Trying to mount a wild-woman like that is as dangerous as trying to ride a horse to the hunt that has suddenly gone crazy. The only difference is that when you are riding a horse, about the only thing you risk breaking is a leg or an arm, while riding Teresa was ten times more dangerous, since she was bucking so hard or, to speak more exactly, had such a fire in her behind that on at least twenty occasions she came within a hair of breaking something far more valuable to me than an arm.
In fact, I was so afraid of an accident, that my life began to flash before my eyes exactly as if I were about to drown. And I began to think of everything at once, even the least little details that I would have had plenty of time to consider the next day.
I will list here a brief resume of the high points of my mental excursion for those who are as yet uninitiated to this phenomenon:
1. I never suffered so much, even when I was taking the cherry of Miss X — from the front.
2. She's going to cripple me. What to do? Hold her in? Impossible. Gentle her? Even more difficult.
3. My God, but she's beautiful!
4. I never knew I was so young and clumsy! Imagine never catching on to her game all that time. Last night I thought she was faking passion in order to excite Charlotte and her game was real. This evening she came to me, stripped herself on my bed and until the very last minute I didn't know what she wanted. She had to shout at me at the top of her voice, “Can't you see that I'm hot to go?” And I blushed. I was ashamed.
5. She can do whatever she wants with me and she knows it. Yesterday I was revolted by her. She came back this evening. I was determined to give her the gate and now look what has happened! How is this night going to finish?
Teresa regained her senses quickly; soon enough to hold me where I was in her, anyway. Most women share this instinct but are ignorant of the fact that in those moments when they hold their lovers immediately after the act of love their love is the most reciprocated. Teresa, as usual, knew what she was doing.
She neither asked for a word nor a kiss. She saw that I was careful to leave a distance between our lips, and she sensed that I was not caressing her body, rather only touching it. And that was treating her more as a whore than was calling her the name. Too adroit to whisper an imprudent “Tell me you love me!” that would ring hollow and false, she seemed rather to accept my touches with pleasure. She opened her thighs wide to the hand that wandered distractedly there, her stomach shuddered, she closed her eyes and finally said in a voice at once both confused and ashamed, “I drenched your bed, my love!”
How can a young man keep from embracing a woman who speaks to him like that while she's lying in his arms? He either has to refrain from sleeping with her… or not be twenty years old. And the kiss that unites mouth to mouth so far surpasses all other unions between lovers that only Teresa could at that point measure its strength against me.
Thus, sure of herself for the future and no longer worrying about seeing my door shut to her, she left my room.
After several minutes that seemed more like several hours she returned as nude as she had left. I thought that she had gone into my adjoining room and I didn't find out until later that she had gone into her apartment.
She looked at me for a second and then, as if picking a question at random, said, “Why do you like fucking so much?”
I replied teasingly, “Because women that aren't crazy come best when they're fucking, and I like to make my partner come as well as myself.”
Teresa seemed to be in an excellent humor and she began to laugh instead of being peeved.
“So when, instead, you sleep with a phenomenon like me, the only woman in both hemispheres who can fuck through her asshole, and when you corn-hole this woman, and when you feel her discharge like a mare pissing…”
“Can't you express yourself a little more genteelly?”
“Certainly, my dear. And when you see that the more you stick your dick into her fanny, the more jism gushes out of her pussy, you could at least have the good will not…”
“Not to want to fuck? All right, all right. I won't say anymore about it.”
She lay down on her stomach next to me. “For a man that can never think of anything but fucking you do a wicked job of cornholing. Where did you learn the motion?”
“I'm afraid I didn't learn very well, happened first when I was fourteen. A young girl I was playing hide-and-seek with taught it to me at the bottom of her garden. Actually, she had never done it before and neither had I. However, after that there were a good dozen others… But I don't suppose you know why the sisters of our friends are so clumsy at it?”
“You suppose I don't know why,” cried Teresa. “Do you think I've never seen your respectable young women cornholed? First of all, there's no way of finding their assholes. They're always dressed. You have to take them in their pants and it is too easy to loose your path and slide into their cunts by mistake. Then too, there isn't one in four who has sense enough to grease up the hole a little bit to make it easier. They give you their holes and that's all there is to it. You can stick your dick into it or not. It's more exciting for them raw like that, but it hurts them like hell itself. They beat themselves off as fast as they can, but you're not allowed to move or it might hurt them too much. Often this results in them coming without you ever losing a drop. That way they can do the same thing again tomorrow with someone else. Am I right?”
