THE 150 SIMPLE PASSIONS， OR THOSE BELONGING TO THE FIRST CLASS， COMPOSING THE THIRTY DAYS OF NOVEMBER PASSED IN HEARING THE NARRATION OF MADAME DUCLOS； INTERSPERSED AMONGST WHICH ARE THE SCANDALOUS DOINGS AT THE CH？TEAU DURING THAT MONTH； ALL BEING SET DOWN IN THE FORM OF A JOURNAL.
THE FIRST DAY The company rose the 1st of November at ten o’clock in the morning， as was specified in the statutes which Messieurs had mutually sworn faithfully to observe in every particular. The four fuckers who had not shared the friends’ couches， at their waking hour brought Zéphyr to the Duc， Adonis to Curval， Narcisse to Durcet， and Zélamir to the Bishop. All four children were very timid， even more awkward， but， encouraged by their guides， they very nicely carried out their tasks， and the Duc discharged. His three colleagues， more reserved and less prodigal with their fuck， had as much of it deposited in them as did the Duc， but distributed none of their own. At eleven o’clock they passed into the women’s quarters where the eight young sultanas appeared naked， and in this state served chocolate， aided and directed by Marie and Louison， who presided over this seraglio. There was a great deal of handling and colling， and the eight poor girls， wretched little victims of the most blatant lubricity， blushed， hid behind their hands， sought to protect their charms， and immediately displayed everything as soon as they observed that their modesty irritated and annoyed their masters. The Duc rose up like a shot and measured his engine’s circumference against Michette’s slender little waist： their difference did not exceed three inches. Durcet， the month’s preseding officer， conducted the prescribed examinations and made the necessary searches； Hébé and Colombe were found to have lapsed， their punishment was pronounced at once and fixed for the following Saturday at orgy hour. They wept. No one was moved. They proceeded to the boys’ apartments. The four who had not appeared that morning， namely Cupidon， Céladon， Hyacinthe and Giton， bared their behinds in accordance with orders， and the sight provided an instant’s amusement. Curval kissed them all on the mouth， and the Bishop spent a moment frigging their pricks while the Duc and Durcet were doing something else. The inspections were completed， no misconduct was discovered. At one o’clock Messieurs betook themselves to the chapel where， as you know， the sanitary conveniences were installed. The calculation of requirements for the coming soiree having led to the refusal of a good number of requests， only Constance， Duclos， Augustine， Sophie， Zélamir， Cupidon， and Louison appeared； all the others had asked permission and had been instructed to hold back until evening. Our four friends， ranged around the same specially constructed seat， had these seven subjects take their seat one after another， and then retired when they had enough of this spectacle. They descended to the salon where， while the women dined， they gossiped and tattled until the time came for them to be served their meal. Each of the four friends placed himself between two fuckers， pursuant to the imposed rule that barred all women from their table， and the four naked wives， aided by the elders costumed as the Graeae， served them the most magnificent and the most succulent dinner it were possible to concoct. No one more delicate， more skilled than the cooks they had brought with them， and they were so well paid and so lavishly provided that everything could not fail to be a brilliant success. As the midday fare was to be less heavy than the evening meal， they were restricted to four superb courses， each composed of twelve plates. Burgundy wine arrived with the hors d’ouvres， Bordeaux was served with the entrees， champagne with the roasts， Hermitage accompanied the entrements， Tokay and madeira were served with dessert. Spirits rose little by little； the fuckers， whom the friends had granted every liberty with their wives， treated them somewhat untenderly. Constance was even a bit knocked about， rather beaten for having dawdled over bringing a dish to Hercule who， seeing himself well advanced in the Duc’s good graces， fancied he might carry insolence to the point of drubbing and molesting his wife； the Duc thought this very amusing. Curval， in an ugly humor by the time dessert arrived， flung a plate at his wife’s face， and it might have clove her head in two had she not ducked. Spying one of his neighbors stiffen， Durcet， though they were still at table， promptly unbuttoned his breeches and presented his ass. The neighbor drove his weapon home； the operation once concluded， they fell to drinking again as if nothing had happened. The Duc soon imitated his old friend’s little infamy and wagered that， enormous as Invictus’ prick might be， he could calmly down three bottles of wine while lying embuggered upon it. What effortlessness， what ease， what detachment in libertinage！ He won what he had staked， and as they were not drunk on an empty stomach， as those three bottles fell upon at least fifteen others， the Duc’s head began gently to swim. The first object upon which his eye alighted was his wife， weeping over the abuse she had sustained from Hercule， and this sight so inspired the Duc he lost not an instant doing to her things too excessive for us to describe as yet. The reader will notice how hampered we are in these beginnings， and how stumbling are our efforts to give a coherent account of these matters； we trust he will forgive us for leaving the curtain drawn over a considerable number of little details. We promise it will be raised later on. Our champions finally made their way into the salon， where new pleasures and further delights were awaiting them. Coffee and liqueurs were distributed by a charming quartet made up of Adonis and Hyacinthe， two appealing little boys， and two pretty maids， Zelmire and Fanny. Thérèse， one of the duennas， supervised them， for it was decreed that wherever two or more children were gathered， a duenna was to be on hand. Our four libertines， half-drunk but none the less resolved to abide their laws， contended themselves with kisses， fingerings， but their libertine intelligence knew how to season these mild activities with all the refinements of debauch and lubricity. It was thought for a moment that the Bishop was going to have to surrender his fuck in exchange for the extraordinary things he was wringing from Hyacinthe， while Zelmire frigged him. His nerves were already aquiver， an impending crisis was beginning to take possession of his entire being， but he checked himself， the tempting objects ready to triumph over his senses were sent spinning and， knowing there was yet a full day’s work ahead of him， the Bishop saved his best for the evening. Six different kinds of liqueur were drunk， three kinds of coffee， and the hour sounding at last， the two couples withdrew to dress. Our friends took a fifteen minute nap， then moved into the throne room， the place where the auditors were to listen to the narrations. The friends took their places upon their couches， the Duc having his beloved Hercule at his feet， near him， naked， Adelaide， Durcet’s wife and the Président’s daughter， and for quatrain opposite him， and linked to his niche by a chain of flowers， as has been explained， Zéphyr， Giton， Augustine， and Sophie costumed as shepherds， supervised by Louison as an old peasant woman playing the role of their mother. At Curval’s feet was Invictus， upon his couch lay Constance， the Duc’s wife and Durcet’s daughter， and for quatrain four little Spaniards， each sex dressed in its costume and as elegantly as possible： they were Adonis， Céladon， Fanny， and Zelmire； Fanchon clad as a duenna， watched over them. The Bishop had Antinoüs at his feet， his niece Julie on his couch， and four little almost naked savages for quatrain. The boys： Cupidon and Narcisse； the girls： Hébé and Rosette； an old Amazon， interpreted by Thérèse， was in charge of them. Durcet had Bum-Cleaver for fucker， near him reclined Aline， daughter of the Bishop， and in front of him were four little sultanas， the boys being dressed as girls， and this refinement to the last degree emphasized the enchanting visages of Zélamir， Hyacinthe， Colombe， and Michette. An old Arab slave， portrayed by Marie， presided over this quatrain. The three storytellers， magnificently dressed as upper-class Parisian courtesans， were seated below the throne upon a couch， and Madame Duclos， the month’s narrator， in very scanty and very elegant attire， well rouged and heavily bejeweled， having taken her place on the stage， thus began the story of what had occurred in her life， into which account she was， with all pertinent details， to insert the first one hundred and fifty passions designated by the title of simple passions： ’Tis no slight undertaking， Messieurs， to attempt to express oneself before a circle such as yours. Accustomed to all of the most subtle and most delicate that letters produce， how， one may wonder， will you be able to bear the ill-shaped periods and uncouth images of a humble creature like myself who has received no other education than the one supplied her by libertinage. But your indulgence reassures me； you ask for naught but the natural and true， and I dare say what of these I shall provide you will merit your attention. My mother was twenty-five when she brought me into the world， and I was her second child； the first was also a daughter， by six years my elder. My mother’s birth was not distinguished. She had been early bereft of both her father and mother， and as her parents had dwelled near the Récollet monastery in Paris， when she found herself an orphan， abandoned and without any resources， she obtained permission from these good fathers to come and ask for alms in their church. But as she had some youth and health， she soon attracted their notice， and gradually mounted from the church below to the rooms above， whence she soon descended with child. It was as a consequence of one such adventure my sister saw the light， and it is more likely that my own birth might rightly be ascribed to no other cause. However， content with my mother’s docility and seeing how she did make the community to prosper and flourish， the good fathers rewarded her works by granting her what might be earned from the rental of seats in their church； my mother no sooner obtained this post than， with her superior’s leave， she married one of the house’s water carriers who straightway， without the least repugnance， adopted my sister and me. Born into the Church， I dwelled so to speak more in the House of God than in our own； I helped my mother arrange the chairs， I seconded the sacristans in their various operations， I would have said Mass had that been necessary， although I had not yet attained my fifth year. One day， returning from my holy occupations， my sister asked me whether I had yet encountered Father Laurent.... I said I had