Lili couldn't believe her ears.
“What an evening! Ricette sucking! Mama fucking! And the taking of a cherry at the end of it! You couldn't do more to entertain the King of England!”
“And is that so rare? That 'mama fucking'?” asked Teresa gayly.
“I guess so!” said the imp. “You didn't even fuck to make me!”
The reply was true, prompt, and spoken in Lili's droll little voice, but the excess of laughter that greeted it was out of all proportion to its value. Charlotte, who had been weeping for over an hour, was racked by spasms of laughter interspersed with groans, as if she suffered more from her hilarity than from her melancholy. Teresa was gasping and clung onto her to keep from falling. “Hold me up, Charlotte!” Ricette herself… Laughter is contagious, and Ricette burst out into shrieks last of all. Only Lili remained to laugh in moderation at her crack. And I began to think that one day she would be the most thoughtful and intelligent of the four.
Ricette, ex-schoolgirl for whom arithmetic held no more secrets, began to figure, and by the science of numbers brought us back once more to serious considerations.
“Mama gets cornholed about three times a day on an average. That makes eleven hundred times a year.”
“And something over?” said Charlotte.
“And the dildoes!” said Lili.
“And the nights like last Christmas when she did it eighteen times.”
“I said, on an average eleven hundred times a year. She began when she was eight; she's thirty-six now. I figured it all out. That makes more than thirty thousand cornholings.”
“Thirty thousand!” they chorused.
“And she fucks about once a year, more or less.”
“Oh! I haven't fucked more than thirty times in my whole life!” declared Teresa. “When was the last time that I did it, Charlotte? Was it last summer in June? Ah! Believe me,” said she turning towards me, “I'm almost as virgin as Ricette! Charlotte is like me too. The only one who fucks around here is Lili.”
“Mama, mama, mama!” cried Ricette impatiently. “When are we going to start?”
The consent that she obtained stopped neither her thoughts nor her words. She seemed concerned. She didn't lie down. Forgetting arithmetic to attack a curious problem of erotology, she looked seriously at her mother and said, “Can we…? I don't mean that I think that my program is impossible… It isn't easy to suck a woman who is being cornholed; but under a woman who's being fucked… above all if she's losing her cherry… Your tongue will never touch my snatch.”
“I've never done it,” said Charlotte. “But then we do so little screwing here…”
“I've done it!” said Lili.
“Oh, you! You're dislocated in more places than one!”
Teresa took her time, like a teacher searching for a formula easily accessible to the mind of an adolescent, and finally replied slowly, “How many times have I told you that positions are the affair of women and not of men or lesbians. In the position that we're going to take up it will be up to the woman underneath to get in the right place. However, if the woman being taken will bother to hump her back a little bit there should be no trouble for the tongue underneath.”
“You can believe that I'll be all that I advertised when it comes to that!”
“Okay! Okay! But first watch how I do it and then you can imitate me when your turn comes.”
The obscenity with which Teresa usually accompanied the opening of her rump dog-fashion was something with which I was already familiar. Dog-fashion is not quite enough to say here, I feel. Like a bear would be more descriptive. From the rear she was nothing but hair. However, since she had very well formed buttocks and nicely shaped thighs, you couldn't really reproach her even mentally for being more heavily furred than other women and, such was the impudence of her position, you would rather have thought that she imposed her esthetic on you.
Despite the fact that my sexual exercises are ordinarily as reserved and conservative as my language, my moral scruples do not go so far as to prevent me from fucking a mother on top of her daughter and then deflowering the same daughter on top of her mother. I have only done it once, but I would gladly take the opportunity should it be presented to me again. I am speaking now to the young women who are holding this book and I would like to say, in the words of Mauricette, “I am not trying to shock you, miss. If your mother is thirty years old, if she is pretty, if you love her enough to do for her the things you would do for your little girlfriends, you will understand the following scene. And if you are not grateful for what she has always given you, if you have never used your tongue to send shivers of pleasure through the flesh that suffered so that you might come into this world, then blush at your own actions and not at those you are about to read of here.”
