And though my misgivings were not negligible, I vanquished them; it was to my interest to prove myself mettlesome. I did all this libertine desired of me, I sucked his balls, I let him fart into my mouth, shit on my breasts, spit and piss all over my face, tweak my nipples, slap me, kick me, pinch me, stoutly fuck my ass, and in doing so become much aroused, then discharge into my mouth, and I swallowed his sperm, for he had ordered that I swallow every drop. I did everything, and owing to my docility all went well. Divine effects of wealth and influence! Your desires obliterate virtue and will, wither all power to resist; and the hope of being kindly received by you causes everyone, whosoever he be, to fawn at your feet, mindful only to do your least bidding. Saint-Fond’s discharge was admirable, forceful, convulsive; it was accompanied by the most vigorous, the most impetuous blasphemies, pronounced in a very loud voice; quantitatively his expenditure of sperm was considerable, the temperature of that sperm was high, in consistency it was dense, it was savory to the palate, his ecstasy was energetic, he thrashed violently about, intense was his delirium: a handsome figure of a man was he, his skin was very fair, his ass as shapely as any to be found, his balls the size of a hen’s eggs, and his well-muscled prick was probably six inches in circumference and seven in length, ending in a head measuring at least two inches long, and ’twas far, far thicker there than at the stem. Saint-Fond was tall, nicely proportioned, his nose was aquiline, he had long lashes, fine dark eyes, strong white teeth, and his breath was sweet; when done he asked me whether it were not true that his fuck was exquisite.
“Pure cream, my Lord, pure cream, I’ve never swallowed any to equal it.”
“You may expect to be granted the honor of that fare from time to time,” said he, “and you will likewise feast upon my shit when we become truly well acquainted. So now, Juliette, kneel down, kiss my feet, and thank me for all the favors I have condescended to bestow on you today.”
I obeyed, and Saint-Fond embraced me, vowing himself positively enchanted with me: the filth I was swimming in was got rid of with the help of a bidet and some perfumes. We quit the boudoir; as we were traversing the apartments separating it from the assembly hall, Saint-Fond reminded me of the box I was carrying.
“Indeed,” said I, laughing, “does crime linger in your brain even after the illusion has been dissipated?”
“What,” the dreadful man retorted, “did you then mistake my proposal for something conceived in a moment of excitement, and destined to be forgot straightway the moment was over?”
“I presumed it was only that.”
“You were wrong; this is one of those necessary things whose anticipated doing very certainly stirs up our passions but which, though conceived during a transport, must nonetheless be calmly carried out afterward.”
“But are your friends privy to it?”
“Can you doubt?”
“There will be a scene.”
“Not at all. We are accustomed to this. Ah, if the rose bushes in Noirceuil’s garden could speak and say to what nutriments they owe their crimson magnificence … Juliette, my dear Juliette, such ones as are we consider that there is not, that there cannot be, one execution too many.”
“Then be easy, my Lord. I have sworn obedience to you, I shall keep my oath.”
We reappeared in the others’ midst; they had been waiting for us, all the women were by now there. We had no sooner returned than D’Albert signaled the desire to repair to the boudoir with Madame de Noirceuil, Henriette, Lindane, and two youths, and it was not until later when I saw him in action that I was able to form a precise idea of his tastes. Those of us who were left after the departure of D’Albert and his troupe fell to lewd frolicking: the two little girls, namely Lolotte and Eglée, by means generally similar to those I had employed shortly before, endeavored to stiffen Saint-Fond afresh; they succeeded; Noirceuil, watching, had himself bum-fucked while kissing my buttocks. Saint-Fond caressed one of the lads and held several minutes of private conversation with Noirceuil; when they came back both seemed in high fettle, and the rest of the company having joined us, we all betook ourselves to supper.
Imagine, good friends, imagine my surprise when I beheld Madame de Noirceuil guided very ceremoniously to the table and invited to take the chair next to mine. I leaned toward Saint-Fond, who had placed himself to my left, and whispered, “My Lord, is this the woman you have designated to be the victim?”