not. “Well， look out，” said she， “he’s on the watch for you， I know he is， he wants to show you what he showed me. Don’t run away， look him straight in the eye without being afraid， he won’t touch you， but he’ll show you something very funny， and if you let him do it he’ll pay you a lot. There are more than fifteen of us around here whom he’s shown it to. That’s what he likes best， and he’s given a present to us all.” You may well imagine， Messieurs， that nothing more was needed， not only to keep me from fleeing Father Laurent， but to induce me to seek him out； at that age the voice of modesty is a whisper at best， and its silence until the time one has left the tutelage of Nature is certain proof， is it not， that this factitious sentiment is far less the product of that original mother’s training than it is the fruit of education？ I flew instantly to the church， and as I was crossing a little court located between the entrance of the churchyard and the monastery， I bumped squarely into Father Laurent. He was a monk about forty， with a very handsome face. He stopped me. “Whither are you going， Francon？” he asked. “To arrange the chairs， Father.” “Never fear， never fear， your mother will attend to them，” said he. “Come， come along with me，” and he drew me toward a sequestered chamber hard by the place. “I am going to show you something you have never seen.” I follow him， we enter， he shuts the door and， having posted me directly opposite him： “Well， Francon，” says he， pulling a monstrous prick from his drawers， an instrument which nearly toppled me with fright； “tell me，” he continues， frigging himself， “have you ever seen anything to equal it？... that’s what they call a prick， my little one， yes， a prick... it’s used for fucking， and what you’re going to see， what’s going to flow out of it in a moment or two， is the seed wherefrom you were created. I’ve shown it to your sister， I’ve shown it to all the little girls of your age， lend a hand， help it along， help get it out， do as your sister does， she’s got it out of me twenty times or more.... I show them my prick， and then what do you suppose I do？ I squirt the fuck in their face.... That’s my passion， my child， I have no other... and you’re about to behold it.” And at the same time I felt myself completely drenched in a white spray， it soaked me from head to foot， some drops of it had leapt even into my eyes， for my little head just came to the height of his fly. However， Laurent was gesticulating. “Ah！ the pretty fuck， the dear fuck I am losing，” he cried， “why， look at you！ You’re covered with it.” And gradually regaining control of himself， he calmly put his tool away and decamped， slipping twenty sous into my hand and suggesting that I bring him any little companions I might happen to have. As you may readily fancy， I could not have been more eager to run and tell everything to my sister； she wiped me dry， taking the greatest care to overlook none of the spots， and she who had enabled me to earn my little fortune did not fail to demand half of my wages. Instructed by this example， I did not fail， in the hope of a similar division of the spoils， to round up as many little girls for Father Laurent as I could find. But having brought him one with whom he was already familiar， he turned her away， the while giving me three sous by way of encouragement. “I never see the same one twice， my child，” he told me， “bring me some I don’t know， never any of those who say they’ve already had dealings with me.” I managed more successfully； in the space of three months， I introduced Father Laurent to more than twenty new girls， with whom， for the sake of his pleasure， he employed the identical proceedings he had with me. Together with the stipulation that they be strangers to him， there was another relative for age， and it appeared to be of infinite importance： he had no use for anything younger than four or older than seven. And my little fortune could not have been faring better when my sister， noticing that I was encroaching upon her domain， threatened to divulge everything to my mother if I did not put a stop to this splendid commerce； I had to give up Father Laurent. However， my functions continued to keep me in the neighborhood of the monastery； the same day I reached the age of seven I encountered a new lover whose preferred caprice， although very childish， was nevertheless somewhat more serious. This one was named Father Louis， he was older than Laurent， and had some unidentifiable quality in his bearing that was a great deal more libertine. He sidled up to me at the door of the church as I was entering it， and made me promise to come up to his room. At first I advanced a few objections， but once he had assured me that three years ago my sister had come for a visit and that he received little girls of my age every day， I went with him. Scarcely were we in his cell when he closed and bolted the door and， having poured some elixir into a goblet， made me swallow it and then two more copious measures too. This preparatory step taken， the reverend， more affectionate than his confrere， fell to kissing me and， chattering all the while， he untied my apron and， raising my skirt to my bodice， he laid hands， despite my faint strugglings， upon all the anterior parts he had just brought to light； and after having thoroughly fingered and considered them， he inquired of me whether I did not desire to piss. Singularly driven to this need by the strong dose he had a few moments earlier had me drink， I assured him the urge to do so was as powerful as ever it could be， but that I did not want to satisfy it in front of him. “Oh， my goodness， do！ Why yes， my little rascal，” quoth the bawdy fellow， “by God yes， you’ll piss in my presence and， what’s worse， you’ll piss upon me. Here it is，” he went on， plucking his prick from his breeches， “here’s the tool you’re going to moisten， just piss on it a little.” And thereupon he lifted me up and set me on two chairs， one foot on one chair， the other foot on the other， he moved the chairs apart as far as was possible， then bade me squat. Holding me in this posture， he placed a container beneath me， established himself on a little stool about as high as the pot； his engine was in his hand， directly under my cunt. One of his hands supporting my haunches， he frigged himself with the other， and my mouth being at a level with his， he kissed it. “Off you go， my little one， piss，” cried he， “flood my prick with that enchanting liquid whose hot outpouring exerts such a sway over my senses. Piss， my heart， care not but to piss and try to inundate my fuck.” Louis became animated， excited himself， it was easy to see that this unusual operation was the one which all his senses most cherished； the sweetest， gentlest ecstasy crowned that very moment when the liquids wherewith he had swollen my stomach， gushed most abundantly out of me， and we simultaneously filled the same pot， he with fuck， I with urine. The exercise concluded， Louis delivered roughly the same speech to me I had heard from Laurent， he wished to make a procuress of his little whore， and this time， caring precious little for my sister’s threats， I boldly guided every child I knew to dear Louis. He had every one of them do the same thing， and as he experienced no compunction upon seeing any one of them a second or third time， and as he always gave me separate payment， which had nothing to do with the additional fee I extracted from my little comrades， before six months had passed I found myself with a tidy little sum which was entirely my own； I had only to conceal knowledge of it from my sister. “Duclos，” the Président interrupted at this point， “we have， I believe， advised you that your narrations must be decorated with the most numerous and searching details； the precise way and extent to which we may judge how the passion you describe relates to human manners and man’s character is determined by your willingness to disguise no circumstance； and， what is more， the least circumstance is apt to have an immense influence upon the procuring of that kind of sensory irritation we expect from your stories.” “Yes， my Lord，” Duclos replied， “I have been advised to omit no detail and to enter into the most minute particulars whenever they serve to shed light upon the human personality， or upon the species of passion； have I neglected something in connection with this one？” “You have，” said the Président； “I have not the faintest notion of your second monk’s prick， nor any idea of its discharge. In addition， did he frig your cunt， pray tell， and did he have you dandle his device？ You see what I mean by neglected details.” “Your pardon， my Lord，” said Duclos， “I shall repair these present mistakes and avoid them in the future. Father Louis possessed a very ordinary member， greater in its length than it was around and in general of a most common shape and turn； indeed， I do recall that he stiffened rather poorly and that it was not until the crisis arrived he took on a little firmness. No， he did not frig my cunt， he was content to enlarge it with his fingers as much as possible， so as to give free issue to the urine. He brought his prick very close two or three times， and his discharge was rapid， intense， and brief； nothing came from his mouth but the words： ’Ah， fuck！ piss， my child， piss the pretty fountain， piss， d’ye hear， piss away， don’t you see me come？’ And， while saying that， he intermittently sprinkled kisses on my mouth. They were not excessively libertine.” “That’s it， Duclos，” said Durcet， “the Président was right； I could not visualize a thing on the basis of your first telling， but now I have your man well in view.” “One moment， Duclos，” said the Bishop， upon seeing that she was about to proceed. “I have on my own account a need rather more pressing than to piss， it’s had me in its grip for an age and I have the feeling it’s got to go.” So saying he drew Narcisse to his alcove. Fire leapt from the prelate’s eyes， his prick stood up against his belly， foam flecked his lips， it was confined fuck that wished absolutely to escape and which could not be liberated save by violent means. He dragged his niece and the little boy into his closet. Everything came to a pause； a discharge was regarded as something far too portentous not to suspend everything the moment someone was about to produce one； all was to concur to make it delicious. But upon this occasion Nature’s will did not correspond with the Bishop’s wishes， and several minutes after having retired to the closet， he emerged from it， furious， in the same state of erection and， addressing himself to Durcet， presiding officer for November： “Put that odd little fellow down for some punishment on Saturday，” he said， flinging the child ten feet away from him， “and make it severe， if you please.” It was apparent that the boy had not been able to satisfy Monseigneur， and Julie whispered in her father’s ear what had happened. “Well， by