by AnonYMous
"Make haste," said she.
"I'm composing an inventory of all the goods we are to deliver to your Monsieur Vitnègre, and everything appears to be in first-rate condition, excepting for one thing I'll tell you about. But let's–" Then I was completely carried away. I sucked her furiously, keeping a sharp eye open for the gushing descent of her virginal liquor, awaiting that instant to hurl myself upon her and encunt her. She came with the sixth thrust of my tongue, but came with a well nigh unbelievable abundance: Could this be? I wondered. However, the merry jig she danced convinced me it could be nothing else, wherewith, abandoning her cunt, I leapt upon her, mad with pleasure. I am fully certain she would have given me a free rein, but her unpracticed cunt, although well wetted by her fuck and my saliva, was not to be penetrated. I had not yet acquired the skill needed to make one's way into certain virgins whose cracks require to be greased with pommade or fresh butter. At last, she seized my prick, attempting to oust me; gripped in her soft white hand, my prick spat forth its charge and I soaked her fingers, her cunt, her belly, her thighs with a spray of fuck. A tidy thing – she always kept herself spick and span – she broke free of me and ran off to wash herself.
"Who would ever suppose," I exclaimed as I watched her rinse and wipe her ass, thighs, and cuntlet, "that I'd been futtering you?"
"If," Conquette Ingénue retorted, "if you were only reasonable you'd give me that pleasant licking as often as you wish, for, upon my soul, it does delight me."
"Well said," I declared and, fondling her cunt, I had her dart her tongue into my mouth.
"But," she went one, "no more of that other thing which left a mess in what I've just been washing. I want to be an honest woman."
"You owe your pretty cunt to your father," I observed to my charming daughter.
"If you were rich, I'd give up my plans to marry and I'd devote myself to your pleasures. But I must have a husband if I am to cease to be a burden to you."
Touched by her words, I showered her with kisses from head to toe: slippered feet, legs, forehead, eyes, mouth, nipples, thighs, ass. I kept relentlessly at it until she discharged. That done, I affixed my signature to every paper she brought before me; I adored her.
She went off and married and for three months avoided seeing me. Such conduct infuriated me, and I swore I'd fuck her and make her fuck if I were ever to get my hands upon her again. I'd fuck her a thousand and one times over before I'd forgive her for abandoning me so monstrously, so unnaturally. But little did I know that she was already unhappy.
Victoire Conquette, since her mother's death, had been living in the country with her Aunt Genovefette, at the time married to her latest keeper. Having no cunt to which to devote myself, I wrote to have Victoire sent home without delay. While awaiting her arrival, I made myself comfortable with a pair of cunts, which I succeeded in perforating with the help of some pommade. These fetching targets belonged to the sister and the mistress of my secretary, an excellent lad who himself put them at my disposal, in such wise as shall be seen in due time. He and I had hitherto been fucking his elderly mother-in-law, preferring not to resort to whores.
When Victoire returned, I ordered shoes with high slender heels made for her as I had done for Ingénue. She caused me as stout an erection as her sister had. But I was not interested in deflowering her. I simply employed her as an hors-d'oeuvre, to whet my palate and put me in form for heavier undertakings: the encuntment, more vigorously executed thanks to Victoire's ministry, of Minonne and Connette, respectively the sister and mistress of Trait-d'Amour, my secretary, or of Trait-d'Amour's mother-in-law. To prepare myself for these enterprises I would have Victoire, gaily clothed and of course shod, enter the room. I would seize her by the skirts and seat her on my knees, being myself nude, if circumstances permitted. My trousers down, if trousers I was wearing, I would have myself caressed, given a few licks of the tongue. If I chanced to be naked, my prick would wedge itself between her thighs and commence to waggle up and down, to left and right. If she were fully dressed I would have her fist my prick and, she being exceedingly innocent, say to her: "Oh, my pretty one, squeeze my finger tight, tighter still!" Minonne, Connette, or the mother-in-law, one of the three, would always arrive. Trait-d'Amour would go off to summon one of them as soon as he saw me encloset myself with Victoire. Hearing their approach, I would, by a hidden door, convey the charming little one to her room. Then I'd return for a delicious fuck in which Trait-d'Amour would participate by tickling my balls. Once I was done, he would straightaway encunt whomever I had possessed and in my turn I would tickle his balls.
