Pleasures and Follies

by AnonYMous

  Let us take up once again the thread of this charming story and turn to a few preparatory love bouts which will usher in the main ones. 'Tis the painting of sweet voluptuousness constitutes genius.

  The first visit Coquette received on the day following her inhumanation and at the same hour was paid her by Timon. He found her at her pension. He recounted how her beast of a husband, finding her gone, told all the neighbors she was dead and buried. But he was inhibited from speaking freely by the presence of the master and mistress of the house. Now, in this same building, only a few steps from where I lived, I had a small room where I hid the copies of each number of my Annales, whose printing was at the time forbidden by the government. My daughter was to have her bed in this secluded place and was to sleep there that night – she would have been there already had it not been that she had recently arisen. The bed I had installed – for my own use, for my secretary's, for his sister's, his mistress, and mother-in-law's – was a comfortable and generous fucking-couch beneath whose thick coverlets one could nestle very agreeably. Vitnègre had one just like it: he used to hide in it when one or another of his clients came to exercise the cunt or ass of his wife (he called her his golden-egg-laying goose). He didn't like to miss anything of the spectacle and was, furthermore, afraid that a client might spirit her away from him. Apart from that, his lust was flattered by watching: he was mad about his wife's feet and while she was being feelingly tongued by one of those buggers (they all adored her and were keenly to regret her loss), he would draw off one of her slippers. They were narrow and he used them the way another might employ a cunt. "Friends," he was wont to confide to his colleagues, "I have never fucked anything belonging to my wife but her shoes."

  Sensing that Timon had a quantity of things to tell her, and that he was unable to talk where they presently were, Conquette pretended she had left a letter in my storeroom and that she wished to show it to him; having a key, they went down together.

  I had just arrived there when I heard my daughter's step, her muted voice, and Timon's. I hid myself in the capacious bed. They entered. Conquette carefully closed and locked the door, covered it with the mattress padding, which prevented noise from being overheard outside, and they seated themselves near to where I lay.

  "Ah, Madame," began the sensitive youth, "what scenes we've had! He discovered, I know not by what means, that I loved you – perhaps my glances betrayed me – or because one day when I was with him at your home and one of your purchasers was caressing you with his leave and his guise, he saw me shower kisses on one of your slippers. I thought I did so unnoticed. But he seemed until then to have been totally unaware that you loved me, or that you and I were ever acquainted. And then came the terrible day. He called at my lodgings. I was having coffee; it was three in the afternoon. 'I'll never be able to depucelate my wife,' he told me, 'my prick's too large. You're a handsome lad. I've chosen you to handsell her, 'twill be this very day. I simply ask six louis for her hire. I'll give them to her as a gift. She likes to buy herself trinkets.' I produced the money on the spot and we set out – you know the rest.

  "After leaving you on that fatal night, I slept until ten in the morning. I went to my office but on the way stopped at your husband's door. I knocked and heard two neighbors whispering together: 'It's the confessor, so it couldn't have been Madame they took away last night.' The wicked fellow opened the door – that atrocious monk was with him. A friar had brought the coffin, it contained something swathed in shrouds, and he recited prayers aloud beside the body, which lay in the other room. 'He's a friend,' Vitnègre explained to the monk; then, to me: 'My poor wife has passed away.'

  "'Passed away!' said I.

  "'She died in the arms of this reverend father.' The expression made me shudder. The monk spoke: 'I did all in my power. We have taken all the necessary steps. She shall be buried quietly. Permission has been granted us to carry out the little ceremony. It will take place at about four.' I left. After my midday meal, towards three-thirty, I called again at Vitnègre's house. Two priests, four pall-bearers, the monk and the friar carried out what I supposed was an empty coffin. There was no chanting. It was buried. We'll see what happens next. I plan to watch developments. You are thought dead, my beloved. Will you accord me your favors? For you are free."

  "My friend," was Conquette's modest reply, "let me begin by thanking you for the important services you have rendered me. But there is someone else who has rendered me yet greater ones. If not for him I should have been doomed. Were I still in possession of my favors, I should bestow them upon you, but they are now the rightful property of my first lover, who, lying in concealment, discovered the plot they were hatching. He has just deflowered me and he made love to me once again after doing so. He is your single rival, but I adore him. His name, which I am going to disclose to you, shall prove in what high esteem I hold you, for, truly, this is a confidence to be guarded faithfully: he is my papa."