God， then take another，” cried the Duc， “choose something from one of our quatrains if nothing in yours suits you.” “Ah， my satisfaction now would be far beyond the damned little that would have been sufficient a moment ago，” said the prelate. “You know to what we are led by a thwarted desire； I’d prefer to restrain myself， but no undue leniency with that poor little fool ，” he continued， “that’s what I recommend...” “But be at ease， my dear Bishop，” said Durcet， “I promise you he’ll get a good scolding， ’tis a fine idea to provide the others with an example. I’m sorry to see you in such a state； try something else； have yourself fucked.” “Monseigneur，” spoke up Martaine， “I feel myself greatly disposed to satisfy you， were Your Excellency to wish it...” “No， no， Christ， no！” the Bishop cried， “don’t you know that there are a thousand occasions when one does not want a woman’s asshole？ I’ll wait...let Duclos continue， I’ll get rid of it tonight， I’ll have to find the one I want. Proceed， Duclos.” And the friends having laughed right heartily at the Bishop’s libertine frankness- “there are a thousand occasions when one does not want a woman’s asshole”- the storyteller resumed in these terms： It was not long after I had attained the age of seven that one day， following my custom of bringing one of my little comrades to Louis， I found another monk with him in his cell. As that had never happened before， I was surprised and wanted to leave， but Louis having reassured us， my little friend and I went boldly in. “Well there， Geoffrey，” Louis said to his companion， pushing me toward him， “did I not tell you that she was nice？” “Why yes indeed， she is，” said Geoffrey， taking me upon his knees and giving me a kiss. “How old are you， my little one？” “Seven， Father.” “Just fifty years younger than I，” said the good father， kissing me anew. And during this little dialogue， the sirup was being prepared and， as it was customary， each of us swallowed three big glasses of it， but， as it was not customary for me to drink when I brought Louis a toy， because he only expected a sprinkling from the girl I brought， because I did not usually stay for the ceremony but used to leave at once， for all these reasons I was astonished by their actions， and in a tone of the most naive innocence I inquired： “And why do you have me drink， good Father？ do you want me to piss？” “To be sure， we do， my child，” quoth Geoffrey， who still had me squeezed between his thighs and whose hands were already straying over my front， “yes， you’re to piss， and the adventure is to take place with me； it will be， perhaps， a little different from the other one you experienced here. Come into my cell， let’s leave Father Louis with your little friend， and let’s get to business ourselves； we’ll return when all our needs are satisfied.” We left； before going， Louis told me in a whisper to be very obliging with his friend， and said I’d not regret it if I were. Geoffrey’s cell was not far from Louis’， and we reached it without being seen. No sooner inside than Geoffrey， having barricaded the door， told me to get rid of my skirts. I obeyed， he himself pulled my shift above my navel and， having seated me on the edge of his bed， he spread my thighs as wide as it were possible， at the same time thrusting me back in such a way my belly came into full view and my weight rested entirely upon the base of my spine. He besought me to keep in that position and to begin to piss immediately he gave one of my thighs a little slap with his hand. Then， scrutinizing me for a moment in this attitude， with one hand he separated the lips of my cunt， with the other he unbuttoned his breeches and with quick and energetic movements began to shake a dark， stunted little member which seemed not much inclined to respond to what was required of it. To give it some encouragement， our man set about doing his duty and proceeded to his chosen custom， the one which procured him the greatest possible titillation - down he went on his knees， I say， between my legs， spent another instant peering into the little orifice I presented to his eye， several times applied his mouth to it， between his teeth muttering certain luxurious phrases I cannot remember because at the time I did not understand them， and continued to agitate that sullen little member， which， though fearfully bullied， did not budge. Finally， he sealed his lips to those of my cunt， I received the signal， and instantly draining what my bladder contained into the gentleman’s mouth， I flooded him with a stream of urine he swallowed as fast as I launched it into his gullet. Whereupon his member unfurled， and its proudly lifted head throbbed against one of my thighs： I felt it bravely spray his debilitated manhood’s sterile issue. Everything had been so well managed he swallowed the final drops at the same moment his prick， confused by his victory， wept bloody tears over it. Trembling in every limbs， Geoffrey got to his feet， and I observed that he no longer had for his idol， once the incense had been extinguished， the same religious fervor he had while delirium， inflaming his homage， still sustained its glory： he rather abruptly gave me twelve sous， opened the door without asking me， as had the others， to bring him girls (he was evidently furnished by someone else) and， pointing the way to his friend’s cell， told me to go there， said that he was in a hurry， that he had his offices to perform， that he could not conduct me