Then she went on her knees, and as the magnificent ornament which she had just added to the shrine did not hinder her from paying her respects to it, she gently laid Florence's thighs on her two shoulders, and drew aside the thick fur which closed the entrance to the grotto disclosed to her view, like a casket of black velvet lined with rose-coloured satin.
At this unexpected sight the Countess gave an exclamation of pleasure, and at once began to apply her tongue to the pretty sanctuary; but, to her great astonishment, she preceived that the passage, which she thought free, was closed up. She rose quickly and looking eagerly at Florence, said:
“What does that mean?”
“Why, dear Odette,” said Florence laughing, “it means that I am a virgin, or if you prefer it, that I still have my maidenhead.”
“Is there any difference?”
“Certainly, my dear. The virgin is a girl that never was touched by anybody; the innocent one who knows nothing of love's pleasures. But she of the maidenhead is the one who in spite of her own private practices, or her intercourse with others, has been able to keep whole the membrane of the Hymen.”
“Ah! then I have found a girl whom man never sullied! Oh! my beautiful Florence, I can hardly believe it.”
“You can ascertain for yourself,” said Florence; “the more so as I have to reproach you with stopping short when I was just about to feel the approach of pleasure. Begin again, my beloved Odette, and should there be any further occasion for astonishment, wait till you have done before you express it.”
“One word more?”
“Certainly.”
“Then you have still your maidenhead, but you are no longer a virgin?”
“No, indeed I am not.”
“Are men responsible for your being no longer a virgin?”
“Not for the world. The gaze of man never rested on my form; never did man touch me.”
“Ah!” cried Odette, “that is all I wished to know,” and she threw herself on Florence, and applied her lips to the sanctuary.
Florence gave a little shriek. She felt, perhaps too acutely the impression of the teeth which caressed her, but almost at the same time, Odette's tongue replaced the teeth and that clever tongue at once ascertained the accuracy of Florence's statement, and that if she was no longer a virgin, her maidenhead was still intact.
As for Florence she experienced all the pleasure which can be given by a skilful tongue, and it was so intense that she could hardly help uttering little shrieks as if in pain. She was almost in a swoon when the Countess began giving her on the mouth kisses which had been so profusely distributed elsewhere.
“Ah! it is my turn!” she said in a state of great excitement.
And she let herself glide from the bed in the posture of the wounded gladiator. The Countess took her place on the bed and drew her body close to Florence's inclined head.
“Ah!” she murmured: “If a man had seen and heard what you just heard and saw, I should never dare to lift up my head again.”
At that very moment the Countess was so close to her that her hair brushed Florence's head.
The beautiful actress gave a start, her nostrils quivered; she raised her head, opened her eyes, and perceived that her mouth was close to that fiery bouquet which at first sight had so excited her.
But the ardour of her desires had abated, and Florence, slightly tired, but not satiated, had now more leisure to devote to pleasure. She fondly kissed the perfumed hair and began returning the caresses which the Countess had lavished upon her; but suddenly she seemed struck with a novel idea, and, laying the Countess at full length on the bed, she applied her mouth to the latter's parted thighs, whilst she placed herself in a similar but reversed position.
Then the two bodies became one-the breasts were pressed on the respective bellies. During some moments all conversation ceased, for the two eager mouths were at work; nothing could be heard but the panting respiration of the women and sighs of pleasure, and suddenly both became motionless, quite exhausted.
This time there was a protracted pause. Both seemed as if sleeping. At last both appeared to revive, and simultaneously exclaimed:
“Oh, what bliss!” then, quite panting, dishevelled, with languid eyes, weakened by their exertions, they slipped from the bed and lay down on a long and spacious couch.
“Ah! beautiful Florence! What pleasure you gave me!” said Odette.
“Well, I am so glad I found something new.”
“Oh, darling! I thought I should die!”
“Then you had much pleasure?”
“Oh, yes; but I fancy that it cannot equal that which a man can give.”