“How do you know so much?”
“I'm pretty well informed in that department. And they're stupid too, your young ladies, aren't they?”
“Charming, but pretty dumb, like you say. I remember an exception once, though, that had the habit and who let you do it softly and easily. She was patient, that one…”
“An angel!” cried Teresa gayly. “You could clean her out from top to bottom and she didn't know how to give you a smack with her behind? Is that it? What are you laughing for? I know your young things better than you do. And after-wards, let's see. After your virgins…?”
“What do you want me to tell you? Bawdy house stories? Those things aren't interesting.”
“I just want to know what you learned.”
“There was a little dancer who went for ten francs… She danced the belly dance in Montmartre…”
“Did she dance with her ass too?”
“Better than with her belly.”
“What was she, a brunette?”
“Naturally. I don't like blondes.”
“And her asshole?”
“Why are you so curious?”
Teresa, always supple, still nude, raised herself and lay over me on her elbows, only her breasts and stomach touching me.
“When you're not cornholing me, I need you to tell me stories about women being cornholed.”
“Why?”
“Don't keep asking me why I've got a fire in my ass. It's your fault!”
I could have said that I hadn't done anything to cause that, but instead I decided to take the opportunity to end her questioning.
“Your turn,” I said. “You began to tell me about your childhood before and you stopped at the age of seven.”
“This on the subject of women being corn-holed?”
“Yes.”
She was beginning to get excited and, as usual, her language strengthened proportionally.
“It's true that I've always been used to seeing women with pricks in their rears.
“The last thing I can remember of those days was a dinner where there were some men present, some friends. Afterwards, my mother and her three sisters started playing with them with their assholes. One of the men would stick his prick into one of them and the woman would have to guess whose it was. They laughed so much that I saw the men lose their hard-on's and have their pricks slip out. Nevertheless, those women had good-looking behinds!
“When I was still seven my mother sprained her shoulder and, since she could no longer perform, she quit the circus and her sisters and everything.
“It was then that she went to live with a little bitch at Marseilles that was a hundred times more of a whore than she and who was named Francine. A good-looker, Francine, but whore enough to suck a dog for twenty francs. All three of us slept together. Francine kept up her business in the afternoons, but mother didn't do anything except pimp for her. Then they'd be at each other's asses all night long when my mother wasn't exciting me to beat myself off in order to develop my snatch.
“After a month of that life, mother started to take on customers with her ass too. She even learned to suck pretty well, and she finally charged Francine to undertake my training. I was just turning eight years old; it was time for me to take on a few pricks with my rear. Mother had first done it when she was eight, I too, of course, Charlotte also, and Lili six months earlier. The sooner you get started the sooner you get used to it.
“Francine taught me everything. In six weeks she did everything in front of me that you can think of with two friends of hers that used to come specially in the evenings just to help her teach me. I saw Francine get fucked and corn-holed in the forty positions, and suck and eat pussy and lick asses and everything, I tell you! The first time I ever saw someone shit in a woman's mouth it was Francine that ate it. I was eight years old then. And all during my six weeks of training, any time anyone in that room came it was I that drank it. Francine even fished it out of the water in the bidet to put it on my tongue. And whenever my mother ate her out she took a spoon and collected the come from her pussy and gave it to me, the bitch.
“The day when I was eight, one twenty-fifth of April, at six o'clock, a man came and gave me a package that had in it a doll that said papa-mama and some red candy to suck. Then he stuck his prick into my behind after smearing it with more vaseline than you would have needed to cornhole a mouse… Mother cried, Francine was as pale as the laundry, and they were both afraid that he'd kill me and that they would get a couple years in prison… But he took the cherry from my rear so gently that a few minutes afterwards I didn't know which I was the happiest with, my doll, my candy, or the prick in my rear.”
Teresa uttered these last words with all the spirit of a child! She had straightened up and was resting on her two hands, her back arched, her breasts tightened, laughing fit to burst.
“I feel like eating you,” she said at last, without the least transition. “What's with you tonight, getting hard-ons like that?”
“You lie on me and you have to ask?”
“Tell me what it is that gives you a hard-on. My skin? My hair? My teats? My ass? My mouth? What?”
“Your skin.”
“But that thing gets just as hard in my month. You'll be sure to give me your come in my mouth, won't you? About twenty-six hours ago I promised you that I'd suck you and you haven't even made me keep my promise.”
“Ah! You think it's easy to choose when I sleep with you!”