himself， and then shut his door without affording me the chance to answer him. “Oh yes indeed！” said the Duc， “unnumbered are they who absolutely cannot bear the instant when the illusion is shattered. It seems as if one’s pride suffers when one lets a woman see one in such a state of feebleness， and disgust would appear to be the result of the discomfiture one experiences at such moments.” “No，” said Curval， whom Adonis， kneeling， was frigging， and whose hands were wandering over Zelmire， “no， my friend， pride has nothing to do with it， but the object which is in the profoundest sense devoid of all value save the one our lust endows it with， that object， I say， shows itself for what in truth it is once our lubricity has subsided. The more violent has been the irritation the more this object is stripped of its attraction when this irritation ceases to sustain it， just as we are more or less fatigued after greater or lesser exertion， and this aversion we thereupon sense is nothing but the sentiment of a glutted soul whereunto happiness is displeasing because happiness has just wearied it.” “But from this aversion， all the same，” spoke up Durcet， “is often born a plan for revenge， whose fatal consequences have often been observed.” “Yes， but that’s another matter，” Curval replied， “and as the aftermath of these recitals will perhaps afford us examples of what you’re saying， let’s not anticipate through dissertations what will be naturally produced of itself.” “Président， be frank，” said Durcet： “on the verge of running amuck yourself， I believe that at the present moment you prefer to prepare yourself to feel how one enjoys than to discuss how one becomes disgusted.” “Why， not at all， not a bit of it，” said Curval， “I am as cool as ice... To be sure， yes，” he continued， kissing Adonis’ lips， “this child is charming... but he’s not to be fucked； I know of nothing worse than your damnable regulations... one must reduce oneself to things... to things... Go on， Duclos， go on， continue， for I have the feeling I might perpetrate something foolish， and I want my illusion to remain intact at least until I go to bed.” The Président， perceiving his engine beginning to rebel， sent the two children back to their posts and， lying down beside Constance， who， pretty as she was， doubtless failed to stimulate him as much， he a second time besought Duclos to resume her story； she did at once， as follows： I rejoined my little comrade. Louis had been serviced； not very well pleased， we both left the monastery， I almost resolved not to return again. Geoffrey’s tone had wounded my little pride， and without probing further to determine the origins of my displeasure， I liked neither its apparent cause nor its consequences. However， it had been written in my destiny that I was to have yet a few more adventures in that pious retreat， and the example of my sister， who had， so she told me， done business with fourteen of its inhabitants， was to convince me that I was still far from the end of my tour. Three months after this last episode， I became aware of overtures being made to me by another one of these reverend fathers， this one a man of about sixty. He invented every kind of ruse to lure me to his room； one of them succeeded， so well in fact that one fine Sunday morning I found myself there， without knowing why or how it had happened. The old rascal， known as Father Henri， shut and locked the door as soon as I had crossed the threshold， and embraced me with exceeding warmth. “Ah， little imp！” cried he， transported with joy， “I’ve got you now， you’ll not escape me this time， ha！” The weather was extremely cold at the time， my little nose was running as children’s usually do in the winter； I drew out a handkerchief. “What’s this？ What’s this？ Be careful there，” warned Henri， “I’m the one who’ll attend to that operation， my sweet.” And having stretched me out upon his bed with my head a little to one side， he sat down next to me and raised my head upon his lap. He peered avidly at me， his eyes seemed ready to devour the secretion oozing from my nose. “Oh， the pretty little snotface，” said he， beginning to pant， “how I’m going to suck her.” Therewith bending down over me， and taking my nose in his mouth， not only did he devour all the mucus between my nose and mouth， but he even lewdly darted the tip of his tongue into each of my nostrils， one after the other， and with such cleverness he provoked two or three sneezes which redoubled the flow he desired and was consuming so hungrily. But ask me for no details bearing upon this fellow， Messieurs， nothing appeared， and whether because he did nothing， or because he did it all in his drawers， there was nothing to be seen， and amidst the multitude of his kisses and lecherous lickings there was nothing outstanding which might have denoted an ecstasy， and consequently it is my opinion that he did not discharge. All my clothes were in place， even his hands stayed still， and I give you my word that this old libertine’s fantasy might be performed upon the world’s most respectable and least initiated girl without her being able to suppose there was anything lewd in it at all. But the same could not be said of the one that chance presented to my consideration the same day I turned nine years old. Father Etienne， that was the libertine’s name， had several times asked my sister to bring me to him， and she had got me to promise to go alone， for she was unwilling to accompany me， fearing lest