BOOK II

The French Way

Miss Cavendish doesn't want to play our game any longer. I can see her viewpoint ... Sid's fucked her, I've fucked her, Arthur's fucked her, and she's had enough. As a final spit in her face Sid is prying into her private life ... and Miss Cavendish is very British. Sid wants to know if she has ever sucked a cock, but he won't find out, certainly not the way he's going about it.

Of course she's deserving everything that's happening to her tonight ... every time the hollow voice of conscience gives a burp I remember the teasing this bitch gave me; it helps a great deal to keep me from feeling sorry for her. The really remarkable thing, when you turn the case of Miss Cavendish over in your mind, is that she hasn't been raped before this. A cunt who acts the way she does might as well wear a tag: "Forceful Persuasion Solicited." After a few experiences with Miss Cavendish you begin to feel violent. That she's managed to escape for so long is simply another indication of the general helplessness of the male sex.

Take Sid, for example ... he's been hanging around for a long time and as many things have happened to him as happen to most people, but if the three of us hadn't happened to get together tonight he would probably never have done anything about this bitch the way she was treating him. For that matter, I let her have pretty much her own way with me until tonight. Well, I don't suppose that there will be much tapping on my door from now on ... I suspect that her solitary household here will run more smoothly, with fewer calls for assistance... .

Arthur is almost in tears because he believes that Sid is going to have his dick bitten off before his very eyes. It's an actual phobia with him ... a couple of experiences of his own have given him a bad case of the shits on the subject. He pleads with Sid to leave well enough alone. Throw her another screw, he says, and to Jesus with being sucked off ... . . at least for tonight. Some other time, next time we lay Miss Cavendish, when she's not so overwrought and liable to excesses in one direction or another, it would be a fine thing, he suggests.

 

"How about that?" Sid says to Miss Cavendish. "Do you think you'd feel more like sucking us off some other night? Say ... night after next?"

Asking Miss Cavendish how she's going to feel two nights from now is like asking a drowning man if he's considered where he'll spend his next summer vacation ... she hasn't the time to think about it, but she hopes that there will be another night to put an end to this one. It occurs to me that the reason she hangs onto Sid's and my cocks may be because as long as she has them in her hands we can't fuck her. She stares at the ceiling, looking very long and very naked stretched across the bed, and Sid plays with her cunt. When he pinches it, jism bubbles out.

Arthur thinks we ought to screw her again and at once. "Full measure," he says. He gives a little lecture on the subject of our obligation both to those who came before us and those who are to come after. The first lay, he declares, was for pleasure only ... the second is a responsibility we have taken onto our shoulders. The second round, it seems, is the one that really counts, the one that takes the nonsense out of her.

"Shit, don't you see how it is?" he says, sounding the slightest bit drunk. "Now we've got her so she won't tease us again... . but that isn't enough. We have to fix her so she won't tease anybody, and that means we have to give her another ...

shit, anybody can see that."

Just how this conclusion is arrived at is not as clear as it might be, but no one disputes Arthur's logic. Sid tells him to go on and fuck her.

"I'd do it myself," Sid says, "but I can't bear to take my dong away from her.

Doesn't she hold it nice? Just like it was a flower or something." He chucks Miss Cavendish under the chin.

Arthur swats his dong a couple of times. It's limp as a rag, and it's apparently going to stay that way.

"It isn't that I don't feel like screwing her," he explains. "But Jesus, I just climbed off her. You can't expect it to bounce right up again. How about you, Alf?"

When Arthur says that, I can feel the cunt's fingers twitch and tighten on my prick. She's still scared, and it seems that she's finding out if I am in condition to take her over. John Thursday's in fine shape... .

 

"Don't do it anymore ..." Miss Cavendish without her glasses is remarkably good-looking, and she almost succeeds in making me feel that we're playing her a dirty trick. "I won't inform on you, I promise, if you don't do anymore to me... ... ."

She won't inform on us! Female logic is enough to make a man slit his throat.

She's been criminally ... actually criminally teasing Sid and me for days ... before that ... God knows how many men or how many years. She's thrown that cunt in our faces and then snatched it away at the last minute often enough to make gibbering idiots of us, and chronic masturbators as well. But now ... SHE's going to refrain from informing on US! I almost throw my cock up under her tail ... if John Thursday had feet only his toes would be sticking out.

"This one's for the time you needed me to set the mousetrap," I tell her, and in goes my cock again. "And this one's for the time you wanted me to hang your pictures while you skittered around in a bathrobe that kept falling almost off.

And this one's for the window that got stuck ... the closet that wouldn't open ...

the wallpaper that came loose... ."

I have a list that could go on for several minutes, but I never could talk as fast as I could fuck. I hammer my dick into that bitch's fig until it's ready to split completely. But she's too unresisting now ... I give her ass a pinch to put some salt under her tail ...

"She's a hell of a cunt," Arthur says disgustedly. "Either she wiggles too much or you can't get a move out of her. Maybe we ought to teach her how to fuck as long as we are here. Fuck, damn it, or I'll piss in your ear ..."

Miss Cavendish comes back to life sufficiently to inform Arthur that she isn't going to be intimidated. We may be able to rape her, but she won't be coerced ...

we can subdue her body, but not her will, etc. etc...

"Maybe we'll have to put the screws on, Sid," Arthur says.

"Yeah, it looks like we'll have to make things a lot clearer ... look, bitch, did anyone ever lay a fat turd over your pretty nose and then wipe their ass on your hair? Then give you a bowl of piss to wash in? Or take pictures to peddle on the Boulevard des Capucines and maybe send to some of your friends back in England? No, I didn't think so ..."

Miss Cavendish quiets down at once. Arthur chimes in ... he has always wanted to make some photographs to end all photographs. He has some ideas ...

 

Miss Cavendish with a Roman candle firing out of her ass and a black turd held in her toes, patriotically waving the tricolor... Miss Cavendish standing on her head or hung by her toes in a corner while a mangy street dog ... or perhaps a fat little boy ... tries his aim on her ...

"Or would you rather be a nice girl and fuck?" he asks.

It is very difficult for Miss Cavendish to make herself bump bottoms with me.

But Sid and Arthur have scared the piss out of her ... she believes us capable of doing anything. Sid calls for more enthusiasm ...

"Allegro con moto," he shouts at her. "Jesus, what a lousy motion you've got!

Hey, is that the way you think people fuck? No wonder you don't lay... ."

"That's strictly a play-with-yourself motion," Arthur advises Sid. "It gets to be a habit, sort of ... but if you put your prick up their ass a few times that goes away."

"Will you shut up?" I yell at them. "She'd be all right if you'd leave her alone ...

shit, I've paid good money for worse fucking than this ..."

Miss Cavendish doesn't care for the compliment. She tries to look reproachful but succeeds only in looking slightly dazed. My cock slips out of her fig and she holds her ass up so I can get it back in ...

Arthur swears that she's beginning to like it ... Sid says that he's merely imagining things.

"She isn't supposed to like it," Sid says. "If she likes it then we aren't doing it right. How about that, Alf ... do you think she likes it?"

I can't think about anything but my cock ... it's lost up in her tail, and I'm coming... .

Sid's ready to take her next. The bitch doesn't even close her legs after I'm through with her ... she keeps them spread and waits for Sid to climb on ... We've stopped pretending to hold her, so I sit on a chair and watch from across the room.

Sid fucks her for a long time. When things begin to get too hot for him and he's ready to pop off he stops and rests, and Miss Cavendish doesn't know any better than to stop too. If she'd gone on fucking he'd be finished in half the time, but as soon as he stops poking his dong into her she quits too. I become tired just from watching them ...

 

"You know, she's really not too bad," Sid says critically during one of the pauses. "If we come up here real often we might be able to make a real cunt out of her. Say ... well could you spare two nights a week, Arthur?"

But the threats are having less effect on Miss Cavendish now ... perhaps she's convinced that nothing worse can happen to her or perhaps she knows that we're shitting her. She looks at Arthur's cock ... it's been swelling up in her hand.

"Stop shitting around and get her fucked, will you?" Arthur complains. "I got this thing up again, but it won't stay that way all night ..."

Sid rams his dong under her ass and closes his arms around her like a crab ...

Miss Cavendish lets out one little squeak and then everything is quiet. Sid is shaky when he pulls his dick out again ...

Arthur takes a squint into Miss Cavendish's bonne-bouche. How to Jesus, he wants to know, is anyone going to fuck a trap like that? It has to be bailed out first ... otherwise he might just as well stick his prick into a pail of hot milk.

Sid tells him not to be such a dope ... all that's necessary is to give it to her from in back. Just put her on her belly and it will be all right ... everything will run forward in her then, he explains.

"Here, we'll turn her over," he says. But before he touches her, Miss Cavendish rolls over by herself.

"That's fine," Arthur says rather surprisedly. "Now just stick your ass up to where I can get this thing under it ..."

It's really funny to see Miss Cavendish shove her behind up and then look around to see what's going on. I begin to laugh and when Sid and Arthur start too Miss Cavendish looks as uncomfortable as I've ever seen a woman look.

Arthur smacks her on the ass ... She hides her face in her arms when he screws her ...

Sid makes a farewell speech while he is climbing into his pants. Modesty! Miss Cavendish covers herself with a sheet and keeps her eyes turned away until we're all safely in our clothes. We have found her hospitality bewitching, Sid tells her ...

perhaps we may call again tomorrow ... say at nine? ... and he has a friend or two who would like to know her ...

 

Ernest sits rolling a cigarette, spilling most of the tobacco down his coat front.

Ernest grew up in Oklahoma and never allows you to forget it. He talks of going back there some fine day, but he never will. He can't go back because there never was such a place as the one where Ernest thinks he grew up ...

He admires the hanging I bought from the Chinese cunt. Very nice, he says, and does everything seem to be all right with my cock? In that case, then, perhaps he may take a stroll down to her shop himself one afternoon.

And what about his little girl, the one I found him in bed with a few morning ago? Oh, that little bitch! But wouldn't he like to get his hands on her! He kicked her out one day when he had a cunt coming up to his place, and she wrecked the place next day when he was out. She pulled his books from the shelves, tore all his papers in the desk, cut his mattress with a razor, then took a shit just inside his doorway where he stepped in it when he came in.