“She is,” replied the Minister, “and pray master your dismay, it does you scant credit in my eyes—another hint of this pusillanimity, let me warn you, and you shall lose my esteem forever.”
So I sat down; the meal was no less delicious than libertine, the women, only partially and loosely clad, to the lechers’ fingerings exposed all the charms the Graces had lavished upon them. One had a new-budding breast to hand, another fondled a buttock whiter, than alabaster; it was only about our cunts there was not much ado made, such objects seldom proving of any real concern to men of that breed; firmly of the opinion that to apprehend Nature one must seduce her, and that to seduce her one must often outrage her, these rascals are often wont to perform their devotions at those very shrines which Nature, so it is alleged, forbids us to approach. When wine of the finest vintage and the most succulent viands had heated the imaginations of the company, Saint-Fond laid hands on Madame de Noirceuil: the atrocious crime that dastard’s perfidious brain had been meditating against the luckless creature was stiffening his device prodigiously; he bears her off to a couch at the farther end of the room and embuggers her, bidding me shit into her mouth in the meantime; four youths are disposed in such wise he can frig two, one with his right hand, one with his left, a third is encunting Madame de Noirceuil, and the fourth, perched above me, gives me his prick to dandle and pump; a fifth bum-stuffs the Minister.
“Ah, Jesusfuck!” Noirceuil exclaims, “’tis an enchanting sight. To my knowledge there is nothing prettier than to see your wife fucked this way. My dear Saint-Fond, I beseech you not to coddle her.”
And raising Eglée’s buttocks to mouth height, he has a morsel of shit fresh out of the little one, the while sodomizing Lindane, and the sixth boy penetrates him anally. ’Tis Saint-Fond in the center, Noirceuil on the right; D’Albert on the left now completes the picture: he sodomizes Henriette as he colls the ass of the boy busily fucking the Minister and with both hands gropes about and kneads whatever is within reach.
But words cannot describe that divinely voluptuous scene; only an engraver could have rendered it properly, and yet it is doubtful he would have had time to capture those many expressions, all those attitudes, for lust very quickly overwhelmed the actors and the drama Was soon ended. (It is not easy for art, which lacks movement, to realize action wherein movement is the soul; and this is what makes engraving at once the most difficult and thankless art.)
We returned to table.
“Tomorrow.” said the Minister, “I am to prepare and dispatch a lettre de cachet; the man concerned is guilty of some rather unusual misconduct. He is a libertine who like you, Noirceuil, adores giving his wife to be fucked by strangers; this wife—it will strike you as incomprehensible, I know—this wife has been so silly as to complain about usage that a good many other women crave. The respective families have become entangled in the affair, I have been asked to have the husband confined.”
“Excessively severe punishment,” Noirceuil muttered.
“Far too lenient in my opinion,” said D’Albert; “there are dozens of countries where such fellows are put to death.”
“Hear that, will you! ’Tis but too typical. You gentlemen of the law,” said Noirceuil, “are happy only when blood is shed. For you, Themis’ scaffolds are boudoirs: pronouncing the death sentence, your pricks harden; and you discharge when it is carried out.”
“True, that not uncommonly happens,” D’Albert admitted, “but where is the disadvantage in converting one’s duties into pleasures?”
“Quite,” said Saint-Fond. “Common sense is o
n our side. But to return to the case of the man we were discussing a moment ago. You will agree with me that it is shocking, the number of wives who are behaving like fools nowadays.”