“The thing is that I'm not as much a whore as you think. Go ahead! Go to a whorehouse. Get your negress on her back with all fours in the air and choose your hole. She'll tell you to go fuck yourself, your negress. But I, as long as I feel like coming, I'll know how I want it.”
“And now?”
“Well… I'll suck you later.”
“Cow that you are! I didn't ask you… You asked me, and now…”
I didn't have time to finish what I was saying. Teresa had just made me enter h r body according to her taste, and in a voice trembling and warm she said, “You'll have it, my mouth, you'll have it soon enough. I want to suck your prick, lap it, have my mouth full of your come, but there are some things that you can't do until I tell you. When I say, 'Piss your come into my mouth!' you'll do it. Ah! You don't think that I get as excited as Charlotte, but I do when you've got your dick in my ass! You thought she was crazy because she asked you to… But I'm not crazy am I? I'm hot but I know what I'm saying. Listen: I too want you to…”
“Shut up with that stuff!”
I want it too. I swear to you on my mother's grave that you can do it to me. I know that you never do it, but I don't want it to disgust you. Oh! I'm going to come. I'm fingering myself, you're cornholing me, I'll tell you everything… I just started to do it again with Charlotte.”
Started to do what again? I dared not try to understand. She continued, getting more and more excited with every word.
“An hour ago, just after you finished corn-holing me, I went back into my place, found Charlotte with her sisters, look her into another room and said, 'Do you want his come? I've got some in my ass.”
“Shut up! Don't tell me!”
“Screw you! I'll say it anyway. I stuck my ass on her face and shit your come into her mouth and she drank it all! It's the same asshole that's got your prick now. There's muscle there, can you feel it? It's the same one where your Charlotte stuck her tongue trying to find the last drop of come that…”
“Teresa! If you don't shut up I'll strangle you! I've never wanted a woman as much as I want you, but you're saying things that will make you as disgusting to me as you are beautiful!”
“You're getting harder,” she said.
“And I'm ashamed of it! I could get harder yet with the negress in the whorehouse you just mentioned and I wouldn't be half as horrified at her as I am at you.”
At this she remained motionless and trembling on me, for she was on top of me and the suppleness of her body enabled her to take me wherever she wanted to.
And then, holding up at the same time her coming as well as mine, she said triumphantly, “At last! You've finally realized that I'm not your whore!”
“You're worse!”
“Worse! You said it! I'm worse, but I'm something else. A whore is someone who submits to I he vices of men, but I give them mine. I teach them new ones, give them the tastes I have.”
“You'll never, never get me to like that!”
“Ha! Ha! But look what you're doing! You never wanted to do anything but fuck and look at you! You've cornholed me four times because I wanted it. Does that make me your whore? Tell me! Am I your whore?'“
“If you say another word…”
“Listen to me!” she said viciously. “Revile me! Spit on me! Do anything you want, but I defy you to lose your hard-on!”
She held me with all her strength, menacing with her teeth what she couldn't with her hands, and I was still in her, still held the same there as I was by her two hands.
I should have been able to… But how difficult it is to explain to others a scene so passionate as that, a scene they've never lived themselves! Men know everything else and yet don't even know the first thing about the science of love. I therefore split my readers into two groups: the ones who will have already criticized me for having beaten Teresa a dozen times on the shoulder…
I struck a woman! Fie! Those persons nave never really been loved who don't know how much pleasure a woman in love can find in being struck by her man, the pleasure they take in suffering from the same hand that caresses them, from the same arms that hold them. On the other hand, my other group of readers have not yet understood why, if I had already beaten this woman, I hesitated to throw her this time out of my bed. It's that… that it would have really done her some harm.
No, but don't you understand that a dozen blows to the shoulder actually give more pleasure than pain? But that if, when struggling with a loved one, you catch her in a position where you would be forced to take her by the skin of her flanks or the flesh of her breasts, the man who would have beaten her before would no longer attempt it?
Even so, however, I felt like killing that woman lying on my sex. And naturally that doesn't mean that I ever ceased to find her beautiful.
She shouted, but so close to my mouth that our lips almost touched. “So, I'm the only one that doesn't have the right to any vices? You know, when I was eight years old I lost my cherry in my behind and everywhere else, and for twenty-eight years I have been passing my days and nights satisfying the vices of others. And now you want me to act like a Christian wife who screws every Saturday night in her dirty slip and prays to St. Joseph to give her a son and only washes her ass every eight days for fear that her come will drip away?
