by AnonYMous
I entered alone. "Unlimber your bubs," I said to Madame Poilsoyeux, "and raise your skirts, a young man is watching you from the street. A handsome, splendid lad of twenty."
"My fop?"
"No another ... he's named Trait-d'Amour. That's it, show your cunt while washing it; I'm going out to join him."
"Now look sharp," I said to my young stallion once I stood at his side again, "she's about to rinse her ass and scrub her cunt." My new-found son-in-law's soul stood up in his eyes. Conquette uncovered her breasts and lightly sprinkled rose-water over their pink extremities. Next, she lifted her clothing above her midriff, anointed her ass and cunt with perfume, arched her neck, stroked her breasts, rubbed her cunt languorously, and finally, before drawing the curtains, lay down full length upon a couch. I recommended to Trait-d'Amour that he follow me in a moment, and went in to prepare Madame Poilsoyeux for her visitor. I stretched out and encunted her as Trait-d'Amour made his entrance and set to tickling my balls. I discharged like a field-piece. My fuckeress uttered exclamations of voluptuous joy and I hastened to decunt. Trait-d'Amour had been waiting in readiness, his prick deployed, his breeches removed. He leapt aboard my daughter. Bending low over the encunter's head, I whispered, "Stir yourself, my beloved. Flex your muscles for me. I'm far from done with you." However, Trait-d'Amour was scarce able to bury his massive device in that strait cunt, even though my fuck, liberally distributed thereabouts, served him as pommade. Conquette, jolly well jammed, intermittently gasped, whimpered and sighed but nevertheless met each forward thrust of the prick with a doughty heave of her loins. I had a new erection, but without once deserting his post, Trait-d'Amour ran off three emphatic fucks characterized by three copious discharges. I had virtually to drag him away from work. "Rest yourself," I whispered in his ear. "I'm going to join the party."
"I'll stay," he replied, "for you'll need me. Your prick's not what it used to be, you know, and this cunt deserves the best. It's presently full of fuck. If she doesn't wash she'll never even feel your little prick inside her." Conquette did indeed repair to the bidet and, at the sight of her snowy thighs, her marvelous legs, and perfect feet, her ass, her cunt, her belly of ivory, her sweet navel, her proud firm beasts, my prick hardened considerably and lengthened a little.
"Noble fucker," I intoned in a voice loud enough for her to hear, "reveal yourself, that my goddess may behold the superb prick I have placed at her disposal."
Trait-d'Amour appeared, his spear in hand. He was not the hoped-for fop, but was more handsome, doubtless better furnished, and my daughter smiled contentedly. Then, lowering her gaze upon that upstanding masterpiece at his groin, the lovely girl, having taken it in her fair hand, said with a sigh: "'Tis then this princely object has given me such trouble and so much pleasure, too."
Trait-d'Amour thrust her towards me, spread her thighs wide, lay me down upon her, and clapped my engine into her cunt. "Your beloved has too gentle a hand," said he. "She's got to put you in a sweat. One must encunt stiff-limbed. Thrust, my good master, spur with both heels, the steed's a fine one. And you, my fairly encunted goddess, make your ass fly, lift your cunt. 'Tis a lively fellow of much virtue who's about to moisten your cunt with an honorable liquor."
This harangue brought a smile to the befucked's face. She, to disguise the source of her amusement, replied, "Ah, Monsieur Vitnègre, how many horns you wear today!"
"Come, come, my nymph," Trait-d'Amour continued, "think now that 'tis for you to bear three-quarters of the burden. We require movement here...fine! That has the look of something done in friendship, and you have the ass-play of a princess. The flanks now, the hips, I say, fling them about. With your satin-smooth cunt you're putting your fucker in seventh heaven. Courage, master, be stiff, go squarely at it. There's joy to be had there, a splendid ride is yours if you'll deal firmly with your mount. Ah! What a breakneck pace, how she capers! My stars, 'tis a discharge on the mare's part. Ply your spurs! How she rolls her ass! The dear creature is all in a lather but likes a free gallop, 'tis plain. Here, I'll tickle your balls, for you must keep up with her. You're discharging too? Well done, I say. What action, what verve! And now she returns blow for blow..."
My modest daughter never swore save when profoundly moved and when fast gripped in lust's delirium; but the present goings-on loosened her tongue: "Bugger!" she cried. "Oh, fuck me, for Christ's sweet sake! Fuck my cunt to pieces ... fuck my soul out of my body ... I'm melting ... melting into fuck ... I'm discharging! ... oh, but what I'd do to have two pricks in this bloody cunt!"