"Kids," he says ... ... "Christ, they're horrible, especially the precocious ones.

That little cunt, for instance ... she's as vindictive as a woman and she has the awful imagination of children. Jesus, it scares me to think of kids ... they like Red Ridinghood and the wolf in bed ..."

Ernest wants to know if I'd like to see his Spanish cunt, the one his Lesbian painter was after. She hangs around in some spic joint where you can see a real Spanish flamenco... .

On the way out I stop and listen at Miss Cavendish's door. There isn't a sound in there. There hasn't been all day, and a telegram has been stuck on the knob since morning...

 

A hag, evil and old as the witch of the fairy tales, tends the cloakroom. In America, no matter how slimy the joint, they'd have something young and sexy to park your hat ... but these people are realists ... to them a good-looking bitch in a cloakroom is a waste of the worst sort. Anyone can hang up your coat, but a handsome cunt can be put to better use ... Ernest whispers to me that you make appointments for the back rooms with this ancient broomstick galloper... .

The joint is full of Spanish sailors, pimps and whores. Those I can pick out.

The others ... God knows ... you'd have to read their police records to learn what or who they are. Ernest finds his cunt immediately.

 

"Hands off," he says from the corner of his mouth as we go to her table. "And stick to the wine here ... it's safer."

The place has a sour stink of old food and stale beer. I'm glad that we ate before we came here... .

Ernest needn't have warned me about his cunt ... we don't like each other.

She's pretty enough, and I suppose I could lay her without having to turn out the lights, but we simply don't attract each other. She and Ernest begin to argue about the Lesbian ... she thinks he's being stupid about it ... the Lesbian gave her presents, and Ernest doesn't. I begin to feel bored ...

The little orchestra pounds away on the jerky tunes ... One thing about those fellows, they're persistent! One at a time three women dance ... they all have gold teeth. It's all so terrible that even a tourist would know that this is authentic ...

the real thing ... An hour drags off like a lamb chicken ...

Without any warning whatsoever a girl comes onto the floor. She's veiled, but you can see that she's young and a very pretty cunt. The bozos who've been making all the noise put their guitars down ...

"Flamenca," Ernest says, "they tell me she's the youngest girl dancing it... . I mean really dancing it."

For all I know it may be just so much shit ... but people who claim to know have told me it takes ten years to make a flamenca. Ten years to learn to do a dance that takes ten minutes! It's one of those things that don't interest me very much ... it all seems like such a fucking lot of wasted effort, like learning the Bible by heart. But anyway, it's supposed to take ten years, and therefore the women who dance the flamenco are all past the age where they ought to be doing that kind of dance.

But this girl! Ernest's girl sees the way I'm watching her and tells me that the flamenca performs again, in a room upstairs, to a more restricted audience. She ripples her shawl, clicks the castenets. The dance begins, and you can see at once that this cunt knows what she's about. The idea of the flamenco seems to be that if it gives you a hard on it's well done... .

"What's her name?" I ask, as the cunt whirls by and gives me a look that spells bedroom. "What about this dance she does upstairs?"

 

"You have to see Grandma out in the cloakroom about that," Ernest says. "The girl's name is Rosita... . but watch out! That little rose has thorns." ... . .

She warms your blood, this cunt. She puts pepper under your tail... . John Thursday sniffs cunt somewhere in the air and raises his head. Ernest and his bitch are playing with each other under the table. If the dance lasted another three minutes Rosita would have everyone in the place jerking off... .

The girl swirls off with a twist of her ass that wraps her heavy Spanish skirt and the petticoats under it around her legs. I turn to Ernest. I have to know if this show upstairs is a fake.

"Look Alf," he says, "All I know is that she dances naked upstairs. I never saw it or anything.

"Why don't we go up and take a look at it ... all of us?"

But ladies aren't allowed. It's for men only, and Ernest doesn't want to leave his cunt now. Well I'll go up ... I go out to the cloakroom and haggle with Granny... . I simply have to see it.

Upstairs, in a room without windows and without air, there are about twenty men sitting at tables and gabbing. Not so many sailors here ... mostly greasy men in business suits and wearing flashy diamonds as big as your balls... I grab the only good place left and order wine.

They don't keep you waiting long. In America, at a show like this, they'll jack the price of drinks up four times and then hold out on you until the rent for that month had been collected. But here as soon as everybody who's coming up is there, the girl comes on... .

Rosita appears at one side. Naked, shit... . she's worse than naked... . She wears a high comb and the mantilla is long ... the end of it just touches her ass.

Red slippers with very high heels, BLACK STOCKINGS! The stockings come high on her thighs, and to keep them up she has tied the garters very tightly ... the skin pinches out over the edges ... Over one arm she carries a lace shawl ... also black. Then, a touch of the old crap, a rose in her hair.

She doesn't begin to dance until she's paraded across the floor, giving us all a chance to see just what we're getting. My cock comes up like something on strings ... A sailor tries to grab at her ass, but she twists by him. I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd tried to bite it.

 

She has hair, this cunt, and you can see it through the lace shawl that she droops from her arm so that it just covers her bonne-bouche ... Her mop looks more like the black fur of some animal than like an ordinary bush. But she carries the shawl so well that you never get a peep at her trap until she's ready to show it to you.

Whether you'd call her young or not depends on where you grew up and what your tastes are... . she's eighteen, and she has bubs that make you think of going on a milk diet. They're big and they wiggle, and the nipples are like red knobs ...

Her ass wobbles every time she takes a step, and around her waist there are the marks of the corset she's just taken off... they make you think of the whip... .

She's left the veil off, and while a Spaniard would probably have reservations about her looks (they look for the woman; they know their girls don't last long), she's just the kind of cunt I would go looking for if I had an itch for some Latin tail. I take a look around the room. Every eye is fixed on her like a rubber stamp.

Christ, she must feel that she's being eaten every time she comes out to dance... .

I don't know what they pay girls to do this sort of thing. It's not like being just another whore... . Take a whore ... a man comes to her with an itch in his britches and she does her best to fix it up. It's a service, really a kindness of the whore. But to go out in front of twenty men every time you perform ... to go out and deliberately put that itch in their pants ... that's really whoring. What it amounts to is going out there and being asked to be ravaged, teasing men up until every one of them is fucking the Jesus out of you in his imagination. Then, when you've taken it, what can there be left for you? Christ, they'll have to invent a new currency ... . there's nothing in the Bank of France to pay for that ...

Rosita's heels tap the floor like pebbles on a roof. She throws her head back, and her teeth gleam ... her teats rise, and her belly is thrust forward ... the shawl sways ...

John Thursday sticks out like the sawed-off limb of a tree. If I wanted to I couldn't keep him down ... not with that bitch throwing herself in front of him ...

She whirls across the room and her shawl seeps up ... her belly is dark and hairy

... a fingerline of hair twists up it from her bush... her fig is a red bulge, split moistly down the center... looking fecund and open.

 

Her heels stamp louder and her teats jump with every step she takes ... her eyes begin to look slightly drunk.

"Dance, you cocksucker, dance!" someone shouts in Spanish. Everyone in the room laughs, and Rosita tosses a dark smile over her shoulder. Someone pinches her ass. She shrills and leaps away, changing the leap into a bold drunken step and the cry into a dancing shout ... Her hips squirm wildly ... . .

"Ah!" the cry comes from many throats as the dance changes. She's fucking now, fucking some image in her mind ... Fucking all of us ... She throws her ass forward and back... You can almost see the fingers running across her belly, down her arms, along the moving hips... . .

No one in the room moves now ... Rosita lays her hands on her hips, turning slowly until she has faced every table, offering her cunt to every man ... Hungry eyes bulge from inflamed faces on every side... she is ringed, walled in by lust ...

wherever she turns there is a pair of eyes to take her ... She cowers into a smaller and smaller circle until she is standing in the center of the floor turning slowly on tip-toe.

Every man who watches her now ... . they see her before them, supplicating pity ... Rosita falls slowly to her knees ... . her head bows as she reaches forward

... her mouth seems to meet something with a wolfish, obscene noise ... She is forced backward, bracing herself with arms that cannot resist the pressure that strains downward against them ... Her knees spread as her body goes back ... the men begin to howl... .

And the bitch can laugh then! She rocks with high, contemptuous laughter, letting her body fall backward, spreading her knees further, showing her cunt up

... The room growls angrily. Rosita's laugh rises like a tide of hysteria over the muttering roar that creeps toward her... .

"Filthy beast!" a man spits at her as she laughs in his face. A sailor tosses his beer. I can feel my balls creeping in my pants ... Christ, can't the bitch see what's doing? Some of these bozos are drunk enough to beat her to death ... One big bastard knocks over his chair and sways toward her ... he stands over her and raises his fists over his head ... Rosita laughs and his face grows livid ... the muscles bunch heavily in his arms ...

 

Somehow the cunt is on her feet. The big guy reaches towards her like a bear

... and she throws her open shawl in his face. As she runs to the door someone catches her mantilla ... the comb is yanked from her head and her hair falls down over her shoulders... .

I know one thing ... in three minutes there'll be twenty men at the cloakrooms arguing with Granny. Shit, maybe they line up at Rosita's door ... I run down the stairs... .

"Quick! That girl who dances upstairs ..."

The hag takes my money and counts out the change in a saucer. Number three along the back hallway ... She's a very nice child, willing, and sure to please

...

Rosita is sitting on a small iron bed smoking a tobacco-wrapped cigarillo. She is exactly as she was when she ran out of the room ... her breath still comes quickly ...

"I thought it would be you," she says. Then she adds, "I hoped it would be you

..."

All of her customers may get the same line ... that doesn't matter. I look her over and grab for her fig. She laughs and throws the cigarillo away. Her belly feels hot and slightly sweaty.

Her eyes, while I'm taking off my clothes, remind me of those of the men who watched her dance. She looks at John T. as though she'd like to bite his head off

... She's hot, there's no question about it... .

"Look," she says. She spreads her legs and gives me a peep at her conillon.

There's a juice between her thighs; she has a small river under her ass. She lies back in my arms while I feel her up ... suddenly her teeth prick my arm like hot needles.

