . Oh, what divine breasts! . . . what soft, plump thighs! Discharge! discharge both, my fuck will join yours! . . . It flows! leaps! Christ! (During the crisis, Dolmancé has carefully directed his friend’s outpourings of sperm upon the two women and principally upon Eugénie, who finds herself drenched.)
EUGÉNIE—Magnificent spectacle! how noble, how majestic it is . . . I’m completely covered! . . . it sprang into my very eyes! . . .
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—Wait, dear heart, let me gather up these priceless pearls; I’ll rub some upon your clitoris more speedily to provoke your own discharge.
EUGÉNIE—Ah! yes, my darling, yes! delicious idea . . . go ahead, and I’ll come in your arms.
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—Divine child, kiss me a thousand times over . . . let me suck your tongue . . . let me breathe your voluptuous respiration all fired by pleasure’s heat! Ah, fuck! I discharge myself. . . . Brother, finish me, I beg you to finish me! . . .
DOLMANCÉ—Yes, Chevalier . . . frig your sister.
LE CHEVALIER—I’d prefer to fuck her . . . I’m still in a state to.
DOLMANCÉ—Very well, press it in and give me your ass; I’ll fuck you throughout this voluptuous incest. Eugénie, armed with this India rubber dildo, will bugger me. Destined someday to have enacted all the roles of lechery, she has got to strive, in the lessons we’re giving here, to fulfill them all equally well.
EUGÉNIE, rigging up the dildo—Oh, willingly! You will never find me wanting when it is a question of libertinage; it is now my single god, the unique rule of my conduct, the single basis of all my actions. (She buggers Dolmancé.) In like wise, my dear master? Is it well done? . . .
DOLMANCÉ—Splendidly! . . . Truly, the little rascal buggers me mannishly! Fine! it seems to me we are all four perfectly attached one to the other; we have but to commence.
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—Oh, I’m dying, Chevalier! . . . I am incapable of becoming accustomed to the throbbing of your lovely prick! . . .
DOLMANCÉ—Ah, but this damned, this charming ass affords me pleasure! Oh fuck! fuck! all of us, let’s discharge together! Christ, but I perish! I expire! Ah, in my life never have I come more voluptuously! Hast lost thy sperm, Chevalier?
LE CHEVALIER—Look you at this cunt: smeared, muddied up, is it not?
DOLMANCÉ—Oh, my friend, wouldst I had as much in my ass!
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—Rest, stop, I am dead.
DOLMANCÉ, kissing Eugénie—This matchless girl has fucked me like a god.
EUGÉNIE—In truth, I found it rather pleasurable.
DOLMANCÉ—All excesses procure it, provided one is libertine; and a woman is best advised to multiply those excesses even to beyond the possible.
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p; MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—I have deposited five hundred louis with a notary, and the purse will belong to any individual, whomsoever he be, who can teach me a passion I am ignorant of now, and who can plunge me into an ecstasy I have not yet enjoyed.
DOLMANCÉ—(At this point the interlocutors, set to rights, have ceased to occupy themselves with all but conversation.) The idea is strange, Madame, and I’d accept to try, but I am in doubt whether this uncommon desire after which you chase, resembles the delicate pleasures you have just tasted.
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—What indeed!
DOLMANCÉ—’Tis that, in honor, I know nothing so boring as enjoyment of the cunt and when once, Madame, one has, like yourself, tasted what the ass has to offer, I cannot conceive how one may forsake that pleasure for others.
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—They are old habits. When one thinks as I do, one wishes everywhere to be fucked and whatever the part an engine perforates, one is made happy upon feeling it there. However, I am wholly of your opinion and herewith attest to all voluptuous women that the pleasure they will experience of ass-fucking will always by much surpass the one they experience in having a man by the cunt. On this count let them refer to that woman who in all Europe has accomplished most in the one manner and in the other: I certify there is not the least comparison to be made, and that very reluctantly will they return to the fore after having put their behinds to the proof.
LE CHEVALIER—My thoughts are not entirely identical. I am prepared for anything that is expected of me, but, by taste, in women I really love only the altar Nature indicates for the rendering of an homage.
