Pierre Louys - The She-Devils

“Not at all,” said Teresa. “The more you feel like coming the better you will do. To look at you, I don't think I should suck you, but do you want me to finger you a little?”

“Yes, mama.”

“And if you don't believe what I have just told you, my little savage, I'll show you I meant it. I'll heat up your come with a little mustard on your asshole.”

“Oh!” cried Ricette, raising her eyes towards the ceiling, “I'll go crazy! Then… don't finger me. Just touch me. Above all, don't make me come before him! Then you can finger me when I give you the sign.”

While her mother left the room to get the mustard, she threw herself tenderly into the arms of her oldest sister with an, “Oh! Charlotte! Charlotte!” that seemed to ask all her indulgence and encouragement. All that and more Charlotte would have given for nothing, but Ricette wanted to earn it, and after a tongue-to-tongue kiss she said, “My Charlotte! Give me a little of your come too!”

And throwing her sister onto the divan, she thrust her head between her legs.

“That's something!” cried Lili. “When you wind up with all those different comes in your mouth you'll find yourself with a kid.”

This time I was the only one to laugh. Teresa, who had just come back, and the two girls were much too excited to change expression.

Ricette jumped up and prepared to take the mustard. She stood up, leaning slightly forward with her buttocks out, opened the cheeks of her ass herself, and let her mother do to her what the trainers do to the bulls before a bullfight. I don't know what kind of hot mustard Teresa used, but when it was in place Ricette jumped violently and, touching the spot with her finger, cried, “What did you do that for? Now I want him to cornhole me!”

“Not in the mustard,” laughed Teresa.

“Then you, or Charlotte…! A dildoe at least. Ah! Damn! I'm afraid I'm going to come!”

“Then suck him right away. What are you waiting for?”

Mauricette leaped over to me and, just as she was on the point of beginning, said in her most ardent voice, “You'll cornhole me tonight even so, won't you? Before you deflower me? I'll take the mustard out and you won't feel anything… Ah! But she stuck fire into my ass, I know it! God, I feel like having a prick back there! What are you doing back there now? Oh, it's you…”

Her mother had run a dildoe into her ass and was working it with her hand. Ricette started up. I couldn't tell whether the dildoe was relieving her excitement or irritating it even more, but she cried, “I don't need that to love your come! I didn't have anything in my ass yesterday when you came in my mouth, did I? Tell that to mama! And give me some more to drink! Quick! I'm thirsty! I want it!”

She took me so voraciously that I could feel her teeth more than her lips. I did not want to say anything in front of Lili because she would have made fun of Ricette's inexperience, but I hurried my orgasm and warned her just before it came.

Mauricette was a brilliant success with her new little trick in its first performance before her family, the new trick that was for her as Lili said, “More wonderful than losing her virginity!” Unfortunately, she gave a second proof of her inexperience by wanting to prolong the climax further than my nerves could support it. But, by that time, the poor thing no longer knew what she was doing. Teresa, who 'still had her finger in Ricette's cunt, had worked the girl up to a peak, held her in, then released the spasm in her flesh immediately after mine. And the little beginner, blinded in all her senses, almost swooning, was hardly aware of the success she had with her mother and sisters.

Lili, so nude, so thin, so smooth, crossed her arms and stood in front of Teresa, whose body was so heavily furred, who wore her dark breasts like oriental jewels. For me, this contrast of nudities was without precedent in art or literature.

With a comically resigned air, she sighed, “We're a couple of nuts, huh, mama? She's just sucked off our lover under our noses and didn't even leave us a drop.”

“Wait! I'll get some the second time around!”

“You will? Congratulations. And I can sit by and rub my cunt to see if I can make the hairs grow, huh?”

Lili's metaphors were often very personal, but they were worth even more like that because of the ease with which she delivered them.

Teresa possessed her daughters body and soul, as a romantic once said, and guessing their thoughts as well as their desires, she sensed that Lili was beginning to get under Ricette's skin and that at her age she couldn't understand the state that her sister was in.

Here again, the highest philosophical authorities resolve the question without debate and almost in the same terms, for theorists divulge between themselves not only their ideas, but their modes of expression as well. “A young courtesan in a state of impuberty who indulges in anal coition can be excused from misunderstanding the double physical and moral disorder that a nubile adolescent experiences the night that she first opens her thighs to offer her virginity.” Thus runs the ancient formula of Erasmus, copied so many times and to be found in all manuals and textbooks.

Teresa had only two means to shut Lili up and close the incident. She gave the child her choice.

“Do you want to go to your bed, insect! Do you know what time it is?”

Here, Lili made a small gesture… A gesture that I do not advise my young readers to use on their parents. She turned her back, stuck out her behind, and opened her hand as if to thumb her nose, but replaced the latter with her asshole.

Teresa gave her two good smacks in the same place with her hand, then took her easily into her arms, caressed her against her breasts, made her laugh, and said, “You don't want to go to bed? You want to watch Ricette lose her cherry? All right! You'll have to perform during the intermission. Go get into your costume. We'll wait for you.”

Whore though she was, Lili was too naive to understand that Teresa only wanted to get rid of her, and with a joyous little hop, she tore out of the room.

Teresa smiled at Ricette and I, then turned to Charlotte. And the scene that followed was even more painful to me than the one that still rang in my ears between Ricette and Teresa. What was wrong with her at that point? I don't pretend to know. Was she guilty then of a sentiment more human than maternal, driving her to return to one of her daughters the injuries that another had heaped on her head? Or had the “program" of she, Mauricette, and I unnerved her even more than it had us? She burst out with a torrent of insults from the first word.

“The bitch! She's fingering herself again!”

“Oh! Mama!” cried Charlotte. “You've been fucking, you've come, Ricette learned how to suck, you made her come, you stuck mustard and a dildoe into her ass, I saw all that and didn't have anyone, and you don't want me to come after you?”

“After us? But you did it before! Ricette had a dildoe in the rear? All right, but you had two! One in each hole! If you had fifty holes you'd want fifty dildoes stuffed in them every fifteen minutes, dirty little bitch!”

Charlotte stopped. She didn't cry, but she put her elbow on her knee and her chin in her hand: dejection personified.

I was suffering more than she was from what I had heard, when, in a single phrase, I understood what was going on. For as I started to get up Ricette held me back and said in my ear, “Be quiet now, this sort of thing excites her.”

However, I was up despite Mauricette and halted the scene with my movement and the look on my face.

Teresa stopped me from saying anything in her turn, but the scene didn't follow the same course it had begun to trace after that.