I can give her what she wants ... she grabs my balls and rubs the knobs of her bubs against my chest, then her fingers catch my dong by the throat... . she yanks John Thursday's beard and tickles his chin. She makes a soft, pleased sound like a cat, when she finds how hard he is. When I feel her up she begins kicking her toes into the bed ... the covers become a mess, hard and lumpy under us ... Rosita squeezes my thighs between her legs rubbing her bush and her cunt against me ... she's playing with herself against my leg, and that hairy belly is tickling my hip.

I drag her from the bed and put her on her knees, exactly as she was at the climax of the dance. She looks up at me... .

She knows what I want ... My dong quivers in front of her... . She places her hands against my knees and bends . . she takes my prick in her mouth and sucks, waiting for me to force her backward... .

Laugh now, you bitch! Try to laugh with that cock in your mouth! Try to spill your laugh around the edges, into my bush, it will catch in the bristles... . I'll push your laughter down your throat, cram it into your belly and out your ass... .

I'll make your laugh a slobber, and after I've come, your laughter will be choked with jism ... when you giggle little squirts of jism will come out of your ears ...

and for hearty laughter you will have special tears of jism ... . to drip from your nose ... . .

Rosita's braced arms give under my pushing ... her knees spread and she drops back until her hair sweeps the floor. I kneel, keeping my cock in her mouth, and she sucks, digging her fingers into my hips. I feel her belly rising and falling under my ass ... I give her bubs a pinch and make her lick her slobbering off my balls ...

She can't swallow the jism when I come! Her head is too low and she chokes when she tries to do it ... but I hold her, I keep my dick in her mouth until things are steady again, and then I find that she's still sucking it. She hasn't stopped, not for an instant, and she has a mouthful of jism that she can't swallow.

I lift her up, put one arm around her, and get my hand in her hair. She shakes her head ... she won't swallow it. She turns away from me and we wrestle on the rug for a few moments. Suddenly she laughs and opens her mouth to show me that it's gone.

She lies on her belly while I sit on the floor and she begins licking my dick again. Her tongue wiggles around my balls and she kisses them. Did I like her dance, she wants to know? It's like that every time she dances, she tells me ...

she shows them everything, and they end up growling. One night a Negro, a big black fellow with blue lips, slashed her with a razor ... she shows me a fine, raised line diagonally across her belly... . Afterward he came in and fucked her and stayed all night... . the only Negro she ever allowed Grandma to send to her room.

I wonder why there hasn't been someone else along to bang at the door yet.

Oh, but that isn't the way she does it. Sometimes she takes one . . never more than three after she's danced. Now and then she lets two men in at once, but never any more. She could have them all if she wanted to, but she only did that once. Fifteen men, one right after the other just after she'd danced! And they were so rough she was afraid ... she had to have two of them thrown out.

How long had she been dancing? She doesn't know ... she thinks she was twelve when her father had her take off her clothes and dance naked for some men ... he kept a bar back home in Madrid. She remembers that she was scared

... one of the men wanted to fuck her and her father caught him playing with her on a dark porch later ... her father knocked him down the step... . She lied and said that he really hadn't done anything to her ... . she'd been kissing his prick and putting it into her mouth... . .

Telling me this, she kisses my dong and puts it into her mouth. I'm getting another hard on ... she licks my legs and my belly. She likes me, she tells me ... if I hadn't come to her room she intended to go downstairs and look for me. Would I like to arrange to stay all night? It won't cost me any more, and she'll guarantee that she can give me more erections than any other girl in the place ...

I explain that I'm with friends, that I'll have to go down soon ... and the cunt actually appears to be disappointed. She puts my prick in her mouth and sucks me off for an other few minutes ... then she gets up and lies on the bed with her legs spread. She strokes her bush as though she were in love with what's down there.

John Thursday appears to have forgotten that he's just had a French lesson.

He's up and ready to keep an appointment with the split peach lying in halves between Rosita's thighs. When I go to her the cunt sticks her legs up into the air, waving them and her arms like crabs waving claws.

Rosita has a big cunt once it's opened and spread before you . . I wish that I had a flashlight so I could look into that dark hole. It looks like the Hole of Calcutta ... I can almost imagine the bodies of all the men who've ever tried to fuck it lying in a pile inside. With a hole like that you ought to be able to look in a straight line to her back teeth.

But I have a dong to fill it ... I grab Rosita's waving legs and push them up until her knees are on her teats. My end of her is all ass and cunt ... nothing else.

I slip my prick under her tail and it disappears into the center of her bush.

Doesn't she wiggle them? Even before I get my cock into action she's hopping as though I'd shoveled a bucket of hot coals into her furnace door. She reaches down to her ass and yanks my balls until I'm beginning to worry about the hinges coming loose . . She's coming, she howls ... I suck her teats ... I've got an erupting volcano on my hands.

I haven't really begun to fuck her until that first hurdle is taken. Then I settle down on her, go to it as though I expected to spend a few years there. . In three minutes I have her gasping ... in five she's asking for mercy.

When I come it's like lying on the bed and feeling the room flop over a couple of times. It hits me hard in the pit of my stomach. Everything's distorted, but I hear Rosita cooing ... it's hit her too.

She's a loony bitch . . as soon as I'm off her she throws herself on her belly on the floor ... she kisses my feet and bites my toes ... I have to stay, she says ... I can't go and take such a wonderful cock out of her life. She wants me to stay all night ... all week ... it won't cost anything. She looks at my clothes ... she'll buy me a new suit ... a lot of new suits. What she's saying is that she wants me to be her pimp ... her last one she tells me, got drunk and fell out of a window a month ago ...

Shit, I haven't time to be anybody's pimp ... and besides I couldn't stand the Spanish temperament for more than a couple of weeks. I try to explain, but she won't listen ... she's got a bug in her head and the more I explain the more she insists. Her voice raises and she begins to get sore. I get sore too ... I had a swell fuck, but I didn't pay money to fight with anybody. I yell back at her. Finally I begin to dress.

I'm standing with everything on but one shoe ... when I see the wicked little knife in her hand. I grab a brush from the bureau and peg at her. I miss, and so does she ... the knife slithers against the wall and falls.

 

I go hopping out into the hall on one shoe ... Rosita runs for the knife again.

We yell at each other through the open door until I see her lift her arm again ...

then I slam the door shut. There's a sound like that of bone shattering ... it's the thin door panel ... the black point of the knife is pricking through. She has a strong arm, that crazy whore ... and much too good an aim. I put on my other shoe and get the fuck out of there.

Ernest isn't downstairs. He and his cunt are off playing bumpbottom I suppose. I get my hat from the withered old bitch at the cloakroom. Did I have a good time she asks? I must come again sometime ... ... .

 

Miss Cavendish is no longer with us. The neighborhood, she told the concierge, was not quite what she wanted ... So she packed her things and took a sneak. Sid says that he saw her on the boulevard Saint-Germain a couple of days ago. When she saw him, he said, she positively ran in the other direction, jumped in a taxi and disappeared.

In the meantime I see a Spaniard behind every street post. I'm certain that the cunt Rosita has put a couple of her boyfriends after me ... I expect the knife in my back every time I walk down a dark street. It's gotten so that I take the corners wide and jump when a kid comes running out of a doorway. I'm hoping I call keep myself intact until Rosita finds something else to occupy her time and mind.

Jesus, these cunts! If they don't own you they want to kill you, or if they don't want to kill you they want to kill themselves. It's in France, and especially in Paris, that you become fully conscious of the awfulness of women; it's no accident that the French novel has come to be a by-word for a dither and fuss over who loved who and why not. There's something in the very air which makes you constantly aware of the tricks and intrigues of women.

Carl's Toots, for example. She's off now to catch herself a rich American.

Living with Carl has become too impossible, she tells me. The truth probably is that Carl is running short of money ... if she found that Carl had just come into a few hundred thousand I imagine she would find living with him much easier.

Anyway, Toots has found her rich American and she's getting him ready for the hook. She tells me she'll probably marry him. He owns a chain of grocery stores in America and he hasn't any family or any kids. But before she can get him to marry her she has to get him to lay her... without looking like a bitch. He's a very moral old bastard, Toots tells me ... he doesn't even try to feel her up ... it has her worried.

Alexandra is having a moral convulsion. A letter from her, and she has gone back to the church ... not the Greek Orthodox of Russia . . blazing Roman Catholicism. A priest calls on her three times a week to instruct her, and she's sent the children off to the country. Her letter is mystic ... a mystic letter from that cunt! It is all I can do to finish it. There doesn't seem to be an answer called for ... Alexandra has found the answer to everything ... . . at least for awhile ...

 

Anna is feeling low. I meet her on the street--she's not going anywhere and neither am I, so we get drunk. She wants to cry at first, but a few drinks fix that.

At first I think she has the rag on, but that's not what's wrong ... . it's just that she's a woman she says, and without talent. If a man felt the way she does he'd beat his mistress or go to a prize fight. She's restless, the days go by and she does nothing with them. If she could only paint or write books! Or even if she had a job to go to every day. But she can't paint or write and she doesn't need a job ...

she'd get tired of getting up every morning after a week ...

I'm positive that what she needs is a good fuck. Something happens in women's heads when they're deprived for too long of that little parcel of happiness between their legs. I ask when she's been taken to bed last.

She's been taken to bed often enough, Anna says, but it hasn't been as good as it ought to be. To tell the truth she hasn't been coming ... the man who's keeping her is too old to fuck her as often as he tries to and he makes a bother of it... . If he'd just try to give her a good lay once every two weeks or even once a month! But no, he has to show her what a man he is and it isn't any good.

To tell the truth, Anna finally confesses, she hasn't come since that unmentionable night at my place ... since she got scared and ran out without her clothes. Not of course, that she believes in doing that sort of thing. But what she did that night ... the way she acted ... frightened her so that she resolved to be faithful to her admirer. He's the only one who's laid her since that night when she let the three of us gang up on her ... and as she said... .

 

Anna doesn't mind giving me a feel, but she doesn't think it's nice to play with each other with so many people around. Nevertheless I slip my hand under her dress and tickle her thighs until she's squirming on the seat. It becomes more fun with each drink, and Anna eventually moves her chair around so that she can slip her fingers into my fly, too.