“It is lamentable,” said Noirceuil. “One comes across nothing but women who fancy that fulfilling their duty to their husbands begins and ends with preserving their own honor, and who, in order that they acquire and remain in possession of this shoddy virtue of theirs, expect those husbands to pay the price of constantly foregoing everything that stands at variance with conventional pleasures. Forever garbed in the silly raiments of a good name and mounted astride the hobbyhorse of virtue, and supposing they are beyond reproach, whores of this category imagine they are entitled to unbounded and unconditional respect, that they are therefore at liberty to act like utter cretins and certain to be forgiven every piece of stupidity and clumsiness. It is disgusting, I say; who would not a thousand times over prefer a wife who, though the most arrant slut, were to camouflage her vices behind absolute complacency, behind utter submission to every one of her husband’s caprices? Ha! fuck, fair ladies, fuck to your hearts’ delight; fuck your pretty heads off, we couldn’t care less; we have only one concern, and it is this: that you anticipate our desires, that you satisfy them all with alacrity and unscrupulously; endeavor to please us, metamorphose yourselves, assume many roles, play at this sex and that, be children so as to afford your husband the passing great delight of whipping you, and you may be sure of it: treat him thus thoughtfully and comprehendingly and he will take little heed of anything else. The course of action I have just outlined is to my knowledge the only one capable of mitigating the horror of wedlock, the most appalling, the most loathsome of all the bonds humankind has devised for its own discomfort and degradation.”
“Ah, Noirceuil, there is gallantry lacking in you,” reprimanded Saint-Fond, somewhat forcefully squeezing the breasts of the wife of his friend; “you are after all speaking in the presence of your spouse.”
Noirceuil grimaced. “Eh, so I am. That situation will be altered before long.”
“But what’s this?” cried the mischievous D’Albert, casting a look of feigned surprise at the poor woman.
“We are due to be separated.”
“Due to be separated! How dreadful,” said Saint-Fond, greatly aroused, and while frigging a youth with his right hand, continuing to paw and to wring Madame de Noirceuil’s pretty dugs with his left. “Do you mean to say you are going to sever your ties, ties so sweet?”
“Have they not lasted long enough?”
“Very well then,” Saint-Fond replied, still frigging a prick, still molesting two bubs, “if you really intend to leave your wife, I’ll take her—I’ve always thought very highly of her, of her gentleness, of the humane quality about her…. Kiss me, bitch!”
She was weeping from the pain Saint-Fond had been inflicting on her for a good quarter of an hour; they were of her sighs the libertine paused to drink, her tears he licked away before resuming: “Bless me, Noirceuil, to separate from so lovely a wife”—and he bit her—“so sensitive a wife”—and he pinched her—“why, my dear Noirceuil, it’s sheer murder.”
“You know,” said D’Albert, “between the two of us I believe that’s exactly what Noirceuil has in mind, a murder.”
“How ghastly!” Saint-Fond exclaimed; he had got Madame de Noirceuil to rise and was now clawing her buttocks while she fisted his tool. “There’s nothing for it, my friends. Plainly, I’d best embugger her afresh; it may help her forget her other woes.”
“Yes,” said D’Albert, just then taking hold of her frontwise, “and in the meantime I’ll encunt her. Come, let’s hem her in and do her between us.”
“And what would you have me do, pray tell?” Noirceuil asked.
“Meditate,” said the Minister. “You’ll hold the candle, you’ll meditate, you’ll plot.”
“I can put my time to better use,” rejoined the barbarous husband; “leave my beloved helpmeet’s head alone, I wish to have her tearful countenance within view, I’ll bestow an occasional slap upon that image of distress the while I embugger this dear little Eglée; and two of the boys will take turns sounding my bum, and I’ll pluck hairs from Henriette’s cunt and Lolotte’s, and will watch Lindane and Juliette being served, one cuntwardly and the other in the asshole, by the two lads remaining.”
And it was so, very hot was the affray and very prolonged; the three libertines discharged at last, Dame Noirceuil emerging from their clutches all battered and bruised—D’Albert, for instance, had taken a great bite out of one of her breasts. Following the example of those gentlemen, and stoutly fucked by two of the pederastic youths, I swear that I too discharged unspeakably: flushed, my hair all disordered, I heard my performance and looks praised when we had done; it was Saint-Fond who caressed me especially.
“Is she not superb in this state!” he repeated. “How crime embellishes her!” And he applied his lips to most every part of my body, sucking them indiscriminately.