  Upon hearing these words Timon fell at his mistress's feet. "Angelic girl, divine girl," he said, "I discern therein all your filial piety and beauty of your soul! Fuck your father, yes! May he be alone to encunt you. You would be worthy to be fucked by the gods, if the gods still fucked these days. I ask but one thing: to lick out your cunt, my precious, and, with your father's noble permission, to sodomize you."

  "My most amiable friend," Conquette said to him, stroking his hand and smiling with infinite sympathy, "you are an eminently reasonable individual."

  Timon shed his trousers, deposited in her hands a depucelating instrument, yet more meagerly constructed than my fine prick, had her caress his little globes and requested leave to frig her. She refused, wherewith Timon lay her upon the bed, hoisted her petticoats and voraciously, but fastidiously, sucked her cunt.

  No, indeed, never were such joyous sighs pronounced. "Ah, Timon! Your tongue's even better than a prick," the young bard was told. She had ejaculated with the third lick of his gifted tongue, and in her delirium she raised her legs high in the air, clicking her heels, elevating her ass to favor the application of her pumper's mouth and the introduction of the tongue with which he was exciting her clitoris.

  She was the image of her mother in this heel-clicking, for I never fucked that lamented woman save in daytime. For, whether having at her cuntwardly, bumwise, or orally, I wished to be inspired by the best part of her: I am referring to her leg and foot. I used to ask her to click her heels, because that reminded me of a woman walking, and that would always give me an erection.

  When my daughter had had her fill of discharging, she thrust Timon away from her swimming cunt.

  The celestial Conquette Ingénue was as always her fair-minded and clear-thinking self: the reader will be not in the least surprised by the speech she uttered now. Turning over on her belly, she said, "My next-to-best friend, lubricate me. My foremost friend depucelated my gem and justice demands that to you be offered the first use of my rosebud – Papa would surely approve my decision."

  "Oh goddess!" exclaimed Timon as he inserted pommade into her anus by means of a simple piece of apparatus, "What a tranquil judgment you have, what unfailing wisdom! He shall have the cuntlet and I the rosy vent and each of us shall enjoy the privilege of exclusive fuckery." Timon burst through the narrow gate despite one of two little squeals and titters from my cherished daughter, and, after some lively thumps and rattlings, he discharged. "Fuck!" he roared in his cultured voice, "Fuck! What as ass! Why, this is the very pleasure of Olympean Zeus!" and he slumped forward, drained of sperm and short of wind after that single stroke of lighting. It also occurred to him, to my measureless satisfaction, that he had an appointment at seven. Rolling her upon her back so as to be able to give her a farewell kiss in the form of a few stabs of the tongue aimed into her cunt, Timon left the amorous Conquette Ingénue stretched out upon the bed. He lit his candle, opened the door, and shut it behind him.

  He was no sooner gone than I sprang from hiding and landed upon my adorable daughter, who had bee
n moved by and whose cunt was oscillating vibrantly from those three nips Timon had bestowed in going. "Why, gracious! Are you there?"

  "Of course, my beloved: he embuggers, I encunt! You are at the origin of this shattering erection you see me wearing."

  "Oh dearest Papa! Fuck me, do. Fuck your devoted daughter, fuck her." It was the first time in her life she had used this word. She repeated it thrice, being by no means blind to its singular potency. "You'll have to do the fucking, for I'm perfectly exhausted." She grasped my prick and plunged it into her cuntlet. "Push," she cried, "push, divine prick, paternal prick, squirt fuck into your daughter's cunt!" While holding forth in this strain, she flung her ass about with such energy I was soon lodged in the depths of her cunt. Long live common everyday cunt-fuckery! Of the forty manners of being rid of one's load, 'tis by far the best. I had my daughter's mouth, her tongue, her white breasts, the view of her charming countenance, always made doubly attractive when the woman's being fucked by her sweet phrases: "Dear, most beloved prick, divine prick, oh, how it itches my cunt. Thrust, drive deep, bugger, deeper ... I'm coming ... I'm discharging ... fuck, fuck a river of fuck ... your tongue, dear cunt-fucker, dear lover ... oh, I'm discharging again, fuck, bloody bugger, suck, bite my tits..."