This life would have suited me for a long time – even though it was a life led without my beloved Conquette Ingénue, who had become Madame Vitnégre – had my sisters Genovefette and Marie not decided that it was indecent for me to keep Victoire alone with me in the house. They joined forces and obliged me to apprentice her to a lingerie merchant and his wife, perhaps the most virtuous and God-fearing couple in Paris. Madame Beauconin led little Victoire away to her new guardians.
Fortunately the good Fanfan a few days before, had introduced me to a superb woman who was separated from her husband and hence wildly amorous. Victoire knew nothing of my latest acquisition, and this lovely woman, supposing that my heart belonged to Victoire, fucked beneath me like a she-devil, calling me her papa and bidding me. "Stuff her, stuff your beloved Victoire, your passionate and tender daughter."
Chapter Five
But the moment was approaching when I was to recover Conquette Ingénue; my keenest desire, even as I lay in the arms of Madame Maresquin (Victoire's friend) was to make a cuckold of Vitnègre.
There came a day when I encountered my Conquette on the Pont Notre-Dame. She was most distraught, very tearful, and she cast herself into my arms. I was deeply moved and all my former anger evaporated at once. Although aggrieved, my delicious daughter was still beautiful, perhaps the more so for her unhappiness. My first impulse was to lay firm hold of her cunt, but I checked myself, for we were in the street. I went to see her the next evening, at the hour she had told me her husband, or rather her monster, was never at home. I did indeed find her alone and in the course of that first visit she confessed to me she had taken a lover. Infinitely pleased by this avowal, which proclaimed Vitnègre's cuckoldry, I flattered her, spoke sweet nothings, coaxed her, got her to agree to open her cunt to Timon, her beau. But soon after I gathered this was a purely Platonic attachment wherein Conquette found consolation for the brutalities of a thoroughgoing debauchee by recounting her woes to a soft-pricked but sincere and spiritual poet. She liked to speak of her undemanding and patient lover, and as I was the only one with whom she could safely discuss these questions, I promised her I would arrange secret interviews for them. She was in seventh heaven.
On my second visit, Conquette mentioned some of Vitnègre's recent infamies. Upon one occasion, stooping down to pick up something from the floor, he had one of his friends seize her cunt. She had protested.
"Why, it's merely a cunt you've got there in your hand," Vitnègre said coolly to his colleague, "Didn't I tell you her cunt-hair is softer than silk? Well, old man, would you believe it? The inside is softer still."
Conquette wished to leave the room but he caught her brutally by the arm, had her climb aboard him, drew her skirts high up above her thighs and clutched her cunt in his hand, bringing it into clear view of his friend and frigging her betimes. While all this was going on he described how much pleasure she was able to give her partner when she chose to be agreeable.
"But," he added, "she's like every other whore: you've got to give her a good thrashing to make her do her duty." Next, he attempted to expose her breasts, but she broke away from him, whereupon he swung his booted foot and bestowed a lusty kick upon her ass. Some few days later the same friend having dined with them, Vitnègre, noticing that after coffee his wife had gone off to piss and then paid a visit to the bidet, said to his cohort, Culant by name, "There we have a damned clean cunt, a
nd were we to employ a little dexterity, or if need be a little force, we might both be able to give it a lick or two. However, if it's to be force, don't be startled if you hear somewhat of an uproar. But if by milder means we are to obtain our way, here before you is the key. It opens the door which yields entrance to the corridor. You will step in when, weary myself, I shall say in a loud tone, 'Come, Madame, show me a smiling cunt and let's begin again.' Then advance boldly, my dear chap, smite unsparingly, for I'd as soon have the whole wide world fuck this bitch. Her path's still insufficiently trod and needs widening!"