“Do you think, then that a man in that respect is our superior?”
“Indeed I do. We but light the fire. We do not put it out.”
“Whereas man…”
“Ah! Man thoroughly stamps it out Luckily we have some inventions which supply the place of what nature refused us.
“Have you not heard of dildoes?”
“Is it a fact that such things really exist?”
“No doubt, have you never seen any?”
“Never!”
“Would you like to see one?”
“Indeed I should very much like to.”
“Do you know the shape of a man's attributes?”
“As much as I could judge from statues.”
“Not otherwise?”
“No.”
“You have never seen a man?”
“Never!”
“Oh, then I shall be able in my turn to show you something new.”
“Have you any?”
“Yes, of every description.”
“Oh, let me see them.”
“Wait a little then,” said Odette, “I will fetch all my treasures.”
“Can I go with you?”
“Come.”
Odette took Florence to her dressing room and then, opening a secret drawer in her necessaire, she drew forth a casket and two cases like those used for pistols.
She brought forth the whole collection and laid it on the couch for inspection.
“First of all,” said Odette, “I must show you the contents of the casket. The jewel which it encloses is not only a historical jewel, but also a work of art. It is said to be the production of the great Benvenuto Cellini.”
Odette opened the casket of red velvet, and exhibited a true masterpiece of carved ivory.
This was an exact life-size reproduction of man's organs of generation, and was altogether an admirable work of art. On one side of it were carved the lillies of France, and on the other side the three crescents of Diane de Poitiers.
No doubt this marvellous jewel had been the property of Monsieur de Saint Vallier's daughter, the widow of Monsieur de Breze and mistress of Francis I, and Henri II.
Florence examined it, with astonishment at first, then with curiosity, and finally with admiration. With astonishment, because it was the first time that she beheld and touched a. like object; with curiosity because she did not know how it worked; finally, with admiration, because Florence was a thorough artist, and it was a genuine work of art.
At the base of the instrument there was a cavity which came to view by unscrewing a portion of it, and that contained works almost as complicated as those of a clock, setting in motion a rod, which caused some liquid to spurt out in imitation of the natural process.
Florence was rather astonished, and wondered at the great size of the instrument, but the Countess, with a smile, replied by making some very elementary demonstrations and experiments. She applied the instrument to her own person, and so managed matters that in a short time it was altogether lost to view.
“You perceive how it works!” she said. “Yet you must confess that the receptacle is not apparently in proportion with its contents.”
Florence leaned forward to make a closer inspection.
There was indeed no exaggeration. What the Countess stated was perfectly correct.
A
t first she put her hand to the appliance and moved it up and down.
“Not without milk!” said the Countess, staying her hand.
Having now sufficiently admired the historical jewel, they next inspected another, which was enclosed in one of the velvet cases. This was a common dildoe, of the same description as those manufactured in France or England, but more artistically made than those which were designed at the time for Italian and Spanish convents, where a couple of millions were sold every year.
This one was similar to that of Diane de Poitiers, of the ordinary size, about five or six inches in length and flesh-coloured, but the contrivance for the emission of the liquid was not so complicated; as this one was not so artistic as the first, the two women paid less attention to it than to the beautiful instrument which had had the honour of being used by Diane de Poitiers.
They now went on to the third. On beholding this Florence gave a shriek of surprise and terror. No wonder, for it measured from seven to eight inches in length and five or six in circumference.
“Oh!” said she. “That one is not of Diane's. It is rather of Pasiphae!”
The Countess laughed.
“Therefore do I call it 'The Giant'. It is a curiosity from South America and gives us an idea of what the requirements of the ladies of Rio de Janiero, Caracas, Buenos Ayres and Lima may be.”
“But see how marvellous are the works of this affair.”
“Indeed it was a marvellous piece of workmanship, and was formed of some kind of gum highly-polished, each hair was set as if by one of the best hairdressers in Paris, and assuredly it had been cast, according to the practice of the sculptors, in a good mould from nature.”