  In tune with Conquette's second emission, I discharged, shooting my seed to the last recesses of the wrung-tight cunt gripping me like a velvet fist. And I felt myself adorably needled by what the vulgar call the clitoris, and more polished persons the finger of heaven. And some other interior organ, the cervix, attained only by lengthy pricks, avidly sucked the end of my engine. Discharging with this delicious idea in my brain – picturing myself wedged in the most beautiful of women, her back arched, her flanks heaving, solidly stoppered, sweating with joy – I fucked the child of my loins. I frothed into her cunt. What, I thought, if our mingled seed my create a new child! I'm cuckolding that bounder, that bleeder, Vitnègre! I'm fucking the wife he thinks dead! The wife he's never fucked. We're fucking her, Timon and I, he her ass, I her cunt, while that base, vile dog is frigging himself at the thought of her. He believes her gone, killed by one of his clients. Her cunt streams like that of a princess being futtered by a regiment of the royal guard! Those ideas, rapidly turning over in my imagination, doubled, quadrupled my delight.

  My daughter squeezed me out. "I'm full to the gills," said she, "my cunt and my ass too. I've got to wash."

  I ran to the kitchen in search of warm water. There I found Madame Brideconin, the lady of the house, seated by the hearth, her snow-white breasts lazing in plain view. Monsieur Brideconin said: "I've just given her a plumbing in honor of your daughter, Madame Poilsoyeux," I had given her that name so that she'd not have to bear her infamous husband's. I went back down to the storeroom and I, myself, sponged clean my divine girl's secret charms. I noticed a few traces of blood near the rosebud and also, indeed, in the cunt. "What have we here? Have I hurt you?"

  "Yes, ever so slightly, my darling tormentor, but pain made my pleasure the greater – even in my ass." Cleansed, Conquette Ingènue regarded me for a moment. "I was in such a hurry to make love with you, oh guardian angel, that I did not even have the time to ask your opinion on what has taken place between Timon and me."

  "I too have something to say in that regard, but we are going now to have supper. You need rest, we'll chat tomorrow." I gave her my tongue, she gave me hers, they entwined. I kissed her pink nipples and went off to eat.

  During supper I related to Madame Brideconin something of "Madame Poilsoyeux" alleged death so that she and her husband could avoid compromising her.

  While we supped, my daughter's host carried her bed down to the storeroom. When everything had been arranged she and I went back down together. "I think I'll be afraid all alone in here. Ask Madame Brideconin to spend the night with me."

  "I'll stay, my lovely."

  "Oh, I'd prefer that! Not for lovemaking, but so that my loving papa will sleep with his head pillowed on the breasts of Vitnègre's wife while Vitnègre passes the night boring himself or fucking one of my old shoes."

  "Heavenly child," I said, "I am going to tell you tonight what I had planned to postpone until tomorrow." As might a newlywed husband, I undressed my goddess, kissing everything I brought to light. When both of us were in bed, I set her on my lap and began my discourse.

  Oh, affable reader, I am able still to feel throbbings of the most exquisite voluptuousness as I recall to mind those enchanting moments that were mine, thanks to Conquette Ingénue.

  "Lower yourself slowly, my queen, and with care, that I may insert the tenon without scraping the mortise." She followed instructions, and when perfectly encunted, she bade me speak. "You know, my dearest, that I have seen everything, heard everything. Your divine sentiments in my regard have penetrated me with gratitude and admiration. I wholly approve your gesture in awarding to Timon the handselling of your sublime ass and with transports of greatest joy I welcome and accept your devotion to me. However, my dear daughter, 'tis in your interest and for your welfare and happiness I employ it as I see fit. I am older, wiser than you, but, not unlike a sultan, subject to foolish jealousies and alarms. I have no intention of preserving you for my exclusively personal pleasures. You will have a buyer. Which would you prefer amongst the three men to whom your pucelage was sold?"

