by AnonYMous
His two dozen attacks completed, Fysistère let his new wives sleep. Early the next morning, three menservants entered to receive his orders. He was awake but feigned still to be asleep, his mouth fastened upon one of Tétonnette's nipples and a hand on one of the breasts of the others. "Look ye at the bugger," murmured one servant. "He looks peaceful and contented, don't he?"
"Aye," replied the other and they fell to frigging themselves.
Whereupon Fysistère pretended suddenly to awake and said to the pair, 'I heard you two rascals. You'll not encunt them, no, by God. I want them to be pregnant thanks exclusively to me, but turn two of them over on their bellies and embugger them both, if you'd do me a favor.' He had scarcely concluded his sentence when the three sleeping beauties uttered simultaneous cries motivated by the three pricks burrowing into their assholes. Fysistère exhorted them to be patient and to think of all the encuntments they regularly had to every embuggerment. Moreover, he assured them that the two servants and himself were going to eject their seed upon the floor. They were won over by these arguments and vied with one another in giving furious motion to their asses. A superior diplomat, the man with the tail!"
Everyone's reaction to this long story was the same: "What indeed are we but puny operators compared with those fuckers and fuckeresses! But we do make the most of our limited abilities, don't we? A pity 'tis not tomorrow, wouldst that we could put our small wits to work!"
"Now don't start frigging yourselves, my friends," I warned them. "Save what little you have."
"Never fear; our fuck is not our own. It belongs to these lovely creatures." Who was surprised to hear us converse thus in my daughter's presence? Monsieur Brideconin and his good dame. But they were to have an even greater earful and see yet more.
~~~~~
It was Sunday. A fine dinner was prepared and served in the storeroom. Apart from the bed and the old sofa, I had had a third comfortable piece of fucking furniture brought down there: I'd chanced across it in a locksmith's shop in the rue de la Parcheminerie. The locksmith had bought it merely for the steel and iron at an auction of a certain duke's belongings. I related the history of this object to the society.
"This armchair you see before you has unusual properties. It is more than at first glance it appears to be. The locksmith one evening shortly after acquiring it was about to sit down in it, for he had noticed it has an interior mechanism. The plump young wife of his old neighbor, the wigmaker Aupetit, arrived in his shop. All out of breath, the pretty woman sat down wearily in that devilish contraption; her arms were pinioned upon the spot, a spring mechanism drew up her skirts, another spread her thighs, a third forced her cunt forward, and a fourth made it oscillate. 'Eh, what the devil sort of a thingumabob is this?' she cried.
"'I've not the faintest idea,' the honest lockmaker answered. 'I was getting ready to try it out myself when you came in. Apparently it's what the Duc de Fronsac used to employ when dealing with recalcitrant girls sold to him by unwise parents. If you like, neighbor, I'll deal a little with you.'
"'Come, my good man! Is a woman ever to be raped against her wishes? I'll bite, I warn you.' The locksmith removes his breeches and gets aboard her. The lady attempts to bite him and a gentle but irresistible device forces her mouth open and, exerting pressure, compels her to stick forth her tongue. Vulcan's minion takes full advantage of all that and nips into the wigmaker's wife, who's powerless to prevent it and even unable to scream. The operation completed, the spring and gear mechanism in the chair unwound and Madame Aupetit was released. 'Twas then she began to weep and sniffle, to complain about how she'd been used – 'twas as though she were in the depths of despair.'
"'Why, you're a great silly,' said the smith. 'I managed so well you're certain to become pregnant. You'll have a baby the likes of which your old scoundrel of a husband would never have given you. But you've got to be clever. Tell him today that you've been doing penance or something of the sort, that you've got to go to the church tonight to receive some kind of a blessing, and, when the curé gives it to you, stir your ass, say a few things to warm him up, and, when he discharges in you, make as though you're swooning and tell him he's shot to your gullet.' Madame Aupetit left the shop with her head full of these instructions and she followed them to the letter; the armchair was sold to me the next day.