In the back of the taxi while we are being driven to my place, things become a great deal warmer. I pull Anna's dress up and take her pants off, and she brings Jean Jeudi out into the night air. She lets me tickle her crotch, but I mustn't try to play dirty finger with her ... the driver would smell it. Shit, if he doesn't smell it already there's something wrong with him. I grab her and try to play with her anyway. Anna falls drunkenly off the seat and puts her head in my lap. She'll do THIS, she whispers, if I'll be quiet until we arrive. I let her do it ... I lean back in the seat and watch Anna sucking my dong until we stop at my door.

Then upstairs, the surprise. Toots is curled in front of the doorway, stinking drunk and asleep. She doesn't wake up when I shake her ... she moans and begins to make a racket, so Anna and I take her by the heels and drag her in... .

Anna is laughing.

Toots lies sprawled in the center of the floor with her legs apart and her dress up to her belly. She's wearing pants but her bush sticks out around the edges between her thighs. Anna tickles her and she kicks her feet.

Anna gets a crazy idea. She wants to undress Toots and she thinks I ought to fuck her while she's asleep! My God, the purity of women! And Anna's a moral cunt, too ... at least as moral as women ever get to be. There's something in a woman's make-up that makes them a fuck of a lot more interested in other women than you think they ought to be. Take two men and one woman, and one of the men passed out, and the chances are ninety to one that the only one who got his prick played with would be the one who was still on his feet. It's certain that if anything happened to the lush, it would be the woman's idea.

Anna unfastens Toots's dress and takes it off carefully over her head. Then she sits down with her skirt tucked up in such a way that I can see her cunt and begins to feel Toots up. It's more curiosity than anything else . . she wants to see what the cunt does when she feels somebody's hands on her ... but it looks damned queer. She knows all the best places, too, being a woman... .

 

Toots doesn't do anything at first. She lies like a rock while Anna gives her teats a squeeze and a pinch and takes off her brassiere. Anna tickles her belly and her crotch ... she begins to feel her thighs and rub them.

"I feel like one of those damned Lesbians," Anna says. She means it ... she tries to laugh, but her voice sounds strange. I pour myself a drink and sit down to watch ... on top of having Anna suck my prick in a taxi, this business gives me a bastard of a dong.

Anna doesn't touch Toots's fig. She rubs all around it, pulls Toots's pants down and almost off, reaches between her thighs to give her ass a feel. Toots half wakes and wiggles ... she reaches for Anna's hand and holds it ... then pushes it across her con. Anna giggles but she's blushing in a way I never saw her blush before. She plays with Toots's bonne-bouche, touching the upper part of the split but not putting her fingers into it.

"She's dreaming of you," she says.

Toots must be dreaming of something ... she closes her legs and holds Anna's hand between them, then opens them as far as they will spread.

"So this is what it's like to be a man," says Anna. "I used to wonder ..." She slips her finger into Toots's abricot-fendu and moves it around. "My God, it feels queer. I'm glad I'm not a man! All that hair tickling your finger ..."

"Stop shitting me, Anna. Your own hair has tickled your finger plenty of times."

"That's different," she tells me. "Besides I haven't played with myself since I was a girl ..."

Anna wants me to climb on Toots and fuck her. Fuck that, I tell her ... if Toots ever comes back to life I might screw her; but to put meat up her legs when she's a corpse ... it's a sheer waste of cock. When I lay a cunt I like her to feel it, to know what's going in and to yell at the right times.

Anna lays her head along Toots's thigh and pets her belly. She's never had her nose so close to a cunt, she tells me ... it's an odd smell when you get so close.

I leave her there while I go out to take a piss ... . I have to do something or John T. is simply going to drown in his own water. When I come back Anna sits up very quickly ... She's wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She's been licking Toots's fig, the bitch! I can tell it just by looking at her, and she knows it's no secret ... she pushes off her shoes and curls her toes.

"Don't stop on my account," I tell her.

"Listen Alf," she says, speaking very quickly, "you have to believe me ... I never did such a thing in my life! I just wondered... . I wanted to know what it was like... . I think I... . I must be pretty drunk ..."

She is pretty drunk. And I believe her, of course. Shit, haven't any reason not to believe her ... Anna's no girl lover. But she's a filthy bitch ... I don't imagine that there's much she wouldn't try if she were hot enough and drunk enough.

"Well, what is it like?" I ask her.

She doesn't know. Really she just doesn't know, she says. She was just starting it when I came back. I tell her to go on from where she left off ... as long as she's begun it, now's no time to leave off.

"Damn it, I think you'd like to see me do it," Anna says. "I think you'd like to watch me lick this girl's cunt in addition to everything else you know about me ...

things that nobody should know ... that should never have happened."

"Oh stop farting around and do it! What the fucking Jesus do you think I am?

Christ, if you don't I'll come over there and hold your nose in it, like a cat that's shit in the wrong place ..."

Anna takes off Toots's shoes and stockings and pants she gets down on her belly and looks into that split fig, taking a good peek. It looks like a sideways mouth she says, with a curly beard growing all around it... . She runs her red tongue along Toots's thigh and into her bush ... she licks over the mop and touches Toots's cunt with the end of her tongue. It slips in ...

So unexpectedly that even I jump, Toots wakes up. Bang ... . . like that, with no warning. She sits up and stares down at Anna, who hasn't had time to move.

One look around and then at me to get her bearings. Then she grabs Anna by the hair and yanks her head away from her fig.

"You dirty whore!" she yells. "No wonder I had such dreams! Pervert! Look at your mouth! Oh my God, wipe off your dirty chin!"

She shoves her pants into Anna's face and mops off the juice. I begin to laugh at them . . they look so silly, those two bitches, each glaring at the other and each scared shitless of the other. I explain to Toots ... it's all a mistake, etc., etc., and when I've told my little story she suggests we have a glass of wine and become friends again. Whatever else you might have against Toots, she's better tempered than most cunts ...

Just the same, Toots says, Anna shouldn't have done that. Now Toots is hot, and when she's hot as she is now she can't cool of unless she's fucked and fucked and fucked and FUCKED! She and Anna fall into each others arms, drunkenly amiable. Toots wants Anna to undress.

"I want to see if those things are real," she says pointing to Anna's bubs.

Anna's proud as a pigeon of those teats she sports ... . the one sure way of getting her out of her clothes is to admire her front profile. She strips ... and why she has to take off her shoes to show her teats God alone knows. But I can't complain ... Here I am in my own place, with the rent paid, drunk, and with two swell-looking and naked cunts on my hands. Jesus, I feel like the lord of the manor... .

They park their asses, one on each side of me, on the couch. I put an arm around Toots and an arm around Anna and give their teats a feel. When you have a normal pair of bubs to compare them with, Anna's seem bigger than ever. She opens my fly and takes my cock out... . Toots wants to play with it too ... they both begin diddling me... .

There's one thing very wrong with having two bitches ready to fuck at the same time. Having only one cock is bad enough in itself, but the real trouble is the one who is fucked last is liable to get angry and never get over it. The logical thing to do is to screw Anna, of course... . Toots is the big game hunter these days. But still, I don't exactly relish trying Toots's good temper too far ... one bunch of spics dogging my footsteps all day is more than I can handle as it is... .

Fortunately there is a friendly solution. Toots, it appears, really liked having Anna lick her fig ... she shouldn't have made such a fuss, but she was startled, etc. And if Anna would like to do it just a bit more ... but just a bit ... . and then if I would fuck her ... oh, but just a bit ... . she'd like that too, and I'd still be able to fuck Anna.

Anna is doubtful. She doesn't really do that sort of thing she explains ... it was just a caprice. But, well, she's so positive that Toots won't say anything to anyone

... and of course I won't ... We end up with me sitting at one end of the couch, my feet toward the other end, and Anna lying on her back with her head in my lap.

Then Toots gets on her, kneeling with her legs outside of mine. John Thursday is lost somewhere in Anna's hair, and I can't see Anna's face because it's under Toots's ass ... but I can hear her sucking ... she's chewing the Jesus out of Toots's fig ... Toots puts her arms around me, shoves her bubs against my cheek, and sucks my tongue... ... .

Anna seems to be doing her part since she's been persuaded. Toots wiggles and puts her mouth against my ear. Over her shoulder I can see Anna diddling herself... . .

"She's licking my ass," Toots whispers to me. She looks down at Anna ...

"Please, please put your tongue in it ... up ... in there ... put it in ... Put it in ..."

I can't see what's going on down there but Toots keeps me informed. Anna's put her tongue in Toots's rectum, and it's so soft and squirmy! What a pair of cunts I have here! I grab Toots's foot and feel around her ass with my fingers... . .

And that bitch Toots! She throws her teats in my face, gives them to me to suck and bite, then reaches down and grabs a handful of Anna's hair and my dong with it ... Christ what a way to have your cock played with! If I don't get fucked in a minute I'm going to come into Anna's permanent.

Toots is ready for it, too. She gets up, takes a look at Anna's face, then turns around and sticks her ass out for Anna to kiss. And Anna, the filthy cunt, kisses it! She licks the cheeks ... licks between them ... finally presses her mouth between them and gives Toots a kiss, a regular smacker.

I jump up and throw both cunts together on the couch... . I spread Toots's legs and hold Anna's head down against her bush ... I want to see her licking Toots's fig ... . and I do. She pushes Toots's thighs further apart and acts as though she were trying to go into it head first... ...

Toots is beginning to feel crazy, too ... ... she wants to try tete-beche with Anna. They get together and go after each other, and Toots is just as filthy as Anna... . They lock together like a Chinese wood puzzle, their arms around each other's waists, their heads under each other's tails, their fat asses sticking out, each with a head beneath it... . Toots is on the outside, and I climb up next to her ... I can look into Anna's mop and watch what Toots is doing to that slippery peach she's biting.

 

Suddenly the lights go out and we're in darkness so black that I can't see a thing. I've been pushing my cock against Toots's ass trying to get it in ... but Anna gets it and begins sucking it ... she slips it out of her mouth ... . the crazy whore ... she's licking my dong and putting it into Toots's cunt at the same time!