Conquette was called back into the room and the husband had her sit down before the fire. He deployed his prick, uncovered his large brown balls and recommended that his friend do the same. As the latter hesitated, the husband said to his wife, "Untrouser him this very instant, buggress, or I'll tear out your cunt-hair by the handful!" He did indeed reach forth his hand, Conquette uttered a cry. Culant immediately brought his prick and balls to light and in so doing asking Vitnègre to deal gently with her.
"Look sharp there, buggress. Frig us both, one with either hand. I am her master," went on that scoundrel, addressing Culant, "she does just what I tell her – how can she help but obey?"
Conquette was weeping; Culant sought to intercede in her behalf. "Very well, then, let her suck my prick, there, and that way, on her knees, for I think I'd like to squirt into her mouth. I used to discharge into my first wife's – she died, you know, and perhaps from overdrinking, who knows? It used to be my greatest delight to slake her thirst!" Culant remarked to the effect that thus to use it would be to spoil the prettiest of mouths. "My God! Objections, objections, always objections! Then I'll employ my own mouth–"
"The sight would make me come, I fear," Culant said.
"Why then, my sly one, pray go into this little room." Vitnègre thrust Conquette into a dimly lit cabinet and then urged Culant in after her, wherewith the wicked fellow adjusted his dress and left the house for another where he had the habit of gambling. Culant, left to his own devices, sucked and licked Conquette but dared not fuck her, having so diminutive a prick he was certain she would recognize that it did not belong to her master. Nevertheless, Culant discharged six times and Conquette did twice as well. When sated and spent, he gave her a blow of his fist, that she might persist in mistaking him for Vitnègre.
But that evening, returning from his adventures, the monster said to his wife, "Well, buggress, were you adequately tongued this afternoon? 'Twasn't I toiled over you. I'd surely not have done you the honor of half a dozen discharges. My friend doubtless has taken a liking to you. But can you have failed to recognize him? For I heard you blew off twelve times in a row, and you never even stiffen with me. And the blow he gave you – a stout one, eh? You felt it, I trust?" And thereupon the wretch burst into laughter. "Well, there you are, bitch of a lawyer's bastard, there you are, a whore to the teeth. I've nothing to do now but cash in on your cunt." Terrified, Conquette then and there formed the resolution to leave him. The following day we met on the bridge. Having made her decision, she intended to carry it out and be rid of that monster.
My daughter's tale, although related in rather more subdued terms than in the version I have given, had revolted me. I assured her of speedy aid but, at the same time I sought to comfort her, my prick held a fine consistency and threatful slope, for all stories of libidinous brutality excite my prick into an erection.
I solicited her favors; my request was answered with blushes, but I was permitted to kiss the pretty green slipper she was wearing. I went no further, wishing to start things aright. However, during the visit I paid her on the morrow, I laughingly slid a hand between her blouse and her back, then came gradually around to her bubs which, to be sure, she undertook to protect, but which remained in my possession all the same. Shortly after achieving this success, I set out for another and began to stroke her hair. Then, eager to see to what point I could carry matters without encountering a determined resistance, I teased her about having a little tuft of coarse hair amidst the silky hairs upon her cunt. Which she gave me to fondle, all the while trembling lest her husband interrupt us. In order to put her at ease, I had her talk about her lover and while she prattled on, I proceeded from one liberty to another, finally inserting three fingers three inches into her cunt
She was so engrossed in her subject that I do believe she fancied it was Timon who was cheering her up. As I rubbed away, I told her I had located a pension for her and that she could go there directly she left Vitnègre. She reddened with pleasure and threw her arms about me. I darted my tongue into her mouth, then felt hers enter mine. Furiously happy, I was on the point of asking her to tell me in what manner she had been depucelated when, Vitnègre's step sounding outside the door, I dashed into the same room Culant had used, thinking I would be able to get away through the door to the hallway. What was my surprise to see a monk enter by that same door. I retreated and hid behind a large sofa; he failed to notice me.
Vitnègre entered by the door leading from the room I had just left. "Salutations, my most reverend father. Will you fuck her before dinner, or after?" The monk, appearing to meditate over his reply and squinting through a glass panel which afforded him a view of Conquette, licked his lips.
