The previous day’s examples having made a deep impression， no one was found， no one could be found wanting the next day. The lessons continued， they were executed upon the fuckers， and as the day produced no outstanding event until coffee， we will begin our account with that little rite. Coffee was served by Augustine， Zelmire， Narcisse， and Zéphyr. The thigh-fuckeries began again， Curval laid hands on Zelmire， the Duc on Augustine， and after having admired and kissed their pretty buttocks which， I truly don’t know why， that day possessed a charm， an attraction， a blush of vermilion the friends had not hitherto remarked， after， I say， our libertines had thoroughly kissed and caressed those exquisite little asses， farts were elicited from them； the Bishop， who had Narcisse in his grip， had already procured himself some， Zéphyr’s could be heard spluttering into Durcet’s mouth - why not imitate them？ Zelmire succeeded， but Augustine had striven with might and main， the Duc had threatened her with another Saturday martyrdom， with punishment as severe as what she had just suffered the day before， but strains and struggles， menaces and imprecations were all in vain， nothing emerged from the poor little creature， she was already in tears when a driblet at length appeared and satisfied the Duc who inhaled the aroma and， highly pleased with this mark of docility in the pretty child of whom he was so fond， he camped his enormous engine between her thighs， then withdrew it as he was about to discharge， and totally inundated her two buttocks. Curval had done the same to Zelmire， but the Bishop and Durcet contented themselves with what is known as the little goosing； later， their nap over， they passed into the auditorium， where the splendid Duclos， arrayed that day in everything that could most successfully cause an observer to forget her age， appeared even lovelier under the candlelight， and our libertines， grown very hot with much looking at her， were loath to allow her to ascend to the platform without first having her exhibit her buttocks to the assembly.
“A magnificent ass， upon my soul，” said Curval. “Oh， indeed， my friend，” said Durcet， “I warrant there are few better to be seen.” These encomiums heard， our heroine lowered her skirts， took her seat， and resumed her story in such wise as the reader shall observe， if he be pleased to continue， which we advise that he do for the sake of his pleasure. A reflection and an event were responsible， Messieurs， for the shift in battlefields； the digladiations I shall from now on relate were performed in other surroundings. The reflection was a most simple one： I remarked the lamentable condition of my purse， and straightway was set to thinking. I had been nine years at Madame Guérin’s， and although， during that time， I had disbursed very little， I now found myself without even a hundred louis； that woman， extremely clever and never once deaf to the pleading of her own welfare， always found a way to pocket two-thirds of the house’s receipts and to impose additional deductions upon the remainder. These practices displeased me and， subject to repeated solicitations from another procuress， Madame Fournier， who wanted nothing more than to have me settle down with her， and knowing that this Fournier received elderly debauchees of a higher tone and greater means than Guérin’s clientele， I decided to take my leave of the one and throw in my lot with the other. As for the event which lent support to my ideas， it was the loss of my sister： I had grown very attached to her， and I could no longer remain in a house where everything reminded me of her but whence she was absent. For nearly six months that dear sister had been receiving visits from a tall， dark， and silent man whose face I found exceedingly disagreeable. They would retire together， and I do not know how they passed their time， for never did my sister want to discuss what they did， and never did they cavort in a place where I could view their commerce. In any event， she came into my room one fine morning， embraced me， and said that her fortune was made， she was to be the mistress of the tall man I disliked， and I learned only that the deciding factor in her conquest was the beauty of her buttocks. And with that she gave me her address， settled her accounts with Guérin， gave each of us a farewell kiss， and left. You may be sure that I did not fail to go the indicated address， for I wished to see her. It was two days after her departure； I arrived， asked for my sister， and my request was answered by shrugs and blank expressions. I saw perfectly clear that my sister had been duped， for I could not imagine she would have deprived me of the pleasure of her company. When I related the thing to Guérin and complained of what had happened， a malign smile crept over her face. She refused to explain herself； hence I concluded she was embroiled in this mysterious adventure but did not want me to become involved in it. It all had a deep effect upon me and brought a swift end to my unresolve； as， Messieurs， I shall have no occasion to speak of that beloved sister in future， I may say now that， notwithstanding the inquiries I had made and the lengths to which I went to find her， I was never able to discover what had become of her. “I dare say not，” Desgranges observed， “for， twenty-four hours after having left you， she was no longer alive. No， she did not deceive you； rather， she was herself deceived. But， as you surmised， Guérin knew what was afoot.” “Merciful Heavens！ what are you telling me？” cried Duclos. “Alas！ though deprived of the sight of her， I still imagined she was alive.” “Most erroneously，” Desgranges replied. “She told you the strict truth： it was indeed the beauty of her buttocks， the astonishing superiority of that memorable ass that procured her the adventure in which she flattered herself a fortune was to be earned， but wherein she gained death only.” “And the tall silent man？” Duclos asked. “He was no more than the courtier in the story， he was working for another.” “Yet， I tell you， he saw her assiduously for six months.” “In order to deceive her，” Desgranges answered； “but go on with your tale， these clarifications might prove tedious to their Lordships， and should they wish to hear more of the matter， they may rest assured the anecdote will figure in my depositions.” “And spare us any emotional demonstrations， Duclos，” said the Duc dryly， upon noticing that it was all she could do to keep back a few involuntary tears， “we don’t much care for regrets and grievings， you know； as a matter of fact， all the works of Nature could be blown to hell and we’d not emit so much as a sigh. Leave tears to idiots and children， and may they never soil the cheeks of a clearheaded， clear-thinking woman， the sort we esteem.” With these words， our heroine took herself in hand and resumed her narrative at once. Owing to the two reasons I have just presented to your Lordships， I made up my mind to leave； Fournier offered me better accommodations， a far more interesting table， much more remunerative although more arduous work， an equal share in the receipts， and service charges. I went to her at once. At that time she occupied an entire house， and five pretty young girls composed her seraglio； I made the sixth. You will allow me to proceed again as earlier I did when describing Guérin’s establishment： I will not portray my companions-at-arms until one by one they step into the arena. On the morrow of my arrival， I was given a project， for Fournier ran a bustling house， people came and went all the time， each of us would often receive five or six clients in the space of a day； but I shall continue， as I have until now， to select none but those who， by dint of singularity or piquancy， are apt to arrest your attention. The first man I welcomed in my new habitation was a disbursing official， aged about fifty. He had me kneel by the bed with my chin resting on its edge； he established himself on the bed， kneeling also， and above me. He frigged his prick squarely into my mouth， commanding me to keep it wide open； I lost not a drop， and the bawdy fellow was prodigiously amused by the contortions and efforts to vomit this disgusting mouthwash caused in me. You will perhaps prefer me to group the four other adventures in this category I had at Madame Fournier′s， although you understand， Messieurs， that these encounters were separated in time. I am certain the telling will be far from displeasing to Monsieur Durcet， and perhaps very opportune， and for the rest of the evening he will most kindly permit me to entertain him with accounts of a passion for which he has enthusiasm， and which procured me the honor of making his acquaintance. “What’s this？” exclaimed Durcet； “you are going to have me play a role in your story？” “With your gracious leave， my Lord，” Duclos replied. “I shall simply advise Messieurs when I reach the point where you make your entrance.” “But my modesty . . . oh dear， oh dear！ Before these little girls， do you mean you intend to disclose all my turpitudes to their innocent hearing？” And everyone having chuckled over the financier’s whimsical fears， Duclos resumed her narrative. Another libertine， much older and in a different way digusting， succeeded the one I mentioned a moment ago， and came to give me a second representation of the same mania； he had me stretch out naked upon a bed， stretched out himself， his head to my toe， popped his prick in my mouth and his tongue in my cunt， and having adopted this attitude， bade me make return for the voluptuous titillations he declared his tongue was very certainly going to procure for me. I sucked as best I could； he had my pucelage， he licked， bubbled， splashed about and， without doubt， in all these maneuvers， labored infinitely more in his own behalf than in mine. Whatever may have been the truth， I felt nothing， and was exceedingly happy not to be horribly revolted by the whole affair； there ensued the roué’s discharge， an operation which， in accordance with Fournier’s earnest wishes， for she had given me foreknowledge of everything， an operation， I say， which I strove to make as lubricious as possible by sucking， by wringing the juice from his prick with my lips， by swishing it about in my mouth， and by running my hand over his buttocks and tickling his anus， which last detail， he indicated， pleased him very much， and which he performed on me in turn as best he could. . . . The business completed， our man beat his retreat， assuring Madame Fournier that never yet had he been outfitted with a girl who gave him more satisfaction than I. Shortly after this latest of my exploits， an old witch of about seventy came to our house； I was curious to know what brought her to us， she seemed to have an expectant air， and， yes， I was told that she was awaiting a customer. Extremely eager to see to what purpose the old bag of bones was going to be put， I asked my companions whether there were not a room from which one might have a view of the bouts， as had been possible at Guérin’s. One of my friends replied that indeed such facilities were available and led me to a chamber equipped with not one， but two holes； we took our posts， and this is what we saw and heard， for the wall was no more than a thin partition， and sound traversed it so easily we lost not a word. The old dame arrived first. She looked at herself in a mirror， primped， made adjustments， as if she fancied her charms were yet capable of conquering. A few minutes later， in walked this Chlo？’s Daphnis； he was sixty at the most， a tax commissioner， a man who was very comfortably well off and who preferred spending his money upon worn-out sluts， old trash like this， rather than upon pretty girls； and why？ ’Twas a singularity of taste you say that you understand， Messieurs， and indeed you explain the thing admirably. He advances， surveying his Dulcinea； she makes him a bow of deepest respect. “No nonsense， you old bitch，” says the rake， “I don’t care for elegant manners. Get out of your clothes. . . . But wait just one moment. Have you any teeth？” “No， Sire， not a one is left in my head，” quoth the lady， opening her foul old mouth. “See for yourself， may it please your Lordship.” Whereupon up steps his Lordship and， grasping her head， he deposits upon her lips one of the most passionate kisses I have seen in all my life； not merely did he kiss， but he sucked， he devoured， most amorously he darted his tongue far， far into that putrid gullet， and the dear old grandmother， of whom not so much had been made in many a long year， replied with a tenderness which . . . I should have much difficulty describing to you. “Very well，” said the official， “that will do. Off with your clothes.” Meanwhile， he too undoes his breeches and brings out a little dark and wrinkled member about which there is nothing at all that promises an early erection. However， the old girl is naked， and with unimaginable effrontery comes up to offer her lover the sight of an ancient， yellow， and shriveled body， dry， shapeless， and unfleshed， the full description whereof， irrespective of your particular fancies in such matters， would so fill you with horror it were better for me to say no more； but far from being disgusted， repelled， upset by what greets his eye， our libertine is positively enchanted； ecstatic， he seizes her， draws her to where he is seated in a chair， manualizes her while waiting for her to remove a last stitch of clothing， again darts his tongue into her mouth and， turning her around， for a moment pays his respects to the other side of the coin. I very distinctly saw him fondle her buttocks - but what am I saying？ buttocks？ rather， I saw him manipulate the two wrinkled rags which fell in waves and little ripples from her haunches and lay flapping on her thighs. Well， such as they were he drew them apart， voluptuously fastened his lips upon the infamous cloaca they enclosed， drove his tongue repeatedly thereinto， and while he sweated happily over this ruin， she struggled to give some firmness to the moribund device she was rattling. “Let’s get to the heart of the matter，” said her beloved； “without my favorite stunts， all your attempts will be useless. You’ve been told？” “Yes， Monsieur， I have been told.” “And you know you’ve got to swallow？” “Yes， my dearie， I’ll swallow， oh yes， my little cabbage， my pet， down it’ll go， I’ll devour every little drop my duckling makes.” And therewith the libertine deposits her on the bed， her head lying toward its foot， he straightway pops