DOLMANCÉ—Why, to be sure, and it’s the ass! My dear Chevalier, never did Nature, if you scrupulously examine her ordinations, never did Nature indicate another altar for our offerings than the asshole, but this latter she expressly commands. Ah, by God! were not her intention that we fuck assholes, would she have so exactly proportioned this orifice to fit our member? is not this aperture circular, like this instrument? Why, then! What person, no matter how great an enemy of common sense, can imagine that an oval hole could have been created for our cylindrical pricks! Ponder this deformity and you will at once apprehend Nature’s intentions; we very plainly see that too frequent sacrifices made in this part, by increasing a propagation of which only her forbearance makes us capable, would displease her infallibly. But let us go on with our education. Eugénie has just, entirely at her leisure, contemplated the sublime mystery of a discharge; presently, I would like to have her learn how to direct its flow.
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—Considering your exhaustion, ’tis to expose her to a great deal of trouble.
DOLMANCÉ—To be sure; and that is why I should desire that we have, from your house or your fields, some robust young lad who could serve as a mannequin, and upon whom we could give our lessons.
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—I’ve precisely what you need.
DOLMANCÉ—It might not be, by chance, a young gardener, with a delicious aspect, of about eighteen years or twenty, whom I saw just a short while ago, working in your kitchen garden?
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—Augustin? Exactly, yes, Augustin, whose member measures fourteen inches in length and has a circumference of eight and an half!
DOLMANCÉ—Great heaven! what a monster! . . . and that discharges? . . .
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—Like a waterfall! . . . I’ll go fetch him.
DIALOGUE THE FIFTH
DOLMANCÉ, LE CHEVALIER, AUGUSTIN, EUGÉNIE, MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE, presenting Augustin—Behold the man I mentioned. Let’s on with it, friends, let’s to our frolics; what would life be without its little amusements? Come hither, simpleton! Oh, the ninny! . . . Would you believe it, I have been six months struggling to turn this great pig into something fit for civilized society, and I’ve got nowhere with him.
AUGUSTIN—Aye, M’am, you speak sometimes like that, that I’m beginning not to get on so bad right now, and when there’s a piece of ground lying fallow you always give it to me to till, I’m the one that gets it.
DOLMANCÉ, laughing—Oh, precious! . . . charming! . . . The dear boy, he’s as frank as he is fresh. . . . (Exhibiting Eugénie.) Augustin, look sharp, my lad, there’s a bed of flowers lying fallow; would you like to try your spade on it?
AUGUSTIN—Oh Jemmy, Sir! Such neat little oddments ain’t made for such as me.
DOLMANCÉ—To it, Mademoiselle.
EUGÉNIE, blushing—Heavens! I am so ashamed!
DOLMANCÉ—Rid yourself of that weak-hearted sentiment; all actions, and above all those of libertinage, being inspired in us by Nature, there is not one, of whatever kind, that warrants shame. Be smart there, Eugénie, act the whore with this young man; consider that every provocation sensed by a boy and originating from a girl is a natural offertory, and that your sex never serves Nature better than when it prostitutes itself to ours; that ’tis, in a word, to be fucked that you were born, and that she who refuses her obedience to this intention Nature has for her does not deserve to see the light longer. You yourself, lower the young man’s trousers to below his handsome thighs, roll his shirt up under his vest, so that his fore-end . . . and his after, which, by the by, is damn fine, are at your disposal. . . . Now, let one of your hands catch up that lank length of flesh, pendant now, but which, I wager, will soon amaze you in its new form, and with your other hand explore his buttocks, and, thus, tickle his rectal gap. . . . Yes, in this manner . . . (To show Eugénie how ’tis to be done, he socratizes Augustin himself.) Uncap this rubicund head; never, while you pollute it, never allow it to be covered over; keep it naked . . . stretch the skin, yea, stretch it taut. . . . Now there; dost see what effect my lesson has had already? . . . And you, my boy, I beseech you, don’t stand there holding your hands behind your back; isn’t there something you might put them to? Let them stray about upon this superb breast, over these wondrous buttocks. . . .
AUGUSTIN—Sir, couldn’t I give this miss a smack or two, it would make me right happy.
