Pierre Louys - The She-Devils

In fact, I was so afraid of an accident, that my life began to flash before my eyes exactly as if I were about to drown. And I began to think of everything at once, even the least little details that I would have had plenty of time to consider the next day.

I will list here a brief resume of the high points of my mental excursion for those who are as yet uninitiated to this phenomenon:

1. I never suffered so much, even when I was taking the cherry of Miss X — from the front.

2. She's going to cripple me. What to do? Hold her in? Impossible. Gentle her? Even more difficult.

3. My God, but she's beautiful!

4. I never knew I was so young and clumsy! Imagine never catching on to her game all that time. Last night I thought she was faking passion in order to excite Charlotte and her game was real. This evening she came to me, stripped herself on my bed and until the very last minute I didn't know what she wanted. She had to shout at me at the top of her voice, “Can't you see that I'm hot to go?” And I blushed. I was ashamed.

5. She can do whatever she wants with me and she knows it. Yesterday I was revolted by her. She came back this evening. I was determined to give her the gate and now look what has happened! How is this night going to finish?

Teresa regained her senses quickly; soon enough to hold me where I was in her, anyway. Most women share this instinct but are ignorant of the fact that in those moments when they hold their lovers immediately after the act of love their love is the most reciprocated. Teresa, as usual, knew what she was doing.

She neither asked for a word nor a kiss. She saw that I was careful to leave a distance between our lips, and she sensed that I was not caressing her body, rather only touching it. And that was treating her more as a whore than was calling her the name. Too adroit to whisper an imprudent “Tell me you love me!” that would ring hollow and false, she seemed rather to accept my touches with pleasure. She opened her thighs wide to the hand that wandered distractedly there, her stomach shuddered, she closed her eyes and finally said in a voice at once both confused and ashamed, “I drenched your bed, my love!”

How can a young man keep from embracing a woman who speaks to him like that while she's lying in his arms? He either has to refrain from sleeping with her… or not be twenty years old. And the kiss that unites mouth to mouth so far surpasses all other unions between lovers that only Teresa could at that point measure its strength against me.

Thus, sure of herself for the future and no longer worrying about seeing my door shut to her, she left my room.

After several minutes that seemed more like several hours she returned as nude as she had left. I thought that she had gone into my adjoining room and I didn't find out until later that she had gone into her apartment.

She looked at me for a second and then, as if picking a question at random, said, “Why do you like fucking so much?”

I replied teasingly, “Because women that aren't crazy come best when they're fucking, and I like to make my partner come as well as myself.”

Teresa seemed to be in an excellent humor and she began to laugh instead of being peeved.

“So when, instead, you sleep with a phenomenon like me, the only woman in both hemispheres who can fuck through her asshole, and when you corn-hole this woman, and when you feel her discharge like a mare pissing…”

“Can't you express yourself a little more genteelly?”

“Certainly, my dear. And when you see that the more you stick your dick into her fanny, the more jism gushes out of her pussy, you could at least have the good will not…”

“Not to want to fuck? All right, all right. I won't say anymore about it.”

She lay down on her stomach next to me. “For a man that can never think of anything but fucking you do a wicked job of cornholing. Where did you learn the motion?”

“I'm afraid I didn't learn very well, happened first when I was fourteen. A young girl I was playing hide-and-seek with taught it to me at the bottom of her garden. Actually, she had never done it before and neither had I. However, after that there were a good dozen others… But I don't suppose you know why the sisters of our friends are so clumsy at it?”

“You suppose I don't know why,” cried Teresa. “Do you think I've never seen your respectable young women cornholed? First of all, there's no way of finding their assholes. They're always dressed. You have to take them in their pants and it is too easy to loose your path and slide into their cunts by mistake. Then too, there isn't one in four who has sense enough to grease up the hole a little bit to make it easier. They give you their holes and that's all there is to it. You can stick your dick into it or not. It's more exciting for them raw like that, but it hurts them like hell itself. They beat themselves off as fast as they can, but you're not allowed to move or it might hurt them too much. Often this results in them coming without you ever losing a drop. That way they can do the same thing again tomorrow with someone else. Am I right?”

“How do you know so much?”

“I'm pretty well informed in that department. And they're stupid too, your young ladies, aren't they?”

“Charming, but pretty dumb, like you say. I remember an exception once, though, that had the habit and who let you do it softly and easily. She was patient, that one…”

“An angel!” cried Teresa gayly. “You could clean her out from top to bottom and she didn't know how to give you a smack with her behind? Is that it? What are you laughing for? I know your young things better than you do. And after-wards, let's see. After your virgins…?”

“What do you want me to tell you? Bawdy house stories? Those things aren't interesting.”

“I just want to know what you learned.”

“There was a little dancer who went for ten francs… She danced the belly dance in Montmartre…”

“Did she dance with her ass too?”

“Better than with her belly.”

“What was she, a brunette?”

“Naturally. I don't like blondes.”

“And her asshole?”

“Why are you so curious?”

Teresa, always supple, still nude, raised herself and lay over me on her elbows, only her breasts and stomach touching me.

“When you're not cornholing me, I need you to tell me stories about women being cornholed.”

“Why?”

“Don't keep asking me why I've got a fire in my ass. It's your fault!”

I could have said that I hadn't done anything to cause that, but instead I decided to take the opportunity to end her questioning.

“Your turn,” I said. “You began to tell me about your childhood before and you stopped at the age of seven.”

“This on the subject of women being corn-holed?”

“Yes.”

She was beginning to get excited and, as usual, her language strengthened proportionally.

“It's true that I've always been used to seeing women with pricks in their rears.

“The last thing I can remember of those days was a dinner where there were some men present, some friends. Afterwards, my mother and her three sisters started playing with them with their assholes. One of the men would stick his prick into one of them and the woman would have to guess whose it was. They laughed so much that I saw the men lose their hard-on's and have their pricks slip out. Nevertheless, those women had good-looking behinds!

“When I was still seven my mother sprained her shoulder and, since she could no longer perform, she quit the circus and her sisters and everything.

“It was then that she went to live with a little bitch at Marseilles that was a hundred times more of a whore than she and who was named Francine. A good-looker, Francine, but whore enough to suck a dog for twenty francs. All three of us slept together. Francine kept up her business in the afternoons, but mother didn't do anything except pimp for her. Then they'd be at each other's asses all night long when my mother wasn't exciting me to beat myself off in order to develop my snatch.