I therefore accepted Teresa on top of Mauricette and even under her. And the roles she played seemed to me neither superfluous nor disagreeable. However, two roles that I would have eliminated had I been writing this scene into a novel were those of Charlotte and Lili. They were of no use whatsoever; Charlotte only bothered me by her display of emotions, Lili by her giggles, and both of them by their gabbing, their curiosity, their advice, or simply their presence. I wished them to hell for a good fifteen minutes.
However, let us forget that for the moment and review the situation:
Ricette was lying on her back. Teresa was lying head to foot with Ricette, her cunt over the latter's face and open to me in the position I have so recently described.
Saphism practiced doubly and simultaneously is something that is not appreciated by all lesbians. Only a man can fuck and give pleasure at the same time he is receiving it without losing his head. A woman, at the approach of her orgasm, is entirely incapable of rationally directing the spasm that she wants to give in exchange.- Thus, with two women who have placed themselves' head-to-cunt to each other, only one will come, and, since the hearts of damned women are made of the same stuff as the souls of saints, the lesbian that makes the other come and doesn't herself is the happiest of the two.
Another night, in the same position, Teresa's tongue had put Ricette out of action inside of a minute. This time, however, there was no hurry, and Teresa did nothing but give her a few kisses, leaving the girl in full possession of her faculties.
I waited…
Mauricette parted her mother's hair and lips with her two hands, raised her head to the cunt, and began working feverishly with her tongue to hasten the moment when she could say:
“Now. Stick it in.”
The great drops of rain that announced the beginning of the storm began to patter onto Ricette's cheeks, and when I advanced my member Lili couldn't hold back an, “Oh! Mama fucking!”.
I entered easily, fearing only one thing: that Teresa's motion would be too much for me. However, Teresa never forgot for a moment that she wasn't there for her own pleasure and that another of her duties was to explain to her daughter the art of the position.
Thus, she took the first step towards explaining the pedagogy of the divertimento.
“Watch, Ricette! Watch now how I give it to you. Have you got my snatch? You have it? You see that his balls aren't in your way and that you can easily get at me with your tongue… Later when you do it imitate me; and when you get in front of my tongue you don't move, you hear? If I weren't holding myself in now, I'd be waving my ass all over the place and I'd lose your tongue. I feel like coming so much that I think my ass is going to fall apart, and that bitch of a prick that's tearing up my cunt… that's fucking me… But wait… You'll see if I can't come without moving.”
And she was, in fact, lying practically motionless, though shuddering. Mauricette was being flooded, and I too, but I couldn't pull it out without losing what was necessary to the second part of the act.
It was rather strange, that second part, for it seemed to interest the women much more than it did me, and they all got worked up into a state of excitement that I couldn't attain, although I was probably the best placed of any of them.
Charlotte and Lili were crowding around trying to see and becoming even greater nuisances than before.
Mauricette, red and excited, wiped her face, which Teresa had been deluging consistently with something other than tears. She was doubly excited, first by the act which she was attempting to bring to a successful close, and secondly by the spectacle which she was giving.
“I've got stage fright and I feel like coming,” she wailed. “I'm afraid I'm going to botch it up.”
“Not at all,” said Teresa. “The more you feel like coming the better you will do. To look at you, I don't think I should suck you, but do you want me to finger you a little?”
“Yes, mama.”
“And if you don't believe what I have just told you, my little savage, I'll show you I meant it. I'll heat up your come with a little mustard on your asshole.”
“Oh!” cried Ricette, raising her eyes towards the ceiling, “I'll go crazy! Then… don't finger me. Just touch me. Above all, don't make me come before him! Then you can finger me when I give you the sign.”
While her mother left the room to get the mustard, she threw herself tenderly into the arms of her oldest sister with an, “Oh! Charlotte! Charlotte!” that seemed to ask all her indulgence and encouragement. All that and more Charlotte would have given for nothing, but Ricette wanted to earn it, and after a tongue-to-tongue kiss she said, “My Charlotte! Give me a little of your come too!”
And throwing her sister onto the divan, she thrust her head between her legs.