“Why,” said Florence, who could not encompass it in her tiny hand. “This is a monster, and I do not believe there is a woman alive who could give a reception to such a huge thing.”
Odette smiled, but said nothing.
“But do reply,” said Florence, with impatience, “and do not laugh at me any more.”
“I am not laughing at you, my little Florence,” said Odette. “Now listen.”
“I listen,” said Florence.
“Should a woman wish to amuse herself with a jewel of that size, deliberately and without preliminary excitement, it could not be used without the greatest exertion, but supposing that two women mutually excite one another by all kinds of caresses, that the one who plays the lover, brings the other, the mistress to the highest pitch of salaciousness, she then applies the dildoe well coated with cold cream, and pushes it in gently, the thing will find an easy ingress and, once fairly home, will give the greatest possible pleasure.”
“Impossible!”
“Will you make the experiment?”
“Who shall I try it on?”
“On myself.”
“I shall split you open!”
“Am I split open?”
“Well; yes. Yes; I am willing,” cried Florence.
“Wait a moment.”
The Countess, who no doubt expected this event, had put some cream to warm in a small silver teapot on a spirit lamp.
She fetched the largest of the jewels, and drew from the same velvet bag an elastic belt.
“Come here,” said she to Florence, with quivering nostrils that told their tale.
“Why?” inquired Florence, quite frightened.
“That I may make a man of you.”
Florence drew near, the Countess encircled her waist with the belt, to which the dildoe was affixed in the proper position, and she placed in her hands the Renaissance jewel, prepared with lukewarm cream; then, kissing Florence, who trembled, and who now resembled a youth monstrously well treated by nature, she took off the counterpane and threw herself on the bed.
“Do what I tell you,” said she, “and obey all my instructions.”
“Have no fear,” said Florence, as excited as the Countess. “If you told me to tear you open I would do it.”
“Your mouth…”
Florence cast Diane's lover on the floor and began using her clever tongue to some purpose.
She felt this caress ought to vie with the rough caresses which were to ensue.
Odette replied with all the expressions of Lesbian tenderness. Florence was her friend, her angel, her heart, her life, her soul. The whole scale of sensual exclamations came one by one from her quivering lips, until, quite panting, she could only say: “Diane! Diane!”
Florence understood her, picked up the royal jewel, slipped it under her lips so there could be no interruption in the pleasure; and, in effect contrived in such a clever manner that the scale was unbroken, but went on with a. new degree of intensity. Florence kept her eyes fixed on the jewel. She saw it enter; glide out. The Countess now did not speak, but only gave utterance to little shrieks. Suddenly she cried:
“Themilk!…themilk!…”
Florence pressed the spring and a deep sigh showed that the Countess was experiencing the pleasure which is only given by coition, because that alone can satiate and calm. But the Countess knew that after this sensation another one was to come which only awaited the signal, and Florence in the midst of the plaintive ejaculations of her victim, made out the words: “The giant!… the giant!…”
Florence was expecting this request with impatience. The moment had come when she was to play her real part; she threw on the floor Diane's jewel, and began to play the part of a man with the greatest vigour. The Countess shrieked but strung herself up for the pain.
“Go-go on!… Oh! you are splitting me open! Go On! Ah! It is in!”
The Countess was not mistaken, it was indeed in, and the paroxysm of enjoyment was come. Then, quite maddened, she uttered cries of passion, shrieks of rage, among which might be heard almost inarticulate requests:
“Your mouth… your tongue… take my breasts; kiss the nipples. Oh gracious! how nice it is! Now the spring… Ah! my handsome giant!… Again! Again! Again!”
At last the Countess begged for mercy. Florence unclasped the belt and let it fall to the floor with its appendage.
The Countess lay stretched out full length and motionless on the bed.
