‘Twas a wedding day， and the turn of Cupidon and Rosette to be united in holy matrimony， and by still another fateful combination of accidents， both were listed for punishment that evening. As no one was found at fault that morning， that entire part of the day was devoted to the wedding ceremony， and when it was over， the newlyweds were brought into the salon to see what they would do together. The mysteries of Venus were， as we know， often celebrated in these children’s presence； although none of them had so far taken an active part in them， they were well enough grounded in the theory of the thing to be able to execute about everything that there is to do. Cupidon， his prick very rigidly aloft， insinuated his little peg between Rosette‘s thighs， and she lent herself to his maneuvers with all the candor of the most thorough innocence； the young lad was managing so nicely that he was probably well on the way to success when the Bishop， taking him in his arms， had put in himself what， I fancy， the child would greatly have liked to put into his little wife； all the while he perforated the Bishop’s ample hole， he regarded her with eyes which declared his regrets， but she was herself soon occupied： the Duc thigh-fucked her. Curval stepped up in the lewdest fashion to fondle the ass of the Bishop‘s little fucker， and as that pretty little ass was found， in keeping with instructions， in the desired state， he licked it and began to stiffen. Durcet was up to the same tricks with the little girl the Duc was holding with her chest pressed to his.
However， no one discharged， and Messieurs went in to dine； the young bride and groom， who had been admitted to the table， also appeared to serve coffee， together with Augustine and Zélamir. And the voluptuous Augustine， deeply distressed over not having won the prize for beauty the night before， had， as though sulking， left her hair in just that kind of disarray which rendered her a thousand times more intriguing to see. Curval was stirred by the sight， and， examining her buttocks：
“I fail to understand how it happened that this little rascal did not win the palm，” said he， “for devil take me if in all the world there exists a finer ass than this one here.”
So saying， he pried it open， and inquired of Augustine whether she were ready to do her old friend a great kindness. “Oh， yes，” she replied， “a very great one indeed， for I really have to get rid of what I have there.” Curval rests her upon a sofa and， kneeling before that radiant behind， he devours its turd in a flash.
“Sacred name of God，” says he， licking his lips， turning toward his colleagues， and pointing to the prick straining against his abdomen， “I’m in a state for furiously undertaking something or other.”
“And what would it be？” asked the Duc， who was very fond of making the Président utter horrors when he was in that particular state.
“What？” said Curval. “Why， whatever infamy you wish to propose， even were it to dismember Nature and unhinge the universe.”
“Come along now，” said Durcet， upon seeing him cast furious glances in the direction of Augustine， “come along， let‘s go listen to Duclos， it’s story time. I‘m persuaded，” he went on， addressing the others， “that if he gets the bit in his teeth， that poor little duckling is going to spend a trying quarter of an hour.”
“Oh， yes！” said the inflamed Président， “a very trying one， I can vouch for that.”
“Curval，” said the Duc， whose prick was nodding in the air like a vengeful lance， and who had just finished eliciting some shit from Rosette， “let the others entrust the harem to the two of us， and two hours from now we’ll have turned in a capital performance.”
Durcet and the Bishop， at the moment calmer than their coproprietors， each took one of them by the arm， and it was thus， that is to say， breeches about their ankles and pricks aloft， that those libertines made their solemn entrance into the auditorium， where the assembly was already gathered and ready to hear Duclos‘ latest offerings； she， having anticipated， from those two gentlemen’s state， that she would soon be interrupted， began in these terms：
A nobleman at the court， aged about fifty-five， came and asked me for one of the prettiest girls I could lay my hands on. He said nothing to indicate his favorite mania， and to satisfy any need he might have， I gave him a young dressmaker who had never yet attended a party and who was incontestably one of the loveliest creatures France could boast. I introduce them to each other and， curious to observe what is about to transpire， I quickly repair to my post at the spy hole.
“Now where in the devil has Madame Duclos been，” he opened by saying， “to find an ugly chit like yourself？ Has she been raking over someone‘s dung heap？ You must have been servicing a couple of soldiers when they came to fetch you here.”
And the young lady， blushing to the ears with shame， for she had been forewarned of nothing， was at a loss to know what tack to take.
“Well， get your clothes off then，” the courtier continued. “My God， but you’re a clumsy slut！ I‘ve seen ugly whores in my life， but never one the likes of you， nor so stupid. Well， then？ Are we going to be able to get this over with today？ Ah， yes， there’s that body they‘ve been praising to the skies. Sacred Mother， what are those dugs！ you’d think they‘d been grafted from an old cow.”
And he fell to handling them brutally.
“And this belly！ What could have caused those wrinkles？ You surely haven’t whelped twenty children at your age？”
“Not one， Monsieur， I assure you.”