“That's something!” cried Lili. “When you wind up with all those different comes in your mouth you'll find yourself with a kid.”
This time I was the only one to laugh. Teresa, who had just come back, and the two girls were much too excited to change expression.
Ricette jumped up and prepared to take the mustard. She stood up, leaning slightly forward with her buttocks out, opened the cheeks of her ass herself, and let her mother do to her what the trainers do to the bulls before a bullfight. I don't know what kind of hot mustard Teresa used, but when it was in place Ricette jumped violently and, touching the spot with her finger, cried, “What did you do that for? Now I want him to cornhole me!”
“Not in the mustard,” laughed Teresa.
“Then you, or Charlotte…! A dildoe at least. Ah! Damn! I'm afraid I'm going to come!”
“Then suck him right away. What are you waiting for?”
Mauricette leaped over to me and, just as she was on the point of beginning, said in her most ardent voice, “You'll cornhole me tonight even so, won't you? Before you deflower me? I'll take the mustard out and you won't feel anything… Ah! But she stuck fire into my ass, I know it! God, I feel like having a prick back there! What are you doing back there now? Oh, it's you…”
Her mother had run a dildoe into her ass and was working it with her hand. Ricette started up. I couldn't tell whether the dildoe was relieving her excitement or irritating it even more, but she cried, “I don't need that to love your come! I didn't have anything in my ass yesterday when you came in my mouth, did I? Tell that to mama! And give me some more to drink! Quick! I'm thirsty! I want it!”
She took me so voraciously that I could feel her teeth more than her lips. I did not want to say anything in front of Lili because she would have made fun of Ricette's inexperience, but I hurried my orgasm and warned her just before it came.
Mauricette was a brilliant success with her new little trick in its first performance before her family, the new trick that was for her as Lili said, “More wonderful than losing her virginity!” Unfortunately, she gave a second proof of her inexperience by wanting to prolong the climax further than my nerves could support it. But, by that time, the poor thing no longer knew what she was doing. Teresa, who 'still had her finger in Ricette's cunt, had worked the girl up to a peak, held her in, then released the spasm in her flesh immediately after mine. And the little beginner, blinded in all her senses, almost swooning, was hardly aware of the success she had with her mother and sisters.
Lili, so nude, so thin, so smooth, crossed her arms and stood in front of Teresa, whose body was so heavily furred, who wore her dark breasts like oriental jewels. For me, this contrast of nudities was without precedent in art or literature.
With a comically resigned air, she sighed, “We're a couple of nuts, huh, mama? She's just sucked off our lover under our noses and didn't even leave us a drop.”
“Wait! I'll get some the second time around!”
“You will? Congratulations. And I can sit by and rub my cunt to see if I can make the hairs grow, huh?”
Lili's metaphors were often very personal, but they were worth even more like that because of the ease with which she delivered them.
Teresa possessed her daughters body and soul, as a romantic once said, and guessing their thoughts as well as their desires, she sensed that Lili was beginning to get under Ricette's skin and that at her age she couldn't understand the state that her sister was in.
Here again, the highest philosophical authorities resolve the question without debate and almost in the same terms, for theorists divulge between themselves not only their ideas, but their modes of expression as well. “A young courtesan in a state of impuberty who indulges in anal coition can be excused from misunderstanding the double physical and moral disorder that a nubile adolescent experiences the night that she first opens her thighs to offer her virginity.” Thus runs the ancient formula of Erasmus, copied so many times and to be found in all manuals and textbooks.
Teresa had only two means to shut Lili up and close the incident. She gave the child her choice.
“Do you want to go to your bed, insect! Do you know what time it is?”
Here, Lili made a small gesture… A gesture that I do not advise my young readers to use on their parents. She turned her back, stuck out her behind, and opened her hand as if to thumb her nose, but replaced the latter with her asshole.
Teresa gave her two good smacks in the same place with her hand, then took her easily into her arms, caressed her against her breasts, made her laugh, and said, “You don't want to go to bed? You want to watch Ricette lose her cherry? All right! You'll have to perform during the intermission. Go get into your costume. We'll wait for you.”