"Having seen me passing in the street, the locksmith called me in, showed me his prize, praised it and explained its use to me. I bought it upon condition I obtained satisfaction from the apparatus. We'll use it on prudes should we find any in the course of our orgies. We'll not have anyone sit in it until the proper time comes, otherwise the charm of its secret will be spoiled."
We were four at dinner: Madame Poilsoyeux, a pretty hatmaker from the rue Bordet or Bordel whom Trait-d'Amour had brought with him and whose name was Tendrelys, and myself. In petto, I decided to try the mechanical chair on the attractive Tendrelys, who was still a virgin although Trait-d'Amour had made a steady practice of sodomizing her and had upon several occasions discharged between her thighs. Or, if the hat-maker proved docile and complaint, I'd use it on Rose-Mauve or on her blonde sister Rosalie, or again on our landlady, for I was eager to initiate Madame Brideconin into our mysteries and her husband too, wishing to cuckold him in his own presence. We dined royally well, but avoided eating and drinking too much. Furthermore, we were served fowl and other readily digested things. The reader will soon see how I put my plans into execution.
Chapter Twelve
As we rose from table, Trait-d'Amour said to us: "All week long I've had the idea in my head to render the cunt of Madame Conquette Ingénue Poilsoyeux what it ought to be, that is to say, loose, for I'm dead certain that after seven days of idleness it's as tight as a drum." Brisemotte, Coraboyau, good fellows and mightily pricked, raised Minonne's skirts and Connette's too, for it would not be meet for them to bare their own bellies. They were uncovered to above the navel; upon their cunts not a blade of hair! "I shaved them this morning," explained Trait-d'Amour, "to see the effect before proposing the same thing be done to my goddess. See how tidy they are, my friends: every bit of hair removed from every part of the body. They have bathed every day since learning that the beautiful fuckeress daily dips her cunt in the limpid wave and then plunges thereinto the rest of her incomparable body. They tell me that, when the fever is in them, the cool water in which they soak their burning cunts gives them a nearly fuckative pleasure. But behold those cunts: wouldn't you swear they belonged to little girls of twelve or thirteen?" We all agreed with Trait-d'Amour.
And so I asked my daughter to consent to have her cunt tonsured. She hid her face upon my chest. Trait-d'Amour immediately laid her on the bed, her cunt sparkling in full and glorious view. "A pity though," he admitted, caressing, fingering, fondling, petting it, "the goatee is superb! I'll use scissors to start with. We'll mount this silken hair under glass and frame it in gold – it will make a precious relic." He snipped away and then from a rosewood box drew a perfumed shaving stick and for a long time soaped her cunt. As this operation excited Conquette, she besought me to lay my lips upon her mouth, and she darted her tongue into mine all the while her cunt was being razed, and when it was cleanshaven it was washed with rose water, her thighs were dried with soft towels, and Tendrelys placed in a frame the wondrous hair that had been shorn away; after that, the beardless cunt was exposed to the company's admiring gaze. Everyone, especially the girls, and even the reticent Tendrelys, who, they said, had only come to see and blush at everything, everyone concurred in judging it superb, and found it so appetizing that it was subjected to a general kissing. The pretty hatmaker glued her lips to my daughter's pink cunt and her tongue roving in the crack succeeded in arousing her lust. Rose-Mauve, who could not stay away, leapt upon her like a tigress, plucked the hatmaker from the sacred object, and cunt-sucked Conquette with such zeal and energy that they both began to pant. The men had their turn: they sucked the discharging gem and made it discharge some more. As for my
self, while staring at these stimulating goings-on, I rubbed and fondled Tendrelys's bubs, which she had in charming size and shape and dared not defend.
"Ah, what a party!" she said.
"You've seen nothing yet," Minonne replied to her. Indeed, Trait-d'Amour, having liberated Conquette Ingénue's cunt of those ravening tongues which had been increasingly active, spoke to his comrades: "Imitate me, dear friends!" Wherewith every prick, risen mast-high, was trundled from its hiding place. "To cunts! To cunts!" was the next command shouted. Tendrelys lowered her lovely eyes; but Conquette, stretched out on the bed, her clitoris undergoing a gentle tickling at the hands of Rose-Mauve, raised her head to see the couched lances.