Well, if she wants to watch the works she can ... I start fucking Toots and Anna is licking both of us, sucking Toots's fig and even while my dick is going in and out of it!

Being drunk and in the dark it is much easier to do something than it might ordinarily be ... Anna takes my cock again, sucks it, and puts John Thursday's nose against Toots's rectum ... I get in it and Anna's still trying to lick it... .

It's too easy to forget where you are though ... These cunts act as though they were on a full-sized bed. I'm pushed to the edge of the couch and when I feel myself falling, I grab ... . all of us go onto the floor ... . I feel an ass sticking up ...

. I climb on and try to get John Thursday back in where he was ... . Anna yells and pushes me off again ... someone's got my cock in her mouth ... . the other is licking my ass and climbing over me ... . I smell cunt and then there's a bush over my face ... I can't tell which one it is but I suck it anyway ... My eyes are becoming accustomed to the dark. I can see the dark outline of a head moving up and down while one of those cunts sucks my prick ... . the other one is trying to play with it and I have a finger in her rectum... ...

The lights flicker on again. Toots is on her knees sucking Anna's ass ... Anna is the one who's squatting over me with my dong in her tail.

"Turn the lights off and fuck me!"

Toots grabs me and wants to go to the couch. I throw her on it and spread her thighs... . But I leave the lights on... . I'm seeing her as it is now but in the dark I might lose her... .

Anna must be dazed... . she sits on the floor and looks at us, shaking her head as though to clear it. Toots's trap takes all my dong at once ... she keeps asking me to turn out the lights ... until the tickle in her tail takes her voice away

... . . she's burning up; ... it's like embracing a furnace. I'm fucking her like an ape but she can't get enough of it.

She goes limp in my arms... . she's come and passed out again. I keep screwing her until Anna grabs my knees ... she wants it now. She pulls Toots off the couch and jumps on me, scratching and biting like a tiger. We wrestle until I get her beneath me on her belly ... Not that way, she gasps ... But John Thursday squeezes his head into her rectum and wiggles up until he's neck deep ... Shit if she doesn't split now, she never will... . . my dong spreads her like a wedge ... .

and when I've got it in she likes it ... While I'm ramming my cock into Anna I can look down at Toots lying sprawled on the floor with her legs apart so that I can see her fucked-out, juicy cunt ... . it spreads while I watch it ... it yawns cavernously, and I get the impression of standing on the edge of a smouldering volcano, peering over to see the sulphurous pit ... I'm falling downward into the heart of that burning maw; flaming, brilliant sparks rush by me as I drop into the heat, the mystery... .

My face is being slapped. I push the hands away and sit up whirling. Anna is talking to me ... I must have gone under. My God, if you came like that the first time you'd probably shit your pants and then cut your dick off with your old man's razor... .

Anna says she wants another lay ... but first there's a little matter to attend to in the bathroom . . She wobbles out of sight and I sit on the couch looking down at Toots. Jesus, if Carl could see his swell cunt now he'd chew his tongue off...

I find Anna asleep in the bathroom. She's sitting on the crapper, snoozing as peacefully as a baby. I'd leave her here but she'd probably fall off . . so I carry her into the bedroom and tuck her away. While I'm giving her a little feel before pulling the covers up Toots calls me from the other room. She comes into the bedroom and falls across Anna... . . Anna is completely gone ... she doesn't even move when Toots wraps her legs around her neck and rubs her fig with her mouth.

Toots wants to play the head to tail game with me. Shit, Toots is one cunt I could lick all night ... I watch her wash my whiskers, and when she has my prick in her mouth I jump into her mop ... I lick her thighs and her belly and before I arrive at her cunt she's so hot she's trying to turn her womb inside out.

These bitches are like something you dreamed about when you were fifteen ...

they don't wait for you to get it hard and ask them to suck it ... they take it when it's soft and maul it in their mouths until you have an erection. My prick looked like a wilted candle when Toots began to suck it . . but she straightened it out, she takes the wrinkles and creases away ... .

The room is heavy with the stink of cunt juice. I smell of it, the bed smells of it

... it's sneaked into every crack and corner of the place, and I wonder that the cats in the neighborhood haven't assembled to howl outside the windows.

At times like this I can't think of anything better ... To have a fat ass in your hands, a cunt to hide your nose in, and a hot bitch trying to pull your cock off with her tongue ... . that's all a man could ask for in this world or any other. I lick the cunt juices from Toots's thighs ... if I push my dong any further in her mouth it will come squeezing out of her rectum, past my nose like a fat, red turd.

She's coming and I fill her mouth with jism ... But she doesn't get all of it ...

some of it goes onto the bed. That bitch staining my sheets! I make her lick it up and then I can't think of anything better to do than wipe my cock on her hair... .

With both the cunts asleep on my bed there's no place for me except the couch. But I'm not so positive that I care to be about when they wake up, head to tail, and begin to contemplate their sins ... so I take my toothbrush and go to a hotel. They're curled up like kittens when I leave them and Anna is poking her nose into Toots's bush... .

 

I don't want to die. Today I take half a dozen of my books to the binders ... two of them are beyond repair and have to be discarded. I hadn't noticed they were dying, that the paper was becoming too brittle to hold the thread ... but they're finished, and I bought them only last week or the week before ... . when I was in America of course. Where else but in America could you buy a book so shoddy that it was ready for the ash heap before the man who bought it? But time is passing.

These pricks who tell you that in five or fifty years they will be ready to give up the ghost ... how in Christ's name can a man say something like that? There's too much to see, too much to do, and as long as you're alive it should be impossible to get tired of possessing that tiny spark of consciousness ... .

As long as you're alive! But we live in a land of ghosts. The world is half dead before it's born. People straddle their lives with one foot in the grave and the other still sticking in the womb ... they never grow up and they're old from the first second they utter the first squawk of protest on finding they're out on their own... ...

Alexandra comes to see me after an exchange of notes. She's up to her ears in Catholicism, and beyond... . Satanism is attracting her. She talks of magic, black and white, of the Rosicrucians, of succubi, and incubi, of the black mass ... . Oh, she has it all pat, she knows all the words, and she acts so serious that I'm ready to believe that her mind is affected.

She has decided now that she has to learn something about a certain defrocked canon who is supposed to have gathered about him a group of devil's disciples and celebrates the black mass here in Paris. From him, she hears that women have been known to receive the faculty of incubacy! And it would be so charming to be able to go to bed, be visited by, let us say, Byron, or some man who, for reasons of prudence, etc., etc., is otherwise unattainable.

And she believes that stuff! She's been reading tons of books on the subjects, she tells me, and her confessor is quite angry with her. Do I know for instance, she inquires, that there are over twenty-seven known societies scattered about the world, the members of which have dedicated themselves to the worship of Anti-Christ? She speaks of spells and incantations, of fevers and various maladies transmitted by means of hypnosis and spirits. Hell, to hear her talk you'd think that she consorted with spooks and goblins every night. Even alchemy enters the conversation ... she has lists of the great fakirs of the ages linked up in her head, and I'm told that in France alone there are twenty-seven transmutists' furnaces lighted at night.

It's impossible to fuck a woman in that condition. I'd as soon lay some cunt from an asylum. To tell the truth, I'm glad to be rid of her, and when she's gone I still feel the chill she's left. It isn't the demons and larvae that bothers me.

Toots makes her contribution to my week. Toots and Peter! The rich American Toots has been trying to snag expresses a desire to meet some other, any other, Americans living in Paris ... he is homesick and subject to that disease which makes tourists feel that a person who has been anywhere within two thousand miles of their original home is a brother to be bothered and beshitted with effusiveness and confidences. So Toots brings him around.

 

He's not such a pain in the ass as I expected him to be ... that may be because both he and the cunt are feeling gay ... . they have made a grand tour of the neighborhood bars. He isn't so old, either ... why he hasn't laid Toots before now isn't clear ... . . she's getting desperate ... . She sits on his lap and wiggles her ass for him, right there in front of me, but the best he can do for her is to give her a pinch and go right on talking.

Toots appears to have made up her mind that it's tonight or never ... . . she's been trying so long to get him that she's done almost everything but come right out and ask him to screw her. She begins to tease ... soon she's rubbing his shoulder with her bubs, his knee with her thigh ... Jesus, I can see all she's got, and while her 'Henry' sits there and goes on about what Paris must have looked like in the Middle Ages, I've got a dong that I could put on exhibition.

She's catting for a fuck as openly as a heifer in the spring ... and it looks to me as though she wanted a fuck for its own sake as much as to tie this Henry to her.

Oh, she's a bitch, there's no doubt about that ... never a bit worried about what went on here the other night ... called me up the next day and asked how I was feeling! While Anna ... Anna creeps away and hides for a day or a few weeks before she comes out to show her tail again... .

Then my bell rings and it's Peter. He's ridden in from the country with a farmer and he has a letter from Tania which she could not mail because they're watched so closely at the place where Alexandra has tucked them away. I can't take the letter and chase him away ... not when he's come all that way. He comes in ... and don't Henry's eyes light up when he sets eyes on that cute little prick!

Shit, he might as well have dumped Toots onto the floor on her ass ... he doesn't even pretend to hear what she's saying anymore.

Peter gets the idea right away. He sits down and becomes coy ... all he needs is a tiny lace handkerchief to swish. That little cocksucker! Toots's rich American is bewitched ... He gives him a glass of wine and he flutters around with the first spark of life he's shown all evening. Then he and Peter sit there and goggle at each other.

Toots sits next to me on the couch. Perhaps, she suggests sarcastically, Henry and the boy would feel better if we left them alone! Why don't they simply fall into each other's arms? She is hopping mad at first and then it all begins to amuse her. She comes right out and tells Henry what a joke it is ... that she's been trying to tie him up and marry him. And here he turns out to want a pretty boy instead of her! She must be drunker than she looks ... certainly she's disgusted.

If I were Henry I'd take her over my knee, pull down her pants, and slap her ass for her. But he thinks it's funny too... the pair of them sit and laugh and have a glass of wine on it, and Peter blushes and looks pretty.