We did not return to the table, but everybody continued to drink there where he lay; very agreeable, this, and one is much quicker drunk that way. Alcohol began to have its effect almost at once, the women began to tremble; blazing glances were bent upon them, and I noticed that when they were spoken to the terms employed were threatening as well as foul. However, two facts were readily to be perceived: firstly, that the storm then gathering would pass me by, and that Madame de Noirceuil was to bear the brunt of its fury; I dismissed my fears.
Shunted out of Saint-Fond’s hands into those of her husband and from his into D’Albert’s, the unhappy lady was in sorry straits already; her breasts, her arms, her thighs, her buttocks, in short, every fleshy part of her was beginning to exhibit palpable evidence of the ferocity of those blackguards, when Saint-Fond, his prick of great size again and purple, seized her and gave her twelve resounding thwacks about the shoulders and the behind, then six equally vigorous slaps upon the face, that being in the way of prelude; next, he placed her in the center of the dining room and immobilized her, her feet were fastened to the floor, there being eyebolts sunk there; ropes attached to the ceiling held her arms raised above her head. As soon as she was thus tied a dozen lighted candles were set between her thighs, in such wise that some of the flames scorched the interior of her vagina, others the vicinity of her anus, singeing her pubic hairs till they smoked, and searing her flesh; whereof the visible result was much writhing and many tremors and, upon the lady’s lovely face, a sublime expression that declared all the voluptuous anguish of dolor. Holding up another candle, Saint-Fond considered her attentively during her Ordeal, having his prick sucked by Lindane throughout and his asshole tongued by Lolotte; nearby, Noirceuil, being fucked while nibbling Henriette’s buttocks, announced to his wife that she was going to go thus to her death; and D’Albert, embuggering a youth and fondling Eglée’s ass, exhorted Noirceuil to deal yet more rudely with his unfortunate spouse—that unfortunate creature, she who was bound to him in holy matrimony. Catering to the diverse needs of the company at large, for that was my role, I remarked that the candle-ends being too short, the victim was not suffering anywhere near the desirable degree of pain; so I raised the candlesticks by setting them upon a stool; Madame de Noirceuil’s frantic screams earned me the hearty applause of her torturers. And now Saint-Fond, who was becoming giddy, ventured an atrocity: the rogue caught up a candle, waved it beneath the lady’s nose for a moment or two, then burned her eyelashes and indeed almost the entirety of one eye; D’Albert too picked up a candle, and he toasted one of her nipples, while her husband set her hair afire.
Greatly moved by this dramatic spectacle, I egged the actors on and induced them to essay another stunt. Upon my recommendation Milady was drenched with brandy; for a brief instant she resembled a living torch, and when the blue flames died out, lo! it was not a pretty sight to behold, from head to toe one great burn covered her body. My idea had been a great success; there is no imagining how I was praised for
having conceived it. Fearfully aroused by that piece of villainy, Saint-Fond forsook Lindane’s mouth and with Lolotte still in tow, for he would not have her leave off sucking his vent, he embuggered me straightway.
“And now what shall we do to her?” Saint-Fond asks me, running his tongue deep into my mouth and plunging his prick far into my bowels. “Think, Juliette, invent something; you are inspired, whatever you propose is divine.”
“There are yet a thousand tortures she could be made to undergo,” I reply, “one more piquant than the other.” And I am about to suggest a few when Noirceuil approaches us and points out to Saint-Fond that it might be wiser to have her swallow the dose immediately lest from exhaustion she lack strength enough to enable us to appreciate and enjoy the effects of the poison. D’Albert’s opinion is consulted, he agrees with Noirceuil most emphatically; the lady is untied and turned over to me.
“Poor wretch,” I say to her after having introduced the powder into a glass of Alicante, “drink this, it will refresh you. It will improve your spirits. You’ll see.”
Without a murmur the precious fool does as she is told and once she has imbibed all the fatal mixture, Noirceuil, lodged to the hilt in my ass hitherto, withdraws and moves nearer the victim, eager to feast his eyes upon her antics from close on.
“You are going to die,” he informs her; “you are, I suppose, reconciled to the fact?”
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