"Which one are you going to encunt?" my lusty former secretary asked me. "The voluptuous Conquette or Maid Tendrelys?"
I hesitated before replying – that moment's pause was enough to bring a feeble cry from my daughter: "A prick, a prick."
Trait-d'Amour dashed to her side, took her in his arms and presented her palpitating trick. "Encunt her," he bade me, "the fuckeress's cunt's smiling at you."
I plunged in. I was as stiff as a quarterstaff and, as I penetrated her, my precipitation fetched a sigh from her lips. But a moment later she was fucking industriously back. "Ah, that's good," she exclaimed, raising her ass to meet my attacks, "very good indeed. My, but you're stiff today! Fuck, Papa, fuck ... bury it, hammer it home, oh, dear Papa, I'm going to discharge!" Trait-d'Amour's finger playing about her clitoris was an additional inspiration. I discharged also, her delicious cuntlet gripping me like a pipe in a plumber's vice. That goddess made me positively drunk, Trait-d'Amour's ministrations made her fairly vibrate, as Petronius's Corax caused her master Eumolpe to tremble. Meanwhile, Brisemotte had flipped Rose-Mauve onto her back.
Those two little witches, Minonne and Connette, as naked as your hand, had just peeled every stitch of clothing off the still-hesitant Tendrelys, and held her between them, frictionalizing and heating their cunts against her alabaster thighs, one tickling her clitoris, the other digitally investigating her asshole. They all three discharged at the precise instant the two encunted women erupted. "My stars!" cried the pretty hatmaker. "What a wonderful way to spend one's spare time!"
At this crucial juncture there came three swift knocks at the door. A signal I had given to the locksmith. I decunted and went to open it. It was the good artisan indeed. He did not come in, but thrust at me a man wearing a blindfold, his hands tied behind his back. He was covered by a great white woolen overcoat beneath which he was nude. I took him by the arm and pushed him towards the Fronsac mechanical chair, upon which Trait-d'Amour seated his sister and set the thing in operation. Directly the child had been seized by the apparatus, the individual who'd just entered was launched into the fray after his coat had been snatched off him. Now that he was naked, his massive prick provoked a general fright. Remarks such as "Great God!" and "He's lugging a mainmast!" were heard all around. Conquette recognized who it was: she blenched. (The reader is to note that whereas everyone else could speak, Conquette and I had to keep silent.) Minonne, caught fast in the chair, was the only one this prick, which yielded to Fout-à-Mort's in no particular, failed to alarm. She grasped it courageously and popped its head between her cunt lips, advising its owner to push with might and main. The bugger reared back, then lunged ahead, wielding that device like a battering-ram upon a besieged castle's gate; but it did not penetrate. "Raise your ass," the would-be fucker ordered in a brutal tone, "I'm too tall." Minonne adjusted herself, the prick found the gap, and although it required a passage at least twice as broad, it forced its way in. Minonne underwent the ordeal like a true Christian martyr. Sweat and tears rolled down her cheeks. At last, that vast instrument touched bottom and spewed forth its life-giving ichor, and by lubricating the damaged corridor lessened the pain the girl was suffering.
Minonne's cries of distress were succeeded by others of bliss. "Ah! ... Ah! ... He's inundating me ... I'm fucked, I'm discharging, oh, I'm going out of my mind!" And the poor impaled little creature thrashed about like a whore being fucked by a monk in a brothel.
We were all at first dumbfounded with admiration. Then, to a man, our pricks soared rigidly aloft like a quartet of demons. Brisemotte jammed Rose-Mauve from behind, Cordaboyau stuffed Connette from in front; Trait-d'Amour consulted my eyes, pointing first to Conquette, then to Tendrelys. I nodded to him to take the former, whispering to my lieutenant, "He's fucking your sister, do you fuck his wife – it's Vitnègre." Trait-d'Amour leapt with the utmost avidity upon the scoundrel's lady, whom he encunted with such male forthrightness that she uttered a few expostulations, but discharged soon afterwards, her trouble metamorphosing into happiness.