"'Twould never do, my dear, you're too narrowly constructed," Trait-d'Amour explained. "Otherwise we'd find some way of giving you that pleasure. But someday perhaps we'll fit a prick into your ass while a second stuffs your cunt." I was weary after a delicious discharge. I decunted in a trice, in another Trait-d'Amour took over my station. Conquette was still in a ferment and Trait-d'Amour speedily filled her hungry cunt. "You," he said to me, "you fucked my younger sister, and I fucked her after you. You depucelated Connette for me. Tell me now, do their cunts match the one which by your kindness is giving my prick a squeeze at this very minute? No, sir, no. This one's of satin and velvet. However, to judge by its silken fledging, I dare fancy the interior of the cunt of my pretty hatmaker in the rue Bordet will approach it. Am I hurting you, my queen?"
"Yes, and delighting me ... go on, go on, more ... fuck, good friend!"
"Ah, what satin! What sweet humidity! I'm well in, eh? I'm fucking aright, am I not? And I'm coming! Jerk, wring my prick. Oh, divine, oh, sacred, oh, heavenly cunt of my life! A dear, darling little nipper she has deep inside her. Squeeze bite, pinch me, beloved little one. Make me convulse in your pretty cunt. Do you like fucking, oh goddess? Have you a taste for fuck? Four discharges are going to flood this dear hole. Go drown, go drown – there's my second!"
"Fuck me a third, screw!" cried Conquette. "Don't fail me, don't falter, dear love-stick!"
"Don't leave her until well after your discharge," I told my former secretary. "Let her relish the final pulsations of your goad. How beautiful she is the befucked. The sight arouses me afresh. She looks a very goddess. Let her have her fill. Hammer it home, rub her raw and ragged. She's still yearning for it. Good, good, she's squirting! What a picture of joy as she discharges! I believe she's dry, my lad."
"Dry? I think not. She burst four times running, that makes seven all told," said Trait-d'Amour, washing the ecstatic child's cunt. "But she's got a furious talent for this. Refuck her while I catch my breath. I'm going to try to make it an even dozen."
"You will injure to try to make it an even dozen."
"You will injure your health," Conquette said to him, "You've encunted me seven times already!"
"Never fear," said Trait-de'Amour.
"Twelve for you, then," said she, "and that will come to sixteen for me." I went into prompt action and as she darted her tongue into my mouth, I slid my rock-hard prick into her cunt. Trait-d'Amour took her when I was done and did not let her go, despite her pleadings, until, good as his word, he had sprayed her five more times and brought the count to twelve.
She rose gloriously; directly he decunted. "Take this pitiless young man away from me," she said, "and leave me by myself. I need rest, believe me, and at least thirty minutes on the bidet; my poor fur is in tatters."
We left her and went to Madame Brideconin's kitchen and had each a good plate of bouillon. I asked the landlady to keep some soup hot for Madame Poilsoyeux.
Set to rights, Conquette arrived and appeared as demure, as decent, as modest as if she had never been fucked in her life. Trait-d'Amour left the house, well satisfied but no better informed. Madame Brideconin, very discreet in these matter, told him nothing of my relations with my daughter.
Chapter Ten
I hesitated a long time before deciding to publish this posthumous work of the only too-famous Linguet, generally renowned as an important lawyer. The typesetting having been once started, I resolved to have only a
few copies printed, thinking to put them in the hands of two or three enlightened friends and as many women intelligent enough to provide me with a sound opinion upon its effect, for I was eager to discover whether it would, if broadly circulated, have an evil influence as great as the infernal fiction against which I had hopes it would act as a counter-poison. I am not indeed so witless as to suppose The Anti-Justine is harmless and non-toxic; that however is not the question. Rather, it is this: will it effectively combat the baneful Justine? That is what I wish to learn from disinterested men and women who will judge the book's impact upon themselves.
The author declared his intention to steer clear of cruelty, bloodthirstiness, and murder of the woman possessed; has he avoided these atrocious dramatic devices? He declared his wish to inspirit jaded husbands and bring them back to the happy and wholesome enjoyment of their wives. He affirmed his belief that the reading of but half a chapter of his work would be enough to bring about a reconciliation; was he right? Has he succeeded? The reader will decide.