  "The best-mannered, incomparable Papa, but he was also the one with the biggest prick."

  "I shall therefore have your gem widened by a stoutly furnished gentleman of my acquaintance. He is not particularly lovable nor lovely, but some better-favored personage might weary you by making you discharge too frequently, or, worse, might win your heart, and that must not be allowed to happen. A preparatory fucker ought to gain possession of nothing but your cunt. Neither Timon nor I have the sturdy construction required for the job. We're well equipped for depucelatory exercises, but are no cunt-stretchers. However, a number of possibilities come to mind. I'll talk the problem over with the individual you prefer, then with the two others if he proves unwilling to cooperate. I have spied upon those three, and know their addresses. I'll not compromise you, as your father I ask of you nothing but submissiveness and obedience."

  "They are yours entire, dear Papa." She squirmed about for an instant and discharged.

  "Should, as I judge likely to happen, should a significant rise occur in your essential temperature, I shall take good care – and you may rely upon me – that you will not lack for pricks. 'Twill be an unending succession of homages. Maturity in years deprives me of the capacity to sate your young lust – should it be a question of lust – and so I propose to bring you a series of nice clean youths, steadily increasing the diameter of the prick."

  My provocative daughter began again to stir at his juncture. "Dear fucking-father, I want to be cunt-fucked by Timon, my ass-fucker. Will you allow it? You have converted me, he'll encunt me, but only in your presence."

  "Yes, yes, very well." I strained upwards with a heave of my back. She burst into song: "Dig deep, dig deep into my cunt, far-darting prick, make me come! Oh bugger fuck! Fuck me, screw me, screw right and deep and harder! I'm discharging" (and so she did, suddenly freezing her body as though electrified) "Ah! ... ah! ... oh, darling Papa ... .ah! ah! ah!..." (with a sigh) "...never before have I discharged like that!"

  I lit a lamp. My daughter repaired to the bidet to polish her gem whilst I dipped prick and balls in soothing cool water in order to relax my infuriated machinery. I enquired where had my daughter learned the expressions she had employed upon discharging?

  "During the third week of my marriage," she answered, "Vitnègre went to bed with his god-daughter, the wife of a police spy. But her god-father's orders, this woman pretended to enter a delirium when he fucked her, and those were the words she uttered – and there were others, too, which would sound less musical upon my lips and in yours ears. For example: Fuck-puker, bleeding bull's pizzle, butter churn, fuck-to-death ramrod, sewer swab, cunt-scraper, and many more." We got back in
to bed and fell asleep in each other's arms.

  Chapter Seven

  What you are about now to read will, in view of the sentiments I have just professed, probably surprise you. But, bold reader, refrain from beforehand estimations if you must pass judgment, wait a little till you know me better.

  I knew one of those pleasure gourmets, a large vigorous man, extremely lewd and lustful. His name was Montencon. I had often dined at his house in the rue Trousse-Vache. Upon a number of occasions, dinner over, he had persuaded me to encunt little Vitsucette, his mistress, whom he was pleased to hold down while I toiled in her hole. He had even procured me his landlady's daughter, a regular little jewel seduced by her mother's lover, a noble by the name of Foutanes, who had finally turned her into a whore; she amused us all of an evening. Montencon, having made the pretty Adelaide Hochepine tipsy on wine and brandy, had the courtesy to send me first into the fray after his mistress had given my balls a hearty manualizing by way of prelude. I encunted and then he embuggered her, he too having initially had his pearls rubbed by Vitsucette. She washed my member and I then had a second shot at Adelaide. Montencon bade Vitsucette wash me again. "I have my reasons, my dear chap. I've a fondness for having my prick sucked." He popped his device into Adelaide's mouth, was pumped, discharged, and had her swallow his seed. I was repelled by this performance and by its duplication, effected immediately afterward with Vitsucette. Having found all this fuck-quaffing eminently disagreeable, I never went back to Montencon's for another soirée. But he was the personage I invited to dine with us in the storeroom and whom I had selected to begin the amplification of my daughter's cunt and her training in battle. The work had to be done, for I had individually promised each of Vitnègre's thick-pricked clients that she would soon be back in active service.