“So I've got some vices, so what? I even think I've got them all and that maybe I've invented a couple. It comes in handy when you're a whore.”
Since I made no protest at this last word, she assumed a ferocious expression. The whole thing was really quite remarkable since we were still united by our flesh, and not only could I not escape, as Teresa had defied me to do, I could not even fail her.
A sudden smile crossed her face and transformed the whole situation. That woman had her own way, there was no doubt about it. It pleased her to continue with a softer expression and a more tender voice:
“Is it a vice to be happy every time you corn-hole me?”
“Yes.”
“So much the better. I admitted to you that I've seen a lot of women cornholed. It always seemed rather ordinary. Tell me that it's a horrible vice and it will excite me.”
“Slut!”
“Is it a vice for me to finger myself when I'm thirty-six years old? Then write an article stigmatizing young girls for resorting to onanism and above all their mothers… a mother like me who lifts up her skirt between the dessert and the' liqueur and says to her three daughters, 'Shut your traps for a while. I want to beat myself off!'“
“As long as you don't call Charlotte to…”
“Wait. And is a mother vicious that lets her daughters finger themselves in front of her?
When it is she herself who has fingered them the first time to take the stiffness out of their cunts when they were seven? When she has shown them with her own hand how a woman heats herself off like you take the hand of a schoolgirl to show her how to write?”
“If that were all you did!”
“Isn't that enough? Then is it a vice to have prostituted my three daughters, little confessor? Tell me while you're cornholing me. (She was getting more and more excited.) My mother cried when I lost the cherry in my behind, but I beat myself off when I sold Charlotte, and I got more of a kick out of coming than out of receiving the money. Understand? I don't give a damn about money. It's enough of a vice for me to have given my daughters. I stuck all three of them on their first pricks and yet…”
She never finished her sentence, but she continued to speak and to hold me in her grip. I was going crazy. I have never been in such a position, and I kept saying to myself, “Oh! Can't I even tell when I love and when I hate?” For the more relentlessly Teresa tried to vilify herself, the more beautiful she wanted to be, and was, with all her body.
She thrust her face closer to mine and let a smile once more light it up.
“Oh no you don't! You're not getting out of that ass yet! And you're not going to come either. I feel more like coming than that prick of yours docs and I'm holding myself in. You can do the same thing until I've finished talking.”
“You're beautiful,” I said. “There's nothing you can say, and the more you speak the more…”
“The more I speak the hotter I get,” she said. “Look at my whore's knockers and see if the ends aren't stiff. You could stick them in a lesbian's behind!”
“Please!”
“You'll listen! I'm no lesbian like my mother and her sisters. I've gone to bed with hundreds and hundreds of lesbians: blondes, brunettes, redheads, brown-haired ones, even negresses. But I'm no lesbian. I prefer a prick. Even so, I still have a vice. Have I got the right to one vice? (Here her voice began to tremble.) It excites me to have my ass licked by my daughters. I'm very Catholic, almost devout, and a priest once told me that it was the greatest sin I could commit. Ever since then I've done it every day. Even when I'm fingering myself, one of them always comes to suck at my hairs. Even when you're cornholing me it excites me to think about it. Charlotte's stupid, but when she has her tongue there I tell myself that that's my eldest daughter and it makes me come twice as much.”
She began to twist her body and I knew that she wouldn't be able to rest in her quivering immobility much longer.
“The imbeciles that cornhole us one on top of another think that incest… Ha! Ha! Ha! And it's all for my pleasure!”
Then, working her long supple body back and forth with movements of her rear that finally began to appease my interminably deceived desire, she chose this moment that she had so carefully and patiently worked up to, the moment when I could no longer neither repulse nor interrupt her, and then, with me more ardent than I had yet been, though perhaps less bewildered, she began to speak slowly without raising her voice.
“My three daughters are my bordello. I strip them naked in my living room and I take my choice. I take the one that tempts me most at the time and that one, in front of her sisters, sucks the lips of my ass, licks the slit between my buttocks, sticks her tongue into my behind, then comes around to suck my snatch and swallow everything I discharge. And I have trained them so well that I can shit the come of men who have cornholed me into their mouths. I told you a little while ago that I took Charlotte into another room? Well, it wasn't true. I awoke the others too! They saw everything! And Lili was jealous! She came to lick my ass afterwards because she thought there might be a drop left!”
I heard no more. I was morally exhausted, and even my physical fatigue surpassed all measure, without a doubt as a result of the long wait I had just undergone. For two minutes I remained motionless on my bed without a thought in my mind.