I, of course, admit to the salacious character of this book, but nothing else would have sufficed to produce the desired effect. So 'tis then for you, my friends, to judge and do not deceive me.
The Anti-Justine will have a number of parts like the foregoing one.
I will pass to the second volume or part of this production designed to awaken amorous sentiments in gentlemen whose ladies presently inspire none in them. Such is the object and whole purpose of this excellent labor, clearly of love, by which Linguet's name will be rendered immortal.
At long last we have reached the epoch, so frequently alluded to, of first magnitude fuckeries. Instead of preparing for them, had I chosen abruptly to introduce them now, they would surely have bewildered the most widely experienced reader.
When I opened this broadened phase of my enterprise I was sure of having not only the two or three buyers Vitnègre solicited for Conquette, but several girls as well. Amongst them was the attractive rue Bordet hatmaker who was usually sent forth in the van. She would be let out to clients of whose proportions I was uncertain, and from her reports I could gauge whether it was safe to expose my less generously cunted girls to any given prick. It was nonetheless essential, in order to avoid their suffering grave injury, to have all my girl's cunts prodigiously stretched, but I had at the same time to keep them away from too many dischargers. The reader will discover how I managed in these delicate affairs.
The reader will also find a brief story inserted in each of the scenes to follow. This so as to vary a bill of fare which otherwise might prove monotonous; to give the reader's imagination a periodic rest, and also to put down a number of adventures I thought I ought to omit from the earlier part of my tale. Each little story will sort properly with the context and larger scheme of the work. For nothing would be more out of place than a philosophical dissertation in a book like this: it would become insipid were it to be made heavy, and the reader's taste for philosophy, moreover, would be spoiled. My moral purpose – and mine is as good as any other – is to give those who have some spirit in them an erotikon, well spiced and lively, which will encourage them to put a no longer lovely wife to the best possible use. But not by any means to the same use suggested by that cruel and dangerous book, Justine which of late has enjoyed such a regrettable popularity.
I have thus still another important intention: I wish to preserve women from cruelty's delirious excesses. The Anti-Justine, no less highly seasoned, no less ambitious in its situations than Sade's novel, but altogether unbarbarous, will henceforth prevent men from resorting to barbarity. The publication of this antidote is a matter of urgency, and if, dishonor in the eyes of purists, fools and thoughtless censors is to be my lot, I accept it willingly in order to come to the aid of my countrymen.
The work shall have two parts: after the narrative constituting the first will come a series of letters, written with equal vivacousness and forming the second.
Cupidonnet's girls recount to him the pleasure parties their keepers have made them take a hand in, in which their keepers would sometimes have them possessed by a dozen men in succession. But not all of these letters are erotic. Some will interest for other reasons. Amongst them will be found an account of a resurrection and the important discovery of the origin of Conquette Ingénue and Victoire Conquette, two girls my own daughters have since replaced, and that will justify one aspect of my behavior which has probably caused the reader some disquiet – I need say no more.
There remains much that might be said about the scenes I am going to bring before the reader's eyes, hoping to make him forget what he saw in Justine and prefer The Anti-Justine. My book must just as much surpass the other in voluptuousness as it yields to Justine in cruelty. The reading of but one chapter must be enough to move a man to the proper exploitation of his wife, young or old, pretty or ill-favored, provided the lady have an hygienic acquaintance with the bidet and a well-developed taste in footwear.
After such an evening of gay disporting, my daughter needed to repose herself. The next morning her gem was so fatigued she could not comfortably get up from her chair. She stayed within a short distance of Madame Brideconin, fearing lest someone might come to cross swords with her. Although cured of her aches and pains by the third day, she also avoided being alone with me all the rest of the week. Meanwhile, her natural craving must have accumulated and increased, since she never frigged herself.
On Sunday, at one o'clock, she went to the kitchen of her protectress for one last time. Before leaving the storeroom, she presented me with her pretty foot, which I kissed, and without a sign of squeamishness surrendered her cunt hair to my affectionate fingers. I led her as far as the door, promising to come to get my five. This made her flush, but I observed that she smiled as she mounted the steps, thinking I had gone. I was on time; we went for a stroll. I had her walk ahead of me, noticing she was being watched by a man I guessed to be one of Vitnègre's clients. But as she was wrapped up in a shawl, he was able to recognize nothing but her shapely behind and interesting gait. I overtook Conquette and asked if 'twas he she preferred. "Yes," was her simple reply. Wherewith, speaking in a louder tone, I addressed her as my daughter. The man moved off. I had forewarned Trait-d'Amour; he had a key to my storeroom; we returned there and found him waiting for us. I supposed he was alone, although I had suggested he fetch along four other actors, two of each sex. Laughing, I told him my prick was stiff and longing to burrow into a cunt. "What!" said Conquette."Are we to have double-fuckery again? I must assure you that I'm not in the mood for a crowd."