"Why don't you ... oh whatever it is that you do," Toots asks Henry. "Take him in the bedroom ... Alf won't mind. But I'd like to see it, to have the satisfaction of knowing what he's got that I haven't got."

Peter dangles his long hands over the arms of the chair. He manages to look shocked ... something I've never seen Peter do before. Henry frowns ... perhaps he thinks that Toots is being somewhat crude ... but these bitches can be a hell of a lot cruder than that. Suddenly Toots hoists her skirts and shows us her bush.

It's like having a blinding light suddenly turned on you when she aims that thing at you. She almost throws it in Henry's face.

Why, she wants to know, is there something wrong with it? Does he see worms crawling around in it, has it turned green, or does it stink? If that isn't better than a boy's ass hole to put a prick into, she'll eat it ... and if he has to have a round hole, she has a rectum herself!

She makes a mistake in flinging that bonne-bouche in Peter's face, though. He looks at it, sniffs it, and pushes one of his long fingers up it before Toots sees what's happening. Henry thinks that's funny too, but when Peter puts his arms around Toots's ass and gives her mop a kiss, he's as startled as the cunt.

Toots pushes her skirt down quickly and demands to know what he is this pretty one ... fish or fowl? Both, I tell her and she shakes her head. The depravity of the people I know.

Henry wants to have a good time. He's a long way from home and for once in his life he tells us, he can do exactly as he pleases. So why don't we make this a night? We're all friends here, we know what the world is like, etc., etc., he grows quite philosophical about the matter. Finally he turns to Toots. He'll make it worth her while if she's agreeable. Toots tells him to shove his money up his ass

... but there's no reason why we shouldn't be gay.

 

I'm not so positive I want to take my pants down with this Henry around ...

but he acts straight enough with me. I decide that he is interested only in someone like Peter. In that way he's a lot like Ernest, except that Ernest is cunt struck, too.

He has a small confession to make, Henry has. Since he's known Toots he has often thought of what she must be like when she's being screwed ... oh yes, he's thought about fucking her, but he simply doesn't get hot over women anymore, the way he used to! But he would like to see her being laid. It's easy enough to see that ... every whorehouse in Paris has a peep show ... but he's never seen a nice girl, someone he's known, do it.

Shit, I'm not putting on any entertainment for this rich bastard! But I have an erection that seems to be a permanent attachment, and if I don't fuck Toots I'll probably have to go out later and pay some whore ... I pull her onto my lap when she passes by. She snuggles her ass against John Thursday and lifts her skirt for me to give her a feel.

Toots is as much ready to be laid as I am to give it to her ... her thighs are burning and they have juice between them. And her mop ... . it's the original burning bush ... I feel like a man about to dip his finger into a pot of hot lead when I tickle her fig. She spreads her legs and that swell stink of cunt spills around the room.

Jesus, I'd fuck her on the steps of the Palais de Justice, in the center of the Place de la Concorde before a full military review! I throw her legs up in the air and pull off her shoes ... she tumbles off my lap and lies on her back in front of me while I take off her stockings. Peter's almost shitting his pants with excitement.

Toots lies on the couch and wiggles while I'm undressing ... she's trying to get Peter to come over and kiss her bush again ... but before she can persuade him I'm climbing on her. I have my dong up her tail before she knows what's happening, and she begins to kick the couch so hard that I expect the springs to fly out and sail across the room.

Peter is sitting on Henry's lap ... his fly is open and Henry is tickling his dick

... Peter reaches into Henry's pants and begins diddling his cock ... the place is taking on the air of a madhouse. Toots squeals like a pig under the knife.

 

Yes, squeal, you cunt! You have a knife in your belly, your womb is butchered, your con feels its edge ... .

Peter undresses, and when Toots sees him standing naked, his dick hard and erect, she begs him to come over and let her feel of it. That little bastard, he wears a two-sided coat, he changes from one sex to another like a chameleon... . .

he stands and lets her play with his cock and feel his balls and pinch his legs.

Then when he thinks she's liable to be agreeable about it, he wants to put his cock in her mouth.

Toots doesn't say any of the things you might expect her to say. She looks at him with an expression that says she thinks it's a wonderful idea ... lets him rub his balls over her mouth ... and then she kisses them. A fine cunt like her kissing that cute bastard's balls! It's enough to make you want to strangle her, or at least beat some sense into her head. I fuck her as though I was driving a pot into her abricot-fendu but a goat could butt her between the legs and she'd enjoy it ... .

she simply grunts a bit and licks Peter's bush.

Should she do it or shouldn't she, Toots asks her Henry? Is he shocked now or should she show him something that will make him remember for the rest of his life what a marvelous cunt he could have had for a wife? A question like that is silly ... there's only one answer, and everybody knows it ... She puts one arm around Peter's ass and he leans over the couch. Then she puts his prick into her mouth, pulls the skin back afterwards and sucks it.

I'm more sober than anyone in the room, including Peter now that the wine has settled in his stomach, but I feel the floor rocking gently ... Then it hits me ...

I'm coming and I feel that I must be putting my cock almost through the bitch.

But she's holding back... . I soak her womb with jism, but she won't come.

Afterward my mouth feels as though I had eaten a spoon of salt. I get up to pour some wine.

Henry is shocked now. Certainly not after I've fucked her? Why one can see ...

just look between her thighs, all that coming out of her cunt ... . but Henry doesn't know Peter. If there's jism in a cunt that simply makes it so much the sweeter for him... . He bites Toots's thighs, tickles her belly with his long red tongue ... . then kisses her trap.

 

Henry clucks his tongue like an old woman ... and Peter seems to enjoy shocking him ... he puts his tongue into Toots's trap and brings it out dripping ...

then gobbles up the juice that's fallen into her mop. He sucks her clean, and if there is a single spermatozoon who's escaped with his life he must be hiding in a corner and hanging on with his teeth.

But when Peter's through sucking Toots's cunt, he's through, and she can't manage to keep him at it. He pulls his cock out of her mouth, rolls her over as contemptuously as though she were his sister Tania, and plays with her. And Toots enjoys every minute of it.

Oh, she must be insane, she says, to let this boy, this mere child ... . this cocksucker, in fact, have her this way. But her insanity doesn't appear to worry her particularly. She lets him suck her teats, bite her belly ... go over her thoroughly. And when Peter, having her on her belly, hoists her ass up and gets behind her, she's positively docile.

His hard little dick gives her a thrill, too. It may not be as satisfying as the full-sized dongs she's accustomed to, but when a woman's being fucked in the ass it doesn't take a horse to fix that itch... Peter takes her hands in his and puts them on her ass, and she lies on her face with the cheeks spread waiting for him.

Toots isn't a child like Tania ... she has a full sheet aft, and Peter has something to work with. It isn't hard for him to get his cock in where he wants it, and she's heavy-assed enough to take it all before she begins to feel it. He hangs onto her bubs like a monkey and rough-rides her.

Henry watches Peter's fat little ass bouncing... . . I think of a tom cat watching a succulent and foolish bird. He's sitting there with a broad grin splitting his face

... when I turn around again he's standing behind the couch feeling Peter's ass and goosing him. Peter throws him a look and waits ... then Toots's Henry has him, his cock in his ass.

Toots looks around, sees what's happening and practically turns a handspring. She never even imagined anything like this before, she says ... oh, what slime she's wallowed in since coming from Italy! Peter tells her to be quiet or he'll piss up her ass ... whatever else, you have to admire his aplomb.

 

Jean Jeudi is looking up ... Trust him ... no matter what good sense may tell you, if there's a cunt in the neighborhood all for it. Toots sees him and stretches out her hands ... . bring it to her, she begs.

There's no limit for a woman who's as crazy for cocks as Toots is ... you could stuff her trap, rectum, mouth and ears with them, give her one in each hand and a pair to tickle with her toes ... she'd want another between her teats or rubbing her belly. She almost tears my prick on getting it into her mouth ... she holds my legs to keep me from taking it away from her again.

My God, what a melee! Peter squeals that he's going to come ... Henry is fucking so doggedly that there's no question but that he's about to let his dong explode. Toots is too busy sucking me off to do anything but make those filthy, slobbering noises. Ah, Gay Paree! This must be what people mean when they talk about bohemia... .

I take Toots's head in my hands, lift it and stare into her eyes. Shit, she's so groggy with excitement that I don't believe she even knows who I am or where she is ... But she knows that she's sucking a prick ... the veins in her throat and temples are swollen and throbbing ... I give her teats a squeeze, and under them her heart is racketting like a drum.

Ah, what fucking whores these nice girls are! She doesn't even have the decency to close her eyes when I come and she starts to swallow it! But then she's coming too ... . and Peter ... Christ, the whole fucking world is having an orgasm!

 

Tania's letters are not recommended for insomnia. Alexandra must have picked a remarkably remote place to send the children ... if there's a cock within ten miles it can usually be depended on to find its way to that girl before long, but Tania complains that she's burning with fevers and frustration. Peter and she are watched and kept apart, and her only amusement is a puppy whom she is corrupting in anticipation of his eventual development:

 

--he is such a baby that he can't fuck at all. He doesn't have any idea of what it is, and when I lie down with my legs open and put him between them he only wags his tail and turns over on his back. That's because he thinks that when he turns over on his back I'm going to suck his little hose! He likes that already, even if he doesn't know what it is. Isn't it wicked, telling you that I'm such a bad girl? Yes, your Tania sucks a funny black doggie's pip thing, a tiny weenie cock like your thumb but with a baby beard of whiskers on the end. Isn't it funny to think of a prick with whiskers on the end?... . .

 

And this too: ... . .

 

... sometimes when I'm playing with him and know that it's time for him to go out and dig his little hole I undress and lie down naked, holding him on my stomach until he does his pipi, sometimes on my teats and sometimes on my legs and over my little you-know-what! I found out how to make him lick me, too, I put milk on myself between my legs and on my conillon, and oh, how long and flat and wet his red tongue is! Pretty soon I won't have to put milk between my legs, I hope ...