Florence felt half mad with excitement. She filled again the ivory jewel with milk; leant back in the easy chair, and inserted the end of the dildoe until it touched her maidenhead. But soon she perceived that in this posture she lost part of her strength; so she sought another. She placed two pillows side by side on the easy chair, on which she rested her elbow, and she began to use the jewel in a manner which gave evidence of her skill and long habit; she harmonized the motion of her loins with the progress of pleasure; then, feeling it coming, she pushed the instrument home, gave a shriek of pain and of pleasure, and, imparting to the royal jewel the necessary movements, she fell back, almost fainting away with the exquisite sensation.
The beautiful Countess sat up on the bed and looked with astonishment. The proud young woman had kept her word. She had sacrificed her virginity to herself and herself alone.
We were three days and three nights without seeing the Countess, and on the fourth day she came to say that Violette might begin her lessons with Florence. After a scene of jealousy very well acted by the Countess, Florence gave her word that she would never interfere with Violette, limiting her attention to the development of her natural talent.
The union of the two disciples of Lesbos was consecrated, and the Countess acquired a marked liking for her new relations, without, however, in any way neglecting Violette, who for a long time continued in her studies with Florence and made a very successful debut.
Our delightful life of love thus went on for a few years; then, then… Ah! it is sad to say what happened. I wished to conclude here one of the most charming episodes of my existence. But since I have begun I must go to the end.
One evening, the Countess, who was always ready to take Violette away from me, found means to keep her in her box after a reception.
The child caught cold and began to cough. This was neglected. She be
came seriously ill, and as she seemed more excitable since her illness we loved one another too well, in spite of the remonstrances of the doctor and with the natural consequences.
She was very ill during the winter, lingered on through the summer, and when the autumn leaves began to strew the ground, we accompanied poor little Violette to her last resting-place.
Before expiring she had taken me in her arms, saying: “My own Christian, I love you.”
I had a large glass bell placed over her grave, and underneath the Countess and myself planted some of the flowers which had given her a name. For a long time we mourned her loss. Then Florence's love on the one side, and the incidents of everyday life on the other, effaced little by little the bitter recollection of the supreme parting.
I even forgot on the anniversary of her death to go and gather the tiny flowers, the roots of which fed on the substance of my beloved little mistress.
The Countess was more faithful to the memory of poor Violette, and sometimes sent me the flowers with but one word:
“Ungrateful man!”
And now that the story of our short-lived love has come to an end, I have nothing more to do than roll up my MS., tie it up, and, happen what may, I throw it at random on the desk of some intelligent publisher who may be clever enough to catch it up.
Sweet Seventeen Sweet Seventeen: the True Story of a Daughter's Awful Whipping and its Delightful if Direful Consequence
Anonymous
What is there in the air of Paris which leads us all on to excesses of erotic appetite? Why is sensual gratification the be-all and end-all of the dwellers in the French capital, not dubbed the “Gay City” for nothing?
The atmosphere is transparently clear; the climate is relaxing. Most of the Parisian females are anaemic, and their nerves get the upper hand. Is it the same with the males, perchance in a lesser degree, so that we may diffidently put forward the hypothesis that neuropaths predominate in the population of the pretty town?
There is not the slightest doubt, be the reasons what they may, that the craving for copulation takes hold of the most frigid individuals of both sexes when once they live within the Lutetian walls.
Oliver Sandcross, born and bred in London, was a splendid example of our bold sweeping theory. Here was an English gentleman, well brought up, and a noted engineer, rather pious too-that is the extraordinary part of it all-who developed the most satyr-like tastes when he settled down in Paris, with his wife and only child, a daughter. The capricious fairy, electricity, whose secrets have only been but slightly fathomed in the last few years, had tempted staid Oliver, and he became one of the most ardent seekers after the advantages to be gained in subjugating this new force. Brilliant offers, relating to lighting and tramways, had caused him to take up his residence in Paris, where, originally wealthy, he made more money than he knew what to do with.
The Romance of Violette Page 8