my mother， who already scented something in the wind， might find out； well， I was planning to pay him a visit when， one day， I ran directly into him in a corner of the church， near the sacristy. His manner was so gracious， he argued so persuasively that he had no need to drag me away by main force. Father Etienne was about forty， a healthy， robust， strapping fellow. We were no sooner closeted together than he asked whether I knew how to frig a prick. “Alas！” said I， blushing to the ears， “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” “Well then I’ll explain， my chit，” said he， bestowing heartfelt kisses upon my mouth and eyes， “my unique pleasure in this world is to educate little girls， and the lessons I give are so excellent they prove unforgettable. Begin by removing your skirts， for if I am to teach you how you must proceed in order to give me pleasure， ’tis only fair that at the same time I teach you what to do in order to receive it， and that lesson cannot be a success if anything hinders us. Here we go. We shall begin with you. What you behold down here，” said he， placing his hand on my mound， “is called a cunt， and this is what you must do in order to awaken very felicitous sensations in it. With one finger - one will do - lightly rub this little protuberance you feel here. It， by the way， is called the clitoris.” I followed instructions. “There， you see， that way， my little one， while one hand is busy there， let one finger of your other hand gradually work its way into this delicious crack....” He adjusted my hands. “That’s the way， yes... Well！ Don’t you feel anything？” he asked， keeping me to my task. “No， Father， I truly don’t，” I answered most naively. “Ah， that’s because you are still too young， but two years from now you’ll see the pleasures it gives.” “Wait，” I interrupted， “I think something’s happening.” And with all imaginable vigor I rubbed the places he had pointed out.... Yes， sure enough， a few faint titillations convinced me that what I’d begun was worth continuing， and the extensive use I have made ever since of this relief-providing exercise has more than once persuaded me of my master’s competence. “And now ’tis my turn，” said Etienne， “for your pleasures arouse my desires， and I simply must share them， my angel. Here we are； take this，” he said， inviting me to grip a tool so monstrous my two little hands were scarce able to close around it， “take this， my child， ’tis called a prick， and this movement here，” he went on， guiding my wrists in rapid jerks， “this action is called frigging. Thus， by means of this action you frig my prick. Go to it， my child， put all your strength to it. The more rapid and persistent your movements， the more you will hasten a moment which， believe me， I cherish. But bear one essential thing in mind，” he added， all the while directing my flying hands， “be careful at all times to keep the tip uncovered. Never allow this skin， we call it the prepuce， to cover it over； were this prepuce to happen to cover this part， which we call the glans， all my pleasure would vanish. That’s it； we’re shortly going to see something， my little one，” my teacher continued， “watch me do on you what you did on me.” And pressing himself against my chest as he spoke and as I kept in motion， he placed his hands so adroitly， he wriggled his fingers with such high art that pleasure rose at last to grip me， and it is without a shadow of a doubt to him I owe my initiation. And then， my head reeling， I abandoned my task， and the reverend， not yet ready to complete it， consented to forget his pleasure for a moment in order to devote himself exclusively to cultivating mine； and when he had caused me to taste it all， he had me resume the work my ecstasy had obliged me to interrupt， and very expressly enjoined me to keep my mind strictly on what I was about and to care for naught but him. I did so with all my soul. It was only just： I surely owed him my thanks. I went so merrily to work， and I observed all his instructions so faithfully that the monster， vanquished by such rapid vibrations， finally spewed forth all its rage and covered me with its venom. Thereupon Etienne seemed to go out of his mind， borne aloft in the most voluptuous delirium； ardently he kissed my mouth， he fondled and frigged my cunt， and the wildness in his speech still more emphatically declared his disorder. Gross expressions， mingling with others of the most endearing sort， characterized this transport， which lasted quite a while， and whence at last the gallant Etienne， so unlike his piss-swallowing colleague， emerged to tell me that I was charming， that he greatly hoped I would come back to see him， and that he would treat me every time as he was going to now： pressing a silver coin into my hand， he conducted me back to the place he had brought me from and left me wonderstruck， thrilled and enchanted with this latest good fortune. Feeling much better about the monastery， I decided to return to it often in the future， persuaded that the more I advanced in age， the more agreeable adventures I would meet with there. But destiny called me elsewhere； more important events awaited me in a new world， and upon returning to my house I learned news which was soon to sober the elation produced in me by the happy outcome of my latest experience. Here a bell was heard struck in the salon； it announced supper. Whereupon Duclos， generally applauded for the auspicious little beginnings she had made， descended