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—Well, kiss her, imbecile, kiss her as much as you like; do you not kiss me when I’m in bed with you?
AUGUSTIN—Oh, jeez! Pretty little mouth, all fresh and nice tasting! . . . Seems like I’ve got my nose in the roses in our garden. (Showing his rising prick.) Look, Sir, that’s what it does, d’ye see it?
EUGÉNIE—Good heaven! How it enlarges!
DOLMANCÉ—Attempt now to put rather more regularity in your motions, let them be more energetic. . . . Here, yield me your place for an instant, and watch closely what I do. (He frigs Augustin.) Do you observe? These movements are more purposeful and at the same time softer. There, begin again and above all keep the head bare . . . Good! there it is in its full vigor; now let’s ascertain whether it’s bigger than the Chevalier’s.
EUGÉNIE—Be certain of it: you see very well I cannot get my hand around it.
DOLMANCÉ, measuring—Yes, right you are: fourteen long, eight and a half around. I’ve never seen a larger. ’Tis what is called a superb prick. And you, Madame, you say you employ it?
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—Regularly, every night I spend here in the country.
DOLMANCÉ—But not, I hope, in the ass?
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—Rather more often there than in the cunt.
DOLMANCÉ—Ah! my God! what libertinage! Upon my honor, I don’t know whether I could manage it.
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—Don’t pinch, Dolmancé, and he’ll penetrate your ass as neatly as he does mine.
DOLMANCÉ—We shall see; I flatter myself in the belief our Augustin will do me the honor of casting a little fuck into my behind: I’ll repay him in the same coin; but let’s continue, we have lessons to give. . . . Look sharp, Eugénie, mind, the serpent is about to disgorge its venom: prepare yourself; fix your gaze upon the head of this sublime weapon; and when as the sign of its approaching spasm you see it inflate, take on a deeper, more purple hue, let your activities then become frenzied; let your fingers now tickl
ing his anus dig as deep as possible, before the event occurs; give yourself entirely to the libertine who is amusing himself with you; seek out his mouth in order to suck it; let your charms fly, so to speak, to do your hands’ bidding. . . . He discharges, Eugénie, ’tis the moment of your triumph.
AUGUSTIN—Aië! aië! Miss, it’s killing me! I can’t do no more! More, go on and do me more, harder, Miss, please, Miss! Ah, God a’mighty! I can’t see straight! . . .
DOLMANCÉ—Redouble your efforts, Eugénie! Triple them! Caution to the winds, he’s drunk and in his throes! . . . God, what abundance of sperm! . . . with what power it springs forth! . . . Behold the traces of the initial jet: it shot ten feet, nay, more! By God’s fuck! the room’s awash; Never have I seen a comparable discharge, and you tell me, Madame, this article fucked you last night?
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—Nine or ten times, I believe; we gave up counting long ago.
LE CHEVALIER—Lovely Eugénie, you’re covered with it.
EUGÉNIE—Wouldst I were drowned in it. (To Dolmancé:) Tell me, my dear master, are you content?
DOLMANCÉ—Mightily, for a beginning; but there remain several episodes you have neglected.
MADAME DE SAINT-ANGE—Wait; they can mean nothing to her lest they are the fruit of experience; for my part, I confess I am exceedingly pleased with my Eugénie; the happiest dispositions are apparent in her, and I believe that we ought now to have her enjoy another spectacle. Let’s have her witness the effects of a prick in the ass. Dolmancé, I am going to offer you mine; I shall be in my brother’s arms; he will encunt me, I’ll be buggered by you, and Eugénie will prepare your prick, will insert it in my ass, will supervise all the movements, will study them, all this in order to familiarize herself with this operation to which, afterward, she will submit; it will then be a question of this Hercules’ fair prick.
DOLMANCÉ—I am passing eager to see this pretty little behind rent by brave Augustin’s violent blows; but I agree to what you propose, Madame, provided we add one detail: Augustin, whom I’ll have stiff again with two strokes of my wrist, will bugger me while I sodomize you.
Justine, Philosophy in the Bedroom, and Other Writings Page 28
