Pierre Louys - The She-Devils

Ricette, ex-schoolgirl for whom arithmetic held no more secrets, began to figure, and by the science of numbers brought us back once more to serious considerations.

“Mama gets cornholed about three times a day on an average. That makes eleven hundred times a year.”

“And something over?” said Charlotte.

“And the dildoes!” said Lili.

“And the nights like last Christmas when she did it eighteen times.”

“I said, on an average eleven hundred times a year. She began when she was eight; she's thirty-six now. I figured it all out. That makes more than thirty thousand cornholings.”

“Thirty thousand!” they chorused.

“And she fucks about once a year, more or less.”

“Oh! I haven't fucked more than thirty times in my whole life!” declared Teresa. “When was the last time that I did it, Charlotte? Was it last summer in June? Ah! Believe me,” said she turning towards me, “I'm almost as virgin as Ricette! Charlotte is like me too. The only one who fucks around here is Lili.”

“Mama, mama, mama!” cried Ricette impatiently. “When are we going to start?”

The consent that she obtained stopped neither her thoughts nor her words. She seemed concerned. She didn't lie down. Forgetting arithmetic to attack a curious problem of erotology, she looked seriously at her mother and said, “Can we…? I don't mean that I think that my program is impossible… It isn't easy to suck a woman who is being cornholed; but under a woman who's being fucked… above all if she's losing her cherry… Your tongue will never touch my snatch.”

“I've never done it,” said Charlotte. “But then we do so little screwing here…”

“I've done it!” said Lili.

“Oh, you! You're dislocated in more places than one!”

Teresa took her time, like a teacher searching for a formula easily accessible to the mind of an adolescent, and finally replied slowly, “How many times have I told you that positions are the affair of women and not of men or lesbians. In the position that we're going to take up it will be up to the woman underneath to get in the right place. However, if the woman being taken will bother to hump her back a little bit there should be no trouble for the tongue underneath.”

“You can believe that I'll be all that I advertised when it comes to that!”

“Okay! Okay! But first watch how I do it and then you can imitate me when your turn comes.”

The obscenity with which Teresa usually accompanied the opening of her rump dog-fashion was something with which I was already familiar. Dog-fashion is not quite enough to say here, I feel. Like a bear would be more descriptive. From the rear she was nothing but hair. However, since she had very well formed buttocks and nicely shaped thighs, you couldn't really reproach her even mentally for being more heavily furred than other women and, such was the impudence of her position, you would rather have thought that she imposed her esthetic on you.

Despite the fact that my sexual exercises are ordinarily as reserved and conservative as my language, my moral scruples do not go so far as to prevent me from fucking a mother on top of her daughter and then deflowering the same daughter on top of her mother. I have only done it once, but I would gladly take the opportunity should it be presented to me again. I am speaking now to the young women who are holding this book and I would like to say, in the words of Mauricette, “I am not trying to shock you, miss. If your mother is thirty years old, if she is pretty, if you love her enough to do for her the things you would do for your little girlfriends, you will understand the following scene. And if you are not grateful for what she has always given you, if you have never used your tongue to send shivers of pleasure through the flesh that suffered so that you might come into this world, then blush at your own actions and not at those you are about to read of here.”

I therefore accepted Teresa on top of Mauricette and even under her. And the roles she played seemed to me neither superfluous nor disagreeable. However, two roles that I would have eliminated had I been writing this scene into a novel were those of Charlotte and Lili. They were of no use whatsoever; Charlotte only bothered me by her display of emotions, Lili by her giggles, and both of them by their gabbing, their curiosity, their advice, or simply their presence. I wished them to hell for a good fifteen minutes.

However, let us forget that for the moment and review the situation:

Ricette was lying on her back. Teresa was lying head to foot with Ricette, her cunt over the latter's face and open to me in the position I have so recently described.

Saphism practiced doubly and simultaneously is something that is not appreciated by all lesbians. Only a man can fuck and give pleasure at the same time he is receiving it without losing his head. A woman, at the approach of her orgasm, is entirely incapable of rationally directing the spasm that she wants to give in exchange.- Thus, with two women who have placed themselves' head-to-cunt to each other, only one will come, and, since the hearts of damned women are made of the same stuff as the souls of saints, the lesbian that makes the other come and doesn't herself is the happiest of the two.

Another night, in the same position, Teresa's tongue had put Ricette out of action inside of a minute. This time, however, there was no hurry, and Teresa did nothing but give her a few kisses, leaving the girl in full possession of her faculties.

I waited…

Mauricette parted her mother's hair and lips with her two hands, raised her head to the cunt, and began working feverishly with her tongue to hasten the moment when she could say:

“Now. Stick it in.”

The great drops of rain that announced the beginning of the storm began to patter onto Ricette's cheeks, and when I advanced my member Lili couldn't hold back an, “Oh! Mama fucking!”.

I entered easily, fearing only one thing: that Teresa's motion would be too much for me. However, Teresa never forgot for a moment that she wasn't there for her own pleasure and that another of her duties was to explain to her daughter the art of the position.

Thus, she took the first step towards explaining the pedagogy of the divertimento.

“Watch, Ricette! Watch now how I give it to you. Have you got my snatch? You have it? You see that his balls aren't in your way and that you can easily get at me with your tongue… Later when you do it imitate me; and when you get in front of my tongue you don't move, you hear? If I weren't holding myself in now, I'd be waving my ass all over the place and I'd lose your tongue. I feel like coming so much that I think my ass is going to fall apart, and that bitch of a prick that's tearing up my cunt… that's fucking me… But wait… You'll see if I can't come without moving.”

And she was, in fact, lying practically motionless, though shuddering. Mauricette was being flooded, and I too, but I couldn't pull it out without losing what was necessary to the second part of the act.

It was rather strange, that second part, for it seemed to interest the women much more than it did me, and they all got worked up into a state of excitement that I couldn't attain, although I was probably the best placed of any of them.

Charlotte and Lili were crowding around trying to see and becoming even greater nuisances than before.

Mauricette, red and excited, wiped her face, which Teresa had been deluging consistently with something other than tears. She was doubly excited, first by the act which she was attempting to bring to a successful close, and secondly by the spectacle which she was giving.

“I've got stage fright and I feel like coming,” she wailed. “I'm afraid I'm going to botch it up.”