from the stage， and， after having made a few adjustments to repair the disorder all four of them seemed to be in， the friends turned their thoughts to new pleasures and hastened to find out what Comus held in store for them. This meal was to be served by the eight little girls， naked. Having been wise enough to leave the auditorium a few minutes early， they stood ready the moment the masters entered these fresh surroundings. The table companions were to be twenty in number： the libertine quartet， the eight fuckers， the eight little boys. But， still furious with Narcisse， the Bishop wished to veto his presence at the banquet， and as it was perfectly natural that they make allowances for one another’s whims and observe a mutual tolerance， no one raised his voice to contest the sentence， and the poor little simpleton was confined alone in a dark closet to await that stage in the orgies when perhaps Monseigneur might be inclined to make friends with him again. The wives and the storytellers， dining apart， had concluded their meal in great haste in order to be ready for the orgies， the elders directed the movements of the eight little girls， and dinner was begun. This meal， much heavier than the one which had been eaten earlier in the day， was served with far greater opulence and splendor. I began with a shellfish soup and hors d’oeuvres composed of twenty dishes； twenty entrees came on next， and soon gave way to another twenty lighter entrees made up entirely of breasts of chicken， of assorted game prepared in every possible way. This was offset by a serving of roasts； everything of the rarest imaginable was brought on. Next arrived some cold pastry， soon afterward twenty-six entremets of every description and form. The table was cleared， and what had just been removed was replaced by a whole array of cold and hot sugared pastries. Dessert finally appeared： a prodigious number and variety of fruits， though the season was winter， then ices， chocolate， and the liqueurs which were taken at table. As for the wines， they varied with each service： Burgundy accompanied the first； two kinds of Italian wine came with the second and third； Rhine wine with the fourth； with the fifth， Rh？ne wines； sparkling champagne with the sixth； two kinds of Greek wine with the other two courses. Spirits were prodigiously roused， for， as distinct from lunch， one was not granted permission during dinner to take the waitresses to task， or with that same severity； these creatures， being the very quintessence of what the company had to offer， had to be treated rather more sparingly but， on the other hand， the friends indulged in a furious round of impurities with them. Half-drunk， the Duc said he would not touch another drop， from now it was Zelmire’s urine or nothing， and he drained two large glasses of it which he obtained by having the child climb upon the table and squat over his plate. “Why， there’s nothing to drinking weak young piss，” said Curval and， calling Fanchon to him： “Come hither， venerable bitch， I’d slake my thirst at the very source.” And thrusting his head between the old crone’s legs， he greedily sucked up the impure floods of poisonous urine she darted into his stomach. And now their words grew heated， they argued various philosophical problems and considered several questions relating to manners； I leave it to the reader to imagine the purity of those discourses and the loftiness of their moralizing. The Duc undertook an encomium of libertinage， and proved that it was natural， and that the more numerous were its extravagances， the better they served the creator of us all. His opinion was generally acclaimed， enthusiastically applauded， and they rose to go and put into practice the doctrines which had just been established. Everything was ready in the orgy salon： the women were there， already naked， lying upon piles of pillows on the floor， strewn promiscuously amongst the young catamites who had hastened away from table a little after dessert. Our friends reeled in； two elders undressed them， and they fell upon the flock like wolves assailing a sheepfold. The Bishop， whose passions had been cruelly irritated by the obstacles they had encountered of late， laid hands on Antinoüs’ sublime ass while Hercule skewered him， and vanquished by this latest sensation and by the important and doubtless so much desired service Antinoüs was rendering him， he finally spat out streams of semen so hard driven and so pungent he swooned in ecstasy. Bacchus’ wiles had spellbound senses glutted from excess， numbed from luxury； our hero passed from his faint to a sleep so profound he had to be carried to his bed. The Duc was having a marvelous time. Curval， recollecting what Martaine had offered the Bishop， stuffed her while he got his own ass stoppered. A thousand other horrors， a thousand other infamies accompanied and succeeded those， and our three indomitable champions - for the Bishop no longer was of this world - our valorous athletes， I say， escorted by the four night-toiling fuckers who had not been at the revels but who now came to fetch them， retired with the same wives who had shared their couches during the story time. Luckless victims of their brutality， upon whom it is only too likely they showered more outrages than caresses and who， it is equally probable， inspired in them more disgust than pleasure. . . . Such were the events that transpired on the first day.
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