"No, my son," he finally said, "no, 'twill be as we priorly agreed: go into the room, increase the light therein so that I shall have excellent opportunity to see all that comes to pass. Then amuse yourself with her: teats, asshole, cunt. I shall reserve my best for the night."
"Nonsense," said the generous husband with a large gesture, "I'm quite willing to throw this one into the bargain." But the man of God remained adamant. "No, I say, I like only bedtime fucking as you know: to suck tongue and bub, to encunt, to embugger, to be suckled, to sink good tooth into a pretty tit, to nip its extremities. Proceed, dear boy. Go into the other room with your prick aloft, warm her up, and, I beseech you, brutalize her just a little."
Vitnègre, his loins bare, returned to his wife, who, as always, trembled at his approach. "Mark you, buggress, the condition my prick is in? It's because of that neat little foot I see before me. The other day I overheard some poor sod behind you say he'd like to get his tool in you – get that kerchief away from your chest, I've got to see your dugs – pretty things they are, by God, white, firm. Ah, my little slut, I'd tear off these pink buttons if I weren't afraid of damaging the merchandise. What a fuckable shape to those buttocks! Up with your petticoats, whore, up with them, above your waist, above the navel, let me see that mechanism. Very nice ... now walk, presenting your cunt ... now turn around and let's have a look at your ass ... excellent, capital ... a very graceful movement you've got, bitch. Wiggle your ass, do you hear me? And wiggle your cunt too, agitate it, by God, and keep it up till I tell you to stop." She toured at least a hundred times around the room, alternately exhibiting her ass and her cunt.
His eyes fixed upon the spectacle, I heard the monk say: "That bugger's prick isn't as stout as mine. He wasn't able to depucelate her. Ah, dear Jesus, how she'll screech tonight! But I mustn't have that. Screech? Then there'll be scandal, the neighbors will come running," reasoned the ecclesiastic. "They'll think someone is killing her and who knows? Maybe I shall. Shall I? Ha! Why not? What? But I'd best go now," and the old fellow did go, murmuring as he left on tiptoe: "She's someone it'd be a delight to kill, that's clear, and killed she'll be."
At the same instant, Vitnègre gave Conquette the signal to stop parading: "Whoa there, bitch! Stand still a minute." He entered the room. "What do you think of her?" he demanded. "Like to have a go at her now?"
My prick was as hard as a rock. Attempting to simulate the monk's voice, I said in a hoarse whisper that yes, I might try her after all.
Vitnègre went to fetch his wife and, driving her brutally ahead of him, said, "Get along with you, bitch, whore, or I'll fuck your ass! Ah, but you're going to howl like a cat, but see to it, you bloody-cunted slut, see to it you don't wake the neighbors. For if
you do I'll bring every blessed one of them in here. That wouldn't bother me one damned bit. I'd keep your cunt corked even though all of Paris were here to watch me operating." With these words he pitched her head over heels onto the couch which had been placed in the room, then disappeared.
I leapt atop my daughter, who, feeling herself being almost painlessly probed, refrained from raising a fuss. "Scream!" I said to her in a low voice. And scream she did, she screamed to wake the dead upon discovering she had some stranger's member in her trick. As soon as I had discharged, and discharged deliciously, by having her oscillate her cunt, I made my escape just before the neighbors put in their appearance, and, as she kept up the disturbance, I sent them in to rescue her. She was found standing on her feet.
"'Tis only my wife," said Vitnègre with an apologetic smile; "we were making love, a mere nothing, don't you know. Look at the silly creature, she's still soaking wet with pleasure, but she's got the temperament of a wildcat. She bites and howls whenever you show her any kindness at all." Agreeing that Vitnègre was a very witty fellow indeed, the neighbors all laughed and withdrew.
Vitnègre dined and comported himself with a degree of politeness. He wondered whether his wife had identified her fucker as a monk and feared that she might chatter about what had happened. I took supper in a cabaret opposite Vitnègre's house. When I had finished my meal and he had left the house, I returned to my daughter who related everything that had passed. I said not a word.