"Whatever wife discharges like that," her fucker stammered, "is a good one. Only those who don't discharge behave badly."
While this was going on, Vitnègre was refucking Minonne and Minonne was redischarging. Rose-Mauve, thrilled with pleasure under Brisemotte, Connette beneath Cordaboyau. Tendrelys, moved by these proceedings, leaned languidly upon my shoulders and gave me her pretty mouth to kiss. Conquette, being reamed by Trait-d'Amour, was weeping, bucking her ass, ejaculating, uttering little cries of joy and envying Minonne her luxurious agonies. "Hey, by God!" her fucker cried to me. "Are you standing by doing nothing? Grease this little slut Tendrelys and depucelate her if you wish to do some honest work." That dear child cast a lingering glance in my direction, and put her hand before her cunt as if to protect it. We had a supply of butter in readiness; I anointed her cunt therewith, lay the virgin upon an unoccupied couch and despite her earnest and touching prayers, my prick entered her.
"At least," said she, feeling herself pierced, "you won't give me to that dreadful man who's doing it to Minonne or to the others – you won't, will you?"
"Wiggle your ass, my sweet!" the stern Trait-d'Amour shouted from where he lay embattled. "Is that the way one fucks? Look alive, d'ya hear! Have a look at my beloved and at the other sluts in the room ... look, whore, look...we're discharging!" Hearing this energetic exhortation, the poor little one struggled beneath me as bravely as she could. I penetrated slowly, cautiously, all the while caressing her, thrusting my tongue into her mouth, quenching her thirst for tenderness.
"Oh, I say!" protested Trait-d'Amour. "You needn't wear kid gloves with her. Go heartily to it, like me and like that black-pricked rascal who's stuffing his victim in the chair. Notice how he bites her nipples when he hasn't a spare hand to fondle them with. Eh, bugger! Don't hurt her, or not too much. She's my sister and I'll cut your throat if we have any nonsense from you ... oh...Oh, I'm discharging a-again!" Vitnègre pronounced an identical statement. "Ah, let him devour me," Minonne exclaimed, "so long as he fucks me!"
Ecstatic cries came from Conquette. As for Tendrelys, I was nearing the bottom of her cuntlet. "Oh, I'm a maid no longer ... I'm discharging ... what ever shall Mamma say?"
"She'll never know, my pretty fuckeress, my former master's prick does no harm to maidenheads," Trait-d'Amour reassured her. At this point, Vitnègre backed out of Minonne, thoroughly done in. Rose-Mauve (whence Brisemotte had decunted) was lubricated for him: the steadfast Minonne's torments had appalled all the other girls. That mule's prick encunted Rose-Mauve with great speed owing to the pommade in her cunt, but she suffered nonetheless: she wept, bled, and finally discharged. She was thrice sprayed, her fucker pausing not once to draw a breath. He'd let fly four times into Minonne's cunt. Connette's turn came. She was more scrupulously pommaded than Rose-Mauve had been, but uttered loud cries all the same. Had she not been in the Fronsac machine, she'd have expelled her torturer. She finally discharged, and waves of pleasure replaced those of pain. But no one expected the effect these butcheries produced; of a sudden, Madame Poilsoyeux announced a desire to be stuffed by her husband's gigantic prick. She made her request in a low voice and asked to be placed on the mechanical chair. Immediately Vitnègre decunted from Connette, whose trick was presently spattered with equal am
ounts of blood and fuck. But Trait-d'Amour, then prowling on the loose, sprang upon and encunted her, saying in a whisper, "Wench, I am jealous of you, for the good Linguet as well as for myself, I'd rather strangle you than let you be fucked in my presence by that cuckold of a husband of yours."