his limp engine between her gums， drives doughtily in up to the balls， wriggles about until， seizing his delight’s legs and perching them upon his shoulders， his snout is nicely lodged between the old creature’s buttocks. His tongue wanders deep into that exquisite hole； the honeybee going in quest of the rose’s nectar sucks not more voluptuously； the lady sucks too， our hero begins to stir. “Ah， fuck！” he cries after a quarter of an hour of this libidinous calisthenic， “suck me， suck me， suck and swallow it， you filthy buggress， swallow， for it’s coming， by Jesus’ sweet face， it’s coming， don’t you feel it？” And flinging kisses here and there， scattering kisses upon everything in sight， thighs， vagina， buttocks， anus， everything gets licked， everything is sucked， the old bitch gulps， and the poor old wreck， who withdraws as slack a device as the one he inserted， and who has apparently discharged unerected， goes tottering out all ashamed of his transports， and as promptly as ever he can gains the door in order to avoid the sobering sight of the appalling object which has just seduced him in his weakness. “And the old bitch？” inquired the Duc. The old bitch coughed， spat， blew her nose， dressed with all possible dispatch， and left. A few days later， the same companion thanks to whom I had been able to enjoy witnessing this scene had her turn. She was a blond girl of about sixteen， with the world’s most interesting physiognomy； I eagerly seized the opportunity to see her at work. The man with whom she was to hold conference was at least as old as the tax commissioner. He had her kneel between his legs， immobilized her head by catching hold of her ears， and snapped into her startled mouth a prick which looked to me to be dirtier and more unappetizing than a rag left to soak in the gutter. Observing that frightful morsel approaching her clean healthy lips， my poor colleague was moved to back away， but it was not for nothing our gentleman held her like a spaniel by the ears. “What the devil’s this？” he muttered. “Are you going to be difficult？” And threatening to summon Fournier， who had doubtless recommended the most conciliatory attitude to her， he triumphed over her hesitations. She opens her lips， retreats， opens them again and finally， gagging and spluttering， accepts into that sweetest of mouths that most infamous of relics； from this point onward， the villain’s speech was exceedingly rude. “Ah， you little slut！” he shouted in a rage， “you’ve got scruples， have you， about sucking the finest prick in France？ You suppose， do you， that one’s got to wash one’s balls just for your sake？ Well， fuck you， bitch： suck， do you hear？ suck the sweetmeat.” Waxing very hot thanks to these sarcasms and the revulsion he noticed he was inspiring my companion， for true it is， Messieurs， that the loathing you quicken in us becomes the gadfly that arouses your pleasure， stings your lust； waxing most ardent， I say， the libertine plunged into an ecstasy and left in the poor girl’s mouth the most definite evidence of his virility. Less complaisant than the old woman， she swallowed nothing， and far more revolted， a moment later she retched her stomach empty， and our libertine， readjusting himself without paying much attention to what she was about， laughed sneeringly between his teeth， amused by his libertinage’s cruel consequences. My turn came next. But more fortunate than my two predecessors， it was Cupid himself I was turned over， and after having satisfied him I was left with nothing but wonder to find tastes so peculiar in a young man so well framed to please. He arrives， he has me take off what I am wearing and lies down upon the bed， orders me to squat above his face and with my mouth proceed to try to wring a discharge from a very mediocre prick， for which however he has words of praise and whose fuck he entreats me to swallow as soon as I feel it flow. “But don’t waste the occasion to idleness，” the little libertine added， “meanwhile， I’d have that cunt of yours flood urine into my mouth， I promise you I’ll swallow it as you shall my fuck， and I’d be delighted to sniff a few farts from that splendid ass.” I fell to the task and simultaneously executed my three chores with such skill and grace that the little anchovy soon vomited all its fury into my mouth； I swallowed heartily， my Adonis likewise made short shrift of the piss that poured out of my crack and， while he drank， he inhaled the fragrance that a continual stream of farts bore to his nostrils. “Forsooth， Mademoiselle，” murmured Durcet， “you could surely have dispensed with disclosures that portray all my youthful childishness.” “Ha！” said the Duc with a merry laugh， “well indeed！ You who scarcely dare look at a cunt today， do you mean to say you used to have ’em piss in the old days？” “’Tis true，” said Durcet， “I blush to admit it， for what could be more dreadful than to have such turpitudes upon one’s conscience？ Oh， I presently feel the heavy weight of remorse， my friend. . . . O delicious asses！” he exclaimed， in his enthusiasm kissing Sophie’s which he had drawn close for a minute’s fondling， “O divine asses！ how I reproach myself for the incense I deprived you of！ O delicious fundaments， I promise you an expiatory sacrifice， I swear upon your altars never again while I live to stray from the paths of rectitude.” And that splendid behind having heated him somewhat， the libertine placed the novice in what was doubtless an exceedingly indecent posture but one in which he was able， as has been seen above， to give his little anchovy to be sucked while sucking the tidiest， freshest， most voluptuous of asses. But Durcet， become now too blasé， too surfeited with that pleasure， only very rarely found it invigorating； one could suck all one wished， he could do the same till his lips cracked， ’twas always the same： he would withdraw in the same collapsed state and， cursing and swearing at the girl， would regularly postpone until some happier moment the pleasures Nature denied him then. Not everyone was so unfortunate； the Duc， who had passed into his closet with Zélamir， Bum-Cleaver， and Thérèse， emitted shouts and bellows which attested to his happiness， and Colombe， hawking and spitting in great earnestness， left precious little doubt about the temple at which he had done his worshiping. As for the Bishop， reclining upon his couch in the most natural manner， Adelaide’s buttocks pinching his nose and his prick in her mouth， he was in seventh heaven， for he was having a wealth of farts out of the young woman； Curval， in an extremely upright state， plugged Hébé’s little mouth with his outsized stopper， and yielded up his fuck as he resorted to other stunts. Mealtime arrived. The Duc wished to advance the thesis that if happiness consisted in the entire satisfaction of all the senses， it were difficult to be happier than were they. “The remark is not a libertine’s，” said Durcet. “How can you be happy if you are able constantly to satisfy yourself？ It is not in desire’s consummation happiness consists， but in the desire itself， in hurdling the obstacles placed before what one wishes. Well， what is the perspective here？ One needs but wish and one has. I swear to you，” he continued， “that since my arrival here my fuck has not once flowed because of the objects I find about me in this castle. Every time， I have discharged over what is not here， what is absent from this place， and so it is，” the financier declared， “that， according to my belief， there is one essential thing lacking to our happiness. It is the pleasure of comparison， a pleasure which can only be born of the sight of wretched persons， and here one sees none at all. It is from the sight of him who does not in the least enjoy what I enjoy， and who suffers， that comes the charm of being able to say to oneself： ’I am therefore happier than he.’ Wherever men may be found equal， and where these differences do not exist， happiness shall never exist either： it is the story of the man who only knows full well what health is worth after he has been ill.” “In that case，” said the Bishop， “you would maintain as a real source of pleasure the act of going and contemplating the tears of persons stricken by misery？” “Most assuredly，” Durcet replied. “In all the world there is perhaps no voluptuousness that more flatters the senses than the one you cite.” “What？ You would not succor the lowly and wretched？” exclaimed the Bishop who took the most genuine delight in engaging Durcet to expetiate upon a question whose examination was so much to the taste of them all and upon which， they knew， the financier was able to deliver some very sound opinions. “What is it you term succor？” Durcet responded. “For the voluptuousness I sense and which is the result of this sweet comparison of their condition with mine， would cease to exist were I to succor them： by extricating them from a state of wretchedness， I should cause them to taste an instant’s happiness， thus destroying the distinction between them and myself， thus destroying all the pleasure afforded by comparison.” “Well then， following that，” reasoned the Duc， “one should in one way or another， so as the better to establish that distinction indispensable to happiness， one should， I say， rather aggravate their plight.” “There is no doubting it，” said Durcet， “and that explains the infamies of which I have been accused all my life. Those who are in perfect ignorance of my motives，” the banker continued， “call me harsh， ferocious， barbaric， but， laughing at these divers denominations， I go merrily on； I cause， I dare say， what fools describe as atrocities， but thereby I have created pleasure-giving distinctions and have made many