Anonymous - Danielle and Uncle Armand

The promises she had made herself to live happily with her golden dreams had been annihilated under the unclean passions that had swallowed her up.

How many nights of stupor and madness had she spent giving her whore's body, offering that corner of her body to lascivious males?

Like a leaf swept by the passing winds, she had been touched, soiled, and now the vivifying wind of the country smelled of the perfumed prairies, murmuring a rebirth of her young years.

It was too late to live like that.

“Yes,” she thought, “I could have had a home and children like the others. Of course I wouldn't have known life, but my ignorance would have prevented me from being a…”

She was afraid of thinking the word whore. But she had been a whore!

And not just like those sluts who opened their mealy mouths, with their breasts falling down over their navels and a cracked skin as if all the foetuses of the world had been inside them, but a receptacle for human ordure, a gaping cavity where all the vomit of the world had been poured…

She often wished she could forget the memory of those ten years of forbidden passion. But the more she tried to chase away the visions that obsessed her, the more they came back! When she slept beside her husband, she had terrible dreams.

She was struggling against huge virile members that foraged all over her, hairy heads that leaned over her and bloody lips full of saliva that forced their way over her mouth, red feverish tongues that almost choked her.

And the dreams continued.

There were androgynes with swollen abdomens, male organs and the breasts of a woman, who sneered as they caressed her contracted body…

Then she would wake up, damp with sweat, her eyes wild, and she would find her husband lying at her side, his flaccid cock pressed against her buttocks.

This melancholy which plagued her, rising from her lascivious being… this physical obsession which she could not chase from her mind, made her see through all the vicissitudes of her existence and the happiness to which she could never submit.

She would cry to herself as she touched her cunt where she could still feel the indelible traces of her innumerable lovers.

“I don't have the right to pursue this dream of love and youth! No…! Life has caught me in its cogwheels. I must leave here before it's too late.”

And everything spoke this same language. There was no room for this whore in the simplicity of country ways.

She realized the inanity of the destiny she had made for herself. Nothing could ever interest her. She had to submit to the bondage of her sensual nature.

Poor Tony. He at least had kept the purity of his intentions despite his wife's depravity. Yes… he loved her… like a madman! Without ignoring his life in the village, however.

He didn't reproach her for anything. He hadn't even been surprised by her skill in love-making. She had been the initiator.

He felt a gratitude toward her for having revealed the positions of love to him and he lived only for her, for her body, for her cunt which had been filled with semen other than his.

When they possessed one another with a studied roughness, it was like a wild assault which made them come quickly, clinging to each other's sweating bodies.

And, having filled his young wife's body with the blind force of the powerful male, he contemplated her as she lay back fatigued and satisfied, still smiling at him through half-closed eyes weighed down by sleep.

Danielle could no longer stand this stifling atmosphere. One day, around the end of summer, when the last rays of the sun were still lighting the prairies, she suggested to her husband that they take a walk.

“You know, Tony, I'd give anything to go back to the place where I often went when I was a child.”

He was only too happy to follow her. They started off arm in arm, breathing the vivifying air from the hills. In the distance, the mountain stretched its imposing mass.

The young woman, felt as though it were ten years earlier.

She had taken this path with… No! She must push that idea away. She mustn't think of her first lover. Nothing could exist now of that indelible trace which stained her cunt.

The path continued with sudden turns. They stopped at times to contemplate the countryside that lay behind them. Arms around each other's waists, they looked at the magnificent panorama which became shaded in an opaque mist as they walked higher and higher.

She pointed in the directions of a protuberant knoll.

“Look, Tony… that's where I often came. I remember everything. One day my father sent me to look for some stray animals… I found them here. Look…!”

She showed him a grassy prairie. They were holding hands, helping each other climb the little rocks that rose in their path. The young woman's hair was floating freely, caressed by the warm breeze that blew at times. Tony puffed out his strong chest and offered his well-nourished musculature to nature, like a sacrifice to her beauty.

Several hours after their departure, they came in sight of the mountain, the object of their trek.

Breathless, yet happy with the walk, they rested in the complete silence of this corner of Arcadia. It was just this countryside that a Latin poet had described. They felt almost as though the flute of Pan could be heard close by, accompanying the dancing of nymphs who were bathing in the rivers that descended the mountain. They almost expected to see a satyr or a faun following a divinity of the woods, with his he-goat feet and his beard.

But all these dreams had been gone for a long time there was no one but the two young people in the immensity of nature.

Danielle had placed her head on Tony's knees. Her half-closed eyes let a ray of light filter in and closed reluctantly on the vast panorama.

Tony was caressing his wife's breasts in his joyousness. He was beginning to be excited. Anyway, this had become a habit. As soon as he had had the revelation that his cock could serve something besides the mute contemplation of his swollen parts, he had gladly adapted himself to it and desired only to introduce himself into her sheath.

The young woman let herself be soothed by the atmosphere of this lost place. The mountain with its granite force, its firmness, its insolence before human weakness, the warmth of Tony's body which she felt close to her, everything contributed to plunge her into vague reveries which made her languid.

She drew her husband's lips against her perfumed mouth and held them for a long time.

“Tony, I want you to possess me with all your strength here in this beautiful place. But do it like I taught you.”

The words had become superfluous.

Danielle unbuttoned her husband's pants, then she slipped her warm hand inside. She took out a firm object, — proud of its size, which filled the palm of her hand.

Tony was panting, feeling the flow of passion rising within him.

She had stretched out and removed her red skirt. Then, separating her thighs, she got into position. Leaning on his elbows, abdomen to abdomen, sex to sex, Tony began his male occupation.

He went in with little blows so that the heat would spread as he descended further and further into the delicate crater…

The young woman closed her eyes. She imprisoned Tony's torso with her legs like an animal in heat flushed with desire.

In a brief and fugitive vision, she remembered her first lover. She thought she could feel him inside her as he had been ten years earlier, fucking her joyfully, having suffered with desire for so long.

Then everything disappeared…

She opened her eyes again.

Her husband was still working over her. Soon their bodies shuddered. A sudden relaxation joined them as his cock spurted hotly.