 

There are the usual details of her daydreams, in which I appear to figure largely, and then something which surprises me:

 

... . But it will be all Mother's fault when she comes to find me being fucked by goats and pigs! All her pretty talk when she put me away here! And that pretty business about her church! I know very well that she's doing something queer with that man, Canon Charenton! I've heard about things of that sort before, she needn't think I'm completely ignorant... . .

 

So Tania knows about that! And even the man's name! Where she gets her information is a mystery ... .

Ernest has done me a great favor. Unwittingly he has perhaps saved my life.

And I think very well of that life of mine... ...

At ten in the evening he comes to my door ... with a bloody sleeve. In his coat there's a huge rent, but his arm is barely scratched. Someone waiting in the hallway tried to take out his gizzard with a knife. Luckily Ernest was as drunk as usual and managed to stumble at just the right second, as the knife swooped at him.

We bathe the cut with whiskey ... . you can't trust these spics to use a clean blade, and they sometimes go so far as to rub garlic on the edge to help make the wound fester. Then a clean handkerchief around his arm and Ernest is as good as new. He knows that I've been followed since that night with Rosita, so he's not worried about the knife being intended for him ... . all he has to do to keep his skin whole is to keep himself out of situations where he might be mistaken for me.

But me ... what the Jesus am I going to do? I'll be damned if I'm going to move again. Besides, it would be the simplest thing in the world for anyone who's really watching me to find out where I've gone ... .

To settle it Ernest and I go out and get drunk, and Ernest tells me a long and not very coherent story about an inventor he's met and who he thinks is going to let him screw his wife and maybe his daughter. All night long Ernest tries to head me toward that Spanish joint to have what he calls a show-down with that Rosita cunt. We'll take the place apart, Ernest says. Ernest is too drunk to take a newspaper apart ... .

Alexandra is positively possessed. Or so she tells me. Her confessor is pissing his pants these days ... . I suppose it's distressing to have a conversion backfire on you. But he can't tell her that she's imagining things, send her to a psychoanalyst, because he has to play ball with the power of darkness. That's one of the rules of mysticism ... you have to admit the existence of the reverse side, and if Alexandra were to claim that the devil himself calls for tea every afternoon, her confessor would be obliged to swallow the whole story.

The machinery which makes the thing go is tremendously complicated.

Besides, this stuff which Alexandra tells me of the Protestant religion is absolutely vapid and without imagination. She talks of miracles and visitation as though they occurred day before yesterday and if I read the papers I'd know all about them ... . then I learn that I've been listening to an account of something that happened in the fifteenth century ... .

What about this Canon Charenton, I ask? Is he performing miracles these days? Alexandra's astonished ... so Tania was right about the dame ... apparently about his reputation as well. Alexandra wants to know how I learned about him. I refer her to her demons.

"He's a remarkably gifted man," she tells me. "And through his offices things which might be called miracles have been known to occur."

"Such as the inculcation of incubacy?"

Yes, Alexandra admits, she's seen him several times and now ... he has the faculty. She has only to think of whom she would like to be laid by, just before she goes to sleep, and soon after her eyes are closed that person appears to her.

And it's not dreaming, she hastens to inform me! She's had erotic dreams all her life, and they were never like these visits she's been enjoying lately.

Well, there's no arguing with her ... I ask her what's necessary for her to do to receive this gift. She's vague about that. Well, yes, when I ask her outright, she slept with Canon Charenton ... that was part of it. Jokingly I ask her if she had to make a pact with the devil ... and she takes me dead seriously! No, she didn't have to make a pact--she took part in certain ceremonies.

What about these creatures who come to call and share her bed, I ask? Are they demons and do they have any special properties? Surely Satan must reward his followers with some special fucking machinery?

"They're simply men . . like you. Yes, I've called you to my bed, dear! But oh, such wonderful ... such really terrible fucking as they do!" She watches my face, probably to try to learn whether I'm taking in all this shit. "Of course you know nothing about it... ."

Actual demons, she tells me, are possibly more entertaining ... and also more dangerous. They take the shape of men ... beautiful men, she says ... but they have very remarkable pricks . . Adaptable pricks, in two, and sometimes three sections. There are authentic accounts of these, of course ... there are authentic accounts of all the wonderful things Alexandra talks about.

The general form is a prick in at least two parts, the first branch of which is long enough to reach the woman's mouth while the second is thrust into her cunt. The third branch when it is present, appears to wiggle into the female's rectum where it may, because of its property of changing size and shape, squirm like an eel through her intestines until the end of it finally emerges from the mouth to meet the first.

 

Once these fellows are evoked, though, according to Alexandra, they may become hard to control and possibly get out of hand altogether. There have been instances she says, where these delightful bogies have ridden women for days ... .

until incantations, prayers, or reverse magic drove them off. Decidedly they're not people to be too chummy with ... .

"This Charenton celebrates a Black Mass, of course?" I ask.

"Yes. Oh, I suppose I may as well tell you the truth ... . in order to receive this faculty of incubacy I ... was obliged to allow myself to be used as the altar."

Ah! Alexandra has mentioned the altar before. A naked woman, of course ...

sometimes on her belly, so that her buttocks are used; more often on her back ...

I'd like to see that ...

I tell Alexandra that I want to see this performance. She's doubtful ... it isn't put on for curiosity's sake, like a whorehouse show. Only good Catholics, or very bad Catholics, are given the opportunity to witness it. She'll speak to Canon Charenton however. The blasphemy of having an unbeliever present might appeal to him... .

Just before she leaves I mention that there is a small service which she might do for me ... I tell her about Rosita and what has happened to Ernest. Now, if she would have a very small spell cast to rid me of this nuisance, I would be very much obliged.

"If you could fix it so she would jump into the Seine I'd appreciate it," I say.

Alexandra smiles ... it's possible that it might be done just that way, she tells me... .

She leaves without once having made a move or said a word which might hint that she was looking for a lay. Her imaginary boyfriends must be taking good care of her these days.

At the office I come across a small item which almost makes me shit green.

Rosita D'Oro, etc., etc., a cabaret entertainer, has committed suicide. For the past few days it had been noticed that she acted strangely, and last night, at the conclusion of a performance (undoubtedly the upstairs flamenco), she rushed to the street and disappeared. (How in Jesus name does a naked woman DISAPPEAR?) Several hours later her body was found in the Seine!

 

It's unnerving ... not that I believe in the potency of Alexandra's magic, but because I called it so accurately. My God, I didn't want the girl to kill herself, but because I spoke of it and she did it I feel a responsibility in the matter. Over a period I begin to see things in another way. She wasn't through with me yet ...

every day that she was alive I stood a good chance of not being alive. It's a great weight off one's shoulders, not having to worry about a knife in the back... . .

 

Ernest calls, carrying under his arm an object which he assures me is a beautiful piece of twelfth-century pottery ... an antique which he picked up for next to nothing. Ernest is forever picking up something priceless for next to nothing ... . and they are all very much like this object which he has now. It looks like nothing else but a bidet, but he tucks it cautiously under his feet while he tells me about this inventor he mentioned a few nights ago ...

"We're sitting there having dinner, Alf, and I couldn't help it . . if you saw her you'd know what I mean. I began to feel her up under the table, right there with her nutty husband carving the meat and everything! Shit, you know how those things happen ... pretty soon she had my cock out and was jerking me off. And that's how we were when that bastard had to drop his napkin!"

"So he caught you at it? What did he do?" I ask.

"That's just it, Alf ... he didn't do a thing! And his wife ... she didn't even bother to take her hand off my dick. She went right on pulling at my prick while he peeked at us under the table! Then guess what he does ... he begins to talk about how sexual excitement interfered with digestion! Honest to Jesus, Alf, I'm telling you straight. I couldn't just sit and listen to him and let that cunt of a wife play with me... . I made her stop. Then, when dinner was over he asked if I was going to stay all night. I tell you, Alf, that bastard is plain cracked."

"Well, did you stay?"

"I did like Hell. What kind of a fuck would that be? Jesus, if you're going to lay a man's wife you don't want him to just up and give her to you, like a cigar after dinner ... that way it's you who looks foolish instead of him, the way it ought to be ... Maybe that bastard isn't as dumb a cluck as he looks... ."

 

While Ernest goes on talking the mail comes. A note from Alexandra ... she's fixed everything with the Charenton bozo. I'm to go with her to the next Black Mass he celebrates.

Alexandra calls for me in her car. I've been expecting her. A note arriving yesterday informed me that her precious Canon Charenton was holding his Mass tonight ... location unspecified. Since she neglected to name the time, I've been waiting since a little after eight. It's around ten-thirty when I'm finally startled out of my doze by the bell.

Alexandra is more animated than she has been the past few times that I have seen her. She asks me, when we are entering the car, if I mind if she continues to drive. She's keyed up to a high pitch, as nervous as a schoolgirl with her father's car and a hot date, and she'd merely be restless if she didn't drive. Besides, she knows where we are going, a little bit of information which she does not care to impart to me, apparently.

I don't know how Alexandra's goblins have been treating her recently, but she's quite willing to have me feel her as we drive along. She laughs when I ask her about her spooks ... she reminds me of one of these irritating bastards of priests you sometimes meet ... . the ones who will take off their collars and shoot craps with you. Alexandra, the attitude declares, is as willing as anyone else to enjoy a bit of amusement at the expense of her religiosity.

She's been placing herself in the persons of women she knows, she tells me, enjoying their pleasures along with them. She takes her eyes from the road to glance at me and smile. It was a very enjoyable evening at Anna's party, she says.

How in the name of Jesus she found out about that I don't know. I'm not taking in any of her crap, but not Ernest or Arthur or Sid could have told her about it. And if Anna herself has been talking, she's even a worse bitch than I think her to be.

The street stretches out interminably, and I pass the time by lifting Alexandra's skirt over her thighs and playing with her. She doesn't mind if I tickle around her crotch ... it doesn't interfere with her driving. She hasn't anything on under her skirt, and by the time I've worked my fingers up to her abricot-fendu I find her things already damp.

 

The street lamps become farther and farther apart, and the paving becomes worse as we approach the ramparts. At least the approach to the altar is successful, I'm thinking ... . . it would be too much a disappointment if this affair was held in some busy street in the heart of the city. As we drive on and on I try to worm out of Alexandra some idea of what I may expect, but she's a clam. All she'll tell me is that I'll know everything in a few hours... ...