“Oh， I see， not one， eh！ That‘s how all these bitches talk； listen to them a while and they’ll be trying to convince you they‘re all virgins. . . . Well， move about， will you， turn around . . . infamous ass you’ve got dragging there. Flabby， disgusting buttocks - I understand now why they described you as unusual. It must have taken a lot of kicks in the ass to have arranged things this way.”
And you will allow me， Messieurs， to remind you that the ass he was referring to was as beautiful an ass as one could find anywhere. Be that as it may， the girl began to grow upset； I could almost make out the flutterings of her little heart， and I saw her lovely eyes become worried， then misty. And the more troubled she became， the more energetically the scoundrel sought to mortify her. I cannot possibly remember all the ungenerous things he said to her； one would not dare say anything more stinging， more biting， to the vilest， most infamous of creatures. Finally， a lump welled up in her throat and her tears began to flow； ‘twas for this last development the libertine， who had been polluting himself with might and main， had reserved the bouquet of his litanies. ’Tis impossible， once again， to render for you all the horrible observations he made upon her skin， her figure， her features， the sickening odor he declared she exhaled， how he criticized her bearing， her mind； in brief， he hunted up everything， he invented everything to humiliate her pride， and discharged all over her while vomiting atrocities a street sweeper would never dare utter. This scene had a most amusing outcome： the girl seemed to have taken it as a lesson， and it prompted her to take an oath； she swore never again to expose herself to such an adventure， and a week later I learned she had entered a convent for the rest of her life. I related this to the young man， who found it all prodigiously funny， and who later asked me for someone else to convert.
Another， Duclos continued， requested me to find him extremely sensitive girls who were awaiting news of an event whose unfavorable outcome might cause them an access of profoundest grief. I had unending difficulty finding anything to answer this description， and it was virtually impossible to pawn off a makeshift upon the connoisseur. He knew what he was about， had been playing the game for ages， and one glance was sufficient to tell him whether the blow he was to strike would reach the mark. And so I made no effort to deceive him， and managed somehow always to get him girls who were in the mental state he desired. I one day produced a maid who was expecting word from Dijon of a young man she idiolized and whose name was Valcourt. I presented the girl to the libertine.
“Where do you come from， Mademoiselle？” he asked her in a decent and respectful tone.
“From Dijon， Monsieur.”
“From Dijon？ Why， that‘s a strange coincidence， for I have just this instant had a letter from Dijon containing tidings which have sore distressed me.”
“And what is the trouble？” the girl asked with great interest； “I know everyone in the town， this news you have heard may be of some importance to me.”
“Oh， not at all，” our man replied， “it relates only to me； it has to do with the death of a young man - I was keenly fond of him， he had just married a girl whom my brother， who also lives in Dijon， had found for him， a girl to whom he was passionately attached， and the day after the wedding， he suddenly died.”
“His name， Monsieur， if you please？”
“His name was Valcourt； he was originally from Paris，” and the libertine named the street and the number at which Valcourt had lived. “You cannot possibly have known him， though.”
But the young girl had collapsed in a faint.
Therewith our libertine， beside himself with delight， muttered a string of oaths， unbuttoned his breeches， and set to frigging himself upon her supine body. “Ah， by Christ！ that’s what I want. Make haste now， hurry，” he said to himself， “the buttocks， I only need the buttocks to discharge.”
And turning her over， and pulling up her skirts， he darts seven or eight jets of fuck upon the motionless girl‘s ass， and then takes himself off without a thought either for the consequences of what he has said， or for what will become of the unhappy creature.
“And did she croak as a result？” inquired Curval， who was being fucked at a great rate.
“No，” Duclos admitted， “but she fell ill and lay six weeks at death’s door.”
“Very fine stunt， oh my， yes！” said the Duc. “But，” that scoundrel went on， “I should have preferred it had your man chosen the period of her menstruation for his disclosure.”
“Yes，” Curval said， “quite. But， Monsieur le Duc， tell us all the truth： your prick‘s in the air， I can sense it from here： you would have preferred that she drop dead on the spot.”
“Well， have it your own way，” called back the Duc. “Since you’d wish it so， I consent， for， you know， I‘ve not many scruples over a girl’s death.”
“Durcet，” said the Bishop， “if you don‘t send those two rascals out to discharge， there’ll be a merry to-do this evening.”
“Ah， by the Almighty‘s balls，” Curval shouted toward the Bishop’s niche， “you‘re afraid for your flock. But what difference would two more or two less make？ Well， Monsieur le Duc， you’ve heard Monseigneur the Bishop‘s suggestion， let’s go to the boudoir， but we‘ll go together， for it’s all too evident these other gentlemen wish to avoid a scandal tonight.”