Whore though she was, Lili was too naive to understand that Teresa only wanted to get rid of her, and with a joyous little hop, she tore out of the room.
Teresa smiled at Ricette and I, then turned to Charlotte. And the scene that followed was even more painful to me than the one that still rang in my ears between Ricette and Teresa. What was wrong with her at that point? I don't pretend to know. Was she guilty then of a sentiment more human than maternal, driving her to return to one of her daughters the injuries that another had heaped on her head? Or had the “program" of she, Mauricette, and I unnerved her even more than it had us? She burst out with a torrent of insults from the first word.
“The bitch! She's fingering herself again!”
“Oh! Mama!” cried Charlotte. “You've been fucking, you've come, Ricette learned how to suck, you made her come, you stuck mustard and a dildoe into her ass, I saw all that and didn't have anyone, and you don't want me to come after you?”
“After us? But you did it before! Ricette had a dildoe in the rear? All right, but you had two! One in each hole! If you had fifty holes you'd want fifty dildoes stuffed in them every fifteen minutes, dirty little bitch!”
Charlotte stopped. She didn't cry, but she put her elbow on her knee and her chin in her hand: dejection personified.
I was suffering more than she was from what I had heard, when, in a single phrase, I understood what was going on. For as I started to get up Ricette held me back and said in my ear, “Be quiet now, this sort of thing excites her.”
However, I was up despite Mauricette and halted the scene with my movement and the look on my face.
Teresa stopped me from saying anything in her turn, but the scene didn't follow the same course it had begun to trace after that.
“Tell him then. Tell him yourself, in front of your virgin sister. Tell him what you are.”
“A poor prostitute.”
“Why are you as naked as a girl in a bordello? Aren't you lower than any of them?”
“Oh, yes! They won't do the things that I'll do!”
“Okay, then. Go with Lili. Put on your whore's costume and come back. We'll have some words with you.”
“Me too!” cried Mauricette.
I no longer understood. But while Charlotte left the room slowly and sadly as usual, Ricette dragged me with all her might to the far corner of the room and said in a low voice, “Ha! You know what mama stuck up my ass? Fire! I'm going mad. I'll go put on my costume, but when I come back you'll cornhole me! You will! You will! You will! You will! You can have my cherry later, I'll come back with Charlotte and we'll do a scene, but be sure to play your role. Call her whore and take me, you know. Understand?”
A strange declaration! The more I knew this woman and her three daughters the less I understood them.
Alone with me, Teresa began to speak. I thought that she was going to explain my role, but she had other things to talk about.
“Lili was right,” she said. “Coming in Mauricette's mouth is much more sensational than taking her cherry. What kind of come do you have that she swallows it so well?”
With her body and her lips Teresa was becoming even more pressing than with the words she had just spoken, and, since she was, in any case, far from being a woman to chill me, I replied while kissing her, “Ask your daughters. All three of them have drunk it.”
“Which mouth do you like best?”
“Yours.”
And I wasn't lying. I preferred it before the act as if I had already tried it. Teresa, however, started at this reply. I was afraid that the door would open at any moment and, above all, that I would not be able to continue with her in this tone. I spoke quickly therefore, trying to find out, in addition, what was going on.
“What's up, anyway? What are they doing in there?”
“Screw that,” said Teresa, pressing her lips against mine.
I cut the kiss off with difficulty and brought her back to the subject in a suppliant voice. After a minute of silence during which time I feared the arrival of one of those crescendos that I have already described, she kept her voice under control and replied to me with her face so close to mine that her hair brushed against my cheeks, “How long have you been like that? It's nothing but a game. It makes her happy. You know as well as I do that she likes the role.”
“Who?”
“My Charlotte,” she said tenderly. “I don't get to see what those two are up to together, but I know. Charlotte dresses up like a woman of the streets, and Mauricette is something else. Neither one of them is anything but a kid. They even put on little comedies when they're by themselves, so play with them this time, huh?”
Then getting up, she added, “I've had them fucking away stark naked in your bed for long enough now. If you don't know what they're like by this time…”
But all three of them came back in at that moment, each dressed in the most unlikely outfits.