Abruptly we swing down a side street, into a sort of alley, and out of that into a lane. The car stops under the shadow of a high wall. As we get out I see not the slightest sign of life or human habitation. Marching behind Alexandra, with my hand under her dress and on her hare ass, I am led through a heavy wooden gate in the wall. We follow a bad path to a low building of stone, and as we enter I find that we are in a dimly lighted passage or hall.

"This place," Alexandra explains to me as I follow her through a succession of ammoniac-smelling vestibules and rooms, "was once the chapel of an Ursuline Convent. Until a few years ago it had been used by a farmer as a barn ... . .

She brushes my hand from her ass as we enter a somewhat larger, but no better lighted room in which a number of people are seated about and whispering. So far as I can make out, they comprise the usual assortment of religious fanatics, with the exception that the cunts are perhaps more juicy looking and the fairies more obvious. There are no introductions, of course ... .

Alexandra puts me on a couch and leaves me to my own devices while she goes off somewhere. I try to enter into a conversation with a somber-eyed and very pretty cunt who's sitting close to me, but she's lost in meditation and gives no sign of hearing me ... . too bad, because she's a fine-looking bitch. When one of the male bitches comes up and wants to talk to me I give him the same treatment that the cunt gave me ... evidently it's acceptable, for in a moment, he goes away.

Alexandra returns after several minutes. In the dim light I can't see the flush on her face but by touching her I find that her cheeks are burning. She's breathing quite heavily and her eyes are bright.

"I've been conversing with the Canon," she tells me. The cunt next to us shoots her a glance like a dagger.

There's a stink about the place that has been strangling me. The incense burners are venting clouds of smudgy smoke. I question Alexandra about it.

 

"Myrrh, datura, leaves of henbane and dried nightshade," she says, sniffing as though she actually enjoyed the stench.

Just then a hush comes over the room, and several kneel before their chairs.

The Canon enters, preceded by two chubby choirboys, and wearing the usual sacrificial habit with certain additions and modifications. On his head he has settled a crimson bonnet with a pair of velvet-covered horns protruding at the top. He looks about, and his eyes settle on me. He nods his head and solemnly turns away. Then, with no further pause, he kneels before the altar, mounts the steps, and begins to say mass. The choirboys quietly begin to distribute censers and deep copper dishes filled with that stinking, strangling mess of burning rubbish.

The ceremony of the sacrifice goes on ... . most of the women are crouching over the smouldering dishes, inhaling the smudge that comes up from them... .

The Canon genuflects and drones Latin ... one woman silently begins tearing her dress from her body ... suddenly she rushes up the steps, tears two black candles from the holders, and throws herself across the altar, naked.

Whimpering, she lies there, a candle held in each outflung hand, guttering and dripping wax over her white wrists, while Canon Charenton lays his hands on her belly and passes them over her.

One of the choirboys brings in a pitch-black rooster and hands it to the Canon along with a small knife ... Holding the bird high above his head, the man slits its throat, holding it for a moment until the blood drips and spatters onto the woman's heaving teats, and then drops it onto her belly, where it scrambles senselessly in a smear of crimson. The blood gathers in the woman's loins, then trickles down into her bush and cunt ... . As the decapitated cock drops to the floor, the Canon throws himself between the woman's spread knees and sucks the blood from her cunt... . .

A long, vile and impassioned prayer to the powers of evil is begun. And whatever you may think of its intention, or its probable chance of success, you have to admire the facility of language which the Canon displays in that prayer. I find myself inwardly applauding ... it's as fine a prayer as I've ever heard, although I can't say that I'm entirely in sympathy with all the opinions the Canon expresses ... ... It ends, and the choir boys tinkle their bells ... .

 

It's the signal for the place to really become a complete looney house. The faithful begin undressing themselves and each other ... . a moaning and chattering and an ecstatic wailing commence. The Canon pulls up his robe and I see that he is naked beneath it ... he ties it up with a cord, and the woman on the altar reaches for his prick ... Before she can touch it, the Canon has drawn the choirboys into him, and both of the cute little pricks fall on their knees and begin playing with him and each other. They kiss his balls and let him put his cock in their mouths while the woman behind drops the candles and cries something unintelligible. Suddenly I see that one of the children is not a fairy but a young girl... .

Alexandra has become as crazy as the rest of the Canon's congregation. She's holding her dress up and showing her bush to me and anyone else who cares to see it, and with her free hand she's reaching inside my pants. I push her away and someone else grabs her. While he's feeling her up she takes his dong out and plays with it.

The Canon is preparing for the Communion. He pisses into a bowl of consecrated wine, then into the mouths of the altar boys, who spit into the bowl.

He mutters the phrases, takes one of the wafers from the tray and wipes it on the cunt of the woman ... . he tosses it among the howling congregation, who scramble over it ... the fouled bowl of wine is dealt out in small silver cups. And some of the bitches actually drink that mess! Most of it, however, is flung in the direction of the altar after a preliminary ceremony of touching the cup to the lips or cunt.

Lifting the altar boys in his arms, Canon Charenton lays first one and then the other across the belly of the woman on the altar. Then, while they howl and squeal, they get his prick in the rectum... . Afterward the man wipes some more of the wafers over their asses and flings them out... .

One woman and a young girl approach the altar. After first kissing the Canon's cock they throw themselves upon the woman there and hold her head between their thighs ... her tongue flashes out and she sucks them... . More follow, then some of the men ... The Canon begins to fuck her as the women come up to her and then move on.

 

A large wooden image of Satan himself is trundled out on a wheeled platform.

It is complete in detail, with a large, but thoughtfully, not too large, prick and a pair of enormous balls. Women cluster around it, throwing themselves before it to kiss the red cock ... Climbing over the bodies of the others, one of the cunts clings to the image with hands and legs ... . . she squeezes her bonne-bouche over the enormous dong and fucks it until she drops, coming ... . Another woman puts her mouth upon it ... two cunts are playing with a third girl and a man behind the thing... .

I feel something soft and hairy pressing my hand. Arms encircle my neck, and a young girl whispers in my ears while she puts her fingers into my fly... She wants me to fuck her, she says, and she rubs her naked fig against my hand again... . She has a very pretty little girl friend, who would like to be screwed too.

Her trap is wet and her breath has the sweet stink of cunt on it. I push her on her ass, and she smiles sweetly at me ... but she is carried off by a man who passes by with another bitch under his arm ... she grabs his dong and fights the other woman for it... .

In a corner I see a girl of about sixteen being held by two older women while a small band of men take their turns at fucking her. She's screaming, and scratching but one of the women is obviously her mother ... so it must be alright.

I watch them screw until she suddenly falls limply in a heap. She's evidently fainted but the men go on screwing her ... .

Among the women I find a few who, sobbing and writhing on the floor, are left to themselves. They are going through all the postures of women being laid, and I see one come with a violence that leaves her shuddering and too weak to move for several minutes afterward. Obviously they imagine themselves to be ridden by incubi, and their pleasures are so convincing that it gives me the creeps to watch them.

Canon Charenton has finished with the woman who acted as altar. She is lifted up now and her blood-smeared belly and breasts are licked clean. Then she is carried to the image and, much like a battering ram, shoved at it, ass first. The red prick enters her cunt, then her ass. Holding her roughly half a dozen men and women fuck her on the image... .

 

Something else takes my attention... . One of the women has rebelled and is reviling the entire affair, shouting prayers and screaming for a thunderbolt to strike the Canon dead. She is quickly subdued, her arms are bound, and she herself is placed on the altar, where she continues to howl ... . She howls through one fucking ... through two, and a third... . Then she weakens ... she relents ... a few moments later she is on her knees, sucking the ass of a woman who is herself licking the cunt of still another... ...

My head is swimming. The din is bursting my ears, and the murky smoke is so thick that my lungs ache with it. But the crazy show goes on... . Almost at my feet, two men are grappling with a young blonde. One of them finally succeeds in getting his dong into her rectum ... . then the other rams his dick into her fig!

And while both of them are fucking her that way she is chewing and sucking a large piece of red rubber formed in the shape of a cock... .

On the altar, a woman of about thirty has discovered the dead body of the chicken. Pushing the loose skin back along the bleeding neck, she exposes the raw, bony flesh. She clutches it as though she were holding a prick, moving the feathered skin backward and forward ... . . then she places it suddenly into her mouth and sucks until her lips are smeared with blood ... . .

A girl who walks as though drugged falters up the altar steps. Her dress has been removed, but she is still wearing her underclothes, stockings and shoes. At Canon Charenton's feet she tears the brassiere from her teats, rips her pants to shreds, then licks his thighs and places her lips on his cock. Soon she's lying apart from the others with a woman who is feeling her up and spreading her thighs... .

I have not seen Alexandra taking part in any of the ceremonies. Finally I discover her. She is standing near the wall naked but alone. Her eyes gleam in the flickering light . . Her expression is one of almost Satanic delight. Her teats are swelling with each heavy breath she takes, the nipples erected and dark.

Finding her clothes where she has dropped them, I push through to her side.

At first she fails to recognize me, but as I shout in her ear she starts and tries to wind her arms around my neck.

"I want to be fucked," she moans, "I want you to fuck me..."

 

I have such a hard on that I can't walk without limping, but I'm not going to fuck her in that place. Since she won't put her clothes on and won't even hold them when I give them to her, I put them under my arm and drag her along behind me. She doesn't want to go ... she scratches and bites my hand, kicks and screams for help.

There's such a racket ... such an infernal squeaking and pleading for help all about us that I don't understand how she can be heard. But suddenly Canon Charenton sees us. He rushes down the altar, tripping over his habit. Knocking people to right and left, he comes at us with fury in his eye. But his worshipers undo him ... women cling to his knees, pull at his clothing, fling themselves headlong into his arms. We make the door, and somehow I manage to find my way back through the vestibules.

No sooner are we outside than something in Alexandra collapses. She stumbles behind me as I drag her through the garden toward the wall. Her hand is jerked from mine as she trips, and she rises to her knees on the wet grass with both arms stretched imploringly toward me. "Alf!" she cries, "Alf! I want to go home!"