In their shifts, both of them! The grocer's boy was quite right in saying they were well made. They resembled each other greatly-little, plump, round, and firm, both of them. In their shifts, did I say? It is true, but pulled up to their waists! Julie went to open the curtains of the alcove.
“Julie, Julie!” cried Nanine to her, “you will be the cavalier.”
“Oh, not at all!” said Julie. “It is too big for thee, Nanine. As for me, I have had my little Lily. I am larger since my confinement. You must try it on me. Come-”
“Ah! I shall never dare.”
“Stupid! I place myself on the edge of the bed. Hold! In this posture. Come, then-shall I have to go and fetch you?”
“Alas, Julie! Eh, well! My faith, so much the worse, you are right. I am coming!”
“Embrace me first. Oh! Don't be afraid-on the mouth. It is the illusion which we are seeking! Thou art a man. Thou art my husband, Gustave. On the mouth! Put it-put it into me!”
“Ah! frivolous!”
“Ai'e! Ai'e! You are ripping me open. Stop-I boasted too much of being wide!”
“How is it to be done, Julie? If it can't enter?”
“As thy husband Onesime did thee-he didn't enter thee all at once, he caressed thee with his fingers-he perhaps did thee with his tongue.”
“I cannot, however, lick thee, Julie!”
“Only suck the nipples of my breast.”
“What a perverted being you are, my sister.”
“La, la! If you would for a moment with your finger-I pray you-La, la! Good-thanks- I feel that I-that I am moistened. Put in the instrument! Ai'e! It is entering, embrace me again. Ai'e! Ai'e! What an enormous head! There!”
“I thrust, I thrust! So much the worse!”
“You-you are ventilating me! It is-it is at the bottom. Ah!”
“My turn! My turn, Julie!”
“I cannot! I cannot! I am bruised. Wait a bit!”
“No, no! I am burning. Hold! I am fastening the belt round you. Take my place, I will take yours. Quick, quick! I am dying.”
“Eh, well! So be it. On the edge of the bed, in your turn. Open yourself well-that's it. What a pretty little pussy, wanton! Ah! if I were really a man I would lick thee, my little sister.”
“Tickle me only, Julie. Julie! Nothing but your finger. You are making me enjoy-heaven!”
“I place the tool, I thrust!”
“Oh! What pain! What torture! I weep! I renounce!”
“Stretch yourself more-you will cry out with joy now!”
“Ah! I feel it-Julie-hola!”
“Bravo! Bravo! The head has passed-it is all going in!”
“Kiss me, lick me-Lord! Go! Another stroke! My God! My God!”
Calprenede made his diamond play on one of the panes of the door, and gently pushed back the bolt.
The two sisters were stretched on the bed, side by side, spent, exhausted.
“Ah, Julie!”
“Ah, Nanine!”
“These games are nothing to those of nature, my sister.”
“Confess, Nanine, that if we held clasped in our arms at this moment a handsome lad we should commit the sin.”
“Madame,” said Calprenede, advancing, “I do not know if we are handsome lads-”
“Help! Men! Robbers!”
“Ladies,” I cried, speaking in my turn, “if you cry out you will lose yourselves.”
“Without counting,” said Calprenede, “that we shall relate the history of this caoutchouc member-”
“Which Madame still has fastened in front of her,” continued I, pointing with my finger to the dildo passed round Julie's waist, and which she furtively concealed.
We were accommodated without too much trouble. The choice between these two lovers fallen from heaven belonged of right to the ladies. Julie chose Calprenede. I fell to the lot of Nanine. And as there was but one bed, each of the two couples witnessed the exploits of the other.
Calprenede threaded Julie at the bedside, and I Nanine on the edge of this couch so long bedewed with the tears of the two widows, witness of their regrets and of their solitary enjoyments.
“Sir,” said Nanine to me, “I pray you, do not make me pregnant.”
“Monster,”, cried Julie to Calprenede, “don't get me with child!”
“Then, Madame,” I said to Nanine, “lend me the succour of your hand.”
“Finish me with thy white paw!” cried Calprenede to Julie.
They did not need to be implored; they both clasped our members in their hands; and the same cry of joy escaped them both when they saw the divine liquor escape:
“Nanine!”
“Julie!”
A CHAPTER ON DANGEROUS LIASONS
The Countess Laurence was always tastefully got up and stylish in toilette, and certainly she had need of being so. Little, unnoticeable in the world, not for those whose looks know how to pierce petticoats and veils of every nature and who divine a projecting backside and robust flanks, her shoulders were spare and meagre, and her arms and throat almost lank.
But she had two great charms-a skin, sweet, velvety, warm as that of a peach exposed to the sun on an espalier, and a look always swimming with a sort of ecstacy strangely lascivious.
Nevertheless her ordinary attitude said quite the contrary to her eyes. She walked arrogantly, spoke with a haughty nonchalance, and treated men like black-a-moors. Who ever dared to raise an envious look to the Countess Laurence? She was well known to adore the Count, her husband, and to despise the rest of men.
However, connoisseurs said: Everything with this young Baucis would be to choose one's moment judiciously. This is what I thought from the beginning.
One summer day the thought struck me to go and pay a visit to Laurence. She was alone in a little room that opened onto the garden. I saw her from the distance, half lying on a sofa.
She raised herself painfully when I was introduced.
“Is it you?” she said to me. “Ah! you come just in time to close the Venetian blinds. This sun is broiling me.”
I shut the blinds, and returning, sat myself down close to Laurence.
“And Robert?” I asked her.
Robert was the Count, her husband.
She gave a slight shudder, which ran through her entire body, and closed her eyes.
“Robert is away,” she said. “Did you not know?”
I knew it well, it was that which had brought me. You know them, these solid virtues, these model spouses to whom the caresses of their husbands are their daily bread. Terrible famishings when their lord and master is away!
Impromptu enjoyments are the best. The work when one is fully dressed is delicious, because it is consummated just at the moment when one needs it. The desire is in full force, the action is prompt as the thunderbolt. “My love, we have but a minute-”. The phrase finishes itself in a kiss. The fair one throws her arms round your neck, you lay her on a sofa, you raise her clothes, and-
Modern manners, middle-class prudery, and the fear of rheumatism which threatens our feeble temperaments have stripped a great deal of the charm from this warm and lively affair. Nowadays, women wear breeches; sometimes even, these breeches are of flannel. Is there a man worthy of the name who could do the deed in these breeches? One drags them off in the best way one can. The best thing is to yield to one's indignation and throw them in the fire if it be winter. Women do justice to this ignorance.
The Countess Laurence thought she owed it to her rank to be breeched. I unbreeched her very quickly. She did not protest the least in the world. Not a gesture, not a word, not a murmur; and whilst I surveyed all her mysteries, she held her head averted on the sofa, her mouth half open, her teeth shut.
It was then that I came to know her sweet and warm skin. The sweep of her knee was not very pure, but what luscious thighs. This backside, of an abundance astonishing in so small a person, rolled under my hand. And the Countess Laurence was all the time mute as an image.
I placed my mute in position, I penetrated into her stomach. As for being narrow, it was not. But never had I felt a coynte so boiling. One would have thought oneself entering into warm froth.