No sooner said than done； and our two libertines had themselves followed by Zelmire， Augustine， Sophie， Colombe， Cupidon， Narcisse， Zélamir， Adonis， escorted by Bum-Cleaver， Invictus， Thérèse， Fanchon， Constance， and Julie. A brief interval ensued， then two or three women‘s screams were heard， then the bellowings of our two lechers， who were disgorging their fuck simultaneously. Augustine reappeared dabbing at her bleeding nose， Adelaide’s breast was covered by a scarf. As for Julie， always libertine enough and clever enough to get through any ordeal unscathed， she was laughing like one in hysterics and saying that had it not been for her they‘d never have been able to discharge. The rest of the troupe returned； Zélamir and Adonis still had their buttocks smeared with fuck. Having assured their confreres they had conducted themselves with all possible decency and modesty， that they might have nothing to be reproached for， and that now， perfectly calm， they were in a fit state to listen， Messieurs gave Duclos the signal to proceed and she did so in the following terms：
I sincerely regret Monsieur de Curval’s precipitate haste to relieve his needs， said that superb creature， for I had two pregnant-woman stories to tell him， and they would perhaps have afforded him some real pleasure. I know his taste for the fruit-laden， and I am certain that， had he a flicker of warmth left in his bowels， these two tales would divert him.
“Tell them all the same，” said Curval. “You are aware， I trust， that fucking has not the least effect upon my sentiments， and that the moment when I am most infatuated with evil is always the moment after I have performed it.”
Very well， said Duclos， I have seen a man whose mania was straitly connected with observing a woman give birth； he would frig himself when seeing her labor pains begin， and used to discharge squarely upon the infant‘s head directly it hove into view.
A second would perch a seven-month-pregnant woman upon an isolated pedestal at least fifteen feet high. She was obliged to keep her balance， and her mind on what she was about， for if by mischance she were to have grown dizzy， she and her issue would have been definitively ruined. The libertine I speak of， very little affected by the situation of the poor creature he paid for her acrobatic skill， kept her where she was until he had discharged， and frigged himself before her while exclaiming： “Ah， the lovely statue， the beautiful ornament， the empress upon her dais！”
“Well， Curval， you’d have shaken that column， wouldn‘t you， eh？” said the Duc.
“Ah， not at all， you’re mistaken； I have too much respect for Nature and her works. Is not the most interesting of them all the propagation of our species？ is it not a kind of miracle we ought to adore incessantly， and ought we not to have the warmest interest in those who perform it？ For my part， I never see a pregnant woman without being melted； think for a moment what a marvelous thing is a woman who， just like an oven， can make a little snot hatch deep in her vagina. Is there anything more beautiful， anything quite as fetching as that？ Constance， dear girl， come hither， I beseech you， come let me kiss the sanctuary wherein， at this very moment， such a profound mystery is in progress.”
And as he found her right there in his alcove， he was not long searching after the temple he wished to minister to. But there is reason to suppose Constance took a somewhat different view of his intentions， or， at least， that she only half believed his professions， for an instant later she was heard to vent a scream which bore no relationship at all to the consequences of a reverence or an homage. Then silence closed again； observing that all lay quiet， Duclos concluded her narrations with the following little tale：
I knew a man， said she， whose passion consisted in hearing children wail and cry； he had to have a mother with a child of no more than three or four. He required this mother to give her offspring a sound thrashing； it had to be done before him， and when the little creature， aroused by this treatment， began to bawl， the mother had next to catch hold of the rogue‘s prick and frig it industriously， directing the glans at the child， in whose face he would discharge when the little one was singing his loudest.
“Now， I wager，” the Bishop said to Curval， “that fellow was no more a friend of increase than you are.”
“I dare say not，” Curval conceded. “He must be， according to the argument of a lady reputed to possess a great fund of wit， he must be， I say， a great scoundrel； for， in keeping with the development of her thought， any man who loves neither animals， nor children， nor swollen-bellied women， is a monster fit to be put on the rack. Well， by that agreeable old fool’s judgment， my case is heard and decided and writ off the agenda，” said the Président， “for I certainly have no affection for any one of those three things.”
And as it was late， and as interruptions had consumed a sizable portion of the séance， they went straight to supper. At table， they debated the following questions： what need has man for sensibility？ and is it or is it not useful to his happiness？ Curval proved that it was nothing if not dangerous， and that it was the first sentiment， this one of human kindness， one had to extirpate from children， by early making them grow accustomed to the most ferocious spectacles. Each of them having differently approached the problem， by many and long detours they all finally ended up agreeing with Curval. Supper over， the Duc and he were of the opinion the women and youngsters should be sent to bed， and they proposed the orgies be made an entirely masculine tournament； everyone concurred， the idea was adopted， Messieurs enchambered themselves with the eight fuckers and spent almost all the night having themselves fucked and drinking liqueurs. They stumbled to bed two hours before dawn， and the morrow brought with it both events and stories the reader will perhaps find entertaining if he will give himself the trouble to read what follows.