"We'll put you in the mood for one," Trait-d'Amour said ironically, for he thought she was my whore. "Deign to glance at this prick I have here," and he exhibited a superb one. "Allow me first to give your cunt a licking, Mademoiselle. My master will encunt you when you have a fancy for something more substantial than a tongue. I've made complete arrangements to afford him, and you too, a royal entertainment." He thrust her brutally down upon the bed and lodged his head 'twixt her thighs, as he licked her saying, in the manner of a threat, "Don't resist me, else I'll hurt you." But, like all other high-spirited women, Madame Poilsoyeux appreciated a shade of roughness in fuckery and its accessory activities. Thus, thinking he was forcing her to do his will, he was admirably flattering hers ... the lovely creature began to discharge.
Whilst I stiffened vibrantly at the sight of my daughter's glistening cunt and buttocks in decisive and swift movement, I perceived something stirring behind the curtain of the alcove. I went to see what it was: there were Minonne and Connette having their cunts licked by two lads, Trait-d'Amour's friends. By signs I bade them make no noise, and with a gesture encouraged them to enjoy themselves.
Meanwhile, Trait-d'Amour was nipping and sucking Madame Poilsoyeux's cunt. When she had sufficiently entered into the spirit of things, he retreated from the breach, drew me towards her, and inserted my militant prick in that cuntlet reempucelated by seven days of inactivity. "What," he demanded of the
encuntee, "what have you to give me to suck?" She tendered him the index finger of her right hand, which he did indeed fall to sucking after having nevertheless called to this sister and his mistress: "Hither, buggresses, and show your abilities!" One, Minonne, whose hand was as soft as my daughter's cunt, tickled my balls; the other, Connette, rummaged with a buttered finger in the asshole of my fuckeress so as to make her quiver beneath me. Madame Poilsoyeux was sweating with pleasure. She shot her tongue into my mouth, calling me her fop, her dear hundred-louis cunt-stuffer, her beloved thick-pricked client her peerless Trait-d'Amour. At last, drunk with erotic fury, she cried, "Vitnègre, you fuck-in-the-ass sod, screw me! Fuck me. Put your fat black prick into me, let it split me like a melon and embugger me!" and she discharged like a she-devil. At this crucial moment, my mouth contained my encunted daughter's trembling tongue, one of the two girls was massaging my testicles and the other was licking my back and spine. Hitherto I had discharged upon many a fair occasion and thought I knew what it was to release a packet of well-warmed seed, but never had I sensed anything to equal what I now experienced. This all but rent me asunder. What delight!
Trait-d'Amour raised me from my daughter and flung himself into her fuck-drenched cunt. "There's a cunt!" said he, forging ahead, then retreating, each time progressing farther and with a jolt. "The difference between this cunt and others is like that of satin and sackcloth!" The young ladies had no need to fondle the hard-fucking Trait-d'Amour. He was by nature blazing hot and soon had his partner afire. I beckoned to the two lads, Brisemotte and Cordaboyau, and had them lay out the two girls, one upon a sofa, the other upon my cot covered with a simple mattress, and I bade them fuck away within plain view of the silken-cunted beauty. By an exceptional stroke of luck, my daughter ejaculated for the second time beneath Trait-d'Amour, and the two encunted girls discharged at the same instant as did all three of the men then at work: a six-gun salvo! Incredible! The lovely Poilsoyeux's knees drew stiff. "Oh my God!" she cried three times over. "Aie! Aie! Aie!" Minonne: "Ah! Ah! Ah!" Connette: "Oh! oh! oh!" the three men spoke in chorus: Trait-d'Amour: "Ah, my goddess, fling your ass at me!" Brisemotte: "Shake your ass, bitch!" And Cordaboyau: "Stir it, whore, stir your ass!" Upon discharging, each exclaimed: "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Trait-d'Amour: "Ah, my divine one!" Brisemotte: "Ah, my sacred slut!" Cordaboyau: "Oh, glorious buggress!" Each in his character and according to his peculiar manner. But all of them together.