a delectable comparison.” “Come now，” said the Duc， “confess， my dear fellow： admit that upon more than a score of occasions you have engineered the ruin of some poor folk， simply by that means to serve the perverse tastes you have just acknowledged.” “More than a score？” said Durcet. “More than ten score， my friend， and， without the slightest exaggeration， I could enumerate above four hundred families reduced to beggardom， a state in which they’d not now be languishing had it not been for me.” “And，” said Curval， “I fancy you have profited from their ruin？” “Why yes， that has very frequently been the case， but I must also confess that often enough I have acted not to gain， but purely to undo， at the behest of that certain wickedness which almost always awakens the organs of lubricity in me； my prick positively jumps when I do evil， in evil I discover precisely what is needed to stimulate in me all of pleasure’s sensations， and I perform evil for that reason， for it alone， without any ulterior motive.” “Upon my soul，” declared the Président， “I own I fancy nothing better than that taste. When I was in Parliament I must have voted at least a hundred times to have some poor devil hanged； they were all innocent， you know， and I would never indulge in that little injustice without experiencing， deep within me， a most voluptuous titillation： no more was needed to inflame my balls， nothing used to heat them more certainly. You can imagine what I felt when I did worse.” “It is certain，” said the Duc， whose brain was beginning to warm as he fingered Zéphyr， “that crime has sufficient charm of itself to ignite all the senses， without one having to resort to any other expedient； no one understands better than I that enormities and malpractices， even those at the most extreme remove from libertine misbehavior， are quite as capable of inciting an erection as those which lie directly within the sphere of libertinage. The man who is addressing you at this very instant has owed spasms to stealing， murdering， committing arson， and he is perfectly sure that it is not the object of libertine intentions which fire us， but the idea of evil， and that consequently it is thanks only to evil and only in the name of evil one stiffens， not thanks to the object， and were this object to be divested of the power to cause us to do evil， our prick would droop， ’twould interet us no more.” “What could be more certain than that？” the Bishop demanded. “And thence is born another certitude： the greatest pleasure is derived from the most infamous source. The doctrine which must perpetually govern our conduct is this： the more pleasure you seek in the depths of crime， the more frightful the crime must be； as for myself， Messieurs，” added the Bishop， “if I may be permitted to speak personally， I affirm that I have reached the point of no longer being susceptible of this sensation you have been discussing， of no longer experiencing it， I say， as a result of lesser or minor crimes， and if the one I perpetrate does not combine as much of the atrocious， of the base， of the vicious， of the deceitful， of the treacherous as may be possibly imagined， the sensation is not merely faint， there is no sensation at all.” “Very well，” said Durcet， “is it possible to commit crimes such as these our minds yearn after， crimes like those you mention？ For my part， I must declare that my imagination has always outdistanced my faculties； I lack the means to do what I would do， I have conceived of a thousand times more and better than I have done， and I have ever had complaint against Nature who， while giving me the desire to outrage her， has always deprived me of the means.” “There are，” said Curval， “but two or three crimes to perform in this world， and they， once done， there’s no more to be said； all the rest is inferior， you cease any longer to feel. Ah， how many times， by God， have I not longed to be able to assail the sun， snatch it out of the universe， make a general darkness， or use that star to burn the world！ oh， that would be a crime， oh yes， and not a little misdemeanor such as are all the ones we perform who are limited in a whole year’s time to metamorphosing a dozen creatures into lumps of clay.” Whereupon， their minds having waxed gay and hot， as two or three young girls had already had cause to remark， and their pricks beginning to rise， they left the table and went in search of pretty mouths， thereinto to pour the floods of that liquor whose too insistent throbbings promoted the utterance of so many horrors. That evening they confined themselves to mouth pleasures， but invented a hundred manners of varying them， and when they had run， all four of them， each a magnificent race， in a few hours of repose they sought to find the strength necessary to starting out afresh.
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